*I want to impress upon you, we're not the same*
The human's words had never seemed so apt.
*My psychotic mentality is so unique*
More apt words. It was then she realised they were not Belials words. Smiling at the fact that Humans had a great sense of character and emotion, especially in such unwitting moments. Emanuelle arose in the spartan room. Greaves was still murmuring in his impressively intelligent dreams. There was another new smell, beautiful and enlivening, rich and mesmerising. Emanuelle put on her gown again and exited the bedroom and descended the stairs.
The first thought she had was how different Belial looked. He was in fresh combat trousers and a sleeveless blank black top. His ample arms and brown hairy armpits were the first things she saw. The second thing she saw was a new look in the green brown eyes she had become accustomed to.
She had seen the look before, seconds before Belial had leapt from a swiftly moving vehicle and began to slaughter the trailing evil that plagued them momentarily. This was a look of determination. This was Belials game face apparently.
Three backpacks lay upon the table, all of them green 'British Army' camoflauge print. Without a word she investigated their contents. To her surprise the pragmatic contents included three two litre bottles of water. Twelve bars of chocolate. Three peaked caps, pale green. Three pairs of thick gloves. Her sheathed dagger, two more strange less ornate daggers. Bread, Cheese, processed meat, and tomatoes.
The smell it seemed was another Human delight called coffee. She poured the gross black liquid into a cup and after finishing the cup she instantly enlivened. The sun had still not fully risen when Greaves was awake. Two hours, one car drive and a whole lot of silence later the trio were at Moebius' public house charade once more.
Thanks to the human radio blurting out incredibly vibrant and almost comical tunes with reference to all non relevant issues such as a woman who apparently isn't called 'Jane', 'Stacey', 'Hell', or 'Mary Jo Lisa' there wasn't a shadow on the mood. This of course was temporary.
Moebius was dressed all in black, and almost wordlessly she allowed them to enter. Belial resumed his customary 'I hate Moebius' stance and barged through immediately to the Portal Room. The doors of swirling coloured mists acted as macabre portent in Belials conscience. He still didn't believe in the folly of the quest he and his 'tag alongs' were deigned to endure. But here he was, in the company of the loathesome Moebius, the vaguely irritating Greaves, and the stubborn Emanuelle, gazing into an uncertain future.
The swirling mists veiled many realms, many occurences, many events, all of which until this moment he had absolutely no interest in. He reminded himself, three days trekking to Persephone and then she would guide him (with some persuasion, whatever that entailed) to Hades.
Hades would not embrace him as a brother, he had stolen his wife from him. Hades would probably give him the same respect he would an amoebe. But here Belial was, game face on, aggressive, determined, and for a change vaguely afriad.
Without word he was followed by Moebius, Emanuelle and the bewildered Greaves. As Moebius pointed to the specific pink swirling mist that Belial and his new found friends would have to enter by, a fleeting panic entombed Belial. If Beelzebub had miscalculated then everything would be lost.
Without voicing this, the trio stepped through the portal.