Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You're the king of ashes, your throne full of spears and your subjects turned to dust.”

He never could have known how his own words could pierce within his ears like that. The figure was already sickening enough to look at, reminding him of the man who was the cause of every occasional nightmare he would have. Satanick wasn’t one to be haunted by bad dreams that much anymore; he knew quite well that whatever had happened in the past would never become a reality again. That was one of the many reasons he didn’t regret becoming the person he currently was. So dreams like these would usually serve as a slight scare for the night, but the new ones were different.
Maybe because he hadn't anticipated to see his own subordinates and friends turning against him.
Maybe because his mind couldn't process the sight of all of them dying in front of him, dropping dead on the floor, making him feel such dread as if he ever even cared that much for them.
Maybe because he never expected to see Ivlis act like a brutal killer.
He could only expect Ivlis dead in one of these. Satanick never cared much for him in his nightmares, besides all that mattered at the moment for him would be finding a way to wake up. But that one dream didn't make him want to run away from it, it didn't make him want to wake up. For once, he wanted to see what might happen.
Ivlis was standing over the bodies of everyone he knew, his feet stepping on a fire pit that had been lighted upon the bloody scar on Envi’s torso, shaped like a big circle with his insides slightly slipping upwards onto the outside. He could see Envi’s dislocated head just a bit further from his neck, dripping fresh blood from his mouth and the slash on his neck. The prune eyed devil took a step back before his eyes crawled up to the demon’s corpse, looking down at his eyes. Eyes screaming with terror, even for someone so bland - and now, lifeless - as his first subordinate.
The rather frail, scrawny flame devil reeked of smoke and he could see that parts of his sleeves were also scorched. Yet, the thing that shocked him the most was the brightness that Ivlis radiated, the fire in his eyes that felt like a spear to his lungs.
Ivlis smiled at him, closing his eyes midway before opening his mouth slightly to word out some phrase. Whatever sound came out of it was like a blurred image to Satanick’s mind, who couldn't illustrate his words anymore. Perhaps it was because he was more focused on the shivers and the feeling of the blood rushing within his veins. If he hadn’t been scared before, he was then. His stomach was screeching, his brain was echoing between the hollows of his shell and every breath he took felt like shredded glass against his organs, squeezing the blood to pump out of its place.
How could Ivlis, out of everyone, do that to him?
“Did you hear me, Satanick?” The Devil only returned to his senses when he saw the other right in front of him, staring deep into his eyes that spat fire into his. A few years ago he would say that it was romantic how Ivlis’s eyes could be so expressive and full of life, but right then, they were petrifying, reflecting himself covered in flames.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared! I thought you’d like it,” Ivlis smirked and lifted his arms up, which caused the blood on his scalped red fingers to roll down beneath his sleeves. “A blood fest for the birthday of the Head Demon himself!” Ivlis said, his tone as ironic as ever.
Satanick managed to find some courage within him to respond.
"You are not real," he says, his lips curved in a smile as if to reassure himself, "Ivlis isn't powerful enough to do that."
"You know damn well about what I can do," the devil approached the dining table next to Licorice's dispatched body. His own son, their son. He quickly grabbed the first knife he saw and ran his fingertip on the blade, igniting the tip of the knife as blood dripped slowly from the carved point. Satanick's eyes were still staring at their son, wondering how Ivlis could find the nerve to drench their offspring into a pile of broken blood covered limbs; then again, Licorice loved his father more than his father ever loved him.
''That's why you want me to do this." Ivlis muttered, breaking the deadly yet forceful silence.
Satanick looked at Ivlis in question. He would have laughed, if his guts weren't beating him up from inside.
"Huh? Why would I?" He asked and Ivlis showed him a wide smile, closing his eyelid and lifting his chin up in pure bliss, placing the burning tip of the blade to the hollow of his throat, pressing it slowly deep into his skin as red, almost orange colored blood started running down his neck. Like burning, hot lava. Satanick, in horror, watched it as if he had never seen anything like it before. As if he had never done that himself before. The voice in his head urged him to keep silent and avoid expressing any sort of concern or scream. It was just a dream after all, wasn't it?
"Because that's what you deserve." Ivlis withered as the blade started going even deeper into his neck, forcing tears to leak down his cheek. Satanick would usually take pleasure in the way his tears looked. They were warm like boiled water and they were always accompanied with a little smoke that left from his eyeballs. He never asked him if it hurt him to cry, but he did want now. As for his insult? He didn't care for it, he had heard many similar ones before.
Yet there was something about the way he was dying in front of him; the way everyone was lying dead on the floor, without any sign of what his thought primary enemy was. Something that made him hurt more from the inside.
"You deserve a world, a kingdom..." The blood propped down like a waterfall on his Ivlis's skin, flowing onto the collar of his black shirt. "You're going to be doing the one thing you're good at. You're the king of ashes, your throne full of spears and your subjects turned to dust."
With that, the devil pushed the knife to the other side of his neck as his head rapidly fell to the ground, followed by his body, which was finally cooling down.
Satanick was still replaying the words he said before he killed himself and took a moment to analyze his surroundings.
The room smelled like death and the air lacked life, a cold mist surrounding him and disposing of the bodies in front of him. A sea of dead, molding into one massive swarm that covered everything that laid in front of his eyes.
The devil let out a tear fall off, seeing how there was no one there to see him cry. He was alone there, wasn't he? That ached him enough. He had no one to show off as strong for, no one to rule over, no one to obsess over or to even exchange a look. Every name that flew by his head had been taken away within seconds. What was this? A fucking soap drama?
The worst of it though must have been the fact that he woke up in purple sweat and his own vomit, knowing exactly what he had done to deserve such a dream.
...
It had been the sixth week, yet the storm covering the sky of the Pitch Black World was still as gray as the moon. Maekami sighed, running the cloth around the tip of the last glass he would clean before opening his bar. He should have not expected any early guests, so he hadn't cared much for turning on the radio nor dusting the higher shelves. He would have time for them later. Instead, he put the glass down and opened a small flask of cognac to pour in it.
He was then struck again with the memory of Satanick's effect on the weather. Maekami didn't really care for anyone much, but he decided to make a toast to him. He missed having customers in his bar and knowing that Satanick's birthday was coming up, he would have expected at least one of his subordinates to come and buy some alcohol indeed to surprise him with a party. But his birthday was in 4 days and no one had stepped out of the castle.
"To our fucking sunshine, asshole," Maekami lifted the paper to pull the glass to his lips as he quickly gulped it down before slamming the glass back down and unintentionally synchronizing it with the knock on his door.
He raised a brow in surprise, who could it be at 7 in such a rainy morning? Maekami got out of his spot behind the bar and went over to door, leaning his ear next to wood as his ears entwined with the rythm of the heartbeat of the person outside.
"Dokugai," he muttered as he opened the door to the hooded demon in black. Dokugai took off his mask and grinned at Maekami, opening as if to speak.
"No need telling me, just remind me how much whiskey," Maekami interrupted him and Dokugai nodded negatively.
"First of all, good morning." He said in a correcting manner. Maekami wanted to laugh; who was he to receive lessons on manners by the devil's subordinate?
"Yeah, good morning." The demon obliged and crossed his arms as Dokugai took a white envelope out of his pocket. Its edges were slightly soaked, but the letter within seemed to be in perfect condition. Before Maekami would have the chance to ask what it included, Dokugai had already put the envelope in his hand and locked eyes with him.
"Satanick would like you to take care of the catering for his birthday party, specifically the VIP guests." He said bluntly and Maekami gave in to confusion. What did he mean by VIP? Weren't the parties already for the people that lived in the castle?
"Why, are there others besides his subordinates?"
"Well duh, the entire world!"

Chapter Text

To the residents of the human world, torture and sadism are immediately connected with psychopathic tendencies and severe, often overly-romanticized mental illnesses. People who expressed that sort of behavior would be deemed as monstrous and shamed. But that was never the case for the inhabitants of the Pitch Black World. For them it was the other way around.
That was, most likely, the reason why Shirogane was the perfect victim for the small community he lived in. He was reminded constantly of his disadvantage in a fight and how weak he was in comparison to everyone else on Iceberg Isle, especially to one proud orca who had just landed a punch to his cheek.
“Your blood suits you, you know” Idate exclaimed in a coarse, raspy voice as he pulled the whimpering wolf’s chin up to look at his bloodthirsty eyes. Due to a prior kick to the stomach, Idate had managed to push up blood to the point where Shirogane was coughing it, letting some of it drip down his jaw. “I mean, wolves usually drain blood from others, but you’re too much of a coward for that, aren’t you Shirogane?”
The wolf tightened his teeth as he struggled to move his face away from his grasp. It didn't take long for him to realize it was futile though, for the killer whale’s hands found themselves wrapped around his neck and pushed him back to the cold, hard ground. Shirogane coughed again, trying to keep his eyes open as Idate bit on the remains of his cigarette. He wished it could burn away faster; knowing the ruthless orca, he’d abandon his plaything in the snow as soon as it was done to light another one.
“Tired yet, dickface?” The sudden rough sound prompted Shirogane’s ears to turn his head to the side to look at Rock, who was angrily holding onto a rather fancy envelope with his sleek fingers. “Leave the wolf and come get your fucking mail.”
“Ooh, kind enough to bring me my letter? You’re so considerate, Rock!” Idate said cheerfully, his hands finally allowing Shirogane to breathe as he stepped off of him and shoved the snow away from his shirt.
“Like I’d ever do anything for scum like you! It’s just that this stupid mail-bird Nekoyama wouldn’t shut up about being too busy to find you and give you this fucking invitation or some shit.” Rock spat as Idate walked up to him and took the invitation in his bloody, dirty gloves, some of it spilling on its surface.
“Ah, how lovely, it’s from a good friend of mine!” Idate announced, a wide smile lighting his face up.
“You have friends?” Shirogane asked him in a weak voice, lifting himself to properly sit up.
“Obviously! Who do you have me for? Some lonesome hermit?” Idate responded to him, aggressively ripping away the envelope and taking out the letter.
“Shirogane! Oh my goodness!” Peraco soon joined them, running from behind Rock towards the wounded wolf, sitting down and taking his face in between her arms. “Again Shiro? Again?”
“Peraco, what are you doing here?” Rock fretted and pushed Idate aside – who had gotten so enthralled by what he was reading that he didn’t even mind – walking over to the both of them. “I thought you were watching that TV show you’re so crazed about.”
“I was, but unlike you, I become vexed when I hear someone screaming!” Peraco nagged, her tone appearing sassier than usual as she placed Shirogane’s arm over her neck. “Let’s get you over to Rock’s, since it’s closer.”
“What? No! I don’t want nobody at my house! I just got rid of one pest, I don’t want another two!” The penguin groaned as Shirogane brought himself to his feet next to Peraco, who was already glaring at Rock with the corner of her eye.
“I don’t think he wants us over, Perrie-“ Shirogane began to speak, only to be interrupted by one loud screech of excitement.
“YES! OH YES! YES! YES!” Idate’s voice made them all twitch their eyes at the elated orca, who was squirming and cheering like a small child in a funfair. “I have been added to the VIP section of the devil’s party!” He said, turning to look at his neighbors.
“Uh-huh, we don’t care,” Peraco stated and Rock nodded in agreement, not like it got over to Idate’s massive ego.
“Heh, you’re just jealous that I managed to be in the VIP section and you did not! Perhaps, if you weren’t so stuck up with your sweet home, you would land a better seat for yourself in the hierarchy." He mocked and brought his cigarette to his lips once more.
"And speaking of hierarchies, is that the ice queen herself, coming up from behind me that I hear? ” The whale turned to his side, grabbing Rocma’s wrist and twisting it, earning a pained grunt from her and pushing her back against his torso.
“Fuck, fuck, shit. Not again.” Rock chided, burying his face in his hands. “That’s it, we’re leaving. I won’t be able to handle a second of this bullshit.” He cringed, dragging both Shirogane and Peraco from the collars of their shirts, ignoring their raucous complaints.
“You were being quite sneaky there with your footsteps, but you always seem to forget how I can always tell when you’re near darling.” His voice now harsher and his breath next to her ear. It was unbearable enough that she had to just run into him, but one could guess how fed up she was of listening to Shirogane begging and crying for help. All she wanted was to spend just one quiet morning with Mafuyu, but that was a nonexistent concept for a dweller of Iceberg Isle. "You're just in time! I was just about to come at your place!"
"Let go of me, you piece of filth!" Rocma yelled, pushing her leg back to kick him only for her foot to find the gap between his legs. "I have no intent in partaking in any of your sick plans!"
"Oh really, it's a cutesy, little idea of mine. You'd adore it yourself!" He wrapped his arms around her waist and cocked his head to look at her, enjoying the fury in her eyes and the way she gritted her teeth at him.
"What kind of revolting scheme do you want me for this time, Idate?" The white bear whined, trying to free her arm from his grip and floundering herself against his body. She was greeted with yet another twist, as Idate rolled her around to a position where he was grabbing both of her wrists against his collarbone, arching her back. From afar, their shadows almost resembled two people dancing.
"Will you come with me to the party?" He asked. "I know you want to see more of the world, don't you? And to top it all off, you're going to be with a fine gent, me!" He declared, but was estranged by the unresponsive nature of the usually phonic Rocma. "Well, I'm not planning to be all that gentle with you though. After all, we'd want to have some fun under the bed-" But he didn't finish his sentence. The bear's loud laughter had masked his words, something he'd never heard happening before. It was shocking enough to silence him. He didn't even know she was able to laugh and he felt bewitched, although the one she was laughing at was him.
"As if! Those fantasies of yours are so outrageous that they're hilarious!" Rocma hooted within her sporadic laughs, "I have responsibilities and morals, idiot. I would much rather spend my time with anyone else but you. I completely detest the sole thought of being in any location with you! Hell, you're so pathetic you even expect that you'd get to screw me." Rocma spat, finally freeing herself from his embrace and shoving him down on his back. He looked up at her; her words still echoing in his ears.
"How cruel, Shirokuma-chan..." He whimpered as she placed her boot on his stomach, pressing at it mercilessly.
"You couldn't take anyone on that trip. No one fucking likes you. I doubt you're that dumb as to not know that." She scoffed before he grabbed onto her leg and slipping her on top of him.
"Being a bit of a foul-mouthed bitch today, love?" Idate smirked, feeling a knee up his crotch, making him grunt from the pain and unwrapping his arms from Rocma's waist.
"Stay away from me, orca." She deflected once she stood up, stomping away from him.
And he was left looking at her from the ground, asking himself how her words managed to hurt him so much more than her attacks did.
But he was distracted from his thoughts; he was too busy admiring how hot she looked as she walked away from him.
...
"In absolutely no way, Etihw! There is no way I'm stepping back into his house again!" Kcalb's voice echoed through the castle's hollow walls, making it impossible not to provoke Wodahs to wonder why his brother seemed so distressed. "You're not going there either! I won't let that freak anywhere near us!"
"There's no point in worrying about it so much, Kcalb. It'll be alright. I can go there by myself..."
"But Etihw, who knows what kind of things he will do to you!"
"What's the matter?" Wodahs asked, opening the doors to the throne room as the God and the Devil of the Gray World turned their heads to his direction. He saw a letter in Etihw's grasp, whose lips had started to curve into a sly smile.
"It's the peace treaty with Ivlis, we're going to have to sign it properly this time at the Pitch Black World," Kcalb explained, looking down at his knees. "Satanick, the devil of that world, would also like us to attend an event that we don't wish to go to."
"Isn't he the one who wanted to harass you?" Wodahs turned his attention to Etihw, recognizing a smile on their face that was all too familiar to him. They were scheming something.
"Yes, according to my husband here. But I don't believe we're going to have a problem." They sneered and the brothers realized what they had in their mind.
"You're not thinking...you mustn't be thinking what I think you are!" Kcalb protested.
"Going to represent us in Pitch Black? Yes. Yes I do."
The white-haired devil looked at them in irritation, but the head angel could tell that no matter what his brother thought about it, he would still prefer him going in their place. And who was he to disagree?
"Splendid."

Chapter Text

“I still do not understand why you had to call me here too,” the short angel crossed her arms, leaning against the wall next to the big doors of the throne room.
"Unless you are considering giving me a promotion, of which I am worth, I am not going anywhere with the Head Angel.” Alela gave Wodahs a sharp look. He knew how mad it drove her to have her inferior to him, to be less powerful than him. So it was evident that a trip with him ordering her around would take a toll on her ego.
“Pitch Black World isn’t just any world, Grora. It is much different than our home. The rulers are cruel there, malicious even. Wod requires the aid of someone experienced in traveling.” Kcalb stretched himself, throwing his hands in the air. Ever since the victory of the Gray Garden, the angels rarely ever saw their Devil so frustrated. Especially over something so little as a simple invitation.
“You’ve been to Pitch Black before, right?” Etihw asked her. Alela nodded in agreement.
“I've been to the sea as well. It’s rather inhospitable to outsiders,” the smaller gray-haired angel smirked. “But the residents there all love a good party. I doubt our most respectable angel would be fit to take on such a task all on his own. Perhaps I truly am needed?” Her voice hit a more ire tone. Alela turned her head to the side and both of their gray eyes met.
“I don’t think you’re much of a conveyance, either, Grora.” He bluntly stated. The corner of his eye watched her grimace, noticing how she had started thinking of ways to snarl at him.
“Please, save your bickering for the train, you’re departing in 5 hours,” Etihw ordered in an unfamiliar serious tone.
“F-five hours?” The short angel squeaked.
“Yes, Grora, five hours. The party’s the day after tomorrow. Lucky for you, once you’re back in our world, you'll be allowed to take two days off. So can Wodahs. End of discussion.” With that, the god had made their decision. It was unlike them to act like that. It almost seemed as if their sweet god had been replaced with their past self again. They were always focused on their counterpart’s destruction, careless as to what their people would think of them. Who could have known they would grow into such a joyous and merciful God? Yet the angels bowed down to their ruler and obeyed. That was the rational thing to do.
“Are you sure that sending him with Alela was a wise choice?” Kcalb whispered to Etihw before tangling his finger in between their delicate hair, his thumb rubbing against the diamond hairpiece above their ear.
“They can handle a few days and a job together. They did make it through countless battles together. They work well together.” Etihw grinned and turned to face him. They gently placed their hands on each side of Kcalb's cheeks, feeling the cold flesh against their palms warm up with their touch. “You’re afraid.”
“He’s my brother Eti. And…and,” Kcalb stuttered, “she is your best servant! You know how uncomfortable Satanick makes me. You know very well what he’s capable of! Not to mention how much stronger he and Fumus are-”
“He’ll be alright.” Etihw interrupted, patting his shoulder before reaching out for the silver cup of tea on top of the table. “On the contrary to your suspicions, I have a good feeling about this…party.”
“And Olivia?” Kcalb was facing fully them this time, his cheekbones seemingly more uplifted. “You know she’s still alive.”
“She won’t be able to tell who Wodahs is. She shouldn't be able to remember you nor him.” Etihw looked down to their feet, these last words still circling their thoughts. Kcalb was about to refute something until they opened their mouth again.
"He's not that monster anymore."
…
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hanten brought her beer down on the bar, splashing almost half the liquid out of it. “We’re going with you! I need my daily dose of alcohol, Maekami!”
“Nope, don't listen to her,” Kurotsuno muttered as she took another sip from her hot chocolate, twisting her hair around her finger.
“Shut up Kuro!” Hanten smirked and leaned in to align herself to his eyes – at least, where she thought they were since he kept that stinky paper above his face at all times. “What even drove that clown of a Devil to organize such a grand event?”
“I don’t know. I do know there’s something to gain from it though, he’s been acting miserably for the past few weeks.” Maekami replied, thinking about all the possible tragedies that could happen at that hellish party. He could have witnessed another murder, maybe even genocide, or even worse, some stupid peace treaty. He wouldn’t be surprised if any of that occurred, especially with Satanick and Fumus as regents of the world. Sometimes, he would think of starting a rebellion, overthrowing their current government, and storing anarchy. Not like it would make much of a difference than what was going on already. Prisons were filled with people Satanick himself wanted there - or his sex puppets - and trials were unspoken of. If they did happen, perhaps all the assaults, murders, and thefts wouldn’t be so occasional.
Yet he knew, he couldn’t do that to his old boss. He didn’t even have the strength to hate her.
“He’s always so, so sad. He's just like your daddy, Kuro.”
“My father, Hanten, is a hypocritical, pathetic, obnoxiously ridiculous piece of shit who believes he has the right to a stable, healthy relationship to the only family he has left. I wouldn’t be surprised if his apparent sadness was hypocritical too.” Kurotsuno grunted through her teeth, her voice was so rough that it felt like spit on Hanten's face.
Hanten’s brows narrowed before she gave her best friend a shy smile and wrapped her grasp around her wrist. “Is that why you don’t want to go to the party?”
Kurotsuno took her hand away from her grip and stood up from her chair, before reaching to pull out her wallet.
“How much, Maekami-”
“You don’t want to go because of Sullivan.”
“Yes, Hanten. I don’t want to go because of Sullivan!” Kurotsuno yelped as she took off, slamming a fiver on the table and making her way out of the bar. Maekami stopped himself from saying the bill.
“That's not enough-”
“Fuck you and your money Maekami.” Hanten cringed, took a strong sip, and sat up to chase after Kurotsuno.
Once she had exited the bar, Kurotsuno was already on her way inside the woods. Hanten flapped her wings and followed behind her, knowing that she would probably reach the girl before she even managed to get lost in the woods – and her wreck of a mindset.
Hanten knew Kurotsuno well. She had known her as Olivia, she had known her as Kurotsuno and she had known her as a nobody, who exposed herself to her whenever she was acting like this. It was a dark side to her self-righteous personality, one that could bear a smile amid tears and bad memories.
If it hadn’t been for not knowing Sullivan all that well before it happened, she wouldn’t have forgiven him. However, she hoped that Kurotsuno could at the very least acknowledge that he was trying his best to make things better.
“We don’t have to see him.” Hanten landed right in front of Kurotsuno, shaking her wings back and locking eyes with the other demon.
“He will still find me. Imagine how overwhelming it would feel if we're in public. It already irritates every time he comes to visit.” Kurotsuno crossed her arms and scoffed. Hanten wasn’t making this easy for her. Then again, when did she ever?
“Listen, I know you don’t like him, I know he’s there, but we can have fun! It'll still be a party. We haven’t had fun in so long!” Hanten begged, but Kurotsuno kept faithful to her rejection.
“Go with someone else.”
“No!” Hanten shouted. “How can I have fu- who will I hang out with? Fucking Met?” Kurotsuno stalled to answer. It would probably be dreadful to spend the whole day and night without seeing Hanten at all, or anybody for that matter. Everyone would be outside the castle and even for an introvert, she would get bored.
But she couldn’t just let her emotions get the best of her pride. Not again.
“You’re declining because of your daddy issues. Okay, Kurotsuno. Okay.”
“Don’t do this to me, Hanten, you know these are not just 'daddy issues'. You should be able to understand that better than anyone else.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had enough of them. It’s been like that for years, Kuro. I’m sick of it.” Hanten's voice broke through the air and both of them glared at each other. It took a few seconds of silence before Kurotsuno pushed Hanten down to the ground and stormed off into the forest.
“Just stay out of my way." She whispered. Hanten coughed, lifting herself to her knees.
"God you just can't stop fucking hiding all the time." The blonde demon laughed at her, a fake, crude smirk painted on her face. Just the thought of it made Kurotsuno's guts twist within her.
“You only care about drowning your mind’s projections in mindless indulgences. Stupid shit, Hanten. The party’s just like any of them.” Kurotsuno screamed, her eyes glowing by the time she had turned back to look at her beloved friend. Kurotsuno flapped her wings; a sign that she had had enough. She wouldn’t stay there for too much longer.
Of course, Hanten picked up on it.
“Oh yeah? So do you! Go run away now, Olivia. Fucking go.” The smiling demon yelled abruptly, her smirk ever so cold and infuriating, and Kurotsuno took off with her eyes glued to Hanten's red ones.
“You know better than to speak that name.” With that being said, she sorted for the sky, flying away at a speedy pace.
Hanten was used to fights. Physical ones, specifically. She was particularly used to winning them.
But every single fucking time she fought Kurotsuno, not only couldn’t they touch each other – that would be too damaging for both of them – but they couldn’t even feel like a small fight was happening. It felt like they were at war. Hanten knew she wouldn’t have the strength to even recite the name Olivia for a week after that.
Fucking Kurotsuno.
“Hey! Hey Hanten!” Met’s joyous voice sprang from her side as she returned to the town's center. The ghost pushed her motorcycle against the wall and ran towards her roommate. “You coming to the party right? I’m going to make the best reportage Pitch Black has ever seen!”
Her puppy-dog eyes, her blissful wide smile, it was disturbing to look at. So she didn’t surprise herself when her lips curved into a disgusting grin and her to go fuck herself.

Chapter Text

A soft scent helped him open his eyes to brace the white light coming from the window. It was the same familiar scent he smelled every day. He formed a kind grin and sat up on the bed.
The tall man didn't bother to put his suit back on. He knew he would be spending the day at home anyway. He cleaned his teeth and draped his button-up shirt over his shoulders before descending the stairs.
"Took you long enough, idiot." He smiled at the gentle tone of the woman in the kitchen. She was wearing that one white apron he had seen her buy a couple of months ago. Her back was facing him. She was probably focused on preparing those buns of hers that always roped him into the kitchen.
Idate walked towards her figure and wrapped his arms around her chubby waist, rubbing against her stomach. Pressing his lips to the back of her neck, he heard her rigid cackle. The one he fell in love with, the one that melted the ice, the one that meant he was going to wake up again.
"You smell nice." He murmured amidst kisses to her nape. His heart almost stopped beating when he felt her turn around and put her claws on his shoulders. Her stone-cold bitch face turned tender, a sweet smile of hers piercing the ice once more.
"You don't smell so bad yourself." Rocma stroked a thin scar on his neck with her finger. Idate felt the clock ticking faster than ever. "It's such a shame, Idate."
The orca muttered a silent no and caught her wrist within his hands, pulling it up to his lips and kissing it softly.
"Give me some more time, Rocma, please." His voice became hoarse as her eyes softened even more.
"Oh Idate," she leaned in to kiss his forehead, "You know this isn't real. It will never be real, my love. You will never truly deserve it." Idate's eyes widened at her words, hoping that she would stop talking. Instead, the polar bear wrapped her arms around his torso and dug her sharp claws into his back. Her nails dipped under his flesh and felt as if they found their way to his heart, piercing it, jabbing it, causing him to be in so much pain that he had never felt before.
"You are a worthless fucking beast. A killer whale. Don't ever forget it, love."
His eyelids felt heavy on him. It was almost painful to wake up that morning. He felt the rough edge of a wall behind his back. They must have kicked him out of the pub before he could become more of a nuisance. He remembered drinking a ninth shot of vodka, but he couldn't recall what followed. That wasn't rare for him, however. He got drunk way too often for that moment to stand out to him. He did appreciate the taste of alcohol on his tongue either way, but not as much as nicotine. He figured out what poison would destroy him way too many years ago.
The orca stood onto his two feet and put his hand in his pocket, swiftly taking a long cigarette out of its packet before placing it between his lips. He lit it up and started making his way away from the alley. He cursed when he saw that it was almost night time. The party was in less than forty-eight hours, but he still had a long way ahead of him. He'd need to swim the whole night to be able to make it to the castle in time.
A familiar chuckle from above the water echoed in his ears, prompting Idate to make his way to the island from above. It was the Star Isle. Feeling as shit as he already did, he wanted a distraction from his momentary lack of self-righteousness.
He smirked once he hid behind the big star tree, drenched and taking small drags from his cigarette. Basking under the twilight, Samekichi had pressed Wadanohara against the tree, kissing her roughly. Idate rolled his eyes. He should have known that something like that would have happened. He wasn't surprised.
"Sharks can't kiss, huh, Wadanohara dear?"
The small witch and her familiar immediately jumped, shoving each other away a tiny bit before being able to respond to him.
"Mr. Idate! Wow, we weren't expecting to see you today..." Wadanohara began, but Samekichi quickly shook his head and got in front of her.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" He growled at him. Idate giggled in response.
"Oh me? I was simply taking a break from my stroll. I didn't mean to cockblo-" But Samekichi's hands on his tie stopped him from continuing his little speech.
"Listen here, orca, I don't want you anywhere near me, nor Wada nor anyone else I know. So you better get the fuck out of here the moment I take my hands off of you or else." The shark grunted in between his teeth, prompting Idate to keep grinning, sucking in his breath, and blowing smoke into Samekichi's flustered, infuriated expression.
"Samekichi, he's not here to harm us-" Wadanohara tugged onto his jacket, but it was to no use. The shark was now even angrier than he was before.
"Or else what? Star Isle isn't private property. Can't a man take a short break without some stupid shark getting on his tail? Damn."
"Well, well, well," the three of them turned their heads in question. At the other side of the beach stood the infamous witch. "If this isn't a pleasant surprise."
Chlomaki pushed her hair to the side, putting her hands on each side of her waist as Wadanohara smiled hopefully, rushing down to greet her and hug her. Idate figured she had arrived right when his little quarrel with Samekichi had started. He knew the feline-like witch was not one to miss out on drama, especially if it involved everyone's beloved cyclothymic, angsty fish. Right behind Chlomaki, Lobco was looking away with her back turned to her father, who wore a shy smile on his face.
But that smile disappeared the moment he laid eyes on Idate. In its place, a confident wide grin appeared; a grin which Idate reciprocated, harshly shoving Samekichi away and walking towards the shrimp.
"Cherry, it's been so long! Is that where you've been all these years?" Said the orca as Cherryblod shook his hand and patted his daughter's head.
"Doloz really did change me for the better. Besides, I had to take care of Lobco. Isn't she wonderful?"
"Dad. You're embarrassing me." Lobco sighed and pulled away from them. Idate huffed, crossing his arms.
"I didn't expect you to allow her to become a familiar. Especially to a witch who lives in Pitch Black, of all places."
"But Chlomaki is a good witch. She managed to form a special bond with Lobco that no other witch was capable of forming!"
"Y'all boasting about me?" Cherryblod jumped as Chlomaking popped in between them. "I told Lobco to help Wada keep Samekichi from committing homicide. Anyway, how come you're here?" The witch pointed at the orca.
"Ah, I received a VIP invitation over to the upcoming Devil's party," Idate announced, "So I'm headed there now."
"I'm going there too! It's been a while since my family and I went to a party. We've been so busy lately." Cherryblod sighed.
"Lobco's not going." Chlomaki almost spat, closing her eyes softly. "We agreed that we're going to stay at my house."
"She didn't tell me that, but I suppose it makes sense. We can't risk her crossing paths with Roc again." At the mere mention of that demon, Lobco's eyes drifted downwards, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt.
"Nor you with our rusty God." Chuckled Idate, and Chlomaki's eyes opened wide. A startled shaky breath escaped her mouth. Cherryblod's face relaxed. He remembered Idate's silly antics all too well and he knew he had to step in before the orca would push the witch over the edge.
"Idate, please don't-"
"You rarely ever show your face at the castle. You know Satanick's oblivious and doesn't care whether you're with Fumus or not. Your hiding won't get you anywhere, witch." The orca bloated, and Chlomaki's eyes darkened instantly.
"I'm not hiding. Satanick is not my kind of ideal party host. Besides, that..." Chlomaki stuttered, touching her finger against her forehead and wiping away the small sweat drops that were forming. "He wouldn't attend the party."
"Oh but he will, he's on the VIP guest list!" Idate chirped. "Perhaps he will be escorted there by multiple angels, more than just Taffy. Maybe even little Elwine."
"Enough!" Cherryblod shouted, draping his arm over Chlomaki's shoulder. Idate's grin remained on his face, even if he could see the obvious disappointment on his old friend's face. "Was this really necessary?"
"It's just a friendly challenge. I'd love to see our dear black witch at the party, your daughter too. After all, you were always encouraging me to prove my inner strength, isn't that right Cherry?" He wrapped his lips around his cigarette again, blowing smoke up to the air.
"I doubt I'm in a place to accept it," Chlomaki muttered, taking Cherryblod's arm gently off of her. "I'll see if I can. I've been quite busy as of late. Shouldn't you be on your way now? You won't be able to make it in time."
Idate took the cigarette out of his mouth and waved at them. Both Cherryblod and Chlomaki stood in silence, glaring at him. He felt a little bad once he reached the water again. He made Cherryblod's soft smile eradicate itself so quickly. He didn't expect either of them to be so butthurt.
Of course, he knew about Fumus's cruel torture methods and the living conditions his angels had to power through. He knew Chlomaki was one of his favorites before she ran away. Idate had figured that he should have abused her more than the others. Rumors were fleeting around about him cutting holes into her wings, whipping her arms until they were swollen, and forcing her to inflict pain onto herself. But Chlomaki was a tough nut. Always had been. She wasn't exactly a saint either, everyone knew that. Everyone knew that whoever stood in her way was doomed and stupid to even consider challenging the strongest witch in the region. She wasn't afraid of anything. Anything but him. So what could Fumus have done exactly that was so inexplicably horrible?
...
Adauchi groaned when he heard the phone ring yet again. In all honestly, he hated his residence in Pitch Black. He hated all those weird inventions of the world's Devil, including that stupid telephone. It sounded like a dying cow every time it rang - or even worse, his father's pained grunts. He was sick of them.
"Who the fuck are you," he spat against the intricate device, voice still groggy from his interrupted slumber, "and what the fuck do you need from me?"
The line was silent on the other end. Adauchi was puzzled, noticing that the phone was shaking almost viciously in his hand. His hands were always shaky when he was tired and angry, even if he didn't have a serious reason to be.
"Answer me. Is that you, dad?"
"It's Licorice." Adauchi cringed, groaning into the phone. That was one of his ways to alert his privileged little shit-brother to get away from him. "This is important, big brother."
"I'm not your fucking brother. What do you want from me anyway? Just dropped in to say hi? I doubt it. I barely even know you."
"Of course not. You know I think of you equivalent to scum." Licorice said in an emotionless tone. "You're always so rude to mo- father."
"Whatever. Spit it out." Adauchi sat up on the bed, balancing the phone between his ear and his shoulder.
"I've had enough of Satanick. I want dad out of here. You remember how happy he was during the war against the Gray World."
"We all saw how that went," The blonde demon reached his water bottle on his nightstand. "Where is he supposed to go if he's free?"
"The Flame Underworld. We can reclaim it at the party. I have a plan, and Satanick has other problems either way." Adauchi recalled all the days of rain. He knew something was up, but all he did was laugh at the phone.
"Okay, let's say we do that, but dad's an airhead. He's useless as a Devil."
"Tsk," Licorice was getting angrier now, Adauchi could sense it, "Do you want our sister-"
"She's not your damn sister." Adauchi cut off his laugh, and he heard Licorice lose his patience over the phone. A short silence remained in between them before the younger demon started again.
"Do you feel safe having Poemi near Satanick? She's still a little girl."
"He knows better than to lay hands on Poemi. She's under Rieta's and your supposed protection anyway, not to mention that she's much stronger than dad ever was."
"What if I told you that they whipped Emalf a week ago?"
Adauchi's line of vision suddenly hit the ground, and his hands started shaking once again. He could hardly remember the last time he talked to Emalf since the incident.
"Why?"
"Satanick was bored and Ivlis was too silent."
"Why the fuck didn't you stop them?"
"I wasn't there to witness it."
"LIAR!" Adauchi yelled. He then realized he was behaving irrationally. He looked back down at the ground and tried to clear his mind. But Emalf's broken skin was plaguing his mind like a deadly virus. It was hurting him.
"Fine, I'll help you," Adauchi swallowed, "but I'm not doing this for dad."

Chapter Text

Grora sighed as she finished packing up her bags. She was feeling constipated and exhausted. Yet she hadn't even boarded the train. Of course, she could easily recall her last journey to Pitch Black World. It was right after the war. Phantoms of her past, of her friends, of her enemies; they were haunting her. She needed a place to drown them in other than an empty flask.
Not wanting her thoughts running away from her control, she locked up her house and headed straight for the train station. The residents of the village were all outside at that time. It was a beautiful warm evening. As Grora paved through the town's farmer's market, she let herself spare the families a couple of friendly glances. She was a well-known figure after all. Especially with all the missions and errands that she had to run on a daily basis.
The gray-haired angel was a recurring social butterfly. She welcomed all the attention the residents of the Gray World would give her and she took pride in knowing that she was serving them. The vast majority of them were reincarnations of past acquaintances and friends too, so it wasn't hard for her to memorize most of their names and their daily routines. It made her feel a little bit of nostalgia for what she didn't get enough of during her youth. As a result, she indulged in chit-chat with everyone who stopped her in her tracks, even if it was just to say hi. Grora already expected all of that though. What she didn't expect, however, were the shouts of four particular girls as soon as she reached the station.
"Miss Grora, wait up!" Yosafire yelled over at her right as she stepped her foot on the station's platform. Grora giggled and rested her arm against the bench as the girls all ran to gather around her.
"Where are you heading to?" Froze asked, looking up at her with some kind of twisted admiration that Grora never seemed to configure.
"Pitch Black. The Head Angel and I need to sign a peace treaty between the Flame Underworld and our world." The elder angel responded, "It's pretty serious apparently. That's why they need both of us to go there."
"Sounds laaaaame!" Yosafire dragged on, rolling her eyes back along with her head.
"Don't be rude Yosaf! It's an important job!" Macarona obliged, "When was the last time you did something productive with your life?"
"Hey, who's being rude now?"
"She's right, Macarona," Rawberry muttered from behind Yosafire.
"Won't you guys shut up? You're all driving Miss Grora crazy already, and she hasn't even boarded the train yet!" Froze added, pulling onto Yosafire's horn. "She's already going to have to board it with her sworn workplace nemesis, of all people! Don't make it worse for her!"
Grora laughed at Froze's remark, closing her sole eye slightly and then opening it again, only to see Wodahs heading towards the station as well.
"He's the one stuck with me, Froze," said the one-eyed angel, "I'll make sure he'll suffer."
"Who's going to suffer? Are you going to torture someone?" Wodahs asked, having reached the group of girls. "Is this how you bond with teenagers? Over sadism?"
"Oh silly Head Angel," Grora almost sang, his title always sounding ridiculous with her tone, "At least I'm likable, besides plainly respected."
"I like Wodahs-" Yosafire started, but Froze's palm muffled her mouth.
Wodahs looked at the girls for a second and then continued for the train, gesturing at his colleague to follow behind him.
The two old angels turned their backs on each other the moment they sat on the dining table in their small cabin, while the conductor announced that they would be departing soon enough.
Wodahs didn't bother to look at her. He was certain that she was looking at him with the same awful expression: a sly smirk splashed across her face, a hand on her cheek, and her head cocked to the side. If it weren't for her eyepatch, she would be winking at him.
He only looked at her when he heard the chair getting pushed away from the table. Grora was standing up now. The train's engine had just fired up, so she found herself by the window.
The girls were now running on the platform so they could wave at Grora, all laughing and smiling. Even Froze, whose small smiles made her almost identical to her predecessor's truthful grins.
"Won't the Head Angel spare a few girls some casual kindness?" Grora said in a mocking tone, turning back to face him as the train started roaming away from the village. Wodahs, still refusing to look at her, turned his head to the other side, staring at the waves as they crashed against the rocks of the shore, the train crossing through the ocean by the underwater rails. He hoped he'd see Etihw and Kcalb there. They always went to the beach at that time of day.
The two of them had quickly become his family again, the people he was most comfortable with: his boss and his big brother. He would be lying to himself if he wasn't going to add Grora to that list, but he'd rather keep living in a lie where her existence only made his labor more of a chore.
"Don't be impertinent. I'm going to see if there's another wagon for me to move to-"
"Sir, sir! Please wait up!" A waiter's voice interrupted him as they brought a disk with food to the table.
"Who let you in?" Wodahs almost snapped.
"Head Angel, please, now you're being impertinent." Grora smirked, "I did. Thank you." She walked over and patted the waiter on their shoulder, showing them a gentle smile as she drove them back out of the cabin before moving back to the table. "I preordered some wine and food. I was hoping I could at least enjoy one thing on this forsaken ride."
The short angel removed the lid off the disk, revealing a big casserole and a bottle of wine that she immediately opened and poured some of it into the flask she kept in her pocket.
"Don't do that," Wodahs cringed. "I need you sober."
"You think I managed to become one of the best angels in the universe sober?"
"I'm on equal grounds with you if not slightly better, and I don't drink." What he said wiped that smirk off her face. For a moment, he was content, until she opened the flask and chugged down a hefty amount of wine, never once avoiding his glare.
A part of him was aching. The other part of him was beating that one up. He found it consoling, however, when he saw that Grora was reciprocating those feelings with just the locking of their eyes.
"That's a lie, you drink," She murmured, "and you're a lightweight too. I could easily compare you to the Devil himself."
"Kcalb is much worse, don't you remember?" Wodahs moved closer to her. Grora sat down on the table, putting some casserole on her plate. "At his wedding, he was unrecognizable after the third shot."
"Yeah, he started dragging you around with his arm over your shoulder and then told everyone those weird jokes from before the war. Not to mention the way he got handsy with Etihw towards the end. It was very funny." She hadn't noticed, but Wodahs had sat across her, taking a glass and holding the bottle in his hands. "Ooh, would you look at that! The Head Angel is loosening up!"
"Don't make a big deal out of it. I just thought I'd try it." Wodahs pushed the now filled glass to his mouth, slowly gulping the wine down his throat.
"It tastes like shit."
"I know," Grora agreed, chomping onto the casserole on her fork, "but it's the best they serve here."
"It's better than that stuff Sherbet kept in the cellars. What even was that?"
"That wasn't wine, dumbass. Rigatona was squeezing grapes with her boots on and then poured some weird liquor in it. We still have no idea what it really was."
The two angels giggled, keeping their heads down. Wodahs found a plate at the side of the disk and pulled it in front of him; - rather impulsively, he knew he was going to regret that supper later, but he didn't much care for it - earning a strange glance from his shorter gray-haired colleague.
"I didn't know you were hungry," she smirked, "Could it be that the Head Angel enjoys my company? How humble of you."
"It's casual kindness. Don't make it weird," Wodahs assured, quoting her. He felt frightened when a knot he knew all too well, formed in his stomach. Weirdly enough, he didn't completely hate it. And he knew that neither did she, so they sat there, eating together, looking at each other every few seconds.
They talked briefly at first. Wodahs would ask her about her experiences in Pitch Black, and she'd reply in chuckles, huffs, and puns with him as the target. He had heard a few of her tales before. He brushed it off, pouring himself another glass as the jokes multiplied. She narrated about all the kingdoms she visited in the sea and the thick walls that guarded them or about the fancy, big and empty restaurants that always remained in desolate places.
She started asking him things too soon enough. She asked him about that garden he almost choked her for ruining it. She asked him about the way he grows his plants on the flowerbed, something silly. She had her own flowers. Everyone did, as flowers were a symbol of peace in the Gray World. She definitely knew how to grow them out. But he still answered her questions, even going as far as to mention his brother's involvement with all kinds of garden-related affairs of his. She, with her turn, made an impression of Kcalb as their boss, mimicking the way he handed out work with his big frown and sharp words as if he hadn't just commissioned a small petunia arrangement for his spouse the other day. It made him laugh, harshly even.
He was slipping now, she could tell from the way his fingers wrapped around his glass tighter than before. How much time had passed since the casserole had disappeared from the table? She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure when they turned on the gramophone either. Some soft jazz was playing, a song she didn't know. It must have been a recent recording. She felt herself getting lost in a stupid conversation yet again.
"That's one of Pitch Black's top inventions at the moment," Wodahs stretched his arms back. He always got that way when he was tipsy. He would be more laid back, more relaxed. But his reflexes still worked just as well as always. "Is that music that's playing from it?"
"Yeah."
Finally, silence. A peculiar one, but not one they hadn't shared before. Grora knew what would follow the moment she caught his lips moving again with her eye.
"What was that song that Ciel used to murmur when we were cadets?"
Grora hummed, discreetly tightening her fist. She wasn't tipsy enough to have that conversation, but she didn't want to shut him off yet.
"It was a demon lullaby. Lost taught Ciel the rhythm." There was a slight pause, but she continued. "I wanted to stop Etihw from punishing them, you know. I believe I've told you that before."
"You have," Wodahs nodded, "but it was war. It was a cruel one. At least Chelan and Dialo seem to share a similar relationship to theirs. Sure, it's not a romance that ends in a horrible tragedy, but I enjoy seeing them so close to each other."
"For me, it hurts," Grora faltered, swallowing hard, "I miss Ciel. I wasn't that close to her, but what happened was unfair."
"You're getting emotional," Wodahs muttered, but the tone of his voice made it sound like a threat. In reality, it was a warning. 'You're getting emotional and it's hurting me too' he thought, but he wouldn't say that to her.
The warmth vanished when he saw her putting her flask back in her pocket. He had premeditated that, hadn't he? He struck first, pointing out her vulnerability. A part of him would beg her to stay, but he knew better than to awaken that part again.
"Hey, Wodahs?" Grora whispered, and just by the way she said his name, he almost lost his control over himself then and there.
"Yes, Alela?"
"I found out you changed your room at the castle." The Head Angel gulped. "I did. I wanted a change. The new one is a bit bigger." "That's a shame. I used to love that room." And with that, he was alone.
Behind the closed door, the small angel took a deep breath, her memories coming back to her like flashes of pain to her chest. She expected the snarky remarks to make her feel satisfied. She had hurt him, hadn't she? Couldn't she? Wasn't that what she always wanted? What helped her cope the best?
She wished she could remind the threatening tears in her already watery eye that.
...
His cell was dark red. Had it always been like that? He couldn't remember anymore. There were bloodstains splashed all over the walls. Could it be that they belonged to him? Had he already gotten beaten up so many times he'd forgotten?
"Ivlis."
The bitter croon of Satanick's voice echoed in the dungeons. The exiled Devil, lost in his thoughts, lifted himself on his knees so his eyes could line with the end of Satanick's silk purple bow's ends.
"You sound distraught," Ivlis commented, and Satanick laughed.
"I'm not here for long. You probably need some more sleep. I just thought I'd tell you that tomorrow night we're going to celebrate my birthday with loads of people."
Ivlis looked up at the violet-blooded Devil with big, thundering eyes. He was waiting.
"Oh yeah, I made sure you'll have more fun than me actually," leered Satanick, picking up on Ivlis's growing impatience. "You'll be seated next to your father."

Chapter Text

For a bartender, Maekami was rather lenient when it came to his customers. Sometimes, he wouldn't mind not being paid for his services. The entire village frequented his place every single day, and it wasn't as if he was interested in purchasing any sort of material goods. His bedroom was right behind the bar, so his main expenses were the money he gave away for the liquor.
If he was being frank with himself, he'd say that he opened the little pub because he was bored out of his mind. After all those adventures he had been on, all he wanted to do was drown himself in the booze, as did half Pitch Black already. However, he prided himself in his discretion and subtlety. If he were to become a so-called "high functioning" alcoholic, he would have wanted something to make fun of. The bar was the easiest solution to pass his time. The bar was the easiest solution to pass his time.
However, he was strict on one rule: The bar closes at 3 am sharp. That was when he would've had enough of his daily amusement. Most folks called him preppy for his decision - considering the nature of his business - but he wouldn't even bat an eye at them. He didn't care. Maekami wouldn't mind dragging people out of his bar from their feet nor would he pay it much mind if he found them with their guts out the next morning, even though he wasn't a fan of the blood smearing all over his walls.
Everyone in the village obeyed these rules. They knew better than to trust a former subordinate for the Devil Queen who hid his face after all. Although, he did have to make one exception for one particular demon with sharp teeth and snakelike horns.
Anten always visited Maekami right before the store closed up. When he started his business, he would often try to throw his old co-worker out. But the more time passed, Maekami learned that he could tolerate his bullshit for a couple more hours. He was his best friend after all. Or so he thought - he wasn't too sure what kind of person could classify as a friend to him. Besides, Anten always figured out a unique way to irritate him.
"I heard Hanten call out Olivia today." Or intrigue him.
"Hanten?" Maekami wiped the side of the rum glass on his hand. It was one of the few ones left on his pile of dirty dishes. "She came by today with Kuro. They left in a hurry. Where did they storm off?"
"Forest," Anten groaned, stretching back his bandaged form. He probably got in a fight again, Maekami thought. "She seemed pretty distressed."
"Doubt it," Maekami sighed, "Kurotsuno doesn't wanna attend the party because she doesn't want to see Sullivan, Hanten gets pushy, quarreling ensues. It probably progressed into something more serious."
Anten breathed out a soft laugh. "That was enough for Hanten to call her by her human name? Since when did she get so soft?"
"She's not soft."
"She's barely ever upset, she wouldn't risk saying that to Kuro." He gestured at Maekami to pour himself a new drink, tempting the white-haired demon.
"I guess she's fed up with them. Sullivan is up everyone's ass about his precious little bipolar goth princess, Kurotsuno just becomes absurdly obsessed with hating him." He said, slowly picking out a new kind of rum to fill the empty cleaned cup in his hand. "But we both know it's bigger than that."
"Eh."
"Come on. She practically merged with you to keep Kuro alive when they transformed her. Be more sensitive to this."
"You're asking me to be sensitive?"
"You are when it comes to the angels."
"Not my fault Fumus forced their own halos up their Head's rectum. The kid basically shares our essence anyway. She even took my name. Why the fuck would I give a shit anymore. It weirds me out." Anten nagged, sipping from his cup to soothe his voice before it raised too much for Maekami's liking.
"I do hope she doesn't go to that party though." Maekami sniffed, putting his drink underneath his mask. "You know who's coming right?"
"The peace treaty huh? Didn't they send their usual diplomat? That short one-eyed chick Lola or whatever her name is?"
"They are. But he's coming as well."
Anten looked up at him in disbelief. "He got on the train?"
"Peacefully. As sane as ever. I think that's what she's for anyway, in case he gets triggered."
"What about Sullivan?"
"Sullivan isn't aware of this yet."
"So how the fuck do you know?"
"Witches."
"Should have known," Anten murmured, resting his head on his elbows. "You should take off that muzzle."
"No," Maekami gulped, "Fuck you."
"I just wanna see the cuts man. The fucker who hurt you is coming here anyway. Everyone will be there soon."
"I'm not touching the VIP room. I'll have them get someone else for that kind of bartending." Maekami said as Anten leaned in to tug on the edge of his mask.
"Speaking of witches, what's Chlomaki gonna do? Are we gonna get those dramatic meetings again with those shitty angels she left? I do love a good angel bloodbath."
"You're talking too much. Get out of my store."
...
Hanten and Kurotsuno refused to speak to each other for hours. It wasn't unusual for the two of them to coexist in silence in their loft. Kurotsuno had always felt comfortable around her best friend to do anything. It was impossible to feel as if she were a stranger when they were able to take a bath together or use each other's clothes without paying it no mind. Even their first kiss was with each other, Kurotsuno being curious about the feeling when she was still Olivia.
They fought all the time. That much was true. Kurotsuno wasn't afraid to call her friend names and Hanten definitely didn't hesitate to find ways to get her blood boiling with half-assed actions and shitty dabs at her. Nevertheless, fights like these were rare. Mostly because Hanten knew not to surpass any of Kurotsuno's boundaries. Thus, the silence was weird. To Hanten, this didn't feel like the Kuro who would wordlessly sneak into her room whenever she had a nightmare just to feel her presence near her. This didn't feel like the Kuro who stole everyone's chocolates at their campus but keeping up such an elegant exterior that it kept the boys from staying angry at her. She always cared a big amount about her appearance. In Hanten's eyes, she was still pretty classy even with her fists dipped in blood and cracked knuckles.
By the Devil, she was such a heinous bitch when she wanted to be. Hanten stared away from her newspaper to the light coming from her room again.
The soft sound of the gramophone had reached her ears with ease. Some human artist was playing that she wasn't aware of. Kurotsuno probably told her about them when she still cared enough about her human side.
Wait a minute, Hanten thought, Why is she playing human music?
The demon slowly paced her way to the room, dipping her head to look from the side of her room just to see Kurotsuno lying down with a magazine on her thighs and a few makeup products around her figure. Her eyes looked dry to her, making Hanten realize she had been practicing new styles.
They kept staring at each other for a while. Side-eyeing, mouths closed shut. Kurotsuno was the first to break the silence.
"What?"
"Why are you playing human shit?"
"Since when do you have a problem with human shit?"
"I don't. I- you're the one who cut that part off," Hanten said, leaning against the door frame.
"Huh. Decided to just put on whatever I wanted to hear to be honest." Kurotsuno dismissed her, grabbing the small mirror by her side before reaching for another one of her eyeliners. "I'm trying to do one of those little wings on my eyes like the ones Lil does. I assume I'm messing it up."
"Yeah. You are." Hanten giggled.
"I am, aren't I?"
"Yeah, cause she ends up looking like a meth addict cheap phony and you look like an actual demon."
Kurotsuno put her utensil down before staring back at her best friend again, smirking lightly. "A cute demon, at least?"
"Oh yeah. Ethereal." They laughed awkwardly, not once breaking eye contact. "Why are you even copying her?"
"It's for the party."
"You're going?" Hanten said surprised, approaching her bed."You'll probably murder mortals if I'm not there to keep you in check. I'll hide from him if he tries to get to me." The demon squatted to the side and patted the space next to her. "Sit."
Hanten smiled back at her, discarding her jacket to the side and taking off her skirt, jumping right onto the bed before moving closer to the grey-haired girl. "I'll make sure you'll have enough of that fancy drink you like to get your mind off. You're too stubborn with certain stuff," The girl said, implying an unspoken promise that she could guarantee her safety.
"Well..." Kurotsuno mouthed before turning her gaze to the blonde laying demon. She waited to take in her smell of coffee and wet mist, settling in the familiarity of the sensation. Kurotsuno didn't even turn away when Hanten decided to smudge her makeup to her ear, rubbing her temple just enough for Kurotsuno to feel lulled to sleep.
"...and you're an ignorant asshole."
Hanten couldn't help but grin even wider at her response.
"Fair enough, Kuro."

Chapter Text

How did the universe come to life, Ivlis wondered, It must have been light. Bright light from the sun would feed life with the vital nutrients it required to survive and bloom. He glanced over at the small magnolia at the side of his cell, proving his point. The flower had been in the shadows for months. The candlelight in his hands - whenever they weren't shackled - wasn't enough to keep it alive. It was technical light, manufactured and man-made, not natural. It remained rotting, endorsing death even more day by day.
Ivlis was that very magnolia. Ironic, wasn't it? The demon's whole existence was owed to flames and sunlight, yet he had fallen from their grace. From now on he was only sinking, drowning under the weight of the darkness of the clouds, the wet room, and his own misery.
Ivlis was lucky in one thing though. He was right under the entrance of the castle and the decomposing matter on the dirty walls had created a small hole for his eyes to skim through the alleyway and listen to every little sound. He managed to memorize the steps of Envi, Reciful, Glasses, Satanick, and anyone who would proceed to gain access to his cell. It didn't take long until he had learned their moods concerning the pace of their steps. He learned when they were coming to get him out or to torture him in the dark room. The quantity of those punishments stopped surprising him after one point. They barely even hurt, they just bore him. It bore him and it drove him mad how something so horrible could have become his reality.
Thankfully, today he didn't feel numb. Today he had a reason to possibly envy the dead organism at the side of his room. He hated how livid this whole sequence made him as a new, familiar voice was heard from outside.
The strands of soft blonde locks were scattered down Siralos's shoulders ever so elegantly. He wore a sly smile, his teeth shining through as he stepped into the alleyway. Ivlis had heard Satanick come to greet him at the door in a hurry, already wearing his nicest purple bow for his beloved guest.
"Siralos! Thank you so much for coming so early. Welcome to our den again!" The Devil said with a bright expression, placing the God's hand between his own, grasping it near his heart. Ivlis was always appalled by the humble way Satanick would treat his guests and subjects, even though he was a monarchist. The only butler he had was Envi, but he could always refuse to do a job if he didn't feel like it, which happened scarcely. Ivlis was used to a different kind of pretentiousness in the Land of the Sun.
"You must be tired, huh? I've prepared your favorite room for you. It's still dawn, you could use some more sleep!" Satanick kept chirping through, picking up Siralos's suitcase as they walked down the alleyway.
"A bit." Ivlis gulped, the voice of his father rumbling down to his core, petrifying the bones within his skin, "I had a few matters to address back home. Igls was assigned to rule for me. I believe she will be adequate enough."
Ivlis sighed, a sense of relief brushing over him before his own sadness exasperated him again. His sister's safety was the one thing he wanted to ensure after his downfall. He hadn't talked to her properly in years. Even throughout his trial, they could only look at each other. He was proud enough of her to even dare to give him apologetic looks, knowing the strictness of his father.
"Oh, sweet Igls!" Satanick chuckled, "How is she? Still as innocent as ever, huh?"
Please don't be, Ivlis begged internally. "Fortunately yes. I make no mistakes with my own creations, after all." Siralos clicked his tongue, stopping right over the staircase next to the door that led to Ivlis's cell. His breath hitched.
"How old are you turning now, Satanick?"
"Forty-five thousand, but I still look like a bachelor! My youth should be celebrated, don't you think?"
"Not really, I don't." The God with the golden hair shrugged and gestured that they continued up the stairs. Ivlis just kept staring at their moving feet. He was certain that his father was able to sense his presence. Just like when he and Igls were children and he could hide in the darkest pits, yet the light would always find him.
It really struck him sometimes, just how discarded and condemned he was in his father’s mind. A mistake, a little piece of litter made in the way to achieve pure perfection, no matter the emotional baggage or the overall cost. Ivlis’s grip tightened around the bars of his cell. He almost forgot to keep up his guard when Reciful’s footsteps reached his tiny window. The fallen tyrant sighed, preparing himself for the chastisement of his life.
“Good start so far, huh?” The tall woman said in a deadpan voice as she slowly leaned down to sit on her knees, her eyes barely reaching the darkness of his imprisonment. “You’re not going to squeak?”
“What difference will it make?”
“None, but you know,” Reciful scratched the side of her head, “it’s out of character.”
“So is talking to me without any insults.”
“You’re too pathetic for my insults today. If you miss them this much I can come up with something to humiliate you for. No promises that I’ll be as good as your dad’s parenting decisions.”
“Yeah?” Ivlis let out a snarky laugh, dipping his head down to avoid looking at her. Suddenly, she had become a heavy sight, too much for his lazy eyes. “Save your pity. State your business here.”
Reciful stood up quickly, dusting her suit off. Ivlis took that chance to concentrate on her heels. They were muddy, which was ridiculous. She always flew when it rained. Had she been instructed not to lately? Had she fallen out of favor with her so-beloved wings? He would probably investigate further when he’d find the time. For now, he had other things to tend to, to prepare.
“Your son’s here.” Bingo. Ivlis smiled affectionately, knowing that he’d hate himself if he failed this time. “The weird one, again.” He knew that he couldn’t count on anything but the promise of the upcoming peace treaty for the time being. Words thrown in the air for so long, until the Grey World reached out.
Ivlis had spent enough of his life doing the bidding of those that claimed to be superior to him or trying to sabotage his own legacy with stupid, impulsive decisions. Failed attempts at absolutism, desecrated monarchies, and schemes that went south the moment they were applied. If he had to play the game everyone else told him they were so much better than him at, it had to be on their terms.
So that was what he had decided on.
“Bring Licorice in.”