Chapter 25: What’s Bugging You?

When picturing an army, the most common mental image that springs to mind is a bunch of soldiers, all clad in identical uniforms, marching down the street in perfect lockstep while a couple of mounted officers (or, in the more advanced universes, tanks) provide the backdrop. Maybe there’s a nice military march playing as the soldiers show off their synchronization, legs kicking in perfectly aligned rows and bayonets pointing to the heavens.

Demonic armies were nothing like that.

About the only commonality was the armor that every soldier of the Grand Unified Demonic Armies wore, made of light wyvern leather and emblazoned with the Demon Realm’s skull-and-pentagram symbol on the breastplate. Beyond that there was no uniformity; some soldiers were two-inch-tall pixies, flitting about so fast they appeared as little more than blurry rods to untrained eyes, and others were giants, who stood fifty feet tall and shook the earth with every step they took. Between these two extremes, soldiers of various species milled about, seeming more like a mob of mercenaries than any organized military force.

All this chaos met with much disapproval on the part of their commander, Vice General Raskivia. In truth, the tiny blue-scaled kobold would have preferred her army to be more organized, more lockstep and less street punk. Trying to command demons in a military campaign was much like trying to herd a horde of rabid cats.

As Raskivia strode through the temporary encampment which clung to the outer walls of Yandar, she huffed and tutted at the soldiers who milled about her. She noted every flaw, every variation from standard procedure and every instance of poor posture in an ever-growing mental list of grievances. It was her task to whip this army into shape before the upcoming war, and she could see there was a lot of work ahead of her.

The tipping point occurred when she caught sight of a particularly slovenly elf, one who was wearing his leather breastplate off-shoulder with only one strap attached and hadn’t bothered to put on his shinguards or armguards. The elf was casually chatting with a group of friends... four catkin, two zombies, one succubus and one skeleton. Raskivia strode over to him and cleared her throat loudly.

“AH-HEM.”

The group turned to look down at her, confused. The slovenly elf spoke first. “Can we help you?”

“Name and rank, please,” Raskivia said simply, her voice dripping with derision.

“Uh, I’m Private Valeryss, Elven Regular Army,” he responded uncertainly.

“I see. Private Valeryss, do you make a habit of not saluting superior officers?” Raskivia said coldly.

Valeryss caught sight of the rank insignia on her shoulders, a triple-crossbones indicating Vice General, and his face grew pale. He quickly straightened up and brought his hand to his breast in salute; however, his palm impacted against his loose breastplate and made a loud thumping sound. His friends all giggled, and he shot them a bitter glare.

Raskivia grimaced. “Private, would you care to explain why your breastplate is not attached properly, and you’re missing your shinguards and armguards?”

“Oh, that’s, uh… it didn’t seem important?” Valeryss fumbled.

“I see. Under what circumstances would you consider properly donning your armor to be important, Private? Only when battle is imminent?”

“Uh… I guess so?” To his credit, Valeryss seemed to quickly realize that was the wrong answer, but Raskivia had found her opportunity to pounce.

“Remarkable. You must have great powers of prophecy if you can predict exactly when battles will break out and prepare yourself accordingly. Perhaps you’d be willing to share your profound insights with me?”

“Uh… I… that’s…” Valeryss fumbled.

Raskivia smirked. “Well, until you develop such prescient insight, I expect you to wear your armor correctly whenever you’re on duty. Am I understood, Private?”

“Yes ma’am,” the dejected Valeryss responded.

Raskivia nodded once then turned and began to walk away. She heard Valeryss’ friends resentfully commenting as she left; the succubus whispered, “Wow, what a hard-ass!”

The kobold didn’t particularly mind the insult. It was her job to make an example of a few people to herd the rest of the army into shape, after all. If they thought her a hard-ass, so be it. She was more than willing to be the bad guy.

“Kind of hard on the poor fellow, weren’t you?” said a deep, authoritative voice from behind.

Startled, Raskivia whipped around quickly, her eyes wide and searching for the source of that remark. She caught sight of an armored woman with white hair and blue skin who stood three times her own height. Somehow, despite being dressed in full plate mail, the woman had snuck up on her.

“Demon Lord,” she answered in a flat tone that shrouded her surprise. “I am most pleased you could join me today for the inspection.”

“But of course,” Psytalla responded with a smile. “You seem to be applying the stick rather liberally.”

Raskivia gathered herself and nodded. “Of course, my liege. We presently have soldiers from 947 different species in this encampment, all with their own fighting styles, eclectic military cultures and differing doctrines. My task is to standardize them all into a coherent military force, and that requires enforcing strict discipline.”

Pystalla chuckled softly. “I can see why you and Metokai get along so well. Your goals are admirable, Vice General, but please do remember that the diversity of the demons in our forces are also a source of strength. Don’t drown out that diversity by trying to standardize things too much.”

Raskivia frowned; this was a difficult part of command for her to internalize. She much preferred for her soldiers to be well-organized and professional, even if a little individuality was lost along the way, but demons were the freest of free spirits and often chafed against such a command style. She vaguely wondered how Psytalla managed to balance these contradictions so well.

“I shall endeavor to keep that in mind, my liege,” she answered, with the fullest intention to try.

“Glad to hear it,” Psytalla replied, considering the topic closed. She looked around the encampment, taking note of the various species present. “Seems like most of our forces are assembled; I see the Elven Regulars have arrived, along with the Lizardkin Horde.”

Raskivia nodded. “The Screaming Forest generously sent two times their Council-mandated quota, practically the entire elven army. Saurian Wild Space, conversely, only sent the minimum number of troops.”

Psytalla raised an eyebrow. “To be expected, I suppose. What’s our current strength?”

“One million, two-hundred and seventy-thousand, two hundred and one demons, presently. That number should almost double with the imminent arrival of the insectkin forces.”

Psytalla expressed her amazement with a low whistle. “Double?”

Raskivia nodded. “As always, Skulda is overly eager to contribute their might to the Realm. I’m told the Breeding Queens went straight to work as soon as the war proclamation was issued, churning out soldier drones in numbers not seen for centuries.”

Psytalla had fought alongside insectkin soldiers before and developed a strong admiration. “I’ll be very glad to have them.”

“As shall I. Commanding such organized troops is always a pleasure.” Raskivia’s eyes grew glossy as she imagined it, and her usually icy tone filled with vigor and passion while her tail wagged excitedly in time to her words. “Ahh, their formations are works of art, my liege. Perfect in every detail, not a single soldier or wing or antenna out of place. It’s truly the pinnacle of warmaking! I’ve read nearly a dozen books on their tactics, doctrine and famous commanders!”

Psytalla chuckled softly. “You seem quite enamored with them.”

Raskivia realized she’d been gushing, and the faintest tinge of purple blush flashed across her blue scales for a moment. She couldn’t believe she’d lost her composure like that in front of the Demon Lord! How completely unprofessional of her; why, she was no better than Valeryss! She quickly tamped down her emotions and hoped Psytalla hadn’t noticed, clearing her throat a bit too loudly while consciously ordering her tail to stop wagging.

“Ah-hem. I merely meant to say I admire their efficiency, my liege.”

A smirk tugged at the corners of Psytalla’s mouth, and her blood-red eyes shone with mirth. “Naturally.”

Raskivia cleared her throat again, still feeling quite awkward despite the compliment. Fortunately, the perfect topic change was at hand. “Uh-hrm. If you’d care to cast your gaze upwards, my liege, the insectkin forces will be arriving in 45 seconds. As you are no doubt aware, they are famous for their punctuality.”

After one last glance at Raskivia, Psytalla turned her eyes to the heavens, shielding her eyes against the glare of the White Moon, and began counting down. Five seconds before the deadline, the entire valley was filled with a cascading orchestra of high-pitched, piercing chimes that echoed off the volcanic peaks, and the sky above came alive with torrents of black lightning. Then, perfectly on schedule and perfectly in formation, a vast armada of a fifteen thousand insect troop carriers teleported into existence high above the Ashlands with an earth-shattering double-thunderclap.

The carriers resembled giant dragonflies, each nearly a hundred feet long. They bore bloated thoraxes and were clad head to tail in grey-white bone armor, into which were engraved dozens of silvery spell circles designed to provide defensive force fields. Each had four semi-transparent wings which glowed with the black light of space manipulation magic, not beating back and forth but simply remaining extended and rigid as their inherent spells provided lift.

The dragonfly carriers were in perfect grid formation, and they descended as one on the outskirts of the camp, touching down within seconds of each other and folding their wings flat against their abdomens. Great fleshy orifices on the sides of their thoraxes opened, and out marched insectkin of every conceivable species… bees, beetles, ants, moths, butterflies and many more besides. Most had fundamentally elvenoid bodies supplemented by antennae, wings, tails and extra legs according to their species.

As Psytalla watched these diverse insectkin form into perfect columns and advance towards the city, she couldn’t help but share some of Raskivia’s excitement. The Great Hive of Skulda and its subordinate hives in the Legion Federation had long boasted about their ability to raise massive armies, with their warrior-drones grown to adulthood in mere days and already possessing the genetic memories of their collective historical soldiery. Psytalla couldn’t help but marvel at Skulda’s sheer martial strength.

“Ah, simply devilish,” Raskivia gushed, her self-control once again entirely forgotten. She pointed her claw towards a single dragonfly carrier that was still airborne and making a beeline directly for them. “That’s their command carrier; no doubt their general is onboard. Ah, I can only expect one who commands such a glorious army will be a bastion of professionalism and efficiency! I can’t wait to meet them! Finally, we’ll have some properly trained soldiers in this army!”

“Actually, I’ve met their commanders before,” Psytalla said, emphasizing the plural and casting a sidelong glance towards the vibrating kobold. “They’re not exactly…”

She was drowned out by the thrum of the dragonfly carrier’s antigravity magic as it pulled alongside the pair and landed, kicking up a puff of ash as it settled. As the boarding orifices opened, Raskivia strode forwards enthusiastically… only to stop in her tracks as the carrier began to broadcast a loud, jaunty instrumental tune.

“Wh-Wh-Wh…” she stammered in confusion.

A high-pitched, peppy voice boomed from the carrier. “Yes, my friends, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Our audience today is no less than the Demon Lord herself, and it’s time for the idols of Skulda to make their grandest debut yet! Are you ready?”

A roar of approval went up from the insect army. They broke formation to surge forwards and surround the carrier, now resembling an unruly crowd at a concert more than an organized military force. The non-insect demons in the encampment looked around in confusion… and nobody’s confusion was greater than Raskivia’s.

“My liege?” she shouted over the noise as she retreated back to Psytalla’s side. “What exactly is going on here? What’s the meaning of this?”

Psytalla grinned and pointed to the carrier. “Just watch.”

The voice from the command carrier continued its announcements, keeping time with the swelling music. “First and foremost, our cool and confident commander! She’s tall, she’s dashing, she’s muscular and mighty! Give it up for the huntsman spider idol of Skulda, the peerless Palystes!”

A brown-skinned woman, six foot five and muscular, jumped out of the boarding orifice and strode forwards with confidence, stopping five feet in front of the Demon Lord. Her back sprouted four hairy brown spider-legs, and a similarly hairy abdomen grew backwards from the base of her spine; her short-clipped blonde hair fluttered as she saluted.

“Second, the taciturn beauty renowned for her stealth and cunning! She’s gorgeous as a doll yet deadly as a knife, the black widow idol Latrodectus!”

The next spiderkin to jump out of the carrier was a slight girl, not more than five feet in height, with light skin and long pitch-black hair accented by red highlights. Similar spider appendages to Palystes also sprouted from her body, albeit thinner, hairless and colored shiny black. She sprinted forwards, gracefully spinning to a halt besides her compatriot and saluting as well.

“Thirdly, the bratty arachne whose tactical genius is second to none! She may be small, but don’t underestimate her power, or her charm! Behold the brown recluse idol, Loxoskeles!”

A woman with the lower body of a brown recluse spider and the upper torso, head and arms of an elf jumped out of the carrier, scampering forwards on her eight legs with impressive speed. She was the shortest of the bunch, standing under five feet tall, and her olive skin complimented her twin-tailed light orange-brown hair perfectly. As she skidded to a halt beside Palystes and Latrodectus, she dipped her front two pairs of legs and tilted her entire body forwards, the arachne version of a bow.

“And last but certainly not least, myself! I’m the heart and soul of our little band, equal parts spunky and deadly in battle! Put your hands together for the unparalleled beauty of Skulda, the tarantula idol Avicularia!”

Another elvenoid woman with dark brown skin and a thick build bounded forwards to join her fellow spiderkin. She stood about a half-foot shorter than Palystes, although her voluminous black hair made her seem taller, and her back-sprouting spider-legs and abdomen were striped with an alternating pattern of beige and dark brown. She threw her arms wide in welcome, flashing a wide grin, before placing her hand over her breast in salute. The music built to a crescendo, and the insect army’s cheers were just as loud; several non-insect demons now joined the cheering as well.

Raskivia, meanwhile, was beside herself with confusion, her tail rigid in alarm. “Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh…” she stammered futilely. Psytalla glanced at her sympathetically, but didn’t say anything so as not to ruin the spiderkin's big moment.

The music faded away a few seconds later, and Palystes looked the Demon Lord square in the eye and spoke in a solemn, official tone. “To the Disaster Demon Lord Psytalla Sidealestes, we pledge the services of ourselves and our army. The Great Hive of Skulda is proud to honor the legacy of the first Demon Lord, Skusea Aedes, who was one of our own. For five millennia we have fought and died to preserve the Demon Realm she forged, ever proud to march alongside all demonkind in unity and friendship.”

Psytalla responded ceremonially. “On behalf of the Evil Council and the Demon Realm, I am delighted to receive your services.”

“Thank you, Demon Lord,” Palystes said as she rose from her bow in unison with her three spider compatriots. “Let it be known that our mighty army is now at your beck and call, along with its beautiful and talented commanders. Behold the glory of… the SPIDER SISTERS!”

All four spiderkin struck dramatic poses, while behind them boomed a magically conjured smoke explosion of rainbow colors, lanced by cosmetic pink beams of laser magic. There was a moment of silence as everyone stared at the pyrotechnics, followed by the raucous cheering of two million voices. The Spider Sisters waved to the adoring crowd enthusiastically, while Psytalla retreated, her ceremonial duties completed. The cheering eventually morphed into a chant, led by the insectkin.

“SONG! SONG! SONG!” the crowd implored.

“Sounds like they want a song! What do you think, my sisters?” Avicularia said with a dramatic flourish.

“Far be it from us to deny our fans,” Palystes replied with a half-smile.

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“Hmm. Let’s sing,” Latrodectus said simply.

“You all had better appreciate our song!” Loxoskeles semi-pouted, flipping one of her twintails.

“It’s unanimous, then!” Avicularia said with a little jump. “Are you all ready?”

“YEAH!” the Grand Unified Demonic Armies thundered back.

“Alright, let’s GOOOO!” Avicularia shouted, and began tapping her foot. “Five, six, seven, eight…”

******

Psytalla and Raskivia retreated to a command tent in the center of the encampment, one with silencing wards woven into the fabric. Once inside, the noisy impromptu idol concert was mostly blocked out.

“What the heck was that about?!” an exasperated Raskivia asked the Demon Lord.

Psytalla looked at the kobold with a bit of matronly instinct; the Vice General had clearly gotten all her knowledge about the insect military from books, not practical life experience. “The Great Hive of Skulda is a stratocracy… a state governed by the military. For that reason, their military leadership often moonlights as popular entertainers.”

Raskivia began to understand the big picture. “Because their armies are fundamentally intertwined with their whole society?”

Psytalla nodded. “Insect values are a bit different than those of other demons. To them, there’s nothing strange about their top generals singing pop songs to the troops. If it makes you feel any better, it’s not exactly to my tastes either. I prefer death metal music.”

Deflated, Raskivia flopped down in a kobold-sized chair near a large map table; her tail drooped down to the floor. “Ugh. And here I was thinking I’d finally meet someone besides Metokai who matched my ideals. They looked so professional and organized when they were marching, and now they’ve become… a pop music concert. Pop idols mixing with the military… it’s absurd!”

Psytalla took a seat herself, crossing her legs. “Like it or not, Vice General, you’re going to have to work alongside them. And please, don’t be so quick to dismiss Skulda’s strange methods; their military might is practically peerless throughout the whole Realm. Believe it or not, the concerts provide great motivation to the troops. Please keep an open mind.”

Raskivia rolled her eyes. “I know. I… I just can’t wait until Metokai returns, that’s all. She was always much better at handling these contradictions than me. I always wind up over my head when things don’t go perfectly according to plan.”

“You’re doing fine,” Psytalla said reassuringly. “Metokai wouldn’t have selected you to be her second-in-command if she didn’t trust in your abilities.

Raskivia looked at the Demon Lord gratefully. “Thank you, my liege. I shall redouble my efforts to be worthy of that trust.”

“On the topic of Metokai, I received a courier from the Whispers early this morning. He bore two letters from the High General, one of which was addressed to you.” Psytalla held out the wax-sealed envelope, and Raskivia practically leapt out of her chair to seize it. She tore the envelope open with her claws, her eyes pinballing furiously as she scanned the messy claw-writing.

“This is… excellent news!” she crowed, tail swaying back and forth excitedly. “Metokai reports a successful infiltration of Lyzikanth, and she’s even included a detailed breakdown of their garrisoned human forces! With this intel, the Whispers will neutralize the human defenses and our armies will be able to take the city with ease!”

Psytalla allowed herself to be swept up in the kobold’s enthusiasm, if only slightly. “Precisely. I hope you’re ready, Vice General. We only have a few short weeks to whip these disparate armies into shape. Then we ride for war.”

Raskivia thumped her chest proudly. “Leave it to me, my liege. I’ll have our armies so fighting fit, the humans won’t know what hit them!”

******

“OW!” Diarn yelped, slapping his hand against his neck. He rubbed at the stinging sensation, before staring at the mosquito guts now plastered on his palm.

“Yuck!” He quickly conjured a water cantrip, letting the small torrent clean his hands, before picking up his shears and resuming his hedge-trimming. He made a mental note to ask Tess if they had any insect repellant before his next round of gardening.

The Crimson Coterie, which occupied nearly half of a warehouse-sized building in the poorest part of Acryid’s Outer District, boasted a small back patio which Velour and Tess had never put to much use. When Diarn had moved in with them, he’d discovered the patio in a miserable state… cluttered with garbage, hedges overgrown, choked with weeds and wild grasses rising nearly to his chest. He’d made it something of a personal project to convert the space into a proper garden, pulling the weeds and trimming away the chaff while planting beds of decorative flowers. Now the space glowed with the gentle warmth of manicured nature, and its gardener beamed with pride as he set his shears down, wiped the sweat from his brow and marveled at the results of his hard work.

This had been the first time in his life Diarn had ever worked for anything. He’d grown up privileged, although he didn’t realize just how much until it had been stripped away from him, and while floundering around for meaning in his new circumstances he’d settled on gardening as a method of trying to right himself. Even if it was a task as simple as growing flowers, this was something he was good at… something he was succeeding at. This was his, Gods and Church be damned.

“Lost in your head again, Flower Boy?”

Diarn turned around to see Tess leaning in the doorway, looking at him with an unreadable expression. He waved at her cheerfully.

“Good morning, Tess. How was work?”

She shrugged. “Same as always. Fucked some men, got paid. How’s the garden?”

Diarn’s eyes lit up. “It’s coming along great! The perennials have taken to the soil well, despite the cloudy weather, and the roses should be in full bloom soon. It will be nice to decorate around the Coterie with flowers, don’t you think?”

Tess, who was never much for flowers, shrugged again. “I guess?”

Diarn bounded over to a set of blooming violets, pointing them out excitedly. “Take these, for example. They match the curtains in your room pretty well! Here, let me cut some and get a vase going, then we can see how they look!”

“Uh…” Tess responded, but Diarn didn’t hear her. She watched him buzz about his flowers and smiled softly, content to simply let Flower Boy have the moment.

******

“Tah-dah!” Diarn exclaimed, gesturing to the vase of violets that now sat atop Tess’ vanity. “What do you think?”

“…Yup, it’s a vase of flowers, alright,” Tess said with a smirk. “I gotta say, Diarn, I never expected you to take to gardening, of all things, and with such enthusiasm to boot.”

A shadow crossed Diarn’s face, and he sat down on the corner of Tess’ bed; reading his dejected body language, she quietly sat beside him a moment later and waited for him to organize his thoughts.

“It’s just…” he began, then stopped.

“Yeah?” she prompted.

“I dunno, I feel like I should be doing something with myself. I do chores around here in exchange for room and board, and I’m happy to do them, but the garden is something that’s for me, you know? Being the Hero used to be my thing, but with that gone I’ve been struggling to find meaning.”

Tess nodded. “That makes sense. Why gardening, though?”

Diarn’s eyes grew distant. “Back when I was growing up, the Church kept me confined to a large estate in the Central District. I was never allowed to go out, never had any friends my own age. Every day was studies and training and all the other things a nascent Hero is expected to do, with swordmasters and Breeders watching me every step of the way. I chafed against that, as would pretty much any kid. My only real friend during those times was Chops.”

Tess tilted her head. “Chops?”

“That was his nickname,” Diarn explained, “and I still have no clue what his real name is. He was the estate’s gardener. Many days, when I should have been studying or practicing my swordsmanship, I blew those tasks off to hang out with Chops instead. The Breeders who instructed me weren’t fond of him, since he was lower class, so I think it was my own small way of rebelling against them. He was kind of like the father figure I never knew. Moon-kissed, scarred, kindly, endlessly cheerful… real salt-of-Goezia type, you know? He taught me all the ins and outs of gardening and groundskeeping. Plus, he had a foul mouth and you know how much kids love an adult who cusses.”

“He sounds amazing,” Tess mused.

Diarn nodded, smiling fondly. “Unfortunately, the High Breeders became concerned with how much time I spent gardening and decided to fire him. I cried for three days straight when I found out, and stopped gardening entirely… until now, that is.”

Tess spat. “Those Church motherfuckers. They’re never happy unless they’re making someone miserable.”

Diarn grinned at her righteous fury. “Damn right. Well, the story does have a happy ending. After I was properly ordained as the Hero and had free reign of Arcryid and beyond, I tracked Chops down and forced the Church to give him a very generous retirement pension. He’s sitting pretty now, and spending every day with his beloved flowers on a large farm-estate to the north that I bought for him. It was actually an uncharacteristically nice thing for Old Diarn to do.”

Tess guffawed. “I’ll say. Guess that means there was some good in you all along, eh?”

“Maybe,” Diarn said dejectedly. “I’m hoping my good side is coming out more now. Hopefully the gardening helps.”

Tess patted him gently on the shoulder. “Well, turning over a new leaf ain’t something you can rush, Diarn. You have years, even decades, to figure yourself out. Don’t feel pressured.”

Diarn knit his fingers together and stared at his toes. “I know, but… Truthfully, I’m kind of jealous of you.”

Tess did a double-take. “What?”

Diarn’s voice lowered to a mutter. “You went through a dramatic life shift too, but you charged into it with confidence.”

Tess frowned, trying to figure out what he meant. “You mean with the whole ‘becoming a girl’ thing?”

Diarn nodded slowly. “Yeah. You made a choice to change yourself for the better, and you’re owning it. I wish I had your self-confidence.”

Tess giggled. “This is weird. I’ve never heard anyone say they were jealous of me before, especially not in my line of work.”

Diarn looked up and smiled. “Well, you deserve to hear it. You’re amazing, Tess.”

Tess, who was quite unused to being idolized in this fashion, began to feel out-of-place and decided to steer the conversation clear of any further awkwardness. “Well, thanks, I suppose. That said, Diarn, you have lots of options for figuring out who you want to be. Gardening is a good start, and I’m glad to see how happy it makes you. If there’s anything else you want to try, you have just to ask. You know Vel and I will fully support you.”

“Actually…” Diarn said, before clamping his hands over his mouth and mumbling through his fingers. “Nevermind.”

A mischievous smile split Tess’ face. “Oh no you don’t, Flower Boy. No takebacks. Tell me what came to mind.”

“It’s, uh…” Diarn’s face bloomed bright red. “I… er…”

Tess lowered her tone a notch, to seem more comforting. “Go on, Diarn. I won’t judge.”

“I was w-wondering i-i-if… I could try wearing that?”

As Diarn extended his arm and pointed, Tess’ eyes followed the invisible line extending from the tip of his finger, across the room and past the ajar door of her walk-in closet. It terminated on a single piece of brightly-colored clothing, frilly and flowery.

Tess looked at the moondress, then back to Diarn, then back to the dress, then back to Diarn. Her jaw hit the floor.

“I… What?!” she asked incredulously.

Diarn stared at his toes again, blushing furiously and fidgeting, and responded in a tiny voice. “What?”

Tess found herself at a loss for words.