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Chapter Text

There was a grand and wondrous kingdom in a plain of light. Its streets were paved with gold, its gates were of pearl and its foundations were adorned with every kind of precious stone. In that kingdom were countless souls. Most of them were not born there, but they did earn their place by preserving through the hardships of their earthly lives and resisting the temptations of sin. For them, the grand city was a place of well-earned rest.

Some of the citizens of that grand place were native to it. And even if their number was smaller than that of earthborn, their importance was not. They were angels. Creatures brought into the creation by the will of Heaven. And as such each and every one of them had a purpose. Be it protecting the gates, watching over earthborn or even providing a simple companionship to those who never knew it in their earthly life.

Of course, not all tasks were created equal, and as such there were those who stood above their celestial kin. They were archangels. Their power was vast, but so was their duty to Heaven and to the Almighty himself. They were few, but each and every one had a specific purpose, which could not be fulfilled even by thousands of lesser angels. For example, one governed over The Great Kingdom, while the other was a messenger of God himself.

And among that mighty few one stood above the others.

At the highest point of Heaven, there was a palace so bright and magnificent, that it could outshine the very sun itself. A single corridor of which was vast enough to fit every city of men that ever was and ever will be. Its architecture showed such a deep understanding of fundamental laws of creation that to anyone but the Grand Architect himself it appeared as a divine miracle immortalized in stone.

In that grand palace was an empty throne room and before the entrance to that throne room was kneeling a figure adorned in armors of what appeared to be purest silver. Every part of its body was concealed by metal, for he was a warrior above all else, and just like any other warrior, he had a weapon on his person. It was a sword and it was currently sheathed on his belt. He has been kneeling before that door for millennia. Unmoving and unchanging, he was more like a statue than an angel.

His name was Michael. Many knew him as God’s greatest warrior. In truth, he considered himself merely a sword in the hands of the Almighty. For that very reason he was kneeling before the throne room, patiently awaiting His promised return. For what was a blade without its master?

Of course, he did not spend all this time alone. His siblings would occasionally visit him. It wouldn’t happen often, they had their own duties after all, but whenever it happened it warmed his heart. They would tell stories to him about what happened in Heavenly Kingdom and in Mortal World. Sometimes he would even say something back. Not that he didn’t enjoy the company of his siblings, far from it, it’s just that he was more of a listener than a talker.

After all, blades were not supposed to speak.

But his siblings were not the only ones who visited him. There was another. First Man, but most referred to him by his name rather than by his status. And his name was Adam. He would visit him once a year and tell him stories of his descendants. Sometimes they were of their accomplishments, sometimes of their fallings. Michael rarely had anything to say, but Adam, much like his siblings, understood that it was not because he found the stories to be uninteresting, but because he simply had nothing of value to add. Truth be told, Michael cherished his meetings with Adam as much as he cherished those with other archangels.

Because of that and many other things, he considered Adam to be his first and only friend.

But today something felt off. He could feel the turmoil plaguing the Heavenly Kingdom. He could sense the pain of his sister, Sera. Oh how much pain there was in her heart… and he could feel the dread in the very air. But he did not move, for he felt not a single trace of demonic energy and thus no outside threat to the stability of Grand City. Whatever it was, he believed that his siblings could handle it. After all he was merely a blade, what could he do to amend the ailments of the soul?

And then a single visitor appeared. He expected Adam, for he always visited him on this day every single year. Instead he sensed a lesser soul. Lesser by power and duties, but not by worth, for the archangel every single being in heaven was precious. It was a young cherub. He shifted his attention, without moving his form, to the nascent creature of light. Cherub’s beautiful face was twisted by worry, as he spoke to Michael:

“Lord Taxiarch, I bear terrible news: last extermination was a colossal catastrophe. Exorcists have suffered many losses,” Michael has not moved, he hasn’t even acknowledged cherub’s presence. Messenger’s voice was shaking and his gaze glued to the floor of the palace. “Among those losses is Lord Exorcist himself.”

And in an instant Michael shifted. His movements were too fast to be observed by a young angel’s eye. He stood upright before the cherub and spoke to him a single word, and with sound of his voice the whole palace shook and rumbled:

“Explain”

The deepest part of Hell. For the vast majority of the damned, that was a place known as Sloth Ring, domain of Belphegor. But few knew that Hell went deeper than that. Beneath Sloth, there was a realm where laws of Creation became nothing more than suggestions. Realm of ever twisting energies and matters with no set pattern or reason. One would have described that place as Primordial Chaos. Truth be told, it was more of a veil for something far greater.

Beneath the howling winds, the eternal flames and traitorous waters was a wasteland. The deeper one went into that wasteland the stronger the pull was. At the end of it all was something so vile and wicked, that all mentions of its existence were erased from records of Hell. Even in Heaven only archangels spoke of it in hushed whispers among themselves.

There, at The End of Creation and just before The Cradle of Evil, sat a figure draped in an old raggedy robe. The violent winds, which could have sundered the world into nothingness, gently caressed his visage for he was welcomed in this accursed realm. In his hands were a bow and a stringed musical instrument, whose name was long lost to time.

He was playing a tender lullaby to lessen the nightmares and to enhance the dreams of the one slumbering in The Cradle. He did so not out of some duty imposed by someone else, but out of his own volition and care for the slumbering one. It was the least he could do after all the pain he brought her.

Winds shifted and so did his melody. He listened to the landscape around him. It was a place where things like time and causality held no dominion. Thousands of years ago he witnessed how man walked on the surface of the moon, less than a year ago he once more saw the Tower of Babel collapse under the man’s own hubris. But at this point of time and space he witnessed something unusual.

Winds told him a story. A story of this day and age. Extermination of sinners of the Pride Ring. Angelic blood spilled in the name of a naïve dream. He saw…

His kindly melody ceased.

No…

No, it could not be! No! No! No! No! Not like this! Not at the hands of that accursed bloodline! Have they not destroyed enough!? Was their malice this insatiable?!

Despite his rage, the winds continued their tale. He saw and heard things that led to this. In a span of a few minutes he witnessed by his own eyes half a year's worth of history. And it left him conflicted.  He sat there, while winds returned to their usual frenzied state, and he contemplated what to do. After what felt like eternity, he let go of his instruments and placed them in front of The Cradle. He prostrated himself before The Evil itself and spoke apologetically, yet with care and love:

“I am sorry, Mother; I have matters to attend to. I will return shortly, I promise.”

Evil gave him no answer for it slumbered still. He stood up, turned away from The Cradle and started walking. And so Cain, son of Adam, started his march to Ring of Pride from the deepest pit of Hell.

Chapter Text

Emily faced many challenges throughout her life. She was the youngest of archangels and while her duty as a bringer of joy might have appeared not as grandiose as duties of her older kin, that didn’t mean she faced no hardship in her life. She was there for those who had no one. She welcomed the orphans who would never meet their parents under the light of Heavenly kingdom, soothed worries of those who met nothing but undeserved scorn and prejudice in life and helped those who witnessed and experienced the words humanity had to offer. 

Oh, how her heart still ached for those who went through the great horrors of the twentieth century. 

Yet despite it all, she always managed to perform her duties accordingly. Even if it was sometimes just for a single day, she helped people to forget, to overcome and to be happy again. 

So why did she just stand there, at the door of Sera’s house? Why hasn’t she knocked at the door already? The grief of the older archangel was akin to a bottomless sea and Emily should have been first to notice, and yet she didn’t. Sera was good at hiding her pains, fears and sorrows. The cracks at the dam only started to appear when they first heard of Adam’s death. 

Emily bit her lip, trying to suppress the conflicting emotions inside. Yes, she felt disgusted at the mere idea of extermination and yes, she did support Charlie’s dream, but she never wished harm upon any of the Exorcists, much less on Adam himself. Yet here they were, Adam was dead and Exorcists were reduced to a shadow of themselves. She couldn’t help them, for they saw her as nothing but a traitor and a sympathizer to those who did not deserve. 

The worst part? They still haven’t recovered the bodies of the fallen and, according to the last surviving Exorcists, they never will, for they fought a legion of cannibals. But… but that couldn’t be true. Charlie would never allow such a thing to happen, right? 

The day they heard all of that was one of the worst days of Emily’s life. It was one thing to help someone go through a loss, and another to experience it oneself. She cried her eyes out that day, but Sera… Sera reacted to the report of Exorcists just like she reacted to any other catastrophe that they had displeasure of witnessing. She spoke words of consolation and gave order to care for those who needed it, and through it all she held her usual regal expression. Back then Emily didn’t see anything wrong with Sera. She justified it to herself as older archangel maturity and wisdom shining through even the darkest of times. So Emily just followed her suit, pulled herself together the next morning and returned to her duties as a Joy Bringer. 

Oh, how foolish she was… 

It didn’t take too long for the façade to break. Arrival of Sir Pentious was a truly joyous moment, which gave her hope that maybe, just maybe all their losses were not for naught. After all, redemption was possible! Sinners didn’t have to suffer in Hell until The End of Times! Sin could be rebuked even in the darkest of pits! No one had to die anymore! 

But Sera didn’t see it that way… she just stared at newly redeemed soul, not even looking at him, but through him and then… she just left in the flash of light, retreated to her house and hasn’t left it since. It’s been five days already. There were several others besides Emily, who tried to talk to the governor of Heavenly Kingdom. From her direct underlings to some of her brothers and sisters. No one managed to get a response from Sera, much less get her to open the door.

Emily breathed in and then out. Even if it would end in failure, she had to try her best to help Sera. She was not only the Joy Bringer, but a sister. She had to at least try to do something, even if it felt like Sera didn't want her around right now. So she raised her hand near the door surface to gently knock and then it hit her. For a moment an overwhelming sensation drowned out every sound and every thought. It was like an unseen force had wrapped itself around her, yet she didn’t feel constrained or even threatened. No, it was the opposite. She felt protected from every possible danger in existence. As if she could walk on the surface of the sun without getting burned. This feeling… it was not unfamiliar. She felt it before, when she was only a few days old and two mighty arms held her in her infant form, as if she was the most valuable thing in all of Creation. 

‘Michael…’ 

She concentrated on the source of this feeling, and it didn’t come from the Grand Palace, but from a busy street near the gates to paradise. She used her innate abilities to sense Taxiarch emotions and even if she felt no rage or hatred in his heart, his intent made her pale. In an instant she teleported and found herself in a newly inhabited room. Its resident was sitting at the moment on a comfy looking chair and in his hands was a book. Her sudden appearance startled him, but as he looked at her a genuine smile appeared on his, but before he could properly greet her she rushed to him and grabbed his hands, making him drop the book on his lap. 

“Sir Pentious! I need your help, now! Please!” 

He took just one look at her distress and without saying a single word gave a resolute nod. The room soon got illuminated by a flash of light and they teleported away. Hopefully, just in time to stop the scorching of Hell.

His pace was slow and measured. His every step was deliberate. His motions did not betray his intent. What was soon to happen was not an act of hatred, but of calculated justice. Or so he told himself, while he marched through the streets of Heavenly Kingdom. Its residents paid him no lingering glances, for his form did not betray his station. He appeared as a towering knight in silver armor, his golden halo and wings of fire were purposefully hidden. He had no need for recognition; he was merely an instrument about to perform its purpose. Nothing more, nothing less. 

He neared the Pearly Gates and before his eyes flashed a memory of days long past: Heavenly Kingdom behind him and countless legions of hellborn and sinners in front of him, led none other than by the one he once called brother and his Whore Queen, in his hand was a blade burning with flames of ever brilliant gold and in his mind his singular purpose – to fight in order to protect. Memory faded and his will only hardened. Never again will he allow Heaven to be put at risk by those who dwelled in sin. 

There were no newly arrived at the gate, only Peter, which made his task easier. Hearing his footsteps, apostle turned his head and greeted him with an raised eyebrows and question: 

“Lord Taxiarch?” there was worry in his voice. “Is something wrong?” 

He gave no answer and just walked past the apostle. He felt his anxious eyes on his back. He will give him an explanation once his task is completed. Or at least attempt to. After all, he was never good with words. He marched through the bridge and quickened his step until he was a good deal away from the gates. So far away in fact, that Heavenly Kingdom was but a star on the horizon. The bridge was effectively infinite; one of many wonders of Heaven, but none aside from high ranking angels knew that for no one has ever walked away from paradise. Until today that is. He approached the edge and looked down. There it was, a gaping wound in Creation itself born out of unforgivable betrayal. 

His hand gripped the handle of his sword. He drew it out and it was like he held a golden star in his palm. He spread his wings and returned his halo, finally unmasking his true might. He aimed his sword down and if it weren’t for him actively masking his presence, every single being in that dark pit would’ve felt the true terror of inevitable. If he chose so, Hell would have drowned in despair, but he decided against that, for fear was the weapon of the wicked. 

A flash of light to his side. He did not turn his gaze away from the pit; he already knew who it was, even if they met only once before. How could he forget the day he held her in his arms? Sera and Adam often spoke of her during their visits to him. Sera, who always kept her emotions in check, spoke with joy and pride of her accomplishments. Adam on the other hand sounded annoyed at how overprotected she was by older archangels, yet whenever he spoke of her Michael could see in his old friend the traces of the man he once was. The one who was yet to be burdened by the grim duty of yearly Extermination, the one who was yet to welcome bitterness and hate into his heart, the one who could still sincerely smile at those around him. 

His grip only tightened. He once had a hope that he would see that man once more, but that hope died alongside Adam. 

“Michael, wait!” upon hearing panic in Emily’s voice he did. Hell wouldn’t run away and he had to hear her out, at the very least because she was his sister. “Don’t do this! Redemption is possible! Sinners can ascend into Heavens!” 

If before he listened to her out politeness and sibling love, now he listened because the implications of what she just said were too significant to ignore. He turned his head and only then he noticed a winner standing along with Emily. She was holding by hand, like a mother holding the hand of her scared child, and even though the serpentine soul felt tremendous fear he still stood tall for the sake of Emily and those still left in Hell. 

Michael looked at him, into him and through him. Then he looked at Emily, her desperation clearly evident. She… she really cared for them? Even after what they did to her kin? To Adam? Then again the proof of redemption stood right there before him, so it’s not like he could not understand where she was coming from. Despite how much it displeased him, he had to take that into consideration before performing the deed. 

He returned his gaze into the maw of darkness. 

For the briefest of moments his hand shook ever so slightly, not even Emily could notice it, and then the flames ceased. With them disappeared his halo and wings. He sheathed his blade, eyes not leaving the great wound below. Emily breathed a sigh of relief and so did Pentious. As a redeemed sinner looked at the archangel he couldn’t help but notice just how… unremarkable he looked without the golden flames right now when compared to high seraphim. If he didn’t witness his fire, Pentious would mistake him for a rather tall statue of a knight.

Suddenly two more arrived in a flash of golden light, answering to Michael’s silent call. To Pentious they appeared as a burning spheres tall as an armored archangel, but Emily saw their true form. Burning wheels within wheels within wheels within wheels, covered in eyes and spinning so gently with a low hum of a hymn.

‘Throne Watchers…’ she realized.

“Ask Metatron to share with us his records. Need information of everything which led us to this point,” Michael addressed one of the watchers, and both Emily and Pentious were surprised to hear just how… ordinary he sounded. He has not moved, as he addressed the other high angel. “Take the necessary preparations and venture into the pit to retrieve the bodies of our fallen kin. If he tries to do anything to impede you, summon me immediately.”

They replied to his order with words no man or demon could ever understand and left with a flash of light. Michael turned to them and spoke once more. “Emily,” there was no visible emotion in his voice, “please, make sure the redeemed one feels welcomed.”

And with that he started to walk, not fly, walk back to Heavenly Kingdom. Emily could not help but sent a worried look his way, to which he gave no acknowledgement. And then her thoughts drifted to her other siblings. They all shared a special bond. They all felt him leave the palace. They all sensed his intent and they all knew of redemption.

So why was she the only one who tried to stop him...?

Chapter Text

Leaving the great below was not as hard as entering it. It was like one moment he was marching through wind, edges of his robes weakly dancing on the mad current, and the next moment he found in the middle of a flower field. It took him a moment to realize it. There was no great flash of light, no great gates parting, no obsidian ladder, just… nothing. One moment he was there, the other he is here. 

Well, he decided not to dwell on it. Not like Hell ever made any sense anyway. 

He took in his surroundings. A field full of blooming purple flowers, pinkish sunless sky and general atmosphere of drowsiness… Yep, Sloth, in all its stagnant glory. He saw a mountain in the distance and his mind couldn’t help but remember. This was no ordinary field of flowers. It was here that his descent came to a close so many years ago. It was here, on this very field, where he met in battle his last challengers, Baphomet and Mephistopheles, and vanquished both. 

They were not among the strongest he ever faced, yet by the virtue of being the last they were among those he remembered most vividly. Countless stood on the path of his descent and so countless he slain, yet he felt no pride or joy upon recalling the fact. He did not enjoy the act of killing, no matter what stories hellborn told among themselves, and he hoped that his ascent would not be stained by as much blood. Yet he could not help, but fear that he hoped in vain. 

He continued to march once more, as Sloth tried in vain to make him give in to nonexistent fatigue. He had no eyelids to close, no muscles to feel ache within and no desire to be pulled into the false escape of sleep. As matter of fact, once he burned his body only his skeleton remained, an eternal reminder of his human nature marred only by a pair of horns curling downwards, which marked sin. 

In other words he was a giant horned skeleton. Combined with old ragged robes of dark colors it made him look rather ominous at times. During his descent, some even called him ‘Grim Reaper’, much to his amusement. It felt ironic, considering that he indeed was a farmer once. But truth be told, he never enjoyed the grand titles and monikers. They just felt so… painfully childish at times. 

He much preferred being called by his name, even if it was still synonymous with murderers. 

He marched through the wilderness of Sloth, which was thankfully devoid of hellbeasts. The real danger of this part of hell was flora, which always bloomed in this no matter which season. There was a flower native to this place with an appropriate name – Corpsebloom. Its pollen had a potent effect of putting anyone who inhaled into a deep and endless slumber, in which they perished from lack of sustenance. Said pollen could travel surprisingly long distances, and it was impossible to notice until the effects kicked in. Cain had no idea why that flower had the ability to do something like that. It didn’t aid its reproductive cycle in any way, shape or form, but then again it didn’t really have to. After all this was Hell and things rarely made sense here. 

Thankfully due to his lack of flesh he had nothing to worry about. Plus, he was walking for hours now and he still hasn’t seen a single Corpsebloom. Perhaps the dreaded thing finally died out? That would make sense, considering how long it was since he last walked this land. Then he saw something in the distance and it made him stop. 

There was a great city in the distance and above it were floating islands with varying buildings on them. It wasn’t his first time seeing such a sight, for winds of the abyss showed him many great things, but it was one thing to see it through visions and another to see it in person. And seeing it in person was… underwhelming. But one building caught his attention. It was a spire located in the heart of the city and it was so tall it quite literally was piercing the sky. The fabric of reality around the sky wound was dark gray, reminding him of eternal storms which still rage above the dark and endless sea of Envy. 

‘Must be the thing connecting the rings,’ he figured and then contemplated what to do. On one hand he didn’t have to visit the city and he could traverse to the next ring with on his own two feet, on the other that would take considerably more time than if he were to take a shortcut. Add to that, there was no guarantee that paths he used to descend still existed. After all, despite the best efforts of its supposed rulers, Hell was ever changing. The fact that the field of flowers on which he fought his last battle still existed was nothing short of a miracle. 

He doubted that residents of Sloth would recognize him, much less start a fight. But there was a risk and it involved Belphegor, the ruler of the Sloth Ring. In the days long past, she was Lucifer’s most loyal and zealous warrior. Cain fought her at the start of his descent and still remembered her visage quite well. She had wings dark as night, clad in armor of brightest silver, wielding a blade as tall as she was and wore a helmet adorned with horns. She met him at the gates of Wrath and in her eyes burned the fires of purest hatred. 

Not his strongest opponent, but certainly the most annoying. 

But that all was before Hell’s Uprising. From what he saw in the abyss, Belphegor was last to fall in the battle near Pearly Gates. Whoever struck her down, they did it so hard she fell into the lowest ring and lost all her zealotry and pride. Truth be told, what little glimpses of Belphegor he caught in the abyss throughout the years painted an incredibly sad and pathetic picture. Lucifer’s finest, or at least most fanatical, reduced to a depressed, drug addicted mess who probably wouldn’t even bathe without support and care of Beelzebub. 

Still there was a risk if she were to see him again that she might fight him out of a desire of revenge, but it was so slim he decided to take it and ventured forth into the city. Soon enough he was measuring the strangely empty streets with his steps. He saw some hellborn on his way and they each greeted him with apathetic glances and bored eyes. Truth be told, it was oddly pleasant to see something other than scorn and fear in the eyes of the others. 

He arrived at the entrance to the spire and just like the streets of the city it lacked busy crowds. Not a single soul around, except him of course. He saw a booth and approached it. Behind a glass sat sleeping a pudgy satyr with his face planted firmly into a table. Cain tapped the glass. Nothing. He tapped some more and louder. Satyr just started snoring louder, as if to drown out the sinner on the other side. Cain considered just smashing the window outright, before deciding that it wasn’t worth his time. So, he passed the booth and entered the spire. 

A long corridor with gilded doors on each side has greeted him. He went for the nearest one and noted a button on the wall near the strange metallic door. He has seen this before in one of his visions. A wonderful invention of mankind, a room that could traverse up and down… ‘Elevator’ it was called he thinks, as his boney finger presses the button on the wall and sure enough the gilded door parts before him. 

Hesitantly he enters it and finds himself in a chamber the size of a closet. The door closes behind him and he shifts his attention to a panel inside on which were two more buttons labeled ‘Sloth’ and ‘Envy’ respectively. He presses the one which should lead him closer to his destination and as expected he feels the room move upwards. Well, that was easier than he thought, but he could not help but wonder whether he could avoid the ruler of Envy or not. 

Knowing all the bad blood between the men and the beasts of old, the possibility of facing Leviathan in another fight was all but guaranteed, even if the outcome was already obvious. Oh, well, third time’s the charm they say. Perhaps the old snake will finally learn his lesson.

He occupied an empty room in the palace. He sat on a table and in front of him was orb, through which he saw all that occurred in the past seven months. What he saw left him with more questions than answers and all of them were centered on one person – Lucifer’s daughter. He saw her trying desperately to convince Adam with her idea of a… redemption hotel, of all things. He saw her interact, laugh and talk with Emily. He saw her in the court, glaring at Sera in anger. He saw her fight during the last extermination and… 

His hand tightened into fist 

…and through it all she was… earnest, completely and utterly. She, daughter of Lucifer and Lilith, did all of this for the idea of redemption. Even then, it would’ve been so easy to dismiss it all and storm down into the pit to burn it all down in holy flames, were it not for a soul redeemed. First soul in ten thousand years that managed to claw its way out of the pit and redeem itself. All thanks to Lucifer’s daughter whose hands were now forever stained with the blood of their kin and of the first of men. 

He leaned back in his chair, dispelling the orb. For the first time since he was created, Michael felt lost. What was he even supposed to do here? Well, considering his God given purpose, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to return back to his post and await council’s decision. Yet he had a feeling that his siblings were not doing much better. His thought went to his kin and he saw visions: 

Emily was leading the redeemed one by hand through the Heavenly Kingdom, showing him all it had to offer. Underneath her smile were growing dread and uncertainty, and with them grief and great feeling of loss. Yet she pushed them away to perform her duty as a Joy Bringer. 

A blue comet was flying through the rings of Jupiter at speeds unimaginable to men and most angels alike. It was Gabriel, the Messenger. As she was cutting through the void, her face was twisted in anger and she was screaming in anguish. Tears were forming at the edges of her eyes, yet the speed of her flight kept her from breaking down. That was until she hit the surface of Europa, causing an explosion which could’ve leveled a metropolis to a ground. Yet she remained physically unharmed. She sat there, at the center of a crater, her hands wrapped around her knees and her wings around her body and her tears now flowing freely, as she mourned the death of her dear friend. 

A figure whose body was hidden in the layers of fabric, underneath which were layers upon layers of bandages, beneath which were countless wounds, which he bore for the sake of those who needed it. In his own words: “No kindness can be born from one who knows no pain”. That was Raphael, he was tending to one of many wounded exorcists. Taking her pain unto himself, he healed her wounds right before her eyes, leaving not even scar tissue behind. Michael could see how tired his brother was, for he had many more yet to tend today and even more to help tomorrow. 

A giant sat alone at the center of the Grand Archive. A light shone from above upon him, as he held in his hands another record of the days past. He was known as Enoch once, but he was personally chosen by the Lord to stand among archangels as Metatron. He was the record keeper of Heaven. He was the Lord’s Scribe. The one who was supposed to be among the wisest, yet even he was lost at the current situation, his desperate eyes turning to the days long past in hopes of finding an answer. 

Ever vigilant Uriel, the third oldest archangel, stood tall in his chamber devoid of any commodities. His singular eye staring into the distance, a pale light illuminating through his bronze mask. It was not heaven which he was observing and despite the lack of facial features, Michael could feel how troubled his brother was. He wondered whether it was because of recent events, or if Uriel was seeing something which they could not. 

He then saw Jophiel in a room of someone else, cradling to her chest a crying exorcist. Archangel of beauty, love and wisdom was gently caressing the silver locks of the exorcist. Her actions are motherly and full of compassion. Michael recognized the exorcist as Adam’s lieutenant, Lute, and cut the vision short. He had no desire to intrude on something like this. 

Then he turned his attention to Sera and once he saw the vision he stood from his seat and walked away from the room, determined to do his duty. But not as Lord’s Blade, but as an older brother.

Seraphiel’s home was a simple two storey building located on one of the higher levels of Heavenly Kingdom. Aside from the fact it was scaled to be big enough to accommodate her stature, it was strikingly similar to the other houses situated on the same street, most of which were populated by earthborn. Sera always was close to mankind, that much was obvious when he first saw her greet Adam in the garden of Eden. 

He pushed away the memory of better days, he wasn’t here to reminisce. He knocked at the door thrice and waited. No reply came, which was expected. Still he had to do it to let her know he was coming. Despite the way how ordinary her home looked, it was protected by a myriad of spells, which ensured that no one could enter her house physically or by the means of teleportation. That didn’t mean the spells couldn’t be lifted. 

With a simple gesture of his hand he dispelled protective charms and with the other hand he turned the handle and opened the door. He soon found himself in a hallway, walls of which were covered by minimalist wallpapers, paintings of nature and pictures forever immortalizing Sera’s most precious moments. As he passed them, he couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on some of them. 

All of them were of archangels, showing widely different events from Gabriel playing a bass guitar to Emily first soaring the skies on her own. Yet one caught his attention so strongly he stopped in the middle of the corridor just to look at it more. On it was Sera and on her knees sat toddler Emily, on their left stood Gabriel, Jophiel and Uriel, on the right were Adam and Metatron. They were… smiling and Michael’s heart ached at realization of how much he was missing all these years. He stood there a little longer, committing the painting to his memory and engraving every single detail under his heart and when he was done he continued to walk. 

He ascended to the second floor and heard what sounded like a… muffled guitar solo through one of the closed doors. He approached it and then gently pushed it open and, despite the fact that he already saw her current condition, he froze. There she was, Seraphiel, The High Governor of Heavenly Kingdom, the archangel respected by everyone for her wisdom and regality. She was sitting on the floor of her room, her back against her archangel sized bed, on the floor around her were scattered empty wine bottles. Gone were the dress befitting a queen, in its place were an old baggy ‘Ramones’ T-shirt and sweatpants. Her eyes were red and puffy and the only reason she wasn’t crying now it seems was that she ran out of tears. 

He never saw her this tired, this broke, this… defeated. Their eyes met and he just stood there, unable to say anything. She stood up and addresses him, and judging by her tone she was somewhat drunk: 

“I was wondering when will you come,” she waved her hand and the music stopped. “Gimme a moment,” she said and summoned a half-empty bottle of wine, then took a swing and emptied it in one go. Afterwards she let go off and it fell on the ground with a hollow sound. “Well,” she spread her arms, as if welcoming him, “do your deed. Strike me down.” 

“What…?” he finally managed to reply. 

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know,” she replied. “We both know you would never bother to come here if you didn’t know. Oh, wait! I get it,” a mocking and joyless smile appeared on her face, so unlike her. “You want a confession, don’t you? Well, say less, brother! Now where do I even start…”she tapped the side of her cheek, as if she was really wondering. 

“Let’s start with the fact that the last extermination was a complete and utter failure,” she said, her tone intensifying with each word until it became a scream. “Turns out angelic steel can hurt us too and I, in my infinite negligence, never bothered to check and now because of it around six hundred exorcists are dead, heaven and earthborn alike. And among the dead is the one we were supposed to protect, the one we helped to nurture in Eden. Adam is dead, Michael! And it’s all my fault!” 

“Not only that…” shame and quilt overtook her as he lowered her gaze, unable to meet his stare. “Not only that, but it was pointless. Souls can be redeemed from hell, I saw it with my own eyes, Michael. Exterminations were pointless. It all never had to happen. The exorcists never had to die. I never had to put Adam on this path of self-destruction and misery. And the worst of all…” She let out a painful and joyless laugh. “I had a chance to stop it. Lucifer’s brat came not too long ago into Heaven and she spoke of redemption and salvation and I turned her down. Emily… Emily took her side and so did half of the court and yet I still remained stuck in my ways and look where it got us…” 

She would’ve continued her confession, if it wasn’t for Michael, who interrupted her, with his tone absolute in its conviction: 

“It’s not your fault.” 

She looked at him as if he just proposed to go against Almighty, yet behind the bafflement was fear. “Michael…”  her voice trembled. “ Didn’t you hear…?” 

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated as he took the first step towards her. 

“You…” she closed her eyes and trembled. Anger overtook her, and she looked at him again and screamed. “…idiot! You deaf imbecile! Stop with this nonsense and do your duty! Strike me down! Do it!”

Instead he lunged at her and embraced her in his arms. She struggled against him, desperately trying to push him away, while tossing all manner of curses and insults his way, yet he remained the same and kept saying that she was not at fault. It continued until her anger faded. Once more she broke into sobs, while muttering countless ‘I’m sorry’s, yet Michael held her still. 

Then she hugged him back and soon after fell into a sleep for the first time in days. That was the first hug the siblings ever shared and both only wished it could have happened under better circumstances.

Chapter Text

In the deepest and darkest pit of hell, where all things sought to converge and become undone, slumbered something unbelievably ancient and in its slumber and it dreamt. It saw many things. Terrible, terrible things. Cities engulfed in flames of hatred, entire fields paved with bodies of the dead, oceans of boiling blood, cosmos devoid of stars. It saw that and so much more that could not be put into words. Yet the worst visions were not of the future, but of the past.

In them it had just enough lucidity to remember what, or rather who it once was. It… no, she was having one of those dreams at this very moment.

In her restless dreams, she sees the place she once called home… Eden. Oh, Eden… bright and peaceful garden, where men and beast roamed in harmony, where she never knew pain and suffering, where her days were filled with nothing but happiness and joy, where…

Where he used to look at her with boundless love and adoration in his golden eyes.

Eden… even after all the pain she brought him, he still made a promise to take her there someday, but he never did. Not for the fault on his part, but due actions entirely of her own and now she’s alone there, in the imitation birthed from memory, waiting for him. Waiting for him to come and see her.

Yet it was all in vain.

And so she laid there in a pool of her own blood and pus. The trees were dead, never to again grace her with their fruit. The grass around her has long lost its ever vibrant green, never again to soften her step. The skies were hidden by lead gray clouds, to never let the sun warm her ashen gray skin and to never let her ever again look at the stars with wonder. The air was cold and the wind bit against her bare form, depriving her from any form of comfort or respite. Animals of Eden were gone, to forever condemn her to her loneliness.

She laid there, her body covered in countless wounds she herself inflicted on the way here. Some to attain penance, some in vain hope to escape. She bled, she rotted and she ached, yet all she could do is regret, for it all was her fault. It was her who betrayed their unity, it was her who accepted the forbidden fruit, it was her who held her sin in secret until the day she perished from the mortal world, and it was her who never sought forgiveness, even when in her heart of hearts she knew of her sin and detested herself for shifting the blame away unto others.

This torment was of her own creation. Yet even now she dared to hope. To see him again just one more time, just for a few moments, so she could confess and ask for forgiveness, just like he did in the past. To feel his hands envelope her once more and to feel his warmth for one last time.

‘Adam… Don’t leave me… Please…’

In the deepest and darkest part of hell, Evil slept and in its slumber it remained ignorant of the fact they would never meet. Perhaps that was for the better. At least she could still hope.

She woke up without a headache, yet in an unusual state of daze. It took a moment to remember the events of the past few days, yet when she finally regained her memory, she felt her innards collapse. She changed into a sitting position and just stared into the distance, trying to process all of what occurred in the last week or so. She and Michael shared their first hug, Michael left the palace for the first time in millennia, the sinner got redeemed and Adam…

She closed her eyes, as her hands turned into fists. Tears were forming again, but she managed to hold them in, for now. She couldn’t waste time right now; she had to talk with Michael. She focused her inner melody to attune herself to his being and to her surprise she felt his presence in her home, meaning he has stayed in her house through the night.

Sera looked at her own fists resting on her thighs, just trying to make sense of it all. That was a fruitless endeavor , so all she could do was sigh and stand up from her bed. It was useless to waste time, so she left her room and descended to the first floor to talk with Michael. He was waiting for her in the kitchen.

Still in armor, he was seated behind the kitchen table. He greeted her with a silent glance and she sat on the other side of the table. She casted her eyes down to the table, covered by white tablecloth. They both stayed quiet for some time, waiting for each other to start. Eventually Sera decided to speak, even if her voice was timid and unsure:

“Michael, about yesterday…”

Her brother’s words, however, were much more absolute:

“I stand by my every word.” His eyes were firmly on her, yet she felt neither scorn nor scrutiny.

“I know,” Sera half-whispered, “but that doesn’t pardon my crimes, brother. Even if in ignorance, I have permitted a great evil that cannot be undone.”

“Have you, sister?” Michael asked. “Has not Hell attempted conquest against us? Have they not invaded the mortal world, endangering Father’s Grand Design? Do you think that if we just left them alone they would have simply given up on their insatiable ambition?”

There was another period of silence, which ended once Seraphiel ended with a tired sigh and an admission:

“No. As much as my heart wants to believe otherwise, I just can’t imagine them ever forsaking their pride and entitlement…” she then finally looked at him, “but the redemption… How can I now ignore it, Michael? How can I think of what we did as necessary, when it was possible all this time?”

“I am not asking you to ignore that, dearest sister. None of us can. Not even Gabriel, despite how much she might want to. All I ask of you is to remember that it took ten thousand years for a single soul to ascend, Sera,” he replied, his voice resolute. “Before that, no one in Creation knew it was possible. For all we know it might have become possible only recently. There still too much we don’t know about the Divine Judgment to make any solid claims. Not only that, but after all the crimes they have committed against Creation we couldn’t afford to be charitable. Not at the cost of Earth and Heaven. Even now we can’t just forget what they’ve done against our kin and how they’ve led Adam down the path of hatred and misery.”

Sera sighed. Micahel was right. Exterminations were done for a reason, to never allow Hell to grow enough in power to endanger Heaven ever again. Yet the weight of recent revelations was still heavy on her soul, along with the losses Heaven suffered on her orders. Not to mention the civil unrest brewing after the court hearing. The reveal of extermination split the populace in two. They still haven’t broken the news of the last extermination failing, but there was no doubt that the conflict would only escalate. Not to mention, Hell now possessed weapons capable of harming angelic beings. It seems like no matter what they chose to do it would only escalate the situation.

She was lost at the crossroads, so she did the only reasonable thing: asked her older brother for directions:

“What do we do now?”

“You – rest,” he answered without thinking. “I, along with our brothers and sisters, will handle it.”

“What?” she asked in surprise. “But, Michael, I am the one responsible for it all! Not to mention it falls directly under my responsibilities! You can’t just order me away from it!”

She had to make up for what she did. She had to help. She just had to.

“You are not the one at fault, I already told you that,” he reminded and then agreed with her. “Yes, statesmanship and governing falls under your jurisdiction, but you’ve been shouldering the burden of leading for far too long.”

She expected to hear many things, but this was not one of them.

“What do you mean…?”

“Sera… “ it was his turn to look away and sound unsure, “I… I’ve been neglecting you. All of you. I’ve spent the last few millennia in the palace, away from those dear to me. I’ve missed so much… so many precious moments have passed without my presence and so many hardships have I forced you to endure alone with my absence.”

“But you were there,” she argued. “You were with all of us, when we were at our lowest, Michael.”

“And only then,” he said. “I was there when you needed a sword and shield, but never when you needed a brother or a friend. I wasn’t there to witness and remedy your struggles in time. I wasn’t there when you needed support. I wasn’t there when you were hurting…”

“Michael…”

“And I… don’t want it to be that way anymore,” he looked at her. “From this point onward, I will be with you through thick and thin. If any of you ever hurt, doubt or stumble, I’ll be there. I promise. That’s why I want you to rest. I don’t order you to do so as Taxiarch, but ask you as a brother, Sera. You’ve been carrying this burden alone for far too long, now I ask you to let me carry it for you. Not for the rest of time, of course. Whenever you feel renewed and ready, I will gladly welcome you into fray and we will carry this burden together. Not as Taxiarch and Governor, but as brother and sister.”

“Michael, I…” she was touched. Truly, she felt appreciated and supported, but why was it so hard to express it through words? “I don’t know what to say…” she admitted.

He stood up and spread his hands, inviting her for their second ever hug. She didn’t make him wait for too long, as in the next moment her arms were wrapped around him and they held each other in content silence. It was a small and fleeting moment before the coming days of grief and hardship, but the one they would hold onto for the ages to come.

As the two archangels were catching up, a single being took its final preparations before descending into Hell. It was old, not as old as archangels, but old enough to remember The Garden of Eden. It witnessed so many things that it couldn’t be put into a thousand books. Its true form could not be perceived by the human soul and even some of the younger angels found it hard to grasp the intricacies of its being.

For it was a Throne Watcher. An angelic being whose only purpose was to oversee the sanctity of the palace. It did not have a name, for it was not supposed to involve itself into mortal affairs. Very few ever saw it in person and only the Taxiarch held any authority over it.

And now, as it began to descend into the pit, its chant of holy hymn praising Heaven and God began to grow in fury and passion, for it was well aware of what had transpired against his kin and the First Man. Soon the heathens and the vile will tremble in fear and hide their wretched selfs away in shadows, for it will soon remind them what it truly meant to anger Heaven.

Chapter Text

Charlotte Morningstar was many things. Princess of Hell, heiress to the Throne of Pride, daughter of the most reviled beings in Creation and, most of all, a dreamer. Despite being raised in the worst place imaginable, she had something that very few still possessed in Hell – a faith in man’s better nature. It was that faith from which was born her dream of redemption. Unfortunately, for the longest time people have looked at her dream as nothing more than childish delusion. Most looked at her with scrutiny, few with pity and none with faith. That was until very recently of course.

Past half a year has been… eventful. She opened her hotel, had her first guest, met the Bane of Hell, had her second guest soon after, reconciled with her father, went to heaven and then fought for her dream. Literally. And all along the way she made so many memories with her newfound friends. Hazbin Hotel started as a bunch of misfits that barely tolerated each other and in a span of six months through hardships and rare moments of kindness and vulnerability they became almost like a family.

That made the loss they suffered in the fight against Exorcists all the more painful. Sir Pentious was a peculiar soul. One of the oldest sinners, yet seen by his kind as nothing more than a laughing stock. Brilliant mind held back by self-doubt and loneliness. Desire to conquer all of hell, yet not of sense of ambition, but just to be seen, heard and respected. He was a strange fellow indeed, yet for her he fought and perished. All because she was the first to ever to offer him an opened hand with nothing but a smile on her face and kindness in her heart.

Yet it was not only Pentious that she mourned.

Despite everything, from his sadism and hate towards all of demonkind to his general unpleasantness and inflated sense of self-importance, she could not help but feel sad for the way things turned out with Adam. Yes, he was a pig, a bastard and a murderer, but she could not help but wonder…

What exactly made him that way? Not a single being was born evil, not a single person could decide to participate in something like extermination on a whim so what shaped Adam into the man they faced in battle? Add to that he did make it to Heaven, not only that, but he was the first to do so and she could not help, but think about what it meant for her and her dream. Was he the way he was by the time he made it to the Pearly Gates or had he lost what made him worthy of Heaven somewhere on the road that led to today?

She heard a knock and then a creak. Turning her head, she saw Vaggie halfway behind an ajar door, concern visible on her face. “Charlie,” she spoke to her, “is everything alright?”

“Oh,” it took her a moment to register a question and then a moment more to process it, “yeah,” she said halfheartedly, turning back to her table covered in paper, crayon and general disorder. “Just working on new pamphlets. You know, since we’ve rebuilt the hotel, I figured we might try advertising again…”

She heard a few steps and how the door closed. There was a sigh and then a question:

“Charlie, can we talk?”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” she said a bit too fast, while turning her chair to face Vaggie. “What’s on your mind?”

Without a word Vaggie went to their bed and sat on it, then she patted a place beside her and Charlie understood it completely. Very soon, she was seating on the bed beside her and it was then when Vaggie said:

“Charlie, I noticed that the past few days you’ve been… distant, quiet. And it’s so unlike you. I know you're grieving Pentious, we all are, but you’ve been avoiding everyone and...” she paused, having no idea how to conclude, so she just said how it was. “You know, you can talk to me, right? I love you, hon.”

“I know, it’s just…” she looked to the side, unable to look her in the eye. “Do you think it had to be this way?”

“Charlie,” she said, her tone understanding and calming, “they gave us no choice. There’s no peaceful solution when it comes to Adam. Trust me, I’ve been by his side long enough to know that he’d rather tear out his own wings than be talked down.”

“Was he really that bad…?” she asked, hoping that her girlfriend would be able to answer at least some of her questions regarding the first man.

Vaggie didn’t reply immediately, but when she finally did her voice was full of confidence, as if what she was saying was written into the fabric of Creation along with fundamental laws of physics. “Trust me, underneath all of his posturing there is just a spiteful man so full of himself he might as well take your dad’s position as king of Pride.”

It didn’t take a genius to notice that Vaggie was speaking with some level of bias, to put it lightly. Charlie sighed.

“I don’t know. I still feel bad for him, even after everything he did.”

“That's because you are a good person, Charlie,” came a quick reply, as her girlfriend placed her hand on her shoulder. “If he were in your shoes, he would’ve laughed about the whole thing.”

‘But why?’ She wanted to ask, knowing all too well that it would get her nowhere, but she never got the chance, because she heard a voice of her father coming from afar, and it was full of worry only a parent seeing their child in danger could feel.

“CHARLIE!”

In the next moment, she and Vaggie were already sprinting through corridors of the rebuilt hotel. In less than two minutes they were in the entry hall, along with everyone else who was currently in the building. They all were greeted by the sight of panicked Lucifer. It was a surreal ordeal for everyone, but especially for Charlie. Yes, she’s seen her father sad, tired and sometimes lost, but never fearful. Just from taking that one look at him she knew with her heart that something was terribly wrong.

“Dad, what’s going on?”

Before he could reply, she felt it. A song reverberated through the debts of her soul. A glorious hymn praising the beauty of the world and magnificence of its Creator. It was haunting yet so wonderful. A part of her desired to break into song and sing along to the words long forgotten by humankind. However, everyone around her didn’t share her enthusiasm.

All as one, sinners around her screamed and groaned, grasping their heads. Unlike Charlie, they did not hear a symphony produced by a single voice of a devoted servant, but thousands of thousands of voices launching accusations and furious tirades in every tongue that ever was and ever will be. It felt like their whole being was stripped bare before some unseen prosecutor and judged by a jury composed of all whom they ever wronged. Even Alastor could barely keep up a forced smile in the face of this pain.

Vaggie’s wings shot up, her single eye widened in horror and she grasped Charlie’s hand like a lifeline. She did not feel pain, for even in her current state she was daughter of Heaven, yet she recognized the song, despite never hearing it before. And with her very soul she knew that it spelled trouble for all of Hell.

Lucifer’s reaction was a mix between Vaggie’s and sinners’. He clenched the side of his head with one hand, trying to calm the rising ache within his skull and rein in his treacherously anxious heart. He knew that song well and knew exactly who it meant to represent, yet even now he could barely believe it. There were very few of them, somewhere around fifty, and they never left the palace, not even when his armies marched to the Pearly Gates.

“Dad, what’s happening!?” asked Charlie as she rushed to her friends, trying to discern what was inflicting such pain upon them.

“Charlie, stay here!” he said, turning to the exit with the intent of dealing with this problem. “I placed protective barriers around the hotel, so no matter what you hear, don't leave this room! I will handle it!”

“Dad, wait!” she exclaimed. Whatever the source of it all was, it was causing great harm on those who she cherished. Not only that, but this unknown enemy managed to scare her dad, who was also the strongest being she knew. She couldn’t let him face whatever it was alone. She just couldn’t.

But before her dad could reply, the same thing whose song pierced the entirety of Pride, sent a vision meant to be seen only by the Morningstars. In an instant Charlie found herself in a place unlike anything she ever encountered in Hell. No, the scenery she found herself surrounded by was like those pictures of uninhabitable planets she saw in her books, when she was still studying the world through texts under the caring gaze of her mother.

Above she saw the distant stars and the cold darkness that surrounded them and below was only wasteland that will never see any form of life, however resilient or miniscule. She also saw her own shadow and it was so long it seemed like it stretched to the horizon and farther still. She turned, expecting to see a star of some kind.

Instead she saw a fire.

Firestorm was passing through the very cosmos, stretching through darkness almost like a great nebula. It was impossibly far away, yet it was moving with speeds which mankind will never even dream of replicating. It crossed the distance between the star systems in seconds, its fire spreading like tendrils of a terrible beast, yet there was undeniable majesty in its golden flame. It was as if the whole thing was alive. As a matter of fact, as she gazed into the golden firestorm, she could swear that there was something forming within the swirling flame. Countless eyes formed on the body of the great beast and all of them were looking back at her, silently judging, and then…

The vision ceased.

When she returned back to the hotel, for a second she forgot about everything. About the song, about the sinner and even about the terrified Vaggie. All she saw in that moment was the pale form of her father, face twisted in unmistakable horror, as he uttered a single name:

“Michael…”

A single Throne Watcher was floating above the kingdom of impure and unclean. Its chant never-ending and all reaching. Below it, huddled in their fragile shelters were sinners twisted in paralyzing agony. For the righteous its song was akin to a lullaby, forever praising the Lord and His glorious Creation, but for those below this very sound was a cacophony of shouts and accusations uttered in every tongue of man, for its song was an antithesis to their very being.

It sent a warning to the traitor and his spawn. A simple vision of Taxiarch conveyed the message better than any combination of words ever could. Its watchful eyes began to search, as its body of wheels and fire was suspended in the air. Soon it sensed faint traces of holy energies coming from the den of cannibals. It started to move with no haste or urgency.

Few moments later it was above the district, whose pristine streets and cozy looking homes hid the decadent parasites, nature of which was akin to maggots feasting on a rotting corpse. Yet they hid it behind the roles, mimicking close-knit communities of Earth, but despite all their efforts and posturing, a lie will remain a lie. They were no family, no tribe and no nation. All that united them were their vice and the vision of an overlord, to whose will they were bound to by their very souls.

It focused on the many sources of holy energies scattered throughout Cannibal Town and it saw its kin… Exorcists – angelic beings, that despite their chosen path were never supposed to know pain and suffering. They all had dreams and aspirations. Most of them had loved ones praying for their safe return. All of them had other aims and desires in life besides their duty as an exorcist. Among them were gardeners, scribes, teachers, architects and farmers and now…

They were nothing but butchered meat, stored in freezers, later to be consumed by maggots masquerading at being human.

Anger griped its core. It desired nothing more than to see this den of worthless parasites be reduced to smoldering ashes, but its purpose remained clear. Besides, vengeance was not its for the taking. Still it could and would send a message. It concentrated on the nearest building housing the remains of its fallen sister. In the same building were four cannibals. One playing the role of the father, one of a mother and remaining two resembled children. Once again, nothing more than roles to be played.

In an instant, a pillar of pure light consumed the entire building, safely transporting the remains back to Heaven while the rest burned in the holy light. Soon it disappeared, leaving behind nothing but ashes and four bodies burned to a crisp. They were still alive, of course. It will not deny vengeance to still living exorcists. But now the cannibals were stripped of their roles, leaving behind their true selves. Where there once a picturesque family of four were now three men and a woman sharing no resemblance whatsoever. As a matter of fact, ‘kids’ were now older than the ‘parents’.

It moved its attention to the next remains and another building was consumed by the pillar of light. In the next second, the number of pillars became six. A second more, and there were twenty of them. Five seconds later, there was not a single street left untouched by divine destruction. From a distance it looked like a forest of gigantic golden trees erupted all at once in Cannibal Town.

But then pillars of light disappeared, leaving behind nothing but desolation. Cannibal Town was reduced to a handful of buildings standing amidst an ashen plain in which sporadically could be found blackened bodies of still living parasites. It looked almost melancholic in a way.

It gave one last look, like a craftsman admiring his own masterpiece. Its task was completed and a message was sent. It began to ascend back into Heavens, away from the Pit and as it left, sinners of Pride were freed from the paralyzing pain. Thousands of eyes shot upwards, gazing into the source of their suffering. The number of sinners which were not surprised to see just a single angel could be counted on digits of a single hand. However, soon surprise turned into horror all thanks to a simple realization.

If a single angel was capable of that, what would happen when an entire army of them would descend to avenge their fallen kin?

Chapter Text

The ride to Envy wasn’t quick, but it was quicker than if he were to go there on foot. Riding an elevator was a… comfortable experience, even if it was somewhat boring. During the ride he kept thinking about what was about to happen. He and Leviathan shared a long and unpleasant history. As a matter of fact, when they first met, father was still a mortal. Their second meeting occurred in Hell, they didn’t share any words back then. They only fought and their fight ended with Leviathan’s guts spilled on the ground.

The elevator stopped and Cain braced himself for the worst. The doors parted and he was met by a squad of imps and hellhounds, all armed to the teeth, led by a member of Goetia whose form resembled a hybrid of a crow and a man. Twenty gun barrels became pointed in his direction. Hellhounds and imps were all clad in armor, heads hidden by helmets, while a crow-like demon wore a regal looking suit and bore no arms on his(or her, he could never tell these damn birds apart) person.

Cain took a look at weapons wielded by demons. Those were not regular arms, like those that circulated in the pride ring, no. Those were very expensive high caliber automatic rifles, manufactured in the finest factories of Greed. Their magazines were loaded with bullets made from angelic steel, at least that’s what Cain thought to himself. For it would be pointless to have these fine weapons be loaded with something that couldn’t harm him.

Then again it didn’t matter from what material the projectile was made. It’s not like the velocity would be great enough to meet the intended target.

He stepped out of the elevator and, thankfully, no one was twitchy enough to pull the trigger. The Goetia stepped forward, gave a small bow and greeted him:

“Welcome, honored guest,” she said, her voice full of aristocratic dignity and her cadence like a gentle melody. “I am Gemory, exiled daughter of house Zagan and humble servant of the Great Tyrant Leviathan. I am here on orders of my master to escort you directly to him. Thus I implore you to subdue your murderous intent and let me lead you to your destination.”

Huh, so the serpent wanted to see him. He took a closer look at Gemory. Her voice, her posture, her general appearance and the soft glow of her yellow eyes all indicated one simple thing. She was young. Not only that, but he was inexperienced in the matters of violence. Warriors had certain qualities in them that could not be hidden by luxurious clothing and high class manners and the demoness before him lacked these qualities completely.

Plus, he fought Leviathan, so the old beast knew firsthand that it would take a lot more than a squad of hellborn led by a pompous aristocrat to take him out. Well, whatever game the old snake was playing he will play along. For now.

“Alright,” his voice hoarse from millennia of being unused. “Take me to the serpentine glutton.”

The guards somewhat relaxed even if they didn’t lower their weapons, while Gemory smiled and the dim light of her eyes seemed to brighten with merry. “You made the most wise decision, dear guest!” Then she frowned. “Although I would appreciate it if you were to restrain yourself from comparing my illustrious lord to Queen of Gluttony.”

“Just cut the talk and take me to him already.”

“Very well,” she nodded and then addressed the guards and her collected tone showed a measured disgust that only an aristocrat was capable of conveying. “Land rats! You are free to return to your stations. I shall handle the rest from there.”

They nodded in unison and hurried away from the hall. Soon it was just him and crow-demon. She took steps and extended her hand. He mentally prepared himself for what was about to happen and took her hand. In the next moment, green fire enveloped them both, yet it did not burn them. And then…

Instead of some throne room, Cain found himself on a sidewalk of a busy street. Tall building surrounded him and cars passed to his right. Fishlike demons walked around him, minding their business as if no one just teleported near them in a flash of green flames. Cain looked up, expecting to see the eternal storm of Envy, but instead he saw a glass dome, on the side of which was an ocean populated by enormous deep sea creatures, whose bioluminescence lit the artificial skies like countless night stars and distant galaxies. He couldn’t help, but ask aloud with a quiet wonder:

“Where are we…?”

“In the greatest city in all of Hell, honored guest,” replied Gemory with her voice full of grandiose showmanship, as she walked forward and turned to him, parting her hands to gesture at all the marvel around them. “Welcome to the capital of Envy! New Atlantis!”

“I thought you would take me to Leviathan.”

“And I will!” she nodded, turned again and started walking. Cain, already preparing himself for something unpleasant, followed. He expected a relatively short and quiet walk through a busy city, populated by descendants of Leviathan. Speaking of, he saw only said descendants, not a single hellhound or imp in sight. Not only that, but not a single demon looked his way. Adding to the growing list of oddities, the city seemed… clean. Not a single speck of dirt or misplaced trash on the streets. And the same cleanliness could be seen in the inhabitants of the city, everyone looked like they were on their way to some important event. The way they moved, talked and even stood idly by… it all looked too perfect, almost staged.

Before he could think about it any further, Gemory spoke:

“The great city of New Atlantis traces its rich and wonderful history back to three thousand years ago, when The Great Tyrant Leviathan realized that he and his kind were worthy not of just any city, but of the greatest city that can be built. Not only that, but The Great Tyrant grew to resent the land rats after their countless crimes against His Majesty, thus he decided that the capital should be built in a place accessible only to him and his countless young…”

“Land rats…?” he asked at the same time wondering why she decided to give him a history lesson all of sudden. A history lesson he had no need for. After all, the winds of the Abyss already told him all he needed to know about Hell and those who populated it.

“Yes, honored guest,” she nodded, “Land rats. This is how the common man of Envy refers to those hailing from other circles. Some, mostly those living on the land, view it as derogatory. I, just like any other educated person, think it’s well earned.”

“Wait, you are Goetia,” he said, “aren’t you a land rat too?”

“The term would be ‘feathered rat’ in my case, dear guest,” she corrected him, her voice devoid of any notion of offense. “And no, I am not among the rats.”

“How so?”

“Because,” she turned around and puffed her chest and her waistcoat was something that looked like a medal, depicting a great serpent coiling itself around a planet, meanwhile her voice was filled with pride, “I, through my achievements and loyal service, have earned a place in the court of our Benevolent Tyrant, thus I am no mere rat. I am Gemory, loyal servant and faithful follower!”

Cain replied with a silent and somewhat uncomfortable stare. Goetia were known for their hubris and disdain for other races of Hell, whom they perceived as lesser. Gemory meanwhile spoke of Leviathan in the same tone one would speak of God, which wouldn’t be all that unusual if it weren’t for the absolute sincerity of her adoration. Thankfully, she didn’t notice how he looked at her, mostly because he had no proper face to judge his emotion by, so she just continued talking:

“Anyway, where was I? Ah, right, so The Great Tyrant decided to build his magnum opus at the bottom of the Black Sea of Envy, where his kind would thrive and so…”

The rest of the road was spent with Gemory going on and on about how majestic Leviathan was. Oh how wise were his decisions, how glorious were his victories and how just was his rule. And honestly? He wouldn’t be surprised if she had a little personal shrine somewhere in her house dedicated fully to the old serpent to which she prayed after waking up and before going to sleep.

A part of him, a really childish and immature part, wanted to ask her if she and the old serpent were intimate at some point, but he quickly subdued and strangled that part of himself. Soon her long, and by God was it long, speech came to a close and they arrived at an entrance to a tall building. It wasn’t just tall, it was the tallest skyscraper in all of New Atlantis almost reaching to the glass dome, which separated the city from the cold dark sea.

They entered it and found themselves in a gilded hall, where there was a single aging shark demon, seated at the receptionist’s desk. As they passed, Gemory gave an old fellow a courteous nod, which he promptly returned. They walked deeper into the building, until they arrived at an elevator entrance. One awkward, but thankfully quick ride later and they finally reached their destination. The highest point of the highest building of New Atlantis, where Leviathan’s throne room was located.

At least Cain assumed it would be a throne room, instead he saw a one long corridor on the end of which was a single door. He looked at Gemory and she nodded at him, signifying that he would tread the last leg of his journey alone. He exited the elevator and went to the door, opened it and entered a spacious office. There was a table behind which sat a tall and broad shouldered demon, whose face was that of a sea serpent. His yellow eyes, which once shone with boundless hatred for humankind, now looked at him with a mix of mild interest and quiet annoyance. He spoke and his voice was deep and guttural:

“Greetings, Cain son of Adam.”

“Leviathan,” he greeted in return. “It’s been long a while.”

“Not long enough, Cain,” the old serpent replied and in that moment his voice conveyed certain resentment not even thousands upon thousands of years could amend. A wound on a soul that could never heal, only fester and rot for all eternity. “To what I owe the displeasure of seeing your boney mug again?”

“Hm, I already knew you resented other Sins, but is your hate so great you know not of what transpired in Pentagram City?”

“Ah, so you are aware of that,” said the old serpent with a tinge of disappointment. “And here I was hoping to get an opportunity to break it to you. Oh, well. I assume you want me to transport you directly to Morningstars?”

“Just like that? You aren’t even going to try to fight me?”

“And risk damaging the city I’ve spent hundreds of years building and then thousand more shaping into something respectable? Not a chance. Not only that, but it’s been thousands of years, Cain. I had more than enough time to think and reflect. Simply put, you and everyone else directly related to First Man are… not worth the trouble. Make no mistake, Cain, I hate you. I truly do. But it would be better for everyone if you were to become someone else’s problem.”

“And how would I know that you won’t transport me directly into some trap?” asked Cain. “For all I know, you could’ve already alerted Lucifer about my arrival.”

“Oh, please,” Leviathan and his voice showed a different kind of hatred. Unlike those reserved for humanity, which was akin to dying embers, this one still shone bright. “The perceived allegiance between Sins and Morningstars is nothing more than a pact of non-aggression imposed on us by Heaven after Lucifer's failed rebellion. There is no loyalty or camaraderie between us. As a matter of fact, there would be nothing more pleasant than to see his wings ripped out one by one and his head be mounted on a pike in the middle of the ruins of his rat nest of a city.”

Cain knew of Leviathan’s vindictiveness. After all not even death could extinguish the hatred he felt for humankind, but to see the same hatred be doubled and directed upon someone else was a surprising experience and so he inquired:

“What did he do to you?”

Leviathan fell silent and his eyes changed. He didn’t look at Cain, no. Instead it was like the old serpent was reliving something, longing for something that nothing in Hell could ever hope to replace. He stood from his desk, turned and looked through the panoramic window at the city he build for his progeny, where they would never know war or famine and then he spoke, and his voice carried millennia of experience alongside it:

“When Lucifer and Lilith united Hell and sacrificed half of the sinner population in some twisted ritual, we managed to invade Earth. It was soon after the Flood, so we faced no enemies upon our arrival. It was not the first time I ever saw the grand blue skies, but I was not alone when I set foot upon the mortal realm. I had legions of demons under my command. Most of them were my descendants. You know, they were far from young when we invaded, they were warriors, each and every one of them, hardened in Hell’s most appalling battles, but the moment they saw that grand blue sky, their eyes were like those of children. The sheer wonder of it… I never knew I could feel so happy for someone else… In that moment, I knew I had to secure Earth, not just for myself, but for my sons and daughters. I spoke to Lucifer and Lilith, but they didn’t listen, no! The midget and his whore wanted Heaven and they wanted it now! In their hubris, they thought they could take on the Heavenly Legions and win and in doing so they threw away the one chance at a better life we had! We could’ve built something there! Something that we could have looked back upon with pride! But thanks to Morningstars and their foolishness, all we got were three months worth of memories of the grand blue skies and a lifetime of longing.”

He sighed with the weight of a thousand years and went silent for a moment, contemplating what could have been. Soon he continued:

“I managed to convince them to let me and my legions stay behind. ‘To secure our backs’ I said to them, but it was a lie. The next night, after they departed into Heaven with the main forces, I saw falling stars. Millions of them. It was like the night sky was burning. After seeing that, I figured war was over and retreated back to Hell, before Heaven could deliver their wrath upon us. That helped me save my kind from angelic retribution which soon descended into Hell. Soon after that, angels summoned me and made me a king of this wretched place. Past thousands years I’ve been doing nothing, but trying to replicate what we could’ve had on Earth, but no matter how hard I try…” he paused, looking at the marvels of his capital, a shining jewel polished by millennia of work. A little piece of paradise amidst the raging sea. For anyone else it would’ve been a crowning achievement.

But for Leviathan?

“…all I see is nothing more than a pale imitation,” he turned and looked at the son of Adam. “So, tell me Cain, is it truly surprising that I want to see the midget suffer?”

A brief pause.

“No. No, it’s not,” a sigh escaped Cain. “But I am afraid you’ll have to wait some more on that, Leviathan. I have to pay a visit to someone, before I can fully commit myself to venturing into the den of the deceiver.”

“Hm?” that took the primordial beast by surprise, even though it was mild. “And who that someone might be?”

“I can only say they reside in the Ring of Lust.”

Serpent’s eyes widened for the shortest of moments. Sudden realization hit him like a lightning, but that feeling soon faded. He told Cain:

“I see. So the old rumors were true it seems,” Cain gave no reply and Leviathan snapped his fingers opening a portal to the skeleton's left. “No matter. I have no desire to mingle in your affairs. Leave, I’ve already seen more than enough of you, son of Adam. Leave my sight at once.”

Cain gave portal a one scrutinizing look, trying to see if it lead to a trap or not, but sensing no deceit he spoke to the old serpent:

“Thank you. You have my word; we won’t be seeing each other again.”

Cain stepped into a portal and after he did it closed. Leviathan let out a sigh, trying to calm a raging migraine. Talking peacefully that long to someone related to The First Man was incredibly taxing. He sat back at his table, returning his gaze to the papers he discarded when he first sensed Cain’s presence, the headache only worsened upon witnessing his workload for today. Looks like he was going to stay late. Again. He pressed a button on his table to call his trusted secretary and spoke into built in microphone:

“Gemory, bring me some tea and something for headache.”

“Will do, milord!” came the ever dutiful voice of an exiled Goetia. After hearing that he ended the call, leaned back into his chair, looked up to the ceiling and though idly to himself:

‘I always knew you were a strange one, Asmodeus, but who could have guessed that your peculiarity would be to such a degree…”

Chapter Text

A plain littered with burned wood and melted rock, in which only a few scorched buildings were left somewhat whole. Those few constructions were each encircled by a wide encampment meant to house those who felt the brunt of angelic wrath. In the tents were bodies, charred and disfigured to the point of being unrecognizable as anything human. Yet despite the tremendous wounds, they could not die. No matter how many times their hearts were pierced with cold steel in an attempt of mercy killing, their bodies just refused to let go of their tortured spirits, for they were condemned. Condemned to life by angelic authority and nothing in Hell could defy it. Nothing could free them from their punishment.

When she first saw that Cannibal Town was reduced too she felt her eyes water and her knees felt weak. It was all her fault. She was the one who drafted them into a fight they had no stakes in and now they had to suffer because of her actions. She felt Vaggie’s hand on her shoulder. Her touch anchoring her in the here and now, not letting the currents of despair overtake her.

She breathed in and out, trying to compose herself. After a minute and half she took steps to the nearest improvised encampment, which was enacted around an old jewelry store that looked like a gentle wind could topple it. Beside her was Vaggie and her alone. It was decided that everyone else should remain at the Hotel, while Dad went to his palace where he, presumably, was trying to come up with solutions to the absolute shitshow that was soon to unfold.

When they entered the encampment, Charlie expected it to be loud, to hear wails and screams of agony coming from all directions, but instead she was met with eerie silence. Only in distance she could hear pained moans and muffled cries. Somehow that was deafening in a way a scream never could be. She and Vaggie walked through a camp. All the tents were closed, but occasionally she could see little glimpses through little gaps and tears and whenever she did she looked away as quickly as she could. Even in such small doses it was too much to look at.

Soon they were at the doorstep of the jewelry store. Never in her life Charlie has ever felt this much dread. She couldn’t breathe; it felt like she was drowning, like something was dragging her deeper and deeper into the cold, dark sea. Once again, Vaggie’s reassuring touch grounded her into reality. She took a deep breath, braced herself and entered the building.

First thing she saw was that the jewelry store had been transformed into an improvised infirmary, with two rows of beds at opposing walls. On the beds were what she first assumed to be blackened corpses, but that assumption was dispelled in the exact same moment she saw that said ‘corpses’ were attended by caretakers. Five cannibals playing roles of nurses. When the door opened they all stopped and looked at her and in their eyes she saw emotions ranging from shock and horror to downright open hostility.

Speaking of hostility.

A familiar looking cannibal approached Charlie. It was hard to recognize her in her current attire, consisting of a white shirt stained with blood, black slacks with suspenders and workman’s boots. Her usually scowling face was now twisted in the expression of pure hate. Charlie expected her to scream, to berate and to deservedly accuse.

Instead Susan unceremoniously punched her in the face.

Charlie stumbled back, her head ringing with pain. However before it could escalate, Vaggie stood between them, while other caretakers held Susan, trying to remove her from the princess. There was shouting, mainly from Vaggie, but other cannibals were also quite vocal. Yet Charlie didn’t hear any of that. Instead all she could here in that moment were Susan’s furious tirade:

“It’s your fault!” she was screaming, struggling against three burly cannibals, who struggled to hold her. “I told her! I told them! I did! I knew this would happen, but they wouldn’t listen! Because of you! You filled their heads with your empty promises and pretty songs! You did this! You send them to their doom with a smile on your face! You and only you!” all around her Charlie heard moans and groans of pain. Burnt cannibals awoken and they… their weeping and moaning and groaning and wailing and crying and… it was deafening, yet even through all of that she still could hear Susan repeating: “Your fault! It’s all your fault! You whore! Liar! Murderer! ”

The cannibals suffering in agony, echoed Susan, wailing and screaming to her in a cacophony:

“Murderer…!”

“Liar…!”

“Monster…!’

Charlie closed her eyes as hard she could, covered her ears and grit her teeth. Yet she could still hear them, it felt like she was drowning in all the screams. But before she could break down in tears from the sheer guilt, she felt a pair of hands grasping her wrists. A gentle and loving touch felt like ice against her burning skin. Slowly and unsurely, she opened her eyes and saw Vaggie’s face in front of her. Her single eye showed so much worry for her. Charlie took her hands away from her ear and Vaggie spoke to her:

“Charlie… are you alright?”

“I…” she looked around and saw that Susan was already taken away and that the suffering cannibals were somehow back deep in their restless slumber. Or perhaps, they never had awoken to begin with. “I don’t know, Vaggie,” she replied honestly, berating herself for traitorous tears that were welling up and clouding her vision. “I… I am sorry, I just…”

“It’s alright, hon, we can just leave and…”

“No,” Charlie quickly cut her off, taking a hold of herself, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. She couldn’t just leave. No, these people, her people fought for her dream. She was responsible for what happened to them, there was no denying that, thus she had to help. “We can’t. We… I have to help them.”

Hearing the conviction in her voice, Vaggie smiled yet worry did not leave her gaze. It was then when someone intersected into their interaction with clearing of the throat. They both looked at the source of the noise and so a tall, but thin cannibal man. Despite all the events of the yesterday and all the misery that surrounded them currently his expression seemed almost bored:

“Apologies, Your Highness,” he said, his voice devoid of any care or conviction. “Recent events have been hard for everyone and Susan always was somewhat… emotional.”

“No, no, I understand,” replied Charlie. “I just… Can you take me to Rosie, please?”

He shrugged and said “She’s upstairs with the good doctor.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you.”

The cannibal didn’t reply, turned and went back to tending to one of the bodies. Charlie sighed and went to the second floor, with Vaggie trailing her not far behind. Soon they were in front of the door, and through thick wood they could hear a voice:

“…conditions are beyond critical, but no matter what they just cannot die, no matter what we do. I am sorry, Lady Rose, I truly am, but there’s just nothing that can be…”

Charlie pushed the door and it opened with a loud creak silencing the conversation that was had within. Inside she saw Rosie, wearing the same hat and the dress even if they were somewhat dirtied and next to her was who Charlie presumed to be a doctor, yet he did not look like one. He wore a skull of some equine seven eyed beast, its empty eyeholes shining with sickly green. His body was covered in a cloak made out of skins and hides of varying creatures and it covered all of him and his neck was hidden with a feathered collar. The Doctor's expression was unreadable because it, like all of his body, was well hidden, while Rosie couldn’t be read simply because she was just that good at masking her emotions.

“Ah, you seem to be having an important guest, Lady Rose,” said the good doctor, his voice like a choir of whispers. “Not only that, but I suspect my lord is missing me as well. I will send you my written report later today.”

“Thank you and farewell, Orwell,” Rosie nodded to him. “Please, make sure to give Zestial my words of gratitude.”

Good doctor, who bore a surprisingly normal name for someone looking like a nightmare came to life, bowed to Rosie and then smoke emerged from the maw of his mask. It engulfed him and he disappeared in it like a dried leaf in the embrace of flame. Soon after, the smoke cleared and the man was gone just like that. Now it was just Rosie, her and Vaggie. She looked at her girlfriend and whispered:

“You should probably wait here.”

Despite visibly disliking the idea, Vaggie nodded and Charlie entered the room. She closed the door behind her and turned to Rosie, who was standing in the center of the room, her expression still unreadable. She took steps towards cannibal overlord and even though she knew that Rosie could do nothing to harm her, Charlie just couldn’t quell the dread welling up from the pits of her stomach up to her heart and higher. It felt like bile was coming up her throat and she felt sick. She tightened her hands into fists, barking orders at herself to stay, to get it together and to finally say something to make sense of this absolute nightmare.

Yet all that came out was a meek and pathetic:

“Rosie, I am so… so sorry for what…”

“Don’t,” Rosie interrupted her before she could even start and not only that but the anger that Charlie fully expected to receive was completely absent from her voice. In its stead were weariness and something that sounded almost like disappointment. “You are not one at fault.”

Suddenly all the dread she was feeling evaporated, yet the pit in her stomach only grew. “I am not?” she asked, baffled.

“Yes, dear, you are not,” said Rosie, sighing. “My people were my responsibility. In a bid for power I wagered their lives, even if it was at Alastor’s recommendation. However, it seems like me and my good friend have betted rather poorly and now…” she paused and looked down on the table and for the second Charlie could see the complete and utter resignation for what was about to come. “We’ll have to reap what we sown. So…” Rosie looked at her and once again her cold expression returned. “If you came all the way here just to apologize, you can go back home now. I still have a lot of things to do before the sun sets.”

“Wait, Rosie, I can help!” she exclaimed, desperate to be heard out.

“No offense, dear, but I don’t think what's left of my people would accept it. Besides, unless you have a whole construction conglomerate in your pocket, there is nothing you can really do here. I already consulted the best doctors and physicians Hell has to offer. Whatever that… thing did, it’s irreversible,” there was a quiet and vulnerable distress in Rosie’s voice. “We can’t even mercy kill them. Even if you pierce their heart with angelic steel they just won’t die.”

“What if I get my father to help?” she inquired.

“You mean the King himself?”

“Yeah, he was an angel once!” Charlie said. “If anyone knows how to help your people, it has to be him! I’ll ask him to help and he’ll be there in no time!”

“You’d do that?” asked Rosie and a small smile appeared on her face along with hope in her tone. “That would be lovely, dear.”

“Yes!” she said in almost manic desperation. “I promise I will fix this, Rosie! I will fix all of it! I will go and talk to my dad right now!” she rushed to the door. “Just you wait!”

The princess finally left and the door slammed shut. Rosie had that baffled look that quickly morphed into an amused albeit somewhat weary smile. ‘She really is a good kid,’ she thought to herself, but at the end of the day Princess Charlotte Morningstar was just that. A good kid trying to fix a serious issue before fully understanding it. Even if His Highness decided to agree to the princess' demand, Rosie and her people would still be doomed.

Because if her long life as a sinner had taught her anything it is that Heaven never takes half measures when dealing with what they perceive to be threats. All Rosie could do was get her affairs in order and prepare for Judgment Day. She only hoped that those few that did not participate in the fight against exorcist armies would be spared from Heaven’s righteous wrath.

All angels were born with purpose. No, that wasn’t right. All angels were made with purpose. From the oldest of Throne Watchers who stood guard in the Father’s Palace to the newborn cherubs whose duties while not as grand were just as important, for they were assigned to them by Creator Himself. All were equal in the eyes of the Lord. Truth be told, despite what some in Hell might have thought, higher positions in the authority of Heaven were not defined by the power it granted, but by the grave responsibilities that weighed on the shoulders of those who were worthy.

None exemplified that better than Archangel Raphael.

Once, back when The Creation knew no evil and thus no pain and suffering, he was often seen as the luckiest angel in all of Heaven. He was The Healer, yet angels knew no pain and there was nothing in the Garden of Eden that could have harmed primordial humans. Thus he often spent those blissful days by either keeping watch over humans from afar or in the company of one of his ever busy siblings.

But that changed after the unforgivable betrayal occurred.

For the longest time he had to do his hardest just to barely match what Lucifer and Lilith have unleashed upon Creation. Diseases, pain, injuries, suffering, agony, bleeding, plagues and so much more suddenly became possible. When it all just began, Archangel of Healing, the one to whom it should’ve been as easy as breathing, found himself outpaced by many diseases and aches that now plagued all of Creation. That was until he realized something,

He had never known pain or suffering, so how could he hope to combat something he did not understand?

And so he decided on a drastic measure. Instead of trying to cure something without understanding it, he took the pain of others unto himself. It started small. A little cut here, a scratch there. With every injury and pain he took on himself his understanding grew and with it grew his efficiency as a healer. Soon, the injuries and diseases he encountered began to grow in severity. Broken bones, veins overflowing with toxins, severe burns, blisters and ulcers of every size… Each he took and each became ingrained into his nature and thus could never be healed.

Once he was considered one of the Father’s most beautiful creations. Hair of gold and skin of silver. Now, under all the cloth and all the bandages he wore it was hard to recognize anything of beauty. He was less of an angel and more of a collection of ever bleeding wounds. At every single moment of his life forever acutely aware of every single form of pain.

He was Raphael, The Healer, and his suffering was eternal and from this eternal suffering was born his boundless compassion. To never let anyone suffer as he does. To forever fight the diseases, the pain and the hurt which seemed to be unending. To preserve all life, no matter how meager or short. To heal and to mend until the end of times.

His work was endless, viruses and diseases had an unpleasant tendency to adapt and humanity’s capacity for finding new ways of inflicting violence upon the other never ceased to surprise him in the worst ways possible. But these couple of days he had to do something that he hadn’t done in a very long while: heal angels.

Last extermination was a colossal failure. Exorcists have suffered tremendous losses among which was the First Human. Raphael spent the following days tending to surviving exorcists and burying himself in work, so he still did not understand the full implications of such atrocity. Unfortunately today was the day he was summoned into the Grand Palace by Michael.

Raphael came into a palace in his usual form. He wore white robes, the same white hood and a silver mask resembling his visage before he first bore the wounds of others. Under all of it were bandages, layers upon layers of them. His wings were hidden. Partly, because he did not want to be recognized, for he desired no adoration for simply being an archangel. Partly, because the sight of his mangled wings could drive fear and disgust into the bravest of hearts.

Raphael was greeted by Michael as soon as he set foot into the palace. It was odd seeing him away from his usual spot before the entrance to the throne room. What was even odder is that Michael spoke to him first:

“Greetings, Raphael,” and while his voice was as collected and subdued as he remembered, there was a noticeable… something in it, which Raphael could not name. If he didn’t know his brother better, he would’ve said it was distress, but… that just couldn’t be right. Michael was always the one who had it together no matter the circumstances. Not even Sera and Uriel could match his composure.

“It’s good to see you too, brother,” greeted Raphael in return and despite all the pain he felt in that moment, he did not let it seep into voice. After all, he knew pain better than any other, thus he long since figured how to handle it.

“Follow me,” said Michael, “I need your help.”

Raphael simply nodded and did as he was asked to do. They went through corridors of the palace and all the while Raphael could shake off an odd melancholy in his heart. It’s just… no matter how magnificent and opulent the palace was, without its rightful King it was just not the same. Once, this place was filled with all manner of song and light, and every surface and every detail shined with untainted beauty and where his heart sang as well in tandem with all of Creation, but now?

The only semblance of the great song he could hear was a distant hymn of Throne Watchers.

Soon, they entered one of the palace’s more grand rooms and there Raphael saw a truly somber sight. A room so big and vast one could not see the roof or even the other end of it. It was illuminated by a faint twilight glow and in it were stone slabs covered each by cloth and from the shape of cloth he saw that these were bodies. Hundreds of them. A realization came soon after, for he had to perform similar duty once before.

Back when Heaven waged retaliatory war against Hell, led by the First Man and Sister Gabriel, he was the one responsible for taking care of their wounded kin, but that was not his only duty. Occasionally even the armies of Heaven could suffer a loss against Hell’s endless legions. When that happened, the bodies of his fallen brothers and sisters were usually… desecrated in a way that was hard to describe. Whenever that happened, he was the one who had to return the body to a presentable state, so they could be buried with at least some dignity. It was a… hard task to perform. It was one thing to tend to the one suffering and another to tend to the one who you failed completely and utterly. Thankfully, after the war was over he never had to perform this horrible task again.

Until today that is.

They went deeper into improvised morgue and passed many slabs, and as they did Michael spoke to him:

“We recovered bodies not too long ago,” his voice was distant and cold, yet Raphael could sense pain in it. The kind of pain not even he could heal. “I held off from informing the loved ones of the fallen about it, for I do not wish to inflict further pain upon them,” they neared a single slab that looked like hundreds surrounding them, “and, Raphael?”

“Yes, Michael?” he asked and in his voice laid bare his dread. Michael was silent, almost like he was unsure if he should continue or not. Soon, however, he reached a conclusion and spoke again.

“If I could do it myself, I would. So for whatever it's worth, I am sorry for involving you in this.”

He grabbed the cloth and unveiled which lay on the slab. Raphael, The Healer, the one most intimately familiar with products of boundless cruelty, recoiled back in horror. It was… almost unrecognizable. But then he saw them. The pair of golden eyes on a flayed and disfigured face and the horror he felt twisted into almost maddening grief.

Raphael, he… he knew him since he first opened the same eyes in the Garden of Eden. He still remembered how these eyes looked at everything around him with boundless curiosity and desire to learn. How these eyes glistened with love when he first saw the First Abomination back when she was just a first woman. How they shone with merry in the company of archangels. How they shed tears when he first came into Heaven and realized that he was the first to do so. How righteous fury burned in them when he led the armies of Heaven into the pit after Hell’s attempt to conquer Paradise and now they…

Adam… he…

Michael's voice, now barely above a whisper, tore him out of pits of despair.

“Look what they’ve done to him…” Raphael looked away from the corpse and at his brother, at Michael, who was the strongest of all angels, the one who was a pillar of strength and security to all around him. And in that moment, Raphael saw that Michael, for the first time since the very beginning of everything, looked hurt… almost defeated. “I… I can’t let them see him like this. It would break them. Raphael, I… I need your help. I need you to help me make sense of this, of…” he stopped, unable to bring himself to finish the sentence or to look away from what was left of Adam.

In that moment, Raphael, the one angel possessing boundless compassion for all beings in Creation, has lost the last crumbs of pity he used to feel for the sinners and the one he called brother. Long ago, he saw extermination as a cruelty that had to be done for the safety of Heaven. Now, however?

Whatever punishment Michael would see fit for these worthless heathens, Raphael would stand by his side. After what they’ve done, there can no longer be cruelty against sinners. Only blind and merciless justice.

Chapter Text

When Cain crossed the portal, he found himself in the wilderness of Lust Ring, where night was eternal. Unlike plains of Sloth and raging seas of Envy, wilderness of Lust was… barren. Just rocky plains where winds raced dust from one end of the horizon to the other. Of course, it was not always like this. There was a time when flowers bloomed in Lust and the time when hellbeasts roamed the land unchecked. However, the first was an anomaly and lasted only for about a century or less, while Asmodeus stopped the later when the meager tribe under his command grew in size and needs. Particularly in the need for security.

Cain supposed that hunting terrible beasts into extinction was a family tradition.

The son of Adam looked around, took in his surroundings and then… sighed. Leviathan, being a petty serpent that he was, teleported him as far from the capital of Lust as he could. Which was not that much of a problem in the grand scheme of things, but inconvenience was still an inconvenience. Still, he could see how the sky behind a mountain on the horizon was illuminated by distant light, so at least he had a direction. He started to walk.

It took him a while, but eventually he got to the foot of the mountain and when he did, he faced a choice: to climb the mountain or to go around it. On one hand, the mountain was tall and its jagged peaks reached so far he could barely see them, on the other going around it would be a long and boring ordeal. So Cain made his decision and started to climb.

First, he searched for a flat enough place on the mountain skirt that could support his weight and on which he could reasonably stand. After a minute or so of searching, he finally found it. It was high enough that it would take some time to climb it normally. However, Cain was far from what one would call ‘normal’. He crouched, aimed and then jumped. In a matter of seconds, he crossed his desired distance and landed on his intended target. Then, he once again looked up, searching once more for a suitable spot up high. Once he did, he repeated the process again. Then again. And again. He kept at it until an hour with some later, he found himself near the very top of the mountain. It was then when he then when he finally was able to see the distant source of light.

Grand city sprawling to the horizons. Countless lights shooting up to the sky to ward off the eternal night. Buildings ranging from small wooden houses on the outskirts to skyscrapers living up to their names at the very heart of the city. Cain paused, taking it all the beauty. He couldn’t help but think back to the day he first met Asmodeus.

It happened in a small village, inhabited by succubi, imps and a couple of hellhounds, where he was welcomed with open arms. Well, calling it a village was a stretch, it was more like a collection of yurts covered and insulated by hides of hellbeasts, situated between the territories of brutal and bloodthirsty tribes. To see that once small tribe not only survived through the ages, unlike its neighbors, but thrived and evolved into this bustling city of lights was… oddly pleasant.

After admiring the view, he started his descent… by jumping down without looking where. After all, why should he bother considering that fall couldn’t harm his current form. Needless to say he got down a lot faster than he had got up. Once his feet landed on the foot of the mountain he began to walk towards the city. He expected the road to be somewhat uneventful however, he was wrong.

Halfway there, he found something truly surprising. A temple. In Hell. He paused when he saw it, wondering if it was just his imagination playing tricks on him, but no. As he got closer, the rundown temple was still there. He considered whether it was worth visiting or not. There was a significant chance that the old building was nothing more than just another mockery of Heaven and all it represented. Still, seeing no harm in it, he decided to indulge his curiosity.

He approached old stone doors and noticed that they seemed to be damaged by something other that time. There were engravings on the stone surface but they were physically abraded by someone to such a degree that it was impossible to tell what there once was. Cain pushed the door open and saw that the insides of the temples were not much better. Empty window frames, cracked stone benches and a vandalized statue on the other end of the temple. The last took his interest and he went straight to it, noting to himself how oddly clean this abandoned temple looked.

Once he was in front of the statue, which was as tall as he was, he could clearly see the destruction. The statue was beheaded; its arms were gone and so were parts of its chest. For some reason, Cain felt compelled to reach for it. When he did, he saw a vision. A brief flash.

A fair woman, clad in simple robes. Her eyes were closed, her features while young, were clearly that of a mother. Or at least they were so mother-like, she might as well be one. Her small, but immensely loving smile could ignite familial warmth even in the coldest of hearts. She was cradling to her heart an infant, possessing a red skin and budding horns. An imp infant. But that sight of a human woman cradling a demon was not the most shocking part, rather it was the fact that the woman in question had wings. A whole six of them.

She was an archangel.

In an instant, Cain bent his knees and prostrated himself, feeling unworthy of even being in her presence. His head full of jumbling thoughts and fluxing intentions. He wanted to cry, to ask for forgiveness, to scream in joy and to embrace the warmth inside, but then the feeling ceased just as suddenly as it overtook him. He raised his head and was the angelic vision, replaced by the beheaded statue. He stood up, unsure, and once again gave the abandoned temple a look. A profound feeling of melancholy overtook his heart for a moment, and he could not tell whether it was because the warmth he felt disappeared or because of the fact that the temple’s origins were earnest. He thought about the latter a little longer and for a moment, he could see faint silhouettes sitting on the stone benches with their hands clasped in sincerest prayer.

He shook his head and hurried to the exit, for he had seen and experienced enough of this place.

The capital of Lust was truly a sight to behold. Brothels on every corner, neon signs of every color, shape and design, clubs of varying quality, lustrous  casinos, restaurants serving every kind of cuisine… It seems like whatever desire one might have had, Lust had at least hundreds of ways to satisfy. Provided, one had money, of course, and money was something that demons coming to Lust had in spades it seemed. The streets were full of every kind of hellborn and unlike in Sloth they had no problem with apathy, so he had to be sneaky when he roamed the city.

And how did he accomplish that?

By jumping from roof to roof, of course. People usually did not look up with no reason, so he was generally safe there from suspecting eyes. His movements were quick and relatively quiet, but they would’ve been meaningless if he did not know where to go. While he couldn’t say where exactly Asmodeus might have been residing, he felt that moving to the tallest skyscraper located in the heart of the capital was a pretty safe bet.

Soon, he was just on the other side of the street from the entrance to the colossal building walls of which were completely covered by glass panels on all sides. He jumped from the roof he was standing on and landed before the entrance to the skyscraper, startling a couple of passersby in the process. Cain paid no attention to them as they cursed in surprise, and entered the building.

The lobby was… well, it was certainly something. Marble statues decorated by statues of naked succubi and incubi, some leather couches on the designated waiting areas and receptionists desk right in front of him, and two entrances to long well lit corridors to the right and the left. Oh, and also four imp guards in formal suits, who drew and pointed their pistols at him as soon as he entered. He walked to the table, and the guards moved their aim according to his every step. He looked behind the desk and saw a frail looking succubus. She seemed… unimpressed. Good, that meant they could talk.

“Excuse me,” said Cain trying to sound as polite as possible, “could you please tell me if Asmodeus is in this building?”

“He’s not taking any guests,” she said, her professional tone giving off some hostility. “And he certainly would not be meeting some third rate assassin.”

“Assassin?” he repeated, confused. Then the realization came. Of course they thought he was an assassin! Why else there would be a three-meter tall sinner barging in the most important building in all of Lust? Well, they still didn’t open fire, so that meant he could still explain himself. “Ah, no. There is a misunderstanding. I just want to talk to him.”

“Are you honestly trying to pull off the old ‘talk’ shit?” came a gruff voice from Cain’s right. He turned his head and saw that it came from a dainty looking incubus with slick back hair, who wore a bulletproof vest on top of his classy suit. Not only that but he held a submachine gun in his right hand and his face bore an unamused expression. Adding to that he was also accompanied by five similarly dressed and armed incubi, who were currently pointing business ends of their guns right at Cain. “You know what?” he gave a sardonic smile. “I respect the audacity, so how about this: you give up right here and now, tell us who the fuck sent you and we’ll send you back in one piece. How about that?”

The receptionist hurried away from the desk and from the line of fire. Cain made no effort to stop or acknowledge her. Instead he spoke to this leader of the guards. “Listen,” he said, raising his arms above his head. “I have no desire for violence. My only wish is to speak with Asmodeus. Please, just lower your weapons and let me pass through. Otherwise it will end poorly for…”

“A-a-and, I’m bored!” interrupted the guard’s leader, at the same time aiming his submachine gun at Cain’s center of mass. “Alright, boys, light’em up!”

After these words were said, the incubus squad along with imp guards as one pulled triggers of their weapons. What they expected to happen was that the boney sinner would be torn to shreds, or rather that his bones would be thoroughly broken and under the hail of lead. Instead, in one moment, the skeleton in tattered cloak became a blur and in the next, the squad leader found himself on the ground with his chest aching in tremendous pain.

He looked up and saw the skeletal sinner, in his hands was a submachine gun, his submachine gun. Two empty eye holes stared him straight in the eye. Without breaking eye contact, the sinner broke the gun in two like a dried twig.

“I told you it would end poorly,” he said. Then the sirens rang out through the entire building alerting all security personnel. Cain raised his head and saw a camera locked on him. Well, there go the hopes of resolving the situation peacefully. On the bright side, now he knew for sure that bullets were indeed too slow to hit. Without further ado Cain went deeper into the corridor, while from all across the building hundreds of heavily armed demons converged on his path. Going through them all without killing them would be… well, not easy, but he’ll manage.

The real problem will be trying to explain it all to Asmodeus afterwards.

Asmodeus was not doing well at the moment and that was putting it lightly. Right now the Sin of Lust was laying on his bed, dressed in his red robes, wondering when did it all went so wrong. Just a half of a year ago it all seemed so perfect. Mother was finally in Heaven and according to what little Father told him of her, they finally began to talk to each other again! Of course, their conversations were made of two or three short exchanges, but hey that was still a progress! Especially when compared to how they were just three hundred years ago. Not only that, but his city was booming, his subjects were happy, he didn’t have to deal with Mammon as much and he had Fizz by his side. It all seemed so perfect…

Then failed extermination happened and now they are on the cusp of another war. Father died. The movement and communication between rings was suspended. High ranking angel nuked part of Pentagram City, which while completely justified, did not help to ease the worries of his populace. But that was not the worst part.

Worst part was that it was not that bastard Lucifer who was at the center of it all, but his half-sister. They didn’t grow up together. As matter of fact, she didn’t even know she had any siblings, but still he tried his best to be part of her life. She thought of him as an honorary uncle, unaware of their true connection. As he watched her grow and mature, he always thought she was a bit… coddled, naïve, too good for the shithole she called ‘home’, but never ever could he imagine that one day little CharChar would grow up to lead a God damn cannibal army against Heaven!

He just didn't know what to do. What to think. If it was anyone else he would’ve already been storming Pentagram City, but Charlie… She was his family, even though she didn’t know it. Even now, after what she’s done, Asmodeus just couldn’t bring himself to hate her in any meaningful way. So, instead he hid himself in his chambers, trying his best to knock himself out by drinking.

It was then, when he heard a knock on his door. He ignored it. He expected no visitors and Fizz was currently doing a gig at some luxury hotel. However, knocking continued. With a heavy sigh he stood up from his bed and went to the door. He opened it and gave the succubus behind it a one mean glare, under which she shrunk in fear. He spoke and his voice had noticeable edge to it:

“If I remember correctly, I specifically told not to disturb me.”

“Apologies, your magnificence!” she replied. “But we are under attack!”

That immediately got his attention. Someone dared to attack when he was grieving…? Those… those bastards! Damn would be usurpers! For too long have they mistaken his kindness for weakness! No more! Today he shall remind them that even before he bore the title of a Sin, he was known as a Slayer of Hellbeasts. His body ignited with fires of fury and his three faces twisted in an expression of barely controlled rage. He asked a single thing:

“Where?”

The succubus, shaking in terror, replied in small voice:

“He’s in the m-main office, sir.”

Flames engulfed him, transporting him directly to the intruder. However, as soon as he arrived, the fire blazing in his heart ceased. He saw how the office was completely destroyed. Bullet holes everywhere, furniture blown apart by explosives and fires burning here and there. Around him laid his men, their bones broken, most were unconscious, but all were alive. In front of him he saw someone he hasn't seen in thousands years. To everyone else his skeletal visage, tattered black cloak and horns would’ve been a source of great unease.

But for Asmodeus?

He took a single step towards him, fearing that this was some illusion. The skeletal sinner, who also stood still as statue spoke:

“Hello, Asmodeus,” he said and his voice was so hesitant and unsure. “Sorry, for, well…” he gestured to the destruction around him. “All of this. I really tried to…”

Cain was soon interrupted, when Asmodeus lunged at his and enveloped his skeletal body in a tight embrace. Cain was taken by such a  great surprise that he simply had no idea how to react. He almost forgot what it felt like to be hugged. Then Asmodeus’ voice came out, almost like sob:

“What took you so long…?”

That was the moment Cain realized what had to be done and hugged Asmodeus in return. And so the last two living sons of Adam finally reunited.

Chapter Text

When Fizzarolli returned from another of his comedy gigs he saw something that was, well, highly unusual. The entrance to Ozzie’s tower was completely trashed. No, not just trashed, the place looked like an honest to God battlefield. Bullet holes and spent casings everywhere, fewer security personnel and not a single window or piece of furniture that wasn’t in some way broken.

His own bodyguards encircled him as soon as they entered the hall. Understandable, but it did make it a bit hard to get to the receptionist’s desk, which also wasn’t spared from the general distraction. Behind sat ever the grumpy succubus, who didn’t look all that phased by everything around her. She greeted him with her ever the joyless glare coupled with some polite words:

“Greetings, mister Fizzarolli. I’ll take it your latest performance went well?”

“Oh, you know, nothing special,” he answered. “I am more interested in what in Satan’s name happened here.”

“We had a… visitor, mister Fizzarolli.”

When Fizzarolli first saw the state of the entry hall, he assumed it was the work of an angry mob or a group of well organized goons. To hear that it was just a single visitor was both surprising and alarming. Ozzie had some seriously tough guys under his employ, so for them to bust out this kind of destruction for one guy spoke a lot about the intruder. It spoke so much in fact, that Fizz had to double check:

“You telling me it was a single person?”

“Yes, mister Fizzarolli,” nodded the succubus, her face not changing. “There was a mishap with security, which caused some unneeded carnage, but thankfully Lord Asmodeus managed to resolve the situation. From what I heard he and the intruder are currently conversing.”

Ok, not only the intruder managed to cause enough trouble, that Ozzie had to hand it himself, apparently he was also so important that Ozzie had also to handle the interrogation. Fizzarolli rubbed his temples, trying to calm his growing anxiety. Whoever the attacker was, he had to be sent by some serious people to be that dangerous and important. Wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic.

First, the idiots from Pentagram manage to somehow kill the golden-winged angel of death and plenty of his valkyries, putting every hellborn into a justified fear of heavenly wrath. Then Ozzie goes into depression and secludes himself from everyone, including him, without giving even a hint of a reason. Then angels NUKE Pentagram City in holy flames, which caused even more mass panic and public distress in all of the rings. And now they have an assassin sent by either high ranking Goetia, trying to usurp Ozzie, or (worst case scenario) one of the other Sins for Lucifer knows what reasons.

And ALL of this in less than TWO WEEKS!

Inhale.

Look at the bright side, Fizz, at least the worst is over and Ozzie is alright. Just let him do his thing and when he comes back from talking to that would be sin killer, be there for him and let him know that no matter what. Hug him, kiss him, just do everything to remind him that he’s loved. Yeah, just like that.

Exhale.

He went to the elevator and entered it, while his bodyguards stayed behind. Without putting a single thought into it he punched a code into a panel and the elevator began to ascend to the most luxurious and well-protected place in all Lust. Perhaps even in all of Hell. To the penthouse.

He reached his destination and the doors parted, revealing to him a familiar sight. A place grander than any palace of Goetia, which he was forever grateful to be able to call home. A single piece of furniture here was more expensive than some of the neighboring buildings. Fizz stepped inside and then immediately stopped, when he heard the single most beautiful sound in his entire life. The sounds of which he was deprived this past week. It eased his soul and burned away his worries with gentle warmth.

It was Ozzie’s laughter. It came from the kitchen.

Fizzarolli wasted no time and hurried to the kitchen. On the way there he heard something else along with Asmodeus’ laughter, but he paid no attention to it. He opened the doors and froze in place.

There he was, King of Lust himself, seated on a chair behind a kitchen table with a steaming mug of tea in his hands. His faces graced with joyful laughter. But that wasn’t what made Fizz stop in his tracks. It was the person who sat next to Ozzie. It was what appeared to be a human skeleton of gigantic proportions, wearing tattered black robes. On his head was a pair of horns curling downwards. Before him on the table was an untouched mug of tea. Moments ago he was laughing and his laughter was no louder than whisper, contrasting Asmodeus, whose voice shook the entire room. However now this skeleton was looking directly at Fizz and the sight of his empty eyeholes, in which was abyssal darkness, was…

The single scariest thing Fizz had the displeasure of witnessing. It was like looking into the barrel of a loaded shotgun. All you could do was stand frozen, hoping it wouldn’t go off and turn your head into a red mist. So Fizzarolli did exactly that. He stood completely still, hoping this… this thing wouldn’t harm him.

But then he was yanked out of terror by a big burly pair of hands enveloping his body. Asmodeus hugged him and greeted him with earnest warmth. “Fizz!” he said. “I was just talking about you.” Ozzie’s warmth melted away the cold terror. Without wasting a single second, Fizz hugged him back, briefly forgetting about the thing in the room with them. That moment quickly passed, when the thing spoke more to itself than to anyone else in the room:

“So… that’s him, huh?”

Ozzie stopped hugging him and looked at the thing with worried eyes. The thing looked back and it was next to impossible to say what was going on in that cranium of his, for he lacked facial features and his body language was far too subdued to read properly. Silent conversation ensued and then the skeleton gave a small nod. Ozzie smiled in return and sensing how at ease his partner was with the skeletal abomination, Fizz felt himself letting go of his fear, albeit with great effort.

Ozzie cleared his throat and looked at him, then spoke:

“Fizz, I want you to meet someone very important to me,” he gestured to the skeleton. “This is Cain, my… my brother.”

Oh, shit!

“Oh, my!” he said a bit too enthusiastically, trying to hide a new wave of anxiety, far greater than the last. He was meeting Ozzie’s family! Without thinking he thrust his hand forward for a handshake, which Cain accepted with his own healthy dose of awkwardness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you! I never knew our king here had any siblings!”

“For a good reason, most likely,” replied Cain in a subdued tone, lacking any noticeable emotion. “Our family doesn’t get to meet often!”

“Which we gotta correct someday!” interjected Asmodeus with a smile that seemed almost too happy to be true. “I mean, I know you had your reasons, but dear Lord, you missed so many good things, brother!”

“I am aware,” he nodded, and one could hear a hint of smile in his voice. “When I first saw the light of your city in the distance, I admit, I was mesmerized.”

“Damn right you were!” Ozzie boasted. “Now imagine seeing all this beauty up close! Hey…!” a bright idea hit him. “You know what? Night is still young, so how about instead of sitting here and talking about all the good stuff the city has to offer, we go outside and actually give it a try, bro?”

“That… would be wonderful, truly.”

“Great!” Ozzie nodded with way too much energy. “But first,” he snapped his finger and a gift box with red ribbon appeared on the table, “you gotta change out of that cloak, brother. No offense, but it’s three millennia out of date.”

Cain paused.

“You had clothes prepared or did you conjure them up right here and now?”

“Well, I always knew we would meet again someday,” Ozzie explained. “So I commissioned a few things over the years. This little beauty here,” he gestured to the box, “is one of many gifts for you I got made over the years. But enough about that, go change somewhere. I’m dying to see how it looks on you.”

Cain nodded, grabbed the box and left the room, leaving the Sin and the imp alone. Few seconds later, the smile disappeared off Ozzie’s face and Fizz saw the pained expression of the last two weeks' return. Concerned, he asked him:

“What’s wrong, Ozzie?”

“Too many things to explain, Froggie.”

“You don’t have to say everything. Just say what troubles you right now. I know, it won’t fix it, but…” Fizz approached him and grabbed his gigantic hands with his own pair of cybernetic ones and looked him in the eyes, “it might make it easier.”

Ozzie gave a heavy sigh before saying:

“Cain and I… we haven’t seen each other since, well, since before I was The Sin of Lust. A lot has happened since then and most of it was not good. I… I don’t want to just dump it all on him all at once. I want to give him a fun and joyful welcome he deserves, but at the same time all the terrible things that happened they just… gnaw at me. I feel like I’m deceiving him and it makes me feel like good for nothing louse.”

“Hey, that’s not true, Ozzie,” Fizz whispered, looking him straight in the eye. “You ain’t deceiving him and you ain’t planning to hold bad news from him forever. You are just looking for a good opportunity to break it to him, to make it easier for him. That means that you care, and of all things this ain’t a quality of a ‘good for nothing louse’, right?”

There was a moment of silence, during which the look on Ozzie’s face was that one of troubled contemplation. But by the end of it, the weight on his conscience seemed to ease, if only a little, and he smiled at his lover, gently and earnestly. He kneeled before imp, an unthinkable action to some, and wrapped his thick hands, which were well experienced in the acts of violence, and pressed him close to his chest. Then there was a whisper.

“Thank you… I love you, Fizz.”

“Anytime, big guy,” he whispered back. “Oh, and of course I love you too. Don’t you ever forget it, alright?”

Before the Sin of Lust could reply, they heard a third voice, quiet and distant, yet at the same time full awkwardness.

“Am I… Am I interrupting something?”

Asmodeus quickly let go of Fizzarolli and turned around to look at his brother. “Not at all, Cain. So, how is… oh, looking good, brother!”

On his skeletal body were simple clothing. Heavy leather boots, black slacks and an open long coat with a fur collar, with his bare rib cage exposed. If Fizz had to say, Cain’s new looks didn’t change the grim aura surrounding him. They just modernized it.

“Honestly, I am surprised it fits so well,” said Cain examining his new attire. “I mean, I don’t remember giving you any measurements.”

“Well, I am rather good at eyeballing,” boasted Ozzie and then added. “Though I did have it all made in different sizes, just in case, but that’s not important right now,” he snapped his fingers, and flames enveloped his body and then subsided within seconds, changing him from his red robes into his usual extravagant striped suit. “What’s important is that you and I are gonna go and experience the best this town has to offer!” Another snap of the fingers and a portal opened next to him, just like everything else related to Asmodeus it appeared to be made from flames of red and blue whirling into themselves. “After you,” he said with a slight bow, while gesturing to the portal.

Cain nodded and went into the portal. And after saying some quick, yet immensely loving goodbyes to his lover, Asmodeus went after him and the portal closed.

When Cain stepped into the portal he expected to find himself in some high end dining establishment, maybe in a theater of some kind or in an art gallery. Well, part of him even expected to find himself in a nightclub. After all, Lust Ring was more than well known for that sort of entertainment However, Cain found himself in a rather unexpected place.

In an empty firing range.

It was a vast and rather spacious space, where primary colors were sterile white and wooden brown, pale lights illuminating all. To his surprise he didn’t see a single sex themed statue or a piece of decoration. Actually, the place was rather spartan  in its design placing emphasis on practicality above all else, making it stand out even more when compared to everything else he has seen in the ring of Lust. From behind came a voice of his brother.

“Ah, wonderful, isn’t it?”

“It’s certainly a welcome change in scenery.”

Asmodeus laughed:

“I am glad you think so!” he came into view and spread his arms gesturing to everything around them. “When I was designing this place, I wanted it to look as far removed from everything else in Lust as it could be, so I could come here when everything gets… well, too tiring.”

“Never expected that your idea of relaxing would be shooting guns.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it!” he went forward to a table, around and on which were various armaments and urged Cain to follow. “Come on, let me introduce the stars of the show.”

Cain went behind him and soon stood before the old table, made out of some dark wood, and on and around it were guns, guns and guns again. Revolvers, pistols, submachine guns, machine guns, rifles and some big and heavy guns that seemed to be made to fit on armored transport. Cain glanced at Ozzie and in his eyes was a mixture of love and pride. Asmodeus cleared his throat and began to speak: 

“First, I gotta tell you that most that you see on this table usually comes in smaller sizes,” he picked up a heavy looking handgun and it seemed to fit just right into his gigantic palm. “This here is Desert Eagle. A classic elephant killer. As you can see, despite being designed and made with a human hand in mind, I can still wield and shoot just fine. You probably think it’s not a big deal, after all how hard can it be to make a bigger gun?” he gave a meaningful and mirthless chuckle, behind which was a long history of sleepless nights and countless guns failing to fire, without exploding in hands. “Well, let’s just say you’d be surprised.”

“Is there a magic-related reason?” Cain inquired, not out of desire to learn, but rather because he felt like his brother wanted to rant and needed a question from him to do so.

“Oh, If only, Cain!” lamented Ozzie. “If only it were that simple, but unfortunately the problem was not in magic, but in dreaded unwritten law that no one could defy for the longest time. The law of square-cube!”

That name was said with such intent and emotion, one could have thought that it was not a law of physics, but rather the name of an old and powerful demon, sealed away outside of time and space, and whose name carried such calamity with it, that simple uttering of it could deliver death and destruction upon all. In other words, if Cain could smile right now at the display of Asmodeus, he would.

“How is geometry related to it?”

“It’s not that. It’s more like, uh…” Asmodeus paused and rubbed his chin, thinking of the best way to articulate it. “The bigger something gets, uh... Okay, let’s say you double the size of a spider leaving his shape the same, right? Well, in doing so you would quadruple his strength, but at the same time you would raise his weight by eight times. Meaning, his legs can no longer support his weight, so he collapses and dies on the spot, right?”

“…right?”

“Right,” nodded Asmodeus and then lifted his Desert Eagle to make a point. “So, if you would take a regular human sized Desert Eagle and suddenly make it Asmodeus sized, it won’t collapse, but if you would try to shoot it, it would just explode in your hands. So you either have to redesign the gun to account for, well, everything, meaning by the end of it you are not firing a Desert Eagle, but rather a really big gun inspired by it and screw that, because ‘I wanna fire a Desert Eagle’ you think. Or…” he ran his finger along the barrel, and as he did, subtle engraving that Cain didn’t notice before began to dimly glow. “…you use sorcery.”

“I see,” came a subdued response from Cain. Ozzie only sighed and replied.

“Alright, I hear you. After all, we came here not for the physics lesson,” he gestured with his free hand to the table. “Pick one. I’ll let you go first.”

Cain looked over the table. Once again, there were a lot of guns. So many in fact, that his eyes wandered over each and every piece, without lingering even on the most outlandish of weaponry. Much of it he saw in the Abyss. Visions of war and conflict were not a rare occurrence for him back then. His eyes, however, soon stopped when he saw a gun. It wasn’t just any gun, it was a rifle and he saw it so often in his vision he at times thought that every single being in every single country owned a variant of it. He contemplated whether or not to choose it. After all, there were better weapons on the table.

‘Ah, why not,’ he thought and picked it up. Ozzie immediately said:

“Ah, Mosin-Nagant,” there was a hint of nostalgia in his tone. “I remember back in the 1920s, it was then when Kings of Goetia finally decided to take their heads out of each other’s asses and started to modernize. It was a fun period, seeing imps and hellhounds in plate armor with all the regalias and plumages wielding rifles and revolvers like it was a renaissance fair in the middle of the wild west. I think I still have pictures somewhere back home,” he then saw that Cain was giving him a look. “Ah, here I go babbling again. Pay no attention, brother, just go to the firing lane and have fun.”

“I’ll try,” he replied. “But I can’t promise I’ll enjoy it as much as you hope I would.”

“Hey, you giving it an honest try is the best I can ask for, Cain. And trust me, I have a feeling you’ll get the appeal real soon.”

Cain nodded and went to the firing lane. There was another table there and a barrier tall enough to reach his belt. He turned his attention to where targets supposed to be, and as soon as he saw what he was going to shoot at, he couldn’t help, but ask:

“Asmodeus, what’s that?”

On the other side of the firing lane were statues, carved out of the finest marble by hand so experienced it would be quite easy to mistake the statues for the real, provided the lightning was dark enough. Oh, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the statues were made in the image of two beings: the Sin of Greed, Mammon, and the most reviled being in all of Creation – Lucifer Morningstar himself.

“A waste of good marble, brother,” came Asmodeus’ reply. “Nothing more.”

Cain nodded more to himself, than to anyone else. He lifted the rifle; put a butt of the stock against his shoulder. One hand on the grip, another on the barrel. Magical engraving on the wooden stock began to dimly glow. If he still had his skin, he would’ve felt faint warmth coming from the gun. He looked through the iron sights and started to aim. The closest, and the biggest, target was a statue of Mammon. He knew the fat bastards before he even became the Sin of Greed. Even before that, Mammon was a sleazy creature, always scheming and plotting, always hungering for more than he could chew.

Yet Cain felt no strong emotion towards the old spider, unlike his brother. So instead he aimed at the other statue.

Whoever the artist was, they did a fine job immortalizing the snake in stone. Everything, from the outlandish tophat to the infuriating and all too proud smile, it all was just like he was standing right here in front of him. The marble was even the same tone as his skin. Cain’s grip only hardened, as he studied the statue. His eyes lingered on the hat. There was something in the base of the crown. A serpent coiling around it and an apple. Even today the bastard wore the symbol of his downfall like a badge of honor. From anyone else, it could’ve been somewhat worthy of respect, but from him?

Cain wasted no time and pulled the trigger. There was a loud noise, like thunder amidst the clear sky and he felt a push against his shoulder. For an ordinary man it would’ve resulted in an injury, but Cain didn’t even flinch. Lucifer’s head, or rather the head of the statue, exploded into the small cloud of white dust. Cain lowered the rifle, and made noise that sounded like he was exhaling a great deal of air. And then exhale.

He took it all in, the sound, the feeling and the result. He stood silent for a couple more seconds and then turned to look at Asmodeus, who seemed oddly proud at his first shot. He said to him:

“I think I’m starting to see the appeal.”

Ozzie only smiled and went to take a firing lane next to him. They spent the next couple of hours shooting various weapons and utterly demolishing marble statues. Despite never shooting a gun before in his, Cain turned out to be good at this. Almost like he was born with a pistol grip in hand. There was not a single silent minute in that firing range. Through all of it, they talked, and eventually Cain said:

“You know, these things would’ve been really useful back on Earth in the olden times.”

“I feel you,” nodded Asmodeus, in his arms a belt fed automatic shotgun. “By the way, I assume you’ve been keeping up with the topside?”

“More or less?” replied Cain, lowering a handgun. “It’s hard to describe without talking about where I was and what I was doing.”

“Then just tell me. I mean it, if it isn’t a secret, of course.”

“It’s not, it’s just… a lot and I think there is a better time for that kind of talk.”

“I hear you, I hear you,” Asmodeus sighed and looked at Cain with a strange glint in his eyes. “Speaking of Earth, have you ever wanted to, you know, go up there and see how humanity is doing?”

A pause.

“From time to time, I do, I suppose,” said Cain, looking back at Ozzie. “But I try not to dwell on it too much. Makes me feel things that should stay buried. Why did you ask?”

“Well, a lot has changed since we last saw each other and… I am now Sin of Lust, as you know, and that entails some benefits. You know certain succubi and incubi can traverse the veil and venture Earth now. I can grant them that power. I can grant the same to you if you want.”

A weary sigh escaped Cain before he replied.

“I appreciate the intent, but Asmodeus, I am a horned three meter tall skeleton. I can’t exactly blend in with modern humans.”

“Pfft!” Ozzy dismissively waved his hand. “As if we don’t have spells for that. Just give me a day and a half and I’ll have you looking like your average Joe. You could visit any crowded city and no one would even give a second look. Hell, you could even go to a remote forest or a beach if you want to. Just think about it, Cain, you, on the quietest beach in some tropical country, around you just nature and warm morning breeze. No demons, no sinners and none of Hell’s endless bullshit. Just you and the rays of the rising sun. Wouldn’t that be grand?”

Cain didn’t reply. A part of him wanted to agree and to leave all this mess behind, but that wouldn’t be fair. No, it just wouldn’t be right. He had duties before his parents. So, he said to Ozzie:

“I… I appreciate it, Asmodeus. Not just the offer, I mean all of what you are trying to do for me. For all of it, I’m grateful, but I’m afraid your efforts were all for naught from the start,” his next words made his brother freeze. “I know, Asmodeus. About what happened to our father. I know all of it.”

“You do…?” he replied. Cain only nodded in return. Asmodeus lowered his eyes, dread growing in the pit of his stomach.

“I can’t just leave it like that, Asmodeus. I just can’t.”

“Angels have already destroyed a fifth of the city,” Asmodeus said back weakly. “Retribution is already in progress, Cain. You don’t have to go and kill yourself, trying to take down Lucifer.”

“I am not planning to,” interrupted Cain. “There is nothing I can do against him . I made peace with that when I first saw him. All I want to do – is meet his daughter and have a talk.”

“Whatever you do,” Asmodeus pleaded,”just please, don’t harm her in blind anger. I know, what she did is horrible, but at the end of the day, Charlie is just a naïve child. She doesn’t even know why yearly extermination became a thing. What she did, she did out of ignorance. Not malice.”

“I want to believe that, brother,” said Cain. “I really do, but until I meet her personally, I can’t afford to be optimistic. You know who her father is. You know how he veils his inner rot with honeyed words and gilded promises. All I can promise you is that I will give her a chance to explain herself.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” replied Asmodeus with a small smile. “Well that and the other thing…”

“Oh, and what that other thing might be?” inquired Cain and then suddenly two mighty arms enveloped him into a strong embrace. Without thinking, Cain hugged him back.

“Whatever happens, when you reach Pride… just promise me, you won’t die there. I don’t want to lose you too…”

The next words came to Cain as easy as breathing:

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

Before Creation knew evil there was a place in Heaven. Unlike anything else made by the Father, this place was not made of pure light and bare concepts, no. It was a garden and its name was Eden. In it were plants and animals of every kind. Most made by Father, some created by her siblings, all governed and attended by the first couple. The one made in Father’s image and the other made to be his equal and companion. King and Queen of Eden.

Adam and Lilith.

Yet currently there was a trespasser in their kingdom. A being of light, passing between tree branches, silently observing life in all of its marvelous variety. From the smallest of rodents, nesting in the tree roots, to the biggest of birds, soaring through and between white clouds, casting shadows upon the emerald grass. Each captivated the being of light, her many eyes looking at all with child-like awe. In a way, just like the King and Queen of the kingdom she was intruding into, she was a child.

For she was Gabriel, The Messenger and currently the youngest archangel. She was made at the same time as the first man and her purpose was to be a link between the Father and humanity. However, the day she was to perform this duty was still far on the horizon, and her current days were filled mostly with studies under the Father and some lighthearted mischief directed at her older siblings. So, what was she doing in the garden?

Simply, she wanted to learn more about humans.

Most of her days have been spent learning about the intricacies of her light and her inner song, and all of it was done to make her a better bridge between them and Father. She had no complaints about her purpose, even if it wasn’t as grand as Uriel’s or Sera’s, but with each day spent studying her curiosity only grew. What even were humans?

They were not creatures of light and their song was hidden by their vessels made of dust, yet they also were made in Father’s image. In a way that made them greater than the brightest of angels and that only multiplied her juvenile curiosity by a thousand fold and it was her curiosity that led her to sneak into the garden. Well, sneak was a big word. Technically none were forbidden from entering. The only rules were to not disturb the life of the garden too much and respect the right of its rulers.

So there was nothing wrong with her being there. She didn’t even want to talk to humans. Well, actually she did, but she had to first observe from afar, which was why she came here in the first place. However, she was so captivated by animals inhabiting Eden, that she couldn’t notice footsteps. They were neither light nor heavy, belonging to neither bird nor beast. She was in the branches of a tall tree, hidden by green leafs, eyes glued to the sky and to majestic hawks circling the great blue sky.

It was then when she heard a gentle voice:

“Hello, is anyone up here?”

It made her freeze on a spot, for it lacked the angelic melody and was entirely unfamiliar to her. In other words it belonged to a human. Not only that, but it was closer in sound to the voices of Raphael and Uriel, than to that of hers or Sera’s. Meaning, beneath the branches in which she was hidden, underneath a cool shade, was Adam, the First Man and King of Eden.

Gabriel panicked. Already her plan went so wrong. What to do? What to do!? She could fly away from him, of course. Her speed, even at her age, was unparalleled. However, that would frighten him, besides it might harm the foliage and the critters of Ede, whom she grew to love despite knowing them only for less than an hour. She couldn’t escape, that meant she had to face him head on and explain herself. But before she could do that, she remembered one crucial detail.

She was still in her light form.

Her siblings all assumed another form whenever they visited Eden. When she asked, Sera explained to her that they did not want to frighten humans with their true forms, thus they took on an appearance similar to king and queen. Gabriel never had time to make an appearance for herself and things like that took time. However, the King of Eden was still standing below her, expecting her to announce herself.

So, she panicked and made a hasty change.

A flash of light. Suddenly, she had weight . She felt warm air caressing her skin. She had skin now and beneath it were muscles and beneath even that were her bones. It was strange, new feelings and sensations flooded her senses, overwhelming her for a moment. Then, she became aware of a concept that before this very moment existed for her only in Uriel’s endless lectures of cosmos – gravity. How exactly did she become aware of that concept? Well…

She fell down and landed on something, or rather someone. A groan escaped lips that did not belong to her. Gabriel opened her eyes and found the King’s visage before her eyes. Eyes of tender blue, peaceful as the sky above them, met with the eyes of radiant gold, akin to the rays of sunshine which provided warmth to all whom they reached. Then the same blue eyes widened with horrific realization, while those of gold opened wider in surprise.

She landed on Adam. She was lying on top of him in a rather scandalous position, feeling the warmth of his breath on her face. She… she intruded upon his rights as King of Eden! Oh, no, no, no, no! Sera would kill her for that! Luciel wouldn’t stop teasing her about it! And Father would…

Oh, dear, what would Father think!

Wasting no time she immediately stood up and did so at such speeds that to the first man it appeared as If she teleported. Then she did a perfect ninety degree bow, closed her eyes in shame and proclaimed loudly and for all animals, birds and even fish to hear:

“I apologize for my intrusion, o King of Eden!” her voice, befitting of The Messenger, was loud and somewhat boisterous, bolstered greatly by her youthful energies. “I have trespassed upon your land and in doing so I have intruded upon your divine right! I…”

She was then interrupted by a simple observation made by Adam, still lying on his back and looking at her with an emotion she could not read, due to her inexperience with humans:

“You’re an angel…”

Her eyes opened and she looked at him, bewildered. She should’ve appeared to him as a simple human. Did she, in her hurry, mess some aspect of her form? Perhaps, right now he was still able to see her body of light in some capacity? Maybe, the emotion in his eyes was fear, for he saw an amalgamation of angel and man? She didn’t dwell on it, for it would make her already dreadful situation even worse. So instead she replied…

“I am,” came out a lot weaker than her attempt at a grand apology. “How did you…?”

Adam already began to stand up, his eyes not leaving her form, and as he did, he said in the most matter-of-factly tone possible:

“Well, you have wings, do you not?”

She does…? Gabriel turned her hand and indeed there was a pair of white feathered wings growing out of her back. Just like that, the shame she felt beforehand multiplied by tenfold. Not only did she fall on top of him and make a fool of herself, she did so while being able to fly. Once again she lowered her head and started to apologize, but this time it came out like a whisper:

“Again I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude…”

And every next word of hers began to grow quieter and quieter, until she was basically muttering under her nose, all while avoiding looking at him. Adam tilted his head to the side, giving an angel before him a proper look. She had short platinum blonde hair, reaching a little lower than her chin. Her eyes were blue and bright. Her body was hidden by white robes reaching to her knees. Unlike Sera and Luciel, she appeared to have only one pair of wings, but they seemed a lot livelier. Like those of birds, rather than angels. Unlike Sera, she was shorter than him. Unlike Luciel, she lacked confidence when speaking to him. However, there was one quality that shined bright through her every action and every word that he had as well.

She was young. Inexperienced even, which greatly surprised the King of Eden. Angels were his and Lilith’s teachers and their words of wisdom guided him through this strange yet wonderful thing called life. However, the angel before him acted just like he did when he first came into existence: awkwardly stumbling through it all.

A connection, through which was born kinship. He asked her, once again interrupting her long apology:

“What’s your name?”

“My name?” she asked, her azure eyes widening in surprise. “I haven’t introduced myself…? Oh King of Eden, I apologize for such rudeness!”

“It’s alright,” he said, with a smile on his face which made her feel at ease. “And please, call me Adam.”

“Very well, Adam…” she nodded, hesitantly. “As for me, I am Gabriel, the Messenger, the one who shall be a link between your kind and the father.”

“Ah,” he said in understanding, “you are here to deliver a message, right?”

A pause. She averted her eyes, unable to meet his golden gaze.

“Not exactly,” she replied. “I came to…” she stumbled in her words, for some reason unable to state her true goal. Instead, she told him half-truth, “…to see Eden for myself.”

“Oh!” he said with sudden joy, while offering her his hand. “Would you like it if I showed you around?”

There was something in that moment, or rather in his golden eyes and in his sincere smile, that made Gabriel feel… strange. An odd sensation within her chest. A tickling warmth. She once again looked away, but this time not out of shame. “I think I would,” she said quieter than intended. “But… but would I be taking you away from spending town with the Queen?”

She looked at Adam and saw that he lowered his eyes, his expression shifting into something… sad? Hurt? She couldn’t name what it was, but it made her feel worried that she did something wrong. However his next words dispelled her doubt: 

“She… wants to be alone right now,” he met her eyes and smiled again. “Besides I have already done my tasks for today and I’ll be happy to spend the rest of the day showing you all that Eden has to offer, Gabriel!”

When she heard those words, Gabriel couldn’t help but give Adam a small smile. There was warmth to him, in his actions and in his words. The idea of spending the day here, in Eden, away from her studies and in his company, was… appealing. She took his hand and said:

“Well if you say so…” her voice was still meek, but there was a smile on her face. “Can we see the birds first? Of course, if it doesn’t trouble you too much, Adam…”

“Of course we can!” he said and led her away to see all the wonders of life in Eden. And on that day, two young souls formed a bond that could endure all hardships, hurt and suffering that will soon befall all of Creation. However, both were unaware of it in a moment, for all there was in the world for them were wonders of Eden and warmth of budding friendship.

She woke up and opened her eyes. The ceiling of her room greeted her with cold indifference. She sat on her bed, eyes staring forward without much thought. She slept for twelve hours, yet still she felt tired. She looked around her room. As usual, it was a mess. Various clothing scattered on the floor most which he gifted to her in the past, posters dedicated to various music bands on the wall that he used to listen to with her whenever they spent the time in her house and her bass guitar in the corner which he taught her how to play.

Wherever she looked, there were reminders. He was everywhere. In her room, in her mind and in her heart. Her soul ached with pain of loss. Days ago, she couldn’t spend a single hour without shedding tears, but now she could only stare at it all with emptiness. She lost something. Something which was so near to her heart and was with her for thousands of years, but always out of reach. Unvoiced, unspoken, unanswered.

It was the love of her life.

Adam. The constant throughout her existence. He was now gone. Forever.

How long has she spent alone with her longing and regrets? Only days, but it did not matter for this feeling of pain and loss will be with her forever. Years will pass, Heaven will change thousand times over, yet the longing will stay the same. No matter how far she flew, she will never escape this. Days ago she would’ve lost this battle and once again would’ve lost herself to grief, but not today. She had to be strong. For him.

Today was the day they were going to say goodbyes.

She stood from her bed and left her room. Tired feet stumbled through empty corridors of a modest house. She went to the first floor and approached the old door to the room she hadn't entered in ages. She opened and entered it. Magical lights burned in quiet greetings and she saw a round chamber in the center of which was her armor made of purest silver, forged by Uriel’s hand.

She stood before it, her eyes looking at a helmet depicting androgynous face, whose eyes were hidden by a pair of wings. She looked at it, her memory playing tricks on her. She still vividly remembered the days, when this metal carapace was like a second skin to her, when she led the armies of Heaven into the pit and fought the demonic hordes by his side. So many titles she earned back then, from friend and foe alike: Red Handed Valkyrie, Harbinger of Scourge, Herald of Divine Wrath, Bride of the Apocalypse, The Thousandfold and so many more, each more grim and absurd than the last.

She still remembered how they often used to laugh and joke about them, whenever they had the chance to catch the worst days of the war in Hell. To see his smile and hear his laugh was precious in those times, when all that surrounded them were death, strife and suffering. Rare moments of respite that gave her strength to carry on.

She sighed, banishing away memories. Now was simply not the time for that. She began to take off armor from the stand, piece by piece, and put it on herself. It would’ve been easier to do with magic, and as a matter of fact that was how most angels did it, but she was not like the most. She was The Messenger. The one, closest to humanity, and her habits, despite her higher status and nature, were that of a human.

With practiced hands she quickly donned her silver shell once more. The last piece was the helmet, with which she hid her face still bearing the bloodshot eyes and paler skin. She had to appear strong. She had to be strong. That's what he would’ve wanted.

She left the chamber and lights dimmed on their own. She exited her home, which was in a rather humble part of Heaven, where mostly Earthborn lived. Six wings of purest light appeared, connected to her back. She spread them and took flight, leaving her lonely home behind.

As she flew above the Kingdom of Light, she saw that the colors were dim and sounds of eternal victory were absent, in their stead was mourning silence. Today was the day many saw fellow angels laid lifeless on the slabs in Father’s empty palace. Tomorrow will be the day many will say their goodbyes.

Today, however, was reserved for them.

She landed in front of the old gate to a site near the palace. It was not a place one expected to see in Heaven, for many have thought Heaven was bereft of death. Unfortunately, that was not true. She entered the site where there were mausoleums of warriors who perished in the War in Hell. Each tomb here housed a body, that will never rot, to be preserved until the promised return. For when Father will return to His Kingdom, all who believed in him and fought for him would once again have an everlasting life.

At least, that was what everyone wanted to believe in. Her included.

She walked deeper into the gravesite, until she arrived at only the mausoleum, whose doors were not yet sealed. She was not to arrive, for she was greeted by her second oldest sibling. Sera’s pain was a reflection of her own, yet even now, unlike her, The Governor remained dignified without the need for a mask, clad in a black dress, her face hidden by a veil. There were no words exchanged between them, for they have no need for them.

They were siblings after all.

Next to arrive was Jophiel, eyes as always closed, clothes as always humble. In her every action, beauty and grace beyond measure. In her heart love for all that was and will ever be, burning bright as ever. She looked at them, and they could feel her worry for them. Sera merely gave a measured nod, while she straightened her back in a show of strength. This was not about them, after all.

Then two arrived at the same time. Man in scaled cuirass, face hidden by a bronze mask with a single eye, from which shone dimly a pale light. On his shoulders and on his head, a tattered cloak. Uriel gave them all a silent greeting. Next to him stood a giant. Layers and layers of fabric, a whole mountain of yellow. Slim, but empty hood, as if the wearer was invisible even to an angelic eye. In his hand, or rather in an empty sleeve, was a golden quill. Even now, Metatron continued his sacred duty as a scribe.

Next came the youngest accompanied by a one armed angel. Emily, The Joy Bringer, her constant smile was gone and out of all the angels here she was the one who had the most difficulties with appearing collected. It was in her eyes and in the slight trembling of her fingers. Next to her was his lieutenant, Lute was her name. Her eyes face was hidden by a standard exorcist helmet, yet everything in her signified emptiness and lack of purpose. From her posture to the dimness of her inner light.

Without fasting time, Jophiel rushed to them to ease their pains. Gabriel merely looked away. She had no desire to look in Emily’s direction and Lute’s condition reminded her of herself too much.

With the flash of light came the last two: Michael, covered head to toe in silver plate armor, and Raphael with his mangled body hidden by garments and bandages. Between them was a coffin with an open lid. Gabriel took one look and suddenly all around her ceased to be. It was just her and him now.

He… Adam, he looked so peaceful. When was the last time she has ever seen him like that? There were a few times in recent memory where she has seen him asleep and even then he looked so troubled and tired. Nightmares plagued him ever since they first set foot in Hell and his duties as Lord Exorcist never helped him to ease the scars of the mind. No, the last time she ever saw him like that was in Eden, when he fell asleep with his head on her shoulder a few days after…

She grit her teeth and pushed the memory away. No, she won’t allow the traitor and his whore to intrude upon her memory. Not here, not today.

She felt the reactions of her siblings. The distress and anguish so immense it could’ve drowned a lesser soul and it only worsened when they felt the traces of Raphael’s magic on Adam’s body. She put her hand on the handle of her sheathed sword and held it in a titanic grip.

Those heathens… They will pay. All of them.

It took them a few moments, before they managed to take a handle on their anger and sorrow. Emily was no longer able to hold it, tears streamed down her youthful face, while Jophiel held her close with her own eyes glued to the body in the coffin. The rest, however, managed to at least appear collected, her included. Thus, they proceeded with the ceremony.

Uriel and Michael lifted the coffin on their shoulders, while Sera stepped forward. The second oldest archangel, the one meant to govern the Heavenly Kingdom and all who resided in it, began to hum a loving lullaby. Only once before has she sung it, when she had to help a young soul face its first night in the Garden of Eden.

With a heavy step, Michael and Uriel carried their friend to his final rest, accompanied by the kindly song of Sera. Gabriel followed them with an unblinking gaze, her head devoid of thoughts, but her heart tearing with emotions. Soon, her brothers were inside of the mausoleum. They placed the coffin in the center of the chamber and shared a look, accidentally. No words were exchanged, but thoughts and worries have been made known.

The left, and Michael has closed the heavy stone door. Then Uriel placed his hand on it and a myriad of runes, ornaments and patterns appeared for a single moment. Incomprehensible, yet at the same infinitely divine in nature. Protective wards were set in place. No one will ever be able to intrude upon his final rest. Uriel gave a weary sigh and Michael placed his hand on his shoulder. They remained like this for a few seconds, then Sera’s song came to an end. They rejoined their siblings soon after.

They stood, eyes on the sealed entrance of the tomb. None spoke, for none knew what to say. For ten thousand years they have known him. Ten thousand years of memories, meaningful talks, joyous occasions, shared struggles and doubts. So many differing experiences. He was part of every life that was there. All of them saw something different in him. A friend, a brother, a pupil, an ancestor, a comrade in arms. All of it came to an end here, with him. No one completely knew how to take it.

After what felt like an eternity, one by one they began to leave. Heaven was in turmoil and needed all of them. They simply had no time to grieve. One by one, until there was only her.

Gabriel stood there, alone. She did not blame her siblings for leaving. After all, unlike her, they all still had purpose in grand design. However, even she couldn’t remain here forever, for Adam would have wanted her to be strong and face whatever fate had in store for her, but before doing so, she had to do one last thing. She took a step towards the tomb, until she was right in front of the sealed doors. She took off her helmet, revealing a face marred by tears and loss.

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cold stone. Her lips moved and she spoke words meant only for her and Adam. Confessions have been made along with a single promise. An oath of vengeance.

Gabriel removed her head away from the cold stone and put back her helmet. She stepped away and the wings of pure light appeared behind her back. She gave the tomb one last look and with a heavy sigh and even heavier heart, she took flight.

Chapter Text

Up above, in the Kingdom of Light, grief overtaken all. From the oldest of angels to the newly arrived soul, not a single person was not affected by it in some way. It was hard to describe, as if the colors themselves have gone dimmer. Streets appeared empty and places of song and joy have gone quiet. It was a surreal sight for those who were not old enough to witness the aftermath of the war in hell, when Heaven was first overtaken by grief for those who met their end on the bloody fields of war.

Meanwhile, at one of Heaven’s highest points, near the palace, there was a graveyard. It had few visitors throughout the years, but today the usually empty place was filled from one end to the other with winners and angels. Most were here to bid their farewells to friends, sisters, mothers and daughters who had fallen during the last extermination. A sizable portion was there to see the tomb of the first man. After all, Adam has been there since the beginning, it was only natural he would have people mourning over him.

Ten thousand years’ worth of history came to an end, and with it so many ties were severed. One, however, was older than most.

Far away from the crowds of exorcists, dominions, cherubs, other various angels and earthborn stood a figure unlike the others. Clad in purple robes, her true appearance hidden by a spell of hellish origins, she silently observed the tomb. She bit her lip, trying to process it all.

It made no sense. Ten thousand years and this is how he goes out? After all the pains and all the hardships, after all the years of shared history full of vitriol and anger it all ends just like that? With no resolution or closure, their last shared words – simple inquiries and mundane small talk. Just when they started to make progress… no… no!

It couldn’t end like that! There was simply no chance Adam’s history would come to such an end! He was out there still, she felt it! She knew it!

With that defiant thought, the hooded figure turned and disappeared into the shadows, determined to make sense of it all.

Meanwhile in the palace itself, life went on mostly as usual. Throne Watchers continued to stand guard in the empty grand halls and long passages, all while praising the Lord and his Creation with their eternal song. But in a single room, something historic was occurring. All archangels gathered to hold a council, with the exception of the Governor, Seraphiel.

At the head of the table sat the Taxiarch. To his left were Uriel, Raphael and Gabriel. To his right were Metatron, Jophiel and Emily. The mood in the room was tense. Gabriel, clad in her armor and with her face hidden by a helmet, was sitting completely still. It was so unlike her. The most humanlike archangel, she would often spend time before meetings either impatiently tapping on the table with her fingers or conversing with one of her siblings. To see her so still and quiet felt… unnatural.

Not to mention the sheer rage and bloodlust her siblings could feel from her. It didn’t matter what her siblings were to decide today. One way or the other, she would eventually venture into the pit with sword aloft and heart afire, either alone or with Heaven’s army at her call. The Snake will taste the steel of her blade. Father forbade them from ever ending the traitor’s life, but no words ever forbade them from hurting, crippling or breaking him.

Whatever was the outcome of this meeting, Lucifer will know true terror. That was a promise.

Uriel, ever the vigilant, was usually the one who was spearheading these meetings when Sera was for some reasons unavailable. Talkative and confident that how he was. However today, he too was unusually quiet and willingly passing the initiative to others. Something was bothering him and only Michael could see it through his mask and seemingly relaxed posture.

Metatron was silently awaiting. A giant, whose true form was hidden with golden silks. He was always the quiet one, preferring to record the meeting rather than to directly participate in them. Today he was anxious, which was an unfamiliar sight for many. He looked upon his elders in hope they would guide them through these tumultuous times.

Raphael sat with his mind already made up about what they were supposed to discuss. He saw what those wretches did to his sisters and to Adam. He was the one embodying Father’s compassion, but even the Lord had limits. Whatever punishment Michael saw fit, he would gladly accept it without question.

Emily was anxious and unlike Metatron, she didn’t have enough composure to hide it well. She knew well that the majority of her siblings were out for blood. Charlie’s fate depended entirely on this meeting. If Emily were to fail to appeal to their better nature, her brothers and sisters would unleash upon Hell an unspeakable carnage. She had to do her best and give her all, otherwise…

Emily did not want to think about it.

Jophiel, Beloved of Creation. Embodiment of Father’s love and his mercy, she was her siblings’ conscious when their hearts demanded blood. She gazed at her brothers and sisters with unhidden worry. Grief and hate was flowing through their hearts and marring their songs. If not tempered that hate could consume them whole and contort their beings into something lesser. Something that their Father would not be able to recognize upon His fated return. Jophiel breathed in and calmed herself.

She would not allow for such horrid fate to pass.

Finally, Michael sat still. His armored visage unreadable. He saw through all who were around him as if through the clear waters of Eden. He understood them all. From Gabriel’s bloodthirst to Emily’s plea. Each of them came here with their mind already made up. He sighed, drawing the attention of his siblings. He was a blade, but today he will fulfill his duties as an older brother. He spoke and with his word Metatron manifested a quill and a scroll and began his silent duties as a scribe:

“Brothers and Sisters. In the past two weeks, we have encountered a terrible tragedy and faced many startling revelations. Our population discovered the truth behind Exterminations during a trial held against Serpent’s daughter. Cannibalistic sinners, led by that very same daughter, battled against our sisters and slain them with our own steel. Adam faced both young Charlotte and Lucifer and then, after a battle against archenemy, a sinner treacherously stabbed him in the back and he perished in the hands of his lieutenant.”

With his every word, the tension in the room grew. Emily looked at her siblings with worry, particularly at Gabriel, who gripped the edge of the stone table with such force it began to crack and crumble in her touch. Jophiel lowered her head, Metatron’s writing slowed, the light from Uriel’s mask grew in intensity and Raphael fists began to gently tremble. Michael continued:

“I feel your anger, my brothers and sisters, for I still feel it as well. In any other circumstances, that poor excuse of a city would already have been nothing but ashes and memories. However, something phenomenal occurred. For the first time in history, both recorded and forgotten, a sinner was redeemed. Not only that, but by his own words he was part of young Charlotte’s redemption hotel,” he sighed and looked at his siblings, who all began to calm themselves with a single exception. “Now, we are at the crossroads and roads ahead of us are foggy and uncertain. The fates of Heaven and Hell depend on our decision and a single mistake could have ramification for the whole Creation. I will be honest, my dearest siblings, I am seeking your wisdom just as much as you do mine.”

There was a short silence, and then…

“…what’s even the point of this?” Gabriel suddenly spoke, her voice distant and eerily calm, yet laden with violent intent. Something that all here understood clearly.

“Could you elaborate, Gabriel?” asked Michael with the same calmness, yet inwardly preparing to defuse any incoming situation.

“Why are we even discussing this?” replied Gabrie, quietly. “Adam died and with him died many of our sisters. Their corpses were defiled by those…” her voice barely trembled, “those monsters, yet here we are: sitting. Playing at politics like our foolish sister used to, instead of raising an army and preparing to venture into the pit once more and deliver upon those murderers divine justice.”

“Because a soul was redeemed!” responded Emily, shocked at her sister’s disregard for such a miracle.

Gabriel she knew was an easy-going and cheerful angel. She did not possess the regality of Sera or the effortless grace of Jophiel. In fact, many lesser angels appeared far more put together and stoic than Gabriel ever did, but that was her strength and what made her so wonderful to be around. Gabriel was human. Or as humanlike as an archangel can get. People gravitated to her and she gravitated to people. Gabriel Emily knew would have been overjoyed to know that there was an escape from Hell.

However, Gabriel that was in front of her merely continued to speak in calm and collected tone:

“First soul in ten thousand years. There is too much we don’t know. What exactly was that qualified him to be redeemed while billions of other sinners throughout history have perished to never return? We do not know. We cannot even say for sure whether his redemption was a causation of his stay in that excuse of a hotel or a simple correlation. Even if the former is the case, I fail to see how that should stop us from executing Serpent’s daughter for her crimes. I say, we behead her in front of his eyes. Destroying his kingdom once failed to teach him anything. Perhaps finally knowing what he carelessly has been inflicting upon the others might serve as a better punishment.”

“Gabriel!” spoke Emily, horrified and shocked. “How can you say such dreadful things! This isn’t you! We can’t just…!”

“Silence, you sheltered brat!” For the first time, The Messenger raised her tone and with her voice the walls around them shook. She stood up and pushed her chair back. “You know nothing of what they deserve or not! You were born in a peaceful era and by Sera’s mistake, you never learned what pain and horror he and his wretched kind had inflicted upon Creation! You don’t even know why we conduct extermination upon these oh so poor ‘innocents’ you wish to protect! You don’t even know what they are capable of if left unchecked! But I know, for I battled them with Adam by my side during war in Hell!” She began to gesture at her siblings one by one. As she did, she spoke of their experiences and the volume of her voice grew and grew.

“Metatron knows, for he was there on Earth before the Flood and he was the one tasked with keeping their horrid history of atrocities! Michael knows, for he battled them at Pearly Gates alone and witnessed firsthand their armies’ depravities! Uriel knows, for he purged the Earth of those who hid on it after their failed conquest of Our Home in Heaven! Raphael knows, for he had to mend forms of those who were harmed by their hands during the war! Jophiel knows, for she witnessed what they were doing to the hellborn and fought against their disgusting crimes! Even Sera knows, for she was the one to judge and sentence their worst of the worst after the treaty had been signed! Yet she failed to impart on you even an ounce of that knowledge!”

She returned her full attention to Emily, who had shrunk back in her seat, terrified by the wrath of her older sister.

“You know nothing, yet you spit out proclamations and judgements with such a blind conviction! You have neither knowledge nor right to sit at this table and if I hear you defend these monsters one more time, I will…!”

“Gabriel!” Michael’s voice rang out like thunder and she stopped mid-sentence to look at him. “That’s enough. You’ve made your point,” she looked back at The Joybringer, to see her on the verge of tears, looking at her as if Gabriel had struck her. “Sit back.”

Gabriel frowned behind her helmet, but did not retort. Jophiel was already trying to comfort Emily to the best of her ability, while the others merely decided to remain silent. All except Uriel, who said:

“But she does raise a valid point. We have no idea whether or not Charlotte is directly responsible for redemption. For all we know, this all could be an unlikely coincidence.”

“I doubt that,” replied Jophiel. “You and Gabriel both are overlooking a significant detail.”

“Oh, and what would that be, dearest sister?” asked curious Uriel, while Gabriel looked with some interest. Jophiel was her elder and far wiser than she ever was. While her words would not change her heart, she was still interested to hear them.

“Charlie was born from Lilith and is a daughter of Lucifer. Both shouldn’t be able to produce offspring. From Samyaza and her comrades, we know that once fallen, angels lose the ability to reproduce. Meanwhile Lilith lost her ability to bear children after the betrayal. Before Charlie, the only time she managed to successfully bring a life into the world was with Adam and we all know how that story ended.”

As she mentioned that child, Jophiel’s heart ached. Poor Asmodeus, born on Earth from a man and an abomination. A misshapen babe that was never meant to be, belonging to no world. Not to Earth, not to Hell and not to Heaven. To live only for three painful years and then be sent to the pit for no crime other than being born…

Such a poor fate that was.

At least once they found him, both Adam and Lilith did their best to help him. From what little she knew of Asmodeus, they succeeded. Oh how hard it must be for him right now… Maybe, after this meeting, she could convince Michael to let him visit his father’s grave, but right now she had to pay attention to what The Watcher was saying.

“I see,” nodded Uriel. “In other words, her birth can only be possible through divine will.”

“Meaning that she might have a larger role to play in Father’s plans,” continued Raphael for him. He tapped his finger against the table, thinking it over. Then he said what was on everyone’s mind. “But that begs the question… Why of all beings in Creation Father have chosen Lilith and Lucifer to bring such a child into existence? After all, there must’ve been better candidates, even in Hell.”

“Perhaps, this is a test of some kind?” offered Jophiel.

“If this is a test, we failed horribly…” spoke Metatron, slowing his quill, his voice quiet and gentle as the morning breeze. A quality he carried over from his days as a human. In his tone, to many so calm and distant, was now a sorrow.

He was The Scribe. The Keeper of Forbidden Knowledge. The Sage of Heavenly Kingdom. It was in his duties to assist those who dwelled above with his wisdom and foresight. It was him to whom the First Man confided first, when one of his perished in Hell half a month ago. It was him who failed Adam the most.

If only he had betrayed a promise he made and let it be known to all of the lost exorcist’s fate, then maybe Adam would have been still with them right now.

“If that was the case, we would’ve known already,” countered Gabriel, disliking where the conversation was going. No matter how it might’ve concluded, Lucifer will still know vengeance, but she would’ve preferred if she could make it possible with her brothers and sisters by her side.

“Or maybe the test is not over yet,” said Emily quietly. “Maybe, we still can make it right, by helping Charlie,” she was met with a glare from Gabriel, but it did not discourage her. “I know, I am young and I know nothing of what her parents did to all of you, to all of Creation, but… but what if it all really depends on Charlie? What if by killing her we just waste our one chance at saving souls from Hell? Can we really afford to test our luck in search of vengeance?”

Gabriel stood again, preparing to deliver another speech, but was instantly stopped by the sight of Michael’s raised palm. She sat back down, fuming, and Raphael placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her. Michael spoke and in his voice was authority of the highest order:

“Whatever the case, we can’t afford to take risks. If by taking a path of war against Lucifer and his spawn, we endanger the possibility of redemption, then it’s the path we must avoid. Our best bet would be to approach this diplomatically.”

“No,” came Gabriel’s voice, determined and resolute. “I refuse to let that snake get away with it. Even if it means going against him alone, stripped of Father’s Light, I will not let him get away unpunished.”

“Worry not, sister, he will know all your grievances with him,” replied Michael, already expecting that reaction from her and knowing just what to say to appease her. “I will let you converse with him. Alone, of course. I only ask you to spare his daughter and her nearest comrades from your wrath.”

“…you ask for far too much.”

“I am aware, but until her importance for Creation is somehow disproven, I am going to ask you to restrain yourself.”

Silence. A second passed. Then a minute. And then…

“Fine. But one misstep, one wrong move, one single action against us or any other heavenly being and I will slaughter each and every one of them with my bare hands.”

“Of course,” nodded Michael. “And I will be right there, fighting by your side.”

That seemed to ease tensions in the room. While Emily still disliked how bloodthirsty Gabriel was acting, she still took joy in the fact that Charlie and her friends will get to live another day. Meanwhile, Uriel decided to bring up something that was bothering him for the past few days.

“Pardon me, Michael?”

“Yes, Uriel? You have something to add?”

“I do and I think you all might find it… alarming,” with a simple use of sorcery, Uriel has summoned spears of exorcists. All the eyes became drawn to the weapons. “As you said, Adam and his loyal exorcists were harmed by weapons made from our steel. When I first learned, I devoted all of my knowledge and resources trying to understand how something like that managed to go past me unnoticed. But as I studied our weapons I found out that none of them had power to do what you described.”

All of the archangels present were taken by surprise. Jophiel and Emily’s eyes widened, Raphael leaned to see the weapons closer, Metatron stopped his writing entirely, Gabriel became stiff as a statue and Michael only urged his brother.

“Continue, Uriel.”

“Yes, I ran some tests, examined it all from every possible angle and perspective, but found nothing. Then…” he summoned small, tiny things. Bullet fragments, glistering in the air like fish scales. “I looked at what Hell was wielding and found all I needed. It is not that our weapons can harm us. They were tainted. Corrupted by someone or something. There are traces on it, but they do not belong to Lucifer. They are far too… restrained.”

“But if It was not Lucifer, then who?” asked Raphael. “Who could benefit from turning our own weapons against us? To do such a thing would be to declare a war against Heaven itself.”

“Well,” said Uriel, “The list of suspects is thankfully short. The only sinners who could ever accomplish something like that were Seth and Aclima. One is dead, while the other is forever lost. Besides, despite all that occurred between them, I doubt either of them would arm an army against their own father. Next, we have Paimon. His house was always well versed in matters of sorcery, but he is not foolish enough to start a war he can’t win. And finally… Samyaza.”

A heavy silence occurred between all the siblings, and then Raphael asked:

“Do you really think she somehow found a way to circumvent her contract with Adam?”

“Out of all of the denizens of the pit, I think she is the most capable of doing something like that,” replied Uriel with a heavy sigh. “After all, I taught her well…”

“In any case, we will have to conduct an investigation,” said Michael. “Uriel, can I count on your assistance?”

“Of course.”

“Very well. Now, let us discuss our following course of actions.”

And with that, they began to devise a plan. Many things were discussed that day and many details were changed and shifted around, but one thing remained certain: neither Hell nor Lucifer will get away unscathed.

Chapter Text

Last few days have been hectic to say the least. It wasn’t his first time dealing with seemingly impossible to win situations. One does not become a king of Hell without encountering some bad odds here and there. As a matter of fact, such a position warranted a certain kind of shrewdness, resilience and brute strength that only a fallen archangel could possess.

But the situation he found himself in right now… For the first time since the Fall, he had no idea what to do or how to proceed. If it was anyone else, he would’ve already been amassing armies by now. After all, most of his siblings weren’t made for war and, unlike them, he had more than enough experience to confidently say that he could defeat most of them in a straight fight. The only two who could force a draw were Gabriel, thanks to her blinding speed, and Uriel, because of his unmatched arcane insight. Even then he could probably devise some sort of strategy to capitalize on their weaknesses in some way.

But Michael…?

No, there was no defeating Michael. There were no brilliant strategies or weaknesses to exploit. Not even if he mobilized all of Hell and revived all who fell during Adam and Gabriel’s little conquest, under his banner he would still avoid confronting Michael at all cost. Only once he fought Michael, when he was on the peak of his power with all of Hell backing him up, and his brother still made short work of him. He grit his teeth. It was hard to say if his headache came from phantom pains or his still wounded pride.

The best he could was make a best case for his dearest daughter, so that she would be spared from his brother’s ever-blazing blade. Of course, his dear Char-Char and her friends had no idea of what was going on in his head. They thought that he might have had some sort of ace in his sleeve. For their sake he played along. A polite smile here, a little boast there and voila! They now believe he has it under control.

Same couldn’t be said for the rest of Pentagram City.

When he walked through the streets, accompanied by his daughter, he couldn’t help but notice just how… quiet it was out there. He saw sinners boarding windows and snipers on the roofs with their gaze held up high to the sky. He saw people walking around with an urgency of a dead man walking, too busy with impending doom to stir trouble. In spite of himself, he appreciated this newfound quiet.

Unfortunately, Charlie didn’t seem to care for it. Her shoulders were tense and in her eyes there was dread. Oh, Charlie… his poor little darling and her ever bleeding heart. She felt guilt for the fates of cannibals. In his own opinion, such emotions were… unnecessary. Those sinners knew what they signed for, yet still they found in themselves hubris to blame his flesh and blood when things did not go their way. Insolent parasites.

Yet his daughter cared, despite their rotten nature and ungrateful character. So much, in fact, that she asked him to heal their charred carcasses. He, feeling that it was what a good father would do, agreed.

When they arrived at the edge of what once Cannibal Town, he saw tents stretching over the ruins. A sore sight to be sure, reminding him of what Hell was like before he so wisely and benevolently took over. Just a collection of incestuous rejects and savages living in barely held together yurts of bones and beast hides, fearing their own shadows. Indeed, what a sore sight that was…

Oh, well he only had to wave his hands around for a bit and undo whatever the fuck that Throne Watcher did and then he and Charlie will be out of here faster than one could say “duck”.

But when he and Charlie entered that godawful camp, something immediately felt off. No, it wasn’t the moans and groans of agony and smell of charred flesh. He fully expected to see it. What he didn’t expect to see in its place, however, were healthy cannibals. Smiling, laughing amongst each other. The air felt light and smelled of hope.

It felt wrong. It was wrong.

He gave Charlie a side glance and seeing her perplexed and disbelieving face only confirmed his suspicions. Now all he had to do was figure out who was messing with him and his daughter by helping out cannibals. After all, altruism in Hell was as rare as snow, especially among sinners.

A cannibal woman approached them, dressed in a simple maid dress, reminding him of Victorian times. She was looking at them all smiling and grateful he for the life of him couldn’t say why. She gave a curtsy and addressed them with respect and required formality:

“Greetings, Your Highness! I see you have decided to pay your loyal servants a visit!”

“Well, duh,” he replied, tightening the grip on his cane. “My daughter’s been worried sick about you people. She even asked me to help and how could a father refuse his daughter.”

“Ah, so along with sending a healer our way, you decided to come and help us yourself,” nodded the maid. “That’s very noble of you, Your Highness. As befits a king, I’d say.”

There were very few people out there in Hell capable of mending wounds inflicted by an angel of such high caliber as a Throne Watcher. So few in fact you could count them on one hand. Out of those select few he couldn’t think of a single one to whom it would be in character to act on his behalf and heal cannibals seemingly out of pure kindness of the heart.

“You send someone here?” whispered Charlie from the side.

“I didn’t,” he replied, completely truthful, and then turned his attention to the maid. “The healer. Is he still here?”

“He?” asked the maid, confused. “Your Highness, the healer is a woman.”

His body went stiff.

“What did she look like?” he managed to ask.

“She… wore a black dress with a feathery collar,” replied the maid, cautiously, feeling the intense heat coming from Lucifer. His silent glare urged her to continue. “And her hair was white and… and she had very dark eyes.”

Instantly all alarms in his mind went off all at once and it took all of his willpower to not unleash his demonic form and torch this entire campsite to the ground in search of that damned monster. She broke the contract imposed on her by Heaven. Somehow, she did it and her soul was not torn asunder. No matter, he’ll deal with her by himself.

“Take me to her. NOW!”

Agony. All he knew was agony. His eyes were burned, long melted out from his eye sockets. His hearing was gone, the shrill of divine light engraved upon ruined canals, still echoing within his skull. His lungs were filled with ash and sulfur, each breath sending cascades of pain through his carcass. His skin was ruined, the fires were long put out, but he still felt them on his arms, on his legs, on his chest, within his stomach and in his mouth. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

Each moment was like an eternity. He had no sight, no hearing, no way of talking, no sense of touch and no ability to move his limbs. A damned little soul, imprisoned within a ruined flesh, with nothing but agony and his memories to keep him company. Despite it all he still was there. Sane. Aware. Contemplating.

He thought of all whom he wronged. In life he was a soldier, his hands were not once bathed in blood. Once, when abandoned by those to whom he pledged his life, deep in the enemy territory, he partook of his fellow man’s flesh in an act of desperation. The ghost of that taste remained on his tongue until the day he finally perished alone under some bridge, unwanted and unneeded. That taste, that hunger… It was what led him to Lady Rose. It was what fueled his daily routine, filled with violence and gluttony and it was what led to him to make that fatal slip and join that rosy cheeked princess in fight against Heaven itself.

Part of him was more than aware that he earned his current fate. After all, he always knew that he would end up in some situation like this. He knew who he was, what life he chose and where it led. Yet another part of him couldn’t help but lament:

Why? Why like this?

He was a horrible person, but has he ever inflicted on anyone a fate like this? Was his sins truly so severe that they warranted such torture? Or was Heaven so cold and distant that all sins were alike in their eyes? Did he truly deserve it all?

…will it ever end?

…

…

…

Then he felt it.

A gentle touch from within. A calming wave of cold. A relief. Hands, dozens of them, caressing his innards and coiling around his ribcage, spreading gentle warmth. Slowly making pain fade away in an act of love and compassion. For the first time in what felt like decades he could feel something other than agony. 

He felt his body once more.

First toes, then legs, then arms, then torso, then neck and finally head. He felt the bed under his body and blanket above it. He heard distant voices and laughter. His breath was steady. He tried to open his eyes, but a cold yet gentle hand closed his eyelids and a voice rang out like the chime of silver bells.

“Just a moment. They are not done healing.”

He felt her slender fingers running through his hair, edges of her nail ever so slightly scratching his scalp. It felt… nice. He struggled to remember when he felt something like this before. Not even his own mother was so soft with him, much less anyone else in his crooked life. Then, she removed her hand from his eyelids and whispered to him.

“You can look now. It won’t hurt.”

He opened his eyes and saw the most beautiful woman in his life. Fair skin, hair white as virgin snow and eyes dark as sky on cloudy night. On her face was a smile, full of warmth and motherly care. They were in a tent of some kind, illuminated by what appeared to be an oil lamp hanging from above them. She was seated on the side of his bed, leaning just so her face was above his. The dim light around her head like a saint's halo. He asked her, his voice coarse and rough:

“…who are you?”

“An angel,” she said, her hand shifting from his hair to his cheek, her palm cold like ice.

“…what’s your name?”

“Samyaza.”

That meant absolutely nothing to him. He closed his eyes and just relished in the sense of her touch and in her quiet company. It felt good. Too good. Without really meaning to, he asked aloud:

“Am I dreaming…?”

The answer came when the same gentle hand that was resting on his cheek suddenly pinched the side of his face. It didn’t hurt that much, but the sheer unexpectedness of it made him yelp and move away from that treacherous hand. He took a seating position and glared at the pale woman near his bed, who in turn tried to hide her smirk with her hand.

“What was that for!?”

“You asked if you were dreaming,” she replied. “I believe I heard pinching is the most effective method of showing that it’s not the case, is it not?”

“Tsk.”

He rubbed the side of his cheek, while at same time getting a better look at her person. Her body was hidden with a plain black dress, which covered almost all of her body. Around her neck was a feather shawl, her long hair reached almost to the lower end of her back. She was beautiful, almost angelic and at the same time so human looking. Nothing like sinners of Pride.

Nothing like him.

He decided that he had enough of her beauty and spoke, trying to sound as cold as possible.

“So, what do you want?”

“Pardon?”

He sighed at her attempt at playing innocent, so he cut the chase and said how it was.

“Look, ma’am, it’s not my first year here and I know things never come free. So you can just drop the act and say what you want.”

She gave a quiet laugh.

“I see, I see,” she said, never dropping the smile, yet he could not detect any malice coming from her. Odd… usually types like her would be at least somewhat annoyed by his bluntness. “You seem to be mistaken, my dear. I came here to assist his majesty. Doing it could only be accomplished by helping your kind. Besides… charging a dead man walking would be too heartless, don’t you think?”

“What? What do you mean? I feel fine!”

“That’s because I only managed to heal your wounds,” she said, dropping her smile. “However, those wounds weren’t the only thing that Throne Watcher has left you with. You have a mark, deep within your soul. That mark is the one of death. Soon, my brothers and sisters will descend upon this city and those who bear the mark would be the first to fall, I’m afraid.”

“Is there… is there a way to remove it?”

“I am afraid it’s not possible. Soul is a fragile thing, my dear. Any manipulation on it, no matter how miniscule, could have disastrous effects. There is simply no way of escaping their wrath.”

“Damn it…” he said, leaning back into bed and closed his eyes.

He should’ve expected that. There were simply no good endings for people like him and any way of thinking otherwise was nothing but a delusion in the guise of hope. Heaven was far too powerful to let him or his fellow cannibals to let them escape vengeance.

Well, at the very least, now he could spend his last days free from agonizing suffering. Maybe he could try giving a shot to that redemption hotel thing that he fought for. Maybe then angels will at least make his end quick. Again he felt her touch on his face and heard her voice.

“Look at the bright side, my dear,” Samyaza urged him with a tone comparable to that of a mother who desperately tried to cheer up her child after a long and unpleasant day.

“What bright side could there possibly be?” he asked, opening his eyes and looking at her returned smile. In his tired voice there was anger. At angels for damning him, at the princess for convincing him to fight for her and at himself for not knowing any better. “They going to fucking massacre us. Shit, I don’t even think we could fight them with their weapons anymore. That thousand voiced monster fucking nuked us. How can you fight against something like that?”

“I am not asking you to fight, Richard,” she said, taking him completely by surprise.

“What… how do you…?” 

“Know your true name?” she asked, giving a slight giggle. “That’s easy. I peered into your soul, darling. I saw your past, your fears, your regrets…” slowly she began to trail from his face, down to his neck and to his heart, stopping right above, feeling his quickened heartbeat, “…your unrealized desires. Oh what a captivating sight it was, my dearest sinner. It’s been so long since I saw a soul as wicked as yours so close…”

He stopped breathing. That part of himself, that shameful and disgusting thing which he hid as deeply as he could. Even in hell, he always shunned himself for having those thoughts, those ideas and wants. To have it all exposed in such a casual manner. No! No, that was simply impossible!

“You’re lying…!”

“Am I?” she interrupted, never losing her smile. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me that I am mistaken. Tell me that what I saw was untrue to who you are, Richard. Do it. Prove me wrong.”

“What do you want, damn it!”

“Simple. To see you happy,” Samyaza said without a single lie, “to witness you act according to who you are. To do what comes naturally. Besides, what excuses do you have left, Richard? Your death is now a certainty. The only thing you can change is how fulfilled you’ll be when they will finally catch you.”

“It’s wrong…”

“And has that ever stopped you before, Richard? Has it stopped you from killing your fellow man? From devouring his flesh? From taking arms against Heaven? Morality never shackled you, so why are you trying to pretend that it’s the case now?”

“I will die…”

“Indeed you will, Richard,” nodded Samyaza. “You can only change whether the retribution will be divine or not. So why hold back?”

He sat in shameful silence, unable to respond to her in any meaningful way. Suddenly her expression shifted and she looked to the entrance of the tent. She spoke to him, without looking at him.

“You better leave, my dear. Someone very angry is coming this way and I can’t guarantee your safety.”

He scurried away in shame and with his head hang low and the last words he heard on his way out were:

“…but please, don’t forget our talk.”

He wouldn’t. Rather he couldn’t and that hurt. Almost as much as divine fires. Almost.

She stood from her seat and adjusted her shawl. She felt her senior coming, so she had to look presentable, for her senior was a king of this wretched kingdom. Of course, judging by the state of the city his reign left much to be desired, but the denizens of Pentagram City proved themselves quite… interesting.

Some cannibals alone proved the entire trip worth it.

So, she would be polite and honest, as she always was. Not out of respect for his lordship, but out of admiration for what he managed to accomplish with these people. After all, she, of all beings, could admire what it took to get someone’s soul to such a state.

A six winged being barged into a tent. It had the appearance of a man dressed in an immaculate white attire with a top hat. Pale skin and pinkish cheeks. Burning eyes of red and an expression of pure and unrestrained anger. Fair, given that she entered his kingdom without a warning, but she would prefer to avoid any fights.

After all, he had no strength to kill her and she had no power to control him. Neither would gain anything from this fight. She greeted him with a slight bow.

“Good day, King of Pride…”

“Cut the shit, Samyaza!” he interrupted her and manifested hellish flames in his hands and aimed at her. “You have ten seconds to answer what the fuck you are doing in MY kingdom!”

“Well, same answer as to everything I do, really,” she said with a slight shrug. “Boredom and desire for amusement. I have to say, Lucifer, your kingdom more than managed to deliver.”

“How did you escape your contract, you bitch? Adam had your soul in his grip!”

“He did, but did you forget? Unlike the treaty, my contract was with Adam specifically, not with Heaven,” she sighed, dejected at what she had to say next. “So, unfortunately, that grip loosened with the first strike of angelic knife upon his back. By the time you shooed away his lieutenant, it was gone completely.”

A shame, really. She enjoyed their talks and the sense of a metaphorical shackle around her neck. For some of her kin, it would’ve been degrading to be under the human soul, but for her that shackle symbolized something. An unbreakable bond that could last until the final soul would extinguish in dark and uncaring reality that would befall Creation when the end of times would finally arrive. How could she not treasure it?

Unlike some other, she had no delusions. Adam detested her and their connection with all his soul and she, in turn, was more interested in what he could become, rather than in who he was, but part of her could not help, but wonder…

What would others, more delusional than her, would say if they knew of their bond?

“That gives you no right to enter my domain!” said Lucifer, tearing her from her inner musings, the unholy fires in his arms getting hotter by the second.

“Indeed,” she nodded. “But does it truly warrant death, Lucifer?”

“With you? Yes!”

Before she could give a polite retort, another being entered the tent, and Samyaza’s smile grew wider. Here she was, her liberator, Charlie Morningstar! Hmm, but what was strange was that her cheery attitude was nowhere to be found and looking closer at her, she seemed to be worried by something…

“Dad, what are you doing?!”

“Charlie, don’t come any closer!” he yelled, without removing his gaze from her and then he addressed her. “You! Don’t you dare to even look at her, you hear? Or I will burn you to a crisp!”

“I am sure you will, Lucifer,” she nodded without mockery. “Numerous times, most likely. However, before that happens, there would be a long and grueling battle with many casualties. Do you think it would be worth it?”

He furrowed his brows, contemplating. His daughter was here and Samyaza doubted he would let harm befall on her. He was a coddling parent, after all. As expected, the flames in his hands began to die out and he retracted his wings. He sighed and said, resolutely and with no room for argument:

“Get out.”

She bowed and a portal manifested behind her. She turned and left, satisfied with her work and with what she witnessed. Once she was gone, all who left in the tent were Lucifer, who felt tired after talking with that monster, and Charlie, who was still very confused. She asked her father:

“Dad… who was that?”

Lucifer sighed.

“Someone who deserves this place more than anyone else. Charlie?”

“Yes, dad?”

“Can you promise me something?”

“…sure.”

“If you cross paths with her, never ever listen to her. Never consider her words. Never give thought to her musings and never ever seek her out. Trust me on this, sweetie. She is not worth it,” he paused from the onslaught of memories and then added more to himself than to her. “Never was and never will be…”

Chapter Text

She remembered it so well. How the fire crackled, how the shadows danced on the wall of the cave they called home, how furs felt on her aged skin, the warmth and the longing. Her heartbeat was slow and barely felt. Years have not been kind to her, but she has long made peace with that. Nine hundred years of living, how could she not?

In the morning she heard footsteps. Light and careful, as if not wanting to wake her up from her restless slumber. Her hearing was not what it used to be, but still she could discern who was making way to her, by the sound of footsteps alone. They belonged to their third child – Azura.

Her daughter came into view, wrapped in the hide of a great beast, which she had slain years before with some mild assistance from her father. Her long dark hair was tied in a braid and her red eyes. The fire’s light gave her pale skin a yellow tint. Out of all her children, Azura was the one most resembling her. Same skin tone, same hair color and almost the same eyes. While her own were like putrid pools of corpseblood, the eyes of Azura were akin to fire, so bright and warm they were.

Their eyes met and Eve whispered to her daughter

“You came alone…”

It was a rare thing to see Azura without a child either in her arms or running around her feet. First to give her grandchildren, she was a kind and nurturing one. Always caring for others. Always fretting over those who could not look after themselves. Always trying to resolve conflicts through words and compromise.

In a way, Azura has long since surpassed her as mother. Not that it was a hard thing to accomplish, but Eve was still so proud of her. Azura gave a tired smile, and replied to her mother:

“I thought you were asleep,” she took a seat near her. “Besides, I had a hunch that you might appreciate some quiet.”

“That was a good hunch.”

“Seth said the same thing.”

They shared a short laugh, although hers came out more like a pained wheeze, while Azura’s still had some youthful energy to it. Azura gave her a look of subdued worry. Eve herself used to give the same looks to Adam whenever he was ill or came injured after the hunt. It was odd to be on the receiving end for once, but it was useless to deny that she didn’t appreciate it.

Eve spoke, trying to alleviate Azura’s anxiety by changing the topic:

“How's everyone, anyway? I haven’t seen Seth in a few days and Aclima…”

“Seth is working on new concoctions,” replied Azura. “Some of the children have been coughing more than usual lately and you know how he gets when something like that happens. Aclima is… well, doing her usual thing. Working on tools, creating new weapons and armors for hunters. Me, dad and Seth have to remind her to drink, eat and bathe. She scares away everyone else with her hammer.”

“Hmm… can’t say I’m surprised. How are the children?”

“Oh, little Lana took her first steps this morning and Tamar…”

When it came to talking(or boasting in some cases) about children, Azura always had quite a lot to say. Not that Eve herself could fault her. She herself had enough stories about her dear little ankle biters to last for the next few thousand years. So, she had more than enough insight to have a proper talk with her daughter about the most important topic of all: motherhood.

When all was said, however, silence reigned for a couple of seconds. Then Azura leaned forward to her mother. Eve wordlessly understood and offered her wrinkled forehead. Azura gave her a quick kiss and carefully hugged her. Eve, of course, hugged back. Azura whispered, more to herself than to anyone else:

“Everything will be alright, mother… We have so much more to see. So many things to experience…”

“I am sure it will all be fine, my sunshine…” Eve lied as easily as she breathed. “I’ve had worse, remember?”

“Mhm…”

Azura let her go and went to the cave’s entrance. Before she left, she gave Eve one last look and through both of them understood quite clearly: this was their last talk on this wretched Earth. Azura left and Eve was left alone with her thoughts. Truth be told, she has long since grown tired of such a state of affairs. She spent the last few months bedridden and thus she had more than enough time to contemplate what a lousy mother and wife she had made.

Today she desired for one thing and one thing only – to focus on the warmth her daughter shared with her and drift to sleep. And so, it happened.

When she awoke, the fires were still burning and she had someone’s hand on her forehead. She opened her eyes and saw a bearded man with crystal blue eyes. Usually those very eyes displayed to the whole world only two things: bottomless curiosity and mild amusement, usually at the expense of his closest sisters.

Today, they looked at her with undeniable guilt and shame. Oh, poor Seth… always assuming responsibility over everything, even if it was hopelessly beyond his control. First human to ever become a healer… Even when there was nothing he realistically could do, he would still do nothing without the help from his family to ease the guilt crushing down on his shoulders. He spoke to her:

“I am sorry, mother. I am sorry, it took me so long to visit. I am sorry, I wasn’t there when you were lonely. I am sorry for dumping all the responsibility on Azura without a second. I am sorry for letting your state get this… this bad. I am sorry for I have failed both you and father as a healer and as a son. I am sorry, I…”

“Seth…” she interrupted him, her voice barely above whisper. “You did well. Better than I could even dream of hoping. Never once have you failed your father or me. I’ve loved you from the moment I first held you in my arms and will continue to love to my last moments. Seth… I know I said it a thousand times already, but I’ll repeat it a million more times, if I have to… I am proud of you, son.”

She heard a sob and spread her arms, inviting him in. He took the invitation without a second thought. And so Eve, a shriveled up elderly husk of a woman, held Seth, a broad-shouldered man whose strength could rival even his father, in her arms as if he was a newborn child. Because of one simple thing: no matter how old and tall they would get, she would always be her children’s mother.

And what kind of mother would let her child bear the weight of such guilt?

Soon, Seth calmed down and she gave him a one last kiss on the forehead and he left after saying one last ‘I love you’. And so Eve was again left with her thoughts. The fire began slowly fading and evening light was making its way into the cave. An hour passed and another figure entered the cave.

The one that Eve hasn’t seen in such a long while. Even before she fell ill, her current visitor would rather spend her time in company of her siblings and father, than with her. It was like this ever since she was born and it only got worse when they told their children the tale of Eden.

Aclima stood, keeping her distance from Eve. Out of all their children, Aclima was the one that was the most like Adam. Same hair tone, same skin tone and almost the same eyes. Adam’s were those of brilliant gold, shining just like the sun, while Aclima’s were akin to dying embers. Blood red met dull embers and all it saw was disdain.

“Mother,” she greeted, her voice blunt and lacking any semblance of familial warmth.

“Aclima…” she replied. “I am surprised you wanted to visit me…”

“I didn’t,” cut Aclima. “Seth and Azura begged me to talk to you and dad wanted us to make up, but in truth I desire no such thing. All that happened to us… to dad… It's all your fault. All of it. All the diseases, the pains, the hunger and the deaths. Everyone else might doubt dad about the story of Eden and those few who don’t, might forgive you, tell you that it wasn’t your fault and that you were tricked, but I see no point to those sweet lies… Even when it comes to Cain and Abel, I am sure you had a bigger role in the way it all turned out than dad says you did. So, I say to you, as I said a hundred times already… Mother, I hate you from the bottom of my heart.”

First time she ever heard those words, Eve spent almost two days in tears and Adam threatened to never speak to Aclima if she wouldn’t apologize. However, that was so long ago and through so many years Eve concluded: none of what Aclima said she hasn’t already said to herself in the privacy of her own mind. All of It was indeed solely on her. If she simply did as she was supposed to, if she never listened to that snake, if she never doubted Adam’s love, if she never accepted that accursed fruit…

If she had never betrayed their union…

It would have all been different. They would still be in Eden. They would still have archangels in their lives. Adam would have his friend, Gabriel, and Eve would have her caretaker, Jophiel. Animals would have still been their friends and Adam would have never had to stain his hands with blood. He would have never had to bleed, experience illness or know the pain of loss.

And Cain... If she only treated him the same way Adam did… If only she let go of her endless disdain and saw him as her son… then maybe…

Eve swallowed and calmed her breath. This wasn’t the first time she had this train of thought. Oh, how often she tried to drown herself in her own self-hatred, but not today however. Today was the last day of her life and, frankly, she had no more tears in her. So she said to Aclima:

“I am sorry, Aclima, but if you want to see me wail in despair, I am afraid I can’t grant you such a sight…” there was no malice or mockery in her voice. “Besides… I know you… You wouldn’t come here just to repeat yourself, my daughter… so why… why are you here?”

Aclima lowered her gaze, unwilling to meet her mother’s eyes. Her hands balled into fists and began to slightly tremble. Then she asked her:

“Do you love him, mother? Do you truly love the father like you claim you do…?”

That was the easiest question in her life.

“I do. With all my heart, my mind and my soul.”

“Then… if you truly care for him as much as you say… Tell him to move on.”

Out of everything that Aclima could’ve said, Eve expected everything, but this.

“Wh… what…?”

“Tell him to forget you, damn it!” Aclima repeated and looked at Eve and for the first time in what felt like eternity she saw… that Aclima was crying. “Tell him to walk, run, never looking back! Tell him to live! To be happy! Don’t you see how much he loves you, even after everything you pulled him through! He… if you don’t tell him, he’ll carry you in his heart and in his soul until the end of times! I… I don’t want that! I want my dad to be happy! Please, mom… he won’t listen to anyone, but you…” she sobbed. “Just let him be happy… please, I’ll take back everything I said about you! I’ll even be like you always wanted me to be! Just please… do it… for him…”

Eve turned away from her daughter, unable to find the courage to refuse and unwilling to lie to Aclima at the moment of her vulnerability. She just couldn’t agree to that request, no matter how true her daughter’s words were. Yes, she lied to Adam and it would’ve been better for him and everyone else in Creation, if she never had been made. She had no right to remain within his heart and yet…

The idea of him forgetting her was simply unbearable.

There was a moment of silence and then… Aclima left, in silent disappointment, and somehow that hurt Eve more than any word ever could. Once again she was left alone, until…

Just before the day came to an end, he came. Adam.

Her eyes were not what they once were. It was hard for her to differentiate things, but even now she saw him clearly. His broad shoulders, his gray soft hair and his golden eyes. It seemed like with years he only grew mightier. He sat beside her and wordlessly took her hand into his own. He didn’t say a single thing. They both knew what was going to happen.

It was hard for him to see her like… this, especially knowing just how little time she had. Eve fully expected for him to just… run away. She would’ve understood completely. After all, that's what she would’ve done in his place. But no, just like in Eden, he chose to stay with her until the very end. Because he knew how awful it would’ve been for her to be alone in her last moments and so, despite all the pain he felt and will feel soon enough, he stayed. For he loved her more than anything.

They stayed in silence, until she asked with great struggle:

“Wh-what time is it…?”

“Sun is about to set.”

“I… I want to see…”

He gave her a nod and took her into his hands, furs still wrapped around her. There, in his arms, she felt just like in Eden. He took her to the cave entrance and sat on the rock, still holding her close. He held her, as they saw the sunset over the village in which their progeny resided. Their children… their legacy would outlive them thousands of times over. There was something comforting in that, but she did not care for it.

Currently, the only things that existed to her in this moment were Adam, the golden rays of the setting sun and the events of the day that was about to pass. She closed her eyes, looked back and saw a lifetime of regrets, but this day was not among them.

And so she spoke:

“Today was the best day of my life…” she felt sleepy all of sudden and felt compelled to say. “I wish it could last forever…”

She felt how Adam’s hand squeezed her own and how his body stiffened. He simply didn’t know what to say or to do. He, just like her, bore countless regrets and immeasurable guilt. Despite doing only the best that could be done, there was so much more in his mind that he could do for his family. Or rather what he couldn’t do. It wasn’t fair. Even after everything he’s done he still doubted himself and she wanted to tell so much to him. About how wonderful he was, how much she and their children treasured him, how unfair he was to himself in his own judgment. But she had neither time nor strength, so with her last breath she said one last thing to him that shall forever reside in his mind and in his heart:

“Adam… You made me happy…”

Hell was a nightmarish place. A gaping wound in Creation, where laws of God held no power. Ever changing, ever twisting, ever stirring realm of chaos and eternal torment, populated by monstrosities, whose entire existence was dedicated to mindless dance of lust, wrath and misery. The stench of rot and blood permeated every stone and speck of dust.

It all was formed the moment she took that first bite. It was all her fault. She had nightmares throughout her entire life that she could never remember. Adam speculated that it must’ve a side effect of that damned fruit. Only after dying and arriving in the realm of her creation did she realize that those weren’t a product of her damaged mind, but rather memories repressed and erased, and now… now she…

…she held a weapon in her hands, idly observing how artillery shell torn into pieces those who she grew to see as brothers. She heard gunfire and screaming of her commander. She heard men speak in tongues she never heard before in her life. They were getting closer and all who could help her were scattered across the trenches. She knew what would happen, she saw what they did to those like her. With tears in her eyes, she aimed her service rifle at the roof of her mouth and pressed...

In her hands was a sharp piece of bone. She kept repeating the same motion, all the while…

…She took unsure steps through the ruins. Where once was a city now was nothing but scorched rubble and smoking bodies. She came here, expecting to hear cries for help and screams of agony. Instead, she found silence. Unbeknownst to her, unseen fire was still ravaging the land and she and those who chose to follow her were already damned.

Lower abdomen, then stomach, then neck, then chest, the under the ribcage. Same motion repeated at different targets. Blood just kept gushing, while she…

…stood before the cradle, in which an infant slept. Around her were only grime, filth and desolation. She hadn’t eaten in several days. She heard a train pass somewhere outside her apartment, its tremendous movement shaking the very walls. The world was collapsing on her… they left her. Even he did, after all his heartfelt promises under the starry skies. He left her. She couldn’t blame him. She too wanted her life back. She too wanted to be free. Today... she decided, today would be the day she’ll be free again. She reached for her own child, barely six months old, and wrapped her frail hands around his neck and then…

She kept stabbing in her own flesh. Over and over again. She wanted it to stop. Her tears never ceasing. She was bleeding so much, all that she could see around her was red and yet the release never came. The visions refused to stop, her wounds kept closing and she kept crying. Before her eyes she saw… Humanity… Her own children…

Shot and stabbed and beaten and gassed and murdered and enslaved.

By her own will, the innocence was gored and raped.

“…please… please… just end it… Adam… Jophiel… Father… help me… please, stop this… let me die…”

Bone fragment fell from her hand and into the pond of blood, disappearing from sight. She fell to her knees and then on all four. Her tears never stopped. Her tears will never stop. She had cursed them. She had cursed them all. This was her punishment. But… but… she couldn’t bear it. She was selfish. She wanted it to end. She wanted to be free from this… this… this torment!

It was then, when she first heard it. A voice so familiar, yet so distant, carried on the wind. It promised her things. Freedom, salvation and release. It promised to end this accursed fate. A mercy through complete and utter obliteration of self.

She calmed her breath and thought of the one she loved the most.

Adam… he would not want her to choose such fate for herself. He would’ve wanted her to be strong, to bear this agony until he could find her and rescue her from this horrid fate. She knew if anyone could help her, it was him. Not God, not Johphiel, not Lucifer and not Lilith. Him and only him. But…

She didn’t want to be saved. She wanted it all to simply end. It was selfish. It was cowardly. It was disgusting. Aclima words were still fresh within her mind. It would be cruel and yet… Adam will overcome it. He was unlike her. He would find in himself strength to move on. He didn’t need a worthless whore like her in his life. He deserved better. He deserved happiness. And eventually he will find it.

Without her.

With that final thought, Eve stood up and began to step towards the distant voice, where final death awaited her. As she walked through that vile realm, fire and brimstone were her only witnesses. No one would record her journey. No one would remember it. At the time, she was glad, for that meant no one would ever be able to find her, blissfully unaware just how she will grow to regret that fact through the next nine thousand years of her accursed existence.

Chapter Text

If he had to describe Heaven with a single word, he would say that it was “Good”. Not just “good”, but capital G good. Everything about this place was good. The architecture, the roads, the buildings, the air, the sidewalks, the stores and the people and by God how good people were here. They were smiling and chatting with each other and laughing and it was so real. There was no hidden malice, no buried hate, no subdued desire to harm or to manipulate or to subjugate. It all was real. It was all good.

Not only that, but the same goodness that winners shared among each other was also shared with him. They were greeting him with smiles, polite handshakes and sometimes even hugs. They were genuinely happy to see him here among themselves and it all felt so wonderful and genuine that he sometimes had to hold back tears of gratitude.

This place reminded him of Earth. Not the real Earth, but the one of his memories, composed of things, people and places that he held dear to his heart. Things that kept him going when he was still a sinner in that accursed pit.

He felt a shiver down his spine.

Only after he arrived in Heaven did he realize just how… wrong Hell was. Gang violence on every street, rampant drug abuse on every corner and some truly unspeakable horrors happening behind closed doors. Yet no one ever saw any of that as anything wrong. No, it was encouraged among sinners to give in to that wretched life. Because why would one try to hold back or better yourself when you are already in Hell? God already saw your soul and deemed it deserving of eternal punishment, so why even try?

He sighed. That line of thinking led to some horrific things more than once. There was a good reason why sinners were not allowed into Imp City, or any other place populated by Hellborn. He shook his head. No, it was enough of terrible memories for today. Thankfully he had something that would help him distract his mind from all those… unpleasant thoughts.

He stopped his stroll and took a look at his final destination. A museum. It wasn’t vast or grand when compared to some other superstructures of heaven, but it was still the biggest museum he ever saw. The architectural style was more fit for a gothic church or some grand royal palace. Miss Emily told him a lot of things about this place. While there were many other museums in Heaven, the one before him had a particularly interesting owner.

Metatron, The Archangel of Knowledge and The Scribe of God. Also, Lady Emily’s older brother.

According to her, each and every archangel had a ‘domain’ of sorts which they governed on God’s behalf. That meant that each of them possessed abilities entirely unique to them and them alone. Raphael could heal all illnesses and wounds, Uriel held mastery over the cosmos and material world, Jophiel could see into the souls and etc. The one exception to that was Michael. He was the one “most like God” and given enough desire and practice he could replicate what his siblings could do. Emily said, jokingly, that if he wanted he could take her job as The Joybringer!

The mental image of that gigantic silver knight with wings of fire and blazing sword acting with him the same cutesy and cheerful way that Emily acted was both equally amusing and startling.

He breathed in and took the first step towards the museum. Once he found himself inside he marveled at the grand hall he found himself in. This museum did not abide by natural law. He looked up and could not see the ceiling. He looked around and saw that none paid attention to that fact. Then he looked at golden statues, placed around the entrance hall, depicting various cultures throughout the ages, each so marvelously crafted he could easily mistake them for living beings.

He was walking from one statue to another, reading the descriptions written on stone tablets nearby. The texts were short, but descriptive enough. All in all it was an enjoyable experience so far. But then he heard a voice:

“Excuse me?”

He turned and saw what he first mistook for a human being that somehow got lost in Heaven. She wore a black turtleneck sweater and dark purple skirt. Short dark hair and pale white skin. A delicate face, embodying both dignity and grace. A little shorter than he was. All in all, a human woman if it wasn’t a simple thing: her eyes. They had no pupils or irises. He looked into them and they were like the unpolluted night sky. Constellations of distant galaxies on her dark blue sclera shining with alien benevolence. Coupled with her already naturally pretty face, her eyes made her simply… unspeakably beautiful. Her melodic voice spoke to him:

“I am Josephine and I work as a guide here. I couldn’t help, but notice that you were all alone and while there is nothing wrong with solitude, to explore all of this museum with no assistance would be quite a task. And so I wish to accompany you in your search for wonders of old. If that is alright with you, mister…?”

Now if there was one thing that was absolutely true about him it was that he was a rather awkward fellow when it came to matters related to fairer sex. Even in Hell, where things like shame and consciousness were a distant memory, he still managed to stumble with words and make a fool of himself. Now, however, he was in Heaven. He overcame many hardships to get to this point and these very hardships more than surely forged him into a more confident and dashing man. So, it meant that he would manage to make a good first impression upon this captivating maiden, right?

…right?

“I… uh…” he coughed into his fist and fixed his suit. “Percival, ma’am. Percival Carroll. It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss Josephine,” he extended his hand and inwardly cringed. Just what kind of uneducated ruffian tries to shake hands with a noble lady in this day and age?! Thankfully, she gave him a charming giggle and shook his hand without any comments about his lack of etiquette. “I, uh… I was planning to meet someone today, but she told me she couldn’t come, so I would be glad to be in your company, miss Josephine.”

Truth be told it felt odd to use his own name and family name once more, after hundreds of years of going as “Sir Pentious”. Like after hundred years of nightmares full of delusions of grandeur he was once again himself. It was relieving in way and fighting in some others. He was still trying to… contextualize what he had to do in Hell or rather what he felt he had to do in Hell. A pang of guilt appeared in his heart and disappeared the moment Josephine smiled and clapped her hands.

“I am so glad to hear it, mister Carroll!” she said and to his surprise it was sincere. “Please, follow me. I know just the right place to start your journey in this grand museum!”

So he did. As they walked through the many displays and exhibits he couldn’t help but notice just how… empty the whole place was. Then he remembered. Heaven was still mourning over the lives that perished in the battle for the hotel. Some of them were ended by his hand and command. It was a sobering experience. Those exorcists, which were perceived as unfeeling killing machines, were more human than he, or anyone else in Hell, could ever imagine.

Mothers, daughters, sisters, wives and someone’s friends. Those were who he battled for the princess' dream. When he first saw funeral parades, carrying coffins, accompanied by weeping angels and winners, he couldn’t help but wonder if he made the right choice. Yes, they fought for their lives and for each other, but was there truly no other way? Would it have been more moral to simply abandon the hotel for one extermination and rebuild somewhere else later? Was that dingy building truly worth so many deaths?

He bit his lip and almost drew blood. It was then when Josephine stopped and gestured to the long corridor in front of them, on the right side of which hung what appeared to be various paintings, stretching as far as the eye could see. She spread her arms and spoke with grandiose tone, as if announcing an arrival of a great monarch:

“Behold, my friend! History of Creation! Here, on paintings made by the most talented of muses and virtues, illustrated the history of everything that ever occurred including up to this point! Amazing, isn’t it, mister Carrol?” she got no response. “…mister Carrol? Percival…?”

“Ah…? Ah!” he quickly got a hold of himself. “My sincerest apologies, miss Josephine. I… I just got lost in thought for the moment.”

She hummed in response and came a little closer. She leaned and looked him straight in the eyes and he felt an odd and comforting sensation within his heart. “You got in Heaven recently, didn’t you?” he swallowed and nodded, she in turn gave him a comforting smile. “I know it all could be… overwhelming for the first few weeks and even after that it’s normal to have some thoughts and doubts, but I want you to remember something… Lord has judged you. He looked deep into your soul and saw that it was good and pure. Thus he deemed you worthy, Percival. And if the Lord has judged you righteous, who are we to doubt Him?”

“I’ll… I’ll try to keep it in mind, miss Josephine.”

“Good,” she nodded. “Now, please, follow me. We have a rather exhilarating tour ahead of us.”

He nodded and smiled to himself. There was something about Josephine that made his heart and soul feel at ease. It was hard to describe. Like her smile alone could lift the weight of hundred years of Hell off his shoulders. Indeed, it was strange, but he was not one to complain.

…in a way, it reminded him of the princess and his dear Cherri.

They stopped at the first painting:

It showed… nothing. Complete lack of anything. No white void, no darkness of abyss, no… anything at all. Just absolute absence which he could not describe because there was quite literally nothing to describe. It was an experience to witness such… absence illustrated on canvas. Josephine spoke:

“As you can see. Before there was anything, there was nothing. Such a concept is hard to imagine and even harder to illustrate, even for angels, but I believe our artisan’s did very well. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“It’s, uh…” it hurt his head in a way he didn’t know it could’ve been hurt. “…interesting, I suppose?”

She giggled and they began to move to the next set of paintings. “Upon witnessing this lack of anything, Lord decided that it simply won’t do. Thus, he decided to fill the void with his first creations. They were Michael…”

First painting depicted what he could only describe as a firestorm of unimaginable scale. The shades of red, yellow and orange filling the entirety of the canvas. In his ears he could hear the distant cracking of the fire and in the flame he could see many eyes looking straight at him.

“…Uriel..”

Second, a multi-armed giant sitting on what appeared to be a mountain of some alien planet. Body dark as obsidian, instead of the head burning bright white star. Its light illuminating nearby planets and gazing into distant stars. Comets and miniature stars orbited the giant's body, while his many hands were clasped in sincerest prayers.

“…Seraphiel…”

Third, a collection of shapes of various dimensions, made of pure light. Not a spec of darkness upon The Governor’s true form. In the center of the painting, there was a cube, surrounded by incomprehensible hieroglyphs, and on its edges of which were eyes, looking in all directions with serenity befitting of an archangel.

“…Raphael…”

On the fourth one he saw nothing but wings. The entire canvas filled with wings of every color, every shape and every size. The strangest part was that the chaos of colors before him didn’t even look off-putting. On the contrary, what he saw before him was one the most beautiful things in Creation.

“…Jophiel…”

A ribcage floating in darkness. From the shoulders grew marble arms of light, hundreds of them. All encircling around the ribcage and the heart within, which burned with love pure, unconditional, eternal. Again, despite the sheer abstractness of what he saw, he could not help but be captivated by this alluring sight. As If he, in the depth of his soul, knew that creature on the painting was the embodiment of love.

“…and finally, Luciel.”

It was the star most bright and sublime. On the edges of the painting were other archangels, surrounding the star. None of them had facial features, but he still felt the wonder and awe coming from the painting. Luciel's body was a simple star, yet somehow it stood above all the others, both in the matters of beauty and the matters of reverence. He looked at the small golden plaque and saw the title of the painting:

‘Birth of the Morning Star.’

“Lucifer…” he said, despite himself.

“Indeed,” nodded Josephine, her face solemn and tone subdued. “It might be hard to believe in, but once The Archtraitor was the most beloved son of Creation. His enthusiasm, his hunger for thrills and new experiences, his endless drive to create… They say that it made him simply irresistible. You just couldn’t help but be caught in his joyous energy, like a planet orbiting the sun. Truly, the moniker of the Star suited him the best…”

Josephine sighed.

“But…” she stopped herself and gave a joyless chuckle. “Oh dear, look at me, spoiling the story before we even arrive at the relevant painting. Now, let’s move on my friend! The next few painting are even more abstract and cover the time only archangels remember and can give a proper context to, so we better move on straight to Eden!”

He nodded and followed her, but not before looking at a picture of the younger King of Hell with some puzzlement in his heart. In his mind was still fresh a single story. He didn’t remember where or when he heard it first. Perhaps he read in the children’s book for Hellborn? No matter. What mattered was the name and the contents. It was titled Creation of Hell and in it Lucifer was a misunderstood dreamer, shunned by Heaven for dreaming too big. At the time, he thought of it as a silly story meant for children.

But Lucifer was real and so was Lilith. After meeting Charlie and then later the king himself, he would often find himself musing on how much of the story was true. Now, after having seen the painting depicting Lucifer’s birth, he wondered if that story had any grain of truth to it.

Wordlessly, he followed Josephine like a shadow and as he did he looked at the painting they passed. True to Josephine’s words, most of them were quite… abstract. He even saw a couple of new colors on the paintings that slipped his mind the moment he dared to look away. He decided not to dwell on it.

Suddenly Josephine stopped before a painting and when he looked in the same direction as she did he felt his breath stop. It was… it was what he could only describe as a forest, yet at the same time, it was so much more. All the colors were so… so much more livelier and bright and trees were tall and majestic and he could see how animals walked side by side, predator and prey, as if they were the same. He felt a pang in his heart, a longing. It was the first time seeing it, yet he knew its name. The birthplace of humanity…

Eden.

“Tell me, Percival,” said Josephine, her eyes glued to the painting. “Do you know the story of Eden?”

“I…” he swallowed, trying to hold the tears in his eyes. “I do. I remember it by heart.”

“But do you know what Eden truly was?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t believe I do, miss Josephine.”

“It was a place meant to prepare the firsts of humanity for their reign over primordial Earth. But at the same time it also served a secondary function. As you already saw, archangels of today are completely different from archangels of the beginning. You see, Father loved his children dearly, yet he knew that confined to the abyss they would never develop past their infancy. So, along with preparing humanity for the coming days, Eden was also supposed to serve as a place of learning for archangels. Humans are truly wonderful creatures, Percival. They might not possess the authority over individual domains of Creation, but their ever moving and ever changing nature, along with their natural ability to create can make them stand above even the brightest of Heaven. And by understanding them, angels could understand themselves.”

“So…” he slightly frowned, as he muttered to himself. “Humanity was meant to prop up angels?”

“Not really, dear Percival,” she said with an amused smile, as his eyes widened with panic upon realization that she heard her. “The relationship Father desired to foster was symbiotic in nature, if that is the right word for it. Believe it or not, but angels and humans were meant to stand side by side, once.”

Once… the sheer wistfulness and melancholy with which she said that word. He couldn’t help but lower his head in quiet mourning for the future that never meant to be. Silently, they moved to the next set of paintings.

They depicted three beings. A man and a woman, naked and sleeping in tall grass, and a ball of light floating amidst nothingness. He instantly recognized the woman. How could he not? What kind of wannabe overlord wouldn’t be able to recognize Lilith, Queen of Hell? But something was off…

It was no secret that the Queen had an appeal to her that would make even the most beautiful succubus green with envy. She was the most desired woman in all of Hell and yet… seeing her naked and sleeping on that grass, he just could not summon a single impure thought. All he could see was dignity and grace, befitting of God’s creation. Same could be said about the first man.

‘So that's what he looked like under the mask…’ he thought to himself. Leader of Exorcists, the most feared being in all Pride, a divine wrath made manifest. There were so many rumors and speculations about him. To see that under that mask was a man depicted in the painting was eye-opening.

“Before you are Adam, Lilith and Gabriel. The First Man, The First Woman and The Messenger. All created on the day, not even seconds apart from each other. While Father took care of Gabriel, he assigned his eldest daughter Seraphiel and his most beloved son Luciel to oversee the Eden and to guide the first couple in their early days. Seraphiel formed a bond with Adam, while Luciel took a liking to Lilith. As for Adam and Lilith… they loved each other. In those early days, Eden flourished with love, joy and hope. But unfortunately…”

Josephine began to walk and he followed. The passed few paintings, depicting what Eden was like back then. Percival couldn’t help but notice that Lilith’s eyes changed with every picture. At first, they were full of wonder and curiosity, but gradually something else began to grow in her amethyst eyes. Doubt, frustration and… resentment?

“Lilith and Adam were equal, but they were not the same. They had different tasks and different roles to play in Father’s grand design, but that did not mean that one was lesser than the other. Lilith… didn’t see it that way. Not only had that, but the love that they shared began to wane, day by day. They began to grow distant. At the same time, Luciel, once beloved by all, began to think that he was losing importance in the eyes of his dear siblings. You see, after the creation of Eden archangels found themselves with many new responsibilities. They simply didn’t have as much time for each other as they used to. Luciel… didn’t see it that way. So, he began to do what he always did best. He started to create, invent and innovate. His ideas were bright and promising, but at the same time they were complex. Too complex for Eden. Rejection only fueled his insecurities.”

She stopped at the painting, which depicted Lilith and Lucifer, in his more familiar form, sitting side by side under a tree at night. “Then, on one particular night, they found each other. A woman who loathed her perceived status of a lesser, who detested her fate of being a wife of a man she simply couldn’t love and who desired be free from it all… and an angel, who perceived himself as being spurned by all whom he held dear, who only desired to be seen, to be loved. They found each other, confessed their fears and doubts to each other and formed a connection. Their nightly meetings became a ritual to which both always looked forward to. At the same time…”

The next painting depicted Adam and some unknown angel, running through Eden with joyous smiles on their faces. It looked like they were racing against one another, like a pair of kids. “…Gabriel found her way into Eden and formed a bond with Adam. Unlike the bond between Lilith and Luciel, the friendship between The First Man and The Messenger blossomed on the simple fact that they both were young and recognized that in each other. Then on one fateful night…”

A painting of Lucifer kneeling before Lilith, looking at her with unmistakable love and adoration. He held her hand in his own and was looking at her eyes, while she looked back at him stunned and full of the same love. “Luciel said to Lilith : Embrace me, let’s elope together. With my wings, I will take you away from this gilded cage and with our love we will build our own Paradise. Together. And Lilith smiled with true joy and replied to the angel whom she grew to love so dearly: Right… Embrace me, I want to go to Paradise, just the two of us. As long as you are by my side, there’s no need for me to fear anything. And so, they ran away from Eden, leaving behind all their doubts and worries.”

She continued to the next painting depicting Adam and Gabriel, sitting in front of a pond, while in the shade of a great tree. Adam was sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes cast towards his own reflection. Next to him were lilies, torn from the earth and for what reason? It all was pointless now. Gabriel was leaning her head against his shoulder, with her wing wrapped around him, bringing him closer to her. Josephine spoke: “…love shared by Luciel and Lilith was not wrong, but the way they went about it was not right either. While Lilith fell out of love, Adam never lost hope that maybe, just maybe they could fix it and be happy once more. When… when they abandoned Eden, it devastated him. Thankfully, he had those who cared for him. Gabriel was first to comfort him, while Seraphiel was first to propose a solution for his newfound loneliness.”

They proceeded to the next painting, depicting a woman sitting in tall grass. Raven black hair and ruby red eyes. Gaze full of childlike wonder. His character clenched at the sight. Pain, alien in nature, yet so close to primordial parts of his heart, mind and soul.

“Eve…” he whispered, Josephine didn’t reply and if he were to turn his head he would see her staring into the distance, seeing something so impossibly far away.

Quietly they went to the next set of paintings, but suddenly Josephine stopped and stared once more at another painting. He followed her gaze and saw an angel and first mother forever immortalized on canvas. They were sitting in the shadow of a great tree and the mother of humanity laid with head on the angel's lap. The angel, clad in humble robes and with closed eyes, was running her fingers through Eve’s raven hair. On the angel's face was a smile full of motherly care and gentle familial love. He looked at a plaque and saw painting’s title:

“Mother of Humanity – Eve, and her caretaker, Jophiel – Beloved of Creation”

He glanced at Josephine and saw how tears ran down her face, quietly falling to white marble floor. He did not waste time and rushed to her side:

“Josephine, what’s wrong?”

“I…” she stumbled with her words. “This painting is not supposed to be here… It wasn’t there the last time, I…” she quickly wiped her tears with her sleeve. “I am sorry, Percival. I let my memories get the better of me. Please, don’t fret over my lack of emotional control.”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of, Josephine,” he hurried to comfort her. “We can’t control what we feel sometimes. Besides, if you want to, you can open up to me. Maybe these memories will be either to bear with someone else by your side?”

“I…” she sighed. “Tell me, Percival, is your family here with you in Heaven?”

“I think so. I haven’t looked for them yet.”

For good reason. It’s been more than hundred years since he last saw his family. Their last meeting was not pleasant for either party and the words he said to his father still tormented his sleep, but he was in no hurry to search for him. He never saw his father or his mother in Hell and from what he remembered they were good people at heart. After hundreds of years, they most likely moved on already. What good would it do for him to come again into their lives and open the old wounds?

“I… I had a daughter,” confessed Josephine, casting her eyes at the painting once more. “I did all in my power to raise her right, but… due to the actions of a family member, we had to be separated and she had to grow up in a hostile place with only a single noble soul by her side. I wasn’t there for her, when she needed me the most and… she never made it,” Josephine looked somewhere up, as if the ceiling above had a key to all her unanswered questions that tormented her still. “It’s been so long, Percival, and yet… a part of me will never accept it. People don’t go into Hell for light offences, I am aware, but she is still my daughter. A part of my heart is forever hers. The idea that she is here… for all eternity. It hurts. It hurts so much I wish I could be cast away into the pit, just to see her again.”

He stayed silent for what felt like eternity, debating against his worst self. He was a coward at heart. Always looking for approval and respect, but today, he could bear the hatred. He could bear being looked at like a vermin. If it meant giving hope to this wonderful woman, he could bear being hated by her. He confessed:

“I wasn’t a good person,” Josephine looked at him in surprise. “In life, I made choices which led to people getting hurt and families being torn apart. My hands were bloody, but I never saw anything wrong with it. I justified it, without even believing in it. Truth be told, I… I didn’t think of them as human. And it ended with me going to Hell. I’ve spent the last hundred and fifty years in that pit, living like a parasite. Stealing, killing, causing mayhem with no good reason. I don’t know when it happened, but I realized that what I was doing was… pointless. Wrong. Not too long ago, during the failed extermination, I died once more, but this time I did it trying to do something right with my wretched existence and I… I ended up here. And if… if someone as pathetic and wretched as me could make it, then maybe… your daughter can too,” he gave an uneasy smile. “If she is anything like you, I think she’d have an easier time doing it.”

He expected her to sneer and for her face to contort in disgust at realization of his true nature.

Instead, she rushed to hug him with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Percival…” she held him close, whispering. “Thank you, thank you… Thank you so much.”

For the next minute or so, they just stayed like this. A man, redeemed from Hell itself, and a woman, who regained some form of hope. That was until, Josephine spoke:

“I am sorry, but I too have a confession to make.”

She let him go and when she did, Percival Carrol, once known as Sir Pentious, did not see before him Josephine, a museum guide, but an archangel of immaculate beauty and humble robes. With closed eyes and gentle, yet somewhat pride smile, Jophiel asked him:

“I haven’t sought you just to show you history, but to see your soul up close. It didn’t not disappoint. But now, I have a request for you, dear Percival.”

He fell to his knees with complete and utter reverence, preparing to heed her every word and request. She said to him:

“In a few days, my siblings and I will venture into Hell for an important meeting. Will you do us an honor and accompany us in this eventful trip?”

The answer was quick and short:

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

They were deep within the cave. It was pouring for three days with no signs of stopping and even deep within the caverns she could hear the roar of thunder and the deafening drumming of rain. The only other sound – a crackling of fire. Its fiery tongues danced lazily, illuminating stonewalls with dim yellow and oranges. None of them dared to say anything. She and Adam haven't said anything to each other since the mourning and even the thing in her hand has ceased it moans and soft cries, as it peacefully slumbered in her arms.

It was a… misshapen mass of limbs, feathers, heads and meat. A simple passing gaze could tell an observer all that needed to be known. Possessing traits of neither man nor animal, this monstrosity had no right to exist within God’s Creation. Its rapidly failing biology only adding to that fact. Even now, in the peaceful slumber, it was wheezing, barely able to breathe.

Adam, who was sitting on the other side of the fire, did all in his power to not look at that living mistake, while she only cradled it closer to her heart, sharing with it her love and her warmth.

After all, this thing was their child. Her child. No matter how monstrous he looked, he was her son and she will love him with all her heart and all her soul. He was a flesh of her flesh and bone of her bone. No matter how monstrous or deformed he was, her love for him will never cease or lessen. Such was the mother’s love, after all.

Suddenly, first time since she went into the labor and the spell which disguised her form broke, Adam spoke to her and his voice was haunted and distant:

“Why…?” he asked, completely lost. She gave no answer and averted her gaze away from his in a shameful display of meekness. “I don’t understand… you chose Lucifer… You left Eden, left me… Why do all this? Why take her form and her side beside me…? Lilith…” she kept her gaze low. “Lilith…” something crept in his voice, it burned and seethed with rage she never witnessed before this day. “Answer me!”

She flinched and that stopped him. There was a long and anxious silence. She held her babe close, not in an attempt to shield him, but trying to gain strength from him being there, in her arms. She sighed and looked up to see Adam looking at her with barely contained rage. A single lie would set him off; she recognized it and spoke only the truth:

“When archangels cast us down into the pit, they took something away from me. A part of my very being has been ripped away from me. I could no longer bring life into this world, Adam. Whenever Lucifer and I tried… all our attempts… they ended in death, Adam. I… had to bury so many infants. I grew tired of it. I couldn’t bear it anymore. So I sought the only solution I had left.”

“Don’t lie!” replied Adam. “Don’t you dare! Lucifer could bring stars into Creation with a mere snap of his fingers! He could’ve done something! You never had to involve me in this!”

“Don’t you think we haven’t tried all we could!?” Lilith replied, raising her tone. “Adam, we tried all we could think of. There was simply no escaping Lord’s curse. I sought you in desperation, hoping that maybe if I did it with you, I could bring life into the world.” She lowered her eyes to her arms where a child… her child slept, a smile crept on her face. “And it worked…”

Adam grimaced. That thing in her hands… this misshapen mistake was not a child. Still, he could not summon his rage against it. It bore no fault in its creation. Even now it was paying the price for its mother’s crimes. Just by looking at it, Adam could say that this thing was suffering in agony, yet this witch was too blinded by her fulfilled desires to notice. How typical.

Yet he had one more question.

“You’ve spent a year under the guise of Eve,” he said. “Even after you conceived, you stayed by my side, hiding your nature under her visage. For a single year, you played her role. The role of whom you deemed lesser, of whom you thought subservient, of whom you called meek and spineless. Why? Why did you stay after achieving your goal?”

The answer was obvious. Adam loved Eve. He truly did. This love was unlike the one he held for animals of Eden, archangels of Heaven and even the one he once held for her. It was pure, bright and unending. Showing its warming rays in his every gaze, every word and every action. It was unlike the grand speeches and gestures of Lucifer. This love… even in the simplest of forms it appeared grand and illustrious. Those small touches, those arms wrapped around her form in the dead of night, those longing gazes and vulnerable smiles… They were addicting, enrapturing and kind.

She envied Eve. She cursed that this meek pathetic waste of bone got to receive something like that and for no effort required on her part. Adam’s love was not only vast, but unconditional. All Lilith had to do was exist as Eve and Adam would worship her every step and embrace deep to his souls their every moment.

It was shameful, it was awful, it was disgusting. Especially after all she’s done to him. She could reply, for that would mean angering him beyond any measure. So instead she lowered her eyes and remained silent. Adam’s face contorted in disgust. He asked her:

“Does Lucifer even know you are here?”

She did not reply. The answer was obvious.

“…I have no words for you,” he stood up. “I have wasted enough time as it is. I fear to think what my absence might have provoked in Eve. I desire not to continue this farce. My wife, my real wife needs me,” she flinched at that as if she was struck. “I am done. Never cross my gaze again.”

He went to the exit and she called him one last time.

“Adam,” he stopped, but did not turn. “If… if she rejects you, know…”

‘…that you shall always have a place by my side,’ she wanted to say, yet words could not leave her when he did turn and looked at her. His golden eyes shone with disdain and disgust. His next words were devoid of detectable anger, yet the slight tremble gave away the bubbling rage within him.

“If she rejects me, so be it. I wronged her. I wronged our union, even if unknowingly. Something like this is simply unforgivable. If she decides I no longer have a place beside her for laying with you, even if at your deception, then I shall accept it and spend my remaining days in my own company… but…” the tremble in his voice grew. “If something happened to her and I was not near when she needed it because you wanted to play the role you once rejected out of your volition… May Father be my witness, I will pay you what you did to her thousand fold. Mark my words, Lilith.”

And with these words he left her and her bastard child alone in a dark and dreary cave. It would be somewhere around nine hundred years before he would cross paths with his unwanted child in the infernal lands in his search for his true love. It would take three thousand years before he and she would face each other again on the opposing sides of the negotiation table after the conclusion of War in Hell.

Now, however, there was only her, her barely breathing abomination in infant form and heavy weight of regret.

She woke exactly at seven o’clock, as usual. Long years of ruling Hell ensured that her biological alarm clock was wired to wake her up precisely at seven o’clock. She tossed away her soft blanket, which covered her bare form, sat and stretched her arms, while yawning. She stood up from her bed and with a snap of her fingers a set of morning clothes appeared on her. A loose T-shirt that had a name of one of those british rock bands on it and dolphin shorts. Something that showed her natural beauty without making it too obvious that she craved attention.

Something perfect to wear around in his company.

Oh, if only he was here right now instead of faking his own death. She still could not fathom his motivation, but he should have picked a better story. Him, of all people, dying at the hands of her own daughter? No, seriously, Charlie? As much as she love her dear little girl, she simply lacked bloodlust and technique to take down someone like Adam. The only way something like that could happen if Lucifer helped and her ex-husband was anything but foolish.

Silly Adam, thinking he could fool her with this silly little story. He even forced his little pesky muse to toss a fake halo to her thinking that it could trick her. No matter, soon she will uncover whatever he was trying to do here.

After she was done with her morning rituals, she hid herself in the purple robes and disguised herself with a simple glamour spell. Her home was a cottage, located on one of Heaven’s beaches. In the past it belonged to Adam, but he once told her that the sight of the sea held little significance without Eve by his side.

Remembering her flawed replacement gave her a momentary headache. Eve was everything Lilith wasn’t. She lacked backbone, had no courage and couldn’t make her own decision. It was as if everything pathetic quality a person could have had was condensed into a single woman. And somehow, by some unholy and frankly incomprehensible means, this pathetic waste of rib managed to capture Adam’s heart.

No, not just capture, the damn bonewaste made him obsessed. Nine thousand years of separation and he still kept thinking about her. Never moving on, never daring to love again. At best some angelic whore would manage to seduce him for a one night stand every few hundred years, but every time it happened Adam would treat it as if he cheated on her! As if that doormat of a person was still in the realm of living! Just how much guilt he bore for that waste of bone was, frankly, concerning.

Even when Lilith finally managed to get him to have a normal conversation with her all he seemed to want to talk about was that pathetic woman and their children, each bigger failure than the last. Still, she would simply grit her teeth and patiently listen. If she wanted to make Adam hers, she had to be patient and be kind about his obsession with Eve. After all, once she finally got what was hers by right, she would make him forget about this dreadful failure of a woman and give him true happiness he deserved. They both would be together in Heaven and all shall be as it always supposed to be.

She left her home. It’s been a few days after Adam’s supposed funeral and she already checked several places where he could have been hiding. Today she shall check the most obvious of them all. His tomb. She passed through the streets of Heaven and through it busy crowds like a shadow. Soon enough she reached the entrance to the graveyard, near the Grand Palace.

She passed between gravestones and tombs, some of them having been there since early days of War in Hell. Meaning that she was in some way responsible for their current situation. Did that information slow her step or make her eyes linger for a moment? No, why would she hold regrets over the lives of some worthless angels? Besides, her mind was occupied by something far more important.

His tomb appeared in the distance and she saw that it was empty. Great, that made her job easier. Although she was somewhat annoyed by the sheer volumes of flowers and bouquets on the steps of his tomb. Oh, how typical of Adam. Always going overboard, even in the smallest of details like decorating his false tomb. As much as it annoyed her, she couldn’t hate that aspect of his. It was, after all, one of the many great things that made him so lovable.

She went to the doors of his tomb, kicking away all the flowers and funeral gifts that stood in her path. She placed her hand upon the stone and frowned. This spell was… far more complex than she expected. Adam was many things, but not a great sorcerer. Despite living for just as long as she has, the most complicated spell he could conjure up was materialization of food. When she idly inquired why he never bothered to learn something so useful as sorcery, he gave a short answer:

‘It isn’t my style.’

This ward on this tomb was complex. Far too complex for Adam to come up with. For goodness sake, even she struggled with fully comprehending what was in front of her. Just who did Adam rope into his little scheme to make something this powerful? She had to ask him once she found him. She had quite a few applications for the ward of this caliber.

Eh, no matter, she will figure out how to break this lock in an hour or two and in the process she will understand all there is to understand about it.

She began her work. An hour passed. Then two. Her progress has been minimal. It frustrated her to no end. Now this wasn’t just about finding out where Adam was, but about her honor as a Supreme Witch of Hell! She won’t be stopped by a mere ward! Even if it would take her the whole day she will crack it open and then dissect all of its inner workings.

But then her concentration broke, for she heard a fluttering of six wings and a familiar voice, carrying a dangerous undercurrent:

“What are you doing here?”

She turned around and felt how her heart sank. There she was – Sera, dressed in all black with a transparent veil draped over her face and with her eyes glowing with the faint rays of silver. Lilith stood up, maintaining an impenetrable façade of control. She greeted an archangel whom she once saw as a sister.

“Greetings, Supreme Arbiter,” she said with all the politeness and tact she could muster.

“Do not even attempt to weasel your way out of this, Lilith,” Sera took a closer step. “I repeat, what are you doing here? Answer me now and I will not resort to violence.”

“What else can I be doing here, Sera? I am trying to uncover Adam’s inane plot.”

“…what?”

“Oh, please stop trying to fool me! Adam, of all people, dying? Ha, as if! We are both well aware of his tenacity. Great beasts of antediluvian world failed to fell him, legion of Hell could not claim him and throughout thousands of years not a single sinner could best him in a fair battle! So now you are trying to convince me that Adam died during an extermination? And not only that, you are trying to say that my daughter was the one who best him with the help of Lucifer? One, my daughter is anything but violent. She will never dare to try to claim the life of another person, she is simply too soft for it. Two, you may say whatever you wish about my ex-husband, but Lucifer is not foolish enough to start war with Heaven! Do you honestly think that I would believe something like that?!”

Sera's face did not change. The expression on her face remained completely flat. It took a lot to catch an archangel off guard, but Lilith has somehow done it again. Sera lifted her arm and pointed her open palm at the first abomination. Divine energies surged past Lilith and onto the door of the tomb. Hieroglyphs, runes and letters of holy language inscribed upon the stone glowed, acknowledging the authority of The Governor and the doors of the tomb began to open.

Lilith turned her attention to the tomb's entrance in which nested impenetrable darkness. A cold shiver ran down her spine, but she had to see it through. She had to… She took the first step…

...her eyes opened and she felt grass enveloping her body. Sensations, colors and odors around her are all new and unfamiliar, yet so beautiful and enticing. She took a sitting position and looked around with her wide newborn eyes and saw a figure bare and innocent, sitting in tall grass just like her. A strange, yet not unwelcome feeling awakened in her chest…

Walls of the tomb were covered with holy imagery, depicting the history of its sole resident and along with it they told the history of humanity, from the very beginning.

…she observed him through magic mirrors, witnessing his conquest of Hell in all the horrific details. He led armies of Heaven, a mere human soul, yet the way he fought, the sheer brutality and wrath of it could strike fears even into the hearts of hellbeast whose malice knew no bounds. If she hadn't known firsthand, she would never have believed that those blood soaked were capable of gentleness and love most gracious. It was horrifying to witness that same man whom she grew to love twice, first in Eden and then on Earth, could fall to such depravity. Yet a part of her hoped and prayed for his Fall, for that would mean that he shall remain in Hell… with her…

In the center of it all, was a stone slab and on it was…

…it was supposed to be an ordinary post-extermination meeting. It ended up being anything but. She reeked of alcohol, that maybe was the reason. She could hardly recall what led her to embracing Adam with her arms and crying in his shoulder. She couldn’t remember what exactly she said to him, but when she looked at him, she found that for the first time since she took Eve’s visage as her own, he looked at her… and there, in his eyes, within the cold disdain and unending hatred she had seen a spark… It was nothing compared to the flame with which he looked at her in Eden. Yet she felt faint traces of hope return and when he said that he would let her into Heaven in secret, that very same hope burned brighter than the sun itself…

He looked so peaceful, as if he was asleep. She hasn’t seen him like this for so long and at the same time he looked so undeniably real. She felt her heart shatter, as the world around her caved in.

“Adam…” she choked out. “No… No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

She rushed to his side, or at least tried to. Sera has grabbed her and forced her out of the tomb. Lilith was strong, not only was she Queen of Hell, but also one of the last few antediluvians. Her physical strength was on the other level. But Sera was an archangel and they were beyond strength.

She threw Lilith onto the ground, as the tomb sealed itself once more. Tears could not stop, she had no words or thoughts to articulate, only this deep and incurable hurt permeating her being. Then she felt as the very air around her became energized with holy power. She looked at Sera with tearful eyes, as the eyes of the archangel now resembled pale twin stars.

The Governor has awoken her domain.

“Lilith, The First Abomination,” her voice carried with itself power of unimaginable scale. As if with a single command, all of Creation could cease to exist. “You are forbidden from ever approaching The Tomb of The First Man.”

Sera’s domain was over Heavenly Order and thus her word carried Supreme Authority that only other archangels could truly challenge. If she ordered someone to do something, they would do it. It was simply impossible to defy this authority. It was a fearsome power, for it robbed beings of Creation of their wills, thus Sera has used it only once before.

During the trials over Hell, after the war was over. Lilith first hand witnessed how some of Hell’s most infamous warlords and sorcerers would take their own life without a single thought or retort just because Seraphiel ordered them to. For how could a demon ever hope to rebuke The Governor?

And now this very same tyrannical power was used to commit something so cruel against her!

“You can’t do that to me!” screamed Lilith with tears in her eyes. “I am his wife! His other half! You can’t separate us!”

“You threw away the right to call yourself the moment you ran away from Eden, Lilith,” stated Sera in a cold and clinical manner.

“I made a mistake! A single mistake! And he forgiven me! He let me come into Heaven with him! We… we even started talking again!” she let out a sob, her tears.. they would not stop. “He said…! He said he’ll watch movies with me after the extermination…”

“The only reason you were allowed here was because Adam loved Asmodeus too much to shatter his hopes of ever having a normal family, Lilith. For you, however, Adam would never feel anything, but disdain.” Sera said with no emotion or care. “You have abandoned him in Eden, you have tricked and assaulted him on Earth, you and Lucifer led Hell to attack Heaven, by your and Lucifer’s will he took the mantle of Lord Exorcist. Throughout the ages you brought to him nothing but heartache and grief. No more, such is my decree. You will not disturb his final rest.”

“But…!”

“In a few days my siblings will venture into Hell,” Sera’s eyes flashed with power as she gave Lilith a final verdict. “You shall accompany them and after they are done with their duties you shall remain in the pit you dared to claim as kingdom. Never again will you set foot in paradise. May you rot and fester unto eternity amidst the inferno of your own making. Farewell, Lilith,” Sera turned and a portal opened before her. “I pray we never cross paths again.”

So, Seraphiel left, leaving behind a weeping and mourning abomination which doomed Creation for its own selfish and petty whims.

Chapter Text

In the lowest Ring of Hell, Sloth, there was a castle. It was located in the center of the ring’s capital and stuck out like a piece of medieval architectural tumor. Unlike castles of Earth, or even of other rings, this one lacked all that could be described as grand in its design. It was old, haphazardly built, its corridors were claustrophobic and full of dust and its attendants numbered in less than twenty.

Very few ever entered it, not because it had a fearsome reputation, but because very few saw any worth in its owner. For it belonged to one known as Belphegor. Unlike other Sins, she was not one to actively rule her ring. No, truth be told, she was more of a figurehead. A holder of Sloth’s Authority, the one who embodied the sin better than anyone else did. Unlike authorities of her fellow Sin’s, hers was not bestowed to her by Heaven after the war came to an end, but earned by her own very nature.

So how did one holding an authority of such sin spend her days? Rather pathetically.

She woke up that morning and did not even bother with standing up. Her room smelled of sweat, rotten fast food and smoke. The only reason she did not try to fall back asleep was that the sleep would not claim her so soon after awakening. With her authority, she took a hold of a half-empty soda bottle with the power of telekinesis and directed it to her lips. After drinking all of its content, she tossed it aside with a power of thought and it hit one of several trash piles that were accumulating in her room.

It has been a while since she last left her room. A year or two maybe? Without windows and with only dim electric lights, there was simply no time in here. The only way to measure some semblance of it was whenever a visitor would come. Most of the time it would be one of the servants hired by Bee, entering the room to give it some cleaning, take out the trash and bring in food. Occasionally, Bee herself would visit and clean the room with her own four hands, then she would pick up Belphegor like a sack of potatoes and would enter a bathroom with her in hand and give her a proper cleaning, after which she would plop her back into the bed and then leave. All throughout that process, Bee would talk to her about hundreds of things: about recent news, about how annoying Mammon was, about how good her people were doing, about how hard Lucifer and Lilith made things by inaction and absence, respectively.

Sometimes, Belphegor would say something back. Most of the time she would remain silent.

On some extremely rare occasions, she would leave her room and venture into the dreadful ordeal that was the outside world. She would be forced to stand side by side with people who held other authorities of sin and be beheld by thousands of eyes of those who were delusional enough to claim nobility in this wretched pit of sulfur and agony. She would talk, she would listen, she would see. Yet it wouldn’t be her. Just a pretty little figurehead going through expected motions and rituals and once it all would come to pass, she would return to eternal stillness and numbness of her room, where she would remain until the next festival or ritual. Like an old decoration tossed aside into a closet, its surface full of cracks and its colors long gone, yet never thrown away into the trash where it belonged. Lacking in sentimental value, the only reason for its continued use is lack of replacement.

This is all she was. This is all she could ever be. An empty vessel for the wills of others. A mindless symbol of Hell’s absurdity. A being cursed with knowledge of light, cursed with undying memory of its eternal brilliance, cursed with a forever fleeting yet scarring feeling of its warmth on her unworthy body. Then oh so cruelly tossed into the pit, to never again feel its warmth, to never again see its brilliance, to never again reach her arm in a fruitless dream of touching it.

All that awaited her was cold and indifferent dark. It offered no solace, only numbness, dreamless slumber and waking moments of torturous memories. She cursed it. Cursed it all. From her parents who brought her into this world to Lucifer’s whose action inadvertently let her know of warmth. Yet she never once dared to curse her light, for even in the depths of her silent despair, she could never curse the one who let her know of warmth and brilliance.

She… she only wished she could see him again. Even if only for a moment. Even if the moment after nothing would remain of her, but ash. Let her burn in his embrace, let her die in his fire, let her be free by his light. To perish in his divine light and brilliance… what a wonderful fate it would be.

Then… out of nowhere… A golden scroll appeared before, floating above her face and as if silently waiting for her reaction. She blinked, slowly. Last time she had seen something like that was when the first man wanted to meet all of the sins for one of his oh so important meetings. Still, Adam, for all of his straightforwardness, wasn't someone to be ignorant simply because he was acting on behalf of Heaven. Besides, these meetings usually occurred in the embassy, located in the ring of Pride. A little piece of Heaven amidst the inferno. It’s atmosphere reminded her of him, so she wouldn’t pass up the chance to visit.

With her telekinetic power she unfurled the scroll and began lazily reading what was written on it. With each new word she read her eyes grew wider and wider, until she read the last few paragraphs. Her head shot up from her pillow and she sat upright and tightened her fingers on the edges of the scroll. She reread those paragraphs thrice, fearing that her weary mind was playing tricks on her, but no. The words were indeed on the scroll and that meant…

She slammed through her door and in haste began to walk through empty corridors of her castle until she reached a heavy set of doors. Without using her telekinesis she pushed them open with her own two hands and ventured into the chamber, which was so unlike the rest of the castle. It was a pristine round chamber, devoid of dust and clean as Pearly Gates, and in the center of it was an armor stand.

She came closer to it, to her old shell of silver. Long ago she was but another wretch wandering through wastelands of Hell. A little girl, whose tribe was slaughtered and scattered to the wind, with no hope for the future and without leaving a mark in the history books. It was there where she was found by the six winged being of light and song. He saved her and gave her home in his empire and in turn she pledged her life and soul to his dream.

In the name of his dream she fought, she slaughtered and subjugated, conquering warring tribes of Pride under his banner and soon after she marched onto Earth and from it to Pearly Gates. There, as his loyal general, she marched with entire armies of Hell behind her, expecting to meet armies of Heaven in brutal combat.

Instead she met him.

With a single swing of his sword he cleaved legions of Hell in two. What followed next was a slaughter. A single being cutting apart hundreds years’ worth of conquest and political manipulation. No matter what they threw at him, he simply could not be stopped. Even when her lord and his queen came to the battlefield, he felled them in a matter of seconds. And then…

It was just her and him.

She still remembered that day so clearly. Her, battled and bruised, and him, pristine and immaculate. She screamed at him, partly in anger, partly in despair. Then she engaged him in single combat. It could hardly be called a duel. He kept dodging and evading her attacks, as if he did not just decimate their entire army. She remembered how frustrated she was back then, how angry she was at him for seemingly toying with her. She screamed and demanded that he would fight her honorably.

He obliged.

She could not properly recall what followed after. Only that just for a second she saw Light, pure and all encompassing. She had wings back then, granted to her by her lord. They burned away in the embrace of his flames. In that Light she saw the truth. In his embrace she finally saw what he was fighting for. How beautiful was Heaven and how pure were the angels and how joyous was their Song. It was a world unlike anything she could ever imagine, where there was no pain, no hurt, no hunger, no wrath, no sins and no malice. Nothing of Hell, of her world, was in it. For a single second she, a lowly demon playing at greatness, became a part of that divine beauty.

For a single second, she saw Michael, The Taxiarch, in all his eternal glory. In turn, he saw all that was her, Belphegor. What a lacking sight it might have been for him…

Then, she fell. Her wings gone, her chest plate bearing a mark of his sword and her eyes still directed at him, at his armor, at his sword, at his six fiery wings, each detail forever engraved in her memory. She feebly reached her arm to him, as she fell, trying desperately to cling unto that world, unto him, just for a moment more. His eyes were cast down at her, but she could not see his gaze. She often wondered during sleepless nights whether he had looked at her in pity or disgust.

Guess she will soon find out.

She snapped from her memories and gazed at a blackened gash on her chest piece. She traced its edges with her index finger, trying to think of what to do next. He, along with other archangels, will arrive at the embassy tomorrow. A part of her wanted to meet him in an extravagant dress, but she knew better. She was a warrior at heart and what other way was there for her to greet someone like him if not in parade armor? The issue was that this damaged silver shell was the best armor set she had in her possession. A part of her wondered if he would take it as an insult, while the other argued that he wouldn’t recognize her without her shell.

In the end, she made her decision and reached for the helmet.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Two brothers sat in a well lit kitchen, behind a tall wooden table. On it were two mugs, one filled to the brim with coffee was untouched while the other was already half empty. One brother sat with his elbows on the table, while the other read the golden letter with what could be best described as a blank expression. Or rather, complete and utter lack of any expression. After all, the bare skull could not properly emote.

Cain finished with reading the letter from Heaven and set it onto the table and sighed. Asmodeus take a sip of his coffee and nodded, after which he asked:

“So?”

“They will arrive tomorrow,” Cain replied. “It means that tomorrow all of the sins shall be present at the embassy and away from their respective rings.”

“True,” nodded Asmodeus,” but that doesn’t mean you have to use to rush throw the rings like a cheetah on meth. You can, you know, just teleport with me straight to Pride.”

“I am aware,” acknowledged Cain, “but I still have to visit Greed.”

“Wanna mess up something that Mammon holds dear?” asked Asmodeus with a slight smirk.

The answer, however, lacked any semblance of humor.

“No, I need to visit her before I go to meet the Morningstars.”

“Oh.”

The air around the two became heavy, as Asmodeus lowered his gaze to the table. So many years have passed since that accursed day, yet even after so long it still hurt to think about. There were sometimes entire weeks which he would spend alone in his room in a silent contemplation of thousands upon thousands of “What if”s. He inhaled, then exhaled and looked into Cain’s eye sockets and spoke:

“There is a barrier in the area, enacted by Seth. It repels all sinners, hellbeast and hellborn, but you should have no issue with it.”

“I remember,” Cain nodded. “It only allows our immediate family to pass, thus it should recognize me as worthy.”

“Where did you learn that?” asked Ozzie. “No one knows about it, except me, dad and Aclima if she’s still around. Did you meet Seth during your absence?”

“No, but I had my methods of keeping an eye on the family.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“Have you ever seen me...?”

“No.”

“Thank God!”

There was another moment of silence, after which Ozzie asked again, this time in a timid tone:

“Do you know where Aclima is…?”

“No,” Cain lowered his eyes, trying not to see his brother’s disappointment. “I am sorry, I don’t think I do,” Asmodeus sighed and Cain noted. “Although, I am surprised. From what little I’ve seen of her, she is not someone that one could describe as… polite, yet you seem to worry about her.”

“Well, if I had to, I’d describe her as a colossal psycho bitch,” replied Ozzie with a slight chuckle. “Like, the first thing she said to me was a threat of death and that’s right after dad introduced us to each other. Can you believe that?”

“I believe I can,” said Cain with a smile in his voice.

“Well, I couldn’t and I was there! And she said it with such hate, like holy shit, bro. You had to be there. I’ve battled countless hellbeasts by that point, but the angry glare of her faceplate was so scary and I just couldn’t say anything back and so I just stood there with my hand extended in a polite handshake! And when I finally gained some courage the first thing I did was ask her if there was something wrong with my hand!” Asmodeus laughed and then, when his laughter subsided, his eyes gained a wistful look to them. “ But she later said there was not a single thing right about me and from the way she said it – she really meant it…” he sighed, took a sip of his coffee and continued with a thoughtful look.” …even though she hates every single thing about me, she’s still my family. I can’t just… not care about her. I just don’t go that way, you know?”

“I do and I’m forever thankful for it.”

They sat in silence for a little while and then Asmodeus said:

“Remind me to get you some flowers from the garden tomorrow morning. It wouldn’t be right to meet a lady without flowers.”

“You have a garden?”

“Yeah, this building is pretty big, as you already know. Gotta use the space somehow. I don’t remember the names of half the flowers there, but I do grow some of her favorites, you know? At least, Seth told me that they are her favorite.”

“What was he like?” asked Cain with curiosity in his tone.

“I thought you had your methods?” replied Ozzie with a smirk.

“One thing is to look at a man from afar, the other is to speak with him in person.”

“Fair enough,” Ozzie scratched the side of his head. “He was a lot like Azura, you know? A very kind man, unfit for this sort of place. Back when she was alive, he was like her shadow. I spoke to him during those days a couple of times. He wasn’t… well, happy about my existence, but he didn’t blame me for anything. But after Azura’s death…” Ozzie sighed. “He didn’t snap. It was gradual, the way he fell. Quiet, even. He still went around Hell healing the sick and protecting the weak and slaying the wicked, but it was like he was on autopilot. Then, the day when Eixo was torched by armies of Wrath… that was what broke him. It was hard to track down what he was up to during that time, but he met me once. We talked and he gave a lot of promises. Said he was going to build paradise here. Of course, like all honeyed promises that one came with a heavy cost and, well…” Ozzie fell silent for a little while and then continued as if he was ashamed. “We were family, I know, but that plan of his… it was inhumane, even by standards of Hell. I told him no and he left with no fanfare and after that day I prayed every night that we would never cross paths again.”

Ozzie again went silent and thought about the day he heard the news. How bards recounted in their song the tale of The Hero of Hell who slayed the mad sorcerer and freed his hundreds of thousands prisoners and led them to safe haven where no sinner could ever harm them. What a pretty little fairy tale it made. Theaters in Wrath still performed some bastardized version of it, even after so many years. The actual events, however, were far more horrific and bloody, yet their essence remained the same as the one of the fairy tale. The Hero of Hell, whose name was long forgotten, slew Seth, the mad sorcerer, after he sacrificed an entire city of hellborn for some ritual that was supposed to purge Hell of sin.

“My prayers were answered.”

“…you were not wrong to reject his evil,” said Cain after some thinking. “And you were not wrong to avoid him. It is a terrible thing to harm a family member, no matter how justified it is or might seem.”

“I know,” replied Asmodeus. “But guilt is not a rational thing, brother.”

“…true.”

The rest of that morning was spent in silence.

Chapter Text

Charlie liked to think of herself as somewhat brave. Well, it was hard not to, when she decided to set her foot down and defend her dream. Yes, the battle itself was quite scary and the sense of Adam’s grip around her neck would undoubtedly reappear in her nightmares one day, but other than that, she liked to think that she came out a stronger person that day.

That belief was utterly shattered when she first set foot on charred ruins of Cannibal Town. Suddenly, her triumph got unceremoniously shattered into thousand tiny pieces and burned away into nothingness in the pillars of angelic light. It was hard to wrap a head around the sheer scope of destruction that Heaven could, apparently, dish out whenever they wanted.

A part of her feared, still fears, that her hotel and all whom she grew to care about would meet the same fate soon. Another part of her questioned: If Heaven possessed such power, why did they use exorcists for their yearly culling? Why massacre her people with thousands of swords and spears, when they could evaporate the entire city with a single angel? Was it out of cruelty or was it imposed on them by a law she simply didn’t know about?

What if they were now unshackled from that hypothetical law by her actions? What if in defending her dream, she doomed countless others? How could she cope with something like that?

Then when she ventured into those ruins once more, but this time with her father by her side, she found another actor upon the stage and with her entrance came only more questions. Samyaza, that was the name which she used among the cannibals and which was relayed to Charlie by few who were still willing to amicably speak with her.

From what cannibals said, Samyaza came out of nowhere with words that it was Lucifer who sent her to them to help. After that, she proceeded to heal and mend all who were injured during angelic retaliation, without asking anything in return. She described herself as an angel which only added to Charlie’ questions. The fact that her father seemed to be on edge around her and seemingly detested her without end only added to her confusion.

Just who was Samyaza? What goals was she pursuing? And what did she do to earn Hell more than any other?

So many questions, so little answers. Suffice to say that when she came into Heaven’s Embassy with her dad and Vaggie by her side she was not in high spirits and unfortunately not even a sight of her honorary aunts and uncles could lift her spirits. They were all standing in the hall, near the doors of the chamber where the meeting would soon be held and they all looked rather different from how she usually saw them.

All were dressed in official clothing that was yet so unlike what she usually saw them in during Hell’s galas. Best example would be auntie Beelzebub, who wore what could only be described as an outfit of a high priest with all covering robes, slight shoulder cape and pulled back hood. Satan was clad in black steel armor that, judging by engravings, held more ceremonial purpose. Mammon too was clad in robes, but while Bee’s were that of a priestess, robes of Mammon were that of a sorcerer, bearing many talismans and bones. And finally uncle Asmodeus, who wore a simple black suit, which was completely different from his usual flamboyant style.

All of the present Sins didn’t even acknowledge their arrival. On the contrary, some of them actively tried to look anywhere but at her. Uncle Asmodeus especially seemed to be uncomfortable in their presence. Before she could greet them and ask them what’s going on with that, a portal opened.

It was like a ripples at first and then the air began to swirl and in the heart of that vortex water began to appear. Then more and more, until it looked like a whirlpool, after which it opened and a figure stepped out of it. Charlie expected to see her aunties Levi and Than, instead a tall and broad-shouldered man with the head of a water serpent dressed in a fine dark suit stepped out.

She couldn’t recognize him, but The Sins could.

“Well, would you look at who finally decided to leave his little city at the bottom of the sea!” spoke Mammon with great joy in his voice. “And here I thought you’d send your daughters again!”

“As much as it displeases me to interact with your lot, this is not something I can delegate to anyone else. Not even to my most beloved daughters. It is simply out of their scope, Mammon.”

“Yeah, glad to see you too, fishface,” replied Mammon without much care.

The man-serpent eyed all who arrived before him with an analytical glare. Then his eyes hit her and he stopped, he began to walk towards her, while saying:

“Well, here’s the one who’s responsible for this mess,” his voice was deep and lacking in any sharp motifs, yet it carried with itself a promise of imminent danger, hidden by formalities. “Now, princess, you don’t know me and I have no desire to know you more than I have to, but I believe you owe all of us some answers.”

Before he could get near enough, her father appeared between them in his demonic form, glaring at the serpent with fire in his eyes and with his six wings out. It would’ve been threatening if it wasn’t for the fact that the old serpent was twice as tall as her father.

“Don’t forget your place, Leviathan,” warned Lucifer in a controlled tone.

Leviathan gave him an unimpressed look.

“Isn’t your daughter too old to be coddled like that, Lucifer?”

“Not when someone tries to threaten her in my presence.”

“Is this what you call it now, Lucifer? ‘Threatening’? Is your daughter truly so weak of spirit and constitution that a simple question could harm her?”

“If it is a simple question, then ask me and I shall answer.” Leviathan looked at her once more and saw how she shrunk under his gaze, then he looked back at Lucifer and exhaled through his nose in a fashion that conveyed a certain level of disappointment.

“Very well, Lucifer. These past weeks have been stressful to say the least and I believe it applies to us all,” gathered sins gave nods from the side. “But a mystery kept pestering me through all of this. Enlighten me, please, what has your daughter done to provoke Adam’s wrath.”

“Excuse me?” replied Vaggie instead. “We didn’t do shit to provoke him! The bastard tried to attack simply because he could!”

Leviathan turned his gaze away from Lucifer and redirected it at Vaggie, who was clad in her battle attire and had an angelic spear in her hands. Leviathan’s eyes had an amber glow to them. In a way it reminded Charlie of Adam’s golden eyes. Both carried within ancient history, but while Adam’s eyes in his last moments were filled with a vortex of warring emotions, Leviathan’s glowed like a light of an angler fish, luring its prey closer to quick and painful death in the cold depths.

“…and who are you to claim that with such certainty, little bird?”

“I am Vaggie,” she said, as the old serpent stepped closer and loomed over her. Vaggie stood unaffected and looked him straight in the eye in the act that was either of bravery or of spite. “Charlie’s girlfriend, her shield and sword. Before I used to be a part of Adam’s army and during those days I’ve seen enough of him to know why he does things the way he does. He is an impulsive manchild with an overblown ego driven by lust for blood and pleasure. We only stood up for ourselves and tried to fight for our shared dream and that bastard took that as an insult because he's a coddled piece of shit who got too used to getting what he wants without any work!”

Leviathan simply “Hm”’d at that tirade and asked a question:

“And how long have you fought under his command, ye copper shield?”

“Ten years, why does it matter?”

Leviathan growled and straightened his back and spread his shoulders, he spoke loudly and with certainty befitting of a king and with his voice the corridor they were in rumbled and shook:

“I am Leviathan, Old Serpent of The Depths and one of Three Great Beasts who ruled over Primordial Earth. My rule was that of terror and domination. I have devoured lesser beasts and from their carcasses, I built nests that housed my young. With my horn, I have pierced the chest of The First Man as he gouged mine eyes out with his thumbs. After that, I’ve spent hundreds of years seeking his young. I have torn apart his sons and spread their entrails across the pale shores and let my countless children nest in the remains of his daughters. He, in turn, hunted my kind and painted Primordial Sea red with the blood of my blood. First with bare hands and teeth, then with spear and dagger. Even after he was slain by a daughter of Ziz and I found death in the machinations of his third born son, our shared hatred persisted in our progeny and they warred against each other until the day of The Flood. If it wasn’t for the Heaven’s Decree which separated our kinds in Hell, we would’ve warred until the end of times…”

Leviathan leaned, his and Vaggie’s face mere centimeters away from each other. In his breath there was the smell of ancient blood and in his eyes fires of old familiar hatred.

“So, oh ye copper shield, tell me what authority do you have to lecture me on his nature?”

Then, a melodic voice rang out from the side:

“The same as we all do, I am afraid.”

And the air turned cold. All eyes looked on the source of the new voice and Charlie saw the same pale woman that healed the cannibals. She was dressed in the same black dress and had the same feathery shawl on her shoulder. Now, however, she got better see the woman’s eyes… The irises were completely black. As if someone just painted them on her completely white eyeballs. There was simply no light or visible intent in them. Just complete and utter lack of anything tangible.

It was strangely dreadful.

“After all, predicting man’s nature is a fool’s errand. We all know that very well, I believe. Even in my youth, when I had complete control over their environment and could influence and guide their thoughts with the simplest of nudges, humans still managed to surprise me time and time again. As I later learned in my days at the fringes of Inferno, it is something they inherited from their father, yet at the same time, they never managed to quite recapture his brand of unpredictability. In our early talks, he so rarely ever tried to lie to me, yet at the same time just how many times has he successfully taken me off guard… It was as puzzling, as it was charming. Wouldn’t you agree, Serpent of The Depths?”

Samyaza looked at the silent congregation before her. Their eyes are either stunned, wrathful or analyzing her every move. Her smile grew a bit wider. So many interesting faces, all collected in one place. Her junior, the angel who let sin into Creation, her liberator and soon to fall angel. The last two caught her lingering gaze.

Charlotte Morningstar, daughter of Lucifer and Lilith. Adam and her talked about her half a year ago and that talk went into her memory as one of the most fruitful. During it, she confronted him about the way he described Exterminations. ‘Entertainment’ he called them. Of course he denied, told her that he only did that to aggravate the daughter of his enemy and see who she is and how she acts, but Samyaza knew better. She saw his soul that day and it was clear as day that he was lying. More to himself, than to her.

Oh what joyous day that was.

Now looking at Charlie herself… Well, Samyaza has kept an eye on the princess since her earliest day, eager to see what the young abomination would blossom into. Yet right now, Samyaza did not see what she desired. It seemed like the young princess was yet to break her shell. How unfortunate. Who could’ve guessed that the same Lucifer and Lilith, who condemned infant humanity to sin would treat their own child that way. To coddle her to such an extent, that her shell is still pristine and smooth.

Samyaza was a mother once, yet above all else, she remained a researcher. For a child to never break her shell was a fate of stunted growth that was among the first discoveries she made during her experiments. Like a stillborn chick that kept growing and growing as an embryo, until its malformed body would break the shell with its soft and putrid flesh… What a dreadful fate for a child. Hmmm… perhaps she should talk with Lucifer later and discuss it with him? On the other hand, maybe…

Someone else could shatter that shell for Charlie from the outside.

Then there was an angel standing beside the sheltered aristocrat. Vaggie was her name, if Samyaza's memory served her right. Truth be told, she was intrigued by the soon to fall angel as much as she was intrigued by Charlotte. It’s been so long since she and her comrades fell. It was interesting to observe how each of them changed after the fall.

She remembered how fascinating it was to witness the metamorphosis of her comrades. From Azazel completely losing her grip on reality from unending heartache and Ramiel falling into despair after witnessing the extent of her tyranny to Turiel willingly turning away from all of Raphael’s teaching and embracing entropy and blight. Upon the fall, the watchers’ song has become a cacophony of madness and despair.

Samyaza's eyes widened for the briefest of moments. Vaggie’s connection to Light remained unbroken, her song still melodic and harmonious. A sense of amusement washed over Samyaza. Oh Adam, such a merciful soul you were when it came to those who you deemed close. Now, thanks to that mercy, she’ll get to witness Vaggie metamorphosis firsthand.

After all, Heaven was just. To execute Vaggie after the battle at the hotel would’ve been an unjust mercy. No, knowing them, they would sever her connection and leave her to rot for all eternity in the infernal pit she claimed as her new home. Soon enough, Vaggie shall witness the truth of this realm.

Samyaza wondered how she would cope. Would she retreat to the sweet embrace of delusion as Azazael did? Or perhaps she would seek comfort in eternal stagnation of despair like Ramiel? Or would she seek self-destruction and reconstruction and follow the path of Turiel?

So many wonderful possibilities.

Then, Samyaza was torn from her musing, when a voice of Lucifer reached her:

“The fuck are you doing here!?”

He was standing with his horns and six wings out and with the Hellfire dancing in his palms, aimed right at her. His face contorted in an expression of pure hate, he was shielding his daughter from her. Samyaza only gave him a polite smile and an honest answer:

“We all are gathered here by the same will, Lucifer, so I ask you to reign in your bloodlust. After all, it would be impolite for us to quarrel when our superiors are on their way.”

Before her dad could give a reply another figure appeared in the hallway with them. In a puff of pink and purple smoke a demon appeared, clad in silver armor and with the sword on her hip. Her shining shell was pristine and looked almost angelic, but there was a single blemish on it. On her chest plate there was a charred mark left by the blade most noble.

It was hard to recognize her at first. She was far too used to seeing her in greasy t-shirts and messy dresses, but the figure before them was undoubtedly Belphegor, the Sin of Sloth, even if right now she seemed so unlike herself. Her eyes were too focused and her posture too straight. Not only that, but unlike everyone else, who came in advance, she appeared precisely on time.

Just in time for their arrival.

A set of footsteps echoed through the embassy. In the exact same moment all of them froze on the spot. It was as if all sounds, even the ones of their breaths and heartbeats, went silent all at once. Charlie felt herself enveloped by a terrifying feeling. Like she was in the deepest part of Envy’s sea. This crushing and oppressive feeling… she couldn’t even blink.

All the while footsteps continued to echo, growing louder and louder. Or rather nearer. They were slow and deliberate, like a ticking of a clock counting down their last seconds.

Then, on the other side of the hall a heavy set of doors opened by an unseen force, and seven figures walked out.

First one she saw was the one walking in the center of that procession. It was a knight, tall and broad-shouldered, covered completely in armor of purest silvers and on his hip was a sheathed sword. His helmet lacked eye slits of any kind. He was tall, as tall as Sera, yet other than that, there was nothing notable about him, especially when compared to his companion. And yet…

Why does the mere sound of his footsteps terrify her to no end?

To his right there was a figure of the same height as the knight, who wore a bronze helmet with a single eye, from which shone pale light. On his body was a scaled cuirass, on his shoulder a tattered mantle and a hood on his head. His singular eye was looking at, in and through her with such an unnerving ease.

To his left was another armored figure, whose helmet depicted an androgynous face with eyes covered by a pair of wings. That figure was notably shorter than the first two, just as tall as Adam was, yet there was a certain aura around it that was hard to describe. If the first two were immensely powerful, then this one was immensely dangerous. Worst of all, even despite the covered eyes, Charlie could still feel the hateful gaze on her person.

On the left there was a woman, wearing rather humble looking robes. Her eyes were closed and unlike the hateful one, this woman radiated a calming warmth, which made Charlie feel as if she was embraced by her mother. Not only that, but her each and every movement was of grace and beauty beyond compare.

Then there was a single person which she was able to recognize – Emily. Yet unlike their first meeting, it seemed like she had all the energy drained from her. She couldn’t even meet Charlie’s gaze.

Then the last two who walked on the most right. A man covered in robes, underneath which she could only catch glimpses of bandages, and a giant covered completely in bright yellow silks, whose slender hood was completely empty, as if there was no one under those eye-catching robes.

Upon seeing them, Vaggie and Belphegor dropped on their knees. One out of fear and another out of reverence. Belphegor kept her face to the floor with her eyes closed, while Vaggie was in cold sweat. The group of angels stopped before them and the knight walked forward. All eyes were on him and they looked at him with a mixture of fear and respect. Even her father struggled to keep his hand from trembling.

Then he spoke and he did so calmly and with nobility befitting a knight:

“Greetings, Sins and The Fallen One,” there was not a hint of aggression in his voice. “Before we start our meeting, me and my sister need to discuss something with your king. Alone.”

He gave the one eyed angel a side-glance and he nodded. The angel in a bronze helmet made a gesture with his hand and suddenly her father, the knight and the androgynous one disappeared in a cloud of stardust. Judging by the look on his face, her father was just as surprised as she was that someone was able to perform a spell on him with such ease.

And so, Charlie, the so-called Princess of Hell, was left in a company of Sins and Archangels.

Lucifer wasn’t used to this. He was the one who usually teleported people around with a simple gesture as a show of power. To be on the receiving end of a transportation like this was a humiliating affair, especially in the presence of Sins and his own daughter. In any other situation he would’ve teleported right back there and given the would-be magician a piece of his mind.

Then again, in any other situation he wouldn’t have to talk with Michael one on one.

Lucifer grit his teeth and prepared himself for the most important talk of his life. The life of his daughter was at the stake and he couldn’t let them kill her no matter how justified they thought they were. He opened his eyes, expecting to see his brother with blazing wings out and radiant sword in hand.

Instead he saw Gabriel in her silver armor standing in front of him. They were in some kind of wasteland, probably far in the outskirts of Pride. He could still feel his older brother, but he was clearly far away. He, demonstratively looked around, and then back at Gabriel and asked her:

“Uh, where is Michael?”

“Away,” she replied after a short pause with an emotionless voice. “He has nothing to discuss with you. I do. He is here to keep an eye on me.”

She reached to her helmet and pulled it off and tossed it aside. It hit the ground with a quiet thud and Lucifer could see the face of his younger sister for the first time in a thousand years. A lot of her stayed the same. She still had her hair short and white as an eggshell and her skin had the same tone it had back in Eden, yet something changed in her completely and with no hope of ever returning to how it once was.

Her blue eyes. If he had to say, they looked like they bore no life and no song within them. There was emptiness and fatigue in them which angels were never meant to feel or possess. It looked like she never had a single night of sleep in her entire life.

Like something was torn away from the very essence of her being, never to heal.

Then he remembered something and it all fell into place. Adam. He was close to her. Looks like even after everything they maintained their close connection. It was as pitiful as it was pathetic. Her, an archangel, caring for Adam, a complete and utter failure, to such a degree? What a sad state of affairs.

She asked him a simple question and her voice rung with sorrow and loss:

“Why…?”

“Do I even have to tell?” he asked, scoffing. “His little pigeons should’ve told you more than enough already. He attacked my daughter, completely unprovoked, and broke the treaty. What else was I supposed to do? Let him kill the only child I have for a twisted sense of revenge and personal amusement? For goodness sake, Charlie didn’t even…!”

“Don’t lie,” she cut him off with a cold glare.

“Oh, please!” he shot back. “I know you have a low opinion on me, but where am I lying here?”

“You intervened right as Adam was choking your oh so dearest daughter, only for you to make your dramatic entrance. You kept an eye on her from the very beginning. You could have intervened at any moment you wanted.”

“And how was I supposed to intervene? Your treaty kept me from doing anything!”

“You could have hid her in your manor. You could have smuggled her to another ring. You could’ve hid them all in some bunker with a simple spell,” she rebutted coldly. “You could’ve done anything you wanted to protect your daughter with a snap of your dainty fingers. Yet you didn’t. Instead you watched her build a cannibal army and arm them all with weapons capable of killing our kind… of killing Adam… all in the name of some pretty little dream… Why?”

The following silence was deafening. He gave no reply, because what reply could he give there? Gabriel lowered her gaze and her eyes became hidden by her hair. She grit her teeth, her hands balled into fists and tears made their way down her face.

Then, Lucifer’s face exploded in a sensation of agony and hurt, as he found himself propelled away by a sudden and swift strike to the jaw.

Before he knew it, he hit the side of some mountain and left a crater in its side. His from already began regenerating, as he was getting. That was when he heard his voice from the side.

“If you won’t answer me,” he looked up to see Gabriel looking down on him, her icy blue eyes piercing right into his soul, “I shall beat answers out of you.”

He didn’t waste time and shot a blast of Hellfire into her from his palms. In that exact moment she disappeared and appeared on the other side of him. She delivered a swift kick into his ribs, sending him upward. Six wings of pure light appeared behind her back and she shot up into the sky, chasing right after him.

Lucifer grit his teeth as his healing factor began putting pieces of him together. It hurt. The last time he ever felt pain was during his short duel with Michael. Ever since then he never felt any form of physical pain. He was an archangel, even if a fallen one. Not a single thing in Hell could realistically harm him. Even if in Heaven there were very few who could lend a solid blow on him. Even Adam, for all his fearsome reputation and so called mastery over battle, was but a child with a wooden sword when compared.

All that only made this hurt all the more infuriating. How dare Gabriel strike him, her older brother!? How dare she make him, King of Hell, feel something as low and mortal as pain!?

He opened his six wings to stop his unwilling ascent and let his horns grow, as his eyes turned red with blood of his fallen enemies. He looked at her from above, a silver comet coming right at him. He moved his hand and commanded the very molecules in the air to change shape and they obeyed, for he was King.

Suddenly air in a hundred meter radius around Gabriel changed in the flash of hellish light into pure tungsten. That was not enough to stop her and Lucifer knew that quite well, but it did slow her down for a second and that was all he needed.

When she broke from the sphere of pure metal, a barrage of accursed Hellfire greeted her. She dodged and weaved between hundreds of fireballs, getting nearer and nearer at a frightening pace. However, right when she was in front of him he opened an invisible portal, hoping to transport her into a more favorable position…

Only to be met with a kick into the temple.

Again, he felt pain and was sent flying hundreds of kilometers away and this time he had to admit his mistake. Back in Eden, when they were still young and vestal, archangels often enjoyed racing each other for sport and Gabriel, even at her tender age, used to be the one winning those races. She was The Messenger and even with an incomplete domain, her physical attributes reflected her role well enough. She was the fastest being in all of Creation.

His usual trickery won’t cut it.

Gabriel was already in front of him, not even a thousandth of a second later, he teleported a few hundreds meters away and here was her fist right in front of his face already. He teleported a hundred meters away again and saw the same picture. He kept teleporting and she kept catching up with him with sheer speed alone. They kept going like that for a few minutes, until…

She caught him by the throat and stared right into his eyes with an expression that promised nothing but pain. In that same moment he finished preparing his spell and gave her a confident, even if a bit strained, smile. That caught her off guard for a moment and then she felt it.

Around them, in a radius big enough to fit a large city, time slowed to the crawl. It was so slow in fact, that if you were to toss a coin it would take several million years for it to land back into your palm. To cast a spell like that, it would be impossible for anyone but Uriel. But that would be mostly because to cast a spell like this on such a scale would be impossible within the reality of Heaven or Earth, where laws of Creation were absolute.

But in Hell…?

Oh, that would be very much within the realm of possibilities especially if you were a King of that cursed realm. Lucifer’s smile grew a bit wider as he noticed the shock within her eyes. To see something like that after receiving some truly hurtful blows was rather cathartic. He made sure that his smile was the last thing she saw before teleporting away for the last time.

He appeared in the other point of Hell, five thousand kilometers away from Gabriel. He looked into her direction and began to drain energies from Hell itself to fuel his next spell, as his own reserves were spent on his magnum opus.

He began to recount a spell not of his design, but rather the one belonging to his older sister, Jophiel. It was a combat spell and like all spells of that nature coming from her this one was very effective at what it was designed to do. He still remembered well the mountains of Hellbeasts’ corpses left in her wake. He breathed in and out and started to concentrate.

First, he put his hand in front of himself. Then he made a gesture, as if he was grasping a bow and a string and began to visualize his weapon. Energies around him began to coalesce and crystalize and soon enough a black bow appeared in his hands. He pulled the string and started to pour in the energies of Hell. A bright and burning arrow of Hellfire appeared and he took aim.

For a moment, he hesitated, for he was aiming at his sister. Then Charlie’s smiling face flashed in front of his eyes and without hesitation he let the arrow go. It soared through the air in speeds surpassing all of humankind’s inventions. Then, it found its mark and suddenly, a sunset appeared in the distance.

The arrow exploded with the power of a thousand suns. It burned and scorched the air around him, even when he was standing thousand of kilometers away from the explosion and when it was over it looked like the eternally red skies of Pride grew darker for the first time in a thousand years.

His breath became ragged and the sulfur air stung his lungs. The first spell already drained most of his reserves, but the second drained not only him, but the Pride itself. Still, he didn’t have that much time to recover. He could still feel Michael gaze upon himself, even if he couldn’t pinpoint Taxiarch’s exact location. He had minutes, - no, seconds – before Michael’s attack. He had to…

He turned around and froze on the spot. The unfamiliar creeped within his soul. He couldn’t recall what it was, at first, for it had been so long since he last felt it. But when Gabriel, unscathed, went into motion and delivered a punch into the center of his face, he remembered what it was.

Fear.

Again he was sent flying and soon landed on his back, but this time pain wasn’t so quick to go away. His healing factor was affected by the earlier two spells and no he couldn’t recover as fast. Golden blood trickled down his nose, as he attempted to stand up, while his head was pierced by unimaginable pain. He opened his eyes and again Gabriel was right in front of him, not even a scratch on her face. He spoke from frustration:

“How… how did you…?”

“I dodged it.”

“I… I slowed time to a standstill…!”

“I noticed,” she remarked as if he just commented about the weather or an equally mundane affair. “So, I moved faster to compensate.”

Before he could scream out in frustration, she delivered a kick to his chin making fall on his back again. She pinned him down and delivered another punch, scattering his canine teeth across the red stone of Pride’s wasteland. She looked him into the eye, piercing right into his being, and asked in a quiet tone:

“Why?”

He wheezed out. That did not satisfy her and she hit him again, forcing to look sideways, as more teeth flew out of his mouth and dark red blood flowed from his mouth like water from a brook. She repeated her question and again he gave no answer and again she hit him.

Again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

Her singular question kept growing in anger and wrath, as she pummeled his head into a paste, slowly going from a cold inquiry into a wrathful and incoherent screams. Her eyes burned, her gauntlets became red and her fingers began to hurt, yet her barrage only continued to grow in intensity. Soon enough, her punches began to send shockwaves and the very earth beneath them quacked from her mighty blows.

Lucifer’s healing factor went into overdrive, as an unquantifiable force was destroying his skull. She turned his cranium into dust, his brain matter into mush, yet his healing factor kept pulling him back together again and again. He didn’t even get the luxury of blacking out. He felt her every punch, heard her every scream and felt all of her wrath.

But eventually, it all started to end.

When his healing factor gave out and her strength and wrath finally began to fail her, Gabriel looked into The Archtraitor. The so-called King of Hell, the one who damned humanity with sin, the one responsible for countless deaths and atrocities, the one to whom all evils of Creation could be traced to. She looked at his ruined visage, resembling a pile of torn apart meat and crushed bone, yet still conscious, even if barely. She looked into it and then…

…she gently opened the door of his quarters within the Palace, hoping to see him. Everyone else was too busy today. Sera was studying the fundamentals of Father’s Law, Uriel was having lessons with Father about the material plain, Raphael and Jophiel were up to their own shenanigans. That left only one option and she hoped that he was in his workshop and not in cosmos experimenting with stars again.

A smile appeared on her face, as she saw him sitting behind his desk, his back directed to the room's entrance. It looked like he was too deep in his work to notice her arrival and a devious smile appeared on her face. She tiptoed into the room and walked closer to him. As she did, she noticed something…

He was cooing to someone…?

No matter. She stopped right behind and then placed her hands upon his should in quick motion and announced herself:

“HEY-YA, LUCIEL!!!”

The result was expected. He shot from his chair from fright and flew up to the ceiling and she immediately began laughing, as his face quickly changed from surprise into annoyance:

“Not funny, Gabby! I could’ve hit my head right here!”

That, of course, didn’t stop her in the slightest. So, he decided to hit her with his best impression of Sera and aimed his best glare at her. That didn’t work. On the contrary, she began to laugh even harder. He childishly pouted and that was the thing that caused her to stop her laughter. She quickly apologized to him:

“Sorry! But, c’mon, that was funny!”

He opened his mouth to protest, but then he remembered his own pranks, which he liked to pull on Sera and Uriel, and wisely decided to bite his tongue and admit:

“Maybe, a little bit…”

Then, something changed in Gabriel’s expression. Her smile disappeared and a curiosity sparked in her azure eyes. She asked him:

“Hey, Luciel… what are you hiding in your sleeves?”

He, caught red-handed, used all his wits and gave an incredibly intricate answer that was meant to divert her attention away from his hidden treasure:

“Nothing!”

That, for some reason, didn’t work, but thankfully Gabriel didn’t get to ask her next question. Because the thing in his sleeves made itself known.

By quacking.

Luciel knew that further denial will only serve to make him more foolish in the eyes of his already very mischievous younger sister. So, he came clean and produced a little yellow birdie from his sleeves. A baby duckling to be precise. Gabriel expression grew stunned and she looked from chick to his eyes and asked:

“…did you snuck it from Eden?”

He nodded it, knowing full well that if it became known his older siblings would give him enough lecture to last until the last stars in Creation would go out. Gabriel knew that too. It was forbidden to do something like that, but she didn’t hurry to her older siblings and instead asked him a question:

“Why?”

“I found it alone near a pond, Gabriel. It was so weak and feeble, not to mention starving. I don’t know why, but it was born wrong and its mother seemed to have abandoned it.”

“Why didn’t you report it to Raphael?” she asked innocently. “Healing is in his nature, right?”

“I found it near The Tree and I was afraid that others might think that it is tainted in some way,” he saw a retort in her eyes and explained himself. “I know, they wouldn’t have, but I panicked and the next thing I know I am in my workshop tending to a little duckling. Besides,” he rubbed the little birdie’s head with his thumb and it seemed to enjoy it a lot. “The little thing has grown attached to me.”

Gabriel sighed.

“Sera would lecture you until the end of times if she finds out.”

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I am going to ask you to keep it a secret between us. Please.”

“But if Father…”

“Gabriel,” he looked her straight into the eye and did his best puppy impression with his eyes. “Plea-a-a-a-ase!”

Gabriel's face scrunched up in indignation. That was not fair! He was the older one! Being cute and annoying was her thing! It was just not fair!

“Ugh… fine!”

Then Luciel wrapped his hands around her and hugged her close. That took her by surprise, but that did not mean she didn’t appreciate it. She heard his voice:

“Thanks, Gabby! I love you!”

She smiled to hersel and huffed at his antics. Her silly and childish older brother. Where would he be without her? Probably under Sera’s ever watchful eye, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was her answer and just how easily it came to her:

“I love you too, you silly…”

…she saw her brother.

Under countless sins, countless evils and countless atrocities, she could still see Luciel. The same Luciel who greeted her first upon her birth, the same Luciel who was there with her in early years, the same Luciel who first taught her how to fly, the same Luciel with whom they shared the joys of divine creation, the same Luciel was once beloved by all.

She hated him. Even before Adam’s death, she hated him. She fought during the War in Hell, she personally witnessed the atrocities he permitted under his rule for the sake of ever distant dreams. The sight of horrors he unleashed upon Creation haunted her dreams still. Yet those precious memories of their early days in Eden and before. They haunted her heart, even now, when her hatred was burning at its brightest.

Tears began to fall from her eyes freely. She was sobbing, with her hands completely red and her brother’s face turned into meat and bone. She just couldn’t reconcile. Couldn’t even begin to understand. So, she choked between her sobs:

“Why…?”

So many questions in that single word.

Why have you betrayed us? Why have you doomed Creation? Why have you warred against us? Why have you made this realm into a den of cruelty and malice? Why have you killed the one I loved the most? Why, why, why, why, why…?

Why did it have to be you, brother…?

She received no answer, as her tears kept falling freely and with no sign of ever stopping. She hated him, she truly did. Yet this anguish shall forever reside with her.

She felt a steel covered hand rest on her shoulder and a calming sensation washed over her. She looked up, and saw Michael standing near her. She saw something in his gaze and that made her tears slow down. She stood from Lucifer and walked away to give him and Michael some privacy.

Her time for talking was done, now was the turn of her elder brother. Michael made a simple gesture and Lucifer’s flesh began to mend just enough for him to hear Michael’s next words. Taxiarch sat at his side and addressed him:

“It pained me to see this ordeal, Lucifer,” he admitted. “It truly did. No matter how arduous and scarring the trials you set for her are, her heart still shines with kindness with which she shone upon the day of her creation. I suppose that is expected. She was never meant for war, none of our siblings were. Yet she adapted just like the rest, thanks to your careless cruelty and my idle sloth. A grave sins for us both,” Michael sighed. “No matter. Let this be a reminder for you, o Archtraitor. You are not a king and this realm is not your kingdom. You are a death row inmate awaiting the final judgement and this wretched wound upon Creation is your prison cell. Your self proclaimed titles and endless lies mean nothing in the face of the truth. Your power is nothing compared to the divine. One day, Father shall return and his judgement shall be swift. Remember that well, brother.”

Michael stood and soon Raphael appeared near him and they exchanged silent glances, as Lucifer kept staring at his oldest brother with a mixture of fear and rage. Raphael sighed and knelt next to Lucifer. He lowered his head to his ear and whispered to him:

“I will heal your wounds. Do not mistake this for the act of compassion. Your crimes have long deprived you of the right of any kind of mercy. My only aim is to keep your daughter from experiencing the horror of witnessing your current state. If I ever find you in a state like this again, I shall turn away and let you rot.”

With these words, Lucifer drifted to dreamless slumber, as Raphael began to mend his flesh to make him presentable for the treaty talks.

Chapter Text

The air was thick with uneasy tension. The knight and the androgynous one departed along with her father and even if she wanted to scream and to ask in panic where they had taken him, she couldn’t. The remaining angels didn’t have the same presence as the knight did, but they still emanated a strange and ancient force. The kind you feel when gazing into the far outskirts of Hell, where laws of reality would come undone.

It wasn’t just her who felt it. Vaggie and Belphegor were still kneeling, while other Sins seemed to be at the very least cautious. Even uncle Satan was looking at the angels without his ever present disdain, but with almost timid respect. Meanwhile, Leviathan stood proud, while Mammon along with Asmodeus were oddly silent. It was surreal to see them so silent around each other. Usually by this time their bickering could have been heard from the other side of the city.

Yet one Sin looked at angels with a rather odd expression. Auntie Beelzebub was looking at the group expectantly, or rather she was keeping her eyes on the angel with the bronze mask. He returned her gaze and she walked forward to him and stood in front of him. All other Sins and Samyaza were looking at them both with a variety of emotions.

Then Beelzebub spoke casually and lightly:

“Sup, geezer.”

Charlie expected a lot of things. She prepared for the angel to explode in a wrathful tirade or to flash his power and shut her down with force or to give a cold and biting remark or anything else of that sort. Instead, she witnessed how one of the most powerful beings in all of Creation greeted Sin of Gluttony with same casualness and even some fondness in his voice:

“Greetings, mutt.”

This strange set of events only grew stranger when Beelzebub crossed a set of her arms in front of her chest and looked at the angel who stood a head taller than her with a silent demand. Charlie's ears caught a quiet sigh and she could hardly believe it came from the angel wearing a bronze mask. He parted his hands, as if inviting her, and Beelzebub, in turn, did not let the invitation go to waste.

She charged into his embrace and wrapped her arms around him in an act of gentle and familial affection and the angel replied to her in kind. They held each other, like a father and a daughter, while Charlie looked at them in silent awe, which was not shared by everyone else in the hall aside from Vaggie. On the contrary, it seems like everyone except them two was expecting this turn of events.

They stood like that for a good minute and when they finally parted, the bronze wearing angel eyed Beelzebub from head to toe and remarked:

“You have grown.”

“Aw, really?” Beelzebub compared their heights with her hand and remarked with a humorous smile. “I am pretty sure our vertical differences remained the same, old man. Maybe you should get your eyes checked?”

“Perhaps it is needed,” replied the angel with a short chuckle. “After all, it seems like my eyesight has mistaken the mischievous twinkle in your eyes for the spark of a matured mind. Still, it gladdens this old heart to see your smile is still as bright as the day we parted, my dear student.”

“Well, it wasn’t easy keeping it, but… A certain ancient fella gave me some good words to live by,” Beelzebub gave a small and sincere smile, as she added not as loudly and boisterously, but with pure sincerity. “And… it’s good to see you too, teach.”

They began chatting with each and Charlie just didn’t know what to think. She just silently observed, as an angel and a demon chatted with each other if there was no animosity between their kinds. It was a surreal experience, especially coupled with the events of the last couple of weeks.

Then another angel, a beautiful woman in humble robes, approached her:

“Greetings, child,” she spoke gently. “I presume you are quite worried about the upcoming ordeal.”

“I am,” she blurted out on instinct, but then looked at the angel and scowled, anger and worry seeped into her voice, as her demonic aspects made themselves known. “But I am more worried for my father. Where have you taken him!?”

“Ah,” the angel merely nodded, as if she was answering an innocent inquiry. “I see. You must think we desire to inflict great harm upon you and those who you hold dear. Worry not, child, while some of us might possess such desires, Michael and Gabriel only desire to speak with your father. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Then why take him away? Why not speak here?”

“Some talks require privacy,” replied the angel in the matter of fact.

“Sister,” suddenly they were interrupted by the angel covered in bandages. “Do not waste your breath trying to console her. As you can see, she desires no such things,” he looked at her and spoke with an authority which could not be denied. “Your father shall not face death today, nor tomorrow. As much as our kin desires it, after all he has done and, undoubtedly, all he will do, his life is not ours to claim. So, for the foreseeable future, your father shall continue to fester in the prison cell of his own making.”

“I believe, Taxiarch advised us to be gentle in this matter, oh venerable healer,” interjected the mountain of golden cloth in the shape of a man. His voice quiet and with a certain hesitance. It was odd to see someone of that stature speak so timidly. “Besides, we are yet to introduce ourselves.”

“Astute observation, young Metatron,” nodded the one eyed angel. “I am Uriel, The Watcher and The Celestial Architect. Those who departed to converse with your father are Michael, The Taxiarch, and Gabriel, The Messenger. The rest shall speak for themselves.”

“I am Jophiel, The Lord’s Love,” spoke the angelic woman in robes. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Charlotte.”

Judging from her tone, she was not lying, which puzzled Charlie to no end. While the rest of angels regarded her with coldness at best and open hostility at worst, Jophiel words and actions carried with themselves sincere warmth.

“I am Raphael,” said the angel in bandages, “The Healer and the one who had to tend to whom you and your force have wounded and desecrated.”

She wanted to retort that they were merely protecting themselves from Adam and his bloodthirsty exorcists, yet the venom in Raphael words drowned all that idea in an ocean of spite.

“Lord Uriel already introduced me, even if indirectly,” added the angel in robes of gold. “Father has made me His Scribe. That is all.”

Before Charlie could formulate her own opinion, another voice interjected carrying amusement in its tone.

“I see the years have not loosen your tongue, Enoch,” Samyaza gave a sigh. “A pity. I was looking forward to your choice of words for our dear princess.”

Metatron gave Samyaza a look that Charlie simply could not read, yet there was tension in that moment. So much in fact, that it felt as if these two ancient beings were about to come to blows, only for Metatron to avert his gaze and for Samyaza to widen her grin. Uriel spoke in Metatron’s stead:

“It seems like exile has done nothing to temper your arrogance, witch. If you would dare to disrespect The Scribe in such a way again, I shall be the one to stifle the fires of your pride.”

Samyaza cast her gaze at Uriel and her smile dropped and amusement drained from her face. Suddenly, those dark and unfeeling eyes seemed to have looked at an imposing archangel with a strange emotion, so alien to Samyaza’s entire being. Disappointment. She spoke plainly and without a hint of usual mocking undertones, yet Charlie for the life of her couldn’t figure out whether she was sincere or not:

“Yet again you misjudge my every action and use my being as a canvas on which you can paint your prejudice and expectations. The cruel and uncaring march of time has done barely a thing to change both of us. Isn’t it right, teacher?” Uriel gave no response and only balled his hand into fist.

“Do not speak as if you were somehow wronged,” spat Raphael. “I have had enough of your ilk. Time and time again, the likes of you trample underneath your feet those who are innocent and vestal, all in the name of your worthless ideals and inane dreams, yet the moment anyone dares to stop your destructive chase, you crumble and weep at the whole world, proclaiming for all to hear of grand injustices and wrongs done against you. Enough of it.”

“When have I ever claimed to be a victim?” asked Samyaza. “All my deeds are mine and mine alone. They were not done out of vengeance or to achieve some lofty ambitions. My only drives are my curiosity and boredom. That is all. Still, I’m owned my own regrets. After all, which one of us here is so bold to claim to be free from regret?”

None dared to defy that and that was all she needed to see and hear. Thus, that discussion came to end and heavy silence fell on those who were gathered there. Out of all of them, Charlie noted to herself two – Uriel and Jophiel. First, because once Samyaza asked her question and received her answer, Beelzebub placed her hand on the archangel's shoulder, seemingly trying to console him, for which he was grateful. Meanwhile, Jophiel simply lowered her face so that no one could see it and while her eyes were closed, Charlie couldn’t shake off the feeling that there were tears, waiting to be spilled, in them.

Then, the silence came to an end, when Raphael suddenly left and a few minutes later reappeared along with Gabriel, Michael and Lucifer. Charlie wasted no time and rushed to her father, Vaggie right behind her.

“Dad, are you alright?”

“…yes,” he replied after a short pause. “Yes, I am, duckie. Me and those mean old fools were just conversing. Nothing more.”

All those old fools heard him, yet none contradicted him. Everything went just as they thought it would. Lucifer’s pride would never let him admit weakness. Not to his sibling and never to Charlie. Michael, seeing that everything went exactly as he expected, addressed all:

“Let us waste no more time and proceed to our meeting.”

With that he opened the gates and led all, both angels and demons alike, into a meeting. There, all took their designated places. Michael cast his calculating gaze over all those who have gathered there today and spoke with finality that left no room for questioning:

“Firs and foremost, there shall be no negotiations. All decisions have already been made in Heaven. We have gathered you with the intention of merely relaying them in person.”

Charlie really wanted to argue against that. It was not fair. They were by no means lesser than them and yet again Heaven trampled over their rights and dignity. However, when she looked around she noticed that The Sins, those mythological figures, venerated by common hellborn like gods, heeded the archangel's every word like they were his disciples. Even her father displayed humility and acceptance of Michael’s words, thus she elected to be wise and hold back her tongue. Michael continued:

“The treaty was rewritten. Heaven shall no longer shackle its own might. Exterminations will no longer be handled by common winners and those of our kin who were never meant for war. Dominions, Arbiters and Powers shall be allowed to participate in Extermination if they wish so. Attuned weapons shall be used once more.”

“Wait, you mean you're going to continue exterminations?” interjected Charlie, Michael nodded.

“Indeed. From this point onward the duty of handling Exterminations shall be put on a rotational basis. The post will alternate between me, Uriel and Gabriel.”

“But you can’t do that! It’s…!”

“Inhumane? True, but we do not have any other choice. The Creation cannot be put in danger for the sake of the few sinful.”

“Don’t give me that excuse!” Charlie rebutted, with righteous fury creeping into her voice. Lucifer placed hand on her shoulder, as did Vaggie, to stop her from saying something she might regret, but the princess was having none of it. “Adam did it for entertainment! He told me that in our first meeting! And Sera allowed it only because she feared we might rebel! As if we could! We didn’t even know that angels could be harmed until recently!”

“Entertainment?!” suddenly Raphael rebutted her, his voice carrying divine wrath only the archangel could possess. “You dare to claim that The First Man, The Father of Humanity, The One Made in God’s Image… performed this grave duty for the sake of his own entertainment!?”

“The tongue that spews such venomous lies deserves naught but quick severance.” added coldly Gabriel.

“Guys, calm down!” Emily rose from her seat. “We came here to talk!”

“Emily speaks truth, my dear siblings,” interjected Jophiel. “We can’t let anger guide our hand. Be merciful towards this blind child, she knows not what she speaks.”

“Oh, but she does.”

The room became silent and all drew their gaze to the one who dared to speak in defense of the princess, however their eyes found not her father nor her loved one, but Samyaza. The fallen angel looked bemused, as she rested her chin on top of her interlocked fingers. The archangels, the sins and even Lucifer looked at her with distrust, yet Uriel urged her:

“Speak, witch.”

“As you wish, teacher. As you all might know, I was bound by a contract with Adam. I was exiled and forbidden from ever approaching or contacting sinners, hellborn and the fallen. In exchange, Adam had to visit me annually, usually a week after each year’s extermination concluded. Whenever he was not visiting, I would use my sorcery to peer into the rest of Hell and observe the majesty of human ingenuity and spirit. I used that same sorcery to spy on Adam during exterminations and meetings he would have with our dear king and queen. Last year, however, I did not see the usual meeting between his highness and Adam, but something far more entertaining.”

Samyaza chuckled, as if recounting an anecdote regarding some amusing incident with a friend, and Charlie felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

“I had the pleasure to witness the meeting between our dear princess and our esteemed Lord Exorcist. As you might expect, he was dismissive of her. Hard to fault him,” Samyaza lightly shrugged, “considering that he was meant to meet Lucifer and instead had to deal with his daughter. Not only that, but the manner with which the princess conducted herself on that day left much to be desired. That resulted in him shutting her down with a song, in which he confessed his joy of performing this grave duty.”

“Lies,” interrupted Gabriel. “Your rotten mouth spews nothing but lies and half-truths. I know Adam. I have known him since Eden. He would never take joy in this slaughter. Even if he said it, he lied to that brat to provoke her. Nothing more.”

“Hmmm,” Samyaza gave a knowing smile. “How amusing, he too denied it, claiming it was a provocation. Yet, that day when we met and I peered into his soul, I saw that he, for the first in a long while, wasn’t entirely truthful with me. Or maybe, it was himself he was not truthful with? Both possibilities paint a rather intriguing picture, wouldn’t you agree, Messenger?”

“You…!”

“Enough.”

Everyone stopped at Taxiarch’s command. Gabriel’s rage, burning brighter than the heart of the inferno, was instantly put out. Samyaza smile dropped and her expression became neutral. Michael sighed and continued.

“As unpleasant as this revelation is, it does not change a single thing about this meeting,” he looked straight at Charlie. “Exterminations will continue. Not only does Hell now possess weapons capable of harming our kin, but the underlying root of the problem remains unchallenged. Charlotte,” something old and weary appeared in his authoritarian voice, “I say this with complete honesty; we did not come to this decision easily. As rocky as your first interaction with Heaven might have been, we do not desire bloodshed for its own sake. We simply do not have a choice; Hell has already endangered Creation once by waging war against Heaven. As long as I live, it shall not endanger it again.”

“What…?” she could only quietly ask in shock.

Hell has waged war… on Heaven? She looked at her father, but he only look away in shame. Not only that, but the sins, her honorary aunts and uncles too dared not to cross her gaze with their own. It seemed absurd. For Hell to wage at Heaven, something like that could only be done with her father and mother at the helm. But they would never do that! The Story of Hell would mention it! They wouldn’t…!

They wouldn’t hide something like that from her! Not when they knew of her dream and… and!

“Now, let us continue with our meeting,” Michael spoke, as if completely oblivious to Charlie’s inner struggle. “The sanctioned movement between this realm and the realm of humans shall stop for the time being. The High Arbiters of Ivory Court have reported alarming oddities, which are being investigated as we speak. Once the investigation is done, we shall negotiate new terms of realm traversal. Not only that, but…”

Charlie completely zoned out as doubt overtook her mind. She did not want to believe it. With all her and her soul, she wished for nothing more than to renounce Michael’s words as lies, meant to divide her and her father and yet… Why couldn’t she do so? Why, oh why did his words contain no lies? Why did her father not meet her gaze? Why? Why? Why?

She felt a cold touch upon her palm, which snapped her out of her spiral. She looked down and saw Vaggie’s hand on top of hers. She looked at her and Vaggie gifted her with a reassuring gaze for which she was endlessly grateful. Right now, more than anything, she needed to be anchored and supported and her girlfriend did exactly that.

Then…

“That concludes most of which we desired to relay,” Michael looked at sins and addressed them. “You are free to go. We have nothing else to say to you,” he then addressed her, Lucifer, Vaggie and Samyaza. “You, however, must stay for a little longer. We have much to discuss and tell to each of you. First, Charlotte. The rest of you shall wait outside.”

With that the sins began to leave the meeting room without much of the hassle. Then did Samyaza. Then her father and Vaggie, even if they did so with much reluctance. Both of them were afraid for her, so she flashed them a reassuring smile of her own and only after that were they satisfied enough to leave her alone with archangels.

The door shut and immediately Charlie felt immense pressure weigh down on her entire being. She was locked alone with beings far older than Creation. Each of those beings possessed such a magnitude of power, that their simple flick of a hand could annihilate her completely. Their eyes and faces gave away nothing and that scared her far more than their wrath.

Then, for the first time in this entire meeting, Emily addressed her by giving her a small smile. She then spoke:

“We talked a lot about how to break it to you. Like for a rea-a-aly long time. I think it took us an hour before we arrived at our conclusion and decided that the best way would be to simply show him to you in person. He’s a bit nervous, but I am sure both of you would be overjoyed!”

She snapped her fingers and a golden portal appeared. Then, a second later, a familiar face walked past and Charlie felt her overtaken with a cascade of emotions. First was shock, then disbelief and then the idea that it all was a dream or illusion. Yet when he spoke to her she realized it all was real. He was real and right in front of her.

“It’s been awhile, your highness,” Sir Pentious gave her an awkward smile. “Sorry, it took me this long to visit you.”

No words could’ve been made. No words needed to be made. Charlie simply stood up and charged at him. She locked him in her embrace as she wept with tears of joy. The words that came after were an incoherent babble, yet he understood it all completely, as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to his now heavenly being.

“I missed you too, Charlie…”

Chapter Text

On the edge of Greed Ring of Hell, a portal of blue flames opened and through it walked a skeletal figure. It was tall and gloomy and in its hands were branches blooming with yellow flowers. They were tied together by a white ribbon and the figure held that bouquet close to its chest. It looked onwards and saw an impenetrable wall of fog in the distance.

Fog was not an unusual phenomenon, not in Greed at least. However this fog was quite different from the usual toxic fogs which permeated the factory filled cities of Greed. This one was entirely magical and served as a barrier which separated something incredibly precious from the rest of this rotten realm. The portal closed behind him and Cain just stood there, like a fool, staring strictly ahead. His nonexistent heart was filled with anxiety and dread. A part of him felt unworthy to even stand at the threshold of her final resting place.

He quickly snubbed that part of him and steeled himself. He didn’t have that much time. Mammon could return at any moment and the last he needed was for The Sin of Greed to know of his presence within his realm. Cain made a noise akin to sigh and began to walk forward.

Soon he walked into the fog and within was no light, no ever present green which was synonymous with Greed. Instead there was almost complete and utter dark and this gnawing sense of cold which he could feel with his very soul. An effect of the magical barrier, no doubt. But Cain did not slow his step, he continued to walk into uncertainty, led by familial duty and a faint sense of hope. Hope that this barrier, created by his brother, would see and recognize him as someone worthy of passing.

As someone, who could be considered family. Then… suddenly, with a single step so similar to every other…

The fog disappeared and Cain found himself within the sacred ground. He stopped and stood, overtaken completely by what he witnessed. Even the doubts within his mind and dread within his heart have ceased completely. The beauty of it all… it was simply divine…

Cain stood in the shadow, cast by a tall and mighty tree. Around him there were so many reds, yellows and oranges. The forest floor under his soles was covered with fallen leaves that still looked so alive with their vibrant colors. It was autumn evening, the kind where you could still see faint traces of summer as all around you was overtaken by bright and captivating yellows and reds and oranges. The evening sun was setting and its rays made all around him shine with life. It was a testament to the fact that even in its last moments life could shine brighter than any star.

It was a perfect autumn evening, the air was crisp and not too chilly. No matter where he threw his sight, every single place looked as if it belonged in a master's painting. It all was perfect, so perfect that it was like all the variables needed for that beauty to occur could have happened only once and nevermore. That was true.

Because every single thing he saw was located in Hell. This land of Eternal Autumn Evening was made with sorcery. A moment from a distant memory, captured and immortalized in tribute to a soul most pure and noble. Never before has Cain felt so filthy, so undeserving to be amidst something so beautiful. He was like a black tar splat upon an ideal painting. A mistake needed to be removed quickly and efficiently for the idyllic paradise to continue once more.

Cain shook his head, chasing those thoughts away. They were nothing, but excuses for his cowardice. He couldn’t leave this place. Not without seeing her first. He had to do it, he had to see her. So, he steadied himself once more and walked deeper into this magical forest.

He walked for a few minutes, until he reached a clearing, in the middle of which was a hill. On top of it a lone tree and right under its shade a gravestone. He stood there, paralyzed, for what felt like eternity. He couldn’t tell what exactly pushed him out of that trance, but once it did he began to walk up to the gravestone in slow and timid manner.

The gravestone was rather simple, but far from primitive. The stonework was masterful and the inscription full of purpose and intent. The language on the stone was old, far more ancient than any other tongue known to man, for it is was the first language ever spoken and written. The words on the stone were:

Azura

Beloved daughter, sister and wife.

May your final rest be a peaceful one.

It was funny, in a way. They never met before in person. Never once exchange a word of familiarity, What he knew of her, came from winds and distant observation. What she might have known of him were tales of their parents, tales of his sin. And yet… he couldn’t help but feel a connection to the one buried in this blessed realm. It manifested in the phantom pain within his empty ribcage. There was so much he wished to tell her and so much he wanted to learn from her and of her.

He placed a bouquet upon the cold earth and stood in front of the gravestone in the mixture of reverence and sorrow. His hands were shaking, even if barely, and if he still had his eyes they would undoubtedly begin to water by now. So many words never shared, so many opportunities lost. He sighed and steadied himself. Even if he was unbelievably late, he still had to try.

Thus he spoke:

“Greetings, s-sister,” he despised how much his voice trembled in that moment. “I… I am sorry it took me this long to finally pay a visit. I…” he paused. He wanted to say he was busy, that he was keeping their mother company, that his absence was justified in some way, but no words would come out. Because that would’ve been a lie and he couldn’t lie. Not here, not to her. So he spoke truth:

“…I was afraid. I thought that you and the rest of our siblings didn’t need me. That mine presence would provoke nothing but disgust and spite within you and… and I feared it. I feared facing the possibility of your rejection so much, that I simply made the choice for you and exiled myself, to never be hurt. It was foolish and… selfish of me. Even if all I were to face from you were scorn and hatred, that didn’t mean I had the right to run away from it. I was denying myself the rightful punishment and deprived of catharsis. And if there was a possibility of you forgiving me and accepting me as your own then…”

He sighed.

“…I once again committed a sin against my kin. I ran away from you. While you were hurting and struggling, I was spending my days wallowing in my own misery. I should’ve been there for you, for Seth and even for Aclima. I am sorry, Azura. I truly am. I know this sin is unforgivable, and I shall pray to the Lord for fitting punishment.”

He paused and then gave a mirthless chuckle.

“I am sorry. Again I make it all about me. That was wrong,” he sighed, as if the cold stone was casting silent judgement upon him. “I didn’t come here just to burden you with my misery. I… I also bring the news most tragic. Father… has died.”

The wind gently rustled the leaves above his head and the cold uncaring gravestone gave him no answer, yet Cain still hung his head in shame. He stood like that for a minute and then he spoke through grit teeth.

“I plan to venture into Pride and see for myself his killers. I made a vow, a long time ago, to never shed the blood of another. But if my judgment will demand of me to bring them all to justice, I shall do all in my power to see it done. That is a promise, my dear sister.”

He steadied himself, calming the burning rage within his soul. He looked unto the horizon and the sense of melancholy washed over him. It was beautiful here, yet so suffocatingly lonely. He looked back at the gravestone and addressed her:

“I do not know what fate awaits in Pride. I do not know if I will triumph or face my final death. If I make it out… I promise, I will make a habit of visiting you, sister. Until then, I must bid you farewell.”

He was about to turn and begin his leave when he noticed something odd about the tree, under which shade was Azura’s final respite. He came closer to it to inspect. The tree bark, it looked odd. Somewhat unnatural. Like it was ripped away and then attached once more through artificial means. He grabbed the edges of it, pulled and…

Found that the tree was completely hollow. Inside of it were four letters and a couple of oddities. Two letters were attached to a still everblooming flower, one was tied to a sword by a bright red ribbon and the final letter was completely by itself. Cain looked at them, wondering if they were meant as a tribute to Azura or addressed to someone else.

He reached for the first pair of letters attached to a flower. He could tell by the state of the paper that both of those letters were quite old, yet the flower appeared as if it was freshly taken from mother earth. The other thing about that set of letters was that one appeared far more aged than the other. He opened the older letter and began to read:

‘Hello, Cain.

This is Seth. You might be wondering just how I managed to predict that you would stumble upon Azura’s hidden gravesite and find these letters. Well, I hate to break your expectations of my unparalleled genius, but all of this was one giant leap of faith. Father and I have theorized that you might eventually be drawn here, just like the rest of our family. It’s hard to put into words, but there seems to be some pull between us all. Me, Azura and Aclima… when each of us died, we all ended up in different parts of Hell, yet we all found each other in what felt like a week or two. It’s like we are destined to roam The Creation together and…

I am sorry. This is meant to be a heartfelt letter, but here I am rambling on about things that have no greater meaning to anyone aside from myself. Azura would’ve smacked my head if she saw how much ink I have already wasted. I am not good at being open, I suppose.

You are still reading it, ain’t you? I hope you are, as strange as it might sound. I have never met you, all I know about you came from mother and father. While father used to talk about you only in short sentences, the words of our mother have not painted a good picture, but…

You are still our family and… my brother. I only know of your sin, of how you hurt our family and yet… I wish to meet you. Azura wanted to meet you too, you know? She even said to me once that if we all were to meet her and I would have to be extra nice to make up for Aclima’s usual tendencies. Speaking of, when you reach her letter, do not take her words too close to the heart. She holds the whole world in contempt, not just you. And…

Again, I am sorry. I was never good with words, so I will fall back onto my usual habit of repeating what I already said, or wrote, in this case.

Cain, wherever you are, I reside in Wrath. Please, do come visit. I feel we have a lot to say to each other.’

He did not allow emotions to swell up in his chest, nor did allow for his mind to crumble under the weight of anguish. He let so many opportunities pass by and this letter felt like a dagger piercing his very core. He quickly reached for the next letter left to him by Seth and began reading.

‘Brother,

Azura made a mistake in her judgement. Their vermin kin should have never been her priority. I should have never fought and bled for those worthless parasites, instead of my own. I will not repeat this mistake ever again. I intend to bring change, to save our sons and daughter from this cold and desolate void.

O my forlorn brother, wherever you are…

Come and find me. Great things are on the horizon and I wish to greet them with you by my side.

Best regards,

Seth.’

Cain’s hands would not stop shaking. If he could, he would’ve shed enough tears to drown the very earth. It was foolish really, Seth fell and died millennia ago. He witnessed it and, as much as it pained him to admit, his brother brought his own end by himself. There was nothing he could’ve done, not from the lowest pit and yet… his mind could not stop asking countless ‘what if’s.

What if they met before Seth’s descent? What if they met during it? What if he met by the end of his journey? How different would Seth’s story would have been?

…Could he have averted his death?

Cain exhaled and ripped both letters with trembling hands. When he scattered the paper pieces to the wind his usual steadiness returned to him. The emptiness and pain within him were still there, but there was nothing he could do about it. He could not save Seth, he could avert his death, he could not ever meet him, he could never be a part of his life. Thus, there was nothing he could do about this hurt and sorrow, except accept them as a part of his being.

He reached for the next letter, the one which was tied to the handle of a sword. He took it and opened it and began to read it.

‘Son of Eve,

I have never met you and I used to thank the Lord for making it so. Now I want nothing more than to meet you, so my blade could cut through your flesh and end your wretched existence. Just like our mother, you have never brought into Creation anything but pain and suffering for those who dared to care for you. You have murdered Abel, the brother I never got to meet. You take away something that can never be replaced. You have scarred both our Father and our Mother. Even if I despise her to the very core of my being, Mother should have never endured the pain of losing a child, and Father…

You have killed an innocent and by doing so you have hurt the only person that was ever worthy of Heaven. You hurt him and yet he still desires to acknowledge your cursed existence with a letter. Not only that, he passed to my dearest younger siblings an empty delusion, that you might be worth sympathy. Make of that what you will.

Words could never properly convey my hate and contempt for you, worthless murderer. So I made a sword.

If you are repentant of your crimes, pierce your heart with it and let the fires of mine contempt consume you whole. If you are repentant, yet cowardly use it to  hurt Lucifer. It is not enough to kill The Snake, but it should be more than enough to hurt him and grant you the closest you will ever have to an honorable death. If you, however, are not repentant…

Take this sword and live.

Live, no matter how much it hurts. Live, no matter how much you might desire otherwise. Live, no matter how unbearable it will get. Live and struggle. Then, one day we shall meet…

And I will end your miserable life myself.

That is all.’

If Seth’s letter filled the depth of his soul with anguish, Aclima’s bolstered his spirit with a sense of vindication. Her words on ink should have hurt him, filled him with shame and regret and to an extent they did. But he was mostly glad. Glad that she hated and wished for nothing but his death. It was comforting in a way. For if she were to be merciful and forgiving, the anguish left by Seth would have grown tenfold.

Cain reached for the sword. His hands lacked skin and muscle, yet when he touched the handle of the sword it felt… scorching, painful. He did not let that slow him in the slightest. He grasped it firmly and unsheathed it. He looked into the blade and saw it was red hot. No, it wasn’t just red hot. It was quite literally moments away from bursting with flames of Aclima’s hatred.

His sister was a talented smith. Perhaps, the best that the antediluvian world has ever produced. It was only right that her weapon bore a piece of her being. Her endless and ever burning hatred for him and his unforgivable sin. He looked upon the blade which bore a part of his dearest sister and spoke to it softly and gently:

“I am sincerely sorry, sister, but I can’t do what you wish. Not now, at least.”

The heat did not waver, it did not lower. He sighed and sheathed the sword, then fixed it to his hip and reached for the last letter. The one he dreaded the most. The one that was from his father.

Cain opened it and read. It was short, so he finished it quickly, however he did not hurry to put it away as he did with the letters from his siblings. Instead he stared it, as tremor returned to his hands. The world around him disappeared completely, as he kept his eyes on a single paragraph contained within this aged letter. He simply could not look away from it. It said:

‘I know of Eve’s sin. I know of your origin. It changes nothing. I still love her. I still see you as my son. How can I not, for I have held you in my arms when you first came into Creation? Cain, my son, I suspect you too are aware. Know this – I still wish to see you. I wish to talk to you. I want you to be part of my life and myself to be part of yours. Please, come to Pride and make yourself known. I miss you, my son.’

There was a single reason for his venture into the deepest pit, however, the reasons for his continued stay there were many. But the main among them was his shame. He knew of his origin, knew of his mother’s sin and even if he couldn’t neither blame nor hate her for it, he could never be so merciful towards himself.

Now, however, he beheld with his own two eyes the proof that there was no reason for him to stay hidden. Adam… no, his father knew of his origin. Knew and accepted it, even when Cain murderer Abel, his true son, out jealousy and hate, Father still wanted to meet. Still wanted to have him back.

In these past thousand years, Cain could have gone to Pride at any time and he could’ve found the forgiveness he always dreamed of and yet always considered to be a forever distant impossibility.

But now, Father is dead. So are Seth and Azura. Aclima is gone. They are all gone. Forever gone and only he remained along with countless regrets, endless sorrows and bygone hopes. The letter slipped between his fingers and his knees buckled under unbearable weight. He did not have eyes to shed tears anymore, but he still retained his voice.

And so, he screamed.

Chapter Text

She couldn’t tell how long she held on to him. Maybe it was five minutes, maybe a whole hour. She only knew that when she let go him and looked at him again, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Sir Pentious, her cherished friend and guest at the hotel… was here, alive! Not only that, but he was now entirely different, but at the same time remained himself.

It was hard to put into words. It wasn’t just that his clothes were now white instead of his usual black. It wasn’t even in the fact that he now had a pair of wings and a halo. No, it was in the way he looked at her, in the way he smiled and in the way he stood. Pentious was a good person, probably the best one who ever resided in the hotel, but back then he possessed a certain weight which made itself known within his every action and spoken word. It wasn’t something noticeable. Truth be told, she only now began to realize that he carried that weight and only because how different he looked now without it.

She had so many words to say, but in the end one question came before all of them:

“But… but how? Pentious I saw you…”

“Well…” he said, lowering his gaze. “It’s not like I escaped at the last second or anything like that. Once Lord Exorcist destroyed my blimp, I truly died and then… I was reborn. In Heaven, as a winner.”

“Wait… but that means…” Charlie whispered as a smile creped onto her face.

“The redemption is possible, yes,” said Michael. “Amidst thousands of sins, you managed to perform a good deed. Congratulations.”

“But then why continue exterminations?” asked Charlie, as she faced Michael. “Why continue to exterminate human souls, when there is proof that they can be redeemed… that they can be saved?”

She did not raise her voice. As much as continuation of this barbarity displeased her, she could not risk provoking the ire of being so far above her.

“A single soul in ten thousand years,” replied Uriel instead. “Actually, no. Let us be charitable. How long was your stay in the hotel, redeemed one?”

“Less than six months.”

“Less than six months, then,” nodded Uriel. “Now a question for you, pale star: how many sinners arrive in Pride daily?”

“I…I don’t know?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Uriel shook his head. “I see Hell’s glorious King treats the education of his own daughter in the same manner he treats that of lower born demons. Metatron, by your most humblest estimations, how many souls arrive at Pride daily?”

“Somewhere around fifty thousand,” replied Metatron without sparing even a second for thought.

“Around fifty thousand?” asked Charlie.

“Per day, yes,” nodded Metatron with grave certainty. “That is my most optimistic estimation.”

“That’s nine million one hundred thousand new sinners in six months,” continued Uriel. “Do you realize now, Charlotte? Even in our most optimistic projections, you will need to redeem at least fifty thousand sinners a day just to break even. Stopping the exterminations is not an option and I recommend you to make peace with that.”

“Still that does not mean your achievement holds no significance,” spoke Jophiel. “A redemption of a sinner is not something we can cast aside. As a matter of fact, we desired for this miracle to happen again and again. Thus, we wish for you to continue your efforts, but this time with our help and guidance.”

“You… you are gonna help me?” asked Charlie in disbelief, yet within her heart began to nest a hope.

“Indeed,” nodded Michael. “But first, we must evaluate your hotel, your staff and those who sought your help. Each of us will come and decide how to help you. Although, I suspect some might desire to remain as far from your project as possible.”

Somehow, without Michael making a smallest of hints, Charlie immediately realized that he meant Gabriel, who remained silent, and Raphael, who was her most vocal critic yet. The two regarded her with looks that told completely different stories. Raphael looked at her with barely withheld disgust, while Gabriel gazed at her with emptiness which barely hid the storming inferno within.

“I see…” she nodded. “But what do you want from me, aside from continuing what I already intended to do?”

“Good question, Charlotte,” acknowledged Uriel. “First, let us start with your main responsibility – you must redeem at least five more sinners in ten years. Failure to do so will end with a swift punishment.”

“What?! For what?!

“Oh, so you did not arm cannibal sinners with weapons capable of killing our kin and then used those very sinners to slay hundreds of our own?”

She did not reply.

“Charlotte,” spoke Michael. “What you did with one you call Pentious was a miracle. However, your crimes will not be forgotten. Those whom you slain were not just faceless executioners. Among them were mothers, daughters, sisters and friends. There are far too many broken hearts left in your wake for you to be so easily forgiven. Consider your new duty a penance for them and be thankful for such mercy.”

“We were only defending ourselves! Adam said he will come for us! What other choice did I have?”

“To run,” suddenly butted in Gabriel. “Nothing was stopping you from simply running away and seeking refuge under your father. There was nothing Adam could’ve done in that case. You and your friends would’ve come out unharmed. At worst, your little hotel would’ve been demolished, but that is not a high price to pay for saving one’s life.”

“I…” Charlie did not know what to say to that. “I just…”

“Enough,” replied Gabriel with a cold and detached tone, that bore deep and barely restrained killing intent. “Now listen well, whorespawn. If you ever do anything that would put Heaven and all who are under its protection at risk, I shall personally present your severed head before your father. Is that understood?”

“…yes,” said Charlie quietly with a lowered gaze.

“Now, let us establish some other rules,” spoke Michael. “First, the knowledge of successful redemption must remain hidden. If sinners would learn that it is possible and that you might be responsible, they would seek redemption just to escape Hell, instead of seeking it for the betterment of themselves. Second, you are forbidden from involving your father in any way with the project. Lucifer has shattered our faith in him a thousand times. No need for one thousandth and first. And third…” he made a pause for a dramatic effect. “In the following year you shall be visited by each of us and judged for your efforts. We will provide aid where necessary. Some will help with words, others with deeds. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Good, and one final thing…”

Michael suddenly grabbed at the air in an instant a chain made of pure magic appeared in his hand. It was sickly green and it extended to Charlie’s neck. Before she could even blink, Michael tightened his hold and shattered the accursed chain into thousand pieces, which swiftly disappeared into thin air. Charlie felt ease around her neck and rubbed it with her hand. It was gone… not just the chain, but it’s very source.

Her deal with Alastor was broken.

“You work for Heaven now, Charlie. Make an effort to avoid having the ownership of your soul be in the hands of overlords.”

“I…” she had no idea how to reply. Soul deals were absolute for they bound the very essence of being to that of another. They could not be broken, unless both parties were in an agreement and even then it required certain conditions to be fulfilled. To break a soul deal by the sheer force was simply impossible.

At least that's what she thought until now.

“…thank you,” she finally found her words. “But how did you…?”

“It’s better not to ask, Charlotte,” cut in Uriel. “Our elder brother possesses many abilities that even we cannot understand.”

“Yep,” nodded Emily. “Michael is just built different.”

“Now,” Raphael clapped his hand to get everyone’s attention, “that we are finished with addressing the princess. I believe it’s best for the redeemed one to return to Heaven and for them to say their goodbyes.”

Charlie nodded and looked back at Pentious. It was hard to describe, his form was still so similar to his sinner self and yet so infinitely above it. It was not just about the lighter colors and the slicker looking clothes, not it was in his every move and gesture. They were softer, more free and gentler, as if a weight of a thousand years was lifted from his shoulder. She approached and grabbed the hands of the one she mourned and for whom she shed her tears. He smiled and she smiled back:

“I am sorry we cannot spend more time together, princess,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she replied. “Just seeing you here, alive and well, is such a great gift, Pentious. I… we missed you. All of us did. I think Cherri still cries in the privacy of her room on some long and lonely nights.”

“Cherri…” he lowered his eyes.

Cherri Bomb. His once fellow would be overlord and the object of his admiration and what he once considered love. She was everything he was not. She was free, full of life and energy, defiant, strong and endlessly beautiful even in her accursed form and yet… He could not say right now that he loved her. No, the love he felt was not for her, but for her shadow. For an idea born from her melodic laughter amidst the roaring explosions of red, pink and yellow.

And yet she, despite knowing him only for his empty love, shed her tears on his behalf. How he must have hurt and confused her with his shallow and disgusting love. He lifted his eyes, looked into Charlie’s and dared to ask for something:

“Please, look out for her, princess. She is not a saint, but my heart aches for her.”

“Of course, Pentious. I will.”

“And…” he stumbled with his words.

“Yes?”

“I feel like turbulent times are up ahead,” he admitted. “Not just for you, but for all of Pride. With the death of Lord Exorcist, all of the Tyrants shall be put into motion one way or the other. Among them is a friend of mine. She will seek you out, more than likely, but do not be afraid. She will come with a sheathed sword. However, be wary around her. She is very much a product of her environment.”

“What do you mean, Pentious?” she asked, concerned to which he sighed.

“There are no victims or villains in Naraka. Only those with power and those without. That is all I can say, I am afraid.”

He let go off her hands and a door of pure light appeared behind him. He gave her one last look that told all she needed to hear. What will be after this day shall be difficult. It shall be painful and yet he would pray for her. Somehow, then one look of reassurance gave her all she needed to reignite the faith into her own path.

“Now, that we have discussed all there is with you,” spoke Michael, “you may leave this room and wait for this meeting to conclude. We still have much to discuss with your father and the leader of the watchers.”

She gave a nod and did as instructed. Minutes later, Lucifer came in. He sat in his seat and did so without gracing his sibling with nothing but a look of endless contempt. He looked straight at Michael, who maintained absolute neutrality with his posture. He addressed the one who defeated him so long ago:

“What have you said to her?”

“All she needed to hear,” came a reply. “Now, we shall say all you need to hear, Lucifer. Gabriel has already showcased how little you can do against us. Still, I believe I must state so again. Do not cross us. Do not scheme against us. Do not plot against us. Otherwise, your end shall be swift.”

“If all you're gonna do is threaten me, then…!”

“You are forbidden from approaching your daughter’s hotel.”

“What!? You can’t do this to me, Michael! She is my daughter!”

“And she must do this on her own,” said Jophiel with a solemn tone. “Lucifer, our aim is not to separate you. She is still allowed to contact you, to visit you and to talk with you. However, we all have our own crosses to bear and the hotel shall be the one for Charlie. No matter how much we might wish otherwise, our children must mature some day.”

“But not like this! Don’t you realize? Samyaza is out there! You all saw how she was looking at her with her scheming eyes! How can I rest easy knowing that this monster is prowling around my daughter!”

“How caring of you, Lucifer,” noted Raphael. “Where was this care and consideration for Eve, I wonder?”

That promptly shut him up.

“You will do nothing, Lucifer,” spoke Michael. “Charlie shall face many trials and ordeals on her path. Some of them will surely break her. You, however, will not interfere no matter how hard it will get for her. If she falls, it will be her own responsibility to pick herself up. Just as Adam and Eve and their progeny, she shall rely on no one except herself. That is our decision and you shall follow it. Is that understood?”

Lucifer did not reply, not at first. He lowered gaze and hid under the shadow of the brim of his hat. In his expression there was anger, rage and shame, yet he could not act upon them. Both Michael and Gabriel made sure to remind him what would be the consequence of that. So he grit his teeth and forced out:

“Yes, it is.”

“Good, now leave and invite Samyaza,” Michael made a sigh. “We have much to discuss with her.”

Chapter Text

The first thing she saw upon coming into this world were the stars. Countless galaxies and endless celestial bodies doting the darkness. With her eyes she could see and calculate how far they were from her, their composition, their weight and how old they were. She was barely three seconds old and already her mind was processing immeasurable amounts of information.

It was… an odd experience to say the least. The words just kept appearing in her mind and she just kept immediately learning their meanings. As if she was already born with all the knowledge. A part of her wondered if she kept gazing long enough into the darkness of the cosmos would she learn all there was to learn?

That theory couldn’t have been proven or disproven, because in the next moment she heard a voice:

“Well… this is new.”

She looked down(there was no down in space, a tidbit popped into her mind) and saw a figure “standing” amidst the stars and looking at her. He wore a scaled cuirass, his face was covered by one eyed bronze mask and the rest of his head was hidden by a hood. The moment she set her eyes on the figure, she completely understood his nature: power, stability, strength, knowledge, The Watcher. Those were words that fit him the best and unlike information about the cosmos, what she knew about the figure came not from her mind, but from somewhere deeper. From the most fundamental parts of her being. Whatever it was, it was melodic and it resonated with the figure’s own song forming a spiritual bond.

…whatever that meant.

The figure extended his hands to her and she felt how unseen force gripped her body and began lowering her to the figure's level. And then… her feet touched the floor. She looked down with mild curiosity, wondering when her mind would supplement her with knowledge about this cosmic phenomena, but that never came. However she saw that now her bare form was covered by a black dress. Figure’s doing, no doubt. Then she looked at the masked figure who was analyzing her with a measure of wonder. He told her:

“How curious… It seems the onslaught of information has no effect upon you, young one. Newborn angels often are lost within the confines of their minds after their arrival into Creation, yet you regard everything with an analytical eye…” he shook his head. “Oh, pardon my ramblings, young one. You must have so many questions about your newfound existence and here is this old fool blabbering about unfamiliar concepts. Well, no more, I say. Ask away, my child.”

‘Child…?’ she thought to herself and then the definition of the word popped into her mind, which prompted her first question.

“Are you my creator?”

To that, the masked figure gave a short laugh, before replying: ”Oh, no! I am quite impressive, even when next to my siblings, but I am nothing when next to Him. You were brought here not by my power, but by the desire of The One who made all you see and will see. I am merely one of His older creations and His most diligent student. Oh, and I completely forgot to introduce myself, how foolish of me. I am Uriel, The Watcher and The Celestial Architect and this,” he gestured to all the stars, galaxies and nebulas which surrounded them, “is my workplace. A good friend of mine named it ‘The Observatory’. A fitting name, wouldn’t you agree?”

So, this was not cosmos, she realized with some dejection. Well, at least she knew where she was and who she was talking to. Now, a more important question…

“What am I?”

“An angel,” came a reply and with it a new wave of information. She, however, was not swept and silently urged Uriel to continue. “A Dominion to be exact. Your role is that of mine servant. While I am capable of many things, Creation is far too vast for me to handle alone. Thus, Father granted me assistance of your kind. To maintain the stability of this wonderful world in His absence.”

She nodded. So, she had purpose in this world and as her mind told her, acting in accord with it shall bring nothing but joy to her song. So, she asked: “When can I begin my duties?”

Her master made an odd sound which her mind identified as a chuckle, a sign of merriment. Something that she could recognize, but not understand. It was… odd. How could she recognize something without understanding it? She looked inwards, within her mind, and found only blanks and factual knowledge which did not convey the feeling necessary to truly comprehend this oddity. Then she looked into her other part, the one far more strange and melodic.

She looked within her song. Although it could hardly be called a song. It was melodic, but only because it echoed the sounds around it. Without them, it was a quiet and empty thing. The realization came to her and from it she found satisfaction.

She could understand merriment, for she could never experience it, for her song was lacking. The results of that search were satisfactory. However, her master seemed to have lost all of the merriment which filled him the moments prior. Instead he looked at her with the mixture of what she identified as horror and sadness.

It seems he was a witness of her search.

He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her. He held her close to him, as his own melody cascaded in lament. He whispered to her.

“I am sorry, my child. I am so very sorry…”

She merely hugged him back, for it was how one was supposed to act within such conditions if the information within her mind was correct.

Years passed and many things remained the same while many others changed. For one, she was given a name by master Uriel. It was Samyaza, a tender name meant to guide her on her endless path of enlightenment. Along with name, she was given a task most suited to her. She became the keeper of the heavenly library. It was a grand place, as all places in Heaven were, for it stored an endless amount of information and thus was a place where the brightest scholars of their realm congregated.

More importantly, it was a quiet place, where few ever dared to bother her with meaningless small talk, which was most ideal for someone of her nature.

Many years have passed since her creation and yet her song was still the same as ever. Emotions and attachment which stemmed from them still eluded her, despite her mentorship under master Uriel. Still she was content with her fate. She had everything she wanted. Far away from her worrywart fellows, deep within the library, surrounded by the most valuable treasure of Heaven – knowledge.

However, just as her luck would have it, not even in her most precious sanctum was she free from the whims of fate. Because, she meant a certain someone.

“HALT!” commanding the booming voice of a muse.

She was a beautiful one, just like all muses were. Dressed in white flowing robes with a stringed instrument tied to her back. Her pink hair wild and unrestrained, yet so soft and luscious. Her red eyes shone bright with fiery passion only a daughter of Jophiel could possess. Right now that fiery passion was directed to her.

For some reason.

Samyaza, with a heavy stack of thick books in her hands, craned her head to the side and then looked around, wondering if the true culprit behind the muse’s odd behavior was hiding somewhere in this corridor. All she saw, however, was bookcases as high as the ceiling which she could see. Samyaza looked at the muse and blinked with a silent question:

“YES, I AM ADDRESSING YOU, BOOKWORM!”

“…bookworm?” Samyaza echoed with mild confusion. In what way could worms be possibly related to books? Or maybe the eponymous ‘bookworm’ was hiding within the books she carried? Or perhaps…?

“STAND IN AWE, TIMID LIBRARIAN!” ah, so she was addressing her. “BEFORE YOU STANDS THE BEING MOST GRANDIOSE! THE SUPREME MUSE HERSELF! THE GREATEST DAUGHTER OF JOPHIEL AND MAESTRO OF MELODY! THE PRETTIEST! THE CUTEST! THE FUNNIEST! THE SMARTEST! AND HER NAME IS…”

The muse struck a pose and suddenly their surroundings grew much darker and a source of light appeared above the loud and possibly lunatic angel, casting an illuminating circle around her. Samyaza blinked again. What a strange and useless spell, she noted to herself.

“…AZAZEL THE GREAT!”

The long and painfully awkward silence followed. Samyaza with her books, Azazel in the same pose which was losing its effect the longer she held it, the light under which the absurdity of all of it shone brighter than it had any right to. Finally, Azazel said surprisingly quiet:

“…you can applaud now.”

“My hands are busy.”

“Oh…”

Before they could continue this increasingly uncomfortable(for Azazel) and unpleasant(for Samyaza) ordeal, a third voice rang out.

“AZAZEL! What were you thinking!?”

The lightning around the corridor returned to normal and Azazel yelped like a dog about to be scolded. Samyaza merely turned her gaze to the source of new voice. It belonged to another angel, what was to be expected. She was dressed in black robe bearing markings of Ivory Court. An arbiter, how curious. Judging by the lack of rings on her hands, quite low ranking too. Black eyes and dark straight hair, length somewhere between the chin and the shoulders. Height below hers and Azazel’s.

Upon seeing the arbiter, Azazel rushed behind Samyaza and hid, while proclaiming:

“A-A-AHH! A MIDGET! SAVE ME, LIBRARIAN!”

“What are you doing interfering with the duties of the head librarian, you loudmouth!?” said an angel of just below average in height, while stomping her feet in their direction. “Do you realize how inappropriate this breach of etiquette is? AND WHO DO YOU DARE TO CALL MIDGET, YOU GARGANTUAN GIRAFFE!?”

“…gargantuan?” echoed quietly Samyaza while comparing her own height to Azazel’s. The muse was exactly four centimeters shorter than her. Did that really make her taller than a giraffe…? Well, perhaps if it was a particularly small giraffe, but she could not recall the type of giraffe smaller than herself in stature. But what if the giraffe in question were to suffer from dwarfism?

…could giraffes suffer dwarfism?

As Samyaza was contemplating the question of the millennium, the muse and the arbiter began running circles around her person. The arbiter was furiously chasing Azazel, while bickering and engaging in verbal back and forth. There were many comments made about the former’s ‘lacking’ height and ‘plain’ choice of dress and the latter’s ‘empty’ head and ‘gaudy’ hair. Samyaza tried her best to ignore both of them, hoping that either would eventually have a spark of realization and arrive at the conclusion that their highly personal chase was, in fact, merely them both running around in circles around a third and highly uninterested party.

Eventually, someone brushed against her hand with too much force and the heavy tower of books in her grasp fell down on the floor with a deafening thud. The muse and the arbiter froze and looked at the dominion awaiting her fury. Samyaza, realizing that now was her chance, deployed her most powerful technique which she inherited from none other than her master Uriel, The Watcher.

She furrowed her brows, slightly bent her neck forward to cast a shadow over her eyes and gave them the fabled stern look of disappointment and disapproval. Once again, it proved its effectiveness and soon both of them were on their knees with their heads lowered in shame.

“We are sincerely sorry, oh Head Librarian,” spoke the arbiter.

“…I didn’t do anything wrong, though,” whispered Azazel only to receive an elbow from her fellow.

“Please, don’t mind her,” said the arbiter with a forced smile,” she fell on her head a few times too many times during her years of studying flight. She knows not what she speaks.”

“Slander!” retorted Azazel, only to receive another elbow strike. Samyaza sighed, silencing them both once again.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, oh Arbiter of Ivory Court.”

“Ah, a thousand apologies, Head Librarian!” replied the arbiter. “I am Ramiel, the junior clerk at Ivory Court. My studies are yet to be done, so I am yet to be given the illustrious title of an Arbiter.”

“I see,” nodded Samyaza. “And I am Samyaza, The Head Librarian. Pleasure to meet you,” it wasn’t.

“But we already know that, bookworm,” replied Azazel, only to receive a light smack on the head from Ramiel. “Ow! What now, dunderhead?!”

“Must you always address our betters with these insulting nicknames of yours, nincompoop?!”

“Insulting!?” cried out Azazel. “I’ll have you know my nicknames are the highest form of endearment and honor one could receive! Yes, indeed! Thousands upon thousands of heroes, novators and scholars have done great many things in my name to earn one! You are just mad that your title was not one full of empty flattery, but showcasing the hues of your vast soul with but single word!”

“MIDGET IS NOT A TERM OF ENDEARMENT, YOU BIRDBRAIN!”

“Ahem,” another stern glare quickly put a stop to their shenanigans and she returned to the topic. “You knew me, miss Azazel?”

“But of course! Who doesn’t know about the famed Samyaza, the great and wise prodigy among the dominions!”

“Prodigy…?” echoed Samyaza. Now it was true that she was much different from her peers. Where others struggled, she passed through with effortless grace. Where others needed guidance, she required nothing but herself. She was talented, and she knew that, but she to think that her fame would breach her circles and invade into those of other angels. That was… well, it was something.

“Haven’t you heard about her last week?” asked Ramiel.

“Quiet, you!” replied angrily Azazel and then addressed Samyaza. “That’s actually the reason why I sought you out!”

“It is?”

“Indeed, it is!” nodded Azazel. “You see, as a fellow prodigy I shall extend to you the highest honor of being personally invited to an illustrious performance of none other than I, Azazel the Great! “

“I thought you came here to help me prepare for my tests,” whispered Ramiel.

“I see…” well, this was unexpected. She had no reason to go, but no reason to refuse either. Plus, declining an offer like that could be perceived as a violation of social etiquette. “Very well. I accept your invitation, Lady Azazel!”

“Hmmmm…” Azazel, pleased with her acceptance, smugly rubbed her chin. “Lady Azazel, you say? This does have a ring to it. Ramiel! Record this title in my glorious chronicle!”

“I am not you scribe!”

“Enough, Ramiel! Let us depart from this place! The quietude of these endless book filled corridors are growing drearier by the minute! Farewell, my friend! We shall meet again soon!”

With these words, Azazel grabbed Ramiel’s hand and began to hastily leave, much to latter’s displeasure:

“Wait, Azazel! I still haven’t got my bo-o-o-o-o-o-o…!”

“Friend?” echoed Samyaza, but by that time there was no one in the corridor beside her.

And so they left, leaving behind a very confused dominion, who merely picked her stack of books and continued with her business as if none of it ever happened. Later that day, when the skies would darken and stars would become visible, master Uriel would visit her in her room which also served as her office. She would provide him with a report of today’s activities and after that formality, they would sit behind a table with filled teacups in hand. They would be silent for the most part, until master Uriel would inquire her:

“Did anything unusual happen today?”

To that she would usually reply with short and quaint ‘Not at all, teacher’, but today was truly a unique day. She would put her teacup on the table and sit in silence, trying her best to come with the most efficient way of describing today’s events. Eventually, she would reply to him:

“I think I made some friends today, teacher.”

Uriel would not comment on it, but for the rest of the evening there would be pride and joy subtly painted over his every word and gesture.

Celestial Conservatory was known all throughout Heavenly Kingdom as a den of muses, where under the benevolent watch of Jophiel they produced some of the finest pieces of art known to Creation. Be it painting, dancing, song writing or sculpting, there was no form of art that went underappreciated there. Angels of all kinds, as being of musical nature, held deep appreciation of art in all its forms.

Samyaza, despite her conditions, was not an exception. Although her appreciation for it was the same as her appreciation for all in this world. A subject to be studied, recorded, categorized and put to book. In other words, just as everything else in this world, she held no attachment to what was beautiful and sublime.

So it was her first time at the Conservatory and so far it proved to be far better than she first thought. For one, other muses were much different from Azazel. They were all a colorful bunch, but they were much more quiet and tactful than the supreme muse. When they first saw her there they greeted her with all the necessary decorum and led her inside.

She passed through many corridors, decorated with statues and paintings of immense beauty, until they finally arrived at what looked like a concert hall. There she was given her own table and left alone. There were still a few more minutes left until Azazel’s performance, which she expected to spend alone in the company of her own thoughts. However, a voice called out to her:

“Greetings, Head Librarian! May I please take a seat with you?”

“Greetings you as well, junior clerk,” replied Samyaza to Ramiel, who was dressed in the same black attire of Ivory Court. “Of course, make yourself comfortable.”

“Well, I can’t promise anything. You see, us arbiters are a subdued sort and Celestial Conservatory is anything but!”  she said with a small smile and Samyaza merely smiled back without any real merriment of fondness.

“They are certainly… eccentric.”

Ramiel chuckled and then looked into her eyes with analytical gaze, which Samyaza most often saw in fellow dominions performing a delicate experiment. She had no idea what exactly there was about her which merited a gaze like that, but drawing attention would most likely be rude, so remained silent and with a small, yet polite smile on her face.

Suddenly, Ramiel asked her a question:

“May I ask you something, Head Librarian?”

“Only if I get to receive the same opportunity from you, junior clerk,” she replied with a nod.

“Why exactly have you accepted Azazel’s invitation?”

“What reason did I have to decline?” asked Samyaza in return.

“Well,” Ramiel lowered her eyes to the table, “make no mistake, Azazel is my a dear friend of mine, but I am not blind to her… peculiarities. Truth be told, after we departed from you, I fully expected you to write her off as a mere annoyance.”

“I did,” replied Samyaza provoking Ramiel to snap her eyes back at her in surprise. “But that is hardly a reason to decline an invitation, is it not?”

“Hmm…” Ramiel frowned. “Lacking a reason to decline an invitation hardly equates to having a reason to accept it.”

“That is also true,” nodded Samyaza. “Very well, I will state them to satisfy your curiosity. First, I have never been to the Celestial Conservatory before and an invitation to Azazel’s performance gave me an apt way to remedy that.”

“And the second?”

“My teacher expected me to come, so I did,” said Samyaza in a way one would answer the child’s question.

“I see…” Ramiel appeared neither happy nor satisfied with her answer, but Samyaza cared little to think about the reason why that was.

“Now I believe it is my turn, junior clerk,” Ramiel straightened her back and looked at attention. “How come muses and arbiters know my name and speak it in the same way as my fellow dominions do?”

Ramiel blinked with a flat expression, as if Samyaza suddenly grew a second head or another pair of wings. What could be the reason for such a reaction to a completely benign question was beyond Samyaza, so she merely waited for Ramiel to elaborate. Eventually, after fourteen seconds of silence, she did by asking another question:

“Miss Samyaza, does someone else submit your research to be published in your stead without your knowledge?”

“My research?” echoed Samyaza with a slight confusion. “No, that is not the case. I submit all my papers myself. What about them, miss Ramiel?”

“Are you, by chance, trying to provoke flattery from me, Miss Samyaza?”

“That would imply that I consider my work to be worth flattery,” replied the dominion in a flat tone. “I simply observed and recorded the phenomena within a controlled environment. That’s what we, junior dominions, are supposed to do.”

“Miss Samyaza, you studied black holes.”

Ah, the feared and loathed cosmic phenomena known among the common angels as black holes. Something that was never meant to exist, for stars were never meant to die. Each was created to guide the young and nascent humanity and illuminate their nights along with a pale moon. Their light was eternal, peaceful and kind, much like their creator once was.

Then The Betrayal occurred.

When The Mother bit into the fruit, calamities of unspeakable magnitude were unleashed. Death, entropy, darkness, pain, hurt, madness and sin infected humanity and creation alike. Stars, once benevolent and kind, have grown mad. Their light, once tender and innocent, became scorching and all consuming. One by one, this cosmic madness overtook all of them in a matter of seconds.

Then, one by one, they began to go out and consume the nearby planets in a fiery death leaving behind naught but ever-hungering darkness. The black holes.

It is said among the older dominions, that if it wasn’t for their master’s titanic efforts, all of Creation would have been engulfed in darkness of dead and forever hungering stars. For that reason, this cosmic phenomena is feared among all, not just dominions, for there is nothing more dreadful for an angel, a being of light and song, than eternal darkness and silence of a black hole.

Before Samyaza had an opportunity to retort and explain how her study was performed within a completely safe and controlled environment, curtains began to draw and she was silenced, along with an entirety of the audience. Under the limelight stood a figure which she immediately recognized as Azazel.

She appeared much different from their first meeting. Clad in a sleeveless dress, her expression was entirely cool and collected, hair was tied in a single tail and in her hands was a long ornamental curved sword, around its handle was wrapped a long red ribbon. Samyaza heard the beat of the drum and suddenly Azazel snapped into a pose with both of her hands gripping the sword. This one motion, filled with purpose and intent, captivated all who bore witness to it. Then…

The Sword Dance of a Muse began.

With each beat of a drum, Azazel performed a different strike and slash. Her form was, for the lack of a better word, formless. It was fluid and it was hard to say where one technique began and the other ended. Not single movement was wasted, even her breathing was completely rhythmic and in tandem with a song. Samyaza was not a fighter, yet even with a first glance she could tell that the blade dance was as efficiently lethal as it was majestic.

The drums began to pick up tempo and so did Azazel. Each strike grew swifter, she began to incorporate kicks and jabs with her free hand, sword movements became so fast they became a blur, the red ribbon around her much like a wisp and then…

With one last forceful motion, she struck down with her sword with the last beat of the drums. Silence reigned in the concert hall, as all eyes were on Azazel. She merely returned the blade into the sheathe on her hip and gave a bow to the audience and in return…

The audience erupted with thunderous applause.

Azazel straightened her back and scanned the audience, as it celebrated her and her performance, until her eyes arrived at their table. Even from all that distance, Samyaza could see plain as day that cool and collected expression was gone from her face and in its stead came a familiar and arrogant smile, then without as much as a warning…

“Here we go…” whispered Ramiel, as she covered her face with hand.

Azazel leaped from the stage and unto the nearest table and then onto another one. She did so without the help of her wings, all the while crowd cheered her on. A minute later she stood on top of their table and gave one last bow to the crowd, before finally coming down and taking a seat between Ramiel and Samyaza.

“So!” she started with a clap of her hands against the table surface. “How did you like my performance, my loyal followers?”

“Must you always do this?” whispered Ramiel.

“Do what, Ramiel?” asked Azazel innocently, to which the junior clerk gave a tired sigh.

“…It was alright,” she said.

Azazel leaned at Ramiel with an exaggerated look of suspicion, while Ramile maintained a flat and uninterested expression. Then, suddenly, the muse exclaimed:

“Ah, I see…” she shook her head with grave sadness. “It appears my efforts were far too grand for your feeble mind! I shattered into a thousand pieces! Oh, poor Ramiel! I knew her, bookworm! She was like a boring little sister I never had!” Azazel slammed her face against the table and wept.

“Ugh, fine!” after less than ten seconds Ramiel admitted. “I liked it! Stop acting like a child, you…!”

“Of course you did!” Azazel suddenly changed her mood and replied to Ramiel with a cheery smile. “After all, I am the best there is!” Then she turned her eyes to Samyaza, who hoped to remain unnoticed by the two. “Isn’t it right, bookworm?”

Samyaza gave her a practiced smile and a nod. “Of course, lady Azazel. Your dance was truly sublime.”

Upon hearing her words, Azazel’s expression immediately soured. Gone was the look of well earned arrogance and a smile of bombastic bravado. For the first time, Samyaza witnessed Azazel make an expression that did not look like it belonged to the main lead of a play. Instead, she saw a small and vulnerable frown.

“That bad, huh?” muttered Azazel.

“What do you mean?” asked Samyaza as innocently as she could. “Lady Azazel, your performance was a peak of martial prowess and divine grace. I’ve never seen anyone else move with such elegance.”

“That’s true,” nodded the pink haired muse. “And yet it failed to provoke even a single emotion within you. What’s the point of art if it does not resonate with its audience?”

That made Samyaza pause. To see someone see through her façade of polite smiles and gentle words was an unusual experience. So far, besides Azazel before her, only one angel managed to do it – her teacher, Uriel. Samyaza looked around and saw that angels on other tables were too occupied with another performance to pay attention to them, so she dropped her smile and said with complete honestly:

“Your words are true, lady Azazel. However, in this situation they hardly serve as a justification for your disappointment. You see, it is not just your performance that failed here. As far as I remember, from the moment I first opened my eyes to the world, nothing within it has tethered me. I do not care for Creation and anyone within it, nor do I hold any sort of disdain to it. For me, it all simply exists to be studied. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Ramiel gave a silent gasp, while something sparked with the red eyes of Azazel. Empathy, pity, desire to help. Those were emotions, which led her to say:

“That does not sound like an existence worth living.”

“Perhaps,” nodded Samyaza. “It is an existence nonetheless. Besides, who are you to say that mine life is worse than yours?” she asked with no disdain, merely with curiosity. “After all, sin exists within this Creation. We are safe here, in Heaven, but who can say with complete certainty that this shall be the case until the end of times? Perhaps, one day the primordial darkness will make its way into our home,” she looked around to cheering crowds of angels, at their expressions of joy and happiness of living, not merely existing, within a moment.

“Then, one by one, these meager things to which we cling will slip away from our grasp and the happiness and warmth they brought will disappear, living behind naught but longing and heartache. Is it truly such a perfect way to live one’s life, in a constant whirlwind of passion and joy, if one day you shall lose it all and be forced to endure the desolate cold with the accursed knowledge of warmth?”

Ramiel lowered her eyes, deep in thoughts she did not like, while within Azazel’s eyes the spark of compassion ignited with fires of determination.

“And what is life without those moments, Samyaza?” she asked, making Samyaza pause in surprise for the second time. “What is life without that which you deem as impermanent and passing? Even if it’s true, that what we cling onto are mere momentary sparks in darkness, then what is life without them but an empty void. Just because happiness is destined to end someday, does not mean it’s not worth pursuing.”

Samyaza remained silent, contemplating Azazel’s words, while Ramiel gave the muse a smile of appreciation. Eventually, the dominion replied:

“Your words do have merit, yet I fail to see how they can change my situation.”

“Then how about a promise, bookworm?

“A promise?”

“Mhm!” nodded Azazel with her merry returning to her. “You see, I have a little theory. Maybe, you are not emotionless, but just yet to see something that might provoke something within you. So, I propose a bet! I will do my best to find that nebulous something and present it to you!”

“And if you don’t?” asked Samyaza.

“Then I will humbly continue my efforts as an apology!” huffed Azazel, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And if you do?”

“A bet won is a good enough reward on its own!”

Samyaza sighed. There was no reason to indulge her, although there was also no reason to refuse her. Plus, a part of her was curious what Azazel’s efforts would amount to. So, she gave her another empty polite smile and said:

“Very well, lady Azazel. I accept.”

“Samyaza,” Lucifer's empty voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “They are waiting for you.”

After archangels dismissed the Sins, most of them left, with the exception of Asmodeus and Belphagor. Oh, and her dear junior too remained in her company. Vaggie was such a cautious little thing and when Charlie left the room and Lucifer went in, she practically glued herself to the princess' side. It was honestly adorable. Unfortunately, with Asmodeus watching her every move she didn’t get much chance to talk with either of them, but that was alright. She had more than enough time.

She smiled at Lucifer and give a nod of sincere gratitude, after which she went inside. She was greeted by a sight which could terrify even a Sin into submission. Seven pairs of archangels eyes right at her, each so unique.

Gabriel and her passionate hatred. Her teacher and his fury and silent sorrow. Jophiel and her belevolent gaze of pity. Metatron and his barely held tornado of emotions. Emily and her cautious fear. Raphael and his unhidden disdain.

Lord Taxiarch and his silent judgment.

So many differing reactions directed at little old her, it was almost enough to make her blush. She gave her most charming smile and wordlessly took the spot behind the table. Lord Taxiarch was first to speak:

“Samyaza, The Apostate, do you know why we have summoned you here?”

“I am the last watcher who still possesses some of her wits, I suppose,” she guessed with a shrug. “Not only that, but I assume you suspect me of playing a hand in Adam’s death.”

“Indeed,” nodded Michael. “Angelic steel cannot harm our kin without being corrupted first. Out of all the beings in Hell, you are one of the few who possesses both the knowledge and motifs to do something like that. We suspect that the one known as Carmilla Carmine, by whose weapons our kin was slain, gained the knowledge from you, either directly or by proxy. What do you have to say in your defense?”

“What you say is partly true,” she replied with a smile. “I do in fact possess that knowledge, but I do not have a motive to act.”

“Adam held your soul in his grasp,” stated Raphael. “Due to his contract, you were chained and confined to the furthest regions of Hell, where no demon or sinner could reach you. Thousands years of isolation in suffocating loneliness, away from all whom you wished to corrupt and mold according to your design… Do you dare to say that you have never longed for freedom, witch?”

“As unbelievable as that might sound, oh Lord’s Compassion, that is indeed the case. I had all that I desired. Even if I could not interact with denizens of Hell, I could still observe them from afar. Trust me, they make quite an entertainment. As for loneliness…” Samyaza eyes glinted with fondness for distant memories. “Do you forget that my deal with Adam was as one sided as you make it out to be? He had to visit me, each year after the annual purge. You, archangels, of all the beings in Creation should know what a joy he was to be around.”

“Even if it’s true and you do not have a motive and played no part in this tragedy…” spoke coldly Gabriel. “Tell me, is there at least one good reason for us to let you go free?”

“There are two, actually,” answered Samyaza in a calm and polite manner. “First, I have not done anything to warrant further punishment. After all, I am already in Hell for my crimes on Earth. For the second I must humbly request both Lord Taxiarch and The Lord’s Love to peer into the depth of my being to see that my words carry no taint of lie,” Michael and Jophiel gave her an intense look and she felt her soul being invaded by unblinking gazes of higher beings. Still, she maintained her smile.

“I have neither intent nor desire to harm those who dwell in Heaven or Earth. All of me is dedicated solely to humanity and their limitless potential.”

“Why that is, Samyaza?” asked Michael.

“Have I not told you? I find them to be endlessly fascinating.”

“That is not the only reason,” remarked with a frown Jophiel.

Samyaza merely gave a mirthless smirk. She looked at them, at all of them, awaiting her next words like the faithful before a preacher. So, she preached the wicked truth of this world.

“You know what dwells below, don’t you?” with this question, suddenly both Michael and Uriel tensed. “One day, when the last star shall finally go out, it will awaken and tear asunder all of Creation, leaving only Heaven untouched, but you already know that,” she glanced at clearly distressed Emily. “Well, most of you did. But what you do not know is that my fellows and I shall suffer a fate worse than death. Even in our current sorry state, we are still linked to the Light of the Lord. Not only that, but somehow that thing took us as its own. Once all of it comes to an end, we shall remain, forever drifting in a cold and desolate void alone with our sins and memories. So, my goal is quite simple, oh Lord’s Love…”

“I desire to create enough fond memories for myself to last for eternity. That is all.”

None dared to say anything to that. Minute passed, as all of them took in her words, some taking it better than the others. Eventually, Michael gave a tired sigh and stated:

“There is no lie within your words. You may leave.”

So, she did while maintaining the same smile. No, in actuality, it seemed like her smile had only grown in merry. It was understandable to a degree. After all, not every day did she get to provoke so many unpleasant emotions within the archangels.

Chapter Text

Samyaza left and moments later so did the archangels. When Vaggie saw them again, she tried to look as small as possible. That, however, did not stop Michael from noticing her. As they crossed their gazes, Vaggie feared. Feared that The Taxiarch would burn her into nothingness right then and there. They stood for what felt like an eternity to her, until Michael said:

“We understand your reasons, but your crimes will not be forgiven. Your case is currently being reviewed by arbiters of Ivory Court.”

“What about Lute?” she asked quietly, with all her courage. “Are you going to let her go free after what she’s done?”

“She shall never wield a blade again,” answered Michael calmly, yet within his voice she felt a promise of divine retribution. “Considering her nature, this is a punishment enough.”

Then Michael eyed the two sins which decided to stay. Asmodeus and Belphegor. He knew well enough why Sin of Lust was still here, but what reason could Sin of Sloth possess. Their eyes interlocked and he received his answer. He gave her a small nod and that seemed to please her immensely. Silently, she left. Michael sighed and looked at Morningstars.

“Our meeting has concluded. However,” Charlie and Lucifer grew alert; behind archangels opened a portal of purest gold and one by one they began to leave, “there’s someone else you must meet.”

Michael was the last to enter the portal and then, just a second later, a figure walked out of it and the world broke into a thousand pieces.

“You…” Lucifer stood, as his hands balled into fists and a tremor overtook him, while Charlie froze in shock and horror. “No…”

She was magnificent. Long and flowing hair shining like platinum. Pale porcelainlike skin. Deep and sensual eyes which could capture the world with a single wink. Her tempting lips taste of which haunted his dreams still. Her figure worthy of a goddess and her deep violet eyes for which he betrayed Heaven. She…

…Their castle was located at the very heart of Pride. It was a vast and enormous place of grandiose beauty and elegant majesty. Their small piece of Eden, gently nested amidst the land of sulfur mountains and endless howling winds. He held her hand in his as they ran through the grand corridors, where paintings of divine landscapes hung off the stone brick walls.

She was much taller than him, yet she could barely match his stride. He couldn’t help himself, he was just so excited. Ever since they fell a few decades back there was this incurable melancholy in her every word and action. He understood it, for he felt it all the same, yet he could not afford to stew in his own misery for her happiness mattered to him much more than his own suffering.

They came outside to the balcony and she gasped. Outside, on ashen hills, were now planted flowers. Thousands of them. White lilies, like patches of heaven itself, their purity so sublime they almost shone in all that darkness.

“Lucifer…” she whispered softly, as a smile graced her face. “How did you…?”

“It was no easy feat, I tell you that!” he said with a chuckle, basking in her radiance. “This soil has temper problems, I swear. It resisted me every step of the way, but I didn’t let it down my spirits! You see I had that one special someone occupying my heart and the thought of her smile made me double, nay! Triple my efforts and… well…” he gave a small smile of his own. “Here we are!”

His word did not do justice for the monumental achievement he has done. This soil was one of Hell and Hell was not a place of life. No, it was spawned from the very concepts of Sin and Evil. The very notion of life blooming here was completely alien to it and yet here they were. Lilies, as far as the eye could see.

“You did all of this… for me…?”

“Of course, Lilith. For who else? I’d do anything for you!”

“Truly?”

“Yep!”

“Then…”

She lowered her violet eyes which shone brighter than the very stars. There was guilt in them, when she looked back at him. With her following words, his heart broke and its remains scattered to howling winds of the endless turbulent night.

“…Could you bring Adam to me, please…?”

It was Lilith. The First Abomination. The Queen of Hell. The Mother of Succubi. The Lady in The Shadows. The commander of his nightmares. His ex-wife.

The portal closed behind her and none of them could say anything. Asmodeus stood on guard like a soldier before a shootout and Samyaza gave an anticipating smile. Lucifer looked into her eyes, which once drove him to the sickness of mind and heart, seeking something, anything! A regret at lying to him, a joy at seeing him, a sadness at hurting him, but no. All he saw was disdain.

And that hurt more than anything Gabriel could ever do.

“You…” he said just barely above whisper. “You were in Heaven… all along?”

“Of course, I was,” she replied with no shame or worry, as if daring him to accuse her of betrayal. “Where else would I be, Lucifer? Don’t tell me you think of me so low as to assume that I was hiding within a household of Ars Goetia or, Father forbid, on Earth.”

“You were with Adam…” he said, realizing an awful truth.

“And what if I was?” she shot back in an icy tone. “We are divorced, Lucifer. Have been for the last fifty years. I have no obligations to you.”

“Obligations…?” he shook, his whole body shook with an anger he was barely reigning in. “You think this is about some damn obligations, Lilith!? You ran away from us! From all what we built and to whom!? To Adam! After all we’ve been through you run off to him of all people!?”

“And we’ve been through, Lucifer?” asked back venomously Lilith. “Ten thousand years of Hell, trying my hardest to reign in the absolute scum of humanity, while you were too busy feeling sorry for yourself… was that something I should have treasured?”

“There was more than that!” retorted Lucifer. “Lilith, we’ve been through so much together!”

“That doesn’t mean I must stay chained to you and your endless misery!”

“And I never wanted you to be!” he shot back. “But has any of it never had any value to you? I did it so much for you. This entire kingdom was built in your name. We shared so many joys and sorrows within it. Had they never mattered to you?”

Lilith’s face softened for just a moment and for a moment Charlie, who had been a silent witness of this waking nightmare, regained hope that something good could come out of this mess. Unfortunately, that very same hope was quickly shattered, when Lilith replied, with renewed vitriol:

“Do you think this sentimental shit will make me feel bad about what I’ve done, Lucifer?” she took a step towards him. “Do you see yourself as the victim here, you blind blabbering fool!?”

“You run off to Heaven! You betrayed Hell! You betrayed me and you ruined this family!” he shot back.

“Yes, I did! And I would do so again! Do you know why, Lucifer? Because this kingdom which you’ve built is too much like you! You and your pride and endless self victimization! It’s always about you! You! You! You! Always crying and sobbing over something that happened ages ago instead of doing anything about it! Do you think I wanted to hurt you!? That it was me who broke your heart!? No! I never did! It was you!”

Tears of anger and anguish began to well up in her violet eyes. As much as he wanted to ignore them, Lucifer couldn’t help but notice this sign that she truly was hurting in this conversation just as he was.

“I wanted to love! I tried to love you!” she screamed with a wavering voice. “I wanted to build something with you! Something that we could call our own! I wished to walk this path with you… I did, I truly did. But you never made a single step along with me. You stayed in the cage of your own making, endlessly moping while I had to take care of everything! All I ever wanted from you, was to receive at least a tenth of what I’ve given, but you never did… So, Lucifer, I have never broken your heart. You did it yourself and in breaking it you broke mine.”

Lilith exhaled, her shoulders shaking as if she was moments away from breaking in tears. In that moment, unbeknownst to each other Charlie and Asmodeus desired nothing more than to rush to her and comfort her, both fueled by a simple childlike love.

“When we broke apart…” she continued in a hushed tone, “…all I ever wanted was to be free from this suffocating anguish. So I went to a single other being in Creation who could truly understand me. Out of billions of souls, angels and demons he was the only one who could truly see me. Seven years I’ve spent in Heaven, carefully mending the wounds we left in each other’s hearts. Then, just as he began to talk with me as he did in the past, you killed him. You… you took away my last chance at happiness…”

“That one chance at happiness was a selfish, misogynistic prick, too full of himself to run away when given the chance. He tried to kill Charlie! Our daughter! I gave him a chance to flee and instead he…”

“Don’t you dare!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare to lie to me! You could’ve done anything else to save her, but you didn’t! Instead you made it a spectacle! A humiliation ritual! All to flaunt your powers before a foolish little girl who doesn’t know any better! You selfish, prideful snake!”

Lucifer’s demonic features began to manifest. He took steps towards Lilith, with flames flickering amidst his fingers. It was then, when Asmodeus intervened. He charged and took a stand between two of the most powerful beings in Hell and spoke with a booming voice:

“Enough! Both of you!”

“Don’t stay in my way, you abomination!” barked Lucifer.

“Don’t speak to him like that!” screeched Lilith.

“Or what!? You’ll run off with him too!? Careful, Asmodeus, you are courting a venomous snake that shall lull you with false promises and then bury her fangs in your neck the moment you show even a hint of weakness!”

“I SAID ENOUGH!” Asmodeus’ body became bright with Hellfire, silencing both of them in an instant. With their attention on him, he spoke. “Do you have no care for your own daughter? She has done nothing to witness this.”

Upon hearing those words, Lilith shifted her attention to Charlie. To her poor sweet girl, by whose will Adam found his end. She looked at them both with eyes wide in horror and hurt. It was… so painful to see such a look in the eyes which once used to adore her so much. So, Lilith made her decision and said to Sin of Lust:

“Asmodeus, take me away. For me there is nothing here but pain.”

To that, he gave a nod and enveloped her in a hug. In the next moment, magic flames engulfed them both and they disappeared from sight. Lucifer screamed at them:

“Where are you going! Where are not done here! Lilith! LILITH!”

But she was already gone. He stood there, with shaky breath and trembling hands. His eyes wide and his inner song burning with horrible emotions. He heard a voice:

“Dad…?”

It was Charlie, yet he did not see her. All he saw was Lilith. Her eyes, her facial features, her hair and her lips. It hurt. It hurt to look at her. It hurt to be here.

“Damn it…” he whispered through his teeth. “Damn it all…!”

Six wings appeared behind his back and before Charlie could even reach out to him, he took flight right through the wall of the embassy. He flew fast, but with no direction. In seconds, Pentagram City disappeared behind his back, but it was not enough. He needed to run. To be as far away from all the hurt and pain and anger as it was possible.

More than anything, he wished to be alone.

Back at the embassy, Charlie approached the ruined wall with shaky steps. The once clear air of the corridor was now thick with sulfur and regret. Tears welled up in her eyes, as she stared into the blood red horizon. Soon, she wept and Vaggie instantly embraced her from behind. Her girlfriend offered no words, for they had no power here, but her presence was more than enough.

Samyaza, who has been observing this entire situation, stood in the shadows with a satisfied smile on her face. The spectacle has been short, but enjoyable. Now was time for her to leave. But then she felt something. Something far away from the embassy suddenly appeared and it felt so familiar. She recognized him.

Her smile became wider.

She slid deeper into the shadows and away from the embassy and to the place he was most likely heading towards. To the princess' hotel. She had to make some preparations for her dearest friend’s wayward son, after all.

He appeared in some dingy alleyway and the portal closed behind him. No one witnessed his arrival and he was alone. Good. He walked out of the alleyway and onto the busy street. Cars were speeding left and right and busy sinners were crowding the streets. He towered above them all, yet none paid attention to him. His hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. He gazed upwards to the sky and saw the glimpse of Heaven. It wasn’t there back when he first arrived into Hell, but it was nice to see it anyway. He then noticed lights of the projectors, piercing the heavy red clouds of Pride.

They were originating from his destination. From the Hazbin Hotel.

He sighed, steadying his soul and heart, and began walking.

In the meantime, a shadow slid into the hotel. It paid no attention to the residents. It had no interest in the anarchist or the porn star. Nor did it possess any particular curiosity towards the radiodemon or the bartender. No, what interested it was the hotel’s humble maid.

It descended through the cracks in the wall, unnoticed by all. There in the grand labyrinth of a basement, it found its target. A little one eyed maid, happily stabbing away at cockroaches with a thin long needle with a manic smile of madness. A shadow began to take form, and Samyaza appeared from it.

She stood and watched the maid as she did her work, completely oblivious to a newcomer in the basement, while Samyaza analyzed her very being. As she did, the watcher’s smile began to wane. This woman was truly insane, lacking even a barest hint of lucidity. Completely unaware of where she was and what she was doing. A frown came to Samyaza’s face.

So this was her liberator and the one who killed Adam… How thoroughly disappointing she was. Then, the witch took a glimpse at maid cranial matter and a smile found its way back onto her face. Samyaza stepped towards the maid, now not bothering with stealth.

Niffty lifted her single eye at a suddenly arrived presence and she saw a pale shadow towering over her with a smile of purest malice. Before she could even ask a question, the shadow reached her hands towards her and pierced her head right through her eye. It did not harm her flesh, as its fingers merely phased through, but a pained gasp escaped the maid’s lips.

“Shhh…” cooed Samyaza. “Twitching will only make it hurt more, my dear.”

She began to mend the damage which the maid sustained back on Earth and which followed her into Hell, as a punishment of sorts. It wasn’t that uncommon. It was rare for crippled and the lame to remain as they were in life when they were reborn in the pit. Once Samyaza was done, she pulled her fingers out and looked at the maid with expectation.

“Wh-what…?” were her first words, as reason returned to her for the first time in so long. She looked at her hands and at her surroundings. “No…” Niffty said, as she dropped the needle in horrifying realization descended upon her like a flood. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

She kept repeating as she backed away. She stumbled and fell and kept crawling back, until she was in the corner. Her single eye opened in pure terror. She breathed frantically and quickly, as the caustic air filled her lungs. She was dead and this was Hell.

She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell. She was in Hell.

Samyaza gave her one last prideful smile. Her work here was done and it was glorious. Now was time for her to step away from the limelight and let others shine in all their self-contradicting glory. She disappeared into the shadows, allowing the main lead to finally take his center stage.

A while later, a knock was heard in the hotel. Husk, who was busy polishing the counter, sighed. Charlie and Vaggie were away on some important business. Angel Dusk and Cherri were up in their bombs, enjoying some well deserved rest. Niffty was off doing her usual things and Alastor was too busy with his useless egostroking broadcast. So it came to him to greet the new arrivals at the hotel. With a sigh, he left the counter and went to the door.

“Yes?” he asked and from the other side came a quiet and soft voice, that undoubtedly belonged to man.

“Is this the Hazbin Hotel?”

Husk opened the door with a question:

“And what if it is?”

What he saw was truly unusual and morbid. It was a horned skeleton roughly twice as tall as a regular man. He was clad in some pristine clothing, which included an open long coat and black slacks. On his there was a sheathed sword and within his empty eyeholes there was only darkness. He replied to Husk:

“Then I am right where I want to be,” Cain extended his hand for a handshake and lied as easily as he breathed. “My name is Caleb. I am a sinner, seeking betterment, and I want to check in your fine establishment.”

Chapter Text

They made a decision to ride a taxi back to the hotel. The negotiations, or rather what followed after them, completely drained both of them of energy necessary to deal with Pentagram City’s usual shenanigans. Thankfully the cab driver was a quiet sort and didn’t ask them any questions. Charlie and Vaggie were sitting on the opposing ends of the passenger seat.

Both were staring into the opposing windows and both were far too occupied with their own thoughts to see what passed in front of their eyes. Not that there was anything worthwhile passing by. Charlie’s head was occupied by her parents’ words. Those poisonous and vile things, bearing so much pain and malice. It hurt to see it. It hurt to remember it.

She loved them both. Her mother, Lilith, was the strongest person she knew. She was amazing in every possible way. There was simply nothing in her that could not provoke a sense of wonderment. Everything she did she seemed to master in seconds. She could see through people as one could see through the clear waters of a brook. She was fiercely independent. Not only that, but she possessed a heart full of compassion, fighting for the downtrodden and the meek.

She was the perfect queen.

Her father, Lucifer, was the most creative person she knew. She still held dear those young and gentle days of hers, when he was still present in her life. It was like every day was an adventure, a story of heroism and dreams triumphing above all. It was like he could make even the most boring and banal tales into something full of majesty and beauty. He was so kind to her, so caring and passionate about her smallest steps.

He was the perfect king.

Together, they made for perfect parents. At least, that's how it all seemed until mere moments ago.

In a span of one single conversation, her parents manage to completely shatter her image of them. How could Lilith be a fiercely independent queen, when she ran off to Adam, the one who supposedly tried to domineer over her in the past? How could Lucifer be a rebellious dreamer with the heart of gold when even his wife was disgusted at his actions?

And what did it make her, their daughter? She always viewed herself as an inheritor of their dreams and ambitions. Her desire to help sinners, to redeem and save them was partly motivated by the desire to live up to their image. To become someone worthy enough to be called the daughter of Lilith and Lucifer. But what did that title mean and her pursuit of it mean now, when the parents she used to venerate so much turned out to be such broken people?

She didn’t want to think about it, so she just tuned it out and stared off into the distance.

“We arrived,” came the driver's gruff voice, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Get out!”

They left the car and looked at the hotel’s gates. Charlie furrowed her brow. Not too long ago she couldn’t look at this place without a smile on her snow, as it symbolized so many precious things. Her union with her father, her triumph over Adam and his exorcists, her unwavering belief in redemption. Now it all left a bad taste in her mouth. She sighed.

“Charlie?”

She looked at Vaggie, who, despite being just as exhausted by everything as she was, was still the one to give her worried looks. She reached to her and placed her hand on her shoulder:

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head. “No,” she admitted weakly. “I don’t. I just want to drop on my bed and forget about everything.”

Vaggie gave her a nod and took her hand into her own, then gave it a reassuring squeeze. They opened the gate and went straight to the hotel's doors.

Husk gave Caleb a long and distrustful look, before sighing and reaching to his hand. A short, yet firm handshake followed. The skeleton’s hand was cold, which was expected. The strength in his grip was not, however. It made no logical sense, for he lacked any form of muscle, but Husk just chalked it up to magic.

“Husk,” he introduced himself to Caleb before lazily gesturing for him to enter. “Come in.”

The skeleton followed the cat in and wandered with his eyes through the entry hall. The design of it was reminiscent of art deco with floral motifs sparkled all throughout. Many shades of red, but that was expected, even if he personally found it to be unpleasant. Cain couldn’t help, but remark:

“So this how it is, huh?”

“We certainly came a long way,” replied Husk as he returned to his place behind the counter, while Caleb sat on the bar stool. “Before the king helped with renovations, the place was a dump, believe it or not. Angelic magic is hell of a thing. Now only the VoxTek building stands taller.”

“I see…” acknowledged Caleb unenthusiastically, while a Husk poured him a shot of some expensive looking whiskey. He merely gave it a look, which the bartender could not for the life of him decipher, despite his usual proficiency at reading people. Maybe it had something to do, with the skeleton’s complete lack of facial muscle.

“You don’t drink?” asked Husk.

“I can’t,” corrected Caleb. “Besides, shouldn’t you be introducing me to the hotel first?”

“I’m just a bartender. I serve drinks, nothing more,” Husk grabbed a shot meant for Caleb and emptied in one short movement. It burned in his throat just right. “If you want to be formally welcomed, you’ll have to wait. The one responsible for that is currently away for some important meeting.”

“Well, then wait I shall,” nodded Caleb. “But I do have a couple of questions to ask in the meantime, if you don’t mind.”

“Whether I mind or not depends entirely on the question,” replied Husk, glancing up at Caleb’s empty eyes. It was strange just how freakishly tall their new guest was. Even when Caleb was sitting and Husk was standing, the latter still had to look up to meet the former’s gaze. Of course, Hell was no stranger for sinners of higher physical stature. It was said that things like height and bulk of someone tended to heavily correlate with their tendencies for violence in life.

Most robbers, murderers and gang bangers were someone between one-point-eight and two meters tall. Just what Caleb did in life to earn himself a whole three meters of height was beyond him and honestly Husk preferred it stayed that way. He had more than enough blood drenched stories weighing down on his memory.

“How many guests do you have here beside me?” asked Caleb.

“Right now only two,” answered Husk. “I am not gonna say much about them. You will meet them soon enough. Just know that they can be annoyingly loud.”

As if to confirm his words a shrill voice rang out through the entry hall.

“Hey, Husk, have you seen my…?” it stopped as Caleb turned back his head to the grand stairs. On steps stood two sinners, one much like a spider and another a Cyclops. Cain knew them already. Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb, two sinners who fought against his father and his army. Angel Dust gave him a smile and a look which provoked revulsion within him.

“Well, hello there, big boy.”

He heard Husk groan behind him and saw how Cherri elbowed the spider’s side, causing him to yelp and frown.

“Ow! What was that for!?”

“Don’t scare him off, Angie. He might be a new guest,” replied Cherri, then she addressed Husk. “Oi, kittycat, who’s that Halloween prop over there!?”

“Caleb, meet Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb,” he said with a tone one would use to describe a particularly bad rash. “The two other guests I told you about.”

“Your words seem to be accurate, so far,” commented flatly Cain.

The two approached them and sat on other free bar stools and soon a short conversation ensued, during which they asked where he was from and if he were a new guest. To that he replied shortly and without much emotion in his voice. He said he was not from here and that he traveled from far away to get there and that indeed he was there for redemption. That seemed to satisfy them and they soon began to converse entirely with each other with him as nothing more than a silent witness.

They talked and joked and laughed. Angel Dust teased Husk, to which he replied with a witty remark that lacked real bite and that caused Cherri to grace them all with a joyful laughter. They seemed content in each other's company. Happy, even.

That infuriated him to no end.

Part of him, a horrible and disgusting part which he wished to cut out of his psyche and mind, demanded that he would unsheathe his sword and hurt them. Cut them. Hang them. Rip out their entrails and witness as lights fades away in their eyes and as their home burns around them. But he stifled that part of him. Now was not the time, for he had not witnessed enough to make such judgment upon them. Not only that, but the millennia-long promise he made to himself was still fresh on his mind.

He will never be that man again.

Suddenly, a question addressed to him:

“So, bonehead, what’s with the antique?”

“Hm?” he looked at Cherri. “You mean my sword?”

“Yep,” she nodded, with curiosity shining bright in her energetic eye. Husk and Angel Dust too have quieted down. “No offence, but if ya looking to get in a scrap or two, ya might wanna switch that old thing for something that can spew lead.”

“I do not carry it for violence,” answered Cain.

“It’s a sword,” noted Cherri, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They don’t exactly make them for anything besides it, no?”

“That’s true,” nodded Cain, “but this one has way too much sentimental value to be just a sword.”

“Ah, so she’s got history behind her,” nodded Cherri with some appreciation. “Care to share it?”

“Maybe some other day,” said Cain after a short pause.

Before Cherri could voice her complaint at him being a wuss, another voice joined. A voice which he could recognize from thousands, even if he heard it just once before. Filled with radio static and smooth intonation, it was truly something unique and captivating. Too bad it belonged to such a scum.

“Well, well, well! What do we have here? Another stray wandered in our premises!”

At first Cain didn’t bother to turn in order to take a look at him. Truth be told, out of all the hotel residents he would’ve preferred to avoid him as much as he could. Unfortunately, right now he had to crush down the bubbling disgust and loathing. Being confrontational here would only earn him unneeded distrust from other hotel residents and interest of the one he wished to avoid. So, he sighed and turned towards the hotel’s manager:

Alastor, The Radio Demon.

A picture perfect example of an overlord. The way that man looked, carried himself and regarded all around him oozed confidence and class. That sharp smile of his almost made him look charming. Almost. Cain knew better. He has seen his kind time and time again. Murderers desperate for recognition and adoration, obsessed with limelight and power. Killing just to exert power over someone weaker than them. For them the very act of killing the other human being was something natural, as long as it was done by their hand and against those whom they deemed lesser.

From his own personal experience, Cain knew that the moment the blade was pointed at their neck they tended to crumble. Because of that, Cain couldn’t help but wonder how Radio Demon’s smile would look with his teeth scattered across that fine red carpet.

“We have a new guest, Al,” replied Angel. “Be nice.”

“Ah!” replied Alastor dramatically. “To imply that I am anything but charming and affable. How cruel of you, friend!”

Angel Dust playfully blew a raspberry, while Caleb stood up and approached the radio host. It was rare for Alastor to meet someone taller than him, but there was no surprise on his face. Merely a sharp and inviting smile. The skeleton extended his hand in greetings and the deer accepted. A firm handshake ensued.

“Caleb,” he said.

“Pleasure to meet you, friend, quite a pleasure! I believe you might already know me.”

“I… heard of you, Radio Demon,” was Caleb’s only response.

That was as much as Cain was willing to say to the overlord. Thankfully, he was rescued from this dreadful conversation by the sound of opening doors. All eyes diverted to the source of it, his included, and there he saw her. Charlotte Morningstar the Princess of Hell and the one responsible for his father’s death, beside her stood Vaggie the former exorcist. Both of them were free of filth and grime, yet it was obvious to all that they appeared completely defeated and crushed.

The hotel's staff and patrons rushed to them with countless queries, as he simply stood there and observed. There she was. Anguish and hatred crushed over his very being, swallowing his soul like black waters of antediluvian ocean. Two conflicting desires burned within his soul. One was moved entirely by his hatred for the one that took away his light. It roared at him to unsheathe his sword and cleave those damned ignorant monsters while they were vulnerable. To rend their flesh, grind their bones into dust and pummel their innards into mush.

The other part of him could only despair. Her eyes… They were so vibrantly red. They were just like his once were, when he was still a man and not a sinner. This girl, this murderer, this empty headed dreamer… She was just like him. He could see it, in those accursed eyes. They shared blood. She was a spawn of Lucifer.

Just like him. She was his sister, his sibling, his blood and flesh, his tether to this world. Just like…

“Oh, and here’s our new guest,” someone blabbered, turning her attention to him. “We were hoping you could introduce him to the hotel formally, but…”

“No, it’s alright,” she shook her head, seemingly glad for the fact that he was here. She approached him, a tired and insincere smile on her face. “Hello. You must be Caleb, right?” he gave a weak nod. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel.”

She showed him his room. It was a large and spacious place, clearly meant for someone of his size. Then she quietly left him alone and he spent the rest of the day sitting on his bed, contemplating all he has seen and all will see. Night descended on Pride and one by one the residents of the hotel retreated to the comfort of their rooms, where they would soon seek refuge within the realms of dreams.

Not him, for he lacked the ability to sleep. So he remained wide awake until somewhere past midnight. Then he stood up from his bed and left his room. His steps were silent, as if he was an apparition haunting these grand halls with aimless sorrow. He explored the hotel thoroughly, memorizing its layout and where everyone's rooms were. The only one whom he did not seek was Alastor, for he was not sure if Radio Demon slept at all and he did not want to risk encountering the wretched bastard without the need for it.

Vaggie and Charlie slept soundly in the most spacious room of the fourth floor. Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb occupied the two rooms next to the stairs on the second floor. Husk slept in the room nearest to the bar on the first floor. If he had to guess, Alastor was most likely busy with his nightly broadcast in his radio tower, which Cain didn’t bother checking. That left one single person unaccounted.

The one who killed his father by driving a sharp dagger through his back and into his heart. Charlie might have been the one who set the events in motion and thus bore the most of responsibility, but that person was the one to take his life with her own two hands. The one eyed maid. Niffty.

He did not know what would happen if he were to see her. Rather, he did not know if he would be able to hold himself back and reign in his burning wrath. Still, he had to see her. He had to look into her eye and see if he could find either answers or closure within them. If he could not, then he shall pry open her ribcage and seek his answers there. But first he had to make a call to someone.

He went to the dining room on the first floor, where there was this old phone with a rotary dial. He dialed a number given to him by his brother. There were signals on the other end, but no one picked up the call. Cain sighed. Asmodeus was most likely too busy trying to console the first abomination. Despite all of his vitriol for her, he could not fault him for that. She was his mother, after all.

There was another signal, signifying the start of the recording. Cain began to speak:

“Hello, brother. I am here, at this place, where our sister is. I saw her today, she looked distraught. I assume you already know why,” Cain sighed, trying to choose his next words to the best of his ability. “I… I am going to stay here, with her, for a while. There’s much… too much that I am yet to witness, before I can make my judgment. If… if I were to make a certain choice, I would not ask you to understand. I desire for you to remain where you are, until I’m done. That is all.”

With that he hung up on the call and made a heavy sigh. Now, time to seek the maid. He already searched all of the floors above ground with the exception of Alastor’s lair. That left two places where she could’ve been hiding: the radio tower and the basement. Welp, he knew where he wanted to check first.

It was not hard to find the door leading to the basement. He opened it and it greeted him with a long set of stairs. With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he began his descent. Unlike most of the hotel, the basement was as filthy as the rest of Pentagram City. There was a lot of broken furniture and building materials. The rooms were decrepit, with cockroaches roaming openly everywhere and the light was dim and constantly flickering.

The place was much like a labyrinth. He was wandering there, on a high alert, until he heard something. He could not make it out at first, so he began to walk in its direction. As he got closer so too the sound became clearer. It was the sound of soft cries and whispers. The voice… he recognized the voice.

He entered one particularly filthy room of the basement and saw the dead cockroaches on the floor, their bodies surrounding a long thin needlelike knife. Around him were rot and entropy. The insects flew around the singular light bulb, their shadow dancing on the walls, like frenzied ghosts. The light itself pale and dim, as if from a long forgotten memory. There he saw her. Once a gremlin, now a woman sitting in the corner of the room, covered in dust, grime, dirt and filth, filth, filth. She sat with her arms around her legs and face hidden in her knees and her cries echoed in his ears like a lullaby. Her whispering mad and incoherent.

There she was. Niffty.

He walked to her, his steps loud and clear as if a countdown before the execution. Yet she did not pay him even an ounce of attention. Her turmoil has long since swallowed her whole. He stood up above her. A son of a man she murdered, a grim reaper and a judge of her sins all in one. Her weeping still soft as it was moments before, but for him it was deafening.

At that moment, more than anything he wanted to silence her. His hand was near the hilt of his blade, trembling with barely held back rage. He wanted to kill her right there and now, while she was suffering at her lowest. To break her skull, to pluck out her eye, to pull out one by one her teeth, to rip out her tongue, to break her arms and legs, to open her ribcage, to tear out her organs and crush her heart within his hand. Murder was on his wretched mind, in his black soul and within his empty heart. This loathsome desire of a lowly beast almost moved him to action, but then…

“I am sorry,” amidst the quiet whispers and soft cries, he heard repentance, aimed at none for she saw and heard no one but her endless distress. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. I never meant to… I never wanted to… I…”

He ceased all at once.

A young man ran to his home. In his hands he carried a body of someone precious, yet to his value he’s been blinded by his own envy and wrath. He ran and his brother bled in his arms. His blond hair, once golden like the honeyed rays of the sun, now were marred crimson. He ran and saw their home. Mother and father were outside. She has seen him, or rather whom he was carrying and a blood curdling scream echoed through the world, while father stood in silent horror.

“I didn’t mean to…” he heard his own voice say. “I didn’t want to… please…”

Cain stood over her, his hand now steady. He contemplated many things in those fleeting moments. Thousands of combinations of words run through his head. Eventually, he came to a decision and spoke:

“Miss,” he addressed her, yet she had not heard him. He sighed and knelt before him. “Miss? Please, look at me. I only wish to help you.”

Slowly she lifted her tear-stained visage to look at him. There was a momentary flash of fear in her singular eye. Their gazes met and he for the life of him could not recognize in hers the deranged look belonging to his father’s murderer. Instead what he saw was a scared and lost woman, slowly sinking to the depths of regret and guilt. Her breathing was quick and uneven.

“Who… who are you?” she asked.

“I am Caleb,” he replied. “New guest at the hotel,” that did not ease her panic in the slightest, so he continued to speak. “Miss, I desire no harm upon you. I cannot say that I understand what you are going through right now, but I can say that this,” he gestured to all the rot and desolation around them, “is not a place to be.”

“It’s…” she spoke quietly, barely above whispering. “It’s not, but… I belong here. Please, leave me alone. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. Please, just go and never come back. It… it will be better that way.”

“It won’t,” he shook his head. “Remaining here, alone with your anguish and guilt will solve nothing,” he knew that better than anyone. “You know it’s true. I hear it in your voice, in how it trembles and wavers as you speak. Miss, please. I just wish to help you. Allow me to help you, please.”

He extended his hand to her and she stared at him. He could not say what was going in her head, but he prayed that his words had an effect. A few seconds passed and she made her choice. For once, his prayers were answered and she accepted his hand, as she uttered:

“Alright…”

He helped her get up. She was taller now. Nowhere near as tall as he was, but at least she no longer resembled a one eyed gremlin. Now her height could be best described as average. Aside from that not much changed in her form. She still had but one eye, red hair and some insect-like features here and there. When she stood up, she looked at him with an intent he could decipher and then…

She fell into his hands. He caught her immediately. It seemed like the exhaustion finally took over her. He sighed and lifted her in his arms and began to make his way away from it all. From the darkness, rot, desolation, grime and filth. Yet one thing from there remained with him, as he left.

His shame at what he almost became.

Chapter Text

She woke up and saw an unfamiliar ceiling. Nothing felt right. Every single thing around her felt sharp and overwhelming. The red ceiling above, the softness of the mattress below, the crispness of air, the crushing silence. It all was so familiar and yet so alien and revolting. Something was very wrong at the very core of this reality.

Something was deeply wrong with her.

She took a seating position and the way her muscles contracted was different. Her mind, and by extension her memory, were foggy, yet she could feel that her body was not supposed to act this way. The proportions, the length of her limbs and the weight within them. It wasn’t like this before. She looked down on her own body. She wore a pretty red dress and a white apron more suited for a doll than for someone who could walk, talk and think. She looked at her hands and…

She stared at what was in front of her. Her hands, they were… It was hard to describe. They were not human, that for one. They were pitch black and not due to the color of her skin, no. She lacked skin completely, instead her hands were covered by a hard shell-like surface. A chitin of an insect.

Her hands began to shake and bile rose within her throat. Memories of the past fifty years flooded into her vulnerable mind. She remembered. She remembered it all. Where she was and what she became. She almost lost it again, when the freshest memory resurfaced.

A skeletal hand extended in an act of compassion, a quiet and distant voice and a simple earnest wish to help. It was such an odd memory she almost wrote it off as a dream, but she just couldn’t. She wished it to be true, desperately. Yes, it was a small and insignificant thing compared to other fifty years worth of memories, but she just couldn’t throw it away. She was dead, in Hell. She had to have something, anything to hold on to lest she desired to drown in all that dark and all that horror.

She stood up from the bed, powered by that sole and insignificant memory and went to the bathroom door. Again, her body was not like her own. It was far too light and nimble. Just by taking a look at her own hands she already knew she would loathe what she’ll find in the mirror, but… She could not live her life in ignorance anymore. Not when she finally regained her sanity back.

She opened the door and her insect-like hand went to the light switch. It hovered above, while she gathered all her courage. She wanted to know, she needed to know, but her heart was unwilling. She was never a brave person. She knew that the moment when the light turns on will cleave her life into before and after.

Eventually, she gathered what little bravery she had and turned the light on. A horrified gasp escaped her lips. From the mirror a monster looked back at her. It had a pale face, as if drained of blood. Its lips were thin, almost nonexistent. Its teeth were many and they were sharp. On its cheeks there were red circular markings, making it appear like it strutted straight from a freakshow. Its single, large bug-like eye gazed at her with pure disgust and terror. Its hair was wild and red, red, red. It was just filthy, disgusting, so ugly and, and, and…

It was her. 

She could only stare at her own reflection in silent horror. This was her. This was not a dream. This was her new true self. She wished to scream, to close her eyes and never open them again. However, before she could do anything, she heard how the door to her room opened and familiar voice reached her ears:

“Hello? Is anyone home?”

She recognized that voice from yesterday. She rushed to the bathroom door and slammed it shut. The idea of anyone, especially the man who has given her something to hold on to, seeing her disgusting visage terrified her to no end. She stood with her body pressed to the door and her chitin covered hand gripping the door handle like it was her lifeline. The man on the other side spoke:

“Miss, are you…?” she heard confusion in his voice and then awkward shame followed. “Oh… I am so sorry. I will come back later.”

Despite the evident shame he remained flat and almost monotone. Perhaps, if they were in a better situation, she would’ve found it charming. But unfortunately, their new reality permitted nothing but fear and anguish. She heard how he set something down(a tray of food, perhaps?) and then she heard him make first steps to leave the room.

“NO!” she screeched, despite herself. Her voice was still hers, unlike her visage. Good, that was good.

Even if she did not want anyone to see her, the idea of being alone was somehow even more dreadful. It was pathetic, really. She detested to be seen and hated being left alone. She was weak, laughable even and she hated herself for it. For this weakness, for this wretched desire to be comforted. But she couldn’t help herself. She just couldn’t.

“Are you alright?” she heard how he hurried to the bathroom door, clearly distressed.

“No!” she repeated and he stopped right at the other side, with his hand on the handle. “Don’t open it, please!”

“Are you in pain?” he asked, she remained silent. “Miss, I won’t open the door, but first I need to make sure you are alright.”

“I… I am,” she replied. “I am not in pain, it’s just…”

“You wish to talk?” he asked and she nodded, before remembering that he couldn’t see her.

“Yes, I do,” she whispered. “Can we talk? Just like this? Please?”

There was a moment of tense silence, during which he most likely contemplated what to do or rather what to say. Then, she heard his reply:

“Yes. Yes, of course,” she felt as he lightly tapped against the door handle with his finger, thinking just what to say. Truth be told, she too had no idea just to talk about. Then it occurred to him and he spoke:

“My name is Caleb.”

“I know,” she nodded, her voice shaky. “We… we’ve met yesterday, right?”

“We did, but I never got your name, miss.”

Her name? Her head ached with the pain of resurfacing moments, each more precious than the last. Among them was her name. A lifelong gift from her mother, a figure of sunlight and autumn dew. Something meant to guide her through her woeful life. It was precious and she wished to hear it from the lips of others, but she could not share it. She was in Hell. Names had power here. To give someone your name, meant to grant them power over you.

She wanted to trust Caleb, she truly did with all her being for it meant being free from this terrible loneliness, but she could not afford to be trusting in a place like this. So instead of her name, she gave him something else. Something cruel and hollow, yet something which was now forever coiled around her very self.

“Niffty,” she said with a bitter aftertaste on her tongue. “My name is Niffty.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Niffty,” she almost heard a smile in his stilted voice. “What do you want to talk about first?”

She thought about just what she could say to that. It’s not like there were many conversations they could have. Certainly not in a place like this. She was silent for half a minute and then it hit her. She knew nothing about him and he knew nothing about her. Why not change that?

“Can you tell me about yourself, Caleb?”

What followed was an even longer period of silence during which she had plenty of time to regret her question. What if she overstepped some sort of boundary? After all, they were both sinners. If their lives were something worth reminiscing over they wouldn’t be here. Thankfully, she heard his voice again:

“…sure,” he sighed and she pressed her ear against the door. “I was born in a pretty remote place. There weren’t many people around, so the only human beings I ever saw during my childhood were my mother, my father and eventually my little brother.”

Something about this particular family composition resonated with her and some silhouette from the fog of her consciousness. She… her family too was just like that. The only differences were that they lived in a small town and she was the younger sibling out of the two.

“What were they like?” she asked, curiosity coupled with a selfish desire to remember more about herself through him creeping in her voice.

“Well, uh, it’s hard to relay in a few words…” he muttered.

“Then do so in as many as you’d like,” she offered.

“…very well,” there was a short pause. “I suppose I’ll start with my father. He was a hunter, yet he possessed a soft and gentle heart. I remember each time he took me to hunt with him, I’d always see him praying after all of it was done. It was not just ritualistic or some sort of tradition. He truly felt guilt over every life he took. Sometimes he wouldn’t even pray, he’d just sit in silence for a while before bringing the game back home.”

“Then why did he become a hunter?” she asked, before she could properly think. “If death weighed so heavily on his mind, why do it all?”

“We had no other choice back then,” replied Caleb curtly.

“Oh…” she bit her lip. Way too ruin the mood, Niffty. Good job, idiot. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, you didn’t know,” said the man on the other side, and she could hear in his voice that he truly meant it. “My mother… she was the smartest person I know. She did gardening and took care of me and my brother. She, unlike my dad, was a very subdued person. If dad was ever upset at anything, usually everyone could see it plain as day. Mother… she was different . You could never really know what was truly on her mind. At times it made her appear cold and back then I always thought that she mad at us, at our family and…” he stopped, seemingly trying his hardest to refrain from unearthing something that was meant to stay buried forever,” well, it took me becoming an adult to realize that she was never mad at any of us. She was just hurting. And despite that, she would always do her best to take care of us and, well… She truly loved us, in her very own unique and quiet way.”

“They sound like wonderful people,” she commented, trying to cheer him up.

“They were,” he agreed. “The same could be said for my little brother. He was… How do I put it… he was like if you were to take the best from mother and father and mash it into a single person. He had dad’s warmth and mom’s calm and collected way of thinking. Not only that, but he had something else to him. Something irreplaceable and precious. This… boundless sense of optimism and unshakable belief that the next day would be better than the last. What was the most amazing thing about him was just how infectious that attitude of his was. There were days back then when the only reason any of us would smile was because he was there, always helping and trying his best. And then…” Caleb's voice wavered and there was this undeniable sorrow in it. “One day… he was gone and I had to leave it all behind.”

Something in those words deeply resonated with her in the worst way possible. It was not just the inherent tragedy of his tale, no. It was familiar to her for the ruin it left within his soul resembled the scars on her very heart. A part of her wanted to open the door and envelop him in a silent embrace of compassion, but the majority of her was still afraid of facing him in her current state. So, she did the next best thing and spoke to him:

“I am sorry, Caleb,” she said. “I truly am…”

“No, no it’s alright,” he replied and even if the sorrow was still present in his voice there was something else within it. “I… I am grateful. I don’t get to talk about them very often. It hurt, but… I’m glad that their story now lives with someone other than me, if that makes sense.”

“It… it does,” she confirmed. Then, there was another minute of silence, during which she once again gathered her courage. Familiar silhouettes resurfaced from the murky waters of her consciousness. One by one, she recognized them and when she gathered enough, she spoke again.

“I was born at the start of the twentieth century, in a small town somewhere in the United States,” she paused. “I… I can’t seem to recall the name of the town. I am sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he replied. “Please, continue.”

“Very well,” she said. “I- My family was similar to yours. My father was a working man and he… he had very rough hands. I remember, when I was just a girl, I… would run my fingers over his palm and the calluses on them were like little stones embedded in his skin. He… had a thick mustache and a voice loud like a ship horn.”

“Was he a dockworker?” inquired Caleb.

“I don’t know,” replied Niffty. “He was quick to anger and liked to drink, but… I never held any ill will towards him for it. My mother was… a teacher… and she… she would often read books to me and my brother. They would often be in languages we couldn’t understand. We would try to guess what each word meant and she would always be so patient with us. I liked to rest my head on her lap and whenever I did so she would play with my hair and hum a lullaby. She was always lying on the bed and… and…” her eye began to tear up from a painful memory. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“I understand. Don’t force yourself if it hurts too much,” he said. “But may I ask a question, Niffty?”

“…I am not sure I might be able to answer it. My memory is too foggy right now.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to ask you about. What were you doing back there in that basement?”

“I…” Unlike the memories of her time on Earth, which were blurry yet full of warm and lulling colors, her memory of Hell was a frantic ever fluxing mess of broken shards shining in a crimson frenzy. Yet, among that mad kaleidoscope, she managed to catch a few details. “I was… I am a maid here, at the hotel. My mind was not my own for a long while and yesterday something…” a pale shadow with a smile full of malice, “…someone fixed me. When you found me, I was overwhelmed by, well, everything.”

“I see,” he paused. “Niffty?”

“Yes, Caleb?”

“May I see you? Please?”

“…you won’t like what you would see,” she uttered, despite the sheer absurdity of her fear. He saw her yesterday and it was unlikely that a lot had changed about her in a span of a single night and yet the fear was an irrational beast it held her mind in its hands, its claws digging into her very self.

“Isn’t it for me to decide?” he asked, she didn’t reply. He sighed. “Niffty, I wish to help you. I truly do, but I cannot do it like this.”

“Why…?” she asked in defiance, frustration from everything creeping in. “Why do you care anyway? We’ve known each other for less than an hour, less than a day if you want to be charitable! We are sinners! In Hell! What reason do you have to help me? You have nothing to gain here! My soul is chained to another! I have not a single thing to offer you! So why… why do you insist on helping me?”

The answer came quickly.

“We are sinners, yes. We are wicked beings, selfish and self-serving to our very core and yet… we are also human, are we not?” he asked. “At the very least, our souls are. And if beneath our rotten bodies and empty hearts there is a human soul, does it not mean that it is natural to act as humans do? To desire to help the other, to extend one’s hand to the ones struggling… is it not what it means to be human?”

She didn’t reply. Instead, her gaze lowered to her hand resting on the door handle. She thought about it. About where she was and what it meant to believe in the inherent goodness of the human heart in a place like this, about the man on the other side and what was her answer to his question. Slowly, the fear was pushed away from her heart and soul and faint hope set in. She exhaled, pulled the door handle and opened the door. She opened it and gasped at what she saw.

Before her stood a skeleton, three meters in height, with horns at the top of his head which were curling downwards. His bones bore scorch marks, his eye sockets were completely empty save for the absolute darkness within them. On his hip there was a sword hidden in a scabbard. For anyone else, he appeared monstrous and unnatural yet for her those same factors were a great source of empathy and pity.

Caleb, he was just like her. Cursed with the appearance of a monster. He had no eyes to see the sunlight, no skin to feel the gentle breeze, no tongue to taste the sweetness of a fruit. He was cursed with this hollow imitation of humanity, as a form of some karmic mockery. It was horrible. So horrible, in fact, that it made her momentarily forget all her self-loathing. Without even realizing it, she took steps towards him and reached her hand to his face. She could not touch it, after all there was more than a meter of height difference between them. Something else occurred instead.

His hand met hers. His did not grasp hers, he simply touched the outer part of hand with his skeletal fingers. That made her pause. Even through the chitin she could feel the coldness of his undead remains.

“See?” he asked her, as she answered his prior question with her silent actions alone. “You extended your hand to me. We may be sinners, our selves may be monstrous, yet our souls remain human.”

To that she merely smiled and while she could not see what expression he, due to his complete lack of facial muscles, she’d like to imagine that he was smiling back at her. He retracted his hand and stepped back to let her leave the bathroom. She saw the tray with now cool tea and some cookies. Nor a single fruit in sight. A part of her couldn’t help but find his idea of breakfast endearing, a part of her couldn’t bear the awkward silence.

She looked around, trying to find something to discuss. Her eye settled on the ceiling and she couldn’t help but ask:

“Was the ceiling in my room always this high?”

To that he answered:

“Oh, we are not in your room,” her heart stopped. “We are in mine. I didn’t know where your room was so I brought you to mine and then spent the night on the couch in the entry hall.”

She… she occupied the room that wasn’t hers? Not only that, but when its rightful owner came back she locked herself in his bathroom and refused to get out… Oh, dear Lord above in Heavenly Kingdom!

“Caleb!” she bowed her head in quick motion, while almost screaming out her apology thus making him visibly flinch. “I am so sorry for my behavior!”

She began to apologize, while he did his best to reassure her that it was ‘All good’ as he said. This, frankly, embarrassing, ordeal took somewhere around two minutes and by the end they were sitting on his bed, she had a tray on her lap and was snacking on cookies while he simply observed her in silence.

“So…” he started, somewhat uncomfortable.

“Hm?” she asked with her mouth full.

“We probably should meet the rest of the hotel and tell them about your situation.”

She chewed slowly and thoroughly, as she thought about his words. She swallowed and then looked down at her cup of tea.

“We probably should,” she agreed. “But…”

“But?” he asked.

“…I don’t think I wanna do it. The Niffty they knew and I are completely different beings,” she sighed. “The old me thought of them as friends, almost family and yet… the more memories of them resurface I more hesitant to meet them.”

“Were they ever...” Caleb struggled to pick the most appropriate word, “uncouth towards you?”

“No, they were downright caring, but…” she exhaled with some frustration. “I don’t know. It’s hard to word it right now,” she paused, contemplating, then spoke again. “But it’s not like it matters. You are right, whether I like it or not, I have to meet them. No point in remaining holed here forever. But I do wish for one thing…”

“And that is?”

“Can you help me meet them?” she turned to look at him. “I know, it’s probably audacious of me to ask something like after everything you already did, but I would greatly appreciate it if I wouldn’t have to face them alone.”

 “Well it would be a great shame if I were to back out after all the talking I did back there.”

To that he received a chuckle from her, like a sweet chime of bells, and a smile full of sharp teeth which somehow appeared strangely pleasant.

“Thank you, Caleb,”

Minutes later, she finished her humble breakfast and they left his room to find the other members of the hotel. They found them all in the living room, they were all gathered there for some sort of friendship exercise made by Charlie. She was first to see them, or to be more precise see Caleb, as Niffty was rather effectively hiding his back.

“There you are, Caleb!” she greeted him. “You missed the morning activities.”

“I am sorry, princess,” he replied. “I had to help someone in need and I want you all to meet her.”

“What, you brought your girlfriend here while we weren’t looking?” asked Cherri.

“Not exactly.”

And with that answer he stepped to the side, revealing her for all to see. If it weren’t for her new height, they wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. The old her was as tall as a child, but the new her was much taller. In fact, she was taller than it was average for a woman in her country. One hundred and eighty centimeters in height.

Judging by the shocked stares of those she once deemed as friends and family, they were taken aback by her new appearance. Even that dreaded man with a revolting smile appeared surprised, although his ever present grin remained. Her further actions, coupled with her now more subdued and calm voice, only further shocked them all. She did a courtesy, meant mostly for the princess, and spoke:

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you again. My mind has changed, but my name and role remain the same. I am Niffty, a humble maid at this here establishment. May our shared days be pleasant for us all.”

Chapter Text

Despite what those so-called historians of Pentagram would have you believe, their first meetings did not happen in the new office of his nameless and still nascent telecommunication company. As a matter of fact, it happened much, much earlier than that. It was your average night in Hell. Junkies overdosing on the sidewalks, distant sounds of gunfights and the pale light of Heaven’s Embassy illuminated all with what could be only described as indifferent disgust.

It was a cloudy night, too. Just two days after the latest acid rain. Some streets still had cleaners scraping off melted flesh and bone off the sidewalks. Thankfully she lived near the Trifecta office, they were the ones responsible for the rains to begin with, but at least they kept the streets near their offices relatively meat free.

She left her apartment building with a plastic bag in hand, intent on throwing away the accumulated garbage into the nearest dump and then returning to her workshop as soon as possible. Despite living near the office of a big company, she was still in Hell. Just because shootouts happened only every week, instead of every day, did not mean that she could afford to be careless.

The nearest dump was in some shady alleyway. Practically a perfect place for a future crime scene, like straight out opening to a noir movie. That did not worry her. She packed heat under her oversized jacket. Colt M1911, to be precise. Only lead bullets, though. A single angelic bullet would cost her three months worth of high profile gigs and contracts.

Still, while she did not know much about guns, she knew that it was a good gun and had experience of shooting at moving targets. It had more than enough stopping power. She walked into the alleyway, straight to the dump and threw away her trash. That would’ve been where the story would come to an end, but then she heard something.

A short electrical buzz, like a short-circuiting of electronics.

Now, there were many laws in Hell, some of them so obscure and incomprehensible you had to be a literal savant to understand and follow them. But among them was one simple rule that each sinner followed with their whole heart:

Unless you want trouble, don’t involve yourself with what doesn’t concern you.

It was a simple rule, but you’d be surprised to know how many people found a gruesome death by defying it. She would often sigh and shake her head in disappointment at those kind of people, because just what else could you really do? Tears are wasted on fools and echo of sadistic laughter tends to be hauntingly bitter. She, of all people, knew better than anyone the cost of curiosity and yet… she just couldn’t shake off that feeling, that annoying whisper at the back of her head telling her to venture forth and meet the unknown.

She sighed and reached into her jacket for her handgun. Once the handle of the gun was within her porcelain fingers and the safety was turned off, she walked forward. What she found was quite unexpected. A tin man, or a robot perhaps, completely to shreds. His stomach are was torn open and various cables and wires lied in front of him like spilled guts. His TV-like head was blown apart but what appeared to be a shotgun blast. Occasional, his body would illuminate the dingy alleyway with an electrical spark that signified nothing good. What was the most interesting about that tin man was his clothing.

Black slacks and remnants of a white shirt with a clear Trifecta Corporation logo.

She scoffed. Poor bastard, to land a job in a place like Trifecta only to end up like this. She wondered for a bit just who and why could’ve done it, but it was just so obvious. Trifecta had more than enough people with grudges against them. After all, no one enjoyed weekly acid rains and the only reason why other overlords tolerated them was the fact that they had a monopoly over the energy sector, so taking them out meant leaving the city without electricity. Of course that didn’t stop an occasional sinner with a dead relative or two from serving their righteous justice against some low level clerks who just happened to pass in the wrong part of the city in their uniform on their way back home from work.

She looked at him, deep in thought. She was low on parts lately and buying brand new was always an expensive endeavor. The poor sod was already cold, so why not check if he has anything useful on him or within him? She paused for a second. Was she really considering it? To desecrate someone’s corpse? Just like that? More pragmatic part of her had a retort:

The man was already dead. What point was there in caring about his dignity when he was at a point where things like that were completely meaningless, while she was still there, alive and well, and her own well-being mattered much more? She sighed. She hated herself for thinking like that and for being right to do so. She hated this wretched place, she hated all who inhabited it, who were much like her, and their endless indifference at cruelty their perpetuated with their ambivalence, she hated those who were above them, living in their ivory towers, and their greed and the way they viewed those below them as mere numbers on quarterly reports.

More than anything, she hated herself for lacking power and will to change even the single thing about it all.

With that unpleasant thought, she walked to the lifeless tinman, intent on further ripping him apart, but when she crouched in front of him he suddenly sparked to life. His blown apart head jerked and sparks flew. Then, from the thick of wall of static and heavy stutter, the once dead man spoke to her:

“F-f-f-fuck… off…!”

It started her and she jumped back, aiming the business end of her gun at him. He merely continued to produce noise that barely sounded like speech:

“Already… robbed… m-m-m-m-me…! T-t-t-t-ook… me… apart!” she could hear anger within the electric screeching. “Nothing… l-l-l-left… Not-t-t-t-t…. a single… thing-g!”

Upon hearing it, she lowered her gun. She looked at him with emotion she herself could not name. Out  of morbid curiosity or honest concern, she asked him:

“I don’t know who did it to you, but they smashed you apart like a prized vase. How are you not hollering in pain?”

“F-f-f-feel… nothing…” he replied. “Ne-never… felt… anything…”

“What?” she asked, shocked at seeing someone suffering from the same ailment which plagued her plastic flesh.

However, he could not reply further, as his speakerbox gave out with a pitiful electric buzz and he became motionless once more. She merely stared at him, the one who not so long ago was but a mere human shaped heap of scrap now became a person. It was truly amazing how much a single conversation could change about one’s perception of another.

He was now silent and nothing could stop her original intent, except… Why is it that she was hesitant again? What exactly was within his words, which resonated with her? The answer was obvious. He was just like her. He felt nothing, even in a state like this. Just like her, he’s been cursed with an unfeeling shell of a body. She looked at him a little longer and then sighed.

Look at her, all hesitating after all that inner monologue about evils of Hell and how much she hated every single one of them, when the right course of action was right in front of her.

She walked up to him and her eyes caught a badge on his shirt. “Victor Anderson” it said. Then she picked Vic up. He was not that heavy, or maybe she was just that strong. However, she did not pick him up to take him apart but to bring him back home with her and see what she could do about fixing him.

“Pleasure to meet you, mister Anderson,” she spoke with a mirthless chuckle. “Name’s Veronica, by the way. Make sure to memorize it, okay? Or else I’ll never forgive ya!”

It was hard to say what exactly compelled her to act this way. Perhaps it was the goodness of her own craven heart. Perhaps this act of selfless kindness was a form of rebellion against the world she inhabited, in which cruelty reigned over the hearts of men. Looking back, only one thing was for certain – that single act of kindness would forever change not only the fates of them both, but the fate of the entire Pentagram.

Pentagram City was a shithole. There was no other way about it. Just look at the streets, where amidst the destroyed apartment complexes and wrecked streets, turf wars raged every day. To wake up to the sounds of gunfire, to anxiously look around yourself in search of foes hiding in plain sight, to fear that one day a single stray angelic bullet could end your very existence, to lick boots of those who held more power than you in vain hope that they’ll spare your wretched life. That was the best you could hope for when you were at the very bottom of the hierarchy. You were dirt. No, even less than that.

She knew that better than anyone. After all, she too was there, at the very bottom of the world. Back then, she was but a simple repairwoman, living from paycheck to paycheck, with benign dreams of becoming a personal seamstress to someone important. She would often gaze at the peaks of skyscrapers, wondering what life would be like there, amidst the overlord and aristocrats of Hell, where Heaven was at its closest to the pit. What it would feel like to be the closest to its warming rays and to gaze at the rest of this kingdom of sin from the point where one could not see all of its grotesque ugliness.

Well, years later she got her answer. It was shit. Complete and utter dogshit from top to bottom.

Turns out, being an overlord meant to fight each and every day for new territory against bloodstarved powerhungry morons, to look every minute over your shoulder expecting a betrayal from those you deemed trustworthy, to work constantly to maximize what you had, because you had bigger than the next guy to be able to protect what you had and doing terrible things to those who did not deserve it for simple reason that choosing kindness would mean to stunt your own growth and letting that next guy one up you and later hold feast over your rotting corpse.

Not to mention that the view from the peak of Pentagram was… disappointing.

There she was, at the peak of some business tower, in a skyview restaurant. On her table her smart phone and a fruity cocktail that was worth more than some sinners’ entire lives. Not a single surrounding building taller than her and yet the light of Heaven was still infinitely distant and cold and the view of the city she once dreamt of rebuilding was just as unsightly as it had been the first time she saw it.

When she was but a wretch she had this thought, or rather a dream, that there was some place in Pentagram where sinners could live. Not survive, but well and truly live without constant fear of death and free of worry about what the next day could hold for them. She thought she could find that place at the peak of the ivory towers of Pentagram and if not she thought that the view they provided would be more than enough to find it.

Well, there she was and the only thing she could see now was the sheer scope of hopelessness which the entirety of sinners faced. There was so much destruction, so much ruin and so much constant bloodshed. What little was untouched by chaos was under control of those like her, cruel and uncaring despots, who saw those under them as nothing but resources to be thrown away into the meat grinder. There was a time when this view gave her nothing but endless frustration and angst. Now, however?

All Velvette could muster was boredom and indifference.

So much has changed since her first day in Hell and yet in the end the core of it all remained the same. You could not change a single thing about Hell. No one could. No matter how many tears were shed, no matter how much effort was put, no matter how much hope you could summon from the souls of those who surrounded you in the end it all remained the same. The city was a vile force that would either break you, kill you and leave your mangled corpse for all to see or make you its citizen.

It took her some time, but now Velvette considered herself to be a proper citizen worthy of Pentagram City. After all, there was only so much time you could allocate to despairing. At the end of the day, all you could realistically do about it all, even as an overlord, was to shrug, accept it and move on with your existence. As it was common to say among lowly wretches and mightiest of overlords:

That’s that and this is this.

Velvette sighed, eyes drifting from the horizon and to her table, more specifically at her drink. The ice has long since melted and yet she still had another few minutes before her scheduled stream. Apparently the owner of this fine establishment contacted Vox a couple of weeks before and they had an agreement for him to advertise this place to the masses. Now, whenever someone would make a deal with Vox about advertisement, it usually meant that it would fall on her shoulders, as she was not only de-facto face of The Vees, but also the CEO of Prime Productions media group, a subsidiary of VoxTek specializing in all things media.

The irony of her, of all people, doing a promotion stream for a restaurant was not lost on her, but it did not matter in the large scheme of things. Not like anyone else besides her and Vox would know about the peculiarities of her condition. You see, her form was that of a doll. Not just a doll-like creature, with actual organs and flesh under the dark porcelain-like flesh, no. An actual doll.

She was hollow inside. She could not breathe. She could not taste. She could not feel hot or cold. She could feel the touch of the other. She could not live. She could only exist.

It was a hellish existence, to say the least, especially her first days of Hell, but she long since adapted to it. She developed a certain love for work, as when she was busy and talking and filing reports and signing orders and yelling at people for messing them up, she was distracted. And whenever she was distracted from the reality of her situation was when she was at her happiest.

She looked at her phone and frowned. Two minutes before the stream. Two long and tortuously empty minutes. It was then when she heard something. A light and feminine groan of pleasure. Now, she was no stranger to all manner of unpleasant sounds – she worker with Valentino, after all, - but this was a fine establishment. Just what manner of an obscene fool would indulge in base pleasure in a place like that?

She turned her head and found her answer. Thankfully, it was not of perverted nature. It was a woman, sitting behind a neighboring table with her back turned to Velvette. She was eating… a vanilla ice cream with a teaspoon and each time she ate a scoop she would make an annoying sound of happiness and pleasure. Usually, Velvette would just scoff at that with disgust, but there was something completely unusual about that woman.

Her long hair was white as the first snow, she wore a rather modest fully-covering black dress and on her shoulders there was a feathery shawl. Now, Velvette could not see her face, but from her outfit and the way she was sitting and moving she could easily tell that she was beautiful. A smirk came up to her face. Maybe, she’d be beautiful enough to become a new model under Velvette’s tutelage. With that new distraction, Velvette stood up and approached the mysterious beauty.

“Well, what do we have here?” she said, as she finally got a look at her face. It was… perfect. Far too perfect to belong to a sinner. Pristine pale skin, delicate lips and… ah, there it is. This little imperfection, unique and belonging to her and her alone. Her eyes, they were black. Not like the eyes of those cannibals, they were not completely dark. Instead, they appeared as if someone drew two perfect black circles on two completely white orbs and shoved into her eye sockets. Not the most unpleasant thing to see on someone’s face, but coupled with the rest of her face it made her look strangely unnerving.

Still, Velvette could work with that.

“Pardon me?” replied the mysterious beauty with a charmingly innocent smile. “Have we met before?”

“Well, considering that your pretty face is not on the faces of the best magazines of Pentagram, we have not, darling,” with a smile and arrogance worthy of a Hollywood superstar, she produced a business card from her pockets and extended it to the charming lady. “Name’s Velvette. The hottest overlord on this side of Hell, The face of the Vees and your ticket to the runway and the subsequent life of luxury.”

Without saying a word, the lady accepted her card. She grabbed the other part of it and in that moment, the tips of their fingers met, and then… Velvette froze. The tip of her finger, it was cold. She felt it. She felt her touch. To anyone else, it would’ve been a small and insignificant thing, but to Velvette? Imagine, after seventy long and maddening years of thirst in a searing desert under the contemptuous gaze of the sun you were to finally quench it, by falling into the fathomless depths of the dark raging sea. It was overwhelming, crushing, intense. This simple sensation of her cold hands, to Velvette it was akin to reaching Heaven.

“What… how are you…?” Velvette could only utter through her stupor, her earlier confidence gone, replaced by sheer awe and shock.

“Ah, I see,” replied the pale beauty, as she broke their contact, by taking the business card from her. “I believe I heard of you, Miss Velvette. Although, I must say,” suddenly her once innocent smile gained something more predatory, “the rumors truly do not do justice to your captivating loveliness,” she giggled and the sound was like a melody. “Please, call me Sammy. I wish we could talk for a little longer, but it seems both of us have things to take care of.”

It was then when Velvette finally noticed that her phone was going off for some reason. She looked at it and there have been missed calls, tens of messages and the fact that she was ten minutes late. Just how long has she been staring at Sammy!?

“Shit!” she cursed, and started to answer many messages from a variety of people. When she looked back at Sammy, she was already gone and Velvette was once again alone with this suffocation numbness. Only now within her heart has been born a deep and endless longing for her touch. The stream would start, she would promote this restaurant and would later back to her home at VoxTek tower, but the seeds of longing planted within her heart would only blossom and the desperate yearning would burn her empty hollow chest.

Until they meet again, at least.

Vox was not having a good day. No, scratch that. He was not having a good week. Actually, no. It wasn’t just  “not good”, it was as bad as it was physically possible.  First, his original plan went to shit. He wanted to unite all of Pentagram by rallying its sinners against Heaven, by using the princess’ little accomplishment as a proof of what they could achieve. Now, that idea was simply impossible to make into reality. Ever since that lone angel paralyzed entirety of Pentagram City and nuked Cannibal Town, the sinners suddenly lost all their fangs.

Now, despite the fact the plan was dead before it could properly start, Vox was not too worried about that. He had back up plans for a reason and the failure of plan A just meant that he had to move to plan B. Nothing serious, really. No, the real shitshow started a few days back when his scouts sent him a highly concerning message:

Tyrants were on the move.

Pentagram City was not the only place in Hell where sinners thrived. No, there were other regions, some as large as actual countries. Unlike Pentagram, each of these regions was controlled not by multiple overlords constantly bickering and fighting for power, but by a single figure – The Tyrant. Now, while he and the overlords of Pentagram were by no means weak, a single Tyrant possessed as much and oftentimes more souls than all of them combined. Not to mention all the arcane might, firepower and sheer numbers they had under their disposable. All it would take for Pentagram to lose its independence was for a single Tyrant to take interest in them.

Now there was several of them were either sending their best into Pentagram or coming here in person:

Lady Dushe of Avicii Naraka with her bodyguard and her delegation of shadows, Consigliere of Montagna dei Santi Piangenti accompanied by a single capo and few squads worth of soldatos, Maestro of Magenta Valley along with his gallery of living artwork, an Executioner of Clockwork City, a Saint and four paladins of Aeonian Cathedral.

These were some very powerful people, but they were not armies. For there would be no war between tyrants. After all, the exterminations were back on track and senseless war would just be a net loss for everyone involved. They would come here, have their moot regarding Lord Exorcist’s death and then they would part ways. But before doing that, each of them would pick an overlord of their liking to wage a war in their stead. What will happen in Pentagram after that would be a short, but bloody proxy conflict, by the end of which it would turn into a puppet state for one of the Tyrants.

Vox has spent these last few days in frantic planning. If he were a less ambitious man, he would’ve simply chosen a Tyrant of his liking and stuck to their side to come out of the nearing conflict alive. But no, he could not do that. Pentagram City had to be his and his alone. For these Tyrants to come here and install their own brutal regime would mean to render all he has accomplished meaningless and he simply could not live with that.

He’d fight for Pentagram and for her sinners. Not out of the goodness of his own heart, but because they were his by right. He has done simply too much to just give them away to some mad power hungry bastards to pick apart. By the end of it all, he’d either be the new Tyrant of Pentagram City or dead in the ground.

Vox sat behind his table in his personal suite in VoxTek tower. Around him on the table were various papers with graphs, reports and predictions, on the wall in front of him there were numerous photographs of people of interest. He kept scribbling away, drafting and discarding plan after plan. It was somewhere after midnight and he still was in his work clothes. He did not need rest, he needed to have a solid course of actions. He kept writing and thinking and planning and scheming and then… His eyes caught a photograph on his wall. It was that of the princess, taken by paparazzi shortly after her victory at the hotel. He paused and stared at it.

…

…

…yes. Yes, that could work. No, fuck that! That will definitely work! He made miracles with less before, so this will be a piece of cake by comparison!

A manic smile appeared on his face, he returned his gaze to the paper in front of him and he just threw it away and started drafting from the start again. But this time, he did so not out of desperation, but with drive and purpose. It was then when his sensors picked up a faint sound from the other side of the door. Footsteps, making their way to his suite. Judging by the weight, it was Velvette and taking into account the frequency of her steps, she was hesitant. Perhaps worried.

There was a few knocks on his door,

“Come in!” he yelled, without taking his eyes off the table.

The door creaked, she walked in and closed it behind her. She did not come by loudly announcing it or by screeching about her recent problem. That was odd. There was few minutes of silence and then:

“Hey…” she said with something heavy in her voice. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved her off. “Just give me an hour or so.”

“Victor,” she called out to him, making him stop. It was then when he finally recognized what that something that was within her voice. It was the desire for vulnerability. “We… I need to talk. With you. Please…”

He looked at her and his suspicions were confirmed. He sighed. “Just give me a minute,” he said.

“Thank you.”

A minute later, she laid bare on his bed and while he just finished undressing. There they were, completely naked. They both were overlord, so there were several depictions of this exact scene within the web and within more traditional mediums of pornographic magazines. However, what artisans of Hell always failed to take into account was the fact that he was a robot and she was a doll. Neither of them had reproductive organs.

Vox sat on the center of his king sized bed and Velvette crawled up to him. She sat on his lap and placed her head on his shoulder, her porcelain legs interlocking behind his back. He in turn wrapped his cold metal hands around her bare form. She made a tired and needy sigh, the meaning of which he memorized long, long time ago.

He began to run his fingers through her hair and she made another sigh, this time much more content. Despite the sheer intimacy, Vox did not view this act of closeness as anything worth getting heated over. On the contrary, this close and gentle act was but a mere chore to him. Something that he used to do for her, whenever she needed it. A small payment for her loyalty. Favor for favor, so to speak.

But for Velvette what was happening right now was the closest she could ever experience to actual intimacy and love. Vox… No, Victor. She could not say for certain that she loved him for the sole reason that he already gave his heart to someone else long before they ever meant. How could she ever love him, if he would never love her? Still, she cared about him. She cherished him more than anyone in her life and if he were to disappear from it, like many of others before, she could say for sure that she’ll be able to move on like she did in the past.

“Velvette…?” he asked her.

She did not answer.

“…Vera?”

“Yes?” she answered

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?” she whispered, as he kept playing with her hair just the way she liked.

“Why did you have a need to talk with me?”

She was silent, for a moment, trying her best to think of a proper lie, but then she remembered that lying to him, when they were Victor and Veronica and not Vox and Velvette would be… wrong.

“I met someone today. Someone that could touch me and someone whom I could feel being touched by.”

“Oh?” he replied.

“Yeah.”

“Was that someone trustworthy?”

She recalled Sammy’s dark and unnerving eyes, how they twinkled with what was between malice and adoration when their fingers touched.

“…No,” she said.

“Are you planning to meet them again?” he inquired without judgment.

“…yes.”

“Alright,” he said, already resigned to her decision. “I cannot stop you from pursuing someone like that, but I do beg of you to be careful. You are irreplaceable, Vera.”

A lie. Pure and unfiltered falsehood. Both of them knew it clearly, yet she still chose to believe him, just as she did a thousand times before.

“I can’t promise anything, Vic. You know that,” she finally answered, to which he only sighed. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he asked innocently.

“You’ve been acting like a madman these past few days, Vic. It’s like I’m seeing you planning to destroy the Trifecta all over again.”

“Worry not,” he soothed her. “I have found some… clarity not too long ago. Soon something big is going to happen, but you and I will be more than ready to meet it head on.”

“I am not worried about that,” she replied. “It’s just…” the view of the city flashed before her eyes. “Do you think… do you think we’ll finally be able to do something meaningful this time?”

He was silent for what felt like an hour, it seems like her question really took him by surprise. But when he finally arrived to an answer it was curt and to the point:

“Of course.”

And that was the last word spoken between them that night. The rest of it was spent in comfortable silence, where she had the rare moment when she could finally feel somewhat alive and he simply performed what he viewed as his duty. Once the morning would come, they would leave this room as Vox and Velvette, The Brain and The Face of The Voxtek, but until then they were just Victor and Veronica, two lost souls embraced in a rare moment of vulnerability.

Chapter Text

Charlie liked to think of the sinners under her care as her family. Perhaps it was silly in some aspect, but just couldn’t help herself. Perhaps, that sentiment was born out of the fact that she had a rather lonely childhood and adolescence. In a sense, the patrons in the hotel, along with her girlfriend Vaggie, were the closest thing she ever had to actual friends that liked to be around her for her and not for her title. Thus, she treasured them all dearly and that included Niffty.

Ever since they met the new her couple of days ago, everything felt like a fever dream. Gone was their beloved gremlin with obsession of cleanliness and bug-killing. In her place arrived a woman whom she could only describe as a picture perfect example of a maid. She was quiet, did her job with no complaint and carried herself with poised and dignity that days before would’ve been unthinkable to her.

Still, when they met her again and she told them that she regained her sanity, they welcomed her with open arms, as in their eyes sane Niffty was still their friend and dearest companion. Then there was a barrage of questions aimed at Caleb, their new guest, as he was the first to find Niffty in her new condition. The barrage was coming mostly from Vaggie, as she was the most suspicious of their new guest. Strangely enough, Alastor was completely silent, but his smile appeared more strained.

After that ordeal was said and done, they settled into their usual routine. They would do their usual trust exercises, talk, have dinner together and just have a generally pleasant time. Except, something has changed about it. Someone was missing from the usual shenanigans, someone small and full of energy and the absence of her manic laughter was strangely… unpleasant.

For some reason, Niffty seemed to try her hardest to avoid interacting with anyone at the hotel. She would perform her duties – cook, clean and maintain general sense of order, but whenever Charlie would try to invite her to their activities she would always have an excuse ready. Be it her, Angel Dust or Cherri Bomb, she would avoid everyone, with two exceptions:

Caleb, their new and silent guest, and Husk, their bartender.

In retrospect, it was obvious why she was willing to talk and interact with Husk. After all, both of them were part of that hotel not out of their own volition, but because Alastor forced them to be here. They were companions in misery in a way. Sometimes she would hear how Niffty would chastise Husk for drinking too much, much like an overbearing mother or a sister, to which the bartender would answer with either a jest or a sarcastic remark, depending on how he was feeling on that particular day. Other times, Niffty would bring Husk something to munch on from the kitchen and they would talk about mundane things. It was heartwarming, really.

Then there was Niffty’s interactions with Caleb. Despite both of them knowing each other only for a couple of days, it seems like the tall skeleton was practically glued to bug maid. He would often help her with various chores and whenever the maid was free from her work, Charlie and other guests at the hotel would find both of them in the hotel’s library, discussing things that were a complete mystery to all but them. What was the strangest about that was the fact that Caleb would be nearly completely silent with every other guest and rarely, if ever willingly participate in group activities.

While she was happy that Niffty was not alone and that their new guest actually had someone to talk to, it pained her to see them so… removed from everyone else. After all that they went through, she thought that Niffty would have some sort interest in other sinners and Caleb, she expected him to be more involved in hotel’s life, considering he came here for betterment, but for some reason both of were intent on staying as far away from everyone else as it was humanly possible. If only she had an opportunity to properly involve them in something that would show them how much everyone valued them!

Then, on one particular morning, she got exactly that.

She woke early and just didn't have the heart to wake up Vaggie from her well-deserved rest. She just looked so cute, when she was relaxed! So, she decided to let her girlfriend sleep for a few hours more, while she got everything at the hotel in order. She did her morning procedures and went to the kitchen to grab something to bite before facing the long day ahead of her. But before she could enter it, she heard two familiar voices from within:

“…I just think you are already doing way too much, Niffty. Do you have to do that too?” that was Caleb.

“Well, the alternative is going to… the manager,” replied the maid and there was a certain unease in the way she referred to the ‘manager’. Charlie frowned. Was she talking about Alastor? If so, just what did the radio host manage to do to unnerve someone who used to adore him so much?

“Point taken,” conceded Caleb. “You know, you can just hand me the list and I’ll handle the rest, right?”

“You already do too much for me, Caleb. I can’t just keep using you like you’re my personal aide.”

“You say it like you are making me scrub the entire hotel every day,” he jested.

“Well, I might have to, if you keep trying to stop me from doing my work, mister!” she chastised back, albeit with no real bite.

It was then when Charlie decided to make herself known. She walked into the kitchen and greeted them with her cheerful and full of merry:

“Hey, guys, whatcha doing?”

Niffty, who was moments prior stirring something within the bowl in her hands, stiffened and straightened her back, while Caleb, who was cutting fruits, simply turned his head at her and became motionless. “Your highness,” greeted the maid, her voice now cold and professional. “We are making breakfast.”

“No, I mean what were you talking about?” she asked innocently. “Oh, and you don’t have to call me ‘You Highness’, Niffty. I already told you to call me Charlie, remember?”

“While I do appreciate the thought behind your request, princess, I cannot abide by it,” replied Niffty in a tone one would reserve for little kids. “I am a maid and you are a royalty. To address you by your name would be a gross violation of propriety.”

“C’mon, Niff~,” replied Charlie playfully” We went through so much together, I think you more than earned the right to-…”

“No, I did not!” suddenly barked Niffty, her once calm and cold voice now overflowing with frustration and Charlie took a step back. “The one to whom you refer is not me! She never was me! She was just a sick caricature of me! Even if we share the name, I refuse to be anything like that mad manic idiot! So, please just stop…!”

She suddenly stopped when she finally noticed the hurt and scared look the princess was giving her. Niffty’s morphed through a variety of emotions in that moment, until it finally settled on the look of professionalism. She bowed to Charlie and said:

“My sincerest apologies, your highness. My frustrations with my past self got the better of me and I lashed out at you like a raving lunatic.”

“No, no,” Charlie shook her head, apologetically. “I am the one who should be apologizing. Niffty, I had no idea that the old you was so… unpleasant to you. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have brought her up.”

“It’s…” Niffty struggled to pick the right word, as if she had no desire to accept her apology. “It doesn’t matter. I apologize for my audacity, but I think it would be best for both of us if we just forget this incident even happened.”

What followed was a long and heavy silence, during which one party struggled to find the correct words, while the second desperately hoped for the other to leave her alone. Unexpectedly for both of them, a third voice cut through the quiet:

“We were talking about going shopping,” Caleb’s voice was low and even, as if he did not just witness their earlier conversation.

“You were?” asked Charlie, surprised to see the skeletal swordsman initiate the conversation.

“Yes, we are running low on supplies,” stated Caleb in a matter of fact. “Niffty wanted to go alone. I objected and offered to go in her stead. She refused and threatened me with unpaid labor.”

“Only because you are already doing more than enough around the hotel, Caleb!” huffed Niffty with a pout. In that moment, despite Caleb’s complete and total lack of any facial features, she could swear that he somehow managed to smirk at her. Unfortunately, before they could engage in further banter, Charlie interrupted them.

“Why don’t we all go together?” offered the princess.

“Huh?” asked Niffty.

“I mean, let’s get the gang together and make it a group activity! Everyone’s been spending way too much time inside lately, so I bet everyone would be more than happy to join us! Besides, malls are perfect places to satisfy the base desire of all human beings to mingle with other humans! It’ll be fun!”

“It will be more efficient with many more hands to carry the grocery bags,” remarked Caleb.

“I don’t know,” replied Niffty, unsure. “I do not wish to burden others with my workload.”

“Niffty,” suddenly spoke princess with utmost seriousness. “I know the past two day have been alienating and anxious to you and I want you to know that you are not alone in this. I… we, every single person at the hotel, are here for you. I know there’s a lot we do not about you, the new you, so please allow us to remedy this by accompanying you! You will not regret it, I swear!”

The bug maid gave her an uncertain look, while Charlie was giving her warmest and sincerest smile. Niffty then gave a quick side-look to Caleb, who gave a small barely noticeable shrug. Niffty soon relented with a heavy sigh:

“Very well, your highness. Even though I fail to see what merit my word has in your decision, you have my blessing in joining me in this venture.”

Hopefully, Niffty prayed she won’t have to regret it.

When they left the hotel, they decided to travel by foot. The walk was not a long one, so she initially saw no trouble with it. Everyone except Alastor has joined her, Caleb and princess, as the later so accurately predicted. Their group was pretty large and from what little she remembered they had a bit of a reputation, so that guaranteed them a relatively calm walk through the city. But there was one thing Niffty completely forgot to take into account:

Even at its most peaceful, Hell was still Hell.

The walk through the streets was a haunting ordeal. Destroyed buildings left and right, the strong smell of fumes within the air, ash carried by winds from distant fires, homeless junkies laying passed out on the sidewalks, old and rusted cars speeding left and right with no consideration for their own safety, sinners walking and standing around with their weapons full on display and occasional corpse here and there. It felt less like a city and more like an aftermath of a warzone. And the looks, the disdain in the eyes of those who lived there, this endless hatred and exhaustion and contempt. It was like you were not even human in their eyes, but a rabid animal that was moments away from chomping on someone’s neck. It was horrible.

What was truly horrifying was just how… casual everyone seemed with this. Like she was the only one seeing all of this. She looked around, at her fellows, and Angel Dust and Cherri were engrossed in some conversation, Husk was drinking from his flask, Charlie was excitedly rambling to Vaggie who was listening with a small smile and Caleb was unreadable.

They passed an alley between two buildings and did so in a matter of seconds, none of her companions paid attention to it, but she did. She only caught a single glimpse of it, but it was more than enough. A bloated, rotting corpse. Maggots were nesting within its open belly and its head was pale and shined like it was covered in oil. In eyes and mouth were jammed syringes, tens of them. All empty. She saw it only for a second, but….

No one else did. Was she mad? Was her mind still sick and twisted and her soul cursed? Why was no one else seeing this? Why were they all so okay with this? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Suddenly, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. It belonged to Caleb. He said no word and made no expression, but she understood what he meant at the first glance:

‘I hate it here too.’

Then, they both heard another voice:

“Well, here we are!” announced Charlie with excitement, as Hazbin crew minus Alastor stood in the parking lot full of various cars. “Pentagram City Grand Mall!”

Niffty looked at the mall in question and had to admit that her highness’ excitement was more than warranted. The building was indeed massive and unlike everything else in Hell it did not look completely ruined. Its design was slick and minimalistic, outers walls all black like obsidian with rare neon blue highlights here and there.

“Really?” asked Husk, confused. “We are coming here of all places? I know Vox rebuild this shithole from the ground up to something decent, but are we all really okay with going in there?”

“What are you talking about, Husk?” asked Vaggie, annoyed.

“Shit, none of you know?” answered with a question Husk of his own. He gave everyone here a scathing look. “Really? Okay, I should’ve seen it coming from Miss Sunshine and Vaggie over there. Caleb is not from here and Niffty is still recovering so they have an excuse, but you two?” he asked Cherri and Angel Dust. “I expected better of you.”

“The fuck you mean, pussycat?” shot back Cherri. “When I came here they just started building the place. I have no clue what was here before.”

“And I…” Angel Dust coughed. “Well, I haven't always been living here, you know? But what was even in here to make you so worried, Husker?”

“Prison,” replied Caleb instead. “There was a prison. Although, most saw it as a warehouse.”

“What do you mean, Caleb?” inquired Niffty.

“Trifecta, the company that was here before VoxTek, used to own a prison where they would keep misbehaving or inadequate employees for a variety of reasons,” answered Husk instead. “It was a nasty place, probably the shittiest place in Pentagram one could end up in. The fact they burned it down during the Energy Wars is one of the few good things that came out of that mess!”

“Oh, come on, pussycat!” guffawed Cherri. “Are you really gonna be scared of some ghost stories about the dark scary mall?”

“Cherri, be nice,” chastised Charlie to which the bomber just rolled her eye. Charlie clapped her hands and said. “Alright, gang! Let’s do it!”

The list of groceries was quite large, so they decided to split into small groups to complete it faster. Because Charlie wanted to be a group activity, she decided that it would be the best if group would be composed of sinners that usually did not interact together. Group one was made of Angel Dust and Caleb, group two included Cherri and Husker and the final group was made up of Niffty, Vaggie and her.

Cherri was the one pushing the cart and even if the maid did her best to remain poised and distant it was easy to see the sheer wonder with which she looked at the amount of goods displayed on the shelves. She died before malls became a thing in America and to see her react to the norm of the current age as if it was something from futuristic utopia was… cute.

That was when Charlie decided to talk to her:

“So, Niffty, what do you think?”

“Well,” she whipped out the list, “We are almost halfway done. If we continue at the same rate and if our fellows match our speed, we shall be done in about fifteen minutes, ma’am.”

“She meant what you think of the supermarket, Nif,” clarified Vaggie.

“Oh. Well, it certainly lives up to its name,” answered curtly the maid.

“You know, I’ve always been curious,” said Charlie, “what it was like to shop groceries back in your time?”

“It was rather simple,” answered the maid. “I would go to the shop specializing in whatever I needed to buy and just purchase it. Some shops would offer deliveries, though.”

“Sounds interesting,” remarked Charlie.

“It really wasn’t.”

‘Oh come on!’ groaned internally Vaggie. ‘She’s trying to be nice here.’

“So, Niffty?” asked Charlie.

“Yes?”

“I noticed that you seem to be very natural at your role. I mean, we had some butlers and maids at the family estate back when I was just a kid, but they were never as good as you. Like, you manage to keep the whole hotel clean by yourself! Were you a professional maid in the past?”

“No, I was not, your highness,” answered Niffty. “As a matter of fact, I wished to be a teacher, but I never got the chance. My destiny was to be a housewife.”

“You don’t sound pleased about it,” noticed Charlie.

“Indeed.”

There were another few moments of silence.

“Was that…?” Charlie tried to continue the conversation, but Niffty quickly interrupted her.

“I’m sorry, your highness, but what is the reason behind this interrogation regarding my past?”

“Nif, she’s not interrogating you,” Vaggie finally decided to get involved, although she kept her tone mostly even. “She’s just trying to be nice.”

“Truly? And what might be the reason behind that?”

“Well,” Charlie cleared her throat. “It’s just… I care about you, Niffty. I want to be your friend.”

Niffty stopped and turned at Charlie, there was something in her gaze. Frustration, disbelief, annoyance, all covered in thick membrane of professional courtesy. Her hand was ever so slightly trembling. Niffty closed her eye, sighed and her hand became still. She opened her eye and asked Charlie:

“Do you mean that? Do you truly want to befriend me because you care for me, Ms. Morningstar?”

Her next came straight from her heart.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Then answer some questions of mine,” declared Niffty. “Do you care for everyone at the hotel the same way you care for me?”

“Yes, you guys like a family to me.”

“Does that idealized image of a found family include Alastor, Ms. Morningstar?”

That question took her completely off guard.

“Wait, I-…”

“The man who is known to all as ‘Radio Demon’,” continued Niffty. “The man who is a cannibalistic serial killer. Not once has he claimed to feel regret over his actions. Out of everyone in the hotel, he might be the one deserving Hell the most. Not only that, but he is an overlord. He has souls under his control, Ms. Morningstar, actual human souls. We are slaves to his will. Husk and I never came to your hotel because we wanted to be part of your dream or your found family or whatever you imagine us to be. We were slaves to a serial killer, yet not once have you taken an issue with that,” anger and resentment seeped into the maid’s calm voice. “Even if my own memory is still foggy, I learned more than enough from my talks with Husk. You never cared for either of us. You never once took issue with my insanity or with Husk’s alcoholism. No, you made him a bartender, for Christ’s sake! And after I finally can see the world clearly, you have the gall to try and continue this charade?! Do you realize just how awful it is!? I…!”

Niffty closed her mouth and breathed in, while Charlie and Vaggie stood completely silent and shocked, neither having a faintest idea of how to defend themselves from maid’s truthful accusations. Niffty breathed out, opened her eye and Charlie could see that cold professionalism settled back in. She spoke:

“I’ve said too much again,” she sighed. “I will work as the maid in your hotel. I will do my duties. I will abide by your words for you are the princess of this hellish land, but… but don’t ask me to be more. I don’t want to be your friend, princess, so please just let me remain your servant. Now let’s finish this. Others must be already waiting for us.”

Angel Dust liked to mess with people. It was just so fun to flaunt his own beauty in the face of others and see them fluster, not to mention the joy of a well fought battle of wits. However, as he and Caleb walked through the aisles of the supermarket, Angel Dust found himself almost completely silent. The reason?

Caleb’s complete and utter lack of reaction to Angel Dust’s antics. Whenever the spider demon would try to tease and joke around the skeleton, the latter would just give one long and uncomfortable stare that would quickly silence the former. So they would just go around and collect what was on the list.

But Angel Dust couldn’t bear the silence. It was heavy, it was dreadful and worst of all – it was boring. So in an act of desperation, he tried to resort to the thing he disliked the most:

Smalltalk.

“So…” said Angel Dust, catching Caleb’s attention. “You are not from Pentagram, right?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been in Pentagram?”

“A week or so,” replied Caleb.

“Where are you from anyway?” asked Angel Dust, silently praying that he wouldn’t name the place he ran away from. That horrid mountain of eternally weeping stone saints.

“Outskirts of Pride.”

“Huh,” said Angel Dust, and then it hit him. “Wait, for real? The Outskirts?”

“Yes, what’s about it?”

“Are they even inhabitable? I only heard of them from… well, my old acquaintance. He told me that nothing could survive out there, except the horrors and the abominations.”

“Being a sinner does not disqualify one from belonging to either of those,” noted Caleb.

“And to which of those do you belong?”

“None,” he replied. “I am just a wanderer. The words of your acquaintance are true, however that does not stop sinners from living and in some cases thriving in The Outskirts. You just have to know what you are doing and respect the rules of the land. Although that can be said about any place in Creation.”

“But what if the rules of the land are… tyrannical and completely unfair?”

“The land does not make tyrannical rules,” rebuked Caleb. “Tyranny is a product of man and beast. Although, the land can and almost always is brutal.”

“But isn’t it, like, uh…” Angel Dust paused to collect his words, then he spoke again. “What are you even supposed to do when you live under tyranny?”

“Well, if the rule of man is indeed tyrannical, one in power is fated to face the boiling discontent of the masses in one way or the other. Most of the time in the form of rebellion or revolt.”

“But what if it never gets to that point?” asked Angel Dust. “I mean, what if the rule is so powerful and all encompassing, that even despite all the fucked shit the man in power does none ever treats the way it is? Like, everyone is just so used to it and so accustomed to it that they just look at you like you are mad whenever you point out just how messed all of that shit is?”

“Hmmm,” Caleb looked at him. “Sounds to me like you are speaking from experience. So what did you do when faced with such adversities?”

“I…” Angel Dust’s eyes widened in surprise, as memories of the past assailed his mind. His hand shook, but he quickly steadied himself. He lowered his eyes and answered with a quiet sense of defeat. “I ran away. Although…”

A memory flashed before his eyes:

The suitcase felt heavy in his hands and the weight within his heart threatened to crush him whole. He was frozen, much like one of the statues of their home. In front of him stood a man… No, a living monument to the violence and the rule of their home. He was taller than anyone else he knew. On his body was a fine red suit and on his head a stone mask, resembling the head of the statue depicting the likeness of a young war hero. There were two swords on his person. One on his hip, hidden in a gold-decorated scabbard. The other on his back, locked within a scabbard of black steel.

He addressed him:

“Where are you going, Tony?”

“…it felt more like I was allowed to go.”

“I see,” was all that Caleb could answer. Then he thought about it for a minute and added. “I… too have some experience with living on the run.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

In fact, he spent the last decade before the deluge swallowed the earth whole and the wrathful tempest split the skies on the run from Samyaza and her empire of cruelty. He still remembered well the long sleepless nights in the woods, when every little sound echoed with malicious intent and his own paranoia almost drove him to madness.

“And how did that play out for ya?” asked Angel Dust.

“I drowned. Then I woke up here. After that, well…” Cain stopped himself before more painful memories could resurface. His usually senseless body ached with the pain of hellfire, how it burned away his horrid flesh until only his charred bones remained. “I’d rather leave it out for another day.”

“Alright, man, no pressure,” replied Angel Dust. It was hard for sinners to speak of their first day in Hell and even harder to remember how they died. To this day Anthony would sometimes wake up in a cold sweat, clutching his chest where the bullet pierced his heart and he would then lay in as pain electrified his every breath.

On that sour and unpleasant note, their conversation came to an end and for the remainder of their shopping trip they would not exchange a single word.

They left the hotel with high spirits, eager to get out and do something productive outside. They returned silent and with heavy hearts. The majority of the group sensed how heavy was the air between Charlie, Vaggie and Niffty. Thankfully, everyone was wise enough to keep away from that mess. When they came back, everyone left the plastic bags full of various foods and products in the kitchen and promptly left for their own corner of the hotel.

‘So much for the found family,’ thought to herself Niffty.

The only one who offered to help was Caleb, but she had to shoo him away. He has already done more than enough for her. Besides, it would be best for her to be alone to face what was coming. She was sorting out the bags when it started. The pale electric light above her head flickered and shadows around her began to darken and take shape.

Suddenly, eyes began to appear within them. They glowed with hunger, malice and sadistic joy at what was about to unfold. She regarded them with a flat and almost bored expression, but at the same she could barely keep her hand from shaking. It took a lot of effort, but she simply refused to let them see her cowering with fear. She will not give that bastard the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

She heard no footsteps before his arrival, but she felt him being there. The phantom pain around her neck became worse. It was like he just appeared in the room out of nowhere. Another one of his intimidation tactics. She did not turn to face him until he announced his presence properly:

“My, oh my!” she heard his jolly voice through radio static. “What has gotten you into such a foul mood, my dear?”

She turned and there he was. The man who held her soul within her grasp and the one she feared encountering alone the most – Alastor, The Radio Demon and his damn bloodthirsty smile. She greeted with a neutral expression and a polite bow, while keeping her gaze down away from his visage:

“Greetings, sir. How can I help you?”

“Oh don’t be so cold, my dear. We used to be on a first name basis, remember?”

“I do, sir. However, that would be inappropriate given my current self.”

“Ah, yes! You are now a completely different person. I must say, darling, plenty of people would give a fortune to be in your place right now,” remarked Alastor. “Although I admit, I will miss that wonderfully twisted mind of yours.”

‘Of course you would, you sick subhuman piece of shit,’ thought bitterly Niffty, as she tried to reign in the urge to scream. She had to keep it together to come out of this on top. Alastor did not come here for a wellness check, he wanted to learn just what made her change into someone else entirely. So she answered how it was:

“I can’t really say what caused it, sir,” she said. “One minute I was madly stabbing at insects and the next I just... changed.”

“Well, I suppose it was a fool’s errand for me to get to the bottom of things through you. After all, your mind and spirit are still shaken from realities of Hell. Perhaps a conversation with our newly sheltered stray would yield a better result. After all, he was the one to find you first.”

There was a clear promise of unspeakable violence hidden behind the velveteen words. That made her break her façade. She looked up, her face displaying clear concern and fear for her new friend. Big mistake.

“Wait, sir! He has not done anything…!”

Then she immediately shut up, for Alastor was standing right in front of her. His smile full of razor sharp teeth and his eyes shining with sickening red. Despite all that, his voice still remained soothing and sweet.

“Well, then who do I need to disturb to find mine answers, dear?”

“I…” she stammered, panic clear in her voice. “I… I only saw a pale shadow, sir! It had a smile full of malice and… and gentleness! Sir, this is all I remember, I swear!”

There were a few more moments of silence and then… Alastor’s demonic form began to recede.

“Very well. I shall leave your dear fellow alone for now. However we still have another thing I wished to discuss with you, Niffty. I have observed you and our dear hotel patrons on your little outing and while I do appreciate the flattering words you used to describe me, I must make something crystal clear…”

Suddenly the phantom pain around her neck became unbearably real, as chains and collar of bright green appeared on her person. They tightened, making her wheeze in agony as oxygen left her burning lungs. Before her face was once again the visage of The Radio Demon in all of his unholy glory. He spoke:

“Your soul belongs to me. You sold it to me with your own two hands. You are mine property and I shall not tolerate your attempts to break our contract. If I as much as catch a whisper of you acting against my orders, I will kill your lanky skeletal friend before you and then I will broadcast your screams for all to hear. Am I making myself clear?”

She wheezed something unintelligible.

“I can’t hear you~!”

“Yes… yes, sir…”

“Wonderful!” he said and the chains disappeared. Niffty fell to the floor, coughing and with a teary eye. “Now be a dear and clean the kitchen. After all, we have people to feed.”

With those words he left her alone, humming a cheery tune, while she remained on the ground. The pain around her neck was still there, still suffocating, still unbearable. Despair set within her soul and she once again was faced with the cruel reality of her situation. Her body could not stop shaking and then a sob escaped her lips. Then another. Then a third.

Then she wept alone on the kitchen floor and covered her face with shaking hands. In that moment, more than anything else in the world she desired to be free. Unfortunately, she was a sinner and there was no salvation for her wretched kind and no matter how hard Charlie tried to delude everyone otherwise nothing would ever change that.

At least, that’s what everyone thought and only time would tell if they were right to think that way.

Chapter Text

She spent the beginning of the next in the comfort of her own room, while Vaggie took upon herself her duties. She laid on her bed, a complete and utter mess both inside and out. Her eyes felt heavy and at the same time, she wished to scream and cry and weep. Yesterday’s talk with Niffty was demoralizing, but it was merely a straw that broke the camel’s back.

She was so tired. Her parents’ prior history, their messy and hurtful fight, the fact that her mother spent the last seven years with the man who tried to kill her, the fact that she was just now beginning to realize how much damage she’s done with her ignorance and naivety. It was all too much.

Even her own dream, the idea of redemption, seemed hollow right now, despite the fact that she now had proof that she was doing the right thing. At least, that’s how it seemed at the time. The talk with Niffty recontextualized a lot of what once seemed writ in stone. She never really helped Pentious. Not in the way that mattered. All she ever offered to him were childish songs and crayon drawings. A shallow dream for which he died and was reborn an angel, yet could she really claim it as her doing?

Archangels above believed that yes, she was. Not too long ago, so did she herself, but Niffty broke that delusion. How could she claim such a miracle as her own doing, when she could not even see the suffering of those that were right under her nose?

She had no answer to that question. She had no will to seek it. So she chose to rot and stagnate. Unfortunately for her, the world demanded adaptation and so she heard the ringing of her phone. It continued to do so for five minutes and then quiet. Charlie almost sighed, when she heard her own spark with energy. It’s screen flashed through hundreds of images in a span of a single second and then:

“…Hello?” came a voice from the wall of static noise. “Princess, can you hear me?”

“…” she did not reply, hoping that the strange and somewhat familiar voice would cease on its own.

“God damn it, I know you can hear me!” said the voice. “Just speak to me! You care about us, sinner, don’t you? Well, the fate of everyone in Pentagram hinges on this conversation! If you continue this silent game, a week or two later the streets will be red with blood.”

“…who are you?” she finally managed to ask.

“Really?” asked the voice on the other side with disbelief. “You don’t recognize me? Please, don’t tell me that deerfucker infected you with his Luddite philosophy!”

That rang a bell.

“Vox?”

“The one and only!” said the voice with a hearty laugh.

“What do you need from me?” she asked, picking her phone from the bedside table.

“Simple, one honest talk.”

“Well, you have me now,” she remarked.

“Don’t play coy, your highness. It doesn’t suit you. My network may be the best there is, but it ain’t perfect. I want to talk with you in person. That way we’ll have less privy ears around.”

“Then why won’t you come here?” she asked with irritation.

“Because, your majesty, you have that deerfucker Alastor living under your roof. I will be honest and say how it is. Neither of us will be able to stand more than five minutes in each other’s presence. If I come to your little hotel, I’ll be leaving it covered in deer blood and we don’t want that, do we?”

“How can I know you won’t lead me into a trap?” she asked, memory still fresh with his last attempt of infiltrating the hotel through Pentious.

“We can meet on neutral grounds,” he proposed. “There’s a spot in the southern segment of the city, near the power station. That quadrant belongs to no overlord. Long story short, any form of fighting is prohibited there. If you don’t believe me, you can ask that pussycat of yours. He’ll tell you more than I ever could. He always used to be a bit of a historian.”

Vox knew Husk? Judging by the tone of his voice, he might even have known him personally. That made her frown for a moment, but she pushed that thought away from now. So far, she could sense any falsehood in Vox’s voice, but she still could not trust, not without knowing his reasons first.

“Just what do you want to achieve with this, Vox?”

“Same thing as you do, princess,” he replied without missing a beat. “Better tomorrow for all. Now, are you coming or not?”

There was a minute or so of silence and then…

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Perfect, I’ll message you the coordinates of the meeting spot. See you there in an hour and a half.”

Vox hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. The hardest part of this was done. He feared that Alastor might have intercepted the signal, but the deer was sloppy. That was unlike him, he was most likely distracted by something. Oh, well, his loss.

Vox stood up from his desk and walked to the mirror in his office. He looked at his own reflection. His current body was not made for war, but it will suffice. He was coming there for a talk and unless the princess decided to bring along the entirety of her shitshow of a hotel, he’d be fine. Although, his eyes stuck on his bowtie. It was by no means ugly, but he had a special occasion coming up and special occasions demanded a special dress.

He undone his bowtie and threw it away, he walked back to his desk and fetched a classical tie from one of the drawers. It was red, just the way he liked it. He walked back to the mirror and looked at his own reflection again, the undone tie hanging off his neck. He grabbed the two ends of it and then… he let go of them. No, it just wouldn’t feel right if he were to do it himself.

He walked out of his office with an undone tie and went straight to the elevator. One short ride upwards later and he walked out to the floor belonging to one of his fellow Vees. Clerks and security scattered at the sight of him and paid them no attention. He walked into a studio where they were supposed to shoot a commercial for the latest gadget and he heard Velvette’s voice, full of fury and frustration:

“God fucking damn it, can’t any of you cunts do anything right today!?”

Four different models surrounded her, all looking anxious like children before an angered mother. Ah, it seems like she was in a foul mood today. Well, he had just the thing to fix it. He called out to her:

“Velvette!”

“What!?”

“I might need your help here,” he answered with his best shit-eating grin. Her answer to that was first to pinch the bridge of her nose and then she barked at her aids and underlings.

“Get out,” the models rushed away, while everyone else pretended to be busy with something important. It seems like a miscommunication occurred, but thankfully Velvette was quick to correct it. “I meant everyone! GET OUT!”

And just like with those simple words the entirety of the studio was gone within minutes. She walked up to him, annoyance clear as day in those ruby eyes of hers.

“What do you need, Vox?”

“Can you tie my tie?”

That made her pause. Once she processed just what exactly he just requested of her she frowned and a look of disappointment appeared on her face. She pinched the bridge of her nose again and loudly exhaled. Without looking up, she said to him:

“Please, tell me you are joking.”

“I am being one hundred percent serious.”

“Vox, you are older than me,” she said, finally looking back at him. “I’ve seen you tie your own tie a hundred times. Why the hell do you need my help now?”

“Well, I have something special coming up and I used to have my tie tied by someone else for good luck. I have no desire to entrust a valuable piece of clothing to the hands of some intern, not to mention my own personal space, so I came here.”

“Since when do you believe in luck?” asked Velvette.

“Look me in the eyes,” he said, completely mirthless. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that after everything we’ve been through that luck does not exist.”

To that, she just sighed and stepped forward, closer to him. She grabbed the ends of his tie and wordlessly began working. Unfortunately, Vox quickly learned that despite being a damn great seamstress and fashion designer Velvette was completely inexperienced when it came to this simple piece of clothing. She fidgeted and twiddled with it, sometimes quietly cursing under her nose. If he were a lesser man, he would’ve teased her about it.

Instead, he asked her about something else.

“So…” he began.

“Shut up,” she shot defensively. “I am trying my best here.”

“…what’s gotten you in such a foul mood anyway?”

Her hands became motionless and her eyes lowered from his face to his chest and he immediately recognized that look of hers. Her following words, barely above whisper, only confirmed his suspicions:

“Val’s men came for one of my girls today.”

“Ah…” he replied as he did several times before in the past. “I see.”

It was not the first time they had this conversation and despite what was on the horizon there was also a distinct possibility that it wouldn't be the last. Back when they just started and he laid down the first brick of this tower, they’d often argue about it. She would cry, accuse him of being a monster, curse him and everything he stood for.

Now, all that was left was quiet resentment and voiceless despair. At least, that’s what he thought until he looked deeper into her eyes. Ah, it seems like her last meeting with that odd woman really stirred up what laid beneath.

“I just don’t understand it,” she whispered. “How can you be so casual about it, damn it…”

“Velvette…”

“Don’t ‘Velvette’ me, Victor!” she hissed. “Don’t you see just how horrid he is? Whenever I look at them, at those poor girls, I can see myself in them. I’ve been there once and if I wasn’t lucky I could’ve ended up just like them! Don’t tell me you can’t see it too! And don’t even dare to mention ‘necessary measures’ or any of that other shit you feed your worker! I am tired of hearing it, alright!?”

Vox closed his eyes and sighed. Damn it, he hated ruining a good surprise, but nothing else would cheer her up. So, he revealed a small little detail of upcoming events to her:

“Soon, he won’t trouble you anymore.”

“What,” she looked up to him, shock clear as day.

“I said, soon enough Val won’t cause you anymore trouble,” he looked to the side. “Or to anyone else for that matter.”

“And how soon would that be?” asked Velvette skeptically.

“Around two months,” he replied.

“Promise?”

“Yes, Vera,” he nodded. “I promise.”

She didn’t reply. There was no smile from her nor a joyful embrace. She did not trust him. For too long has he fed her honeyed words and promises of a better tomorrow. Still in her eyes, there was a faint glow of hope. She returned to fiddling with his tie and few more minutes later she was finally done. He looked at it and hummed in thought.

“What?” she asked him, seeing his simple action as a prelude to scathing critique.

“You did a good job,” he finally concluded and to that she just rolled her eyes with a smirk, her mood somewhat improved. Although, her eyes then returned to his tie and a question followed.

“Vox?”

“Yes?”

“Did your ma used to tie your tie for you?” she asked, teasingly.

“No, neither of my parents have anything to do with it,” he replied, his tone suddenly somber and distant. “It was someone else who started it. She used to do it for good luck, whenever I had an important meeting or conference coming up,” there was no need for him to clarify whom he meant. His voice carried with itself a wistful longing that said far more than his words alone ever could. He adjusted his tie, mind flooding with memories of her smile, the taste of her lips like peaches. That endless and selfless love within her eyes that haunted his every waking hour. Her words, forever seared under his heart.

He exhaled through his nose and cleared his throat.

“I need to go,” he said, awkwardly. “Thank you for humoring me, Velvette. I’ll be back before dusk.”

And with those words he left her alone.

Pentagram City was a war torn shithole, but even it had its own pockets of peace and quiet. Neutral grounds were not foreign concepts to those who lived there. They existed in some form or manner since the very beginning, but such designations were usually reserved to places that were under the direct watch of the ruling class. In other words, places owned by Morningstars like their palace and that godawful amusement park.

However, relatively recently some other segments got the honor of being labeled as ‘Neutral Grounds’. After the Energy Wars Trifecta was completely and utterly destroyed and on its ashes sprung forth various tech and energy companies. They all divided among themselves the remnants of Trifecta and its energy plants. However, to not repeat history an arrangement had to be made.

To prevent anyone from ever making a monopoly on energy ever again it was agreed upon by all victors of Energy Wars to make around twenty percent of energy plants completely independent. No overlord could control them, no overlord could own territory near them, no overlord could wage war on them. It required a lot of soul contracts and many negotiations, but by the end of it all Pentagram had few new slices of paradise on it and he got around eighteen percent of Trifecta assets as a foundation for his own company.

As of today, he had around twenty percent of Trifecta’s old assets, which included mostly energy plants and some patented tech. Some might say that it was nothing to write home about, but Vox dismissed it all. He was no fool to rely on one sole industry to build his empire, like many overlords of today, and he was far too ambitious to make VoxTek just an energy monopoly.

Vox stood near the entrance to a humble diner in the Southern Neutral Grounds. He observed the district with quiet distaste. Perhaps, calling this place a slice of paradise was too much. People around him, almost every single one possessed mutations or mutilations of some kind. It was normal for sinners’ form to be monstrous and inhuman, however sinners around him appeared downright deformed. Cancerous tumors, extra limbs, misshapen forms. All because the byproducts of the energy production were still being released in the air, yet none were bothered by it.

Huh, perhaps for them it was but a small price for peaceful life.

A car rolled down the streets and stopped. The door opened and out walked the one he was eager to see. Blonde hair, pale visage and eyes of once endless optimism. Her iconic red suit still as impeccable as always. She saw him and walked towards him with a grim expression. He, in turn, gave her his best million dollar smile and warm greeting:

“Ah, Your Highness! It’s good to see you arrive just in time!”

“Save it, Vox,” she shot back. “I am not in the mood.”

“So there is some steel under all that sunshine and rainbows,” he replied sardonically. “Good, very good! We’ll need plenty of that in the days to come. Now, please follow me. We have much to discuss.”

Minutes later, they sat in an empty diner with two mugs of coffee on their table. He was leaning back on his chair, while she sat with her elbows on the table. There was an easy-going smile on his screen, while she appeared to be in a foul mood. Hard to blame her, really. He had no idea what exactly transpired in the embassy a few days ago, but it must’ve been nasty. Nasty enough to force their dear king fly away at the speeds that his systems struggled to comprehend. A part of him was curious just what exactly led to such a turn of events, but he knew better. Now was not the time to dig in her metaphorical wounds. It was time for negotiations.

Thankfully, the princess showed some initiative:

“What do you want, Vox?”

“Straight to the point, eh?” he replied. “I like it! Well, princess, let me open with a question. What do you know about the other cities of Pride?”

“Other cities?” she replied with a question of her own, as a frown found a way to her face. “I… I was never told there were other cities.”

“Well, that is to be expected,” shrugged Vox. With a crack of electricity a small projector appeared in his hands. He set it on the table and with the snap of his fingers the lights in the diner darkened and a map of Pride was projected on the nearest wall. “You see, despite the massive size of Pentagram City it’s not nearly enough to house every single person that dies and goes straight down to our beloved sulfur pit. There are other places where sinners can appear and due to the constant flow of new sinners it’s only natural for other cities and sometimes almost countries to form. I won’t go into detail about every single city there is, because as you can see,” he gestured at the many dots on the map, “there is a lot of them. But I did highlight the most important regions for your convenience. These are…”

One by one, individual regions on the map became highlighted with their own unique colors.

“…Aeonian Cathedral, Clockwork City, Magenta Valley, Montagna dei Santi Piangenti and Naraka.”

“What makes them so important?” asked Charlie, further furrowing her brows. There was something startling about these abstract regions on the map and that was not just their size. The smallest region, Clockwork City, seemed to match Pentagram in size.

“First, they are all led by Tyrants. I see by your confused look that it is your first time hearing it and be not ashamed of that. I don’t think there are many people in our city that realize that there is a tier of sinners above us, Overlrods, that can rival in power even the likes of Ars Goetia.”

“That’s impossible,” retorted Charlie, only to be met with a condescending chuckle.

“If you think that the likes of me, Alastor and Carmine are the peak of being a sinner, then you are mistaken, princess. We, Overlords of Pentagram, own on average a million or so souls. The Tyrants, on average, own enough to populate entire countries,” thankfully, he had no need to elaborate on the implications of that, as her eyes widened in horror from realization. “Indeed,” he nodded,” and now these very same Tyrants are sending their representatives to our fine city for a moot.”

“Moot?” she repeated. “They are not here for a war.”

“Yep, as you can remember, after your little victory at the hotel Heaven send their finest and he, she or it fucking paralyzed our entire city and then nuked Cannibal Town. Other cities noticed it, of course, and they are not happy. From what little intelligence my scouts managed to gather, we can confidently say that the main topic of the moot will be the lawless nature of Pentagram. In other words…”

“They are going to wage proxy war,” she whispered, which made Vox laugh and applaud.

“Bravo, Your Highness! You pick up far faster than I expected!” he then cleared his throat. “Now, let us examine who’s exactly coming here and what their rule would entail. Let’s start with Aeonian Cathedral.”

The next slide showed not a photo or a diagram, but a painting. It depicted something straight out of a fantasy novel. A giant, enormous cathedral was being carved out of the mountain, which seemed to reach to the peaks of the very skies. She also saw what appeared to be tiny, almost dot-like silhouettes of the workers on the walls and the roofs of the cathedral. The closest silhouette appeared to belong to the statue of some sort of knight wielding a stone sword, who observed the site with silent pride.

“The sinners of The Cathedral are reborn within the stone of Pride’s tallest mountains and thus have to be carved out of it by an outside help. After they are freed, the sinners are said to be reborn. They possess almost drone-like devotion to the greater good, God and holiness. It is as if they completely lack the will and ambition of their own. The man you see in the front of the painting is no statue, but one of the paladins of the cathedral. As you can see he, just like all of whom get reborn there, is made of stone. The reasons why they are carving out the building out of the mountain is because it was prophesized by their Founder Saint, that once they finish this task God will send down his angels to save all of the souls inhabiting Hell. Unfortunately,” Vox smirked, “the stone of the mountain is alive, to an extent. It keeps regenerating constantly. Thus, their task is an eternal one.”

“They… don’t sound too bad,” remarked Charlie.

“True,” agreed Vox. “Although, princess, the most destructive sinners are the ones who are led by a just cause. Aeonians may embody the ideals of compassion and mercy, but they are obsessed with it. For them, individuality is a gateway to sin. Thus, those under their rule end up being sent to the Cathedral itself to be… reborn. As you can imagine, that rarely leaves the sinner the same afterwards.”

“Huh…”

“Yep, now onto the next slide!”

The next slide again had a painting. It appeared to be a street made completely of bronze and brass. Not only that, but there appeared to be gears sticking out of the most random places. From the side of the buildings, from sidewalks and even from people. The most striking element of the painting appeared to be a person walking down the street, hidden in white robes. On their head, there was a white veil and behind their head there was a gear, much like a saint’s halo of religious icons. In their hands there was a bloodied axe, its blade shaped like gear’s teeth.

“Clockwork City is a collection of deterministic losers and mad men. They are led by a belief that all outcomes are already predetermined by a higher power above the understanding of men. They do not have a Tyrant in a traditional sense. Instead, they are ruled by what they call ‘The Machine’. They believe that The Machine can calculate the best possible future and thus they follow its every word and instruction to the letter to achieve it. Not only that, but they force everyone under their thumb to do the same. If you defy the machine’s orders, they will send The Executioner after you. It’s the person in white, by the way. In strength, a single executioner is comparable to several overlords. They are the third most dangerous group making their way to our city.”

“They remind me of you,” couldn’t help, but notice Charlie.

“Very funny, princess,” deadpanned Vox. “Unlike that bunch, I know better than to choose some steampunk bullshit as my aesthetic. Now, let us commence to the next set of fanatics.”

The next slide showed what appeared to be a completely abstract painting. It was hard to make individual details. Whenever she felt like she could see something, that something would shift and flux into something completely unrecognizable. Although, sometimes she could see hints of a malicious smile full of fangs, tethering on the brink of hysterical laughter, but even that would soon fade away into the nonsense. Only one thing was completely clear about the painting – its colors were shades of pink. Eye-searing, attention-demanding and just mania-inducing pink.

“This is a strange painting, Vox…”

“It’s a photo.”

“What!?”

“Mhm. Before you is a photo of Magenta Valley. Egoistical and borderline eldritch artists, seeking to perfect the essence of humanity within their canvas, rule it. It’s hard to say anything concrete about them beyond that. Just know that this,” he gestured at the photo, “is a ‘village’ on the outskirts of the valley. I have neither idea nor desire to learn just what kind of sick shit they are doing where no eyes can see them.”

“Are they going to bring… whatever this is into our city?”

“They send a Maestro along with his gallery,” nodded grimly Vox. “But they are not the ones you should be worried about.”

He clicked and a photo appeared on screen. One showcased a group of sinners in red suits, their heads covered in stone helmets, dining in some café in the focus and the numerous other different sinners without the masks around them and in the background. The air at the main table seemed to be lighthearted, although it was difficult to say because of their helmets, however the people around them appeared tense and terrified.

“Montagna dei Santi Piangenti, or Mountain of the Weeping Saints, is a place controlled entirely by those who were members of organized crime during their earthly ministry. Italian mafia, to be more exact. The people in the photo are soldatos of the mob. I have to say, out of all of the groups making their way to our city, the mafia is the most well organized and well equipped. Not only because of their own numbers, but because of their subsidiaries. The Italians got Bratva, Yakuza and many other groups under their thumb and plenty of factories churning out bullets of angelic steel. I will not lie, out of all the fuckers I’ve showed so far these are the ones I fear and loathe the most.”

“Please, tell me it’s only because of their numbers,” muttered Charlie.

“If only,” replied Vox. “They build their law on a single concept – propriety. One must be treated according to his station and accomplishments. Place for every man and every man in his place. That means that the word of authority above you is absolute and breach of etiquette is harshly punished. I heard stories how people got their fucking heads cut because their muttered something under their breath in the presence of a capo. Do I even need to say what kind of shit they’ll do to you if your disobey orders of your superior? If boss tells you jump, then you fucking jump and then God forbid you forget to lick his shoes clean as a sign of respect. Of course if you adhere to propriety, they’ll treat you fairly affably, but I say fuck that,” Vox spat. “I’ve done my own share of ass kissing and blind obedience. I ain’t doing that ever again,” for a moment something genuine and dark appeared for second in his once merry eyes.

“I carve my own path now.”

Vox sighed, calming himself. A smile returned to his screen and he continued, as if his outburst never happened.

“Now, let’s move onto the most dangerous group of them all, shall we?” he turned off the projector. “We will not need it. I have plenty of paintings and photos, but none of them will do the story justice. Tell me, princess, are you familiar with Buddhism?”

“I… heard of it?”

“Well, that’s as good of an answer as any,” Vox clapped his hand. “Naraka realm shares the name with the Buddhist hell. Until two hundred years ago, it was ruled by Ars Goetia. There are several regions within the realm that their names with their Buddhist counterpart: Sañjīva, Kālasūtra, Saṃghāta, Raurava, Mahāraurava, Tapana, Pratāpana and Avīci. Now if it was the only thing that they had in common, Naraka would’ve been just another shitstain on Pride’s map, but the ruling demons had their own ideas of how things were supposed to be run. Long story short, the Buddhist texts were almost one hundred percent accurate.”

“Wait, you mean…?” Charlie as a horrifying realization set in.

“The sinners inhabiting Naraka were tortured every waking moment of their lives. Run through by spears, dissected, flayed alive, boiled alive, burned, forced apart and then stitched together. It is said, there was not a single moment on the streets of Naraka where there were no screams filling the scorching air. That was until one day, two hundred years ago, fires of rebellion were lit. At the center of it stood a nameless woman, moved by nothing but compassion to her fellow sinners and desire to see the justice delivered upon those who tormented them. Aided by collective hatred and contempt, those meager flames soon engulfed the entirety of Naraka.”

Vox grew eerily quiet, as if contemplating if it was worth continuing this story or not. Charlie gave him a determined glare, intent on seeing it to the end. He chuckled and continued.

“Eventually, after one the bloodiest conflicts Hell has ever seen, the rebels marched on into the palace. There, the leader of the rebellion met in fair battle the last surviving monarch, some young prince of no renown, and defeated him. She then nailed him to the walls of the royal palace and forced him to see as his last surviving family was executed right before his eyes and the city that was his birthright burned to the ground. The leader of the rebellion then named herself Dushe and was pronounced as The Empress of Naraka. The next forty days that followed went down in history as the single vilest act of mass killings. Hellborn, from the lowest imp to the highest Goetia, were executed in mass. There are testified recounts of numerous third parties saying that the entire streets were overflown with rivers of blood and that the literal mountains of corpses towered above even the temples of the sins.”

Charlie sat in silence, as she absorbed Vox’s words, the vivid imagery flashing before her eyes. She wished to be horrified and disgusted, yet within her own mind echoed parting words of Pentious:

‘There are no victims or villains in Naraka. Only those with power and those without.’

She sighed, collecting her thoughts. Her eyes fell on Vox, who was gazing at her with an expectant expression. She frowned, trying to understand just what he was getting to. Then it occurred to her that she could just ask and he would answer and so she did:

“Why have you shown me all of that, Vox?”

“Quite simple,” he answered, “I wish for you to make an informed choice.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, despite all their fearsome reputation all these people still have quite a great deal of respect towards the crown and that respect extends to you, as you are the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith.”

“Wait, are you saying that if I were to order them to leave they would do just that?” she said with the faint hope in her voice, that the unspeakable violence could be averted with but single command.

He laughed.

“No, of course not! I mean, they’d bow their heads to you and say that they respect your desire, but these are some crafty motherfuckers we are dealing with. They won’t back down that easily. Besides, with the king and queen gone and you being busy with that passion project of yours, Pentagram would still need a ruler and they’d be more than happy to point that out to you in a more polite manner, of course. I mean, you can try to claim the throne as your own, but what that would mean abandoning the hotel and all the blood, sweat and tears that went into it. Are you really ready to make such a decision?”

“What else can I do, then?” she asked, hopeless.

Just the question Vox was praying for.

“Easy!” he readily replied. “You appoint a new Lord Regent of Pentagram to rule in your stead. You just have to pick the overlord most suited for the task and say that they are now the head honcho of Pentagram City. That way The Tyrants would see that our fine city does indeed have someone to keep up the order and would force them to back off from trying to instigate a proxy war here.”

“Lemme guess, by the most well suited overlord you mean yourself, Vox?” she asked with a healthy dose of skepticism.

“Excellent guess, your highness!” he said with a good laugh. “But let’s drop the pretenses and look at your options here. Alastor? A self-obsessed serial killer with an unhealthy obsession for the past. Carmine? A dead woman walking, even if we didn’t have an angelic sword hanging above heads by a single strand of hair. Rosie? A fucking joke of an overlord ruling over ashes and charred corpses. Even if they were in their best shape, do you honestly think any of these losers is good enough to rule over the people of Pentagram? Fuck that! If you wanna see what the rule of likes of them got us take one good stroll to the city, look me in the eyes and tell me that any of these fuckers is fit enough to rule over others.”

“There are other overlords,” she noted. “One of them must be fit enough for it.”

“True and he is sitting right in front of you,” agreed Vox. “Look, princess, Charlie… I’ll drop the persona and say how it is. Pentagram City is a shithole and it is that way because those in power are too afraid to let it slip away between their fingers in the pursuit of change. I am not like that. I’ve been pursuing innovation and improvement ever since VoxTek tower rose from the rubble and the ashes of Trifecta. I’ve seen this damn city from the gutters and from the peaks of skyscrapers. I know it better than I know myself. What Pentagram City needs is not a serial killer dreaming of becoming the next Jack The Rip Off, not another merchant of death profiting off from the deaths of others, not some cannibal bitch playing mother to a bunch of strangers. No, what it needs is visionaries, like you and me, who are tired of its endless stream of bullshit and senseless violence and are willing to break it all apart and rebuild it into something worth fighting for. It may be our first meeting, but I already know well enough that you and I wish for one thing – change. I already have money, resources and connections. With your help I will finally have the power to build a better tomorrow for all.”

He looked deep into her eyes and leaned in front, as he spoke:

“I promise you, not only will I lead this city and everyone who lives in it into a brighter future, I will aid you in your pursuit of betterment of others. I will get you the best people, the best equipment. I will even help you reach into the hearts of sinners personally, princess. I do not wish us to be bound by a soul contact or for one stand above the other. We will walk to the better tomorrow, as equals. That is my promise, princess.”

She was silent for a moment. He really got to her, as she contemplated his every word. She frowned, closed her eyes and then slowly exhaled. She then looked at him with an expression that hid way too many emotions, and said:

“How long do we have until The Tyrants arrive?”

“A month or two. Hell is vast, thankfully.”

“Then, I’ll ask you to give me a week to think this over,” she sighed again and stood up. “I appreciate the info, Vox. And thank you for the coffee.”

She left and he leaned back on his chair once more. On his screen an expression of satisfaction at the job well done. He got to her. He really got to her. Now, all he had to do was wait until he’d call him again and accept his proposal.

He’d give her two days, at most.

Chapter Text

It was early in the morning when Charlie decided to call for a meeting of sorts. Everyone got together in one of the hotel’s many living rooms. Angel and Cherri occupied the sofa with Husk standing nearby suffering from hangover, Alastor sat in his armchair, Caleb opted to stand, Vaggie was near Charlie and Niffty stood far from everyone, with her hands behind her back and her eye closed. Charlie eyed them all done and then began to tell them what Vox told her a day before. By the time she was done, the mood in the room plummeted below floor level. Everyone appeared agitated in some way or manner.

Husk was first to voice his reaction, when he closed his face with the his hand and said:

“This is beyond fucked…” he muttered more to himself than to anybody else.

“I know,” agreed Charlie, “That’s why I gathered you here. I was hoping to get some ideas.”

“Well, if you wanna know what I think, I’ll say you should tell Vox to go fuck himself!” said Cherri. “What he tries to do here is the most obvious attempt at the power grab I’ve ever seen!”

“I must admit, I agree with our resident firecracker,” added Alastor, who appeared more bemused with the situation than anything. “I always knew that he was a desperate sort, but this is just sad.”

“Obvious or not, he still got a point,” butted in Husk. “What we are gonna deal with soon enough is not something that we can handle alone.”

“And why is that, pussycat?” asked Cherri. “I mean can’t we just call Charlie’s pops and just have him blast them with hellfire or something?”

“I… I still can’t get in contact with my dad,” admitted Charlie quietly Charle. She called him every day since the day in the embassy, but he just didn’t answer her calls. The same applied to her mother.

“Shit,” cursed Cherri. “Still there’s gotta be some other way we are not seeing. I am not handing over the city to that bastard Vox!”

“We might not have a choice here,” argued Husk.

“Care to elaborate on that, Husker?” asked Alastor as his smile grew sharper with every word.

“Oh, don’t give me that shit!” he retorted. “Don’t tell me you think you are fit for the throne.”

“And that trend chasing moron is?”

“None of you are getting the throne,” set her foot down Vaggie. “Charlie is more than capable of leading Pentagram by herself! Have you forgotten? She’s the princess of the entire Hell.”

“Vaggie,” said Charlie while grabbing her shoulder. “I am not sure I am qualified enough to lead Pentagram City. Besides, leading the city will take away from the hotel and I just can’t abandon it after everything we went through,” that caused Vaggie to sigh, but she still accepted her words. Charlie smiled at her girlfriend. Vaggie’s earnest belief in her abilities was hard not to appreciate. She then set her eyes on sinners who were yet to say a single word. “Angel, what are you thinking about?”

Moments ago, Angel Dust was just staring at his own hands with a crestfallen expression, deep in thought. When Charlie called out to him, he snapped out of it and said something that shocked everyone involved:

“I think… I think you gotta hand over the reins to Vox, toots.”

“Huh!?” The first to react was Cherri. “Angie, what the fuck are you talking about? It’s Vox! The brain of The Vees! The business partner of that sick son of a bitch that has your soul! You’ve seen what happens to people under his watch!”

“I’ve seen and dealt with Val, yes,” said Angel. “But I also saw and lived in Vox’s turf before coming here and honestly? It’s not half bad. Practically Heaven when compared to some other parts of Pentagram.”

“That’s because Vox’s turf is a God damn surveillance state!” shot back Cherri. “He’s got cameras in every alley and every corner, so he can shuffle his personal death squads around more efficiently. I’ve seen what Vox does to people he doesn’t like and trust me he’s no better than every other rotten bastard drunk on souls.”

“Cherri, do you honestly think that order can be maintained in any other way in this place?” asked Husk. “Or do you think a city divided by gangs will be able to stand up to The Tyrants’ troops? If so then you are more naïve than Ms. Sunshine and Rainbows ever used to be.”

“Hey!”

“Of course not,” replied Cherri. “I may be uneducated, but I ain’t stupid. In our current state we’ll never be able to fight them back fairly, but there’s still gotta be something we are missing here. I’ve been fighting against those bloody power hungry fucks of Pentagram ever since I arrived here back in eighties. The last thing we wanna do here is hand over everything to a single one of those imperialistic egomaniacs. Good society cannot be built on slavery and absolute power of the one who stands on top of it all. We can’t sacrifice the freedoms of everyone living in this shithole for some faint idealistic promise of improvement in some far distant future.”

“We also can’t risk their lives while we are too busy searching for that missing something that will magically give us the best outcome possible, Cherri,” retorted Husk. “Every second we spend thinking is the second that could’ve been spent in preparation for what’s to come.”

“You say that as if our future visitors are something that Pentagram is yet to witness,” noted Alastor with a self-assured smile. “This city has seen many monsters, Husker, and it has brought them all to their knees. You should know it better than anyone.”

“Those are not just monsters we are dealing with,” butted in Angel Dust.

“Oh, it seems like our little spider has some experience in the matter,” said the radio host.

“I… I do. I used to be a part of the mob, ya know? My family was one of the subsidiaries of La Ragnatela. I’ve seen these guys, I’ve seen how they deal with those they consider beneath them and trust me, Alastor, we do not want that smoke. Not now, not ever. We are lucky they are just sending a delegation, instead of an invading force.”

“Well, then,” shrugged Alastor. “I suppose that leaves me no choice. I must accept the chains of command with humility and grace and lead us all through those tumultuous times!”

“Now, wait a minute…!” said Vaggie, but someone else decided to finally get involved in the conversation.

“I am afraid the weight of those chains shall crush your bones into fine dust, Alastor.”

“Oh!” he said with a wide smile, full of intrigue and malice. “And what do you mean by that, my skeletal friend.”

“The one who will have to bear the weight of the crown will be painting a target on his own back,” explained Caleb. “I am familiar with those who are about to arrive in this city. There is no doubt in my heart that they will attempt to assassinate the future Lord Regent to destabilize the region once more. Their assassins tend to be as capable as their best warriors,” that was all Cain wanted to say, really. But someone else had other plans.

“Caleb,” politely addressed Charlie. “It sounds like you’ve got a lot more to say.”

His hand was resting on the handle of his sheathed sword and he could feel faint heat coming from the blade. In truth, he had more than enough to say. A part of him wanted to do nothing more than just meet these tyrants at the gates of the city with his head held high and with his sword afire. But trying to do something like that would be counterproductive to what he wanted to achieve and what he wanted to abandon. So instead, he said something else:

“This situation appears to simply lack the better outcome. Vox is a snake. He may held up his end of the bargain and truly make Pentagram City into a better place, but it will either as a part of some larger scheme or at an expense of something that we cannot see right now. However, leaving the city in its current state to greet the incoming delegations would be a suicide. Whatever Vox has in store, it cannot be worse than what Tyrants’ rule might bring. In addition, if Vox knows who’s coming here, than he is at the very least aware of their capabilities and preparing himself to meet not only their ambassadors, but their emissaries in the shadows.”

“So…” Charlie with a resigned expression. “Letting Vox take the reins is the best way forward?”

“As of now, yes,” nodded Caleb solemnly. “Although, judging by how hard he tried to persuade you, you might still be able to leverage some additional benefits from him. Like the soul of one certain sinner…”

“Wait, holy shit!” Charlie suddenly stood full of energy. “You are right! We can get Angel Dust's soul out of Valentino’s hands!”

“Wait, for real?” asked Angel Dust in sheer disbelief. In his eye there was no hope, but rather faint fear. He couldn’t make himself truly belief in something like that. It would be just setting himself for the bitter taste of disappointment.

“Yes! For one hundred – no! – One thousand percent real, Angel Dust!” said Charlie. “You're gonna be free as a bird!”

“My, my,” said Alastor with a gleeful smile. “Aren’t you just overjoyed to snatch a single soul out of the overlord's hands only to send countless more in the jaws of another.”

That quickly dampened her joy, but thankfully Vaggie was quick to defend her.

“Don’t listen to him, hon,” she said while taking her hand into hers and all Charlie could focus on in that moment was just how warm she was to the touch. “We cannot save everyone all at once. Sometimes, saving just one soul is more than enough.”

Charlie only smiled back at Vaggie. Vaggie was right she could not save everyone. She could not fix the mess her parents left or stop what was about to transpire, but she would not let that stop her trying. She was a foolish person and she hurt so many in her ignorance, but she could not break down and drown in her own tears. Not when she could still save at least a single person.

And especially not when she had someone like Vaggie by her side.

She looked around at all who gathered here today, perhaps thinking the sight of her dear comrades would only boost the reinvigoration of her spirit, but her eyes stuck at a lonesome maid, who stood apart from all. Never before had Niffty appeared so distant and so cold. Charlie knew it wouldn’t end well, but she had to try to reach out to her.

“Niffty,” she said, “you haven’t said anything,” she inwardly winced at how much this came out like an accusation.

The maid, however, just gave a curt and polite response.

“I am afraid I have nothing to say, your highness,” she gave a slight bow. “I am not suited for statesmanship and my voice holds the least weight here. Now, seeing how this meeting seems to be coming to an end, I must excuse myself and leave early in order to return back to my duties.”

With these words, Niffty gave another bow and promptly left. She gave Charlie nothing but politeness and professionalism and yet it immensely hurt her to be addressed in such a way. In a way it was just another reminder of an undeniable chasm that separated Niffty from everyone else in the hotel and as long as she desired to be alone and removed from all, this chasm was simply unpassable.

What hurt Charlie all the more was the fact that out of everyone in the hotel she was among the most responsible for driving Niffty away.

“Well,” Charlie cleared her throat. The awkwardness in the air was so thick it could’ve been cut with a knife. “I suppose this concludes today’s meeting. Although, could you please stay behind, Caleb? I need to talk with you about something.”

One by one sinners and Vaggie began to leave and only Cain stood behind. They looked at each other, one seeing a mere sinner and other seeing the most painful sight imaginable. It hurt, it truly hurt to look at her. She was his half-sister, his family and yet the part of him was screaming at him to kill her right there and now, but he couldn’t. Not like this, not right here, not right now.

If he were to make this judgment, he had to know her. All of her. Only after he shall witness all of her, her ambitions, her drive, her fears, her inner self then and only then he will cast his judgment. Until then he will play his part and she will play hers, albeit unwittingly.

“Caleb,” she said, sighing. “How old are you?”

“Too old, to be honest,” he admitted with a half-jest. “At times I feel like a walking fossil, rather than a sinner.”

“So… you must have seen a lot?”

“Too much, Charlie,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “I’ve seen entirely too much,” The abyss showed him many things. Some of them made him glad he had no ability to sleep. “But why are you asking, Charlie? I doubt it’s just some idle small talk.”

“Do you… do you think I am doing the right thing? With Vox, I mean.”

“Why should my opinion matter here?” he asked in return, genuinely surprised.

“Well, you are old, as you have said, and you have seen a lot. You also, like, really new here and might have a fresh perspective on things, so I can trust you to be unbiased.”

“You do make a point,” he conceded and then hummed deep in thought. “I will be honest, Charlie, I do not think that your situation permits a good moral action that will satisfy your goal of protecting Pentagram City. Well, technically there is one, but it will require you to abandon the hotel and then take your rightful place at the throne…”

“I cannot do that,” she replied way too quick to be just brushed off.

“And why is that?”

“I…” she paused and lowered her eyes. “I’ve done some terrible things to get where I am. I caused many deaths, which could’ve been averted if I were just a better leader. To abandon the hotel and abandon all which lead me here… it feels like I am just throwing away all these deaths, as if they never mattered in the first place. Not only that, but…”

She paused, debating whether or not to continue. In the meantime, Cain glared at her with a façade of complete neutrality under which fought two contradicting desires. One of malice and one of hope, hope that she will say something, anything which could lessen his burning wrath and give him at least a faint chance to forgive.

“I was given a sign of approval by Heaven,” she eventually admitted, without mentioning what or rather who that sign was. “It showed me that even if unknowingly and stumbling, I made the right choice along the way. That everything that happened was not for naught. That all those deaths and suffering and pain… It meant something. I know it's a horrible mindset to have, but now I wish to see this path to completion. I want to realize this dream and bring at least some improvement to this endless misery. If I succeed… it would mean that all of this was not for naught, that I am more than just some… some worthless idiot that doomed so many.”

“I…” he paused, taken aback by her words. In that moment he found something of himself within her and it compelled him to say something that he himself did not expect.

“I understand,” that made her look up at him with unbelief and with a faint hope that he truly did. “It must feel like if you manage to do this one thing, if you manage to brave it and see it all through, that you will be more than you are now. That if you accomplish this one single thing, it will redeem you and let you look at the light with no shame or guilt. That once it’s all said and done, you’ll be able to look inside, at your own soul, and see something that is worth seeing.”

“Did you succeed in it?” she asked with hope, as if his success would guarantee her own.

“No…” he looked down and that momentarily made them both falter. “But… I do not wish to abandon this road to betterment. It might be endless. It might be fruitless, but in taking I prove, even if just to myself, that I am more than the man I once was. Sometimes, it’s more than enough to let me gain just enough strength to carry on.”

Suddenly, something bright ignited in those red eyes of hers. She looked him in the eyes, her own full determination. She proclaimed to him, quite loudly and almost as if she was boasting:

“Caleb! I have an ingenious idea!”

“Oh?”

“Let’s walk this path together and if one falters let the other one catch him before he falls! That way, even if we stumble or lose hope, we’ll still have each other to gain strength from! And even if this hardship shall leave us both broken and disillusioned, then so be it! After all, what is a misery to the one who is not alone in this world? Naught but a fleeting sadness of a dreary night shall retreat when the morning sun eventually rises on the horizon! So, Caleb, let us travel forth into the endless path on which we shall find our redemption!”

Her hopeful expression fit for the face of a hero straight from the covers of children’s tales, her bright red eyes, the sheer earnestness of her words and the unshakeable confidence. It was entirely too much. Despite himself, Charlie provoked Cain to do something he has not done in thousand of years:

He chuckled.

“Hey!” quickly reacted Charlie with indignation, while he gave a, frankly, boyish laugh. “I am being one hundred percent serious and open here!”

“I am sorry,” he said honestly, quieting down his laughter, yet humor was still evident in his voice. “It’s just out of every single thing you could have said here, this one was… too endearingly childish,” that caused her to pout and he almost laughed once more. He cleared his nonexistent throat and addressed her in a regal manner. “But very well. I accept your proposal, Princess Charlotte. May our shared journey be a fruitful one.”

“With your experience and my incurable optimism – it shall be, Caleb the Wanderer,” she said, meeting his regality with her poise and grace. For a moment, they appeared entirely serious and then…

Charlie laughed and soon enough Cain laughed with her.

In that moment of childish merry, within the soul of the first murderer a faint foolish hope grew brighter. Hope that by the end of this all he will be able to stand before Charlie not as a sinner named Caleb, but as her own brother – Cain. That he will be able look into her eyes without this ever-burning wrath he barely held within himself. That he will be able to look at her and see his sister and not a daughter of Lucifer.

That once it all would be said and done, they would be able to laugh like this once more.

At the entrance of the Pearly Gates stood two figures. One adorned in armors of purest silver stood tall and mighty and the other covered by a beautiful dress bore much more meek demeanor. They were siblings, one as old as time and the other had only two hundred years behind her back. One was warrior, The Blade of God, and the other was a gentle soul, The Joybringer. They stood at the edge of a golden bridge, around them only pure white cotton clouds, their eyes cast downward to the pit below. It was an abhorrent thing, a wound upon Creation where the worst of the worst and those unfortunate enough to be born there writhed like maggots in a putrid flesh.

The knight sighed and looked at his younger sister.

“Emily,” he called out to her, making her jump a bit in place and look at him in worry. “You don’t have to accompany me, if you are not ready.”

“I know, but…” Emily sighed. “Sera forbade me from venturing there with anyone besides you, Michael. By the time I’ll be ready, the opportunity will be long gone.”

“I can always convince her to let someone else accompany you,” he offered to which she just shook her head.

“Then she will most likely saddle me with Uriel or Gabriel and…” she paused. “I don’t think my presence would make their jobs easier.”

“Emily,” he said with a sudden firmness. “Do you remember the days when Jophiel had to perform your duties and greet the newcomer in your stead?”

She nodded, eighty years ago that was, when Earth was consumed by the fires of war and countless people died every day. It seemed like every newcomer had a horror story of their own. She heard them in passing, the tales of corpse fields and cities engulfed in fire. The was haunted many of those souls still and in their eyes she could see the reflection of the blood that drowned the world.

“Then you remember why that was,” he concluded instead of her. He looked back into the pit and went silent for a moment, as if he could see in it something that no other being in Creation could. Knowing Michael, that was probably the case. “The place we are about to venture into bears many horrors. It is one thing to hear of it and another to witness it. What you might see might haunt you forever. Are you sure you want to do it?”

Her mind went to her older sister, Gabriel. To her rage and endless sorrow. She wanted to help her, she wanted to understand her, she wanted to mend their relationship. To do that, she had to see what she had seen or at least something resembling it. Not only that, but she remembered Charlie as well. Despite everything that happened and everything that she has done, Emily just couldn’t abandon the idea of helping Charlie in her dream. She wanted sinners to be free of sin and suffering.

“I have to,” declared Emily with a quiet determination after a few moments to which Michael only nodded.

He grabbed her hand. It was so tiny, when compared to his own, so delicate and gentle. He looked at her once more. She was young, younger than he and his siblings were when War in Hell occurred. Looking at her, at her innocence and kind nature still shining through despite her own fears, he understood why Sera kept her in the dark for so long. He sighed, knowing full well what will soon transpire.

Michael unfurled his wings of fire and so did Emily her wings of light. Together, hand in hand, brother and sister descended into Hell, like twin comets.

Chapter Text

Pale shadow flew past the streets of Pentagram City. Much like wind she was unseen yet felt by all. A shiver on the back of your head, a careless whisper of her voice carried in the air, glimpses of her smile within the reflections. In that moment, Samyaza’s form bordered on between an apparition and a hallucination.

She passed through the busy streets, between run down buildings and amidst the aimless crowds until she reached her destination. A hub of this district known as VoxTek Tower. The sight of this monument to its owner’s ambitions reminded of her own palace. It was nostalgic in a way. She can’t quite remember when was the last time she infiltrated a place as grand as this.

She slipped in, unseen and unnoticed. VoxTek towers had impressive security systems – she had to commend him on his choice of protective runes when she would meet him in person, – but they clearly were never made for someone of her station. She couldn’t really fault the master of this technological palace for that, after all fallen angels were oddities even among Hell’s odd and terrifying collection of beast and horrors.

She passed through the offices, laboratories and armories until she reached the upper quarter of the tower that was taken by various quarters meant for Vox’s closest and most valuable assets. Minutes later, she arrived at a tall and thick door that could have been opened only by a specific keycard. She could sense a presence of machinery within the walls around her. Under those wallpapers was metal and under the metal there were automated high caliber turrets.

Well, as much as she wanted to experience what it would feel like to have her flesh torn apart by .50 BMG rounds, she was here for a friendly visit first and foremost. So, with one swift motion of her spectral hand the machinery around her was quickly disabled.

Her form began to change and materialize. From an outside perspective, it must have looked like she just appeared there out of thin air. She looked around, more out of obligation to her love for theatrics than anything else. Then she ‘noticed’ the camera, which tracked her every movement. She spared it from the wave of magical energy that disabled other security systems. Afterwards, it would have been rude not to inform the master of the tower of her visit. She smiled and waved at the person on the other side, who was frantically scrambling to see why turrets were disabled. Then, she gently knocked on the door and few seconds later she was met by:

“God damn it! What part of ‘Don’t disturb me’ you daft morons failed to understand!?”

“Ah,” she replied. “It seems I have arrived at an inconvenient time. My apologies, Miss Velvette. I will come at a later date.”

There were a few seconds during which Samyaza could clearly hear the frantic movements on the other side, causing her to chuckle to herself. Her desperation was just too adorable. The door opened and she saw Velvette, looking at her with a mixture of disbelief and fear.

“Sammy,” she whispered. “How did you…?”

“Through the front door, obviously,” she replied with a giggle. “Now, I believe we both owe each other a conversation, so why won’t we continue this inside your room?”

“Yes, of course,” said Velvette all too quickly, letting her in. “Take a seat wherever you want, I need to make a few calls.”

Velvette excused herself deeper into the suite, while Samyaza just walked and looked around. As expected of overlord’s suite, Velvette’s place of residence was nothing but luxury. Two floors, expensive furniture everywhere, latest pieces of technology and just everything else you could expect out of high end life. Good third of the apartment was occupied by a workshop, where Velvette usually spend her free time working on new clothing. Samyaza paid it all no attention, instead she wandered into an open balcony where she found a small table with two seats and a terrific view of the city below.

With a satisfied smile, she took her seat and gave an appreciating look to the city below. Humanity was beautiful in all its forms, yet sinners always held a special place in her heart. She spent so many years observing them all from afar and marveling at their endless potential. Now, standing so close to them she could not help but feel elated at this opportunity provided to her.

So many wicked black souls, wandering about, unaware of their potential. She felt like a gardener standing amidst the field full of freshly planted seeds. Soon, these seeds would bloom into something beautiful and marvelous and all she had to do was just sit, wait and only occasionally intervene to yield the best result possible.

Words failed to describe how grateful she was to Lucifer and Lilith for constructing something so endlessly captivating.

She heard footsteps from behind and looked back. Velvette was standing with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. She set the glasses on the table, popped the bottle open and began pouring the champagne.

“Gotta say, bitch,” the fashionista said with her faux confidence back, she finished pouring the glasses and took the other seat, “you sure do know how to make an entrance. Half of the tower almost went into Code Red because of your little stunt.”

“You do not sound displeased,” remarked Samyaza, taking her glass and making a sip. Hmmm… fruity and sweet. She liked it.

“Nah, I am far too impressed to be angry,” she said with a laugh. “I mean, God damn, you could have just called and I would’ve let you in a heartbeat. No need to impress me this hard, Sammy!”

“But what sort of person would I be, if I were to disregard first impressions, Miss Velvette?” she giggled. “That would’ve been awfully rude of me to not give something worth noticing to the master of this tower, wouldn’t it?”

“Ha-ha-ha!” she laughed in turn. “I like your spirit, Sammy. Now,” she put her elbow on the table and leaned it, “Let’s drop the small talk and get straight to the point. I want you working for me and I want it now. What is your price?”

“Oh, how forward, Miss Velvette!” she gasped. “I am flattered. Truly, I am. But I only recently took off a collar and I will not be looking for a replacement any time soon. Besides, there is nothing about me that would warrant such a bold offer from someone like you.”

Samyaza lied as easily as she breathed. She knew exactly what Velvette wanted and she knew exactly the way to provide it, but what fun would it be to just get over it and tell her? She wanted to see her squirm a bit first.

“Oh, don’t play coy, girl!” said Velvette. “I mean, c’mon, just look in the mirror. You’ve got yourself a glamour enchantment that makes you look like a model, you can teleport so well Vox’s system failed to pick you up on the radar and you can’t do something no other being can. You…” Velvette faltered for a moment, before deciding to say how it is. “I can feel your touch. If it ain’t magical talent worth a million, I don't know what is.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Samyaza with a false realization. “So this is what it is. I am afraid to disappoint you, Miss Velvette, but there is nothing special about my ability to touch you, despite my many other unique talents.”

“Bullshit!” spat Velvette, clearly annoyed by Sammy's attempts at playing an idiot. “I tried every single spell and sorcery there is and nothing yielded what I felt when you touched me. Explain that, bitch.”

“Very well,” nodded Samyaza while taking another sip of her champagne. “But first I need to explain how you can feel me first. Can you please lend me your hand for a moment?”

Velvette did as she was told and offered her hand. Samyaza took it and interlocked their fingers and right then and there Velvette completely stiffened. Samyaza smirked in satisfaction. It was so easy to please this wayward overlord it was almost humorous.

It reminded Samyaza of a certain experiment she performed early in her rule. She locked up a thief in a cell and kept him starved for the hundred days. She fed him bare minimum, just barely enough to keep him alive. Whenever he would get close to death, either out of starvation or self-inflicted injuries, she would nurse him back to health with sorcery. Then on three hundred and first day, she’d curse him to magnify his hunger by a tenfold, quietly move him from his holding cell into a vast dining hall with plates of meat and fruit stacked so full the tables’ legs would almost break.

As expected, on the next day she went into the same dining hall to see the prisoner dead in a puddle of his own vomit with his stomach ruptured open from the sheer amount of food crammed into it. Be it for nourishment or intimacy, it was truly amazing just to what extent of self-destruction hunger could drive a human being.

With that warm memory on her mind, Samyaza began talking:

“See?” she asked, squeezing Velvette's hand. “It is quite simple, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Just…” With her pupils trembling, Velvette swallowed a lump in her throat. “Just how the hell are you doing it?”

“Well, I reached out to you, sincerely and from the bottom of my heart,” explained Samyaza, as if she was talking to a child. “You desired the same and as a result we made contact and felt each other.”

“It can’t be that simple,” denied the fashionista. “Otherwise, I would have felt something similar a thousand times over.”

“Oh, it is both painfully simple and hopelessly complicated, Miss Velvette.”

“Elaborate.”

“Well, first of all, your condition is not just a consequence of your physical form, but of your soul. As a matter of fact, unlike human bodies, which serve as a vessel for the soul and are distinctly separate for it in a way this glass is separate from champagne within it, sinners’ bodies are extensions of their souls,” Samyaza offered Velvette a pitying smile. “Loneliness must have been a good friend of yours, huh?”

Something sparked in her red eyes. Not enough for her to break their physical anger, but enough to let the fallen angel see that she has hit a nerve.

“Just get to the point,” replied Velvette.

“As you wish,” nodded Samyaza. “The reason I can touch you and others can’t is that I truly desire to reach out to you, Velvette. Rather, I wish to reach out to all I can. For me, every single sinner is a source of endless fascination. I wish to see you, study you, understand you and witness you bloom into your best self. So, when our fingers brushed you could feel me.”

“It still makes no sense,” whispered Velvette, tightening her grasp on Sammy’s hand. “I have… had other partners in the past. I loved them and they loved me, yet I could not feel them how I feel you.”

“But did those partners truly want you, or rather some idea of you, Velvette? You may have loved them, but there is no guarantee that they ever truly felt the same.”

“Then how can I change that?” asked Velvette in quiet desperation. “How can I… How can I make people see me?”

“Simple,” replied Samyaza with a smile. “Be true to who you are.”

That caused Velvette to scowl and glare.

“Can you skip the new age hippy bullshit and say how it is?”

“I assure, Velvette, there is no lie within my words,” answered Samyaza with her ever present serene smile. “Must I remind you of how you behave in public and compare it to how you are now right before me? I’ve seen your streams, commercials and interviews, Velvette. That fierce and haughty woman could not be more different to the timid and gentle girl before me.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Velvette raised her tone. “Don’t speak like you know shit about me, bitch.”

“I may not know all of you yet, Velvette, but I do know the disgust you feel at the world you live in. I’ve seen how you look at this city in private. You may be an overlord, but you are far from the demon you present yourself as to the public. Don’t you think there would be people more interested in the real you?”

“We are in Hell,” countered Velvette. “People will see it as a weakness and other overlords will try to exploit it. I can’t risk that.”

“True,” nodded Samyaza. “Living true to yourself would be a difficult affair, but don’t you think the risk is worth the reward? You are one of the most influential people of Pentagram City,” The fallen angel shifted her eyes to the city. “Don’t tell me you can’t see from the top of your home how many people suffer just like you do from this cold desolate loneliness? We are living in an era in which we could not be more connected. With a phone in hand and a few quick motions of your fingers, you could call any person, no matter the distance, and speak with them about anything your heart desires. Humanity now has access to almost limitless knowledge and within that bottomless well of wisdom there are so many lived experiences, touching tales and just plain life stories of people just like you. So many ways to see into the hearts of others and, perhaps, find your own reflection within them. It seems like humanity has never been so close to the mutual understating as it is now and yet…”

Samyaza sighed, perhaps to drive the point home or maybe she was sincere in her lament.

“…I have never seen you more divided, lonely and alienated.”

“I suppose…” Velvette paused, trying to think of the answer to Sammy’s sudden show of vulnerability. “I suppose it is because it’s hard to reach out to someone you do not know. Hell, even trying to be real with someone you are familiar with is scary. Being rejected, while earnestly attempting to connect with someone, it… it hurts, a lot. It’s only natural that instead of getting hurt time and time again, many would just retreat into their own corners.”

“It would hurt, there is no denying that,” agreed Samyaza, “but that’s just how life is. To do something great, to achieve something noble, you would have shed blood, sweat and tears. The end result, however, would be more than worth the effort, wouldn’t you agree?” she gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You, Velvette, have more than enough resources, power and influence to do that. Not only that, but I see in your eyes – you understand Hell. You understand sinners. Perhaps, with just a little bit of effort you could reach out to their lonely frozen hearts and, in turn, they will reach out to yours.”

Velvette didn’t reply and merely lowered her eyes, deep in thought. Samyaza was about to say something else, but then she sensed something. Two bright stars, illuminating the void and chasing away the dark. It was a very faint feeling, most like the older one tried to hide his presence to not cause panic among the populace. Samyaza let go of Velvette's hand, causing the latter to look at the former with confusion.

“Sorry,” she said, “someone very powerful is coming into this realm and I’d rather not be caught in his all-seeing gaze. I’ll come again soon, so don’t grow too irritated in my absence, Miss Velvette.” She winked and disappeared in a flash of light, leaving behind lost and confused Velvette.

Velvette just sat in her chair for a few minutes longer, taking in the sight of the city she grew to detest with her entire being. Now, however, there was no hatred or indifference in her eyes. Instead, she looked at Pentagram City with understanding and empathy. Eventually, she sighed, stood up and returned to her workshop, however her mind was occupied by Sammy’s words. Perhaps…

Perhaps it was time for her to take a risk?

They landed on the roof of the embassy and the first thing Emily took notice of was how suffocating the air felt all around her. Sulfur and ash were so thick they made her eyes water for a moment. The second thing she noticed was the sheer destruction around her. The city looked as if it had just seen some great catastrophe and only small patches of it remained unharmed.

“Did something happen?” she asked in worry, Michael shook his head.

“From what I remember from my talks with exorcists, this city has been in this state for the past one hundred and twenty years. Pentagram City’s natural state is that of war.”

“But why?” she asked. “What are they fighting for?”

“For the same thing sinners have been fighting for the past nine thousand years, Emily, – power.”

She furrowed her brows as a pit within her stomach grew. There was something deeply wrong with every single thing and the more she looked the more she grew anxious. Yet, despite that, she was still willing to witness Hell and understand it in a way her siblings did.

“Will we walk to the hotel?” she asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “I understand your desire, but we will only waste time by walking on foot. Besides, the bird's view paints a fairer picture.”

“Alright,” she said, dejectedly.

They took flight and as they flew she got a good look at the streets. She saw sinners walk on the street, talk, run, hide, beat each other, steal from each other, shoot at each other and kill each other. As she did she could only watch in silent horror. Eventually, it got too much and she closed her eyes. However, while she could shut her eyes, she could not shut her song.

Her domain was still active and she could feel sinners’ emotions and hear their thoughts. She felt the dread of being killed at any moment, felt the terror of being in the middle of a shootout, felt the pain of having a knife plunged in her stomach and endless despair of living in this Hell and yet it was not what drove her to open her eyes again.

It was the fact just how little joy she could feel within the hearts of sinners. There was certainly a sadistic sense of satisfaction in the hearts of some and feelings of hedonistic pleasure in the hearts of many, but the former was strangely scarce while the later felt hollow. What was abundant in the hearts of all was apathy. Despite all these feelings, all the suffering and despair, the majority of sinners were simply uncaring to Hell’s endless cruelty and malice.

It was like they simply could not see what was wrong with it. It would have been so easy to draw a conclusion from that and say that sinners were inherently evil. After all, what sort of person could get used to something like this, but Emily knew better. She could sense that within their hearts there were other emotions, other desires.

Happiness at seeing good food go on sale with a discount, pleasure of listening to a good song, love for those who could truly see and understand you, sadness and grief for those who passed away, gratitude that a day went without anyone you knew dying and in some truly cases…

Joy at reaching your close one and helping them up on their feet.

Those emotions, those rare spark of goodness, were so few and far between. For every good deed there were hundreds of sins and yet their presence amidst all that darkness could not have gone unstated. Those little sparks of light, amidst that sea of despair and malice, in that moment they shone brighter than the very stars. They did not erase the nature of sinners and their endless hatred and cruelty. Sinners were no innocent soul and remembering that she once referred to them as such left a bitter taste on her tongue and yet...

She could not ignore those sparks of light. She opened her eyes and once more saw the cruelty, the pointless deaths and the disregard for the wellbeing of others. Now, however, instead of provoking horror and disgust, she could only look down on them in pity. In that moment, Emily did not see monsters, incapable of good, but mere people.

Of course, not all of them deserved to be seen that way. There were legitimately evil people in this city, those who make even the vilest of demons shiver in disgust and she recognized that. Still, as she and Michael flew above Pentagram City, her eyes were cast at sparks in the dark.

Charlie suddenly felt a jolt and straightened her back. She was hunched behind her work table and Vaggie, who was sitting on their bed and enjoying some deserved break, looked at her and inquired:

“What’s wrong, hon?”

“Archangels,” she said. “They are coming.”

“Ah shit!”

They scrambled out of the room and a few minutes later all of Hazbin Hotel’s residents and staff were gathered at the entry hall and stood in a line, before them was Charlie and she was uncharacteristically serious and poised. She spoke loudly and with confidence:

“Alright, people, someone very important is going to arrive very soon and I want you all to be on your best behavior! That means no sex jokes!”

“Oh, come on, toots!”

“No explosives!”

“What are you spewing, mate!?”

“No threatening them!”

“Oh, please, Charlie, I am no mere brute!”

“And no…!” she paused, looking at Husk and Niffty. “Alright, you two good. The rest of you, however, play nice!” it was then when Charlie finally noticed the absence of a certain skeletal sinner. That made her look back at Niffty again and ask. “NIffty, where’s Caleb?”

“He told me he was not feeling well.”

“Alright, he can sit this one out, now…”

Before Charlie could continue her speech there were three light knocks on the door and the whole air changed. This time, everyone felt it. It was overwhelming, like suddenly feeling the weight of the entire world upon your shoulders and yet in that limitless strength there was a promise of safety. A promise, that no evil shall befall upon anyone in his presence.

Charlie looked at her friends once more and they looked at her with a certain expectation. She was their leader, she was the one supposed to act first in times of uncertainty. So, she did. She walked to the door and gently pushed it to open. Behind it stood very powerful beings.

Emily, the one who supported her back during the trial, appeared much more subdued and Michael, the one whose mere presence petrified even The Seven Sins. Emily was first to react. The younger archangel gave her a small smile and a short greeting:

“Hi, Charlie. Can we come in?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, of course,” she let the archangels in and loudly announced to all. “Emily and Michael, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel.”

The reactions of people within the hotel were different. Angel Dust and Niffty stood wide eyed, they were focused completely on the colossal knight. Even without needing to hear his title, both perfectly understood who he was and what he represented. Because of that, fear sparked within Angel Dust’s heart and reverence filled the maid’s soul.

Husk and Alastor however were both overlords and both could only sense the overwhelming feeling of dread upon looking at the silver clad swordsman. From the way the knight himself was looking at them it was clear as day that if they were to make a one wrong move their lives would be forfeit. Out of the two Alastor despised that feeling the most. He was the one who was supposed to inspire terror in others and here he was barely keeping his hand from shaking in the angel’s presence.

Vaggie and Cherri Bomb had the most differing reactions. Vaggie felt as if the weight of mountains was placed upon her back. She could barely keep herself from trembling like an autumn leaf, while Cherri… Cherri just saw some dude in armor.

Big deal. She saw like twenty of them this year alone, but seeing how everyone was quietly freaking out, the usually arrogant bomber decided to act wise and keep to herself.

“So, this is all the guests, huh?” said Emily awkwardly. “Hi, everyone! I’m Emily, The Youngest Archangel and Joybringer. This here,” she gestured at an imposing knight, “is Michael, my brother. He’s important, uh, up there, you know?”

“Holy shit, it is him…” whispered Angel Dust.

“Angels…” muttered Niffty. She clutched the hem of her dress, as her chest tightened with unfamiliar pain. It was not physical. It was something born out of her soul, rather than her flesh. Was that… was that guilt?

“So, guys!” with a clap of her hand Charlie addressed archangels. “Let me introduce you to the…”

“No need,” cut her Michael.

“Huh, what?”

“Michael!” whined Emily. “Don’t be rude!”

“I am just being efficient,” explained The Taxiarch. “I, just like you, have already looked into their souls. I have no desire to waste time on pleasantries. I shall examine the hotel, while you can discuss your question with the princess.”

“I thought you’d be here to help me with the hotel,” said Charlie.

“And I shall be, by examining the grounds for the presence of Lucifer’s magic. Now, excuse me,” then he just disappeared. No flash of light, no pillar of angelic energy, no puff of smoke. Nothing. One second he was there and the other he wasn’t.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” finally murmured to himself Husk.

“Please, don’t mention Lord’s name in vain,” immediately chastised Emily, before looking back at Charlie and giving her a polite smile. “So, Charlie, I think a little tour is in order!”

“Ah, of course! Let me start by introducing our oldest guest – Angel Dust and here is his friend Cherri and here is a…”

Cain was sitting in his room behind his desk. In his hand was a pen and he was spending his time drawing various landscapes from memory. So far he’s been rather unsuccessful, his attempts at forests and lakes were painfully mediocre, but he did not let that impede his progress. He was doing it for entertainment, first and foremost. Then, his pen stopped mid-stroke.

A presence that moments ago was like a sun, distant and yet all encompassing with its rays of sunshine, suddenly appeared much closer than ever before. Now, that distant sun was right behind him, but instead of further searing his flesh and blinding his vision, it just stood silently behind him, awaiting his reactions, perhaps.

Cain sighed and dropped the pen. He lowered his head and chuckled.

“You know,” he said without a drop of mirth, “I felt you and the other one when you first dropped down. I holed up in my room as soon as possible, hoping you would get the hint and leave me alone. Guess I was hoping for too much. Oh, well,” he stood up and turned around to greet a knight in silver armor and chuckled once more. “Haha… sorry. It’s just, father always used to talk so much about you and the others. I guess, after all those tales, I thought you’d be taller.”

Knight only sighed.

“Ah, sorry,” he said quietly. “Where are my manners? Please, take a seat wherever you want. Let us talk. This is why you came here, is it not? Otherwise, you would have already struck me down. So, let’s speak to each other earnestly, as one first son to another. Tell me, what brings one such as yourself to this worthless murderer?”

“Cain,” said Michael and the murderer’s false merry disappeared as night disappeared in the rays of morning sun. “Why have you come here?”

“Why?” repeated Cain. “Don’t you already know, Michael? I thought The Taxiarch was the one closest to Him.”

“…your soul is a raving tempest that wages war on itself. I am no Jophiel, reading souls of others was never within my expertise. I can’t cast my judgement based merely on contradictions, Cain.”

“Neither can I. I came here to see all that can be seen, and hear all that can be heard. Once that’s done, I shall cast my judgment. No matter what, there shall be only two roads, once I reach that crossroad. One of mercy and one of wrath.”

“I see. Tell me, then, do you realize what the path of wrath would entail?”

“Well, seeing how you are asking this question, no answer of mine will be right. Please, o noble Taxiarch, enlighten me.”

“The path of wrath will bring you nothing,” answered Michael with a sigh. “You will change nothing. You will achieve nothing. You will return nothing. All that would follow will be death. Your soul will be consumed whole by sin and you will be no more.”

“I know,” replied Cain quietly, his voice ever so slightly trembling. “I know that I would be just throwing my life away, but… If she… If Charlie does deserve retribution, what other action do you expect me to take? Let you and the others judge her in my stead?” he shook his head. “No, I cannot do that. He was my father. I have let him down enough times already. If I must, I will do my duties as his son and avenge our clan. Think about it, if it was one of your siblings instead, would you let others carry out revenge in your stead?”

Michael paused. He thought about it. About Sera, Uriel, Raphael, Jophiel, Metatron and Emily. About Sera’s tendency to overwork herself and that annoying habit of hers to get way too invested in simple board games. About Uriel’s habit of rambling too much and his endless love for cosmos. About Raphael’s constant pain and his endless care for those that could not care for themselves. About Jophiel’s merciful nature and her ability to see goodness where others couldn’t. About Metatron’s quiet and reserved nature. About Emily's brilliant smile and her inner strength he witnessed today.

He then thought about never being able to see those aspects of them. To be forever deprived of their smiles, their laughter and their presence in his life. He thought about seeing them torn apart, their bodies defiled and their flesh…

Michael exhaled, calming down his trembling hand that was grasping the handle of his sword. He then spoke to Cain:

“No, I would not. I understand that I cannot deprive you of the right for vengeance, but…” he paused. “I will pray that you will never have to take it, Cain. May your soul be free one day from this wrathful tempest.”

“Thank you, Lord Taxiarch,” replied the wayward son, whispering, yet full of sincerity.

And so Michael left and Cain was left alone with his thoughts. He sat back at the table, grabbed the pen and just stared at the paper. He let go of the pen, grasp his head and just sat there, tormented by these painful thoughts and memories.

As expected, Charlie ended up giving a tour through the hotel and while Emily was not bubbly as she was in Heaven, there was still interest in her eyes. They talked, Charlie introduced her to sinners and even if one of them made her want to vomit, most of them weren’t bad. She was especially excited to meet Angel Dust.

After all that was said and done, they sat in a library on the second floor. On their table there were two cups of tea. They spoke about nothing, still this meaningless babble was enjoyable. However, Emily had something weighing down on her and so she asked Charlie:

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure you can!” replied Charlie with a smile.

“I…” Emily paused, thinking of what to say. “I saw your city.”

“Oh…” instantly Charlie’s good mood evaporated and she looked at Emily with sympathy.

“I am alright,” clarified The Joybringer. “It’s just…”

“Yes?”

“I think, the hotel might not work with the way the city is,” that caused Charlie to cock her head with a silent question. “Charlie, I’ve seen the city, its sinners and their hearts and they are… rueful things. Violence, hatred, fear, contempt and disgust everywhere and in everyone. When I first saw them, I was horrified. I just could not comprehend how anyone could exist in this absurd cruelty, but the deeper I peered the more it became apparent that they were not made that way. Most were either conditioned into acceptance or in some rare cases still ashamed of what they were. Of course, there were truly monstrous beings wearing the guise of humanity, but… not all of them were like that and it made me realize something.”

Emily sighed and looked at Charlie with complete and utter confidence, befitting of an archangel.

“Sinners are not innocent victims, but to label them as monsters incapable of goodness would also be wrong. They are people, trapped within a system that permits nothing but cruelty and that breaks anyone who dares to be better. Most of them do not do evil for the sake of it. They do it because they believe that evil is the only way to survive here. As long as that system exists, they will continue to believe it and there will never be hope for widespread redemptions of sinners. If you… if we truly want to make a difference, we must start with Pentagram City, Charlie.”

“Funny you mention that…” murmured the princess of Hell. “Recently I’ve had a meeting with an overlord and long story short he proposed to take over Pentagram and rule it in my stead.”

“Huh, come again?”

After a long and detailed explanation of what situation Pentagram City was about to face, Emily gave her a troubled stare, before settling her eyes at her teacup. Emily sighed and replied:

“I really wish Sera was here right now…”

“Don’t we all?” said a third voice, causing Charlie to jump in surprise, whilst Emily turned at newcomer and chastised him.

“Michael! Don’t scare her like that!”

“My sincerest apologies,” he said, sounding not sincere in the slightest. “I came here to inform you that my examination is done and we can return back home if you are done with your inquiries.”

“Sorry, Charlie,” Emily gave her a guilty smile. “Looks like I need to get back home. If it makes you feel better, Uriel wishes to come next and he knows about these things far more than I do. I’m sure he’ll be able to help.”

“Wait!” she jolted up from her seat. “Wait, wait, wait! I need your help with something, Mister Taxiarch. You see, some of my friends…”

“No,” came a curt reply.

“What!? But you haven’t even heard me out!”

“I don’t need to. I sensed the contracts binding their souls the moment I walked into this hotel. As much as the existence of soul contracts displeases me, I cannot in good conscience break their chains, knowing who they are and what they did. Besides, you have more than enough power to free them on your own, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

“But wait!” shouted Charlie. “One of them is not like the others! Please, just take a deeper look at her and you will see what I mean!” Charlie fell to her knees and lowered her head to the ground. “Just one look, please!”

Michael looked at Emily, who had been drilling him with her pleading eyes. Unable to withstand such psychological assault, the mighty Taxiarch gave in and sighed.

“Very well. Bring them here and I shall see if they deserve to be free.”

Charlie rushed out of the library like a blur of red. In an impressive feat of speed, she returned precisely a minute later, guiding by hand a familiar face. Upon seeing who she has brought to them, both Emily and Michael froze. There she was – the one who had slain Adam. They looked at her; Michael was completely unreadable, while Emily battled through the storm of emotions within.

Niffty looked at two angelic beings, their mere presence exhuming divinity with every act, no matter how insignificant. It was like the entirety of Hell was illuminated by their presence alone, the light of their being providing warmth and comfort to all the worthless vermin of Hell. She stood in their presence, her hand held in the princess’ and she realized something.

This wasn’t her first time seeing angels. Nightmarish visions of the past flashed before her eyes. She looked at them with an attempt at dignity, while self-hatred and guilt swallowed her whole. She let go of Charlie’s hand and walked up to the knight, Archangel Michael, on shaky legs. She lifted her eyes at his helmeted visage and whispered.

“I have wronged you, haven’t I?” angel provided her with no answer. “Ah, I understand. Please no waste no breath on my wretched self,” she fell to her knees and closed her eye. She was shaking, barely moments away from bursting into tears. Such a vile display, after all she’s done she still has the audacity to display her cowardice before her rightful executioner. “I know,” she choked out, “I know, I am lower than a beast. I have sinned against man and God alike. I deserve none of your endless mercy and yet… please…” she clasped her hands in prayer. “Please… make it painless.”

She heard a metallic clung, as something tightened around her neck. However, it was not the archangel's hand, but the chain of her soul contract. Her eyes opened from the sudden feeling and she saw that Michael was grasping the chain which shone with poisoned green. Before she could even realize what he was doing, he tightened his hold…

And the chain which tethered her soul broke apart into thousand shards and the next breath she made tasted so unbelievably sweet.

After his task was done, Michael turned around and opened a portal. Before walking into it, he left a parting word to now freed woman:

“Do not let it go to waste.”

And so he left. Emily remained for a second more. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but then promptly closed it. She sighed, turned and followed Michael through the portal, which then swiftly closed. Niffty and Charlie were left alone. Their eyes met and in the maid’s gaze the princess saw a mix of conflicting emotions. Before she could open her mouth, Niffty jumped from her spot and ran away through the open door.

It was hard to tell time in Hell. There were no sun, moon or stars in the sky above. The very sky itself had this horrid crimson color that reminded her too much of blood. When the night would come, the sky would slightly darken but that was it. As matter of fact, she still struggled to tell what time it was by sky alone. If it wasn’t for the fact that she could feel that somewhere around two hours have passed since she lost her chains, she wouldn’t have been able to tell that it was evening.

She sat on the hotel’s rooftop, her hands wrapped around her knees and her eye aimed at that detestable red sky. She did not knew why she was looking upward and what she was hoping to find amidst all that scarlet, but her heart just demanded for her to look up, as if exactly there lied the answer for her situation.

She heard the door to the roof open behind her and immediately turned to see who it was that came for her. Part of her, an animalistic and paranoid part, feared that it might be Alastor, coming to make good on his promise. Another part, one driven by contempt and frustration, wondered if it was one of the hotel guests sent by the princess to check on her, or God forbid Charlie herself.

Instead, it was one of the two people she had an amicable relationship with. Caleb, despite his stature and fearsome appearance, awkwardly peeked through a half open door. Their eyes met and he cleared his throat:

“Can I join you?”

She had no reason to refuse him and. Frankly, part of her that she could properly describe, was glad to see him. Her mind argued that misery loves company, while her heart was awfully silent.

“Be my guest,” she replied.

He sat beside her and they stared at the scenery in front of them in far from comfortable silence. Caleb’s eyes were glued to Pentagram City, its war torn streets and blood soaked roads, while hers was aimed at the sky, where the endless red was mocking her in its indifference. Eventually, the silence grew tiresome and Caleb spoke:

“Some view, huh?”

“It sure is something,” nodded Niffty, few more second of silence followed and she tried to change the topic of a conversation with a grace of a drunken hippo. “Did… did Charlie send you?”

“No,” he answered in a laidback manner. “I had an unpleasant conversation with a certain bloke over the phone and it planted way too many unpleasant thoughts in my cranium. Eventually, the silence of my room became unbearable and I went out to engage in some friendly banter with our ever-dutiful head maid in a selfish attempt to distract myself from my own misery.”

“I am the only maid in the hotel, Caleb,” replied Niffty with a smile.

“All the more reason to storm into Charlie’s room and demand a raise,” he noted, causing her to giggle. “So…” he paused trying to think of a best way to state his question, but unable to find it he just asked how it was. “What happened?”

Niffty sighed and rubbed her neck.

“I… I am no longer held by a contract with Alastor. Archangel Michael broke it for me and now…” she looked back at the horizon, “I’m free.”

“That sounds terrific,” proclaimed Caleb with some energy in his usually deadpan voice. “I mean, after being tied down to that subhuman piece of garbage for so long, freedom must feel like heaven right now.”

“It did,” she nodded. “For the first thirty minutes at least, then I started to grasp what it meant. I can go wherever I want, do whatever I wanna do and say whatever I wish to say and it… terrifies me.”

“How so?”

“From what little I’ve seen of Hell it’s not a kind of place where you can set off on some grand adventure of self-discovery. If I were to leave the hotel, I am afraid I’ll just end up shot, killed or worse. Staying here, however, also does not seem like a grand idea.”

“Does Charlie bother you that much?” questioned bewildered Caleb.

“I mean, I still don’t like being around her, but…” Niffty paused. “I do not hate her. Not anymore, at least. She’s the reason I’m free now, after all. I do not want to hate her, but at the same time she… she used me to fight angels, Caleb. I… I killed actual divine beings created by God himself. How can I discard something like this?” she whispered as tears clouded her vision.

“Niffty,” said Caleb gently, but with a certain level of firmness. “Archangel broke your soul contract. Do you think he would’ve done it, if he believed you to be an unredeemable monster?”

“No, but I killed his kin. I…”

“…was insane and unable to control yourself or comprehend the situation,” finished instead of her Caleb. “It was not your decision to kill. If anyone is to blame for deaths of angels – it is Charlie. Her and her ambition,” said Caleb and for a moment she heard something born of wrath and hate within his voice, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. He sighed. “Don’t get me wrong. I know that trying to stop this guilt and those thoughts and questions is impossible, even with such reasoning, but… I do wish you be easier on yourself, Niffty.”

“I… I’ll try. I promise, I will genuinely try,” Niffty swallowed lump in her throat and admitted. “There is something else.”

“Hm?”

“There is another reason I don’t want to stay here,” she clarified and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Alastor… he threatened me. He said that if I as much as think about breaking our contract, he’d hurt me and you and… I don’t know what to do, Caleb. He is… he is a terrible, dangerous man. I just don’t know how to escape him…”

“He threatened you?” repeated Caleb with an even voice and Niffty for the life of her could not decipher what intent it carried within itself. “Alright. I’ll talk with him and sort it out.”

“No!” she snapped from her place and grabbed by the shoulders, her face close to his. “Don’t do it! He’s too powerful to reason with!”

“He is not,” denied Caleb with a factual tone and somehow the calmness of his voice almost made her believe in him. “I’ve met many people in my life. Alastor is not weak, but he is not someone I’d consider powerful. I’ll reason with him and if he won’t listen, I will make him listen. You and I will be fine, Niffty. I promise.”

“I…” she was taken aback by his words. Here he was, someone who knew her for less than a week, talking about confronting one of the most dangerous overlords of Pentagram City for her sake. She just could not understand what made her worthy in his eyes of such effort. “Why…?” she whispered, completely lost. “Why do you care so much about my safety?”

“What reason do I need other than it being a right thing to do?” asked Caleb, but she only tightened her grip around his shoulders, as if sensing that there was more to this. “Besides, the idea of you being hurt is… deeply unpleasant. I suppose you can say that I…” he stammered. “I care about you.”

“You do…?” she asked, suddenly feeling how close his face was to hers. He just nodded, now seemingly bereft of his confidence.

She let go of his shoulders and sat in front of him, giving them both much needed distance. It was just two of them on that roof, sitting face to face. They stared at each other, unable to think of anything worthwhile to say. No, it was more like they feared to break this dreamlike moment of serenity with their clumsy words. Eventually, something occurred to Niffty and she proceeded to ask question which took her all the reserves of bravery she had:

“Caleb,” she said, ”do you want to run away with me?”

“I…” he stopped and looked away from her to the side. “I can’t,” he admitted and there was something resembling regret in his voice. “There is way too much I need to do here first. Way more I have to see. Maybe… maybe after that I could afford to start thinking about things like that,” he sighed, stood up and offered her a hand. “Until then, the best I can give is a promise to face whatever awaits by your side and keep you safe from it all.”

“I… I’d like that,” she replied, taking his hand and standing up. “But I do wish for you to stay safe as well.”

“I’ll try my best, Miss Niffty,” he said with some comforting ease.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Mister Caleb,” she replied, matching his laidback tone with her usual professionalism. “Now, would you please accompany me to Her Highness’ office? There is much I must discuss with her before I can return to my duties.”

“Only if raising your wage would be included in those discussions.”

“Of course it will be included, Mister Caleb. I am a greedy woman, after all.”

They laughed and returned back into the hotel and above them the endless red sky observed Pentagram City and its constant urban warfare and cruelty with its usual apathy. However, in that short and fleeting moment, the two of them were completely ignorant to Hell and its constant malice. All Niffty and Cain could really think about was their ongoing friendly conversation and for them it was more than enough.

Chapter Text

Tomorrow came and Pentagram City continued to exist just as it did the day before. Sinners were fighting, hiding, boasting, drinking, screaming, laughing, shooting and, most of all, surviving. They were moving, never stopping, never slowing down. For an average sinner, Pentagram City was not a place where you could just stop and think about where you were, what led you there and where you were heading to.

But even in that pit of endless bloodshed, there were small sparks of genuine joy. Case and point, a certain maid of a certain hotel. A day has passed since she was freed from her chains and yet wonderful hoy of newfound freedom joy was yet to leave her heart. It was there, in her every action that day, and that did not go unnoticed.

When evening came and she began to clean the hotel one final time before going to sleep, she swept and cleaned every room, until she eventually came to a place that was still occupied by its caretaker. The hotel's bar was a quiet place, its silence disrupted only when a certain spider would get bored and come here to annoy the bartender with his jokes and innuendos. Right now, however, Angel Dust was spending his evening in the comfort of his room and in the company of his pet pig.

So, it was only Husk that greeted her when she finally came to clean the bar. He was looking for something with two shots in his hands and didn’t notice her at first. She came closer and set the broom in her hands aside and it was then when he finally took a notice of her.

“Ah, Niffty!” he exclaimed. “Just the lady I needed!” he extended his hands to her. “Can you hold them for a bit for me?”

She huffed with a half smirk, already sensing some shenanigans in bound, but there was no reason for her not to play along. She walked to him and took the glasses from him.

“Sure,” she replied. “What are you looking for, Husk?”

“Oh, just a little something I saved for a better day,” he replied, rummaging through the cabinets. “You know, I never expected to use it any day soon, but you know how it is in here. Just when you think it’s nothing but endless rains and cold winds for you, the sun suddenly decides to peek out through the clouds and grace you with just a bit of warmth to keep you going like a fool, thinking that if you just weather it long enough it’s all going to be alright in the end.”

“You sure do have an optimistic outlook on things, Husk,” she said with a sigh. “But… I think I know what you are talking about. So, what’s the occasion? Did one of the visiting archangels give you a boost of confidence or something?”

“Not exactly…” he muttered. “Ah-ha! There she is!”

He walked to her triumphantly, in his hand a bottle containing some sort of alcoholic beverage. Without a word, he took one glass off her hands and opened the cork of the bottle with his teeth. He then poured a full shot for himself and then for her, while she stood there dumbfounded.

Husk raised his shot and proclaimed:

“To the freedom of our dear overworked maid!”

Niffty sighed and gave him a tired smile, but then raised her own shot and their glasses clicked. That sound, so short and insignificant, yet it carried with itself something so much larger. Minutes later they were sitting behind and in front of the bar counter. Niffty’s first shot was still full, while Husk was downing his third.

“So,” she began, “what exactly gave it away?”

“Well, everything. The way you were walking and prancing around, while dusting off every surface in the hotel, and that smile on your face as you hummed those delightful tunes. Honestly, I almost expected you to break into a song!”

“Sto-o-o-op!” she whined, as she hid her face with her hands. “You made your point!”

To that Husk gave a hearty laugh, while Niffty could only glare at him with no real fire in her eye. When he calmed down, he poured himself another shot and asked:

“Anyway, what are you planning to do with your freedom, Nif?”

“Well, not much, honestly,” she said, glancing to the side. “At first I wanted to run away as far as my feet could take me, but then I thought ‘just where can I run off to?’ and, well… I had a good conversation with a friend of mine and decided to stay here for a bit, until I can figure out what to do.”

“Was that friend a three meter tall skeleton, perchance?”

“…every lady is entitled to her secrets, Husk,” replied Niffty after a short pause, causing Husk to chuckle. She then sighed and finally downed her shot of alcohol. It was… nice. A bit bitter, but with a welcome fruity aftertaste. Just the way she liked. In her chest spread the familiar warmth and she slowly exhaled savoring every moment.

“You know,” spoke Husk, “if you wanna run off somewhere I have some favors to collect. Just one call and you’d be on your way to one of the safer cities of Hell.”

“I… appreciate it,” replied Niffty. “I do, but I think I need to stay here for a while and see where this whole thing is heading.”

“Do you think Charlie’s idea has some merit?” asked Husk.

“I mean, we both saw archangels right?” asked Niffty to which Husk nodded. “And both of us are still alive and well, despite them having all the reasons in the world for that to be otherwise. That gotta mean something, right?”

“You think Pentious is up there?” asked Husk in a hushed tone.

“I pray so,” she answered curtly. Husk sighed and solemnly poured another shot for himself and attempted to do the same for Niffty, but she stopped him.

“I still have work to do,” she explained.

He shrugged and just downed another shot, while she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. She looked at him and in her eye he could see pity and worry. Internally he sighed. He really wished to avoid this topic.

“Husk…” she murmured.

“Nif?”

“Maybe you should take it easy.”

“Sorry, Nif, but my answer to that remains the same. I am a sinner. Liver failure ain’t gonna do me in no more.”

“That doesn’t mean you should keep trying to drown in the bottle, Husk,” she retorted with a sigh. “Besides, indulging in your vices in a place like this seems counterproductive, don’t you think?”

“First,” Husk raised a finger, “neither you nor I came here out of goodness of our heart,” he raised another. “Second, since when do you care about redemption?”

“Perhaps, her highness’ endless optimism is finally starting to rub off on me,” admitted with a half-jest the maid. “Or maybe regaining my freedom in one out a million chance has given me a boost in delusion to believe that someone in this glorified daycare would manage to do the impossible. Who knows, really?” she shrugged.

“Well, then, here is a counterargument for you – my chains are still with me,” said Husk, causing Niffty to frown. “So, while they are weighing down on my neck I see no reason to abstain from my dear friend ‘Al-khul’, whom you so heartlessly label as ‘vice’, Nif.”

“I see,” muttered Niffty, lowering her eye to the empty shot, while stomach clenched with a feeling of guilt. “…sorry for coming off as preachy, Husk. It’s just… I care about you, you know? Out of everyone in here, you are the only one truly who looked out for me when I was this mad little gremlin. I only wish to return the favor.”

“I know,” he sighed and scratched the back of his head. “I know, and that’s why I am not cussing you out of the bar right now. It’s just…” he looked at the half-empty bottle of prized liquor. “You know, I was on the top of the world once. I had everything – money, power, loyalty and a place I could call my own. Sounds pathetic, but back then I felt more alive than I ever did on Earth. Back there, I was just a hired muscle for a senile old fart who thought he still had all of the east coast in his grasp, but here… I felt powerful, felt like I could carve out my own place in the halls of history. Then, one day, it was all gone and I watched as my own bright future passed me by, while I just stood there like a cretin, one hand on those damn cards and another on a bottle of absinthe.”

Husk sighed.

“When you go through something like this, you start to realize just how little life gives us that we can care about and even less of what, or whom, can care for us back. Back then, when I was at the bottom the only one beside me was her,” he pointed at the bottle, with a bitter smile, “and we’ve been going strong ever since.”

“Is it really the only thing that keeps you going, Husk?” she quietly asked.

“No,” he replied after a short pause and then shook his head. “There’s one other thing. I have an idea in mind. A dream, if you will. One day, these chains are gonna crumble and when they do, I am going to rebuild,” Niffty looked at him with a silent inquiry. “No, not because I miss owning the souls of others so much, Nif. I admit, being on the other side of the contract really soured me on the idea of soul deals. No, I am gonna rebuild with just my own hands and wits. Because I want to prove something to myself. That there’s still some of that old fire left in me, that I am not just some washed up good for nothing louse. I will rebuild it all, brick by brick if necessary, and let them all see who I am.”

Niffty chuckled, with no malice or pity, and raised her glass with a smile on her face.

“I’ll drink to that.”

With a smile of his own, Husk poured her another shot and the rest of their evening went in much higher moods.

Cain stood in front of a tall metal door and in his heart there was a great sense of anxiety and dread. His sword was still with him, although a part of him wondered if it would’ve been better otherwise. He run in his head thousands upon thousands of ways the incoming conversation could go, but nothing, not even the best scenario possible, could ease his nervousness.

He sighed. No point in just standing there. The faster he gets this over with is the better. He knocked on the heavy metal door a few times and heard the voice from the other side through the heavy radio static:

“Just a minute!”

The door opened and here he was – Alastor the Radiodemon and his eternal Cheshire grin. Cain steadied his hand.

“Ah, Caleb! To what I owe the pleasure of seeing you on this fine hellish evening, my friend?”

Cain cleared his throat.

“I wish to talk,” he said in a stilted manner. “Inside, if possible.”

“Of course, my fellow, come inside,” Alastor opened the door wider and let Cain into his radio tower. “You had the luck of catching me just as I finished my daily broadcast. Please, take a seat and make yourself feel at home.”

“I’ll try,” muttered Cain, as he took in his surroundings. It was just what you could expect from an ordinary radio tower made in the early twentieth century, albeit clean and in mint condition. There were only two chairs, both in front of the control panel. Cain took one and the other sat Alastor.

“So!” started Radio Demon. “What exactly do you wish to discuss with me, my skeletal friend?”

Cain decided to not beat around the bush and went straight to the point.

“I talked with Niffty the other day.”

“Oh? I hope my favorite had some worthwhile things to say, if it led you here, Caleb.”

“She said you threatened her,” stated Cain calmly.

“Perhaps, I did,” shrugged Alastor with an easygoing smile. “What’s then, Caleb? Are you going to threaten me in return? Demand that I walk out, find her and apologize to her with earnest tears for my wrongdoings? No, our dear future monarch already occupies that role. Perhaps, you are here to play the role of a chivalrous knight and confront me, the great and terrible overlord, in a fair battle on behalf of a poor wronged lady who has no power to do so on her own? Or… you are not here to play the role of an agent of justice, who lets loose his righteous wrath with a heavy hand, but the one of passion? Maybe, you are here as a lover, here to fight and battle for honor of your graceful delicate maiden in whom your poor wounded heart found solace and whom I so callously wronged? And then after a well-earned victory, you shall grab her by the hand and run off into the great sunset, where naught but joy and love awaits you?” Alastor could no longer narrate those ridiculous scenarios and gave a smooth, hearty laugh. “Please, my friend, such cliché roles would be a waste of your good looks!”

“I said I came here to talk, didn’t I?” asked Cain. “Or have your fantasies made you deaf to the sounds of reality?”

“Touché, Caleb,” replied Alastor with a chuckle. “Well, then talk to your heart’s content, my friend!”

“I abhor violence and you are a man of class, or at least present yourself as one,” Cain sighed. “There is no need for us to spill blood over this matter, so let us use reason instead. My demand is simple – leave Niffty alone or at the very least treat her with the same courtesy you treat me and other guests. As far as I am concerned, this is a reasonable demand.”

“From your point, it might be, but I fear I fail to see what you see. Please, Caleb, enlighten this old fool, what exactly makes this outrageous order so reasonable to you?”

“She has done nothing to warrant such aggression from you,” reasoned Cain. “True, her soul is no longer yours to command, but that hardly makes her a just victim of your cruelty, Alastor. It’s just a single soul.”

“One soul too many, my dear friend,” retorted the cannibal. “Imagine if any of the other overlords learns I let something like that occur and then let her go scot free. That’ll be a sign of weakness bigger than the very sun. Or worse, imagine if other links in the chains of power learn that one like them managed to get free. Oh, the reaction would be truly fate altering for this entire city. Do you not see how vast are the consequences of what you deem so meager and undeserving of attention?”

“She has done nothing to deserve this,” argued Cain.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so bold with my words in your place, dear friend. When we made a deal I caught a glimpse of her soul. She is a good for nothing murderer just like you and me. Can’t you see it? The weight of her sins shows in her every step. Her fate is not a tragic one and whatever I might inflict upon her is merely a karmic consequence. After all, if she were undeserving of such fate she wouldn’t be here, isn’t it right?”

Cain just sat in silence, as he took in Radio Demon’s argument. There were no revelations within his word. He already knew that he and Niffty were too much alike. The more he observed her the more he recognized himself, his guilt and his own sorrow in hers. So Alastor’s words failed to provoke any sort of shock.

No, they merely fanned the flames of wrath within his heart. Here he was, a good for nothing serial killer, posing as some grand arbiter of justice in this wicked realm of filth. It was as pathetic, as it was infuriating. Cain exhaled and spoke, slowly and barely reigning himself in:

“You are full of shit, Alastor.”

“My, my! And what did I do to provoke such… uncouth words from you, Caleb?” asked Alastor as his grin grew wicked and his eyes gleamed with sadistic anticipation.

“Your eloquent blabber, your affable manners, your attempts at reason… None of that is true to who you are. There’s nothing noble or rational within your malice. No, it is entirely childlike. What provoked your bloodthirst was not some Machiavellian foresight or belief in justice. It is anger. Anger that one single soul defied you and dared to slip away between your fingers. You are nothing but another control freak with delusions of grandeur.”

“Bold words, Caleb! Quite bold, indeed!” replied Alastor, as he stood from his chair. “However you seem to forget – reason is a tool meant to reach understanding, between equals,” suddenly, the serial killer’s body grew bulkier and taller. His antlers grew and tentacles of pure black matter busted out of his back and flailed violently. “And you are but a mere prey in my den!”

What happened was entirely too quick, too sudden and too unreal. One moment he was gazing at this foolish boy trying to play hero for that worthless wench and the next his body went flying. He hit a wall and the world was still a blur. His chest hurt, his head was ringing and the very air changed. It became thick and heavy, almost like a cloud of poison.

He then felt intense heat and his eyes began to regain focus. That skeletal sinner was pinning him down. Him! Alastor The Radio Demon! The Strongest Overlord! Yet in this moment Caleb appeared beyond strength. To his throat he held his sword… No, it was not just a sword. It felt too powerful, too terrible, too vile to be labeled as just that.

What Caleb held to his neck was but a mere vessel to the very concept of hatred unending and eternal. Caleb’s hand wavered, as if he was barely holding back this all-consuming malice, but when he spoke Alastor realized that while his sword was indeed powerful, it was but a mere conduit to what the skeletal sinner bore within himself.

“Thousands upon thousands of years ago, I made my journey across this realm of fire and gnashing teeth,” his voice, much like his hand, wavered and within was this fearsome ancient wrath. “I walked, aimlessly, guided by nothing but my self-hatred and desire for self-destruction. Armies of demons stood in my path desiring to stop and imprison me, terrible beasts of old attempted to invoke their vengeance upon me, horrors beyond humanity’s scope of understanding tried to consume me. Each failed. Corpse after corpse left in my wake. The land drowned in blood and rot. Then, one day at the end of my journey I stood on the brink and saw what I so desperately craved and so thoughtlessly given to others – complete and utter annihilation of self and there I understood…”

Caleb lowered his head and whispered into Alastor’s ear, in his voice desperation and contempt:

“…I don’t want to be that kind of man anymore. So, I cast away my hatred, my anger and my despair. I made a vow to never take another life and now I live my life in penance. I don’t want to harm anyone ever again, so please…” he begged on the verge of breakdown. “Please, do not give me reason to slip back into being that… thing. I beg of you. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to show you what a truly terrible thing it is to kill a man.”

With that Caleb stood up and withdrew his blade back into its sheath. He looked at Alastor, who merely gazed back, paralyzed by primordial terror. A lesser man would’ve reveled in it, but for Cain it was just another reminder of what he once was and what he desperately wished to leave behind. He sighed. This was not how he wanted this to go.

At the very least, this would be more than enough for the radio host to leave the maid alone

“Let’s not speak of this, Alastor,” were his final words to Radio Demon after which he promptly left.

Alastor was left behind, still enveloped in the petrifying embrace of terror. Tomorrow, he would recover and be back to his broadcast assured and confident as ever, but until mourning he would remain like that. Soon enough, he would find a justification, an excuse, and a reason to bounce back to his delusion of grandeur. Nevertheless, until morning and then some, his hands would remain trembling and his eyes staring forward.

Chapter Text

Niffty, as usual, woke up before anyone else at six in the morning. She sat in her bed, stretched and yawned. Then she stood from her bed and with a half-closed eye went to the bathroom. Thirty or so minutes later she left the bathroom clean and refreshed. She strutted to the wardrobe and changed from her nightgown to her usual work dress and apron. Before she left her room she brushed her hair and looked at her own reflection in the mirror.

It’s been some time since she regained her sanity, yet she was still to grow accustomed to her own reflection. It did not disgust her as viscerally as it did before, but she still found it hard to stare at it for long. She smiled and inspected her head from various angles, made a few grimaces and then sighed. No, she just had no expression in her arsenal that could make her face pleasant to look at.

She left her room and went from the third floor to the first in a measured manner. Soon, she was in the hotel’s kitchen. It was vast and spacious, with numerous fridges, stoves and work stations, clearly meant for the whole crew of people. She went to the nearest fridge and took out sliced ham, American yellow cheese and bread. She placed them on the workstation near the stove, then she began to brew some coffee.

A few minutes later, she made a sandwich for herself and was in the process of pouring water in the mug. Good ol’ black bean water, just the way she liked. As she put in the last drop, she heard behind herself an unusually tired yet familiar voice:

“Good morning, Niffty… Can you pour me a mug, please?”

She turned around and saw an unusually disheveled looking Charlie. Her usually neat golden hair now resembled more a straw with the way it was messy, her jacket was nowhere to be found, exposing for all to see her wrinkled white shirt and her tie too was absent. The bags under her eyes told a story of a long and sleepless night.

“Of course, your highness,” replied Niffty after a moment of stunned silence.

“Oh, stop it with the formalities!” Charlie waved her hand. “It’s too early for that. Just call me Charlie, please.”

“Very well, pri-… Charlie.”

A couple of minutes later, Niffty made a fresh cup of black coffee and handed it over to Charlie, who drank it without a moment of hesitation only to end up coughing right afterwards. Niffty winced upon witnessing such a reaction and rushed to the fridge to fetch cream and on the way back she also grabbed some sugar. After being presented with sweeteners, Charlie wasted no time in putting them to good use.

“Ugh,” Charlie took a sip of a much sweeter beverage. Her scrunched up face visibly relaxed. “Much better.”

“My apologies, Charlie,” said the maid. “I should’ve asked for your preference first.”

“It’s alright, Niffty,” replied the princess with a smile. “It’s just a small incident and there’s no need to apologize for any of it. Although, I must say I am quite surprised you are even able to drink that.”

“What is so surprising about it? It’s just coffee.”

“I know, but it’s just so bitter! When I think of coffee, I usually picture in my head a nice and refreshing cup that eases the soul and reinvigorates the body. But just black coffee? Even if it didn’t have that unpleasant taste, I just don’t think I’d be able to drink it just like that. It feels… incomplete, you know?”

To that Niffty gave an exasperated sigh.

“I think you're just trying to rationalize your highly subjective taste. What you said, I think, can only really apply to those cheap brands that you can buy at the convenience store. While I am not familiar with this brand, I can say by taste alone that it is of a high quality, trying to dilute its rich taste with sugar and cream would be waste.”

To that Charlie just chuckled. She was pleased. Not by the argument itself, but just by the fact that Niffty was politely arguing with her in the first place. Just a few days ago, she would just hide her inner thoughts and tastes behind the wall of cold professionalism. Now, while witnessing new and once hidden sides of Niffty, Charlie grew only more grateful for Michael for freeing her.

“You know, it reminds me of something,” Charlie said with a fond smile, while looking at the mug in her hands. “When I was little, my parents always forbade me from consuming anything with high caffeine in it, but I was just so curious about this strange grown-up drink that I would often sneak sips from mom’s mug in the morning when she wasn’t looking. She liked to drink it like you do, so I would always end up with a scrunched up look on my face and my mom would always notice it, but never comment on it. Back then, I used to think that it was because my acting was just that good, but just right after my second attempt mom switched to hot chocolate without me knowing, but she would always speak about it like it was still coffee and I, being a little kid, would always believe her,” Charlie giggled. “Suffice to say she would later tease me with it relentlessly.”

“That’s… a nice story.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent for a minute or so. Their eyes everywhere except at each other and yet when they’ve met in this mad attempt to avoid one another, both decided to speak up. At the same time.

“Princess, I…”

“Niffty, look…”

Both immediately stopped upon realizing that they spoke at the same time. Charlie let out an awkward chuckle, Niffty did the same. The maid gestured to the princess to speak first and she did:

“I wanted to apologize for my complacency. I always took you and Husk for granted and never once bothered to think about why you are here or even if you want to be here in the first place. Not only that, but I always chose to overlook your more alarming tendencies. “Just small quirks”, “It’s just Niffty being Niffty” and “She looks happy”. That’s how I justified it to myself and that was wrong. I should’ve noticed you were hurting sooner, or at the very least I should have never gotten you involved in dangerous situations. I know, it won’t ever undo what I did, but what it’s worth – I am sorry.”

Niffty bit her lip and remained silent, as a tornado of emotions swallowed her heart whole for a moment, but it didn’t rip it out inwards into the dark and wretched vortex. Instead, her heart and what little goodness was within it remained with her and perhaps because of that she managed to reply:

“You right, it won’t undo the single thing, but…” Niffty sighed. “You freed me. I know holding a grudge at you after that would be unfair, but at the same time… I cannot just let these feelings go. They are stuck with me just as much as I am stuck with them, but at the same time I do not wish to be led by them. I… I don’t want to hate you, Charlie. I will not make big promises; it might take a while, but as long as you are willing to try to be better, I am not opposed to us becoming friends one day.”

“I… I’d like that.”

Uncharacteristically comfortable silence followed. Niffty was content, smiling. Charlie, meanwhile, still had something gnawing at her. She hated to ruin the good mood, but she had to know. There was not much time left and she needed to hear one more opinion before she could make a decision. She cleared her throat and shot her shot:

“Niffty, do you remember the discussion we shared the day angels arrived at the hotel?”

“You mean…?” her eye widened in realization, then her face changed into a small frown. “Yes, I do. You are still yet to make your choice concerning Vox, right?”

“Yes,” replied Charlie with a shame, as she looked to the side. “I know, you already gave your opinion once, but that was before… well, this. It’s just… this decision will affect all, including those in the hotel, and I would hate to disregard you again in favor of my own comfort.”

Niffty sighed and grave and somber emotion overtook her visage.

“Last time we talked about it I held my tongue, I admit that. Now I must start my argument by saying that I detest Vox. Not because I remember that much about him, but for the sole reason that he, just like Alastor, is an overlord. No man that owns the souls of others can enact a noble rule. My conscience tells me that we should refuse him, but there are just circumstances that my mind cannot ignore. In acting morally, we might endanger even more souls to the whims of far more terrible despots. In keeping our own hands clean, we’ll drown the streets in the blood of others. Despite my own disgust, we must side with Vox in this matter.”

“Do you think…” muttered Charlie, uncomfortable at having to ask such a question after all she put the maid through by her own inaction. “Do you think I’d be able to lead Pentagram City morally and just?”

“You would certainly try,” nodded Niffty. “You would make a thousand mistakes along the way, but by the end of it you might retain enough of your heart to do just that, but Charlie… This is the governance we speak about. One small mistake could cost countless lives. Can you really act as monarch with such weight imposed upon your shoulders?”

Charlie did not reply, she merely stared at the mug in her own hand. Minute or so passed and she sighed and gave Niffty a small smile:

“Thank you for the coffee, Nif. I need to return to work.”

“It was my pleasure, Charlie,” replied the maid.

Then, she left and Niffty soon began her long and uneventful work day.

Sinner did not need nourishment the same way hellborn and humans did. They could fee hunger, sure, but it could never kill them. For that reason, lunchbreak was something of a privilege for many sinners. If you were at the bottom of a hierarchy, working some sort of unskilled trade, you would often be deprived of that simple thing. After all, managers had quotas to chase and someone had to pull their own weight, no matter how malnourished.

Speaking of managers, people in the middle of the chain would be the ones enjoying the absolute privilege of getting half an hour (sometimes a full hour if they were particularly important) of free time that they could relegate to the consumption of food. Technicians, analysts, accountants and the like would often congregate and mingle in cafeterias and break rooms speaking about various mundane bullshit and engaging in good old corporate drama and social backstabbery.

Now, following this line of thought, one would be wise to think that the person that stood at the apex of the food chain would be the one enjoying the most free time, right? Unfortunately, no. At least not when it came to Vox. Vox, for the lack of a better word, was a complete and utter workaholic. His workday would not end in the evening and then start again in the morning. No, sometimes the mad son of a bitch would just not stop working. For him, to work was the same as to breathe.

It was a great point of annoyance for her. She still remembered the last time they went for movies together. She got her cutest dress, did her hair in the way she used to have it back when she was a freelance fixer for the sake of nostalgia, rented a movie theater they used to go when they were just two nobodies(yes, the whole building), got the best line up of cinema, even the obscure arthouse shit only he cared about. In other words, she did all she could in her power as an overlord to get for both of them one perfect day.

And what did the flathead do in return? He spent most of the day completing damn excel sheets in the theater! She got so damn mad she stopped talking with him for a month after that. She couldn’t quite remember what he did so she would accept his apology, but ever since then he stopped working during their dates and started to actually take breaks during the workday.

Right now was supposed to be his break. She went into his office in a new attire and with a stack of paper in hands. As she hoped, Vox was sitting in his chair. His body was facing the aquarium, where he kept his most prized pet project. Giant cyborg shark named Shock.wav.

There were no animals native to earth in Hell. No plants, either. Plenty of elephant sized carnivorous insects, unfortunately. When Vox first told her that he planned to get himself a pet shark, she asked him if he planned to make a deal with a member of Ars Goetia to smuggle one in from Envy. To that he only laughed and said he was going to make one by his own hands.

She wrote that off back then as a flight of fancy that would end with nothing but wasted money and resources. A year later she met Shock.

Shock was not just your regular shark. Shit, he wasn’t even a shark with cyber augmentations. What he was could’ve been best described best as the first ever wetware robot. Whatever fleshy bits he had were all grown in the labs of VoxTek’s bioresearch division; his chrome was designed and developed by Vox himself. Shock was not just a shark, Shock was a goddamn miracle of technology and magic.

Velvette remembered asking Vox why he decided to waste so much resources on what amounted to a very impressive pet at the end of the day. He said it was a proof of concept for the future of private security. Not only that, but as he explained to her that day:

‘I wanted to have a reminder of the ideal close to me.’

What that ideal was Velvette saw whenever she traced Shock.wav’s movements in that tank with her eyes. Top of the line cyber implants, biological augmentations and yet Shock still had that inherent and limiting need of sharks for constant movement. At the end of the day, Shock was not only a pet and a proof of concept, but also a glorified motivational poster. But Velvette had to give it to Vox, out of all the ways to present that simple message, a giant cyber shark was probably the best one. Besides, the message itself was not half bad:

‘Never stop moving forward.’

She strutted closer to his table and he had the audacity to keep sitting with his back turned to her, despite clearly hearing her steps. The audacity! Thankfully, she didn’t have have to clear her throat when she got right in front of his table, as he finally decided to address her:

“Hi, Velvette,” he said with his bored eyes on the tablet in his hands. “How are you doing?”

“I am doing well enough, but whatever you are reading on that tablet better be important or I’m feeding it to Shock.”

“Please, don’t. He already had his fill for today and I don’t want him putting on weight,” Vox ‘pleaded’ with an even tone and then, after a few seconds, explained. “I’m reading the news. Remember that ad we did for ‘Darwin and co’ last month?”

“We did a few, Vox,” she paused, scratching her memory. Then she remembered and groaned with displeasure. “Wait, you don’t mean the suicide pen?”

“Yep, the suicide pen.”

‘Darwin and co’ was a small firearms producing company that had the luck of not being owned by Carmine Industries. They sprung out somewhere in the nineties and, as expected, did not have the same resources and capabilities necessary to compete with an overlord owned company, so instead they decided to carve themselves a niche. And carve it they did. Unlike Carmilla, who produced and sold conventional firearms and firearm related accessories, ‘Darwin and co’ sold what was referred to as “gimmick weapons”.

Gunswords, gun axes, gunspears, gunboots, guns that transformed into bigger guns and also replicas of various unpractical weaponry of Earth that was regarded as ‘cult classic’.

Their latest invention to hit the market was suicide pen. It was a gun(of course) that looked more like an oversized pen. Unlike their other products, it was not meant for termination of others but rather the termination of self. The pen had a single cartridge containing a small bit of angelic steel. The pen made for a poor weapon, but as a tool of quick and painless self-destruction it was more than enough. Put the business end of the pen against the roof of your own mouth, press a button and then it’s all over.

Morbid thing, overall. One of the rare times Velvette felt disgusted at giving an approval for the airing of an ad.

“Please, tell me it’s the news about how that shit put them in bankruptcy.”

“Oh, it’s quite the opposite,” replied Vox. “It’s doing numbers, their stocks look greater than ever.”

“God damn it,” whispered Velvette. “Shit like that makes me miss Trifecta. At least those fuckers had the right idea about angelic steel.”

That was something they both could agree on, even if he would never admit it aloud. Back when he was just an ordinary office worker he had to work for three years just to afford a single angelic bullet and now these same bullets were flying around like flies at a communal outhouse and now this of all things. Morally, it was terrible, but from the point of view of economics this was downright catastrophic.

So many bullets flying around, so many corpses falling to the ground. Corpses that once used to be sinners, but now would never bring any sort of value for their surroundings. Each sinner had a soul. What was perceived as ethereal and eternal on Earth was a source of energy in Hell. Human soul was priceless, sinner’s soul was just a number on an excel sheet. A quantifiable resource, in other words, and each day this quantifiable resource was spent and thrown to the wind in a, frankly, senseless manner.

Gang wars, turf wars, mass shootings, mass bombings, acts of violence as a form of protest and blood sports. What good did they bring to the Pentagram City to warrant such a colossal waste of resources? None. Absolutely none.

“Perhaps, we could buy them off,” mused Vox, as he scrolled the morning news.

“And encroach on Carmine’s share of the market?” asked Velvette. “Fuck that. The bitch is already a pain in the ass as is. I’d rather not have her rotten spies crawling around in our home, it already stinks too much here with all of Val’s sick shit.”

“True, true,” nodded Vox. “I suppose we’ll postpone that particular idea at a later date. Now,” he turned in his chair to face her, “what exactly brings you to me… oh.”

A dress, mostly black with some dark red highlights. Plenty of frills and along the skirt and a ribbon on a bodice and plenty of other things terminology for which was unknown for him. It was cute, fit for a Victorian doll. It was also entirely clashing with Velvette’s usual brand of fashion which was more fit for podiums and high end club parties.

“Did I forget about an occasion or something?” she usually wore something like that whenever they went to see movies or have dinner.

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’. “Just felt like being a bit less of a bad bitch today. Now, while I understand that my beauty is simply divine, I came here not for you to revere and drool over me, but for this,” unceremoniously she plopped a stack of paper on his table.

He grabbed the first document and quickly read every page. Any other sinner would’ve taken a few hours to read it all. He needed only ten seconds. He placed the first document aside, grabbed the next one, and read it all and placed it atop the first. Then the third. After that, he placed the third document atop the second and paused to think. Velvette was gazing at him with a completely flat face, but her eyes told him more than enough. She was anxious, desperate for approval. He sighed and leaned back on his chair.

“Charity work,” he said with his tone completely even, almost robotic. “You want to do charity work. Here of all places. Why?”

“It will do good for our image,” she replied, her voice just as professional as his. “With one or two segments on Channel 666 they’d hail us new messiahs. People will adore us. We won’t have to entice them to sell us their souls, they’ll give us for free by the end of it and they will thank us for it.”

“That,” he pointed at her, “is a reason for me to go along with it. It’s good, I have to admit, and with your talents we’d pull it off with minimal effort. Hell, we won’t even have to go so hard on the funding as you want us to, but it’s not your reason, is it?”

Velvette did not reply and just lowered her eyes, away from his piercing glare.

“Velvette,” he addressed her much softer. “I am not opposed to this. Really, I am all for it, but I fear that without knowing your true intentions I might accidentally go against them. Please, talk with me.”

“Do I really have to say anything?” she asked quietly. “I mean, have you taken a look outside lately? We’ve been in this business ever since Trifecta fell and we’ve been overlords since the nineties. It’s been so long since we finally reached the top and despite every promise we made to each other along the way, the view outside the window is just as repulsive as ever. It’s like we never did anything in the first place.”

Velvette sighed.

“I am tired, Vox. Sick and tired of it all. From the lowlifes, to middlemen and the overlords ruling over them from their ivory towers. Most of all I am sick of my own inaction. I know this,” she pointed at the stacks of papers on which were her dreams and hopes for something, anything, “will be seen as an admission of weakness to all those bloodthirsty bastards and I don’t care anymore. I am tired of excusing my own apathy. One day, I’m gonna be dead in the ground and when that happens I wish to leave behind something that does not make me wanna puke. I’ll do the right thing, even if I’ll have to battle every single overlord out there with my bare hands.”

To that Vox merely sighed. The air was thick with anticipation and determination. He reached for his pen and signed the documents. The motions of his hands are swift and fluid. Once he was done, he looked up to see Velvette smiling at him the same way she used to back when she was a simple fixer. It was a small and vulnerable smile. He opened his mouth to say something, when his phone suddenly rang.

He looked at who was calling and a shark-like smile crept on his face. He accepted the call and greeted the person on the other end with great joy.

“Ah, Charlie! To what I owe the pleasure?”

“Hello, Vox,” Velvette recognized the voice on the other side as that of the princess of Hell which caused her to frown. She already did not like the royal cunt, but now she just had to call and ruin their moment? What a twat. “I discussed what you told me with my friends and we came to a decision. I will accept your proposal, but on two conditions.”

“Yes, of course. I’d be insulted if you didn’t use this precarious situation to get what you want, princess. What exactly do you desire from your humble future custodian?”

“First, I desire for us to work as equals. That means full transparency on everything you do. No lies, no half-truths, no bullshit. Is that clear?”

“Crystal!” he replied with a smile, as if deaf to her grave and heavy tone.

“Second, I wish for Angel Dust to be free from Valentino.”

“Hm-m-m…” Vox paused and thought it over. “Sure, I can arrange that. I need to warn you, it will take at least a week. Val is a man of few virtues and charity is not amongst them, I’m afraid.”

“In that case I wish for him to be freed from his official work, until your negotiations with Valentino are done.”

“Perfect, now…” Vox glanced to the side and saw that Velvette already got the signal and was leaving with documents in hand. “I need you to come to my tower tomorrow at your earliest convenience. Make sure to wear something expensive and extravagant. We have one hell of an announcement to make. Don’t hang up now, I still have a couple of things to explain to you…”

The next half an hour Vox spent just debriefing Charlie on what tomorrow will entail and what she had to prepare for. Once that was all said and done, she hung up and he leaned back on his chair with a satisfied smile. It was too early to celebrate. Getting the princess' approval was just step one of the plan and soon he would have plenty of work to do, but until then he would just enjoy this sense of a well-made first step.

Tomorrow would go down in history. An announcement of a new era of Pentagram City. There was no doubt that those old fools and bloodthirsty warlords in power would be furious with him and, frankly, he was looking forward to their reaction. About time for these blind bastards to realize that the city was moving forward, away from constant bloodshed and war torn streets in which they thrived.

Some of them would try to stop him, but he was not worried about that. It didn’t matter how much phantoms of the night raged against the sky, the mourning would arrive all the same.