@savvy in the IC? >_>
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The Palace of Oerelle
Standing proudly amidst the impassably dense forest of Saullies, a spire, a brutalist monolith caressed waist down by frozen outstretching thorned vines closer in size to Kraken's tendrils reigned. It left its everlasting impression on the earth after a great chilling force cursed the lands, freeze-framing the magical forest which even after decades of changing seasons, failed to reclaim its lushness. The oppressive, grating exterior of the Palace of Oerelle could only be seen from the eye of the storm shielding it. Only then did the blood-slushing cold take its knee off your neck. That is, if you survive a frost so devastating it leaves the most fiery spirits rock-solid.
Upon entry, your eyes are baptized with the views hidden from the prying eyes of the outside world. A palace within a palace. A vast atrium bathed in an otherworldly glow of sky blue and pristine white bleaching the concrete. Inside, the air was thick with an eerie stillness. The lively whispers of the wind echoed throughout its halls until they withered into whistles sounding like brief instances of child-like chittering.
Wherever there appeared to be glass proved to be crystal clear sheets of ice, the walls were decorated with immeasurably tall mirrors adorned with intricate carvings with delicate filigree and elaborate ice-glazed frescoes—ones depicting mysterious beings with jumbled mosaic faces obscured by frost.
Venturing deeper into the palace, if it wasn't clear, this was no ordinary abode. A light, untracking snow lightly peppered every corridor. Crystal ice mirrors distorted reality, reflecting twisted images of your reflection and passageways to unknown domains. Staircases spiral off in seemingly random directions, defying logic and gravity in an Escher-esque manner.
It was equal parts beautiful as it was terrifying. The unmistakable stench of a great tragedy nestled itself into every slight draft felt. bones to a chill. Something profound was buried deep within, but forces kept ventures at odds, dilating time and space on unprovoked whims. Hours often stretched into eternity, and corridors shift and turn like Rubix cubes unexpectedly, damning you further into its labyrinthine depths of the unknown.
The conundrum is whether this place has had a ruler or even an heir. Many speculate a vengeful spirit, trapped within the confines of its creation wanders the halls, while others believe it's the lair of a powerful warlock whose power is somewhere buried inside and for the taking.
Upon entry, your eyes are baptized with the views hidden from the prying eyes of the outside world. A palace within a palace. A vast atrium bathed in an otherworldly glow of sky blue and pristine white bleaching the concrete. Inside, the air was thick with an eerie stillness. The lively whispers of the wind echoed throughout its halls until they withered into whistles sounding like brief instances of child-like chittering.
Wherever there appeared to be glass proved to be crystal clear sheets of ice, the walls were decorated with immeasurably tall mirrors adorned with intricate carvings with delicate filigree and elaborate ice-glazed frescoes—ones depicting mysterious beings with jumbled mosaic faces obscured by frost.
Venturing deeper into the palace, if it wasn't clear, this was no ordinary abode. A light, untracking snow lightly peppered every corridor. Crystal ice mirrors distorted reality, reflecting twisted images of your reflection and passageways to unknown domains. Staircases spiral off in seemingly random directions, defying logic and gravity in an Escher-esque manner.
It was equal parts beautiful as it was terrifying. The unmistakable stench of a great tragedy nestled itself into every slight draft felt. bones to a chill. Something profound was buried deep within, but forces kept ventures at odds, dilating time and space on unprovoked whims. Hours often stretched into eternity, and corridors shift and turn like Rubix cubes unexpectedly, damning you further into its labyrinthine depths of the unknown.
The conundrum is whether this place has had a ruler or even an heir. Many speculate a vengeful spirit, trapped within the confines of its creation wanders the halls, while others believe it's the lair of a powerful warlock whose power is somewhere buried inside and for the taking.
<Snipped quote by Liaison>
Been lurking around a while, saw maybe familiar names and thought maybe put in some work after forever. I suck at profiles, was thinking a demon with amnesia could be fun.
That sounds cool. I wouldn't stress over a profile.
“Rescue? I’d rather eat hot crow!” Fed up, the scraggly man bit through the entire core of the apple, tossing the remains wayside, hitting a scientist in the back of the head, causing a large domino effect of accidents weaving throughout the embassy. Taking no responsibility whatsoever, Oswald whipped out a humongous phone from seemingly nowhere and angrily tumb-wrestled the keypad of what appeared closer to a brick than any modern communication device. Utilizing the world’s most popular odd-job app, TaskTopia, he posted a rescue job for his Ex-Wife that hardly qualified as due diligence. “Hopefully she stays dead this time” he crankily mumbled under his breath.
“Manifest Schmanifest. I’ll worry about that later.” The odd man was ticked off, given his response to Zuorn. Despite how disorganized and disgruntled Oswald seemed, he did his job relatively well. He had adequate people management skills. Any questions she had would be answered in due time. However, the Ecrui would have a truckload more after witnessing the airing story playing on several TVs. His somewhat coldness was a tiny bit of a front. At least more than usual. He considered that too much focus on the geo socio-political climate currently of Earth was a bit much to digest for the new visitor.
Before he could change the subject, Fran whispered in his ear. Oswald paused. He looked like someone just found a fly in their soup. He wasn't exactly thrilled, no should anyone else in the building be. “Margaret, Eh? And what does she have to be so close to my office right now?” The souring of his expression added yet another to the list of emotions the agent vividly showcased to Zuorn in the last minute alone. Turning towards the tall alien, Oswald figured it was bleak. There was no hiding it, so he outright spoke to Fran with no filter.
“Today’s gotten more complex. Knowing her, she’s only here to raise hell about the influx of migrants we keep stuffing into the slums of Allure and other countries using her city as their personal prisoner dump-off. They’re still on a short leash with the government and deservedly so. I’ve been hearing that a lot of earthlings have been venturing to some rigged Casino and either coming back filthy rich or never to be seen again—weird stuff. Either way, don’t tell her I’m in the building. If she makes too much fuss, just give her a magical artifact or something.”
Zuorn probably had little knowledge of who Margaret Iedeeren was but if the TV remained on, she would probably learn quite a bit just how polarizing of a figure she was.
| Title: "Save My Ex-Wife, I Guess..." Alright, listen up folks, it's your lucky day! My ex-wife, the queen of misguided decisions, has once again managed to outdo herself. This time, she's landed herself in the Horn of Africa, all thanks to her genius idea of signing up for some untrustworthy time-share. Before you start questioning my sanity for even considering this, let me clarify a few things. Apparently, it's in the divorce agreement I didn't bother to read. I just allowed anything knowing It meant I’d never have to see her again! So, if you're in the mood for a mildly irritating, somewhat unsafe adventure filled with exasperated sighs and the occasional facepalm, step right up! Oh, and did I mention the cherry on top? There's a reward involved. The catch is, just don't bring her anywhere near me and the direct deposit will hit! |
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“Manifest Schmanifest. I’ll worry about that later.” The odd man was ticked off, given his response to Zuorn. Despite how disorganized and disgruntled Oswald seemed, he did his job relatively well. He had adequate people management skills. Any questions she had would be answered in due time. However, the Ecrui would have a truckload more after witnessing the airing story playing on several TVs. His somewhat coldness was a tiny bit of a front. At least more than usual. He considered that too much focus on the geo socio-political climate currently of Earth was a bit much to digest for the new visitor.
Before he could change the subject, Fran whispered in his ear. Oswald paused. He looked like someone just found a fly in their soup. He wasn't exactly thrilled, no should anyone else in the building be. “Margaret, Eh? And what does she have to be so close to my office right now?” The souring of his expression added yet another to the list of emotions the agent vividly showcased to Zuorn in the last minute alone. Turning towards the tall alien, Oswald figured it was bleak. There was no hiding it, so he outright spoke to Fran with no filter.
“Today’s gotten more complex. Knowing her, she’s only here to raise hell about the influx of migrants we keep stuffing into the slums of Allure and other countries using her city as their personal prisoner dump-off. They’re still on a short leash with the government and deservedly so. I’ve been hearing that a lot of earthlings have been venturing to some rigged Casino and either coming back filthy rich or never to be seen again—weird stuff. Either way, don’t tell her I’m in the building. If she makes too much fuss, just give her a magical artifact or something.”
Zuorn probably had little knowledge of who Margaret Iedeeren was but if the TV remained on, she would probably learn quite a bit just how polarizing of a figure she was.
Resort have rooms for rent for an applicant?
Perhaps. What brings you to these parts?
The Pleiades Casino & Resort: Courtyard - Aeternus
An eye full of crust creaked open in the courtyard of Thalgrim’s Gambling Quarters. A mixture of soot and atrophied concrete fell from the corners as its iris ping-ponged, scanning the area. A peculiar visitor drew its attention. Watching the somber spirit, he engaged in a one-sided conversation with an obstreperous man, whose boisterous personality overshadowed their dismal surroundings once polluted by the flashing lights of the strip.
Before they got anywhere, screaming from the distance was a girl on a motorcycle far too big for her.
“Who are you all?”
The sewage-bombed man of the fountain approached her from the rear, dripping out the fountain towards her. With who-knows-what wedged into the wrinkles in his anguished expression, he brought his scum-streaked face uncomfortably close to Selena. If she didn't see him, she certainly smelled him. With a voice cracking through torment, he pleaded “He–lp…me.”
The Pleiades Casino & Resort: The Miskatonic Lounge - Floor Unknown
Illuminated by a silver-flame fireplace, sipping coffee as dark as the abyss, the suave and debonair Dupin sat cross-legged, finding solace in the oddly soothing cadence of the chaotic symphony ringing through the city. No shadows danced off him, nor did his reflection grace the lone mirror in the room. Indulging in a rare moment of respite, the Aeternus hotel manager sat down his porcelain cup on a levitating, embossed silver saucer. Its black steam clung to his inhaling nostrils waving like tendrils, obscuring his momentarily pupilless eyes.
A peculiar and probably troublesome, grim figure crossed his thoughts, entering the courtyard. Would Dupin act? Not likely. While Thornaldo, the well-spoken carnivorous plant safeguarded the surface level of the Pleiades, a mere human (or so he would have you believe) reigned over the massive hellish underground. Not many knew what resided beneath the manager's facade of civility and charm, but for now, this middle-aged hint-of-gray visage was the default that greeted guests.
Standing over him, a grandiose oil-based portrait, framing the twisted depiction of a nightmarish abomination defying mortal comprehension. Staring intensely, Dupin challenged it, inviting a clawing madness to the edges of his psyche. Instead of succumbing to the mire of confusion, he felt the opposite. A surge of clarity washed over him as the subject itself communicated directly, peppering bits of ancient power and knowledge onto already unfathomable insight. His blackened heart reveled in the experience too much. It was uncanny. Realizing he was lost in thought, the hotel manager averted his gaze from the painting, finally blinking. Enough time had passed. He changed his mind, which he had a nasty habit of doing. It was time once again to stalk the corridors of the hotel.
Through cunning, ruthless measures, Dupin used every tool and elaborate trap at his disposal—both mundane and supernatural—to instill a satisfactory means of order. His tolerance for chaos operated at a much higher threshold than at the resort's surface-level security. However, unlike Thornaldo, when provoked, Dupin’s heavy-handedness caused even devils to cower.
“Can you take me to the owner?”
Listening in, his brow arched upwards. That was an easy answer but also very complex had they knowledge of the casino’s backer. An antique rotary phone with miniature skulls on opposing sides of the gold handset floated toward his rhythmically twirling dark fingers. Extending his silver-ringed index, starting with the area code (666), he dialed the counter-clockwise retracing rotary wheel.
The Pleiades Casino & Resort: The Asmodeus Athenaeum - 57th floor - Allure
*RING RING*
On the other end was Vileiro. “I, Nocturnelle Dupin, Maestro of the Nightwhisper have quite the development to share." You could almost feel the twirling of his mustache over the speaker. “On top of your slew of problems, a patron of hell would like to speak to you. I don't suppose he wants to casually chat considering he is the source of the power outage. Oh—and I'm sure you already know about…”
“Yeah, yeah, Nocturnelle. I'm already addressing it. I’m sure you’re already planning your usual high-jinks as we speak...” A slight smirk formed on Dupin’s face.
Deep within the Asmodeus Athenaeum, standing before an elegant mirror matching even his eight-foot frame, Vileiro placed his purple-nailed hand slowly against his reflection. Feeling a subtle frost, the ice devil carved his unique sigil birthed to him by hell. Snuffed out of the room was all warmth, filling the space with sinister chills coiling around every corner bearing the coldness of Zamhareer. Vileiro paused and gulped.
A voice that seemed to reverberate from the very bowels of the planet shook the magically enclosed room temporarily sealed off from Earth.
“Speak, consigliere.”
The Pleiades Casino & Resort: Courtyard - Aeternus
The travertine stone flooring of the courtyard in which the unique lot of individuals stood stationary grew soft, undulating with an eerie, liquid-like motion of a waterbed. At the light tap of Dupin’s right heel from the safety of his abode, a domineering force stamped the grounds. Like a loose pool cover snatching and submerging its naive prey, the environment indiscriminately enveloped them all with an insatiable force.
They found themselves adrift in a realm of nightmares, blared by a cacophony of anguished screams and tormented wails, endlessly falling, accompanied by inconceivable visions contorting into grotesque shapes mirroring the deepest recesses of their subconscious. Some were confronted by grisly abominations resembling twisted caricatures of their loved ones. Others witnessed their most egregious examples of failure and regret on repeat with cosmic entities in audience.
Each visitor's journey was personalized. In Selena’s case, not only did she get a slice of the domain’s usual brand of terror, but once again, she was confronted by the demonic rendition of herself she fended off earlier. This time, however, it was like looking in a mirror. She felt like she wore her remains again. The nightmarish dopple moved as she did, and looking into her eyes, the devil displayed pitifully intense signs of vulnerability, even fear. Since wearing the hollowed-out corpse to avoid succumbing to Ceven’s living inferno, Selena probably felt something tainting her soul, lingering like the faint odor of body sweat. To her, it was probably just the stench of the slain demons left in her wake, but the signs were there. She was just the last to smell it. Being in this realm only exacerbated the funk, and it reeked of hell. Part of the gem’s distorted future spirit-cooked into her through the heat of the sanguine flame. Selena felt her devilish copy’s foreboding dread followed by the heavenly condemnation of what appeared the very same angel she confided with. Every painful twitch of her wings, every nervous breath, every single pulse of her accelerating heartbeat. Selena felt it all. That shared grip of encumbering guilt and shame leading to damnation had a violent clutch on her heart until it suddenly… didn't.
The Pleiades Casino & Resort: Thalgrim’s Gambling Quarters - Aeternus
Like the rest of the group, Selena was deposited to some part of the casino. Probably disoriented and bewildered by the abrupt displacement from her reality and the horrors she witnessed just seconds ago. She had dozens of reasons to believe what happened was and wasn't real. The young demon hunter found herself beside the shell-shocked, muck-ridden fountain man of earlier in a puddle foaming at the mouth. Towering over her, the roulette wheel was mid-spin, just starting to slow down as eager faces hung, eyes glued in nervous anticipation. Too wrapped in the game, they didn't even acknowledge them.
The loud, animated soulbound revenant found himself suddenly a close spectator to a blackjack game in which an impossibly ongoing winning streak attracted a crowd hovering over a gambler who frankly looked over it.
As for Valkyr…
The patron of hell stood before the hotel manager clad in a tailored plaid three-piece suit of the finest charcoal wool hugging his lean body. The silver-flamed flickers of the fireplace in Miskatonic Lounge cast light to both individual's silhouettes, as well as busts of various hell beasts and antiques decorating the room. Simultaneously, Dupin’s imperious leer felt up on his guest’s spirit. The Maestro of the Nightwhisper stared directly into the void in which Valkyr's face would have been with morbid curiosity, purging deeper.
"Ah, it seems you've called upon the conductor of this sinister opera, have you not? He’s a tad bit busy."
As soon as the elevator opened, the reflection of Zuorn bounced back at her through the sanguine shades of a hairy, bedraggled man with his sleeves rolled up eating a Tolman Sweet apple. He slicked his greasy to-the-touch brown hair behind his right ear and transferred the apple to the same hand. Mouth half-full, the weird man gestured at the tall alien with his half-eaten yellow fruit. “So you're one of those—uhh–Grays. But you’re not even gray! Ecrui I think they called ya.” His craggy voice made him difficult to understand. “The name’s Oswald.”
Oswald seemed friendly enough. Mildly offensive maybe, but at least he had no surface-level prejudices unlike what she would likely face in North Capitol City. “I recommend you close your eyes. Try not to puke after” he said with a crooked smile.
The quantum disruptors came to life. Both of them were baptized in a seizure-inducing array of multicolored lights. The chamber reverberated with a slight hum as their molecular structure rapidly disassembled at the atomic level. Each of their atoms was meticulously cataloged and encoded with quantum entanglement markers. In a flash, they reassembled in the center of a mezzanine overlooking hundreds of embassy operatives, along with alien diplomats and emissaries performing various tasks. It was a whimsical sight, but probably hard for Zuorn to take it all in considering Oswald’s apple sat wet-side down in her palm. Standing in front of the no food in transporter sign, Oswaldo completely ignored what happened, wiped his nose with his left wrist, and began informing the alien where she was. “Welcome to EarthF67x’s Extraterrestrial Embassy.”
There was a lot to process at one time. In one corner, a team of operatives worked alongside a telepathic squid the size of a full-sized cello transcribing an ancient alien dialect. The agents furiously scribbled notes based on the squid's patterned neon pulses. To the left of them, space archaeologists equipped with scanners carefully excavate a glowing, boulder-sized tablet, examining the holographic gems within. Below the mezzanine to the right, a man in a white lab coat and green goggles inspected a vial, gently swishing it around before pouring it into the soil of an oversized plant vase containing a seedling. Immediately, the plant's growth exploded, microwaving years into a mere moment spawning a wishbone-shaped tree bearing multiple types of apples overlooking Oswald. He promptly snatched one with his grime-nailed fingers. “I’ll try Granny Smith this time.”
Without warning, the odd man wearing a bright yellow shirt and gold-clipped suspenders holding up his khakis walked off, not even bothering to check if Zuorn followed him as he talked. "I’m your agent. Think of it like a parole officer if you have that sort of thing on your planet. Around here, you’re pretty much guilty until proven innocent. Try not to get into any trouble will ya? Otherwise, it's more work for me.”
Oswald seemed friendly enough. Mildly offensive maybe, but at least he had no surface-level prejudices unlike what she would likely face in North Capitol City. “I recommend you close your eyes. Try not to puke after” he said with a crooked smile.
The quantum disruptors came to life. Both of them were baptized in a seizure-inducing array of multicolored lights. The chamber reverberated with a slight hum as their molecular structure rapidly disassembled at the atomic level. Each of their atoms was meticulously cataloged and encoded with quantum entanglement markers. In a flash, they reassembled in the center of a mezzanine overlooking hundreds of embassy operatives, along with alien diplomats and emissaries performing various tasks. It was a whimsical sight, but probably hard for Zuorn to take it all in considering Oswald’s apple sat wet-side down in her palm. Standing in front of the no food in transporter sign, Oswaldo completely ignored what happened, wiped his nose with his left wrist, and began informing the alien where she was. “Welcome to EarthF67x’s Extraterrestrial Embassy.”
There was a lot to process at one time. In one corner, a team of operatives worked alongside a telepathic squid the size of a full-sized cello transcribing an ancient alien dialect. The agents furiously scribbled notes based on the squid's patterned neon pulses. To the left of them, space archaeologists equipped with scanners carefully excavate a glowing, boulder-sized tablet, examining the holographic gems within. Below the mezzanine to the right, a man in a white lab coat and green goggles inspected a vial, gently swishing it around before pouring it into the soil of an oversized plant vase containing a seedling. Immediately, the plant's growth exploded, microwaving years into a mere moment spawning a wishbone-shaped tree bearing multiple types of apples overlooking Oswald. He promptly snatched one with his grime-nailed fingers. “I’ll try Granny Smith this time.”
Without warning, the odd man wearing a bright yellow shirt and gold-clipped suspenders holding up his khakis walked off, not even bothering to check if Zuorn followed him as he talked. "I’m your agent. Think of it like a parole officer if you have that sort of thing on your planet. Around here, you’re pretty much guilty until proven innocent. Try not to get into any trouble will ya? Otherwise, it's more work for me.”
The Pleiades Casino & Resort: Surface Entrance - Allure City, EarthF67x
Owned by the eccentric intergalactic casino mogul and ice devil, Vileiro. Upon entry, exotic aromas produced by enormous fuchsia kadupul whelmed nostrils with a slight hint of sulfur, followed by unfurling vines offering early blossoms of ghost flowers. Floating off-white gloved hands greeted guests the instant their soles, hooves, whatever, touched the calacatta marble floors. Some carried menorahs of cold, midnight-blue flames for ambiance, and others, golden trays of the most selective hors d’oeuvres the Hells could offer. Admittedly, many of these delicacies were of an acquired taste. Ranging from its mini brimstone broiled Kalua Demon Boar Quesadillas, all the way to its Southern-Style Deviled Harpy Eggs.
Further inspection revealed the lobby's overgrowth of red throned vines belonging to an enormous lime-green carnivorous plant, Thornaldo The Bewitching, playing one-half receptionist and the other security. He was a regal and dignified plant, with an air of authority and sophistication. Carrying himself with grace and poise, it was easy to forget his diet exclusively consisted of unruly guests disrupting the tranquility of the hotel's lobby. Very appropriate, considering this was no little shop of horrors. It was a big house of the deepest terrors parading under a single roof.
Attached to a lower deck of the casino, at the restaurant Melchior, overlooking the busy streets of Allure, a tall, clean-shaven devil with razor-sharp pointed ears and undersaturated blue skin like he was suffocating calmly enjoyed his plate of angulas drizzled in virgin blood, seasoned with reaper peppers and dried saffron. Vileiro took in the views and epileptic assault of lights that were only a sample taste of what you'd see if you took the elevator down to the -666th floor.
Quite accustomed to the chaos, with all on his mind going in Allure, it was relaxing to treat himself to an early evening of fine dining. The visceral screams following a nearby car accident indulged his sensitive ears like that of a great symphony until the sensation of uneasiness infiltrated his spirit. The fine dark purple hairs of his body stood on end. It was far. Very far but seeping out the grand elevator was a presence like a seductive dog whistle to powerful demons. Only approved demonic forces had clearance to enter the surface and into Allure from Aeternus and it worked on a visa-like basis, allowing for swift deportation, dragging them back to hell on the slightest whims.
Every ward established is only as powerful as its caster. Considering the not-so-dark secret of the casino is that its ironclad barrier was forged by Mafia head Ealdorman Sarcoen, an ancient archdemon preceding time itself, this was worrisome. It was likely a rivaling force from hell being this powerful enough to be felt on the surface. Unchecked, it could break the barrier between the worlds resulting in a war between Allure and Aeternus. No matter the lives lost, frankly, the biggest concern was that it was outright bad for business. EarthF67x was already on high alert after the mass replacement of Spain. Dozens of New Roswell satellites sat perched in the direction of the city at gunpoint. A disaster like this checked off all the reasons for the government to wipe Vileiro’s flagship casino off the map. Sweating profusely, his perspiration formed icicles before falling, shattering into little sprinkles of ice on his off-white tux.
“WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?!”
Vileiro’s emotions flipped like a switch. His anger alone brought a brisk frost to the other restaurant-goers' breaths. Obsessively worried about his public image and self-aware enough, the frost demon reeled himself back in before he effectively turned the place into a winter wonderland. The bulging blue veins in his forehead flattened upon his return to rationality. The answer to his question was quite obvious, though the devil didn't want to admit it. Tugging at his cold soul he knew the answer. Opposite in every way, his hot-headed brother was not only alive, but well, and up to his same old tricks. Eyes closed, taking a deep breath, the devil grinded his teeth exhaling an icy chill through his asymmetrical flaring nostrils.
“Bring the check…”
Signing the slip, the tall, lanky demon cleared his throat, stood, adjusted his tie, and headed for the exit through the thick sea of concerned eyes. His rectangular head narrowly avoided the once candle-lit chandeliers he effectively put out in his rage. Entering the hall, the casino owner ducked slightly, avoiding the embossed archway. Immediately upon poking his head into the hall, Vileiro noticed the lights were off. A mix of confusion and annoyance formed between his puce eyes and wrinkling forehead. A blood-curdling shriek echoed throughout the halls, followed by a slight tremor signaling the activation of the surface hotel's backup power source, The Crucible of Souls, burning with a white flame from The Eternal Pyre.
The malevolent process in which it harvested them was quite simple. Like a machine, it whirred in its start-up, anticipating fresh souls. At any time, those who made deals through the casino for fame, wealth, fortune, and power could be ensnared by one of its infinite hooks, dragged across the threshold between worlds, and wrung to be used as fuel. Whenever a scream was heard, it just meant another miserable soul perished. For every expended, the crucible’s flames danced, twisting in defiance of the void as the energy spread further and further down into Aeternus with bald-faced impunity to counteract. It wouldn’t be dark for too long but it wasn't exactly a permanent solution.
“We've got problems on the lower level, Sir!”
Zazzie, a black imp carrying a mischievous smile and fur exuding a kaleidoscopic sheen approached Vileiro. Balancing on a gold trident, the creature filled the ice demon in.
“The Aeternus lobby, no, the whole square mile of the building’s radius has been swept with a great darkness. Might I say, it’s kind of neat” she snarked.
“I wonder if the two anomalies are related?” Vileiro couldn’t help to air his thoughts out loud. “Tell Thornaldo to clear everyone from the library. I’m on my way. There is something I need to do.”
The Pleiades Casino & Resort: Thalgrim’s Gambling Quarters - Aeternus
Succubi roamed the streets in raunchy designer, leaning into the windows of triple-parked beige ElDorado Cadillacs soliciting clientele. The neon lights of various nightclubs proudly touted their admission fee of "1 Soul" yet creatures of all shapes and sizes fought just to get in. Cauldrons of bats populated the streets like city pigeons, hanging from living gargoyle statues who'd occasionally devour them for midnight snacks. It was always midnight here. In this dimensional cellar lies everything wrong with humanity, yet it thrived. Various celebrities from around the universe could be seen casually strolling down the streets enjoying the paradise of vice after selling their souls in their respective fields. Even charlatans, televangelist grifters, false prophets, and idolaters alike congregated in and outside the resort and its competing chains, attending satanic galas, frequenting museums like the Hall of Torture & Sadism.
A gang of green flame-headed ghost riders sped by, leaving a trail of exhausts smelling like burnt rubber and brimstone. One veering too close to the sidewalk, inadvertently or not, launched some street smuck on the crimson cloak of a grim, hooded figure murmuring to himself. Bearing a shadowy visage, he sauntered towards Thalgrim’s wing of the casino, whispering, casting a single-word hex echoing throughout the infinitely stretching Vegas strip. It did so until it perhaps made its way back through the gates of hell like most inconveniencing forces to the casino had a propensity to do. Enigmatic displays of force like that vacuum effect let the cat out the bag long ago that someone powerful was protecting their assets even from the darkest pits of Hell.
"Extingue.”
The incantation was heard, but far from the oddest occurrence of the day or even minute for the demonic denizens going about their usual antics. Once the darkness crept in, many took the opportunity to dial up the usual marauding and debauchery to even higher levels despite the demons having the innate ability to see quite clearly in the abyss. Even then, antique gothic street lamps glowing with unwavering hell flames dispelled some of the obsidian veil cast on areas.
Upstairs, motley crews of demons continued their revelry unfazed by the blackout which they assumed would be resolved sooner than later. Much of the casino was dark but several demons and the staff themselves took it upon themselves to light small objects on fire with controlled blazes, giving them just enough visibility for the visibly challenged creatures among them to play their games. At one table, a group of burly devils smoking the room up with their endless consumption of Regius Double Corona cigars were locked tight in a heated game of poker using their ashtray full of burning butts as a light source, wagering souls, and ancient magical artifacts with a warlock dealer.
In another corner of the massive room housing thousands of games, a pair of slender empusa languidly lounged by the roulette wheel, encouraging what looked like a group of lawyers and greedy landlords to gamble what was left of their souls. One flicked their spade tail upwards, gently caressing the stubble of a visibly nervous man in glasses. The combination of her sultry smile and entrancing eye contact made his lenses fog. In efforts to appear confident, he gulped, wagering it all.
Tons of other games continued simultaneously despite the inconvenience but amidst the chaos and clamor, a lone, stoic man in an onyx padded piece blazer slouched at the blackjack table. Locked in thought, he paid just enough attention for the game to continue but not enough to react to the results. In fact, he was on a winning streak. Hot hand after hot hand. He couldn't lose. The man was clearly someone's favorite.
The Pleiades Casino & Resort: The Asmodeus Athenaeum - 57th floor
“What! I paid good money to have access to this library for a photo shoo—wait! What are you doi—?!—AAAAHHHHHH!”
“Farewell, Sir. May the ground below embrace you as warmly as my hospitality.” In his retort, a mysterious scarlet sparkle of magic gleeked from under Thornaldo’s tongue.
Thick thorns receded and shards of an enormous shattering stained glass window pelted the grounds below like razor hail. The uncompromising guest was promptly dealt with, freefalling with his last visuals being a breathtaking view of the alien city that was Allure. Just as the coins dropped earlier in the filth fountain of Aeternus, he too plopped the same and without a wish (or so he thought) in a mirroring fountain in Allure. One that was much cleaner, decorated with alabaster statues of peeing angels into crystal blue waters. In a miraculous exhibition of good luck and magical fortune, the man found himself not crashing into the shallowness of the fountain but submerged in the deepness of a putrid murky expanse, resurfacing with a mouth full of unknown excrements sliding through the gaps in his teeth. With foul liquids and odors embedded into every inch of him and his clothes like a symbiote, a dread-laced scream escaped his exasperated lungs. If this man could just look at the bright side, perhaps a slither of relief could be found in that he survived. The only problem now? Being surrounded by sheer darkness. Reeking of far more than a single spritz of the city’s least finest Eau de toilette, he was now to navigate this strange world alone.
The spinning projection’s wing clashed with Selena’s blade. A thunderous clang rang out as mesmerizing sparks emanated. Out came a mystifying cloud which Ceven examined skeptically. Given the circumstances, it wasn’t natural. His keen eyes squinted like an old man holding a piece of paper from his face. Never had the ox-horned devil seen lightning or any energy for that matter produce steam that actively eliminated his sulfuric cigar smoke. He planned to entrap and lull the woman with its smokey toxins to unconsciousness but the momentarily spinning visual manifestation of Selena whisked it away and now the vapor fumes were coming in his direction.
“Best not to take a whiff of that.”
Rather than deal with that concerning gases, Ceven casually waltzed out the hallway, back to where everyone went back to unapologetically party despite the commotion. The second his back hoove exited, the demon dropped his Mayan sigcar. Upon impact, Its wilting cinders ignited a malefic brand of sanguine fire, closing it off. Only those truly one with the infernal depths of hell could produce such voracious flames from an ember. Well beyond an ordinary inferno, this hellfire had a sentient relentless hunger. It wasn’t just that moisture evaporated. Its presence in all ceased to exist and so could an unguarded spirit. In its grip, vibrant souls distort and wither, leaving desolation in their wake and here it was racing along every square inch of the hallway toward Selena.
Funny enough, afterward, Ceven looked around in confusion at the shag carpet for his very much expensive cigar. Despite how it looked, He most certainly did not drop it by mistake but there was no retrieving it now. He shrugged. A minor inconvenience. Ceven was far too drunk to care. Not that anyone noticed. Known as the beast of commerce, despite his miniature stature, his role in the Sarcoen family was just as important as Parooz, Ixxa, or Vileiro. They all had their avenues they excelled in and after seeing what the young devil hunter did, it was enough to think of her potentially as an asset to flip. With his cutthroat business approach, the minotaur devil learned the approximate value of a soul. In fact, he was quite infamous for his weekly updates which he influenced the soul market off the mere roll of his black forked tongue.
“They’ll pay a lot for you. Let’s get Parooz’s opinion.”
Now that he couldn’t be seen, he hightailed it out of there—knocking over drinks, popping a few dress straps with his sharp ribbed horns. Shimmying through the crowd, despite his best efforts, he created quite the scene. His miniature size limited the damage but the crowd had little concern. However, members of the Sarcoen family like Vincenzo wondered why he was in such a rush. Ceven was more attuned to what Parooz was cooking up. It was time to bounce. Personally, he wanted no parts of her. Unfortunately for the devil hunter, she was about to find out.
Eerily, the last door of the hallway shuddered open with a loud creak. The only seemable escape from the raging flames. Inside? Selena’s squinting vision revealed two devils quite cozy. One with an arm around the shoulders of the red-skinned, snow-blonde-haired other. Their burning glares penetrated her spirit as if they looked into Selenas’s very soul. No doubt, there was malice behind their snake eyes, but in her situation, where else was there to go? The flames even stopped at the doorway.
“Come in… We don’t bite.” They said in symmetry.
[Symphony]
The red door with a crystal skull door knob at the end of the hall creaked open. Permeating at her ankles out the doorway was a rich black fog. A grand spectacle was underway, woven with threads of lust and greed. Ceven’s flame barrier set up at the end of the speakeasy’s doorway winded further and further away. Selena, the young devil hunter, found herself at the threshold of a hellish domain.
Front in the center, a blood-red draping canopy bed, magnolious in its opulence, cocooned Parooz and Ixxa, two devils entwined in an embrace that exuded both seduction and danger. Their quarrel appeared resolved for the time being. The air crackled with an invitation, a questionable gesture considering their surroundings in this dome-shaped chamber.
A foreboding ambiance of the chills whelmed the space below a sky awashed in apocalyptic hues of crimson and onyx. A macabre rendition of Triumph of the Medici unfolded in the air. One where beautiful succubi orchestrated an aerial ballet of agony and torture upon hundreds of hapless humans. Some even relished in the pain, cascaded by thunderous whips, strapped to infinitely elongating racks, unmitigated genitalia mutilation, and absurdly degenerate forms of sodomy. Their visceral screams and orgasmic moans competed for air time with the singing and laughter of hell’s demimondaines. A twisted symphony following the sharp, rhythmic black-nailed index of Parooz. Their wonderful sacrifices would not perish in vain. These were but a morsel of souls sold willingly and of their own volition to Ixxa after all. Plus, half of their wretched hearts could probably survive another round. Even as unethical as it was, the requirements were almost met for her to briefly manifest before them.
Parooz almost shed a tear. It was beautiful. “Since I’ve been gone, you’ve gotten better, Ixxa.”
“And earlier you were thinking about killing her…” Tony chided.
Parooz’s pistol spoke out of turn yet again. Trying not to ruin the moment, without saying anything, the demon reached for his hip, flinging his smart-aleck pistol over the headboard of the bed a football field’s length away.
Focused on the task at hand, Ixxa ignored Parooz’s backhanded comment. Sex sells, and her business was at an all-time high. Whether it was the insurgence of incel streamers or women desperate to manipulate and gain their audience through objectification, Ixxa could and would help, and at a steep fee.
Nevertheless, a gentle vortex of swirling black clouds, an ominous herald of their impending ritual, formed from the ankle-high fog just before the bed’s ottoman. Amidst this developing maelstrom, the eyes of the devil duo gleamed in muted luminescence—Parooz’s amber orbs exuded a suspicious warmth of tempting power, while Ixxa’s lime-green gaze bore an orgasmic allure laced with danger.
The chamber itself seemed a canvas for the arcane. During this summoning, where the lines between worlds grew thin. Selena stood at the precipice, but would she be torn between the allure of the invitation and the weight of her sworn duty? A choice beckoned—a choice that would only mark the rest of her life.
”Ysolde, our sovereign, hear my plea,
From realms veiled in mystique, emerge to see,
In the dance of shadows and ethereal grace,
Answer my call, reveal your face.
Oh queen of the void, mistress of disguise,
In your formless beauty, you mesmerize,
Come forth from the unknown, oh ancient sprite,
To this earthly plane on this fateful night.
With your veiled countenance, a sight to behold,
Ysolde,, by stories told,
Lurking in mirrors and the corners unseen,
Grace this circle, make this scene.
In the whispers of darkness, in silence profound,
I summon thee, with powers unbound,
To join our worlds in this mystic hour,
Ysolde, queen, wield your beguiling power.
By the enchantments woven in this space,
Let our destinies intertwine and embrace,
Oh ancient one, from the abyss you roam,
Ysolde, appear and make our domain your home…”
Just a slither of her prodigious presence anointed itself into the air. It could be felt outside the bounds of the dimension. To those new to Aeternus, this presence was especially radiant, inviting, comforting, motherly, yet terrifying. It ensnared them.
“Find me.”
The words spoken profoundly into the consciousness of Rory. He could only hope that the man in contest with the gorgon heard it as well to save himself from facing it alone.
“Find me.”
“Best not to take a whiff of that.”
Rather than deal with that concerning gases, Ceven casually waltzed out the hallway, back to where everyone went back to unapologetically party despite the commotion. The second his back hoove exited, the demon dropped his Mayan sigcar. Upon impact, Its wilting cinders ignited a malefic brand of sanguine fire, closing it off. Only those truly one with the infernal depths of hell could produce such voracious flames from an ember. Well beyond an ordinary inferno, this hellfire had a sentient relentless hunger. It wasn’t just that moisture evaporated. Its presence in all ceased to exist and so could an unguarded spirit. In its grip, vibrant souls distort and wither, leaving desolation in their wake and here it was racing along every square inch of the hallway toward Selena.
Funny enough, afterward, Ceven looked around in confusion at the shag carpet for his very much expensive cigar. Despite how it looked, He most certainly did not drop it by mistake but there was no retrieving it now. He shrugged. A minor inconvenience. Ceven was far too drunk to care. Not that anyone noticed. Known as the beast of commerce, despite his miniature stature, his role in the Sarcoen family was just as important as Parooz, Ixxa, or Vileiro. They all had their avenues they excelled in and after seeing what the young devil hunter did, it was enough to think of her potentially as an asset to flip. With his cutthroat business approach, the minotaur devil learned the approximate value of a soul. In fact, he was quite infamous for his weekly updates which he influenced the soul market off the mere roll of his black forked tongue.
“They’ll pay a lot for you. Let’s get Parooz’s opinion.”
Now that he couldn’t be seen, he hightailed it out of there—knocking over drinks, popping a few dress straps with his sharp ribbed horns. Shimmying through the crowd, despite his best efforts, he created quite the scene. His miniature size limited the damage but the crowd had little concern. However, members of the Sarcoen family like Vincenzo wondered why he was in such a rush. Ceven was more attuned to what Parooz was cooking up. It was time to bounce. Personally, he wanted no parts of her. Unfortunately for the devil hunter, she was about to find out.
Eerily, the last door of the hallway shuddered open with a loud creak. The only seemable escape from the raging flames. Inside? Selena’s squinting vision revealed two devils quite cozy. One with an arm around the shoulders of the red-skinned, snow-blonde-haired other. Their burning glares penetrated her spirit as if they looked into Selenas’s very soul. No doubt, there was malice behind their snake eyes, but in her situation, where else was there to go? The flames even stopped at the doorway.
“Come in… We don’t bite.” They said in symmetry.
[Symphony]
The red door with a crystal skull door knob at the end of the hall creaked open. Permeating at her ankles out the doorway was a rich black fog. A grand spectacle was underway, woven with threads of lust and greed. Ceven’s flame barrier set up at the end of the speakeasy’s doorway winded further and further away. Selena, the young devil hunter, found herself at the threshold of a hellish domain.
Front in the center, a blood-red draping canopy bed, magnolious in its opulence, cocooned Parooz and Ixxa, two devils entwined in an embrace that exuded both seduction and danger. Their quarrel appeared resolved for the time being. The air crackled with an invitation, a questionable gesture considering their surroundings in this dome-shaped chamber.
A foreboding ambiance of the chills whelmed the space below a sky awashed in apocalyptic hues of crimson and onyx. A macabre rendition of Triumph of the Medici unfolded in the air. One where beautiful succubi orchestrated an aerial ballet of agony and torture upon hundreds of hapless humans. Some even relished in the pain, cascaded by thunderous whips, strapped to infinitely elongating racks, unmitigated genitalia mutilation, and absurdly degenerate forms of sodomy. Their visceral screams and orgasmic moans competed for air time with the singing and laughter of hell’s demimondaines. A twisted symphony following the sharp, rhythmic black-nailed index of Parooz. Their wonderful sacrifices would not perish in vain. These were but a morsel of souls sold willingly and of their own volition to Ixxa after all. Plus, half of their wretched hearts could probably survive another round. Even as unethical as it was, the requirements were almost met for her to briefly manifest before them.
Parooz almost shed a tear. It was beautiful. “Since I’ve been gone, you’ve gotten better, Ixxa.”
“And earlier you were thinking about killing her…” Tony chided.
Parooz’s pistol spoke out of turn yet again. Trying not to ruin the moment, without saying anything, the demon reached for his hip, flinging his smart-aleck pistol over the headboard of the bed a football field’s length away.
Focused on the task at hand, Ixxa ignored Parooz’s backhanded comment. Sex sells, and her business was at an all-time high. Whether it was the insurgence of incel streamers or women desperate to manipulate and gain their audience through objectification, Ixxa could and would help, and at a steep fee.
Nevertheless, a gentle vortex of swirling black clouds, an ominous herald of their impending ritual, formed from the ankle-high fog just before the bed’s ottoman. Amidst this developing maelstrom, the eyes of the devil duo gleamed in muted luminescence—Parooz’s amber orbs exuded a suspicious warmth of tempting power, while Ixxa’s lime-green gaze bore an orgasmic allure laced with danger.
The chamber itself seemed a canvas for the arcane. During this summoning, where the lines between worlds grew thin. Selena stood at the precipice, but would she be torn between the allure of the invitation and the weight of her sworn duty? A choice beckoned—a choice that would only mark the rest of her life.
”Ysolde, our sovereign, hear my plea,
From realms veiled in mystique, emerge to see,
In the dance of shadows and ethereal grace,
Answer my call, reveal your face.
Oh queen of the void, mistress of disguise,
In your formless beauty, you mesmerize,
Come forth from the unknown, oh ancient sprite,
To this earthly plane on this fateful night.
With your veiled countenance, a sight to behold,
Ysolde,, by stories told,
Lurking in mirrors and the corners unseen,
Grace this circle, make this scene.
In the whispers of darkness, in silence profound,
I summon thee, with powers unbound,
To join our worlds in this mystic hour,
Ysolde, queen, wield your beguiling power.
By the enchantments woven in this space,
Let our destinies intertwine and embrace,
Oh ancient one, from the abyss you roam,
Ysolde, appear and make our domain your home…”
Just a slither of her prodigious presence anointed itself into the air. It could be felt outside the bounds of the dimension. To those new to Aeternus, this presence was especially radiant, inviting, comforting, motherly, yet terrifying. It ensnared them.
“Find me.”
The words spoken profoundly into the consciousness of Rory. He could only hope that the man in contest with the gorgon heard it as well to save himself from facing it alone.
“Find me.”
The thin slice delivered to the windpipe of the devilish cretin brought his lugging frame crumbling to the restroom's glossy obsidian floors. Like the majority of souls in Aeternus, he wouldn't be missed. Perched on this cumbersome corpse, the young devil hunter went through a limited brief of Ixxa but afterward chose not to dispose of the body. There was no telling how long she planned to stay in this den of demons but anyone stumbling upon the striped-horned, pot-belly demon’s undead body has certainly seen odder considering where they were.
The information wasn't easy to process, but she got it. The instant the bathroom door closed, from the other side of a glory hole, uttered in a grumbling voice "Wrong Password."
Upon hearing that voice, it was enough to have Selena unconfident in her kill. Even worse, to some degree, that fat slob might have enjoyed her sitting on him and caught an unsolicited whiff or two with his monstrously hooked nose. That was not the biggest of her troubles perhaps, considering the jazz music literally stopped in the speakeasy.
The leers of several dozen demons were alone enough to stop a mortal's heart but it was uncertain how strong the young devil hunter's nerves were. Perhaps she had nerves or steel but in the hallway where the chandeliers hung oddly low, its blood-red baccarat crystals reflected thousands of futures. Some more gruesome than others, but many if not all unanimously leading towards the aftermath of drawing the fiendish ire of the crowd.
"Wasn't it too easy to get in?" An almost comical, stereotypical New York Italian accent came from the crowd.
Walking down the hall, a DeVito-sized minotaur-looking devil with rigid, curling sabbatical goat horns smoking a Mayan Sicar bellowing unnecessary amounts of yellow brimstone spoke out to the young woman. The amount of sulfur in the air was suffocating, yet the mustard-skinned demon took a ridiculously long hit to the point where the plumes masked his quizzical expression.
"This is a Sarcoen spot. In quite literally a den of demons. I don't think a demon hunter stands much of a chance." Rubbing his unmanaged stubble, Ceven visibly pondered.
"I assume you're working under some angel bastard, no? I generally like to work behind the scenes but everyone knows not to walk to the back uninvited. Maybe you're that stupid. Or maybe…you're interested in how we do things here."
"You want to make a pact with Ixxa Ludirs Auðr Ivayla Nettuno Irenka Kalyani Tyche Morrigan Brechtje Cecílie? Most demons can communicate telepathically, you know. You just have to leave your line open. Since you heard this I assume you now know the depths you ignorantly plunged into. The only question is whether I can convince the humble folks here that you're not a threat. Let's see what ya got."
Ceven hawk spit, knocking down one of the supernatural chandelier's fuchsine rhombus-like crystals, snatching it casually out of the air. Examining it for a moment, the minotaur mumbled "Hmph, not bad," charging the crystal with a fiery violet. He slung it directly at Selenas's bosoms overhand like a throwing knife, watching it briefly knuckleball before erupting into a pink plume of smoke.
"How do you handle this distorted Future?"
Exploding out of the crystal at Selena was an alternate version of herself bearing elongated fangs, newly protruding horns, and glowing amber eyes hurling themselves like a spear. At the last moment, concealed sword-like black bat wings sprouted as she spun like a deadly top, dicing through several of the irreplaceable paintings littering the hall's walls.
The souls trapped within the landscape beneath the painting's starry nights finally ascended, floating majestically towards the heavens, flooding the air with hundreds of "thank yous" just happy to move on.
There was no telling how long this distortion clung to the world but make no mistakes, in the meantime, this apparition threatened to turn Selena into a fleshly rain of confetti. Regardless of what came of this exchange, the party went on.
Meanwhile…
As soon as Dangerrutito knocked, the door quickly lost its aura.
"What's the password?
On the other side of the totally not inconspicuous door, a nightmarish gaze leered from the sliding peephole. A Gorgon's eye staring into Dangerrutito’s soul with malevolent intensity. Its mystifying amalgamation of serpentine pupils and swirling, deep, blood-red irises seemed to consume the light around them. Normally the moment eyes met the Gorgon's, an icy shiver slithered down their spine, but considering how far Dangerrutito had come, this was probably nothing at all. On the bright side, at least the creature was female.
Before Dangerrutito could come up with a witty retort, the creature behind the door shifted gears. "I propose a game of entwined gazes, a duel of captivating intent, where our eyes lock in a dance of seductive fascination. Will you accept this invitation, where the boundaries between desire and surrender blur, as we share a forbidden contest of yearning gazes?" Which was a very fancy and longwinded way to challenge someone to a staring contest.
Becoming a fan of their alluring eyes began a dreadful transformation. It starts subtly, with an inexplicable stiffness climbing from your fingers into your limbs as its petrifying power travels through your very nerves. This was obviously a test, but how would Dangerrutito fare against it before his body was met with agonizing paralysis and he became the subject of a fancy hell tableau?
>Name: Ixxa -/Redacted/- (Full name plants seeds of lust into hearer's souls)
>Age: Several Centuries
>Demon Classification: Succubus
>Bio: ˙uoᴉʇɐʇdɯǝʇ puɐ ǝɹᴉsǝp ɟo qǝʍ ɐ uᴉ sɯᴉʇɔᴉʌ ɹǝɥ ƃuᴉɹɐusuǝ 'lnos ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔuǝssǝ ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ ǝƃuɐɥɔxǝ uᴉ ʎʇnɐǝq ƃuᴉsᴉɯoɹd 'sʇɔɐd ɹǝʇsᴉuᴉs sǝʇɐɹʇsǝɥɔɹo ɐxxI 'sɹǝqɯɐɥɔ ʎloɥun ǝsǝɥʇ uᴉɥʇᴉM ˙ʍolƃ uosɯᴉɹɔ 'ǝᴉɹǝǝ uɐ uᴉ pǝpnoɹɥs puɐ 'ʇuǝɔs ƃuᴉʇɐɔᴉxoʇuᴉ uɐ uᴉ pǝlᴉǝʌ 'sʞlᴉs ɥsᴉʌɐl ɥʇᴉʍ pǝuɹopɐ ǝɹɐ sllɐɥ ʇuǝpɐɔǝp sʇI ˙uoᴉsuǝɥǝɹdɯoɔ lɐʇɹoɯ ɟo sǝᴉɹɐpunoq ǝɥʇ puoʎǝq sʇsᴉxǝ ʇɐɥʇ lǝɥʇoɹq ɥsᴉɹɐɯʇɥƃᴉu ɐ sᴉ ɯlɐǝɹ s,ɐxxI
>˙uoᴉsᴉɔǝɹd pǝʞɔᴉʍ ɥʇᴉʍ slnos s,uǝɯ ɟo ʇɟǝɥʇ ǝɥʇ ƃuᴉʇɐɹʇsǝɥɔɹo ǝlᴉɥʍ uoᴉʇɔǝɟɹǝd ƃuᴉʇǝǝlɟ ɹoɟ slnos ɹᴉǝɥʇ ǝpɐɹʇ oʇ uǝɯoʍ sǝɔᴉʇuǝ oɥʍ ssǝɹʇdɯǝʇ ɐ 'ʎʇnɐǝq ɟo ssǝɹʇsᴉɯ ǝɥʇ sᴉ ǝɥS ˙uoᴉʇɔnpǝs ɟo qǝʍ ɹǝɥ oʇuᴉ slɐʇɹoɯ ssǝlʇunoɔ pǝɹnl sɐɥ ʇɐɥʇ ǝzɐƃ ƃuᴉzᴉɹǝɯsǝɯ ɐ 'uǝǝɹƃ ƃuᴉʇunɐɥ ɟo ǝpɐɥs ɐ ǝɹɐ sǝʎǝ ɹǝH ˙uoᴉʇɐʇdɯǝʇ ɟo ǝɔuǝssǝ ǝɥʇ sǝᴉpoqɯǝ ɐxxI 'ʇɥƃᴉl lɐǝɹǝɥʇǝ uɐ ɥʇᴉʍ ɹǝɯɯᴉɥs oʇ sɯǝǝs ʇɐɥʇ ɹᴉɐɥ ǝpuolq-ʍous puɐ uᴉʞs pǝɹ ʎɹǝᴉɟ ɹǝɥ ɥʇᴉM
>˙ǝɹnllɐ ʇuǝloʌǝlɐɯ s,ʎʇᴉɔ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoᴉʇɔǝlɟǝɹ ɐ 'ʎlpɐǝp puɐ ƃuᴉʇɐʌᴉʇdɐɔ ɥʇoq sᴉ ʎʇnɐǝq ǝsoɥʍ ǝɹnƃᴉɟ ɐ 'ɐɯƃᴉuǝ ƃuᴉɹnllɐ uɐ sᴉ ǝɥS ˙ǝuᴉʍʇɹǝʇuᴉ ǝɔᴉʌ puɐ uoᴉʇɐʇdɯǝʇ ǝɹǝɥʍ ʎʇᴉɔ ɐ 'snuɹǝʇǝ∀ ɟo sɥʇdǝp ǝɥʇ uᴉɥʇᴉʍ sǝʌᴉɹɥʇ oɥʍ sǝɹᴉsǝp ʇsǝʞɹɐp ǝɥʇ ɟo ssǝɹʇɔnpǝs ɐ sᴉ 'sǝssǝɹʇ ǝpuolq-ʍous ɥʇᴉʍ snqnɔɔns pǝuuᴉʞs-uosɯᴉɹɔ ǝɥʇ 'ɐxxI ˙ǝsnoɥ lǝɥʇoɹq lɐuɹǝʇƎ ǝɥʇ ɟo uǝǝnQ
>Age: Several Centuries
>Demon Classification: Succubus
>Bio: ˙uoᴉʇɐʇdɯǝʇ puɐ ǝɹᴉsǝp ɟo qǝʍ ɐ uᴉ sɯᴉʇɔᴉʌ ɹǝɥ ƃuᴉɹɐusuǝ 'lnos ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔuǝssǝ ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ ǝƃuɐɥɔxǝ uᴉ ʎʇnɐǝq ƃuᴉsᴉɯoɹd 'sʇɔɐd ɹǝʇsᴉuᴉs sǝʇɐɹʇsǝɥɔɹo ɐxxI 'sɹǝqɯɐɥɔ ʎloɥun ǝsǝɥʇ uᴉɥʇᴉM ˙ʍolƃ uosɯᴉɹɔ 'ǝᴉɹǝǝ uɐ uᴉ pǝpnoɹɥs puɐ 'ʇuǝɔs ƃuᴉʇɐɔᴉxoʇuᴉ uɐ uᴉ pǝlᴉǝʌ 'sʞlᴉs ɥsᴉʌɐl ɥʇᴉʍ pǝuɹopɐ ǝɹɐ sllɐɥ ʇuǝpɐɔǝp sʇI ˙uoᴉsuǝɥǝɹdɯoɔ lɐʇɹoɯ ɟo sǝᴉɹɐpunoq ǝɥʇ puoʎǝq sʇsᴉxǝ ʇɐɥʇ lǝɥʇoɹq ɥsᴉɹɐɯʇɥƃᴉu ɐ sᴉ ɯlɐǝɹ s,ɐxxI
>˙uoᴉsᴉɔǝɹd pǝʞɔᴉʍ ɥʇᴉʍ slnos s,uǝɯ ɟo ʇɟǝɥʇ ǝɥʇ ƃuᴉʇɐɹʇsǝɥɔɹo ǝlᴉɥʍ uoᴉʇɔǝɟɹǝd ƃuᴉʇǝǝlɟ ɹoɟ slnos ɹᴉǝɥʇ ǝpɐɹʇ oʇ uǝɯoʍ sǝɔᴉʇuǝ oɥʍ ssǝɹʇdɯǝʇ ɐ 'ʎʇnɐǝq ɟo ssǝɹʇsᴉɯ ǝɥʇ sᴉ ǝɥS ˙uoᴉʇɔnpǝs ɟo qǝʍ ɹǝɥ oʇuᴉ slɐʇɹoɯ ssǝlʇunoɔ pǝɹnl sɐɥ ʇɐɥʇ ǝzɐƃ ƃuᴉzᴉɹǝɯsǝɯ ɐ 'uǝǝɹƃ ƃuᴉʇunɐɥ ɟo ǝpɐɥs ɐ ǝɹɐ sǝʎǝ ɹǝH ˙uoᴉʇɐʇdɯǝʇ ɟo ǝɔuǝssǝ ǝɥʇ sǝᴉpoqɯǝ ɐxxI 'ʇɥƃᴉl lɐǝɹǝɥʇǝ uɐ ɥʇᴉʍ ɹǝɯɯᴉɥs oʇ sɯǝǝs ʇɐɥʇ ɹᴉɐɥ ǝpuolq-ʍous puɐ uᴉʞs pǝɹ ʎɹǝᴉɟ ɹǝɥ ɥʇᴉM
>˙ǝɹnllɐ ʇuǝloʌǝlɐɯ s,ʎʇᴉɔ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoᴉʇɔǝlɟǝɹ ɐ 'ʎlpɐǝp puɐ ƃuᴉʇɐʌᴉʇdɐɔ ɥʇoq sᴉ ʎʇnɐǝq ǝsoɥʍ ǝɹnƃᴉɟ ɐ 'ɐɯƃᴉuǝ ƃuᴉɹnllɐ uɐ sᴉ ǝɥS ˙ǝuᴉʍʇɹǝʇuᴉ ǝɔᴉʌ puɐ uoᴉʇɐʇdɯǝʇ ǝɹǝɥʍ ʎʇᴉɔ ɐ 'snuɹǝʇǝ∀ ɟo sɥʇdǝp ǝɥʇ uᴉɥʇᴉʍ sǝʌᴉɹɥʇ oɥʍ sǝɹᴉsǝp ʇsǝʞɹɐp ǝɥʇ ɟo ssǝɹʇɔnpǝs ɐ sᴉ 'sǝssǝɹʇ ǝpuolq-ʍous ɥʇᴉʍ snqnɔɔns pǝuuᴉʞs-uosɯᴉɹɔ ǝɥʇ 'ɐxxI ˙ǝsnoɥ lǝɥʇoɹq lɐuɹǝʇƎ ǝɥʇ ɟo uǝǝnQ
The information wasn't easy to process, but she got it. The instant the bathroom door closed, from the other side of a glory hole, uttered in a grumbling voice "Wrong Password."
Upon hearing that voice, it was enough to have Selena unconfident in her kill. Even worse, to some degree, that fat slob might have enjoyed her sitting on him and caught an unsolicited whiff or two with his monstrously hooked nose. That was not the biggest of her troubles perhaps, considering the jazz music literally stopped in the speakeasy.
The leers of several dozen demons were alone enough to stop a mortal's heart but it was uncertain how strong the young devil hunter's nerves were. Perhaps she had nerves or steel but in the hallway where the chandeliers hung oddly low, its blood-red baccarat crystals reflected thousands of futures. Some more gruesome than others, but many if not all unanimously leading towards the aftermath of drawing the fiendish ire of the crowd.
"Wasn't it too easy to get in?" An almost comical, stereotypical New York Italian accent came from the crowd.
Walking down the hall, a DeVito-sized minotaur-looking devil with rigid, curling sabbatical goat horns smoking a Mayan Sicar bellowing unnecessary amounts of yellow brimstone spoke out to the young woman. The amount of sulfur in the air was suffocating, yet the mustard-skinned demon took a ridiculously long hit to the point where the plumes masked his quizzical expression.
"This is a Sarcoen spot. In quite literally a den of demons. I don't think a demon hunter stands much of a chance." Rubbing his unmanaged stubble, Ceven visibly pondered.
"I assume you're working under some angel bastard, no? I generally like to work behind the scenes but everyone knows not to walk to the back uninvited. Maybe you're that stupid. Or maybe…you're interested in how we do things here."
"You want to make a pact with Ixxa Ludirs Auðr Ivayla Nettuno Irenka Kalyani Tyche Morrigan Brechtje Cecílie? Most demons can communicate telepathically, you know. You just have to leave your line open. Since you heard this I assume you now know the depths you ignorantly plunged into. The only question is whether I can convince the humble folks here that you're not a threat. Let's see what ya got."
Ceven hawk spit, knocking down one of the supernatural chandelier's fuchsine rhombus-like crystals, snatching it casually out of the air. Examining it for a moment, the minotaur mumbled "Hmph, not bad," charging the crystal with a fiery violet. He slung it directly at Selenas's bosoms overhand like a throwing knife, watching it briefly knuckleball before erupting into a pink plume of smoke.
"How do you handle this distorted Future?"
Exploding out of the crystal at Selena was an alternate version of herself bearing elongated fangs, newly protruding horns, and glowing amber eyes hurling themselves like a spear. At the last moment, concealed sword-like black bat wings sprouted as she spun like a deadly top, dicing through several of the irreplaceable paintings littering the hall's walls.
The souls trapped within the landscape beneath the painting's starry nights finally ascended, floating majestically towards the heavens, flooding the air with hundreds of "thank yous" just happy to move on.
There was no telling how long this distortion clung to the world but make no mistakes, in the meantime, this apparition threatened to turn Selena into a fleshly rain of confetti. Regardless of what came of this exchange, the party went on.
Meanwhile…
As soon as Dangerrutito knocked, the door quickly lost its aura.
"What's the password?
On the other side of the totally not inconspicuous door, a nightmarish gaze leered from the sliding peephole. A Gorgon's eye staring into Dangerrutito’s soul with malevolent intensity. Its mystifying amalgamation of serpentine pupils and swirling, deep, blood-red irises seemed to consume the light around them. Normally the moment eyes met the Gorgon's, an icy shiver slithered down their spine, but considering how far Dangerrutito had come, this was probably nothing at all. On the bright side, at least the creature was female.
Before Dangerrutito could come up with a witty retort, the creature behind the door shifted gears. "I propose a game of entwined gazes, a duel of captivating intent, where our eyes lock in a dance of seductive fascination. Will you accept this invitation, where the boundaries between desire and surrender blur, as we share a forbidden contest of yearning gazes?" Which was a very fancy and longwinded way to challenge someone to a staring contest.
Becoming a fan of their alluring eyes began a dreadful transformation. It starts subtly, with an inexplicable stiffness climbing from your fingers into your limbs as its petrifying power travels through your very nerves. This was obviously a test, but how would Dangerrutito fare against it before his body was met with agonizing paralysis and he became the subject of a fancy hell tableau?
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