1-8
The music in the club thudded with Hellish bass, sweaty, strung-out demons bobbed and ground on the dance floor, some openly fornicating in a tangle of limbs. A pretty standard Wednesday afternoon lull for the Golden Tooth. A Vees establishment, Ozzie's goons were unlikely to render patronage. A Sinner, a large, rotund creature in leather chaps, a studded jacket, and black leather beanie, sat in a booth across from a slender figure wearing an oversized coat with its collar pulled up high, almost touching the brim of his wide hat, much of his face taken up by large dark sunglasses. Someone very much did not want to be recognized.
"He looks like a what?" The bounty hunter said, adjusting his beanie cap atop his lumpen, scaly head.
"A human," Corset said, tetchily, why was this always the reaction? "But he is not one. He just looks like one."
"Lucky fucker…" The bounty hunter muttered, himself looking like a gray mass of chewed gum and fish scales, with a scent to match. "That'll make him easy to track down, at least."
"You'd think so…" Corset grunted, miffed at being forced to resort to dealing with scum like the Sinner sitting opposite him. "Do we have a deal?"
"Yeah, sure," the Sinner grunted, gulping down his piss-warm beer, a fragrant belch ensuing shortly. "I'll ask around, dig up some contacts, see if anyone's–"
"Ah-ta-tah~" Corset interjected, wagging a gnarled, taloned finger. "This operation must be conducted with the utmost discretion. Should the wrong ears hear of my quarry, they would snap him up in an instant! His aesthetic, you see, would fetch a pretty penny for any of the tail-slingers with the gall to advertise a 'true blue' human. He must be returned to me, discreetly, and fully intact. No bisections. No decapitations. His looks may not regenerate, you see, so I need him returned to me with nary a hair out of place."
"You sure seem to like making things difficult for yourself," the Sinner scoffed. "How am I supposed to find this joker if I can't ask around, much less get him back however I can? If he's as pretty as you say, I doubt anyone what does have him will be too eager to give him up!"
Corset sighed, rubbing his temples. "Is it too much to ask you to do what you're paid to do?"
"About that," the Sinner snorted, leaning back in his chair. "If'n you're so dead-set on tying my arms behind my back, it's gonna cost ya. Double-time."
Corset rolled his eyes, it had been like this with every single other bounty hunter and private investigator he had attempted to hire; why must these miscreants be so tediously predictable? "You'll be paid your standard rate and not one $oul more. Upon locating, retrieving, and delivering the item in question, intact and unspoiled, you will be paid a sum double what you've already earned. That figures out to triple-time. Sufficient?"
The bounty-hunter smiled, his broad mouth filled with a snaggle of thin, yellow-black fangs, and held out his hand. "Deal."
Corset took it, the Pact flaring between them; the third one that day. "A pleasure doing business with you."
The bounty hunter tipped his hat to him and waddled off, his beady eyes all but alight with $oul signs. Corset groaned and leaned back in his booth. How many of these degenerates must he expend his fortune and even more valuable time on? He admitted to an element of desperation factored into his decision to associate with this Sinner scum, as being on Ozzie's 'violate on sight' list rather limited his ability to seek more specialized help. Hopefully, quantity over quality would yield him his prize. Once the brat was back in his clutches, he could offer the Key between his legs to his master and possibly, maybe, be spared a terrible fate. King Asmodeus was hardly the forgiving sort, but was possessed of unshakable priorities; with the Celestial Maidenhead up for grabs once more, he'd hardly trouble himself with punishing his faithful servant… probably?
A thundering explosion shook the foundations of the Golden Tooth, debris and body-parts scattering across the dance floor. Corset glanced over his shoulder. On the far side of the club, where a row of occupied tables and booths had been was now smoking rubble, a newly installed entrance smoldering in the wall… not two feet from the actual entrance. Through the hole stepped a tall, busty cyclops, her full figure clad in form-fitting red tatters that, at some point, had been a red leather skirt and top: Cherri Bomb, the bombastic bomb-chucking one-demon MOAB of the East End. What was she doing here? Not even in the depths of his desperation would Corset even consider seeking her brand of 'service'.
"This the right place?" Cherri crowed, idly rolling a lit bomblet back and forth in her hand.
"Yer askin' that now?!" A nasally, effete male voice called out. "Fuckin'– there was a door right there!"
"Not my style," she said, airily, snuffing the dangerously short fuze of the bomblet with her tongue. "C'mon. You said you had a Vees discount at this shithole!"
Cherri Bomb strutted into the club, stepping over severed, smoldering limbs, followed shortly by a piqued, willowy arachnid Corset immediately recognized as Angel Dust, Cherri's oft partner in crime and Hell-famous Vees pornstar. He ducked back into his booth, picking up a menu and hunching over behind it as the pair made their way over to his part of the club.
"S'not gonna be much of a discount if the club-ower bills Val for the fuckin' hole in the wall," Angel grumbled, clearly amused despite his misgivings, sitting them down in the booth next to Corset's. "Whatever. Fuck it, I need to unwind."
A trembling, nervous waiter approached them with a drink menu, only for Cherri to wave him off. "Everclear on the rocks, double-shot, with a squeeze of lemon."
"Make that two," said Angel Dust, sighing.
"Hitting the ground running, slut!" Cherri Bomb sniggered. "Well? C'mon, Angie, spill the beans! What's got you so wound up?"
"Ach…" Angel Dust grumbled. "Let's just say I gots me a new roomie up at Princess Sunshine's Dipshit Factory. Asshole's trouble."
"Oh? A new sucker's shacked up at the Hotel?" Cherri cooed, batting her eye. "Why's that a bad thing? He cute, hung, and too straight for his own good?"
"Oh, he's cute alright…" Angel sighed, pausing to look around conspiratorially, beckoning her to come closer, whispering. "Fuckin' angel-face. Smooth silky skin, adorable lil freckles, big green puppy-dog eyes, and the most charmin' fuckin' mop'a orange hair on his head. Kid's built like a fuckin' pipecleaner doll, but no God worth a big 'G' slaps a face like that on a baby-dick! Ya know I gots a nose for these things. That kid's undies got an OSHA label what reads 'contents under pressure'!"
Corset's ears perked up, adroitly sliding closer to the chattering Sinners, still ducked behind the menu. Could it be…?
Cherri cackled, holding out her hands, a generous space between them. "What's your spider-sense telling you? Frankenfurter? Kielbasa? Genoa salami?"
Angel cackled, grabbing her wrists and substantially increasing the space between them. "Goteborg, bitch."
"Hah!" Cherri barked, leaning back as their drinks arrived, grabbing hers and offering it in a toast. "Well, here's to future-Angel's smile and limp!"
Angel picked up his tall glass, clinking it to hers and draining it in a single draught before setting it back down, snapping his fingers at the waiter. "Anudda one."
Cherri blew an impressed whistle. "You are wound up! What's the deal? You got a cute hung stud moving in! Why the sourpuss?"
"I… can't say. It's, like, this stupid confidentiality thing the Hotel has." Angel rapped his fingers on the table, agitated, before leaning in, whispering. "I'll tell you this much: this little stud's shacked up in the right place, because the shit he's got tailin' him could choke a Gluttony sewer rat!"
Corset's fingers dug into the menu cover so hard his hands almost trembled, his eyes bugging out in their sockets behind the oversized sunglasses.
"You had my interest," Cherri replied, her smile growing. "Now you have my curiosity. Maybe I should swing by the Princess' and scope this bad boy out for myself? Put a few dozen notches in his bedpost while I'm at it."
"Yer funeral," sniggered Angel. "Chuck's gone full Mother Goose with this 'un. Like, Mother Canadian Goose! I ain't never seen her put her foot down like that. Ya know me, I love seein' people square off, but that bitchin'-out was so cold it damn near gave me second-hand frostbite!"
"Threaten me with a good time~"
Corset realized he hadn't taken a breath in almost a minute, gasping in air as quietly as he could. He got to his feet as calmly as he could and vacated the booth. If the two Sinners had noticed, they didn't let on. Cold sweat poured down his face as he made his way to the exit. He walked out into the bustling street, hiding his face in his collar and wide brimmed hat, his hands in his pockets, his curdled mind whirling with conflicting feelings of elation and dread.
He had found him.
He knew where Briefers Rock was!
The Key!
The Key was… in Princess Charlotte's inane little passion project. This was miraculous! Disastrous! Providencial! Catastrophic! How fortuitous the brat was safe… safe in the clutches of the daughter of Lucifer himself! True, now he didn't have to worry about any depraved Sinner or Demon Royal poaching his prize, his salvation, but by that same cruel stroke of fate his prize was nestled safe and sound in the bosom of a Wrath lioness! Princess Charlotte was the butt of every joke Hell ever cracked, sure, but only jokes. Everyone knew better than to challenge her, than to try and heckle her terrifying parents through her. Everyone knew that no-one as sweet and naive as she pretended to be could have survived life in the innermost sanctums of the Inner Circle. No one respected Princess Charlotte as a person, but everyone who knew better respected her position as the Infernal Heir.
Brief was safe, and with him the Key. That alone was cause for celebration! The cause was not lost! But also… Brief was too safe. Safe from him. Brief had sought and won the protection of the second most powerful being in all of Hell, and if the Princess was even a fraction as serious about the welfare of her clients as she appeared to be, not even King Asmodeus could retrieve the Key now.
Calamity!
Disaster!
But… not hopeless.
"I wonder then… If brute force is out of the question, perhaps a more delicate hand could be applied?" He mused aloud, stroking his chin.
So lost in thought, Corset didn't notice the large, luxuriously appointed limo sliding up next to him on the street until the door flew open, two pairs of robust, taloned hands grasping him by the arms and hauling him inside. The limo calmly and cooly pulled back into traffic and was off.
Corset grunted as a black bag was ripped from his head, a searing bright light felt like hot needles in his eyes. Figures moved around behind the light, shadowy and inscrutable. The room was similarly scoured by the light, cast into impenetrable darkness. He knew where he was.
He was in trouble.
"Hello, Corset," said a deep, familiar voice. "How good to see you back Hellside. How's the job? Kids?"
"You can cut the shit, Rock!" Corset snapped, lashing out with an animated belt from his girdle, shattering the irritating lightbulb, casting the room into darkness. "I've had quite the week and I don't feel like humoring your coy bullshit!"
"Party pooper," grumbled his captor. "No cake for you."
The lights came on with a 'clack', revealing a beautifully appointed study, with tall bookcases lined with ancient tomes and the like. Marble pedestals held onyx busts of their auguste owners, four of whom stood opposite him across a long mahogany table.
His interrogator, a trim reptilian Sinner with swept back silvery hair dressed in an immaculate three-piece business suit, was Robert Archibald "R.A." Rock, the most recent in the bloodline to grace the infernal plane. Despite his relatively recent addition to the family's Hellside assets, it was his business acumen and dedication to his bloodline that had translated the immense wealth accumulated and passed down over the generations into true power. The CEO of the Rock Foundation during the Post-War Period had, through ruthless business practices and cunning exploitation of the Third World, made the company a global superpower.
Behind him was the tall, robust shape of Cornelius Sumter Rock, a handsomely proportioned Sinner resembling a humanoid factory, with steel girder limbs, riveted skin, the top of his head an industrial smokestack, constantly belching orange fire and foul black smoke. The former head of the Rock Trading Company. In the 1900s, he had shipped goods such as rubber from the Belgian Congo, gold from Venezuela's secret, unregulated jungle mines. He shipped oil to the Kaisar while exporting grain from the mouths of Russian peasants, something a certain Austrian Archduke took public issue with. What good fortune then that a Serbian nobody let the intrusive thoughts win. Not content with simply being a glorified transport service, in the late 20s he had made a show of entering the stock market, investing heavily in all manner of trades and industries before, suddenly, cashing them out. His peers at the time, well aware of the man's canniness and acumen, followed suit. Many of the Rock Trading Company's rivals foundered on the rocky shores of the Great Depression, their owners hurling themselves from their high-rise offices, leaving the Rock Trading Company to forge itself into the Rock Foundation upon their corpses, just in time for the Second World War to kick off. What good fortune.
To Robert's left was Baron Ignatius Rock, a looming craggy creature composed of glossy black anthracite, dressed in a white Prince Albert coat with matching trousers and top-hat. A British coal magnate and widely regarded as 'the father of the Industrial Revolution', it was his relentless mines that powered the British Empire at the peak of its expansion. The Baron squeezed his Barony for all it was worth, with rampant child labor and appalling conditions, he later moved his estate's focus to steel and steam. To factories and shipping. To the casting of cannon and shell. British ships spread out all over the world, scouring resources and bringing them back to the devouring Empire and her industry, all backed up by ironclads burning his coal and firing his shells.
Last but not least, was the Patriarch of the Rock family, Rahk Sagkal, the progenitor of the line. He was tall, powerfully built, bearing the body of a humanoid lion with four eagle's wings sprouting from his back, draped in the stylings of an impossibly ancient ruler. His face was, by and large, that which he wore as a man save for his ashen grey skin, with coarse, cruel features bereft of mercy or kindness, his mouth curled into a scowl within his immaculately trimmed and braided beard. His feline eyes were deep-set beneath a bristly, furrowed brow, glowing red like embers in a firepit. Originally, he was the ruler of a powerful, warlike Mesopotamian city-state, the name of which had been lost to time. No, not lost. Erased. Rahk Sagkal's rule had been so profoundly cruel, so bottomless in its aggression and capacity for violence, that the ancient powers of the day had no choice but to set aside their long-standing grudges and feuds and banded together to march on his walls. So potent was their vengeance, the fires that consumed the city and its peoples were so hot and prolonged, the clay tablets bearing all record of the city's prosperity were glazed, only to be recovered by the victorious allies after they had cooled and, along with every building, clay pot, and even the bones of its citizens, painstakingly ground into dust. Rahk had managed to escape the massacre along with his loyal guards, abandoning his people to their fate. It is said that with the fires of his kingdom still glinting in his eyes, he had called upon King Asmoedeus and made the fateful Pact.
"Goodness, the balls on you!" Cornelius Rock said, chuckling. "You know what's coming and you still think you're in a position to order anyone about."
Ingatius Rock shook his head, shrugging. "I guess when someone's fucked up on the scale you have, Corset, there's nothing left to lose."
"If that is the belief you hold, bungler, you will be proven wrong in short order," said Rahk, his voice deep and dry as an ancient crypt. "Our Liege will have his way in more ways than one."
"Mhm," said Corset, examining his talons. "Then why am I here and not there? You dogs do know how to play fetch, don't you?"
"We wanted to…" said R. A. Rock, weaving his fingers together on the table. "…Assess the situation. Get it straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak. What happened up there, Corset? The friction between us notwithstanding, you're no fool, and certainly not incompetent. How'd you botch getting the key twice?"
"The answer, which I'm sure you'll find endlessly droll, is your own grandson!" Corset hissed. "Little brat wouldn't cooperate. I'll spare you the details, but he not only shacked up with those meddling Angels, but turned my own beautiful daughters against me!"
Rahk folded his arms across his chest, almost smiling. "The bloodline is strong."
"Bagged him and Angel and turned two succubi?" Ignatius said, a wry smile spreading across his craggy face. "Attaboy."
"We Rocks have that effect, it's true," said Corelius, shooting Corset a mocking smirk. "Maybe you should have factored that into your inane little scheme, ringscraper."
"Ugh! Not like that!" Corset scoffed, waving the jeering demons off. "I don't know how he turned them against me, but that brat has some serious oneitis for that slutty blonde Angel!"
"Still, bagged him an Angel," said Ignatius. "A blonde one."
"Truly, he is the blood of my blood," said Rahk, definitely smiling now.
"I'd almost be proud if it didn't mean that we're back to square one. No, not square one, worse than that!" Exclaimed R. A., massaging his scaly temples. "Briefer's in Hell! A human! In Hell!" He hissed. "That boy clearly lacks discipline! Conviction to the cause! Arthur should have been harder on that damned whelp!"
"Should he perish without siring an heir, the bloodline will be severed," said Rahk as he stroked his beard, scowling at Corset, his aura crackling befitting of one of Hell's strongest Overlords. "The Key will be lost. Sixty centuries of curating and rituals, all for naught."
"Needless to say, Ozzie's somewhat ruffled," said Ignatius. "So he dispatched us to pick you up and have a little chat."
Corset swallowed, fingers rapping on the table, sweat beading on his forehead. They knew Brief was in Hell? Ozzie knew? Before he had merely been a failure, a bungler, but should Ozzie think for a moment that he had jeopardized the entire Rock bloodline… whatever punishments Corset had imagined for himself before now seemed laughably quaint, downright merciful!
But… he had an out. He smiled coyly and proudly.
"Well, Good thing I tracked him down, then," Corset said, pithily, crossing his legs nonchalantly.
The Rocks stared at him, stunned silence filling the air. R. A. regained his composure, leaning forward, elbows on the table. Ignatius and Cornelius looked to their patriarch, and he nodded, the three silent as the businessman smirked at the blue skinned demon. "Oh? Do go on, please."
Corset smirked, leaning back and twiddling his thumbs. "He's safe, I assure you."
"WHERE IS HE?!" Rahk bellowed, the roar of a lion underscoring the ancient king's voice. "TELL US NOW!"
"He's in good hands…" Corset said, amused. "I'd love to tell you more, but I'm afraid the nature of his current environs is a matter of… royal concern. I will tell King Asmodeus myself, not his junkyard dogs." He huffed, looking away and crossing his arms. Rahk's fangs bore a snarl at the indignity of it all.
"You dare?" The ancient king growled.
"Ancestor, allow me." R. A. Assured, looking to his kin with a raised hand before turning back to Corset. "Or…" R. A. drawled, his tone that of a businessman offering a tempting counter proposal. "We could skin you alive and roll you in salt until you tell us everything you know. How does that sound, freak?" R. A. Snarled as he unfurled his claws in front of him.
Corset cackled, shooting to his feet, belts and straps rising from his form, writhing like snakes. "Threaten me with a good time, Faller!"
Ignatius and Cornelius began to glow bright red, the burning coal and the ironworks on their frames glowing red hot as Corset glared, his bindings ready to snap upon his frame and bulge his muscles. Rahk glared, his staff's eyes glowing.
As the demons prepared to battle, a bone-chillingly familiar voice boomed through the air. "Enough."
They all froze in their tracks, turning to see none other than Fizzaroli, the most famous entertainer in Hell and Asmodeus' open-secret paramour, smirking like a cat having caught a canary. In his hand was a cellphone, and on it were a pair of glowing yellow eyes floating in blackness wreathed in blue flame.
Everyone was cowering, save for Rahk who stood at attention.
"Your majesty," Rahk bowed in honor.
"K-K-King Asmodeus…" Corset's bravado was gone, like a candle flame in a downpour.
"M-my Lord, we were just–" R. A. began to say.
"Shutting your mouths," said Asmodeus, cheerily. All five shut their hanging jaws with a simultaneous 'clop', the King of Sin gave an amused chuckle as Fizzaroli started forward. "Oh, do pardon my manners. I'd have come in person but, well, people tend to notice when I drop in on Lucy's ring uninvited and, as you know doubt know, I'd rather our business here go unnoticed." He glanced over at Corset, who looked as though his guts had been replaced with icy serpents. "I see you've scooped up our wayward buddy. And so quickly, too! Good job, team! But why not bring him straight to me?"
R. A. Rock cleared his throat, smiling as his voice took on his characteristic oily croon. "A simple formality, Your Majesty. This is, after all, a family matter as well."
"Mhm. Of course! I sympathize. If I had a grandson, I'd be a touch miffed that an associate lost him in Pride of all places." Fizz turned Ozzie to face the Rocks. "Why, miffed enough to squeeze said associate for any information regarding his whereabouts, find him, and present him to my boss and hog all the glory! Downright miffed." He looked about at them, tickled by their expressions, the mild embarrassment and palpable dread. "Oh, pssh! Stop sulking! I'm not angry. Just keep me in the loop next time, alright? Rahky boy~?" The eyes focused on the lion sinner, who gripped his staff tighter and gulped.
"Yes, Your Majesty," was the unanimous reply.
"O-of course my lord." Rahk uttered. "I-it won't happen again."
"Apology accepted Rahky! Oh, you Sinners are just adorable when you try to be cunning!" Ozzie trilled with a giggle. "Aren't they adorable, Fizzy Frog?"
"Wike widdle puppers widdlin' on their own faces, Boss!" The clown gurgled, waving at the Rocks. "Heya guys! Sorry about dropping in unannounced, but I was in the neighborhood and Ozzie just wanted to check on how things were going!" He snickered. "Man the looks on your faces too, priceless!"
"Silence, jester." Hissed Ignatius out of the corner of his mouth.
"What was that?" Ozzie inquired, and the Coal Demon flinched. Fizzaroli smirked at him as the two orbs glared at the Sinner.
"N-nothing!" He sputtered.
"Good." Ozzie chimed. "That's what I thought."
"My lord, How did your… associate even get in here?" Rahk grumbled. "Past our security?"
"Oh, Ozzie hacked it!" Fizz waved them off and blew a raspberry, nuzzling the face on the phone. "He's got a big ol' brain on him, y'know?"
"And the guards?" Ignatius asked, reluctantly.
"Hacked them, too!"
Outside, all over the estate, dozens of armed guards, whether they be Hellhound or Baphomet or even Sinners of the Rock bloodline, lay strewn about, unharmed save for the blood seeping from their eyes, ears, noses, and mouths as they twitched.
"Note to self: hire some new security and nurses for wounded kin…" R. A. muttered into his phone before turning back to Asmodeus and his geckering clown, pointing to Corset. "Well, now that we're all here, shall we…?"
"Oh, of course!" Ozzie said as Fizzarolli turned him to a petrified Corset. "Corset! Buddyyyy! Long time no see! How's work? How's the family?"
The blue demon gulped. "Uh."
"Great! Just great. Now, as much as I'm just dying to catch up…" Ozzie's eyes narrowed, his voice low and flanging, his raw might electrifying the air, even through the phone. "Where. Is. The Key?"
"The Happy Hotel," Corset said, automatically, too terrified to even bother composing himself. "Briefers Rock has signed up to the Happy Hotel."
Silence ensued. Heavy, crushing silence, cold and palpable. The Rocks were mortified, even calm, stoic Rahk looked as though he'd seen his own corpse. Even Ozzie's malicious grin had vanished like a puff of smoke in a gale.
"Well…" Ozzie said, his voice losing his characteristic lilt. "That's a problem."
"What's the issue? I mean, he's shacked up with that joke, Charlie right?" Fizzaroli asked.
"He's lying!" Cornelius barked. "He has to-"
"He's not." Rahk muttered, his staff glowing. "I sense no falsehood from him. The self-flagellating fool speaks the truth."
"H-he's safe, Your Majesty! Truthfully! Honestly!" Corset said, remembering himself; maybe he could still salvage this! He got onto his knees, looking at the phone as he held his hands out. "As a patient, he's under the Heiress' Royal protection, and with him, the Key!"
"That's exactly the problem, you imbecile! He's very well protected," Cornelius growled, gesturing broadly at the room. "From us!"
"Someone wanna fill me in, here?" Fizzarolli said, raising his mechanical arm and twisting it into a question mark. "So what if he's with Princess Giggles? That bitch is a pushover, she lets everyone walk all over her!"
"That's rather the problem, Monkey," said Asmodeus, grimly. "Charlotte lets people walk over her. Chooses to. She's the Heiress of Hell, the Infernal Princess, a Nephilim sired by an Archangel and the First Woman. She's no weakling, and I fear if anyone tries to meddle in this passion project of hers, she just might stop letting people disrespect her."
"One way to find out!" Fizzarolli cackled, turning to the assembled demons. "Well? What're you dipshits waiting for? Go grab that magic cock so we can get this shindig dug!"
The Rocks and Corset glanced at one another, Corset pointing to himself. "Me as well, Majesty?"
"Of course!" Asmodeus said, smiling widely. "You found the Key, didn't you? That at least earns you a chance to make up for your prior failures. Assist in retrieving the Key, and you're off the hook!"
"Truly, Majesty?" Corset said, looking close to tears.
"What can I say? I'm a big ol' softie!" Ozzie's smile widened into a grin. "Besides… get the Key back to me, and I'll be far, far too busy to waste my time on your boney ass! Get me that key, and you all get sloppy seconds! Now go, all of you!"
The demons all stood at attention and bowed.
"As Your Majesty wishes," said Rahk Sagkal, bowing deeply. "So it will be done."
"Our blood for your cause, Your Majesty!" Cried Cornelius Rock.
Ignatius Rock cracked his mechanical knuckles. "The Pact will be fulfilled, my King. The Key will be yours or my name isn't Ignatius Rock!"
"It will be so nice to see my grandson again," mused R. A. Rock, grinning toothily. "He'll be so happy to finally meet his King and patron."
"I am overcome with gratitude, King Asmodeus!" Corset cried, getting on his hands and knees, pressing his forehead to the floor. "I won't fail you again!"
"I know you won't, Corset," Asmodeus growled, smiling. "And I don't think I need to tell any of you to exercise discretion. Lucifer cannot know of either the Key's presence, or my involvement. Go quietly. Do not draw attention to yourselves. Understood?"
"Yes, Your Majesty!" Was the unanimous reply.
With that, they left, marching out of the study room and down the hall. Asmodeus grinned, chuckling softly. "Won't be long now, Fizzy-Frog."
"Oh yeah. Can I claim dibs on that Mary bitch's mouth when we split roast her like a pig?" Fizzarolli smirked as he sauntered his way out of the estate and to his ride which was waiting outside.
"Oh trust me my love, she will be oinking, moo'ing, and howling like the horny lust needy BITCH we will turn her when we have the time of our ETERNITY with her~" Asmodeus smirked as the two chuckled and laughed their way into the limo, and departed from the looming ziggurat like complex that made up the Rock Palace in Pride.
Credit Wr1teAn0n for writing this up. We thought we could include more, but this felt like a natural conclusion of sorts. All things leading to a nice little ramp up so to speak.
We get introduced to Brief's kin in Hell, and Angel doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut, Cherri may show an interest now(for my QQ audience, you may get a lil extra down the road when we finish the story and me and WA can make a lemon farm) and Corset just finds a way somehow. Big thanks to WA for the designs of the other Rock Sinners too. I had a little bit of a Silent King from 40k influence for Rahk, given the egyptian/middle eastern influence here.
Next time we will be checking back in with Brief, and maybe even a look back on Earth too. You'll just have to wait and see.
Anywho, hope you all enjoyed this!