victorvon_doom (victorvon_doom) wrote in newalliance, @ 2015-08-25 19:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | doom |
Who: Doctor Doom, narration
Where: Doomstadt, Latveria
When: 8/24/15
What: Doom doesn’t like talking to demons, but when information is needed, sometimes they are the best means.
Rating: PG-13, some gooey gore stuff
Demons could react to being summoned a number of different ways. Some of them surged to it gleefully, hoping for a slip up that would allow them escape into the mortal plane. Others were haughty and angry to have their leash pulled, higher lords who found the plane beneath them now that they had prestige in the hells.
Doom chose a demon that was in between. A soldier with delusions of grandeur but who had no real position. A schemer. Schemer’s liked to out their enemies’ weaknesses in hopes of climbing the ladder by eliminating those above.
So the demon huffed and clawed its way through the center of the circle, raising its impressive red-leather wings and lowering its horned head Doom’s way, fiery tail flicking in agitation. It was doing it’s best to feign haughtiness at his ‘interruption’, but it couldn’t hide the interest in its yellow, pupil-free gaze.
“Ah, the armored mortal.” The demon managed to say mortal like it took restraint not to spit the word. “What makes you dare to summon-”
Doom motioned slightly to the side. The demon’s clawed feet whipped out from underneath it, sending it down to its bony hip. Another twist of his gauntleted hand and the demon was stumbling to one knee, its weight making deep thumps in the stone floor before Doom motioned a palm downward. The horned head lowered, shaking with resistance. Even kneeling, the demon was a height with Victor von Doom in his armor.
“The likes of you will not speak with disrespect to DOOM,” he promised the demon.
“Ssssss... ” But the demon was intelligent enough not to push its summoner after such a show of power. It eyed the runes about its limits with more interest. “I am beginning to understand why Hell has such a reward for whomever brings our lord your head, little mortal.”
“You understand little. But you know enough. You are allowed within Mephisto’s inner city?” If one could call such a perverse landscape a city.
The demon lifted its chin some, though its head remained forced low. “I am an elite guard,” it said, the hide around its ribs puffing with pride. “One of only a ninety-nine with the prestige to-”
Doom cut the creature’s boasting short. “Tell me of the new guards of Mephisto’s. The thirteen women, the wasted wraiths that he keeps close.”
“Those?” The demon laughed, eyes narrow. “His new feisty whores?” The demon hastily continued when Doom slowly started to lift his hand. “They are new, have only been among us for five hundred days. They’re part of a contract, I understand, and Mephisto is their sole master for thirty-six thousand more days to come.”
Doom’s hands lowered slightly. “They’re not demons. They’re entirely foreign to his realm. Where did they come from?”
“Another realm.” Doom’s hand twisted, the demon’s neck jerking so it’s head was at an uncomfortable side angle. “Guh! I do not know! The witches were not fetched! They were brought!”
“By whom?” Doom kept his fingers tense, still holding the demon. It was pawing at the ground, trying to find some relief from the near-breaking angle of its neck.
“Loki! They were brought by Loki!"
Doom dropped his hand. The demon turned its head back with a loud crack, then narrowed its eyes on the cloaked monarch. The dictator was thoughtful for a brief two seconds, mind taking only that long to go over his options. He fold his arms, metal scraping softly. “Anything else you wish to volunteer?”
“Yesss…” The demon’s eyes glowed brighter. “This ring is the only protection you have from me, little mortal. I will snap your body next you are in our realm. I will desecrate your agonized flesh and roast you before I dig my teeth into your smoking-”
Victor von Doom reached forward and snatched the demon by its horn, waving with his other hand and dropping much of the magic that held the demon. His voice was a dangerous metal hiss as his masked face came close to the hell-dweller. “I told you DOOM would not tolerate your disrespect, demon.” Then he brought his elbow down directly atop the demon’s horned brow.
There was a thumping and roaring from the room that finally brought Kristoff to investigate. He opened the door with some caution, watching as the demon gave its final gurgled shrieks and curses before there was a sick splitting of flesh and splash of its smoking, orange blood. Doom dropped its head, kicking it away with a disgusted sound. His tunic had suffered tears from the demon’s claws and there were a few teeth scratches on his shoulder armor, but the broken demon had done much more poorly against the ‘little mortal’.
“Kristoff,” he said, his rage spent and tone much calmer. “It seems I’ll be needing to make a trip to North America Embassy soon. See to the arrangements to keep it quiet.”
"Of course, my liege." Kristoff tipped his head as Doom swept past him, then looked back in the room with distaste before closing the door.