DEMON CRY

17.

The Crown Prince growled, angered by the non-cooperation of the demons they'd captured. He swung the dead demon across the cell. The body hit the wall and fell with a loud thud that echoed down in the cellars of the Tracovian fortress.

While they were on his way, they were attacked by a unit of demons. They'd managed to survive. The worst injury was a severed leg that was chewed off by one of the demons. The demons then fled knowing that they couldn't win. Damien sent his best men after them, strictly instructing them not the engage but to shadow them to see where their camp was.

He turned to the other demon, "I asked you a question!" He bellowed. The demon cowered away, but the chains held him in place.

"Speak!"

The demon shook his head. His body shivering.

The Prince clutched the demon's jaw and brought his eyes to meet the yellow ones. In a low, deep, deathly whisper, he said, "Speak up, or I'll tear you up limb by limb and leave you here to die."

The demon trembled with fear.

"Where is your camp?"

On receiving no reply, he caught hold of one of his fingers, crushed it and ripped it off his hands. The demon's body rocked with pain as a terrifying cry rang through the cellars.

"Are you ready to tell me now?" he threw the severed finger in a direction and it was lost to the shadows.

The demon's thick lips trembled. A layer of sweat mixed with dirt and blood covered his tar coloured skin.

"You brought this upon yourself."
The Prince grabbed his elbow and pulled it with such a force that it ripped off his body.

The demon cried. He could barely breathe. He collapsed, making the Prince angrier. He wanted to kill the demon, but it wasn't the right time. He wanted to make sure he was alive to feel the pain, moreover, he wanted information.

"Prince Damien," Lord Trent's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Whatis it?" He glared at the demon and walked out of the cell where the Tracovian Lord was waiting for him.

"We've found their camp."

A wicked smile took over his face. "Call in your Generals."

He had one of his best men go scan the camp and tell him about their placements.

"-surprisingly, Prince Damien, they're in ranks. I've never seen any unit of the demon army so organized."

He found this new piece of information surprising. During the attack, he had noticed that but took no mind of it thinking it was just a coincidence. That was the reason they'd struck the Tracovian land so hard.

Demons were primal. They had no form of organization and depended mainly on their animalistic instincts.

"There's more, sire," the spy paused and spoke when he motioned him to continue, "The Lornis Clan is aiding them."

Prince Damien wasn't surprised at all. The Queen of Demons hailed from that clan, that bloody witch who cursed him. It was quite obvious that they would follow her every command. It only glorified their clan in the eyes of the Demon Lord.

"What do you suggest we do, Prince Damien?" Lord Trent asked. Though the Tracovian Lord was older to him by many years, he was defeated. He had no other choice. He knew better than to challenge the Prince's wishes, now that he had won the support of his scarred people. He'd hoped for more men with someone who was below him.... someone who was used to obeying orders.

It hurt his pride being ordered around by a young Princeling but with the Prince's history, his struggles weren't in vain. His presence gave people hope.

None could doubt his capabilities. Under him, the Dithrai army had successfully finished the Demon Lord's son at the mere age of nineteen.

As far as he could tell, Crown Prince Damien was the one the best commanders in the history of Dithrai warfare and he was merciless. He'd seen the feral look in his eyes when he was questioning the demons. He understood why the demons feared him. For a moment, he was horrified too, even though the Prince's rage was not directed at him. He watched closely as Prince Damien stared at the roughly drawn map that the spy had drawn.

"How many mages do we have?"

"Fifty-seven, sir," A General replied, "Only thirty-three are in a condition to fight."

The Prince cursed inside his head. It was certain that the demons had more of them.

Then all of a sudden, he smiled, cruelly and everybody in the tent sat up, attentively, waiting for the Prince's plan of attack.

Prince Damien let the one-armed thing run for his life. He smirked. The demon thought he had escaped. Surely, the thing didn't know that it was his plan to set him free like that. He knew that thing would run to the camp. He instructed his warriors to leave the cell unlocked. He predicted that the demon would desperately pull his only arm out of the chains to escape him.

He thinks he has escaped, the Crown Prince chuckled, darkly. He waited for the thing to go far enough. Just as he was about to vanish, he motioned his warriors to follow him. Through the woods, they ran, following the demon, though they already knew where the camp was.

Prince Damien wanted to give them a little happiness before he brought a chaotic death upon them. He had always loved that part.

Chaotic death.

The kind where you didn't know what hit you.

Vampires and werewolves comprised of his first line of defence. The sirens followed. Sirens were skilled in archery like no other species. They never missed. The third line of defence was warlocks and witches along with all the other species.

With their supernatural speed, they caught up with the injured demon in no time.

When they were close enough to the demon camp, they halted, and Damien motioned for his best archer to aim. They could see the demons patrolling in the clearing with humungous spears in their hands. The one-armed demon almost fell face front but caught himself.

They waited. The Prince wanted the guards to see the demon die, to notice the one-armed demon and run to him to understand what had happened.

Prince Damien dropped his hand and an arrow cut through the air leaving the hum of the bowstring behind. It hit the demon's back with such a force that he died on the spot, but not before emitting a loud cry of anguish.

Before the guard demons could warn their camp, Lord Trent's unit charged, he could hear them charge from the northern part of the camp. The Prince waited, patiently for the sparks, which was basically the sign of defence from the magic-wielders. He motioned his unit to follow him. He stepped past the woods. There was no way he was going to let those demons run. They'd put Tracovia in such a miserable state, it hurt him, and he was going to hurt them back harder.

Once he was near the south-western part of the demon camp, they leapt out of the woods, out in the open.