Whereas it cannot be proved, I am quite certain that Tartarus has gotten to a position where individual life is meaningless. The way they throw their troops away to do nothing but tie down Imperial Legions, rushing headlong even into armies that are supported by full sorcerer brigades or have the presence of a Divine can only be explained through this. I simply refuse to believe that it is some innate code of honour to finish the fight, no sane mind would operate on this scale of mass slaughter, no matter how much they wish to win the war.

  To explain this, there could exist two reasons or a mixture of both. The latter begets the former: If they have a similar reproductive rate to humanity, then their population must measure in the tens of billions. Just as war has increased to the point that we can consider a hundred, even a thousand souls a drop in the bucket, Tartarus acts as if the loss of ten thousand is nothing more than mere protocol.

  The second reason is that they have a reproductive rate to that of insects. Whether it is that they are born in collections such as how dogs reproduce, or whether they have specialized breeders that do nothing but create more of them is unknown. There has been confirmation that they exist as one mutating race rather than distinct creatures such as elves, dwarves and humans. Admittedly, this could be explained through the fact they do not possess a traditional understanding of family, although we have all seen greater demons refer to others as their parents or vice-versa. Questions regarding their homeworld or their culture are rarely answered or explained.

  No matter the reasoning though, it does not change the fact of the matter. Whereas Paraideisius has sent a relatively small force to Arda, Tartarus acts as if drowning the Empire in their own blood is of no concern.

  - Excerpt from “Documenting the Great War”, written by Goddess Maisara, of Order.

  General Ekkerson felt the ground around him shake as he sat in a cave. It had been remodelled into a bunker only insofar that it had all the infrastructure that a bunker entailed. Sections of cloth separated the radio room from the command centre, the stockpile, the garage, the barracks and what had been colloquially named as the Pigpit. That last one was closest to the centre, where some forty hundred men stood and smoked and waited for the Ashfront to pass above them. Marshal Tremali had said twenty to thirty minutes, fifteen had already passed.

  No one said a word as they sat in the cave and listened to the sounds of the world outside being buried. Thunder crashed from the entrance of the cave. Hurricanes sent biting winds and ash steaming inside, the latter of which would be caught by pieces of plastic fabric which had been set up on hooks drilled into the stone. Apparently no one could survive the ash, Ekkerson would believe the theory rather than testing it. The winds were bad enough already, they could flip from scalding hot to freezing cold in a matter of moments.

  Ekkerson looked over the men of his command squad. Two Lynx tanks and sixty men made up the defence. A camera team as well. The One Seventeenth in North Arika had gone silent ever since the Ashfront had passed over them, information was required, the entire would be recorded. Information was simply too important a weapon. The General checked his rifle, loaded. His pistol, loaded. His watch, seventeen minutes since he had started keeping track.

  The First Kirinyaan Armoured would serve as the first spear on which Tartarus would impale itself. It should at least. It was small for a full Division, more a brigade. The Empire may have kickstarted manufacturing in Kirinyaa but it had faced the same problem as the Ashlands Colonization plan did: there simply weren’t enough people in the country. There were only two fully automated factories on the coast and those still required parts from Epa. Rifled barrels could be produced, but it did not matter if they lacked lenses and computer parts to stick into the vehicles.

  Ekkerson sighed as he checked the watch again. Time was seemingly teasing him. It had only crossed to nineteen minutes. He looked over the lit tunnel. A hundred men sounded so much grander in theory than it did in practice. The three platoons in the cave, all the men in heavy dark-grey coats, with helms on their heads and their faces covered barely stretched even a quarter of a mile into the tunnel. Further on, a Kirinyaan infantry division was arriving. That would be twelve thousand men. Hours away though. Ekkerson checked his watch. Twenty-one minutes.

  Fucking Hell.

  He just stared at the ticking hand and counted it steadily in his head. A nearby soldier offered a cigarette to pass the time. Ekkerson took one and leaned it to let it be lit. He took a drag. He checked the watch. Four seconds that took. Four fucking seconds. It felt as if the universe was laughing at him. He took a drag that made his throat burn. Two seconds. He stared at the red flame slowly work its way down the paper and tobacco. Five seconds.

  Never had he smoked a cigarette so quickly and never had it felt so long. Twenty minutes. It should be anytime now. The One Seventeenth had reported around that time, Marshal Tremali had given them a general timeline of the Ashfront taking twenty to thirty min…

  All thought trailed off as General Ekkerson looked to his men. He heard a man cough. He heard another swear. And he realised his ears were missing the sound of hurricanes and thunder. It was still there, but it was obviously moving away. He looked up at the ceiling and the walls. They had stopped rumbling too. A man standing up kicked Ekkerson into action. Before even standing up, he was already giving a command through the comms. “Scouts, check the area. Are we safe?”

  Somehow, time moved so slow and now it moved so fast. Not even a dozen seconds passed before Ekkerson got a reply. “This is Fox one, we have movement outside General. There’s an army here.” One of the scouting teams reported.

  The second man sounded disappointed he was just a few moments too slow. “Fox two confirms. There’s a lot.”

  “Understood.” Ekkerson replied and stood up. Immediately, every soldier straightened as they stared at their General. So the order was given. “All units of the First Armoured, into positions. Calm, steady and fast, as we’ve practiced. Hold fire until order is given.”

  Ekkerson pushed aside the barrier to look outside and stopped moving for a second. He did not know what he predicted… Well he did actually. It was precisely this. The red stone of Kirinyaa’s Central Mountains had been buried in a cloak of black, grey and white, a patternless pattern that morphed from one shade to another depending on how the ashfall went. The Sassara that stretched all the way to the mountains had been buried. A sea of ash flooded by ash. Scars in the desert had been left behind, those looked like tornado patterns. Ekkerson made a mental note to report it.

  And then he realised how dark it was.

  There was no sky. No sky whatsoever. What was on the ground was in the air, it was impossible to even tell where the horizon lay. Maybe it was the fog that was closing in the distance. This close to the ashfront, the winds still stopped the material from settling. Instead, it danced and spiralled in the air as if it was trying to copy great waves that rolled across the ocean. That or the pouncing cheetahs that lived in Kirinyaa proper.

  Already, the edge of the Central Mountains was coming to life. Tanks of the First Kirinyaan Armoured drove out, their barrels already raising into the air. A cornucopia of vehicles that made up the anti-air had been pulled into the frontline too, most of them were prototypes sent straight from Iboud that Ekkerson would report on and choose a model to mass-manufacture. Men raced out, balaclavas and dark facemasks wrapped around their cheeks and noses to try and stall what the reports from the One-Seventeenth described as bitter, choking ash.

  General Ekkerson walked out with his own guard as they took position. Men knelt on the ground, behind rock and concrete barrier. Two heavily armed vehicles, both field-tested Lynx tanks that had served in the takeover of Nanbasa straightened their cannons as they waited for the enemy to approach. Machine-gun teams set up their weaponry, mortar teams brought their equipment into the huge pits. Men brought out their shovels and started to throw heavy ash out of trenches that had been filled with the coming of the Ashfront.

  Ekkerson made a mental note of the fact that the ashfall was so heavy as to fill trenchlines. Sokolowski could use the information, Marshal Tremali would most likely pre-emptively figure it out but it would be good to have on paper no matter whether the information was useless or not. The film crews he had brought set up their cameras, all with wires running through the cave and deeper inside. Now that they were under the ashfront, satellite communication had been cut off. Information would travel to the fall-back locations to be transmitted to the Empire at large.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Ekkerson had access to the satellite maps, he had always known of the Archdemon even before it reached it the sea between Epa and Arika, likewise Iliyal’s classified images of the battle had been shared across the high-officership. Close-up images of the demon’s standing on the Archdemon’s shoulders and cooking missiles to bring them to explosion, or the snakes of flame that had almost successfully devoured the arced shelling of the Imperial Navy’s ship were known. The monster’s death had been a welcome surprise; if anything, it showed that Tartarus was not a force unstoppable.

  It wasn’t a matter of winning this battle or not. Marshal Tremali had defeated the Archdemon but that was akin to defeating a Divine. There was little theory which could be gained from such a thing. Elassa’s defeat in Central Requisitions reached the civilian military hobbyist sector before it was written into Imperial manuals. Even then, it was simply a recount of the battle for the sake of keeping track of such a monumental victory. Archdemons may not be as rare as Elassa, but they were rare enough to have contingencies which relied on calling a superior for assistance. Tartarian Princes were much the same. The three cameras here were not for such things, they were here to record whether an entrenched Empire could stand against a Tartarian force.

  And what a force it was. From the vantage point upon the cliff, Ekkerson would predict it would be some fifty thousand if not more. Tartarus had very obviously not known what it was getting into, the approaching marched in formation without a forward scout. Maybe the thought that the very edge of the mountains would be undefended, maybe they thought that the coming of the Ashfront would destabilize any defences that had dug in. Maybe they thought that a mass of bodies was enough.

  If Ekkerson had to engage them in melee, there would be no chance. Even if his soldiers somehow managed to cut down ten demons in exchange for one of theirs, they would still be overwhelmed. The First Kirinyaan Armoured only had four thousand troops. The auxiliary artillery that had been attached was a tenth of that. The engineering company another three hundred. Men would not be taken from the logistics companies, the trucks had to keep moving. And anyway, both Marshal Tremali’s and Goddess Kassandora’s report both said that demons outcompeted humans in hand-to-hand combat as well. The Tartarian army covered marched in a solid, tight block maybe two? Maybe three miles wide. Thrice as long as well.

  Giants marched amongst them. Huge bulky demons with arms as large as men. Some carried hammers or cleavers in their hands, others on their backs. Tremali had said those would need armour-piercing shells. Now that Ekkerson looked at them, he decided that it wasn’t needed. More than enough of their bright-red skin was exposed for shrapnel to cut them apart even if their armour was supposedly inches thick. Ekkerson just hoped that they had sent their better forces to Epa.

  The armoured cavalry was not a worry either, the fact they left flaming trails in the ground mattered little. Uriamel had hit them with wolves that burst out of the ocean. The herd of massive bulls pulling what had to be lumbering towers likewise weren’t a worry. It was the purple flames on top of those towers that cast flames strong enough to illuminate the entire force and the land around it that was worry-some. Hopefully those were just lighthouses to light up this skyless atmosphere for the demons and not siege weapons.

  “Sir?” A man brushed elbows with Ekkerson and kicked him awake again once. This could not keep happening. Ekkerson kickstarted his mind by working through the Division and battle plans. They would have to engage at this point. At the pace the army was approaching, they were an hour away and it was a slow march. Surely they would speed. That cavalry would definitely cause casualties… “Sir.”

  A division was usually made up of brigades, Ekkerson had forsaken the exact Imperial structure for the First Armoured. There was no point when it numbered less than half of a standard Division. The reports started rolling in. “Second company in position.” Major Ilkiecz reported. Ekkerson did not report, he just ticked him off the list. A dozen seconds later, the next man report.

  “First company ready General.” This one was Major Kiboche, a native Kirinyaan who had apparently joined during the White Pantheon’s invasion.

  “Third company reports ready.” Major Ogolla this time, his voice was distinctively deep. A man that Ekkerson had promoted only a few months prior. He had served in the defence of the coastal cities, somehow the man had rallied several platoons after Uriamel had breached the coastal defences and penetrated into urban terrain, even managing to push them back until the airforce had assisted.

  Ekkerson took a deep breath. The airforce would make short work of such an organised force. Iboud better be working on those ash-jets already. The fifth company report, then the forth. Support artillery made the call. The engineers reported they would be late. Those were the least important. Ekkerson took a deep breath and clicked the earpiece in his ear. At least short-wave radio still worked in spite of the falling snowdrops of ash. Another thing to report to Strategic-Command.

  “All units, green light on opening fire. Send them back to Hell.” Ekkerson gave the order and the mounter rumbled. Barrels aimed low for direct strikes blew backwards. Artillery shook the ground as they penetrated ashen skies, leaving small gaps in the dark mist that was trying to choke this planet. Automatic cannons, whether from high-calibre anti-air that was being forced to fire at low angles or machine-gun emplacements rattled as if they were biting snakes descending from the mountains. Teams of footmen raced passed mortar shells to each other, crews with explosive weaponry aimed at the largest targets, infantry half-way down the mountain which had appeared from tunnels ripped open by geomancers and engineers took aim as sent the shrill screams of rifles down echoing through the valleys.

  Mages had been keep in reserve, there was no need for that yet. Nor for landmines yet, Ekkerson had a great many of the Hedgehog models still leftover from the White Pantheon’s invasion of Kirinyaa but they had a whole mountain range to defend. Falling back was part of the plan. Heavy railway artillery was still being shipped from Nanbasa, as were fresh designs that should supposedly surpass it from Iboud. Mountains would not be called onto to collapse yet either, tunnels and bridges here were rigged to blow to before Tartarus even made it to them. They were a trump card that would better be saved.

  Falling back was part of the plan, but that did not mean they would fall back bloodlessly. Marshal Tremali had given his report that Tartarus held numbers countless and effectively infinite. Leadership had been given required reading from Goddess Kassandora’s own works detailing the demonic threat: she believed that they reproduced at the rate of ants and that losses which would be catastrophic for the Empire would be quickly replenished. General Ekkerson just stared from the mountain entrance as he watched the demonic army.

  They roaring started when the first tank shells hit. It had been a good idea to use high-explosive shells in the initial volley. Maybe mages had been hit, maybe they had been concussed or maybe the wave of firepower was just too overwhelming for what remained of their countermeasures to effectively intercept.

  Maybe they were just taken by surprise that the mountain opened fire upon them.

  A hundred explosions scattered bodies into the air. Immediately shields were raised and spheres of flames burst out upwards like huge mushrooms. The twenty artillery trucks on the other side of the range fired again, Ekkerson recognised their gunfire even over the crashing thunder and howling storm in the distance. Twenty shells penetrated back through ashen skies and fell down. One of the towers was hit by a lucky shell as men closer to the foot of the mountain opened fire upon the cavalry and immediately began to charge.

  Another tactic taken from Ekkerson’s experience against aquatic Uriamel. If the enemy wished to engage in melee, then they would charge. At that point, hiding made little difference, tracer rounds allowed men to track their fire as they shot. Green dashes started appearing from the entire mountain as tanks roared, their tracks into the ash as recoil pushed their barrels back. The re-calibrated anti-air made grand sweeping motions of heavy shells into the opposing force: from left to right and back again. Again, the queen of the battlefield that was artillery roared from behind the mountain as reports started flooding in through the radio. Platoons calling for ammunition, tanks reporting they had buried themselves into the ash, a barrel melting, reports on the charging force.

  The next strike of high-explosive shells descended through the air and crashed into the army ahead of them. Ekkerson lost count of the bodies as his command squad held their fire. They were only here to engage as a last resort. Demons took off into the air, their wings flapping, and then they fell back down. Someone managed to score a hit on the cattle that pulled those towers. The entire heard squealed and roared and rear as they broke free of their holds and raced in all directions, uncaring of how many foes they crushed.

  Flames roared back towards the mountain. Great balls of flame purple and orange, both to unnatural degrees. They scorched vehicle and dropped man to ash. Reports over the comms immediately began to sound which squads were hit, how many men were leaving action and how many were wounded. Fixing the men would be a job for the meagre amount of Clerics that Ekkerson had to spare. Those healers were too crucial to even risk in open battle, they had been tasted with staying in the tunnel network of the mountain.

  The tower lacking a herd began to topple. Ekkerson watched its purple flame. Definitely a lighthouse, none of them had opened fire yet. It crashed onto its side. The explosion was akin to a bombing run. Ekkerson did not even need to give the order, the commanders themselves gave orders to load AP and open upon the towers or to target the herds pulling them forwards.

  An Uriamel attack would last some two hours before it was. This battle was shorter than the passing of the ashfront. By the time it was, Ekkerson could only estimate the amount of casualties laying on the ground. Surely it had to be at least three quarters of them. The rest were scattering as infantry picked them off. Green flashes of light penetrating their backs as they tried to retreat.

  So they had morale too then. Ekkerson pointed to the fleeing demons. “Get that on video.”

  “Already got it Sir.” This wasn’t the world Tartarus had entered a thousand years ago. Skies, ashen or cloudy or clear, it did not matter. They would crash and bleed upon his mountains just as the ancient cavalry crashed and bled upon formations of pikemen.

  For the good of all Arda, Tartarian blood would be spilled.