The Eternal Question

In a burst of sulfur and acrid smoke, hazy and inconstant, the image of Yehnozghol, Demon Prince, rears one horned head, spreads its mandibles, and, in the voice of a million buzzing insects, bellows, “WHO DARES?”

Billy waves. “Hey. We got a question.”

“YOU HAVE SUMMONED US HERE FOR –”

“Yeah,” says Tommy. “Listen. Who would win in a fight? Ketchup or mustard?”

“WHAT?”

“Like,” says Billy, “if they had arms and legs, and could think and stuff.”

There is the sound of distant screaming as Yehnozghol thinks.

“KETCHUP. IT HAS MORE MOVES.”

“Told you,” says Tommy, and breaks the ritual.