‘Wait!’ cries Lilith, raising her hands in surrender.

Satan cocks the gun. ‘Wait so you can betray me? Did you think I was just gonna let you go after all this?’

‘Satan, don’t be ridiculous,’ says Beelzebub. ‘She got us these guns. She’s on our side.’

‘She was just getting close to us so she could stab us in the back!’ Satan says.

‘No!’ Lilith shouts. ‘I hate Abaddon just as much as you!’

Satan forces out a humourless laugh. ‘No one hates Abaddon as much as me.’

‘You haven’t met him,’ Lilith says, lowering her arms a pinch.

Satan grins. ‘Oh, but I did. He gave me three wishes then wasted two of them on insulting me.’

‘I meant the real him. In the Sheol.’

Satan aims down and shoots Lilith’s foot. She screeches and falls to the ground, clutching her wound in pain. Beelzebub jumps forward and grabs Satan’s wrist. His grip is cold and sweaty.

‘What are you doing?’ he hisses through gritted teeth.

‘I’m Satan. This is what I do.’

Satan can’t see Beelzebub’s eyes behind his glasses, but he can feel their glare.

‘No Satan does this!’ he says. ‘This is just a waste of resources! And for what? To nurse your ego?’

‘Beelzebub,’ Satan says, restraining his voice. ‘I’m about this close to shooting you too.’

‘You can have her be your prisoner, you can torture her, you can do whatever you want, just don’t kill her,’ Beelzebub pleads.

Satan takes a deep, long breath. He aims his gun at Mr Legion, who has spent the entire exchange in a state of confused panic, and fires. Mr Legion drops dead, a glowing wound in his forehead. Satan fires again and again, hammering Mr Legion’s body with bullets. Some hit the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, shattering them. Satan doesn’t care. Wind rushes in. The sky outside is still an uncaring abyss, held back by a furiously glowing red grid. Red light from the grid floods the hotel room as Satan fires again and again. The six-chambered revolver certainly holds more ammunition than it’s letting on. No one moves or speaks as Satan shoots Mr Legion’s flickering body into a pulpy goo. Eventually the pistol runs out of bullets and Satan throws it aside.

‘Where’s my army, Lilith?’ he asks.

Lilith is still writhing on the floor, but not in pain. She’s laughing. She climbs to her feet, clearly not bothered by the hole in her foot.

‘I can see why they all hate you,’ she chuckles. ‘You’re weak. Can’t even kill a lesser demon like me.’

A single, red line of light suddenly shoots from the corpse of Mr Legion and lands on Lilith’s forehead.

‘You just killed Baal, the king of the Plains of the Screeching Dead. All it took the DLF was some brainwashing and he became a perfect receptacle for Legion’s power,’ she explains.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

‘What…?’ Satan says, furrowing his brow. He blindly grabs a gun from beside him. A boxing glove on a spring. Great.

‘Abaddon’s boss wanted some way to make sure you couldn’t bring Legion into the Beach. So he captured its collective soul and locked it in a puppet where you couldn’t use it. Smart, huh?’

Satan pulls the plastic trigger, causing the boxing glove to sproing towards Lilith. She bats it away easily.

‘Aosoth and I were the backup puppets. Expendable time-wasters while Abaddon and the others worked on the real plan. If Baal got killed one of us would get the power he didn’t know how to use. Thanks for getting rid of Aosoth, by the way.’

Satan grabs another gun (an actual gun this time) and fires. Lilith swats the bullets out of the way like flies.

‘I’d love to stay and give you more of my life story, but the power’s just about finished transferring.’

And with that, a single bolt of red lighting streaks between Mr Legion’s corpse and Lilith, accompanied by the clap of thunder. The grid outside has grown in intensity. Everything is red. The shadows are dark and harsh. Lilith stretches. Her face has healed and horns have grown in. Without the melted flesh in the way, Lilith’s skin is scaled and grey. She smiles properly for the first time. With a friendly wave, Lilith vanishes in a bright red flash, leaving Satan and Beelzebub alone.

The two stand frozen for a moment. Wind rushes through the broken windows. The grid outside continues to brighten. No one speaks. Satan slowly walks over to the dining table and picks up a shotgun. He inspects it closely and thoroughly, making sure everything is in order.

‘Don’t kill her?’ he asks with a gentle smile.

Satan turns around to see Beelzebub creeping towards the room’s entrance. Satan holds the shotgun in one hand and fires, sending a spread of shots splintering into door. Beelzebub breaks into a sprint in the opposite direction, making for the window. Satan tuts and fires twice in succession. Carpet fluff flies. The glass dining table shatters, causing a mountain of weapons to fall to the ground. Satan grabs a rifle and starts peppering Beelzebub with it. A bullet cleanly burrows through Beelzebub’s knee, but it’s too late. Beelzebub leaps through the window. The fall won’t kill him. Only Satan’s bullets will. Satan growls and jumps out after him, gun in hand. After a few seconds of free fall, Satan lands on his feet with a bang, cracking the pavement in a circle around him. He grips the gun tightly, slowly scanning the area for a limping demon. Nothing. Satan turns towards the beach and starts walking. His breathing is soft and mellow. His fury is calm and still. He feels a little bit like the T-800. After a while of relaxed walking, Satan reaches the beach. Splashing through the water is Beelzebub. His black blood leaves trails behind him. The water is a bright red, reflecting the grid above. Satan feels like he should shout some kind of catchphrase, but he decides just to skip straight to the shooting. As he raises his gun, Beelzebub suddenly sinks into the water, vanishing without a ripple. Satan freezes, his mind playing catch-up. He lets loose into the ocean, refusing to let the trigger have even a moments’ break. All the bullets hit is water. As the initial blood-trail begins to fade, Satan drops the gun where he stands and wades into the ocean, desperately swinging his arms about in an attempt to find the Lord of the Flies. But he’s not there. He’s not there. Satan screams in rage. He splashes about like a toddler having a tantrum.

‘ARE YOU HAPPY, ABADDON?’ he roars. ‘IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?’

‘No,’ a thunderous voice replies from the sky. ‘But it will be soon. This is your new reality, Seven. The Sheol doesn’t want you anymore.’

Satan gives a final roar of frustration, then wades back to the beach. He picks up the rifle, holds it to his chin, and fires. If he can’t get what he wants in Winchward Beach, then maybe the real world will listen to him.

Archey Billiard woke up in a strange bed in a strange place. He had a splitting headache and he thought he might’ve grown another tumour in his sleep. He remembered his dream being exceedingly stressful, but the details eluded him. He appeared to be in some kind of leather tent. It was storming outside. Strange robed men stood around him. They seemed concerned. That was nice of them.

‘Ah, I see you have awoken, Lord Satan,’ said a voice. Archey turned to see a man with a horse head entering the tent.

Archey screamed in terror and wished he at least had Marmaduke with him.