To the Victor goes the Spoils/Continued

Author’s note: I own nothing. Let’s sing the I don’t own anything song! Ready? Here we go!

I own nothing!
I own nothing!
That is true!
That is true!
But I bet that I own, but I bet that I own,
More nothing than you!
Hahahaha!
(repeat from beginning at least 2x’s more)
…Moving on!!


The conflict had ripped a split throughout hell…
Behemoth and Leviathan, loved once as one, had divided with their faithful…
The Horrif was the first to form…
The second, was the Gash…
The great Demon Shapron and his first born began a slaughter of the cenobites.
Tec Pozep retaliated, turning blood against blood…

Xipe Topec looked across the labyrinth, his skin tingled with tension. His eyes narrowed and a soft growl escaped his lips. His blood was singing but he was being restrained, in the skies above the two Gods were locked in deadly combat. On the labyrinth below Cenobites and demons ripped each other to shreds, but though the cenobites were few they were overwhelming the demon lords of hell. The second gate crashed to the ground with a roar of stone and mortar, screams of pain followed as it crushed demon and cenobite below. The clash of blades surrounded him, maddened him. Eyes wild and nostrils flared he roared out, but still was restrained. Leviathan’s presence trapped him.

Tec Pozep dashed forward again, forcing Shapron back, their blades met and muscles strained to hold them in place. The razor edges scrapped, the metal grew hot, began to glow red as the friction grew. With a roar Pozep slashed upward, wincing as his father’s blade cut into his side, pushing down his own blade deep into the elder warriors arm. Shapron shrieked in pain, eyes burning like fire. Without warning he abandoned sword and dug claws deep into his son’s chest. Pozep groaned, cried out as an opal was ripped from his skin. The two crashed to the dust, grappling for supremacy, biting and clawing in a frenzy of madness and pain. All bonds of blood were forgotten, mindless they ripped and shredded, clawed, slashed. Shapron shrieked again as his throat was slit, thick dark blood pumping to the stones, splattering his son as he struggled to tear into his chest.

A boom sounded from above, Behemoth crashed to the ground, Leviathan stabbed down at him.

The impact sent the two rolling apart, Pozep crashed into a wall, arched in agony as his spine was compressed. Shapron rolled to the edge of the God’s circle, on arm dangled limply over the side into the endless darkness below. Panting, silently weeping from pain, Pozep forced himself back to his feet. His feet shuffled forward weakly, one trembling hand stretched out and pulled his blade free from the ground. The blade dragged, bounced off a stone…

Shapron looked up, eyes dim, lips blood-soaked, he hissed, struggled to rise, fell again. A deep stain was slowly spreading below him. Tec Pozep looked down at him, cold suddenly, distant. He raised the blade above his head…

“I’m sorry father. I will meet my end soon, and this cursed blood, hated of that which we both served, will be given up in sacrifice. We are but the first. We are only the beginning…” Red tears continued to drip silently. Shapron held out a hand, almost as if pleading. Tec Pozep’s legs buckled, he sank down, and didn’t even flinch when his father ripped the failing heart from his chest.

From atop the walls Shapron, first prince of hell, watched in disbelief as lifeless his brother’s body smothered the last of the life from their father. “…Pozep… how could you betray us this way Pozep!! Le… Leviathan!! Traitors!!”

The god’s battle was almost done; Behemoth was fading, seeking to escape while his essence was still intact. The last prince of hell snarled, screamed, fell into madness as the Great God was forced to retreat. A flicker of realization crossed his mind, one last way to strike back at Leviathan for his mighty sin. The half-breed. The tainted spawn. He must be destroyed.

… … …

Topec shivered, feeling the shaking in the stones. His eyes were cold, and sharp. Leviathan was calling, his black brilliance sweeping over the chaos, purging it, but his bells were tolling with mourning… His father had fallen. The proud head bowed with a sigh, the eyes, already wiser than his age, grew a little older. He had not hoped, it was irrelevant in the end, a great demon had fallen, and the first Cenobite had lost his will with him. He rumbled softly. There would be a time for mourning, but it was not now. Hell was shaken; the cenobites that had survived were almost rabid. Something must serve as a calm, someone must walk to leviathan and kneel, influence the masses, lead. It should have been his father’s path, but that thread had cut itself short.

It was a somber trek; his feet lead him over the worst of the carnage. Demons that had remained behind fearing for their lives hid deep into the shadows. The cenobites felt him pass, a glacier in the tempest of the sea, reached out for him to ground them. They followed en mass, Leviathan urged them forward. The destroyed Labyrinth of hell was not easily maneuvered, but half blind as he was Topec’s step never faltered, he heard the god better than they, and Leviathan was his guide. They passed the shattered hall of Opals, its proud arches crumbled away and its stones scattered to the winds. Topec closed his eyes and kept walking. Never show weakness, never regret you are still alive, be grateful, and be proud.

And Leviathan, shining as he had never been allowed to shine, almost failed to give a warning. Shapron leapt upon his nephew with a roar, knocking him to the stones. Swiftly Topec regained his feet, looked about for his attacker. The shadows flickered, leapt and dashed, it was impossible to see… another blow felled him, this one with a blade. Topec groaned as the dagger stopped against his collarbone, his eyes darkened further with pain. Leviathan’s beacon swept over them, revealing his attacker above him in time for his feet to slam up, knock the demon back. Once again it was but shadows. He closed his eyes completely, listened to the panting breaths; counter lunged with a blade of his own as Shapron sprung past him. They whirled to meet, a parody of their kin, Blade pressed to blade, both struggling to hold the other off…

Topec’s blade was forced from his hand; he fell with it, missing the swipe meant for his throat as he rolled to safety. He was outmatched, and he knew it. His few years of training did not measure up to his uncles; his arms were not as strong. Another roar, his feet were swept from below him, sending him blindly tumbling into the dust. This was why Leviathan had held him back, this weakness despite it all, this blindness. His eyes bled red; his lips drew into a grotesque snarl. He would not be crippled by his own eyes! Something was nearby, calling to his blood, wanting to be tapped… he grabbed the daggers swinging down at him by the blade, ignored the blood running from his hands, pushed back and roared into his uncles face. The call came again, a chiming, like chains clanking…

Shapron wailed in terror and disbelief as the chains of Hell seized him, ripped into him and despite his commands held. They had abandoned him, judged him as weakened, and chosen another king. Topec, still holding the razor daggers, forced him back, step by step, until his feet met nothing and he fell to one knee. They were at the cusp of the gods circle, and eternal darkness was just below. Topec panted, shivered, reached out to Leviathan to find his calm. His hands released the blades, torn to ruins they lay at the half-breeds sides. And a voice, deep and smooth like the darkest of winter nights, knelt to his ear,

“Shapron, son of Shapron the High Priest, you are no longer welcome here.”

As the chains began to pull, Shapron gave a mighty hack, spat his black blood into his nephews face. The chains ripped out as he leapt over the demon and sprinted to freedom, thought several cenobites gave chase he eluded them, and with the ripping of a schism he vanished out of their realm. Complete silence reined over all, a rumble of thunder came from the skies.

For the first and last time, it rained in hell. Water soaked threw leather and chilled skin, washed the blood of thousands into the god’s pit. Tec Pozep’s lifeless form dripped silently above his fathers as the rain of hell washed their blood away.

And Xipe Topec turned his head upward, let the rain wash the blood and spittle from his face. He took a step, and then another, another, and again, climbing the arch that lead up to his god. Hell watched as he ascended the summit, water streaming off of him, his eyes once more shut. Half way up the arch he turned, looked back upon them, and with head tossed back, gave a deep, resonant roar. Leviathan filled it, the labyrinth quaked as leviathan declared, “This Is My Chosen! This Is My Priest And Protector! This Is True Gash!” Hell echoed, lending their voices as the arch began to crumble; the stones tumbled into the pit. Never again would any stand beside their god and above the rest of hell, he was to be the last of them.

Alas, the reign of Xipe Topec was short. He was slain not a hundred years after his ascension. His own blood, a demon made cenobite by the name of Zatherex tore his heart out as he rested. Leviathan struck Zatherex down with his black light, and stored the essence of the great half-breed into himself, to be forged again when hell was ready.
The years passed, Kings of the labyrinth ruled and fell to the blade. The puzzle boxes were created by a toymaker known as LeMarchand, and the Gash became more than religious guardians again.

A new stag rose and reigned long, he was Agonis the blood crowned, and it was he, who forged Eliot Spenser.

Xipe Topec was reborn. Leviathan chose the demon, unknown to Agonis when he pushed Spenser into the configuration unit.
Hell knew of the Black Pope’s return the moment it occurred, as did Agonis. In a last effort to hold the throne had lunged for Topec when the chamber opened. That was the death of Agonis. Reborn and already bathed in blood, Topec once more ruled Hell.

Thus it had remained till the rise of Exstapis, and here we stand.