By Mark D Eddy (MarkDEddy@aol.com)
The troop of gremlins, imps, snots, and frotlings bounded, slithered, crawled, and walked through David's Citadel, squabbling nervously among themselves. Their leader, a minor Calabite, was worried. They had been wandering around in this pit for what semed like weeks, looking for the fabulous store of Angelic Hearts that the Princes said had to be down here in the caverns which once belonged to the Archangel of Stone.
Grackle, the Calabite, a servitor of Kronos, didn't care about the Hearts any more. He just wanted out of these caves. His supply of demonlings was getting low, and he wasn't sure why. They'd fall into a sudden crevasse, or disappear around a corner, and never show up again. If it weren't for the battle reports, he'd be convinced that there were angels down here, waiting for him.
As his thoughts grew even more gloomy, he heard an ominous crack. As he screamed at his troop to move, the rumble of a cave-in thundered around him. His final lunge, aided by a bit of well-applied entropy, got him clear. But he was standing alone. None of the rest of the troop had made it.
Then he realized he wasn't alone. A pair of shadowy-winged figures were there, jet wings glowing against the Stygian darkness. "But you're all dead or captured!" he wailed.
"Some of us still exist outside of slavery." The base rumble came from the figure on the left, as he raised a gigantic club.
"Especially the Words of Guerilla Warfare and Commandoes," added the lilting voice of the figure on the left, as her sword swept out and down.
Seconds later, there was silence in the empty cavern.
Days later, Kronos decided that his servants weren't coming back, and sent another group of troublemakers down.
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