The smell hit me first. Sulfur. Thick, acrid, unmistakable. My divine senses recoiled from the stench as much physical as metaphysical, even as I extended them further outward to assess the threat.
These weren't bandits.
Wings unfolded from several of the figures, leathery and tipped with barbs. Spined devils, spinagon in the local parlance. Michael's memories supplied what they were. Aerial skirmishers, messengers of the Nine Hells, creatures of hell and cruelty twisted into physical form.
Behind them came larger figures, humanoid and heavily muscled, their faces covered in writhing beards that moved with independent malice. Bearded devils, barbazu. The kind of creatures you sent when you wanted something destroyed brutally.
And accompanying them, moving with the jerky enthusiasm of fanatics, were humans. Or they had been human once. Now they reeked of infernal taint, their eyes gleaming with reflected hellfire, writing branded into their skin in hell languages.
"Secure the cargo!" one of the tainted humans shouted. "The archdevil wants it intact!"
Captain Mira's face went pale. "Defensive positions! Protect the third wagon!"
So they were after something specific. Something important enough to send devils and their corrupted servants into the Outlands where such brazen action violated numerous treaties and agreements.
Unfortunately for them, they'd chosen to attack a caravan I was traveling with.
The spined devils launched into the air, their wings beating with mechanical precision. Spines erupted from their bodies, raining down on the guards like arrows. Jace raised his crossbow and fired, catching one devil through the wing. It shrieked and spiraled downward, crashing into the rocks.
The bearded devils charged. Their movements were coordinated, disciplined, each one covering another's advance. These weren't mindless monsters. They were soldiers of the Hells, and they fought like it.
Tommen met the first devil's charge, his sword clashing against the creature's glaive. The impact drove him back a few steps. The devil pressed forward, beard-tendrils reaching for Tommen's throat. He ducked, rolled, came up swinging. His blade scored a line across the devil's chest, drawing ichor that steamed in the air.
Two more devils flanked him. One swung high, one swung low. Tommen blocked the high strike, but the low one caught him across the thigh. He stumbled.
The guards were losing ground. They were skilled, and against mortal bandits, they would have been more than adequate. Against organized devils supported by corrupted humans, they were outmatched.
I watched a guard named Marcus take a spine through the shoulder. He went down hard, screaming. Another guard, a woman whose name I hadn't learned, tried to drag him to safety. A bearded devil intercepted her, glaive sweeping toward her neck.
I'd seen enough.
I reached into my dimensional storage and pulled out my war hammer, Κοσμοπλάστης. The weapon materialized in my hand, familiar weight settling into my grip. I'd forged this hammer millennia ago, tempered it in the heart of Mount Etna, bound it to my essence so thoroughly that it was as much a part of me as my divine spark.
The devils noticed me now. One of the spined devils wheeled in the air, launching a volley of spines in my direction. I didn't bother dodging. The spines shattered against my skin, my divine essence rejecting their infernal corruption without conscious effort.
The bearded devil threatening the female guard turned toward me, sensing a greater threat. It charged, glaive raised, beard-tendrils writhing with anticipation.
I sidestepped the glaive strike, brought my hammer easily around in a tight arc, and crushed its skull. The devil collapsed, ichor pooling beneath it. Its form began to dissolve, preparing to return to the Hells for reformation.
I wouldn't let that happen.
I channeled a pulse of divine energy into the corpse, binding it to this reality. The dissolution halted. The devil's body remained solid, trapped between life and true death.
The remaining devils hesitated. They'd just watched me kill one of their number with casual ease and prevent its return to the Hells. That shouldn't have been possible for a mortal, and they knew it.
"What are you?" one of the tainted humans shouted.
I ignored him. Instead, I raised my free hand and spoke a name I hadn't used in years.
"Khalkotauroi."
Power surged through me, divine will shaping reality. The ground beneath the caravan trembled. Cracks formed in the earth, glowing with internal heat. Steam erupted from the fissures, carrying the scent of forge-fire and molten metal.
Two massive forms emerged from the cracks. Bulls, or something that resembled bulls, cast entirely from bronze. Their eyes glowed with furnace-light. Steam poured from their nostrils with each breath. Their hooves struck sparks against the stone.
The Khalkotauroi. My creations, forged in my youth for a king who'd tried to use them against me. I'd reclaimed them after that particular misadventure, modified them, bound them to my will. They existed in a space between realities, waiting until I called them forth, they deserved a treat it fighting these unfortunate devils, I didn't feel like crushing ants anymore today.
Now they stood before the devils, two tons of animated bronze each, radiating heat that made the air shimmer.
"Kill them," I said simply.
The Khalkotauroi charged.
The first bronze bull caught a bearded devil in its horns, lifted it off the ground, and slammed it into the rocks with enough force to shatter stone. The devil's glaive clattered uselessly to the ground. Its beard-tendrils thrashed wildly as the bull gored it repeatedly, bronze horns punching through infernal flesh like it was paper.
The second bull targeted the spined devils still airborne. It lowered its head and exhaled a gout of flame so hot it turned the air white. Three spined devils caught in the blast simply ceased to exist, their bodies vaporized before they could even scream. A fourth managed to dodge, only to be caught by the bull's follow-up charge. Bronze hooves crushed its spine against the ground.
The remaining devils broke. Discipline shattered in the face of overwhelming force. They tried to retreat, to flee back to whatever portal had brought them here.
I wasn't done with them yet.
My hammer sang through the air, crushing another bearded devil's chest. I bound its form to reality before it could dissolve. A spined devil dove at me from above, claws extended. I caught it by the throat, channeled divine fire through my grip, and felt it cook from the inside out, amusement filling my eyes. Its body joined the growing collection of trapped corpses.
The Khalkotauroi continued their rampage. One bull cornered three tainted humans against the rocks. They screamed for mercy in Common, in Infernal, in languages I didn't recognize. The bull showed them the same mercy they'd shown the guards: none. Bronze hooves reduced them to paste.
Within minutes, it was over. The devils were dead or dying, their bodies prevented from returning to the Hells by my divine intervention. The tainted humans were scattered corpses. The caravan guards stood in shocked silence, staring at the carnage.
One bearded devil still lived, barely. Its legs were crushed beneath a boulder, its glaive broken, its beard-tendrils hanging limp. I approached it, hammer resting on my shoulder.
"Who sent you?" I asked.
The devil laughed, blood bubbling from its mouth. "You think you've won, whatever you are? You've just made an enemy of the Hells. The archdevil will come looking for what you've protected. You're not safe. Nowhere in this reality is safe from his reach."
"Which archdevil?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" The devil grinned, showing far too many teeth. "Enjoy your brief victory. It won't last."
I brought my hammer down on its skull. The crack echoed across the rocks. Like the others, I bound its form to prevent its return to the Nine Hells.
Captain Mira approached cautiously, her sword still drawn. "What... what are you?"
"Someone who doesn't appreciate being attacked on the road." I said.
"Those were devils. Actual devils from the Nine Hells." Her voice carried a note of hysteria. "And you just... you just killed them like they were nothing."
"They weren't nothing. They were dangerous, organized, and specifically targeting your cargo." I gestured to the third wagon. "What's in there that's worth sending devils after?"
She hesitated, clearly weighing her options. Finally, she sighed. "A shipment of celestial-blessed artifacts bound for Mount Celestia and an adopted child of one of the archons, it was supposed to be a secret. We do not know how it leaked and also weapons, mostly. The kind that can permanently kill devils and demons. Someone in the Hells found out about the shipment and wanted it destroyed before it reached its destination."
That explained the coordination and the resources invested in the attack. It was killing two birds with one stone, spit a celestial and deprive them of celestial-blessed weapons, which were among the few things that could truly threaten infernal forces. Of course they'd want to prevent more from reaching the armies of good.
"You said an archdevil is coming," Jace said, limping over with one hand pressed to a wound on his side. "What do we do about that?"
"We get to Excelsior as quickly as possible," Captain Mira said. "The celestials can provide protection once we're within their territory. But we need to move now, before more devils arrive."
I looked at the bound corpses scattered across the battlefield. Normally, slain devils reformed in the Hells after a century or so, returning to fight again. These wouldn't. I'd trapped them in their death-forms, prevented their return. The archdevil would notice that. Would want to know who or what had done it.
Good. Let them come looking. I'd been dealing with entitled immortals who thought themselves untouchable for millennia. One more wouldn't make much difference.
"Load the wounded into the wagons," I said. "The Khalkotauroi will pull the cargo wagon. They're stronger than horses and they won't tire."
Captain Mira nodded, too shaken to argue. The guards moved to obey, grateful for direction in the aftermath of chaos.
As they worked, I moved among the devil corpses, examining them with my divine senses. Fascinating. The infernal energies that animated them were complex, structured according to laws that paralleled divine power while being fundamentally different. Law twisted into cruelty, order made into oppression.
I pulled several components from the corpses before we left. Spines from the spinagons, beard-tendrils from the barbazu, samples of ichor that still steamed in the cooling air. Research materials. If I was going to be traveling the multiverse, I needed to understand the various forms of power I might encounter.
The Khalkotauroi settled into their harnesses without complaint, their bronze forms radiating patient strength. The caravan reformed, wounded tended as best as possible, and we continued toward Excelsior.
Behind us, the battlefield was littered with devil corpses that wouldn't dissolve. A message written in trapped souls and bound flesh.
Somewhere in the Nine Hells, an archdevil was going to be very, very angry.
I found myself looking forward to meeting them.