Lord Vought's face immediately turned from a stern countenance, into one with great fervor and worship. His eyes glazed with the same craziness as those who had been caught up in the feverish ideology spread by that mischievous slime.
"Has someone mentioned the Iron Maiden?" a childish voice bellowed from the darkness.
"Prophet," Lord Vought said, getting up from his seat and bowing to the darkness on the corner.
The Upper Echelon man turned his head just in time as he heard a rapping on the ground like a ball bouncing consecutively.
Then, he appeared. A violet slime garbed in an all black attire, a stylish cape that fluttered even when there was no wind, and a metal headband with a copyrighted symbol etched onto its surface.
"Huh?"
