(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

fall. Even if by some miracle the Tanar'ri took those plains back it would be
decades before they recovered.
Any minute now the deva would head to the fortress of Alkazuk, the mouth
end of the portal between Baator and Curst. It had taken decades to build
that stronghold for this attack once Trias had outlined the terms of the
contract. Bule'zakrai couldn't wait... he had only been able to squeeze a
tenth of his horde into the bowels of that wretched desert hovel, and the
rest were eagerly waiting in Alkazuk for the deva to grant them the portal
key. He'd have the full command of all his forces then. Twelve other hordes
were also waiting to spread across Carceri like a plague, true, but Bule'zakrai
would have first pick. And a Godsman-commissioned siege engine of all
things, to tear through tanar'ri armies and sunder their walls! No fortress
would stand against the forces of the baatezu!
Bule'zakrai was just mulling over all the fine things he would collect when
blinked. Somehow the clouded sky seemed to be flickering, as if peppered
by thousands of needles...
The booms sounded then, shattering the entire encampment. Lemures burst
like lanced pustules. Human mercenaries ran screaming, consumed by fire
and smashed by meteor shards. The abishai ran berserk, shrieking and
tearing through their allies.
There was a deafening crack behind Bule'zakrai. For one moment he felt
weightless, the next it was an ordeal simply to breathe. He clawed himself
up from the ground, the smell of blood-soaked earth heavy in his nostrils.
Bule'zakrai grabbed at the imp, hissing out hoarsely,
"Report!"
The imp simply flopped in his talons. At least, the half of him that Bule'zakrai
held did.
The Grand Blood General looked out among the wreckage. He could only
spot a handful of lemures wobbling mindlessly among the ruins. What
human mercenaries that remained alive were fleeing into the mountains.
Most of the abishai were hardy enough to survive, but too many lay
smoldering. Far too many.
"The damn tanar'ri filth will pay!" he hissed, looking back to Curst. Any
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