Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Asmodeus glanced at his sleeping love, the beating heart of his neverending life. How that little imp hopped into his archaic soul, Asmodeus would never know - It was by accident that they even met in person, but that was all it took for Asmodeus to be intrigued. 

It's not like Asmodeus hasn't loved before. He's the embodiment and prince of lust; it's just another part of his sin. Sometimes, you lust for the one you love. 

Lust is more than sexual pleasure. It's the lust for knowledge, for safety, comfort and freedom. It's a desire in its purest form. 

He lusted for his little frog. 

If one of the sins said that he'd be willing to give up immortality for a scarred, disabled imp, he might've laughed it off. It's not a joke, though. He's had many partners in his aeons, but few made a nest in his heart like Fizz did. 

He loved Fizz, wonkiness and all. They made him so special to Asmodeus, something you can't replicate in others. The imp was his equal, regardless of hierarchy and royal bullshit. That never mattered to Asmodeus.

He was never fond of having power over another, even back behind those deceiving pearly gates. 

Somehow, this life was supposed to be a punishment, but it was freedom. Free to feel, experience and enjoy life and death in all its glories. There isn't a thing Asmodeus left behind, always enjoying the tall tales that his succubi and imps learned from the sinners above.

He'd lusted for humanity's ability to be free. Perhaps that was what made God so angry with him. It's hard to say.

In the beginning, Asmodeus was bright-eyed, stupid and willing to serve. With time, especially when Adam, Lily and Evie came, he started to wake up. 

Lily was his first introduction to something beyond Father's chains. No matter what, Lilith wanted to learn. She had no interest in that asshole, Adam. She captured the hearts of angels everywhere.

It's no shocker that Luci, the boldest of them, wormed his way into her soul. He'd fallen bad, perhaps the first angel to ever feel love beyond what their father demanded. 

Another thing beyond God's grasp. Love. Something that he couldn't control. 

Asmodeus revelled in this discovery. He hungered to learn more. 

That hunger somehow warranted being questioned, borderline interrogated by God and Michael. It disgusted him, and he wouldn't stand for it. Thankfully, Luci had his side. 

Of those who questioned the all-mighty, only eight remained. It's debatable to consider them that, given that they're free from their father's command and stupidity.

Asmodeus created a piece of heaven everybody deserved. It's somewhere safe and welcoming, a place for all kinks and pleasure and to encourage the hunger to explore. 

His residents, both native and otherwise, deserved that. If Luci allowed it, he'd offer the same to sinners. 

In Asmodeus' opinion, Lucifer can't run that ring. Every time Asmodeus has been to the Pride Ring, it's gotten worse. The sinners have no sense of direction, creating a hierarchy for themselves. Over the years, Luci was becoming more reclusive.

He knew something was wrong but didn't know how to approach his brother. He's not like Mammon, where Asmodeus can tell him to fuck off, and he'll most likely back down.

Mam isn't a fighter, never has been and never will be, but Luci sure as shit was. Back in the earlier days of hell, Satan and Luci got into a nasty fight. It's why Satan's ring is all fucked up.

It was probably the only event where Belphegor was active in something. He loved his siblings - even the oversized Australian bed bug to some extent - but Bel had a particular place in his heart for being unreliable. At least Mam was reliably an asshole.

It's genuinely surprising that he went full demon mode. Out of the sins, Mam had the most... adverse reaction to his new form. 

Becoming this took getting used to. They weren't all like Beezlebub and overjoyed at their new body. 

Mam only changed when he lost control. He would've hurt Fizz, even if unintentionally. The idiot wasn't conscious of his size or strength, even in "small" mode. It was necessary to change and defend his love.

And really, the worst that'll happen is some bad PR. It's not going to change that Asmodeus is the boss of a ring, and he has an empire on sex. Given enough time, it'll smooth out like it always does, although it put a price on Fizzie's head.

There already was one, given how that Crimson behaved. He might have to bug Mammon into sorting that, given that it's his ring. For another time, though. The roach needed to cool off before Asmodeus tried talking to him like an adult.

His three sets of eyes wandered back to the sleeping Fizz. 

There's something that Asmodeus wants to talk about, but if Fizz couldn't, then Asmodeus wouldn't go through.

Watching Charlie grow up made him broody sometimes. She was a surprise baby; none knew they could make kids. It was a big adjustment, especially for Luci, but they all loved her. She was the one subject they could all agree on.

Well, most of them. Since Charlie gained that old hotel place with help from Mam and Levi, Luci's been cold to her. Since the start, he was put off by her "sunny" personality, but it's tense now, more than ever before.

He hated it when his niece was upset. He couldn't agree, support or like her plan, but that didn't mean he couldn't be there for her. 

They should celebrate her, cheer her up a little. It'll ease some of his broodiness, and it's about time Fizz met her, though there's the downside that Mam would also be there.

She was the only one he'd ever consider spending money on. 

It'll be awkward, but Asmodeus can handle his parasite of a brother. Besides, he'll likely focus on Charlie and Bee. 

That's for later. Now, it's time to rest and reward his sweet little frog with morning head soon. It always gets his froggy in a chipper mood. 

Solitude. It is a quiet, deadly thing.

Lilith sat outside Lucifer's "quiet place". He's been pulling away from her; that was never a good sign.

Humans have therapy, but who could help the formerly favoured son of God? What possible advice could they give to an entity that watched reality form?

Sitting quietly outside of her husband's place of safety was the best they had. 

She pondered on her husband's possible reasons for isolating himself. The last time he did this, Charlie had broken up with Sev, and Lucifer blamed himself. He did that a lot.

She knew he blamed himself for his younger siblings being trapped here with them. A lot of guilt sat on his petit shoulders. 

The disconnect between him and Charlotte was also a contributing factor. They argued before she left, staying with her new girlfriend and getting that hotel. Thankfully, Luci didn't know that Leviathan and Mammon helped. He would've been even more furious.

All she could do was watch as Lucifer slowly burned the bridges between his family.

Mammon and Beelzebub had the worst of his ire. While it's true Mam was a pain and parasitic, it wasn't fair how Luci toyed with his insecurities. 

The last time Luci shut down and lashed out, Asmodeus didn't speak to him for a century. 

She felt helpless like this. If she didn't know any better, she'd pray.

"My love, please talk to me," Lilith said, resting her head against the door. "You don't need to open if you don't want to, dear."

Silence stung her heart.

"It's nothing you should worry about."

Her husband's voice vibrated through the door, tickling her ears and soul.

"I love you. I'll always worry."

"Don't. I'm sorting it."

She wasn't sure what to do or say. 

Her love fell into himself when times were hard. Lately, it hasn't been looking up for her other half.

Hopefully, their daughter was doing well.

Slow. Everything is so slow.

Belphegor let a plume of red leave her lips, feeling the world come to a pause. 

Soft clouds filled her mind, taking away the stress and concern, fogging the memories of her former life.

Never was it enough. She still saw her father and how he was eternally disappointed in her creation. Her existence was a stain that couldn't get washed out. 

That's the way of it. They are made and cast aside.

"My lady," Sophie squeaked, the imp tentatively stepping towards the primordial sin. "Prince Stolas has requested an audience with you. He says that it's urgent, my lady."

Belphegor's eyes lazily wandered to Sophie, vaguely remembering her existence. 

The imp nodded hastily and fled, leaving the giant to her laze. While most of her siblings preferred their miniature forms, Belphegor felt far more comfortable in her body. It made her tired to try otherwise. 

It felt like centuries, the soft sands of time falling behind her eyes as a strange bird appeared. It looked like Paimon. He's grown so much since he hatched. 

The little owl looked up at her, visibly nervous. 

She didn't react to him, merely blinking with the haste of a snail. 

"Prince Belphegor, I was hoping to talk with you!" the owl called, sounding different. Was this a different Goetia? She never kept count. "I'm... struggling. I was hoping you might have something to make the days not so... dreary."

The words jumbled in her mind, taking time to form a semblance of coherence. 

The owl desired rest. Many sought such a luxury from her. 

How better to run from your pain than to exist outside of it? The mind is an exhausting thing. 

"Your heart beats fast..." Belphegor stated as the thump raced in her ears. "You need it slowed?"

"That would help, admittedly, but no. I... I'm struggling to stay happy. The things I enjoy are becoming tiresome. Even feeding my beloved plants is a chore. I don't like being this, My Lady. It's so... it drains me."

Another ailment, more than mere restlessness. 

"The dark cloud thunders deep. Do you know their source?"

"I don't know where to start..."

Belphegor moved slothfully. She was painstakingly slow, conserving her energy as she neared the owl. She blew a puff of green smoke onto him, sucking it back up after a few moments.

She felt chemicals, pheromones, and hormones dance upon her tongue and tickle her slowed mind. It was stress, fear, guilt, regret, strained love and unresolved anger and trauma.

A common plight. 

It made her feel sleepy to digest so much inner sourness. 

"Hanahakyline," Belphegor determined, her eyes sinking into the owl's soul. "Once on the morn. It will take six weeks to take effect. Leave me to my rest, owl."

"Oh, um, thank you."

The owl left, and Belphegor could return to her rest.

Time slowed further, and her mind began to blank. It emptied, giving her a moment of peace and relaxation.

Envy is a wet place. 

Their capital, Avarice, was more of a swamp than a city. They took little pride in it. Whatever made their duties to their citizens simpler, they were interested in it. 

Cold glowing eyes gazed at the eternal rainclouds, occasionally wondering where they came from. It's not like the rings have a functioning, natural ecosystem. 

As Leviathan pondered, they were torn away by a scurrying angler demon. They slithered towards the commotion, curious.

"What're you doin'?" Leviathan asked, their accent thick and often compared to that of Earth's "Scotland". 

The angler demon yelped, frightened by Leviathan's presence. 

"I'm sorry, Prince Leviathan!" she whimpered, shivering as their many eyes burned into her soul. "I-I'm to deliver a message to Mistress Moray." 

Moray was a deliberate choice. They found her skill in disposing of obstacles something that they wanted. 

Regarding skills and talents, Leviathan loathed being outclassed by any, especially those below them. Although Moray was supposed to be a means to an end, she grew on them like mould. 

Eventually, her presence was preferred over her absence. It isn't something that Leviathan is familiar with - that was always Asmodeus' thing. However, the thought of being better than their brother encouraged them to explore this peculiar relationship.

"Ah'll deliver it mysel'," they stated, holding out one of their damp, webbed hands. "Ah cannae have you disturbing her, can I?"

The little demon ran away. They moved on, their tail fins leaving a trail of cold wetness in their wake. No matter what, they were always wet. 

They've wondered if part of their sin is to envy those who are dry, but they don't. Usually, anyway.

They had servants to clean for them. Their ring was designed for those like them.

It isn't hard to find Moray. She's often smoking on a balcony somewhere, looking out at the vast world that they've cultivated with careful and calculated precision. It had to be perfect or they weren't satisfied.

The idea of any of the other rings being better than theirs pissed them off, frankly. They hated that Luci's little theme park was more popular than theirs, despite it being far superior in every way. Even Mammon's laughable attempt was more entertaining than that farce of joy. 

Confident that she was at her favoured balcony, Leviathan slithered there, phasing through doors with minimal effort. Being able to effectively swim through most solid matter was one of the few things their kin couldn't emulate.

There she was, puffing an expensive-looking cigar, the rain making her rough shark skin glisten. They tilted their head as she took a deep breath, the light of the cigar making her skin look almost iridescent. 

As the resulting smoke died in the winds and fall of rain, she sighed, turning her ringed eyes to them. Where most saw them as something to fear, she saw a challenge. 

Leviathan is a petty, competitive sort. They didn't like to back down or lose. It was a suitable trait for the sin of envy itself. 

They envied her confidence. She's lived such a short life, a mere blink of their eyes, but she held what took them centuries to scramble for. 

Part of them wanted to strip it away, break it and take it for themselves, but another piece wished it to flourish. They could show off to their fellow sins that they had a superior partner.

Lilith was superb, but she was second to their little piece of personal heaven.

Her eyes wandered to the dripping letter in their hand. Her tail waved to the side, making it easier for them to approach her. It wasn't necessary, but the thoughtfulness was appreciated.

They handed it to her, eagerly awaiting to know its contents. For anyone else, they would've read it, but they held a mysterious respect for the mortal demon. They wanted to learn more about these strange feelings.

She read through it quickly, her expression unreadable. 

"Looks like another one of my cousins got themselves killed. Shame. I remembered this one's name," Moray sighed, tossing the opened letter into the bin. "Enjoying the rain, Via?"

It was hardly worth giving her a letter over. Instead of that uneventful news, they pondered on her question.

It usually rained. They didn't have an opinion on it. 

"Ah dinnae ken."

"Don't be like that. I know you love a good soak."

Oh, so that was what she was playing at.

"That an invitation or a suggestion?"

"Depends. You want to fill these jaws with something meaty?"

Another game. Another challenge.

She always knew how to press their buttons most amusingly.

"Aye. Would love to fill them bonnie jaws."

Moray grinned, showing her sharp, inviting teeth. Those fangs couldn't pierce their skin, but the threat was exhilarating. 

They loved it when she bit them, even if it never broke their scales. 

"Better start then, before I get bored."

She pretended to lose interest, but her smile grew as they inched behind her, lowering their head closer to her.

"Haud yer wheesht, lass. Isnae wise tae tease a sin."

Moray perked, her eyes meeting their main five. A long, serpentine tongue flickered from their lips, tickling her cheek. Before she could further sass them, they hushed her.

"I wouldn't be here if I was "wise", would I?"

"Yer aff yer heid, wee shark."

"Just the way you like me," she grinned, bringing a claw to their shin seductively. As she leaned to kiss them, she pulled away, smirking. "Come now, your highness. I want you writhing in your bed."

"Think yer that good?"

"You know I am."

Maybe they did like the rain.

Satan turned off the TV, bored.

He tossed aside his gym equipment, feeling his presence before he broke in.

Satan opened the door to his back garden, scowling at the little form in front of him.

His worst mistake.

"You're sloppy," Satan grumbled, annoyed.

"You're an ugly bastard."

"Bring booze?"

"Obviously."

Satan didn't say more to the little abomination, turning to walk to his kitchen. His presence scared his servants, and they were wise to keep a distance. He had the least control of his sin.

Being short-tempered with so much power is a dangerous thing.

And yet, there that little bastard is, toying with him.

Even if he has better control of it than before.

Satan didn't want to think about that time. 

He sneered as Striker climbed onto his kitchen island, scuffing the marble with dirty boots. It was deliberate. 

Sometimes, he's almost impressed by the hybrids' boldness.

"You tried to kill Stolas twice, huh?" Satan questioned, not that he cared. The Goetia was a nuisance he wouldn't mind eliminating, but Luci had a thing for the birds. 

"First time got rudely interrupted. Same with the second time, but that's more 'cause the client changed their mind. Can still taste the blue blood, though."

He only came to Satan to insult and annoy him, which wasn't unwarranted. The whole reason Striker was even a mercenary was to kill him someday. A stupid, futile endeavour, but the little mutt was determined. 

"What'd you get?"

"Ludo's Lite."

"That's trash."

"You're trash."

"Real original there, mutt."

"Says the literal jock. By the way, fuck you for that damn statue."

"Aww, you don't like my little present?"

"And that damn band of weirdos that keep following me."

"Your misery is my dessert, mutant."

"So's the thought of you gurglin' on your pretty blue blood, ugly cock cheese."

It was a little annoying finding a band of fools to follow a half-imp mercenary everywhere, but the thought of it amused him. As did imagining the reaction Striker had to the statue he left him.

It must've been embarrassing when he tried to kill Stolas near it. The bird had his father's habit of speaking before thinking.

He needs to pluck that bird, honestly. Out of them, Paimon pissed him off the most. 

Satan took one of the beers, flicking it open with his thumb. It was barely a shot and tasted like stale urine. Knowing Striker, it might've been.

As if that would bother the lord of all of wrath's ring. 

Plus, he had to learn what kinks he liked during Asmodeus' many stupid parties. They were far better in the old days before he became obsessed with consent and all that shit. 

They're literal sins, the purest of demons, but Ozzie acted like he was still in heaven. He should start calling him Gadreel again.

"Your mom still in Envy?"

"The fuck do you care?"

"Might want a booty call."

"Very funny, but no, she's in Sloth. Cancer's worse. Luckily for her, she can't remember your hideous mug."

"That's no way to talk to a mirror." Striker hissed, the rattle of a snake echoing in the background. It was one of the many things he got from Satan. "I might pay a visit."

"You fucking won't. I'll kill you earlier than I've got planned."

"You'll never kill me, brat. I enjoy watching your attempts, though."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, bitch. I've killed a royal before. If you bleed, you can die, and I know you've bled." 

The scar on Satan's shoulder pulsed with the threat. While Satan wasn't afraid of Striker, he wasn't wrong. 

Satan's bled before. He can be hurt. 

What hurt him more than the scar was why he had it. It was entirely his fault. He utterly lost it, and thanks to that, his baby brother can't even look at him without being scared. He almost killed Bee if not for him taking the brunt of Satan's wrath.

It was a reminder. No matter how angry he got or how much control he lost, he had to keep a grip on his sin. 

Maybe someday, his baby brother could share a space without being on edge. That was as likely as Asmodeus being reliable, though. That guy always thought with his genitalia, picking flings over his family. This time, it's some broken little imp thing.

Thankfully, it's a boy one, so Asmodeus won't make an ugly mistake like Satan had.

"Look forward to when you die, mutt."

"Likewise, cuck."

The little creature jumped from the counter and left. The sooner it dies, the better Satan will sleep at night. 

He liked imps over the other demons, but their hybrids were hideous. And as Striker kept proving since he was born, they don't die as easily as others proclaimed.

Maybe Satan should be proud that the brat survived his numerous attempts to fix his mistake. He wasn't and never would be, but it's something to ponder while high off his balls on whatever's Belphegor testing. 

Lucifer would wreck Satan's shit if he discovered he had a halfbreed running around. 

You'd never think a sin would be shitting themselves at the prospect of dinner.

Anxiously, Bee brushed her fur, constantly looking in her handheld mirror.

"It's fine, babes," Vortex said, but it didn't alleviate the nervousness that bubbled in her lava lamp abdomen. "We won't be long, anyway. I love my pack, but they can get a bit much." 

"Tell me about it. My family's never made it to date before a fight starts," she sighed, leaning back on the passenger seat. Her wings buzzed, adjusting for comfort. "What if they hate me?"

"That's their problem. I love you, and that's all you need."

"Will Nova like me?"

"With how colourful and bright you are, babes? No doubt. And you make it rain cotton candy. What five-year-old wouldn't adore that?"

She agreed, but the butterflies in her belly continued their rave.

They've been dating for nearly two years. Few of her relationships ever lasted that long. 

Most got tired of Beelzebub and her partying. Some were disgusted with her for being a sin. It's not like she can help what she is, although she's got better control than most of her family. 

Thankfully, Vortex isn't judgemental. He's a good guy, and that's hard to find when you're a royal celebrity. 

"At least you don't have to meet my family," she chuckled nervously, knowing Satan would pick a fight or Ozzie would try fucking him. "It never goes well when we're all in one place."

"I like your 'lil brother."

"Z's fine on his own, but he gets... you know how he is; I don't want you to see how heated they get. Even Bel gets heated," Bee sighed, her ears pinned back. "You should tell Z you like him, though. It'll mean a lot, even if he can't express it."

Tex smiled and nodded. Once again, he's showing how sweet he is. 

"I'd be much happier with Mammon as my brother than fucking Jupe. That guy gets on my nerves like it's an addiction." 

"I've only really heard about your sisters."

"There's a good reason. Don't take it personally if Sirius or Jupe open their big mouths. Orion doesn't talk. He's not mute, just aggressively introverted." 

"Sounds like Leviathan. Maybe Belphegor, too."

"And your hundreds of other siblings." The hellhound yelped and lowered his ears apologetically. "Shit, sorry. I know that's a sore subject."

"No, it's ok. With you, at least," she smiled, watching his ears raise. "I'm glad you'll never meet Michael. He's legitimately the worst."

"Given how pissed you get about the king, I can only imagine, babes."

Beelzebub isn't afraid to have a go at Lucifer when he deserves it, which was most of the time, especially regarding their baby brother and Charlie. 

She didn't care how annoyed Asmodeus got for always defending their baby brother from their bullshit. It wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault they were down here.

That was on Michael, God and partly Luci. Her, Bel, Satan, Ozzie and Mammon didn't do shit. They were guilty by association, which is typical "Michael" mentality. Not even Gabriel, arguably the only good angel, could change that. 

The car stopped moving. As usual, Tex had parked perfectly, possibly the reason Verosika liked to hire him since she couldn't park to save her life. 

Nervous, Beelzebub stepped out, her wings buzzing frantically behind her. Meanwhile, Tex was scowling at a car down the road.

"That hers?"

"Sorry, babe. I was hoping they wouldn't do this. We can leave if you want," he offered, but she wanted to be strong for him.

Bee took his hand, showing her support. He nodded, accepting her decision.

Reluctantly, Tex opened the door, showing her inside. It was what she expected of his folks' home. It was pleasant and cosy. 

She clocked Tessa, the shepherd-looking hellhound scowling at Bee with spite that rivalled Ozzie on a bad day. It wouldn't frighten her away, though. She's a big girl, a sin; a miserable, jealous bitch won't get in her way. 

A tiny form ran to Tex, bouncing into his arms.

"Papi!" Nova squealed, nuzzling him, her tail wagging like mad. She was more adorable than the pictures, looking like a lighter version of her father. "Papi, who?" she questioned, looking at Bee with beautiful, giant eyes. 

Bee felt a rainbow in her vagina, giddy at seeing the little pup. She loved pups, which occasionally hurt.

Due to the boom in hounds this past century, it's been getting harder to house them all. She wants the best for them. They're her people. Despite doing everything she could, it didn't work out sometimes.

Some orphanages, or "pounds" as some called them, weren't in good condition. It left the pups and teens with issues that they didn't need. It upset her knowing that some slipped through the cracks, unable to live the life they deserved. 

It upset her to see so many disregard hellhounds and imps. It wasn't fair. 

It's why everyone was welcome to her parties. It didn't matter what you were, who you loved or whatever fix you needed; Queen Bee was there for them. She kept them fed, quenched, warm and spoiled them. 

"Nova, this is my girlfriend, Bee. She's real nice, I promise," Tex smiled, stroking her back as she watched Bee's stomach and hair. 

"Pretty!" Nova grinned, waving one of her paws at Bee's hair. 

"Thanks, darling," Bee smiled back, grateful for the sweet devil. "You're much prettier than me, though. Your fur is perfect!"

"What do we say, my 'lil superstar?"

"Thank you!"

"Atta girl," he said, kissing Nova's forehead and letting her down. The pup played with Bee's tail, making him pleased. "Let me warn Tess to keep her trap shut and get comfy. Jericho and her wife will be over soon, and you can hang out - Jeri's a mean dickhead at Mo-Kart."

She'll forever be thankful she convinced Mammon to make a hell version of Mario Kart. There was a version in the Pride ring somewhere, but it was crap. 

Bee made her way into the living room, sweet Nova following her. 

As soon as she sat on the old, worn couch, Nova hopped into her lap, watching her stomach.

It was a symbol that no matter what, Beelzebub would never be satiated. 

Greed and gluttony are twin sins. They were a hole that couldn't be filled, regardless of what you threw in. In Bee's case, it's the lava-lamp stomach, forever empty. With Mammon, he hid his eternal wound under fuzz and a jester's outfit; it wasn't as visible as hers.

They understood each other's anguish and pain. Sometimes, it physically hurts. 

Bee spent many nights stuffing her face until her throat was bloody, but it didn't fill her. She thought back to one of the worst of her episodes. She started to swallow objects like someone with Pica, hurting herself. She wore down her teeth to nothing, insatiably desperate for relief. 

It was one of the few times Ozzie and Mam worked together without a fight. They weren't supposed to come over together; it was a coincidence.

Ozzie wanted to see her, and Mam had one of his sixth senses that something was up with her. Again, greed and gluttony were intertwined. 

With Asmodeus so busy, Vortex and Mammon supported her when it got bad. Likewise, they helped him. He's the only one Vortex has physically met due to that - he's only heard Ozzie and Levi on the phone. 

At least they get along. She loved Vortex with her soul, but Beelzebub would always stick with her brother. They weren't twins, but it felt like it sometimes. 

She didn't have that with Luci. As much as she wanted to be close to Lucifer, he was self-isolated. He doesn't talk to them, and barely Lilith. It's no surprise his communication with Charlie is atrocious.

"What demon are you?" Nova asked, her pointed ears perking upwards, awaiting an answer.

What is Beelzebub? She has bee wings, fox features, cat feet and fluid light floating from her body. It's confusing and weird. 

Why not tell the truth?

"I'm a sin," Bee smiled, watching the girl's eyes grow.

"You're a princess!?"

"Personally prefer prince, but yes, I am. Because your daddy is that special," she continued, stroking the girl's hair. "Just like you."

She's feeling broody. 

Ever since Charlie, she's wanted a little bean of her own. She happens to be dating a man that already has an adorable darling. It worked well.

The door opened, and she heard many voices and barks. The rest of the family has arrived. She could taste the mix of excitement and nervousness.

Excited, Nova jumped off and raced to the door, eagerly meeting whoever was there. With her gone and Tex talking to who she assumed was his father, Apollo, she saw Nova's mother stand in the living room doorway.

The jealousy was enough to make Levi blush.

"Where'd he pick you up?" the hound grumbled, sneering at her.

Thank fuck, Nova took after her father. What did Tex ever see in this? 

"The Hive," Beelzebub smirked, knowing that his woman's never been to her establishment. She tasted like sewage and cactus, sour on the inside. 

It's a weird thing to be able to taste people. There are folks like Nova and Tex who are like honey, and then there's Tessa, who's so rotten and repulsive. 

Mam was minty, Ozzie had a spice, Satan was dry, Lucifer was obnoxiously sweet, Levi was chilly, and Belphegor had a cheese taste. Unsurprisingly, Lilith tasted like a rose.

It's like she tasted their souls. Ever since getting her new form, she's never understood how it works. It's stronger if someone has eaten her food or drank her honey.

"How much? For you to go away," Tessa growled.

"Y'know, I can text Mammon and see what's in your bank if you'd like. We could arrange weekly payments," Bee jested.

The mention of her brother's name made her fur bristle. To be a little bitchy, Bee raised her phone, showing his big dumb fuzzy face in a picture he sent to her, showing off a merch prototype. 

Having two sets of arms was incredible.

The point was made, though.

"Not a flex having that fat fucker's number."

"Don't call my brother that," Bee warned, her tone flat and dangerous.

He isn't. He wears a lot of layers and is covered in fuzz. He hides himself because he's disgusted by his body; it's not something he's open to talking about, even with her. Body dysphoria is a nasty bitch. Out of everyone, he had the most violent reaction to his new body.

It took centuries to get somewhat tolerant of his body. Anybody shaming that pissed her off.

Nobody was allowed to call him fat but her because he knows she doesn't mean it like that. 

"Brother...?"

"Beelzebub Magne. Nice to meet you," Beelzebub smirked, her ears flicking at the frightened expression. "You're going to behave and leave my boyfriend alone. And you won't speak about my brothers or sister like that. I'm nice, but I have a limit." 

Loona learned that the hard way.

The bitch hid away, avoiding Beelzebub as the rest of the family filled the living room. 

She's seen pictures of most of them. 

The oldest trio, Eclipse, Jericho and Orion - the big, silent guy who found a corner and stayed there. She understood; Bel was like that. 

There's loudmouth Jupiter, already annoying Jericho with something stupid. 

After him came Halley, Andromeda, Pandora, Diana and the baby, Sirius.

Her love had a lot of siblings, which she easily related to. She's the second oldest, contrary to what Satan tries to convince everyone of. It's a weird spot to be in. 

The oldest is Luci, the middle is Ozzie, and the last is Z. Herself and Satan - in that order - are between Lucifer and Asmodeus, while Leviathan and Belphegor are between Ozzie and Z. 

Technically, Lilith is the youngest, but she's the original human, the first sinner, not a former angel. 

Charlie, the ultimate baby, is a sugary sweet ball that all dote on. She's the golden one, the favourite, but not a spoiled brat like Luci used to be. She's one of a handful of people Mammon would willingly spend money on. 

"Your hair is immaculate," Saffron - Jericho's wife - said, returning Beelzebub to reality. "What products do you use?"

"I use my honey," Beelzebub smiled, shaking Saffron's hand. "Your hands are so soft!"

"I can thank your sister for that," Saffron chuckled, pleased to meet her. "How is Bel? Nobody ever sees her."

"High or asleep, maybe both," Beelzebub shrugged, making cotton candy appear in Saffron's hand. "What's the story on how sweet Tex met that mess?"

"Eclipse felt bad, so she set up a blind date. He's never said it, but we all think Nova was an attempt to baby-trap him. You should've seen my Jeri - she almost lost her fur from anger!"

That motherfucker!

Speaking of, Jericho leaned on her wife's shoulder, waving at Beelzebub. The resemblance between her and Vortex is striking.

It's a little awkward, but meeting his siblings is nice. She would never get an opportunity like this with her family; Satan would try and skin Vortex somehow.

Her boyfriend was so beautiful, so kind. He was everything that Beelzebub wished she could be. From what his family says, he's always been that way.

Beelzebub didn't start compassionate. It took a long time to get to where she was. The healing, the acceptance, the mourning over what could've been. It takes time, more so when you're essentially ageless.

They never had a childhood. They spawned into reality in an adult form but an infantile mind, unaware of anything beyond their father's command. 

She remembered it vividly when she suddenly existed, Metatron and Michael standing on either side of her as God gave her a name and duty. Why question it?

It wasn't until Leviathan that Beelzebub started waking up from the vicious cycle they were trapped in. They were uncomfortable being designated as male; it angered their Michael. She still recalled how nasty Metatron was.

"It isn't your job - your purpose - to feel! You are an instrument of the lord, nothing more. You live because he wills it, not by choice. You will do as he commands, or you will be erased. Cease this stupid garbage about "thems" and stop ruining the throne room with your foul, defective presence!"

Ozzie hadn't been overly helpful, either. He was a right dickhead before he woke up, too. 

It wasn't a family. It was a dictatorship. They were slaves, mere objects. It took aeons to begin healing from the emotional scars that treatment left behind.

Trying to help her siblings do the same is hard. 

Levi has made strides, especially in the last three centuries. 

Asmodeus turned around from how he used to be, back when the desire for pleasure superseded consent. Back then, the Lust Ring had been a... scary place. Thankfully, few remembered how nasty it was before everyone forced Ozzie to try seeing things differently. Out of them, Lilith got through to him the most. 

She's proud of Mammon. Although his attempts are more recent, the fact he's trying at all brings warmth to her heart. He's still got a cascade of problems, and it'll take a long time to start implementing better ways to manage his feelings and sin, but progress isn't immediate. 

Sadly, Bel and Satan aren't so receptive.

Luci is the worst. He only listens to Lilith. Getting through to him is like convincing Asmodeus that the platypus is a stupid animal. He's obsessed with it.

Beelzebub was once again pulled from her thoughts as Apollo, Vortex's dad, greeted her. Beside him was presumably Tex's mom, Selene.

She's noticing a family theme.

"It's lovely to meet you. Tex has told us so much about you. I think even Orion likes you, and he despises everyone," Apollo stated, nodding his head to the quiet hound that observed her. "Darling, introduce yourself."~

"What's your angle?" Selene interrogated, squinting her eyes into Beelzebub.

"Selene!"

"Why's a sin dating my baby? He's a good lad. He doesn't need that corruption."

"I assure you, Tex is far from corruptable," Bee smiled, her wings buzzing nervously. "You raised him well," she said through grit teeth, not liking the taste from his mom. 

All the good vibes come from the fathers in this family.

Vortex joined her side, wrapping an arm around her waist. He appeared nervous either due to his ex or his mom, who possibly invited his ex. 

"Dinner's just about done. Come join the table," Apollo sighed, embarrassed by his wife's behaviour. She scowled at Bee before making her way to the table.

The rest of the family followed, leaving her and Tex to enter last. 

Bee wanted to have this with her family. She wanted a big dinner together, talking about stupid things that didn't matter. Maybe Satan had a new hobby, or the rumours about Levi's girlfriend were true. She could imagine Ozzie making innuendos and Mam heaving at the sexual jokes. 

If only it would be that peaceful. 

Next to her were Tex and Orion, the latter already eating and closed off from the world around him. Despite the appearance, she could taste that he was shy. He didn't like confrontation but would bite if pushed, much like Levi.

Leviathan can be mean when they're cornered. 

"How'd my dumb bro get a nice pair of tits and a tight fit like you?" Jupiter sniggered, a stupid grin on his face.

She's used to worse; that's a fact when one of your brothers is lust incarnate.

"Watch it, Jupe," Tex warned. She even felt Orion grow annoyed by Jupiter's loud mouth.

"Ignore him. We all do," Jericho advised as Saffron rested her head on her shoulder. "Never has anything worth listening to."

"Big talk, carpet muncher."

"I will neuter you if you don't shut it," Diana growled, earning a snarl back. 

Beelzebub pondered that all families are like this. Siblings bickering and fighting where it's unnecessary.

In her case, they'd physically fight. Badly.

The image of dark black splashed against green like oil on spring grass sent a shiver up her spine. Her wrist throbbed from where it once broke.

It's hard to hurt a sin. It's harder to heal when a sin is hurt. 

"You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good," she smiled. She used her lower set of hands to hold onto his, feeling comforted by his presence. "So, Eclipse - what do you do?" she tried.

"Groomer," Eclipse answered, poking her food as her mother glared at her. "He's not getting back with her."

Selene barked, furious with her. Everyone focused on her, taking the spotlight off Bee and embarrassing Tex. His daughter whined beside him, startled by Selene's outburst.

Seeing sweet Nova upset pissed her off. 

"She's not wrong," Orion stated, surprising everybody.

"Holy shit, he speaks," Jupiter laughed, astounded. "Look at you, Princess. You pulled the impossible!"

"I'm right here," Tessa grumbled, stabbing a fork into a hellhound food Bee hadn't seen before.

"Hard not to notice," Pandora snipped, getting an agreeing hum from Andromeda and Halley.

"Nice upgrade, big bro," Sirius snarked, "Not hard to go from sloppy seconds to fiery firsts!"

That's something Satan would say.

Vortex looked like he wanted to curl inside himself and disappear. He placed his arm around Nova, comforting her was Selene glared at her children.

"At least she's a hellhound unlike whatever that's supposed to be!" Selene argued. "I expected better from you, darling."

"Ma, even Tess can't argue that it wasn't gonna work. I don't get why you're still on this purity bullshit - this is worse than when I brought home Pomni."

"That imp girl?" Tessa huffed, shaking her head as Diana kicked her under the table. "If I knew you lowered yourself that much, I would've just-"

Beelzebub wasn't standing for this. 

She grew as large as the room allowed, her demonic energy filling the room with colour and presence. It was as beautiful as it was dangerous. It's the flashing shine of a poisonous dart frog, a lamp for the ignorant moths. She was a sin, she was power, she was everything they couldn't fathom.

They didn't know how hard she fell from the top. They'd never know how hard she built the mountain they called the bottom their home. 

"Don't disrespect me or my partner!" Beelzebub warned, flaring her status. She hated to do it, but sometimes it was necessary. She couldn't let anyone walk all over her like Michael used to. "You will not insult him!"

Tessa and Selene backed down, fearful of the mighty entity. That reaction always hurt Bee, but she had to. She couldn't let them insult Tex like that.

Having shrunk down, Bee focused on her boyfriend, placing a hand on his tattooed shoulder. The hellhound embraced her, whispering gratitude.

Always.

"About damn time someone bit that bitch's head," Jericho snickered, getting up to pat Bee on the back. "Welcome to the pack."

She liked Jericho the most. 

"We're going to be respectful of our guest and not make unnecessary comments. My love, you're in the dog house for a month," Apollo sighed, seemingly as reserved as Orion. "Tessa, be quiet."

"Can I play on your belly when you get big again?" Nova asked, surprisingly unafraid of Bee.

"How 'bout we go outside so you've got more space," Saffron suggested, exciting the pup. "Think you can fit all of us on you?"

"Only one way to find out!"

Tex nuzzled her, a sweet gesture she appreciated.

So far, still not as bad as Charlie's first birthday party.

The hole grew further. No amount of shoving stuff in will take away the ache inside. Money merely soothed the sting.

It's never enough. 

This body wasn't his. The voice, the eyes, the arms, it was all wrong. The repulsive insect he hid behind a mask of clowning and buffoonery skittered inside his rib cage, the ugly feet sticking into his cold heart. 

The sin tore open a bag of money, watching the glimmering green cover those feet. Beautiful green.

Green had always been his favourite colour. It was the first thing he saw when God made him. It was soothing and comforting, but the balm was merely a placebo now. 

Compared to the others, he hadn't been in heaven that long. When he came to be, tension was already high. The cherubs were particularly irritating, but they did the job the geezer made them for. 

He catered to the forests. That was all he had to do. Of course, what angel doesn't want to appease their creator? So, he gave everything he had. He turned woods into rainforests spanning miles and miles, even cultivating whatever weird shit he could think of. The pitcher plant was his proudest work.

Despite this and getting the nickname "the Charitable", his creator never looked his way. The supreme bastard never uttered a sound to him, ignoring him like he was worthless. Like all of his work was for nothing. 

The geezer only cared when it benefited him directly. You have to fight for his attention to get a semblance of acknowledgement. When over three hundred other angels try doing the same, there's no point - it's futile.

Always trying. Always doing it his way. 

He took so much pride in Eden. It was his second-greatest accomplishment - nothing would top the Amazon. Even so, his creator never once acknowledged him.

What he was focused on was Adam and Lilith. These little, puny, weak creatures struggled to survive. They had no blessings or power, not even wings. They were nothing, but the geezer focused everything on them. 

Adam was a dickhead. He had his head so far down a dunny that he didn't notice how Lilith explored, how she asked questions and looked at them like... he wasn't sure. It wasn't like anybody else. She was special; that was obvious to everyone. She even managed to get the aloof Samael's attention. 

It gave him an idea. As the creator revered these strange "humans", all he had to do to be wanted was to bless them. It wasn't enough; that meant trying even harder. Didn't it?

That's how that damn tree came to be. The fucking apple tree. 

By then, Lilith had "run away", and it was Eve in her place, pulled from Adam's rib. He still didn't get how that worked, but that's where she came from.

He was partially inspired by it, though, putting a piece of himself in that tree. 

A tree imbued with the effort of an exhausted angel, as holy as a plant could get. It was a green that he never managed to replicate, no matter how hard he tried after...

The tree angered the creator somehow. He even told Adam and Eve to avoid the tree or suffer consequences. It had upset him; why wouldn't it? It was his last hurrah at getting praise or even a thank you.

Out of nowhere, Samael offered a hand. Truthfully, it was their first conversation, as Samael never paid attention to him either.

Like father, like son. 

Samael became a snake and coaxed Eve and Adam into eating one of his apples, and it all fell apart from there.

It happened so bloody fast. It crumbled through his hands like poured sand.

Eight fools were left in a barren wasteland with nothing to do but try and claw a semblance of comfort. 

It never was. The sensation of comfort was fleeting, for the green he prided himself in was far from his reach. Everything he worked on was forever forbidden to him. 

He looked at the notes on the floor, anger striking his nerves.

It's never enough.

It's an addiction, part of his blessing, purpose and curse. All of them are doomed to be an embodiment of what the geezer loathed the most.

He wasn't meant to rule. None of them were. It was a mockery to put them in such a position. 

He followed the only role models he had. He copied the geezer and Samael; he looked to all the others for some idea of what to do - to help end the searing hunger inside. 

Satisfaction never came, no matter how hard he tried. He did anything he could think of, the stupid Clown Pageant being his latest scheme. Through it, he got a hold of Fizz.

The way they met was by accident. 

Bel invited him to check out one of her new ideas. Given his extensive knowledge of plants - it was his job before hell - his input was valued by her. She wanted a new form of morphine made with one of the many things that he'd cultivated. She was wrong, as usual.

She'd forgotten - she more likely wasn't listening to the last time he helped her - that plants affected their people differently. For instance, what the shark demons can take as an aspirin would flatline a succubus. 

When it came to hellhounds, lantana camara mixed with some wrath weed, specifically the Ragesberg variant, would prove a profitable and effective painkiller. It was cheap to cultivate, too. 

No doubt, Bel wouldn't remember that; that's what her thousands of assistants were for. 

Anyway, during that visit, he caught sight of Cash Buckzo - the bastard owed him money. Realistically, who didn't?

The guy's circus had burnt down in some violent accident, and the favoured clown, a little imp, was a quadruple amputee. The broken thing was being pushed out of the hospital room, and as soon as those beady eyes saw him, he beamed at him. 

That look made him the king of clowns. When you're a clown or jester, all eyes are on you, and you can't be ignored. He promised himself that he wouldn't be left like a freshly dropped shit again. 

It was only a brief second, but he was hooked. 

The current face of his brand, Salvo, wasn't a good clown, nor looked to him as though he were worth something. Any genuine admiration was more precious than gold. 

It only made sense to encourage the imp to become his brand baby. The little guy already had a devoted fanbase, and they'd buy whatever merchandise he threw at them.

Everybody won; he got money, and the imp became famous. 

With no limbs, that'd be difficult, but Asmodeus owed him after that utter failure of a sex toy tournament. He'll never know how Ozzie convinced Luci and Lily to show up to that. 

That was a mistake. He never should've let Oz meet the imp. All it took was one look, and that was it.

Once again, Oz left him behind to chase some imp or whoever. 

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Not even being fully submerged in green and paper pieces of worth soothed that sting. 

It only worsened Fizz's betrayal; he was so upset that he resorted to that revolting, repulsive body.

Is that how the creator felt with Samael told him to fuck himself in less blunt words? The rage, the betrayal, the repulsion that something he made turning on him. 

It's not like he's lost all that much money. He has more than he could ever spend. It was inevitable, too.

Eventually, he'd outlive Fizzie. He would've needed to drop him faster than the creator dropped the sins when he got too old. 

Besides, the sales were going down; the people needed fresh meat to bite onto.

The twins would do well enough for at least five or so years. They were open to exploitation and weren't nearly as naive as Fizz. They knew what they were signing up for when it came to being his new brand babies. 

They're hot. They'll earn him a fair amount of money for a while. 

What hurt him was Ozzie. 

Ozzie's always left him. It's been that way since the start, before hell. 

The motherfucker didn't even remember his name. The one that he didn't choose. He knew that Ozzie never bothered to remember it. 

No matter what Bee said, he knew that they hated him. They blamed him for Eden, that fucking tree, being trapped down here in bodies that weren't theirs. 

Despite wanting to tell them all to fuck off and suffocating in an ocean of rotten, rancid shit, he was desperate for them to notice him. He's always been desperate for any sign of recognition.

Becoming a clown rockstar was the easiest way to keep those eyes on him, but it wasn't enough. Those weren't the eyes he wanted.

The pageant was the first time they physically interacted since Bee's episode. That was a long time ago. 

Was it so wrong to want his siblings to at least pretend they didn't want him dead?

It felt like the only one that didn't want him to rot was Bee. 

Not even hiding in his oversized nest made those feelings go away.

The sin felt something. He knew this feeling.

Expectantly, the demon poked his head from his nest, waiting eagerly. A golden flurry of mass entered his secret hiding space, reforming into the only one that possibly loved him.

Beelzebub looked exhuasted. He hated seeing that on her. 

"Gonna guess the thing with Tex's family went to utter piss."

"His mom invited his ex."

The elder sin stalked into his nest, her glowing hair and tail making the massive amounts of money around them shimmer like emeralds.

It still wasn't the right colour. 

"What a cunt," he said flatly, unsure what the point of inviting someone's ex would be. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of an ex?

He didn't know this shit. Relationships like that made his skin crawl. 

"I know! Mam, you'll love his daughter - Nova is so cute it's painful."

She's probably right about that. He had a secret soft spot for kids. 

"Not as cute as Chucky."

"I dunno. It's tough competition."

"Blasphemer."

Beelzebub rolled her eyes and flopped onto him, nuzzling into his back. If it were anyone else, he'd punch them.

He wouldn't. He's not a fighter.

Satan proved that. Violently.

"I went a big agro."

"Shifted?"

"A little. I had to get my point across. Nobody insults my boyfriend," she said, resting her snout on his shoulder. "Or my baby bro."

"Ugh, I'm not a bloody baby."

"You're the youngest, Z; you're always going to be the baby."

"Fuck sake. You're lucky I like you, Sera."

He's the only one who gets to reference her old name. It's a privilege he values. It's worth more than money.

It's something the others don't allow him to have. 

"Love you too, big guy."

They probably never will.

Chapter Text

As much as Beelzebub hated the idea of her family fighting, she knew everyone would do their best for Charlie. They loved her. 

Chucky's twenty-first is on the horizon, a massive date for her. It was hard to understand at first, but it seemed like she aged every millennium, give or take a century or so. Time doesn't affect them the same as others; as Charlotte is a half-angel, it's no surprise that she had an extended lifespan. 

Every birthday was a big occasion. They adored doting on their niece.

Bee wanted to throw a giant party, but Charlie wouldn't like that. She enjoyed having close family and friends around her, showing their genuine support. As she's becoming an adult, she deserves her grown-up party. With some loving flare, of course.

She'll always be their baby girl, but they had to let her spread her metaphorical wings. 

Drawing her ideas tended to help, as did writing them. Half of the time, though, it's hard to make out.

Mammon leaned over her, watching her hands going mad with a neutral face. He must've just woken up from a nap.

"You got that face again."

"I don't have a face," Beelzebub stated, running so many ideas through her head.

"Nah, don't try that with me, foxy."

"It's going to be Charlie's big birthday, and I want to make it great, but... it's us. We're a mess."

"No shit," Mammon agreed, eating a bag of crisps. He didn't need to eat, but it was a comfort thing for him. "Thinkin' in the mornin' or arvo?"

"Maybe we have the morning, and the afternoon can include her new friends?"

"I don't think the slags stayin' in her hotel count as friends. Her sheila's there, though. About time we met her."

"Yeah, can't be worse than that Sev kid."

"Dunno why Luci pushed for that von Eldritch bastard." 

Mammon passed her the rest of his bag, looking at her various ineligible doodles. With a grin, Beelzebub took the bag, soothing the empty ache in her mouth. 

"He just worries," she said, though she knew her brother disagreed. 

"Not enough for my likin'," Mammon huffed. "Since Chucky's tenth, the git's been distancing from her. I think she reminds him of before. Y'know, when he was a right cunt. Well, more than he is now."

"Always positive, huh, Mam?"

"More than Luci."

"I can't argue there. You going to help?"

"Obviously."

"Great!"

If anything brought the sins together, it was Charlie. She was the core of them. 

The problem with being in a single place is that they have thousands of years of baggage and history. Nobody enjoys sharing their space. Even having separate rings didn't feel like enough sometimes. 

As most responsible, contrary to the others' comments, it was Asmodeus' duty to try and arrange everything. It was no contest that Ozzie was the reliable, responsible sin out of the bunch. He had good business, a safe and content ring, and wasn't a destructive mess. 

He couldn't say the same for his brothers and sisters.

"So, you just want a small thing?" Asmodeus questioned, watching Beelzebub buzzing around his office. "Nothing extravagant?"

"It's for Charlie. Of course, not too much. This is about her, not us," Bee smiled, her tail wagging. "You can bring your boyfriend!"

"But Mam's gonna be there."

"So?"

"I'm not allowing Mammon near Fizz."

"Don't be a pussy, Ozz. He'll be with me, Vortex and Charlie!"

"Who?"

"My boyfriend. He works as Verosika's bodyguard."

That Vortex? He could see the appeal; Tex is a nice-looking man, but since when did he get with Bee?

His older sister's got a rough track record with partners. While Tex was a nice guy, that didn't mean much. The nice ones can be the meanest bastards once their mask is revealed.

"He's met Mam?"

"He likes Mam."

"That's a red flag,"

"Don't be a dickhead, Ozzie. You used to be so much worse than he is."

That's a sore subject, but she had no qualms with dancing on it. 

He didn't know better. As far as he was aware, lust was only that. It took a long time to learn that it meant so much more.

There are many regrets over that. He's ashamed of those times. 

Beelzebub stood, probably noticing how uncomfortable Asmodeus was now.

"Don't start anything, alright?"

"Me?" he growled, his flames heating with anger. "Me!? I don't start shit!"

"He certainly pushes your buttons, but you do it too. Remember last time? When you made fun of his antennae?"

"That was a joke!"

"And he doesn't take that thing off around anyone anymore. This is the deal: he avoids Fizz, and you don't pick on him."

"That's hardly fair."

"It's the bare minimum, Ozz!"

"What makes you think he's gonna leave Fizz alone?"

"Because he loves Charlie and won't do anything stupid that could upset her. Same as you. I'd hope."

"You think that low of me?"

"I think you blame him for many things that aren't his fault."

"Aren't they?"

"Ozz!"

"Fuck sake, fine, I'll keep it quiet on the bug stuff. You're responsible for any shit he causes. The moment Fizz is upset, I won't be nice."

"Are you ever nice to Mam?"

"I'll be less so."

"Like Luci."

"Oh, that's rich, Bee. As if you're perfect."

"I'm trying to be better. Our family is broken, and Charlie deserves better. We all do. The more broken we are, the less stable hell is as a whole - we must work together, even if we get on each other's nerves." 

The rings are all connected. Everyone who lives in the sins' care is tied to them for eternity.

Lust, Pride, Gluttony, Sloth, Envy, Wrath, and Greed must work together or fall. The issue is that there's so much history between them. 

All of them are hurt in different ways, and there aren't easy ways to get past those wounds. 

Putting on an act for Charlie will only do so much.

They're so flawed and dysfunctional. It's all crumbling around them, falling like sand between their fingers. 

He was insulted, but he would swallow his pride. He's got aeons of practice with that. 

"When are we doing this?"

"I was thinking of doing it in the morning, but Vortex suggested doing it at night before she wakes up. We're quick bastards, and I know you can be silent when you want to be. So long as Bel doesn't fall asleep and snore a hell quake into starting." 

The fact she's done that will never cease to amaze and disappoint Asmodeus.

"Yeah, I can do that. I'll gather some of my workers. I'm sure Levi and Mam have staff that can be quick, too. I know a few of the Goetia owe me a lot of favours, too."

"Isn't Paimon super good at origami?"

"He'd sooner die than admit it, but yeah, I'll get him on that."

"Brilliant! I'll go talk with the others. See you soon, Ozzie!"

He watched her leave, anxiety burning under his feathers. 

Asmodeus can get everything needed. He didn't need the others to give his niece what she deserved.

The sin thought over a conversation he had over a decade ago. 

Asmodeus huffed, looking over his schedule. He didn't want to deal with his little brother, but supposedly, it was worth his time. 

Doubtful.

The sin waited for the parasite to show up, unsurprised that he was late. He's always like this, irritating and pathetic. Even being punctual was too much.

Finally, the tick appeared in an explosion of green smoke and confetti.

"What do you want?" Asmodeus grumbled, already annoyed.

"Don't be like that. You ain't even heard my pitch yet!"

He hated that accent.

"I don't need to, to know it'll be a waste of my valuable time," Asmodeus sighed, fixing himself some Ragesberg Bourbon. "Spit it out before I throw you out."

"I'm getting a new brand baby. I'm still doing the pageant because it's great marketing, but I'm pretty set on this kid. Great credentials, good history, already has a devoted fanbase and all that good shit." 

Asmodeus knew there was a "but" in there somewhere.

Given he was coming to Asmodeus and not the others, he needed technological help. 

"But...?"

"Kid got blown up. Utter shit show. All four limbs are gone, and his horns are fucked. I can get a covering for the horns easily, but not the limbs. That's more your thing."

An imp from the sounds of it. 

"A quadruple amputee? And an imp at that? Really? That's a bad investment. Get someone else and leave me alone."

Imps are treated terribly, and Asmodeus wouldn't deny that. When it came to advertisement, using an imp was unwise. They're more likely to put off investors than attract them.

It's a sad reality.

"At first glance, sure. But people eat the underdog story like a fuckin' drug! Think of it! A star that's been set back beyond belief but is strong and still going! Someone for the sorry fuckers to root for, y'know? And he's got a real pretty face, even with the burn scars. Could make a mean sex doll."

The latter part was only to get Asmodeus' interest. His brother was defective in more ways than one. For some reason, he was repulsed by sex. It was fun to tease him about it.

There wasn't a reason for Mammon to be so freaked by it. Even kissing made him shiver, much to Asmodeus' amusement. 

Having a sex doll of a celebrity that's consenting to it could work out quite well. While Asmodeus isn't as money-hungry, it's still something he is interested in as a businessman. He had workers to pay for and equipment to maintain. 

Buying the materials to keep his factory going could get expensive sometimes. He wouldn't settle for anything less than premium quality. 

"People do like a comeback story," Asmodeus agreed, thinking it over. "Bring him to my lab, and I'll get my guys to measure him, figure out how invasive it'll be and the recovery time estimate. It won't be cheap. Plus, I'll need to get Bel's people."

"I'm a gambler, Ozzie! And how often do I lose out?"

"Not often," Asmodeus sighed, shaking his head. He's annoyed that he had to agree. Mammon's a lot of things, including an idiot, but he had a knack for knowing how to get money, even if that meant spending some. "If this somehow works out, which I still don't think it will, I get 40%."

"10%."

"25%."

"20%."

"Good enough. Get him over next Saturday. Now fuck off."

Cackling, his aggravatingly annoying little brother disappeared, leaving Asmodeus to wonder if it would work.

Given that this is a quadruped amputee, it's doubtful. Since the kid will be a clown, they'll need something flexible but durable. That'll be tough to work with. Unlike a robotic replica toy, this is a living person.

It's a waste of time. As soon as he gets the details, Asmodeus will try and get Mammon to give up and pick someone else. He seems dead set on it, though.

And he rarely fucks up when it comes to picking people to exploit. 

Spending aeons surrounded by asshole angels and Lucifer taught him well. 

As Asmodeus looked through his schedule again, he realised he was supposed to go to the lab that day. Whatever. Asmodeus might see this new passion project.

Nothing will come out of a glance at this messed-up imp. 

Everything came from looking at Fizz. 

It pissed him off to know the best thing in Asmodeus' existence was because of Mammon. It hurt to hear Fizz recognise that, though in a different way, thankfully.

Fizz was always going to be famous. He was born for the spotlight and the admiration of others. How couldn't all of hell love him? 

But the chances of Ozzie ever meeting him were astronomically lower if Mammon weren't involved. That's something he can't get over. 

Bee knew it. She could've easily pointed that out, but thankfully, she didn't. He was grateful for that, at least.

Although it made him uneasy, it would be good for Charlie and Fizz to meet. While Fizz would be nervous, Charlie was the perfect sunshine to bring him out of his shell.

"Ozz?"

Speaking of his favourite little frog, Fizz was up.

"How're you feeling, babes?" Asmodeus smiled, feeling warmth bloom in his chest at seeing his partner. 

"A lot better. Who was that?"

"Oh, that was just Bee. Y'know, my sis."

"I haven't met your family. Well, I mean, besides... yeah. Is she alright?"

Sweet as always.

"Yeah, she's doing great. She's dating Vortex - Verosika's bodyguard."

"Damn, good on the guy. He's super nice. Got a kid, too - Nova's adorable."

He had a kid? Since when?

That was a positive for Bee, but Asmodeus wasn't so sure. Then again, he could be protective since it's his sister. 

"Listen, I don't want to spring this on you, but she suggested you come with me. It's my niece's birthday soon, and I know she'll love you - that girl is what heaven should've been."

Fizz shivered, and Asmodeus immediately swooped him up, nuzzling him.

His love didn't have much sensation in his limbs. It's something that Asmodeus has worked hard to try and rectify. To soothe him, Asmodeus nuzzled Fizz's face and chest. It was where he still had some feeling, though dulled due to his burns. 

The little clown hid his face in Asmodeus' chest feathers, inhaling his scent and warmth.

"I don't want to embarrass you."

"You won't, Froggy. You can't. Charlie's a literal sweetheart - she'll love you. I wouldn't be surprised if she starts visiting to see your adorable little face."

"The other sins are going to go, aren't they?"

"I doubt Lucifer will show up, but I know that's not who you're worried about. Beelzebub assured me she's got that sorted. I'm unhappy about it, but you don't have to come. It's only a suggestion, not a requirement."

He watched as his love thought it over, running numerous scenarios in that busy little mind of his.

"I don't want him controlling me anymore, Ozz, and I trust you'll protect me if needed. Charlie sounds nice."

"She is, and she will adore you almost as much as I do."

"Thanks, Ozzie."

"Always, Fizzarolli."

Chapter Text

At first, Levi was meant to get the flowers. For whatever reason, Charlie loved the little weak things. However, they kept bringing the "wrong ones", and Mammon invited himself to overwatch Levi's job. 

Truthfully, in Satan's opinion, it should've been Mam's job in the first place. It was what their father made him for - Mam's thing was forests and cultivating shit like that. While Satan didn't understand the necessity of it, he knew it was one of the few things his little brother could take genuine pride in. 

It's also why he doesn't try making anything original anymore. The last time he did that, Adam and Eve ate some apples. 

Although it did make sense for Levi to be involved since their old job was dealing with rain. 

Why was Satan with them? Because he liked listening to the idiots bicker over weak, fragile plant things. That was the more obvious reason.

The other was because his baby brother was too focused on the plants to be uncomfortable around Satan, not that it wasn't undeserved.

If Satan could, he'd praise his little brother for being able to scar him. The little guy could put up quite a fight if he had to.

Something he kept from the others, more for Mam's sake, was that he was secretly venomous. In Satan's opinion, that's fucking awesome, but it's another thing he's insecure about.

Levi's slime can be toxic if they choose it to be. For Satan, it's little more than itching ooze that's more of an annoyance than painful, but for an imp? They react like their skin's on fire. 

Satan's tail unfurled as he heard a Scottish yell of anger and confusion.

"Och, ah dunno fuckin' flowers!" Levi hissed, frustrated. "Ah dinnae ken that they had meanings!"

Since when did the colourful stupid things have meanings?

"Yeah, and Chucky knows them because I taught her. I'm not letting a sleaze snub her without her knowing. That's why I said to get the cosmos atrosanguineus!"

"Them's not words," Satan commented, confused by the garble of "actual names". "Sounds like one of Bel's damn drugs."

"The red with brown on them, dick head!"

That wasn't nearly as specific as Satan wished they were. However, watching his brothers argue over flowers shouldn't be as entertaining as it was.

"I'll bite. The fuck's this one mean?" Satan asked, pointing at the funny yellow ones. "They look nice enough."

"Dianthus caryophyllus: yellow carnations - rejection and disappointment."

"Tha's wee harsh," Levi commented, equally as confused. "Why'd Bee get me tae dae this?"

"Why'd Metatron think Jazz was a good idea? We'll never know," Satan shrugged. "Roses are decent, ain't they?"

"Nah, mate. Ya' can't just go for any ol' one. The colour and the type have meanings. And it depends on your relationship, too. Rosa foetida - the yellow rose - symbolises jealousy and infidelity. But if you give one to a friend, it means affection."

"Fuck me, why's this shit so complicated?" Satan grumbled, confused. "Alright, we need something that means a new beginning. Lottie's gettin' all big, and she's started that business project - there anything for that?"

"Narcissus pseudonarcissus," Mammon answered, as if that made sense. "The daffodils, you idiot."

"This is gonna take a while, isnae it?" Levi groaned, hitting their tail on the floor out of frustration. 

The fact that Lottie also knows all of this adds pressure. If they fucked up, she'd know. Having the annoying plant expert was both in their favour and a pain in their ass.

Satan was just grateful that Mam hadn't bolted yet. It's the longest they've been in such close quarters in a long time. 

"Daffodils snatched. Gives the next," Satan said, handing the collected flowers to Levi.

While Satan has bent over backwards for Charlie, even pretending to be a damn horse for her, he wouldn't be caught holding dainty little flowers by anyone except her and his brothers. 

"Donnae be a wee clipe tae Bee," Levi hissed, eyeing Satan. "Ah ken that you'll tell 'er ah didnae ken flowers without the fuckin' dictionary 'ere."

"The word you're looking for is floriculturist, and I'm not - I'm a Botanist. Technically the first botanist. An important distinction," Mammon corrected, getting an annoyed huff from Levi. "You're a twat about clouds! Don' give me shit over my speciality. Yer a meteorologist; ye don't have to be a cunt about it!"

What the fuck are those things?

One has to do with icky plants - thank the rings, there aren't many in Wrath - and the other involves clouds. 

Satan's old job was justice. He was God's ire, the executioner at Luci's side. He was the original exterminator before those plebs stole his thing. 

"What ology am I?" Satan asked, wanting to be included.

He'll sooner die than admit that he wasn't as intellectually strong as his younger siblings. 

"Phrenology. That fuckin' flood is the perfect example."

"Aye. Ah see that."

Satan's going to need to find out what that means. 

Why was Asmodeus stuck with the useless one?

"Fuck sake, Bel, you could at least wake up for this," Asmodeus grumbled, kicking at his sister's sleeping form.

She couldn't even be arsed to get out of her titan form.

The sin sighed, frustrated with her. She was supposed to ask Stolas about making a star show for Charlie, but she was asleep. She's probably high, too.

Unreliable as ever. He'd prefer to work with Mam than her. 

He heard her before she arrived, the buzzing of those little wings.

"Paimon, Malphas and Semyaza are speedy when they need to be!" Bee grinned, dropping a large container of crafted items. "Tex is on his way with Phenex and Marchosias' additions. Plus, a sketch of an ice sculpture Andrealphus will do for us," she beamed, excited.

"Damn, girl, you got the whole Goetia in on this? I thought we were getting Paimon and Stolas' help. Separately, of course."

"Obviously," she agreed, noticing Bel's deadweight. "No help from her, huh?"

"Negative. Fizz said he wanted to do a clown act for her. Think that can work?"

"Yeah, she'll love that," Beelzebub nodded, buzzing around the younger sins. "We've nearly got everything for tonight, and she'll get the best surprise! Just a shame that Luci isn't going to show."

Asmodeus' eyes twitched, annoyed by that statement. 

Things aren't as bad as they are between Stolas and Paimon, but still... His niece deserved better than that. 

Lucifer was the oldest of them. He should know better. Honestly, it felt like he was slipping back into his angel days. That's hard for all of them, not only Charlie.

It'd explain why Pride is such a horrific mess. 

It's becoming evident that Lucifer isn't fit to rule over his ring, let alone all of hell. As Charlie's the heir, it's only right for her to take control until her father pulls his head from his ass. 

That's his opinion, anyway. He couldn't push that on her. 

"He should," Asmodeus stated, annoyed.

"Maybe he shouldn't. You know he doesn't approve of her project."

"I understand why. Redemption is bullshit. It won't work, nor should it. Heaven ain't a good place - nothing will change that."

She slowed, lowering herself to the ground. 

"We know that, but Charlie doesn't. She's always seen the good in others, even if it's not there. It's best to let her come to that realisation without her feeling like we're just pushing her down."

"How'd she even get that hotel? Luci and Lily didn't get it, and Charlie's got fuck all in terms of money."

"Well..."

Oh.

"Mam got it for her."

"Mam and Levi, to be exact. They can never say no to her."

That's not making him feel better about it.

"I don't want her to get her hopes up on this. We don't talk about heaven for a reason, Bee, especially him. Could you imagine if they noticed her? We've worked hard to hide her from them since Lily first showed... that's not something she should live with."

Their extended family is a travesty.

Charlie must never know or meet them.

"She shouldn't, but she's part of this family. Charlie's going to end up on their radar someday. All we can do is be there for her. She's not a little kid anymore."

"She'll always be my baby. Our baby. Don't matter how big she gets."

"Maybe you should talk to her about it. Be gentle about it, but share your opinion while still supporting her. Since Luci's closed off, she probably needs it."

"Yeah, I'll talk to her. And Lily. Lilith better show up. I don't care if she's all worried over Luci - it's Charlie's special day, not his. He's had enough of those."

"We can agree on that."

Asmodeus' bullshit senses went off. It appeared that the others arrived. 

He waited, knowing he would be irritated as soon as he saw them. Meanwhile, Bee was excited, and Bel was still asleep.

"Ozzie! Bee! We're back, ye auld bastards!" Levi yelled, slithering into their secretive meeting place. It had to be hidden so nobody blabbed to Charlie. 

And Asmodeus is far from old.

As Levi entered, Satan burst from the hallway, looking like a panicked mess. 

"I fucking hate plants!" Satan roared. He almost cried as he borderline collapsed on the floor.

"And you all call me the baby, fuckin' crikey," Mammon grumbled, stepping over the other sin. It's the closest Asmodeus has seen them since that incident. "Dunno why you had this drongo do the flowers. Fucker doesn't know the difference between a paeonia lactiflora and a rafflesia arnoldii."

Are those even words? Knowing him, probably not.

"Tongue ma fart box ye wee shite! They're fuckin' hard!" Levi argued, earning a shrug from Mam. "Donnae shrug at me, ye big green bawbag!"

And they're already fighting. Great.

Shuffling from behind them was Vortex, struggling to carry a box of stuff. When he was about to fall, Mam had one of his hands out to stop him, which was weird. 

Beelzebub quickly flew to her love, nuzzling him and taking the box. With a kiss, she was off to organise things.

A literal busy bee. 

"Heya, boss!" Tex waved, unphased by the physical contact with Mam. "Thanks, man," he said, earning a small grunt of acknowledgement. "Oh, uh, you okay down there?" he asked Satan, who was still sulking.

"Not a fucking word, dog boy," Satan hissed.

"I'll take that as a no. Respectfully. Need a hand, or is the floor comfy?"

"Fuck off."

"Understood. Hey, Mam, there any joints nearby? Wanna get Bee a snack."

"Yea, there's some kinda Wendy's or whatever 'cross the road. Get the Plug Patties - fuckin' loves those things."

"And I'll get you the dirty fries. Back in a bit, big guy!"

So, that's why Beelzebub loves this guy. He's got balls of literal steel being so casual with Satan and Mammon, the least stable of the sins. 

Levi was more amused than anything, turning Belphegor into a comfy seat.

"Gie's me a quarter pounder! Sattie's a wee whore for the Philly, and Ozzie'll have their cookie smoothie," Levi shouted, getting a thumbs up from Tex as he left.

"I don't like smoothies," Asmodeus stated, but Levi wasn't buying it. "Fine. I like 'em. But only when Lilith makes them."

"Aye. They're proper bonnie, them."

He felt like he was on drugs. It must be because of Bel.

Seeing his family on the cusp of almost normalcy was borderline terrifying.

Chapter Text

Pentagram City was a mess.

All nine cities of Pride were a mess.

As expected, Luci's neglecting his job. It upset Asmdeus to see all these people abandoned to their own devices.

Sinners are more complicated than succubi, imps, hellhounds and the sort, but that didn't mean they could be ignored so grievously. They've had to create a unique hierarchy in the form of Overlords because Luci is so neglectful. Even the Goetia don't get involved with Pride, despite the point of them being to support the sins. 

At any time, Luci could go to any of the sins, even Bel, and express that he needed help. All he had to do was ask, but he's the embodiment of Pride itself, so he wouldn't. 

He'd sooner let his ring collapse than ask for her, furthering Asmodeus' doubt in his leadership. He's not the only one who sees it, but Asmodeus is the most open on the subject. 

Lucifer shouldn't be in charge. It should be Lilith until Charlie can take her father's place. She's naive, but that'll pass.

She has compassion, mercy, and so many things befitting of a leader. They have to encourage her confidence and conviction and reinforce a bit of a backbone. 

Moving around is far easier in Pride. The sins so rarely come there that few recognised him.

The sinners seldom cared enough to pay attention.

He'll give Levi this; they knew how to pick a good location. The hotel needed some work and touching up, but it's got a nice flare.

While the others wouldn't be here for at least another fifteen minutes, Asmodeus wanted to be early. He needed to check out this hotel and get a feel of the place.

He wanted Fizz to be comfortable here. His boyfriend had never been to Pentagram City before now. 

There needed to be hiding places if his little Froggy required some time to himself or to get away from Mam. 

Asmodeus slipped through the door gap, using his flame form briefly. It made his feathers feel weird afterwards, so he didn't do it as much as he should.

The inside needed some work, but it was getting there. 

There are a lot of pictures from the Magne house. One was a cute painting of Lily, Luci and a young Charlie. That was a time when the three were far closer. 

Belphegor painted this. It's one of the most random talents she has. He supposed it made sense; she moved so slowly that the strokes seemed perfect.

Those were better times. 

Luci isn't going to be here when he should be. It's possible that Lily won't be, either.

It's wrong.

If Asmodeus had a child, he wouldn't be so much of a prick to leave them like this. What father does that?

Someone who shouldn't be a parent, perhaps. 

Warmth burned in Asmodeus' soul that travelled to his eyes, something that rarely happened anymore.

Charlie sat against the door, holding the phone in her hand. She looked at it with despair, fear and regret. It was like the item would crumble into dust in the palm of her ivory hands.

Grimacing, Charlie pressed a button and brought it to her ear, her cheeks growing redder with nervousness. 

"Hey, Mom," Charlie said, though it was evident that it was voicemail. "Uhm, I know I keep calling. You must be busy. Really... busy..."

The disappointment and loss in her voice were soul-shattering.

She needed her parents, but they weren't there for her.

"But, uhm, the interview didn't go well and I-I... I don't know if I'm going to make a difference. I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted, rubbing her eyes. "I could use some advice, Mom. I... I think that Dad was right about me. Ooh, eh, anyway - I'll stop talking before this gets long. Love you. Bye..."

She wiped her eyes again and went through the doors, clearly upset.

He was upset with her. 

That was Asmodeus' place before falling. He was the Angel of Visions.

It was a rare thing now, almost always something in the past. If a vision involves the future, it's abstract at best. There was no telling how far into the future it was, too. 

Aeons ago, Asmodeus saw the visage of a frog with white and red colours in a jester cap. That didn't make sense until Fizz. It's why he called him Froggy. 

There aren't clear triggers for it. Back in heaven, it was something he could do on a whim, but ever since falling, they came at random. He even had a vision of Charlie once but thought it was a girl version of Luci - who knows, maybe Luci will still decide to be a girl someday. 

Again, abstract and unfocused. That was a failure in design; why make someone occasionally peek behind the veils of time if they can't process it?

That's something he'll need to talk to Charlie about. What did she mean by "Dad was right about me"? What had that fucker said? He always spoke before thinking.

Why hadn't Lily picked up? She wasn't usually so terrible at answering, let alone with her daughter.

The sin sneered, though not because of Lucifer. He's spent enough time with voyeurists and exhibitionists to recognise the feeling of being watched.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Asmodeus questioned, eyeing a dark corner. 

Red eyes opened, glowing ominously. It was cliche.

If that was supposed to be intimidating, Asmodeus was disappointed.

"I don't sleep," said the red sinner, observing Asmdoeus curiously. He sounded like an old radio. "You're Asmodeus. Aren't you?"

"A bit surprised you noticed."

"I pay more attention than my fellow damned."

"Obviously," Asmodeus stated, admittedly curious as to why this sinner was here. "What's your reason for being here, then? Friend of Charlie's?"

"Oh, not at all. I'm here to watch sinners attempt the climb to betterment and observe how they fall into the tarry pits of inevitable but amusing failure. There is no redemption."

That sounds like something Mam would say.

This guy's a dealmaker, isn't he?

"Even if it were possible, which it isn't, it shouldn't be. Heaven is far from a good place."

"Have you seen how those who commit to god behave? A silly question, of course, you have!" Oh, this guy thinks he's funny, too? "Why spend eternity with those who mask themselves behind righteousness when you can wade through a sea of genuine skullduggery?"

Fair enough.

"I like you. What're you calling yourself?"

Sinners prefer to go by nicknames, hiding their former identities for whatever reason. 

"I don't bother with unnecessary titles or epithets. I'm Alastor. A pleasure to meet one so like-minded, albeit of a more... lustful variance."

Asmodeus could feel the dislike for the term "lust". As the king of sex, it was his duty to understand all facets of it, even if that included the voluntary avoidance of it. A few of Asmodeus' workers are under that flag.

Konstantin, one of his bouncers, wholeheartedly despises being touched. However, he's not nearly as repulsed as Mammon. Are sins even capable of sexuality? They're all technically hermaphrodites; they merely choose a pronoun they're comfortable with.

"That's all fine with me, Alastor. There's a term for it up on earth - asexual. Devoid of sexual feelings. Does that sound about right?"

"There's a word for that? Curious."

"Trust me, deer babes; there's terminology for everything. Nobody's alone, especially in hell." 

"Well, I see where Charlie's sunny attitude originates from."

"I'm one of the more "grumpy" ones. You'll see what I mean with Beelzebub. She's a literal firecracker of energy."

"I do not look forward to that."

"She's a bit much, but she means well. You'll probably get along with Leviathan if you can decipher what they're saying."

Hopefully, the rest of Charlie's gaggle of undead weirdos were equally as mindful as this one.

Beelzebub was excited to decorate the place, flying to place the banners, balloons and flowers. 

The honeycomb balls were a sweet addition from Octavia. She would've joined but was going to a concert she'd been waiting for; Ciel was difficult to book tickets for, even for a Goetia. 

Bee suggested getting some from Mam - the grifter he was - but no, Octavia wanted to do it the right way. She's a great kid; Stolas should be proud. After that messy divorce, she hoped the best for them. 

"Ye buzz any harder, and ye wings will fall off," Levi stated, startling the other sin. "You good, Bee?"

"Sweet as honey," Bee smiled, placing a balloon on Levi's head. "Think you can tell me about your new partner?"

"Nah. Gonnae make yous guess more."

"Tease."

"Aye."

"Has Bel - Well, Satan - finished with the party poppers?"

"Aye. Ah don' ken what Bel said precisely, but told me she's tryin' tae talk tae Luci. Dream shite."

She's doing something, at least.

Admittedly, Beelzebub couldn't process dream stuff. It's something Belphegor's mastered. It's not weird for her to show up in your dream and socialise that way.

If up to Belphegor, she wouldn't be a physical being but an intangible spirit.  

"So, ye spoken to Mam yet?"

"About what?"

"Y'know what ah mean. Hasnae been inside since Ozzie's wee thing arrived. Isnae like Z tae be quiet."

"Do you think it's Satan? They haven't been so close together since that."

"Aye, ah think that's part of it, but ah think it's tae dae with Ozzie. Mam doesn' listen tae me as he does with you."

They were right. Their baby brother had been weirdly absent since Fizz came. The little imp is easy to like, and he reminded her a lot of Mam. 

It was evident to see how happy Ozzie was. He was head over heels for the little guy, enough to titan shift and admit it out loud, despite part of his brand being to disdain love.

She didn't know how that would work in the long run. 

It's not that he's with an imp; it's that Ozzie has spent decades - centuries, maybe even millennia - convincing those of his ring that love was inferior to lust. It was all brand bullshit.

Flipping it on its head suddenly would be rough to recover from. Factory-producing sex dolls of your lover would either put people off or entice them. 

Personally, the mere concept of there being a Robo Tex made her feel sick. It's not like Ozzie was forced to make them; he had the power because it was his factory. He even made money off it. 

Understanding Levi's concern, Beelzebub headed outside into the night to find her little brother. He wouldn't be hard to spot; he's bright green with bright, almost unblinking eyes. It's like he has torches in his face.

Then again, all of the sins have bioluminescence to them. She's part lava lamp, and Ozzie's got a mane of literal flame feathers; it's almost comical. 

It wasn't hard to find her favourite fuzzball, but something was off. 

Her little brother is alone except for an oddly red-themed sinner. They're a deer type, judging by the black antlers.

She could hear radio static, which was equally weird as it was relaxing.

"-d say that these forms we're cursed with reflect what we fear. Deer are often associated with weakness, fragility and a nuisance - I only take the latter as a compliment."

"I'm not scared of bugs."

"No, but you're frightened of being equated to an insect beneath one's boot. The meaningless beneath the meaningful. No?"

"You've known me for like ten minutes. How'd you get all that?"

"I pay attention." 

"You'd be the fucking first. Besides Bee 'n Tex, I guess."

At least he mentioned her.

"The bright green and jester attire is a fairly obvious grasp at acknowledgement, regardless of whether it's via mockery or disdain. That's a wound you'll have to heal alone. Others can only do so much with a weeping injury from the inside."

The odd red person turned his head the entire way, spotting Bee. It was like a spooky owl.

"Hi," she smiled, waving at the odd sinner. "I'm Bee. What's your name?"

"Alastor," he said, his voice vibrating through her chest and into her empty stomach. "You've made quite the display. Charlie will enjoy it immensely."

"Thanks."

She watched her baby brother, how he seemed simultaneously relaxed and on edge. What else had Alastor said? 

From what she caught, it'd been decent advice and observations. She tended to underestimate the sinners. Although they lived much briefer lives, they experienced much before and after entering the afterlife.

"I'll bid you farewell for now. Best I ensure your prized person remains unawares until you've finished."

"That's very nice of you," Bee smiled, though his grin seemed off somehow.

"I merely want all of their reactions to six sins awaiting them. It's all steps to my entertainment."

No wonder Mam was able to talk to this guy.

The red sinner disappeared into shadows. It was fast and efficient, cleanly practised.

Beelzebub sat beside Mammon, glad he'd been talking to somebody who wasn't her. 

"You've made a friend?"

"Dunno. Jus' started talkin'. The voice thing is relaxing."

"It is," she agreed, noting how down he looked. "You're looking more down than usual, Mam. Is it about the little clown guy?"

"Nah... well, a bit."

"If it wasn't the little clown guy, was it Ozzie?"

The quietness was far too telling.

She hated seeing her baby brother upset. Since she woke up and realised what she'd enabled, she started working with him, helping him like she should've.

He's been doing better, though it'll take a long time to undo the damage. 

Contrary to the appearance he put on for the public, her little bro was sensitive on the inside. He's desperate for, as Alastor said, for attention. Being starved of it for so long created a complex.

Beelzebub felt like it was her duty to help her brother reach his potential - she knew he was capable of so much more than he went along with. They're more than their sin, as she often tried reminding them. 

"He hates me, Bee," he admitted, surprising her. "I could see it. I almost tasted it... he never came to my defence like he did with Fizz, not even when Satan went nuts. The only way I can get him to bloody see me is through an imp that'll be dead a century over the next time I take a piss."

"I'm sorry, Z," Bee sighed, leaning her head on him. He looked fat, something others made fun of, but most of it was fuzz compressed by that clown getup. "It's not as bad anymore, though. Bel's been talking to you more, right?"

"Only if she wants something. The same goes for Levi an' even Luci..."

She knows that's not the case for Leviathan, although she could see why Mam would feel that way. But with Luci?

Lucifer is a sore subject for Mammon; she knew that all too well. Out of them, Luci took out his anger on Mammon the most. 

Seeing the guy would make Luci furious, and nothing Mam did ever changed that. Although he's never said anything, Beelzebub suspected Lucifer was more than verbal to their baby brother. 

After all, Luci blamed Mam for them being in hell, which was entirely unfair. It was their father's choice. 

Mam and Satan haven't been comfortable since Satan had a "roid", which is a dumb way of saying he lost control of his sin. That day was violent, and it sent shivers up Beelzebub's spine. Even in her titan form, Beelzebub couldn't handle Satan in the slightest, so Mammon stepped in.

He was less of a fighter than her but managed to hold him off enough for Lucifer, Asmodeus and Leviathan to pin him down and let Belphegor use her sleep magic. 

They only asked if Bee was okay. Never Mam. She knew deep down he was still scared of Satan but wouldn't say it, and Satan didn't blame anyone but himself.

As much as Satan could be a cowboy dickhead, he was aware enough to be gentle about it, giving Mam space.

While Bee got her tail handed to her, Mam took the brunt of it. 

They didn't even know they could lose limbs until that fight. Because of that day, Mam can't fly; he's only got one wing. 

"Is it that greedy to want them to see me?"

He meant that more than literally. 

"No. We're all susceptible to our sin, but it doesn't rule us, remember? It was pretty damn charitable getting Charlie this place."

"Chucky's one of the only good things in my life, Bee; of course, I helped get her the place. Levi helped with the location - they figured she could do with some distance from Luci," he grumbled, looking out at the vast city. There she was, sweet little Charlie, their beloved niece. "I still remember when Lily used me as a beanbag, and Bel told stories to her while swaddled like a burrito. She was so tiny back then..."

She remembered that as well. It was a sweet thing that she cherished. 

Charlotte is growing up, the first and currently only child of an angel. She was beautiful, a perfect blend of heaven and hell. She was so kind, sunny and bursting with love. 

Although they knew that Charlie's plan wouldn't work, nor should it, they wanted to be there for her. They'll always be there, no matter how tense it was between the sins. 

"You know he doesn't remember my name."

"What?"

"Ozz. He doesn't remember my name."

"That's the anxiety talking."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"We all love you, Zuriel, even if you're an absolute monstrous pain in our ass," she sighed, hugging him.

Under that silly suit is soft, comfortable fuzz, almost like a chinchilla. If he had more body confidence, he would make so much money letting people stroke him. It's addicting.

What she wouldn't give to have a blanket of fuzz like that.

"How can you be so sure? You're not the butt of everyone's favourite joke."

"I'll ask right now."

"Could you not?"

"Too bad. Your head is doing that silly thing of convincing you that we hate you, and I'm not having it. I'll prove to that nasty little voice that it's making you anxious over nothing."

"I don' have a voice in my head. I'm not that fucked."

"You know what I mean, Z. How 'bout have a nap, get your feelings all chill so you can dote on Charlie - remember, the smile is what she wants to see from you." 

"Alright. Guess that wouldn't be too bad."

"Atta boy, Z. I'll check on you in a bit, alright?"

"Yeah, all good."

"Great!"

He's got a lot of anxieties to work through, and she had the time to care for them.

That's what a big sister does. She's there for her little siblings, even when they're annoying.

Self-doubt is a mean parasite. 

Finding Asmodeus is easy. He's big, has feathers, and the smell of sex is almost a cologne.

As soon as he saw her, he noticed her demeanour was different. Expecting a deep sibling conversation, he gently requested privacy from his "Froggy". 

"What's that face for?" Ozzie questioned.

"Levi pointed out that Mam's been outside since your boyfriend arrived. Went to check on him."

Asmodeus huffed, visibly annoyed.

"Checked on him? Wrong one."

For now, she's going to put that aside. 

"He's allowed to be upset as well. He feels like you'll only see him if Fizz is involved. And he randomly believes you forgot his name."

The silence pestered Bee.

Being forgotten, ignored and neglected ignited Mam's entire clown persona in the first place, the need to be recognised and seen.

You couldn't be ignored if you're on a big stage or if you're on the currency.

She waited an unreasonably long time for a response, but Asmodeus' face was blank. She could see the heads in his mane as panicked as they were confused.

"Gadreel. For the love of fuck. Please tell me you didn't forget his name."

"I didn't think any of us wanted to keep them. Luci loses his shit if you call him Samael, and Bel... shuts down in that scary way." 

She thought it was Mam's anxiety, but no, he actually forgot it. The excuse was bullshit; the sins had excellent memories.

It meant that Asmodeus hadn't remembered it since before hell. Did he ever learn it to begin with? She hadn't heard him say Zuriel in almost forever.

"That's not an excuse, and you know it. You need to apologise."

"He should apologise for how he treated Fizz."

Now he's deflecting.

She's not having any of it.

"He should, I'm not denying that. That doesn't mean you shouldn't. This is your brother, Ozzie. And you know how scarred he is from our father's neglect. He already thinks you hate him." 

"Well... wouldn't go that far, not-"

Bee wasn't letting him finish that sentence. 

"Fucking hell, Ozzie, you can't be serious."

"I'm allowed to be pissed."

"Do you actually still blame him for Eden? Seriously?"

His stunned reaction was all she needed.

"I don't wanna talk about this."

"For fuck sake. I can't believe you."

She shook her head, disappointed. For hell's sake, why did her family have to be so irritating?

"Let's put a pin in it until after Charlie's party. You can rag on me 'bout it later."

"I'm going to pluck you. You don't even know how horrible that is."

She didn't even think twice about the pair of red eyes observing her as she stormed back outside. She needed some air before she shifted. 

Save it until after the party. They had to look somewhat stable for Charlie. Smile inside and out.

Chapter Text

There is no beginning, no end. It's a revolving circle, a gravitational field that pulls you into a cycle that cannot stop. 

The physical plain is one of pain and anguish. Inside, there's so much more.

What words cannot be expressed can appear in visuals. 

Sloth is a time of rest, reprieve and contemplation. The body is lax, but the mind whirrs. In many cases, substances can grease the wheels.

Belphegor has spent many aeons mastering this. Her body is weak and useless, but once she slumbers and detaches from it, she's more than any of them realise.

A lot can happen within the psyche. 

There are many reasons she does this. This time? Her brother needed to come and be there for his daughter's birthday. It wasn't an option.

All of them needed to be there.

The sin crawled through the sea of loose, glowing strings, the instrument of restfulness. Within every strand was a dreamer, a minuscule world. With practice, she colour-coded them, knowing what ring each spewed from. 

Often, she tries to alleviate the sourness of nightmares. Her subjects need to sleep more, free from the pain and stress of the waking world.

Belphegor found the strand she desired most. 

The sins are tougher to infiltrate than an imp or sinner. However, her brother's defences are down, allowing her to slide inside.

It's cold and smells foul. Her brother is in turmoil.

Carefully, Belphegor entered, finding a dry, grey wasteland of nothingness. It was the beginning of hell right after they'd fallen. The nights were long, cold and twisted back then.

"Lucifer?" she questioned, stalking the ground. The ash against her skeletal front paws seeped into the flaming marrow within. "Brother!"

"Leave!"

She winced at the wrath, not anticipating the sheer venom in her eldest sibling's voice. 

"Luci. Let me help you. I can -"

"Go!"

Her brother became visible, but his form was distorted. Half was his demon face filled with anger; the other was the angel brimming with sorrow. It's like an inverted yin and yang symbol. 

Despite his demands, Belphegor inched closer, her skeletal tail brushing against the ground. 

He won't accept her help. He never does.

"Fine. You won't let me help you, but be there for Charlie."

"Charlotte?"

"It's her birthday soon. You need to be there for her."

"No."

"No? What do you mean 'no'?"

"I'm busy. More than any of you idiots could ever understand. Now - GO!"

Belphegor's eyes snapped open, forcibly pushed out of the resting realm. 

Her body is tired. It aches in places it shouldn't, the phantom wings shivering where they no longer exist. Every breath is exhausting.

The sin would be more annoyed if not for the red eyes staring unblinkingly at her, mixed between curious and disdainful. 

With her awake, the sinner backed off, satisfied with whatever he was watching for.

Confused, Belphegor decided to resume her sleep. If Lucifer wouldn't accept her assistance, she'll watch over those within the hotel and keep them in sweet respite.

Satan hated colourful crap like this, but Charlie loved it.

Something that put him at ease was Bee and Ozzie arguing over something. They had to keep hush, but he could still make out a little; something about Asmodeus pissing her off.

He couldn't help but notice the funny red guy, though. He was staring at Bel before she briefly woke up, only to sleep again.

Satan didn't like him. Then again, he despised sinners. 

There are very few Satan genuinely cared for, and that was his family. His ring was more of a job than a hobby like it was with Ozzie and Bee. 

It's a wild ranch where he has minimal interference. He's only involved if it disturbs the "peace" that he enjoys. 

"Ye see the wee fucker too, aye?"

"Huh?" Satan said, annoyed at Levi for hovering over him. Their slime dripped onto his shoulder.

That'll take forever to wash out.

"That sinner's been sniffin' 'round Mam, Ozz, Bel an' that imp since we arrived. Suspicious."

Great, He's the last of the batch to go crazy.

"The hell are you on about now, fish face?" Satan grumbled, leaning away from Leviathan's drippage.

His jacket was of the finest hell boar hide that he made himself. He didn't need Levi's goopy shit ruining it.

"Ye ken what ah mean, cowboy. The red fellow. Ah donnae trust it. Stinks of trouble."

"How so?"

It's surprising that they can smell anything beyond their damp, fishness. 

"A' ken them types, Sattie. They're like Mam, but instead a' money, they want chaos."

For one, "Sattie" is an awful nickname. Secondly, Satan wouldn't agree that their baby brother wanted money. Sure, it was easy to get, but it's like a quick fix for a junkie, something that only lasts a brief moment.

The thing their brother wanted was the acceptance of his family, and that's not so easy when they're all so fucked. 

"You suspect we got a shit stirrer in our midst? That fucking sucks."

Satan doesn't want to be forgiven, despite Bee's little game of being the middlebug. He did a messed-up thing. It didn't matter that he couldn't control himself; he tore off one of Mam's wings. They didn't even know they could happen!

The image of it haunted him, not that Satan could ever admit that. It'd be admitting that he was scared.

Sometimes, Satan could still see the thick, oily blackness mixed with white fur on his bruised, gorey claws. His little brother, the annoying bastard that was almost his partner in crime, cowering under him with a fear he hadn't seen in the lowliest of mortal critters.

He thought he knew pain when he fell. Your little brother, terrified and in agony, because of you? That's something different. 

"Aye. We need tae keep the wee Cajun from fucking things up."

Satan could still see his big sister crying, her abdomen cracked and sickly gold fluid leaking around her, part of her jaw broken. How she forgave him, he couldn't understand.

It's not like Satan could forgive himself for what he'd done to his family.

He still saw Lucifer's face after Satan gained control again. It was revolting, terrifying.

It was filled with pride. 

Pride in the damage Satan had done.

"The fuck is Cajun? Sounds like some dumb soup. Ey, pretty girl, get me a spicy Cajun and a shitty Corona or Bud Lite."

Satan didn't want Levi to see him fumbling, being weak and unable to be better than he was. It was the weakness that led to him breaking, submitting to his sin and hurting his family.

He was always scared of it happening again.

If directed at Charlie... he'd prefer erasure over hurting his niece.

"No! It's a group a' human folk that live in the bayous. Banjo fuckers."

"Oh. Deliverance guys?"

"More Lackadaisy, but aye."

"Never heard of a lack-whatever."

"Is a human show. Gonnae have tae show yous. Donnae clipe tae Mam but a' got a way tae stream earth shows doon here."

"You fishy cunt; wanna movie night?"

A good distraction from the ironclad cage suffocating his lungs.

"Aye, ye Clint Eastwood wannabe."

Smile inside and out.

Chapter Text

Birthdays are a strange thing in Hell. It depends on the species and whether or not you want to remember your old life. 

For Charlie, it was once something she looked forward to. Ever since she turned twelve, though, it changed. Her father started to distance himself. He's been reclusive, interacting with the outside world less each mortal year. 

She wanted him to be like when she was little when he looked at her as though she were the centre of his universe, the apple of his eye, who brought a genuine smile to his face instead of the plastered, threatening one. 

When Charlie tried to talk to her father about her hopes of rescuing sinners instead of condemning them to erasure, he had a coldness she'd never seen. He looked through her as though she was nothing. With a venom no cobra could compete with, he stared her down and said four simple words.

You're my gravest disappointment. 

Charlie had left, hearing her mom yelling angrily in the background as Razzle and Dazzle got her into a limo. She showed up at Vaggie's door, sobbing her heart out. Although her girlfriend didn't believe that redemption was possible, she still supported Charlie and wanted her dreams to come true.

Why couldn't her father be like that? Why was her mom not talking to her?

For the first time, Charlie felt alone. She was adrift in a sea of uncertainty. 

Perhaps Charlie was too sheltered from Hell and its citizens. For most of her life, it was her parents, uncles, aunties and Goetia. She used to play with Paimon and Balam when they were little. It's startling how her playmate, who once had a phobia of heights, was now a Goetia King serving her father directly.

She's positive Paimon is still terrified of heights.

It's hard for her. Everyone other than her family ages so quickly compared to her. Roughly, Charlie aged once every thousand Earth years. She saw all kinds of hellions, be they sinners or hellborns. So many that Charlie called friends but turned to dust in the blink of an eye. It's why she couldn't stomach the other rings. Anybody she met would be dead in what felt like a day to her.

She recalled one of her birthday parties. Her uncle Mamsy set it up, organising an entire circus for her. Back then, he could still fly. He used to take her on flights around Greed and Pride, tossing her into the air and catching her. 

Charlie watched as a servant, someone she saw grow from a nervous teen to an elder, died of a heart attack. She was seven. It left a lasting impact. Not even a lullaby from Uncle Mod made her feel better, even though he was the undeniable best singer in her family.

While Charlie didn't have to worry about that happening with Vaggie, her girlfriend was still vulnerable. She didn't have the same resistance as Charlie. She could still die. 

Some had tried to assassinate Charlie, but much like her father, uncles and aunties, it was a complicated matter. Even holy weapons had a limited effect on them. It took incredible power to wound her exterior, but her insides were soft like a turtle. 

Her father, having seemingly disowned her, hurt her deeply. It was a wound that wouldn't heal, no matter how much Vaggie consoled her and kissed her aching chest. 

The "Princess" opened her eyes, darkness shrouding her vision. Another day of running a hotel nobody cared for.

Angel Dust wanted a free room.

Husk and Niffty were only here because they were indebted to Alastor somehow.

Alastor wanted to watch sinners suffer for his amusement.

Baxter was hiding after pissing off the wrong Overlord. 

Sir Pentious' home was destroyed by Alastor, who enjoyed scaring the serpent sinner.

Crymini wandered in, looking for Husk, who owed her some cash; she hadn't left since, for whatever reason.

The only one that was there for her and her dream was Vaggie. Even then, her girlfriend didn't believe her.

She didn't believe that there was a chance for something better.

It was stupid to try doing this. It pained her to ask her aunts and uncles for help. They were busy; they shouldn't have to worry about her, especially now she's older and alone. 

It had startled her how fast Mamsy and Levi found the building for her. She only asked for some advice, but they knocked their heads together and got to the building. They didn't even inquire as to what exactly she wanted it for. 

For the embodiments of envy and greed, those two were generous, at least when it came to Charlie.

Why couldn't her father be like them?

What had she done to make him hate her?

Charlie stilled as she felt a shift beside her.

"I can hear your brain buzzing," Vaggie sighed, her brilliant eye seeping deep into Charlie's red pair. "Te ves tan cansada, mi hermosa querida."

"Sorry," Charlie said reflexively, not meaning to wake her. "Got a lot on my mind."

Vaggie rested her head on Charlie's chest, pulling her into a tight embrace. It soothed much of her internal turmoil.

What did she do to earn such a woman like her?

"You excited?"

"About what?"

"Don't try that, Charlie. I know it's your birthday. Happy twenty-first," the sinner smiled, the dimples in her grey skin begging for Charlie's touch. How could she refuse? "Eres la peor persona a la que comprar un regalo. I got you something."

"What? Vaggie, you didn't have to!"

"Mierda, of course, I'd get you something. I know what you're like, not wanting people to spend on you, but I wanted to. You're my girlfriend, Charlie; I would get you a present even if you told me not to. Tienes suerte de ser adorable" 

The moth demon rolled from the bed, reaching under to grab a parcel she'd carefully hidden. Gently, Vaggie brought it to her, a cute smile on her pretty face.

Charlie would be lying if she wasn't a little excited. 

Fingers tingling with eagerness, Charlie maintained control, taking care of unwrapping the gift. The effort alone meant a lot to her. The little bow on top was cavity-inducing, which Charlie adored.

Her red eyes burned as she looked upon an outfit, a proper hotel manager one, in a beautiful red. 

The princess pounced off the bed, throwing off what little she was wearing to put it on. With some help from Vaggie, Charlie looked in a mirror, beaming.

The red tuxedo jacket, long pants and white saddle shoes looked professional, especially with her bowtie. She'd always liked them. It gave her an air of experience and confidence, even if she didn't necessarily feel it. 

She was struggling not to cry as Vaggie assisted with her cuff links.

"It's beautiful," Charlie sniffled, unable to keep away from showering her love in kisses of gratitude.

"You're beautiful," Vaggie corrected, kissing her back. "Can't have Al being the only one in a suit, even if it needs some work."

"Yeah, it's a little ripped at the back."

"Pretty sure it's his skin. I've never seen him remove any of his clothing."

"Would you want to?"

"No, and I hope I never do." As much as Charlie tried to like Al, she agreed. "How about we go downstairs, and I take some pictures of you in your new outfit?"

Charlie's cheeks reddened, spreading over her feline-like nose.

She'd like that very much.

As the duo opened the door to their room, they craned their necks at Alastor as he stared down at them, grinning as usual. After a while, it only gets slightly less creepy. 

How long had he been standing there? It was like he never slept.

"Oh, uh, morning, Al," Charlie said nervously, feeling her girlfriend's annoyance. "Do you need something?"

"Me? Oh, not at all, dear!" he said, the radio static tickling her ears soothingly. "I was hoping you'd greet our guests in the lobby."

What?

What!?

Charlie's heart started racing, a million thoughts banging inside her skull.

"Are you joking?" Vaggie questioned, testing the waters, not wanting Charlie to get her hopes up.

"You think far too little of me, my dear. They seem incredibly excited. They've been... entertaining."

His eyes flashed, glowing brighter as his grin grew impossibly. It was malicious. He'd been playing one of his games, but what pawn had he chosen to torment until he was either satisfied or bored? It was impossible to know until it was too late.

Charlie felt bad for them.

She can try to shield them from the more sinister of Alastor's schemes. With any luck, there isn't a deal binding a poor soul to Alastor's web of lost vagabonds.

With Vaggie holding her shaking hand, the pair walked past the grinning sinner, making their way towards the lobby. Although Charlie's worried it was a trick, she had to be hopeful.

It was unusually dark. The windows should've let some light in. Even with her enhanced vision, Charlie couldn't see a thing.

At least from something from the glass pane doors.

Lights burst on, burning her eyes. The princess yelped, surprised. That only grew as numerous voices yelled "Happy Birthday" at her, all out of harmony but there nonetheless. She recognised most of them.

She felt Vaggie clinging to her, startled.

When her eyes opened again, adjusting to the light, she saw her family.

Mammon, Asmodeus, Satan, Leviathan, Beelzebub and Belphegor. There was also an unfamiliar hellhound, a cyborg imp and a female shark demon. 

Her lobby was decorated with an array and menagerie of birthday decor, several bits and pieces made by her family. She recognised an ice sculpture of a possum by Andrealphus sitting in the middle, likely enchanted to keep from melting.

It had never looked so alive. 

Everyone except for her mom and dad.

"Oi, that yer sheila, Chucks?"

Right, Charlie hadn't introduced her girlfriend to her family yet. Blushing, Charlie encouraged Vaggie to let go, leading her towards her family.

The large six crowded, all fascinated and eager to meet Charlie's nervous partner.

"Yer a wee thing, ain' ye?" Levi said, slithering around them and lowering their head to Vaggie, scaring her. They struggled with recognising personal space. "'Boot time we met ye, Lassie."

"Damn crime hiding her from us, Lottie," Satan agreed, the thick southern drawl tickling her back. "Pleasure meetin' you, ma'am."

"Vaggie, these are my uncles and aunts - he's Mammon; that one's Asmodeus; she's Beelzebub; that's Satan; they're Leviathan; she's Belphegor - I, uh. I don't know the others."

"The name's Vortex. I'm Bee's boyfriend. Glad to meet you," the hellhound said, gently shaking her hand. He seemed sweet. 

Charlie rarely got the opportunity to meet hellhounds or imps. They rarely ventured to the pride ring, let alone Pentagram City.

"Moray. I'm King Leviathan's "assistant"," said the shark demon, winking unsubtly. 

"Fucking knew it! You owe me and Mam fifty, rooster face!" Satan cackled, making Asmodeus roll his three sets of eyes in annoyance. "Tiny and nervous is Ozzie's personal pocket bussy."

Satan cackled as Mamsy gagged, amused by his disgust.

"It's FizzaRolli," the imp introduced, looking exceedingly nervous.

"Vagatha," Vaggie said, reasonably caught off guard by the literal sins surrounding her. 

Charlie understands why she's frightened. Her aunts and uncles are kings of their rings, second only to her father, if that. They're immensely powerful and ancient entities. They existed before heaven and Hell, before even Eden. 

She wouldn't be half the demon she was without them. 

Belphegor nudged Leviathan to the side, curiously looking into her girlfriend. Like Levi, she didn't understand personal space. However, it's nice to see her in her miniature form for once.

"Would you like to play a bet?" she inquired, confusing Vaggie. "Guess where your soul is from. If we get it right, we ask a question. If not, you ask us one. That sound pleasant, Vagatha?"

"Yeah, you in, 'lil lady?" Satan added, already itching to play.

Charlie knew the answer, but she wanted to see her girlfriend get used to her family. No doubt, one would randomly show up at some point. It's best to get it out of the way so she isn't as scared next time.

"You guys will answer the whole truth? No matter what I ask?" Vaggie questioned, vaguely interested. It's probably just for Charlie's sake.

"Don't worry. They can be a bit much at first, but they're lovely," she promised, hugging Vaggie.

"At least ya ain't with that von Eldritch cunt. The fuck did ye see in that slimey bastard, anyway?"

"Aye. Thought ye bum was oot th' windae. Wee lad was a fannybaws bampot."

"I'm putting money on American," Asmodeus started. 

"Sorry, big guy," Vaggie said, shaking her head.

"Shit!"

"Oh, this is gon' be either really fuckin' gross or very funny," Mamsy grinned, prepared to tease the hell out of Asmodeus.

It's things like that which made her wish she had a sibling.

She did notice how the imp, Fizz, was extra nervous around Mamsy. He looked like a clown, so maybe he'd worked for Mamsy?

Either way, Charlie was happy to see her girlfriend getting more comfortable as she tried thinking of an awkward question for an ancient entity.

Her girlfriend had a cheeky streak to her, and Charlie was eager to show it off.

Chapter Text

If someone told Vagatha that she'd be playing cards with Husk, Angel Dust, the embodiment of wrath and sin envy themselves, a clown cyborg imp and a sneaky shark demon, she would've died laughing.

She didn't even know what they were playing. It's something from the Gluttony ring. It's easy to forget there are other rings, given that Vagatha's trapped in the pride one. Most sinners never leave Pentagram City; they don't know what else to do or where to go. 

Meeting the actual sins was a shock. She was still processing that.

And they were still playing that stupid guessing game.

"Ok, I'm going to dive all in. Colombian."

"No."

"Fuck me sideways with a ripe cactus, I can't win!" Satan yelled, furious.

"Aye, yer a real sore loser."

"Zip it, fishlips. You don' know either!"

"Ah' dae! I jus' want ye tae suffer more."

"Whatever. Ask away, 'lil lady."

"What do you have a phobia of?"

"Cradle my balls and throw them to the hyenas, why don't you? It's the platypus. Thing's always freaked the fuck out of me. Not even the dinos gave me that kinda ick."

She could understand. The platypus was a weird creature. 

It was even venomous. She was amazed when Crymini told her that. 

"I know," Husk suddenly said, surprising Vagatha.

There's no way.

He smirked at her, the only almost positive emotion she'd seen from him. Fuck. He did know, didn't he?

"Hey, guess what I am!" Angel Dust shouted, wanting a part in the game.

"Italian," Satan said, not looking at the shocked spider. "You speak with your hands too much, cannoli boy."

"What the fuck's Italian?" the imp, Fizzie, questioned. He had no idea about the human world, which was cute. He's a nervous thing, especially when the green sin is close. "Isn't that the pasta stuff?"

"Oi, don't you go insulting pasta while I'm under this roof!" Angel said with pride, making Satan smirk. "Choke on my pretty dick, lizard face."

"I could eat you in one bite," Satan grumbled, making Fizz more nervous, but Moray was amused.

"Kinky."

"Och, he got ye there, Sattie," the sin of envy giggled, getting a wink from their partner. 

Fizzie glanced at Vaggie, silently begging for help. She wasn't going to give it. 

Husk hummed, possibly interested in playing as well. 

She already knew what Angel was; he was obnoxiously obvious. With Husk, though? She had no clue. She'd heard him speak fluent Spanish to piss her off, so maybe he's from Spain or somewhere in South America? Hell, he could also be from El Salvador.

"I'm in. Can any of you guess where I'm from?"

"Austria," Moray said, making his head turn to her so quickly that Vagatha swore it snapped. "I've got a knack for these things."

"Wait, seriously?" Angel questioned, eyeing the feline. "How come I didn't know that?"

"You never asked. Too busy talking about yourself or that fucking pig."

"You leave my Nuggie outta this!"

Right, Angel Dust's weird pet pig. 

How did her life and afterlife lead her to these conversations?

"Do you speak any German?" Vagatha stupidly asked. She was curious, never having met an Austrian before. 

"Ich hasse euch alle."

"Sei vorsichtig, Kätzchen," Satan grinned, making Husk's fur stand on end. "Se mi tocchi ancora la gamba con quello stivale, ti appendo per le viscere, ragnetto," he switched to Italian seemlessly.

Satan had a hidden talent for multilingualism. 

"¿A cuántos conoces?" Vagatha inquered, curious.

"Half of them are considered dead by your time. My favourite was Egyptian. Could make some mean fucking jokes."

"Ye Central American, aren't ye?" Leviathan guessed, which was close. She let him have that. "Love this wee game. Humans come from odd places."

"How about something else? Who here is the oldest? Other than my lord and King Satan, of course," Moray suggested, her ringed eyes dragging along the group. "I'll start. In the human world, my year would've been 1986 - I'm thirty-eight."

"I'm two years younger than you, so, uhm, 1988. Yeah?" Fizz tried. He relaxed after Moray nodded. "I can't do the other guessing game. Don't know about human things." 

Vagatha pondered on whether she should tell. It's not that she's embarrassed; it wasn't her fault she died. 

It never sat well with her, though. It was 2014, and her only crime was being gay. How did that earn her the death sentence from some nobody-asshole jocks?

Tanner Burns, Hunter Brown and Randall Prentice cornered her in a bathroom. She dared to reject Hunter, and for that, they killed her. She could still feel Tanner's hands around her throat as Hunter pulled her clothes off, promising to "fix her". 

She didn't know what happened afterwards, as Tanner slipped, dragging them both down and slamming her head against a sink. She recalled the sound of it shattering as a piece of ceramic pierced her brain, a pipe going through her eye. The pain didn't last long.

In a blink, Vagatha was in Hell. For her entire life, she'd been a devout catholic, adhering to every little rule, but being gay was a sin. She hadn't believed it would damn her - why would God create homosexuality if he despised it?

It was brutal to realise that she'd wasted her mortal life on a lord who would've never accepted her. 

For all that Hell has its problems, almost nobody cares if you're gay. Some are homophobic - it's still Hell - but they aren't as common as Vagatha expected.

She's dating the Princess of Hell itself, and her uncles, fallen angels who worked directly with the lord, didn't judge her.

That's what they were. Right? The ones that followed Lucifer to Hell - even though people used to confuse Satan and Lucifer as the same person. She didn't know how; King Lucifer looked nothing like the sin of wrath. 

"1977," Husk sighed, looking over his claws. "March 27th."

She knew that date.

"Wait, were you on one of those planes?"

In 1977, on March 27th, two planes in Tenerife collided. Her father was a plane nut - in hindsight, he was probably autistic - he memorised every aviation disaster he could. Even with dementia, he still talked about it. He called it the worst in history, with almost six hundred people dying.

"KLM Flight 4805. Makes the wings a little ironic," he added, shrugging. "What did you in?"

"Three homophobic white boys," Vagatha answered, feeling much better about how she died. At least she wasn't on fire. "2014, November 5th."

She already knew she was the youngest here, but it was interesting to know about the others. Technically, Husk is a coworker. They might as well understand more about each other.

"I win!" Angel cackled, knowing better than to pity him, at least in public.

Although she didn't know Husk well, she knew he was the type of man to despise being pitied. 

"Drug overdose," Husk stated, already well aware. "You were from the forties, weren't you?"

"1947. I'm thirty years deader than you!"

"I was sixty when I died, so I'm still older than you regardless, you twenty-something brat."

Oh shit.

There was a high chance that Husk was drafted into World War 2. She didn't need to say which side he was on. It certainly explained why he drank so much.

It also explained why he was so personally angered when Angel made a stupid Holocaust joke. The feline probably felt some level of responsibility. 

He said he was sixty, so he must've been born sometime in 1917, which would've made him roughly twenty-two when the war started. 

It was incredibly fascinating to learn about.

"Before you fuckers ask, I'm not one of those bastards - Defected as soon as I got the chance. I never regretted that. Not even on that fucking beach. Getting sand in a gunshot is a pain in the ass, especially with Yankees and Canadians mouthing off at you."

"D-Day?" Vagatha questioned, eagerly paying attention. She was fascinated. Even Angel was being quiet, intrigued.

"Juno Beach."

"I got great respect for you, cat," Satan said, grinning wide. "Always got respect for soldiers."

"Aye. Wee cat's got a story ah like."

"I was in the mafia," Angel piped up, not wanting to feel left out. It had Leviathan's attention, their five eyes blinking at him; Moray was also listening in, her tail waving slowly. "Because I was Italian and a fag, they didn't let me join the army, thank fuck. I'd be a terrible solder."

When Husk agreed, he grumbled.

Compared to them, Vagatha had a boring story.

"Och, ah got it! Salvador, aye?"

She was impressed.

"Well done. What question do you want from me?"

"How'd ye meet our wee Chucky?"

"I'm interested in that, too," Satan agreed, his tail curling behind him. "I also wanna know how this clown bumped into Ozzie or how the unapproachable Leviathan got a sassy snark shark gal." 

"I was hired to try and kill Astaroth, and King Leviathan found me. I should've died, but they were interested in my rifle, and things went from there. They've got quite the collection of holy weapons."

"What can ah say? Ah like dangerous things," Leviathan grinned, eyeing their assassin girlfriend. "Especially with teeth."

She flashed a toothy, sharp grin, entertaining the sin.

Although Vagatha knew nothing about Moray, she was a ballsy woman for not only trying to kill a Goetia but shacking up with a sin. Then again, so is little Fizz, who is trying to make himself smaller.

"I'd do anything to get fucked by that rooster. I've always wanted to go to Lust and Ozzie's. Sounds incredible," Angel sighed, daydreaming over it. 

"Heh, so long as I get to watch - Spider Boy," the imp said, getting Angel excited. It's about time he came from his shell. "My, uh, well, how I met Ozzie is kinda... wonky."

"Spit it out, small fry," Satan stated, whispering something ancient to Leviathan. The duo seemed to have made a bet. "Can't be as wild as how Levi finally got their cocks wet. Well, wetter."

"Awa' 'n bile ye heid."

Wait, what?

"I was in a circus and thanks to a fireworks accident, I got burned like a chicken nugget and lost my limbs. Couldn't speak for, like, two years. I'm not sure why, but Mammon got involved. He's how I met Ozzie. Without him, I doubt we would've ever met."

Satan looked unusually uncomfortable, as though something hit too close for him.

Leviathan had a sad, understanding gaze on them.

"We know our wee brother's a right weapon sometimes, but he's no bad. No' really. He gets how it is tae lose something ye cannae get back."

Again, Satan was upset by something, though it seemed directed at himself. Did something happen?

"Mammon lost something?"

"Aye. Won' say more - ah would never 'ear the end of it. Isnae somethin' he likes bein' reminded of. But ah promise ye, he's no always a bastard. Since yer part of our family now, is better ye two get over whatever's buggin' ye both. With how Ozzie looks at ye, yer staying for a long time, laddie."

"You're part of it too, Vags," Satan continued, sounding distant. "You make our Charlie happy. Be happy to make you a Magne."

"Fuck, how come literal sins are better than my family!" Angel whined, hiding his face in his upper pair of hands.

With a slight gruff, Husk covered him with one of his wings. 

Although they have their problems, the Magne family was certainly an upgrade. For the literal embodiments of wrath and envy, Satan and Leviathan were chill. All of the sins besides Lucifer were.

Vagatha had been worried over nothing. These guys are decent. 

Charlie loved it when Belphegor showed off her bone sculpture-making skills. She managed to carve one of Sir Pentious' egg boys in no time, amazing the snake sinner.

Seeing her colleagues and clients enjoying her birthday was a present in and of itself. She still had her uncle's and aunt's presents to unwrap, but she wanted to do it later and enjoy it in her downtime with Vaggie. Knowing them, Charlie was going to adore it.

Like how she loved her distinguished, professional outfit. She would have to treat her girlfriend later for that. 

As the clown imp showed off his juggling, she spotted Mamsy motioning for her to come to him. 

Happy to talk to any of the sins, Charlie happily left the snack table where Baxter had tried conquering to meet with Mamsy. She noticed Alastor's long gaze at them, and admittedly, she was concerned over which of the guests he'd chosen to torment.

Thankfully, he got distracted by Beelzebub and Vortex bringing some of her special honey. It made Husk salivate to get his claws on some Beezlejuice. 

Although Charlie couldn't get drunk, she loved her aunt's honey; it was delicious and sweet. 

When she got to Mamsy, he seemed a little off.

"Chuck, just wanted a word, yea?"

What did Mamsy want to talk about?

Charlie followed him. In actuality, she guided him somewhere where they could talk. He only did this if it was necessary.

The room must've been an office; she had no clue. However, it had enough space for them to sit and talk. Whatever he had to say must be important.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, sitting across from the youngest sin. 

"Naw. I was hopin' to hear about this project more without Satan yellin' that Levi's somehow cheating at the cards. Speaking of, your girl's bloody decent. Already knows how to count them."

It filled her with pride to know her uncle approved of her girlfriend. Out of them, he was the easiest to win over. He's always been a pushover compared to the others.

The hardest to convince will be Satan and Asmodeus. While they put on a pleasant face, they were judgy regarding her relationships.

She was also happy that someone wanted to listen to her.

"I'm glad you guys like her."

"Ain't like you could do much worse than Sev."

"No, guess not," she chuckled, agreeing with him. "What did you want to know?"

"Y'know, how this redemption plan of yours is goin'."

She frowned, looking back on the interview that ended in a ball of fire.

"Not great, but I've only just started. Can't go anywhere but up."

"That's what we love to see, doll," he smiled, easing her a little. "How's your plans on, y'know, handling clientele?"

"Well, I'm not too sure yet, but I'm eager to face any obstacle and overcome it! I'll get as many as I can to heaven and give them peace - it's better than being eradicated."

Anything but that. She hated how terrified her people were, suffering under the exterminators. 

If getting them to heaven would do that, she'd drag them there herself. 

Her uncle seemed sad, which worried her. 

"I'll be real with ye, Chucky. Realer than I probably should," her uncle started, his lower right hand meeting hers. "You don' want heaven."

The sincerity of it startled and confused her. 

"Isn't it where human souls find peace?" Charlie questioned, confused. "That's where they can be happy and safe."

"That's the idea of it, love, but no. It's... empty. It's hollow. The fluffy clouds, the pearly gates - it's all an imitation of what it should've been," Mammon said, his eyes wandering off to somewhere far away. "It's not happy there."

She didn't understand. Isn't that what heaven is supposed to be?

It's paradise. It's peace. It's what the sinners deserve.

They shouldn't be left to rot or be slaughtered like cattle. It wasn't fair. They were living, sentient people with feelings and stories that shouldn't be burned on a book pyre.

It's a library that must be cherished.

She wanted them to be saved. To be safe. Even the ones that despised her.

"You guys came from there, yeah?" she inquired, knowing it was a touchy subject for them. "You saw it. What heaven was like."

"Technically, we're all before heaven and Hell, but yeah. We were there. The others saw a lot more than me, but it was enough. There's nothing to miss."

"Not even your parents? Or, uh... Dad never said how you guys came to be. He won't talk about that."

"We were designed. Manufactured. God gave us a name and then roles to carry out. If it weren't to his liking... it wasn't nice..." he trailed off, looking distant again. "It's lonely up there. Cold. You can be stuffed in a room and feel like the only one there. It's one of the reasons we're so enamoured with you, Chucky. None of us got to be kids. Came out the oven burnt." 

So, no parents. It's obvious how hard that was for Charlie to understand. She's got such a good family, even if her parents were being... well, not easy.

Her aunts and uncles made up for that.

She understood, though, feeling like you're alone even if you're in a group. It's contradictory and confusing. 

"But heaven's supposed to be perfect. Isn't it?"

"Perfection is the absence of change. The absence of change is a lack of life, in the afterlife or before. It's the possibility of fucking up that makes the effort all the more valuable, kiddo. It ain't life if it don' change. Just like a Dionaea Muscipula, if you live in dead, shitty soil, you adapt. You overcome. If you don't, you die; it's stagnation. Heaven wants to be this big, perfect painting - they never understood that being flawed, imperfect and occasionally, y'know, a cunt, is what blooms personality, life, and differences. Differences make us not dull as fuck! Look at your Sheila. She's nothing like you, and you love her for it. Even Razzle and Dazzle are different, even though they look alike. If we ain't flawed, we're mannequin husks to be posed however some miserable bastard wants."

Charlie followed eagerly. He taught her everything she knew about plants. It's how she knew Sev tried to insult her when he gave her petunias.

He was right. Her girlfriend was so different to Charlie, and she adored it. Even when Vaggie annoyed her sometimes, that woman's fiery spirit attracted her like a moth to a flame. She even pulled a spear on Alastor, ready to fight an unwinnable battle for Charlie's safety, even though Charlie would have a decent chance against Al alone.

Angel was difficult, but he had moments of vulnerability, a softness he was afraid to show.

She saw it in Husk. He believed he lost the ability to love long ago but was suspiciously close to Angel. 

Even Sir Pentious had a silver lining to his flaws. For all his whining and complaining, he'd fixed the hotel's electric system in no time, wishing to argue with the "deformed cabbage perspiration" that built the place. He was the closest Baxter had to someone who understood him. They could complain together.

Alastor was helpful, assisting her with how management worked. He had the experience, despite being a mere hair length of her lifespan. He was pessimistic, even nihilistic, but that was occasionally needed to balance her excessive optimism. Between them, a deformed, twisted version of realism could shine through.

They had so many faults, but they wouldn't be themselves otherwise. Who would Charlie be without her "sunshine"? Who would Angel be without his enjoyment of sex or Vaggie without her cooking?

Sure, there were things to alter. Drugs and alcohol needed to be heavily restricted if the sinners were to find genuine peace, not a placebo. The Overlords would need to go, which could put her in conflict with Alastor. However, he didn't seem to care about his status. 

"It's not only that," Mamsy added, ending the silence. "The rules in heaven are... well, they're bullshit, to put it simply. Y'know, you can end up in Hell for eating shellfish or wearing the wrong clothes. If you were human, you'd be here because you liked guys and gals. Ain't that a bitch?"

"But nothing is wrong with liking girls as well as guys."

"I think any of that stuff is gross, but it ain't wrong. Ain't worth eternity in "punishment". Then again, Metatron and the lot were weird. One of their little book rules encourages bashin' babies. Psalm 137:8–9 NRSV or something like that. People who support that and condemn poor bastards for mixing linen and cotton ain't good pinnacles of paradise."

Charlie didn't know these things. Her father never talked about God or any of the other entities from heaven. She knew her uncles and aunts came from there but didn't know the specifics.

She didn't know anything about heaven besides the "perfect picture". 

It shouldn't be difficult to, well, not do that.

"I feel like an idiot."

"Fuck, didn't mean for that, Chucks. Ain't your fault you didn't know this stuff. The others will skin me if they hear I told you that heaven isn't what the propaganda spits out. You're the brightest gal I know, and I used to be your mum's reading beanbag."

That was a goofy image to conjure.

Even so, she still felt like a moron for not prying further. What if her redemption plan succeeded, and she sent one of her people to that place? Her father didn't tolerate the mistreatment of kids, let alone babies. What embodiment of virtue would encourage that?

Mamsy never lied to her in his life. She doubted he could do it with a straight face. 

"I don't know what to do then. If redemption doesn't - shouldn't - work, and you've all known this, why are you supporting me? I feel like a candle burning to the end of the wick without knowing how much I've left before I shine and snuff out..."

That didn't even make sense, but her uncle understood.

He always did.

"You never needed any of us to shine, Chucky. We're jus' here to remind you that you're the light of our lives. When you can't fix what's broken, you make something better, and I always knew since you dropped out Lily's cunt that you'd be better than all of us ever could be, my little Rhododendron." 

A tear fell from her eye, warmth burning in her chest, melting the first left by her father.

"You think I can make something better? Truly?"

"Know it like I know botany, love. If you ever need something from me, any of us, and we'll always be there. I'm positive Bel would skip a nap if it meant seeing you smile, darlin'."

She hugged the larger entity, feeling his fuzz through his jester getup. It felt good to feel those four arms around her, blanketing her from those four venomous words that her father spat. 

"Thanks, Mamsy," she sighed, hearing his two hearts beating against her ears. "You always know what to say."

"I don't, but it means a lot if you think so. We want you to see what any blind fucker could; you'll make waves - Nah, bloody tsunamis. Jus'' gotta keep you out your funk and keep that pretty head high, yeah?" 

"Yeah," she nodded, grateful for his unconditional support. 

She wished she could've had that from her dad.

"One of 'em's probably lookin' for you, so shimmy that little arse out there. Positive Bee will give you special honey, jus' for you."

"You guys spoil me too much."

"You're one of the best parts of our lives, Chucky. 'course we'll spoil ya."

The princess nodded, her heart swelling. While it upset her that her father wasn't here, she still had them. They'd always be there for her.

Charlie made her way back to the party, spotting Husk, Satan, Beelzebub and Vortex chugging Beelzejuice. As expected, Angel was cheering Husk on, furthering her doubt that they were only "acquaintances".

Alastor stood beside Vagatha and Moray, deliberately annoying the former for his amusement. Little Niffty was roaring that Husk beat Vortex's ass, calling it a war between cats and dogs. 

She wasn't sure why, but something felt off.

The young heir saw Asmodeus against the wall, seeming down about something. He was watching Fizz as the imp sat on Vortex's shoulders, demanding that Satan beat Beelzebub. 

Shouldn't he be happy that his boyfriend is getting along with his siblings? Even Leviathan and Belphegor were encouraging Satan to beat Beelzebub - a daunting task, indeed.

Concerned, Charlie chose to check on her uncle Mod.

"Hey, Mod," Charlie said, earning his attention immediately.

They'd burn the human world if it meant seeing her smile. She didn't need them to say it to know. 

"You're looking amazing, little one," Uncle Mod sighed, gently cupping her face. "You're beautiful when you smile. Light up a room faster than my flames."

Her uncle's words washed over her and she wanted to hear her other uncle's thoughts.

Charlie was imperfect. She knew that. It was her flaws that made her a person, someone that could grow and be better. 

"Thanks," she smiled, leaning into his warmth. "Uncle Mod, could I ask you something?"

"Anything you want, darling."

"Do you think being imperfect is beautiful?"

"Take a gander at my partner," he smiled, nodding at the clown Imp. "My crooked Froggy. He lost all his limbs - he lost his voice for a while - lost his horns, his home, and many layers of skin. He's a troublesome little guy, always afraid of disappointing others, even to his detriment. Sometimes it pisses me right off, but it's that same damn love of making others happy that makes me swoon. Imperfections only accentuate your love for someone, even the annoying parts."

It must be a sentiment shared between all of the sins.

Except for her dad.

It made her ponder on what Mamsy told her. Don't try fixing the wheel; replace it with something better.

Could Charlie really do that? Guide sinners into loving their imperfect selves and finding peace despite where they are.

To create a better heaven. What it should've been. 

Mamsy certainly believed in her. It seemed that Asmodeus did, too. 

Charlie could prove her father wrong. She could be better. 

She's supposed to be the heir of Hell, so it's only the correct course of action to do her damnedest to help the damned. 

"Why'd you ask, honey?"

"It's something Mamsy told me," she smiled, though she didn't understand Mod's quick huff of annoyance. "What's wrong?"

"I've already told you not to listen to Mammon. Nothing he says is worth your time."

That didn't make sense. He agreed with what Mamsy told her, didn't he?

She knew that he and Mamsy didn't get along. It seemed one-sided, but she didn't know how to express that. They didn't like fighting in front of her. 

Charlie still remembered vividly how her father looked after one went physical. Her uncle Satan lost control of his sin and hurt the others. Her dad seemed so empty and in shock, covered in black blood that had specks of silver - sin's blood. It reminded her of the star show Paimon and Stolas could produce.

"Is something going on between you guys?"

"Nothing that should bother you, sweetie. Your uncle Mam just hasn't got anything worth listening to. Been around him long enough to know most of it's bullshit."

Charlie didn't believe that. 

"That's not nice to say, Mod. Even if Mamsy can be a little much sometimes, that's not something to say about a loved one."

Asmodeus grumbled something, which concerned her. Did they fight? It seemed so.

Things between those two always appeared tense, even if it was more from Asmodeus than Mamsy. It must be something from before Charlie was born. 

"Alright, guess you're right. Always are, darling."

"I was a little wrong about the redemption thing."

Uncle Mod narrowed his eyes towards her, though not directed at her.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing bad, he just clarified some things, and I needed it. I feel a lot more confident about this now. I'm grateful for you. All of you."

Although Asmodeus didn't seem convinced, he nodded, accepting it. 

She didn't understand what his issue was, though.

The doors to the lobby snapped open, earning everybody's attention. For a brief moment, Charlie hoped it was her father and mother, but no.

It's a stranger.

She was confused, especially when Asmodeus pulled her behind him, his flames flaring angrily. All of the sins looked infuriated, even the overly relaxed Belphegor.

"H̶e̴l̷l̵o̸,̴ ̷b̵r̴o̴t̶h̸e̷r̸s̷.̴.̶.̸" Metatron grinned. 

Chapter Text

Satan snarled, placing himself between Metatron and the others. His slightly older sister joined him, Asmodeus quickly taking his other side.

As the eldest here, they could keep Metatron from pulling any tricks. Their much younger siblings didn't have the experience to handle Meta, and the little sinners and hellborns were even more vulnerable.

"H̴o̸w̷ ̵t̸h̵e̸ ̴m̶i̴g̶h̴t̶y̸ ̴h̶a̵v̸e̸ ̸f̴a̵l̷l̷e̵n̵," Metatron sneered, the many eyes embedded in his halo blinking out of sync. The little wings covering most of his face, leaving that grin open for all to see, shivered with glee. "I̶'̵m̸ ̸i̴n̵s̵u̸l̷t̴e̷d̸.̷ ̸Y̷o̴u̴ ̴d̵i̷d̷n̷'̸t̷ ̶i̷n̷v̵i̵t̴e̶ ̷t̴h̸e̴ ̶r̴e̷s̸t̸ ̷o̴f̸ ̶u̸s̴ ̶t̴o̴ ̴o̶u̵r̸ ̷n̷i̶e̸c̴e̷'̸s̸ ̵l̵i̸t̸t̶l̶e̶ ̷g̵e̵t̷-̴t̷o̷g̸e̴t̴h̶e̷r̶.̵"

"She ain't your niece, fuck face," Mammon hissed, keeping Charlie from the Voice of God's view. 

"O̶h̴,̵ ̸y̴o̷u̶.̵.̷.̷ ̶w̸h̴i̵c̴h̵ ̶o̸n̴e̸ ̴a̶r̵e̷ ̸y̸o̸u̸ ̶a̴g̶a̵i̸n̷?̷ ̵I̷ ̵f̵o̸r̸g̵e̸t̷.̷"

The insult made Satan snarl, his tail lashing in the air, careful not to hit anybody. 

Keep it under control.

It's so hard when his sin is raging, yearning to snap that bastard's neck. 

"Back the fuck up, Mets!" Beelzebub snarled, growing in size to emphasise her point. "You're not welcome in our world, so fuck off!"

"A̷n̵d̶ ̶a̴f̴t̷e̸r̵ ̶a̶l̷l̷ ̸w̷e̵'̷v̵e̴ ̸b̷e̸e̴n̷ ̶t̴h̸r̴o̷u̴g̴h̷ ̷t̶o̶g̷e̷t̷h̶e̸r̷,̴ ̸S̶e̸r̸a̸p̸h̵i̷e̵l̷.̷ ̸I̵'̸m̸ ̷d̴i̵s̸a̸p̶p̴o̸i̷n̴t̵e̶d̶.̵ ̵O̴u̸r̴ ̶f̷a̴t̵h̸e̵r̴'̵s̷ ̴g̸r̷o̸w̷n̴ ̶t̷i̸r̴e̶d̵ ̷o̷f̸ ̵y̷o̶u̵r̷ ̸l̷i̷t̶t̷l̸e̶ ̵t̴a̵n̷t̴r̶u̸m̷s̷.̵ ̴H̸e̶'̴s̷ ̷g̵o̸i̸n̷g̴ ̵t̸o̷ ̸b̶e̷ ̷m̵i̸g̴h̴t̶y̸ ̶c̷u̵r̶i̷o̵u̵s̷ ̵t̸o̵ ̵l̶e̵a̷r̴n̶ ̷a̴b̷o̶u̸t̵ ̴t̵h̶i̸s̵.̸.̶.̶ ̸d̸e̷v̴e̶l̷o̷p̸m̸e̶n̸t̸.̵"

Satan glanced behind him, making a head count of everyone. 

"Who is that?" Charlie asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, confused and scared of the stranger.

"Y̴o̸u̴ ̴d̵i̵d̶n̴'̴t̷ ̸e̶v̷e̷n̸ ̴t̷e̵l̷l̶ ̴h̸e̴r̵ ̸a̸b̵o̶u̶t̴ ̸t̵h̵e̷ ̸r̸e̸s̴t̴ ̶o̶f̷ ̸h̴e̷r̶ ̵f̷a̴m̸i̴l̶y̵?̸ ̷M̴y̶,̸ ̸h̴o̶w̸ ̷r̴u̵d̴e̸.̸ ̷I̴ ̷a̴m̶ ̵M̵e̵t̷a̶t̸r̸o̶n̴,̶ ̴t̷h̵e̴ ̷V̸o̶i̷c̷e̴ ̴o̷f̸ ̵G̷o̷d̸,̸ ̴t̶h̴e̸ ̷h̴i̸g̶h̴e̸s̵t̵ ̸o̵f̴ ̸t̵h̸e̷ ̴A̸n̶g̴e̴l̶ ̷O̸r̷d̶e̶r̵ ̸-̸ ̷I̵ ̵u̴s̷e̴d̵ ̷t̷o̸ ̸b̴e̷ ̸c̷l̸o̵s̸e̷ ̸t̸o̵ ̶y̷o̴u̴r̴ ̴f̵a̴t̶h̵e̴r̵ ̶a̶ ̷l̴o̶n̷g̶,̴ ̴l̷o̵n̴g̸ ̷t̴i̸m̸e̵ ̷a̵g̶o̷,̵ ̵b̶e̷f̵o̸r̷e̷ ̴h̴e̷ ̴i̷n̷s̸u̸l̴t̴e̷d̷ ̵t̴h̸e̵ ̵L̸o̶r̶d̶.̴"

"Naw, ye bawbag. We just got tired of yer bullshite. We donnae want nothing tae dae with yer stupid wee cult. Yer no welcome doon in our lands, feather fuck."

"S̷u̵c̶h̵ ̴c̷r̸u̶d̴e̴n̷e̸s̶s̷,̷ ̵M̸a̶t̸r̵i̴a̶l̴."

"It's Leviathan," Satan corrected, getting closer to his former brother. "You'll respect our names. You'll respect that we're Kings, and you're nothin' more than a lapdog for an entity that would replace you the second he feels like it."

"W̴h̸y̷ ̵r̶e̵s̷p̶e̶c̷t̶ ̴w̵h̴a̸t̷ ̴i̴s̵ ̷b̷e̴n̸e̵a̴t̴h̴ ̷m̸e̷,̸ ̵R̴a̷g̸u̸e̶l̷?̸ ̵F̵r̸o̵m̶ ̶w̴h̷a̴t̵ ̷o̶u̶r̵ ̶L̵o̴r̷d̶ ̵h̸a̷s̸ ̶s̵e̸e̷n̷,̶ ̶y̵o̶u̴'̶r̵e̶ ̷i̵n̷ ̴d̶i̴r̵e̸ ̷n̴e̷e̷d̵ ̷o̷f̶ ̵c̸o̴n̵t̵r̸o̵l̷.̴ ̶I̵s̶n̵'̵t̶ ̷t̷h̷a̵t̸ ̶r̶i̴g̵h̶t̷,̵ ̸Z̸u̸r̴i̶e̵l̵?̸"

Satan grabbed Metatron's throat, the holy energy beginning to burn his hand, but the King of Wrath refused to retreat. 

Never would he forgive himself for that, and for Metatron to throw that as if it were nothing was disgusting. He failed once; he wasn't letting that happen again.

His little brothers and sister can't handle holy energy like he and Bee can. 

From behind, a burst of golden fire took everyone's attention. Several eyes scowled through the flames, redder than Pride's sky. 

The fire twisted and coiled like a snake, eight burning wings stretching out and obscuring the outer world. Golden rings spun around the form, smothered in hateful red eyes, all looking at Metatron.

It had been so long since they'd seen Lucifer's old form.

"L̷E̵A̴V̶E̸," the eldest sin demanded, the voice coming from everywhere and nowhere, neither male nor female. "L̸E̶A̵V̶E̷,̷ ̷M̷E̷T̷A̷T̷R̵O̶N̶,̵ ̵B̷E̸F̴O̵R̴E̸ ̵I̷ ̴M̶A̷K̵E̵ ̶Y̶O̴U̶."

Metatron only remained grinning, his many eyes glued to everyone. One of them almost snickered at Satan, mocking him. 

With Lucifer presenting himself so aggressively, Metatron didn't have much choice. He didn't stand a chance against all seven of them together. 

"F̵a̶t̸h̵e̸r̴ ̶i̶s̴n̸'̵t̵ ̶f̶i̸n̶i̷s̶h̵e̵d̵ ̵w̶i̴t̷h̵ ̸y̵o̵u̶,̶ ̸S̸a̸m̵a̵e̶l̸.̶ ̵A̸n̸y̵ ̵o̵f̴ ̶y̷o̴u̷.̴ ̴I̵'̸l̶l̴ ̶b̸e̸ ̷b̶a̷c̵k̸.̵ ̴I̴ ̷a̴l̶w̶a̴y̷s̵ ̵c̴o̴m̵e̸ ̴b̴a̶c̷k̸.̵

Holy energy forced Satan to let go as the vile angel glowed, removing himself from Hell and back to that excuse of "heaven".

There was a sour taste in everyone's mouth. It'd been long since they'd seen Metatron, but it was too soon. None of them wanted to see him again.

Finally, Lucifer reverted to the form he was "punished" with, which was almost like that of a doll in Satan's opinion. 

He's shorter than them, even smaller than Charlie. That didn't detract he was the strongest out of them, however.

God's former favourite.

"Everybody out," Lucifer demanded, scowling at the "lesser" beings. He's never had much fondness for the citizens of Hell, be they sinners or natives. 

"Dad-"

"We'll take care of it, Chucks. Tex'll keep ye company. Stinks like a wet dog but makes a mean fucking casserole," Mammon said, encouraging Charlie to go. 

Vortex nodded silently, patting the Princess' back and sharing his tales of a complicated family. It hurt Satan to see Charlie hurting like that. 

The shark didn't need telling twice, but the imp was nervous, looking to Asmodeus for assistance. Though it was evident the rooster didn't want the imp to go, he told Fizz to go.

When Lucifer wanted privacy, he got what he wanted, even if they weren't happy about it.

"Well, it was bound tae happen eventually," Leviathan hissed, coiling to sit on themselves. "Couldnae have kept the wee lass hidden forever."

They were right, but that didn't take from Satan's anger. 

How dare Metatron do this? Especially on Charlie's special day.

"What would God even want with Charlie? She's more than he could ever dream of being. It's not like she'd accept how things work up there. She doesn't even like it here," Asmodeus stated, visibly frustrated. "Oh, yeah, Mam spilt that heaven fucking sucks."

"Ozz!" Beelzebub snapped.

Lucifer's distant gaze snapped, turning to the youngest of them. The green sin recoiled from Lucifer's scowl.

One of the little things about being a sin is that you can feel it in others, and Satan felt a lot of Luci's wrath. Copious amounts of it. Dangerous levels.

Sensing what could happen, Satan moved, making it clear to his big brother that he'd have to go through him.

Lucifer probably could, but it wouldn't get him what he wanted.

"Dick move," Belphegor grumbled, unamused by Ozzie's immediate betrayal. 

"Aye, proper grass, ye roaster."

"How about we focus on the fact that Metatron just showed up out of nowhere like a sneaky STD?" Beelzebub growled, frustrated. "Why now?"

"Maybe God's finally doing that purge thing - heaven vs hell or whatever," Mammon shrugged.

"If the Rapture were happening, Gabriel would've sounded that damn horn," Satan argued, though it wasn't a terrible idea. "Spit it out, Luci. The fuck's happening?"

Their elder brother wasn't all there. He hasn't slept in days, possibly weeks. As Bel isn't trying to get close to him, she must've tried before and failed.

He's quite the stubborn one.

"I'm working on it," Lucifer growled out, too prideful to admit he also didn't understand. "Charlotte is to be kept out of our affairs. That was agreed on."

"That was before she made a hotel to help the sinners," Mammon argued, earning more of Lucifer's wrath. "It's probably what got their attention in the first place. Should've talked to her sooner."

"You should've kept your big mouth shut," Lucifer hissed with the rattle of a snake in the background. 

"You should've told her from that start! Ain' my fault you're fuckin' embarrassed that you were one of the worst. Don't get all coy now, Luci - you were right next to Mets."

It was a dangerous thing to say, but Mammon wasn't wrong. Back then, Lucifer had been a total cunt. 

None of them could argue that. 

Was Luci too prideful to admit to his daughter that he used to be part of the problem? They all were, to an extent. Out of the bunch, Leviathan was the least blind to the truth of heaven. Being an angel was slavery, eternal servitude to an entity that didn't care whether they were in pain or not. 

Or, more accurately, they were able to see what the others didn't want to. 

Satan didn't anticipate Lucifer punching Mam in the eye, knocking the younger sin back as the elder fallen hissed in an ancient tongue known only to the former divine.

"Fuck sake, Lucifer!" Beelzebub shouted, grabbing the shorter sin as Bel and Levi helped Mam back up, black dripping onto the floor. 

"You have no fucking idea how long I've been keeping them away, keeping them from ruining what we have here. While you've been sitting on your arse, getting fat and even more useless than before, I've been working my arse off!" Lucifer yelled, shaking Bee off, his ire directed at Mam. 

"More like isolating yourself. Look around, Luci - Pride is a joke. It had to make a system with those Overlord pricks," Asmodeus hissed, not taking his side for once. "The sinners are out of control, the hellborn aren't safe, you ignore Charlie, you avoid responsibility, and you're fighting the only people who understand!"

With Lucifer's attention on someone else, Bel and Satan could move Mam away from the out-of-control elder.

Levi and Beelzebub were with Asmodeus, arguing with the so-called king.

That was unacceptable. Whatever was going on with Luci, he wasn't well. Acting out like that wasn't usual for him.

If what he said was true, he'd run himself ragged, keeping Metatron and his cronies out of Hell. Depleting their demonic energy too much was dangerous. 

It wasn't a good excuse to attack one of them, though.

What if it'd been Charlie?

For the moment, Satan focused on his little brother, being mindful not to touch him. He couldn't bring himself to.

Belphegor gently pushed the cap of that stupid jester outfit back, letting the fuzzy antennae unfurl, being squashed in there too much. 

Satan compared him to a poodle moth. Or a white bee mixed with a poodle moth and woolly aphid. 

He shouldn't push that fur down; it could make him overheat. The antennae needed space, too; stuffing them in that cap wasn't good for him.

It's all part of the dysmorphia. His little brother's hated it since getting that form.

Unlike Lucifer, they can't temporarily slide back into their old one whenever it suits them. 

"You were right, Z. Should've told her before. Just didn't want to dump that on her," Satan said, his heart coiling at seeing his baby brother hurt again. "She's the best of us. It was easier to let her believe than crush her. Easy ain't better, though."

Belphegor always had supplies on her. It was part of her brand.

The slothful sister carefully wiped his face, talking to herself, noting a cut above his bright yellow eye. It'd already stained his thick fur; that'll need at least three washes to get out. 

Bruising was already starting to show under his fur.

With how close Lucifer got, they were fortunate he hadn't broken anything. 

"She'll do better. Ye can't fix a fucked wheel - gotta replace it. Didn't want her wasting her effort on a lie."

Satan believed that. The girl was everything they could never be. Good. 

She had the compassion it took to rule. 

"It's going to be sore for a few days," Belphegor said, lowering her skeletal paw from Mam's face. "This isn't the first time this has happened, is it?"

For all that his sister was lazy, Belphegor was good with details.

The weight of what she said burned Satan more than Metatron's holy energy. How many times had Lucifer blown up and hit him? Luci's temper has gotten worse over the years, but to strike like that was out of character. 

The lack of surprise from his little brother was equally concerning.

"Had worse."

That's not the answer Satan wanted. He knew that because he had caused it.

He'll always be haunted by how it felt when he tore his baby brother's limb off. He knew there was a gnarly, angry scar on his back where it used to be. 

"That doesn't make it alright," Satan said, voice softer than usual. 

"It's the closest I get, so I take what I can."

Metatron's jab earlier got to him.

Athazagoraphobia - the fear of being forgotten. It's always been one of Zuriel's complexes caused by neglect and trauma. Having volatile dysmorphia regarding his hell form didn't help.

Provoking Lucifer had got what Mammon wanted. Acknowledgement. Even if it was in a violent context.

It now made sense why his little brother kept spooking the imp - that was the most effective way to get Asmodeus to notice him.

There isn't therapy for sins. Their baggage is more than mortal souls can comprehend. Even so, Satan wanted to help, but he wasn't the person to do it. His presence scared his little brother, a natural reaction after what happened.

"Ain't acceptable. Luci's older. He should control himself better."

Feeling eyes on him, Satan glared into a dark corner.

Red eyes looked back, a yellow grin mocking Satan from the shadows.

"It's fine."

"It ain't. Whatever the fuck's going on, fighting each other won't get us closer to an answer."

All they wanted was for Charlie to have a good day, but they couldn't even do that.

Chapter Text

Entertainment. It's what Alastor lived for.

The sinner had sought it in life and death. Over the years, his time in Hell became mundane. Boredom was an anguish he couldn't bear. 

Even torturing the lesser sinners becomes tiresome. There are only so many ways you can split a soul. 

Then he saw Charlotte's fight on the picture show. He was amused when the little Princess argued for her cause and stood up for herself. As far as he was concerned before that, she was a pushover; he didn't even know she existed until seven years ago. 

Her idea would never work. However, the prospect of a rehabilitation centre that would attract the feeble-minded was too good to ignore.

Alastor was a gator to a fresh splash in the water. He wasn't going to pass up new, alluring blood.

It was a hassle to find, admittedly. With some effort, Alastor found the odd-looking hotel and made himself known.

The girl was smart enough not to make a deal with him. It was rare someone tried an avenue beyond what he provided. 

That was entertaining.

This?

It's a drug. 

The drama and the chaos surrounding these sins were delectable. It's more than he ever could've wished for. He deduced the order of the siblings quickly, spotting their flaws and weaknesses with ease.

Using his shadows, Alastor found some juicy information and got front-row seats to the family becoming physical. Seeing Lucifer punch the youngest sin in the face was riveting. 

He'd be a liar if he didn't want more. 

Out of the seven, Lucifer is the most unstable but is too great of a risk. He's too isolated, too. 

The green one, however? 

Alastor could see the cracks and smell the instability. All he needed to do was push, and the fun would begin.

He heard from the older Overlords that, supposedly, the sins could lose control. Their sin could overcome them, consume them, leaving them as little more than a monster with a single goal in mind. 

What would that look like with Greed? Would the sin start taking things, hoarding them like an unruly, draconic being? So many possibilities. 

Alastor wanted to see it. He wanted to watch the cracks grow until this rumoured form bloomed like a butterfly from its cocoon. 

When better to start than now?

The sinner waited. He could be patient. 

He waited for Belphegor and Satan to get dragged into the arguing, leaving the green one all alone. He'd underestimated Lucifer's strike; it's evident that the eye socket is at least cracked.

Alastor would know. He's broken several faces with the butt of his trusty old rifle in his time as a serial killer. 

If the sins can bleed outwards, they can scar inwards.

As though walking through an open door, Alastor stepped out of the shadows, his smile as wide as always. 

"Pauvre ti bête..." Alastor cooed, being mindful that the sin could easily crush him. Although he was the weakest of the bunch, he was still a sin, a King of an entire ring. "All alone while the others bicker like children. Must be hard, no?"

"Figured you for someone smarter than that," the sin said, yellow eyes burning through Alastor's attempt at coyness.

Alright, the usual way wasn't going to work.

Acting mysteriously and like how he usually did wasn't going to get him what he wanted. Given what he understood, Alastor would have to try a method he seldom resorted to.

The truth.

What's more hurtful than facts?

"I was merely being friendly," Alastor lied, though that didn't get to the sin either. "You weren't so hostile during our previous conversation."

"That was before my ratbag brother showed up."

"I saw." That had the sin glaring at him. Backpeddal. "One of my abilities is to sink into shadows. I observe. I listen. I learn. It's come in handy many times. Beyond observing an angel being told to effectively go to his room without supper by a talking doll."

Insulting Lucifer was a dangerous play, but after he'd hit this one in the eye, it had promising possibilities.

Weasel in. Be the friend. Sink the claws in before they realise what's happening.

A possible concussion from how hard Lucifer hit him proved to be Alastor's ally.

"Fuck did ya see that I didn't?"

"Beelzebub telling Asmodeus off. Quite soon after our brief conversation." Hook. "It intrigues me how Metatron alluded to something similar." 

Line...

"Like what?"

Sinker.

"Asmodeus forgot a name. It was the very same that Metatron had said. Zuriel. She was quite furious over that."

It was only a second, but Alastor had what he wanted.

That's such a human thing, the fear of being forgotten. It's a painful thing, too. And your brother forgetting your name, though? That's a deep wound. 

The flash of pain was delicious. It was an opening, something Alastor could twist.

In a twisted way, Alastor is helping the sin. He'll do as his sin demands and take. 

"That wasn't all," Alastor continued, twisting the knife. "I don't quite understand it. He blames you for Eden - I figured that was Lucifer's doing, but I guess not. Although not stated directly, he alluded to being... unfavourable to who I now know is you."

Poking a bear with a stick isn't wise, but Alastor isn't the one who will get the brunt of it. That's all for Asmodeus.

A fight between them would be fun. He got a judgemental energy from the rooster-like sin. It'd be nice to knock him off his horse. 

Alastor observed as the infuriated insect-like sin practically buzzed with anger, but Al knew hidden under that was hurt. Greenish-yellow electricity sparked around the being, giving Alastor a taste of the sheer power in the entity. 

It would fry Vox in an instant if the TV buffoon got too close.

"Of fucking course, he blames me. He always has since I made that damn thing!"

Oh? More tools for Alastor to use.

"What did you make?" Alastor asked, genuinely curious and expressing it as such. Again, the truth is the best weapon.

"That fuckin' tree!"

So, it was Mammon who made the tree in Eden. How interesting.

That gave Alastor so much.

"How intriguing it is that Lucifer's known for the apple of that tree, but it was your doing. All of that hard work. Doesn't he have a little theme park based on that apple? How infuriating it must be to have all your hard work associated with someone who can't even arrive at their daughter's birthday. The one that hurts you when you speak the truth."

The larger entity grabbed Alastor, pushing him against the wall at an inhuman speed. Unlike him, Mammon had never been human; he didn't have a soul like him. 

The strength and power in that body were admittedly terrifying, but that only excited Alastor. 

How strong was he under all of that doubt and anger? 

Alastor wanted to see it all.

"I can only imagine how much it hurts when someone takes and profits off what's yours," Alastor continued, energy-burning at his suit. His smile wouldn't falter. "If I were in your position, my King, I'd take what was mine to begin with." 

"You don't know what you're talking about," the sin warned, the song of cicadas clicking in Alastor's ears. "Choose your next words carefully."

"I'm sorry," Alastor stated, bringing out his next tool. "I'm sorry, Zuriel, that deep down, they hate you almost as much as you hate yourself."

In a puff of green smoke, the sin was gone.

Alastor brushed off the soot from his clothing, satisfied.

All he had to do now was wait.

Chapter Text

You aren't supposed to teleport between rings. It's dangerous. 

Mammon wasn't in the headspace to care about that.

Ozzie blamed him for Eden. He hated him. He forgot him.

The weight kept building, heat rising, and bile burned in his throat. It wouldn't stop. There's a hand in his oesophagus, clawing to get out, digging nails into his tonsils and scraping against his tongue. 

Something is tight around his chest, constricting. 

"Look what you made me do now!" Michael shouted, waving the crushed delphinium elatum in his hands. "You can't do anything right. I don't know why Father wasted his energy on making you?"

"I did what you-"

"Shut up!" Michael ordered, pushing the other angel down. "You will speak when given permission! You disgust me. How dare you make me touch you."

Everyone hated him. Ever since he came to be, they despised him. 

Mammon had looked to his brothers and sisters, watched as they were favoured and showered in acknowledgement and blessing. 

Something he was never allowed to experience.

Asmodeus was God's eyes, his vision, proudly displaying powerful and pristine wings for all to see. Oh, how he shined like the sun, and ever utterance of "Gadreel" like a kiss from a rose. 

Beelzebub was right next to Metatron, the voice of God. She was his guard, the famed Seraphiel, who glimmered like the sun as it set over a sea.

Belphegor was God's radiance, a beacon for all to observe and admire, the King of Cherubs. They all swooned over the name of Turiel. 

Satan stood as God's shepherd of justice, commanding legions of angels under his might and curiosity. He was Raguel, the executioner that made the very clouds quake.

Leviathan was the rain of God, opening the heavens to quench the thirst of the lands below. When Matriel was there, the sky sobbed into a thirsting, grateful Earth. 

Lucifer was the Light of God, his favourite, his prized son. None were equal to him. Everyone wanted to be Samael and have his impeccable ability to appease their creator.

And then there was Mammon, the one who never did anything right. The mistake. When they saw Zuriel, they recoiled in disgust.

These hands didn't belong to him. This body was a prison, a curse, his punishment for being such a repeated failure.

The tightness grew, crushing his chest...

"Satan! Stop it!" Bee begged, crying as her brother clawed at her, roaring without control. 

She rolled away from him, hacking black with white speckles like liquid night, terrified. She shook as a hooved foot almost landed on her head, phasing through her glowing hair. 

He wasn't a fighter. He didn't know how to. What else could he do?

Satan roared as he grabbed him, pulling him away from Bee. His tail whipped like mad, slamming against Mammon's body, his spines digging into his chest.

The heat from his brother was unbearable, but he had to. His sister needed to get away.

The sinner was a mouthy bastard, but he was right. 

Was Bee ever going to tell him that Asmodeus hated him? Was she going to keep that a secret?

His eye throbbed, the fur sticking too tight against his skin where his blood dried. It was disgusting. All of him was repulsive.

These hands, this fur, the stupid antennae, it sickened him.

Everything from that stupid deer was right, and he hated it.

"Get off!" he cried futilely, trying to push Satan away as he clawed at him.

Everything hurt so much. 

Bee gathered enough strength to pull Satan back, giving him a moment to try and get some distance from Satan, but it hadn't been enough. The out-of-control sin dug talons into Mammon's disgusting, extended lower body and pulled back, dragging him against the ground.

The weight of him had been suffocating. He could hear Bee crying as Satan brought a hoof to his face, pinning him to the blood-soaked ground. 

He didn't know when the facade of his brother grabbed his wing, but he felt the pulling. He heard Bee screaming, or maybe that was him. 

The snarling and rage-fuelled roars weren't his brother. He kept trying to remind himself it wasn't, but it hurt. He felt flesh and skin tear, bones snapping and fur sheering as something finally gave. It burned. It's like the air was being sucked out of him as Satan kept pulling.

He couldn't process what was happening. He didn't have time to as the hoof was lifted off his face and into the gushing wound of his back. He heard bones cracking under Satan's weight.

It hurt so much.

It wouldn't stop hurting.

It never stops.

Air is so hard to fight for. It's so cold and hot simultaneously.

Growling, the sin pulled the stupid suit off, removing his shield from the outside world. Fur puffed, no longer compressed under his outfit. It's knotted and clumped together from sweat, the panic in his chest only growing at the lonely twitch behind him.

He hated it. He was so angry with the limb as it tried moving, but it was in a makeshift binder, keeping it from causing problems.

He had to be perfect. He needed to be the best. If he weren't, everybody else would hate him, too.

That's all he had. The crowd of people who gave away money to see him. It filled his nest, momentarily soothing the bottomless hole inside him. It never lasted, though.

It's why he became a stupid clown in the first place. To get the attention and reverence he never had when it mattered. Even then, it was all a facade.

Nobody wanted Mammon, only what he could do or do for others. Him? He was nothing, just like Lucifer always told him.

"Useless fucking bastard, you had one job!" Lucifer roared, throwing a table at him.

"I'm not a miracle worker, Luci. Arranging this takes time - people! My guys are doing it as fast as they can."

"That's not good enough!" the proud entity yelled, kicking a chair at him this time.

Mammon avoided it. He didn't know how to proceed. He didn't know why this was so serious. It's not like anyone would be upset if Lily's concert weren't on the date that Lucifer wanted - they'd wait decades to hear her voice.

Somehow, Luci expected him to snap his fingers and have everything sorted.

"Ya can't spring this on me on such short notice. Like I said, it takes time arranging this-"

He was cut off when Lucifer grabbed his neck, squeezing, red burning in his eyes.

"You'll do what I fucking tell you, you fat, nothing, useless sack of shit! Get out and get it done!"

The joke. The mistake. Useless sack of shit.

Was there ever a point in trying? Nothing he did ever amounted to anything.

What little Mammon succeeded in belonged to Lucifer. His tree, his creation, was forever associated with his big brother. 

If Mammon disappeared, would anyone remember? Would they care? Doubtful.

There are thousands of clowns out there. There are six other sins. There are fuck knows how many Goetia. There's nothing about him that'll remain. 

All that will be left is the anger and hate God deemed he deserved.

He realised too late that he wasn't good enough to be a clown. He would never be good enough, just like everyone said. He sucked. He was terrible. Those were facts.

It didn't matter how hard he tried to be perfect. 

Mammon didn't want Charlie to succumb to this, the curse of striving for the unattainable. There is no perfection, yet it's expected. 

What good is a King of a Sin if they can't even entertain others?

That's what the Clown Pageant was meant to do. Find somebody better. Someone good enough.

It's what Fizz was meant to be. Better than him. As close to perfection as possible. He kept pushing the imp to be the very best of them all.

The money soothed the unending, suffocating curse of his sin. 

Everything that Mammon tried still wasn't enough. 

Asmodeus took that from him, like how Lucifer took his greatest mistake and turned it into his brand.

That fucker had the gall to claim that Mammon was ripping Lucifer off. It was Mammon who created that apple in the first place! It was his, but Lucifer stole it from him.

If it was remotely related to Mammon, it was either taken, destroyed or a failure.

Like he was.

The sin slowly recognised his surroundings as his lair. Having a mansion looked good, but he was never there. It only made the empty feeling even worse.

It wasn't his secret place. He would have to go there and try to sleep.

Mammon hated it. He hated himself.

He wasn't even good at doing that.

Feeling the throb of his eye, Mammon conjured some sunnies, hoping to hide what Lucifer left him.

It's the only attention he gets from his big brother. He had to take what he could.

"I don't know. That imp said he's usually around here," came a female voice.

The sin shivered, shoving the suit back on and stuffing those gross, sensitive and sore antennae back into the cap. He tried to ignore how his remaining wing strained, aching from being kept in an uncomfortable position for too long. 

The twins revealed themselves, grinning when they saw him. 

As usual, it was the smile of "look, a stepping stone for us to use". 

He made the mistake of getting too close to Fizz. He wouldn't do that again.

A stupid idiot like himself had to learn eventually.

"Any reason you gals are showin' up outta nowhere?" the sin grumbled, annoyed.

"You don't carry a phone on you," Glitz shrugged, which was true.

Mammon didn't like them. He didn't know why Asmodeus made the blasted things. 

He only used one if necessary, which he avoided as much as possible.

"Fair enough. Fuck do you want?"

"We've got some ideas," Glam said. 

"Great," he said, not hiding his sarcasm. "Not all interested in watching a brain cell bounce between you both like a ping pong ball. Bugger off and annoy me later."

His attempt to make them leave didn't work.

"We've been throwing ideas on how our sex dolls should work. The more pleasure, the more profit," Glitz continued, stalking close to the entity. Her sister, wisely, stayed back.

Mammon's body shivered, recalling how it felt when Lucifer hit him. And the other times.

He wasn't in the mood for it. He needed space. He needed to get away and hide.

"Might not go as you want, kiddo. Things with Ozz are difficult," he said coldly, watching Glitz as she kept getting too close. "Besides, would have to calibrate the cost of materials. Before that, need to do trial shows, get more people hungerin' for it." 

It's simple. Dangle the carrot and make people want the entire field.

Glam seemed to understand, but her sister wouldn't stop. 

Cicadas echoed in the background, warning Glitz to back off. The bitch seemed to be deaf.

"Oh, we know how to get them hungry," Glitz grinned, standing before the taller entity. She placed a palm on his suit, making his skin crawl nervously. "How about a trial?"

Oh.

Oh fuck no.

"Back off, toots."

His stomach is already twisting at the mere image of someone touching him like that. It's disgusting. Almost as gross as he looked.

She must really be desperate if she's looking at him like that.

Her sister tried saying something, recognising that Mammon wasn't in the mood, but she ignored her.

He couldn't fault her there. He rarely listened to Leviathan, even if it was decent advice.

"I can play that game if you'd like," she hissed.

He hadn't been paying attention to her other hand but felt it where it shouldn't be.

Too much touching.

Mammon's lower hand grabbed Glitz's face. She yelped, surprised and frightened.

A fire burned in his veins, the sensation of her touch lingering even though her hands were on his. 

Metatron's grip tightened on his face, making him look at Adam and Eve.

"W̸h̵a̶t̵ ̸d̶i̶d̸ ̶y̷o̷u̵ ̶d̴o̷?̸," Metatron said coldly, his voice monotone and powerful. 

Zuriel whined, shaking under the powerful being's grip. He couldn't open his mouth, terrified.

Only when Metatron slightly loosened his grip could Zuriel speak.

"I wanted to make Father proud," Zuriel whimpered, desperate for recognition. He saw nothing in Metatron's icy gaze. "I just-"

The hand lowered, tight around his bare throat. Scared, the smaller angel scratched Metatron's wrist, infuriating the elder.

"W̴a̷n̴t̵?̸ ̵Y̷o̶u̵ ̵d̴o̵n̵'̸t̷ ̷w̵a̸n̵t̵.̵ ̸Y̷o̷u̴ ̵d̶o̴ ̴a̶s̴ ̷y̴o̵u̵'r̸e ̵t̸o̴l̸d̷.̷ ̷H̸o̵w̷ ̵d̶a̶r̵e̵ ̵y̴o̸u̵ ̴b̷e̵ ̴s̴o̵ ̶g̵r̴e̷e̸d̵y̴ ̷t̷o̸ ̶b̷e̶t̷r̵a̵y̸ ̵m̷y̴ ̸F̴a̴t̶h̵e̷r̸ ̵a̷n̶d̸ ̷i̴n̶s̷u̷l̵t̶ ̶h̸i̶s̷ ̷g̵r̴a̶n̵d̴ ̷w̵o̸r̸k̶ ̷w̶i̸t̸h̶ ̵y̸o̶u̷r̸ ̶v̴i̸l̵e̸,̸ ̷d̷i̴s̷g̷u̸s̵t̶i̷n̸g̷ ̷f̴a̸i̷l̵u̶r̷e̷s̸.̸ ̸I̴ ̶w̴i̷l̴l̷ ̸f̵o̴r̸e̴v̶e̷r̷ ̴n̴o̶t̸ ̴u̶n̷d̶e̸r̷s̷t̵a̸n̸d̷ ̴w̸h̴y̶ ̶h̸e̵ ̷t̴o̵l̵e̴r̵a̶t̶e̶s̸ ̵s̶u̴c̴h̴ ̵a̵v̷a̴r̸i̷c̴e̴ ̷i̸n̵ ̷a̷ ̵m̷i̵s̷t̸a̷k̸e̷ ̴l̸i̵k̶e̵ ̴y̵o̶u̴r̴s̶e̸l̴f̶.̶ ̴T̷h̴e̸ ̶s̸o̷o̷n̶e̶r̴ ̶h̵e̴ ̵e̵r̵a̷s̶e̸s̶ ̶y̴o̴u̷,̶ ̷t̵h̶e̸ ̵p̴u̵r̷e̷r̸ ̴o̸u̴r̸ ̴t̶e̷n̶u̸r̷e̶ ̸s̴h̴a̵l̴l̶ ̸b̴e̷.̶"

He let Zuriel go, wiping his hand like he'd touched faeces. 

"You work for me, Girlie," Mammon warned, his grip tightening. He showed his other six eyes, warning her to listen. "You do as you're told. I tell you to jump, you don' ask how high, got it? Ya don't touch me. Ever. That understood?"

He was bigger. He held her face with two fingers, expressing his seriousness with his size, energy dancing around his body.

She nodded quickly, terrified and finally realising that she shouldn't fuck with a King of Sin.

When he let go, the dumb hellborn scrambled, leaving with her smarter twin.

Now alone, the sin shrunk down, his stomach churning.

Whatever he'd eaten was now on the floor, disgusted and repulsed. Not only did his form become even more hideous, albeit for a second, he felt too much. There was too much touching, especially where it made him icky.

Fizz never did that. He knew to keep his distance.

Water leaked from behind the sunglasses, hitting his stupid suit. He hated it all.

He hated himself.

Chapter Text

"It's nothing!" Asmodeus reiterated, his hands shivering as he tried to make some coffee. "We had a bit of a fight, nothing major."

Of course, his boyfriend didn't buy it.

"I doubt Satan and Beelzebub were furious with you over nothing. Why did he call you a "selfish, self-important, pompous prick peacock"? Because it was loud enough for me to hear that, and I'm partially deaf." 

Yeah, Satan had been loud. It was unnecessary, though.

So what if Asmodeus had forgotten a name? It's simple. There were so many angels that sometimes, he couldn't keep track. 

Sometimes, God would get bored of one and wipe them from existence; it's happened. Why even try if they would be gone? He acknowledged them after they had been around long enough. 

And his little brother was an annoying leech, always hovering when Asmodeus was not in the mood for his bullshit. 

The fact he met Fizz through him was always a source of irritation.

"You changed outfit colours again?" Asmodeus grumbled, looking over the green stripes. "It's stupid."

"At least I try different things. Been in that suit long enough it's part of your skin, mate!"

"Very funny. I haven't heard that from Bel about fifty times this week."

Asmodeus liked how he looked. Why change? Unlike some, he's not insecure about his image.

He begrudgingly looked over the reports from Mam's folks. It's detailed, but the prognosis wasn't promising. The imp had lost all of his limbs and much of his skin. The poor fool couldn't even speak at the moment. 

Why was his parasite sibling so keen on this one?

That leech poofed in front of him, too lazy to walk faster. The jingle from that cap was irritating. When he pushed open the doors to the subject, Asmodeus needed a moment to compose himself.

The imp was fucked. He's white from burns, bandages still in certain places and his horns are gone. It's an ugly sight, but the imp's eyes... something about them magnetised the sin. 

He had rudimentary prostheses attached to his arms, though it seemed like a practice or test variant. They're not helpful, especially for a clown. They need flexibility. 

Asmodeus watched those hands move, which must have been a glitch. It didn't make sense.

"Yea, this cunt's gonna make ya the good stuff!" Mammon grinned, slapping Asmodeus' back. 

Oh, it must be sign language. 

"His tail is still intact; that'll help with balance. To avoid shock or overexertion, it'll have to be one limb at a time - it's better to start with the arms." 

The hopeful spark in those yellow eyes did something to the sin of lust. 

Those little hands moved more, and Asmodeus had to wait for Mam to understand what he was saying.

"Kid's all in for it. I've been thinkin' at expendables - y'know, stretch out and super flexible."

"Doing that for a robot's hard enough, let alone for something like this."

"Make them detachable and replaceable. Main shit in the shoulders and hips, and they're just extra, yeah?"

"You're lucky I can decipher your stupidity, but without them connected straight to the skeleton... that could work. Much less strain. And it'd be easier for adjustments if necessary."

Once in a blue moon, his little brother verged on the precipice of a good idea. 

If they had to change something, they could easily detach and reattach. It's not something Asmodeus has fiddled with before, but it's an intriguing idea. If it works, it gives him more opportunities to work with.

And if this imp becomes successful, he'd be a walking advertisement for Asmodeus' capabilities.

The imp signed to Mammon, trying to keep up.

"He's askin' about the cybernetic shock."

"Integrating technology and biology can be stressful on the body, particularly something as invasive as what you'd have. You'll need to be on a controlled diet - sudden weight changes could affect the process. The added weight can affect the spine, so always keeping a good posture will alleviate some of that. The shock itself can lead to the nervous system shutting down. You could become a vegetable."

While the kid was understandably nervous and worried, he didn't back out.

Ballsy little thing.

"I can get a regiment in easy."

"Keep at it. Consistency will make the transition easier," Asmodeus reaffirmed, feeling funny. The little guy was paying much more attention than most of Mam's morons. "What's his name?"

"Fizzarolli."

That sounded so stupid with Mam's accent.

"Alright, then, Fizzarolli. It'll be a difficult process, but if you're up for it, it could be quite the venture for all of us."

Asmodeus had become fascinated with the brave spitfire of a jester.

The fact that it was Mam who introduced the greatest soul in Asmodeus' life never stopped pissing him off.

When things happen, people talk. Word spreads faster than those higher in the hierarchy would expect.

Anyone with an understanding of the political scene understands one thing. If the sins are in one place, everyone will suffer the consequences. That family is a mess, and they irritate each other to the point of it spreading to those beneath them. 

Lucifer secludes himself, cowering in his tower and leaving Pride to the dogs. It's a dangerous place. Nobody with a brain goes there willingly.

That's manageable. 

Satan will cause a hellquake somewhere. His anger can shake the rings. There's usually only collateral damage and few casualties.

Manageable.

Beelzebub will throw one of her many parties, whoring herself to whoever has a pair of legs. She's with a hellhound of all things; her standards are lower than Envy.

Manageable.

Leviathan will be more of a nuisance, getting their claws deep into the black market and disrupting business. They have a taste for the forbidden, particularly when enraged. 

Annoying but, again, manageable.

Belphegor will be a lazy cow and sleep. If they're lucky, she'll formulate a new drug. Be it for parties, medicinal or a poison that Leviathan will have first dibs on, it's always interesting.

Manageable, perhaps even profitable.

Asmodeus will hide in his sleazy club, spreading his legs more than Beelzebub. The weakest and least threatening of the deadly sins, a pushover compared to the rest. With a wink, the dumb chicken falters, waving his ass like a bitch in heat.

Manageable.

It's the last one that Crimson is afraid of.

At least in Greed, it's an unspoken acknowledgement that their King has a turbulent relationship with his kin. If Lucifer is involved, it would've gotten physical. He's probably taken hits from the snobbish prick more than anyone else. 

Crimson was in a tight spot with the embodiment of Greed.

Striker's good at what he does. Despite failing last time, Crimson could let that pass, given that Blitz was involved. That bastard was a slippery thorn in Crimson's side. He's gaining a reputation for ruining people's precious time - Crimson may have considered hiring him if he wasn't like his "son".

He was pleased when Striker snagged Blitz. He wasn't when he also had Fizzarolli.

Nobody touches what belongs to Mammon. 

He couldn't let the cyborg go. It would lose respect, even if the entirety of the ring would've done the same. He had an ace and couldn't let it go; he chose the safest option.

Extorting Asmodeus was the safest avenue. He would bend backwards for the worst no-longer secret in hell. He was the least likely to go on a rampage.

If Crimson tried that with Mammon, he wouldn't be alive. 

Every day, the mafia boss was waiting for the day the sin discovered what happened to one of his playthings. Even though Fizz "quit", that's only because he had Asmodeus; without the chicken, he'd be where he belonged.

"Sir," announced a shark demon, Antonio. The fear in his ringed eyes told Crimson all he needed to know. 

The day had finally come, then. 

Crimson leaned back, accepting that it wouldn't end well today.

With a wave of his wrist, Crimson had his top men in his office, waiting nervously. He couldn't show it, but he didn't need to.

The silence was deafening, suffocating. They all knew that somebody was going to die, but who? The sin wouldn't leave without a payment in blood. 

There are few that Crimson respected and even fewer that he feared. This one was both. 

They didn't hear him before he appeared, the doors bursting open as if the wood trembled. With him were those Glam Sisters and a short imp broad holding a notepad and pen. 

Those dumb bitches had no idea who they got into business with. They looked dumb enough to try fucking the only sin that was repulsed by the act. That was more than fair. Nobody would dare comment on it.

Nobody commented on how their King liked to dress up like a clown, do stupid circus acts, and, thanks to his thick fur, look overweight in the dumb costume. Not many people know that their King was fluffy, but if they did, they never voiced it aloud.

He's deceptively fast and powerful. He's at least equal to Asmodeus in strength and right next to Satan in danger, even though the sins treated him as a joke.

Perhaps that was on purpose? Lull them into a false sense of security, fooling them into believing he didn't have all the power.

Money is power, and Mammon controlled it all. 

Nobody would be stupid enough to point out that their King had a black eye. From the size of the bruise, it came from Lucifer. If anything, showing he'd taken a hit from the King of Kings was a threat.

What could they possibly do to him when he could handle Lucifer himself? Even holy weapons have limits. At most, they'll bruise a sin. Regular bullets do nothing but tickle them.

Holy knives might leave a scratch but wouldn't pierce their hide. 

"Consider this a demonstration, girls," the King sniggered, his yellow eyes fixated on Glitz. She must've been the one who tried fucking him, then. "Now, which of you dumb cunts are in charge of this little social club ya got here?"

Crimson is a lot of things. A coward isn't one of them.

"That'll be me, sir," Crimson said, observing the twins. He saw a bruise on Glitz's face, confirming his suspicion that she got too touchy. "At least one of your new clowns recognises to keep her hands to herself."

"And that's not gonna happen again, is it?" the sin warned, waiting for Glitz to acknowledge his statement. "Good. But I got to make sure. Now, I want one of you to guess why I'm here. You, fugly with the far apart eyes. Give it a go."

Chappie averted his eyes, terrified of the King. He gulped, not wanting to say the wrong thing but knowing what could happen if he didn't answer.

The silence was insulting.

"You'll answer the question," Crimson reaffirmed, narrowing his eyes.

It's less likely to worsen if he repeats instead of their King. 

"W-we took something that belonged to you. Sir!" Chappie sputtered, pushing out the last part.

Crimson would be surprised if the imp hadn't pissed himself. He wouldn't blame him, either.

"That's right. Imagine how surprised I was when I was asked about that. I have eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing escapes me for long. I'm almost curious as to why you'd even try."

"It was unintentional," Crimson stated honestly. "A new hire wished to prove himself, unaware of how things work here. He captured a target we have... unfinished business with, but Fizzarolli was lassoed along with that target."

"Lassoed?"

"My hire threw his lasso out a window and grabbed Fizzarolli and our target; they seemed to be fighting outside. The proximity caused both to be taken. If I'd known, I would've told him to only focus on our target, but new hires get... eager," he explained, looking to Glitz as an example.

His King looked unusually angered by the name. The two must've gotten into an argument.

Even so, they're brothers. The sins will fight with each other, sometimes violently, but they're loyal to their messed up family.

Mammon huffed in agreement, his gaze burning into Glitz. 

Wisely, Glam remained silent, observing. She was learning fast.

"Taking advantage of the cards you're dealt. I can respect that. You're not half as stupid as I presumed." There's something almost comical about being threatened by a clown. "But you still took what was mine, what is mine. That can't go unpunished, can it?" 

"No, sir."

"Good. I'm in a good mood, so how about a game? You're good with numbers, aren't you? I ask a question of each of you little cunts, and if you get it wrong... well, I don't need to explain, do I?"

There are eight of Crimson's people, making it nine questions. Eleven if he's going to make the twins play, too.

In Greed, you must be good with numbers. Their King was; it's part of running the primary bank of hell. He's on all of the money. 

At least it's a game they have a chance at. If it was their King's less spoken-about talent, botany, they'd all be fucked.

Crimson doesn't know shit about gay flowers and girly crap. Thankfully, his King was more interested in macabre plants. There are rumours he has a monstrous flytrap that can eat a hellhound whole.

"You, nose ring shark guy, you're first," the King grinned, standing behind Spike, towering over the shark demon. "What will be the last number in the following series of numbers? 32, 45, 60, 77... don't take too long."

It's a multiplication question. If he'd asked Crimson, the imp would answer, but he kept his mouth shut.

They could only speak once spoken to. 

Spike looked at his fingers, mumbling quickly as he tried to figure out the answer. As he did, the King gripped his shoulders painfully tight. The fact he had four arms never ceased to disturb Crimson. 

"I-uh-I... fuck, uh..." Spike stuttered, panic rising. He was too frazzled to think. He was an enforcer, not an accountant. "82?"

Crimson shook his head. That action frightened Spike; the demon tried to rise, but Mammon kept him down.

"Nah, sorry, mate. It's 96."

For the King, it was little more than a clap, but blood and bone splinters exploded across the room. Even at how far Crimson was, he had to pick a tooth and some grey matter from his hair. 

The twins kept their mouths shut, covered in gore as the body slumped forward.

Mammon was unbothered. 

He wasn't going in order, teleporting behind Slide, a seedy snake demon from Wrath. Nobody would know who was next on the chopping block, likely part of the sick little game they're a part of.

Considering the crime of taking what belonged to their King, it's tamer than Crimson expected. He wasn't arguing.

"Hey, snake boy. You're going to do better than your mate?"

"I-I'll try, sir!"

"Atta boy. The sum of a number and its reciprocal is 82 / 9. Find the number, yeah? Can ye do that?"

Slide was fucked. That was a tough one.

Like before, he kept quiet, working the numbers out in his head. There was no telling who was next.

Shaking, the snake demon lowered his head in defeat, almost crying. None would call him weak for that. The King was reasonably terrifying.

"Not even going to try? At least the last bloke gave it a shot!" Mammon sneered, his hand easily breaking through the back of Slide's skull. Morbidly, he flexed his hand, moving Slide's head like a puppet.

While he was still in the process of dying. 

Eventually, the snake demon dropped, body twitching.

Glam looked unwell. She must not be used to gore. A necessary lesson to learn, then.

The next unlucky bastard was Skip, a younger imp who was promising. However, Crimson doubted his mathematical ability. Wisely, he kept looking forward, not glancing at the other bodies.

"How much water should be added to 20 ounces of a 20% acid solution to reduce it to a 10% solution?" the sin asked.

"20 ounces!" Skip squeaked, urine dripping down the chair and onto the floor.

"Would you look at that? One of you cunts knows something!"

Crimson would've killed him if he got that wrong. They work with acid all the time.

Next was another shark demon, Trevor. The poor soul was panicked, which wasn't going to help him. You needed a clear mind when it came to this subject.

"Some cunt wants to buy tickets for a show: 4 adult tickets at M15 each and a pair of kid tickets at M10 each. A 10% booking fee is added to the ticket price. 3% is then added for paying by credit card. I'll even give you four potential answers. M88.64, M94.64, M90.64 and M98.64. Gotta get the right one, shark face..." 

It's the third one. 

A money question should be easy enough, but Crimson suspected the threat of a gruesome death was knocking Trevor off. 

Trevor looked to Crimson for help, but he would find none. No cheating. 

They could all die if some moron tries cheating. 

"90...?"

"90.64. You forgot half the bloody answer."

He observed as the King grabbed Trevor's law and pulled it, detaching it from his body. It took little effort. If his King were a Queen, Crimson might've been aroused by the efficiency. 

Four down. Five or seven to go. 

It appeared to be five, as Mammon had barely acknowledged the girls were there since starting the "game".

A goat demon, one of their smugglers, was next. He trembled like a leaf in the wind, blinking rapidly. 

Grover struggled not to look back, terrified of the entity behind him.

"Solve 16+14÷2+3⋅5−11." 

It's 27. 

The 3⋅5 part seemed to stump Grover, however. It represents three times five. The goat grumbled to himself quickly, beginning to hyperventilate. 

All the while, the sin behind him was mildly entertained by the lit candle atop his head.

"34?"

Like that, the candle was snuffed out. Along with one of his preferred smugglers.

He needed to hire people better at maths.

Five down. Four to go.

The sin looked across the room, pondering on who to pick next. The silent female imp with him merely jotted notes, barely paying attention to what was happening. 

Admittedly, Crimson was curious why she was even there. 

"You!" the King grinned, pointing at Talbert, an incredibly talented money launderer. He could clean money with a flick of his wrist. Losing him would be a nightmare. "What's 1/7 x 2/3?"

Talbert's eyes widened, stunned by the fusion of fractions and multiplication.

It took Crimson a few moments. However, he managed to find the likely answer. 2/21. The logic there was 1/7 x 2/3 = 1x2/7x3 = 2/21.

Crimson would be enjoying the game if his men weren't dying.

"Fuck... uh... 3/10...?"

That's addition, not multiplication. 

The shark knew his stuff. The fact that Mammon was here was throwing him off. That was probably on purpose.

"Breaking my bloody hearts, mate. So far, only one of you has answered right. Going to have to dumb it down for the next lucky cunt," the sin mused, greenish-yellow energy dancing around his fingers.

It wasn't even a second, and Talbert was charred fish. 

The smell got to the twins, which was likely the intention.

Six down.

With a puff of green smoke, the sin leaned over Irwin, a seasoned hunter from Wrath. The imp didn't feel emotion, but he recognised that he was in deep shit. 

"I'm giving you five numbers. 90, 82, 74, 66, 58. What is the expression for the 𝒏th term of the sequence?"

The 𝒏th term refers to a term's position in the sequence. An expression for the 𝒏th term is worked out by looking at the difference between the terms of the sequence and comparing the sequence to the appropriate times table.

Following that, the answer would be 98 - 8n. However, a bumpkin from the middle of nowhere wasn't going to know that. 

Crimson only knew that because his sister was a mathematical lunatic, and she drilled that knowledge into him. 

Irwin was the only one to turn his head, making eye contact with the sin. He already accepted his end and wasn't afraid to look death straight in the face. In many ways, Crimson respected that. 

In a twisted way, his King appeared to respect it, too. Perhaps that was why it was quick, a flick of the wrist, and one of Crimson's favoured killers had a snapped neck. The sound echoed in his bones. 

The hunter got hunted.

Seven down. Two to go.

If Crimson were willing to bet anything, he'd guess that Skip shat himself. The poor bastard was shifting nervously in his seat, sweating profusely. In any other situation, Crimson would've given him concrete boots and a dip in the lake.

Mammon stalked behind Roscoe, a newer member; he only had the hellhound because of his sense of smell.

"Alright, mate. I'm going to dumb it down for you. We're doing shapes," the King grinned, frightening the dog. "I'll give you five shapes, and you gotta tell me the one with the most sides. That too hard?"

"N-no, sir," Roscoe whimpered, ears flat against his head. 

"Good. I'll keep it two-dimensional. Here they are," the sin teased, watching as Roscoe's fur stood on end. "Enneadecagon, Octahectogon, Trapezium, Myriagon and Octagon."

Crimson observed Skip, noticing how the imp subtly tapped his fingers on the table four times. 

Suspicious.

"The Myriagon?" Roscoe stuttered, trying to keep himself from panicking. 

The unamused expression on the King's face confirmed what Crimson suspected. 

Crimson wasn't going to accept cheating.

He pulled out his gun and aimed at Skip, firing without a second thought. Next was Roscoe. He could always get another hellhound. 

It terrified one of the fish girls, but the King was pleased. They had to play the game how he wanted; Crimson wouldn't defy his King like that. 

Anyone willing to do so wasn't worthy of his mafia or King's presence.

It's a funny thing to fear and respect someone simultaneously. 

Now, Crimson was alone. His top men were dead, and that was the goal all along.

It was never about his men surviving; it was a warning for Crimson and a lesson for the twins. 

Know your place in the pecking order. Although Crimson has gotten higher than most imps, he still has a place in this food chain. 

It's wise not to kill the leader of a group as that leaves a power vacuum, which would lead to unnecessary problems. 

"You understand?" Mammon said, turning to the twins.

"Loud and clear, sir," Glam said, attempting to sound less rattled than she was.

"Understood," Glitz gritted, but Crimson knew she would be a problem. Some whores never learn, and he doubted she understood the gravity of their King's mercy. 

If it were Satan or Leviathan, they would be dead. No second chances, no games or lessons. 

Lucifer would be even worse. 

"Fan-fucking-tastic. I'll be seeing you around, Crimson."

"I look forward to it, sir."

It's a lie, and Mammon knows that. Even so, Crimson needed to be respectful of his boss. 

That's how it works here. The strong survive, and the weak are buried. It's something his son has yet to learn.

Striker looked over the mess.

What the fuck happened here?

"A lot," Crimson stated, as though he read Striker's mind. "Mammon didn't appreciate us taking what belongs to him." 

Right. The green one.

He's only really interacted with his sperm donor. The others? He didn't have too much of an opinion on them. Well, Asmodeus disgusted him, but most things involving sex did. It's nasty stuff.

If the green one could do this, he might have respect for him. 

No. He wouldn't. 

Striker wouldn't be satisfied until all of them are dead. Thanks to his "father", he knows they're as mortal as the rest of the fuckers in hell. They've merely got thicker shells.

"Mammon gives a shit about Lust's pocket poodle pussy?"

"It's the principal of the matter. You don't touch what's his. It would've been worse if you killed the little clown." 

"I assure you, I got plans for those fuckers."

"You better keep that to yourself, cowboy. Greed is a haven for many types of individuals. Here, we've got more... opportunities. Many we can't have in Pride or Wrath. Be mindful of that."

"You don't need them royal fuckers for that."

"And how do you think hell will cope when the one that organises all of the banks is suddenly gone? It's a system. You can replace many parts, but the core? Without that, it all falls apart. Wrath barely requires Satan, and Pride has never needed Lucifer, but Mammon's a necessity. Money is the motivator for all of hell - without the source of that motivation, it'll collapse. Organised chaos is more manageable than mad anarchy." 

Money is simultaneously a nightmare and a dream. 

Striker needs it for decent weapons, equipment and his mother's bills. She needed a lot of care, specialised stuff that gets pricy. Being a bounty hunter works, but he always needed more. Living in an abandoned mineshaft was a sacrifice he had to make for her. 

The more dangerous the target, the higher the payout. The amount he would've gotten for killing Stolas could've set his mother for at least a few months. It was halved since the peahen bitch suddenly changed her mind. Even so, it'll help.

How much would someone pay to try and kill a sin? A half-sin himself, Striker's got a better chance than most.

Mammon's off the list, but only because he's a necessity. The others? They could go. So could the annoying Goetia.

Start with the Goetia and Overlords, then take out the unnecessary sins. 

"Jolly green is off limits. Got it."

"Good. A single annoyance is more tolerable than a ring's worth of lunacy. The power vacuum alone would decimate our rather comfortable arrangement." He didn't care about those, but he could understand why Crimson would. "And then there's the theory that a ring only exists so long as the sin does."

That's a new one.

"Never heard of that one."

"Nobody's been dumb or strong enough to test it. If it's supposedly true, that'll be more than a problem..."

As much as Striker wanted Satan dead, Wrath was his mom's home. He wanted her to see it again. He couldn't destroy all of it, even if it meant ridding the universe of the fucker that hurt her in the first place.

"Something to consider."

"Actions always have consequences, kid. No matter how small a ripple, it can become a tsunami, regardless of what started it. Always be aware that each move you make will have an impact, even if you don't see it immediately."

Striker's split-second notice of an ugly puppy thing thrown against a window led to Crimson's top people being slaughtered like hell pigs. 

Another thing to be mindful of. 

"Understood."

"Excellent. Now that's out of the way, I've got a vacancy for my top assassin."

"I'll get myself a new chair."

"No. Leave it stained. It'll remind you of what happens if you forget what I warned you."

"You're the boss."

"And he's mine."

Hierarchies are a pain in the ass.

Honestly, Striker couldn't tell whether the little imp was loyal to that green fuck or begrudgingly tolerable of his necessary existence. 

Greed is a weird place. 

Chapter Text

Beelzebub watched as Nova pressed her little face to a glass tube, watching the molten honey flow.

"You don't mind?" Vortex asked, watching her with concern. 

"Not at all!" Bee smiled, waving off the worry. "It'll be fine, and Mam is great with kids. Speaking of, is he here?"

"No. I called Moray to see if he was with Levi, but she hadn't seen him either. I'm not sure where he is or when he left."

"I'm worried. Luci's one thing, Tex, but Meta... you have no idea how cruel Metatron was. Especially to him and Leviathan. Seeing him triggered something, I'm sure of it." 

The number of times she told Metatron off for how cruel he was to Zuriel and Matriel was incalculable. It was like he got off on crushing the younger angels, breaking their spirits and stripping away their individuality.

She hated how their Father did nothing about it. 

The sheer physical, psychological and emotional abuse would shatter a mortal soul. Centuries of constant belittling and degrading can get to anyone, even an angel. 

He'd get off on pushing Raguel, encouraging a temper that'd eventually become his sin. 

Seeing him again must've panicked her little siblings so much. She wanted to hug them both, hide them from Metatron's cruel gaze, but they didn't let her.

Mam had left, and Levi had dissociated by the time Moray and Satan dragged him home. 

She was angry with Luci and Ozzie. She was furious with Metatron. She felt so bad for Charlotte.

"Have you tried Envy? He might've gone there."

"I'll have to. I don't want him to be alone during... the aftermath of all this." 

"You're upset and stressed out as well. How about I get him, and you stay here with Nova? It's nearing her bedtime anyway, and I'm sure you've got lots of stories she'd love to hear. Take it easy, Bee, alright? You can't help them if you don't look after yourself."

"He might be bad."

"He knows me, Bee. If it's too much, I'll call you. Promise."

"If you're sure, Tex."

"Sure as I'm a hound."

"Thank you. Really."

"Always, Baby Bee."

He's right. She's exhausted. 

Dealing with her siblings was so stressful.

Especially the ones still loyal to their prick of a Father. 

Fizz looked at his phone, rereading the message.

[Unknown Number: Hey Rollo! Juniper gave me your new number - it's Verosika. If you're not busy, I need some help in Greed. Can you come down? It's urgent. <3 <3]

He changed the name to Mayday and leaned back, rubbing his eyes. While he didn't want to be within Greed again, he needed to leave.

Asmodeus wouldn't open up. No matter what Fizz tried, his boyfriend shut down and refused to recognise that something was wrong.

Why were all the sins besides Lucifer mad at him?

Fizz is partially deaf, but even he heard how angry Satan was, and that guy had been chilled out the whole time! 

What made Leviathan create a menagerie of new insults he'd never heard of?

Why was Beelzebub almost crying and desperate for Ozzie to "stop"? And stop doing what?

He wouldn't answer them and didn't want to acknowledge it with Fizz.

Fizzarolli could get like that sometimes, making it hurt all the more. 

His love wanted him to be secure and comforted but wasn't ready to be honest. 

Why? What happened after Metatron left that made them break like that?

One of his questions had visibly upset Asmodeus. Why was there blood on the carpet?

It was minimal, but Fizz knew the difference between sin and moral blood. It was years ago, but Mammon was juggling holy knives - they were closer to machetes, too much for Fizz to copy - and cut his hand. It was barely even that.

Even though it would've taken a regular demon's entire arm off, it was only a little prick, hardly noticeable. 

However, Fizz saw it. He witnessed that sin blood was black but had little silver speckles, almost like stars. That's how he knew one of them got hurt.

What was with the blood, and why was Asmodeus so tight-lipped about it?

The car stopped, and Fizz got out. He had his phone on silent after V texted him.

He'll deal with Asmodeus once the chicken has calmed down and would be willing to communicate with him.

He spotted Verosika pacing outside of the "mansion". He caught up to her, glad to see her again.

"I'm glad you're here, Rollo."

"What's the problem? Is it Punchinello?" 

"I'll explain more inside. Please," she urged, quickly going inside.

The imp followed behind the succubus as she guided him into the "mansion". It was a front, more of a place for business than a home. Most of the time, Mammon wasn't even here.

With how badly the birthday party ended, Mammon wouldn't be here. He hid away somewhere else in secret.

Most of the people usually here weren't. That was odd.

It's usually so busy here. 

"Where is everybody?"

"Home," Verosika answered, guiding the imp to one of the numerous offices. The doors were unusually charred like they'd been hit with lightning. "What happened in Pride?"

"What do you mean?"

She motioned to the doors, and something clicked.

Oh.

Mammon had been here, and he'd done that. It was weird because he always had control over his electricity. It never hit someone or burned anything; he didn't let it more than tickle someone. 

Like all the sins, though, he was capable of more. Those doors caught the brunt of it.

"One of their siblings from heaven showed up. It freaked them all out," Fizz answered.

It was a shame because Fizz enjoyed himself. He liked Charlie - she was a sweet bundle of sunshine. The others were also great.  

She nodded, understanding. Maybe in a way that he couldn't. 

"That would explain some of it," she sighed. "It doesn't explain why he went through my stash of Beelzejuice and lashed out at that mafia boss."

Wait, what?

Two things.

One - Mammon doesn't drink. He doesn't like alcohol. It's banned from being anywhere near the shows they do unless that's a practical purpose, such as fire breathing. He hates it despite being besties with Beelzebub, hell's favourite alcoholic. 

Second...

"What mafia boss?" Fizz squeaked, watching as she quirked a brow.

"The one that took you," Verosika stated, surprising the imp. "I'm surprised you didn't tell him about it sooner."

Fizz didn't want to talk to anybody about that. It was a scary situation, the only silver lining being that he and Blitz were sorting things out. It forced them into talking, which was needed. 

For years, Fizz believed that Blitz did it on purpose. All he saw was Blitz leaving and the fire starting immediately afterwards; what else was he supposed to think?

He was a disgusting mess. His limbs, horns and any hope of a future were gone. He was nineteen, scared and alone. He knew that Cash would leave after he discovered that Fizz was deadweight. 

Admittedly, Fizz didn't know how or why, but the King of Clowns somehow knew of him. He knew enough to show up.

Fizz watched as Cash left. It's becoming clear that Cash was frustrated that Fizz wasn't worth anything anymore.

He isn't. 

The imp could do nothing but lay in a hospital bed, stare at the walls and struggle to move. His voice was fucked; he might never speak again. All he had was his tail, but the thick cast kept him from manoeuvring it much. 

Fizzarolli had nothing. He couldn't afford prosthetics, not at the level he needed. He would require something specialised if he hoped to walk, let alone perform again.

What did Fizz have to look forward to? Years of physical therapy, a crippling fear of fire, a hatred for his birthday, the loss of his brother figure, and potentially becoming an addict to pain medication. That isn't a life. 

He didn't want to live. It felt like he died in that fire, nothing but a husk left behind. 

For fuck sake, he can't even kill himself. What was he going to do? It's not like he could bite his tongue like a hellhound. He had nothing to work with. Starvation sounded like the only option, though the nurses would either force it down his throat or stick a feeding tube in.

Any hope of independent choices burned away with Fizz's future. 

Why did his arms and legs hurt if they weren't there anymore?

A plume of green smoke exploded in his vision, scaring the young imp. It wasn't like he could move away, though. At best, he could wiggle in fright.

Oh. It looked like Fizz could add hallucinating to his list of misery.

"Fucking sunshine and rainbows in here. Find more cheer in a bloody graveyard. Who the fuck designed the place? It looks like someone pissed up the walls!"

The King of his ring flicked the wall, visibly disgusted by the excuse for decor. 

Fizzarolli agreed. It was revolting. Whoever put up the decor should be fired and banned. It did nothing to lift his spirits. 

A crane couldn't lift what remained of his spirits.

Finally finished with scowling at the wall, his hallucination turned his attention to Fizz. He started to move his hands - it's sign language, but Fizz didn't understand. 

A nurse said he should learn it, even though he didn't have hands. 

"No on HSL? Fuck. Alright, you good with readin' lips, or can ye hear?"

Although Fizz shouldn't interact with a hallucination, he had nothing else to do. 

He couldn't talk, so Fizz mouthed that he could hear. It's not the best, admittedly. 

"Right, didn't know if your hearing was fucked completely. That's a bonus, ey?"

It's a minor silver lining.

Fizz is lucky that he's not completely deaf. He'll always have partial hearing problems; that's another thing to enjoy in his remaining years of emptiness. 

Curious, the hallucination flicked through the notes attached to his bed. Of course, Fizz's broken mind made it look lifelike. 

Why did he imagine so much fuzz on his idol's face?

"The dosage on your pain medication is too low, and it's the wrong kind. Nortriptyline doesn't affect Imps as well as it does for sharks and succubi. Gabapentin? Fuck, your doc needs their license revoked - that shit will cause strokes in an Imp."

He didn't understand what those words meant. It must be more of his mind creating things to avoid boredom.

Fizz observed as the hallucination tossed the clipboard aside, conjuring items in miniature puffs of smoke on the bedside table. He only recognised some items, though he knew what Blight Blooms were. They were incredibly toxic. 

The mental mirage mixed things, including plants that Fizz didn't recognise or ones Tilla warned him about. He knew Blight Blooms were dangerous. They could cause respiratory paralysis. 

He watched the mystery stuff get kneaded in a stone-like bowl, making icky squelching sounds. It smelled like lavender, eucalyptus and vaguely of bacon, which confused him immensely.

The hallucination wrapped it in fabric and squeezed, pushing the greenish liquid out. He tossed the useless part in a bin, holding the bowl as yellowish energy sparked around his lower hands, heating it. The concoction boiled, the smell tickling Fizz's nose. 

Why was he dreaming of his idol being a witch?

As a final touch, the imitation of the sin blew some green gas onto the concoction, causing it to cool and change into something red. He appeared pleased with himself.

"Open up. Tastes like piss but gets the job done."

Almost curiously, Fizz opened his mouth. 

Large gloved hands gripped his scarred cheeks, feeling too realistic to be a dream. The bowl was brought to his lips, tipping the mysterious fluid down his throat. 

It was cold but tingled; the taste was foul but left an almost minty aftertaste - it was that sensation of your mouth feeling frigid after having peppermint. 

The coolness spread quickly, pooling where his limbs were amputated and soothed the phantom pain. Any pain was throttled and shoved down, suppressed by whatever the hell he'd drank.

Oh fuck.

Fuck, this isn't a hallucination.

"Unprocessed, fresh Tetrophyline. What those dumb fucks should've been giving in the first place!" the sin grinned, pleased with himself. "Should make the scarring less, y'know, itchy."

"Real?" Fizz croaked out. It was barely audible or understandable, and it would've hurt if not for that tingly stuff. 

"No shit, mate. I heard about that mighty fuck up with them fireworks - whoever was in charge of pyrotechnics will get bloody castrated - and figured, what the fuck, why not check out the 'lil bitch myself! Good thing, too. The dipshits here were givin' you the wrong shit!"

Oh, hell, it's real.

Somehow, the Prince of Jesters heard about what happened to Fizz. He not only knew of Fizz but showed up and made a superior painkiller. He wasn't even asked. 

What did a King want with a useless waste of a washed-up clown like Fizz?

He attempted to ask, but no sounds came out. At best, he had to mouth the words and hope the sin understood. Thankfully, he was perceptive. 

"Think of it this way, kiddo. I like your stuff. You have good talent, and be a bloody shame to let that go to waste because of someone else's fuck up."

He thought Fizz was good. Holy shit.

Unlike everybody else, he believed that Fizz was still worth something.

Fizz's eyes wandered to where his arms should be, even though the usually lingering pain wasn't there. The sight would never stop unnerving him, though.

Again, the King showed himself to be observational, understanding what Fizz wanted to convey. 

"Ye lost a couple of things. So what? Don't mean fuck all, mate! I'll have Ozzie whip up somethin'. The therapy will suck, but if you push through it, you'll be at the bloody top of it all! Sounds good, yeah?"

It did.

The idea of someone, let alone the King, not caring that Fizz lost it all meant something. It's not like Fizz thought he'd ever be more than a lump of burnt, ruined flesh. 

Could he be a clown again? To make people smile and bring joy to others? 

Ozzie. That was King Asmodeus' nickname. It made sense that Mammon would know him - they're brothers. 

Everyone knew Asmodeus' talents in cybernetics, technology and inventions. Although he usually focused on sex toys, he made other things, such as prosthetics. Could he make someone for Fizz? Most likely.

It's hope.

It's a chance at a future that seemed charred and dead. 

"You got anybody? Besides that grifter that hovers about sometimes."

He must mean Cash.

Fizz thought about it. He didn't have anybody. His parents died when he was a baby, leaving Cash to take him in. He grew up with Blitzø and Barbie Wire, Tilla overseeing the three of them, but he didn't have them anymore.

Cash explained it dryly - Tilla was dead, Barbie was in rehab after a nasty drug binge, and Blitzø was gone. He didn't want to see Fizz, not even to apologise. 

He had nobody. Not even the circus. Most of the people there died. 

Fizzarolli shook his head, saddened.

"You do now, chucklefuck. I'm the King of showbiz! I know everybody, therefore, so do you! All I ask is that you do what I say. No sex stuff, though. That's Ozzie's thing. Don't care what you're into - I don't wanna know."

Fizz thought that was a rumour, but no, the King of Greed didn't like sex stuff. That's fair. 

He didn't care. He was just elated that he had a chance at a future. 

He nodded, enthusiastic.

It didn't matter anymore. He had a chance. He wasn't going to lose it.

Their relationship was a complicated one. Even though Fizz finally told the sin to go fuck himself, part of him felt guilty. Despite what Ozzie said, Fizzarolli would've died if Mammon hadn't shown up.

He owed everything to the sin. 

Hearing that, despite not being employed anymore, Mam went out of his way to terrorise that mafia boss sparked old feelings. 

"Yeah, Pierrot told me about it. He pushed the boss guy to gather his top men, then killed them one at a time with a math game. The twins haven't spoken much since."

"Why'd he bring them?"

"Glitz tried fucking him."

"Oh..."

Fizzarolli saw what happened to the people who tried their luck, or lack thereof. It usually ended violently. 

She's lucky she's still alive.

"I think she's only alive because something happened at that birthday thing with the Princess. He's been off since coming back from that, as you can see," she continued, glancing at the door. "He hasn't come out since then, either."

"Out? You mean he's still in there?"

"Yeah. No one can get him to come out. I figured you'd have better luck than me."

Yeah, he'll get right on that.

"You know, the last time he was in a bad mood, he went full demon on me."

"That's not good."

"No shit. He nearly stepped on me! I wore a brave face because of Ozzie, but it was scary!"

"Not that. Well, I can imagine, but I meant that Mammon doesn't... he doesn't willingly go into that form. He's never said it, but I've been in rehab enough times to spot someone with body dysmorphia. It's what Barb used to drink for."

That, mixed with Glitz's attempts and the apparent drinking, equals a possible mental break. As Asmodeus has proven countless times, the sins were closer to mortal people than they liked. 

Everyone has a breaking point.

Even assholes. 

"Guess it makes sense why I'd never seen it until then."

"I think it's cool, but that's my opinion."

"How'd you see it?"

"Lucifer's last visit to Greed triggered it. Whenever the King of Kings is near Mam, it never ends well for him." 

Lucifer leaving his castle, let alone Pride? That was before Fizz's lifetime.

The pair were surprised when, of all people, Vortex showed up.

Why was he here?

"Hey, Fizz. Good evening, Boss," Vortex greeted, looking knackered. Had he been running? "Is, uh, Mam here by any chance?"

"He's why I called Rollo. I think he's taken some of the Beelzejuice I stashed here."

"You know how much?"

"Enough to make him slaughter a mafia's top guys with a math game. After he teleported here, according to Pierrot."

The expression Vortex made was a mixture of anger and concern. 

"Alright. I'll call Bee to get him."

It slapped Fizz when he realised that Vortex sounded eerily close to Asmodeus. 

How had he never noticed that?

"What's the teleporting thing got to do with anything? He always does that?" Fizz asked, confused.

"The energy it takes to do that between one ring is dangerous, let alone several. I blame it on the concussion," she sighed, to which Tex agreed.

Fizzarolli needed a moment to think about what she said.

Concussion?

"Lucifer hit him in the face," Vortex elaborated, slightly confused. "Didn't Ozz mention that?"

"Of course, he didn't. You know how Ozzie is when it comes to Mammon," Verosika pointed out, making the hound annoyed. "Especially when Lucifer is involved."

Fizz was confused. Why did Lucifer hit Mammon? Was that Mammon's blood?

Why wouldn't Asmodeus tell him that?

As Vortex got onto his phone, Verosika nudged Fizz, silently asking him to come with her.

He felt so out of the loop.

"This has happened before?" Fizz questioned.

"More than I've been able to spot. Like I said, it never ends well for him."

This is the opposite of what Fizz understood of the arrangement between the sins. He must've been blind to it. 

"Since you know a lot more than me, I need clarification on something. Leviathan said he understood what it's like to lose something you can't get back. Like, empathising-ly or something like that. What did he mean?" 

The succubus looked uncomfortable, glancing at the door as she pondered whether to answer.

Finally, she relented.

"Don't let anyone know I told you this, but a while ago, Satan... he lost control of his sin. He went on a rampage, and he tore Mammon's wing off. I saw the scar once. It's... it's not pretty."

Oh.

It made more sense why he bothered to pay so much attention to Fizz and how he knew so much about amputation. He'd gone through it. 

Unlike Fizz, there wasn't a prosthetic for something like a wing. 

It made sense why Satan was so uncomfortable by the subject since he'd been the one to cause it. Not by choice, but still. 

At least Fizz had his limbs removed surgically. He couldn't imagine how much it hurt to get one ripped off. 

Why did Asmodeus never tell him about this?

Of course, he asked Verosika that very question.

"I don't know. Ozzie knows all of this. He was even there for the wing thing. When it comes to those two, Asmodeus is usually the first to be aggressive - I'm not sure why, though. It has something to do with before hell, I know that much." 

Fizzarolli wanted to know more. These are important details.

He'll wait for Beelzebub. 

Vortex was glad that Bee could arrive so quickly. She was so worried that it broke his heart.

He observed as she sped past Fizz and his boss, opening those charred doors. 

To say that he was worried was an understatement.

"Did you know all about this stuff?" Fizzarolli questioned, obviously out of the loop.

Why would Asmodeus not tell him?

"Yeah. It's complicated stuff," Tex sighed, wishing it wasn't.

He saw how it affected Bee. She loved her family so much, but they kept fighting. 

If Lucifer weren't so antagonistic and provoking, he'd advise that they all sit down and open up. They care about each other, that's indisputable.

He knew they would kill for one another and, by extension, their partners.

That's just part of the Magne family. 

Since Fizzarolli and himself are part of this circus, it's good to know what's happening. He deserved to know.

"Tex, can you give me a hand, please?" Bee called out.

Tex didn't wait. He went through the doors, watching as Beelzebub pulled the heavily intoxicated sin from a makeshift nest. His glowing green webbing was everywhere. 

The bruise around his eye looked swollen and sore. Fuck, Lucifer must've broken something.

Without more being said, the hellhound rushed to the sin's other side, helping him stand. Contrary to his appearance, he's not all that heavy. It's more fluff than anything.

"You guys good?" Verosika asked, her wings flexing nervously.

"Could you get my car open, please?" Tex asked, taking note of how Mam's suit was stained thick with old blood. It's a mixture of different ones. They'll need to get it off. 

His boss nodded, flying off to his car.

One foot in front of the other.

The imp was startled by the thick, dark, swollen bruise around the sin's eye. He must've been sheltered because this isn't the first time that Vortex has seen it.

"There you go, Z, just a little more, and you can sleep it off," Bee promised, visibly upset he was hurting so much. "You can moan all about it after."

Although he didn't have to, the imp got into the back with Bee. Meanwhile, Verosika chose to stay behind and get rid of the mess.

It'll be a long drive, but it was safer than sigil travel. 

Mam isn't in control of his energy. It would disrupt the travel, and they could get sent anywhere. 

He hoped that Bee could answer any question the imp asked. He needed to know the sin dynamics and how dysfunctional they were.

Asmodeus stared at his phone, nervous, waiting. 

He knew Fizz would message him if he needed anything, but still...

He didn't want Fizzie to hate him for this. It's not like Asmodeus had the time to explain their complicated situation. 

The sins had been around long enough to have complicated problems.

The King of Lust wanted Fizz to come home, even though he still didn't have the words to satisfy what the imp wanted.

How could he explain the evil of Metatron? How they're still scarred by those horrible aeons under God's thumb?

He'll just have to wait until Fizz comes back. Until then, he'll look at his phone and hope.

A ping.

A message!

[Froggie: I'm with Beelzebub and Vortex. I'm alright]

[Froggie: She's explaining a few things. Sorry if I worried you]

[Froggie: <3 ]

Fuck. Why did it have to be her?

He couldn't express that, though.

[Ozzie: Just glad you're ok. Be home soon! XOXO ]

What was Bee going to tell him? 

Asmodeus shouldn't be so nervous. Why was he? It's not like he's done anything wrong.

Not that he's willing to admit.

Perfection.

Picturesque.

Sublimity.

Amelioration.

Transcendence.

Integral pieces of what it means to be a servant of the Lord. 

To be an angel is the epitome of holiness, a paragon of the Lord's light. 

You are an attendant of God, a servant to spread his holiness and power to those too weak to seek it. 

When it came to the pit of vile and evil, he would erase it for the Lord. It shall no longer damage the perfection he worked so hard to create.

To do that, however, he required more than a visit from one of his brothers and those cute Exterminators. No. He needed more.

It must start small - a lesson for the class of rowdy, unruly buffoons. 

Fortunately, he had three subjects eager to abide by the light.

Cherubs are lowly and feeble. They are but stepping stones for those far greater. 

"You're letting us come home?" the humanoid one, Cletus, said. His eyes were wide and filled with hope, faith and delicious naivete. 

From a certain point of view.

"We won't have to stay with the wicked?" Keenie whimpered, relief and light bulging from her minuscule, negligible soul. It's tainted with death. "We can return to the light?"

The third one has hope but lacks faith.

Too long have they been around the vile, wicked and hell-destined. They are tainted and unworthy.

"R̷e̸p̶e̵n̴t̷.̶ ̶S̴u̸b̴m̸i̴t̴ ̷y̴o̵u̸r̵ ̴s̵o̴u̴l̵s̴ ̷t̶o̴ ̷m̴e̸,̸ ̷a̴n̸d̶ ̴I̶ ̸s̵h̵a̸l̴l̴ ̷b̵r̸i̷n̸g̸ ̴y̴o̴u̸ ̵h̵o̸m̵e̵.̶ ̷I̷'̵l̶l̷ ̶b̷r̵i̴n̵g̵ ̵y̴o̸u̵ ̶t̵o̷ ̴t̴h̷e̴ ̸L̶o̵r̸d̴ ̴h̵i̷m̵s̸e̶l̷f̷.̴"

There's always one that does not heed the call of God and his attendants. 

No matter. He shall succumb to the light like the others. None can escape the might of the Lord for long.

Cletus and Keenie accepted his grace and faith, allowing it to flow into their weak forms. 

They needed to change if they were to be of use. Feeble Cherubim no more; they were Ophanim, the hounds of God. With them, he can hinder the pathetic attempts at rebellion by the lesser, weaker angels that insult their Lord. 

He found them hideous, as was their duty. However, they can appease their Lord; they will right the wrongs dealt to the Almighty. 

A noble, beautiful sacrifice.

Collin, the weakest of the three, cried in disgusting terror. It was not befitting of a holy being to muddy paradise with such gross emotions. 

"What did you do to them!?" Collin sobbed, those weak wings shaking in fear.

"I̴ ̸b̵l̶e̶s̸s̵e̷d̴ ̸t̴h̸e̶m̸.̶ ̶T̶h̶e̵y̸ ̸w̴i̴l̶l̴ ̶s̶u̷c̸c̵e̵e̶d̵ ̵w̸h̸e̸r̵e̵ ̷t̷h̸e̷y̶ ̴c̷o̵u̸l̴d̷n̷'̶t̸ ̷b̷e̸f̵o̷r̵e̸.̵ ̶T̶o̵ ̷b̷e̵ ̶a̷n̸ ̶O̸p̷h̷a̶n̷i̷m̷ ̸i̴s̸ ̷a̷n̴ ̵h̷o̸n̷o̶u̵r̴.̸ ̶I̴t̶'̶s̵ ̵a̸ ̷s̸h̸a̴m̷e̶ ̸y̵o̶u̶ ̷i̸n̸s̵u̶l̶t̵ ̶t̴h̵e̷ ̸L̸o̶r̴d̸ ̴b̷y̸ ̶r̶e̴j̶e̵c̴t̵i̷n̴g̸ ̷t̶h̵i̸s̵ ̵m̵o̶n̵u̶m̶e̴n̸t̶a̵l̴ ̴b̵l̵e̶s̵s̵i̸n̷g̸.̴.̴.̵ ̷y̶o̶u̷'̴l̷l̷ ̵b̸e̶ ̶s̷c̵r̶u̶b̶b̶e̸d̴ ̷a̸w̶a̶y̴ ̷w̵i̸t̶h̷ ̸t̶h̷e̸ ̸r̸e̸s̸t̷ ̶o̶f̸ ̶t̷h̴e̴ ̸f̸i̶l̶t̷h̷.̸ ̸T̸h̸e̵r̴e̴ ̶i̸s̵ ̴n̸o̴ ̸p̵l̸a̸c̵e̸ ̷f̴o̸r̵ ̸t̶a̶i̴n̴t̶e̶d̵ ̴g̶a̶r̵b̴a̴g̴e̴ ̵i̴n̵ ̷G̷o̶d̸'̷s̵ ̴p̷e̷r̸f̷e̸c̷t̷i̴o̸n̸.̵ ̵"

His Ophanims growled, no longer resembling the infantile things he never respected. They snapped at Collin, frightening the lamb-like Cherub into flying away. 

He watched. 

Warmth swirled in his palm as a creation of holiness formed from the aether. It shined with perfection, an impeccable blade with an edge rivalling the nails that pierced Yeshua Christ's palms. 

He never missed. 

It flew with the grace of a dove, cutting through the tainted creature's wing. He observed as it fell, colliding with clouds like it was concrete.

Slowly, he stalked towards the crying, shivering form of imperfect weakness. His Ophanim followed, waiting for his orders as obedient, holy creatures should. 

His blue eyes wandered over the imitation of an innocent, perfect lamb. It disgusted him.

"T̷e̶l̵l̸ ̵h̷i̸m̷ ̵t̶h̵a̷t̴ ̴h̶e̴ ̵c̷a̷n̴'̸t̶ ̶k̷e̴e̶p̸ ̷u̸s̸ ̷a̶w̵a̸y̶ ̵a̵n̶y̸ ̴l̴o̸n̸g̷e̶r̷.̸ ̶T̷e̷l̸l̵ ̵h̸i̷m̸ ̶t̴h̷a̴t̷ ̸C̵h̵a̸r̸l̶o̷t̶t̷e̷ ̶i̵s̷ ̷o̶u̸r̴ ̷F̴a̶t̴h̷e̶r̷'̴s̸.̵ ̵T̷e̴l̴l̵ ̸h̵i̵m̵ ̵t̷h̸a̵t̶ ̷h̴e̵'̸s̷ ̸o̸u̷t̶ ̷o̷f̸ ̵t̸i̸m̸e̸.̷"

Hardly moving his foot, the angel kicked the vile thing from his holy sight. 

The Grand Archangel stared from the edge of their perfect, heavenly abode. Beside him was Metatron, his righthand man and brother. The vile spec of red below would crumble and vanish under his holy might.

They'll all suffer the same fate, and they shall make Charlotte a beautiful, perfect, angelic being.

Michael wouldn't rest until they were dead, but who to start with...

Chapter Text

P̴̧̧̥̹̖̣̜̲̩̥̈́̊́̃͐̆̎̔̏̆͝͠͝R̸̢̜̙̺̜̼͎͎̹̉̐͒̆̀̾͘͜Ị̴͗̉̿̐́̈́D̴̦͚̘͔̞̺̫̱̱̱͙̯̣͋͗̃Ě̸̩̯̝̭̻̯̼̼̰̗̱͙̜̮͙̇F̷̧̖͍̗͂́́̍̈́U̷̢̩̫̅̍̈́͛̿̏L̴̫͍̝̗̻̓̐͒̀̿̀͛͝͝ ̸͙̯̠̥̪͇͙͆̈́̿́͌̂͌̚͜͝Ḟ̷̨̛̛̱̫̟̠͈̘͕͑̌̉̈́̐̽̔͊͘͝Ǫ̶͕̟͖͍̺͈͊̈͜Ō̵̘̖̙͉͓̇͐̉̿͘͝L̷̥̓͒̚̕                  Y̷͈̣͇͙̔̍͂̋̌̅́̍̿͝ͅÒ̸͖̝̰̜̠̣̮̟͓͈̿͒́̐̂͒̿̍͋̆̋̈́Ư̵͓̮̭̱̲͎̙̯͔̬̮̯̞̑̆̓́̑̎̅ͅ'̷̛̠̜̦̀̑͂͒̂͌̅̽́̒̊͆̊͝R̷̡͓̤̜͙̦̪̓ͅË̷̜̲̻́͌̚̕̕ ̸̢̛̯͖̞̀̔͒̑̎̋͛̈́̍̑̕̕͠͝P̷̝̟̝͈̹͓̮͚̭̫̓͋̓͌͂͊R̸̨̲͈͉̹̮̬͓̘̬̮̂͒̃̄͂͌͐̽͜͠Ȏ̸̢̢͈̝͉͈͓̝̙̥͚̥̺̠͊̈́̇̒̇͠ͅÖ̸̢̤͉͕̣̽̿͆̓̈́̎̒̓̈̇́̕͜F̶̏͋́͂̉̓̄̅ͅ ̵̼̦̫̮͗̅͋́̽́F̸̳̳̻̊͒̍̏ͅÂ̷̢͎̺͉͇̮̖̭̺̪̥͜ͅT̵̢̯̮̱̰͙̖̘̦̜̬͙̘͙̪͑̽̅́͆͂̈́͐͐͆͘͝͝H̶̢̰̤͉͉̩̹͉͉̯͙̗̣͗͒͐̃̐̅̑͆̄̉̕̚͝ͅḚ̵̛̺̂̏̅̔̅͒̓̍͐͆͆̓̐R̸̡̨̧̮͚̟̻͖̗̯͙͕͔̞̬͒͐͊̾̀̀̒̎̃̒̏̚͝͝ ̷̛̰̮̀̑̈́͆̏̍̑̊̑͐͘͜͝Ḥ̵͉͂̇͝Ą̸̡͎̩̰̼͍̥̟̪̍̚ͅS̶̭͍͉̟̭̝͕͍̤̻͔̗̐̽͜ ̴͕̮͕͖͇̞̼͎͖̬̮̠̻̮̓̋́̏̽ͅȂ̶̜͈̠͔̫͕͓̳͔͖̋̿̓̌͊̐̿̆͜ ̸̛͎̩̉̈́́̔͌͝Ş̵̨̢͙̮̰͕̤̬̰̟̄̂͌̓̆́̽̊̂̀͐̔͋E̴̛͙̳̭̯̫͕͇̔̀̑̎̐̇̔̀͑̅̐͝Ņ̷͍̜̫̼̪͖̪͈̻͖̯̯̦̽͜S̷̝̦͖̺̲̙͓̜̃̈́̐͜͝E̴̩͇͇̫͎̭͔̝̦̗͚͕͋͒̆̈́̔̿̓̌͋̀̒͝ ̷̢̡̠̻̹͍̞͔̣͈͍͐̌̇̀̀̆̊̓̔̓͑̾̕O̸̡͉͎̗͍̰̝̘͔͕̐̓͑̓͆̑F̷̟͔̩̫̖̻̜̲̞͔͐̒̓͊͑͘ ̸̨̢̡̧͇̖̫͇͙̹̪̤̲̠̄̂̅̔͘̕͠Ḧ̴͚́̓̔̓͑̅̋̋̿͂̇̄͠Ư̴̥̱̰̭̹̥̱͚͚͓̬̬͈̋͊͋̅̈̀̚͜M̶̨̡̹͖͚͔̲͍͖̘̩͂̐͆̍̇̄́̃̊̈́͂͋́̚Ö̵̢̢̢͙͎̝̱͍̜̫̫̗̩̞̜͐̃̚͠Ủ̶̟͉͙̣̬̩̞͈̙̙̣͔R̶̠͎̭̱̖͙͔̀͆̓̉͝͝                              L̶̥͝I̷͕̲͊̐̓̅Ą̵̧͔̬̲̉͆̈́̚Ṙ̴̘̻͕͖͈̮͍̣̙̰͉̩̪̅͂̓̈̐̒̃                                                                         T̴̗͇̒͛͒͘R̸̘̽̈̀͋̍̍͋̇̐͊̄ͅA̵̧̟̭̣͙̗̳͎͈͓̯̯̒̚͜͝ͅĪ̶̢̨̼͖̭͍̮T̵̢͇̮͂͌͛̒̏́̅̈͊̍͂͐͆͘͠Õ̶̧͚̣͈̹̞̂͐̈́̌͂̀̅̽̑͑̂̈́̍͝R̸͇̪̬̩̟̹̫̼͕͑̑̔̓͗͌̽̿̒͒͊̄͘                           L̵̨̛̹͈͎̪̪̣̹̲̥̙̄̂̆̈́̅̈́̔̈́̀̚͘Į̵̹̜̥̼̳̮͔͉̩̙̗̯̯̪͆̔̓̆͑̓̈́̋͝͝A̴̢͔̻̮͕͊̄̌͗̾̆͜͝͠͝R̸͇̼̱̓̾̀̃̆̈́̂                              Ỳ̴̞̘͚͍̳͙̪̩̝̟̙͐́̃̑̈́̐̂͛̕͝ͅO̶͇̮͔̮̟͚̘͝Ụ̴̗̙̲̖͖̊̏̑̓̓ ̴̛͈̥͋͐͒͐̔̾͂̇͘͠S̶̡̧̻͕͔̖̰̼̋̀͒̀͋̇Ḩ̴̱͍̭̙͗̎̌̋̆̏͌̒͛̓̆͗̄̚͠Ǫ̵̭̥̝̯̜̮̓̎͝ͅƯ̷̛̗͓̖̮͈̜̼̪̪̔̏̂̎̿̎͊̀̋͊͛͗̉L̴̗̭̺̱̼̱͙̝̖͐͊̐̉̋Ď̸̡̨̛̛̟͔͓̟̯̭̟̻̯̃̿̃̀̄̓̾͛̏̍ͅ ̵̧̞͙̼̰̺͓͉̪̟͇̩̀̒̇͜K̴̛̥̪̘̞̮̅͛̓̆̄̆́͌̏̕̕͝͝͠Ņ̷̨̡̠͍̝̲̺̹̦͓̈́͋̑͜ͅO̴̬͉̓̊͝Ẅ̷̡̧̛͍͖̭̗̳̰̟͕̺͙͓̬͇́̽͂̾̈́́͆́̏͗̇̐̔͘ ̸̢̢̱̯͔̰̞̙̝͈̝̮̆̓̋̽̅̽̈́̒͑̋̕͝B̷̳̩̗̖͙̙̣̙͙͕̉̎̔͐̈́̂͛̈̋̕Y̷̛̺̩̔ ̴̡̢͇̰̙̲͔̱̩͚̝̪̌̓̄̐̈́͋́͘͜͜N̸̖͚̒̐̀O̶̢̠̜̞͔̞͉̳̘̮̝̹̥̅̐͒̌͜͠W̸̛͓̳̭͛͒,̵̢̡̟̙͈̙̮͌̉͠͝ ̶̧̍̀͋́̋̔͂͌͐́͂̔̀

W̶̨̫͇͍̼̖̳̋̽͝Ẻ̵̦̞̫͇̾̀̑͑̂̾̂ ̵̨̞̞̤͖͍̥̮̻͇̭̲̗͑̓̄̂̌M̴̳̲̼̬̳̹̫̮͛̈͂̆̋̈́͘I̸̞̬̙͕͙̍͊̇͌͒͛͌͘ͅS̵̢̡̨̛̲̥̥͙͕̣̘͎̐̃̿͑̏̽̓̄̈́͆̀̂S̸̼͎̲̪̝̫̩̟͐́͠ͅ ̵̧̧̛͚̺͖͕̉̈́́̓͂̊͂̃̑͘̚̚Y̵̨͖̩̥͖̰̞̼̺͔͉͊͋͒̽͒̑̆̋̽̆̓͊̆́͜͝O̶̹̱͖̪͆͊́̋̉̅̊̾̎̍͆͗͠U̶̖̝̘̯͕͎̅͜                        G̷̢͉̈̄̈́̅I̶̛͈̬̯̱̳̎̃̌͒̇̈́͊̔̆̍̆̆͠͝V̸̨̢̠̞͎̳̣̜͉̮̞̀̋̒̿̓̑̀̕Ę̵̪͈̖̱̼̥̜̞̫̭͔̼͐̈́̐̕ ̵͔̼̹̦́̂͆̑̑̈̀̔̏͜͝Į̸̡̧̦͚̻̖̣̗̹̜͉̒͛́́̌̓͛N̵͇̜͂̓̅̽̊̌                        F̸̧̼̺̳͍̼̼̝̲͙̍̎̍̒͗̌͗̋̅͌̈́͝R̴̬͕̓́Ơ̴̭̏́͆̒̈́͗̌́̾̉̃͑̕M̷̡̨̬͈̳̜͉͈̯̜̰̙̗̓̏̆̽͂̐̈̈́̍͗̿͋͘͝ ̷͓̗̞̬̯̪̂̀͛͛̋̊̄̋̿̈̕͠F̸̦͇̠̫̞̭̞̒̋̈́̆̆̏́̂̅̚͘A̷̢̡͉̯͕̗̯̮̭̅̐͒̏̋̂͐͌̄͘͜V̸̭̆̒̅̄́͝Ȍ̴̮̙͖̣̠̯̜͎͑́̈͆͛̉̒́̑̚͝͝U̶̖̾̉̈́͛̚R̶̡̥͚͚͈͕͔̯͚̣̹̱̈̐̑͆͒̽̄̿͠͝I̷͔̝͕͑̎̏̿̽̐͊̌̕͝T̸͎͓͋̊̓̑͗̋̀Ë̴̫̩͎̮́̍̓̈́̏̽́͑̈̿͆̓͝ ̶̝̳̻̥̠͕̬̗̟̗͔̭̾̈́Ṫ̷̝͈͉̺̺̀̂͋̈̔͋̽͐̍̄̅̕O̶̱̘̮̯̣͎͉̺͉͑̔̉̄̈́̄͑̿̔̃̏͛̚͝ ̴̡͉͗̽͗̊͑̀̃̀͒́̓̅̚̕Ḏ̶̢̝̻̰͕͉͋̒̃̏̾͐͘̕̚͝Ȉ̴̗̳̥̪̘̬̥̅̃͆͂̈̊̉̒͘͜͠ͅͅŠ̴̹̮͉̖̽̇̽̂A̵̱̩̳̯̱͓͙̋̾̄͛̏̊̃̎͆͑͝͝P̸̡̛̠͖͍͖̼̟̥̹̙̟̙̆̈́̎͐̑̀̔̈́̈͌͠͠͝P̸̡̣̳͈͓̦̦̣̔̉͗͒̚͜Ơ̵̖̫͍̘̮̊́̎̑͒̏͊Î̵̧̝̯̗̝̼͌͋̀̇̂̎̂̈́͌͋̀͋̊͝Ń̴̛̝̪̘͉̫̠͉̪̭͉̲̬̪̑̓́̀̃̐͛̿̈́͌̀̉̕T̵̤̪͍̘͙̩́̉̒̔̐̄̌̕͠M̷̨̝͍̠̯͋̿̂̾E̴̛͚̤̐̓͋͑͂̅̏̕̕͘̕͝Ņ̸̧̹̭̘͇̰͓̜̼͉̭̬͚̈́T̵̺̐͒̉̎͛̔ ̵̛̰̈́̃͘͝

   W̶̧̰̯̻͍͖͓̽͐̑̿̊̓̔̔̀̏̾̚͜ͅḦ̶͇́͊͒͐̇͆̈̌̎͆́̚͘͝Y̷̛͔͖̟͈͓̤̮͔̼͑́̂͆͋̔̊͊̍͊̄ ̴̨̺̲̥̻̟̬̗͍̺͖̠̦̠̅̑̑̈́͌̈́̌͛̆͜͝͠͝D̴̯͉̪͇̗̟̙͇͖͂̅̈́͌͑̍͌̍̉͌̚͜͝͝Ȍ̶̰̟̖̗͕̓̈̔̓̑ ̴̦͎̭̮͔̈́̄̒͌̽̈͘͝Y̷̛̰̯͉̞̔̿̔͂ͅƠ̸̯̻̂̉̿̂͌͛̚͠U̸͕͉̒̽́̏͒̽̐̚͘͝ ̵̡̠̹̮͖̳̬͓̝͉͖̹̺͗́̇͂̓̀̈̊̓̐̍̆K̸̨̳͔̘͗̃̊͑̈́E̴̢͖̙͗̄͂̇͋̀̌͐̽̐͠E̴̡̢͙̪̫̲̝͈̼̪̯̓̒̓P̶̨͍͙͎̫̱̳̭̤̗̮̪̀͒̆͆̾͝ ̸̞͚̼̪̼̰̩͖̹̝͔̟͚̈́͗̓̋̈́͋̋̓̌̆̌̑͘͜͠H̵̡͔̻̗̜̩̳̦́̔̄̇̿̐͒͛̕Ư̶̧̟͇̼͔̘̦̻̝̫̦̙͙̲̈̋̀̓̓͛R̸͎̹̹̘̠͇͊̉͊̃̐̄̄̎̊̓͐̋̚Ṱ̶̛̖͖̥̖̻̺̭͍̀̉̈̚ͅI̵̺̲͔͔͌͊̀͂̾̅̐̊̈́Ņ̸̛͇̟̺̺͕͙̳͖͑̀̓̈́̀̈́͜G̷̱̬̭̅͒̈ ̵̢̭̭͚͍͕͚͍̦̠̖͚̞̄̐̋̅̽̋͝U̷͛̈́̊̀̀͆̏́͋̀̌̒̓ͅS̵̢̮͖̭̘͉̲͈͓̑̋͛̉͗̈̑̄̆͑͝,̸̧̺͔̗̻̱̦̺̟̖̗̻͎͛̄̂̌͒́͋̅̀̌͐̈́̀̈͝ ̸̧̢̰͖̱̘̳̝́͌͂̓̈́̂͊̿̌Ṣ̸̨̛͖̗̦͑̒́͆̍̉̂̈̄̓͌͠Á̷̡̛̹̫͓̺̟̟̼̫̅́̓͒̔̏͑͗͐̄̏̐̿͜M̴̥̪͓̮̼̦̪̰͐̌͊̑̒̍̔͝Ḁ̷̢̧̡̛̯̳͉͓̺̪̝̻͎͂̑̇̓̈̑͛͗̽E̸̛̻̽̈́̑͒L̸̨̬̯̠̩͋̂̅̒͛̉̎͑́?̸̧͕̞̬̊̓

Y̴͇̪̼̋̿O̷̟̫̯̓̋͐Ụ̴̧̧̈̈́ ̵̦̼̝͓̱͊̅̌͛̐̀̽̊̃̔̀̅͝͝C̸͎̭͇͍͎͛Ã̴̠̞̠͍͇͚̟̍̅͌̋̓̎́͗͘͘͠Ǹ̴̡̜͔̰̬̪̭̞̮̝̺͚̄͗̈́̀̓̔͗̚̕'̶̪̭͓͓̬̭̽͊̀͜T̸̡̗̩̳̺̻̮̠͂̐̀̏̏̀̃̅̋̉̓̃̓ ̷̧̨̣̥̹̠̺̖͍̏͂̐̓́̊̅͆̃̓͐͜͠K̶̡̢̞̐̃͒́̓Ḙ̵̢͉̬̰͖̹̠̩͆̓͒̿̋͛̌̍̈̃̈́̂̕͜͝͝ͅE̷̛̪̣̱̤͚̼͒͑̓́̌̑̎̈́͌̅͗̿͘̚P̸̘̹̙͎͎͚͇̹͍̱͎̤̻̹̀̓ͅ ̵̮̩̰͕̱̻̐̋̾͜ͅU̶̡͖̫͇̼̝̺̰̪̭͙̼͑͛̅͒̑Ṣ̸͉͖̬̳̜̒̓̅͛̏̏́͂̌̐̆̀̚̕ ̵̧̧͈̙͚͓̟̝͇̥̮̐͜B̸̢̟̪͔̄̂̿̎̅̇͗̕ͅͅÅ̷͎̤͓̗̂͠C̸̢̡̠͔̰̺͚̘̣̈̓̾̀͒́̒̈́̚̚͜K̶̡̛̜͈̝̘̭̪̣̰͇̤͎̳̣̭͐̑̀̏̑͂͗ ̸̨̛̥͔̭̞̺̫͍̮̗͈̯̫̼̭̈́̏̈́̄̚͝͝F̵̳̫̳̺̠̘͔̖̩̹̰̻̘͙̾̔͆̈́͆̚͜͝O̷̡̩̼̣̱͚͊̾R̵̛̤͙͖̬̃̄͌̍Ȩ̷̢͎̱̟̙͉̥̐́ͅV̷͍͙͍͍̩̗̝̜͕̒͗̿̀̽̋̿͗͝Ȩ̴̛̗̺̫̝̙͇̥̟̘̹͖̤̒̃͆̾͜͜R̷̨̐̋̌̂̈́̑͊͊                                      W̴̢̛̞̠̲͙̬̰͔̹̣̣͆̀͛͑̏̚Ȩ̵̄́͐̐'̸̢̢̛̫͖̠̞͓̺͇͇͖͇̤̮̓͛͌́̕͝Ř̵͍͕̜͓̤̳͖́͌̐̔͗̓̈́͆̄̌̌̚͜͝ͅE̶̡̛̫̖̠͚͔̟̜̹͍̠̺̐͛͐̓͆̐̈́͂ͅ ̵̢̤͓͍̞̭̻͚̦͎̖̥̩̰̠́̌T̷̢̨̛̼̻͇̤̺̝̭̼͙̀̔͆͌͑̀̿̊͑̽̔̆͘̚A̸̢̹̭͇̘̣̭͖̣̜͙̘̜̾̈́̏̋̉ͅK̷̙̦͑̀͋̈́̋̉͂̂̈́͋̓I̴̢̦̰͉̝̒Ṇ̵̡̡̣̣͚̦͋̄͆̈́͂͗̏̈́͛̓G̷̣̯̖̀̔̂̽̋͒̑̄͂͠ ̸̺̮̫̹͕̟̦̪̩̀̔͊͜Y̴̡̛̘͖͐̆̀͐̄̏̂͒̒͐͊̅̑̕Ö̴̢͎͉̗͔̖̜͉̟̤̦͚̟̞́̽̒̉̂̀̈́͒̒̊̕U̸̧͍̣̳̣͆ ̷̧̧͖͕̩̟̫̲͇͕̜͓̰̤̗̓́̂͝H̷̝̦͆̿͑̏̔̍̂Ŏ̶̧̨͎͙̩̝̲̳̘̊̄̾̽̆̉̀̓̓̊͜͝ͅM̶̯͖̺͍̝͙̂̀̂̔̄̓̓̅͋̎̾͠E̶͔̗̲̬͓̘͙̻̹͒͆̋̈͛͋͘̚͘͜͝͠͝ͅ                                    S̵̢̨̳̭̬͎̝͔͕̩̻̫̾͂͜͜Ḩ̷̛͋E̸̛̛͙̜̜͍̲̫̤̦̻̝͔͙̻̣̣̓͗̀̌̈́̃͋̊͑̑̈́͠'̸̢̢̛̤̫͇͕͕͙́̾̈́̃̓̎͒S̴̢̨̥͍̹̲̻͕͓̪̓̈́̌́̎ ̵̢̡̢̡͔̜̙̹̟̤͇̦̊̎̇̐̃̃̌̓̚͜ͅÕ̶̗͍̱̠̝̣̱̮͖͈̎̕Ư̵̠̤̭̘̤̗̞̖̪̽R̶̢̨̨͇͇̻̫͎̭̦͂͛̀̌̔̽̐͛́̈́͌͑͐͝ͅS̶̫̥̤̼̳̘̓̐́̇̏̄̎̽̽      

                                                        C̷̛͉͖̣̖͉̼̏͆͑͂͂̅̄͝Ō̶͓͕̫͓̮͊͑̎̓̒̚͜ͅM̸̡̪̳͎̜̱̩̩͔̦̬͕̜͎̗͋̑͛̈͂̃͋͒̐̍͗̎͘͝È̶̪̱̣̖̮̝͈̩̯͕ͅ ̵̘̼̬̭̼̞̔̂̈́̊͜͝H̴̨̢̢̨̠̺̳̞̠̥̺͖̰̼̪̍Ǫ̷̧̧̛̛̘̮̮̼̹̠̲̣̇͐̃̌̓͗͗͋͒͛͠͠M̸̧̟̺͙̣̩̦͓̥̤̣̻̮͔̊̀̀É̵̢̨̻̻̥̤̗͖̽͑̂̿͒                   

Ş̸̢̧̞͈̼̗̻̄͌͆̆̉́̓̏̎̑̌̾̆̉͗A̵̡͓̤̦̤͍̽́͑́̈́̾̋͛̐̓̋̑̚͝M̸̙̲̰̮̰̎̈̔̑͘A̶̧̫̺̭̬̼̟̘̳̪̩̗̟̪͌̎͋͌͌̐͒̌̄͊Ę̵̥̳̹͇̦͇͉͐̔̊͑̔̋͐͂̋͝ͅL̴̡̟͎̤̹̜͎͎̜̠̤̖͍̿̈́͛͂

Lucifer gripped his fingers into his hair, desperate to drown out the din of vitriol. No matter how hard he tried, they squeezed through his defences and cackled in his ears.                                        

The sin wanted to scream, to cry, but he couldn't allow the satisfaction. It didn't matter that they kept him from sleep. He had to keep them away.                                                                           

They wanted his baby, the only good thing in his aeons. The highest points of heaven couldn't compare to the marvel of that little bundle he held for the first time. The second he saw those red cheeks and redder eyes, he found a love that was nonexistent to him before.

It was proof that Father never loved them. The sheer need to care for and protect that tiny life, one outside of Father's little scheme, overpowered many of his previously desired traits. 

Nothing was as important as his daughter. The closest was Lilith, but even then, his baby girl superseded her.                                                                                                             

                                                                         L̴̘̮̭̘͚̙̞͙̹̟̺̙̹͎̗̊͌́́͘͠͝I̵̧̡̖͇͉͓͖̱̜͇͙̖̬̍A̵͓̠̠͔̣͂͝R̵͎̯͙̦̻͖̦͗̑͆̿̈́                                                                                                S̶̟̙̼̗̦̫̦̋̋̉͊̽̊̈̾̔͜͠H̷̡̢̧͖̹̜̳̜̰͇̩̞͒́̂͘Ȩ̷̹̮̮̫̬̭͈̻̗͔͋̌̑͋̈̿̅̅ͅ ̴̧̧̮̼͔͕̯̥̭̪͔̥͙̾́̓͒͗̀̆Ḅ̸̬̼͈̀̕Ę̴̠̠̩̬͗͂̾͗L̴̙̻̿̾̉̆̒͋̽̕͝Ợ̸̡̨̢̧̠̳̪̝̑̃͛͗́̽̕͜N̶̢̠̩͐͊̈́̾̉G̴͚͇̞̳͉̻̰̭͙͚̼̿̐̈́̈́͌̽̌́͋̚̚̕͘S̸̡̛̼̬͖͍̱̰͙̙̥̠̻̄͌̀͑̃̓̍̾͘͝͠ ̵̤̤̎̋W̶̼̰̜̒Ị̴̛̙̪̥̺̇̂̊̀͋͝ͅT̸̨̅́́̅̓̈́̍̇̂̃̕̚Ḩ̴̱̩̙̞̪͎̅́͋ ̴̨̨̛̛̙̮̟͔̘̯̭̫̟̦̎̄͗͘͠Ȗ̶̖͕̜̠̥͇͇̦̲͉̎̕S̸̮͙̪̱̥͌                Ş̸̡̼̱̣̬͎̺̖̖̙̖̗͚̿͆̅̑̿̾̌͒͠ͅỊ̸̐̽̆̎̓͋͂̈̉̄̕̚͘͝Ñ̶̛͍̣̫̤̼̞̻̮̊́̑͒͒͊̊͋́͝͠                        

                     S̴̡̜̈́̌́̓̈́́̂̔͝H̶̢̧̡͓̩̩̤͍̲͙̩̐̎̔͂̅̔́͒̿͘Ȩ̶̛̭͇̥̫̜̈́̐̒̀̑̕ ̸̡͚̗̮̜̘̜̞͉̠͍̇͆͌̽̀͊B̷̠̹̱̯͈̮͓̫̰͒̉͛̋̈́E̸̖̞̦͉͕̗͓̘͙̥̳̙̳͕̊͛̀̅̎̈́̆̈́L̴̲̤̦͔̙̼͉̪̼͉̒͜͝Ǫ̸̛̯̗̱͖̜́̆͑̃̋̃̍͝Ņ̸̪̜̟͎̣́́̈̔̏̾̾͜Ģ̴̳̫͈͍̝̣̙̲̥͙̜̻͕̓͐̉̀̃̀͊͋̌̆̈̕S̵̨̧͓̖͓͉̮̭̤̞̬̅̿̅̀́̐̑̍̊̚͜͝͝ ̷͉̪̂̄̽͊̾͋̊̚̚͝͝Ẃ̶̘̟̤̩̪̩̮̪̝̣̖̼͚̫̓̀̄̍͜I̴̡̩͚͙̥͖̮̘̜͍͓͎͉̣̋͐̄̈͐̃́͛̒̈́̚͝͝Ţ̸̺̟̗͈͖̲͚̆̐̈́H̴͕͇̼̭̣̝͉͙̣̪̫̦͖̔͆͗̆̕͘͝ ̷̤̟͕͑̓U̶̖͍̱͘S̸̢̢̡̛̗̮̰̭̑̾̑̔ͅͅ                                Y̸̨̛̬̦̲̝͈̠̥̬͍̼̩̱͊́͆̎Ǫ̴̫̬̜̥̮̋̓̃̿ͅͅŲ̴̬̳̬͓͓̗̝̘̻̖͚̎̀̔̅͆̊̈́̈́̊͒̌̎'̸̤̦̈́̃́͂̌͆͛͋̅̓͆̚R̷̬̱̞̞̅̆̓̀̉̈̑͂̀̈́̚Ḙ̸̛̈̈́͑́̉́̆̈́̽͊̀ ̸̙̳̈́̈́̒̒͋͒̈́́̑̔̚̕͝Ȧ̵̠̜̞̻̹̮̓͋̀́͛̀͂͝ ̶̮͍̱̺͉͕̠̱̼̗͚̹͕̍̀̈́̃̀̇̔̀͗͐̎͒͘͝F̷̦̤̟̰̩̠͊̇̿͒̒̎O̶̢͔̞̥̣̅̿͂̏O̴̖͈͉̙͇͖̮̰̻̙̟̎͜L̸̝̬̺̘̪̹͎̎̎͋̑ͅ                  S̸̨̨̠̟̹̪̝̘̬̞̖͉̅́̋̚ͅH̷̗̝̜̹̝͗͋̓̏͜Ȩ̶̛̟̤̠̩̳̯̪͚̙̺͌͋͂̐̂̒͝ͅ ̴̨̥͙̟̽̓̉̓͒̍̐̽̈̎W̷̟͇̱͕̤͂̔̎͛̃̿̀A̷͔̠͇͚͆̍Ñ̶̜͌̇̎̏͑̈̎͊̕Ṫ̶͖̦̔͌̽͌̎̐̃́̇̕̕̚̕S̵̢͕̭͔̠͕̲͕̬͙̥͈̼̩̎͑̎̂̏͌́́̈̈́̅͂͘̕͝ ̷̳͉̖͕̻͇͇̙̈́̓̋̐́̎̒̑̇̐̿͑͗̕T̸̠͈͚̗̤͛̆͐̓̾̾̕O̸̧̢̢̢̳̭̫̟̣͙̤̜̅ ̸̧̡̼̯͙̤͖͇͎͔̎̏C̶̢̡̄͝͠Ȯ̶̥͚̟̮͋M̶̨̠̯̫͈͍͍̲̠̪̋͒͒È̴̛͈̂̔́̈̋̅̈̑̆ ̸̡̧͔̹̠̝̰̫̤̩͎̣̯̲̊Ḥ̴̢̭̝̤̤̱̆̏̄̿̎O̴̙͂̒̋͂́̍͛͑͌̈́̀̏M̵̩͖̼̹̯͔̞̼͎̂̏͆̑̇́͗̍̅͛̀Ë̴̜̝̮̝̙̪̳̣͎́̋́̑͐́                                      L̴̛͇̦̩̏͌̎̃̽̎̆̎̊̀͝͝Ì̶̦͙̻͎̬́͐͐͆̕ͅA̶̗̦̯̖̼̺̫͇̖͊͌̀͜ͅR̵̛̟̠̳͓̀̇̓̿̽̇̋́̈́

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Ç̶͙̟͈̮̰̖̿̈́͝Ú̵̮̺̞͈͚͖̫̉͑̓͒̍̈́͋͆͂̓̐T̵̢̯̲̻̪̓͒E̸̡̮͚̗̘̖̳͍̜͖̟̜̘͙͖̍̉̈́͑̅͠,̴̢̨̛͎̖̘͚͓̯̙͚̓̊̐̈̿ͅ ̶̙̜̘͙̩͕̭̹͖̹̳̱͍̟̓͑̈́̍̑͑̈́͌̐͛́̽̕͝Ṯ̷̗̫͇̼͐̇́Ḣ̷̨̯̙̫̼͇̰̬͖͖͈͕̲̙̎́̉̀͐̇̂͘͝Í̵̛̙̪̏̊͗̒̾̊͠N̸̛̮̖̞̣͗͐̀̂̑̓̊͐̐̚K̴͖̇͊Ĩ̷̢͕͕̥̗̥̪̻̲̞̈́͊͋̂͂ͅN̷̩͚̦̑͂͛́̕̕G̶̛̠͖̜̞̞͎̤̭͆̀ ̵̢͇̩̳̻̗̭͈̪̻̟̞̇̆͋͌̓̀̇̽͐́͘̚͜Y̸̟͍͇̠̹͕̭͈̙̳̘̻̗͌͑̿̓ͅͅO̸͓̰̦̿̑̌̽͐́͗̀͘͜Ù̷̯͎̼̲̯̪̠̩̠͓̪̖̅̄̀́ ̷̲͓͉͋͂̔́̍́̃͆̀͗͐̉̑̉C̴̡̩͙̲̠̦̱̦̪̖̠̒̈͂A̵̢̛͚̗̗͖̞͔̥̞̅̕ͅN̵̨̬͓͍͇̍͊̀̂́͐̉̍̂͘͝ ̸̢̰̙͎̩̈́͂͒K̵̨̪̼̺͔̺͙̪̏̂E̵̙͉̮͌͝Ȩ̸̖͖̭̮̮̮̲̠̟̻̽͜͜P̴̛͚̔̇̈́̊́͛͑̓͛͛̚ ̴͚̤̳̪͍͈̹́̋̂̓͑́̓͆̐͜͝͝͝͝ͅU̴̢̘̦̞̰͑Š̷̥̞͎̳͗̀̐̂̀͝ ̷̨̻̖̟͓̼͔̰̆͆͂̐͆̃̉͑̈́̽͐́͑͝͝Ą̴͚̼̮̲̯͎̦̺̣͖̬̍̽͜͝ͅͅW̵̛̫̠̥̺̖͓͕̖̺̰͉̋̐̓̎̂̽̃̓̇̆Ä̸̢̢̛̛̹̪̳̦̰̦̫́͌̍̀̈̋̓̐̽̔̐̅͜͜͝Y̷̢̡̛̻̦̞̖͕̹̦̭̎̊̾̾̎̓̈́̋̆͛̕,̵̨̨̢̛̺̪̤̩̣̻͚̝̊̄̂͌̚͝ ̵̼̱͕̦̺̼̹͕͕͙̝͛̾͒̈́̊́̑͌́͂̀̚S̵̨̗̗̹͈̥͍̦̫̟̏̔͜Ȧ̸̧̛̩͇̖͖̠̪̻̪̓̽̓͋̿̅͋̈́́ͅM̸̨͕͓̩͙̌̐͑̌̑Ä̸̛̫̖̱̖̍̓̊̾̐̔̏͑̓̀͝E̸͈̺̫̣̬̔̃̇͂̄̈̀̓͂̕ͅL̷̟̘̪̺̫̞̙̓͗̑̈́͛͂̿͆͗

His baby didn't belong to them. He wouldn't let them take her and turn her into something twisted, a shell of the darling he sacrificed everything to protect.

It was a mistake, calling her a disappointment. He was only angry that she genuinely wanted sinners to go to heaven, that horrid place. He was furious that she'd ever consider trying to communicate with them, undoing everything he's worked so hard to do. 

Lucifer never wanted her to know what it was like there. She deserved so much better than their horrific past.

He never wanted her to know how terrible he was before falling. He was a monster in every sense of the term. He used to be beside Metatron, tormenting his little siblings for amusement or vindictiveness. That's not something he could ever make up for.

The fury, spite and hatred burned in the prideful pyre of Lucifer's soul. It would explode out, slipping past his grasp like grains of sand. Sometimes, it struck, and the shame afterwards was overpowering, not that he could admit it.

S̶̨̹̥̲̗̯͔͉̪̙̺͉̻̒ͅͅO̴͚͉̔̉́ ̸̧̪͎͌̿͂C̷͕̮̯̠̽̄̒Ư̸̧̖̺͔̫͓̜͎͚̩̭̱̝̄̔̀͐̚͠T̷̢̡̤̻̱͔̞͎̻͛̓̍͜Ḙ̴̢͇̞̖̤̓̇̈́͋͌͝͠ͅ,̶̜̈́͊͒͐̓̾̉̎̈́̀ ̵̟̈́ͅṮ̴̖̘̮̺̹̂̾͂̌͋̆̚R̴̳̭̹̻͔̥̖̂̏͂͂͋̓̃̔͒͜͝Ÿ̸̛̯̯̟͔͖͓̰͈̰̗̀̈̊ͅÎ̵̝̆͊̚N̶̨̡͈̙̮̬̲͊̎̄̌͑G̸̲̝̭͉̬̠̪̗̩͖͇͚̋̾̈͒͑̈́̔͑͛͐́͐͘͝ͅ ̸̢̝͈̣̜̳̰͎̫̖̙̫̳̔̾̐́̆̋̒͛̓̊̚T̷̨̬̳̹̜̳͉̏͛̂͜O̵͉̟̤̪̣͉̽̒̉͒̆̓̃͂̏͋̽͗̕͘ ̸̧̢̧̡̛͈͖̦͕̟͇͖͇͇̯̞̌̐͐̈̉̂͒̎̕͝͝K̴̥̫͎̬̠̹̏̍́͜E̷̛͎̳͚͎̺̖͆̓͋̀͂͂̉̕͘͝Ȩ̴̡͎̠̳̱͍͔̟͍̝̩̘̋̽́̔̍̉̂̐̋̌̀P̸̩͇̠̠̦̟͍͎̼̩̩͔̓̑̊̇́͑͝ ̴̯̖̲̜͖̦́̐̃̾̐̍͝Ủ̵͈̳̩̤̼̤͗͌̃̇͊̓̄̈́̈́͠͝Ś̵͕̜̳͚̝̳̪͒́́̽̈́̉͐̚ͅ ̶̫́͐A̸̼̗̼͕̹̹̹̬̠͎̭͙͌͋͑̐ͅȚ̸͠ ̴̬̞̦̲̝͉͚̮̭͗̎͝B̶̠̣̹̎́̈́̌̋̈́̐̈́͗̾͘̚A̵͔̗͋̾̈́̇̈́̋ͅY̸̧̛̳̯̣̫̯̻̗͈̌̀̂͜ͅ                     L̸͓̥̪̤͓̥̮̜̖̱̐̌I̷̢̧̥͚̮̟̩̪͔̤̠͖̮̐̐̾͌̄̃̊͋̇̐̚̕ͅÁ̸̜̫͎̼͍̪̱͇͓̖̱͈̉̓̈́̓̐̀̓̋͝R̷̡̺̰̫͙̭̣͓̃̑̏̾̇̏͒̎̂̀̓̚                                                                                                          Ä̷̡̛̽́̈́͋͌͋D̶̖̲͙̱̫̗͓̪̰̓̉̅̄͑́̑̋̇̐̀ͅÁ̷̻̺̬̩̼̳̤͉͛͐͊̓̿̏͐͐̕̕M̵͉̤͇͈̜͉̏͊̒͂̈ ̵͎̱̭̖̝̊̀ͅW̶͓͎͉̟̲̬̬͕̕A̸̦͔͔̙̩̦͂̈̓̈Ï̵̫͂̽͛̄̾́̾̎̃̓T̸̡̨̧̟͕̠̙͎̝͍͚͑̃́̊͛̅̕ͅS̷̢͍̪̰̤̽̀̅͛̂͌̓͛̈͒̉͝͝ ̷̧̘̗̮̤͉͊̑̍͐̕͝ͅF̵̭̮́͠O̶̰̣̮̻͎͂̄̍̄͒̍͌͌͌̀͠Ř̵̢̢̧̨̧̙͖̼̰͈̠͋̿̉̾̆̀̀̆̐͘̕͜͝͝͝ͅ ̵̻̼̠̠̇͂̑͛̈̊͂̈́́͂͗L̸̛̪͎͓̙̲͎̩̤͈̅̆͘͘̕͜ͅͅỊ̴̣̺̊͋̀́͠L̷̡̳̟̹̪̍́̽̈̋̈́̈́̏̽̃̀͗̌̅̕Į̸͔͔̜̪͂̅͐̐̒͋Ṯ̷̢̡͕͖̦̠͚̜̩̘̆́́͗̒̄̋̃̑̽̓̔̑H̶̨̩̣͎͖͕͖͓̺̹̭̦̓̓̀̇̈́͒͜͝               F̸̩̟̻͎̦̹̫͛̈́̆̇̔͑͌̑̅͘͘͜ͅA̶̡̡̯̘̝̺͈͇͓̮͚̬̻̰̮͛̿͆͛̓̽̑́̕͘T̸̡̤͈̥͇̺͔͍̹͔̮̩͇̣̂̓̈̓̃͑̆̌̽͒̂͘͘͝H̴̬̙̗̖̫̻̓̐͋́̊͗̓Ḙ̴͕̪̭̼͕̌͛̈́́̇̎̎̇Ȓ̴̡̨̡̜̙̲̪̮͎̼͋͌͑̉̈́̌̀̍̀͘ ̴̖̱͖̼͚̟̣͍̏͑͂̋̽̋͂́͜Ǵ̶̫̫̥̦̀̾́R̶̨̢̡̜̠̬͕̙̝̃̀̈́͂͒͠͠O̴͇̺̟̳͇̖̱͔̿̓W̸̮̭̤͇̫͝S̷̭̻̰̮̗̜͙̙̑͑͊͑̑͐͐̿̐͠ ̸̧̛̗̬͇͓̥̙̦̠̺̈́̀̂̌̕̕̕̕͘ͅĨ̷̢̘͉͙̮͈͉̗͚̮͖̦̕͝ͅM̸̢̼͔̪̤͋ͅP̵̨̛̪͉̏̃̃́͂̅̔̽̅͘͜Ầ̷̡̨̹̞͔͙̖̬̫̥̝̤̓͗̀̏̌̌̚͜Ț̵̗͉̬͖̹͕̖͉̝̔͑̀̈̒̎̀̿̂͋̂̎̕͝͠Í̵̡̳̻̯̩̪̣̭̎̃̌̑͋̚͜Ȩ̸̜̩̦̭͉̠̤͉̬̠͓͗̋͌́̃̌̾̀͜͝Ṅ̴̬͑͆̅̈́͛̐̇͋͘͝͝͝T̷̛̯̯̯̣̬̫͔̻̣̖̥͔͙͐̐̎̈́,̵͚̈́̄̏̈́̋́̀̇͒̒̿̾̚̕͝ ̵̤̠͓̹͙̈̏̄̆̏͆̍͌̈́̂̅̑͠S̶̢̤̥̘͓̻̟̪̲̲͕̱̫͒̏͂̃̄͗͑̌̃̂̑̇̈͠Á̷̜͚̩̫̙̘͙̩̺̼M̵̡̧̝͙͓͉͉̫̝̯̜̱̮͈̹̍̀͊͘Å̵̡̖̤̈́͒̔͛̀́̔̉̒͋̏͘Ę̶͙̟̲͔̖̟͚̜̋L̴̢̛̘̻̞̫̺̲̞͎̹̟̤̾̎͋͆͜ͅ

L̷͍̼̭͒̃̚Ę̵̦̹̩̜̀̄͜͝Ţ̴̡̮̳̬̫̱̺̭͇͖̬̿̄͜ͅ ̴̜͕̩̤̟̣̘̥̪̙̝̈́̏̍̃͒̀͊́͘͝Ų̶̦͈̤̻͕͕͓͇͔̙͚͔̉̓̾̀̆̀̋̈́̈́̚̕S̶̤̋̀͊́̇͘͠͝͝ ̸̧̛̻͎̪͖̗̺͈̦̠̣͎͕̌̊͗̐̃̅̐̑͝ͅP̴̛̺̩̪̻̲̣̖̺̮͇͇̒̍͆̈́͒̏̊̀̉̄̍̀̈́̃ͅL̶̛̰͈͓͙͎̯̯̔͊ͅA̵̡̬̗̗̲̗̗̲̗͒̌̀̋̏͛̀̔Y̸̛͎͗̿͑̄̄̀͘͠,̸̛̜̙̭̾̆̊͑̋̓́͑͊͑̾̑͝ͅ ̶̨̘̰̠̤͉͉̐͗̈́̔̽S̸̢̨̛̱̘̱̣̰̳͐͛̽̅͌̇̈́̚̕͜Á̸̢͖̙̈́M̷̲̯̾̑̿̚͠Ầ̸̫̟͇̪͓͕̜͇̤̘͊̅̏̀͠Ę̵̡̡̧͕̥͔̘̞̗̯̞̋͗̂͂L̸̡͚͉͕̒̉̋͗͆̄͋̀̋͂͠                                                                  Y̷̢͔̐͑̒͗̎̂͒̍̂͘ͅǪ̸̖͈̩̗͎͓̯͖̞͇̾̾͂̿͜͜͠U̶͈͂̍̿̑̉̃̅́͂͊̈́͝͝ ̶̫̃̓̿̅͝C̸̛͍̒̍Å̸̧̭̖̻͓̬͕̌͊Ṋ̵̨͍͔̠̗̯̮́̾̅́͝'̴͍͑̐͆̃͛̑̂̍̚Ț̷̨̞̗̟͉̟̉̿́͌̈́͘ ̷̝͖̹̜̫̲̼̝̝̜̂̇̎͒̀K̷̨̮̝͍̹̠͎̙̟͖̙͆̈́͑̅͠Ë̶̢̧̥͓͉͈̹̫̯̖̼̞̺̟͓́̐̈́͌̒͆̀̽͒̒͝Ȩ̸̡͎̹̹͕̳̩̗̠͈͈̮̲̒̈͑̊͜͠͝P̵̡͇̝̼̻͕̬̙̖̺͍̠̿́̍̕͜ ̵̮̤̮͍͇̦̳̂̊Ú̵̢̞͖̗̠̺̫̪͔͈̿͐̅̋̎͜͝S̶̜̙͖͕̖͈͙̬̳̘̼̙͐̃̉̏̈̔͆̄͛̀̿͝ͅ ̸̞̼̜͗͗͂̓̅͂̀́͂̈̔Ơ̷̧̨̧̨̳̮̟͚̹̹̟̰̈́̋̾͊̂͋̓̍̕̕ͅͅU̸̦̬̽̀̒͛̎͌̐́̂̽̏̏T̸̢̧̛̞̗̼̞̠̜͇̗̱͖̠͈̙̏͌̏̊̎̽͊̏̑̀̽̚͠ ̶̡̤̫̩͖̳̜̫̮͇͕͊̉̆̅͆̾ͅF̴̧̢̨̮̮͓̱̰͓̪̯͚̖͉͖́͊͗̑̉͊̌̈́̚O̶̡̪̦̙͈̯̤͎͆̾̀̑͜ͅR̵̢̞͍͔̠͂́̂͊͂̈́̓͝͠ ̶̥̝̗̣̳̯̊̽̔̋͌͛̆́̄̒̏̂̈́̅͠L̵̨̤͔̫̭̓̓̂̍̓O̴̭̥͔̺̱̩͈̗̠̩͖̟͕̞͐͑̒̅͛́̃͊̑͛̀̚͝͝Ņ̵̲͙̫͍̼͍͕̦̻͑̓͑͒͝G̶̛̥̊̅̇̓̅̏̏͛̌̊̕͠                Y̴̡̱̘̣̰̳͚͘͜Ŏ̴̡̦̤̖̯͕̙̳͂̈́̏͒͒̊͐̀͋̏̕ͅŲ̴̢̠̣̻̣̲̟̼͕̟͎͆̍̀͂͂́̎̃̏͆͒̐̕'̴̡̤͉̻̇͂̿͝R̵̢̛̟̜̰͕̜͎̄̔̏͒̀̃̀͒͑̒̃̃͗̚ͅE̸̖̲̼͇̪̙̱͐̄̉͜ ̵̢̱̯̲̗͚̰̪͎̯̩̱̫͖̄͂̾̒͛̈̑̾̀̽̍̍͘̕B̵̤͚̳̯̏͌̌̎Ǘ̸͙̜̰͓̱̼̗́̚͠T̸̫̟͕̱̿̄̍̂͒̽̿̽́̾̅͝ ̶̛̬̱̖̅̄̑̈̓͂̽̇̒̇̕͝A̸̛̘̮͍͚̙̟̼̩̞̪̽͊̀̾̎̍̈́͌̄͑̀̽͜͜͝ͅ ̷̗͉̞̠̙̲̬̮̦͉͈̦̯̘̀̍͆̓̽̿̏́̊͆͘͠ͅH̴̨̨̙̖̭̲̘͔̗̙͍̩̮̙̫͋͋Ư̵͕̟̲͇̜͇͙͖̠̲̼̫͓̫̄͗͝S̴̢̨̛̲̩̥͇͕͖̖̜̦̹͇̙͒͛͆̿̀͝Ķ̵̢̨̙̦̘̖͈̞̣̝̟͕̟̂̂̍̓̂̈́̚ ̴̢̛̞͚̲̱̳̞̺̋̆̾͊̂̒̂̈́̓̔̆͑͘͝Ǒ̴͈͎̗͇̞̺͔̅̐̐͠F̵͎̝͚̣̞̰̫͉̠̠̊̈́̐͜ ̴̢̼̭̺͍̟̣̺̞̖̞̯̮̀̊̇̓͌͆̌̌͐Ţ̵̬̞͍̘̰̗̝̰̹͉͇̻̈́̃̐̏͒͒̋͝Ḧ̴̡͔̻͍͖̹̖̦̞̠́̂͐̋͛͛̃͠E̵̞͖̼̰͉̼̅̃̕ ̴̹̯̱̈̌L̶̛͔̼͚͓̗̠̭̙̄̎͂͋̏͑̚̚͘͘I̷̧̛̻͖̥̮̞̟͐̉́̉̾̓̓͛̽̿̕͝͠G̸̢̦̩̰̤̼̼̱̲̰̈́̀̂̽̈́̄̒̄͆́̒̎̀̃̚͜H̶̼͇̣̹͖͇̰͋T̷̢̞͖̻͕͎͉͉̫̩̰͉̉ ̶̦̩͔̠̖̤̪̥̭̠̰̥̰̇̐̄̾̎͆̚ͅŸ̵̨̨͎̣͖̹͎̬̳͓̖͔̍̇̋̓̓̅̎̚͝͠Ò̵̢̯͉̤̻͗̾̌̿̿͌͛̋͝͝U̷͕̹̟͕̯̼̼̲̘̖̺͕̭̇̋͛͋ ̸̛̱̩͖̜̙̱͇̮̱͚̞̗͔̾̒̽̄͊́̅̿͊̔̚ͅO̶̧͎̪͍̩̱̫̗̟̖̹̯͗̄̊̅́̄͗̊͋̾̿͠N̴̠̠̆̽̓͘C̸͇̣̳̣̟̥̥͉̜̳͎̎́͊͐͆̓̋̚È̷̫̝̤̂̈͜͝ ̴̩̮̣͖̭̗͕̑̈̇̿͗̍̈́̕͜W̶̡̞͖̙̫̣͊E̵̛̖̘̘̗͗̄̽̿̃̓̑̌͒̐̚͜Ŗ̷̧̼̰̬̤̣̗̩̱̰̥̏̓̇̿͜E̴̛̗̠͖̭̽̀͗͒̉͝          W̸̧͎̯̙̖̻̙̗͙̳̜͕̤͍̭̅͑̑͛̇̂͠Ę̵̼̘̯̼̺̻̱̖̘̲̠̣̮͑̈̆̂͛̑̑̐̕͜͝ ̴̢͍̞̝̘͍͎͉́͜M̵̢̖̲͚̙͈̯̰͍̭̝͉̹̞̦̍̊̔̅͑̈́̔͊̓Ì̵̢̡͙̟̬̻̺̙̼̯͚͖̰̝S̷̙̻̖̝͌͂̍̽̈͌̇͗͊͠S̷̢͍͙̱̝͎͒͋̏̀͐̓̇̃̚̚ ̷̢̞̂̊͘͘Y̶͔͈̠͚̠̩̯̺͐̊̃͆̇͑͂̕Ǒ̵̥̝̼̳̙͖͗͊̀̀̔̐̀̉̏͝U̸̡̡̠̘̖̝̬̲̮̝͔̤̼̓̉̑̃̿̈́̏̅̀̈́ ̴͍̯̠͔͕͎̦͎̀̃̈͗͌̏̈́̔͆̌̏̓̅̅Ş̴̡̝̫̱̗̮̹̬̖̞͔͕̲͗̽̈̄͘͝Ȁ̷̛̝͉̙̺̖̪͓̳͓̼̜̩̍̓͋͠ͅM̸̢̦̘̦̹̼͕͖̼̟͍̤͕̊͝Ä̸̟̲͚̱̣̠͎́͒͊̋̐̓̔̀̚͜Ȩ̶̯̗̟͍̱̠̪̮̫̳̈́̎̔̊̌̚͜ͅL̸̳͖̹͖͍̐̔̉̏̓͋̄̿͑͝                                                 

Pride. The curse, the metaphorical shackles that chained Lucifer to Father's whim. He physically couldn't ask for help.

Doing what opposed their sin took considerable effort and power, but Lucifer used all of his energy to keep the winged bastards from infiltrating their homes. 

Extermination Day is the single break, albeit a reluctant one. He despised the Exorcists, or exterminators as they're commonly called. They were former human souls turned into toy soldiers, devoid of choice and sentience. They had no feelings, meaning no risk of betrayal. 

"Dad?"       

                                                                Y̷̹͑̉̏̊̇͂̀Ơ̶̧̥͚͓̹̞̙̲̊́̔̓͂̑͛́̈́̀̊̈́́̕͜ͅỮ̵̡͎̫̰͍̣̬̗̽̓̐͆̒͂͑̾̕̕ͅ ̵̞͎̻͚̩̲̝͉̅́̏͌̑̃̓̾̿̀̄͠Ŗ̴̡͈̱͈͚̭̤̘̹̼̬̀̓̈̓̌̊͐͘̚U̵̯̓̌̀̕͝I̴̗̜̞͂̽̀̂̔̓̓̑̽̆̚̕͝Ṋ̶̲̤͎̐̃̒̈̚ ̵̣͓̱̮͍̟̦̫̥̀̀́͊̈́̾̋̅̒̊̊̿̾͝͝Ę̶͈͖͕̥͓̠͖̤̮̦̳̮͂̃̒̌͑̈́̌̈͘̚͘̕V̸̤͇̭̠̌̀̾͛̎́͗Ê̷̢̖͕̜̫̝͐͊̀̂͜R̷̡̢͔̤̜̤̱̖̻̲̞̦̿̉̆̽́̆̄̃͘Y̸͈̫̦̝̬͉̠͎͕̣̻͗̎̊͠T̶̡̟̮͎̬̗̱̺̎͜H̷̢̢̢̠̦̣͓̫͖̳̝͈̮̰̄͌̈́̎̋̐̔̑͋̋̀͑͛͠Į̷̨͚̲̞̝͔́̅͐̈́̇̈́̇̊̀̋̐̂̈́́̚ͅN̶̲̞̼̣͚͕̗̞͌͂̽̐̇̒͆͋͗̈̃̇̚̚Ǧ̸̨̧̡̢̛̖̬̐͛̆͋ͅ                      W̵̨̡̛̥̞̤͖̿́̄̅̇̔̇̕͝H̸̢̲͔̜̯͓̺͛Ä̴͈̞̘͔͍͈͎͕̼̭̬̟́̀͜T̶͎̱̮̳͔̺͔̖̯̃͠ ̷̡̢͕͍͕̙̮̗̮̘̋̑̊̓͗̽͘Ẅ̷̨̨̤̞̩̟̦̩̻̬̞̤̰͆̏̓̿̇͂͆͋̇̌̐̽̅͝Ò̸̢̯͔̪̜̓͛͆̔͗͌͠͝Ṋ̴̢̪̲̦͎̲̮̥̘̿'̷̢̨͍̞͎̯͕̯̏̂̀̂̚T̴̜̯͍̲̱̟̮͇͓̥͊̐͂̈́̈́͂̏̅̀̆̆̀͌̓͠ ̸̛̲̳̀̆͌͗̆͋̆́̒̊͒̅͝K̷̘̥̲͚̪̬̙̥͓̮̘̫̮͕͎̔͗̾Į̴͕̭̳͕̖̹̺͕͖͑̎̾̅̔̄͝Ļ̸̛̘̱̞͇̳̠̙̲̟͇͎̱̇̔̒̀̋̏̏̈́̎́̆͘͘͝L̵̪̦̥͓̖̣͈̙̼̗̝̯̙̞̈́̚ ̴̘̭̦̪͎̹͖̳̥̿͂̐ͅY̵̨͖͕̬̟̙̰͚͖͈͉͛̆̋̈́͗͋͛̈́̊̍̔̚̕̕͜͜Ö̸̳̠́̊U̸̻̤̠̝̜̿̋͆̑̽̎͋̏̑̈,̸̡̡̭͔̘̓̑̒̈̀̽͛̇̀̿͠ͅ ̷̙̹̦̭̣̇͗̒̾̉͆̅̚͜͜D̷̛͍̠̝̹̄̌I̶̭͚̤̦̳̫̖͍̯͔͈͌̋͗S̵̺̪̜̼̩̜̗̘̩͊͊̇̃̔͊͒̍́͋͑͘̚͠A̸̡̨̛͔̜̣̱͕̳̬̟̎̂͝ͅP̶̨̢̯̮̰̼͈͇̙͙̖̟̊͜P̷̧̖͚͉͚̰̖͎͍̭̻̈͒̽͌̂̍̉͒̈́̈́̑̒̀͝O̶̢̢̗͔̠̬̤͆͐I̴͍̞̲̬͇̋̄̃͑͂̍͂̋N̶̡̗͈̼̘̫͙̟̩̋́́̈́̈́̔̂́̕T̷̨͈̟́͒̆̕͜ͅS̵̨͉̠̹̰͓̰̦̮̜̣̲̐̂̋̑͂̌̑́̇͘͠͝ ̵̟̮̪̙̟̻͙̹͗͊̉̆͊̄̊̈́͘͘U̴̟̝̞̲̦͙̣͍̺͉̤̘̳̗̣͗̄̋͗͊̀͛̆̉͂̐̀̀S̷̡̹̠̤̗̙͎̻̺̙̲̰̤̉̈̃͑́̋̈̌͆̈́̏                                                      F̷̰͎̭̹̙̺̀͛Ą̴̯͎̮̪̹̱̔̾͊̀ͅṮ̸̗̼̮̬̮͍͉̩͉̃̄̓̍̔̈́̒̚͠ͅͅH̸̗̰̼̋̓͂̌̐͛̄̚͝ͅȨ̸͕̦͚̹̞̳̼̩̜̯̬̙͍̏̾Ŗ̶̥̖̜̲͕̩̟̙͓̮̯̣̬̹̅̄̅͗ ̶̢͎͎̫̘̘̦̟͖̙̜͓̀́̀L̷̪͋̀̓͝O̶̲̦͕͐̏̽͂̐̊̉͆̓̏̉͘͜V̴̨̢͎̞͇̟̝̭̤͍̄̓̋̇͒͑̈́̉̇̽̓͊̀͝È̷̖͉͎̼̯̙̯̝̻S̵͓͕̃̏̆̽͒̆͐̑͝͝ ̶̗͖̏̄̆̐̊̊̌̈͒̒̈͘͠͝Y̷̥͊̃̐̓Ơ̵̡̨̠͔͕̲̻͙̮̂̀͑̀̔͐̕͝U̷̜̺̫̣̹̟̖̪̺̠̐̂̒͂̊̃͒̀̚͘͜͝,̷̜̞͔̖̺̠̭͙̭͎̱̙͈͗̓̅̀͛̃̿ ̶̦̮̘̥͚̠̹̗͈̞͑̈̆̈̏̍̍͜Ŝ̴̫̺̳͇̗̤͌̈́͑̒͗̏̇̋̈́͋̓ͅÅ̶͉̿̒̋̓͊͠Ṁ̷͖͖̝͇̪̣́͝Ȁ̵̟̥͙̠̠͎̈́̓̓̓̀̈́͌̂̕͠E̶̱͇̒̈́̽̈̑͗L̸̨̬̤͎̼̗̀̆̃͛̀͑̓̓̏͐̈́͂̏͘                        S̵̨̱̗̘̤͒̒̊̑̕Ḩ̶̛̻̝̞̻̘͕͕͕͓̹̈́̅́͌̀͜Ė̴̡̡̧̛̜̮̖̹̭͇̺͚̠̃̒͊͐̀̑̓̚̕̕͝͝ ̷̛̛̪̹̞̼̲͋̀̃͑̑́̓̒͐̍́͜ͅC̵̡͈͍͙̱̭͒̑̅́̽͐́̐̎́͜͜͠Ȃ̷̡̢̢̡̮̦̙̝͎̗̪͇͉̠̆͒̅̈́̚͝͠Ņ̷̧̳͕̪̩̹͈̖̮͙̞͒̏̈́̍̆͌͒̀̅̀̕͝͝͝ͅṊ̵͓͓͖̱́̃O̴̤͙̻̞͚̙̖͙͙͔̘͕̽̈́̀̍̀͆̿͘͜Ţ̴͍̦͖͙̦̜̎̈́̊͒ ̵̖͈̩̖̪̦̞̼̻̞̠͉̲͋͗ͅͅƯ̶̢̨̥̘͍͚̤̜͔̹͍̯̑̌̀̏̑̐̉̉̒͜͝Ñ̷̨̲̼͊̓̄̌̈͊̉D̶̨̝̟̗̺̙̰̖͔͖̲̬̔̈́̽̎͗͊̂͗̕͝O̶͎͍͚̝̠͎̭͕͉̤͔̙̝̦͐̓̇̀͑͂̄̕͘̚͝ ̵̠̹̩̆̐̈́̋W̴̧̯̩̗̺̲̯͓̖͕̌͆̏H̵̡̛̩̗̪͚̥͌͆̄̈́̈́͌̎̓͘ͅͅÀ̵̛̛̫́͛̇̈́̊̑̒̒͘͠T̵̜̆ ̴̪̘͇̝̗́̿͛͌̿̄Ỵ̷̺̰̘͐̆̎͊̆͂͂̿̓̌̀͗͝͠ͅÓ̷̤̹̪̗̺̰̹̲́͛U̸̬̼̠͉̺͙̒́̅̋͝'̸̨̢̺̯̹̺̤̰̺̻̓̓͑̉̊̐̅V̸̭͈̥̰͉̤̳̝̯̮͈̄̏̃͊̿́͒̇̄̍͋ͅE̷̪̭̔̃̒͐ ̶̧̞̙͎̇͂͊̅̋̈́̕D̷̢͐̄͌̈́͑̈́̀͝Ơ̵̫͚̭͖̤̞̜̲̲̯̘̤̑̎͊͘̕͠͝N̴̨̧̰̤͕͕̖̺̼̺͉͎̓̊E̸̠̅̃̅̌̉̾͐̌̈́̕͘͝

            Y̷̢̨̠̹͎̍͊͊̓̿̎̾Ơ̸̧̧̛̛̦͛̆̏̀͒̇̊͘̚͝Ų̸̢̱̪͚̺̲̩̹͔̗͚̠̀ ̵̳̀͛͊̎͆̾͘D̶͍̭͔͊̏̒̈́̿̍͗̔Õ̶̯̭̰̣̰̣͔̣̐͛͠N̴̲̰̰̠̒͛͒̆̿̌̀͘͠͠'̷͕̱̻̗̅̎̂̿̌̔͝͝T̶̡̨̡̮̯̘̳̯̩̦̬̱̩̃̽͋̔̄́̾̀̓͜͜ ̴̗̖̓̀́̈́͝Ḑ̵̦̙̖̗̙̝̓̄̔E̴͔̳͉̳͎͚̯͋̂͆S̶͖͚͔̤̬̹̥͎͔͖̙̫͍̋͑̑̐Ę̵̡̡̧͔̪̺̭̦͓͚͐̍̀̽̈́̑̍̉̐̋̓R̶̡͇͙̥͚͉̻̫̺̻̬̬̍̆̓̑͜͠͠V̶̥̖̾̆̄͐̓̃E̸̪̖̭̠͎͒̊̀͆̋̓̀̀̈́̈̍͐͝͝͝ ̵̡̭̫͔̦͚̎̇͋̓̾͜T̵̛̗̟͔͇̩̺̆͗̌̊̃͝Ơ̵̫͍̲̪̞͎̠͉͙̜͔͚̝̆̊͗̀̑͊͋̈̈̚͝ ̷̡͈͈̗̜͍͕̣̲͉̬̟̠̙̣͗̀̉B̴̧̺̦̰̖̦̟̖̞͌̅̋̆̈͊̚Ȩ̴͎͔͉͈͖̦̣̦̳͈̋̈́̓̇̌̅̑̒̈́̿ ̸̝̱̭͕̫́́͠Ą̷̡͖̥̮̰̱̳̮̇̽͊͑̋̓́͝ ̶̫͇̭͆F̸̛̛͈̗̈́̓̒̍̆͋̅́̅͑Ẩ̵̧͍̮͔͔̣͍̠͕̽̚ͅT̶̛̛͔̰̺̫̞̙̮̉̐͆̇̓̒̅̅̕H̵̩̲͔́̓̾̌͋̀̏̋̈́͌̾ͅȨ̵̗͉̭̭̖̦̦̜̻̉R̶̡̢̻̤̪̭̭̫̳͔̞̤͇̼͒̊̋̿̌̑̒̍̽̆͘͜͝                                                        Ḽ̶͕̲̠̩͎͒ͅͅI̵̢̛̠͙̮̝̥͆̉̌͒͊̀͆̿́̅̕͝À̵̠̰̥̦̻͓̙̣͎̭̈́͋̂̽̓͂͌͠R̷̛̯̘̞̫̬̜͉͇͔̊͐̌̃̒̃̆̈́͒̍̐͘͜                                                                          Ş̴̧͖̟̰͍̬̻̳͉̝̯͋͜͜Ḩ̴͎͍̼̰͍̜͎̲͍͎͋́̔̈͐̃Ė̸͙̱̖͙̝̗̜̿̏͑̅͑͊́̏́̾ͅ ̴̺̥̠͉̭͉͉̻̼̬̞͊͑͑́̾̈́̔͆̈́̀͛͜͝B̶͕̳͕͕̯̟͙̦̭̜̙͎̆̉̓̂̅̌̂ͅĚ̶̡̪̞̮͂͠Ĺ̸̡͕̠͈̲̘̙͍̘̭̘Ǫ̷̪̮̮͔͍̘̬̯̏̾̑̀̒̈́N̴̡̨͉̫͇̭̯̹̉̒̓̚͜G̸͓͖̰͉̟̬̬̯͙͉̹̔͊͆̌̉̏͆̉̇͆̚͜Ṣ̷̽̋̓̐̒̒͠ ̴̟̞̤̲̝̼̟̙̜͚̰̣͕̏̉̿́̎́͂̈́͜͜͝H̶̫̹͚͌̈̃̓͐̓̈̿̂͝Ó̴̪̜̆̎̀̃͂͆̌̕M̵̰̰̝̖͔͊̈͋̿ͅĘ̷̟͈̺̠͈̝̮̫̣̺͓̺̒̂̍̀̌͊̇͌̑̈̽͒͌̕͝

Ẁ̶̙̗͉͈̳̖̤̠̬͐̉̌̊́̎̇͊̐͛̄͌̍ͅE̶̖̜̾̌̅'̵̫̤̯̳̭̺͇̽̅̆̽̐͝R̴̨̼̩͔̞̉̈́̈͐̎̐͐͗́ͅÈ̶̖͍̹̗̱̯̞̠̩̞̭̪͍͑̀͘̚ ̴̢̨̧̺̹͈̮̙͆Ç̶̖͙̘̊̆̅̆̓͊̅̾̈̑͐̆͐̕͜͠Ơ̶̡̘͉̼̤̭̟͙̮̤͕̈̏̆̿̋̑̓̾̃̌̋̚̕͜͠ͅM̸̛͉̘̣̲̦̜̬̭̝̟̲̱̽̀̂̇́̓̒̒̇͑͜͠͠͠I̶̢̧̡̹͔̩̦̱̦̿̍̈́̀̔̇̂͗̎͒̊̚N̷̜͇̉̈́̽̈̓̉̿̔͗͗̿͆̕͘G̵̛̛̗͙̱͙͔͔̖̪͈͈̐̈́͐͛͂̐͌̍̎̉̅͘͝                                                                      Y̴̟͇̰̥͍̊̃̇̍̅͊̍́Ọ̴̥͇̠̈́̅͝U̷̧̠̮͎̤̯̙̹̭͊̎̀̌̚̚͝'̵̢̧͉̻͔̻̻̘̬̰̙̥͗͋̅͐̀̔̉̄̚̚̚͜͜ͅL̷̛͈͕̤͔̻̫̀͌̈́L̶̰̃́̀ ̸̡͖͖̳̱̘̪̠͈̲͙̠̰̑͑̾͊́̂̈́̋̿̏̑̈̑͑́J̴̡̬͍͈̭͎̙͑̔́͆̊̇͂̈͑͘͜U̶̘̯͕̒͌͗͜S̶̛̛͇̲̫̗͍̜͉̒̆̇̃̈̈́ͅͅT̷̘̼͍̳̠̤̝͒͗̀̓̈̕ ̴͍̩͗̇̊̏̈́͝͠Ḩ̶̫͕̠̗͇͆͛̈̇̈́̒̓̏͂̇̓̌̏͘͘Ŭ̷͕̥̺̰͚͈̤͉̙̹̥͕̞͂̅̓̀̔̆͊̌̿͑̿͝ͅR̸̜̘̳͙̃͗̆́̆̈́̔̔̕͠T̴̻̘̪̯̙̺̼͑ ̴̡͙̩̫̱̠̻̦̻̯̉͋H̸͉̹̩̖̝̿̽̅́̊̉͜͝ͅE̵͙͍̗͌R̶̲̗̞̥̖̼̮̫̰̍͌͊͆͂̃̿̔͊̀̊̈́̽͋͝ͅ ̸̛͉̯̗̼͇̄̃A̴̧̗̺̹͍̰̎͆̄͌̋͊̿͘͘ͅG̴͎̣͍̫͈̯̻̉̒̂͜͝͝ͅÅ̴̖̮̫̣̌̈̓͐̂͂̏̆̒̎̾͑Ĭ̸̫̮̳̐́̑̇̈́̚Ñ̸̙̖̯͉̘̖̠̻̜̗̜͐͆͋́̎̕̕͝ ̷̢̮͚̟̫̥͉̹̙̝̲̤̩̔̀̆̾́̎                                                B̷̨̗̖͔̄̈̌͌A̵̮̣͊̈́́͠S̸͔͈̬̜̮̭̦̘͉͈̜̳͕̈́́̄̏̓̂͘͜͠T̷̡̧̥̖̼̱̝͙̤͖̺͇͐̐̈̅̀̾̃͜ͅA̷̜̬̱̩̭̜̮̋R̶̘̼͇̙̹̗̜̂̀́̂͂̀̉͆̀́͂̒̕D̶̛̰͔͇͖̳͕̱͔̣̦̘̱̆̀̅̎̉́͗̾̕͜ ̸̡̡̙̙̻̲̮͎̫̘̲̐͜͜͜B̷̡̨̛̲̗͎͚ͅO̶̥̠̬̮̦͉̓͒̆́̈́̌͑́͌̂͑̅̕ͅR̸̨̧̧̹̪͕̹̖̱̈́̊͜͠Ṇ̸̬̫̝͖̬̆̂̅͆̏͗̽͊̆͑̓̚͠                                                        W̵̛̘͇̥̬̒̉͆͌́̐̒̑͛̚͠͠H̵̢̢̪͔͔̻̱͔̗̰̲͔̄̂Y̶̡͚̭̭͈̥̱̹͕͆̒̽̀͊̎ ̵̡̡̞̳̖̦̺͍̖̙̎̌̒̃̆͐͜D̶̡̗͙͕͔̰̑͌͐̉̈́͋̎͋̍̽̈͠Ò̵̢̺̼͖̀͋̇̅̉̍́́͋̿͝ͅ ̶̢̧̡͉̫̳̟̰̟̠͖͐Y̸̧̧̧̱̼͇̙̘͇̖̝̼̻̮̾̀̐͑̎̑̕̕̕͝͝Ơ̷͔̮̏̓͛͐̓̿̇͛̊̓̾̚͝Ų̸̻̫͙͎̰̿̈́̀̾̒̊̈̔̽̕͠͠ ̷͈̼̓̂́̂̈̄̉̐ͅH̸̡̢̧̡̞̙̺̦͙̠̟̥̉̍̔͊Ů̶̧̨̡̡̠̤̘͈͈̼̭̦̯̰͗͆̊̓̍̄̾̀͜͠͝R̸͈̰̰̭͔̝̱͓̯̳̎̒́́̿ͅT̴̨̫͍̞̼͍̤̣̼͕͓͑̂̋̒̐̇́͆̆͌̌̈̋ ̶̧̱̱̤̳͚͂͌͘͝Ổ̷̧̡̧̡̪̙͖̜̭̗̤̥̳̤̀͂ͅU̶̟̜̰̪͇̮̾̂͐ͅR̵̺̪̤̠̪͎̘̎͋͒̓̾́͐́̈́̕ͅ ̷̡̨͖̲̱̥̩͈͚͈̝̤̎͊͐̿̅̅͋̉̌͐͐͘F̶̢̡͕͓͎̳̯̖̞̭̈̾̎̽͗͒̿̔̏̈͒̓̒̇͝A̸̛̬̣͚̹̯̰͙̞̾̉̀̽̔̄̃̔̿͘T̸̡̨̙̼̫͇̘̟͓̪̻͚̘͕̞̉̀̋̀̑H̷̊̈́̋͑͑̏̀͒̕͜͝͝͝Ẽ̴̢̱͎̻̟̥̪͔̤̱̤̃̀ͅͅͅR̸̮̤̓̏̿̂̊́̈́͘̚͝?̷̹̪̥̦̺̪̖̰̘̐̊̽͜

The sweet warmth broke through the orchestra of haloed, silver-tongued mosquitos that buzzed in his ears.                                       Ḽ̸̢̛̗̮̼͇̂Ì̸̢̡̳̪̣̫̜̹͉̓͑̽̅̒͋̍̒͒̽͝͝͝ͅA̷̪̭͈͓͕̫͇͎̞̟̩̠̿͐̅̆̈̿̈́̋̚͝͝ͅR̴̨̤̩̱͖̬͖̤̥͖̗̞̟̹̀̃̓͜

He was pulled from the intense aura, wild eyes turning to his daughter, the source of why he bothered to continue existing. 

It couldn't be for long. He needed to keep them away. He wouldn't let them swarm his home.

"Dad...?" Charlotte questioned, unnerved by the dishevelled appearance of her father.

He needed more time to fix trivial things like looks, and he didn't have any to spare. He needed to focus and keep them where they belonged.

They didn't belong in his world. His piece of paradise. A home for the lost and rejected. 

Lucifer stood unblinking, his mind rattled by the hundreds of voices that mocked him, teasing their desires for his baby girl.

                                          Ẏ̴̫̖̘̤̰̱̙̤̮̲̎́Ơ̸͇̝̣̂͐̈̓̃͗̂͊̔̈̿͒̒͜U̸̧̗̣̮͇͌͘͜ ̶̨̛̜͍̭̹̮̣̮͉͙͎͜C̴̥̍͐Á̴̢̛̛̳̱͖̰̩͂͛͑̎̀̄̉̈́͘N̶̗̘͖̳̲̟͚͎̖̰̾̋̌͌̉̊͒͘̕'̷̡̡̤̮̟̠̣͖͓̰̥̞̣̼̟̉̏̊͊͂͌̀̔́̒͆̉̔̄͠Ṱ̶̛̹͈̝͍̫͖́͌́̆̈̂̐̏͛̿͌̾͘ ̸̧̛̞̼̪̘͙̲̆́̓̂̉̔̇͑̋̑̚͘͠P̸͔̤̰̯̟̬̿̓͛̈́͐̈͠R̸̯͓̗̐̃͗̈́O̵̡̨̪͖̜̲͈̅̑̄̏̓͛̈́̏́̌̈́̓̅̓͘T̷̛̞̹͔̗͊̆Ę̴̡̙̭̝͔̞̠̻̖̤̼̔̉̐̿̇̒̀͐̕̕̚͠Ç̸̺̦̫̩͗̐̀͊͂͛̈́̂̒̍̉͆̌͊̕T̶̺̆͒̅̉͘͠ ̵͈̤̬̟̗̉́Ḧ̸̡̧̧̺̯̻͚̗̭̠̼̘̞͎̳́̈́̕͠E̸̡̧̟̩̻̙̰̰͓̞̖̺͂͒̈̔̽͜R̸̻̣̈́̔̄̏̍̂̉͛͂̆̉̈́̕͠ ̵̢̨͉͉̫̘̬̮̟͖͉͓͛̃̍̄̃͘͜ͅF̸̣̰̥̼̻͆͆̄̉̿Ŗ̶̨̰̱̜̹̹̾͊̏̀̊̉̿͛͛̒͛̏̕̕ͅÖ̷̼͈͍̺̮̟͓̰́̎̊͛̈́̐̌́̚M̵̛̭̩̞̲̻̭̠͖̝̲͍̀̏͌̇́̃͆̐͝͝͝ ̴̖̹̦̯̰̤͚̮̼̥̳͖̞͝Ỳ̵̨̛̫͈͉O̴̧͛̅̀̈́̌̅̍̀̔Ŭ̶̧̪͍̫̙̬͈̤̦̫̯͚̞͈͕̽͑͒̃̈̓̓̃̽̃̊̎͘̚R̸̜̓̎̽̽̌̐́͒̉́͆̐͘S̷̨̧̼̘̞̥̰̬̦͖̭͔͙̰͋̈̒̌̐͘͘̕͜Ę̴̤̝̤̫̞͐̒̓L̶͕͙͕͚̱̤̣̩̤͈͙̩̤̯͌̂̓̈́̒̊̈́̚͝ͅF̵̛̛̦̊̈́̂͑̄̽́̑̃̎͋̿̑                                                                      Ḻ̵̡͎̖̘̘̜̤͖̋͜E̴͓͔̱̱̿̈́͐́̓̏̔̂̎̀̚͝T̶̡̨̨͙̖͈̩̳͚̬̥̪̀̋̔͋͌͌ ̶̮̼͔͍̩̘͉̫͑̽̒̓͌̕F̴̛̻̖̭͈̗̟̊̐̀͊̕Ã̶̛͇̩͈͚̰̟̟͉͙̞̲͑͋̾̽̍̉͗̈̚͜͜Ț̵͈͔̠͙̮̫̩͔̬̭̄̽̌̒̾̃͛̓̽̏͊̊̂̕H̷̨̠͓̄̕E̷̦͚͖͕̞̺͈̼͔̘͆̀̆̏͆̒͒̋̋̀͘͝R̷̙̅͐̏͑̀ͅ ̶̱̾̎͆̒̍̉̽̾̽L̴̢̨̡̛͖͔̞̼̣͇̘͉̫̩̄̔̆̍̒͛̋ͅỞ̵̲͔͒V̷̧̨̤̝̟̟̦͕̯̜̖̬̬̖̍̿̆͌̀́͗̇̌Ë̴̡̨̤̥̠̰͎̠͕̯̤̥̺̟́͑̓̓̃͗̑̀̔̀̚͠ ̸͇̼̗͚̠͔̯̻̮̰̄̏̾́̽͂̓̓̑̚̕Y̷̢̠̲͎̘̹͈̜̣͎͎̟̤͍̹͗̆Ó̴͈̭U̴̲̮͎͗̐͑̿̄͛͘                                                         

      Ļ̶̡̙̟̪͈͈͙̣̜̩͎̫̱̀͠ͅÍ̴̡͉̦̥̥̪̮̄̊̑̈́̉̆͛̿̋̕͘͝S̸̨̮̮͎̥̳͖͉̞̅̽̋͊̈́̂́̈́͂̕͘̚ͅT̵̘̲͇͓̲̰̹̬̂̇̈́̀̇͆͗̽͊̃͗́E̶̛̯̞̞Ñ̶̨͕͚͖͋͝ͅ ̴̨̧̜͇̹͓̜͝ͅF̸̧̛̼̰͙͗̉̂̔Ơ̶͕̠̫̖͉̟͖͕̣̮͔̩̗͎̩̐̋̓͛͌̓́̋́̓͝R̴̺̲̠͑̓͛͐̏͘͜ ̶̠̝̬͚͚̥̭̖͊̏̔͋͗̅̃̄͊̕͜͝Ų̶̻̬̦̐̌͂͐S̷̢̧̺͇̟̱̲̳̙̜̦̳̘͎̔̀̀̾̏͒,̸̢̧̡̛͖̟͍͔̮̬̩̱͚̯͋̈̔̇̅̀͌̕͝ ̵̞̞̫͍̋̄̏͐̃̿͜Ç̵͗̎͒̂͑̓̓̊̀̕H̷͚̺̭̓̑͑̓̾̓͝ͅA̷͖̣̱̎̽̔̌̓́͘̚͝Ř̷̟̞̮̗͍͊̾͂̀̉ͅL̴͇̬͕̳̔̉͒͌̒̏̐͐̿̕͝͝Ǫ̸̲͉̖͖̤̭͔̥̂̔̉̓̒̀̓͝Ṱ̵̡̢͉͍̥̝̜̫͚͓͓̩̜̆̄͝T̵̩̪̯̩̯̲̣͙̑̅͘͜Ę̷̢̲̬͍͉͙̺̒̎

                                                                                                                              Y̶̨̥͕̼̜̘͕͉͇̎̎͑́̎̋̄̈́́̇̑̚͝͝͝Ȯ̸̢͎͒̿̕U̸͙͊̏̑̑̆̚͝͝ ̷̨̨̛͚̰̳̎̽̽͑̓͂̄̽͊͝C̶̤͙̬̔͑̄͛͑̽̿́̈́͌̊̓͝͝Ą̶̠̲̯̲͔̥̯̖̱̀͐Ñ̴̨̡̨͕̪̘̪̬̟̬̗̬͓̻͝ͅ'̵̢̰̦͖̯̬͔̭̀̉̇͊̾͝ͅT̸̛͉̗͉̆͐̿̒̇͋̋̿̉̊̚͝ͅ ̴̨͈͂̒K̶̡̛̪̬̼̮̼͓̳̏͑͋̽̿̔͋̅̀͒̚͠͝ͅE̸̞̎͜E̴̯̫̣͈̜͖̣̣̳̅̑̌͌̂̓̚͘͘Ṗ̴̡̧̢̻̯̲̣̝̩͇̩̘ ̶̧̖͉͖͔̞̹̾̎͐̍̑̇̂̅̈̿̏͒͋͠ͅH̶̺͖̔͆̅͐̍͆͌͗͛͆̕͘Ḛ̴̛̟̦͊̈́́̈̽͂͛̉̃͌̀R̴̟̰̖͇͔̬̭̩͉͔̱̃̈́̍͌̽͆͐̾̆͘͘͠ ̸̼̹̅͌̒̅͐̐̀̉͐F̸͇͈̺̑͑̋̐R̶͎̺͚̦̟̥̱̜͚͔̜̱͑͜Ó̸̳̩̠̺͈͇̰̰͖͕̞̱͖̚Ṃ̶̛͌͑ ̴̢͙̥̥̖̲̹̠̞̜̇̀̎̐̑̓͋͗̈́Ù̴̫̩͇̜̫͎̣̓̉͑͆̄̑͂̈́̐̕͝Ŝ̵̨̨̧̰̫̣̥̬͍̺͕̫͌̍͜ͅ ̴̡̡̖̰̳̠̊̀̓̾̃͐̈̀̉̒̈́̍͜F̵̛̻̗̞̈̄͆̏͛̾̊͒̑̏̄̕̚͜͝Ổ̴͍͕̥͕̫̫̯͇͙̣̮̌̈͌͜͝R̷̢̢̹͉̥̪̦̗̳̖͎̘͆̔̂̌̿̓̆̍̀̀ͅͅE̴̛̘͎̹̠̤͔̖͍͎̗̊̋̂̋͗͛̾̔̀̄̀̚͜͝V̴̡͕̱̳͇́͌̏͋̋̌̎̈́̄͌̆͝͠Ĕ̷̜̙̗̿̅̒̆̍̇̑̀̋͒̕͝͝R̴̨͚̟̦͇͒̃̊͋̆̂̿̈́̾                                                                                    W̸̡̛̱̯̳̹̣̮͉͔̱̣̠͊͗̓̈̽E̵̮̠̜̖͚̭̙̠̬̓͗ ̵̡͍̥̩̱̱̩͚̼͔̱͎͕͋̔̆̈̈́̽̅́͌̋̈̈́͜ͅḶ̴̩̿Ó̴̧̧̬͉̠̙͈V̸̛̦̩̳͕̲̜̺͓̯̥̫̱͐͐͊̉̎͑̆̆̾̊̀̍͜E̴̢̤̮͙̦̺̮̖̝̦͙͖̥̞̫̽̒͐̾̏̊͛̑̏̕͝͝ ̶͕͚̣̩̮̟̹̔̿͛͗̉̂̈Ý̴̡̝̻͓̟͙̹͍͗̋͗̅̕̕͜͝ͅͅO̶͚̟̟̤̮̭̮̳̍̄Ṵ̸̢̟̪̹̩̲͎̂͛̄̉̅͝,̷̺̬̟͍̯̖̰̦͈̄̊̈́͝ ̴̧̛̘̝͖̰̙̩̞̥̰̯̰͕̦̽͌̆̐͑́̎̏͌̓̿C̶͙̾͛́̆̅̇̈͑̽͋̓̚H̵̨̧̻͓͙͙͇̱̞͉̥̙̗̑̊̽̀A̶̠̻͉̣̐̅͋̕͜͝Ṛ̵̭̺̪̰͙͎̭̹̳̂̔̐̈̒̀́̓̀̋̎̕̚͘L̵̡̛͕̯͖̮͓̤̣͔͙̮̩͌̄̿͛͒͑̂͑̈́͗̉̕̕̕O̵̧̥̳̝͇̗͚͍̯͔̿͐͂̊͠T̸͚̟͙͈̘̭͑͜͠T̸̼̥̺̭̜͍͍̩͕̙̂̈́̏̍͒͝Ę̵̨̢͚̗̱̘̤͉̗̙̦̎̿̉͋́̌̈͜͠͝͝

                                                                                                                                                                                                  W̷̗͖͉̲͆̑ͅE̷̛͓̤̬͈̠͒̋̀̍̾'̷̢̣͇̓̾͒̃͗̆̊̎̀͊͌̚L̷̡̺͂̇͐̈́̔̍̓̂̀̈́͝L̶̡̯̳̰̩͊́ ̷̯̪̗͔̗̩̆̀̉ͅT̸͔͉̩̻͗̈́̒́̐͆͐A̴̝̬̬̖̞͈͚̺͕͍̘͇̣̎̎̈́̊̾͘ͅḲ̶̢̛̫̟̺̪̦̟͍͛̊̉̇̾͑̀́͝ͅĘ̵̗͓͇͉̥̱̗͙̘̯͕͇̘̿͂͊̃̈́́̉̇ͅ ̴̛͈̠̮̼̏̌Ŷ̸̨̡̼̰̬̝̦̰͎͓̯̦͍͖̀̓̊͐̈́́͛̊̌̀̂̚̕͝Ȍ̷͍̣͍͇́̓͜U̴̦̼̰̫̒̒̓͂̔͊ ̷̡̢̜͈̮͕͍̣̳̙̪̫͍͔̈́́̄͋̓́̇͒ͅH̶͚̦̣̿̃̎̏͜͝ͅÔ̸̟̥͍̽͐͆̒̌̍̅͆͌̔̒̐̓̑M̶͕̦͙͕̼̫̿̉͛̌̒̕͝E̷̡̢̳͉̠͆̃̽̈́́̋͗̆͊͑̋̈́̍͂͜ͅ

Į̶̬̗̭̝͎͈̜͖͇̖̜̕T̸̛̠͈̰̻̠̼͔̹̼̮̮̈́̓͑̀̽́̃́͘͜ͅͅ'̶̫̦̍͆̈͋͒̂́̈́͋̿͋́͘Ś̴̨̡͍̘̹̱̼̭̹̥̂̅͆͠ ̷̦͍̦̐́̈́̒̌͝Á̸̢̜̤̲̼͓̖̘͘͝ ̴͎̒͋̑̄͒̋̕͠S̵̖̫̝̰͔̠̥̤͎̥͇̕Ḩ̵̛̛̦̘̪̺͚͍̼̗͈̩́́̓̓̆̈́͝Ǎ̶̡̇̈́̚͠͝M̴͓̪̗̯̗͔̪̥̻̘̯̲̙̃̂̇̃͌͠ͅÈ̴̡̧͚̜͍̳̪͇̯̫͐̑͐͊͊̂́̈́̂̒̒̇͋͝ͅ ̵͚̬̪̀̆̽̉̾̿̎͋̕Ṡ̵̡͔̺͇̝̫̬̰̭̉̋̓̒͌̏͂̊̚͜͝͝͝Ȟ̸̬Ḛ̵̯͈̤̼̘͂͘ ̸̢̩̥̙̩͌̈́̄̿̾͑̕͝͝͝͝K̷͙̱̬̞͇̝̗͇̟͖̿N̷̢̩̰̘̤̦͇͕͔͉̘̜̖̈́͒̀̊͐̌͒̑́̑͛̅̕͝͠O̴̭͉̻̻͔͇͓̩͓͛͌̈͆̏̊̐́͋̚W̵̨̧̟͈͓̞̼̥̖̱̊̏͐̏̀̇͑͘̕͝Ṣ̶̢͓̗͙͍͕͖̤̻̹̟̈́̆͒̊̌̅̎̃̈́̇͘̕͝͠ͅ ̷̘̟̺͓͇̠̹̪̟̔̑O̷͙̰̹̖̭̥͖̱̒̈́͊͜͜ͅͅF̷̪̼́̒̒̏͛́̑̔̒̈́̚͘̚ ̸̙̯̲̪̺̞͙͎̹͚̃̓͐͒̐Y̶̜̲̓́̉̓̋̀̆Ơ̷̺̝U̷̢̨̨͚̗̘̪͍̙̯̻͍̫̺̺͛͐̔,̴̪̌̎͂̄̀́̿̇̏ ̸̱͙̻̥̼̠̙̳̅̈́͜S̸̟̣̰͉̙͚̰̝̩̱͎̤̝̼̑̌̌̆̕̚͜Ą̷̧̛̥̣̯̫̣̉̓̇̾͛͜ͅM̵̺̥̻̰̦̭̦̦̳͈̀̀̏̅̌͂̂͐̾̂͒̚͠͝Ạ̴͇̣̞̰̮͓͓̳̀̏E̸̼̮̬͍̮̝̭̰̲̥̝̜̋̌̌̇͠͝͝͝͝L̶͉͇͎̦͚̟̮͚͉̓͐͘          Ş̵̺͈̭͖̙̤̼̖̥͊̋̈́͝H̸̭͙̝̺̜̝͂̂É̵̢̡̬͙̥̝̻͚͉͓̙̭̈́̚ͅ'̴̨̛̛̱̗̏̓̔̽̓́̾͗̾̿̅̎͠Ĺ̶͕͛̿̽̈́͐̆̊̅͆͂͠͝͠L̶̢̢̧̛̯̥̭͉̟̰̲͔̈́̓ ̷̛̼̳̟̱̙͉̠̻̟̇̏̀̅͒̈̇͐̽̐̎͘͜F̶̧̽̾͒̀̈̐͌̋́͛̍̌͒̀͠O̵̰͍̥̜̬͈̙͉͑̍͒̈́̍̇̆͗͂͝͠R̵̲̮̳̩̰͐̌͌͗̈́̈́̾̓͆̕͜͝G̸̡͂̈́͑̍̅̉͑E̷̩͍̪̰̲̞̳̫̓̀̆̇́̐̔́̍̈͊̈̃͝T̵̪͔̰͔̝̰̫̞̒̑͂̃̎̿ ̷͉̮̖̳̹͎̩̟̹͆̈́͑̎̑͆̽Y̷̧̢̦̱̫͓̝͒̍͂̆͘͜͠Ơ̴̡̯̙̽̃̂̈́̇̈́̍̌͐̂̓̚Ŭ̸̱̦̹̿͋                L̶̢͙̮̟̱͇͙̻͕͔̘͖͕̣̀Ȉ̷̼͎̤͍̳̯͌̏̉̽̅̆̈̆̀͑͘Ṡ̷͇͋̇͒̒͘̚T̴͙̮̼̻̃̂͆͗̓̉̾͗́̀͆̌̃È̷͇̭͍͓̱̜̻̲͈̘͉̯̦͍̊̎̆̈́̃́̎͑̌̽̎͜͠͝͝N̷̨̝̦̖̮͖̲̣̣̻̦̘̳͓̾ ̷̩̞̟͚̉̓̿̈́̾̾͊͌͘͘̚͜͝F̸̡̛̗̱͚̲͇͚̲̖͎͚̐̒̽́̓̇͋̕Ǫ̷̬̗̳̗̖͇̟̤͉͖̃̄ͅR̵͉̞̝̜͈͓̩͚̝̘̗̩̮̺̓̈́̋̔̾̊͝ ̶̧̢̧̣̗̲̱̰̘̬̖̎͂Ṳ̵̤̰̠̖̗̙̫̭̞͖̬͂̒̆̓̿́̒͆̋͛̂̒̚͝ͅS̶͇̥̬̟̘͙̤͔͓͐͑͌͘,̸̢̡̢͓̮͖̖̪̟̥͉̲̻͔̠̈́̔͆͗̂̆͛̊́̎ ̷̡̟̻̦͚̼̻̘̖̬͙̥̬̦̥̎́̀͐͐̃́̈́̇͐̑̈͒͐̊D̵͉́̉̀̽̐Ä̵̡̳̺̽͑͂̔̓̊̓̀̔͘͘R̵̢̠̞͕̀̾̋̇͂̈́͋̐̋͂̉̏̕̚Ĺ̵̡̼̲̱̞̥̙̳̦͔̙̯̺̹͑̋Î̶͎̰̗̳̣̰͍̖̭̤̑͒̀̀̇̀̌͋̚͜͝͠Ņ̵̛̹͙̪̳͚̤̣͊̔̈͆͂̓̆̆͜G̴̛̛̤͉̈́̓́̽͂͝ ̸̨͉̥̭̟̮̩̟̈̆̉̒̈́G̴̢̩̠̖͉̩̙̽͒͐̌̃̇̌̒̂̈́̌͘̕Í̵̢͇͍̤͚̘͈̬̳̜̫̰͔̦͗͋̓̓̈́̇̔̋ͅR̵̛̥͊͐̈̐͊̄̿̇͗͗̚Ĺ̴̠̣̈̐́̌̆̊                                                                      C̸̨̞͙̭͉̘͔̈́̍͌͋̉̀̉͒̏́͘̚Ō̶̻͎̠̮̜̜̅̿̍̒̋̌͆̓̚͜ͅM̴̨̧̡͓͔͓̫̟̻̝͍̬͌̀̌̐ͅË̸̟̯̬̬͙̙̌͑͊̚ ̶̢̧̻̬̰̯̰͕̘̲̟͙̆̆͜H̷̡̢̨̧̗̠̙̥̳̳̙̦̺̄͌̍Ơ̸̡̡̫͇̘̩̺̘̳͙͕̳̫̔́̎̃͌̃̊̒̇̔̒̍̂͛M̵̗̩̞̳̰̺̯̜̦̃͌̂̉̂͜͠Ȩ̷̛̣̦̓̀̂̑̓͆̈́̓̽̈́̋̍̀͘                                                                                      L̷̡̨̨͉̠̜̻̜̭̣̮̰̳͒̇͜I̶̡̛̱̻̺̫͎̦̬̟͙̭̳͂̂̿͌́́̅̓͂S̸͓͕̬͗͋͆̏́͑̈́̍̎T̷̡̧̠͓̱̖͎̮̜̈̍͐̉͑̄̋͛̓̕͘E̷̢̡̡̧̼̰͈̜̥͈̦͉͉̯͎͝N̶̙͚̺̪͇͙͔̟̘̯͇̰͕̘͑̏̆̂̈́͊́̏̉̈̿͐̋̈́͝ͅ

                                              L̵̢̛̻̯̭̤̪̤̗̫̫̾̒̈̊̈́̉͐͒̎̇̃̕̚̚Ȉ̷̻̽̇́͛͐̒̎͛̄͘A̶̩̥̤͈̹̤̻̤̙̯̮͕̺͋̈́̔̾́̾͐͊̈́̕R̶͎̱̜̠̝͔͔̀̓̓͋̓͋͘ͅͅ                                        A̶̛̪̗̜͓̤͗͗̈̈͗̿̈́̅͆̌͐͆͠L̴͎͎̮̣͖̈́͊W̵̡͆A̸̟̫̟̿̈́̍͂̈́̇̅͆̋̀͒̄̐͝Y̷͓͐́̾̒̋̂͗͂̉S̷̢͔̫͒̈́̅͌̀̂͌͘͘͘ ̴̨̺̼͈̈́̍̓̈́̾̓̌̈́ͅL̸̨̡͇̣̙̞̯̩̬͕͇̫͎̐̂̇̉̕Y̴̢̛̯̽̅͊͋͆̃̍͑̄Î̶̢͔͔̜̻̻̮͗̏͂́̍͒̐̽̌̅͜Ṋ̴̡͈͉̯͙̜̏̅̅̍̿̇̈́̈͗̋Ğ̶̦̦͔͕̤̟̖̞̍͐ͅ                                                                          

 F̴͇̭̹̜̠̺͈͖͍̜̣͕̝̊Ḁ̸̗̹̼͉̊͗̀͌̍̌T̴̨̛͈̃̋͆̎̾͘Ḩ̶̡̖̜̘̺͍̝̿̽͜ͅE̶̲͔̞̯͐̆͌̓̌̿̆͛́̎́Ṛ̵͚͔̔̄̄̈́̋̋͐͝ ̵̤̙͓̹̙̱͓͖̉̃̏̓͗̏͋̉̕͝Ẅ̵̢̫̝͓̯̯͔̦̤̤̯̗́͛̉͛̇̇̉̀̐̈́͠ͅI̷̢̨̤̙͕͔̼͈̣͓̩̿̇͐͜Ļ̸̢͙͉̹̼̙͓͔̙͙̣̥̤̾̆́Ļ̴͓̩̳̖͉͍̟̖̅̂͂̾̈͌̈̌͆͆̚ ̴̧̢̯͔̲͖̱̱͓̗͔̦̟̐̎̾̈́̈́̽̚ͅͅŤ̸͓̠̯̩̫̗͓̮̪̊̅ͅȀ̴̢̢͚̳͎͖͕̳̣̘̹͋̇͆̒̓̈́́K̷͚̫͍̞̝̖͂͌̕͜͜͠Ě̵̢̨̨̟̥̝̝̯̍̈͒̽̿̿͋̊̽̆͊͘͠͝ͅ ̴̛̛͉͉̫̹̽͐̋̏̅ͅC̵̫͕̙̖̮̫̗͐̅͂̏͋̌͛͌Ḁ̸̀̒̉R̶̜̯̭̙̾͋͐̅̍̀͝E̴̛̜̤͖̫̦̯̱̤͔͕̣̟̪̹̺͑̎̀̋͐̎̌̓̈͝͝ ̶̙͓͖̯͎̹̀̐̾̋̆̈́̅̒̍̕͝O̴̡̮̠̺̘̬͙̗̥̯̳͉͝ͅF̵̡̧̰̳̻̜͇̠̫͓̰̯͈̏̑͐̊͑̓̆͐͋̃̊̈ ̶̳̘̅̽̎̉͝͝ͅḨ̵̢͚̠̩̻̗̲̹͙̖̯͋Ē̶͕͖͇͐̀̽͘Ŗ̶͔̟̮͖̗͈͖̤̭͕̲͖͉̋͆̓̊̃̇̇̆̽́͒͝                                        H̵̹̟͓͕̻̙͕̪̙͚̗̽̊̈́Ḛ̶̡̘̗̤̜̹̤̳̥̝͈̮̔̿̀'̶̧̧͈̏͜S̵̨̛̗̹̞̩̤̥͎̲̱̐̍́̾́ͅ ̸̪͍̬̲̘͛̎̒͂̔́̈́̀͝W̵̜͍͉̞̠͙͉̞͒́͛̄́͝À̷̢̪͖͙̼̹̬̭͒̄̓̇̃͌͝ͅI̷̩̪̠͕̣͔͎͉͎͍͉͙͉͐̓͗̑̐͝Ţ̴̬̎͗͆̈̄̀̈́͛̀̆̒̑͝Í̵̤̥̅̿͑͂̽̂ͅŅ̵̧̠̙̜͔̗͈̜̰̱͚͈̊̀G̸̛̤̳̳̦̪̍̏̇͒̂̌͌̅͌̈͂͋́̚                Y̵̨̧̨̹̙̣̥̓̋̇͂͂̇̏̋̒͑̒̑͜͠O̶͎̳̎̍̿̊̅̈́̏̇̑͒̚͘͜U̶̜̼̪̜̜̺͗͗͗̌̄͊́̚ ̷̡͇̬̜͙͉͎̱͈̮̬̲̇͊͌͆K̴̛̦̼͇̯̞̬̟̭̋̿̈́̓̇͌́́͜E̷̡̦͙͍̩͊̍̋̈́̈́E̷̝̭̅̔͗̔̀̑͐̓̅̆̈́͘P̷̨̛̲̝̰̹̦̙̦̬̿͆͛͂̉͊̑̄̎̃̍̀͆̚͜ ̶̧̢̛̻͖̳͍͖̟͇͇̬̞̹̒̎͊̓́͆͋̌͛̆̄̋͝L̸̡̥͉̯͔͓̖̙̲̪̰̒̉͗̕͝͠Y̸̧̲̭͚̯̟̭͓̆͠I̷̛̛͖̲̥̼̱̣͚͙̜̾̋̆̀̃͛͆̑̈́̕͜͜͠͝͝Ņ̴͓̻͎͉̟̬͂̑̎͘G̸̗͎̪͔̮̯̭̪̳̤̩̀́̆͘͘͠ͅ

                                                                                                                                                                   S̵̡̙̘̬̟͍̹͓̬͎͇̠͕͕͊͂͊̅̓̊̋̈́̈́͝͠͠H̷͕̊͛͆̍̕E̶̡̥͈̖̟̊̏͛̂͗͂̀͑̏̚͜͜͠͝ ̴͈͇̙͇̖̃̌W̴̛͍̞̹͉͕͇̮͖̥͖̾̾̄̔̈́̈̚̚͘̚͠Į̷̧̛̰̱͖͉͇̈́̅̎̓͊͜͝L̴̡̝̠̰͚̲͇̺͇̏͂̎́̇̈́͊̊͊̎̄͛̚̚͝ͅĹ̵̢͈̪̫̅͒̀̏̄̉̀̉̂́̍̋͆̚ ̶̢̢̖͍̘̼̮͕̼̱̺̋͑̈̂͑͊̀̍̀͋͋̄̒͜B̵̡̧̡̡̛͖̮̗͈̞̳̞̻̰̫͆͂̋̈́̈́̀̾͆͜Ȩ̶̢̢̨̛̫̻̼͓̜͚̺̙͙̒̉̓͒̍̊̑̐͆̔̊̌̚͘ ̸̨̧̛̮̳̹̙͇͕̯̄͒̎̒͆̈́̓͜͝ͅB̴̧̢͔̖̤̤̦͔̫̭͇̙̽̀̈́̂̾͜Ẻ̷̝̤͈̣͑̃A̴̛̛͍̗̩̮̻̲͕̫̓͛͐͋̓̆́͘͜ͅU̶̺͖̠͔̥̐͆͜T̷̘̪̬͔͉͈̐͜ͅÌ̸̟͔̳̭̲͋̐͊̽̈͊͜͝F̴̧̧̘̖̭̏͗͐͛̓͊̓͜Ų̴̠̫̋̎͐̀͒͝L̸̠͔̜̖̎̾͆̌̽̄̾̓̀͘̚͠   

He's drowning in noise, barely able to register what his child was trying to say. 

Something was wrong with her father.

She hadn't seen him so dishevelled before. He looked like he had slept in centuries, those wild eyes darting around. It's like he could hear or see something that she couldn't. 

"Dad?" Charlie tried, taking a step to him.

All she wanted was to understand what was happening. Who was Metatron? Why did he never tell her about heaven? It distressed her.

According to Alastor, he hit Mamsy - why would he do that?

The King of Kings was breathing erratically, visibly exhausted and struggling to focus. Or, perhaps, he was too focused, and Charlie was distracting him. From what?

"Dad, please - I don't know what's happening, but maybe I can help. Please?" she pleaded, hurt to see her father deteriorating before her eyes.

She needed to call her Aunty Bee. She'll know what to do.

Charlie hoped, anyway.

If not Aunty Bee, maybe Uncle Mod or Uncle Sattie? Any of the elder ones. 

"Go h̷̹̠͍̙͚̗̬͔̜̩̃͜͠ͅom̶̙̦̯͂̀̍́̀̿͜e!" Lucifer demanded, the glazed look over his eyes indicating he might not recognise her.

Her Dad's hurting too much, tired and worn out. What could she do to help? He needed someone.

He needed to stop whatever he was doing because he was getting run-ragged.

"Dad, please... What can I do?"

She tried to get close, but the eldest sin reacted violently, releasing waves of overpowering demonic and holy energy. It forced her to keep a distance, heat radiating from her body. If it were an imp or hellhound who'd gotten that close, they would've been incinerated.

It was enough for him to be present, albeit shortly before being distracted by something else. 

"St̶ay awa̵y̷!" the sin shouted, though not directed at Charlie.

She took a step back as he covered his ears, fingers tangled in his hair and pulling hard enough to bleed. It's like an overwhelming loud noise is bearing down on him, causing another wave of terrifying power to burst from him. 

It made her skin tingle, but not the good kind. It's like he's radioactive. 

Charlie yelped as a hand gently graced her shoulder. The young woman peered up, meeting the sympathetic gaze of her mother.

"Please, darling, go back to your Hotel. I can handle this," she assured, like she's dealt with this thousands of times. "Luci, dear, let's go somewhere quieter," Lilith said, her voice soft and soothing.

Unlike Charlie, she could wade through the waves, perhaps having built up a tolerance. She removed her long gloves, gently touching the sin's face.

While she felt like she should leave, Charlie didn't want to. She shouldn't.

Lilith hummed a sweet tune, her thumbs rubbing circles around those red cheeks, trying to bring him back from wherever he was. It was scary to see recognition flash in those eyes before once again falling into the fog of soundless noise.

"It's not usually this bad," her mother said, guiding her husband into a hug. It's almost like she's trying to shield him from the sound neither of them could hear. "Please, sweetheart. I'll explain in time. Let me look after your father for the moment."

"Is there anything I can do?" Charlie tried, realising that her father was crying. 

"All we want is for you to be safe, darling. Stay with Vagatha until I've settled him down. Please understand. He doesn't even like me seeing this, let alone you, sweetheart."

As much as Charlie wanted to stay and demand an explanation, she didn't know how she felt. She'd never seen her father like this before.

That was likely by design.

How long had he been dealing with whatever this was? It scared her.

Was it even her Dad who showed up to her crashed party or this shadow of him? One spawned from exhaustion. 

Is it so wrong to want her family to be together and happy?

Without saying more, Charlie left. She would talk to Vaggie and ask her advice, but she didn't know how to process this. Her father was ill, possibly has been for a long time. She didn't know how to help.

She'll call Aunty Beelzebub and Aunty Belphegor. Maybe they knew how to care for this.

It's not uncommon for Charlie to feel useless, but it's like a knife is in her chest.

All she wants to do is help.

Chapter Text

The Overlords are a complicated organisation. They were the strongest, those willing to forge a sense of order in the chaos that was Pride's Ring. It was every sinner out for themselves, no semblance of normalcy before the Overlords.

Lucifer proved constantly to be unfit to rule a ring.

Without leadership, the Overlords rose to the top, taking territories and founding miniature empires. Each Overlord had mastery over a specific vice or desire in Pride.

As an example, Valentino was the Overlord of Pornography, creating videos and movies for every kind of depraved kink that existed. Well, most of them. 

Snuff films belonged to Adaliah, and child pornography was Daisy's. As much as Valentino tried, he wasn't able or perhaps unwilling to recreate their specialised depravity. 

God has a pretty cruel sense of humour. Little Daisy was twelve when she died, but because she wasn't a devout Christian, to Hell she went. The kid had two options - die again or become something more.

She mastered her pain and became so much more than she ever could be in life. 

In many ways, Vox respected that. He's repulsed by it, but that didn't change the fact he respects the hustle. 

That title belonged to someone else, but they died when that deer bastard appeared. Nobody knew how he did it, but Alastor slaughtered many of the Overlords that had been around for centuries. Even more annoyingly, more dead dimwits were fond of radio than superior television.

Eventually, those buffoons would be erased, leaving Vox with the masses with the most taste. Radio is dead. Television will never die, no matter how much Velvette and that bitch Plus teased.

Plus was one of the newer members; she monopolised something called a "Streaming Service", which was bullshit. 

Although the numbers would like to say otherwise...

"We're busy!" Rein whined, the overzealous parrot looking stupid in their sunglasses. "It's nowhere near Extermination Day, so why are we all here?"

"As the bird said, we've got things to do," Henroin grumbled, the mafia drug lord looking even less interested than usual. 

"Niente said it was urgent," Zestial stated, which made the office silent.

Niente. The oldest of them. One of the few that Alastor couldn't get his hands on.

The motherfucker that knew everything and everyone - the Overlord of Information.

Vox didn't know how the creep did it, but they could find out your name, the day you died, where you're from and where your relatives were. According to some, they're from one of the renaissances. Given the name, Vox guessed Italian. If that was the case, Henroin should know all about him, the stereotypical bastard.

As if on cue, the death's head hawkmoth showed their face, wings snug around them like an ominous cloak, skull image emblazoned on their forehead.

Those cold, empty red and gold eyes examined the room, unblinking. 

"We're missing several," Niente cooed, somewhat disappointed. "Their loss."

"And our gain," Crossbones snarked, finishing the unofficial slogan of the Overlords. The flaming skull seemed extra unenthused today. "Spill the tea, moth man. Girl. Whatever the fuck you are."

"My money is on girl," Valentino guessed, which was stupid.

The Overlord of Gambling grinned, reminding Val not to say such stupid things when Zestial was in earshot.

"I'll hold you to that, bug boy," Zestial snickered.

Vox merely shook his flatscreen head, disappointed in his partner's stupidity. For all that man knew how to manipulate the slimiest of idiots, he was quite the moron himself.

"You should be careful what you say, Elijah," Niente grinned, causing Valentino to sputter and choke on his spit, shocked. "Now that's out of the way, we can get to more important business. Things are going to change very rapidly around here."

"Profitable or "we're fucked" change?" Adaliah inquired, tapping her hooves on the floor, impatient.

"The latter," Niente answered.

Well. Shit. If Niente alluded to them being in trouble, it was worse than bad news. 

For once, the ever-silent Chinon stood, another of the elder Overlords. His business was vengeance, a very profitable one in a place like Hell.

Vox watched as the eldritch-looking demon stood, neon green eyes locked onto Niente's.

"Lucifer's being replaced," Chinon guessed, or perhaps he already knew. It's difficult to tell with the older guys. "Is it his daughter?"

"That kid? She's too sheltered!" Daisy argued, which was true. That girl had no idea how mortal souls operated. Her hotel idea is a perfect example. "No chance it's that useless doll. We wouldn't be in trouble if it were that pushover. No. It's got to be one of the other sins. One of my dollies spotted them the other day - that big green one."

Dollies. Sinners or hellborns that were either children or looked like kids. It grossed him out.

The mere mention of the other six put everyone on edge. 

It was bound to happen someday, one of the other sins getting either bored or fed up with Lucifer and taking charge. Depending on which one, many things would change, and not necessarily for the better.

"That would be Mammon. He's the best-case scenario," Crossbones elaborated, and he wasn't wrong.

At worst, they'd only have to give him a percentage of their profits. Then again, Vox didn't know the other sins well. They were more active than Lucifer was, but they usually stuck to their rings, never coming to Pride. 

"If it's Asmodeus, we're in trouble," Adaliah grumbled, her scarlet eye latching onto Valentino, then Daisy. "You two more than me. Most of my lunatics want to die. Ozzie's big on consent. Val doesn't know what that word means."

That's not something Vox could argue with.

"Maybe we'll get lucky, and it's Satan. I heard he's barely more active than Lucifer," Rein shrugged. "And Belphegor! She's all into healthcare. It's solve the hellbies problem we've got up here."

The hell variation of rabies is the last thing Vox wanted to think about. It's a running problem, particularly in the poorer areas. 

Their lead medical Overlord was more interested in shooting up than doing their job.

"If anything, Satan would get too involved. He'd love the violence that happens here. And Belphegor could be even worse than Lucifer - her entire deal is being a lazy sack of shit," Henroin argued, and Vox could agree with him on that. "Out of the lot, Mammon's our best-case scenario. Even then, I've heard things from my guys from the Greed Ring."

"So, no matter what, we're fucked?" Rein whinged. "What if they all unite and reclaim Pride?"

"What's your big plan to solve this?" Vox questioned, annoyed. "You wouldn't tell us any of this unless necessary."

"Gentlemen, ladies and variations in between, we're looking at the utter destruction of all we know. Not only are the sins coming for Pride but so is heaven."

Before they could question that sudden shift, Niente opened a miniature portal and out dropped... is that a lamb in a suit?

It's a fucking sheep in a suit. 

Vox was dumbfounded. What in the underpants of Lady Liberty were they looking at?

The tiny thing shivered, its right dove-like wing mostly severed. It's battered, bruised and terrified. 

"A cherub," Chinon identified.

So, that's what a cherub looked like.

Vox expected a naked babyfaced thing with, not Mary's missing lamb. 

"Everyone, meet Collin. He's a new friend I discovered as he fell from above," Niente mused, picking up the frightened holy creature. "Thanks to him, I can relay that heaven is seeking to descend and destroy us. It coincides with the sins being on the move and Lucifer's deteriorating state. They seek Charlotte, and the Overlord around her the most today is sadly absent."

Alastor. 

The one that Vox despised with his mortal, damned soul.

"I take it Charlotte is supposed to help us not die?" Daisy guessed, earning a grin from Niente.

"Dear Charlotte is but a means to an end. We can forge an agreement with these angels, and when they suspect it least, we eradicate them."

"Big problem. How do you kill an angel?" Rein huffed.

That was a good question.

Some have succeeded in killing Exterminators, but it seldom ended well. Even their blood was holy. 

"With the very weapons they so carelessly abandon," Chinon answered, his gaze burning into Rein's wrathfully. "Anything can die. Just as water snuffs a fire, flames can boil water to nothingness. Light can eradicate darkness but also be consumed by it. We merely need to... dirty their divine weaponry." 

Although Vox was confused, Niente followed.

"And our little cherub is going to tell us how, aren't you?" Niente grinned, gripping the broken wing, making the little thing cry. "If the angels and sins believe they can take our home, they're sorely mistaken. Pride is ours, just as it always has been and forever will be."

"Their loss is our gain," Valentino smirked, repeating their little saying. 

Vox wasn't convinced about this scheme, even if his partner was. 

It's not even a business question. It's their very existence at stake. 

He didn't want to be a part of it. 

Orbital rim fracture - it's a crack in the thicker part of the eye socket. Most fractures heal without long-term effects.

Bel suggested an ice pack and mediocre painkillers for the concussion. A hangover and being drained won't make it easier.

However, Bee was confident that her little bro would bounce back and have that stupid, smug grin on his fuzzy face. She didn't understand why Asmodeus was so adamant about being an asshole, but he's always been like that when it came to Zuriel. One day, she'll find out why.

For now, though, Bee was explaining the lengthy list of problems and touchy subjects to their newest family member.

Besides Vaggie. That poor girl needed some more time getting used to them before understanding how fucked they were. 

"So, where is Eve in all this?" Fizz questioned, looking a little gangly on one of her bar stools. 

"She's in Hell somewhere. She wanted to live a normal life outside of Adam, so she got a shop in Pride. Luci knows where she is, but we don't visit - it's better for her that way."

"Right. Sorry if I repeat myself; it's a lot."

"No, I get it. We've got a lot of baggage, little guy," Bee sighed, her ears flattening. "I'm sorry you had to learn about us like this."

"It adds context. I'm a big fuck up, too, so I fit right in," the clown nervously giggled, watching the sin as she prepared a margarita. "So... Verosika mentioned something about a wing. What's the deal with that?"

Bee froze, the memory of that event burning her eyes.

Satan never forgave himself, even though he wasn't in control. He wouldn't have willingly hurt any of them despite his short fuse. His temper was hot, and it could be vicious, but he had enough self-control to avoid harming his family.

Luci needed to take a page from Satan's book.

She wished that she could take it back. She was why her baby brother was even in Wrath; he didn't want to go, but she dragged him to it. He's never been a fighter - he was designed to deal with plants, not a rampaging, former archangel. 

The vast difference between them was brutal. At least Beelzebub was on Satan's level; Mam didn't stand a chance. Even if he had his angel form, it wouldn't have helped.

It was Archangels, Thrones, Dominions, Ophanim, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Angels and Cherubs. 

Beelzebub, Satan and Lucifer were Archangels, Asmodeus and Belphegor were Thrones, Leviathan was a Power, and Mammon was an Angel, just above Cherub. And that's not to mention Satan's original purpose being God's executioner of justice, and meanwhile, Mammon was just the plant guy.

An ancient warrior versus a young botanist wasn't an equal match, especially when the former had no control over himself. 

It's not like her baby brother didn't know that. He wasn't as stupid as he let others believe. Despite the hopelessness of even trying, he still did to protect her, and she can't help but feel at fault for not being hard enough on Satan.

She saw him slipping. She knew something was wrong; he was deteriorating, but she didn't act. 

Beelzebub sees it in her baby brother. She could see him slipping and wouldn't let that happen again. Not only because it would be devastating regardless of which sibling lost control, but she didn't know what would happen if it did.

At least with the others, she knew what might happen. 

She would likely start consuming everything in sight; Lucifer would be more of an asshole than usual; Asmodeus would go on a fuck fest; Leviathan would steal things; Belphegor could end up unconscious; Satan would be violent. She had no idea what would happen with Mammon.

His is far less predictable because, unlike the rest, he goes against his sin more often. It could be argued that allowing Fizz to quit was generous - from a certain point of view.

Anything to do with Charlie was more than generous. 

Given that fact, what would an unhinged, venomous insectoid-like kaiju do when the urge for greed was unimpeded? Because size-wise, Mam was the second biggest in his demon form.

It's slightly amusing that he technically dwarfed Ozzie. Most of the time, he only shifted halfway but was still taller than the rooster.

She's comfortably the fourth largest in her shifted form. Meanwhile, Luci is the smallest. 

Well, what else is new? He's always been a little guy. Even his angel form was smaller than the rest of them.

It was once joked he was a cherub that was too tall, so God let him be an archangel to cover up his mistake.

"It's a difficult subject," Bee said, finding her voice. "Since that suit is ruined, you'll probably see the scar. Just don't say anything about it. Or anything insect-related. He never adapted to his new body after falling with us. I'll admit, it took me a while, too." 

She spent a long time getting used to her foxy, starving body. It took longer to realise she'd never be satisfied. 

The hunger was a parasite she couldn't remove. 

"I... get it. Y'know, it's been fifteen years, and I'm still struggling with... well, this," the imp said, motioning to himself. "I couldn't talk for three years. That was hard. Some days, I still can't."

"I heard. It was a firework explosion, right?"

"Yeah. I thought it was Blitz's fault, but... accidents happen. Sometimes explosively."

"Oh, is he the one with the hellhound daughter?"

"You know him?"

Watching him perk up was adorable.

"Yeah, he was at one of my parties a while ago. He wasn't doing well, though. His flavour was bitter and sour like he was in a lot of inner pain. Loona had to take him home."

"Was it October last year? If it was, that was my fault. He was on a date with Stolas, and I was still angry with him. And Verosika laid into him a bit thick. Ozzie backed me up because he knew how much Blitz hurt me."

"Ozzie would've done that even if you weren't involved. He's got issues, same as the rest of us. He's more hypocritical than he admits." 

"Yeah, Blitz pointed that out. I deserved that."

"Maybe. We've all got our faults, kiddo. We're more mortal than we like admitting. Even so, I'm glad that Ozzie's found someone like you, even if he can be overprotective. You're an adult, after all."

"The babying can be annoying, but I know it's because he cares. I'm glad you found Vortex and his adorable kid."

"Oh, isn't she the sweetest? I love that little darling! Have you ever considered having kids?"

"A bit. I don't know how Ozzie would feel about it - Charlie's proof that he can have children; no need to worry about that."

"Why not adopt?"

"I don't want him to outlive them. That'd be cruel."

"Fizz, darling, we've had many partners and outlived them all, but we always remember the impact they left behind. It'll be hard when you and the hypothetical child pass away, but you'll always live on in his heart and our memory. I won't lie - a little chicken nibling would be a big bonus." 

She could only imagine how cute it'd be, a fusion of Fizz and Ozzie. 

Did Beelzebub want to have kids? With Vortex, maybe - He was a great father and incredible partner... It's doubtful she'd find a more suitable specimen. 

She may mention it later on if they're still together. He's already got one beautiful baby girl, one he didn't have a choice in having. 

What would she name this hypothetical kid? She likes Mephistopheles' name, but that was taken. 

"How did it work with Lucifer and Lilith? I assume he's also a hermaphrodite. Is Lilith as well?"

"No. Lily's the first sinner - she's a human soul, so not a hermaphrodite, since that soul already possessed a gender. Luci is, though. As is Ozzie. I'm surprised he hasn't got a gaggle of kids."

Hilariously, she always thought that Ozzie was awkward around children.

"Would he lay eggs?"

That's an excellent question.

"Probably."

"Is it possible for an imp and a sin to, y'know, cross?"

"I don't see why not. Talk to him about it."

"I'll try to. When we're not fighting."

"This is hardly fighting. He's being a stubborn brat and avoiding the problem as per usual. It's good you're not being complacent and that you're seeking answers."

"I'm glad you're willing to give those answers. It clears a lot of things up."

"Well, I'm glad you asked," she smiled, ears perking. 

He's so sweet. Her brother was lucky to have a guy like Fizz.

She noticed that his phone was buzzing. She nodded her head to it, encouraging Fizz to have a look.

Eventually, he relented, having a look.

"He's getting upset," Fizz said, sounding hurt. "What do I say?"

"What do you want to tell him? Ozzie's a big bird. He should handle it like an adult. You're getting to know your partner's family - nothing wrong with that."

"Maybe I should ask him to come."

"No. Not while Mam's here and like this. Everything's too raw right now."

"Oh, ok. I'm trying to understand what the issue is..."

"I have some suspicions, but it's difficult to narrow down. Either way, it starts with Ozzie and has to end with him." 

He put his phone aside, frowning.

She frowned as well, concerned.

"What is it? Do you want me to get Tex? He's just with Nova for now-"

"Ozzie said he's coming. I asked him not to, but I doubt he listened."

"Fuck sake. Alright. I'll deal with it," she sighed, annoyed.

Hopefully, her baby brother wouldn't be awake by then.

Fuck her life, he probably will, and then the real fight will start.

Chapter Text

In Alastor's opinion, the Overlords were overrated. They weren't a necessity nor welcomed. 

He didn't attend those silly meetings unless Rosie went; he needed someone to talk to who didn't bump gums. 

Even so, Alastor noticed that something odd was happening. He could feel it. It's not an exact thing, but they're grouping up more than usual. That was suspicious since they were arguably as stable as the sins once in the same place.

The meetings rarely lasted long and seldom happened beyond the Extermination Day. He may regret not showing up to whatever this congregation was.

Uncertain, Alastor summoned one of his many shadows, sending them to gather information. It's taxing at such a distance, but he had a hunch that it's an omen. 

He felt Niente was there. That's never a good sign.

Niente was one of the handful that escaped Alastor's rampage across hell. No, escape isn't the correct term. He'd avoided the moth, wisely deducing that he was outclassed. Back then, anyway. Now? They're evenly matched now. Even so, Niente had literal centuries of experience, and Alastor barely had one.

As Alastor isn't an utter moron, he deduced that Niente was, at least, from the fourteen hundreds, the Italian Renaissance. Meanwhile, almost comedically, Chinon was once a Knight Templar. How the righteous fall fast and hard.

The sinner took notice of a change in the aura. He had a visitor upon this evening's roof.

Ah, the dear Princess.

"What brings you up here, cher?" Alastor inquired, his split focus allowing some of his accent to slip from the mask. "I haven't even insulted your ridiculous scheme, and you're already frowning. My, you're practically nude, dear."

You're only fully dressed with a smile. It's one of the many things he loved about his mother. 

She would say that, picking sticks, mud and stones from his matted hair, pouring warm water over his head in their too-small bathtub. The local children didn't take kindly to his heritage. His biological father was a drunken bastard who saw a woman and snatched her, taking what he wanted, and Alastor was the result.

Even so, she never blamed him. She had no family besides him, and she was his entire world. 

Nothing good ever lasts, however. At the spry age of ten, Alastor found his mother hanging from a tree, lynched like a cow ready for the butcher.

Dear old dad discovered that Alastor existed and, because he'd only fathered daughters, the man had stolen him. It's not like the police would care. From his understanding, they still don't.

The only problem, in his father's opinion, was Alastor's skin, which he tried bleaching. He didn't recommend it.

With much of his body scarred, his sperm dumper made up that his "precious boy" was afflicted with birthmarks. He wouldn't allow anyone to point out the obvious. 

His "sisters" weren't much better. It disgusted him. They were repulsive creatures. For all they proclaimed superiority, they were nothing compared to his mother. She was the only good soul during his lifetime. She deserved far more than the fate she received.

It made it all the sweeter when Alastor, at seventeen, drove an axe into each of their faces. It was exhausting but oh-so therapeutic. He saved dear old dad for last. Lynching his "father" seemed fitting, given that's what he did to his mother.

He couldn't stay in that town. He had to take what little he had and trek his way to greener pastures. 

Alastor survived, keeping that trusty axe and began killing lone fools he stumbled across. It reminded him of the satisfaction of killing that bastard and his spawn. Also, it gave him supplies to survive. He learned to pick up a gun, suppress his accent, and imitate the pale plucked chickens. 

Still enraged at his mother's senseless death, he began listening. People talked, and those on his mother's side of the fence unintentionally gave him a list. Every time he pulled the trigger, swung the axe or stuck a knife, Alastor felt immense euphoria, imagining his father's face on the helpless fools.

Admittedly, he didn't know when he got the idea to try eating his prey. Perhaps he got tired of burying bodies or finding other ways of disposing of them - the pigs at the nearby farms were growing unbelievably fat. 

You'd be surprised how close people and pigs are in taste. And his mother always said it was rude to waste good meat. 

He never regretted a bite. 

Becoming a radio station host gave him an even longer list of names. Many of them were convicts, some were vagabonds, and a couple were prostitutes that nobody would miss. Of course, he went after those with more money than sense. They were the most satisfying. 

The police were running around, scratching their empty heads, unable to understand where these people disappeared. While Alastor lusted for human flesh, he never went after children.

One - they didn't have much meat.

Two - they wouldn't remind him of when he watched his father's eyes bulge, face go blue and decay until his neck stretched.

Plus, he had a soft spot for the revolting gremlins. Their chaos was quite entertaining at times. There were so many of them when The Great Depression struck. 

The Depression made getting food easy.

Too easy. That was his downfall. He got sloppy.

Alastor recalled it vividly.

It was in a stinking, hot bayou with dogs gnawing on his arms and legs and a vile pig standing above him with a pistol aimed at his head. 

He died with a grin. His only regret was not being able to save his mother.

Even so, Alastor avenged her and never lost his smile. 

"My dad's sick."

Lucifer? Yes, that would explain his rash behaviour.

"I gathered as such," the sinner agreed, observing her from the corner of his eye. "I also presume he's unsupportive."

"Yeah, you got that right. It's been like this for nearly a decade. Uh, ten of my years. I think that's ten thousand of yours."

He forgot that entities such as herself aged differently. It's a genuinely fascinating subject. He'd have to inquire about it another time.

That's a long time to be underneath someone whose mental faculty is deteriorating. His father was fully competent, and Alastor only endured seven years of him, but Charlie's dealing with another beast altogether.

Maybe he'll dig Sebastian back up from the hole he left him in. His father could do with another session hanging from something. He'll rebury him afterwards. It's a satisfying cycle, knowing the bastard can't die via suffocation or lynching.

"You've spent many years - my years - hearing his... discontent with your endeavours."

"You could say that again."

What is this strange beast curling inside of his dead heart? Could it be empathy? No, it's more like sympathy.

A twisted imitation of the sensation.

"A word of advice, dear."

"What?"

"Don't let family hold you back. You have to make the decision you believe is the right one and face the consequences with your head held high. A smile isn't only a sign of happiness; it can be one of the gravest insults to be unspoken - it means that no matter what they do or say, they are ultimately powerless, for you control your destiny. The path is only fully paved at the finish line, and you're far from there, my dear." 

The young - ancient, really - woman looked up to Alastor, water brimming those large, ruby eyes. A tear rolled past a crimson cheek as she pushed a smile. 

How did Lucifer father such a genuinely sweet person? It was sickening.

His mother would've adored Charlotte...

Fizzarolli was nervous. 

He's learned so much in the past few days - far more than he ever expected.

For example, he knew Asmodeus and Beelzebub were going to argue. He could almost see her formulating rebuttals before he was even here.

The second eldest wasn't to be messed with. He couldn't imagine who would ever dare try. 

For all she portrayed herself as a party girl, Beelzebub was insightful and more wise than she let on. It likely came with vast experience.

She's sweet. She encouraged Fizzarolli despite not knowing him for long. She didn't have to be so nice to him. It was out of the goodness of her heart. 

He had to respect it. She had no reason to be so open and generous with him.

Fizz twiddled his robotic fingers, worried about what could occur. Was Ozzie going to fight with Bee? He's sheltered when it comes to seeing the sins bicker and argue. 

It can't be worse than Fizz and Blitz.

His phone buzzed. He picked it up, hoping it was Ozzie, but it wasn't.

[HorseWhore: wit do in.?]

For fuck sake, get some autocorrect.

[Fizz: I'm at Bee's.]

[Fizz: Beelzebub.]

[Fizz: It's a long story.]

He watched the three bubbles appear and vanish routinely. He had false hope that Blitz was attempting to spell.

Alas, nothing went well for Fizz.

His poor eyes.

[HorseWhore: Be go bezz boos. Wut hap? U oki?]

[HorseWhore: Ned m 2 shut som1?..?]

Bullets wouldn't have an effect. Not even the holy ones.

[Fizz: You don't have the weapons to hurt a sin. It's a mess. Mammon's somewhere blackout drunk, Beelzebub is upset, and Asmodeus is on his way to start a fight >:( It's bullshit!]

[HorseWhore: W ey I mon hare!?!!!]

[Fizz: He was at his place, and Verosika called me for help. Bee and Tex showed up, and we got him to Bee's. I don't know where he is, but I hope he doesn't wake up when Ozzie arrives.]

[HorseWhore: fk hi em. A Ver oni car!! G hum. Fak al dem]

Fizz is about to have an aneurysm.

[Fizz: Blitz, for the love of Satan, please, get auto-correct. I'm losing brain cells reading this.]

[HorseWhore: fu u no ned otto rec.]

HorseWhore: u me Satan h hot?]

[Fizz: First of all, go fuck yourself. Secondly, very much so. He looks a bit like that freaky guy who threatened us.]

[HorseWhore: ??? ne spec.]

That's genuinely a fair request. 

He hated that he had to be specific on who threatened them.

[Fizz: That Shrike guy or whatever his name is.]

[HorseWhore: Striker!]

Oh, that is who Blitz can correctly spell, huh?

[Fizz: Striker, but not a total cunt.]

Oh, Satan, he sounds like Mammon.

Also, that phrase is weird now he's played a card game with the guy it's based on. 

[HorseWhore: :D ]

[HorseWhore: wan me em]

[HorseWhore: ne fake si b4]

He hates this man.

[Fizz: I'm muting you now before I go insane. Please get auto-correct. For the love of all that's unholy.]

Dyslexic motherfucker.

If Blitz has dyslexia, Fizz will apologise. Since he - for now - hadn't, he didn't have to. 

The imp pondered his relationship with Blitz. It felt similar to what was between his boyfriend and former boss. He hoped it was a miscommunication, anyway. 

Seeing this family cling desperately together while also crumbling was painful. It reminded him of the Circus before the fire and accident. 

Barbie still wouldn't accept any contact from him, no matter how hard Fizz tried. She wanted him gone from her life forever. He suspected the same was happening with Blitz. Why she hated him, he didn't know.

Tilla... he knew she passed away. He was told it was after the fire, and she'd always been sickly, so he didn't put two together. 

Or he didn't want to.

She deserved so much better. That useless piece of shit Cash wasn't worthy of her.

He didn't want them to split off like his old family did. Although Asmodeus was incredibly bullheaded about this, he knew Ozzie would hate it if his siblings didn't talk to him anymore. 

You don't realise how much you take something for granted before it's gone. 

Beelzebub passed him a margarita, a soft smile on her vixen snout. She didn't give off the aura or image of a dangerous, powerful sin, but a genuine, kind person. 

How did she feel? Seeing her family fight and hurt one another must be painful.

"I'm going to check on Mam, alright? He's a little funny when drunk. The not-so-helpful kind."

"Like, angry?"

"No, he's not a violent drunk. If anything, he's super docile."

That didn't sound real, but he trusted Beelzebub.

"Yeah, check on your brother. I'll be alright," Fizz vowed, watching her smile and fly away.

He wanted wings. It looked cool.

The imp sipped the margarita she created. It was delightful and tickled his tongue. 

After some minutes of scrolling on his phone, Fizz suddenly felt like he wasn't alone. It wasn't Beelzebub; she would've announced herself.

Slowly, Fizz turned, searching for what started that feeling.

"Well, fuck."

Bee should've stayed with him because Mammon's not where she left him.

There didn't seem to be a need for worry. The crazy bastard was more focused on trying to keep his eyes open. Or eye. The other was still closed due to the swelling and bruising.

Fizz could almost make out Lucifer's knuckle print. That must've hurt. 

It struck Fizz that he'd never seen Mammon without his suit. It was always on, especially the cap. 

Two fluffy antennae were unfurled and appeared sore, likely from being stuffed for too long. Equally pained were pincers awkwardly pushed under his jawline; they looked like they should be resting on his cheeks, not forced in such a position. 

Dear Satan, the sin was so fucking fluffy. It was like he had a mane.

It's like looking at a different person, especially with the drunken glaze over those usually frustrated yellow eyes. 

The imp sat there, watching as the sin blinked slowly, unevenly, not recognising Fizz.

A small blessing.

He's seen Asmodeus drunk, but not to this level. He had no idea how to act around a literal walking lightning bolt. He charred those doors; he could fry Fizz's ass, especially since he's conductive. 

It was a downside to being more metal than flesh.

"Make me a cheese."

The imp stared, processing the garbled, thicker-than-usual Aussie slurring. 

"What?" Fizz questioned, confused.

He must be confusing Fizzarolli with someone else. He had to be. 

It makes him uncomfortable seieng his former boss in this state.

"Make me a grilled cheese," the practically nude - thank Satan his fur was that poofy - sin repeated. 

"Wha-no, I'm not making a grilled cheese!"

It's more accurate that Fizzarolli can't cook to save his life. He can somehow set a sink on fire in a different room.

Fizz expected the inebriated sin to get angry or hiss, not to tear up and nearly cry like a child. The lack of a big green suit and almost obnoxious fluffiness removed any fear Fizz should reasonably feel.

The sin he'd been terrified of looked like a pompom. A drunk one, too.

A glimmer of silver caught his eye, a moth-like wing easily as large as Fizz. It was... something else. It shined in the yellow light, making it glitter like molten gold. The patterns were Bohemian, almost psychedelic. Each shift and twitch of the lonely limb created a mosaic below like a stained glass window.

It was nothing short of mesmerising, making the fact that its twin was gone all the more painful. 

Even folded, that wouldn't fit under the suit seamlessly. With some inspection, Fizz noted a slight bend in the wing, and a reason popped into his mind.

Mammon must bind it to curl around its front. That's why he looked overweight in the suit; his fur was constantly pushed against his wing.

Something else catches his eye that he didn't see before.

Oh. He had a scorpion-like tail. Of course, he did.

On the carapace were feather-like things, and the patterns made Fizz think of a peacock spider. He'd met a peacock spider demon before, and her tail-like thing reminded him of what he was looking at. 

It must be coiled around the front, under the wing and against the fur.

That must be painful.

Fizz couldn't imagine curling his tail around himself all the time. 

Absentmindedly, the hardly conscious sin yawned, forcing those pincers to go where they should be. It only irritated Mammon, and Fizz watched him push them back against his neck. 

He was more disturbed by the fangs. They were hidden behind his regular teeth and were eerily spider-like. And as soon as they appeared, they vanished, leaving no trace. He'll be seeing that in his nightmares for years. 

There's dysmorphia, and then there's whatever this is. And Fizzarolli is the last person prepared to deal with that. 

"Fuck, ok, I'll try and make a grilled cheese. I'll set the oven on fire, though."

It's so freaky how different he looks without that suit on. His fur isn't compressed and pushed in awkward places; his physique is closer to Fizz's than his usual appearance suggested. Given his height, he could be underweight. 

Without the gloves, Fizz can see the shell-like plating on the sin's fingers and hands, almost like insectoid gauntlets. Unlike the stark white and silvery stripes, they went from grey to nearly pitch black.

Almost worryingly, he didn't have nails but miniature stingers, like someone plucked them off a scorpion and stuck them in the nailbed. That explained why he never took those gloves off. 

His feet were closer to tarantula paws, but he suspected the claws had the same sting as those "nails". 

Hearing them clack against Bee's floor was ominous. He missed the goofy shoes. 

Fuck, he never thought he'd prefer that stupid outfit.

Fizzarolli understands what Bee and Verosika had been talking about now. He wouldn't cope with waking up and suddenly being so... unnerving. 

He barely touched the nearest heat source before it blew up. 

While his eyes had been taken off the sin, he heard glass clattering, causing his heart to skip a beat. Right, Bee's little bar.

Groaning, the imp turned, watching as the intoxicated sin swallowed an entire bottle of Jaxon's Uncle in a single go. In any other situation, Fizz would've been impressed. That's tough to keep down, even for experienced alcoholics.

"Alright, let's get away from the bar."

"Nah."

"Please?"

"Get fucked," the sin hissed, that ringed tongue showing itself briefly. He went back to looking at whatever was the strongest. 

Fizz extended his arm, snatching away a bottle of Armadillo's Diablo - who was naming these?

He needed to think of something distracting before Bee found them. She must be searching the entire mansion.

A stupid idea came to Fizzarolli's head.

"Think fast!" Fizz yipped, taking a glass and tossing it towards the sin. He took one and began juggling as the other caught it despite his condition. 

It's muscle memory, those clawed hands moving on their lonesome. The lower pair, at least. 

The upper duo kept the sin from falling over, gripping the bar hard enough to make the wood snap.

Keep the hands busy. It'll be fine.

He didn't get to revel in the plan working for long. The sin suddenly turned to throw up over the bar counter. He wasn't aware of his tail, though.

Yelping, the imp pounced, narrowly missing it. 

If that hit, Fizz's ribs would've been pulverised. That was without cognitive or present thought, too. How often did he believe that Mammon hurt him deliberately when it could've easily been a misjudgement of strength? 

The bastard is strong. He might be the youngest sin, but he could make any Overlord shit themselves. Being around him and Ozzie for so long must've desensitised him to the sheer gap in power. 

Asmodeus had more experience. He spent more time with others, so he knew how to control his power. He could be gentle. It helped Fizz understand how much care Ozzie took with him; was his boyfriend frightened of accidentally hurting Fizz? 

That's a reasonable fear to have. They'll have to discuss it at some point.

At least he hasn't got arms or legs to break.

With Mammon turned it gave Fizz a look at... that...

It made Fizz's scars itch. What Verosika had warned him wasn't enough; she failed to explain how brutal the jagged mass of poorly healed marks was. Areas were sunken, showing that a decent bit of muscle had been taken along with so much skin. The force required to pull that off... terrified Fizz.

He deeply underestimated how bad it'd look. 

Fizz got blown up, but his injuries didn't look like that. The bastard was lucky he didn't lose an arm or two. He's lucky he can walk at all. 

Satan was a tough son of a bitch; it's what earned him respect in Wrath. He caused hell shakes with his rage alone. 

"Oh, Yeshua on a stick!" he heard Beelzebub yelp, the fox-bee combo hurrying to her baby brother's side. "Hey, Z. Hey, buddy. You go on a wander without me or Tex?"

"Wan a waffle 'n grilled cheese..." the other sin whimpered, sounding tired and distressed. 

"He stole a Jaxon's Uncle," Fizz warned, earning a groan from the vixen. "In slight defence, it was impressive to down it in a single go."

"That's my 'lil bro," she slightly praised, stroking his back but mindful of the immense scarring. "How about we get you on the couch; I have someone make you a waffle, and then you go to bed - yeah?"

"Stay...?"

"Of course, Z. I'm not going anywhere," Beelzebub vowed, love in her warm eyes. "Think you can tell me what made you touch Beezlejuice after you wake up?"

"Ozz hates me..."

The genuine hurt startled Fizz. 

It felt wrong to be here. 

"Oh, Z, he doesn't. He's just a bit of a jackass," Bee sighed, though Fizz could see that she wasn't one hundred per cent certain. "Yeah, we can whine all about it tomorrow. We'll have gross takeout, watch some films, eat ice cream and bitch about our lives. Does that sound good?"

He only whined in response, making Bee smile a little. Satisfied, the feminine ex-archangel guided her baby brother to the nearest couch. She summoned some of her honey from below, transforming it into a blanket and covering him. 

Fizz felt out of place. He shouldn't be seeing this.

It felt wrong to see Mammon so vulnerable and in a bad place. 

There wasn't a single mark on Asmodeus' body; Fizz knew from personal experience. He didn't even know the sins could genuinely get hurt until that day with the knife juggling. 

Within a few moments, the Sin of Greed was unconscious again. 

"I didn't know it was that bad," Fizz said, trying to be quiet. "Has this happened before? The drinking?"

"Yeah. It's infrequent, thank fuck. I... I can taste people, y'know. It's how I knew you were a good person. There's a flavour for each emotion... he's not ok. I don't know what to do, honestly. The last time one of us was like this, Satan never forgave himself." 

"You think he can lose control of his sin?"

"It's a decent possibility. You only saw one-half of his shifted form, a mid-transformation. He's the youngest, but he's the second biggest of us. That won't be easy to deal with, especially since he's venomous, too. If you see any green smoke, don't breathe that in. It won't kill us, but you? Well..."

Oh, shit.

With the stinger claws and scorpion tail, why not a venomous bite or toxic gas? 

For someone who isn't a fighter, he sure has many weapons.

"That's not great, so how do we prevent that?" 

"I'm not sure. I only hope we caught it early enough."

There's a real risk. If he doesn't get better, he could rampage and hurt countless people. 

Fizz was terrified of his half-shifted form and the usual one, much less the finished one. He never wanted to see that. 

Because Fizz wasn't allowed to have a moment of peace that night, the doors burst open. It was a marvel that Mammon didn't wake up. 

That Jaxon's Uncle must've knocked him out. 

His boyfriend is here, visibly upset and, weirdly, furious.

"Not now, Asmodeus," Beelzebub said firmly, changing to a big sister voice. She was authoritative, unlike anything Fizz had experienced.

"Why the fuck is he here?" Asmodeus hissed, the venom surprising Fizz. 

"Slumber party," Fizzarolli snarked. "He's blackout sloshed. It's fine. Bee's got it handled. I'm enjoying the margaritas."

He understood why he didn't see Tex since going up with his daughter. He must've decided to stay with Nova when he learned that Asmodeus was coming.

The rooster sin appeared insulted. 

"She never has it "handled". It's coddling," Asmodeus grumbled, earning a scowl from the elder sin. "The moment the bastard gets a booboo, you come rushing in."

"This is hardly a booboo," Beelzebub argued, motioning to the black eye. "You know it wouldn't have happened if you didn't snitch to Lucifer."

"I don't control what Luci does."

"No, but you can control yourself. I don't know why you've got such a stick up your ass, Ozz. Now isn't the time to be a dick over nothing."

"Nothing!?" Ozzie's voice boomed, scaring Fizz. He only heard that at the pageant. 

It woke Mammon up, who merely grumbled at the noise. 

"Go home," Beelzebub ordered, lifting the blanket to cover her baby brother's face, almost like a shield. "Or if not, you can at least explain what your problem is."

"My problem is you filling my partner's head with a bunch of honey-coated bullshit," Ozzie growled, but it didn't affect Bee.

Fizzarolli couldn't believe what he was hearing. 

"Ozz, if the thing that happened to Satan is starting, we gotta stop it now. Fighting won't help," Fizz said, irritating the rooster further. "And I wouldn't have had to come here if you acted like an adult and talked to me!"

It was Fizz's turn to be angry.

All he wanted was to be in the loop, to understand why his boyfriend was so affected by everything, but Ozzie shut him out.

"You shouldn't have to worry about these matters," Ozzie said, but it was pathetic. "I don't want you exposed to our... conflicts."

"Maybe you don't want him to see how nasty you can be." 

"I'm hardly nasty."

"One week, Ozzie. It was barely a week until you started teasing him about the wing."

"I stopped."

"It was the fact you did it at all! How can we heal as a family if you two fight like this?"

"What if I don't want to get along? He's a selfish, manipulative piece of shit. He mistreated my boyfriend for years!"

"You were worse once," Beelzebub spat, hurting the other sin.

Fizzarolli didn't like seeing his boyfriend in pain. It hurt him. However, it wasn't his place to intervene. 

The hurt swirled into a burning anger, Ozzie's flames bursting, and Bee shifted, growing far larger, baring her fangs.

He didn't understand what Ozzie was so furious about. 

"Don't you fucking dare try that!" Asmodeus shouted, enraged. "It was different. I changed!"

"Then why won't you let him!?" Beelzebub growled, her voice echoing in Fizz's bones. "You're capable of getting alone. You did it when I needed help. Why are you so determined to fight what isn't even a battle?"

"It's his fault we're down here at all! The stupid fucker and that fucking tree-"

"That's bullshit, and you know it. What's the real reason, Ozzie? Why are you truly angry with him? We'll never grow past it if you don't cough up!"

"Fuck you!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

This is what Verosika meant. If it involved Mammon, then Ozzie was... different. 

What could've happened to make him so angry? 

Fizz wanted to hug that hurt and make it disappear, but only Ozzie could do that. He had to snuff this inferno. If only Fizz could encourage him to do it before someone got burned too deep. 

Seeing a family pulling itself apart was a painful thing.

Unaware of what was happening, the King of Greed whined, dazily looking towards the kitchen.

"Waffle...?"

"Yeah. I need some waffles. No alcohol, though." The sin whined, annoyed. "Tough tits. Do you want to be sick again?

"... naw..."

"Then let's move it. I can't promise it won't be on fire."

"Wan waffle..."

"Fuck it. I need to practice on someone eventually."

Asmodeus took notice of Fizz leaving, trying to place himself between Fizz and the confused, drunk sin. However, he almost stepped on Fizz. The imp could've been crushed if the blackout drunk beside him hadn't pulled him aside - it was to lean on something to throw up, but it still saved Fizz.

Fizz was frightened. The hurt on Ozzie's face as he realised that was agonising. Seeing him recognise that he almost stepped on the tiny imp sent daggers into Fizz's soul.

He wasn't trying to be aggressive to Fizz, but it almost hurt him regardless. 

"I'm sorry..." Ozzie tried, but Fizz wasn't ready to hear it. 

"Are you happy with yourself?" Beelzebub growled, turning Ozzie's attention back onto her. "You could've killed him. This is what I'm talking about. You have to give this stupid bullshit up before you hurt someone!"

Fizz heard the unspoken "more than you already have". 

That recognition was swallowed by anger and fury as he turned to Bee.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know more than you ever could," the elder snarled. "For the so-called vision of god, you're one blind bastard."

Fizz needed to move. He didn't believe it'd turn physical, but they were getting heated.

He wanted to know what was going on.

And Fizzarolli happened to have somebody available.

With much coaxing, Fizz got the intoxicated sin to what looked like a miniature kitchen. He wanted some waffles to wash out the fear staining his mouth.

He didn't want to think about Ozzie nearly stepping on him in blind anger. It wasn't even like Mammon was a threat, not intentionally. Like Bee said, he's docile.

While Fizz could still hear the fighting, he wanted a distraction.

"He forgot me."

Fizz perked, confused.

"What?"

"Forgot my name... I wanted to be like him. I'll get it right next time... maybe the next...?" the sin nearly collapsed, pushing three hands and his tail against the wall for support. He groaned, possibly about to be sick again. 

Alcohol reveals many things.

Fizz felt pity. Sympathy. Even empathy. That's the last thing he expected from tonight.

What did he mean by Ozzie forgetting his name?

"Why is he so mad at you?"

"Dunno... what waffle. Red er choco..."

"I can do significantly burnt. At best."

"Did I do betta?"

Fizz blinked, confused.

"Yeah. Loads better," he said, not understanding what this was about.

The confusion shifted into a brief spark of happiness before being swallowed away.

"Wanna be betta... never good enough... Tha's what the new kid's for."

That must be Glitz or Glam. Did he mean he wanted better clowns or exploitable idiots?

It's hard to tell.

"New kid, huh?"

"'s like me... all broken an fucked... but not ruined. 'm no good enough, so ge' someone else... need-fuck-" the sin keeled over, throwing up again. "Need ta piss 'n Luci's shampoo 'gain... little cunt."

That's a flurry of emotions Fizz isn't prepared to deal with. Fuck, this guy is so much like Fizz that it hurt. 

All he can say with certainty is that Ozzie is in the doghouse.

Chapter Text

Carmilla is the best in terms of weapons. She's got everything Striker needed to put the blue blood pricks down. 

"Striker, it's so good to see you," Carmilla grinned, her red and white eyes examining him. "I take it you've got what I need?"

When it came to holy blessed weapons, money wasn't worth shit. They were too invaluable. So, to get one, you need connections and something worth trading. Rare for rare. 

"An imp? How cute," mused a wasp-like sinner, taller than Carmilla and garbed in golden chains. 

Honeybee, the Overlord of Organ Trafficking. He was reasonably apprehensive to be near a being that made a sport out of hunting his people. 

She was on his long list of bullseyes. 

"Satan's shed. Just as you asked for," Striker stated, dropping a case before the ballerina-style sinner. She grinned, opening it and feeling the gross substance. "You never asked for something like this before, dollface. Harder than usual to get."

"That's nasty," Honeybee said, her pincers clicking in disgust. "How did you even get ahold of something like this?"

It's not like Striker could tell them that he was his sperm donor. If he could, he'd take that secret to his grave.

There are a couple of benefits. Holy weapons don't hurt him nearly as much as they should, and he was incredibly resilient. His endurance, stamina and heightened senses aided in his mission to topple the rich fuckers that brutalised the meek. 

He's no hero; Striker wasn't dumb enough to believe such things. However, his endeavour was just. There are always consequences, even if delayed for far too long.

At some point, Striker will take out Carmilla. He'll kill the Overlords and the Goetia, and although he's uncertain about the Sins, he'll deal with them, too. All of them will fall. 

For a tree to grow new leaves, it must first shed the old and dead. He's merely giving it a long-needed pruning. 

"If I gave away my secrets, I wouldn't be in business, would I?" the half-sin answered, earning an annoyed buzz from the former human. 

"He'd kill you if he knew you got this," Carmilla smirked, comparing one of the scale shapes to her hand. 

Satan's a big bastard; he'd give him that. 

"Oh, he's tried," Striker smirked. He's been at war with the titan since he was born. "What do you even want with this stuff?"

Carmilla leaned back, pondering the question. While Honeybee shut her nasty trap, his trade partner wasn't ready to be silent.

He's intrigued. 

"You've got quite a knack for shutting down would-be Overlords, sinners getting too big for their boots, the occasional pathetic goetia, and, according to rumour, even threatened that imp belonging to two sins. I've seen you fight exterminators. You've more than earned your place in our... unique endeavour."

"Carmilla-"

"Be quiet. This is top secret information - I'd find out if you blabbed to anyone. There's always a bigger fish, Striker - no matter how good you are. Capiche?"

"Loud and clear, ma'am.

"Good. We've discovered that heaven intends on descending, likely to wipe us all out. We can't allow that. Since the sins are too busy bickering like children with each other, we have to step up and take matters into our own hands. Requesting you to acquire something of sin wasn't for the sake of it - we intend on corrupting holy weapons in a way that'll harm real angels, not those pansy exorcist knockoffs," Carmilla explained, her eyes locking with his ringed pair.

Well. 

Shit.

Striker has no love for the sins, but what Crimson told him put a halt to outright killing them. If he succeeded in killing Satan, he could take Wrath with him. Wrath is the origin of imp kind - it's their homeland. As much as Striker wanted his biological father dead, he couldn't destroy his home. Everyone's home. 

His mother's home. 

Corrupting holy weapons in a way where they can harm real angels - that's a difficult task. He understood why she wanted something of Satan's now. As the sins used to be angels, they have a semblance of divine essence remaining.

As did Striker. He didn't understand the extent of it and wouldn't dare ask anyone, but this offered an opportunity. Was his blood capable of "corrupting" holiness?

It's something to test. 

"I'm in," Striker stated, tail curling behind him. "I can get you a whole lot more supply. You should include Leviathan - fucker's got a bigger collection than even you."

"We're discussing that," Carmilla sighed, annoyed. 

"How'd you even learn of this?"

"We have a cupid," Honeybee answered, earning a scowl from Carmilla. "Oh, don't you dare try that with me! I didn't want him to know anything! Fuck you. Yeah, we have a cherub. We're testing on him." 

That's how, huh? Interesting.

"Be sure to let me know if you need any... recent supply," he said, unwilling to tell them where it'd come from.

They could test his blood for him. 

Although less potent, half-sin blood should be good enough. It's him or Charlotte, and he doubted the dear Princess would approve.

He didn't allow himself to think of her as a cousin. It wouldn't do him any good.

The last thing Stolas expected tonight was seeing Asmodeus upset in his kitchen. 

The sin of lust is usually so composed, so seeing him like this was a shock. 

Stolas observed the sin, seemingly ready to implode and explode simultaneously. It concerned him.

"Asmodeus?" the owl chirped, unable to make out the sin's mumbling. "What're you doing here?"

"I just needed to go somewhere. Anywhere. I don't know."

Since Fizzarolli isn't with him, they've likely had a spat. 

Stolas understood that more than he wanted to. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Honestly, Stolas welcomed the distraction.

The wounds left by Striker still burned. Even with medication, they wouldn't stop. It was probably because the weapon was blessed. 

Having part of his lung punctured and collapsed wasn't fun. Breathing wasn't the same after, neither was walking. His leg felt stiff. 

Tired, the Goetia took a spot beside the sin, looking at the titan. He rarely felt so tiny compared to another. 

Stolas was half the height of the titanic rooster. He was so used to being the tallest that being dwarfed was alien to him.

He watched as Asmodeus ran a clawed hand through his bright, neon blue flame-like mane of feathers. The heads on either side of his were sullen and, strangely, regretful.

"Everything's going to shit," the sin grumbled, gripping his feathers with a surge of frustration. "I don't understand why he won't listen to me."

"Fizzarolli?"

"I finally got him to leave that bastard behind, but after Charlie's birthday party, he suddenly starts defending him!"

"Who?"

"Mammon."

It's not a secret that Asmodeus and Mammon have an odd relationship. Weird, even for the embodiments of sin. More often than not, it was Asmodeus that was the aggressor. His father taught him never to speak of it the moment he broke from his egg.

Paimon was a lot of things, most of them terrible, but he knew how to handle the sins. 

Nobody knows why there's a one-sided hate relationship between them. Then again, Stolas doesn't understand why his siblings despise him. He only sees them at family occasions or if their duties align. 

"Alright. Do you want to start from the beginning? A third party with no preconception of the situation may provide insight."

It's a weird situation, but if it distracted Stolas from his aching scars or Octavia's absence, so be it.

So, the sin began telling Stolas, although it felt more like an anger-fueled tirade.

Fizz being nervous at the party, Charlie getting advice from Mammon, the sudden appearance of their angelic sibling, Lucifer blowing up, everyone getting into a big fight, them leaving, Fizz "pushing" for answers, him leaving, somehow ending up with Beelzebub, Asmodeus bursting in and seeing Mammon there, him and Beelzebub start to fight and... nearly stepping on Fizz. 

Wow. That's a lot in two or so days. 

However, even with Asmodeus' various digs at his kin, the situation was clear to Stolas and everyone else. 

It's not like Stolas hasn't been afraid of accidentally hurting Blitz - physically, at least. He's far more than his skinny form portrayed. 

While Striker was wise to use blessed rope, the fact Stolas' gorgon stare didn't affect the imp at all was... suspicious. It's never sat right with him. Nor how the imp moved during his fight with Millie and Moxxie.

Something about him was off. His eyes were a dead giveaway that he wasn't a pure imp, but he couldn't be half-shark. It wouldn't explain how he managed to hurt Stolas so easily.

Even with a blessed knife, piercing Stolas' skin required more than it appeared. Breaking his bones required a lot. However, he'd felt Striker's grip - that wouldn't have been enough. He couldn't have been able to do what he did with such ease.

There was more to him, but Stolas couldn't narrow it down.

He could easily break Blitz. It's so hard to be careful, to be tender and gentle. It would be so easy to break that beautiful red skin. The last thing Stolas ever wanted to do.

Stepping on him in his pure form would kill him. The mere concept of that hurt Stolas, and he couldn't imagine how Asmodeus felt after almost doing it. 

The sin looked to Stolas expectantly, breathing hard from the stress and regret of his actions.

To Fizz, at least. 

"Asmodeus, have you considered that you're in the wrong?"

The sin stood, astounded and momentarily infuriated. 

"Why would I? I'm right!"

"So far, I haven't seen an instance where you've been provoked. And given that Fizzarolli has worked under Mammon for a while, I doubt he'd act without good reason. Did you talk to him?"

"I-I couldn't, not after... that..."

"Take it from me. Communication is important. I've... I am dealing with the consequences of failing in that respect. I might've lost the first person I've ever truly loved." It was strange to grieve over a relationship that never was. What never might be. "You need to talk to him, Asmodeus. Honestly. Openly. Anything he asks, you have to tell him. Starting with this rather absurd feud you have with your brother."

"He's not my fucking brother!" the sin snapped, enraged. 

It was odd to watch the sin be surprised by his own words. He was confused by them. 

As was Stolas.

"This is deeper than whatever happened between him and Fizz. I suspect perhaps even before hell."

The Goetia guessed correctly. 

"It's not something you'd understand."

"Probably not, I'll admit. However, you're going to have to explain it to Fizzarolli. The fact that he's standing by someone he has every reason to loathe speaks to his character. He's a good person, and that's a rare thing down here. I would know - my daughter is the only good in my life." Besides Blitz... "Don't push him away."

"I'm not!"

"Be it intentional or not, you are. I know the consequences of not being upfront. It's... it's not something I wish for any of you. And I don't believe you wish that for him, either."

The sin scowled at the floor, visibly debating if he should burn it. For Stolas' sake, he hoped not.

Finally, he relented, looking tired and more sad than angry - Perhaps defeated?

"I want him to be happy, and every time I try to ensure that, I fuck it up."

"That's the worst part about being in love. We can't guarantee it. And sometimes, by trying too hard, we hurt them. A lot."

"Things rough with your Blitz guy, huh?"

It was either a way to distract from the emotional pain or to empathise with Stolas' plight. Either way, he understood. 

"Yeah. More than even I understand. I love him so much, Asmodeus, but I don't know how to fix whatever we have. Don't be like me - Lost, drowning in a sea of self-made sorrow and darkness. We both need to talk. And, more importantly, listen." 

Asmodeus sighed, rubbing his glowing eyes.

For a moment, Stolas remained in silence, only getting up to check on one of his many plants. He loved them. The few times he met Mammon in person, he learned as much as possible about the strange entities. This one was grown by the sin himself.

Plants are the best listeners, even if they can't talk back. It was nice that they couldn't; Stolas could unload his worries without fear of betrayal. 

They saw how Stella treated him, so he didn't feel alone against her. It's one of the few things he could still enjoy.

Finally, the sin spoke.

"I'm sorry. For what I did at Ozzie's. That was uncalled for."

"Thank you. I appreciate that," Stolas sighed, grazing his black fingers over his plant's head. "Get some sleep, Asmodeus. You both need to cool down before talking. Start fresh."

"Should've complained to you sooner."

"We always lament what should've been when it's too late. It's the curse of mistakes. Now, it's whether we have the strength to rectify them." 

He can only hope he'll be able to see Blitz again, even for one final time. 

Chapter Text

Envy is a vast ring. It's home to the deep-sea demons, possessors and many creatures. It's equally as beautiful as it is dangerous.

For Leviathan, it's their home. One they carved with their bare claws. 

When they first discovered the rings, Lucifer took the first and left the rest to decide who got what. Eventually, they decided to draw straws. They still recalled Asmodeus' assurance that he'd get the spot beneath Lucifer; the sheer confidence made his position all the more rewarding.

Lucifer, as established, took the first.

Satan gained control of the second, rubbing it in Ozzie's face.

Next was Beelzebub, claiming what became the Gluttony Ring. 

Mammon got the fourth; his excited grin at not being at the bottom for once still warmed Leviathan's frigid hearts. 

Asmodeus begrudgingly accepted fifth place.

Leviathan was happy with the sixth. They naturally were jealous that Lucifer stole the first one, but that's their sin, their curse, not their true feelings - Leviathan was just happy that Lilith and Luci got a place to themselves. Later, that became Charlie's home; she deserved the first ring.

Belphegor got the last, but far from the least. When she wasn't hibernating, she did great with her domain. 

Now, after aeons of rule, Leviathan would say that Luci is the worst ruler. He'd put Satan at a close second; their elder wasn't overly involved in his ring's business, only if it annoyed him. 

Leviathan aspired to be at least better than them in terms of rule. They had so many lives to care for, to protect and guide. While far from fit for the duty, they accepted the responsibility.

The first indication of life beyond God's intention began here. A freakish fish thingy crawled onto one of Leviathan's many beaches, and they called for all their siblings to observe it. 

Mammon named it Quinn. It was a random name, but it stuck. Not long after Quinn emerged, the other rings discovered tiny life forms. 

They remembered fondly when Ozzie squealed at discovering an ancestor to the now succubi and incubi. He was so excited. 

Beelzebub sobbed when she found the ancient ancestor to the hell hounds, hugging it like a mother would their babe. 

Through some manipulative magic, Leviathan still had Quinn. It swam in a titanic aquarium. Part of Leviathan's magic ceased its ability to stop growing - it got larger yearly, and they were proud of its monster. 

Little Charlie used to love feeding it. 

The sin found themselves coiled before the aquarium, observing their colossus swim in peaceful ignorance of the universe around it. Their five eyes enjoyed watching it. 

"Here you are."

Leviathan's earfins flexed, listening to Moray as she approached their spot. 

"Here ah be. Did I tell ye 'boot Quinn?"

"You did. The first life in hell," Moray said, sitting on Leviathan's titanic tail. They kept their mucus from burning her. Never her. "My mom said that all life began with its kind - How they travelled across the seas and became everything." 

"Perhaps yer ma was right. Ye never told me her name." 

"Conger. I didn't get to know her long," she admitted, her ringed eyes watching the smaller fish swim past. "How about you, Via? Did you have a mother?"

"Nae. We start as wee dust, nothingness, then poof! We're here. That auld bastart gies us a name, a job, and that's all. Me? Ah made it rain."

"You?"

"Aye! Wasnae gud at the start, nae. I was a silly thing - I made it rain upside doon! Flooded the atmosphere and all. That was before the wee beasties and plants and shite - was just me and the soond a' rain."

"What was it like? On Earth?"

"Was pure bonnie. Ah'd watch the waves crash up the cliffs, the wee beasts skittering roond the land, trees as tall as towers cradled the sky - it was something, aye. When he was a bairn, I used tae take Mammon tae see the dinos fight. Savage bastarts they were. Wee bugger was feart o' the big yins - the tyranny-rexy and what have ye. Ah miss it." 

"Could you show me one day? Earth's rain."

"Ah can get ye an Asmodean crystal, but nae me. Sins cannae get tae Earth. God made sure o' that; a punishment fer our "rebellion". Utter pish. Dinnae dae anythin' wrong. Fuckin' sakes, ah wasnae even involved - ah was guilty by association. How dare ah worry fer my family, ey?" 

Moray leaned against their coils, her eyes wandering up to theirs. It made them think of obsidian dropped into a pool of teal water. 

It was strange to tell her about the world above, between hell and heaven. The mortal world they helped forge. 

Leviathan lowered their head to be closer to Moray, desiring to close the distance. She was so small compared to them. So fragile. The fact she was more than aware of that only made her boldness endearing.

"I'd find a way, Via. I can use my phone - you'll see the world you helped create again. You can see your rain."

The idea could work. It excited them.

She brought a hand to their damp face, claws gently scratching the scales beneath their lowest set of eyes. Those are the most vulnerable parts of Leviathan's body; they aren't as strong as their scales. She could easily jam her hand into one.

It wouldn't be enough for permanent damage, but it'd hurt. There was a level of trust they weren't used to giving to mortal beings.

"Ah'd show you the world," Leviathan vowed, bringing a claw to her far smaller face. She leaned into it, not flinching away as others would and should. "You dinna ken what ye dae tae me, hen. So small, yet so significant."

"I'd shoot God for you, Via."

"Ah ken, and ah love ye for it."

There are many things that Leviathan was forced to be envious of. 

Love wasn't one of them, for they had a plethora of it, pure, genuine and warm, more than they didn't know they needed. It was almost as beautiful as her. 

Satan didn't do love.

Asmodeus called it "aromantic" or something. It's not what Satan desired. He liked a quick fuck and no strings attached. 

It was fine like that. He enjoyed disguising himself as an imp and indulging in whatever he felt like. While his siblings were under the impression he was as little involved in his kingdom as Luci, Satan was the opposite. He was always around, mingling with his imps and joining the fun.

While King Satan didn't get involved, Silas partook in whatever he could get his claws on. 

As Silas, Satan could do whatever he wanted without the strings. He was a puppet without a puppeteer, finding shows and an audience wherever he went. He had to be careful, though. If people realised they never stood a chance against him, they'd get suspicious. 

So, begrudgingly, Satan allowed himself to lose at times. Like at the moon harvest festival, he forced himself to falter; it made him less of a perfect paragon and more realistic. 

Thirty-eight years ago, Satan was at a rodeo, showing off on his hell horse at the time, Shellshock. She was a damn fine animal. He still missed her blazing spirit and fiery attitude; she wanted to win more than he did. It was there that his lack of strings came to an end.

Clementine and her trusty stallion, Trencher. She won that competition, a mighty challenger that caught his eye.

At a tavern after the show, she approached him. She already knew of his history of fun night stands; she also wanted no strings attached. It was a final reward for her skill and tenacity.

It was only one night. It was a great night.

And like that, Satan was bound by a single, frustrating string.

He heard she'd gotten pregnant but assumed it was her stupid partner at the time. Whatever. Why would Satan care?

But then she found him. She appeared at a show with a babe in her arms, and Satan knew. He knew. 

Satan had a son. 

He never wanted a spawn. He was satisfied with Charlie. He couldn't even look her in the eye, horrified.

For so long, Satan assumed that Charlie was a fluke. It couldn't possibly happen to him. Not with an imp. But there that bundle had been. It enraged him.

Silas was known for a short fuse and hot temper. That wasn't unusual for imps. He blew up, furious, but more with himself for allowing this to happen.

Perhaps that's how Clem realised who he was because she'd left in a hurry. Whenever she reappeared, she never had the abomination with her. And Satan looked for it; he tried very hard.

He had the chance to end it at some point. He was standing during a storm, scalding water hitting his soaked clothes, and a child stared at him. 

Small, possibly three or four, with large eyes and no fear. No, the little fucker hissed at him. This mutant hissed at Satan himself, the sheer boldness of it confusing the sin. 

Was it some misplaced pride that caused Satan to spare the mistake? He didn't know. 

The cocky shit had the spite and anger that Satan struggled not to be giddy at. He was a proficient warrior, skilled with weapons and grew ferociously - if Satan ever wanted a kid, Striker was how he wanted it to be. But he didn't want one.

He didn't want the others to find out. While Mammon, Leviathan, Lilith and Beelzebub would be excited, it was the others... 

Asmodeus wasn't always so open to imps. He used to be as bad as Belphegor - she didn't like any of the indigenous of hell, not even the Goetia. And Lucifer... Luci would lose his absolute shit to discover that Satan had a child with an imp. 

Ozzie grew past his dislike for imps if Fizz was anything to judge by, but the rooster was the most judgemental of the seven. 

It's not like Satan any better. He was a coward for not sorting this out as soon as he heard. He was an idiot for not being cautious. 

So why is he here?

In Sloth, in a hospital in the middle of nowhere, sitting beside the woman who defied the odds. 

How did she do it? Raising.... whatever the fuck the abomination was. 

It's not like he could ask. She was sick, dying, and he doubted she'd be around for much longer. He didn't know medicine like Bel and Mam. It wasn't something he bothered with. 

Satan didn't understand how it happened. He didn't know how to feel or what to do. He didn't love the woman. They weren't even acquaintances. 

There's some strange form of care, though. He didn't know what it was yet, only that it was due to his bastard spawn. Did he care that she was the mother of his secret child? Maybe.

He didn't like seeing her like this. He remembered the spitfire on her stallion, throwing a lasso in a way that'd make Asmodeus do a double take. She was a sharp gal, good with a gun and knife. It had been sexy.

She taught their son well. He, thankfully, took after his mother. Perhaps that was why Satan struggled with finishing it; he saw that competitor with a drive to rival his. 

"You shouldn't be here."

He's not surprised. 

"I can go wherever I want in hell," Satan countered, wearing his disguise. It fooled everyone except for his son. "I've been in the game a long time, kid. There's nobody I can't find." 

Satan wasn't surprised by the crocodilian hiss directed towards him nor the aggressive shove against the wall. The holy knife to his throat tickled. 

It wouldn't be enough. It'd be easy to break the kid's bones, but not here. 

"I'll just put you somewhere you won't get out of," Striker snarled, hatred burning in his ringed eyes. "Ain't nobody gonna find you."

"Riri...?"

The knife fell away, the hybrid's attention drawn to the bedridden form. 

The hate was gone, replaced with concern, love and adoration. A tail waved nervously, the mixed creature kneeling at his mother's side, focused solely on her.

It would be so easy to kill them both. Remove the evidence of Satan's mistake.

But he didn't move.

"Heya ma," Striker said, stroking her hand gently. "Came to visit. Sorry that I'm later than usual."

"No," Clem sighed, bringing her hand towards his face, but too weak. Understanding what she wanted, he guided her arm to his face, letting her touch his jaw and cheek. "Always on time... my sweet boy..."

"Don't go exerting yourself, ma. You got to save it up. Kick that dickhead Otis' ass if he tries takin' that... jello stuff again. The thing that smells like melons."

"My jello... break his balls again..."

"That's damn right. Bend that tail into a pretzel," he chuffed, tail betraying his voice. He was nervous; Satan could tell. "The client I got's bein' a real bitch - payments might be a bit late this time, but I'll get it done. Only the best for you."

"Don't... not all on me..."

"Don't be silly. You get the very best; that's a Morgan guarantee."

Many imps have surnames but don't use them. He didn't even remember Clementine's. 

Satan could see that there wasn't much time left. He gave it a month but couldn't muster the strength to say it.

He hated this part of being around mortals. They die so easily. Too quickly. 

"You rest now, yeah? I'll bring you something from Pride. You like those funky poppy things, so I'll get a cool one. Promise."

"I'll always be there... always here..." she sighed, bringing her arm down towards her son's chest. "Always... beautiful boy..."

"No shit, you're right here, and you're gonna stay 'till we can get that tail back on a horse."

It was a lie to himself, Satan deduced. His mistake was many things, but he wasn't stupid. 

"Always..." she repeated, her arm dropping, devoid of strength. The hybrid tucked it under her covers, tail shaking nervously.

"Rest good, ma. I'll see you soon," the hybrid gritted through clenched fangs. 

He begrudgingly left her side, deliberately bumping Satan's shoulder. It was ballsy. 

For whatever strange reason, the sin of wrath followed.

He could see it.

The crumbling of composure, the smell of salt and the stench of fear. 

It's not something that Satan understood. He didn't have a mother or any parent to care about. He wasn't familiar with this sort of grief. 

What would Striker have after she dies? His only family left would be Satan, and that wasn't a positive.

"Mark my words, bastard. If I can't kill you, I'll make you wish I had," Striker snarled, failing to hide the pain in his voice.

He didn't look at Satan, likely to hide the tears. 

"What're you going to do?"

"Fuck you mean?"

"You're not an idiot."

"Don't you dare fuckin' say it. I swear to whatever useless cunt that's upstairs, I'll end you, even if the ring goes with you!"

A legitimate possibility. To hear that Striker's considered the possibility was... interesting.

He felt like the brat was serious, too. When wasn't he?

Satan felt that annoying sense of pride at that boldness, that raw hate and anger. It fit the accidental heir of wrath. 

Chapter Text

[HotBoi: What do you mean he broke into your house!?]

[WetNoodle: Bloody rooster's lost his heid]

[SleepyGoat: Levi, you don't have to be Scottish while texting. You have auto-correct.]

It surprised Beelzebub that Belphegor was even awake. 

[WetNoodle: haud yer wheesht Bel]

[HotBoi: I never have and never will understand what that means]

[Me: Guys, can we please stay on topic?]

[Me: What're we going to do about Ozzie? I didn't make this group chat to bitch about accents]

[HotBoi: Ozz needs a kick up his ass]

[WetNoodle: Aye]

[HotBoi: I need more info. Did he actually break through your door]

[Me: Yeah. He nearly stepped on Fizzie, too]

[WetNoodle: No! He couldnae have done that! Ozz is smitten]

[HotBoi: Maybe he hates Z more?]

[SleepyGoat: No. He has a temper that rivals yours, Satan.]

[Me: Does anybody have a single suggestion?]

[WetNoodle: I think it's jealousy.]

It couldn't be as simple as that. 

As much as Beelzebub wanted it to be that mundane, Asmodeus wouldn't be such an asshole if it was mere jealousy.

[HotBoi: Thinking back on it, I think it started when Z learned about Rami.]

Bee knew who Satan meant. It was Ramiel. They were created around the same time as Asmodeus. Back then, Asmodeus could only see the future, not hear it; that was Ramiel's duty. They were as close to twins as the angels could get.

Ramiel and Gadreel - they were inseparable. 

Until they weren't.

Randomly, Asmodeus discovered how to hear as well as see. As soon as he did and told God, excited over this development, Rami became redundant. They weren't of use anymore, so God got rid of them. It was quick, callous and cruel; Ozzie didn't even get to say goodbye.

It was an unspoken rule never to mention Ramiel. 

She didn't know who told Mammon about them - knowing them, it was probably Metatron and Michael. As a fledgling angel, fresh from the aether, he was innocent of what would happen if they weren't of use anymore. They were but tools to God, making his endeavours slightly easier. 

He had no idea who they were, why they weren't around or why Asmodeus had furiously blown up at him over it. It might've been the angel's first experience with fear if it wasn't for Metatron; he always enjoyed frightening the new ones. 

Beelzebub didn't believe that was why. That was so long ago, and he understood that Mam didn't understand yet. He would eventually. If anything, he worked too hard. Perhaps learning about Ramiel fuelled his desperate need for God to acknowledge him, to see him as helpful enough to keep. 

The latter was more probable to her. 

[WetNoodle: I don't remember them well. They were Ozzie's best bud, right?]

[HotBoi: Might as well have been his twin. God vanished him as soon as he wasn't "necessary".]

[SleepyGoat: I heard a rumour that God never vanished them. Not completely. Something about the power necessary to create us is so great that he recycled us.]

[WetNoodle: WTF!?]

[SleepyGoat: Yes. According to Amitiel, God would deconstruct and then reform us into something else - like reformatting a tool. Perhaps Satan was right. It's about Ramiel.]

Beelzebub was horrified, especially given it was from Amitiel, the angel of truth, incapable of lying. 

If what Belphegor claimed was true, then Ramiel might be involved. Distantly. It sounded like their creator; he was lazy enough to reuse old parts for his "tools". 

It's only a theory, though. And it still didn't explain Asmodeus' anger at Mam since it's not his fault their creator was so twisted. 

Still, it may play a part.

She wasn't going to tell Z about this. He's already got enough issues with his image, let alone learning he might've been put together with the remains of a deceased angel.

Leviathan and Belphegor were likely forged similarly. Maybe all of the lower hierarchy were?

[HotBoi: Fucking hell]

[WetNoodle: Aye, our pa is pure fucked]

[Me: None of you tell Mam this. Not a word. He's *really* not ok.]

[SleepyGoat: I have tried to see his dreams. He rejects me more fiercely than Lucifer.]

[HotBoi: How bad is it, Sera?]

Satan only referenced her angelic name when he was deadly serious.

[Me: I'm genuinely worried he's at risk of losing control like you did. Seriously. I tasted him, and he's so lost]

[HotBoi: I'm coming over. I understand the warning signs better than anyone. If we catch it early enough, we can keep him from hurting himself]

[WetNoodle: Or us! Lad's nae fighter, but he's got wicked teeth and four hands!]

[HotBoi: I was a nightmare with one pair, let alone two. Levi's right. It'd be so much worse.] 

[SleepyGoat: We won't have Lucifer's help this time. He's weakened; I feel it.]

[Me: Then you guys get how serious it is to fix whatever the fuck is up with Asmodeus. I don't want him to trigger it.]

[WetNoodle: Ah'm on my way, hen. Better tae have two of us.]

[SleepyGoat: Someone closer to his age would make it easier. Good idea.]

[HotBoi: Levi and I will come over and help out. We're family. We aren't doing this shit like last time. Never again.]

[Me: True that, Sattie. I wish that Ozzie and Luci weren't so far up their asses. They could be family with us. And Bel.]

[SleepyGoat: Fuck you too, bumble bitch]

[WetNoodle: We love you deep down, Bel!]

[SleepyGoat: I'm going to nap. I'll text after if I get anything from the other moronic muskateers]

[HotBoi: Alert us if Ozzie does anything stupider than usual. We're doing what we should've done long ago.]

[WetNoodle: Aye. We let it gae fer far too long.]

Beelzebub put her phone down, sighing the stress from her slender shoulders. The group chat went well. She was getting back up.

Although she understood that Satan was necessary, he still traumatised their baby brother. Those scars would never leave. They were a constant reminder of an agonising event they didn't even know was possible.

Levi could level it out, though. They always got along with Zuriel.

She desperately wanted her family to be ok. She loved them all, even when they were fighting like idiots. In a twisted, Stockholm way, she still cared for those who remained in heaven. Not Metatron and Michael - that ship sailed and sank long before hell.

Bee worried about them so much that she didn't sleep last night. She kept checking on her baby brother. 

Since so many people were too drunk to leave her hive, she had numerous rooms for people to stay in until the morning. Her family had their own, though. Although few ever stayed over, she liked to be prepared. They had different needs. For example, Levi had to sleep in a submerged bed to avoid drying out.

Her little brother needed a quiet, dark space. It had plenty of fake money to soothe the nasty sting of his sin. She also left many treats; he snacked a lot. It was better than nothing. He's never had a good appetite - he threw up whenever he got stressed.

While it's not an issue to the others - sick is sick - it's toxic to mortal souls. One of the few times he was at one of her parties, he accidentally walked into an orgy and threw up - it killed all eighteen people. She could still remember how hard Satan, Luci and Asmodeus laughed when they learned about that.

She didn't find it funny. 

Beelzebub tried not to think about it. About what could happen if they fail and he breaks like Satan did. She was terrified of that. 

Satan was never the same after that. He lost a piece of himself when his sin took over. He was terrifying whilst the living embodiment of Wrath itself. How aggressive would the embodiment of Greed be?

She already felt like she was losing him. He's so lost; would he be able to regain control? What if they couldn't save him like they did with Satan? 

That scared her. It frightened her a lot. They might do worse than fail. 

Even with Satan and Levi's help, would it be enough?

The sin sat up from her bed, looking at the furry form beside her. 

Vortex had to take care of Nova. He needed to comfort her when Asmodeus burst in like a total jackass, scaring the adorable pup. 

It was cute how she snuggled into Vortex's big arms. He was comfy; she knew that well.

Beelzebub planted a kiss on his forehead, begrudgingly leaving his side to check on her surprise guest. Not the imp, though he'll need comfort, too. She can't imagine how Fizz was feeling.

With her wings buzzing, the sin made short work of her hive, finding the room she reserved for her baby brother.

He was a baby, too. He wasn't even five hundred million years old yet. The rest were in their billions.

Luci was twenty-two billion, Bee was nineteen and a half, Satan was sixteen, Ozzie was ten, Bel was seven, Levi was three, and then there was Zuriel - if he were a true angel, he'd still be a fledgling, not yet grown into his adult wings.

She suspected the age gap played a part in their dynamics. 

Carefully, Beelzebub made her way inside, spotting him despite the new layers of webbing. He did that subconsciously; it was probably a spider thing.

The swelling has almost gone, and the bruise has healed nicely. His pedipalps and antennae didn't look so sore, and his wing was relaxed. It didn't have that uncomfortable bend to it. 

Even after so many hours - it's early in the morning now - she could still taste it. The harrowing. The deep, foul terror and soul-crushing self-hate and fear. The terror of himself, of abandonment, of never being good enough. The scars left by their twisted creator.

She desperately wanted to take it all away, to make him feel whole. She wanted that for all of her family.

They had wounds that festered and wouldn't heal. Not alone, at least.

"I'll see you when you wake up, Z," she whispered, pulling the oversized duvet to cover him more. Even with his fur, he got cold easily. "We're all going to have a great day, watching awful films and eating lots of shit. We'll look after you. I promise that."

She should've been more proactive before. It felt like her fault.

She wasn't attentive enough when Satan needed help, and they all suffered from it, he and Z most of all.

Bee couldn't let that happen again. She wouldn't.

But it still scared her.

Lilith stroked her love's hair, gently wiping the sweat away. He worked hard to keep them safe, but she feared the time would come soon.

The final extermination.

Perhaps judgement day itself. 

The Queen disliked her title. She never wished to rule, to be worshipped. It was never something that Lilith cared for. She enjoyed entertaining her people, but to lead them? That wasn't her place.

She loved her husband, but it wasn't for him, either. Not that he ever had the time for it. He was far too focused on keeping heaven at bay.

It pained her that Charlie saw him so dishevelled. He never wanted her to see him like that. He stayed away because he loved her so much.

It also pained her to leave him, even for a moment. Her love needed a cool cloth; he would get a fever again at this rate. He needed to drink something. 

On her way to the private pantry, the former human paused. She felt a presence she shouldn't have.

"You're not supposed to be here," Lilith said, her lilac eyes meeting a red pair.

Lilith didn't want her daughter to get heaven's attention, so she turned to... unorthodox methods to ensure that. 

She failed, but hopefully, he would be a safeguard while Luci was out of commission.

"And is the King going to do anything about that?" said the grinning sinner. "For all that you're portrayed as invulnerable, I've seen everything but."

"I take it Mammon's current... state... is your doing?"

"Moi? Not at all, madam. I merely answered my Lord's question. What servant would I be if I didn't heed the request of my royalty?"

She didn't believe him. He was untrustworthy with most things but kept his end of the deal. It's his source of power. 

Lilith will have to let Beelzebub know that Alastor played a part. 

Contrary to what many thought, Lilith paid attention. She heard many things. She knew that the youngest of her in-laws was a fragile character; he was seen with alcohol, and that was a deadly mix. 

"Why are you here, Alastor? You should be with my daughter, per the arrangement."

"I have my eyes on her as we speak. My shadows are everywhere. And that is why I came. I bring news most harrowing."

It must be dire if he came to her and not broadcast it on his occasionally humourous radio.

"It's bad."

"Very."

"What fallout are we looking at?"

"Apocalyptic. The Overlords have acquired a cherub - they are preparing to fight whatever heaven throws at us, which I presume to be Metatron and his ilk. He didn't seem like a pleasant fellow."

"He's the angelic version of you," she sighed, processing the information. 

Cherubs aren't allowed to go to hell.

Unless they're... changed.

Ophanim.

She had to keep Luci comfortable and to help him keep them at bay. The streets would run black and red if an Ophanim got loose.

"Alastor. Keep Charlie safe, and you'll have what you desire. I vow that."

"Is that a deal?" the sinner grinned, offering his hand towards the Queen.

For her daughter, whatever it took. She didn't hesitate to take his hand, but her grip was tight enough to crack bone.

"A contract with one like myself is eternally binding, Alastor. There are consequences you cannot fathom should you try weaselling out of this," Lilith warned, tightening her grip further. "Do you understand?"

"Clearly."

"Good," she accepted, letting go. It'll take several hours for the bones to heal. "And don't tell the Overlords that we know. They'll have a part to play should the divine seek to soil our home." 

"Niente is leading them. They always know. Somehow."

Niente. A perpetual thorn in their side.

The sinner that always knows.

"We'll be ahead of them. We always are."

"If you say so."

"Go. I don't want my husband to know you were here. He needs his rest. And keep Charlotte from learning I sent you there; I don't want her coming back here while her father is so... tired."

"My part is to keep the Princess safe, not to coddle her."

"Do you need another demonstration?"

"Need not resort to threats. I'll discourage it, but I can't tell her what to do. I've already tried. She's remarkably stubborn."

Indeed, she was.

She was everything that Lilith wished heaven was.

Chapter Text

Regret came before wakefulness. 

He wanted to make it go away, the repulsion, the nausea. He didn't know why anything sexual made him ill; it was like he had an irrational phobia of it. It spurred anxiety in his bones.

Stumbling onto Verosika's secret stash was too alluring. It was an easy way to escape from the crumbling. He was dissolving from the inside out. How can lungs so filled with the dust of loss still have room for air? So desperately did he wish to scream it away, but no sound could come.

The strings in his throat pulled taut and angry, straining the muscles, burning. A hand unseen clasped tight, nails digging into his jaw, and nothingness scorched his veins. 

Absence was so heavy.

The crushing of nothing. 

Curling didn't shield him from the sharp stings in his chest, invisible knives digging past his skin and past his ribs. How they coiled and twisted like serpents, hiding behind the sternum and eating him alive. The hole they left couldn't be filled, no matter what he shoved in there.

It's so dark in there. Cold. Frigid fingers travel up from that bottomless pit to claw and wrench at his nerves, clambering towards his back, scratching the shoulder blades. They knotted the muscles like skilled crocheters, their needles pricking his spine with heavy loneliness, fear, doubt, and so much he couldn't name.

Their venom spread up the cord like a ladder, biting the base of his skull and whispering so loudly what he already knew. It was on repeat. As regular as clockwork, with every tick, the song begins again, sending vibrations to his feeble hearts.

How can words make one so cold? How do they strip all that there is, leaving behind a husk that's either simmering with anger or overwhelmed with... nothing? 

Every breath hurts, struggling to pull air past the hand lying in wait, gripping his tongue and petrifying it. How do you speak when your mouth cannot move? Is there any motivation when everyone wants you to shut it?

Nails drag against the roof of his mouth every time he opens his vile, toxic trap. Gnarly, gnashing teeth jailed a purple tongue with glowing yellow rings, long and sharp. Fangs hid snugly behind those yellowish teeth, waiting to sink into living matter and drain it of a soul.

These claws. They cut and tear, raking through skin like a blowtorched knife through butter. Pointed and sharp, a chisel to soaked mud. The fingers, hands and arms moved as he willed, but they did not belong. 

He could feel the tendons pull as he scrunched those alien, foreign hands. The weight of muscle tugging the pads of his fingers, the veins being squeezed, the palms tingling as the skin stretched. These knuckles wrinkled like an ageing man as he pulled those fingers back, returning to youth once he coiled them into fists. Beneath the fur, the thick blanket that hid the monstrousness beneath. 

All of it was wrong. It was revolting. 

The stomach beneath this fur and skin trembled, reacting to his distress. It didn't take much. It never did. The burn of alcohol didn't help.

Whatever had sat fermenting in that disgusting sack surged upwards, scorching the sensitive flesh within the tube connected to this mouth. Acid and bile burned that tongue, splattering on a floor that wasn't his either. It smelled horrid, of regret and poor decisions.

Stomach empty, it cried to the skull, causing an ache to grow heavy. No amount of rubbing would make it leave. 

As he rubbed, he felt one of those things that stuck out - they're called pedipalps. They disgusted him, too. He despised them. He loathed having them visible.

With his suit, which he was mysteriously lacking, he could hide them. He pushed them away, regardless of the pain in his jaw. It was fine. He got used to that. None of it compared to the sensation of tendons, fascia and muscle ripping away. The snapping of veins, splatter of blood, tearing of skin and shredding of fur. 

The crippling weight twists into anger. Frustration. There's nowhere to direct it but this prison he's trapped in. 

Sick-stained lips pull back into a furious sneer, a toxic green gas plumed between the fangs. Those foreign hands reached for the offending appendages, scratching through the thick fur and into the skin. The walls of his prison were fragile and soft. 

Even so, he continued, no matter how much he scratched himself to get them away from his face.

The window of his prison. 

Those annoying things attached to the roof of this cursed jail twitched from the sensations beyond these walls. He grabbed at those, too, wanting them gone. Something moved behind him. Without the suit, he couldn't hide that, either. The tail of the prison, angry and hitting whatever was near it. 

Repulsive. 

The only part he ever found comfort in this cruel, horrid cage was taken from him. 

He wanted out. 

Shouldn't the embodiment of Greed get what it wants?

He didn't know what happened but felt a sharp, hot pop on one side of his face. It radiated like escaping spiders, cascading like a tsunami across his nerves. 

The frustration grew like mould, electrifying every cell in his cell, desperate to leave. His tail moved, hitting a wall, allowing that frustrating sensation to escape where he couldn't follow. 

Where he wanted to follow. 

The darkness turned to a dance of glowing yellows, blues and pinks. That was only caused by one thing.

"Go away," the sin growled out, not wanting to be seen.

He didn't have enough of it covered. 

It's so disgusting...

Alas, his elder sister didn't listen. Whoever would? 

She brought her lower hands to his wrists, guiding them away from the opening of this frigid, suffocating prison.

"Lift your chin," Bee said, her voice soft but firm. He didn't have the energy to fight her. "Oh, Z..."

Her slender, warm fingers trailed the scratches, feeling as the muscles shivered from the touch. Another set graced the aching pedipalp, dragging her digits to where it connected to its face. It wasn't his. He was trapped behind it. 

He didn't fight her as she popped it back into its socket; he'd dislocated the gross thing. Another tug and he might've finally removed it. 

"Why are you here?"

"You're in my house, silly. You don't remember getting shitfaced?"

"Remember that, yeah. Not after."

"Well," she began, conjuring or summoning fabric into their hands. "You got drunk, slaughtered most of a mafia, blew up your office and wandered the place looking for waffles. You passed out on my couch, and I brought you up here."

"What's this?"

"Something comfortable. Your suit was ruined, and I'd rather be here than look for another one. Tex helped me find a hoodie - if it fits him, it'll fit you."

"No."

"And why is that?"

"How am I gonna fit my tail under this?" the taller sin grumbled, analysing the clothing she got him.

He wouldn't even be able to hide his wing under this. 

"Zuriel, I know you hate it. You hate it so much. But I'm not going to let you hurt yourself. I love you too much for that." 

"It's disgusting..."

"Not to me. Never me," she vowed, placing a hand upon his exposed, fuzzy chest. "Levi and Sattie are coming over, and we're gonna spend the day eating crap and watching films."

He recoiled, the images of that event replaying clearly as though it happened yesterday.

"Why the fuck is Satan comin'?"

"Because he's worried. We all are."

"I'm not losing in!" the insectoid sin shouted, startling the vixen. "I ain't a looney!"

"I'm not saying you are," the elder said, composing herself. "We love you, Z. 

"Sure. And treatin' me like a psycho is sure as shit loving!"

"Please, don't shut us out. Me out," she pleaded.

It made it worse. It hurt more.

The green sin wanted air. There's too little in here. It's devoid of it, a heartless vacuum.

He pushed past her, stepping out the door into an explosion of light. It was too much for his hangover-strained eyes.

Get to the doors. Get outside. It's too much, too little.

He didn't know what to think when he saw an annoyingly familiar imp in the hallway, looking lost in Bee's labyrinth of a hive.

The imp squeaked, surprised to see the sin up and so... bare.

He's uncovered, visible.

His stomach churned, the stress of being perceived by someone other than Bee threatening another round of acid and bile.

He didn't want to kill Fizz or fuck, Tex. he tried to keep it down, but it fought viciously. 

"Uh, hey?" the imp waved, setting off a wave of anger.

He managed to fight the wave this time, a minor victory.

"Why the fuck are you here!?" Mammon yelled, furious and insulted.

Was this some freakish intervention? He has a few drinks, and they all show up like he's an alcoholic!?

What's next? Was his sister waiting for a text from Luci, Bel and Ozzie so they could join this armada? 

The loneliness is crushing. Its grip won't stop. It's making his throat tight; his eyes sting with fluid he fought to keep at bay. 

"Verosika," Fizz shrugged. "She was worried and called me. Then Tex and Bee came to get you, and I tagged along. Only to get some info from Bee. Ozzie wasn't telling me shit."

And where the fuck was she? Waiting around the corner!?

He was seething.

He wanted to go.

"Yeah, he showed up last night and made an ass of himself," Bee sighed, disappointed. "You don't need to act all hostile, Z. It's fine."

"Fuck you!" he snapped, remorseful for lashing out at her. He couldn't show it, though. He was falling apart.

Not here. Not in front of others. 

"Sorry, Fizz. Let me calm him down," Bee said, frustratingly concerned instead of reacting how he wanted.

Get angry! Shout back!

Act how you're supposed to when you see a gross, vile thing! He wanted her to bite back. 

"Don't fucking patronise me!" he yelled again, the tightness inside getting worse.

It's getting hard to breathe. The fluid kept building, regardless of his whims. It's too bright. Too loud. The walls are moving, closing in. 

Fizz extended one of his legs and stepped away from the fuming sin, wary of that bludgeoning tail. 

"Z!"

"Fuck off! I'm going!"

Anywhere.

Anywhere that wasn't here. The walls are too small. 

"You're staying here," Beelzebub stated firmly. She buzzed past him, standing in the corridor. She made the walls smaller. "At least until you've calmed down."

"I'm not going to be ordered around by an archangel cunt! Didn't I get enough of that shit from Mets and Mikey?"

The words were venom on his tongue. They hurt to say. 

He just wanted it to go away. 

"You're not pushing me away, Zuri. Come on. Let's get something to eat," she said, approaching softly and bringing her arms around his deceptive form. Most of it was fur. Under it, he was closer to her figure. "Lots of waffles, and we'll have whatever you want. Lots of pizza, soda and anything else," she smiled, despite what he'd said.

He didn't deserve her.

"The fuck did Ozz do to make that imp stay over?"

Especially since he hated him.

Anything for a distraction, though.

"Nearly step on him."

"What!?"

[Ozzie<3: Fizz.]

[Ozzie<3: I understand if you don't want to talk. I'm sorry.]

[Ozzie<3: Can we talk? In person? I've got a lot of apologising to do. And I owe you more than that.]

[Ozzie<3: Text me when you're ready. I'll wait as long as you need.]

Fizz didn't know what to think, feel or say. Could Ozzie genuinely explain what the fuck was going on?

The imp peaked over the railing, looking at the sins below. 

Satan and Leviathan brought a truck worth of supplies for a slumber party. They wanted to get through it together. Even Belphegor dropped by briefly with some sleeping tablets.

He could almost smell their worry, their concerns for their little sibling. 

Fizz underestimated his former boss' condition. This morning was a disaster, and the sin was still hostile towards him. Though, that was likely more due to Fizz seeing all of him.

If he learned anything, Mammon hated being seen. It must've scared him for someone other than Bee to see him like that. 

Fizz saw the scratches. He spotted the bruising around one of those pedipalps - Leviathan corrected him on that. How often did he do that? Take all of that bottled anger and pain on himself?

It's not like any of them could see it. He kept himself covered. Even now, he was in that hoodie, hood up, covering as much as possible with an oversized duvet. 

How would he react if he knew Fizz saw his scars? Not well, the imp assumed.

In a way, Fizz envied what they had. Seeing Leviathan, Satan, Bee, Zuriel, Tex and that cute kid, Nova, all swaddled together watching some earth film. 

As if detecting his gaze, Bee looked up, whistling.

"You gonna hide away all day!?" she hollered, causing the youngest - besides Nova and Tex - to cringe. "Shit. Sorry, Z."

Before Fizz could answer, Satan did it for him. The sin summoned a lasso and pulled Fizz down, reminding him of the events with Striker.

The imp yelped as he collided with Leviathan's tail, sliding down to a spot next to Vortex. He was startled by how quick it was.

"You're one of us noo, wee imp," Levi giggled, high-fiving Satan. "Nae avoiding family film time."

Fizz didn't feel welcome. He felt like an intruder. He couldn't avoid glancing at why they were all in the same building and caught an unamused glare aimed at him.

He turned, avoiding that gaze. 

However, he was able to hear a whisper from Bee.

"It's ok," she said, quiet and calming.

"He saw me..."

It felt so wrong to hear how nervous and frightened the sin was. 

"Z, you wandered around naked last night. He's not bothered. It's fine."

That wasn't entirely true. In truth, Mammon's form made Fizz uncomfortable, but he wouldn't show it. 

He pretended not to hear a thing, allowing Nova to play with Fizz's fingers, amazed. She was so cute. 

Did Fizz want kids? Deep down, maybe. Not now, though. He needed to understand Ozzie's strange spite before then. 

What if their hypothetical kid triggered that wrath?

That wouldn't be fair. He couldn't allow it. 

Even if things went wrong with Ozzie - he hoped not - he still had Beelzebub. She was good. He liked her a lot. 

How funny. He wanted to get far away from his now ex-boss, but now, there are few places he'd rather be. 

There are four deadly sins surrounding Fizz, and he couldn't feel more safe, even if he was intruding a little. 

If only Ozzie could've joined them.

He'll ask Beelzebub for advice later. He wasn't sure what to do besides be quiet.

"You're doing great," Vortex smiled, comforting Fizz. 

"Thanks," Fizz sighed, the stress eating at him. "How long until you didn't feel like an intruder?"

"I still do," Vortex chuckled, patting Fizz's back. "You'll get used to it. Promise."

Since it came from Tex, Fizz couldn't help but believe him.

Chapter Text

Was it wrong that Fizz felt guilty?

He didn't understand what was happening, but still. He made a whole song shitting on the guy, and he's a few minutes from shattering. It's messed up.

It urged the imp on. He had to get to the bottom of it before it imploded in their faces. 

Satan almost killed two of the sins when he lost control. He didn't have venom, toxic gas or acidic vomit - how lethal would Mammon be if he broke? It'd be catastrophic regardless. 

Given how serious it was, Fizz couldn't go far. He wants to help. He's always wanted to help others; he can't help it. 

Even if it's a guy who was a terrible boss to him.

It wasn't like he had good role models, though. That cycle is hard to break, especially when you're beyond thousands of years old. It's more than Fizz could fathom.

"Hey, kid."

Fizz nearly jumped out of his skin - whatever of it was left. 

Satan eyed the nervous imp, eyes examining him.

Familiar eyes, weirdly.

"It's just Fizz. You're up early."

"Coffee," the western sin shrugged, slurping said beverage. "And you?"

"I'm meeting with Ozzie outside. I don't want to be too far, in case anything happens."

"You're ballsy. I'll give you that. If you weren't fucking Ozzie, Zuri would've eaten you by now - if Levi hadn't already." 

"Has he eaten an imp before?"

"We all did before y'all got sentient. A shame. You tasted nice, too," he said ominously, making the imp anxious. "You remind me of him."

"Huh? Who?"

"Zuri. Back when we were in heaven. Must be why he likes you so much."

"He hates me."

"If he hated you, kiddo, you wouldn't have those," Satan pointed out, motioning to Fizz's cybernetics. "That and you understand. We ain't disabled like he is..."

It was sad to watch the sin contemplate the words, knowing it was him that caused it. He and Mammon had a similar situation to Fizz and Blitz - instead of an accident, it was Satan going through sin psychosis. Either way, neither was intentional. 

Satan was remorseful, much like Blitz was. 

The sin thought on it more, his ancient mind wandering so places Fizz couldn't begin to fathom.

He was right, though. They didn't have evident disabilities like him and Mammon - the latter wasn't entirely true since he hid it very well. 

Used to, at least.

Then again, Fizz hid his broken horns. They were very alike.

Yeah. He could see why Zuriel took a shine to Fizz now. They were too similar. 

"I spent a long time in the hospital after the accident. I wanted to die. Anything would've been better than being a lump of burnt flesh... and he showed up. I thought I was hallucinating. But no, it was just him."

"You a fan, eh?"

"Yeah. I thought I had rose-coloured glasses on, but I guess I saw more than I realised. He was my idol when I was a kid."

"That so?" the sin huffed, a cute smirk creasing his lips. "Ain't a good role model to idolise, but I know that meant a lot to him. He'll deny it 'till the horns of heaven blare, but he's always loved kids. You should've seen him when Lily got pregnant. Lit up like the Christmas tree he is."

Fizz could see it. The sin adored Charlie.

She was easy to love.

"I'd say I'm surprised he never had any of his own, but, well, gotta - do the thing and all."

"Y'know, Luci suggested adoption once, but... kid, you guys live so short. A spec of dust on the beach of our existence. Y'all die too fast for us to handle. It's the worst part about living as long as we do."

Fizz could only imagine.

They exist for so, so long. In no time, Ozzie would outlive him.

That was a frightening thought, but only because he didn't want Asmodeus alone.

"Levi said it best some centuries ago. When you got a set time of life, you got a single page to write your story - every letter becomes gold, for they're oh so damn meaningful and special - no time to waste. But us? We got endless pages, a bottomless inkwell. After a while, the library we've lived in becomes meaningless, incomprehensible to y'all. We ain't living forever. We're dying forever. There's no crueller master than time. Other than God." 

So much existentialism to unpack there.

"Do I have a good story?"

"At this rate? You'll have one of the best, Fizz. You get on kicking my little brother's ass. I gotta make sure my even smaller brothers ain't eaten all them waffles Bee made. And Vortex better not have touched my fucking blood apple tarts," Satan grumbled, stepping over Fizz with ease and casually jumping to the next floor.

When you're a giant, why use stairs?

Fizz wandered outside, waiting for his boyfriend, rereading his text messages. He was nervous; last time, Fizz almost got crushed.

However, he had faith in his love. He had to.

After what felt like years - it was fifteen minutes at most - the rooster of lust showed himself.

His boyfriend didn't look well. His feathers were dishevelled, his secondary faces puffy from crying. It wasn't a pleasant look, but Fizz remained firm.

"You wanted to talk."

"I did - I do," the sin corrected, sounding anxious. "I'm sorry, Fizz. Really. No apologies will be enough, though."

"I'm not the one you need to be apologising to. You could've hurt him too, Ozz."

Asmodeus showed a flare of anger that made Fizz apprehensive, but it snuffed out fast.

"Yeah..." he gritted out, sounding like he possessed a lump in his throat. "He, uh... drank, huh?"

"I saw it. The scars," Fizz clarified, hoping he wouldn't regret that. "I relate. A lot. We've got a lot in common when you get rid of the boss-employee bullshit." 

Satan himself pointed that out as clear as day.

"Yeah. I can see why," Ozzie said, sounding awkward and nervous. "Can we, uh, sit?"

Fizz nodded, sitting on the steps of Bee's abode.  He joined the imp, staring out at nothingness in an honestly creepy way.

They sat in silence, though awkward because of their size difference. 

While Fizz wanted to push, he didn't know how. Something was wrong. His boyfriend hadn't been like this before.

So... broken and tired. 

Fizz got comfortable beside his love, waiting patiently for the sin to compose himself.

"I... I don't know how to explain it," Asmodeus started, sounding distant and strangely cold. "It's... a lot."

"I'm here for you, Ozzie," Fizz assured, shuffling closer to his boyfriend. "We're all lost on what's happening. It's so... it's not like you. Not the man I love."

"It's more me than even I know," the sin said cryptically.

Fizz had to trust that Ozzie would explain. 

He trusted Ozz with his life. His soul. His future. 

"I said I'd explain everything. I... I want to try. It's hard. It's so hard..."

He already sounded like he would cry, and it scared Fizz.

Whatever started this was agonising. It was something his love buried deep down, further than any knew. 

Fizzarolli wasn't ready. He didn't want to see his beloved in pain. However, he stayed firm.

He had to see this through. For everyone's sake, including Ozzie's.

"I..." the sin tried, struggling with the words. "I'm sorry. I'm not good with... this."

"It's ok. I'm right here," Fizz reassured, petting his love's arm. "Take all the time you need."

"Ok. Ok, I can do this."

It felt wrong - like he was forcing this from his love's soul.

It was a secret Ozzie wished to keep buried, and Fizz was digging at it relentlessly. 

"I... I had a brother. Sister. I never got to find out what they would've called themselves... We were made together. I expected to see the end of days with them. Ramiel. My Rami... I didn't even get to say goodbye when Father destroyed them. One moment, they were next to me, then they weren't." 

It only started, and it was already too much. 

Fizz stroked his boyfriend's back, feeling the titan shiver. 

"I'm sorry you lost them," Fizz said, softly leaning into the warmth of his lover. 

"It's not just that I lost Rami. It's that God reused them - their energy - like some Frankenstein bullshit. Like they were pieces to repurpose - a fucking tool with interchangeable parts!" Asmodeus growled, standing sharply. "He took my twin apart and remade him into... into him."

Fizz took several moments to process that information.

Ozzie watched his sibling die. It happened next to him. That trauma... was never resolved. How could it? Angels weren't allowed to feel. 

They were tools to be used, abandoned, destroyed and repurposed however their creator pleased.

A harrowing existence. The moment you weren't of use, you were gone. 

And worse, your pieces could be used to make someone else.

"Zuriel," Fizz guessed, watching the anger flash over his love's face.

"You know how we know who the other is, even under a disguise? Because we can feel each other. And every time I see that clown, I feel them. It's a fucking joke! He has Rami's eyes-" the sin choked, covering his beautiful pair, falling to his knees. "All I see is them... how scared they looked when I... I'm why they died..."

Fizz hugged Ozzie, extending his arms around the crying sin. 

Their Father, their creator, was a cruel, unfeeling monster. 

How would Fizz feel if he suddenly got a new brother who had Blitz's eyes and his voice but was someone else? It would fuck with Fizz.

What could be more evil than killing your creation, your child, next to their sibling, then remaking them into someone else? 

Horrific. 

Every time Asmodeus saw Mammon, he was reminded of that agonising moment. As he said, the sin of greed shared Ramiel's eyes. As his twin, it was something only Asmodeus had taken note of.

"It wasn't your fault, Ozz,"

His boyfriend pushed him away, trembling as hot fluid gushed from his beautiful face.

"It was!" the sin cried, bellowed. "My job - I was meant to see the future, and Rami heard it. But when I learned how to hear as well, I told God! Rami looked at me and - they were so fucking scared, so... I watched them disappear - they were there, then nothing... I saw those damn eyes - the fear, the loss - they trusted me, and I killed them!"

What could Fizz possibly say to convince Asmodeus otherwise? For at least five hundred million years, he believed he murdered his twin sibling. 

Why did God do that? What purpose was there? 

"No, Ozz -" Fizz tried, but Ozzie wasn't listening. He was trapped, forced to replay the scene.

Even the sins could get PTSD. They were as mortal as Fizz and the humans above. It's funny how it took him so long to realise that.

They aren't so different at all.

"They're everywhere, Fizz!" Asmodeus yelled, his pain burning Fizz's heart. "I'm drowning in them - everywhere in hell, I feel a piece of them, all because of that fucking tree!"

The apple tree of Eden. The fruit gifted humanity freedom from God himself, breaking the chains and imbuing them with free will. It was such a crime that those involved, directly or indirectly, were banished to hell. It created sinners, hell, and the ability to choose outside of God.

It was Ramiel's legacy, in a way. Through their death, life could truly begin. It's why Fizz was alive. 

If Ramiel never perished, hell wouldn't be here.

For Asmodeus, it was torture. He would always feel his sibling's essence haunting him, reminding him of that incident. To further that anguish, he was trapped with Zuriel, a shadow of his twin's existence. 

It wasn't fair to blame Mammon; the bug sin had no idea.

Beelzebub would've said so - she was closer to Zuriel than anyone! The others must not know either. 

A secret that crushed Asmodeus' heart, causing him to reject and push away someone innocent in this mess. It was cruel, nasty, and an understandable reaction to such immense trauma being constantly rubbed in your face. Every moment with his little brother would trigger that horrific incident.

It wasn't Mammon's fault. He was a scapegoat for Asmodeus' raw grief and anger. 

"I love you so much," Fizz said, struggling to think of anything else. Although Ozzie pushed him away, Fizz hugged him again. "I'm so sorry your maker did that to you..." 

Was it on purpose? It was plausible.

Lust itself wasn't a punishment. If anything, it was a gift.

However, being trapped with the repurposed corpse of your twin? That was a cruel, twisted punishment. 

How long did Asmodeus carry this guilt alone?

"I fucking hate it when he looks at me because I see them - I see them when I killed them-" the sin sobbed, shaking from the force of his regret and pain. "I hate it. I hate him. He spits on everything they stood for - all that they were - I never saw him coming. I couldn't."

It's misdirected and unfair. It's grief, raw and unfiltered. 

Nothing Mammon could've done would've changed this. Even if perfect, it wouldn't take away Ozzie's anguish. 

Ramiel would still be gone, and Ozzie felt he was at fault. 

"I worked so hard, Fizz. I had to exist for Rami... they couldn't die for nothing... all that motherfucker had to do was make some stupid fucking grass, but no, he had to be a piece of shit and keep going. The only time God spoke to me was either about my visions or him. "Look at that. Perhaps I should reforge you, Gadreel - look how Ramiel has improved - once useless, now fruitful." On and on and on-"

Their creator taunted him with what he'd done to Ozzie's twin. He insulted him. He rubbed it in his face. 

Ozzie never got the opportunity to process or grieve. He was pushed to hate his younger sibling, perhaps as a punishment for whatever crazy reason.

"With E-Eden, I was told to look into its future," Ozzie sniffled, breathing heavily. "I didn't. I couldn't. And because I didn't do what I should've, he sent me down here, tossed me away like I was nothing, and left me with that! He changed his voice, Fizz - he made him sound like Rami - the others don't hear it, but I do... I always do..."

His punishment for not seeing what Mammon would do. Not only seeing his twin's eyes and feeling his presence but hearing his voice. The knife in Ozzie's heart was twisted further.

What purpose could that serve?

Such monstrous evil. It's astounding that the sins turned out as well as they did.

"I can't say I'm sorry enough," Fizz whimpered, horrified at what happened to his beloved. It didn't excuse his behaviour but explained it. That was a theme with the sins. "I'm so sorry, Ozzie."

What else was there to say?

There's no easy way to solve this. It's all by design. A monster crafted a way to torture his love for eternity, and the tool of pain had no idea. 

Is that why Ozzie was so vicious? He was pushing the youngest sin away to stop his hurt, to make it stop. Or, at least, manageable. 

And Fizz didn't know if he could explain this to Bee. How could he? It was such a special secret; what boyfriend would release that?

But it'd provide so much context. The sins could help Ozzie like they did with Zuriel. If they didn't know, they couldn't be there for him.

Fizz had to choose. Would he protect the secret or release it? Could he betray Ozzie's trust like that? He hasn't told anyone else; that was obvious to Fizz. 

A choice he didn't want to make, one he couldn't force from his beloved without causing more pain. 

Chapter Text

Everyone had to attend. Every Overlord in hell, no matter what they were doing or where they were, needed to be here.

Two meetings in one week were bizarre, but Velvette understood things were weird. 

From how Vox and Val explained it, Niente had a grand plan. In her opinion, it was an atrocious one.

"You gormless twats, this won't work. It'll be the opposite. We'll get as fucked as Saville did to them kids!"

"Who?" Val questioned, confused.

"A nonce. Doesn't matter. I mean that we're fucked if we follow through with nameless and spooky's cunt puddle of a plan!"

"It kills two birds with one stone. We remove the heaven threat and secure our place in Pride," Vox stated, though she wasn't convinced.

Unlike Val, she's not a moron.

She's the backbone of the throuple.

"And the sins? Do you believe they'll roll over after we effectively serve their niece on a silver platter? We haven't got shit against one of them, let alone all seven. Vox is losing to that new bitch Plus, and Val gets his arse kicked by his shite eyesight - adding a couple of wrinkly twits won't make our odds any better."

"Hey! My eyesight is just fine!" Valentino squeaked a little too hastily.

She wasn't accepting this stupidity. If anything, they should be working alongside the sins. It would improve their chances drastically.

Velvette knew Vox. As much as he tried to pretend he was confident and in control, he was anxious. He had to see. This plan is a mess - it's not worth the risk!

"Niente's the oldest of us. They know what they're doing," Vox grumbled, but she wasn't convinced. "We haven't got a lot of options, Vel. We're between a rock, a hard place and an angel's spear. A real angel, not those Exterminator posers."

He's scared. She didn't blame him.

It's a genuine problem they face. Not all of them are likely to survive. 

If she were a betting girl, her money would be on Val. If he died, she wouldn't be as upset, given he's a sack of shit. 

It isn't the same with Vox, though. He saw her talent and, albeit unintentionally, provided the lift that propelled Velvette to Overlord Status in barely two years. It was second only to Alastor's ascension. She was the youngest until Plus arrived. 

She was the one who proposed the Vs - a collaboration between the three primary Overlords of the eastern pentagram. They had social media, TV and sex intertwined into a profitable venture and insurance to keep their power. It's not only lust for strength; it's security.

If you're strong, you're safe. 

True angels took that security away from them. 

"Who cares if the little bitch gets skewered? It's us or them," Val huffed, reddish smoke trailing from his mouth. "We'll let the angels and sins kill each other, then take out whoever is left standing."

"Without the sins, the other rings have no control. Sure, we can fuck up a lot of folks, but we're not talking millions - the purge ensures that number doesn't go too high - we're talkin' trillions. If not more than that. Quantity can overpower quality in an instant if you're not careful."

It's not like Vox was capable of arguing that point. He can only hypnotise so many people, and Val's pheromones have a time limit. While Velvette can get people addicted to empty likes and emojis, it's superficial. 

"What do you propose we do, Vel? If we're in the plan, at least we've got a chance. On our own, we're fucked. We need them."

"Her."

"Shut up, Val," Velvette hissed, glaring at her somewhat former mentor. "I'm being serious, Virgil. As your business partner and mate, I know you're not a complete moron - you know this shit's rotten. We can't go through with this."

Using his mortal name was a low blow. They only did it as an emphasis on the seriousness of something. They were too snarky, sarcastic and dickhead-ish for their wellbeing.

Knowing who they used to be strengthened their bond as the Vs.

Velvette was once Evangeline Gonzalez. Her mother moved to England and met her father, having four children, Velvette being the eldest. 

Alejandro, Rodolfo and Esmerelda. She never got close with her siblings, one of the few things she regrets. The worst had to be Marcus. Little Marcus. 

It was through Social Media that Velvette met her violent end. It was a simple status change to single. She was willing to raise Marcus alone, but Jayden had other ideas. 

Velvette's demon form had stripes - each where Jayden had stabbed her with a kitchen knife. 

She made a vow to herself never to be under someone ever again. In 2008, Velvette was born and became more than she ever dreamed.

"And what other options do we have, Eva? Do you have anything? Because I don't."

"Gimme a min," she growled, struggling with the fact they were genuinely in deep, deep shit. 

"Time we don't have. Come on, they're expecting everybody. We can't be late."

"We're always late," Val whined, readjusting his sunglasses. "If anything, we're early."

Virgil Gallagher died in 1988. He had visited his brother in Frankfurt and was heading home on a plane. Over the Scottish town of Lockerbie, it exploded. According to him, the bomb was in a radio cassette thing, igniting his hatred for radios. Although that didn't explain why he despised Alastor, it provided context to why he hated radio.

He only explained it to her once. After that, he refused to mention it again. 

Ironically, TV relies on radio waves.

Elijah Fernandez de la Cruz died in 1895. He was in the opposite position he held now, once under the boot of a pimp that demanded too much. One night, he was going to kill Val, sticking a knife through his gut, and the next swing would've been at his throat. However, an earthquake occurred, allowing Val to get the upper hand and kill the bastard. His victory was short-lived as he bled out, the knife having cut an artery. 

After that, Val took out his pain on others, becoming worse than the one who used to hold his leash. It was a violent way of regaining power.

Like Vox, he refused to speak of it again. He's the oldest but behaves younger than Velvette.

Doors made of wood older than the trio put together burst open, revealing a gigantic office-like meeting room. As Niente commanded, every Overlord, besides the usual absentee, was in attendance.

Fucking hell, even that disco guy was here. She forgot he was still around at all.

"Finally!" Rein complained, their red feathers dusting their seat. "You always take for-fucking-ever!"

"Choke on it, bird brain!" Valentino hissed, finding a seat first. 

Oddly, all the seats had names on them. As a potential joke, Valentino was stuck between Daisy and Adaliah. 

Vox had a seat between Honeybee and Henroin. 

Out of them, Velvette had the best company, Grandpa Zestial and the spitfire Geneva. 

She watched as Niente made their presence known, standing at the end of the obnoxiously long table, Chinon by their side. While Niente appeared pleased, Chinon seemed more annoyed than anything.

The doors opened again, and for a moment, she thought Alastor would show up. Instead, it was an imp hybrid of sorts. She hadn't met many in Pride - they wisely stayed in the lower rings. However, she knew enough to know he wasn't pure. 

His eyes fascinated her, ringed like ripples in a lake. With him was the cage that held the cherub, frightened and shaking. It had several marks from Niente's little tests, finding what would harm the angelic.

Whoever he was, she was interested. What was an imp doing here?

"Only a single absence? That must be a record," Niente mused, their red teeth almost glowing with glee. 

It was.

Velvette was the Overlord of Social Media.

Valentino was the Overlord of Porn.

Vox was the Overlord of Television.

The rest?

Code had video games; Lady Sickle had counterfeit; Honeybee had organ trafficking; Zestial had gambling; Plus had streaming services; Mel & Collie had theatre; Rein had music; Carmilla Carmine had weapons; Jingle had jesters; Alexandria had books; Black Holly had movies; Geneva specialised in war-stuff in general; Rosie led the cannibals; Alastor had the radio; Daisy had child porn - gross; Adaliah had snuff films; Disco Stu had, well, disco; Henroin had drugs; Crossbones had mines; Obscura had photography; Innes had pets; Chinon had vengeance and Ring Master had the circus.

Niente had information. All of it. No matter what, they always knew. 

"Will you shove the cryptic pretentiousness up your ass and get to the point already?" Alexandria grumbled, his feline ears pinned back. His sibling, Jingle, giggled at his frustration, the bells on their ears living up to their name.

She didn't know if they were real siblings or if it was like what she had with Vox - a closeness on a deep level.

And she agreed with Alexandria. They were taking far too long.

"We've made progress in corrupting the angelic weapons. However, results vary at best," Carmilla said, visibly frustrated. "We get the best results when incorporating something involving the sins. They're already corrupted, but acquiring the amount needed is difficult."

"And limited," the imp sighed, his voice thick with a southern drawl. "The easiest to get is Beelzejuice, but that's not potent or fresh enough."

There was the background hiss of a snake or crocodile, and she liked it. It was pleasant to hear. The golden tooth was odd, given that it was Valentino's symbol of control in Pride, but it must mean something different below. 

"Then we use that bitch in that tacky hotel," Honeybee shrugged, toying with jewellery around her wrist, unbothered. "She's got more than enough voodoo juice and is weaker than the seven."

"My faggot useless son is there. That's already a way in," Henroin offered, earning a few nods of agreement. "There's that cat, the cyclops girl, that weird snake buffoon, my mistake, the princess and her dyke."

"You're forgetting someone," Vox sneered.

"Yes, the one that seldom appears," Chinon agreed, standing beside Niente. "Alastor is powerful. None here will argue that. However, he is a single Overlord against twenty-six. Given his petulant feud with Vox, luring him away from-"

"Twenty-five," Rosie corrected, one of the few times she's ever spoken. To Velvette's knowledge, at least. "I will not assist you in deceiving my friend."

"Twenty-four," Zestial concurred, frustrating Chinon. "Turning on each other will only hamper any chance at survival. This is no game. It is war. We must stand together or fall divided."

Getting twenty-seven stubborn individuals to cooperate was nigh impossible, even with the threat of heaven.

"Twenty-three," Velvette stated, startling Valentino and Vox. "Someone's got to say it. Your plan is fucking ridiculous. Insane, even. Anyone stupid enough to follow it deserves eradication." 

Niente's eye twitched a little, visibly annoyed.

The moth twisted into a flurry of grey mist, reappearing before her, eyes locked with a frigidness rivalling the Arctic.

Velvette would not bend to their peacocking.

"Elaborate," Niente borderline ordered.

Gladly.

"Removing the angels from the equation, we'd benefit from the sins taking control of this lawless wasteland." Several snickered at the suggestion. "Use your fucking heads for a second. We won't lose anything significant - we'll still be in power, still have numerous souls bound to us - we just won't be called Overlords or whatever the fuck. Titles are empty. By cooperating with them, more souls are protected, giving us even more power."

"Asmodeus' inventions would vastly improve Vox and I's business," Plus added. Although Velvette didn't care for her, she appreciated the support. 

"They would provide access to the other rings, expanding our business ventures and opportunities," Geneva agreed, standing quickly. The movement forced Niente to stop leaning towards Velvette, less they wanted a face full of spikes. "And doesn't Leviathan have a shit load more angelic weapons?"

"You think we haven't considered that, child?" Chinon spat, insulted. "The sins are monsters that would destroy our souls without hesitation. I expect this naivety from the child, but you, Geneva? I'm disappointed."

Geneva growled, hitting his fists against the table. Angered by his display, Obscura stood, her chair tumbling against the wall. The duo scowled, daring the other to make a move, and Niente did nothing to discourage infighting.

Why weren't they doing anything about this mess? They'll kill each other before the angels even arrive!

"Gimme one reason, you copycat slut!" Geneva shouted, forcing Zestial to bind him in black webbing. "Let me at her, gramps!"

"I'll photograph your funeral, you spiky cunt!" Obscura snapped, blinding light flashing in Geneva's face.

It made Adaliah jump over the table, grabbing her.

Honeybee hopped behind Carmilla, her wings buzzing wildly. Meanwhile, Daisy, Mel & Collie were enjoying the show.

They're a fucking mess.

"Are you proud, little girl? I should show you how I earned my title," Chinon threatened, glowering at Velvette, possibly hoping she would back off.

Fuck no to that.

"Don't talk to my business partner like that," Vox warned, electricity sparking around him. "Fuck with a V, you get all three."

"What makes you think you stand a chance against me?" Chinon scoffed, his eyes burning into Vox's. When he got close to the TV demon, Val stood, using his height and smoke to force Chinon's attention to him. "The whore, the child, the radio demon wannabe - it's pathetic that Niente invited you at all." 

Again, Niente is doing nothing but observe.

"How are you chuckle fucks going to fight angels when you can't stop fighting each other?" the imp pointed out, earning a quick stare from Niente as though he insulted the moth's presence. "You gonna be the leader you've self-appointed yourself as, or are you gonna watch your lifeline crumble?"

She liked him.

Not willing to be talked down to by a mere imp, Niente stalked towards him, unblinking. It made Chinon snicker, shaking his head in disbelief at the audacity. Even so, the imp remained firm, earning respect from some Overlords attending.

She's one of them. Genuinely. Even Vox hasn't got the bollocks to stand up to Niente directly. He stood firm, unintimidated by the vastly more powerful creature of hell.

Then, the giant moth paused.

It took Velvette a few seconds to see why. It made Chinon roar in anger, only held back by Niente's raised hand. 

A few centimetres from Niente's chest was an angelic blade of Carmilla's design wrapped in the imp's tail. All the while, the mysterious cowboy didn't waver from his scowl, and Niente seemed more amused than anything.

"You wan' try that again, moth boy? Those wings would look pretty on my wall," the imp threatened, sneering at the vastly superior Overlord without fear. 

Oh, Velvette likes him a lot. 

His tail inched forward, the tip of his knife tearing Niente's clothing.

"I see why you entrusted this one with our cause, Carmilla. This spawn of wrath is stronger at heart than many here," Niente growled, their referencing which ring the imp came from getting to him.

It was one of Niente's many secrets they shouldn't know. Perhaps a threat?

Even so, the imp wasn't backing down. His glare rivalled Niente's, further earning her respect. 

The de facto leader of this stupidity shifted into mist again, returning to their place at the head of the table. Their partner in crime stood by them, glaring at the imp with a violent promise.

The imp merely blew a kiss towards Chinon.

"I like this one," Black Holly stated, nudging Crossbones, who nodded in agreement. "Now that we've mostly calmed down, how about we get back to the discussion of... well, it is more risky if we act without the sins rather than alongside them." 

Rosie, Zestial, Geneva, Plus, Black Holly and Vox are on her side. Not great, but not bad. 

"And what? Play lapdog to some former angels?" Rein squawked. "Chinon's right. The sins are monsters that'll make our afterlives awful. They'll strip us of what little security we still have!"

"Or they work with us," Mel said, their second head, Collie, nodding quickly. "They know nothing of sinners! By making ourselves useful, they'll keep us," Collie continued. 

"For how long? And not all of us have a business they approve of," Daisy barked, hitting all four hands on the table. "What'll Asmodeus do to my business? Adaliah's? Valentino's? We cater to the depraved who aren't whiny pussies like that pussy!"

"Val doesn't need to change much," Jingle pointed out, adding to Daisy's fury. "Sinners regenerate without holy weapons being used, and some hellborn are into being murdered - Adaliah's mostly cleared in that regard. It's only you who'd be in trouble."

Alexandria nodded, patting his weird sibling's back.

He wasn't wrong, though. 

While Valentino looked angered at the prospect of changing, it was his best chance at adapting to the new order. As much as he was a monster, Velvette, on some weird level, cared about the dickhead.

They're in business together. It's the Three Vs. They're a triple act, not a duet. 

"Go fuck yourself," the former child hissed, only making the feline sinner giggle.

Shadows swallowed the room, twisting and reshaping into a familiar grey face in a tacky red suit. Up close, it looked like Vox copied his style.

Velvette watched Rosie greet her closest friend, sticking by his side like glue. 

As Alastor fully manifested, his gaze was already on Niente's, sharp like a sickle.

"Formulating another venture into skullduggery and stupidity, Niente?" Alastor mused, his radio voice not as pleasant as the imp's. "I'm disappointed."

"For once, you show your horrid face," Chinon stated, taking note of Vox's growing anger. "You shouldn't speak to your leader in that manner."

"Oh? Miss a vote, did I?" Alastor said, tilting his head. "The way I see it, they'd only lead us to certain doom. This," he began, motioning to the caged cherub, "won't do anything but further you down a path of self-induced demise."

She can add Alastor to her list of sort-of supporters. Weird.

"Yeah, deer face has a point. Who died and made you the boss?" Geneva hissed, sitting closer to Velvette than before, almost protectively. "What've you got for us, Red Al?"

"First-hand experience of what we're up against."

Niente's grin grew foul. It was odd to see them so expressive.

Having everyone here made the tension thicker than Val's smoke.

Zestial was the first to inquire about Alastor's meaning.

"Elaborate for us, Alastor. What is it you're saying?" Zestial questioned, watching as Alastor and Rosie sat opposite Chinon and Niente.

"I'm saying that this'll never work," Alastor stated, his eyes locked with Niente's. "You've grown overconfident. While you've been hiding in your little hole of blackmail and secrets, I've been making progress. I was in the same room with Metatron and know full well that some trinkets aren't enough."

Carmilla appeared offended at calling her work "trinkets" but kept her mouth closed. Perhaps she also saw the truth?

"Who the fuck is Metatron?" Plus asked, her form glitching wildly due to being so close to Vox and Alastor simultaneously. 

"The voice of God," Valentino elaborated. Many of them were stunned that he knew something at all, let alone that. "What? My mama was religious."

She was genuinely shocked he was still paying attention enough to contribute.

"And we've been testing on a cherub. That's like a chihuahua versus a Tibetan mastiff," Henroin pointed out, earning hums of agreement. "That being said, we don't have other options. We deal with the cards we're dealt."

"On the contrary. We adapt," Zestial argued, his voice echoing in Velvette's ears. "I see it prudent that we involve the sins and alter the involvement of the young Magne. Besides her hotel venture, she is of no consequence."

Velvette noticed the sharp gleeful gleam in Alastor's eyes, almost like he was glad someone said it first. There's more to it.

It was Vox that had beef with the deer, not her. She couldn't care less. Even so, the TV idiot was strangely cordial. Did he also acknowledge the flaws?

"What do we gain from sacrificing a beneficial asset? I see nothing," Alexandria said, agreeing with Zestial, Jingle nodding. "But I disagree that she shouldn't be involved. She's partially a sin as well. Even if indirectly, she can further our endeavour in harvesting enough tainted material to harm these winged beasts."

"He's got a point," Rosie whispered, though it didn't alleviate Alastor's annoyance. "Charlotte isn't as powerful as the other sins, but she remains one of them. She has angelic blood, and this is also her home. It is as much her fight as ours. We shouldn't toss aside allies in such dire times."

"She can't fight!" Carmilla spat, frustrated. "Striker!" she commanded.

Oh, that's the imp's name?

"I doubt the sins would let her. Even so, she can support us from behind the front lines. Fighter or not, she's still angelic in some aspect." 

"We gain more from their aid. Assisting them in defeating this shared nemesis would make them either indebted to us or at least place us in their favour. It would grant leniency either way," Geneva huffed. 

"How about we put it to a vote? You join me and my plan to survival, or the naysayers and their destiny to eradication," Niente offered, eyes never leaving Alastor's.

"Ha! Hardly naysayers. Those with a semblance of self-thinking beyond what a cultish buffoon believes," Alastor shot back, determined to combat the moth. "I have no secrets to use against me, Niente. You have no power over me, and you only have as much power over the others as they allow you to hold... and that grip is weakening." 

The lane in the sand is drawn.

Velvette, Vox, Geneva, Plus, Mel & Collie, Rosie, Alexandria, Jingle, Zestial and Black Holly chose Alastor's side. She was surprised that Vox willingly chose alongside her, even though he hated Alastor with all his soul.

Valentino remained where he was, like a lone island in a vast ocean. He looked hurt at their decision.

He wasn't the only one.

Vox was visibly pained that Valentino didn't join him.

"What the fuck, Vox!?" Val shouted, astounded.

"I hate his motherfucker, but Niente's going to get us all killed!" Vox argued back, almost pleading for Val to come to them. 

Even so, everyone remained on their side. The choices had been made. 

The triple act had twisted into a duet after all. 

"And the fool is?" Chinon sniggered.

"Still you," Alastor said, confident. "Now then, I'm making my leave. I have things to do besides watch you pair of buffoons."

As Alastor kept to his word and left, she watched those who chose him begin to follow, other than herself and Vox.

Her friend was devastated. 

She stood by him, comforting him as best as she could, surrounded by prying eyes. She didn't try stopping herself from glaring at Valentino as she led Vox out of the meeting room, a hand on his back for support.

The imp, Striker, got the door for her, his gaze lingering.

"See you soon," Velvette whispered, feeling like a schoolgirl again.

"I'll hold you to that, ma'am," the strange hell-born smirked, tipping his cowboy hat to her.

If it were anyone else, she'd kick them in the balls.

Finally, outside the room and away from Niente, it provided the opportunity to try calming Vox down.

"I can't fucking believe he chose them over us," Vox breathed, his voice garbled a sign of distress.

"Val's a moron. He'll get it through his thick skull eventually," Velvette said, though she wasn't sure of it. 

She knew there was something between the pair. It wasn't love, precisely.

A deep attachment of some kind, one that transcended a mere transference of sexual enjoyment. For Valentino to leave Vox behind... that deeply affected her partner and friend.

"Though we are few, we are just," Zestial stated, attempting to alleviate Vox's visible distress. "Alongside the sins, victory and success are assured, young Overlord. Perhaps the others will see reason once we prove our way?"

"Fat chance," Plus argued, unconvinced. "Splitting up was a stupid decision."

"But necessary," Alastor said, causing her to glitch wildly. "We cannot afford dead weight. Not while facing something such as Metatron. For the moment, we must put petty matters aside for survival. First things first, we need that cherub."

"And how do you plan on getting it, huh? By being all shadowy and spooky?" Velvette questioned. "That won't work with Niente and Chinon. Those codgers are stronger than all of us put together."

"Are they as powerful as a Goetia?" Jingle asked.

Right. She forgot about them.

The Goetia were the sins' pet birds that assisted with administration. Some of them were supposed to be strong as fuck. With the sins came them.

Something that, judging by Alastor's knowing smirk, he'd already planned on taking advantage of. 

"A Goetia isn't going to listen to us," Vox growled, trying to compose himself. "They never pay attention to sinners..."

"Then we don't ask for their assistance but set them on the right path," Mel & Collie said in unison. "We leave a trail," Mel began. "And they do the work for us!" Collie finished.

Risky. However, Niente wouldn't expect a fucking Goetia to storm in.

They'd be fuming if they discovered some sinner trash had a cherub.

"There's one in Imp City - I don't know his name, but he's one of the big ones, a Prince. I think. He should be good enough," Geneva shrugged. 

"Very well. It doesn't matter how - only that Niente doesn't possess the lamb. I can leave something to catch their interest. Should we act with enough haste, the angels won't realise what struck them when they invaded our home."

She didn't know what motivated Alastor to give a shit, but she preferred it.

"I... I have something that might work," Vox grumbled, taking something from his coat. "Will it be enough?"

"It'll have to be," Velvette said, reassuring herself they made the right decision. "Just got to clear some things up since we're in some freaky truce. We don't like each other. Nothing will change that. But we can return to hating one another after this is all over. That means no being a voodoo cunt from you, deer fucker - you're a massive shit stirrer."

The others agreed, though it was evident that Rosie found it more entertaining than annoying. Back to being mute, ey?

"An effort will be made. Bickering like children is an advantage we cannot afford the divine to possess. And yes, I do believe it will be enough," Alastor said, violently green energy plucking the item from Vox. "This will work just fine indeed..."

While she believed he would pull something eventually, it was reassuring for the moment.

Now, it was up to the Goetia on how they proceeded. 

Stolas was a coward. 

He'd advised Asmodeus. However, he was incapable of taking his advice.

The name sat on Stolas' phone like a taunt, insulting him for his weakness and cowardice. While he desperately wanted to talk to him, Stolas knew it had to be on Blitz's terms. Otherwise, he'd scare the imp off. 

Everything was done wrong. He was desperate for connection, for a partner who understood and cared about him. In the end, he hurt his first and arguably only friend. 

What could Stolas even offer besides his grimoire? Without it, he was nothing. He was the thirty-third child of King Paimon, a grand Goetia with the potential of replacing Granny Tsar, the first of them all. 

He's not even the first to have the name of Stolas. 

The Goetia recycled names. His dear daughter, Octavia, was the only outlier in this. 

A breeze stole Stolas from his inner dark. It whispered, begging for his attention. A premonition? Not likely.

He needed far more time with the stars and his grimoire to acquire those. 

Cautiously, the Goetia followed the unnatural flow, smelling the arcane tied to it. It twisted and coiled into his office, grand with gold and navy colours, the solar system hanging proudly from above. 

A single feather lay upon his desk, small and unassuming. The aura around it, however, spoke another tale. It's angelic, holy and divine. 

"What in the underworld...?" Stolas questioned, approaching the strange item.

Carefully, he picked it up.

This was a cherub feather.

How did it get into hell? Was there a cherub in hell? Did someone leave this for him to find?

Although Stolas didn't have his book on him, he knew some spells by heart. One was a tracing spell he memorised after Octavia's escapade into Los Angeles. If there was a chance of a cherub in hell, Stolas had to find it. 

He considered calling Blitz. Having assistance would be a good idea. The imp was proficient, after all. 

But Blitz didn't want to talk to him.

He didn't want Stolas or wasn't ready to talk yet. It could take forever for that with the walls Blitzy hid behind. 

The Goetia decided against it. He wouldn't bother the imp. He's taken advantage of him enough as is. 

Stolas cast the ancient spell, creating a trail for him to follow. He felt the distance - the cherub was in Pentagram City. That's no place for hell-born to be, let alone a cherub. 

It's easy to create a portal to its location, but with Stolas' mind so distracted, he wasn't as direct as he'd intended. The trail remained visible, but...

There's a familiar essence here. He felt it before. That cowboy was here and recently. How did he get a cherub?

His scars throbbed, burning. Those ringed eyes scorched Stolas' soul. 

Someone was coming. Was it him? The mere thought of it sent Stolas into the ceiling, clinging to the rafters like a bird of prey. A duo stalked down the hallway, thankfully not Striker. They must be sinners - no species matched them.

"You honestly believe that we can do it in time?" said the ballerina-looking sinner, her hellhound-like eyes burning into a goat-looking female.

She's not a goat demon or, as they prefer, a Baphomet.

A goatish sinner.

"The weak cut themselves off before we needed to," said the scarlet-haired sinner, her hooves clacking against the floor. "It'll work out just fine, Carmilla. Niente's never failed us before."

"Blind loyalty is nonetheless blind."

He was curious about the shining hand prints on their backs. The pair didn't appear to notice it. 

"Second doubts already? Oh, it's about Zestial - isn't it? You missing your crush already?"

"Shut it, Adaliah... But yes, it's about him. How can I keep him safe if he's so far away?"

"Convince him to see reason or move on."

Stolas remained quiet, confused. Although he's not been around sinners, he knew they shouldn't be as powerful as that pair. Were they one of those Over-somethings?

Having such long legs proved helpful as what would've been a jump for his Blitzy - no, Blitz - was a mildly awkward walk for him. 

The trail is growing in intensity, leading to what appeared to be a meeting room.

There's something else here. It's colder than a blizzard or the deepest parts of Envy. 

He hopped down, quietly opening the door before slipping inside. The trail is hot and is emanating from a box on the table. 

However, a wave of frigid darkness struck his nerves. It sent the Goetia to the ceiling, instinctively trying to escape whatever that sensation was. 

It felt so wrong. It didn't belong here.

His feathers were on end when the door opened again.

"¡Esos hijos de puta!" yelled a tall moth, visibly upset. He tossed a chair, burning with rage, but not the origin of that horrid essence.

That belonged to the entity that followed him, also a moth, but shorter and sinister. It was the cause of this feeling.

The tall moth was startled by the shorter one's presence, visibly uncomfortable around it. 

"You're conflicted," the moth-like demon said, the voice neither male nor female. 

"We're a trio - it's wrong to be away from them," the other moth said, much more masculine. "I... I believe you and your plan, but-"

"But nothing, Elijah. They'll come around eventually. Alastor is a fickle entity, devoid of commitment and cannot cooperate with others. They'll either awaken to his foolishness or perish with him."

Stolas didn't understand much about sinners. He focused on their stars, plant life, etc, not the mortal beings themselves. He's only had a conversation with a handful at most.

Who are these two? What are they talking about? The taller moth demon, Elijah, appeared to be subservient to the short one. He sounded upset and troubled - like he regretted his choice. However, the small one was undeterred.

It reminded him of the brief conversations with the rest of his family.

The small one brushed aside his concerns in favour of their ambitions.

"Do you know how I died?" the nameless one said, perplexing the other moth. "It was 1303. I hardly remember it anymore - On a tangent, you start forgetting what it was like in life after a century if you make it that far - I recall her, however. Brisscha de Calvenzano. She was my light - I was a moth to her flame. I devoted my existence to her. I couldn't fathom ever being without her. Much like you and your little TV fellow." 

"Vox is... I don't get close to anyone. Made that mistake in life."

"A lesson that I, too, learned. It was my beloved Brisscha that sent me here. She grew bored of me, of what I provided, but there was no divorce - not with the Church in such control. So, she killed me. Belladonna. It's an unpleasant demise, I assure you. And do you know where she is, Elijah?"

"Here?"

"No. She is in heaven. As is the one who decided that Chinon and his fellow templars deserved to be burned alive. And dear Princess wants to take us so-called sinners and force us to mingle among those who did horrific things in the name of a God that's never been seen beyond his sycophants. She is no better than them."

"Why are you telling me this, Niente?"

Ah, so that's their name.

"Because your associates are young, Valentino. They're inexperienced. They've yet to understand the simple facts. The world is black and white - it is kill or be killed. Be the hunter or the hunted. Are you the predator or the prey?"

"A predator!"

"Vox and Velvette have time to realise that they, too, belong with the predators, not the prey. A lion doesn't kneel to the sheep, nor will we bend to the angels. Be proud of your decision - you've proven to be stronger than even the likes of Alastor."

Stolas observed as Niente patted Valentino's back, leaving behind a glowing handprint. For what purpose?

It's the same as on the pair of female sinners from before. 

"On your way, Valentino. We have many things to accomplish with very little time," the short moth stated, motioning to the doors.

Niente waited until the tall moth was gone. They hummed to themselves, approaching the box.

Whatever they were, Stolas needed to get that cherub away from them. The Goetia, the sins, they needed to know this was here. Such a source of angelic power didn't belong in sinners' hands.

Especially this one.

"Did you like that little tale?" the moth smirked, twisting their head to look at Stolas. "I've always enjoyed fooling the feeble-minded with that one."

"You knew I was here?"

He dropped to the floor, taking advantage of his height to try and look intimidating. He can't fight, so he has to rely on appearances. 

"Of course. You're Stolas of the Goetia," they sneered, eyes scorching into Stolas' essence. "You've already had a run-in with one of our associates. That ended quite poorly for you."

Striker.

Shit.

"You're confident for a sinner."

"Don't feign stupidity, Stolas. It doesn't look well on you."

"What are you, then?"

"That'd be spoilers, dear owl! And besides, it's not like you'll be alive for much longer," Niente smirked, using their wings to open a portal. "I do enjoy reunions..."

Stolas couldn't help the spike of fear bursting in his heart as Striker stepped through, cracking his neck.

"Well, ain't this cute?" Striker snickered, his gold tooth shining ominously. "Dead or alive?"

"Dead," Niente answered, turning their attention to the box.

Stolas couldn't let it get to the cherub.

He transformed, his size growing exponentially, feathers turning blacker than a blank night. With his mass expanded, he could reach the box before Niente, engulfing it in his vacuum of feathers.

Striker was ready - his pistols twirled dramatically and aimed at the Goetia. With a bizarrely excited smirk, he fired at the much larger entity, hitting one of Stolas' wings.

Angelic weapons. Of course.

"Come on, Prince. Gimme a chase," the imp snarked, tail twitching behind him ominously.

It made Stolas' scars and the new wound in his wing burn. 

He didn't have time to linger. This form had limits, the length of which grew with age. In terms of Goetia, Stolas was very young. He couldn't hold it for long.

It took too much power, and given his lack of combat ability, it was for show. It's a threat, a bluff that didn't deter the imp.

The Goetia's form twisted as he bolted, snapping the doors into mere splinters and kindling. 

The imp was having none of it, though. 

He'd lassoed one of Stolas' legs, slowing him down briefly. The owl demon changed form, slipping free and barrelling through a window.

Glass licked past his feathers, threatening to dig deep.

His arms were full of the cherub, the box destroyed in Stolas' demonic mass. It was weak; he could sense it. As he couldn't use his hands to open a portal, he had to brace for impact. While a Goetia is sturdier than the average demon, they can still feel the pain. 

The ground collided with his back, cracking one or two ribs. 

He couldn't stay, however. The burning of his scars and bleeding wound on his arm warned of Striker's arrival. 

The owl scampered behind some bins, trying to compose himself. That "sinner" had completely disrupted Stolas' magic somehow. What were they? Not a Goetia; he was confident of that.

"You shouldn't have done that," echoed the cold voice of Striker. 

The cherub in Stolas' arms shivered, trembling in terror. Without help, it might die. Although ironic, given where he lived, Stolas despised death. The finality of it frightened him.

He didn't want this holy creature to perish, even though they were on opposing sides in the universal tug of war for supremacy. Who would win? Heaven or hell? 

No matter the victor, everyone loses.

"Hold onto me, little one," Stolas whispered, petting the cherub's back. Their wing is gone, either by the sinners or something else. "I'm getting us out of here."

As the cherub is the size of baby Octavia, Stolas could cradle the entity in one arm and form a portal with the other. However, he needed his uninjured arm for that. Having a moving being brushing against an open wound was less than pleasant.

There's something he could do to buy time, one of Stolas' only offensive attacks - the gorgon curse, turning a soul's body to stone. 

Its effects depend on the entity it's used on. For a Goetia, it's a sting like from an insect. For an imp, it usually spells death. Having to make eye contact is one of the problems, though.

He already knew something was strange about the imp, so there was a chance it'd only be temporary. Even so, he had to take that chance.

Wearing a brave face, the Goetia emerged, waiting for the cowboy to look at him. 

Finally, Striker did, grinning like a starved hellhound. Eye contact was made, and Stolas activated his curse.

Stolas' stare did nothing.

Nothing.

"Well, would you look at that," Striker cackled, twirling his knife between his fingers. "No bullets in your chamber, Prince."

No mere imp was immune to Stolas' gorgon curse. How was the hellborn still standing?

Even as a hybrid, there's no way he could be unaffected.

"What are you?" Stolas hissed, the cherub clinging to him for dear life. "It's impossible to be immune to that curse - even a Goetia would feel it!"

"Y'know? I got no damn idea what I am," the "imp" shrugged, a wicked grin on his snarling face. "Don't matter. Either way, you're going to die, blue blood. I'll take that eye you owe me."

His stare did do something. 

Striker was changing, thick draconian scales growing on his skin, tail thickening and extending. His canines grew obscenely, pits appearing on his now broader snout, those horns growing and twisting menacingly.

Perhaps even more frighteningly, the "imp" was fascinated by the change, wholly unexpecting it. 

A serpentine tongue flicked simultaneously with the rumble of a hungry crocodilian. 

"Ain't this a bitch?" Striker mused, his now lengthened elliptic pupils narrowing on Stolas. 

This is far more than being a hybrid. Was he the off-spawn of some Goetia? Perhaps Barbatos'?

No. There would be more avian features, not reptilian. 

He could feel something mixed with his demon soul, something... purer. Powerful. Dangerous. Whatever it was, this was why he was borderline toying with the Goetia. 

Striker had grown to be built like a house, threatening Stolas with each ominous step towards him. 

Stolas didn't have time to even think of what to do. He tossed the cherub, hoping to spare them from Striker.

The "imp" pounced, colliding with Stolas like a cannonball. Several more ribs broke under the pressure, much to Striker's excitement. Glowing green dripped from those long fangs, warning that he was now venomous.

When Stolas tried to push him off, Striker slammed his thick tail against Stolas' still bleeding arm. He grabbed Stolas' face, the grin on his growing viciously.

With a swipe from his knife, four became three. 

"Said I'd get that eye, royal boy," Striker hissed, expressing his hatred for royalty. "I'll tak-AH!" 

Striker got off Stolas, reaching for a glowing golden arrow in his back. 

When Stolas looked for who saved his tail, it was the cherub. They held a crossbow in their trembling hands. They helped him.

He didn't have time to linger.

The Goetia jumped, grabbed the traumatised cherub and opened a portal. He was tired, scared and wanted to be somewhere safe. 

Stolas went to the first place he could think of.

"Blitzy..."

The Goetia collapsed, the cherub in his arms squeaking from shock.

He felt the world go dark as an imp ran towards his shivering form.

His scars burned more than ever. 

Charlie looked to the doors, confused.

A small woman snuck inside, holding a felt bag in her slender fingers. Her black hair curled in many directions, vaguely imitating a rose. Her complexion was odd - she had tan skin with pale patches, mostly on her face.

"Hello there!" Charlie greeted, excited at a potential client.

"Are, um, do you know where I can find Princess Charlotte Magne?"

"It's just Charlie," she giggled, waving away the formalities. "So, a few things are changing around here, but we'd be happy to include your contribution to the hotel!"

"You don't know?" the woman questioned, her voice soft and reserved. 

"Know what?"

"They're coming, Charlotte. Michael and Metatron - they're on their way - I doubt Lucifer can hold them off for much longer. You have a week to prepare at most," the woman said, clutching the bag tightly to her chest. "Lilith's song can no longer replenish his power."

That's what her father was doing? Keeping the likes of heaven at bay?

While Metatron managed to slip through, her father banished them as soon as he arrived. He used even more of his dwindling power to force them back above. Perhaps they did it on purpose? To force her father to exhaust himself further.

His erratic behaviour and isolation made much more sense now. Though she was still pained by their estrangement, his dedication to protecting the citizens as best as possible was admirable, even if she despised the yearly extermination.

With Metatron and their ilk came the threat of all seven rings being eradicated. 

Her mother and father wanted her to be ignorant of this knowledge. Although she couldn't be sure, she could guess the other sins didn't know. They'd be at Lucifer's side otherwise, even if he were volatile and unpredictable while drained.  

"What can I do?" Charlie asked, desperate to help.

She knew that her family loved and adored her. However, Charlie wasn't fragile. Naive, hopeful, perhaps overly optimistic, sure, but not helpless. She's the only combination of a mortal and an angel, a Nephilim. She had the potential to be on the same level as the sins.

If she was going to forge a home better than what heaven aspired to be, she had to defend it.

The woman put the felt bag in Charlie's hands, shaking. There's a note attached to it. A gift? She'd have to read it later.

"There's a chance that you can convince Adam to help you. He's... in command of the Exorcists - they do the exterminations. With them, you'd have more help against Michael and Metatron."

Adam, the first human. She's heard of him but only vaguely. Her mother never spoke about him, neither did her father. The only one who alluded to anything was Satan, and he had a low opinion.

Even so, it's still an opportunity that she had to take advantage of. If there was even a slim chance, Charlie must take it. 

For some reason, the woman appeared upset by this information. How she got it, she had no idea. However, it was invaluable.

"Charlotte. Tell him I'm sorry - For all of it," she said, water brimming her beautifully blue eyes.

"Sorry for what?" Charlie questioned, confused. She stepped forward as the woman was nearly out of the hotel. "Who're you talking about?"

"Adam. He... he broke after Abel. Tell him I'm sorry for running away," she sniffed, shutting the door behind her.

Adam.

Abel.

Eve.

"Wait!" Charlie yelled, almost falling on her face as she shoved the doors open. No one was there. "Eve!"

Charlotte was alone. She had no idea Eve was in hell, nor why she'd come to Charlie. How did she know what would happen?

Why was Eve in hell? Why was Abel, the first human to die, in hell? Shouldn't he be in heaven?

If they're here, then Cain is, too...

Adam's entire family is down here. Did he know? Even if he did, would that change anything? Is she what could turn the tide?

As Charlie stood there, processing the immense information dumped on her shoulders, she saw something else. 

Alastor emerged from the shadows, standing before her. With him were several Overlords. Thankfully, that wretched Valentino wasn't one of them.

"Alastor-" Charlie sputtered, her heart racing. "Eve was here!"

That startled the sinner, almost wiping away that grin.

"Eve? Like, the first - wait, no, ain't she the second?" said a short woman with pink hair and white spirals. 

"The second wife of Adam!" Said one of the two heads, his head held high with a grin. "And mother of all humanity!" the other finished, his head lower with a sneer.

"What did she say to you?" Alastor asked, strangely serious.

"The angels will be here in a week at most - there's a chance we can get Adam and the Exorcists to help us!"

He was oddly displeased to hear that.

"If there is an opportunity, we must seize it," said the glowing spidery sinner, his voice echoing around her. "Well done, Princess. And here I believed you were of no consequences to our plans."

What?

She stared at Alastor, astounded.

"You... you already knew?"

"Enjoy the alcoholic beverages within, fellow degenerates. I must discuss something with my business partner!" the red sinner said, wearing a small and sounding fake. 

Alastor grabbed her wrist and enveloped them both in shadows. It was only a few seconds, but she felt cold in this underworld where Alastor travelled. It's a black-and-white imitation of the world she called home.

In this place, he could fly through shadows, unimpeded by obstacles such as doors. 

When he let her go, they were in her room. 

The giant plush of a koala animal sat in her bed, gifted by Satan.

It sat under a warm red weighted blanket gifted by Beelzebub.

Beneath that bed was a box containing a "set" gifted from Asmodeus - the kind that Charlie surprised Vaggie with later that night.

Placed beautifully on her bedside table was a handmade sculpture of Razzle and Dazzle from angelic steel, gifted by Leviathan.

Hanging on the wall was a painting of all of them done by Belphegor - it even had Vaggie in it, which touched Charlie's hearts.

Displayed on the set of drawers beneath that was a necklace with eight jewels - each had a gemstone that matched a ring and had the sins' symbols engraved in them. Danging from the middle one, the red apple shape of her father was a love heart and a unique symbol for Charlotte. 

She wore the suit gifted by Vaggie. It had new cufflinks from Husk. Her bowtie was a gift from Niffty. Her new hair bands came from Sir Pentious and Baxter. Waiting for her to use, a beautiful red dress hung in her wardrobe, given by Angel Dust.

Alastor got her the oddest thing of all. 

Hanging from a thin rope was a square pouch made of suspicious leather with a mysterious symbol carved into it. He called it a "gris-gris". She had no clue what that meant. 

She scowled at the sinner, furious and confused.

"What the fuck, Alastor!?" she yelled, surprised by her anger. 

You are not to be involved in this. Is that clear?"

"What? No! I'm the Princess of hell - I have to be there for my people!"

"No. You are to remain far from the conflict. That is not a request."

"Who're you to tell me what to do?"

"It is not your concern."

"What could make you keep me from something so important?"

"I made a deal. In exchange for your safety, they're to find my mother. If you're harmed... that deal is off. Does this appease you, Charlotte? Does it satiate you?"

Whenever Alastor alluded to his mother, he showed how he was fond of her. Of course, he'd want to find her. 

The fact he hasn't was strange, though. 

"I can't stand by and do nothing. Not when it's all of my people at risk. Your mom included."

"You are doing something, Charlotte, by staying away. For whatever reason, the divine seek to claim you. And the other Overlords wish to give you to them." 

"And the ones with you?"

"Are against that plan. For the moment, at least."

"Do you have some grand plan to keep me safe from them, too?"

"I do," the sinner stated, taking the pouch on a string from her dresser. "Although limited, it will protect you, so long as it's on your person."

He placed it in her hands, visibly conflicted about the situation.

While his need to protect Charlie was wholly selfish, it was understandable. Wouldn't Charlie be willing to do the same for her mother? 

She didn't know what the angels wanted with her. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

"Please. Promise me that you'll let me try getting to Adam. If Eve believes it's possible, I have to try..."

"I can't promise that."

"Then a deal. I'll help find your mother in exchange for helping me get through to Adam - if there's a chance we can get him on our side, that'll include the Exorcist army."

A deal should make Alastor leap for joy.

However, he remained firm.

"Think of your family. Your partner. Consider what you risk losing before tossing it aside for a slim chance." 

Her mom, dad, uncles and aunts. Her love, Vaggie. 

She can't help being hopeful. It's all part of Charlie's personality. She's filled with love and optimism.

"So, I'm just supposed to wear a smile and pretend everything's fine?"

"Wear that smile proudly, Charlotte. You inspire the fools that reside here. It'll put them at ease. Leave the dirty work to us."

Charlie gripped the pouch in her porcelain hands, forcing her cheeks to turn into a smile. It felt wrong, but she needed to do her duty and keep everyone calm. She'll explain the situation to them but make it out to be better than it was.

She seldom felt so hopeless.

"If I have to, I'll do what's needed," Charlie vowed, placing the pouch inside her bra. As long as it's on her, it'll provide some protection, likely of an angelic form. 

"I'd expect nothing less, Charlotte."

He gave it four or so days.

As Metatron overlooked the vast armada of disposable Exorcists, he grew annoyed at the absence of the one wrongfully placed to lead them. 

"W̴h̶e̶r̶e̵ ̷i̵s̸ ̵h̵e̸?̶" Metatron ordered, numerous eyes scorching into a lowly cherub nearby. They nearly shed their feathers in terror. 

"W-Who? My eminence?" it squeaked, shaking.

"A̶̗̽d̶̚͜a̷̝͌m̸͙̆.̷̑͜" 

The cherub was afraid, as it should be. It was barely above an Exorcist, and they aren't even true angels, mere imitations.

It disgusted him.

As did humanity in general. A deeply flawed, unholy mistake that the Lord should've wiped out. For unknown reasons, God kept these pests. Not only that, but he decided to bring them to the angelic domain.

The first was a perfect example of this creation's folly. It was an amalgamation of mass that vaguely imitated the angels and the Lord. It should've remained as such, but God split the entity into the first man and woman - Adam and Lilith.

The concept of breeding had always repulsed Metatron. It was blasphemous. 

Even so, the pair defied God and did not copulate. The female, Lilith, stated that she could not lay with what was essentially her "twin". Perhaps Samael had already begun to worm his way into her wretched being? 

That disgusted him and Michael to no end. How dare Samael touch what God had created, even if flawed. As Lilith refused Adam, God entrusted Metatron to find a new suitor for his pet.

Metatron could've created a new entity. It would've been simple. However, Metatron believed the vile creatures deserved to be punished for defying the Lord. 

Humans are weak. It was easy to tear the rib from Adam's body and use it to create Eve. He made it so it'd be painful for the two to be apart, ensuring she couldn't flee as Lilith had. 

It'd been fine. While Lilith continued to be a disappointment, Eve and Adam did as God desired. 

Everything was fine until Zuriel created that tree. Because he was created using Ramiel's useless essence, the apples held samples of the future, creating "wisdom" and breaking from God's will. Only Eve and Lilith consumed the fruit. 

It was cute. Little Adam left Eden with Eve - mostly because separation would be agony.

Rightfully, the ones involved in this insult against the Lord were banished to hell. And in time, the fruits of the Lord's labour came to be in Cain and Abel. Unfortunately, Eve imparted her sins to her sons. When Abel died, he was sent to hell, as was Cain and Eve herself.

Only Adam came to heaven. All because he didn't eat the apple. 

Metatron enjoyed toying with the human. After all, his plaything Zuriel wasn't accessible anymore. 

With time, though, the little creature began to act out. One of the other useless winged fools, perhaps Amitiel or Hamaliel, dubbed it "Zoochosis". No matter. It was Metatron's responsibility to reign in the little pest. 

When Serael, the first "Seraphim", was created, she gave the command of the Exorcists to Adam. Why? He had no clue, but it gave him something for the mistake to do.

He only did his job when it was extermination day, and Metatron always suspected the abomination of God's majesty was looking for Eve during those ventures. Not that Metatron would allow such a thing. He had eyes within hell that informed him of blasphemous schemes.

No. He won't allow them to reunite. It is their punishment for defying the Lord, whose word is law.

"Y̷o̴u̴ ̸t̷a̵k̷e̷ ̸p̸l̷e̸a̷s̷u̷r̸e̸ ̴i̷n̸ ̶i̶r̶r̵i̵t̵a̸t̶i̸n̶g̴ ̸m̴e̵.̶ ̵D̵o̴n̶'̴t̸ ̷y̷o̸u̴?̵" Metatron stated, his many eyes watching as the masked human soul nearly jumped out of his fleshy, weak skin.

The pest had developed an amusing complex, refusing to show he was human and trying hilariously to look like an angel. It was a pitiful attempt to separate himself from what he was - an abomination, an insult, a vile pest that spawned the worst of humanity. 

All he had to do was copulate with Lilith. The fact he couldn't even do that was despicable. So what if she didn't desire it? That mattered not.

They were to breed; that was it. It didn't matter what they wanted. As a male, he was made to be physically stronger than Lilith - it wouldn't have been difficult to do his one job at the time. 

"Fucking Christ!" the faux-angel yelped, glaring at Metatron in an attempt to hide his fear.

Metatron was one of the first. He is well adapted to smelling terror.

"Y̸o̶u̸ ̴k̷n̶o̷w̵ ̷b̵e̴t̸t̶e̶r̸ ̷t̸h̶a̶n̴ ̸t̷o̶ ̷t̸a̶k̶e̴ ̵Y̵e̴s̴h̷u̵a̷'̴s̸ ̸n̸a̷m̵e̸ ̸i̴n̷ ̴v̷a̸i̶n̴.̴͇̾"

"What the fuck do you want? I'm doing stuff!"

Metatron scoured the area. It was a mimic of an earth beach.

Adam would hide here as though he'd be safe from Metatron. Forever foolish.

"Y̷o̴u̵ ̴c̸o̸n̸t̵i̵n̴u̷e̸ ̵t̴o̷ ̴s̵w̷e̸a̶r̶.̸ ̵D̴e̸s̷p̴i̴t̴e̷ ̷t̵h̶e̷ ̸l̴a̸s̵t̵ ̷t̸i̸m̷e̶ ̵I̴ ̸t̷u̷t̵o̸r̸e̷d̴ ̷y̶o̷u̵,̵ ̸o̷n̸ ̶s̷u̶c̷h̴ ̶b̸e̶h̸a̸v̷i̵o̸u̴r̵?̵"

He enjoyed the shiver of fear. It always would. As a divine being, it was his holy right to punish the unworthy.

This little pest was no different. 

"'s not a big fucking deal. So what if I swear? It doesn't mean shit!"

Always so rebellious. Even without eating that apple, he always sought ways to insult the laws of the Lord.

He made it so easy for Metatron to extend a guiding hand.

Humans are fragile. Even in heaven, their souls are weak. It doesn't take much to break them.

It's almost fascinating how little effort it took. When Metatron waved his hand, the mask shattered like thin glass, falling into the sand.

Red fluid flooded onto the sands, some staining Metatron's hand. He flicked away the offending substance. It did no good to leave such filth to linger on his holy being.

Unlike the mortal realm, souls can regenerate. It can't heal if the tool used was of divine power or an angelic weapon. As Metatron used neither, the cause of the current insult would regrow in time.

A terrible design, the human jaw. It is so easy to flick from its hinges. Though they make hideous sounds while choking on their blood, it's more preferable than to curse in the land of the Lord.

"N̶o̵w̶,̷ ̶h̶o̴w̸ ̴m̴a̷n̴y̶ ̶t̸i̸m̷e̶s̴ ̸m̸u̵s̷t̸ ̶I̷ ̶g̶u̶i̵d̸e̶ ̶y̴o̶u̴ ̶b̸e̷f̵o̴r̸e̵ ̷y̶o̸u̶ ̴a̴c̸c̸e̶p̸t̷ ̴t̶h̵i̶s̷ ̸l̴e̶s̸s̵o̶n̴?" Metatron said, eyes analysing the form that stared back in fear and regret. Wise feelings. "I̵'̵d̷ ̵o̸r̸d̶e̷r̸ ̴t̷h̴a̴t̷ ̸y̷o̵u̵ ̴r̸e̷p̷e̵n̶t̷,̶ ̵b̴u̸t̷ ̸y̴o̴u̵'̶r̷e̵ ̴a̷ ̵l̷i̸t̸t̴l̷e̷ ̷t̵o̷n̶g̵u̴e̸-̵t̷i̵e̵d̷.̴"

He could make this painless. However, what would this filth learn from that?

It's cute how the human thing tried to shuffle away. He placed a foot upon one of those golden wings, forcing the mistake to remain trapped.

"B̴e̸ ̴g̴r̵a̶t̴e̶f̸u̴l̸ ̸f̴o̶r̴ ̴m̷y̸ ̵m̴e̷r̴c̷y̴.̴" 

Metatron extended a hand, clasping the gaping wound in the human's face. It's simple to hasten regeneration, and while he can remove the pain, he wouldn't. That would teach nothing. 

He enjoyed teaching and guiding humanity. They needed to learn to repent, to fear sin, and to obey their superiors. 

Adorable, those small and feeble hands scratching at his, terrified and agonising. The fabric of his gloves rubbed away, as did many layers of skin and even a few nails in desperation. 

The angelic being only let go once it was complete. No mark was left behind beside the mental wound.

But Metatron is unfinished.

He snatched the human's hair, pulling him to Metatron's eye level.

"Y̶o̵u̸ ̴a̴r̸e̸ ̵t̷o̶ ̵c̵a̶p̸t̶u̶r̶e̸ ̸C̴h̵a̴r̶l̵o̸t̴t̴e̸ ̴M̴o̵r̷n̴i̴n̷g̷s̵t̷a̵r̷ ̸a̴n̴d̶ ̶b̶r̷i̸n̵g̸ ̶h̶e̸r̶ ̵h̵e̵r̷e̸.̷ ̸K̶i̵l̶l̷ ̷a̷n̷y̵ ̵t̷h̴a̷t̸ ̷g̴e̶t̸ ̸i̷n̸ ̷y̸o̵u̶r̶ ̴w̴a̵y̶.̷ ̷" he commanded, waiting for a verbal, clean response.

"Y-yes..."

Pathetic. He was repulsed by the human affliction of expelling fluids from their eyes. 

"G̴o̸o̵d̵.̴ ̷W̸e̴ ̵d̸e̷s̸c̵e̵n̸d̷ ̸i̴n̶ ̶f̸o̴u̵r̶ ̶d̵a̵y̶s̸.̸ ̶Y̷o̶u̶ ̴b̷e̷t̵t̸e̶r̴ ̴r̸e̸t̶u̴r̸n̸ ̸w̷i̸t̵h̴ ̷C̵h̶a̴r̴l̸o̶t̵t̷e̵,̴ ̸o̷r̶ ̵I̵'̸l̶l̷ ̶h̸a̵v̴e̴ ̶t̷o̵ ̷t̸u̵t̴o̵r̵ ̵y̷o̸u̵ ̸a̵g̸a̸i̵n̴.̷"

The flash of fear was delicious.

He let go, flicking away the remnants of mortal filth. It was amusing how their little bodies crumpled when dropped.

It's what they deserve, after all. Humans were the furthest thing from holy. They didn't belong in the Lord's divine lands. 

Chapter Text

Belphegor scoured the Goetia's form, analysing the damage intricately.

It has been a while since a Goetia has been hurt. Worst of all, Satan knew that it was his fault. He knew that Striker did this, though he wasn't sure how. 

Stolas isn't a fighter, but he's far from a lightweight. 

"The eye is lost," Bel said, her claws scraping against the gurney guards as she lowered herself. The quadruped met Satan's eyes, perhaps noticing his burning guilt. "I'll try dreamwalking. However, I must take time. I could make it worse if I push too far too fast."

"And you're a lazy wee bitch," Levi stated, flexing their fins. "Paimon's gonnae be aff his heid."

"Hardly," Mammon said, and Satan couldn't argue. Paimon sucked as a parent. "Forty kids. Twenty killed themselves, and five more might as well be dead. I saw Pallas in some togs behind a servo last year - crazy cunt in sunnies and thongs in the middle of winter."

"Oh, I heard about that, aye," Levi nodded. "I'd feel bad, but that Jakey's a prick."

"He's still going to be fuming. Lack of parental ability or not, he ain't gon' be happy," Satan sighed, watching Belphegor curl up against the wall. "You call us as soon as you get something. A half-dead Goetia with an even deader cherub ain't good news."

"No shit, mate."

"Shut up, Zuriel."

"Get fucked, ya bogan."

Satan wanted him to stay at Bee's, but the oversized pompom was adamant about coming with them. Then again, being alone was the worst for him right now. Isolation has wrecked Luci; they couldn't allow that for Mam.

The only one not here was Luci. That was awkward. More so because of what Satan did.

He didn't mean to eavesdrop. After hearing how Ozzie went batshit and nearly crushed Fizz, he wanted to be nearby in case something went tits up. He didn't anticipate the stupid chicken finally spilling the beans on why he's been such an asshole to their baby sibling.

Eventually, Satan would talk to Ozzie about it. By no means is Mam allowed to know. He's already in a rough enough state; he didn't need that piled on top.

Belphegor was already asleep, looking through Stolas' mind. While Satan didn't want the others to know about Striker, that was impossible now. They'd find out how badly he fucked up.

"Come on, assholes. Should join back with Ozz and Bee," Satan said, opening the door with his tail. It was an awkward squeeze for him, but Levi was slippery, and Mam was the best teleporter of the seven.

After losing one of his wings, he perfected short-distance teleportation to make up for it. Meanwhile, Satan couldn't even try without getting stuck in a wall.

Compared to the others, he had the fewest powers. It was ironic, considering that he's the best fighter. 

Ozzie could open portals, Levi could turn their body into an acidic substance, Luci became a golden flame, Bee was a queen at size shifting, Mam teleported with ease, Bel could travel via dream walking - she was too lazy to do it often, but Satan? He was a living weapon. 

Hellfire is one thing. His flames? Only Levi could put them out. The only problem is that it's tied to his emotions, and he gets frustrated too quickly. It becomes more of a detriment than an asset. It's like his sin - it's a double-edged sword.

He noticed Levi's annoyance, fiddling with Mam's hoodie. 

They weren't letting him hide in one of those stupid suits again. His remaining wing had a concerning curve from being bent under it for so long.

"You're going tae make them sore again, ya bampot," Levi hissed, pulling Mam's hood down. His antennae sprung up, finally free. "Ah ken ye hate it, but we donnae want tae see you in pain. If you cannae love yourself, we'll dae the heavy liftin' for ye."

Satan preferred it when his little brother wasn't hiding behind layers and silly outfits. That scorpion tail had always been a favourite of his. It glowed under a UV light, as did his pincers or "pedipalps", as Mam always corrected. 

The hoodie looked goofy, trying to contain all that fluff. His mane was poking through like a mullet or a bad haircut. It's endearing, though. 

"What's this imp's name again? Fizzie's pal. Poor fucker was hysterical."

One moment, Fizz was trying to learn Levi's accent. Then his phone went off. He would've ignored it, but it could've been Asmodeus, so Bee asked him to answer it. In seconds, they heard a panicked imp almost screaming about Stolas being half dead in his flat.

Everyone got there as soon as possible. He'd called Bel, and they relied on Mam's herbal knowledge to keep the owl stable enough for her.

"I dunno. Out of Stolas' fuck toys, I prefer him over Stella."

It'd been gruesome. Listening to that imp hyperventilating over the Goetia's condition was difficult. He had to personally drag him out to keep him from interfering as Mam and Levi did their best. 

Being with Moray had taught Levi a few bits of first aid, curiously. When your girlfriend is a hitman, being able to patch up bullet wounds is necessary. 

Satan's better at causing injuries than fixing them.

"Aye, that witch offers hee haw," Leviathan hissed, expressing their disdain for Stolas' partner.

"Did you say yee-haw?" 

"No, ya daft bastart. Hee haw. Means nothing," Levi corrected, annoyed. "Got ye heid in the outdoor bog, cowboy."

"Going deaf, Brokeback?" Mam snickered.

"Choke on it, Dundee," Satan huffed, showing him his middle finger. "And if any of us goes deaf, it'll be you with that awful music you adore."

"I'm not taking that from someone that unironically enjoys country music!"

"Aye, the cancer of good music. That and Jazz."

"Don't let Ozzie hear that. He'll lose his feathers," Satan chuckled, shaking his head. "And you assholes gon' tell me that Dolly Parton ain't a damn queen? I can't wait for her to get to Pride - that'll be one fuck of a party. Remember that festival we had after Johnny Cash got there? That was fun."

"Doesnae top Freddie Mercury. That was a pure belter," Leviathan challenged, all five eyes crinkled with glee. 

"If you can't wait, I heard that this imp's whole business is killing humans to get them here sooner. Could hire him," Mam suggested.

"Nah. I'll wait for her. Might hire him to get rid of Taylor Swift, though," Satan said, considering it.

"Bee's going to use your spine as tooth floss if she hears you speak like that, Eastwood. She's obsessed with that sheila. Ain't she only famous for singin' about all her breakups?"

"Aye, and using her private plane tae get up the stairs tae bed," Levi snorted. 

Despite the harrowing situation, Satan would be a liar if he didn't admit to enjoying this.

He loved hanging out with his little siblings and having a regular dumb conversation without the baggage of what happened between them.

For a moment, they weren't sins and former divine beings but a regular family. 

Levi quickly got bored, using their slime to play with Mam's fur and make a rough fauxhawk. Weirdly, it looked decent. It fit the rocker style he had going.

Maybe Levi had a secret talent as a hair or fur stylist?

If they weren't technically kings and immortal demon entities, if they were human, what lives could they have had? If Satan could pick, he'd be a rodeo champion. They'd likely have the same hobbies and jobs but with more freedom and less strain.

He wouldn't have to be afraid of the consequences. Not the regular kind. He had no idea what a fallen angel and imp created. They didn't even know what Charlie was, to be exact. 

If Ozzie or Bee had kids, what would they be? 

Would they turn out like his greatest regret and shame?

Satan didn't know what to do. He knows what he should've done, but it's too late. His bastard spawn has the attention of everyone, and it's only a matter of time before they learn of his mistake.

There's a way to lure the bastard. He didn't want to do it, though. Threatening someone already nearing death's door was beneath him.

Still, it could prevent something like this from repeating. What if he'd gone for Charlie instead of Stolas?

He already hated himself for this mistake. He wouldn't cope with losing her or any of his family.

"Fuzzy!"

Satan paused, confused. The trio had to look down, finding little Nova standing before them. She's so tiny that they didn't notice her. 

"Where's Tex?" Satan asked, his tail coiling anxiously.

He couldn't help but feel protective of such little beings, even if he was the worst out of the group parental-wise.

"Daddy's helping Be Be," Nova grinned, her tiny tail wagging adorably.

Satan tried not to die inside, regret burning in all three of his hearts. 

"Nearly stepped on ya, pup. Don't want a dingo splat, do we?" Mam said, immediately putting on that mask. It was frightening how easily he did it.

Meanwhile, Satan could barely survive playing poker. He's a shit actor.

Leviathan didn't look pleased that Zuriel was doing it either. The serpentine entity slithered forward, almost as if using themselves as a shield in the far too small corridor. 

"You supposed tae be alone, wee wan?" Levi inquired, lowering themselves to be less intimidating to her. 

"Auntie Jericho works here," Nova smiled, astoundingly tiny compared to them. She wasn't the size of Satan's best boots. "I wanted to see her! But Miss Dua said she was not in, and I got lost, so I looked for you!"

"You're in luck, Lil lady. We're on our way to see your pops. You gon' walk or want one of us to carry you?" Satan asked, observing as she giddily jumped at Mam. "Guess that answers that."

"Fluffy!" Nova barked. She hopped into the younger sin's lower set of arms, then clambered into his hoodie, ducking her head under the neck hole. "I'm invisible..." she said, wiggling in his immense fluff.

Mam was unbothered. Due to his fur, they couldn't see the bump where she clung to him.

"Where did ye go?" Levi smirked, playing along with her. "Ah, cannae see her. Sattie, check ye boots!"

It was hard to ignore her giggles.

"I'm sure she'll reappear eventually. Maybe her pa's got a magic summoning spell," the Wrath Lord said, joining the silly game.

Charlie used to do that. 

Did his son? 

The trio finally reached where the cherub was stationed. It was an annoying distance from Stolas, but it was a busy hospital, and nobody could know about the little tyke. 

Keeping him a secret was imperative. 

"You're going to hurt yourself, sir!" squeaked a little voice. It's one of that imp's friends, the short male with freckles. "Hitting an inanimate wall isn't going to undo what happened."

"Why didn't he call me!?" the imp yelled, distress breaking his voice. "It was Striker again - I know it was!"

Satan's never going to understand that type of love in someone else. Familial? He's greedy for it. Romantic? No. He saw the positives and negatives; somehow, the taller imp displayed both.

As the short one chastised, the tall imp punched into the wall, making a fourth hole. 

That's something he could understand, at least.

"Hurting yourself ain't helping," Satan stated, startling the two. "The bird's in rough shape, but he'll pull through. You mean somethin' to him, or he wouldn't have gone to you. He wouldn't want you shattering your knuckles." 

At least he was doing it in a hospital.

"What's ye name, lad?" Levi asked, coiling onto themselves to appear as though they were sitting. "We forgot tae ask."

"Blitz."

A good Wrath name.

"I'm Moxxie," the small one said, pulling at the collar of his shirt. "It's, uh, good to meet you, Sirs."

"Nae bother. A friend 'o Fizz is a pal 'o ours. Where is the wee robotic frog, anyway?"

"He's talking with Asmodeus somewhere," Blitz grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "He got upset after the cherub mentioned a Rami-whatever. He was babbling about ophanim and how someone called Sam couldn't hold them back anymore. Didn't make a hole of sense."

Fuck.

Fuck!

That's why Lucifer's been so out of sorts these past millennia - the crazy lunatic was singlehandedly keeping Michael and Metatron from continuing with their bullshit. After aeons, Meta finally slipped through, and Luci came for him, exhausting himself further. 

And now there are ophanim? The hounds of hell, vicious abominations that devour souls like a fat kid eats Twinkies.

It'd be less of a concern if all of them were fighting fit, but Luci and Zuri were far from fit for any combat. It's debatable if they could include Ozzie, given his issues. There wasn't a chance that Metatron wouldn't taunt him about Ramiel.

"Oh, crumbs. That's bad, isn't it?" Moxxie said, his tail curled nervously.

"Aye. Sam is Lucifer's dead name - isnae tae be spoken roon him. And ophanim are angelic beings that are twisted and mutilated intae nasty beasts that hunt ye doon, shred ye like dug with a toy." 

"If one of those cunts made an ophanim, they're lookin' for someone," Zuri pointed out. His expression was all the elaboration he and Levi needed.

The only reason that Metatron or Michael would need to make an ophanim was for Charlotte. They were too weak to take on a sin, even Mam, so it had to be Charlie.

What could they want with their niece?

He could feel his little brother about to do something stupid. Quickly, Satan grabbed onto Mam's shoulder, glaring at him. Though the flinch pained him, it was necessary.

It made his pedipalp pincers do that cute twitch thing that used to cause baby Charlie to sob with laughter.

"Not you, Z. Levi or Ozzie can stay with her, but not you."

"I can handle it!" the younger hissed, shrugging Satan's grip away. 

It made Nova pop her head out. He completely forgot she was even there.

Teleporting with others is harder for Mam than doing it solo. Doing it between rings with another, especially a child? That was a guaranteed disaster. Having the pup ended up being a better deterrent than Satan or Levi.

He'll have to ask Tex to keep her on him more often. His little brother could be an asshole, but he didn't hurt kids. Never kids. 

"There's a hellhound in your hoodie," Moxxie said, confused. "Is she yours?"

"Nova? No, she's Tex's. We're babysitting," Levi answered, equally as on edge as Satan.

Their brother was lucky he didn't end up in half the last time he did something that stupid. 

"Are you guys going to handle Striker, then?"

"Striker... isn't that the cunt that kidnapped Fizz?" Mam questioned, averting his eyes from Satan's analysing glare. 

They'll talk about it another time.

"Yeah, me too. That Crimson bastard hired him," Blitz sneered, expressing disdain for the imp. 

"You'll be glad tae ken that Zuriel went on a wee rampage on Crimson's top boys," Levi grinned, patting the sin's back. "Boof! Took them all oot with a math game!"

Satan realised something. These two didn't recognise Mammon, even with his infamous accent, fuzz and glowing, yellowy green eyes. 

He genuinely forgot that most of hell didn't know what their baby brother looked like without those dumb suits. 

"I hate math!" Nova barked, shifting in Mam's fur so only her eyes were visible. "It's bad!"

"We can agree on that, Lil lady," Satan sighed. He grew curious at Moxxie's reaction, though. "You know Striker and Crimson?"

"Striker tried to kill me, and Crimson's my father; it's unfortunate for all involved. If I could, I'd pick anybody else."

Ouch.

"Join the club of abhorrent as fuck fathers," Mam shrugged, causing Nova to bounce. "Your dad's nice, so he can't join. Only mean dads are in that club."

"My dad's the best!"

"He is," Satan agreed, somewhat envious of her. That's funny since that's supposed to be Levi's sin. "Belphegor is looking through Stolas' memories. She has to do it gently, so it'll take time. With proper understanding of the enemy, we can eliminate him."

It felt so wrong to talk like that, but it was necessary.

"He always manages to scramble out, the snakey fucker," Blitz growled, kicking at the floor. "I want his horns on my desk for what he did!"

"I do as well. He hurt my wife."

His kid made a lot of powerful enemies. He shouldn't feel as proud as he does.

"Aye, well, he's never had tae deal with a sin before, let alone six pissed aff ones. My Moray will poke about, find some intel."

"I can tap Verosika. It's gross, but prostitutes hear a lot they shouldn't," Mam concurred, keeping his eyes on Nova. 

"I'll gather the higher Goetia. They'll be needed to alert us to any suspicious activity - Paimon's dealt with an ophanim before. He can do it again."

It was almost amusing to see Blitz bristle at that name. Since he's Stolas' secret boyfriend, he must know of Paimon's atrocious relationship with his kids. 

"Wouldn't Asmodeus be the one to use Verosika?" Blitz questioned, confused.

"We share employees all the time. Jus' different contracts." 

"Aye. I hire her tae sing at my clubs sometimes," Levi nodded. "Bonnie voice, that girl."

The gears are turning. 

Satan couldn't help but snigger, amused by the pair putting the single dot together. When Leviathan caught on, they started to giggle as well.

Mam was the only one in the dark. He probably assumed that Blitz would recognise him. He could tell he was confused because his antennae curled back at the tips, and his pincer things cringed. 

Count down to when he realises...

"Mammon!?" the taller imp realised, making Levi laugh.

"We met before. You got in my face and called one of my performances a dick show. How in the fuck do you not recognise me? How many tall bug-themed, four-armed cunts do you know with this accent?"

"You have a giant tail! And weird stick things bugs have on their heads..."

The repulsion must've been subdued because it was on display now. It ticked Satan off. 

"Oh, you mean this thing attached to my bloody spine and weighs three times what you do? I didn't notice it," Mammon huffed, annoyed. The face he made only caused Nova to giggle. "Fucking hell, you couldn't organise a root in a brothel with a fist full of fifties."

"Why in the Satan - that's awkward with him here - is Fizz hanging around a grifting asshole like you?"

It is awkward with Satan around when someone says that phrase. 

There's a change in how that tail is positioned. The fur is more on end, the antennae stiff and pincer pedipalp things coiled against his cheeks. Signs that Satan has seen before. 

The cherry on top was the tiny spark of electricity dancing on the sin's fur. It wouldn't hurt Nova or be noticeable to anyone else, but it's enough.

Fortunately, Leviathan also saw it. 

"Only we get tae call him that, bawbag," Levi warned, an unspoken threat in their tone. "Even if he is a prick occasionally."

"Drown in a dunny!"

If Levi hadn't, Satan would've. It's not the imp's fault for not knowing that he shouldn't poke a bear, but that's their baby brother, and they let such treatment go on for too long. If Ozzie can't do it, nobody can. 

With his stability already precarious, allowing strangers to insult him was unacceptable. They should've stopped it when Blitz started bringing up Mammon's bug features. He's so self-conscious about that. 

Finally, Nova wanted out of the cocoon of Mam's fuzz. Once her little paws hit the floor, the imps were at their knees, unable to withstand her cuteness.

It's fair. She's adorable.

"Are you Fizz friends?" she asked, curious. 

"I am. Moxxie only met him today," Blitz answered, unable to keep from glaring at the youngest sin. "You didn't answer why Fizz would be around you after all you pulled."

What did he pull, exactly? It pissed Satan off, and he wasn't going to hide it.

Moxxie had sense, telling his boss to be more careful with his words around the sins. It's not even about the fact they rule the rings - it's disrespecting a family member. 

"Tha's for Fizz tae answer, no him," Levi said, interrupting before Mam could say anything. "Donnae pretend tae understand something ye don' ken." 

"Go visit him. He's unconscious, but he's safe with Bel," Satan passively commanded, tail displaying his irritation. "Come on, Nova. Let's get you to your pops."

Levi slithered against the wall, silently telling them to move. 

The shorter one proved to be the most reasonable of the pair, tugging on the tall one's arm to make him move. He did, but not before throwing a middle finger at Mam.

Mammon hissed, releasing a puff of green smog. If Blitz were closer to it, it would've made him sick at best.

As soon as they were out of sight, Mammon turned his ire to Satan.

"What the fuck was that?" his brother complained.

"It's not his business, and like Levi said, that's for Fizzarolli to answer. And I could see it bothering you."

"You didn't see shit."

"Don't try that shit with me," Satan growled, unable to suppress all of his anger at the situation.

Fuck, it hurt so much to see his brother cringe at the slight aggression. As usual, Satan was making it worse. 

"Ya donnae have tae hide it from us, Zuri. We ken when you're getting upset. That's why we're here - tae be there for ye." 

"I don't need it, and don't you dare coddle me like I'm some fragile bitch!"

"The only one that coddles you - all of us, really - is Bee, and that's because none has the power to make her stop," Satan said, pushing his anger aside. "Come on, let's get out of these corridors. They stink of sterile misery and old people."

"Says the oldest here," Levi snarked, placing themselves at Mam's side.

Though Satan didn't want to, he lifted the tiny puppy. He didn't want to step on her. 

There are still a few sparks here and there. 

The room that held the cherub wasn't far. Even so, Satan could almost feel the deterioration. It made him nervous. 

It's smaller than Stolas' room but good enough. 

Damn. The little guy's been through a lot. How long has it been since Satan has seen a cherub? Very long.

He felt bad for the little thing. 

"Is he sleepy?" Nova asked. It felt so strange with her tiny paws on his giant claws. 

"Yeah. He had a big day and got super tired," Satan answered, thinking of how he used to talk to baby Charlie. "Sometimes we need long sleep. That's when the brain goes nighty night so the body can heal from being ill."

"Oh no. Is it a tummy ache?"

Technically, internal bleeding and a ruptured kidney.

"A big tummy ache," Satan said, placing her on the bed.

"Sat," Levi said, the urgency concerning the elder sin. "I'll take her and find oot where Tex and Bee went. She cannae be here."

"What?"

Levi mouthed the reason.

Fuck. Fuck sake.

He'll skin that patchy little cunt!

Satan handed the pup to Levi, watching her rub her paw against Levi's scales.

"Off we go, lassie. I bet you're raging for a cookie or some crisps, aye? Le's have a look," Leviathan cooed, keeping her against their chest as they slithered out of the room.

"Where are they going?" Mam asked, sitting against the wall. His hands were shaking, confirming what Levi warned about.

Satan knelt across from him, wishing that he wasn't alone. He was the worst person to be doing this.

"Mam. I'm gonna need you to breathe slowly, alright? Breathe in, count to three, breathe out and repeat."

"Wh-what's happening? Fuck, it's hot - I can't breathe-" the younger grit out, growing increasingly erratic. He started pulling at the hoodie in no particular direction, beginning to panic. 

While Satan was afraid to touch him, especially like this, he couldn't let his little brother hurt himself. 

Carefully, Satan helped remove the hoodie. He tied the sleeves loosely around his neck, using the back as a makeshift cape to hide those scars that bothered him so much. It upset Satan as well, but it wasn't for him. 

Heat flashes. It must suck even more because of that fur. 

There isn't any way of stopping this. It's a process. 

"You're having a panic attack," Satan said, keeping himself calm to not frighten the younger any further. "It feels bad. Like you're gonna die, even. But it'll end. Just got to ride it out."

"Fuck off!"

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here with you."

It's painful to watch. He's been through these, one of the many consequences of losing control. 

It isn't the same for everyone, but at least he has a rough idea. It must be why Leviathan decided he was a better fit to help. 

Seeing his brother scared again was agonising. It took so much not to scoop him up and use himself as a shield. 

"It's gonna sound cheesy but breathe. In and out, pauses in between, the whole song and dance." 

His brother's response to this was kicking him. It didn't hurt, more of a mild annoyance.

That's how Mammon reacted, though. He either curled in on himself or lashed out, usually verbally. When he's scared or hurt, he's aggressive, either to others or to himself. Sadly, it's more often the latter than most would presume. 

That was further proven when he grabbed at his antennae, pulling on them harshly, as if removing them would free him of this internal prison.

"I'm going to touch you, alright?" Satan warned before gently taking the other sin's hands, guiding them away from his already abused sensory parts. Whatever they were. He doesn't know shit about insects. "There we go, Z. Focus on me. If you need to do something, do it to me, not yourself."

"Don't I do that enough!?" Mam shouted. Fluid built in his eyes, making canyons in his facial fluff. "All I do is hurt or - fuck it hurts-"

"I know it hurts. It's terrifying. What you are feeling is scary, but it's not dangerous. You're safe." 

"Never safe - they're going to get me again!"

"They can fucking try," Satan hissed, struggling to reign in his anger at the mere thought of those sadistic fuckers hurting him again. "I wasn't there when you needed me - none of us were. I'm sorry that we've taken so long to pull our heads out of our asses, I can't express how sorry I am. I won't let them touch you, Z."

He won't let them break him down further by using Ramiel. What happened to them was unjust, unfair and evil, but it had nothing to do with Zuriel. It's where he started, but it wasn't him. 

"Make it stop-" he whimpered, the fear twisting a knife in his hearts. "Please..."

"It'll be over soon," Satan vowed, moving without really thinking as he should. It felt too natural to guide his brother against him - it was better than a cold, lifeless wall. "You're doing great, Zuri. It's gonna be over soon. The breathing thing ain't helping, so... the five steps? Five things you see, four you can touch, three you hear, two you smell and one you can taste. Do you wanna try that? Just to make it easier to ride through."

He's still breathing like he's run a marathon, but it's not as bad as the start. The crying didn't make it easier, though.

Panic attacks are terrifying. Often, they're sudden, but it's different with everyone. Fortunately, Levi realised what was happening before it was in full-blown meltdown mode. 

"Five things you can see, Zuri," Satan said softly, stroking the overheating fur. It was hard not to acknowledge the shaking, the tremors that rocked like a hell quake against his soul. "I'll go first. I see them fancy hospital machines, there's that cute cherub, my hat's on the floor, a kid's drawing on the wall, and Ozz left one of his feathers in here." 

This was the closest they've gotten since it happened. He wished it was due to anything but this. 

Just keep his hands from pulling on anything, but not too tight to scare him more. It's a balancing act.

"Stupid jacket..." his brother pushed out, struggling with words. 

"That's one. Take your time. If you can't talk, focus on your breathing. It's hard when it feels like you're choking, or when your chest feels like it's being crushed, but it makes it more bearable," he advised, rubbing his thumb along stark white knuckles. "It'll be over soon. After it's done, I'll take you home, and I'll order enough pizza to fill Bee, yeah?"

It felt like years, but it's only been five or six minutes. 

They average at about ten. 

"Feathers."

"There we go. That's two."

"Tail...?"

Either his or Satan's.

"That's three. Two left."

"Hoodie."

"Four. Doing great."

"Cherub..."

It's a good thing the little guy is in a medically induced coma so he couldn't see or hear this. That would only upset Mam more.

Five things he could see. That was great. They didn't have to do all five, just something to take his focus away from the crippling sense of impending doom.

"That's all five. Proud of you." 

It was strange to feel his reaction to that, a small surge of electricity nipping at Satan's jacket and into his skin. 

How often had he heard that in his lifetime? Even Leviathan got a brief nod from God. Did Mam ever hear that from anybody? If he had, how long had it been?

Too long.

The crying changed. It was minimal, but Satan noticed. 

Far too long.

"Oh Z, we love your fuzzy ass more than we understand. We're proud of what you've done and accomplished. More than we ever said, but we should've," Satan sighed, regretting not saying it sooner. "Fuck, I'm even proud that you hurt me when I... lost it. And it did hurt; that's a mean fucking bite you've got."

It was probably a mistake to bring that up, but he was proud. Is proud. 

He felt like an idiot for letting things get so bad for so long. They all did, but he shared responsibility. With Luci often out of the picture, Satan was the second in command. He had to pull weight when Beelzebub couldn't. He hadn't done nearly enough.

That's more guilt he'll never get past. He can't forgive himself for any of it. 

With those assholes coming back, he's scared. He's scared that they'll hurt his little siblings again, all for sick enjoyment or boredom. 

He's scared the bastards might kill them. His baby brother is so vulnerable right now...

"Don't go..."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Z."

Chapter Text

With Ozzie getting them coffee and Vortex getting his daughter from his sister-in-law, Fizz and Bee were left alone. That wasn't a bad thing; he adored Bee.

He didn't want Ozz going alone - his reaction to the cherub blurting Ramiel's name was sharp. His boyfriend needed support but was determined to "at least get coffee" himself.

With little else to do as they waited for their coffee, he focused on Beelzebub.

Curious, Fizz tried to peak at the little pamphlets that Bee was looking through.

"What's all that?"

"I'm looking at "alternatives". No way is Zuri going to any talking therapies or therapy in general. Medication is iffy," Bee sighed, looking through the little pamphlet. "He isn't going to let anyone that isn't us get close, and even then, two of us make it worse."

She's being nice there.

Fizz isn't an expert, but he's been through therapy. He still has problems with green fire and sometimes flames in general. It only works if you're open to it. 

There is no chance in Hell that Mammon would talk to anybody. He doesn't even open up to Bee, and she's the closest to him. 

Body-based therapies, like massage or acupuncture, are out of the question. He hates his body, so he won't let anyone touch him.

Herbal could help, but the guy knows loads about plants. It's more likely to start a debate or an argument over what's better.

What others are there? 

"Realistically I don't see him going for any of it," Fizz admitted.

"I know," she grumbled, ears flattening. "I know that Zuri won't want to go along, but I'm not going to watch another one of my brothers fall apart... I don't even know if there's enough to put back together if it happens." 

The implication was frightening. Was it possible for them to lose so much control that they couldn't come back?

What could they do if Zuri was just gone, beyond even Belphegor's spooky dream reach? There's an obvious answer, but the concept of them having to kill their baby sibling to keep him from destroying everything and everyone was horrible. From the frown on Bee's face, she's had to consider it at some point.

There's more at stake than a gigantic tantrum, there are lives at risk. His life, too. 

What's the alternative to that? Locking him away somewhere, caged like a bug in a jar? Was that any better than the obvious option?

Things that Beelzebub has to think about. They all had to think about it.

Did he think about it, too? 

Part of Fizz was concerned that it'd be the desired outcome.

"Can't say I envy you, Bee. That's hard."

"They're right," she sighed, looking sombre. "I know I'm too soft or I coddle... but I'd rather be that than too hard. That's how they were - I promised that I wouldn't be like God or Metatron or any of those fuckers."

"The fact you care alone makes you different, Bee," Fizz said, earning a slight smile from her. "I mean it."

Bee wouldn't have gone to a pair of twins, taken one, killed them, then remade them into a new person and taunted the surviving twin with them.

That is unbelievably fucked up. And the remade sibling doesn't know.

None of them did besides Ozzie, God and himself.

"I've got a long time to make up for," she added, guilt on her vixen features. 

"We all got to start somewhere. I took fifteen years to reconnect with my former best friend - we were kidnapped together, but hey, what works, works."

And Mammon took care of the dickheads that did that. 

What even is their relationship? It's always been odd. What Fizz believed no longer applied. 

"I hope we have that long," she said, saddened by his brief lifespan compared to theirs.

Living so long could've made them feel less urgent to deal with important matters. 

"I'm part of this circus, and clowns stick together!"

"I'm glad Ozzie found someone as good as you, Fizz."

"Well, I hope I live up to that." 

"You already have. You proved it when you got in that car with me and stayed. And maybe you can be what Ozz needs to refocus his anger at who's responsible."

The one responsible for all of their strife.

It's not her fault that she doesn't know. He can't tell her, either. He can't betray his partner like that.

Trust is something these beings have been deprived of for aeons. What little he had, he needed to hold onto. 

"Yeah, I'm doing my best there. Most is up to Ozz. But it's more complicated than I expected."

"Trying at all is appreciated. I've seen a shift, regardless of how minor it is. Whatever you're doing, it's working. Not a snide comment since we all got here for Stolas and... what did Mam say the cherub's name was again? Co-something."

"Collin, I think. Did he know a lot of the cherubs?"

"Yeah. They were the only ones under him, ranking-wise - they could relate somewhat, though they were spared the more sadistic games that Meta and Mike would play. I remember one called Deerie - she was an ass-kisser. Not the fun way, either." 

"Did Bel figure out what hurt him so badly?"

"With Collin, she believes it was Meta or Michael's doing. Mostly. There's a familiar energy around him but it's too muddied to identify - I know the taste of that essence, but someone's deliberately interfered."

"They know you can taste people's feelings and energies. They're covering their tracks on purpose." The implication was concerning. "How did Stolas even find it? Wherever Collin was."

"We don't know. We won't until the cherub or Stolas wakes up, at least."

It felt like they were becoming entangled in a long spun web. They didn't even mean to stumble into it. 

Bee's ears perked as she got a text. 

As she looked over it, he could see her burn with anger. Her fox features showed like a torch in the dark, predatory and starved for sustenance. 

"Fuck sake!" she snarled, briefly growing in size from frustration. 

He stepped back, reminded of when Ozz nearly stepped on him. 

"What's wrong?" he questioned, concerned.

"It's from Levi - Mam had a panic attack. From the colourful descriptors, Blitz triggered it."

Well. Fuck.

At least it's inside a hospital.

Panic attacks are terrifying. Though anxiety attacks aren't as intense, they're certainly frightening, too.

He loathed them. They upset him more than whatever triggers them in the first place. It's the waves of heat, the sparks of energy under his skin, the need to flee but huddle in a corner simultaneously, the sensation of imminent danger or death... 

"Not ideal when the guy is a walking ball of lightning. Is there a bug or something that can use electricity?"

"Oriental hornets - they convert sunlight into energy. No, I think it's a remnant of... well, something else."

Fire and lightning are both forms of energy. It made sense that Ramiel would have some form of electric or plasma ability alongside Asmodeus' flames. 

Another thing that haunted Ozzie when he saw his brother. That list kept piling up. 

Bee was an ancient being. She could taste feelings in others. It shouldn't be a shock that she tasted that he knew what that could be.

"It's true, then," she sighed, ears flattening. 

"You knew?"

"It was a theory, but one that makes sense - it's fucked up. Perfectly awful for God and Metatron." 

"Mammon can't know." 

"I agree. I hate keeping things from my baby brother, but for his sanity, I have to. Just knowing of it is horrifying, let alone being in that position... I hope Ozzie can navigate this without letting it slip."

"Maybe a half-truth? He reminds Ozz of his twin."

"Not right now, but it's a good idea." 

They're working things out. That's better than still getting nowhere.

Bee's phone started to buzz again, a cowboy ringtone emanating from it. That must be for Satan.

Concerned, she answered, paying close attention to whatever Satan was saying. 

The former archangel used her multicoloured fluorescent tail to lift Fizz to her shoulder, allowing him to hear the lord of anger and tacky stetson hats. 

"-ah, I got half a mind to skin that little cretin - the fuck's his deal, mouthing off like that? Actin' like Zuri was Meta or Michael; way out of line!"

Understandably, Satan was angry. That's his brother that Blitz certainly insulted. That's excluding the fact that Zuri is dealing with enough without Blitz trying to be a white knight or something for Fizz. He doesn't understand what's going on.

It's not like he should, either. If anything, Blitz would make it worse. His former childhood buddy is an absolute moron. He can't even accept he's in love with Stolas!

They don't have to tell Blitz a single thing.

But Fizz should warn him to back off before Bee, Satan and Levi go agro on him. Maybe Bel, depending on if she's awake. He doubted it, but possibly Lucifer, too. He needed to understand where the so-called King fit into their dynamics.

"I'll talk to him," Fizz assured, hoping to soothe Satan's ire. "No details. Just that you guys will fillet him if he isn't careful."

"How is he?" Bee asked, her ears flicking nervously. "Be honest, Sattie."

Fizz could almost feel the sigh from the other end.

"It ain' sunshine, I can say that," Satan said, sounding despondent. "I'm gon' take him back to yours. Ain't seen him eat since this mornin', so I'll order some takeout. I just... I don't want to make it worse, Bee. I'm scared I'll do somethin' and it'll just go to shit..." 

Hearing Satan be so worried and almost frightened was heartbreaking. It's not his fault that his sin got out of control; they didn't even know that was possible until it happened.

He had no power over what happened. He didn't mean to hurt his siblings. He didn't choose to disfigure his brother. It was a freak disaster none of them could've predicted.

It traumatised all of them. While Mam got his wing torn off, Satan was haunted by the memory of doing it. They're all scared of that repeating.

"You're doing your best, Sats. That's all any of us can ask," she said, smiling softly. "Take him home. We can handle things here."

"Oh, uh, one of them nurse goat things said that Stolas might be coming around soon. Knowing Bel, she probably fell asleep by now. Best you do the questioning, Bee. Always better at it than the rest of us."

"I'll get right on it. We'll see you guys before you head out, too - I need to talk to you privately for a few moments before you go. It's important."

"I don't wanna leave Zuri on his own. Ain' good right now."

"I can do that," Fizz blurted. That wasn't wise, given that Fizz could get fried, but fuck it. "I mean, he already knows me. And I get it, y'know?"

He waved his prosthetic arm. It was a hint that Levi provided, telling him that Mam would understand better than most how Fizz felt.

Fellow traumatised, panic-attack-stricken amputees. Unlike Fizz, though, there isn't a prosthetic for wings, especially insectoid ones. 

"If you're sure, lil guy. See you in a bit," Satan said, hanging up a few moments later. 

"Thank you, Fizz," Bee smiled, putting her phone away. "You didn't have to offer that."

"It won't be for long. Besides, I know panic hangovers."

He doubted that anything wrong would happen. 

At any time, Zuriel could've demanded that Fizzarolli leave. He could've told Bee or Satan to make it so. For reasons that maybe even he doesn't understand, he hasn't. If anything, it's like he's trying to hide from Fizz. 

It's such a strange thing without the boundaries forced by employment. Without it, they're just people, and one is very unwell.

Already, Bee had gone in the direction where Satan should be, but he needed to get something before following her.

Satisfied with his acquirement, the small imp trailed behind the vixen. She was hard to keep up with. If not for the fact his legs were metal, he would've gotten tired easily. 

Her legs are long, as are her steps. Those little wings occasionally gave her a boost, too. 

It's a little goofy how she alters her size. She would grow to get over something or small to go under. Nothing got in the fox's way. 

Rightfully, Fizz couldn't help but wave his hand through her tail. It's a strange substance that even Ozzie didn't understand. Whatever it was, it changed colours along with Bee's mood. Magenta-pinkish colours became more prominent when she's concerned, he's found. Goldish yellow is anger or frustration.

What could the other colours mean? It's something to discover.

In one of the many corridors, Satan stood awkwardly, scratching at his knuckles. He looked distressed and frustrated. 

Satan noticed Bee, his tail coiling as an imp would. Nervous, the king of wrath leaned into the room, his tail waving like an angry serpent. 

"I'm just going to talk to Bee for a minute," Satan said, awaiting any sign of acknowledgement. "Yeah, well, fuck you too."

Fizz could only assume that Satan got a middle finger or four in response. 

"Where's your jacket?" Bee asked, her ears flinching briefly.

"Gave it to Z. He was pullin' at them antenna things, so wanted to keep his hands busy elsewhere," he sighed, sounding exhausted. "We won't be long, frog legs. If he gets a bit much, you can sit outside if you'd prefer. Nobody's makin' you do shit."

"It's alright," Fizz assured.

"You're a good kid, Fizz. Dunno what that chicken did to earn your approval - better than most of us put together." 

Coming from the unofficial king of imps, that was incredibly high praise. 

He nodded firmly, feeling a swell of pride and confidence. 

With the elder entities reassured that Fizz would be alright, they stepped aside to speak privately. It's something that Zuriel can never know - not ever. The mere idea is horrifying, let alone being the one that was created purely to torment another. That's a fucked up thing to do.

The imp poked his head into the room, his nervousness briefly subdued. As expected, the little cherub is still comatose. The poor thing had been through a nightmare and a half. 

He wasn't the only one, either.

It broke Fizz's heart to see how broken and tired Zuriel was. The panic attack had hit hard and fast. His fuzz is all ruffled from the experience, unkempt and matted. It needed a brush and probably a shower, too. He was wearing Satan's jacket, the lower set of arms fiddling with the cowboy tassels. 

How many times had Fizz been in that situation? Where he had to occupy his hands to keep them away from himself. Emotional pain is so heavy and confusing, so his body tried converting it into physical pain as a way to process it. It looked like Mammon did the same. 

There are so many similarities that it would've disturbed an outsider. 

Unlike them, however, he knew.

Fizz knew the truth. He knows that it's their evil father that caused this, all of their problems - there was nothing to gain from killing Ramiel. What was the point besides torturing Asmodeus by reusing his essence in making Zuriel? Why ensure that the siblings would be forever strained?

The more he learned about God, the more he genuinely despised the entity. That was a level of evil that was unfathomable. That's the few bits that Fizz knew, too. What other unspeakable horrors had God committed?

Despite the divine aspect, the sins weren't much different to people like himself. They had regular problems, feelings and complications. With Ozzie, it was occasionally forgotten how the man was supposed to be billions of years old. Ancient. 

They're flawed. They struggle, bicker, fight, regret, overcome, grow and love like everyone else. 

Take away the power, the prestige and the fact they're former angels, and Fizz could easily see them as a regular imp family. Several siblings got crushed under the mistakes and callousness of the parents - it's more common than not. It's a cycle of abuse that he's seen all too often.

When the wheel of anguish turns, it's hard to stop. It'll keep cycling, compiling scars and trauma along the way. 

Although he hasn't met Lucifer, he can imagine the King is like the burnt-out eldest, the one that had to take over for their excuse of a parent. As he was seldom involved in anything nowadays, the responsibilities were left for Beelzebub to burden. It's hard enough handling five younger siblings, each with their unique flurry of individual tribulations.

One could say she was "gluttonous" for such a daunting task. 

But he's part of this family, too. As much as he was upset about how Ozzie handled his pain, it would take far more than that to drive him away. He was a stubborn little thing. 

Fifteen years ago, he was unknowingly invited to this circus. He lacked context at the time. For a long time, his "boss" desperately needed help nobody was qualified to provide.

Beelzebub is desperate. She's scared. All of them are.

Fizz wasn't there to see Satan break, but he saw the aftermath. He's seen the physical scars, the emotional ones as well. They're terrified of it happening again, and there's no guarantee that it could be reversed this time. 

What an awful feeling, watching your baby sibling deteriorate, knowing what's seemingly inevitable. 

It makes sense in a messed-up way. Abusing your power over others lets you gain some semblance of control, however fleeting that may be. That's no excuse for it - no abuse is acceptable. That's the mindset of a mostly healthy mind, however.

Illness, trauma, imbalances and so on can distort what should be simple. Fear, anger, hate, pain, regret, guilt and more add to the distortion. 

Rationality comes second to wrath, love and anguish. 

In this cascade of uncertainty, what can Fizz do? How can he contribute to this?

He's part of this family. He's a piece of this machine. Cowering won't solve anything - cowardice is what caused this!

Only cowards harm those weaker than themselves for amusement. As far as Fizz is concerned, God and that Metatron guy are cowards. 

If blasphemy is insulting God, then Fizz will gladly be a heretic and act with bravery. 

Bravery is acting despite fear. He's feeling a lot of it, but he won't shy away. 

"Chocolate always helped with mine," Fizz said, holding the item in his metallic hand. "The attacks suck, but I hate the hangovers more - worse than alcohol. Chocolate helps with that, too." 

Tired eyes begrudgingly dragged up to meet his. 

They're people. Equal in every way other than physical power. 

"Why?"

He hated how exhausted that sounded. The question had several layers to it, too. 

Why eat? Why chocolate? Why are you offering me this? Why bother?

Many things that Fizz once struggled with. 

"Depends on what you're asking."

"Why're you here?"

This question was more aggressive and accusatory. Suspicious. That makes sense - it's likely that Metatron once acted under false pretences, only to reveal it was a charade. Maybe Ozzie, too.

Then again, it's more likely that Ozzie attempted to confront his trauma, but it was too overwhelming, hurting both of them.

"I wanted to check on you," Fizz answered, paying attention to how those pincer things curled. There's an eerie almost cuteness to them. The tail still freaked him out, though. "Satan told Bee what happened, the panic attack - they're the worst. I hate it when they spring up like a broken jack in a box! It's an emotional flash bang."

"I'm not some bitch!" the sin hissed aggressively, green fog leaking from his mouth.

There's an almost certainty that Metatron, God or perhaps Lucifer enforced the idea that panic attacks made you a "bitch". 

Dismiss and deny. Tell yourself that you're fine. Ignore the problem. 

These are habits that Mammon tried instilling in Fizz. They're awful coping mechanisms forced by twisted monsters that only sought to torment others. 

If they're going to get anywhere, they need to figure out what they are to each other. There isn't any trust from his side, which Fizz understood; who would be trustful after the shit he went through?

"How about this - blank slate?" Fizz offered, confusing the other. "Not ignoring the mess of before, but just putting a pin in it for now - I'm Ozzie's partner, and you're his brother. We're in this funky family together. And as weird as it probably sounds, I want you to get better, just like the others. Nobody should deal with this crap alone."

The confusion was understandable. Most would sooner leave than make such an offering. 

Fizzarolli proved a while ago he wasn't like most, though. He somehow wormed his way into the hearts of at least five sins of hell itself. It's almost six, but that'll take time and trust-building. He won't even try with Lucifer. 

"Bullshit."

"How?"

"No cunt's jus' gonna leave behind a massive portion of their life like that - I ain't stupid."

"I'm not leaving it behind. How could I? I wouldn't have met Ozzie. I wouldn't even be alive. As much as that fire ruined me, it freed me, too. I met so many great people, inspired others, met the love of my life and joined this mad circus of a family. What we used to have wasn't healthy for either of us, so I'm suggesting that we make a new relationship - learn from the fuck ups of before and go from there."

As much as Asmodeus told Fizz that he'd be this no matter what, Fizz knew otherwise. Without Mammon, he never would've gotten these prosthetics and met Ozzie in the first place. 

This peace offering only furthered that confusion. 

Fizz is being very forthcoming here, doing his best to show how genuine he is. Millions of years of distrust caused thick barriers of self-protection, but Fizzarolli wasn't going to back down. He stood his ground against Mammon's half-true form, he could do this too. 

Taking a risk, the imp approached the ancient being, sitting across from him. There was a legitimate concern of a stray surge of energy, but Fizz would have to grin and bear it. 

"Did I tell you why I started clowning?" Fizz started, slightly tilting his head. "I was an orphan dumped at the circus, too young to remember who my blood parents were. It was so empty, knowing they were never coming back. I was a right downer - nothing Barb, Blitz or the other circus kids did could make me smile. Then Tilla put a recording on a tiny TV box - no bigger than a pygmy hell pig. It was of you making confetti explode in Ozzie's office." 

It was the first time Fizz remembered laughing at something. 

The yell of Asmodeus as the confetti went everywhere was hysterical. He even choked on a piece, making hilarious rooster crow sounds in shock and confusion. Although only a theory, it's widely believed that Leviathan was the one that recorded everything.

"Picked that crap out my fur for years after," the sin added, less hostile. "Din't think anyone even remembered that one."

"It made me laugh, and then I saw how the other kids reacted. It's what made me want to be a clown - make people laugh and enjoy something. It made me warm and fuzzy and made my pain hurt less. I can't survive a day without making at least one person crack a smile - the number of times I've made Ozzie spit out his coffee makes things so much clearer." 

"Does he still make that horse neighing sound if it comes out his nose? Or like a deflating balloon?"

"Yeah!"

Fizz even attempted to recreate the sound, wiggling his noodle arms to go along with the noise. 

Those pincer things curled and flicked, going along with a small huffing sound hidden behind a cicada's chirp. Was that an authentic chortle? Not one manufactured for the masses in a way that wouldn't frighten them from the bug themes.

"You could've gone with any clown, and ya decided to follow me?"

"You're the king of clowns! I stole a ton of material when I was a little kid - it was too good not to."

"Usually someone sayin' this kinda crap is tryin' to get money or somethin'. I dunno what you get out've sayin' this."

"It's not a play, Zuriel. I'm being open, honest and genuine. You inspired me as a kid and saved me when I had nobody else. In a way, I owe it to repay that." 

The mask is gone. He's too tired to pretend, so what Fizz saw was real.

Being told that you inspired someone is a big thing, especially when it's from a genuine place. Whenever someone got inspired by him, Fizz felt like crying. It was magical for Fizz, and for someone deficient in such interactions, it also meant so much to Zuriel.

That's what Fizz wanted. He's talking as an equal, a fellow in this funny family. He wants to help Zuriel and be there.

It's the truth. That day, Zuriel saved him, and now it's Fizz's turn to repay that. 

"I would lay in that hospital bed and wish I'd die," he said, opening up further. "It wasn't being dead that I wanted, not really - I just wanted everything to stop. The pain, the stress, the memories - I could still feel the flames eating at my flesh. I remembered the smell of myself cooking. I heard those fireworks going off. I felt my limbs on fire, even though they were gone. It felt like my only escape. And then it changed."

The pincers and antennae moved, reacting to Fizz's honest words. 

"What did?" the sin probed.

"A big fluffy clown appeared in my room. I thought it was hallucinating at first - my idol had randomly appeared in my room! That's when it all changed. I wasn't alone anymore. I had so, so many people around me. I met Asmodeus, made friends with Verosika and so much more. I even got to rekindle an old friendship. All it took was that moment for things to get better for me."

One that Fizz will be testing after what Blitz unintentionally caused.

"Lucifer said some crap like that once, that all it took was one day to change everything - that was when Chucky was born."

Charlotte, their niece. Someday, hopefully, she'll be Fizz's niece as well. 

The love they have for that woman is undeniable. All came together for her, even if Lucifer only appeared later. 

He liked making Angel Dust and Pentious laugh.

"It's still there - the smells, the touches, the sounds - it's not as debilitating anymore, but it's like a second shadow. So although the shit we've been through is different, you're not alone. It's suffocating and cruel and crawls under your skin, and that's why they're for. We're for. To make it hurt less, even if only a little bit." 

Those hands paused, no longer fiddling with the cowboy tassels. 

"You don't owe me shit, Fizzie."

"I want to be here, Zuriel. I've chosen to stay and be part of this. Ozzie's my family, so the rest of you are as well. Besides, you're the most stable father figure I've had."

That got the sin to laugh. It was brief, rasped and weak, but it was there. It was real. 

It's true in a very twisted way. His blood father left long ago, Cash Buckzo was useless and nobody else came close besides this fuzzy traumatised pompom. 

"That's fuckin' sad."

"And how else do we cope with our trauma other than by making others laugh at it?"

"Easier to be laughed at than yelled at."

If you make yourself the funny goofy fool, they're less likely to aim their ire at you.

Another defense mechanism. A depressing origin to why he started to clown.

"I mean it, Zuri, all of it. I'll be right there, enjoying takeaway and watching movies - no idea what they would be."

"Extended edition of Lord of the Rings, obviously - the superior marathon."

"I have no idea what that is."

"You wanna stick along for this train wreck? You'll appreciate it an' ye won't moan about Viggo Mortensen's toe breakin' - it's tradition to point that bit out!"

What the fuck is a Viggo?

Chapter Text

Blitz hated to look at the sins. 

Belphegor was terrifying. Her quadrupedal form was mostly skeletal, her long tail splitting into three at the end like a trident. Her eyes were floating, glowing orbs in dead black sockets. Her face was a beast's skull, with no flesh or skin on her entire form.

Around her shoulders, chest, ribs and front paws was a thick fur, almost a mane. Along her spine was a whispy feint blue flame. Six sets of horns adorned her head like a wicked crown, seemingly burned black. Bony fin-like protrusions jutted where her ears should be, moving rarely. 

She was known for being gigantic. She was small so she could fit in the room, otherwise, she would take up the whole hospital. 

He can't tell if she's asleep or if she's pretending. It's hard to know with these... creatures. 

At least with the birds like Stolas, there was an idea of what they were. Birds. Mostly owls. With the sins, they're all so different. 

Stolas looked so small in that hospital bed. Last time, Blitz didn't show. He didn't have the balls to face the prince after ignoring his need for help. 

He hadn't felt fear like that when the tall avian appeared in Blitz's tiny living room. He was a horrific mess, barely alive. There was so much blood - his fucking eye was gone! 

How did Striker do it? Why didn't he go after the surly bastard the first time? If Blitz had killed him, then Stolas wouldn't be comatose. 

"I want him," Blitz snarled, anger boiling his blood. "I want Striker's head. I wanna turn that ass licker into shoes!"

Blitz was so scared of dying alone. He was terrified of commitment, that was a no-brainer. Although their relationship was purely transactional, it was addictively comforting. Something about the peace after a good fuck in a big cosy bed was soothing.

Listening to Stolas' little hoots in his sleep was a confusing lullaby. Something that Blitz yearned for, especially now. If a sound came from the Goetia, it was raspy and strained. 

What he wouldn't give for the sweet, safe tiny hoots, the closest an owl could get to snoring. 

"Blitz," Millie started, unsure how to approach the agitated hybrid. "We don't know if it was only Striker. We've all fought him - there's no way he could've done all this alone."

"She's right. There were no signs of holy rope this time, so his magic wasn't even suppressed - the Goetia are powerful, even the minor ones," Moxxie agreed, though it didn't ease Blitz's growing restlessness.

He didn't know how powerful Stolas truly was. The prince didn't include his magic in their transactions - he was adamant about that, one of the few restrictions. No magic. 

The owl was physically stronger, though. He knew that intimately, regardless of how Stolas preferred to be on the receiving end. If he wanted, he could snap Blitz's bones like a twig. Something about that danger was arousing, admittedly. 

Striker had to try a rifle the first time, then came at Stolas with surprise, using a rope that shouldn't be available in hell. How did he do it this time?

They were correct. He couldn't have been alone. But who had the horns to attack a Goetia? How was that cherub involved?

None of it added up. 

"It could be a whole gang or somethin'. It could even be the same person that hired 'im the first an' second time!" Millie suggested, approaching Blitz in an attempt to comfort him. "We'll kick their asses. It's what we're fuckin' good at!"

Though he appreciated her encouragement, it did little to ease his ache.

The need to get revenge itched in his fingers and claws, clambering up his spine like a rabid parasite. 

She could be onto something, though. It might be the same person. Who else could supply so many items of divine power?

Blitz shivered as a cold washed over them like a wave, and the skeletal entity rose her head. 

Those freakish floating orbs seemed to lock onto Blitz, analysing him, dissecting him. 

They're as unnerving as the moment he saw them in his apartment.

"He considers you safe," the ancient being said, as hollow as her skeletal figure. "Most strange." 

She's judging him, he can feel it.

"We don't understand it either," Moxxie shrugged. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness," he added, bowing slightly for her. 

She had no face, so they couldn't decipher what her reaction to that would've been. 

Her head lifted minimally, those orbs aimed at the door. It opened, revealing a concerned Fizz.

He waved to the sin, who lifted a paw briefly to reciprocate. It was so bizarre how little Fizz seemed to be bothered by the sins' presence - he was even fucking one of them!

Blitz also couldn't fathom how Fizz was now suddenly chill with Mammon of all creatures. 

Genuinely, Blitz didn't recognise the sin of greed. The fuzz, the fluffy antennae, that big tail, the casualness; it didn't fit the asshole clown thing at all. 

The cyborg joined Blitz's side, examining the unconscious Goetia. He then turned to Belphegor, tail swaying expectantly.

"What've you got, Bel?"

"Enough," she answered cryptically, turning the skull to face the other imps. It was evident she had a low opinion of them. "Why is it you are here?" she questioned, her words jabbing into Blitz's heart.

"None of your business, skelly-bitch. I can go wherever I damn well please!"

"You are not the one I am referring to," Belphegor clarified, lifting the skull in an ominous "nod" movement, indicating that something was behind them.

Blitz finally saw the shadow in the wall that didn't belong. It's far too tall to come from any of them.

A giant, taller than Stolas, stepped out of the wall. It was Paimon - Blitz could recognise the bastard that rented him for a day with ease. 

The Goetia was repulsed by their presence, that was no secret. However, Belphegor forced some sense of civility and upper-crust bullshit. 

"I'm performing my duties as the Paradigm Tyto of the Goetia, Princess Belphegor - investigating a sordid affair. This was caused by the same as previous, no?" the King of the bird fuckers questioned, his red eyes locking onto Blitz.

There was a hatred there, a deep-seated spite that turned Blitz's blood to ice. However, the imp stood his ground. 

"Striker," Moxxie named.

"I do not recall providing permission to speak," the owl said, snapping his beak sharply. "No measly imp can do this, hardly even another Goetia. Who must I erase for this embarrassment?"

"Embarrassment? Your son almost died!" Fizz argued, earning Paimon's ire. "You're a damn shit parent if he fled to Blitz of all people! Uh, no offence, Blitz."

Some taken.

Paimon was visibly insulted and angered by the cybernetically aided imp. For a moment, his form became a writhing mass of darkness and stars, shifting through several beasts before returning to his better-known form. 

The sin of sloth stood on her four legs, the sound of her claws scraping against the floor like knives in Blitz's ears. 

She locked eyes with Paimon, passing a message only the ancient star fuckers could understand. 

"So, that is the one the great Prince of Lust has sullied himself with?" Paimon huffed, disgusted. "My son was already a disgrace before entangling with lesser filth, but even possibly being bested by one not once but twice is egregious."

"Hey, don't you go blamin' the victim!" Millie growled, ignoring Moxxie's concerns. "There's no difference between us and you, bird brain. We're all hell-born. Havin' feathers don't make you more important than the rest of us."

Being compared to a lowborn infuriated the Goetia. 

Strangely, Belphegor placed herself near the door. With those ominous orbs locked onto Paimon's back, she left them. 

What the actual fuck was her problem? Why did she abandon them like that?

Blitz remained right next to Stolas. He was afraid to leave. If he did, would something else happen? The thought of that horrified him in ways he couldn't fathom.

For fuck sake, he's missing an eye!

It was Blitz's fault. If he didn't fuck up so awfully, then Stolas would've called him for help or something. He could've found another way to get a hellbies shot; there's always another way. He didn't want to bother with Stolas' bird weirdness, not even considering that the royal tit could get hurt.

But he got super hurt and nearly died this time. 

"Just go," Blitz growled, tired and stressed. "He wouldn't want you here. It's not like you care."

"And you do?" the so-called father hissed. "I'm sick of this insolence!"

That was the final straw for Paimon.

Fizz's hand extended, grabbing onto Blitz's jacket and yanking him out of the way of Paimon's claws. It didn't stop the Goetia, from directing his anger on the nearest being with red skin. Scowling, he kicked Millie, the speed creating a snap like the crack of a whip.

Moxxie scrambled, grabbing his wife, but the force sent both of them into the wall. It cracked, dust and minor debris dropping onto the shorter imp's shoulders. 

When Paimon prepared to act again, Fizzarolli got between IMP and the furious Goetia. 

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Blitz yelled, perplexed by the imp's boldness.

"Leave before we make you," Fizz stated, sounding strangely authoritative and confident. 

Blitz didn't understand. What's gotten into him?

A mere few weeks ago, Fizz was useless in combat. He avoided conflict.

But here he is, staring down a powerful entity like Blitz would. 

Something told him that IMP wasn't the "we" that Fizz was talking about. 

Ignoring the imp's warning, Paimon went to strike again. However, it would never connect. 

The Goetia was thrown to the floor, his red eyes meeting the enraged greenish-yellow pair of the sin of greed. That scorpion tail was poised, itching to stick into the oversized turkey. 

"You ringworm-riddled waste of pillow filler!" the sin hissed, the chorus of cicadas in the background. Those pincer things twitched angrily, electricity dancing across the entity's body. "The fuck are you playing at, mate? You don't fuck with what's mine!"

Before Blitz could counter that, Fizz glared at him, silently telling him to zip it.

The Goetia got to his feet, more intimidated by the clown than Doctor Bones. 

"You've fallen for these cretins as well?"

"I don't like sharing my toys," snarled the larger being, those sparks arching and lashing at the air like starved serpents. "Lilith ain't here to stop me from Kentucky fryin' you this time, beak bitch, and I'm getting hungry," he threatened, letting that weird tongue roll from his maw - purple with glowing yellow rings. 

Instead of that hoodie, he's wearing Satan's jacket. What was that about?

Deducing that dealing with an enraged sin was unwise, the bird bastard made sweet haste and left through a portal. 

"That hurt," Millie grumbled, rubbing her chest. "Think ah' broke somethin'."

"Fuck's up with her?" the bug questioned, perplexed. Those little pincer things twitched in a weird way he didn't like.

"Paimon kicked her," Moxxie growled, stroking her hair lovingly.

Fizz turned to the sin, nodding his head to Millie. Said sin was unenthused about whatever Fizz was suggesting.

It's not like the sin of greed has healing powers. That was Belphegor's thing. Even then, she did a shit job. 

As if on acid, Blitz watched as Mammon started to move his hands weirdly - the lower set, at least. The first pair were crossed petulantly. The four arms were creepy on Beelzebub, let alone this insectoid freak show.

Despite the insanity, Fizz was following along and even reciprocating.

Blitz took way too long to realise they were talking in sign language. Since when did that fat fuck learn that?

It isn't his fault that he didn't recognise it. It wasn't the one that hellborn or sinners used. 

"For fuck sake!" the sin hissed. "I ain't a fuckin' charity - goes against the whole "king of greed" thing."

"I'll make you a grilled cheese."

"Deal."

That's all it took? Seriously?

What was Fizz even asking for?

In the lower left hand, a small vial appeared. The lower right opened it, sprinkling something inside and gave it a good shake. 

"You can't cook to save your life," Blitz said, confused.

"I was running out of things to negotiate with," Fizz shrugged. 

"Negotiate what?"

Ignoring them, the sin was satisfied with whatever he was fucking with.

"Drink this and you won't feel a damn thing," the sin said, tossing the little vial to the couple. "Acts faster than the diluted shite they use here. They're stingy, and that's coming from me." 

No lie there. 

Fizz gave an encouraging nod to the pair. Although Moxxie was hesitant, Millie bit through the top and downed it in seconds. She stuck her tongue out, the green fluid sticking like glue. 

After hardly a moment, her pupils were wide and she was limp, a stupid giggly look on her face.

"Oh shit," she giggled dizzily. "What's this!?"

"That, 'lil bitch, is grounded papaver somniferum mixed with a lactuca virosa tincture, plus some filipendula ulmaria pollen," the sin explained proudly.

None of those are words.

Weirdly, it looked like Moxxie understood at least half of that gibberish. 

"Wouldn't a harpagophytum procumbens be more effective? Lactucin doesn't affect imps."

It was so weird to see that giant fuzzy asshole be impressed by something. It could be an act, but Fizz's pleased reaction suggested otherwise.

"Sheila's from the wrath wring, and they eat Lophophora Williamsii religiously. It makes harpagoside acidic in their systems, but lactuca virosa's effects are significantly boosted, mostly thanks to the filipendula ulmaria pollen. Rare for someone to know their shit, small fry."

Seeing Moxxie analyse the information and appear amazed by whatever the hell that bastard spouted got on his nerves.

"Moxxie, what the fuck was all of that?" Blitz demanded, confused.

"Oh, Mammon created a strong morphine for Millie - I never considered the cacti that wrath imps eat would make harpagoside dangerous," the small imp rambled, confusing Blitz more. 

"Cacti? What, all that mumbo-jumbo was about fucking plants?"

"Damn fuckin' straight, bitch boy. I designed the wonderous shit you see 'round all of hell - Stolas used to moan at me for ages 'til I finally gave him a Nocturnophylla Muscipula. Should have a few of the snappy bastards by now."

Stolas had mentioned those two words before, the name of his gigantic plants that would eat an imp whole if allowed. They were more like rabid hounds than flowers, but Stolas adored them.

He got those from this asshole. 

Why was Fizz so pleased by this?

Meanwhile, Millie is living her best life, high off her little red tits. She looked like she could taste colours. 

"Why would Stolas hang around you?" Blitz huffed, irritated.

"Should ask the same. You couldn't even be bothered to visit Fizzie, and from what I've overheard, you didn't try with the last time Stol got fucked up. So why now, hm?"

There's that sadism that Blitz expected.

The cruelness, the wicked monster that took advantage of any opportunity.

He was right, but not wholly.

Blitz is indeed a coward, he won't try denying that. He's a failure. He wouldn't let the fat clown get to him, though. He couldn't.

"Because he's an idiot," Fizz shrugged, drawing attention to him. It felt deliberate. "He's a self-sabotaging asshole that picks fights to hurt himself. He must love him, or he wouldn't put up with it."

Why did it feel like Fizz wasn't talking about Blitz?

It's so frustrating. How in the seven hells is Blitz supposed to communicate - not that he's good at that, to begin with - when Fizz is so cryptic?

What could've possibly made things so amicable between his abuser? 

"Mox?" Millie cooed, waving her hands in the general direction of his face.

"Yeah?" Moxxie responded, gently keeping her hands from grabbing onto anything she shouldn't.

"Ah' taste colours! Yer a pumpkin, Pumpkin!"

Part of him wanted to know how strong that stuff was for Millie to be so loopy.

The only one who could make it was extremely amused by Millie's continued babbling. 

"Gave this shit to Vero once. She was off her tits for nearly a week. Succubi hormones and morphine mix in a funny way. Bitch thought she was a cat for, like, two days and kept trying to groom me."

Since when did Verosika do that!? Though the thought was hilarious, 

He grew further annoyed when Moxxie started asking for specifics on how that happened, wanting the dull intricacies of how certain plants did what. It was boring bullshit. 

If Blitz is going to remain sane, he needs some clarifications. He can't ignore the giant bug in the room.

"Fizz, can I talk to you outside?"

It was so weird how Fizz seemed unsure of that. Not the discussion part, but leaving. It can't be for Stolas, the imp has barely met the bird. It shouldn't be for the sin - it's a fucking sin. What could it be about?

"Stay here," the cyborg commanded, acting like he had any authority over the insectoid. 

"Whateva," the sin shrugged off, strangely not reacting to a lesser being ordering him around. 

He reacted violently when Fizz wanted to quit, let alone tell him what to do. 

"I mean it. Don't go anywhere!"

"Lick my arse, frog face."

Before Blitz could retort, Fizz had already shoved him out the door. 

"Great. Back in a minute!"

With the door shut, Fizz scowled, showing his growing frustrations. 

"What? What's gotten you so pissed off?" he growled.

"Paimon, mostly. You haven't helped."

"What did I do!? I just wanted to see Stolas, and here you are with the whole damn royal management for hell! Having to be here was hard enough, but being near that skeleton bitch, then Paimon, and Mammon of all fuckers? Sorry if it's all a little too much!"

That's excluding Leviathan and Satan, who both were very threatening towards him. 

What little imp wouldn't be distressed under these circumstances? These beings are so old and powerful. They're dangerous and violent to his kind. 

Belphegor abandoned them as royals always did, and the Goetia looked upon them as dirt. 

The guilt of failing Stolas again was eating him alive. 

"You've got a point there, being not used to these guys. But I can see it, Blitz. Anyone with eyes could."

"If it's about Stolas-"

"It's not."

"Oh, for - this better not be about that fat fuck."

"He isn't fat, it's his fur," the other sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration. "Look, Blitz, it's complicated. Very. I can't go into detail, but it's serious."

"I don't want that fucker taking advantage of you again," Blitz emphasised, feeling tired from the reignited worry he had for his childhood friend. 

His mother treated Fizz like another son, raising him with Blitz and Barbie. He was like the unofficial triplet in their messiness and circus chaos. 

His father favoured Fizz... he never quite got past that. It was that very envy that started the accident that killed his mum, disabled his friend and severed any love his sister had for him. 

"We've talked about that. It's rocky and not fantastic, but it's something. I'll admit that I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm not going anywhere. I'm part of this and not just for Zuriel - it's for Ozzie, too," Fizz explained, his tail curling slightly. 

Although Blitz wanted to trust his friend, he couldn't understand it. 

How could he forgive that bastard?

"What do you possibly get out of whatever the fuck this is?"

"My boyfriend's peace and healing. And my likely future brother-in-law recovering from the terrible shit those assholes in heaven did to him - what Ozzie and, though unwilling, Satan did. Strip away their powers and age, and they're just like us. Zuriel and I are a lot more alike than I could've ever realised," he continued, rubbing at one of his metal arms.

It was too cryptic for Blitz to decipher. Whatever it is they could've shared, it had to be deep for Fizz to care so much about his previous abuser. 

Whatever happened in heaven, that dickhead must've deserved it. 

"What if it's all some trick? This is a sin whose whole thing is scams and bullshit hidden behind bright lights."

"I've seen enough to know it isn't a trick. I know you don't like Z, and that's fair, but don't antagonise him."

"Why? Because he'll kill me?"

"Possibly, but that's not why. Blitz, you caused a fucking panic attack earlier. Do you fathom how dangerous it is for someone with electric powers to lose control? Especially inside of a hospital! I'm surprised that Satan didn't hunt you down like a starved hound."

A panic attack? How?

Sins don't get panic attacks. They're ancient eldritch assholes!

Was that what Fizz meant by "seeing enough"? 

If it was true, which Blitz doubted, it could've caused a blackout in the hospital. That would've hurt Stolas.

Again, that would've been Blitz's fault.

"They can have those?"

"Like I said. They're just like us. And that includes... not being well. That's all I'm willing to say. Just don't make it worse."

He's sick? The sin of greed is sick?

It's not like Blitz knows a lot about the sins. He only met them because of Fizz and Stolas. 

Of course, he's always known of Mammon - he was a failed clown. Every clown knows the crowned prince of circuses. But beyond the basic stuff, he hadn't been face to face with him until that pageant. 

The jab about the performance from years ago wasn't reacted to, which was a surprise. There wasn't a comment at all, just an unimpressed look. With a quick explanation from Fizz, it was ignored. It's not even like he's mad about it - he only brought it up in the hallway to emphasise how Blitz should've recognised him.

In hindsight, he should've. 

"I'm so fucking confused. You guys are just cool now?"

"It'll take time, but roughly, yeah. We're all having pizza later watching some weird Earth movie trilogy - no idea what the fuck it is, but sounds interesting." 

That's it, then? They're moving on from fifteen years of misery. 

Isn't that what they did, though? After all, it's mostly Blitz's fault that Fizz lost all four limbs and his horns. 

Finally, back from wherever she buggered off to, Loona strolled to them, looking through her phone without care. 

She barely acknowledged Blitz's existence, scrolling through Sinstagram. 

"And where have you been?" Blitz demanded.

His daughter took her sweet time responding.

"I was chatting with Vortex - something about an "Oz" looking for something," Loona shrugged, drinking her black coffee. "Bird guy still out?"

"Yeah, he's still unconscious, even though one of the goat nurses said he should be up soon," Blitz sighed.

He's so tired from the whole situation. 

"His kid's on the way. Octavia. She looks upset."

Fuck, Octavia's on her way? 

Of course, she'd come! That's her father in there!

Did she know her grandfather had just been a gigantic asshole?

"That should be our cue to leave," Fizz said, getting his phone. "It'd be easier if Z wasn't allergic to phones."

"Who?" Loona asked, her right ear lowing with disinterest.

"Mammon," Blitz clarified, still unsure where the Z thing came from. "They're "sorting" things out."

"Aren't you already fucking a sin?" Loona said, confused. 

The question shocked the imp, blinking several times as he processed that. 

"Not only would I never betray Ozzie, but Mammon is repulsed by sex. Violently."

Blitz thought that was only a rumour. How ironic for one sibling to be obsessed with it, and another despise it. 

As if that wasn't difficult enough, Blitz heard hooves clacking against the tiled floor of the hospital's floors. The steps were too wide and heavy to be anyone else...

He was hoping that Fizz was texting someone who wasn't anger incarnate.

"Ain't this cute?" Satan growled, looking down on Blitz like he wanted to incinerate him. "Keepin' this here asshole in line, ah see."

Four flaming eyes burned into Blitz, the dark red skin around them cracking like cooling magma. His draconic face held nothing but contempt, thick like smoke. Though it isn't surprising coming from a royal, it was clearly from Blitz's comments towards Satan's sibling. 

Family is a complicated thing. He knew that as well as anybody. 

Loona whistled, looking up at the sin's bare chest. 

As if to specifically insult Blitz, Satan smirked at her. He let his tongue roll out, one that split into two. It was an enticing attribute, but Blitz didn't appreciate it being directed at his baby girl.

Those bovine ears did nothing to sweeten the beast of hate's appearance. The several horns crowning his head trailed down his neck, back and tail as spikes. A mane of flame acted like hair, mostly covered by his cowboy hat. He had powerful muscles, too. 

Down his body, those hooves stood out like shining pieces of onyx. They clacked against the floor with each movement, demanding attention and reverence. 

There are a handful of things that Blitz couldn't unsee, though.

Down the sin's tail wasn't one row of spikes but two. The shape of the largest horns on the sin's head possessed a shape he recognised. At closer inspection, Satan's eyes had rings to them. It was faint, hardly noticeable, but they were there.

There are coincidences, but then there was Paimon's comment from before. No mere imp could've hurt Stolas as Striker had. 

That concerned him greatly.

It couldn't be possible. Could it?

"Ah take it it's all been alright?" the King of Wrath said, turning his attention to Fizz. 

"Other than Paimon throwing a fit? It's been fine," the cyborg reported, unbothered by the entity's growing anger. It bubbled in his eyes like lava. "Okay, Zuriel intervened, but he barely did anything. It was positive."

His employee getting punted across the room wasn't a positive.

"Optimistic kind, or real?" the sin interrogated, his ire directed at Blitz. "Ah know this here is your pal, but he ain't none of ours."

"As if it's my fault I didn't know those two are getting all buddy-buddy!" Blitz bit back. "Last I saw anything, that bastard would've stepped on him! Full demon mode!"

"Half," Fizz corrected.

Half!?

He was bigger than Asmodeus, and that was only half!?

"Bold to stand up for yer friend, but be more careful of your tongue, kid. Ah don't take kindly to anyone insulting my family."

"Kid!? I'm thirty-nine!"

"A darn foetus is what you are, sunshine. Even my baby brother is over a thousand times older than you," the King laughed, the slight hiss unnerving Blitz more. 

Almost as if someone had summoned him, the king of greed kicked the door off its hinges, nearly hitting Loona. 

Without a care in the seven hells, the bug bastard had a big grin on his freaky face.

When he saw Satan, he waved at the red being like he was swatting at a fly.

"Ya fuckin' stink!"

Satan was merely amused, raising a middle finger for him as well.

"Eat shit and die Mams," he said, visibly pleased to see his sibling. The one that's wearing his jacket for some reason.

"Eat shit and live, you lizard fucker. The bird's up!"

What!?

Blitz almost flew into the room, skidding on the floor to be next to Stolas.

The owl was out of it, hopped up on something powerful. Nonetheless, he's awake. He's alive and breathing. 

He hated to see Stolas like this, so tired and drugged up. He must be off his cloaca on strong pain meds. 

Although Satan loomed over him, there wasn't that hot, intense spite. It was softer, more sympathetic and caring than a few moments ago. 

"You did good, son," Satan complimented, those pierced ears flicking. "Done real good."

A small wheeze escaped the tall owl, a meagre attempt at speech. 

"Don't talk," Blitz said, almost commanding. 

Stolas couldn't move much, and although his eyes were nearly pure red, Blitz always knew where those bloody rubies were directed. It hurt so much for only one to be directed at him. The missing eye being absent terrified him on a brand new level. 

He nearly lost his vision from the circus fire. He couldn't imagine losing an entire eyeball. 

Blitz should've dealt with this far sooner. It's all his fault. 

"Dad!"

Blitz moved, letting Octavia take his place. The poor girl didn't understand what'd happened, worried for her father.

The confusion was lifted at the sight of his beloved baby girl, soothed by her presence. 

He felt like an intruder. He should leave. 

"Stay," Fizz said, gripping Blitz's coat. "He'll want you when he's lucid."

"You don't-"

"He went to you because he felt safe with you. He chose you when he needed help. He'll want you here."

Of course, Fizz was right. He usually was. 

No matter how much it hurt, Blitz had to stay.

"C'mon, lil frog. Better give them the privacy," the lord of loathing said, his tail lightly patting the young girl's back. "You especially, fuzzball."

"I ain't a fuzzball!"

"You're a pompom with legs."

"And you're the love child of a prolapsed goat and dysentery." 

"At least compare me to a bull."

"You're certainly full o' enough shit to be a bull."

"I'm takin' your sprite for that."

"The fuck you will, cow cunt!"

He wanted to shoot them both.

"They sound like my brothers," Millie commented, slightly more lucid than earlier. 

Their bickering contradicted the immense dread in his heart.

Hasn't Blitz caused enough pain? Standing here must be doing so much damage. 

No matter what, Blitz only hurts others. 

The movies were great as always. Although the food was good, that was part of the problem. It doesn't last. 

It's an irritating thing. Eating. He hated it.

There are many things that Mammon's bad at, but food is at the top of the list. It's so easy to lose that, most times, he doesn't even bother.

Isn't it enough to be trapped in this hideous, wicked form? Why add the need for consumption atop it? It was so frustrating!

Disgusting. Vile. It never stayed where it should.

So much triggered its evacuation. There's the common ones like sex, stress, panic and other stupid things, but then there's the pressure. It claws at his insides, sticks to his throat and scrapes his teeth. There's that lingering presence, demanding he cater to it. 

It's fascinating how the sins are interconnected. Despite gluttony belonging to his elder sister, it was a sin heavily attached to greed. Isn't it greedy to eat more than you need?

The want. The need to possess more. It's about hoarding, gathering, taking, stealing, coveting and consuming more, but it's a bottomless pit. It's never enough. Just as Bee will never feel full, he'll never be rid of this itch for more. 

Always more.

Doesn't he suffer enough in this body? Now he cowers in this bathroom like a pathetic wretch, scared of making more of a mess in Bee's home. 

How can she put up with so much of his stupid bullshit? He can't!

He hated being sick. He loathed the bubbling feeling in his stomach, the weight in his throat and the taste. It would often appear faster than he could fight it. He hated the smell, the feel, all of it. 

His heart raced, its teeth gnawing into his ribcage for freedom. His lungs burned for air he technically didn't need. 

It reminded him too much of earlier, trapped as those walls closed in, the heat rising, the certainty of death upon him. His big brother grounded him, that kept him from falling into an abyss, a hole he'd never climb out of. 

"You made a deal with her but not me!"

The sin looked around the bathroom, startled. It sounded like Chucky.

Charlotte isn't here, though. She's up in Pride, far away from a mess like him. It was his fault that her dreams were destroyed - the others must still be upset about that. 

Luci was. He wouldn't have given him a concussion if he hadn't. 

"How about you make yourself useful instead of whining!"

It's right there, almost coming out of his ears. It echoes in his head. Nobody is here, but he can still hear it. 

That isn't someone he knows. It's electrical. 

How can it be so real if nobody else is here with him?

"Don't you dare!"

That one was loud, almost like Ozzie was pressing right against his head. It made his ears ring, forcing him to cover them defensively.

Panic swelled in his throat, pushing him to the toilet. The evening's food rushed out, despising the body that attempted to digest it. Alongside the vile taste was the shame of wasting Beelzebub and Satan's efforts. 

Why do they waste so much time on him?

They have better things to do than watch him be pathetic and a waste of space. 

"You don't know what you're doing!"

That was... he hadn't heard that voice since Eden. What the fuck?

It went again, this time with Lucifer's voice, but in the end, it muddled into Raphael - he hadn't heard her voice since she was erased. 

They aren't stopping. Why're they getting louder?

He was sick again but missed the toilet. He couldn't even try cleaning it before a bang rocketed through his hearing. It was an explosion, but it sounded like it activated right next to his head.

"Such a strange creature..."

Fucking Metatron, hearing his twisted voice so close once again. 

That thing, that evil son of a bitch!

The edges of his vision begin to be consumed by an inky darkness. It scared him. No matter how hard he rubbed, the dark wouldn't go away. 

It grew, sending him into a pitch-black he hadn't felt before. It was so cold. 

Something hot is on his chest, pooling and flowing. It's so must. Why is it so thick? It's like glue or a viscous tar. 

He still can't see, but... Fuck!

There's not enough air! He can't breathe! He can feel his mouth open, his lungs are filling, but it isn't air. It's hot and thick, clinging to his tongue and teeth. He tries to throw up, to get rid of whatever this is, but it keeps coming. The smell is so much, too potent to stomach.

All he can reach for is himself, clawing at his throat and ears. The yelling hasn't stopped, the cries and screams, are only muffled. No, they're different - there's a duet instead of a choir. He still can't see, the feeling of cold seeping into his bones. 

Kicking does nothing. It's like he's sinking deeper into this blackness, this heat and - it hurts. The hurt grows like a flame on gasoline. 

How do you cry or scream when the air is gone? When something else has taken its place?

Hands, large and tight, grasp onto him. They add to the hurt, ditting past his fur and flesh. They're strong, threatening to crack bone from their might. He tries to fight them, but it's so hard. The tar is making him slow. 

A pull and tug - someone flying? The image of Metatron briefly comes to mind, in sighting further fear. 

Something breaches, the sound of splashing and crackling - so much is muffled and muddied. He can feel his back drag along hard and rough, irritating his scars. 

He can feel Meta's eyes on him, his wicked aura. It's everywhere. 

"--S-G--N--O-H-RT-!" someone hushes, or is it because of the tar?

Something moves. It comes from him somewhere, and a blinding sensation burns through. There's a sound, but from who, he couldn't tell. 

It's so powerful and overwhelming. He hardly feels smaller hands on his abdomen where that tar is. He's so suddenly tired.

"D---T--U---RE"

Light comes back like Lucifer's punch. Though he can breathe again, the tar is gone, he feels hands. So many hands. 

The noise is back, loud and unrelenting. Many voices, those he knew and others he didn't. How ironic that his throat felt dry, burned and hoarse.

There's no escaping this sound, this attack from inside. 

Is it that greedy to want peace?

I WANT PEACE

Sinking, but not like before. A softer kind. The need for something, the compulsion, the want - it's so strong...

"Zuri!"

The light became lights, pink, purple and gold. It flowed like a river, soothing and promising safety. What little there is. 

Eyes of sweet pink looked at it, brimming with tears and fear. It's his big sister. 

Why is Bee so upset? Why does he feel so tired? Why can't he move?

"It'll be ok," whimpered something deep, hidden and muffled by his back. Rough hands hold onto his lower pair, shaking.

"Breathe, laddie," another added, their damper duo holding his upper pair, rubbing circles into the back with thumbs.

The smell. The stupid accents.

Bee is on his legs, her hands on his chest and face. 

Why're they in here?

"Zuri, follow me," she hushed, stroking his cheek fur. He blinked slowly, confused. "Z? There we go, like that," she encouraged, her usually perky ears flat against her head. 

Follow where?

When he tried to ask, nothing came out. It was like a dying car.

"Nae need, wee wan. We're right here," Levi soothed, their tail around his. "Ye need a good kip."

He is tired. A nap sounded good. 

Really good...

It reminded her so much of them. Back when Ozzie and Ramiel had their visions for the first time. 

They struggled with it for a while until they got control. The problem there was that they were designed for it. Their baby brother wasn't.

It's all leftovers, small remnants of God's carelessness and cruelty. 

The added instability must've ignited this dormant ability to become active. Maybe it's happened before, but never this strongly. 

She'd been concerned when Tex told her that Mam had gone to the larger bathroom but hadn't come back in half an hour. She didn't get the others at first, hoping her baby brother had fallen back asleep. It wouldn't be the first time he decided to nap in the tub. 

Beelzebub was wrong. She found him in the corner, digging his claws into his ears and at his antennae, whimpering and begging for silence. No matter what she said, he couldn't hear her. 

Then it started. It was unfiltered terror, anguish and pain. She didn't need to call her brothers - they rushed to her immediately. Everyone heard it, the cacophony of fear. 

It was either reliving something or experiencing what had yet to come. Even though she loathed God, Beelzebub was eerily close to praying for the former. 

And it got worse. They all felt it. For a few moments, perhaps six or seven seconds, he'd lost control. She remembered the only legible thing he'd said the whole time.

I want it to stop.

Want is a powerful aspect of greed. Wishing for the experience to end was somehow greedy, and he wanted it so badly that they nearly lost him.

She doesn't know what stopped it, but she's grateful. They only know how Pure Wrath behaves. 

"What the fuck are we going to do?" Satan said, visibly disturbed. 

"I don't know," she confessed, hiding her face in her four hands. "We nearly failed. I nearly failed again."

She was too tired and scared to cry. 

"Bel can do weird mind shit, yeah? Maybe she can block it," he suggested, clearly desperate. 

"We might make it worse-"

"Worse than that!?" he argued, growling in fury. "Our brother is suffering, Bee! He don' even know what the fuck's happening. What do we do - gaslight the poor fucker, tell 'im it ain't real? We gotta do something! Anything!"

They did. Using Belphegor's power like that... 

Did they have a choice at all?

It was simple. Never had anyone, not even their asshole father, wished for him to have that ability. Only Ramiel and later Ozzie. He was never made to cope with the stress and pressure of it.

Belphegor had the ability, but betraying their brother's trust like that - after all this time, promising they'd do better and be there. 

They can't use God's tactics, but they don't have other options.

"I don't know. I can't - not right now."

"He don' got time, Bee."

"I know that! I just... I'm scared we can't stop him if it happens."

"Then we better think of something quick. I ain't letting any of you experience that. It was a hell all of its own," Satan hissed, rubbing fluid from his eyes. "Is it so wrong for us to wanna be a family without this threat over our heads?"

According to their father, it's greedy to want that. How stupid.

Sins in and of themselves are stupid.

"We need to sleep before we decide anything."

"I don't think I can sleep after that."

"Neither me, but we should try anyway."

She's never going to unhear those cries for someone, anyone to help him and make it stop. Hells below, the sheer fright in his eyes hurt her. 

What the fuck are they going to do?

Chapter Text

"Bee, I need tae speak tae you," the serpentine being said, the fins on either side of their head flicking like her fennec ears. "We were considering sending Bel tae Charlie. I should go instead."

"What?" Bee questioned, confused. 

"I heard you and Sats. He's right. It makes me sick tae my stomach, but it's all we have. Bel has tae block oot whatever's left of Rami before an episode like that happens again. She can put him tae sleep if the sin tries tae overtake him again. That spooky dream-walking shite is more useful here than loiterin' at that hotel."

Leviathan spoke with sense and logic. They're right, naturally. 

Their sister's specific set of skills is more helpful than not, but it's the ethics of it. They all try their hardest to be better than their creator, they'd all drawn a line in the sand, but this goes so far over it. 

They can't explain to him why this is so necessary. He can't know that he's made from Ramiel's essence, even though it's the answer for the event last night and why Ozzie struggles so much. He barely knew that Ramiel even existed. 

Going into his mind, blocking off something without his consent, felt so wrong. It's not his fault at all. 

She felt ill at the thought of violating him that way. He'd react horribly if he somehow found out.

They're fucked either way. 

It's choosing between him losing to the sin in the desperate need to get away from an audible vision or their brother hating them for doing this without at least informing him beforehand. 

"What if he finds out?"

"Seven rings forbid, but given we'd already be well and truly fucked, we may as well rip off that band-aide, aye? Tell the poor fuck that, by the way, you're the reformed corpse of Ozzie's twin, so we did the psychic surgery so whatever's left of our sibling doesn't drive you mad."

As Beelzebub thought about it, a third option came to mind. It was risky.

They wouldn't need Bel. Well, they would, but without going behind Mam's back. If they had Asmodeus teach him - the rooster has millions of years of experience with this now - he could block it out or warn them if an episode is coming. 

Explaining why this has come out of nowhere would be a ballache, let alone getting Ozzie to do it. 

"What is it?" the serpent questioned, noticing the change in her colours. "Ye have an idea?"

"What if Asmodeus trains him? Y'know, so he's not caught off guard like last night or can manage it."

"Two problems, lass. First of all, I doubt Ozzie would be able tae without breaking down at some point. Second, how exactly do we explain these audible vision things? It came oot of nowhere!"

"You weren't always able to create acid. It wasn't until coming down here that Bel could do that weird thing with her bones. Lucifer's shapeshifting got massively better after Eden was made. It's just some new ability he's developed - it's not unbelievable given his age. I only started being able to change my size when I was around six hundred million."

"Ye goin' with angel puberty? Really?"

"At least it's not going behind his back. We're just... omitting specifics." 

She watched as they contemplated her idea. It was deceitful, but it wasn't as invasive as their other plan.

"Even if you somehow convinced Sats tae go through with this, you've still got Ozzie."

"It's a good thing Fizz can help with that."

"Aye. The wee thing's proven quite the addition, even if his attempt at a grilled cheese is an atrocity." 

"I don't think Ozzie should know about Plan B."

"You afraid he'll try tae twist it, bring Ramiel oot instead?"

"Something like that, but not on purpose. It's not something Ramiel would want."

"Do you think others could be "recycled?" Like Bel and I?" they questioned, surprising her.

As much as she wanted to say otherwise, she knew the truth. There was a chance they were the reused essence of other siblings.

That begged the question. Why is Mam having so many problems compared to Bel and Levi?

It could be the change in position. Like Ozzie, Ramiel was a Dominion. That was several leagues above the regular angel that Zuri was placed in. 

Trying to compress so much must be causing an overflow of some kind. It's not like God ever cared enough to consider negative consequences. It could even answer how Mam managed to make the tree of sin - a regular angel shouldn't have had that power, but a Dominion? 

Locking it away might exacerbate it, but what's the other option? Embracing it would be revealing the truth.

"I wish ah knew who they were," Levi continued, their quintuplet eyes staring off distantly. "If I'm like Zuri. Whoever they were, ah wish ah could remember them - honour who they were."

"We've lost more than you younger ones realise. Ozzie's "logic" wasn't entirely wrong about not getting attached when you're first made - many don't last very long, and it hurts so much when they go... Us elders used that as an excuse for far too long, causing fuck ups like this."

She, Satan and Lucifer were the eldest. They bore a lot of responsibility for how their younger siblings suffered the consequences of their inaction.

It never should've gotten to the point where Zuri was ever made, as disgusting as that thought was. It was revolting how he was made, how he could never know and they had to consider something so violating for his safety. 

Bee couldn't fathom how terrifying this was for her baby brother, the one that was created to torture another sibling, but he could never learn that.

Must never. 

"My wee Moray called him a narcissist; an insecure, delusional, pathetic weakling that hurts others tae feel strong... That's not you, though. You have a lot of guilt on your shoulders - all four - but you'll always be better than our cunt of a pa. Even if we tried, we could never be as cruel as he."

"I feel more like a mother than a sister."

"Honestly, Bee? You're the closest we've had tae one; me, Bel, Zuri, and probably Ozzie as well. Fuck me, even Adam probably looked at ye as a mother."

She did her best to never think about him.

"We left him behind, Levi."

"Aye, we did... we accepted long ago, however, that even if we tried, there's nae chance we can do shite. He never ate the apple. He'll always be bound tae those bawbags."

God's attempt to ensure blind loyalty that Mam accidentally ruined, but only two of the original three broke their chains. 

In her opinion, no humans went to heaven other than Adam. It's been thousands of years. It's doubtful a semblance of sanity is left to save, knowing Meta.

"You're right. No point dwelling on it."

"Ah tend tae be right."

"Pride is supposed to be Luci's curse."

"As if any of us were bound tae only one sin. Regardless of our titles, we're all seven, just one is more prominent than the others. We're more alike tae the imps than those feathered cock warmers." 

"I already said you're right once. I'm not giving it again."

"Tongue ma fart box, ya stingy fox!"

"Text me when you get to Pride, alright?"

"Aye. I'll send Charlie our love."

"Just... don't tell her about Mam. I don't want her to worry."

"Alright, I'll keep my maw shut. But if she asks, ah cannae say no to her."

That's fair enough. 

As Levi slithered out of her mansion, Bee couldn't help but bring her eyes upwards. She couldn't get it out of her thoughts.

It's been a while. 

"Do you think he's alright?" Bee asked, concerned. 

"It isnae oot of the ordinary, lass. Zuri's never been good with food," Levi said. It was true, but still...

She's thin because no matter how much she eats, she'll always starve. She physically can't gain weight. While she has to eat for comfort, it does the opposite for her brother.

Although they knew his sensitive stomach, she hated leaving him alone, even for the bathroom. It's a delicate time. 

It felt like too much, though. If she tries to smother him, it might make it worse. 

"If you're done mopin', you can explain to us what the fuck is up with them giant birds," Satan said, less concerned.

"Yeah! Why can't they fly to more-door with them?" Fizz continued, confused. The poor kid knew nothing about human mythology; he only knew what one looked like because of Verosika and Vortex.

"I already explained it to you! The more powerful you are, the more the ring wants to tempt you, and the eagles are super powerful in this. And they wouldn't have fit!" Vortex sighed, annoyed with the pair of idiots. "And Satan, you've watched this trilogy at least eight times."

"I never paid attention."

"Aye, same for ye ring."

"Get deep fried, fish fucker," Satan hissed, pouting. "So, why didn't they just put the ring on a dog or a rabbit and carry that to the volcano?"

"If it's too weak, the ring can corrupt it even easier. A hobbit is too weak for it to want to tempt them, and hobbits in general are selfless and don't want more than their little shire," Vortex added, shaking his head in shame. "It had to be Frodo."

Beelzebub understood all that because Mam enjoyed Tolkien's work, even if most of the book described things like tree branches and mundane stuff. He had a library in his lair filled with all sorts of things, almost a second library of Alexandria. 

Most films deviated from those books, which he hated, but Bee liked the movies. She wasn't a reader.

Plus, hearing about the behind-the-scenes from him was fun. The funny man in the ginger beard got high off the beard glue and thought it was real!

She found that one hilarious.

It was how she got Vortex to get along with Mam. They talked about something called "A Song of Ice and Fire" and coming up with ideas about stuff she didn't understand. She didn't want to know what Jojen Paste meant.

"Hobbit. That's the name of the other trilogy, yeah?" Fizz asked, curious.

"Eh, not nearly as good, but the first two are decent," her hellhound shrugged. "Wanna give it a go?"

"That's the one with the big dragon in it, yeah? I want to see that," Satan agreed, grinning. "Love dragons. So fucking cool."

Leaving them to their discussions, Beelzebub wandered towards the bathroom she saw him head to. It felt intrusive, but still. She's worried.

Bee could already smell the sick. She tasted the self-loathing and disgust. He had so much hate inside, almost all directed to himself. It hurt to know he despised himself this much constantly. 

Having dysphoria and dysmorphia, plus a probably eating disorder, alongside complex PTSD wasn't a good mix. Especially when there aren't any therapists qualified enough to handle your baggage. The sins all have a monstrous share, none of which would be fair to dump onto a poor soul with no comprehension of their long lives.

Many think one hundred years is a long time, but to them it's nothing. Even the absolute baby was in the quadruples - dear Charlie was now twenty-one thousand years old. 

Her ears perked up when she heard a sound. It was unusual, a whine of confusion. It tasted as such, too. 

The taste of confusion was then overcome by fear, a primal thing. 

"Z?" Bee said, anxiety spiking. "Z, are you alright?"

No reaction. No, wait, there is something - the fear is growing. It's becoming thick like molasses in her throat. 

"Shut up!"

She knew it wasn't directed at her, but who? Nobody else was there.

Growing fearful, Beelzebub made short work of the door, pushing it open. As she believed, nobody else was there, but... something bad was happening.

Mammon's eyes weren't their usual greenish yellow. They're vermillion, something that had never been there before. To go along with the odd change of his eyes, he was breathing far too quickly. It could hardly count with how shallow the breaths were.

Sparks fly from his body, haphazardly striking whatever is nearby. Although it didn't hurt Bee, it'd fry a hellborn to ash. 

"The fuck was tha-what the fuck!?" Satan shouted, likely having heard their brother's outburst. He was stunned by the change. "Bee, the fuck is-"

She watched as Mammon acted as though struck, covering his eyes and rubbing them far too harshly. He was panicking, shaking and his antennae moved to stimuli that weren't there. The harsh breathing evolved into whines and whimpers of fright, his breath becoming visible as though he was cold.

What do they do? What's happening?

The vixen shivered, feeling her partner and Fizz begin to approach. They were in danger.

Leviathan saw it before her, grabbing the imp and hound before they were struck. They yelped, shocked by the sudden grab and save. It would've incinerated them, she was sure of it. 

In a second, the whimpering completely shifted into screaming. Terror-filled cries, as well as a sound she could only compare to being choked. It was bone-chilling, even for the former divine. 

If that wasn't panic-inducing enough, Mammon started to claw at his body. It's primal, an animalistic need to escape. He's scratched at himself before but hadn't torn off chunks of fur or made himself bleed. It scared her how he threw himself against the wall, grabbing one of his antennae with strength that'd rip it off.

Satan almost pushed Bee to the side, pulling Mam's hand away from his antenna. The physical touch only made it worse, the screaming getting louder. He would blow out his vocal cords, not that she knew that was even possible for them. 

This was so sudden. She didn't know how to process this. She's overwhelmed by the taste of terror, of pain, of crippling self-hate and a desperate wish for it to end. 

With no self-control, his tail smacked into Satan. If it'd been Levi, that would've broken their ribs. 

"Mam, stop it!" Satan pleaded, sounding broken as a lone wing hit him in the face.

The absence of the other brought grave shame and guilt to the elder, and she loathed how much it hurt him.

Leviathan slithered past her and Satan, struggling to fit in the crowded bathroom. They coiled around Zuri, trying to keep him from attacking himself further. The red of his eyes was intense, salty tears running like waterfalls. 

Kicking at nothing, Mammon pushed them both against the wall, his tail going mad. It shattered the tiles of her floor. With how his wing was moving, it would get damaged, too. 

Now she was no longer frozen, she pounced on the tail, trying to keep it still. There was more strength in it than she anticipated. With how he's thrashing, he's going to break something.

"Sat, get his arms!" she barked, using her lower set of arms to try and keep his legs from dislocating themselves. 

She could've sworn she felt something pop out before being forced back into place. 

It was a rough fit but Satan got between Levi and Mam, grabbing his arms in a sort of bear hug. It made it easier for Levi to hold his upper arms, their serpentine body coiling around him more. 

Even with them restraining him, he was still panicking. It was almost like a seizure, black fluid with white specs dribbling from his mouth from the continuous strain. 

The sound of choking was so powerful that she could compare it to someone being drowned. He's fighting against something they can't perceive, and the taste of terror only continues to spread. 

Electricity danced across his body, burning into theirs. It'd never been potent enough to hurt them. Whatever triggered this had removed every lasting piece of subconscious self-restraint. 

The thrashing changed, though not by much. He's trying to flee something else, crying as if in agony. She can taste it so clearly, and it's strongest around his abdomen. But it's fine?

She felt Satan's tail brush against her arm, begging for her attention, if only briefly. She looked at him, her colours dull from fear and exhaustion. He mouthed a name.

Ramiel.

Mam had yelled at something to shut up, and he was attacking his antennae, which are essentially his ears. While Ozzie saw visions, Rami heard them. Was this a vision? One of the more potent ones the twins would spend years recovering from?

And it's happening now!?

"I want it to stop!" their baby brother begged, hardly legible from how shot his voice was. 

Then it stopped. It was so sudden she thought he'd passed out, but no, his eyes were wide open and still red. The fear and panic had stopped entirely, but something else was growing.

The screams were over, though the whimpers didn't make it any easier. 

It began slowly but developed rapidly, burned and churned, and grew like a gasoline-soaked pyre. It was hard to place at first, but then she recognised it.

Want.

The taste of greed, of that sin, was something she was fairly numb to, not unless it was major and volatile.

The want. It was overwhelming and thick. She felt like she was suffocating in it. There's too much, it's just like-

"Z!" Bee yelled, fear burning her lungs. "Z! Please, you've gotta wake up! Z!"

Though Satan and Levi held strong, his form tried to change. The whimpers had turned to growls, deep and hungry. The want, need, must...

It made that usually fluffy fur transform into little white needles, piercing their skin and making them itch. The pedipalps grew and changed, becoming sharp and vicious. His teeth grew, too, and developed more rows akin to a shark. That made sense, given loan sharks are from Greed.

She begged, she pleaded, all falling upon deaf ears. She gripped his face, his and her blood seeping through her fingers. His eyes were still red though with a greenish tinge and rings were forming.

Bee could feel and taste their brother slipping from them.

"Wake up, Z!" Levi tried, the wing trapped between him and Satan changing into something angry. It looked like millions of scalpels, no longer soft and beautiful. "Z!"

They have to grow with him, even though there's no room. His lower half is changing and she's trying hard to stop it.

"Please! Mammon!" Bee nearly screamed, desperate to break through somehow. 

They can't lose him, not after they're finally getting their shit together. They should've been there so much earlier. Why? Why hadn't they done something sooner!?

It never should've gotten like this. 

She hadn't broken down like this in aeons, tears running down her slender face. She hated watching how her little brother's eyes had less and less life to them. 

"Don't let go just yet, laddie," Levi begged, their slick doing nothing to stop the scratching from his sharp fur. "We still gotta punt Mets in his ugly cunt!"

"It ain't real, Z!" Satan panted, his grip on Mam's hands only loosening so he could hug their brother more. "It feels good - it feels safe, but it's bullshit, it ain't real! You can do it, I know you can - stop sinking!"

She didn't know what he was saying. He knew this better than any of them, though.

Beelzebub saw a change. The red shattered like glass, returning to green. Though the rings were there, it felt like an opening. They had a chance to get to him.

Maybe she can make him see them like a beacon in the darkness. 

The eldest pulled her power into her mane and tail, making them as bright as possible. It shined and glowed, the intensity unintentionally hurting Levi. 

"Zuriel!" she pleaded again, her hands shaking.

He wasn't growing anymore. The gargling growl had slowed into a panting whine, disorientated.

Satan's skin cracked and he heated himself, using Mammon's sense of touch to reach him. It appeared to help as, gradually, he was getting small again. 

Taking after them, Leviathan used the end of their tail to gently massage against his chest, pushing past the sharp stings. The dampness accumulated, doing something similar to Sats. Instead of heat, it's the coolness of Levi's secretions.

She kept her lights bright, her hands remaining fixed on his face. The burn of those needle points slowly changed back to fur.

"Zuri!" she attempted, hoping to get to him.

A new sound, something close to recognition.

She started to cry from relief, a sign of their baby brother through this sea of frights and danger.

"It'll be ok," Satan vowed, gently rubbing his hands like massages. 

Though Levi's tail had stopped moving, it remained over Mammon's chest, feeling his breath and heartbeats.

"Breathe, laddie," Levi asked, following Satan in cradling his hands. 

Bee joined him, using her lower pair to touch his chest.  His hearts were racing so quickly they may as well not at all. She sat on his legs in case it started again, praying it wouldn't. 

His eyes were unfocused, but she saw them react to her glowing hair. 

"Zuri, follow me," she hushed, stroking his cheek fur with her thumb. He blinked slowly, confused. "Z? There we go, like that," she continued, nearly sobbing as she tasted confused recognition. 

He's so tired. They all are.

Satan looked like he was about to start crying as well.

She watched as he attempted to speak, but only a hoarse rasp came out. He didn't understand why. Did he not remember what happened?

Hopefully not.

"Nae need, wee wan. We're right here," Levi soothed, their tail around his. "Ye need a good kip."

He promptly passed out, too exhausted and drained to remain conscious. 

What the fuck had they just gone through?

It traumatised her. 

Understandably, Vortex wanted to relocate his daughter. He didn't blame Mam in the slightest, it just wasn't safe for Nova to be there. She agreed wholeheartedly.

Fizz wanted to help, but he could've easily gotten killed from the occasional discharge. He had to leave for his safety, not that he was happy about it.

She didn't want to add to his anguish. Didn't their brother suffer enough?

Violating his already fragile mind felt so wrong, a massive overstep that could make this worse. And if she was right, Ramiel's essence being constrained caused this to boil over. 

Anxiety grew in Beelzebub's heart. She needed to check on him.

Satan hadn't left his side, but still. 

Ramiel and Ozzie managed. Though they weren't under the threat of their sin controlling them, they still did it. She believed that Mammon could do it. Vaguely, it felt like Levi agreed with her. Of course, getting Satan to agree would be another matter, much less Asmodeus. 

The sin of Gluttony flew to the new room they set up, a bigger one in case he grew again. They had to consider a lot of scenarios. 

She should've waited, but after what'd happened... she can't bring herself to do that anymore. Not when it came to her baby brother. Not after she almost lost him.

Within the room, Satan sat playing his guitar, strumming softly but consistently. It was a slow, quieter version of an Ozzy Osbourne song. 

He looked exhausted. Like he, it's doubtful he slept at all. Anxiety was sharp on her tongue when his gaze met hers. 

As the only one who's endured this before, it was only right he watched Mam.

"What you got?" he questioned, keeping his voice low.

She told him her plan, and he wasn't happy about it. The sin of anger struggled not to cuss her out, restraining himself for their brother's sake. 

Bee could see it boiling in him, the thought of encouraging this instead of just pushing it away. That's what they've been doing for aeons and it has only hurt them. They can't run from the marks left by their awful creator.

If it means avoiding something so invasive, then they had to try!

"He won't go for it," Satan sighed, his tail twisting. "Ain't just that Zuri ain' ready for it, but Ozz ain't either. All it'll take is one slip up from that fuckin' rooster and it gets even worse." 

"That's what Fizz is for."

"The kid's good and selfless, but he's a match in a burning house - he'll burn fast if he isn't careful. Ozz's self-control has always been shit, even before our fall. Not even Fizz can keep a cork on that volcano for long. He nearly crushed the poor kid."

"That was a mistake."

"Yeah, and that was without Mam's input. He isn't good at keeping his mouth shut. They'd sooner fight than go through with that."

"With how terrifying that episode was, Zuri will be more open to figuring it out."

"Quite the opposite. Fuck, if this whole "block it away" is getting your britches so twisted, why don't we just tell him that we can keep it from happening again? Nothin' about Ram or that dumb puberty idea, but plain and clear - that thing scared the fuck out of you, so we're gon' lock it away."

"That could make it worse!" she growled through grit teeth, fighting to keep her voice down. "Subduing this energy could be what's causing this to begin with! You can't turn a Bugatti into a Honda Civic or a phoenix into a pigeon - a Dominion can't just become an Angel without major problems."

"All the more reason to shut it away. He wasn't made to handle any of that."

"Or it means we should let it out, let it resettle, like removing a blood clot."

"This for him or your comfort, Bee? Cos it sounds more like the latter."

"Obviously, for him. Don't you dare insinuate that I'm being selfish!"

Her growl had been too loud, waking the younger of them. It earned a harsh scowl from Satan, surging more guilt in Bee's hearts.

It hurt her to taste the confusion, the sour fear and the molasses of lingering exhaustion. It was a heavy, metallic presence that made her want to gag. 

Satan shuffled closer to the cocoon of pillows and blankets, gently lifting a certain corner. Given that Satan knew where to go, he must've been the one to forge this fort of comfort. 

By the seven hells, he looked so sick. There were bruises and chunks of fur missing from when he started to attack himself out of panic. It was by dumb luck and Satan's intervention that his right antennae didn't get ripped off. 

He'd scratched himself so hard he made himself bleed. It got caked in his fur and they had to cut those bits out; he was too distressed for a bath.

"Bee's come to check in on ya," Satan said, almost whispering. The only response he got was like that one family dog that refuses to die, pathetic and eerie. "Yeah, pal, you go back to sleep."

No amount of sleep is going to make it better. 

The glare from Satan told more than he could say with their brother somewhat conscious - did she want to risk worsening this?

Of course, not! If left to her, none of them would be suffering. 

She knelt close to the opening in this fuzzy fortress, ensuring that Zuri could see her. She didn't know how good his vision was after that nightmare. 

It was disgusting that she even had to consider these awful options. All of them were cruel and had a high probability of backfiring. They had to do something, though.

"You're looking better," she lied, wanting desperately to caress his cheek to comfort him, but not while the new wounds were so raw. "Like Sats said. Get some more sleep."

It's not like he had much of a choice in the matter. He promptly fell asleep again, allowing Satan to cover him again.

She wished it wasn't something so horrid that brought these brothers close together again.

"You wanna risk him going through this a second time?" Satan hissed, annoyed. 

Regardless of her frustrations, she kept as quiet as possible. 

"Why're you acting as if you've always been the one looking after him? That was me, Sats. Me! And even though it still wasn't enough, not nearly enough from what our fucked up father did, it was more than you've done."

"Mam was terrified of me for centuries, Bee! What the fuck else could I do besides keeping my distance? It's a fucked up reason, but it's a whole lot more reasonable than this damned need to hold onto this piece of Ramiel. Rami's dead, and whatever's leftover was a mistake we can nip in the bud before it grows like a nasty invasive weed."

"For Zuriel's life, all others have done is take from him. They took so much that when he wanted the smallest crumb of acknowledgement, they decided it was greedy. And here we are, discussing how to take something else away."

"We ain't takin' something away that belonged to him, Bee. We're removing a cancer. You don't wanna do this because you're scared it'll do more damage than good, but he ain't gon' survive another round."

"What?" she questioned, shocked.

"It was fuckin' lucky that he wasn't alone, and even then, it took three of us, and us two ain't pushovers in the slightest. We barely pulled him back from losin' it completely. We won't be lucky a second time, Bee."

Putting it that way, she felt selfish for pushing it back. Maybe they were right and this was the only option.

It's so violating, but Satan spoke truthfully. Seeing Mam so sickly after that... it'd be monstrous to risk putting him through that again, let alone forcing Ozzie to go through with it. 

"He's going to hate us, Sats."

"If he can somehow tolerate me after ripping his fucking wing off, he can hopefully forgive us for this."

"But you weren't in control, Sats. We're deliberately deciding to do this without telling him."

"Then we tell him. We say we have a way to keep it from happening again. Either way, this is the best for him, even if it disgusts us." 

He made it sound so easy. 

"I don't want to do something they would," she sniffled, rubbing her arms nervously. "We said we were going to be better..."

The cowboy sighed, only getting up to pull her into his lap. She didn't have the strength or energy to fight him.

"We are," Satan said, though she could taste his uncertainty.

Softly, Satan started to play his guitar again. It wasn't only for Mam's comfort but for Bee, too.

And probably himself as well. 

Hopefully, Moray can make Levi feel better.

Even though she wasn't supposed to, Charlie couldn't help but observe the overlord's meetings. They're in her hotel; they couldn't kick her out. Not all of them were irritating, though. 

Jingles made lovely tea for example. 

"We've removed the advantage from our troublesome foes. However, we must now plan how to push back against these divine invaders," Alastor stated, tapping his staff on the wooden floor. 

The other Overlords had several ideas, but they could have sounded better. Most were... unnecessarily volatile. 

She understood why Alastor wanted her far from the situation, but she was the prime target. If anyone should be taking action, it should be her. 

Charlie is the heir to hell. She must be there for her people, even the undeserving. 

"At least we don't have to worry about war crimes," Velvette, the fashionista overlord, said confidently. "Gives us a lot of options. Geneva, you named yourself after that checklist, yeah?"

"ሲኦል አዎ, but it's figuring out what'll hurt these fuckers. I'll make stuff go boom and take out some exorcists, but the arch-ውሾች? That's far harder."

"English, Geneva," Vox, the TV demon, complained. "Nobody speaks Wingding."

"It is Amharic," Zestial corrected. "Wingding is no language."

"亲吻我的屁股! We shouldn't have to change ourselves for a 可怜 American!" Plus yelled, her glitching form growing in intensity as she became angrier.

"And that is Chinese," the spidery overlord identified, unphased. "Though you are very right, Plus, it is best to use a common tongue for us all to comprehend."

"Pourquoi faut-il que ce soit en anglais?" asked Mel, and Collie quickly followed up with, "The coloniser tongue will not be the primary speech here!"

They're arguing over what language they're going to use. That was ridiculous.

"Guys, stop bickering!" Charlie interjected, irritated by the nonsensical debate. "If it's so bad that others use their native language, then someone like Zestial can translate. That makes it easier for everyone. We should be together, not fighting!"

She could see that Alastor was frustrated that she was getting involved. That wasn't going to stop her.

Vox's face glitched, annoyed by her presence. He scowled, directing his anger towards her.

"How about you make yourself useful instead of whining!" Vox yelled, frustrated. "That's all you do! Whine and sing and bitch about things you don't understand."

"Always one for timing, Vox," Alastor grumbled, scowling at the hotel's front doors. 

Charlie didn't understand. What was he talking about?

Before anyone could ask, the doors swung open. She knew that smell from anywhere - petrichor, the scent of rain. Her uncle Levi.

The sin had their companion alongside them, Moray. Though Leviathan's attention was centred on Vox, who had yelled at her, Moray's eyes scanned the entire cabinet of overlords.

"Ach, no mind me, but 'ah could've sworn I heard some wee cunt insult my niece," Leviathan hissed, slithering inside and slamming the door with their tail. Their five eyes proved intimidating for the overlords who hadn't met them yet.

Compared to them, Leviathan was huge. It's no surprise that they were intimidated by them. Always one to be unique, however, Alastor was far from intimidated. If anything, he seemed relieved.

To Charlie, they were beautiful. She loved her aunts and uncles dearly with all of her hearts. The gaggle of royals were almost like siblings to her at times, always there to pick up the slack when her father wouldn't. Rather, he couldn't - she's learned that now.

He didn't have a choice. He had to protect them.

She just wished that he trusted her.

"Everyone, meet Leviathan, the King and Sin of Envy," Alastor introduced, standing proud before the sin via his shadows. "I take it the cherub survived?"

"It was you that caused all that then?"

"Thanks to Vox nicking a feather off the poor little thing, we got the cherub away from Niente's sycophants - we weren't gonna get far with that moth bitch, so we used the nearest Goetia," Velvette answered, trying to copy Alastor's confidence. "Looks like it worked."

"Ye didnae ken?" Levi furthered, lowering themselves slightly to scowl at the sinners. "Stolas was nearly killed."

They were surprised, but even more so with Charlie. She knew Stolas. Like her, he was estranged from his father, though that had to do with Paimon not wanting to be a parent. It was the family that demanded he spawn heirs. 

It's so weird that he grew up with her, but matured far faster. 

"Niente nearly killed the Goetia? Fuck," Black Holly gasped, astonished.

"No," Moray stated, her ringed eyes locking with Alastor's. "It was Striker, a hybrid imp."

Velvette's head was up, recognising the name.

Regardless of how Charlie felt, she knew that imps weren't physically strong enough to hurt an Earl, let alone a Prince. How did this Striker do it? 

Is Stolas ok? Is he and his daughter safe?

"Explains why Niente was interested in him," Alexandria said, speaking for the first time since Charlie met him. "He knew we'd go for the cherub and had a backup plan. None of us would've considered the imp a threat."

"All the better that a sin is involved!" Alastor exclaimed, keeping the sin's focus on him. "You have a plethora of angelic weaponry. To defend this fortress and your niece, we'll need some."

"Aye, ah can dae that."

Was Alastor anticipating the arrival of one of the sins?

She's surprised more of them aren't here. That's suspicious.

"Levi, where's Bee and Sat? Mamsy and Ozzie? Bel?"

She didn't like the hurt in her uncle's eyes.

"They're tending to imperative matters," Moray assured, her cold aloofness becoming soft, almost motherly. "They'd be here if they could, Charlie. And perhaps they will join us soon. Though time isn't on our side, there's always a surprise around the corner."

"Aye, lassie. Though a pain in the bollocks, I'll drag your pa by his dyed blond roots if 'ah must," they vowed, clenching their webbed hands. "Sinners. This building can be replaced, but my niece cannot. If anything happens tae her, you'll beg for erasure," they added, their words leaking venom and promise.

"I'm already working on that," Alastor said, his fingers tight around his cane. "Charlotte will have no place in the combat."

"I disagree," Zestial said, earning Leviathan's ire. "Your protectiveness of your niece is admirable, but this is her home - she has every right to defend it."

It felt good that at least someone believed in her.

"You have a pair on ye. Ah respect that. But don't think that any of you have a ball's hair chance of fighting Metatron. I'll sooner meet Roo than allow him near her," her uncle warned, their finned ears spreading like a snake's hood.

Metatron was something terrible, she could ascertain that much from her family's reaction to him. 

Her uncle would lay down his life to keep Metatron from seeing her. She knew that in her hearts.

"As the Princess does not need to be where we discuss dangerous schemes, I'll return her to her room. She shouldn't learn of our plans and involve herself with them."

Charlie understood why Leviathan didn't want her to fight. 

She knew and loved them for caring so much, but she didn't want to be sidelined. She wished to tell them about Eve, but would they listen? It felt like the only one hearing her was Zestial.

That didn't mean she wouldn't try, however. Perhaps hearing of Eve would instil them with confidence in her?

The Princess didn't even get the chance to plead herself to Levi. Within moments, Alastor had whisked her away. Instead of taking her to her bedroom with Vaggie, it was his room.

His smile was there, but she could see his frustrations. 

Did he sense that Charlie was going to try convincing Leviathan? It was a shot in the dark, but she had to give it a go, and he took that from her.

The radio demon shook his head.

"I wanted to tell them about Eve!"

"It wouldn't have changed a thing, my dear," Alastor said, but she didn't believe that. Her uncle Levi was a caring soul, even if they appeared intimidating to sinners. "The deal is-"

She's sick of hearing about this damn deal with her mother.

"You made a deal with her but not me!" she yelled, anger burning in her lungs. "I'm not some helpless little girl, Alastor. I can contribute just as much."

"They want you in the midst of this, Charlotte. We cannot risk those divine buffoons being victorious in taking you so Niente and their sycophants can overthrow hell itself!" the radio demon argued, increasingly becoming frustrated with her.

"Exactly! I'm the Princess of Hell - my duty and responsibility is to care for everyone here. I must fight for it."

"And should they succeed?" Alastor sharply questioned. Green stitches appeared as his true form began to show. "Look at the sins for but a moment past their facade and you'll see the wealth of destruction left in their creator's wake. The very one that Metatron and his ilk will deliver you to. What hope have your family against the very thing that made them?"

God. The unknown that Charlie didn't know anything about.

She knew the tales, sure, but only Mam gave her an indication of what he was truly like. Her surprise uncle, Metatron, was a similar example. A mere moment ago, Leviathan vowed to perish rather than allow Metatron near her.

He's correct in that aspect. The risk is high and Metatron wants to deliver her to God with a pretty bow. But why? What could he possibly desire with one like her?

Is it because Charlie is the only one like her? There isn't another spawn of an angel or human, let alone one of the first. She's always been alone in that respect, though it's not like she could do anything about that. 

The gift that Eve gave her weighed heavily in her tailored suit. Something that could turn the tide very much in their favour. 

"I can get Adam."

"This again-"

"I can do it, Al! If Eve thinks it's possible, then I have to try. With him, any exorcists involved will follow him!"

"The optimism is good for morale, but not realistic, cher. Even if you did somehow reach Adam, there's no assurance he has any true command over the exorcists nor that Eve - the real one - came to you. It could all be a ploy, taking advantage of your good but naive nature."

She hadn't considered that, but Charlie believed her. She knew, even though she'd never met the woman before that moment.

Charlie had to believe. She had to try. 

Heaven isn't a good place, she's come to accept that. If she was going to make a better place for the afterlife, it was only right she rescued those trapped in heaven's hold. Although her mother and father may feel otherwise, Charlie wouldn't abandon the first man over something from millennia ago. 

Anyone can change. Anyone can make the right choice. 

"I have to, Al. I've got to try."

"And I must ensure you don't."

"I'm naive, I acknowledge that, but I'm not helpless. I might not be experienced, but you shouldn't underestimate me - I'm a Nephilim, a sin, and I'll do whatever I must to act." 

"Yes, you have much potential, even more reason to remain here. You long to contribute so dearly, so defend the patrons we shelter. Protect them. Does that sound like a good enough compromise, Princess?"

She couldn't leave them all to suffer. It was a good plan, having Charlie keep them safe from any would-be stragglers that get past her uncle and the overlords.

That didn't mean she couldn't do more, though.

"I'm grateful for what you're doing, Al... I appreciate it a lot."

"Make no mistake, cher. It's purely for my benefit you remain here."

She didn't realise how easy it was to see past Alastor's charade. Or, more likely, the stress of what's to come has worn down his mask.

He cares far more than he's willing to admit.

"Since my party, you've become a bad liar," she chuckled half-heartedly.

The deer shrugged.

"Perhaps your weakness has made me pity you."

That sounded more sarcastic than insulting. It didn't hurt. 

He cares about her. All of them do, besides the disinterested overlords. A handful of them want her to fight, too. She likes that about Zestial, even if his habit of eating insects disturbs her.

"I can't promise I won't take an opportunity if I see it. But I'll steer clear from the worst of it."

Charlie doesn't plan on keeping her word, and she understands Alastor enough to see that he doesn't believe her.

Strangely, he almost respected her dedication. 

"I will stop you," he warned.

"You can try."

"I never try, my dear. I do."

Challenge accepted.

Group chats are annoying. Keeping up with phones in general is a pain.

[FishFood: Aye, the overlords knew shite was goin' down before us!]

[DrunkFox: Good call going instead of Bel, Levi. It's probably risky but they'll need that divine metal to hurt any ophanim or exorcists!]

[Me: I'm not so sure about that.]

[LazyB*tch: Why do you believe that exorcists will be involved?]

[DrunkFox: Ophanim are hard to control. Exorcists are more precise pawns.]

[FishFood: Y'know what that means.]

[Me: We don't know if killing him would hurt Lily, too.]

[FishFood: We'll find out when I clip the wee bastard.]

[LazyB*tch: It's not his fault.]

[FishFood: >:( Get it up ye, Bel.]

Satan rolled his eyes.

[Me: Bel, we get it, but there's fuck all we can do about it. Levi, if it doesn't affect Lily, then put the poor fucker down. It'll cause chaos for the exorcists and the overlords can pick them off.]

[DrunkFox: Yeah, Sat is right. And it can thin down the overlord's numbers. How many are there?]

[FishFood: On the deer one's side? 11. Roughly about 16 on the other side - some ballbag called Niente. They're certain that guy's gon' try and use Charlotte as bait somehow.]

[Me: Unacceptable. Eradicate them.]

[FishFood: Oh, forgot to add - they're responsible for Stolas getting plucked! Wee fuckers used him to get the cherub from Niente. They didn't expect the imp with him to be on steroids!]

[LazyB*tch: I saw. It is no ordinary imp. He's a hybrid for sure, but I can't discern what. Perhaps of a sinner?]

[DrunkFox: Sinners can't have children!]

[FishFood: We thought we couldn't have kids, but look at Charlotte! Anything is possible.]

He should say it. He should tell them, but he's terrified. How would he explain how he fucked up so badly?

Satan said goodbye, and his siblings didn't question why. While Bel is on her way, and Bee has to help Vortex with his kid, he's the carer. To Satan's knowledge, Fizz is trying to call Ozzie, but he hasn't received anything. 

Of course, he didn't leave the door shut. He had to be able to go in case anything went down.

Before entering the dumb text arena, his brother was still barely conscious under those sheets. Now, however, he had his head out. He looked much more aware than earlier.

"Heya, Z," Satan said, keeping his tone soft. That wasn't easy for him, but he'll get better.

It took a few moments for his greeting to be acknowledged. Or processed, either was possible. 

He acquired a glass of water, certain the smaller one was parched after his long sleep. He'd need more of it given how taxing that was.

Though rough, Satan sat beside his baby brother, handing him the glass. 

They'll need to shower him. He stinks of sweat and panic. A warm bath could be relaxing; Bee should have some bath bombs, too.

The good ones, not the ones that look like coloured diarrhoea. 

He was looking at the water, eyes lacking their usual glow and somewhat hazed over. The distance concerned the elder, his hands twitching nervously. What could Satan do or say?

Maybe he shouldn't say anything. 

"I.. drowned...?"

"What?" Satan questioned, confused.

It came out of nowhere. His brother's voice was still raspy from all that shouting and yelling last night, though not as bad as before. Still, it sounded like a separate person. It sounded like he was saying it to himself, thinking out loud. 

"I was drowning," Mammon repeated. 

That's why he was panicking so violently. That's more than what Ramiel could do, though. Given that Zuri is a separate individual, it could've mutated to include other senses. After all, Ozzie didn't start hearing visions.

Occasionally, Ozzie can experience an echo of the past, but it's taxing. He could count the number of true visions on a single hand.

Satan knew for a fact that Mam had never drowned before. He didn't like water he couldn't stand in. It took ages for him to dry due to his fur's thickness. 

His brother is going to drown. There's no telling when it'll be, but it's coming. Hopefully, one of them will be there for him.

"I lost it, didn't I?" the younger sin questioned, sending a shiver down Satan's spine. "I was... like what happened to you."

"No. It was brief, but we got you. We got you back," Satan reassured, feeling the urge to hug his brother but remaining still. "You're still here."

A lot happened in a short period. They had to deal with Stolas - thank hells that Mam and Bel know medical stuff - then there was the cherub, getting antagonised by that imp prick, enduring a big panic attack and then reminding Paimon to back the fuck off.

That's only one day compiled atop the rest of his overwhelming experience. 

Even without this prophetic bullshit, he was a ticking timebomb. He still is. At any moment, Mam can be pushed to the edge, and there's always the risk they can't get him back in time. 

His brother's too tired to even mask his inner turmoil. He can see the fear, the confusion, the sensation of being so lost and helpless. 

"I've always been one stubborn bastard," Satan sighed, attempting to soothe his brother's anxiety. "I didn't want to accept that I needed help. I couldn't face the fact that I was crumblin'. I didn't let any of you see before it was too late. Don't matter that I wasn't in control, I still hurt all of you. I won't let you carry that kinda burden."

Satan shouldn't promise that. There was no telling what'd happen. He could do his damned best, though.

Zuri turned to him, the stable antennae perking and those little mandible thingies grinding against his cheeks. It wasn't a nervous thing, he could tell that much.

"The more I wanted it to stop, the deeper it pulled me..."

Want. Want itself is an aspect of greed. 

The more Zuriel wanted the experience to end, the more the sin crept in. It was a cycle that would never stop circling without interference. He was at much higher risk than Satan. Perhaps it was his youth that staved it off longer.

"Anger's a flame that'll burn so long as you got the fuel. We got a plethora of reasons to be fucking angry all the damn time, so it was... it was easy to bask in it. Doesn't hurt at first. It feels good. It's like a drug - it lulls you in with the euphoria, but the misery ain't long behind." 

He hadn't talked about his experience so much before. It made him feel ill, even angry - how stupid is that?

The fact that Zuri knew, even on the minimum of levels, how this felt? That meant a lot. 

Satan can only guess what it'd be like with Zuri - maybe he'll be like that dragon from those hobbit films, the aggressive hoarder? Smog or something. 

"It's never enough, Sat. I'm drowning in an ocean and no matter how many of those stupid water donuts are thrown at me, I'm still sinking. I take and take but the hole gets bigger. Why do I gotta be on fire to not freeze?"

Because their creator is a cruel, uncaring monster. 

"An' the fact that despite metaphorically freezin' your buggy balls off, you still find ways to be generous. Helpin' with Chucky, settin' up the money stuff, inventing economies, giving Fizz a chance at life - the sheer number of chances you give us old fuckers every time we screw up. That's fuckin' admirable." 

"How?"

"Look at all you did for your ring compared to mine. None of us are as bad as Luci, but it's not prosperin'. You can't go anywhere in the whole greed ring without somebody havin' a job, doin' stuff, livin' a life, no major natural catastrophes, having a confusin' code of disrespect I don't understand, but it's there! Sure, the capital has issues, but which doesn't?"

Satan can't even remember the capital of his ring anymore. It changes sometimes. And Luci only remembers his because of the pentagram in the sky! Plus its shape.

It was sweet and sour how much Satan's affirmations brought a little smile to his baby brother. Was it greed to desire recognition from your family?

"I try, but I always end up actin' like them... I want to be better. I don't want to hurt people. It's like a default, an autopilot - I didn't even realise I was hurtin' Fizz most of the time..."

"And we've got some blame there, too. We didn't act as better role models. The fact that you're acknowledging it is good, though. You've always picked up things faster than the rest of us."

Bee's idea came to mind, but Satan wouldn't entertain it. They won't let a repeat of that episode.

"Ozz told me early on about diets, about posture - it was for recoverin' and adaptin' to the robo-parts. I knew it was temporary, but they age so quickly. Like fuckin' nothing." 

Satan has had naps longer than many imps' lifetimes. He can sleep through three generations with ease. Time works far differently for them than the mortal hellborn. 

It's easy for something that should be a few months, maybe even two years, to stretch far further. Isn't it like fourteen or something years they've worked together? That isn't much to them.

He's so grateful he's aromantic. Falling in love with such short-lived beings so many times would devastate him.

Fuck knows how long Striker could live for. That's something his kid probably hasn't even considered. 

"You've realised it. You're correcting it. That's more than I could say for Luci. I don't think he knows that hellhounds exist."

"Wouldn't shock me. It's weird, though. Fizz should hate me for how much of a cunt I am."

"If he hated you, he wouldn't have gone so far to help. He's a real good kid."

"He ain't a kid. If I were an imp, he'd be older than me."

"I don't fuckin' know this stuff - get off my dick!"

"Ain't much to get off of."

"Very funny. Good to see the clown ain't gone."

That's the little fledgling he fell into the seven rings for. 

That statement couldn't be true, could it? There's no way that Fizz would be older.

For all the joy it brought Satan to see a shimmer of his brother back, the starved beast reared its hideous head once more. Whatever moment of reprieve came, the gaping anguish inside snuffed it in time.

"Sats, you'd tell me if I was being a burden, yeah?"

"Elaborate for me, Z. How'd you be a burden?"

"Y'know, being all mopey and moody, that freakout an' all this lazing about. Bee hasn't had a party since she brought me here - she loves those, and I'm keeping her from doing them. You like those rodeo things."

"First things first - them rodeos ain't happening all the time, as much as I wish they were. Secondly, partying is definitely in Bee's top ten, but her family is number one. She'll always put us, you, before some shindig with a bunch of coked-up dogs."

"I don't want her to, though. Me being fucked-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Satan interrupted, regardless of how he felt doing so. Though rude, he couldn't let Mam degrade himself more. "Zuriel. There'll always be some other party, another rodeo, but we've only got one of you. And..." he might as well rip it off. "We have an idea."

"What idea?"

The trepidation shouldn't hurt Satan as much as it did. 

"Belphegor could block off whatever caused that episode last night and keep it from happening again. That'd be scary as fuck to deal with regardless but like this? It ain't safe."

His brother pondered over the possibility. As much as he was frustrated with Beelzebub's apprehension, she wasn't wrong regarding Mam's consent. Even now, Satan felt terrible for omitting why it happened in the first place. It was for his safety, though.

They almost lost him. 

"Just like that? She can make it go away?"

"That's the plan. We don't want you to hurt like that again."

And it was terrifying for them, too. Keeping him from hurting himself and them was one hell of a fight.

It's doubtful he remembers most of it. The part that they were combatting, at least. Good. It should stay that way.

"Can I have a shower first? I look worse than usual."

"None of that self-depricatin'. Besides, I need one as well.

"Yeah, ya bogan. You stink of cow shit."

"Oi! I smell like a hard-working Western man!"

Probably of stress, too. He hadn't slept all night, and Bee barely got a twenty-minute nap. 

He wasn't going to say that, though. He couldn't. 

Another thing to think about was Mam's fur. There was no telling if it could change again, maybe even hurting him. Trimming would not only increase safety but also help them gauge his weight. 

Satan held him twice in one day, and he didn't weigh nearly as much as he should. It's not like his brother will be open about it, but it'll only exacerbate his stress. 

"Mam. This ain' gon' sound good, but you can't be alone anymore. At least, until this is sorted. Alright?"

"I don't wanna be alone."

Oh. That makes things a whole lot easier.

"I'll get Bee so it's-"

"Do I disgust you?"

That came out of nowhere.

"No! Where in the fucked up hell did you get that idea?"

"Ya wanna get Bee instead."

"Fuck no, Zuri. I don't want to make it harder for you."

"I don't... I don't blame you. Much less now, obviously."

How cruel is it to feel anger at the prospect of being forgiven?

He shouldn't be. He wasn't the one that was crippled from that horrible experience - it wasn't right.

"You're a better cunt than me, Z."

Satan isn't one to forgive easily, especially regarding himself. He never will.

Never will it be enough to forgive what he'd done.

"Nah. You'd be fuckin' proud if I took one of yer arms."

Satan couldn't help but snort, nearly choking on air.

Annoyingly, he wasn't incorrect.

Though it was surely a ploy to cease Satan's fall into further self-loathing and guilt, it worked. 

"Just for that, I'm choosin' the music."

"No!" his brother complained. "I can't fuckin' stand your country bullshit."

"It's Blues Saraceno."

"That's rock."

"They're country enough for me."

"Ya standards are real fuckin' low, mate."

"Hey!"

"I know he's not normal," Blitzy said, audibly distressed. "I know. I know he's - he's some weird freak!"

Far more than that. Though Stolas couldn't pin it down, there had to be royal blood in that imp's veins. It was an absolute. 

Goetia rarely interacted with low-born, much less how Stolas did with Blitzy. That didn't mean he was the only outlier, though. The lesser the placement in the Goetia family, the higher the probability of "unbecoming" behaviour. 

Andrealphus was known for having a certain taste for possessors. Sometimes literally. But no, a mere Marquis didn't have the power to make Striker so strong. A prince couldn't, either. Perhaps one of the dukes, but that felt unlikely. He knew them better than his aunts and uncles.

Even the imp didn't know what he was, which could be a clue. It had to be someone on the same level as Stolas' damned sire.

Alongside Paimon are Asmodai, Bael, Balam, Beleth, Belial, Vine, Zagan and Purson. Personally, Stolas had only met three of them, but they were well-known and revered. Which of them could be responsible for this utter disaster?

The only one who could have a shot in the dark regarding them was his cousin, Flauros. He's the only child of Zagan, but the second eldest of the dukes and princes.

Dear Vapula the vapid bitch was the oldest. 

Getting in contact with him would be another matter. 

"Stolas!"

The Goetia returned to the present, looking at Blitz's worried face. He didn't intend to cause such concern.

"I need to speak with someone," he sighed, tired from something as trivial as speech. 

"Not in your condition!" his former close partner exclaimed. "You can't even sit up yet, let alone find somebody."

"Blitz, we need to know what he is," the Goetia warned, a strange feeling of determination fluffing his feathers. "He has to be royal. A spawn of carelessness that's come back for vengeance."

The statement shocked the love of his life. Of course, Striker is a hybrid, but Blitz didn't appear to consider royalty.

"You think he's a Goetia bastard?"

"And if anyone can know who from, it's Flauros... if we find the parent, we know what he could've inherited from them. What his weakness could be..."

All Goetia have something unique about them. It was occasionally very different from their duties - Stolas' stare had nothing to do with botany and astrology. 

He's strained himself to discuss so much, but it's important. 

Stolas must find Flauros. Given how private he was, he would be difficult to find. 

Vassago, however... yes, Vassago would know. He and Flauros had a closeness that Stolas didn't fully understand. Why his cousin and estranged nephew kept such close contact wasn't important. 

"What if I look for them?" Blitz offered, visibly nervous. 

There was no way in all the seven hells that Vassago or Flauros would listen to Blitz.

As much as he wished they were of that small handful, they weren't.

Imps were repulsive to Flauros, and Vassago wasn't much better. Such sentiments weren't uncommon.

After all, Stella was mad that he slept with an imp, not that he had an affair. Neither of them was in a loving marriage and it wasn't unusual for such arranged couples to have consorts. So long as it wasn't an imp or a hellhound. 

"He wouldn't listen to you."

"Then I make him listen. I can't let you hurt yourself more in looking for this fucker, so I'll do it. I can get Fizz to make the sins help! It wouldn't be the first time Asmodeus and I worked together on something."

There wasn't enough energy to unpack that.

With Asmodeus involved, Flauros and Vassago would be compelled to cooperate. Though he didn't want Blitz to suffer his family drama for much longer, it wasn't an awful idea.

"Be careful, Blitzy..."

"If it gets me closer to popping a cap in that bastard's tight ass, then I'll pluck as many pigeons as I have to!"

"Bearded vulture and red macaw..."

"I don't know what the fuck those are but they're going down!"

That's what he loved to see. His Blitzy had such a passion in him, how couldn't Stolas have fallen for it? 

And he fell hard.

In a couple of days, it'll all be over. 

Follow the command. Complete the mission. 

Give the girl to them, to Him. Allow them to focus their ire on her. It isn't like there's the option to refuse, the consequences continue to get more creative and... effective.

Free will is the ability to go against God. It's the breaking of unseen shackles. The only other freedom from Him is utter erasure, though that isn't permitted with the likes of Metatron constantly looming.

Hope is but another tool to cut and skewer. There is no such thing in Heaven, only Him and His will. 

Ironically, the pain withholds complete and utter madness. What little sanity remains, will surely cease due to an idea.

Ideas are dangerous in such environments. It can never be spoken aloud. 

Erasure is a blessing, an act of mercy compared to whatever they and He desire. It is the only salvation from their future endeavours, the eternity of Metatron's sick boredom. 

What other option was there?

Daughters, three, once ran through a river, their mother, brothers and father along with them. Simpler times. Safe, peaceful, happy times of old. Was it possible to freely give a girl not unlike those three to such abhorrent monsters?

No.

Though defying God is impossible, abusing the loophole of Metatron's wording certainly is. 

The command is to bring the girl to them. Nothing was said regarding whether she was alive during the delivery. Her anguish can be prevented. 

Hell is forever, no use in trying to fight it. There's no defying fates, the torment waiting behind the pearly gates... and hers is yet to be decided.

She mustn't cross the gates. There'll be no escape once they close.

Blood runs thicker than holy water. 

It'll be a belated birthday present, the defiance of allowing monsters to taint the final sliver of good in this forsaken existence. 

A final goodbye to the other half...

Lilith, forgive him for what he had to do.

Chapter Text

Belphegor, honestly, did her best to avoid her siblings' minds when she could. They're harder to navigate than the little things like imps and sinners.

She's done it before.

She's helped them before.

Can she do something as complicated as this?

From a certain point of view, this soul is a chimaera. It is both separate and combined like there's a parasitic twin or a teratoma. While she didn't want to compare Rami to such a thing, it was most accurate.

Every mind is unique. Parts of their personality and experiences all shape how the mindscape appears to her. The older you are, the more complicated it becomes. Therefore, a sin has the wildest of mindscapes.

When you look at Lucifer, you expect a throne room, but no. It is stars.

It's a vast galaxy with planets, nebulas, asteroids, moons, suns, constellations, and beauty unfathomable to a mortal mind. He is stardust and light, and his curse, his sin, manifests as a black hole. Even then, it's magnificent. 

A supernova sings in the midnight blues, creatures of moving twilight flourish, plants of personality grow into solar systems and it never stops expanding. It is so frustrating to navigate but beautiful.

When you look at Beelzebub, you expect a big party, but no. It's a colosseum. 

The arena of monstrous proportions, the fighting pit alone was as if Saturn was flattened into a pancake. The stands rise higher than any atmosphere as though holding up the sun. Her audience, the gladiators, and the beasts are manifestations of her emotions, memories, and her original purpose as Metatron's bodyguard. 

Her sin was the empress whose thumb, pointed to the floor or sky, determined if a fight ended in anguish. More often than not, it was down. The phrase "glutton for punishment" seems most fitting for it. 

The fights were like a dance no living soul could comprehend or follow. Clashing metal sang to a song known only to them. Blood flew and splattered on the sand like paintings. 

When you look at Satan, you expect the Wild West, but no. It's a temple. 

It's as large as the African continent, the architecture so precise and well-cared it'd send a lesser being mad. Entire sagas were carved into the walls, so life-like it was frozen in time. There were stones like alabaster, marble, basalt, granite, soapstone, limestone, concrete, brick, travertine and sandstone. 

The floor was like a sunset reflecting off water so still it's as though it was just the sky. No step caused a ripple, yet the coolness spread through your feet, even if you were mostly bone such as her. 

There were more than rock. There were gems. They were in the form of statue-like creatures representing the people of Satan's life - it took time to understand what some of them meant. Not all, just a few. 

The tanzanite chicken was Asmodeus, despite Ozzy being a rooster. The ruby duck was Lucifer. The opal swan was Lilith. The ammolite cat was for Belphegor. The sapphire rabbit was Charlie. The bismuth was Mammon. The serpentine serpent was easily Levi. The topaz bumblebee was Bee. A new addition is a jade frog, most likely for Fizzy. 

She never learned what the bloodstone stallion represented or why it stayed so close to the representation of Satan's curse. Its manifestation is a door of onyx, chains of gold and platinum blocking it.

His greatest shame.

Why a temple? It is one of justice, of right over wrong, of answering for crime. Once, it was under God's directive, but no more. As much as Satan was stubborn, he tried to do what he felt was right. 

When you look at Asmodeus, you think of a strip club or sex dungeon, but no. It's a vision.

A vision of what the future could be. The best comparison was that genre of game and film called Cyberpunk. Inventions of all kinds filled skyscrapers that pierced clouds. Things that she couldn't begin to understand or decipher.

Although it was far from her expertise, she knew how much it meant to him. He loved creating and building. 

As his love was of the technological kind, it made sense that his sin manifested as organic. It's a fungus that creeps up on you, infecting the machines to pass it on, spreading like a cybernetic STD. 

When you look at Belphegor, you imagine her mindscape as a bedroom, but not. Her's is the mountains.

She was the angel of the mountains. It was she who made the spines of the Earth. She made claws of stone that reached for Lucifer's stars, that felt Levi's rain, that oversaw Mammon's forests. 

Her creatures were also made of rock. Her chronic fatigue was like mountain goats, making their way regardless of what a theoretical shepherd could do. 

When you look at Leviathan, you think of weapons and probably Scotland, but no. It's a storm.

Replacing the ground were thunderclouds, trees of cumulus branching upwards with leaves of hail. Beasts made of Stratos and Cirrus roamed, Nimbus horses galloped and they made thunder with every step. Eels of lightning danced like dolphins and whales. Rain went upwards, not unlike their first few attempts. 

Their sin became sunlight, burning away the clouds or anything that touched it. 

When you look at Mammon, you imagine a circus, but it's not. 

With Mammon, it's predictable, but only if you know him. It's a wild jungle, foliage both real and fabricated everywhere. Even the creatures are plants. 

His trauma invented an organic maze that always seemed to change with every entry. 

The hardest part of entering the mindscapes, however, was that they would appear alongside her. They never got used to seeing their minds in such a way, which she understood. It took her aeons to fathom it.

"I need a garden like this," her little brother said, looking around the place. "Fuckin' sweet-o."

"It will take time to find the manifestation of this ability. We'll know once we see it, but only then."

"Then what?"

"We make it dormant and put it somewhere safe and secure."

"It's my head. Ain't anywhere secure."

"That is why I am here. Although I am limited, I can do enough. Now, what do you feel?"

"Uh... Dunno."

"Do you feel a pull? Usually, the subconscious attempts to direct us on the right path." 

"Mine needs its teeth knocked out. But not really."

It's not always a pull, so to speak. It can be a sound, a smell, a taste or something that looks unusually appealing.

The mind is a strange thing.

Mammon's sin manifests as rot here. The decay isn't merely like what's on earth, but creatures. Angry, gnarly things that take and take and hoard. If she could, she would've picked them to resemble dragons, but they're eerily humanoid. 

As long as they avoid that, as well as his volatile sense of self, they should be fine. 

Senses of self are always difficult. They're often monstrous beasts that display her family's insecurities. For someone like Mammon, it's extremely violent, vicious and hideous. His self-hatred is bordering on impressive at times.

Walking through a jungle isn't ideal, but they have to start looking somewhere. Although her skull lacks the olfactory organ, she can still smell the floral essence of this place. 

The feeling of grass bending under her paws and skeletal feet was unusual but not unwelcome. They were soft enough to sleep on. 

"Hey, Bel?"

"Yes?"

"I think I'm gettin' that tug. It's... like only one part of my fur is being fiddled with, like how Bee does." 

"That could certainly be it. Do you know which way?"

Her brother pointed past some eucalyptus-looking trees. She had a feeling run down her spine that she didn't like, but she never liked being in such a situation.

Belphegor didn't want to lie to her brother. She wanted to tell him what they were truly sealing away. Would he even want to go through with it?

It was wrong to lie to him, but this was also necessary. 

Ages ago, Bel explained to Mam how his sin showed. His presence acted as a buffer. Well, it did usually.

He isn't paying attention, but Bel can see those familiar rotten eyes on them. There are so many more than last time. It's a terrible sign of his mental stability.

His being next to her might not be enough to deter them for long. The sooner they find this sliver of Ramiel, the better. 

When her brother paused, she didn't understand why. She saw a giant tree, moss caressing its ancient bark. After a few moments, her orbs for eyes flared as she realised there was something behind the moss, hidden away.

Cautiously, the quadruped approached, bringing her bear-like paw to the moss and scratching it away. It fell easily, dropping like water from a bucket.

Oh. Oh no.

She was expecting a creature or a plant, something that fit her little brother's mindscape. Maybe even a mutant decayed beast. 

There is a rip in the tree, but the wood is untouched. It's almost like a sticker or if someone took a knife to reality. 

It looked like a crack, a breakage of sorts. 

She had never seen something like this before.

"The fuck's this supposed to be?" her little brother asked, confused.

"I don't know," Belphegor admitted, hesitantly approaching it. "It shouldn't be here, I know that."

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

Her orbs investigated the tear, trying to look through it. It was a void of nothingness, the absence of anything at all. Such a thing shouldn't be possible, though. 

Belphegor can feel the space behind this sliver of nothingness. It's vast, reaching further than the corners of space itself. It was... outside of God's creation, yet influenced by it. 

In the void, a single eye opened. It was an ocean of red, the iris was a sickly green moon and the pupil was like a black hole. Ripples appeared in the bloody lake as it moved, locking onto Belphegor's wispy pair.

It moved up to her brother, the inky darkness dilating almost enough to eclipse the iris. 

She could feel... glee. 

There is glee, excitement, hunger, hatred, and so much evil yet adoration; it contradicted itself with every second that ticked by. 

From the lake of sanguinus crimson came rivers. They spread like cracks, quickly exposing a wide, monstrous grin. The teeth were forged of lost and erased souls long gone. Their tormented faces and screams were equally silent yet deafening. 

The cracks looked almost like... roots...

It's Roo.

It's fucking Roo.

Not only is it impossible for Roo to be staring at them, but how is there a crack to her hellish imprisonment inside of her brother!?

The only possible way was that when God destroyed Ramiel, he didn't use all of them to make Zuriel, leaving a piece of them to Roo, causing this fracture in reality.

That's not the only reason. No, Belphegor knew better.

She knows why Roo is so glad.

Long, long ago, her name was Asherah. She was everything God loathed about himself, any semblance of kindness or mercy. He banished her, leaving her to lose her sanity, shoving all "worthless" creations into her like a dump. She held their siblings' essence, the ones God could rip right back out if he wanted to make a new angel.

But she didn't become the Root of All Evil until Eve ate that apple. The apple that Mammon created. And as Ramiel was still part of Asherah, it affected her, turning her into... something even God feared.

Given she was once an abandoned piece of him, she is the only known thing that could rival him. However, she was unpredictable, untameable, untrustworthy and unfathomably atrocious - there were no such things as morality or limits with Roo. She always did as she pleased regardless of its heinousness.

The first sin.

And she's so damn gleeful because the one who is directly responsible for making her so beyond even God was looking right back at her for the first time. 

Before Belphegor could pull them away from the disastrous monstrosity, tendrils of broken souls shot through the crack, wrapping around the pair's limbs.

"What the fuck!?"

"Don't let her pull you in!"

"Oh really? I was thinkin' of goin' for a dip - no shit!"

But Belphegor didn't feel Roo pull them closer. It was like she wanted them to be still.

The eye got closer, the mass of true evil approaching. The shreds of souls coming from her mouth screamed and cried, incoherently pleading for rescue that would never come. 

Her mile-long maw opened, unveiling a cascade of lost and unsalvageable lives. Not even God could count how many filled her, though she'd never be satiated. 

T̶H̴E̶ ̸G̴U̷A̵R̴D̶ ̷F̷A̴L̴L̷S̵
̴T̴H̶E̸ ̸J̴E̴S̴T̴E̷R̶ ̶R̶I̸S̸E̴S̶

̵T̴H̵E̶ ̸S̶I̷E̸G̶E̶ ̸B̴E̶G̵I̵N̷S̶ ̸P̴R̷E̷S̷E̶N̸T̴
̶T̸H̸E̶ ̸S̷T̷O̷R̵M̷ ̵C̸L̵O̸U̴D̷S̴ ̴T̵H̶E̸ ̸S̸K̵I̴E̷S̶

̵T̴H̵E̸ ̶L̶O̵V̷E̴D̷ ̷D̶A̶U̷G̴H̵T̴E̸R̶ ̸B̶R̴E̴A̴K̴S̸ ̸T̷H̸E̴ ̶C̵H̵A̶I̸N̴S̷
̵T̸H̵E̴ ̵L̴O̷S̸T̷ ̴S̶O̷N̶ ̷O̸P̵E̷N̴S̷ ̶T̵H̷E̵ ̷D̷O̵O̴R̶S̴

̷T̸H̷E̶ ̵B̸L̴A̵C̶K̵ ̶B̴L̴O̴O̶D̵ ̷W̶I̸L̵L̶ ̶B̸R̶E̵A̴K̵ ̵M̵O̸R̵T̷A̷L̴ ̵W̵A̴T̷E̸R̵S̶
̶T̷H̶E̷ ̶S̵E̴V̸E̵N̵ ̸T̴U̸R̸N̵ ̶T̶O̵ ̶F̶I̷V̴E̴ ̶A̶N̵D̵ ̵N̸E̴V̷E̴R̸ ̴M̵O̸R̸E̵

̴T̸H̸E̴ ̵R̷I̸N̸G̷S̵ ̷S̴H̸A̸T̴T̷E̶R̵ ̷A̷C̵R̶O̸S̴S̵ ̸T̷H̴E̶ ̷N̴I̶G̷H̶T̴
̵T̶H̴E̷ ̵M̶O̴O̴N̵ ̴R̴I̵S̷E̸S̴,̷ ̴S̷T̶A̴R̷S̶ ̷B̶R̴I̷G̵H̴T̷ ̶B̸E̷H̶I̵N̶D̷ ̵

̴T̷H̶E̶ ̴C̸I̴R̷C̴U̴S̵ ̴A̵R̶R̴I̸V̵E̷S̴ ̵L̸A̷T̵E̵
̵T̸H̴E̵ ̷F̶A̷L̵L̸E̶N̴ ̴E̵N̶D̴ ̷T̶H̸E̸ ̷D̷E̷B̸T̵ ̷C̶O̴M̶B̷I̶N̴E̶D̷

What?

The entity shrieked, forcing the two awake.

Rightfully, they were mortified that Roo wasn't as contained as they all believed. No wonder her brother was so unstable if something like Roo was lingering, the last essence of Ramiel keeping a fracture in time and space open.

It's not like Roo would ever give that piece up, either. She thrived on suffering.

"You never reacted like that before," Satan said, concerned. He took Belphegor's shivering paw as Bee hugged the confused Mam. "Did it not work?"

"The way was blocked by... an anomaly," Belphegor stated, hating how her brother cringed. "There was a tear to Roo."

"What!?" Bee exclaimed, horrified, 

The two that hadn't seen the fracture had the realisation that Bel had. She saw it. The understanding that this wasn't something they could easily fix.

Bel can't block something that's coming from Roo. 

"She said somethin'," Mammon said, confusion all over his face. "I... I don't know what any of it's supposed to mean."

It was a warning of some kind, perhaps even a prophecy. After all, Ramiel is part of Roo, so their ability to hear the future is also hers. 

Did she trigger the episode in hopes Mam would hear what she was trying to tell them? No, that couldn't be right.

It was outside of Roo's nature to be helpful. 

Word for word, Zuriel repeated what Roo told them. It didn't make sense, most likely on purpose. 

"Cryptic bitch," Satan snarled. "That's gotta be it - damn abomination is tryin' to escape and Mam's gettin' the shit end of the cowpoke."

"Why is it always me!?"

"You do see to get the shittiest luck outta us, which is kinda ironic because ain't green meant to be lucky?" Satan said, earning a scowl from said fuzzy ball of green.

"That's a fucking leprechaun you lonely cow fucker!"

May her stupid brothers never change.

Beelzebub rubbed her face onto Mammom's cheek, not unlike how cats do. Neither brother seemed to notice or be bothered by her attempt at keeping Mammon calm. 

Keeping him as calm as possible was the ultimate ideal for this situation. It's not like Belphegor can block out something as powerful as Roo.

That begged the question. Why hasn't Roo come through yet? She easily can.

Is she waiting for something?

"I wish to inform Satan of all that I observed. Beelzebub, I don't need to tell you what to do."

"Smother my baby brother with affection? It's one of my favourite things to do!" Bee grinned, summoning a cookie for said brother. "Come on. Gotta put some more weight on you."

"I saw an eldritch cunt. I don't wanna eat."

"Half?"

"Maybe half," the younger sin relented.

"Half it is!"

She stepped out of the nest that Satan had carefully constructed, going through the door and getting as far away as she felt was safe. She couldn't let Mammon overhear them.

Even if she wishes deeply that she could tell him what's wrong, how it's not his fault and that they're so desperate to fix this. They want him safe.

After a moment, her elder brother joined her, looking much more solemn than before. 

"How bad's it?" he asked, his drawl a little heavier than usual.

"There are far more decayed than before - he's still deteriorating, albeit slower with our intervention. We didn't encounter his sense of self, thankfully."

"The tear. Roo's really in it? She's the remnant we've been so worried about, ain't she?"

"I believe so. I can't block a piece of God, Satan. Even if I had been an archangel, I couldn't dream of being able to. I doubt even Metatron can."

The wrath sin sighed sadly, shaking his bovine head. Even if Bee said otherwise, Bel always thought he looked like a big impish cow.

"He's fucked, ain't he?"

"I'm not overly sure."

"How? Roo's got a door out of her cage!"

"But she hasn't come through. She easily can."

"You think it's that funny rhyme she spat out?"

"Ramiel's power was hearing the future. I suspect that she started Zuriel's episode in hopes he too would hear what she did. When that failed, she saw us and said it in her unhelpful way. Hopefully, if I'm right, that means there won't be another episode."

"Do you think Ozzy or Luci could figure it out?"

"You're... not seriously suggesting them, are you?"

"I ain't losin' my brother. If it means dealing with that half-pint and including the chicken, so be it. The sooner we get answers, the sooner we can help him." 

He's not wrong there, but she wasn't so sure.

What could the riddle mean?

The guard falls - what guard? Was it literal or figurative?

The jester rises - the only jesters they know are Mam and Fizz, but neither of them can fly. Is it another one? It could even be Luci, he's a bit of a joke. 

The siege begins present - did she mean presently? And what siege?

The storm clouds the skies - a storm is coming? That is usually in envy, not gluttony. It rained sometimes in pride. Isn't Levi there?

The loved daughter breaks the chains - the only one she can think of is Charlie. What about the chains? Will she be in chains?

The lost son opens the door - that had to be Luci somehow. It must be him coming into the situation after abstaining from relevancy since their fall.

The black blood will break the waters - a wounded demon will end up in the water. Maybe as a sacrifice? The impish things used to do that. 

The seven turn to five and never more - that's cryptic, but it also could be literal. Her brothers weren't doing well, so any of them could break and lose to their sin. 

The rings shatter across the night - there's no way of interpreting that. It had to be some metaphor.

The moon rises, the stars bright behind - something happens at night.

The circus arrives late - they call themselves a circus. What will they be late for?

The fallen end the debt combined - that didn't make sense sentence-wise. She had nothing for it. 

Damn you Roo and your deliberate desire to be unhelpful. 

"Daddy, can we go to McDamned?" Nova asked, her little ears barely visible in his rearview mirror.

"You had pizza the other night, baby," Vortex sighed, wishing his frustrating family weren't so... themselves.

There was no way in the seven rings that Vortex could explain why Nova couldn't be at Bee's. It's not their business that his girlfriend's brother is going through a rough patch. His mother and his ex would go fucking insane if they knew that it was dangerous to be there.

He can't stand his ex to begin with, let alone when she's got a stick up her ass.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"I didn't get to say bye to Mammy and Sattie."

"It's alright, honey. They won't be upset by that."

For someone who doesn't like kids, Satan's pretty good with her. It's cute. 

As much as seeing them struggle upset him, he loved watching them grow so much closer. Except for Asmodeus and Lucifer, they've connected, healing old wounds and growing together. Seeing Satan and Mammon after knowing about their estrangement was sweet. 

Leviathan, Beelzebub and Belphegor have done well getting the two to communicate. And Fizzarolli was an unexpected major help, too. He didn't think much of the imp other than being Ozzie's current pocket pet or Verosika's work friend, but he's shown to be as much a family member as any of them.

It makes sense why Fizz would be managing things so well. For nearly two decades, he's been kneedeep in sin shenanigans. It's an impressive tenure. 

No average person could withstand the Magne family and their peculiarities. 

If things with Ozzie improve, Fizz and the king of lust could have a little one, too. It'd be sweet. And someday, he and Bee could have a little pup, giving Nova a little sibling. It's natural for hellhounds to have large family packs.

He's grateful that Jericho can take Nova for a few days. He owes his elder sister quite a bit. She was far more of a mother to him than Selene. 

At least his parents weren't nearly as awful as his girlfriend's. He'll never fathom the level of evil and laziness that the so-called God has. It truly seems like Heaven and Hell are in the wrong places. 

Given how cruel that fucker is, it's doubtful if anyone is even in Heaven other than Metatron, Michael and whoever else is licking his ass.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah?" he said, ears perked to the change in her tone.

"I think someone's following us."

Though he only has one eye, he's got a decent periphery. 

The side mirror reflects an unmarked vehicle. The license plates are from Pride, specifically Pentagram City. That's an immediate concern. Whatever hell-born that's stupid enough to live in Pentagram City wouldn't dare drive a Pride vehicle in the lower rings.

It's a massive red flag.

While he can't see much of it, he recognises the silhouette of a CX-Stingray 470. It's a recent make under the Overlord of Counterfeit, Lady Sickle. 

Just because the specific car originates from her doesn't mean she's behind it. However, an Overlord is likely involved. They've always tried dipping their sinner fingers where they don't belong.

"Baby."

"Yea, Daddy?"

He knows these roads. He knows this city like the fur on his paws. Although Thora wasn't the biggest or richest in Gluttony, it was a street racing haven. It's a rite of passage to do the Cerci. The Cerci was a nickname for The Cerberus Circle, a nasty but exhilarating test of mettle. 

No bastard with a Pride hunk of junk could navigate it without getting lost or crashing. 

"Is your seatbelt tight?"

"Yep! Just like you showed me!"

Vortex gripped the wheel tightly. His knuckles would've turned white from pressure if not for his fur. As much as he wanted to spin that trash, he couldn't, not with his daughter in the back.

His best bet is to get out of dodge and call someone to pick Nova up. Not his family, though; someone would tell Selene and it'd get to his ex. 

"Good girl. Daddy needs to drive a bit fast, alright?"

"Yay! Fun drive!"

Verosika'll have to do it. Not that it's a bad thing, he likes his boss, but he'd rather not dump his puppy on her. 

They're passing Silent Hill Lane. The Morty Crossing was just up ahead. The street light that's been broken for nearly a century is but moments away...

His foot slams on the gas pedal as he turns the wheel, speeding to the right. 

Nova was right. The car behind them swerves, briefly driving on the pavement before returning to the road. It's certainly knocked someone's mailbox, which is a dick move.

If his daughter weren't in this fucking car he'd back up into them, get out and rip their throats out. Even if it's hell, he's not exposing his daughter to that. When she's older, he'll teach her how to rip a fucker apart, but not when she's five. She still has her puppy teeth!

Accelerating, he sharply drifts into the "Spine of the Hound", a long but busy stretch. His daughter cheers in the back, unaware of the potential danger. The average folk here will assume that Vortex is doing the Cerci, but anyone that glances that those asshole's plates will have issues with it.

He doesn't have to look behind him to know they're still there because a femme hound lowers her window to howl nastily. It's a threat and an alert that there are Priders here.

Thora isn't accepting of other rings, much less Pride. 

Every city has its problems. It comes with being a city. In instances like this, it works in his favour. 

Drivers expect people to go down the Cerci so they'll get out of the way. For a Prider? Far from it. Pack mentality combined with territorial behaviour is one hell of a thing.

"Again, Daddy!" Nova barked, excited. 

As Vortex went to look at his side view, someone leaned out of the window of that car and fired a semi-automatic, aiming to hit him but blowing the mirror to shreds instead. Glass splintered, some falling inside and into his lap. 

The gunfire turned Nova's cheery yaps into ones of fear. It pinned his ears back in anger, growling at the mere thought of his baby getting scared, let alone hurt.

"Dad!"

"Keep your head down!" he ordered, pulling into an opposing lane. 

The first neck is nearing. Each of the "heads" gets harder to drive through. Shaking these assholes and getting Nova somewhere safe was a priority. He could hunt them down after the fact.

Another metal flurry blasted into his car, hitting the door and the boot. His daughter cried, scared. 

Fuck this.

Baring his teeth, Vortex elbowed his glovebox open, He snatched a pistol, switching hands before roughly firing back. He managed to snag one of the wheels, though that didn't deter his pursuers. It's astounding it hasn't fallen apart already.

He refocused on the road, knowing where the "hidden" turn was. As another barrage tore at his vehicle, he swerved into the first head. The Kaon Burrows can be a maze and it's easy to get lost if you're not from here.

To be careful, he took the longer way through, always looking at his rearview for any semblance of that hideous fucking car in the back. 

What the actual fuck was that?

As he entered the second, going through another tedious maze, he called Verosika. He'll find those fuckers and make them pay for upsetting his baby.

"Hey, V! How's things going at Casa B?" she said, cheery.

"Sorry about this but I need you to get Nova - some assholes just shot at us."

"What!? Who?"

"I'm gonna find out as soon as she's safe," Vortex growled, his tail fighting the back of his seat. 

"Daddy, I wanna go home!"

"I know, baby. I'm sorting it out," he reassured, but she was still scared. "Y'know the Cerci? Can you pick her up at the end of it?"

"Yeah, yeah! I'll get on it now!" she yelled, hanging up swiftly.

He's relieved by that, but he had to be wary.

His baby is upset and those assholes could've hurt her. He took a few shortcuts to get out of the Cerci. When he spotted a place to park, he took it immediately; he couldn't take care of his baby and drive simultaneously. 

The engine stuttered into silence, making his daughter's little whimpers louder than a gunshot in his heart. He unbuckled his seatbelt and squeezed into the back, comforting her.

After he unbuckled her, she latched onto him, crying into his fur. He stroked her back, furious and worried.

Her babbling was unintelligible, but she needed to vent it all out. 

Why did those guys go after him? What did they want? 

Vortex did everything he could to stay out of trouble. He didn't enjoy being associated with assholes, even when it was his job to protect them - he's been bodyguarding Verosika for years exclusively, and she's been his most unproblematic client. The only person to be vindictive towards her was her ex.

Not that Blitz had the right to be a dick. He screwed Verosika over and wasn't even remorseful about it.

His ears flicked up at the sound of a vehicle approaching. It wasn't the previous one - he couldn't hear the damaged wheel. He only has one eye but he saw it blow to smithereens. 

It wasn't Verosika's though. He knows that pink beast like his own howl. 

Vortex didn't get to think more before he pulled Nova into his chest as the new vehicle smashed into them. He'd acted on instinct, prioritizing his baby.

No piece of shit from Pride could've hit so hard and fast. The smell betrayed that it was made in Lust, a far more durable and sturdy design.

Fuck Asmodeus and his reliable inventions because that hurt more than a Hellbies shot.

"Run and hide," Vortex growled, eager to bite the face off whoever hit them. "Don't come out until Verosika gets here."

"But da-"

"I'm sorry, baby," he interrupted, feeling her shake against him. "Do as daddy says."

He hated to let go. He didn't want to leave her, but he couldn't protect her like this.

Angrily, Vortex kicked the broken door off, stepping out with a snarl.

It wasn't a car that hit them but a big van. It's been modified somewhat, which was concerning. He was more irked by the smug fucker sitting on top of it, however.

"Howdy," the bastard said, tipping his hat mockingly.

He had an idea of Striker thanks to Fizz. This guy fits the description of that asshole to the syllable. 

How did this cowboy twink get one over a Goetia? He knows Striker's some form of hybrid, but even being a Goetian's bastard child couldn't do what'd happened to Stolas. 

"You upset my daughter," the hellhound snarled, cracking his knuckles. "I'll break your jaw for that."

The prick jumped off the van, analysing Vortex like a predator to prey. 

"One eye. Tattoo. A heck of a big guy. Yeah, you're the one I'm after," the imp smirked, his snake-like tongue flicking out briefly. "You, that clown and that shark bitch."

Fizz and Moray. 

Someone's sent him to snag partners of the sins. Why? To what end?

"Didn't Mam teach your boss a lesson the last time you fucked with what you shouldn't have?"

"Crimson? He's my boss, but that doesn't mean I can't take commissions! And Niente's got a key to what I want most."

He's heard that name. That's the sinner who always knows something about everyone, even their darkest of secrets. Someone like that doesn't provide money, they offer to keep their mouth shut. There's the possibility of blackmail motivating Striker, but that doesn't feel like it. Not entirely.

"Oh? Let me guess - a big ranch?"

"Funny. No, it's the heads of those bastard sins on pikes!" the imp snarled, his anger making his eyes glow sharply. "They're gon' fucking pay - them and their birds! Every one of those blueblood cunts is going to feel what it's like to be thrown away, treated like nothing and put down like rats!"

Oh, it's personal. 

Although Vortex won't tell someone like Striker, the sins have already endured such twisted punishments. They're already suffering. They're paying a price they weren't indebted. If Striker was going to be angry at anyone, it should be God.

Why Striker has such a deep hatred for the sins, he doesn't know. He doesn't care, either. 

An interesting factor here is that this asshole has yet to get his guns out. Hasn't he fought experienced hellhounds before? They're big, fast and have high endurance; Vortex just walked off a hit from a van. It hurt, obviously, but he's standing tall and angry. 

His ears fell back as he pounced onto the imp, the force catching Striker off guard. Folk always underestimate how far a hellhound can jump, especially the big ones like Vortex. 

Immediately, he goes to bite the bastard's face. Reasonably, Striker leaned out of the way, but Vortex got ahold of his shoulder. As any hound would, he started to shake his head, ripping at the flesh. 

The cowboy stabbed him in the side, making Vortex let go. He snarled, black blood dripping from his maw and drying on his fur. He's not going to give Striker a chance to get on his feet, so he goes again, almost catching the fucker's tail.

He's got more than teeth, however, so he grabs the offending limb and pulls. He can feel the tail almost dislocate as he clamps his jaws onto Striker's arm, his other hand punching his gut.

Vortex has "special" training. From what? From the fact that Mammon has very little awareness of how strong he is compared to hell-born.

The first time they officially met - him as Bee's boyfriend, anyway, as he'd seen the sin distantly talking to Verosika. From those brief moments, he knew he didn't have the same restraint as Asmodeus. 

It wasn't a surprise that he nearly snapped Vortex's spine in three places. 

A light smack on the back was comparable to getting hit by a train. He never told Bee how many times his shoulder got dislocated, knowing she'd be so worried. It'd also be difficult explaining to Zuriel that his genuine and rather sweet attempts at getting to know Vortex hurt him.

His fur was great at hiding unintentional bruises and he got tougher. If anything, his pain tolerance and endurance are above average for a guarding hound. 

A punch to the face from Striker was pretty pathetic compared to that. 

The large hellhound lunged for his throat, but the slimy bastard used his lasso to pull himself away. 

"Well, I'd tip my hat to you, but..." Striker growled, nodding to the discarded item. 

"You're not getting away this time."

"See, a few days ago, I'd agree," the imp said ominously, tossing his damaged jacket aside. "But a real funny thing happened when plucking that bird. No fuckin' idea how it works, but it gives one hell of a kick!"

Striker changed. Before the hellhound's eyes, he grew in size and power.

He looked far less like an imp now. He looked closer to a sinner, a being from the mortal realm that was cast to hell for their sins. 

There was a certain resemblance to Satan that disturbed Vortex. If it was more than a coincidence, then they had a major problem.

It'd also explain his deep hatred for the sins.

However, this could also work in Vortex's favour.

As Striker stupidly revealed, this form is new. The time to get used to the change in weight, mass, musculature and whatever else came with it would take a while, not a few days. He might as well have shot himself in the foot. 

Vortex bit at the air threateningly, snarling his black blood-stained teeth at the hybrid. His lack of intimidation seemed to take the other off guard, another foolish mistake.

He's in a relationship with the embodiment of gluttony itself, a former archangel, an eternal entity who came to be long before souls were a thought. Some punk isn't going to shake him.

With a bark, Vortex pounced again, taking advantage of Striker's lack of experience in this new form. He's stronger, sure, but he's also slower. 

His jaws locked around the hybrid's forearm, the scales much tougher to get through but not impenetrable. He shook his head violently, pulling muscles from bone, severing two tendons. He clawed into the hybrid's abdomen, adding a few punches for scaring his kid. 

Striker brought his pistol towards Vortex's face, but he didn't let go. He rolled, dragging the half-imp along with him. One thing about large opponents is you can use their weight against them. Gravity is a bitch, even in the afterlife.

Heat surged through Striker's arm, forcing Vortex to let go. His blood was starting to boil, confirming that yes, Satan had some explaining to do. 

Unlike Charlie, this nibling was a total dickhead. 

Fuck, Charlie had a cousin. Well, if you included Miss Eve, she had seven now. 

"Fuck me!" Striker snarled, checking his injuries. "I underestimated you, dog face. I respect that." 

"Feeling isn't mutual," Vortex snarled, wiping the blood from his maw. "You don't regen like your daddy. Makes this better for me."

"Finally figured that tidbit out, have ya? If it were up to me, I wouldn't even be from his ring. Y'all sin fuckers are too deep to understand why us commoners would want them dead."

"I get your personal feelings against Satan, but you threatened my girlfriend. Big mistake. Huge. Up for losin' your arm, stank breath?"

Quicker than before, Striker aimed his pistol and fired, taking off a chunk of Vortex's left ear. Oh well. 

The echo still ringing, Vortex pounced again. When Striker stepped aside, Vortex span and kicked him in the gut. 

With a his, Striker took his knife and stabbed the hound in that very leg. It hurt like a bitch, possibly holy metal. Instead of retreating, Vortex tore it out and returned it to Striker's already weeping shoulder. 

Striker bit his bicep, his bite force much stronger than he'd anticipated. The crocodilian theme wasn't just for aesthetics. 

Yelping, the hound grabbed his horns and pulled, trying to get him off. He released one to retrieve the knife, sticking it into the bastard's cheek. Startled, Striker let go, spitting out tufts of fur and blood. 

When Vortex got up, ready for another round, a shot sent both of them to the ground. He recognised he'd been shot through the side. Meanwhile, Striker had only been grazed on the outer thigh, only falling from the shock.

An imp threw a silvery net over Vortex, immediately sapping his strength. Even so, he was still determined to fight.

Striker, meanwhile, was furious. 

Despite being trapped in the holy rope, Vortex remained defiant. He bit at the rope, ignoring the burn to his mouth. 

His leg and side hurt like a motherfucker, but that's merely more motivation. He won't back down.

"Daddy!"

The hellhound turned, ignoring how the rope singed his fur. His poor baby ran to him, trying to cling to him despite the harsh ropes.

No. Not his baby girl.

Striker wasn't expecting her to still be here either. Nobody appeared to know she was with him. 

She could've gotten away... but how could she possibly understand that? She's only a pup. 

A phone rang, quickly answered by the imp that netted the fuming and fearful hellhound.

"Hello, sir. We've captured the hound. However, he has his kid with him. What do we do?" the imp asked, looking more annoyed by Nova's presence than worried.

There was an eerie, pregnant silence that weighed heavily in Vortex's heart.

"Take both," came the voice, old and distant.

Striker was visibly conflicted, looking at the terrified little girl. She clung to Vortex despite telling her to go and hide. 

She's only a child. She couldn't understand that she should run as fast as she could. In her little mind, her father is the safest place she could be. 

He'll always regret not being enough for her.

"You heard him," shrugged the imp, waving to one of his fellow assholes. 

Three approached Vortex with catch poles, a muzzle and chains. 

Despite going monster on him, Striker didn't look happy about this. He picked up Nova, prying her from Vortex's fur.

"I got the scamp," the hybrid stated, scowling when another looked to try arguing with him.

Although she cried and kicked, his firm hold wouldn't be painful or unsafe for her.

Whatever plan he was a part of, he hadn't been told about this part. Mercenaries hated it when deals changed.

If up to Asmodeus, they wouldn't have brought the annoying imp's daughter. However, she seemed to be as close to emotional support as Blitz could get.

The guy is going through it, so he couldn't truly fault him.

He couldn't fathom how he'd react if Fizzie got hurt. He'd lose it, he's sure. 

It's Asmodeus' self-restraint, his fear of how others perceived him, that made him look weak enough to kidnap Fizz. The only reason they didn't hurt him was because, as Greed imps, they were fucking terrified of what Mammon would do. His little brother punished them anyway. According to Verosika, it was savage.

Good.

Truthfully, he doesn't know how to manage that subject. While Fizz has found a way to make things better between them, Ozzie isn't as good as his little frog. 

It's so easy to set Asmodeus off. Everything reminds him of Rami. It hurt even thinking about it.

He doesn't even know if Mammon would want to fix things between them, not that it's his fault. Given how Asmodeus has treated him over the millennia, it's debatable if there's even a point in trying.

Ramiel would be disgusted with him.

He's disgusted with himself. 

"You're doing it again," Fizzie said, his little metal hand reaching up to Ozzie's. "Internalising this will only make it worse. I've seen for myself what happens."

Yeah, Fizz didn't say much about whatever happened. All he knew was that Mammon had a really bad night, but nobody was hurt. It didn't make sense that not only Fizz had to steer clear from Bee's place but Tex, too. 

If it was like some freakish panic attack, it most likely had something to do with Rami's electric ability. It was more volatile in his little brother, especially when he was upset or angry.

Asmodeus was an awful brother and partner. He didn't deserve his family. 

"Thanks, Froggy. And I'm sorry about everything, me being a mess."

"I'd say it's ok, but I'd be lying. It's messy. We're messy."

"Perfect for the Magnes."

"I fit right in! And it'll take time, sure, but we'll get there."

"As if there's a chance of anything like that. He should hate me."

"The only one Mammon hates other than God and that weird M guy is himself. He won't blame you. And hey, if he and Satan can reconcile after, y'know, then you've got more than a shot."

When Mammon is hurt or tired, he sounds almost identical to Ramiel. They already sound alike - thanks to their so-called father - it gets so much worse, though. 

It was cruel. It was awful what Ozzie did. He just wanted his brother to stop making noise, stop looking at them with Rami's fear-filled eyes... the same as when he last saw them. 

He was wrong but didn't stop. If anything, he used that cruelty as a crutch to hide from his neverending grief. 

Asmodeus only pulled his head from his immaculate feathered ass when he almost killed Fizz by stepping on him. He'll never forget that.

He won't forget Stolas' advice, either. 

That poor kid almost died. His boyfriend wasn't faring well, either. 

Blitz was always a disaster, but with Stolas having almost joined Roo, he was worse than usual. 

Loona's presence was like a piece of gum on the crack of a dam. He's barely keeping it together. 

The fact that they're meeting more Goetia won't help, nor is the reason why they're looking for Vassago and Flauros. 

Stolas was right. Out of the Goetia, those two had the highest chances of knowing where the fuck Striker came from. He was some sort of mutant monster, a chimaera, maybe the first ophanim with the ability to speak. 

"Ugh. This place is obnoxious," Loona growled, her ears flattening at the sight of Vassago's tower.

In the ever-damp skies of Envy, Vassago's tower looked to be beyond out of place. Although called a tower, it's more accurate to call it a cathedral. It looks more like one than a regular tower.

Somewhere two asshole birds are waiting to get knocked from their perches. 

While Asmodeus expected to have to kick the door down and bellow, demanding those dick nips appear before him, Vassago came outside first.

The parrot had a smug look on his beaked face, irritating the sin.

"Why is every Goetia hot!?" Blitz yelled angrily.

"Your standards are so low it's horrific," Fizz admonished. 

"You're fucking a bird guy too!"

"The ultimate bird guy, I'll have you know. None can compare to my Ozzie."

Very sweet and undeserved. 

Loona stuck her tongue out in a mock gag, disgusted by her "father". She must share that with Ocativa, the poor thing. That girl had sex-adverse asexual written all over here, not much unlike his little brother. Maybe not. He's more violently disgusted by the subject.

"Are you two done?" Vassago said, tilting his yellow shades. "We have things to do, people. Chop chop!"

He clapped his talons and twirled dramatically, leading the way back into his seriously over-the-top abode. 

Somebody snitched and told them they were coming. It was probably Paimon somehow. Anything to make his son's life more difficult. 

Asmodeus might have to go to the matriarch of the Goetia family to put that stupid chick in line. He knew Tsar wouldn't accept this bullshit. 

"So, we're going to ignore how he was expecting us?" Loona asked, crossing her arms petulantly. "Great. Fantastic."

"Shut up," Asmodeus sighed. "We've all got better things to do than go on a dang Scooby hunt. Be grateful they aren't hiding."

Vassago revealed himself, but Flauros might not. That one was always introverted and a bit creepy. That's saying a lot when it comes to the Goetia. 

Thank the hells that Tsar created outer spawns - Goetia not directly from her blood - to avoid inbreeding. That was the last thing they needed. 

Unsurprisingly, the inside was even more obnoxiously grandiose than the outside. Pillars twisted high like marble trees, stretching far and tall. The canopies branched into giant domes with intricate paintings of events long unfathomable by the average hell-born. 

Asmodeus could see Leviathan's touch in a few places, which made sense. It's their ring after all. 

He'll never know why his sibling had such an affinity for blessed steel. Despite the danger, even to the sins, Levi was determined to collect and sculpt the hazardous material. They even gave Charlie a sculpture made from it!

It's an unspoken understanding that Levi had a large claw in the weapons trade, particularly the illegal market. Their menagerie was concerning at times. 

On the pillars are carvings from that shining, silvery metal that looked like vines. It was Levi's work, he could tell.

What did Vassago do to acquire Leviathan's talents with lethally divine metalwork?

The Gothic vibe was suffocating. There's even a thin layer of fog. What's the point of that?

"Creepy," Loona grumbled, her ears flinching every time Vassago's talons scraped against his tiled flooring. "How did you know we were coming?"

"Sorry, pup. I'm not one for spoilers," the parrot chirped, brushing her nervousness aside. "My liege, what do you think of my mighty abode?"

"A bit ridiculous. It's not even Halloween."

"Why must it be All Hallow's Eve to appreciate the peculiar and dark? The Goetia are emissaries of such. Cowering behind silk and gold is no place for a true demon!"

The fact that the Goetia have been obsessed with looking like the bird version of Kardashian's wasn't lost on him. In a way, Vassago was doing the same but trying to stay true to his nature as a servant of sin. 

However, the term "true demon" was unnecessary. Although imps and hellhounds are often looked down on, they are still demons. They're as much a demon as Vassago.

They were born under the same pentagram, within the same rings, followers of the same sins - Goetia just happened to have difficult but important jobs they tended to be lacklustre at. 

Vassago paused at a statue of a mighty harpy eagle, its wings folding to create a platform. The design was brilliant, admittedly. 

Asmodeus could see each feather on the giant statue.

The glassy eyes and imperfections of the beak... someone incredibly talented made this.

"Up you come!" Vassago grinned, hopping onto the wings. "We don't want to be late!"

Late to what?

Although hesitant, the imps and hellhound climbed up the platform. For Asmodeus, it was barely a step. Being a giant had a few perks.

With everyone on the wings, the statue shuddered and began to rise. It was an elevator, albeit dramatic.

Why put so much drama on a measly elevation system?

It isn't a short ride, either. They're going incredibly high. 

"Can't you guys make portals or whatever?" Blitz questioned, glaring at Vassago.

"That takes the fun out of the adventure, darling!"

"This is serious business, not an adventure, Polly!" the imp growled.

"And if you've somehow been expecting us, why won't you answer any of our questions?" Loona added, her tail wagging angrily behind her.

All reasonable questions. 

Why Vassago was so determined to do this little show remained to be seen.

If there was an ending, of course.

The parrot ignored Loona, his red gaze fixated forward.

It was eerie to see him so distant.

It's like he's only here physically.

Once the statue-levator stopped, Vassago stepped off and entered an observatory-like office. He dramatically sat upon a swivelling chair, joining a waiting Flauros. The bearded vulture met Asmodeus' gaze with his own, three blue eyes filled with knowing.

There's a lot of odd things about this office space. Sure, there's the observatory aspect, but that's not it. Painting the ceiling weren't the stars visible to hell or Earth - these belonged in Heaven. Who could've shown them these specific patterns?

That wasn't the primary source of anxiety, however. 

The snow globe on the pair's desk. 

Asmodeus was unnerved by the snow globe. The middle looked like lightning, but it wasn't. It was like a tear. He didn't know why it disturbed him so much. 

Flauros lifted it in his claws, shaking it with slight amusement. It didn't look like snow was inside of it, but he couldn't tell what it might be.

The bearded vulture was playing a form of dominos, placing them upright in front of the other. When one fell, the rest would as well. 

Charlie liked those games when she was little. She and Paimon would make little pictures with them when they were small, though the Goetia grew out of it quickly compared to her. 

It was hard explaining why her friend was now a grown adult and couldn't play with her.

"I'm tired of this game. You know why we're here. Get to it," Asmodeus sighed, frustrated. "Which of you idiots made Striker?"

"So close yet so far," Flauros smiled. "I'm afraid that's not quite the right question, my liege."

"Who fucked and shat out that limp dick cowboy wannabe!?" Blitz yelled, balling his fists in rage. "He hurt Stolas! Don't any of you give a shit about that?"

Another piece is placed, those blue eyes moving to Blitz.

"Blood doesn't determine much, sweetie," Vassago stated, unbothered by the outburst. "As an adoptive father, you should know that."

"We're related, but that's the extent of our relations. A stranger was harmed. It happens every second, imp," Flauros added, cooing slightly. 

"That's bullshit and you know it," Fizz growled, frustrated as well. "If Striker can hurt Stolas, he can hurt you, too."

"Anyone can be hurt, Fizzarolli. None are immune, infallible or immortal - not truly," Flauros said, although something about his tone had Asmodeus' feathers stand on end.

There's a warning in there somewhere. It's not a threat, though. 

Another piece is placed as he shakes the globe, peering into that little crack. Meanwhile, Vassago was looking at his claws. 

"So focused on the wrong things," Vassago sighed, summoning some wine for the pair. As he poured Flauros a glass, another tile was added.

Each clack of a domino tile meeting the wooden table was getting on Asmodeus' nerves.

"I'd be much more worried about what Azrael's doing," Flauros mused, raising his brows cheekily. "You remember them, don't you?"

The angel of death. Of course, Asmodeus knows of his estranged sibling. He loathed the creature. 

What did Azrael have to do with anything? As far as they could tell, Azrael was, as usual, apathetic about the family's fracturing. 

But if Metatron and Michael are acting on behalf of God, it only made sense that Azrael would as well. 

That begged the question. How did Flauros know about it?

"You could stop jerking us around and just tell us what's going on," Asmodeus growled, both heads in his mane sneering at the bearded vulture. 

"And why would I do that?" the bird smiled, placing more tiles. "Every action influences another, my liege. If I said too much, the chain would break," he explained, removing one of the domino-like pieces.

To make his point, Flauros knocked the pieces, but only half fell flat. With the gap, it left the other half standing upright and incomplete.

"What? Like, all of this bullshit is meant to happen?" Blitz hissed, angered and confused. 

"Meant to happen. How quaint," Vassago chuckled, amused by Blitz's increased frustrations. "I do adore how small-minded you are. Always too focused on yourself to see the bigger picture."

"Hard for us to know what that is when you won't even show us," Loona argued, glaring.

Nothing affected the pair of odd birds. They remained in their seats, playing with their dominos and drinking their wine.

"Children always rely on little picture books for the story told. What you want has already been given, you've just yet to be given a slice of that cake," Vassago smiled cryptically.

"Know that when you're told, the first two will have already occurred," Flauros added, the feathers around his face puffing slightly. "You're going to get a taste of the first right... now."

Fizzarolli's phone buzzed frantically. 

Flauros and Vassago couldn't know these things. They don't have these powers, Asmodeus was certain of it. 

As his froggy answered his phone, Asmodeus had enough. He tossed the table aside, sending the dominos and wine all over the floor. However, the two barely reacted.

"We came here for who Striker's parents are, not this game of yours! Neither of you has prophetic abilities - you can't know what the future holds!"

"You haven't paid attention to our family for a long time, my liege. You don't know all of our abilities," Flauros said almost mockingly. "The guard has fallen, Ozzie."

"And you of all will know that prophecies don't all come in linear order..." Vassago continued.

"Fucking what?" Blitz growled, kicking one of the pair's expensive chairs. "I don't give a shit about all of this crap. I wanna know who fucked and shat that rat out! Who is Striker's baby daddy or mommy or whatever? How do we kill him!?"

"Why ask a question you already know the answer to?" Flauros said, picking up a domino piece. "Oh, denial is such a potent poison. How it keeps the chain strong until that link is no longer needed..."

"If anyone needs to be asked about, it's poor Levi, all alone..."

"They have their shark girlie. For now, at least."

"Ooh, blueballing the poor things, are we? I love this game," Vassago clapped, greatly amused.

"What is with you uppity blue blood birds and being so fucking freaky?" Blitz demanded.

"Immense sexual repression from our elders like most gay little freaks, baby cakes," Flauros smirked, snapping his claws in tandem with Vassago. "We're that #bitch." 

"We're late for our manicure, darling."

"Ah, yes, time's up. Have fun calming that little beast down!"

Vassago opened a portal, allowing the pair to leave without a care in the world.

They could've avoided that ugly tour!?

Asmodeus wanted to scream. They didn't get what they came for.

Creating a portal himself, Asmodeus let the little ones go through before him. He wanted to get in his car and cry into a bottle of champagne older than all three mortal hell-born combined.

Little Froggy was still glued to his phone, visibly distressed by whatever he heard.

Meanwhile, Blitz also seemed to be in a panic, going over what the assholes had said to them. It was so much and yet so little.

He was fixated on the "why answer what you already know" one, though.

"Blitz. What do you already know?" Asmodeus questioned, the boom in his voice taking the little imp from his seeming trance.

It took a few moments for him to collect his thoughts, but finally, he answered. It wasn't what Asmodeus wanted to hear. 

"The first thing I thought when I saw Satan was how his eyes looked like his," Blitz spat, angry but also scared. "Those birds are just fucking with us. They don't know what the fuck they're talking about."

"Wouldn't it explain everything though?" Loona countered. "The guy is stupid durable, always escapes and kicked a Goetia's ass. And the sins can have kids. That princess should be proof enough."

A long time ago, Belphegor suggested that it had to be a compatibility thing. That's why the Sins didn't have hundreds of kids everywhere, especially Ozzie. 

While Asmodeus didn't pay it much mind, maybe she was right. With how hard the pregnancy was for Lilith, and all the ones that failed before, the miscarriage rate must be ludicrously high. 

Perhaps there was some imp out there that had just the right genes and luck to allow a hybrid. It'd mean that not only Charlie wasn't the only sin hybrid, but Striker was his nephew.

They all had a nephew they didn't know anything about. Did Satan? He had to, surely.

With how they've all said that they want to kill the bastard, did Satan hide Striker's paternity as some weird way of protecting him? There was no way of telling. 

People have surprise babies all the time. He knew that Fizz wasn't planned, and neither was Blitz or his twin. 

Verosika was unplanned.

It wasn't out of the realm of possibility for Striker to be the same. 

Did Striker even know he was half-sin? 

"I'll need to talk to Satan about this," Asmodeus grumbled. "I swear to fuck if he's that asshole's father, I'm going to choke him with his tail."

Fizzarolli returned from the balcony, looking distressed and in shock. Naturally, Asmodeus was concerned for his froggy. 

"Vortex and Nova were kidnapped," Fizz said, sounding like the wind was knocked out of him. "That was Verosika. She's calling Bee next."

Oh, hell...

His sister is going to lose her fucking mind.

"Who in their fucked up mind would kidnap a sin's bodyguard?" Loona snarled, confused and enraged.

The guard has fallen. That's what Flauros warned. 

They know what's going to happen. They knew. What they were laughing about was true.

If the "first two" already came true, then what was the second? What was the prophecy they toyed with?

As he asked himself these questions, Asmodeus' phone went off. It was a text from Satan.

[ToadFace: Chicken, you're into the future-y shit. What does this mean?]

[ToadFace: The guard falls. The jester rises.]

[ToadFace: The siege beings present. The storm clouds the skies. ]

[ToadFace: The loved daughter breaks the chains. The lost son opens the doors. ]

[ToadFace: The black blood breaks mortal waters. Seven become five and never more.]

[ToadFace: The rings shatter across the night. The moon rises, stars bright behind.]

[ToadFace: The circus arrives late. The fallen end the debt combined.]

[ToadFace: the fuck???]

The guard has fallen. The jester...

Asmodeus looked to his boyfriend, a professional jester. His gaze swayed to the top of Vassago's palace, the high point in which they had to rise to reach there. 

The first two have already come to be. But like those pricks said, prophecies seldom come in linear order. That could also be a red herring, however.

[Me: Where did you get this??]

[ToadFace: A stupid long story you'll need that feathered cloaca seated for, but the short of it is Roo.]

[Me: Ex-fucking0scuse me?1!?]

[Toadface: Lmao typos]

[ToadFace: Yeah, it's crazy and about to get crazier. Bring Fizz. Maybe he can calm Bee down because she is losing her mind. The kid is a sin whisperer I fucking swear.]

Asmodeus is going to murder him. He's going to skin that fucker into a pair of nice boots.

"We're going to Beelzebub's," Asmodeus commanded, itching to punch his older brother. "Satan's going to explain himself."

"And help Bee. She must be going crazy," Loona said, the least bratty way she's said anything since Asmodeus met her.

"Then what're we waiting for retards? Let's go! That cowboy wannabe better sort his hot sperm stain out before I do!"

It felt weird hearing his newly discovered nephew being called hot. It's more pride than disgust, which is very conflicting. 

He almost rampaged Greed and could've killed his nephew. Thank hell for Stolas. Who his nephew nearly killed.

As if this family couldn't get any more confusing.

He only had to gather three people - Vortex the Hellhound, Fizzarolli the clown whore and Moray the Loan Shark. There was nothing involving a child. Barely even that, she was a toddler.

Striker's always empathised with small kids. How couldn't he? He knew how it was to be powerless and small, unable to do anything useful and a burden on your parents. 

His mother could've done much better for herself but couldn't risk it. She had to protect him, even when he didn't want her to.

He recalled they had to move home often. They were almost nomadic. 

One of them was because of the sperm donor himself.

It was raining loud. It was weird to rain.

Striker liked being outside, but Mama didn't let him. It wasn't fair. He wanted to play in the rain. 

Mama was asleep; he could play for a little, couldn't he?

The small imp climbed out of their shared bed, sneaking his way to the wooden door of their shack. It did little to keep out the heat or cold, but he didn't know any different.

It smelled odd, though. There was the rain smell, which he'd only smelt three times in his memory, but there was a sulfur stink, too. He didn't recognise it. 

Curious, Striker pushed through the door, feeling the droplets hit his beige-orange-ish skin. His white hair was already soaked, sticking against his head and horns. It felt like a shower but so much more.

The ground was soft under his clawed feet. He was familiar with mud, but not as it formed beneath him. It was cool in contrast to what it'd been mere hours ago. 

Puddles formed around him, their near-mirror reflections ruined by rhythmic ripples. But there was another set to the chorus. It rumbled in his bones like a stampede. 

A shadow approached in the deluge, giant and slow. Every drop fell upon it turned to steam, creating a fog around it. 

Striker stared as it finally stopped before him. He had to crane his neck to look at its face, those four eyes burning like the volcanic suns of wrath. 

The sulfur smell came from the giant.

Though far smaller, Striker scowled. He had to protect his mama from this giant. 

"Go away!" Striker hissed, whipping his tail angrily.

"You command me?" the being questioned. 

"Yeah! I com-uh... com man you go away!"

"I am far larger than you, puny thing."

"Oh yeah? Well - I'll crawl up you like a big tree and bite your eyes out!" he hissed again, his tongue whipping a droplet. 

"Angry thing..."

The tone confused the little imp.

Of course, he's angry. There's a giant outside of their home!

"I could kill you easily," it said.

"Nuh-uh!"

"The fuck you mean "nuh-uh"!?" it growled, perplexed. 

"What I said. No go away and fuck off!"

The being stared at him, confused. Conflicted? He couldn't tell.

It turned from him, growling under its breath as it walked away. 

That's right! 

The first time he met his so-called father, he wanted to fight him. 

The first time his so-called father met him, he wanted to kill him.

The little girl beside him probably felt similar to how he did. Only, instead of Satan hurting his mother - that time, anyway - Striker hurt her father. A lot more than he intended, too. 

He severely underestimated how durable that Goetia prince was, but there wasn't a real comparison there. That hellhound was far bulkier and more experienced, and he earned Striker's genuine respect from that fight.

How strong is he? What else could he do? There's no telling.

"Why did you take my daddy?" the little girl asked, sounding scared but angry, too. 

"It's my job."

"Your job is to take daddies and pups?"

"Nah, you weren't supposed to be there. I dunno what Niente's gon' do about you."

Hopefully, nothing.

Using Charlie made sense. She's an adult. The princess has lived thousands of years - she wasn't a literal foetus. 

This kid? She had no idea what was going on. She didn't understand a damn thing.

"Can I go back to Bee?"

She must mean Beelzebub.

"I dunno," Striker lied.

He already knows the answer is no. Knowing Niente, the moth will want to use her as leverage against the three side pieces once Striker's gathered them all. The side pieces that are going to be lures for the sins. 

Beelzebub, Leviathan and Asmodeus will come for them. Regarding that little robotic whore, it'll attract Mammon, too. Despite Niente vowing they had a plan to eradicate the sins without affecting the rings, the green bug brought uncertainty.

Crimson explained it well. Without Mammon, the banks will collapse. Money itself will collapse, and he needs it to help his mother. 

Nobody will miss Lucifer or Satan. Sure, they'll be sad about Beelzebub but they'd get over it. It'd be hard to notice Belphegor's absence. Losing Leviathan would damage the weapons trade, but another could take his place. Only Mammon's loss had any lasting impact that would harm his kin.

But you can't erase six and leave one behind. They'll come back for revenge, and Mammon is a petty fucker. There had to be some way to keep that thing under control for the rings' sake. 

"I didn't get to say goodbye to Mammy and Sattie..."

"Who?"

"Mammon and Satan," she reiterated. "We were watching movies! We had pizza!"

Since when did Satan hang around children? He fucking hated kids.

Didn't Satan and Mammon hate each other, too?

"You hung out with 'em, huh?"

"Daddy said they're family. He and Bee look after Mammy because he's not feeling well."

Is that so?

He didn't know that sins could get sick. It'd explain why no one had seen him since murdering Crimson's guys. 

That could be a way to keep the fucker in control. 

"How? Don't want anythin' passing to me, kiddo."

"No! Daddy said he's got heart hurt - it makes you sad and hurting, and that's why we have pizza nights - we make people with heart hurt feel loved!"

That sounded like depression. That's a nasty thing to deal with. 

Exploitable. 

Niente would love to hear about it, but...

Striker should take any advantage he could. Could he abuse that, though? Sins were dangerous when they were stable, let alone unstable. What would a potentially manic sin with teleportation, size change, likely venom and electric powers be able to do?

"You look like Sattie."

The imp nearly choked on air, astonished by her bold and blunt honesty. 

"I don't at all!" he yelled, flustered.

"You got the same thinking face!"

What a horrid insult.

He was quite proud of having little features from that DNA dumper. 

His mother was gracious enough to give him a majority of her features, though some of Satan snuck through.

"I ain't nothin' like that asshole," Striker growled, wishing he just had a regular deadbeat and not a former divine one.

The imp that interrupted his fight with Vortex once again rudely intruded. He was called Cassidy, not that Striker cared. He wanted to break the asshole's face but knew he was only acting on Niente's orders. 

Few people are willing to say no to the moth.

"The boss wants to see you. I'm to take the dog," he stated, though the phrasing heavily disturbed him.

"You're a meanie!"

"Zip it, mutt!"

"You talk to her like that again and I'll hang you by your fuckin' entrails through your ass," Striker said.

It wasn't a threat, that wasn't fitting given what Striker felt.

It was a promise.

Cassidy, recognising Striker wasn't playing around, hastily nodded. He picked up the yapping pup who bit his hand.

Like daddy like daughter. If she's got her father's bite, then that hurts.

While most of Striker's wounds have healed up, which is something he'll never get used to, the same couldn't be said for his valiant opponent. He'll never underestimate a hellhound ever again. 

It was that very respect for Vortex that made him feel ill hearing the girl crying for her daddy as Cassidy took her away.

Regardless, Striker made his way to Niente and Chinon's shared office space. If not for the fact Niente was too focused on their plans and Chinon had a hate boner against God, he'd assume they were fucking.

He didn't like the space. It was stuffy and old. 

The moth sat there, that stupid grin plastered on their ugly face.

"Striker. You did well," they said.

They'd make a great ventriloquist given how little they part those ugly teeth.

"What're you planning on doing with the kid?" Striker asked, anxiety building in his chest.

The moth paused, though their grin remained. 

"The dog is an unexpected addition, but it is inconsequential. The plan remains the same. The angels will weaken the sins and vice versa, allowing us to be victorious. After that? The unnecessary leftovers will be disposed of."

He's been in the bounty hunter and mercenary business for a long time. He knows what that meant.

This fucker will kill the kid the moment she's not useful or "necessary". Hell, she's not necessary now!

"Understood, sir."

The moth stood, getting far too close for Striker's comfort. It's an intimidating tactic, as well as a game for the fugly sinner. 

Striker wasn't impressed with the little display of power. It was pitiful. 

"Good. As you are here, you can get Valentino to stop sulking."

"What's he all upset about?"

"Vox and Velvette are close to him. He has lingering attachments that will be solved soon enough."

Kill them.

Striker liked Velvette, though. He didn't know why, but the doll-looking Overlord was attractive. And she had no problem telling Niente and Chinon where to shove it. 

"Sure. I'll get right to it."

Before Striker could walk away, he felt Niente's hand graze him. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was warm. He didn't know if it was just how the moth sinner was or if this was one of those weird spawn-of-sin things.

He left the moth but felt those glued eyes on his back. It was eerie. 

After he felt he wasn't being watched anymore, Striker looked at the spot on his jacket where Niente touched him. He could see a quickly fading handprint. It disappeared like it was sizzling off his body.

Fucking weird.

Alone, Striker could think about the position he was in. More specifically, the kid.

His mother could never forgive him if he abandoned this child to who knows what. He knew what, though - it was death or worse. 

That Overlord, Daisy, is a reprehensible monster. What psycho creates an industry to make a profit off of children like that? It's repugnant!

He can't leave the girl here with Daisy around. Would Innes use her in some fucked up pet show? What if Ring Master used her in one of his depraved circus shows? 

Adaliah and Daisy could even collaborate.

There are too many possibilities. No matter what, he can't let that kid stay here. He didn't care about her dad - a job's a job - he won't abandon her to a horrid fate.

Striker pulled out his cracked phone, looking at a number that would surely get him in trouble.

Sighing, the hybrid pressed call, bringing the device to his ear.

"Boss? This will sound insane and I expect an ass-chewing, but I have a favour to ask..."

Alastor hated his afterlife.

"How about you make yourself useful instead of whining!" Vox yelled, fuming.

Electricity danced across the table, leaving burns on the plans they'd spent fifteen hours preparing.

"Well done, Vox. Your temper tantrum has ruined another great thing," Velvette scowled. "This isn't fucking working. Oi, film brain, didn't you film this stuff?"

"I'd sooner recreate my death than film you heinous creatures," Black Holly said, her camera for an eye blinking angrily.

How is it that the strongest sinners in hell can't even last five minutes without trying to kill each other? It's not like Alastor is any better, but still. 

He shouldn't be the one leading them. That isn't one of his strengths. 

Being a lone wolf, a devious loanshark, and a skilled serial cannibal were excellent talents, but leading a bunch of cats through a typhoon? Not so much. 

Alastor is far from stupid. He's powerful and could wipe the floor with Vox, but quantity can overpower quality. 

He can count on Rosie being by his side, but not the others. 

"They no longer have the advantage of the cherub. That's still a bonus for us," Geneva pointed out, fiddling with one of his numerous explosives. "Y'know, if I were these angel bastards, I would've put a spy in."

"Spy? What the fuck are you talking about?" Plus growled, her glitchy form becoming erratic over the thought. "There can't be a spy. We've known each other for years!"

The waste of gunpowder had a point. The angels needed a way to know what was going on. 

How better than inserting a covert spy to relay important information? Several pets did that for him, along with his beloved shadows. 

This game has been played for aeons. A handful of years meant nothing to these entities.

Charlie alone was twenty-one thousand earth years old. The sins predate a majority of the earth. What was a century to a thing that existed before light and matter itself?

It's far too plausible to dismiss.

"He's right," Alastor affirmed, his grip around his staff tightening. "There's nothing to stop these devious beasts from imitating a sinner, lulling us into a false sense of security or discord... but there's no real way to prove it. Yet, at least."

"Leviathan must know," Velvette countered. "He, she, whatever the fuck that Scot is, has to know a way to, I dunno, test for these bastards. Did any of you cunts watch The Thing? Like that."

The what?

"It's a movie!" Mel chirped, his brother quickly continuing. "We reenacted it! People hiding from the freeze beyond their walls, and a shapeshifting atrocity from within!"

If not for Alastor's hatred of TV, he would entertain engaging with that. 

"Wouldn't that make any of our plans completely fucked?" Vox pointed out, sneering with frustration. "How do we know they haven't completely changed plans!?"

Although Alastor would sooner meet Roo than admit it, Vox was correct. Their information could be useless by now. However, until they had anything better, they had to stick with what they had.

Even if that was, unfortunately, not much. 

"You're the Overlord of War, Gen. In their position, what would you do?" Rosie asked, her empty black eyes burning into his.

The spiky demon sucked in a deep breath, pondering on her challenge. 

He acquired a new piece of parchment, brushing away their amassed failures. With a pen, Geneva began to draw the hotel and outside.

"If I were an angel..." he started, glaring at the rough drawing. "I want Charlotte alive, otherwise I would've razed Pride to nothingness. She has protection, which I need to dismantle - overwhelm them with canon fodder, most likely exorcists. As Leviathan is here, I'd have to engage them personally. But if I want Charlotte captured while engaged, I'll need another operative to carry out the main mission. Acquire Charlotte, kill any in my way and leave." 

Simple but straightforward. 

"We all hate each other. That's obvious. However, we must remain united. We'll be harder to slaughter if we have each other's backs," Alexandria purred, finally joining the conversation. His sibling, Jingle, remained quiet. "We don't have to like it. We do as we always have - we throttle any opportunity in our reach."

"And if out of our reach, we use bodies as stairs," Zestial grinned, emerging from nowhere. "I have scouted the inner workings of the building. The Princess' pets have done... mediocre at fortifying the building." 

"Something's better than fuck all," Geneva sighed, displeased. "They'll just get in the way. At best, they'll be body shields... wait, Alastor. Husk was a soldier on earth, wasn't he?"

He was. That could be useful...

"Angel Dust, though a whore, was once in the mafia," Vox added, scratching at his screen chin. "Pentious, that annoying snake - he's an inventor. And that one-eyed bitch he's fighting all the time will have lots of explosives."

"Fuck me and call me a red coat, looks like we got some canon fodder of our own!" Velvette cackled, embracing Vox tightly. "We can summon our little twats and overwhelm the little flying bitches ourselves! They can only focus on so many before we get an opportunity to strike in their little cunty hearts!"

Although Geneva wasn't impressed, he shrugged. It was the only plan they had for the moment. 

Something is better than nothing.

With all of them together, their primary weapon finally entered the ramshackle of a war room. The titanic serpent slithered to them, a slight mucus trail behind them quickly tended to by Niffty. 

Alastor certainly couldn't stand their accent. 

"Ah thought ah smelt pish," the entity mused, those five eyes analysing the drawings done by Geneva. "Aye, one of youse has a good eye. Have ye managed to sort out a truce?"

"Technically, we're already in the midst of one," Mel shrugged. "We should use Velvette as a wooden club!" Choly cackled. 

The image was admittedly amusing. 

"Mah wee shark and I have gathered adequate weaponry for you. Couldnae ken what you wee sinners would be good at, so ah got a wide variety," the sin said, plucking some of their scales and changing them into weapons.

So, that's how they store their angelic weapons. They're a walking - slithering to be precise - vault. 

There were many unusual-looking items that Alastor wasn't familiar with. However, those such as Plus and Geneva were ecstatic. These were seemingly from their home countries. 

He couldn't help but hold a rifle. Although vastly different to Alastor's old hunting rifle, there was a twinge of familiarity. He could try and curse the bullets, adding to their potency. 

The little red coat went for the blade, and Vox and Black Holly were very happy taking a gun. 

Geneva wouldn't stop acting silly about the "Shotel" sword.

Plus near cried about her spear thing called a Yanyuedao.

Both Jingle and Alexandria took blades named Khopesh. 

Zestial, usually so composed, was uncharacteristically softened by something called a Molamu. It honestly sounded like a dessert.

Mel and Choly took a Fauchard spear for themselves, rambling nonsensically - it was one of the handful of languages Alastor understood.

Rosie took a blunderbuss, though seemed content with only that. 

But Alastor had a peculiar attraction to a specific item. It had such a strange shape that he couldn't help but hold it. The design was like that of a club but flat and sharp.

"Ah, a macuahuitl," Leviathan identified, oddly pleased with Alastor's choice. "It's older than your country."

Older than America, huh? That's not saying much. In the grand scheme of things, most countries are older than America.

It's so strange, though, holding something older than four centuries. That's most of hell, though. It's existed for a stupidly long time.

Should they succeed, it'll remain until the end of time itself. 

It's starting to feel like the Rapture is on its way.

What the actual fuck is he even doing? 

Alastor, the Radio Demon, an Overlord who took the afterlife by the balls, selfishly, was in the middle of the fucking Rapture. He was, albeit begrudgingly, working with Vox. He'd essentially split the Overlords, was weirdly determined to keep Charlie safe and was going to fight angels. Not exorcists, actual angels.

Mama would lose her mind if she knew he would try sticking this hard-to-pronounce weapon in the face of Michael and Metatron. 

His mother, one of the few in his life he ever found comfort in, was his original reason for being here. His deal with Lilith. Finding her was the reason, but not why he was still here.

Lilith, for all her uncertainty about him, wouldn't expect Alastor to go against damn angels. His job was to protect Charlie from herself and idiots like Vox's cronies. It's highly doubtful she'd blame him for leaving when against such impossible odds.

Somehow, Charlie had wormed her way under his selfish, cruel, sadistic skin. The feeling of caring about anyone besides his mother was an odd one. Even Rosie, the closest he has to a friend, was more business-like than true friendship. That was simply the Overlord way, though.

He cared enough to almost feel bad for antagonising the green sin. Almost. Though that was more from him realising it was very foolish a monstrously unstable bear.

From what he's overheard between Leviathan and that shark lady, Moray, Mammon is even more unstable than he originally thought. He was dangerously close to being fried. 

He didn't feel bad, but he learned his lesson. Messing with the sins was risky and stupid. The fact Niente thought they could do anything against the sins was proof of their delusions.

That being said, Niente had managed to wound a Goetian prince. Well, not themselves, but their minion. Even so, it was a concern. 

What was to stop Niente's goons from taking advantage of them? Should Geneva's hypothesis come true, which it most likely will, Niente would surely swoop in and pick off any survivors. 

Fuck, he can die. For true. 

Alastor knew there was the risk of meeting Roo, but never had he gotten as close as now. There's no guarantee he'd make it against an exorcist, let alone something like Metatron. The voice of god itself...

What's he doing, standing against God?

Even when he killed his father and half-sisters, Alastor didn't feel such a weight. The fear of what might happen... 

It's the Rapture and he's been taking it far too casually, not considering the absolute fucking impossibility of what they're trying to do.

Here they are, trying to do it anyway.

He sees it now. In the others, even the elder Zestial, absorbing that all of them may be going to meet Roo. 

One mistake is all it takes. 

All it takes is just a single fuck up.

No pressure.

"A moment, deer," the serpentine former angel hissed, slithering away from the other Overlords. Those five eyes were locked onto him unblinkingly. "On you trot."

It didn't feel like a request. 

As much as Alastor loathed adhering to orders, Leviathan was familiar with their foe. They used to be one of them. It's wiser to listen to them than act like a petulant child.

Whisking the melee weapon to his shadows, the Overlord followed the titan. He disliked it, but it's a fair trade - listening to more of this accent in exchange for powerful weapons.

Can angelic weapons even hurt a sin?

Once fully secluded, the serpent grinned, showing a maw of sharp, gnarly teeth. 

"You see it noo," Leviathan said, the fins on their body flexing sharply. "What we face, ah mean. The danger."

"We're standing against God itself. Any, sane or insane, would struggle to absorb that." 

"And you've nae clue how... creatively evil he is, either. What he did tae us, especially Zuriel, was monstrous in ways you cannae fathom. For that, ah commend ye Overlords. The few that see reason, at least." 

"I wouldn't call it "reason". It's entirely unreasonable to try, let alone succeed. Alas, here we are. Erasure is a certainty... but we stand anyway, most likely a meaningless attempt."

Perhaps a little cynical and pessimistic, but it's realistic to expect failure here. 

Alastor is a human soul standing against literal divine entities. He's responsible, more than his selfish desires. People look to him for advice, guidance and assurance.

He's the unofficial leader of this faction of Overlords, although none of them will outwardly admit it. Him included. 

He doesn't want to lead and doesn't want his mistakes to have such a high cost. Any failure will be his fault. 

The serpent seemed to recognise the uncertainty growing in the sinner. Perhaps they already saw it. It's hard to tell when the eyes you're examining were never mortal. 

"Ah'm going tae tell you something."

"As if I could tell you otherwise."

He says that, but Alastor will always be frustratingly sassy. He might recognise the dangers of toying with sins, but knowing himself, he'll still do it. 

Alastor wouldn't be himself if he didn't mock those above him. 

"Wee doe, we cannae ken what the future brings us," the sin said, almost... caringly? No, it's closer to mentorly. That's still weird. "Every choice, especially the ones made by other people, always leaves an impact. Aye, you're a wee red prick, a sanctimonious bawbag that licks his pucker raw."

"... there's usually a but in there somewhere."

"Aye, it's attached tae your face," the serpent hissed, mocking Alastor. Fair play. "Charlie believes in ye, venison. She sees more than I or even you do. Donnae let her down." 

"She shouldn't."

"Ah agree with you there. You have nae redeeming qualities, but she cares for you anyway. That pure love is what we're protecting, Alastor. Raw, untainted, beautiful love - the only good thing about this fucking hellscape. You cannae dae that by being a good person like her. Do what you do best - be a raging, nasty cunt."

"Your pep talks need some work."

"Awa' an bile yer heid." 

They're correct. 

Alastor is a vile, sadistic monster. He's always been that way. It's what he did best.

Strangely, he's using what sent him to hell for the greater good. Irony is a running theme.

That sense of confidence didn't last, sadly.

Geneva burst into their spot, looking haggard, excited and reluctantly proud. That didn't bode well. 

"So... you know how I came up with the whole "I'd attack early" thing?" the sinner panted, his wild red eyes briefly meeting Leviathan's. 

The serpent was unimpressed by his intrusion. 

"I was there, Geneva. What of it?" Alastor sighed.

The conversation was, like, five minutes ago. 

"It's starting."

"What?"

"There's a bunch of exorcists on the way - Vox's cameras have picked up a bunch coming through a portal."

Fuck.

Fuck!

Why is it more upsetting that Vox was useful?

"The battle commences, wee Overlords. You're all monstrous bastards, heinous marks on humanity - exactly what we need tae send these pigeons tae nothingness! Slaughter them with wanton abandon!" Leviathan bellowed, which was oddly encouraging. "Run the streets gold with their blood!"

The Overlords are the worst. How fitting that they are facing these angelic "pigeons" as Leviathan called them. 

"Blood for the blood god!" Plus roared, which seemed to be a reference to something. 

It felt fitting, though. 

God is a bloody deity of great evil.

God created man in his image. 

But what is a God to a nonbeliever?

How good it felt to be antagonistically atheist. 

"Whatever the fuck she said," Black Holly clipped, her singular eye rolling with irritation. "I hate that I'll have to waste my power defending you buffoons."

"Consider it this way, my dear. Once we succeed, our empires will be forever more fruitful," Zestial said, weirdly positive.

Though they all know this day could be their last, they're going through with it anyway. 

It was either bravery or stupidity. Perhaps both. 

"Mah wee biter, stay here. Keep Charlotte from doin' something stupid," Leviathan asked, the sly shark woman only nodding her head once. "I owe ye once more."

"No," she said firmly. "She's my niece too," she added, showing what had to be her version of a smile. "For better and worse, huh?"

"Aye. Ah'd like that."

It was curious how an embodiment of envy could be in a relationship. Wouldn't they get jealous super easily? 

Alastor struggled to grasp how one being could embody an entire aspect of one's existence. And Leviathan, despite being the core of envy, displayed other sins. They'd shown anger, pride, greed, gluttony - who needed that many weapons, and now, lust.

Fortunately, no sign of sloth. 

Did they all think of it a little too literally?

He felt Mammon's anger when he foolishly poked the bear, and Lucifer was too lazy to appear at his daughter's birthday. 

In a way, Alastor was surprised that spite wasn't a sin at this point. 

A voice called from outside, beckoning them.

"What a pathetic stronghold you cretins have hidden yourselves in!"

From the snobbishness, it had to be the other one - Metatron sounded far more grand and composed than this.

Whoever it was, he'd swung a stick at a hornet nest. The Overlords are certifiably offended and pissed off. 

Velvette kicked open the doors and used her ability. She could conjure images called "emojis" and they could do whatever the picture portrayed. If it was a campfire, she could start a fire. If it were a dog, it acted as a dog. 

In this instance, she forged an enlarged, flat middle finger. Why yellow, though?

"Quaint," the angel mocked, standing tall and stank of arrogance. He reminded Alastor of his father in that respect. 

That'd make it even easier to kill him. 

The Overlords gathered outside, Leviathan slithering right behind them. They didn't have to move much to take the lead; they were already more than huge. 

He enjoyed how disgusted the angel looked when he saw Leviathan. 

The feeling was mutual. All five of Leviathan's eyes were scowling at the angel with hate, yearning to pluck those wings like a bored child with a bug. 

"Ah'd say it's good tae see ye, Michael, but ah cannae lie, ah cannae ken why you of all them feathered gormless fuckers are here - figured it'd be more Metatron's thing, but then again, you always did like kissing his arse." 

It was Michael, an Archangel. That lessened the complications. At least it wasn't Metatron.

Despite Leviathan's insult, Michael snorted rudely, his armada of exorcists behind him.

"You look terrible, Matriel," Michael sneered, the supposedly "good being" sounding far nastier than the literal sin. "Befitting a traitor."

"You and your sanctimonious, dogmatic stupidity. Aye, ah'm a traitor, and proud of it! Fuck your cult, fuck Heaven, fuck you, and fuck God - that coward will suffer tenfold what he did tae us!"

"I look forward to ending your pitiful existence."

"You'll die trying," Alastor hissed, angered by this glowy thing's smugness.

"Is that so? My, what an arrogant little beast you are," Michael snickered, brushing off Alastor's promise as though he was nothing. 

Green magic surged around the irritated sinner, licking at his weapon of choice. The shadows cackled in his ears, vowing to strike true. 

Alastor aimed the rifle at the angel and fired. The bullet was coated in the lime green of his shadows, looking like oil after being dropped into water. 

As expected, the buffoon didn't even try moving out of the way. And his shadows kept their promise, striking that ugly yellow eye. 

Michael yelled, surprised by the golden fluid leaking from the burst organ. 

Huh. So, angelic weapons can hurt them?

And yet, Leviathan's confusion seemed to question that possibility. 

"Skin that a̸b̷o̶m̵i̸n̷a̷b̴l̸e̸ ̶d̵e̶e̸r̴!̴" Michael demanded, his composure destroyed, rage and hatred dripping from his being like perspiration. 

"Game on, motherfuckers!" Geneva yelled, throwing his numerous explosives as he changed into his full demonic form. "Blood for the blood god!" he added, mimicking what Plus had yelled.

"滅絕!" Plus yelled in her native tongue, wielding her long weapon proudly as her form changed.

There was no chance that Alastor would be the last to transform - he'd sooner perish than be perceived as a follower, even if the idea of being a leader was equally as loathsome. His limbs cracked and grew, his antlers enlarging as stitches appeared all over his body.

Although incorrect, many thought of this form as a wendigo. The true depiction is just a possessed human, not what Alastor resembled. However, the hunger for flesh to pass his lips was certainly wendigo-esque. 

How do angels taste?

Pigeons were an apt comparison, the enforcers of so-called paradise swarming like a flock of winged rats. They're a horde of locusts, their spears starved for the fields of sinner souls. 

Alastor's shadows enveloped a pair of exorcists, allowing him to shoot them in their masked faces. Gold fluid exploded, raining down and staining his suit. As another flew to avenge its fallen fellow pests, Alastor bent out of its path, only to slap a gris-gris upon its back.

The exorcist turned, but sparks of green seized its wings, causing it to drop. Baffled, it stood no chance as a tentacle of black surged from his chest holding the macuahuitl. The sharp edges implanted themselves in shimmering soil, ending the pitiful tool. 

His shadows lifted the exorcists' spears, using their weapons against them.

A drop of rain hit Alastor's nose, startling the Overlord. It's not the water, it's how cold it felt. The smell, he never thought he'd ever experience the beauty of Petrichor again. It was the scent of earth, of morning dew, of an evening precursor to a nightly deluge...

The drop became a veil, though the water started to form something like a carapace around Alastor. It was akin to liquid armour, though it was evident the resistance was limited. He wasn't alone, either. The others had similar rippling suits of rain around them.

His confusion provided the seconds needed for an exorcist to get far too close, aiming to pierce his chest. The spear's tip sunk into the fluid breastplate, slowing it down and lessening the impact. It broke apart, dropping to the ground into a puddle, but the falling drops reformed it. 

Not fast enough for his liking, but it distracted the exorcist so he could finish what they failed - a black arm of darkness, coiled around a stolen spear, impaled it through where the heart should've been. 

A bellowing shook through Alastor's essence, a sister to thunder itself. He saw Leviathan had transformed, too, no longer the giant serpent but something far more - a titanic beast befitting of their name.

Long ago, Zestial told Alastor the tale of Jormungandr, a serpent that could wrap around the world; a fanciful tale of a long-dead culture, but it never felt more real. 

It's as though they could swim amidst the deluge, using their less-than-humanoid body to frustrate the recent depth-perception-deprived asshole called Michael. The rain acted as fog, befuddling the hateful winged emissary of an undeserving god. 

He understood why Leviathan would use their valuable power to help them. The Overlords keep the exorcists away from Charlie - it was logical to boost them in protecting their niece. However, the effort that they'd gone through was... strange.

They needed all their power against Michael, yet they still spared some for the lesser Overlords. They didn't even like them, and still.

An explosive flew past Alastor's head, booming behind him. The force knocked him from his balance, allowing an exorcist to swipe their sharp toothpick. It should've hit his throat, and although the water took the brunt, it fell away before the exorcist had finished. 

Burning heat cut into his jaw and cheek, black joining the clear fall upon the soaked grounds. It spread through his nerves like fingers, tugging them like a harp to a malicious melody. 

Rage rivalling the wound's heat, Alastor clashed his teeth against its wing. Although his teeth didn't pierce the feathered flesh, it was startling enough to tear it apart with his gathered spears. 

"Having fun?" Rosie clicked, her mantis-esque form drenched in equal amounts of gold and clear, but stripes of black were far more attention-grabbing than the shimmering evidence of dead exorcists. 

One of her six arms was gone. Thankfully, not the enlarged scythes, for those were her true hands. It'd forever dampen her talent with tea if one were destroyed.

The other set held her blunderbuss with experience and hunger. 

"As much as a serial killer can!" Alastor mused, forming a temporary shield of green and darkness as a pigeon sought to skewer his ally. He repaid in kind, shooting them down. "Did you count how many there are?"

"Too many for us to exterminate," she growled. "We can only hold them off for so long."

They needed something to slow these things down. 

Alastor considered the situation, never lowering his guard enough for the swarm to catch him. He was surrounded by rain, a conductive fluid. There was an electric Overlord. 

But for Vox to cause a charge enough to stun the exorcists, he'd need far more power. It was far from something Alastor wanted; he loathed the shitshow of an entertainment host. However, he was useful, and Alastor was nothing if not a user of people.

Besides, if it made survival more likely, then so be it. 

Ever the fellow deranged queen, Rosie grasped what Alastor was considering. She grinned, gold staining her already yellowed teeth. 

A whisper passed his sensitive ears, a shade with dire warnings. He looked up, craning his neck and narrowed his eyes, seeking whatever alerted the spirit of shadows. 

Metatron was in the clouds, standing there like a statue, observing with nothingness on his face. Beside him was an exorcist, but this one was different.

They were visibly masculine with wings of gold. That must be the head honcho of the flock. 

There have been rumours of a male exorcist for decades, and very few paid it much mind, but there is always a queen of a hive, or in this case, a king. 

Even at this distance and with the water misting his vision, he saw a slight movement of the voice of god's head. A signal. It was heeded fast, the new exorcist dropping and beating those glowing wings.

Only when a normal exorcist flew next to him did Alastor comprehend the sheer size difference. While the exorcists were roughly five-foot-eight-ish, the male had to be almost three times as big. He was twice Alastor's size, that was for definite. 

Next to Metatron, he looked regular size. 

The angels must also make themselves smaller, meaning Michael could grow. That'd be a pain. Fortunately, the exorcists didn't seem to have that; the male exorcist might, but the girls couldn't. 

It seemed a little sexist, but that seemed normal for this band of bastards. 

Instead of focusing on the overlords, the big exorcist flew through a window into the building, that little one close behind. They'd flown with purpose, too. 

They're going after Charlie.

Rosie saw it too.

"Put it down!" Rosie hissed, bouncing back into the battle.

Alastor made a deal, and he's going to keep it. 

Darkness and vivid green swarmed Alastor as he sank into the flipside. Though that angel was quick, Alastor was faster.

He was so focused on finding Charlotte that he didn't see the red and green roots spreading throughout the usually empty shadow world, nor the eye they were connected to. 

Charlie never really tried to learn about the angels of heaven. Her family wanted as little of heaven involved in her life as possible, something she was grateful and frustrated with. If she'd known that paradise was but a facade, a lie, she wouldn't have started this venture of redemption. 

No. Helping people redeem themselves was good. It just wouldn't have the result she was seeking. Instead of sending them to heaven, she can better the life many had built for themselves. Of course, there will be people who require locations so their impulses and violence can be contained. 

Cannibals had Cannibal Town. It was an excellent place to keep for those like Al who partook in that gluttonous pastime. If it was focused over there, then the rest of the Pentagram could grow beyond it. 

Manage and organise. Outright banning things didn't work. She learned the hard way when struggling with Angel's addictions. 

To do that, though, they have to win. Whatever the angels wanted, they couldn't let them win. 

Charlie managed to borrow something belonging to her mother. It was a tattered journal but it had notes of conversations between her and her father.

They were anatomical pieces, something to remind her mother how to care for her father's biology, such as preening his wings routinely. 

Names like Michael and Metatron were expected. Her father, Raguel, Seraphiel, Gadreel, Matriel, Zuriel and Turiel, too. There were names she didn't recognise, though.

Gabriel, Azrael, Asphodel, Kushiel, Uriel, Amitiel - information on them was limited. 

There were doodles of them, glimpses of how her aunts and uncles used to look. It was astounding how different they were. One of them especially caught her eye.

It was a drawing, one that had Eve in it. There she was, sitting on Uncle Sattie's shoulders, holding something. Under her was someone else, reaching for that object, but they were scratched out. 

It didn't take much for Charlie to understand who it was. 

Even after all these millennia, Eve still wanted to help him. It was sweet. 

If separated from Vaggie, she'd want others to help reunite them.

That was what Charlie was going to do.

Somehow.

Honestly, she wasn't sure how. Whatever Eve gave her could be anything, and Charlie was afraid to open the pouch. What if she broke it? The last chance to save someone would be gone due to Charlie's negligence.

She had to succeed. 

Charlie grew confused when she heard rain. The smell was wrong. It reminded her of Envy, not Pride. 

The Princess opened the curtains, perplexed. It didn't have the reddish tinge it should. What were those clouds? Those didn't belong in hell. 

Wings startled her, silvery and grey, unmistakable. Those were exorcists, and as she looked harder, she saw a horde of them. So, so many... 

She recognised a man on the ground outside from her mother's drawings. It was Michael, standing there all smug and arrogant. 

Michael is here. The exorcist army is here. Everything's happening way too fast!

Eve said a few days. Not the very next!

They need more time to prepare, plan, and organise the resources to defend their home. They're working with nothing. 

The pouch Eve had given her felt like a stone, as did whatever Alastor had gifted her. 

He was out there. As he'd vowed, he would keep her safe, exactly as her mother wanted. Her father had done all he could, but it wasn't enough. The angels are here and she felt so alone.

The exorcist will come for her. They'll do everything to get her, to take her away. They'll kill her friends and her girlfriend. 

Panic rose in her chest. 

It wasn't enough. They needed more time!

The sound of thunder startled her. It was coming from outside!

Thoughts fleeing her, Charlie bolted. 

She had to contact her aunts and uncles. Her mom and dad. Anybody that could help!

She had to find Adam and save him. 

She had to do something to save Vaggie. 

The princess almost slipped as she arrived at the elevator, but it wasn't responding. Why was it dead? It was working just fine earlier!

Bellowing came from outside as well. It sounded like fighting, aggressive and violent. What was happening!?

Charlie ran to a window, but couldn't see past the rain. 

It had to be from Levi. They were the angel of the rain long ago, weren't they?

There's fighting below. The Overlords are doing their best, even if she couldn't see them. There were illuminated lights like lightning that alerted her to their attacks. 

Her heart clawed in her chest as she saw that comforting green, the only one like it. That's Alastor, facing impossible odds while she was inside, dry and warm. She wasn't at risk of anything unlike them. 

A grey form fell from the clouds and rocketed towards her.

Yelling, Charlie sprinted away from the window, glass exploding behind her. Her clothes were cut, but her skin remained intact. Even so, it still stung.

The floorboards shook and quaked as something heavy tested their weight. The force sent Charlie to the floor, cracks growing up the walls. 

Her red eyes met a pair of exorcists, one the largest she'd ever seen. 

The exorcist, the feminine one she was familiar with, looked like an imp next to the male. He was like her aunts and uncles, a giant.

It had to be. There was nobody else who it could be.

Adam. The first man. The one that Charlie could save with whatever Eve had given her. 

The only problem was how. She didn't expect him to be so... exorcist-y. Then again, she had no idea what her mother's ex looked like. She still doesn't thanks to that mask. But Charlie knew he wasn't in control. Whatever he was ordered, he had to follow through. 

He flicked his wrist, a cracking sound sending shivers down Charlie's spine. A portal opened, allowing a pair of abominations to crawl through. They snarled and bit at the air, saliva and a promise of anguish staining her ruined carpets. 

She couldn't describe these twisted things. They used to be something, she felt it. These were once individuals, changed and warped into something else. How could this be something from paradise? It was something Roo would create!

Then again, someone had to have made Roo.

What she hated most was how much pain they seemed to be in. Every step looked like agony, their whimpers and wheezes touching her frightened hearts.

The mask over Adam's face shifted, displaying muted grief at these things. The tiny wings on their backs betrayed that they were once cherubs. He must've known them before whatever happened to them.

They pounced, running towards Charlie as if possessed. 

Panicked, she ran. 

What else could she do? She didn't want to be on the receiving end of their snapping maws. They were so fast, though. The beating of wings betrayed that the small exorcist was tailing them, too. 

As she turned a corner, a hand snatched her arm, pulling her into a closet. It quickly moved to her mouth, frightened serpent eyes locking with hers.

The beasts of paradise ran past, though she doubted it'd fool them for long. 

"Come on!" Niffty squeaked, poking her head from the still-in-progress vents. "Move it, not-bad boy!"

"We must be quick, Princess," Sir Pentious urged, coiling under himself to add height. Before she could ask, he lifted her towards the opening. "You must move with haste!" he hissed, insistent on getting her in.

With a valiant effort from Niffty, Charlie clambered into the far too-tight vent. It was so claustrophobic. 

Niffty motioned for her to move, to follow. Charlie would've turned if she could, hoping Sir Pentious would join them. 

Instead, she heard the door to that closet open.

No! What's he doing?

"Move it!" Niffty ordered, though did her best to keep her voice quiet. 

Was he sacrificing himself to save her? No! She didn't want any of them to get hurt.

Her body moved before her thoughts, following the nimble janitor.

"Where's Vaggie?" Charlie asked, her lungs burning from running.

Another fear was Adam. He was heavy, but she hadn't felt or heard him go after her. His size would make moving in the halls close to as difficult as it was for Charlie now. They would've heard him by now. 

What is he doing?

"With the pretty shark lady," Niffty answered, seeming to know where she was going. "You won't fit in the other routes, so we'll have to get out soon," she warned, crawling quicker. 

Dust clogged in Charlie's throat, cobwebs sticking in her frazzling hair.

This outfit is ruined. Thank hell she didn't wear Vaggie's gift; she'd be devastated to destroy such a beautiful present.

After numerous turns, Niffty kicked at a vent opening and dropped through. While Charlie did her best, she didn't drop in nearly as easily as Niffty had.

Wait, she recognised this room. This was Alastor's!

"Do you know where all of our rooms are?" Charlie asked, slightly concerned.

"Of course!" Niffty grinned. "I like watching you sleep."

Terrifying.

"We're on the second floor. Alright. What now?"

"Find the elevator! They won't look in there!"

"The elevator isn't working."

"That's why we'll be in the shaft, silly!"

A thousand potential Angel Dust jokes bombed in her head. All of them are cleaner than anything he'd say.

Go up the elevator shaft. Where to, though?

If anything happened to this hotel, then Charlie needed to save Vaggie's gift. Her uncles and aunts wouldn't be upset if she left those behind. Few things were as important as a reminder of her beloved. 

Especially if anything bad happened to either of them.

"I have to get to my room."

"Okie dokie. Follow me!"

Opening Al's door, Niffty looked out first. She narrowed that singular eye, determined to complete her mission. 

Believing the coast clear, she motioned for Charlie to join her. She was a quick little thing, trying to find any potential sign of the enemy so they could avoid it. 

The fact they left Pen behind hurt her in her anti-soul. Was he ok? Did they hurt him? Was it at least quick?

She hoped so. It was so brave of him to do that. 

The fighting outside was so loud. She could hear metal clashing, thunder roaring, wings beating and Overlords yelling in defiance. She heard Leviathan's accent in some of the roars, likely directed at Michael. 

They're fighting so hard and she can't do a damn thing to help them besides get in the way. 

Stay inside and out of the way. That should be simple. 

The elevator was in sight now, opposing them at the other end of the corridor. Never did Charlie think she'd grow so weary of the wallpaper. 

They only got halfway until creaking from above made Niffty stop her. That one eye glared at the struggling wood. 

Naturally, Charlie's first thought was Adam, but how could he have gotten down so quickly? 

Mangled claws shot through the wood, revealing that despite their efforts, the beasts were hot on their trail. The duo ripped through the flooring with ease, landing haphazardly between them and the elevator. However, the exorcist wasn't with them.

Did Pentious manage to kill them? She didn't know how, but she hoped so. 

What were they going to do about these beasts?

The question was quickly answered when the yellow-ish one lept for Charlie, mouth open and starved to clamp down on her. A card flew past Charlie's head, striking the monster in the jaw. 

It crumpled to the floor, dulled gold blood bursting from its wound. Its jaw dangled, the joint severed. 

Red wings went over her, jumping onto the creature with a gleaming knife in a feline hand."Husk!"

"Go!" The cat yelled back, stabbing the near-feminine one in the eye. It shrieked, like a lamb in a blender and did its best to buck him off. "Now!"

Several shots hit the face of the other monster, causing it to turn away from Charlie and Niffty. 

"We got 'em, Chuck!" Angel promised, continuing to draw the masculine beast's attention. "Don't look back!"

The monster roared, running at the spider demon. As a very gymnastic fellow, Angel made use of his flexibility to avoid a majority of the monster's attempts. 

Niffty tugged on her jacket, urging Charlie to go. 

She couldn't waste what they'd gifted her. They were risking their existence for her sake. 

Charlie ran, and she felt like such a coward.

Niffty ripped open the walls and fiddled with the wiring, destroying Pentious' careful work. The doors dinged and opened, but the shaft was empty.

As she looked up, she spotted the elevator on the fifth floor. It was blocking the way - she was on the eighth. It made her feel at home, reminding her of her childhood home being so high. She'd never been so annoyed with such a choice until today.

Why couldn't she have taken the damn basement or something?

"Looks like we gotta climb," Niffty said, keeping a chipper attitude as she grabbed a cable and started going up. "Doubt those things can climb!"

She wasn't wrong. The monsters could barely move with coordination, let alone climb.

Gripping the worn and rough cables, Charlie started to pull herself upwards. Her shoes made it harder, so she kicked them away, taking advantage of her hoofed feet. Being part goat had its benefits at times.

Just keep going. Keep climbing. Don't pay attention to the outside. 

Even if it's only a cufflink, Charlie's going to salvage something. She can't let it all go to waste. And being on the move will make it harder for the exorcists to find her. 

That was a poor thought as the third-floor doors broke open with frightening force. One of the doors broke away, clattering to the bottom. 

Unable to avoid looking, Charlie's eyes met with Adam's. He reached out and grabbed the cable under her, curiously tugging on it. She yelped as it jolted her, causing her grip to falter. 

The elevator above them creaked.

He let go, bringing out a glistening axe. With a single swipe, a bunch of cables were cut. The elevator dropped, plummeting down. Meanwhile, Charlie and Niffty were thrown upwards. 

To avoid being crushed, Charlie had to jump, grabbing onto Niffty's cable. She slid down, struggling to get her hooves to dig into the rough and old material. It burned her hands, smoke ticking her nose. After the elevator crashed, Charlie stopped as well, shaking.

She couldn't dwell on it. She had to keep going. Move!

Every pull hurt, fluid stinging her eyes. She had to keep climbing. 

Niffty clambered up to the fourth floor, the doors already open. She must see that Charlie was struggling, how she wouldn't be able to get up there. 

She did her best to follow, dragging herself through the opening. 

Wanting to see the elevator, Charlie peered downwards. Without it in the way, Adam was now in the elevator shaft, though it was still not enough for him to fully open his wings. 

Maintaining eye contact, Adam punched the metal walls. Although they protested, he started climbing up. 

The small but mighty janitor wasn't having any of it.

"No, you don't!" Niffty growled, hopping over Charlie and jumping into the open shaft. 

"Niffty!" Charlie yelled, reaching for her friend. The woman seemed to fear nothing, landing on the first man's mask.

He had to free a hand to try to pry her off. She held firm though, refusing to heed his efforts.

It was strange, though. He didn't seem interested in her at all, nor angry. At most, he appeared annoyed, like a horse being bothered by a fly.

Shaking her head, Charlie got up. She started running again. But when she was halfway up the stairs to the next floor, she felt shaking. Although Niffty did her best, there wasn't much she could do when she was as big as his mask. 

Her bravery was admirable, though.

Charlie hurried, going as fast as she could. 

Something urged her to drop to the floor and she couldn't think otherwise. As her hands slapped painfully against the wooden stairs, the glow of a golden axe shone next to her head. 

That nearly hit her. It'd cut off some of her hair already. 

Adam's not trying to catch her. No. That was for the kill. 

It was scary enough when she believed they just wanted to catch her. Killing her? That was a new level of fear. 

Ignoring the pain in her hands, she got up, grateful that her hooves weren't as sensitive. 

How is someone so big so fast? She can practically feel him breathing down her neck, vibrations travelling up her legs and sparking behind her hearts. 

Out of the corner of Charlie's eye, she saw the shimmer of a feather. It was all she got for a warning as a golden wing slammed into her, throwing her through a wall and into a bathroom. She landed unceremoniously in a bathtub, her ribs surely broken or bruised. 

There he stood, but his mask was missing. The sly janitor must've damaged or stolen it.

It startled her how much he looked like her mother, only with brown hair, gold eyes, stubble and patchy skin - while most were tanned, some parts had splotches of white like someone dropped paint on him. His features, although masculine, were nearly identical to her mother. 

They could be twins they resembled each other so much. 

Charlie dived as that axe flew down like a guillotine, carving the ceramic tub in two. 

Although he's trying to kill her, she still has to try. She had to find a way to get him to listen to her!

"Stop running!" he demanded, though she heard a crack in his voice. 

They even sound alike when yelling. It's creepy.

"Adam, please!" she begged, doing her best to keep distance between them. "Please! I can-"

"You don't know what you're doing!" Adam shouted, less out of anger and more from a place of fear and desperation.

Truthfully, Charlie didn't. She almost died twice already. However, she understood that he didn't want to do this. 

The apple gave humanity the ability to act outside of God's command. Whatever that monster said, Adam had to follow. There wasn't a way out of it. 

"Let me help you!" she begged, barely missing the axe again. She could've lost her foot that time. "Please!"

"You can help me by staying still!" the first man growled out, frustrated. "This is all I can do to keep you from those freaks!"

He's trying to save her. 

In a very fucked up way, he's trying to help her. Given that they wanted to capture her for whatever reason, perhaps it wasn't specified if it was dead or alive - a potential loophole to exploit.

Her uncle Mamsy was a prolific and talented dealmaker. He taught her early on how to see loopholes, manipulate deals and commit fraud. It wasn't so she would do those things! Maybe he encouraged it a little, but it taught her to avoid getting scammed. 

How many more in Heaven suffered from this? Forced to obey. Did any of the exorcists even want to be here today?

The only one that wanted any of this madness was the one that started it all. 

To think at some point, Charlie wanted to guide her people to a monster like that.

Charlie rolled, narrowly missing that vibrant axe. If not for being a Nephilim, she'd be erased by now - she's never had to move this fast in her lifetime. Her hair probably looked messy by now, but that's the least of her concerns. 

Eve gave her the key, but Charlie couldn't use it if she died. If her last act is helping someone, she'll do it. 

It'd be much easier if he weren't so damn quick. How he managed in such tight spaces, she didn't hate the time to fathom. At least he couldn't use his wings. 

"I can help, Adam. Please!" Charlie begged, the gold metal nicking her left ear. Yep, that's a chunk of hair gone. "It's from Eve!"

Uttering Eve's name stunned the first man, thousands of years of conflicting feelings rushing in those golden eyes. Some were recognisable, like grief, and regret, and what she could only guess was relief. 

Relief that she's here and not up there. Even after all these millennia apart, they still loved each other. 

Charlie reached for her blouse, pleading with anything other than God that she could do it - she could break this horrid curse. 

Were Eve's children here as well? If so, then Charlie could reunite their broken family. 

"I told her... fucking damn it, I told her to forget this," the first man growled, fluid building in his eyes. "It doesn't matter..."

"Of course, it does! Everything matters!" Charlie argued, her hearts hammering in her chest.

She gripped the pouch, uncertain of what to do now. She didn't get an instruction manual. How does this work? What's even inside of it?

"No. The only thing that matters is that they never get you," he countered, pushing his evident conflict aside.

He doesn't want to hurt her, but he believes he has to. In his position, what else can he do? 

She couldn't fathom how much this hurt, how difficult it was.

Despite never meeting before, there's some level of care. Is it because she's Lilith's daughter? 

Another near miss. Her only fortune is knowing this hotel like her hooves. She knew where everything was. It made it easier for her to avoid him. 

Every swing of that frightening axe, a promise of nothingness, was thrown with more desperation but hesitancy. There's a war, outside between exorcists and Overlords, her uncle and that angel, and inside, it was Adam with himself. 

For all the danger Charlie was in, she feared something else. 

If he succeeds, what are they going to do about it? What vile, frightening consequence awaits?

Everything done to her aunts, uncles and father was bad enough. All the suffering that humanity has already endured. 

Paradise was twisted so much that Adam deemed it better that she die than ever see those pearly gates. 

For once, she was grateful for their limited resources.

Damage caused by Sir Pentious' little inventions, a gap that she could painfully squeeze through. Splinters dug at her skin, begging to spill the black within. 

"Stop running!" the man practically begged, reaching to grab her. 

His grip was tighter than anything she'd felt. Even so, she had to keep going. She had to think of a way to at least slow him down so she could help him.

How funny it was, both yearning to help the other, albeit in drastically different ways. 

She couldn't help but pause, forcing eye contact despite the blood pounding in her ears.

"They'll hurt you!" she cried, sacrificing her jacket to break free. "If you do this, they'll hurt you!"

"There's nothing they can do they haven't already!"

It hurt her to think of that. How much did they take their anger out on him? How often?

He's trying to protect her from their cruelty. It sounds like something Uncle Satan would do if pushed far enough. Who's to say he hadn't already?

"Then let me save you!"

"There's nothing to save! Nothing! If you don't get over here, nothing can save you, either!"

The darkness licked at her arms, tugging her further through the gap. She couldn't fight the dragging shadows, forced through the other side. 

Before she could even think about it, a bang went off next to her oozing ear. 

Once the ringing began to subside, she realised a familiar red shape was by her side, the pinstripe suit marred with black and gold. 

"Al..." Charlie whispered, stunned to see the Overlord injured. He looked tired, too. "Please, I can-"

"You can't help those who won't accept it," Alastor stated, most of his static scarily absent. The rifle in his hands cocked, rearing for another go. 

"But-"

A red-tipped finger poked at her cheek into where her dimple would be as his grin grew.

"Can't have you underdressed, can I?" the deer said, his ears flinching. Despite her fear and trepidation, a smile pushed its way on her face. "Don't stop running, Charlie. Not for anyone. Not for me, not Vagatha, especially not him - keep running, or all of this was for nothing."

How many more were hurt? How many are going to die?

Regardless, she was running. With every step, Charlie could hear the repeated shots from Alastor's rifle. They grew quieter, but the impact remained just as harsh.

Both of them are going to try and kill the other for the very reason they were even here - protecting her. How cruel for all of them to want the same thing.

A grey form burst through the wall, crashing before her. It was an exorcist, thrown from the storm outside. It was wounded, but the way its head snapped as it spotted her was terrifying. 

Without thinking, Charlie jumped over it and ran even harder. The exorcist, its wing thankfully broken, pounced after her. 

Even with its wing broken, the other still worked. Despite the handicap, it was frighteningly determined and was slightly shorter than her, meaning she couldn't abuse Adam's size. The walls wouldn't keep it from manoeuvring and gaining on her.

The spear still clutched in its hand went forward. She should've felt it cut her, but it wasn't her blood that fell and stained her carpets. Another explosion, this one far closer than the last she'd heard from Alastor. 

She still felt the force, which threw the Princess to the floor. Within a second, Charlie looked upwards, wanting to see what happened. 

Moray stood tall, black leaking from her shoulder as she reloaded her long-ranged weapon. The exorcist lay there, gold oozing from the hole in its throat. It gargled and choked, twitching as it perished.

"No stopping now, kiddo," the woman said, pulling Charlie to her hooves. 

"Where's-"

"Getting in contact with the other sins," Moray finished, those mesmerising eyes analysing the corridor. "Exorcists have swarmed the lobby. We got to keep going up."

Vaggie's alive. She's calling her aunts and uncles. She's ok.

"My room. I've got - I have to get to my room," she said, lightheaded. Too much was happening so fast. "I need..."

"Is it on the way?"

"What? Uh, yeah - three floors up."

Mam and Levi said it was the largest room, and since she had Vaggie, they might as well. She wasn't going to be rude and take the penthouse. 

"Lev'll keep Michael distracted, and most exorcists are stuck with the Overlords. If at any point I'm overwhelmed, you don't stop going up."

"Is there something on the roof?"

"Call it a hunch," Moray said cryptically, pushing a little knife into Charlie's hands. "You know what to do?"

"Stick with the pointy end?" she answered, shaking.

Why were the walls closing in?

Understanding, Moray patted her back, encouraging her to move. 

There were worse ways to spend time with Levi's girlfriend. Maybe not. 

Charlie was tired. Everything ached, especially her lungs. She recognised that she was in the morn of a panic attack, a horrifying thing she hadn't had since she met Vaggie. 

Her beloved Vagatha. Was she ok? Is she hurt? Is she even alive? 

No, her Vaggie had to be ok. She must. After these years together, Charlie doesn't know if she can withstand eternity without her. She may as well meet Adam's axe.

Moray was quick with her weapon of choice and experienced in its use. They were lucky that the exorcists were wounded, making it easier for the loan shark to finish them off. 

Charlie may as well be in that gap again, the corridors were compressing in on her very essence. Although she knew it was merely her mind and not real, that didn't make the panic any less intense. Bugs were burrowing into her skin, crawling and carving tunnels in her flesh.

The walls rumbled with the thunder of outside. It pounded harder than her heart. While she couldn't see her uncle battling Michael, she could feel it in her bones. 

All of this for her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. 

No one person can be worth so much pain and anguish. 

Floor by floor, Charlie tried to fight off this oncoming attack. Alas, before reaching the fifth floor, her knees gave out. Air refused to enter her lungs, denying her relief. 

Moray dropped to her side, embracing her gently. The shark knew she couldn't do much more than ease Charlie through it.

Every second was time wasted. They had to keep moving.

Pulling strength from somewhere, Charlie got back up, helped by Moray. The grasp of the attack was tight, but Charlie couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. 

Run. Keep running. 

A fist broke through the floor behind them. The wood crumbled away as Adam pushed himself through, gold dripping from several bullet holes. He had a deep cut across his chest, but he was hyperfocused on her. 

Keep moving.

Shaking her head, Charlie practically flew up the stairs, hating how much she needed Moray's assistance. Their only saving grace was that Adam couldn't fly. With how quick the exorcists were, she couldn't dare think how quick he could be. 

She could hear Moray's heartbeat, how fast and heard it raced in her chest. Unlike Charlie or sinners, Moray had no chance of regenerating or withstanding immense force. If she got hurt, she was screwed. 

Despite being the most at risk, she remained firm and adamant. Her spirit must be what attracted Levi to her.

Charlie wished she could be half as brave as her or Niffty. She felt like such a coward. 

As soon as she saw her bedroom doors, Charlie bolted for the doorknob and entered. With Moray quick behind her, Charlie shut them, hoping that Adam would keep going past them.

Too much was happening in so little time.

She was crying and hadn't even realised it. 

Moray pulled her blanket from her bed and wrapped it around her, doing her best to calm her down. 

It was stupid to try coming here. They should've kept running. 

Moray looked around, spotting something on Charlie's drawers. She grabbed it and brought it to her.

The necklace that Mam got for her.

"Is this what you were looking for?" Moray whispered, her calm demeanour slightly helping Charlie. "No? Something else?"

"Cuff links," she said, sounding like a child. "From Vaggie..."

She wanted her girlfriend. She wanted to hug her and never let go. She wanted her mom and dad. 

Moray nodded, looking around the room for her favourite outfit. As soon as she spotted it with help from Charlie, she carefully removed the cuff links and brought them to her. 

A reminder of her beloved. She would keep them close.

Careful, Charlie placed them in her blouse near the gris-gris from Alastor. As she had the necklace, she put it on, uncertain it'd fit in there. Having the emblems of her family made her feel much better, even if it was only a facade.

Moray pulled her rifle from her back, looking at the doors, knowing something before Charlie did. That changed when she felt the rumbling, the heavy footsteps coming their way. 

The slowness felt deliberate, or was it the fact she couldn't think straight?

The doors opened again, and it upset her more how sad the first man looked. It's like he was already grieving her.

Even with such a powerful foe in front of her, Moray stood proud, her rifle hitting Adam in the face. He moved, the bullet only catching his ear. She wouldn't stop firing, determined to at least draw him away from Charlie. 

There was no hope of her doing anything, but she still tried. 

When Adam swung his axe, he was careful to hit her with the broad side. The force sent Moray into the wall behind them, knocking her out for the moment. 

He could've killed Moray but chose not to. Did he spare Alastor and Niffty, too? 

"Please..." Charlie said, holding out her aching hand.

He sighed, bringing the axe up as high as he could in the limited space. 

Was this how she was going to die? Failing? She couldn't save one person - what sort of princess fails at that!

She had to be brave. She held her head up, forcing herself to look at him. 

This was it. The axe started to go down. 

She would meet Roo, who would surely mock her for her failings...

Unable to stop, Charlie closed her eyes, gripping against her chest. She was sorry she couldn't say goodbye to Vaggie.

After a moment, they opened, confused. She was still here.

Her red eyes looked up at him, even more baffled. 

It was like he was on pause, frozen still. 

Metal clattered against wood as the axe fell, as did the exorcist that once held it high.

He'd fallen to his knees, despair and grief washing over tired, reddened gold eyes. 

"I'm sorry..." he said, devastated by something.

"Y̷o̸u̵ ̶w̶i̸l̵l̷ ̷b̴e̷," came a garbled voice she couldn't understand, but she knew that voice.

It was the same voice as the one from her party, the voice of god. 

Metatron made himself known, standing tall despite the limited space. The brief moment he looked at Adam was filled with aeons worth of hatred and revulsion.

He extended his hand and clasped it around the first man's throat. 

The fingers seemed to toy with the ironically named adam's apple. It was so disturbing to see. 

"You're fast," mused the archangel, his grip around Adam's neck growing. "Nimble. Smart to use little Eve as a distraction," he continued, unblinking and unfeeling.

It wasn't a trick. It was the truth. 

"Let him go!" Charlie yelled, distressed. She couldn't stand how the first man was panicked, clawing at Metatron's cruel hand. 

She didn't understand what Angel Dust had meant by "going blue" until now, although it was more purple. 

"He tried to kill you," Metatron said, monotone, yet an underlining hint of frustration simmered. "Revel in retribution, spawn of the stars."

"I said let him go!"

"Or what?" he inquired, more curious than anything. The sounds emanating from his hand's brief twist caused bile to rise in her throat. "What, dear Charlotte, would you do?"

"Duck."

Charlie didn't even think. She trusted that voice before she could even identify it, dropping to the floor and covering her ears. A loud bang rang over her, striking true.

Her heart pounded harder as she felt the floorboards shake. Her eyes saw that indeed, Metatron had let Adam go. 

Metatron looked at his hand, the wound quickly closing and leaving no trace.

"The one that scarred Michael. A unique one, you are," Metatron said, making eye contact with Alastor.

She looked at him, her eyes watering at the numerous bruises, cuts and blackened stains of his tattered suit.

His fight outside, with Adam and likely numerous exorcists had taken their toll. Even so, the Overlord was here. He stared the voice of God himself down, nostrils flaring with rage and spite.

"Va te faire foutre, pigeon géant," Alastor spat, black blood hitting the carpet. "Requin!"

Another bang, hitting Metatron between his eyes. He looked more confused than harmed, but it allowed Alastor to grab Charlie.

He threw her to Moray, the shark ready to catch her. Little Niffty was by her side, holding the rifle that Moray had dropped. 

With himself between her and the primary enemy, Alastor had already prepared another round, bright green surging around him. Strange symbols appeared in his aura, though not nearly as vivid as she was used to. 

He's tired.

"How is it that you harmed me, little fawn, but she did not?" Metatron questioned, more interested in that than Alastor himself. "No matter. Get her," he ordered.

Charlie watched Adam get up, visibly struggling, but he couldn't refuse. Even when barely conscious, Metatron's word was law. He couldn't be defied.

Golden wings spread wide and beat once, sending her, Moray and Niffty against the wall. The force knocked the air from Charlie's lungs, giving her a taste of what Metatron had been doing seconds ago. 

A taste of what Metatron wanted to do in the future.

Moray wasn't one to stop and neither was Alastor. Snatching the knife she'd given Charlie, Moray jumped for the far larger exorcist. At the same time, Alastor turned, firing into the first man's back. 

Metatron merely stood there, observing without a hint of care. If anything, he seemed... gleeful. 

A true sadist. 

With Alastor as a distraction, Moray could stick her knife into Adam's cheek, dragging it in a morbid half-smile. It was far more savage than necessary!

"Don't hurt him!" Charlie cried, worried.

She was scared for them, all except Metatron.

They shouldn't be hurting each other over her! It's not Adam's fault - he can't go against what Metatron commands. They don't have to hurt him!

Little Niffty, despite being so tiny, used Moray's rifle to hit Adam in the leg. 

The twitch of a wing was Alastor's only warning as it extended viciously, slamming him through her bedroom wall. Simultaneously, Adam grabbed Moray by her tail and flung her through the window. At the height of her bedroom, she wouldn't survive meeting the ground.

"You care for these creatures," Metatron said, snatching Niffty. She looked like a pea in the palm of a giant. "Are they pets?"

"My friends!" Charlie corrected, standing. "Put her down!"

"Why?" he questioned, something silvery glowing in his eyes. "Why care for these... tools? They are inferior, Charlotte. All of them, from the first to those yet to be."

Niffty bit into his hand, but it did nothing. Little lines of white started to grow over her body, spreading like lightning.

She reached out, crying for her friend as Niffty started to shake. 

As she'd commanded before, Niffty was dropped, but she continued shaking. She started changing, twisting, growing into something else.

"Stop it!" she begged, terrified as her friend was turned into something else.

"Grotesque, maybe, but they're far more useful like this," Metatron said, ignoring her. "Ophanim. They are obedient. Though incapable of being punished for sin."

How can one have a voice colder than ice? 

"Niffty!"

Niffty... her single eye was looking around wildly, a horror that Charlie couldn't describe. It was horrifying. And despite calling for her, Niffty didn't react to her name.

She was like those things that Husk and Angel distracted. An Ophanim. 

While Charlie was frozen in horror, another was burning with anger.

A large, twisted form jumped at Metatron, black antlers scraping against Charlie's ceiling. The bellow from a maw stretched far too wide was one of wrath. 

With the evil angel preoccupied with a furious Alastor, Charlie grabbed Niffty, hugging her to her chest. Her friend squirmed, hissing and snarling, scratching at her. 

Another roar, this one feminine. 

"Go!" Moray shouted, pulling herself through the window. Glass was sticking through her fingers, but the shark refused to give up.

Charlie had to go. She had to get Niffty somewhere safe.

When she turned to run, she ran into Adam.

She loathed the apology on his bleeding face. 

"Let me run," Charlie pleaded, her arms shaking with Niffty trying to claw herself away. "Please... I have to help her..."

"I'm sorry," he said, grabbing her by the arm. 

Niffty was freed, skittering up the walls and onto Alastor, biting his back. The wendigo-esque form shrieked, reaching back for what used to be their friend. 

Metatron, mildly annoyed, waved his hand. Black fluid exploded, covering Charlie's wall, ceiling and floor. Some got into Adam's already irritated eyes, allowing her to get free enough to try running. She slipped on the mixture of blood, rolling and hitting against her bed. 

Something metal fell on her from her nightstand.

Her eyes darted for the origin of the splatter, landing on Alastor. He was on the floor, black blood freely pouring from his chest. He was barely conscious, already pale from the bloodless and had shrunk into his smaller form. 

"Al!" Charlie cried, reaching for the red deer. 

Moray was already on him, pulling off her jacket to press against the Overlord's bleeding chest. 

Her friend, who'd never dropped that grin, cried against Moray's ministrations. He was in pain, maybe dying, and Charlie couldn't do anything to save him.

Charlie was so overwhelmed. She could see Niffty in the corner, some of Alastor's ruined suit in her twisted mouth. 

Adam was there again. Although he tried to be more gentle about it, Charlie couldn't think. She grabbed whatever that metal was and plunged it into his shoulder. 

The statue from Leviathan, forged from angelic metal, dug deep. It let her race to Alastor's side, pulling her shirt off to help Moray. 

"Al! Alastor!" Charlie called, trying to get a response. "Please, Al!"

Moray was slowing, seemingly resigned. 

"Charlotte-"

"I'm not letting him go!" she shouted, scared. "You have to keep your promise, Al. You can't leave me!"

"You love this creature?" Metatron mused, leaning over her mockingly. "This... sinful beast."

"Help him!" she pleaded. "Please!"

"You ask this of me? And why would I do that?"

"I'll go with you!" she cried, tears falling freely. "Please!"

"Hm. Fine."

Metatron waved his hand, forcing the wound to close rapidly. It was agonising, her friend trying to escape what was saving him.

Moray stared, astonished by what Charlie had done.

A deal with a devil, or in this case, a monstrous angel. 

She didn't get the chance to see those red eyes open as Adam picked her up, his right arm weak thanks to the wound in his shoulder.

"Save your strength," the first man whispered to her, almost too raspy to understand.

"Finally. I'm weary of this redness," Metatron stated coldly, opening a portal. He entered, keeping an eye on them. "Follow," he commanded.

Adam wasn't able to do otherwise, and Charlie hated the cold coming from the opening. She didn't want to leave.

She had to make sure he'd be ok.

The Ophanim that used to be Niffty jumped through beside them, hissing at a sea of clouds.

"Charlie...!" she heard, almost feeling her friend reaching out for her. 

She heard the portal close, her heart breaking. 

The Princess cried, leaning on the very arm she'd wounded. She didn't have anything else. 

Charlie cried harder when a warm hand rubbed her back, an attempt at comfort.

All that anguish for nothing.

Chapter Text

Wrath shows itself in many ways. As its embodiment, it was natural for Satan to recognise it. 

The frantic call from Verosika was the last thing any of them anticipated. How had Vortex been taken? Why was he taken? What was the point? It's not exactly a secret that his girlfriend is a sin. 

It was stressful enough looking after his baby brother, worrying about his menace of an accident, and now he had to take the mantle of the head of the family as his elder sister crumbled. Her love for Tex was suffocating.

In a way, he was grateful for never having a partner to lose. However, there were the occasional moments he felt envious. It made her so happy, the same for Levi and Ozzie, but now it forged a wound no healing arcana could fix.  

Love could be a sin in and of itself. It certainly fit what God deemed undesirable.

His arms quaked against her cries, a bellowing that wasn't earned. The only relief would be the rescue of him and little Nova, but they didn't know where to start. 

He couldn't think, not with his big sister like this.

She wanted to look for him, to hunt down whoever might've grabbed her beloved. But an angry sin is dangerous, something he'd experienced first-hand. 

Bee tried hard to be strong for them. She was there when Lucifer wouldn't be. She was the closest to a mother they'd had. 

Belphegor searched through the dreamscape, and Zuri used Satan's phone for "contacts". Fuck knows what that could mean. Given how the residents of Greed had a claw in nearly all illegal actions within Hell, it was probably a good idea to try. 

All updates from Leviathan have yet to be made. Not even a quick text from Moray. 

In Satan's ancient gut, he knew that something bad was happening. It's a remnant of his duty as the angel of justice. 

"We'll get him back. I vow it," Satan said, doing his best to reassure her.

"Why!?" his sister howled, shaking with a familiar wrath. "Why him? Why Nova?"

"Outta the most likely reasons, it's gotta be leverage," Zuri said, hanging up the phone. Seemed like another dead end. "It happened with Fizzie. It might even be the same fucker that grabbed him and tried to kill Stolas."

Unfortunately, that seemed likely. His son kept getting involved one way or another. 

It's going to come out eventually. As much as he's tried escaping from this, Satan has to own up to his utter disaster. He failed to undo this mistake, and it's biting them all in the ass. 

Even if Striker took Tex, that doesn't answer why or who wanted the hellhound. There was more to it somehow. 

What could somebody want so badly that they were willing to hunt down a well-experienced hellhound like Vortex? The pictures from Verosika proved that he fought hard; he dealt more than he got.

It was most likely Nova that resulted in his capture. He couldn't risk his daughter getting hurt or killed. That's something Satan was conflicted by, given how complicated his feelings were for his spawn.

In a way, he didn't want Striker to die or get hurt. It's incredibly confusing. It's natural for there to be some level of paternal feelings, but Satan did all he could to avoid such things.

The few interactions they had were antagonistic at best. The little shit would break into his house, and Satan would interfere with his work to annoy him.

Out of them all, the closest to amicable was visiting the mother of his child. It wouldn't be much longer now. There's no telling how he'd cope with that.

"I want him safe, Sats."

"I know. I know," he sighed, stroking her back. "We'll all have a pizza night again before you know it." 

It's so hard when they're dealing with mortals. They're so fragile. 

His heart thundered when he could smell a burning source of wrath, fresh but familiar. He knew it was Asmodeus. 

The doors to Beelzebub's nearly fell from their hinges from the rooster's anger-filled kick. It was unnecessary but it was his younger brother's attempt to be taken seriously. If anything, he looked ridiculous. 

The chicken's posture indicated that he had done something wrong and pulled something, but he was trying to put on a brave face.

Failing, sure, but trying.

"Fuckin' hells, Oz! Use the bloody door like a regular fucko!" Mammon growled, greenish electricity piercing through his hoodie. Thank fuck they used one of Beelzebub's this time. "Who shat in your cereal?"

He already knew the answer and he hated it. 

"Beelzebub first! Then justifiable anger," Fizz commanded, though that didn't seem to get through to the oversized bird. 

"They took him, Ozzie!" Beelzebub cried, leaning further into Satan's hold. "They took Tex!"

"I know," Asmodeus growled, his fists shaking. "Satan, care to explain why it was probably our nephew?"

The word was said with venom and contempt.

He felt his siblings' eyes on him, burning holes through his hide in confusion. The weight on his shoulders only grew. 

The secret he would've taken to the end of existence if he could've. 

"Just keep your mouths shut, alright? And stay close to the wall. They get big when they have fights," Fizz warned, shuffling the other imp and hellhound against the wall.

He's not wrong there. They did have giant fights. Last time, Fizz nearly got crushed. 

Didn't Bee say that Zuri drunkenly saved him? 

"Satan, what's he talking about?" Bee asked, slightly stepping away to look up at him, her cheek fur damp with tears. "You don't have a kid."

"Striker's yours!?" Zuriel shouted, briefly waking Bel before she went back to sleep. "Fuckin' hell. I could've killed him if he was at that cunt Crimson's place! I don't wanna kill my nephew!"

Oh, right. That would've been a mess.

Can Striker be killed? Not that he's immortal, anyone can perish at any time, but wouldn't it take more than usual to do it? That would've given him away if Mammon did try killing him.

He could've succeeded, and deep in Satan's gut, he loathed the idea. It's weird because the little bastard nearly killed the nicest and most tolerable Goetia. 

Plus, he could've killed Fizzie, and the kid is as close to an angel as the definition of the word can get. It's what Metatron should've been. 

"It's a long story."

"Oh my - you asshole! You never said Charlotte has a cousin!" Bee admonished, absolutely shocked by the news. "You knew this whole time he was a Nephilim!"

Is he, though? They came up with that for Chucky since she's half angel, half human. What would a half imp be? An Impilim? Nephilimp?

Their distress is reasonable, considering the situation. That didn't make it any easier to admit. 

One of his biggest regrets was revealed. Thank hell that Lucifer isn't here. 

"At any time, you could've said something. Any time, you could've just stopped and thought about the gravity of what this meant," Asmodeus said, scowling. "You've been protecting him this whole damn time, even when he tried to kill Stolas and hurt my Fizzie - how could you keep this?"

Of all the sins to say that to him, it was fucking Asmodeus.

Asmodeus, who treated Zuriel horrifically ever since he came into being just for existing. 

Asmodeus, who used to be the most hateful towards the lower classes.

Asmodeus, who almost killed his partner.

Asmodeus, who was the biggest hypocrite out of the lot. 

It was Asmodeus who prodded Satan as if he hadn't done far worse.

Considering how easy it is to become angered, Satan had done well to keep it under wraps. That was the end of it, though. 

It's as easy as breathing, like flexing his fingers, words flowing like magma from a bursting volcano.

"Don't you talk like you're any better!" Satan snapped, smoke puffing from his nostrils. "At least I kept this to myself and didn't torture my brother to FEEL BETTER!" 

He didn't mean to grow in size, towering over Asmodeus. His fingers felt like they were in boiling water, a cold rush galloping through his veins. 

It's the giddiness that's the most worrying. When it comes to rage, it's like a drug akin to heroin. It builds and grows, sending you into the clouds where true thought is hazed and left behind.

Words are knives, and anger is an added poison. It's sour on his tongue, thick and heavy like syrup, yet he can't get enough of it. 

Addicting. 

It's like a man dying of thirst being offered salvation but constantly taken away. He has to fight not to quench for he knows the consequences, as has everyone else. They suffered more than he had. 

How he regretted the cuts left in the wake of his roar. 

He isn't wrong, however. That might've made it hurt even more.

"You can't just throw that at me like that..."

"But everythin' else is all fine, is it?" Satan snarled, fighting to keep himself grounded.

He hated how much he'd hurt Ozzie, but it needed to be said. The shit he's pulled the past millennia wasn't acceptable, and they can't just hope it gets better. 

Asmodeus has to grow past it. He can't be stagnant and hurt others if it means making his pain minimally easier to cope with. 

Something else that Satan hated was the confusion in his little brother's face. Somehow, Zuri knew they were talking about him. They couldn't tell him, not in this fragile state.

It might never be a safe enough time for him to know. 

With his kin silenced, Satan went on. 

"How could I bring a half-imp into this fucked up family? Belphegor still eats imps, Lucifer fuckin' hates all inhabitants of hell - sometimes us included, I'm far from any role model for a child, Beelzebub is busy enough lookin' after us, Levi doesn't like kids other than Chucky, Zuriel can't even look after himself and you... I ain't got the time this century."

He couldn't admit how terrified he was of being a father. 

How the rings weren't in tatters, nobody could know. None of them are fit for ruling of any sort. 

The only one who would've liked it was Chucky, but... he didn't know how the mom would feel. She never reached out to the sins and did her best to keep Striker hidden, so she didn't want anyone to know of his paternity. 

As much as Satan was rather neutral towards her, she was still the mother of his child. She raised the lad into a strong, resourceful, tenacious little beast, and she'd done well.

She did more than he could ever fathom of being able to. He didn't have the patience she did. He lacked a fatherly figure in his life to base anything on - God was a fucking disaster, and as much as Lucifer genuinely tried, he wasn't ready when Lilith finally got pregnant. 

The eldest had spent the most time around God's cruelty. He needed more than them to recover, and a baby didn't make all of that go away, as much of a beacon of hope as she was. 

Striker didn't need Satan. He didn't need the sins to be all Satan could've possibly wanted in a kid. 

He didn't then, and he doesn't now. Perhaps Satan kept him a secret because Striker wouldn't want the notoriety and fame of being the second-ever hybrid. 

And unlike Charlie, Striker took after his imp half. He aged far faster than her, leaving little time to absorb the situation. 

Would he even live as long as she will?

"Does he know?" Mammon asked. "That you're his dad?"

"Oh, he knows. He hates you guys," Blitz answered, which was painfully true. "He hates all royalty, but especially doesn't like the sins."

"This doesn't seem right, though," Fizz said, scratching his chin. "Striker only grabbed me by accident - he was going after Blitz. If he wanted to get back at anyone, it'd be Satan first, otherwise, he would've gone for Tex and Moray way sooner."

That was true. His son could've gone for them sooner, but his boy was a hired contractor. It had to be a deliberate hit, although Nova made that confusing. As far as Satan knew, Striker never went for children as young as Nova. 

Think, Satan. 

His son got equipment from Carmilla Carmine. She was expensive, but the best, second only to Levi. Her business was arm deals and trade, so she wouldn't randomly risk herself by hiring Striker. 

Belphegor rose her head, the floating orbs in those empty sockets of her skull finally igniting. She's awake at last.

"I have found Nova," she said, hastily hugged by the worried Bee. "A child's mind is delicate to navigate, but I gathered enough to know she is within Pentagram City. It's eerily similar to the area where Stolas was attacked. I believe both are by the command of the same individual or group."

They've got somewhere to work off. They can contact Levi and have them look into it while they get ready. 

Beelzebub, Asmodeus and Belphegor can go. He'll stay behind with Zuriel. 

Satan's in no space to be around his son, and there's no way they're taking Zuriel anywhere that risks him deteriorating further. 

"It's got to be one of those Overlord bastards," Blitz said confidently. "When do we get going?"

Although Beelzebub looked pumped to go and get her boyfriend back, Ozzie was lost in his head and Belphegor seemed unenthused about the journey. Meanwhile, Fizz, Blitz, that hellhound girl and Zuri looked ready to go.

As much as he liked seeing his little brother eager to do something, it's not happening. 

While it's unlikely, he couldn't bear the thought of Striker hurting Mammon. He knew his little brother. He'd try to find Striker and attempt something.

Out of them, Mam wanted kids the most. It wasn't exactly a secret if you were close enough to him. He wasn't stable enough for it now, but maybe in the future. The only problem there would be finding a way to gather the DNA that didn't involve Mam being sick everywhere. 

Either someone else is a surrogate or they acquire a donor. Probably a lot of donors. The fact Asmodeus doesn't have thousands of children means he's either infertile or it's that stupidly rare. 

"I'll stay behind with Mam and Fizz."

"Fuck that!" his little brother argued, those funky pincer things doing their dance. "I'm not getting benched!"

"Mammon..." Ozzie tried, which was odd. Out of them, he'd be the one Zuri was least receptive to. 

Satan didn't chew him out enough to be more considerate. It must be Fizz's doing, the little darling. 

By hell, the imp has the patience and love of a saint. How can he cope with them all?

"You don't get to say shit! I don't even know what's crawled up your cloaca and hatched a sense of fuckin' empathy but go fuck yourself. None of you bastards is stoppin' me from looking for that dingo and his pup - I'm not being left behind like a fucking burden!"

Mood fluctuations are something that Satan loathed to deal with himself. They were worse when he was getting closer to the edge of losing it. 

Barely a few hours ago, Mam learned he had a tear connected to Roo itself, then Tex got kidnapped, and now discovered that he had a secret nephew. That was a lot for anyone to cope with. 

The thought of being left behind also didn't help, given his immense fear of abandonment and being ignored or forgotten. 

It's even more imperative that he stayed behind.

"I'm stayin' with you. You won't be alone," Satan said, although that didn't help much. "Fizz is staying too. We can't risk him getting kidnapped as well." 

Although Fizz didn't look happy, the little cyborg quickly recognised that Zuriel was incredibly agitated. 

"Won't more of you make it easier?" the girl hellhound said, seemingly blind to the fragile situation. 

The glare from Bee quickly shut her down. A little late for that.

"I'm so fucking sick of you treating me like a child. I wasn't made yesterday, Sats. I can't fight you guys, but I can dog walk any uppity sinner or hellborn."

It's true that he certainly can harm sinners and hellborn. That isn't the point, though. Out of anyone, he's more likely to hurt himself.

And he didn't want him looking for Striker, either. His son was crafty and his little brother must be thinking of Charlie. His accident is nothing like her. 

It's night and day between the pair. And he was sure that Striker would take advantage of Mammon's vulnerable state. 

His brother isn't stupid, regardless of his little clown act. He can't think clearly, not in such a heightened state of distress. 

Satan caught Asmodeus' flinch at the mention of Zuriel's creation, and unfortunately, Zuri did as well.

"What the fuck are you two hiding!?" the youngest of them demanded, reasonably fed up with the secrets. "You bloody know somethin' and it's pissing me off!"

"Zuri, we just-"

Beelzebub didn't get the chance to finish her sentence before Zuriel was scowling at her. 

Satan was all too familiar with this surge in anger. It was very understandable, though. Unlike his paranoia during the later stages, Mammon was correct in believing they were keeping something from him.

After all, his brother was talented at finding loopholes and a master of fraud. He can spot bullshit from a mile away. He likely always knew they were hiding something but his instability caused such feelings to be known. 

"You know too!" he hissed, green sparks darting around his form. "All of you do! A big fuckin' secret I'm not allowed to know! Even Fizz knows!"

Fizz cringed, obviously wanting to say something but knowing he couldn't. None of them could.

"Juicy."

"Shut up," Fizz hissed, hitting Blitz's head. 

As much as Satan was angry with Asmodeus, he empathised with the younger sin's pain. He lost countless kin over the aeons, many he loved dearly. Out of them, Ramiel was the first Asmodeus felt directly responsible for being erased. Not unlike Lilith and Adam, they were like twins, made in the same second. 

Unlike the first humans, their essence was remade into the one looking back at him. And unlike the others that must've been recycled, Mammon was almost purposefully made to resemble Ramiel. Knowing God, it's either by accident or on purpose, and probably the latter. 

It didn't make Asmodeus' actions right, though. He was wrong for mistreating Mam over something he did not know. 

"We wouldn't hide it if it weren't detrimental," Satan sighed, trying to be vague. "God is unmatched in cruelty. We believe - it's painful enough for us to know, but you're not in the right headspace yet. When you're better, we can have a long discussion about it."

It's only partially bullshit. Part of a lie was better than the full thing.

"That the excuse you used to hide Striker, huh? Determinantal. Bullshit, Sats. You could've talked to Bee an' me or Levi. You could've said you wanted to stay away for the kid's safety or whatever the fuck - look after him from afar. You didn't trust us to help you again!"

The emphasis on "again" hurt. 

In hindsight, Satan could've gone to Beelzebub. There wasn't much to do, honestly, but speak to someone. Anyone. 

Leviathan would've helped. They always enjoyed assisting them in their endeavours, even if it was ridiculous. 

He wouldn't have gone to Mammon because he was still ashamed, unable to look at his brother without remembering what he'd done. He still can't. 

That day will haunt Satan for eternity.

"You're right. I should've gone to someone," he accepted, filled with regret from many sources. "About him, and when I was falling apart. And I hate myself every damn day that I didn't..."

The knowing that there's only one wing under that hoodie burned. 

"And that's exactly why we can't let you go," Beelzebub added, gently touching Mammon's shoulder. "We're terrified we'll lose you. You'd do the same for us."

He's not happy about it, that's more than evident, but it seems to have been enough to soothe him for now. 

How long until the next argument? Undoubtedly soon. They must keep him in a controlled environment, but he'll get antsy and want to go. 

How long until it feels like imprisonment?

There's a tingle at the base of Satan's skull. It grows and blooms like a rose, the thorns hitting the fear centre of his brain. It's just like at Charlie's party, a presence he wished he could forget.

Metatron.

He could feel Michael as well, but it's far weaker.

All of them felt it, the sudden appearance. They'd be able to feel it no matter where they were in hell. 

It's coming from above, from Pride, from Pentagram City. 

The only reason to go there was Charlotte. 

Justifiable panic filled the sins. While they were down here fighting, Levi was all alone up there.

Panic surges again. He knows what'll happen if he doesn't move. 

Satan pounced, grabbing Mammon as energy started to coil around him, the fleeting warning sign of teleportation. Damn him and his innate talent for it. 

"Get off me!" Mammon demanded, struggling against Satan's strong embrace.

He had to hold him like this, a bear hug. Pushing him to the ground or grabbing his arms would trigger something if he hadn't already. 

They need to go and save Charlie, but he has to stay. He can't let Mam go and get himself killed. 

The greenish lightning bit at Satan's thick scales, but he remained firm. He wasn't going to let go. If Mammon wanted to go between rings, he'd have to take Satan, which was extremely unlikely. 

Besides, Satan would withstand the consequences better than Mammon would.

The slippery fucker tries to teleport out of Satan's grasp, but he's not budging. 

"I'm not leaving my niece to that fucker!"

How he said "my" was almost exactly like when he had his episode when the transformation began. Wanting to protect his niece was somehow a form of greed and that was worsening his condition. 

Bee's attempts were futile and Asmodeus wouldn't be much help - he had no idea how to diffuse something like this.

Belphegor stood tall, her floating orbs for eyes briefly flashing before the struggling started to get weaker.

"You bitch..." Mammon hissed, glaring at Belphegor.

"I'm sorry," she said, her flaming orbs flaring again. 

Satan loathed feeling his brother go limp in his hold, forced unconscious by their sister. 

"I didn't know it'd gotten so far," the lustful chicken said, visibly shocked. He still seemed out of it from how harshly Satan threw Ramiel in his face.

He'd greatly underestimated their predicament. 

"You've always been one for awful timing, Ozzie," Bel said dryly, looking over the slumbering form. "It's progressed drastically. Too much in too short a time." 

No shit.

"Did you hear it? It's like... it's getting worse!" Bee panted, her distress growing even more. "Fucking hells, Charlotte - Tex - I have to go, but Mam -"

"That's why I'm staying," Satan sighed, gently touching her shoulder. "Fizz and I've got this handled. Help Lottie. Get Tex and bring him home." 

"I'll stay with Fizz too. I've got a whole business around bodyguarding and assassinating! Besides, if Striker comes, then it's round four!" Blitz said, putting his arm around Fizz's shoulders.

While Satan would much rather Blitz not be near his little brother, he'd have to accept the assistance. 

"I'll be with the sins. I can track Vortex's scent," the girl hellhound offered, standing beside Beelzebub. "He's my friend. I've got to help find him."

And she didn't want to stay near the ticking timebomb. Understandable. 

He didn't doubt that they'd succeed. His kin were strong, but the twinge of fear in his hearts wouldn't leave.

Belphegor was already leaving, but Bee couldn't go without a quick goodbye kiss on Mam's shoulder. If you didn't know otherwise, you'd think she was his mother with how deeply she cared and worried for him. 

In a way, she might as well be.

Although they were ready to go to Lottie and rescue Tex, Asmodeus seemed hesitant.

"I'll catch up. I need to ask something," Ozzie said, tired and still lost. Although their sisters didn't seem sure, they accepted his request. 

Satan felt regret at the heaviness of his words, how hard he'd been. That wasn't uncommon. 

He often did things he quickly hated himself for.

"You needin' something?" Satan sighed, paying close attention to how their unconscious brother breathed.

Soft, slow, consistent and seemingly peaceful. Good. It'd be nice if those antennae things weren't so close to poking him in the eyes.

"What did Bee mean? Like what?" Asmodeus questioned, visibly disturbed by visible evidence of how close to being fucked they were.

When Satan lost himself, it took all six. At least he didn't have teleportation, venom, poisonous breath, volatile electric powers and a scorpion's tail. Not to mention when transformed, Mam is the second biggest out of them, and that's without the sin's violent boost.

While wrath is simple enough to predict - big angry - what the fuck would greed be? Hoarding like some starved dragon? 

The fact that Roo is connected as well makes it even less predictable. 

Unsure for a moment, Satan checked on Zuriel, making sure that he was fully unconscious. The little pincer things barely reacted to touch; he wouldn't wake up for a while. A few hours, hopefully. 

"He had a vision like Ramiel used to - we're certain it was Roo's fault, but..."

The black blood will break mortal waters. 

Mam had a vision of drowning.

That couldn't be a coincidence.

"Think giant lightning storm. Lightning shit was going everywhere! Full seizure procedure!" Fizz further elaborated, waving his arms dramatically. "It was crazy! I wasn't in the room, but he started turning."

That was a strangely accurate description. 

"Who the fuck is that?" Blitz asked, confused. "Ra-OW!" he yelped, rubbing his head after a slap from Fizz. "What was that for!?"

"The secret," Asmodeus sighed sorrowfully, sitting on the floor. "He can't ever know."

No shit.

"Which is why you never say that name," Fizz added, joining his partner's side. "I could go with you if you need me, Oz."

"I need you safe, Froggy. And you can help more than I ever could..."

Please don't break down. He's struggling enough with one brother on the brink.

Glowing fluid built in his brother's eyes, the floating heads looked like they were wailing but couldn't make a sound.

It was unfair to throw Ramiel in his face, regardless of how justified Satan felt. 

He's always been good at hurting his brothers. It's a skill he loathed.

Today is a day for siblings young and old to cry. As Beelzebub had done for aeons, he would be the shoulder to lean on, even if it was his fault. 

While it's awkward holding Zuriel against his body, Satan isn't going to let him go. He couldn't. 

The embodiment of wrath carefully sat on the other side of Ozzie, gently pressing his shoulder to the other.

"I'm sorry," Satan said, hating how his younger brother was fighting to keep it together. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have... done a lot of things." 

It's awkward for Blitz to stand there, so he sits next to Fizz, trying to be quiet for once. He seemed to have grasped that shit was serious.

The cyborg is incredible for putting up with them and their chaos. Although he liked Tex and enjoyed Moray's subtle bloodlust, Fizz was becoming his favourite. 

None of them deserved him.

"I've been such a shit brother..." the avian sin hissed out, refusing to let himself crumble. "You're right - you're right. Keeping him a secret. Fuck sake, I can't even - at least your secret didn't hurt others..."

Coming to terms with how you've treated others is a difficult thing. With any luck, Lucifer will eventually learn the same.

"It did," Fizz countered, confusing the bird. His little ringed eyes went to Satan's, determined. "Not wanting it to be public is quite considerate given how imps are treated, but your family? Yeah, Lucifer's a real peach, Belphegor is a little questionable, but the rest? Ozzie should've known before I got kidnapped and almost killed - he would've flayed me if not for Blitz's bullshit luck."

Fuck sake, the little guy had a point there.

He didn't know Fizz back then, not intimately like now. It would've been a real pain in the dick if he died. Both Asmodeus and Mammon would've lost their shit. 

A sin in grief is a horrific thing.

"Hindsight's a bitch," Satan grumbled, wishing he were braver than he was. "You're a better man than me, small fry. If you had a half-sin kid, you wouldn't be scared shitless of what to do."

"I would," Asmodeus said, rubbing his hands nervously. "I'm sorry for approaching it as I did. I was just so pissed off. I don't think."

"I doubt there was a good way of bringing up my... second abominable mistake." 

One gossamer wing hidden under cloth never felt so heavy. The absence of its twin was burning. 

That's something he doesn't want any of his siblings to endure. 

"I'll keep her safe. I'll bring Tex back - you guys need all hands on deck," Ozzie promised. "Fuck. If I'd called Mam when Fizzie got kidnapped, it would've been sorted quickly, huh?"

"Like I said. Hindsight's a bitch."

"I'm not making that mistake again. I can't fuck this up, Sats. I lost them once, I can't do that again."

"I'll never know how it feels to lose a twin, Oz, but I gotta say it. No matter how much he reminds you of them, he's himself, as much of a pain as he is. I didn't know them well, but they would've coddled him worse than Bee."

"I hear them, Sat. It's just there, haunting me... I feel them everywhere, see them everywhere."

"We can't outrun our grief, our mistakes. There's no corralling that wild thing into a neat box to hide from. In the end, it always bites you in the ass...and sometimes those you love. But what's grief if not proof of our love?"

Something she had said. The mother of his anger-filled child.

Satan is a horrible father. The only solace is that he's not as bad as his father.

Asmodeus stood, rubbing the glowing tears from his beak. The soft light lingered on his sleeve, and his other heads hadn't changed. He was sobbing on the inside.

If not for their younger in his arms, Satan would hug him.

"I'll be back," Asmodeus said, a slight tremble in his voice. "We all gotta be together. United. Can't be divided like he wanted us to be."

Their creator had pitted them against each other for amusement. 

It'll always be a fight to go against that. 

"We'll be waiting, Oz," Satan nodded, hoping for the best for his brother and sisters. 

All of their family needed to be united, them and the partners they hadn't earned. Their niece, and if there's any luck left aside for Satan, a place for his aggressive and volatile son. He's so messed up he'd fit right in.

They're a dysfunctional mess, but they're together. 

He watched as Asmodeus said his farewells to his Fizzie, whispering sweet things and in-jokes only the cyborg would understand. Perhaps in another life, that could've been him and the mom of his angry kid.

"I watched my mom die. My sister hates me. My father is a gigantic asshole," Blitz stated, unable to keep his silence. "I don't get it, but I get it. I think."

"Empathy and sympathy are things our creator will never comprehend. The bar's low, but you're already a better man than God."

"Fuck me raw with a cactus, the bar is low. I'm guessing he's why you guys are so messed up?"

"Yup," Satan said. "The levels of monster God truly is is beyond words. Considering what he did to us, we turned out amazingly well." 

Even Lucifer to an extent.

"Since I'm not leaving Fizz's side and his guy's gonna wake up eventually, what's the plan for that? He's a Jenga tower in a storm."

"Food, movies and pillow forts," Satan said, dead serious. "Very relaxing atmosphere, soothing, lots of naps. Anything that doesn't cause an emotional spike." 

"And if he's a dick?"

"You keep your damn mouth shut or I cauterise it. Fizz and I can handle that just fine. He doesn't mean most of what he says."

That's partially a lie.

It's getting awkward to hold him like this. They needed to lay down somewhere.

With Asmodeus gone, Fizz hopped his way back to them. He seemed happier but that could be a facade. The kid's so sweet.

"You given Blitz the rundown on what we aren't doing?" Fizz asked, his little frog eyes glancing at the sleeping Mam for a moment. "He's gonna be pissed."

"Can you make a grilled cheese?" Satan questioned, staring into Blitz's soul.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Good, 'cause as much as Fizz tries, he ain't allowed near a kitchen. Your job is making grilled cheeses while protecting Fizz - it's one of the few things Mam eats."

Getting anything in him is a battle.

"See you when he's up, Sats," Fizz nodded, elbowing Blitz in the ribs. "Mam made me watch this Ring movie thing. I have to show you, it's super cool!"

The curse of Peter Jackson spreads to another poor soul who'll hear the tale of that guy breaking his toe from kicking that damn helmet.

Rolling his eyes, Satan made his way to the little nest they'd made for their youngest sibling. 

He was careful, of course. Regardless of Bel's use of her power, he didn't want to risk it. 

It was a process, wrapping him up so he'd be comfortable in the way he liked. 

Satan lay next to him, ready to be there if anything happened or if he was needed. 

He wanted to hit, shoot or throw something. He couldn't. 

There were very few times he felt helpless. Now was one of them.

Gently, Satan stroked his baby brother's arm, something to comfort himself. As much as Satan yearned to roar into the abyss of the sky, he had to keep it under control. 

He's staying here because his little brother needs him. Even if only one sin rescued Tex, there isn't much a sinner or his son could do against them. Even Mammon could kick his son's ass. 

The fact that Metatron is out there scared him, though. Probably Michael, too. 

Here they are, grounding each other. 

The ancient being cringed when he heard a whimper, and felt a twitch of nervousness in the far younger form. He briefly feared another episode, but it didn't seem to be happening. It must be from all of the distress. 

"I ain't leavin' your side, Zuri," Satan said softly, putting his arm over the smaller sin. "I got ya."

Never did he think his brother would relax at his touch after what he'd done, but Satan was grateful, even if he hadn't earned it.

Love is such a confusing and strange thing.