Searing, senseless slaughter!
Subsuming its name, had been supposed to grant the daemonic agent power. Power enough to earn its existence this side of the veil. Damned distracted disappointments! The elven blade would not truly kill but never end the Herald. Its existence was too spoken for by something greater something stronger. Something that the Herald had failed. Pained portents pact. Thrice the Herald had failed.
First, the lush valleys in the domain of the Jade Emporer had rebuffed its legion. Warriors of stone proving the match for veil forged blade and fire that would melt the flesh from the man and dwarf and elf. Second the Teeth of Nimis marched on a great wonder of these short lived solid-forms. A whole countryside's fecundity stored in some simple structures. Crimson feathered arrows broke the mage-flesh Legionaires the last league of their conquest. Stout elven sword and the ferocity of their chained flesh-beasts banished the Herald a second time! Still an agent of Father Chaos claimed by his grandson, would not be denied. The third prize would be the god-fruit of a single protected orchard.
A simple prize, a few slow-changing trees in a world so boringly full of them! Why must the elves always stand in its way! Before its myriad of myrmidons, silent mists revealed whirlwinds of elven steel. Unchanging-ones that moved so fluid, it challenged the difference the Herald knew between its realm and this stinking pit. Then there was the veil-walker cowards bound to boughs of living-hard wood, they had stomped through its fire-toting imps and shattered the engine which would've harvested the fruit. Thrice it had failed.
Eventual excruciating extinction. The Herald would not be given a fourth chance. Seven marches from any coast, surrounded by the Teeth of its patron the Herald. Waited for the moment. It was this moment. Daemons of its station live by the order of greaters, and this night it would be the sweet meat of a true grandchild of the father.
Nimis would rise hungry and ever-starved.