Satanic Firepower- Part 3

The rematch against a certain, stupid sexy angel is coming up, and Satan is building himself into a hellish hulk- enjoy!

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"The left side feels a touch light," Satan grunted. "Can you imps not do anything right?! Who fell off?"

"N-no one, sir!" One of the imps called down from the stack of heavy weights that had been stacked up. "Not since Axel got crushed between the plates!"

"Urgh. Useless— some of you need to start eating something, honestly."

Satan huffed as he pulled his arms in and the imps clung to the top of the stack of weights for dear life. He had received a message from Gabriel to meet up and "discuss" the issue of him being in Satan's gym— coached as it always was in friendly overtures, but he knew exactly what that heavenspawn wanted. He had butted heads with Gabriel plenty of times before, and the lion always knew just how to distract the Lord of Wrath— get under his skin with that star-dappled mane, that insufferable, brilliant white smile, the swirling cosmos spread out across the vast canyon of his chest…

"...Sir? Are you done with your set?"

"Rrgh!" Satan growled, tugging on the cables with all his might, nearly dislodging a half dozen imps. "I'll tell you when I'm done!"

Satan had worked himself into a level of power and might he hadn't felt since the Dark Ages. Every part of his already mountainous form had grown dizzyling huge, with an enormous, shield wall of a chest bristling and pushing back against his boulder-sized biceps, the huge slabs of overgrown muscle churning and pressing against one another, his immense arms propped up by the soaring buttress-like flanks of his lats and vast, surging back. 

He clenched his teeth as he pushed himself; the weights here were starting to grow light— a good sign for his progress, perhaps, but he needed more.

"This is worthless!" He let the immense towers crash back down to the brimstone floor. "I need something heavier." He snapped up to the imps cowering at the top of the stack of weights. "Go to Bee's ring— tell her I need some of her hellhounds— the heavy ones. The ones that like her parties a bit too much."

"R-right away, sir!"

He huffed as the imps scurried away, flexing the vast bloated musculature of his arm and testing the dense heft of it with his free hand— Gabriel was not going to show him up, not this time.