Twizinator
One Thousand Club
Zelena sighed; has Dystopics always been like this? Unfortunately she knew the answer was yes. She knelt down next to his head. "You, sir, have had entirely too much drink. That, and you are causing quite a scene." She wondered to herself just what had caused Dystopics to appear in the public eye. Had he simply gotten bored? Perhaps, but she had a feeling that the wheels of fate had begun spinning anew...
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The carriage was now disappearing into the distance, the driver eager to get himself and his hellhounds as far away from the Wastelands as possible. It was getting dark, and Makos and Mi'Kiri still had the entire Wastelands to traverse, treacherous land of sand and stone. Barely dust remained in these forsaken dunes. In the distance, a red-orange star glowed just above the horizon. No, this was not a star; it was the fiery peak of the volcano.
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Urutel dismissed a particularly boring document with a flick of his wrist, sending it into a pocket dimension with a plume of flame as goodbye. The day was drawing to a close, and he wondered if his benefactors had managed to get themselves killed by whatever haunted that volcano in the Wastelands yet. He knew better than to expect them to stay away, especially Mi'Kiri. That's why he specifically mentioned it: out of all the demons he had at his command, those two had the best odds of actually surviving, and he was hoping they could enlighten him as to what exactly was causing the disappearances in that area.
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Izaya, meanwhile, was engrossed in his work. Word travelled fast, and the man named Dystopics was a subject of great interest to the Archangel. He was poring over historical documents that he had...acquired...from demons here and there, these being particular details of the ancient being's creation. His nigh-immortality, and the cause of it, was something Izaya wished to study in great detail.
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The carriage was now disappearing into the distance, the driver eager to get himself and his hellhounds as far away from the Wastelands as possible. It was getting dark, and Makos and Mi'Kiri still had the entire Wastelands to traverse, treacherous land of sand and stone. Barely dust remained in these forsaken dunes. In the distance, a red-orange star glowed just above the horizon. No, this was not a star; it was the fiery peak of the volcano.
---------
Urutel dismissed a particularly boring document with a flick of his wrist, sending it into a pocket dimension with a plume of flame as goodbye. The day was drawing to a close, and he wondered if his benefactors had managed to get themselves killed by whatever haunted that volcano in the Wastelands yet. He knew better than to expect them to stay away, especially Mi'Kiri. That's why he specifically mentioned it: out of all the demons he had at his command, those two had the best odds of actually surviving, and he was hoping they could enlighten him as to what exactly was causing the disappearances in that area.
--------
Izaya, meanwhile, was engrossed in his work. Word travelled fast, and the man named Dystopics was a subject of great interest to the Archangel. He was poring over historical documents that he had...acquired...from demons here and there, these being particular details of the ancient being's creation. His nigh-immortality, and the cause of it, was something Izaya wished to study in great detail.