literature

The Gang - Jack - A New Friend

Deviation Actions

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I was walking down a deserted country road, the Gang nowhere in sight, when I came across a lone wizard in a red-and-gold robe.
He looked lonely and slightly angry, so I beckoned him over with a finger. As he drew close, I drew myself up to my full height and pointed at him, proclaming my truth to the world.
“You're a bitch.” I said, and waited for the inevitable counter-attack, to alleviate my boredom.

He, as you can imagine, was not impressed. Wizards don't like being insulted. He spat something at me in Generic Latin-Based Language #24 and lobbed a fireball. I deflected it with utmost ease and continued my insults.
At least, that's what I imagined. In actual fact, his missile smashed me from my feet and left me gently smouldering on the ground, because I had not quite got the counter-spell right. Instead of deflecting his fireball into the harmless distance, it actually increased its power and gave it a frankly distressing odour.
The warlock laughed at me and clicked his fingers, a tornado chained in lightning appearing in his hand. He lifted it to the sky and yelled a beseechment to his lord, The harnessed disaster whirling in his hand growing larger and stronger with each syllable.
“Yn thys ynfydel's blood Y swear my soul agayn to Getch-Naggur, master of all majjyks!”
The tornado grew tinged red as I pushed myself up on my elbows, groggily and curiously looking at his conjuration. A flick of his fingers and telekinetic bonds appeared around my wrists, pinning me back, spread-eagle, to the floor.
“By the Sexenty-Seven Seals of Shynl're Zharrkhul, Y enchant my fury ynto thys spell!”
The tornado was now larger than the wizard himself, and I could make out screaming souls trapped within.
Overkill, much?
He came to the climax of his invocation with a great scream and screeched a command to the now-possessed tornado.
“Doom hys flech to fyre, and hys soul to ash! Wyth hys own arrogance and pryde, destroy hym!”
He threw the conjuration at me and, with a great whirring of locusts, it enveloped me.

“I say, old bean, you don't look that dangerous, really. In fact, you look rather like the kind of man a demon could sit and talk to, without fear of being rent asunder for the eighth time that week.”
The demonic presence that had been commanded to eat me out up was a rather dapper gentledemon, his fiery physical body dressed in a black waistcoat with tails of ice, a top hat made of congealed blood and a monocle that was actually the lens of a large animal's eye.
A dragon, maybe.
He brandished a cane topped with a human skull and waved it at the outside world.
“He's not a very nice master, as you can tell. Always “Destroy hym” this and “bryng desolatyon to theyr homes” that. He's a bit hammy, really.”
I nodded, still bound, and desperately thought for a way out.
“Why don't you rebel?” I asked, buying time.
The gentle-demon gave a polite laugh, obviously not wanting to insult his audience.
“Oh, you're a conjuror. You know about all these “bonds of servitude” and things. A frightful bother, actually. If you just removed them, then your conjured ally would have much more opportunity to use their initiative, instead of just blindly following your orders.”
“But wouldn't they just gut me?”
“Only the more crass ones, dear chap.”
“You mean, all of them except you?”
The demon looked sheepish.
“Prrrrrobably, yes.”
He shook himself and loomed over me. I could feel his furnace-hot breath on my face, and faintly see the glowing red words encircling him, that bound him to the warlock's will.
I nodded at them.
“Pretty harsh contract, there. Why'd you accept those terms?”
The demon sighed and clicked his fingers, conjuring a rather ornate (If slightly tasteless, considering his current audience) chair, made of still living human flesh. He sat on it with a horrid squelch and made a face.
“Sorry about the chair, dear chap. It comes with the whole “Prince of Hell” thing.”
I nodded in understanding.
He rested his hands on his cane and his head on his hands.
“My family, the rather shoddily named “Soultearer” dynasty, have been in the upper echelons of Hell's society for several eternities now- In fact, we were one of the groups that helped put the current Overlord on the throne!” He inspected his rings for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing.
“Well, recently the economy's taken a bit of a blow and we had to sell a lot of our assets off to pay the debts we incurred after my great-great-great-grandfather got seduced by a Succubus and squandered the family fortunes on a gigantic golden phallic fortress for her to live in. It was rather gaudy, I must say. And not a head on a stick in sight! Disgraceful. Anyway, we're still in rather a lot of bother with HMDR&C- that's His Mighty Devourerness's Revenue and Customs, by the way- and I have had to get a couple of jobs as an on-demand Scion of Hellish Rage.”
I nodded in fascination, actually surprised that even the demons of Hell itself could get in trouble with the tax man.
“Well, as I was saying, I'm now your basic summon-and-kill demon. Problem is, the market was saturated, although of course with low-class Hrash'giks-”
The language of Hell bloomed pain in my ears so I risked interrupting him to quickly ask, “What's one of those?”
“A Hrash'gik?”
I nodded again, feeling blood trickle from my head.
He waved a hand dismissively and answered, “It just means “low-class” in what I suppose you humans call “Demontongue” or something. Anyway, Yes. I had to force an opening, so I... I rather whored myself out.”
It hung its head and contemplatively looked at its staff.
“I'm a disgrace, come to think of it. Look at me! Khrzr'ang'dfgarh Soultearer the Eighty-Nineth, Scourge of the Masses and Flame of Nazzarrah, reduced to a dog at the beck and call of some third-rate hedge-wizard! Well, no more!”
I braced myself for the incoming blast of immeasurable demonic fury and was, in a way, disappointed.
Instead of the nuclear fury of a demon unchained, I felt him banish my constraints. I got up and rubbed my wrists.
“Now then, that's a good man. When I say, rush out in that direction and lob some sort of damaging spell at the man who bound me. It should catch him off guard and knock him down. When that happens, you kill him. Or just break his mind, whichever you feel is more suitable. After that, we shall both be free. Ready?”
I raised a hand.
“I have one question. Why didn't you kill me? Your contract says you must kill whoever he tells you to.”
“Ahah, yes. It does not, however, specify when.”
I smiled. I liked this guy.
“Ready.”
He slashed a claw downwards and an opening appeared in the tornado-wall, which I leapt out of shouting an incantation of my own.
Iz'rheal na-ga-ra-ta Yog-Sothoth i'a nachaschuzer vrenkh'ah yabba-dabba ahza'naFUCKOFF!
With the climax of the short incantation I lobbed a translucent, colourless blob of force at the enemy wizard, which exploded on him and enveloped him, tendrils of power probing at his orifices. Shortly before what was inevitable happened, I spat another word and he was teleported a safe distance away. Shortly after that, there was a muffled scream from the distance and a large explosion.
Blood was dripping from my nose and tear-ducts, stinging my eyes. I wiped it away and sat down as dizziness and sickness over came me.
The demon walked up to me, his step scorching the ground and his cloven feet leaving burnt hoofprints in the soil.
“I say, blood-price? You couldn't have chosen a less efficient method of payment, you know.”
I nodded wearily.
“I know. But it eases up on the maths. Dimensions have crumbled for lesser things than complicated mana-costs, you know.”
The demon nodded in agreement.
“I suppose so, yes. It is still a burden, though. However, I must now go. But I fear I have something you must know.”
I looked up, cold dread filling me.
“Yes?”
“Once a contract is made, I am afraid it cannot be undone. I am still rather strongly obligated to kill you.”
I hung my head and stood, still dizzy. A green, necromantic flame appeared in my hand and I adopted a defensive pose.
“Come at me, bro,” I croaked, “I'll go Derby style on your punk ass.”
The demon-earl laughed heartily.
“Not now, old sport! That would be terrible form. However, one day I will destroy you. Purely as a matter of business, you see. Nothing personal.”
I extinguished the flame.
“Oh yeah, of course.”
He bowed deeply to me, sweeping his cane out in a wide arc and resting it on his back.
“I must thank you, though, for giving me the opportunity to escape bondage.”
“No problem, bro.” I said.
He straightened up again. He tapped his cane six times on the ground and a flaming sigil of unidentifiable origin appeared around his feet. I moved backwards.
“Thanks again, dear chap. 'Till next time!”
“Yeah, see you later.”
He gave me a little wave as smoke billowed up around him and the screeches of the damned echoed from below.
“Cheero!”
When the smoke cleared, there was nothing left except a scorched pattern in the ground, and something on the spot where he had stood.
It was a small, rolled up note, sealed with wax bearing an unnecassarily complicated crest. I opened it and read.

“Dear human,
Think of this as a contract. Though I will one day destroy you, and wear your skin on my cloak, I shall make sure to keep in contact with you. Thrice-monthly, a winged messenger will knock twice at your window and once at your door, on the stroke of midnight, and sing the most well known part of the song “Bad Boys”. The letter it bears will serve as correspondence from me to you, and it will hold a space few sheets of parchment for you to write your response upon.

Sincerely in almighty hate,
Khrzr'ang'dfgarh Soultearer the Eighty-Nineth, Scourge of the Masses and Flame of Nazzarrah.”

I laughed loudly at the strangeness of the situation and pocketed it. How he hoped to send his messengers to the Gang's house I did not know, but it would be interesting to see if it worked.
Hell, he didn't even know my name.

>>1.5 weeks later<<

The clock struck midnight, even though we didn't have any grandfather-clocks. Two scratchy-yet-loud taps hit my window, jerking my awareness from my tablet.
One struck the door and a massive grin split my face. Then, ever-so-quietly...
Bad boys bad boys, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you...”
I have literally no idea about this.
I just started typing after reading ~Hatcheye's latest journal and this thing happened.
It takes place in a generic fantasy world of my devising, but still in the Gangiverse.
There wasn't quite so many strikethroughs pieces of shoddy humour in this either.

Still, there's no better pen-friend than a dapper demon-Earl of Hell.

As always, feedback is always welcome!
© 2013 - 2024 AscendantLiche
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UlricVonLichtenstein's avatar
I empathise with that poor demon, after all he was clearly a man of wealth & taste. A cut above whatever 'derby style' could possibly have come from. Such Vulgarity from small, skinny fellows shall not be tolerated! All in All a jolly good show old chap!