King of my heart

Seeds of Discord - Part I

Mephisto and Poro concealed in the dimly lit corners of Baal's vast, towering fortress. The two move in near silence, slipping through hidden passages and darkened rooms, their faces obscured by hoods as they whisper plans back and forth, every word laced with intent. Months of careful work have brought them here, and tonight, they're setting the final pieces of their plot against Baal into motion.

Mephisto's eyes glint with a cunning light as he reviews his latest crafted message. It's a simple note, easily overlooked as one of Baal's many decrees to his Fingers, but each word is meticulously chosen, twisted just enough to suggest that Baal holds little regard for his most trusted allies. With the flourish of a skilled manipulator, he carefully words the message to imply favoritism, hinting that Baal sees some of his Fingers as expendable pawns. Mephisto knows that in a place as ruthless as the Netherworld, where power and loyalty are currency, even the smallest seed of doubt can grow into dangerous paranoia.

With the note in hand, he turns to Poro, who leans casually against the wall, his face a mask of calm but with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Poro nods, acknowledging Mephisto's handiwork. "That'll do it. It's subtle, but enough to unsettle the weak ones, those already questioning where they stand," he murmurs, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"More than enough," Mephisto replies smoothly, his voice a low, velvety whisper. "Even Baal's strongest followers have ambitions that run deep. All it takes is a hint of betrayal, and they'll start tearing each other apart without realizing we set the fire."

With careful hands, Mephisto slips the note into a stack of correspondence destined for Baal's quarters. From there, it will be seen by key Fingers loyal enough to handle Baal's business affairs—but loyal only as long as their leader rewards them.

Elsewhere in the fortress, the Fingers gather in a dimly lit hall, clustered around tables laden with maps and battle strategies. The atmosphere is tense, thick with unspoken rivalries and a constant hunger for power. Mephisto's message has already begun to reach them, the "misinterpreted" hints spreading like poison through whispered conversations. A few Fingers glance suspiciously at one another, their expressions shadowed with doubt. Each one wonders, Am I valued, or am I merely a pawn?

In the back of the room, Poro works with quiet expertise, mingling casually with the more uncertain goons, weaving subtle, seemingly innocent comments into his conversations. To one demon, he remarks, "Strange, isn't it? How Baal only trusts certain people with sensitive matters. I wonder what that says about the rest of us?"

The demon stiffens, casting a suspicious glance across the room at his comrades. "You think Baal's losing faith in us?" he mutters, his voice filled with a mixture of confusion and resentment.

Poro chuckles, his tone light but his words carefully chosen. "Not necessarily. But... the way he's been favoring some over others—it's hard not to notice, isn't it?" He shrugs, as if the thought means little to him, but his words plant the seed of doubt. "Just something to consider."

Another goon, overhearing, bristles at Poro's words and mutters under his breath, "I've done more for Baal than anyone here. If anyone deserves his favor, it's me." His words, though whispered, carry a hint of venom that doesn't go unnoticed by the others around him.

Meanwhile, Mephisto drifts from one group to another, his presence barely registering as he plays the role of a simple advisor, his smooth voice offering casual observations, each one tailored to amplify the quiet but growing sense of distrust. He approaches a group of goons standing by a flickering torch, their faces illuminated in tense shadows, and comments, "It's curious, don't you think, how Baal always sends the same people on his most dangerous missions? Perhaps he's ensuring his most... expendable resources are the first to take the risks."