Meanwhile,
"Hm…"
While Rita and Amon were interrupting their fun early, trouble was brewing.
The chamber of the Demon General Vulkan reeked of power and decay.
The walls pulsed faintly with veins of living fire, as though the fortress itself was made of its master's heat.
Steam and smoke rolled lazily through the throne hall, carrying the stench of burned flesh and sulfur. Chains dripped with condensed blood, blackened and sticky, forming tiny puddles that hissed when they touched the floor.
Vulkan sat upon his throne with his chin resting on one clawed hand.
'Levia, who showed no interest in the Hobgoblins whatsoever, has asked about them.'
He wasn't the kind to think much. Vulkan was more into "Smash first, think later".
The current situation did make him think, though.
