Scales of War

Madmartigan's Journal: Book Three, page 9

Plop, plop. Sizzle, sizzle. That's the sound of a teabagged devil.

So we killed Dispater. He’s kind of had a hard on for us for awhile now, seeing how we keep interrupting his plans and roughing up his minions. I guess he figured he could get the job done. I offered him a chance to flee, more to save time than for any mercy towards a Lord of Hell, and he actually started listening to me. I’m not sure who was more surprised, the Men or myself. It was like I suddenly had all the right words in my head.
Of course, Dispater had to go and ask for the corpses of the skin golden dragons, which I figured Bahamut would be pissed about, so I said no and cold-cocked him. Our talks let me get close enough and I guess he didn’t anticipate me having quite the reach I do now that I’m all big and shit.
I squatted, plopped my balls on his head (singed some hair off, too. My man is muy caliente), and then started killing devils with reckless abandon. It was a real hoot.
He was tough, but Madmartigan’s Men & Ithyk were tougher. Duh. You’d think nobody had heard of us still. Oh well, it’s their strangling.



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