20210410 Udder Meyhem

Ok, so Methurgh, the demon prince of the hell cows, or whatever title he gets, was down. One hell-sheep was defending his unconscious body, which by "defending" I mean attacking anybody who came by. I called my Oatman Crawler friends (large poisonous scorpions) to ruin the hell sheep's day, and Lee Chung applied his boot to the hell-sheep's head several times in rapid succession, and Wrong Way charged at the hell-sheep to sting it in the face during the few moments that Lee Chung's boot wasn't there. So, pretty soon hell-sheep goes night-nite.
 
I could tell Lee Chung was only moving at about half speed because he wasn't a complete blur. He must have gotten a deep whiff of the demon-prince's killer-musk. No problem. I asked Mother Nature to remove the sickness from him. That was easy. But I noticed that with all the Oatman Crawlers I was calling up, I was nearly out of favors.
 
That's when our plan turned to bottling the demon-prince-yadda-yadda into one of the Biccheri Family's finest leaded glass bottles, suitable for holding genies and demons and what-have-you. Lee Chung slapped a Holy Rose Wafer into Methurgh's big mouth and poked at some pressure points to make his unconscious body swallow. No smoke. He was resisting getting dispossessed. I volunteered the Rose Wafer he gave me earlier for protection from roaming demons. Still didn't work. While Lee Chung gives him a third, I'm thinking Rose Wafer Suppository administered rectally and keep stuffing both ends until they meet in the middle. And we are both like, "How many stomachs does a cow have; like four, right? This could take a while."
 
Then I think, "He's still holding the fiendish warhammer in his left hand - I mean hoof. That must be the problem." So I reach for his ordinary heavy warhammer with the usual glowing infernal magical runes crawling all over the handle and a dark mist rising from it whenever it moves.
 
Two of Wrong Way's hands grab my arm before I touch the evil warhammer.
 
Two more of Wrong Way's arms turn my head to the right so I can see another hell-sheep approaching in the fog. He's so practical.
 
No problem. I had called in a favor from Brother Lightning a few minutes ago, and he was waiting like, "So can I toast this guy?" I pointed to the fiendish Hell-Woolie and whispered to Brother Lightning, "Oh, yeah. That one."
 
BLAM! Toasty woolie. Not dead. Just hurt. One more favor from Brother Lightning to go before we call it even and I need to pay it forward to him again.
 
I turn back and Lee Chung has Methurgh's demony darkness in the bottle and corked.
 
The cork starts to rise out of the bottle.
 
He presses it down and holds it shut. I help, very concerned.
 
"Beeswax?" he asks.
 
I signal to Wrong Way the vomit signal and he spits out a big drippy soft ball of beeswax all over our hands and the bottle.
 
You see, giant dire bees secrete wax out of glands in their abdomens (bellies), but it isn't very useful in this state, so they chew it in their mouths like chewing tobacco until it is soft and - well - waxy.
 
Now we just need to let it harden. It's a dirty job. We have to do it.