The Demon Sovereign (1)

Objectively, Erin possessed considerable innate marksmanship talents.

Had she been born just a century later, instead of these frigid muddy battlegrounds, her abilities could have garnered her considerable online renown.

While actual combat differed from gaming, her proprioceptive reflexes and hand-eye coordination represented inherent gifts. At minimum, her foundational aptitudes surpassed ordinary individuals’.

-Bang!-

Trailing the gunshot’s reverberation by a beat, something collapsed in the distant horizon.

Her marksmanship was far from flawless:

Initially prone to misfiring, she had fumbled clumsily whenever her railgun jammed. But any skill became proficient through dedicated practice.

By complementing her latent talents with diligent efforts, Erin had earned an ace sharpshooter reputation within her battalion.

Certainly, even she possessed inescapable limitations.

Numerical superiorities inevitably overwhelmed individual prowess – Ulric could not singlehandedly decimate entire Demon contingents.

His specialties remained confined to sowing disruptions through stealthy assassinations, not unrestricted open conflicts. Attempting such area-dominating feats necessitated Sithe or Edan’s wide-ranging capabilities at minimum.

But if not alone…

If Ulric culled the subordinate commanders from behind while Erin drew their focus, then capitalizing upon that ensuing disarray…

“You performed exceptionally well out there, Erin!”

“Eh.”

“This battle represents a major contribution on your part. The higher echelons shall be officially commending you imminently.”

“Whaaa?!”

“You’ve become our battalion’s hero! I always believed in you.”

It proved an exceptionally complementary dynamic.

Certainly, Ulric would mysteriously vanish after each engagement before reappearing much later, disheveled and dust-caked.

But he had upheld the bare minimum of a concerned soldier’s obligations.

Utterly fatigued, he would slumber wherever exhaustion claimed him – beneath beds, supply closets, Debbie Jones’s locker room two blocks away.

Yet he avoided becoming an outright defunct casualty by unfailingly resurfacing before engagements commenced, even if belatedly. No significant issues arose over those delayed reappearances.

People remained curious about his specific activities and hiding locations during those absences, with speculations circulating.

Yet no one suspected that the catalyzing instigator behind the Demon camps’ utter disarray preceding their rearguard retreats could be attributed to him lying prone while clutching his aching abdomen.

Even amidst such battlefields, soldiers tended to retain rationality:

That she – currently deep-slumbering – routinely infiltrated the Demon strongholds to gleefully massacre them before casually sauntering back?

Hypothesizing a high-school coven having usurped parliamentary authority felt more plausible. Whichever scenario one entertained, psychiatric evaluations would invariably ensue.

In any case, Freugne found no objections to those developments. Personally, Erin represented a cherished friend. But from pragmatic considerations, having cultivated an anointed ‘war hero’ represented an immense boon.

Excepting Sithe’s tearful lamentations about being the sole remaining unattached member of their former Cardiff School squad, it represented a universally satisfactory resolution for everyone involved.

---

Most civilians perceived this conflict as a straightforward racial confrontation between humanity and the Demons – a bread-and-circuses spectacle where both sides wagered their fates.

Yet beneath that surface level persisted another silent war – the Demon Sovereign compensating his informational deficiencies through brute force, countered by Freugne offsetting her physical shortcomings through omniscient mapping hacks.

Oblivious to these undercurrents, even many within the organization remained unaware of this separate confrontation’s specifics – one where supremacy hinged upon maximizing advantageous insights about one’s adversary.

While virtually impossible prewar, harvesting intelligence about the currently ubiquitous Demons no longer posed significant challenges.

Among humans, international conventions existed delineating minimal ethical boundaries during warfare:

At least treat captured prisoners humanely. Spare those who have surrendered. Avoid inflicting unnecessary civilian casualties whenever feasible. Consensus guidelines to uphold basic decencies amidst war’s savageries and temptations towards unrestrained barbarity.

“General, what shall we do with these captured Demon prisoners?”

“Surely some relevant protocols must exist, do they not?”

“Those only apply among human belligerents, not against them. They never assented to any international conventions. We lack even nominal diplomatic relations established.”

“Hmm……”

Determining appropriate dispositions for a different species had represented a contentious issue for quite some time.

But as the war commenced across changing years, sufficient durations had elapsed for developing general norms regarding Demon detainee handling.

After vociferous debates had subsided, the eventual consensus emerged as:

‘For now, treat them analogously to human prisoners.’

‘A degree of indignities could be justifiably inflicted, but avoid overt maltreatment at minimum.’

Not that some intrinsic moral epiphanies had spontaneously manifested after preemptive strikes against them. Such naivete represented utter folly.

Simply put, visible reciprocal treatment ensured captured human prisoners avoided comparable fates under Demon captivities – pragmatic self-interests.

And while this hastily improvised policy had occasioned numerous unfortunate incidents, it had nevertheless persisted with reasonable adherences overall.

In fact, the circumstances for imprisoned Demons might have proven preferable to active combat deployments in some respects.

Barring foolhardy insurrection attempts, at least they no longer risked random casualties from stray munitions. And their incarcerations persisted under Londinium’s Big Sister Freugne’s perpetual supervisory oversight, rendering such efforts futile regardless.

However, the fates awaiting those Demons who had brazenly infiltrated Londinium’s heart during broad daylight to assassinate the shadowy organization’s preeminent representative… differed considerably.

“Speak! What routes did you infiltrate the city through?”

“Kkkhhaah, grraauughhh……”

“But, weren’t prisoners supposed to be treated humanely? I read that in the papers.”

“Why should we extend such courtesies to those who aren’t even human, captured outside active combat situations?”

“They dared attempt assassinating our very leader. Showing them mercy would only invite mockery.”

“Information retrieval prioritized, sir.”

While Sithe had unleashed unrestrained pyrotechnic savageries, Demons ultimately remained Demons.

Contorting agonizingly under conflagrations that would have reduced ordinary humans to charred, whimpering husks, their wounds had mostly scabbed over within days.

Observing the gradually desiccating Demons revert from well-done to rare consistencies, Freugne issued a singular directive:

“Undoubtedly, they did not infiltrate the city blindly. Extract every iota of intelligence they possess.”

“Yes’m!”

Initially melodramatically quoting archaic theatrical soliloquies about unshackling their ethereal souls despite corporeal restraints…

After several intensive tutelage sessions inculcating profound appreciations for Hong tea’s bouquets, those Demons found themselves distinctly incapable of persisting in such stoic delusions.

While their commander had arguably arrived half-dead, the same could not be said for his subordinates.

Certainly, their very audacious invasion already represented acceptance of potential demise – having infiltrated amidst an overwhelming human presence precluded any realistic exfiltration prospects after achieving temporary surprises.

Yet whether compelled by command authority, familial hostage situations, or the Demon Sovereign’s psychic dominations – their subsequent trajectories and culinary futures remained utterly opaque to them at that juncture.

And by selectively dangling faint glimmers of leniency, their dispositions gradually acquiesced into compliance.

Painstakingly accumulating every extractible scrap of data…

Freugne eventually formulated a coherent portrait about the entity known as the Demon Sovereign.

Assessments about him varied considerably. But summarized succinctly, he represented an archetypal messianic hero manifesting during his species’ darkest tribulations:

“After our Sovereign’s demise, our brethren regressed into reciprocal cannibalism and decline.”

“While humans accrued enhanced mystical and technological capabilities, our stagnations enabled their distant pursuers to rapidly gain upon our retrogressions.”

“What precipitated these calamities? Why could we not reclaim our former glories?”

“The singular reason: True power emanates from unity!”

If humanity’s greatest existential threat stemmed from the Demons, then the Demons’ gravest perils arose from internally self-destructing through perpetual infighting.

“Yet history has elucidated the inevitabilities when societies remain ungoverned. A leaderless populace’s destinies prove so utterly wretched.”

“Just as errant children necessitate parental guidance, nations too cannot forgo such stewardship. Only one possesses the capabilities to shoulder that pivotal burden.”

As if invoking some immutable maxim, such messianic figures had continually resurfaced throughout their historical annals.

“Thus, I…”

Anointing himself as the Demon Sovereign while psychically dominating his kindred akin to his predecessors:

“In pursuit of perpetual stability and security, shall reconstitute these disparate warring kingdoms and republics into a singular, unified imperium – recapturing the glories of my forebears’ empires!”

“For the collective prosperity and tranquility of our entire species!”

He had declared war during humanity’s nadir of vulnerability.

Something felt amiss.

After reviewing the reports, Freugne had sunk into contemplative ruminations while drumming the tabletop, before suddenly muttering:

“Doesn’t this seem peculiar?”

“Pardon?”

“Why do the Demon Sovereigns throughout that protracted history consistently behave identically? I cannot fathom whether some inherent attributes pervade that position itself, or if their natures simply converge evolutionarily towards such trajectories.”

“It almost feels as if we’re contending against a singular, perpetual nemesis, does it not?”