|The Satanic incantation Alan utters after the offering of baby blood|
Oh Great Diviner, Master of the Three Worlds, disciple who became master, Lord of the netherworld, Lord of night, Prince of Darkness, despoiler of light, diviner of powers, redeemer of passions, crucible of flesh. By the power incarnate, by the flesh made prowd, by the soul devoured of itself, by these words we do implore, by these deeds we do supplicate and call upon the grace of thee Lord almighty of the underworld to release the souls of all thy servants who lie here unredeemed, to release them to serve thy servant, to bend their wills always to his, thus to thy own. By the blood of babes unborn, by the iversion of the savior, by the bond of thy own hand we do entreat thee, deliver them up to us, to command in thy name, to serve our will and thine own. By Lucifer, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, Arcades, and all the underlords we do entreat thee let them rise, let them rise up spriritus aquitanes await thee let them rise, rise up, Satan, God of all.
They Must be out to lunch.
Shut up, Jeffrey.
Looks like a no show. -Val
Fraud. Cheap plasic fraud. Satan? You phony. You liar. You sorry sot. I paid my money and I expect my merchandise. You cretinous clown. You don't have any power. Petty panderer. Cheap, chisling con artist. Two-bit, penny-ante potion peddler.
You lose, Alan, you lose. Your summation is a bummer. A silly little ghost story. You should have stuck to the clown act, it suits your talent. And your villification of Satan is rice pudding. Soggy oatmeal. Stale goods, Alan, like all your creative efforts. You're a clerk, Alan, a bookkepper- you better accept that. And you know why? Because it takes an artist to deal with the Devil. Not an insurance man with delusions of grandeur. Get out of the grave. Get out of the grave, Alan, let an artist show you how to call a curse down on Satan.
|Val's derisive invection against Satan. Which gets The Horned One's attention?|
Hail Satanic majesty. Hail mighty master of evil. Tormenter of lost souls. Paragon of perfidy. Antichrist. Vilest of the vile. Respected foe of Jehovah and the Archangels. Usurper. Seducer. Panderer supreme. Hail! So, what's with this little thing we're asking? A few rotting corpses to serve out meager needs. So, what's the trouble, hmm? You got the blood you were asking, right? You got Orville, right? You've got the warlock and his warchest, right? Is that a bargain, I ask you? A wizrd first class. So, where's the goods? Satan, you tweaker of puppy dog tails. You bilious bag of bombast. You paltry purveyor of potions. You half-witted halogon of horse manure. Mighty master of evil? Ha! Your most terrifying trick is growing warts on old ladies' noses, scaring scarecrows, snitching buttons, ingrown toenails, corns, and chicken pocks.
That's your speed.