"God-damn fucking shit-smeared holy mother of FUCK that hurt." Grog screamed at himself, as he fell on his now bony ass, the last of his fireworks sputtering, while the speakers were finally losing power, and turning to dust. Hey, wouldya lookit that. He even got a guard with his babies. He hadn't actually expected to hit anyone with them, just make a show. Sure, the fireworks were spruced up to the point of being weaponry, but hell, he still used them like fireworks. Mentally patting himself on the back, he thought about his options. They were rather limited.

It was a pretty hilarious sight, in all honesty. Him laying there, pants down to his knees, jacket pushed up to his chest, and a blackened, smoking pelvic bone where his precious jumblies once stood. His mind was working on overdrive, thinking faster than most men would ever think, trying to finally come up with a solution.

"Power pint! Gimmie some beer."

Yep, that was the stuff. Grog was once more relaxed. Sure, the pain was searing, but it could've been worse. Most of his nerve endings were probably singed anyways. Dangling the pint a breath above his head, and smelling his damp, liquor-soaked mask, he awaited for the inevitable outcome of this whole operation, be it positive or negative. Truth be told, he couldn't really care either way.

Then, out of nowhere, an idea struck him in the head like a sledgehammer.

"Hey Pint, give me your most balls-to-the-wall absynthe. And a whole -lot- of it."

A sinister grin creeped into Grog's face as he retrieved his lighter.

Kritch left almost immediately upon entering the prison, which frankly was to be expected. The rodent demon was the most twitchy, wary, cautious, and straight up paranoid of the whole bunch. Not that Villiam blamed him for it. After all, they were in Hell, not exactly known for producing the most trustworthy of citizens. Truth be told, his fleeing was already accounted for, and so the poison spirit paid Kritch's departure little mind. Instead he focused on getting as big of a riot going as possible, more vital now that the guard in the room was aware of himself and the one-armed kid. Making haste, Villiam slinked across to the cells. As he moved forward, he expelled a purple gas through the bars in the form of a cloud. Upon reaching the individual cells, he ran his fingers along the bars, corroding them with a thick fast acting acid.

"That cloud you just breathed in was a deadly neurotoxin, specifically designed to crawl through your body until the Manus can infuse directly to your soul, thus permanently ending your existence. You want to live? You want to be free? Fight Nefas' guards and I will produce the cure. Now riot as your lives depend on it." Villiam had backed himself up against the furthest wall from the guard at the end of the cell line. Keeping his back against the wall was for more than ensuring he kept sight of any prisoners that might wish to do him harm, for it was also his escape plan if his gambit went poorly. Of course he was lying about the nature of his poison cloud, spirits couldn't convert Manus into a substance then back into pure Manus, but they did not necessarily have to know that. No, it was a simple cloud of methane, mixed with a number of other chemicals to mask the distinct scent, but look foreboding all the same.

It was pretty dark within the maze of enclosed metal, but it didn't matter too much as Kritch's all seeing eyes had been accustomed to the darkness well enough for him to see almost 60 feet in pure darkness! However, it didn't matter much as his knowledge on the path way of the yet to be rescued prisoner was quite limited. Sure, he could've scouted out the prison more with the other two criminals to get a better layout in his mind, but it was in his best interest to stay away from anyone that could kill him... And that would be everyone in this damn place. He was quite far away from both teams at the moment, scurrying along the metal floor, but could still hear some faint fighting in the background echoing through the vents. The group that he had left shortly was silent... For now, but Kritch could only imagine what that gas-thing could be doing at the moment without his supervision. Kritch shuddered at the thought of that thing touching his skin with those corrosive hands, though he continued along the vents with just a general idea of his location and pathing to the lizard-thing's cell.

Stopping in his tracks after a minute of running around this dark maze, Kritch pulled out the dataslab once again from his clothes with the bright light shined on his rather ugly face. He started to tap on the device carefully with those deadly claws before finding himself at the map once again, the rat studied the layout of the prison, calculating the general path that he had taken and the various cells surrounding the lizard-thing. Kritch looked back down at the metal floor with a dire question within his mind, judging if this would actually lead him to his intended destination. He wondered the possibility of stumbling upon a highly dangerous criminal in one of these cells or finding himself surrounded by guards due to the entire force mobilizing from his rather idiotic and violent teammates. Kritch didn't want that to happen as meeting those situations would make his life end in an untimely manner. So, carefully sliding out his knife from the worn-out sheathe, he stabbed at the vent gently creating a tiny hole within the bottom for his tiny eye to peek through without revealing his presence. The light emanating from the eye hole was shining brightly into the dark vents, Kritch squinted at the bright light for a few moments before his all-seeing eye was placed against the tiny hole and rapidly scanned the area that the eye hole could possibly show to the cautious rat.

Still clicking in what had now become an absolutely unsustainable tone and swinging the stalk of his mushroom, Old N charged past the collapsed Grog, who was recovering from his unpleasantly loud and rather demented display, and into the prison's hall. Unfortunately for him, his timing was such that, in the interval between Grog and the building, he had caught up with the last bulk of the fireworks' fuliginous exhalations, but had not had the time to outrun it; the result was that both demon and smoke rolled through the door at the same moment, with unfavourable consequences for the former's sight. In fact, he was quite unable to either see or smell anything in his immediate surroundings, which confused his apathetic brain not a little. Uncertain as to what to do next, he stopped in his tracks, though it did not occur to him to cease clicking and swinging his pincers as well. He heard indistinct sounds - blows, grunts, the clattering of the knight's armour, even what was likely a gunshot - from beyond the grey haze about him, but, due to the annoying chittering he was himself producing, and which by now had probably filled the entire room, he was unable to locate their source with much precision.

Having remained in thoughtful deliberation for a few moments, he finally reached the conclusion that, if he moved in the general direction of where the guards were supposed to be, he would be certain to eventually distract at least someone, and perhaps make his way out of the smoke as well. Interrupting his clicking for a second while he took a bite from the mushroom stalk, he eventually resumed his advance, continuing his attention-drawing moves, which, in the proper circumstances and if executed by something which was not a monstrous bipedal crab, could have passed for an acceptable impression of a malfunctioning comic relief robot from some family-friendly science fiction film. However, he had barely moved a few steps when he stumbled over something which, judging by the metallic sound of the impact and the supplicating muttering, was probably Jonathan. Unable to maintain his balance, Old N toppled down, still chittering and waving about the munched stalk, careening slightly sideways as he made a half-hearted attempt to at least not fall directly onto the knight.

At the sight of the gun, and the feeling of bullets bouncing off his skin practically harmlessly, Deprave merely gave a dreadful laugh, noting (just) that the knight was already on his way over there. With the more annoying threat about to be dealt with, he decided instead to charge through the smoke at the two men with melee weapons, bulldozing the machete wielder to the ground. Deciding first to handle him whilst ignoring the clubman, he grabbed the man's arm by the wrist, only to smash his body into the floor on either side of him repeatedly, before throwing him full force into his partner, grinning all the while. O, what ecstasy, to feel a victim's body break beneath his might! If others could match up to his present power in this landscape, he had yet to meet them! Perhaps this "Nefas" would be one of them, if he could just draw the character out...

And it occurred to him that perhaps he had a good way of doing that. That insane fellow, Grug... Greg, Grag? Whatever his name was - he was lying on the ground right now, near-invisible through the smoke from Deprave's own height, but nonetheless stationary. It didn't take too long for the proto-Mayan to find his way to the groin-deprived man in question, watching as he asked his... mug, right, he had that, for a lot of something called "absinth". Not that Deprave cared too much about whatever that was, but he figured whatever the maniac had planned would be less productive than what he himself had in mind.

'Right, Glug or whatever you're called, I've got a proposal for you!' Deprave announced at the general direction of the man, caring not a jot for whoever was listening. 'Since you fucked up your dick and can't move around at all, you need a way to get moved around. As it happens, I also need more arms than I have to wield all my shit, and you haven't ruined yours yet. You wanna be my extra arms, Gloop?'

As he heard everything happening outside, he continued to make his way through the jail, moving farther to the back end. He covered his face after hear Vill, not knowing it was safe. But with only having one arm, he couldn't cover his face and hold his gun at the same time, so that made it complicated. "So where exactly am I going? What am I looking for?" He asked as he continued to walk cautiously.
"Where is Kritch? He still has the tent, right?" He asked, he with his fear increasing. "Is this gas actually deadly?" At this point he had too many questions, and doubted that any of them would get answers.

Chaos erupted in the front room as soon as John made a move. An entire clip was emptied into Deprave, only for it to be mostly ignored. Still a bit painful, but not really. John took the shooter out with ease, the man not having any head protection. Of course, it wasn't an excellent idea to kneel down and pray in the middle of combat. Though the machete wielder had been thoroughly thrashed, the clubman braced herself for impact and escaped with only a few broken ribs and a broken arm. She then used the cloak of smoke covering the room to sneak over to the enraptured John. He would really have to strain to hear her over the cacophony of clicking and clashing in the room, as well as the voice of the Light, which informed him "Nefas will exit his office once he has lost all hope in his troops."

Fortunately, Old N was charging forward towards John as well. The resulting careening firmly crushed the billy club officer under his fairly massive weight, grabbing up John in the tumble. All three of them were now in a messy pile on the floor, Old N on top and the two humans below him. It seemed the woman was unconscious, though since she broke his fall, John should have been okay. All the while this was happening, the small surveillance camera in the corner of the room stared, the man on the other side a mix of fearful and furious. Quickly, he grabbed his walkie-talkie and commanded all available forces to converge in the main room.


Of course, that soon may not have been as many as he wanted. As Viliam opened up the cells and incited a riot, the guard stood at the end of the corridor, a walkie-talkie of his own in hand. He held out his weapon in a manner to try and dissuade others, either those about to start a riot or those inciting it, away. "H-hey uh, we have a problem. Some purple guy is freeing prisoners in Cellblock L, uhm, L-1. Please help." he begged. V and Toby would most likely just watch as the newly freed prisoners began rushing him. Not all of them charged the guard though, some of the stupider (or arguably smarter) prisoners would try and attack the two men at the opposite side of the block. Three malnourished looking humans blindly charged at the two to be easily disposed of. But one armless demon dressed in a poncho leered out of a cell menacingly, before quickly grunting and throwing his head forward. When he did this a large manus-made palm launched at a high speed towards V, specifically aimed at his chest.


As Kritch peered through the small hole of his own creation, he was greeted by the forms of a few rushing guardspeople, charging headlong back to what Kritch could only assume was the entrance. One man, though, stayed behind, unfortunately deciding to place himself very close to the vent, staring right at it. If he wanted to get out here, he'd need to find a way to distract or get rid of the guard.

Grog hastily wiped his goggles, removing the majority of the red dirt that was stuck on them from when he was crawling around, carefully pouring absynthe on the ground. A circle of damp soil stretched for a few meters, with a dry spot in the center where Grog was slouched. Before him stood the massive tribesman-looking dude from his team. And he brought good news with him.

"Sure fucking thing man!" Grog replied, his eyes lighting up with a profound frenzy. "I just need one thing. I left my bucket and Beatstick back there." Grog pointed at a rock laying about ten meters back with his thumb. "If we can just get to those, I promise it'll be worth your while. Bucket's got my special extra-sticky apply-on-weapon napalm. I was planning on using it for my bat, but you should pour it on your big-ass sword instead. Save some for knight man too, there's enough for everyone."

Damn, first a knight, then this guy. Grog wondered whether or not he had a dragon too. Or if he pulled out hearts while lowering people into volcanoes. Yeah, that'd be cool. Maybe he was a sickass cult leader guy with fifteen wives or whatever. Grog didn't like that last part. Marriage, he thought, was, after all, an obsolete concept created for different socioeconomic conditions, most certainly not ones matching for the twenty-first century. But the dude was ancient. Anyways, his thoughts on modern anthropological issues had to wait, for time was of the essence or whatever.

Pulling up his pants and buckling them tightly so as to keep them over his still-warm bony pelvis, Grog turned on his belly, and secured his beloved mug on a special clip. He rolled around once more, booze-soaked soil sticking on his leathers, patted his jacket and belt pouches for a few seconds as if to hastily locate something, and a not a moment later gave the Mayan two thumbs up and a big goofy grin before raising his booze-soaked mask.

"Let's roll and ro-"
"Rock and-"
"Fuck."
"Also, it's Grog. Like the word for grog."

The knight crawled out from under the crab, relatively unscathed, and he took to note what The Light said. They were left with two options, being they could hold out and let the retrieval group get Betty, or they could take down Nefas on their own. Both options were rather risky, and the chance of actual success are rather slim either way. He then overheard the alcoholic speak, and a third idea was popped into his head.

"...I promise it'll be worth your while. Bucket's got my special extra-sticky apply-on-weapon napalm..."

Napalm. That was the answer to this predicament. The crusader rushed for where he faintly saw the alcoholic point to, and he found the bucket with the... what the hell was this even? He decided to call it 'slog' for simplicity purposes. He grabbed the bucket and noticed a firework left from the pelvis-eviscerating explosion, unlit and unused. The knight was going to have some fun tonight.

LightBro ran over to a big wall of the asylum and sloshed half the bucket of napalm onto the side of it, covering it in a brownish-black coat of 'slog', then went back to the rock where he found the bucket in the first place, and he prepared the firework to be launched at that wall. Once the firework was lit, there was only one thing to do.

"FOR THE GLORY OF THIS TEAM, WE ARE THE GREATEST!"

The firework was launched, and a large cloud of soot and ash covered the wall, with a heavy earthquake accompanying the scene. Clearly it was enough to blast a goddamn hole directly in it, as the silhouette of an armless demon was barely visible beyond it, no doubt shocked by the situation. If Grog were to witness this, he would probably die of pleasure. The knight stood and stared at it for a minute, just amazed at what he did to that wall.

When the wall exploded, Toby wasn't too far from the new hole. He saw his chance and slipped out. When he got to Lightbro, he turned around and saw the armless demon. "Who's that guy?" He asked. "And I have no idea where Betty is, I still can't find her, let's hope that Kritch can." After he finished that sentence, he pulled out his revolver and held it in his hand. "Seems like you guys have been having fun." Then he looked around at everything. "Where did you get Napalm? How?" Slightly confused, he turned around and looked at the jail.

With some reluctance - humans, when they finally stopped moving, were not uncomfortable to lie on, after all, and Jonathan with his armour had conveniently extricated himself - Old N lifted himself to his feet, his junctures crackling in protest at not having been left to rest for a few more hours. Surveying the situation, he found that he was the only one left standing in the hallway, as the knight had gone to, if the sounds were any indication, demolish half the building, and the Aztec (or was he? Old N had never bothered remembering his exact origin. The damned all tasted equally bad, anyway) brute was retrieving Grog from where the latter had so brilliantly incapacitated himself. This meant that, if any reinforcements were on the way, the gardener demon would have to face them alone - a perspective which stirred his lethargic emotions into something akin to apprehension. More guards would mean merely more work for him, which, though an odious prospect, could probably be kept at bay until help arrived; however, if their leader decided to personally intervene, things would most likely rapidly take a turn for less than the best. Old N was not at all certain whether he could subdue a raging Cambion alone; furthermore, there were no plants nearby which he could animate to improve his chances of victory.

Seeing as disposing of the first enemies seemed to have granted the party a momentary respite, Old N saw himself constrained to try and act quickly more earnestly than it was customary for him. He hastily trudged toward the gazing camera in the corner and, after a few clumsy attempts, lodged what remained of his mushroom stalk into its objective; he had no idea as to whether this would avail him any, but figured it would be best if he took all precautions he could think of (fortunately, these were not many). Having accomplished the first daring step of his plan, he laboriously crouched - stooping with an exoskeleton was, if not impossible, very slow and even more tiring - and lifted an edge of the collapsed table. Noisily dragging the battered piece of furniture across the room, the demon attempted to turn in such a fashion as to be able to turn it toward the door and place it there as a makeshift barricade. Though he was successful in his efforts as far as to position the table more or less where he wanted it to be, he somehow managed to make it stand on one corner, rendering the barrier precarious at best. Aware of this, he chose to follow the course of action which struck him both as most convenient and least exacting: turning his back to the tottering plank, he crouched before it, both supporting it with his bulk and providing an additional layer of defense with his carapace. Any incoming foes attempting to enter would have to make him stand up - in other words, accomplish the nigh-impossible.

Villiam did his best to create something akin to a smile on his face, truly a difficult task considering his body composition, as the freed prisoners played right into his hand. Ah, but of course there were those that did not exactly appreciate his methods of recruitment. They had been accounted for and the necessary precautions had been taken. V handled the three humans all his own, as it was clear there would be no help from his so-called partner Toby who instantly turned tail and ran as a large hole blasted open in the wall. No matter. Villiam didn't even move a single muscle (do I even have muscles? A thought he pondered for a fleeting moment) as the three humans came running down at him, only to trip and fall into a pit he had melted into the floor.

Then came what he had not expected. An armless demon wearing a poncho and looking none too amused unleashed its own form of attack, and one that the poison spirit knew not to underestimate: An attack in the form of Manus. As the magical disembodied hand shot forth at him, V allowed his body to shrink down into as small a puddle as he could muster, whilst falling back through the hole he had been burning into the wall. The result would lead to the hand missing, though some chunks of the freshly damaged wall inevitably fell, landing on his somewhat misshapen body. "Ow!" he grunted, reforming into his mostly humanoid shape. "Think about it, you can't get your antidote if you beat me unconscious!" he called out. Though just in case, this demon wasn't willing to listen to basic logic, or was otherwise intelligent to have already seen through the ruse, V prepared two more defenses. The first was easily hidden, more subtle, and incredibly deadly. He generated and stored a large amount of pure ozone directly into the palm of his left hand. If the demon attack again, he would send this deadly substance right at the creature's scowling face whilst wearing a smile upon his own. As for his second defensive preparation...

"That goes for all of you! If anybody takes me out, you don't get an antidote and are guaranteed to suffer an agonizing death!" No doubt that would do it. One more misstep, and Villiam's toxicity is the last thing that demon would have to worry about as the rest of the freed prisoners dogpile it into submission.

Kritch had been silently cursing at the guard for the past few seconds, that guard smugly standing in the middle of the hall, being all suspicious of the area... That was his job! Kritch skulked from his tiny eye hole, afraid that on the off chance the guard spotting his little peeping hole. Back within the darkness, the rat tried to formulate a plan to get rid of that stupid guard, Kritch knew he couldn't leave this hallway as the lizard-thing's cell was most likely in general area and the increase of guards that Kritch had last seen were most likely heading towards the stupid loud group somewhere wreaking havoc in the facility. The hidden rat thought with his tiny brain, he couldn't outright fight him as it might cause attention to the lone agent, but any possible chance of sneaking would be too obvious in the brightly lit hallway! What to do... What to do! The cautious rat just had to wait... Kritch was too scared for his own good and now had to rely on the stupid group to make another devastating attack in the facility, but the stupid group was very stupid so explosions were only inevitable between the large stupid men. Kritch's feet silently scuttled a few few away from the original hole, yet again carefully creating another small hole within the vents. However, this was not for looking but for sneaking around the guard when the time is right!

Kritch clasped his two malformed hands once again, those eyes of his twitching around the dark vents waiting for something rather distracting from the large stupid loud group. The rat continued to wait for his opportune chance for the quick drop on the guard, and suddenly the patchy hair across back stood straight up for just a moment... Stupid group was about to do something stupid. Muttering to himself once again inside the vent this time, Kritch was preparing his spell once again to sneak through that hole and straight into the guard for a stealthy incapacitate. Just at the right time, his primal instincts never telling him wrong, a large explosion shook the building once again just as Kritch pronounced his little squeak at the end before exploding into a dark cloud of smoke. The lights shook around, for a small moment flickering on and off as the smokey form escaped at a blurring speed out of the tiny hole behind the guard. Rushing at the most likely startled guard, Kritch's smokey form rushed at the lone man, surrounding him in the dark smoke before re-materializing right above his shoulders and with his paralyzing blade aimed to jam straight into the guard's head! This supposed fatal blow won't kill the stupid guard, but it sure will incapacitate him if the blade manages to land in that soft little brain.

The King had not been part of the group per se. He wasn't even entirely aware that such an expedition had been organized--he being a rather arrogant and self-centered man--and as such his exposure to this... madness... was, to say in the least, a shock to him. Approaching from the rear of a rampaging motley sort, he clutched at the broken sword that rarely left his hand. He took neither the most impressive nor most unobtrusive way there, and in this way went unnoticed. His gait was long and proud, his feet falling silently as if he were nothing but a mirage. A grand mirage to be sure, but a mirage--a mere thought--nonetheless.

The King clutched one of the guards, about to ask him a question when he realized he had inadvertently pulled the head off of a maimed body. Dropping the head in disgust, he padded forward again, the ripping explosions going ignored by the pale austerity of the King's face. His flaming eyes shone blue, empty eye-sockets betraying no thought or emotion. The gas was what worried him the most--he had always been afraid of the things he couldn't necessarily control--so he stayed far from Villiam, darting past a pair of wrestling demons.

A troop of guards stood before him, staring not at him, but to the side, vaguely in the direction of battle. Blinking, the King realized that these were not guards at all, but the lost souls that went unnoticed by all. They watched the battle with pale eyes, unseen, unwept. These were the damned on their passage to the deepest bowels of Hell, where they would never be seen again. Strange, mused the King, that they all seemed to be wearing gold.

A guard tore him away from his thoughts, setting upon him with an electrified club. Dashing away from the swing, the King reached out and gripped the man by the forehead, quickly draining his energy and dropping him to the ground, unconscious.

He grimaced, muttering to himself,"Allies hurt more than enemies, especially if you want the same thing..."

'Alriiight, then let's do this shit!' Deprave yelled, grabbing the alcoholic by the legs and yanking him up to rest his legs over his shoulders... and then it occurred to him that he'd probably fall off, being that he'd blown a hole through his groin and all. But he had a quick fix for that: pulling out two of his old chains from the box they came in, he flung them over a shoulder each, roughly tying them together under his arms to hold the man on his back in place, then grabbed both his AA12s from their holsters and tossed them upward, trusting that the crazy person would actually catch the weapons and not drop them like a total idiot.

And then the knight screamed something about "this team being the greatest" or whatever- and with Deprave in it, it probably was- before blowing a goddamn hole in the goddamn wall. Deprave blinked at the sight, only to begin laughing his head off at the carnage. 'Bloody fucking hell, Johnny,' he exclaimed, 'who knew you had it in you?! You dumb bastard.' Grinning wildly now, and even licking his lips a little, Deprave stepped through the hole, eyeing up the armless demon through the hole as if he weren't a moderate threat. 'So, you little fuckboy,' he stated to the clearly-trying-too-hard creature, 'which would you prefer: getting shot a bunch of times, or getting your legs pulled clean off? Here's a tip: removing your legs will be more fun.'

The chaos in cell block L-1 was swiftly escalating into a full blown shitstorm of epic proportions. Another hole was added to the rapidly deteriorating left side of the building building, surely close to collapse by now. The poncho wearing demon was fairly bemused at the knight's actions, but regained his mental footing fairly quickly. "You can't outsmart me! I can get this gas out of my system as soon as I get out of your range!" The demon decreed in a childish tone. He was going to continue before being beset by what could only be called a beast in his mind. His expression clearly faltered into fear for a moment before slapping the smarmy grimace he wore back onto his face.

With a stomp of his feet, the demon was launched into the air, Deprave and Grog surely moved as well, but not much. A few other prisoners who were about to confront him as well were knocked down. As the demon sailed through the air two manus arms, one blue and one orange, manifested around his form to protect from any bullets that Grog may have unloaded. "How about you piss off!" He taunted once he was on the ground, disappearing into the crowd of rioting prisoners and rapidly increasing guards. Various smashes indicated he was causing a ruckus like intended, but it was doubtful he was going to continue once he had gotten away from the crowd.

Over all the noise, one particularly observant listener could have heard a wooden door snapping in half, and the stomps of a particularly enraged man. He was traveling from closer to the L block to the R block. His stomps stopped near the middle, before something similar to an explosion, though obviously not as loud or smelling of sulfur, happened to resound through the building. Then, again, the stomping started.


That sound, it turned out, was someone unhinging the door, and flinging away everything close to it as well. Originally the guards simply tried opening the door, then forcing it open, and then bashing it with their shoulders. Obviously, none of this worked, for Old N was a classic example of the old immovable object. Of course, if one were to describe Nefas, one of the words that came to mind would most definitely be "unstoppable force." He dislodged the rickety table, as well as Old N, with a forceful push of the palm. Now, Old N had to get up and deal with the 5 guards at the door trying to get in, though Nefas had done the service of smashing one's head into the wall for him.


As Kritch pierced the guardsman's cerebellum, he spasmed and fell over before becoming almost entirely stationary, either knocked unconscious or close to it. Now Kritch had free reign of the block. If he were to check one of the small placards he would be able to tell that he was in block R-2. It was still a bit aways from Betty's cell, but closer than L-1, and obviously much less hectic. Of course, there was still the noise some of the prisoners would surely generate once they saw him. Maybe he should retreat back to the vents, now that he knew better where he was? If he was confident most of the guards were gone he could risk the probably much faster, if noisier route, or simply trekking down the hall to Betty.

"Holy shit, he did it! The madman! He actually did it! We're number fucking one!" Grog yelled and shook raised his fist in approval, nearly ecstatic... "You blew up the fuckiIING--" ...But was cut short as the Inca-Mayan behemoth flung him over his back, causing his stomach to wrench violently and send a bit of vomit up to his mouth, though he secured him right after with a pair of ancient-looking chains. Before the dazed Grog had any time to process what happened, a pair of fucking AA12 automatic shotguns flew upwards.

Time ran slower as these beauties ascended, and Grog's eyes widened in unhinged glee. Snatching one with each hand by the grip, the boozer slightly raised them and pointed them towards the sky. Instead of usual bellowing, Grog hissed:

"Shit. Now we're cookin'."

As his mighty mansteed moved through the hole and engaged in the pinnacle of 80's-tier tough talk, Grog couldn't help but feel delighted at the chaos inside. It was a long, long time since he saw a prison riot up close, and despite a couple of oddly alarming stomps and crashes, that couldn't have possibly been made by the rioters, it made the young man feel like home. Amidst the ruckus, he saw a peculiar armless demon with a couple of shiny glow-hands floating through the air, but not before creating a miniature fucking sonic boom. Whatever the case, the impact pushed Grog against his safety bindings, releasing a shock of searing pain all the way up his spine, and severely pissing him off. He extended his right arm and fired a couple of shots that proved useless, as they bounced harmlessly from the demon's magical arms. Raising his guns upwards again in a safe position, Grog looked down towards the warrior.

"Alright. Take us where we need to go, my trigger finger's itchin'."

The crusader nodded and dunked his mace in the slog hastily, he saw the armless demon was hostile towards this ragtag group, and he decided that if that demon went lights-out, it'd provide an easier time against the rest of this prison. Let's hope Kritch could find Betty soon, or this mission would be a bust. The crusader ran towards the armless demon with his shield raised to avoid any deadly hits to his chest or head, and to push anybody out of his way. Once he got close enough for a hit he quickly ran his mace on the ground and it happened to spark up. He had one shot at this, and he took it.

With a swift bringing-down of his mace onto the head of the demon, with the orange shield blocking it, his mace igniting mid-air from the sparks finally catching it, the demon was utterly BLASTED with a face full of napalm. If that didn't kill the kid, it'd at least stagger him long enough for the crusader to yell orders at the group. If he needed to take initiative, he would gladly do it.

He turned to face the two teammates pulling off a Hodor-esque maneuver. "DEPRAVE! GROG! GO HELP OLD N OUT WITH HIS SITUATION!" The knight then turned to face the polluted poltergeist. "VILE! GO FIND OUR RAT AND HELP HIM!" He finally finished off his various commands with him turning to face Toby and yelling. "TOBIAS! GET SOMEONE COMPETENT AND GET IN HERE WITH ME!" Hopefully this would work out in the groups favor.

All too soon, someone began to pound on the door which Old N had so diligently blockaded. The crustacean demon grunted in frustration. The overwhelming majority of the inhabitants of Hell tended to be a combination of some very undesirable traits - they were faster than him, gregarious and inexplicably prone to becoming frenziedly devoted to whatever activity was at hand, which usually was "running up to the crab and pestering him". The fact they were so weak and fragile was of little solace; mobs of these things, be they demon or damned, actually required more of an effort to dispatch than single, robust enemies. And now, such a mob had apparently begun to besiege his back. However, their meagre efforts were insufficient to dislodge the massive creature from where it sat, much to the latter's contentment. As long as they did not find a manner to circumvent him, he could remain comparatively at ease, which was all he had to concern himself with for the moment...

However, Old N's tranquillity was not destined to last, and the sound of heavy footsteps soon began to resound through the corridors behind the door. Someone large and very angry was approaching, and Old N was not at all pleased with his conjectures as to who this might be. He braced himself for as brutal an impact as he could imagine as the door was torn from its hinges, but even such precautions were woefully insufficient to withstand the brutal push which, had he been lighter, would probably have sent him flying across the front room. But being covered in a ponderous carapace had its advantages, and Old N was "merely" knocked to the ground, the cracked table lying over him as some sort of overly stiff blanket. Behind him, the guards, as eager to please their master as they were to avoid the fate of their now-headless comrade (which were essentially one and the same thing), rushed forward to neutralise him.

Fortunately, their excess of zeal did not combine well with the fact there was only one doorway for them to pass through, the result of this concourse of circumstance being that they remained lodged in the frame, frantically attempting to extricate themselves before Nefas pushed them through as well, most likely without a few limbs. This gave Old N some time to react. Bending his main arms backwards, the demon seized hold of the table, and slammed it into the floor before himself, splintering off what remained of its front legs. He then hurled the mangled implement over himself and, presumably, into the door, with a crunching sound followed by moans of pain confirming that it had struck its target, delaying the assailants for at least some moments.

Now, there remained the matter of getting up - something Old N found difficult even in normal circumstances. Within him, some atavistic heaviness prevented him from putting as much effort as necessary into the motion, even in such dire straits as these. Instead, his intellect, sharpened by necessity, devised an alternative course of action. Slightly lifting himself upon his multiple limbs, the demon spun about, scuttling like some sort of overgrown woodlouse, to face the door, from which the somewhat crushed guards had managed to remove the once again obstructing table. Then, summoning his anger at not being left to sit in peace until everything was finished, Old N charged forward, firmly forcing his foes back with his thick external skull and snapping at their legs with his pincers, while their blows harmlessly, though irritatingly, rattled off his armoured back. Advantageous as it was, this position was decidedly uncomfortable, and Old N hoped the others would soon be done with whatever they had come here to - ah, yes, freeing this "Betty", and relieve him from his function of battering crab.

As Kritch dove his blade into the skull of the guardsman, he felt the blood of the wound splatter onto his face before the entire body of the guard feel unconscious from the sudden attack. The rat jumped off the body before it could slam onto the hard floor, blood stained his body and blade, and the smell of the intoxicating blood suddenly assaulted Kritch. He shuddered at the sudden pleasure before his stomach growled heavily as his eyes caught sight of the fallen body in front of him. The meat, it must be so succulent under that nasty armor, the texture, the blood would quench his thirst as well... It was starting to look irresistible. It did look quite delicious in his eyes, as Kritch started to move towards the body, those sharp fangs ready to rip through the armor to get into the juicy meat bits. However, before the rat could partake in some fresh flesh, his patched hairs raised up again as something very powerful had joined in the fray of the fight. The sudden feeling of fright spooked Kritch out of his glossy eyed hunger, he squeaked in fear before retreating back into the vents through his smoke form out of just pure instinct.

Kritch found himself back in the stuffy vents, covered in blood, and realized just how close his hunger had gotten to him. It had been awhile since he had murdered someone, and it had been some time smelling fresh blood that he had almost broke his vows. He looked at his blood soaked dagger before cleaning it with the rags around his body, the sudden euphoria had blinded the rat, but now the smell of blood even though delicious would not trick Kritch once again. So, after Kritch recuperated after the little fight, he reached towards his data-slab for now the rat knew his location now! Fiddling with the controls, Kritch found himself at the map screen before scanning the direct route to the lizard-thing. Now confident in his ability to find his path, Kritch put away the data-slab before scurrying along the vents in a faster pace as Kritch didn't want the fight with that monster to last long with the group as that would constitute Kritch to be all alone in the prison if they all fail to survive the battle with the monster!