THE THRONE ROOM:

Trodius, his muscular frog legs contracting and relaxing, jumps away single mindedly with only his Sire's words occupying his head. Landing on the final slab on the entrance of the throne he takes a quick peek behind, but having been unable to see his Sire from down here, he hops out of the throne room. 

Exiting through the large intricate throne doors he takes a sharp right turn to a halt-in-your-tracks view of the expanse laden in front of him. 

Trodius has been under his Sire's employment for at least a few hundred millennia, and altogether been spawned into this vast expanse of both nothing, and everything, for about a few hundred more than that but he'd always been completely gobsmacked at the Eagle-eyed view of Hell he'd seen from outside of the throne room from the very first day. The throne of the 'Grand Overseer of Hell' had, since its near instant existence, sat atop the highest mountain of Hell, both metaphorically–and quite literally–representing the peak. Picking up his metaphorical skirts, Trodius began his arduous descent down Mount Asura. 

Side stepping another of the traps set to keep away demons unworthy of pestering The Throne, Trodius takes notice of a patrolling unit of their Surveillance Corps heading his way. They take notice of Trodius just as he takes notice of them, and they redirect their flight path his way, accelerating towards him.

"Ah, Butler Trodius, how may we be of service to you today?" asks the head of the patrol unit; an amebic looking creature, floating in the air as if it were a viscous fluid medium. Cocking his head in mild curiosity, Trodius marvels–yet again–at how much like a water droplet the creatures look like. 'How can there be such beauty in something so lethal,' Trodius thinks to himself.

"I require for you to reabsorb into the Surveillance Headquarters and relay my orders,” the amoeba gurgles an okay sound and Trodius continues. “Compile all the information regarding the creatures that escaped through the Gates and have it delivered to me with haste upon completion." The floating ameba pulses twice, and begins ramping itself into its unit, absorbing them. Once sufficiently large, it whizzes away faster than it came. With the task successfully delegated to more capable entities, Trodius resumes his descent, sparing the already distant whizzing creature not another glance.

Midway in his long and arduous descent Trodius reaches his first destination. Stationed at the halfway height on Mount Asuras was the base of Lokius, the Chief–and only–Strategist. One of the only two Commanders of the Army of Asura, Lokius was titled Grandmaster Strategist, the best of the best, the only Undefeated in the War of the Sixteen. The rumors hailed him beyond imagination, but Trodius being Trodius, knew the truth of it. Grandmaster Lokius was no faultless being, none of them were. Lokius, like all of them, had risen from the lowest of the low, clawed his way through adversity after adversity, each more ferocious than the last. Yes, he was a bit different, in the sense that he had a purpose to strive for. He, unlike countless others, was no longer just existing. He had purpose, and that had pushed him beyond mere basic survival.

Also, among the intel that only Trodius was privy to, was that, before being a grandmaster, or even a chief strategist, Lokius was a friend to his Sire, just like his companion Commander, Gargantuous. It was an unlikely bond, more rare than the rarest of artifacts.

Pausing his contemplation, Trodius enters through the dark cavernous mouth of the cave. He comes face to face with a harrowing sight of War, but he is not alarmed in the slightest. "Please, mind the threshold. Do not cross it." A guard holds him back by the arm. Trodius looks at his feet and nods at the guard, a beetle like creature with six limbs jutting out from its front-sides; it utilizes two of them to stand, two of them to hold the shafts of two spears, and lets the remaining one dangle at his side. Satisfied at getting his message across, the guard lets go of Trodius' hand and nods at someone behind Trodius. 

"Hear hear, Butler Trodius of The Throne is here," heralds a booming voice. "Wait a minute please, Butler Trodius, Grandmaster Lokius will see you shortly."

Nodding to himself, Trodius kicks back his feet and backs up against the wall, leaning on it. He's content with just watching the spectacle on show in front of him. 

Before Trodius, lay the spectacle of an ongoing war. About thirty feet in front of him, on a miniature sized patch of built terrain, ran three large legions of raging infantry, and above them, flew thousands of sparsely populated groups of aerial combatants. Some of the aerial combatants were having skirmishes among themselves, and some were aiding the ground troops below them. And supporting them all were massive machines of war at the backlines, accurately flinging large projectiles, and whatnot. "It looks to be a stalemate," comments Trodius, and as if triggered by his comment, the decisive play starts. 

Entropies of light start gathering on the far side of the terrain. The entropies infuse into one another, forming a ball that progressively swells in size. Troops bearing the red–the Commander's miniature army–retreat through the gaps. At roughly the size of a pea, the ball of light begins its fall into the battlefield, catching on fire midway in its descent. It falls almost gracefully upon the blue populated half of the terrain, but after landing it erupts into a brilliant spiral tower of fire that almost reaches the ceiling of the cavern itself, and upon reaching this maximum height, it pours luminescing lava out from its tip, resembling an umbrella, a massive ass umbrella.

BOOM.

The shockwave that follows bounces off of the shimmering shield in front of Trodius, the shield that was invisible just a moment ago. Hitting the shield it echoes back with a renewed fervor, and on reflecting back, it begins to seep through the damaged nooks and crannies it had created in its first impact. The miniscule seeping waves hit Trodius in waves, waves of intense force, like a whirlwind. The guards rush to stand in front of him with their backs turned outwards, shielding him from the after blasts.  

"Oh sorry, sorry lads, my bad, my bad. I got a little carried away there," rattled a smooth hollow voice, a slithering-rattling sound, like a snake. "No harm done, Grandmaster, we shielded off your after-blasts." 

"Ah, Lokius, you sly bastard, I almost got you there," says a robust cheery voice. "Not even in your wildest nightmare, Baland." retorts the slithering voice. "Ah, whatever, I'll defeat you in our next challenge, just you wait." And with that said, the robed robust voice whisps out of the cavern with a whoosh. 

The beetle guards finally part, allowing Trodius to see the figure beyond–Commander Lokius. Garbed in a Velvet Emerald robe stood a scaled figure distinctly snake-like in appearance, colored Moss Green. The robe was a little tattered and the splayed fringes were glowing with remnants of snuffed out embers, but that's besides the point. The form was still magnificent to behold, especially with the golden crown sitting on his cone-like snake head.

"Why if it isn't Butler Trodius, a truly delightful sight to behold." Striding across to Trodius, Commander Lokius holds out a robed arm, and they jovially shake hands. "Always a pleasure seeing you, Trodius." Trodius returns the smile as best he can. "Tell me, what brings you here?"

"Sire has instructed me to escort both Commander Gargantuous and you–Commander Lokius–to the throne room." Scaled brows knit in confusion at the abrupt summons, Lokius opens his mouth to enquire but shuts it back up, shooting a glance beyond Trodius. You never know who might be listening, and from where.

"Then go we shall," declares Lokius, "I'm guessing you haven't fetched my lively friend, Gargantuous, yet?" Trodius shakes his head in no. And so they head out of the cavern, after Lokius supplies his staff with orders to follow in his absence.