business here?”
“I am Schnither, Captain of the Dark Army, reporting back from duty,” hissed the gnarly black being. “ He will be expecting me.” The ‘ he’ to whom Schnither referred was Abaddon the Defiler, undisputed boss of Schnither and his cronies and feared Master of the Mooar Mountain, the dark nerve centre of all things evil. Abaddon was a fearsome ruler and neither Schnither nor any of his fellow demons dared to challenge his reign.
“It looks like your mission wasn’t a rip roaring success ,” sneered the second guard, gesturing towards Schnither’s dismembered limb and he sniggered, revealing a green serpentine tongue and razor sharp, pointed teeth. The stump of Schnither’s arm was still oozing a thick yellow liquid, but the indignation and fury at being outsmarted by those bright shiny angelic nuisances was causing Schnither more pain and discomfort than his impressive war wound.
Schnither glared at the first guard, wondering if he should teach the flabby beast a lesson right then and there. The notion of wiping the smirk off the guard’s face appealed to Schnither, but he thought better of it – he didn’t want to cause an unnecessary uproar when the news he was about to deliver to the Boss wasn’t exactly as good as it should have been.
“Just open up, minion ” spat Schnither, unfurling his twisted body to its full height. At almost seven feet tall, and with a girth far exceeding that of the guards, he was a formidable sight, and the two sneering sentinels sobered up immediately.
“Oh, uh… yes, Captain Schnither sir, right away. You should have said it was important…”
The first guard’s voice trailed off as he realised that his babbling was not helping his cause in any way, and he and his fellow sentry heaved against the heavy wooden doors. The doors groaned open, and thick black smoke began to billow menacingly through. There was an eerie yellow glow about the room, and as Schnither stepped through the doorway, he paused to allow his red eyes to adjust to the gloom. He had scarcely acquainted himself with his creepy surroundings when a voice addressed him from out of the murkiness.
“You! Captain Schnither. What news?”
The unexpectedly dulcet tones broke through the darkness, a voice so low that Schnither had to hold his breath to hear it properly.
“Master,” he stumbled over his words as he edged closer through the smoky gloom. “Our mission… it was, uh, not entirely a success.” Schnither was sweating, his hideous face contorting in terror.
“ Yes-s-s , I hear-r-r-d,”
The faceless voice drooled the words and Schnither had to steady himself against the cold stone wall to keep from collapsing in a shuddering heap. Suddenly, the smoke burst apart, rolling furiously to either side as a dark form, almost nine feet tall, appeared only inches from Schnither’s quivering body – Abaddon, the feared Dark Master. Abaddon’s countenance was intense, unrelenting, and his features, while hard and cold, belied an ethereal beauty of aeons past – there could be no denying Abaddon’s glorious past as the Angel of Light, the Son of the Morning, and even now, in the deepest darkest recesses of the earth, through the dark around him and the dark within him, Schnither could see the physical traces of a beauty that once fellowshipped with the Atoner himself. Abaddon’s flint grey eyes bored relentlessly into Schnither, who was completely taken by surprise at the appearance of his Dark Master.
“My Liege!” Schnither reeled back in shock and fear, tripping over his own feet and landing unceremoniously on his backside at Abaddon’s feet. Next to his Master’s imposing form, Schnither appeared small, feeble, and he was acutely aware of his own irrelevance.
“You have failed me – again! ”
Abaddon’s once deceptively soft tones had become a ferocious roar, and in his accusatory rage he spat the words at Schnither, leaning menacingly over his servant’s
“I am Schnither, Captain of the Dark Army, reporting back from duty,” hissed the gnarly black being. “ He will be expecting me.” The ‘ he’ to whom Schnither referred was Abaddon the Defiler, undisputed boss of Schnither and his cronies and feared Master of the Mooar Mountain, the dark nerve centre of all things evil. Abaddon was a fearsome ruler and neither Schnither nor any of his fellow demons dared to challenge his reign.
“It looks like your mission wasn’t a rip roaring success ,” sneered the second guard, gesturing towards Schnither’s dismembered limb and he sniggered, revealing a green serpentine tongue and razor sharp, pointed teeth. The stump of Schnither’s arm was still oozing a thick yellow liquid, but the indignation and fury at being outsmarted by those bright shiny angelic nuisances was causing Schnither more pain and discomfort than his impressive war wound.
Schnither glared at the first guard, wondering if he should teach the flabby beast a lesson right then and there. The notion of wiping the smirk off the guard’s face appealed to Schnither, but he thought better of it – he didn’t want to cause an unnecessary uproar when the news he was about to deliver to the Boss wasn’t exactly as good as it should have been.
“Just open up, minion ” spat Schnither, unfurling his twisted body to its full height. At almost seven feet tall, and with a girth far exceeding that of the guards, he was a formidable sight, and the two sneering sentinels sobered up immediately.
“Oh, uh… yes, Captain Schnither sir, right away. You should have said it was important…”
The first guard’s voice trailed off as he realised that his babbling was not helping his cause in any way, and he and his fellow sentry heaved against the heavy wooden doors. The doors groaned open, and thick black smoke began to billow menacingly through. There was an eerie yellow glow about the room, and as Schnither stepped through the doorway, he paused to allow his red eyes to adjust to the gloom. He had scarcely acquainted himself with his creepy surroundings when a voice addressed him from out of the murkiness.
“You! Captain Schnither. What news?”
The unexpectedly dulcet tones broke through the darkness, a voice so low that Schnither had to hold his breath to hear it properly.
“Master,” he stumbled over his words as he edged closer through the smoky gloom. “Our mission… it was, uh, not entirely a success.” Schnither was sweating, his hideous face contorting in terror.
“ Yes-s-s , I hear-r-r-d,”
The faceless voice drooled the words and Schnither had to steady himself against the cold stone wall to keep from collapsing in a shuddering heap. Suddenly, the smoke burst apart, rolling furiously to either side as a dark form, almost nine feet tall, appeared only inches from Schnither’s quivering body – Abaddon, the feared Dark Master. Abaddon’s countenance was intense, unrelenting, and his features, while hard and cold, belied an ethereal beauty of aeons past – there could be no denying Abaddon’s glorious past as the Angel of Light, the Son of the Morning, and even now, in the deepest darkest recesses of the earth, through the dark around him and the dark within him, Schnither could see the physical traces of a beauty that once fellowshipped with the Atoner himself. Abaddon’s flint grey eyes bored relentlessly into Schnither, who was completely taken by surprise at the appearance of his Dark Master.
“My Liege!” Schnither reeled back in shock and fear, tripping over his own feet and landing unceremoniously on his backside at Abaddon’s feet. Next to his Master’s imposing form, Schnither appeared small, feeble, and he was acutely aware of his own irrelevance.
“You have failed me – again! ”
Abaddon’s once deceptively soft tones had become a ferocious roar, and in his accusatory rage he spat the words at Schnither, leaning menacingly over his servant’s
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