The Demon Lord had excused himself from the festivities for a time, retreating to his personal armory.<em>So, it was a war heaven wanted, then?</em>He thought to himself, looking at the armor stand in the corner.<em>All they have to let me do is corrupt a few thousand mortals. Nothing more. Is that so hard to ask?</em>Running a hand across the armor, memories came back. Memories he'd hoped to keep shut away. Simpler times. Miserable times.<br/><br/>It was true. He had been an Angel at one point, and no simple one at that. He and the man who now called himself Archangel? They were once battle-brothers, friends forged in the heat of divine conflict. Until the War of the Fallen. Dozens of angels had forsaken their claim to heaven in search of power and, at first, he had questioned and chastized their choice. What was greater then Heaven? He had thought. Why forsake happiness?<br/><br/>Shaking the memories from his mind, his attention returned to the armor. It was of heavenly construction, made by the best smith there, for his body only. So powerful is the magic in the armor, that when his soul turned black, so did the plate. Black as sin with blood trim, the armor was more then practical, it was a status symbol. When this armor appeared on the battle, everyone knew who wore it. The combination of black and red on armor was forbidden across the Underworld, as the combination was the symbol of the Demon Lord, just as much as his own clothes were. On the sword rack behind the armor sat his once-heavenly sword, now tarnished with the blood of innocents. A long, thin, straight blade ended in a deformed hilt, looking of a face with wings, the face crying in despair as blood rolled from the hilt's eyes, vanishing upon hitting the floor. Putting a hand on her hilt, it seemed to sing in delight. "Worry not, my dear blade. Your tears shall be dried soon."<br/><br/>By the door stood another woman, this one wearing a long silver dress, bearly covering her chest. "Minixtra." He spoke to the woman, who bowed. "See to it that whatever able-bodied demon in the Underworld is armed and armored. There is a storm coming. One we cannot help but to weather. And pay special attention to that succubus, Glasya. Her particular... talents may prove useful to come." The woman bowed deep and took to the door, never speaking a word.