Camio heard the rattling of the shutters holding dutifully against the cold, screaming wind. He felt the chill rushing through the hall, infecting its icy fingers into his half-human blood. He sensed the need for urgency, to return to the human world before something awful happened. But Lord Beelzebuth seemed perfectly at ease in his long, flowing sleeves and fur-trimmed collar. Not to mention the thirty or so cats that fawned over him, on his lap and eating treats from his open palm.

The half-demon felt out of place in such an intimate environment. He'd always felt out of place in the demon world, with its politics and rumors and apathy. He'd never learned how to not feel it, tensions unspeakable, a lust for power lingering with every exchange. Dantalion, on the other hand, felt like he was going to sneeze.

"What a precarious situation it sounds like," Beelzebuth tittered, addressing a Siamese instead of his two visitors. "Although I can't say I wasn't expecting something like this to happen sooner or later."

"If you would be so kind as to offer us some assistance, we would be most grateful," Camio stared at him, at a smile that never seemed to fade. "You know no good can come from keeping the vessel of Solomon's soul here in Hell."

Beelzebuth's eyebrows might have quirked if he had any. "That Baalberith certainly thinks it will and I am almost inclined to agree."

Camio shook his head. "He doesn't understand the extent of Solomon's power."

"None of us do."

"Which is why we need to get him back into the human world as soon as possible."

In a rare instance, Beelzebuth flashed a frown, but his eyes did not betray disappointment so much as a deep and blanketing boredom. He scratched the cat behind its ear and it gave off cheery, purring vibrations that were almost too loud for its small frame.

"I'm afraid I can offer you no assistance," he said, back to his usual good humor. "I promised Astaroth I would keep out of theses affairs, and I intend to keep that pledge." The cat jumped off his lap and saucily walked toward Camio. It rubbed against his leg, its tail almost curling around him.

"But I know someone who can," Beelzebuth smiled, eyeing the cat.

Camio thought he was imagining things as the cat turned its head and winked back at its master.

William's dream hung like fog on the outskirts of his mind. Sometimes he could remember it clearly, the fruitlessness of a plan unraveling, the satisfaction in knowing it would have never worked anyway. But the rest of it had receded. Faces blurred, conversations dissolved into gibberish. A door had been shut somewhere and someone was smiling, teasing him with rusted hinges and complicated locks. Teasing him with all the things he would never know.

Which suited him just fine. What use were dreams when reality was staring at him in the shape of another door with even more complicated locks?

He flopped off the sofa, embarrassed that he had fallen asleep at such a perilous time. From there, he searched the room for a clue as to how to get out. He found no such thing, but he did find a large pile of books in a language he couldn't understand. Gathering an armful, he headed towards the door and started to the throw the books at it. At the very least, it would make someone very upset. Books were precious, after all.

He managed to make a disturbing amount of noise, but the door never budged.

"It's no use," William sighed, clutching the final book in his hand. He threw this last one with all his strength, sure that he had loaded enough force to possibly break the spine. Sometimes there was an odd satisfaction in breaking things when one was frustrated and angry, when one just wanted to return home in time for evening roll call; there was something exciting about a book hitting a surface and the gratifying scream that followed it.

No— wait, that didn't sound right.

Something or someone now stood in the door, its hands covering what might have been a very large bruise from the hastily thrown book.

"A-are you alright?" He asked it, dashing forward and for once—which he was sure would be the only time in his life—cursing his strength. "I-I should have—"

"I-It's fine, Master William."

The hand moved away and William was staring into the face of a man with blonde hair.

"Leonard!?" He asked, not sure if he remembered Sytry's butler correctly. "What are you doing here?"

"I have a plan to get you out of here," said the demon, recovering from the blow rather quickly.

"You... what? Aren't you Baalberith's servant?"

"Yes," he replied, "but I am also Master Sytry's."

William's eyes narrowed."How can I trust you?"

"You don't have to trust me." The demon shrugged. "But I want to help Master Sytry any way I can. Isn't that the same thing you want, Master William?"

He couldn't disagree with that.

"So what is this plan of yours?"

The demon held up articles of clothing. Minutes later, William found himself wearing a long, dark overcoat. "A disguise?" William gawked as the cook handed him a large mask. It looked incredibly heavy and he wasn't sure if his neck would be able to hold up its weight.

"I-I can't wear this!"

The demon threw his hands up in the air. "I give up!" He hunched down, burying his head in his knees. William could hear sniffles and he immediately felt sorry for whatever he had done to offend the sheep so much.

"I-I didn't mean to…" he started, and placed his hand on the cook's shoulder, although he thought the whole outburst seemed rather ridiculous and premature.

"I can never do anything right! Whether it's cooking or plans or doing what Duke Dantalion wanted..."

William's frown couldn't quite capture his exasperation. "So it was that idiot's idea, huh?"

Leonard nodded, wiping away the tears.

William held the mask, its weight making his arm strain. "And he thinks just because I have good head on my shoulders that it can support the weight of this boulder?"

"I tried to tell him that any mask would do but he was very insistent," Leonard sniffled.

William inspected the mask. Quite a grotesque thing, indeed. Perhaps no one would recognize him in it, but the fact of the matter still remained that it was virtually unusable for someone of William's stature. He dropped it, not wanting to carry or look at it anymore. Then he scrutinized the cape. It was familiar, now that he gave himself a chance to look at it. It even smelled familiar. A scent of cinders and midnight gardens…

"This is Dantalion's, isn't it?"

Leonard nodded.

"No wonder it doesn't fit right." He looked over the mask. "He probably found some statue and hollowed out the head, didn't he?"

"Now that I look at it, the face does look familiar," the cook nodded again.

William shrugged off the cape. He cupped his chin and his eyes lidded slightly. In truth, he admired Dantalion's plan. It was simple, so deceivingly simple that it could work. But it also didn't take into account the original reason why he had come down here.

"Aren't there any other clothes I can use? Ones that I can actually wear?" He walked around the room, examining the wardrobe and chests crowding every corner of the room.

Leonard stood up. "If I remember correctly, only Lord Sytry's clothing is stored in this room."

That's when something sparked inside William. It was like the moments of brilliance he experienced writing essays. Such a wonderful, euphoric brilliance. He wondered why his classmates always hung their heads when essay assignments were given. The fools had no idea what they were missing.

"M-Master William?" Leonard asked.

William snapped out of his reverie. "Uh… right." He walked over to the wardrobe , swung open the door, and smiled. Yes, this would definitely do.

"I've tried my best to shield your human scent, but do be careful, Master William," the cook fussed over him.

William almost gasped when he looked at the mirror. He had never taken much thought into his appearance before. The mind was what counted, after all. But now, he couldn't help but stop to admire how well he mirrored Sytry's looks. Perhaps he'd ask for tips once this was all over. After all, if he ever needed to, he could make his popularity increase exponentially by dressing up in cute clothing.

But there was something else about wearing Sytry's clothes. Everything clung a bit too close to his skin, a foreign feeling after years of wearing his slightly loose-fitting uniform. He didn't think he could embody these clothes, didn't think he quite had the confidence to pull them off like Sytry did. His heels gnashed on the marble floors—or whatever demons used to outfit their flooring with—and William was sure he was going to trip and call attention to the whole thing.

"I…" He started, unsure of where to begin or what to say. "Uh. Thank you. Seems like you're the only competent person in this whole place."

"R-really?" The cook's eyes sparkled. "Well, yes. Of course I am!" He put his hands on his hips and smiled like everything was right with the universe. At least for that one instance. "But I must confess I really have no idea why you would want to disguise yourself as Master Sytry." His gaze left William's image in the mirror and traveled off. "He's as much a prisoner here as you are. Perhaps more so."

"That's why it has to be Sytry." William turned around, losing his balance and regaining it again. Eventually he would get the hang of these heels. Eventually. "There's no better person to strike a deal with Baalberith."

"You… you can't mean… you want to speak to him!?"

"Yes. Where is he?"

"I… I can't let you." Leonard shook his head. "Who knows what he'll do if he finds you got out."

"Don't worry about me. I've learned my lesson."

Stacks of books lined the shelves of a long room. It wasn't quite a library, William realized upon first glance. More like a filing room, scrolls stuffed into shelves, the scent of dust and parchment and leather. But on top of that, a note of smoke.

Baalberith sat behind a desk at the end of the room, writing something. The crinkling of paper was the only sound as he moved one sheet onto a stack and turned to the next.

It struck William as a rather mundane task for someone who had just executed an elaborate plan to make him a prisoner.

"Uncle?" He said, sheepishly.

Baalberith's eyes snapped to him and William felt frozen in the gaze. He breathed, and took a few more steps forward. "I have something I need to speak to you about."

The demon did not answer, and so William took that as the opportunity to strike an elegant pose. "Elect me, Uncle!" He mustered the most Sytry-like voice he could.

"And why should I elect you?" The demon sneered. "You lost to the other two candidates."

"I survived against the other two candidates," William smiled coyly. "That's proof enough that I'm a match for them."

"Come closer, Sytry." Baalberith gestured.

William obeyed, keeping his head lowered as he crept toward Baalberith.

"I haven't seen you wear this in a while," he said. William felt like the demon's eyes were devouring him. "Why don't you come sit here with me?"

William stepped hesitantly behind the desk. Baalberith patted his lap and William tried to sit as comfortably as he could in a spot that made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

"I..." William began, but he stopped suddenly when he felt the demon's hand on his cheek. This was too close.

"You're almost as cute as my nephew, elector." Baalberith whispered into his ear.

William snapped his head back. "When did you figure it out?" He asked, still perturbed by the hand, which had moved down to his shoulder on its own accord.

"Dolls demand nothing of their masters."

William glowered. "How could you be so cruel to him? He's your nephew, isn't he? He's your candidate. Aren't you at least afraid he'll turn against you?"

He heard a chuckle. "He knows the consequences should he turn against me. He is my puppet, after all."

William shivered and hoped Baalberith didn't feel it. That had sounded too sinister.

"You cut off his strings and he still returned to you. He should have kept away."

Baalberith's eyebrow cocked. "You understand, don't you elector?"

Somehow, William did feel he understood something. Something that he couldn't quite explain or articulate. A dark veil shrouded Baalberith and Sytry in that private world they inhabited. A world only big enough for the two of them. But somehow William had glimpsed at it, although he couldn't remember how or when. He understood how shadows shifted, how the veil could come down, how light could begin to peek in.

Suddenly, William gasped as a surge of pain overwhelmed him. He clutched his side, hunching over on Baalberith's lap.

"As expected of my Uncle," a voice whispered in the doorway. William glanced over and saw Sytry, folding his arms and smiling sharply. "Not even the cunning elector can fool him."

"Sytry!" William blurted out. "Are you alright?" He wanted to run up to him, but Sytry glared at him, and William stayed still.

"Do I have you to thank for dressing the elector up in this ensemble?" Baalberith said, his hand still on William.

Sytry shrugged. "As far as I know, he came up with that foolish plan entirely on his own. But I wouldn't expect my esteemed Uncle to be giving such attentions to a mere human, even if he does have Solomon's soul."

William frowned. Surely, Sytry was acting. He could feel Baalberith's hand clench his shoulder. Hard.

"The elector is quite insistent on your re-election."

Sytry laughed, but it was more like a parody of a laugh, harsh and ironic. And jaded. "Like I would want to be your candidate again."

There was a long, silent pause and William thought he could hear the crackling of sparks.

"Your powers have weakened, Uncle," Sytry said. "That battle wounded you more than you'd like to admit." Sytry smiled maliciously. "I'd rather serve another king—even that nephilim Astaroth—than you."

Baalberith's hand pinched his shoulder with a grip fiercer than iron. William yelped.

"Let the elector go, Uncle!" Sytry started from the door way. "The only object of your affection should be me!"

"Sytry…" William whispered in spite of his breath.

He heard a chuckle rumble from the demon's throat. "First you want to leave me, now you want to stay. Did that fall really hit you that hard?"

"No, it wasn't that fall, Uncle." Sytry strode towards them, and William was a bit jealous how comfortable the other walked in heels. He had to shake his head at that, of all the things, why was he thinking of shoes at the moment?

"But I have my reasons for choosing other kings," Sytry said. He was finally right behind Baalberith's desk. "Unfortunately, I can't choose my family." He pouted and William felt himself become entranced by Sytry's allure. Did Sytry really rule over the desires of the human heart?, William wondered. It seemed like an odd thing to rule over. William realized he would never want that kind of power. To exploit humans with charm and good looks—it unnerved him to think of who might have fallen prey in the past. Who was falling prey to it now…

"But if you don't want me, I'll go to someone else. Even Duke Dantalion…"

"Sytry, what are you—?" Before William could continue he was shoved off Baalberith's lap as the demon leant across the desk and grabbed Sytry's face.

"Don't think that will work on me," he said in a low growl. "I taught you your tricks. Everything you know about being a demon, you've learned from me."

William recovered on the floor.

"But it seems like you still have much to learn," Baalberith's voice was frighteningly cool as he grabbed Sytry's collar and hauled him over the desk. Papers flew everywhere. Everything was happening so fast. Before William could even keep track of it, Sytry was in the air, then kneeling on the desk, his collar still in Baalberith's clutches.

"You seem to have forgotten our deal, haven't you?" Baalberith's tone was steady, even, dangerous. "I may need to punish you." He looked toward William. "Perhaps we'll even let the elector watch."

William shuddered. Even Sytry's initial confidence, he could tell, was breaking. He saw how the blue eyes looked at him and back at Baalberith, now with only a shard of the defiance they'd held seconds earlier.

"If you embarrass me in front of the elector, I'll never forgive you."

At this, Baalberith's hand lowered. He lifted Sytry's chin up, deftly with his fingertips. William froze. He wanted to tear his eyes away from what he knew was going to happen, but at the same time he needed to confirm his suspicions. Baalberith lent in, but it was Sytry who reached out farther. Who caught him hard and sharp against the lips. With teeth.

That was all William needed to see. He was off the floor, sprinting to the demon on the desk.

"Sytry! Don't do this—" William grabbed Sytry's wrist, but as soon as he did a strange surge shot through him. He was overcome with a feeling, something very much like déjà vu. His head pounded and he remembered rolling in the reeds, a dizzying sense of danger, and the high-pitched screech of laughter.

"You're…" he whispered and let go.

"Get out of here, elector," the demon glared, the faintest hint of diamonds in blue eyes. "This is no place for silly humans."

Something black swirled in Sytry—no, in Eligos' hand. William nodded, darting out of the room before he heard it rack with a devastating blast. Why would Eligos be in on this? It was both distressing and comforting. Hadn't she been the one to wound Baalberith in the first place?

His thoughts were interrupted as he lost his balance and fell onto the hard, unforgiving floor. "Ughh!" His arms and knees had taken the brunt of the fall but he still lay there half a second to catch his breath. The sounds of explosions grew louder. Something darted above him and left a long gash in the wall. He was up again in another moment.

William kicked off the troublesome shoes and continued running. It was extremely strange to feel the thin fabric of his stockinged feet hit the ground, but it was much better than being caught in a blast.

He paid no attention to where he ran, just out of range was good enough for him. Only when his breath and legs felt like giving out on him, did he stop and finally take in his surroundings. Statues lined the dark corridor he'd wound up in. He tried to slow his breathing to listen for something, were they coming this way?, but between the half-seconds of breathing and not-breathing, he couldn't hear a sound.

And that scared him more than anything, made his pulse echo in his ears. He allowed a few moments to calm himself down.

He wanted to turn back but the rest of the hall looked like a giant, dark, gaping maw. The lush red carpet melted all too easily into blackness and he wondered how he'd found this place by just running aimlessly. Then he turned ahead and set his eyes on a large pair of doors. His heart quickened once again.

The reliefs on the doors were among the most beautiful he'd ever seen. Shapes that could come from no human imagination had been carved out of the door, figures with achingly gorgeous detail romped against a scene both pastoral and fantastical. He wondered what something as beautiful as this was doing in the demon world. Surely this place wasn't all desolate and terrible.

William approached it. Or was this just another illusion, another trick? He placed his hands on it, felt the smooth texture, something like ivory.

You can touch me. Am I still an illusion?

Those words suddenly echoed in his head. From far, far away he'd heard that voice. At the time, he'd brushed it off. Words from an idiot made of atoms had no meaning for him. But now they hit him. Dantalion must have been suffering quite a deal to say those things. Outwardly he'd kept cool, but inside he must have been distraught over William's rejection. Did it pain the demon to know that he didn't think the same way? That their heads were totally separate, that they were two different entities that just happened to occupy the same space and time. That if he'd never ventured into that basement, he would have never met the demon to begin with.

William outlined a carved feather with his fingertip. He hadn't thought about Dantalion, not in this way, since that night. He hadn't thought of the ways that Dantalion cared for him, how Dantalion desperately wanted his acceptance. Of course, he'd always known that he held that much power over the demon. He'd embraced it, even. With that power he'd convinced Dantalion to do things he'd never wanted to do, that were more detrimental to him than good. He'd made Dantalion fly through the night to save his rival, after all. Perhaps, if he asked the demon to kill someone, he would. And that power should have frightened him, it should have made him disgusted with himself. But it didn't.

He couldn't help that he used Dantalion, that the demon was so insanely attached to him that he never wanted to leave. He couldn't help that Dantalion was happy to be of use. That Dantalion was another object for his perfect future.

His hand left the feather, the revelations still sharply cutting a space in his head. He knew he'd use Dantalion, again and again. As much as he needed to. What was this thing that made him take Dantalion for granted? That made him want to cry and scream and laugh and pull at his hair. What was this madness called? The sort of madness he felt in Dantalion's arms, fire on his lips, the fierce beating of his heart. The sort of madness that made him want to drag a person down with him.

He wondered if he didn't have the power to control him, if he wasn't Solomon's reincarnation, would Dantalion still…

You understand, don't you elector?

Another voice echoed in his head, a voice that didn't surprise him at all.

"Perfectly," he said under his breath. "Perfectly."

A second later he flung open the doors and took his next steps.

"Can we really trust her?" Dantalion asked, walking back and forth to settle his fretful mind. Eligos had been all too eager to join in their plan to rescue William.

"She's a demon, isn't she?" Came Camio's sharp reply.

They stood once again at the outskirts of Baalberith's manor. Night had crept on them with an ominous ease, and now the mansion glowed an eerie red under the crimson moonlight.

Something was wrong, Dantalion knew it was. Eligos had gone in there and would try to take William for herself. Or worse, she'd be figured out and Baalberith would devise his own punishment. Just what did the female demon have in mind, anyway? How would she get the demon duke to renounce his hold over William? She was an excellent shape-shifter, he gave her that much, but her plans seemed sloppy at best.

Dantalion huffed, slowing a pace to show his discontent. "That's not what I asked." He made a fist, knuckles tightening. It must have been the eighth time in the last five minutes he'd clenched his hand. Anymore and he'd ruin his gloves.

He envied Camio's calm mien, the way he seemed unhurried. The way his fists didn't clench and his lips didn't twitch with anxiety. Dantalion could hardly take it—William being Baalberith's captive, the whole trick with Sytry, but other than that… other than that… Camio's unflappable calm.

"We should just go in already. Eligos must have him distracted by now."

Camio gave him a side-long glance. "We agreed to wait out here. Our plan would be ruined if we rushed in now." He narrowed his eyes. "Besides, we can't expect to just walk out the front door once we find William—if we find him. That deal…"

"Damn it!" Dantalion kicked the dirt, sending it sputtering across the plain.

"Still... I wonder if he'll forgive us," Camio muttered, his voice suddenly low, as if he were talking to himself.

"Who? William?" Dantalion asked, puzzled at the sudden remark.

"No," Camio shook his head, cupping his chin and looking at the manor. "Sytry..."

"Why are you bringing him up, all of a sudden?" He hadn't spared one thought to the demon since William had been captured.

"The demon world puzzles me," Camio spoke. "Not because it is more cruel than the human world, but because some demons seem just as fixated on Heaven as humans are. Perhaps even more so. For better reasons."

Suddenly, they heard it. The sound of something crashing. Dust bellowed up from the manor. That was all Dantalion needed as he rushed in.

William stood in the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. It smelled vaguely of Baalberith's office, he noticed, the lingering scent of ashes and spices. But there was also a trace of something else, a crescendo sharp and coppery. His foot took a hesitant step inwards, onto a plush carpet of red in the dimly lit room. It was a humble one compared to the door and the other rooms in the mansion. There was nothing remarkably grand about it. A chair was set at one end and a large bed at the other. Something lay curled at the foot of the bed, wrapped up in sheets. William approached it, knowing with a strange sense of certainty what it was.

"Uncl—William…?" Sytry raised his head as William approached. Bandages were wrapped around his body.

"Are you… alright?" William asked.

"It doesn't hurt as much as it looks," Sytry raised himself to a sitting position. The motion made him wince and he clutched at his shoulder. "Damn that Dantalion."

So even demons needed time to heal, William couldn't help but access.

"It was my fault," William started. "I shouldn't have rushed in not knowing…"

Sytry shook his head. "There was no way you could have known." He looked down. "Uncle… he… he's duplicitous." Then he looked over William. "What are you doing here? In my clothes?"

"I…" He cleared his throat. "I tried to get you re-elected." He explained, not sure if he wanted to touch on all the points, relive all the memories of not so long ago.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"You know I'd make a terrible king, William." Sytry looked away from him again.

"That's not why," William crossed his arms. "I wanted you to be a candidate again so that you'd have a reason to come back to the human world." He turned his head ever so slightly. "But perhaps I was wrong about you. You aren't the tenacious underclassman I knew from before."

"You shouldn't be here. You should go." Sytry still did not look up at him, his face obscured in the darkened room.

"Not til you come with me," William stood firm. "I must have missed half a dozen roll calls by now. My perfect future is on the line." He offered his hand. He didn't care if missed roll calls sounded trivial in comparison. "So just come back with me, and everything will be better."

"I have to stay here." Sytry's hand clung to the bed sheets.

"No, you don't." William raised his voice.

"You don't understand."

"I don't," William said. "But I would like to."

Sitri looked up, his eyes rapt in disbelief.

William's voice softened. "You don't have to tell me right now if you don't want to. But one day I'd like to understand why you think you have to stay in a place like this. Why everyone calls you Baalberith's puppet. Why—" He paused. Again, he questioned just how much he knew about Sytry. He questioned whether a human could ever understand a demon. He questioned the logic in trying to completely understand another being, another species, and then decided it was a worthwhile pursuit anyway.

"Come with me," he said, extending his hand.

"I can't," Sytry said. "You shouldn't have come here."

"Just…"

"You don't understand, William. You're not Solomon!" The voice cut through William's head, ringing in his ears, a stinging needle of pain.

William had never thought he'd be disappointed to hear those words. But it hurt him. He wasn't and would never be Solomon. He was not the human all those demons gravitated toward, the center of great power and knowledge. He was not a king, not anyone who was capable of understanding demons and humans and angels with such profundity.

Of course he wouldn't be. He was William Twining.

"You're right," he said, softly, a whisper that was usually too soft a tone for him to hold. "I'm not Solomon. Solomon never came here. Solomon hasn't seen what I've seen."

He studied Sytry's face but found no hint of realization. In fact, as William waited, he found that there was nothing in Sytry's face. It was like he staring into a crystal, a hard gem cut from the toughest rock. Pretty, but empty.

The sound of something toppling over broke his expression. "What's that?" Sytry's eyes snapped to alertness.

"They're getting close," William mumbled and grabbed hold of Sytry's hand. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Will—" Styry yelped, and he loosened his grip.

"Sorry, did I pull too hard?"

"No," he said. The color was coming back to his cheeks, a rosy pink swathed over the cold alabaster. "It's just… your hand… it's warm."

William nodded, and squeezed tighter. A demon's hand wasn't so different from a human's hand. Flesh, blood, bone, atoms. And something more. Something that would take science a very long time to understand, William realized.

"Come with me. We'll get out of this cold place and go somewhere that's warm."

He led the way, out of the dark room, Sytry close beside him. The house reverberated with clashing and cracking. William couldn't help the feeling that at any moment a wall would burst open or the ceiling would come toppling down.

Yet, it wasn't the sound he heard, but the pull at his wrist that made him stop.

"Sytry?"

Turning around, he found the demon leaning against a pillar, his face constricted in pain. The bandage around his torso was dotted with red.

"I knew it!" He said, "You should have told me you were in this much pain. I could have—"

Sytry gave him a weak smile. "There's nothing you could have done, William. It was my choice to follow you." He moved from the pillar, gathering the strength to walk. "I want to follow you. From now on."

William could not shrug off the compliment, despite the guilt he felt. It fluttered in his chest, a soft and shining thing, warming him up, leaving him whole.

"Then follow me home," he said, looping an arm around Sytry and, step by step, leading him out of the hall.

They walked in silence until they reached the throne room. William's steps slowed. Again, his side started to burn.

"Can I really not leave?" He said, almost to himself. "Do contracts really work like this in the demon world?"

"He doesn't control you with a contract," Sytry said bluntly.

"Huh?" William wanted to say more, but he found himself gasping as Sytry lifted his shirt. "It's as I thought." William looked down. Where the demon had cut him before, the source of all the pain in his side, was a mark, flourished and strange like those on Dantalion and Gilles de Rais.

"I'm... what is this?" William asked, shocked that he hadn't noticed it before.

"It's a curse. Like the pact nephilim make with their masters, it binds you to him."

"It's... permanent then," William muttered.

"No." Sytry inspected it, traced the line with his fingertips. William shuddered. "It's not anything complicated. One of his subordinates must have done this." His fingers trailed down the length of the marking. William wished he would find what he was looking for already. "Any high-level demon could remove this," he said, his eyes flashing up. "Even I could remove this."

William swore he heard footsteps getting nearer. "Then do it."

Sytry smiled at him. At least, it was sort of a smile, wrapped up in melancholy and dark humor.

"As you wish." Sytry's hand clutched his side. At first, William only felt the other's warmth. Then, something stranger began to take place. He felt as if something was leaking out from his body, not anything he could define, but definitely something that was not supposed to be there. His whole body felt like it was giving off this sort of... energy, he wanted to call it. A poisonous energy, and now it was seeping out of him like how one sweat out a fever. He looked at the mark become an etching, a sketch of what it was before. Then he looked at Sytry. The demon looked as if he were in pain. But he was smiling also.

Finally, the marking disappeared. Sytry sighed heavily, his head bowed before William as he caught his breath.

"It's gone now?" William asked when he was sure the other had caught his breath.

"You could say that," Sytry said. "I absorbed it into my own body." Something glowed on his chest, over the bandages.

"Why would you do that? I-I didn't know that was what you meant by..."

"Don't worry," Sytry smiled. "I have a plan."

Just then, something cracked and the ceiling came crashing down.

Dantalion ran as fast as he could. He could smell something sharp in the air, the scent of blood. The scent of demon's blood was a familiar one, always lingering around the underworld. But what surprised him, what made his footsteps barely touch the ground, was the barest scent of human blood.

"Master!" Something black flashed at the edge of his vision and suddenly Baphomet was running alongside him.

"You! I thought you were on strike," he said, cursing himself as he said it. This was hardly the time for small talk.

"Lady Astaroth told me that you were planning to infiltrate Baalberith's manor."

"You? You talked to Her Highness?"

"I—it concerned you, so I mastered my fears."

"Well, that is…" He had no time to finish as he heard a scream.

"William!" Sytry shrieked. He'd had no time to call up a shield; instead, he'd used his body to cover William, but it hadn't been enough. The ceiling caved in around them, with enough force to crush a human. He didn't know how long he was out until he felt William's warm body pressed against his.

At least he was still warm…

He'd dug himself out of the rubble, dragging William with him. It would be a while before he recovered his strength, he could only lay beside William and yell his name.

"Please! Wake up!" He shook William, unable to do much else. The boy still did not respond.

"We were supposed to go back to school, William. If you… if you die here, you can't go back. We can't go back together."

Hot tears streamed down his face. How many times had he cried for the sake of a human? Only twice. Only twice had those salty and bitter tears flowed for a human, for the weakest of God's creatures. Such short and fragile lives they had. There had never been enough time, to say all the things he'd wanted to say, he'd needed to say. To Solomon. To William.

"If you die here, then I'll, I'll—"

"You'll what?" The voice penetrated the long hall, echoing off the walls with rancor and discord. His head shot up.

Baalberith loomed above him, an imposing figure against the hole in the ceiling. Red moonlight showered him with an unnatural glow. Dark spots littered his coat and skin, blood trickled down. Blood that was not his own.

"Always remember, Sytry, your life belongs to me."

"How dare you hurt William!" Sytry yelled. He held William with both his arms, as if to shield him again. From an even greater threat.

His Uncle drew in close. "You think you can protect the elector, my lovely doll?"

"Don't touch him!" Sytry slid back, trying desperately to get William away. William was too vulnerable right now, too close to his clutches.

"How mistaken you are, foolish child," his hand wrapped around Sytry's ankle. "The only one I'm interested in is you." He let go of William as he was dragged down. Baalberith let go of his ankle and slammed his hand close to his head. He knelt above him, the whole of his body like a cage that trapped him underneath.

"Did you think you could leave me?" His voice dropped to its lowest register, a whisper that was more eerie and sinister than any screams could ever be. "Did you think I'd let you walk out just like that?"

And there was no anger in his eyes. These were the same eyes that led discussions among the four kings, the same that made contracts with humans bound for destruction. Eyes that only saw prey.

"Aah, I see. So quiet, so cold. Just like a porcelain doll." Baalberith's hand stroked his face, his forehead, eyelids, cheeks, lips. The places his fingers touched felt sensitive for moments after, as if worms were eating from underneath the flesh.

"My lovely doll," Baalberith whispered into the crook of his neck, "perhaps I should remind you of who owns you."

A hand that tasted of blood parted his lips and forced itself between his teeth. Then, fingers were everywhere, under tongue and palate, rubbing across gum and the smooth surfaces of teeth. "Mmm… such a warm mouth for a cold doll." The fingers dug in deep, made his saliva leak down his neck, but they never went far enough to make him wretch. So be it. All of it. If Uncle was distracted, then William would be…

"Baalberith! Stop that!"

The fingers were withdrawn and Sytry turned over, coughing.

"Ah, so you're awake now, are you?"

He couldn't look around right away, but he could hear. William, William, why did you do that? You would have been perfectly safe if you hadn't…

"He's your nephew! I'll ask you again, Baalberith, how could you treat him like that?"

"My, my. How innocent you are, elector. Unlike you humans, demons don't base their laws on books written by old fools." He flicked the saliva off his fingers. "Although I'm not surprised. This doll is the demon of desire, after all. It must have you under its spell."

William did not take even a moment to hesitate. "Too bad, Baalberith, Sytry didn't need to use magic for me to treat him decently."

A grim chuckle. "Unfortunately, elector, I am not in the mood for chatting about human naïveté. That Eligos has left me in a foul mood."

"What did you do to her?"

"She realized that she was no match for me when she doesn't have the element of surprise on her side. She's probably back with her master, licking her wounds. Now then elector, why don't you go back to sleep?"

Something seared across Sytry's chest. He whimpered, resisting its magic.

"You—" Baalberith pulled him by the hair. "What have you done?" With the other hand he ripped away the bandages at his chest, revealing the curse he thought he planted on the elector.

"You don't control him anymore, Uncle," Sytry managed. "William isn't under your curse any longer, he's free…" He stopped as something burned and swathed his whole chest in what felt like flames.

Baalberith smiled. "Are you so sure about that?" He rose, letting go of Sytry and making his way towards William.

William tried to back away from him, but his body protested at every movement.

Baalberith strode slowly, each step a dreaded metronome.

"Don't hurt him!" Sytry screamed from behind, but the curse burned viciously, a brand that needed no iron.

"As you know, elector," Baalberith voice filled with a savage glee, "I can't kill you. But there are plenty of other things I can do to you. Things that would make you wish I could kill you."

"Fine," William said. He was running out of options, but there was still something he could do. "But will that really break the covenant you made with Solomon? Even if you did kill me, would you really be free?"

"You are clever for a human," Baalberith stopped mid-step. "But perhaps you know too much."

William used his strength to slide back as much as he could. "It's my job to know what's going on here. I'm the elector after all." He gave a wry smile at the words. "But what if I could offer you something else. Perhaps something you want even more than having a candidate of yours elected."

"Something more?"

"In exchange for Sytry's freedom, I promise to find a way to release the demons from the pact they made with Solomon."

William watched the demon's face, studying it closely. It quirked a bit at the mention of freedom, but it never lost its sinister gleam. "Why should I believe you could do something like that? You, a lowly human, who has none of Solomon's wisdom."

"If not me, who else could?"

Baalberith faced the ground. His footing was unsteady for a moment, as if the hall was slanting ever so subtly. He looked back at Sytry, then to William. "That is quite a steep price to pay for something that is not even guaranteed. How about…"

"None of your games, Baalberith. I will look for a way to end the subjugation of demons under Solomon once you release Sytry and no sooner."

"That is tempting, elector." He smiled, eerily. "In exchange for something that should be rightfully mine to begin with I give you my most prized possession." He stopped, smiling. "But I think I'd rather hear your screams." Black energy pulsed in his hand.

There was nowhere to hide, so William ducked, hiding his face in his arms. Would Baalberith really kill him? Or did he have something even more painful in mind?

He heard the sphere of energy whirring, a menacing sound like the surging of a tempest. He heard what sounded like a bolt of lightning and then a bright flash.

He braced himself. But nothing came. He heard Baalberith gasp and shot his head up.

Sytry stood behind his uncle, his hand letting off light, blue sparks. "I won't let anyone hurt William. Not even you, Uncle." His eyes glowed fiercely in the light.

Baalberith turned his back to William. "You should not have done that," he intoned. Sytry's eyes reflected absolute horror. He stepped back, his arms dropping to his side, his powers dissipating.

The room glowed red, a pulsating crimson color that seemed to grow with each beat of William's heart. Then it was too red, too red to see, except for the shadow in the middle of it.

Wiliam had to cover his eyes from the scene. He could feel something enveloping him, something that was both excruciatingly hot and ruthlessly cold. His body felt heavy and weak, as if were wracked by the most intense throes of a fever. Something was burning, something was burning from the inside. William wanted to scream, but his throat was dry and breathless.

Everything was fading away. Everything… everything…

Then something wrapped its arms around him. His feet left the ground and the wind rushed through his hair. The air around him cooled and he could finally breathe again.

"William? Are you okay!?"

That was…

"Dantalion!"

He looked up, the demon's face a mixture of concern and relief. He tried to catch his breath and still his beating heart.

"I, I'll be fine," he said, trying to appear calm. "But what about…" his gaze instantly focused outward, to the grand hall. A large figure stood in the middle and it took William a while to realize it was a rider on horseback, drenched in the color of blood.

The horse whinnied, an unearthly sound that made William's ears sting.

"Wh-what is that thing?"

"Baalberith's true form," Dantalion answered, misty eyed, as if reciting from an ancient tome. "A warrior clad in deep crimson armor astride a red horse."

"Uncle! Stop this!" He a scream and saw Sytry darting away from the demon on horseback.

Lights of the same color clashed together.

"Sytry! We have to help him. He's still weak from that fight with you." He tried to struggle out of Dantalion's arms, but the demon was reluctant to let him go.

"No, William, you have to go the human world as soon as possible. It's too dangerous for you here. Baphomet!"

The goat was at his side in a moment.

"Yes, Master."

"Take William to the human world."

"No—wait!" His attempts at getting away were useless, even as Dantalion handed him over to Baphomet.

"Please, Dantalion! Help him," he called after as he was rushed from the room. Dantalion only gave him a reluctant look before turning around.

Dantalion sighed. At least William was safe. He had no idea how William had broken the deal he'd made with Baalberith, but he wasn't surprised, given the boy's ability to think over each situation logically and come to a rational conclusion. It was contrary to how most demons did things, and the spectacle in front of him confirmed this.

Sytry deflected each blast the rider threw at him, but his powers grew weaker each time. He zigzagged around the room, unaware that the rider was driving him into a corner.

"For a demon like Baalberith to unleash so much power all once," Camio observed. "He'll raze this place and half the area if we don't contain him."

"We should put up a barrier then."

Camio nodded. "We'll both use our powers. That should be enough. I hope."

They watched as the rider sent ripples of power through his palms. It made Dantalion's skin vibrate, and he could barely imagine how being at the epicenter of such attacks felt like. He wanted to shudder, but instead constructed the barrier. It would be a strong one with Camio's help. Even a demon as powerful as Baalberith wouldn't be able to get through. But that also meant…

"Sytry won't be able to escape."

Camio nodded, his face grim and pale. The barrier rippled as he tested it with green sparks. The sparks were deflected and a rush of air flew over Camio, his hair trailing off in the wake.

"We've locked him in here."

Again Camio nodded, staring at the magenta barrier.

"He'll die," Dantalion remarked. "Baalberith will kill him."

This time, Camio grimaced.

There was no escape. The heat hovered all around him, the beating of hooves throbbed at his ears and made his bones shake. Every step pushed him closer and closer to the wall. To death.

"Uncle, please stop!" He yelled. Something flashed and a blazing blast of light flashed in his direction, digging up the ground in its wake. He ran to the side, dodging it. Another light hurled toward him and he jumped out of the way, feeling the fizz of the energy as it whizzed past. It struck the ground and sent debris flying. One especially large piece of marble hit him on his bandaged arm and he left out a scream, clutching it.

That was when the third blast came.

He had no time to react as he went flying into the wall.

Darkness. Darkness so pure and overwhelming he never wanted to leave it. If only it could wrap him up, blanket him in its oblivion. Why did he still cling to the light? What was there worth living for in that waking world of suffering? Even hope faded after so long in the darkness.

When he finally came to, he was anchored in the wall, his arms spread out painfully. His vision blurred, but he could still make out the red horse and its rider in front of him.

"Insolent child," a voice unnatural and unholy echoed from the armor. It sounded like the the laughter of murderers, the burning of a funeral pyre. "Did you really think you could defy me?"

Sytry looked at the figure in front of him, armor glowing reddish-black in the dim light. No, he wanted to say. He wanted to say that he couldn't ever think to defy his Uncle. He wanted to be Uncle's lovely doll again, a doll that didn't think, that didn't have feelings. That couldn't feel pain. How easy that had been. The words of Uncle's followers washing off like ocean foam on an indifferent shore. Uncle's touches moving over the cold surface of stone. But he had defied him. William had made him. William had helped him to. He couldn't go back anymore.

An armored hand slid up like a viper, squeezing his face. The steel burned, but Sytry could not turn away. He could not escape from it, or the pain. The only thing he could do was try to get through the armor, through the demon, to the one who was underneath.

"It must hurt, Uncle. All your followers don't really care about you. They are only attracted to your power." The sickening smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils.

"You care for that human," a voice rolled in the armor. Something harsh and grating echoed, like metal grinding against metal. "But he's already abandoned you."

"Yes, he has." Sytry closed his eyes, hoping William had made it safely to the human world. "He doesn't belong in a place like this. Only you and I belong here."

"Yes, and for eternity, you will always be mine."

The armored hand left his face, the metal gleaming a red that matched a setting sun. It reeled back, and then, with all of its power, slipped into his chest. Sytry screamed. His skin offered little resistance to the searing armor as iron thick and metallic seemed to wrap its way around his heart.

"Come, elector. I will escort you to the human world," Baphomet led him. After finding he had recovered his strength, and much protesting, the goat had finally placed him on the ground.

"But Sytry…"

The goat lowered his head. "I'm sorry. There is nothing we can do."

"I have to tell Dantalion and Camio… they have to do something!" He turned to go back but Baphomet caught his arm.

"No, Master William, you mustn't!"

"Why not? Camio or Dantalion could do something! They can stop this."

"No…"

"You saw what Baalberith's capable of. I have to see if Sytry's alright."

"Please stop. I know you are concerned, but think for a minute of my master's position."

"Position?" William repeated.

"Yes," Baphomet nodded. "You have the power to command them, as you know. But think for a while of their positions. The first law of Hell dictates that demons not intervene in other's affairs. If you commanded them to step in, they would. But the consequences could be dire for either of them, especially where a king of the demon world is concerned. At the very least they'd lose their candidacy, but it's even likelier they'd lose their lives."

At those words, William stood still, his foot in mid-step. "I…," he said, placing his foot down. "Are you asking me to choose between Sytry and the others?"

Again, Baphomet nodded. "Unfortunately, I am. The laws of Hell are absolute. If you truly want to save Viscount Sytry, you must sacrifice someone else."

A cold feeling crept over him as the goat spoke. Dantalion, Sytry, and Camio flashed before him. Did one truly deserve to live over the other? Yes, he might have said a few years ago when he'd been reading up on Charles Darwin. Yes, he might have said months ago when the demons wiggled their way into his extremely busy life. Yes, he might have said two weeks ago before he'd gotten to know them more, before he'd wanted to know them more. But now the answer was different.

William broke free from Baphomet's grip. "How, how could I make that sort of decision? I can't choose between who lives and who dies." His chest felt heavy, his voice cracked with the first sobs. "They-they're all important to me. How could I ever make that sort of decision?"

"You are the elector, after all," Baphomet began. "You have the authority to make the ultimate decisions. It is a truly unpleasant task when one thinks about it. However," Baphomet placed a hand on his shoulder. "It has been assigned to you, holder of Solomon's soul—no, holder of Solomon's wisdom, William Twining. You are the only one who can make such a decision."

William thought for a moment, searching his brilliant mind for a solution.

"I won't ask them to intervene," he finally said.

Baphomet lowered his head. William couldn't tell if the other was relieved, or if he'd simply expected such a decision.

"But," he began, "if no one else can do anything, then I'll have to do something myself!"

"Master William, wait!" Baphomet called, but William was already running in the other direction.

Screams filled the room, clanging echoes that he could not drown out. Dantalion watched as the figure—no longer the Duke Baalberith—grabbed Sytry, armor so hot it burnt through skin. He wanted to turn away, to leave the scene, but the barrier dictated that he stay.

It didn't look like it would be long now. Dantalion was grateful for that much, at least.

"So I take it that Master William is free?" Dantalion spun around at the sound of the voice. Standing behind him was the sheep butler, his eyes strangely distant, even in his animal form.

"William's safe," he said curtly, not sure if that was the answer he was looking for.

The sheep came right up to the barrier, looking on at the scene before him, tinted by the rosy panes of Dantalion's magic.

"I've never seen his true form before," Leonard said, his tone faraway. "It is indeed frightening."

"Aren't you concerned?" Dantalion tried to keep his voice down. "All you can do is make meaningless comments. It's your own master out there, isn't it?"

"Yes," the sheep touched the barrier, the magic snapping at his touch and forbidding him entrance. "All the things I thought I could avoid if I just tried hard enough have come to pass. It's as if I'm living a nightmare I can't wake up from." His hand shook, the sparks of magic flying at every movement. "Forgive me, Duke Dantalion. My mind has not yet come to terms with my master's imminent death."

Dantalion's mouth went dry and his arms felt hollow. Not even he could imagine a world without Sytry. They'd become something like friendly rivals after spending so much time with William. Who would he fight with now? Who would he be jealous of now, who would be jealous with him?

Leonard tilted his head towards Dantalion, sheep eyelashes blinking dreamily. "You should know, it was Master Sytry who convinced Baalberith to let the nephilim go."

"He what?"

"He must have made a deal with him," the sheep sighed. "He must have traded something. Something terrible."

"But why would Sytry…?" Dantalion said, but he didn't feel like finishing. All the terrible things Sytry had said to him, all the condescending looks and insults. All the leers and nails that dug into skin. That left traces after, little crescent moons to remind him of his inferiority as a nephilim. Why would he have traded Baalberith for the freedom of those he hated? He had a hunch that he already knew what he'd traded.

He had no time to think as something flew past him and broke through the barrier.

Pain shot through his chest. He could retreat no further into the wall, there was no way to escape the rider's hand. Something hot filled his mouth and leaked from his lips.

"Don't you want to go to Heaven, Uncle?" He said, hot liquid running down his chin. "Isn't that what you wanted long ago? What good could come of harming the elector—" the liquid made him cough and blood flew from his mouth—"of starting wars? Isn't that how you ended up here in the first place?"

Something rattled in the armor and Sytry thought it must be laughter.

"My lovely doll," the voice said. "Do you know why I elected you for substitute king?"

"A doll is easy to control." A metallic taste rolled over his tongue as he said the acrid words.

"No," the hand squeezed. "Because the only one who deserves to rule Hell is one still close to Heaven."

Pain shot through his entire body and he was consumed by the coughing. And the pain.

"Yes, I would make you king of Hell so I could take on Heaven."

Blood gurgled from his lips. The vision at the corner of his eyes darkened.

"So the nephilim…"

"Just shields for my army."

Something clicked, or should have. His head felt like it was ready to snap the connections together, but his thoughts slowed down and the world in front of him seemed to drag at a muffled and laborious pace. Do you not realize, Uncle? You talk as if you want me to live, but you're killing me.

"I pity you, Uncle." Each motion of his chest scraped against the armor. "Hell has devoured your heart. You have spent so much time here, you have forgotten." Sytry looked up at the sky. Everything would be dark soon. "Heaven holds no joy for you. You despise the human world. All you have is Hell."

This was the same pain. The same pain as falling. The same pain as being separated from his home. The same pain as being betrayed by someone he loved.

He felt the hand in his chest shake ever so slightly, but it seemed far away now. Everything seemed far away. A voice was calling him, a sweet, singing voice from a field filled with flowers and he longed to go there. Even though his heart and the hand around it reminded him he couldn't.

The rider clenched his hand in the demon's chest, but this time it did not react. His hand shook, yet he did not know why it was shook. The armor was too thick for him to know, too impenetrable for him to feel.

"Stop it, Baalberith!"

There it was. That voice ringing clear in the hall, sapping his powers. Without the curse, the words held power.

"Leave, elector. This doesn't concern you."

"Wrong! Sytry Cartwright is under my authority and you will not harm him any longer."

The figure on horseback wavered, its armored hand disappearing from Sytry's chest. Horse and rider started to dissolve, a red mist ascending.

Meanwhile, Sytry left the wall and fell to the ground.

William rushed to his side. "Sytry!" Once again, he held the demon in his arms.

"How dare you, elector." Baalberith approached him. The transformation weakened him, as did expelling so much power all at once. He could only walk slowly. "This is none of your concern."

The human did not look at him, fixated on the demon in his arms.

This enraged him and he grabbed at the elector's arm. Something suddenly flashed. A wave of nostalgia hit him, a magical force redolent with the scent of herbs.

Baalberith, it's been a while…

For a moment there was only darkness, darkness as it always had been, as it always would be, and he wondered if he was staring into the darkest parts of himself. Then came the melodic hum, flat and even, stretching across the plane of existence. An existence wide and endless.

Heaven also seemed endless once. The sweep of sky seemed to billow on forever, and the feeling of light was almost a part of him, as inseparable as the wings on his back, as the acceptance of family and friends. He'd been a fool to think such delight and joy could last.

But what of it? The stream of time flowed relentlessly for him. Heaven was always in sight, another territory to claim, just another conquest like so many of the others. He let the darkness sink into him, slip into his veins. Only the darkness could last forever.

Suddenly, light was everywhere. A pure, warm light that threatened to consume him. Encased in the center of the light was a figure. Instead of creating a shadow within the light, it shined brighter than all that surrounded it.

An angel, he realized.

Despite the brightness, he could make out its features. It looked at him with pure green eyes, tears streaming down its cheeks. It held something in its arms. Memories flooded from eons ago. He had once been this angel, he'd once been pure. He'd once cried because of the sadness in his heart. But that was far away now. As all things were.

He realized he hadn't felt anything for a long time.

And then the angel was gone and he was staring at a black figure, something hateful and without a heart. He wrapped his arms around the bundle he held, protecting it from the strange and evil force. He spread his wings, as if to warn the figure. No one would harm his nephew. No one. Not even...

Then the bundle was gone, his wings were gone, and he was staring at the angel again. And he realized he was everything this angel hated, everything it wanted to destroy in order to protect the one it loved. He was the evil one without a heart.

It asked him a question. The same he had heard over and over, echoes that haunted him in his sleep, in his waking days, when he was reminded that Heaven was endlessly far away.

His arms were as empty as his chest was.

"I'm sorry," he said to it, his voice quiet and fragile and close to dying. "I didn't notice."

"William!" Dantalion ran up to him as soon as the barrier had dwindled. "Are you alright?"

William gave a slight nod. Whatever had happened when Baalberith tried to grab him he couldn't explain. Now the demon lay against the wall. But as for the other... "Help me, Dantalion, we need to get Sytry to a doctor."

Dantalion knelt by his side. "I know it looks bad, William, but demons can take more injuries than humans can."

"In any case," William said calmly, "we need to get him out of here. I… I promised I'd get him out of here."

Dantalion sighed. "The demon world is a complex place, William. If we take him now, he may be in more trouble later."

"We can't just leave him."

"I know," Dantalion surprised himself at the sincerity of his words. He placed a hand on William's shoulder, then decided the hand wasn't enough.

It was a rather awkward embrace as William tried to balance Sytry in his arms with Dantalion's arms around side and shoulders.

"Dantalion…" He mumbled, but he couldn't tell the other to get off of him. He'd been longing to sink into those arms for a long time now and even though this wasn't the opportune moment, he'd learned to accept some things as they were.

"Dantalion," he said again, placing his free hand on the other's arm. Sytry's head lolled on his lap. Resting his head against Dantalion's shoulder, he realized that he was completely and utterly exhausted. He'd run back and forth across this mansion in bare feet, the ceiling had fallen on him, and he'd somehow outrun a goat demon. His feet hurt. His legs hurt. His head hurt. His body ached. But there was one thing that didn't hurt.

"I've been thinking."

"When are you not?" He could feel Dantalion's chest vibrate with a rough chuckle as he lay against him.

"Just what are we? I was so sure at first, but now I can't figure it out." He let those words hang in the atmosphere for a while.

"Fine, elector." They both turned their heads. Baalberith slumped against a wall in his broken throne room. His hand covered his chest. Yet it was the look in his eyes that was the most broken. "Look for a way to free the pillars. In exchange…"

Epilogue

The past few weeks' events seemed as if they had happened to someone else. Perhaps they had; Sytry didn't feel the same anymore. He felt lighter somehow. Uncle no longer called him his doll, or anything actually. He kept his distance, and whenever Sytry stole a glance at him, it was as if the demon's eyes reflected a torment far greater than any punishment in Hell. He'd been on his own as he recovered and when he was finally well enough to walk again, Leonard had told him, in a curt tone mirroring the author of the message, that he was free to do what he wanted.

And so he returned to the human world, to where William was, because that, in the end, had always been what he wanted.

Once again he had flowers in his hair and a tin in his hands standing on one of the bridges at Stratford.

"Here," William said, handing him a stack of paper. "It's the last of the work you need to catch up on. I can count on you to have it in by this afternoon, right?"

Sytry nodded. It was the kind of work that he could finish quickly on his own. Still, he thought he'd hand it over to his fan club, who were always happy to receive anything from him.

Then William looked at him, really looked at him. "How are you?"

Sytry smiled. "I'm fine. Gilles tells me I've been re-elected." It still didn't seem real to him.

"Do you really want that?"

Sytry gave him a disbelieving look. "Of course. But I don't want to confirm it just yet."

He sighed, looking at the water flowing under the bridge. "He... he won't look at me any longer. I think he only re-elected me so I'd have a reason to be here instead of there." He knew William would listen, but he didn't want to talk about these things. Not yet. His face perked up, and he asked with the most salacious tone he had. "How are you and Dantalion?"

William blinked, his cheeks flashed with hints of pink, and he looked away.

"I'm back in the running, so he'd better watch out." Sytry winked.

William, still red, mumbled, "I wish you wouldn't talk about those things. Outside. In public."

He flashed William a smile as the other walked away flustered.

It was not long after that that William found himself meeting with the reason for those blushes.

"You wanted something, William?" Dantalion said. He'd probably run straight from what sport he'd been playing. His forehead shined with sweat and the glimmer in his eyes reflected a familiar arrogance.

William nodded. "I need something from you."

The demon could have sworn there were tiny birds and sparkles hovering over his head.

"Yes, William?"

"I need you to teach me about the demon world."

Suddenly, the birds and sparkles shattered and he was left with the insurmountable fact that William was an academic above all.

"That? Shouldn't you ask Camio? Or Sytry? I mean, I'm not exactly a teacher."

"The Headboy referred me to you. And Sytry needs time to think over some things. That's why you're the only one who can do it." Suddenly, the birds and sparkles were back. "You're the only one who can teach me."

"Of course!" Dantalion declared in his most heroic voice. "We can start this afternoon!"

"Good, I'll hold you to it then." William nodded. Then his expression turned solemn. "Dantalion," he said. "I want to talk about something else. About what happened that night in the infirmary."

"William?"

"But I don't want to talk about it now." He sighed, his breath joining a universe of longing. "I also need time to think about some things."

"William…" He said, then shook his head. "That's fine. You don't have to talk about it right now. But know," his voice lowered and the same determination flashed over his eyes as the day they'd met. "I'll wait forever."

William's head sunk down as he heard the footsteps walk away.

He stared at his at his barely recognizable reflection in the stream. Had he done the right thing? He shook his head. He couldn't be sure. Why, why did it hurt so much?

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate the gesture, but I need a bit more time than that-"

He turned and saw Kevin.

"Kevin?" He asked. It felt like ages since he had seen him last.

"Young Master." That was all it took. Everything seemed right again.

Sytry had had many visitors that day. His fan club and William were a given. Obviously, the latter would give him missing work that he could pass on to the former. Dantalion and Camio were not that surprising, as the three of them had to reassess the situation in Hell. Some territory had been lost, some had been gained, yet through it all a balance had been struck, even if it was only amongst the three of them. However, the visit from Reverend Cecil was unexpected.

"You seem well," the reverend said by way of greeting. "The young master," he continued, "also seems well."

Sytry nodded, not quite sure what the visit entailed.

"I've come to give you this," he said, revealing a parcel in his arms and handing it to him.

It did not take Sytry five seconds to figure out it was a cookie tin. After removing the cloth, he examined it. It held no insignia. No brand. And yet the scent was a familiar one.

"Are you thanking me for protecting William and not dragging him to the demon's side?" He asked coyly.

"No," the reverend shook his head. "This isn't from me. I'm merely a messenger."

Curious at the remark, Sytry opened the tin and found a note inside. "Then who—" he asked, but the other had disappeared. He stared at the note, unsure if he was ready to open it or not.

"Syyyytryyy!" He heard the familiar call. A human was coming up the bridge once again.

"Isaac."

"Was it true you were in Hell this whole time? That the demons had a war? You have to tell me about it! What kind of magic did they use? Were there any particularly gruesome deaths?" The boy's eyes were stars, the sort of stars that blink incessantly no matter how dark the sky gets. Then he eyed the cookies. "Those smell delicious."

Sytry passed the tin to him. "Try one."

"Is that really okay?" Isaac asked. "It's a present for you, right?"

He smiled. "I think the person who gave me these would want me to share it. With a friend." Isaac's smile grew wide. He took one and promptly put in his mouth. "Wooow!" He said, without even swallowing. "This is the best thing I've ever tasted. Where did you get it from? If I was a cookie merchant instead of tea merchant, I'd be super jealous!" Isaac took another one. And another. At that rate he'd eat the entirety of them before Sytry could have one.

And that was just fine, Sytry decided. All that was left in his hands was the note. It trembled in the breeze so he held on tightly as he opened it. He started laughing.

"Are you alright, Sytry?" Isaac asked, looking at him with concern.

"Huh?"

"It's just that you're crying." He held a hand to his cheek. It was as Isaac said.

Suddenly, Isaac had wrapped his arms around him. "When I was little, my mother used to do this when I cried," he said. "I know you're not human, but maybe it could help."

"It's Heaven," he said, the words coming to mind after so long, over the sobs and the laughter.

"Heaven?" Isaac repeated.

"You wanted to know, didn't you?" He slipped the note into his pocket. It would be safe there. "What demons dream of. They dream of Heaven." One day he would share it with William. And Isaac, too.

The End.