Hastur hadn't eaten in days. There'd been too much to do to get ready for the war, and admittedly he'd been overly excited about having been chosen to get their master's son. It hadn't been an issue, he ate more out of pleasure than need. But, once things had fallen apart, his stomach began to ache.
Then there way the angel's message about how he'd found the Antichrist and Crowley should join him. Important, and he took the time to memorize it. His stomach tied itself in knots as he worked at that, out of strain and annoyance.
And those were the only possible reasons. He decided that quite firmly as he worked his way through the sound waves.
Demons did not trust other demons.
They didn't trust anyone or anything as a fundamental rule, of course. But demons specifically were selfish and questioned everything. They were likelier to turn against you than work with you, even with identical goals. Fear mitigated a lot of that, which was why the higher-ranked in Hell used it liberally.
Ligur wasn't trustworthy or likable or anything of the sort. But he was… reliable. If he was sent to do a job it got done, if he said something had happened it had, and he always had a fresh soul at least in the works for the master. It was a rare trait, and always done with a sinister sort of glee that Hastur had grown used to having at his side.
That's why it was a major loss. That's why he couldn't stop thinking about things other than the death. Not that the sights, sounds, and smells of it would leave him, but they seemed... secondary somehow.
You could be a proper demon and be angry about losing a tool, even to the point of tying your gut up with horrible knots. Rage was an admirable trait, actually. It was not acceptable, however, to have a sinking feeling of loss. And to be regretful for anything, especially something like not walking into the line of fire first and-
The recording started over for what felt like the thousandth time. The sound he was in moved itself, and him, around in a chattering whirlpool.
They had followed angels countless times on various thwarting assignments. One of the most annoying constants was that angels never seemed to shut up. And Ligur would look over at him and roll his eyes, and they would both smirk before...
His stomach clenched again, harder as if there were a rock in it.
Anyway, this angel's voice grated on him. It'd take the patience of a saint for it not to, and Hastur quite proudly was the exact opposite of that. At least the information was good, maybe even good enough to get him out of trouble when he got back to Hell. And he would get back. If nothing else, Crowley needed to pay.
It was rather convenient that Crowley had also messed up the most crucial part of the Great Plan. Nobody could accuse Hastur of making it personal.
Which it was, and for some reason his stomach unclenched just a touch in admitting that. Ligur had desperately wanted the honor of delivering The Adversary. He'd petitioned for it, Hastur had petitioned for him, and Beelzebub had been ready to say yes. But then their Lord decided it was to be Crowley and that was the end of it.
The second he'd heard about the fake Antichrist, Ligur punched a hole in the wall. He demanded the right to drag the flashy bastard back himself (which everyone understood to mean "with Hastur"), and nobody had disagreed. Crowley had taken the honor from him, and then had the audacity to botch the job. It was his right to go.
That's why, even though they knew there'd be a trap and it'd have been meant for Hastur, he'd let Ligur head in first.
Not in their wildest dreams would they have suspected Crowley would have Holy Water. Not for a second would they have accused a demon of being willing to use it against one of their own.
Ligur's face had screwed in shock and horror far more than in pain. The last look in his eye, while he still had any to look with, had been a "can you believe this?" to Hastur. And then he was a pile of smoldering ash in a dirty raincoat.
And Crowley had looked as if this were a perfectly reasonable action.
Ligur had been his shield-mate back before the fall. They'd been at each other's hip since the beginning of time, and had never even considered being separated as a possibility. But now, thanks to Crowley...
Hastur's stomach wound so tight he was sure it'd break.
The reality of loneliness had nearly sunk in when the whirlpool of sound began to spin faster. And, as a human's voice cracked over the line, and an entry large enough for a maggot began to open, he abandoned this.
The pain in his stomach was hunger, he demanded. And it had only ever been hunger.
Time, then, to put aside stupid thoughts and get to curing it.