[color=purple][h2][center]Sliske Arkilius[/center][/h2][/color]
Battered and broken from the trials of Hohenheim the Alchemist, Sliske returned to Hell in his usual fashion:  Condensing from a probably lethal gas in the foyer of his manor close to the center of his homeland.  As always, reanimation wasn't a particularly pleasant experience, though a moment of excruciating pain beat an eternity of darkness.  As was protocal, the entire staff of Arkilius Manor arrived to observe their master come back to life once again and welcome him home.

As his body returned to its wholeness, the eyes of the Serpent-Tongued Swindler opened and were immediately consumed in the rage typical of him.  Moving swiftly, he crossed the room and grabbed one of the butlers by the collar of his shirt.  This servant was a hideous creature, some mix of an orc and a goblin with red skin and an untamed mass of shaggy black hair running all the way down to a whip-like tail.  [color=purple]"You, I have a job for you and your kind..."[/color]  The demon reached inside of his jacket and thrust an ancient slip of paper into the chest of the imp in his grasp, letting him go with an overly agressive drop.  [color=purple]"Mass produce those, you're riding onto the battlefield the second they're ready.  I want them done by the next battle!"[/color]  With that, he turned to the door and set a brisk pace, the crowd around him parting to make way for the embodiment of wrath.  One tried to give chase with something akin to a telegram in its hands, though its stumpy legs undermined this effort.

The door flew open with a concussive blast, the phoenix belonging to Sliske ready and waiting for her leige to mount and ride her.  And that's just what he did, one leg was swung over her back and tucked underneath the left wing, right leg doing the same.  [color=purple]"To Rufus' throne.  I need to have a chat with him..."[/color]  She took off, soaring across the burning skies of Hell with grace a relatively short distance to the throne of the land.

Upon their arrival at the steps up to the seat of power, Sliske dismounted and began his ascent.  It appeared that Henry had beat him there, earning dissatisfied grunt from the older demon.  He had been hoping to catch the King of Hell alone, though that seemed to be out of the question.  He looked up from the bastard bowing at the top of the stairs as his foot landed on the landing, catching a glimpse at the new Queen.

Had a mortal gotten this angry at any point in their lives, they would've popped a blood vessel and died on the spot.  However, Sliske was not a mortal, so his claws burrowed into his palms and a pair of bony spikes began to grow out of his back, membranous wings taking shape already.  [color=purple]"I'm gone for a fucking day, and this bitch takes over Hell?  What kind of shit is this, I've been masterminding a takeover for the last millenia, and you walk in and kick him out like that!?  I'm not the goddamn strongest person in this shithole, but my army makes up all the support of Hell's army."[/color]  He realized what he just said, wings receding and a smug grin plastering itself across his face.  The cards were in his hands, and he could potentially bargain at this point.

[color=purple]"I'll let you take the throne, but if you want my units in this war any longer you'll dance to my tune.  Think about it, the horde's useless without anything to keep it stocked and buffed in battle."[/color]  The trademarked chuckles of victory sounded from the incubus, hand extending for a pact to be sealed.

[center][@TheWindel][@floodtalon][/center]