Chapter 7: Complex

Stolas sat behind his desk, his head in his hands.

How had things gone so wrong?

'Probably when you doomed all creation to whatever scheme that appropriately-named preacher has cooked up?' He thought to himself. 'Probably that, yeah.'

A commotion sounded outside his office, an aura made its odious presence known, even in the adjacent room, like a foul smell.

The bell on his desk rang as it was flogged. His secretary had taken an uncharacteristic day off. In fact, Stolas could not recount a single day off the loyal little demon had taken in his two decades of service, adding to the increasing feeling of unease this morning had decided to bombard him with. Stolas rose to his feet and exited the office, dreading the encounter.

'If my precious Moonie were here, he'd have warned me ahead of time…' He thought to himself, sulking.

Standing in his reception room was a tall, garishly dressed moth-demon, his long, thin body concealed in a veritable pillar of fur-trimmed red velour. His red eyes narrowed behind his absurd heart-shaped sunglasses, his stained grin widened into a leer, his gold tooth glinting in the lights.

"Valentino," Stolas said, smiling like he'd just found a spider in his coffee. "How awful to see you again. Truly, my day has reached its nadir and it's not even nine."

"Never one to mince words, were ya, Hoot?" Valantino said, his voice that same, infuriatingly even croon: this vulgarian no doubt fancied he had some sort of advantage over the Prince. "Funny. Considering how mincing you can be."

"What can I say, you've caught me at a time in my life where my patience for you is nonexistent." Stolas moved to turn away and head back into his office. "Which henceforth is between now and the End of Days. Now, if you'll excuse me, talking to you has left a bad taste in my mouth. Kindly show yourself out, the garbage chute is the third on the left."

Valentino laughed, a slick, unpleasant sound, not unlike the rolling chortle of bubbling oil. "Y'know, I just thought I'd let ya know, there's some right unpleasant rumors circulatin' about you. Do you a solid, friendly-like. 'Course, if you'd rather just insult me when alls I'm doin' is tryin' to help, you know, head a rumor off at the pass before it becomes major news…"

Stolas sighed and turned around, glaring at the moth demon. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Aight, so, all this piss in the wind I hear about you fuckin' some imp is just that?" Valentino said, tapping away at his phone.

Stolas' hellphone buzzed and he glanced at it. Valentino has sent him dozens of candid pictures of him and his paramour in the throes of passion. Stolas could admit that, while obviously taken at a discreet distance, the photos were centered and well-composed; professional work. He could just imagine how eye-catching they would be plastered across the front page of some rag, as a thumbnail on a clickbait article, flashing on billboards.

"I mean, deepfakes and such, you never can be too certain nowadays."

"What do you want?"

Valentino slithered over to him, his eyes glowing. "Oh, I'm just grinnin' ear to ear to hear you say that, Stolas. That you just lead with a reward like that, on account of your gratitude and all. Well, consider this gratis, my feathered friend."

"Oh, do cut the shit and tell me what you want."

"Aight. Now, tellin' you what was up was the freebie. However, if'n you want my help keepin' a cap on this slander, well…" He knit his hands together with one pair and pointed to the ceiling with another. "Y'know, the rumor has you're lettin' the imp use your fancy book to do biz on Earth. Now, I ain't one to subscribe to rumors, but it got me thinkin'. If my good pal Stolas would lend that book out for dick, imagine what he'd do for a good friend who's got his best interests at heart?"

Stolas glared at the moth demon, his eyes glowing with hate.

"Think about it, good buddy," Valentino said, casting an arm over Stolas' shoulders. "I won't be goin' up to kill people or steal objects of import. Nah, my man, I'm just lookin' to expand my catalog, y'see? Think about it. How much do you think folk down here'd pay for a true-blue human virgin? Meat and all. Alls I need from you is that book a'yours and I'll cut you in, 20%. Howzat strike ya, Big Hoot?"

Stolas said nothing, turning away from the grinning pimp, slapping his arm off his shoulder.

Valentino chuckled and followed after. "I hear she's right pissed. Your old lady. I mean, even as a rumor, that's gotta be a fuckin' hit to the ol' marriage. And that's just between y'all. Imagine if the story went a'trendin'? All of Hell would believe that her husband done cucked her with an imp, the lowest of the low. How… humiliating."

Stolas stopped for a moment, his shoulders tensing, before continuing on his way to his office.

"Hey, that's alright. Decorum, yeah? You can't just lend out that book, even to your good pal. But, say, maybe you'd wanna accommodate me in some other way, yeah?" He slimed. "'Cause, y'know, your daughter… woof! She got her some fine-ass bone-structure. Good genes. Pretty her up some, she could sell ice-makers to eskimos~"

Stolas spun around, his aura flaring like the corona of a star, his reality-bending demonic might bubbling over with his temper. Valentino grinned and watched the royal seethe, his vast power utterly useless. He knew Stolas knew that if anything happened to him, the pictures and story would be everywhere within the day. Part of him found it viscerally satisfying to pecker-slap the stuck-up bird, almost enough to call it a day, let that be his payment.

Almost.

He wanted those virgins.

A voice carried over his shoulder, low, deep, and handsomely accented. "I believe the correct term is 'Inuit'."

Valentino rolled his eyes. "Eskimos/Inuit/like I give a shi–"

Val's eyes snapped open, his grin vanishing as he felt a chill race up his spin, the sheer weight of the demonic aura at his back was oppressive, the atmosphere was thick with ozone as the air ionized. He slowly turned around, sweat beading on his forehead.

Standing in the corner of the reception room, taking up much of it with his bulk, was Grand Duke Sallos, his glare withering but expression calm. The only indication of his hidden fury was the greasy, electric sensation saturating the air.

"Uh," Valentino grunted, swallowing despite his mouth being dry as an old nun's cooze. "I-I was just–"

"Shutting up."

Val's mouth shut with an audible 'clop'.

The Grand Duke started forward. "Kneel."

Val did, dropping to his knees.

"Lower."

Val set his hands to the floor, bowing his head.

"Lower." The Duke was very close now.

Val pressed his forehead to the carpet, sweat pouring down his face in rivulets.

His huge feet strode up, stopping astride the media mogul's head. "Lower~"

Valentino lay on the floor, trying very hard to flatten himself right into the rug, to disappear. Duke Sallos scoffed with contempt and continued forward, trodding on the prone demon as he did, his footfalls underscored with crunching and popping.

"Stolas," said Sallos, eyeing up the furious owl demon. "We need to talk."

"Yes," Stolas said, quietly. "Yes, we do."

The two royals made their way into his office. As the door swung shut, Sallos glanced over his shoulder. "Stay."

"Uh."

The door slammed shut.

"…Yeah…"

Stolas walked over to his desk, summoning a cigar with a wave of his hand. "Cigar?"

"Please."

Stolas doubled the cigar and sent one over to his cousin. They lit the fine, hand-wrapped cigars and puffed idly for a moment, enjoying the rich, aromatic smoke. Stolas broke the silence with a chuckle.

"I could have taken care of that myself, you know."

"I know." Sallos smiled. "I just wanted to spare your office an extremely tacky statue."

Stolas threw his head back and laughed. "Oh! It's good to see you, Sally."

"And you, La-La." Sallos said, puffing on the cigar. "I just wish I could be here on happier business."

"Never one to beat around the bush, were you, Sally?" Stolas sighed, tapping ash into a nearby tray.

Sallos sat down and crossed his legs, shrugging. "I could ask after the family life, the job, and all that first, if you like."

"No, no," said Stolas, taking a seat behind his desk. "It all comes to bear. Well? Am I going before the council?"

Sallos took a heavy drag on the cigar, producing a great volume of smoke, through which his fiery eyes and brows could be seen. "No. The Inner Circle has decreed that it would set a poor precedent to punish you for being adjacent to a crime, regardless of severity."

"And Trouble?'

"He paid for a service and got it."

"…And the imp?"

"He provided a service and was paid." Sallos leaned back in the chair, the ebony craftsmanship groaning under his massive frame. "No official action will be taken against any of them, as per Lucifer's laws regarding reprisals and proxies."

"No 'official' action!" Stolas spat. "Oh, that's rich. They all get to cover their asses for future schemes while my family and I are thrown to the wolves!"

"Surprised?"

"No," said Stolas, turning away from him. "…Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well?!" Stolas shot to his feet and spun around, his eyes blazing. "Aren't you going to tell me it's all my fault? Tell me I'm a disgrace? A pathetic, disgusting embarrassment?! Go ahead! Tell me how disappointed you are, Sally!"

Sallos uncrossed his legs and shook his head, tapping the ash into a nearby tray. "Not at all, La-La. The heart wants what it wants. To have the courage, to be bold enough to pursue love despite it all–"

"Oh, spare me your romantic garbage!" Stolas snapped, slamming his hands on the desk. "You've been reading your books again!"

"Am I wrong?"

Stolas scoffed and turned his back to him, crossing arms. "Oh, please! I bed an imp and you think me some martyr for love! Do grow up, Sally. I was fooling around to humiliate that harridan, to get back at her for making my life and the life of my daughter miserable! And what better way?! It was a tawdry fling! Nothing more!"

Sallos took one last pull on his cigar and snuffed the butt in the ash tray. "One does not lend out a grimoire for a tawdry fling. I don't care what you tell yourself, La-La, but don't think you can pull one over on me."

"You're right… I'm sorry…" Stolas deflated and shook his head, smoothing back his ruffled feathers. "I do love her, you know. It eats at me thinking how I hurt her, how… how I hurt them both. It's just that…"

"You were never in love with her." Sallos got to his feet and made his way over. "Not like with him."

Stolas laughed bitterly, but his expression softened, became wistful. "There were times when he would rest his head on my chest, we'd bask in the afterglow and just… talk. Talk until the sun came up. He'd tell me about his aspirations, his goals, his dreams. Remember those? Dreams? Wants? Desires? We had those once upon a time!"

"That we did." Sallos nodded, gesturing to the room around them. "Ambitions and dreams are the foundations of Hell itself."

"It was intoxicating! To see genuine drive and verve and lust for, for, I don't know, the need to-to–Oh, I just don't have the words!" Stolas buried his face in his hands.

"No one ever accused you of eloquence, La-La." Sallos set a massive hand on his shoulder. "But I understand."

"It was the only way," Stolas said, his voice low. "I-I thought if I lent him the grimoire, helped him fulfill his dreams, that h-he'd stay with me… that he'd love me…"

Sallos sighed, closing his eyes as he pulled his hand away. "Oh, La-La. I'm so sorry it had to come to this."

"Sally?"

Sallos made for the door. "The decree has been written and is pending delivery. I was sent a draft."

Stolas' eyes snapped open, his hands clenching into fists; when he spoke, his voice was calm, placid, and deadly cold. "What did it say?"

"A 'loved one'." Sallos turned around to face him. "I–"

Stolas's eyes flared with medusa-energy, the air split with a terrible shriek. Sallos froze in place as rock flashed over his skin. The fresh statue stood in place for a moment before cracks spidered across its surface, red, hellish energy surging out from within. The statue exploded outwards, exposing a formless mass of demonic power bellowing with rage. Sheer force of will focused this power as flesh and blood was willed from the aether. Sallos levitated out of the pillar of energy, his naked body wreathed in hellfire, scorching the carpet and nearby chair. The sheer might of his aura thrummed, exploding outwards with hurricane force. Stolas was sent tumbling backwards, his furniture cast about the room.

"D̞̱͕̞͙̠ị̞d̜̩̟̝͓̯̝͢ ̲̜̮̦̟͈͓y̘͟o̱̳u̠̫̹̰͍ ̝̼̮̜̠̘̭͜j̴̱͇͈u̗ͅst̡ p͍̕e̞͙̟͓͠t̥̖̺͖͓̦̕r̨̻̱̭̤̘͙i̟͙̰f̛̱̥̞͉͓y̫̹̰ ̻m̠̖̼̗e̛̹̯?̥̤̤!̻̻̩͓̼" Sallos bellowed, his voice a terrible, furious torture of sound, his eyes two supernovae of rage. "H̸̪͖̳̟̤̖o̤̺͓̼͉͎̖w̴͔ ̗̪̳͈̼̤d̪̲̥͎̜ͅa͢re̦̯̗͙ ͇̗̗y̰̫͍o̙̼̮͘u̥̫͓͈̘͇!̖̯͇̙̦!̻̰̘̮̲̫"

Stolas was in the air and across the room in an instant, his own aura clashing with the Duke's, hopelessly outmatched but unwilling to back down. "I̛̖͕͓͍̲͍ ̭w̵̮̲̠̙i̙͖̥̦̥̹̜͠l̺̻̤͇̺͉l͖͟ ͢ṋ̺̫̙̗o̷̩̳͈͓̣t̜͙̼͘ ̸̩͓̺̖l̼̣̬̯͍e̛͓̪͔͙̭t̸͓̻ ̨ý̭o̝̩͉͓͍͉u̧ ͅḫ͔̣̹͚̳͓u͚̻̯̪ͅr͖̕t͎̫͢ ̯͕̱̦ͅh̵͕e̞̻͈͖r̡̠̩̟̤̤̥͕!̼̝͜!̳̦̻̮́"

Sallos willed back his terrible rage, wrestling it into submission as his feet set down on the floor. He breathed deeply through his nose, a new suit flashing into existence on his massive frame. "La-La… I'm going to pretend that didn't happen. I'm here as a courtesy, purely out of my love for you… and her. I would not dream to harm a feather on her head, nor would I allow anyone to harm her in my stead. Octavia is safe."

Stolas' eyes narrowed in confusion. "But the decree…?"

"The decree stands," Sallos growled making for the door.

Stolas gasped as the realization struck. "Sally, you can't!"

Sallos opened the door, canting his head over his shoulder, not looking at Stolas. "You brought this on yourself, La-La."

Sallos closed the door behind him, telling himself he couldn't hear his cousin sobbing in his shambles of an office. He turned to see the odious creature he'd thankfully forgotten about, obediently lying on the floor.

"Rise."

It did.

He leaned his head over its shoulder, his voice low and authoritative. "You heard nothing."

It opened its mouth.

"Silence. You heard nothing, you'll say nothing, and you'll forget anything and everything you've ever known about my cousin or his family. Should it ever be made public, I will assume your guilt and punish you accordingly. Understood?"

It nodded.

"Good." He walked around it and made for the door, stopping and turning back, his fiery eyes pouring into its featureless red pits. "An order: I want you to use that wonderful, hideous imagination of yours to devise the most outlandish torture you can. I want you to write it down. I want you to mail it to me. Because if you so much as think of my niece again, I should like to do something worse. I expect that letter by the end of the week."

It nodded.

"Get out."

It moved for the door, only for Sallos to gesture for it to stop. "Oh, one more thing."

His hand shot up in a flash, a dull meaty rip echoed in the room followed shortly by a high, reedy scream. The lesser demon clasped its hand over its mouth, foul green blood spurting out between its fingers. Sallos looked at the glittering, reflective gold tooth clutched between his fingers, the root of it still stubbornly clinging to a bloody chunk.

"Captain Gallia is making a necklace. She appreciates your contribution," said Sallos, wiping the blood and tissue off on the demon's coat before tucking it into his breast pocket.

"Now, get out."

He pointed to the chute labeled 'garbage'. Slowly, reluctantly, the cowering insect scuttled towards the chute and, with a low, indignant sound, crawled in. The sound of it bouncing and crashing through the chute growing slowly more distant filled him with a meager satisfaction, but it was hollow. Stolas would not forgive him.

It was his duty, he would see it through, for the good of his family and Hell itself.

Charlie paced about in front of a whiteboard, her office empty. They'd all had questions, of course, but she'd deflected and disassembled and departed. She had questions herself, not then entirely sure of what she'd seen.

The door opened and in filed the staff, Vaggie, Husk, the Goats, and Niffty. They sat themselves down and waited. Vaggie and Husk in particular had distinct notes of 'I told you so' in their expressions, while Niffty and the Goats stared ahead blithely.

Charlie sighed and centered herself before turning around with a bright smile. "Hello everyone! I'm so glad you all could make to today's staff meeting!"

"What happened back there, Charlie!" Vaggie demanded, not even bothering with the pretense. "It looks like a bomb went off in that room!"

"What'd Al do to him?" Husk said, sounding almost outraged. "Moonchild's still out cold!"

"Okay, soooo…" Charlie tapped her index fingers together, clearing her throat nervously. "We have a problem."

Vaggie and Husk groaned and leaned back in their chairs, Niffty's hands shot to her mouth. "Oh no! It's the washing machines, isn't it? I thought they sounded a little funny the other day!"

"No, no the washing machines are fine," said Charlie, before pointing at Husk and Vaggie. "And you two! Shush! It turns out Moonchild's a little, uh…"

"Fuckin' nuts?" Husk grumbled.

Vaggie rubbed her temples. "Liable to get us all murdered by Duke Sallos?"

Husk jumped in his chair. "What?!"

"Both!" Niffty chirruped.

"Baaaah!" Razzle and Dazzle said, in unison.

"Quiet!" Charlie barked, pointing to each of them. "Husk! No, Moonie isn't insane! He's mentally ill, there's a difference! Vaggie, no one's gunning for the hotel! Niffty, also no. Raz, Daz, Benito Mussolini lives on the south side, you've met him!"

"Well, what is it then?" Vaggie said, gesturing down the hall. "That room's a shambles! Raz and Daz will be busy for days!"

"Bah," grumbled Raz.

"Bah!" exclaimed Daz.

"Yeah!" Husk said. "You tellin' us that Moonie did that?"

"No!" Charlie said, before sighing and shrugging. "Yes? Kinda."

"What's going on, Charlie?"

Charlie took a deep breathe before turning to the whiteboard, a sharpie in her hand. "Okay, it's a little complicated so I'll start from the top. Back in 1965…"

When Charlie was done, the whiteboard was a mass of scribbles and a crude rendition of both Moonie, who was smiling and circled with emphasis and no shortage of hearts, and his Lesser Half, who was a growling farce surrounded by frowny faces.

"…And so, from there on out, Diavolo was in control, and now Moonie's in Hell because he technically shares a soul with him," Charlie finished, adding the last flourish to a heart around Moonie. "So! Any questions?"

"Yeah, I got one," Husk said, raising his hand. "What the fuck is he still doin' here?!"

"Thank you!" Vaggie threw up her hands.

"Oh, for…" Charlie muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This again?"

"Yes, 'this again'!" Husk growled. "We can't keep doin' this, Chuck! The kid's a timebomb! He attacked you, and hurt ya, which, uh, I didn't even think was possible, and then he yanked out Alastor's fuckin' heart?! Yeah, No, he's gotta go!"

"He didn't hurt me that bad," Charlie grumbled, her arms folded as she pouted.

"He put a you-sized hole in the wall!" Husk said, standing up. "And that's not the worst part! He got the drop on Alastor! Chuck, no-one gets the drop on the Radio Demon! Kid's a stand-user, well that means so is Mr. Donut-Maker! If he can bend Chuckles over a barrel in a fight, then he must got some right busted powers, and that means we're all doggy-paddlin' up shit creek the next time the kid stubs his toe!"

Charlie rolled her eyes and shook her head. "It doesn't work like that, Husk! He's not the Hulk, he doesn't change when he gets angry or scared or anything. It's Moonie who has to bring him out, and if Moonie was the kind of person to do that, would he really hide in garbage every day? Would he be a meek little secretary? Moonchild's a good person, a gentle soul, and we're not giving up on him! He's sick and he needs our help if he's going to get better."

Husk opened his mouth to retort when Vaggie set a hand on his forearm, a resigned look on her face. "Don't bother. There's no way we're changing her mind on this."

"Thank you, Vaggie," said Charlie, her brow furrowing. "I think. Anyway, we're helping Moonchild, he needs us now more than ever. Any questions? Yes, Niffty?"

"This Other Guy, is he handsome?"

Charlie chuckled and shook her head. "He looks like Moonie, but bigger and filled with pure hatred."

Niffty wrung her little hands together. "Ooh, that's big yes!"

Vaggie raised her hand. "Yeah. Okay, how do we know if we're talking to Moonie or the Other Guy?"

Charlie chuckled and rubbed her sore ribs. "Oh, you'll know. Diavolo isn't subtle."

"Are we really callin' the dipshit 'Diavolo'?" Husk scoffed. "That just means 'devil' in Italian! How many people on earth were called 'Hugh Mann'?"

"He's earned the name."

Vaggie sighed. "Okay… but we know for sure Moonie won't, like, suddenly rip and tear our guts, right?"

"Would he really make such a terrible mess?" Niffty exclaimed before smiling. "That's hot."

"No, Vaggie, he won't. This isn't your average case of DID. Here, I'll have the expert explain." Charlie clapped her hands. "Alastor~! Staff meeting~!"

Alastor appeared in a flash of static, his back to them. The Radio Demon turned around, his smile jaunty but his eyes sang with murder. "How… how did you do that?"

"You know that deal we made, to make you part of the team?" Charlie said, holding up the Happy Hotel's staff contract. "That technically makes you a specialist, but it also un-technically means I'm your boss. It's all right here."

Alastor snatched the piece of paper and read it, green Pact energy coursing around him as he tested the boundaries of the deal. "…Clever little strumpet…"

Husk leaned forward and cackled aloud, an unabashedly happy grin on his face as he did. "How ya like it now, ya grinnin' shitheel?! Ha ha ha ha haaa! She done dished you out, ya gurnin' fuck! This is the best day of my miserable existence!"

Charlie smirked and steepled her fingers together. "Anyway, Al, if you could go ahead and fill everyone in on the whole Moonchild/Diavolo thing, that would be greeeeaaat~"

Alastor glared at her, additional flares of Pact energy arced around him, restraining him. "Right. Okay, simpletons, what we have here is a bog-standard case of 'stand-shenanigans'! See, when I put Moonchild under, I extruded his soul from his body where I could induce a state of suggestibility. Key word here is 'soul', singular. Now, for a humdrum case of split-personality–"

Charlie broke in. "Uh, Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID."

"Who did what?' Alastor chuckled, his hand plopping over Charlie's face before shoving her aside. "Anyway, I would have seen the soul fragmented in this state. I did not. Meaning…? Come now, come now! Audience participation is key!"

Vaggie huffed and rolled her eye as Husk clapped a hand to his face.

"Uh…" Niffty said, tapping her chin. "Oh! It wasn't there!"

"That's right! Good girl, Niffty!" Alastor pat her on the head before returning to the whiteboard, wiping it clean, his ghoulish shadow drawing on the board as he spoke. "The soul fragment, or 'Diavolo', isn't in Hell. However, the nature of souls has it that one soul is immutable and singular; a soul can be stomped, smashed, fractured, and bent, but no-one, not even Lucifer Himself can rend a soul asunder. This means that there's still a bit of connective tissue between the two of them, between Moonchild and our frisky friend with the killer right hook. The nearest I can guess is that Diavolo is somewhere in Limbo, in a pocket-dimension of sorts that has 'Stand-User' written all over it. The nature of Limbo means that the Mad Lad cannot force his way in, but must be called upon by Sad Lad. Meaning…?"

"Meaning," Husk said. "What? The kid's in control?"

"Bingo, Romeo!" Alastor said, winking. "When he delves deep and calls on that latent part of himself, whatever's working so very hard to keep these parts separate loses its grip and BAM! Punch joins Judy and we've got a problem! Which is why I think we should unionize and petition Charlie to–"

"Hah-ha! Okay!" Charlie broke in, pushing Alastor out of the way. "Thank you, Al! You're a peach, as always! So, what have we learned?"

"Shit's fucked," said Husk.

"But…" Vaggie said, shrugging. "We can… un-fuck it?"

"That's right!" Charlie cheered, pointing at Vaggie and then at Husk. "As is, if Moonchild calls on Diavolo, he gets taken over because…?"

"He's a pussy," said Husk.

Vaggie nodded. "A huge pussy."

"A huge, fishy-smelling–" Niffty said, smiling brightly.

"Thank you!" Charlie broke in again, her smile brittle. "Thank you all very much! But yes. He's passive, because all his active traits are currently screaming bloody murder in Limbo. But he's the bridge! This means all we have to do is, uh, pep him up! Give him some confidence, reinforce his sense of self. If we can help treat his trauma and positively reinforce his own ego and identity, maybe he'll be able to resist when we try and, well, reincorporate."

"Wait," Husk said, holding his hand up. "Pump the brakes. We're actually gonna try and redeem a dude who's named himself 'Diavolo'?"

"Yep!"

Husk sighed and leaned back in his chair. "…Okay."

"Husk, we have to try. As Alastor said, a soul cannot be separate from itself, which means if we want to help Moonie, we have to at least try and help Diavolo."

"I still ain't callin' him that."

"It makes sense to me," said Niffty. "If we build up the Moonchild persona up enough that its identity is fully realized, it may predominate when we call upon his shadow. From there we can work on emantiodromia, then assimilation, and, if successful, compensation and then wholeness. Only when the illness within Moonchild is dealt with can we tackle the madness in Diavolo, merging the two as a single soul capable of redemption."

Charlie, Husk, Vaggie and Alastor stared at the chipper little bug-demon, confounded.

"What?" Niffty shrugged. "I find Jung's work fascinating. It's all very tidy."

"Uh, okay, so," Vaggie said, gesturing to Charlie. "What's the plan?"

Charlie smiled and put her hands on her hips. "We build up his self esteem, reassure his sense of self, and, by God, we give him a little confidence!"

Husk smirked and folded his arms. "So, what, we're gettin' him laid?"

"No!"

A wry pause hung in the air.

"Well, I mean…" Charlie cleared her throat. "If that's what it takes…"