I'm Back (Update and Side Story)

A/N: Long story short, I had a massive creative block where nothing I wrote satisfied me and whenever I tried I would just end up frusterated and angry at myself. Coupled with work (holiday season is picking up, which means more traveling and more patients at the hospital) and my own wedding anniversary, I just couldn't find the right creative headspace to write DMAW in a satisfying manner. At the recommendation of a friend, I am writing a short DMAW side story to get back into the flow of things. I will be back to my normal schedule starting next week as I'm feeling the creative juices flow again.

So here's Part 1 of a small DMAW side story.

-----

Malenzia Kintera, or Mal to her friends and family, was a young Devil of only forty-three years old. Short, curvy, black hair cut in a pixie-like fashion and, mildly pretty in her own opinion, she was as an average Devil within the Empire.

Since childhood, she had been filled with a deep sense of curiosity and this, coupled with her academic excellence, saw her expedited into a comfortable government position as a sorceress in the Ministry of Magic under Lord Ajuka Beelzebub. Specifically, the Department of Dimensional Exploration, or DDE, as the rest of the government called them.

Most of her days were filled with mapping the multiverse and archiving data coming in from the numerous dimensions that attracted the personal attention of Lord Ajuka. And, on occasion, Lord Ichigo too when he went hunting for the souls of Sinners outside of their reality.

That being said, every now and then, Mal did find herself coming out of the labs of the DDE and doing fieldwork on behalf of her tax-funded bosses. And the bulk of this work tended to approach wild spatial anomalies and fix them right up.

Due to the Underworld's metaphysical proximity to Hell, the dimensional barriers between it and the rest of the multiverse were thinner than most other realities. And, while places under the direct supervision of the Pillars and Satans were kept stable by their immense magical prowess, the frontier and wild parts of the Empire were prone to dimensional fissures which would occur a few times a decade. Though the DDE would quickly seal them up.

However, on those very rare occasions, once every couple of centuries or so, said dimensional fissures would tear immensely large and lead to all sorts of magical or metaphysical contamination or, worse, outright invasion by hostile lifeforms.

The latter was just the phenomena she found herself in.

The response had been prompt, Lord Falbium Asmodeus had summoned his legions and surrounded the gargantuan rift and formed a defensive perimeter. And Lord Ajuka had ordered the DDE to prepare a team that would go in and seal the tear in the fabric of the Underworld while the military waged war on all sorts of mutant cyborg monsters that poured out of the damn hole in droves.

And poor, poor Mal had been chosen as one of the sorcerers for said sealing team.

A small part of her wondered if she had somehow offended Lord Ajuka and the Demon was trying to get her killed.

So here she was, ramrod and stiff, fighting down the panic as she watched the gruff Sergeant Vrieg of the 33rd Legion go over the magical projection of the chaotic battlefield.

“The fissure’s current measurements,” Vrieg said, voice clipped, “are four hundred and thirty-three meters across at the base, expanding upward to two hundred and ninety-eight meters at its vertical apex.”

The glowing projection above the table shifted with his gesture. The jagged tear in reality, rendered in pale blue light, rotated slowly. Mal watched it spin, hands tightly clenching and unclenching as she fought the tightness growing in her chest, forcing herself to focus on the numbers and the shape instead of the growing sense of panic and dread.

A red band flared around the fissure’s edges as the Sergeant zoomed in. Little crimson icons pulsed along a hastily erected defensive line: Devil artillery units, ward pylons, infantry formations, the jagged outlines of conjured fortifications.

The military magi-engineers had managed to erect it all within hours: the efficiency and alacrity was mindboggling. But also very assuring.

“This is the current front line,” Vrieg continued. “We’ve contained the breach to a ten-kilometer radius for now. Thousands of hostiles have already poured through.” He tapped the base of the fissure, zooming outward to reveal a teeming swarm of red blurs - the enemy’s signatures, she realized.

“More are amassing on the other side.”

Mal swallowed. The projection didn’t convey scale well, but her mental training did the math for her. Thousands already through. And an unknown amount, potentially dozens if not hundreds of times larger, waiting to come through.

Next to her, her fellow DDE team member Vickle shifted his weight restlessly, robes rustling. She did her best to ignore his distress, she had enough of her own, thank you very much.

“High Command has deemed this fissure an intentional assault,” Vrieg said. “This is not a natural phenomenon. We are considering this an invasion of the Underworld.”

Mal felt the room tighten: a subtle, collective bracing. Even the other hardened Devils in escort armor stiffened, fingers twitching toward their weapons.

High Mage Acunda, the team leader and her immediate superior in the DDE, stood at the far end of the table, both hands folded around his staff. His old, lined face remained impassive, but Mal saw the slight narrowing of his eyes behind his spectacles.

“And the source?” Acunda asked. “The other side?”

Vrieg flicked his fingers, and the map shifted again. The image of the fissure shrank, replaced by dense streams of data and a wireframe of a star system, then a planetary ring.

“Magical probes that survived long enough to transmit intel confirm a high-density civilization on the other side,” Vrieg said.  “The Ministry of Intelligence has deemed it close to approaching a Type II civilization, High Mage. Very high-level technology, but no detectable magic, thankfully. What we have seen are armadas of spacefaring capable ships, planetary automated defenses and orbital infrastructure.”

Mal felt her brows climb despite herself. That the enemy wasn’t a Type II civilization yet and had no magical capabilities was immensely relieving. That meant there would be no acusual warfare.

Thank Lucifer, she thought.

Acunda exhaled softly through his nose as he leaned forward and exmained the projections. “Mm. It would be useful,” he mused, “to have a look at some of these species first-hand. The machine grafted monsters, at least. Bioforms adapted for a high-tech, low-ether environment… the research opportunities are-”

“We’re aware,” Vrieg cut in, though the edge in his voice was softened by a hint of respect. “By orders of Lord Ajuka, a separate team has already been dispatched to secure as many live specimens as feasible. Your team’s sole priority, however, is the fissure. You will approach under guard, perform the sealing procedure, and then we will pull out. The Military will handle the rest.”

Mal let herself breathe out slowly.

Do the work, get out.

In theory, simple. But she knew well enough from her years in the Ministry of Magic that theory never quite went right.

The projection zoomed back to the battlefield. Sergeant Vrieg traced a line with his hand, a glowing path threading through Devil fortifications toward the luminous rend in existence.

“Current plan is unchanged,” he said. “The Vanguard will launch a counteroffensive, pushing through the breach to establish a foothold on the other side and halt hostile flow. Once the Vanguard confirms containment, the Center will advance to clear remaining enemies in the immediate area, securing a corridor. That’s when my squad takes you in.”

He turned his gaze on them then: five DDE specialists in simple field robes and pounding hearts.

Mal forced herself to hold his eyes. The Sergeant’s presence was heavy, not in the magical sense, but possessed of that stubborn, grounded solidity only veteran soldiers carried. He looked like he’d seen too many campaigns and survived them out of sheer spite.

He reached into a satchel at his side and set a small, matte-black cube on the table. Then another. And another. One in front of each of them.

“Compliments of Lord Falbium,” the Sergeant said. “Standard field patterns, military grade. Calweave plating, layered barrier matrices, environmental seals. Trigger word is Valgrint -think it, don’t say it. The armor will form around you.”

Mal picked up the cube, turning it over between her fingers. It was lighter than it looked, faint lines of inscribed runes tracing its edges and glowing a low green light.

But then, calweave…

She had to keep herself from whistling appreciatively. Calweave was refined Orichalcium ore alchemically pulled into threads and then magically woven. She’d read the specs on these suits once upon a time and had envied the Ministry field teams that had them issued.

The fact they were being handed out to field researchers today did not make her feel better.

“Your helmets will appear opaque from the outside,” Vrieg continued, “but your vision won’t be impeded. They’re enchanted for full-spectrum sight, tactical overlay if you need it. You’ll still feel the battlefield though if you get hit, I can’t do anything about that.”

“Lovely,” Vickle muttered under his breath. Mal heard the sneer anyway. “First mission outside the tower and we get front-row seats to an invasion. Lucky us.”

Vrieg’s gaze snapped to him, flat and cold. “If you’d prefer, Sorcerer Vickle, I can request your reassignment to the front trenches. I’m sure the artillery companies would treasure your insight.”

Vickle blanched, his mouth opening and closing once. “N-no, Sergeant. I simply meant that—”

High Mage Acunda cut in, voice suddenly sharp. “What you mean hardly matters, boy. You have two ears and one mouth for a reason. Listen more, talk less.”

Vickle ducked his head so fast Mal was surprised he didn’t snap his own neck. “Y-yes, High Mage. My apologies.”

Mal had to bite her lips to fight off the smile, but behind the calm black of her eyes, she was laughing. Vickle was a capable sorcerer, but he descended from a noble family, not the Upper Nobility, but a family of consequence far outstripping a commoner like her and the other bulk of researchers in the DDE. Which unfortunately meant he had a chip on his shoulder the size of a dragon. And he had a terrible tendency of sharing his unasked and overly valued opinion.

Sergeant Vrieg let the reprimand hang for a beat, then turned back to the map. “We teleport to Forward Command as soon as you’re ready. From there, we wait for further orders.”

“Understood,” Acunda said. He lifted his cube, closed his eyes briefly, and Mal felt the faint ripple of a mental command.

Armor unfolded around him like poured shadow—plates of dark calweave extruding from the cube, spiraling up and locking into place. In the space of a heartbeat, the old man was encased in sleek black gear with purple wards pulsing faintly along the edges.

Mal drew in a slow breath and followed suit.

Valgrint.

The cube liquefied in her palm, flowing up her wrist like quicksilver gone dark. Cool weight settled onto her shoulders, ribs, hips. Fine strands of calweave knit themselves over her legs and arms, overlaying the under-robe, plating thickening in key points. A moment later, a smooth, featureless helm sealed over her head with a soft hiss.

Her vision didn’t dim. If anything, it sharpened. She could see the faint runes etched into the conference table, the subtle flare of Acunda’s aura, even the dust motes drifting near the ceiling.

She flexed her fingers experimentally. The armor moved with her, responsive and light despite the protection it offered. A HUD flickered faintly at the edges of her vision: mana levels, external temperature, local coordinates, the works. She suppressed a small, inappropriate thrill.

If she survived this, she was going to write one hell of a glowing memo to the Ministry’s artificers.

Vrieg donned his own armor; much bulkier than theirs, extra plating at the shoulders and chest. Once his helmet sealed, his voice came through their comms, slightly flattened but still unmistakably dry.

“Very good. High Mage Acunda, ready?”

Acunda inclined his head, and Sergeant Vrieg turned toward the far corner, where two robed mages had been standing in quiet readiness. Their staffs glowed to life as they moved in tandem, etching complex sigils into the air with practiced sweeps.

Mal felt the air thicken as the teleportation array spun up. Circles of intricate light blossomed under their feet, runes weaving outward and interlocking.

“Commencing teleportation, brace yourself,” said one of the mages.

And then Mal’s world inverted.

For a moment there was nothing but pressure, like being squeezed through the eye of a needle wrapped in lightning. Her stomach lurched, the black pond of her own demonic magic yawning and bracing as space folded.

But as quick as it came, it was just as soon over.

They emerged in another chamber, the hum of the teleportation circle fading behind them. The air here was different. Hotter. Thicker. It buzzed with layered spells and the tang of fresh blood.

Beneath the armor, Mal’s skin prickled.

The magical pressure leaking through the outpost walls was immense: overlapping auras of thousands of Devils, the constant recoil of heavy spells, and the distant shrieks of metals and monsters.

“Welcome to Forward Command,” the Sergeant said. “Don’t wander.”

A Devil in a lighter officer’s armor jogged up, saluting the Sergeant before offering a quick bow to Acunda. “Sergeant Vrieg. High Mage. This way.”

They were led through a short corridor that rattled intermittently as distant impacts shuddered the earth. Mal caught glimpses through reinforced slits, storm-lit skies, orange flashes, the outlines of distant magical towers spearing up from the ground like obsidian spikes.

Forward Command had been built in a hurry but with brutal efficiency. Functional stone and conjured metal, rune-inlaid bracing, layered shields humming in the corners. Every available surface was covered in sigils, maps, or Devil soldiers.

Again, she found herself in awe of the military magi-engineers.

The command room itself was a storm of controlled chaos.

Holographic projections filled the air: top-down views of the battlefield, close-up feeds of squads on the front lines, mana readouts, tactical schematics. Sorcerers and psychics sat at ordered rows of consoles and circles, eyes glazed or glowing as they relayed orders telepathically. Runners dashed between stations with physical scrolls for redundancy.

And at the center of it all stood Marquis Shax.

Mal knew of the Devil Lord, of course. Everyone who worked in the government did. Memorizing the faces of the Satans and Pillars was a must for anyone who wanted to survive in the endless mires of the Empire's bureaucracy and politics.

Marquis Shax was the current Minister of War serving directly under Lord Falbium… although if the rumors were to be believed, he was as much as the lazy Demon Lord’s handler as he was his right-hand man.

He was taller than she’d expected, broad-shouldered and built more like a front-line commander than an ancient noble. His long black hair was tied back at the nape, emphasizing the stark line of his jaw and the heavy black beard that framed his mouth. Intricate crimson sigils crawled occasionally over his armor like living script, flaring and fading with his shifting focus.

His presence filled the room, dense and heavy. A disciplined, honed weight that made her instincts want to bow her head and not speak unless spoken to.

Ultimate-class for sure, she thought.

“Marquis Shax,” Sergeant Vrieg said as he threw out a sharp salute. “The Sealing team, reporting as ordered.”

The Marquis didn’t waste time with pleasantries. His dark eyes swept over them, lingering for half a heartbeat on Acunda’s purple robes, then on the DDE insignia on their shoulders.

“Lord Ajuka’s hand selected people?” he asked.

“Yes, my Lord,” Vrieg replied. “Five specialists and my squad as escort. Additional squads are on collection duty under separate command.”

“Good.” Shax jerked his chin toward a clear section of wall, magical portals readied for activation at a moment's notice. “Stay on standby there until the Vanguard launches the counteroffensive and secures a foothold. You move when I say you move. Understood?”

“Understood,” High Mage Acunda said with a polite dip of his head.

“Then out of my center.”

They quickly obeyed.

Mal followed the others to the indicated space, her eyes drawn back to the massive central projection even as she walked.

The fissure dominated the image: a jagged wound in the air stretching across a ravaged valley, its edges glowing in sickly colors as the Underworld’s reality protested its existence.

Beyond the tear, the image flickered and distorted, the hostile dimension resisting observation. But Mal could just make out silhouettes—a forest of metallic spires, beams of coherent light, things that looked like machines and monsters both.

As they settled into their corner, the room thrummed with activity. Lord Shax barked orders in rapid succession, his voice carrying with the force of long practice.

“Third artillery battery, adjust your aim ten degrees north by northwest. I want a lane cleared at coordinate three-three-seven.”

“Left flank infantry, draw back twenty meters and reinforce your anti-artillery wards. The enemy projectiles are too focused; I don’t want a single squad pulverized because someone got lazy with their barriers.”

“Tell the Vanguard Commander he has five minutes to finalize formation before we open a path. If he’s not ready, I’ll throw him into the fissure myself!”

Commands rippled outward through psychics and runners. The map responded. Lines shifted. Icons pulsed as formations adjusted.

All the while, Mal realized her hands were clenched at her sides and forced them to relax.

“Breathe,” Acunda’s voice murmured softly over a private channel having noticed her obvious distress. “Observe and memorize patterns just as we do in the labs. Your job is not to fight.”

“Feels like it might be, if something goes wrong,” Mal muttered, but she inclined her head.

“Malenzia.” The High Mage’s tone carried a warning.

“I know, I know,” she said. “Seal the fissure. Don’t embarrass the Ministry.”

“That, and don’t die,” he added dryly.

Minutes ticked by and the room’s tension wound tighter with each one.

Mal watched as a triangular formation of heavily warded Devil squads moved to the front- the Vanguard. Their auras burned bright on the tactical overlay, several spiking into the Ultimate-class band.

She swallowed again. Vickle shifted beside her, restless, and then let out a derisive scoff.

“Poor bastards,” he said quietly. “Charging into an unknown universe just so we can scribble runes on a hole.”

Mal shot him a look through her helm, but before she could respond, one of her peers responded acerbicly.

“Yes,” came the dry voice of Granfelt, another of her fellow DDE team members. “By all means, Vickle, insult the half a dozen Ultimate-class Devils that could incinerate you with a thought.”

Vickle spluttered, but before he could respond, a shout cut across the command room. “Marquis! Message from Lord Asmodeus!”

Lord Shax’s head snapped toward the caller. “Put it through.”

A crystal on the central console flared to life, etching Lord Falbium’s seal in the air before dissolving into a dense text block in military encryption. Lord Shax’s eyes swept across it and his brows shot up.

“Lucifer,” he muttered to himself and then loudly proclaimed, “Sound the alarm and brace yourselves! Hell’s coming down, soldiers!”

Mal’s stomach dropped. She opened her mouth to ask Acunda what that could mean but then the world changed.

It wasn’t sound, though some part of her brain insisted there must have been a roar. It wasn’t some visible sight either. It was an unending pressure, primal and crushing and slamming down from everywhere all at once.

Mal’s knees buckled. Every instinct she had screamed at her to prostrate herself, to dig into the stone floor and fall submissive. Her demonic soul spasmed, her magic crawling like insects under her skin.

And then came the heat, washing over her in a furious wave; it was like standing too close to an open furnace. Her armor’s environmental wards flared in panicked pulses, trying to compensate.

Around her, other Devils choked and sagged. A few even outright collapsed unconscious. The sorcerers at the relay circles clenched their teeth and held, sweat beading on their brows even as they forced their focus to remain.

Only Marquis Shax stood straight and unchanged, though even he planted his feet a fraction wider, aura flaring in instinctive response.

Mal’s heart hammered in her chest. This wasn’t just Ultimate-class presence. This felt like the sky itself had grown eyes and turned them on the field.

And then her mind reeled from a sudden mental spike.

“WARNING! WARNING!” The telepathic announcement boomed to every Devil mind within the surround breach. “All forces are to retreat to the Forward Camp! Repeat: all forces are to retreat to the Forward Camp!”

Mal felt the words as much as she heard them. And her vision warped for an instant, overlaying the psychic projection with the phantom of a black sun bleeding accursed fire.

“The Lord Wrath has entered the battlefield!”

-----

Part 2 will be uploaded tomorrow. Cheers, hope you had a lovely start to November.