Satan stood upon a twisted iron pedestal, the sky behind him a violent orange. In the distance, the main complex of his fortress rose like a spear, cutting through the horizon with a ferocity that demanded equal amounts of admiration and fear. The wind was howling and thunder brewed, yet the air was hot, dry and ashy. Satan had become used to the pleasant ocean breeze of Winchward Beach. He forgot how oppressive the atmosphere of the Sheol could be. Before him, arranged in perfect formation, weapons at the ready, stood the great army of Legion. Satan One had designed the brutal training regimes and barely attainable standards of fitness and discipline that made Legion what it was. Every Satan further down the line had simply added onto One’s creation with additional ranks and more advanced weaponry, without ever touching its core ideals. Satan Two had introduced warbeasts as mounts. Three had engineered siege weaponry. Four had added the rank of crossbow archers. Five had given Legion scouts, medics and other utility ranks. Six had introduced the spy regiment. Seven had done nothing so far. It was a point of shame for him, drawing criticism from those who had no fear of being cut in half. He knew he had to do something to Legion, but until now he hadn’t had the faintest idea what. Satan had been a soldier himself before ascending to his current status. He wasn’t cut out for careful planning and tactical decisions. He just fought. In a way, he was grateful to whoever Abaddon’s boss was. Now he had the opportunity to advance Legion in a way never before seen. After he killed Mr Legion, he could bring it into Winchward Beach; his own mind. No other Satan could claim to have done that. It would be Seven’s legacy. His claim to greatness. His proof that he was, after all, worthy of his status.

‘LEGION!’ Satan roared, his voice amplified by several enhancement pentagrams set up by the fortress sorcerers.

‘AT THIS VERY MOMENT, I AM UNDER ATTACK!’

That created a stir.

‘MY MIND HAS BEEN INVADED BY THE SPIRITS OF A SMALL BAND OF DEMONS, WHO INTEND TO KILL ME AND DISMANTLE THE RULE OF THE BONE THRONE!’

The tension from Legion was palpable. They didn’t quite understand what their ruler was saying, but they knew it was important.

‘I COMMAND EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU TO FIND THEM! FIND ABADDON! FIND MAMMON, ASMODEUS, ABDIEL, AZAZEL AND LILITH! SEND YOUR SPIES, YOUR SCOUTS, YOUR WARBEAST RIDERS! FIND THE DEMON LIBERATION FRONT AND KILL THEM ALL! THAT IS MY COMMAND!’

With that, Satan jumped down from the podium. He hoped he hadn’t left any details out. He didn’t need to be that specific anyway. The commanders would work out exact searching strategies and such. Satan just needed to make his desire clear. He stumbled slightly upon landing, alarming his personal entourage. Though Satan had been significantly weakened from his deaths in Winchward Beach, Orobas forcefully waking him luckily seemed to not have weakened him further. It appeared to be only dying could do that. A wide-shouldered, beastly demon waited for Satan by the bottom of the podium. Satan recognized him. Dantalion, Legion’s current reigning commander, second only to Seven himself.

‘Milord,’ Dantalion said in his slurred, deep voice, ‘Could you kindly elaborate on the nature of this… attack you are describing?’

Satan regained his composure and faced the demon He begun to explain in detail Winchward Beach and its mechanics and oddities, and how the DLF were controlling it for their purposes. Satan elaborated as much as could, but he decided to spare one crucial detail: that he visited the Beach in his own dreams. His entourage would never let him rest if they knew the risks involved. ‘There’s another one too,’ Satan added. ‘Their leader. I don’t know his name, but he should be with the rest. Make sure you get him too.’

Dantalion nodded. ‘Is that all, Lord Satan?’

Of course it wasn’t, but Satan nodded anyway. He had better places to be. ‘I’m tired,’ he said. ‘Prepare my bedding.’

Beezlebub isn’t waiting on the beach for Satan. This is concerning. Satan fears the possibility that Beelzebub is still trapped in the maze of locusts. To be perfectly honest, Satan would be perfectly fine with that, only Beelzebub being trapped down there would also mean he hasn’t successfully retrieved the weapons (if there were any, that is). First thing’s first: Satan needs to return to the hotel. Hopefully Lillith and Mr Legion are still there. If they are, then Satan can pull something together; some way to move forward. The entire time, his only real plan has been “destroy the DLF”, which isn’t particularly concrete. Everything else has just been improvisation under changing circumstances. Sure, Beelzebub might’ve gotten out of the locust maze just fine. He might have brought a truckload of magical demon guns with him too, but Satan can’t rely on that. He can only rely on Legion, but they can’t help him if doesn’t get the guns to kill Mr Legion, and he can’t get the guns to kill Mr Legion unless Beelzebub survived the locust maze. So Satan is relying on Beelzebub, in a roundabout way. Satan doesn’t know what to think. He walks the palm-tree lined streets of Winchward Beach so lost in his swirling thoughts he hasn’t even noticed the sky until now. Satan stops and stares. Had he really not looked up since surfacing from the sand? The sky is black; a complete and empty void, marred only by a faint red grid arching from horizon to horizon. It’s like nothing Satan has ever seen. It’s a darkness so deep he can feel his mind being entranced by it; pulled towards it. Satan gazes at the sky for a while, then shakes himself clear of the distraction and forces himself to look at the pavement below. Abaddon, or whoever’s in charge of him, is trying something. Was this because of the attempted raid on the bunker? Or was the raid successful and this is some kind of retaliation? Unable to stop himself, Satan glances skyward once more. The grid is glowing. The air is heavy and still. Unrelenting silence batters his eardrums. Satan breaks into a sprint. The streets are empty of fake citizens. The hotel’s only a few blocks away now. Satan reaches it, bursts into the lobby and hammers the button for the elevator. It arrives with a lone, echoing ding. Satan jumps in and smashes the button for the penthouse. He breathes a cautionary sigh of relief. Something was going to happen. Satan doesn't know what, but he knows it would. The elevator reaches the top floor with another ding. There's air conditioning in the hallway. Good. Some noise at least. Satan walks through the double doors to his base of operations, half-expecting Asmodeus or Mammon or Abaddon himself to be waiting. Instead there stands Lilith, Mr Legion, Beelzebub and a whole lot of guns. They line the walls, hang from the ceiling, cover every table and chair. Pistols, shotguns, rifles, bows, slingshots, rocket launchers, cannons, throwing spears, boomerangs, playing darts, boxing gloves on springs, shurikens, crossbows, a full-sized ballista leaning against the kitchen bench, and a hundred other types of ranged weaponry, all covered in the same elaborate red markings.

Satan blinks. ‘How did you…?’

‘I’m the Lord of the Flies,’ says Beelzebub. ‘The locusts didn’t touch me.’

‘Locusts aren’t flies,’ says Satan.

Beelzebub shrugs. ‘Lord of the Flies is a catch-all term. Lord of the Flying Insects is more accurate. Mosquitos, bees, moths, wasps, ladybugs, sparrows…’

‘Sparrows?’

‘Sparrows, fireflies, butterflies, cicadas…’

‘Okay, you can stop now,’ Satan interrupts again. He looks at the guns on the kitchen counter, a glint in his eye. Why did the penthouse have a kitchen anyway? Wasn’t there supposed to be room service? Satan ignores the pressing question and focuses on the guns. He picks out one he likes; a six-chambered revolver, and points it at Lilith.