Rule in Hell

Rule in Hell is the final encounter in The Battle for Krezzor. 7 Krezzor Tokens are required to access it.
==Enemies==
* Silthura (1235 Gold, 152 XP, 95 Energy, 7 HP)
* M'chartha (1235 Gold, 152 XP, 95 Energy, 7 HP)
* Faldeema (1300 Gold, 160 XP, 100 Energy, 7 HP)
* Princess Kherazade (2925 Gold, 360 XP, 225 Energy, 1 HP)
==Transcript==
===Introduction===
Last night...
"Kherazade stationed her casters in front of the castle," Druka says. "They destroyed everyone who tried to take it from them."
The motes of illusionary magic gather into a low view of the battlefield, with the fastness in the distance. On the table beside it, a bloody lump of brain matter glows and shakes. A 'donation' to the war effort by one of the fiends who crawled from the fighting and fell into the clutches of Brachus' minions.
Waves of demons are charging across the purple plain, roaring their war cries and yelling curses. A few are even singing. But when the fireballs rain down on them, blasting gaping rents in their formations, there's only screaming.
"Destroying them will be costly," Brachus says.
"Infantry would be blown to pieces," a woman's voice says. "We need a cavalry charge."
A slim body squeezes between two burly fiends and moves to the edge of the table. Your companion from the Western Wold.
Her finger traces a route across the battle map.
"If we have a clear path, if your demon riders and steeds don't hesitate, we can take their casters."
"The losses would be heavy," Druka says. "But with a strong hand to lead them-"
"I'll do it," you say.
"No, I will." She doesn't turn around. Her eyes are still fastened on a map, tracing the line of the perhaps suicidal charge. "I learned to ride in Caelnarn. I doubt there's anyone in hell who's better in the saddle. And you're needed elsewhere."
It's on the tip of your tongue to protest, perhaps even point out that riding is in your blood -- in your very name. But her stern profile, cast in indigo light from the dancing magic above her head, brooks no disagreement.
***
Awed voices surround you, from both human and demon throats. No matter what else happens this day, hell will sing of the charge for centuries to come -- for its memory deserves to outlive all of you.
A ragged group of horsemen gallops away from the castle, your companion at its head. The riders and steeds are all battered and scorched. They raise no victory cry as they pass over the corpses of those who fell during the attack, blasted from the saddle or torn apart by the eldritch barrage. A scant few remain of their hundred. They've left their mark, however. Not only on the plain where their comrades perished, but by the castle gates. A sea of slaughtered casters languishes there, dead and forgotten. No one's eyes are on them. Only on the bold cavalrymen.
Their leader turns in the saddle and gives you a quick salute with her blade. You return the gesture. So does Brachus.
Then the two of you give the signal, and make your own charge. The way is clear now. It falls on you to end the battle.
The demon prince doesn't slow down, even as the imposing gates loom before you -- looking for all the world as though they could withstand every bombardment heaven and hell might muster. He simply runs. And they open before him. For this place is his, and those scattered or smashed by the swinging doors merely interlopers.
Demonesses pour into the hall from deeper within the castle, shrieking threats of death and the words of spells. Their weapons shine in the chamber's sumptuous brightness.
===Conclusion===
[New Brawl boss unlocked!]
"Nice place, this," Hugh said. "No blooming wonder Brachus wants it back."
A demoness ran through one of the archways, brandishing a spear. The Titaran's hand shot out. She looked down at the burning magenta hole in her chest, and collapsed.
"It's exquisite," Rakshara agreed. She stared up at a vast wall painting, a stunning depiction of a grand battle between legions of fiends.
"Die!" a female voice shrieked.
This one leapt down from the gallery above -- straight into an upward thrust from the oroc's blade.
Hugh moved beside Rakshara.
"We could... we could say here," he said.
"In hell?" she turned to face him.
"Brachus said he'd look after us. We'd live like blooming nobles here in Krezzor..."
He gazed up at her, into those beautiful eyes that seemed girlish in spite of her strength and all that they'd seen. No... Hell was no place for her. And he'd never persuade her that it was. So he forced a laugh.
"Just a blooming joke, love. Still, if I set up a pie shop down here, I'd make a bloody fortune."
Rakshara's face relaxed into a smile. Hugh stifled his sigh.
***
"I know that symbol!" The red demoness points one of her curved blades at your shield. "You're a Kasan!"
"I am."
"My name is M'chartha, and you'll die for your ancestor's deeds!"
"I tried that once. It didn't work."
She leaps at you, both weapons swinging. They clang against your sword and shield in a dozen ferocious cuts, blocks, and parries.
"I would have slain him," she hissed, "if it wasn't for his accursed companions!"
She lunges again, bringing both blades down in a powerful cleave. Your shield and sword flash up to intercept the attack.
"He was nothing without them!"
"We have a lot in common," you reply.
You nudge your head to the right. M'chartha doesn't so much as flinch. A veteran of infernal combat, she's probably seen all manner of dirty tricks and attempted distractions. Thus her eyes remained fastened on you. Until the arrow hits her ear and burrows its way through her brain. Then they flutter as she tumbles.
"Where's Brachus?" Tessa asks.
"Looking for Kherazade. We-"
A piercing scream tears through the castle, echoing from wall to wall.
"Sounds like he found her," Tessa says.
***
"Don't have too much fun with her, Brachy. I might get jealous."
Y'Raxa sat back on the heap of demoness corpses, reached her hand into a split ribcage, and tore out a green and orange heart. She sniffed the organ before taking a crunching bite.
Princess Kherazade lunged at Brachus, her sword flying for his throat. But it was an artless, desperate strike -- robbed of skill by the streams of emerald blood that flowed from her wounds. And it ended when his sword chopped through her wrist. Her hand and sword fell on the throne room floor.
Purple fingers grabbed her neck, lifted her into the air, and slammed her down in a pool of green gore.
"Ask her where Niknak's heart is!" The imp appeared from behind the throne, leaping up onto its back and perching there like a ridiculous green vulture. "Niknak needs it!"
"Where is it, Kher?" Brachus asked.
The demoness glared at him. Then her hand darted to a pouch at her waist and yanked out a misshapen blue lump. Her fingers tightened in a cruel, crushing grip -- sinking into the flesh.
Niknak screeched and fell off the throne.
Brachus kicked her arm. The imp's heart flew across the chamber. Y'Raxa let her half-eaten snack drop to the floor, reached up, and caught it. She smiled as she lifted it to her lips.
"Y'Raxa..." Brachus said.
"Just a little nibble?"
"No nibbling!" Niknak cried. "Give to Niknak!"
The imp emerged from behind the throne, ran down the steps, and sped across the floor. Y'Raxa Krund gave it the tiniest of nips between her teeth. Niknak fell, and tumbled on the floor. The demoness laughed. She tossed the organ onto his chest as he lay there.
"Niknak! Niknak! Niknak has won..." the imp sang in a soft, ecstatic voice.
On the floor behind him, Kherazade seethed.
"I believe you intended to eat me," Brachus said.
She sneered.
"My body holds enough poison to kill your entire army. Eat your fill, Sezrachus!"
"I think not. But I had something just as poetic in mind..."
The demon prince ascended the steps to his throne, the great chair carved from the same heavy, hardy substance as the castle itself. He set his sword aside. And his purple hands took hold.
"You wanted my throne?" he said.
There was an immense grinding noise that shuddered through the chamber. And then Brachus held it aloft, his muscles straining.
The princess tried to scramble up as he descended the stairs. But Y'Raxa's boot caught the side of her face.
"Then have it," Brachus said.
He gave her time to scream, to utter the wail of a millennia-old being who now gazed into death's purple eyes. Then he brought the throne down on her skull.
***
"There will be a great celebration," Brachus says. "A feast of carnal delight..."
"Thanks," you reply, "but..."
No, you've been in the infernal realm long enough. And from what you've seen, it's just as hellish in revelry as it is in battle. The demons can have it.
"Very well. Gather your friends, and you shall have your portal to West Kruna. But first..."
The prince's hand opens. A purple gem lies in his palm, light gleaming on smooth facets that are deeper and darker in hue than the surrounding flesh.
"You've been a loyal friend and a worthy ally," he says. "So if destiny now parts us, know that you leave with my gift and gratitude."
***
Hugh rifled through the pack and grunted. He reached into its recesses and pulled out a jar filled with round, fleshy objects.
"And what are these sodding things?"
"Hellhound testicles," Niknak said. "Very tasty and crunchy!"
"You can bloody well keep them."
He pressed the jar into the imp's hands, before continuing to inspect the rest of the provisions. Nearby his friends were doing the same -- ensuring that the rations the imps had packed for them wouldn't condemn their palates or bowels to a damnation which, if not eternal, might at least be unpleasant.
"Niknak..." Brachus loomed up behind them. "Leave us."
"Yes, O purple prince! Returner and stitcher of hearts!"
The imp tapped the flesh over his restored organ, bowed, and ran off.
"Hugh..." the demon began.
"I asked her. She wouldn't stay in hell. And if she's going back to West Kruna, I'm bloody well going with her."
"If you told her..."
Hugh glared at him for an instant. But perhaps he read concern in the prince's purple features, for his anger evaporated in a sigh.
"She can't know, Brachus."
"Hell is a vast place. When your life ends, I cannot say where in its reaches you'll emerge -- or what horrors you might be subjected to. If you remained in Krezzor..."
"Without her? Not for all the pies in Titar."
Now it was Brachus' turn to sigh.
"Then I promise you this, an oath sworn by Brach'Xell'Ctharat'Sezrachus, master of Krezzor... When that time comes, and the infernal realm claims your soul, I will find you. Even if all the legions of hell stand between us."
***
You take one last look at the gleaming castle, at the hundreds of demons milling around it -- feasting and frolicking and... And doing unmentionable things. There are still corpses strewn across the purple grass, death and gore alongside the resplendent beauty of Brachus' fortress.
The prince catches your eye. He nods his head, and you return the gesture. Niknak capers and waves, performing his victory dance and thus further thwarting your efforts to expunge his foolishness from your memory. Mirabilis sticks out his tongue and flicks a sword-studded kiss in your direction. Even Y'Raxa Krund deigns to look around, with Brachus' arm draped around her curvaceous body, and smiles at you.
That image seems fitting as your last glimpse of hell. So you turn away, lodging it in the depths of your mind, and step into the portal.
This time there's no fall, no deranged and terrible plunge through a netherworldly maelstrom. There's just blinding brightness, a zapping, whooshing surge of energy, and then...
Yelling voices and clashing steel.
They ring in your ears as the golden lights begin to fade. And the first thing that meets your returning vision, the island of tangibility amidst the blinking, flaring glow that surrounds it, is a gaunt man with a big, bushy black beard. His wild eyes meet yours.
"Death to Crenus!" he roars.
He waves something above his head. It's a pitchfork, and its prongs are covered in blood.
Category:The Battle for Krezzor