Devil's Due (Closed)

The greenish, magical image's consistency falters for a moment as his expression suddenly changes, deeply marked by an abrupt burst of irritation. "And whom is it that you seek to satisfy, drowborn? Would I cast but a magical placebo of myself if I had such a profound interest in your abilities? Did you really believe that the Lord of Cania would waste his time on your petty dancing!?" The avatar grows menacingly as his voice rises, looking down upon her with a glare more fiery than all the hellfire she's casted.

However, and just as quickly as he'd lost his temper, the apparition shrinks back to its previous size, even approaching Cathziel with a slow step as he folds hands in front of him and shows her an exact reproduction of his earlier smile. "No, my dear, it is not me that you should satisfy... yet. This is a service, a favour I'm conceding you: access to my secrets, my second most powerful weapon, and my training grounds. It is you who must decide when you are satisfied. But... " He stops at half the way to the she-devil, raising an open hand briefly only to close it in a fist and turn it back towards him in a pulling motion, as the ability to cast his hellfire is grasped, yanked from her spirit and taken back by its giver. "Nothing ever comes for free, and those who give gifts are either fools or liars. If you shall deprieve me of my spectacle, then you shall not have any more of my power - until you choose to please me again." As he speaks, the avatar resumes his march towards her. Behind him, at the western end of the courtyard, the tall double doors framed by images of guarding ice devils open loudly.

"But do come now, my dear. We have much to discuss now that I have personally returned. I wish I could have come earlier, but thanks to the latest yugoloth conspiracy, I find myself as planebound and unable to shift as the next baatezu. For the time being." The image vanishes in a soft waft of greenish smoke as it's pierced by the archdevil in the flesh, walking with the same light, comfortable step and an even more coying smile as he approaches Cathziel. Flanked by a heavily armored gelugon that regards the dancer with a cold glare, a rather alluring winged, blue-skinned female cambion and followed by a column of bearded devils, Mephistopheles walks bare-chested and unbothered by the cold, wearing only a flowing ebon cape, as long as the wind's ever blowing breath. Not dwarfed by the statues around him, he towers over Cathziel as he stops in front of her, weilding a close-lipped long smile that looks both finer and sharper than the tri-clawed spear he carries. Only the tips of his index and middle fingers touch her as he extends his left hand to lift her chin, letting him look into her eyes before swiftly and subtly inspecting the rest of her body, taking special note of her skin and muscles, and ignoring the gaping wound on her side. "Exquisite." he concludes, his voice halfways a purr, halfways a growl. The cambion behind seems to concur with a slight nod, under the deep hood of her heavy cloak.

Mephistopheles walks unbothered by the cold

"It is a shame that the Lord of Flies is unable to see the gem he's acquired for what it truly is." Expecting Cathziel to step aside and follow in tow, the archduke resumes his march towards the iron citadel, Mephistar proper, which rises behind the frozen walls of the arena. "A shame, but not a surprise. He's always been one to waste that which is most precious to him - his whole realm stands as a grim testament of this. I almost pity him for his lack of vision." His company follows as well, and it would be up to Cathziel to make room for herself - either by his side; with his subordinates; or behind the barbazu platoon - where she can't hear him and he won't care for it. The doors of the courtyard open to reveal the massive metal palace, joined to the rest of the glacier by chains thick as the chest of an earth giant. Pillars of steam and noxious, blackened green fumes hiss and whistle their way out of various vents and holes on the structure, like toxic eruptions from a colossal iron whale that's deeply stabbed itself on the jutting face of the glacier. As Mephisto advances, a series of metal plates are shot from the citadel, lining and loudly crashing onto each other to form a perilous bridge spanning the bubbling lake formed by molten ice.

"But pity is not for the Baatezu. It is not for any creature worth a single drop of our attention. And so, rather than pity him, I want to see him removed, and his wards put to good use." The Duke stops in front of the massive, red-hot iron gates as he flashes his smirk at Cathziel, should she be in the front row behind him. "I am pleased to see you have answered the summons."

The massive steel gates open with the pained screech of scraping metal, as warm vapors escape the citadel and pour into the cold of the layer. Another, much bigger open crescent-moon shaped courtyard greets them, flanking a huge round pit in front of an even more colossal structure. Much of the city that once surrounded the citadel has been lost, 'sacrificed' into the surrounding lake as the domed building that once housed the fabled Court of Mephistopheles was completely dwarfed by the gigantic three towers that were forged upon it. Of the massive iron titans that comprise the new Mephistar, two are subordinate in size and importance to the one in the middle, a claw-shaped spire of transpiring metal, which's upper floors bend forward to look upon a gaping, miles-deep chasm that breathes a foul greenish smoke. The long laments and hateful screams of what once were mortal men echo down below, their voices escaping the lamprey-mouth-like edges of the pit like a low background tune.

Even now, the icy behemoth that is Nargus shakes and complains at the weight and heat of its master's new creation, its pain echoing that of the almost exiled gelugons that populate the other glaciers. But it seems that not only the ice devils have retired from this place: indeed, the place seems to be wholly devoid of 'life', only populated by the scores of tall metal statues and images that dot the claw-like walls at even intervals - statues depicting not only the Lord of the Eigth, but several vassals and even scenes in vivid, lifelike detail; scenes of the legendary rise to power he expects to one day protagonize.

The barbazu did not enter the Citadel, instead remaining behind, and the gelugon parted a different way once inside, leaving Cathziel only with Mephistopheles and his cambion companion, who is now taking off her heavy fur-lined cloak - pointless in such warm temperature. The creature is beautiful indeed - halfways elven, halfways baatezu; with a skin of azure and an intrincate crown of small horns that twist and turns around themselves like vines of bone. A pair of finely adorned wings folds behind her, as the cloak burns away back to her quarters. She regards the other woman with a knowing, sly stare of her shining emerald orbs; as if she knew her since she was but a cub.

"As it should." That was Mephisto's answer at Cathziel's earlier own, and he had remained silent until the three of them were, by all appearances, alone. He leant forward, tilting his angular face down and closer to the dancer's, in such away she could feel the intensity of the dim, translucent flames that enveloped his skin, and the boring heat of his powerful glare. "You will find me a gracious host once we have got to know each other a little better, and an even more gracious lord once I've taken what is rightfully mine... so long you do your part well. For now, this is but an amicable meeting, but I do hope for a flourishing business relationship in the future... you will be allowed entry to this level of Mephistar, for now, but there are things to be taken care of before we can embark on a serious venture. This... " he gives a single, subtle nod to the cambion, " ...is Lady Antilia, the High Cantor. She will be your contact with me when I am too occupied to give you an audience. I'm confident you two will get along - you have much in common. And now, I will let you get acquainted: important matters bid my attention. Do feel welcome, dear, and remember that my hand is to be kissed - those who bite it lose much more than just their teeth." A bridge of jutting metal plates forms across the chasm, much like the one summoned above the lake, but the plates fall into the darkness as Mephistopheles leaves them behind to enter the main tower.

With an amused little smile, Antilia observes Cathziel expectantly, her cheek on her left hand, her elbow on the right one.

Lady Antilia, vassal of Mephistopheles

"Indeed we do." Her own voice is a melody on itself, each word a different note from the elven harp that played through her veins. "Though I must say that anecdotes of your triumphs haven't graced my ears as often as rumours of my person have crawled onto yours, that is precisely what I find most interesting about you, Lady Cathziel."

Always wearing that small smile, she takes a few steps towards her, circling her lightly as she traces a gentle, thin finger through Cathziel's collarbone, shoulders and back. Though her smooth, scale-less skin was red like ruby, it changed with the light, becoming purpler and finally deep blue with each step she took. "But you are certainly a charmer. I am quite curious about what sort of skills you have mastered, what gifts you possess - I hope they are not many, for if we couple them to that dazzling performance you've given us, one would have reasons to be jealous." After this second appraisal of her form, Antilia gives her back to Cathziel, starting her way towards the giant pit that opens like a great worm's maw in the center of the Citadel.

"But another thing we have in common, besides our mortal crib, is that I am too a performer, and entertainer." She looks over her shoulder to give her a dry smirk, "Though I suspect I could find your company as pleasing as your looks, I am not fond, and rather ill-suited to be anyone's overseer. That trait, we might not share. I do believe I am being put to the test as much as you are... and I do hope you take adventage of this truth I've given you, in a way that doesn't jeopardize any of us." As she speaks, a sudden green eruption breaks out of the pit, accompained by the wailing of the damned, rising several feet in the air like an unholy geiser. Unphased, and still looking at Cathziel over her shoulder, her chin slightly tilted upwards, Antilia continues. "Play nice, and I will play nice. Overstep your bounds, and I will bind you harder. There is no need for us to be rivals, not with such similarities that could easily make us sisters. Before we move onto our 'business', do we have an agreement?"

Antilia's eyes narrowed for the briefest second. Like a hound master who holds her dogs by a choking collar, she relied on the fiends's desire to pull and set herself free to control her. As Cathziel closed the distance between them, she felt how her collar went loose on the other female's neck, oversized and easy to slip away from. Yet her expression quickly returned to its earlier unphased, if only slightly amused state as physical contact was made. As the hand was extended, rather than shake it, the Cantor took it and kissed it lightly. "The word of a creature of such high station is all I need. Now, if you are so kind as to follow me... "

She led Cathziel into the southern tower, a vicious metal claw that rose up from the iron floors of the citadel. "The metal was mined in Acheron. They say the Reforging of the citadel took half a cube of raw materials. The Lord of Dis lent the architects that designed the structure, as payment for an old debt to my liege. They say that the Lord of Flies was the first to be asked, given the beauty of his various older cities, but he violently refused." As she explains, Antilia shows her companion through various carpeted halls and hallways through the spiral interior of the tower, always ascending. "But despite how utterly interesting and enlightening you may find the history lesson... " She presented Cathziel with a smirk, " ...I am very curious as to your person, lady Ka'atziel. As I said, I haven't had the grace of hearing of your exploits save for a few Blood War 'engagements', not of military nature I believe."

Eventually, they step off the climbing, twisting ramp and onto a large room apparently destined for relaxation. A long table in fine clothes has been served with various different dishes, most of them meat, though a few seem to be garnished with different kinds of mushrooms and other more bizarre accompainements. The floor is carpeted in red, the same tone of the cloth covering the two roman-styled couches that rest, facing each other, in front of the table. On the other side the couches, a large portion of the wall is absent, replaced by a large rounded balcony overlooking a small part of the courtyard (it is facing away from the pit and its noxiousfumes) and the gigantic back of Nargus the great glacier, as well as the hailing snow storms beyond. A troupe of cornugons can be seen flying out of the pit in formation, circling the tower once, and flying away into the white, howling clouds.

Antilia walks with a very subtle sway of her waist towards the table, inspecting the dishes as she absently takes a leg of something and looks it over, before letting it rest back down on the plate and laying on her side on one of the couches. "It is known that only the Lord of the Nine, only the great Dark Lord himself can give full baatezu status to one who might not carry pure blood of Baator within her veins. And he has been notoriously absent the last few centuries. Which is why I am surprised to find not a cambion like myself... but a Pit Fiend of the highest caste. Such a remarkable accomplishment - for someone with so little recorded history as yourself!"

"None of us is unaccustomed to pain. Not the purebloods who are ravaged and re-assembled in life by the torturer beetles, or burn for years in the pits of flames; nor us foreign seeds who suffer the constant burn of the scalding blood that runs through our mortal veins." Antilia studied her for a moment, carefully observing the way she moved, the things she touched, taking in all the resources she used to express herself. "Interloper... I do not doubt we share many nicknames."

For the first time since they entered, the cambion smiles, a knowing smile much like those seasoned merchants weild against skeptical customers. "But where your benefactor was fickle and forgetful, the Lord of the Ninth is tenacious, and he has the same power of memory for those who serve him well as he has for those that summon his vengeance." Once again, the Cantor stands, approaching her to rest a hand on the headrest of Cathziel's couch. "The Lord of Lies abandoned his experiments as he abandoned you. But he would see them to their finish. And he would honor you as the spearhead of the project, with so much more than a lowly administrative position, fit only for the scrubs among the amnizu."

She leans closer to Cathziel, tilting her face downwards so as to meet her so very slightly above eye level, though still making eye contact. Though tiny holes in her charismatic armor betray the bard's nerves, the fluidity of her movements and the boring, magma-hot gaze boiling in her orbs attest for her lineage: Cathziel could have, for a moment, re-lived the moment when he was approached by Mephistopheles himself, down and back at the courtyard after her demonstration. "Psyche subversion. You had found a way, a costless ritual to be tested on mortals, before the tana'ri sabotaged you. And for a time, you succeeded. Give us the details, the procedure... " She stands again, in a much more relaxed posture as she rests her weight on her left leg, gently bending the right one forward and sheathing her hands on her hips, "...and I think you know how well you will be rewarded."

A sickly burst of laughter, followed by sore coughing, echoed through a hallway high in one of Malagard's many towers, near the imposing Palace of Filth. An erinyes sat nearby, on a desk loaded with mountains of parchmentwork that rivaled the turret itself, being carefully observed by a fat stirge that had taken perch upon the window. The creature bore only one yellow eye, the left one, and though its mosquito-like head showed no emotion (he probably had none, being a beast and a soul-less familiar) that stare was powerful, imperious, irresistible; silently ordering her to remain calm and not do anything that could... well, not do anything at all.

Down through the hallway, behind a closed door that had been roughly marked with a smiling face, something moaned. It was a horrible moan, dry, disturbing, and it sounded like the throat emitting it had been pierced with a hundred needles. A different voice spoke, the same that had laughed before, but its words carried with them that same indescribable imperious aura that boiled in the stirge's stare. It was a jerren, a member of corrupted subrace of halflings, or it had once been: stunted, with a head too big for his emaciated torso. He also seemed to be one-eyed, his right eye being an exact copy of the stirge's, but the left socket hidden behind a rag wrapped around his head. "Nefleos, who gave you that note? Speak the truth."

In front of him, a blood-red quilled spinagon stood upright, completely upright, as if it had been tightly wrapped with invisible cord. It shifted uncomfortably, wincing in apparent pain, its bloodshot eyes fixed on the jerren's. "It waz one of greatah baat'zu! Wings an' horns! After it got angry and beat me, clipp'd mah wingz!"

The jerren smiled gleefully, a smile that stretched well past what it normally should. It looked as if a wide gash had been cut from his face, at uneven paces, and it was choke of piranha-like needle teeth, some splintered, all of them stained. "Good spiny thing. Now why don't you rest for a bit?"

With a welp from their owner, the spinagon's legs bent forward and back, and it slumped flatly on the ground, as if he had been released from a powerful hold. The stirge buzzed loudly into the room to perch on its master's shoulder, whispering to him through their mental link. -Does any of this serve a purpose? We checked the seal. It is as trustworthy as anything here can be.

Banzai turned to walk to a nearby table and climbed on top of it, like a bizarre, almost hairless monkey. He looked like a walking circus, dressed in purple and wine rags, and wearing an old humanoid skull on his head, its forehead carved with a strange sigil. "Of course it serves a purpose. I'm practicing my cruelty for when I get to be the overlord of everything!" The spinagon stood with some difficulty, recovering, and gave Banzai a weird look, not understanding if he was the one being addressed. The warlock answered its silent question without gazing at it, "Ya better leave now, ya're not invited to my dark council of darkness." The devil lifted off and flew out the window without as much as a nod.

-He thinks you are insane. So do I. The stirge commented.

"So do I... that's precisely the point." The master answered himself, glancing at the closed door. "There is no way I wouldn't be at this point. It is as it has to be. We don't need sanity, all we need is faith."

The stirge didn't seem convinced, and shifted its weight lightly on the jerren's shoulder as it leant forward to read those parchments his master was merely watching. -This plan will never work. These creatures have been decieving and betraying others and each other for thousands of years, we cannot possibly hope to best them at it.

"Hm, yes, but I have a secret ace up in my sleeve..."

-This is no lesser baatezu, this is a pit fiend. Even if we had the power to take her, what afterwards? What would we do with Cathziel?

Banzai snorted, rifling through the paper work until he found what he was looking for. He continued to speak to his little beast as it inspected it. "I -need- my mother. Without her, I fall." The famliar's eye looked aside towards his master, silently questioning him. The warlock presented it with a confident smile. "Faith, Phemur. Have faith."

Phemur just stared at him in disbelief, before giving up and turning to inspect the papers laid before him. - ...these are just doodles.

The jerren beamed, "I drew them! That's me and mother over there. You like them?"

The jerren's own eye twitched as Aazazel pronounced his name. He had always relied on his anonimity and his ability to make others look away from him to thrive, to sneak his way unseen into Baatorian nobility: Cathziel's fool, her personal buffoon, a rotten and annoying creature only she of mortal lineage could find humorous. Indeed, only his 'mother' as he called her knew his real name, only to her it was revealed; and it was only because the influence she already had over him that Aazazel's knowledge hadn't spelt doom for him. Had the erinyes not known it, he wouldn't have needed to steadily concentrate in order to keep her under his dominion.

He whipped around to face her, without thinking about the possible outcome of his next action: she was a threat, and to be ended. However, Cathziel's entrance stopped him right on his tracks and brought him back to reality. Phemur, having already predicted her rage, unperched from his shoulder and buzzed to the safety of a nearby window.

"Well, greetings, sweet mothe--!"

What is this? He loved her voice when she was mad at him, it was like the sound of a beautiful work of art being torn and ravaged at a quick, yet steady and unfaltering pace. A smile grew on his face at the thought, only to enlarge and show off his needle teeth as she threatened him. His was a creepy grin, no doubt, but a defensive one. For the longest time, he remained silent.

As she gripped him with her tail, he remained motionless, docile like a ragdoll on her hand. His 'mother' wasn't kind, but he had not suffered half of what her other underlings would've had under the same circumstances, up to the point where he almost took her for granted. Only one time he was truly punished - and he had learnt to fear her again. He half expected the same treatment again - this was the worst of his offenses in her knowledge - but at the same time, he wasn't really thinking about it. He was, in fact, fighting back temptation: she always smelled so tasty!

"Defile? A fitting synonym for 'improve', here at the Lower Planes. You see, I... " His eye darted to the window as he trailed off, and met his familiar's. Phemur had been observing out the window, and as it turned its head and their stares collided, their mental communication became apparent. The creature buzzed out from the office, leaving those inside alone, as Banzai's grin broadened even more. His pale orb focused on Cathziel once again, "I am glad you're finally here! I was afraid your little walkabout would take too long, as both Aazazel and me are quite unfit to welcome your honorable guests... "

A teleportation spell shimmered outside, as various circles of hellish runes carved in purple light drew themselves before the tower's entrance. Surprised by the prescence of a pit fiend in the layer (other than their usually transformed mistress), the lesser devils that warded the doorway approached her with suspicion, only to be met with a hateful stare and an authoritative tone that reminded them of their position. "TELL YOUR MISTRESS THAT THE MINISTRY OF RESEARCH HAS ANSWERED HER SUMMONS." While Cathziel vented on her underlings, an ominous prescence filled the hallways as it made its way towards the office, though it literally, physically needed the space as it was not cloaked in any kind of alternate form. Draped in a crimson cape pierced by the bony spikes growing from her shoulders, and escorted only by her two kocrachon assistants, Pearza of the Dark Eight quietly took note of her surroundings, and frowned slightly as it sensed the violence in the office.

Banzai had not yet picked himself up when Pearza and her escort stepped into the office, but as he gazed up onto the pit fiend, the long gash he called mouth extended to its full size, revealing his little teeth and letting his long, carved tongue dangle out watering, like that of a hungering hyena.

The minister did not even acknowledge his prescence, or that of the erinyes. She looked somewhat annoyed as she regarded Cathziel, resting both her hands on a long and finely crafted skull-topped cane. "Ka'atziel." she answered with mustered solemnity, though she let some brash spill in her next statement. "I was expecting your underlings to be prepared for my arrival, at the very least." The kocrachons remained by her side - one of them standing very still and upright, only its various pincers and mandibles opening and closing erratically; the other seemed oddly interested on its surroundings and the conversation, closely and carefully observing each of the participants, and specially its lady. "But I am willing to overlook this in light of our successful joint work in the past. The merregons have proved to be an exceptional investment, and I am looking forward to the implementation of your riders and heavy infantry. You have proved your finesse at this craft."

Pearza gave her a low, almost unnoticeable bow of her head in recognition, yet seemed at unease. Something about her body language was not right - her movements were not fluid, her postures seemed somewhat forced; as if she was not in complete control of her body, or did not know how to use it. Pit fiends were regal creatures, only the most cunning of the baatezu ever reached the rank, and by the time they did, their control over their words as well as their bodies neared perfection. They could seduce a man into believing his own death by just shifting their position as they spoke. But this creature had none of that. Its voice went from angry barking to almost stuttering within an instant, and then she was barking again, as if to call attention away from her shaky, weak posture.

"Your argument is very reasonable. Project Subversion should always have been part of the Ministry of Research and Implementation's agenda, and together, we could perfect it and reap its greatest rewards, not for a duke alone, but for the glory of all of Baator. Give me the ritual, and I will secure you a place... at my side.

Banzai had stood up, slowly retreating backwards, just a few steps. Under the old, humanoid skull he wore as a helmet, the gold in his eye began lightly swirling, and the faintest murmuring escaped his lips, a quiet mantra in a tongue foreign to the Pit, yet not entirely unknown.

-Something is amiss.

His familiar's raspy voice snuck into his mind, replacing his mother's unanswered question. -Something is off with her. She has the appeareance and the odour of a pit fiend, but she does not feel like one. Banzai frowned, but gave him no answer. Despite everything, he was not capable of true mental communication in his current state - he could only recieve messages, but his answers had to be delivered through sound. They shared a mind, however, and Phemur intuitively confirmed his suspicions. -She is here, in this room. She was compelled by geas in the letter and she could not go back on her word. I can feel her. But I cannot -find- her.

'How do you force an animal out of its hiding place? With smoke, and fire.' A fleeting thought, a decision, and the slow removal of the helm from his head. A green binding rune glowed on it for a moment, and his hands burned as he very slowly began raising his voice and his chant.

" ...sin'zirum shirr'ak'qej sar-nazrrim, jira'rnaek lez shiraj. Kre'ktarej sin'zirum, sir'jerren nom Turaglas."

And with a deafening sound, the doors and windows flew shut.

Banzai's eye shone with a powerful yellow light, a light that sparked to life on the eyes of the twin deformed face he had scribbled on the doors, and apparently on the inside of the window shutters as well. The previously silly looking images opened horrific demonic maws, fitted with various rows of teeth, as the papers and forms he had scribbled took on flight and formed a shimmering vortex in the office, the doodles now glowing runes in a foul, chaotic language. The skull in Banzai's hands shaked and sputtered, and a crack made its way on its top, but it did not split. A shadowy formed climbed up from the shutters to the roof, and for a moment, its left eye glowed too.

Pearza shook and trembled and stepped back, "What treachery is this!?" She rammed the door with her shoulder, to no avail, while one of the kocrachons - the one that had been standing very still - helped her. The other beetle devil charged against the shutter, as the pit fiend looked around with horror, "The lord of Nessus will have your head!" But as it opened her wings and turned towards Cathziel, the gaping faces on the doors opened their mouths, and two long, thick tongues emerged from the golden depths, covered by barbs and smaller mouths, and dripping with acidic spit. They sprang forward and tied themselves around the pit fiend's forearms, pulling her backwards and holding her in place.

Banzai continued chanting, his eye going from the minister to Cathziel, when it sharply turned towards the one charging to the window, glowing. 'There you are.' But before he could focus his magic, something grasped him and put him face to the floor, as the rope coiled around him like a snake and wrapped his mouth shut.

The pit fiend struggled against the tongues that held it and pulled backwards, not dispelled by the warlock's tight situation. She roared with a new voice, the red skin that covered her bulging muscles burning and wasting away as she shook, breaking off the fake pit fiend shell to reveal a now rabid cornugon. The horned devil remained trapped, but the chaotic tongues that bound it began to bloat and bleed, and the kocrachon by its side retreated behind it, quickly turning to study the doorway for a way to dispell its wards.

The third torturer devil did not crash against the shutter: instead, it quickly appraised the scribings, hovering for the shortest moment, before turning around to face Cathziel. Its insectoid body bulged and grew, expanding to the last molecule before it split in half and wasted away into ash like a burnt cocoon. From within, the real Pearza emerged, and extended her hand, calling the skull cane to her grasp. "I expected a trap, but I am genuinely disgusted by your methods. You dare bring tana'ri magic into Baator!? You might be intelligent, Ka'atziel, but you're not worthy of my post!"

For the briefest moment, she looked at Aazazel, as if weighing her as a potential ally, before she spreads her wings, her scales taking to flame. "And you add injury to the insult by underestimating me so! You think that an erinyes and a sorry gnat are enough to take on one of the Dark Eight?" She snorted as the flames fed on the vortex of paper, creating a blazing tornado inside the already small and packed office - even though none of those present would've been affected by it. "There are no shortcuts, no easy ways to power. You may have had promise, but you were never meant to be one of us. This hasty and poorly executed excuse for an assassination is the final proof of it." With a powerful motion she raised her arms, telekinetically grabbing Banzai to smash him against the roof and dangle him by her side, making him face Cathziel. "Is this your secret weapon? Pitiful."

Banzai struggled to open his mouth, and to turn to look at Pearza, to no avail. And with the sound of ripping flesh and the pained scream of splurting blood, the tongues were torn apart, and the cornugon was free.

"Sabotage you? You arrogant, glorified cambion, it was you who led me into a trap in the first place, rather than take your only chance at a profitable future!

Pearza's own eyes narrowed as she listened, momentarily captured by Cathziel's riddles. At the same time, however, a spell swirled around the cane in her grasp, and she ordered the ritual in her head while, subtly led and acting out of instinct, she gave the creature she held the briefest, most superficial glance. It was just a second that their eyes met. It was enough.

Pearza, of the Dark Eight. No. No. That is a title. Tell me your name, your TRUE name! The voice spread through the pit fiend's head like a corrosive fluid, frying her thoughts and neurones, devouring its way towards the very core of her identity. Pearza found herself unable to move, unable to look away from the mesmerizing, glowing golden eye as Banzai wormed his way into her spirit like a hungry flesh worm. Pompous... little... mortal... YOU THINK YOU CAN DOMINATE THE BAATEZU!? She roared, both in Baator, and within herself. YOUR OVERCONFIDENCE HAS GOTTEN THE BEST OF YOU, JUST AS IT HAPPENED TO YOUR MISTRESS. YOU, FILTHY CREATURE, TELL ME -YOUR- NAME!!

Banzai's own eye began to water, and he stated shaking in her grip, victim of sudden convulsions. He shook and quivered, and began screaming, as his will, while powerful, could not match the pit fiend's own focused, blazing spiritual might. Pearza growled as she leant closer and closer to the jerren, slowly but steadily forcing his mind to retreat - it was exhausting, like pushing a granite block of monumental proportions through the angry waves and into the ocean; but at the same time it was exhilarating, for every moment she felt the warlock's will subdue to hers, and his pain gave her strenght. So locked was she in this mental duel, that she did not sense the prescense that stalked her from above...

The cornugon's bony chest creaked and cracked at the sheer might of the kick - it was not just the strenght and raw bludgeoning power of the blow, but the majestic, awe-inspiring sight of the pit fiend's skill while delivering it, that had it numbly crash against the floor and mark its fall with a star of crevices. Its attempt to get on its feet was as fast as it was clumsy, and it had to be repeated before he could stand again, holding onto the wall with a hand. As the splintered bones painfully rammed and fused with each other, its stare locked on Cathziel, half expecting a finishing move, and as soon as it caught a breath, it launched itself at her with renewed vigor - a feint, as it seemed to ready its chain to swing at her head, but with a whip-like twist, it lashed at her feet.

The beetle devil's spellcasting skills were limited, and it could not found a way to dispell the wards that held the doors shut. It attempted to comunicate telephatically with his mistress, but there was no answer. Without orders nor a way to escape, it turned, and its bursting nerves swiftly froze into calculation. Cathziel was too formidable an enemy, it would need to study her before it could help the horned devil and - the erinyes. Was she casting? She was casting. A deafening buzz of its wings lifted him inmediately, and powered his jump as it attempted to stab its proboscis on the erinyes's neck.

Banzai was pinned onto the ground, his mind on the brink of unraveling as he trembled. Pearza held him down with both hands, viscous, oily black sweat seeping through her scales, but a triumphant grin expanding on her face in a crescent shape, dripping with vile pride and ecstasy. Soon the halfshit's soul would be nothing but a broken vestige of---

~THUNK~

Pearza shook on her place as the missile hit her right between the shoulders and on the base of her bony neck, at the exact spot where it connects with the rest of her spine. Flawless. She trembled lightly, raising her head to look at Cathziel in desbelief as the deep blue of her eyes began to pale and brighten, as the fat stirge that had launched itself at her like a torpedo burrowed to lodge into her body like an insect digs in fresh dirt. The pit fiend tried to articulate a word, but her breath escaped her, her jaw watering and hanging down limply as she lost control over her facial muscles - a sorry, disturbing visage. The great councilwoman wobbled on her knees, trying to clumsily stand up - until a thick, long tongue shot out from below and wrapped itself around her colossal neck, bringing her back down. She held herself with her hands, but her face was yanked down, her bloodshot eyes to meet the jerren's one orb, which shone with renewed fulgor. His maw was wide open, full of teeth and hunger, and it was his own physical tongue that had her bound as her mind boomed cavernously with his silent, unholy command.

'TELL ME YOUR NAME.'

Pearza did, and her eyes emptied.

As the wards holding all entrances shut dispelled around them, the doors to Cathziel's office broke and fell apart on the floor, having sustained great punishment under the fiend's crashes and the warlock's disrupting chaotic magic. Only his spell held them together, shielding the room from anything that wanted to get in or out - and preventing the sudden blaze of demonic energies from being felt outside and attracting unwelcome, probably rabid baatezu enforcers.

Pearza slowly, weakly lifted to a stand. An enormous, red scaled hand felt the fallen desk by her side, and then the walls, looking for a place to secure a grip and avoid falling once more as her body dangerously tilted forward. She seemed to stare for a moment at Banzai, who's tongue had uncoiled from her neck and fallen limply on the floor, where he now laid, motionless and apparently unconcious. Her gaze then travelled to her right hand, which trembled as she raised it before her face, opening and closing it, inspecting her twitching fingers. She focused, and soon regained control of her pulse. Reaching forward, she carefully grasped nothing in the air, then pulled her arm back, and repeated the motion. She stretched her back, standing to her whole height, and opened her wings as much as she could in the office corner, lifting her tail and letting it fall heavily on the floor, twice. A loud, jarring noise came from out of her mouth, as if she had forced her throat to do something it shouldn't, before her voice came out in a pained hiss, her eyes lit with a bright yellow glow. "SUCcess."

Banzai coughed a bit, and turned on to his side, letting his tongue roll back into his mouth before he opened his own orb to look at his new, 'improved' familiar. "Good." He said, his own throat rather sore, "Let some of her essence out though. It's gonna take you some time to properly emulate her, so let's not give anyone more clues. Pearza/Phemur regarded him with a completely neutral, unreadable look, but the jerren could intuitively understand his silences. "I mean your eyes. Change them. Hers are blue."

"I cannot change my eye-color without using magic." The creature protested. "The baatezu's true sight might not pierce a physical flesh shield like the one she used to disguise herself here, but standard illusio--"

His master interrupted him with a firm, yet calm tone, as if lecturing an angry child. "You can, if you let some of her essence out. Don't you even think about reminding me that it's dangerous - you can do it. So just do it."

Phemur stared down at his little master, obedient, but unphased. After a second, Pearza's blue colored his eyes. "Done."

The halfling stood as well, leaning on Phemur/Pearza's tail as it came close for just that purpose. "Well! It seems that our little ambush had a happy ending after all. Experience points for everyone! Except you Aaz, you're like an extra. And almost no collateral damage - we should unlock an achievement for that." Banzai's happy beam was accompanied by the left window shutter breaking off its halfways molten hinge and crashing down the tower, to smash at the side of a surprised hamatula. Unphased, he approached the desk to lift up some forms that were sprawled on the floor."Well, nothing that can't be replaced anyway." As he picked up the papers, they crumbled to ash, and the green vapors of a free soul whiskered away through the window with a soft whisper. " ...I never liked that guy in the first place. If you have to sell your soul to big bad devils to get some kinda power, then you didn't even deserve power in the first place. Am I right? And besides! We got a new ally, and nobody got hurt in the process!" As he turned around, he saw the split cornugon and the green-smoking rotten kocrachon on the floor. "Uh... free food! And what I meant was, -you- girls didn't get hurt in the process." He offered them his best non-defensive most annoyingly giddy toothy grin.

Oh, his mother was bleeding. Hm. And Aaz had a nasty hole on her neck she was rubbing. "Bah, who cares about Aazazel anyhow?" He thought aloud, before turning to admire Phemur's new body. "I think this was a great, very rewarding encounter. I can't get over how easy it was, too! This Pearza character didn't have much to offer - no flashbacks, no secret last minute abilities, nothing. I can't believe someone like her could've kept such a position since the Reckoning. I can't believe she was a pit fiend in the first place!" He reached over to pat lightly on the creature's knee, "See Phemur, what'd I tell ya? All these devils are the same. You just dangle some opportunity in their faces and they'll be on it like a pack o' rabid, starved... well, jerren. Hah!"

Banzai chuckled much like a hyena would, baring his teeth in that grin of his as Aazazel approached. "But I -did- have the first shot." As Cathziel regarded Phemur, the pit fiend's eyes found hers, but said nothing in return. Intelligence swirled in them, but he was not commanded to speak, nor asked a question, and so he remained silent.

Incapable of true telepathy, the jerren answered to mental questions as he answered any other: out loud. "Oh mother, I assure you there's nothing to fear from Phemur here. He is my familiar, and a special kind of familiar at that. He doesn't really have a mind of his own, he's just another part of me, and as much a threat to myself as are my own arms and legs." He didn't come close enough, he came as close as he could to her, even wrapping his arms around her waist if that didn't mean losing them. He smiled up at Pearza with pride, "And that is a good question. Phemur has loosened his grip enough to summon her eyes, it's probable that she is recieving some kind of information from them. That shouldn't be enough to set her free, though. Phemur took special measures. Didn't you Phemur?

The parasite was now being asked a question, and did not delay in answering, looking at Cathziel. "Flesh and spirit are one and the same for creatures born of belief. I burrowed in and took control of the place where her nervous system should connect with the rest of her body - thus also rendering her spirit unable to communicate with it. It is nigh impossible for her to release herself now that I hold her, just as it would be impossible for us to attempt this manouver again if she ever does, for she will be prepared for it."

"There you go, the scholarly answer. But the real answer is that she won't because she's not meant to. There are no coincidences here, Cathziel. Only consequences." He smiled broadly up at the creature he adopted as his mother, and his long tongue snaked out of his maw to coil around her arm - yet at a distance, without touching it. As it approached her elbow, it quickly returned into his mouth, allowing the jerren to speak again. "This, mother, is but your first of many triumphs." He quickly stepped back and turned to climb onto Pearza's tail, which raised him up to meet her at eye-level. "Have faith." And a second time, his sick laughter and coughing echoed down the halls of a tower in Malagard.

Banzai ambled through obsidian halls and hallways, looking all around him, searching, sniffing; his tongue carefully packed inside his enormous, closed (for a change) mouth. The least of the baatezu that noticed him - and he's hard to miss, his stench can be felt about a mile away - scurried out of sight, having heard the rumors of the fate that might befall them should they stick with Cat's fool.

Cathziel sat at her desk, large enough to occupy a larger creature, but as always she seems far more comfortable in her half-fiend guise. Reclined in an oversized chair, the female brooded silently, lost in some sort of thought as she lazily peruses some documentation in her hands. The carnage in the room had been removed, and the door fixed, but the scent of blood and the cracks in the stone floor spoke of the violence that occured several days past. She sat up as the door opened, kicking her feet off the chair arm to rest them gently on the floor. From the other side of the desk she surveyed the creature with one brow raised. "It is customary to knock before admittance. Banzai. How can I help you?"

"Oh I know! I just like to do away with customs and conventions because I'm a dashing rogue type and all. Besides!" The jerren walked towards and around her desk, to rest his elbow on the arm of her chair as he smiles up to her, "I know I'm always welcome into my mother's embrace."

Cathziel said, "A fact that could be disputed. You will knock before entering from now on. Understand?" She raised a brow at him over the paperwork in her hand. "What do you want?"".

The jerren mock-growled, assuming a 'scary' stance with his hands pretending to be outstretched claws, "Grrr, you'll always knock before entering, Banzai! Rargh! I'm a stressed pit fiend and I'm PMSing all the time! You need to take a break, mother. All this work and no sleep is gonna clot up your brain and make it go 'pop!' What'cha doing anyhow?"

Cathziel opened her mouth as she considers debating the topic of her fertility, and then clearly thinks better of it, remaining silent as he clambers on the furniture. Her eyes following him, suspiciously. "Circumventing my questions as usual, I see. But regardless, I am working, it is none of your business and yes, it is mind.. numbing."
Her eyes roll somewhat, and for a moment she seems to scowl, before replacing the gesture with a pleasant smile. "What are you doing, dearheart? Plotting and scheming?"

Banzai bares all his teeth as he shows his masochistic defensive smile, "Hm, well, I was just sitting out there bored out of my skull when I thought, hey! Where can I find mother that she won't be able to run away saying, 'Not today Banzai, I've got a lot of work to do', 'not today Banzai, I need to get to the office', 'not today Banzai, Aaz is in the office, I'll get you some ice cream later.' And I said, the office! And that's how I got here and we're still not making out so there was obviously a flaw in my reasoning somewhere."

Cathziel appears bemused as she flicks him on the nose, and settles back into her chair. She does, however, set the paperwork down -inside- a drawer.. as if afraid it'll somehow get damaged. "Well then. Let us play a game; I grant you all the personal time you need; and you can answer my questions from now".

Banzai 's eye glints, "Ah, a very dangerous game! And a chance to ruin everything. I love it."

Cathziel 's smile grows catlike, "So you are plotting behind my back. How .. devilish of you." She sighs, "How can I disapprove."

Banzai seems somehow comfortable still clambered up on the back of her chair, on all fours, "Well mother, the only way I can give you that little push forward, is from your back."

Cathziel says, "Ah. So, this" She gestures with a finger to the imaginary, cleant-up damage in the room, "Is all in my best interests. I see. Hardly comforting".

Banzai leans forward, the tip of his nose touching the tip of hers. "I wasn't born to bring you comfort, no, quite the opposite. Comfort breeds complacency, stagnancy. It is a death curse. Discomfort is what keeps us moving forward. Yes, this is in your best interests." His eye flashes with a yellow glow for a moment, "As is everything I do. You birthed me to better yourself. I am your mount, your tool, your weapon. I am your shield. I am your sword. But not one meant to be weilded in your hands, not one you can command with your voice. I work unbound to free you, while you are a slave.".

Cathziel eyes him, eye-to-eye, "And so you plan to free me from what? My race?" She smirks, "Tread carefully, little one. Remember, I am not fond of surprises."

Banzai 's facade has been slowly abandoning him, and his serious tone matches his expression. Usually unreadable - now, however, he's an open book. "Your fear."

Cathziel genuinely seems taken aback, either by his answer or his frankness and she appears broody again, over some minging thought before her expression returns to stern diapproval, "I see".

Banzai grins, "Is there anything else you would like to know?"

Cathziel says, "So many things. But there is no fun in it if you just tell me everything". She stands now, stepping around him, and clearly favouring her right leg over her left, "No.. Such information is better.. drawn out. If only to extend the game." Raising her arms above her head, she stretches, spreading her wings as wide as the walls will allow before folding them again, "So what is it that you would like to do?"

Banzai looks at her over his shoulder, "I think you know very well what I want to do. There is no escaping your charms, mother, not for me, nor any other creature with a sense of beauty.".

Cathziel chuckles, placated by flattery as always. "How nice of you to say" She holds her hand out to him, as if to guide him into her lap, "It might benefit you to say nice things more often."

Banzai is easily led anywhere physically close to her, "Nothing I can say will please you as much as your mere visage pleases me... " he leans closer, whispering, " ...although the best displays of affection, are delivered from mouth to mouth."

Cathziel leans back in her chair, her amused smirk masking her true emotions. Her scent, of rich perfumes, amber and spices, is overwhelming. The bare skin of her arms and stomach, as always, inhumanly warm. "And never for free", she regards him slyly, "But I do take payment in secrets. What use do you have for Pearza..."

Banzai squints and his own smirk crawls up halfways through his face. The clash of his own torrid odour with her perfume would really be sickening to anyone with a nose nearby - it's a wonder Baatezu don't breath as much as mortals do. In stark contrast, his own skin is cold, in fact, he seems to be in a constant (but very, very light) shivering state. "Payment that was delivered earlier in this meeting, at the behest of your game. You had the grace of the first turn and asked your question... and I answered, truthfully to boot, considering that was never a stated part of the game's rules.".

Cathziel lifts a brow, unable to argue with his point. And with a gentleness unbecoming of her position, leans forward to meet him face-to-face and lifts his chin with the index finger of her other hand. "Perhaps. I have been terribly neglectful it seems." She speaks softly, locking his one eye with an intense stare. Holding it for only a second she leans in then to press her lips against his.

Banzai blinks, again, genuinely surprised by her gentle reaction. For a moment, he is as disarmed and vulnerable as the most unsuspecting pawn, her stare having overcome him much more effectively than any domination power - he closes his own eye, returning her affections with a warmth born from surprise, an elation fueled by the sudden realization of something entirely unexpected at the moment.

Cathziel lets it linger, sensing the Jerren's emotional switch and drawing out the moment. Perhaps merely to tease him, or maybe just a practiced action brought forth from a life of pleasing others. As her mouth draws away from his, biting at his lower lip softly, her hand slips from its place at his jaw, over his shoulder where her fingers brush the back of his neck.

Banzai 's own hands snake around her waist, and he lifts his orb to gaze at her for a moment. Again, he is open like a book - and struggling to close, to shut itself from her scrying gaze. Though his small grin marks the final closure, in his eye, the instrument of his power and the straight road to his soul, a bookmark lingers on the chapter she just opened. It manifests in a single, unvoluntary whisper, "Mother... " before he leans in to kiss her again, this time much more passionate, more...hungering.

Cathziel 's own eyes close as her fingers curl into his hair. His passion, his driving hunger was.. satisfying. More than the physical touch of flesh on flesh; this ran deeper. It was the knowledge that she had reigned him in once more, and it was his hunger for her, his need, and his desire that gave her leverage, gave her power. Ignited by a spark, her nails dig lightly into his scalp, matching the bite in her kiss.

And much to the jerren's dissatisfaction, someone knocked on the door.

The intense heat in the depths of the glacier's metallic bowels was enough to boil most mortals alive - Mephistar was truly reforged by the same smiths that had raised Dis from a fiery sea of bronze, molten evil. Unbothered by the temperature yet clad in flowing crimson robes to keep her own stable, lady Antillia guided her returning guest and the creature that toiled after through the spiraling catwalks that circumvented the Pit of Misery - Mephistopheles's own little imitation of the fabled Pits of Flame.

"The souls harvested by our dedicated collectors are the recyclable fuel of the Pit of Misery." She gazed for a moment at her father's marvelous creation, as the long, ethereal green flames grew like wispy columns. They burnt the air and blackened the metal walls they licked, rising with a long, literal wail and slowly dying as the laments faded. "It is their suffering that we burn and use. The rest of their psyche, once depleted of its pain and anger, is sent to Dis to serve as... well, what ever it is they do with it. Every soul here belongs to my father." She turned to look at her guest of honor, smiling. "It is here that everything begins, lady Cathziel."

"The fungi feed and thrive on the dead, but they do not blossom." Banzai gurgled amongst snickers, his eye twitching as he looked at the damned fire.

Their host was about to answer Cathziel when the creature spoke. She blinked, pausing for a moment, before presenting them with a short, calm giggle as she covered her mouth with her fingers in a ladylike manner. "What are you yammering on about now, little one? Don't worry, there are no fungi or the like here. It's much too dry inside the Pit for them."

"Oh but there are." he grinned in her direction, though he didn't seem to be looking at her. "Hiding under bloody rags, quite a sight for the siblingless eye."

"Oh? Well, do call me whenever you see them, I will get the janitors to clean them." She smiled at Cathziel, "Such a random, amusing little fellow. Does he ever make any sense? You should bring him to court sometime, I am sure my father will appreciate his antics." She turned around, and kept walking on through the steel walkways, descending deeper into the Pit. "Where were we, though? Ah, yes. It is rather poetic, I agree. My father has taste for the fine arts, and mastery over them is one of the things we share... " she glanced backwards, smirking at the disguised pit fiend with a glint to her eyes, "...one of the many things we share, some of which, I have hopes of sharing with you." And briefly, a flicker of azure flame danced in front of Cathziel's own, in response to the gracile movement of Antilia's hand. "I am, after all, the High Priestess of the Church of Hellfire."

The creature had been following Aazazel for almost a whole hour now. The small, spindly cloaked figure was visibly inexperienced with stealth, and in his nervous, constant checking of wherether Aaz had noticed him or not, he had revealed himself many times already. Bezu. The most cowardly spinagon of the lot, and of an even smaller frame than the rest of his peers, he was frequently bullied by his own kind and rarely assigned jobs that entailed leaving Cathziel's tower. His docile nature had condemned him to an eternity as Maladomini's most pitiful messenger, and what was even sadder was that he seemed to prefer it that way. Whoever dares to say miracles have no place in Hell better have a damn good explanation as to why he wasn't taken for Blood War fodder or higher-up rations otherwise.

All in all, he was the least likely creature to cook up a plot of any kind, if just because he knew himself unable to do so. Or so most of Cat's henchmen thought... yet there he was, stalking an Erinyes, and none other than Aazazel herself. As soon as he found himself detected, and depending on the grade of violence this was made known to him, his words would jumble in his throat as his fear shook him violently. He might even sob slightly as he apologized, though it wouldn't take a long interrogation to get him to confess: "I has warning!"

Antilia's private chambers would put the most ambitious, luxure-loving rakshasa's to shame. Built in elegant bronze and pearly marble and dressed in tapestries of the deepest scarlet, the central room - in which she and Cathziel dined - was dominated by the enormous image of an unholy flame. It was sewn with the very soulstuff that burned outside, and it was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. "I was unable to offer you a spot at the court, but this isn't much different, and it's a position full of opportunities. The High Cantor continued as a human servant, who's eyes had been sewn shut, offered her another piece of a meat better left undescript. After gently pushing the platter and the sweating man aside, she stood and slowly circled the table to situate herself besides her guest."You will be above the rest of the priesthood, second only to me in the whole of the Church. You will benefit from all our resources and portals, and you will get the chance to involve yourself with the court in more than one ocassion... and eventually in your own name, maybe."

The crimson liquid swirled lightly in the cambion's glass as she raised it on toast, inviting Cat to do the same with her own. "To us." She said with a small smile. After taking a sip of wine, she retreated to sit one of the comfortable feather matress. "You said today, that the flames of Misery could be a metaphor for our blossoming relationship... and you were very accurate. It is raw emotion that fuels our hellfire, and..." She let the tips of her fingers dance on Cat's shoulders, before her eyes set on the pit fiend's, her smile waning as her thick, midnight blue lips pursed lightly. " ...it is also no coincidence that fire is often associated with passion."

Above and outside, though still deep in the iron bowels of the glacier, Banzai waited by the twin steel doors that marked the entrance of the Church of Hellfire's inner sanctum. Here, the temperature was considerably lower, and undressed servants toiled among the few cambion, tiefling and mortal members of the church that were allowed the honor of residing near their High Priestess. Almost no true baatezu could be seen here, but it was the slaves that called Banzai's attention. Their hearts were drained of all emotion, and their souls were as naked as the rest of their bodies.

He turned to gaze at the one real devil he had seen since he had come down here, an enormous, lurking and gray-skinned malebranche that stood guard by the door, and whose vacant gaze had not left the warlock for a single second. "So... what do you do for fun down here?"

"MORGANOTH IS NOT HERE TO HAVE FUN. HE HAS ORDERS. HE DOES NOT SPEAK WITH STRANGERS.

"Well... " the jerren smiled lightly, though his ears tingled uncomfortably. Why did all the big devils have to yell every time they opened their mouths? Maybe they were too used to telepathy by the time they got that size. " ...I know your name is Morganoth, so we're not really strangers then, are we?"

"No! Don't hurt me! I come with warning! I come for you!" Bezu shivered in terror, squirming desperately under the rope's grip. After the backhand hit, and he realized he was still in one piece, he seemed to calm down a bit - though his spines kept shaking lightly. His bulbous eyes turned on their sockets towards Aazazel, and stayed on hers for a brief moment, before circling around and back away as the creature whispered, "Bezu heard him. Nefleos, yes! One-eye's aide. He was whispering, he's always whispering when he recieves a message. He whispers it lightly to himself, he listens to his own voice so he remembers it."

The spinagon made a pause, and looked around them in a most paranoid way, specially above, before continuing in a lower voice. "From the minstry of research, again. 'Get Cathziel's assisstant', Nefleos says. 'She's to be promoted and reassigned. She will work for the Minister now.' That was Nefleos whispering." Bezu's eyes suddenly turn back to her, stopping for a moment near the base of her neck, before slowly and reluctantly climbing to hers.

"Promoted... reassigned! To minstry... I don't trust Nefleos. I don't trust the minstry! When the minister came there was rumbling and shaking in the tower. It sounded like a fight. Everyone heard it! And then she left alone but she came in company, and she... and everything was okay." Bezu's tone suddenly becomes urgent, and he leans towards her as much as he can while tied. "No good can come to Aazazel there. Refuse the promotion! And come... come with Bezu." His eyes glint with ambition, "I will take good care of Aazazel! We leave the minster behind. We leave the tower and the dreadful, ungrateful lady-pit-fiend behind too! Bezu knows places. He knows where the Risen hide... he knows of Archimedes. We can go there. It's safe! I promise... " He pauses for a moment and gasps, as if the words refused to come out from his yapping purple mouth. After a second of doubt, he barks with fear and spittle, "Bezu loves Aazazel!"

Antilia smiled lightly, her slanted eyes almost closed as she gracefully bent down to clean the wine off Cathziel's lips with a gentle brush of her own, softly caressing them with the near imperceptible aperture and closure of her mouth. Her breath was warm on the pit fiend's face as she spoke without leaning back, "My fingers can reach many places, and though it hasn't been often... " her hand lightly treaded its way up Cat'z knee, with the grace of a spider approaching an inmovilized, helpless prey, taking its time, letting her victim squirm - or in this case, enjoy. " ...it wouldn't be the first time my nails graze one of the deepest, darkest secrets of Baator."

The High Cantor's striking green eyes opened once more, revealing themselves to her guest in all their splendor, and they were indeed quite more fetching when beheld up close. She smiled with amusement, and fully closed them as she nibbled superficially on the place where Ka'atziel's words took form, delaying her answer. An ignition on the other female's part would hold her vocal attentions for a bit longer, though her face would soon retire and she would moist her mouth with more wine. Her body would remain, though, and even try to gain more territory. Soon it wouldn't be just their silks that rubbed rythmically on each other, as the servants began playing slow, yet powerful percussion and aromonic strings.

Banzai sat crosslegged, peering quizzically at a set of peculiar markings, scribbled with chalk on the floor. The malebranche hulked above him on the glyph's opposite side, his weight resting on his oversized arms in a position reminiscent of a gorilla's, empty stare fixed on the drawings between them. Four lines, crossed in a pattern that reavealed nine somewhat clumsy squares. Inside each square there was one of two marks: a cross, or a circle. Apparently, the key to resolve the complex puzzle was to arrange either three Xs or three Os in a straight line, as the discarded cadavers of already finished similar puzzles littered the wall and floor around them - always with three Xs crossed on them.

"Smelly sweat dripped through the jerren's dirty skin. This had been one of his greatest challenges yet - he was cornered, with virtually no way to escape defeat. But ah! There may be yet hope for salvation! With a grin, he reached forward to grab the piece of chalk, the weapon that would ensure his final victory."

"MORGANOTH DOES NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT BONER IS SAYING."

"All will be revealed soon, my friend! Have faith." Quickly and with a sure grip, Banzai scribbled an X on the final square, completing a line. After taking a moment to admire his work, he stood, raising a triumphant fist in the air. "Victory is mine! All your base are belong to us!"

The hellish giant leant forward, peering at the playing field with confusion. "BUT MORGANOTH WAS CRO--"

"VICTORY! Sweet and delicious! It was a fierce contest, but it couldn't end any other way. My CR must be like, three times yours, you can ask anyone in Malagard if you don't believe me." He stood up and reached over with a diminutive fist, showing it at Morganoth with a grin. "GG?" The staff poked his shoulder twice, and with a gentle tip of his skull to his opponent, he tagged along Cathziel.

"Yes mis--" The spindly creature's maw clamped shut, 'Yes mistress. No mistress. You are very kind, thank you mistress.' He was capable of telepathy as all other fiends - but his mind was weak, and so was his grip on his own short-lived, fleeting thoughts. They escaped him and poured over the telepathic canal, only a few, only the worst that could slip. 'Maybe angel was right. Maybe she's bad like the rest. Maybe Bezu should have fled alone. Maybe... '

He scurried through the streets of the city, through alleys and bridges, more a like a mouse than a bat at least until he used his wings to propel himself to a nearby ruined building. He dared not to fly in the open sky: only short leaps, aided by the leathery limbs that grew from his back. Bezu shrunk and cowered as they passed in front of the Palace of Filth, one of the most recently abandoned parts of the colossal structure, right across Cathziel's tower. He hissed lightly, "We go quickly..." '...we go quickly now, not want to be seen...' His wings spread once more as he leapt onto a stony ledge on the wall of the Palace. It was partly hidden behind the debris of the ruined second story, and piles of garbage and refuse that rivaled their mistress's spire in height. Through there they continued upwards as the city extended below them, a sight to be admired were it not for the mountains of trash in the middle.

There was a conmotion near the obsidian turret, too. Hamatulas creeped through the ledges and rooftops below them, at least seven around Cat's lair. A small troop of merregon had assembled around it, led by strange, large elephant-like fiends. After a few moments, more devils came out from the tower - its workers and inhabitants - escorted by barbazu and at least two bone devils. Expecting them outside was a fat amnizu that looked all too pleased with himself. He began pointing around at the evicted prisoners (for that's what they seemd to be, with polearms and stings aimed at them) and barking orders. A group of about four or five insectoid torturer devils scribed and confirmed his commands, checking and leading Cat's henchmen away after the merregons took hold of them. The legion's cuirasses were different from the black and red standard issue: these sported the markings of the Dark Eight, and a couple wore blue cloaks with Pearza's glyph.

The Amnizu barked his orders

'The Risen will keep us safe. Yes! I know. I have been with them! See how they take them? They won't take us, because the Risen will shelter us...' The ledge came to an end, and he opened his wings, pointing to a hole in a tower a short distance away. It was a part of the palace, and it wasn't very far from the current front of the building, though it was so high up that even in a close corner like this, it was uninhabited. Covered on the side by a ragged, hangling flag, it was nigh impossible to see the entrance from a different angle unless one was specifically looking for it. 'There is entrance. Well, one. We go there and take stairs up to big hole, then storage, and hidden trapdoor to-' A surprised squeak cut his explanations short, as a larger, crimson spinagon approached them, flying from the city.

"Miss Aazazel... " Nefleos hissed with a small mid-flight reverence, "I have an urgent message for you, from the Ministry of Research and Implementation."

"So, did I miss anything good? Why are you so sweaty? How'd the date go? Did you guys eat pork? I love pork. Did you mate? Can I join next time? Oh! Can Morganoth join? I bet he likes pork too." Banzai's incessant chatter could've been almost -almost- as insufferable as how he insisted on sniffing at Cat's legs and behind as they walked out of the pit.

The escorts Antillia had provided left them alone at the edge of the pit, and nobody seemed to follow them to the portal. A broken ring of metal, halfways buried on the snow not far away from Mephistarr, stood in silence. Drawing the blood of an ally was the key, and fortunately enough Banzai's did the trick. He didn't particularly enjoy it, but neither did he complain, figuring it's better to have a cut than to lose your teeth - and he loved his teeth. The ring, large enough for horned devil to pass through, sparked to life as shifting red and purple light ignited within, burning the air and turning into a different substance altogether. The portal manifested as a viscous, bulging liquid. It was inconvenient, for it did not allow one to gaze onto the other side, but because of this inconvenience it was forgotten, and only a handful in Baator knew of its existence or working condition.

"First on the other side is a-!" He jumped straight into the portal, dissappearing into the gooey ether before he could finish the sentence. He would probably repeat it once she was on the other side with him.

Except he couldn't, because his face was being brutally pounded on the ground as Cathziel emerged from the portal.

"THERE SHE IS!" "Sieze her!" Barbed devils and hamatulas surrounded the lady and the portal. A whole regiment expecting her. "Tie the small one! And cover his eyes! That's the source of his power!""I will tear them out if he moves. Did you hear me, little guy? I'm going to eat your pretty eyes if you move a finger." Spears and sharp spines were aimed at Cathziel, but no fiend yet made a move to attack her.

"Lady Ka'atziel, in the name of Lord Baalzebul, Lord of the Flies, Visionary Paragon of Perfection, you are charged with treason against your liege, the Dark Eight and the Dark Lord himself."

From behind the column, escorted by an armored cornugon she could reconogize from court, a smooth voice spoke in a polite, and just a tinge nervous tone: a very handsome man—save for his tiny pointed horns and transparent, housefly-like wings. Though he tried to stand tall among the other fiends, he seemd to tremble slightly under his black tunic and gulp as his eyes and Cat's met. She could easily reconogize this man: Neabaz, herald of Baalzebul. An inexplicably esteemed pet. A coward.

"We are here to escort you to the Palace of Filth now, where you will face your trial."

Power is lies.

That was the truth of Maladomini, its creed and its currency. It was the one axiom to rely on, the only path to walk. Every word, every gesture, every sideaways glance, it was all lies. Lie, and you will be rewarded.

That too was a lie.

As the baatezu dragged Cathziel through the filthy, slime-covered halls of the palace, devils and dregs of all planes and stations mocked her and yelled at her, they spat at her and bragged about their own superiority and how they never feared the promoted cambion. Liars. The ones that were really powerful, they looked away. They didn't care. She was no more, and all she'd ever accomplished was just another lie.

There was a familiar scent in the air, a brief breeze that didn't smell like muck or feces. A soft perfume, wine, and heat. She could barely see a pair of exposed blue legs as she passed by them, and the musing white smile of the High Cantor above them.

The trial was also a lie. Her guilt and sentence had already been decided long before they chained her enormous, fiendish true form to the dusky blue floor. It was the heralds that argued and debated, displaying their skills of word and judgement in a pathetic, sensationalist show meant to impress the master. The Slug Lord himself spoke not a word. More than a slug, though, he resembled a gigantic, bloated and sickly white larva, writhing ocassionally on its ornate orichalcum throne. It was hard to distinguish his front from his rear, and by the way he moved, it seemed as if he was feasting on the piles of garbage behind him rather than deciding on his favored's fate. Besides her, but at a safe distance and held with a number of significantly thinner chains, the bloodied, gagged and eyebound Banzai was crumpled on the floor, the foot of a grim barbazu on his head and recieving a fair amount of kicking every time he so much as coughed or gargled.

She was given the right to speak and defend herself. A lie, since nobody cared for what she had to say, and all her words were lies anyway. Lies that had been discovered and lost all their value. Just more noise to feed the herald's debates and long-winded explanations and demonstrations of intellect.

After what could've been days of pointless debate in the cold chamber, Cathziel's sentence finally came. It was then that Pearza's envoy made her appearance, accompained by her kocrachon assistants and her hulking obsidian maelephant guards. She paid barely to no attention to the heralds's squabbling, presenting them only with a short but solid claim to Banzai. Apparently, she had bought the ritual and all related products of psychic subversion from Baalzebul himself, and Banzai (as the sole survivor of the process) was one of her new belongings. Her cold blue eyes did not once set on him, or Cathziel for that matter. After claiming her little new experiment, she dragged him away by his chains.

The Lord of the Flies spoke with a gagging, strangulated voice, his words vomited out in a painful and sickening infernal. "KA'ATZIEL. MY ONCE FAVOURED. YOU ARE A DISGRACE." He did not turn around to address her, or perhaps he had been feeding through what should've been his anal cavity the whole time. Despite the strangled sound, his voice echoed through the hall, powered not by his organism but by his sheer authority over the infernal realm. "YOU WERE GIVEN POWER AND RANK. YOU WERE RAISED, LIFTED HIGH ABOVE THE UNDERGROUND MORTAL FILTH THAT BRED YOU. YOU WERE GIVEN THE BODY AND MIND MOST PERFECT IN BAATOR. AND ALL THAT, YOU SQUANDERED."

The heralds nodded and whispered praises to their lord's wisdom to each other. The lesser fiends laughed, or screamed, or yelled, and a select few were not paying attention. Those with some degree of power in Maladomini found their way to the front rows: this was the only really interesting part of the trial, if there was one. Former allies and jealous rivals surrounded Cathziel - some she could recognize: mostly unique devils or cornugons. Others, such as the black, faceless figure that stood in Pearza's former place, she could not.

"YOU WERE LIKE MY DAUGHTER. AND THE WAY I BIRTHED YOU, YOU WERE TO BIRTH OTHERS. MY MOST VALUABLE PROJECT. BUT INSTEAD OF FULFILLING YOUR DUTIES, YOU WASTED MY RESOURCES ON YOUR PETTY CONFLICT WITH THE TANAA'RI. INSTEAD OF GIVING ME PERFECTION, YOU GAVE ME CAMBION-LINGS THAT ONLY WITHERED AND DIED." Few suitable mortals survived the subversion ritual, and those who did all went missing. All except Banzai. "YOU LOST EVERYTHING, AND WON ME NOTHING."

"AND NOW, YOU BETRAY ME IN THE MOST INSULTING MANNER: BY BEING DISCOVERED. YOU ARE A FAILURE IN EVERY POSSIBLE ASPECT. I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVER HAD, AND NOW I SHALL TAKE IT ALL BACK. I STRIP YOU OF YOUR RANKS AND TITLES, OF YOUR RIGHTS AND POSSESSIONS, OF THE RIGHT TO COLLECT ALL DEBTS YOU MAY BE DUE."

Various runic circles flared to life beneath Cathziel with a burning, red light. They begain spinning on the floor as the nearby fiends stepped back, the ones that held her down scrambling away for safety. Her chains burnt, molten metal running down her body and splattering the floor as a force lifted her up in the air and stretched all her limbs out to the maximum.

The Subversion Chamber wasn't very different from any of the other "laboratories" (torture chambers) in the fortress, as it was only recently rearranged for its purpose. Sigils and scriptures covered the walls and floors, virtually every surface except for the white marble altar where the subject would lay. Aazazel and Nefleos were escorted by a small group of legion devils. Bezu had been left behind, cowering and watching helplessly as the erinyes abandoned him with the promise of a new, safe station under Pearza's vigilance, or charges for aiding her mistress with her treason.

She was now in the Knoll of Blades, headquarters of the Ministry of Research and Implementation. A mixture of a cathedral and an underground hive, it crawled with insectoid kocrachons. Narrow tunnels led to chambers and laboratories where dozens of specimens of all races writhed and twitched in agony - even those whose fire had been snuffed out long ago; so skilled were the devlis at torture that their cursed attentions were still effective beyond the frontier of death.

Across the archway and on the opposite side of the altar, Pearza worked surrounded by her assistants. The hellish beetles added and erased patterns in the glyphs around them, communicating with their hideous chattering noise. A hulking maelephant stood guard behind the minister, and another stepped to block the entrance behind Aazazel as soon as she was delivered in.

The clacking of a beetle announced her prescence to the pit fiend, who turned around to facethe erinyes. She was wearing a voluminous cloak on her hunchbacked form, probably to hide the deformed wound where the stirge had burrowed. "Good. Lay on the altar, Aazazel."

The maelephants wouldn't wait long for her to comply, and at the first sign of hesitation, her arms would be grabbed and she would be forced onto the altar.

"Milady. We have Ka’atziel's runt in our power." Spoke another pit fiend as she entered.

"Then make all the arrangements for his conscription to the war effort. He departs as soon as possible with the rest of the mercenary and mortal rabble, and in utmost secrecy." Pearza approached her slowly, unholy magic burning in her hands. "I do this because I am compelled to" she spoke in a tone that almost felt apologetic, "but I assure you, you shall suffer my master's attentions no longer."

As her aides approached, scalpels in their little claws, Pearza gave them the order. "Prepare for psychic reversion."

"I STRIP YOU OF THE GIFT OF FORM. WHAT OTHERS WORK TO ACHIEVE FOR MILLENIA, YOU STOLE AND SQUANDERED."

Her fangs shrunk with hurt beyond words, her horns twisted and removed themselves form her head, yanked off by an irresistible force. Unspeakable pain would wreck her senses as her skin began burning and peeling off, falling down like a broken chrysalis: the pit fiend crumbled, revelaing the ashen cambion beneath.

"I STRIP YOU OF YOUR INFLUENCE AND YOUR MAGIC. YOU ARE NOT WORTHY OF THE GUISE NOR THE GIFTS OF BAATOR, AND YOU SHALL BE ITS CHILDE NO LONGER."

Streams of fire and raw magic shot out from her orifices, her powers, rejuvenation and inmunities drained. They spread in an amazing light show through the chamber, absorbed by the circles beneath her. After a torture that seemed endless, the force that held her up twisting her limbs and threatening to break her apart suddenly let go. She fell on the rotten, filthy stone floor below, where the pentagrams's glow slowly died down. Her strenght drained, it would take her some time before she could recover, or even stand up. At an unseen signal, the horned devil that dragged her here stepped forward to stand tall behind her.

"SINCE INCEPTION YOU OWED TO BAATOR. YOU WERE GIVEN A GREY WRAPPING, TO TELL YOU APART FROM YOUR WORTHLESS SIBLINGS. YOU WERE GIVEN WINGS TO SPREAD IN DEMONSTRATION OF YOUR POWER, TO SOAR UP THROUGH THE RANKS AND REACH THE PINNACLE OF PERFECTION. YOU WERE GIVEN OPPORTUNITY. THAT TOO, SHALL BE TAKEN AWAY FROM YOU."

An incredible weight fell on her back as the cornugon put its enormous right foot on her. Having grasped her wings, the creature's teeth showed in a vibrant smile before it heaved and yanked. Bones creaked, tendons were cut. It heaved and yanked again, and they came halfways loose with a horrible sound. The relieving of her wings took three powerful yanks, but the pain would last for much longer.

"AND NOW YOU HAVE GOT BUT ONLY ONE POSSESSION: YOUR LIFE. YOU MAY KEEP IT. IT IS WORTHLESS TO ME. GO NOW. HIDE AND SCURRY AMONG THE FILTH AND THE RUINS, AND TAKE YOUR MISERY WITH YOU. THE LORD OF LIES HAS NO INTEREST IN THE PITIFUL LIVES OF VERMIN."

And Cathziel was dragged through the Palace floor, broken and bleeding, and shoved through a window into the filth down below.

Although it took several hours of casting and exorcizing, we completed the reversion ritual without significantly compromising our schedule. I have mixed feelings as regards to the result. We succeeded in reverting the subject to an earlier state of being, but the cost was too high for what was accomplished. The subject, an erinyes, was exsaguinated from most of her fiendish qualities and abilities, and reduced to a mortal form. The primary goal of the experiment had been attained. However, we couldn't remove the entirery of the taint within her, and as such the end product was more similar to a tiefling than any kind of natural mortal breed.

We experienced many setbacks during the process: some of our own essence was consumed to fuel the ritual, as expected. What we couldn't accurately predict was the backlash of the plane in the face of this corruption. Baator itself lashed out at us, costing me two of my subordinates and the loss of one of my vessel's limbs. (I was afraid this event could trigger a rebellion on part of the spirit whose body I'm in possession of, but she remained remarkably quiet.) The death toll was of three kocrachons (one consumed by the ritual and two struck down by Baator's searing white flame) and one maelephant (also taken by the plane.) The ritual was also very taxing for the subject, not only in terms of bodily and mental agony and truama, but also causing the loss of much of her soul-material and vitality. Her frame is wiry and weak, with symptoms of advanced malnourishment, and one of my subordinates is conducting a psychological exam on her as I write. There was a suprising amount of wasted by-product: the aforementioned soul-material burnt and elluded our grasp during the ritual, possibly fueling the plane's backlash. Looking for a solution, my master's own delirious theories come to mind, one related to a particular legend, regarding the first of the yugoloths and an artifact known as the heart of darkness. I disregarded these 'sources of inspiration' as he called them as simple myth, yet now I wonder if that's the piece I am missing for this puzzle.

This particular train of thought led me to unnerving, disturbing thoughts. As I began to investigate on the matter, I was overcome by a certain kind of anxiety I can't truly explain, but only augmented as my host named it for me (speaking for the first time since our association.) She called it

FEAR.

I realized that this fear permeated my every thought regarding the yugoloths, and as I delved into my own psyche I began to doubt many of the facts and mental structures I relied on, structures that had rested ignored and undisturbed ever since my birth. For instance, I analyzed that the compulsion to continue with these experimets is different to the one that forced me to obey my master, which accounts for how I've managed to break free from one but not the other. The one I'm still subject to, that of experimentation, feels more primal and its roots have dug much deeper into my psyche. Could it be from another source? Could it be that the being I considered my master, of whom I am a part of, is not truly my master? I do not have much recollection of the circumstances of my birth, but it always bothered me that Banzai's intuitive, instinct-driven spellcasting wasn't of high enough level to perform a soul-splicing ritual like the one I am a product of.

A soul-splicing ritual of notable similarity to the subversion/reversion we've been compelled to perfect. One that seeks to emulate an impossibly ancient event carried out by the most unspeakable of fiends.

The pit fiend's stare was fixated on the chitinous wall's gothic design as her claw danced over the leathery skin scroll, etching the infernal scribblings with the fire of Law.

"Unity of the rings", he would've said. Unnerving thoughts indeed.

Bezu perched on one of the many spires of the Palace, gazing at the city and the abandoned ruins that surrounded it with wide, tearful eyes like a miserable, hooded gargoyle. He had lost his position under the Lady's service, he had compromised the Risen, and worst of all, he had let his beloved Aazazel go with that nine-times-damned fiend, Nefleos. How? How could she turn her back on him like that? Spiny claws gripped the stone tightly as he clambered down into one a window, hiding from the expanse of Maladomini outside. He loved her! He had finally confessed his undying love for her, and she was following him - she'd rise like he had done, free from the yoke of Evil, and together they would flee from this cursed place. They would leave Baator behind, screw the baatezu! They would also leave the Risen behind, screw Archimedes! And they would be free, in some unknown, empty idyllic plane, without fiends or celestials to bother them with their moral issues.

But no, no they wouldn't. No, because she preferred to go with Pearza instead. To become some monstrous pit fiend's assistant again. How he hated them, and how he hated her! What if -he- had become a pit fiend? Then she would come crawling to him, yes, but Bezu wouldn't have her. No, he would chain her and lash her until her pretty skin was red and leaking, and then he would burn her, and maybe then he would bed her. Then she would finally understand that it was him she should've been with all along, but it would be too late, because he already hated her. Hated her, and every single other--- no. Bezu ducked his head and started viciously scratching himself with his claws. No, no! Hate is wrong. Hate is evil. He had risen, he was not Evil's slave anymore. No, no. No. He needed to go back, go back to his friends, his -real- friends, and tell them. Tell them that he couldn't bring her, and that the baatezu could find them.

Bezu stepped again on the window's edge, and prepared to take flight. He could still make it back in time if he hurri--

FOOSH

Something fell right in front of him. It was large, larger than him, and it hit the parapet an inch in front of him with a loud, fleshy sound before bouncing off and rolling through the sloped roof. The spinagon peered down blinking as the body -that's what it was, a bleeding, dead body- crashed into a garbage pile, bounced a couple more times and finally slumped lifelessly on the ground. As he squinted, he could make out the shape of a woman. Could it be...

...it was. He saw his lady, Ka'atziel, twitch and crawl amongst the filth. She was part of the filth now, her skin ashen and decrepit, her hair a tangled mess, and bleeding holes where here wings used to be.

Bezu's eyes narrowed. Gritting his fangs, he opened his wings and swooped down like a resentful vulture.

"Move filth, MOVE!"

A whip cracked on the back of Banzai's head, making him stumble on his chains. His eye still bound, he could not see the surrounding planescape, but the rugged ground beneath his feet and the flashes of dim light in the dark as he tilted his head up helped him recognize the barren waste of Avernus. Before and behind him trudged a line of slaves with their sobbing and insane muttering, either fodder or rations for the military devils that kept close watch on them. Most of the jerren's flesh wounds had already closed, fiendish fast healing being one of the gifts he recieved through psychic subversion. It did not come for free however, and the curse that the Prince of Hunger had cast on his whole race an age ago weighed heavily on him: he needed to eat soon, or he would go feral. And the baatezu would not tolerate that: he could feel their hatred focused on him, his chaotic nature revealed to them without the osyluth's skull protecting him.

His march seemed to last for months, and every split-second was torture as the jerren's burning stomach contorted and loudly demanded its tribute. That was the price his people paid for their transformation, the price his father bargained for them on what their uncorrupted bretheren took to calling the Cursed Spring. As raiding parties of deformed goblinoids chased and hunted the halflings like stray cattle, a lonely warlock with a book about his own sized drew feverish symbols on the ground in a lost hill. A thousand biting mouths of smoke made a silent deal with the elders that day, and three tribes of the furry-footed folk drank from their new lord's bitter, acidic bile. Banzai son of Garzai felt his innards wheeze and squeeze, moaning in agony as a void was torn in them, devouring everything and depriving him of all but the neccessary nourishment to keep biting and swallowing. Turaglas, a name he had learnt many years after the pact was sealed, had turned them into new little mouths to feed him - mindless, gibbering thralls, yes; but he had also given them new weapons. Their jaws twisted and enlarged, their teeth able to pierce through the toughest armor, their digestive fluids able to dissolve all but the hardest rock and metal. As Banzai followed his late father's footsteps, he unlocked new gifts latent within him, and learnt to commune with his sleeping, barely sentient malefactor. There was one thing Turaglas would not leech from him: knowledge. Banzai devoured tome after tome, he ingested cleric and warlock alike, and when he re-enacted Garzai's ritual, it wasn't the Prince of Hunger that heeded his call.

It was Fate itself.

And he knew it was his destiny to one day consume all that existed.

The hard wood hit his face as he was thrown into the barge. The salty smell and the moaning of the Styx shook the ship as more slaves were dumped on him, and snorted a complaint as the scaly fiend descended on it. As his hunger overcame him, his senses became clearer. A fat, plump amnizu checked a list and ordered the ship loose. Time lost its meaning to him, and the boundaries between the events that unfurled became blurry and dulled, as though everything happened simultaneously instead of in a sequence. Blindly hitting his face against the wood beneath him, he found a loose bolt, and with a streak of blood on his forehead, the jerren tore his blindfold off. His eye glowed brightly as he raised his head, flashing his dripping teeth at the black abishai that turned towards him.

"What do you think you're doing you little insane piece of--"

The creature could speak no further. Enraptured by the sigils on the warlock's eye, it could only squeal as its body jerked forward and his limbs started viciously attempting to cut the chains, finally tearing it apart at the cost of his fingers. Banzai stood, stumbling to the side as the river reacted violently. The amnizu turned round, but as he gaped at the conmotion, a snarling Banzai fell on him like a rabid feline, his fangs sinking into the obese devil's crown, his eye and his overpowering hunger fighting to subdue fiend's soul-less spirit. The slaves jumped on the freed abishai, beating at it with their bare hands and their chains, and the Styx, unwatched, rebelled as well. A powerful wave fell on them, and Banzai bit deeper into his prey's head as they plummeted into the inky waters.