"The city has no more value. It is yours to play with."
A savage, toothy grin spread an impossible distance across the dead man's features. "You're very gracious, warlord…"
General Malevolyn nodded, then waved him off. "Go! Let no life be spared. Lut Gholein will serve as notice of what hope any other kingdom, any other power, has against me."
The thing with Zako's face rushed off, fairly bouncing up and down with glee as he hurried to tell the others. The horde would ravage the city, leave nothing standing. In many ways, it would assuage the warlord for what had happened at Vin-Jun.
Vin-Jun. Malevolyn's chest swelled with anticipation. Now that he had the armor, even Kehjistan, legendary home of the Vizjerei, would fall to him.
His hand traced the fox and swords crest on his own breastplate. Long ago, after he had slain his birth father and burned down the house that had never acknowledged him, Augustus Malevolyn had decided to bear the symbol of that house on his armor in order to remind himself that what he wanted he would always be able to take. Now, though, the time had come to set aside that symbol for a better one. The bloodred suit of Bartuc.
He turned back to Xazax and the mercenary. "Well, shall we begin?"
Xazax prodded Norrec forward. The man stumbled, then dared to glare at the demon. Malevolyn's opinion of his distant cousin rose a notch. At least the buffoon had some nerve.
But the words spat bitterly from Norrec's mouth did not at all please the new warlord. "I can't give it to you."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It won't come off. I've tried again and again and it won't come off, not even the boots! I've no control over the armor whatsoever! I thought I did, but it was all a trick! What I do, where I go-the armor always decides!"
His tragic situation amused General Malevolyn. "Sounds almost like a comic opera! Is there any truth to this, Xazax?"
"This one would have to say the fool speaks the truth, warlord. He could not even move to save the necromancer…"
"How fascinating. Still, a problem not at all difficult to solve." He raised a hand toward Norrec. "Not with the power now at my command."
The spell summoned from memories other than his own should have enabled Malevolyn to desiccate the soldier within the very armor, leaving but a dried husk easily removed. Bartuc had used the spell and used it well during his reign and never once had it failed him.
But now it did. Norrec Vizharan stood wide-eyed but untouched. He looked as if he had truly expected to die, which made the failure of so strong a spell all the more puzzling.
Xazax it was who suggested the reason. "Your spell encompasses the entire body, warlord. Perhaps the suit reacts instantly as if attacked itself."
"A good point. Then we shall just have to do something a little more personal." He stretched out his hand- and the demon blade appeared in it. "Beheading him should sever the armor's link. It needs a live host, not a corpse."
As he approached, the general noted the mercenary struggling within the suit, trying desperately to make it move. Malevolyn took the lack of reaction by Bartuc's armor as a sign that he had chosen the right method this time. One swift slash would do it. In some ways, Vizharan should have considered himself honored. Had not the first great warlord perished much the same way? Perhaps Malevolyn would keep the man's head for a trophy, a reminder of this wondrous day.
"I shall remember you always, Norrec, my cousin. Remember you for all you have given me."
General Augustus Malevolyn readied the ebony sword, taking expert aim at his target's throat. Yes… one swift slash. Much more elegant than simply hacking away until the head fell off.
Smiling, he performed the killing stroke-
— only to have his blade resound off an identical one now held in Norrec's left hand.
"What in the name of Hell?"
The mercenary looked as startled as him. Behind Norrec Vizharan, the monstrous demon clacked and chittered in open consternation.
Norrec-or rather the armor — shifted into a combat stance, the other black blade ready for any attack by the general.
A peculiar expression spread across the soldier's countenance, an expression both bewildered and bemused. After a moment's hesitation, he even dared speak toMalevolyn. "I guess it might not think you're the right choice for it, general. I guess we'll be forced to fight over it. I'm sorry, believe me, I am."
Malevolyn fought back his growing rage. He could ill afford to lose his temper now. In a calm tone, he returned, "Then fight we shall, Vizharan-and when I claim the armor, the victory will be that much the sweeter for this battle!"
He swung at Norrec.
Xazax feared that he had made a terrible error. Now before him stood two mortals clad in pieces of Bartuc's armor, two mortals who both seemed capable of wielding to some extent the warlord's ancient sorcery. Yet, the mantis had thrown in his lot with Malevolyn, who had, until now, seemed the destined successor. The suit of armor, however, clearly saw matters differently, choosing to defend its quite unwilling host.
The demon had worked hard to convince his infernal lord, Belial, to sacrifice so many hellish minions to this effort. Belial had only agreed because he, too, had thought that a new Bartuc could give him the edge he needed not only against his rival, but the possible return of any of the three Prime Evils. If Xazax had assumed wrongly, if Norrec Vizharan somehow managed to win, it would look as if Belial's lieutenant had completely mismanaged the entire affair. Belial did not suffer incompetence in his servants.
Now, watching the two prepare for the struggle, he also felt certain that the suit had played him in particular for a fool. It had come with him as if docile, as if it only wished to reunite itself with the helmet, then join the demon's cause. However, now the mantis believed that it sought the helmet only-and after that intended to turn upon him.
It must have known that Xazax had been the one whohad brought the aquatic behemoth to the mortal plane and, who, after questioning the dying mariner, had sent that monster to attack the ship. At the time, Xazax had thought he could quicken matters, take the armor before it ever reached dry land. Galeona had guided him to a fair approximation of where Norrec Vizharan could be found. It should have been a simple matter for the hellish beast to rip the puny wooden vessel apart, then strip the armor from the dead man's body…
Only… only the armor had not only fended off the titanic creature, it had slain the demon with hardly any effort. The result had been so startling that it had sent Xazax fleeing in panic. He had never expected the enchanted armor to unleash such overwhelming power…
The mantis fixed his gaze on the back of the mercenary, his decision made. With Malevolyn as the warlord, Xazax had something spectacular to show his master, an ally with whom they could crush Azmodan and, if necessary, the three. However, with Norrec Vizharan the unwilling host, Belial would surely not be nearly so pleased.
And when his master was displeased… those who failed him suffered much for it.
The demon raised one sickle, biding his time. In the heat of combat, it would take only one strike. The general might complain about his loss of glory, but he would soon come around. Then, they could return to the ravaging of Lut Gholein.
And from there… the rest of the mortal realm.
Norrec did not even feel a fraction of the confidence he tried to portray to General Malevolyn. While his words concerning the suit's reluctance to part from him had been true, that did not mean that he trusted in the ability of the enchanted armor to defeat the helmed officer. In truth, Malevolyn looked as if the link between him and the helmet far surpassed the questionable alliance Norrecsuffered. Not only did Malevolyn share in the knowledge and skills of the Warlord of Blood, but the general also had his own not inconsiderable abilities. In combination with what the helmet offered, even the armor would likely not be able to stand long against the dedicated commander.