The Coming of Syn     Thousands and thousands of them, clutching at what would be, what should be, their bodies, doing anything they can to stop the eternal burning.  Hundreds of them at a time claw at each other trying to reach the sides of the fire pits just to make one more attempt to climb out of their eternal torment.      As they climb and scrape at the edge of the pits, fighting for air they cannot breath in the Abyss, the presence of one forces them all back into the flames.  All but one unfortunate enough not to see her, and cower under her gaze.  She stands over this creature, watching it futilly slither on it's front, smiling at the fact that she and she alone allows it to escape the pull of the flames.  As it breaks free, it gasps and pants at the thoughts of freedom, freedom it has not known in decades, maybe centuries.     It then begins to whimper as it opens up what used to be its eyes, allowing it to see her, smiling with that wicked smile it has come to fear more than the fires of Hell itself.  It struggles to make it to a standing position, wobbling, then breaks into a full sprint, leaping and diving into the safety of the molten hell, away from her.     Inches from his eternal home, his neck constricts tight, his eyes open wide, and his body snaps back up the chasm, at the end of her whip.  He lands in a crumple at her feet, whimpering, begging, and pleading for some degree of mercy, only to be muffled silently by the step of her boot on his neck, pinning him fast as she wraps her whip.  She unfolds and stretches her large leathery wings out, exposing a single belt around her waste, her only wardrobe, to return her whip to her side, next to her black ebony bladed sword.  Then she returns her wings around her shoulders, covering her frame, and bends down closely to the sobbing mass under her foot.        "Why must you cry so much?" she asks. "Don't you find me..... appealing?  Am I not pleasant to look upon?  Am I not worthy of your gaze?"        The tortured soul only began to scream more.  He feared this game, knowing that no matter what his answer, it would be wrong, and only infuriate her.  Such is the way of things in the nine hells.     The abrupt roar of another fiend, followed by a wall of hot wind, then a crash of fire only a few feet from them, took both their attention.  As the flames began to clear, another of the Dark Lord Nicodaemus's generals appeared.  This was Faulk, a lumbering muscular male, bald, wearing nothing but a leather loincloth, sporting a bone club, littered with remnants of blood and innards dripping off the end at all times, even when he had not been using it (which wasn't often).     Faulk never truly appeared to ne anything but angry, but this time, he was obviously enraged.  He stared directly at Syn, daring her, challenging her to be so bold as to remain in his domain.  She stared back at him, non-chalantly, as if waiting for him to do something.      Finally growing tired of the game, she began to speak.  "What do you want Faulk, can't you see you're interrupting us?"     His eyes grew wide, actually surprised.  All of the shadowy denizens, as well as some of those burning in the great lake of flame, stopped to listen.  Noone ever dared speak to him, let alone call him by name, except for the Darklord himself.  But.....     He drew forth his club, standing only a few feet from her and pointed it shaking it at her with every word, trying to maintain his composure.  "You rule your plane as you see fit.  Noone may interfere but our Darklord himself.  This is our law.  Our law also forbids you from coming hear unless summoned by ME! its one and only true ruler!  You will leave now, or feel my wrath!"     She took her foot off of the creature's neck, allowing it to scurry back a few feet from the volatile situation.  Syn smiled, "You want me to feel your......what?"     Enraged, the club came at her in a visiously quick overhead arc, burying itself into the ground where Syn had been only a moment before.  His eyes darted left and right, looking for where she had gone. After realizing that his whole realm had been watching he chose to capitalize on the moment with a speech of his ominous presence.  "Noone defies Faulk!  Not even another of the Darklord's Generals!  Everyone cowers from my wrath!  Now all of you will......     His feet having been pulled out from underneath him, he was now on his face, by the side of the molten lake.  No sooner could he pick up his face to look behind him, when the long fingernails sunk into the back of his skull, forcing his head into the lake, burning his face horribly.      Faulk tried to realize what he had done wrong.  He struggled at the strength of this one, but could not overpower the grasp.  Only the Darklord himself could overpower Faulk, but what had he done wrong?  What had he said wrong?  Why was the Darklord doing this?     Finally, his face was pulled up from the lake.  He turned, forcing his dark powers to meld what was left of his head back together.  When his eyes and ears were on the mend, and he could hear and see.  He looked up, looked into Syn's eyes, who was shaking a finger at him, smiling wryly.  "Don't ever swing that thing at me again."     Faulk continued to look around for someone else.  It had not occurred to him that anyone other than the Darklord could be stronger than him.  Not here, not on his own plane, where the suffering of the damned all around him amplified his powers and his alone.  Until something else caught his eye, something that defied everything he had come to know over the past few millenia.     The long silver fingernails on Syn's hand, the finger she had just chastised him with, had blood on them.  His blood!     But this could only mean one thing.  Something that no general, no demon, no power would ever defy.  The only true and sacred law in the nine hells.  Every demon knew, if it were to seek more power, more knowledge, it was a threat to be answered by the fiends.  If the fiends grew too strong, then they would answer to, (and be destroyed by) the generals.     But if a general were to step beyond their scope of power, if one were to grow strong enough to defy another general, in their own plane, at the peak of their power, then that one was now growing too strong, and could only be intent on challenging the Darklord himself.     There could only be one Lord to rule Hell, and Baulk had to move quickly, before all was lost.     In there own planes, each ruled differently, bringing about suffering in their own way.  One of these generals, Morkai, allowed his tortured souls to feel disease, rot, and most often, hunger.  Hunger was his favorite, as he could not only amplify it, but enjoyed the games he would play on those around him.  He would often times gorge himself at a meal, only to throw some scraps to those watching around him.  As they would grab and fight amongst one another, eventually someone would make off and run with the food.  It was then that as they tried to bite into it, that Morkai would dispel the illusion, the feel, the smell, and laugh as they bit deep into a meer rock.  So cruel, yet so fun.....        Syn was quite different from all of the others, however.  She enjoyed the power over so many more than their pain.  Quick to anger, and brutal at times, she actually seemed fair to some.  This only served to enrage the other Generals, and alienate her from the council of nine.  To some, this would be her undoing.              She drifted quietly along the long, empty channel between Baulk's plane and her own.  It was here where she could feel the solitude to actually think to herself without any mental intrusions.  She had enjoyed playing games and pushing her limits from time to time, but today, she needed to know.  She needed to push her power to the limit, and see if it was enough to dominate another lord in their own plane.  It had been successful, and pleasing, but also, now she knew.  Soon, time would run out, and then she would have to answer to the one that she could not stand against yet.  Not even if she were to summon all her demons, all her fiends, all her underlings, would she be ready yet.  She had to get beyond His reach.

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