To the Victor goes the Spoils

Authors note: I own nothing!!! wwaaaaa!!! :( oh, and P.S. reviews make the world go round, AND make me update quickly!


Hell was not quiet this day, from the moment the reds of the demon’s eyes opened on the rotating form of Leviathan… it was begun.

Hell was loud, and alive. The souls given temporary reprieve from their captors tried to ignore the shrieks, moans, and deep, guttural sounds of the Cenobites. This did not happen at any special time, it was unknown what triggered it, or why. Cenobites, creatures primarily of Pain, and demons, who were by nature primarily pleasure, often kept distance from each other. But every now and again, on a day like this, they did more than simply interact, they courted.

Zipe Topec raised his head from his silent contemplation, hearing the sound of the day, sensing its meaning. Not far of came the sound of blade on blade, the thump of forms grappling for supremacy.

They were not fighting for a soul or a territory of their own, such things were shared between demon and cenobite, and the assignments of souls to cenobites was set in stone. No, they were fighting for a demon queen.

The demons were not made; they were born in the labyrinth. They had spawned in these walls long before the idea for cenobites even entered the Gods mind. Back in the days of Behemoth they had been the lords and ladies of hell. Not so now. Few were left, almost all had fallen during the battle between the two gods, and many had followed Behemoth when he was cast out. A cenobite could exist forever, so they liked to believe, but deep in their making all knew better. Still, all wanted to leave their mark, to leave an indication that they had been there, that they had existed, mattered, been needed. Perhaps this pointless need was a remnant of their former humanity. After all, the creatures of the flesh world were always trying to leave their mark. Regardless of the origins of the strange desire there was only one way to satisfy it, to sire.
Demons do live forever, unless they are slain. You would forever be remembered by the one you had bred, the child you had spawned. This was a lure to many, it had tempted over time incessantly. Topec had wondered more often than not what the point of it was, why Leviathan allowed such chaotic outbursts. He understood now. The order was there, just a little harder to find than one might expect. These fights kept the Order of the Gash in check, and insured that only those worth continuing made it from year to year. The sound came again, and a clanging of blade against gristle. It was probably over.

Not far off a younger cenobite watched Topec with eager eyes. It was his third year, still a baby by hells clock, but in his own time he felt a god. He was not in the Order, you had to fight your way into that, and the competition was murderous. He wanted to be recognized, to be considered for a consort to a proud demon bitch he knew. But it was impossible. She, like all her kind, had eyes only for the victors of the fights. But perhaps there was another way. Before him the king stag of the labyrinth stood, old, worn. He could take him, the young stag would by nature seek out the older. He was unafraid, to be fair he could not feel fear, Leviathan had not placed it in him. Just one pin, all he would need as a trophy, all he would need to be forever remembered for defeating the prince of hell. He crept closer.

Topec opened his eyes, and narrowed them. In front of him a cenobite stood, tall and high on his youth. His robes were cut in slashes to show of the redness of his wounds. His eyes were untouched, and grey. Thin wires had been inserted into his chin and through his lips, like a fish caught by many lines. A ridge of steel wire, like a wheel cut in half, ran back from his temple and disappeared into his scull, giving him a look like a cobra. He drew a blade, tossed it from hand to hand, and was still. A challenge? He was being challenged by this?! He stood a tad taller, showing his disgust. The other did not acknowledge the gesture and made a short, chuffing sound. An insult. Topec hissed lightly, his fingers flexed from a long dormant instinct. He no longer had the chains of hell. They were now in the possession of another cenobite, his chosen successor. But they called to him all the same, offering their strength, and skill.
The challenger chuffed again. Other cenobites and demons had come to stare. Zipe Topec was not challenged, ever. He had lived too long, seen too much, an unspoken under sovereign of Hell. His territory had stood untouched, his sacrifices to leviathan were the best offered, none but Exstapis, the present head of the Gash, had ever raised blade against him, it was not done. The two eyed each other, and all of hell took a breath when Topec drew blade.

The two began to circle, eyes closed, getting the feel of each other. In the crowd of gathered demons the first Order of the Gash moved to the front of the group, displaying their right to dominance. The female narrowed her eyes, looked from one stallion to the other.

The youth struck first, slicing out with his blade, Topec grabbed the hand and pulled it past him, swiping around and running his own blade over the leather of the youth’s chest. A warning, never let your guard down around me. Cautiously he drew away, judging Topec again before rushing back, one blade in each hand as he attempted to imbed both in either arm. Once again Topec evaded him, pulled further back to widen the circle. A sound of approval from the masses as one of the swipes the youth sent the older cenobites way sliced through robe, leaving a gash in the fabric. They had both now warned each other, first blood would settle the score.

Topec crouched, then leapt, his first move of true retaliation.
He feigned left, and then swept his blade right into the side of the youth. (Agonis) Topec blinked as he pulled away from the uppercut. (This is Agonis, the one you had forged for his spirit.) The youth charged him at the front. Both of Topec’s blades hit their mark, and Agonis staggered, but drew the strength into himself to drive his blades through Topec’s hands, ripping them to strips. Topec pulled swiftly away, stunned. (Ah, life’s little irony’s…) he tried to move them. Useless. They could grasp only faintly, and would never support the weight of a blade against flesh. Crippled, the boy had disarmed him! Agonis slammed into him, sending his into a wall. Topec struggled to rise but Agonis was on him in an instant, forcing a blade into his side. Topec tossed his head in pain, kicked out hard with his free leg. Agonis flew backward and hit the ground on his ass.
Black ichor ran steadily from his wounds, but Topec forced himself into a crouch, pain was pain, but he was running out of time. With fumbling fingers he pulled a blade from his belt, braced it against the wall and made an incision in the front of his boot. Agonis rose, angry as hell. Topec turned the blade, used the wall again and forced the hilt into the small hole, leaving the blade free. Agonis drew two more blades and changed him.

All of hell was watching as the space between the two grew smaller. As Agonis reached the last ten strides Topec leapt to his feet and ran. Hobbled as he was by the hilt of the blade under his foot he shot out from the corner. And as Agonis turned to face him, blades held high he reared, rose up upon his one good foot, and brought the other sailing around…

Black splashed the floor, ran from sliced wrists, another spurt as the blade cut across ankles; again it came, slicing through the throat. Agonis reeled backward, the last thing he saw was the stained blade in a stained boot going across his eyes. Strength faded to nothing the youth fell. He twitched horribly in his spasms, clawing the ground feebly and leaving bloodied fingerprints in the dust. Zipe Topec, lord of the labyrinth under leviathan looked down coldly upon the fallen cenobite, raised his boot above the throat, and brought it down hard.

A sultry Queen emerged from the group, circled Topec a moment, and lowered her head, knelt and laid her cheek against his palm. She was his for this day; his to do with as he pleased. a glimmer of red flashed through Pinhead's eyes as he let his fingers stray around her throat. To the Victor go the Spoils.

"In next chapter we'll see what Topec decides to do with his (Queen)
hence the mentions of the types of sex at the summary.
hehehehehe! i'm so evil!"