"Never raise more devils than you can put down. You raised one devil too many...father."
Watches as the dad's face pales and he's like "Um... oops."
internutter 72 9 days ago
That is one hell of a line and I want to make an excuse to use it :D -- DaniAndShali
[AN: Prompt from the comments on this thing and I'm debating about continuance or something with Tieflings...]
There was a sword poking out of his chest. The red arm of his Tiefling son around him. And the son's voice in one ear, "Never raise more devils than you can put down. You raised one devil too many...father."
Those had been the last words he heard, and then everything went black. The next thing he knew, he was standing in a queue. Ahead of him were some people who he'd seen die in the fight. There were others gathering behind him, but he dared not turn his head. He knew what this was. Before eternity... there was judgement.
Too soon, it was his turn. "All right, next," called Death. He was sitting at a judge's desk and working at a pile of paperwork with a white feather quill. Lord Synope knew, without having to ask, that it weight as much as a guiltless heart. Some things about the afterworld just stuck around. Death didn't look up from their scribing. "Name?"
"Lord Synope Alberworth Malfeasance Fiduciary Merrimine, fifth of his name. Trueborn lord and ruler of the Duchy of--"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep the titles to yourself, they're not important any more." Now death looked up, and there was no face inside that dark hood. Not even the relative friendliness of a skull to cheer an observer that Death was sympathetic with mortal emotions. Just the ceaseless void of emptiness and the inevitable conclusion of entropy. Cold and emotionless. "And neither are you."
Nurse Wynthrop had often repeated, "King or peasant, every man shits and every man dies," during his childhood. Though Lord Synope had never made it as far as king, he had certainly done both by now. All his worldly worth was no good and, because of his actions in life, possibly distributed to the angry mob. His body was either fed to the fish or to the pigs. And that was why he was here. Lord Synope said, "Got it."
Death scratched a few notes on his latest page. "And how did you -as they say- get it?"
"There was this prophecy," he began...
It was a tale as old as power itself. The man in charge, sensing his power at its peak, feared being taken down whilst also striving to climb further. Putting down usurpers with one hand whilst usurping others while he was at it. Always mindful of a prophecy that a true devil would end his reign.
He put down every Tiefling he saw or sired as a direct result. All Tieflings but one. His trueborn heir was the human one of a set of twins. They had been born holding hands, so it was worse than disaster to kill the other one. The Tiefling one. He had tried to arrange accidents for the unwanted half of the pair, but their good fortune was self-centered. In desperation, he sent them away. Trying again.
He'd almost forgotten about them when a better son came along. And just to be sure, he sent an assassin out to deal with the devil he knew. A statistical blip when compared to his other crimes against intelligent life. He had the heir he wanted, and nobody else heard anything about the former Viceroys of Merrimine.
...until the revolution came.
Three good ingredients to overthrow a tyrant are: an angry populace, a very good plan, and a better ruler than the tyrant. They had two out of three right up until the moment they discovered the truth about the twin Viceroys. After that, things escalated quickly.
Lord Synope sought to end the twins' luck by ending one of the twins. He didn't care which one. It was the Tiefling, trained as a Rogue, who literally stabbed him in the back.
"You know," said Death, still taking notes. "You'd have had a lot less trouble if you'd just cared for your kids like you should have. Or your people. Or your realm. Or literally anything else but your own wealth and power..."
"I get it," snarled Lord Synope. Far too late to do anything about it.
"You certainly got it," said Death. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and it would have been useful in the big battle." To rub it in, Death tapped the shape of their chest with the suggestion of a fist. "Gets you right there."
Lord Synope knew where he was headed. They didn't need to do this to him on the way there. Especially the bit with the catchy jingle. He'd have that in his head for centuries, even with all the torments that Hell had to offer.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / RTimages]
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