In a place of extreme cold, the Prince of Darkness grins evilly as he hears the screams of the damned. Life (or lack thereof) is good.

A dark cloud that reeks of chamber pots suddenly rains on his parade.

Stumbling over an icy stalagmite, a stinking behemoth lands at Satan's feet.

Frustrated, the Prince of Darkness mutters "This is the last time you bumble around my domain. To the Eighth Circle with you!"

The blackened, stinking behemoth shrugs, and then lumbers his way toward the Malebolge. With his fame in the Inferno, life (or the lack thereof) should be good, there.