“Pundit!” Rhameo called. No answer.

“Pundit!”

“Pundit!”

“Present,” said the lean one, appearing at his side.

“What are the Dogs of War?”

“Giant, mutant dogs,” said Pundit as languidly as if they were discussing a flower growing in a park. “Genetically designed to kill.”

“Designed to kill? How?”

“By their size and ferocity. The Dogs of War are twenty feet tall at the shoulder, weigh fifty tonnes, and have teeth tipped of durametal that can crush an armour-clad fissionic poniard. They devour men for breakfast.”

“Sounds good – so long as the men are Punkoids, Sleazoids, and Volgogthians. Can anything stop them?”

“Not that Pundit knows of.”

Rhameo watched in awe as the colossal mutant dogs, vaulting fifty feet in a single bound, leapt from tunnels beneath the palace and attacked the Volgogthians with feral ferocity. They’re not just enormous mutant mongrel dogs, he thought, as he watched a set of slavering jaws crunch illegal fissionic poniards into shattered debris, they are mad dogs of war.

Rhameo grinned at his brother. “Behold, Teleporteus, the Dogs of War! To plead for mercy is to commit suicide!”

“I see them.”

“Observe how the enemy retreats.”

“I observe.”

“You don’t seem pleased.”

“Of course I’m pleased, Brother – the Dogs of War are doing a great job. But isn’t it time to call them off?”

“Only the emperor can do that.”

“They have done their work, now they’re only gnawing on Punkoid bones.”

“Their work will never be done – the Punkoids are without number.”

“Nothing is without number, Brother,” said Teleporteus “Even the stars in the Fornax –”

“This is hardly the time to worry about the Fornax System. We must mop up!”

“Well, Brother,” said Rhameo, as they headed towards the hangar an hour later. “What do you know of the Rhomboids?”

“Only that they are an irregular shape,” said Teleporteus.

“I hear that their number is legion,” said Rhameo. “And that anyone who enters their dark domains is certain to die or, at the very least, suffer a twisted psyche.”

“Are you seriously worried about a pathetic alien twisting your psyche?”

“I’ve heard that their home world is protected by naked women called Jezebels, who can fly through space,” Rhameo continued. “Beautiful, but deadly.”

“I hear they’re ruled by a monstrously weird life form called the Octopus,” said Teleporteus.

Indeed they are, pink-thoughted Lord Maledor. And, as luck would have it, if I picture the Octopus floating in his vast bed of mucilaginous delights being simultaneously pleasured by an orange-tufted Punkoid, an amorphous pullulating Sleazoid, and one of the slimy snake people from the Gardens of Fleschimor, my attacks of goodness subside quickly.

Nonetheless, Lord Maledor knew even as he watched Teleporteus and Rhameo preparing to fly from Skorpeo that something had to be done about Queen Beia and Astroburger. They had turned their hellhole within the womb of the living asteroid into a home – a haven of comfort and love! He considered introducing a third life form; a sexually ambiguous Punkoid, or perhaps an enpenised Slutoid – something that would cause dreadful jealousies. But these diversions only worked if there were highly developed ambiguities in the sexual psyches of his targets, and Astroburger, God rot his mediocre soul, seemed to be as straight as an orange-tipped cortical command arrow. The Queen of Reflections, even though she had delusions of being a pervert on a grand scale, was no better. What a pair!

Lord Maledor sat up in his chair and snapped his fingers. Why not let them go, or rather give them the illusion of freedom, while maintaining his invisible (yet invincible) evil control over Beia? He could send them out into the universe. Set them a task…

Yes, illusory freedom coupled with certain directives might well lead to a refined evil that all would admire…

Especially me, smirked Lord Maledor.