#but he replies that sebek is making shit up and sebek can only shrug and pretend like deuce is lying to himself when for once deuce is right

[lanshappycorner]

Sebek/Deuce is the ship ever because like they are just peak Teenage Boys yknow like how sometimes Deuce does things that amaze Sebek and vice versa but at the same time they openly tease and pick on each other its just such a bro to bro relationship. Also I just like seeing them being smug around each other

[concentratedbitterness]

The Lieutenant

Mesopotamia: Early Bronze Age

The guttural snarls of Hellhounds steal any illusion of silence from the room; the scrape of teeth on bone and the unmistakably moist squelch of flesh as it is torn by preternatural jaws setting a scene that is not unlike the current mood of their master.  Ra-Sebek holds his position at the entryway of the great hall, spear at his side, and tries not to let the palpable tension in the air fray his nerves.  Nybbas is staring at the other demon in the room, left hand absently straying to his side to stroke the bloody muzzle of one of his massive hellhounds.  

Lucius.  Ra-Sebek knows of this one; an ancient holdover from when Hell was not so vast as it is now–Like Nybbas, they are both relics of a time when angels still walked the Earth freely; when humanity was new.  He is old, and hardened by eons in the Pit where he’s spend his afterlife carving the last vestiges of humanity away from the souls of the damned.  

“You’re wasted on her,” The Fallen states matter-of-factly, “A fine blade cast before a petulant child who will do no more than smack it against stone.  Frankly I have never understood it; you could have your druthers, Lucius.  Any commander in Hell.  Even me.  And yet still you choose to toil alongside that one.”  The hound at Nybbas’ side growls low, ears going flat against its head, “There are rumors, of course.”  A razor smile. “Tell me–Why?”

Ra-Sebek chews on his tongue, paying attention to the exchange only because he worries what might happen if he doesn’t.  Of all the things about Hell that he can’t stand–and there’s a lot of it; the smell, the heat, the nagging sound of someone sobbing far off in the distance–it’s the politics that irritate him the most. Torture, he understands. Pain, he understands. Destruction, he understands.

Politics? That goes over his head.

For a grunt from Manufacturing, Ra-Sebek decides Lucius doesn’t look half as rattled as he should be by the stare-down he’s receiving from a demon near the top of the Infernal Hierarchy. The old demon glances up and then shrugs, “What can I say? I’m weak for a good underdog story,” Lucius replies. 

He’s being snide, that much is obvious, and Ra-Sebek has to bite back the snort of amusement threatening to escape, masking his mirth with a scowl.  Especially when the other demon steps in a little too close, maybe, and gives Nybbas’s hellhound a light scratch on the top of its head. Lucius may be capable fodder, but he is fodder all the same in the eyes of the Monarchia.  One rung up from a well trained hellhound; though for his part Ra-Sebek is certain Nybbas much prefers his beasts.  Their loyalty, at least, is never in question.  Lucius’ remains to be seen.

“Whoever said it was a good story?  She has benefited from circumstance, nothing more.” Nybbas notes darkly, fingers curling into the coarse hairs at the back of the hellhound’s neck as it growls low, silently instructing the creature to resist it’s innate urge to tear Lucius’ hand off when he dares to touch it.  “I’ve fed far more talented salesmen to my dogs.”  He’s not joking, Ra-Sebek knows.  “–and one day soon I shall watch as they feast on you both, as well.  Unless…” The hound at his side sinks to its haunches as its master stands, and Ra-Sebek steadies his spear, awaiting whatever order may come.  Nybbas waves a hand nonchalantly, as if they are discussing nothing more important than the weather, “…I extend to you a most generous offer, Lucius.  An offer to join the winning side in this feud while you still can.  I will not make it again.”

It is a generous offer, and an unexpected one. Ra-Sebek knows that much, and he’s willing to bet Lucius does, too. Pit demons are survivors, after all.  They are hard wired for self-preservation.

“What about Mara?  Impressive what she did with the mess you dropped in her lap.  She still nothing more than dog meat?” A small reminder that, maybe, Nybbas might have been too hasty to tear Marayati to pieces.  

The young upstart’s recent success with the territories her former commander had written off as unprofitable has shocked everyone in Hell, but she still has a lot to learn.  If Nybbas came at them at full force now, Ra-Sebek would bet against any odds of them coming out alive on the other side.  It remains a mystery what, exactly, tethers the other demon to his fledgling commander, but he could venture a few guesses.  He suspects he would only need one.  Mara always had been skillful with her tongue.

“Impressive?  Hardly,” Nybbas scoffs, filling two snifters with dark amber liquid.  “She’s common Pit scrap, not fit to lick the shit from my boots much less to reap the fruits of my crossroads.  There is nothing impressive about one’s propensity for spreading a pair of legs.  The only reason she received a post in the first place was to take a fall…because she was the most expendable salesman on my roster.”  Nybbas smiles down at Lucius like a viper as he holds out one glass to him.

Two of the great hellhounds circle back to sit at their master’s heels as the Fallen leans against the edge of his desk.  Cocky and full of condescension he finally answers the question, “My offer does not extend to Marayati.  She will pay the price for her impudence and when I am through with her, and my hounds have had their fill, then perhaps–if you are lucky–there will be some scrap left for you.  Defy me, and Ra-Sebek here will be washing what remains of you off the kennel floors for days.”  

Great, he thinks bitterly to himself, already dreading that assignment.  

“What will it be, Lucius?  Choose wisely.”

Nybbas may not be the mightiest representative of the Monarchia, but he is, certainly, a powerful demon.  The Fallen are in a class all their own, and head to head, even sans hellhounds, there is not a Pit demon in existence–even one as ancient as Lucius–who would would not be easily outmatched.  Factor in everything Nybbas has at his disposal…well.  Ra-Sebek shoots Lucius a look, lieutenant to lieutenant.  Tread carefully.

Lucius takes the glass, tilts it to his lips, and empties it in a swallow, setting it back down on the desk before responding with a light sneer. “Don’t belong t’you, Nybbas. Never have. Never will. Don’t think your hound collars would much suit my style.” With that, he gives the desk a tap and steps away to leave.

One of the hellhounds at Nybbas’ side, sensing its master’s growing ire, peels back its lips to bare long razor sharp teeth.  The Fallen swirls the liquor in his glass, taking a long, slow sip before setting the remnants down upon the desk behind him.  “I must admit, I did not expect for you to choose your own demise.  Suit yourself.“  

Ra-Sebek watches as the other demon turns to leave, his eyes narrowing as both of his commander’s hounds flatten their ears and snarl; coiled to strike and contained only by the power of their master.  He awaits the order…but it does not come.  Nybbas is tempted, Ra-Sebek can tell from the churning of his energy signature, but something stays his hand.  “She’s going to be the death of you, Lucius.  Mark my words.  You will regret your decision this day…Don’t say I didn’t warn you.  Ra-Sebek, let him pass.”

Ra-Sebek does as he is commanded, hand tight around the handle of his spear as the old demon walks past nonchalantly; not even sparing him a cursory glance.  Nybbas might be out of Lucius’ league, but he isn’t.

“A mindless bull and a toothless fox,” the Fallen says with a sigh once they are alone again with the hellhounds, “An absurd combination.  They will not last.  Still, how fortunate for you, Ra-Sebek.  It would appear I have not yet found your replacement, after all.”

“…Replacement?” Ra-Sebek echoes.  He isn’t the quickest, but he is starting to catch up.

Nybbas only looks at him and smiles.  “Go now, lieutenant.  Bring fresh meat for my hounds before I bid them feast upon you.”

Loyalty is a fickle notion in Hell, but it is the anger coiling in his gut that makes him wonder for the first time what it must feel like to have it...and to willingly give it in return.  “Yes, Master,” he replies through clenched teeth, and bows low before he takes his leave.