A/N: Hey guys! Something a bit different. Something new. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning Ylissean Vaquero, but I did feel like giving myself something else to work on. For those who aren't here from my other story, I currently have my first story that I'm working on. It's a Fire Emblem Awakening OC fic. I know, not all that original. But my character has guns so go check that out if that appeals to you. It's not very good but I may go back and redo it someday if my writing skills ever get any better. Anyways I've been on a Helltaker binge as of late and wanted to indulge myself in making a Helltaker fic. I hope you guys enjoy. I don't really have anything planned for it but I figure I'd just make it up as I go, for funsies. A bit of a warning, this story contains the depiction and mention of drugs, alcohol, and depictions of violence and foul language. Obviously.

Also forgive the cover art, my broke ass can't afford to commission art for anything let alone a story I just started. For now imagine the cover art is Oliver.

Helltaker belongs to VanRipper. I don't own a damn thing.

…...

To say Oliver wasn't in the best of moods would be greatly underselling his displeasure. But you would be too if you were sent to live with your estranged uncle.

'Okay. Deep breath. You're only nervous right now. You'll settle in eventually.' He thinks to himself, drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He lifts his fist to knock on the door. Hesitating for a moment, he finally finds the guts to rap his hand against the door.

'Knock knock knockknock!'

"Coming!" He hears a voice call out, faintly. He steps back, hands in his pockets.

'Fuck me, this'd be easier if I was baked.' He groans internally. After a moment, the door swings open. What he finds isn't his uncle, but a woman. Strange. Uncle didn't say anything about having a wife, or whatever?

On closer inspection are those... horns? And a tail? What kind of weird cosplay bullshit did he interrupt?

"Oh, 'scuse me ma'am, I-" He starts, but she quickly cuts him off.

"Whatever you're selling, we're not buying. Be gone." She asserts, voice regal and full of authority. As she goes to close the door, he throws his leg in the doorway stopping it from closing.

"Hey! Wait, my name is Oliver! I'm looking for-!" She slams the door on his ankle, giving way to a loud crack.

"GAAAGH-! You fucking bitch!" He howls, shoving the door open and falling through the doorway and falling onto the floor. "I'm here for my uncle you crazy fuck!" He seethes, gently clutching his ankle.

"Luci! How many times do I have to tell you not to attack people who come to the door!?" A voice shouts, and the thud of heavy footsteps approaches. "Ah, Oliver! You're here, how was your flight, kid?" The voice cheers, and Oliver finally realizes who it is.

"Long, now who the fuck is this and why did she feel the need to break my fucking shit?!" He shouts, trying to hobble to his feet, leaning against the doorway.

"Oh, that's Lucifer." He says, nonchalant.

"You have a crazy girlfriend named after the prince of darkness, and you didn't see fit to tell me." Oliver deadpans. The she-devil scoffs.

"I'm not named after Lucifer, dear. I AM Lucifer." She asserts. Then he connects the dots. The horns. The tail. The black tiara, which he hadn't noticed at first.

"I- yo- wh- fu-" He stutters, frozen in place. He stops, reaching for his duffel bag and walking into the house. He barely makes it 20 paces into the house when he passes the corner into the house and sees something that gives him pause.

More. More of them. Women, with horns, and tails. All sharply dressed. Except for one, wearing white and bearing a bright and shining halo above her head.

He freezes. "Taker, did you truly forget to explain our situation to your nephew?" Lucifer chimes in. Taker shrugs.

"I figured I'd explain it to him when he got here..." He trails off. She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. "Okay, I guess introductions are in order..." He grabs Oliver by the shoulder. "Girls! I need you to meet someone!" He shouts. Frozen in place, partially in disbelief and partly in fear, Ollie stands still as the demons clamor around them.

"Is this the brat?" The angry looking one mutters.

"He doesn't look like much." The one with shades wonders.

"Ladies, this is my nephew I told you all about. His name is Ollie, and he'll be staying with us." He introduces. "Ollie, this is my demon harem."

"Your what now?" Ollie drawls, astounded.

"Demon harem." Taker repeats.

"Yeah- fuck, I heard you. Why?"

"I had a dream." Taker says, plainly.

There's a moment of silence, broken by Oliver. "Yeah, ok. Sure. Makes sense, whatever. So what're their names?" He asks.

"Well, the angry one is Malina, the Sour Demon. The one with piercings is her sister Zdrada, the Bitch Demon. The one with sunglasses is Justice, the Awesome Demon. Former High Prosecutor of Hell. The tired one is Pandemonica, the Sadistic Demon. The triplets are Cerberus, the Triple Demon, the Grey one is Judgement, the current High Prosecutor, and the one in the sweater is Modeus, the Lust Demon." He finishes.

"...Should I be worried?" Oliver asks, sweating.

"I wouldn't worry about it." Taker dismisses.

"Great." He deadpans. "Can I just go set up my room for the night?" Oliver asks, already beelining for the stairs.

"Yeah sure, you're in the attic. Door all the way at the end of the hall upstairs, it might get hot so I put an AC in for you." Taker nods. "Need help? Y'know with the..."

"No, no, I'm good I think. I'm just gonna' go lay down." Oliver mumbles, picking up his duffel and limping to the stairs. "MM- fuck. Okay, yeah, maybe I need help." He admits, looking to the Taker. "Uncle, you mind?"

Taker walks over, slinging the duffel over his shoulder and lifting Oliver with ease. "Damn, kid. Have you been eating? You weight nothing." He asks.

"N-nah, I don't eat much." Ollie mutters. As they approach the stairs, something catches his eye. "Oh, Uncle you forgot someone." He points out.

"Oh, I did. Sorry about that. That's Azazel. She's an angel." He explains.

"Hello! It's very nice to meet you." She greets warmly. Shielding his eyes from the light her halo, he waves.

"Nice to meet you too. Talk later?" He amends. She nods happily, and they continue up the stairs.

After a minute or so they reach the attic, and Taker places Oliver down. "Well, this is you. I'll send Azazel up to bring you dinner when it's ready." He turns to leave, but Locke stops him.

"One minute. I gotta ask, how did you even- well- y'know-" Oliver stutters.

"Get a harem of demons?" Taker asks, amused. Oliver nods. "Well, I sought out a sect of Satanists, over in town. They showed me how to open the portal to hell." He explains.

"Really? Just like that? What was Hell like?" Locke asks, amazed.

"Hot. Red. Lots of spikes."

"How did you survive?" He wonders.

"I didn't. I died at least a thousand times. But Hell is the land of the dead, so the concept of death doesn't really exist there." Taker elaborates.

"Ahh..." Oliver trails off. "Well, I'll try to get along with everyone. I'm gonna try and sleep and let my ankle feel better, hopefully I won't have to go to the hospital." Oliver says, laying down on his bed. Taker sits on the edge of the bed, drastically shifting it. "Oh, you haven't told them about, y'know..." He trails off.

"No." Taker shakes his head. "I know it's still fresh. I'm leaving it to you to tell them. If you decide you want to, of course."

"Ah, good. Thanks, Uncle." Ollie says, yawning. "I think I'm going to take a nap."

"Hold on." Taker's voice rumbles. His voice is stern, but caring. Which Oliver finds strange. He had only ever seen his uncle on the holidays, but he knew enough about him to know feelings weren't the man's forte. At least, not that he'd ever seen.

"Are you okay? Between everything back home, and the long flight over here, I wouldn't blame you if you weren't doing so hot." Taker asks. "Not to mention the leg. Sorry for that, by the way. If Luci knew who you were, she wouldn't have done that. I know it's hard to believe, but she's not that bad." He explains.

It takes a moment for Locke to respond. "The Devil herself isn't bad? Hell, I thought the Devil was a man, to be honest with you. But today's full of surprises, isn't it?" Oliver barks a laugh.

"You'll warm up to her." Taker stands up. "Really, though. Have you been doing okay?" He insists.

Oliver sighs. "No. I'll probably be okay. Life ain't nothin' but a series of tough shit and all you can do is survive until something kills ya', right? All there is to do is enjoy it." He shrugs. "I'm just glad I dodged the charge." He mutters that last part, a bit quieter.

"Alright. Let me know if you need anything. I can't guarantee the girls will be willing to help. Actually, some of them can be pretty cruel." Oliver blanches. "If you need anything, I'd ask Justice, Judgement, or Azazel. Maybe Modeus. They're the good ones." He lists off. He steps through the door, closing it behind him.

Listening to the footfalls plod down the stairs, Oliver sighs. He opens a pouch on his duffel, pulling something out, along with a lighter.

"Oh, old friend. I've missed you." He whispers to himself. Just as he goes to light it, there's a knock on the door.

"Come in!" He groans. The door creaks open a tad, and a bright light emerges, followed by a shock of black hair. Azazel.

"May I come in?" She asks.

"Didn't I just say you could?" He drawls, sarcastically. She steps through the door, approaching Oliver slowly. "What, uncle finish making dinner that fast?" He jokes.

Azazel shakes her head. "No, I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

"Hm? Yeah, I'm good. Ankle is killing me but I'm just glad to finally be here. Couldn't get any sleep on the plane, or the taxi." He mumbles, shifting his weight around in the bed, trying to sit up.

"Oh! Speaking of, allow me!" She chirps, placing her hands near the broken ankle. Her hands emit a soft, faint glow. Oliver flinches a little, but settles as a warmth washes over his leg.

"I... guess uncle wasn't joking about you guys being, well... not human." He sits up in the bed, stretching his leg out, rotating his foot. "Huh. Good as new. Say, are you and the others my uh... aunts, technically?" He asks, hesitantly.

"Oh, Heavens no! Er, not me! The others are... involved, but as an angel I'm not allowed to hold such relationships with humans!" She stammers out, face red.

"Oh! Uh, sorry." He apologizes, kicking his feet awkwardly. "So, speaking of, what are the others like?"

"Well, Mr. Taker has been very nice! And the other girls are okay, for the most part. I'm a bit afraid of Miss Pandemonica, though." She admits.

"Yeah, what's up with her? Uncle called her the 'Sadistic Demon', but she didn't look all that well... sadistic." He wonders.

"She's quite a terror once she's had her coffee for the morning." She explains.

"Ah..." He trails off. "Thanks. For helping me, I mean." He acknowledges. He reaches over, grabbing the joint and lighting it.

A contented, dopey smile creeps its way across his lips as he basks in the familiar lightheadedness.

"Oh! What's that smell? It's terrible!" Azazel complains, stepping away.

"Eh, nothing important." He dismisses, puffing it a bit before setting it aside. "Say, can you do me a favor?" He asks.

"What do you need?" Azazel questions.

"Think you can come wake my happy ass up when dinners ready, please? I'ma take a nap, I think." He wishes, tugging open the nearby window and basking in the warm summer breeze.

"I can do that." Azazel nods. "Sleep well!" She bids, leaving the dusty old attic.

Oliver huffs, placing the joint back to his lips before fishing through his bag and producing a beat-up pair of headphones. Removing them from their case and donning them, and hitting play. He leans back, sparking away at the joint and blowing smoke through the window next to his head. He drifts off to the sound of whatever song that plays first, content to get some rest before facing his uncle's demons again.

…...

He leaves his sleep less peacefully than he found it. That may have something to do with some meddling on the demons' part.

"Fuck you bitch!" A voice shouts downstairs, shrill with pure malice.

"In your dreams, Malinka!" Another voice replies, this voice a bit rougher. Following that a series of crashes ring out. Desperate to investigate, he leaps from his bed, mattress creaking from the stress. Hesitant for a moment, he looks to his leg. He gives it a few taps on the floor.

'Huh. Checks out?' He thinks. He rushes towards the door, barging through and clamoring through the hall and down the stairs. Nearly tripping down the last few steps, he emerges to find quite a scene.

The angry one and the chain-smoking one are grappling on the floor, fighting for who-knows-what reason. A few plates lie shattered, shards strewn across the linoleum floor being tossed around as the two demons roll around on the ground.

"That's enough, you two!" Taker's voice booms, loud enough to give any human pause. Evidently not enough to stop the demons, he rushes in, putting a hand on the shoulder of each demon in an attempt to wrench them apart and end the struggle.

It proves ineffective however, once the Bitch Demon finds a piece of shattered ceramic and swipes it across the Taker's face, leaving a large cut across his chin.

"Oh shit!" Ollie shouts, having had enough of watching this. He rushes into the fray, grabbing the nearest stool which was knocked over in the conflict. Heaving it over his head, he swings it down with all his force, breaking it across her back. For a moment, there is silence. All movement ceases, and his feeling of satisfaction is quickly replaced with dread as the tension in the atmosphere increases threefold.

Before he knows it, she is atop him, slashing across his cheek. He raises his arms to stop her, or at least block her blows. He succeeds, but it doesn't achieve much. Instead of his face becoming an unrecognizable mess, his sweater sleeves are torn and blood seeps into the fabric of the garment, staining it a deep red. With every slash, it spreads in angry red line on the carpet. Then on the linoleum. Some hitting the sofa next to them. The room is filled again with endless sound. This time instead of a dozen voices ringing out, all Oliver can hear is the sounds of animals fighting. And maybe some of his own screams.

Three. Four. Five slashes before the Taker locks an arm around her neck, yanking her off the young man. He can't tell what anybody is saying, but he doesn't need to. All he needs to know is he can run.

And so he does. Back up the stairs, back down the hall. Into the attic he explodes, gulping down as much of the thin, dusty air as his lungs allow. High on adrenaline, he has just enough time to heave his bed and dresser against the door. He falls to his knees, slumping against the wall where the bed was. He collapses, feeling faint as his adrenaline wears off. Then the pain comes. Burning, deep, sharp pain shoots through his arms like lightning bolts. He looks to the tatters that remain barely covering his arms. He hears the knob rattling. "Oliver, it's me! Let me in!" His uncle shouts.

"No! No please! Sweet merciful Christ don't let her hurt me again!" He shrieks, throat immensely sore from the screaming. He rubs his face with his hands to attempt to rid himself of the sticky, wet mess across his face. He isn't quite sure if it's his tears, or his blood. Likely both.

"I have Azazel with me, she can help! The others are taking care of Zdrada!" He pounds on the door, slamming against it with all his weight. Considering the man is a veritable wall of muscle who braved Hell itself, it's no surprise the blockade budges considerably. "Let us in!" the Taker commands. Oliver curls up, clutching his arms to his body in what's likely a weak attempt to slow the flow of blood from the open wounds.

Then one final slam, as the dam breaks. He moves to shield his face with his arms, trembling and terrified as two powerful hands seize his wrists. He weakly flails in an attempt to fight back, but he finds that he's too weak. Expecting to be torn to shreds again, his eyes clamp shut for what he expects will be the final time.

He recognizes the warmth washing over him. Despite its angelic nature, it does little to comfort him. He knows he will have scars.

There is quiet, in the room. Though tenuous, it's much easier to hear what's said, now. Without the screaming. The slamming on the door. The pounding of his heart and the rushing of blood through his ears.

If the blood loss didn't kill him, at this rate it'd probably be a heart attack.

Through his thoughts, he hears the sound of heavy footfalls disappear back down the hall. Presumably those of his Uncle, going to take care of Zdrada, or perhaps clean the terrible mess left in the wake of their scuffle.

"Hey, can you hear me? It's going to be okay." The voice reassures him. A voice so kind and full of the same angelic warmth he can only assume it's Azazel's.

He lifts his head a little to get a good look at her. Her face is fraught with worry. "You have a cut on your face. Is it okay if I get that for you?" She asks. He simply nods. For a short moment she raises her hand to his cheek, and he flinches a bit, but the warmth covers him for a second before fading. Once it's gone, his head sinks back down into his arms as he huddles against the wall, knees to his chest. "It's okay, now. Everything is alright." She promises him. Maybe. Maybe not. All Oliver knows is that he isn't going to die, not yet at least. He should be thankful. Relieved.

So why is he just a little bit disappointed by that?

…...

She can't tell how long it is, until he's calmed down. At least an hour, she thinks. His breathing slows, and for a while he even nods off. All the while she cradles him, brushing his hair until his heartbeat returns to normal.

What else is an Angel to do, after all?

In time, he stirs. He winces as he moves to separate himself from her. The first thing he notices once he's truly come to is the blood. All of it his. He feels faint, but his too focused on boring a hole through her with his gaze to notice.

He's traumatized. There are some things an Angel can't heal, after all. The mind happens to be one. Well, unless they were a trained psychologist. Azazel certainly wasn't.

He gets a grip, running his hands over his face. With a deep sigh and sunken shoulders, he turns to rummage through his bad. He pulls out two sweatshirts. He tugs his shirt off over his head, and pulls the new one over him. Azazel averts her eyes, but something lands in her lap. One of the hoodies. Holding it in her hands, she looks at Ollie, surprised. "You're uh... you're all bloody. Just throw it over you until you have a chance to change, okay?" He asserts, trying to leave no room for argument.

"Are you sure?" Azazel retorts, looking back and forth between Ollie and the garment. "I-I couldn't possibly-" She starts, but he stops her.

"Take it. I'm gonna want it back so please, just wash it before you return it?" He requests, dragging his damaged bed frame back towards the window.

"Thank you, Mr. Oliver. I'll return it to you as soon as possible!" She promises, ducking her head down and donning the hoodie. On her it looks like more like a cloak, as the oversized sweatshirt engulfs her.

"No problem. Y'can call me Ollie though." He insists, pulling the dresser back into place. "Do you know where the shower is? I figure we'll both want one but you can go ahead first. I just need to know where it is."

"Oh! It's the door to the left of yours in the hall." Azazel instructs. "Are you sure you wouldn't like the shower first?" She questions. He waves it off.

"Nah. All yours."

"Thank you, I promise I'll be quick." She says, exiting the dingy room.

He waves to her as she leaves. Then sits at the foot of his bed. He rolls up his sleeves, peering at the faint yet visible lines freshly added to his skin. He pulls the sleeves even further, revealing older, faded scars.

With a heavy sigh, he cups his face in his hands.

Things were certainly off to a rough start, so far.