Madness.

The salty sea air still behind them still meshed with the foul, sulfurous odor of the Tular Plains ahead. Their journey was moments old when this idyllic treasure hunt had yielded to chaos. Demons were darting about all around them, perhaps a half dozen that had chased the bleeding, bedraggled group of novice adventurers back to port. The travelers’ horses chuffed desperately as they pounded by, rearing when they reached the grounds as if about to die. The demons pressed on behind them, insanely kicking tufts of dust with each footfall. They seemed blood-lusted on the kill, savagely and uniquely obsessed with the notion of finishing their hunt. How long had they chased these poor travelers? Five miles? Fifty?

The portal is open. There will be hundreds of them, maybe thousands. If these few get back to the larger group, they’ll report a story of a vulnerable port, full of a hundred mead-fattened and soft targets. A port full of ships… including MY ship, with MY women.

They’ve all got to die.

The mercy of this initial volley laid in the humanoid nature of these demons. Storm had met far more vile and terrible creatures than these; they looked like wider, thicker, slightly piggish variants of human. The first one that dashed by was six and a half feet tall, no less than two normal men wide, and perhaps four hundred pounds. From a half mile, it was unmistakably demon, but nothing too monstrous. He lumbered like a bipedal rhinoceros, long and lunging strides that moved slowly as he chased the horses toward Storm, who had become separated from the others when the desperate evacuating travelers raced by. When the first looming goliath reached a hundred yards, the wizard crouched and gathered himself into a tall, ready position, speaking with poise and confidence.

They can’t get to camp, and they sure as hell can’t get out. We need to finish them quickly, and get our boats off the docks. They don’t get to run away.

A wry grin crossed the wizard's face, listening to the satisfying crunch as he twisted his right foot into the thin layer of red sand above the crust of the plain. He looked to his left, seeing that Sorian and the great bone man had begun tearing through a small pack of demons.

This other small pack though was his. Storm squeezed his long fingers into the bony fists that emerged from his trenchcoat, a series of loud pops resonating from the knuckles. He felt his body channel the power, that light, crackling sensation of channeled energy.

“Head’s up! Cover your ears… Sorian”

Veritas avoided losing his concentration at the predicament of the earless skeleton, instead watching the bull charge of the demon in front of his little pack.

Of course, this matador had a special type of sword ready.

At twenty yards Storm Veritas released the whirlwind, a twisting, arcing blast of white and blue lightning that simply eviscerated everything above the shoulders of the snarling demon. It wasn’t a splash or a splat sound, but rather a horrible booming noise that left the body rolling limp and hapless to a smoldering heap before them. Secondary tendrils flickered out from the initial impact, seeking the metal chestplates of three of the four demons left and knocking them down.

The fifth demon was frozen as Storm leapt towards him, a cobra striking with shocking and unexpected speed. His metal soles propelled him forward into a pounce, and kicked down on the collarbones jointly like an eagle striking a hapless perch. The sickening crunch of yielding bone was followed swiftly with a dagger pulled cleanly across the throat. Demons were a very different type of creature, but their wiring wasn’t altogether unalike. Thick, burgundy fluid poured openly from the arteries in the neck as the wide eyed demon clasped fruitlessly at his fatal wound.

The wizard stood above his fresh kill, listening to the gurgling sounds of desperate choking and gasping beneath him. Although the magician wasn’t without mercy, he was wholly unaffected in the business of killing demons. The terrible blackening stains of demon blood upon his expensive trench coat filled him with enough disgust to propel him forward.

Three left.

The demons were rising quickly, roaring in some horrible primitive barking language at each other as they began to circle the adventurer. His magic was feeling drained from the tandem attacks; he was still good enough to get one more, but worried that the power of these terrible animals would overwhelm him. A holler to his old friends carried urgency along with it.

“Sorian, Elite! Maybe a little less time cleaning your swords, a little more helping?”

-Are- they friends? Why would they bother helping me?

Time would tell, and the clock was ticking as the trio of demons banged their metal weapons and barked at each other in fury.