To clarify, so far Kinwrathi and disciple Andromai have visited Earth for the first time. However, they ran into a tad bit of trouble which ended with one person dying by the Chieftain's blade. Meanwhile, back in Neuroseir Kyrino, another of Kinwrathi's disciples publicly assaulted a prisoner to show his dominance over his new subordinates. After a surprisingly easy escape, Kinwrathi and Andromai were confronted by Gonnerah, Joltinen Queen and the only being any of the Chieftains have to answer to. The Queen then sent the two on an assignment to find a powerful magician located in the small and secluded village of Lerrio. the Chieftain opted to get information from another one of his title, D'licca D'ettemin while Andromai decided to find the woman in the village alone. Now where's the other, other mentioned disciple to the Chieftain of Wrath and Hatred, Dude McBrodude in all of this?

Still passed the fuck out.

"Hey! Not so close..."

D'licca pushes Kinwrathi back a few steps, and returns to the book that is laid out in the middle of the table. The ink on the pages are still fresh, the slightest hint of pressure would cause a great deal of smudging which would most definitely cause the writing to be illegible.

"Take it easy, D'ettemin. I'm not trying to ruin your precious handwriting! I most certainly need that fucking book to find the broad after all."

"I know, I know. It's a precaution, understand?"

A spark goes off in the Chieftain of Hatred's brain. Another way to piss off this high and mighty genius asshole...

"No. I can not say I do. Will you please explain it for me?"

"Fuck off Kinwrathi, I'm not falling for that one. Again..."

"Dammit! I was hoping I could manage to get you pissed off that at least one more time!"

"What can I say? I guess I've grown immune to your charm!"

"Don't press your luck, D'ettemin. I have more tricks up my sleeve..."

"Fuck it, just take the book. Take it, and get out of my business!"

The book, now closed, is sitting in the middle of the large table it was once laid upon. D'licca offers his uninvited, unwanted guest a look of curiosity, which results in Kinwrathi grabbing the field guide to finding the woman he's been searching for. With an extremely sarcastic bow, the Chieftain of Wrath and Hatred disappears from D'licca and Innerva's lair.

"Don't come back anytime soon, asshole."

Back at the tavern, Andromai is still sitting at the counter. Her eyes fixed upon the woman she's assured is the magician she's looking for. The woman's friend spots this, and rushes to alert the target of Andromai's presence. The disciple hops out of her chair and snakes over to the two, trying her hardest to remain calm. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words don't even leave her mouth by the time the tavern door swings open.

"I'm looking for a woman named Justine Aldini."

Fuck! I was so close! Andromai thinks as her master casually strolls into the tavern, right up to the counter where Justine, her friend, and Andromai all stand...

"I found them too, master!"

The disciple uses the words she was previously forming in an attempt to utter a statement to the Chieftain. Kinwrathi looks at her and smiles ominously...

"I see that, Andromai. Good work! A real class A performace..."

"I'm no stranger to sarcasm, sir..."

"I would fucking hope so!"

The two both turn away from the potential argument after simultaneously remembering the task at hand. Both open their mouths, but Andromai's words escape first.

"Ma'am, are you Justine Aldini?"

The almost auburn haired woman looks utterly shocked, and stammers out a nonsensical response.

"W-w-w-why yes, I am. Now, what do I pleasure the honor of performing?"

"What the fuck was that?"

"Master, I think she's trying to communicate with us."

The color fades from the magician's face, and she faints. Falling fast with no one acting quick enough to catch her, her face hits the tavern floor. Hard. She comes to, if only for a moment. If only to say one thing...

"Andrea, leave now."

Justine's face hits the floor again, and her blonde haired companion flees the tavern as fast as humanly possible. A slight chuckle escapes Kinwrathi's mouth as he helps his target up to her feet.

"Look here, I got ya. Now, Lady Gonnerah needs you, do you understand?"

A forceful hand comes across the woman's face, causing her to attempt to pull her head away in fear and pain. Expecting this however, The Chieftain grabs her hair, forcing her to stay in the position she's in.

"Listen to me, you jumpy bitch! Gonnerah needs you, understand?"

Kinwrathi can't help to shake the magician's head around as he delivers the last sentence. Justine looks up at him, her eyes meeting his. She slowly begins to speak...

"Yes, I understand. Now, why does she want me?"

"That, I'm not sure about... Andromai?"

The disciple looks up from the now captured woman back to the Chieftain.

"I don't fucking know either!"

"Oh how simple it all is..."



"The Last Legend? What a joke of a nickname for an undeserving piece of refuse that doesn't deserve any positive reinforcement whatsoever. Moving past that vermin however, are six more rats to stomp the life out of. Appropriate, as one at a time was way too slow.

Ronnie Wilkins. The 'Deportation Man'? No, rat number one.

Listen here, Ronnie boy.

Listen good.

Your life story is bland and uninteresting.

Your pathetic insults just that.

Pathetic.

Fitting for a man like you.

The world will be rid of you by the time Saturday night over, Mr. Wilkins. No one will miss you. Not a single soul will remember the good times you had brought to their lives. Not even your wife and child. They already forget you exist when you aren't around, reminding them of your pitiful existence. You will be erased from the equation, leaving the outcome still the same. One less fool to waste energy on when it's all said and done.

Rat number two? Luca Arzegotti.

A loser, a testament to failure in the form of a man if there ever existed one. Outcasting himself from a group of outcasts only to find a new, equally worthless if not more so group of idiots to have in his life. For you, I have something special saved. I can guarantee you, it won't be a massacre.

It will be a mercy killing.

Unlucky worm # 3? Unknown Soldier.

Ah yes, I have had my eye on you for quite a while, Soldier. You see, you are worshiping a false idol, my dear. The one you perceive as SATAN! is little more than a little whelp, a house cat if you will to the power the Joltinen posses. For you shall choose not to believe it now, come Saturday you will learn first hand the truth in my words. For on that faithful night, you will give up your bond to SATAN! lay down your earthly desires, and roam the halls of Neuroseir forever as a prisoner.

Never again perceived as important.

Feared no more.

No longer free.

Just like you are now, under a new master.

Accept it, for there is no other alternative.

Donathan Alphonse Francois De Sade?

For us to be compared is laughable. You stand before me a joke, a laughable specimen, with your claims to know the inner workings of the universe.

Guess what?

You do not know shit.

The only thing you will know by the end of Saturday, is how to say 'I quit, please stop choking me with my own intestines!' in about seventeen different languages. You still won't get any reprieve, however. For in order for your special brand of stupidity to be cured, it'll take your entire body to be turned inside out, for your head to be physically removed from your own ass and sewn back onto your neck backwards.

You bore me, so I'll continue to the next subject.

John Madison.

For what do I owe the distinct displeasure of even having to acknowledge your existence? A man of your stature, living in your own squalor. A life brought upon by your unyielding success, I would assume. Truly a pick for man of the year, one who believes a good insult comes from how many times you can reference your own feces in one sentence. Like you do everyone else's promos, I shut yours off before they even begin. For the reason of not being able to stand seeing someone so important live their life so...

Pathetically.

Live well and die young, John.

Finally, there's Mark Flynn.

Mark, when I look into your eyes, I see hatred for all who step before you. Contempt for those who are in charge of you. A man who wants to to control of himself. That fire in your eye will not help you come Saturday.

Nor will your asinine delusions of being the better man.

Both will only serve to hinder yourself.

I like this one, a true source of what humanity is...

Vermin."