Graygor never managed to close the gap between him and his despicable twin, and he arrived at the Mooar Mountain a good six minutes behind Braygor, gasping and panting as if any breath might be his last. He entered the dark cavernous world via the mountain’s peak, where there lay hidden a cavity just big enough for the smaller demons to enter. When his orange eyes had adjusted to the gloom within, Graygor made his way through the maze of twisting, winding cold stone corridors until he came to Captain Schnither’s quarters. His fury had crescendoed across the duration of his journey, and when he found that his treacherous brother had already secured an audience with Schnither, his rage reached boiling point and threatened to erupt uncontrollably. In his anger, Graygor forgot the miniscule amount of manners he could muster when they were absolutely necessary, and burst through the heavy wooden door into Schnither’s lodgings so that the huge door smacked unceremoniously off the wall with a tumultuous ‘crack’.
“Braygor!” he bellowed. “Why you little guttersnipe!”
But before Graygor could finish his sentence, Schnither had jumped to his feet in anger and surprise and darted across the room towards a still hissing and fuming Graygor.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” roared Schnither, his deep guttural voice bouncing and reverberating off the stone cavern walls until it seemed to thunder from every orifice of the foreboding mountain. “How dare you burst into my chambers unannounced?”
Graygor, instantaneously aware of his own perceived impertinence, and resenting his subordination immensely, cowered back against the cold wall, pushing ever backward in an effort to avoid Schnither’s wrath, until his spiny back was bruised and crushed by the unyielding rock. He could see Braygor smirking smugly behind Schnither, and the sight spurred him on to fury, but he knew better than to push his luck any further.
“I… I am t-t-terribly sorry, Captain Schnither, Your Eminence, Sir…” Graygor stammered, peeping up through lowered orange eyes, and trying desperately to look remorseful. “It is just that I have such wonderful news for you…”
“Silence!” spat Schnither, raising his clenched right fist at Graygor, yellow smoke belching angrily from his flared nostrils. “Not another word! Your brother has beaten you to it. I have received his update – excellent work, Braygor!”
“Braygor?!” whimpered Graygor, “But Captain Schnither sir, I…”
“Did I not tell you to be quiet?” yelled Schnither, veins popping in his forehead and neck from the ferocity of his temper.
“Still,” Schnither seemed to reconsider and took a step back towards Braygor, “I suppose you did both do well. If what I hear is true and those irksome angels have returned to the Atone…” Schnither could not bring himself to form the word in its entirety. “If they have returned to Him,” he spat. “Then we have free rein, there will be nothing to stand in the way of us executing our plans tomorrow, and family Wren will be no more!”
The proximity of almost certain victory seemed to have an intoxicating effect on Schnither, and he practically reeled back across the room until he reached his great self-styled wooden throne. He slumped into the glorified chair and threw his left leg over the wooden arm, arrogance oozing from every pore. Schnither motioned at the stump, which hung where his left arm used to be, and raised his right hand to the left side of his head, gingerly touching the still tender wound left when Abaddon had relieved him of his left ear.
“These…” He said quietly, “These will almost be worth it once the girl and her family are no more. Abaddon will have a great reward for me, I have no doubt. And as for Cosain… well, let us just say that the Captain of the Heavenly Host will regret the day he took my arm.” Schnither smiled slowly, his loathsome face a fallacious mask of evil intent. “Yes, I will make him sorry…”
Braygor and Graygor hung on Schnither’s every word as if they carried in them the little fiends’ very source of existence. Schnither’s apparent euphoria beguiled them, and made them hungry for the havoc they would soon unleash on Phoebe Wren and her family. They were like little children on the eve of their birthday, excited and expectant.
“Now, go,” instructed Schnither at last, “Keep an eye on those bothersome teenagers, but make sure that no harm befalls them today – we certainly don’t want to spook them and have them call Cosain and his cronies back! We must bide our time for today, and tomorrow…” Schnither grinned widely, revealing three rows of rotting teeth. “Tomorrow, we strike! And our aim will be true, rest assured of that!”
Cackling and squawking like overgrown stricken bats, Braygor and Graygor took their leave, and exited the Mooar Mountain. They would keep a careful watch on Phoebe Wren, but would heed Schnither’s warning not to do her any harm for the time being. As the repugnant twins took to the air, Graygor seized his chance, and slapped Braygor as hard as he could across the side of his nasty little head, sending him into a momentary tail spin before Braygor regained his composure and set off in pursuit of his spiny brother, intent on teaching the obnoxious imp a lesson he would not soon forget.