The broken land of the Rikti Crash Site is covered with the broken armor, limbs, blood and entrails of the alien invasion force.
Atop a pile of carnage that was once a group of Rikti chief soldiers crouches Bill Z Bubba. His body broken, burned and slashed from the attacks that managed to get through his magical shielding. He grins, lighting his cigar, chuckling at the thousands of attacks that were unable to touch him.
The wounds won't last long. He's made sure of that over the years by crafting new spells to assist him during these sprees of wanton destruction. He's done well for himself. Learned the tricks of the trade. Enjoyed the life he had created away from the mindless bureaucracy of Hell.
He smells the portal before he sees or hears it.
He sighs and waits.
Tendrils of black and red slide into being collapsing about five feet in front of Bill, slowly coalescing into the form of a man. It smells of Hell. It sounds of Hell. That lovely murmur of the sound of countless souls screaming in pain and pleasure.
Bill's talons slide back out of his fingers as his spine stiffens to launch himself at the devil that has formed in front of him.
"Hold off on the attack, brother. I come only as a messenger."
Bill's right eyebrow arches up as he takes a long draw from the cigar. Damn. "Evenin, Az. To what do I owe this visitation?"
Azmodeus takes a single step forward, finalizing his presence in this reality. "It is time, Beelzebub. The armies are in place. The battle plans are drawn up. Your presence is required, General."
Double damn.
Bill looks over his elder brother while attempting to locate the tell-tale signs of trickery but finds none. A shudder runs through his body. It's time. It's finally time. We're really going to do it. His eyes flare up as a small smile returns to his lips.
"Ok, Az. I'll be there shortly. As you knew I would be."
Something passes across Azmodeus' face. Something dark and maniacal. The same smirk that had been on Bill's face during his battle with the Rikti slowly forms. "Glad to hear it, brother."
He turns from Bill and walks away, slowly dissolving back into nothingness, the screeching of the souls in Hell rising for a moment as he does so and then disappearing with him.
Bill Z Bubba flaps his wings and rises up above the battlefield. Floating a few hundred meters up, he gazes over the land he's grown to love, sees the other heroes and villains busy with their own battles, admires his handiwork with the mortal shell he created for this world and grins.
Slowly at first, then with ever growing speed, his body begins to disintegrate. The magics that held the construct together unravel as Beelzebub directs them. Before long all that remains, high in the air, is the red glow of his eyes and a cigar.
Dusk.
The broken land of the Rikti Crash Site is covered with the broken armor, limbs, blood and entrails of the alien invasion force.
Atop a pile of carnage that was once a group of Rikti chief soldiers crouches Bill Z Bubba. His body broken, burned and slashed from the attacks that managed to get through his magical shielding. He grins, lighting his cigar, chuckling at the thousands of attacks that were unable to touch him.
The wounds won't last long. He's made sure of that over the years by crafting new spells to assist him during these sprees of wanton destruction. He's done well for himself. Learned the tricks of the trade. Enjoyed the life he had created away from the mindless bureaucracy of Hell.
He smells the portal before he sees or hears it.
He sighs and waits.
Tendrils of black and red slide into being collapsing about five feet in front of Bill, slowly coalescing into the form of a man. It smells of Hell. It sounds of Hell. That lovely murmur of the sound of countless souls screaming in pain and pleasure.
Bill's talons slide back out of his fingers as his spine stiffens to launch himself at the devil that has formed in front of him.
"Hold off on the attack, brother. I come only as a messenger."
Bill's right eyebrow arches up as he takes a long draw from the cigar. Damn. "Evenin, Az. To what do I owe this visitation?"
Azmodeus takes a single step forward, finalizing his presence in this reality. "It is time, Beelzebub. The armies are in place. The battle plans are drawn up. Your presence is required, General."
Double damn.
Bill looks over his elder brother while attempting to locate the tell-tale signs of trickery but finds none. A shudder runs through his body. It's time. It's finally time. We're really going to do it. His eyes flare up as a small smile returns to his lips.
"Ok, Az. I'll be there shortly. As you knew I would be."
Something passes across Azmodeus' face. Something dark and maniacal. The same smirk that had been on Bill's face during his battle with the Rikti slowly forms. "Glad to hear it, brother."
He turns from Bill and walks away, slowly dissolving back into nothingness, the screeching of the souls in Hell rising for a moment as he does so and then disappearing with him.
Bill Z Bubba flaps his wings and rises up above the battlefield. Floating a few hundred meters up, he gazes over the land he's grown to love, sees the other heroes and villains busy with their own battles, admires his handiwork with the mortal shell he created for this world and grins.
Slowly at first, then with ever growing speed, his body begins to disintegrate. The magics that held the construct together unravel as Beelzebub directs them. Before long all that remains, high in the air, is the red glow of his eyes and a cigar.
Then the eyes are gone and the cigar falls.
Be well, people of CoH.