War, war never changes. War is like winter or a plague; when it comes, it always hits hard. Weapons will change, reasons will change, even entire countries will change, but war always ends with the blood of young men sent to die. But from the ashes and smoke, heroes and legends emerge as bastions of hope for the men risking their lives for a cause. 

One such legend is the Black Devil. 

Master Sergeant Rhonid "Black Devil" Raanan of the 13th Death Watch Brigade, was notorious for his skills even amongst other KASF soldiers. From completing the Special Operations Free Fall parachutist school to graduating from Sniper School at the top of his class, Master Sergeant Raanan saw a colorful list of combat engagements. His title of Black Devil referred to his black beret status and gung-ho attitude when using the Vietkong Jungle Fighter's favorite method of combat: machine guns and machetes. 

But all titans, like statues long forgotten, must fall.

During a patrol with his squad, Master Sergeant Raanan was in an accident from an IED and ambushed by Taliban terrorists. While they managed to take down nearly all of them, Master Sergeant Raanan's injuries required him to be put in the field hospital. He would say it was torture just lying in that bed and not doing anything when soldiers were dying, but he had to accept he'd have to just rest and recover. That is, until he heard the Taliban had kidnapped civilians and planned on executing them. Disobeying his orders to rest, Master Sergeant Raanan took 3 guns and a transport vehicle with him and saved every civilian that had been taken hostage. Unfortunately, he was hit with a chemical agent while driving off with the last batch of hostages, but he managed to get to the base, where they tried to save him. Sadly, he succumbed to the effects of the chemical agent in the comfort of his family, where they were the ones to hear his final words:

"Death is finally worthy of taking me."

And that brings us to our current situation. Rhonid was falling from the sky at a fast speed. And when he hit the ground, it got the attention of everyone present thanks to the large crater from his impact. A particularly short and skittish man brandished a knife and ran to the crater with a crazed look on his face. 

Demon: Fresh meat!

He went to stab Rhonid, but his knife bent the moment it touched his flesh. It took a few stabs for the demon to notice, and when he did, he was not happy. He jumped to the ground and started yelling at Rhonid.

Demon: You cock sucker, that was my favorite knife! You better pay.....for.....it......

The demon's words started falling short as soon as Rhonid began standing up. For one, Rhonid was tall, like inhumanely tall, compared to the demon. Not only that, but he was a pillar of muscle and scales, which was the reason the demon's knife bent the way it did. He grabbed the poor demon by the collar and brought him face to face with a deep, rumbling growl.

Rhonid: Where am I?

Demon: Y-you're in Hell! In Pentagram City!

Rhonid: Pentagram city.....huh?

Rhonid dropped the demon, who scurried off in a hurry. Rhonid just huffed and walked off, but he walked by a store window and got a glimpse of his reflection. He paused and took a step back to look at his reflection in the store window. What he saw completely shocked him.
(He doesn't have the disc thing on his chest)

Rhonid: This is.....freaky. 

Timeskip
It's been 2 weeks since Rhonid died, and Hell hasn't been so bad for him. It was chaotic, destructive, and deadly, and there was a murder every day, so it was no different than a war zone. Though Hell's chaos did come with some disadvantages with being new, namely his lack of awareness of everything. Though you could compare Hell's streets with a warzone, many of the demons have no regard for their own lives. In an actual combat situation, Rhonid could rely on his weapons or Kavorag Army logistics to help him out of a tough situation. But in Hell, it's every man for himself unless you join one of the many, many, many gangs and crime groups that are constantly vying for power and territory, but he knows they'll stab him in the back and blame him for it, so that'd be pointless.

On the bright side, Rhonid's been getting a grasp of his new powers as a demon. It all started when this gang of brawny Sinners pestered him about joining their group because of his size and stature. As expected, when he refused, they harassed him almost every day with juvenile pranks like vandalizing his apartment door, throwing things at him, and even tackling him in broad daylight. When they tried to make him join one final time, he snapped and threw a car at them, which was a huge surprise to him, but not really to the demons. It didn't take him long to deduce that increased physical strength was a common power, but it seemed to vary between demons. He also found out his hands could turn into guns, which again was discovered completely by accident.

And right now, he was in a bar trying to figure things out.

Rhonid: These last two weeks have been.....

???: Hell?

Rhonid looked up and saw another demon standing next to him. This one was a broadly built anthropomorphic polar bear with a few icy scars on its fur. Rhonid noticed he had on an old camo pattern for his pants and jacket, but couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't full-on camo, but his pants were a sort of dusty white with gray blotches, with a faded black jacket. Rhonid also saw a patch on his jacket that he once again felt looked familiar. It was a yellow bayonet knife on a white square with black bars.
(Yes I know he's dripped out, but imagine him with the clothes described)

Rhonid: Yeah, that's one way to put it. What's your name, friend?

???: Borris.

Rhonid: Rhonid. Hey bartender, mind getting my new friend a drink?

The bartender just nodded and started making Borris a drink after he sat next to him.

Borris: What's your damage? What did you do to get down here?

Rhonid: Probably the amount of people I've killed, I was a soldier after all.

Borris: Ah, a fellow Bungy, what branch?

Rhonid: Army. Fucking hate the water and -

Borris: -too dumb to be a crewman!

Both men laughed and threw back their drinks.

Borris: So, have you seen combat?

Rhonid: Multiple times, you should've seen my dress uniform. Sometimes I miss my unit, we were a bunch of dumb asses, but we were Death Corpsmen-

Borris: Wait, you're from Kavorag? What branch?

Rhonid: Vietkong Jungle Fighters. I was in the 1st Combined Arms Division in the 5th Death Corps Brigade.

Borris: No, I'm a Bolshevik Polar Dweller, you have to meet my buddies!

Without warning, Borris pulled Rhonid to a booth with other demons with similar outfits to Borris, just different colors, but the underlying similarity was the patch on their uniforms. One guy seemed like a mummy with glowing yellow eyes, one was an anthropomorphic jaguar, another was a crocodile, one was a goat, and the last one was an eagle.
(Imagine all of them in casual clothes)

Borris: Everyone, we have a fellow Death Corpsman in our midst. This is Rhonid! And he's a Jungle Fighter!

The jaguar perked up and glared at Rhonid.

Jaguar:.......what's the best candy in Vietkong?

Rhonid: M&M's because that's all we need.

Jaguar: He's genuine.

Borris gave a hearty laugh and threw his arm around his shoulder.

Borris: The more, the merrier! These are my comrades. Brothers, introduce yourselves.

Jaguar: Silas, and I'm a proud fucking Jungle Fighter.

Mummy: My name is Oryx. I served with the Desert Raiders of Taliban.

Crocodile: Reed, I was a Hezbollah Marsh Stalker.

Goat: Call me Cole. I was a Junjaweed Mountaineer......which is why I'm a fucking goat.

Eagle: I'm Orion, and if you couldn't tell, I'm a Jump Master from Elysia, both as a branch and status.

Rhonid: Really? My airborne instructor was Elysian.

Rhonid sat down with the older soldiers, and they all shared their memories of service, fondly looking back at the memories they had when they were alive. While they were older and the Death Corps was a different place, they were happy to see that a lot didn't change from their time alive.

Rhonid: Oh fuck, when I joined, I had decided to be a Combat Maintainer, but they decided to make me an Aviation Mechanic to fix helicopters.

Silas: They're still doing voluntelling?

Rhonid: Big time. I had a buddy who got picked to be a tanker......he was a cook when we were in boot camp.

They all laughed.

Rhonid: But what were your jobs when you were alive? Other than being in the Death Corps?

Reed: Well, I was a Death Sergeant. I love that job, but it made me a bit of a hardass. Other than that, I was a vehicle gunner.

Oryx: I was a basic training instructor, and I took pride in my job. I'd always tell my recruits, "This ain't hell, but I can take you there if you want!" I was also a tank crewman.

Orion: My job was to be the Jump Master on the planes, making sure the jumpers were ready to drop, and that included making sure their parachutes were secured. I had some dumbasses who thought they were tough, so I kicked them out the fucking plane, which is why my friends never asked me to jump with them. Oh.....I was also Infantry, but that wasn't as interesting.

Cole: I was an Artilleryman, and I loved every fucking second of it! You can't beat the smell of gunpowder and high explosives, especially when you have the chance to use it all on something!

Borris: I was also an Artilleryman. I liked shooting the big guns.

Silas: And I was in logistics. I don't think I need to say more; it was boring as fuck until they made me be a Combat Engineer and a Sapper. By the way, what station did you serve with? 13th Regiment of what?

Silas pointed to the patch on Rhodin's sleeve. It was a skull atop a knife with a set of crossed rifles under it. On the skull was the Roman numeral for 13 (XIII) and as well as the numbers '47' and '11'.

Rhonid: Oh, no. My first station was the 1st Combined Arms Division of the 6th Mixed Brigade, or 5th Death Corps Brigade, depending on who you ask. This neat patch right here is from the 13th Death Watch Brigade.

Reed: Wait, YOU were a Black Beret?! That's fucking metal!

The Death Watch, or Black Berets as they're called, are the Death Corps branch of Kavorag Army Special Forces. Black Berets are said to be possessed by a Nightwatcher spirit because of how aloof they act and how deadly they are. All Death Watch stations never surpass the Brigade level, and all of their personnel consist of Enlisted and Field Officers, no Commanding Officers in sight. Whereas most Death Watch stations train in a specific type of operation, such as the 4th Airborne Death Watch Brigade or the 12th Death Watch Diver Brigade, the 13th Death Watch Brigade prepares for all manner of operations. They even joint trained with other Death Corps stations to better prepare for different scenarios. The 13th Death Watch Brigade is known as 'Death 13' because of their colorful combat history all around the world. It's one of the hardest Death Watch brigades to get into, leading members of it to be referred to as Night Watchers, but that's a story for another time.

Cole: I heard Death Watch training is brutal...

Rhonid: Oh, it was. Between the sleepless nights and several-mile-long rucks, I wanted to die so many times. But at least I just had to do Death Watch training as is; a couple of other guys had to go to combat schools like Sapper, Diver, and Airborne. I just went straight to Weapon Systems Specialist training and learned to use a lot, A LOT, of different weapons. Didn't have to learn to fix as many as I learned to use, thank the Jungle Father.

Borris: Now I'm happy I went to the Drill Instructor Academy.

Rhonid: Wait, are you all Death Sergeants?

They all nodded.

Orion: We started off as Death Sergeants, but I became a Jump Instructor. Anyways, we got voluntold to become regular Army Drill Instructors but.....

Borris: You hear of incident at Fort Bronko?

Rhonid: I....think? Didn't some recruit go crazy and start killing people cause of a mental breakdown?

Reed: Yeah, the fucker had a fuck ton of mental issues, but some recruiter got lazy, greedy, or fucking both and let him go through. He couldn't handle Range Day and unloaded 40 fucking rounds everywhere. Me and all of these guys weren't any of the lucky ones.

Rhonid: Damn....

There was silence for a few minutes, other than the ambient bar noises. No one needed to say anything, and no one wanted to. They were older than Rhonid and were in the Army in a different time, but there was a palpable respect they had for him. Eventually, someone broke the ice.

Cole: You know, you could realistically become an Overlord.

Rhonid: Overlord?

Borris: Overlords are the strongest Sinners in the Pride ring. There are dozens, but the notable ones are Carmilla Carmine of the Arms industry, Vox of the electronics industry, some old bastard named Zestial, Velvette of social media, Valentino of the porn industry, Rosie, who governs an entire town, a rich family known as the von Eldritch family, and Alastor, who people call the Radio Demon. You're a fucking soldier, why wouldn't you be able to become some moneybags Overlord?

Rhonid: I mean.....what would I even do? I went to a ton of military schools because I didn't go to college. Even then, my certificate is from a 2-year gunsmithing vocational school course. You said some Overlord already makes guns; she'll just stomp me out faster than I can say jungle boogie.

They all agreed and started mumbling, coming up with plans and whatnot.

Silas: Why not a mercenary Overlord?

Rhonid: That-what?

Silas: I'm saying, why not train demons to be mercs? They can be bodyguards and shit, and since Hell has no real laws, you can make a killing giving out muscle to rich schmucks and letting them use your mercs as hitmen. You're a Black Beret with what I assume is a colorful combat record; mercs trained like soldiers by you would definitely fetch a pretty penny. 

Borris: We could even be Drill Instructors again!

Rhonid: I.....I don't know. I mean, it sounds good and all, but am I really ready to go back into that life? You all know the motto of the Death Corps: We cause death, we laugh at death, our service ends only in death. I'm dead and in Hell, how would I even go about getting people to work for me?

Orion: Well, like Silas said, we aren't constrained by the same rules, so there's a lot more freedom in how you'd operate.

All of the older soldiers agree and murmur their thoughts and feelings on the manner, while Rhonid just stares at his drink. He felt a paw on his shoulder and traced it back to see Borris, along with the others, staring at him with small smiles.

Borris: We don't want to force responsibility onto you, Rhonid, but we would be honored to train your mercenaries.

A low, nervous growl came from Rhonid's throat as he looked at them.

Timeskip
10 years later
Rhonid's office
Rhonid was seen in his office, looking over paperwork as usual. His office was large and decked out to the brim with random decorations and baubles, but he still had work to do. His desk had a map with various locations marked off and a ledger that was open to the page of an ongoing project, specifically a new firearm. The past 10 years have been chaos, and he had the scars on his hide to prove it. His secretary walked in and gave him the latest reports. He looked at her, a demon woman with long dark red hair and a fishnet belly, and sighed. 

Rhonid: I've told you a thousand times, there is no reason to dress like that.

Kneesocks: And I told you, sir, I have a certain standard to uphold as a demoness.

This was Kneesocks Daemon, the younger sister of Scanty Daemon and one of Rhodin's secretaries for his mercenary company's logistics. She, along with her sister, was hired as his secretary during the founding of his company. Well, hired is a stretch. He was essentially forced to hire them after they gave him an entire presentation as to why he should take their services, alongside some.....begging, as Rhonid would put it. Though he had to admit, they were great workers in both managing logistics and enforcing rules when the Death Sergeants weren't around. Just then, Scanty, Kneesocks' older sister, came in wearing a similar outfit. Rhonid just sighed and accepted the fact he'd have to get used to it, which he's always said several times, but still hates the fact. 

Scanty: Pardon, sir, but it is time for you to congratulate this cycle's recruits. Sergeant Borris told me they seem promising this cycle.

Rhonid gave a small growl and threw on his uniform coat. He looked at a skull with a blade going through it he found 10 years ago when he first started his company. It was the skull of a demon with an angelic blade stabbed in it, something he opted to keep as a memento from when he first killed Exorcists during an extermination. He gently bumped it with his fist and looked in its lifeless eye sockets.

Rhonid: Only in Death does a Corpsman's Duty finish.