"Hello there, Belial! Haven't you been decidedly wicked as of late? Just as any good Crimson Fatalis should be, I dare say! Here's to seasonal good will, and high hopes that you have a very Merry Christmas indeed! May the Crimson Lord of the Battlefield enjoy this piece!"
(Oh lord, this is just amazing! Simply, utterly amazing :D!! Thank you so much Garara! When the flames of calamity consume all, you shall be spared :3 Merry Christmas, and enjoy the well-roasted...everything!)
Armored boots stomped the earth, and weapon-clad hands poked the skies. The combined forces of hunters, soldiers, and famed war generals had emerged to form a myriad that suffocated the barren wasteland that was once a fecund field of fauna and flora.
That was, until the arrival of the black wings of fate.
In time immemorial, the crimson epitome of calamity known as Belial was once unmarred by the hellish inferno of the volcano. His obsidian scales once absorbed all glimmer of light, leaving only an enigmatic abyss; his horns - symbols of pure power - were once symmetrical but short. However, even in his youth, Belial dispersed trepidation, hatred, and despair in his bitter pursuit of pandemonium. This once serene field was but a victim of his destruction; so too, was this army comprised of victims - direct or indirect - of this dragon’s hatred. Former enemies made peace to conquer this ultimate enemy, and once rapacious warriors set aside gold to protect everyone from this beast.
As for the beast? He gazed at this approaching army and simply…smiled. “Can you see this, Ezraeil?" Belial mused, arching his head to face the darkened heavens. "As with all things, it seems you are right once again. The other creatures will challenge me with all their might, for I am death, and they are fools. How many will flee and abandon their friends to my wrath? How many will stand, confident in their morals and strength, only to be slain? I, thanks to your auspices, have the one thing that will bring my victory and their eradication: power. My victory shall show this wretched world the truth of your great wisdom!”
The sounds of music covered the ominous area: primal war drums increased the fury of the indignant warriors; refined ritual chanting soothed the hearts of the terrified; boisterous battle tunes expanded the confidence of the generals. Eventually, the music diminished in volume as a speech could be heard being recited. Belial’s eyes watched as one figure - the leader, it seemed, as he was clad in magnificent armor - took precedence in the groups and spoke in a now long forgotten language.
"We stand together! Not as enemies, not as hunters, but as guardians. For too long, this monster has plagued these lands with a hatred unrivaled. While children cry as their parents are slaughtered by callous flames, while nature suffers and decays into oblivion, while hope is almost consumed by a vortex of despondency and resignation, this beast only smiles, content in believing our spirits are broken. But this is when the beast reveals he knows nothing, for our bodies may die, our legacies may disappear, but our spirits will always be reaching for the great heavens! Our cause will see us through, for the virtuous are blessed by nature to succeed! So I ask, brothers of arms: let us be one, so that the future generations may know compassion, valor, and hope!"
Belial chuckled at these platitudes: how he heard the same vapid rhetoric be utterly destroyed by his master, and how he already knew just what to do to destroy this bravado again. These fools would learn the truth of nature with their lives.
And so, the ultimate army charged at the command of their leader, and the ultimate dragon soared at the command of his master. The words of Belial’s master still rung so vibrantly in his head as they did when he first heard that stolid, utterly omnipresent voice:
“The first step of warfare: destroy the support, so that the entire structure collapse on itself," and so it was done. No healers would be present to heal the wounds made by the Fatalis. The flames of hell silenced the war drums. Terror consumed the hearts of many hunters, and they fled to be exterminated on a later date.
“Secondly, erase the presence of any long range attacks, so that no option exists that would not benefit you," and so it was done. The frantic attempts to shoot arrows and cannons at the Fatalis would not save the distance opponents as the Fatalis closed their advantage. Religious hymns degenerated into pathetic pleas of mercy and bone-chilling, incoherent screaming. Hatred corrupted the minds of the soldiers, and they fought among themselves and died blaming their allies for this hell.
“Thirdly, end those who must come in close to damage you, so that the blood may soak your body," and so it was done. The warriors proved skillful in their hammers, swords, and lances, but none could stand against the flames hotter than the sun and the strength greater than the mountains that belonged to the Fatalis. Unnatural silence replaced the enthusiastic battle cries of the army. Despair destroyed the hope of the war generals, and they stood acquiescently as the black dragon killed the hollow shells of failed generals one by one.
In what seemed like a torturous eternity, the once impressive army was reduced to shambles. Thousands of dead bodies littered the earth, and the repugnant stench of burning flesh permeated the battlefield. Belial stood triumphant, but his work was not done yet, as a single being still fought with a vigor that almost seemed desperate. The magnificently clad leader had somehow been spared the horror that had been wrought, and wielding his pristine great sword, he rushed towards the dragon with a speed unlike any of the corpses that marked the ground. But matching the leader’s speed with his own haste, Belial did something unexpected: he shoved the commander into the ground with his lofty tail, quickly wrapped his tail around the commander’s great sword as it fell out of his hand, and grabbed it.
The leader stared incredulously as his mighty sword laid in the possession of the demon who had knocked him down helplessly to the ground. Belial waved the sword in front of the human, as if to mock him. What had this leader’s bravado brought about? Nothing but failure, death, and revealed hypocrisy. The leader began to frantically search for a replacement weapon, but suddenly his efforts ceased; an…unearthly gaze bore into his soul, he felt. He glanced at the dragon, and saw the eyes of the devil stare directly at him. The glare did not seem to have any fury or joy: it seemed foreign, bereft of emotions but promulgating a message. No words were uttered - dreadful silence marked that moment of eternity. Both beings just gazed at each other, one sending out a message, and the other somberly accepting it.
Belial, confident he now knew what filled the once idealistic leader’s mind, eventually stopped his lesson and took flight. He ignored the physical decimation he had caused, for his mind was invested in the ultimate of victories.
His master would be pleased at this. Too often do mortals forget that complete destruction is not the kind of the material world: it was the kind of the spiritual, emotional, and mental world.
The last sight Belial caught of the wasteland was of the magnificently clad leader. His armor was still impeccable, as was his sword now lying on the ground, but Belial knew the leader’s perfection was nothing more than a cruel effigy now. The leader stood, distant and apathetic towards the ubiquitous death around him. Nothing had been lost to him, for nothing existed to begin with. He had seen the world through Belial…and it was a dark abyss. Nothing more.
((OOC: Wow, I went overboard here…I dunno, the idea came to me, and I just had to write. I hope this enlightens you a bit about Belial and what makes him tick. Sorry if the writing is a bit slipshod :C!!))
"Well, well, well. It seems the self-proclaimed 'Lord of Hell Fire and Calamity' has taken a certain attention towards me. How nice of the oh-so-amazing 'God' to humble me with his presence!"
"...Just take note, Miralis: you are mortal. I will not hesitate to remind you of this fact, if you attempt to assert any unwarranted dominance over me."
M!A: *Turns you into a human till the end of the current month*
Belial stared at the strange human in front of him as the human waved his arms dramatically and chanted complete nonsense. Awkward silence filled the area; the human kept his dramatic pose, and Belial raised a scaly brow at the odd human. After what seemed to be five minutes, Belial cleared his throat.
"Well, that was certainly something different. But if you have nothing else to perform, jester, then it is time for you to leave this court…permanently."
-
Belial chuckled to himself as he rested on the ground. It seems necessity is the mother of invention…and pure comedy.
A tattered magician’s hat laid on the barren ground. Eventually, a breeze swooped it away. It flew through the sky and disappeared.
Hot and cold, fire and ice, violence and peace: it seemed that at the End of the World, commonly accepted dichotomies intermixed into a truly surreal locale. The ancient spikes and purple haze told a message of death, but the pure snow and beautiful moon proclaimed a message of peace. Truly, Belial thought as he soared across the isolated region, this land was far different from the Battlegrounds...or any place at all. It was a pleasant change, though. He could begin to ascertain why his friend, Eira, chose to remain here.
Belial had come to reconnect with perhaps the only being - besides his younger brother and (begrudgingly) Akumu - that elicited any form of warmth from the Crimson Fatalis. When he finally arrived at World's End, however, he couldn't help but take a short time to explore the area. To Belial, knowing all the nuanced crevices of this land was one of life's few genuine pleasures. And so he flew, not expecting to find any life besides the great Elder Dragon he called 'friend'.
That was how the ancient rhyme - sung since the days of old - went. From seeing the outcome of the existence of Fatalises, such a declaration would seem to be doing the omnipotent dragons a disservice. From beyond the the boundaries of the sky, the ancestor reigned over a grand edifice that towered over the distant Earth. Within the heart of the land, the legend of flight stood as the sole inhabitant of a dilapidated but once marvelous region. Time had not attenuated the dominance displayed by the miraculous dragons; in fact, it seemed the beasts were beings above time, above categorization, and beyond mortal explanation. They were constants in an inconstant world.
But what of the Plate of Calamity? Surely the middle of the three must also be ruling over their territory, right?
The answer was anything but. The chaos, the pandemonium of life coalesced in the Crimson Fatalis, and as the destroyer of the triumvirate, his only constant was spreading mayhem. It seemed only natural to the beast from hell. His wings spread the havoc he embodied to every corner of the earth, and to every corner of the earth a sense of dread emerged at the very thought of the epitome of hell.
But one area of the land drew special attention to the Crimson Fatalis. This land had already seen destruction and calamity and would forever be scarred by it, but never had it experienced the sheer horrendous that was fast approaching. Death lived in Schrade, but even death was weary of the future. There was a method and goal in the Crimson Fatalis's madness, and it was this:
A family reunion between black and red.
The quest was long, and filled with many side-distractions, but it would face its finale ever so soon. Belial salivated as he thought of the encounter, his great arm crushing the unfortunate hunter that attempted to protect his village from complete destruction. Alas, it was all for naught, for as the once quaint homes burned and collapsed, the hunter gazed at the sight of his eviscerated village, turned his eyes towards the monster that had long ago forgot of his very existence, and uttered one last, despair-filled rhyme:
