So my two day anniversary in this hot, stinking, out to kill me and take my soul joint’s about eight hours from now. My magic horologium watch says it’s 7:01 AM Hell time. Besides, it’d feel like a defilement to my mouth and the last time I had an opportunity to brush teeth was nearly two days ago. I’ve got about a thousand things on my mind. I’m using omnis scientia and interpretor to translate into Minosian. “What’s your name, Mr jackass Devil Snake?” I ask him, not even trying to keep the anger and sarcasm out of my voice.
I don’t like the little genocidal jerk either. An Uktena scout for the army of devils who’re still trying to kill or enslave us all. That horned flying snake devil is one of many who’ve hunted her kind to near extinction. She’s got her mouth clamped, keeping back angry words. So the devil snake can’t turn his head enough to deliver a bite. The red serpent, the Uktena, is lashing about trying to bite Rarhquick. The worb - being one of those nasty soul-torture devices that devils use to power both their machines and their magic. This engine noise combines with a pained, banshee-wail of a damnable worb at its angry heart. The weird unicycle sprouting a half-dozen pipes roars like the loudest Harley I’ve ever encountered. My Vortex, taken from a defeated horde of devils, vibrates underneath me as I angle it toward the big Plumacat. My eyes lock on the flailing red serpent in Rarhquick’s mouth as he approaches.
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