Blitzo looked around at the candle-lit BDSM dungeon and sighed, squiggling down in chalk the circle for the summoning according to what he understood from the grimoire.
"Kinky bastard, making me do all the heavy-lifting." He grumbled under his breath, putting in place the pikes to which the handcuffs would be attached.
Blitzo wasn't at all against roughing it up in bed –or the floor–, but ever since that shit-show against the human government, Stolas had discovered that he liked 'certain scenarios', and now he made Blitzo play the part of the deranged cultist to his 'defiled god', and he would be alright with that, really! If only the jackass wouldn't have him go through ALL of it rather than just get to the fucking. Maybe he shouldn't have used the bear traps. Dramatic much? Yeah.
"And now, I summon you, oh great- you know what? I'm not saying all that bullshit! Hey, you, pompous dick, come over here so I can bend you over!" He yelled at the Circle. "Oh, what? Too vulgar for your Highness? Hmm?" A devilish –or rather, impish– smirk spread on his face. "Ah, come on, you star-caped annoying royal! Don't ya want me to give you another little death? That was good, wasn't it? If so, then bring your big, crowned head here and let's have some fun!"
The chalk on the floor flickered with a weak light, powering up and then dimming down again, as if unsure of what it was supposed to do, to bring.
"Ugh, you'll be the death of me like this." Blitzo grumbled, dragging his hand down his face.
Finally! The circle glowed a bright green, and the inferno-red flames of the candles emulated it, making the imp look up from the grimoire.
"That's not supposed to happen like that."
Above the circle, a spiral of green fog slowly spread out, opening a gateway to a purple landscape filled with doors. Looking directly at it as he was, Blitzo couldn't protect himself from the flash of light that inundated the sex dungeon and blinded him.
"Ow! MotherFUCKER!" He groaned, scurrying away to hide behind a tantra chair and stumbling all the way there.
The imp rubbed at his eyes and once the light had subsided (haha, sub) he risked a blurry glance back.
Colourful spots danced on his vision in the darkened room, and the green candlelight seemed extra bright, so Blitzo could be –only a little bit– excused for not noticing the dark creature shrouded in stars, with bottomless green pools for eyes, and a headful of dancing, green and white flames.
When he did, though, he reacted the way anyone who had just performed a botched summoning ought to: shooting first, asking questions never.
"Hey! Ouch! What the Hell, man? You called me here!" The creature –whatever the fuck it as– complained as a bullet hit it, in a wobbly, high-pitched voice. (Considering its sinister presentation, Blitzo would consider anything other than a growl to be high-pitched.)
"Sucks to be you then, I guess." Blitzo said, even as he looked for a way out of the dungeon without having to take down a wall or something.
(For a born and raised denizen of Hell, he didn't consider that by doodling drawing the Circle closer to the door, he would be effectively trapped with what would come out of it.)
(Okay, fine. However annoying Stolas could be, he'd never force Blitzo to do something he didn't want, and it had been Stolas he had wanted expected here. So. No really his fault.)
The whole room was frozen solid in a second, by a thin, yet firm, sheen of ice.
Blitzo gulped.
"Come out and let's talk." The being said in a voice much like the ice: deceptively normal until you tried to fight it, and found out that it wouldn't give. "You can start explaining to me why am I here in…"
"Hell." Blitzo informed what posed as a human teen, but he wouldn't be dumb enough to confuse for one.
"Yeah, why the heck am I in Hell, man?" It did look like a teenager, at second glance as well as the first one.
Blitzo made inventory of the weapons he had on himself at the moment anyway, because Stolas was a very kinky demon, knowing damn well how fucked up teenage-whatevers could be.
(All teenagers of any kind were awful, that was just a fact. Except for Loona, of course, she was great.)
"You tell me why the fuck did you use the summoning circle of a Prince of Hell?" He reloaded his gun and readied his whip. He would have to go for the throat, since rather than legs it had a wispy tail, with no hipbones to secure the whip when he pulled.
"Is that what this is supposed to be?" The awful, no-good thing said with a snort. "You should consider some drawing classes, buddy."
Blitzo shot his gun four times and threw his whip at the asshole's neck, watching how his body morphed holes into itself, closing them again once the bullets had gone through, and how the whip landed on his neck and then fell down when he pulled at it, and all he got for his trouble was an unimpressed lift of an eyebrow.
"Huh, 'Guess that's out of the table, then." Blitzo mumbled.
The temperature in the room dropped even lower still. He swallowed hard and looked back up to the teenage figure, who had approached in complete silence and now seemed to be surrounded by wreathing shadows.
"If that is all I have a question, mister imp." The thing said, with cold mist coming out of its mouth and frosting on Blitzo's face with every word it spoke. "W̢̛̱̍͊̂h̶̢̘͉̬̐̕e̢̘͙̋̊͑͡r̵̢̛̳̲͐͑͛ȇ̶̬́̈́̕͜ i̴̢̖̖̭̾͂͠n̢̞̳̮҇̐ Ḩ̛̰͓͚͂̈ę̴̬͈̦̃̐̈́̕ļ̛͓͚̉̓l̶̢͍͎͕̓́͒͝ a̴̧̭͕̟҇̓̓̌m̴͉͑̓͗͢͡ I̢̛̗͚͊?̨͈͈̈́͗̕"
Blitzo fingered the grenade safety behind his back, and discarded the idea of making a run for the book and to the human world as quickly as he had it. Even if the book was completely safe and unfrozen right where he had left it, Blitzo was still pretty much frozen to the one right now, to his very soul, if he had had one, and could only imagine how easy it would be for the thing looming over him to wring his neck or impale him with a pike of ice.
Damn, and the day had started with plans for a good kind of impaling.
"For real, man, which circle is this? Can I just fly away or do I need to take the Lift?"
In the span of a blink, Blitzo was no longer facing some eldritch abomination, but a very tired very stressed guy with bags under the bags of his eyes.
"We're in Pride, so, no need to get to the lift, kid." The imp offered with a small shrug.
The boy –boy again? Those dead eyes screamed college and taxes!– nodded and looked around the dungeon, grimacing. With a wave of his hand, the ice covering the place melted into nothing, without even a wet patch to be seen anywhere.
"Look," it started. Or he, or they, whatever, "I don't want to even think about what you're up to, but the people that insist on calling me clueless or naïve are wrong, so," he locked eyes with Blitzo, and there was a knowing look to him, of the kind that considered knowledge to be a burden, "tell Prince Stolas he owes a big favor to Phantom for not ratting him out on improper use of an ancient hellish artefact." He floated over towards the still open grimoire, and looked back at Blitzo. "And do take some drawing classes, for the sake of anyone that can be summoned."
His hands moved on their own and the next thing he knew was that he had thrown the grenade up to the laughing being as it phased through the ceiling.
"Shit." He cursed, and the next-next thing he knew he had dashed to the adjoined bathroom whose door was no longer covered in ice and jumped out the window as the sex dungeon –which, yes had been in an upper floor– blew to bits and pieces.