#⚔ stories 🔥 | when the music stops; the cries die down; memories crawl out of the grave; the soul can never find peace

[infernal-general]

Unity

Song which started the whole story

Seal referencing to @thenextchapterbegins Lucifer sealing the gate, along with mentions of the aftermath of a civil war dash event with @avispatr

Striker - @strikers-saloon

Velvet & Vaggie - @winters-club

Charlie, mention of Gabriel - @infernal-feminae

Don - @wrxthfulguard

Blitzø - @rodeoblitz

James Norrington - @ashortdropandasuddenstop

Flora, mention of their story Technological Terror - @nebula-gaster

Zephos - @zephosthefaedemon

"Szerinted kibírja?" (Do you think it will hold?) Márta asked, glancing at the seal and the divine shine on the other side of it

“Biztos hogy nem. Mindenki legyen készenlétben.” (Of course not. Everyone be ready.) Rozália replied without thinking. It might have had a chance to work and not have the King's efforts in vain, if not for the Goetian king's civil war. He shattered reality and to properly retaliate, the General had to unleash both divine and hellish energy to stop it escalating even further. Yet her success was overshadowed by grief, the loss of the best marksman, youngest soldier in the army took an emotional toll on everyone.

"Csak…még soha nem voltunk háborúban nélküle." (Just…we never had been in war without him.) Aranka's voice was small, she hated to bring up such tremendous loss, especially upon witnessing the still raw grief flashing through the General's face

“Bízzatok Strikerben. Ha én bízok, akkor ti is.” (Trust Striker. If I trust him, then you should too.) It sounded almost like an order but an unnecessary one. They would've let her know if any had second thoughts regarding his capabilities.

Jancsi was the leader of the marksman division, despite his age he did his job brilliantly. Therefore Rozália asked the only person who came close to his talent in marksmanship and had experience with leading even though it wasn't this direct. And Striker accepted, not to replace Jancsi as he couldn't be replaced -he made it clear-, but to protect the legion, his people and after learning how the young soldier followed Rozy like a shadow to protect her blind spots; to shield her as well. And he definitely lived up to Rozy's unsaid expectations: thoughtful, great strategist, maximum potential with minimal risk, cover from every direction possible. She barely needed to chime into the conversation as he was explaining the plans, the backups to the division. The soldiers listened as if he was one of them, as if he had fought by their side for 174 years, his undeniable skills, mindset and personality won both their trust and love. 

The only major change was that Rozália moved their positions deeper into the town for better protection, the numbers unfortunately had dwindled throughout centuries and she couldn't spare enough men to completely cover the snipers, they also needed to rely on the maze of a soon to be ruined town. The best case scenario would be the frontline division able to handle the swarms and slowly falling back little by little with each hour to not be completely overwhelmed. A breach could happen, she was well aware, that's why most snipers were placed deep into the town. Bright yellowish green eyes locked together with burning crimson, a wordless nod from Rozália reciprocated by Striker after a quick check of the current rifle he was testing.

“Safehouses and hospitals are all set.” she said finally, fixing one of her spiked dragon wing shoulder plates

"Mah Saloon?"

“Protected by a separate unit.” she replied to his concerns, the previous year still fresh in her mind “Promise you will be careful Desert Rose.” her stance stoic but unable to stop the desperation creeping into her voice

And the hybrid serpent only smiled while holstering a hellfire infused revolver. "Will ya?" He shot back gently

"They trust me. I am their dad in a sense, Ah believe that comes with responsibility I'm willing to take. For them and for ya. Ah know they are your family." Striker walked over his fiance, only to be pulled into a tight hug, his face resting against cold metal of her armor

“So are you.” and he didn't need to look up to know how magma tears clouded her vision

She didn't have time to rebuild the barren land where life was supposed to exist, the amount of labor work would've tired everyone out and she was convinced it definitely wasn't the last time they had heard from the Exterminators. So she built the first line of defense at the edge of the ruins, heavy shields dug into the ground with swords ready and her standing in front of them. No matter what, she was always the unofficial first the angelic butchers met and perished against. The empty land gave Rozália the perfect opportunity to use her fire more explosively without endangering anyone and even if it made the advancing more easy, they were out in the open. Easy targets.

Midnight. The light above the sealed crack grew brighter. She was doing her last check on the frontline, a few whispered words of encouragement, a squeeze of a shoulder. The light has reached Hell's ground. As now Striker was a vital member of the army, they agreed to ditch Hungarian, the language was extremely hard to learn, to speak, to understand especially in the chaos and they needed to sign each other lightning fast. She wasn't sure how well the Exterminators could understand their language, either way, the abrupt change would definitely throw them off at first. And even the most brief confusion, hesitation led to death.

A chill before battle slithered up her spine. The protective seal shattered in the next moment.

By now it was almost a routine. They won an hour thanks to Lucifer's sacrifice despite how weakened the ancient magic could've been; as if nothing happened the Phoenix army stood their ground unmoving against the pouring angelic horde. Talons screeched on concrete upon the first impact, roars of battle deafening compared to the previous tense silence, flashes of hellfire swords bright against the sea of gray and dull silver.

“Meatgrinder: open!” shields parted, allowing those at the front to slip through

“Close!” and they were separated from the rest, killed by the waiting warriors behind the front line.

No matter the strength of the assault, the soldiers couldn't be moved from their spot, forming a chain which couldn't be torn apart. The so simple yet effective strategy was working quite smoothly, the first hour passed as it was only minutes. Gunshots could be heard from the core of the town; the winged division not getting near their targets either. As discussed, the army began to descend to their next spot, allowing Miklós' traps, grenades to ensure a safe retreat.

Rozália noticed the angels had split, a large group wasn't chasing the insufferable soldiers but creeping away, towards Princess Charlotte's Hotel full of refugees. They realized questioning whenever she's mad or not is useless, the General probably is. 

She took off after the horde alone, fire dancing not only within her blade but with her as well, culling the numbers enough to be noticed and surrounded. The bastards had hidden a mine in the barren land, she didn't even had to step on it, as it activated as soon as she was close enough, reacting to her increased cursed heat instead of pressure.

Reflexes quick enough to use the shield to protect her body from the white blast, but not from the shockwave throwing her off her desired path. Even with ears ringing from the fall, Rozália was already on her feet, fencing like a whirlwind, accompanied by occasional blasts of fire. Her shield lost and cracked, the direction she was forced at definitely wasn't calculated into the plan.

She didn't know much about the type of magic of protective barrier cast around the Hotel, furious crimson eyes darted wildly looking for an opening, a way out as the golden barrier was getting closer to her back. Rozália worried her Hellfire would erode or damage it, leaving the building and the refugees vulnerable to assault, charging into the silver sea with only a sword would certainly result in death. The angels took a few steps back, the action confusing her first until the guns drawn straight at her.

"Love, no! You can't!" Vaggie caught Charlie's arm as soon as she realized what she planned to do as they watched the events anxiously from the window

"Yes I can! They will kill her! And right in front of the steps of what should be a dream! A salvation." The princess declared fiercely, ready to lift the barrier for a moment to let the General slip through. She couldn't…she couldn't let anyone be executed in front of her when she had the power to save them.

"Cariño… I know." Vaggie sighed but refused to let go of her "She is more experienced in combat than you. There's a reason why she didn't cause an explosion or signaled for you to open the gates." She tried to explain carefully with a heavy heart, the protective barrier sat perfectly between infernal and holy, the balance couldn't be disrupted not by her nor by Rozália.

"B-but Vaggie, I still can…just a second." Charlie loathed feeling so powerless, desperation and anger steadily rising, she was Princess Charlotte Morningstar the Antichrist, how did Heaven dare to murder that woman in front of her, in front of the terrified demons inside?!

"Cariño look at me." The fallen angel pierced through her rage, a brief look at her shadow confirmed her horns had burst through at some point. With a heavy sigh and shame for losing her temper and almost snapping at her girlfriend, Charlie did as she said.

"That woman wants to die." Vaggie announced the unsaid suspicion "And wants to do so while protecting people. If she wanted to, I'm sure she could've burned alive those cabrones." But it would result in a weakened barrier. The moth pulled the shaking princess into her arms to soothe her.

"...I've failed." Charlie whispered into her shoulder, clutching her girlfriend tighter in her sorrow

"No darling, you didn't and never will. They failed." Vaggie leaned away enough to wipe her tears and attempt a gentle smile

"What do you mean?" The princess' lips were still trembling but the statement has caught her off guard

"She wants to die while shielding people. As a martyr yet again, only this time she won't be forgotten. Grant her freedom at last." The fallen angel was extremely grateful she could maintain her composure, to not give away how much the events sickened, devastated her. One life or hundreds of others plus the safety of her love? "Come here Carinõ. Don't look." Charlie allowed herself to be pulled close, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Part of her despite everything, agreed with Vaggie but it did not erase the pain and grief of losing a close friend at all.

How ironic that she brought a sword into a gunfight and it took her 172 years to lose at last. Rozália felt eerily calm, eternal peace was within reach; no possibility she could survive the amount of holy metal. They took their sweet time drawing out the last minute, no one knew she was here and she was in danger. She looked at each executioner individually with a small grin hiding triumph despite the outcome, Rozália will die how she wanted to and her name will be immortal.

The Hotel gates slammed open making her heart skip a beat, she whirled around and the angels held their fire in hope of getting inside the Hotel as well as finally getting rid of the General. Don rushed to the edge of the barrier, quickly calculating the situation. Disbelief at first. There was…no possible way the General didn't have a backup plan or an emergency plan or a group hiding nearby waiting to ambush. Raw shock when the demonic woman smiled at him so gently, as if it was goodbye. Don immediately turned in hope to sign for Princess Charlotte to lift the barrier, stopping in mid motion as her ashen hand slammed against the transparent golden wall. He cannot lose her, she was his mentor, his ally and protector of this ring. It was…impossible. He took a step closer, searching her face for any clues of what and how he should do, but she only shook her head no. Smoke steadily rising from the humanlike Sinner, it should be him out there, he should've fought alongside her the moment it was clear where and what the woman from the past stood for. And just like most, she's about to be executed. He was losing his battle with his complex, only when he looked into the stare of unblinking crimson eyes was when a whisper breezed past his tortured mind. Rozália wouldn't want this. This isn't why she trained, pushed him so hard for. People needed him. Her face softened at his realization, opening the gates even for a moment would be too risky, her fire could potentially destroy the whole barrier, endangering everyone inside. Don never thought that time when yet again he can't do anything to protect could come. But he will use everything she taught him to protect his allies during the next cleanse. The fire of determination earned him one last smile and the General bowed as a final goodbye, turning without fear.

Rozália stood facing the firing squad, chin up, shoulders to their full width. Don will carry on her teachings, her legacy. Striker, oh Striker…the thought of never seeing her love again ruined the glorious goodbye to this world, but she didn't falter. Even the lights of the streets dimmed as the angels took aim.

Don noticed first that besides her dying, something was also seriously off. The sudden darkness didn't come with the explosion of a generator like normally in every year, only the lights dimmed and died one by one. Out of nowhere an enormous bolt of lightning slammed into the center of the angels, disrupting their order and making the executioners hesitate in confusion. A cyan blur darted out of the shadows wielding twin sabers seemingly made out of electricity itself; the creature fenced her way through the remaining like the lightning she summoned. Rozália finally snapped out of her own trance and closed the distance between her and her almost killers, her own hellfire hussar sword flashing dangerously as it penetrated armor, passed through flesh with a dreadful sizzle.

The savior was taller and more lean than her, almost nothing alike yet they fell into an almost immediate synchron. An electric blue slash, a ducked crimson stab; a fiery whirl, a short distance teleport. A beautiful and brutal dance of swords with an unsaid relation running much more deep than a simple rescue from someone. And once the two women were standing in the pile of charred corpses, the cyan eyed one grinned, toothy and wild.

“Testvérem.” (Sister.)

“Döglöttem volna meg inkább.” (I would've rather died.) Rozália groaned once the momentary peace set in, much to Raia's amusement

The General casted a glance towards the confused Hotel Guard, shrugging lightly to convey she hadn't seen it coming either.

Back in the city, the sisters parted ways, Raia had seen someone from her past and Rozália needed to check on her army. Thankfully everything was going according to plan -so far at least-, she quickly fell back to the routine of war, not at all shaken after her brush with death. Bullets whizzed around her, precisely hitting their targets, protecting her current blind spot, a bittersweet feeling in her heart; Jancsi was the Guardian angel saving her from many literal stabs in the back. A half smirk as one of the angels managed to grab the furiously squirming Béla and threatened to drop weapons, trying to use their brotherhood against them.

“Strangely, it's not me who you should be afraid of. But their father.” Rozália smirked, two fingers slightly bent thrust towards the sky, then straightening to signal the serpent to shoot.

"Wha-" her head cocked to the side to allow perfect vision to the target, the Exterminator falling dead mid question

“Exactly what I was saying.” she chuckled and dove deeper into the town

Blitzø was having an absolute BLAST this year. He finally could utilize his agility, his shooting skills and dead motherfuckers everywhere!

“Blitz!!!” oh that voice was familiar, and probably the only one you want to hear during this day

"Oh hi Rozy look at all the limp dicked dead fuckfaces!" He posed proudly with a still smoking barrel

“Blitz!!” her roar was louder this time, making his expression falter, his brows furrow; seriously what was her problem? 

A string of curses as she picked up a piece of broken sidewalk and threw it right towards the confused imp. His eyes widened and immediately ducked under the projectile, only starting to yell once she was within hearing distance. "What the everliving fuck is wrong with you?? Why was this fucked Captain America stunt necessary?! I shot them!" Blitzø whipped his tail in irritation of being almost decapitated, not noticing the now corpse behind him

“But they are NOT FUCKING DEAD!” Rozália yelled back pointing at the slowly standing up Exterminator Blitzø swore he shot a moment ago. And his thoughts were confirmed by the obvious hole in the armor.

"...what in the tittyfucking Christ-" before he could say anything more, the woman snatched even his gun, but before he could protest she handed it back but…it was different. Warmer and glowing.

“Don't just look, fucking shoot!” Rozy shouted, snapping him out of the momentary surprise 

"Alright alright, you're really fucking insufferable on this day." He rolled his eyes and did what he would've done regardless: shot the approaching Exterminator in the head

"Care to explain what just happened?"

“Hellfire infused weapons. One of the very few sure ways to permanently kill an Exterminator. Go to the sniper division and ask for Striker, he will assign you to a position-”

"Wait wait Striker is in your army?? And he has a division? Why oooh because you two, you know" Blitzø smirked as he repeatedly did the suggestive vulgar hand gesture, despite the throbbing vein on her forehead.

“Not because of that. Because he is a bloody great marksman and can coordinate people. Which I know you also can do but not on such a large scale. We're in a fucking war. So for everyone's sake put aside your dick measuring contest with him.” the General snapped, sure Blitzø could retort, if what she said wouldn't have made sense. Somewhat.

"Mine is bigger anyways." He shrugged nonchalantly "But hey, how did you know I will duck the rock you chucked at me?" He asked the leaving woman who only turned with a slight grin as an answer.

"Remind me to get life insurance when I'm near you." Blitzø groaned after the vanished warrior

James Norrington was the unluckiest soul of the 18th century. Previously he was too humble to fully embrace this view but as time went on and the form he had taken after his death all pointed towards the fact. Now here he was, in the middle of the yearly cleanse without shelter or bottle of rum, the usual safehouse for this day was full, according to the demons guarding the door; of course he was only told after paying for the space.

During these times he was grateful he still kept his sword and practiced somewhat daily. At least one thing stayed with him from his life which he was great at and enjoyed. Keen instincts helped him to stay away from trouble but also sensed someone, something, was following him. The feeling was also accompanied by a sudden blast of nostalgia and he didn't pay attention once before he turned. The street was swarming with holy butchers waiting for prey; the other group pouring from an another street forced him deeper into the trap. Of course he was afraid, but it never had stopped him from pulling his sword out in one fluid motion with teeth bared. 

Thankfully he was still as great as he was in his prime, despite the amount of rum he dumped into his body. But James also knew a lost fight when he saw or participated in one. He will not be an easy kill, if he's to be murdered the second time, he will make them fight for it. Graceful, swift, with perfect footwork, angels fell to his feet before they could bury their sword or spear into him. James felt alive. As if he was back on the deck of the Endeavour, fighting off the terrors of the seas; until that light of so thought heroism was also snuffed out, just like his hope when the horde seemingly replaced itself with each of them cut down. The streetlamp lost its light above him, leaving him in darkness in an alley full of murderers. With his back turned he felt his second death rapidly approaching, he whirled around to stall it, only that a thin, cyan blue blade was already sticking out of it from behind.

The body had fallen, revealing the creature who…felt too familiar but surely it couldn't be. There wasn't much time to think though. The newcomer unleashed a torrent of electricity, a second sword materializing in her grip as she began fencing as well. For a few moments he only could watch in shock, two steps per second, fencing style akin to a whirlwind, graceful precision and he only had seen one person -besides himself after years of practice after witnessing it- capable of tossing one blade up and being fast enough to deliver a full slash instead of a stab.

He couldn't stay on the sidelines, especially after the possibility and matched her brutal pace. They twirled, parried elegantly, professionalism on James' part, lethal grace accompanying the electricity demoness. When swords weren't enough, she summoned bolts of lightning, as precise as her stabs; the last angel in the alley fell after a flawless riposte performed by both of them at the same moment. 

Her height had decreased since the fight had started, her glowing eyes darkening from bright blue to impossibly vibrant green. Her swords dissolved after she was done, walking out of the alley filled with corpses, leaving a familiar feeling behind. At the entrance she stopped and glanced back at the hound. A smile growing more and more wicked in every second passing, lightning materialized around her, the lines taking outlines of a pirate captain coat and a tricorn hat with one single feather. She tipped the hat with a toothy grin, sharp fangs lining her mouth before the shapes disappeared and he was left alone with the sure confirmation. The Hungarian Devil was alive and -obviously- in Hell with him. Yes, James Norrington definitely and desperately needed a bottle of rum.

The heart of the war was now within the city, never ceasing gunfire protected the ones fighting on the ground, the routes to the hidden hospital, occasionally giving civilians caught in the disaster enough time to slip away. The front line was still heroically holding out, but no one could predict Marcell out of everyone leaving his post.

"Flower please this is dangerous!" He pleaded with the gleefully cackling Velvet running through the battlefield, trying, testing her magic

"Come on Marcy! It's more fun that way." She giggled, always so serious soldier. She would've bet he wouldn't know what true fun is even if she explained to him

"I will get you any doll you want, please go inside!" He tried again after chopping off an approaching angel's head with one swing of a longsword

"You ruined it!!! I wanted to make it into one! Why can't you understand?!" Velvet whipped around angrily, sometimes having a father figure wasn't fun at all. Yeah she can get injured but she doesn't feel it! And she was almost certain she can control even holy blood, but he would just not leave her alone at peace to figure out! 

Marcell was torn inside, he needed to return, his unit needed him but…he never thought he would have the chance of calling an another young girl his daughter. He couldn't lose her, she was family no matter what she said. A faint, unmistakable click of a grenade reached his ears in the chaos. Right at his daughter's feet. He didn't think, he acted on impulse shoving her as far as he could; blinding white light filled his vision, the explosion was deafening from the minimal distance. She was safe, was his last thought as his unconscious battered body hit the ground meters away. 

The earth shattering roar of agony tore through the whole battlefield; Rozália was late to contain the explosion or to take it herself instead of Marcell. She couldn't speak as she fell at his side, his blood  rapidly running through her fingers from a possibly nicked artery. She howled again, deafening and hopeless; Jancsi died barely a month ago, she was not ready to lose an another pillar of her life. He was still alive as he hasn't turned to ashes, the General desperately trying to stop the bleeding: cauterizing the wound doesn't work because he carries a flame from the Hellfire. Her makeshift bandage had little to no effect in slowing the blood flow.

Time stopped for a few moments as Velvet watched the only man that ever truly cared for her flew away like a limp toy. Her rage was more silent than Rozália's, she was done playing around: Exterminators started to bleed from every orifice as the witch sinner unleashed her powers for daring to hurt her adoptive father. The confusion mixed panic helped the sharpshooters and front line soldiers alike, able to reinforce their ground. They couldn't think about Marcell. No; that would've been too devastating and their focus was still demanded.

She was cautious when approaching the kneeling General and her dying father…there was a way, for her there should be. Marcell's blood was also a special case, she couldn't just use blood magic but energy as well to press against the most severe wounds she deemed life threatening.

"Holy shit this place is a mess, Rozy- Rozy!" The naga woman quickly slithered through the debris to make her way to the woman and- oh she could recognize the man

"He's not dead right??" Flora asked and immediately regretted as raw Hellfire eyes snapped up to her "Sorry I didn't think before talking, you know sometimes I do that anyway Zephos, yes ZEPHOS!! She's here too, he will be alright okay?" she tried to calm the unstable General as Zephos hurried through the crowd, gasping at the scene.

The Fae had decided to assist the doctors in the makeshift hospitals, with her magic she saved lots of lives and limbs but this…seemed a lost cause.

"I created a temporary block around the wounds, he's not bleeding anymore." Velvet spoke, spooking the newly arrived women with how serious she was

"Rozy, see he's not bleeding. Look at him." Flora leaned down despite her instincts screaming her not to. Eventually Rozália did as told, still in shock but it was true. He wasn't bleeding but his glow has dimmed significantly.

"Judging by the state of his armor, it was a grenade and the shrapnels had caused most of the outer wounds. But I don't know whenever he has internal bleeding or not. We need to get him to the hospital." Zephos spoke, quiet but elegant and sure in her words

“He needs blood. My blood.” The General finally snarled, still clutching Marcell protectively. That was a problem. Her blood was liquid Hellfire, no way they could store it in anything, they didn't have the right or any equipment with them to do it here and the unsaid: she couldn't exit the battlefield that long.

"Well…I can try to create a container strong enough to hold but I'm afraid it will be destroyed during the transfusion." Zephos spoke "I can manipulate it so it wouldn't touch the container. Won't be easy." Velvet interjected

"You can do that?" Flora looked up in awe mixed surprise. The Sugar Demon didn't reply only harnessed focus when she saw the blade in Rozy's hand and her splitting her vein vertically with one desperate slash. The liquid fire instead of flowing to the ground started floating in a graceful arch, into the half open container Zephos had created and levitated in the air. The burning liquid didn't touch the glowing container at all as it was rapidly filled by it. 

"Rozy it's enough." Flora gently grasped her hand worriedly as her wound hasn't closed yet. The words were enough for her to burn close her own slash, only noticing the amout she gave when tried to stand up and the world was spinning. 

"You need rest." Zephos concluded in vain, but the effort was there

"Yeah you do. Sit the remaining of the E-day out, we got Marcell." Flora reinforced the thought her tail wrapping around Marcell's uninjured shoulder. She gave a testing pull, damn the dude was heavy! She really could've used Sage's help now.

"I will go with them. He's not gonna die. I promise." Velvet said at last, still holding her blood under control in the container. Rozália watched as the three beings slowly disappeared from view with Marcell's seemingly lifeless body; she couldn't stop. She was still needed. Steadying herself on her feet, the sounds of war crept back to her ear and mind. She had to continue.

“Ez nem volt valami elegáns.” (This wasn't too elegant.) Raia commented at a missed stab corrected by a blast of fire.

“Túl sok vért adtam.” (I gave too much blood.) Rozália spat at her sister's mocking, last thing she needed was her instead of a Hellfire bath.

“Elintézted, amit akartál?” (Did you get what you wanted?) The General asked, only receiving a nod and a faint smile as an answer. She didn't say it out loud but wondered why she was still around then. What happened to make her stick around longer than expected?

This Extermination wasn't as coordinated as the previous where the waves could be distinguished from each other. This was a revenge, a constant push of a button never letting the resistance catch a breath or restock on ammunition. Primitive but somewhat effective.

“Le kell állítanod idő előtt. Megint.” (You need to stop it before it's due. Again.) Raia spoke what she already suspected

“ 'Megint'?” ('Again'?) Rozália echoed with a small grin of pride, causing her sister to roll her eyes. No, she's not going to give the satisfaction of praise. They traveled in relative silence until they quite literally ran into a swarm again divided from the main army.

“Nos, Égszakadás és Földindulás?” (Well, Thunder and Earthquake?) Rozália raised an eyebrow at Raia to stall the time, she needed to call upon the Hellfire underneath to be in a good enough condition, but Raia constantly needed electricity and she wasn't sure if she could take on an entire army alone.

The enemy was rapidly, gleefully approaching but along with them the darkness also grew. The sisters looked at each other in confusion, Raia shook her head no at the silent question. This wasn't her doing. Thick shadows stretched from every direction, drowning out the noise, snuffing out every source of light.

“Alastor?” Raia questioned

“Nem. Felismerem a mágiáját. Ez nem ő.” (No. I can recognize his magic. This is not him.) Rozy took a cautious step back as the phenomenon reached house heights.

It was barely noticeable at first, but something was inside the darkness among the angels. The entity was tall, a blur of shadow and smoke and it was moving. Moving was an understatement. An acid green blur darted through the space, the sound of gunshots following the movements a second late, indicating it was attacking faster than sound. The entity swirled, spun and slithered; sometimes engulfed panicked Exterminators. As quickly as it started, the shadows started to recede, a single angel staggering out of the pitch darkness. His skull exploded a moment later.

“Awww senki nem szólt nekem a családi összejövetelről.” (Aww I wasn't notified about the familial reunion.) Came the mocking chuckle as Karma stepped out of the shadows, her body solidifying itself, tipping her cowboy hat upwards with her still smoking revolver to reveal the viciously glowing acid green crosshair scar around her eye.

The sisters glanced at the dead, decayed army behind her, then at each other; apparently none of them had any idea what Rozy's cousin was actually capable of. Their silence was broken by a giant green bolt of laser slamming into one of the largest aerial units.

“...Mi a faszom volt ez?” (What in my dick was that?) Rozy finally found her voice

“Rám ne nézzetek, én mesterlövész és árnyjátékos vagyok.” (Don't look at me, I'm a sniper and shadow manipulator.) Karma raised her hands (and revolvers) in defense

“Akármi is volt, túl sok áramot vett el.” (Whatever it was, it has taken too much electricity.) Raia concluded at the loss of feeling the buzzing around her.

Well, the circumstances could be brighter. Rozália needed a dose of Hellfire to be a reckoning, recharging for Raia got much more difficult and from what she understood, her teleports consumed a lot of energy. At least Karma had arrived with guns blazing but she was still hardly enough for the never ending swarm spat by the crack especially after that thing was fired. It will overrun the army without a doubt. Many are already wounded, ammunition usually gets scarce during this hour. She needed to close that damned portal again as soon as possible. Its shine was becoming more and more bright and for the first time in war, genuine fear flashed through the General's face.

“Hozzák a Csillaghullás ágyút?” (Are they bringing the Starfall canon?) Raia questioned, not missing her look

“Nem…” (No…) Rozália replied after a few seconds when she noticed the brief blue tint in the white “Ez túl szent, hogy a Csillaghullás legyen.” (This is too holy to be the Starfall.) She almost whispered in borderline disbelief

“És ilyen lehetséges?” (And such a thing is possible?) Karma asked, debating whenever she was just looking at the shining portal for too long and now seeing things. Because it was not, it should not be possible.

The three of them reached the edge of the town where the artificial clearing was along with the source of the never ending influx of enemies who appeared to be…fleeing. But why would they try to escape from Heaven? The answer blasted itself into the battlefield a second later, exploding through Heaven's gate. Cindy's wings blazed brilliant white with bright blue flames at the tips of the feathers of fire, her powers ravaged through ranks just like Hellfire would've and indeed she was…more than holy. Nothing could escape from her impossibly bright blaze no matter how they tried to run, no shelter stood against her raw power never seen before. The jade green color has long disappeared from her eyes, leaving scorching golden in its wake. The destruction was only a portion of what a Starfall canon could do and she didn't even seem to be winded by such a feat. The winged terror landed with a small tremor of the whole ring of something like her even touching the ground and continued her assault of blinding, pure white flames spewing everywhere until the unit sent was reduced to nothing. 

The three Véghvárys only could stare silently at the youngest of the bloodline in disbelief mixed awe; what even was she? 

“Amúgy tudom, hogy ott bújkáltok. Érzem a testhőtöket. De aranyos, hogy próbáltok sunnyogni.” (Actually I know you're hiding there. I can feel your body heat. But it's kinda cute that you try to sneak around) Cindy chuckled flippantly, confirming it was indeed her, not some random cosmic horror deciding to drop by. 

“Oh és lehet, hogy felgyújtottam Gábrielt amikor próbáltam eljutni a portálhoz. De nem hiszem, hogy ezt bánja bárki is.” (Oh and I might have set Gabriel on fire when I was trying to get to the portal. But I don't think anyone has bad feelings about it.) She chuckled as her distant relatives slowly made their way out of their hiding spots, still not being able to mask the shock too well

“És mi a fasz tartott eddig?!” (And what the fuck were you doing before?!) Rozália found her voice first

“Időeltolódás. Faszom tudja mi mikor történik. Kozmikus lény vagyok, nem egy szaros könyvelő aki az óráját lesi.” (Timezones. Like my dick knows when what happens. I'm a cosmic being, not a shitty accountant always peeking at their clock.) Cindy shrugged defensively, so much for a thank you.

“Na mi a terv?” (Well, what's the plan?) She asked instead

“Bezárni a kurva lyukat minél előbb.” (Closing that fucking hole as soon as possible.) Karma replied, cocking her revolvers at lightning speed when they were surrounded by the remaining Exterminators pouring from the city.

“Meg tudom olvasztani. De akkor nem hogy egyfolytában jönnek át rajta.” (I can melt it. But not if they keep coming through it.) Cindy suggested

“Meg tudod olvasztani a Mennyországot??” (You can melt Heaven??) Raia couldn't control the raw surprise in her voice 

“Biztos. Ő meg felgyújtotta. Csak nem féltékeny vagy?” (I'm sure of it. And she set it on fire. Are you jealous?) The cosmic horror motioned at Rozy with a chuckle that left Raia sputtering instead of a smooth reply

“Két gondot meg kéne oldani. Gyengék vagytok mint az őszilegyek.” (We should solve two problems. You're as weak as flies in autumn.) Karma pointed out

“Mondom a tervet. Amíg mi visszaszerezzük az erőnket, addig ti elintézték a leselkedő faszokat. Amikor mindenki elég erős akkor bezárjuk azt a lyukat örökre. Egyszerű, de brutális.” (Here's the plan. Until we get out powers back you finish the peeping fuckers. When everyone is strong enough, we will close that hole for eternity. Simple, but brutal.) Rozália announced and she only met with agreement, behind the silver of the angels she also could see the faint glow of her army sneaking upon the distracted beings.

“Csináljuk.” (Let's do it.) Karma agreed and took off as a seafoam, acid green shadow towards the enemy, followed by powerful wings spreading with a small blast.

Her army and her sisters clashed viciously with the remaining, Heaven was finally silent after Cindy's rampage. Rozália walked directly under the crack and began to coax the Hellfire to her. It came siphoned from the ground, rushing from the Morningstar mansion itself, the flames lifting her up to the point where her feet barely touched the ground, the fire instead swirling around, entered her, the curse filling her body to the brim until she was fully transformed despite wearing the pendant. Power raced through her veins, her ruined soul, the crimson flow feeding into her never stopping. She was the Wielder of the Hellfire, that was finally for certain.

Raia found a few cables lying on the ground, still sparkling with electricity; the demoness immediately latched onto the opportunity, mercilessly siphoning the power until the whole ring was dark, devoid of any electric power. Her appearance shifted accordingly, approximately 14 feet in height, emerald green eyes turned glowing white, her hair light cyan from the amount she currently held within her body.

The remaining angels in Hell had been slaughtered all, at least those who rushed to protect the portal. Karma began to feed on the darkness caused by Raia, her body distorting, dissolving, rearranging, her left eye milky white, her crosshair scar blazing acid green, the rest of her face clouded by shadows. She was also around the same height as Raia, although it was a little difficult to determine. Death and decay oozed from the demon as she glided to her sisters waiting for the youngest. Stars outside the pocket dimension of Hell burned brighter and through the dimension's own sky as Cindy called upon their power. Her skin became stars themselves, her wings no longer blue from the extreme heat but holding galaxies themselves. Her limbs elongated, her wings larger, almost able to cover all three of them.

Rozália saw an outline of a six winged archangel with swords, Michael most likely. The Commander behind all of her losses. Clawed feet touched the ground, a quick glance around all four of them standing in a loose circle and a nod as confirmation as the seal was ripped off.

Hellfire, decay and lightning shot into the shatter between the realms, the three pillars of destruction continued without any sign of stopping; crimson red fire, black essence with acid green, vicious purplish cyan lightning tore into Heaven, preventing it sending anything or anyone through without the risk of being incinerated upon contacting the deadly powers combined into a lethal vortex. As if everyone stopped even breathing to stare at the phenomenon, Rozália was the Infernal General but the other two were previously thought to be simple sinners. Yet their destruction could rival hers. Raia was the first one to stop before she completely exhausted herself, gradually sinking back to around 8 feet. Karma followed with one last push of her shadows and morphing back to her usual appearance. Rozália remained standing, her power supply proving to be the most stable; and when she was finished she still could feel the fire ravaging the holy land so she decided to take it back. With a bestial howl, she ripped the fire out of Heaven surging it back under Pride for It to heal.

Cindy took her spot, Heavenly light paled against the pure glow of Creation, of The Fire itself. The borderline divine being closed then spread its wings and energy burst through her very core, into Heaven, the unmeasurable heat slowly threading the gap close by melting the realm's gate close. She floated frozen in space as pure energy coursed through her body, strengthening the closed barrier each second until the stars began to fade, her wings returned to their original matter, only white flames kept erupting from her hands.

Eventually it also came to a halt, the gate was forever woven close. All four of them were breathing heavier, they were spent, exhausted but fulfilled what their shared last name carried.

The four sisters stood in a circle half bathed in Heaven's dim light, half illuminated by the cursed flames below. They stood facing each other

United.

The Véghváry bloodline by me:

Rozália - @infernal-general

Raia - @lightningdamned

Karma - @deathshadowed

Cindy - @phoenixborn

[infernal-general]

Requiem for a flame.

Despite the destruction the General dished out, the army stood alert; too good for it to be over just in a day. Word finally reached her that imp was requesting a word with her because, to quote 'she was the one to express his thanks to'. A spark of curiosity and she descended immediately to the imp- who turned out to be a father of a barely one year old boy.

“The Hellguard did their best by defending the front until I could evacuate. They deserve the recognition as well, if not more.” the General tried to hit her kindest voice

"Yes yes, but they weren't the ones who saved my son" the man waved, cradling the child close

"Some of the feather bastard's men got through and when I was cornered, about to be stabbed as I shielded my son, a boy from a burnt tower shot them." the father recounted, his words unknowingly weighing a ton

"He was glowing and I lived enough years here to know he's your soldier. I could escape with my boy, so I wanted to thank you for protecting us and when the boy returns, tell him I would gladly share a drink with him." He finished with a fond smile and it took tremendous pressure from Marcell's hand to stop her from shaking

“Where-” a thick swallow “where did that happen?”

"Somewhere east, close to the front. Tell him he's welcome anytime!" the father departed upon a nod and directions to the Hotel for long term shelter

"Tábornok-" (General)

“Megyek. Azonnal.” (I'm going. Right now.) She cut her off with a growl, immediately marching through the space she personally reduced to nothing.

"Mélyen az ellenséges területen-" (It's deep in the enemy frontier)

“Leszarom. Meghalnak, mint a többi.” (I don't give a fuck. They will die like the others.) They knew this tone. Knew how a decision was already made and even if they literally stood in her way, she still would do it. So a small group joined instead of trying to convince her.

Destruction of cosmic, holy and hellish forces sunk their claws every corner no matter where they turned. At last it was Mariska who spotted a tower that could've been chosen as hideout. It was relatively far from the active warfare, had already been struck and the top of it gave perfect view to the battlefield.

“JANCSI!!!” the General called with worry; the door was off the hinges before their arrival.

No reply came. She refused to give up the flickering light of hope.

“Kutassatok át mindent! Minden lyukat, rést, padlást, lépcsőt!” (Search everything! Every nook, cranny, attic and staircase!) She tried, oh she tried to not let panic grip her heart and cloud her judgment. She lifted parts of the roof which has had fallen; nothing. Lifted twice her weight as if it was nothing in her frenzy.

"Találtam valamit." (I've found something.) Mariska called from upstairs, yet her voice was too solemn

"Mit?" (What?) Béla had to ask as Rozália was already scaling the stairs in a crimson blur

"...Hamut." (Ashes.) came the reply

The General came to a halt on the top of the stairs; it couldn't be. Tremors shook her body, refusing to meet Mariska's gesture downwards, until the gleam hit her eye. The blessed rifle she had given him with an ash hand still wrapped around the grip.

Rozália fell with an inhuman cry, hellfire tears searing through the already burnt floor.

The argument whenever it was him or not barely registered; but there's no reason for ashes to be at that specific part of the floor! It's the rifle he was given! The hand reaching it was the only part remained intact, not just random ashes. The theory they came up with while trying and failing to hold back sobs was that he blew his cover by helping the father and child escape, the remaining of that group came up and killed him.

"Na mi van a savanyú képekkel? Ezért loholtam háromszor oda-vissza?" (What's with the sad faces? Is that why I ran three times back and forth?) Ferenc arrived after he's been told where the General had departed

"Jancsi...meghalt." (Jancsi...is dead.) It was Marcell who had to say it, echoed by her guttural howl of loss

"Az...az nem lehet." (That...that cannot be.) He deflected with a small laugh, no way he was dead

"Ugyan, hisz még van egy esküvő a láthatáron, ahol leissza magát a sárga földig és mindenki engem hibáztat érte!" (Come on, there's a wedding on the horizon where he gets blackout drunk and everyone will blame me!) He tried again with humor, unable to bear what the others had accepted as fact...until he peered over the General's trembling shoulders

"Nem. Nem...tegnap mesélte, hogy a fizetésemelés miatt végre meg tudja venni a kristálylótuszt a lánynak, akinek udvarol hogy bizonyítsa nem issza el a pénzét." (No. It cannot...he was telling me yesterday that from the raised salary he can finally buy that crystal lotus for the girl he was courting, to prove he isn't drinking his money away.) Tears started falling from his eyes as well without even noticing

"Ez ő. Nagyon jó lövész-" (This is him. He's a great marksman-) Mariska swallowed "Nagyon jó lövész volt. Én is ezt a helyet választottam volna. Ahogy Striker is." (He was a great marksman. I would've chosen this place as well. Striker would've too.)

The mention of her fiance, the possibility that there was a chance of finding his body instead broke her torn soul even further along with hearing his plans before she...she sent him here.

"Tudom...de hamarosan meg kell hogy jelenj az emberek előtt." (I know...but soon you have to make appearance in front of the people.) Marcell has joined her on the floor wrapping a taller woman into a loose hold

“LESZAROM A JELENÉSEKET! Megöltek valaki a családomból!! Egy GYEREKET, akiért én feleltem!!!” (I don't give a fuck about appearances! Somebody has been killed from my family!! A CHILD, whom I was responsible for!) Rozália cried, bestial yet broken as she clutched the rifle to her chest

"Úgy halt, ahogy akart. Hősiesen. Mások, ártatlanok életét mentve." (He died like he wanted. Heroically. Saving the lives of others, innocents.) A quiet hum of understanding washed over the weeping group before silence befallen again. Until Rozália managed to stand.

“Megvesszük a kristálylótuszt szíve hölgyének. A megemelt fizetését eljuttatjuk az apának és gyerekének, akikért életét áldozta. Ő is így akarná.” (We will buy the crystal lotus for his lady of heart. The father and son whom he had protected with his life will receive his increased salary. He would want this the same way.) Rozália spoke, nods of agreement at her words

“Én...visszaviszem a fegyvert a tulajdonosának. A temetésről később döntünk.” (I...will return the weapon to its owner. We will decide later about his burial.)

The soldiers exited the seemingly unremarkable building, now bearing a hellfire burnt cross. There were still small groups alive between the vast open and the hellfire defense line, unaware of the lethal terror of wrath and grief about to hunt them down without mercy.

[infernal-general]

15th March

The date which filled her with both pride and anguish. The national celebration of the start of the freedom fight of 1848, she remembered the dates related to the war which changed her life more than her own day of birth. The day was spent in silent pride, her army reminiscing the past, retelling heroic acts while gathered around fires, remembering the fallen ones and tightly embracing the living. Rozália observed the freshly sprung unity, they couldn't be torn apart with such history threading them together. Oh, history... Despite never mentioning, secretly they all felt betrayed by it; the Phoenix army's role, impact and perish never mentioned in books, never taught in schools as if they never existed in the first place. Her guilt only amplified every time the thought crossed her mind, their remains are scattered across Vértes, threaded upon by the unsuspecting; no one was aware of the mass grave.

Unbeknownst to them, their relatives never forgot their deeds. Stories were still told in small villages, tales of a woman leading an army with ferocity, men and women fencing, fighting for one higher aim: freedom, and for that, everyone brave enough left their home behind with one last kiss on their mothers' cheek and an unshakable decision: "Édes jó anyám, háborúba megyek." (My sweet mother, I am going to war.)

Fragments, remains of letters from the soldiers were found, ambitious historians began their search for the 'lost army', while the remains fought their never ending war with Heaven, still led by their unfaltering General. Villagers were interviewed, their description along with the letters and personal notes of other high ranking officers, even Artúr Görgei's, and the lost army regained its name back: a Főnix sereg (the Phoenix army). The name was soon followed by the reconstruction of the notable soldiers and of course, the General herself.

Rozália didn't have the faintest idea why her whole army decided to show up in front of her house on the night of 14th March. She was awakened by a whistle they used back in their glory, upon unlocking the door, she was greeted by all 2043 soldiers gathered with a glow in their eyes which held no origins of the Hellfire possessing them. Miklós and Jóska, the leaders of the scouts reported that they had found a doorway to Budapest itself along with an even more meaningful discovery. Everyone seemed to know the prized secret and they encouraged her to wear her old uniform for the short trip; oh they knew she still had it.

She wasn't sure whenever a travel to the surface was permitted, yet this time she found herself not caring the slightest. A painful ache in her chest accompanied her dressing, a sharp intake of breath as she clasped the original blood red cape across her shoulders, the Hungarian flag sewn into the inner side of it. She was everything yet...less than she had been before. The protruding horns, the ebony claws and those crimson snake eyes; despite her acceptance...it still felt like soiling the uniform.

They moved quietly to the portal, the almost marching army drew some attention from citizens of the Pride ring, but thankfully everyone wrote it off as some kind of practice, despite the unsteadiness of her always sharp gaze.

The realm crossing was surprisingly smooth, and the long lost army from 1848 was standing on Heroes' Square, facing the National Museum.

“Miért vagyunk itt?” (Why are we here?) Rozália whispered, the ache in her chest throbbed, the never healed wound dripped with fresh blood. The Square was already decorated for the mourning celebration, various large signs advertising the new, never seen before, exclusive exhibition of the museum, which will be revealed on the 15th.

"Bízz bennünk." (Trust us.) Rozália was reassured by a few whispers, and while normally she would've demanded an immediate explanation, the feeling of walking on the soil of her country after 172 years subdued her protests before they could fall from her lips.

The demons from Hell slowly marched through the Square, admiring the statues, taking large gulps from the fresh spring air. The first rays of the sun appeared when they were standing on the stairs of the Museum, Levente opened the door like a magician.

They poured inside the museum of their history, there was something lingering in the air, not quite like hope, but akin to that. Her stride unconsciously purposely slowed, but no one hurried her, instead matched her pace, eyes of fire rediscovering their country's past. The never ceasing advertisements throughout the silent journey were like lit torches lining the path, leading a large room, the new addition to the already existing 1848-49 exhibition.

Az elveszett, a Főnix sereg

The title written on the Hungarian flag draped above the entrance made Rozália halt.

“...Mit jelentsen ez...?” (What is the meaning of this?) She whispered in the thick silence, throat closing at the possibility- no. Hope always caused the deepest gashes.

"A történelemből kitörölhettek, de az emberek emlékeiből nem." (They might have erased us from history, but not from the memories of the people.) Marcell spoke, the warmth of his voice in stark contrast of Rozália's borderline fright

"Miklós és Jóska, az átjáró felfedezése után tartottak egy kis felfedezést is." (After discovering the portal Miklós and Jóska also did a little further exploration) Márta informed

"És úgy döntöttünk, hogy ezen a napon mutatjuk meg neked. Együtt." (And we decided we will show you on this exact day. Together.) Ferenc and seriousness was a combination she never thought would experience, clearing any doubt that the setup was purely her army's doing and it was no ploy. So she stepped inside.

She was flung back in time; pieces of armor, intact weapons, torn flags and detailed paintings, even portraits of her army covered the room. Trembling claws traced century old relics, possessions belonging to them, the army soon beginning their own expedition for their existence. This was a fever dream, too good, too sweet to be true and she was terrified of waking up and having the miracle slip from her. Quiet joy ruled the atmosphere, occasionally rippled by a joyous cry when someone discovered themselves on one of the paintings or found their old sword.

Everything was uncovered, except the centerpiece standing on a small altar with a few stairs leading to it, and she felt some of them gently nudge her towards it.

"Még nem néztük meg. Téged illet a megtiszteltetés." (We haven't seen it yet. The honor is yours.) Sára gestured softly at the table next to the veiled canvas taller than Rozália. She heard the chitters quieten, belongings abandoned as her army's eyes were fixed on her with tender encouragement.

𝐕é𝐠𝐡𝐯á𝐫𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐳á𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐭á𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐤 (- 𝟏𝟖𝟒𝟗), 𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐲𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐤𝐞

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐨𝐳á𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐕é𝐠𝐡𝐯á𝐫𝐲 (-𝟏𝟖𝟒𝟗), 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐝

Her breathing stopped at the description, crimson eyes widened with borderline disbelief. Her name stood engraved in history. Furthermore, she was recognized among the thirteen -now fourteen- generals leading the uprising executed at Arad. Eyes flicked towards the maroon drape covered canvas; she couldn't...inches away from her past, her life and legacy yet the iron grip on her heart refused to let up. She turned back, only to face the remains of her army, all standing silent and proud, silently encouraging her to take her earned place among generals.

A small nod to convey she understood the unsaid desire, claws reached for the rich colored drape. After a moment of hesitation, the fabric was pulled from the centerpiece. Lips fell open in surprise, taken aback by the sight. The General was painted in the middle of a raging battle, fire flared behind her in a discreet phoenix shape, Vihar's every muscle defined with unspeakable precision and on top of the horse she sat with cape billowing in the wind, turning the crimson to make the Hungarian flag visible on the inside. Hussar sword drawn in her right, the light curve of the blade glinting in the firelight, her wild hair framing her face twisted into a vicious battle cry, vivid emerald eyes seemingly burning into soul.

Rozália's knees gave out at the perfect mirror image when she fully felt human and herself. Labored breathing eventually turned into sobs, liquid fire tears freely cascading down her cheeks. The same cape pooled around her kneeling form, the first rays of the 15th March sun bathing the demon general in almost divine glow. Relief. Happiness. And peace at last. Every time she glanced up to her perfect replica, fresh tears ran their fiery rivers. Rozália slowly rose, turning towards her army, not bothering to hide her emotions, especially when she noticed some of them silently weeping as well.

“Harcosaim. Barátaim. Családom.” (My warriors. My friends. My family.) The General spoke, straightening to her full height, head high without shame

“Szabadság, egyenlőség és testvériség nevében harcoltunk és haltunk. Elfeledtek minket, de nyugalmat nyertünk abból, hogy végül is a magyar nép elérte amiért mi vért és életet áldoztunk.” (We fought and died in the name of freedom, equality and brotherhood. We were forgotten but we were calmed by the fact that the Hungarian nation reached at last what we sacrificed our blood and life.) Rozália's rich alto rang clear across the crowded room

“Sokakat vesztettünk, sokan haltak a Pokolban úgy, hogy ezt a diadalt nem élhették meg.” (We have lost a lot, many died in Hell without witnessing this triumph.) “A csatát elvesztettük, de az idő háborúját megnyertük! Emlékeznek tetteinkre, arcunkra, bátorságunkra; áldozatunk mégsem volt hiába!” ( We lost the battle, but we won the war against time! They now remember our deeds, faces and courage; our sacrifice wasn't in vain after all!) Her sword swiftly drawn with her right, clenched over her heart and the demon of Hellfire never seemed more human.

“Megtiszteltetés volt és az is veletek harcolni, halni és a történelem részévé válni.” (It was and still is an honor to fight, die and becoming a part of history with you.) General Rozália Véghváry announced with tremendous pride, gratitude and tender victory in her eyes, coating every word.

The response to her speech was the Hungarian hymn slowly and steadily rising in volume from all 2043 soldiers with the same feelings resonating through them. Rozália and her army had earned their well deserved recognition and immortality. She sang with them, the sunlight of the dawn basking the room and the proudly standing soldiers in warm orange, the Phoenix army almost literally returned from their grave to awaken the true Hungarian spirit and virtue.

As the final notes dissipated, Rozália briefly turned back to the painting before lowering herself to one knee, hussar sword elegantly thrust towards the sun.

“Csak a szabadság előtt térdelünk le.”

(We only kneel in front of freedom.)

[infernal-general]

Bellum, Ignis Inferorum

Nothing could rile her up more than the meetings with the other commanders. Bunch of incompetent, ridiculously stupid fools pretending to be experts in warfare just because they got a dick between their legs. At first, she tried to be civil, reasoning and trying to get attention in ways still faintly considered polite. It was useless, despite her latest achievement only a few tamed and actually listened to her. This time even the gritty howl of the hellfire went unheard and even worse: laughed at.

Fine. They might listen to an another cry. With that thought she grabbed the still chuckling commander on her right, slammed his face against the table and her hand holding him lit up with crimson. A small smirk of satisfaction at the now quiet stares of horror at the agony filled shrieks and molten flesh beneath her cursed power. A power which exceeded all of theirs combined.

“As I was trying to mention previously” her voice smooth, unaffected, perhaps a little smug. She didn't spare a glance at the now unconscious commander sliding off the desk once her brutal hold let up, only wiped her hand in his cape during the movement.

In her house, she stared at the conjured chessboard with a calculated gaze. As much as she didn't want to acknowledge, with each death in her legion she felt not only unspeakable emotional anguish but a speck of power added to hers. The flame within the soldiers rejoining with the original entity. This discovery urged Rozália pursue, to test whenever she could draw more, more from beneath the ground. Her first lava bath in the Wrath Ring proved the theory true.

'Lucifer's dog'. She has heard and felt that sentiment and didn't bother correcting it. After all, being underestimated, unseen was much better from a strategic point of view. Not many knew who she once was. The Viper; who slaughtered everyone once the so thought control over her wanted to suffocate her. And history had a tendency to repeat itself.

The chessboard dissolved as Rozália walked to her windows, the noise of metallic talons amplified by the stone floor. Slit pupils bore into the bustling city, her lips sometimes curling into a sneer whenever her eyes laid on a sign or an object associated with someone whose second death only haven't reached them, because nobility decided to clip her wings after witnessing her force that put even Ars Goetias into her graveyard. Because Satan forbid her maintaining an afterlife with less evil seeping from every corner, corrupting almost everything to the point of no return.

‘Wouldn't it be great to see it on fire?’ the imaginary sight once again sparked satisfaction along with an involuntary twitch of restless fingers. The amount of self control needed to snuff out the urge grew greater every time the thought crossed her mind. The sheer terror on their faces when they realize they cannot flee from the cursed fire. To have them trampling each other at the barrier of the Ring, like the desperate animals they are as she walks closer from the destruction. Then marching straight to the royal castle as they realize that she was never an attack dog they had control over, but a dragon. It might be her last journey, but a worthy one.

All these fantasies of being reckoning itself and the actual process of bringing it were halted by one thought: her army.

‘A terrible inconvenience.’ and this time she couldn't tell whenever it was the Hellfire speaking or not.

Those vicious serpent eyes closed at the wave of guilt. They were her family. Her friends. They trusted her. Followed every command in almost blind loyalty. She would do anything to protect them; and loathed how that thought was indeed true in a sense.

Rozália knew a lost war when she saw or participated in one, she might win stellar battles, but ultimately Heaven will massacre the remains of her army in the long term. She didn't choose this fate. She hadn't agreed to any deal, contract which would've resulted in her current position. Neither did her warriors. Crimson eyes snapped open once again; she was only stalling the inevitable.

Of course she made use of the gained time. Drained the roaring fire in Wrath little by little enough to permanently bring the whole Ring's temperature down a few degrees. Siphoned Sloth mercilessly; she has heard demons dying from the cold. Ah well, war had its casualties. Rozália refused to touch Greed, Gluttony and especially Envy; suspecting its rulers would be more in tune with the faintest change. Of course she didn't plan to leave them completely untouched, just not yet. She was the reason behind Pride's climbing temperature, slowly coaxing the fire closer and closer to the surface.

She would've loved the confusion mixed realization on Lucifer's face upon finding out that the Hellfire wasn't responding him, or at least not immediately and without the usual force. Her position on the chessboard was unchanging, but as the knight the hussar she was capable of many surprising maneuvers. The battle was unwinnable, and when she was robbed of everything was the point she decided to stop playing fair & flip the entire board. Until then, she will be waiting, lurking with claws ready to sink into flesh, flames eager to destroy without limits. She will not be controlled and anyone attempting, attempted to do so will pay dearly until they manage to finally kill her.

Often Rozália couldn't tell herself apart from the Hellfire possessing her.

Although there was something more frightening: her lack of care at the discovery.

[infernal-general]

𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

The Fire Within trilogy

Haunted

Denial

Acceptance

Loosely connected to the trilogy: Bellum, Ignis Inferorum

Extermination story - The 172nd War

Extermination story - Unity

15th March

Requiem for a flame.

[infernal-general]

Died: June 27th, 1849.

Time flew in seconds yet crawled at a snail’s pace. The General would’ve been lying if she claimed she hadn’t fallen asleep with one date echoing through her mind every day. The scene haunted her often, so vividly that she still could feel the swords piercing her body even after rapidly awakening in murderous fright with her own weapons drawn. She wondered if her soldiers had nightmares about their death as well, but never came around asking it as it would’ve meant she suffered from them. And Rozália had to be strong without a crack of weakness, that even in afterlife they could rely on her and she would never allow a massacre like the Slaughter of Vértes happen again.

The guilt couldn’t be washed away, no matter how many victories in wars the legion was called into, no matter how successful the strategy against the Extermination; at the end of the day the General could only see and feel the loss. When the chance given by the circumstances allowed it, she stayed with her fatally wounded soldiers, let them die and crumble to ashes in her arms. She whispered honey laced lies about how they are going to reunite with their families, how their mothers would tackle them in a crushing hug and the tales they could tell about what took so long to reach Heaven. But they simply stopped existing. And once the ashes were scattered by the wind, no remains, no burial, the dead only stayed engraved both into her mind and body.

More than 150 years - longer than the Ottoman occupation of Hungary- passed, yet her nightly routine barely changed. This was when time seemed to halt. The water slipping through her fingers was pleasantly warm, perfect for relaxing her sore wrist tendons after body weight centered workout. The sound of running water wasn’t an usual noise in Hell and especially with her…connection with fire. Her head lightly rolled back with eyes closed to enjoy the small sensation and the sense of normality it brought. The only problem was that her reflection did NOT mirror her motions.

As if Rozália sensed the occurrence her eyes snapped back to the mirror; the scream dying in her throat. Deeper her devastation was, wider the creature grinned back, lips readily retreating from the razor fanged maw. The Hellfire stared into the petrified General with soulless crimson stretching over the once white sclera, the ink black slit pupils slicing though the unified color like knives. Flames curled towads the ceiling instead of hair, framed by her horns like a twisted crown, a piece of ruined ash black skin occasionally dissolved from its upper body, revealing nothing but fire underneath.

Rozália stared at her reflection, petrified by the horror, but doubt never crossed her mind. She knew, she felt that the abomination in the mirror was her, or better said what was inside her. She was struck gazing into the abyss and the abyss gazed back with malicious entertainment. Rozália’s vision blurred slightly from unfallen tears as the first sparks of disbelief ignited; this couldn’t be her. That was not her! …..right ? The Being in the mirror held the unbreakable eye contact, from that it could sense her doubt. The mouth stretched wider than humanly possible, twisting into a grin dripping poisonous glee. Then it raised its hand and reached out.

Cold shivers raced up and down her spine like lightning in alarm, yet she couldn’t pull away, only helplessly watch as the blackened hand covered in flames passed through the presumed barrier. Sharpened claws curled in the air, flexing as if testing the range of motion. The first contact was feather light to not overwhelm the prey. Claws akin to knives brushed across her jawline in a mock caress while its unforgiving eyes commanded her attention; faster than a viper, the monster’s hand curled around her throat in a bone crushing hold.

Rozália shot upright in her bed with a silent scream. Eyes wildly darted around, small jolt when it fell upon her hands, too similar the same as in the nightmare. The fear coursing through her was raw, the image of her distorted face grinning back at her seared into her mind. This was a nightmare. It had to be. But…why was her neck this sore? Drawing her sword was a comforting and familiar motion; Rozália Véghváry was a lot of things but never a coward. Instead of her usual two, she only wielded her blessed sword as she crept across the floor to the bathroom, the angelic glow strangely comforting.

The door slid open but she hesitated, the same paralyzing fear wrapped its binding chains around her before the General shook them off with a burst of fury. She marched into the room, slamming her clawed hands on the sides of the mirror and waited. Her face was close, nose almost touching the glass and she stared into her eyes, daring it to morph, to try to pull that stunt again and see what will happen to that hand. Rozália watched her rage shimmer down, her attention keeping track of every tiny detail but she only saw the changes of her emotions.

She turned away after one last, long look, ready to leave the night terror behind her; fire flared within her as she whirled back, the force of her first shattering the mirror into pieces. With that action, her soul found rest and as much as she didn’t want to admit, relief as well. But she was not in the mood nor mental space to clean up the broken glass; instead she continued with her morning routine like nothing had happened. After all, it was only a nightmare.

With her back turned, Rozália couldn’t see the fanged grin flashing across the shards.

[infernal-general]

Questions

When everything settles, red daylight turns into garnet dusk, minutes morph into hours. Eternal life seems to drag on, clawing at the floor to slow the time. It is far worse than regret, the uncontrollable rage or even the raw fear. It dances just out of sight and in the next moment already surrounded by the thick fog of hollowness. All senses numbed, dulled, only one part of the conscious has taken up arms against this state. Then, to try emotions breaking past the barrier - or to come back? - questions arise. And with questions, comes the eagerly rushing past.

Your father probably thought you are asleep - or he simply didn't even care? - when he called you useless to your mother. It has been a rough day, you were so young and weren't keen on practicing archery all day but wanted to play in the forest. But he was disappointed, or rather you were the disappointment; not worthy of being the only descendant of his lineage of honorable warriors. That you only could be useful as a wife of the man of his choice and maybe your offspring could carry on his name.

Was that the moment when you decided to earn his love and respect, no matter what it takes?

Years passed, you were fast, strong, agile yet the most you received was a curt nod or a low scoff if you happened to make a mistake. It was the deafening silence that threw you deeper into the murky swamp. Thankfully your body kept up, even though your psyche did not; too lost in focus of getting the well deserved approval. Pathetic. Then, you were taken by him to the Vatican as a possible Hunter; to kill in the name of God, to save innocent people of whatever monstrosity crawled out of Hell. At first they wanted to shoo you away like you were some bothersome pest. 'Would be better as a nun. She wouldn't be able to surpass her father anyways.'

Oh but you already did, didn't you?

Hunter. The assassin title would've soiled the divine purpose, but deep down you always knew. You were the best. Sent on the most dangerous missions, boldly marched into the abyss and came out unscratched with multiple severed heads. Soon you weren't hearing your father's name anymore when they praised the services of The Véghváry. You were the holy reaper, the shadow monsters themselves feared; yet you couldn't settle your mind. Thrived to be even better, to break every limit possible. You were told that you're doing God's work and on the surface you convinced yourself the same. But deep down you knew it was the thrill, the deafening roar of adrenaline and the golden glow of glory that kept you chasing new heights.

Did you enjoy your blade effortlessly slicing flesh, have it soiled by the creatures' blo od a bit too much? To hear their final rasps or gurgling sounds before their existence was erased by you? Why and for who were you fighting again?

Then the spring revolution of 1848 came and it wasn't too much of a surprise. You could feel the gathering storm, common people have been used as a doormat by a privileged few for too long. Your father's name appeared again, he climbed military ranks with lighting speed and soon he was a general. But you didn't try to return to your country even though you could feel the tug on the bound of blood. You couldn't allow to be useless again, to have your father reap the admiration and respect which now rightfully belonged to you. The news of his death spread like wildlife in drought. You only felt acidic hate and bitter sadness; how dared he die without proudly embracing you.

Though, you felt the tiniest bit of satisfaction at his failure, didn't you?

However his death awakened something, maybe a sense of freedom that his shadow no longer kept an iron grip on you, will not drag you down from your blaze. You were too preoccupied in overclassing him in every possible way that you were unable to see behind the veils. But now it was lifted and you were horrified at what have you been doing with such efficiency. Was this what God wanted you to do? So you said fuck this and raced back to your country bathing in blood. It needed you and you needed it just as badly.

You were reforged, humbled by the war and most importantly for the first time of your life you felt a sense of belonging and purpose. As you were BORN for warfare, to lead an army. You were no longer driven by the sheer enjoyment alone, this cause was greater than you, greater than your army; your country's sovereignty depended on the outcome. You fought for the fallen, the weak, the tort ured, the orphans, the widows; thousands of cries echoed in your mind. So you burned to your fullest: brave, bold, and undefeated. Perfectly crafted strategies prevented serious losses, you led your army through fire, they followed willingly because they trusted your judgment and admired your courage. You became one with the aims of the revolution and your army in soul, your breathing was synchronized with theirs, every loss was like a death of a family member. You thought of them as family even though you knew the emotional burden of such thinking. Instead of a lone hunter cloaked by shadows, you became the hussar proudly standing in the bright sunlight, no longer by herself. And it felt like you've found your missing piece after all those years.

You needed to cross the Vértes mountains as fast as possible to join the larger army led by Görgey as he withdrew from the Spring Campaign; you had stayed behind with your 3725 soldiers for a month to ensure that the core army wasn't pursued by the Habsburgs. You could already feel the shift of the wind which made you grip the reins harder before entering the long, narrow valley. Your grave mistake was that you thought this cause unified all of your nation. After all, if even someone like you was fundamentally changed; the possibility of traitors never crossed your mind.

When the enemy came scurrying down the hills like ants you already knew your grave will be here. The path was too narrow to utilize any tactic, besides you've been surrounded already. So you've set your horse, Vihar free, at least she could escape the shadow of death as you called your warriors into one last battle. Surrender was never an option.

You still can feel the ghost pain of multiple swords piercing your lungs, your guts; they purposely avoided your heart because they wanted you to watch. All of your friends slaughtered like animals, your family ripped away with the final lingering thought that you were not enough to save them.

It was the end, wasn't it?

With your final ragged attempt of a breath you swore you've seen the clouds part and brilliance bathed all of the bodies in heavenly glow. It didn't last longer than a few blinks as it was chased away by the sinister heat. The hissing from the ground originated under directly from your feet, the demonic symbols flashed briefly before the fire broke the surface. It was like being burnt from the inside as the cursed flames crawled into your body and dragged you under.

And this is how you ended up here; without any explanation but with rage, confusion and tremendous guilt upon realizing your whole army was down in Hell with you.

Why?

No answer ever came but you never stopped searching for it. And you continued the war you've been waging but against Heaven. Once the Light's best assassin now the feared General and when Extermination began. You've been molded together by the revolutionary war, shaped by the battlefield, yet after every clash you feel empty. The amount of confusion and lack of reason seemingly burnt away your rage after a century, leaving you a hollow shell of Hellfire.

Who are you? What are you? You know the answer don't you ?

You don't. You refuse to accept that this is your fate; it doesn't feel right. You sense the fire within, the insane amount of power coursing through your veins, waiting and whispering to unleash it. But you hold back until your swords, quick wit and physical strength aren't enough to shield your soldiers. You would and do everything to keep them out of harm, you can't lose them again. Yet you still do. And the guilt threatens to overwhelm completely. You want to howl in your agony but you're scared that the sound ripping free from your throat won't belong to you. Besides you have to be strong for them.

What are you?

Spend an eternity gazing into a mirror to figure out that what you've been searching for was the reflection all along. You can't bear the loss of the brilliant emerald green eye color, nor the sight of the enormous harpoon horns thursting forwards. Oh and you're still afraid of mirrors since that nightmare.

Or was it only a nightmare?

You've never seen the hidden pain your mother looked at you with along with gut wrenching misery. You've never taken into notice your bloodthirst and seemingly natural talent as an assassin. You felt right when you thought you were born for war, because YOU ARE. War is in your personality, destruction in your veins, bloodshed in the wake of your steps, death administered by your hands, Doom Duelist. Can't you connect the dots; Hunter, Hussar or Hellfire, your job and purpose was to scorch everything in your path. The monster in the abyss always had been you from the day you were born and no matter how many lives you lived, sides you've fought for, you are unable escape.

You are not free, you never were except when you were a hussar, as joining the war was your only decision which was entirely your own. So with the famous Hungarian stubbornness you are refusing to let yourself be consumed. In the highest circles you might be referred as the Infernal Commander but you are, you HAVE TO BE General Véghváry. Your obsession with control is an illusion to cover you are a broken puppet on fire strings. Your quiet rebellion is faltering with each year and the hollow feeling....as if you had no soul left. Yet you still don't give up. Your composure is perfect, so is every strategy for each lighting war. You walk with quiet, regal confidence oozing from you, your smile carries warmth and tenderness in contrast of what lurking inside you. You decided to seize control over it as well - but if it was successful you wouldn't be having this inner reflection of your life-; you cannot control your destiny, your life but you are surely in control of your own body.

Or are you ?

Oh, do you really want an answer to that?

[infernal-general]

The Unkillable

Unceasing canonfire resonated in her mind; still half blind from the amount of bright holy fire she tried to block before it rained down her soldiers. She should’ve predicted this. She should have been more prepared for Heaven’s wrath, after all she was part of it a long time ago. She had sent too many Exterminators to their fiery demise, her legion danced wildly on the shattered armors and broken corpses. Deathless Hungarian pride forced her to abandon the standard and simple ‘protect, defend and hide’ tactic. Rozália Véghváry was never a coward. Instead of the one sided slaughter the angels descended for, they found themselves facing a flawlessly organized military unit with the Infernal General as their unfaltering commander. For years, almost a decade her success was immense, the whole legion drenched in mercury colored blood was watching Heaven’s soldiers scrambling away in pure terror. Their bodies cracked under the force of her clawed feet; in the sea of silver and grey the General was the vivid crimson wildfire, heads rolling with every lightning fast strike of her swords.

More came each year; but she was only warming up. After all, great part of her skills had the same origin as these beings’. The legion moved together as one vicious flame with history and her person inseparably tying them together. A glimpse of the flying blood red cape in the heat of the battle was like the cloth in a bullfight, all what was holy trampled each other to try to have her head themselves. But all challengers, hordes failed as if that wretched woman was unkillable. Maybe she was; maybe not. No one lived to tell the tale what had happened after they successfully could lodge a blessed weapon into her.

She was a huge thorn in Heaven’s side and she knew & revelled in the fact. Until retribution came. Rozália was familiar with the Starfall canon as she’s utilized before, in a different war. Raw damage, holy fire able to burn through even the strongest sigils. The city was in ruins. But the collateral damage was the last one of her concerns. The screams all too familiar along with the feeling that she was not enough to shield, to protect her soldiers, her friends, her family. They died, crumbled to ashes while howling in pain and even if she managed to strike down one canon, it was immediately replaced by two. Unhinged chaos ruled the night, the secret routes blocked by the enormous piles of rubble. She was cursed with this power yet she still felt the same rooting helplessness as a human.

And the angels danced victoriously like an uncivilized horde of beasts, their twisted silhouettes drawing crooked shadows on the remaining walls. Rozália felt she should have ripped off the seal containing the Hellfire within her; but she was afraid. Not of Heaven, nor death but herself. She couldn’t have existed with the fact that she was the cause of her army’s demise. Yet she still was, for the second time. She tried her best, even standing into the full blast of the blessed fire if it meant the survival of whoever was behind her. She ran though ruined streets with lightning speed, darting from one location to an another as her soldiers were not equipped to counter this dreadful offensive, only she could provide a shield strong enough for them to escape at least.

The Extermination night was over, the angelic butchers retreated back to their portal, their malicious grins after scanning the agony they’ve caused couldn’t be further from holy. Silence taken the place of screams, only weak moans of pain broke it. The General walked through the battlefield, trying to calm the fatally wounded in their last moments of existence. They all crumbled to dust, ashes before she could reach them, except for one.

“Mi… fog most történni Tábornok?” (What will happen now General?) Jácint asked, his legs falling apart piece by piece “Nem…akarok oda kerülni… ahonnan ezek jöttek.” (I don’t want to end up where these came from.) the soldier spat defiantly despite the looming death and throat gripping fear

“Nem fogsz.” (You will not.) Rozália cradled his head in her lap, gently swiping aside the blood soaked hair from his face

“…Akkor…?” (Then?) His voice was significantly weaker, sparkling blue eyes locked together with her crimson as the hellfire was leaving his body, briefly revealing the once human underneath

“Megszűnsz létezni. Isten kitagadott, a pokolnak pedig már használhatatlan vagy. Nem lesz semmi, csak végtelen nyugalom.” (You will cease to exist. God outcast you, and hell finds no use in you anymore. There will be nothing, just endless serenity.) Jácint was the very first one to hear the truth fall from her lips, the others before him were soothed by whispers of Heaven, that they will reunite with the previously fallen ones. But how could’ve she lied that to someone who was both disgusted and terrified of that place and their residents?

“..sajnálom Rozália…. Tábornok…” (I’m sorry Rozália…General) her grip tightened on the young man at the slip, she never required them to use her title after the lightning war was over

“Nem. Én sajnálom.” (No. I am sorry.) Her voice cracked, tears of molten magma threatened to spill. Sorry that she couldn’t protect them. Sorry that she failed them twice.

Primal, anguish cry tore through her throat as Jácint crumbled in her arms, she was overwhelmed by both physical and mental agony, her failure searing into her back, she could feel the lightning scar crawl towards her spine. But the emotional loss was far more greater; it always was. She had lost hundreds today. Hundreds of her men faded away into nothingness in agony under one single night because she wasn’t prepared. And Rozália screamed; unable to handle, to cope with the loss and tremendous guilt.

Only to find her voice drowned out by…a turf war? Shock as the realization dawned on her, she gave her blood, her utmost strength, her soldiers life to protect these beings? They laughed as they stamped through the remains of her fallen men; for them it was over. They survived and the why never reached their mind, or simply they didn’t care, only about who will claim the Summoner street. The General knelt frozen in the dirt, until a sinner kicked out Jácint’s ashes from her arms. Before a blink of an eye, she already whirled to her feet, her pulsing crimson sword thrust through the head, entering from the tissue between the mandible. She acted on pure impulse at the disrespect, the lack of care, the sinner only had one second to comprehend his demise.

So there she was in her house, sitting in her favorite chair with a clear view of the streets, or what had remained from them. This is why she suffered more than a century, this is why her army was slowly but surely chipped away into nonexistence; to protect these rats? Battles of their own, celebration of their survival, not even a word of thanks uttered to those whom saved them. This is why hundreds perished tonight so these could continue their lives? Rozália was still emitting faint holy smoke from the amount of canonfire she willingly stepped into; the acid like burns faded into the background as her mind replayed the screams, howls of pain. She had to be strong and selfless. But…for what? Besides…she always healed from presumed fatal wounds. She slowly but steadily raised the blessed gun to the side of her forehead. The General did not fear death nor pain, she desired them more than anything in this moment. She deserved it, not her men. Yet it was always the opposite, she lived.

Free will. She only had the luxury of that as a hussar. There was no angelic choir, only panicked shrieks as the holy weapon sensed its polar opposite within her drawing closer. How long her soldiers have to suffer along with her and for why? To be the ace up in any royalty's sleeve and then cast aside or to protect the scum of humanity. Anger, guilt, defiance and despair mixed into one poison which for the first time in centuries soothed her stormy soul. Stone cold determination washed over her, bringing calmness in its wake. And with the final thought of rebellion, she pulled the trigger.

She imagined her demise countless times, only to realize it already happened at the Slaughter of Vértes. Death was not like how she thought. Rozália was walking in a long hall which only had one end, no doors on the bare, burned walls. Then, the lack of sound of her footsteps finally registered; human feet. Her hands immediately flew to her head to discover the lack of her signature horns as well, the ash black ruination no longer tainting her forearms. Despite everything, the tortured woman laughed with bliss at the freedom, even though the hefty price of it. She wanted to rest, she deserved it, yet something tugged her forwards, at the end of the hall. Her heart thundered in her ribcage as she noticed the mirror waiting for her at the very end.

The entity staring murderously at her seemingly slammed itself against the glass, its maw twisted in rage.

“HOW DARE YOU WASTE THIS GIFT?! ” her reflection howled with flexed talons, which no longer weighed on her hand

“I never wanted this curse. I have had enough of yours, Lucifer’s and everyone’s games. Let me go, I demand it.” Rozália was no longer afraid of the monster of the abyss gazing into her; the entity not pleased with the answer

“Haven’t you grasped it yet? I cannot, even if I wanted to, because I am you.” almost if a mother was scolding their badly behaved child, the Hellfire sneered at the General with claws scraping against the surface of the inside of the mirror.

“YOU ARE NOT ME AND NEVER WILL BE!!!” Rozália spat at the monster, talking a bold step forwards, but mindful of the distance; the night terror where it could reach out still a fresh experience.

“Denial helps, doesn’t it? Haven’t you thought about exactly why were you such an excellent assassin? A brilliant General? One of the most successful commanders ever blazed through Hell? Don’t you feel the war and destruction rooted deep in your veins? Don’t you enjoy the slaughter, the torture and the maddening taste of victory a bit too much? I am you since you were in your mother’s womb.” despite how Rozália wanted, needed to deny, she was unable to find the words. No matter which side, which profession, she only left death and destruction in her wake, she could never escape from fate or whatever this curse was. She was running from the storm all of her existence; what if…she was the storm? What the being had said answered all of her unspoken questions, cravings. Maybe it was right and she was desperately trying to escape because deep down she sensed the truth.

“I want freedom.” her voice unwavering and steady, only to meet with a shake of the entity’s head.

“Your freedom is that you’re unkillable. Or better said, I am. The only difference between….us. ” Rozália couldn’t help but grin; there it was. She wasn’t exactly the same as what stared back from the mirror; the victory was small but it still brought a faint satisfaction.

“You are unkillable until you have enough soul to regenerate from holy injuries. Then, you will bleed to death as I exit your veins; but your work is far from finished.” Rozália knew firsthand how many would kill for this power, which wasn’t even possessed by the highest ranked demons, only by Lucifer and his family. But she was hellbent on getting rid of it, escaping from it even though even her most drastic try proved to be fruitless.

“I shot myself in the head; if I’m not dead yet, where I am?”

“You are staring into your bathroom mirror. I believe you remember that encounter.” the Hellfire finally seemed amused as it revealed that it indeed wasn’t just a night terror.

“You cannot escape from yourself.” Rozália felt in her very core the being told the truth, as even in presumed death, the only path led her here. The entity went silent, as if was waiting for her to accept instead of violently refusing again; free will to return to whatever state she was struck in.

“One thing before. Move aside; I want to see my own…my human reflection once more.” she spoke and to her surprise, the Hellfire obliged. Brilliant emerald eyes looked back at her, her knees buckled at the sight; she almost had completely forgotten how she looked like before. The choked sob caught in her throat, she didn’t dare to blink in fear of the vision disappearing during that moment. A single teardrop ran down from her cheek, slipping between her lips; salty, not liquid fire. Rozália cherished the faint taste of freedom, and as much she didn’t want to admit, the Hellfire was right in one more thing. She was indeed far from finished, despite everything.

As if sensing the change within, the being reached out of the mirror, only this time the midnight black razor claws were not threatening, but waiting. The emerald eyed hussar straightened to her full height, and before the entity could react, she willingly yanked it out of the mirror, into herself.

Rozália found herself staring into her bathroom mirror, the corridor long gone along with her emerald eyes. Merciless crimson glared back, along with a splitting headace, fire oozed from her head, the pendant radiating with cursed energy. The sink shattered in her grip, mouth filled with fangs opened as the Infernal General howled with all of her wrath and pain; the primal, ancient roar heard in the whole city, muffling every other sound.

Rozália haven’t realized yet how the garnet gems glowed brighter, the silver was blackened and the ashen ruination traveled further than her forearms, one of the tendrils lapping at her shoulder. Unkillable, as long as the Fire has enough soul to siphon.