Chapter 23: Totality

Sallos stood in the middle of his ready-room, surrounded by attendants. The hooded demons chanted defiled hymns and psalms praising Lucifer. It was like poison in his ears, each word of praise a stinging blast of sand against his soul. He spread his arms as his mighty frame was clothed in a thick gambeson made from the hardiest of Hellish materials: fire and razor-flax from Wrath's Obsidian Plains, silk from Envy's bus-sized silkwyrms, and leather and carapace from the most vicious, dangerous creatures prowling the Nine Rings. Atop this arming jacket was placed glittering, beautifully decorated metal, a full set of Seraphic steel plate armor, bearing the tarnished deeds of the ancient, Fallen Seraphim. Sallos glared directly ahead, arms extended to the sides as his priests affixed his Seraphim steel gauntlets to his hands, blessing them with abhorrent incense and flicks of demonic blood, which evaporated upon touching the holy metal.

His armor donned, he was presented with his ceremonial helmet bearing a striking resemblance to an ornately stylized crocodile with huge caprine horns sprouting from the sides. He picked it up and, reacting to his presence, the great jaws of the crocodile split open and receded back onto the helmet, allowing him to put it on. The jaws snapped shut once more, the eyes of the crocodile helm flaring open, becoming flaming, burning pits of hellfire. A large, single-headed axe was offered before him by a pair of acolytes, the purity of the Seraphim steel making up the weapon causing the attending demons' lesser flesh to bubble and slough away from their fingers. The Duke allowed the priests to suffer in silent agony for a moment, sneering as their shoulders and arms began to tremble, their hooded heads bowing as they barely withstood the terrible, purifying pain.

'There's a teenage girl in the other room whose head I must collect,' Sallos thought, bitterly. 'She has more courage and honor in a single feather than your order has in its entirety. Endure the pain, filth.'

He reached out and grabbed the haft of the executioner's axe and wrenched it out of their decaying hands, taking with it several fingers and long strips of flesh. He regarded the axe as the demonic matter clinging to it sizzled and liquified, whole fingers sliding off its pristine surface to splatter on the ground, bones and all. Duke Sallos shoved past the Hell priests and into the adjoining room, where a small squad of ducal soldiers stood in attendance, separating their prisoner from the small army of representatives, pet Overlords all of them. Six-dozen in all, one stand-in for each of the Goetia. A rolling wave of murmurs arose from the crowd.

"All stand for His Excellency Grand Duke Sallos!" Announced a sergeant in his most resplendent ceremonial armor. "Prime Peacekeeper of the Inner Circle, Defender of Decorum, Lord of–"

Sallos silenced the room and his soldier by smashing the pommel of his axe into the floor with a cannon-like report. The ducal soldiers parted around him, revealing his niece. She had been cleaned and dressed as tradition demanded, her face made up in full regal style. His heart broke anew as he imagined how she would have worn her mother's ancestral garments, how the calm and airy dignity she exuded this very moment would have lent all the better to her future duties. Even in attitude and composure she was every bit a princess. This was a ceremony to execute a royal, a fellow Goetia. She had to look the part, but Octavia was more of a royal than any of the cowards the rabble represented.

"Octavia Goetia, heir to the titles and rites of Stolas and Stella Goetia, princess of Hell and loyal subject of Lucifer," Sallos said as he loomed over the much smaller girl, his voice amplified to a Hellish bellow by his armor. "By Royal Decree of Our King Lucifer Morningstar, He With Might Above All Under God, you have been sentenced to death for the indiscretions of your father, Prince Stolas Goetia. If you have any final requests, I shall do all within my power to fulfill them. If you have any final words, you may divulge them now for posterity."

"My final words," said Octavia, her voice strong and steady, the voice of the woman she could have been. "I forgive you, and I love you, Uncle. And my final request… I ask that you forgive yourself."

"Never, poppet…" Sallos whispered, his composure almost breaking that second, turning to his soldiers. "Make ready."

Gingerly, with the utmost reverence, the ducal soldiers escorted the calm, stoic princess to the block. One walked forward with a neatly folded square of white silk, she approached Octavia and extended it to her. Without hesitation, Octavia took the square and unfolded it to reveal an ornately decorated silk drawstring sack and placed it over her head. With that, she allowed herself to be led around the block. There was a brief hesitation, her delicate chest beginning to rise and fall. Two ducal soldiers each put a hand on her shoulder and pressed down, each taking a hand as they knelt with her,laying her down on the block. Sallos stood over her, seeing her chest hitch, dark patches formed as tears stain the silk of the bag encasing her head.

She was crying, but the magic of the bag ensured that no one would hear, preserving her dignity. She'd been so strong this whole time, but now, in her last moments, she was still a frightened teenage girl who was about to die. Sallos saw one of his soldiers giving her trembling hand a reassuring squeeze as the other stroked her back soothingly.

The axe rose, catching the light for a moment.

Something blinked.

Flickered?

Sallos took a tiny fraction of a second to take inventory. What was that?

Something molten hot dripped down his cheek, tears streaming down his face as he prepared. Tears. That must have been it.

The axe fell.

Her head did not even touch the floor before one of his soldiers had rushed forward, snatched up the bag, and pulled the drawstring tight. Not so much as a drop of royal blood had been spilled. A flawless execution.

The body was eased back onto a stretcher and discreetly ferried away. Sallos took the pristine bag and held it aloft to the representatives. "The Decree is satisfied. Official notification will be issued by the end of the day. Inform your masters."

The assembled high-status demons talked among themselves as they prepared to leave.

"Gracious me, how dull," said one Overlord, a garish creature of chitin and metal covered in silk. "Aren't these royal events supposed to be fun?"

"Earl Morax paid me extra for footage of the whole thing, to send to the Prince once he received the news. He was expecting more of a show, no doubt," said another, some manner of vile lizard, adding. "Though, I suppose her dignity would be extra hurtful to Stolas. He'd even be proud of the daughter he got killed."

"Still, I wanted some genuine princess tears!"

Sallos grit his teeth, channeling his vast demonic essence into the Seraphim steel executioner's axe and beckoned his warriors to stand behind him. The instant they were, Sallos' titanic demonic might was unleashed from the axe in full for a brief, flashbulb-like flare of raw power. The assembled Overlords were carbonized in an instant, their corpses still frozen in mundane poses, their eyes black craters overtop mouths just starting to scream in agony. With a gesture, Sallos blasted the frail carbon husks into dust. Sallos turned away and handed the bag to the nearest soldier.

"Prepare her for delivery," said Sallos, not even his impressive armor was able to mask the low numbness in his words. "If anyone wishes to see her before Stolas, kill them."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"Ah bup bup!" Came a hatefully familiar, Georgian-accented voice. "Just a second, please."

Every head turned to see Lucifer standing in the corner of the room, his sneer, hateful grin seemed almost warm and jovial when compared to the cold pits that were his eyes. He strolled towards them, one hand folded behind his back, in the other was a small but lavishly decorated card.

"Stick this on there, will you?" Lucifer said, handing the card to the petrified soldier. "Thanks. You're a sweetheart."

The soldiers were frozen in place, their eyes wide and bugged behind their helmets.

Lucifer cocked his head and laughed, an almost warm sound. "Run."

The soldiers fled, barely a shred of military discipline in their actions. Sallos was proud they still had the wherewithall to flee.

Sallos stood motionless as Lucifer made his way around the room, glancing at the bloodless chopping block. "Nice execution, Sally. Very, er, clean."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"See, that's why I sicced you onto this job, Sally! You're a professional!" Lucifer gestured to the piles of dust and bones in the bleachers. "Allocer would have made a huge gaudy mess of things, and not just with the ol' chop! Drawing and quartering, limb removal, and just a whole lot of blood and screaming! This is supposed to be a punishment. Ol' Al would have made it way too entertaining! ...He would have left some witnesses, though..."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Lucifer paused, turning around to face Sallos, head cocked. "You alright, Sally? You sound a little, er, dead inside."

"…"

"Ah, well, must be that tacky ol' helmet of yours messing with your voice. Honestly, I don't know why I make you wear it…" Lucifer chuckled and sighed, pleased with himself. "Anyway! Now that this little errand is done, why don't you come on over to my palace for dinner? A bit of girl talk with Lilly, you and I can go over this Corpse business–Oh! Ha! Yes! Congrats on getting the owlet from my little girl! I do declare, I was genuinely impressed with that one, no idea how you pulled it off! You must tell me, because every time I went to kill her pets when she was a little she was all 'GRAWR! RAWR!' Horns and hellfire, leveling whole wings of the palace! I thought for sure she'd at least bust you up some, laws yes!"

"…" Sallos' grip on the haft tightened.

"Must have been that 'pacifists' nature' I hired you for!" Lucifer said, turning to face the towering Duke. "So, be there at 6?"

Sallos roared as the axe slashed through the air, easily breaking the sound barrier and going far beyond, the air behind the axe heated to blue-white plasma by friction alone, the edge of the blade glowing red and orange with his own demonic power. There was an explosion of light and Seraphic fragments, carved granite of the room cracked as the shockwave battered and bellowed within the confines.

Lucifer's head bounced as it tumbled across the floor, his top hat rolling about on its rim for a moment before falling still, his body toppling to the ground with a muted thud. The thick, black ichor that filled his body leaked out onto the ground where it squeaked and whined like tortured rats, vermiform tendrils writhing up from its surface. Lucifer's head rolled to a stop and blinked, the expression on his face that of mild bemusement.

"Hey, Sally," Lucifer's head said, black blood spewing from between his shark teeth. "Pardon my manners, is now a bad time? You feelin' okay?"

"Actually Lucy, I'm feeling just fine. You see, I've come to a decision." Sallos loomed over the head, discarding the glowing, shattered remains of the axe with a clattering bang, raising his massive booted foot up and over the disembodied Lord of Darkness. "Consider this my resignation."

Lucifer blinked, his smile vanishing as his expression became, for once, entirely serious. "Sallos, let's talk about this."

His foot came down with a thunderous crash, Lucifer's head disappeared into a tar-black splatter drooling down the sides of a crater. With that, Sallos left.

The halls echoed with their footsteps. I.M.P. marched in lockstep with the quartet of ducal guards at their flanks, the armored demons saying nothing. Moxxie and Millie held one another, their tails intertwined as they whispered comforting lies to one another. Blitzo marched out ahead of his employees, a serene, self-satisfied smile on his face. None of them were restrained in any way, for there was no need deep within Sallos' palace.

Blitzo turned to the nearest guard. "Hey. Come here often? Yeah, no, right, you work here. Say, were you manning the cameras? Get an eyeful? Getting paid to watch people fuck, sounds pretty swank. But hey, my father always said 'if you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life!" Blitzo cackled and pointed to the guard on his left. "This guy knows what I'm talkin' about!"

Blitzo examined the one on his left more closely, eying up the featureless armor, the bare faceplate. "Ah, no, wait. This gal knows what I'm talkin' about! Hey, since the two of you got all the right bits, I'll let you in on a little secret. You know the Rusty Venture? Yeah, not only can it become a straight move, but it's actually easier with a gal on hand. Weird, huh?"

They came to a stop outside a large, beautifully carved ebony door flanked by stark white marble columns in the Corinthian style.

"We're here," said the guard, a scowl clear in his voice. "Goodbye, vermin."

"It's Blitzo, actually," said Blitzo, winking at him. "The 'o' is silent."

The trio were escorted into the lathe room by a pair and the remaining two guards took their position outside, standing opposite each other.

"…'Rusty Venture'?"

"Right, so, it's when you…"

Moxxie and Millie huddled behind Blitzo as he led them into the room. It was a wide, tall half-sphere shaped area with flawless granite making up the walls and ceiling. At the center of the room, descending from the ceiling, was a massive telescoping apparatus of some type lined with pipes and cables. Directly beneath it was a cruel-looking spider-like device with eight articulated metal arms, each terminating in a manacle. Off to the side of the room was what appeared to be a control console, standing before it was Captain Gallia and a demonic technician.

"Wow!" Blitzo said, whistling. "That's the doo-dad, eh? Musta cost at least a tree-fiddy!"

"Into the manacles, vermin!" Growled one of the guards, driving the pommel of his spear into the small of the imp's back, causing him to stumble forward.

"The name's Blitzo, shlick-stain," Blitzo snarled, getting to his feet, dusting himself off. "And fine! Hey, Gallia, I'm ready for my interview!"

Captain Gallia watched in bemusement as the imp sauntered over to the manacles, seemingly heedless of the hushed, horrified objections of his teammates. Her eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. The other imps were appropriately terrified, but this fool approached the Soul Lathe as though it were some novel kind of amusement ride.

Blitzo turned his back to the manacles and spread his arms wide, a smirk on his face. The manacles whirred to life and fastened themselves to his arms, legs, elbows, and knees, lifting him off his feet. Blitzo yawned as he was splayed out before the Soul Lathe, the aperture of which was already beginning to glow and arc gold and orange energy.

"Huh. Neat," said Blitzo, looking over his shoulder at Gallia. "So, how does this thing work?"

"The inner workings of the Soul Lathe are closely guarded–" The technician began to say.

"Raw Hell energy is channeled into a perfectly reflective chamber constructed from Seraphim steel so that they converge on a single point. At this point is a Fragment, a shard of Lucifer's archangel halo, frozen and shattered upon his Fall into the Abyss of the 9th circle. Negative changes to positive and holy energy is produced. When a demon is struck with this beam of holy energy, their own demonic energy is inverted and they are violently destroyed, but not before the essence of their being is liberated in a spectrum of light which our sensors can then interpret into data. The process can take anywhere between one and five minutes."

"Sounds painful."

"Excruciating," Gallia said, smirking. "Now, any last requests?"

Blitzo leered at her, obscenely long tongue spilling out of his mouth as he waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Denied." Captain Gallia stood at attention. "Blitzo the imp, in the name of King Lucifer Magne, the Morningstar, He With Might Above All Under God, I hereby shall conduct this interrogation with his blessing. You and your associates stand accused of possessing knowledge relevant to the Inner Circle's interests. As such, you will be thoroughly interrogated and all you know will be divulged. Do you understand?"

"Nope!"

"Commence the primary sequence."

The huge machine whined, a dense, bassy thrum filling the air as the Lathe charged its massive capacitors, the metal plating on the telescoping cylinder splitting open, the panels extending outwards like a Hellish flower. Orange-white holy arced between the panels, hissing, spitting like vipers. Blitzo squinted as he looked up into the maw of the Soul Lathe, the polished Seraphim steel panels above him glittered and shone like a murderous diamond.

His reflection in all of them waved back at him, smirking.

Blitzo grinned and turned back to Gallia. "Say! Prickly Pear! I got a request!"

"The time for that has passed." Gallia said, gesturing to the technician.

"Pweeeease?" Blitzo crooned, batting his big orange eyes. "Sally would let me."

Gallia sighed and rolled her eyes. "Let's have it."

"That's what she said…" Blitzo muttered. "Hey! You, virgin!"

There was a pause. Gallia turned around to look at the technician, who glanced over his shoulder before point to himself. "Who, me?"

"No, the other guy who looks like he'd nut at a woman's touch!"

"Hey! I'm not–"

"It doesn't count as sex if you cum after three thrusts and cry, poindexter!"

The Technician sputtered in outrage as Gallia chuckled into her hand, hiding her smile, Blitzo continued. "This holy shit gets reflected by angel metal, right?"

The Technician pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Yes, the condensation chamber and focusing apertures–"

"Whatever. Say, what would happen if, hypothetically, there was a nice shiny chunk of angel stuff here instead of an imp?"

"Oh? Well, the energy would be reflected back up into the mechanism, into the Fragment, which would… cause a massive feedback loop and… an even more massive explosion of holy energies."

Gallia snarled and turned to the guards. "You searched him!?"

"Yes, Captain," said the guard, his armored gauntlet drawing his sword. "Unless he literally has Seraphim steel up his ass–"

"Private Scorch," Gallia barked, pointing. "Why are you drawing your weapon?"

"I'm…" Private Scorch said, looking down at his drawn Seraphim steel spatha. "...Not? Wha–"

The blade hummed and lurched in his hand, cleanly cleaving his head in half crown to collarbone. Moxxie yelped as he was splattered with blood and scrambled away from the standing-dead demon.

"CaptaiIAIAAAAAAIIGH!" The other guard sputtered as needles, nails, and razorblades erupted from the eyeholes of their helmets, neck and fingertips.

The bleeding, agonized demoness collapsed to the floor, blood pouring out from under their helmet and out the eyeholes. Captain Gallia stepped out of the way just before the same spatha whistled through the air where her head had been a microsecond before. A short, high-pitched scream sounded alongside the shriek of rent metal. Gallia spun around to see the Technician slumped over dead, pinned to the console by the sword. Needles, nails, and tacks erupted from his hand and forearm, dragging his limp arm forward to push a switch. The Soul Lathe screamed as it commenced its initiation sequence.

"Moxxie!"

Gallia turned to see the female imp reaching out for her mate, her limbs and other parts of her body disintegrating in great messy clumps as though in handfuls.

"Millie!" Moxxie cried as he succumbed to a similar process.

"Aw shucks!" Blitzo called from across the room. "Dontcha hate when that happens?"

"You…" Gallia growled as she spun around, her hands encased in yellow lightning. "I'll-what?"

Blitzo faded out of the manacles, grinning like a loon, his still-visible hands flipping her the double bird.

"Word of the wise, Tits!" Blitzo said, his remaining hand point up. "Run."

With that the imp was gone, and in his place was a single, polished silver globe bell.

No. Not silver. Seraphim steel.

"Arma ego!" Gallia cried when the Soul Lathe blasted the bell with a star-yellow blast of holy power, causing it to scatter about the room like laser beams, carving molten channels into the granite, and vaporizing the mutilated guard. Gallia fended off the fraction of holy might for a brief instant with her lightning, Seraphim steel armor teleporting onto her body. The light reflected up into the main apparatus, one hitting the Fragment with a piercing wail that instantly split the air, granite, and very structure of the palace with a razing flash of heat, light, and sound.

Silence hung in the air in the locker room, the tall, muscular fish-demon was hunched over the table, his trembling hands bracketing the small, ominous box.

"No, please no…" He murmured. "Octavia…"

The handsome wolf-demon approached with caution, hands out in front of him. "Man, I'm sorry. That's no way for a gal to meet her end. I can get us out of here whenever you want."

"Yes," said his spooky, green-eyed ghost-double as he shimmered into existence. "Our business here is concluded. I'm sorry for your loss, but–"

Moonchild spun about, grabbing the specter by the throat and smashing him on the table. "You're sorry? You're sorry?!"

"Moonchild…" Diavolo croaked, his eyes wide as he pawed at the hands implacably gripping his throat. "What… What are you doing?!"

"You're sorry?! You bastard! You never-you always wanted her to rrrrrRRRAAARGH!" Moonchild growled, his eyes wide and glowing, his frame expanding with muscle and scales as his tentacles split and spilled over his face, his mouth a snarling horror of jagged shark teeth.

"Moonchild!" Diavolo cried, terrified. "No! Don't!"

Moonchild lunged forward and sank his teeth into Diavolo's face, their screams mingling, voices mixing as the phantom flickered, disintegrating into shimmering wisps of energy. With a low, clotted growl, the huge demon inhaled the energy, his aura flaring and spiking like an oscilloscope.

"Holy shit," Hush whispered, stepping away from the hulking behemoth. "Moonie?"

Moonchild snarled at him over his rippling, heaving shoulder, before recognizing him and issuing a low snort, turning back to the box.

Hush, after a brief, stunned silence, snorted. "Did you just eat your other guy? Fuck, I should remember that trick the next time HS sounds off about my driving. Heh! …You, uh, you okay?"

The hulking demon said nothing, cradling the box in his arms. Hush sighed and shook his head, about to say something when his ears perked up: footsteps, a lot of them.

"Shit!" Hush hissed, sniffing the air. "Moonie, we got company! Four… no, six ducal soldiers are heading this way! We gotta get outta here!"

"You go," Moonchild said, his voice low and flanging, as he clutched the box to his chest. "We're staying."

"What?!" Hush exclaimed, before centering himself, shaking his head and reaching for Moonchild's wrist. "No, man, I know it feels like the end of the world, but–"

"I said, we're staying!" Moonchild roared, his glowing eyes flickering between green and fuchsia, sending Hush hurtling across the locker room with an offhanded swat.

Hush grunted as he smashed into the lockers, the steel crumpling under the force of the impact, he groaned as his ribs screamed bloody murder. "Fucker, you don't gotta tell me twice."

The door opened with a creak and voices drifted in with it. "The Duke seemed… down? Anyone else get that?"

"Dude just killed his favorite niece," said another one. "That'd knock anyone down for a bit."

"Yeah, but he's a Grand Duke of Hell," the other retorted. "Figured he was tougher'n that."

"He's harder than a day-old baguette, lieutenant," said another, sterner voice. "Loving someone doesn't make you soft, it just means you're harder elsewhere."

"Whatever, old man," said the lieutenant, as he turned the corner and saw Moonchild. "I–WHOA FUCK!"

"Is that Red Nightmare?!"

"He has the box!" Roared the superior officer. "Heretic! Kill him!"

Hush chuckled and held up his hands, jabbing a thumb at Moonchild. "I'm not with him!"

"Kill them both!"

"Prick."

Hush knew he couldn't recall his twin's scent before the ducal soldiers would skewer him. Most demons were just tougher, meaner humans, but these guys were a step above. It wouldn't surprise him if some of these goons had been Overlords before getting on the royal payroll.

This shit was way above his pay grade.

Hush adopted a fighting stance, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Fuckin'–"

–The soldiers were gone, the entire room was askew and the air was thick with something musty and metallic. Something hot and sticky dripped on his snout. Hush reached up and dabbed it with his fingers, staring at it: blood.

"What…?"

Another drop splattered on his shoulder. Hush looked up, his eyes bugging open wide. Stuck to the ceiling, impaled by a Seraphim steel sword, was the mangled remains of a ducal soldier, his remaining eye dangling out of the visor on a shiny red string of optic nerve, his mouth, visible through the shattered faceplate, was ripped open, gaping and askew, his few remaining teeth jagged white shards in a raw red maw, frozen in a final scream of terror and agony. Hush stepped back, ears flat against his skull, loosing a small exclamation of horror as he came across another body, this one had been similarly mauled, her limbs bent and twisted into useless, painful shapes, the shaft of her Seraphim steel spear had been shoved down her gullet and torn forward, taking with it her jaw and throat, her collar bone, sternum and ribs snapped outward, protruding.

"Fuck!"

Every other soldier lay strewn about the locker room, each one savagely, sadistically mutilated, impaled with their own angelic weapons or crushed and twisted into horrible new forms, the rage and sheer murderous will etched into each other assuredly agonizing ends. Hush gagged at the smell, blood and pain and ruptured bowels hung in the air like a choking miasma, his stomach spasmed and lurched. But through it all, he could smell… burning wires? Ozone. The greasy, metallic smell of something, no, someone burning the air itself with their aura.

Hush turned around, slowly, gazing up at the figure standing amidst the carnage, not so much as a spot of blood on him. He wasn't the hulking monstrosity Moonchild morphed into in his anguish, but neither was he the same as before. The demon standing before him, despite looking almost identical, was an entirely different person. He faced Hush, his expression flat and calm save for the tears streaming down his cheeks, his bangs pulled back into a single long braid, what looked like a tattoo of a face on his forehead opened its green, glowing eyes.

"You should go now," this new demon said, his voice smooth and deep, but indescribably sad. "Thank you for your help."

Hush's nerve broke and he slipped away.

A jump through the Abyss and he was back at Highway Star's side, panting and trembling.

"Hush!" Blue World called out. "You okay? You look like someone just walked over your grave!"

"I–"

A tremendous, earth-shaking explosion ripped through the air, shaking cars on their wheels and rattling windows. Highway Star wordlessly disassembled and raced to the top of one of the buildings. Hush grabbed Blue World and teleported them both to his double's side.

"Jesus fuck!" Blue World sputtered, greening somewhat as he leaned over, as though to vomit. "What did I tell you about doing that without warning?! It's bad enough our van got shredded, I don't need a… dry cleaning bill… fuck."

Off in the distance, sitting on the horizon like an oppressive mountain, a monument to the power of the Inner Circle, was Duke Sallos' ziggurat. Only it was missing a huge chunk of its side, a blazing flashing star flaring in its crater, oily black smoke billowing from dozens of ruptured gas mains and doubtless thousands of burning bodies.

"What the fuck is going on?!" Blue World exclaimed.

"Stinks of burning tarmac and cooked blood," said Highway Star, his flat, emotionless voice heavy with dreadful portend. "Smells like doomsday."

Charlie sat behind her desk, flipping through her notebook. Between the pages was her mapping of Moonchild's progress, the days between major events filling with pleasant natter and fluff. The little demon had made so much progress.

One page read: Today we learned to cook. Niffty was very enthusiastic about teaching us the finer points of housekeeping. Her style of meal-making involved a lot more butter and salt than I would have assumed, but the results speak for themselves. SO TASTY. Angel played a mean trick on Moonchild, telling him he'd taste salty coins if he opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and pumped his hand in front of his mouth so that he looked like he was… well, yeah. Needless to say, Angel had a good laugh at the poor little guy's expense, although I don't think Moonchild caught on as to why. Lesson learned: Moonchild is very gullible and trusting, monitor his time with Angel closely.

Charlie smiled as she remembered that day. Angel pulled that same trick at least four times after that, and Moonchild only caught on the last time, after he'd been back from… the casino.

She grimaced and flipped forward a few pages, to the date of the debacle. It read: Fucking. Fuck. God fucking damnit. Why does this always hapen to fucking shit fuck. (Husk is such a) I shouldn't have let them go this always fucking happens every time they always come back with pieces missing or covered in blood or big and muscly and why is Moonie big and sexy now?! Im very tird and (horny) pissed off. Fuck. Also Octavia Goetia is here too?! Great. That's all I need. One more for the road: FUCK.

The next entry was somewhat more cogent: Moonchild's new look is taking some getting used to. He's still very sweet and gentle, although I have noticed a distinct shift in personality. He's more… confident? Assertive, anyway. Are the two connected? Now that I think of it, he looks very similar to the Other Guy, now. I hope this doesn't mean what I think it means. For the time being, Moonchild still seems receptive to his therapy, although I'm getting hints of impatience, like he's distracted by something. Anyway, hobby swap today! Third time's the charm!

Charlie's brow furrowed as she read onward, her mind drawing ominous connections that were, at the time, easily missed. I know I'm supposed to give everyone a fair shake, and I can't go around holding grudges against the people I'm supposed to help but… man, fuck that guy. (Suckerpunching dickhead) Diavolo has repeatedly shown an unwillingness to cooperate (Diavolo?! What kind of self-aggrandizing dipshit names themself-) However, I remain cautiously optimistic. Diavolo is now back with Moonie, as opposed to 'the Requiem', which, from the sound of it, is probably something I should follow up on, because YIKES. For the time being, Moonie has a solid hold on our newest client. I've been brushing up on DIDs in all my textbooks to limited success. On the surface, from what we know, it seems like a standard case, as standard as DIDs can be, but for the shape-shifting, the differences in abilities, and… everything else. I don't really know how to proceed. Moonchild's currently on Earth(?!) burying his human body with Octavia. Closure is important, but I still have a bad feeling about all this. I feel like there's so much going on around us, like we're all tangled up in a great big (clusterfuck) (shitstorm) web of plots and schemes and plans, all the way back to Kira, even. I just don't know what to do. We're waiting for Moonchild and Octavia to get back. When they do, I'll sit everyone down for a chat, get it all out on the table. I just hope nothing else comes up.

"Hopes dashed," Charlie muttered to herself.

That had been the last page, she'd had other concerns once the whole 'Decree' thing came to the fore. Now, Octavia was likely dead, Moonchild was rushing off to follow her to the chopping block. Another patient, gone, but the alternative was the deaths of everyone. She buried her face in her hands, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She could have helped. She could have done so much more. If only she'd have… done what? Even now, she couldn't think of a way she could have helped. She felt helpless. She felt useless… she was useless.

The door opened with a creak and Vaggie peered in. "Hon?"

"Oh," Charlie sniffled, wiping the tears out of her eyes. "H-hey Vaggie, I was just, uh, I was j-just–"

Vaggie was at her side in an instant, pulling her into a tight embrace. Charlie broke down and wept into her chest, clinging to her like a life-saving piece of flotsam. Vaggie soothed her, stroking the back of her head as hot tears soaked through her dress.

"I'm a failure!" Charlie sobbed. "W-why can't I just do one thing right?! W-why do these horrible things keep happening?! I just want to help!"

"Charlie, no," said Vaggie, her tone stern but warm. "None of that. You redeemed Kira, he went to Heaven, remember? And Moonie, yeah, this situation is all fucked up, but he's his own demon now, thanks to you."

"…He'd still be alive if it wasn't for me…" Charlie said, miserably.

Vaggie shook her head and held Charlie out in front of her, gazing into her red, weeping eyes. "We won't get anywhere with that kind of talk. Charlie, the person who walked through these doors those weeks ago never would have taken control of his life like that. If it wasn't for all this bullshit going on, you would have redeemed him, too, I know it. Moonchild has to do what's right for him, and you were right to give him that choice. You could have stopped him, kept him here, but then what? None of this is your fault, Charlie. You did the best you could, it just wasn't in the cards this time."

Charlie's mouth worked silently, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks. With a choked sob she rushed in, pulling Vaggie into a crushing hug.

"We'll get through this, babe," whispered Vaggie. "We always have."

"…Don't ever go…" Charlie whispered into her ear. "Stay with me."

Vaggie smiled, kissing her cheek. "Your Gramps Himself would have to get up off His ass to take me away from you, and even then I'd tell Him where to stick it."

"I love you, Vaggie," Charlie said, trembling in her arms.

"I love you, too, Charlie."

A deep, reverberating boom shook the Hotel on its foundations, rattling the windows and doors as dust fell from the ceiling.

"What was that?!" Charlie exclaimed.

"A… Hellquake?" Vaggie offered.

"Those don't happen."

"Vaggie! Charlie!" Angel called from elsewhere in the Hotel. "Get in here, double-time!"

Vaggie and Charlie took off down the hall into the common room. Standing around the main television set was Angel, Husk and Alastor. On the screen was an alarmingly dumbfounded Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench, genuine confusion and fear etched onto their faces.

"Uh…" said a nonplussed Killjoy. "This, uh, this just in. A large explosion has, uh… oh, fuck it!"

Katie reached under the newsdesk and produced a small white baggie of cocaine labeled 'Katie's Kandy' and laid out a long, messy line. She leaned over and, with long, clotted snort, inhaled the entire thing in one go.

"Damn!" Angel said, impressed. "Bitch just solo'd a rail as long as my dick in one hoot!"

Katie inhaled deeply and leaned back, her body tense as a shuddering gasp escaped her. Her head snapped down with a ghoulish crunch, a rictus grin on her corpse-pale face. "This just in! Not two minutes ago, a massive explosion was seen tearing apart what appears to be the entire east side of Grand Duke Sallos' palace. The damage is reported to be severe and the casualties no doubt number in the thousands! Nice and juicy! With more details is Tom Trench. Tom?"

Tom Trench stared straight ahead, his glassy eyes wide, masked face flat and expressionless.

"Tom!" Katie hissed. "Snap out of it, you flaccid cock in a wig!"

"What if someone important got hurt?" Tom muttered, his voice flat. "If we cover this wrong, they'll-th-they'll…"

Katie growled and sent the smaller demon flying off camera with a kick, turning back to the camera, a gush of blood erupting from her nostrils as she put a finger to her ear. "Ah! Channel 666 News copters have just made the scene! Here we are with a live feed of Sallos' palace!"

The feed cut to a grainy, static-ridden image of the Duke's ziggurat. A quarter of the upper portion had been rendered little more than rubble, with streaks of molten abyssal granite criss-crossing the crater, beams of yellow energy spitting from the glowing center in random directions, pulsing like a heartbeat. The feed cut back to a reported in a flight helmet, the damage visible from within the cockpit.

"Thank you, Katie!" The air reporter shouted over the din of the helicopter as it hovered over the disaster area. "This is Kai in the Sky representing Channel 666 News reporting on-site above Grand Duke Sallos' palace. As you can see, the damage is extensive, and while the cause of the disaster is currently unknown, it does appear to be an ongoing phenomena, as evidenced by the strange light show going on below!"

"Those beams seem to be pretty bright, Kai," Katie crooned, gleefully. "Are they dangerous?"

"No way of knowing that at this point Katie, we–" Kai flinched as another news helicopter was struck with a beam of glowing holy energy, destroying it utterly. "Yes, Katie, they do appear to be dangerous! But don't worry, that was a Channel 616 chopper!"

"Ha ha yes!" Katie crowed, pumping her fist. "Take that, you semantic cocksuckers!"

The feed cut back to Kai, who pointed to something off screen, a scream building in his throat before the feed was consumed in a blinding flood of white-yellow light, the silhouette of Kai's skeleton briefly visible before the feed cut off.

"Damnit!" Katie spat, talons digging into the desktop. "That was our newest helicopter!"

"This just in, two positions have opened up at Channel 666," groaned Tom as he crawled back on screen, gesturing at the upper right hand corner of the screen where the channel's web address flashed. "If you're interested, please submit your resume to us online at www channel666news he / careers / newmeat! We'll be happy to have you for as long as you last."

Katie laid out a line of coke for her cohost, who hoovered it up enthusiastically.

Husk turned to Charlie, who was watching in silent horror, her hands to her mouth. "Chuck… I'm sure Moonie wasn't–"

Tears welled up in Charlie's eyes, she shook her head and took off down the hall, Vaggie following after.

Husk sighed and shook his head, blinking when he felt a hand grasp his. He turned around to see Angel Dust, his mismatched eyes wide, locked on the screen. For a moment Husk considered pulling his hand out of the spider's grasp, but eventually squeezed back, turning his gaze back to the screen.