Surveying his infernal realm, Khraakklor G’orlath smiled a demonic smile. His enemies languished in flaming torment, and would continue to suffer until time itself came to its spectacular end. The only light was the flickering of flame, delicious flame.
Khraakklor’s phone rang. He reminded himself that he should really just leave it on the overworld, but he picked it up anyway. “Hey, this is Tayshaun.”
“Sup TayTay, you wanna go clubbing with us?” came Zach Randolph’s voice. “We are gonna get so blasted.”
Earthly delights did little to tickle Khraakklor’s fancy. But due to the distorted nature of time here in this place, he could get in a good few hours of soul-torture before his unsuspecting teammates expected him at the club. “You know it Z-man. Catch you later,” he said before ending the call.
Walking over to the pit of damned souls, he chose one that seemed particularly likely to scream in a satisfactory manner. Picking up the soul, given corporeal form by Khraakklor’s twisted evil rituals, he carried it over to the “river of shredding”, a perfectly clear river whose waters would cut a swimmer as if by a thousand shards of glass. The soul, no doubt sent here due to some minor transgression in her human life, screamed and wailed in unimaginable agony as she was dropped into the crystal current.
Watching her being swept away, Khraakklor smiled. That one never got old. Whistling a jaunty tune, he turned back to choose his next victim. Basketball, that was all well and good, but nothing soothed his mind more than being the judge of the damned, serving his overmaster Satan in all that he desired.