The Sin Hunter: Double or Nothing

A Shockingly Good Deal

In Pride's bloodied streets, shifting in a dry, dusty wind from Wrath, the citizens of Hell had become frightful, restless in their shoes and treads and whatever else could allow the everyday Sinner or hellspawn travel through the harsh terrain. Something was coming. It was slow approaching, yes, but there was an undeniable chill in the air when every step drove another man mad with guilt, fear or anger. Hell, as incredibly bizarre as it appeared, was slowly returning to the days of old. Habits were broken and reforged, drugs circulated the veins of the pulsing red society, and worst of all, the Overlords of Hell had all gone underground.

Some questioned whether or not the Overlords had ever existed in the first place, as they had disappeared just as quickly as many of them had risen to power. Some Overlords stayed behind, keeping the order as best as the definition of order could possibly be upheld, although chaos still rampaged unleashed. Some were trampled in their efforts, while the older, wiser Overlords remained in hiding, pulling their blinds shut and congregating in secret societies, communities beyond the veil of drugs and weapons. You see, reader, Overlords are a lot like you or I. Yes, they are tall, squat, wiry or bulky, with blades for feet or tentacles for hands, but they share one thing like all of us: they are afraid.

Of all the beings in Hell, the Overlords are not so stoic as those who fully govern the rules and run the shows in this large plateau of land seated in the center of the great ocean. They are still mortal, they comprehend the consequences of death and dealing the wrong hand in their disadvantage. Overlords, dear reader, are human. They live for a very long time, but they are still human. And with that humanity comes the disappointing truth of time rusting away at the gears, scraping back flesh and peeling away at the proud structures the Upper Class of Hell had devoted themselves to constructing in regards to their life's work.

Monuments crumbled, the commoners, too weak to defend themselves or simply too angry to die, swarmed the streets in bloody chaos, fighting and fighting for days upon weeks. Sinners are immortal. Demons are not. Families fell apart, blood was spilled and heads rolled in the backstreets and shady corners of Pride's once passive economy. The other Sins, alerted to the presence of chaos and restlessness, slammed their doors shut and barred entrance or exit from anything that resided within their borders. Still, the chaos and madness continued, and in the shadow of all the unease and chaos, the Crimson Stripe thrived in his natural habitat.

From the very beginning, Overlords like Shiriketsake, Pembrose and Seraphis had suspected something was amiss with the bloody darkness that had arrived when the Stripe took the head of the congregation into his scar stained hands. And regrettably, two of the three had paid dearly with their own souls for the madness the Crimson Stripe had caused in Hell. Seraphis had slowly begun development on his own processes, safely behind the walls of Wrath and guarded by his unnaturally gracious host, Azazel. The Lord of Wrath, seeking answers to the madness, devised a plan to fund the scorpion demon's research on a chemical agent to combat the Crimson Stripe.

Late one evening at the dinner table, Seraphis happily tore away at a piece of steak residing from the ribs of a large, dead animal, while Azazel dined on his own pleasure of seasoned meat and dry white wine. "So tell me, little scipioris," Azazel paused, bringing a soaking napkin to his fiery lips, "how do we intend to stop this madness in Hell?" Seraphis raised his pincers from his meal, surprised by the question. "You, of all people, wish to end this madness? But why?" The Lord of Wrath moved with abrupt speed, striking the table and blowing out every candle in his sweltering hall. Pushing his chair back, the Lord of Wrath stormed across the room to the side of his subject, large, flaming muscles shredding through the chains on his arms.

"Any other day, I'd love this level of violence and chaos. But there's a problem with how it's set up." Seraphis stood from his chair, unraveling a set of maps and blueprints from a tube on his chair's backrest. "And that is?" He asked with caution of the fiery Lord's rage. Azazel turned his gaze to the window, a charcoal black guitar with blades across the handle draped over his back with two chained blades of flaming steel. "The trouble is, this chaos ain't forged by the eldritch gods. This is artificial, like a vegan sweetener in coffee. And I despise vegans so much." Seraphis nodded, rubbing a claw against his chin. "I see. So, this isn't a good taste for your liking?"

The Lord of Wrath spun, causing Seraphis to jump when he snapped his fiery fingers, the gold and silver rings on his fingers sparking with light. "Exactly! It's like a god awful medicine, leaving a bad taste in my mouth and an ache in my head. I can't stand it!" Azazel gripped the edge of one of his curtains, seizing it as his eyes swelled with rage, and he shredded the cloth into flames and burning slashes as his blades exploded against the hardened, cracked black stone floor. Shoulders sagging, hands tightening in white hot fire, Azazel combed a hand through his fiery nest of hair, breathing a sigh of relief.

"If you have a potential cure for this madness, then count me in. I want whoever's causing this trouble DEAD by the time I can sleep without the screams of anguish ringing in my ears." Seraphis nodded, laying a blueprint out beside his glass of wine as the Lord of Wrath approached the blueprints. "Do you have some gloves I could borrow?" Azazel grumbled, to which Seraphis nodded, passing the Lord of Wrath some fireproof gloves from an old firefighter's kit he had stashed in Pride. "Help yourself," Seraphis replied. Azazel gently cradled the blueprints from the table, inspecting their handiwork. "Mm-hmm, I see...yes, that could work...hmm..."

For many minutes, Seraphis inspected his work in agonizing silence, every flip of a page and every nod of a flame-licking limb twitching the scorpion demon's joints. At last, however, Azazel laid the blueprints back on the table, nodding while he offered his hand to shake with the chemist. "My friend, I believe you've stumbled upon something fantastic. I'll get my guys working on it as soon as possible." Seraphis beamed with pride as his eyes widened and his pincers clicked in joy. "You really mean that?" He asked with a trembling tone. The Lord of Wrath curled his eyes in a grinning stature. "You bet your ass I mean it. If this is the painkiller to end my headache, then I'm taking that shot!"