"Brother, we must hurry, or we will cease to exist in this realm entirely."

"No, Araphel, we are not the type to abandon our duties."

Modrian grabbed Araphel's arm, looking him in the eyes to reassure him. But Araphel pushed him aside. "You fool, there will be no duties if we are no longer here, Modrian."

Araphel grabbed Modrian and pulled him into the realm below the living. Relief washed over them as they avoided the immediate threat. However, their escape came with dire consequences: by abandoning the realm of the living, they were cast into an eternal coma by forces beyond their understanding.

"Mother, Mother, read me the story about the brothers of the dark."

"No, Arabella, such stories should no longer be told," her mother said gently, placing a warm hand on her daughter's cheek. The sound of aggressive knocking echoed through the house; Vikings with their grunting and pillaging had caught scent of their home. Kicking down the door, Arabella clung tightly to her mother's silk dress, wailing for her to make it stop. Her mother, desperate, urged her to hide under the bed and not come out, no matter what happened.

"I pinky promise, Mother," Arabella said, her voice trembling as she extended her little pinky to signify her promise. Her mother, face set with determination, reached into a drawer and pulled out an ancient Latin book. She began to chant strange incantations, unsheathed her husband's sword, and sliced her hand, letting her blood drip onto the ground to form a circle. As the Vikings broke in, they screamed that she was chanting the words of the devil.

Suddenly, two large piles of smoke appeared, transforming into two long-haired, pale men. Their eyes were pitch black for a moment before turning brown. The men stood there, horrified, witnessing an abomination to nature.

"You have summoned us. Why?" one of the men asked.

"Do you know who we are and what we require?"

The fragile mother managed a shaky smile and said, "I have come to offer you these Viking strongmen—may you accept my sacrifice."

"Kill them all!" shouted one of the Vikings.

They rushed toward the circle, and in an instant, blood and body parts covered the room. The remaining men, drenched in entrails, fled in panic. But it was too late. The two lords tore into each of them, covering themselves in the blood of the savages. Once they were done, they approached the mother, sensing the breathing of the child.

"Is that your daughter?" asked one of the lords.

"Yes, Lord Araphel," she replied, shock and terror etched on her face.

"You understand that you must also pay the price for summoning us," the two beings said in unison.

"But you only require the blood of the savages..." the woman stuttered.

"And what are you, if not a savage, summoning two beings of the dark to do your bidding?" replied Modrian.

"Please, I have a daughter. She needs me to raise her," she pleaded.

Modrian approached her, touching the strands of her hair. "You or your daughter?"

With despair in her eyes, she looked down and replied, "M-my daughter."

Letting go of her hair, he stared into her eyes and said, "Very well."

Shlick. Her head rolled to the ground, blood seeping into her silk dress, neatly severed from her body. Her eyes closed. Modrian placed his foot on her head, murmuring, "Filthy human."

"Must you always attend to such grotesque duties, brother?" snarled Araphel.

"Someone around here needs to stick to the old ways—like not abandoning their duties, for example," exclaimed Modrian.

"Well, if I hadn't gotten us out of there, we wouldn't be back here, would we?" yelled Araphel.

Modrian began to wipe his boots, preparing to leave the room and venture outside. Both of them had yet to know how much time had passed since their long slumber. Araphel followed behind him. They witnessed the devastating barbarism of the Viking raiders: the village pillaged, food carts destroyed, homes burned—a sight they were used to from their own doing.

"Humans sure are savage now, aren't they, brother?"

"And they are the supposed 'good' ones..." replied Modrian.

The two began to explore the ruins of the pillaged village, their leather boots crunching on debris. They stumbled across a helpless old man crushed by a steel platform that had fallen on him. He stared at the two men, signaling them to help him. They took a good look and walked away, ignoring the man's plight.

"You can tell by the smell of sulfur, right?" whispered Araphel.

"It's clearly a demon."

They both turned around, and behind them, the demon revealed its true form—one that couldn't be seen by the naked eye of humanity. They stared into its former soul, revealing it to be a high-ranking demon.

"What is one of you doing here?" asked Modrian.

"Lord Modrian, I have heard tales of you from the underworld—hell, as most say. It is truly a delight to meet you."

"Cut the unnecessary flattery and tell me why you are here," demanded Araphel.

"Lucifer sensed your presence and asked me to deliver a message," replied the demon, placing his hand on his chest and lowering his head.

"Dear old Luci has decided to contact us?" laughed Araphel. "Just who does he think he is?"

"He warns you that he is no longer one of your sired creations and that you no longer control him," explained the demon, fear evident in his eyes.

"That pathetic sired fallen angel we took pity on?"

"Y-yes, my sire."

Schling. The demon's head fell to the ground, its form turning to ash. Araphel looked at Modrian, vexation clear on his face, insulted by the demon's words sent by Lucifer.

"The heroes will come here, brother. I'd rather not get into an altercation with them just yet."

"Let us go then, Araphel. They will be able to tell we have been here by the demon's ashes."

They leaped into the air, hovering above the land and scanning for a place to inhabit. Flying over, they landed and took refuge in the home of one of their secret worshippers. The man was taken aback by the sudden arrival of the two beings he had worshipped in secret.

"My lords, I am honored to be blessed by your presence."

Modrian touched his shoulder. "You shall be rewarded."

The man's eyes lit up. Assuring them inside, he closed the door behind him and revealed the two spare rooms they could use. "So, Lord Modrian and Araphel, what do I owe this visit?"

"We haven't been in this realm since ancient times and needed a place to rest and rejuvenate our powers. There is an issue we need to address," responded Araphel.

"I see, my dear lords. May I ask what the issue is?"

"Silence, meat puppet. A lower being such as yourself should not ask such questions," answered Modrian.

"It wouldn't hurt to let the puny thing know what we are up against," said Araphel.

"I am terribly sorry, my lords, for any inconvenience. I offer my soul to you and deeply apologize."

"It's quite alright, human. The issue at hand involves the demons and the king of the underworld, Lucifer."

"I understand, Lord Araphel. I will leave you two to it."

The man made his exit toward the kitchen as the two brothers made their way up the stairs to the offered rooms. Just before they reached the top, they heard familiar chanting from the kitchen. They rushed downstairs to find a circle of blood drawn on the floor and the book on the table—the one used to contact Lucifer. Araphel swiftly decapitated the false worshipper, and the brothers stepped into the circle. The dark, ominous voice of Satan himself came from the circle, recognizing the lords.

"So, my worshipper has contacted me about his transgressions," sneered Lucifer.

"You, a pathetic creation of ours, dare to double-cross us and turn the worshippers against us?" said Modrian, his tone laced with annoyance.

"Must you forget, Lucifer? You were the one who asked us to make you what you are so you could protect yourself from the Archangels," scorned Araphel.

"I answer to no Angels, no heavenly God, and certainly not to you two dark Lords," stated Lucifer with a tone of assertiveness.

"Lucifer, so help me, when I catch a whiff of your whereabouts, I will have your ashes decorated across my realm," replied Modrian.

"I will be waiting, my former Lords."

The connection cut off, and the circle of blood began to fade. Modrian seized the book of Lucifer and burned it to dust. They walked outside, set the place of refuge ablaze, and watched it burn to the ground. The stench of corpses filled the desolate hill. Araphel clenched his fist, swearing that Lucifer would pay for his treachery, while Modrian detected the faint scent of heroes—a substance they emit when near creatures of darkness. They took to the skies, their faces grim, lost in thought about their next move.