Quickly fleeing, the goblins and trolls, the demons and all the other scary things that lived in that old volcano caught up with little Tweek, and they leaped and flew and slithered fast past him, all of them in terror, just as little Tweek was, and all of them fleeing madly, as he was doing, away to they knew not where, only away, away and away.
Tweek envied the demons that had wings. They could fly and he could not. His fat little legs carried him as swiftly as they could, and he moved with astonishing alacrity through the tumult, but he was just a short and fat little demon, and he could not fly.
Tweek bounded from stone to rock, to ruined wall, to stone again, leaping over pools of flame. All that terrible night he ran, demons and goblins fleeing beside him, and on and on and on.
How he did it, nobody can ever say, but he managed to escape the flame and the fire and the lava, even when thousands and thousands of his demon fellows perished. Some stumbled, and fell, and were instantly swallowed up in the flood of lava. Some tried to fly off, only to be burned up by huge geysers of flame that suddenly shot out from the ground.
Some climbed onto tall rocks, and mountain peaks, hoping that the floods would subside, only to be trapped there, as the relentless tides of burning lava grew higher and higher, until they were at last overwhelmed.
What Tweek could remember was that somehow, without knowing how he got there, he found himself stumbling with other demon refugees who survived that terrible night into a very strange world.
He did not know that the things he crossed were mountains. He did not know that it was a cliff that he had fallen over, spilling down with a thousand other demons all burned and charred from the raging sea of lava.