Well, that was fast. I've been feeling the juice more and more lately for some reason!

So when we last left Joseph he was angling to meticulously organize a PR campaign in the abstract, kinda dull but very pretty realm of Heaven! Let's see how that's going, shall we?


Chapter 4: Expecting Company

Peace was never an option in the Infernal Plane. One could not even hope for quiet. The ever-present bubbling chaos of the realm formed the background noise of Hell, an eternal thrum of screams, curses, bloodshed and death. But even in the Pit, the Bad End, only one thing could pierce the chaos with its own noissome, oppressive racket: war.

Hell was no stranger to war. Indeed, war formed much of the chaos that perpetually consumed it. Gang wars, drug wars, turf wars, recreational wars waged by the Hellborn of all rings, even the exceptionally bellicose spats between Royals and their mighty legions were hardly uncommon. However, every so often a conflict would arise that outstrips even these, a war that not even the Royals with all their power could quash while maintaining their precious decorum. This was such a war, raging within the throne of Hell itself, in Pride, Lucifer's domain.

Pentagram City was vast as to beggar the mortal mind, a seemingly and possibly endless sprawl of filthy slums, garish dens of vice, and towering, arcane architecture. But even a wretched hive such as this had a center, and this center was burning. PC Central was once the shining jewel of Lucifer's crown, the dais upon which his throne was perched, cruelly ruled over by the most powerful of Hell's Overlords. Sinners who, through savvy and brutality, had accrued vast power and through it the favor from Hell's Royalty. Their territory and holdings were vast, with caches of treasure and weaponry the envy of all around. But recently, 72 of the most high-ranked and wealthy Overlords had been unceremoniously slaughtered. The ensuing power vacuum could only have one outcome.

Now, thousands of Overlords rushed in with their armies to rip apart the carcasses of the vacant, headless empires. Former generals became warlords, armies became gangs, and the streets became extended abattoirs as they fought among themselves and against the vultures flocking in from all corners of the Damned City. What was once a regal symbol of Lucifer's power, a coalition of vicious empires reigned in by his might, was now a gory ruin as everyone scrabbled and warred for a bloody bite of the corpse.

The legacy of Grand Duke Sallos and his abrupt resignation: the Fifth Great Turf War.

"Good morning Pentagram City!" Katie Killjoy crowed, her rictus smile shining in the harsh glare of the key lights, failing to conceal the brittle resentment radiating off her in nearly-visible waves. "You're tuning into Channel 666. I'm Katie Killjoy, on my own… again, as my co-host Tom Trench is presently mucking about in the field like a lowly reporter whom I am contractually obligated to associate with. Tom, how are things in hobo-land?"

The screen split to show Tom Trench, clad in a tattered camo uniform and a ballistic helmet, his dark glassy eyes alight with excitement as he stood in front of the open bay door of a flying helicopter. "Thank you, Katie! Hello Pentagram City, this is Tom Trench reporting from In The Trenches!"

"Ha ha Tom, you pathetic little maggot!" Katie said, cheerily. "No matter how much you say it, it'll never be a thing."

Immediately, a flashy graphic streaked across the screen with an intense musical sting, the words 'In The Trenches' backdropped by flaming debris, mutilated bodies, and destroyed combat vehicles.

"Who made that titlecard?!" Katie roared, her normal croon now a harridan's bellow. "I didn't sign off on that! Who the fuck gave you shit-stained peasants permission to–"

She paused as someone contacted her through her earpiece, her visage visibly darkening with rage. "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK WHAT HIS RATINGS ARE! YOU GO THROUGH ME BEFORE APPROVING A NEW SHOW! ME! I'M THE BOSS! I OWN–"

The audio from the newsroom cut out as Katie continued her rambling vitriol, smashing the news-table to splinters before accosting someone off camera. The feed cut a 'technical difficulties' placard and then to Tom Trench, looking as though Christmas had come early. "Thank you, Katie! Now, back to the carnage! This morning marks day 100 of the Fifth Great Turf War, which is easily the most bloody and drawn out Great Turf War and perhaps the most brutal conflict Hell has seen since Extermination Day 2016! When you all last tuned in, the Black Stars Brigade had successfully repelled the Vee's incursion into the Bael district. Casualties were catastrophic and Overlord Valentino is reported to have been seriously injured, his current condition is presently unknown. As it stands, the Black Stars are poised to take the entire district by the end of the day!"

Katie's feed cut back in, the media mogul looking distinctly put out, grumbling: "Cut my mic again, Rachel, see what happens–Oh! Please excuse that interruption. Technical difficulties. Tom, I can see it's quite the battle out there! Don't do me a favor and get yourself fucking killed!"

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction, Katie!" Tom replied, pointing to the warzone below. "As you can see, a platoon of Black Star soldiers has been encircled by–"

"That would be the Nazis, right Tom?" Katie interjected. "Friends of yours?"

"Former Nazis, Katie," said Tom, irritated, pointing to the embattle cluster of uniformed demons fighting from behind the cover of their immobilized armored vehicles. "The Black Star Brigade, or Die Schwarze Sterne in Kraut-speak, was founded by fallen German soldiers who have soundly renounced and rejected National Socialism and all its values."

"They kept the uniforms, though, I see."

"Can't argue with that style, Katie!"

"No argument here!" Katie squinted and cocked her head to the side with a grisly snap. "And who's that they're fighting? They're all dressed the same!"

Tom nodded gravely, now pointing to the far more numerous platoons of similarly uniformed demons of varying degrees of mutation. "That would be the Black Sun Corps, their bitter rivals. They were founded by Nazi fanatics who doubled down on the tenets of National Socialism and somehow made them much, much worse!"

Katie blinked, honestly surprised. "How?!"

"Experimental surgery and blasphemous magicks, Katie," Tom shouted over the din. "They really are just the worst!"

"All those stahlhelms out there, Tom, must make branding a pain in the ass!"

"Militarized legal battles have been fought, Katie!" Tom signaled to someone off-screen. "Anyway, enough exposition! Let's get the drones down there for some nice, bloody footage!"

"Anything to stop looking at your ugly mug, Tom!"

The feed cut to outside the helicopter as a half-dozen circular drones disembarked for the battlefield, Tom's voice narrating over the footage. On the ground there were over two dozen remaining Black Star troopers, having since circled their armored halftracks and infantry fighting vehicles once it had become clear they were surrounded, the ruined hulks of metal now only good for cover. The desperation was clear on the demonic soldier's faces, but they maintained discipline and coordinated their fire into blistering killzones to slow the enemy advance as much as possible.

"The Stars are making a good show of themselves," Tom said with the aplomb of a sport's commentator. "Despite their superior numbers, the Suns just can't seem to get a foot in the door!"

"Nazi bodies sure are piling up!" Katie cheered. "You love to see it!"

"Oh wait… are they…?" Tom said as a half-dozen grotesque abominations crested the hill, the shambling heaps of flesh and metal bellowing as they did. "They are! The Suns are unleashing their heavy weapons! They must really want this salient!"

"Tom…" Katie said, horrified. "The fuck."

"That would be the aforementioned surgeries and blasphemous magicks, Katie!" The drones swirled around the beasts, drinking in their horrid, pulsating visages for all of Hell to see. Bulbous masses of diseased flesh growing over crudely implanted cybornetics and weapon-prosthetics, extra eyes blinked and glared from all over their bloated, mismatched forms, superfluous pseudo-mouths gnashing and wheezing. "Infantry who display sufficient courage and brutality are 'blessed' with upgrades. If the mystical rites take, they become immensely powerful demonic mutants. Some continue to mutate until they blossom into what the Suns call 'ubermesnchen', or Ubers, their ruling class. Those who don't… Well, we're getting an eyeful of the end-results right now!"

"You weren't kidding, Tom!" Katie said, her tone cheerful despite her clear disgust. "They really are the worst! Am I correct in assuming these walking pork giblets are called 'Unters'?"

"That you are, Katie. The Suns really aren't the most creative bunch in Hell!"

The leading Unter the drone was trailing lumbered to a stop, raising a ruined, boil-ridden arm, its mechanical claw snapping open. In its chest was a metal plate with translucent crystal dome in the center, it thrummed and glowed sickly green, the veins under its pebbled hide becoming a glowing web of harlequin lines, the pulsating boils flickering like firebugs. Demonic essence coalesced through the prosthetic hand, building within the apertures in its palm. An instant later and a focused lance of green hell-energy surged forth, slicing through a battered IFV, consuming it in a coughing explosion that sent the flaming hulk sailing through the air. The soldiers hiding behind it now screaming and flailing beneath a second skin of writhing green flame.

"Whoa-HO!" Katie cheered, clapping. "Uggo's got some moves! Look at that schnitzel fry!"

"There's a reason they even bother with these things, Katie," said Tom, pointing to the other five beasts charging up their various weapons. "Things don't look good for the Stars, their flank is open and the Suns are going to swarm in!"

Katie cocked her head, finger to her earpiece as she listened. "What's that noise?"

A low, encroaching drone filled the air, a deep, oppressive buzz that soon became a roar. The camera drones spun about to the source of the sound, a fast approaching formation of roaring V-1 flying bombs.

"And the Stars' forward lines appear to be countering with a barrage of doodlebugs!" Tom exclaimed, his voice taking on a hushed, amazed tone. "Wait… camera six, zoom and enhance on the lead bomb!"

The feed zoomed in, showing the grainy outline of a large figure standing atop the speeding jet-propelled drone, his stance wide and arms crossed as he straddled the lead buzz-bomb.

"Could it be…?"

The image cleared, revealing a tall, powerfully built demon dressed in the colors of a German general, his eyes and face obscured by the visor of his tall decorated peaked cap, perfectly standing steadfast atop his head despite the 600kph winds buffeting his body. He lifted his face, revealing the black-feathers and curved, regal beak of a mighty eagle, his eyes a pale and eerie blue.

"It is!" Tom Trench cheered. "It's Brigadier General Heidelberg!"

The General smirked and leapt high, clearing the roaring engine nacelle as the bomb soared onwards. He spun through the air, streaking down to the ground towards his embattled warriors, smashing into the ground in an explosion of dirt and debris before casually strolling out of the crater, dusting off his pristine uniform. He raised his hand in the air and turned his back to the teeming enemies, bringing his hand down in a slicing motion and an instant later the hill was consumed in a wall of massive explosions as the bombs found their mark among the massed throng of the Suns.

"Talk about making an entrance!" Katie said, impressed. "Also, who?"

"Brigadier General Heidelberg is the founder and commander of the Black Star Bigade!" Tom exclaimed. "He could have become an Overlord if he wanted to, but he insists on fighting on the front lines with his men! Buckle up, Pentagram City! This fight's about to get interesting!"

A Black Star sergeant, a robustly built, heavily-scarred Hellhound, rushed up to General, something like reverence in his wide red eyes. "General! We held out as long as we could! We–"

He silenced the pup with a hand, smirking. "Enough, Sergeant Hund. Rally your men and prepare for a fighting retreat! I'll cover you!"

Sergeant Hund snapped into a rigid salute. "Yes, General!"

As the remains of the platoon broke into squads and conducted independent covered retreats, laying down smoke grenades and suppressing fire. With that Heidelberg turned back to the flaming battlefield, doffing his peaked cap and officer's jacket in a single fluid motion, revealing his powerfully built torso and a tall flat-topped crest of bright golden feathers atop his head.

"Oooh~" Katie swooned, fanning herself. "Camera four, let's get a close-up of the General's assets!"

The drone slowly circled the muscular demon, a glossy filter added over the footage as the banner 'hunk-alert' flashed at the top and bottom of the screen, little drooling Katie-heads with hearts for eyes dancing about.

If Heidelberg noticed, he did not show it, instead focused on the incoming enemy. Sure enough, the surviving Black Suns advanced out of the smoke and flames left by the two-dozen 850kg high-explosive warheads. Many had been blown into pieces, but not enough, nowhere near enough. Heidelberg sprinted toward the advancing soldiers, closing the distance. They raised their weapons and opened fire, only for the General to be launched into the air by an inexplicable vortex of wind from his feet.

"Wait, what was that?" Katie interjected.

"Just you wait, Katie,"said Tom, amused. "The Brig has more than a few tricks up his sleeve!"

Somersaulting through the air, Heidelberg reached under his arm and produced a blessing-tipped M42 machine-gun with a 250rd box magazine. The weapon roared with its characteristic buzzsaw sound, raking the advancing lines with punishing firepower, severing limbs and peppering bodies.

"Did he just pull that out of his armpit?" Katie asked, smiling at the carnage.

"Heidelberg's demonic ability allows him to store a single item on any major part of his body, allowing him to carry up to six weapons of any type within his person!"

"Talk about an ass-pull! Or should I say, pit-pull!"

Heidelberg set down behind the ravaged first wave and dumped the rest of his ammo into their backs, sawing some of the closer demons clean in half.

"And are those blessings I see on the gun?" Katie observed, whistling. "Pretty swank!"

"Indeed they are, Katie! While not Carmine-level, these blessings will make healing almost impossible without medical attention! Those who get knocked out of the fight, stay out!"

The M42 clicked as it exhausted its ammo. Heidelberg flipped the red-hot weapon in his hands and spun around, roaring as he swung it like a club at the screaming Black Sun soldier leaping out of a bank of smoke behind him, bayonet raised high over his head. The gun-turned-bludgeon smashed into his ribs with immense force, the malformed demon's torso crumpled and burst open with a wet, boney crunch. The M42 shattered into a hundred pieces as the pulverized demon flew into a quartet of his compatriots with the force of a runaway truck, flooring them.

"Ouch! Does that count as getting blessed?"

"Either way, he's not walking that one off!"

The General reached under his left arm and produced a ornately blessed StG-44 with a jungle-style magazine and conducted a fighting retreat. He placed expertly-aimed bursts into the second wave as they appeared, stepping out of the uneven columns of thick black smoke left by the bombardment, their own cover blinding them. He bobbed and weaved around poorly coordinated counterfire, placing his own shots on the flashes in the smoke. He paused for a moment to flip and switch his magazine before resuming only for his sharp eagle-eyes to catch a flicker of magenta to his right flank. A flash of light and Black Sun stormtroopers burst from a ley-line, transported bodily across the magick filament. He rolled behind a large shard of burning metal, but not before catching a stray burst of MP-40 fire across his right thigh, the blessings burning away his demonic resilience.

"And the General's been hit!" Katie crowed, grinning. "This is getting good!"

"He's not out of the fight just yet, Katie!"

Heidelberg spat obscenities before resuming his barrage from under cover, only for additional ley-lines to flare to life all around him, disgorging soldiers, several of whom materialized as screaming lumps of flesh as the ley-lines were overburdened. Surrounded, the eagle-demon smiled, opening his beak wide and out of his gullet came the nozzle of a blessed flammenwerfer-41. With a roar, a stream of blessed flame over 30-meters long streaked from the demon's mouth. His limber avian neck twisted about as he swept across the enemy soldiers in a 180º arc, engulfing scores of them in flames. He spun his head about again, sure to thoroughly coat his enemies in liquid flame before 'swallowing' the nozzle.

"Looks like someone needs a tic-tac!" Katie said, waving her hand in front of her nonexistent nose. "Talk about killer breath!"

"I had the same reaction to Chef Dhamer's 6-Alam 'Giving Up the Ghost Pepper' rump-roast chili!"

Heidelberg took this opportunity to pat his left thigh, causing a med-kit to erupt from his pant-leg. Wasting no time, he opened it and produced a cruel-looking device not unlike a winged corkscrew. Grimacing, he set it over a bullet wound, plunging the device into the bloody channel and, with a squeeze of the wings, extracted the bullet. He repeated this for every bullet, while it would not heal until the blessed tissue was removed, it would cause no further damage.

After hurriedly bandaging himself up, he popped back up over the wreckage, his eagle-eyes catching sight of the demonic mage a hundred meters up the hill through dissipating curtains of smoke. He was surrounded by a full-strength platoon of heavily armed stormtroopers, chanting as he prepared to displace them onto his position. He took aim for the arcane magenta orb atop the mage's staff and fired with the last rounds in his StG-44, shattering it in a flare of unleashed power. The maelstrom of energy painfully discorporated the mage entirely and horribly disfigured the troopers around him, warping their bodies into hideous, agonizing shapes, inverting them into their own bodies, or fusing them to the bodies of their comrades.

"Clever use of the smear-tool!" Katie chirped, tapping a finger to her chin. "Be sure to grab me a few of those magick-mangled Nazis, Tom, my boudoir needs some new modern art!"

"Get in line, Katie, after today I think there's going to be a run for authentic Heidelberg works!"

"And if he dies, even better!"

Sure enough, the smoke cleared to reveal an advancing third wave of troops, weapons roaring as they peppered the small chunk of wreckage with automatic fire, an IFV with a dual MG-131 roared, slowly but surely shredding the General's cover. Heidelberg grimaced and patted his left leg, a Panzerfaust bursting open his pants and into his hand. He dead-reckoned the location of the vehicle as he prepared to pop out and fire when a whistling sounded through the air. Coughing explosions erupted as mortars fell among the dense ranks of the advancing troops, sending bodies flying high into the air and laying others flat with blast and shrapnel. Heidelberg looked around as automatic fire roared from behind him, his troops rushed into battle, gunning down the surprised Black Suns.

"General!" Barked a familiar voice, Sergeant Hund.

"Sergeant?!" Heidelberg snapped. "I ordered you to retreat!"

"You did, sir, but we ran into the vanguard of Colonel Tress's force!" The Sergeant said as he helped his general to his feet. "She figured you'd need bailing out."

"She would…" Heidelberg chuckled, accepting a machine gun as it was offered and tightening the compress on his injured leg. "Come! Let us scourge these vermin from our territory!"

"General, we really must tend to that leg!"

"Nonsense!" Heidelberg bellowed, raising his arms as he called out to his soldiers. "THE BLACK STAR BRIGADE~!?"

"IS THE BEST IN HELL!" Was the roared reply.

Heidelberg leapt out into the battlefield, firing his Panzerfaust into the glacis of the IFV, the shaped charge slicing through the armor and igniting its innards, the turret and the soldiers within it launched into the air on a pillar of crackling flame. He wasted no time swinging the spent launch-tube down on a stunned Black Sun trooper, his stahlhelm crumpling like a beer can as his head telescoped into his shoulders in a squirt of blood and brains. A lance of green Hell-energy sliced across the battlefield, vaporizing a dozen soldiers. Heidelberg hissed a curse as the huge Unters lumbred out of the craters left by the V-1s, having survived the blasts easily, but were too clumsy to quickly navigate the ruined ground. But now they were here, ready to fight. Six of the grotesques trundled towards the advancing Black Stars in a V-formation, soaking up automatic fire thrown at them like it was so much confetti, their magick-infused flesh resistant to the blessings. Beams of Hell-energy blasted the oncoming soldiers, bisecting or vaporizing all they hit, immolating the near-misses.

"We must retreat!" Sergeant Hund cried as he poured round after blessed round into the encroaching Unters, quite in vain. "We'll need Colonel Tress' panzers to handle these things!"

"Bah!" Heidelberg laughed, locking his hands behind his head as he thrust his abdomen forward. "Let these beasts taste the resolve of the Black Star Brigade!"

Out of his rippling abs came the blessed muzzle and long barrel of a 8.8cm Flak 41.

"THE BEST IN HELL!"

With a deafening roar, the cannon belched smoke and light, hurling a nearly 10kg high-explosive projectile downfield at over 1000m/s. It impacted the lead Unter center-mass and sank into its protruding gut like wet clay. An instant later the high-explosive filling blasted its bulbous body apart into piles of stinking, tumorous meat, sickly harlequin energy wafting off the offal like noxious steam.

"What kind of ab workout do I have to do to get results like that?" Tom said, chuckling.

"Fewer cheeseburgers couldn't hurt, you pudgy little shit!" Katie replied.

Sergeant Hund turned to Heidelberg as he shoved the barrel back into his body. "But sir, you only had one round chambered! What about the rest of them? We must retreat, General!"

"Hardly!" Heidelberg barked, marching towards the revolting creatures. "Watch and learn, Sergeant!"

Heidelberg power-walked toward the advancing line, ducking and weaving around the green blasts the Unters were sending his way, their attention now firmly on the General. "The Black Suns seek power, but know not where true power lies, so they twist and pervert themselves, contorting into ridiculous, disgusting shapes chasing that power! But, like a dog chasing its tail, they don't realize what they seek was with them all along!"

"Is he fucking monologuing?" Katie said, incredulously.

"Shh!" Tom hissed, audibly munching popcorn.

"Don't you shush me you little shi–!" Katie snarled.

"Look! Look at his arms!"

Heidelberg held his arms out to the sides, smoothly bringing them forward and cocking them at opposing angles, he continued: "Mystical rites and cybernetics will only get you so far, like training wheels on a bike, but it is your own balance that allows you to ride to your full potential, and so it is with power! Weapons, magic, mutations, what are they without the will to use them? The will to achieve your goals is true power! That willpower flows from our very Souls, and down here… SOULS COME FIRST!"

"What the fuck is he even on about?" Katie sighed.

"Is he going to…" Tom said, his tone ecstatic. "Yes! Yes, he is! The Winds of Wrath!"

"The wha–"

General Heidelberg's arms snapped into action and vanished in a blur, from that blur came an immense vortex of vapor, debris, and then a surge of glowing green Hellfire. The hurricane of heat and slicing wind consumed the Unters, their beams of Hell-energy bending and warping, pushed back on them as hypersonic air currents sliced them to ribbons, whorls of demonic flame reducing those ribbons to char and then to ash to be scattered about the battlefield. One by one the Unters were annihilated until nothing remained but a huge, glowing delta of molten earth and slagged metal before the victorious General.

"What the shit was that?!" Katie exclaimed, her talons digging into the tabletop in shock.

"General Heidelberg is a practitioner of a mysterious and secret martial art he calls Seelenerste," Tom explained, an informative graphic overlaid on the screen. "Roughly translated, it means 'Soul first'. By sheer force of will, he's able to completely control every molecule of his body. One of his signature moves is the Winds of Wrath, wherein he rotates his arms at incredible speeds in opposite directions, the resulting vacuum between these two vortexes produces counter-spinning blades of hypersonic air-pressure capable of pulverizing stone, slicing steel, and vaporizing flesh! But that's just the beginning! He also wills his own essence to erupt from the skin of his arms, imbuing the air with highly unstable demonic energy that instantly ignites and transforms this destructive tornado into a devastating maelstrom of pure Hellfire! Nothing short of Royalty can withstand a direct hit for more than an instant!"

"That sounds like bullshit, but I believe it!" Katie said, smiling ghoulishly. "Where do I sign up for that dojo?"

"Maybe we can find out!" Tom replied. "I was just contacted by the PR manager of the Black Star Brigade and they'd be open to an interview!"

"Only if we can get the Black Suns on at the same time! Think of the ratings!" Katie cackled, rubbing her hands together. "An interview without bloodshed may as well be a charity drive!"

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Katie!" The feed showed the victorious Black Stars routing their demoralized enemies, their main force of mechanized infantry entering the fray in a swarm of tanks and soldiers, before cutting back to Tom Trench in the berth of the helicopter. "That just about does it for episode 100 of In The Trenches with me, your host, Tom Trench. And what an episode it was! I'd like to take the time we have left to thank our generous sponsor, Papa Playlist's Instant Minions! Using a proprietary method, Papa Playlist's Instant Minions can provide you with large numbers of effective, disposable minions for a price that just can't be beat! Be sure to visit their website and peruse the full catalog of products, you're sure to find something for your exact needs! Remember, if it ain't Papa's, don't play!"

The 4k plasma screen TV flickered, casting a dim blue light on the interior of the boudoir. A commercial came on nest, extolling the virtues of the very product just shamelessly plugged by that gas-masked vulgarian. The viewer paid it no mind, for he had seen it infinite times in a prescient vision.

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A blast of concentrated Hellfire annihilated the 4k to ash and slag, immediately and dutifully scooped up by a pair of sharply dressed imps, they polished the scorched marble floor where the appliance had been before bowing and absconding into the nearly-invisible access door from whence they came. Grand Prince Orobas sighed and slumped back on his throne, his hand clasped over his face, only his scarred, milky third eye uncovered.

Calamity.

There simply was no other word for it. Complete and utter calamity.

Imps with access to Earth? Pretty bad, but manageable.

The Corpse in Hell? Yikes. But it will be found, because of course it will.

Nope. Uh-oh.

Rally the legions! Surely a Grand Prince whose purview is prescience and prophecy would be able to dig up a moldering old unstoppably powerful Holy relic?

With a familiar anxiety he saw his preferred future fail to come to pass, the canny Sinners always, somehow, one step ahead.

Nuclear option, then. Call in Big Brother-In-Law.

Sic Sallos on the problem. That'll clear it up! Sallos always made the problems go away.

"And now…" Orobas sighed aloud, to no one. "He's dead."

Orobas was excruciatingly aware of the circumstances surrounding his beloved Brother-In-Law's death. Sure, Sally and his bitch sister never got along, but he withstood her haranguing longer than any sane being would have, wearing her vitriol down to a nub before amicably proposing a civil separation.

He was like that.

A pacifist at heart.

It was this quality that shined him to Lucifer, as he could more reliably extract amicable outcomes as opposed to that scheming, duplicitous mountain of lard, Astaroth, or his billowing, blustering cousin. That ambulatory club of a demon, Allocer. An actual peacekeeper, rather than a blame-shifter or a quiet-maker. Sallos never failed. Until, that is, he was unceremoniously murdered after executing one of Lucifer's infantile, petty jabs.

Such a thing was almost incomprehensible, and for a while paralyzed Hell's Royalty with paranoia and shock. Was this some kind of joke?! Who could have possibly killed Sallos and wouldn't immediately brag about it? Who could have killed Sallos and not looked like they just barely survived? No one. Not one of their number, anyway.

Orobas supposed it didn't matter. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered is that the Corpse was still at large, in the hands of Sinners, formerly mortal souls, exponentiating the danger. Demons - that is to say, Royal Demons - while cruel and capricious, had Decorum, a certain sensibility and insight as to how Creation was run. They ultimately knew their place and sought to maintain it.

Sinners had no such things. Sinners, at their core, had only a gaping, bloody hole where God's love used to be and an insatiable, no, a bottomless need to fill it. The Corpse in the hands of Sinners was far and away the worst case scenario. And he feared it was about to get much, much worse. In a final act of rebellion and fury, Sallos had plunged Pride into absolute chaos, this new, immense turf war now made finding the Corpse nigh-on impossible! Dangerous, even! Orobas personally had lost over a thousand of his legionnaires to the indiscriminate carnage! An unthinkable prospect just a few years ago, but it seemed that someone very wealthy and well-connected had flooded the black market with Angelic weaponry, blessing sigils, and arcane artifacts, making sifting through the warzone a dangerous prospect even for the Goetia themselves! Either Trouble and his gang were behind it themselves, or were making excellent use of an opportunity, expanding their operation under the cover of war, becoming richer and more difficult to pin down.

Orobas sighed deeply.

Most of the Goetia and Hell's Royalty seemed content to allow the Sinners to run rampant. Indeed, it made for some very entertaining viewing. Even Lucifer had suspended the deployment of his remaining Peacekeepers, as they had yet to fully divvy and incorporate Sallos' assets. For the time being, Hell's Royalty was just waiting this one out, confident that the war, like all the others, would resolve itself in time as the Overlords winnowed out the weak and incompetant and a new ruling body would form from the ashes.

In time.

But they didn't know, not even Lucifer knew, that there wasn't any time to lose. That indolence now would be not only Hell's undoing, but all of Creation.

Among his fellow Hell Prophets, Orobas was unique. He alone held within him a morbid fixation on the End Times, Doomsday, the Apocalypse. That one fixed point in all of Creation, the inevitable event wherein Father would unleash his agents of destruction from wherever he saw fit to put them and wipe the slate clean. His fellow Prophets shied away from it, avoided it, preferring to focus on the 'soon' and how they could make those possible 'soons' benefit them in some way. Orobas saw the maelstrom of the timestream as nauseating and mercurial, prone to unfolding in unpredictable, often ruinous ways. The deadzones, the infinite possibilities of random chance and fate, always threaten to undo even the most meticulously cultivated predictions, always casting a shadow of doubt over his visions. In all of time there were but two points free of this shadow, the Beginning… and the End.

Whenever he felt overwhelmed by his duties, by the chaos of prophecy, he would contemplate the End Times, finding its certainty oddly comforting, an unmoving rock in a raging river.

But then… a shadow appeared.

No words, not even the Holy Tongues he sang as an Angel, could fully articulate the dread he felt upon seeing that shadow of doubt. There was nothing that could change the End Times, nothing that could divert it or delay it. It simply was. The only thing he suspected, no, knew, that could cast a shadow on the Apocalypse was the Apocalypse itself. The Apocalypse come early.

Not if he had anything to say about it!

He pressed the button on the intercom an instant before the call came from the doorman. "Show them in."

A pair of sharply dressed imps appeared once more, deferentially opening the door to reveal two regally suited demons, the light from the hallway casting their shadows long in the darkened boudoir. The larger one, a broad-shouldered, handsomely proportioned wolf-demon with the regal wings of a griffin and a writhing serpentine tail, snapped into a respectful posture. The somewhat shorter demon, a lithely built bespectacled felinoid with the colors and patterns of a noble leopard, glanced over for a moment before clumsily mimicking the pose.

"Enter."

They did, the door closing behind them, silently approaching the Prophet, stopping a respectful distance from his throne.

"Grand Marquis Marchosias," said Prince Orobas.

The wolfish Marquis stepped forward, bowing shallowly. "My Prince."

"President Ose."

The shorter leopard demon, a mere President of Hell, stepped forward, bowing deeper. "My Prince."

"You are apprised of the situation." It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

"We are," rumbled Marchosias.

"Marchosias, you and your thirty legions will accompany Ose and his agents. You will find the Saint's Corpse and put those holding it to the sword. Take no prisoners, show no mercy. You are not to bring them prostrate before Lucifer for adequate punishment. Kill them all as quickly and efficiently as you can. Let nothing stand in your way. Not the Sinners, not our fellow Goetia, not Decorum. Go quietly and with the utmost discretion as to not alert your prey… or Lucifer."

"Lucifer does not know?" Ose said, his deep voice soft and lightly accented.

Orobas' eyes narrowed, his frown deepening into a scowl. "Lucifer cannot know the urgency of this mission."

"Why?" Ose asked, unwisely.

"Because…" Orobas said, rising from his throne, his silken robes sliding off his body like liquid. His hooves crackled like thunderclaps on Hell marble as he made his way down the dais until he loomed over them, his eleven-foot equine frame thew with corded muscle. "Should he find out, he will bring about the End of Times in his outrage and desperation."

Ose quailed slightly and nodded, bowing once more.

Orobas preempted the question Ose would have foolishly voiced in alternate timelines. "How are you to succeed where Sallos failed? You will both have an advantage he did not. A third party will be assisting you, albeit without their knowledge. They will commit themselves to it with a desperation and resourcefulness the two of you, with all your gifts, cannot hope to match. Shadow them, facilitate them if you can, but do not make yourselves known to them, for it is their obscurity that will ensure their success… and yours."

"Third party?" Marchosias rumbled, eyes glowing.

"Oh, yes…" Orobas said, turning from them and walking over to an enormous patio window, throwing open the curtains and letting the debauched red light of Pride to pour in, his three eyes locking onto the gateway to Hell, the glowing red pentagram in the sky. "Hell is expecting company. Now, to your mission."

With that they bowed and left. Prince Orobas turned back to the window, allowing his worry to show on his face. This had to work. It had to. This one time he would avert his worst predictions. Failure was not an option.


SIKE!

You thought this was going to be a boring legal procedural rife with unsubtle social commentary regarding Current Year? Ha!

...That's next chapter.

But yeah, hey, look who it is! You guys should have known I couldn't leave Stroheim's LOUD German ass out of this series forever, and boy howdy it looks like he's picked up some fun new tricks!

I wonder how... keep reading and find out!