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Like angels. Demons have a hierarchy. The angels? Seraphim, top of the chain of command, literally the attendants of God. Then there were Thrones, Virtues, Principalities, and so on. The demons? Most were human, only a handful were actually the angels cast out of heaven along with Lucifer. The angelic demons, now that was a thought, were often more sadistic, more terrifying, than anything the human demons could ever come up with. They also played by a different set of rules. They were the Seraphim of Hell, the Demon Masters.

Here, Xipil stood before one of them. Moac. Xipil was a Demon Lord, having climbed the ranks from Lost Soul to where he was now in a short millennia. Xipil may have as well been Moac’s muppet. Whatever Moac wanted him to do, Xipil did, without hesitation. As if Moac had his scaly arm up Xipil’s ass and Xipil was no more than a ventriloquist dummy.

Moac’s favorite thing to do was to find good men, and make them demons. Find good men and break them. Find good men and make them into Xipil. Like his brothers next to him, Xipil had been a soldier of God. A paladin. A life in service to the Church that Xipil barely remembered.

There was the Underworld, Hell, and the Void. Demons wanted out of Hell as much as humans were afraid to go to it. Demons wanted Earth. It was paradise to them. Most of the demons dwelled in the Underworld, a few remained in Hell, they had to look over the Lost Souls. The Underworld? Think of a massive underground cave system lit by torches. Seriously, demons often had no imagination. However unlike Hell it wasn’t the extremes of hot and cold. A snowball could last forever in Hell, depending on where it landed.

“Have you found him?” Moac asked in a voice that was the sound of everything that slithered or scuttled in the darkness.

“No, Master,” Xipil didn’t like lying. Yeah, demons lie, but often the truth is much worse than any lie.

“How hard is it to find one pathetic human?” Xipil did not reply.

“We believe he is protected by something,” one of Xipil’s brethren was speaking. They were all dressed in similar black suits. Moac’s head turned from looking at Xipil to look at the other demon who had spoke. It was hard to tell where Moac was looking. His visage was covered by a mask of darkness under the red hood. The demon began to tremble and sweat. “Everytime we get near, he is whisked away.”

“Find him!” Moac snapped and Xipil didn’t even flinch when his brother exploded like a frog in a blender with the top off. Xipil calmly removed the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the black blood and ichor from his face.

Any chance Xipil took to get topside (Earth side) he took it. The humans have it so good and they don’t even know it. Just the cool breeze on his face, the taste of a good Scotch, and the sex. If Xipil had any sympathy, and he didn’t, that had been wrung out of him years ago, the angels had it worse than. At least demons could breed, they had demons that it was their job to breed, they refilled their numbers by turning those who go to Hell, the Lost Souls, into demons.

Angels were junkless, soulless… Well they had better powers and unlimited energy to use them. Still, to not have sex or eat a filet mignon?

Xipil was tired. He was tired of being Moac’s favorite. He was tired of being a demon. Where was an angel to smite you when you needed one? So Xipil hoped that this defiance would either redeem him or kill him. Moac wouldn’t kill Xipil, not his favorite little lieutenant, he’d send his ass back to Hell or throw him back on the rack to have whatever free will had managed to crop up, surgically removed.

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