Death Bringer 5: Christmas Triumph

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Tags: Humor, .

Desc: Comedy Story: Death Bringer and family prepare for the last great war against evil.

I am Death Bringer, Lord of the Berber Cliffs and Master of the Caves of the Dust Sprites. My tale begins several days ago as I, a lone watchman on guard against the evils that lurk when the world sleeps under its white blanket, sat in the aerie looking out over the desolate land now covered in ice. The beast of the five hells was hunting far below me. Why it must lift its leg and spray its foul liquids hither and yon I do not know. The five hells must be more terrible than even I can imagine, everywhere dripping with rank beast juice.

There was little life about for the beast to slaver with its venomous tongue, so perhaps it was not hunting. Perhaps it was protecting the two demonlings that accompanied it. They appeared to be afflicted as they lay on the ground waving their arms and legs. I do not think that the beast has the intelligence to protect them, though. It is a mindless killing machine. No more, no less.

I, on the other hand, have been elevated from slave to Most High Guardian of the Gods as a result of my epic battle with the squeak beast. That worthy foe had struck fear into the heart of the goddess on many occasions. The most recent gesture of their thanks to me was the erection of a sticky needle-leaf tree in the big cavern for me to sharpen my claws upon. As I kept an eye on the beast from above, all three of the gods worked as one to place shiny baubles of many colors, and gossamer strands of silver upon the tree for my enjoyment.

And yet I felt that there was more to the gods' actions than just the well-deserved honor they were bestowing on me. Last night the godling held me and stroked me in reverence as images of a hell beast danced upon the light box that the gods use to watch over the world. The beast was allied with another of my enemies, a yellow feather-twit; one that could not fly very well no less. The beast we were watching was even more stupid than the one on the hill. It preferred to sleep atop a red box rather than within its master's lair. Perhaps it had no master, but a beast loose in the world without a master to control it was a prospect too frightening to consider. Perhaps that was why we were studying that particular hell beast. Whatever the reason, it was clear to me that we were studying it to prepare for the final battle.

There were other signs that the Apocalypse drew near. One was when the fire-haired demonling was captured by the gods for study one night soon after my clawing tree was erected. They cast spells to control it so that it couldn't change into its true form with cloven hooves and horns of a ram.

To plant the seeds of terror into the hive-mind that connects all demon kind, my prowess was shown to it time and again that night as I was pitted against a tethered feather-twit that jumped and bounced before me. The godling resurrected the twit after each of my victories to show the most foul imp the power of her goodness, and each time the flutter-twit came back to life I brought it swift death, for I am Death Bringer. The power of the red and blue twit was awesome, for the tether and rod that kept it from fleeing jerked the godling's arm about such that I feared for her.

If I had been on the sands of the arena that night I would surely have won the rudis. But instead, as a reward for my victories, I was presented with a saucer of alabaster nectar. The godling imbibed as well, to show respect to me. Why the odious imp was allowed to taste such glorious liquid I do not know, but I suspect that within her challis was a potion, for shortly afterward she was compelled to follow the godling to the sleeping chamber. There a spell was cast to force that creature to slumber so that the godling could walk through the twisted forest of its mind and learn the secrets of its filthy kind. It resisted mightily and at one point attacked my godling while filling our ears with its battle shrieks, but demons are stupid and it tried to use one of the soft head-cushions as a weapon.

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