Chapter 17: Homeostasis

The ruins of the estate smoldered. The grueling battle between the two aristocrats had lasted mere seconds, a long time given the speed at which the combatants could think and act. Their battle had almost leveled the south wing of the massive palace. Fires blazed among the rubble, patches of molten earth glowed with residual heat. Various imp servants milled about the wreckage in a daze, most were wounded, some were even missing limbs, but they paid it no mind, dutifully recovering whatever valuables remained intact and rescuing trapped servants in the rubble. A sonic boom tore through the air, causing them all to flinch and duck. A huge form streaked through the air, flying some distance before smashing into the gardens, gouging a trench some half a kilometer long in the exquisitely maintained grounds. Sallos skidded to a stop, wreathed in dirt, his bare head smashing the base of a huge gold statue of Stolas, standing triumphant over a slain hell-lion. The statue toppled over, the spear in its hand stabbing into the earth between Sallos' legs.

"Ugh…" Sallos groaned, stirring in the trench.

He sat up and looked down at his suit, ruffled by battle and stained with blood. His blood. It had been a long, long time since Sallos had bled. On some level, he relished the sensation, the reminder of his limits. On another level, he had a job to do and had recently come across one Hell of a speed bump. He reached up and felt the squashed ruin of his once proud aquiline nose. With a squeeze and a twist, he popped the bone shards back into place and they knit together with a crackling sound. He exhaled explosively through his newly realigned nostrils, clearing them.

He got to his feet, scowling ferociously. 'I wonder what Lucy would say if I told him 'hey Lucy! I'm just gonna go pay your daughter a visit. You know, catch up, have lunch, break her fucking spine over my knee!' He'd probably say–'

'If you think you're up to it, Sally, I say have at 'er!' Lucifer's high, lilting voice chirped in his head, cold hateful glee dripping from every syllable. 'Let me know how that pans out for you~'

Sallos sighed and shook his head and set off towards the estate. If he was going to siege the Heiress' estate, he'd need the proper paperwork filled out, regardless of Lucifer's orders. He walked by Stella's unconscious form as it lay amidst the rubble. He reached up and felt the already healing slashes across his eye, the ghost of a smile on his face; the eons had not softened her in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, Starlight," he said, quietly.

He pulled out his Hellphone and made off for the parking lot where his limo resided, calling his home office. "This is Sallos, have a team dispatched to the Stolas Estate, we are taking Princess Stella Goetia in custody until the Decree has been fulfilled. Also, requisition a R4-7 Royal Estate Access Form along with a Class-1 Punitive Measures permissions form from Luciferian Office. I'll be there in 5 minutes."

He hung up for the peon on the other side could respond, dialing a new number. "Captain Gallia."

"Your Ekshellenshy," came the response.

"I trust you've achieved your objective."

"Affirmative, Your Ekshellenshy," came her oddly slurred reply. "The impsh are in cushtody, awaiting interrogashun."

"Excellent," he said, pausing. "Are you alright? You sound strange."

"…I'm fine."

Sallos smirked at her terseness; the imps must have gotten a hit or two in, no doubt marring her pride more than anything. "Very well, good job, Gallia. I'll need you to limber up some, we'll be sieging the Princess's hotel this time tomorrow."

"Octavia hash a hotel?"

"No." He smiled, sincerely wishing he could see her face when this little revelation struck home. "The Princess does."

A beat.

"Oh." Another pause, then she remembered herself. "Shall I ashemble a tashkforsh, Your Ekshelleshy?"

"If you can think of anyone not on assignment who'd last more than two seconds, bring them, otherwise it'd be a waste of talent."

"Undershtood," she said. "I'll meet you back at the palash, Your Ekshellenshy."

He hung up and stooped as he got into his limo. "What a mess…"

Gallia stared at the phone as the line went dead, seeing her marred visage reflected in the dark screen. She had to tear away all the tissue purified by the Seraphim Steel if the wound was to heal. As such, much of the right side of her face had been stripped away to the bone, her eye socket a barren crater in the raw horror of white bone and red muscle. She crushed the phone effortlessly and hobbled over to the trio of battered imps, trussed up and unconscious on the floor, tortuously fighting the urge to stomp the impudent creatures into paste.

Her face was a ruin, her foot throbbed abominably and would likely need surgery to remove all the purified tissue. Worst of all was her arm. The impess had managed to sneak in a proper hit with a Seraphic war-hammer. While Gallia had managed to roll with the impact, she knew from the tingling, throbbing ache that a bone had been broken. Any bone broken by an angelic weapon would not heal, and the limb would have to be amputated to regenerate anew.

She grit her teeth and seethed. Her Duke needed her in top fighting form by tomorrow! Ever since the Mr. Clean Incident, it had become known that the Heiress could and would defend her wards with surprising, terrifying ferocity. Even a being as horrifyingly powerful as her Duke would need back-up against the likes of Charlotte. Decree or no, it was unlikely that Lucifer would intervene on their behalf. In fact, it would surprise no one if he showed up in person to watch the fight, popcorn in hand.

Like all demons in the Duke's army, Gallia had been a sinner, an Overlord in fact, and a powerful one. For centuries she had carved her empire out of the Infernal City with incomparable brutality and bloodshed, her regimented and soldier-like conduct catching the attention of the Duke himself. While she still only held the rank of captain, she was clearly on the fast-track to general if her meteoric rise in the ranks thus far was any indication. She had slaughtered her enemies both on assignment and within the ranks, and was justly held in awe and fear by her fellow ducal soldiers. And here she was, battered, bloody, and crippled.

By imps.

Well-armed imps, mind.

A steady caravan of soldiers marched in and out of the I.M.P. office with armfuls of Seraphic weaponry. Bullets, blades, pole-arms and clubs, even a connoisseur of weaponry such as herself was impressed. Confiscating this much Seraphic contraband alone would be a feather in her cap, a juicy bump on her paycheck at the end of the quarter at the very least, leg up towards making Major, even. Still, it galled her that such lowly creatures had so much as scratched her.

"Meat wagon's here, sir," one of the soldiers said, rendering a salute.

"Load them up," Gallia growled, turning around to face the other soldiers. "Well? Get to it!"

"R-right away, sir!"

The ducal soldiers, each proud, powerful warriors in their own right, the cream of Pentagram City's most prestigious killers, cautiously approached the unconscious imps. She opened her mouth to excoriate the apparent cowards, but bit it back. From their perspective, these imps, despite their humble heritage, not only plundered the Vault of its most treasured artifact, but had also managed to wound the legendary Captain Gallia. Part of her wanted to smile, perhaps her reputation could withstand this slight.

"They're quite unconshiush, I ashure you," she said, gesturing at her face with a claw. "You don't think I'd take it eashy on anyone who did thish to me, do you? Now, pick them up and move out!"

"Yes sir!"

She snorted as the feared demonic warriors gingerly collected the apparently very dangerous imps and set off for the armored car. Part of her still wanted to gut something. How was she supposed to support her Duke with these injuries?

"Captain Gallia," came a voice.

She turned around to see an insectoid demon, a lieutenant by the name of Horis. "Horish."

"Looks like those imps had teeth, huh?"

She prepared to tear off his face and slap it back on upside down when he held out a container, a pill bottle, rattling it with a smile on his serrated face.

"Seems the ring-scrapers had more than just Seraphim Steel lying around."

He handed her the bottle, it read 'Souls-2-Go: Argent You Glad I Didn't Say Banana'. "What ish it?"

"Some new designer drug, enchanted or something, the street name is 'Rapture'," Horis said, glancing over his shoulder before pulling in close. "Expensive stuff, a K a pill, but apparently it can do things."

Gallia capped the bottle and shook out a single pellet, it was a lozenge-shaped capsule roughly the size of a mint. It pulsed with a warm orange light, a glow that brought to mind long-buried memories of summer sunrises and the smell of pollen and fresh-cut grass. It almost felt warm.

"Like what?"

"Just a rumor, but apparently just one pop can bring a soul back from just about anything," Hircus said, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Heal all wounds, no matter the cause."

Her remaining eye blinked at this, she looked up to see him eyeing her, a strange tension in his posture, something low like desperation behind his eyes.

"Put it with the resht of the contraband," she snarled, pushing the container into his clawed hands. "Shpeak to me sho flippantly again, and I'll have you shtuffed and mounted on my mantle."

He chuckled and walked away, shaking his head. "Whatever you shay, bosh-lady."

She lunged forward and planted a heel on his backside, kicking out with enough force to send him crashing through the wall, plummeting to the sidewalk below. Gallia growled and levitated out the hole and down to the street where her limo awaited. She entered through the open sunroof and reclined in the padded chair with a sigh, the tinted windows concealing her from view. Her brow creased as she allowed the agony of her injuries to show. The limo made off for the Duke's estate, followed shortly by the small caravan of armored cars, filled to the brim with Seraphic contraband. She looked down at her clenched fist, opening it to reveal the small glowing pill.

Octavia sat before the assembled Hotel staff and patients. Moonchild was upstairs in his room, recovering from the pummeling Sallos had given him. She cocked an eyebrow as Charlotte poured her a steaming cup of cocoa, looking to all the world like she didn't just punch Hell's chief peacekeeper in the face ten minutes ago.

Like, holy shit.

Charlotte just punched out Uncle Sally.

Charlotte.

She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, considering just what Charlotte was, but for centuries she'd been the butt of every joke the Inner Circle ever cracked. Not to say she'd never fought back, simply that she never put her assailants in their place, despite very much being able to if her recent showing was anything to go by.

She'd heard his nose crunch.

Octavia shuddered. How many demons in Hell would even think about taking a swing at Uncle Sally? She could count on one hand which relatives were either powerful or impulsive enough to risk it, and even then they were long odds. 'I mean, he's powerful, sure, but he's also Lucifer's peacekeeper! No one wants to deal with the fallout of that. …And now he's after me…'

'Now, please, come with me, poppet.'

That word, that cutesy, harmless little term of endearment. It'd always made her feel safe, loved, like her big burly uncle who was a nightmare to anyone else always had her back. But that cold glint in his eyes, the deadness of his voice, remembering it made feel ill. Her hands began to tremble around the mug, tears welling up in her eyes. Her heart raced: she was going to die. Charlotte couldn't protect her forever, and even if she did get away, where would she run?

"Ey, toots," the spider-demon said, shaking a flask in her face. "Wanna touch'a the Irish in 'ere?"

"God, please!" Octavia said, offering her mug.

"Angel!" Charlie said, her hands on her hips. "Where did you get that?"

"From Husk," said Angel, pouring a generous dram of whiskey into the girl's cocoa.

Husk pat himself down for a moment before snarling. "Thievin' bug!"

Octavia took a heavy gulp from the mug and sighed. "That's better…"

"So," Charlie said, sitting down next to her. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Octavia said, taking another sip. "But, well, okay. From the top–"

"Your father lent out his grimoire to an imp," Alastor said, suddenly at her side. "And due to whatever nonsense the imp pulled up there, he was put under investigation. When an official solution failed to manifest, Lucifer issued a Decree targeting you as punishment for your father's transgressions. That about sum it up, sweetheart?"

Charlie shot Alastor a look before looking back at Octavia, smiling apologetically.

"Right…" Octavia said, sipping her cocoa, the whiskey taking a welcomed edge off her anxiety. "If you know all that, what do you want to know, exactly?"

"Well, my dad can be, uh, well, is a cruel tyrant, but ordering the death of a noble is a touch out of the norm, even for him." Charlie said, setting her hand on Octavia's shoulder. "Can you tell us what was stolen?"

"I can…" Octavia sighed, shaking her head. "But you're not going to like it."

"Please, Via, I need to know," said Charlie, squeezing her hand comfortingly. "If I know what's gotten my father into such a terrible mood, maybe there's something I can do to change his mind, talk him down. I mean, how bad could it–"

"They stole the Saint's Corpse from the Vault."

A deafening silence settled over the room, Husk's mouth hung open as Vaggie and Angel exchanged bemused looks. Alastor chuckled softly, shaking his head, his hand rising up over his face as his chuckling rose into laughter. Niffty's eye bugged out of her head as she turned to Alastor, as though waiting for him to explain this apparently very obscure, esoteric joke. The Radio Demon turned away from her, throwing his head back as he guffawed, slapping his knee as he walked off cackling. Charlie sat next to Octavia in silence, her eyes wide and harrowed, staring at her. For a few long seconds, all that could be heard was Alastor's increasingly unhinged laughter.

"Oh," Charlie said, finally. "I see."

"Jesus Christ," Husk croaked.

"Pretty much," Charlie said, her voice flat.

Niffty gulped audibly and crossed herself, flinching and smoking as the blessing burned her.

"What?" Angel said, looking at Vaggie, who shrugged. "What's goin' on? What's the Saint's Corpse?"

"Charlie?" Vaggie said, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Do you know what that is?"

"It's a body. A human body," said Charlie, getting to her feet. "Specifically, it's my Grandpa's human body."

"Your Grand–?" Vaggie began to say, her eye snapping open wide as the realization took hold. "Oh no."

"Will someone please tell me what the fuck is goin' on?!" Angel exclaimed, throwing his arms up.

"Angel," Alastor said, slowly as though addressing a simpleton, pointing at Charlie. "Her Grandpa's body. Charlie's pops is Lucifer, which would make her Grandpa…"

"What's with all this coy bullshit?" Angel scoffed. "Just tell me! Jesus!"

Alastor laughed clapped hands together with a loathsome dry sound. "Yes!"

"What?"

"Jesus~" Alastor crooned.

Angel opened his mouth to berate the obstinate abomination when, finally, his eyes snapped open in realization. He pointed at Charlie, then to the ceiling, then back to Charlie again. "Jesus? As in…?"

"H. Tap-Dancing Christ!" Alastor cackled, putting his hands together in a blasphemous mockery of prayer.

Angel was silent, staring off into the middle distance as he slowly sat down.

"Well, that's… well, that certainly explains my father's reaction," said Charlie, massaging her temples. "How did a bunch of imps break into the Vault and steal the Saint's Corpse? Even with a grimoire, there's no way they could have gotten in, much less made it out alive!"

"I believe I may be able to shed some light on this conundrum, my dear." Alastor said, hands clasped behind his back. "The gangland scene was recently thrown into something of a tizzy some months ago when a new gang began making some major waves. They call themselves Il Nove, the Nine, they first made their mark as a band of exceptional assassins known as La Squadra."

"The Nine, the Squad," Vaggie snorted. "Creative bunch."

"When it came to making folk dead, they certainly were," Alastor said, grinning. "I've always been one to appreciate good showmanship, and that was on display and more during their takeover. No one doubted their abilities for an instant, but the key mystery to their sudden rise was the apparently vast well of capital they came across, seemingly overnight. Indeed, anyone they couldn't buy, they killed, and anyone they didn't kill, ran. A week of glorious bloodshed and betrayal later and they had taken a big bloody bite out every gang in West-Central. Funnily enough, Stolas' favorite little ring-scrapers also landed on a mysterious but no less profound windfall at the exact same time, becoming the most prosperous of their kind in all of Hell. Coincidence?"

Charlie nodded, tapping her chin, if this group was powerful enough to impress Alastor of all demons, they'd certainly have a chance against the Vault, especially if the grimoire could get them inside in facility. That only left one question: "Who's signing the checks, here?"

Alastor scoffed and shook his head. "Remember what I said, back before you noosed me with this ghoulish contract?"

"I shook your hand," Charlie said, smirking. "Not my fault you didn't read your own fine print."

"Anyway," Alastor said, quickly. "Stolas wasn't the only chump on check from ol' Uncle Sally. No, in fact, one of the critters getting the ol' snoop was a friend of a friend of ours, the present leader of Holy Diver's organization, an Overlord with the apropos appellation of Trouble."

"How do these guys pick their names?" Niffy asked, looking around. "My first day, I was told to reach into a hat, but all these assholes have these cool, foreboding names. I feel cheated!"

"Oh, fuck!" Husk growled, clapping his hand to his face. "God fuckin' damnit! 'Trouble and danger around every corner'! I'm a fuckin' idiot!"

"What's the matter, Husk?" Charlie said, her imagination straining to conceive of a way for this day to get any worse.

Husk sighed and shook his head, an apologetic look on his face. "Chuck, I'm sorry I didn't mention it earlier, the timing was all wrong and you was already so pissed off that night and I was hopin' he was just pullin' my dick and–"

"Husk."

"Right, okay, that night we took Moonie out to the casino, we ran into an old pal, Poker Face. Moonie and I sent the chump packin', but before we did, he pulled me aside and told me that, uh… well, Holy Diver's still alive."

Alastor stopped laughing, his grin fading into a sneer. "What?"

"Who?" Octavia said, looking around.

"Where!" Niffty said, smiling blithely.

Charlie's eyes snapped open wide, her hand to her mouth. "But… that's impossible. We saw him die."

"Self-cleaning, too!" Niffty chirped. "Very thoughtful."

"Wouldn't be the first time he's played possum," said Alastor, his eyes narrowing. "And if anyone's crazy enough to snatch God's birthday suit, it'd be Ol' Snorkel and his cronies."

"No wonder dad's miffed," Charlie said, sighing deeply. "I mean, yeah, he'd have gotten a kick out of all this if the corpse was brought to him, but those guys… this could be bad, not just for us, but for everyone! Heaven, Hell, Earth…"

"So, uh…" Angel said, his eyes wide. "What the fuck do we do?"

"Book it?" Husk offered. "Angel's buds got them some turf, if we can get the bird to portal us outta here, maybe–"

"No," Charlie said, shaking her head. "Sallos would have had this place put under surveillance the second I broke his nose. They'll track anyone who leaves, and if they detect a grimoire trying to portal out, they'll disrupt it."

A grim silence fell over the room, Charlie blinked and snapped her fingers, a smile spreading across her face. "But… once Sallos and I get going, we should be able to kick up enough dust, so to speak, for all of you to portal out of here undetected! But, we'll have to wait until that moment."

"So…" Angel said, rubbing the back of his neck. "What do we do until then?"

"Who wants to get wasted?" Husk grunted, folding his arms across his chest.

"Husk…" Charlie said, preparing to chastise him before shrugging and nodding. "Fuck it. Let's have some fun. Vaggie! Tell the Goats to get the speakers set up and the snacks out! It's time for karaoke!"

Moonchild sat on his bed, concentrating. He felt the strange tingle of demonic energies coursing through his body. A demon could accelerate their healing this way, though it generally left them in a weakened state until their energies replenished. Moonchild knew that such a minor wound would not impact his own stores much, as he apparently had a vast well of the stuff to work with.

Or, at least, part of him did.

"Damnit…" he muttered aloud. "Damn it all…"

'You can't protect her,' He told himself, bitterly. 'You can't protect any of them. All the progress you've made, and you're still too weak to do anything but run and hide!'

"Shut up," Moonchild hissed.

'You know what you have to do,' he told himself. 'Call him.'

Moonchild sighed and cleared his mind, reaching for the phone on the bedside table, where a comb had been a few seconds before. "Duu-ruu-ruu-ruu~ Duuuu-ruu-ruu-ruu-ru-ru~"

'Pick up, damnit,' he thought to himself. "Duu-ruu-ruu-ruu~ Duuuu-ruu-ruu-ruu-ru-ru~"

There was a click on the other end, breathing, hard and fast, like a panting dog. Moonchild could feel the panic, the gnashing, feral rage bubble up from deep within him. Part of him was relieved that his other half hadn't held on to what little sanity he'd stolen while alive, but he needed him lucid, focused.

"Shh shhh shhh…" Moonchild said, soothing. "It's okay, you're okay. You're safe."

"LET ME OUT!" He roared, his mental thrashing an almost painful surge in Moonchild's core. "LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LETMEOUTLETMEOUT!"

Moonchild winced but held on, keeping the entity in check. "Shhh! I know you're confused, I just–Here, here, calm down…"

In his mind he saw the wild-eyed man as he lay crouched in the darkness, cowering, his hands over his face. His hair was a tangle of writhing pink, almost indistinguishable from the aura surrounding him, lashing about his covered face. Moonchild extended his hand, his expression calm and warm. Diavolo looked up at him, flinching away from the extended hand with a whimper.

'Jeez, I hope this works…' Moonchild thought, extending his hand in his mind's eye. "Here. Take my hand. Just like before."

The wild-man glanced at him, a moment's recognition passed behind his eyes and he lunged forward, taking his hand. Moonchild hissed and tensed as he felt it again, that curious drawing sensation, like part of him was rushing out. He held it back, checking what the lunatic could take from him, but it was working. Diavolo inhaled deeply, sighing as he exhaled, his eyes set and focused.

"Hrrn…" He grunted over the phone. "Hello, Doppio."

"It's Moonchild, now," said Moonchild, opening his eyes, back in his room. "Doppio's dead. I buried him next to our father."

"You mean his father."

"I mean our father," said Moonchild.

"Our father died two years before we were born," Diavolo said, airily. "Like a sparrow for a cowbird, that old fool, the priest, raised his undoing."

"He was good to us."

"His first mistake, and certainly not his last."

"I could just hang up, you know," said Moonchild, tapping the phone against his temple. "Take back what I gave you, leave you a gibbering wreck in my head."

A voice sounded from behind. "Oh, do put down the comb, Doppio."

He spun around to see a figure sitting on the other side of the bed. He looked like him, but also not. Older, broader, his skin pebbled with shiny red armored scales. He turned to face him, his eyes were as green and cold as jade.

"Uh…" Moonchild blinked and realized that he was speaking into a comb and dropped it from his ear, blushing.

"I figured out that trick when we were first starting out," said Diavolo, examining his hand, the cruel armored knuckles, the long, sharp talons. "But I'd say we've outgrown it, wouldn't you, Doppio?"

"I told you, my name is Moonchild."

"Yes. You did."

Moonchild tossed a pillow at the intruder, it thudded softly on the floor. Diavolo smirked, cocking his head to the side. "Don't worry, Doppio, you're quite alone. Speaking of tricks, you've picked up a few yourself, haven't you? Like this whole arrangement, for instance. You can, what, make me sane? How'd you figure that one out?"

"I… didn't," Moonchild said, slowly, still unsure if the apparition was dangerous. "Or, I just hoped it would make you lucid. Best I can figure, I've got enough experience suppressing my own trauma, the least I could do is help you with yours."

"Doesn't sound very healthy," Diavolo sneered. "Whatever would Charlotte say?"

"That it's exactly what it is, a stop-gap," Moonchild sighed folding his arms across his chest. "As is, you're unstable, anything could set you off. We're going to have to seek a more permanent solution together. If you let us, that is."

"Yes, I should sculpt some clay!" Diavolo snorted, getting to his feet. "Macaroni pictures, perhaps? Maybe knitting–oh, wait, we tried that one already, didn't we?"

Moonchild's eyes widened. "How… how did you know that?"

"I'm in your head, Doppio. Suffice it to say, I have a little more experience being a mental entity than you do," Diavolo said, walking over to the mirror, examining his new appearance. "Did a child pick out these clothes?"

"Teenager–and this attitude is getting old," said Moonchild, glancing at his ensemble. "Besides, if you know all that, you know what we have to do."

"Hm, yes, redemption," he sighed, making his way over to the window. "Our only way out of here, after you killed our body."

"I seem to recall you bringing down the roof on yourself," Moonchild said, smirking. "All I did was not get hit."

"Awfully smarmy for someone who duped us out of a second chance at life on Earth."

"Earth? What, exactly, would we have done on Earth? Play nice and live happily ever after? All you would have done is–" Moonchild stopped and sighed, rubbing his temples. "We have to get past this. We have to put our past behind us." Diavolo smirked and opened his mouth, only for Moonchild to snap. "And you know that's not what I meant!"

"I'd be much more willing to cooperate if they were all dead," Diavolo said, examining his talons. "A fresh start, eh? Just like old times. You, me, a gang. Actually, I wonder how many of the old gang wound up down here–scratch that. All of them. All of them are down here."

Moonchild glared at Diavolo. "Shut up, or I'm putting you back."

"Oh, this is rich!" Diavolo said, folding his arms. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Being in control. The power. Lording it over me, your big bad former boss, 'I'm the strong one, you hear me?' He says. 'I'm the strong one, now!' Bullying a figment of your imagination, as if you couldn't get any more pathetic."

Moonchild balled up his fists and sighed, deflating, shaking his head. "This was a mistake."

"No, no." Diavolo approached him, jabbing a finger at him. "This is good. What did Charlotte call it? Catharsis! That's what you wanted with that handsy bird-creature, yes? To call her out? See her squirm?!"

"No!"

"No?" Diavolo said, incredulously. "Why do it, then? Why risk both our lives seeking, what, 'closure'?!"

Moonchild was silent, his hands balled into fists on his lap, his shoulders so tense they shook, but he said nothing.

"It's fascinating. Looking back on someone else's memories, examining your perspective with my own." Diavolo smiled, cruelly. "She would have stopped, you know. If you'd so much as said 'no' once, she would have found a new toy, and you know it. Ha! Maybe she would have played nice, tried to woo you, like her husband does with that repulsive imp! But you, feeble simpleton that you are, just grit and bore it, too afraid to speak up to anyone! Too afraid to put your foot down! Too afraid, too soft, too weak!"

"Shut up…" Moonchild hissed, tears welling up in his eyes.

"All these years of suffering, Doppio, all because you were so spineless you invited abuse!"

"Shut up!"

"Shut up? It's why you called me!" Diavolo said, jabbing a finger at Moonchild. "You rushed to your girlfriend's defense and hit that ogre as hard as you could and he swatted you like a bug! But me, I drew blood on Charlotte twice, and you saw what she did to him! Now why is that, hmm?"

Moonchild said nothing, looking away from the specter.

Diavolo walked through the bed and stood opposite his other half, arms folded across his barrel chest. "Because I'm stronger than you. I've always been stronger than you. You called me because you knew that. You knew that and you want to know why."

"…Beat you before…" Moonchild muttered, without much conviction.

"Yes!" Diavolo brought his fist down on the bedside table, smashing it apart in an explosion of splinters, sending its contents tumbling to the floor. "You're so close, Doppio!"

Moonchild recoiled, his eyes wide, confusion giving way to terror: this was a big mistake. "H-how?"

Diavolo loomed over Moonchild, his smile wide and toothy. "You tell me! How did I do that? How am I able to bring such terrible power to bear? How did you beat me before?"

"I-I don't know…"

"That's a lie!" Diavolo snarled. "You beat me because you wanted to kill me!"

"That's not true!"

"Oh, but it is!" Diavolo roared, triumphant. "Charlotte says we're souls first down here, but what does that mean, exactly? I'll tell you: what you feel, what you want, will be! I can wield our power so much better because I strike with every intent to kill! I want to destroy and subdue our enemies! That's why you beat me before! You wanted to subdue me, to defeat me, to kill me!"

"I don't want to kill you!" Moonchild cried.

"Why not? You hate me, don't you?"

Moonchild turned away from him. "No!"

"Liar! I can feel it in you, Doppio!" Diavolo knelt down and grabbed Moonchild's head, forcing him to look at him. "I took everything from you, didn't I? Your father, your mother, everyone you ever knew! Oh, how you wept and wept for people you didn't know existed a week ago! Don't make me laugh! You can't honestly tell me that's why you hate me! Everything I did was for us, for you! All the people I killed, all the 'evil' I did was to keep you safe! To keep our past from pulling us down into the abyss! You hate me for loving you more than anyone ever has!"

"If you loved me so much then why did you leave me?" Moonchild said, shooting to his feet.

Diavolo blinked, stepping back. "What?"

"When we were separated," said Moonchild, glaring at him. "I laid dying, alone in the rain, as you ran off after the arrow. You didn't even look back. You abandoned me. I looked up to you, idolized you, and you left me to die alone. So, yeah, keep telling yourself how much you love me, keep using me to justify all the madness and death! All I'll be thinking of is how you left me for dead without a second thought."

Diavolo stood, stunned, as Moonchild walked through him, looking out the window, at the Infernal City. "Doppio… I-I was being pursued. The traitors–the arrow–I–"

"I don't care," Moonchild said, leaning on the window. "For being a part of it, for helping you create Passione, I deserve my fate, my damnation. But I won't let you keep using me as a justification for your actions."

Diavolo was silent as he sat down on the bed, eyes distant as he stared ahead. "I am unworthy…"

Moonchild glanced back at him over his shoulder, saying nothing.

"I had the arrow in my grasp…" Diavolo raised and examined his fist, the ghost of a triumphant smile on his face, fading as he opened his hand, revealing an empty palm. "And it rejected me. I was unworthy of it because of you… Moonchild."

Moonchild blinked and turned to face him, his posture cautious but open. "What?"

"That… bastard." Diavolo grit his shark teeth and squeezed his hands into fists hard enough for them to tremble, his knuckles popping like gunshots. "That sentimental weakling, Giorno Giovanna, it chose him instead! Why? Why?! How could it have picked that feeble, soft-hearted boy over me?! That power, that absolute, divine power! It should have been mine! I deserved it, didn't I?!"

His aura flared, red and black and white, the air turning sour and metallic, burning Moonchild's tongue and nostrils like acid. Diavolo's eyes glowed a sickly, radioactive green as his form swelled, the tendrils atop his head writhing like enraged snakes. A pair of hands settled over his clenched fists, holding them in a tender grasp. Diavolo snarled and looked up to see Moonchild, his features soft and melancholy, his own aura, serene pink with lashings of warm, glowing gold, merged with his, spreading out over it, calming it.

Diavolo's eyes dimmed and his form reverted, his aura flickering as it was pacified. "I-I was… am unworthy. I always thought that true, eternal greatness existed only within me. That I alone deserved to rule. I was right… but I left that part of me behind when I pursued the arrow. It chose Giorno over me because I sacrificed my humanity to have it. I sacrificed you. I love you, Moonchild. You're soft, sentimental, warm… you're everything I'm not. I was made to protect you, to keep your tender soul safe from a cruel world. I let you die, and for my failure I was punished, but now, now we have another chance. I want us to be friends again, I want to be together again. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me for all I've done, for all those cruel things I said, for failing you, for… for everything… I would like to help you one last time. To do right by you, for once."

Moonchild pulled Diavolo to his feet and drew him into a tight, warm embrace, Diavolo looked puzzled for a moment, fear and confusion clear on his face melting away, giving way to sheer, tearful relief. He returned the embrace and smiled, his shoulders relaxing. The two held on for a moment before coming apart, smiling at each other.

"Hey, it's okay," said Moonchild. "It's time to put all that behind us, where the past belongs. We've got some rough times ahead, but I'm here for you."

"And I you," said Diavolo, smirking. "I'm looking forward to seeing that Duke again. Show him what it means to strike mi caro."

Moonchild blanched slightly. "Heh-heh… well, let's take it one step at a time, okay?"

Diavolo chuckled. "We need to work on your bloodlust, Moonie. Don't worry, I've got more than enough for both of us."

Moonchild chuckled and shook his head. "Charlie's got her work cut out for her."

"If anyone can do it, it's Charlotte."

"Yeah, she's pretty–" Moonchild paused, his eyes narrowing as he regarded his other half.

Diavolo noticed the scrutiny. "What?

"It's just that you've been mentioning Charlie a lot," said Moonchild, a smirk pulling at the sides of his mouth. "Like, a whole lot."

"And?" Diavolo turned away from him, straightening his back and folding his arms. "She's running this operation, isn't she?"

"Oh, my God." The smirk became a smile. "You like her!"

"Nonsense." Diavolo turned his nose up, curtly brushing off his other half. "She's strong. Sturdy. I've never failed to kill the same person twice. I can respect that."

Moonchild beamed and reached out, playfully punching his pouting double on the shoulder, his hand phasing through the ephemeral entity. "Oh, don't be like that! It's cute!"

Diavolo snorted, frowning now. "I am not cute."

The door opened with a creak, only a crack, whoever was on the other side was unwilling to walk in on whatever it was they thought he was doing. A voice came, it was Octavia. "Moonie? You okay? I thought I heard you talking to someone."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," said Moonchild, and he was; for the first time in a long while, he felt lighter, whole. "Just, uh, just talking to myself."

Octavia chuckled and stepped through the door, looking around at his room. "Oh? That's good. Uh, hey, the others are throwing a 'we're so fucked' party and they wanted to see how you were–" She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes snapping open wide as she jumped back. "HOLY SHIT WHAT!"

"Via?" Moonchild blinked in confusion, tilting his head quizzically. "What's wrong?"

Octavia pointed to the slightly taller, more robust twin standing next to him. "Who the fuck is that?!"

Moonchild glanced over at Diavolo, who, after a small double take, gestured at himself. "Who, me?"

"Yes! You! The other fucking Moonchild!" Octavia flexed her talons, her feathers ruffling as she made the connection. "Oh shit, Moonie, is that him?!"

Moonchild stepped back, his eyes darting between the two. "You can see him?"

"Obviously," Diavolo said, smiling toothily. "Now, this is interesting."