Special thanks for Gryphon for helping to inspire the title (tho he doesn't know it).

-EDG

It was not a good day for Hell.  According to current intelligence, two Demon Princes were 
dead, another had Redeemed, and still a fourth had gone Renegade with no sign of his 
whereabouts.  Meanwhile, Heaven didn't even seem to have skipped a beat; operations were going 
as smoothly as they ever did, which - unfortunately - the majority of Hell seemed to take as a 
personal affront.

Saminga was not in the majority of Hell.

Saminga's opinion was that the more Princes died, the more powerful his Word became, and 
therefore he wasn't terribly concerned about the fate of his fellow Superiors.  He wasn't about 
to kill them himself - that might get him in trouble - but he wasn't going to argue with 
whoever was doing it.

The reports filtering into the Hall of Death were grim: it appeared as though Haagenti may have 
been behind the death of Baal, and could possibly have been masterminding the events leading to 
Nybbas's demise.  His agents couldn't find any link between Haagenti and the redemption of 
Vapula - in fact, all evidence pointed to Asmodeus as the catalyst there; one Prince ought not 
kill another in the middle of a cathedral and expect not to be held accountable for it - but he 
was sure that Malphas's spin doctors could find a way to turn that to the Prince of Gluttony's 
detriment.

The loss of Baal hurt Saminga in a way that little else could.  The Prince of Death had always 
admired Baal for the sheer amount of destruction that his armies could inflict, and had 
considered him a friend ever since the Confrontation with Legion, when Baal had literally 
dragged Saminga away from the fight moments before that final, catastrophic clash between the 
Prince of Corruption and the Archangel of Knowledge.  The image - that last instant - was still 
indelibly engraved on one of Saminga's Forces, as it was on everyone who had been there, as a 
sort of Symphonic reminder of the consequences of unhindered growth.

Which was why Saminga was cautious now about killing other Princes.  It would certainly feed 
his Word - but what were the consequences?

A knock on the great oak doors of the Hall startled Saminga out of his reverie.  "Come," he 
intoned, and the doors swung wide, revealing a pair of Djinn, both humaniform, both cloaked 
from head to toe.  One's robe was the jet black of space, without the veil of stars; the 
other's was white, with blue highlights where the shadows lay.  "You have my attention," said 
Saminga, affecting lazy almost-disinterest even as his many ears pricked up.  "What is it?"

"We come to make a proposal, Lord Saminga," said the Djinn in black, her voice oddly empty.  
"We seem to have a situation on our hands, and we know how much Baal meant to you.  We would 
like your assistance in... curtailing the trouble."

Saminga nodded.  "What is it that you would have me do?"

The Djinn in black spoke again, bluntly.  "We need Haagenti to die.  He is the one causing all 
this trouble, and he must be stopped.  By any means."

So Malphas has already begun to play.  "Tell me what you offer me in return.  Haagenti is a 
friend, an ally.  What could you give me that would be worth that?"

The Djinn in white smiled, with teeth that glittered like crystal.  "My services, Lord Saminga.  
You will trade one Prince, one who consumes all and leaves nothing for you, for another - one 
whose practices leave you the bodies to reanimate."  He grinned and threw back his cowl.

The Djinn's skin was so white as to be almost transparent, although he didn't seem to have any 
blood vessels near the surface to speak of.  His hair was long, and as bone-white as his robe, 
and seemed brittle enough to break at the slightest provocation.  His ears carried slight 
points, as did his eyes, and his teeth did indeed sparkle like crystal, even out of shadow.  
This was a creature the likes of whom Saminga had never seen, and yet -

"Vephar?" he asked, hollowly.

The Djinn cringed.  "I... I remember Vephar.  Distantly, as if in a dream.  I am told that I 
bear his Forces.  But he is gone, no more than a legend.  Call me Zapan."  The smile returned.  
"I represent Ice."

Saminga smiled.  This might work out after all.

The three found themselves shortly thereafter in Haagenti's favorite lounge in Shal-Mari, 
laying in wait for the Prince's eventual appearance.  (Zapan would think, later, that to hear 
"Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" in Tagalog was an experience that almost demanded a Force-purging.)  The 
Djinn in black, who had yet to reveal any portion of her body or her name, sat at the bar in 
what was apparently an accustomed place; Zapan and Saminga, both humaniform, took a booth, 
waiting silently.  Saminga was busily running "It's A Small World After All" through his head 
in a desperate attempt to DROWN OUT THAT DAMNED SONG when Haagenti, followed by a small 
entourage, walked in the door.

Immediately the staff converged on him, smiling and complimenting and leading him to what was, 
again, obviously an accustomed place.  "Wait," he said, and smiled toothily in Saminga's 
direction as the staff, the band, and even the ceiling fans stopped dead in their tracks.  
"Sam, my old friend, what brings you here?"

Saminga swallowed his dread.  "Haagenti... you've gone too far.  Nobody liked Nybbas, not 
really... but Baal?"  The knife, its blade long, wavy, and serrated, made its way into his 
hand, and he stood.  "You shouldn't have killed Baal, Haagenti.  He was the leader of our army 
- our best chance - and a good friend.  And you killed him."  The knife rose high; as one, the 
entourage backed away.  "No more, Haagenti.  No more."

The knife plunged.

The scene held for a moment: Haagenti, hands clapped around the blade, fingertips pressed 
against the hilt as the much-stronger Saminga drove it downward.  Then Haagenti spread his 
hands, and the knife, now bladeless, pounded against his chest.  "What?" Saminga roared, 
looking desperately at the hilt.

Haagenti calmly plucked his own knife, a stiletto whose blade was black as night, from its 
hidden sheath under his jacket, and slammed the point deep into Saminga's forehead.  "Next 
time," he whispered so that only the dying Prince could hear him, "get a blade that won't 
melt."

He stood, watched as the Saminga-pool began to dissolve around the knife.  "Delusional," he 
said loudly.  "A pity, too; Saminga was a good friend, but I couldn't have him trying to kill 
me.  I wonder where he got the idea that I killed Baal, though?"  He turned.  "Do you have 
anything to say about that, Zapan?"

The pale Djinn shook his head.  "I said nothing to him."

Haagenti shrugged.  "Ah well.  You'll be remembered, Sam," he said, more quietly.  "Leroy!  A 
double!" he called out, and the entourage and band all returned to their work smoothly.  "And 
Leroy - dump a double out for the deceased, would you?"