Host Sector Commandant:

Asmodian Lesser Duke of Hell, the one known as ‘Red’, I have no choice but to welcome you to the Holy City…

The Commandant, spat out the words, nose raised, yet all the while avoiding eye contact.

Red:

Uh, thanks.

Red towered over the Commandants ‘welcoming committee’, his cloven hooves hissing on the cool white marble floor as he stepped out of the Zeppelin gangplank tunnel into the plush reception hall.

Red:

Oh, and dude, that’s no longer ‘Lesser’ Duke of Hell - but whatever…

Red liked to ‘dandy up’ for special occasions. Accordingly, the sheer terror on the faces of some of the receiving attendants was likely due to the fact that this towering, hulking and handsome devil was dressed wig to heel in Gothic Lolita fashion. The contrast of this buff killing machine to the dainty lace and ribbons was just too much for one of the bell boys who started weeping and ran away.

Host Sector Commandant:

Your limousine and accommodations have been arranged. And there will be no tolerance for ill behaviour.

Red stretched, sighed, and looked around the lobby. Hard to believe, the war (for the most part) was over. A devil in paradise… poetic. He smiled.

Even stranger than that, he didn’t feel the least bit out of place. The surviving major Princes of Hell had signed the armistice a while ago. But given the scattered feudal nature of Hells politics, the surrender of Hell was not one, but many signatures. Red’s signature was one of the many required - and hey - a chance to play tourist in the Holy City.

Why more than one surrender signature? Sure there was Lucifer - but everyone in Hell had hated and disregarded him for the longest time. Nobody even knew (or cared) if he had survived the final battles around Arcadia.

Hell was always run by the Princes anyway. That being said, many of the most powerful Princes were destroyed at Arcadia by some unknown and catastrophic weapon the Holy Host had unleashed. Red, at his Castle-Chateau up in the Asmodean ranges of Hell, had seen some battlefield platinotypes that showed entire armies of Hell’s most fearsome forces turned to spirit-less cinder. No resurrect possible - permanently and forever gone. Shocking. Shocking that the damned lot of them didn’t stop to think an eternal war might eventually end that way!

Red was never interested in the war. To him, it was all a futile waste of time and resources. Besides, if you wanted a good fight, believe you me, regional politics in Hell constituted of more than elections!

Host Sector Commandant:

I trust you are aware that any transgressions of our cities laws will be most severely punished to the fullest extent of civic law.

Red:

Yeh yeh, I promise not to jay walk…

Towering, hulking Red curtsied in his dainty laced dress - tilting his bewigged head as he winked at the Commandant. The Commandant gasped and bustled off with his entourage.

Red:

So, here I am.

Red shook his head again, disbelieving the moment. This was not Red’s first time here - at least not in the purest sense. A long, long time ago, before The Fall (a time not known to the vast majority of today’s Angels and Demons), he had been here. But it might as well have been another place or forgotten dream. Everything would be changed… everything, that is, except his little secret…