Chapter 1

It happened with frightful speed. One moment we were almost triumphant, having battled our way through every foe and trap Wat Dagon had put in our way, from Death Knight to demon. We had just put down the risen legless corpse which had been the very last opponent, rising from the water near the gigantic oyster within which hid our true target, the trigger for the madness wave, flying up dripping and attempting to blast us with magic. Its attempt at ambush had failed miserably, four of us having used scrolls of foresight this fateful day. The twins, Delia and I all moved faster than the foolish zombie, Delia winning the race to react, casting a spell of disintegration that proved enough to end its threat, the pale ray striking unerringly and leaving drifting ashes to float down upon the waters, the sole reminder that a foul undead being had risen against us.

The enormous black oyster had snapped shut at our entrance, as if sensing intruders. Tharmas, the doughty lizardman warrior, immediately advanced on it, heavily enchanted adamantine greataxe slicing its way through the protective shell, Annalise stepping in to join him - her cold iron greatsword proving somewhat less effective at chipping the protective covering away. Soon we would have the nightmare pearl in our hands, and the Prince of Demon's plans would be in ruins. Or so the plan went - straight to hell.

Fifteen foot in width, it cut through the air and planar boundaries, portal spinning open in less than a breath into a gate. Through it came the sounds of terrible battle, the city of Lemoriax in flames as Eladrin armies and the legions of Orcus pressed the demons, driving them back. It was the sight of Demogorgon himself, shouldering his way through the portal, that held our attention - and struck horror into our hearts.

The Prince of Demons towered above us, a full twenty four feet tall, his body at once sinuous like that of a snake and powerfully built like that of a great ape, two baleful baboon heads leering from atop lumbering shoulders, attached to which were two long, writhing tentacles. His torso was saurian, like some great reptile with an immense forked tail.

The Queen of Succubi reacted immediately, the kiss she had bestowed upon me allowing her full magical and telepathic access through me. I could sense her lashing out mentally through our telepathic bond, whispering at the Prince of Demons. Thankfully, I could not hear the communication, but it caused him to slump for a moment in dejected defeat, before roaring in energized fury - and focusing on me!

His twins heads shrieked in rage, and his overwhelming dual voice rang in our heads, "Fools! At last you reveal yourselves to my wrath. The audacity of your ridiculous plan is almost enough to convince me to simply destroy you. But here I find you at this, the heart of my tide of savagery. Know that even as my minions crush the last of your pathetic invasion, your own deaths will be neither quick nor painless. They will be works of wonder, tortures to inspire the ages. You will, at my touch, become legends!"

The Prince of Demons was fast - but not as fast as a diviner, a wizard who is usually a step or three ahead of everyone else. That Delia had cast faster moments earlier had been a rare fluke indeed. Gaylin used a spell of telekinesis as the oyster relaxed open, as though soothed by the mere presence of its master, sliding the gigantic black pearl it had exposed into her bag of holding, hiding away the nauseating aura of evil it radiated. Next was a whirlwind making its way through the gate with almost reckless speed, a living current of wind that spun down into a short elven woman, uncharacteristically stocky, with a wild silver-white mane of hair and jade-green eyes. Though badly wounded, she had lost none of the sparkle in her eyes, paired gleaming scimitars shining with holy power - the Whirling Fury herself, commander of the eladrin hosts, Gwynharwif, was at our sides, her presence greatly heartening all of us, but most especially her devoted champion, Annalise Greenheart.

The gate spiralled closed as Demogorgon roared again, one great reptilian head focusing on me, but I could not even feel whatever mental assault he hurled my way, the other attempting to summon a great demon for aid, and I contained a smirk as the attempt failed miserably. I knew keeping the treacherous little gatecrasher around would pay off, with his ability to block summoning magics in a large area. The demon prince was not done, advancing upon the eladrin paragon, who it clearly saw as the true threat, tentacles, lashing tail and dreadful bites savaging her, Gwynharwif's exposed flesh rotting away at the touch of tentacles, blackening at the loud slap of barbed double-tail.

He quickly learned the error of ignoring us, as Faylin dispelled his magical defenses and augmentations with a sharp incantation, the abjurer easily shattering the weakened demon lord's magic, wracking him with a terrible backlash of eldritch energies gone wild. Annalise and Tharmas charged in, taking a beating from flailing tentacles, but driving their weapons home, little Delia tumbling in, flanking and driving her shortsword deep, twisting it cruelly on the way out, almost crippling one ankle. Shadowfire cowered in a corner as our healer, Lornac, moved in behind the eladrin, the vast majority of her injuries vanishing at his golden-glowing touch, and Velnaris unleashed a storm of glowing missiles from her elven greatbow.

Me? Shrugging off the sight of those four terrible eyes, a mental attack from which we were all screened by spell or inherent immunity in my case, I fired two rays, one white and freezing, one black and enervating. In a single moment of furious battle, Demogorgon had taken a terrible beating, and it was far from over.

Gaylin conjured a great hand made of force that moved on its own, rushing forward to grapple the demon as a dull gray ray shot from her pointed finger, draining the demon of strength. Weakened or not, the demon prince shrugged the semi-translucent fist off, and screamed in rage as Gwynharwif's blades tore into him, the glittering scimitars' enchantment buoyed by the bane talismans we'd provided her with. The eladrin was very impressive, moving with inhuman skill and speed, only one flickering slash failing to find its mark in a gushing spray of noxious black blood. The demon responded with terrifying fury, striking at her single minded, but she was wiser to his ways, or perhaps our spells had some effect, for the Whirling Fury took comparatively little damage - damage soon mostly repaired once Lornac cast a spell of restoration on her, rotting and blackened flesh again pink and healthy. We battered at the demon prince with spells and blades and it tottered. A collective pained groan sounded when Demogorgon healed itself of much of his wounds with a single flick of a tentacle, before teleporting behind Lornac and unleashing his full fury against our healer, who stumble away, reeling from another tentacle slap before snatching a scroll from an ivory case, spending its dwoemer to cast a healing spell on himself. With the demon prince focusing on our healer, which I had to grant was a wise tactical decision, it failed to dodge the crushing hand Gaylin had conjured and was caught for a brief moment, muscles visibly straining against its hold and flesh compressing in its crushing grip, before breaking free. That moment was enough for us to pound him, tossing the most powerful spells we'd been saving for just this occasion, recklessly throwing all the weight behind enchanted edges. Or at least, all but me - I kept a spell readied, and when Demogorgon again attempted to strike at Pelor's servant, clearly hoping to finish him off, I raised a bubble of force about him, which weathered the terrible violence and dark demonic power behind the Prince of Demons' blows with no discernible effect.

A virtual pincushion of arrows, with terrible bleeding rents in his scaly skin going deep, desperation was clear on the demon prince's face as it attempted to teleport away, to live and fight another day - just as the Witch Queen, Iggwilv the Demon Whore, stepped into the room and put up a dimensional locking ward about us all. Merciless, we struck and blasted away, and I finished him off with a final battle spell, a conjured glob of viscid acid, which ate away at the flesh of both thick necks, paired heads lolling off, eyes blanking into death. Absently, I noted that Malcanthet, the Queen of Succubi, had not used me as a conduit for her magic during the battle, not supporting us at all beyond her admittedly effective initial telepathic attack.

Struck a mortal blow, the huge demon tottered and fell, a nimbus forming around his heads, resembling two dark crowns of energy. The crowns rose and quickly merged into a single crown, and a terrible death roar echoed forth, announcing the end of the Prince of Demons and a vacant throne. The succubus queen in my head demanded that I claim the crown, a magically backed admonition. It was obvious that she did not know my nature. Her magic was useless, her demand pointless.

With a single step forward, I claimed the crown. For however long I lived, I was now the Princess of Demons.

In an instant, I felt the weight of the Abyss landing on my soul, and reluctantly accepted the seeding of chaos in the depth of my inner essence, rejecting the pure corruption of evil with a massive effort of will. For all my power, I knew that even the greatest of gods tread lightly where the Abyss is concerned, its unknowable and unpredictable power thought bottomless. It is said that creation took place once the formless chaotic masters of the Maelstrom met the original masters of the Abyss, their battles allowing order to endure for long enough that creation came into being. Attempting to flout the Abyss completely would destroy me, at best. At worst, I would turn into a demon mind and soul, utterly vile and irredeemable. You can redirect a raging torrent, never halt it completely. I shuddered briefly as I changed, power and chaos rippling through me, altering my very nature.