AN:
You know what? Fuck it. Time to start throwing some (dead) Christians to the (metaphorical) lions. *Sigh" Makes you miss the Romans that much more... They really knew how to deal with religious extremists... (Yes, I know that's ironic. Really, I do.) Let the games begin!
The Golden Portal groaned as Hashtrakh's mind began pulling it open further and further. As it was forcibly wrenched apart, the semi-sentient magical gateway wailed in pain, the sound scraping down the collective spines of the waiting armies like a million claws on a million chalkboards. All along the line, the Souls of the Army of Heaven shivered, recognising and fearing the imminent slaughter that the sounds heralded. Their officers walked amongst them, preaching sermons of honour and courage, but the troops were still scared.
Sebastian laughed as the Portal screamed. It was the death-knell of an enemy that had stood for far too long, but soon he, Sebastian Michaelis, greatest of the Demons, would stand triumphant amongst its charred ruins. He threw back his head and laughed maniacally, shoulders shaking in horrifying mirth. Not noticing or caring that his closest inferiors had begun to back away from him, he stepped from his meat-throne, and strode to the head of his army.
Before him, his vast legions stood in serried ranks, awaiting the order that would unleash them in an orgy of bloodshed and violence; an order that Sebastian would be only too pleased to give. At the front waited the thirteen Grand Demons, living battering-rams that existed for the sole purpose of serving as shock troops in the armies of Hell. Behind them were the rank-and-file, the lesser Demons that made up the bulk of Sebastian's force. They were uniformly muscular beings, with glistening red skin, clutching heavy swords of hellforged iron, but their group similarities ended there. There were bipeds, quadrupeds, even a few tri- and quintipeds. Some were bi- or even tricephalic, and the number of arms seemed to be largely down to the owner's discretion. They were a motley collection of fiends, dredged from the darkest depths of Hell, but they would do. They would do...
They would do... In the alternate dimension populated by humans, another motley collection of fiends had gathered, after two days of hard brainstorming and creativity. The members of Deep Down congregated once more in Carl's sitting room, their base camp for the time being, with various devices filled with rough recordings of their efforts.
For Ciel, it had been two days of bewildering guitar jargon, baffling pieces of equipment, and mysterious lengths of heavy-duty cabling. By the end of the first evening, Ciel had begun to worry seriously about his career choice, and voiced his concerns to Fabian and Carl. The pair had laughed, and comforted him with platitudes such as "it'll all turn out fine" and "you'll get over it", before turning back to their talk of "drop-tuning" and "tremolo picking". However, unsurprisingly, the rookie vocalist was still nervous.
Sitting in Carl's house once more, Ciel listened as the fruits of the other members' labour were revealed. Sy went first, plugging in a battered-looking CD-player. A slow bass beat began to fill the room, gradually quickening into a thunderous double-pedal roll, swelling with the addition of the toms and cymbals into an apocalyptic wall of sound. The brutal percussive attack continued for some five minutes, before tailing off into a quieter outro. As the band shook their heads in an attempt to clear the ringing in their ears, Sy looked around questioningly.
"Whadda'ye reckon?" he asked.
"Good" said Fabian. "I assume you did some more?"
"Aye" replied the drummer. "Five more."
"Awesome. Why don't you go next, Jack?" said Carl.
The bass player shrugged.
"Okay. There's not much to show, really. It's bass. It mostly depends on what you guys play. Although, I did write..."
He was cut off by yells of abuse from his bandmates.
"Jack" said Fabian. "I swear by all that's unholy, if the next words out of your mouth are a bass solo, I'm going to take you outside and beat you to death with your own instrument."
Jack bristled.
"Hey, fuck you Fabian. You're just jealous because you never get solos."
"That's because I play rhythm, fuck-knuckle" retorted the guitarist.
Jack grinned evilly.
"Well maybe if you could play better..."
Fabian went purple.
"You fucking cunt!" he yelled, diving across the room and laying into his bandmate. "At. Least. I. Play. A. Proper. Instrument!" he screamed, punctuating his words with blows.
"At least I don't suck at what I do" spat Jack, lashing out with a fist and catching Fabian squarely in the face, throwing him back off him. Carl quickly jumped in, and dragged Fabian back, much to the disappointment of Sy, who had been merrily cheering the two combatants on.
"Enough, you two" he said, firmly. "I swear, you're like a pair of fucking kids..." He released Fabian, who glowered at Jack through his rapidly-rising black eye. However, neither seemed inclined to continue the fight, and Carl hastily changed the subject, hoping to avoid further bloodshed.
"Moving right along" he said. "This is one of the guitar lines Fabian and I came up with." He picked up a small black remote from the couch beside him, and pointed it to the corner of the room. An expensive-looking stereo system, so far the only thing Ciel had seen in the house that wasn't in a state of disrepair, clicked on.
Instantly, a chunky, quick-tempo riff began blasting out of the speakers. Initially, both Carl and Fabian played the same parts, but the two guitarists soon diverged, Carl's playing becoming more and more intricate whilst Fabian settled into a heavier, chugging beat underneath. After a few minutes, Fabian stopped playing, and Carl launched into a shrieking solo laced with feedback and distortion. As the solo reached its final banshee wail, the music slowly faded out.
Ciel found himself on his feet, stirred to passion by the display of skill he had witnessed.
"That was... that was... Fucking awesome!" he cried. Carl smiled broadly, as did Fabian, who seemed to have forgotten his earlier anger.
"Thanks, man" said Fabian.
"Yeah" added Carl. "Now there are only two things left to do. We need to put this all together into one track, and you need to get working on some lyrics."
Ciel smiled. "I'm on it" he said, with a confidence he only wished he felt inside.
AN:
I've got to ask, is my continued putting-off of the big gory battle scene getting annoying? If so, tough shit. Besides, the wait is near as dammit over. Soon, my pretties, soon... (That was creepier than I intended it to be.) Well, at least the band are getting stuff done... Does it show that I am a vocalist/drummer with absolutely zero idea of how guitars work? Thought so. The tension between Fabian and Jack looks worrying though... (Ah, who am I kidding? Tension between the bass and rhythm players? They're just competing for the "most under-appreciated" slot. I should probably be more worried that the drummer is some kind of sociopath...) Apologies for the random update time, but I had things to do that actually earn me money... Later, good people.