All Demons, All Queens

Dragon Girl sighed for a moment, wishing she could do this discreetly, but the Man Eaters had escalated the fight. Her blazer shimmered and tightened around her and morphed into her signature long sleeve swimwear, as to not snag anything.

"...Hang on to your car." She said, unfastened her seatbelt, and opened the door. Due to the newtonian physics involved in Dragon Girl hitting the asphalt at a full sprint, Isroh's car felt the reaction force, bouncing and shaking as DG Really went to work.

Dragon Girl was not classified a speedster, but only because her top speed was about that of a cheetah- clocking in under a hundred mph and swiftly closing the gap with the bus. The remaining orog rider tried to cut her off, but found himself flipped over and crashing.

With finesse DG skillfully climbed up the driver side of the bus, coming eye to eye with the children inside scared but now cheering her on. "SIT DOWN!" She yelled and gestured, before feeling a large fat boot futiley trying to kick her off. She grabs the foot and tosses the mutant off instead, and lifting herself up to face the last one. One solid front kick and he was sent flying.

Once those two were dealt with, she landed on the hood of the engine, reached down and unhooked the bus from the large dump-truck driven by a full sized ogre. DG did not see the need to break the chain.

She tapped on the driver's window, the man's hands frozen on the wheel in fear. "...Can you drive the bus?" She asked him. "HEY! can you drive the bus?!" She repeated, shaking him out of his fright.

"yeah... yeah!" He answered, firing up the bus now that they were freed.

"Okay good." DG jumped off and rolled on the concrete, the concrete breaking on her first impact.

THey were near the junkyard now, and the dump truck pulled over, its massive rider dismounting. Big Mama had four full blooded ogre sons, and this was one of them. Garr the Gutgouger, second youngest.
He specialized in fighting with chains and a large meathook, hammered into shape from structural steel.

"...ISROH! WE AIN'T ANSWERIN TO YOU ANYMORE! C'MERE SO I CAN WRECK YER PRETTY FACE!" He bellowed his challenge, eyeing Isroh's car coming into view.

The demon couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as Dragon Girl seemed fully capable of freeing the bus full of innocent souls. He may have been a demon of the most violent kind, but in his mind children were entirely off limits even more so than grown humans.

Olivia rolls to a stop, engine lulling in comparison to the roaring from earlier. Her metal body filled with holes and paint scratched completely to the grey in some areas. He lays his head against the steering wheel for a second before he smells the stench of rebellion before him.

Stepping out of the car Isroh works on the buttons to his now dusty shirt. “Is that so?” His tone so nonchalant, as if Gar had just told him about something mundane. Crimson vines snake along the ground before the demon as he works the last button undone and tosses the useless cloth into the seat of the now wrecked car.

The devil's blue eyes flash bright crimson as his horns spiral into existence. His body changed to resemble a real demon. Black markings flourish across his skin like the most intricate and deadly lace. Angry blood-shaded eyes lift to meet the bumbling orc, hands still in his pockets as if he didn’t care. “Seems mother really did know best. Seems she didn’t teach her sons to keep their mouths shut.” The devil pulls one scimitar from his belt as he walks right into the behemoth with seemingly no care in the world.

Gar swings down into Isroh with the bladed side to his meat hook only to find Isroh's waiting hand, catching it in his open palm. The blade didn’t pierce his stone hide and his strength stopped the swing in it’s tracks. The accursed devil sinks his scimitar deep into Gar’s wrist as he squeals like an injured hog.

Isroh sinks into the shadow of the colossus as the chain comes down with a pillar of dust. The demon ends up rising from the shade of a nearby shed, the blackened darkness falling from him like water. He gave a light scowl, noticing his cut to the arm hadn’t cut through as much as he wanted it to, it seemed the obscene blubber Gar was holding protected him like chainmail. This gives Isroh a wickedly cruel idea only a demon could be sick enough to execute.

He’d have to deliver death from within by a thousand cuts.

Vines snaked around behind the now charging beast crawling along the ground to take up the most space. Taking positions further surrounding him the further he charged Isroh. The demon quickly rolls to the side to attempt to dodge the incoming chain, but did end up taking a heavy hit into the left thigh, hard enough to make him wince. Luckily the trap had been laid at this point.

Vine snaked further inward, creeping un Gar’s legs, thorns rotating in to stake themselves in and draw blood as Gar struggled to remove them. He yanked his left leg out from the entangling thicket, tearing off a hunk of hide and flesh before doing the same to the other. Each time he set a leg back down onto the floor, vines would creep upon it again, getting higher and higher as Isroh simply saunters his way behind the Ogre and slices out the back of each knee with two hard strokes each.

The ogre pulled to get back up as more devil roses creeped their way to his hide, Isroh, working his blades along the thick hide tracing his spine, his ribs, his sternum, each point Isroh could reach while the vines weighed on the now grounded orc.

A desperate swing of a meat hook catches Isroh in the side of the head, darkening his cheekbone and earning an infuriated growl from the devil. He swings down onto the offending hand, severing fingers at the knuckle.

“Had enough of me, have we?” Isroh’s voice continues it’s calm, melodic tone. As if he were just in a normal conversation with a fellow man. The orc squeals as the vines begin snaking under the many slits in the skin and fat Isroh had made into the crippled Orc’s hide. Thorns scraping against bare flesh and bone.

“First you overthrow your mother and then you disrespect your king? You should have listened to your mother, boy. My rules are clear. Eat a man, and I’ll have your skin.” Isroh reiterated, clarity hanging in each word to get through the ogre’s thick skull. All the while vines continue tearing under his flesh, interlacing with his bones, tying into his arms, up his neck and into his face. “You exist in my city because I allow it. And you dare bite the hand that feeds you? I’ll have none of it.”

All at once the vines quickly rip themselves from inside Gar, raking their embedded thorns across, through and under his skin. Skin, fat and muscle gave way in some areas to expose bone. He slumps into a pile, bleeding into the side.

Isroh straightens and spits a bit of his own blackened blood into the dirt and wipes some from his nose. “Anymore rebellious little currs?” He asks, letting a bit of rage override his eerily mellow tone as he looks back for Dragon Girl.

The lump of flesh that was Garr took deep labored breathes. Ogres were notoriously hard to kill, and even when their number was up, they took a long time to die. “Urrkk… No… this wasn’t supposed… to happen… pretty lady… was supposed to help me… I don’t think… she will…”

Being the classical hero, DG secured the bus foremost. The driver had regained his nerve and waved at June. “Thanks a lot miss, we owe you! I’m taking these kids outta here!” The bus driver stepped on the accelerator and drove past three orogs who didn’t know how to quit, without their war ATV’s they could only watch as their intended victims fled the scene.

DG headed towards Isroh and the Junkyard. The Orogs caught up, fast for for a bunch of lard lads.
“hey you! We’re not done yet!” The minions called her out, causing DG to stop and confront them.

“Yeah is that the best you can do? Push us off the bus? Flip our rides over?” They taunted, having easily survived the inconveniences they were subjected to.

“Walk away. You’re lucky that’s all I did.” Dragon Girl tried to intimidate them, but while she was taller, these guys were four times wider than her.

“You think you saved those kids? We’ll find them! We’ll bring them to the meat house!”

“We’re Orogs, bitch! We’re gonna find everyone you care about and eat them! Chop em up, flour em, fry em, eat em and-” The man didn’t finish his sentence when DG executed a very graceful and swift roundhouse kick, her foot quickly connecting to his jaw. The street brawler raised his large arms to block, relying on his mutation to save him, but alas, his forearms snapped like twigs taking the force, and If his neck weren’t filled to the brim with mutant ogre flab, he’d likely have lost his head. He lay on the ground in shock, but alive. Then he cried out in pain. “My arms!”

DG reset her footing and turned to the other two Orogs, now completely mortified at the sight of their fellow. “You should get your friend some help.” She said, resisting the urge to crack their skulls open.

The other two took the message and did as they were told, carrying off their injured companion.

DG rejoins Isroh, taking a look at the puddle of red goop and meat that used to be an ogre. The smell had to be experienced to be believed.

“Uughh… good thing I already have my mask on.” She looked at Isroh closer now. While the ogre was now extremely dead, it looked like the ogre got a few lucky hits in. “You’re hurt. Let’s take 5.” Ever the girl scout, DG took out some bandages, a spray and a bottle of water. She looked at the junkyard and the big warehouse, they were close now to putting this rebellion down.

Isroh manages to come back down off his enraged high after a few minutes, his need for violence satiated for the time being after leaving the Ogre reduced to a pile. Part of him was amazed it even retained the ability to talk after having it’s flesh cleaved apart from the inside.

“These guys smell like pigs.” Isroh growls, his ire toward the dead ogre still not entirely cooled, however his voice still soothing. He perks as Dragon Girl points out he’d gotten a little scraped up and raises a hand to his cheek. Blood was beginning to well under the skin in a minor bruise, but the skin wasn’t broken. “Oh, this? I look good for taking a meat hook to the face, huh?” Ever the jokester he laughs before spitting more of the black blood onto the ground.

“I did, however, bite my own cheek when he whacked me so.” He shrugged, deciding to let June take whatever action she wished to. He wouldn’t complain about someone being concerned for his well being, even if he wasn’t in any real danger. “I’ll be down for a small break.” He shrugged, sitting back against the hood of his severely damaged car.

He couldn’t help but feel concerned he’d just ripped an Ogre limb from limb in the presence of someone he knows has aversion to doing anything illegal. Oh well, someone had to be the villain.

“Do you know what keeps an empire from collapse?” He asks, eyes lifting from the crumpled mess on the ground he’d made. “Undoubted recognition of the authority of it’s ruler. When the king becomes weak, the people sense it and rebell, catching innocent people who just want to live their lives in the crossfire.” Isroh knew he was sounding like a bit of a controlling asshole but, there wasn’t much of a better way to describe his philosophy of brutality.

“That-” He motions toward what was left of Gar. “Was not entirely about control for my sake. Their moment of insurrection almost got a bus full of kids eaten. Had he not been reduced to mush, who’s to say another demon, Ogre or devil might decide to fuck my rules and eat a human too. One always leads to more.” The violence was a means of control and peace. The only way to keep bloodthirsty and mindless creatures at bay was to be a bigger, more bloodthirsty monster that enforces his will.

“I’m going to tear those women apart.” He admits, having no qualms with utterly destroying would be usurpers.

“Hm. Guess he didn’t hit hard enough.” The spray had a pleasant fruity smell to it, and it was cool to the skin. It helped numb the pain and reduce the swelling. But beyond that DG didn’t really have any special healing powers.

While they were catching their breath Isroh was explaining himself. It came out of nowhere for sure, maybe he felt the need to explain himself to the hero infront of him. DG took a moment to form her reply. “When I was younger, I’d probably protest every little thing I’d see that was ‘wrong’. Bust up your operation, not thinking about the groups under your control. That kind of thinking makes you realize you’ll never save everyone, and you might end up doing more harm than good in the long run.”

She paused to put away her kit. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like turning a blind eye, and I hope some day you'll go legit. But now sometimes I wonder if taking someone down will result in more harm than good… and in this case, these people eating ogres must absolutely be taken out.”

The chanting of “hut hut hut hut” Signaled the end of their reprieve. Two columns of orogs in military attire jogged into the large junkyard. They then broke up into small groups and spread all over the junkyard, the air being filled with military jargon. “…Take forward positions!” “Stick to cover! Watch your six” “Five meter spread!” and “Weapons free! Weapons free!”

Dragon Girl groaned. Faux military goons. Their tryhard was on full display. “I’m sensing a theme with these ogres and their goons. These aren’t like the first ones we fought. These ones areacting like… soldiers.”

DG didn’t need much brainpower to recognize crude small squad tactics. They were spreading out, using the junkyard as a cover rich environment. The flabby orogs sprint-waddled to their likely prepared positions. Their bouncing bellies and sweaty fatigues would’ve been hilarious, if they weren’t carrying some serious firepower. The orogs’ size let them carry large caliber machine guns, grenade and rocket launchers, giant slab shields, and some seriously big scrap metal sledgehammers. DG was worried when she spied a trio of flamethrowers. She’d especially look out for those.

Several loudspeakers came to life with a very peculiar voice. “This Captain General Colonel Commander Special Forces Commando Greez! On behalf of the manhunters I am calling you out, stupid skinny boy Isroh! We hereby declare the treaty Big Mama made with you null and void! Surrender peaceably, and we’ll only eat ten percent of your crew!”

DG assessed the junkyard and advised Isroh. She was not in the mood to take a bullet bath. “…The front door’s too hot. We should find a way to get them in the back. Suggestions?” She awaited his feedback, since Isroh was the one who subjugated them before.

Isroh winces as the cooling spray hit his cold skin. He didn’t exactly feel pain but it was a bit irritating. However memories bubbled up in the very back of his mind. That dark headed woman again, spraying a bruised knee with a similar spray. He knew memories of his mother when they came up, but somehow, he just couldn’t picture her face.

He comes back to reality for the time being, just choosing to listen to June. As much as he admitted his actions weren’t morally great, he couldn’t not do them as they resulted in a net good. Without his stranglehold on the underworld, what would the demons do? “I wish I could go legit. In order to keep control of a horde of demons I have to act like one.” A perfect world wouldn’t need a king of the damned.

Violet eyes flash crimson with violence as more ogres show their ugly faces. Military themed, really? “Of all the themes a simple headed little ogre could come up with, military was the best he could do?”

He seemed rather unshaken by the squad of orcs in the distance, still leaned against the hood of his car. He reaches through the broken windshield to grab a small flask. He knocks back a swig of straight vodka and rolls his eyes at the intercom. “Fuck you, Greez.” He mutters as his eyes venture to the flame thrower wielding Ogres and a devious smile spreads across his lips.

“Wanna bet I can get those brutes to burn their friends?” They seemed somewhat organized, however they were still Ogres. Not necessarily known for brains. A catastrophic enough engagement could scatter them. “I’ll cause some chaos and take out the big boys. Draw some fire. I need you to get rid of as much of the rapid fire as you can. Goal is they’ll be either burning alive or shooting at me while you crush them.” Isroh takes one more big swig of the vodka before reaching into his car again and grabbing his shirt from earlier and a lighter. He stuffs a sleeve of it into the top of the flask making the equivalent of a Molotov.

Meanwhile, vines creep down the wall behind the flamethrower-wielding brutes. Once they were silently in position the demon king steps back into Olivia’s shadow, sinking into it. All at once vines launch into ogres, pulling them back. In a panic they pull the triggers into the minions in front of them, bathing them in the flames of friendly-fire. The devil emerges from under a nearby carport, throwing the flask into the frontline as well, lighting 6 ogres alight. The ones that were left were busy trying to get their shit together and raise their guns to shift positions as Isroh began to sink back into the shadows. A torrent of bullets, grenades and rockets came his way, seeming to bounce off him for the most part as he moved to another shady corner, drawing fire as he went. Vines surged further, sweeping up as much as they could, but the creep was slow.

"Puh'rimitah kompromized! fall back an' regroup!" the orog with the giant slab shield shouted, krumping the undisciplined flame thrower about the head, knocking them out. They demonstrated canny tactics, as the Orogs covered each other's retreat. Those that didn’t pass out from being set on fire, stopped dropped and rolled.

The Slab Shield orogs were positioned to let their buddies get behind them, leaving Isroh to face off against orogs with giant slabs of iron and clubs. Three shields surrounded him but rather than attack, held their ground, marking a perimeter. Waiting.

Now, in Greez's mind, the chaos that ensued among his commandos was about exactly what he wanted. dumb Isroh had materialized and walked past Greez, expertly concealed by the junkyard ghillie suit that was made of various detrius, mostly car parts. Now he was in a perfect position, the gunfire and explosions covering his heavy steps. He gripped his weapon in one hand, a tire axle with metal hammered to it- a crude instrument for sure, but in the hands of a muscle bound ogre, it was effective.

In a low, soft voice he whispered. “Sneak Attack.”

With both hands he brought the bludgeon down on Isroh, intent on krumping him on the spot, throw in another two of three blows for good measure, then ogre stomp to the groin- then once the hitting was accomplished, Greez would run, disappearing into the terrain, let the shield lads have a go at him with their own clubs.


Meanwhile, on the other side of the Junkyard, Dragon Girl acted as Isroh made his play. Whatever it was their attention was well diverted, and she had token resistance. More importantly, no flame throwers. Their weapons of choice were good – passing over small arms and going straight to 50 calibers fired from the hip. Dragon Girl was unfazed by direct hits, but she was not immune to physics, and the round struck with considerable impact, knocking her down or back. She wrestled the machine gun from the gunner, broke it over his thick skull and moved on.

These orogs were truly cunning for their kin. The show of orog warriors arriving to the junkyard was just that- a show- and the true trick was the warriors that were already lying in wait all along. Those junkyard shields were not just for protection- they helped the warriors blend in, and with it launch rear attacks against June. With the shields they were considerably hardier, the determined warriors working in tandem to box her in. While her blows crushed the shields, the retaliation bogged her down, and for every limb she crushed, they answered with two more attacks that knocked her about.

“Damnit! These guys are smarter than I took them for.” She cursed in Korean, throwing out punches that destroyed shields but not flesh and bone. In turn, she lost her footing as three heavy linebackers pushed her against a pile of junk. She was completely unable to notice that one of the Orogs moved a bit differently, with glowing yellow eyes and a tell tale sway to his step.

Dragon Girl’s hands instinctively grabbed a piece of rebar, pushed aside one shield and drove the rebar into an Orog’s neck. The warrior dropped his weapon in pain, clutching his spurting wound, before a hook punch removed his jaw. DG's blood was rising, and a bloodlust was upon her.

She never saw the small sliver of bone slide into the side of her torso. It took a moment for her to register pain- real pain- but she locked eyes with the possessed Orog and realized something terrible had happened.

“I told you Dragon Girl. You’d pay for making us ugly, for bringing us to this world as monsters. It’s time we returned the favor.” She clapped her hands on the Orog’s head, crushing it like a watermelon. The body fell to the ground, the neck stump gushing foul orog blood.

Dragon Girl too, clutched at the accursed thing that had slipped past her defenses. Dragon Bone, to pierce her skin; and a lock Enchanted Sphinx Hair, to force her transformation. One of the orogs cut and run as fast as he could. The other, taking this chance, wailed on the transforming girl, until he realized he was too late.

A blood curdling cry rang across the junkyard, making the fighting momentarily cease. The ground visibly shook, the piles of junk rattling and vibrating, that sound - that awful sound - rang so strong that the bass shook one's heart. A primordial thing, when prey heard that a predator was nearby. While the orogs could shrug off DG's human form, the dragon fear was now in full effect, as all living things knew that *the* dragon once again walked the earth.

“ROOAAAAAARRRRRR!”

‘Sneak attack’
The what?
Isroh wasn’t fast enough to register exactly what had just happened but all he knew is he felt something heavy catch him across the back of the head and a rather painful slam into the dick.

The sheer force of it was what had Isroh down, even if the hit to the crotch was the most stinging part of it, he growls. Only cowards hit another man in the dick and run. Isroh was back up, growling with rage, the clubs were not even bruising him from the little minions. He grips his two obsidian scimitars and gives one long swipe through the shields, lopping most in half. He leaps into one in a bloody fury, tearing ogres in pieces like they were made of tissue paper.

However the ear splitting roar made him perk, the rest of the ogres he was fighting choosing to run, rather than fight. Isroh could have sworn the rumbling in his undead heart almost felt like the fluttering of a pulse. His attention wasn’t entirely on DG during this fight so he never saw her get stabbed. However, the name ‘dragon girl’ began to make more sense all of a sudden. He straightens, wincing at the mild stinging in groin.

“Hey, scales. We good?” He asks, watching her behavior for a second. She seemed unhinged, it honestly reminded him of when demons couldn’t get their fix. A jonesing demon could become a mindless beast in the blink of an eye, only way to calm them down was to get them more drugs. Nepenthe was a nasty drug to withdraw off of and left addicts feeling like the inside of their brain itched. Instead of clawing at her head like a nepenthe addict would, she seemed to be clawing at her side.

Isroh dips into the shadows once again, choosing to warp himself into a shadow slightly off to Isroh’s left side. This showed him the blade wedged into her scales in her back. That looked out of place by a long shot, and she didn’t seem to enjoy it. He had to wonder if she’d let him just grab it for her.

He really did not want to risk getting caught out by a dragon’s attacks, even if he was sure he’d survive it. He figured it best to stay somewhat hidden if he could. The vines holding the now strangled flame-thrower ogres began to rattle and shake just off to the right to try and draw her attention with the rattling and clanking. One vine even snakes into the trigger well, blasting fire into the ground for added effect.

The demon didn’t have time to determined wether or not his little distraction was working or if he was about to get hit with the wrath of an angry god, he just had to go for it. He dashes forward, reaching for the blade with full intentions to yank it out in one clean go and risk getting pimp slapped for it.

Working through the pain, June switched from surgical strikes to turning the junkyard into a winter wonderland. Her breath turn Orogs into icicles where they stood or where they hid, and when Isroh addressed him simply barreled past him like a shark past a sardine. She turned her blizzard breath on the warehouse and poured everything into it.

Greez looked at the giant dragon turning his home into antarctica. "Nope. Nope. Nope." Rather than stay and fight, he broke concealment about five paces from behind Isroh, and just tossed his weapon down beside him.

"...I ain't foightin' that. I'm outta here. Dat dumb' elda' brudda ain't wort dis." With literal ninja smoke he disappears from the Junkyard, perhaps to be seen another time, another place.

= = =

The eldest brother, Gutz, sat at a boiling cauldron surrounded by his own especially obese Orogs. whatever ability they possessed would not come into play as the entire warehouse was blasted with supercold air and watervapor.

June's rampage concluded inside the warehouse, after shattering orog icicles left and right, absolutely tired and grasping the wound on her side. Everything was covered in a nice thick coat of frost, save for a cage in the corner containing the youngest ogre sibling, a diminuitive (for an ogre) creature with blue skin and lacking the adipose of his siblings. He managed to survive by holding up the mattress as a shield.

Once he looked around he let out a hearty laugh. He applauded the exhausted dragon girl, who was sitting against what was presumably icicle Gutz. "Marvelous, truly marvelous. I didn't think the wrath of winter was coming to avenge my mother's death. Tell me. What brings the fury of the east to this little corner of Los Angeles?"

Isroh was only half-way shocked about the absolute rampage June was going on. For the record, he was making a mental note to absolutely under no circumstances risk a straight up confrontation with June. He hadn’t seen the sneaky Orog a few feet from him until he’d rightfully noped out of the fight. Isroh was only half-unsure about continuing his crusade against the Orogs, but steeled himself after remembering he was in the process of conquering his own city.

His vines began to stiffen and then wither as if burning in the cold as Isroh trudges past, just surveying the destruction June was causing. Only sitting of google at the frozen filthy hot tub with little pudgy Ogre sickles sticking out of it like poisoned grub worms and a skinny little ogre cowering behind his mattress. He was half-expecting to have to cut down this one himself while June rested, scimitars in hand he takes an anger-filled step before realizing this one spoke much better than his brothers and did not seem to have an army at his command.

“We’re here to regain control. Where’s the bitches that killed your mom?” He asks in a cold manner, seeming to drop his swords as the fade into inky darkness as if it were liquid.

June was being a girl scout and treating her wound with her field kit, but she'd have to get with her regular doctor afterward. Even being dizzy from the wound though, she could tell that Maurice was ... different. Funny thing, sensing living things' electrical fields and their moods and intentions. Maurice was as honest and clear as a sunny day, his hearbeat like someone at a picnic and not imprisoned and nearly cannibalized. He wasted no time getting to work.

"Ah Isroh, the paragon of masculine strength, of ruthless tyrannical control and suspect shadowy fluids. A thousand expressions of gratitude cannot hope to encapsulate my ... liberation... from the tyrannies of blood, only to be taken over by another, more bearable to look at master." Maurice laid it on thick, half shivering as he was in the ice covered warehouse.

"And Dragon Girl. The epitome of ... monstrous... beauty. Your... carnage, your bestial savagery-" Maurice started but June cut him off. She didn't have time to get buttered up, her ears greasy from how he talked to Isroh already. She was also afraid she might actually fall for it. Monstrous Beauty? that was fresh.

Maurice wore an amused grin. "Of course. To the matter at hand. The Demon Queens. a nasty quintet."

"There are Four Demon Queens." June corrected him.

"Only two came here and usurped my mother's overlordship. They only ever spoke among themselves away from prying eyes, but secrets whispered in my own abode always reach my ears. They asserted you would be joining them. After their membership was fully revitalized."

June looked at Isroh. "...sometimes I wonder if they wanna kill me or take me to bed first... then kill me. ANYWAY. Answer the question."

Maurice paced in his cell, and answered at that rythmic pace  of his, like a good narrator. "Ahem. 'All Warfare is based in deception', as you know, and all this chaos and confusion, all this bravura to lure you to a pointless battle, challenging your male ego, has been... a grand deception. I would elaborate further and more comfortably though, outside this ... cell. " He offered, pausing to lure their attention.

Isroh blinks as the orcish looking fool seems to understand how best to wield flattery. He couldn’t help but feel only a bit sympathetic toward the pathetic thing, but then again he was technically on the wrong side of a rebellion. In the back of Isroh’s mind, Maurice might be just the right kind of useful idiot. Big Mama worked kind of like a steward. She got to keep her little section of the city with minimal feather ruffling so long as she both abided by Isroh’s rules and paid her cut. Leaving an area unstewarded could lead to a power struggle in his precariously balanced system. Wiping out ALL her progeny wasn’t such a great idea if it could be helped.

“Apparently you’ve been invited to join the bad bitch club. If only they weren’t about to be very dead.” The demon shrugs, arms crossed as he stares back into Maurice, expression somehow blank and intense at the same time. Isroh’s ‘lost in thought’ face seemed to match his ‘contemplating homicide’ face.

Settling back against the wall, propping up his heel he continues his intense stare. “Maurice. I’m willing to grand you freedom and much more if you don’t fuck me over here. You seem a man of decent intellect. You do the math. All descendants of this stewardship are dead except yourself. If I let you out and you fuck me, someone else gets to lord over this dump.” Isroh warns in a more nonchalant tone than what the topic seemed to warrant.

He grasps the bars to the cell, giving a hard pull back as the lock crumbles beneath his grip, leaving the door completely useless. “Keep talking. Everything about these ‘demon queens’.” The mention of demon queens lead to a visible cringe in Isroh’s posture. Such a lofty title for usurpers.

Maurice nodded his understanding of the terms. Once freed he performed some standing stretches, as if he'd been locked up for months. It's only been a day. "Ahhh. sweet, sweet freedom, however brief." Maurice's blue ogroid skin and large proportions slowly changed to become more human, though a very large and thick bear of a man. He wasted no time to bend the knee. "My liege, I am but your humble servant. This fiefdom shall prosper under our guidance better than it ever did before."

June just rolled her eyes at the overly dramatic ogre mage. She whispered to Isroh. "...I don't trust him. He talks too good."

He then stood up and explained things. "Anyway. The arithmetic of this morning's breakout at your not-so-secret holding facility and today's troubles do not add up yes? the Fox and the Slaying Mantis came to remove my mother, but to what goal? What could they possibly gain from interfering with the local power? Surely not to install a puppet to met out vengeance against our Dragon Dame here. Gutz may have gained the Gut Magic of our mother, but he was far from being a competent threat."
Maurice knelt down and wiped away the fog of the ice below them.

June looked down at the ice, taking a good long look and realizing they were standing over a giant fryer. Below was Big Momma, now deceased. June audibly stopped herself from hurling.

"While you and my half brothers were having this testosterone fueled flexing match with the Dragon Mademoiselle, the ... one with the snakes ... from what i surmised, infiltrated a lower security museum that most thought inconsequential. They also mentioned a Ghorgon... medusae sister, my Greek isn't as reliable as it's been. Just a semester you know."

June made a very audible, sharp inhale. This fight was nothing but a feint, a distraction. "I put away Mantis, Gumiho.... and Gorgio." She paused before realizing what they had intended all along.

"They are long gone now, having you chasing after a proverbial red herring. This was all it was I'm afraid."

There was something to be said for an ogre that was eloquent. Just as June stated, it made Isroh cock and eyebrow at him. However, seemed he was smart enough to know when to bend the knee.

“I didn’t get this far by trusting everyone who was well spoken.” Isroh mumbles as he hears the ogre out. Just as he’s through there was no way in hell big mama herself would be at the head of this rebellion as she was currently under their feet… or what was left of her. A shame. She was a great steward, one of his best if he had to admit it.

He focuses back in to realize this whole thing had been a ruse, leading Isroh to just shake his head. “Mother fucker.” He groans, head tilting back in light anguish that he wouldn’t get to rip these petulant harlots limb from limb for at least another few minutes. Runs a hand through his hair as he settles back in his place. “If your information is true you will gain stewardship of the scrapyard effectively immediately. I will, however, assign someone to keep up with surveillance for a while. Just know, If I have to come back here for anything other than good news, you will be the next one in the grease fryer.”

“So… to the museum then?” Isroh asks before realizing their ride was absolutely totaled, never to run again. Rest in pieces Olivia. At least for now. He’d have her repaired eventually.

“I don’t know what the heck they want if they’re not after my set up. But I’m too involved at this point not to continue until they’re dead.” Isroh admits, not really seeing them as too much of a threat to his little corner of LA anymore as they were only after an artifact from the museum. “However, I don’t think I can procure another car in time to make it to the museum before they leave.”

"You have nothing to worry from me, Isroh. In fact I intend for riches to flow into my... our coffers over the coming months." Maurice grinned.

"Hold on. I'll call us an Uber." June's mobile device was built into her suit, and the screen lit up once unlocked. But right on cue, a phone call rang, and she picked up. June was waiting for this phone call. "Colonel." she said aloud, talking to her wrist since it was on loudspeaker.

"Dragon Girl. We've gotten word that the Greek Museum's been broken in... Athena's Mirror is gone. It was definitely her." the voice on the other side said.

"Understood. Contact our friends in Sicily, I'm getting the next plane out of the country today." The call ends, and June calls two ubers, one for Isroh and another for herself.


June extends her hand to shake Isroh's, the stab wound having sealed up. "Well Isroh. Looks like today's battle is over, you're still king of the west side. I appreciate your... help and cooperation in this matter. Though I'm sorry I had to drag you into this grudge match with my ... uh... enemies."

A large yellow Humvee had pulled up outside. The hispanic woman driver was a bit fazed by all the ice and dead, but driving in LA had made her acclimated. "Ola, I am Rica! I am your Uber driver, okay?? which one of you is Isroh eh?"

Isroh groans after realizing he’d been outsmarted by a bunch of demons. It wasn’t the first time a slippery snake had won the battle, but they damn sure wouldn’t win the war. If they ever showed their faces in Isroh’s territory again, he’s rip it clean off their skulls given the chance.

“Eh, No worries, Now they’re my enemies too.” Isroh clasps the half dragon’s hand, his skin a strange delicate texture, too soft to be real, however it was covering a solid surface. It was like a soft blanket over a cold stone. “Feel free to call me in again if they show their faces. I want in on the action.” Isroh reaches into his front pocket, producing an iron coin with a ram’s head on one side and a thorned lotus on the other. “Toss this in any near by water and I’ll be there.” He encases it in their handshake as his uber arrives.

“Ah yes, that is me” Isroh nonchalantly chirps as he steps right into Rica’s car, pretending as if a frozen hellscape in the middle of an LA junkyard was normal.