《Satan's Fables: The Epilogue》


 Chapter 1: The Occurance

    They say (who ''they'' are I''m not entirely sure) that the most important parts of any story are the beginning and the end- The first impression made, the mood of the entire book and whether or not the author can ''catch the reader''s attention'' are all established at the beginning. While the overall satisfaction with the Novel- and what will be remembered is established at the end. ''So Author, how''ll you do it? How''ll you wow me and catch my attention?''


    Could start with sex- sex always sells right? Everyone enjoys a good romp. Romance, star-crossed lovers, deep breathing, and the only time perspiration is considered attractive. But, alas, the love has already been held and lost, long before this point in my story.


    ''Violence then! A good bloodlust appeals to human barbarism, right?'' You''ve got me again. Although this story does start with a conflict, it pales in comparison to what has already transpired. The ultimate battle has already been fought, and the victor already named¡­


    ''A joke- at least open with a joke...'' Though suitable to my life- the atmosphere calls for something a great deal more sombre... as you see we start my tale with a death, and begin our story at the end. This is the tale not of great beginnings, but of surprising endings. This is the end of my history, the last few times my name, Renon Uth Zhakrin would be recorded within pages. Though I didn''t view the situation so darkly, in fact, to me it was not the beginning of my last tale, but an unbelievable opportunity.


    Where our story begins is a difficult place to comprehend, or at least a difficult place to comprehend to someone who has led a normal mortal life. It''s like nothing quite on earth, the sensations that the area assaulted upon your comprehension. The air held a cold clammy quality about it, almost refreshing but somehow unnerving. Like breathing in the moisture given off of dying fruit. Each lungfull seemed to cling heavily within the lining of your lungs, pulling them down and weighing them within your chest giving the impression that a thin layer of grease was coating its inner walls. It wasn''t altogether unpleasant, in fact it held a encompassing quality about it, no matter how invasive it may be.


    That was the ultimate definition of the place; invasive. Invasive and surreal, or perhaps unreal. Your senses seemed constantly duped, constantly grappling for something coherent. Everything to the visual eye and basic senses seeming in perfect order, but the feel of the air, the slight unplaceable odor, the unnerving still that seemed brim with silent screams (like that sickening pause between witnesses a child harm themselves and knowing remorseful howls were about to ensue), an ashen cotton taste that hung on everything seemed artificial, but unnervingly unplaceably so. Such was the nature of the Lower Plane.


    Ah, the Lower Plane. Allow me to correct all notions before your mind gets the best of you. Basic existence consists of multiple planes. Like rainfall. You have a main source, a cloud in this situation, from this one body falls countless drops, all of these drops will eventually gather once more, forming a singular body. The moisture now takes an entirely new form, a new body, but the ingredients are the same. This is the same idea of the planes. You have a singular plane at the very top. The purest, the source of these other planes. This is the Upper Plane. This Higher Place would be connected to a number of concepts and mythology that I''m sure you heard of. The single most recognizable being ''heaven''; now don''t get all haughty (no angry letters please), you really do have it all wrong. I find it amusing how cities, countries, worlds fight for ultimate control over imposing their beliefs as the ''correct belief''. What has never occurred to anyone is the fact that they could all be wrong, or that any form could be correct to each individual, that it is all subjective.


    But I digress.


    This Upper Plane is then the source of hundreds of ''drops'' that are considered Middle Planes. There are thousands of these ''parallel worlds'' that usually live in ignorant bliss of one another. All believing they are the sole existence, all believing they are of sole worth. Although most are ignored and overlooked by the Upper and Lower planes, there are a few that are considered ''property''. Think of a child that places ants in their own tank. Although the ants continue their existence ignorant of their overseer, they are, in a sense, confined by the child. If not exactly ''owned'', for all intensive purposes the notion applies in much the same manner. These Middle Planes, or ''drops'' would then be connected to a singular flow, into one body of space once more. Soiled, used, far from its ''pure origin'' this which would be the Lower Plane. Again, a common misconstrued perception being ''hell''. Though entirely inaccurate, there is some truth to the mythology that is involved, as with any well guarded secret, information ''leaks''. You see the Higher Plane does inhabit astral beings consisting of divine creation. On a scale of magical manipulation they are blindingly white, pure, and ''unsoiled''. While the Lower Plane does indeed consist of demonic beings, who balance the scales being equally as black, drained and ''dirtied''. It was amongst this black drop to our stage of events danced two beings in the deathly fits of combat.


    There was something about the deafening silence that was suiting. Like the thrum of adrenaline that causes the senses to fail in traumatic situations. The dramatic sounds of the battle that commenced below, the blows of violence, the whisper of death, all subjected to silence seemed only to increase the tension in their absence. There were no other distractions, no noise to focus on, no smells to draw your mind away- the silence stole all opportunity to focus on the other senses to ease your mind from itself (Afterall evening likening the smell of blood to copper, or the sounds of breaking bones to that of twigs was a form of comfort- or desensitization, of lessening the impact by connecting it to an innocent twin). No, it was somehow suiting that the lone figure that witnessed the battle take place from his perch far enough away that the sounds of battle fell short stood unnoticed, unimportant.


    Renon Uth Zhakrin, the egotistical businessman, the secret historian; the unobserved observer sat not in concealment but unabashedly had placed himself at the tallest point, a sharp cliff, overlooking the conflict that took place below. Whether he didn''t care if he was spotted, or if he knew he wouldn''t be due to his watched being otherwise... indisposed was never discovered. He watched, and in the part of his own story, he was irrelevant.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The quiet observer wondered if the two that battled beneath him realized the almost unnerving beauty about their moves. The ebb and flow of offensive and defensive movements. Fluent, calculated, though panicked. Renon''s own pulse quickened, his lips pulled back into a broad inappropriate smile as his mind clawed out, imagining what sensations must be pulsing within their own hearts. A hysteria touched his throat, giddy laughter catching in a knot threatening to break his own silence. But the show unfolding below was only partially absorbed. From the distance the businessman stood he could only see the vague shapes of the two beneath. The figures silhouetted, draining any distinguishing colors, any lines between clothes and flesh blended into a singularity. Renon''s unnaturally bright jade eyes narrowed unfruitfully to try to distinguish one of the aggressors. He could not recognize him, and although this may seem like a small inconvenience there was a subtle sense of dread the settled into the back of his mind. Like glancing at the first few steps of what you know will be a very long journey.


    The creature on the defensive, the one that faltered in his movements, that panic was beginning to steal all training and skill away from Renon did recognize; Ba¡®al Zeb?b. Anyone within the Lower Plane would recognize the stretched out form of the demon, even if he currently was exhibiting uncharacteristically flawed behavior. You see, Ba¡®al Zeb?b was one of the most powerful demons within the Lower Plane.


    The Lower Plane since the lost history of its existence has always been broken up into various ''territories'' called realms. Each realm held its own set of rules, its own ruler and its own territory. The only overlying factor that was universal was wealth. Whomever held the most wealth, held the most power- and therefore the more influence. A common misapprehension is that these realms would then be in constant feud with one another to gain more territory. The truth was the kingdoms of the Lower Plane altered very little. It was not property that gained wealth. There was rarely a need (or even want) to destroy other kingdoms. It didn''t necessarily add to your own power, it simply removed one out of existence. However over lifetimes the original 28 realms had dwindled to a mere 8, perhaps out of spite, out of conflicts between heads, or out of sheer boredom. The occurrences of this were rare and far between, and often went unnoticed.


    Ba¡®al Zeb?b was the head of the third most influential kingdom. A desolate world of rotting organic manner of every imaginable (and unimaginable ) sort. If- when he is to die, if he were to fall, Renon''s realm which currently stood behind him in fourth most influential would take his rank. (Ba¡®al Zeb?b''s realm would be absorbed, and everyone would take a step forward in the line so to speak). The absorber, Renon assumed, would be the Lord (and Lady) of the realm the battle currently took place upon... the Obsidianus Realm..


    The Obsidianus Realm was the largest, and the single most powerful. Renon (in truth) had always been envious of it. The vast spanning world raced before him in oppressive black. The land was cast entirely in Obsidian, its polish surface both breathtakingly beautiful and equally as ominous and demonic. The world was fully formed, in the sense that it echoed the image of any lush land. Rolling mountains, forests, lakes, rivers, all at the edge of a vast city. But everything, though echoing the image of life was frozen, unmoving in black stone. Within the lower field that stretched at the base of Renons cliff and touched the edges of the town, each blade of grass was of carved obsidian, staking upwards like millions of shards. The forest that stood stark against the land like the front of an army strong in their thick glass, rose feet into the air and exploded into a splay of leaves. The black leaves themselves chiseled with startling detail. Rises marked the leaves where veins would have brought them sap apparent in their pattern. The leaves paper thin as normal leaves would be, became vicious weapons in their current material however, the razor obsidian cutting and mangling at the slightest brush. Everything remained silent, the unholy leaves did not rustle in some unseen breeze, but stood silent in its twisted horror, never swaying or giving way.


    A lake stood at the other edge of the field. A lake in appearance though in nature it was as solid as the rest of the world. The obsidian pool polished to such a sheen that it too did reflect as the mirroring quality of water would. The doppelganger pitch black in its nature like the stillest of waters caught in perpetual twilight. It is upon this flat unbroken surface that the battle raged. The two reflected within the still surface, a perfect replica adding to the battle beneath their feet. The nagging mystery of the stranger grew as Renon''s observation continued. He did not move like a demon would, or any other being that should be within this plane. He moved with the motions of a beast, attacking with his shoulders forward, retreating from blows and making quick changes of direction of attack with a knee and hand upon the ground in a sprinter''s stance. The figure was gaining ground, the blade that added length to one of his arms danced skillfully, meeting quickly and often with the other silhouette. Renon realized slowly that the aggressor was toying with Ba¡®al Zeb?b¡­


    Far above the two.. and indeed every realm burned a black sun that coiled dark flames in on itself, a negative of its brother. It casted a sickly glare upon each realm, but had a unique effect upon the Obsidianus Realm. The black glass nature of the world reflecting the pallor light, mimicking the eyes of a man where black has stolen the remaining white and the last sickening glimpse of the dying soul reflects there within the black depths. The light not glowing, or reflecting back, but seeming engulfed and consumed by the blackness in desperation to avoid inevitable death. The obsidian stole all the light it could, muffling its illumination reflecting what little focal highlights it could in return. Even the green hidden within the dark suede of Renon''s clothing that needed direct light to bring them forth in highlights remained hidden within the blacks.


    A quiver of emotion broke the male''s pale facade as Ba¡®al Zeb?b came to his knees. The darks of Renon''s eyes widened as a cat looking at a bird beyond a pane of glass would. The struggle was over, the conflict decided. The mysterious rival slowed his movements, no longer feeling haste in his assured victory. Walking with a slow pace as Ba¡®al Zeb?b, the fallen Lord raised his hands in one final plea. No honor or dignity amongst the sworn dead. With a quick sharp movement, the demon was killed and died as easily as any man would have. Once rank and status were stripped away, no matter how influential a figure was, there is never much left over. Death is the ultimate egalitarian. The body, useless, fell back numbly, a shallow pool marring the blacks polished surface with a rebellious stretch of red. The attacker watched for but a moment longer, and then sunk down to sit upon the ground, easing his muscles.


    Renons eyes rose away from the scene, his attention spanning to the east once more. His gaze dancing over the former landscape of Ba¡®al Zeb?b, anticipation lighting his features, flawless white teeth flashed a smile drenched in insanity as it slid over his lithe features.


    This is the best part.


    The impenetrable silence during the struggle lasted for only a breath longer than a deafening snap smashed the air wide open. The noise was like a shattering gunshot upon glass. It echoed upon itself within the glass realm, resonating the trees until leaves broke free and smaller shattering noises joined in the chorus of unsettling loud snapping noises that now rolled one over another. The black obsidian, like some great black fanged beast, was expanding. The borders of the two kingdoms removed, the obsidian was cracking out from its edges and spreading upon the rotting organic matter of Ba¡®al Zeb?b''s former world. Settling again once the great wave of black teeth has passed over it, it too now cast in obsidian. The edge spanned and continued to engulf with the core sound of the obsidian breaking forth to spread over its new expansion, the lighter sounds of obsidian shattering and an accompanying wail of glass scraping upon glass. The Obsidianus Realm was expanding its borders.


    In a time the realm was fully integrated. The mangled corpses, rotting trees and food of Ba¡®al Zeb?b''s realm were all still there, distinctly the same in appearance, all but that it too was now entirely cast in obsidian, and was now subjected to a new melody of dead silence.

 Chapter 2: The Difference

    Renon''s realm was different... or highly boring depending on your perspective. It was not awe inspiring like Obsidianus, or even unique like the aerial domain of Florescent City, nor was it aquatic like the River of Styx, spansive like the realm of Dis, living like Malabolgia, or... however you would define what the Caves of Cocytus had become.. it was however (and most importantly), his city.


    Satan''s Fables of the Lower Plane is one that is most business-like in its manner of existence and its province reflects that. From the outside it is nothing more than large buildings, skyscrapers, condo complexes, large developments. But to walk within the streets it quickly becomes obvious something is off.


    No pedestrian hurries to their day job, no half eaten hot dog litters the sidewalk, no buzz of electricity gives forever white noise to the life of a city, no growling of vehicles to bark at one another and soil the air. Though the city waited, poised, developed and ready it seemed no more in use for its purpose than a suit upon a mannequin. Coffee shops lined corners with doors open and tables set, but the banner above the door boasted no business name, or logo. It was set, it was prepared but held no whisper of any patronage. The whole city held this oddity.


    The largest most central office building did contain illumination however. Like any office building the external structure was broken up into equally sized squares- offices. These squares however were not mostly cement with a single large window (as one may expect) but the entire squares themselves were made of one way glass. The entire building shimmered and reflected the world around it metallic gray. A large SF was the only object to break each face of the monochrome chess board pattern. The golden ''S'' climbing the polished black ''F'' like a cunning forbidden snake.


    It is within this building that resides the true heart of the realm, and it is in this building that now resides Renon.


    It''s funny how anyone who looked upon the once bustling province now would think how the mighty has fallen- although in rank of the Lower Plane kingdoms it now stood third, higher than it ever has before. But this kingdom''s visual lack of life was Renon''s own doing, it was his own personal promotion. He was still adjusting to the idea that Satan''s Fables was his and his alone, and how alone he had made it.


    To stand upon the cement stairs of his crowning achievement and look upon the rising structure that loomed like a yawning beast, it would appear no more than any other money polished highrise. But it''s when you climb the stairs and place your hands upon the glass front doors and pushed would its internal secret reveal itself. Once a foot stepped within the building its interior is transformed. You would not see marbled floors and a secretary''s desk as you would expect. But stone architectures, archways and torches upon the walls. It is a business shell with a castle crunchy center. The smell of old fabric and yellowed paper danced beneath Renon''s nose. Footsteps unmuffled by plush carpeting but instead amplified with stone floor echoed within the dancing light of the corridors, the sound both breaking and giving rhythm to his concentration.


    The passing light cast from the unexpected torches clawed out to illuminate his features only to fall into the shadows as he passed once more. The garb of Renon was all too familiar to these halls, as it scarcely differed and the demon were these halls sole company.


    Unsurprisingly the demon wore a suit, but much like its wearer the suit was not quite what you''d expect. Odd, hard to place differences nagged at you. Tugged at your subconscious begged to be focused on. One could search for quite a while within vain and never quite figure out what was so unusual about them. The suit at first glance would appear to be black. A simple black fabric that seemed unable to decide between silk and suede. But wherever the light brushed against it, it would highlight a brilliant forest green, like incandescent scales of some reptilian.


    The pressed pants hung from his form slightly too large (as in suit with all his clothes) causing the hem to noticeably rest upon the obsessively polished surface of his black business shoes. A basic black leather belt is lost beneath a double breasted blazer made of the same unusual fabric. The jacket lovingly hugged the Businessmans lithe mid-drift and  then abruptly cast itself from his form, causing the coattails of the blazer to bow away from his body gracefully.


    Beneath this chaos was a plain button down white shirt, and a basic black tie that laid almost comically oversized in nature obscuring the white beneath nearly entirely. This all rested


    upon broad shoulders and gave way to angular pale features. Though human by glance the Businesman''s flesh held a deathly pale hue, its features sharp and angular, not betraying to his true origin but unsettling and not quite like any human perceived.


    Upon this angular jaw rested expressive lithe lips, that betrayed the male''s emotions as readily as his bright jade eyes. Brows furrowed in concentration as he walked the halls, troubled by what he had witnessed. The eyes never once moved to acknowledge the halls that he knew so well, he walked in familiarity, losing himself entirely to his mind. The light from the torches dimmed by a pair of glasses that rested between him and the world, the lenses tinted gray, dulled the light of the world around him. Short cropped black hair fell in reckless haphazard freedom about the male''s face, curiously contradictory to the usual obsessively organized nature of the male. An oversized fedora attempted to cast shadows over the male''s face, challenging the torches'' efforts to reveal his stoney facial expression.


    Renon mused, and puzzled, and writhed in self-torture over not recognizing the male that had so easily taken down  Ba¡®al Zeb?b. The image of the pooling red upon unwavering black answered who was ultimately responsible for the former lord''s death. It would have had to have been Lucifer and Lilith... but who was the grim reaper they sent to battle? Renon knew he had no need to be worried about who the man was, but he couldn''t help but feel there was something both relevant and hidden within the event. He felt an exhaustion that was neither mental nor physical, but stemmed from daunting vertigo that clutched the deepest parts of your internal organs at the knowledge of some great daunting task that loomed before you. He tried to ignore this sensation.


    His thoughts eased as the wooden frame of one of the few doors within the establishment came into view. Lithe lips pulled thinner and slid up along the side of the male''s face in an appreciative smile. A softness, an unusual tenderness settled in the Businessmans eyes. The door contained the Library- his Library. A quiet room of knowledge and solitude. Unnaturally long pale fingers stretched out and fanned themselves against the carved mahogany, pausing for only a mere second appreciating the residual warmth of the mahogany in comparison to his domain of stone, before he pressed his weight into shoulder and cast the wooden barrier aside.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    It was like being drawn into the warm embrace of a long ago lost friend. Unnaturally bright jade hued eyes danced across every familiar surface of the ancient library. Tracing lovingly over the spines of books that lined the walls like huddling beasts, the titles not truly read but known from years of familiarity. A lithe chest pulled in a deep breath of air, filling itself to capacity with a pungent scent of old fabric and yellowing paper. This was, and had always been Renon''s guilty pleasure. A secret drive, a secret need, and a very secret means for the demon to keep his sanity. Renon had always taken a hand in adding, correcting and expanding libraries. His own, and others. Known ones and obscure forgotten tombs. Part of it was sheer egotistical narcissism. Renon was a part of history, an invading spider skittering across the shewn wed of time. But past this shield of vanity there was a deeper reason, a hidden characteristic beyond the flashing white charismatic smiles, and the mocking laugh of egotistical condensation. Because he is so involved in the developing history of countless worlds, he felt some indescribable obligation to record events and occurrences that he alone had witnessed, unraveling tales that he had observed from afar. If he did not record them, they would not be missed. They would not even be known. In their irrelevance Renon found a need to rescue them.


    The lungful of air was released into a dwindled sigh.


    But that was not why he stepped within the walls of his old friend. He was not here to write, to create, and to immortalize both himself and the happenings of the world. Today... today was business. Renon Uth Zhakrin was here to learn, well in reality, he was here to extract knowledge.


    Shrugging the long jacket off of his shoulders he draped it over the back of a chair that stood the only of its kind to be seen, near a long heavy and worn through looking wood table. He rolled his shoulders as though they were relieved of a great weight, and in suit without pause his fedora too moved from his body, catching a corner of the back of the chair, and draped sulkily there. Pale fingers smoothed through his dark hair enjoying the rare freedom it was allowed. He paced for a moment longer, with no other intention then prolonging the inevitable. His eyes ever turned back to the table, as though expecting some event to trigger. He touched the edges of spines to the walls of books. Each one a half forgotten, half remembered part of himself. Some brought smiles, others a distant haunted look. Each and everyone lightly touched him back. It was only when he reached the dark blue dyed spine labeled in scrolling silver Nall did his fingers recoil, denying contact. He then turned and found himself seated at the patiently waiting table.


    An elbow touched the surface, the arm leading to a hand that cupped the male''s jaw. His free hand rapped upon the wooden surface as he stared at the dark leather of a briefcase that laid anxiously before him. Yes, indeed, the table had been bare as the male paced the room, but at the vulnerable moment of an eyeblink did the case suddenly appear. Harmless, precocious, but prompting and expectant. Renon knew that the nature of his briefcase was one of serving him. Whenever he needed it, it appeared, with an eerie sort of life of its own. This has always been the case for as long as the businessman could remember. There were times- times like these, where Renon couldn''t help but question who was forced  to fulfill the wanting actions of who.  If a servant -who you know you have power and influence over- begged you to give them some task so they feel valued, and you feel obligated to fulfill this action, did the master not lose power? He shifted his weight and the hand that propped up his jaw, and the one tapping in rhythm on the table switched occupations. He realized that his thoughts were dancing upon dangerously unpolitical boundaries. He spared himself the philosophy, it was after all, just a briefcase.


    Clink, clink. He unlatched and opened the case and gathered the containing papers within. He shuffled through them quickly and easily, his eyes dancing over the heading descriptions;  Baphomet the Beast, head of the seventh realm, the Caves of Cocytus. Azazel the King of Devils, head of the sixth realm, the Mighty Malabolgia, Belial the Lord without Master, head of the fifth realm, the City of Dis. Leviathan the Sea Serpant, head of the fourth realm, the River of Styx. Renon Uth Zhakrin the BussinessMan (Renon Smirked), head of the third realm (third realm), Satan''s Fables. Mara the temptress (that smirk faded), head of the second realm, Fluorescent City. Lucifer the Morning Star, head of the first realm, Obsidianus. This is where Renon stopped and drew out more papers.


    He drew his finger over the front page, a small photo paper clipped in the corner capturing the image of Lucifer himself. The page consisted of a maliciously laid out biography of the lord himself. Renon flipped these pages slowly reading forth, although he already knew all of the information quite extensively (another habit of his, researching), he gave the familiar information the attention one gives in hopes that they had missed something obvious. As he flipped, the small stack of remaining paper neither seemed to grow or shrink. He came across Lilith next, Lucifer''s.. right hand woman.


    This was the advantage of Satan''s Fables. Each head of each kingdom held its own unique ability. Lilith and Lucifer were immortal, even by demon standards. It was one of the prime reasons they were the undisputed powerhouse of the Lower Plane. Maya had... reincarnation.. and Renon, - a smile slid across the male''s face, the flash of white teeth growing like an unfillable crevice in the male''s face. Insanity toyed with the pulled muscles as the grin sweetened his amusement with ominience- Renon held history in the palm of his hand. Quite literally.


    He flipped another page that revealed more information about the Top Queens origins.


    Satan''s Fables had immediate and complete access to the history of any living being who had ever been in existence. Endlessly handy when researching one''s competition.


    He moved on from Lilith to others that the Top King and Queen held within their kingdom and within their power. His eyes danced gracefully from word to word, he knew that their former top assassin had recently... left their employment so to speak, he was looking for some sort of connection, some sort of explanation on who the new hitman that took down Ba¡®al Zeb?b was. Time oozed around him as his focus numbed any expansive thoughts. His breathing and flipping danced in an aggressive give and take, both leaping to breath the silence, but this too eventually yawned into a dull rhythm as the novelty of the hunt wore thin.


    It was only when the Businessman''s hands visibly began to tremble did the air seem to wake once more and prick with excitement. Jade eyes turned ever blacker as his pupils grew steadily, deep lines appeared in the pale skin of his face, that seemed (if it were even possible) to grow paler as time came back with impending force. He grew reluctant to turn pages, he grew reluctant to face an impossible reality. His hands stilled and he stared across his library, his sanctuary, his mind desperately numbing to fight back a traumatic realization.


    ¡°He isn''t here...¡±


    His voice sounded thick with disbelief. His eyes snapped down in defiance to the paper once more in defiant action to prove this can''t be the case. But Renon caught himself, and didn''t bother himself to loose the time to check the unmistakeable. He found himself at a genuine loss. He found himself sick. He stared, lacking what more to do from here. It had never occurred before, there was always information, they were always there. What did it mean? What could it mean? His thoughts clawed across possibilities that blurred into incomprehensible jumbles.


    The papers lowered from his hands. Brows furrowed, and lips twisted. There was only one other option left open to him


    ¡°I guess it''s time to make a housecall.¡±

 Chapter 3 – The Wager

    ¡°Well well, Look at what the cat dragged in; A demon of my very own.¡±


    Renon started in the presence that sat before him. It wasn''t her comment, it wasn''t her demeanor, it wasn''t even the fact that he had not expected to have been able to see the Queen of this realm so easily... it was what she was wearing. Or should he say, what she was not.


    The Queen of the realm, the single most influential female within the Lower Plane, sat before the Businessman in complete and utter nudity. Renon''s jade eyes cast to the side to consume the image of the entire room, finding himself searching, nearly desperately for some sort of reason, some sort of explanation. It was only when Liliths lips parted in smiling satisfaction did Renon realize too late that he had betrayed himself, and Lilith had won in her game.


    The Queen was nude, not to flaunt, or be sexual, but to dominate. Renon''s own smile broke forth with a low rumble of laughter. He shook his head in admiration. Only Lilith could turn nudity into strength. To be stripped, to be placed in the nude normally comes hand-in-hand with a sense of passive vulnerability. By all rights she should be the one in the room who is awkward, who is unsure, and therefore is in the weaker position. This cunning female dominates (without doubt) the entire room. Through her being perfectly comfortable and perfectly in control and most importantly in a position of power, anyone who enters her domicile for an audience is caught off guard, is unsure of what to do, is hesitant on how to react to such an unexpected and unusual circumstance. Lilith effectively transfers the sense of vulnerability through a sense of hesitation and uncertainty. Renon himself had stepped into the trap, and recognized it with a sense of admiration. In a brief few minutes she demonstrated exactly why Lucifer and Lilith have stood the tallest. It''s about power, of every kind.


    ¡°To what do I owe the pleasure, Businessman?¡± She prompted again, a hidden sharpness danced around the amused notes in her voice- a thorned rose, her body leaning forward, to express further perhaps that he held her full attention.


    ¡°The pleasure is all mine Lilith¡± White teeth flashed as Renon''s smile grew, his eyes unabashedly drawing over her naked form. It wasn''t that her form was particularly attractive. The flesh was a pale hue, that took on undertones of unusual reds, the color of ochre under snowfall. The effect wasn''t altogether pleasant. The flesh told of hints of youth and bountiful roundness, though between muscles and tendons crevices were beginning to form. A hollowed out effect. That wasn''t to say there weren''t pleasant swells as well. Whom should feel awkward in whom''s presence was suddenly a battle thrown up in the air. Not a battle of who can gain it (as most battles are) but a battle of whom can force it on the other. Lilith sought to dominate through awkward air, Renon intended to push the limits of this control.


    ¡°No doubt.¡± She retorted simply, self assured.


    A strong brow arched in questioning demand. She either choose not to participate in Renon''s battle of wills, or simply put, was far too out of his league to even note the challenge. The muscles along her angular jawline tensed and untensed as though she moved to speak and bit back some hidden word. Her eyes a pale cream color, moonlight upon fields of hay, stared unwaveringly at his every action. Renon walked towards her still in long even strides making his way across the expansive room for which the two bantered back and forth. He couldn''t help feeling like he was put to shame. Although the inner structure of the Obsidianus'' realm with similar to Renon''s own cement and metal, there was grander, Renon always chilled to have to enter the realm- though that could be due to the King of the realm alone. A mouse invading a lions den.


    He was in Lucifer''s realm but that was not who he had sought out. Though Lucifer indeed would be the best able to answer his questions, there was an undeniable logic behind not exposing yourself, unarmed, to a more capable rival. Renon would not abandon his cause however, that is why he was there to speak with Lilith.


    Lilith was the ''companion'' of Lucifer- if a demon could have a so-called partner. The idea was taboo, scoffed at. But again, who would mock someone strong enough to make any mocker deal with the repercussions? Renon understood the complexities of holding another demon dear, and wished the lord all the best, and good luck.


    Jade eyes cast to the side as he observed the room that was like any other part of the Obsidisanus realm, as pitch as the night and as unmoving and unchanging as those who own the realm. The room stretched out before him like an organic growth of a large throne room- how modest. It was incredible the extent of the detail carved into the black obsidian. He found himself caught up in the details. The large throne that Lilith sat upon, polished black that curved as though great black tusks hatched to form a seat. A black bed of thorns. Even the wall hangings that stood unstirred by any breath of air held every detail. No image marred the polished banners, creating a black mirror that caught a replica of Renon''s moving form but grotesquely deformed it, mocking his image. A sour taste touched his tongue.


    The realm forces you to hear only your own breathing, smell your own scent, hear your own heartbeat, and look at your own twisted image. Each immaculate detail whispering of life, but offering only inanimacy. Even the grass across the large lawn Renon had to cross were detailed in their own little erect blades of black. His eyes instinctively followed his thoughts down to his dress shoes. He could still hear the sound of the small shrill screams of splintering glass that had marked every foot that pressed his eight into the thousands of beautifully formed obsidian blades of grass that blanketed the front lawn of the Lord and Queens castle.


    ¡°You owe me a new pair of shoes¡±


    A chorus of laughter broke the silent air, as chill as the sound of shattering glass. Renon had amused her. ¡°Vanity thy name is Renon. Is that why you''ve come then? To demand new shoes of me?¡± Her eyes fell to the scattered marks that marred the polished black of the Businessman''s attire. ¡°Next time despite your interest in my residence, pay attention to the ''Stay Off Of Grass'' signs¡±


    Jade eyes winked in response from behind dark shades. ¡°Never could listen to signs.¡± A grin touched his lips, but like a wave fell just as abruptly to sober.  ¡°But I''m more interested in your lakes¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Lilith''s face notably grew grim and dark. Her sharp mind picks up all too quickly the implication behind his words. The battle, the silent feud that was supposed to go unnoticed on Obsidianus'' grounds, had not.


    ¡°Ah...¡± She said simply ¡° I see¡±


    There was a moment¡¯s beat before Liliths legs untangled from before her and she quietly rose to her feet. The action wholly silent, she pulled her shoulders back in a quick motion to ease the muscles in her back. Her eyes had for the first time moved away from Renon, they had grown tactful, pensive. Her expression is as still as ice. Her emotions and any sort of inner turmoil not betraying her. She was clearly unsure of how much Renon knew about the situation, but his visit had suddenly become relevant to her.


    After a moment she stood. Her form stretched out, square and unintimidated. A light hissing accompanied her stillness. The sound danced about her feet, where bare flesh touched polished black glass. Steam curled in licking tongues about her feet, rings of moisture slowly spanned out in condensed circles, like  there was some great heat radiating from her body. She stood poised, but unmoving still, not backing down, but not giving anything away. A tiger, tensed in reeds.


    ¡°There was someone-¡±


    ¡°-Who?¡±


    She cut him off sharply, as soon as the words had slipped passed his lips. Her voice was as dangerously sharp as a blade, the glint of metal reflected within her eyes. Renon realized his mistake, and his expression contorted, his lips twisting in disdain. Renon''s playful air had been torn from his lungs.


    ¡°Oh what''s this?¡± A tone that were lovers between amusement and mocking stole upon her words. ¡° Renon Uth Zhakrin, The silver tongued demon,¡± she paused and considered ¡° the gentile businessmen,¡± she cast him a poignant look ¡° the Faller of Angels,¡± here all pretense was dropped and she laughed openly at the joke of her words once more ¡°doesn''t know something?¡±


    He gave her her moment, and bore her flaunting. He treated her humor with abruptness.


    ¡°You know it''s more than that.¡±


    She sensed the air had changed, and offered him an honest nod at the sincerity of his words.


    ¡°Yes¡± She made sure she had his gaze ¡°Renon can''t ''look up'' someone.¡±


    His lips twisted further, stealing the alluring features from his face. His abruptness deepened leaving the taste of anger upon his tongue.


    ¡°Who is he?¡±


    ¡°Oh but you must know Renon, you can''t get everything for free.¡± She shrugged off his souring demeanor.  ¡°If we all just got what we wanted, I wouldn''t be top dog.¡± A simple wink punctuated her words and she began to move towards him in slow long drawn out strides. Each time the obsidian beneath her reacts and halos her feet with warm moisture, each slow step causing her body to sway side to side like a cobra preparing to strike.¡° I think we can have fun with this-¡± She glanced at him side-long ¡°You and I...¡± there was a whispered suggestion to her words that caused the guards within the room to refocus on the conversation unfolding. She came to rest before him, standing a hair closer than comfortable personal space deemed. ¡°Wouldn''t you like to have fun with me Renon?¡±


    ¡°Fun with you, is never the sort of fun I''m looking for, Lilith¡±


    Her lips pursed for a moment as she regarded him, obviously off put by his answer. She shrugged, as though she figured he was the one to have missed an opportunity and once more the air between them shifted.


    ¡°Regardless, here is what I propose.¡± Her tone fell to the same blunt nature that deemed business was now the focus.


    ¡°You want to find out who this mystery man is.¡± She arched a brow in quick double-checking that that was what he had come here for. She continued ¡°Well, I don''t want you to find out. I''m rather fond of him, you see, and he does his job well-¡± The same mischievous look that she had just cast upon Renon returned, but her focus was no longer on him. ¡° -very well.¡± She purred the sentence. ¡° Neither do I want you to figure out who he is¡± she paused refocusing her eyes on him, wanted to view his reaction to her immanent insult ¡° nor do I think you can figure out who he is¡±


    Renon bristled at the comment. Satan''s Fables had built its power on being able to figure out who people were, and most importantly why they were relevant. But more so than that, Renon prides himself in being clever enough to gain this information without his company. It was one thing to insult his business, it was another thing to threaten his capabilities.


    ¡°I''m going to wager you''ve grown too saggy around the midsection to do your former self justice- let alone surpass it.¡± Renon''s hand subconsciously moved to his side, despite the insult being non-literal. An assumption based off of the fact that Renon was now successful within Satan''s Fables? Does being a dog make you more battle ready than being a master? His mind yearned to loll over her words, but there was something of great deal more importance to her words... or I should say, a lack in her words.


    Carefully calculated, he responded with a simple: ¡°I heard no wager there.¡±


    Carefully considered she clarified her challenge: ¡°You will never figure out who that man was¡±


    ¡°And the prize..?¡±


    Here she paused, and displeasure touched her expression. Renon spotted it, and recognized it immediately. He had until recently been under the foot of another. Even with the illusion of freedom and power, it still had a leash, and on the other end a commanding hand. His face tore into a wild grin, a maddening satisfaction that although she still held more power then him, there was something he now held, that she could never achieve. Answering to no one.


    ¡°You''re baulking now? Not able to put your money where your mouth is Lilith?¡± He struck her where she was weakest. ¡° You know there is one thing and one thing only that could tempt me.¡±


    For the first time her face betrayed every conflict that gripped her mind and chest. Internal torture ran havoc with her expressions. Her hand moved to her heart as though to support it, and give it strength. She was not the head of this realm, she held nearly equal power, but ultimately she answered to Lucifer. She was at a crossroads, she knew either herself, or her loyalty would have to give.


    Something did give, and as quickly as she had shown a moment of weakness, she burned alive the  hesitation with a thronging fire, a sudden wild disobedience, and a look of defiant individuality... the look of a dog biting the hand that feeds it.


    ¡°If you fail, as I suspect you will, then your position in Satan''s Fables will be forfeit. Obsidianus will absorb it, and it will be no more. To prove that you have succeeded in discovering who my mystery man is, you will have to kill him as proof. That is the only way I will fully believe that I have underestimated you. If you succeed at this-¡± Even through her strength of character her pause here betrays a flinching sign of hesitation. If she did indeed pause out of doubt of her choice, it never showed in her voice. She spoke with the commanding force of a Queen.¡°-I will relinquish Obsidianus to you, and Satan''s Fables will effectively absorb it and be the undisputed dominant force in the Lower Plane.¡±


    ¡°There is a catch to this.¡±


    ¡°Undoubtedly.¡±