Ash's vision
Plumes of smoke from a hundred fires feed the grey and brown sky above. A light drizzle of ash rains steadily, coating everything around you. You reach a hand out to catch the warm debris and reflect about the end of times.
In the distance, two demon armies cackle and roar – their cries echoing between the remains of the buildings. Ahead of you, the bridge over the river is charred, but looks intact. You shake yourself loose from your reverie and summon what remains of your energy to get to the other side.
You leave the relative safety of the burned-out shop and sprint across the cobblestone road, to the bridge itself. Your powers are tapped out. If only you could find some safe place to rest.
At the top of the bridge's arch, you stop. Deep in your mind, a fear prods you to keep running. But you know the truth. Safety is an illusion. It died along with your teammates. The demons rule Southbay now. Perhaps it is the gods' will that you make your last stand alone on this bridge.
Below you, debris chokes the river. Shredded and scorched timbers from dozens of buildings jockey for position in the slow-moving water alongside what seems an endless supply of bodies – the whole morbid mass moving inexorably toward the sea. A woman's corpse stares up at you – one eye open, pleading silently for salvation. Her other eye, and half her head are missing. Jagged flesh gives clues to the type of demon responsible.
If only you weren't an expert on such things. If only this Forever War had remained in the Abyss where it belongs. If only…
With a flash, a massive snake slithers through the metal railing from the underside of the bridge – coiling around your legs and binding you in place. Damn! Too slow. Too tired. Too stupid.
As its coils wind their way up your body, heat from its skin penetrates your armor. With a hissing cackle, it speaks.
“Swear your fealty to Sertrous, mortal, and your life will be spared.”
Instinct takes over. Your weapon – always in hand these days – moves almost of its own will. Surely you haven't the strength to use it anymore. Perhaps the gods have granted you one more swing. One more kill.
The snake flinches at the strike. His coils loosen – but not enough. You scramble to escape, cursing your own weakness. The pain from this morning's battle stabs deep into your left shoulder. “Move faster or die!” you think.
The snake-demon regains its grab and squeezes harder. Your weapon drops to the stones at your feet. The pain expands in your shoulder. Your vision begins to narrow, blackness creeping in from the sides.
But then, the coils go lifeless. With a flop, the snake-demon's head slaps against the bridge stones before the bulk of its body – still hidden under the bridge – falls into the river debris below, pulling its head back through the railing with it.
Confusion reigns for a moment, before you hear the cloven hoofs clop against the stone behind you. You know that sound. And you know it's over. With nobody left, this death will be your last.
Your shoulder flares – a deep, stinging pain turning the world black. The stones of the bridge snap you back to consciousness as your head slams against them.
The cloven hoofs stamp against the stones just a foot from your face. As the blackness crowding your vision recedes, you see a massive black and red face glaring down at you. Two fiery, red horns jut from either side of the orc-like visage.
His voice rumbles – as if it could shake the world to dust if he so much as spoke the right word.
“Hero!” it says mockingly. “I told you this was not what I wanted!” He sends one huge, muscular arm sweeping in an arc – gesturing across the burning city. A tingling pain flares in your thigh, forcing you into a fetal position. Your vision blackens again – but the pain subsides just before you lose consciousness.
“Oh no,” the demon continues. “You don't get off that easy!” He steps closer, the fire from his body burning your skin.
You struggle for a word. The pain in your shoulder and leg spread. Pinpricks flare across your chest. Shooting pain runs the length of one arm. Deep in your mind, a voice pleads to say something. Do something! Only if you give in will the pain stop.
“But I haven't even asked the question,” the demon mocks. His mind is too strong. He controls you. You beg the gods for the blessing of death.
“I will give you your death, hero! I will grant you passage to Valhalla. But know this before you leave. Your decision brought this war here. You had the choice. You picked this over compromise.”
He stands back fully upright, his head now ten feet over the stones of the bridge, as he slowly scans the city from right to left.
“I wanted nothing more than to give you people the gift of pain. It was nothing, really. I doubt you would have even noticed. A million little pinpricks. A million little muscle aches. Instead, you brought this war here and thousands are dead. Soon, perhaps, millions!”
His eyes flare red as he returns his gaze to yours. “And the guilt of it all. That's the best kind of pain there is. I will savor it for a long time.” His mouth forms a crude smile as he brings his massive leg high and snaps his hoof down hard.
The crack of your skull fills the world with blackness, pain, and then silence…