There was a distinct difference between Hell and America. The oh-so-great nation of Andrew Jackson was built upon a foundation of self-propelling propaganda and nonsense. A foundation the legend himself had helped build, but which had collapsed into a corrupted, twisted version of itself upon his passing. Nowadays, the nation was waging wars left and right, in the name of freedom and democracy! To liberate the poor souls that knew not better than to think that the soil they grew up to belonged to them! Such blasphemy! Thank go-.. You know who, that 'Murica is ready to take them on! Ready to free them from the wretched shackles of their oppression. Of dictators, of terrorists, of foreign threats! Always ready to step up and show the world how it's done. Walking in the shadow of former president Andrew Jackson, they'll even help the environment by removing all of that black cancerous oil off the lands of their allies. Such selflessness! Trust in USA to save the day! - The difference? Fiends have the good decency to admit their wicked ways. 

Fuchsia watched the president unfold his nationalistic ritual. From his hands, an eagle formed and flew into the air, soaring majestically like a majestic eagle flapping it's wings like an eagle. As long as it lived, Andrew said, it would remain a beacon of hope, a symbol of America's freedom. Poetic. The great leader continued talking, but the demon couldn't hear him over the sound of his Hellzooka throwing out insults as three rockets made their way across the field towards the soon-to-be extinct bird. Their screams came ever closer at an alarming pace, likely blasting it's frail little body to pieces before it even got to fully enjoy it's brief but brutal life, showering the area with feathers. 

"COMMUNISM RULES!" 
"BRING BACK SLAVERY!" 
"YOU'RE THE PRESIDENT!? THEY DIDN'T SET THE BAR VERY HIGH!" 

Then, out of nowhere. Well, okay, it was pretty straight-forward, but this was the finale, so some descriptional liberties had to be taken. Coming straight at him with a sword gripped tightly in his hands, Andrew Jackson was charging. Like a raging bull, the former president was prepared to deliver his own brand of justice, or whatever the fuck his intentions were. Fuchsia, to be honest, got a bit carried away with the bird. So his prey got so close that the demon child instinctively stood his ground and lashed out with his Hellzooka instead of increasing the distance and keeping the fight a ranged one, using his weapon's alternate function as a gigantic spiked metallic club, it's massive three meter length enabling him to reach Andrew before he even got close enough to strike at him. His feet shifted, his left foot behind, right foot in front. His torso twisted left, then right, his right hand gripping the handle of his club, he swung it left to right horizontally with great force, aiming at Andrew's lower torso, aiming to do some serious harm, if not outright crippling him right then and there on a direct on.