Stake and Ice Cream [Closed/Moloch]

Yes. The Stygian Tundra. It was a cold and hostile wasteland. Blizzards never ceased to stop blowing about, the ice beneath one's feet was as thick as a fully grown man and then some, and the local wildlife was—like the rest of Inferis—unfriendly and constantly prowling around the frozen lands of Moloch, looking for the next victim to act as their evening snack. Heavy preparation was necessary in order to traverse the snowy dunes and valleys, as those foolish enough to neglect doing so tend to meet an untimely end in the Tundra's subzero embrace.

However, some individuals could roam about with little to no difficulty. Take for instance, Vlad the Impaler; recently crowned steward of the Entropic Chasm, master of the blood-sucking race of Nosferatu, former tyrant and ruler of Wallachia, and a closet red wine enthusiast. Spending much of his life in the well-elevated parts of Europe, Count Drăcula developed an insensitivity to cold climes, and a few snowflakes weren't going to hurt him any time soon. Aside from his typical choice of black apparel trimmed in gold, the vampire sovereign deemed it pertinent to bundle up with a massive black fur coat, draping the garment over his shoulders like the cape he used to wear some time ago. The reason he chose to wear it was far more simple than some would be willing to assume: because he just could.

Eight days after he was thrown a rather precocious little dinner party by the Dark Lord Satan himself, Drăcula figured it would be best to get to know the rest of the Archdemons in his spare time. Become acquaintances with the ones he formerly called masters. And, as chance would have it, the Impaler fancied a visit to the Wrathful Titan, Moloch, would be appropriate this time around. The road to the Devourer's bastion, the Cocytian Manor, was smooth for the most part, yet there was a moment where his journey was interrupted by a rather hungry-looking Samsara Shape Ape. The massive white brute seemed convinced that he looked delicious enough to munch on, and in an uncharacteristic neglect of its typically docile nature, rushed in and tried to take a bite. Unfortunately for the Sammie, Vlad was approaching his three-day threshold, and his stomach was just as empty.

Needless to say, the Count was much hungrier than it.

It took him roughly an hour or two of travel with few breaks in between for Drăcula to finally arrive at the entrance to Moloch's lair, carved from massive bricks of solid ice and cobbled together with painstaking attention to architectural detail. Such a crystalline palace almost seemed unfitting for such a mammoth-sized Archdemon. He couldn't put his mind on it, but he was far more unorthodox than Lucifer's other lieutenants; friendlier, mostly, as if his acquisition of an Archdemon's political clout did not trouble him as it did some of the others. Regardless of what his opinions were on the matter, it was the Devil's will to entrust him with Belphegor's kingdom, and Vlad went out of his way to make a blood oath to his brethren in status only.

"Lord Moloch!" The Count shouted as soon as he paused before the gargantuan doors of ice, separating him from the interior of the Ice Titan's great mansion. "I request entry into your sanctuary! Perhaps we might discuss recent events over—" The vampire paused, searching his memories for the name of a particular food that the lumbering giant enjoyed. What was it called again? Right. "—A bowl of 'iced cream'!" His tongue seemed to turn numb at the sound of such a dish. What sane individual, Demon or otherwise, drew pleasure from consuming flavored snow or ice or whatever it was?

"VLAD, MOLOCH IS PLEASED TO HAVE YOU HERE. DO COME IN, COME IN."

The voice of Lord Moloch resounded from deep within the diamond-like castle, loud and booming in its volume and tonality, indicating to the vampire outside that the Archdemon housed within was no longer in the form he had taken eight days ago when the two first encountered one another. Crystalline doors, literally titanic in their dimensions, opened with a slow creak of stentorian proportions to reveal a tiny gap for which the Count could easily slip past, and he did so with a graceful, fluid-like motion, the fabric and fur of his black overcoat brushing against the icy surfaces as he entered the complex. Upon entering the chamber, the portals that now sat behind his body closed gently, the scrape of ice against ice entering his ear canals before they eventually locked in place with a great thud, signalling the arrival of the Ice Titan's new guest.

Drăcula glimpsed around the entirely translucent complex briefly, then let off an indifferent snort. Truly, the Cocytian Manor was a fitting abode for such a beast of Lord Moloch's size and influence. To hold command over the cold had its number of applications; apparently, it was this very Archdemon that incited an age of frost and snow long before human civilization ever took root, though for what reason he caused such an era to unfold, it was outside of the Count's ability to ascertain. Nowadays, he spent his valuable longevity and infinite authority over ice and snow creating and devouring chilled desserts? Naturally, this bothered the authoritarian being in black; such power was meant to be exercised against those who did not have nor keep or obtain it. He felt it to be rather wasteful.

Regardless of what he believed, the Entropic Chasm's newly appointed steward tugged at the lapels of his coat and navigated his way through the frosty mansion, his every breath appearing as an opaque white mist as they left his mouth due to the subzero temperatures within. The atmosphere was, no doubt, chilly as it could get, but this bothered the stoic Drăcula none.

After several minutes of traversing the Devourer's estate, he finally made his way to what could arguably be considered his bedchambers, the very living quarters of Moloch himself. Only a vague blur was visible from behind the impossibly thick sheets of ice that separated the Archdemon from the Count, but from what the latter could conjecture at first blush, his true body was something very, very large. A single rap of his knuckles against the pale blue block, the slight sting of chill against his skin, and then the door to his room would slowly push itself open as if it the titan himself had willed it to. "YOU ARE IN LUCK, LITTLE BROTHER; MOLOCH HAS INDEED JUST MADE ICE CREAM. COME, JOIN MOLOCH, LET US CHAT!" Using the same inhuman grace, the Nosferatu sovereign slipped through the entrance, and what he witnessed next definitely helped to brighten his opinions of the great Devourer.

To sum it up in a single word, Moloch looked like a real monster, a savage-looking creature more animal than man, with the horns and legs of a bull with the tail of a terrible reptile curled neatly behind his seated posture. Atop its back, fixated against its spine, appeared to be a large slab of stone where a building-like structure of unknown purpose rested. Jagged azure ice crystals jutted from his granite-like skin like daggers, concealing his meaty forearms and haunches in great shards. Last, and certainly not least, was the existence of a roiling, flickering, orange and red ball of hot flames in place of a beating heart, paradoxically exposed for the rest of Inferis to gaze upon. Seated before the Demon of Wrath was the skull of a larger creature, bleached white and stripped of its flesh and meat and overturned, filled with a mysterious substance.

To take witness to the unshackled form of He Who Taketh was to be greeted with the very image of one's demise; a close second to being greeted by the Devil himself. But Count Drăcula was not a Demon who felt fear—for he was the very essence of sheer terror; an avatar of mankind's paranoia and dread for all things that go bump in the night made manifest. He did not tremble nor quake upon laying eyes on Moloch's real body. No. Instead, he unleashed his pointed white fangs in the form of a wicked smile. For he was truly elated to see the Archdemon in his terrible splendor.

"Lord Moloch! Your true form is one of utmost magnificence!" The Count praised with outstretched arms, slightly bending forward at the waist in a theatrical bow. His cat-like eyes never left the Archdemon's, whose appeared to be little more than empty sockets filled with a solid yellow incandescence. "A shame that Lord Lucifer could not be graced with your unsealed majesty." He had perfectly remembered the form that Moloch took on when they had first ran into one another, during the ceremony the Devil held for him in honor of his appointed stewardship over Belphegor's kingdom. It was still very much a lumbering image, but far smaller than the great beast that now sat before him on muscular, ice-covered haunches.