Chapter Four

Sympathy For The Devil

Location Unknown, Metropolis, USA

4:30 AM

"Are you sure this is the way?" she asked, continuing to follow the dark-haired man walking ahead of her. Her tone was somewhat confused, but he seemed trustworthy enough. She had determined that it was better to walk down the street at this time of night with a companion rather than by herself, where she would be much more vulnerable to muggers, rapists, and such others Her physical features were enough to mark her as choice prey for such monsters. She was small and built on a delicate frame, and possessed a somewhat demure bearing. Her skin was soft and pale, with a slight rose tint on her cheeks.

The man looked back toward her, a calm smile across his thin lips. "Yes, I am quite positive. If we continue down this road and turn right at the crosswalk a few blocks down from here, we should come to the hospital almost immediately." He stopped for a few seconds to allow the young woman to catch up. "Why are you going to the hospital so early?" he asked in an attempt at light conversation. She felt it was right to trust him; he did not look harmful at all. He was tall, yes, but looked slim enough not to pose much of a threat. He looked very clean-cut, though he was clothed entirely in black, which made his milky pale skin stand out even more under the street lamps and the occasional light from the moon. His hair, which was as black as his clothes, was tied back at the nape of his neck and fell just a bit past his shoulders.

She followed the man's instructions carefully, keeping a few steps behind him as they walked down the sidewalk. The chill of the brisk night wind made her shiver, drawing her small beige coat tighter around her body.

The man stopped walking for a moment, turning back so he faced her. "Are you alright, dear?" he asked, smiling gently as if concerned for her well-being. He noticed her visible shivering as she tried to stave off the bitter cold. Lifting a gloved hand to his collar, he slid his long, black wool coat off his shoulders, turning to her and placing the coat on her back, carefully pulling the collar around her.

The shivering stopped as she felt the large collar of the double-breasted coat resting around her neck. The coat seemed far too large for her small figure, but it provided more than enough warmth to compensate for its size. She lifted her head to look at the man, meeting his eyes with a soft, grateful smile. "Thank you, sir."

A soft nod was his reply. "It is no problem at all." He continued to walk slowly enough for her to keep up with him as they reached the crosswalk he had mentioned earlier. Stopping, he could see that there were no cars in the area at all, or anyone else around them.

The young woman pulled the fleece-lined coat slightly tighter, letting herself bask in its warmth. She looked up at its owner, noticing he was now only clothed in a black silk button-down shirt. "Won't you be cold, though? They say the wind chill will be down to thirty-two degrees."

He shook his head in response, walking across the street without so much as a shudder from the cold. "No, I won't be. I feel just fine." After a few seconds of lull, he turned his head back to look at her, the soft smile on his lips and quite a trustworthy look in his eyes. "Say, miss, would you be comfortable telling me your name?" He stood at the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, as he awaited her response.

She continued to walk until she reached his side, turning to face away from the chilly wind. Once she approached him, she paused and looked up, not quite making eye contact with him. I suppose I should tell him, she thought. He's trustworthy enough, he's very sweet, and... When she thought it was too dark to see, she smiled to herself. ...and he's very handsome. Finally, she turned her head so their eyes met. "My name is Isabelle Crane," she confessed, looking down the street at the right corner. She glanced back to him with a confused look in her eyes when she saw that there was no hospital there. "The hospital isn't there. You said it would come almost immediately."

He first gave a confounded look, and then a soft chuckle. "...Ah, my mistake. It's further down that way, then we take the next crosswalk and turn left. It's quite dark tonight, and my vision isn't at its best. I assure you that you will be safe as long as you're with me," he said with a comforting smile as he continued to lead her down the sidewalk.

She took a breath, trying to force herself to calm down. "If you're sure, I trust you," she affirmed with a terse nod, her voice quivering with uncertainty. Her hands slowly tightened around the strap of her pink sling bag as beads of cold sweat formed in her palms.

"Oh, I'm positive," he answered, noting her signs of slight unease. "You look as if you are afraid of something, Miss Crane," he observed, letting her move a bit closer to him. "What could there possibly be to fear here? There's nobody around but us, the hospital is close by, and I can defend both of us should anyone attack." He continued to walk slowly down the sidewalk, looking back at her as she followed suit. "Say, why are you going to the hospital this early anyway? You don't look injured."

Isabelle smiled gently, holding up her bag which bore a visible logo for the local medical center. "Well, I'm a new nurse there. We always have to show up at these unforgiving hours. It's rough on me, but if it means helping other people feel better, I'll do it." She slung her bag back over her shoulder, looking up at the pitch-black, cloudy night sky and contemplating his questions of her fear. "I hope you're right about that. I'm so scared that someone will attack me in the middle of the night. I moved out here to the city to pursue my nursing career, and I'm...sort of alone. If something bad happens, nobody will know I'm gone."

He looked at her with a warm expression on his face, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I assure you, nothing is going to happen. You've got a very kind heart and a desire to help people that just isn't seen in this cruel world anymore. It's my obligation, I think, to preserve such rare kindness wherever I can find it." She could not see the corners of his lips subtly turn themselves at a slightly different angle, his genial smile turning into a hidden smirk.

A visible blush crept onto her pale cheeks. "Th-thank you. I'm feeling a lot safer now." Finally, the anxiety seemed to completely fade from her as they proceeded down the next street, the lines of the nearby crossing becoming visible in the distance. She hissed softly and shuddered as the freezing wind stung her face.

"I'm glad...to be of service," he remarked. His voice had become slightly deeper and slower as he spoke, with a marked sharpness that had not been present in his otherwise gentle tone before. They continued together across the zebra crossing, preparing to turn to the left.

Isabelle watched her companion abruptly stop in his tracks and suddenly glance up. "Wh-what's going on?" she asked before he spun around and lunged at her, slamming her against a wall. She let out a sharp yelp, looking around to notice that they were in a darkened alley. "Why are you-" Her question was cut short when a steel construction beam fell from above, striking him in the head with enough force to apparently crush his skull.

As he collapsed, the beam pinned him down, seeming to crush him as blood poured from his nose, mouth and the wound in his head. He lay limply under the heavy beam, his lifeless form occasionally giving a slight twitch.

Isabelle slid her foot back with hesitation, letting out a sharp gasp. The realization was soon setting in that she was now alone. Only minutes after declaring he would protect her, her companion was now laying before her, under a heavy construction beam and very likely dead. The hospital was nowhere nearby from what she could see, and she was also lost in the city in the darkness. Her sudden solitude began to eat away at her composure and the feelings of anxiety began to surface again. Stricken with panic, she let out a scream of abject horror and backed deeper into the alley without any rational thought. She knew of nowhere to go for assistance, and her tiny body prohibited her from trying to lift the beam off her fallen escort. She could only stare blankly at the grisly spectacle, not even noticing the shadows looming behind her.

His hand gave one more twitch, followed by his arm. His hand stiffly moved onto the fallen beam, pushing it off his body with a single, hard shove. Using the force of his arms, he managed to suddenly push himself up off the ground. He turned his head so his gaze was locked on her terrified face. Blood was still dripping from his nose and mouth, smearing across his lips and chin. His lips spread into a sinister grin, far removed from the gentle smile he had worn before. Slowly, he elevated himself into an erect position, standing tall as if he had been completely uninjured.

The sight of him rising from a fatal wound only horrified Isabelle even more. She let out another scream, backing away even faster as he began to approach her. "You! You're...a...Y-you're...a..."

"...Monster?" He finished her sentence, his tone completely changing and his entire demeanor dropping all evidence of benevolence he had displayed before. Briefly, he wore a slightly offended and hurt expression which was itself a façade. "Such a harsh word. I am no monster, my dear, not by any means." His smirk continued to widen as he watched her back away from him. "I prefer to be called a devil." Slowly, he began to walk toward her with leaden, deliberate steps, reaching into the pocket of his dark pants and drawing a rather small dirk. The blade's handle was wrapped in braids of black leather, a small plait of silver thread lining its pommel. Lifting the tip to his tongue, he gently caressed the sharp edge before raising it out in a threatening position.

Isabelle's continual retreat backed her into the darkness. The gathering shadows felt cold and sinister, and she could swear she felt something breathing on the back of her pale, tender neck. In her hurry to back away, one of her feet fell on a rather large chunk of rubble. She stumbled and fell backwards, landing on her backside. Still, she attempted to escape by crawling backwards, her eyes not moving away from her attacker. A morbid, forbidding feeling seemed to crawl up the bare bones of her spine, causing her to stop retreating. Briefly turning her head, she gazed at the empty, stygian darkness that filled the alley behind her. The vision of utter nothingness froze her at the shadow's perimeter, and her head snapped back around to face her assailant once more. The feeling soon set in that she could not retreat any further. She raised her hands in front of her face in an attempt to defend herself against him, letting out a scream of desperate terror.

Her attacker's next action was completely unexpected. Rather than attacking her, he stopped a few paces away, looked at his weapon, and slowly resheathed it. "Mmm..." His thin eyebrows slowly lowered as he briefly closed his eyes. "On second thought, I would truly rather not do this directly. I wouldn't want to stain my clothes with human blood." When he saw her seem to relax, his sinister smirk only broadened until she could see a row of gleaming white teeth, with canines reminiscent of fangs. "Fortunately for me, I don't have to lift a finger."

The shadows behind her seemed to loom closer and closer, feeling as if they were robbing her of her breath. It began to feel as if the darkness itself was alive. As she glanced back into the abyss, she could faintly see what looked like several pairs of glowing eyes staring back at her. Upon making eye contact with them, she felt light-headed as all color left her face. Her body reacted on reflex, causing her to roll over and try to crawl away from the shadows. When she looked up, however, he was still standing before her, wearing the same wicked grin as before.

"Such a good little girl. All heart, I should say," he observed, idly examining his reflection in the gleaming blade of his dagger. He raised his free hand, directing a wisp of his ebony hair behind his ear before turning to look back at her and lowering the blade. As his eyes met her terrified gaze, she could see them begin to glow with an ominous golden color. Even the light of the moon was swallowed up in the blackness, and all that was visible were a single pair of golden orbs that gleamed with a deathly chill.

She was rooted to the spot, her entire body paralyzed by fear. Her limbs felt as if they were made of lead, too heavy for her feeble will to move. She could not even muster the strength to speak; her breath was frozen in her chest and her throat was as tight as a straw. The darkness behind her, and what might lurk within, haunted the back of her mind and kept her even more firmly frozen in place. Only the occasional vacillation of her eyes and the quake of every muscle were the only visible movements her body made as she watched his every action with unbroken attention.

He raised his blade up again, turning it so the narrow edge faced him and focused his eyes on it, as if inspecting its keenness "There aren't many of your kind left in this world," He said as he maintained eye contact with her. The look in his eyes was one of clear superiority. Turning his head away for a moment, he looked up at the darkened sky before he began to slowly walk toward one of the walls, occasionally turning his head down toward her and letting the edges of his lips turn up into a callous smirk. Once he reached the wall, he turned on his feet and began to pace in the other direction. "So kind, so pure, so..." He took a deep but soft breath, letting out a sigh of feigned admiration, "..saintlike." He took a brief pause to glance at her, giving her the soft and gentle smile he gave her when they first met. This time, however, the warmth she had seen before was gone. The expression he now wore seemed like a perverse, empty shell of its former self. The smile lingered briefly before it twisted, almost nightmarishly, into a callous grin that bore his gleaming teeth.

The fleeting sight of pretend warmth very nearly eased Isabelle's fright. However, this calm was just as short-lived as his smile and its new form as a mutated rictus caused her eyes to widen. She let out a feeble gasp, the first sound she had made for several minutes. Her eyes remained fastened on him, and she did not dare to lend a glance back into the encroaching abyss.

His smirk slowly turned into a rather pensive sneer, and his gaze turned back to the blade in front of him as he ambled back and forth across the alley. "Unfortunately, that precious light of innocence you carry leaves you a bit..." He turned to face her, pausing yet again to take a soft breath of the bitter air. "...oblivious to the true cruelty of reality. After all, I did say this world was cruel, no?" He chuckled quietly to himself as he sensed her trepidation building. "You live a pure and blameless life to the best of your ability. However, I know why you really do so. You see..." His pacing stopped as he passed her once again, turning to face her and closing the distance between them. "...To live in such purity throughout one's life means to spend that life constantly dodging the influences of the darkness." As he uttered the final syllable, his voice lowered to a harsh whisper. He drew his knife up, pointing its tip at her face. "One touch of darkness..."

Isabelle felt something cold slipping around her arm from behind and above. When she looked up to see the source of the feeling, she saw a shadow emerging from the darkness behind her that was clearly in the shape of a clawed hand. A gasp of fear escaped her as she tugged away from the hand, only for the fingers to suddenly lock onto her wrist. Letting out a louder shriek, she struggled harder to pull away from the demonic limb's grasp, only to have another, similar hand seize her free wrist. Both shadowy hands tightened their grip on her wrists, pulling her back toward the infinite blackness. She could feel sharp claws digging into her flesh and making her bleed. Her shrieks turned into cries of terror as she tried to pull herself to her feet in a desperate but vain attempt to pull away with the strength of her legs. Her frantic struggling quickly wore her frail body down, causing her to slip and fall to her knees.

He stood in place, observing her struggles with a slightly sadistic look in his golden eyes. A maleficent grin spread across his lips as he continued to speak. "...And you're permanently stained." His breath took the form of small puffs of mist that hung in the frigid night air. He paused speaking for a moment, silently listening as Isabelle's shrieks and cries grew louder. Tilting his head back, he smiled to himself and listened to her screams as if they were one of Mozart's symphonies. Focusing back on Isabelle's face, he breathed a cloud of hot mist onto her. "And once you're stained, the stain spreads. It becomes darker and darker." A pale fingertip traced the lock of hair hanging from the side of his head and flicked it back over his shoulder. "Eventually..."

Another set of demonic hands thrust out from the darkness and clutched Isabelle's legs, pulling her back until she was mired in the abyssal shadows. Now, she could feel something distinctly alive squirming against her arms, legs and back. She could hear the disembodied chattering of an unknown amount of demonic voices. Her shrieks and cries became full-volume screams as she writhed and struggled against the shadows and more dark tendrils began to squirm across her chest. The more she thrashed about, the tighter the dark spirits' hold on her became.

He advanced upon her once again, this time coming mere inches away from her. He was so close that she could hear his heart faintly beating and feel his heated breath repeatedly washing over her face. "...it will stain your soul completely. Those with pure hearts often lack the strength of will it takes to fight off the shadows." As his voice went silent, she could hear a subtle rumbling sound.

Though she could hear his heart beating, it paled in comparison to the feeling of her own heart pounding in her chest. She drew strained, hollow breaths from the bitter air, gasping sharply as her airways ached from the stress. It was quite the cruel blow for him to mention willpower now; she was cursing her weak will for not allowing her to stand up and fight. Her screams stopped for a moment as she stared at him with a bleary, unfocused look. Her eyes were watering, and tears soon began to stream down her face. She could taste the saline as one or two drops seeped past her lips, causing her mouth to also water.

He lifted a free hand to his chin, slowly stroking it before glancing past Isabelle and at the shadows with a widening grin. As he focused back on her, he could see the tears streaming down her face as the physical and emotional strain were wearing down the last of her strength. "Without that strength of will..." He paused, his free hand coming down to rest upon his stomach. "...it won't be long at all before the darkness..."

The tendrils that crept up her body suddenly became thicker and harder, encasing her body in the darkness up to her neck. Looking down at the sea of shadows around her, she screamed again, this time louder than ever as she wriggled about with what little mobility she had left. A black limb slid by her neck, a clawed hand slowly covering her face. The last of her strength seemed to leave her at that moment, leaving her without the will to even move her head. She could hear possibly hundreds of demonic forms shambling about in the abyss, and she could feel their movements against her encased flesh. The hand covering her face slightly muffled her screams, and she could feel other hands, claws, and tendrils very slightly tugging at her limbs.

"...swallows you up," he continued as the hand over Isabelle's face finally pulled her head back into the abyss. He slid his knife into its hip-mounted sheath, walking over to a wall next to the writhing mass of pure dark energy. Leaning against it, he shut his eyes and listened intently to Isabelle's muffled screams of terror and agony. He could faintly hear the sounds of bones cracking among the screaming. He wore a smirk of satisfaction and bemusement as he listened to the macabre symphony. The screaming became sharper and sometimes punctuated with the occasional gurgle.

After letting the spectacle go on for several minutes, he raised his head up and glanced at the shadows. "Come now. I know it's fun, but I do have more use for this girl than entertainment. Finish her off, won't you?" Once again, his pale hand came to rest against his stomach.

The screaming soon ceased, and the shadows in the alley fell silent. A pool of blood seeped from below it and flooded onto the paved road. He moved away from the wall and walked toward the shadows, his form disappearing into the blackness.

As the shadows parted, the cold, silver light of the moon beamed down over the city. He stood, alone, on the empty sidewalk. A few blocks away, the logo of the local hospital glowed brightly on the building's wall. At his feet laid Isabelle's torpid form, her eyes wide open but otherwise completely lifeless. His coat was still wrapped loosely around her, its woolen sleeves covering her small, pale hands. There were no other signs of life in the area, human or demon.

He looked down and bent over, pulling his coat off her body. He put the garment on himself, closing the double-breasted clasps. A silent smirk came to his lips as he picked up her comatose form. As he picked her up she gave the occasional twitch. He took a deep breath, as if inhaling some unseen essence coming off her body, and sighed softly. Lifting her up so her face was level with his, he took another, much deeper breath. His pupils constricted tightly, and his irises glowed a brilliant, serpentine gold. An unearthly, jade-green mist poured from his mouth into hers, and her entire body went rigid as a rattling sound came from the back of her throat.

After some time, a large white glow emerged from her mouth, increasing in brightness as it appeared. It drifted on the cloud of green mist, shining brightly before his continued inhalation pulled it into his mouth. The light disappeared, leaving behind only darkness. He let out a deep, slow sigh, sliding his hand over his chest. "...Innocent...and weak-willed. The most satisfying combination," he remarked, still holding Isabelle's body in his arms. He felt a great increase in his energy, which had been somewhat lacking lately. Breaking her mind, though...I can do better than that. Fear of darkness is far too easy. I wish she had some trauma in her past, something I could actually have fun torturing her with. Sometimes a challenge makes the hunt so much more worth it.

His brief lamentation of the ease of his hunt was interrupted by the sound of his stomach rumbling. Letting out a sigh, he rested both hands across his stomach and closed his eyes. It seems my body is also demanding nourishment. He ran his tongue over his lips, bringing a hooked finger over his sharp chin. The next few moments were spent ruminating over exactly what he would feed on as he surveyed the immediate area. His eyes soon fell upon Isabelle's still-warm body, which was still laying there near his feet. As he examined his fresh kill, he could detect the hot, fresh blood still left in her veins. As he inhaled its aroma, his jaw relaxed and his lips hung slightly open. His stomach growled once again, prompting him to lift his victim up in both arms. He held her in the manner of a man carrying his new bride over a threshold. With her body securely in his grasp, he began to slowly walk away from the scene.

He walked some distance from the hospital, coming to what looked to be a slightly derelict building. Though it was abandoned, it seemed to be rather well-furnished, save for the occasional cracked window and decayed brick. Even the hotel's neon sign remained, though it had not been lit in months. Approaching the hotel, he turned and went a bit further down the block until he came to the alleyway between the hotel and a neighboring building. Kneeling down on the sidewalk, he held Isabelle's body up with one arm as his free hand searched his hip pocket. Pulling out his dagger, he brushed her hair aside to examine her pale, warm neck. Biting one's prey is best left to savages and animals, he thought as he pressed the blade against her soft flesh. A man of refinement such as myself prefers to use utensils. The blade's sharp edge pierced her skin, drawing a bit of blood as he dragged it along to deepen the cut. Sliding the blood-tinged blade away, he rubbed the skin around the wound to enhance the flow of blood from the fresh incision. As he smelled the still-fresh blood seeping from the wound, he licked his thin lips once more before placing them along the cut. When the space between his lips and her flesh was airtight, he began to slowly nurse the blood flow until it became steady. After a few seconds, he increased the rate of sucking on the wound until he was imbibing whole mouthfuls of the crimson fluid. What little pink color was left in Isabelle's skin faded, leaving it a cold, ashen grey. Occasionally, he would adjust the position of her body so that the blood continued to flow. Briefly, he pulled his lips away from her neck so he could take a few deep breaths. It has been so long...I believe three months have passed since I last fed this well. I may be more like him than I wish to be. After a few quickening breaths, he closed his lips over the wound and continued to feed, this time focusing on the taste of Isabelle's blood. I could not have picked a better meal. Her blood is the sweetest I have had the pleasure of consuming in many years.

After about half an hour of constant suckling, Isabelle's corpse was completely cold and dry. He took hold of her nearly desiccated body, pulling himself up from the sidewalk. There was a large dumpster a few feet away that seemed to be infested with all manner of flies and vermin. He took the few steps over to it, hoisting the spent corpse up and dumping it inside without hesitation. The sound it made seemed to indicate that the cadaver landed on a large quantity of rotting meat, as did the rancid odor that emanated from the dumpster.

His hands now free, he turned back toward the door of the empty hotel. He let out a deep sigh of contentment and rested a hand on his stomach, smirking to himself as he opened the solid wooden door. Once inside, he headed toward the nearby stairs, ascending them for several stories until he reached the topmost floor. From there, he continued down a long, winding hall. The floor was covered from wall to wall with a deep-pile, maroon carpet and the walls were painted in jade green and gold. These halls looked more fitting for a palace than a hotel. The electrical lights had been shut off months ago, when the hotel was abandoned. In their place, dimly lighting the hotels deserted halls, was a luminous, ephemeral mist that seemed to hang in the air.

After some time traversing the empty corridors, he arrived at a pair of large, imposing mahogany doors, each with an ornate brass door handle. He raised a pallid, gaunt hand to a doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open. This room, especially, seemed to belong in a palace. The faint light of the city streets could be seen through the wide casement windows, even though the maroon drapes were already drawn. On the right side of the large room was a king-sized, Victorian-style bed, its pillows and spread trimmed with emerald green and silver paisley designs. Toward the center was a large, rectangular mahogany table with a border of gold leaf inlay, surrounded by four matching chairs with deep green cushions.

He headed past the table and to the left of the room, toward a regal-looking, antique wood parlor chair with its cushions lined in emerald green velvet. Taking a seat in the throne-like chair, he reached over toward the mahogany bookcase and pulled down a black leather-bound book from the multitude of volumes on the shelves. As he opened the book, the noise of knocking disturbed his repose.

"Enter," he commanded with a slightly impatient tone, looking at the offending door as he leaned back, letting his limbs release their tension.

A gaunt, skeletal being slid its head into the room, peering through empty black sockets. Its bony body was cloaked in a black, diaphanous hooded shroud, and the air around it was thick with the fetid smell of death. "I see you have returned at last, Lord Spinel," hissed the being, its raspy voice reminiscent of a death rattle. As it entered the room, it bowed its cadaverous head toward its master.

Spinel remained seated in his chair, leaning back and setting his book aside. "Yes. I had quite the...fulfilling hunt tonight," he affirmed as he rested a hand on his stomach and reflected upon the taste of his victim's blood and the power of her pure soul. Raising the same hand, he let it hang limply, palm up, in the direction of his spectral servant. "...You," he commanded.

The servile demon tried to stand erect despite his quivering bones and hunched posture. "Y-yes, my lord?"

"Get me some wine at once," Spinel responded, bringing his hand back up to winnow a small strand of his dark hair. A hidden smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as he let his strength slowly return. Perhaps I will have my finer wine this time, he thought. It will be the perfect finis to tonight's feast. Before the servant had time to leave, Spinel raised his hand. "Make sure it is the thirty-year Cabernet. I will have nothing less," he commanded before waving his lackey away.

"As you wish, my lord." The skeletal devil responded, hurrying out of the room and down a hall.

Spinel, now alone in the room again, tilted his head back and gazed at the ceiling as he let his mind and body settle into a slow respite. The room was silent, save for his slow breathing. He gazed into space for a moment, thoughts and recollections wandering about in his mind. Perhaps this simple hunt was best for me after all. The past three months' lack of nourishment left me shamefully feeble, and the capture was more taxing on me than I would like it to have been. He rested his hand back on his lower chest, gently rubbing it. Had I taken on anything more challenging, I would have likely come out even more exhausted than before. Slowly rolling his shoulders back, he sank deeper into the luxurious chair's cushions.

The door opened once more and the same skeletal being from before entered, carrying a silver platter with a bottle of deep red wine wrapped in a label inscribed with gold-inked French script, as well as a single Bordeaux wine glass. "Your wine, Lord Spinel," the demon announced before laying the platter down on the antique table next to the chair.

Snapping out of his reverie, Spinel's gaze traveled from his servant to the silver platter on the table. Once he saw the wine's label, he gave a satisfied smirk, followed by a low chuckle. "Well done," he remarked as he carefully removed the cork on the wine bottle and slowly poured out a portion of its contents into the glass. Taking the glass to his lips, he took a moment to savor its bouquet before taking a slow and refined sip. A subtle, pleasant shudder went up his spine as he let the body of the wine sink into his senses. Letting the taste linger for a moment, he let out a soft and contented sigh escape his lips before turning to look toward his demonic slave. "Tell me," he said as he took another sip, "is there any information from Argus regarding the Son of Sparda?"

His inquiry was met with the demon lowering his head, shame in his body language. "I do have some news, my lord, but I do not think it will please you." The demon seemed to shrink back slightly as he saw his master's eyes fixed upon him.

"How will I know if you do not divulge it to me?" Spinel asked, leaning forward in his chair and staring over the top of his wineglass.

"W-well, my lord..." the cadaverous demon seemed to whine. "Argus did not return. He was killed..."

Before the demon could finish, Spinel responded. "As I expected. We are talking about the Son of Sparda here, after all. Argus is strong, but the Son of Sparda's power far eclipses his. His father sealed the Demon World up over two thousand years ago." Spinel's contented expression remained unchanged as he took another, larger sip of his wine.

"...by a human woman with a large wooden club."

Spinel froze for a fraction of a second before spewing his latest sip of wine from his mouth, spraying a scattered mist directly into his servant's face. "...What..." he uttered, teeth slightly clenched. He raised a hand and wiped away the drops of wine dribbling from his chin, letting out a grunt as he felt a few drops touch his silk shirt collar. "I believe I heard you say that Argus was killed by a human." As he spoke, he used his other hand to set the glass of wine on the table next to his chair.

"Y-you heard correctly, sir," the servant replied hesitantly, his voice trembling with undertones of fear. "The Son of Sparda was present, b-but the most damage was done by-"

"Silence!" Spinel commanded, lightly slamming his hand on the arm rest of his chair and raising his voice with audible chagrin. Instantly, the entire room fell silent. Even the constant death rattle that replaced the servant's breathing was still. The thought of a human killing any demon, let alone one of his higher-ranking warriors, was enough to disturb Spinel's previous feelings of ease. The pleasant taste of wine that lingered was replaced by a foul taste in his mouth, and he felt his stomach sour and churn. How...why? How could Argus lose to a human wielding only a club? Furthermore, how did he encounter her in the first place? I expected him to be killed, but I assumed that the Son of Sparda would be the one to kill him. He let out a slight groan, sliding both hands over his aching stomach and slumping over slightly. His face seemed to twist into a look of mixed discomfort and irritation. "Nnngh..." Perhaps consuming all of that human girl's blood in one feeding was not the best idea. It was twice as much as I usually consume...and I think this is why. My hunger seems to have blinded me. He turned his attention toward the wine on the table, picking up the glass and imbibing its contents. He rested a shaky hand against his temple, trying to stifle the slight throbbing in his head. His tensed posture eventually relaxed as the pain in his stomach abated, the wine apparently easing his digestion.

The servant took note of his master's momentary appearance of sickness. "My lord, what is ailing you?" he inquired, seeming to have forgotten about Spinel's outburst the moment before.

"...Your presence. Leave me at once," he demanded, waving a hand at his servant to dismiss him. "Your odor is leaving a foul taste on my palate." The entire time the servant had been in his presence, Spinel seemed to keep his distance from him and his horrid smell.

The servant took a deep bow, but did not leave immediately. "I could obtain more information on-"

"Get out," Spinel ordered, slouching back in his chair and trying to let his body relax again.

The skeletal demon hesitated, shambling toward the door. "But don't you want to know about-"

"Out..." Spinel growled.

"My lord, I-"

"Silence!" Spinel finally shouted, pulling himself unsteadily from his chair and grabbing hold of his servant's neck. "You know how disposable you are, I assume. You know you are a creation of mine..." He hoisted the minion's light body several inches above the ground. "...And as such, I can make as many of you as I would ever need. Yet still, you push your luck and my patience in the same space of time." His hand tightened around the demon's neck as he continued to speak. "The ice you are treading on is growing thinner and thinner. Try my patience again and I may do far worse than dismiss you from my presence." With a look of fury in his eyes, he roughly pulled the mahogany door open. Once the way was clear, he used his other arm to fling the demon out the door and into the wall across the hall. The impact was accompanied by a sickening crack, and the servant laid on his back for a moment before pulling himself up and staggering away, nursing a fractured collarbone and upper arm.

Spinel turned back toward the room, shutting the massive doors with a slam. Rather than return to his chair, he moved to the other side of the suite and toward the large, elegant bed. He pulled off his dark leather boots and set them side by side next to the bed, and slid his wool coat off his shoulders. He laid the coat across the back of the nearby dining chair. Stretching out his arms, he climbed into the bed and laid down on his side, a single hand resting across his stomach, which had been visibly swollen since he had drained Isabelle's corpse dry. His gaze blurrily drifted across the room, likely from the alcohol in the wine finally beginning to affect him. His eyelids were growing a bit heavy with fatigue, but his mind was still somewhat active. Perhaps I will seek out that human woman. I have to learn exactly what happened. As for the Son of Sparda...I am quite sure he is involved with this somehow. His eyes finally closed, and every muscle in his body began to relax. I know that Dimitri has already enlisted his help. A tired smirk briefly twitched from his lips. That ought to make things just a bit more...interesting. If this human woman has anything to do with Dimitri, the Son of Sparda or even... He suddenly chuckled. ...Alice...she's definitely someone worth keeping my eyes on. Letting that particular thought linger on his mind, he was finally able to relax himself completely and allow himself to slip out of consciousness.