Side Story 1- Where in We See the End of a Cult That Ran Out of Other Options Because SOMEONE Decided to Over Complicate Things?
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“Writhing Death, do you think the code names are a bit too much?”

          “Code names are essential to any covert operation, assassinations included, Decaying Carcass.”

          “…”

          Ah, but we are missing introductions. Once there was a cult, a small one mind you, but a cult all the same. It was run by none other than a (self-proclaimed) youth and his merry underlings, all two of them.

          Known only as Withering Death, at least as he will be known here in spirit of the covert operation that he has so cleverly put into play, a play that will stun the worlds with its brilliance, he runs the cult with naught but the wit of his mind and the brilliance of his-

          “Boss, you’re narrating yourself again.” Decaying Carcass so boldly interrupted his fearless leader mid thought yet again, proving his manners were still far too low class for the high leveled demons they were bound to become.

          “Just let him be,” The second underling wisely contributed, showing both his otherwise easily forgotten presence and his due loyalty, “you know if we engage him it gets worse.”

          “…the brave and kind boss of the rising cult decided to ignore his low-level hooligans some might call underlings and proceed with his glorious plan.”

          “Which you never explained.” Decaying Carcass, with his lack of faith and- “Seriously, stop that. The elders in the delegation were muttering about the General showing up, the old one.”

          “…to be continued…Decaying Carcass of the Wise Cult of Demons, not to be confused with; the Clever Cult of Demons, Wise Demon Cult, Cult of the Wise, Sneaky Demons Unanimous, Demons for Wisdom, Clever Demon Cult, or D ’n D-Demons in Drag, who also have a foothold nearby, your mission is a simple one.”

          The three men were gathered in a random hidden room that their…human comrades had shown them. With a flamboyant twist of his arm, he gestured to the tired looking younger man. The third member of their party watched with mild amusement from where he was doing his best to fit into a space that he was too tall and too broad for.

          The other two were not having that problem.

          “Good, cause if I have to look at one more of your stupid contraptions-” Decay yawned from a lounging position on a chair that was firmly bolted to the floor.

          “You will enter the first round of fighting and help distract the Ye Ol’ Monstrosities that are bound to appear. Also, because they’re short a person since Rotting Doom”

          The large demon raised his hand. “Is that me?”

          “Yes, yes it is.” With a woosh of his cape, he turned back to Decay, “Since Rotting Doom was apparently disqualified due to age.”

          “discrimination.”

          “That and the fact that he picked a fight 5 times yesterday and broke a judge’s nose.”

          “It’s fine if I lose right?” Ignoring that, Decay also lifted his hand as he asked.

          “One should always fight for glory and for honor as well as fame,” Writher’s cape swished, smacking everything around him including his two companions in the narrow space, “but in terms of plan, yes. That would be fine.”

          “yesss” A quiet fist made a small, slow jab.

“What about me?” another hand was raised.

          “Stop raising your hands, what are you, nerds?” A pair of eyes glared down from atop a wrinkled lip.

          Rot and Decay both raised their hands with dead eyes.

          “…Regardless of your insubordination, Rotting Doom shall lead the forefront of our merry band of comrades-”

          “Slaves.” Decay corrected.

          “Comrades, we are partnering with the dear, gullible humans for this after all!”

          “Right.” Lazily waving his hand, Decay slumped into the chair and fell asleep.

          “Rotting Doom, have you a question or two?”

          “Not really. I’m only here to stop this ****** **** ************** thing they call a truce.”

          …though our Leader was shocked and dismayed by the sudden fowl language, he, in his elegance and grandeur, understood the sentiment. This peace would bring ruin to their very lives as they now hold so dear-

          “I don’t really care about that, but surrendering like this feels like losing.” The ceiling creaked and the walls shifted slightly as his muscles tensed and his face glowered. “Demons don’t lose.”

          Historically inaccurate, but a good sentiment none the less. Our Dark and Glimmering Chief was motivated by far more complex motivations, motives that were as mysterious as the darkest Abyss of the fair cool land the Great Demons called home. Motives that could only be properly explained though a detailed and complex flashback such as the worlds have never seen-

          “Wasn’t it just because it’d be harder to pick up victims?”

          “…Meet handsome men and women, my soulmates if you will, but more or less I suppose.” The incubus dropped his hand and glared at the interruption. “Demons are well and good and all, but angels have this look to them, not to mention the adorable humans that usually follow them…that and our powers work a little to well on our own kind…”

          With the tasked assigned, the three went their separate ways. Whither went to collect their first victim, Rot to lead the humans to prepare for the second while acting within the hidden passages to avoid detection, and Decay…never felt the room until 15 minutes before his fight.

           “Mammon the Lazy’s descendants live up to her legacy.” Whither muttered from his quiet corner. The utter failure of the first and second murders had him on edge.

“What did I do wrong? Was it bad luck? The intervention of the Fates? The old Generals? Perhaps the humans messes up my dear contraptions…”

          “Or you made things too complicated and they fell apart.” Rot pointed out, in vain.

          “Impossible. The demon was to be lured in by a convenient, quiet room. Lulled to the specific spot by the lovely rotating lantern, transported via the highly sophisticated slide system to an unguarded place in the angel living district, delt with by the lovely contraption which would put a neat little fatal bullet in its head, and all we need do would be remove said head and burn the body beyond recourse.”

          “Instead, it dumped him too far to the left, got hole in his shoulder and alerted the guards.” Standing with his full height for once, Rot blandly glared down at the incubus half his height.

          “And someone dropped their dagger which we had to leave behind!” Whither snarled.

          “That was you.”

          “But we are not here to point fingers or assign blame.”

          They watched as the guards began to encircle them. It was faster than they thought it would be, and Decay was still recovering from his near-death experience in the medic’s tent.

        "Since our other, options seem to be gone, we must go with the simplest." Whither’s eyes darkened as a primal glee twisted his face.

        Rot rolled his shoulders and a small, contemptuous smile appeared on his face. "You mean the most fun."

 

          “General Xen, you’ll need to come with us for questioning.” Number 2 readied herself for a fight.

          “Nah,” General Xen, the current Demonic General who won his position for being able to seriously injure the former General, carefully removed recently failed disguise. “I don’t feel like it.”

          “Sir. The old General will be here soon.” 2 nervously backed up, Duke Quenloc had discovered the General only to run off and get back up, expecting her to stall.

          Xen rose from his bed in the medic’s tent. “Sorry, but he’ll be delayed.” A lazy smirk rested easily on his face as “Decay” made a quick move, putting a scalpel neatly into 2’s brain.

          “Our plan has just begun.”

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