At the table sat seven figures on their respective, heavily ornate chairs. Half of the table was cast in a shadow so thick and deep and no one could see, hear or even smell anything in it. Not even the keenest nose nor the sharpest eye would be able to see into it, yet everybody in the room could feel a presence in it. A big presence. At the only visible head of the table, sat a male. Muscular enough to reach natural limits, and with a hood over his head, a hood that covered, in part, the charred black skull under it. With bright, flaming eyes, the male surveyed the six other beings present in the room. Each of the other demons was different, and he knew exactly who they were. He had to be careful. 

"Zahlael." Spoke the first of the beings, an older-looking fat white man, wearing what seemed to be a very expensive-looking pallium of the most comfortable silk. The man looked directly at the hooded male as he spoke the name, keeping his stare consistent, and not moving a single inch. Seeing the expensive, comfortable silk over the man's form made Zahlael... Jealous, to some extent. It wasn't that he liked wearing such... Light clothing, it was just the fact that he had never really been allowed to wear them. 

"Zahlael," Repeated a woman, sitting right next to the old man, as she stared at Zahlael in the same manner, "You've been chosen." 

[i]'Chosen for what?'[/i] Was Zahlael's first thought, outwardly just keeping eye contact with the western-looking young woman. She had beautiful blue eyes, he had to give her that. Then another male, this time an African man, with head shaved and eyebrows trimmed, spoke.

"You've been chosen, Zahlael, to become our emissary." He said with little to no emotion in his voice, following the trend set in by the others.

"To become our limbs." Said a woman, sitting in the most relaxed position Zahlael had probably ever seen.

"Our voice." Said the African man once more.

"Our fist." Said a greek phalanx harshly, leaning his body forward as he spoke, and forcefully hitting the thick table with his fists. 

"You are to visit the Mortal Realm and fight for us. Fight against our enemy." Said the first to speak, the old fat man. 

"Angels?" Asked Zahlael, looking at the man with barely apparent surprise- Angels were never spoken of in presence of Satan. 

"No." Replied the old man, the thick shadow now slowly expanding towards Zahlael. 

"You are now allowed to use your human form, Zahlael." Said the beautiful woman from before as she snapped her fingers and Zahlael felt his body shift and move around. When he touched his face, he felt facial hair. An untrimmed beard, eyes, nose... 

"You are now allowed to do what you think best, Zahlael." Said the relaxed woman, snapping her fingers as well, and making Zahlael feel like a huge weight was just taken off his shoulders. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like that. It was possible, too, that he had never quite felt like that.

"You are to report to Astab immediately, Zahlael. You are to find out the details of your task when it goes underway." The greek phalanx said.

"Lust." Said the beautiful woman.

"Sloth." Followed the relaxed woman. 

"Gluttony." Said the old fat man. 

"Wrath" Said the greek phalanx.

"Greed." Said the African man.

"Envy." Said the woman who did not speak a word during the whole meeting. 

One by one, they disappeared. As soon as they had mentioned their names, they were gone. By this time, the thick shadow brushed against Zahlael's feet, and he accepted it without any second doubt. Whispers were heard in his mind, whispers that muttered unintelligible words that communicated feelings understandable by everyone. Zahlael could not help the nod that followed the whispers.

And just like that, he found himself in front of Astab's tower.