A/N: INTERMISSION, PART 2 – BEGIN
…Hahaha. I realize that it is totally weird to have a holiday special in the middle of March. But hey, that's the demon world for you. Nothing makes sense there. If anything, this chapter should at least be fun to reread in December.
For once, the demons in Hell's Disciplinary Action Committee had an occasion to celebrate. The months had flown round again and everybody now found themselves in the middle of an office-wide holiday—or, rather, a Darkday.
The weather outside was frightful, suiting the occasion. Winds blew at thousands of miles per hour. Clouds dumped blood and guts on the streets. It was the most wonderful time of the year. Demons everywhere bared their fangs upward in smiles. Inside the Order Branch, the pleasant scent of ground-up bones floated through the air, emitted by candles.
Slaughtermass—the anniversary of the largest mass killing ever committed in Hell's history. Truly something worthy of recognition, even from those on the side of Enforcement.
The days of Slaughtermass were usually the busiest of the cycle for the HDAC, but over the past few centuries, due to a certain bomb-defusing event in Yzguth, the forces of crime seemed to quiet down occasionally. And this month was shaping up to be a particularly shallow period. So, the Order Branch had broken out into full bloodlust-cheer.
The Darkday mood was as infectious as a disease. Everywhere a demon went, shouts of "Bloody Slaughtermass" carried through the halls. One Department Head walked by whistling the famous song, "The Twelve Days of Torture". Strings of guts decked the halls, the more humanoid-looking the better. All of the carpets had been rolled out and replaced with skin rugs. They were heated until they felt as warm as the real thing. It was an unsettling sensation to rest your bare feet upon.
Rumors said that Slaughtermass bore a resemblance to a certain Christian holiday up in the human world. But nobody paid those rumors much attention. It didn't matter. Demons were popular in that human faith, after all. It would be a bit like celebrating their own popularity.
A Partridge in a Pear Tree
Neuro raised an eyebrow. "The Interbranch Slaughter?"
"Yeah!" said the other demon. He was standing in the doorway to Neuro's office, smiling while the arms of three friends pressed him from behind, preventing his escape and forcing him to talk to the scary crime detective. "It's a competition between the three divisions of the HDAC—the one time we can all get together and smash each other's faces! It's great fun. Sometimes those idiots in Punishment and Security just deserve it, you know?"
"I know what the tournament is," Neuro said. "It happens every year. I just never took much interest."
The demon fidgeted. They reached one hand behind their back to try and free themselves. "Right. Well, the Order Branch actually managed to win last year, and we'd like to turn it into a streak. So…when the time comes, could we possibly…count on you…?"
Neuro appeared to be in thought, his head tilted back. Then he brought his chin down and stared at the officeworker.
He didn't even have to speak. The other demons fled out the door and were down the hall within one second.
"Hmph. Interbranch Slaughter, huh?" Neuro leaned back in his chair. He felt like saying bah, humbug. That was a fitting human expression for this situation, as he recalled.
It could have been that his head wasn't screwed on just right. If he wore shoes, he would have thought they were put on too tight. But perhaps still the most likely reason of all, was that Neuro's heart was simply two sizes too small. Either way, tapping his fingers on his desk, Neuro thought he would like to steal victory from Slaughtermass.
After all, he had no mystery to go out and eat. The office was usually busy on Darkdays, but during the current slow period everybody had abandoned their duties in favor of celebration. It was the first time this had happened since Neuro took office. There would be no holiday bloodlust-cheer for him, no delicious holiday meal. And if he couldn't be happy, no one should be happy.
Neuro kicked his feet against his desk. Besides, he was bored.
His kicking made something clink. Neuro looked to the side. There was the chemistry set that he had set up earlier. Four large vials hung clamped in a black-rock stand. Bits and samples of Evil Mud were bobbing up and down inside them, soaked in assorted solutions.
Then he got an idea. An awful idea. Neuro got a wonderful, awful idea.
Two Turtle Doves
For the next ten days, the Order Branch experienced a complete transformation.
Decorations draped the walls, putting flesh-tone colors everywhere. A lovely human-tone spectrum hung over the Commanders' quarters. Pelts from the Order Branch's greatest past enemies were displayed in the main room for all employees to admire.
One of the most popular ornaments this season were preserved eyeballs. At one point, Lucard stood buried in a pile of the little spheres. Only the tips of his ears showed through the heap. Occasionally one arm would surface as he reached up to pin another optic nerve on the wall. The pinned eyes formed what was surely meant to be an artistic pattern.
Asanteoh stood to the side, having paused in his walk down the corridor. "Lucard," he spoke at last. "Pull yourself together. You look like a complete buffoon."
Three French Hens
The main attraction Slaughtermass was, of course, the leg in the Order Branch's main room.
It was a limb from a living-tank, one of the half-biological-half-mechanical monsters that could be found menacing the open range. The leg stood upside down on its stump, toes curled in artistic agony. Its hairs felt stiff as pine needles when you brushed against them. At the very top point, somebody had placed a little skull.
Store-bought legs existed, but it was widely considered traditional to display one you had slaughtered yourself. According to the rumor mill, Executive Officer Asanteoh Leonfang had procured the leg for the Order Branch this year. What a terrifying and magnificent accomplishment.
Later, around lunchtime, special Darkday food was set out on tables.
The tables quickly became the centers of daily mobs. Silver pheasant, exploding-fruits, bloody hearts, and entire megalodon sharks…food for almost every demon on the "physical" diet spectrum was included. There was even a special selection of capybara meat this year.
But what truly stole the show was the Evil Pudding on day eight. As the name implied, it was a pudding one had to swallow before it swallowed you.
The pudding was gigantic, tall as a giraffe, with glistening yellow sides and a smooth chocolate coating on top. It ran on two legs. A pair of muscular arms sprouted from its sides, by which it repelled the demons' blows. That day's lunch culminated in a dramatic battle over the giant spoon, which the pudding had managed to grab as a weapon. Its sides quivered in fury as it showed no mercy to its desirers.
Everyone present agreed that the chefs had truly outdone themselves.
Four Calling Birds
Neuro stared at the book on his desk.
Zera stood opposite him. The demon's bulbous face was drenched with sweat. They shifted from one foot to the other.
"A gift," Neuro said. "For me?"
"Yes." Zera took a deep breath. "It's traditional, you know? Give gifts to people who are important to you during the Darkday season. As a display of trust and bonds."
They gestured to the book's cover. The title read, The Complete Collection of Sherlock Holmes. "Demons say it's from the human world. I know you like things like that. You used to talk about that aboveground world a lot, when we were kids."
Neuro blinked. "I seem to recall the tradition being to give tribute," he said. "A bit of appeasement to those who rule over you, acknowledging their power and superiority. "
Zera appeared to deflate, hanging their head. They looked away in disappointment. "Yes. That…that's what it is."
Neuro was silent. Then he swept the book to the side and turned away to rifle through something hidden behind his desk. It sounded like a bag. "Fine. I accept your piece of tribute. And actually…if you're thinking of presents, I got you something."
"Really?!" Zera's eyes went wide. They brought one hand up to cover their mouth. The beginnings of tears pricked at their optics. "Neuro…so you do have a heart after all-"
Flump. Neuro tossed a hat onto the desk. It was conical and stiff, shaped like a dunce cap. Its sides were decorated with crudely-drawn stars. Beneath the lip of its ruff were endless rows of razor-sharp teeth. The brim moved like a mouth in endless peals of mocking laughter.
Zera stared at the torture-hat. They looked up at Neuro. Neuro looked back at them with an innocent smile. Zera reached for the hat with trembling hands and picked it up.
"Now, now," Neuro chided. "What do we say?"
Zera quivered as they held the hat above their head. "Thank…you?" With one held breath and squeezing their eyes shut, they brought the hat down. Immediately, the multiple rows of teeth began to nibble at their skull.
FIIIIIIIIVE GOLD-EN RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGS
Day ten out of twelve. The Darkdays were in full swing. Everyone was gearing up for the Interbranch Slaughter tomorrow.
Or so it seemed to Zera. They walked down the hallway, an entire roll of bandages wrapped around their head. Their stalk eye was bent at an odd angle. Zera kicked at some entrails in the halls as they approached Neuro's door. Nice touch. The Order Branch must really be pumped up to win.
The slug demon couldn't help taking a deep breath on reflex as they took hold of the door handle. Nothing for it… Better to open the door now and face the traps rather than try to avoid them. They had learned that much at least.
Click. They swung open the door.
"Aargh!" Zera shrieked as a flood of bright yellow beads hit them square in the chest. They crashed hard to the floor. The demon flailed and waved their arms like a drowning swimmer. Yet despite bracing for ropes to trigger or for an aville to drop from above, nothing worse happened. Slowly, with the greatest suspicion, Zera opened their eyes.
"What the Hell is this?" They found themself lying in the outer reaches of a great pool of triangular beads. They ran their fingers through the mess and held one up. "Are these…batteries?"
"Yes. They are called Evil Diversey," a smooth voice rang out. "I was charging them when you came in. They are invaluable for recovering demonic energy, but in order for them to be of any use, I need to charge them in advance. I discovered this during one of my previous cases."
As Neuro spoke, the triangular beads lit up with a soft green glow. There was a sound like him snapping his fingers and they all disappeared. Zera fell two inches to the ground with a fwumph.
"Close the door."
Zera scrambled to obey. Once the door was shut, they turned around. "This better be good, Neuro." They ran their hands over their pustule-filled face and arms, as if still feeling the Diversey on them. "I don't understand why you would call me back in so soon, especially during a Darkday when you said you didn't-"
They stopped. "What is that?"
Neuro was holding up a bottle. At first the container appeared to be a normal vial, with a tapering cylindrical shape and crystal stopper. Inside was a frothy, mottled liquid.
Then it changed, the bottom portion in Neuro's hand warping to form a skull-like mass. Its skin puckered and stretched. It grew sharp teeth and two eyes, plus one more that rested above the left one. Both sides of the bottle were held up by a miniature arm connected directly to a leg, thin as sticks. Coming out of the skull's lower jawbone were two pinched faces, mouths open and eyes gaping. A small tail came from the vial's back end. A small brain-like structure soaked in the potion inside the container.
Neuro tilted the vial so that the liquid splashed against its sides. "This is a new invention of mine. I call it 777 Tools of the Demon World – Evil Fumble. It is our key to victory."
Zera approached the desk cautiously, squinting at Evil Fumble as if it were a wild animal. "O-okay? What do you mean 'our'-"
"This," Neuro stated, "is an improved version of Evil Ampule. You remember that Tool from the informant case, I assume. Even a slug has a rudimentary nervous system, according to the science textbooks that haven't yet met you. I have combined samples from Evil Mud together with the solution from Evil Ampule in order to create a new, super-potent potion for improving brain function."
He gave a razor-sharp grin. "I estimate it will improve the strength of its user by 500%."
Zera gulped. A chill ran down their spine, making their boil-filled chin wobble. Neuro had made a better version of a Tool that already existed? Just how powerful was his mind?
"And what, ah, what 'victory' did you have in mind, Neuro?" They said, voice trailing off into weakness. Inside of their mouth, they bit their tongue in order to keep from screaming.
"You-" said Neuro, pointing at Zera with one middle finger, "You shall be my Angel of Death. Deliver this potion to the mouths of the two opposing teams during tomorrow's Interbranch Slaughter. With my concoction, their abilities should improve a monstrous amount. The Order Branch will stand no chance of winning, and their miserable little Darkday shall be crushed."
His green eyes fixed Zera with a stare. "Any objections?"
Zera gulped. The teeth marks on their scalp itched. "…No, sir."
Six Geese A-Laying
The horns blew, the roars erupted, the ceremonial first blood was spilled, and the Interbranch Slaughter began.
This year's tournament would take place in an outdoor valley, divided up into sections and framed on all sides by hills of knife-grass. No wimping out would be allowed. Most of the members of the HDAC had gathered, leaving just enough staff on duty to handle any small emergencies that arose. Big and medium-sized emergencies could wait. This was the Branches' one day to fully let loose.
Seven judges had been assembled. The demons wore black hoods and robes, executioner-style. They would oversee all four rounds: three of competition, one of exhibition.
First was the Technical Round.
Demons gathered together in one sectioned-off clearing. At the judges' signal, they began to display their skills. They could do anything, the rules stated, so long as it was impressive.
Some demons turned into human disguises. Some performed circus tricks. Others cast spells, or let loose piercing cries that turned everything around them into stone. One demon choked down an entire marble pillar slathered in mayonnaise. Flashes of camouflage and solid illusions predominated. In one corner was Doloron the Gutter, a sawfish demon from the Order Branch. Their chainsaw-nose quivered as they calmly flitted around, teleporting small distances.
But the show was stolen by an octopus-demoness from the Security Branch. Bystanders oohed and aahed while the demoness's colors flashed. She raised her eight puckered arms while patterns and a multitude of textures rippled across the light she controlled. Sparks, glimmers, a scrolling illusion of fish—the demoness could do it all. She could even turn invisible.
The Technical Round was known to be the Security Branch's specialty, after all. Though the Order Branch and the Punishment Branch both did well, ultimately the octopus demoness was declared the winner.
As soon as the judges delivered their verdict, a gruesome shriek rose from the middle of the crowd. One demon's rope trick had gone wild. Hissing and thrashing, the ropes lunged through the contestants, curling around demons' legs and threading their way through the crowd before dragging them all into a life-or-death fight.
Still, by the time the dust cleared several hours later, the Security Branch had been declared the victor.
Seven Swans A-Swimming
Next was the Endurance Round.
This part of the competition was an obstacle course. It required a mix of both fighting and technical prowess. Tag-teams had to climb up the side of one of the knife-grass hills, ford a pit of lava, leap over a pit filled with acidvenom snakes, struggle to scale a 100%-slick-bark tree, defeat a ravenous hyena-dog in barehanded combat, and frantically slash a balloon-bomb to pieces before it exploded in their face, among other things.
Also, it was a race.
The teams for Security and Order worked hard, but the Punishment Branch did surprisingly well, managing to bypass the other teams somewhere between the Whirling Blades-of-Death and the Foggy Bog of Poison. It was very exciting. This game had been the Order Branch's strong point in the past. The crowd turned and whispered amongst themselves. Could there be an upset in the making?
Back at the starting line, some demons became enraged at their slower teammates and attacked them. Harpy nails flashed and the shrieks of imps echoed as crowd members rushed to join in. The Punishment Branch team reached the final finish line and then immediately turned back to subdue the rioters. They laughed and swung their axes as if back on duty at their jobs.
Soon the field had turned into an all-out brawl.
Security: 1, Punishment: 1, Order: 0.
Eight Maids A-Milking
With the hood of their cloak up and scarf pulled tight around their neck, Zera scuttled slowly over to the feast tables. The Interbranch Slaughter would be taking a quick break soon in preparation for the final two events. Meanwhile, everyone was distracted by the ruckus in the Endurance Round quarter. It was now or never.
The tables that hadn't already been destroyed were loaded down with food—a plethora of dishes set out according to endless diets, preferences, and tastes. Zera sidled over to one long table that the Order Branch seemed to have settled around. Plates of reserved food sat waiting on the tableskincloth. Makeshift signs had been posted, saying things like TOUCH AND YOU DIE, RESERVED FOR THE INTERBRANCH VICTORS, and DEATH TO HEALTH FOOD.
Zera's fingers brushed against the sides of Evil Fumble inside of their jacket pocket. The glass felt deathly cold. The demon gulped.
They hovered around the part of the table that looked as if it had been visited most recently. Zera stuck out a finger. They sampled some toenails. Crunchy. They swiped some phlegm sauce. Delicious. With every movement they leaned in a little more. Their scarf swung down, hanging low from their arms and creating a momentary curtain as deft fingers moved out of their pocket and over-
"Hey! You there!"
Eeeeep! Zera's shoulders jolted as if they had been stabbed with shards of electric ice. The bottle had already started to tilt. Quickly the demon poured, dumping the liquid out into the first thing they could reach.
Zera turned, fear freezing their tongue. Standing a few feet away was another demon. Zera recognized him as one of the other office slaves—well, a janitor, if one was going to be technical about it.
"I know you," he said, smiling. "You're from that one guy's office. Great to get out from under the corporate claws, eh? Maybe we'll even see some bloodshed of our own, if we're lucky."
"Hahaha, yes, yes you're totally right! I know you too! How's it been?" said Zera. Behind their back, they shook out the bottle and slipped it into a pocket beneath their poncho. "I was just, uh, checking out the nice spread over here! Yeah! And getting some drinks that someone, my boss, you know, requested…" They turned around and began clinking the tops of bottles together.
"Really? Working even during a Darkday? That sucks." The snail demon grinned. "But you'd better be careful. Those are the judges' drinks."
Zera's breath stopped.
They returned the janitor's wave as the snail demon set off, a trail of slime left in their wake. Zera even managed to summon one small, terrified smile.
As soon as he was gone, Zera turned back to the glasses. One small, faint line could be seen running across the tableskincloth, separating the Order Branch's section from the nearby judges'. All the slug demon could do was stare, with the expression of one who had already witnessed their own execution.
Nine Ladies Dancing
With a roar, the Martial Round of the Interbranch Slaughter began.
This competition took place in a Gladiator pit. It was a battle free-for-all, with victories being determined by a thumbs-up, thumbs-down system. Thumbs-up meant kill your captive. Thumbs-down meant kill them slower.
As captives, the HDAC used the year's stock of prisoners. That way all three teams could have a violence spree without gutting Enforcement's own strength for tomorrow. Though, judging by how the demons all glared at each other, they would have jumped at the chance.
While the male demons were strong, the demonesses were vicious. They let loose sonic screams that jarred weapons from hands, slashed with nails as sharp as razor blades, and skewered prisoners while their male teammates were still busy posturing and boasting. Soon only demonesses were left in the pit. One by one the judges gave them the thumbs-up, allowing them to execute their captives and earn points for their Branch.
Among the few left was Zelmia Dreadsting.
The scorpion demoness hissed as she leapt through the arena, acid spilling out of the puckered hole that was her mouth. She had changed from a business dress into a black battle suit. The suit was sleek, but designed to get the most use out of the armored plates embedded in her dark purple skin. Her hair whirled and stabbed, the hooks on its ends flashing red with blood. They hooked prisoners with a feverish intensity and dragged them in towards her. She barely waited for the judges' thumbs to turn before yanking out her captives' eyes and ripping them apart.
Each kill only fed Zelmia's bloodlust more. She screamed like a Fury and tackled an opponent before stealing their captive. Eventually the arena became a battleground between the last two demonesses standing—a fight no longer for captives but for glory. The other demoness was hair-based too, and from the Punishment Branch. She sent out waves of dark locks. Zelmia refused to become ensnared, meeting each curling inch with flashing hooks of her own, the two demonesses battling to give the other one final, ugly hairstyle that would incapacitate their abilities.
Thus the Martial Round ended in a climactic battle, sustaining dozens of bystander dismemberments and strangulations in the process. But in the end, the Order Branch was declared victorious.
Security: 1, Punishment: 1, Order: 1.
Ten Lords A-Leaping
Finally the time had come. All demons gathered around the center ring, missing teeth and their chests stained in blood, in order to witness the tiebreaking round. Well, it was a tiebreaker in name only. In actuality, the legendary Fourth Round was held every year, as a final extravaganza if not to break a tie.
The final competition would take the form of a sanctioned bout. The judges had chosen their rules. All Branches had to now select a Champion to pit against the others.
The Punishment Branch and the Security Branch turned to search among themselves. The Security demons had a nice, civil discussion with knives held to each others' backs before choosing the octopus demoness. The Punishment demons held a brief scuffle, knocking 80% of their members out of contention, and in the end chose the only one of them who could still stand. Both Champions made their way to the center of the ring.
The Order Branch had some confusion. Demons turned and whispered among themselves.
"Who's going?"
"Zelmia! I vote Zelmia!"
"Where's that crime detective? He would be good at this." But Neuro was nowhere to be found.
At last Zelmia stepped forward, her battle suit red with blood and her hair in knots and tangles. She held her head high-
And Balanusk Huskeater jumped in instead.
The squirrel demon stood in front of Zelmia, cutting her off. She hissed and stumbled. The demon was dressed in his usual blue suit. His front fangs, filled with poison, were in clear view. His face glowed in the light of the distant fireplains.
Balanusk spread his arms out as if to block the others from Zelmia. His eyes were set in determination.
Zelmia stared. "Balanusk…" she said.
Then she jabbed him viciously in the ribs. "I can still fight, scumsucker! Go back to the other cowards!"
The arena had its choices: the Order Champions fighting—"I will not allow any imprecision!", the Punishment Champion wobbling on their feet, and the Security Champion pressing their octopoid form against the ground as if they wanted to disappear. All that remained was the judges' acceptance.
The leading judge raised their tentacle. The other six followed suit with a variety of limbs.
Zelmia still held her space in the ring, fending off Balanusk with the utmost effort. She dug her heels into the ground, elbowing him in the face and chest to keep him away. He twisted beyond her grip and popped back up like a bobblehead doll.
"At the sound of the Chicken-Sacrifice Gong," the lead judge intoned. "This sanctioned bout shall be- URGH!"
All at once the judges stumbled. They choked, grabbing at their throats. Their hands and coils twitched and writhed. Their faces rose up to the sky, mouths open and gaping. The surrounding demons drew away with startled cries. Some reached for their weapons.
With roars of elation the judges erupted outwards into a frenzy, their heads and shoulders swollen red and grown twice their size. They laughed in joy as if feeling new strength rush through their limbs, which they now understood how to use 500 times better than they had before. They struck out at random, each one of them fighting with the strength of a hundred demons.
The nearby demons rushed to meet them, partly out of fighting instinct and partly because they had caught on. This must be a new round of competition! The judges themselves were the enemy!
While the judges had at first been the epicenter, soon it was impossible to tell who was friend and who was foe. Security flummoxed Order. Order bit the leg of Punishment. Punishment just went wild. One small coalition teamed up to take down one of the judges, its corpse dragging other demons down with it.
Some familiar figures flashed through the whirl of chaos. The Punishment Champion smacked himself in the head with an axe. Dolorond the Gutter calmly teleported away. Huskeater jumped all around, striking heroic poses, his eyes firing laser beams that cut down everyone around him.
Just like every year.
Eleven Pipers Piping
"Mmmh! Mmmh! Mmmh!"
Elsewhere, Neuro leaned over a bound-and-gagged Zera. Tears streamed from the slug demon's eyes, looking up as if begging for pity. They groaned against the gag. But there was no scrap of sentiment to be found in those horrid green eyes.
Neuro looked down, grinning with cold disappointment. "Give my regards to the Lady," he said.
A tag hung on a rope around Zera's neck. The way it was twisted, Neuro could currently read the inscribed message: 'Bloody Slaughtermass'.
"Better hope the postal service doesn't mishandle this package." Neuro kicked Zera down into the mailbin. "Like they usually do."
Twelve Drummers Drumming
Executive Officer Leonfang was in his office.
With a rustle of paper, the leonoid finished the day's work. He filed away important reports and fed confidential notes to his desk, Blud, before leaning back in his chair. Finally. With most demons gone off to that ridiculous competition, he had some peace and-
BAM!
Lucard came barreling in. "Boss! We won! The Order Branch does it again!" His gaping mouth drooled stupidly with excitement.
Asanteoh gave a low rumble. "The door, Lucard."
"Sorry, King." But Lucard grinned. He knew that that rumble had been one of pride.
The wolf demon's gaze slid over to the space beside Asanteoh's desk. The wall behind the Executive Officer was stacked high with countless boxes. Some of them came in refrigeration units. Some still smelled faintly of blood. Their colors and tags made for an impressive effect, transforming the wall into a momentary trophy case.
"You got lots of tribute this year as well, I see. Glad to see there's still rare meats out there in the world." Lucard whistled in appreciation, admiring the boxes. "Looks like enough to keep you full for a few days at least. Anything good?"
Asanteoh cast a glance over at the tribute pile. One of the packages was labeled phoenix roast. Next to it was one marked manticore tongue, in loving script. "Perhaps."
"At least it's not all ogremeat, like last time," he grumbled. "Blasted Thundergod War. The market was flooded for decades…"
He sighed, running one handpaw through his mane. "Did you enjoy your Darkday?"
"YEAH!" Lucard perked up. Then he pressed his ears to the side and shrunk down. "I mean… Yes sir, it was a delightful period of restitution."
"-of relaxation. That sounds more natural." Asanteoh shook his head. "What have I told you about leadership, Lucard? A leader must be always be precise and inspire awe in all who behold them. Inaccurate vocabulary simply will not do."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Anyway…" Lucard glanced around even though they were the only two demons in the office. "Here, I got you something."
He put a package on the desk and quickly shoved it over. The shoddy wrapping-skin crinkled against the hard surface.
Asanteoh raised an eyebrow as he stared down at the parcel. "You shouldn't have." It wasn't an expression. It was a warning.
Lucard shrugged. "I know."
Asanteoh took the package. He sliced open the wrapping-skin with one claw.
A boxy shape tumbled out, hitting the desk on one edge and then lying flat. It was an ear-grooming kit.
Asanteoh looked up sharply. He could feel the blood rush to his ears—his small, cute, fuzzy ears, always hidden behind an imposing mane.
"You said you wouldn't tell," he said, grabbing the kit and stowing it out of sight.
Lucard already had his hands up in a surrender position. He looked away as if pretending that nothing had happened. "I didn't! Honest. Just thought I'd give you something, that's all."
Asanteoh cautiously fingered the edge of the kit. The plastic caught beneath his claws. When he looked up he saw Lucard continuing to look away, humming an innocent tune, giving Asanteoh the luxury of being unscrutinized. The wolf demon's hands were in his pockets.
This was a real gift. Not a piece of tribute, but a gift.
"…hmph." At last, Asanteoh gave a small smile. He opened one of Blud's drawers and placed the kit inside for safekeeping. "Fine. May you also receive something of worth this Darkday. Bloody Slaughtermass, Lucard."
Though turned away, Lucard's face brightened imperceptibly. "Thanks, boss."
Asanteoh gestured with one hand. "Now get out. It's unprofessional to neglect your work. I won't tolerate incompetence."
Lucard laughed before turning to leave. "Now that, I can remember. Bloody Slaughtermass to you too, King."
Somewhere in the distant past, rain fell.
The skies were mottled as purple as a bruise above the city of Yzguth, Where they were not purple, they were gray, the same gray that seeped down from their expanse, carried in the low-hanging fog, reflected in the walls of buildings, and colored the dirty concrete. Even the 'scratches', those faint lights and promises of a different world, were hidden behind the storm's cloak. The world below was truly alone.
In the midst of the downpour, one demon lay at the lip of an alley. They sprawled facedown against the street. Trash was scattered around them. High walls rose on either side, casting shadows that nearly blocked their form from view. In front of them stood another demon, holding up an umbrella as yellow as the Sun.
"That's a nice look in your eyes."
"…"
"It doesn't suit someone lying in an alleyway."
A few seconds passed. Then, the demon lying on the ground began to growl. Grrr…They growled and growled in a steady, neverending murmur.
The demon with the umbrella shifted their grip. "Nothing to say? Are you just a dog after all?"
The growling increased. Acid rain continued to fall, sizzling against the demon's silver-and-black fur. It wasn't enough to kill them. But it was enough to sting. Hell was good at things like that.
"So many demons do this." The umbrella-holder's voice was filled with scorn. "They give up, give in, bend to their lower instincts. They never bother to be anything more. They don't even bother to become greater trash."
"If they aren't born 'strong', then they just quit. We are all slaves to our peculiar diets, yes. They rule our whole lives. But demons never improve…they don't even try."
"How-" The demon in the alleyway's ear twitched at the emotion in the speaker's voice. "How am I supposed to protect them?"
The rain fell in silence. The growling had puttered to a stop.
The umbrella-holder brought one furred handpaw up to their face and wiped. Then they brought it back down. "But you. You don't look like you've given up yet. Have you?"
The rain fell.
"Well?"
Their reinforced-material umbrella sizzled in the downpour. The demon waited. And waited. And waited.
Just when they had turned to leave, fingers twitched behind them. Dark nails closed, digging small grooves into the grime of the alleyway. "…no," came the smallest of voices.
"Hmph. Finally something worthy of respect." The demon crouched and held out their umbrella. An amber-colored mane came into view. "Why don't you come with me?"
In the lip of the alleyway, a wolfish head stirred. It lifted, red eyes seeing a vision of strength, radiance, and a circle like a bright golden Sun.
And he followed, like a dog.
"Here it is—your first uniform."
Lucard shuffled back half a step as clothes were pressed into his arms. He held his hands out to receive them, but they were still heavy.
"…" Lucard took hold of something on top-a police cap. He held it up by the brim. His red eyes stared.
"That's yours, too," said a voice as familiar as honey. In front of Lucard sat Asanteoh, behind the wooden desk of a Head Officer. "Congratulations on passing police training. You've worked hard for this moment."
Those eyes still looked like twin searchlights. Sometimes Lucard couldn't believe that the demon in front of him was the same one that had taken him in, on that day many years ago. But then he remembered.
"Now you can take your place among the ranks," said Asanteoh. He gave a two-fingered salute. "It's taken years of preparation, I know. But you've done well to prove yourself. The HDAC expects great things from you, Lucard Throatbane."
Then the leonoid paused. His eyes did not flick to the door, but Lucard knew that somehow he must have checked all the same. Something in his gaze softened the slightest bit. His voice became more familiar. "I am proud of you."
Then it was gone. Asanteoh clasped his handpaws together on top of the desk. "Any questions about your new position?"
Lucard fingered the cuffs of his jacket. He was still wearing transitional clothes—the gray outfit of demons who had passed police training but hadn't yet formally entered the force. His new uniform was blue. It did not have any pants, as his fur would be enough.
Lucard put on the police cap, settling it down onto his head. It felt cool against the backs of his ears. "No sir," he said, snapping to attention.
"Then you are dismissed. I shall see you around."
Lucard bowed before remembering to return the salute.
One thing was for sure. Looking at Asanteoh sitting behind that wooden desk, a desk that did not seem worthy of his greatness, Lucard wanted to become someone who could support him.
"ALRIGHT!" Lucard shouted, wincing as an elbow hit him in the gut. One demon's fingernail poked uncomfortably close to his eye. "Break it up!"
He grabbed, pulling, pushing, and shoving until he made his way to the inner circle of the mob. He kicked one demon to the side. Some of the others drew back upon noticing him. Whispers started up: 'Major Throatbane, it's Major Throatbane'. In the center of the fray were two demons, a quadruped and a bipedal shape-form, engaged in blows.
"Quit this nonsense immediately!" Lucard busted in with the same force of busting down a door. He wrestled the two demons apart, holding one in each hand. "Battles are for outside of workhours! If you've got a beef, have it out then, you hear me? What in the Devil's name-"
"Oh Damn that!" said one of the demons, squirming in Lucard's grip. "And Damn the rules, too!"
"Didn't you hear?" the other sniveled. "We've got new leadership now. That Leonfang guy has ascended to the Executive Office. Life is going to suck."
"He's too cocky!"
"No, he's too mean! I told you," The other sniveled. "I wanted shorter hours, and he wouldn't let me. That sucks."
"We barely ever see him come out of his office," the first whined. "I bet he's not even doing any work in there. The other guy at least used to talk to us."
"Yeah, this new regime sucks. I liked the other one better."
Lucard's eyes stretched in disbelief. "What-"
The two demons paid him no mind.
"What does Kitty even eat, rare meats? How common."
"And he looks stupid. With his freakish hands, and his big ol' mane…"
Lucard saw red.
"ASANTEOH IS YOUR LEADER!" he roared, smashing their heads together. "He is your commander, and you will respect him! He does more for the HDAC than you two scraps have ever done for anybody in your sorry lives. I can tell you this—Asanteoh's life is worth two thousand of yours combined!"
"Who guided us through the years of that Arson Crisis, huh?" he yelled. "Who gave you two lice a purpose? Who keeps this shitheap running? He does! The best leader of our time is not deserving of your mockery. The Order Branch does not tolerate, and Enforcement will not stand for, insubordination!"
"And if you don't like it," Lucard growled, leaning in close. His eyes flared with miasma. "You can take it up with me. Got it?"
The demons hesitated to respond for half a second.
"Got it?" Lucard's nails poked holes in their suit collars.
"Yes!" one gasped.
"Good." Lucard snorted. He let go, shoving the demons away. "Get back to work. And double-time. If I ever hear any more disloyal comments, I will personally feed you to the shredders. Now scram."
The demons scrammed.
Lucard took a breath. He looked up to find the crowd staring at him in shock. The good, deferential kind of shock, the kind from sheep that needed to be reminded who their shepherd was.
Lucard flashed his teeth, scattering them all back to their places. "As you were."
As decades went by, and the decades stretched into centuries, Asanteoh noticed a change in the wolf demon.
Lucard had started to smile more than he had before. He had begun to talk, to laugh even, to hold his head up high and walk with his back straight. He had even, somehow, managed to become a bit of a bumbling idiot.
Asanteoh smiled. He made a mental note to continue keeping an eye on the demon.
"…so, you've learned to control yourself during training. And you've developed your powers to their greatest capabilities." Asanteoh tilted back in his chair, facing towards the back wall away from Lucard. A small sign on his desk read 'Executive Officer'.
"You've also proven yourself to be skilled in combat. Quite the interesting style, but it works…" Asanteoh mused. "Furthermore, you've completed your most recent mission. The crisis in the Wwna Sea was avoided thanks to efforts led by your team."
He swiveled his chair around. "I have absolutely no qualms about appointing you to the rank of Commander."
"Yes, sir." Lucard barked with pride. He stood tall, wearing a new black suit that fit his shoulders perfectly. This outfit finally had pants. "Thank you, King."
"Thanks are not necessary. Nor are they professional," said Asanteoh. "If you're going to be serving directly under me from now on, let that be the first lesson from me to you."
Lucard gave a small smile. "Understood. Boss."
"I look forward to having you as my right-hand-demon. I'm sure that together, the two of us can whip this place into even greater shape. Congratulations, Commander Throatbane."
Lucard's tail wagged once at the sound of his title. Then it stilled. "Hey…King," he said, his voice breaking the silence.
"Hm?"
The air in the office felt still. Lucard swallowed, clearing his throat. For some reason a part of him felt small, a slight ghost of the feeling of what he once was. "That time back then…why did you save me?"
Silence fell.
At last, Asanteoh spoke. He was looking away, as if gazing out of an invisible window. "Does it matter?"
Lucard was quiet. Then he nodded. "I see."
He half-turned to leave. "Then," Lucard snapped a salute. "It's an honor to serve under the banner of Enforcement. See you tomorrow, King."
Asanetoh nodded. "Tomorrow, Lucard."
Lucard left, walking down the halls as if their conversation hadn't mattered. But privately, he thought to himself: He cares.
Many centuries in the future, but seconds in the present, Lucard walked down the hallways of the HDAC.
Asanteoh was deserving of respect, Lucard thought. Caring was dangerous for demons. It was useless, something 'nice', something that they were not supposed to do, something they were not even really designed to do. It was thought to be a sign of weakness.
And so Lucard growled at demons as he passed through the hallways. Workers nodded and skittered back to the their stations with renewed vigor, fueled by fear. He kept them in line. That was the least he could do.
Lucard kept his thoughts to himself. Asanteoh was kind. He was kinder than any demon should be, perhaps. But he masked it with authority, with demands of obedience from others. How else could he keep his kingdom running smoothly? How else could he benefit everyone under his wing? Asanteoh's true pride was in his domain, Lucard knew, but more than that, in his status as its guardian. The Law of the Jungle rang true for him, as it did for all demons. The leonoid—King of Beasts—was no exception. But he cared.
That was why Lucard served. So he could defend, protect, and assist with everything Asanteoh needed. He deserved that much. After all, Lucard was his loyal right-hand-demon.
And he would keep Asanteoh's kingdom for him.
Afterword: I am incapable of writing just a short, happy, filler chapter, it seems. Also, the awkward timing of Lucard's past-flashback couldn't be helped, sorry. Plot reasons. :)
INTERMISSION, PART 2 – END
