He doesn’t get two steps before the bloodied demon hops up and launches himself onto the others back, smashing a candlestick over the other's head. As the poor bastard stumbles and falls to his knees his attacker deftly wrestles his prize out of the others too long and spindly fingers. “My prize. Our master does not come here. He be more concerned with his treasures o’gold, his collections. This be our horde.” He punches the offending demon one more time for good measure as he pulls his plundered treasure to his chest, his twisted overly long fingers clutching it tightly. There is no doubt in my mind that he is referencing Mammon. Collections? Treasures of gold?
Everywhere around us, there are piles of things in no particular order, socks, shoes, plates, pictures, pillows, articles of clothing, smoking pipes, chairs, odds and ends of every type. I can’t even begin to understand how all this stuff came to be here. I can’t imagine that anything of value has landed here, but who can tell. This is hoarding gone wrong on so many levels. The question remains, how are we going to get the backpack back?
Then the demon turns and when he does, he spots us, narrowing his black eyes on us, a permanent scowl on his pointed face. Where Daxell’s demon eyes have the warmth of hellfire in them, his are cold and calculating, his long pointy ears fly back away from his head, menacingly. His small frame is naked except for a filthy linen loincloth that covers up his male bits. Thank the gods for that. No one wants to see his wee dangling male parts, especially not me. Except for the fact that he’s only like two feet tall, his wiry frame is covered in rope-like sinew. There’s not a trace of hair anywhere that I can see on his body.
Narrowing those cold eyes on us, he points his three-fingered hand at us, “Yous be trespassing here, all of yous. This be our territory, our horde of treasures.”
The demon that he fought with just seconds ago, lurches to his feet and in an act of solidarity he makes to sound an alarm. A brass horn lightly grasped in his misshapen three-fingered hand, majically appeared just seconds ago and now he is blowing into the thing creating a loud blaring noise that even the deaf could hear. We haven’t even had time to say a word and suddenly we are surrounded by the little two foot tall fuckers. They appear out of nowhere all at once. We begin backing away from these extremely pissed off little demons.
Then … all be damned … a vortex appears on the other side of the demons and all of them turn to observe. The vortex swirls counterclockwise in a brilliant blue, violet, and red that I’ve seen before. As the portal stabilizes, the shimmering mirage-like scene solidifies, and two figures step out, hand in hand, both with knowing smirks on their faces. I know those faces. Mammon and Nyx. They are followed by over fifty reptilian-like guards that fan out on either side of them. Unobserved, the three of us silently shrink back behind a pile of gods knows what to bear witness to what will happen next as Nyx’s portal continues to swirl and crackle behind them. She makes no move to close it.
A swarm of locust appears beside Mammon and another of the Fallen materializes to his right. Dragon balls and troll turds, I need to get to my mother. I need this offending binding bracelet removed. I have a feeling that things have just escalated pass bad to … well, fucked up. For the love of Lucifer, why isn’t he here? This is going to be epically horrendous.
Mammon steps forward approaching the two bickering demons from earlier, “Hand me the bag.” His tone commanding. His face is stoic. His concubine smirking. Losing patience he demands, “The bag! I will have it now! Are you deaf or just plain ignorant?!”
The two drop the backpack at their feet, bowing low to the ground. “Master,” one of them squeaks, “please forgives us. We means no harm. Be this what yous be seeking? Tis no treasure, tis but a simple bag?”
Nyx steps forward, “That is no simple bag, it holds something that belongs to me, that belongs to my mother. Give it to me!”
“Mammon be our master, not yous, mistress.” The unfortunate demon counters quickly and then cowers back on his heels when he realizes his mistake.
Nyx hisses, “So be it, mongrel, forfeit this bag to your master, and he will give it over to me. It matters not!” Her voice raised in anger. Clearly, she is pissed at not being recognized as someone of power by a creature so far beneath her.
Mammon lays a hand on her arm soothingly, “Now, now, Nyx, he does not understand who you are to me.” Turning back to the trembling demon, he demands, “Kneel before your new queen. Now.” With every word, his stature grows until he is towering over everyone. Gone is the slick business suit attire from The Mortal Realm, once again he is rocking the Egyptian-like look that he seems to be so comfortable with. At his demand, the entire horde of tiny homely demons immediately drop down on both knees and lay prostrate before their master on the blackened earth. “That’s better. Now, hand the bag over to your queen!” His deep voice rumbles across the island and I inwardly cringe, waiting for the elusive item that we have been searching for to slip through our fingers yet again.
Nyx smirks and steps forward, holding her hand out waiting for the poor unfortunate soul to do his master’s bidding. Then he looks back toward where we are hiding and
