[center][color=black][h3]Bergentrückung[/h3][/color][/center]

Volkimir was no stranger to death. For untold years he had dealt in it, granting oblivion to his thousands of foes, victims, mistakes. He had studied its anomalies; those such as himself that danced on the boundary of the living and the dead, at once both but truly neither. It had happened that even he had wandered into the worlds beyond and returned unscathed. It was this experience that brought Volkimir the realization that the world was dying. The very land withered and revolted in its death throes as the void of the starless sky covered it as a burial shroud.

This was a new experience for Volkimir. Never in his long memory had the world ever faced as grave a threat as this. When the suns were blackened by the insatiable hordes of the Shadowlands, even that darkness had not been as cold and absolute. This was not the dark of night, home and ally to Volkimir and his kind. This was the void itself, the end of life and light, never to return. What should have been a land alight with fire and faith seemed stark and empty, as vast and hollow as the darkened sky itself. Though he knew it would, Volkimir wondered if the sun could even rise over such a cold and wasted world.

He continued down the shadowed path, quickening his pace. If the day came that the sun did not rise over Ansus, it meant only that he had been too late, done too little. That day would not come to pass. Volkimir did not often compare himself to mankind, but he knew that he still carried their mortal fire within him. Even if the pyres of their temples burned out, men carried in them a desperate, burning will to survive. They were stubborn, annoying, admirable creatures in this way.

However, it seemed his spark of life and determination had drawn moths. Chthonic aberrations crept in the edges of Volkimir’s vision, chattering madly. They circled like dogs, dropping their previous meals of frozen travelers and pilgrims, and turning from their tasks of crudely defacing the various sacred edifices and way shrines that lined the path. One such jittering malignity dared approach Volkimir, its foul teeth and claws drawn. A single strike of his blade was enough to dispatch the eager imp, splattering its dark blood across the frozen ground. As its kin fearfully retreated (not for long, most likely), inspiration struck Volkimir. Out of one of his pockets he retrieved the brilliant ruby that he had requisitioned from the royal treasury the night before. Delicately grasping it with the tips of his clawed gauntlet, Volkimir willed unnatural power into the gemstone. The ichor of the small demon drifted up toward the ruby, encircling it at first, but them clinging to it. The blood coagulated, hardened, and then crystallized, staining the ruby with its unholy essence. Blood was life, and life was power; Volkimir drew his magic and vitality from his fundamental concept. The blood of demons was particularly potent, he knew; it was not human blood that flowed through his immortal veins.

Volkimir journeyed through the mountain passage, continuing this gruesome harvest. The shrill cry of the wind was broken only by the whipping of the vampire's cloak and the death-cries of any demons brave or stupid enough to come within reach of his sword. Mere opportunists, gathering around a greater power. They had nothing of value to Volkimir, other than their profane essence. As more fell to his blade, the blood-ruby grew and darkened, swelling into a locus of demonic power. The vampire knew that to face whatever lurked at the mountain's peak, he would need all of the strength that he could afford. He looked up to the end of the path, perhaps only another hour's journey from where he stood. In a world gone dark, the sacred summit blazed with hellfire.

By the time Volkimir reached the peak, spidery fingers of frost had grown on his armor, and snow had settled into the fur of his cloak. However, the markings of cold vanished from him almost instantaneously as he discovered what lurked atop the mountain. Shrines burned in torrents of blackish flame, and ancient statues glowed steady orange as their stone bodies melted. The centerpiece of the mountaintop temple, a tremendous stonework depicting Andurias seated in the throne of heaven, suffered the greatest indignity of all. The sacred throne oozed with molten rock as an unholy behemoth took the place of the desecrated god. The archdemon resembled a great mockery of a man, titanic in size and stature. Chitinous spines grew out along its hulking limbs, culminating in huge, thorned claws that took the place of hands. A wreath of horns grew about its menacing visage, framing the hellfire it wore as a crown as its leathery wings framed its unnatural, pallid body.

Only as Volkimir approached, his armor gleaming in the baleful fires, did the terrible demon take notice of him. Its attention broke away from toying with the stone head of Andurias to look upon Volkimir with eyes that burned with devilish delight. [color=9e0039][b]"IT IS A RARE MORTAL THAT APPROACHES MY THRONE SO BRAZENLY, OFFERING NEITHER SACRIFICE NOR SERVITUDE."[/b][/color]

Volkimir spoke plainly, "[color=black]I kneel to neither gods nor kings. A demon is hardly my choice of master.[/color]"

The demon grinned, its inner flames shining out from between its fangs. [color=9e0039][b]"I AM A MASTER UNLIKE ANY OTHER. A RARER MORTAL YET THAT DOES NOT KNOW OF MY POWER AND MAGNIFICENCE."[/b][/color]

Good, it was vain and talkative. This Volkimir could work with. "[color=black]To whom do I owe the privilege of witnessing such power and magnificence?[/color]" Volkimir asked, striking the perfect balance between inquisitiveness and sarcasm. The demon had to hate him just enough to like him, and then Volkimir could get what he wanted.

[color=9e0039][b]"BEFORE YOU IS NONE OTHER THAN THE MIGHTY BELZENLOK, IMMOLATOR OF GODS AND EXTINGUISHER OF NATIONS."[/b][/color] The demon barked happily, basking in the glow of its own pride.

"[color=black]It is you that has darkened the temple fires, and wrung the stars from the sky?[/color]" Volkimir probed further. He doubted that this boastful demon was responsible for the dire state of the world, despite its apparent power.

The demon sneered at Volkimir, gnashing its teeth. Had he misstepped? It seemed wary of him now. [color=9e0039][b]"A MORTAL PRESUMES MUCH, AND KNOWS LITTLE. WHAT RIGHT HAVE YOU TO SPEAK SO DEMANDINGLY TO THE KING OF HELLFIRE?"[/b][/color]

"[color=black]To a king? A prince, of course.[/color]" Volkimir took on a more powerful posture, seeming to look down on the monster that towered above him. It was time for a change in his approach. "[color=black]Prince of the Shadowland, the Last Son of Sturmkirk, the Betrayer and the Mortifier.[/color]"

Recognition seemed to slowly draw across the demon's twisted features. [color=9e0039][b]"I MAY HAVE HEARD OF SUCH A MORTAL, THOUGH LONG DEAD. VANQUISHED BY HIS OWN FOOLISH ARROGANCE."[/b][/color]

"[color=black]A demon presumes much.[/color]" Volkimir turned Belzenlok's words back onto it, taking another confident stride closer.

The burning devil snorted, its eyes wary but unsure. [color=9e0039][b]"VOLKIMIR THEN, IS IT? MY HATED RIVAL, SHILGENGAR, BLASPHEMES YOUR NAME TO THIS DAY."[/b][/color]

"[color=black]Not rare enough a demon that does not know of my arrogance and infamy.[/color]" Volkimir smiled, his fangs glinting in the firelight.

Belzenlok barked out a cacophonous, choking laugh. [color=9e0039][b]"COME TO BARTER AWAY YET MORE OF YOUR DAMNED SOUL, SON OF STURMKIRK?"[/b][/color] The demon mocked him in its horrific, unearthly voice.

Volkimir laughed as well, though it was forced and hollow. "[color=black]If I should, would I wear your banner as well?[/color]" Volkimir pricked his own thumb, and with his blood drew the mysterious rune out in the air. The symbol of blood floated ominously, and the fires seemed to burn more coldly in its presence.

[color=9e0039][b]"THAT IS NOT MY MARKING, BUT THAT OF MY MASTER."[/b][/color] The demon seemed to sober at the sight of the symbol, perhaps in reverence, perhaps in fear.

"[color=black]A demon submits to a master? Strange days are these.[/color]" Volkimir pressed the topic.

[color=9e0039][b]"NOT MERELY STRANGE DAYS, VAMPIRE. THE LAST DAYS. THE VOID SWALLOWS THE STARS, HOLY MEN WORSHIP THE UNHOLY, AND DEAD HEROES WALK THE EARTH. NOT MUCH LONGER NOW UNTIL THE TRUE KING RETURNS."[/b][/color]

"[color=black]You speak of your master? What is this king called?[/color]"

[b][color=9e0039]"THERE IS NO NAME FOR THE KING IN BLACK, JUST AS THERE IS NO NAME FOR THE VOID BETWEEN THE STARS, OR THE LOOMING PROMISE OF THE END OF ALL THINGS."[/color][/b] The demon seemed introspective, now. Volkimir's skin crawled, as though he were being watched by something unbeknownst to him.

"[color=black]This king sacked Kolandis? He darkened the Great Bastion?[/color]" Volkimir questioned the demon more directly, now that it seemed more pliable.

[b][color=9e0039]"IT IS HE THAT BRINGS ON THE STARLESS NIGHT, BUT KOLANDIS IS MY PRIZE."[/color][/b] The demon began to smile again, and Volkimir felt like he had made another misstep.

"[color=black]Kolandis died by the hands of men, not your talons.[/color]" A feint, luring the demon closer to the truth.

[b][color=9e0039]"MEN UNDER MY THRALL. THEY SERVE THE KING IN BLACK BUT I AM HIS ARBITER; THEY OBEY HIM THROUGH ME."[/color][/b] Belzenlok's pride seemed to be flaring yet again, and the flames burned hotter around Volkimir.

"[color=black]You have the power to chain so many men to your will? How could the King of Hellfire enthrall so many[/color]?" Bluntly, Volkimir asked the question that immediately stuck out to him.

[b][color=9e0039]"IN SUCH TIMES WHEN ANGELS DIE IN DROVES, AND GODS FADE TO NOTHING, MEN OF FAITH WILL TURN TO ANYTHING THAT THEY CAN BELIEVE IN. ESPECIALLY A KING."[/color][/b]

Volkimir silently cursed, his blood starting to boil. The mention of angels inflamed his suspicions; the cultists had likely been part of the Empyreal Cult. In the absence of gods and their patron angels, they had turned to demons in desperation. Damned fools. Did men learn nothing from the mistakes of their ancestors?

[b][color=9e0039]"IN SUCH TIMES, EVEN A DEFIANT PRINCE MAY FIND A WORTHY MASTER."[/color][/b] The demon broke Volkimir away from his infuriated thoughts. [b][color=9e0039]"WHAT SAY YOU, MORTIFIER? THE PRINCE OF THE DAMNED WOULD MAKE A MIGHTY AND HONORED CHAMPION FOR THE KING IN BLACK."[/color][/b]

Volkimir's brow furrowed. His disgust was instinctive. The very thought of serving such a despicable creature, the very monstrosity that had damned his entire bloodline, made his stomach turn. [color=black]"I say, 'Bugger your King in Black.' I serve no master, even come the end of days."[/color]

The demon crushed the severed head of Andurias in the vicegrip of its claws. [color=9e0039][b]"IT WAS NOT A REQUEST. EVEN IF YOUR BODY BURNS, YOUR SOUL WILL SERVE!"[/b][/color] With that, the demon flew from its molten throne, seeking to slay the Dark Prince.

Volkimir evaded the initial charge easily enough; it was the demon's volley that followed that posed a greater threat. With great sweeps of its terrible claws, Belzenlok cast down a rain of unearthly flame. Each gout of flame erupted into a greater inferno upon striking the ground, giving Volkimir scarcely any room to maneuver. A mortal man would have been incinerated in seconds, but Volkimir was far from mortal. With inhuman speed and precision, he swirled and ducked around the hail of hellfire, navigating the ruined mountaintop as though performing an elaborate dance. Having gradually found his way to one of the sturdier rock-faces, Volkimir bounded up the craggy surface. Each edifice of the stone shrine was a springboard to the agile vampire, who sailed through the air, sword drawn, toward where the demon hovered overhead. It was great in size and its flames were terrible, but Volkimir had the advantage in speed. Only too late did the demon fly back to avoid Volkimir's attack, and Elbrus struck true. 

To avoid falling into a gout of hellfire, Volkimir drifted on shadowed wings to the rock face on the opposite end of the summit, and perched there as he regained his bearings. The demon's hide was tough, and he had only struck a glancing blow, but that was enough. The monster's foul blood glistened on Elbrus, and Volkimir could feel the stolen essence renew his strength and vitality. If need be, Volkimir could keep up this game of dodging and striking almost indefinately. However, for once, time was not his ally. Dawn was not far off, and this demon likely possessed enough strength to battle Volkimir for days on end. This battle needed to end quickly and decisively.

Belzenlok had turned back around by now to face Volkimir once again, it did not seem particularly hurt by the thin line of black blood that ran across its chest, but its eyes burned with humiliated fury. It screamed in inhuman fury and closed in on Volkimir, wings beating frantically. In hurled dark fire as it charged, making this charge almost impossible to evade. For that reason, Volkimir approached the demon head-on. With all of the grace of the sword-dancers of the Dust, Volkimir weaved between and around the fiery onslaught. As Belzenlok approached close enough to strike Volkimir with his claws, the vampire ducked under its burgeoning body, and struck from underneath. This was a deeper blow, slashed across the monster's chest once more to form a cross with the previous wound. 

The demon shrieked in surprise, its massive body sailing directly into a molten shrine. The monument crumbled in a shower of ash and sparks, but Belzenlok quickly rose again, ever more enraged. However, its rage left it blind to the advance of Volkimir, who was now pressing his attack. Its body was too girthy and unwieldy to catch the nimble vampire at such a close range, and it cast its flames always a second too late as they sailed away harmlessly. Volkimir slashed wildly with both Elbrus and his newly-forged gauntlet, seeking to draw blood wherever he could. All were minor flesh wounds, which meant almost nothing to the inhuman monstrosity that was an archdemon.

Tiring of these many, small cuts, Belzenlok retreated, flying back and away to perch on an only mostly-destroyed monument. It growled, bleeding oily ichor from a score of sword and claw wounds. [b][color=9e0039]"IS THIS YOUR BEST, VAMPIRE? DAWN APPROACHES, AND WHEN IT COMES I WILL GNAW ON YOUR BLACKENED BONES."[/color][/b]

Volkimir breathed heavily, blackened and singed but far from beaten. With the little breath he had to spare, he merely said, "[color=black]You will never see the dawn again.[/color]"

As the demon tensed in anticipation of an attack, Volkimir produced the blood-ruby that he had ensorcelled along his climb of the mountain. One-hundred-and-four shrines had power in legend, but the blood of just as many slain demons held power that Volkimir could bring to wield. With a surge of sangromantic power, Volkimir activated the profane artifact, and from it emerged more than a dozen tendrils of black, oozing blood. Faster than even Volkimir could see, the bonds of the gemstone shot out and ensnared Belzenlok, digging into its body through the many wounds that Volkimir had opened. The blood of its fallen lessers invaded the monster through its unholy flesh, binding to its bones.

Belzenlok struggled against the bindings of blood, but found itself completely immobilized on its perch. The ruby held the archdemon in place, as though it were a puppet on strings. Even its flames failed it, as the bonds constricted its corrupt essence. Words and reason had left Belzenlok at this point, who was reduced to grunting, barking and other mad, animalistic utterances. With complete composure Volkimir approached the demon, drifting toward it on wings unseen. If there had ever been a spectre of fear or worry in the vampire's expression, it was replaced by one of subtle satisfaction. However, just as the demon no longer hurled threats and insults, Volkimir too had no taunts to offer his captive. Rather, under his breath he muttered ancient and forgotten words. Words of binding. Words of sealing.

Volkimir sheathed Elbrus, and with his now freed hand, gestured at the demon. The cross-shaped wound on its chest opened at Volkimir's magical command, the flesh peeling back like the skin of some obscene fruit. The dark and grisly bone and entrails of the demon exposed, Volkimir thrusted the blood-ruby into the monster's heart. Ribs and muscle gave way to the corrupting touch of the gauntlet that held the ruby, and so the gem crushed the black, burning heart of the King of Hellfire. With a final incantation of whatever secret tongue Volkimir chanted in, the demon was turned inside-out, vanishing into the depths of the dark gemstone embedded in its heart.

Now holding a stone where there had once been a demon, Volkimir inspected the gem curiously. It was warm to the touch. He could sense the impotent, incoherent rage of Belzenlok, trapped within the sanguine prison. Whatever sort of demon lurked within Volkimir's sword, he imagined it to be even more ancient and terrible than Belzenlok had been, given how many of its faculties it retained despite imprisonment. Volkimir pressed the gem to the back of his gauntlet, willing the sangromantic construct to bond to the unholy steel. The ruby stuck there, and the power of the trapped demon flowed through the gauntlet. With a flick of his wrist, dark flames burst from the weapon's armored palm. A moment's concentration, and small candle-flames danced on the tips of its claws. A worthy weapon such as this deserved a name, by Volkimir's reckoning. He pondered momentarily on something relating to Kolandis, having been forged and ensouled by its destructor. No, he was not that sentimental.

Volkimir pondered the triviality as he traveled down the western slope of the mountain, allowing the great summit to shield him from the encroaching dawn. He had his answers, and better yet, he now knew the path that spread before him. The corruption of the Empyreal Cult had to be rooted out and eliminated before it could wreak further havoc. Volkimir's homeland would not be a nesting ground for demons once more. Armed now with "Griselbrand," Volkimir began his quest to the lands of darkness, soaked in daylight.