With fingers steepled, Archfiend Maladai sat in his chamber perched over his writing desk made from the hardened cadavers of his thralls.
In front of him laid an unfurled scroll of parchment, detailing the events leading up to the last attack on Striss.
He had only been reigning as the Archfiend of his clan for two days, and already the other clans were out to test his mettle. Trade routes were accosted by herds of tamed beasts, lanes of hovels were torched by fire breathing heads of Diomedes and now, the final thing that left him sitting alone for the past few hours trembling in rage: his personal shipment of snuff had been misplaced in the storage holds of his keep.
A tiny shrunken head floated in one corner of the room, taking tiny gasps of air every so often. Eventually, it strained to open its mouth and spoke:
"I'm, s-so sorry, oh great one!" it cried, then screamed and darted across the room in time to dodge a chair of bone shattering against the solid onyx wall.
"I can fix this! Please, give me one day! It's all I ask!" it pleaded, as it bobbed up and down, just out of reach of the Archfiend, who now stood in the center of the room, his massive balled fists shaking.
"I have turned entire cities to ash for much less, Bone." Said the Archfiend, his words rumbling from under his plate helmet. "You have twenty four hours to correct this. Or you, and your family, will be expunged."
The head looked relieved, then shocked. Finally, it sank sadly, and said: "Yes, Archfiend, consider it done."
Bone darted through the air, and stopped in front of the far wall. A fleshy orifice opened up, and he flew into it.
Archfiend Maladai turned to face the stained glass window, and peered out over the sprawling metropolis below him.
Fifteen billion bodies, and not a warm soul amongst them.
How he hungered.
