A/N: Many thanks to Pam Holland and Sonicdale who were betas for the early part of this story.

Reviews make me happy so please leave one, if it is non-anonymous I will respond.

There are some changes being made throughout (for instance chapter titles, so things may seem a bit inconsistent for a while).

To Play the Devil

Me only cruel immortality

Consumes ...

Tithonus, by Lord Alfred Tennyson

Prologue

March, 2150 AD.

Andreas rubbed his hands together, trying to warm his fingers, as he looked out over the battlements of the city wall. Mist was curling upwards from the fields leaving a silvery sheen over the waving grasses. He wrapped his cloak tighter around him and began tapping his feet on the stones as the cold crept through his heavy boots.

"Quiet night," said a voice behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder and gave a nod of agreement, "It is at that, Anya. I didn't know you were on guard too."

"I think everyone is. Some idiot kicked up a fuss at the citadel," she muttered, pulling a flask from her pocket and taking a swig. "Want some? It'll keep out the chill."

"We shouldn't," Andreas said after a moment's hesitation, "what if something does happen?"

"Come on, what's going to happen? It'll be fine," she said with a snort. She leant on the battlements beside him, pulling her golden cloak tighter around her.

"Fine, but just the one …" he said, giving her a small grin as she passed him the flask. He had almost raised it to his lips when he paused, squinting out into the night. "What's that?"

"Where?" Anya asked, peering out across the misty fields. "I can't see anything."

"There," he pointed as something slithered through the grasses making them sway to and fro.

"It's probably just a fox or something," she said, dismissing it, "now are you going to take that drink or what?"

He raised the flask to his lips again took a gulp. He shivered as the burning taste of strong liquor ran down his throat. "Thanks," he said passing it back to her.

"My pleasure. How, um, how would you like to go and see something at the theatre this weekend?" She asked, a little faster than usual, eyes dodging his.

"Yeah, that would be nice," he said and linked down at his hands as he dangled them over the edge of the wall. He blinked, something was scaling the wall. "Anya! Get back. Sound the alarm!" He ripped his wand from his holster. He sliced it through the air and hurled a blasting curse at the creature. The red curse sent it flying. There was a glimpse of serrated teeth and long, multi-jointed legs before it plunged out of sight. "Daemons!"

"Oh scheiße," she swore. "Incendio!" An orange ball of fire blossomed from her wand flying out into the fields. The mists glowed with the fire before it struck dry grass and flames leapt upwards. The flames flickered and the light from them played over the creatures which were surging forwards through the grasses. Skinless hounds; praying-mantis like creatures which skittered forwards, mandibles clicking; hammer-headed daemons with maces and blades of bone; slithering serpents with dozens of eyes; and pale, bird-headed men whose shoulder blades sprouted writhing tentacles.

Anya ran down the steps and back towards the city as from along the wall tops fireballs shot into the night like tiny comets. Andreas pushed his helm back onto his head, loosening his sword in its sheath as he began to shoot curses between the battlements.

The great, iron bells of the city boomed out a warning as the daemons surged forwards.