Double Or Nothing: A Coin Flip Away

Makeup was Last Season

Azazel's flaming boots thundered toward the gateway at the end of his throne room. Wrath's energy erupted in waves from his shoulders, melting anything that drew too close to his fiery trail. Azazel snapped his barbed cuffs over his flaming skin, tossing his wild orange mane of fire back while the room blazed with light as the gateway powered on, twisting and crackling in volts of gold ribbon energy. Azazel turned to face Avery above the gateway, perched on the Lord of Wrath's throne with the most smug grin in Hell. Azazel pointed a flaming finger at his assistant, dragging his finger across his throat.

"You scuff that leather and I scuff your skin right off your bones, got it?" Azazel growled. Avery chuckled, shrugging the jangling chains on his shoulders. "Whatever you say, chief." Azazel grumbled, storming through the gateway as he was enveloped in a flash of golden light. The chain-shackled, razor sharp gateway spun and spun until the golden light faded into dust, scattered across the floor. Avery sighed, slinging his legs over the armrest and flipping his guitar ax into his lap, tightening the strings and shredding a few ear splitting riffs.

The gateway through Hell's nethermost region twisted around the Lord of Wrath as he pushed through the entangled mess of twisting, sparkling fuses. In this realm of Hell, an Immaterial world where nothing and everything make sense to such an agonizing extent a man's mind would be severed from his self and scattered across eons of excruciating, infinite purgatory. Azazel was no man. Azazel was the Fallen Hand of Lucifer, the fiery tome of wrath and fury, unrelenting carnage and justice.

Crackling ribbons of lightning surged into the mansion's interior, a loud pop erupting from the gateway when Azazel stepped from his home into the mansion. "Always gotta be muggy in there-!" Azazel muttered, cut off by a scream and a loud metallic snap. Flinging himself away from a sandbag that exploded against the wall behind him, oozing its remains into glass so near to Azazel, the Lord of Wrath landed with surprise stuck to his face. Asmodeus, standing before her brother, had her bleeding fists wrapped and was preparing another punching bag on the ceiling hook.

Azazel was unable to believe what he was seeing. "You're...you're punching things?" Asmodeus huffed, tying her curly amethyst hair back as hot air burst from her nostrils. Her ironclad hind leg swung upward, slamming into the bag with a resounding smack. "Kicking things too," she huffed a reply. Azazel tightened his barbed cuffs, moving around to hold the new bag in place. "Mind if I give you some support?" His steeled black eyes curled in a mouth less grin. Asmodeus smiled, striking the bag with enough force to send Azazel flying backward. The Lord of Wrath inflated himself to his sister's size, planting his boots to counter the force.

While Asmodeus struck the punching bag iteratively, Azazel widened his eyes with impress. "What?" Asmodeus teased, "is this a level of barbaric beauty you prefer?" Azazel laughed back. "No no, it's just," Azazel cleared his fiery throat, "this isn't like you. Breaking your fingernails on a punching bag, dealing kicks that could break concrete? You're growing outta your makeup-dusted shell." Asmodeus exhaled, shaking her head.

"This isn't just about revenge, Zaze. The Crimson Stripe hurt Jules too. What good is the Lady of Lust if she's not strong enough to protect her own people?" Azazel's eyes narrowed, crackling with embers. "But you are, Azzie. Don't," Azazel groaned, rolling his eyes, "you didn't hear it from me: you're probably the most elementally powerful of all of us." Asmodeus' eyes widened. "You're just being modest," she started, but the Lord of wrath cut her short.

"Lightning is a strong force. Generates heat, like me, outputs tenfold more energy than Murph's funny toys. Satan, for all I know," Azazel chuckled, "doesn't have squat, and Mammon's an over seasoned prick. But you," Azazel gestured to Asmodeus and her bruised hands and feet, "you've got some power. We really need that against The Stripe." Sucking in a saliva-coated breath, Asmodeus coughed before asking Azazel, "Hit me." Azazel peered around the punching bag, dusting off his palms. "Come again?"

"Try to hit me," Asmodeus demanded. Azazel cracked his wrists. "You really wanna test that, sister o' mine?" The Lady of Lust pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing in a nod. Azazel exhaled, curling his flaming fingertips into sparkling flames. Swinging his fiery fist beneath Asmodeus' roundhouse kick, Azazel brought his fist upward, slamming into an electrical field that paralyzed him. The electric backfire blasted Azazel backward to the floor.

"Yeesh," he grumbled from the floor, "where was that a few minutes ago?" Asmodeus laughed, snapping lightning from her fingers. Helping her brother up from the floor, Asmodeus exhaled, untying the bandages on her wrists. Azazel cracked his joints, lifting his arm to pat his sister on the back. "I'm real proud of you, Azzie. You've come a long way down from your ivory tower." Asmodeus sighed, altering her fur with dragon scale plates to resist her brother's fiery touch. "Thanks. It doesn't matter what The Stripe does now," Asmodeus grinned, "he'll regret messing with Lust."