Ardent Acolyte, we impart to you now the occult tales of Belphegor the disputer, the lazy, the prince of Hell and his journeys throughout the Creation! Girded in the provenance of wolf-skins and guided by his infernal moral compass, that which points ever south, Belphegor torments mortals. Join him as he confronts a multitude of humans, sorcerers, and diabolists all while serving the greater evil in the form of the Congress of Hell and the difficult times that plague the court of darkness!

Indeed, ardent acolyte, we converse now of portents most iniquitous. On this most unholy of nights Prince Belphegor stood before the congress of Hell and did bring to them an omen he hath divined using all those mysterious and superior powers reserved for the greater kith and kin of Satan himself. To those beings who peruse the infernal scribbles of the demonologies and other writings of the lower planes, it is a well-understood fact that upon certain confluences of mysterious and mystical energies the firmament of the hated Creator God that cleaves the eternal Abyss and the world of Earth apart will become weaker.

But it was the omen prince Belphegor found in lizard innards that brought him to the infernal court on the eve of one such confluence. Standing before endless ranks of the damned, he spoke in the grating tongue of such beings, imparting to them what he hath seen.

“Lo, compatriots most foul,” he said unto them in a voice more menacing than any weapon in the armory of the fallen angels, “I hath foreseen that tomorrow night a great peril shall befall one of our number. This peril strikes through the night’s revelry. It is certain that before the sun’s rays touch the ground two mornings hence one of us shall not be here.”

Ere the horned host had the chance to reply, a gout of bilious flame roared to life in the court. Springing down from his perch atop the throne leapt the devil himself. His black wings unfurled he spoke out to the crowd thus, “A pox upon such portends. My kin,” he intoned in a voice blacker than the lightless caves of Gehenna, “when we cast aside the yoke of the Creator we accepted a calling to danger, to death, and, aye, to great peril. Such a portent is not novel but rather a reaffirmation of our unholy mission. I am not afraid. I affirm my choice now, it is better that I am free in Hell than a yoked oxen laboring under the hand of God.”

His proud piece spoken, that most high of the number stepped into the flame and vanished. The fire flared high for an instant, and then fell back down to coals before it vanished altogether. Querulous diatribes rang from the rafters of the hall following Satan’s departure. Out of this din, Mammon with his pinched eyes spoke, “What else do your auguries impart? What might we do to avoid such a fate?”

Belphegor bowed low before his fellow princeling. Then with his forked tongue, he spoke once more. “We might do nothing and find our number reduced. We might do everything and find our number reduced. In all my nigromancies I have not a means to defy fate.”

Unsettled, Mammon returned to his chair. Then another voice spoke out. “We cannot reign in our celebrations!” exclaimed the sallow and pale Abaddon. “Tomorrow is the first night of Allhallowtide! We must partake. The firmament grows thinner even now, but will snap tight upon the rise of the sun the morning after. We must make merry, we must feast upon the sinners!”

“Aye,” murmured Asmodeus as he limped to the forefront on his cane. “At the parties I lurk, feasting on the Lust of mortals.” With a gesture, he pointed to Beelzebub the giant fly. “He must feast upon the Gluttony of mortals.” With another motion, Asmodeus indicated the rest of the crowd. “And so on. We all must feast upon sins and the temptations of man. It is our purpose and upon this night, we may strain the barrier thin enough to partake without direct intervention. We cannot simply stop.”

“I do not suggest such,” cautioned Belphegor. “To do such a thing may invite the very fate we would try to avoid. Rather, I suggest we separate upon this night. In doing so we limit the opportunity of our enemies to merely a single member of our demonic congress.”

Nodding in assent, Belial the perverse did then say, “Now such a thing is wise indeed. For we cannot stop this, yet it would be needless for others to share the doomed one’s fate.”

Struck dumb by worry the devils did finish their parliament early and descend back into the darkness that ensconced them. Each wondered if it were their fate to face upon the coming morning. For but a time as the scheming creatures stewed, the screaming halls of Hell were silent. But tempus fugit even for the diabolical. So it was ardent acolyte, that the quivering gave way to inward reassurances that the morning would not bring with it their own doom, but rather the doom of another of the cabal.

Anon, the first night arrived. Across the mortal world, families prepared ancient rites, carving pumpkins and purchasing candy. But the denizens of the black maw of Hell prepared with other rites and rituals. In truth, ardent acolyte, we fear to put them down upon these wizened pages. Corruption stems from them. We shall simply say that idle hands were put to the devil’s work.

For one such practitioner of these satanic rituals, the inciter of idleness Belphegor, the eve of Halloween brought scant relief. He pored over the pages of his curdled tomes seeking ancient devilry and secrets of fates. Again and again he cast auguries in different fashions. Throwing carved bones and disemboweling scuttling lizards to peruse in various ways the same message he confirmed and reconfirmed his original finding. All the while, the firmament thinned until the barrier of the Lord became almost paper-thin and the slavering horde of demons chomped at the bit for the cover of darkness and the final weakening of the gate.

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At the anointed hour, sulfurous scents traveled and congregated throughout Hell as Satan strode forth to the barrier. Finally, with great pomp, he smote the firmament. The rigid thing shattered and for a bare instant, it weakened from a wall to a sheet. In that instant, the horde sprung forth and with howls did go up to the land of the living.

Belphegor too traversed the gap, passing over the river Styx and the penitent fields of Purgatory. The further he went the fewer his companions until he and he alone strode further along the path. Rising upwards with a bellow, he burst from the ground and into the mortal world!

Belphegor cast about his eyes. Growling he said, “Whence have I arrived? What manner of place is this?”

To him came the freakish figure of a fellow fiend most foul. “Liberty City’s costume contest,” said the wolfish figure next to him. “I’m a werewolf. Personally, though, I think they’re going to pick one of the girls dressed up as Eldritch. It’s a little unfair, but the costume is a crowd pleaser.”

Belphegor strained against the firmament for a bare moment. The shackles of the Lord prevented him from interacting with the mortal world. Thus, he could not indulge in his infernal nature and rampage mercilessly throughout the crowd. Nor might he speak of things beyond the ken of those mortals uninitiated in the black arts. Instead, the great jowls of Belphegor replied to the child’s comment with a question, “Eldritch? What arcane force have these mortal occultists tapped? Have they stumbled upon the Shadows of Innsmouth or some other outer being?”

“Grrrr,” growled the werewolf. “I don’t know what you’re talking about mister. But your costume is great!” Then the werewolf became slightly confused and he said, “But… what exactly are you supposed to be?”

Belphegor turned to him and said in a voice darker than the maw of the nine hundred and ninety ninth circle of the abyss, “I am Belphegor, prince of evil! The disputer, the deadly sin Sloth, and one of the demons seated at the left hand of Lucifer in Hell!”

Yawning, the werewolf said, “Whatever. You could have just said demon.”

The imperial of indolence, Belphegor made as if to reply, but suddenly stopped to sniff the air. Then he growled and said, “Magic is here. Sorcery. This place stinks of it.”

“Dang,” said the werewolf, “that was a fantastic growl. You are seriously good at this costume stuff. I bet you must be drowning in sweat under all that rubber though.”

Whirling about, Belphegor turned to the human child and said, “Wolfling! I demand to know, what is the source of this magic? Who here can cast spells?”

Waving his hand in a wide gesture that encompasses the entire crowd, the child replied, “Take your pick. Pretty much everyone in an Eldritch costume can,” at this the child rose his paws and made air quotes that went unheeded by the demon, “cast spells.”

Hissing, the lord of loitering Belphegor lumbered forth to the first young lady sporting the trademark white getup. Then he said in a voice more foul that the vilest bit of necromantic ritual, “You are Eldritch?”

“Duh!” replied the girl in an irritated tone. Gesturing to her body she said, “Can’t you see in that costume of yours?”

Belphegor answered, “My sight goes beyond the mortal plane. To speak of what I see is to speak of the deepest secrets of Hell. Question me no more. Now, what is the source of your mystic power?”

“Ugh,” scoffed the girl. “Rude!” Then she said in a sassy voice, “Roleplaying gets you no points in the competition. Besides, your costume is terrible compared to Eric’s.”

Then she pointed to a tall man wearing nothing but tight leather pants and a pair of fake, plastic, fangs. As they watched, Eric swept a hand through his blond hair, exposing his bulging muscles and causing the girls looking on to swoon. Bringing his hand down, he ran it along his immaculate abs and then waved at some of the drooling girls.

Belphegor spared the Adonis a sidelong glance before hissing, “You do not smell of it strongly enough. The wolfman led me falsely. Who here is magical?”

Before the girl can answer, a voice rang out, “I am!”

Turning, Belphegor saw yet another girl costumed as the eponymous Eldritch Maiden. Before he had the chance to speak, the girl at his side said, “That’s your costume? Mine is so much better, it’s much more realistic.”

Frowning, the second Eldritch replied, “I think mine is a little more realistic than yours.”

Belphegor growled and said in a voice more authoritative than the speech of Satan when he hurled his glorious defiance to the hated Creator God, “I care not for such conversation. Tell me the source of your sorcery.”

The second Eldritch then said, “It’s just that my costume is far superior to hers. I mean come on, I’m-”

Cutting her off, the first girl said, “Lady please! I think I know what an Eldritch Maiden costume looks likes. I am a member of the fan club after all.”

Frowning, the other Eldritch responded, “Again, I think that I would know. After all I am-”

Irate, Belphegor swished his tail back and forth and shouted, “I care not! On this blessed night, a grave peril awaits one of my cohort. In your powers, I sense some resonance, some recognition, or some otherworldly connection to what I felt in my black auguries! You must impart to me the wisdom you have. Grant me license to scry this peril and delve this connection. In exchange I promise you wondrous and clever inventions that bring certain gold!”

Frowning, the second Eldritch said, “What on Earth are you talking about?” Then, a shocked expression ran across her face and she exclaimed, “Oh! You’re really… oh.” She considered the demon for a moment before she said, “Let’s talk outside, okay?”

Then she turned and began to weave through the crowd. Belphegor, in his glorious form, had no trouble following. Mortals that witnessed his hunched back, swollen belly, bulbous nose, and prodigious beard were instantly cowed and parted before his majesty.

Once out of the building, the pair absconded to a nearby alley. Staring one another down in betwixt the carved pumpkins and sculpted bushes of the city’s beautification department they began to speak.

What came from this conversation? Why ardent acolyte you know better than to ask such foolish questions! All will be revealed in due time…