Anazu the Minister of Pain rubs his star-shaped blade, grinning evilly.
Fingering his scalping knife, he makes the familiar motion to adjust his copper mask.
Irritatedly remembering that his mask is in mortal hands, now, he casts about for a victim to inflict suffering upon, to ease his annoyance.
His dark cowl swivels, and comes to rest on a black-skinned behemoth.
His mandibles flash in agitation as he remembers the command from the Lord of the Fourth Circle, Belial.
"We dare not harm the giant. He bears the mark of the Lord of the Pit."
Snarling, Anazu paces a moment. First the mask, in the mortal plane. Some undead being carries it, almost surely. Or perhaps it sits in some storage locker.
Anazu thinks to himself. "This giant is not even one of us! He is no devil. He is no shade. He is just...a fake!"
"Ah...well. I cannot harm the giant. But..."
"At least I can get this motherfucking fake off my motherfucking plane."
"GUARDS! 'Escort' the stinking behemoth to the Third Circle. Be gentle."
Grinning again, the giant strides confidently toward the Third Circle. At this rate, he'll be able to have a 'meating' with his beloved bull, and soon. After that, who knows? |
