Like it says on the tin. Fire. Brimstone. And a large, demonic entity sits atop a throne of damned souls. It swallows the souls by the handful, like they’re candy. This Demon King doesn’t have a care in the world--any world, really. This is MEPHISTO.
It speaks to a SHAPE somewhere OFF-CAMERA.
Look, I’m going to shoot straight with you. You’re not the first person to come crying to me about their mommy, okay? And despite what you might have heard, or read, or seen in your stupid little movies--honestly, you guys never do manage to capture my unique charm. It’s always so cartoonish or...whatever it was Pacino was thinking. There’s no nuance. I don’t want your soul. That’s not yours to give. And I’ll have it soon enough anyway. No, I want that one thing--that one small, little thing--that means everything to you. And, well, I already do have your sweet, dear ol’ mother, don’t I? So, I’ll ask this instead. Just one itsy-bitsy thing.
It leans in close, menacingly. And it smiles. However It can possibly smiles, it does that.
The Shape speaks. His voice is strong, proud. It echoes across Hell itself.
Mephisto CHOKES. He seriously can’t believe this. This NEVER happens.
What? No, this isn’t how it works. Look, it’s very simple. You cry, beg, and kneel. Okay? And then, maybe--just maybe--I will reward your humble offering by giving you back what you wish for most. Got it?
I kneel before none.
Mephisto EXPLODES. His KINGDOM explodes around him.
The Shape stands his ground, unwavering.
How dare you?! Who are you to speak to Mephisto with such an insolent tone?
The Shape steps forward. His cloak flaps wildly in the heated winds of Mephisto’s rage. His armor, which covers his body from head-to-toe, glistens in the light of the blazes of Hell. This is no mere man. This is an invading KING. This is VICTOR VON DOOM.
So speaks DOOM.