The Uplifter

The Spirit Kingdom. Some amongst humanity considered it to be the mightiest of the Four Kingdoms, a conglomeration of the three races of this world. They couldn’t be more wrong.

Each of the three lesser races had their own individual talents that they utilized during the Conquest, to varying degrees of effectiveness. Humanity had discipline in the form of its military leadership, the dwarves had sprawling underground fortresses and nigh-impenetrable barricades, the elves their grand universities of magic. The Spirit Kingdom was lesser than all three, compromising its discipline and substituting much of its strength in fortifications for a small knowledge of magic, greater than that possessed by the dwarves or humans, but still lesser than that of the elves. And I knew better than anyone how relying so heavily on their magical prowess worked out for those miserable sharp-eared vermin.

The Spirit Kingdom had been set aside by the previous Demonlord as it held little strategic power, and while its vast gold mines had made it prosperous compared to its neighbors, it held little resources of any real value to the Conquest. Of course, we had still detached a small army to keep the denizens of the kingdom worried solely about what happened within their own borders, but the chief goal had always been to defeat the other, more dangerous kingdoms before moving onto the weakling interbreeders in the south. Now, we were here to exploit their weakness, which we had worked so carefully to hide from them, and to recover an ally from within the prisons of their capitol city.

My feet crunched over the plate armor of the fallen soldiers as I strode into the burning village. There had been a greater quantity of defenders here than the Demonfather’s spies had initially anticipated, though their defeat had come just as swiftly. Captain Reimer had managed it with naught but a single platoon while I commanded the rest of the forces in a more major battle to the east. I returned now to check on my prodigy, finding myself pleasantly surprised at the ease at which he’d managed to raze the town.

“Your captain proves efficient.” The Demonfather noted, his voice dry.

“You do not approve?” I asked.

“I foresee your intentions. The Scourge of Carsinex has fallen. You seek to replace him.” The Demonfather said.

“I do.” I admitted, “And I think he seems a promising candidate.” I waved my hand, motioning towards the ruin that surrounded us. The corpses of a hundred soldiers littered the ground. Our own casualties numbered only one in ten.

“This thing has not been done for a thousand years.” He lectured.

“What of the Scourge?” I reminded him. “He was Uplifted on this very conquest.”

“The Demonlord never granted him full power. He was afraid to. There is a reason we have not Uplifted an individual in such a span of years.” The Demonfather’s eyes met my own, as if he was seeking out whether or not I intended to deceive him. “You know this. You know the risks involved.”

“We have a start on the Demonslayer and whatever forces he may command.” I said, “There will be enough time to recover, especially if we share the burden. It is true that we must think of the moment, but we must also plan ahead. The power of three unified generals might more easily win the aid of the others.”

“And with the power of four, they would be forced to bend the knee to you.” The Demonfather said disdainfully. Ah. So he had foreseen my intentions after all.

“Yes.” I said. There was no point in hiding it. “We are stronger in numbers. Our success will be more certain.”

“I would caution you,” The Demonfather said, raising a long, thin finger before my face, “not to allow your affections to cloud your judgement. That is a human weakness, and one that we as higher beings are expected to be without.”

“This maneuver is purely strategic.” I replied, my voice firm. “As you say, the power of four generals will bring the rest to call. The south is ideal, too. It is isolated from the other kingdoms, and will give us plenty of time to retrieve the power of the Demonlord from the weapon.”

“And that is all?” He asked.

“You have my word, Demonfather,” I said, “My only intent is to send us home.”

He grunted in a manner that suggested that he did not believe me, but said no more on the subject. We stood in silence for a long while, watching the ash settle and the embers slowly burn out in ruined domiciles.

“Tonight.” the Demonfather said at last, breaking the silence.

“Tonight?” I asked.

“It would be ideal. Three generals might take the capitol more easily. We are three days from Lokanos, which would be more than enough time to recover, provided we share the burden.” He rubbed his chin beneath his mask as was his habit. “Uplifting a general in full. You are a different breed of Demonlord indeed. Often, I wonder if you will end up our savior, or our destructor.”

That night, in the ruins of the town, a great bonfire was built. Fifty feet high, it was, and constructed from the bones of a dozen houses to reach its zenith. It crackled and roared violently, though apart from its fury the night was silent. The Demonfather stood on the side of the pyre opposite me, arms raised to the heavens above. I stood similarly, and we both spoke the chant as we had learned all those countless centuries before. The gathered demons watched in awe, grateful to bear witness to an event that had not transpired since long before their lives had begun.

“Reimer.” I said, motioning for the captain to rise. He did, and hesitantly approached the fire. A look of uncharacteristic apprehension crossed his face as he gazed into its swirling depths, eyes widening at the visions they woke within his mind.

“Demon.” Spoke the Demonfather, his hollow voice echoing through the night, “From this moment onward you are to be bound by iron and flesh to the service of the Demonlord and the Blood Throne of Durlǎm.”

“You will serve the Demonrealm until your final breath, and in the wars beyond thereafter,” I continued, the words of the rite coming back to me as I spoke them. How long it had been since I was in his position, anxiously awaiting the transformation that would soon follow. “Your name shall be stricken from record, your prior titles hereby dismissed. Your life begins anew with the acceptance of the Gift.”

The Demonfather extended his hand, golden power glistening from his fingertips. I did the same, releasing a deep breath and allowing the Gift to seep out from within. It was the birthright of the Uplifted, the power granted to us by the Fathomless at the dawn of time. A being could absorb the Gift, and it would grant them tremendous power for a time. Give one enough, and they would even begin to produce it within themselves. It was by that power that I and a select others had been given our strength, and now we shared it with another, granting him just enough to wake within him that same power and to allow him to sustain its balance indefinitely.

Reimer slowly reached out, accepting the Gift slowly at first, but as soon as he felt its intoxicating strength he took it swiftly, greedily absorbing all we had prepared to give. His face alit with the sudden rush of strength, the newfound sensations that only one who possessed the Gift could feel. I, on the other hand, felt drained beyond all of my worldly experience. I felt as though I had climbed a mountain in the span of a moment. My muscles ached, my head throbbed, but still I stood despite the deadening slowness that took hold of my body. The rite had to be completed.

The Demonfather motioned to the pyre. His movements were hampered by the same sluggishness as mine, but his emerald eyes shone fiercely in the night.

“Step into the flames.” He commanded, “And be reborn.”

Reimer approached the bonfire. All of his earlier apprehension had vanished, and now he confronted the towering structure with boundless confidence. He stepped into the flames, ducking within the hollow structure and vanishing from view. The crackling of the fire became louder, and soon they were joined by another sound, the sound of shrieks and shouts and all manner of utterly alien voices spoken in a language known to none that still drew breath. The flames flashed gold, then green, then black, shooting out sparks that burned deathly cold and vanished in the still night air.

More cracks resounded, though they were not logs breaking apart in the blaze. I remembered the pain of my own Uplifting, the sensation of my bones breaking apart and reforming. Extending and broadening, muscles and tendons growing in places they never had before. A shriek cut through the night, more wonderful and terrible than any sound made by the voices from beyond.

The bonfire shuddered, then collapsed in on itself, burning away as a gust of wind swept up from within. The fire returned to a dull orange glow and flickered in the dark. A figure stood in the ashes, gazing down at its hands in wonder. Four jagged horns adorned the crown of its head, its face narrow and wicked, with eyes that were little more than red slits on an otherwise angular face. The creature stretched, leathery gray wings unfurling from its back, nearly thirty feet from tip to tip.

“How does it feel?” I asked.

“Wonderful.” He responded, his voice brimming with an agonizing euphoria.

“Kneel.” I commanded. The newly Uplifted demon obeyed. “You began the night as a captain of a lesser name. You shall end it as Skythrasher, general of the Blood Throne and servant of the Demonlord.”

Skythrasher bowed his head. “I follow your orders, Demonlord.”

I smiled, despite the exhaustion that still plagued my frame. The pieces were falling into place. Slowly, but surely, my plans were coming to fruition.

“Rise,” I said, “Let’s assign you a brigade. We have work to do.”