All Hail King Isroh

Albrex, although smart for an imp, was still not immune to the mental deficiencies of his species. He ripped through an entire belt of ammunition non-stop. Unfortunately for Max’s swarm, the ones that hadn’t been peppered with holes from his turret or Samuel’s guns, were immediately blindered like an angry imp smoothie as soon as Samuel decided to make his move.

Max didn’t expect Samuel to survive 200 rounds, however, he also didn’t want to travel with an unloaded gatling gun. He hurries to pick up a new belt, struggling slightly under the weight and working on getting the end fed into the intake.

He was still scrambling to get the gun reloaded as Samuel approached. Even as the winged man landed near the van, he was still working on the reload.

“You think I’m just gonna surrender peacefully?” He asks, not even stopping despite Samuel being right in front of the van. “Think about this, I surrender, you take me back to that slave driving mad man, and I get fucked. However… I don’t surrender and MAYBE, I live. Would you surrender to you?” This, although quite dumb, was quite complex thought for an imp.

“Look, I wanna get this thing reloaded and fill ya full of holes… I also wanna get the fuck out of here, cash or not. How about we split the cash and go to Mexico… Trust me, you do too much work for Isroh, he’ll own you.” The imp warns, the name Isroh burnt like venom onto his tongue.

Albrex smacks a part of the gun home and moves to turn the crank and is met with a loud BANG… and no impact onto Samuel…. Followed by several more with no projectiles. And today, Albrex learned to never buy expensive things from other imps. They’d sold the gun with a belt with real rounds… and the rest were blanks.

“Ah, fuck me.” Albrex groans, looking at the hitman with a vaguely sick expression. It was over and he knew it. He was screwed. “Fine. Can we at least get a beer first?” He groans, lighting a cigarette and extending to box for the hit man sent to catch him.

”Don’t surrender if you don’t want to. You don’t need your legs to survive. At this point it comes down to how much pain you want to go through, “ He was not the kind of person to relish on torturing a person, but this was also a demon. Far from what he could have called a person, so something within him found no problem threatening him with pain and mutilation. Imp or otherwise, it was perfectly fine to him.  Imps also from what he knew were not that bright, even the brightest of them were nothing more than dullards like this one. Which meant his best plan would have been trying to reload a gun right infront of him, when he could have easily ripped through the barrel of the gun with a thought. Honestly, he was just in no position to resist the cambion at this point. Cops would be coming soon due to the sound of gunshots, which meant he needed to get this done quickly.

He bored his teeth, looking almost savage in his annoyance with the imp. That being until the gun tried to fire and found itself spitting no such lead. ”A beer’s fine. Just remember not to do anything stupid,” Shadows crept up behind the imp, forming sharp claws that could slip through their spine if he wanted it to do so. ”I hate demons, especially stupid ones. Let’s hope you don’t prove yourself to be that stupid.” He drew what looked to be a crystal wand from his jacket pocket glowing an ominous red color. Drawing a few runes across the exposed flesh of his arm. The flesh burned with pain which quickly faded away as the holes within his body also closed up.

”Besides, he wouldn’t be the first demon who thought they owned me. My fathers a Prince of Hell and he still acts like making me brands me as his property,” He rolled his eyes, realizing he might have gave unimportant exposition. ”Let’s get out of here first. I would rather not get into a shootout with the police. They tend to be far more annoying than your kind,” He knew the imp had no choice with the enforcement of potential pain if he didn’t follow along. Reaching out he took one of the cigarettes and lit it with a beat bic lighter he kept in his now hole riddled leather jacket. ”I know a place not too far from here. Has a pretty good beer and…well a few other things,” If you knew how to get into The Pit it was basically anywhere, btu then again he only knew it through tangential information.

Picking out one of the undestroyed doors he stepped through thinking the most evil thing he could but what they found beyond was not a hotel room but instead a rather well kept bar. ”Mac, get us two beers would you?” The bartender eyed the dangerous looking shadows around the imp but slammed down two cold beers for them.

Albrex couldn’t help but groan as he felt the sharp claws against his spine in ominous threat. Now there really was no chance of slipping away from under the assassin’s nose. Part of him hoped to sneak off, however that thought slowly began to die out in his mind. He’d be dead in a matter of hours, may as well have a few moments of peace beforehand. He'd gone from the end of Isroh's leash, the the end of Samael's.

“Agreed on the cops front. And I might need several beers.” The imp admits taking a long draw on his cigarette. He followed along, only really considering running again as Samael opened this mysterious door to an evil bar called ‘the pit’.

“Huh…” Albrex thinks out loud. “Don’t tell Isroh about this place.” He mentions as he passes a few demons who appeared to not have fear encroaching on the back of their minds. It reminded him of the Hell Hound, minus all the unsuspecting humans who truly thought it was a normal bar and not a shrine to mass money laundering. “Insane bastard will want to rip it out of the ground root and stem.” There was a moment all the imp could do was look on in awe. A kingdom that wasn’t ruled with a thorny fist. He’d only been under Isroh’s rule for a fairly short period of time, but it was long enough for him to realize he wasn’t satisfied without complete control of his rapidly expanding territory.

The imp sits at the bar, taking his beer and just kind of decompressing for a moment. “I’m not sure what the Serpent King is. Some say he’s a demon lord, one rumor says he’s satan himself. Some even doubt he’s a demon at all, but something worse if that were even possible. All I know is he came from as far down hells gullet as one could possibly go and clawed his way out. And now he terrorizes us for shiggles.” Albrex slumps and smacks his forehead into the wood of the bar. He only sat like that for a moment before opening his beer and taking a swig. It was shit beer, but right now it was the best thing he’d tasted.

“So… Prince of Hell for dear old dad then? Humor me. How does hells royalty end up chasing down imps for cash? Don’t worry I won’t spill your dirty secrets seeing as I’m about to be sans skin and possibly a head.” The imp trails off, gulping in a bit of fear at the realization death would absolutely suck. Perhaps he could down enough liquor and maybe shoot up enough Nepenthe to where he wouldn't feel his own execution when the time came.

”If he wanted to do that he’d have to get through Mac and that guy isn’t a pushover,” Samael noted, wondering how strong the strange barkeep was. Not that he heard much in the way of raw strength when it came to the strange man. Was he human, demon or something else entirely? No one knew and no one was soon to find out he felt. The imp however just began puffing away at his cigarette and talking about Isroh, mostly how he appeared from nowhere and began forcing demons in line. Something about just wanting all the territory for himself. He gave a small shrug, black eyes closing just for a second, dark circles even more obvious when they didn’t have the pitch-black contrast.

It did sound like a demon to reach for more than they could hold. ”He’s a small fry really. I’ve seen true demons, monsters that take the minds of mortals and turn them into their play things. Steal souls through paltry promises and other nasty things. I’m not scared of a kingpin with some power,” He took a drag of his cigarette, remembering some of the things his siblings could do, let alone his father though he claimed that was just him playing around. What was the true strength of a Prince of Hell. He had heard horror stories of the strongest of them, slaughtering angels and celestials like they were nothing. To that Samael felt a mixture of kinship and abstract loathing.

”Why else? I abdicated if we want to use fancy words but for those who don’t understand them I didn’t want that life. If you ask my dad I’m too soft, I don’t like the way my kind do things and would rather kill them,” There was no denying his violence urges, he knew that much. The dark hatred that crept towards people that annoyed him and what little restraint he had to avoid killing them. ”so what does it feel like? Trying to claw your way out of second class demon citizen and being kicked back down? Kicked back down by a demon princes failure no less,” He chuckled, smoke blowing in thin clouds through his nostrils like a dragons.

He felt Mac’s eyes on him though he couldn’t tell if there was judgement in them or something else. ”Doesn’t matter. Mac, got any of that seal? You know the stuff,” The man nodded, reaching for a small lacquer bottle and pouring it out into a shot glass. It didn’t look like much, the iridescent liquid but he knew it was good shit. ”try this. Doesn’t matter how high your tolerance is, it’ll cut through it and it tastes pretty good too,”

“You seem to think he’d bring his boys in. No, He’d do much worse.” Albrex had seen how Isroh nosed out competition. He would very rarely risk his man power, and he definitely wouldn’t risk it on a fight he knew he couldn’t gain more than he lost. He’d been around enough to see the blockading tactics, the stock shorting and the political reckonings he could bring. He’d likely have the place on it’s knees before even setting foot in the place.

Giving a light nod the imp laughs into his beer. “I get not wanting that shit. Why do you think I cut and run? Think I just wanted to get some cash and live the high life or something?” Albrex chuckles as Mac poured out an unfamiliar iridescent drink into his glass. The imp examines it suspiciously watching the liquid metal swirl around in his glass. “Feels a bit better than being held down by an oppressive prick of a demon with a prissy ass dog.” He retorts, knocking back the seal in one go. He grits his teeth as the world begins to spin. “Wouldn’t call ya a failure though. Ya did end up catchin the fuck outa me. Yer already a lot better than most.” He laughs as the liquor begins to ease the foreboding terror.

“Shit is good. Helluva last drink.” Albrex settles the glass back on the bar, head tipping back in his barstool. Reaching into his coat pocket he pulls two small glass ampules filled with a deep red liquid, it looked like blood with a bit of a white shimmer at the top floating like oil. “Here. ‘s Nepenthe.” He passes one over to Sammy, seeing it as only fair. Albrex pushes his thumb against the top of the ampule, cracking off the tip and downing the liquid in one go.

The imp tenses, every vein in his body seeming to flash under his skin all at once as his eyes go bloodshot. He cringes for a second before the bright effect fades and he leans forward into the table, eyes glazed over and bloodshot in a strung out manner. “Shit beats the hell out of live human blood.”

”If he can fight Mac he’s more than welcome to try,” Samael shrugged, feeling the sharp gaze of the barkeep on him now that he’d said something like that. The cambion simply ignored him, shrugging and looking down at the shot glass of Seal set before them. He didn’t care to think much about Isroh, though the bars unique existence was the kind of thing that wasn’t easily assailed by normal human establishments. He did wonder where Mac got all of his drinks, but the didn’t question those things. They were comparatively cheap, which made this place the perfect drinking hole for someone like him.

Samael shrugged and looked down to the imp. ”That’e exactly what I thought actually. ” He noted, lifting the small glass and eyeing the swirling bright liquid before downing it all at once. It cut through his resistance like a sharp knife, leaving him feeling light headed. ”I’m used to demons trying to impose themselves on me. A shame most of them are prone to being too difficult to kill,” He shrugged, feeling the fruity taste on his lips and even feeling better despite the whole situation.  Keeping the imp in his periphery, though his shadows forced the little guy from doing something stupid.

”It’s the kind of shit that’ll even knock a dragon on its ass. Know one and it’s the only thing he’ll drink,” He only vaguely put attention towards the vial that the imp pulled out. He heard the sound of the bar door opening, his sharp hearing cutting through the movement of people around him. Followed by him looking to the imp. ”you didn’t happen to spend all of that money you stole from the big guy right?” he questioned, remembering something he was supposed to do.

“Heh.” The imp croaks out a laugh as Sammy apparently did think that little of the imp. He couldn’t blame him, imps weren’t known for being decent at all. “Mexico is the way to go. He doesn’t have his claws there yet and if he gets his way, he’s going to shut the border down tighter than a nun’s cooch to make sure we can’t escape.” Ablrex taps his fingers along the wood of the bar. “We ditched because we were going to join a mexican cartel. Run by humans. How pathetic is that? A bunch of demons, running scared and relying on a human drug cartel to save us?” The imp tilts his head back over the back of his chair, eyes bloodshot.

“Some were wise in running a few years ago, I thought I could make a few bucks. I did but then I just couldn’t get the fuck out.” The imp spins his chair around a bit as Sammy drinks, parts of his face started to go numb as liquor starts to hit him. He groans, beginning to get a bit out of his mind as the combination of an upper and a downer.

The imp has to think for a minute before realizing exactly what Sammy was asking. “You think I could have spent 80K in two days? Nah, 60 grand is left of it. It’s hidden under the mattress in the hotel room. It was to try to buy a house for us. It may not be enough to outright buy one, but if me and the boys had made it it’d have been one hell of a down payment.” Albrex tosses the hotel room card toward the half-demon half-hazardly.

”That’s nothing new. Demons have a history of relying on and feeding from humans. You acts all superior but can’t live without ‘em,” Samael shrugged, knowing well the strange relationship the supernatural tended to have with humans. Humans tended to like having demons work under them. Power they didn’t have doing what they wanted, which led to fools thinking they could control demons. Many fools really but that summed up the human race. Reaching for things they didn’t even understand and being burned by it.

He snatched the hotel card and smirked, watching what looked to be a shadowy shape walking along the ground in the vague shape of a hound. If you knew how to contact the right demons, familiars were something that could be contracted to do tasks for you. It considered him with deep red eyes, briefcase held within the undulating black fangs. ”So you wanted to buy a house in Mexico? Well I won’t judge you but I have a job to do, which means dragging you back to someone that might want you dead.” A low huff worked through his clenched teeth, the shadows resting threateningly at the back of the imp urging him to stand.

”Well, let’s get this on the road,” Sliding the glass across the bar he removed a few coins from a pouch at his side and slid them across to Mack. He likely would appreciate this more than mundane mortal money. ”keep the change,” He would let the imp finish his drink before leading him through the exit again, this time next door to the place he was supposed to be meeting his boss. Hands now buried into his pockets and looking down before setting his glass back on the bridge of his nose.

Not wasting time he would have him through the entrance, looking around with the same dour expression Samael always wore. ”If you’re here I have your guy or whatever,” He called out, the familiar following and setting the money down.

The imp at this point was half wasted and the other half stewed. So much booze and drugs had him standing and following like a stupid little sheep.”Perhaps. Seems humans are winning today.” Albrex shrugs.

Sammy’s arrival was heralded by a oddly glamoured demon, oddly wearing the same face as every other hulking bouncer, each just had perhaps a slightly different skin tone or one novel train like a larger nose or a missing tooth. Each face did look the same though… and oddly nondescript. His eyes scanned over Sammy as if he were about to attempt to toss him out of the very much closed Hell Hound as dawn was fast approaching.

However then his eyes fall upon the stammering little imp. “Boss is waiting for you.” The bouncer steps aside, his strange glassy eyes never quite leaving the half demon.

The entryway only got brighter and the out-of-place aroma of flowers. The usually lively and dark club floor has all the lights on and was full of hollow faced lower demons. Imps, Dretches. Spined devils, barbed devils, demons and monsters alike, all of which looked a combination of terrified and strung out on enough drugs to kill a horse. Along the walls was creeping vines with red stamps and black lotus-like flowers The thorns gleaming like three inch daggers in each direction as they seemed almost sentient and alive, creeping along the floors and columns.

Sitting amongst a throne of severed demon horns, teeth and claws was the king of roses himself. Unglamoured and sipping on yet another extra-salty margarita. His horns gleamed a glossy black in the light which just seemed to get lost in the markings that peeked over the collar of his white shirt. He was still as finely dressed as Sammy last saw him, but this time making no effort to hide what he was.

“Ah, you’re back so soon.” Isroh hums, as if this was only what was expected. “Money spent on a good wet-boy is comfort gained.” He rolls up from his chair as vines creep along the floor to the stoned imp who was too lost in the sauce to understand he was at his own execution. The vine creep up his ankles with silent malice, however they weren’t stabbing their thorns in yet, but creeping along like curious snakes.

“Grimm, Get the man his money. We’ve got to talk business.” Isroh leans his head over at one of his hunking bouncers who disappears back behind the bar. Only then did the little imp begin top scream as the vines began to rotate inward as they dragged along his skin, cutting as they continued to creep. The drunken imp pulls against the vines in vain as it only tears more of the flesh from his limbs and spilling blood onto the floor the more he fights it. It was acting like razor wire, cutting deeper with each flinch.

“90 thousand as promised. 50 for the delivery and 40 for the bag. Want to make more quick cash? I have a proposition, now that you’ve proven yourself.” The devil extends a hand as if to beckon Sammy to follow toward a spiral staircase behind the bar.

Samael eyed the glamoured demon that eyed him down, just smiling at them in a sardonic fashion before being lead on through. The money was now in his hand, the weight of so many dollar bills enough to remind him what kind of money the imp was playing with. He didn’t feel strongly enough to see him killed, though that also meant that he didn’t care enough to save him either. Demon got what they deserved, so he let whatever happened happen without a care in the world.

As he lead the high imp through the entryway things grew flowery and bright. Causing the cambion to squint behind his sunglasses, and his nostrils to ever so slightly burn from the fragrant scents. Around him he could see the many demons now arrayed around the club floor, turning towards him with what he assumed was understanding. Of what he was and what he brought with him. Set upon a throne was a face he hadn’t seen before, though it was easy to assume considering position what he was.

The king of this little kingdom of pathetic demons and their cringing faces. The threatening shadows faded as the vines came to claim the imp, dragging him towards the demon now no longer hiding what it was. Impish screams echoed throughout the room as the vines and thorns ripped through his flesh as he tried to escape. Sammy’s only reaction were his brows furrowing, wondering if there was a point to all the racket but he didn’t say anything. What demons did to each other was unimportant.

”A proposition huh? Well, I’m not gonna turn down some cash,” He knew what he was dealing with, so he had to create a front that made sure the demons didn’t see him as weak. Following the line of the beckoning gesture, he walked across the demon packed club and moved to ascend the spiral staircase.

It seemed the torment did not stop even as Isroh had his back turned to violence that was a very public execution., In fact it seemed the vines grew more ravenous outside of the king’s presence as they even grabbed a few more lower demons from the crowd. He opens the door into an oddly quiet living room on the upper floor of a nightclub.

It looked like a showroom house with fine wood floors and designer furniture. The living room opened up into a matching kitchen with dark granite countertops to match the dark wood cabinets. On the coffee table was an engraved glass wine chiller with a pricy looking bottle of wine and a set of six crystal glasses. He takes two between his fingers and pours out two glasses of red and offers one to Samael.

“I’m impressed. I considered him escaped. I believe you’re the perfect man to suit my needs.” The devil king settles himself back into his armchair, making a gesture as if to welcome Sammy to the couch. He loosens his tie a bit and lets his suspenders dip down off his shoulder as he takes a sip.

“I have another job for you, but this one is more secretive than the first. Under no circumstances is anyone to know what you’re up to for me. Are we clear?” He pauses, letting the air settle for a moment, just to drive home he was dead serious. “I’m looking for bodies, I need every John Doe you can find on the continent. I’m looking for an age of around 12-20 and must have been dead at least three years, but a maximum of seven give or take. I don’t care how many you end up bringing me, But I will pay you ten grand for each corpse that fits my parameters.”

Isroh knew this was an odd request for a bounty man, dabbling in corpses was typically enough to make one shy away from the work. However, Samael had proven himself diligent, so if anyone would take it, he’d hoped it’d be him. “Any questions so far? I know it’s the most unusual of requests, just know the bodies won’t be used for anything obscene… I’m just looking for someone.”

Quickly enough the sounds of ripping flesh and muffled agony silenced itself as he was lead to what he assumed was some kind of  room only for the boss. ”We live in a world that’s impossible to hide in,” Samael shrugged, though he knew there were those who actually knew how to hide. This imp was nothing more than a stupid creature that expected thought it self smarter than it actually was. All he had to do was chase it and remind it there was nothing that could be done to allow it to escape. It should have known better.

An alien wave of dark pleasure washed through him. Long enough to bring with it shame. He remained an island in this room, keeping far enough away from the demon but not creating too great of distance either. He was sure the man had more to say that involved drawing him back here.  Skepticism still remained within his mind however, pitch black eyes watching every move made. There was another job, though it involved something he couldn’t tell anyone else. Now that was an interesting thing. ”You want me to find you corpses?” he questioned, unable to contain the skeptical tone. What could a demon want with corpses? Was this some kind of bid to create specific undead?

”Why do you want these corpses? It sounds like I’ll be hunting down a bunch of kids corpses, and I don’t exactly like the idea,” He buried his hands in his pockets, eyes narrowing in a suspicious fashion. It was possible this man wanted something untoward with these bodies. ”so I want to know why I’m doing it,”

The devil tilts his head with a rather blank stare, a look that more often than not screamed death to those who received it. He made no overly aggressive gestures, it just seemed like he’d paused for a moment. He hadn’t expected to be questioned on it. Weren’t hit men not supposed to care about morality? The small bubble of anger quelled as he recognizes Sammy is not one of his boys although he is on the payroll at the moment.

Isroh’s stare turns from hardened and blank back to the more neutral tone he’d had before, the pressure in the room suddenly creeping back from the gradual ledge it’d creeped to. He sets down his wine glass table, leaning forward for a minute, trying to think of how to word his request.

“As I said. I am looking for someone.” He gives a long, drawn out sigh. “I’m looking for a boy who life fucked over in the worst possible way. And I’m going to give him the peaceful rest he deserves.” The demon seems to be staring off into space, as if searching the edged of his mind for information… then a small trail of blood spills from his nose. Isroh is quick to wipe the blood away and shakes his head.


“I’ve given you all the information on him I can, but it’s very likely I am looking for a boy and not a man. I cannot begin to help him until I find him and two years of searching has yielded nothing so I can only assume he’s somewhere that isn’t in my reach.” Isroh gives a light gesture as if throwing his hands up in defeat and settling back into his armchair. “If you cannot help me, I will be forced to find someone else. But I am unsure if I’ll be able to find anyone more competent.”

Samael felt a strange stare on him.

As if he had said something unwanted or maybe even stupid, though he didn’t quite care if that was the case. Men like these, criminals and crime bosses tended to think themselves important. Throwing around orders as if they were divine law, something that was expected from him. No one typically paid him for his silence or even his direct obedience. Just to get the job done really.  

So, he had to know what he was looking for and why before he went around doing that. Going after kids was something he hated even considering, let alone doing and some had died for even suggesting that before. ”Peaceful rest? Well isn’t that sweet of you,” He noted with a quirked brow, trying to think over what that might mean. Already he could remember the heft of a shotgun, the blast and scent of blood. The last time someone had drawn his ire in this way.  

”I like to know why I'm doing something, especially if it involves a child; corpse or otherwise. Let's just say I have a soft spot for kids,” It was the only explanation he gave, he felt like it was enough of one anyway. ”I’ll look for this boy. If it’s really to help him, I don’t mind looking.” He sighed, thinking over who could help him hunt down a corpse. There were possibly thousands, if not millions of them around the country alone and that didn’t include those that were hidden.  

”This might be a difficult hunt, so I might have to charge a little more than my usual going rate. That fine?”

“ Wouldn’t call it sweet. It’s necessary.” Isroh’s voice dips in tone as he swirls his wine around his glass. Dead neurons firing hard in his brain yet failing to dredge up anything else as usual. He sets the glass down on the table before lifting his gaze. Everyone always wanted so much information.

“I also have a soft spot for them. However, this one in particular can’t let go of this world.” Isroh fills the wine glass again before dragging his claw along the edge to make a bright ringing sound. “Do you believe in ghosts Samael? Ones angry enough to haunt an entire city at once, perhaps even multiple?” He tips the glass with his fingertip letting it fall onto the plush carpet, glass splintering and the wine staining into the fibers. “One instance of pain only spreads further with each gathering moment it’s been left unresolved and staining everything it touches.” He leans back as the wine stain in the carpet only expands into the white carpet to almost triple the size of the original puddle. Didn’t take long for it to dry down into a nice red stain.

“I’ll pay whatever you're charging to stop that-” He points to the stain in his carpet “from becoming L.A” The devil shifts, retrieving a pen and and a business card from his coat pocket and scribbling out a phone number into the back of it with handwriting that didn’t seem quite as befitting a mob-boss. It was scribbled and jagged from his iron grip on the pen and too much weight applied to each stroke. He offers it up to the hit man. “My number. Let me know when you find something.”