Thread: A deal with a Devil (Pazzo and I)

The scorching red lava plains of the 88th layer of hell is truly a nightmarish place... The landscape is of cracked igneous rock, with many glowing rivers of slowly churning magma, and steamy geysers that spew forth scalding hot water... Far to hot to drink, and yet the many unfortunate souls destined to inhabit this hellish domain for all time flock to these geysers anyway in an attempt to slake their parched throats... These are the only sources of water available... Once the boiling liquid hits the dry baked ground it disappears, quickly swallowed up. The wretched souls grasp after they steamy droplets in vain only to cry out in rage when it burns the dried flesh of their hands... And this is but one of the minor torments that await the truly wicked, those judged to be cursed to haunt this hell of hells... In the distance, against the swirling blood red sky is a grotesque castle carved from glossy obsidian... Its spires reaching up at the crimson clouds, clawing at them as the rush past in the violent wind. Within this castle lives the Lord of this nightmare realm... He sits upon his throne made from the bones of the most wicked of mortals, held together with mortar made from pulped flesh and dried blood. This macabre throne still contains the awareness of each and every person used to make it... Not enough to think, but just enough to suffer greatly... Throughout the throne room were many other lesser demons of court, some dressed in such lavish clothing it was likely worth what a small country spends during a year... The Nobleman upon the bone throne could almost be called handsome, if more than a little feindish. He was tall and of a very muscular build, with a crimson colored skin with a slight sheen to it that glinted in the faint hellfire light. His hair was long and glossy black, and his beard and mustache were neatly trimmed. His eyes were truly terribly to behold, with black sclera, and glowing orange irises containing black slit pupils. From his forehead were two thick glossy black horns that curled around like those of a ram. From his back were a pair of great black leathery bat wings, currently wrapped around him like a cloak, Their edges trailing a faint stream of sparks... Nuraheim, Lord Of Midnight sat there, utterly bored out of his mind... He swirled his crimson red soul-wine around slowly in his silver-bone goblet, admiring its fragrance... He looked on, uninterested as foppish demon nobles fought with each other for his attention... at their feet were maggot like creatures scurrying this way and that, evil souls being chased and tormented by hellish rats... The demon lord placed his chin in his crimson palm, and pursed his lips... Just for a moment, he felt something tug gently at his spirit, and then let go... He quickly dismissed it, and continued to think of what he was going to do to his rival, Miralack, The Archduke of Flies... Then the sensation came back... More forceful this time... No longer a gentle tug, but a vise like grip upon his chest... His face contorted into a look of disbelief as he was pulled to his feet, making him spill his precious wine and shatter his favorite goblet... He knew this feeling well, but had not experienced it for several millennia... Who would DARE summon the great Nurlheim?!?! The other demons looking on, some in horror, some in amusement, and even a few more in pure abject hunger... One of the nobels, a gaunt mabre type, and parts of his anatomy decidedly inscectoid. The bug like creature made a mad dash for the Bone Throne ITs MINE!!!! He screeched, and many other demons followed him in his wake.... Nuraheim wanted nothing more than to smash their faces into the wall with his fists, but there was no time... Everything was fading away from around him, as he was abruptly enveloped into a brilliant flash of orange light... Powerful as he was, the Lord of Midnight was forced to shield his eyes... He decided then and there he would slowly torture whoever was arrogant enough to waste his time, likely with a paltry offer of a meagre soul for some insignificant favor... He had souls in abundance... Mortals were such fools, This one exceptionally so... Perhaps he would grasp the mortal by his wrists and slowly eat and chew the flesh from his fingers, hands, and arms while the mortal stood there impotent and powerless, screaming in pain and anguish... Maybe he would break every bone in the mortal's body, and then use the mortal as a throw rug until the demon lord finally allowed him to die thousands of years later...... So many options... The Demon suddenly felt a rush of cool air blow across his skin as he materialized onto the prime material plane... He felt the cold touch of artificial stone under his cloven hooves... Concrete was it? Nurahiem brought his massive arm down away from his face, and looked around angrily, a look of annoyance on his powerful face. He saw that he was in a primitive structure made from the artificial stone mortals favored to use. This particular building appeared to be used, or at least at one time to have been used, to house many of their primitive hydrocarbon burning travel devices... Cars were they? The demon Lord had not been here for a very, very long time... He turned around and looked behind him. Standing there, with her arms up, was the mortal who had just summoned him... Quite unexpected... This was a diminutive mortal girl... beautiful perhaps in a waifish way, and obviously ignorant of what she had just done... Nuraheim looked to the ground at his feet, and saw the amateurish scrawling in chalk and blood... The girl obviously had no idea what she was doing... And yet, here he was, the most powerful Demon on the 88th layer, summoned like a common servant... The Demon Lord turned on the girl, his orange eyes glowing with curiosity. She was obviously desperate... He found the whole situation amusing... Perhaps a diversion was in order... a little mischief would relieve him of his boredom... He could always go back and crush whatever fool thought to claim his Bone Throne in his absence later... The summoning circle meant to contain him disappeared with a wave of his black clawed hand... Nuraheim rose to his full height of twelve feet, towering over her. He opened his wings and spread them threateningly, showering the area with angry sparks and wisps of smoke... His voice rumbled from within his chest, and echoed off the walls like a cannon blast... Speak, mortal girl... He murmured to her in a nightmare voice sounding of crunching bones and grinding steel, dripping with contempt... Why have you summoned me?