Rise Of The Moonwalker Pack

Chapter 57- I Got Your Back

                        Balor’s pov

War.

That’s all I’ve ever known. I was born in the middle of one, and I’ll likely die in one too. It’s the sad reality of my life.

In hell, there was no living in peace. Not unless you were part of an elite army that was. For thousands of years, demons would fight amongst themselves just to prove who was stronger. Or for more land. Never for anything as trivial as love, or for the honor of serving  a king. We simply fought just because we could.

Still did to this very day.

I was nine years old when my particular breed of demon almost went extinct. Too young to be a part of the war, yet that didn’t matter to those who came for what we had. Every man, woman and child was cut down, all except twelve of us. Twelve boys I’d like to add. So even if we did live for hundreds of years, it’s not like we could reproduce. 

Correction, we could with other species of demons, but our children would be half breeds. Not full blooded like myself. 

I didn’t know it then, but it wasn’t our land they were after. It was us. They wanted an army that could regenerate the way we could. Cut off an arm? Guess what, we can grow them back faster than they were taken. Apparently we were considered a ‘hot’ commodity. No other species of demon could do this, which I had no clue of at nine years of age.

Each demon species had a ruler, or king if you prefer. Several of these kings expressed interest in obtaining enough of us to fight for them, so they could prevent the loss of hundreds of their own men. That’s another thing I didn’t know. We were hard to kill. Unless you took our head, or figured out where our heart was and removed it, we would basically come back and continue to fight to the death.

I discovered years later, that it was discussed how many of us to let live, and what age group they felt they had the best chance of controlling. 

After the slaughter, we  were sold to the highest bidder at an auction, and lived the next forty years as slaves. We did what we were told, when we were told to do it. We fought battles that were not our own, for demons who couldn’t care less if we returned or not. We slept outside on the stone covered ground, and hardly ever ate. It was the only life we knew. Our old life had been long forgotten.

It wasn’t the kind of life I had dreamed for myself, that’s for sure. Once upon a time I wanted a family. A wife and dozens of children. Maybe a little shack on a good piece of land where I could attempt to grow our own food, and put the never ending war behind me. 

I guess some things just weren’t meant to be. Or so I thought.

So, about twenty years ago, this gruff looking bastard shows up and tells our owner that he was taking us with him. The man stood alone, with a wicked looking ax in one hand, and a smile on his face when our owner called upon us to end this newcomer's life. 

When we just froze in place, he then resorted to calling in his so-called friends. It was easily fifty against one, and I know for a fact that my men and I were all rooting for the one. And let me say, he did not disappoint. 

Kratos, as we come to learn his name was, cut through them with an ease that I can still remember to this day. It seemed weird that such a man would need an army, but we left with him without questioning his intent. There was also the fact that the place we were confined in had over a thousand more demons who would come once they found out this man killed so many of them. I’d probably put my money on Kratos winning. Either way, we followed him out into another realm of hell like the obedient soldiers we were.

Later, we would often laugh over the fact that during the fight we could have ran, but none of us did. We stood and watched in fascination. If we had run, eventually someone else would have come across us, and taken us captive. So leaving with Kratos was just trading one captor for another as far as we saw it. Plus it saved us from being homeless, on the run, and always looking over our shoulders.