Leonard read the letter, then threw it into the flames. Lady Astaroth was requesting assistance, but she hadn't said a word about Lord Sytry.
When Gilles de Rais had come into the castle, requesting—no, demanding—an audience with King Baalberith, Leonard had simply acquiesced and had asked no questions about the bandages on his face. But his curiosity had been piqued when he had overheard Gilles saying that Lord Sytry had been responsible for the injuries. Leonard had heard no mention of Lord Sytry after that, not from Gilles, Eligos or King Baalberith himself. He wanted to think that was for the better, but he couldn't convince himself.
Now, Lady Astaroth was asking for help and Leonard wondered just how much of a dire position he would be put in if he responded to her request. If he did it, King Baalberith would likely be angry at him. If he didn't, Lord Sytry would basically be Astaroth's prisoner, she could do whatever she wanted to him, after all. She was his only ally in Hell, after all. Without another moment's hesitation, he snuck off to the dungeons, careful to not let anyone see him. He had seen King Baalberith off—a little visit to the human world—and so Leonard knew this opportunity could not be wasted. Eligos was gone as well, and as for Gilles, Leonard had no idea about Gilles.
He walked down the halls, the decor a little unsettling (even if this was Hell) and finally found the little cage, suspended in one of the deeper parts of the dungeon.
"Hey, Mamon, it's that sheep butler that lost to Baphomet," one of the bats said.
"It is, isn't it?" The other one said. It faced him. "While you're here, I'd like to request something other than soup for once. A savory meat pie, maybe. Or, or, paté. And don't add too much sugar this time."
Leonard blinked. Were these two worth risking his life over?
"I'm not here to deliver food," he whispered, sure that someone might hear him. "I'm here to release you."
At that, the bats quirked their ears.
"Free us? Baalberith's cook is going to free us? Do you hear that, Amon?"
"It's probably a trick. He's probably going to turn us into soup or something."
"And I'll bet he'll add too much sugar again, too."
"Just to let you know, I don't taste very good—"
"—me neither—"
"—so it would be an insult to your master if you served us—"
"—it would. Then it would be you who was turned into soup—"
"—no, sheep are mutton—"
"—lamb chops—"
"—shanks—"
"Would you two please stop talking!" Not in his entire, immortal life had Leonard been so exasperated. "Listen, if I help you, you must promise me something."
"Taking orders from a sheep?" The black bat scoffed. "What do you take us for? We answer only to Master Dantalion."
"I'm the one holding the key." Astaroth had only said to free them, she had said nothing that restricted Leonard from making deals of his own.
"So, what do you want?" The bat made a play at crossing its wings. It didn't quite work, but Leonard thought he got the point of the gesture.
"If I let you out," Leonard was sure to emphasize that he had the upper-hand in this situation, "you must tell me where Lord Sytry is and his condition."
"That's it?" The white bat scoffed. "With the way you were acting, I thought you'd want us to hide a body or something."
"It's a simple recon mission," the black bat continued. "Like we haven't done those half a million times before."
"I did lose track on the number. Is it really half a million now?"
"I'm almost sure of it. Master Dantalion is soooo demanding. I mean, he's the reason we're locked up here in the first place."
"He just had to have us spy on Baalberith."
"Never mind about our safety."
"Or you know, our general well-being."
"That's the same thing as safety, you idiot!"
"I knew that!"
"Well anyway, you're lucky you don't have to work for him." The bat turned its attention toward Leonard, who was just about to comment on the irony of the claim when the other bat broke in.
"Now, Grand Duchess Astaroth. That's a lady I wouldn't mind working for."
"I'd volunteer to be part of her outfit if you know what I mean—"
"That's enough you two." Leonard whispered harshly. He looked around, sure that they had invited some unwanted attention. As it was, they were losing valuable time. "Look, I'm not here because of Dantalion. It's actually Lady Astaroth that's requesting your escape. You're to report to her after me."
The bats grinned at each other. "Mamon, could it be that our dreams are finally coming true?"
"I think so, Amon! Grand Duchess Astaroth must be in need of a new brassiere. I think bat shapes are in season, even!"
They just kept carrying on and on, congratulating themselves on the promotion to Lady Astaroth's undergarments. Leonard was at the end of his rope, this little bat-skin rope.
"Alright!" He turned the key and let them out. "Now, don't forget our deal. Check on Lord Sytry first."
"Oh yes, oh yes." The two flew from the cage, flying off into the darkness of the corridor, chatting of Lady Astaroth and her bust size.
Leonard was left standing in the dank, underground cell, totally worried and not entirely convinced that they had so much as heard him.
What scared Dantalion the most was the silence. Oh, it had been perfectly noisy when he, Camio, and Sytry returned to school, but the walk back had been so quiet Dantalion had felt like he was human again, attending a funeral and standing above the grave when everyone had left. A cold and desolate sensation, a wasteland of emotion. Dantalion didn't like that feeling, the being-human-once part or otherwise.
They had spoke once the entire walk back.
"Do you need some help?" He had asked, unable to ignore the fact that Sytry was practically limping over the field, wincing whenever he stepped on something wrong. Dantalion had moved in to support him with his arm.
"I'm fine." Sytry had pulled away, not too aggressively, but enough to tell Dantalion that his support and concern weren't needed. More than that, there was absolutely nothing that Sytry wanted from him now. If ever.
At the current moment, Dantalion was staring out the window, counting down the minutes of his last class of the day.
Now it made sense. Sytry's volatility and the overall silence that surrounded him. How furiously he had attacked Gilles just for being Gilles. And that meeting with Camio. The fallen demon was now in a precarious situation wasn't he? Not only had he fallen out of his uncle's favor—and here Dantalion cringed to think about what that favor truly implied—but he had no position in Hell to speak of. He had no influence anymore and that, along with the strength he had basically drained on Eligos, was all he had really had to begin with. He was powerless now.
Dantalion felt like kicking something. A ball, a human head, it didn't matter. He should have been informed a long ago about this. He supposed that Lady Astaroth knew and that she just hadn't trusted him with the information. He supposed that Amon and Mamon were either incompetent or dead. He supposed that Sytry himself hadn't told him because... because...
"That'll be all for today, class."
Dantalion rose. It was a mechanical gesture and matched none of his usual flair. He ignored the invitations for sports and headed toward the infirmary. Enough thinking about Sytry. There were obviously people more vulnerable than demons, after all. He was just about to turn around the corner when something caught him by the shoulder. He gasped. He usually wasn't caught off his guard, it had to be—
"We need to speak, Dantalion." Camio stood before him, his hand on his shoulder, his eyes stern.
"We do, don't we?" Dantalion's eyes narrowed. Camio had been another one who could have told him the situation so much sooner. Not that his now only formidable rival would have been so helpful. He was a demon after all, even if he was only half. Still, it hurt Dantalion to think that a guy like him would purposely withhold information because he thought less of him. Why the animosity, Camio? Or was it something else?
"There's more to it than what Sytry said." Camio's tone was serious and Dantalion, for once, silenced the thoughts running through his head. "It's not just that Baalberith has chosen Eligos and disowned him."
"What more is there?" Dantalion let his impatience be heard.
Camio looked to the side, as if he were searching for something, someone. They were behind a building and it was unlikely that any students or professors would be wandering around there so late in the day. It seemed like they were out of earshot, for humans at least. He then returned his attention to the matter at hand. "Astaroth is gathering her armies."
"Her Highness?" Dantalion's mouth went dry.
"Yes. Lord Beelzebuth told me himself."
Dantalion took a couple steps away, out of his grip. It felt as if the ground had been removed right out from under him, the world spinning in a dizzying way. He needed to get back on top of things. "Then I have to go to Hell right away." He made to leave, to jump through the portal, but Camio stopped him, nearly slamming him against the wall. "You can't!"
"Why not?!" He shouted, mystified at Camio's boldness.
"I haven't finished yet." Camio let go of him and Dantalion let himself calm down.
"What's going on?" He looked Camio dead in the eye.
"Astaroth plans to attack Baalberith." Dantalion's breath hitched. "With Sytry at her side."
Dantalion turned away. So even Astaroth had been hiding things from him. Of course, he had always known, but not to this degree: teaming up with someone who had looked down on her and all her faction. On him. Never mind that Sytry was close to defenseless now. Why him? Why her? "Why would she do that?" He muttered under his breath.
"She means for Sytry to usurp Baalberith and rule over the West."
Dantalion shook his head. "It's a stupid idea. It'll never work."
Camio held his silence. There was no point in him agreeing or disagreeing. Whatever outcome there was, even if it meant Astaroth's or Sytry's death, could only benefit him.
"I just don't see why..."
"Astaroth is worried," Camio started. "She fears there is something deeper than Baalberith just choosing another candidate. She wants to strike him before he strikes her or, even worse, all of Hell."
Dantalion bit his lower lip. Now that did sound like a very real possibility. Had Baalberith grown bored waiting for the elector to make up his mind? If that was the case, then Sytry and Eligos hardly mattered anymore. Baalberith would take on the other three kings and Hell itself, and Dantalion knew that, given enough time, he had a very real chance of conquering it for his own.
"There's something else." Both Dantalion and Camio turned around, shocked to hear the voice.
Sytry stood before them. He had changed into the school uniform, but he still held the marks of battle on his face and determination in his eyes.
"My uncle wants to eradicate all the nephilim in Hell." He said, not quite as concerned as he should have sounded.
Both Dantalion and Camio froze. "What did you say?"
"You heard me."
"But how? Why?" Dantalion internally cursed himself. At first he had known nothing and now he was learning too much. He had been drowning in a sea of blissful ignorance yesterday, he was under an ominous black cloud today.
"I don't know why or how he'll do it, but I do know he needs to be stopped." Sytry took on a pensive look. "Don't get me wrong, I don't care for you nephilim either." Dantalion glared at him. "But no one should have enough power to eliminate an entire class of demons!"
Camio nodded. Dantalion fumed.
"Why haven't you said anything until now!?" Dantalion demanded angrily, taking a few steps toward Sytry.
Sytry looked down. "I couldn't." His tone was barely above that of a whisper.
"What!?" Without warning, Dantalion launched at Sytry and drove him into the ground, his hand around his neck.
"You bastard! Why didn't you say anything!? You could have stopped this long ago!" Dantalion's blood filled with indignation, his hand squeezing tight. "Just what do you have against nephilim anyway? You're nothing but a fucking fallen angel yourself!" He spat out the words, harshly, without mercy. "Let me tell you something, you fell a lot farther than I did. You must have done something incredibly wicked."
Sytry glared at him.
"Dantalion, he's still weak from that battle." Camio called from behind. "Let him go."
Dantalion ignored him. "Well, what did you do?" He felt exceedingly cruel today. He would make Sytry pay, for all the insults, all the apathy, for his uncle's crimes. "Or maybe it was something that was done to you." Dantalion's eyes gleamed black. "Tell me what he did to you, Sytry. Did you like it? Was it good enough to fall from Heaven for?"
"That's enough, Dantalion!" Camio shouted. He started to pry him off.
"You must have liked it," Danatlion whispered maliciously. "I bet you were begging by the end, begging to have your wings ripped off. That's why you're a demon now. Like me." Dantalion's fingers clenched one last, excruciating time. "Because you wanted it, you little—"
"I said that was enough!" Camio finally ripped him off of Sytry. He gave a last heated look to Dantalion and then turned his attention to Sytry. Camio paused. Sytry lay on the ground, not moving. For a second, Camio thought Dantalion had killed him; his eyes had no light in them, staring up at the sky with vacuous indifference.
A moment passed by where they all were still, breath not escaping from their throats.
Finally, Sytry blinked and the light returned to his eyes. He sat up and coughed, clutching the marks at his throat. He scowled at Dantalion. Then he picked himself up, dusted the dirt off, and crossed his arms. "Honestly, is that all you nephilim think about?" He laughed, a forced laugh that held no happiness, still weak from his throat. "Such disgusting, filthy creatures. Maybe Hell would be better without you."
This time Camio held Dantalion back. The other raged in his arms, shouting obscenities.
"Why are you doing this, Sytry?" Camio's voice rang clear, despite all the difficulty he had restraining Dantalion. "You know now isn't the time to cause fights."
Sytry's arms fell to his side. Yes, now was definitely not the time to cause any fights. Camio watched as Sytry shook, the last of his strength having drained from that one arrogant gesture. He looked like he could collapse at any moment. He felt Dantalion relax in his arms.
"I'm going to let you go now," Camio said calmly. "Don't start anything or I'll personally have to finish it." He released him.
Dantalion stepped to the side. Sytry wavered where he stood.
"Camio's right. Now isn't the time for this." Dantalion said. He turned to leave them. "We'll talk about this later." Astaroth's war and Baalberith's plan. It was all hitting him at once. He needed to sit down, he needed to take his mind off it or he would erupt. Again. "I'm leaving." He strode off, not bothering to listen to them any longer.
Meanwhile, Camio stared down at Sytry. Sytry was getting paler by the moment and Camio could see his knees were shaking. Had he been holding it all in this entire time? Had he not wanted to look weak in front of Dantalion? Camio didn't know, but whatever the case, in the condition he was in now, Sytry would definitely not have won a fight against Dantalion, or anyone, for that mater.
"You should rest," Camio urged. "Some of your cuts have reopened. You're bleeding."
Sytry looked down at his jacket. Sure enough, red was seeping through the fabric. He wasn't sure whether to thank Camio or tell him off. He decided to simply leave, as Dantalion had done, and find something to close his wounds with. He wondered if his throat would bruise because of that damn nephilim and decided it didn't matter.
He would be leaving the human world soon.
The sunset had painted the sky pearly velvets and soft reds by the time William woke. He stared at the window for a second and realized he was in the darkened room of the infirmary. He felt well-rested, despite the feeling of his mind being bogged down from sleep. There was someone sitting beside him, but he couldn't tell who it was right away.
"Kev—" He blurted out on instinct and then bit back the name when his eyes adjusted. "Dantalion!"
"How are you feeling, William?" Dantalion was barely more than an outline in the darkness.
"Err..." William rose, letting his back rest against the headboard. There was no pain in his body and William was glad of it. "Fine, actually."
"That's good to hear." William blinked. Was this really Dantalion and not Kevin? No, not even Kevin would sound so detached.
"I remember waking up and that female demon was... umm... trying to coerce me to vote for her." The memories were all fuzzy and William was glad of that too. "And then you and Camio were there and after... after..." he started up with a shock. "Sytry! What happened to him? Was he really replaced by that other demon?"
"Yes," Dantalion said. As if that was the only answer he knew.
"What's going on, Dantalion?" William was a bit irritated now. The well-rested feeling was steadily ebbing away. "Is that why Sytry attacked Rais that other time? Where is he now?"
Dantalion sighed. "I'll go light some candles."
"Dantalion..." William mumbled, but he also needed some light. He wanted answers to sort through. The whole world was better with answers. Answers brightened up the darkness like the demon before him, who was causing the candles to spark and catch fire without touching them. William grimaced. There must have been a perfectly logical explanation for that. Too much electricity in the air? Tiny chemical reactions at the microscopic level? Dantalion lit several candles at once. Yep, there as definitely an explanation for it.
Dantalion returned to his side.
"Now are you going to tell me what's going on?"
Dantalion stared at the human boy, trying to figure out where to start. "Camio will be gone for a while," he said. It was probably the thing that needed the least explaining.
"The headboy? But why?"
"There are demons after someone he holds dear."
"Miss Mullins..." William gasped. "Why, what did Camio do? Why are they after her?"
Dantalion shrugged. "I suspect it has something to do with Eligos being Baalberith's new candidate." Now he had opened the can of worms. Now there would be no end to William's questions. Not that he minded entirely, it was nice keeping William hanging on to his every word. But still, the conversation would eventually devolve into talk of—
"And what about Sytry? I asked you before, what's going on with him and where is he? Why did Baalberith abandon him?"
There was something nice about three questions asked at once. Dantalion could choose which one he answered first, if he chose to answer any at all.
"Apparently, Baalberith and Lady Astaroth will go to war soon." He watched as William's eyes opened wide, although he did not appear to be concerned. "A war? In Hell?"
"Yes." Dantalion could see it, an army of demons stretching all the way to the horizon, the wasteland covered with their blood, Baalberith and his catty grin standing above the wreckage.
William looked down. "So I suppose you want time off to fight that little war of yours?"
"I'm not going." This caused him to look back up.
"But isn't Astaroth your benefactress?"
Dantalion nodded. "She hasn't asked for my help so I don't feel inclined to give it. She wasn't even the one who told me about the war in the first place." Why had he been the last to know all these things? Did they not trust him to such an extent? Or was it part of some master plan, some conspiracy? Would someone take his place like Sytry's?
Now Dantalion was angry again. He was thankful when he heard William's voice. "Whatever. It doesn't concern me. Demons can fight their wars and kill each other for all I care."
"William..." Dantalion groaned. That was not the response he had wanted to hear. If William had commanded him to stop the war, he would have, without a thought for his life, he would have if William asked.
But he hadn't. Solomon might have asked. He might have shook his head and looked off distantly over the horizon, lamenting on how his pillars could not get along. He would have held Dantalion, told him that he was the only one, the only one who understood him and what he wanted. That he was good despite having gone to Hell. That Hell was only a construct, the real Hell was the one humans and demons and angels created for themselves.
"Dantalion?" He snapped back to reality, to the present, at the sound of his name. It was not Solomon before him, but William. William who thought he was wise despite acting so foolish, who thought he was apathetic despite being so kind.
"I'm here," Dantalion said. It was something he always wanted to say whenever William was involved. "I'm staying with you."
"Huh?" The look on William's face was priceless.
Dantalion held back a blush. His anger was completely gone now. He felt better, like his usual self again.
"I mean, since Camio left, I'll be the one protecting you. I won't be leaving any time soon."
"I see." William deadpanned. "Well, since you're not leaving any time soon, why don't you go and get me something to eat." A smirk had crawled its way onto his lips.
"I'm your bodyguard, not your servant." Dantalion crossed his arms and leant back on the chair. He hoped he looked convincing. In truth, he really did want to get William food. He just didn't want to admit that he did.
"Fine," William started to take off the blankets and get out of the bed. "I'll get something myself." He started to move towards the door. "I hope there are no scary demons on my way to the cafeteria. It's already pitch black out."
Dantalion hopped out of the chair before William could take another step. "I got it, I got it. Just don't think this'll become a regular thing, okay?" He was out of the door by the second William had hopped back in bed. Perhaps having demons around had its perks after all.
William had just started to get bored when the door opened. He had expected Dantalion, but it was Sytry that walked through the doorway and came to his side.
"You're better now?" The demon asked.
"Yes!" William was irate. "But I can't say the same for you." It was obvious that Sytry was not better now, he walked with a limp and there were marks all over him. Even his eyes looked like they were in pain. "You should be taking care of yourself. It's you who should be in this bed and not me." William was just about to rise but Sytry shook his head.
"Demons don't heal the same as humans. All of this will be gone soon, even if I don't rest." One thing he had never gotten used to since he became a demon: lying with a straight face.
William's tone dropped to a whisper. "But it still hurts, doesn't it?" That caught Sytry off-guard. He looked at him angrily, and for a second William could see the bratty underclassman who loved sweets and hated chores, the one who complained about how the dormitory's beds were too hard and who begged William to give back the candy he had confiscated. Then it was gone, a leaf falling into a pool of miserable, black liquid. His expression returned to one without emotion.
"I'm leaving, William. I thought you should know." Sytry smiled sadly.
"Now you tell me? Not before, but now?" William couldn't figure it out. Did Sytry feel guilty for breaking school rules after all those times? No, of course Sytry would not worry about something like that. Was there something else? What wasn't he thinking of?
"Before, I knew I would be coming back." Sytry had no feeling in his voice, and that fact only angered William all the more.
"Wait. You're leaving? Forever?" Something struck William and he realized what he hadn't been thinking of. "Don't tell me! You're involved in that war, aren't you?"
"So Dantalion already told you." Sytry sneered at the mention of the name and then returned to monotone. "Yes, I'm going to help Lady Astaroth take down my uncle. Or die trying."
William shook his head. "How can you be so indifferent about this? Why do you have to fight him? Why do you have to leave?" William did not like getting emotional, but this situation caused his voice to raise a little higher, for his tone to sound a little more than concerned.
Sytry looked out the window. His voice trembled barely above a whisper. "There are many reasons why I have to fight him." Again, that sad smile. "You have an uncle, don't you, William? What's he like?"
"Nice, I suppose, if not completely irresponsible." Memories of the man flooded into William's head. His uncle, hunched over a desk, trying desperately to balance the estate's account. And failing at it. "I'm not sure if he's dead or not... but this isn't the point. Why do you—?"
Sytry didn't let him finish. "Did he treat you kindly as a child? Did he bring you presents when he visited?"
"Well, yes, he did. He was always going on trips and bringing me back whatever he found in those places. I hardly remember what he gave me. A Chinese robe or a toy from India. I can't even remember where I put those. They must have been sold... Anyway, this has nothing to do with—"
"That's good, William." Sytry turned back to him. There was something unreadable in his eyes, an expression William had never seen anyone use before. "Keep those memories with you. Remember them when you see him again."
Sytry turned to leave, his hair flowing elegantly with him.
"Wait!" William called after him but it was already too late. Sytry had left through the door.
William stared at the wall at the opposite end of the room. He had finally realized the problem. It wasn't that he didn't know anything about demons, he knew almost everything about them. How their world worked, how they operated, what motivated them. What he didn't understand were the specifics: Sytry, Dantalion, and even Camio. He had been around them the most and during that time he had found that he knew less and less about them. They were complex and guarded their pasts like a mother guarded her young. Fiercely, without reservation. William sighed. He still had so much to learn.
It was at that time Dantalion walked in, complaining how the cooks had been so stingy about the soup and how he had craftily been able to sneak four rolls of bread instead of two. William smiled. There were some things, at least, that he understood perfectly.
Sytry let the cold night air move across his skin. It stung at his face, made his fingers scream for warmth, but it also refreshed him. He moved through it and he felt it wake his veins.
He would return to Hell. He was finally ready. He would give Astaroth her answer, the real answer. That he was sick of hiding in the human world. That he was ready to lead an army of demons to a future unknown. That he had to face his uncle.
The wind whispered through the trees, soft at first and then harsher and harsher. It was a good night to be alone in the human world. He looked up at the stars. Demons did not look up at the stars the same way humans did, aspiring to comprehend some greater meaning in life. There were no thoughts that those little, shining pinpoints could be other worlds, there was no hope that there was more to life than just the body and the soul. Demons looked up at the sky and saw a place they had been struck down from and denied. They saw the heavens dancing and wondered why they could not join. They beheld the entire universe, uncountable consciousnesses flowing on into eternity, and felt completely and utterly alone.
The wind blew over him and this time Sytry felt cold. Yes, it was time now. No more looking at the sky or talking to William or feeling the breeze run through his hair.
He made the magic circle and was just about to jump in when something flung him off his feet. He hit the ground, his senses whirling for a few moments. He was back on his feet before another moment passed, looking at his attacker. What he found were attackers, black shapes in the darkness with flailing limbs and wild cries. Demons.
Sytry was able to dodge their attacks for the first few moments. He could tell they were low leveled but even low leveled demons posed a threat in the state he was in now. A strike came at him too quick and landed right in his ribs. He stumbled back, sure the bones had been broken. Another one grabbed his ankle, tentacle-like arms tripping him over and onto the ground.
He breathed hard, searching for the last remnants of his power. Surely, he hadn't wasted it all on Eligos. Surely, he had recovered by now. What he found was nothing, a cold reminder of his powerlessness.
Something whip-like hit him on the back and he let out a scream. Not there. Anywhere but there. He turned himself over and jumped off the ground in one quick motion. The swiftness of it made him clutch at his side and an attack of sharp claws grazed him on the shoulder.
He was slower now, his movements less precise than they had been only moments ago. Attacks hit him from all sides and before he knew it he was back on the ground. This time he couldn't get up. The black shapes loomed over him, their outlines hardly perceptible against the black sky.
Yes, the sky would be the last thing he looked at: a reminder of home and flowers and wings. A memory of falling.
TBC...?
