The entrance to the Edge of the Void bar is hard to find, partly because it doesn’t exist in time and space. I made sure of that myself. The normal rules of civility apply here, as well as a few others you wouldn’t normally find: no cult activities, no driving weaker patrons insane (see the above rule for details), and an unwritten rule that is perhaps the most important: no disrespecting the barkeep.

Usually it takes one or two bans to get it into the heads of new patrons that the Edge of the Void is my domain. When you are serving eldritch horrors or long-forgotten gods, arrogance comes with the territory. Even Y’Shaarj the Unsleeping eventually learned to wait his turn. Not so for Lucius the Eternal. He’s on his third ban, and is about to find it extremely hard to get here.

“You think you’re the queen of the universe, don’t you, little girl!” he shouts. “I’ve absorbed thousands of souls who thought they were better than me! I’ll display yours on my chest plate once I’m done with you!” He pounds on the invisible wall barring his way with the single fist he possesses, and his sentient whip (what had taken the place of his other arm) joins suit.

“In the name of all that is unholy, will you shut up?!” a many-horned demon roars at him. To me, he says, “Alexa, another round of Pain and Suffering for me.”

“No problem,” I reply, and refill Abbadon’s drink with the fiery scarlet brew. The liquid quickly morphs into a panoply of screaming faces. Other patrons start to hurl abuse at Lucius too. They are about as tired of his nonsense as I am. I can’t kill him myself – I’d just turn into him, and that would probably cause an interdimensional war between my father and his master, Slaanesh. I’m something of a favorite child.

“Kill him, my lady, that monster wouldn’t dare turn into you!” That came from one of my father’s cultists. Insane morons, all of them. They tip far more than they have to.

Time to take control of the situation. I snap my fingers, and Lucius suddenly finds himself unencumbered by the invisible wall in front of him, stumbling forward in surprise. He lets out a yell of triumph – right before a portal opens behind him, and tentacles ensnare his body.

“Consider yourself banned for eternity, Lucius,” I informed him, the tentacles yanking him through before he can spew any more vitriol.

“Thank all the gods he’s gone,” a hive-mind of five mutter into their drinks.

“You mean ‘Thank Cthulhu,” one of said Elder God’s more upstart cultists corrects, but no one pays any attention to him.

“She’s going to institute the no-follower rule again if you keep doing that,” an imp informs the cultist.

“Last call!” I shout over the din of voices. Just another day/cycle/timespan at the Edge of the Void.