At the foot of the iron throne, Korae whimpered as her chains dragged her to the floor. Again. Apparently, her father wanted her out of the way….Again.
She pushed her head up against the unyielding chain, barely getting a glimpse of the bizarrely mishappen and smouldering claws of her father’s guest. It was enough. The Sin of Wrath. She could feel the floor heating from his presence, and hoped it wasn’t likely to be long this time.
“Lord Hextor. I have done your..request. Every lord of hell save only Asmodeus and Fierna have been destroyed or deposed.”
The Lord of Tyrants spoke – contrary to mortal expectation, his voice was calm, collected. Certainly contrary to the half restrained barking shout of Wrath. “Asmodeus…yes, we agreed that he would be simply contained. But I am suprised that your power was balked by an incestuous whore”.
The floor blazed. She could feel it melting from tens of metres away. “Ah…it was not. She has been removed. Phlegethos is hardly able to stand against you now even without her”.
Hextor stood, armour clanking dully against the throne work, chains pattering in an orderly counterpoint. Barely a second to spare, Korae grabbed the chains around her throat as Hextor gestured, raising his trophies, herself amongst them. Heads – Dispater, Mephisopheles, Levistus – slowly dripped their ichor onto the floor.
And the lord of Tyrants smiled. "Well. It is done acceptably. The Shadow Angel once rallied us to fight against you. He failed. And you have shown me your world. "
He paused, watched his daughter’s struggle to breathe for a long minute. “So many failures. But your world? Your world…I approve of. Your world, I could support. You have done as I asked, proven your power.”
Wrath hissed – his equivilant of a laugh, from what the struggling Infernal-elf could tell – “So you will forge hell into our weapon? You will march with us? You will impose our order?”
Hextor finally looked down at the Sin of Wrath. The floor cooled, and despite all the Wrath was, something in him was matched by the Lord of Tyrants. “Your order? Do not judge me by the mewling lords of hell. I have not weakened. I am tyranny. Your realm will feed me far more than this. I will march with you. And I will oppose a proper order. Yours? No. Mine. Always mine. Consider your Tower blessed that your order and mine are…aligned.”.
The Sin of Wrath drew himself up, fire rising..and then supressed. “…As you say. Ah. Incidentally, one final gift. The Celestial Host…we have lured it here. We have lured the brother of your little toy to you.”