1. Pilot...

Let me tell you the story of the Hellstingers; long long before the days of man, demon hordes ruled the entire earth in a tight vice. They made everything theirs and used it accordingly.

But then, the first man was born. And he didn't like what the demons had done to the eart...

"How was the man born?"

"What?" Marcus blinked in confusion.

"If the earth was full of demons, then who gave birth to the man?" Marcus looked at the questioner, a lady in her twenties, black as night, sculptured like a work of art, and stunningly beautiful.

It is Marcus' seventh country on his world tour and after countless hours of performing on stage for ten days straight, he is enjoying his last day in Tanzania with a pool party surrounded by his tour crew, a couple of fans, and half a dozen models all clad in bikini straps.

"Baby come on," He said, taking a sip of his campaign straight from the bottle, "just let the story flow, huh?"

"Okay, where was I?"

"The man didn't like what he saw?" A feminine voice said from behind him.

"He did not like what the demons have done to the earth," Marcus said with a hint of drama in his voice. "So he decided it was time for the demons to go back to the Ether life where they came from."

"He became a master of the mystic arts and crafted the Hellstinger swords." He said. His voice constantly dropped in volume, forcing everyone at the poolside to move closer and lean in to hear his story. "with this, he drove the demons back to the Ether life and locked them there forever."

His voice dropped even lower, carrying a sense of sadness that only seemed to empower the triumph in his story. He scanned his audience; every last one of them peaked with curiosity as to why his story was of triumph and yet the narrative was of sorrow.

Marcus bent over to rest his elbows on his knees as he kicked the water gently while gazing at nothing;

"Then," He continues, "the early men and women asked him; 'what will we do now that you have driven the rulers away?'"

"The man rose to his feet," Marcus stood up to illustrate, raising his bottle of champagne high overhead, "he raised his voice and said; 'we will drink!'"

Everyone's face lit up with an excited smile and a couple of voices chorused in response;

"Hell yeah!"

"We will party!" Marcus continued, his champagne bottle still held high as his feet staggered at the edge of the poolside.

"Yeah!" The poolside started getting lively again with everyone rising to their feet as the DJ hummed a low tune to match the elevating atmosphere.

"And we won't give a sh..." He staggered but held fast to a lady's waist, "We won't give a shit! What the account manager says 'cause we PARTY-NON-STOP!"

"WHOOOH!"

The background music increased slightly and everyone was getting ready to get back into the party mood.

Marcus continued;

"Now this!" He yelled to be heard over the cheers, raising his bottle of champagne in the direction of the only fully clothed person at the poolside; a blue-haired middle-aged woman leaning on a pillar by the doorpost with a cup in hand - most probably a soda; Marcus toasted.

"This is to Alexander Hill for being the most annoying fuck-shit in the world." He said with a cocky smile.

"CHEERS!" Everyone chorused in response, taking a huge gulp from their respective drinks.

Alexander has been his bodyguard for as long as he can remember, strictly dominant and unyielding. But that didn't stop a small smile from breaking through her blended lips. Even if it only lasted a microsecond, Marcus saw it. And he winked;

"And this," he said, raising his bottle high overhead, and putting his free hand around the nearest girl among the half dozens already plastering on him.

"This is to the Hellstinger album that broke yet another high in its first week of release."

"Hell yeah!" Someone yelled over the cheers of the others and the DJ scratched his playlist to play the Hellstinger album.

Marcus didn't pause; "And this is to Marc C Hellstinger," he picked up an unopened Champaign bottle from the ice bucket beside him and shook it in preparation for a pop.

"For getting...the seventh streak...world top artist...OF - THE - YEAR!" He shot his bottle into the air and the cock flew open with a loud pop.

The wine sprayed all over the place and the party went wild with everyone jumping and chanting his name as the DJ cranked up the volume playing the first track of the latest hit music album that was sung in an egotistic self-praise and autobiography.

Marcus jumped into the pool and was quickly followed by as many people as the pool could handle at once. He swayed to the booming bass of the speakers and staggered left and right in the water as ladies of different colors, sizes, and shapes swayed and grind on him with just about the same level of sexiness and matching the song's egotistic energy; all hoping to be the lucky one to grace his night.

But Marcus couldn't think much of anything other than the potential his song could have had if he mentioned his parents in the song, a nonfiction childhood, or at least a childhood based on facts. And then the plump lips kissing him, the soft boobs pressed tight against him, and the magnificence of the hips swaying all around him took his mind away from all his demons.

He gulped down a cocktail of extra-strong mixture that was shoved into his hands at a point between his thoughts about the potential his track would never attain and the ocean of seductive sexiness swaying and splashing around him.

The cocktail hit hard; if he wasn't drunk before, now, he is.

***

Marcus woke up to a blaring headache as an unwelcome stream of sunlight suddenly broke his dreamless sleep. He let out an annoyed moan, just like a dozen other feminine moans echoed in response to the light, as the headache struck mercilessly with the aid of an ever-present body ache.

"Aw... Hmm!" He moaned, trying to stretch out his limbs only to remember he his entangled with about five or six girls on the king-sized bed. He smiled in contentment.

"I will not say this more than once." A sharp feminine voice filled the room in a silent threat and a series of softer feminine moans that followed only worked towards forcing Marcus into realizing he was awake; entangled, sandwiched, and caked in dried sweat and semen among what could easily be classified as the most beautiful women in Tanzania.

"UP!" His attention snapped to the right towards the light and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes in a pink nipple staring him in the eye. He smiled again.

The bed stirred lazily with activity, and the ladies moaned in annoyance and fatigue as they dragged themselves out of bed - and the ones that weren't on bed dragged themselves to their feet - disentangled and clad in nothing but dried sweat and sexual secretions. They picked up what little clothing they had had on and trudged out of the room, each of them giving Alexander a bloody look.