Something about the idea of his original cock wandering about another dimension made Viper want to investigate. And if Zech and Jeremiah weren't coming after him, he'd have to go after them.
It was almost instinctive, humping the air in the vague direction of magical currents to get a sense of things. And so Viper skated along a line of invisible flow toward a skatepark bathroom that was the daytime gate to a nighttime world. Not really necessary since it was still night, but better have a way out when doing things more sorry than safe. Bit unusual being back there again, but hopefully the cruising last time would mean fruitful futures.
The idea of danger was...weakened, knowing what he knew now. Demons would sometimes take or crush, but they'd rarely keep interest in someone for long. Unwanted transformation magic got corrected by unhappy victims' inherent magic if the curse-sender lost their attachment, using destructive curses invited retaliation cursing repaid significantly, and using conventional force risked damaging things in an already infrastructurally garbage hell. Sure, some of that stuff was probably fake or stolen, but why kill someone when you could plug him in a milker for a few hours and redecorate your house? And it's good practice to make your transforms resilient, like that guy who got basketballed the other day and bounced off a car to un-squish later, instead of going splat.
Viper tried not to think too hard about the sudden feeling of Zech using his original penis like a microphone and narrating 'the adventures of Matt Hawkins' to an audience of demonic basketball players, context about random previous victims filtering in. Zech didn't even bother transforming it into an actual mic, just sort of shouting at Viper's dick and it somehow working (though it did take a few licks every now and then to keep it hard, with attendant comedic mic taps). The difference between knowledge obtained by listening to his cock and the knowledge being talked into it was subtle, but definitely there. Well, at least he knew where to go, right? Just out the bathroom, but head the other way than he came in that didn't seem to be there from the outside.
Since the Hell's Nest non-gate area was a liminal space and its physical overlap vented aside anything not meant to be there as part of its daily dispersal and reformation, events of interest generally went past the normal basketball court and into a more stable part of the demon world. Down a few ramps, there was a sort of rough seating area by a condemned-looking building where demons lounged on some ramshackle seating by boarded-up windows, a neon pink sign for Club Pasiphae glowing with blue edge lines casting an eerie yet relaxed light over the nighttime atmosphere of vaguely-reddish sky.
Dramatic board flip. Unnecessarily cool rail grind down the rusty old rail. Look both ways before crossing the crumbling street, just some gigantic demons in the distance who seemed more interested in lounging in the moonlight and drinking, mostly nonfunctional-looking cars and only distant foot traffic. Take in the atmosphere of juxtaposing ruined echoes and very-not-ruined gaudy structures. Roll in, hang loose with the hand sign. Viper's gesture was met by a matching one from Jeremiah, over by a large box of dicks. A few excited 'aw yeahs' resounded from the demon squad, more excited to have someone new than anything. Most of them wore similarly overstretched basketball uniforms and dirty sneakers to the two Viper had met earlier, in various states of ruin and cleanliness. Some just played naked and a few were wearing clashingly fancy suits (apparently visitors, given their seats by the edges). A smorgasbord of colors, styles, horn shapes...very varied but hard to keep track of.
"Well well well," Zech said with a smirk, stroking the cock-microphone and watching Viper's pants tent in response. "Look who came to the demon party. You look pretty excited to be here, and don't worry, you deserve to be. So, everybody, listen up. The star of the show gets to be..."