The Rise of Mephisto

…

Chadicus drew his sword, whipping it in vicious circles before the creature’s hungry eyes. Back it stepped, lest the tip plough a furrow through its flesh. Infuriated, it grasped its two huge hammers and careened them in a arcing dance, quite ready but not entirely willing to fight. Chadicus spoketh thus, “Begone! From the pits of Hoar Island to the peaks of the Lay’deez Towers, I have slain fouler beasts than thee! If you make me do this the hard way, I will force you to capitulate! And I will take your head as a trophy.”

Twel snatched up the ink-wet parchment and balled it in his fists. Tripe, he thought. “Rubbish,” he screamed.

“A beginning,” said Mephisto.

Twel whirled on the shadows by the door of his small bedroom, where the tortured flicker of his single candle stubbornly refused to reach. Amidst the stale and memorable smells he’d come to expect - half-eaten foodstuffs, piles of thrice-worn clothing arranged by freshness, a basket overflowing with crusty rags - was something new, an odour he’d never before smelled yet somehow immediately knew to be brimstone.

Floorboards creaked, and Twel cringed.

From the darkness stepped an eight foot tall apogee of man that, even without the blood leather skin and yellowed eyes as sharp as his handspan horns, could only be a demon.

While his body sat frozen Twel’s mind scurried for cover, only to run headfirst into the one thought that plagued him more than any other. In the context of his imminent demise it took on a new and decidedly unhealthy pallor - he was going to die a virgin.

Before he could wet himself, thus earning his cock another round of beatings, the demon spoke. His voice was smooth as a woman’s armpit, Twel presumed. “Twel Vinches, I have come - FOR YOUR SOUL!” A moment passed and Twel shit his britches. The demon cackled. “That’s just a little devil humour. Actually, I’ve come to bargain.”

Through lips as dry as a woman’s armpit, maybe, Twel croaked, “Wha- What do you want?”

“YOUR SOUL!” The room spun around him and, just like that time Jaine caught her husband Jayne in bed with her sister Djaenne and her pro-wrestling best friend Stone Cold Jane Austen (in Dan E. Elfman’s masterpiece Fifty Spellings of Jane), he came close to fainting.

But men don’t faint, and Twel very much wished to become a man one day.

“Your soul… In exchange for greatness, of course,” the demon finished, and with a wave of his hand the still-balled parchment in Twel’s still-clenched fist wriggled and squirmed - much like a woman’s armpit. He un-scrunched the sweaty wad and began to read.

Mephisto drew his cock, whipping it in vigorous circles before the princess’s hungry eyes. Back she stepped, lest his tip plough the furrow of her flesh. Infatuated, she grasped her two huge mammars and caressed them in an aching dance, quite willing but not entirely ready to fuck. Mephisto poked and thrust, “Be mine! From the tits of Whore Island to quick peeks of the ladies showers, I haven’t seen finer breasts than these! I’d like to do you the hard way, but I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to stimulate! Perhaps we start with some head over coffee?”

Tears of joy stung his eyes - it was beautiful. He looked up from the parchment. Mephisto had his pants off.

…