Chapter 14: Coniunctio

Charlie hummed to herself as she set about organizing the hobbies. Hobby-Swap Attempt #3: This Time, It's Personal! Clay, painting, Lego, karaoke, the works! Now that

Moonie had, erm, 'pacified' the princess, he was sure to make progress in his therapy! Not to mention watching those two kids bond over silly games and crafts was going to be absolutely adorable.

The usual suspects filtered in over time. First Vaggie and Angel, they were arguing over something, as usual.

"C'moooon, Snatch!" Angel moaned. "If we's grounded, can't we at least call in some good times? I know some girls what'll rev even yer icy engine, and they dance for cheap!"

"No, Angel, even if we did have the money!"

"Howzit we's got two fuckin' princesses under this roof, and we's still a buncha broke chumps?!" Angel looked over at the spread, rolling his eyes. "Really, Chuck? Hobby-swap again?"

"No…" Charlie said, wagging her finger. "There were interruptions the last two times. They didn't count. We're going to find something for Moonie to express himself with if it kills me!"

"Plus," Vaggie said, smirking. "Watching the the lovebirds mess around with clay will be the cutest shit."

"Oooh!" Angel squealed, grinning, a pair of hands clasped together in front of him while another held his blushing face. "Maybe they'll start ghostin'!"

"Ghosting?" Charlie said, cocking her head to the side.

"Yeah, from the Patrick Swayze movie with Demi Moore?" Vaggie said, coming up behind Charlie, holding her from behind. "Where they make the pottery and that corny song starts playing."

"Ohhh my looove~" Angel crooned. "Mah daaarliiin'…"

"Jeez!" Husk grumbled as he walked through the door. "Are ya torturin' a cat in here?"

"Nah," Angel said, winking at him. "But I can make one hurt so good for the right price!"

"Pass." Husk brushed by him and glanced at the table, the assorted nonsense atop it. "Third time's the charm, eh, Chuck?"

"You know it!"

Husk poured himself some coffee from the urn and sat down, looking between the three of them. "What's got you birds all het up?"

"Oh, just, uh, excited to get on with the program!" Charlie said, blushing.

"Ah-huh," Husk muttered into his coffee. "Not basking in young love?"

"No!" Charlie said, defensively, before adding, sotto voce. "Not entirely, anyway…"

"Yeah. Right." Husk snorted and tossed his full cup at a shadowy corner. "What about you, Chuckles? You crunchin' diamonds wit' yer asscheeks to make macramé?"

Alastor rose out of the shadow, the coffee on his suit evaporating without a trace. "Hardly. I'm here to see what new tomfoolery will interrupt our wholesome hostess' valiant attempt to redeem a mentally misaligned mass murderer!"

Husk blinked and shrugged. "Fair enough. My money's on another hallucination."

"Fifty bucks says Stolas crashes the party!" Angel said, cackling. "Angry Hoot-Daddy!"

"Yer on!" Husk chuckled. "Hallucination here. Fifty buck buy-in, takin' all comers!"

"I want in!" Vaggie said. "My bet's on Stand shenanigans!"

Niffty fell from a ceiling vent with a squawk, dusting herself off a second later. "Fifty bucks says she portals them out of here to make sweet love!"

"Why do I even bother pretending we're professionals?" Charlie moaned, palm to her face.

All heads turned as Moonchild and Octavia entered the room, the pair stopping as the group attempted and failed to look natural.

"Well, this is a good start to the day," grumbled Octavia.

"…Just enough water so the clay doesn't stick, but not too much that it starts to dissolve," said Charlie, sculpting her brick of clay. "It's a balance. Part of learning to sculpt is figuring out which style works for you. Some people like it a little stickier, but others like it nice and wet!"

Angel snickered as he crafted an ambiguously phallic sculpture.

"It's all about you! Make it personal, make it yours!"

Moonchild put the finishing touches on his sculpture and smiled, he was no professional, but he think he got Octavia's likeness down well enough. Charlie said to make anything so long as he made it his, and right now Octavia was all he needed. He sat up and smiled, looking around the room.

Vaggie had taken a lump of clay, stabbed a series of holes in it with a pen, dubbed it a pen-holder, and was now sipping coffee and reading a how-to book listing the habits of successful administrators. Niffty was carefully and dutifully crafting a Hummel figurine holding a severed head. Alastor stood before his lump of clay, hands folded neatly behind his back; the lump of clay bled and whined like a tormented dog. Charlie was busily working away on something that he suspected was supposed to be a bowl, but had since collapsed into yet another ash tray. He turned to glance at Octavia who, using her talons, had dry-carved the block of clay into a stylized sculpture of an owl on the wing with a fish in its talons. She noticed his attention and smiled, winking at him.

"Cocksucker!" Husk barked as his oversized mug collapsed again. "Piss-sippin' taint-licker! Whyzit keep doin' that?!"

Moonchild looked back in the past, 100 seconds played a dozen times over from multiple angles in an instant. "I think I know, Mr. Husk. You need to maintain consistent thickness all the way up."

"Oh, izzat all?" Husk sneered. "Cuz I've just been wingin' it this whole time!"

"Well, you have to, uh, see you do this thing with your hands and…" Moonchild got to his feet and made his way over. "Here, I'll show you."

"What're you–" Husk said as Moonchild swept up behind him, sitting down on his stool behind him. "Hey!"

"You just hold your hands like this." Moonchild pulled Husk close between his legs and reached around, taking Husk's hands in his and guiding them to the collapsed pile of clay, his larger, muscular frame neatly encapsulating the smaller demon. "Here, like that, and try to imagine a line and just sculpt the clay to it, try not to push inward past that line."

The clay spun on the turn table, as Moonchild guided a blushing, conflicted Husk through the process, his square jaw resting on his shoulder.

"What're you making anyway?" Moonchild said into his ear.

"Uh…" Husk mumbled, simultaneously flustered and indignant. "A beer stein. It's lookin' good, I think I got it. Y'can stop now."

Moonchild smiled, gingerly caressing Husk's knuckles with his thumbs. "I think we make a good team."

Husk looked around and noticed the wry smiles and teasing looks from the rest of the circle. "If any a'you wiseasses so much as hum three notes of that Righteous Brother's song–!"

"Ohhhh my loooove~!" Vaggie and Charlie harmonized.

"My daaarliiing~" Angel said, blowing Husk a kiss.

Alastor leaned into view, grinning maliciously. "I've hun~gered for your…"

"Touch!" Moonchild broke in, restraining a furious Husk with a muscular embrace. "A looong, lonely time~"

"Get the fuck offa me!"

The circle broke into laughter as Husk shot to his feet and stormed over to the coffee urn, pouring himself a cup, smiling despite himself. Moonchild put the finishing touches on the beer stein before looking up at Octavia, who was examining his sculpture.

"Hey, Moonie," she said, cocking her head. "Who's this?"

Moonchild smiled, wiping his muddy hands on a towel. "Oh, someone important to me. Maybe you've met her."

Octavia turned the table around, revealing a sculpture of a beautiful young woman, a human woman. "No, I don't think I have."

Moonchild started with shock, rising to his feet. "What? But… but I could have sworn…"

He made his way over to it, examining the agonizingly familiar face, Octavia folded her arms across her chest, an unimpressed look on her face. "Well? Who is she?"

"What's going on over here?" Charlie said.

"Moonchild carved a girl," Octavia said, turning the sculpture to Charlie. "An important girl."

"Oh no…" Charlie said, horrified. "Moonie… is that your mother?"

Octavia arched an eyebrow. "His mother?"

"First time we did a hobby-swap, Moonchild hallucinated he was sewing his mother's mouth shut," said Angel, dryly. "Wit' fishin' line."

"What?!"

"She's not my mother…" Moonchild muttered, his eyes distant. "She's my daughter."

A gasp rose from the circle, Octavia's eyes went wide. "Your what?!"

"My–Agh!" Moonchild doubled over, hands clasping his head, he felt as though it would burst with the sudden surge of information, memories, the thoughts and feelings of someone else, someone deeply disturbed and hideously violent. Hatred. His daughter. Defeat. Confusion. Then Fear. Pain. Death. Fear. Pain. Death. Fear. Pain. Death. Fear. Pain. Death.

His eyes snapped open as he shot to his feet, his immediate future playing out in an instant. He turned to a stunned Octavia. "Via! I need a portal, now!"

"What?"

"A portal, a portal to Earth!"

"Where on Earth?" She said, the absurdity of the situation finally sinking in. "Why? Moonie, what's going on?"

"I need a portal to Earth, now! Random location!" He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Via, just do it!"

Octavia saw the burning determination in his eyes, whatever was going on, Moonchild knew what was going on, and that was enough for her. "Okay!"

She summoned the grimoire and opened a portal to Earth. The couple leapt through and, with a flash, they were gone.

The circle was gripped with a stunned silence, broken only when Angel said: "So, uh, who won?"

"Me!" Niffty cheered. "Pay up, losers!"

"We don't know if they ran off to fuck!" Vaggie said, crossing her arms. "We'll have to wait until they get back. I still bet it was Stand shenanigans."

Charlie sat down in her chair, swept her legs up onto the table, knocking the other hobbies to the floor before snapping her fingers at Husk. "Husk."

Without a hint of hesitation Husk reached into a pocket and produced a hip-flask, which he tossed to her. Charlie capped the flask and began to drink.

The streets were choked with people. Protestors marched en masse, signs and banners blazing the words 'End Corruption' and 'RIP Senator Kovacs' and 'Money Out Of Politics'. The rather public death of Senator Kovacs had electrified the nation. When the lurid details of his death were leaked by independent sources, the country had risen up in arms in protest, as was its right. All races and creeds, left and right, all took to the streets to protest the evidently naked contempt the 'third parties' held for their democracy. Riots had sprung up all across the country, protests that met all attempt at pacification with stronger resolve. Edward Kovacs was the martyred patron saint of a new movement.

In New York, riot police descended a street, bearing down on a mass of protestors as cars and dumpsters blazed. Old and young, masked and unmasked, all had turned out to resist. The wall of ballistic shields marched ever forward amidst canisters of tear gas, the thud of boots on pavement and the hammering of batons on aramid laid down a hellish chorus that competed with the chants of the protestors.

A man stumbled out of an alley, his hair a wild tangle, his eyes wide and terrified. He was tall, exceptionally handsome, and dressed in naught but pants and a fishnet tank-top.

His head snapped around, eyes wild, flinching at every noise as though expecting a strike. He made his way onto the street, cowering as protestors and police marched down opposite sides of the street.

"Hey!" A gruff voice shouted. "Get back inside! Return to your home!"

He spun around to see a riot cop brandishing a shield and a baton. He screamed and ran for his life. Would this man kill him? Was that his fate this time?

He shoved his way through the protestors, who squawked indignantly but let him pass. A sea of bodies, a sea of potential assailants, of death. He scrambled past them, screaming and whimpering. He had to survive, to escape.

He stumbled out onto the sidewalk, his mind a thoughtless frenzy. Pain and death awaited, lurked around every corner. He had to run, to escape. It would find him, of course, the Requiem would find him and lay him low once again.

He had to run and run and run.

A bright light drew his attention, a car, a mid-sized Sedan, was barreling down the sidewalk at him.

Crushed beneath the tire of a car.

Wouldn't be the first time, and certainly not the last.

The car roared as it sped towards him, its metal hood and grinding, tearing tires ready to crush and shred and maim. He would feel everything, every broken bone, every tattered muscle and shorn strip of flesh. He would feel it all and the second the pain began to fade, he would be shunted into another reality, whole and intact, ready to endure the next agony unimpeded.

The headlights bared down on him, he could almost feel the heat of the lamps on his skin when a terrible raucous sound tore the air. The shriek of rubber on concrete, the muffled crump of collapsing metal, the great thudding crash of a ton-and-change of steel and aluminum smashing into brick and concrete.

He uncovered his face to see a figure, huge and muscular, towering over him, bracing from the impact. The car lay imbedded in the adjacent building, a ruin of tangled steel smoldering and ticking in what used to be a bistro.

"King Crimson?" He husked. "You've returned to me?"

The figure looked down at him with fuchsia eyes that held within them a terrible familiarity.

"It's okay," it said, its voice sweet and smooth and familiar, the voice of better times and comfort. "I'm here for you." It bent over, plucking him off the ground like he was a

child. "You're safe."

"Hey!" Barked another voice, punctuated by a series of gunshots. "Put down the stripper!"

The figure unraveled his hand, loosing a half-dozen bullets to the ground. "Did you just shoot at me and then make a demand?"

"Drop the stripper, freak!"

The being said nothing and strode off down the street, the crowd parting around it like the red sea.

"Dude," said one of the protestors. "What did we smoke?"

"Just ACDC and Canna-Tsu," cried another. "I swear!"

"So, you see the eight foot tall bird-girl too?"

"And the swole supermodel wearing a squid, yes!"

"Get me more of that shit, man!"

"Octavia!" The giant fish-demon shouted. "Portal! Now!"

"We have to go back to where the portal opened!" The huge owl-demoness said, kicking a protester away as he humped her leg. "Fuck off!"

"What?!"

"I told you, these old grimoires suck ass!"

"Damnit!"

The muscular Sea-Demon waded through the crowd, humans parting around him as he wade through the throng, some of them voicing their admiration of his physique.

The pair met up and ran down the congested street, shoving humans out of their way as they did.

"Here!" Octavia cried over the roar of the crowd. "We're here. Just give me a second to recount the spell!"

The Sea-Demon roughly dropped the man, his hands a blur as he deflected a fusillade of fully automatic fire. "Shit! What's going on?"

"Look out!" Diavolo cried as huge fuel truck jumped the curb, streaking for them.

The Sea-Demon streak forward with inhuman speed, smashing tons of fast-moving steel and petroleum away from them, sending the screaming, blazing wreck into the adjacent crowd, consuming hundreds in a massive explosion.

Another riot cop opened fire on them, the Sea-Demon deflected the bullets with one hand.

"What's going on?" The Sea-Demon cried, horrified at the carnage. "It's like this city's trying to kill us!"

"It's the Requiem!" Diavolo screamed, pointing to the sky. "It has to kill me or it can't reset!"

A terrible roar filled the air, a bellowing, teeth-shattering sound filled the air as a 747 screamed ground-ward towards the trio.

"Via!"

"I got it!" The owl-demoness screamed over the roar of the jet-engines.

The trio leapt through just as the airliner barreled down on them, the scream of the engines giving way to a terrific, thudding explosion as thousands of liters of kerosene lit up. Hundreds were incinerated as–

–In New York, riot police descended a street, bearing down on a mass of protestors as cars and dumpsters blazed. Old and young, masked and unmasked, all had turned out to resist. The wall of ballistic shields marched ever forward amidst canisters of tear gas, the thud of boots on pavement and the hammering of batons on aramid laid down a hellish chorus that competed with the chants of the protestors.

The Requiem was broken.

Octavia, Diavolo, and Moonchild tumbled through a portal with a gout of flames and smoldering scraps of aluminum. The sound of the explosion cut off just before the portal snapped shut. They lay panting on the ground as various inhuman figures closed around them.

"Did you guys fuck?" Asked the smallest one.

Diavolo screamed and scurried into a corner. "Monsters! Stay away!"

"Who's the hunk?" One of the taller abominations said.

"It's okay…" the Sea-Demon said his hands out in front, placatingly. "You're safe. It's over. It's finally over."

Diavolo panted, his breath coming out in shrill, animalistic shrieks. Something, though, something about the monster before him made him pause. He could think now, he wasn't dying before he could catch his breath. What was going on?

"I got you out of there," said the Sea-Demon, his expression calm, his tone soothing and familiar. "You're free, now."

There was something in the monster's expression, in his eyes, his voice: it was familiar, comforting. "…Doppio?"

"Yes," Doppio said, his tone calm and soothing. "It's me. You're safe. We're safe."

The vast structure loomed over Pride, the realm of the damned, of sinners: Lucifer's domain. An ancient and arcane ziggurat kilometers tall, pillars of red light emanating from dozens of points along its massive structure. An endless parade of damned souls were forced to march up its interminable stairs to the glowing, gated dome guarding the inner sanctum and temple. This tortuous march was sardonically referred to as the 'Stairway to Heaven', since none who were forced to ascend ever returned.

The palatial estate of Grand Duke Sallos.

Sallos sat behind his desk, scrawling his signature on a document in triplicate. Trying to keep up with Trouble's schemes was a full-time job, requiring thousands of witnesses to be sent to the Soul Lathe a day to adequately monitor his activities. The process was akin to a death sentence, and as such necessitated double the paperwork, one for interrogation and the ownership of the extracted information, and the other for the requisition of permission to execute a soul in the name of the Luciferian Regime. The requisitions were never refused, but it still took time to get a response.
The Duke rolled out his wrist, paperwork was a necessary evil, even in Hell.

Any and all witnesses or associates of Trouble's movements were to be put in the chair and have their souls thoroughly scoured of all information, rather than rely on second-hand retellings replete with 'maybes' and 'I thinks'. Such a procedure was usually reserved for traitors, but these were extenuating circumstances. At least the paperwork was nearing its end, once his interrogators had sorted and interpreted the data, he could begin compiling an idea of where the damned demon was hiding the Corpse. As complete a map of the bastard's hide-outs and safehouses as possible was vital if his forces were to retrieve the artifact. It would take single, simultaneous action to see his entire organization exterminated and the Saint's Corpse secured, for it had been Sallos' experience that Trouble's organization could move freely between locations, and missing even one could mean losing both Trouble and the Corpse.

The last document on his desk held a curious gravity, for it was the one that would taint his relationship with his beloved cousin for the foreseeable future: the death warrant of the imps. Their execution could well be a painless, instant obliteration, but their knowledge of the interior of the Vault and the defenses employed by the mortals was of particular interest to himself and Lucifer. Should the humans ever again try to compile such a repertoire of powerful artifacts, it would be prudent to know the exact extent of their abilities. Add to that their punitive value to Stolas and relative lack of powerful allies made them absolutely ideal targets.

Killing two birds with one stone.

Still… Stolas would be chilly for at least the next century, so Sallos would have to get used to cold shoulders and ugly looks.

But Octavia would be safe.

He could live with that.

He signed the document, officiating it with his unbreakable, irreversible seal: the imps were now as good as dead.

He rose to his feet and made for the door, he had to organize a dragnet to scrape up additional witnesses and associates of Trouble and his gang: they were going to nail this bastard to a cross and watch him burn on it!

His hand clasped around the door handle when he remembered: the tooth! The gaudy golden tooth he had extracted from that vulgar insect, he'd had it cleaned and polished in preparation for gifting it to his diligent captain. It was currently in his desk drawer.

"I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached to my shoulders," the Duke muttered aloud.

"Oh, there are worse problems to have," said a sweet, southern-accented voice. "You should know that best of all, Sally."

A cold chill raced up Sallos' spine as he turned around, sitting sideways in his chair, his legs resting on the armrest, was Lucifer. The Morning Star was slight of frame, comically short, and utterly terrifying. His aura soured the air, made it curdle, the taste of metal coated Sallos' tongue. The low heady thrum of his might was like a heartbeat thudding from all around, as though he had been swallowed whole by the slumbering Leviathan reawakened.

"Your Grace."

Lucifer's grin sparkled as he hopped to his feet, looking to all the world like a child standing on his father's office chair, his hands folded behind his back. "Oh, you're always such a formal-normal, Sally! Have a seat, why dontcha?"

Sallos was suddenly behind his desk, sitting in his chair, as Lucifer stood on his desk so that they were face-to-face. "There! Relax, we're all friends here."

"To what do I owe this honor, Your Grace?" Sallos said.

"Oh, what?" Lucifer waved him off, his light Georgian accent lending a disarming chirrup to his speech. "I can't drop by and see how my best peacekeeper is doing? You work so hard and I just wanted to let you know I think you're real sweet for it!"

He tapped his foot on the desk, his glossy, black riding boots clacking on the Hell-Oak; under his foot was an envelope bearing the apple-red seal of the Luciferian Regime. "Oh, and to drop this ol' thing off."

"You… could have sent a messenger."

His smile only widened. "Last time I sent one of my messengers, you kicked him into the Abyss."

"And the last time I was over for dinner, I used a napkin, Your Grace," said Sallos, picking up the envelope.

"Ah ha ha! There's the Sassy Sally I know!" Lucifer tittered into the back of his hand. "I do declare, I thought this job was getting to you! Always so serious and severe 'ooorgh I'm Dook Sally! I keep the peace! Urgh! Decorum'!"

Sallos broke the seal and unfolded the piece of parchment. "The Decree."

"Bingo, Ringo!" Lucifer said, tapping his nonexistent nose and pointing at Sallos. "The absolute final draft! It's essentially the same one you got in advance, alls I did was add two li'l ol' words to, y'know, punch it up a bit. Give it some 'oomph'!"
The color drained from Sallos' face, the flames of his brows shrank and flickered as he read, his heart dropping into his stomach, becoming a cold, hard pit: 'family member'.

The words were 'family member'.

"To all it may concern. Your King Lucifer Morningstar, He With Might Above All Under God, has decreed that for his negligence and transgressions, Prince Stolas Goetia will be subjected to unofficial punitive actions. The death of a beloved family member has been suggested and repercussions will be minimized. This decree expires upon the execution of aforementioned punitive action."

"See?" Lucifer said, his smile suddenly bereft of any and all good will, a sneering lunette of fangs beneath a pair of cold, hateful eyes. "Punchy."

"But–but that's cruel!"

"Mmmyes…?" Lucifer extended his hand in a friendly gesture. "You must be new, welcome to Hell."

Sallos' mouth worked for a moment, a cold sweat breaking out on his tall, proud forehead. "But… why?"

"Why?" Lucifer pondered the question for a moment. "Mmmmbecause."

"Because?" Sallos said, his aura flaring with his temper. "Because why?"

"Because because because~" Lucifer said, sing-song. "Because I want this one to hurt. I want it to hurt so, so bad. Sure, Stolas' rivals will rejoice at a chance to stick it to that pompous prancing poofter (Morax especially), but once all is said and done and the girl's head is on a spike, maybe they'll think. Stop and really think about what it implies: I know how to ~hurt~ them. All of them. All of you. Cross me, cause me grief, fuck with me…"

The room went cold, colder than any abyss, cold enough the air itself went solid and fell to the floor in beads, the lamps and lights of the room stopped casting light and instead cast a darkness that was not so much the absence of light, but the dead, rotting corpse of even the idea of light.

Of warmth.

Of hope.

Sallos was crushed into his chair as Lucifer, the real Lucifer, extruded himself through his puppet, bringing with him a snippet of the realm in which he dwelt eternal, the gelid abyss of the Ninth Circle.

When he spoke there was no sound, nothing from without, it was like the words were being carved into his very soul and slithered out his ears like vile, icy serpents, violating and corrupting as they did. "…A̶͋̑̓ͥnͥ͂͊̒̇͗ͦd̢͗ͭͭͣ͋̍ ̉͂Ì̑͑͛ ̀͒w̵ͦ̈́͊̿̎ͭ͌i̷l̷̓ͫͯͯl̇̓ͯͫ͑̽ͩ ͥ̐̈ͣ̈ͦͤ̀f͒̓͆ͭ҉u͂̂̍cͦ͊̈͗̑̄k͒͌̕ ͐́y͗͘o͌͛u͆͛ͦ̾͝ ̽b̡̃͊aͦ̓̀̎̄̀c͗͗̊ͤ͠kͯͬͯͥͭ ́̐ͣ̃͏i̍n̄ͣͩ̓ ͮ͗̃ͯ͐w͊ā͆ͨ́͛̐y̒ͪ͌ͬ̓̚s̛̈ ̸̌ͫy̢o͘u̎ ͯc̑ͩ̊ͥ͑͗̕ȧ̡͊͌ͧͥ̚nͣ̉ͬ͋̌͊̇'̋͋͗̏ͤt͌͘ ̕ẻ̐̍̓ͬͫ̂vͯͯȇ͒ͫͬͮ͝n͌̋ͭͫͬ ̾͐ͪ̌ͧͬͬi̎̈́͠m͒̐aͣ̆͊̂ͥg̛̒i͗ͮ̀̉̓ņͫͪȩ̾͛ͮ͊̽̃̐.̵̇̍ͬ Understand?"

Sallos could only swallow.

"Good!" Lucifer chirped.

Light and warmth and sound returned in an explosion of sensation, it was enough to make Sallos almost gasp in shock, but he maintained his demeanor. To do anything less could have meant his life.

"Oh, Sally. I understand you might have some conflicting feelings on this one," Lucifer said, his tone almost convincingly sympathetic. "You great big softy, you. Well, I'm gonna need you to untuck it and do your duty, because if we don't dig up that corpse double-time, I'm afraid we're in for a visit from the rellies."

Sallos' eyes snapped open wide. "What do you mean?"

"You no doubt are wondering what's gotten me into such an Old Testament mood," he said, smiling like he wanted desperately to skin something alive. "Well, since you're my guy, I think you should know. Just before coming here to deliver the decree and invite you to dinner, who calls me up but none other than Mikey!"

Sallos thought on this for a moment, before blinking in shock and slowly, hesitantly, pointing up, to the ceiling. "…Mikey?"

Lucifer nodded, winking. "That's right. That Mikey. Oh, and my stars if we didn't have a most stimulating conversation, laws yes! It seems that this little hiccup has made its way to the tippy-top in record time. Getting through the dense celestial bureaucracy in less than a year, why, it'd be impressive if it weren't so… inconvenient. So, after that wonderful little family moment, I was inspired to make some last-minute additions to the Decree and made it here double-time to give you the good news in person."

Sallos opened his mouth to speak when Lucifer placed a talon over his lips, grinning like death itself. "Oh, you just shut your fucking mouth and listen. You have one day to wrap up this Decree bullshit, kill whoever you have to and put the matter to rest. Because if you don't dig up my brother-dad's earthly remains and return them to the mortal plane soon, those winged dipshits will be sending their own retrieval team! I don't think I need to explain to you why we'd rather they didn't. Understand?"

Sallos nodded rapidly.

"Good." Lucifer stepped back and stood up straight, tipping his top hat to the petrified Duke. "Lilly says 'hi'. She wants your opinion on her new soufflé recipe, so, you know, wrap up work and get back to her on that. Alright? Great. Toodles!"

Lucifer disappeared into a pillar of icy black flame. Sallos sat in silence, his eyes wide and expression harrowed; all his plans, all his preparations, all for naught. He would do his duty, for his family and for all of Hell, but nothing could assuage the burning, bitter feeling at the core of his being: for the first time in his long, long life, he felt truly damned.

"Oh, that's right!" Lucifer said, appearing once more on his desk. "Here you go!"

Sallos looked down, his hand was raised and open; in his palm was the polished gold tooth.

"She works so hard, doesn't she?" Lucifer chirruped, smiling warmly. "Give the good Captain my best! Toodles, f'real this time!"

With that, Lucifer was gone. Sallos closed his hand on the tooth and leaned forward, resting his head on his fists, red, bloody tears running down his cheeks.