Bune went stiff and turned around, his middle head retracting back into his body with an embarrassed squelch. "Oh, you are awake already! I was trying to get the others to show some decorum."
Marchosias waved it off, his scarred, bandaged chest shifting as he spoke. "I can sleep when I'm dead."
"Is there anything I can get for you?" Bune asked, rushing to the side of the bed.
Marchosias's stomach growled loudly. He frowned, looking down at his abdomen. "No. I just need to get back to work. Like the rest of you."
Zac stood up from his cot, adjusting his leopard-print onesie. "I know I've got a whole busy schedule and everything, but I can't work on an empty stomach. How about dinner? Are you all as hungry as I am?"
The lieutenants immediately began boasting, their competitive instincts flaring.
"I could eat an entire Bicorn right now!" Skarg bellowed, his fiery tail lashing.
"I will dine on the souls of ten paladins," Nock said dramatically, adjusting his fedora.
"I'll eat whatever you two losers can't," Halphas squawked, pulling his hood down further over his pigeon-like beak.
Andras just huffed a smoke ring.
Zac looked over at Marchosias and smiled warmly. "You can't eat when you're dead, Captain. Let's get some food, Wolf Dadd... I mean, Captain."
Marchosias's lips twitched into what was almost a smile. He grunted and tried to stand up from the examination bed.
He put weight on his left foot, and his leg immediately collapsed beneath him.
He caught himself heavily on the edge of the cot, his amber eyes wide with surprise. He frowned, looking down at his knee. "That's odd."
The journey down to the dining room was quick even with March being forced to walk with a cane. Between nock and skargs arguing, Andras trying to mean mug the others, Bune offering to carry Zac piggy-back and Halphas talking the Captain's ear off about investing in a cubby-chud nuke launcher, Zac couldn't help but feel like things were finally getting back to normal after the battle.
Soon, Zac was sitting in the dining room, chewing on a waffle, watching Marchosias and the others devour their food like animals. The Captain was at the head of the table, his right leg stretched out stiffly beside him, eating a rare steak with methodical, focused violence.
Zac, however, was too busy thinking about how March walking with a cane was somehow incredibly sexy…
Zac was sitting on the edge of an exam table in a doctor's office. A grumpy, scruffy-looking Marchosias, wearing a rumpled suit jacket and leaning heavily on his new cane, limped into the room. He popped a handful of painkillers into his mouth, dry-swallowing them before glaring down at Zac.
"Why are you bothering me today?" Doctor March asked, his voice dripping with misanthropy.
Zac looked up, his eyes wide and innocent. "Doctor, I'm not feeling my best. I think something's wrong with me."
Doctor March rolled his eyes, resting his weight on his cane. "Why do sick people keep bothering me?"
Zac giggled, swinging his legs. "Oh, Doctor, you're so gruff and grumpy. It's charming."
Doctor March sighed, limping over to the sink to aggressively wash his hands. "Stop wasting my time and tell me what's wrong."
Zac blushed and looked down at his lap. "It's... my pee-pee. It's been hard for a long time."
Doctor March turned around, a dangerous growl vibrating in his chest. "Everybody lies," he sneered. "Prove it."
Zac grinned, hopping off the table and dramatically yanking his pants down. "See? Am I dying? Is it lupus?"
Doctor March growled, his amber eyes darkening with lust as he leaned in close. "I'm going to have to prescribe you with some hot and sloppy-"
Zac's dirty medical drama daydream was abruptly cut off by the heavy thud of the dining room doors swinging open… noone seemed to enjoy opening doors normally in hell.
Zac blinked, looking over. A pig-woman and a sheep-woman, both draped in heavy black robes and clutching wicked-looking pitchforks, marched into the room. They took up rigid, militant positions on either side of the open doorway.
"Hey, check it out," Zac mumbled around a mouthful of waffle. "Hell Gothic. Am I right?"
He looked around the table to see if anyone got his art history joke. None of them were smiling. In fact, Skarg, Nock, Halphas, Andras, and Bune were all suddenly standing perfectly still. Marchosias was struggling to his feet, leaning heavily on his good leg, his expression a mask of sudden, cold tension.
Zac looked back at the door just in time to see the pig and sheep women drop to their knees, bowing their heads low in absolute submission to the empty threshold.
A tall, elegant goat-man, wearing a sharply tailored, blood-red three-piece suit, slowly walked in.
The demon who stepped through the threshold was breathtakingly elegant. He was a tall, regal goat-man, his fur a sleek, glossy black. Twin spiraling horns, majestic and sweeping rose from his head, framing a face that was sharp, angular, and intensely intelligent. He wore a sharply tailored, blood-red three-piece suit that fit his lean, powerful frame perfectly. His horizontal, rectangular pupils swept the room, taking in everything with a cold, calculating detachment.
Zac looked around again. All the demons were kneeling. Bune rushed over, grabbing the fabric of Zac's onesie and desperately whispering that he must kneel.
"Why?" Zac asked loudly, chewing on his waffle. "Who's the satyr dude?"
"Shhh!" Bune pleaded, his four hands frantically trying to push the human down. "Just prostrate yourself!"
Zac stood his ground and stretched his arms wide. "Fine, fine. Although he does look a bit... horny."
Marchosias limped over with his cane and shoved Zac hard onto the floor. "My apologies, King Belial, this isn't what it-"
The goat raised a single, gloved hand. Marchosias went instantly silent, dropping to one knee beside Zac.
Zac looked around the room, finally putting the name to the face. "Oh, that's Lucifer's bottom bitch."
Bune fainted, both heads hitting the floor simultaneously.
Belial walked slowly over, his cloven hooves clicking rhythmically on the stone. He looked down at Zac and Marchosias, his rectangular pupils narrowing. "What did you just call me?" he asked, his voice a deep, resonant bass that vibrated in Zac's chest.
Marchosias looked up, his expression a mask of strained composure. "He said you were Lucifer's bottom bitch. I was unfamiliar with the term, but it means you are the most respected, the most trusted, the lowest of the Kings."
The sheep and pig guards looked over, their eyes wide with shock. Skarg sniggered from his kneeling position across the room.
Halphas whispered loudly to Nock, "Does that mean I'm March's bottom bitch?"