A lavish hall adorned by chandeliers and tapestry depicting wars of ages long forgotten, hung from the ceiling. Platters of sauteed and braised game alongside finely carved out legumes lay at the centre, polishing a banquet fit for a king.


    Bordering the gourmet platter were a band of fourteen masked demons flitting back and forth, sipping aperitifs and partaking in the fine delicacies of the night. Despite the glamourous nature of the occasion, hostility hung heavy in the air, thick with tension murkier than the depths of a swamp. The fourteen were armed to the teeth, their fingers within reach of their steels. So far, not a drop of blood had been shed. Yet.


    Unbeknownst to the gathered assassins at the hall, a glass panel hid a vigilant set of eyes, watching the night unfold.


    “What a delightful bunch.” Clucking her tongue, she poised an extended finger at the glass pane, her features hidden beneath a pale flat owl mask, fringed by a length of magenta fluttering against a breezeless wind. A flash of cerise shattered the screen, hailing shards of glass, garnering the attention of the deadliest elite fourteen under the Sins of the Abyzz. “A bunch of entitled clowns, aren’t y’all?”


    From the heavens above, cerise flickers cascaded down, shooting forth like ethereal arrows propelled by a pair of poised index fingers. In a single breath, two out of the fourteen assailants were felled.


    Landing amidst a plate of untouched legumes, Lilith made her presence known. All of a sudden, unfurled linen ensnared her arm. She was pulled in towards a formidable mass of iron, which was simultaneously hurtling towards her, sweeping the sauteed and braised platters off the table in its wake. “Damn halfwits.”


    Dual cerise sabres materialized in her hands. With seamless grace, she severed the bonds of linen and shattered the iron mound as effortlessly as broken glass.


    In front of her stood a gaping maw adorned with pearly white, each molar dwarfing her head in size. Narrowing her path, the enamel closed in around her throat.


    A cerise bolt erupted from Lilith’s sabre, slicing through teeth and maw alike, leaving behind a carnal tableau of four other assassins in a bloody tangle.


    “What are you?” asked the demon, his features concealed behind a steel helm, conjuring up an iron slab of a sword.


    “Death,” Lilith retorted, her voice laced with a chilling certainty. Merging the hilts of her sabres, she forged a colossal cerise scythe nearly double her size. In a wide arc, she swung her blade of vibrant lethality, claiming the heads of seven assassins. Their severed necks erupted in crimson geysers, tainting her slacks. “You’re the last one standing, aren’t you?


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The upper half of the iron slab slid off the assassin’s once formidable blade, severing his left hand off bone, till gnarly sinew remained. Gritting his teeth, he sank to his knees, cradling an armless shoulder. “That hurts, you goddamn monster!”


    A hint of a smirk tugged at her lips as she towered over him. “What do you know? You’re the last one kneeling now.”


    “Curs–”


    A cerise flash melted through the insides of the steel helmed assassin’s cranium, splaying him like a rag doll.


    “How unpleasant,” spat Lilith, turning her back to the distasteful massacre of a banquet.


    Thunderous clapping enveloped the freshly besmirched hall, earning a cerise flash. Smouldering embers of vermillion were wrought into existence, snuffing out the cerise shot till a pall of vapours, fizzled.


    The clash of colours unveiled horns, furling off a spry humanoid visage. A pair of furry hooves adorned his feet, resounding with each clomp as he made his way towards Lilith. Beneath his regal attire, he flexed his immense strength with the muscles he wore. His outstretched arms were wrapped in a warm embrace, accompanied by a playful smile that betrayed not a trace of malice. There was an aura surrounding him, an air of grandeur radiating from his gargantuan frame.


    “Well, well, if it isn’t the tsar of the Abyzz himself, lord Zarovar, the wrathful Sin.” Begrudging respect crept into her voice as she knelt down, beside a bloodied length of linen.


    “The pleasure is all my mine sweet, sweet Lilith,” resounded Zarovar’s voice. He motioned with a finger for her to rise. He tilted his head, painting a smile curling off the corners of his lips which cut into his nasolabial folds. “Someone has been a naughty lass.” Knuckles cracked and flickers of vermillion licked his fingers, as he extended his hand.


    Drenched in a pool of perspiration, Lilith arouse from a restless slumber. Gasping for breath, she reached out, clutching at an invisible presence. Her sudden writhing threatened the stability of her chair, nearly toppling over.


    “Dammit,” she muttered, biting her lip. “Why must an old memory resurface at a time like this?” She kneaded her fingers into her temples, alleviating the throb pulsating through her head.


    She stretched her legs and rose to her feet, pacing about within the caged confines of her office. Biting into the frayed edge of her cuticle, her gaze shifted towards a dark scroll scribbled –From Zar, resting ominously at the centre of her desk, escalating her nibbling.


    *


    Dragging the dead, body after body, some legless torsos and armless cadavers, the redhead got to work.


    He knew Lilith won’t be happy with what he was going to do. He knew it was just an idea, one he would have no choice but to dedicate his entirety to. There was nothing else he could do. No other alternative he could look for.


    With circumstances being what they were.


    With the inspiration he’d garnered.


    He knew he had to try. Give it his best shot. And see what came of it.


    Worst case scenario, it was going back to the drawing board. He had nothing much to lose. But he wasn’t going to sit back and relish a grey existence.


    Tossing the bodies he had dragged over the stairs into a chamber, he ran his eyes over the number he had collected in the past weeks. The stench was unbearable. But he knew it was nothing compared to life back at the ‘Carnage Room.’


    A mellifluous fragrance wafting from rotting bones and flesh.


    The result of hard work. Strenuous, tedious work.


    Arranging the pieces would be vital, since he had one shot to pull it off.