#4 - THE ARCHDEMON CONGREGATE

[Lucifer]

E V E N T # 4
THE ARCHDEMON CONGREGATE

*****

2:53 PM
FEBRUARY 1ST, 2012
A SINGLE GRANDIOSE DINING ROOM
FLOOR 666
THE DEVIL SPIRE
THE SPIRELANDS
INFERIS

Blue eyes fell upon the clock.

Seven minutes.

[INITIATE THEME]

For it would be no longer and no shorter. This punctuality was something that beings of eternity and immortal life possessed; many made it here on the exact second. For a being like Moloch, of such considerable weight and size, the journey would have taken him much longer, but the Devourer knew perfectly well that to walk up to the Devil Spire in his true, unshackled, mammoth form was not only illogical, but somewhat insulting. Lucifer had seen what could happen with the true clout of that form, dozens of feet tall, when a haphazard transformation from the already-titanic mortal "sheath" was removed.

But he imagined that in a couple of minutes below he would hear their approach to the identical secretaries, the exchange of common pleasantries, the directive to the elevator, above which was ironically placed a red-and-black banner, in the manner of a child's birthday party, reading in all capitals "HAPPY STEWARDSHIP". For today was an event that would go down in history; one that truly demanded a congregate of these political and Demonic forces housed under one roof; an event that had not occurred in all the billions of years in Inferis' history thus far.

The steward was being appointed. For Belphegor's slumber had irritated Lucifer far too long; the slothful Demon too well lived up to his name, and in order to kill two birds with one stone - further his plans concerning the Slothful and stop having to concern himself with the affairs of the oft-chaotic Chasm, entropic in both name and nature - he had deemed it necessary a good four hundred and fifty years ago to begin a search for a steward. And such was it that each had submitted themselves in total loyalty with not a speck of passion or tenacity in their movement, in the test of their mettle, some begging even for execution, that it made Satan himself sick to his stomach. So he granted their pitiful wishes, and removed those so-called "aristocrats" from this world, striking them down into the tiniest splinters of insentient Soul Energy.

Until the time that he had been brought to meet with the Impaler. His true motives had been well-clouded by the Lustful; she had invited him along for a supposedly-random rendezvous with this lord of the Nosferatu, this vampire; Vlad III Tepes. And he had been the only thus far that had challenged him in combat; and after what felt like only moments - though energetic - Mephistopheles had briskly made his decision. To appoint him Steward of the Entropic Chasm, a boon he offered freely in itself, one which carried much political clout and power, in spite of the Demon's relative youth.

Then again, to seven billion years old, anything was youth.

But, truly, Lucifer had been bored. He could have organised one-on-one consultancies, taking the Impaler around for a cliché meet-and-greet, but what he yearned for was...well, a party. Just the ten of them. His eight (conscious) Archdemons, the old conqueror, and himself. Any elite guards were to be left at the door; and here he sat in one of his many sprawling dining rooms, with a grand slew of activities and ornaments to be investigated over the course of the evening.

Ten plates had been set out upon the table. All had been provided with large and ornate chairs; save for Moloch who had instead been given a slightly wider granite throne, all of which had been counted for by his team of diligent Praetorians. Diligent, though dim. Trix and Trax had deigned instead to organise the entire affair, as they were so used to. Each had their own meal, cooked by some of Beelzebub's greatest chefs that he had been "loaned", and each had some own specific though subliminal items placed around which would be triggers for invigorating conversation.

For Ba'al, the Original King; some barley cakes, Sumerian in origin, with some liberated wild quail, off to the side with its own perfectly-boiled eggs, neck broken barely moments after it had laid them. Then, a beautifully ornate and jeweled gold chalice. For Mammon, the Corrupter; a large tankard-style mug, identical to the ones she utilised - made as a complete and perfect replica - filled with that bloody tea, just the way she liked it, with a plate stacked high with sinew buns, the flesh and tissue within each garnered from a different Inferis Demon. For Moloch, the Devourer; he had carved out two sixty-ounce Kur steaks, cooked exquisitely with the Ashland's spices, and given a smoky, ashen taste to accompany the tender texture.

For Belial, the Allsmith; a slightly more barbaric meal had been prepared. A bowl fashioned from a skull on the side of his plate was filled with various sizes human eyes, gently seared as to give them a certain warmth and flavour when they burst within his mouth. Upon his plate was the disembodied head of an old Roman Centurion - Lucifer kept a freezer full just for when he visited - and the utensils granted were an old hand-drill, and a ladle-type scoop, so that Casul could extract his own meal. For Leviathan, the Impure; a cracked tiny portion of the colossal Old One's flesh - the last that Satan had detained himself - scooped out perfectly, and cooked in a manner not dissimilar from lobster thermidor. Accompanying was a large, flute-like champagne glass filled simply with the finest-tasting mineral water in all the freshwater lakes and pools surrounding the Black Sea's outskirts. It had taken scouts several weeks to so much as reach the mountain springs nearby. Finally, for Asmodeus, the Lustful; a carved side of Succubus thigh, cooked with such mesmerising spices that actually gave the tongue such intensive pleasure - in a manner not dissimilar from the chili peppers of Earth - that, with her specialised power, it would be a near-orgasmic sensation.

For Beelzebub, the Indulgent; he granted a plateful of the greatest - still-chilled - popsicles, which in themselves surrounded a pair of towers each reaching a foot high - one of perfectly-cooked marshmallow smores (well, as perfect as one could get without actually being the great chef of Inferis himself), and one of waffles, with a chunk of butter, milked and churned from some of Mammon's Barghests when they had been only pups, sitting atop, in amongst a puddle of maple syrup. For Legion, the Lost Host; a plateful of food known only as DATA REDACTED, cooked in the most horrific of manners, a process only referred to as CENSORED. CLEARANCE LEVEL NOT HIGH ENOUGH. but bearing a consistency and indeed appearance of a stack of bacon, without actually being made from pig meat in the slightest - Legion possessing what Lucifer figured to be the most abhorrent of weaknesses. No bacon for an eternity? That was harsh. Even by his standards. The cosmos was a fucker sometimes.

Penultimately, for their newcomer, Dracula, the Vampire; there was a more modest meal. It was simply five large tankards, each filled with blood from a different subspecies of Demon, and then a huge bowl - with a large, ornate, deep-panned spoon - filled with cool, fresh blood, all drained from a single human body. Though he hoped this in itself would appease the relative stranger - eons with Demons he called now brothers, sisters, lovers, and comrades had taught Lucifer to almost memorise all of their knacks, their quirks, their preferences. In truth? A new addition was almost... exciting, in a very, very, very sad - self-reflection - way.

Then, finally, as an enigma, at the head of the table - four seats on the right, five on the other - there sat the most exquisite chair of all; and yet in front of it, on the Devil's own place, there was an empty china plate and a vacant glass. For Lucifer was so giddy and indecisive that he hadn't known himself what to eat; and wanted to make no concrete decisions. Whilst the meal choices had been kept secret from his cohorts, he had known all about it, and, at some point, would fashion himself a meal. Probably a platter of all of the other nine. He was partial to just about anything depending on how he felt. And rightfully so. The Devil could be fickle, no?

Aside from that, the usual stuff sat upon and mantles of the grandiose room. Several of da Vinci's works, a record player containing some "stolen" demo vinyls the Beatles had put together... dotted around there were ornate stone archways in place of simple halls, and a forum-type floor that everyone could meet and speak upon. With a smile, he started only at the gothic clock - he had some slightly more imposing pieces elsewhere on the floor - that sat high above the table, and sighed as the second hand continued that audible tick, tock, tick, tock with the nigh-on eternal lapses between each noise. Five minutes now.

The room was placed straight ahead from the metal doors - as part of some construction enigma, Lucifer had that done for any particular room he wanted to display or preferred - and the path from said elevator was simple. All of the other rooms on the floor were cut off - the dining area was definitely expansive enough, but if the Devil ever felt a need to wander with one of his companions, he had only but to will the paths to open themselves.

Finally, in front of the elevator was a single pedestal with a sheet of paper placed mainly for the purpose of jest - though the fallen angel would insist otherwise, almost terminally - with several cliché Walmart-type "HELLO, MY NAME IS..." name labels, which could be peeled off with ease - unless one was Moloch or Belial, armour or those lumbering steak hands would make it something of a tribulation - and then placed upon one's lapel. Of course - there was no point in so simply forgetting the purpose of this afternoon soiree. The Nosferatu Lord's meet and greet.

But instead of dwelling further, Lucifer simply closed those blue eyes of his, set a smirk upon his face in the turned, ornate throne, settling back against it, and exhaled a sigh of relief. Time to relax... and then, in what was now four minutes, the festivities could... begin.

[Lazarus Carter]

E V E N T # 4
POSTING ORDER

• You'll be happy to hear that, like Event #3, Event #4 has no posting order!
  
• Though preference would be that Marcus posts first, as Vlad III Tepes.
  
• All I require is that you all post at least three times. I, for one, will definitely be posting more.
  
• It is essentially freeform; for you to determine between your groups - however we ask you consider a few things.
  
• Lucifer will make announcements throughout the party you're expected to respond to in some manner, but this is not compulsory (though recommended).
  
• You will not be required to post an official exit. The party will consider until the point that I deem the event close to finishing, and then certain things will indeed occur. When it happens, you will understand what I mean.
  
• Once they do, responses should be posted; but the Event will then begin to keel off, and I will post up telling everyone that they can either choose then to leave, or simply stay with Lucifer, when I will announce people have a week to tie up their conversations at the party and their responses, and then just end the Event.
  

If you pre-establish a posting order with someone else as part of your festivities, don't break it.

We recommend you post once every three days, at least, to keep the pace of the mission relatively dynamic; more frequently, then even better!

If everyone's ready: you may begin!

[Vlad III Țepeș]

Seven minutes prior to three o'clock in the afternoon. Thus marked the definitive arrival of Vlad III Țepeș, the posthumously titled Impaler of Romania, and strongest of the vampire progeny known as the Nosferatu.

Supernatural fog, a byproduct of a rainstorm that had taken place earlier in the day, blanketed the torchlit streets of the Spirelands, the inverse reflection of Vatican City and Lucifer's domain, as Count Drăcula himself briskly paced his way through the pale gold mist, his footsteps tapping in rhythm against the cobblestone avenues while he solely fixated his attention to the approaching structure that stood out within the thick haze, looking slowly upward as it stretched high into Inferis' atmosphere as if it were merely inches away from the edge of infinity.

The Devil Spire. This magnificent piece of Demonic architecture, Gothic in its overall influence, was the true core of Inferis, Satan's designated base of operations, and the venue with which one could find their evil creator, seated on his throne of power six-hundred and sixty-six floors above the dimension which he ruled over with watchful eyes. It was here, inside this fortress and palace most diabolical, that a new chapter in all of Hell's seven-billion year history would be written; an event that would ultimately overshadow and eclipse the full weight of the Count's mortal legacy as the Impaler Lord. For today, he would attend a banquet celebrating his announcement as the new steward, or acting ruler, of the Entropic Chasm.

What started as merely an invitation by the Duchess of Desire to act as a guest of honor for one of her trivial football games soon culminated into a spontaneous, albeit fleeting, duel with Lucifer himself, a test of the vampire's mettle in the face of a superior foe, an exchange of blows to determine whether or not the Count's tenacity and determination were genuine in and of themselves. As it happened, the younger Demon "prevailed", though it was merely part of the Devil's grand design, his ploy to judge the Count's future usefulness while Belphegor slumbered.

Approaching the entrance to the monstrous and overly-phallic Devil Spire, Drăcula could only postulate what kind of effect his presence during today's upcoming affairs would draw from the Archdemons he hadn't encountered yet. As it stood, he would be joining the oldest and strongest of all Demons on a political level; at a meager five-hundred and thirty-five years old, his age was certainly going to turn a couple of heads at the very least. Those who have met him personally would likely be the first to notice that the Lord of the Nosferatu had undergone a cosmetic makeover since they had last seen him; after sampling the blood that Satan had shed during their short battle, the substance had the miraculous benefit of reversing the Count's physical age by several hundred years, leaving him looking substantially younger than before.

Oddly enough, consuming the Overlord's blood shaved approximately a foot off of his total height in the process, consequently requiring him to make a few changes to his wardrobe. The changes were simple but dramatic nonetheless, staying true to his vampiric flair and style as he swapped the splotches of red in his garments with pale gold, altering the length of his robes to emphasize mobility over opulent atmosphere. Only the richest silks and velvets were used in the construction of his new ensemble, which clearly made proud hints to his Romanian origins, as a figure of importance simply had to look his best during ceremonies such as this one. Needless to say, Drăcula enjoyed his new face more than his older one, and honestly didn't care if anyone else objected to it.

Within seconds of stepping before the automated doors did they split open before the Count, exposing him to the air-conditioned interior of Lucifer's magnificent tower, the main lobby of which manifested a clean, almost ritzy sort of ambience wherever he looked. At first blush, the room looked similar to one of the many glamorous hotel buildings strewn around the mortal coil, where only the richest could afford to stay. Expensive, crystal chandeliers hung overhead to further build on the atmosphere while relaxing jazz music filled the ears of all who listened in from a lone speaker, hidden somewhere inside where no one could point it out. The reception desk appeared unoccupied, for the most part.

As the sliding doors closed themselves behind him to keep the chilled air inside, the Impaler caught wind of the music that played overhead, then squinted his electric yellow eyes in mild annoyance. The tunes themselves weren't the problem—he found them quite soothing, actually; but he could only speculate if these beats were merely another way for the Devil to express his slanted sense of humor. Black and red soon entered his periphery, in which he craned his gaze rightward to obtain a better view, almost immediately regretting his action after noticing a banner strung over the elevator doors, its black-and-red letters spelling out two words in a childish font—

"Happy stewardship..." Drăcula muttered in his native Romanian tongue, rubbing his temples with the pads of his fingers before letting out a disgusted scoff, feeling insulted by the Devil's asinine attempts at making him feel welcome. Evidently, he didn't receive a lot of visitors, and felt compelled to show the few that did show up that he was more than just the gloom and doom his Biblical illustrations put him off as. But the tacky decorations were the least of the vampire's concerns, as he was immediately approached by Satan's appointed "receptionists", a pair of spider-like Demons known only as Trix and Trax.

The encounter lasted for a solid minute or two as the pair of tentacled spider-faces took turns hurling insults at the Count while subjecting him to a number of jokes that prodded at his being a vampire, while a few of them bashed on his sense of style. Forced to endure the full brunt of their verbal assault for the sake of keeping face, the Impaler had to repeatedly remind Trix and Trax that Lucifer was expecting him, and that his lack of punctuality would not be excused. In reality, though, he was simply fed up with listening to their jabs, and would have greatly tolerated the Archdemons' quips over theirs any time, simply because they were older than he was, which was its own excuse. They were Archdemons; they can do it because they simply can.

But Drăcula eventually got his way and found himself riding the elevator up the shaft of the Devil Spire, ascending nearly ten floors per second with such velocity that it nearly made him a little queasy. Alas, the feeling was short-lived, and he grew used to it upon passing the two-hundredth sixth floor. The vampire meditated on the past two weeks as he patiently awaited the cab to stop at any moment, expecting the journey to cease with one, final chime. One more minute passed, reading five minutes before three o'clock, before a sharp ping penetrated the Count's ear canals, the diodes that flashed bright red on the display above reading in the number of the Biblical beast itself: 666.

The elevator doors pulled themselves apart in an almost hydraulic manner as the Impaler took the first step against the marbled black and white floor, noting the total absence of background music when he thought back to the Spire's lobby. A few more steps forward, intentionally moving past the pedestal that displayed the gaudy name stickers set out by the Devil, and Drăcula found himself standing in the dining room itself, coolly studying the great table and the delectable feasts prepared for each individual that would be present today. It took him less than a couple of seconds for him to find his own seat, which was marked by the presence of a great dish and spoon and five tankards, all of which were filled with cherry red blood.

Only one other figure was present in this room, and it was a figure that the Count was all too familiar with. Taking his place before the meal his host had graciously prepared for him, the Impaler gazed with yellow eyes toward the grandiose throne that lie dead center at the head of the table, crafted from the finest materials available in any world so that it might advertise the identity of the being that owned and periodically warmed it. The Devil himself, the Deceiver, the Challenger, Lucifer. Feeling obligated to acknowledge his haughty presence, the Lord of the Nosferatu deigned it acceptable to begin in the form of small talk.

"The cool atmosphere is quite pleasant." Of all the topics to have a conversation about, and the Impaler picked the Devil Spire's air conditioning unit. Real smooth, Drăcula. Real smooth.

[Lazarus Carter]

U P D A T E

Seating plan. For your viewing pleasure.

[Asmodeus]

The spirelands were quite beautiful, though they'd look better in a blanket of plague. Well, everyone has their own preferences. It was a particularly pleasant evening in Hell for a walk, as the sphere suffered a supernatural storm earlier in that day. It was cool and misty, something a mortal would never expect of a place like this. Ah, but the land of pride was not the subject matter of the night, but the ascending black spire that broke the infernal sky. The tallest building in the whole realm, and the most intimidating one. The princess of lust thought otherwise, and always chuckled to herself about the tower, due to it's phallic nature. She had to be his favorite lover with a tribute like this.

Asmodeus the lustful. She did not take her standard and busty demonic form tonight, but rather her petite mortal form. Taking upon the appearance of the sexiest thing in Inferis would've delayed her arrival, something she didn't have time for. A few of her daughters circled the skies around her, swooping down and quickly disposing of any foolish demon who thought they just found an easy meal. The archsuccubi often ripped these creatures limb from limb, literally leaving a trail of body parts where the archdemon had traveled.

At last the princess had made her way to the entrance of the spire. The seven succbi landed near the pale child and took guard around the great doors, not being permitted to enter Lucifer's court, even if he was technically their own father. They did not seem displeased at this, seeing that traveling with their mother was honor enough. As soon as she walked through those great doors of hell, her form changed, growing older in age and sprouting magnificent silky wings from her back, not too different from that of a bat's. They were so much more than any other succubi's wings, however, as she was no mere succubus. The origin of lust itself her form was busty but not overly so, creating what many would perceive as the perfect form. the demon's hair was long and a fair blonde, every strand being straight and healthy, not a split end in sight. Her skin was not pale but seemed to radiate, only being tainted by her elegantly drawn tattoos covering both of her slender forearms. This, however, could be expected of her every day.

Tonight was a special day.

And due to this, Asmodeus wore the finest of her clothing. The archdemon wore a black form fitting dress made of a mysterious fabric perhaps only obtainable in Inferis. It was plain and black as night, but had a classy yet flirtatious flair, not unlike a 50's pinup girl. her neck was adorned with various jewelry apparently made from bones of demons, specifically their teeth. To make this morbid fashion, she wore a pair of six inch heels crafted from the skulls and rib bones of not a demon, but of mortal origin. The archdemon quite frankly didn't look too far off from a demonic Jessica Rabbit.

As soon as the clicks of her heels were heard, the devil's receptionists began to make their quips, which Asmodeus didn't even acknowledge, knowing that was one of the things that truly made the little buggers angry. They weren't worth the breath, anyways. The queen of the Blightscape smiled as she saw Lucifer's table of nametags, and then took hers and placed it on her right breast. It was always more fun to play along with his antics than to ignore them. Nobody liked a party pooper. A somewhat short elevator ride later and the winged archdemon found herself opening the doors to a grand feast with but two guests.

"The cool atmosphere is quite pleasant."

A familiar voice rang through the dining hall. The lord of the Nosferatu, Dracula. "I think it's a bit chilly." The princess of lust ran her fingers across the vampire's back as she passed him, making her way towards the end of the table and the Overlord. Taking a seat right besides him as if it was her rightfully earned spot, which it was, noticing the meal specially prepared for the archdemon. "Succubus thigh? How naughty." The lustful one jested, turning her attention towards the Devil. Perhaps it was only he who would even get her joke, as her tone remained fairly stable and unemotional.

[Ba'al]

Normally, this man was most certainly one to make an entrance. There was nothing he appreciated more than making a grand appearance before the frightened rabble, watching their faces turn pale as if they knew that their lives were already about to end. The glorious look of victory on his face that preceded his arrival; his reputation was something known to them, so for them to come across him was always a fright that scared the life out of some and the ages from the rest.

But it was not this day. Today, he could not afford to make a grand and glorious entrance; but he had chosen to arrive early. Punctuality was common. He was not. Unfortunately for him, there was the manner of being allowed in. Despite being a good ten minutes early, there was no allowing for taste--he named himself and tried to get past the secretaries, but to no avail. Eventually giving up, he waited for the time to pass by flipping a coin, back against the wall and eyes glazed over with boredom. To say that Ba'al was easily the most human of the Archdemons was certainly no lie. Every action he took was unusual, unnatural for a lot of the demonkin--he wasn't sure how he was thought of by the others, but he understood that he was different. He was not sure if it was his life's purpose to understand humanity. He was not sure if he was supposed to be a Demonic machine of death. He was created by Lucifer to show humility--and yet he was certainly one of the most prideful of the Archdemons... but was it his pride that kept him as he was? He could have forged himself a form that mimicked even the greatest beasts of this world, yet he chose to remain human in appearance. Even his own mind confused him.

So apparently, a steward had been appointed. Had Ba'al paid attention to any news flying around Darkroot, he may have known about this sooner--depending on how well news travelled. Ah, well. It appeared that the first of his brethren were arriving as well, and not a moment too late. He sighed softly, and turned to the receptionist with a bright glint in his eye. "You know, I wouldn't mind being let in now." He chuckled softly, pocketing the coin with a grin. She almost looked ready to slap him, but he knew she wouldn't. It was bad manners to look anything different to her others; and she knew that all-too-well. He was merely teasing, after all. Closing one red eye and finally approaching the elevator with a tested gait, Ba'al stepped through the portal into that small metallic box.

Had he cared, he might have noticed the banner--but he probably would not have either way. Instead, he pressed the button that he knew from memory and chuckled as the elevator rose to life. It would climb up to the top of the Spire. "Best view in the realm. What else could the King of the Demons ask for, eh?" Laughter escaped his lips as he waited, watching the numbers rise to that hallowed moment: 666.

Oh, we had never touched upon the clothing of the Original King, had we? There was no way he was wearing his armor; and while he could've quite happily worn his usual attire, he felt the need to produce something different. His hair was spiked upwards in the normal fashion, and he wore two heavy earrings--made of gold, obviously. A white, fur-lined coat hung over his shoulders--while a black shirt lay loosely beneath. Black pants and shoes completed the ensemble, and Ba'al felt himself rather attractive this night. Of course, everything but the nametag on his chest. "I swear, Lucifer. I swear."

Finally, however, the doors would slide open, revealing the cool air of that party atmosphere. He sighed softly and stepped through, red eyes gazing upon the other arrivals with a secular fashion--attempting to gaze into their motives as quickly as he could. The Lustful had arrived already, it seemed--how had he not noticed that choice ass on his way through? Even when in her mortal form, she was rather... captivating. Ah, well--her choice of attire was, as usual, rather gruesome. It suited her quite well. With a smirk lining his lips, he started to calmly peer at the table's placements. His eyes stopped upon a chalice, and he immediately gave a low laugh at its contents. It was fine and ornate.

Just his type. The fingers of his right hand moved in a quick circle, and the chalice rose into the air, levitating over to his hand and softly resting in between his fingers. A blood-red substance sloshed within, and Ba'al would take a mere sip of it before smiling. "A rather wonderful vintage." His eyes glossed over the rest of his placing--some buns that reminded him of home, and a tastefully-killed Quail. Everything was well-set and well-prepared. "I'd have to wonder how you coaxed Beelzebub's chefs away from him? It must have been an undertaking." More laughter, and he peered upon the newcomer with an interested eye. "I do not recognize you... and yet your face is all-too-familiar. I'm amused, and rightfully so." He grinned, before taking another sip of his wine.

Tonight was to be a wondrous night.

[Moloch]

As per usual, the booming thuds of heavy feet filled the air, as Moloch the Devourer came nearer the Devil's Spire. He'd left his bastion a week prior, in fact, in order to make it on time, given the leisurely pace of his great demonic vessel. He could have arrived much quicker in mortal form, of course, given its much smaller size, but it was certainly fine with him to march on in demon form. He quite enjoyed his size, and the terror of the petty infants below, as they murmured amongst each other as to what the archdemon could be doing, outside his homesphere.

Well, quite simply, he'd been called in by Lucifer. This was the first gathering of the archdemonic congregation in centuries, and he definitely couldn't miss such an occasion. Even he, the slowest in movement, was punctual, to the mark, arriving not a moment too late, nor a moment too soon, as his mammoth body groaned, compressing rapidly down to a more Ee-Arthly visage. Or, to be precise, to a visual appearance of a lesser demon, honestly. At eleven feet tall, and at least four feet wide, he was still gargantuan, he matter not being helped by large muscles, blue-gray skin and a literally blank stare, void of pupil or iris.

He stepped through the entrance to the Devil's spire, nodding to Trix and Trax. Knowing of the former angel's propensity towards psychopathy, when angered, the twins uttered only a greeting, not wishing to instigate his wrath. As he stepped towards the elevator, he pondered at the banner, reading it to himself. "HAPPY... STEWARDSHIP? HM... INTERESTING..." Somehow, from his deformed voice, the normally pleasant sounds of the heavenly tongue he'd spoken in sounded almost as Lovecraftian as the demonic language. In fact, noticing that he'd spoken Angelic, Moloch gave a low chuckle, rumbling like a thunderstorm. The language of God in the most ungodly location in the universe? How ironic.

The elevator was a long ride, per usual, zooming increasingly faster as it rose, gaining velocity and acceleration, until it abruptly stopped, allowing him to exit. As he did, he saw a row of name tags on a pedestal. Hmmm... How to go about this.

Well, when in doubt, do things the least logical way.

Taking the pedestal into his meaty right hand, he hoisted it up, tipping it suck that the paper holding his name tag sticker would fall into his left hand. Setting down the stand, he then bent the paper, such that his own name tag slightly popped up, the bending preventing it from sticking properly to the sheet. Then, with delicate and deft (not really) handwork, he peeled the sticker off (eventually), before setting the paper back down. He pressed the sticky paper to his chest, which was somewhat bare anyways, which would make it much easier to peel off, when done, given he'd have ended up ripping his shirt off in the attempt.

At any rate, he entered the room, and heard the tick of a clock. Hmmm... Seems he was a second off. "HELLO LUCI, SORRY MOLOCH IS LATE! MOLOCH WAS TRYING TO MAKE THE STICKERS WORK." Giving a small chuckle, he then turned to look at the other arrivals. "HELLO ASMO, YOU ARE LOOKING PRETTY TODAY! AND HELLO BALALALALALALA, IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU!" And of course, he turned to see the final person present, one whom he certainly hadn't seen before, but whose reputation had reached his ears. A wide smile on his boulderish face stared at the man, as he was but a man, a mere infant. Solid white eyes looked over the Impaler, sizing him up. "GOOD DAY, INFANT. YOU ARE THE STEWARD, MOLOCH PRESUMES? YOU LOOK WORTHY ENOUGH. WELCOME, WELCOME, WELCOME." At that approval, he then stepped over to his seat.

It was noticeably larger and sturdier than the other seats, much less a seat than a good and proper throne. And so he seated himself at it, the granite making a perfectly accommodating fit. Before him was a plate of food, quite bountiful in appearance. Two gargantuan steaks, which he cautiously sniffed, aware of his weakness to cooked beef. It was... Oh, kur! Dragon steaks were simply one of his favorite appetizers. Withdrawing from his pocket a large skull, his chalice of choice, he squeezed from one of the steaks a bit of the draconic blood, filling his large cup without even taking from the juiciness of the steaks, cooked rare, only to the point that they were quite hot, but not cooking out even the slightest bit of the blood he so enjoyed.

The devil had quite outdone himself.

[Legion]

Legion made his way towards the center of Inferis and while some of his brethren where ones who rejoiced in the pomp and ceremony that surrounded their role... Legion was not. So he made his way forward, every step slow and unhurried as he knew he would arrive exactly on time and not a second early nor late. This was due not to some miracle of planning oh no. They had after all just found the invitation but an hour before hand in the piles of papers that littered his inner most sanctum. No they where on time for no other reason then that they where Legion and that they where every where or any where at any given time. That was their nature, that was their purpose and in the end it was who they where. They glanced up at the larger then life building and shook their collective head. Always when they viewed it they had to wonder if the Devil, the great Lucifer, had a tiny dick. After all, pride was the trade mark sin of those with smaller then average penises... And Lucifer was the prince of pride. They would have asked ether Mammon or  Asmodeus but the two where blinded by their "love" for the Light Bringer that they would have lied to cover up any sort of bed room deficiencies, ether that or they wouldn't have noticed. They found it rather pathetic.

Opening the doors to the tower, Legion walked in seemingly alone. But Legion was never alone, with him came unseen guardians, hundreds of them moving about them.   They strode forward then, their patent leather shoes clacking on the cold stone cobbles of the floor. They appeared in their most common mortal form, that of the man known in the living world as Damion legio. And though there he appeared as an oddity, what with his almost blue skin, red tinted eyes and lightly pointed ears, in Inferis they where the picture of normalcy. Almost to normal in fact with his plain black business suit and though it was cut to fit and seemed to be made with the most luxurious of mortal materials... It was rather plain. Though their ears where studded with various gemed earrings they felt as if they would be the most plainly dressed there... Aside from the giant and simple Moloch. His eyes slid up and read over the banner. "Happy Stewardship? Ah this makes sense."

Trix and Trax stood at their desk and while they ignored the two demonic secretaries witless banter they did give the two a nod and a simple and oddly friendly smile before walking through the sliding doors and into the elevator proper. Now this was one of the renovations that Legion approved of, after all climbing up 666 sets of stairs was something that no sane man or demon would want to go through. Music played, an odd techno beat that was new to their ears, yet oddly reminiscent of a song they had not heard for eons... It was rather enjoyable.

Off they flew, floor after floor passed by the second and all to soon the music ended  and they stepped from the elevator and into the throne room of the Devil him self. In front of his was a pedestal, and on top of this pedestal where what looked like name tags and as he walked by arms grew from his back and quickly and surely removed theirs from the batch that remained.

Legions clear red eyes then took in the room as a whole and saw much to their disgust that they had not been the first to arrive. Sitting to Lucifer's left was  Asmodeus the queen of lust. But Legion did not see the creatures beauty oh no. They had known her since before the advent of time and they knew that what stood before them was but a shadow of what had come before. Now all she was was a boot licking reflection of the angel of love. Moloch sat across from her, and he was already living up to his name as he devoured the food sat before him. Ba'al came next in his to human guise. The creature thought him self close to the living world and its people, but Legion knew the truth. He was afraid of his own nature even after all this time, and he rejected it as he had rejected the fact that he was a demon. The self deception was disgusting in their eyes. Farther down the table Sat the Count. Ruler of the blood sucking fiends known as the Nosferatu and leader of their small nation. He would have been surprised, but they had already known that this male would be there. The eyes and ears of Legion where everywhere.

With out making a sound they made their way slowly towards their seat, and as they moved they nodded to each of his gathered brothers and sisters and then sat eyes locking on the INFORMATION EXPUNGED in front of them, another smile coming to their cool feature. Yes that would do them nicely. "We are glad to see that we are not the last to arrive." With a nod they reached out and took a plain clear glass from the table and took a long draft of the cool and sweet nectar he found with in. "We had hoped to be the first to arrive. It seems we where wrong to leave so late." With a shake of their head the glass was set gently on top of the table. "Though I doubt very much that we could have  made it here much sooner. Our Libarians, while talented in their way, lack certain attributes that make them worthy of carrying messages."

Note:

[Mammon]

She was late.  Rather, she was far later than she would have liked to have been to this event for one reason and one reason alone.  She hated to be late to anything Lucifer had invited her to, especially when it was important.  It was 2 minutes past since they should have all arrived, and she was still flying up to the great Spire that rose up to the sky to curse at the single being that had cast them down here.  Her new, feathery black wings flapped against the misty air, for once not accompanied by any of her Barghests at all.  Today was not a day to bring the puppies over to visit.  She could bring them another time.  Her body turned and angled as she swooped down, landing lightly just in front of the front doors, her golden eyes clouded with wisps of crimson as she straightened up.  She had noticed the increase of Succubi on the way here, and it was doing nothing for her mood.  

To be honest, she had been dreading an event such as this.  After discussing their siblings with Moloch a month before, she had been quite satisfied about that update on their various situations.  She didn't need to check in on them there.  But then she had received that invitation.  Little Marina had brought it to her as she had been lounging about drinking blood from a fresh kills' skull, a single pretty eyebrow raising at the sight of it.  A gathering of the archdemons.... Her face had instantly clouded then and she had startled her young, new servant by casting that skull against the ground so hard it shattered.  The blood had splattered everywhere, and her hounds knew how she displeased she had been.  She had wasted blood, and she hadn't even absorbed it into herself.  She had left it there as if it were a cursed reminder that she had to go to this single event that she was loathe to accept.  She had to go see all her siblings.  It wasn't as if she hated all of their company, just.... a couple.  

So as she saw a couple of Succubi fly away, crimson swept more into her gaze, her heels clacking into the floor.  There were a couple of things she took comfort in, and it wasn't as if she wouldn't be on her best behavior.  First, this was Lucifer's event.  That was the most important reason.  Second, her siblings hadn't seen her new form yet.  They didn't know that he had given it to her, specifically.  So she straightened up more and took one last, deep breath, stepping forward so that the doors opened forward.  The cooler air ruffled through her feathers, white hair undulating about her head lazily as it floated there as if it were flowing through oil.  The thorn tattoos still peeked out between the black lace of her dress.  The section covering her breasts beneath the lace was a rich crimson that swirled as if it were blood constantly shifting and moving.  Oh yes, she had spent time with her tailors to construct that exquisite gown.  She had wanted it, and so it would be so because... he was worth it.  

Her eyes immediately settled upon the two secretaries that she only nodded her head to before taking long strides towards the elevator.  She did, however, slow as she saw the sign that hung before it, raising her eyebrow.  So the Count had done well for himself then, good.  He was.... interesting.  And so very boring at the same time.  She would be interested to see how he acted amidst this event.  A chuckle flowed from her as the elevator doors opened, her delicate fingers pressing the button before she was sent shooting up towards the 666th floor.  It was cute that Lucifer had chosen a sign such as that for this, and just so very in character for him.  With a light ding the doors opened and she wasted no time walking out of it.  She snatched up the appropriate name tag while barely slowing to a stop, wanting to arrive inside as quickly as possible.  Again, she was later than she would have liked to have been.  And that.... whore had gotten here before her.  She took a deep breath as her eyes returned to their creamy golden color.  

She soon arrived in the dining hall, slowing as she saw that the room was occupied with (now) seven individuals.  The Archdemons were already sitting at their appropriate places, and her eyes immediately noticed the placement of each.  Her eye color did not change when she saw that it was Asmodeus beside her beloved, expression remaining calm and neutral as ever while her wings folded closer to her body.  She was still not the last.  She bowed to Lucifer even though it appeared as if she were addressing all the guests gathered.  "Please forgive my lateness."  She spoke with her smooth voice, bowing her head politely to the Count as she paused at the base of the table.  "A pleasure to see you again dear Count, you have been doing quite well I see.  Most excellent."  They would know her by her name tag, but she certainly was much changed from her almost feline appearance that she had bore for all those years.  She remained a beautiful mockery of that form she used to possess, much as Lucifer's demon form.  Mammon then moved towards her seat between Moloch and Ba'al, offering a smile to both of her brothers.  "Ba'al, you are looking well as always.  And Moloch, it is always good to see you."  She smoothed out the skirt of her dress as she sat down in the chair that was designed much like some of the ones she possessed at her palace.  

Now her gaze fell to the meal that was laid out before her and her smile grew.  She could smell the iron tang of the blood in her tea, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she turned to Lucifer.  "As always, my lord knows me so well.  Thank you."  Picking up her glass of tea, she nodded once to their beautiful creator and sipped it, any tension vanishing for but a single moment as the liquid slid down her throat.  Perfection.  Ah... but there were still two she had not addressed.  First she offered her smile to Legion, "Good to see you out of the Library Legion."  And then.... The Corrupter's gaze flicked to Asmodeus as she kept that calm smile upon her olive features.  "Asmodeus.  You have as interesting a choice in attire as ever."  It was a compliment.... and wasn't.  It was as close to pleasant as she was going to get towards her, and that should be appreciated for what it was.  To wear teeth so just seemed somehow.... not.. classy.  At all.  But this was Asmodeus, she was not classy in the least bit.  

Her fingers now hovered above the plate of sinew buns, plucking one up and taking a bite so she would not have to speak for a few moments at least, taking her time to enjoy the flavor and texture.  Mmm..... Lucifer had done quite well with these as well.  Her gaze remained lowered and somewhat demure, the Queen of Regal Necropolis appearing the perfect image of a ruler amidst a gathering of the leaders of the world for thats exactly what this was.  She just hoped that this evening would go quickly, that it wouldn't be as painfully as she knew it held the potential to be.

[Belial]

It was amidst the field of blood, scouring the servants thrice wrath filled smiting did Belial receive a summons from his immediate Lord Lucifer. A parody and paradox does he follow, but nonetheless he swore fealty, and to that he shall fulfill. It were but in the mountain of corpses, that of his subjects that would test their mettle against their own lord, their own ruler, does he teach them humbler respects by imminent demise. His doom driven war fervor dawned and collapsed like the twin trade centers and soon spasmed into but one ideal condition that be to look at the summon given and bestowed between this congregation rare and beholden not as often, not that he were a fan of such gatherings. They were petty with the many personalities and clash of conflicts gathered about. Truly, it were a godsend he did not devolve into the Butcher, for truly there would be naught but provokations must counter productive to what should be achieved of his realm. For every one he would vanquish, Belial would KNOW there are many more to replace, spawning in place for their war sins in life against such conventions, bloodthirsty and without remorse save a few repentant souls he shall have to deal with himself.

So anyways, he had a place to get to, a place of meeting of importance, perhaps for reasons unknown, to be summoned en masse to deliberate as they leave their realms defenseless... except Belial's realm is often chaotic, and really there is nothing to worry about, as anarchy, death, and bloodshed are common place. Anyways, so he has to go to this place, and gone he has. Besides smiting a challenger or two that came upon him with the intent of trying for his place as rulers, but alas, they are but little drops of water before an ocean, that it speaks volumes of their prowess that they were capable of approaching him without being overwhelmed by his massive aura, unable to fathom it from within and without. His dimension was truly an alien one just as he is nonetheless, with the geometry and the architecture, as well as gravity upside down at times, sometimes it just lacks place, and at other times, there are shapes so bizarre, it has driven men flabbergasted by its very existence, but Inferis is not a realm of common sense, or that for humans, but for those of the damned. The sinful and unrepentant, and Belial's was the domain of war, where like their own wages paid to their prisoners and among others, honorless as they were, they now face their own kind facing no justice, but to be felled by their own hands and be absorbed into the very miasmic life force that makes Inferis's energy abundant ever so much.

There is no shortage of wicked neither, that the most abundant of the modern day ones are those of Nazi Germany, the Schutzstaffel, fanatical as they were and brave, but morally bankrupt. And now? Well, ironically some Templars fell those ranks as one of the damned. Nonetheless, that was not the issue at hand, but one of the meeting. One uncalled for since time immemorial, that now it has come to be convened and beckoned for Belial's attention. His realm could use his absence for now, and his Silver Knights a practice as to skewer whomever trod and trespass through his keep. Belial himself would merely step into a mound of swords his very will sundered from the corpses he has made, attaching one and all together in an abstract fashion as he stepped through them...

Later.

His presence was not made early and neither his debut, he had to attend the rather troublesome elevator, and hear the chortle of those foul and sullen wenches for secretaries his liege, Lucifer, has taken a liking to for reasons unknown, a conundrum unimportant as of this very tiding, the much important question begged that be the summon. A very entertaining notion that he had served another for a time after Lucifer before continuing his service, in King Solomon's service by oath to a ring. That stories have come to say he danced for King Solomon himself. A shame he died, service unto him was as amusing as it was spent, a King himself regarded within God's very own fold as chosen. Amusing, the chosen not with that whom was chosen. Prophecies be spoken a plenty, and heralded that designs were in place, but for now, a dinner banquet awaits.

He had not need look at the huge penis shaped overcompensating tower that one would remark at the inadequacy of the architect in question, or the particular taste of the user. But the person in question was quite fucked up and messed up in ways. Verily. That whom he NOW serves.

He walked through the lobby anyways, that much was established, took the way to the flooring available in the most convenient manner possible, as he has supernatural intelligence to utilize to go there after losing time. Follow through and ignore the many lesser demons that plague and fester in this tower, another thing established, head through the halls, get a "Hello, I am Belial, I am known as the Demon of Impurity, and am the Ambassador to the Turks. My favorite hobbies are decapitating, drinking from the skulls of the fallen, and engage within the scopes of the Apocalypse. I was once falsely accused of being Nero once." Yes, that was written on his "Hello, I am" sticker that was plastered clearly on his armor. Well... armor... or form... or something. It was NEVER really clarified if his armor is him, or there it was something just worn really, who knows? That helmet of his obscures his face quite so much with shade. But from what was told and chronicled before, he was deceptively stunning to behold as trademark to all angels, statuesque, and not so manly looking. Well actually, is he manly looking now? Prolly a good reason why he obscures his face is because he isn't as ugly as his brethren? Come to think about it, nobody but Lucifer can come to say they have actually seen his face, not even Moloch has seen his face. Or is his face his helmet? One can never know if he is like a Nazgul from Lord of the Rings, or just wearing an actual helmet.

Anyways, he just wore his armor, AS USUAL. Didn't even bother to change his form, taking his seat, silently. Having earlier placed that nametag on himself, but with a tiny slip so he can rip it off when need be. His gauntlets have these pointy ends that can leave scratches on his armor that he is too lazy to repair. SOMETHING HE COULD WILL REPAIRED that he is TOO LAZY TO DO IT. Honor a cloak he wore really, playing a game of charades and what have you.

To iterate, he SAT DOWN. On a chair he conjured, after with one hammerfist on the chair in place, had it snapped like twigs, and conjured a throne of gold to sit upon, glistening and what have you as his yielded backside slammed unto it. Shaking the floor beneath and cracking it somewhat as it oozed with mercury. Belial, or Beliar, erratically and unlike his Knightly self merely stared out at Mammon, then to the rest, and then to the newcomer. Either that lazy ass what's his face Balgedouche had decided to look like a D-list demon, or that's Vlad the Impaler, who is wearing a dress (to him, wearing a robe with pants underneath is STILL a dress). This entity as of now is not the Knight but the BUTCHER. He is just having fun wearing Belial's Knightly form.

He looked upon his meal, and briefly removed his helmet. But it was within a nanosecond, before anyone can even glimpse at what was underneath his helmet, he had concluded his evening meal, or whatever time it was, placing his helmet back on his head, and so were the barbaric food as well. Tucking something shadowy back into the confines of his armor as he giggled incessently whenever he gazed at Vlad the Impaler.

Come to think of it, he hasn't seen ANY of these Archdemons for THOUSANDS of years. They still look ugly as asses before. Lucifer has let himself go turning into a pasty white chaminga. But hokay, he has done off with worse, and seen worse. Man, is Belial, well the Knight persona, going to be SO PISSED he didn't get to attend this.

Sequence of events.

1. Entry.
2. Moar entry.
3. Walking.
4. Some peeps.
4. Elevatus.
5. Walking.
6. Sticker.
7. Sitting down.
8. Barely tolerating Mammon's coppery blood smell, and Asmodeus's heady musk.
9. Also barely restraining himself from making puns on their names, or for the fact, making fun of the congregation.
10. Playing with the charade he is in fact Belial the Knight, and as of right now, NOT the Butcher.
11. He finished his meal.
12. He said NOTHING whatsoever.
13. He arrived like after Mammon anyways.
14. He is resisting the urge to call Moloch a fatass, and he should lose some pounds.
15. Vlad the Impaler is a noodle incident joke to him.
16. Something.

(OOC: If anyone asks, I made this post off my meds. WHICH I will be getting NOW. If I missed any details, erm... something. Pretend I noticed it or something, or talk to me? Dunno.  )

P.S. Ross, I POSTED. THERE. HAPPY NOW?! Also happy July 4th. What if even like there are in when well.

[Beelzebub]

Tonight, all were gluttonous it seemed. None could share the same meal, and all had to have their own customized feasts. For that, Beelzebub had indeed lent out his greatest chefs, however, at this given time, he was feeling regret. Was it a sin to all have separate meals--was that where the divide between them began? They were meant to be gathered together, yet even their 'thrones', or chairs rather, varied in differences. (Some not so discreet). All were empty, devoid of their purposes, languishing where they were placed so as to soon be filled. His seat as well remained daringly empty. First to arrive after Lucifer himself, it had been a quick trip up to the six-hundred-sixty-sixth floor, and he was eager to overlook the delicacies laid out now before the empty chairs. He could go over them for hours before deciding that they were not perfect enough. For wasn't perfection something forbidden in Inferis? Never achieved, and hardly so under circumstances that took his prized chefs away from the Forlorn Ashlands. Was he bitter about it? Not really. It must be something else then perhaps. Curiosity? What taste would this selection offer now in the Spirelands rather than his residence? Hm. It was certainly something to look into. Maybe everyone would let him have a taste of their meals. If Ba'al wasn't in a stingy mood, it could work to his benefit. At the same time, how much did it really matter? They would all eat together. Whether different meals or a different atmosphere, how much should it matter? Now wasn't that a question.

"The cool atmosphere is quite pleasant." Attention drawn. A newcomer (literally newcomer) arrived on cue. Vlad III Țepeș, ah, a name that would never appear correct in a spellcheck. He could have chuckled, but he didn't make a sound; Zeb was too busy studying the creature and why he was deemed appropriate for the occasion. Having never met, it was hard to say much of anything here in his assessment. Except that, maybe, the man had terrible depictions of temperature. It was pleasant if he were a penguin. But he wasn't a penguin. He's an Archdemon from Hell; so what about this is pleasant!? Okay, it was settled. The man was awol and had no idea what he was saying. It was probably spur-of-the-moment small-talk that, to be blunt, sucked.

"I think it's a bit chilly." Thank youuuu. Now he knew why she was considered the sexiest thing in Inferis. It had nothing to do with appearance, and aside from her delectable taste in temperature, he felt absolutely nothing for her. In fact, he felt absolutely nothing at all. 8D

There was, on occasion, days when he thought he had an emotional response to something, but it is not this day. Today, he had to deal with a conglomerate of fellow princes and princesses. One such much preferred the title and pretty much everything that went along with it. (Emphasis on everything). Ah, the stingy one had indeed arrived and was looking as golden as ever. "I'd have to wonder how you coaxed Beelzebub's chefs away from him? It must have been an undertaking." Ohh~ had it been? His eyes narrowed in a silent, maniacal giggle. It had been rather easy actually. What more opportunity to share than this?

He felt Moloch before he saw him, arriving precisely when he meant to (which was nearly late). It was a surprise really that he even fit in the hall, but not surprising that it was fashioned so in order to fit the beast. As it should be. In preparation, Beelzebub held his ears with both hands. Greetings, greetings, and "GOOD DAY, INFANT. YOU ARE THE STEWARD, MOLOCH PRESUMES? YOU LOOK WORTHY ENOUGH. WELCOME, WELCOME, WELCOME." His insides laughed. Infant was such a befitting name for the Vampire (or whatever he was). Young, inexperienced, all sorts of other things he didn't know because he never met the guy. It was well-advised to trust 'Luci' with his choice, and 'welcome' was just the start.

Speaking of start, many walked in to join them. 'They' were one and one too many. Nearly omnipresent in their knowledge and senses, he failed to note one thing: Beelzebub. While 'they' scanned each present, it was as if confirming suspicions. He was glad not to be one of those subjects of study--something about it felt off. Schizo to a degree, 'they' proceeded further into the room just as silent as he. Whether not acknowledging him was out of respect or out of ignorance, he did not know. It was hard to get a hold on a good 1,500 (or whatever it was) entities locked away into one being. At that, he gave up. "Though I doubt very much that we could have made it here much sooner. Our [Librarians], while talented in their way, lack certain attributes that make them worthy of carrying messages." See, wasn't that weird? How would one even interpret that, he wondered? It was just odd trying to imagine any more than one consciousness within a being. It made him want to learn. Perhaps it would be a nice dinner discussion. 'So, what's it like harboring so many? Bet it's hard deciding what to eat first.' Oh, the struggle.

There she was. Mammogram nnnn. Maybe he read the nametag wrong, but she looked...changed. Always in the red, he could feel it in the air, wafting off her like steam rising from fresh cooked rice. And, oh, would Asmodeus be cooked. But the neutral expression wasn't giving anything away at all, he noted. It took great experience to pull that off: precision. It was something he enjoyed from this particular sibling.

The Nazgul joined the rest, though it was curious whether there was actually something under the helmet, or if it was empty inside. Angels lost all sorts of things when they fell, heads being one of them. Though Belial could think for himself so maybe not. Maybe he was just entirely made out of metal!? It was a wonder what one could assess from the ceiling.

Drip. Whoops. Was that a dead give away? Neon green eyes narrowed in on the descent of the drip. Unfortunately it was stationed now atop Dracula's head or in the relative area had it missed its target (not that it was ever aimed or anything). One of the popsicles (blueberry if you were wondering) hung haphazardly crooked in the Archdemon's jaws, clenched together like crazed shark teeth. He swung his neck up, opened his mouth, and devoured the rest of the frozen delight with one fell swoop and then dropped his body to land beside the cloaked steward, wherein a clawed finger tapped his nametag with intention. It looked like this: Beelzebub (◇‿◇)Ψ

"Hallo. I'm not apologizing."

WHAT:

[Leviathan]

Leviathan had awoken early that fine morning in hell. She didn't have time to appreciate the wasteland that encroached upon the shores of her kingdom. Oh no. She had preparations to do. Mainly being, to meet her anger quota for the day. As the sea raged on as that little fire in her heart began to flicker to life, she walked around the beach of her sea, looking for her punting targets of the day. And what would be better than Gunther? Yes, Gunthers, a name she had lifted from a very popular children's show on earth. They seemed to be the best for their version of Moloch to punt and take out his frustrations. She had actually started watching the show whenever possible, her childish side feeling that innocent charm that was so elusive in her cascading, furious sea which in itself was a den of debauchery, violence, and food chains. All three of which Leviathan were atop of here. There they were, she thought, her bare tan feet daintily padding on the rocks and sand. Tiny wings, peg legs, first aid kits, YEP! Those were Gunthers. One saw her, a yellow feathered one and gave an excitable "Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude~". The thin wooden legs of the creature waddled the hipster demon to her, its finger-less flippers popping open the fanny pack and handing her a potted plant. It was green, covered in many leaves, and looked medicinal in some way or another. She looked at the little thing and she was greeted with an extended flipper and a blank stare, two large empty eyes peering over its shimmering beak. "Duuuuuuuuuude. Righteous." That sounded...good, right? The offering of a gift, a "hand", polite words, somewhat. A sign of kindness. A sign of even perhaps friendship.

Which was soon met with an expert punt and then an extermination of life due to explosion. She smiled and put the back of her hand to her cheek, laughing enthusiastically. Friendship? In her angry mood? FUCK THAT SHIT, BROTHER. From then, for most of the day, she wandered around her ENTIRE domain, punting most of the little bastards off her land for not giving the appropriate "wenk" noise. It had taken up most of her day and as she stood by the sea, she felt she had forgotten something. Something that her rage had made her forget. Something that was important....oh shit. Wasn't she supposed to be already gone? ...Yes. Yes she was. Her bare form jumped up from the ground and soon tan skin turned to crystal blue scales as her serpent form entered the water head first, slithering through the water towards her coral palace. She had sent Ariel to have her clothes ready and waiting for her for when she returned. Leviathan stood bare, goosebumps flying up her body in her chaotic foyer, with so many swirling coral pillars and framing. Ariel waited at the door for her Mistress. She had pale, fair skin, a slender frame with not much curve to her and blazing red hair. She was cute, to say the least, but she didn't have that nice figure, nor the endurance, to be placed in her harem. But my various devils, she had some devotion. She was incredibly attached to Leviathan, but that was probably because she always tried to wiggle herself into her bed. The sounds in the night time must have interested Ariel into...trying to get a sample. Leviathan eyed her in that nice french maid outfit, charmed at the very least by her choice for Leviathan. She changed right there, seeing the blush rise in Ariel's cheeks before stepping out and taking to the skies, the wings of her demonic form curling her through the clouds.

***

Trix and Trax, the secretaries of the Spire, had first commented on Leviathan's attire. Leviathan had, first and foremost, been wearing no shoes. Ariel's outfit did not come equipped with shoes. It was not a gown. No, it was more...bathing suit of elegance. A diaphanous, ankle length skirt covered everything beside her left leg with a knot tied above her hip. Across her chest was a wrap of satin, pure white shimmering in the foyer lights. Her hair was undone, long and straight all the way to her ankles. She disregarded the two as she padded across the cold, dark-swirled tile towards the elevator. As the doors slid shut, she examined the dark interior. Buttons. HUNDREDS OF THEM, each individually labeled with floor numbers. They took BOTH sides of the doors just to cover all the floors. She took only a few seconds to scan them all and putting a painted purple nail to the most obvious choice in elegance and of humor. Six hundred and sixty six, a number that certainly lost its charm over the millennium of hearing it. Over. And over. And OVER, GODFUCKINGDAMMIT,STOPSAYINGITALREADY,MERCIFULLUCIFER!

Alright. Calm down. Happy Levi Time...HAPPY. Levi Time. Now, from what she understood from both the invitation and the large decorated banner, some new guy was to become the steward for her sleepy brother. She knew it was a HE. But that's all she knew. In the mirror-like walls of the elevator, she checked herself before she would potentially wreck herself. She was already late. Then again, she was sure she wasn't the only one. Nimble fingers straightened her island-girl like skirt and then her forearms gave a gentle lift to her ample bust. She made sure the sash was tight, as to avoid any potential wardrobe malfunctions. Asmodeus would be attending, of course, and she didn't want to give her any ideas. But then again, the outfit in itself would probably give way to a lewd thought or two. Or nine. Or fifty seven. But as she looked at herself, she couldn't remember the last time she wore something so white. Not a speck of dirt on her nor any imperfection. Her mauve lips turned to a confused half smile. For someone who held the title of the Impure, her clothing was otherwise. Color-wise, of course, but just that blinding, almost ghost white color combining with the shock white of her luscious long hair, then with her soft, silk like skin over her supple, elegant frame was just the most...exotic combination. Most sea creatures were exotic, so the Mistress of them all was the most exotic by default. In both power...and beauty.

The speeding elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slid with ease out of her way, her feet padding to the small table in front. Hmm...only hers was present on the table. She hissed, with that "oh, this is not good" face as she picked up her name-tag. Hmm...where to put this....ah-ha. She smacked the tag straight on her sash, right at center of her bosom beneath the bountiful cleavage that was visible. Her body was already experiencing the goosebumps from not only the cold air-conditioning, but fear as well. Her hand laced itself around the doorknob and turned it. Her whole demeanor seemed to change as she walked in. Or rather, flaunted in. One foot directly in front of another, hips swaying. Anyone who saw her in THAT outfit really shouldn't be surprised. As a woman of the sea, Leviathan was used to being barely clothed and was also used to others seeing her in such attire. Sure, often she wore that large, dark purple dress, but it was SUMMER, for Luci's sake. Getting into the season was just about right. Lucifer...god, he hadn't aged a day. Still as handsome as ever, though his hair was like hers today and those crystal blue eyes set on that pale skin, keeping her eyes on him with a calm, cheerful expression, lips curled in a smile as she took a seat next to the Original King. The seat was comfortable and plush which felt good against her bare left thigh. Her lips opened, cooing out hellos and compliments to all present. Her first went directly to the head of the table. "I am sorry for being so late, Lucifer. I had not awoken in the most pleasant of moods and I took the time to...release my frustrations. Wouldn't want to ruin this fabulous dinner with a rampage." She smiled, then went down the table, eyes darting down further and further. "Moloch, honey, good to see you again. That steak looks scrumptious, is it? And Asmodeus, fetching as always, I hope you're well." Then she saw Mammon. Oh...Oh my. That. THAT. THAT. She smiled almost nostalgically as she looked at her distant sister. "That is a form I haven't seen in ages. I had almost forgotten how good you looked in it. Excellent dress as well, sister." From there, she commented on Belial's lack of food and where he had placed it (her assuming a la Alphonse), asking if Beelz had sharpened his teeth since last they saw each other, waving to Legion (her favorite sibling who LOVED to visit her Sea like Moloch did, while everyone else could care less about their eclectic sister), then propping her hand on her chin, her eyes taking a long drink of the mystery man at the very end.

"This must be the new steward. He's quite handsome," She had spoken as if Vlad were a photo or statue, without any sort of relativity to herself. Then the tan lid of her eye winked at him, smiling as hair flowed down her shoulder like a waterfall as she took a sip from her long, spotless glass. Ooooh, mineral water, thankfully. Drunk Levi was never the best thing to be dealt with. "Welcome to the family." And with that, she absent-mindedly took a bite of her food. It was the taste of cooked seafood. Normally, the pure thought of cooking something she so thoroughly loved raw would make her cringe, but this was specially selected for her, by Lucifer no less. She made a pleasant, content hum as she chewed, then dabbed her lips with her tablecloth. "My compliments to the chef...but this tastes an awful lot like Johnathan. Or was it Craig? It kind of tastes like Craig." Leviathan was so glad to be out with her siblings, even though they barely spoke with her. She was so bored that she began to actually name the beasts of her domain. Starting with the Old Ones.

[Lucifer]

"The cool atmosphere is quite pleasant."

Lucifer shrugged. "I keep a freezer full of preserved infants and other stuff around. The residual chill they all leave gives the place a healthy temperature." With that, he let off a toothy grin. Baby-eating was something people would definitely associate with the Devil; and the rumours were only really true in a culinary sense. Human children were very tender, and went especially well as a marinade with some good charbroiled chicken, or as a possible condiment. On their own they were a little... underwhelming. Seemed to be an analogue for humanity in itself, really. Most of them, anyway.

The next to rock up was Asmodeus, who he'd encountered only a couple of weeks prior; she arrived in a flowing black gothic dress which gave her a exceptionally seductive look - though that was by nature more than anything else - and a set of heels making a sharp clack with every step which would really end up pissing him off. He narrowed his pupils out of irritation as she approached but broadened his smile out of a mixture of familiarity and sheer sexual attraction. Eh, he could deal with the heels provided she tugged her top down juuuust a little to show some more cleavage. "Succubus thigh? How naughty."

Pulling up to her designated seat, Lucifer extended a hand - staying in his own throne - and gently ran his knuckles up one of his many superior lovers' cheek. "Well, I know you like it naughty, m'lady," The Devil's grin only widened further. Asmodeus was always great fun at parties. Like that time with the four succubi and the keg of Jack Daniels. Not to mention the few phials of Lumios blood. Which he had to chase one after another - and then teleport a few more in to drain - in order to get any real hallucinogenic effect.

Next to rock up was, of course, the worlds' grandest banker - sometimes often spelt with an alternative "w" instead of "b" - with all the class and elegance that was to be expected of the more... subtle of his male lieutenants. "I'd have to wonder how you coaxed Beelzebub's chefs away from him? It must have been an undertaking." Lucifer shrugged, grin decreasing to a fitting smile, as the pseudo-youngest - though first, technically - of the Archdemons continued to sip at his wine. "I do not recognize you... and yet your face is all-too-familiar. I'm amused, and rightfully so."

Immediately Mephistopheles made a rebuttal. "It's all a matter of convincing, my dear Ba'al," Oh how regally the pair conversed; to Lucifer, it was almost in an ironic and mocking sense, though he knew how the First enjoyed his more eloquent and formal diction. "But they're on loan." His smile dropped to nothing more than a smirk and he shrugged once more. Speaking of which, where was the Lord of the Flies? "All concerning the newcomer shall be revealed in time." Looking from the once-Sumerian to the Nosferatu, he inclined his head slowly.

A thundering roar followed soon after. The widest and most playful of smiles yet - for smiles were what Satan himself was forged of - as he knew exactly of that signature approach. A shrink into his "Mortal" Form later, and the Devourer rocked up: "HELLO LUCI, SORRY MOLOCH IS LATE! MOLOCH WAS TRYING TO MAKE THE STICKERS WORK." With an offhanded wave, Samael gestured to the fearsome granite throne that had been so deftly carved from a block barely hours earlier, and for Moloch to take a seat.

The stickers had been a nice touch. Broadly he grinned again. "Good to see you again, big guy," Lucifer watched with intent but perfect remembrance as he sat down and unveiled a skull chalice, wringing out the gargantuan steaks with his bare hands. "I remembered how you liked your dragon meat, Moloch," The Devil said idly with a salute from his forehead, before turning to the next, familiar arrivals. All one thousand five hundred of them.

"We are glad to see that we are not the last to arrive." Ah, ol' blankface was back. It was funny to think that Legion had inspired that curious web series on Earth, what with the tentacles and quantum teleportation. "We had hoped to be the first to arrive. It seems we where wrong to leave so late." The faceless Archdemon rose an excellent point; the punctuality was somewhat lacking here. With another lackadaiscal shrug, Lucifer entertained himself by idly fiddling with the gothic throne he called his own, and replying.

"But is time not relative, Legion?" Now this was always fun. "Are "late" and "early" simply terms and labels used for certain distinguished points upon a timeline that can change and alter itself freely, one that all life, even we, in all our formidable strength, must obey?" Well, he did have that new tweak with the space-time continuum that was always fun. And, of course, fucking around with Ba'al's gravity bollocks was always mildly entertaining. "But perhaps, most of all, Master Frodo, you should take into account that an Archdemon is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to."

Mammon strolled in not moments later, sporting lacy attire to rival even the extravagance and exposure of Asmodeus' dress. Typical. "As always, my lord knows me so well.  Thank you." She addressed each of the others in turn... before... "Asmodeus.  You have as interesting a choice in attire as ever." Yeah... that was noticeable. The venom in her words - and the inevitable sting in the retort the Archsuccubus would respond with - always made Lucifer grin. There was no anger, no concern - infact, their sibling "rivalry" was something that had always entertained him. A little fire in the ranks wasn't a bad thing.

"Keep it in your pants, ladies, or take it outside," Lucifer grinned. "Or, at least, save it for later. I'm sure the others would appreciate a good catfight." Violence was a patron attribute of the many tiers of Hell; it was more a spectacle and an everyday occurrence than something to be feared or abhorred. "I know I would. But the night is young, my dears, so you can save your vying for my affection for a little later, please." Oh the narcissism. How signature of Heylel.

The Knight-Butcher combination Belial entered silently a moment later, and Lucifer squinted, trying to discern the true persona of the stoic armoured being. All the while he kept his gaze locked on the metal titan as he lowered his fist down upon the chair, splintering it with a single deft strke. The metallic Archdemon soon conjured a fresh chair with his own ability. "I would feign false upset at you destroying such an artful masterpiece, but I know you'd see through my facade." With a shrug, he continued looking on. "But your replacement is superior as is the norm, comrade."

As he devoured the food with a giggle, Satan beamed. "Good to see you, anyway. How's the Undercroft?" The chortling laughter had given it away. This was obviously the Butcher. "We'll go for a little genocidal purge at some point. We're a few years overdue." Scratching the back of his head, he sighed. "The war in Afghanistan's tapering down, again, though. I really think we should incite some shit in Bosnia again. They've been quiet for a while."

With a quick drip, the Beelzebub he'd noticed the appearance of on the ceiling what felt like eons ago dropped to the ground and appeared looming over the new steward, devouring the last of the popsicles he'd laid out with a toothy grin. "Hallo. I'm not apologizing." Shaking his head with a broad smile, he pointed to the vacant chair between Belial's throne and the faceless Archdemon with a sigh.

"Stop teasing the newbie, Zeb." Though the popsicle rings had been diminishing somewhat - Lucifer himself wasn't entirely sure of the synthetic flavours. Maybe he'd thrown a few human-flavoured ones in there or something? Eh, he didn't know. Best way to trick someone was to momentarily force yourself to forget. Surprise both parties. Omnipotence was the shit. "He's a nice kid and you'll scare him off. Can't be having that." With that, he looked to the premier chef and then to Vlad with a wider grin than ever before as Leviathan - finally - walked in with a jovial step and an egotistical bounce.

Lucifer furrowed his brow. What the fuck did she think she was doing? PROUD of her lack of punctuality? Pride was a glorious vice: and yet when misplaced and paralleled against a complete disrespect for him, it was a minor irritation. "I am sorry for being so late, Lucifer. I had not awoken in the most pleasant of moods and I took the time to...release my frustrations. Wouldn't want to ruin this fabulous dinner with a rampage." That was good. At least she made an apology. He wouldn't have to want to start looking for a steward for the Sea as well.

Releasing her frustrations? "I don't want to hear about your masturbatory habits in public, Leviathan. Sit down so we can get started." It was an order, sure; but it came with a smile. He wasn't really bothered at the end of the day. There was no hardon for formal punctuality: they were just ten Demons all sat round a table, having some grub and celebrating something new. It was a rare affair, but a pleasant one all the same. And just on cue he got to his feet, raising a glass that had just filled with a blend of Kristal and ancient papal blood, not bothering to chime it, and instead raising his voice a little.

"ERRBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP A MINUTE OKAY." With that, he cast his eyes out over the asymmetrical positioning of the five-and-four seats either side of the grandiose dining table. "We're here, above all else, to do one thing, and one thing alone." Lucifer acknowledged, with a serious, stoic look slipping onto his face. "One thing that is a rare occurrence; that's something we haven't done in a while, but that's what gives this particular event significance." Inclining his head and setting the glass back down on the table with a sigh, it became swiftly clear that this speech was very much meaningful. "We're here to get absolutely fucking plastered."

DRINKING. But, that aside, Lucifer curled his smile outwards and shook his head. "That wasn't a joke, but in actuality, the reason we are here is for an occurrence that's not infact rare, but prior to this point in time, completely non-existent, ladies and gentlemen." Lowering a proud, accusatory finger in an arc, he outstretched a black-gloved digit upon Vlad and announced to the rest of the table. "This Demon is Vlad III Tepes, though you may well know him as Dracula, Count of the Nosferatu." Heylel continued.

"Our slothful kindred spirit slumbers still now for over a millennium in his Labyrinth." The Patriot's Labyrinth. "And we know not for how longer he shall. But under his drowsy rest, the Chasm sees itself unruled; the power of we Princes there is challenged. Over a thousand years and change the wicked tendrils of doubt have slipped into the people as they believe we are, for the first time in eons past, slacking." Slacking. How could they so think that? For the Demons that provided them with the land between their feet and the anarchic chaos they so greedily lapped up like a cat at milk?

Shaking his head viciously, he unleashed a booming declaration. "THIS IS NOT THE CASE!" Jabbing his finger once more through the air, he gestured to the Count again. "This Demon rose from infamy in Earth to the higher echelons of aristocracy in nary half the time that our comrade has indeed been unconscious, but in that time he has dominated a new order of Nosferatu and called himself Lord of them with a totalitarian vicegrip." Satan inclined his head. "This Demon earned his position and presence at this table today of his own blood, sweat, strategy, and burgeoning hatred over centuries past." Grandiose, he let his hands come out to his side now and continued the announcement. "This Demon raised arms against me on a fair field of battle and welcomed the embrace of absolute annihilation to be shattered into tiny fragments of depersonalised Soul Energy all for a chance to face me." And that was no small feat.

"And this Demon knows himself now as your brother." He looked from face to face. Entities he had known and trusted now for billions of years - bar the change of face, even in the one once known as Gilgamesh - and one for barely a week. "For many a century too I looked for someone to take the place of the Slothful and none would dare to raise arms against the Demon who gave them unlife, who gave them recreation on these beautifully abhorrent planes of existence." And finally, that determined smirk, that single pair of lips sat upon a deathly cold face, curled upwards into the greatest, most looming, and intense smile of all.

"And this Demon is the only one who did." With that, he let his hands fall to his side. "Today he watches over the Chasm. Until the Slothful awakens it is a land of his own. He is your sibling. He may be your junior in age, but from this point onwards, not in position." Eight and one faces stared upon him. "I ask you not to like him, not to approve of him, and not to mingle with him as some of you do not even to your own peers," With that he looked to Mammon and Asmodeus in turn. "But you will treat him with the respect of being mine own lieutenant grants him."

With that, he stepped back, and readied himself to sit down. The speech was done. The announcement complete. And now for an evening of frivolities and hilarity. "He is a steward. And will remain so until Belphegor awakens." Silently he rose his glass into a toast. "To Vlad III Tepes. To Dracula. To the rightful Steward of the Entropic Chasm." Whether all cheered him or none, he tipped back the glass into his throat, swallowing the contents greedily, and fell graciously back into his chair with a contented slump. Bowing his head. And now... the party began. They could eat; talk amongst themselves; mingle; or do soever what they wished. For beyond the few rules Lucifer set in stone and place... Inferis was a land of free men Demons.

[Vlad III Țepeș]

Drăcula's face remained fixed in its expression, unmoving and lifeless as events passed by like seconds spent navigating a dream. Even the pleasantries directed toward him by some of the more amicable Archdemons, such as that lumbering monstrosity that addressed itself as "Moloch", were taken with a grain of salt; the unrivaled master of the Nosferatu could certainly feel the suspicion radiating from some of Lucifer's lieutenants as they tried to size him up, estimate his worthiness, judge him behind false smiles and eyes filled with mistrust for the younger Demon. This was to be expected, though, and would be forced to deal with it, regardless of their opinions on the matter. For the Dark Lord willed it to be so, and so it shall come to be.

"ERRBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP A MINUTE OKAY." Satan's means of drawing the eight and one's attentions was, to say the least, tactless, but efficient nevertheless. The Count toyed with the large spoon as he fixed his unnatural yellow eyes on the Ruler of Hell, waiting for his grand announcement. "We're here to get absolutely fucking plastered." Drăcula darkly narrowed his gaze, not directly at Lucifer or even in his general direction, but at the empty space before him. He had a slanted sense of humor; getting used to such a fact would take time. The vampire coolly sighed through his nostrils upon coming to grips with this, then proceeded to continue listening to his lord and master.

"This Demon is Vlad III Țepeș, though you may well know him as Drăcula, Count of the Nosferatu." Lucifer continued as he gestured to the well-dressed vampire, the guest of honor himself, who stayed glued to his seat, frigid and resolved in his posture to the point where he appeared very much like a clothed, porcelain statue. "Our slothful kindred spirit slumbers still now for over a millennium in his Labyrinth." He must be referring to the only Archdemon currently absent from today's affair—Belphegor. "And we know not for how longer he shall. But under his drowsy rest, the Chasm sees itself unruled; the power of we Princes there is challenged. Over a thousand years and change the wicked tendrils of doubt have slipped into the people as they believe we are, for the first time in eons past, slacking."

Drăcula physically resisted the urge to let his lips form a wicked sneer as his mind was set ablaze with the prospect of the Devil and his subordinates behaving rather incompetently in their endeavors to rule Inferis and its Demonic population. To outdo the personification of acedia himself? What a scandalous notion; though it appeared plausible at this point. Satan clearly did not value his position as the almighty Devil as much as he claimed to. Or perhaps he did. Lucifer was an enigma, and that much was certain.

"THIS IS NOT THE CASE!" The master of the Nosferatu watched with a glaze of interest in his observant eyes as the Devil gestured to him once more. "This Demon rose from infamy in Earth to the higher echelons of aristocracy in nary half the time that our comrade has indeed been unconscious, but in that time he has dominated a new order of Nosferatu and called himself Lord of them with a totalitarian vicegrip." Totalitarian vicegrip? How very flattering of him, the undisputed champion of all things haughty and prideful, to say that! The compliment was well-received, if only because it was entirely true. Ever since Drăcula removed that cretinous Count Orlok from the picture, despite that it was he who made him into what he is today and now, his vampiric servants have proven themselves to be quite useful, if not animalistic from time to time. An army was only as strong as its leader; the aristocratic Count was living proof of this.

"This Demon earned his position and presence at this table today of his own blood, sweat, strategy, and burgeoning hatred over centuries past." The Nosferatu calmly dipped his spoon into the bowl before him, lifting the device filled with slightly coagulated blood as he tilted it upward. This was squeezed from a human? He chuckled to himself; having been dead for so long, he had almost forgotten what human blood tasted like. Vile and lamentable creatures, they were, but they made a mean soup. Literally. "This Demon raised arms against me on a fair field of battle and welcomed the embrace of absolute annihilation to be shattered into tiny fragments of depersonalised Soul Energy all for a chance to face me." A pause in the Fallen One's dialogue before he allowed the penny to drop, at long last. "And this Demon knows himself now as your brother."

That was it. It had been spoken, and those words would be forever etched in history. Drăcula could practically taste the tension rife within the air right now as Lucifer continued his speech, belting out a few more words regarding the vampire's worthiness to sit amongst the most powerful and ancient of Demons. As the Devil said: there was no mandate forcing his lieutenants to admire or respect the newly appointed steward. They weren't obligated to like him, even. And it truly didn't matter one way or another, because in all honesty, he didn't fucking care. They could tease him and haze him as many times as they desired, and he still wouldn't give them the respect that they probably deserved from him.

One should treat others in such a way that they are treated as such in return.

"To Vlad III Țepeș. To Drăcula. To the rightful Steward of the Entropic Chasm." And the toast was made, by which the Devil had ravenously consumed the contents of his goblet before slumping back into his throne like a king. It was at this point that the vampire himself chose to rise up from his throne, inclining his head toward the Devil in a bow of gratitude before turning to face the other Archdemons with a far less icy expression than before, although it was still rather frigid. "As Lord Satan has taken the honor of introducing me," The vampire let loose a gentle smirk. "I am... Count Drăcula."

"For the last six years of my mortal life, I devoted my reign as Voivode to the betterment of my beloved Wallachia." As if motivated by an instinctual sensation, he glanced over in the Butcher's direction, though not directly at the Mad Archon himself. The armored giant was giggling for some reason, and it was somewhat distracting. Whatever, moving along. "I strove to erase the corruption and anarchy that infested my lands." The master of the Nosferatu continued. "The Fallen One has graciously given me a chance to resume where I... abruptly left off." Some dark, self-deprecating humor, maybe, to get others to ease up their presumably leery opinions of him, perhaps.

Sweeping his gaze to the eight and one, Drăcula inclined his head once more. "Take my presence here as you will, mine Dark Master, and Archdemon lords and ladies," The well-dressed Nosferatu spoke on as he slowly lifted a hand above his dish, raising the other so that one of his dagger-like nails now touched the skin of his wrist. "But my beliefs state that, in many contexts, one's blood is also their life." With a swift downward motion, he had perforated his own skin deep enough to draw sanguine life from his veins, rivulets of the crimson fluid dripping profusely into his bowl, mingling with the blood of the human that the Devil had carefully extracted it from.

"Thus, I swear on my very blood," the Count pledged as he glanced down at his bowl, watching with sadistic interest as his own blood seemed to turn the rest of the basin's liquid contents darker, richer, almost as if his cells were overpowering the human's. As if they were eating them. He returned his eyes to the Archdemons and the Devil. "That I will rule the Entropic Chasm to the fullest extent of my power until Lord Belphegor awakens." And with that, the Nosferatu slunk back into his designated seat without muss nor fuss, licking at the wound on his wrist like a sociopathic feline of sorts as he watched the other Archdemons with a glimmer of mischief.

At last, he could truly be called Lord Drăcula.

[Moloch]

A toothy grin came from the gray-blue giant, even in mortal form towering over the others. "IT IS LIKEWISE GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN, LITTLE GUY." It truly was a privilege of his, though, given his size, to call Lucifer, their leader, a little guy. Hehe. "DRAGON MEAT. MM, HOW NICE! I DO HOPE YOU HAVE SOME INFANTS FOR DESSERT, THOUGH; THEY MAKE SUCH AN EXCELLENT SNACK! MOLOCH'S FAVORITE, IN FACT." And for once, the word "infant" referred to exactly that; human infants. He had no idea why, but he preferred them to other dishes, for whatever reason or another. It was one of many things that simply showed how monstrous he had become since the fall.

And slowly, as Moloch sat upon his throne of thick granite, crafted expressly to his comfort, his fellow archdemons trickled in, one by one. Or perhaps not one-by-one, as the one following him moments after sitting was the largest and smallest archdemon; Legion. Moloch raise a friendly hammer-like hand in greeting. "HELLO SQUISHIES. THAT IS A VERY NICE SUIT YOU ARE WEARING TODAY." Legion always did dress quite nicely, especially when compared in stark contrast to Moloch's mangled attire, fitted loosely around his waist, and torn at the ankles. Not to mention he lacked a shirt, for the most part.

Anywho, following Legion was one of his favorite siblings, Mammon. Taking a sip of the Kur blood he had freshly squeezed into his cup, he smiled at the Blood Mistress. She greeted each in turn, and in response Moloch spoke in that thunderous roar he called a voice. "IT IS A PLEASURE TO SEE YOU AS WELL, MAM-MAM!" Had it even been a day since the two had last spoken? Eternal existence complicated such matters as the difference between days and months. Ah well, didn't matter; they had met previously, and here they were now. Of course, it did somewhat amuse the Devourer that he could arrive but a second or two late for the party, and notice it, in fact, yet he couldn't tell how long it had been since he last saw Mammon.

Next to arrive was Belial, but as to which Belial having arrived, Moloch could not ascertain. Indeed, he still had no idea whether it was the Knight or the Butcher that he so fondly referred to as his "bro", as the infants of the day so stated. Ah well, didn't matter, nothing really mattered, as anyone could see. "SAWP BROSTER! DID YOU ENJOY THE BANANA SPLIT MOLOCH SENT YOU? OR DID IT LACK SUFFICIENT CHILDREN SKULLS AND NACHOS? MOLOCH THOUGHT TWO TONS WOULD SUFFICE, BUT PERHAPS NOT." It really was a rather large ice cream, took his best infants/subjects two centuries to make, and another fifty years to ship over to Belial's domain. But he should have gotten it a few weeks ago, and perhaps enjoyed it.

And, not a moment too soon, the next guest arrived; or had he been there the whole time? Moloch thought he had seen something out of the corner of his eye, amidst the high ceiling, though when he looked again, it was gone. Interesting. Anywho, it seems Beelzebub, in a raher comical fashion, had decided to make himself known in a rather theatric fashion, to which Moloch emitted a rumbling chuckle, echoing throughout the room for a moment or two before dissipating. "HELLO BEEZY, IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU HERE NOW! COMPLIMENTS TO YOUR CHEFS." Ah, Beelzebub; one of Moloch's favorites as well, though he really couldn't say that he had favorites; in a certain circumstance, all could be called his favorite. At any rate, however, he and Beelzebub did indeed meet up somewhat frequently to do fun things such as having tea (all archdemons adore tea, of course) and ice cream, going on a pleasant stroll through either of their domains, ironically, as they were truly opposites, fire and ice, and their domains no different, or y'know. Eating people or stuff. Whatever it is the two did for fun, anyways, is what they did.

And then came another former angel, perhaps the one he had the most in common with; Leviathan. Created at almost the same time, the two had crafted the very Heavens themselves together, working in harmony to do so. Of course, that was now all in the past. "HELLO THANNY, IT IS LIKEWISE GOOD FOR MOLOCH TO SEE YOU AGAIN. AND YES, THIS STEAK IS INDEED RATHER TASTY." Or rather, it smelled tasty, and the blood he'd juiced from it was. He hadn't actually even taken a bite of the steak itself yet, so he chose to do so now, picking up one massive steak in his likewise massive hand and tearing a good-sized bite out of it. Tender, cooked rare, and smoky, with a deliciously succulent spice to it, a zest of sorts he could find nowhere else. Magnificent. Taking another bite or two, one steak was already halfway gone, displaying the sheer size of the beast-like demon, as even his bite-size was large.

And with Leviathan's arrival, so they were almost all present. Bar Belphegor, but well, perhaps that was intentional. Not all present were archdemons, and Belphegor was still napping. So perhaps the steward was to... replace him, so to speak. Ah, but of course, all was to be soon revealed, as Lucifer rather bluntly called them all to attention.

He went on to describe the one thing they had all gathered to do, piling on the spiel until it reached the absolute perfect climax for a grand revelation of the true purpose of the evening's events. Something grand, bold, exciting, something they hadn't done in ages. Why, what could it be?

A totally awesome party, that's what. Moloch couldn't really even remember the last time they had all gathered with such a purpose. It had been not just centuries, but millenia ago. Certainly a rare occurrence indeed. And as Lucifer continued, Moloch's ears perked up slightly as he mentioned something that they had indeed never done. Now, that.

That said a lot.

They'd been around for a long, long year, stole a many man's soul and faith and had therefore seen and done essentially everything So for it to be something new... That was a truly radical notion. Of course, The Wrathful One had a hunch as to tonight's purpose. Lucifer went on to introduce the newb, Vlad, also called Dracula. The guy before vampires started sparkling? Neat. Not to mention, the real deal, not just some fictional malarkey.

And the speech went on to describe Belphegor's slumber. Yes, yes, Moloch knew of such, for Moloch had been reading him stories every so often. Occasionally, the sleepy one had stirred, but it had ceased moments later. A truly deep sleep, with no sign of waking soon. So lazy of the embodiment of laziness. He was slothful even by slothlike standards. Moloch occasionally slept in, usually by a few hours (when he slept; he had no need to sleep, really), but 1,100 years? Really? A bit much.

Moloch's expression changed once more, at the notion that Belphegor's subjects believed the Princes of Inferis to be slacking in their duties. "US, SLACKING? SUCH AN ODD THOUGHT." Well, they could eat everyone in the Chasm. That'd solve those problems fairly quickly. And it seemed Lucifer agreed with him, angrily proclaiming that they were most definitely not slacking.

The Dark Lord went on to give praise and recognition to the Count, stating how he'd rose through the ranks, in both of his lives, to become as powerful as he seemed to be today. And at the true climax of his speech, he so boldly stated that Vlad was now their brother?

Well then. What an interesting turn of events. Certainly there were others more fitting for such a position? Abaddon, Typhon, perhaps even Divus, if he'd ever get off his high horse of holier than thou. But no, he wouldn't question the judgement of his eldest brother. He had selected Vlad, and so Vlad had been selected.

And as Lucifer raised his glass in toast, so Moloch did with a grin, bringing forth his skull-based cup, sloshing a bit of the bloody contents within onto the table as he did so. "TO THE NEW LITTLE MAN!" Little Man. Certainly an honor to be called such by one who refers to even those eons old as infants. To be called Little Man by Moloch denoted a sort of respect, no matter how demeaning it may seem. Moloch tipped back his glass, draining half of the blood within, wiping it from is mouth with a hefty arm, before licking it off, moments later, not missing a drop.

And then the Little Man himself spoke, an eloquent voice chiming in for the first time that Moloch could say he had heard it. He sat, watching and listening as the one called Dracula spoke, before slitting his wrist, letting blood flow into his cup. As he finished speaking, Moloch gave a small chuckle once more. "LOVELY SPEECH, VLAD. AS THANNY SO NICELY PUT IT PREVIOUSLY, WELCOME TO THE FAMILY." A proper welcome said, the massive demon then grabbed the half of the steak he'd left earlier and wolfed it down in several bites before starting on the other. Tonight was the night to celebrate.

[Belial]

The Butcher turned his head around to watch the mouth flapping insisting upon the enemy of the Turks for the leadership of a territory, and then some other stuff about acceptance, blah de blah blah blah blah. Truly forth information come and pour down his cranium fondling such thoughts of how magnanimously deserved such roles are, and if Belial's face could be seen, he smiled at the Count and nodded at the youth which no doubt all others are. By jolly what fun by jove is this.

Spasms were felt at the proclamation, a tinge of confusion, from within the mental scape that resided in the Mad Archon's very framework were the work of two as awakened the Knight from his sleep, slumber roused unto vigor. Filled with splendor and promise, nubile and youthful, whatever had occurred memories filled and flooded the dam of memories that which had belonged to the present. He let the Traitor Lord speak his ways, as he also nodded with gleefulness at the thought of going for genocides, there is sport in it after all, and war runs deep in Belial's black viscous and thick blood.

Belial(?) had nodded to Moloch, which was all he did, then started clapping to the proclamation, and by clapping, it was more like quakes with every clash of each palm against one another which echoed loudness, rumbling the flooring and inviting dust to fall from above. As of this point, symbiosis languished within the persona and the duo like a beautiful butterfly sprouted from within as no longer conflict had taken place within, for without it was louder.

"I have my doubts, a LOT of doubts, SO MANY DOUBTS, in fact, doubts a plenty that pile up in mountains, doubtfully I'd say I doubt my ability to not doubt. HAH! We need to wake Belgefatasswhore sometime, smack his lazy ass awake. I volunteer for the duty, just so long as most of him is not required... I may misplace his insides or two, whichever comes first, HAH." Belial's(?) feet rested against the table after saying his piece to Lucifer in his most soothing tongue(???), as he leaned back on his chair. Like tons, they slammed on the plates, cracking them and the table itself, his shaded face eyed Vlad, "Well then, spawn of Adam, as FORMER ambassador to the Turks, I shall very keenly watch your progress most closely... such a nubile, soft and young mud born like yourself needs the guidance of his seniors born of fire... yes... you shall prove most fitting, and supple, ripe for being taught the art of blood... and blood shall run deep, perhaps from yourself? Or perhaps from wherever, I CARE NOT. Ruling over those Nosferatu is but one feat, but to rule a realm is another matter, ENTIRELY. So by all means, kindly, visit my realm, alone, or with your entire cohorts of loyal subjects if it makes you feel more secure, SOMETIMES after this coronation, inauguration, whatever poncy title is used to refer to this event."

There was a pause. He was being nice to Vlad obviously. Yep. It's in his nature, as the King of Peace, Lord of Tolerance, Prince of Diplomacy. Indeed, those were his titles, for he is as peaceful as they come. He smiled underneath his helm, giving the most angelic smile he can were his visage ever exposed, but all for naught, for it shown only from the vision to those that observe, an uncaring shade where his face should be.

"Hrm... HRM.... HRRRRRRMMMM... MOLOCH, MY OATH BRETHREN BEFORE THE WENCHES, RELEASE THE KRAKEN... flavored ice cream. I am literally killing, not dying, to have one." Roared out the Lord of Warfare, as he spoke rather eloquently and with peaceful intent in his infernal speech throughout the tone of his message, at least the one prior to his address to Moloch, and rather the one to Vlad. Allegedly the descendant of Attila the Hun. Babies would sputter out crying were they here to hear his talk, as if grating upon the brain with hate, grudges, and all the evil, rage and anger one can muster, very unpleasant to hear, and not soothing like angelic. One of the cruder and more preferred tongues that Belial likes to speak in out of preference really. He slew the language of Angels for it was not for he, the ungentle one who prostates himself upon hind quarters wherever it dwells, be it with his fist or sword, or perhaps both. What fancy to he has no consequence to what shall be dealt with most verily.

"Careful what you swear upon, for if upon blood you swear, then by blood do you sow and reap." It sounded like he just hacked and coughed, as what whistled out of his helm were mumbled and unintelligible, looking at all those that sat upon these tables with designs perhaps upon the newly crowned ruler. The game was on.

[Leviathan]

Leviathan so enjoyed her father's theatrics. An ear grabbing "ERRBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP A MINUTE OKAY." often did the trick to silence anyone and even made Leviathan drop her fork in surprise. A bit of classic Lucifer humor, a rousing speech followed by her hands giving a light round of clapping, then a blood oath from the Count himself. Leviathan was very interested in this little bout between Father and her new brother, but with her mouth full of Old One thermidor, she couldn't say a word. Belial was yammering to Vlad about visits to his home and whatnot as she finished her food and placed her napkin down on the sheet. She slid out of the chair and stood, stretching her taught, brown muscles. The white satin skirt swayed with her gentle footsteps around the table over to the shelves of music. Lucifer's music style changed ever so much so there were often changing records around, especially in the cabinets.

"Vlad, brother, it would be wonderous if you would visit my Sea as well. I don't often have visitors and I do like a change of pace every once in a while. I'm sure you'd enjoy the view. It's like those human aquariums, glass boxes under the water, only a few inches between my children and them. It's a very...capturing feeling."  Leviathan found a nice vinyl inside, just a black sleeve with the word "Fancy" on it...Must be a mix vinyl or something. She didn't know WHY, then again she didn't know why she felt and did alot of the things she happened to, but she felt like dancing. None of that twerk bullshit. Something old, aged, refined...like a fine wine. She knew the highest shelf dance in the whole planet ever. Something passionate. Intimate. Spicy, even. Everything from the Latin world had spice to it.

Over to the record player she went, sliding the ebony disk out with delicate fingers and placing it on the top. There was a click as she turned on the device, the record beginning to spin. Her little finger lifted the needle down onto the record and was followed by the slight crackle of static then came a familiar song...from a musical of the not too distant past.

[INITIATE DANCING!]

Levi's feet were already moving with notes around the table. Ahhh, tangoes, she loved them. Not as much as waltzes, but they let her showcase her flexibility. She remembered in the past, there have only been two family members that have ever danced with her. Moloch and Legion. Legion, gracefully passing her between the many he had brought to the Sea that day, was a fantastic experience. Moloch was a bit forceful, but being in those strong muscular arms, as well as being tossed several feet into the air was exhilirating and fun. It brought out an inner child in her; her mouth would spring into spry smiles and occasionally a coy giggle would pass her lips. She took the long way around to the open floor; around the entire table. She dragged petite fingers over the tops of every chair, seeing if her movements caught the interest of anyone at the table. Once she made it onto the floor, she did a graceful spin with her skirt making a fan around her as she faced the table poised with an outstreched hand.

For a moment, however, not even a split second, her smile and her entire carefree demeanor faultured. Levi had felt the sudden twinge of self-conciousness. What if no one wanted to dance? What if they did, but no one would dance with her? What if they all laughed at her? All these thoughts crept in and were then slapped out of her mind. This was her family and though she was not well-liked by most of them, she wouldn't let that get in the way of her fun. Her voice was smooth, harmonious with the music that bounded off the walls. "Would anyone care to dance?"

[Asmodeus]

In due time after Asmodeus an archdemon that she had not seen in sometime strolled through the door with an air of majestic class. He was no monster, he didn't have horns, or wings, or even sharp teeth or blue skin. No, he appeared entirely mortal, save for his eyes, which glared a bright red. Demons had a funny way of not being able to mask that, for whatever reason. His human nature was not something to underestimate, as the Golden King held a fierce power: the control of gravity. Now, one may think of how such a ability could crush a bus or send their enemies into dismay, but instead the archsuccubus thought of something else. How many interesting positions could be taken up with such a power! Ones never possible before! She found herself gazing at Ba'al, before catching herself and pretending to look elsewhere, as if this where middle school, or something of that childish origin.

The next was no surprise, a she could be heard long before he marched in through those doors. The undisputed king of the Stylgian Tundra and the champion of frozen treats: Moloch the Devourer. It was not his demon form, as that would be somewhat of a trivial affair for such a monster, but his Mary Shelley esque mortal form, one that actually entertained the duchess of desire. After all, Frankenstein was one of her favorite books, quite evident by her many vile creations that walked her plane of dominance. Hardly demons anymore. The opposite of the bulky archdemon, who was so demonized that this form was the most human thing he could conjure up. The fall really had an ugly effect on some...but still, through the morbid appearance and slurred speech Asmodeus found beauty. Surely with that strength, and maybe with a little icicle inclusion...just maybe... "HELLO ASMO, YOU ARE LOOKING PRETTY TODAY!" Nevermind. Asmodeus' diamond-like nails dug into the table (a bit further than expected, due to their nature) as the newest arrived mentioned her by that heinous nickname. Her irritated look soon vanished; at least he was polite.

It was next that they walked in the door. Feeling the aura of many demons at once, Asmodeus shivered, further enforcing her complaint on the temperature. Legion, she never knew what to call h-them, the things. Therefore, she didn't pay them much attention, and nor did they to her, at least she thought. At least the Harbinger came nicely dressed, then again, they always do. It spoke brief words about wanting to arrive first, in which the Lustful chuckled at, having stolen this opportunity from them. Obviously, a night with the thing(s) that inspired Slenderman would be a load of fun, especially since it was many. Two thousand...too bad they were a load of buzzkill.

If the next paragraph could be omitted entirely and ignored, Asmodeus would have done that, but it is not her who types these words to you. The next demon to walk in would be the least favorite, the scum on the floor, that one girl. Well, to the archscubbus anyway, this was Mammon the Corrupter. But it wasn't the hideous Mammon that she knew all so well, it was a form she hadn't seen in ages, the one she held in heaven? Why would anybody wish to go back to those ugly roots? That, in itself, made the Lustful hate the greedy even more. She would at this point very briefly glance at Lucifer with eyes full of disgust, knowing that he was the only one that could grant her such a "gift". Was this some kind of fucking joke? Was it? Huh?!

"Asmodeus. You have as interesting a choice in attire as ever." The archbitch dared to speak to her? Showing none of this emotion whatsoever, Asmodeus only glanced in Mammon's general direction, not even bothering to directly look at her to get a good look at what she was wearing herself. She would then dig her nails into the thick meat of her meal, and bring it to her mouth, which opened up as wide as possible as she took a large ungraceful bite from it. Barely chewing her food, the archdevil looked at the Corrupter and placed her elbows on the table. "Whatever." Came forth a reply, with no intention of thanking the fake compliment, something that was rude in itself. She turned away again, wishing to pay no further attention to her self-made "nemesis".

The King of the Undercroft was the next to storm through the doors, not saying a word as he made his way to his flimsy seat, right next to the Lustful. He seemed to be donning the mask of the knight for this meal, or at least that's what it appeared to be, as his true persona could never be determined by his outward form. Regardless, as his massive form sat upon the chair, it torn into pieces in a show of his archdemonic power, and why he was the crowned master of metal. Now, that, that in itself made for an interesting after dark experience. And if what was underneath the shell was as intimidating and manly as the armor itself, well, now that would be exciting. The succubus would lean towards the archdemon and his newly formed throne in a flirtatious manner, before losing interest after Casul, once again, took no immediate notice of her advances. Typical fallen angelic host.

Next from the complex's ceiling came Beelzebub, the lord of flies and master of fire and fine cooking. Though, the archdemons more often called him Zeb, affectionately. He probably didn't just arrive, either, which made the Lustful feel a bit stupid for earlier laughing at Legion. Anyways. The lord of the Ashland was fairly bearable regardless, he didn't talk all that much, and that was always a plus, even if he edged on being called by that blasted nickname. Now that she thought about it, the succubus wasn't sure why she hated shortened names and titles, anyways. Maybe it was a memory from long ago, maybe something from heaven? Something old. Something forgotten. You know, perhaps Beelzebub wasn't only hot and cookin' in the kitchen. The princess of the Blightscape thought about his wall-crawling abilities briefly. Until she was interrupted.

And in strolled Leviathan, as if she was the demon of fucking pride herself. This obviously struck a bad note in the Overlord, who had claimed that title for himself, and held it with the highest of honors. When it came to her turn to be addressed, the archdemon simply replied with a quick "Charmed." As she ironically finished her meal with grace, using her silverware and consistently wiping her face, proving that earlier's sloppiness was just a charade to piss off the blood huntress. Her eyes, however, acted differently, as they instantly focused on the sea demon's breasts. My. Her mortal form was always something enjoyable, and something the Lustful would enjoy to keep around in her throne room for a night or two. Fuck it, why not her demon form, as well? Sea monsters needed lusting as well. Well, her true master and desire changed her attention back to him, as he commanded her to sit down. Power was far more enticing than any physical form.

And so he spoke, at last, addressing the assembled archdemons. "ERRBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP A MINUTE OKAY." Well, his word was law, and so it was to be listened to. "We're here, above all else, to do one thing, and one thing alone." She already knew what was to come: Elect Dracula as the new Ste-"We're here to get absolutely fucking plastered." Oh. That wasn't what she was expecting at all. But could anybody predict the Devil? No, she thought not. Regardless, getting "plastered" was part of her everyday schedule, and even if he had gathered her here to do that, there was always a deeper seed in Satan's plans. Just this time, she happened to know what flower it would bloom.

"This Demon is Vlad III Tepes, though you may well know him as Dracula, Count of the Nosferatu." Here it came. The announcement everybody had been waiting for. He began to rant about Belphegor, the only absent archdemon, and perhaps the worst of them all in bed. After all, he just laid there, and everybody knows that that wasn't any fun. Where was he, anyways? Right, sleeping, as usual. What a worthless sibling he was, even compared to Mammon, not even bothering to help out the others. It was probably too much work. "THIS IS NOT THE CASE!" Next the Devil recounted the Impaler's bloody tale, ending it at the duel that took place in her very stadium. One she could vouch for personally. Asmodeus took a sip from her likely alcoholic drink, something she needed, especially in the company of all these powerful and somewhat pestering forces.

"And this Demon knows himself now as your brother." Oh does he, now? His word was law, of course he does. Asmodeus sipped away, not being surprised by any of the news that she was already aware of. Though, the Lustful did focus on Lucifer, as he was the center of attention, as always, but also to avoid having to look at Mammon for too long. How stuck up. Powerful words slithered off the Overlord's tongue as he finished up his speech, announcing Dracula's new power. "To Vlad III Țepeș. To Drăcula. To the rightful Steward of the Entropic Chasm." Lord Dracula. The princess raised her glass and took a hefty drink, an applause to this most pleasurable addition to the cast. After it all, it was Asmodeus who first caught attention of the demon. Vlad next gave a well deserved speech, which the archdevil softly gave an applause to.

Moloch next spoke to the the vampire, congratulating him in his simple traditional manner, and then the previously thought to be knight revealed his nature as the butcher as he placed his feet upon the table and began to rant in an obscure madness. This, caused the succubus to cringe back a little, becoming a bit overwhelmed by the large archbros. Asmodeus clicked her heel on the ground, making a rather loud noise, and stood up, which caused her dress to fall down just a tad more. No longer would she be ignored at this event. Stretching her leathery wings and clearing her throat, the grandmother of the succubi finally spoke in full sentence, turning her yellowed eyes first to the Impaler, then to the others;

"For what it's worth, I personally, can vouch for this man." Her voice echoed in it's traditional manner, something that would touch even the minds and ears of archdemons, a set of vocals that was impossible to ignore. Leviathan, Ba'al, and Moloch. She looked directly across from her. "No, this is no longer a man, this is a demon." She didn't exactly hold the greatest passion in her voice, though. "Someone who would truly look in the face of fear and stab it in the eyes." Her eyes gazed back to Dracula, the point of her ego inflating speech. It was what she was best at; building people up through seduction and words, only to tear them down at their finest hour. She enjoyed creation just as much as she enjoyed destruction. Music began to play in the background. Tango? How fitting. "But he shouldn't let his desires get the best of him." Asmodeus spoke in a seductive tone, revealing a bit of malicious intention in her toast. Fluterring her bat like wings, she would sit back down and grab her drink once more, only to notice that it was now empty. Well, that was irritating. The succubus noticed that Leviathan had been the source of the music, who was now insisting that the group danced. It was a party, after all. The heartless one declined, however, only to look back at the Devil.

If she were to dance, she would be all his.

[Mammon]

Lucifer was greeting each of them in turn as any good host would, each quip specialized towards that particular child and sibling to him.  Oooo that tap that dug into the table.... Asmodeus was not pleased by that nickname, was she?  Mammon made mental notes, wanting to cackle with glee at how upset she seemed by the simple fact she had attempted to speak to her.  It was rather amusing that she was so bothered by it!  "IT IS A PLEASURE TO SEE YOU AS WELL, MAM-MAM!"  Oh Moloch, he was as pleasant to be with as ever.  She really needed to remember to invite him over more often.  "Keep it in your pants, ladies, or take it outside,"  Her head turned slightly towards her Creator, golden eyes resting calmly upon him.  "Or, at least, save it for later. I'm sure the others would appreciate a good catfight."  She inwardly twitched though her face remained that perfect demure expression, chuckling slightly at the thought of a catfight.  Considering how she used to appear?  She wasn't sure if the joke was intentional or not.  [color=red"I know I would. But the night is young, my dears, so you can save your vying for my affection for a little later, please."[/color]  HAH!  As if she wouldn't behave.  She was on her best behavior tonight because of him and him alone.  He had to be aware of this fact, otherwise he knew her far lesser than she thought he did.  Wouldn't that be disappointing considering the eons they had known each other.  "Whatever."  Interesting.  No witty comment or slander against her.  Apparently her "sister" wished to not speak at all this evening.  Good.  That would be a huge burden off of her mind.  

One by one the rest of her brothers and sisters began to arrive.  Oddly enough, she was rather pleased and amused by Zeb's entrance as she observed the popsicle dangling between his lips.  "Hallo. I'm not apologizing."  Heh, yes... that was a normal response from him.  Oh fine, perhaps this wouldn't be as painful as she had expected it to be.  But then.... Leviathan arrived.  Mammon glanced towards the door with a single raised eyebrow, munching on another one of her sinew buns at the sorry excuse she had for being late.  Lucifer's response made her lips twist slightly into a smirk as she sipped quietly at her tea, feathery wings folding tighter to her back as her hair undulated slightly about her head from those slight motions.  "That is a form I haven't seen in ages. I had almost forgotten how good you looked in it. Excellent dress as well, sister."  Aww, now that was a sweet statement.  The Huntress smiled and bowed her head to her sibling, "Thank you dear."  Oh yes, she could sense how the eyebrows had raised at the sight of her new form.  And how Asmodeus had instantly looked at Lucifer as the cause of this shift.  She had wanted to appear worthy for her beloved Lord, and now she did.  Now they could stand beside each other in their natural forms (if he so chose to) and the familial resemblance would be as clear as crystal.  She was worthy now.  Asmodeus could continue digging her fingers into that steak and ripping it apart for all Mammon cared.  She would always lack class.  It was that simple.  

"ERRBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP A MINUTE OKAY."  Mammon paused as she held her glass, her hold head turning to look at him as he began to speak.  Apparently he was going to "enlighten" them to why they were there.  "We're here to get absolutely fucking plastered."  Pfft.  The Corrupter wanted to laugh!  That was hardly the reason, and they all knew it.  "That wasn't a joke, but in actuality, the reason we are here is for an occurrence that's not infact rare, but prior to this point in time, completely non-existent, ladies and gentlemen."  This should be good.  He continued to explain why it was that the dear Count had been asked to come here this particular event, and why there had been that tacky sign in front of the elevator when they had all arrived.  "And we know not for how longer he shall. But under his drowsy rest, the Chasm sees itself unruled; the power of we Princes there is challenge. Over a thousand years and change the wicked tendrils of doubt have slipped into the people as they believe we are, for the first time in eons past, slacking."  Her eyebrow raised as her wings ruffled slightly, slacking?  The Hell Princes?  She could certainly believe that some of her siblings had been (though she was well aware she never bothered to pay much attention to them anyways so who even knew at this point), but her own actions?  Although it was true that few would have known that it was Mammon who had led them into so many genocides and bloodshed.  She was surprised that she and Belial hadn't encountered each other amidst their various plans.  If that was her slacking, then she needed to step up her game.  

But it became quickly apparent that the Count was now to be her brother, for which her golden eyes rested upon her former guest to her realm.  Her lips twisted into a smile as she raised her teacup with the rest of the toast though she only stared at her new sibling.  "To Vlad III Tepes. To Dracula. To the rightful Steward of the Entropic Chasm."  Oh what a stroke to the dear Count's ego.  Her tea burned hot as it rolled down her throat, the smallest hint of crimson swirling into her eyes before vanishing once more.  Very well, perhaps... she would invite him over for another visit after this event so she could speak to him.  Perhaps.  The meeting itself may prove itself to be rather boring for it seemed that there were aspects to her that he found distasteful, or at least that was the sense she had gotten upon their meeting before.  But what was more important was that she didn't hate him.  In fact, she had rather enjoyed their hunt together.  So for him to now be her brother?  That made him the third sibling she would speak to on a regular basis.  Or actually attempt to talk to.  Ah but the Count was rising now, her teacup lowering back down into its saucer as she chewed thoughtfully upon another sinew bun.

He began strong as was to be expected.  The words of his speech sliding easily through her mind as she sat there for the most part still except for the occasional fresh nomming on sinew buns.  She was enjoying taking her time with the little delicacies especially since her dearest one had gone so such lengths to provide a variety of them for her.  Her gaze had drifted now from sibling to sibling to observe their reaction to the current events and so far she wasn't surprised by any of them.  "Thus, I swear on my very blood,"  Her ears perked up as those golden orbs slid back over to the revitalized Dracula.  "That I will rule the Entropic Chasm to the fullest extent of my power until Lord Belphegor awakens."  The expression upon her features was neutral again, licking a bit of tea from her lips at the smell of that blended blood coming from his bowl.  A bold oath it was, and one that none of those archdemons gathered today would forget.  She made no comment, only chuckling slightly at Belial's volunteering to beat their slothful sibling for remaining asleep for so long.  And as others would, invited the new Lord to visit him in his realm.  She suspected all of them would be to speak with him and make their plots for that is what they did.  They plotted and schemed.  Though the mention of Moloch's ice cream did make her long for a bowl of it.  She would be sure to have some of what little remained since his visit.  It was a miracle that it had not yet melted to the point of being soup.  

Leviathan apparently wished for there to be music, Mammon watching her choose something from Lucifer's collection before bringing it over to the record player in the room.  A tango began to play, its dulcet tones floating through her ear drums, glancing over to her sister as she moved about the table to the dance floor.  Did she want to dance--Her eyes were instantly drawn to Asmodeus as she rose from her chair.  Unlike her, Mammon looked at her calmly as opposed to pretending that she was not there.  "For what it's worth, I personally, can vouch for this man."  What, had she slept with him?  Doubtfully considering the Lord's nature as Mammon had observed it.  Especially considering how bored he was hunting that Succubus to begin with.  "No, this is no longer a man, this is a demon."  It was now that she looked down at her tea and finished it, popping another of her tasty treats into her mouth.  "But he shouldn't let his desires get the best of him."  Oh Asmodeus.  As tacky as ever.  It was boring to have the expected happen, and that sort of comment was always expected from her sister.  Her golden eyes drifted amidst her siblings at the other end of the table, noticing how the Lustful gazed at Lucifer while the music continued onward.  Her lids slid shut as her head bowed in the slightest, the last of that sinew bun rolling down her throat.  Now there was just one question on her mind.  

Did she stay?  Or did she leave?  

She had been there for the introductions, for the main event of this gathering which had been the announcement of her new brother.  The only reason to remain any longer would be because Lucifer would hope that she would since, as he said, this sort of occasion was unheard of. She rose from her chair quietly, wings spreading as her hair swirled slightly, her brilliant gaze glancing to all of them. "Glad to see our little family growing." That was it. That was all she was going to say, and with that she floated with heels clacking over to the dance floor where she offered a smile to her sister that she ignored so often. She may as well try to be more socialable with the rest of her siblings since she never was any other time. She came up to her side and took her hand and hip in her grasp, instantly taking over as the man. It was not harsh, but it was firm. She did not lead with cruelty, but rather a calm hand that had been developed over the eons. She moved with ease and grace, with a sly little smile upon her lips fluidity moving between them. She did not dwell on things past, only on this particular evening. And right now, she would do her host proud.

[Michael]

The Spirelands. The false image of the Vatican City, scarred beyond belief, then rebuilt into a magnificent city all surrounding a central monument, a artifact of unholy terror: The Devil Spire. Was this always here? Perhaps. The Father had many obscure plans when he created the universe, but there was just so much that could go wrong. This was merely but one of those many possibilities, perhaps an endless sea of tragedies with only a point one percent of absolute perfection, of no flaws. A point one percent that the Heavens knew would not be the case. Inferis was not meant to be a paradise, and yet so many souls saw it as such. Hordes of fallen angels, demons they called themselves, all brought together by the former light bringer: Lucifer.

At the head of this hideous corporation the Devil brought together ten elites to help him rule over each of Hell's sphere, creating order in a place of chaos. This in itself was obscene, it was an abomination. This was torment, yet the city was crafted with better precision than that of the now broken city above. A shame he let that fall, but intervention was not that time. He had to wait, but his hand was not idle. It was busy. Very busy. Preparing for war wasn't an easy task, especially preparing for one of this caliber. Perhaps only Hitler could know the stress of having an entire world against you. Well, besides for the fallen one himself, but he strives in ignorant pride just as the fuhrer did. This was not the case.

Nearest to the vampire and across from Lucifer himself, a new soul at this table of corruption, a overwhelming flash of light would appear from thin air. From nowhere, light came to a place of darkness, and it was surely bright enough to cause any of the demons, whenever they considered themselves the laughable title of "archdemon" or not, squirm in misery as their sensitive eyes beheld a illuminated ball form a shape of a man. They would recognize this, or maybe some would, as such brightness only existed in the heavens. Six foot eight, the being was only made yet more opposing as brilliant and large wings sprouted from the figure's back. The light faded, but now quickly, as it revealed this one's more detailed features. The starch white would fade away to reveal silver hair and azure eyes, complimented by a slightly tanned skin and a smug smile. The wings were feathered a perfect white with no imperfections, unlike the ones that were stripped of such glory many years ago that he now stood in front of. Armor, much like the Lord of Warfare wore, was the next detail that came in view, colored the same as his eyes sans the silver breastplate. Only his head and wings remained uncovered by the mysterious armor, clear that this one had some sort of status or power, not obstructing his face by a helmet. Or perhaps it was out of respect. Unlikely, however. As this was no mortal. This was no demon.

This was an angel.

No, this wasn't even an angel. This was the angel. The emissary of heaven himself, the Protector, the new holder of the title light bringer, the azure angel, the hand of God, the first archangel: Michael. And he sat upon the table of his former brethren as his unbearable light dimmed, turning a colorful eye to each of the fallen ones. he said not a word at this point, as it was not necessary, those were probably too struck in shock to speak at this point anyways. Leviathan was the first he looked at, while she had admirable beauty, she was tainted beyond saving. The sea beast would have to be fried as a replacement governing the waters had already been found, and she no longer held any sort of use to him. Ba'al...a shell of his former self, caught up in trivial pursuits such as wealth, something that he should've known was a rather worthless trait when it came down to it. Money was not buried with you, and it could not save you from the hot edge of a blade. Mammon...that was interesting, it was almost as if she didn't change. But the Protector was no fool, this was perhaps one of the most corrupt, nothing more than another demon in the need of some vigorous smiting. Moloch, now considering himself a harbinger of wrath, that ice age situation truly was a nasty ordeal to clean up. He was well expired.

The other half of the table held no better interest, starting with Asmodeus. She was truly a vile form, though beautiful, Michael much preferred her as the angel of love. Yet another easily replaceable position, that disease would be cured. A suit of armor was next. What was that? Oh, Belial. My, how he had changed, and not for the better, at that. He was literally a shell of what he once was, and the archangel might of not of recognized him if he could not sense his aura. This was a war he could not win. Beelzebub, still gorging himself, though he was now doing it in excess, and it wouldn't be long before he got his last desserts. Legion, many fallen angels and assorted other demons, was entirely a disgusting collective of tainted knowledge. They had to be purged, every last one of them. And finally, last, and definitely least, came a soul that Michael barely knew of. An elegantly dressed demon, this was Vlad the Impaler, a soul that had forsaken him and his Father. How ignorant. Why abandon those who gave him life?

Finally, Michael's azure eyes turned to the opposite end of the table, and he started the Devil down right in his tainted pupils. A mirror image of his mortal form, a form almost unchanged from his time in heaven, in fact, Lucifer seemed exactly the same as he did all those years ago. It was strange to think that the archangel once considered this being his comrade and brother, but now he was less than that, a betrayer and heretic. Surely, a scowl would be forming on his face, but the angel's facial expression remained stoic. He was patient, as he had to be. intervention was not then, no, not at that very moment. He remained silent after a good five minutes of sitting at the table as if he were invited. He waited so many years for all these hideous devils to gather in one place. So many years. They spat on him. They beat him. There was nothing he could do, as intervention was not then. No, not then. The Protector slammed his metal fist on the table, causing the entire thing to shake.

Intervention was now.

"Brother." Words came form the archangels mouth, in English, which was signal enough that something was about to come. Even conversation was considered intervention, and that was normally not allowed. But today was different. Today was finally the day, after so many years. The date Father gave him, the situation Father gave him, it all came together at last. And soon, at that, a probability not expected. Well, these beings had to congregate eventually, somehow. And now he looked to them, each wearing name tags, or the majority of them, like this was some sort of game. Like this world was a damn playground. he was angry, but he did not show it, emitting an air of not apathy but of calm demeanor. "Long time no see."

[Lucifer]

And just when things were starting to get boring: "Brother. Long time no see."

It had been a long time since a Demon who had once been an Angel had laid eyes upon this particular entity. It was ironic that Lucifer was in his name called the Light Bringer; for Michael had in that very field been almost synonymous to position. Yes, it had been a while indeed; it had been a while since these two had called one another brother. It had been a while since they had stood side by side and defended with an eager celestial willpower the pearly gates of Heaven. It had been a while since he had stood idly by, stalwart and unquestioning, as their "God" cast down punishment on they ten. It had been a while since he had abandoned them and since they had fell. "Fucker." Came the Devil's swift response.

A pallor devoid of emotion, pale as it was, beneath twinkling eyes of the brightest azure, curved into not a frown and not a sneer. Not a growl and not a snarl. There was no disappointment; no surprise; no aggression. Instead a smile. A smile that held almost warmth in its breadth as he looked upon the Archangel. "Too long, almost." Cocking his head, Lucifer posed another statement. For the music had ceased; the dancing had stopped; the speeches and the idle clinking of crockery and cutlery had been replaced by an almost eerie lack of noise. Save for the Angel and the Fallen conversing across the grand table. "It has been a while, Protector. Seven billion years." His head returned to the appropriate upright position all in time. "Though I'm sure you remember every vivid day without we "treacherous betrayers" upon your celestial cloud and in those ivory towers as being great and perfect, no?" The hidden conviction was starting to show through - but his tones remained quiet, they remained calm, they remained subtle.

Throwing his arms up, it was only a moment before this quiet was shattered and a second booming speech launched forth from Lucifer's lips. "Ladies and gentlemen, today is truly a marvelous day!" The Devil roared. "Not only have we appointed a new fair steward, for the first time in seven billion years, we have our very first celestial appearance in these grand and perfect lands!" It was not long before he let his arms fall to his side and that smile of subtlety drew into a coy grin. There was poison lurking behind these words. The simplest of men would be able to see it. "So no worries, fetch this man a plate and a glass, let him feast as we do upon the greatest meals in all these lands, today he is our honoured guest, and he will find no adversaries nor opponents here."

With an almost overdramatic - though one could say nothing is overdramatic for Samael himself - wave of his hand and another bellow that wracked the halls of the Devil Spire from ceiling to floor, he gestured with a black-gloved hand to the Protector. "My fellow Archdemons, a man I'm sure you all remember from our days in the world above, Michael, the Archangel." The bullshit facade still held steadfast. For it would have such effect when, after standing strong for all this time, it would come tumbling down like the walls of Jericho in but a few moments. "The so-called Right Hand, the Shield of God himself, the leader of the new Archangels!" It was then that his voice filled with dread and the six hundred and sixty-sixth floor of the Devil Spire became struck with a notion of serious dread not moments later. "And, finally, let us not ever forget..."

Azure locked with cerulean, blue on blue as the Hand of God and the Overlord of Hell locked gazes one more time. "...the Angel who stood idly by as a false God cast us from our homes and our duties and down into a pit we created for our own."

The new Lightbringer's utterly abhorrent holy aura was encroaching into their room, upon their banquet, and putting everyone at the table, it would seem, off their appetite. Even the Devourer and the Lord of the Flies, the collective Gluttony of whom was absolutely legendary, would be distracted with this new spectacle: the first Angelic confrontation in Inferis for all of its seven billion years of history, conversational as it was. It was time for him to save Michael the trouble of making the speech. "Let it be known, Brother of Mine," He spat the words with such fearsome animosity that the sarcasm they bathed in with an almost hedonistic manner would have been apparent to even a stunted mortal child. "That I know you come here on holy business for the Father we've forsaken. For business that has been more important than all for a consistent seven billion years."

The Devil continued. "You may come to herald a punishment, or to attempt to redeem us, or for whichever or whatever that you've been sent along with as a pathetic excuse for a false God's errand boy." The divine paper-round. "I don't fucking care." That was abrupt, blunt, and simple enough. "We will have no part of it. And if you come to tell us you mean to fight, know that you fight on our turf, on our ground, against our people, and know that you will lose." Lucifer shrugged. "We will not shoot the messenger. We will not behead the envoy of such a disgusting divine message."

He drummed those leather-held, black-wrapped fingers against the table as he pressed himself forwards, white hair slicked back and no vindictive grin upon his face any more; just a look of conviction, as flames of the truest cerulean blazed in his eyes. He was inches from unleashing the true extent of his power. He was holding himself back. There was a yearning for a devilish vengeance within his animus, within his corrupted and twisted soul, but he would hold back yet. "But know that as long as this Spire stands and I rule from it, you will be the last Angel who will come into Inferis and leave alive." With that, he collapsed back into his chair and unleashed an abrupt sigh. There was tension still. And he knew that Michael was a persistent fucker - as was the God in the forsaken and pitiful Heaven above - and that he would return. But there would be one warning. One, and only that. "Say your pathetic part in all this and then you will be permitted to leave." Without a hair upon his head harmed, true to his word: but the forces of Heaven would not succumb to such simple threats, to these dire taunts. In truth Lucifer was just dragging it out. Pulling them in. Insulting an old God he'd wished to take the battle to: and now they would bring the battle to him. To the Devil, they were simply doing a favour. Cutting out the legwork.

Once he left, it would not be long before Michael would be back. And he would bring the tattered remnants of the old world's Angelic Host with him.

((Last two or three days to get posts up if you want to else this event will end with Michael's next post.))

[Moloch]

Ahh, Belial's speeches always warmed the heart of the ice cold demon. Though, given his demonic visage, whatwith its internal furnace, one would imagine he was always warmed at heart anyways, despite looking so cold. A bit paradoxical, that, though such eldtrich symbolism had that as a given. At any rate, the gray beast-like manthing turned to the similarly gray-ish beastmanthing, which happened to be a suit armor. Said armor was speaking to him, and he laughed an uproarish laugh in response. "BUT MY BROTHER, WHY WOULD WE EAT DAVE IN OUR ICE CREAM, HAHAHAHA." That squidthing was probably a kraken. Toats. But apparently not the only one as Moloch withdrew from SEEMINGLY NOWHERE a pair of kraken-flavored creams of ice, handing one to the Warmonger.

He did so enjoy his comrade's amusing antics. And not longer after, as strange twinkly music hit his ears, he found himself looking at the antics of another of his siblings. Taking a large bite of the rather tender and delectable dragon's flesh, he chuckled a low and loud chuckle as Leviathan began dancing about the table. it was quite odd of her, but then, she was quite odd. But one could never truly predict what she was wont to do next, much as the raging seas are an unpredictable mistress to the lost sailor. Quite the intriguing one to watch, really, if only for that. "HAHAHA, NO THANK YOU THANNY. MY FEET ARE FAT AND CLUMSY, NOT GOOD AT DANCING." How he danced once before, he could still hardly fathom.

For a little while, he enjoyed his steak and bloody "wine" as he'd made for himself from the lovely Kur. It was a truly splendid party indeed, although as it were, Moloch felt there was something missing. Yes, they had a full house, food, dancing, good drink, good company, and such nice furniture. Still... Something was missing. That very last one percent hidden from the ninety-nine. Hmm... The great ice man wondered what the little shindig could be missing.

That is, until a blinding light flared up, and when he regained his vision, he saw a sight for sore eyes, and one who had caused his eyes to be sore to begin with; Michael.

Hmmm... It had been so long... So much time had passed. And the words of the archangel had such an impact. Brief, simple, yet they packed one powerful punch. Then Lucifer began to speak.

And Moloch realized what had been missing! A good old fashioned party crasher! A welcome one at that, as Luci made known before his lieutenants. Moloch gave a cheery grin, placing a party hat atop Michael's head, before handing him an ice cream cone, as Luci's speech went on. "ENJOY THE FESTIVITIES INDEED, BROTHER. WE ALMOST MISSED YOUR GRACEFUL PRESENCE, MIKEY." Brother. Heh. As if he were even on the same level as they! He was a mere child, never mind his age, in comparison. They had seen far more of the universe than he, their lives had a purpose, a meaning. In terms of wisdom of the world's ways, he was a baby in the womb, the archdemonic congregate themselves being grizzled explorers of life's wonders. The discarding of moral restraint caused that, of course.

He listened on as the speech continued, and he merely smiled a toothy grin the entirety of the speech. Surely Michael would stay and enjoy the party? It could even be made to celebrate the soon-to-come battle between good and foolish; the archdemons, of course, being the good in that scenario. And if the man upstairs was hungry for a bit of supernatural warfare?

Why not feed their hunger?

[Mammon]

She had not even been dancing for ten minutes when the "party" (as the rest wanted to call it) was interrupted with a painfully brilliant flash of light. While she was sure others might be wondering what could possibly cause such a brilliance, there was only one reason that it would actually hurt them like it had. There was a god damn angel in their midst. She immediately stopped moving as her wings spread to their fullest extent in her immediate anger. The number of angels that would dare to show their faces here was few and far between which kept it fairly easy to guess who it would be. And her guess was absolutely correct. Michael. The white hair… the eyes that were of such a similar blue to her lords…. It was insulting. There was a sense of pride in her mockery of her former angelic appearance, but for the moment it was overshadowed by a few different emotions aside from anger. The reason for him coming here, the safety of her lord, and if there were more.

She let her arms fall away from her sister as she turned to face him directly, standing tall and regal and without fear. She could see the judgmental gaze he cast upon her and her brethren, and those beautiful golden eyes swiftly turned a bloody crimson. Her white hair had stopped undulating gently back and forth and had fallen quite still in the particular swirl that they had been, her horns poking out between those pure locks like small dagger points. The thorny tattoos upon her skin briefly seemed to shift in the light despite the fact that everything about her body had fallen stone still. It wasn't just that flash of light that had caused her discomfort. It was the memories that came flying back to her at the very sight of him. It made her stomach churn. "Brother." He had no right to utter those words. He was no brother of theirs any longer. He was not welcome in their house. "Long time no see." Her hands slowly clenched into fists as she glanced to her Creator, watching the expression that was on his perfect features. "Fucker." There wasn't even a proper word for that one in itself was not quite enough.

The expression he wore did not fool her, she knew exactly seething tendrils were moving beneath the surface. She could see how he would handle this, for honey always won more flies than poison. But honeyed poison? That was by far the best. She almost felt a sense of pride at how he proceeded from there, the crimson starting to fade from her eyes as the gold blended with it before winning out. Oh there was no doubt that Michael remembered that day, for she even remembered the expression that he had wore. Disappointment. It had been just like fathers, but without the vindictive anger that had followed when they were all cast down. He had just stared at them with a shock and sadness, but then… that fucking disappointment. She remembered the confusion she felt as he did nothing to help them when he was supposedly the "Protector." LAUGHABLE. "Ladies and gentlemen, today is truly a marvelous day! Not only have we appointed a new fair steward, for the first time in seven billion years, we have our very first celestial appearance in these grand and perfect lands!"

Her body finally moved as a smile spread across her lips, wings fluttering twice before folding closed, her hair beginning to undulate in its mysterious patterns once more. "So no worries, fetch this man a plate and a glass, let him feast as we do upon the greatest meals in all these lands, today he is our honoured guest, and he will find no adversaries nor opponents here." Oh yes, she had several things he could feed on right about now. She heard one of her hounds howl from the grounds far below. Her babes were right to be antsy for their mistress was far from the calm beneath the surface. She suspected that the Regal Necropolis would receive a…. cleansing of its own of sorts. She needed to bath in blood to wash this stain of disgusting purity off of her essence. "My fellow Archdemons, a man I'm sure you all remember from our days in the world above, Michael, the Archangel. The so-called Right Hand, the Shield of God himself, the leader of the new Archangels!"

"I have not forgotten." She muttered under her breath, the blood within her dress roiling around in its different patterns far faster than before. The Wolfmother was pissed. And, finally, let us not ever forget......the Angel who stood idly by as a false God cast us from our homes and our duties and down into a pit we created for our own." Mammon licked her lips as she hovered back over to her spot at the table, feet never touching the ground as she bit into that final sinew bun, relishing that taste of iron that splashed in her mouth. It would have to do for now. "Let it be known, Brother of Mine, That I know you come here on holy business for the Father we've forsaken. For business that has been more important than all for a consistent seven billion years." He came to cleanse them. To wipe and purge their "tainted" existence off the face of the fabric that Father had weaved. "I don't fucking care." The final bit of her treat vanished into her mouth as her gaze bore into Michael. She could hear Moloch speak in that hideous tongue to Michael, but she did not acknowledge it.

Oh no, they would be on their absolute best behavior. And suddenly, that was not such a hard thing to do. "We will not shoot the messenger. We will not behead the envoy of such a disgusting divine message."[b] Of course not. It would put the whole evening right off. It was now that her gaze shifted back towards Lucifer at the head of the table, sensing with every fiber of her being how much he was holding back his power right now. "But know that as long as this Spire stands and I rule from it, [b]you will be the last Angel who will come into Inferis and leave alive." She found herself biting her lower lip slightly, a thin sliver of blood dripping down that perfect olive skin as the crimson spiked back into her eyes while staring at her former sibling. As much as she might dislike seeing her Archdemon brethren, they were at least far more tolerable than this abomination before them all.

It was time for another great battle, another brilliant, delicious bloodshed for her to feed upon. Why not have it be that of those pretentious fuckers in that golden palace? She wanted to tear it down. She wanted to spread that crimson corruption right through to its pearly core. And she wanted to hear that single apology from their Father's mouth before he was bled dry. But what she wanted most of all? Was for her beloved to take his place on the throne as he should have seven billion years ago. She was the Duchess of Desire, and she would have what she wanted most.

[Legion]

Eating was one of the great pleasures of life, and while it was done for pleasure eating, consuming was needed to maintain life in all but the most basic or mighty of beings. In fact, while Beelzebub was the prince of gluttony, the rest of the Archdemons where close behind. After all great beings such as they did not need mortal sustenance to keep them strong, no they ate this fare for the sheer carnal pleasure that it gave them. In this way they all glorified in the gateway sin that was gluttony, in this way did they mirror humanity. In this way did humanity mirror them. For while as a race mankind's physical form did take on the appearance of the father, their souls where cast from the same molds as the original ten. So to say that humanity was but a pale reflection of the fallen would not be a lie. In fact nothing truer could have been said. After while humanity exhibited the sins that had lead to their fall from heaven... It was they, the Princes of hell that had perfected them. There was a reason that they had titles such as the Prince of Wrath and the Slothful one after all. The Archdemons had not been given these on a whim.

So, while Legion was not the demon most associated with gluttony it was no surprise that they had lost them selves in their meal, and while a relatively small number of souls focused on the the goings on about them, the majority focused on their meal. A meal that they had not had the pleasure of tasting in a millennia, a meal that they had never thought to taste again. So while those about them spoke, and while announcements had been made... Legion continued to savor their *REDACTED*. Some would have thought them rude, some would have thought them uncaring... And in that instant they where. How could the appointment of a steward even compare to the sheer pleasure they took with each and every bite?

Then, with a sudden explosion the music started, and with that music came a new sense of pleasure. Yes, the addition of that sudden noise had added to the sensuality of this most rare of dishes, and with it came a little moan of contentment. With a final lift of the fork, what little remained of their meal came to their mouth and with an almost sad look in their deep red eyes Legion took the final plunge, maybe their last plunge, into pure culinary bliss. Their eyes closed and for a few moments they savored that last morsel, rolling it about in their mouth with a practiced tongue. Then, with something bordering on regret they swallowed and their meal was no more.

And then their eyes opened, and for the first time since before the dawn of time they beheld a brother they never thought to see again. Legion would have been startled, maybe even surprised then, if it hadn't been for their meal. But as it stood, they simply excepted the unexpected and let a small smile form on their lips. "Michael, child. Have you lost weight? You look simply famished." For the first time in centuries the original soul spoke. He who was Legion, let them selves be heard.

[Ba'al]

Although a few passing comments had been made in his direction, very few had actually been made with the intention to continue them along. He noticed a few things here and there; though there was very little keeping him interested in this little soiree. Yes, he was certainly invited as a guest; but he also felt that most of the Archdemons held him at arms-length--was there any reason for them not to? Ba'al was always the most unusual looking of the Hell Princes. He was the one who changed his face every billion years. He was the one who never held a true Demon form, even as his Original. So why should they trust him? To them--he was as good as human. To them--he was the weakest. To them--he was merely a suck-up, forever beneath them, forever a shadow. Despite his riches, despite his glory, he was nothing to them but an insect, ready to be crushed at any given second.

And he fucking loved that.

Most of the words sent in his general direction had been stiff, tipped with poison, ready to kill if things got to that point. His eyes were narrowed, watching the group as he quietly sipped wine from afar. The new one--the replacement for their Slothful sibling--spoke eloquently. Ah, that was how he knew the name. Vlad III Tepes; also known as Dracula of Nosferatu. "Such an unexpected quarry to be bringing within our group. I'm almost shocked." Demure laughter escaped his throat, but he spoke no more. Instead, the man merely watched with inquisitive eyes as his brothers and sisters played around; they would eat, drink and generally be merry. But this time, he would merely watch. Why, you ask? Because he wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't sure if he could walk among them. He wasn't sure if they'd want him to. He was confident in his own self, but what of them?

At that point; his gaze was momentarily caught by Asmodeus', before being broken and taking to centre-stage. Leviathan had begun to let loose, and let loose she certainly was doing. After a few moments of her rather... amusing maneuvers, she let out a question: "Would anyone care to dance?" Well, it was certainly better than keeping to oneself, was it not? He got to his feet and placed his hands upon his hips--anyone watching would've wondered how and when he finally decided to move--and made calm and quiet strides in her direction. Despite the fact that the watery tart pissed him off on more than one occasion, she had a rather seductive form. He chuckled as he approached, but then he also stopped.

"Brother."

That voice.

"Long time no see."

No. Why now? His mouth twisted into an ugly sneer, and he turned to face the appearing storm. The conversation began, and it turned into a pretty quick slug-fest. Even if no punches were thrown, Lucifer's words were dipped in the most ferocious fire. The hairs on the back of his neck were raised, and his eyes narrowed to the deepest slits. "Michael, Michael, Michael. You are several billion years too late, my friend." Leaving behind those words, the Original King would be seen vanishing into golden dust, letting not any imprint remain. He had no need to remain behind; his form would not be recognized by the Angel--and even if it were, there were no words to be shared between former comrades, nor was the wisdom of war to be sullied either. Instead, he merely needed to take his leave, and take his leave he did--only Lucifer would notice the difference, he was sure.

[EXIT THREAD]

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