Demonic Firepower- Part 4

Satan has spent ages working himself up to the size of a truly monstrous entity, a massive beast that is the perfect match for any angel- and he can't wait for Gabriel to study every single inch of infernal brawn to show who the best is once and for all. Enjoy!

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Every time, every time that blasted angel showed up, it did something to Satan. Gabriel was so infuriating— that lion's smug aura, his smile framed by that wavy, star-speckled mane, and then there was his body! Those ridiculously oversized arms with biceps big enough to eclipse some mountains, the sprawling space of his shoulders that left his head looking like the peak of some absurdly huge mountain, the girth and brawn in his enormous thighs, all his constant weightlifting and protein intake, as if he had never heard about cutting and cardio— and yet he still had that engorged set of diamond-cut abs!

Well. He would finally show him. The Lord of Wrath— and the real King of Hell— was not going to be eclipsed by some starry-eyed, muscle bound, speedo-clad celestial with a chest he could lose several imps in would—

Satan snarled, slapping his forehead. Enough thinking about Gabriel, he should look at himself instead. The fire and brimstone he had brought to bear in his now monstrously massive body was forged from the most foul, sin-tainted flames from the deepest depths of Hell, and now he was bigger than any other demon in the infernal space. His mammoth body packed with burls upon burls of brawn was enough to strike fear in any lower form of devil or sinner alike. His arms alone were packed with more muscle than the next-biggest demon in hell, every swollen bit mashed between the billowing peaks of his biceps and glacier-sized triceps. His immense, sprawling chest was cleft deeper than the Marianas Trench, all held up by the buttressed bulk of his sprawling back, lats thick as the crust of the earth.

His monster-truck tire thighs rolled off one another, forcing him into an exaggerated swagger as he stormed back into the gym. "Gabriel!" Satan thundered. "I want you out of my gym!" 

The angelic lion turned, eyes going wide. Satan smirked toothily in triumph; that look on his disgustingly perfect face was already a treasured prize— but then Gabriel lumbered closer, and Satan began to worry as he quickly tried to calculate just how big the angel had gotten— clearly, he had been using Satan's gym to its full effect. But he was certain the lion wasn't bigger than him.

"Stan!" Gabriel called, holding those massive arms out like yet another set of wings. "Welcome back."
 "Don't call me Stan," he snarled. "I came to show you who the real King of the gym is around here, you bloated, roided up kitten." He shoved his enormous flexed tricep into Gabriel's overdeveloped chest. "Feel this demonic brawn— I could bend the Gates of Heaven into a pretzel with these guns!"

"Mm, that is very impressive," Gabriel purred, a thick hand feeling the sheer swell of muscle. "But I think that I might be a little bigger…" He curled his arm, that enormous bicep surging upward like a rocket.

"Impossible!" Satan snarled as he puffed up his chest, those huge pecs slamming back against his curled arm muscles. 

"I don't know… it seems to be that I'm just the slightest bit bigger…" Gabriel pat Satan's arm. "I mean. I suppose we could, uh. Take time to figure out who's bigger."

"You're on." Satan growled, leaning in as much mass against the lion as possible to assert dominance. "We're going to settle this once and for all, little cherub— even if it takes us all. Night. Long!"