Conquest was off the table.
Now, it was about containment, pushing a problem out the door; shifting the blame away from themselves.
A cold, pragmatic resolve settled over him.
The task was beneath him, a janitorial duty for a mess he didn't make.
But the risk of failure was now astronomically higher; failure meant attracting the gaze of beings that could snap away an Arch Devil in a heartbeat, which meant he would be vaporized as an afterthought.
He would not bear this burden alone...
Knowing his cold and calculating master, he knew that he would form a series of plans to keep pushing the blame further and further away from him.
Tying the noose of problems around his neck in the process…
A plan formed in his mind.
He would use the other two peak-tier lesser devils who managed this territory.
Actually, they were initially part of the great plan to obtain Adam and the nexus. It was only with Kaelgor's subtle and consistent interference, and reluctance to work with them, that they had not entered the basin's range all this time.
He was Initially greedy to take all credit and rewards, but now he was facing the consequences of dealing with the troublesome newborn alone; tasked to deal with this barrel of gunpowder.
Still, KAelgor had reason to not put too much trust in those other devils; as they were arrogant, entitled, and blissfully unaware of the true stakes over all of these years.
They had seen Gorael's lax management as a chance to build their own power; completely unaware of the current circumstances.
Although taking in devil subordinates wasn't allowed in order to avoid conflicts, they had utilized their unchallenged resources in order to build demon bloodlines and armies for future conquest.
'Those idiots don't even know that they will most likely be taken away…' Kaelgor snorted coldly.
He had been the same when he first entered under Lord Gorael's command; unaware that the army he had painstakingly nurtured would be taken away.
Young, arrogant, ignorant; that is what Kaelgor labeled them as when he thought of them.
Also: perfect pawns.
He would give them their master's 'new orders'.
He would frame it as a glorious opportunity, a direct order from the Arch Devil himself to secure and contain a special location.
He knew they would jump at the chance for such recognition, for a taste of real responsibility, for a chance to interact with more ancient knowledge…
Kaelgor had been the 'favored' one all this time, the one who had obtained most of the benefits all these years he had been in charge, so he knew that they would be thirsty for any chance at stealing his benefits.
What they didn't know was that Kaelgor's 'benefits' weren't because he had been in charge, but because he had taken an oath to waste a century in this layer of hell; garnering him many knowledge and techniques that will be useful once he advances.
Still, they didn't know; their time as Gorael's subordinates each being less than 10 years.
But it was this 'nativity' and 'ignorance' that Kaelgor planned to take advantage of.
To make them wardens, a shield around Adam's basin, while he, would oversee, ready to enact the teleportation magic, or escape.
He would wash his hands let them absorb any potential backlash.
'It's time to put those fools to use!' A sadistic and cunning smile touched his lips.
He rose to his full, intimidating height, the abyssal steel of his armor groaning with the motion. The air around him crackled with renewed purpose, while his eyes burned with fire.
He strode out from the war room, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall.
It was time to find his colleagues.
Making his way past his guards and servants, he made his way to an open hall, away from the war room.
The ceiling above was open, letting in the hot, dry air and the blazing light. Occasional falling ash looked like winter snow as it formed a thin layer on the exposed ground below.
A deep breath was taken, thoughts and actions were revised, and then hesitation was eliminated.
There was no more turning back, so he would move forward undauntingly.
A mental signal was sent like a shockwave throughout the castle; scaring weaker demons to the ground and killing weaker, captured slaves in the process.
The non-fiend race slaves were captured from his conquest in other realms. Over a century in hell made it so that he had a large assortment of different race slaves, but their lifespan would be limited in hell…
As his mental command reached its targets, soon a group of his elites ran into the room and knelt before Kaelgor, awaiting their lords orders.
Kamir, who had a healing wound on his face, was among the elites.
After returning, and after having suffered humiliation and repeated failures, he unleashed part of his anger on Kamir, since he had failed to capture Adam and lost resources in the process.
It was just an excuse to vent; something both master and subordinate knew…
The silence in the war room melded around Kaelgor; his imposing presence a vast disparity to his subservient appearance before Arch Devil Gorael.
Kaelgor's eyes swept past his loyal subordinates, and with a low growl that was more of mental command than sound, he dispatched the berserker demons.
Their orders were simple.
Find the other two devil commanders and inform them that Arch Devil Gorael had delivered new, urgent commands. The name 'Gorael' was a key that unlocked all doors, a decree that allowed no delay or refusal.
A group of robust figure departed like fleeing ghost, leaving only black miasma trails.
Looking at the remaining demons, he gave out a second command: discreetly pack up his treasures and resources…
To order his strongest and most loyal demons to do such a simple, menial labor chore… although obedient, a hint of nervousness passed through Kamir and the other demons.
Still, they set off with their thoughts and emotions forcibly suppressed.
Those shadows of fleeing brutes left Kaelgor standing alone under the ash-like rain once again. The sound of the far off demons working in the mines mixed with the sound of sizzling.
Kaelgor paced before a crackling flame that ignited a nearby twig, the flames reflecting off his polished armor.
At the side, a fallen slave with her eyes wide open in pain; a feline like woman that he had captured for her beauty and exoticness. Her body, although blistered and patchy from fur loss, had endured a year in this environment.
She had even endured bearing a child of his; something that was difficult for non-fiend species to do. The bloodline and power of devils was something to nurture, often taking the lives of their mothers if they were not a devil, or at least a demon.
Yet, after enduring this long, she had died because she was working in the opening, because she was too close when he let out his mental command, because his mental command was laced with his lingering hate and rage…
His hand reached out as he lured her soul and those of other dead slaves; their wailing souls darting wildly in the palm of his hand. His burning red eyes were observing, his emotions unknown.
He forced his breathing to slow, his racing mind to calm.
Death is most often swift, unexpected, and uncaring… a reminder as much as it was a warning.
The fury and humiliation of his direct interaction with Lord Gorael had to be buried; he couldn't show it, not to those cunning devils.
He had to be the picture of a dutiful commander, conveying the will of a higher power. He morphed his features into a mask of grim importance, smoothing away any trace of the bitter resentment festering beneath.
A subtle wave of his ignited a fire that burned the corpses of dead slaves, his receding back armor reflecting the dancing flames.
He decided to wait back in the war room, but this time he would be the one conveying commands.
Luckily, he didn't have to wait long.
The heavy iron-banded doors to the war-room swung open without ceremony.
Two figures strode in, their auras crashing into the room's tense atmosphere, each radiating the immense magical power of a peak-tier lesser devil.
The first was Vorlag.
He was a brute of a devil, nearly as tall as Kaelgor but twice as broad. His skin was the color and texture of shining copper, with pulsing veins of molten orange. Two massive, forward curving ram's horns erupted from his brow, and a thick, powerful tail tipped with a spiked mace of bone lazily swept the floor behind him. His eyes glowed with a dull, constant ember.
He was a creature of pure, unadulterated physical power.
The second was Malgrim.
Where Vorlag was brute force, Malgrim was eerie and calculating.
Tall and unnaturally slender, while his skin was a pale. His face was elongated, yet handsome, with a sharp, prominent jaw and four deep-set eyes that burned with a cold, intelligent green light. His two black horns appeared to be like a crown, while his tail remained hidden. Four slender, multi-jointed arms were folded across his chest, each ending in long, needle-like fingers that seemed to pluck at the very threads of magic in the air.
He moved with a silent, gliding grace that was more unsettling than Vorlag's thunderous presence.
They stopped a few paces into the room, their eyes immediately locking onto Kaelgor.
The air grew thick with unspoken challenge and a deep, mutual disdain. These three were the strongest beings in this region of the first layer, and their relationship was a perpetual, cold war of egos.
"Well?" Vorlag's voice was an impatient.
"Your mongrels said Gorael spoke. Spit it out, Kaelgor. I have a mine to oversee." He crossed his massive arms, the gesture dismissive.
Malgrim said nothing, his four green eyes merely narrowing, analyzing Kaelgor every micro-expression, every shift in his stance.
Kaelgor met their gazes, his own expression unreadable; the perfect image of a servant delivering orders.
"Lord Gorael's attention has been drawn to a… disturbance in a certain basin," He began, his voice low and serious, layering his lie with a false sense of importance.