Chapter 10: Enantiodromia

The bell on the office door jingled as it swung open and shut. Loona didn't bother looking up, internally bracing for an onslaught of dumbass noise the Dipshit Duet was about throw her way. Blitzo really hadn't done her any favors by flaking on this mission.

Whatever.

She thumbed through her contacts, her newest posts to instagram were blowing up, as usual, and she had a duty to like all the comments by the usual suspects, maybe string some simps along, post yet another 'fuck work' pic. Between that and her actual work, today was shaping up to be real busy.

"Excuse me," said a deep, rumbling voice above her. "Is Blitzo in?"

Loona didn't look up. "No."

There was a pause. "…Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No." Loona thumbed through one of her friend's instagram, smirking at the rather fetch creature she was grinding on at the club. 'Nice. Like. Send pix bich'

"Can you take a message?" God, this dipshit didn't let up.

"No."

A hand swung into view and a massive finger tapped the top of her phone. The plastic blanched and cracked as the screen clouded over like old glass. The phone creaked and groaned, decaying away before her very eyes. Loona growled and shot to her feet, her snarl and glare faltering as her neck craned up, and up, and up. Standing before her, stooping under the 10 foot ceiling, was Grand Duke Sallos.

"Honestly, social media has got to be one of Lucifer's more insidious creations," said Sallos. "Don't care for it, myself."

"Uh."

"Do shut up, dear," he said, airily, setting his hands down on her desk as he leaned forward, the wood groaning under his immense weight, his aura crushing her down into her chair. "Now, listen and listen closely. Are you listening?"

Loona said nothing, her eyes like red dinnerplates as her ears laid flat, disappearing into her voluminous hair which was standing on end, the smell of ozone in the office was nauseating as the huge demon's titanic might just barely made itself known.

"I'm going to kill your dad." Sallos said, his tone chipper and amiable. "I'm going to hunt him down and kill him. But not before I torture him. He has information I need, and I'll have it. I'll strip away his mind like tearing pages from a book, and when naught but a husk remains, I'll chop off his head, put it on a spike, and deliver it to my cousin, as a…" he slapped his wrist, a light, effete movement that reported with a sound not unlike a shotgun blast. "Slap on the wrist, for allowing this farce to occur. Your co-workers, too. Perhaps I'll send all their heads, like a bouquet."

Loona said nothing, tears welling up in her eyes as he glared down at her.

He reached out and grabbed her chin, the fur and skin where he touched browned and blackened before turning grey and ashen. "I'd kill you too, if I thought you knew anything. Or if anyone important would care. But alas, blessed be the ignorant and ignominious."

He released her, her fur and skin instantly reverting to their former state.

"I want you to tell your dad, that imp. Tell him I'm coming, and soon. I want him to run, I want him to fight. So that I might yet derive some sort of pleasure from the godforsaken mission." Sallos stood up as straight as he could under the low ceiling, a placid smile on his face. "Understood?"

Loona cowered in her chair, trembling as tears spilled unbidden down her cheeks.

"Excellent." He made his way to the door. "You have a good day, now."

Husk's phone buzzed, he'd sent out feelers to all his contacts all over Hell, asking obliquely if anyone had heard anything. So far he'd gotten a lot of useless, indirect bullshit about 'trouble' and 'danger' around every corner. Yeah, no shit! This was Hell, trouble and danger were literally everywhere, more so than usual if Pokey wasn't just fucking with him.

'HOLY DIVER lives.' It echoed in his head, a cold, clawing dread squeezed his insides, making his stomach roll. How? How? He saw the fucker turn to dust and disappear! He sighed and sipped his scotch, Bunnahabhain 25; it was good, no doubt, but 100 souls an ounce?

Whatever, that blustering shitheel was footing the tab.

His phone buzzed, he glanced at it, seeing 'Chuck' flash on the screen, along with a picture of Charlie in a playboy bunny get-up she'd put on for Vaggie's birthday. Husk held Charlie in a peculiar regard, he respected her resolve and overall moxxy, even if he sometimes found her as grating as chirruping sandpaper. Still, she was a fine-looking woman and he'd have been a fool not to 'document' her choice of apparel that day.

'How's it going~?'

Husk grunted and sipped his scotch. 'good'

'Is Angel behaving? How's Moonie? Are you having fun?'

'yes good no'

'No? Why no?'

'ill tell you later' he paused before typing 'you?'

'Oh, we're doing fine over here. Having a girl's night! Alastor's complaining, but team-building exercises are vital for synergy.'

Husk smiled at the idea of whatever twee bullshit Chuck was making Chuckles endure. 'show him whos boss chuck'

'I will, don't worry!' There was a pause, the 'typing' logo pulsed for a few moments, as though Charlie was either penning a memoir or was typing and deleting in equal measure.

'what is it chuck?'

'Oh, just wondering if you guys will be back tonight.'

'no you and snatch can fuck all you like'

'LOL NO HUSK' Another pause, probably some flustered typing and retyping on her end before 'Well, okay. Hope you start having fun again! See you tomorrow! BYYYYYYE~'

Husk smirked to himself; Chuck needed some time off from this hotel bullshit, iron out the wrinkles, get some pep in her step, so she could recharge her stock of the mildly nauseating positivity needed to run that Hotel.

Speaking of getting laid…

"Hey, barkeep!" He barked. "Lookin' for some classy hooers. Not too expensive, but clean and friendly."

"Clean and friendly?" The bartender thought for a moment. "Vicky's Vixens are cheap, but they bite sometimes. Leather Mommies are real gentle as far as dominatrixes go. For a little more you can get PanHell Hooers and thumb through the catalog, find exactly what you want."

"Ayuh, lesee the PanHell one."

He produced the card and Husk scanned the barcode with his phone, automatically taking him the webste. Husk grinned, he was gonna get that poor kid some proper tail, the kind that didn't leave bruises and claw marks, therapeutic-like; and if he got a little trim while doing his job as a Hazbin, all the better. He made his orders and gave his info, room number, the whole nine. Hot'n'Fresh in 30 minutes or less!

Husk ordered a bottle-service of the Bunnahabhain 25 and set off for the hotel, tipping generously. He'd managed to pull down twenty or so grand while waiting for his sources to get back to him, so he was in a position to be generous. That's what he loved about Level Six at the Azathoth, it was piss-easy to snowball some cocky dipshits for a deep pot if you knew how to pick your marks. Dropping 60k tomorrow on a good hand with a boon like Moonchild on his lap could see double, maybe triple returns. He smiled; get the kid laid, make some money, maybe get him laid again, make even more money, a day or so here and he'd be a whole different kettle of fish.

He could get used to this whole 'rehab' thing.

'And to think,' he thought to himself. 'Ya almost blew it on a game with that scaly, soul-stealing asshole.'

It was true, his need had almost tanked a sure thing. Losing out on an honest roll was one thing, but intentionally pissing away a guaranteed money-maker? Thank God Moonchild had shown up when he did. He owed the little guy, and Husk might be a drunk and a card-junky, but he always paid his debts.

He strolled down the hallway of the in-house hotel, something cold raced up his spine as he drew near their suite: something was wrong. There was a smell in the air, dense, acrid, kinda musky. Fear? Adrenaline? Lust? It was hard to tell at a distance, but it was definitely pouring out of their room in waves. One or more persons in there were het-up about something.

At that moment Husk recalled he'd left Moonchild in there alone with Angel Dust. "Oh, for fuck's sake…"

Husk swatted the 'do not disturb' sign off the handle and keyed in. Stupid! Stupid! That spider was about as subtle and delicate as a vodka enema, and he very much doubted the whore took rejection well. Demure little Moonchild didn't stand a chance!

"Angel, you better not be–"

Five thugs turned their heads, two of them were restraining a terrified Angel and Moonchild, low, hateful grins on their faces. Husk, had he been sober, would have been able to draw his deadly cards faster. A huge, clawed hand took his wrist in a crushing grip, the much larger demon effortlessly yanking his arms behind his back, his joints screaming as they were pulled just below their limits, his bones grinding together. Husk was hauled bodily off the ground, the lead thug, a rippling three-eyed minotaur reclining in a loveseat chuckled, deep and foreboding, like thunder. Husk recognized him: Bastille, one of the former top-dog dope-slingers in West-Central.

"Ah, shame," Bastille rumbled, dragging on a robusto, his words as thick and greasy as the smoke pouring from his nostrils. "Was hoping for another hottie. Ah well, we'll just have to make do with these fine cuts, won't we boys?"

"The fuck is goin' on?!" Husk growled as the scaly monstrosity holding him kicked the door shut and walked over to the rest of them.

Bastille pulled the cigar from between his lips and shrugged. "Oh? Isn't it obvious? My boys and I are going to kill the three of you, but not before we paint the inside of this room with your innards. Revenge, you boozy fuck. This is about revenge."

"Revenge?" Angel spat. "For what?!"

"For what?" Bastille growled, rising out of the loveseat. "For what?! For you turning me down, for you getting your fucking psycho pal to blast parts out of me, for making me crawl, bleeding and sobbing and begging for my life in front of five hundred strung-out ravers! They streamed it! That's what for!"

"Okay, when ya put it like that…"

"You know what they're saying in the West-Central about the vending-machine blow?" Bastille said, brandishing his newly-regenerated arm. "They're saying 'that shit ain't worth a handshake from Bastille'! While I was laid up, my turf got sliced up by vultures and pigs, I lost the rights to A Star's Platinum! Because of you, I'm a fucking joke! A wash-up! A has-been! So now, I'm gonna cut what I'm due out of that cock-slot you call a body, Angelcakes. Hell, if I don't get too carried away, I just might be able to sell the pieces back to Valentino!"

Angel's eyes snapped open wide, a rictus of terror on his face. "No… No! I won't! Ya can't make me, ya fuckin'–! Lemme go!"

"Let's have some fun first, yeah?" Bastille said, taking Moonchild from one of his men. "Alla you, on him. Have fun, boys, you'd have to pay out the nose for ass this fine anywhere else."

Two of the thugs chucked, each grabbing an arm in each hand. Angel hissed, extruding his extra set, summoning a pair of Tommy guns. The submachineguns roared, spraying bullets all around, punching a trail of holes in the walls and ceiling. The two demons ducks out of the way, another one swooping in and grabbing the third pair of arms, twisting the weapons out of his grasp. Angel growled and kicked a powerful leg up in between the demon's spread legs. With a wheeze and a groan, he tottered away, his hands jammed into his groin. Angel moved to summon another set of weapons when the fourth thug swept in from the side, his melon-sized fist smashing into Angel's gut, knocking the wind out of him.

"He's tougher than he looks," muttered the demon restraining Husk.

"You have a right keen eye to see that, Bixi," Bastille growled, grabbing both of Husk's wrists, holding them fast. "Go help!"

Bixi nodded and rushed over as another kick sent a burly demon tumbling backwards. A solid two minutes of struggle and Angel was finally restrained, with two burly, slightly battered demons a side, holding all his various limbs in place, his legs spread wide. The fifth goon, a robust demonic panther with ram horns, panted with exertion, a look of murder in his eyes.

"Fuckin' bitch," he hissed.

"More'n y'can handle, pencil-dick!" Angel sneered.

"We'll see about that," he said, looking over to Bastille. "Right, boss?"

"Have fun, all of you," Bastille said, looking down at the sobbing fish-demon pinned helplessly under his massive arm, reaching up and grabbing his chin so he couldn't look away, but his eyes were squeezed shut. "Hey, there, prettyboy. No, no, don't cry. They won't hurt you. Ha ha ha! Fine slice of ahi like you? Nah. You're all mine."

"Moonie…" Husk looked over at Moonchild, desperation in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Moonchild opened his eyes and looked at him.

They were green.

Bastille chuckled, drinking in the look of rage on Angel's face, how expertly it masked his terror, his humiliation, his dread. At that moment, he decided he'd keep the whore in enough pieces to send back to his infamous former pimp. Val had been in a particularly horrid mood recently, and was no doubt looking for a good piece of ass to vent on. Favor with the head of the VVV Overlords was no small step on the road of his return to form.

The little fish-demon wriggled in his grasp.

"Try not to mess up the face too much," Bastille called as one of his men wound up a fist. "Val likes his meat pretty. So–"

–Angel Dust's head hung limply, blood dripping from a split lip, his expression dazed. Bastille blinked in confusion, something was… off. It took him a moment to realize that the perspective was different, lower. Was he sitting down? When did that happen? He didn't have that much to drink.

A low, horrified scream drew his attention to his left. It was the sour-faced sphinx, somehow on the other side of the room amidst debris, like he'd been thrown with great force. In his lap was the cause of his shock and horror: a meaty, severed forearm, a stark white protrusion of bone, an elbow joint, stood out amongst a red tatters of shredded flesh.

"Hey!" Bastille said, pointing his stump at the panicking former-hostage. "What–"

He looked down at the stump of his upper-arm. "What?"

He looked over at his other hostage, finding only another stump. He looked down, both his legs simply ended above the knees, he was standing on the splinters of his femurs in an expanding pool of his own blood.

"Uh…?"

"That took the fight outta him!" A goon restraining his right leg, a minotaur like Bastille, said. "Hit him again!"

"Where's that smart mouth now, huh?" The horned panther growled, grabbing Angel's neck, forcing his dazed eyes to focus. "Unless you want me to crank you again, you'll do the smart thing and open that smart mouth."

Angel glared and spat a wad of magenta blood, splattering it across the goon's face.

"You fuckingGGGLLRRK!"

A low, meaty crunch sounded, a torrent of red blood drowned the demon's fury, spraying from his mouth and splashing across Angel's chest. A huge, pale hand reached up and grabbed his shoulder, the low, wet sounds of flesh and gristle tearing sounded from deep within the panther-demon's chest, the base of his neck bulging from within. Long, taloned fingers burst from his neck, tearing upwards and grasping the base of his head like a chalice. With a jerk and a loathsome snap, his head was ripped from his shoulders.

The shape, a huge, red, scaly mass, rose up behind the twitching corpse in its grasp, its head stooped under the ceiling. A wild thicket of writhing pink tentacles spilled over its face, from which only its wide, glowing green eyes and maw filled with shark's teeth visible. A flick of its wrist sent the caprine-horned panther-head streaking through the air, the sound barrier shattering with a cannon report. The solid mass of horn and bone smashed into the upper body of the furthest demon on the right, obliterating it utterly in a squall of gore and limbs.

The nearest thug released Angel's leg and stepped back, turning to flee. "What the–"

"–fuck," his head mumbled as it landed in the arms of Bixi, the decapitated body running mindlessly into the far wall, collapsing a moment later.

"JESUS FUCK!" Bixxi cried, tossing the head and bolting for the door.

The minotaur thug had managed to slip away and collect one of the dropped Tommy guns, opening fire, full auto. "Motherfuck–"

–The Tommy gun clicked, empty, a drawer at the far end of the room a splintered shambles. "–er… wha–"

A massive fist came smashing down from behind, his head crumpling like a melon as it disappeared into his chest cavity, his horns jutting out of the crater between his shoulders like pincers.

Bixi grabbed the door handle and stopped dead, the hot, rancid breath of the monster lapping at his neck like a tongue. He slowly turned around, his nose curling at the rotten sea-smell, the reek of blood, of voided bowel and splattered brains. It towered over him, thoughtless eyes glowing like doomed, demonic lighthouses, gushes of spray and foam spraying from between its serrated teeth with each low, dirge-like exhalation.

"H-hey man…" Bixi stammered, his hands raised. "I quit! I'm out! Bastille ain't paying me enough for this shit! Just-just lemme go and you'll never see me again! We're cool, yeah?"

It stared at him, massive, muscular shoulders heaving, a low purring growl working its way into its breathing.

"P-please…" He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable disemboweling.

And waited.

He opened his eyes, it was gone. He looked out at the mangled, unrecognizable remains of his compatriots strewn across the blood-splattered interior of the suite. He breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the door, a smile creeping across his face. He looked over at the cowering spider demon and sphinx, their eyes as wide as dinnerplates.

"H-hey!" Bixi cackled hysterically, his eyes harrowed. "I-I think it's gone!"

Wood splintered, flesh ripped, and bones snapped. Bright green blood bubbled up out of Bixi's mouth as the tearing and snapping persisted, growing louder. He got over the shock and found his voice as a shrill, barking scream escaped his lips. Ten digits erupted from his chest, curling outwards, grasping and pushing away from each other. Bixi's scream reached a horrid pitch before his body was pushed past its limit, tearing in half lengthwise from the shoulder to the hip as the sea-demon smashed through the door, utterly destroying the frame and wall.

It loomed over its kill, head cocked to the side as Bixi's mouth worked wordlessly, eyes dead. With a roar it brought its foot down, pulverizing his head under its heel.

"M-Moonie?"

Its head snapped up at the sound.

"Oh…" Husk whimpered as the towering beast tromped over, heedlessly crushing the splattered remains of the goons. "Fuck."

"H-hey, Moonie, c'mon!" Angel stammered, subtly pushing Husk out in front of him. "It's me, Angel! And Mr. Husk! Remember us? Moonie?"

"That ain't Moonie," Husk said out the corner of his mouth, not wanting to provoke it with loud noises.

"Waddaya mean?" Angel hissed as the two of them backed up with each step it took. "Lookit the hair! The coloring! That's Moonie!"

"No, it ain't," Husk said as they were inevitably backed up against the wall. "Meet Diavolo."

"Devil? That's lame."

Diavolo growled as he loomed over them, those crushing, tearing talons flexing as he slowly reached for them.

A warbling shriek split the air as the floor beneath their feet flashed purple. Husk and Angel cried out as they phased through the floor, landing painfully on the floor of the room below, Angel collapsing on Husk in a heap.

"Angel?!" Cherri Bomb exclaimed, helping him up off the floor, checking him over, fretting over the blood and his split lip. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, hey, I'm fine, thanks!" Husk growled from under the spider.

Sir Pentious holstered his phase-inducer and drew his proton-gun. "Sssorry for the tardiness, it took a moment to calibrate the phase-inducer for plywood and plassster."

"Yeah, no one cares," said Cherri, hands on her hips. "We saw Bastille and his boys spot you earlier, decided to rent out the room under yours, just in case." She looked around. "Where's the fishboy?"

A hair raising bellow shook the hotel walls, dust fell from the ceiling.

"He'll be right in," Angel said, his tone hushed and horrified. "Ey Penny, we'll be wantin' yer portal gun at the ready."

"It'sss not a portal gun!" Sir Pentious hissed. "It's a matter phassse inducer that shifts the quantum ssstate of–"

The ceiling burst inward in a shower of splinters and pulverized plaster, a massive form crashing down into the room.

"Who–"

"RUN!" Husk screamed, grabbing the phase-inducer and firing it at the wall. "RUN, DAMMIT, RUN!"

The phase-inducer thrummed and the wall flashed purple. The quartet bolted for the opening, hopping into the next room. The hulking figure rose from the debris, its eyes hellish lanterns shining through the plaster dust, watching them. No. Watching him. Husk pressed the trigger again and the wall returned to normal. Wasting no time, he took aim at the opposite wall.

"What the fuck?!" The room's occupant sputtered, the prostitute next to him didn't even look up from her phone; he jumped from bed and marched over to the intruders. "Get the fuck out of here!"

Without a word they ran out through the altered matter, the wall returning to normal a second later.

"Yeah, you better run!" He called after them, puffing out his chest. "See that, babe? Sent those bitches pack–"

The wall burst outward in an explosion of sound and splinters, a huge red blur rushed by, a careless swing of an arm as he passed caught the occupant across the back of the head, obliterating everything above his lower jaw. The prostitute screamed and scurried off the bed, peering over it to see a gaping hole in the opposite wall. She walked over to the twitching, mostly-headless body on the floor, rifling through his pockets for his phone and wallet.

"What the fuck is that thing?!" Cherri cried as they ran through another room, shoving a demon out of her way.

"That was Moonie," Angel said, hopping over a loveseat and through a phased wall. "Kid's got issues."

"I'll sssay!" Pentious hissed, beginning to pant.

"Why's he after us?" Cherri said, absentmindedly throwing down trip-wire bombs.

"Because we know who he is!" Husk said, firing the phase-inducer again. "This other side to him, he's a fucking lunatic who'll kill anyone who knows anything about him!"

"You knew about this, Husk?!" Angel exclaimed. "Ya knew the kid was nuts and ya took him along anyway?!"

A series of detonations sounded through the walls, but the ongoing charge of their pursuer continued regardless.

"He ain't nuts!" Husk growled. "He's mentally ill! There's a difference!"

"Do we have any sssort of plan outside of running like lemmingsss?!" Sir Pentious said, whipping out his ray-gun and disintegrating an occupant in his path.

"Not getting pulverized is a good plan!" Angel said, hearing the encroaching crashes of their pursuer through the walls. "The best plan!"

"It is, but I got another," Husk said, smiling. "Now, if I recall correctly…"

The next wall they walked through deposited them into an austere, dimly lit room festoon with shelves and locked cubbies, the walls were dull steel and exposed wiring.

"Where are we?" Cherri said, looking around.

"One of the Sixth Level's safes," said Husk, panting lightly. "Steel walls a foot thick."

"Ya think that'll keep him out?"

"Nah," Husk said, pointing at the still-phased wall. "He'll get in easy."

"What are you doing?!" Sir Pentious screamed. "Un-phase the wall! He'sss coming!"

"What the fuck is this shit?" One of the occupants said, staring that the shimmering, translucent wall. "Like a magic trick or something?"

"I'd move if I was ya," said Angel as he stood off to the side, beckoning Pentious and Cherri to follow him.

"What? Wh–?"

The wall bowed out in a shockwave, like a bubble it expanded outwards before popping into a storm of pulverized wood and plaster. The occupant didn't so much as bounce off the rampaging sea-demon as he splashed off him, his pulped remains sliding off his red, glittering scales as he ran through the room. Diavolo roared as he streaked through the phased wall, smashing into the opposite side of the room with titanic force, the cubbies crumpling and bursting in a cloud of bills and coins. Husk and the rest of them pressed themselves into the far corner of the safe, he deactivated the phase-inducer, returning the wall to its former impenetrable state.

"Husk…" Angel said, quietly, as Husk fiddled with the aperture dial.

Diavolo's head snapped over to them, his eyes glowing circles of green peering out from a tangle of writhing tentacles, his white teeth catching the dull light of the single bulb overhead. He slowly made his way over to them, his body smeared with a dingy spectrum of demon blood, shredded viscera hanging off him in dangling tatters. He menaced the cowering quartet, a low, raspy growl building in his chest.

"Husk!" Angel said, more urgently.

"Sorry kid," Husk said, leveling the phase-inducer at him. "You need a time-out."

He pointed it at the floor and fired just as Diavolo lunged forward. The four of them slid through the floor before returning it to normal, now high over the packed casino floor of the Fifth Level. Husk strained with effort as his wings flapped, the other three hanging off him as he slowed their descent. Husk sputtered and panted, his wing-beats becoming shaky and strained as he struggled over to one of the huge, tacky chandeliers hanging high over the throng of gamblers below. With a final effort he hauled them over it and collapsed, the four of them set down safely into the garish platform.

Husk panted raggedly face down as the others took stock of themselves, astonished they were whole.

"Quick thinkin', Mittens!" Angel said, pulling Husk into a tight hug, peppering him with kisses.

"Yeah, I just hope that the kid can calm down," Husk said, too tired to get Angel to stop kissing him. "You know, Chuck made that guy sound a lot more, uh, eloquent. That thing up there just seems…"

"Feral. He's rocking out in his unleashed form, maybe that's why?" opined Cherri, looking over at Pentious, who was examining a gadget with a screen. "Noodle, you okay?"

"Yesss," he said, not looking up from the contraption. "Now that we're sssafe, I thought I'd ask. Did any of you notice sssomething odd before we ressscued you from Bastille?"

"Bastille wasn't much of a problem when yous guys rescued us," Angel said, smiling sardonically. "Bein' a housekeeper in Hell is bad enough, that mess up there will take a year ta scrub out!"

"Anssswer the question!" Pentious said, pointing the screen. "My multi-spectral scanotron's detected a series of dissstortions in rapid sssuccession!"

Husk though for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Oh! Diavolo! When he was smearing those mooks, he did this, like, teleportin' trick."

Angel's eyes snapped open, his face blanching. "Husk…"

"I don't think it wasss 'teleporting'," said Pentious, showing them the screen. "My chronometrotron detected a ssseries of lapses in all scans for ssstretches of time as long as three seconds!"

"Husk."

Cherri crossed her arms, her single eyebrow arched and questioning. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, that on four ssseparate occurrences, the positronic brain in my ssscanner didn't register any input. Which is impossible unless sssomething erased that data!"

"Husk!"

"What?!" Husk barked, turning to Angel. "The Snake's on about something important!"

"Remember when he tore that chump in half like a phonebook?" Angel said, his voice flat and terrified. "How'd he get outside the room?"

Husk opened his mouth to dismiss him, his eyes snapping open wide as both their gazes shifted up to the ceiling. "…Oh, fuck."

"What are you guys talking about?" Cherri said, reaching out to Angel–

–Her hand grasping his shoulder.

"There it isss again!" Sir Pentious said, excitedly. "What is that?"

A thunderous crash split the air, the alarmed screams of patrons below. The four of them inched over to the side of the chandelier, peering over the side. Standing in the middle of a shattered roulette table was Diavolo, the slowly spinning wheel clicked and clacked as the marble landed on 00.

"Hey!" Exclaimed one of the patrons around the rubble. "I won!"

A pale hand the size of a platter smashed down on the speaker, his entire body telescoping like an accordion before bursting open. A demoness screamed as bloody mist splattered on her face, which was ripped from her skull with a swipe, sending her body cartwheeling through the air. Diavolo reared up and bellowed before diving into the tightly packed crowd.

"Holy shit!" Cherri said, even her iron stomach lurching at the sight. "He's fucking swimming through those people!"

A lithe, willowy arm flew up past them, Angel reached out and grabbed it, pulling off the diamond-studded gold bracelet and stuffing it into his pocket before tossing the arm back.

Bodies and body-parts were cast all around, an imp caught a glancing blow and hurtled into a pillar at speed, splattering in half. A large draconian demon waded through the panicking masses fleeing the rampaging devil, a low, orange light glowing out between the scales of his chest as he inhale, small tongues of flame lapping out between his fangs.

"Dracarys!"

His mouth split open and a torrent of flame issued forth, engulfing a score of fancy demons, reducing them to ash, the sea-monster looked up from the demon pulp in its hands and–

–The pillar of flame hit the open bar. Much of the cheaper alcohol available on the Fifth Level were technically fuel-grade and the oblong establishment disappeared in a fiery explosion. Dozens of demons danced about it, wreathed in a second skin of flame.

Pentious' scanotron trilled once again. "Fascinating!"

The dragon blinked in surprise, a wave of flame still issuing from his maw. A pair of huge arms shot out from behind him, smashing together over his snout with a bony crunch, quashing the stream of hellfire. The dragon-demon writhed and clawed at the hands crushing his snout shut, his chest expanding as small jets of flame flashed out between the scales, the light within him getting brighter and brighter. Diavolo growled and hurled the glowing dragon at the clump of demons futility crowded around the doors. Dozens were reduced to ash by the ensuing explosion, scores more set aflame or pulverized.

"How doesss that work?"

"Hmmm…" Angel tapped his chin, deep in thought.

"Here comes casino security!" Husk exclaimed, pointing.

Around two dozen guards armed with machine guns barged onto the game floor, immediately identifying the cause of the commotion. Diavolo growled and marched towards the new threat, casually decapitating a half-dozen sinners, imps, and hellhounds in his way with a backhanded swipe. The guards leveled their heavy bore weapons and opened fire–

–torn to pieces as a fusillade of heavy weapons fire ripped into the panicked crowd. The guards started, confused at the sudden lapse. A paint-peeling roar from behind caused them to spin around. A flurry of fists and talons sent heads and limbs flying as intestines and viscera splattered on the ground. A guard was hurled bodily through the air at bullet speeds, catching a cluster of them lengthwise, eight guards were reduced to a smear of limbs and blood across the gaming floor. A bisected guard crawled away, weeping and begging when a foot smashed down on his head, his helmet crunching like a beer can filled with blood.

"Angel, what the fuck?!" Husk roared. "Now?!"

Angel looked down and saw his hand between Husk's legs, firmly grasping his nondescript crotch; Angel's eyes snapped open with a revelation. "That's it! Penny!"

Pentious turned away from the carnage below. "What?"

"Time! The fucker's skippin' time!"

"What?"

"Look!" Angel said, pointing to his hand and its contents. "I figgered somethin' was up, so I told myself I was gonna grab Husk's cock in two seconds, then, when Devil-guy did his thing, there it was, without me or him knowin' it!"

"Angel, leggo of my–!"

"Listen, dipshit!" Angel growled to Husk. "Moonie's a stand-user, he can see the future or somethin', right? Well, that walkin' Cuisinart down there must be able to skip time or somethin', jump ahead a few seconds without anyone or anythin' knowin'!"

"Yes…" Pentious said, tapping away at his scanotron. "Of course! The ladyboy has precognition, he can sssee any coming danger. That beast must be able to see the future and erassse any threat to himself, leaving the consequencesss of all actions within that erased time to play out without effecting him! The ultimate defense!"

"Okay, that's…" Husk pondered this for a moment. "Fucking broken. That still don't explain why yer still chokin' my pud, Bug!"

Angel gave him a jaunty squeeze. "…Fancy a shag?"

Husk slapped Angel's hand away, carefully crawling closer to the edge and scanning the abattoir below. "If he had Moonie's full abilities, he'd have known exactly where we were. Luckily the fucker's outta his mind, we just might be able to get away."

The surviving guards clustered together, back to back, their eyes wide and terrified in their helmets. Diavolo inched forward, prompting them to step back in a clump. One of the guard's nerve broke, he screamed shrilly and opened fire, dumping the rest of his magazine at the crimson horror.

Diavolo, his arms an impossibly fast blur, deflected each and every bullet, sending them streaking into nearby survivors. The last bullet he cast aside with a swipe, sending it ricocheting off a guard's helmet, where it caromed off a parabolic mirror, skewing upward, towards the cable holding the chandelier to the ceiling. The four on the chandelier flinched at the high, warbling sound of a high-tension wire snapping. They looked up to see the cable, stripped and fraying as more and more cables succumbed.

"Fuck me runnin'," Husk said, hoarsely.

With a final snap, the chandelier dropped. Sir Pentious wrapped himself around Cherri and fired a grappling hook at the ceiling, arresting their plummet. Cherri reached out to grab Angel, but was too late, Husk and Angel fell away with the chandelier. The cluster of guards underneath only had time to look up and scream before over a ton of steel framing, slicing glass, and electrical cables smashed down on top of them, many hues of blood squirting out from underneath the shattered wreck.

Husk and Angel groaned and stirred, briefly taking stock of themselves.

"Huh…" Angel said, relieved. "Still in one piece."

Husk took a step back, his ears flat against his head. "Not for long…"

Towering over them was ten feet of impossible demonic might, of rage, fury, and mindless violence. Diavolo snorted and advanced on them, long, powerful fingers grasping, flexing, dripping with the blood of countless demons. He stopped just a few feet from them, his hunched shoulders thew and tense, his teeth grit together in a gnashing scowl. His hands bunched into fists, squeezing so hard his arms began to tremble.

Why? What was he waiting for?

His eyes, for the briefest instant, flashed fuchsia.

"Moonie!" Husk said, stepping forward. "Moonchild!"

Diavolo loomed over him, talons flexing as he growled like a chainsaw; Husk was undeterred. "Yeah! Can't do it, can ya, ya ugly fuck? Somethin' inside is stoppin' ya, and ya don't know what it is! Well, I'll I do! Moonchild!"

The massive demon flinched at the name, a lowing moan escaping its lips. Husk laughed and took another step forward. "He's stronger now, isn't he? Yeah, he is! Ya can't just stomp him down anymore, can ya, ya sick piece a'shit!"

Diavolo took a step back, Husk pressed his advance. "Fight him, Moonie! Ya brought him in, now send him back! Fight him!"

"Yeah, Moonchild!" Angel cheered, jumping forward. "This droolin' fuck ain't got shit on ya, kid!"

The hulking demon hissed ferociously, but ceded ground to the pair, his posture taking on a distinct cower.

"He needs ya t'be here!" Husk said, jabbing a finger at Diavolo, who drew away like a scolded dog. "Not the other way around! Y'don't need him! Ya never did!"

Diavolo roared and lunged at Husk, his murderous clawed hands suffused with unthinkable strength, ready to rip and tear.

"Ya don't need him 'cause ya got us!" Husk declared, smiling triumphantly as those killing hands closed in. "Now, go kick his ass."

Diavolo stopped in his tracks and yowled shrilly, hands shooting to his face as he stumbled backwards. His fingers parted to reveal another, smaller face growing out of his forehead, a familiar face.

"Ya got this kid!" Angel cheered. "Ya got 'im onna ropes!"

The face grew, pushing out of the wild bunch of tentacles, taming them, fusing them back together. Moonchild's face grew, the horror beneath him shrank, crushed down and away, its lantern eyes squeezed shut, the gnashing toothy max loosing a wheedling cry as it was shunted aside. The towering beast shrank, its bulging musculature receding, sharp, armored scales slipped back beneath the surface of smooth, rubbery skin. He doubled over, falling to his knees as his mighty frame retreated.

"Moonie?" Husk said, venturing forward. "Moonchild?"

The figure on the ground panted, his breathing ragged. "Mr. Husk… if it's all the same to you, I think I'd like to head to bed."

Husk laughed and rushed forward, grabbing the disheveled, naked demon and pulling him into a warm embrace. "Kid! Ha ha ha! I knew y'could do it!"

Angel Dust was on them in a second, laughing wildly. "Moonie, yer fulla surprises! Just, uh, don't bust that one out again anytime soon, yeah?"

"Heh heh heh…" Moonchild chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. I wouldn't want to cheapen it with… with-with–"

Moonchild doubled over and vomited, shuddering violently before breaking down into ragged sobs.

Husk pulled him close and stroked his head as he sobbed into his chest, Angel Dust drew them both into a crushing bearhug until Moonchild calmed down.

"I need a shower," Moonchild muttered.

"Ha! I think we could all use a good soak," Husk said, patting him on the shoulder. "Let's go grab our shit and bounce."

They slowly helped Moonchild to his feet, he hissed and flinched. "Ooh… I hurt all over. Feels like I went too hard at the gym…"

He noticed Husk and Angel staring at him, their eyes wide and expressions dumbfounded. "What? What is it?"

"Ya look like ya went too hard at the gym," Angel said, looking him up and down.

"Moonie…" Husk whispered. "Ya changed."

"What? I…" He looked down at himself. "I'm naked."

"Nah, Moonie, look." Husk stepped closer, his eartips now barely reaching Moonchild's chin. "Ya look…"

"Hot," Angel said, grinning. "Ya done twunked out, kid!"

Moonchild looked himself over, he was taller, more muscular. He reached up and felt his face, feeling the stronger, more robust bone-structure there, even his 'hair' was different, more bangs and strands. "What…?"

"What do ya, uh," said Angel, hesitating. "Ya remember anythin', Moonie?"

He looked over at Angel, his eyes wide. "…Everything."

"Hey! Angel!" Cherri called from up high. "Is it safe to come down there? Is he cute again?"

They walked through the blasted hole that used to be the door to their suite, Angel winced at the stench of blood and viscera. The kid had made a right mess and no mistake.

Still, beat the alternative.

Speaking of…
Moonchild, presently dressed in a toga made from a bedsheet and a stupid baseball cap to conceal his identity, tried his best not to look at his lesser half's handiwork, busying himself instead with collecting his few belongings. Husk rifled through the pockets of the eviscerated mooks, stuffing any bills he found in his pockets, his ear twitching as he heard a weak moan. "Uh-oh…"

"Let him handle this himself," said Cherri, grinning. "This oughta be good."

"Hey, Bastille," Angel crooned, his tone like icy daggers. "Long time no see. Funny, I remember ya bein' taller."

Bastille said nothing, whimpering as he crawled away on his ragged, bleeding stumps. Angel walked after him, his expression serene but his eyes radiated sheer, murderous hatred. After a following the amputee for a few satisfying feet, Angel kicked Bastille in the ribs, knocking him into his side. Another painful kick got him on his back.

"A-Angel! Please!" Bastille sputtered, his stumps waving in a way that would have been comical were it not so pathetic. "I-I'll never come after you again! Never! I-I learned my lesson, nobody fucks with Angel Dust, yes sir!"

Angel grinned. "Beg."

"Please! Please, don't kill me!"

Angel set a boot on his chest. "Buy."

"I-I gotta K of the good stuff, the real shit! Pure as pure gets! Sell it for a Mil or shoot it up, I don't care! Just please–"

Angel reached into his purse and leaned over, the mirror polished surface of the blade flashed in the soft light of the suite. Bastille's eyes snapped open wide as Angel drove the tip of his long, Seraphic Steel dagger deep into the minotaur's throat. Bastille coughed and struggled, gurgling as his own blood flooded his lungs, the holy metal burning away his demonic resilience with a sizzle. His movements became less and less animated until, finally his head thudded against the gore-splattered floor, his eyes flashed magenta and went dead.

Cherri cheered, clapping raucously. "Ice-fucking-cold, babe!"

"Mossst cold-blooded!" Sir Pentious said, nodding approvingly.

Angel put the dagger back into his back and ran a hand through his hair, sighing contentedly. "I calculate that's the end of our time here, eh Mittens?"

An unfamiliar voice sounded. "Ummm… hi?"

The five of them spun about, drawing whatever weapons they had to hand. The two prostitutes, a succubus and an incubus, flinched and hid behind their purses. "W-we're with PanHell Hooers, is there a Mr. Husk here?"

"Shit, right," Husk said, all that felt like an eternity ago. "Hey, uh, sorry about the, uh… mess."

"What happened here?" The incubus said, looking around the room.

"They talked shit," said Angel.

"And got hit," said Cherri, fist-bumping the spider.

"Uh, hey, here," said Husk, handing them each a pair of hundred-soul bills. "You didn't see us, yeah?"

They took the money and beat a hasty retreat.

"Well, Cherri, Penny, it was good seein' ya," said Angel, looping his arms around Husk and Moonchild's shoulders. "But I think the three'a us need ta head on back to the Hotel and have a heart attack."

"You could say that again," grumbled Husk.

"Mmh." Moonchild grunted, his eyes distant.

"Good seeing you again, Angie," said Cherri Bomb, snapping her fingers at Moonchild and winking (blinking?). "And you, Moonie, you're an interesting guy! Love your work. We gotta hang out more. Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta take this dork home and cap off the night. Come on, babe, it's 4PM!"

"What? No, it's not! It'sss–" Sir Pentious' eyes snapped open in realization. "Oh! Yesss honey~"

The power-couple left, leaving a slightly disgusted Angel Dust in their wake. "Still grosses me th'fuck out."

Husk looked at his phone and sniffed. "Cab's here. C'mon, let's make like trees and fuck off."

"I hear that."

They made to leave, stepping over the pulverized remains of their former tormentors. Moonchild paused and looked at the room, greening slightly. He adroitly reached into Angel's purse and produced several 100-soul bills, leaving them on the counter in the tip-envelope for housekeeping.