Many years later, ancient England would long forget this day as human memory was fleeting. History books would be lost, and even the witches would blot the true story out of their annals.

Sounds of war tore through the wind like a baby's cry on a silent night. The scent of blood filled the air like a heavy blanket of rain, struggling against the great wind that threatened its existence.

A huge battlefield spanning hundreds of kilometres was covered in piles of red bodies, which mixed with the blood flowing like streams.

Battle cries blended with the wails that couldn't be suppressed by the noise of blades clashing with armour. The rays of light from the many activated runes and spells filled the sky as they rained terror on the red-skinned warriors. 

Demons. A thorn in the side of the Triform and humans alike. Spawned from the depths of hell, they tore a portal open, aiming to conquer Earth as a new kingdom, but the Triform stood in their way.

A variety of demons covered the field, with characteristics that distinguished them by clan. Some had horns that adorned their bodies, some had hooves for feet, while others had builds that weren't that different from animals.

A keen eye would spot their nobility, riding on beasts that seemed to be created from children's nightmares. 

Vampires could be seen whizzing through the battle as they twisted necks and broke the limbs of many demons. Werewolves bulldozed through the field with their large bodies as they bashed hundreds of demons at once, blood coating their fur.

The witches stood at the rear as they, even with their normally selfish and distant nature, supported the vampires and werewolves with buffs and spells that raised their chances of victory. 

With every flash in the sky, a hundred demons would vanish, burn to ash, be stuck in ice, or melt into the ground. 

They had watched, from the depths of their pit, the prosperity of Earth—the glistening fields, the boundless possibilities for growth, the endless rumble of emotions that the humans poured out that could fuel their existence for aeons. 

All of that had fed their endless greed and desire for years till they couldn't hold back. And remembering how far they had fallen to be found in hell, they missed their glorious days. 

Their demon tongue filled the air as their highborn screamed commands to the mere soldiers that charged at the enemy with renewed vigour. 

Fully aware, they ran to their deaths for the hope and promise of prosperous new lands. They held on to the chance to be enshrined into a high-born family as they readily sacrificed themselves, their comrades behind climbing over their torn or burnt corpses.

The battle raged on, and as the high-born demons watched their soldiers get slain like sheep at a slaughterhouse, they picked up their weapons to join the battle. 

Sledgehorn, a demon with blood-red skin and two tusks protruding from both sides of his mouth, picked up his great axe as he spurred his war beast to ride out into the fray.

"Hahaha! To arms, brothers. Rid this world of these filthy beings that dare stand in our way and that of the great Demon King, Dratos. Soak these fields in their blood so that the name Tukukupi Maqankuy would ring for many new suns to rise."

Charging first, the clan family of Sledgehorn followed their leader as he wielded his great axe to devastate the enemy. 

As crude as the demons were, Sledgehorn's weapon was made very finely. An axe, with a length impossible for any human, lay finely in his left hand while his right hand held the reins of his favourite beast.

With a five-foot rod to hold the axe head firmly, the black ore that was used to forge the rod glowed continuously with the blue runes that covered its full length. Rings of red covered the shaft's length and gave a stunning contrast to the runes of blue that shined in the darkness. 

The axe head, forged of a different kind of ore that exuded a red mist with every swing, looked very simple. The double-headed axehead was shaped like wings, with the edges of the blade sharp enough to cut through water and the inside curves with serrated edges that ensured free movement in the air at every turn. 

The top of the axehead ended with a sharp point that Sledgehorn could use to stab his opponents at will and toss them around without care.

He turned back, sending a devilish grin to his brothers at the back before jumping off his beast. He looked like a terror to the Triform with his seven-foot body that clouded their view of the moon as he descended from his jump.

He landed with a thud and immediately began to swing his axe all around, severing heads and limbs and cleaving bodies in two. He roared with laughter as the blood of his enemies sprayed all over his skin, making no clear changes to his already blood-red skin.

"It's been ages since I felt this joyous in battle. Such raw bliss that covers your skin like the embrace of a slave succubus."

Sledgehorn's voice roared through the ears of everyone, even with the deafening booms that his axe made when it collided with the ground. He wore a massive grin filled with ecstasy and pleasure, and as his muscles contracted with every swing, his eyes dilated like someone high on drugs. 

And for him, the spurting blood of his enemies, of these changed humans that the demons considered vermin, was like a drug.

"Be mindful of the words you speak, you fowl beast. No matter how low my sisters have fallen, I still have the power to destroy more than half your clan."

Sledgehorn cackled as he could hear Maydriyn's soft but angered voice in his ears as she threatened him for his slander against her clan. 

Maydriyn was a succubus archer who was groomed by the demon king when he saw her talent at a young age. She was one of the few talented succubi who had managed to carve a spot for themselves in the demon army.

"I hear you, Maydriyn. I'd rather not have your arrows cover my back at night, so after this war, I'd apologize with a proper offering."

From her spot far back, Maydriyn smiled in expectation of the offerings that he would provide her as she built her new abode on this newly conquered land.

"It's still too early to make such promises to each other when we have such dire trials ahead of us. You should refrain from this and focus on what is before you." Gildmane's vanishing whisper rolled over their ears.

Nearly at the same time, Sledgehorn and Maydriyn snickered at the words of Gildmane. 

His annoying, croaky voice was never something that any of the demon warlords were ecstatic about. He had always been stern. 

Although rational, he had no penchant for excitement, and more often than not, he was the harbinger of bad news. 

"We all know he is always right, as expected of his inquisitive but quiet self."

Houndmoon had just stepped onto the battlefield, riding his signature Decapus which looked like a crossbreed between a goat and a horse. His guandao lay strapped to his back diagonally, allowing him ease of movement.

While the demon generals bickered amongst themselves, the backline of the Triform army was standing on very shaky feet.

Tukukupi Maqankuy: Battle at Endhill