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A Bloody Army for Nataraj by Draconicon

Orimon stepped through the red portal with a calm smile on his burning face, his crown of fire adjusted at a rakish angle as he closed the glowing gateway behind him. The heat in the air fell dramatically, and considering how much he'd been sweating, the demon hissed softly at the sudden chill.

"A problem with this world...it will have to be corrected."

A burst of fire exploded at his feet as he snapped his fingers, a ring of it following him as he walked out of what appeared to be a basement. The demon's bare feet slapped loudly against the wooden floor, and just as loudly against the stone steps leading up. Orimon shook his head as he made his way up, looking back and forth as he made his way upwards.

"No wine, no weapons, not even a few bits of armor. I can't imagine a garrison like this would function very well. Something else I will have to correct."

He reached the top of the stairs, pressing his hand against the wooden barrier ahead. It caught fire in seconds, and the pieces of ash that were left behind tumbled down the stairs as Orimon stepped through the smoke.

As soon as he stepped foot on the main level, he winced. A familiar feeling of constriction and low-level burning - a feeling only given through a single source - immediately settled around his body. The demon looked upwards, and glared at the holy symbol hanging from the wall.

"A monastery...it would have to be a monastery."

A sick joke from his brother, to send him to this part of the world. When he was promised by the Lord of Hell himself that he would be given a chance to lead an army of warriors through the world, changing it and conquering it for the underplanes, he was sent to start at a monastery. A lesser demon would have already been howling in pain; he was rendered to gritting his teeth and grumbling at the feeling around him.

Worse, his powers were weakened. He had little in the way of destructive magics in a place like this, as evidenced by the fireballs slowly winking out of existence around his waist. Nor did he have much in the way transformative powers. The power of the holy symbols weakened them dramatically, to the point where had little left besides his seductive voice and -

"Who are you?"

Orimon slowly turned his head, looking towards what he realized was the chapel. A robed lizard stood there, slowly walking down the center aisle towards him. The demon turned, his loincloth flopping against his crotch as he forced a smile.

"I am Orimon, and I am here with a message."

"This is a house of the lord. There is nobody here interested in a message from your home, abomination."

"Oh, isn't that just a little rude. After all, all I want to do is talk."

The little pressure on the word almost stung him to use, but he had to start getting it out now. The power of corruption was one of the smallest ones available to demons, but it was also one of the few that were not blocked in a holy place. It was a part of the whole free-will argument. The mortals were allowed to choose to resist or fall to the temptation of corruption; no creature could hold it back from them, unlike protecting them from the dangers of fire and other destructive magics.

Orimon hoped it would be enough, and stepped forward as the lizard looked slightly stunned.

"Come now, it wouldn't hurt to just talk with me for a while. Your lord is watching. Surely, he would allow no harm to come to you."

"I...suppose..."

The demon nodded, gesturing for the lizard to sit, and he did the same on the opposite pew. No sooner had he gotten situated than the monk leaned forward.

"Why are you here? There is nothing for you in this place."

"There are some things. And besides, it gets so boring down there."

"I suppose I can understand what that's like."

Orimon smiled.

"I can imagine you would. It is a lonely life, you monks lead."

"I..."

The lizard looked away.

"I shouldn't talk about it."

"But you should. The life of a monk is a life of honesty and honor, or so I've heard. Am I wrong?"

"No, but...I shouldn't be talking to a demon."

"And I shouldn't be talking to a mortal, should I? Perhaps we can keep it a secret, just until we've taken the edge off of our boredom, hmm?"

And maybe by the end of this, I can stop talking to you as if you're my equal, the demon though in a moment of distaste. Still, he kept the look off of his face, and continued to smile at the lizard, who nodded.

"I just miss some of the old things, outside the monastery. Not the women or anything, you understand."

"Of course, of course."

"I just...I miss the excitement, you know? It's too quiet here."

"Heh, yes, I can. You miss the way that your blood used to pump, the way that you were panting and gasping sometimes, when there was something at risk, something that made you want to stand up and fight."

The lizard shuddered, but the demon knew that it was getting through. He knew the signs of excitement, and the way that the lizard blushed told him that he was getting through. Orimon leaned in.

"Be honest with an old demon...you liked it when things weren't so easy. You liked it when you had to fight, when you had to work. I bet you even got into a few tavern brawls, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but who hasn't?"

"Any bloody ones?"

"Oh yeah, those were the best...I, uh, I mean..."

The lizard looked away again, but Orimon leaned in.

"It excited you...knowing you were the strongest. Nothing but blood could prove it, could it?"

"...Yes...yes it did..."

And there it was, the admission, and the voice. The lizard was already as good as changed. Just a few more minutes, and he'd have his first convert, and with that...well, things would change in this little monastery very quickly. Orimon smiled as he leaned back on the pew, crossing one leg over the other.

"Tell me about them...and when you're done, go and get one of the other brothers."

After the lizard fell, the rest of the monks slipped under his sway like clockwork. One by one, they were brought before him, and when he had the majority of the monks under his spell, the rest were seized and brought to the chapel. Some of the brothers restrained their fellows, while the others grabbed the holy symbols and destroyed them, driven by their need to break and bash, brought out by Orimon's words.

The demon was honestly surprised to see how well the corruption had worked. He had hoped to merely snare a few of the brothers so that he could dismantle the divine protections that the structure had, but he'd ended up drawing out the most useful parts of each of the former religious members. Instead of peace, they sought conflict; instead of healing, they sought bloodshed. They would be the core of his soldiers, he realized, the core that would shape everything that came after.

Orimon sat down on what had been the altar to the lord, the big red demon smirking at his little army. Not even a hundred men, really, but the various species were chomping at the bit to be allowed out of the monastery. They looked like soldiers, mercenaries, even berserkers in some cases. The lizard that had been first was one such, his chest heaving as he looked constantly at the door, his thoughts obviously on seeking a fight.

Yet, all of them continued to look to him for orders, and for that, Orimon was grateful. The corruption had seized what they had been and twisted it, but it had also settled in a great deal of loyalty to him. The demon wondered if they knew what had been done to them, or even if they were grateful for it.

Wouldn't that be a wonderful bit of coincidence?

Chuckling, he reached for the last remaining holy symbol in the monastery, the golden cross that adorned the altar. Orimon grimaced at the the cool burn that ran over his flesh as he closed his fingers around it, but lifted it in the air anyway. He held it aloft, allowing all the brothers to see it.

"This is the symbol of the lord of the world. What does it deserve?"

"DESTRUCTION!"

The roar of the assembled monks crashed over him like a wave from the sea, and he grinned.

"It is the symbol of the creator, your former master. What does it deserve?"

"DESTRUCTION!"

"Then let it be destroyed!"

He threw it to the ground, and brought his bare foot down on top of it. As soon as it bent out of shape, Orimon felt his power come rushing back, filling him with all the heat and fire and power of a real demon. He loosed it through his foot, the fire burning and melting the golden symbol until it was reduced to nothing more than a puddle. The demon smirked, using his power to reshape it into a pair of sandals, and set them upon his feet.

Flinging out his hands, he let his power fly through the crowd, changing the robes of the monks to armor, and changing the small sticks they carried to swords and daggers, knives and other blades.

"Take your weapons, my followers, and show the people in the village outside who is the true lord. Only the strongest may live!"

"ONLY THE STRONGEST MAY LIVE!"

They roared as they went running, and Orimon smiled as he settled back again. His magic was already shifting through the monastery, twisting the green and blue stained glass to a red and gold, the floor seething with heat, the altar desecrated to something dark and demonic.

"It is begun."

The End