The Demon Sovereign (5)

The world progressed rapidly – dizzying paces even an elderly person like himself found challenging to keep abreast of.

While having not directly experienced previous conflicts, General Andre had certainly absorbed the vivid testimonials from his predecessors, leaving him awash with bittersweet sentiments.

“Is everyone assembled?”

“Yes sir, you may proceed.”

The General rose from his seat, donning a crisply starched uniform and polished combat boots after an extended hiatus.

Diplomatic relations with the Demons – previously severed following the last war – had been reestablished.

Evidently, with prisoners and territorial populations intermixing humans alongside Demons, maintaining some rudimentary communications had become necessities.

Certainly, conventional ambassadorial presences no longer existed.

Having lived through seismic upheavals involving complete dissociations over prolonged epochs, the very notion of ‘Demon diplomatic embassies’ still felt inherently alien for the General.

-Greetings.

“What did he say?”

“Greetings. The Demons culturally exchange handshakes during such occasions.”

“I see… Well, greetings to you as well then.”

The human delegation found themselves exchanging awkward handshakes with their Demon counterparts – akin to encountering extraterrestrial Martians.

“Can the translations proceed smoothly thus far?”

“Yes, indeed. No comprehension issues so far.”

“Have one person record these dialogues, while another promptly conveys their statements.”

They had hastily conscripted cryptanalysts into translators – fluencies in Demon languages and calligraphies represented prerequisites for decipherments.

“But before commencing negotiations, one curiosity… Who among them actually represents their leadership?”

The General’s inquisitive gaze swept across the assembled Demons.

His skepticisms felt well-founded – over two dozen Demons had congregated claiming representational capacities.

“I represent the Bruyan Duchy.”

“The Karsen Kingdom harbors immense anticipations towards these negotiations. May today’s conference become the opportunity to mend our protracted conflicts with humanity.”

“No, our Legion would actually–”

The General quietly inquired with the translator:

“What are they saying?”

“They all claim leadership mandates.”

“Good heavens…”

In any case, this pandemonium itself intimated a crucial revelation:

‘The Demon Sovereign’s authority is waning.’

Originally, that Demon confederacy – alternatively termed the Demon Empire or Alliance – could scarcely be considered a singular nation-state in any conventional sense.

Its very inception had involved the North Star’s heir – the Demon Sovereign – forcibly consolidating disparate warring kingdoms and republics scattered across those lands into unwieldy agglomerations.

Merely sharing the ‘Demon’ categorical designation hardly represented sufficient justifications for indiscriminately binding together entities with subtly diverging languages and cultures akin to makeshift golems fashioned from miscellaneous scraps.

Yet during the initial phases and prisoner exchange negotiations, they had at least presented unified fronts.

“Can you discern which among them might possess relatively legitimate mandates?”

“Representatives originating from their capital remain present. Even if only nominally, their command structures position the Demon Sovereign as the ultimate authority – those individuals should possess some credibilities at minimum.”

“Hmm. But their very presences as separate contingents already feels problematic in itself……”

When the Demon Sovereign’s control and prestige remained inviolable, such disparities posed negligible issues.

But having initiated that war only to reap virtually zero tangible gains? Nay, having endured blatantly humiliating defeats starkly antithetical to their historical legacies of perpetual victories?

The General could readily foresee the inevitable repercussions.

Someone would be held accountable – and the Demon Sovereign had already accumulated excessive baggage through repeated buck-passing, that quintessential governance skill.

“For now, let us engage them somewhat.”

While his counterparts appeared utterly disinclined towards reciprocation, having attended warranted at least perfunctory interactions.

The General brushed aside the incessantly importuning Demons championing negotiation potentials before addressing the capital’s representative:

“So, what do you desire?”

“War. And unconditional surrenders.”

“Then why even attend these proceedings?”

Wavering irises betrayed the representative’s disquietudes.

He likely recognized this war’s inexorable trajectories towards outright losses as well.

Within the General’s mind, the scenario unfolded seamlessly:

Slamming brakes here remained unviable options. Yet boycotting through no-show gestures of defiance could prompt those other frivolously overconfident representatives into precipitous escalations.

Hence, dispatching monitors cloaked as representatives enabled both surveillance and deterrence signaling.

‘Utterly futile endeavors.’

The General briefly regarded that representative with sympathetic consternation before retracting his gaze.

Extending enemies such considerations felt sufficient. More productively, he should pray for the impending offensives’ successes instead.

General Andre engaged in some temporizing banter devoid of substantive nutritions:

Spare prisoners whenever feasible. Avoid inflicting civilian casualties. Refrain from atrocities against noncombatants. Perfunctory reiterations of already exhaustively deliberated axioms.

He was merely stalling for time – awaiting final operational preparedness.

---

Exhortations along the lines of “Wait and exact future vengeances” seldom materialized into actualities among those vocally issuing them. More frequently, they embarked upon celestial rocket expeditions becoming skybound stars instead. If genuine self-assurances had persisted, why would such humiliations have transpired in the first place?

Yet whether driven by malicious intents or some indoctrinating mass-hypnosis apparatuses, humanity had inexplicably defied those norms – arming themselves with novel weaponry before instigating gleefully audacious insurrections.

Where previously they had perished pathetically while galloping upon horseback in cloth tunics…

Humanity now deployed metallic automotive juggernauts into the fray.

Considerably slower and more fragile compared to steeds yet capable of detonating from mere proximal disturbances, while remaining imperviously impenetrable against unarmed grasps.

Initially, countermeasures had involved identifying structural weaknesses for exploitation through stratagem disseminations.

But over time, humanity started unveiling iterative new models across frontlines – each subsequent upgrade mitigating previously exploitable vulnerabilities.

“Dig! Dig deeper!”

“They called those… tanks, was it? In any case, couldn’t we entrap those human contraptions by excavating sufficiently expansive pits?”

“Human intelligence levels should surpass mere ensnared rabbits, should they not…?”

And so, by this current quasi-stalemate juncture…

The Demons had relinquished their erstwhile ferocities, mechanically excavating trenches before hunkering within those subterranean shelters.

-Phewwwww! Bbbanng!!-

-Tanng! Tatatanng!-

“Oh, this actually appears somewhat effective–owww!”

“Who would willingly expose their craniums? But those weapons can scarcely penetrate these defenses under ordinary circumstances.”

Having commenced excavations had evoked nostalgic beach memories from childhoods spent digging arbitrary holes without justifications.

Indulging such innate natural instincts had brought the Demons momentary contentments – had incoming projectiles not constantly pelted their overhead airspaces, their satisfactions could have proven more complete.

And once these shelters had materialized, even safety precautions became priorities:

As long as they refrained from protruding their skulls, random stray munitions could no longer jeopardize their very existences.

“While those tanks appear capable of dismissively overrunning our offensives to some extent… their quantities still remain manageably limited, at least.”

“How long has this war persisted? Why have our mages not simply reverse-engineered and replicated those contraptions? Copy-pasting should hardly prove arduous for them, should it not?”

“Aigh, pffeh. In any case, our esteemed higher-ups clearly possess zero concerns about these affairs.”

Not merely psychological factors, tangible effects had indeed transpired:

Despite Ulric’s razor-sharp blades reaping perpetual offensives, the Demons – having finally internalized defensive necessities amidst that unremitting onslaught – had succeeded in stalling humanity’s advances through sheer obduracies.

Occasional rumors had circulated about wraiths roaming frontlines to selectively cull defeatist commanders alongside stories about railgun-wielding female juggernauts obliterating reinforced concrete barriers – but such trivialities mattered little as long as they remained unaffected bystanders.

That impulsiveness denouncing back-wounds as Demonic disgraces while rashly charging forth had gradually dissipated over time.

“Still, with sufficient tank quantities, eventual breakthroughs might become plausible?”

“Who knows when the Demons might eventually reverse-engineer comparable prototypes? While their current technical shortcomings preclude that for now, their innate physiologies render even prototype-equivalent performances considerably hazardous.”

“Then Uncle, how long might such defensive lines require to overwhelm?”

“Hmm… likely years, I’d wager.”

“Ugh.”

While uncertain about the precise rationales, Edan had developed an unsubstantiated conviction that further protracted stalemates would only perpetuate endless cyclical attritions – a predicament Freugne had proactively collaborated to circumvent by expediting war’s conclusions.

Freugne’s recent existences had essentially become exercised in maximal desire-suppressions – living embodiments of perpetual discontentment and unfulfillment.

Only after Edan intervened by recruiting Sithe into pragmatically arguing about the inadvisabilities of wartime conceptions – “Regardless of circumstances, this hardly represents an opportune juncture for childbearing” – had he finally achieved reprieves from Freugne’s relentless daily importunings.

Not that her counterarguments lacked validity. If she recused herself from duties during active hostilities while physically compromised, their prospective offspring’s future worlds would inevitably deteriorate proportionately.

And thus, upon one brisk dawn…

“Ehh, the tanks seem to be amassing over there?”

“Amassing feels like an overstatement – probably just a few more arrivals. It’s not like those contraptions spontaneously sprout from grounds en masse.”

“No, you misunderstand! They’re genuinely amassing in considerable numbers!”

The Demon observer had finally confirmed the hitherto quantum-entangled tanks coalescing into a tangible horde spanning the horizons while rapidly encroaching.