Splitting through the fabric of a field made to torch anything on sight, came to a small surprise. His business was going to be dealt with in more than one place, including the home away from the home he was stuck in. Formation of minerals and bubbling pits of aflame matter, shifted and exploded with each step he took. A domain fitted for any other ruler deemed perfect in its own grotesque way, welcomed him with open arms. So he thought. Mephisto’s entrance to Hell came on short notice when he was operating to move around a schedule since realizing his strength once again. The twenty four hours a day and seven days of the week since negotiating when he could be the operator of a new frontier had met it’s expiration. He gained his wit about himself. Huevos enlarged to maximum size, prompting much of Lyle’s worries or jittery nervousness to a place of insignificance there was no coming back from. Inhaling softly, he stepped over a crusty mummified hand. The bats flapped around, following about, forming above his crown.

Curiosity piqued as he thought about an urgent meeting. What did the Hell Lords want? Was it a surprise party? He loved parties and thought about Hela jumping out of a massive cake in nothing more than skin and a signature headdress. Singing Happy Birthday like the late Marilyn Monroe. He knew it was cliche, the guy was a walking cliche and his steps over tiles ragged by the sight of himself reflecting through pools of magma shown. Hand sought refuge through the inner pocket of his dinner jacket, revealing a smoke. It igniting seemingly on its own. Might as well consume as much as he possibly could before joining the poor bastards that missed him so much.

He pointed at the air and then the giant Spider crossing before him. Carrying a load of souls to their rightful destination. He acknowledged the diabolical cleaner. Howling through a crisp laugh. Tickled enough to listen to the captured souls shriek, cry, and beg of exemption to their final destination. The energy was beginning to feel different. It fit more cushy. Warmer to the surface than usual. Almost stifling and he was a fool for a malicious way of pleasure. As the route commenced to the meeting grounds, he adjusted his tie. Made sure he looked clean and well slicked like a sleaze. His signature coif tightened from the bed head Lyle usually awakened from. His humanoid features clear and red for the recognition. And a guard stood from at ease. Pitchfork clenched between its claws upon Mephy’s arrival.

"Good to see you, Hank. How’s the family doing? Good?"

The guard didn’t speak because a serious fanged overbite permitted it from doing so. Growling was preferred and it was understood more or less. The two locked their eyes quickly until the brutish minion waddled in a step aside letting the man of the very very very late hour go through the arched doors. Echoes of both gloom and agony echoed along the walls of the extended hall. Photographs and paintings in the aches of the wicked, hung along its walls. All of which were lords of hell. The former and current. Some who he had despised as much as others he all too fancied. It wasn’t until he grew closer to the rightful door. Another set of highly arched macabre doors that flew open to his charge. While he was expecting a grand party for a grand entrance, what he was surprised with instead, were a few celebrated faces, circled around a table.

"Hi guys! Let’s make this quick, shall we? I have a list of things to get ahead of. Make it good lady and gent."

As his invitation was more of a subpoena, the room did its diligence by deviating from it’s informal conference set up. A fire in the background flared and dance, spinning the room into an adjusting puzzle. He stood there, stroking the bit of fuzz against his chin. Waiting for the assembly of a choir or an audience to begin filling the audience. Old timey proceedings of a court ruptured through the ground and those circled around the table, rose with their growing seats. Higher and higher until dark eyes connected to his former servant, a former foe, a friend if you would believe Thog could have any, and the sexiest Faltine he had ever laid eyes on. Where his surprise was reserved until explanation, Mephy waltzed around the changing room. Nodding to the seats being filled by beasts and goblin spectators. Some who wore screen t-shirts with his face on it and others jumping around with boos hissing through the room.

He was motioned to have a seat and went against those said wishes. Not long after the questions of his less than humble appearance were rising at the bit of his lungs. Demanding to know why the circus wasn’t in order. All four looked serious, leering down with funny parliament style wigs growing out of their skulls, or so he imagined it. He imagined it. Actually he manifested it to their disapproving glares. It brought on laughs from the goblins and the former recording artists that had a quick trip to their hell. Pacing back and forth with his arms folded against his chest, he eyed the floor and took in much of his breath. Exhaling, an incantation bucked through the space from one area to another, cutting off the pig nosed leader of the foursome.

"Let me get this alllllll straight. I’ve been summoned here. Right here, for what? Tell me. I would love to hear this one." As he snapped his fingers, he took a seat on a chair, with a nice marble slabbed table appeared out of air scooting right up to him. He pitched fingers beneath his chin. Microphone adjusted as that too traveled from the ether to help project his voice around the sub roofed room and the Hell lords who seemed up to some funny business. They all were still looking a bit funny to Mephy, including the scowl marked in red by Umar. He waved and winked in her direction just as her own wig fizzled out in ashes. She was going to be a difficult one to crack but he saw Thog lay back holding his stomach laughing. Enchanted by the idea of all four looking their most ridiculous in the face of their threat that sat below.

It was Asmodeus who stood from his seat, behind the high rise benches and pointed his gavel right at Mephisto, doing so with conviction. He pointed away as if he was someone’s elder, or granny. Mephisto put on a pair of shades that were pulled from the same murk. Keeping the four stooges in his sights as just that, with the wigs on. Laughing, smirking while a list of their grievances were thrown in the air. Even an elaborate tapestry rolled down from the high rise bench, all of his so called judges reading down the list of offenses. And he realized while amused, that he was going to be there for what felt like eternity.