The Wrath Ring was one of the most desolate, depressing, and suffocating rings in all of Hell. It was also the most lawless, which, considering the very concept of Hell itself, was laughably ironic. Still, it had its share of towns, farms, and a somewhat functioning society of Imps, demons, and creatures just trying to survive under the oppressive heat and dust of the jagged lands.
One such town, lost somewhere in the far outskirts of the ring, had all but fallen out of memory; a ghost town in the making. Time had ravaged the scattered structures into skeletal remains, electricity severed long ago by forces that cared nothing for the damned. Flickering weakly in scattered windows, a few candles provided meager light, though most illumination spilled from the corner saloon—a beacon drawing Hell's forgotten to drown their eternal sorrows in moonshine brews crafted by its proprietor.
Above the town, ominous dark clouds filled the crimson sky, turning ruby light to dark maroon, coating the ground, buildings, and distant mountains in a depressing shade. Thunder rumbled—violent and loud—followed by lightning that lit the sky in a bright show of intimidation.
Streaking across the sulfurous sky, one such bolt revealed a figure standing across from the tavern, shrouded in black fabric that seemed to devour the very air around it. For one electric instant, the discharge above unveiled eyes of molten gold, burning with judgment as they fixed upon the bar's weathered facade. As acid rain began its slow descent, each droplet hissing against the corroded rooftops, the mysterious visitor dashed toward the saloon's entrance.
Within the tavern's bowels, in a broken office in the rear, smoke writhed with sentient malevolence, forming tentacles that caressed battered walls in obscene worship. One spectral appendage coiled around a knife resting on a desk shoved into the corner, lifting the blade with deliberate grace before hurling it into rotting wood. The weapon sank deep with a muffled thunk, vibrating from the impact.
Emerging from shadow's embrace, a light chuckle preceded a demon bearing the unmistakable marks of a sinner—though how such a soul had escaped the Pride Ring was a mystery yet to be revealed. Two small, dark eyes peered from within a towering red and black hat that cascaded down to form his head. Scarlet sutures, crude and deliberate, connected neck to torso, binding paper-thin charcoal skin that stretched across an anorexic frame.
His skeletal form towered over nine feet, nearly scraping the ceiling, and resembled walking coat hangers draped in bloody maroon fabric—once a tailored suit, now a mockery of elegance. A collar of pulsing green energy encircled its throat, resting against shoulders no thicker than pencils. Another chain of identical hue fell behind it into darkness, its links chiming softly in Hell's stagnant air.
From the smoke's depths behind the sinner, a second demon materialized—a massive hellhound whose charcoal fur reeked of brimstone and decay. The chain held by the sinner wrapped around its neck, both a leash and a prison. Where eyes should have gleamed, only X-shaped scars remained. Upon its muzzle sat a mechanical contraption of white metal and black tubes, enhancing its olfactory senses until scent became sight. In place of one paw, razor-sharp claws of angelic steel gleamed, each talon tapping against wooden planks in a rhythm that spoke of barely contained violence.
Dominating the space behind the desk, the third figure's massive bulk strained a cracking wooden chair to its limits, horns scraping plaster from the ceiling above. Gray smoke poured from a black cigar wedged between jaws lined with serrated, shark-like teeth, filling a reptilian maw that undulated around its skull. Through the haze, eyes appeared and vanished—one orange with a goat-shaped pupil that pulsed with fury, the other a glass globe of contained fire that blazed within sunken, translucent flesh.
Where a heart once beat, a crimson X marked the bullet's entry point, the wound that had delivered him to this infernal existence. The smoke coiled around his scaly hide in possessive waves, caressing the links of the chain that held the sinner hostage, its lead resting on a hook nestled into the desk next to the third demon's leg.
"Are you sure of your source?" The Smokey Man's voice rumbled through the haze.
"Yes, Master. He has arrived in the Pride Ring," the lanky demon croaked, its neck cracking under the chain's weight.
"So, he has finally reunited with the princess?"
"According to my source, the answer is indeed yes. They defeated Adam's Exorcist army, and now he resides in the hotel."
"Then the hour of reckoning has arrived. I want his head on a plate!"
"And I will finally be allowed to feast upon his flesh?" The hellhound's tongue slithered across its lips, hunger dripping from every word.
"Oh, yes. But we must proceed carefully, for I have not yet discovered the means to overthrow Lucifer. For that, we will need to capture the princess. But when I do, my dear Samedi and Rygen…" Pausing to devour the remainder of his cigar, chewing the tobacco and swallowing, the cloud around his head cleared, revealing Bible's familiar features twisted by his new Overlord form. "Angel will be destroyed, and all of Hell will be mine!"
As his announcement faded into the shadows, another voice took its place.
"If you're looking for revenge against Angel…"
Bible's head swiveled fast toward the voice as he sent his smoky tentacles shooting outward to ensnare the intruder, whose shadow filled the doorway. Instead, a brilliant blast of energy tore through the wispy strands, ripping a hole through the wall behind Bible that blasted the top off a lone outhouse sitting some forty feet behind the saloon, leaving its shocked occupant blinking in fear.
Stepping forward into the room with no hesitation, the figure pointed a prosthetic hand from beneath the shroud toward the trio. Its wrist bore a spinning halo of gold, familiar to anyone who understood its significance. A glowing orb embedded in the palm pulsed with building energy, prepared to unleash a second burst if needed.
The light from the orb flooded the chamber, and the cloaked figure sneered at Bible, "Then you're going to need help from above."
Dragging his claws through accumulated filth on the floor, Rygen coiled to strike at the first opportunity.
Instead, Samedi yanked on his chain to hold him back. Glaring at the newcomer, the tall sinner bent his sinewy form downward to examine the stranger. "Who are you?"
Raising the prosthetic arm to pull back her hood, the figure revealed a familiar face, her eyes blazing with righteous fury.
Grinning with wicked satisfaction, Lute declared, "Your partner."
With intrigue flickering across his reptilian features like firelight on scales, Bible leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. Shrugging, he smirked. "I'm listening."
To Be Continued.