A Scripta

Asteroth walked across the yacht to Asmodeus. Both men were handsome, older, who both looked like well-made stockbrokers out on a boat ride. Asteroth stood before his superior and bowed his head. Asmodeus looked out at the expanse of water, ignoring the approaching man. "My lord," Asteroth said.

"Your excellency," Asmodeus replied, still gazing out at the water. "Has your pride been healed?"

"Never, my lord," he growled.

"Good." A drink suddenly appeared in Asmodeus' hand, and he sipped it gingerly. "The Seraphim grows stronger every day. Grimaulkin grows more distant from us. He'll be one of them if he keeps on this path."

"Grimaulkin is ours, my lord."

"Yes, but at the moment untouchable, so long as that Seraphim guards him." Asmodeus finally turned to face Asteroth. "You have servants, do you not?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Good." He turned back to the water. "Send one to kill the Seraphim in its human shell. Make sure he has the proper weapons to also kill the angelic spirit that inhabits it. If he succeeds, he has my blessing."

"Yes, my lord."

"And then have him take Grimaulkin's soul and return it to us."

"His soul, when released, may not come to us --"

Asmodeus whirled on Asteroth, his eyes aflame. "Make sure it does."

Asteroth withered under Asmodeus' gaze. "Yes, my lord."

Asmodeus looked back out at the water. Asteroth bowed and went away. Asmodeus muttered, drinking, "'Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.'"


The rest of the demons called him Maitre de Lames, Blademaster. Lames had the usual demonic good looks, red skin and exposed veins, and bald from the fires. He normally reported to Rosier, but although there was a certain heirarchy, demons would exchange themselves with other devils, dukes, and masters. It was no surprise that Lames was summoned to Asteroth, and, although at first disoriented in the throne room of the castle, was able to focus on the naked man mounted on a dog with wings.

Asteroth wasted no time. "Have you ever been human?"

"Three times," Lames said.

"Address me properly."

"Three times, my lord," Lames stated.

"You will do some work for me. You will go to Paragon City, Rhode Island, United States, Earth, and you will kill a Seraphim that has taken human form there."

Lames raised an eyebrow. "Why would a Seraphim debase himself like that?"

"He was assigned to guard a mage, Grimaulkin, who had pledged his soul to us and is now reneging on his promise. You are allowed the proper weapons."

Lames grinned, which did not look pleasant. These would be swords that the demons had not been allowed to touch, in fear of rising up against their masters. These were blades that would kill an angel, blades they had used in the First War.

Asteroth waved his hand, and two black swords stuck in the floor appeared before them. One was shorter than the other, as was proper for fencing. Both were black blades and oozed evil. "Take them and kill the Seraphim. They can, of course, kill humans just as easily."

Still grinning, Lames picked up the swords and felt the evil travel down his arm and fill him with pure glee. "Yes, my lord," he said, saluted Asteroth with the blades. Asteroth banished him to Earth.

Lames looked down at his human form, a copy of what he had been once in 17th century France as a musketeer, even down to his boots. He sighed, "Couldn't be original, could you?" He saw before him a large building, and humans thronged all around him. And he had to find a Seraphim in this mess of humanity...