(GM-led) Devils In The Details

mianngu

Cye'tlov eyes drooped heavily as the wax beaded, her breathing coming in sips. She couldn't see the source, only the molten trail it left over her scales. Clinging to her every curve.

She risked a fervent glance towards Lulu. The corporate demoness would have looked bored if her eyes weren't riveted to the slow cascade along Cye'tlov shoulders.

Lulu relished the hypnotic nature of wax. It's gentle flow over the flesh, scorching torment before the inevitable cool. The way it hardened and cracked, crumbling to reveal a ruby tattoo. A vibrant webbing of torment across the skin.

Oh, how she had suffered interruption after interruption. Surely, her team was doing this on purpose. Some souls just craved the delight of punishment and she could hardly disappoint them in their quest for absolution.

But this was a dangerous thrall. She risked getting lost in their panting breaths and clenched teeth. Each hiss, moan, and succulently wrenched lip a lure.

Play time was over.

Lulu huffed a sigh, and circled Asta with all the casual demeanor of a lion stalking its prey.

"As per usual you have been requisitioned mana meters." An electronic hum filled the room and over-sized wrist watches appeared on the table before her team.

"You are to meet Bob in the lobby. She will see you to the gateway and through."

"Team," She leaned before Asta and dragged her nails along the slender serpent's neck, clasping her jaw. Lulu's thumb ghosted her imprisoned pout, then pried her lower lip free with a silent pop. Impenitence and something else Asta longed to taste raged behind her eyes as she whispered, "You are dismissed."

With a healthy dose of fear and determination, they leapt from their chairs. Bob loitered by the elevator. Her bright eyes shifting to the doors at their approach, her aversion a confession of the meetings proceedings. No one spoke as she led them down and out into the back alleys of Shaitan.

They wound their way through the city and its scattering hordes of Hamcoons.

The feral scavengers' growls hounded their steps. Abruptly, Bob stopped before an unassuming dumpster. The smell of mung bean sprouts permeated its rusted frame and boxes of cinnamon peeps littered the ground before it. Even the Hamcoons wouldn't touch those.

"Okay, big baddy your first".

Bob lifted the dumpster's lid and motioned for Larazeth to approach. A dim glimmer of opalescent light brimmed over the dumpster's edge, the only indication of the gateway within. Holding their breaths, they dive inside and into the mortal realm.

Hamcoon Original Artist

Mariano

Hope I'm not too late!

Character Name: Nosra
Sin Choice: Wrath
Appearance: A ball of fire given humanoid shape thanks to a fireproof stylish black suit.
Personality type: Chaotic, not necessarily sadistic but love seeing the effect my fire has on everything.
Pronouns: They/them
Job: For the most part, trying to impede rival recruiters from ever poaching any assets; but known to have brought in a human or two that wanted to see the world (or anything) burn.
Key ability: Fire manipulation
Goals: Burn as much as possible, while keeping the job, so as to be able to keep burning stuff.
Secret: Actually two fire demons, each controlling one half of the body (top/bottom split)

darkwalker57

Character Name: Kuroda Icairit

Demon Species: Mastema

Appearance: Kuroda is a fairly sizeable demon, Standing at a height of 6'2". They're an imposing individual, who tends to hide their decrepit form underneath a cloak and various modern military garb conducive to the times. As ultimately he is a mockery of the human form as well as evolution itself. His Appearance tends to shift when dealing with those not familiar with demonic heritage. As such most mortal beings instead see him as a tanned-skinned individual while retaining similar garb to his demonic form. The only hint of the otherworldly that tends to poke out from his facade is his Royal blue eyes, Incapable of reflecting the visage those he sets his sights upon.

Personality type: The Stalwart Opportunist.

Gender/Pronouns: Male/ He, Him

Position /Job/ Responsibilities: Veteran Soul Seeker. Despite being a lower-ranking individual within the company, this demon has a veritable wealth of experience in finding coals to add to the furnace. As such he's naturally formed connections within the company and in turn spends most of their time scouting, even taking to filling out extensive field reports on potential "kindling." If you have gotten a job to tempt a particular individual, and if the report was made by him, the demon in charge of the contract would find a wealth of hooks and weaknesses to draw in a potential sinner. Yet Strangely enough he may have found the biggest fish in the sea, but he also has a decent failure rate in converting those around him into sinners. Meaning he may be earning the company cash. However, in actuality, he could be earning them a lot more. Despite this, he's a fairly hard worker.

Key Ability: "Empathy." - Empathy is a key ability to the Mastema, A rare demon if there ever was one. Empathy is a form of persuasion through understanding. The Mastema typically Incorporates themselves in the journey of their quarry. Gaining further insight into the character of the individual, making them capable of turning over even the most stubborn of individuals. Some would say they're better at negotiations such a job wouldn't bring this ability to fruition.

Goals/Secret: His Goals and Secret Coincide quite nicely with one another. As despite being a demon, he keeps it a secret as to why he searches for Sinners. He puts up the facade of being merely a Soul seeker. In truth, he uses his position to yes, create sinners, but also to elevate those who gain the power to greater heights of Kindness and devotion to their deities. As a Mastema his goals are to reinforce the faiths through trials, tribulations, temptations, and the like. As he himself serves no higher being other than the divines themselves. As to make this job easier, he retained "Empathy" by the grace of the divines and in turn set out on his duty.

Corrupted Wolf Guard.png

Dis would be his Raw form without any form of glamour or the likes from preparing to jump into mortal realms

Ezra

@mianngu
@SwampCreature
@Hanzilla
@KaeZero

Cye'tlov could still feel her scales cooling where there was once molten wax burning her in a way she had never imagined being so... enjoyable. Why did Cye love this? Why did she want it to happen again? Oh Lucifer... was Cye'tlov about to become a lovesick puppy like Asta?

No, no. No. No no no no no. You have a job to do. Stick to the plan. Stick. To. The. Plan.

With the mana meter loosely clasped around her too slender wrist, Cye tried to ground herself as the group was dismissed. One more glance at Lulu, who now preoccupied with Asta, sent a blaze up her spine. Anger heated her face.

Ooooooh... are you jealous? Came the Whispers.

Cye'tlov quickly silenced the hushed voice, stamping down her emotions. It was time to work. Bob was by the elevator waiting, leading them down and out to the ally. Hamcoons snarled at their approach. Cye always liked the beasts and often idly wondered if they could be mounted for faster travel. But she didn't know much about them and it was just as likely that one would eat her hand.

Trailing behind Val, the little Imp stopped abruptly, causing Cye to crash into her wings. Val gave her a look that made Cye regret her nightdreams of befriending the Hamcoons.

Bob gestured to the dumpster's open maw, "Okay, big baddy you're first".

The rest of the group followed, and then groaned in unison. Somewhere in that in between place that connects Hell to the mortal realm, Lazareth got stuck. Again.

"Why do they always let you go first..." Cye'tlov muttered under her breath. Cye was now thoroughly annoyed. Between being late, the stupid Whispers, and some very concerning fantasies of Lulu playing through her mind, and now this?

Showing more boldness than Cye'tlov has in the past, she proceeded to give a good, hard roundhouse kick to Larazeth's massive form, pushing him solidly through into the realm of unsuspecting mortals. She idly noticed a blob of mushed, cinnamon smelling, white goop stuck to Lazareth's backside. Cye realized she must have stepped on one of the many disgusting peeps that littered Shaitan.

Oops. She didn't know why they always ended up in Hell. Couldn't the mortals keep their undesirables to themselves?

Wonder if he'll notice...

Hanzilla

@mianngu
@SwampCreature
@Ezra
@KaeZero

Asta already longed for the next interaction she would have with Lulu. Hopefully alone next time. She hated when she was reduced to a puddle in front of the team. Especially Cye, though, for some odd reason. There was something intimidating about them in a way that made Asta feel all mixed up inside. Ah, well. Best unpack that later.

It became increasingly hard to hold back her rage with those damn hamcoons biting at her ankles though. A low growl rumbled out from Asta's chest and she kicked at the larger of the hamcoons romping around at her feet.

"Get outta here, rats!" she hollered at them. "Hmph."

She looked back up to see that Bob had the portal open, ready for the team to jump on through. Asta groaned as Larazeth attempted to get through first. He was absolutely going to get stuck again.

The team all filed in, and Asta just happened to fall in behind Cye. The sudden closeness surprised her for a second, and then she was REALLY surprised when she fully bumped into the back of them. Asta grunted in frustration and perhaps a little bit of... ahem tension, and peeked over Cye's shoulder. Sure enough, Larazeth was stuck.

Asta heard Cye's little side comment and couldn't help but chuckle, immediately hoping that they hadn't heard. Then they did something SUPER unexpected and executed a perfect roundhouse to Larazeth's backside. Asta appreciated the front seat view for that, but then had to shake herself because the path was open and it was time to get back to work.

Asta followed behind Cye, chuffing to try and mask another chuckle when she noticed there was a cinnamon peep stuck to Larazeth's butt.

mianngu

@Mariano
@darkwalker57

"Here you are, sir. One whiskey on the rocks, and one Fiery German." The waitress paused after setting down the lowball glass, hugging the serving tray to her chest. It didn't take an empath to see her uneasy, the natural fear humans experienced when faced with the otherworldly, even if they didn't know it.

"Our bartender wasn't quite familiar with that cocktail, I hope it's all right". Her fingers fiddled with the rim of the tray, feet shuffling across the sticky floor.

Kuroda dismissed her with a head nod. She barely pauses to release her breath before turning and fleeing back toward the bar.

The Cavern club was dimly lit and barren this Monday at 2 pm. Located beneath a warehouse used for storing fruit, the pungent stench clung to the cellar's rocky walls and anyone who entered.

The_Cavern_Club inside.jpg

Kuroda noted two exits, the main door and the one behind the stage. No bouncer, one bartender, two waitresses, and three lonesome regulars. No one worth a damn. He settled for watching the smoky trail that spiraled above Norsa's form. Originally wisps of gray, Kuroda didn't think Nosra noticed the thickening of the wafts or the low cloud they were creating.

Nosra inspected the next set of musicians tuning their instruments, heads precariously close to the low arcing ceiling and swathed in glorious smoke. It couldn't be this group. Two hours at the club had yet to reveal anything of note. Nosra was getting irritated, boredom pulling their attention to the fruit-soaked oak planks of the floor and the idle inclination to see them ablaze.

INCOMING COMPETITOR. INCOMING COMPETITOR. SUSPECTED PROMITY 10 YARDS. The alarm blared across the open space, silent to everyone except the two demons. Norsa's suspicion that this soul search was a bust dissolved, as they quickly stood, Kuroda towering up next to them. 10 yards was too close for comfort.

mianngu

@Ezra
@Hanzilla
@KaeZero
@SwampCreature

Larazeth could have done without the tiny dumpster crawl or the minefield of sugary creations before it. He certainly didn't want to get stuck (again) or receive the ass pounding that (un)fortunately dislodge him from the twisting nether. But, he thought as he stumbled into the rotten fruit pulp, this is by far the worst.

The searing tang of fermentation filled his nostrils as he struggled to gain his footing. The slosh churned around his calves, fruit flies swarmed and Larazeth suppressed the gag that would bring up his morning Muskbucks. He scrambled to climb over the side of the dumpster and into the alley beyond.

"INCOMING COMPETITOR. INCOMING COMPETITOR. SUSPECTED PROMITY 10 YARDS"

His mana watch scream the warning, but he was already scanning the warehouse windows above. Clear. The roof and each loading bay. Clear. Turning toward the street, he unfurled a lazy smile. Today wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Fuck. Yah.

darkwalker57

@mianngu
@Mariano
@Hanzilla
@SwampCreature
@Ezra
@KaeZero

Upon receiving the notification Kuroda had risen to their feet alongside their co-worker Nosra. Upon receiving the estimated proximity to their competitors, he quietly sat back down and took a sip from his Fiery German. It lacked cinnamon but it was a decent first attempt.

"10 yards... And here I was hoping to listen to The Beatles... oh well." He had begun to trace a finger around the rim of the glass, he was naturally contemplating their options. The stench of fruit in the air. Upon realization of what was directly above them. Kuroda stood up once more.

"This became far simpler than it needed to be... We should wait for our competitors down here for a moment. This is the perfect location to stack the confrontation in our favor." A crooked smile would form upon Kuroda's face underneath his calcified mask. The problem with forming a club underneath this particular warehouse was made evident when Kuroda was alerted to his competitor's appearance.

Kuroda would then motion for the waitress to come and top off his drink once more all the while he would reach underneath his cloak to pull out a small notebook of various miniaturized slips and forms. A concession was made for Kuroda while working for his current employers. He was already filling out a possible termination notice for this highly valued "kindling."

Hanzilla

@mianngu
@KaeZero
@Ezra
@SwampCreature

Asta hissed at the screaming mana watch. Yeah, sure it's probably useful information, but why is it so PIERCING?! So MADDENING?! First she was embarrassed in front of the team, then the fucking hamcoons doing what they do, Larazeth getting stuck, now THIS?! She could feel herself almost full to boiling over with rage. She had the sudden urge to rip the things from each of their wrists, crunch them all into little mana watch balls, and toss them into next week. This was really not her day.

"SHUT THAT DAMN THING UP, WILL YOU?!" Asta roared at no one and everyone, her face deforming wildly.

What Asta thought would be a terrifying display wound up just looking like a silly temper tantrum to her colleagues.

Mariano

@mianngu
@darkwalker57

Nosra had been sitting at the club for what felt like ages. Kuroda had to go ahead and ask for a weird-ass drink again... I'm a fan of the name at least.

When the waitress finally left, they reached out for the glass of whiskey. Alcohol always made their flame burn stronger, and melting the ice cubes by just holding the glass was the kind of small doses of burning that Nosra needed to hold back from burning down this club and everyone in it.

They liked coming to this era, most people indoors were holding lit cigarettes, so no one even noticed there shouldn't be this much smoke accumulating. Nosra looked towards the stage as another carbon copy of four pasty white teenagers tuned their instruments. Are these The Miners we need? No wait, they'd changed their names to Weevils or something.

Another bust. Two hours. They poured the whiskey into the glamoured face and felt instantly better, albeit for a couple seconds. Hell, this floor looks so flammable.

INCOMING COMPETITOR. INCOMING COMPETITOR. SUSPECTED PROMITY 10 YARDS.

They failed to pretend not to have heard the noise as Kuroda stood up first. 10 yards? This suddenly? Has to be some gateway bullshit. As Nosra stood, Kuroda was sitting again, then standing, his inner monologue seemingly going a thousand miles an hour.

He motioned for the waitress to come over as he pulled out a notebook. Seems like we're waiting here; at least I might get another glass of something. The glamoured face translated his thoughts into a smile, as he figured a confrontation here would mean burning this whole basement down would just be "collateral damage".

mianngu

@darkwalker57
@Mariano
Norsa grumbled and fidgeted, his impatience brewing. Kuroda knew this was taking too long, and turned his sense toward the room. The bar was beginning to pick up as the next band took the stage.

The Weevils. It was them. By fucking Satan, it was them.

Four young men, their ridiculous mop-tops bopping through the smoke, had taken to tuning on the stage. Ordinary like every human in the room. Non-existent when one considered the vastness of the world. Four small lives.

But from them, beneath their basal layer, into the essence of their being came power. The tiny orbs of their souls filled them with black emblazed mana. It rippled in waves of glittering substrate. Each torrent contained the energy of every thought anyone had every had or would have about the Weevils. Ever.

Kuroda had never seen orbs in so much turmoil, so much bad and good. They were each a small sun of energy. These men would be remembered for a millennia, he was sure of it. His excitement ebbed as an irritation settled between his shoulders.

Something was off. It was an insidious feeling, like the instinctual knowledge that bad things lurked in the dark. The smell of sulfur grew and a man stumbled down the stairs, filling the doorway with a thud. He was predatory, with his vest open and coat in hand. His oiled coif gleamed in the dim light as he casually strolled into the room. If leopards could stroll.

Kuroda stiffened. This stranger's gate was off, mistimed and deafening for a human. His shadow bellowed from him, tendrils creeping over the naïf patrons. He caught Kuroda's eye and turned for their table, plopping down in the vacant stool.

"Kuroda. Norsa," he said with a clipped head nod. "I see even rats get lucky sometimes." HIs mouth twisted into a leer.

"Matzil", Kuroda whispered.

Norsa flared and was lurched from his boredom as the suit slid into the stool. His body reeked of demonic power, another mana pirate like himself. But his flame smoldered at Kurodas revelation. Matzil was a parasite, a tongue-eating mana louse. The demon had no corporal form, their species need to habitate the source of every demonic possession story in human existence. But he wasn't inhabiting a human.

Norsa sputtered, "Demonic possession is a sin, Metzil. What the fuck do you think your doing?"

"Touching your concern for dear Fate," he sneered pressing his hand to his chest in mock tenderness. His sleeve pulling back enough to reveal his mana watch, the ominous blinking yellow face catching Norsa's eye. It read 75 percent depletion. He was out of mana, wastefully spent possessing this demonic body. Who, judging by the perspiration across Metzil's forehead, was none too please to play host

Metzil pulled at his shirt sleeve, hiding his weakness. No mana meant no magic. "But a lion does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep", he quoted. Standing he turned to the human that had followed in his wake. "Come Mr. Stein, let's sign these boys".

Ezra

@darkwalker57
@mianngu
@Mariano
@Hanzilla
@KaeZero
@SwampCreature

Once they were out of the portal, Cye immediately felt dazed.

What year is it? she thought absently. It was night, and this city felt alive, must be a weekend. Not that the group could see anyone nearby, but merely a sense of pressure. Souls were all around them, bobbing about doing human things.

INCOMING COMPETITOR. INCOMING COMPETITOR. SUSPECTED PROMITY 10 YARDS.

Cye'tlov jumped as the annoying contraption on her wrist screamed to life. This was quickly followed by a demanding snarl from Asta. The whole scene quickly devolved into a temper tantrum.

Larazeth was busy scanning the warehouses and the ally the group had emerged into, he seemed to be grinning. But 10 yards was not a lot of space and everything looked dark and empty. No roof party. No humans catcalling on the street. No humans pissing themselves in the ally. No movement. But there was music.

Ignoring Asta's outburst, Cye grabbed Val's shoulder and motioned the imp to follow. The two quickly though not subtly found their way into the warehouse on the right via the window that Val headbutted. The sound of shattering glass was enough to make the others turn.

Yes, there was music coming from downstairs. Before she realized what she was doing, Cye found herself crawling into the vent where she had heard the music. It was tight, but her and Val could fit, but Larazeth would need to find another way surely. The vent went into a bathroom. The human male's bathroom if the smell was any indication. Pushing the vent cover off, Cye and Val dropped down. A human defecated in the stall next to them and Cye shook her head as the little imp was gesturing manically acting like a human using a toilet. When Val started playing with fire, literal fire, Cye slipped to the door, not waiting to see what prank was about to take place.

Voices. Now there's voices. Not just voices, other demons. Using a bit of glamour, Cye let her reflective scaly body blend seamlessly into the shadows. Sliding into the corner of a dimly lit room, all the lights seemed directed at a stage. Four young men were playing, but that's not why Cye'tlov was staring. There souls... the mana... it was like watching an apple ripen right before her.

Mouthwatering.

Mariano

@mianngu
@darkwalker57

When the Weevils took the stage, Nosra felt relieved but also slightly annoyed. We have to get better intel, this competitor got here just in time while we waited for hours.

The Weevils were quite something. Not that Nosra cared about music at all, but one thing they had to concede: as shit a Soul Seeker as they were, even they could tell these kids had potential. And they had it in spades.

Nosra's senses they were trying to use to look at the band became suddenly overwhelmed by the new demonic presence in the pub. It was coming from behind them, so they could only look at Kuroda's face to guess the stranger's identity. Oh it's a bad one, huh? Rashal? Lamia? Oh no, it's gotta be...

"Kuroda, Nosra. I see even rats get lucky sometimes"

Metzil, he thought in unison with Kuroda's whisper. He was wearing a young man with slicked back hair, but this man was not human; there might have been some glamour applied to match this era, but this was unmistakably Fate Alcaps's body.

"Demonic possession is a sin, Metzil. What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Nosra didn't know how much of their disgust would be showing through the glamour, but they didn't care.

"Touching your concern for dear Fate," he said, his theatrics revealing the reason for his desperation, "but a lion does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep."

Nosra looked over at Kuroda to gauge whether he'd noticed the mana watch; his still-stiff posture told them he hadn't. Normally, up against a demon like Metzil, even the two of them would need to be careful - but if his magic was low... it was a whole new ballgame.

When Metzil turned and walked away, a human in tow, Nosra stood up and motioned Kuroda to get ready to follow. I guess this is the reason I get posted to a job like this. They felt their temperature rise, and a smirk escaped through their glamoured face.

mianngu

@Ezra
@Hanzilla
@darkwalker57
@Mariano
@KaeZero
@SwampCreature

"Lucifiers tits!" Bob gave a grunt, pushing Cye'tlov's arm up , so she could peer around her into the room. Her conspicuous pink hair bounced in the dim light, black dahlias ringed her forehead glamouring her crown of onyx horns. Gone was her conservative pencil skirt, replaced with black high-waste pants. Cyetlov thought she must have been referring to the Weevils, but her gaze was in the opposite direction.

"Fate's already here. I thought it would take longer for him to procure the manager." Bob turned back to Cye, tucking her tie into her button up shirt, ready-ness written on her features.

Cye glanced toward the table she was staring at, its three occupants huddled in conversation.

Stop staring at her, or you'll miss it. Completely obvious like always. You wouldn't be able to spot a possession if the demon flayed you from the inside out. Good you have us, yes good you have us.

The voices tittered off, their revelation drowning out the rest of the room.

"We need to move. Competition is already too close," Bob insisted, impatience infringing her tone.

The door to the bathroom swung, Astra appearing in the doorway. Perspiration marred her mana-glamoured complexion. Bob wasn't sure if it was from her rage, or the short squirm through the ventilation.

"Where the hell is Val?" Astra's grumbled, leaning past Cye and taking in the room.

"How the hell should we know, your're team leader," Bob snapped, face glowering.

"I thought she followed you both into the bathroom," Astra countered.

Bob ground her teeth, indignity welling in her chest. Astra was team leader, but Bob knew she didn't deserve it. She could barely control herself, let alone her team. The gall of every opportunity Astra had taken from her gurgled in her chest. Astra, a backwater ham-dog muncher, who'd couldn't snatch a decent soul in a burning ocean. Bob had gone to Harvard, immersed in the ability to produce gratuitous swine on earth. Still she had failed. Bob could feel the shame in her cheeks, the heat rising to her face remembering her first assignment. The clasp of fear as Jean Norma died.

It had been a mistake to risk such a lucrative asset, Bob knew that now. Jean was an orphaned through abandonment. Crippled with unassuming beauty, but consumed with a destructive need to be loved. An easy target, especially for a green horn like Bob. She remembered sabotaging Jean's interview at Marapount. When the young girl had practically bounced into the audition, head full of dreams and topped with riotous auburn curls.

"I'm sorry Jean, but red-heads just aren't the thing. No hard feelings now." The crusty producer hadn't wanted a red head, Bob had made sure of it. Jean Norman wasn't the right fit. She would never do.

Disappointment pulled her expression into a pout. "Sir, its seems a little silly to judge me by my looks." she mewed. Standing from the rickety chair, she crossed the small space to the obnoxiously large desk. Daintily, Jean rolled her sumptuous hips across his workspace.

"Why you don't even know me." She whispered. "What if I turn out to be the most interesting woman you'll ever meet?" She steeled the promise in her voice, squaring her shoulders. He was crumbling before her, drawn toward her earnest declaration. Belief written across his lips, as he licked them unconsciously. Men were so predictable.

"Wouldn't that just be embarrassing. You are far too smart a man, to let an opportunity like me get away!" Jean had that magnetism that heeled the world, but persuasion was a powerful tool and she left the interview in tears.

"Miss, where is the hack that has you in such a state. Is there anything I can do to help?" Bob pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and led Jean away to a path of stardom. But had pushed her too hard, isolated her too much. The star imploded, taking Bobs career with it. Now she was reduced to soul anayst, basically sidelined. She calmed her features, willing infuriation into stillness. Asta always got the case, always found the clue, always talked the pants off some mortal with a boner for power and prestige. Asta fawning over Lulu. Astra, Astra, Astra. It was nauseating.
"We are to report to Fate, and make sure the manager signs with the assets and Brimstone." Whirling on her heel, she proceeded toward the table Fate was vacating, the manager clutched under his arm.

Astra's eyes narrowed on the table, its occupants shifting uneasily in the wake of Fate's exit. Her attention drawn to the curl of smoke above the table. No source. No fucking source. Demons, competitors, talking to Fate. Seems like someone had gone rogue, and it was time to relieve him of that valuable manager.

mianngu

@Mariano
@darkwalker57

The bar. Napkins, Liquor,

The floor. Wood, paneling.

The curtains - cotton, linen.

Flammable.

Norsa knew what they had to do. He couldn't be allowed to get away. Possession was unforgivable. And if Brimstone had to chalk up some extra mana to revive Fate's body, well such was the cost of doing business. Norsa leaned into the call, allowing it to consume them.

The air around them began to change, heavy with the rise in temperature. Kuroda eyed the door at the back of the stage, the neon Exit sign alight above it. He thought to himself, 'it's time for the Weevils to make a quick escape.'

darkwalker57

@mianngu
@Mariano

As Nosra appraised the environment, they would naturally come to the conclusion this was effectively a homefield advantage. However, this was more evident than they had initially thought. Kuroda was on the same page as Nosra, Fate's body was ultimately just unfortunate collateral. They worked well together because, despite their personal differences they flowed naturally together. Yes, Kuroda would keep his plans secret from them. However it wasn't out of maliciousness. Ultimately they worked to both of their interests. Kuroda got his targets, and Nosra ultimately got to set something ablaze.

Nonetheless, Kuroda would soon grab the frame of his chair once Metzil turned around. He would then throw it into the worthless pest's back. While not wasting any moment to break for the band. Kuroda would scoop the four Weevil band members in both his arms. Two in each, arm as his large frame luckily accommodated. He would rush the stairs leading upwards to the fruit warehouse up above backstage in a effort to avoid the culmination of his plan. As there was a scaffold stairwell leading upwards to the warehouse in the back

Metzil was thrown off balance by the sudden strike to the back from the wooden chair. "Gah! You Ba-!" Metzil was about to roil in rage and chase after Kuroda, however he would soon be caught up in a flash of flame.

"Don't Think abo-" Nosra was trying to hold up Metzil as Kuroda secured the assets however they would soon be caught up in the same flash.

Nosra who pushed the ambient temperature of the cavern club upwards, was unaware of what Kuroda had noticed. The pungent musk that stained the air was Ethylene, an extremely common byproduct of the fermentation process found in various fruit warehouses during this time period. A colorless gas that would be prone to igniting under the right conditions. Kuroda didn't bother notifying their protector as he was utmost certain they would survive the ensuing the blast. Given their mostly immaterial form.

Mariano

@darkwalker57
@mianngu

Nosra was a couple of steps behind Metzil, trying to come up with a plan.

But they weren't the planning demon, they were the fire demon. I just want to fucking b-

A blur flew by them which immediately crashed into Fate's back. 'Gah! You ba-!' Oh thank the embers. I love you, Kuroda. Without missing a beat, they channelled fire towards Metzil. Not enough to obliterate Fate's body but definitely enough to prevent the unsuccessful retaliation attempt towards their partner. 'Don't think abo-'

Nosra's flames flashed way brighter than they expected. This is unusual. I was specifically trying to control myself. Oh well, who am I to question a sign?

They barely checked to see if Kuroda was out with the kids. They started low, they loved starting low and watching the embers dance their way up poles and around stools and chairs. Small explosions happened at each glass of alcohol and then a big one where the bottles were, behind the bar.

They didn't think about the people who escaped or the people who didn't. It didn't matter. Only one thing did. Fire.

mianngu

@Mariano
@darkwalker57
@SwampCreature
@Hanzilla
@Ezra
@KaeZero

Oooooffff

The ground rose suddenly to meet Metzil, the crack of the chair reverberating up his host's spine.

"Gah! You ba-" The words were lost in the whoosh of air from his lungs as Kuroda stomped across him toward the stage. Mr. Stein forgotten in the commotion, backed up in astonishment, fear gripping him as Kuroda's glamour wavered. Metallic armor materialized across him as he moved. Supple mortal skin birthed rippling tendons wrestled over power bones, then disappeared. But within his hood, the frosted cobalt eyes remained, piercing Stein's delicate subconscious. Metzil concentrated to prevent the human's fear from overpowering his compulsion.

Those simpletons would get sealed for this, locked out of the Revelation Cycle. Metzil would personally entomb them in the deepest crypts of Hell. He flipped to his stomach. Someone finally noticed the flames.

"Fire, bloody hell! The fucking floor is on fire!"

The warning echoed through the room as more patrons and staff raised the alarm. They scrambled, tripping over their own seats as they bolted for the exits.

Fuck

With an impulse, Metzil pushed his will into Stein. Fate's powers of persuasion were vast and it took little effort to lay the command within the human.

Stop the cloaked man, don't allow him to reach the Weevils. He is dangerous, he will kill them and they are your only hope of infamy.

Stein blanched before rushing the hulking Kuroda, stumbling in his effort. He fell just short of grasping his body, instead wrapping his arms around his legs and pulling him to the floor. The flames speared past them toward the bar, glass shattering in the oppressing heat.

Metzil turned away from the stage, toward Norsa, whose face was drawn in ecstasy in the light of the glowing flames. The air choked Metzil's host and burned his eyes. He pushed the inconvenience away, advancing toward the wrath demon. This botched acquisition was his fault. He clamped his teeth through Fate's lip. The taste of blood filled his mouth, splaying from his mouth as he voiced the incantation. Metzil will his rage into it, forcing the spell to take shape. A dagger appeared in Fate's hands. It's blade crystalline garnet blade with a simple woven silver handle.

Norsa was oblivious to the danger approaching from behind, lost in the chaotic wilderness of his inferno. Metzil savored loomed overhead, the dagger poised.

"WATCH OUT"

The feminine scream barely carried over the fire's roar, awakening Norsa and he turned toward its source. The dagger caught him then, just hooking his well-tailored suit and shredding down its length. Metzil roared in frustration, lunging again as his quarry fell away.

darkwalker57

@mianngu
@Mariano
@SwampCreature
@Ezra
@KaeZero
@KaeZero
Upon being haphazardly dragged to the ground by the influenced Stein. Kuroda had fallen to his knees before toppling forwards, bracing his right side to land against the metal scaffold staircase. Eliciting a loud oof and groan from the two Weevils now under his side. "... Really, you truly have to stand in the way of a herald?..." Kuroda's words hung coldly upon the air. A thick accent beginning to form in his speech whilst he reached around his back and ripped a large spine of bone out from himself.

Kuroda was quick to brandish towards Stein once he looked up to Kuroda, however upon seeing their radiant soul with his well honed eyes. However he weighed Stein's soul in comparison to the four souls of the Weevils. After coming to a conclusion in that small instance, he was quick to pierce Stein's throat with the spine. The blue gaze of the Mastema locked with the humans own. A look of sterling fear and agony warped his expression as the immense pressure of being in the presence of the otherworldly paralyzed him.

Nonetheless as this occurred, a loud echo would occur once Stein was skewered with the chitinous spine.

ALERT ALERT! VALUABLE ASSET IN CRITICAL CONDITION! ALERT ALERT! The Alarm blared once more across the open space, the fighting between the demons were quick to cease Nosra and Metzil had turned to face where Kuroda was sitting upon the scaffold staircase, four sinuous tendrils sprouting from just underneath his spinal growths, were being manipulated to violently throttle the weevils. Although they were the big quarry of this assignment, Kuroda was banking on his reputation of a strangely high failed deal rate to leave the impression that he was going to kill them.

Nosra, who had zoned out initially to enjoy their craft, was coming reeling back to reality as Kuroda pressed his weaponized spine up to the writhing body of one of the weevils

Metzil who also just returned his attention to him, " You, What the hell did you just do?! You killed a target!" which Kuroda was quick to quip back " Oh I don't know, let me check?" he would kick the sputtering stein as blood pooled and flowed freely from his neck

"Oh, no, no... I'd say he'd be dead in a couple of minutes... wanna come and save his ass? If you do I'll just poke another hole in one of these boys here. Well if I don't break their necks first.~"

mianngu

@darkwalker57
@Ezra
@Hanzilla
@KaeZero
@Mariano
@SwampCreature

"What the fuck is happening? THESE ASSETS SHOULD HAVE BEEN OBSCURE."

Bob launched herself from the bathroom, pulling Astra and Cye with her. The floor had cleared as the flames began to climb the walls, the entrance turning into a deadly clinch as patrons struggled to escape.

"He's not dead, not yet. We can salvage this!" She couldn't tear her eyes from the rush of red velvet coursing across the floor. Stein's body twitched at the base of the scaffolding.

"We can salvage this right?"

Astra surveyed the scene. She knew the manager didn't matter. He would have made things easier sure, but this was so far out of containment. Only the Weevils mattered, and getting them away from whatever poachers had wandered into this heist. She didn't recognize the intruding demons, but clearly, they had quarreled with Fate and he must have pushed them too far. This debacle was Fate's fault. If they didn't turn this around, Astra would be sure to feed Fate to Lulu first.

Astra felt the fear of failure clawing up her insides. She couldn't take a Mastema, she didn't think Cye could either. They needed Larazeth for this fight, but there was no way he would be able to make it down those stairs. The only option was to take the fight to him. Abruptly the fire on the left side of the room went dark, smoke billowing into the enclosed space and obstructing everything. Val's obnoxious giggle echoed in the haze. Finally, some cover.

"We need to push them up those stairs and into the alleyway. Then we won't have witnesses. We can drug the weevils, negotiate with these slobs and hopefully still secure this deal." Astra didn't know how she got her voice to sound so optimistic.

"And while we are bum-rushing them up the stairs, how are you going to prevent them from killing more weevils?," Derision rolled off Cye.

"Cye, I said push them up the stairs."

.
.
.

Metzil would enjoy this.
He turned, his previous quarry forgotten. His work, his windfall withered before him. The brightness behind Stein's eyes finally yielded to oblivion. So much potential was gone, but perhaps not all was wasted. Pacing toward the blood now dribbling across the room, he crouched Fate's body and ran his finger within the tepid pool. There was just enough mana here.

With precise strokes he began to etch runes, the ichor flowing away from his movements in ripples. The glistening liquid was memorizing. A smile pulled at his lips. Every demon knew the runes, knew the ritual. But it had been so long since Metzil had harvested in the field, the anticipation made him giddy. Unbuckling the mana watch at his wrist, he placed it within the center of the binding, its red warning light revealing his ravenous hunger. The machine whirled, siphoning. The ebony mana began to twist above it. Slowly, the energy indicator lights began to fill.

Yes, Metzil would enjoy this.

.
.
.

Norsa clutched at his coat. The material was slashed beyond repair, but meager enough to cover.

Kuroda killed him. The man's body slumped across the floor.

Shock halted his movements. Made him slow to realize he was alone. Part of the wall was no longer on fire, but still billowing smoke. And Metzil drawing.

Runes.

No.