The Pits of Hell

Beezlebub snorted through the bare bone of his nose. He let his only eye, the one that is not in it's socket, be his guide as he wanders through his home. The heat of fiery pits threatens to melt away the remaining bits of flesh that hang off of his undead corpse. He watches for other hellbound horses that make be lurking behind the statues that show the image of the ruler of hell. He listens to the moans of the lost souls that cry out in thirst. He watches for the beasts that torture the souls of hell, for they may too torture him. He breathes in the smoke that rises from cracks in the floor. He nearly stepped on an undead rat. The creature screaches at him, the sound being a high-pitched echo.

Sharp, demented daggers kicked the undergrowth of its soil as a beast silently lurked through the looming mist that lingered through the wood. Trees were diesesed and cankerous, hollow from decay which fed on the little life that once let the wind bristle through leaves.
Humans a myth,
Love merely a word,
Satan somewhere among him.
Describe the beast in one simple word, Death, as he was named after his own. He was sacrificed through battle, but he could not remember that. All he could remember was that hatred and rage over-powered his rotting body, he was slowly decaying to ash, like the rest of this hell-hole. Another familiar screech of a angered rodent filled the horific silence, and weak ears flicked from the nape of ones neck.

Beezlebub walked away from the angry creature beneath his feet. He soon caught sight of another undead creature. This one was a horse. He took in the decaying remains of this stranger. The being was in worse condition than he was. He let out the softest broken noise his body could make. He was curious to this undead horse.

Decaying bones scraped one another as his thin neck bent to catch sight of the being, and dark orbs narrowed at the sight. They were streaked with hatred.
Death was too weak to fight a undead horse, he was fretful that his life was at its peak.
The beast slowly thrusted his hind-quarters around to face the threat, the disturbence.
His stilts almost buckled underneath the weight of his skinny body as daggers made contact with the arid earth, but he quickly regained himself.
He didn't want to look dis-advantaged, weak, his physical appearance done him good like that, but as soon as one is couraged enough to gain close-ness one will realize he wasn't a preditor, but prey.

Beezlebub watched the display. He snorted a heated breath. He took the entirety of one step closer to the bones infront of him. His hip popped as the bones moved in and out of place with little tendon holding them. He let out another hearkening sound towards the undead horse.

A weak step back of avoidence followed, and it was almost a glimpse of gracefullness of the two, the closest you will ever see of it.
Seeing two undead stallions move without intensional harm to one another was a once and a life time chance, to bad everybody who could of had that chance was dead.
Death didn't want Beezlebub's companionship, and he let a snarl raise from his chest to show him that.

Beezlebub pulled his head back so suddenly at Death's snarl that his neck nearly snapped off. He flatened the cartilage that was his ears and bellowed a deep, angered sound. He pawed at the ground with his chipped hoove. Bones creaked as he swayed side to side, vibrating angrily.