Double Or Nothing: A Coin Flip Away

Cards Will Fall

Lights flickered in the clock tower at the epicenter of Hell, the largest dominant structure to stand in place since the beginning of Creation. Each hour and minute on the hands reflected the individual hours and minutes a soul spent in Hell, with some arms so old and weathered their rust composed more of their being than whatever was left. At the top of the clock tower, in a behemoth of an open floor where the architects of the tower once resided, The Crimson Stripe paced across the room, talking to himself with a fixated rage. So many attempts to remove the irritating thorns in his side, yet like splinters they all dug deeper beneath the surface of his skin.

"Everything I throw at these rebels and the last shavings of The Sin Hunter's gang just bounces right off them. For a world of death, "The Stripe hissed, glaring at the skylight out to Hell's large and ominous black moon, "you'd think these people would be better at dying. But apparently not." The Crimson Stripe fixed his crown, snapping his scissor blades to the tune of a forgotten melody. "I have all the money I need, the terrorists flood our streets, the bullet is my sacred guide, yet somehow, somehow," he snarled, slashing at the banners hanging from the ceiling, "this stupid world is just too full of stubbornness to break!!"

After the ribbons of banners fell to the floor, The Crimson Stripe's breathing evened as his shoulders stopped heaving. "Of course," he sighed, "there's no point in outsmarting stupidity. I just need to work faster than the forces of Hell and The Sin Hunter's group of misfits." The Crimson Stripe summoned his book from a table nearby, flipping through the worn gray pages. "Koriya was helpful enough to give me everything I needed to know about Hell. Fact is, I can put an end to all of this right here and now. Except," he gritted, closing the book, "that I need one last thing to ensure total victory. That serum Bile hid. I need it to permanently boost my power."

The Crimson Stripe swept through the clock tower, dragging his scissor blades along a whetstone fashioned from his right glove while his sword stick rested beneath the crook of his arm. "I'm no beefcake, and The Sin Hunter's proven that I can't handle a blow or two. This serum will give me the perfect dose I need to take a punch and dish one back." The Crimson Stripe extended an arm to his backside, extracting a radio from beneath his coattails. Raising the receiver to his mouth, The Stripe glared out of a window down to the dystopian street below him. "Pull all the troops into Pride. We're moving into defensive positions and advancing to Phase 3."

The radio crackled in the Overlord's hand. "Roger that, boss. Should we start the March

on the sanctum?" The Stripe paused, tapping his toe against the carpeted floor. "Not yet," he replied after a moment of consideration, "keep the rebels and any Sin Hunter supporters locked up. You can gun down the rest however you please." The radio crackled with a quick, "Roger that, boss," before The Crimson Stripe strapped the radio to his belt. Sliding his pointed fingers through the weaving mess of bloody hair on his head, he glanced at his watch with a sigh. "Well, it's that time already. Time for another progress report."

The Crimson Stripe tapped his cane on the floor as blood pooled from the cane's strikes,

rippling in the reflection of the twisted Overlord. From the growing puddle of blood summoned a shackled nightmare, a hooded being wrapped in shadows and a void-like dust. The Crimson Stripe lowered his smile to a stern fixation on the figure, tapping his cane against their shoulder. "Wakey wakey, sleepyhead. You got a long rest after that last stunt in Sloth, didn't you?" The being tossed their hood back and forth, but said nothing in response. The Overlord's eyes narrowed, but he exhaled, rising from his kneeling stance to dust off his cardiac-striped sleeves.

"You've been great at giving me lots of energy to summon the damned and dead from

their graves, but I'm not done yet. I need more Demons." The hooded being shuddered before lifting its neck to gaze into the Stripe's cold, lifeless mask and its rolling, foggy eyeball. Although the jaws of the bleached gray skull tried to speak, The Crimson Stripe flipped through his book without a care. "Now, what I'm looking for is something really big, something nobody can ignore. A trade piece while I prep for the finale."

While The Crimson Stripe flipped through his pages, the being shackled by blood and

steel writhed in its chains, bent over with lack of breath. 'This mortal has lost all concept of balance in spite of one Sinner's soul. I have never encountered such a wrathful devotion to sin and dishonor in my entire existence.' The being glanced around the room with motionless, empty eye sockets. 'I need not see to recognize this madman's goals. I have to alert my fellow riders.' But before the being could do more, The Stripe yanked them by the collar to stand up.

"Alright," The Stripe grinned, rubbing his hand with a large orange jewel surrounded by

blackened bronze, "it's time to summon a Demon. That should slow the rebellion." As the hooded figure recoiled, The Stripe struck the being with his palm, slamming the orange gemstone right in the center of their chest. Wisps of intoxicating black smoke and dark red flames ripped the floor apart as something protruded from the darkness, a roaring Minotaur with flaming lashes shackled to its forearms and great, shredded wings protruding from its coarse back.

Although the hooded figure collapsed to the floor in a heaving, exhausted state, The

Crimson Stripe smiled a strained, sickly smile, snapping his scissor blade gauntlet before the Minotaur Demon. "Your name is Moloch. I'm told you're pretty good at causing havoc, is that right?" The Minotaur's lifeless eyes nodded as veins tightened on its matted gray flesh. The Crimson Stripe smiled. "Good. Now be a good undead Demon and go kill some Sinners!"