I'm back for a bit. Here's the second e-pro-logue.

Graz'zt stalked through the halls of his castle in Azzagrat, one of his three personal layers of the Abyss. His fortress, coterminous with all three layers at all times, was made up of ivory towers and other bits of decadence. This was contrasted by rather shabby or even broken pieces of work all around the castle. Graz'zt had contrasting tastes: while he enjoyed beauty and excess to the point of corruption, the Prince of Shadows surrounded himself with the scraps of lower classes. No one, rich or poor, lord or beggar, was beyond the control of Graz'zt.

His talons scraped as Graz'zt walked along the stone floor. All along the walls, mirrors shot the Demiurge's reflection back at him. These were portals into other worlds, and it was by great fortune that something came scampering out of one of the gates of polished glass. Graz'zt was in the dungeons of his castle, near the torture chambers and pleasure pits, which the demon often found were interchangeable. Normally the only things down here were his torturers, or the bodaks, undead who were animate remains of those that the Dark Prince killed personally.

But now a lone succubus crawled out of a mirror. She was slimmer and more petite than his usual concubines by far. Her skin, hair, eyes, and even nails were some darker shade of pink. She obviously had some kind of theme going wherever it was she was coming from. She froze at the sight of Graz'zt. The entrance she had come through was forbidden to most of the common folk of Azzagrat. Graz'zt slithered over to her in a second. He held her delicate face in his six-fingered hand. He enjoyed the abstract colors of their skin clashing. His libido stirred as he felt her warm body. Of course, the handsomest Demiurge in the Abyss could not recall a time when his appetite was anything less than tepid, but still…

Graz'zt let go of the pretty little thing's face and smiled at her. He trailed two of his fingers down her neck before he teleported her to a part of the castle where nobody could hear her scream later. "Business before pleasure." The King of the Triple Layer Realm said to himself as he walked away. Normally Graz'zt found a way of combining his work with his pastimes, but male prisoners were just no fun that way. Normally he would have just had this one executed, but for some odd reason the Dark Prince found himself in the mood for splattering a helpless fool's blood, painfully and slowly.

The huge, adamantine doors opened at the command of Graz'zt. A pool of coldfire (magical fire so hot it freezes) surrounded an artificial island in the middle. The room wasn't intricate, and the coldfire cast blue light on the walls. A bridge, guarded on all sides by massive golems, stretched to the atoll in the middle of the lake. The prisoner was shackled in the center, his feet, hands, and mouth restrained so he couldn't cast spells. Abat-dolor, a race of demons created by Graz'zt in his own image held spears and encircled the prisoner.

Graz'zt stood in front of the prisoner, his emerald eyes glowing. He snorted, "Pathetic. How small you look now, so weak, so humble. Staring at your pitiful form, I feel as if your weak body is so soft by now that I could squish it between my fingers like jelly."

The prisoner said nothing. "I imagine you thought you were so powerful, so strong with what you stole from me. Tell me, how many nameless dregs did you conquer with my weapon's power? Not enough to save you, obviously. To think, my own, son, so weak, so stupid. Believing that he could steal Doomshadow's little brother, Umbrancor, and that he would escape. The idiocy astounds me."

Graz'zt summoned Umbrancor into his left hand. Long ago the thief kneeling before Graz'zt had stolen one of the twin blades, and it had faded from memory that Graz'zt preferred to carry two swords into battle. Now he could resume the more efficient carnage. The King of Lamias smiled, showing his yellow fangs, "And what fortuitous circumstances! To think that it was your own half-sister that brought you to me, that beat you to your knees. How long did you perpetuate that lie, foolish one, that façade that you were her father? Sixteen years, Trigon. Sixteen years you worked so hard on taking one of my treasures from my hoard. And then, she sent you here." Graz'zt chuckled. He said to the bound demon, "Laugh, my son. Laugh. Because for the next few decades you'll have to laugh to keep yourself from crying. And I don't want to have to stop the fun just to dry my hands of your tears."

Trigon remained silent. "Very well, than you chose your fate." Negative energy crackled from the six-fingered hand. Graz'zt placed his hand on Trigon's face and began the tortures. Pleasure, pain; it didn't matter to Graz'zt. All screams were delicious that night.