"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster." – Nietzsche
Sparda turned swiftly, his claws out at the ready. They shot out, hooking themselves in the demons' heads and as the knight pulled, the heads came off cleanly, dripping blood and staining his iron weapons crimson. The surviving creatures not within his immediate range roared in anguish for their fallen comrades, and charged forwards. Sparda grinned, grabbing the one at the lead by its jaw and flipping it over his head to land on top of two demons about to leap onto his back. A third got a claw in Sparda's leg before his skull was crushed easily by a charred and blackened hoof. A fourth latched steel jaws onto Sparda's right clawed hand, and as it bit down Sparda's lengthened talons shot through its brain and out the top of its head, killing it instantly. Instead of flinging it easily away, Sparda kept the demon on his hand and began clubbing the last remaining demons with their comrade's limp body. The deed was done easily enough, and Mundus looked down at his knight, pleased.
"Well done again, Sparda. I am glad to be rid of these traitors quickly." Mundus' booming voice bounced against the Underworld's fleshy walls, muffling the sound but somehow keeping it commanding.
"I am not worthy of such praise, Lord. I only do what I can, and what pleases you pleases me." Sparda answered, his head bent low and his body kneeled over on one knee. His demonic energy thrummed throughout the spacious Killing Hall. Blackened and yellowed bones littered the floor; some ignored few jabbing into Sparda's bent knee. The walls pulsed with their own life, veins running from fleshy floor to fleshy ceiling, pumping black blood. The bodies of the newly killed traitorous demons had been reduced to a newer, whiter pile of bones, empty of flesh that had been burned away.
Mundus leaned back on his throne, his ivory stone head leaning on a hand. The feathers on his enormous wings fluttered in some unknown breeze, and littered the Hall, all in a perfect white form; never touched or burned or crushed. His stone body was equally as cleanly white as each feather that occupied his home. "You are always so eager to please me, Sparda. You are indeed the best of my knights." The great stone god motioned to some hidden devil behind Sparda, and the Phantom emerged, lava blood casting an orange glow on the pink muscled walls. Clasped in his jaws was a woman - a human - bound tightly by black chains that burned against her skin. She struggled in the bindings as Phantom laid the human at the feet of Mundus, bowed his head, and thundered away. Sparda glanced at the woman who still struggled against the chains, making noises muffled by a black ribbon tied around her mouth.
"Who is this woman, Lord?" Sparda asked, one eye still on her as she wriggled fiercely.
"A mortal. A devil hunter. Her family has been an annoyance to me for too long, so I thought I'd send them a message via their youngest - and last - daughter." Mundus laughed, and the boom continued to echo even as he began speaking again. "You have been good to me, Sparda. Never asked questions, and always obeyed, ever since I created you. I know I've kept you away from Nevan and the other succubi for too long. I thought it was time to reward you with something... better. Sweeter. Innocent. I want you to do what you will to her, loyal Sparda, but make it... permanent. I can feel your desires constantly because I created you and your desires. I know how long you have gone without flesh."
Sparda looked down at the blonde woman with a feeling akin to hunger. He nodded graciously at Mundus and hefted the struggling woman up and onto one of his broad shoulders, his demonic insect wings curled around his back.