The Filth Nest had given them a good start.
"Who's next?" Beludona asked.
Annan glanced at the list. "The Rotting Tyrant Ancestral Spirit."
A great demon like that was beyond a devil's beguiling whispers, but a Succubus's gifts would still work.
The Rotting Tyrant kept a band of little demons. Annan planned for him and Beludona to take the places of two of them, then pour poison into the tyrant's great Cooking Pot.
When they reached the Rotting Tyrant's Camp on the Fifth Layer, Annan spotted it from afar and exclaimed, "Wow, it looks just like your Uncle. Should we go say hello first so we don't hurt one of our own by mistake?"
Beludona said irritably, "My Uncle turned into an Abyss Demon. He isn't one of them."
At first glance, the Rotting Tyrant looked like a low mountain. Only the occasional ripple across its surface showed that it was alive.
Two antelope horns like twisted, withered trees rose from its head. A clay jar hung like a wind chime from the tip of one, its clear clinking carrying across the distance.
As the living mountain of flesh writhed, melting pus and filth seeped from the festering sores across its body. The little demons bustling around it collected every drop.
A cloud hung over the Camp, made up of swarming flies and spores spewed by a porous tumor on the Rotting Tyrant's neck.
There were no rats in the Camp. It was hard to tell whether the little demons were diligent cleaners or the place was too filthy even for rats.
The Filth Nest and the Rotting Tyrant were each more profane than the last. Annan couldn't help muttering to himself: Did the Allen Continent really need to fear the unspeakable Oddities? This side looked far more terrifying.
Annan