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The boy held the 8-legged creature in his cupped palms.
“Jarbon, first tortured but never forgotten, today we rise against the tyranny of the oppressors and make them once again cower afore the wrath of Abaddon, The Destroyer, the annihilator, force of chaos!”
The spider blinked its many eyes at the boy and jumped from his palms, floating up and up until he burst into a cloud of confetti.
“JARBONNN!” Abaddon jolted up from his slumber. Even sleeping in a shallow grave, surrounded by decaying corpses, hadn’t provided the usual comfort. He felt something in the middle of his chest, a weight that hadn’t before been there, at the thought of his beloved spider (gone too soon).
For days he had trudged around the hotel without the usual menace in his threats. The mother had even noticed something was off when, after making him wash his hands before spaghetti night, all he had managed in retort was “You’ll pay for this, you brown haired mammalian innkeeper.”
Esther, the closest kin Abaddon had on this undamned plane, developed horrible and escalating walking nightmares just to put the scowl back on his face. The locusts, of course, had reminded him too much of Jarbon. Wrestling Moth Man above the spiked spires hadn’t brought the glee back to his empty vessel. Even blending inane game pieces hadn’t struck the right note. The family spent days trying to pull Abaddon from his funk.
Abaddon sighed, staring off into the foggy trees, once again contemplating the curse of being bound to a weak and useless flesh bag. A bowl slid across the table, stopping in front of him.
“Froot Loops??” he looked up, disbelievingly. The weight lessened, to be replaced by a sugar rush of demonic proportions.