Sorry about the long wait on this one, guys! It took a while to hammer out all the bits. I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 26: Demiurge
Sallos stormed into his ceremonial dressing room, the huge area resplendent with suits of armor and silk alike, the walls decorated with murals carved into the abyssal granite depicting his great deeds of eons past. His singlehanded conquest of the Baldricks, the antecedents of modern imps, in what would later become the Ring of Wrath. The bloody pacification of the proud Salamandrine, the only faction of native Hellions to retain relative independence. His brokering of peace between Lucifer's Fallen Host and the subjugated native Hellions, which would lead to the establishment of the Inner Circle and Hell as it was known today.
If he never saw the interior of this room ever again, it'd be too soon.
His entourage of demon priests were waiting for him, they genuflected and toadied and debased themselves, chanting as they prepared to commence the de-armoring ritual. Sallos had no patience for these pretentious, cloistered vermin at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times.
"Get out, all of you," he growled.
"But," gurgled the head priest. "Your armor, Your Excellency."
"I'll remove it myself," Sallos said, his voice a low, foreboding rumble within his helmet. "Get out now before I gut you all and decorate these chambers with your entrails."
The priests chattered like frightened monkeys for a moment. A moment too long. Sallos roared and flexed his aura in an explosion rage.
"Gͬͤ͗E̫͙̣͛̆ͮ̆̏͊T̸̝̗͍͒͋̌̆̓ͫ ̪̝̗̭̙̥̻̃̃͒ͨͭ̒̽O͖̔͝U̳̪̰͆͡T͐ͣ҉̝!̒͆͏͕̦̭̮̠ͅ"
The nearest priest was pulverized by the shockwave, reduced to a cloud of black, chunky, vile-smelling mist. The rest were knocked backwards, scattered like dry leaves, the abyssal granite walls cracking as the chamber shook. The priests got to their feet and scurried away from the enraged demon royal. The group neared the door when something happened. Any words that could define or describe what happened were either long-lost or cloistered away in the tomes of the angels themselves. It clawed away the sanity and souls of the priests in a single bloody slash of unreality. The priests fell to the ground, babbling and gibbering before melting away into puddles of vile effluence. Out of the thing emerged a stark white figure, gleaming with what might have been holy light in some long bygone era, but was now inexplicably tainted, defiled, and false. A pale imitation of the sweetness of God's love, saccharine but manufactured.
Sallos doffed his helmet and sneered. "Lucifer."
"Hey, Sally!" Lucifer chirped, hands folded neatly behind his back.
Sallos cocked an eyebrow at the disgusting puddles on the floor. "Was that necessary?"
"I figured you'd want some privacy," Lucifer said, smiling brightly. "Since we're about to discuss what's gotten you into such a tizzy."
"I communicated my opinions on the matter quite succinctly, if you recall," said Sallos, making a chopping movement at his throat. "I quit. That's all there is to it. Find someone else to root around for Uncle Jay-Jay's meat-suit, I'm done with you."
"Oh, Sally, Sally, Sally…" Lucifer chuckled and shook his head, his expression was unmoving but curdled somehow, becoming awful and eldritch. "My dear, sweet, deluded little minion. Aren't we forgetting just one teensy-weensy, but ever-so-crucial tiny, little detail?"
He was upon him in an instant, the shadow of his true form looming tall, the dark and cold about it so profound as to beggar the Abyss, his many, horrible eyes glaring down on Sallos with demented fury.
"̵̤͆̄͆͌ͭ̅̄̅͝I̝̲̙̘̘̺̦͈̩̾̌ͦͫ̒͌͡ ͔͗̅ͬ̐̉̊̈ͯ͜ ̫̙̥̩͓̤̾̾ͭͨ̐̌̋ͨ ̸̣͔͆̈́̓̂̐͛ͦͧ̕O̞ͩ̆̓͒̄ͨͭ ̸̨̣͚̖͕̫̱̗͙̿ͦ̾̅ͯ̊ͪ͂͢W͌̈ͯͬͨ̆́͟͏̠̼̥͈͕͉̺͙̰ ̭͔̻̋̑͌ͤͬͩͦͤ̀Ñ̺͙͎̭ͤ͐͋͞ ́̓҉̼̺̻̭͔͜͢ ̨̹̭͚̬̭̿ͪͦ̉ ̝̀͠Y̧͍̱͕ͬ͡ ͩͩ͏͓̜ͅO͛͌̃̏̀̇́ͪ͏̹̜̲̻̺̀ ̥̬̙͓̯́ͪͭ̉̄͐͒ͧ͂Ȗ̩̣̗̞͍̒̓̈́͆͌͞!̸͖̹̟̋͂̈́ͯ͋̒ͤ̓"̣͖͉̙͍ͥͬͧ͌̆̓͝
Sallos recoiled, his eyes wide and harrowed, Lucifer continued.
̜͚̯"̤̱̳̲̰͕I̲̪̭̱̣ ̙͚͉͎ ̥͕̩ ̹̫o͍̩̞̦ͅ ̻̞w ̹̯̖͉͙͔ͅn͖̬͈ ͕ ͎̫̺͓͈y̫̖̙͎͙ͅ ̝͍o͖ ̟̮͚̗u ̻̦̮͍͎ͅr̰̲ ̺̥ ͇ ̼͚f̭̩ ̱͔̱͉͇ͅa ͚͙m͉̺̹ i͓̮͔̝ ̦͔͕̤l͔͉̙̤͕̫ ̞̣͇̥̜͍y͉̪ !̪̖ ̫̺̰̥ ̤͙ ̻̜̠̮͍̯
I ͉ ̯͇͓̬͓ ̜͉o̙̼̩ w̼̲̞̝͚̥ ͎̼̣̞̱̱ͅn̖̜̞̻ ̪̳̝̥̘̘̦ ̺̗̞̬̮̲ e̙̗̠̗̺̘̮ ͍v̹̬ ̬͔̜͇͕̻e̘̪ ̞̹r͓̫̮̠ ̖̘̙y̙̻̜ ͚̝͚o̠̯̭̬͓̫̱ ͎̤n̝̣̹̪ ͚̹̠̝e̤͎͈̙̘̼ ͈͖̞̻͕ ̣ ̥a̫ n̻͇ ͚̟̫͎͕d͉͖ ͈͈̳̗ ̪̣͇̬̱̗͚ ͔̹ͅe̤͎̞̩̲̺ ̙͓̭v͉͉̺̝̜ ̱̗̦̥͔̠e̦̼ ͍͇̭ͅr͈̰͓̙͈͙̞ ͇̣̦̙y̪̘̣̮͉̞ ̱̳̳̮̦͍̙t ͕̱h̬̰̝͔̤̥͖ ̺i̳͕ ͓̻n͖͓̼͎̖̦ ̲͚̬g̹̪͈̻ ͖̘̥̺ ̺͇͓̬̰͈͎ ̙i̟ ̥̹̫͎̬n̟̜̳̠ ̟̹̹̜̖̝ ̺͉̠ ͈̤t͕̯͇͕ͅ ͍̗̞͙͓h͕̼ ̱̗͈͚̠̬ͅi̝̙ ̝̦̻̼s͙̯ ̱̳͎ ͍̬͚̹ͅ ̟̲f̮͖̯̤̺͎ ̩̘̯̞u̜ ͙̭̦c̟̩͓͍̫ ͔k̝͓ i ̳̙̭̰̟n ̼͇̩͇g̗̲͖̻ ͕͉͖̥̮ͅ ̘̝̜̞͙̰ ͔̫̗̖p̫̘̼̬̼̯̘ ͅi͔̙̦̣̬͓͎ ̝̙t͖ ͉!̫͈̗̟͇͕ͅ
Y̹ ̙̰̣o̰͙̤ ̺͇͈̭̺̥͓u̖̫̩̲͕͖ͅ ̱'̫̩̭̻̘̮ͅ r̻ ͎̘͈̦͕͕̤e̙̦̹ ̼̘̥̯̥ ͓̼̯ ̲͍̬̖̙͇̳m̪̫̫ ̝̙͍̟i̙̩̤̦̱ ͚̮͔n͈͉ ̯͕e̳̝ ̙̳͚̻,̬̗̲̼ ̺͍͉ ͖̬̹̗̫̘͖a͎̝̼͍͈ ̪̙̱̮n̻ ͓̳͓͍ͅd͇̜ ̻̯͚̮͉ ̮͚̥ ͉͖͈̰̹͚t͕ ̼̠̮͚̻ͅh ̗͇̪͉̯̞a̠ ̗͔̥̭t͈̭̹ ̯̼͙̠̳̥ ̳ ͖̤͖̲̜̙m̩͇ ͍̦̟̣̝e ͇̜̥̥̪a̳͍͔̖ ͕͚̤̬͉̝n̥̙̹͎͕̻̩ ̙s̭̬̠̩̭ ̳̤̠̗͍ ͙̘̭̠͇ y̳ ̻͖͚̱o̜͔͚̳͓ ̼̫̜̱̫̺u̗ͅ ̼̩̳̙̖̘̣ ̖̣̞͔̦̬ ̞͖̰̲d̦͍̬͇̺̪̲ ̜̪̦o̘͙͚ ͈ ̭̮̩͚̪ͅͅ ̪̫͚͇ͅw̤̖͚̺̩͍̪ ͕̯͔ͅḫ͍̦ ̪ͅa̠͔͉ ̭͇t̗̺ ̰͎̞͕̤̫ ̩ ̺̤I̠̹ ̻͖̫͕ ͈̭̼̺͔ ͎̣̙ͅt̠̞̻̜̥ ̼̣̜̹e ͈̖̤̭̬l̫̗̜̠ ̠̬̘̰̞̫̺l ̱̟̬̼ͅ ̞̹̳ ͓͖y͚͉̘̰̘ ̹̫̰̲̤̖o̤ ͈̤̲u͈͖͓ ̗̜ ͔̗͖̤ ̺͙t̬̱̮͈̭̺͕ ̺̳̦̣ͅo͖ ͉̦̝̰̝̫̩, ͖ ̜̞̞̝ͅy͇̠̼̣͓ ̹̩̩͉̣o̱̘ ̘̣u̠ ̺ ̳̳ f̗̲̭͚͕̥ ̜̥̟u̩͚̼͖ ̙̭͕͓͎c͙̪̳͓̥͙̟ ̹͇͔k͉͉̹̱̯̹ͅ ̻̺͖̲͇i͇͓̖̞ ̹̞̤n͙ ͓͔͖̭̪͇̻g̻͖̟̫̥ ̟̺͕̝̟͓̹ ̞̘ ͙b̫̼ ̦u̥ ̳͖̙̯g͚̖ ͈̘͙͈!͙ ̫̖̻̟̻͈ ̝ͅ ̖̳
Y̝͚̮ͅ ̪̫̭̭o ͓̭̩̞̜͍̤ṷ̯̺͚̫̳ ̻̳̯ͅ ̙͔͉̖͉ ̦͕͙̦ͅd̼̭ ̹͉͔̱͙͎o̞̬͙̳̻̼ n̼̲͙̤̭ ̭͉̣̼͚'̖̥̬ ͎t͈̩̟̜͖̻ͅ ̘̘͚̥ ̭̩ ͔̳̹̤q ̼̰͎͍u̞̣̱̼̯̣̥ i͕̺͉͍̮ ̙͓̱t̖͍̥̼ ̰!̝̯̤ͅ ̖̳ ̞̜̗͉̫ ͈͉̻̼̞̺
N̰̭͉͉͖ ̣͙̠̖̦O̝̥ͅ ̼͔͖͙̳̗̯ ͚O͖̻̫ N ̦͖̮E̬͉ ̖̠ ͍Q̪̳̞͍ ͍U͓ ̼I̳̲̫ ̰̫͚͙̦̟T̫͚̣ ̠͇͕̟̭S̲̩ͅ ͎̗̩̻̥̟̲!̝͍̫ͅ ̦̟̹ ̥̭̪
̬̣̦ͅE̝̣̤̤̫̯ ̖̭̟V ̘̻͉̻̜̭E̹̳̳̣̝ ̮̺̻̜R͈ ̻̘̖̰̳̤!̰ ̺̮̬͔̖"̹
Sallos steeled himself, his massive hands balling into fists. "I'm hearing a lot of talk. Well? Go on then. Kill me."
The eyes blinked, a moment's confusion passed behind them. Sallos grinned and spread his arms wide, offering his neck. "Do it. Kill me. I won't return to service, so you might as well. Either way, you're fucked, Lucy."
The hate roared back to the fore. "You'll only wish you were dead!"
"Oh? Good. I deserve nothing less for what I've done, but are you sure you can spare the time? Clock's a-tickin' Lucy. Micheal said he'd send a team soon, and here you are, wasting time tormenting your subjects, like a snot-nosed brat torturing his pets!"
Lucifer advanced on him, the darkness about him somehow deepening. "Sallos–"
"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Sallos said, incredulous. "For all your power, for all your might, you're still a self-defeating, petulant little beast even Dad got sick of! He was right to favor the humans, for while they can be every inch as hideous and vile as you, at least they can change!"
The abyss imploded, sucked back into the short, svelte frame of Lucifer's puppet, its expression changed, his usually ever-present smile a black, furious snarl. "You'll resume your duties as my peacekeeper. You'll find the Corpse. You'll smile more. Because if you don't, I'll hurt you in ways you can't imagine. You and your family."
"My family…?" Sallos laughed deeply, shaking his head. "You don't get it, do you? There was one thing in all of Hell you could have threatened me with, and you just had me chop off her head, you idiot!"
"How dare–!"
"SHUT UP!" Sallos roared, his own aura flaring. "We followed you! We fought for you! We were damned for you! For you! An almighty idiot! For that, we deserve to be damned, the fools that we are! We deserve every blight and hardship this wretched realm and our own festering minds can conjure! I have no sympathy for my fellow Fallen. We made this pit what it is, and we deserve to rot in it… but you… I sincerely pity you, Lucifer."
The puppet pulled back, recoiling as though struck, its eyes now wide and outraged, hurt.
"You've been damned the worst of all of us. To have been so high and to have fallen so low. Stewing in your own personal Hell far beneath our heels. But that's far from the worst of it." He stepped forward, the darkness stepped back, the vague image of six broken, frayed wings flickering behind Sallos, an echo of a once-proud Seraph. The Duke's long-forgotten form, the one his Father gazed upon fondly, flared to life for the briefest moment. "Have you ever held Charlotte in your arms? Your real arms?"
The darkness surged out from within the puppet, rage, wrath, and pain suffusing it like a maelstrom. Spite and fury coalesced into a taloned limb as the eyes blazed with mindless hate. A planet-shattering blow connected with Sallos' breastplate in an explosion of heat and light. Blood exploded from Sallos' mouth as he was sent hurtling backwards into the wall, smashing a huge, smooth crater into the abyssal granite, destroying the hated murals celebrating his 'greatness'. He tumbled out of the crater and collapsed into a pile. The mighty Duke stirred and gathered himself off the floor, blood trickling from his mouth and nose as he clutched his chest, four glowing slashes in the indestructible Seraphim steel.
The void was upon him in an instant, its many hideous limbs and extensions ready to torment and rend and defile; Sallos simply smirked, spreading his arms wide in a brazen invitation. "Kill me! Torture me! Can't you see you've already lost? Can't you see you'll always lose?"
The abyss and the thing within it moved as though to fall upon Sallos, to visit upon him every torment and agony such a being could conjure, to plunge him into a Hell beyond Hell.
It flickered.
Sallos blinked in confusion.
Lucifer withdrew, his attention now elsewhere. "What…?"
It flickered some more, revealing the tiny, scrawny puppet standing before the burly Duke, glancing around, confused. "What's going… something's interfering with…"
"Lucifer?"
Half the puppet's face went slack, sagging and limp as it fell to its knees. "The shard!"
Lucifer collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut, falling bonelessly to the ground.
Sallos regarded the tiny figure for a brief moment. "What–"
The entire palace shook as a massive explosion ripped through the structure, shaking and rumbling as fresh new cracks spidered across the interior of the ceremonial chamber, dust and minute debris falling from the ceiling.
Sallos rose to his feet, tapping his gauntlet. "Headquarters, report."
A blast of static responded, the screams of demons rang through it like a demented chorus as the holy energies painfully rent their forms asunder. The screams cut out and only static remained.
"Damnit." Sallos closed the channel and looked over at Lucifer's crumpled form, the puppet already decaying into a puddle of black, liquid malevolence. "We'll talk about this when you've cooled off."
He turned to move towards the door–
–His right foot landed in a puddle of liquified priest with a revolting squelch.
He wasn't alone.
The air was sour, bitter, and electric. Someone was either manfully attempting to make an impression, flexing like a fool, or was trying and failing to conceal a profound well of power as it overflowed. Sallos turned about slowly, the look on his face one that offered clemency but promised annihilation. Before him stood a figure, a sinner. Tall by their standards, somewhat over eight feet in height, and built like a Spartan through the tattered clothes hanging off his muscular frame. To a demon like Sallos, such superficial things were meaningless. No, it was the man's eyes, those glaring fuchsia eyes that set his teeth on edge. Within them was not rage or fury or hatred, but something else, something far more dangerous.
He knew who this man was.
"Moonchild?" He ventured. "You've changed again. Good for you."
The demon said nothing.
"You choose to throw your life away like this?" Sallos said, sighing. "I could have used you in my investigation. I planned to. But circumstances… well, they did not cooperate."
The demon said nothing.
Sallos shook his head and turned away. "In any case, I'm not in the mood to entertain guests. You may show yourself–"
–A fist smashed into the side of his face with astounding force, staggering the giant Duke. Another fist caught him across the jaw, snapping his head about. The fish demon roared in fury, his fists a blur as he unleashed a devastating rush of punches onto the much larger demon royal. Sallos caught himself mid-stumble, ducking and weaving out of the way of a flurry of blows before delivering a devastating slash to the fish-demon's belly, aiming to disembowel him with the Seraphim steel gauntlets. The cruel, clawed fingers of the gauntlet raced towards their target with tremendous force and speed. Sallos could practically see skin of the demon's bare belly dimple under his fingertips for the barest instant before–
–The slash went wide, slicing air. The Duke overextended, succumbing for a moment to his own momentum. Before he could fully find his footing, the demon was at his legs, sweeping them out from under him. Sallos expertly spun about in mid-air bringing himself face to face with the demon, the surprise in the lad's eyes was gratifying. Sallos loosed a powerful punch with a reverberating roar, his fist–
–as dust and debris exploded around him with the force of a small nuclear bomb, his vision obstructed.
' What is that?!' Sallos got to his feet, his head snapping around. ' Teleportation? Perhaps, but there's something else to it, every time he does it, it's like– '
A knee smashed into Sallos' cheek with enough force to momentarily stagger the huge demon. But only momentarily. Sallos' hand wrapped around the sea-demon's ankle and roared as he shot to his feet, hauling his attacker high into the air in a wide arc. With a grunt of effort, Sallos whipped the body down toward the ground. Any normal sinner would have had their leg shorn off at the hip to such force, but this new form Moonchild had taken seemed to be a cut above. Sallos would have been impressed, were it not for the fact that it merely meant he'd watch the lad burst open on the ground like a trashbag full of offal! The fish-demon streaked towards the ground and–
–Sallos knelt at the center of a crater, his fist resting in a bed of powdered granite.
"Oh, it's going to be one of these fights, isn't it?" Sallos said, rolling his eyes.
He reached up and over his head and caught the crushing axe-kick just before it hit the back of his neck. Sallos moved to strike out at the fish-demo–
–The Duke stepped forward, swinging at empty air… just as he anticipated. He smirked and transferred the momentum of the strike into a backwards axe-kick. It caught Moonchild across the ribs with a holy-metal boot-heel, sending him flying backwards into the opposite wall, shattering a display case in shower of crystal glass and red velvet. He collapsed to the ground, coughing and sputtering as he cradled his ribs, a scorched bruise forming there.
"You sinners and your quaint little tricks," said Sallos, standing up straight and dusting himself off as his aura flared, a tingling sensation washed across the room. "There. I'm afraid you'll find forming a portal near me quite impossible, but you're free to try, Moonchild."
"The name's Solido, now," the demon growled, hands balling into fists. "And I'm just getting started, Sally."
Sallos' eye twitched; he was going to skin this one alive. "Very well, 'Solido'. Come on and die."
Solido dashed forward, shifting into his unleashed form as he did. Though his stature and build was hardly impressive to one like the Duke, the potent, metallic taste in the air, the subtle prickling on his skin, all set his teeth on edge. Stolas' secretary was doing this?! Sallos focused on the beast charging his way, its eyes huge and thoughtless, a feral roar escaping its lipless, toothy maw.
' I'd best put an end to this quickly, ' Sallos thought. ' The boy seems to have limited self-control in this form, easy prey… '
The beast reared up, bringing its knee near to its chin before stomping down. The room itself shook with the impact, dislodging a large piece of the ceiling and causing it to plummet to the floor.
' Simple beast! ' Sallos scoffed internally. ' To think I'd fall for such a simple distraction as falling rubble! I need only to– '
–Sallos grunted as six tons of abyssal granite crashed down atop his head. No sooner than it had, a massive fist swept up under the Duke's chin in a brutal uppercut. The block of granite was pulverized as the demon royal was sent hurtling skyward. Sallos rolled mid-air, landing feet-first on the ceiling before sending himself hurtling back down to the floor with a crash. Something warm and wet dribbled down his chin. He wiped, scowling at the fresh blood there. He balled his fists and stood up. ' …So, it's not definitely teleportation. Interesting. '
His fire red eyes glanced around, catching glimmers in the dust and curtains of smoke pouring into the room from a raging fire somewhere nearby, the sounds of scuttling feet and that curious lurch of sensation followed; the peasant was blipping about the room, wary now of Sallos' skill, waiting for the right moment to strike. ' How is he doing that? Folding space? No. Too smooth, too fast. I'd feel the gravity. Pure speed? No. If he was moving fast enough to get by me, the air would be on fire! And how was he able to sneak that boulder up on me? His powers, if I recall correctly, are limited precognition, enhanced recollection, and psychometry…. Ah! Yes, of course!' '
Sallos brought up his hand and, with a quick flex of his might, burst the blood vessels in his fingertips. His proud, mighty essences oozed out from within his gauntlet, dripping onto the floor in–
–and pooling into a small puddle.
"Heh."
Sallos spun around without looking, unleashing a mighty backhand that caught Solido hard across the face, sending a fan of blood and sharp, white teeth spraying from his mouth. The dazed sinner tumbled across the floor, clutching his mouth and jaw, green-black liquid spurting between his fingers.
"Time erasure!" Sallos exclaimed, impressed. "Coupled with your precognition… credit where it's due, boy, I wouldn't have guessed that Stolas' humble little office-worker had it in him."
"You'll find I'm full of surprises," Solido said as he got to his feet, spitting fresh blood onto the floor.
Sallos withstood the young man's bluster, smacking his lips. "Oh, indeed?"
Solido's eyes flared with that same energy, that same drive, but in them Sallos could see the beginnings of trepidation, of fear. "Yeah, come and find out, unless you're scared!"
"Hardly," said Sallos, examining his taloned gauntlets, himself in the mirror finish, the meager damage the demon had done so far was already healing. "More curious than anything. Not about your powers, no, abilities of this nature are not unheard of among Stand-users. Annoying, but hardly a threat to one of The Fallen. No, what I'm wondering is 'why'. Could you have become this," Sallos gestured at the robust demon, "the whole time? Why now? Why not before? Did you finally snap and decide to vent your frustrations on us royals? Not that I can blame you, I'd just like to know."
Solido snarled and shifted into his unleashed form, causing Sallos to sigh and shake his head. "As you wish. Visus Orobas. "
Sallos' eyes flared toxic green as the Great Prince's power filled him. He closed his eyes and allowed time to stretch out before him. First in a single path, then two, then four, and on and on until his mind was a Hellish mosaic of sight and sound. To the uninitiated, this fractal of probability was nauseating, overwhelming, mind-shattering. But Sallos was not uninitiated. He allowed his sight to unfocus, seeing the whole of probability as a mass of static, weeding out the probable from the improbable to the impossible. The boy could make many moves, infinite moves, but in essence his options were limited; limited by time, limited by circumstances, limited by his own volatile emotional state. Even with his ability to erase time, his movements were utterly obvious, predictable. Once the lad committed to his attack, his fate, as Sallos could now plainly see, was fixed.
The sinner roared in fury and made his charge. Sallos would hop into the air, his legs together like a schoolmaid playing hopscotch. His tremendous weight would come crashing down on the sinner's wrist as he tried to slash the gap in the Duke's armor, right at the achilles tendon. The demon howled and flexed his ability, slipping away into erased time, but not before a Seraphim steel heel grazed across the temple. However, what would have been a braining blow had merely shorn away a strip of flesh and tentacles from his scalp.
The wounded beast would then skul about within the erased time, examining his injuries before rallying his fury and committing to another attack. Sallos was surprised at how much time this demon could erase. Indeed, he wouldn't be surprised if Solido could delete the full span of his meager 100 seconds of prescience. Shame the boy had to die here, he could well have been a far more useful agent to the regime than a mere informant.
Ah, well.
The mortal would then lunge, his hand flat like a blade, aimed at the Duke's neck, talons bare millimeters from the base of Sallos' skull. Sallos would then bob out of the way and smash the back of his adamantine skull into the demon's open, shocked face, crunching the delicate bones there, dazing him and sending him stumbling back. His quarry now momentarily insensate, Sallos would gracefully step backwards while pirouetting on his heel, his expression calm and serene, angling his arm as though to request a dancing partner. The Seraphim steel spike protruding from the elbow of his vambrace would slide into the demon's side like a hot knife through butter, steam spraying out around it as it skewered the boy's liver. With the grace of ballet, Sallos would then spin about the other way, his other elbow spike slashing a deep, steaming wound across the beast's belly. Pain would then overtake the sinner and bring him to his knees.
Sallos opened his eyes.
Solido roared in fury–
–His wrist was crushed beneath the Duke's massive tread, his bones cracking under the pressure. He barely had time to howl in pain when a snapkick smashed one of those metal heels into his temple, shearing away flesh and cracking b–
–Sallos' head craned off to the side, his hand streaking over the Duke's rippling shoulder. A microsecond later and Sallos' shiny bald head crashed into Solido's shocked face with a rich, meaty crunch, collapsing his snout and fracturing the bones of his face and sending him sprawling backwards. Sallos was on him in an instant. Solido screamed in agony as a burning cold spike jabbed deep into his side, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. No sooner than that had happened, a similarly cold, sharp, and fatally long spire slashed a searing gash across his belly. Solido collapsed to his knees, panting in great heaving puffs, he could feel the deep, vital places in him, shredded and sundered, leaking his life's blood. Worse, he could feel the holy energies burning away his body's attempts to heal, burn away his very essence, his soul.
He was dying.
Sallos strode away and glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "Yes, well, let that be a lesson to you. But before you die, would you please do me the courtesy of telling me why? Why did you throw your life away like this?"
"O-Octavia…" Solido sputtered, grasping his abdomen, keeping his guts in place.
Sallos stopped in his tracks and spun about, his self-satisfied smirk vanished. "What?"
"You… killed… Octavia!" Solido roared, his eyes glowing fuchsia out of a pulped mass of green blood.
The Duke's face turned stony, distant. "I did what I had to do, for her own good. The others, they… never you mind. I don't expect you to understand, boy, but she meant more to me than you could ever imagine."
"She meant everything to me!" Solido bellowed, getting shakily to his feet. "She was my only friend! The only person down here I could depend on! I was alone and scared for so long, and when Charlie took me in, it was Via who inspired me to change, to try! And then… when I started to change, to get better, she… She was the only thing that could have kept me here."
Sallos blinked, his expression shifting from surprise, to shock, and then to sorrow. "You… you loved her?"
"And you took her from me!" Solido flexed his waning aura as he tried to stand up straight. "So you better defend yourself, Uncle Sally, because either you die, or I do!"
"Solido," Sallos said, gritting his teeth, his flaming brows knit together. "I'll let you leave here, alive, if you stand down now. Don't–"
Solido morphed into his unleashed form one last time and launched himself at Sallos, a paint-peeling roar splitting the air, talons flexing, teeth gnashing.
The dull, wet sound of meat tearing and the low crunch of bone filled the room. Grand Duke Sallos stood still, the shrinking form of Solido impaled on his arm, his Seraphim steel gauntlets glittering in the low light of the chamber, demonic blood sizzling and evaporating off its surface.
"I'm sorry, lad," Sallos whispered. "For everything."
Solido vomited a small gush of blood and, trembling, grabbed Sallos' wrist with one hand and his shoulder with the other, glaring up at the royal with utter hatred. Those burning fuchsia eyes went distant, unfocused, the light in them almost snuffed, when the curious little symbol on his forehead, what appeared to be the tattoo of a face shifted into a hateful snarl, its own eyes glowing toxic green. Sallos cocked his head to the side and–
–Pain surged in his head as Orobas' blessing soured, rebelled, and left.
Something had happened.
Sallos looked around. He was still standing where he had been, his arm extended: but no Solido. What? Where was he? One last erasure of time? To what end? He was already mortally wounded, perhaps he had slunk off somewhere to die?
Sallos wasn't alone.
The towering Duke spun around to see Solido. He was battered, certainly, bearing the marks and bruises of their opening row, but his wounds, the fatal wounds Sallos had inflicted, even the damage done to his face. All of them were gone.
Something very strange had happened.
"How?" Sallos croaked, his eyes wide. He was aware that his royal mask of unflappable arrogance was slipping, but he didn't care: he had witnessed the impossible. "How did you…?"
' Of course! His recollective ability! Combined with his time-erasing power, he could… '
"You erased your own actions from the past," Sallos said, his tone almost wondrous. "And with them, the consequences."
Solido merely touched his fingers to his forehead, amazed. He turned to stare at Sallos, smirking.
"But why not heal your other wounds?" Sallos pondered aloud. "Why not… ah! There's a limit. 100 seconds of recollection, yes? Beyond that, fate is set. But this is all impossible! No sinner can change the past! No one outside the Seven has such power! How?!"
"A question you'll take to your grave!" Solido snarled, launching himself at Sallos.
Sallos snarled and prepared to fight, before relenting. He breathed deep and exhaled, calling upon his trump card. That he had to resort to this to defeat a sinner, a commoner , should have rankled him, stung his pride, but there was something afoot here. His instincts screamed at him to take this matter seriously, lest the mysterious demon pull yet another trick out his sleeve.
He delved deep into himself, to his past, his former purpose. The name of that mighty Seraph, his true name, was lost to him, forgotten alongside God's love, but another word remained, his purpose, his Concept. Peace and unity was his purview, his jurisdiction, and when he spoke his native tongue aloud, his authority would manifest. With it, however, came an understanding of unity's opposite, the purview of his brother Andras: division, separation. He tapped into that, instead.
The heady rush of Andras' Concept surged through him, different from the simple blessings summoned in Latin, this was an older and mightier magic. He saw Solido as he rushed towards him, growling like a beast. The man stank of duality, of conflict, of a barely cogent unity wrought between… two factions? The demon was not merely conflicted, but two separate entities formed of the same soul!
Ah, well, this would be easier than he thought.
When Sallos spoke, his voice became low and rough, like a crypt door sliding open, ancient as the words escaping his lips. "O̷͕̲l̵ ̯̯pò͉̣͚i͇͉̗l͚̣̹p ̱̦͉a͙̱͚ ̲̬͘e̹͔̠ḽ̙̦̥.͉͈̱ ͓̻̟"
Solido froze in mid-air, green and fuchsia light pouring out of his eyes and mouth, his soul exuding from his body in a swirling maelstrom of those colors, each mixed with one another, but not homogenized.
Once again, Sallos spoke a language that reality itself could not help but obey. "͎A ͉̦̺p̠̦͇a̗̩͉ḷ̟̱ͅa̘ ͖̬̤o̻̙͚l͚͉̩ e̲̥̤ọ͉l̘͚̯ ͓e̳l̻̺.͇̠̳ ͕͈͉"
The swirl abruptly separated, sickly harlequin green and warm fuchsia bubbling off into separate sides. The demon's body shifted, one half with pebbled, scaly skin and rougher, malevolent features, the other smooth and soft, but no less wrathful.
"What," said Diavolo, out of one side of their mouth.
"Have you-," said Moonchild, out the other side.
"What…" Both hands shot to their head, their heterochromatic eyes wide with dismay. "Have you done to us?!"
"I saw that you two needed some time apart," Sallos said, looming over the partitioned demon. "And I wanted to get a better look. I must say, this is fascinating ."
"Put us back!" Screamed Diavolo, frantic. "Put us back, we were perfect!"
Sallos smirked. "You exaggerate."
"Coward!" Moonchild growled, attempting to get to his feet, only to struggle against his uncooperative half. "Restore us and fight!"
"Your bargaining posture is highly dubious, but very well," said Sallos, holding up one finger. "But on one condition. Solido is not to attack me under any circumstances. The process will hold you to this agreement."
"Done!" Diavolo said, immediately. "Make us whole again!"
"The agreement must be unanimous. Unity is only truly achieved through mutual consent."
"Never!" Moonchild spat. "I'll never forgive you for–"
"That you loved my niece so dearly is the only reason I offer this boon!" Sallos roared, silencing the sinner. "Understand, I do not wish to kill you. I could have earlier, you know. Easily. I could have crushed your skull instantly instead of gutting you."
"Why didn't you?" Moonchild said, his voice hoarse. "Why not kill us right now?!"
Diavolo's eye snapped open in shock. "Silence, Moonchild!"
"Because I had a question to ask you then," said Sallos, kneeling down. "I have another for you now. Who are you, and where do you come from, may I ask?"
Moonchild's eye blinked in surprise, averting its gaze, while Diavolo's fixed the Duke with a withering gaze. "We will tell you nothing , beast!"
"Ah, well," Sallos said, his eyes glowing orange. " Potentia Murmur. "
Diavolo and Moonchild arched their back and screamed, their souls shone like stars as light burst from their eyes and mouths. Sallos sifted through them, the sights, the sounds, the sensations and emotions: their memories. The information lurched and pulsated before focusing into a beam and funneling into the demon royal's eyes, mouth, and ears. Sallos stepped back, his brow furrowing, teeth gritting.
"Ugh…" Sallos said, pinching the bridge of his proud raptorious nose. "You poor creature."
"What was that?!" Diavolo roared. "What did you do?!"
Sallos paid him no mind, rising to his feet, his expression harrowed. "This is… incredible. Horrible. The implications of your very existence are, well, not to put too fine a point on it, horrifying."
"What are you talking about?" Moonchild said, his wrath slipping for a moment.
"You…" Sallos turned about, incredulous. "You actually have no idea what you are, do you?"
Moonchild and Diavolo glanced at one another, looking slightly ridiculous as their shared face went crosseyed.
"The circumstances of your birth? Your ability to physically transform when shifting personalities? Drinking blood to restore yourself? None of that struck you as the slightest bit odd?"
"To be fair," Moonchild said, shrugging. "That's far from the strangest thing that's happened to us."
"We have led a thoroughly bizarre life."
"Fair enough," said Sallos, setting his hand to his forehead, grimacing. "This changes everything. For something like you to even exist, it, well, to say it complicates matters is a brazen understatement. I'm sorry, Gallia, our business venture will have to wait."
"What are you talking about?" Moonchild said, frustration clear in his voice. "What's so special about us?"
"Never mind that! When I restore you, I will have to take you before the Council of the Inner Circle, show them your memories, your abilities… I can promise you protection, but only if you agree to my terms."
"And if I refuse?" Moonchild said, his tone icy.
"Moonchild!" Diavolo snapped.
"You have trespassed on a Duke's palace, you have assaulted a demon royal, a peacekeeper of the Luciferian regime. I speak no word of exaggeration when I say that your punishment would be legendary, even in Hell." Sallos growled, looming over the bifurcated demon. "In the name of my niece, and the love she had for you and you for her, I offer this oath of protection. You hate me, and I accept your hatred. I deserve your hatred. But I need you to understand that there are more important things at work here. Your cooperation is preferred, but not necessary. Now, do you accept my terms?"
' Moonchild! ' Diavolo hissed in his mind. ' What are you doing?! Take his offer! Make us whole! '
' No! ' Moonchild snapped back. ' This is wrong! I don't know how we came together before, but this can't be how it's supposed to work! '
' What are you talking about? ' Diavolo said, incredulous. ' If he can make us whole, make us into what we were, we have to take his offer! '
' It's still wrong! If this bastard can put us back together, then so could Charlie. If she didn't even try, it can't be how it's supposed to happen. '
' Oh, for–You're still on about therapy?! We were whole, we were healed! And the power! '
' I don't care about power! ' Moonchild snarled. ' I want to be whole, like you, but I want to be well, to do it right. Taking his offer… the Duke's offer! '
' What? What is it? '
Moonchild thought back to that conversation, noting with sour, tired humor that despite it having been barely a day hence it felt like an eternity ago. ' Signore Pazzi, he told me something. Don Giorno has been in contact with some mysterious parties, they knew when and where I'd be on Earth. '
'Cacciatore Pazzi? Don Giorno?' Diavolo said, spitting the last name. 'That weakling is running Passione?! I think I'm going to be sick…'
' Shut up! ' Moonchild snapped. ' Whoever they were, they could see the future… and they warned me against taking the Duke's offer. '
' Oh, this is typical, ' Diavolo sneered. ' We stand at the foot of greatness, about to be made whole, to achieve what has been denied us for so long, our true potential, our destiny! And here you are, sniveling and whining about the hows, the whys, the danger, the bleating of anonymous soothsayers! This is why you've always been weak, Moonchild, not because of your soft heart or gentle nature, but because of your cowardice! You see an opportunity to get what you want, what you need, and you shy away, jumping at the phantom of misfortune! You would let the power to unmake your past and forge your future slip through your fingers because you don't like the method of getting that power? Well, let me fill you in on a little secret, Moonchild: the method, the means, the path you take doesn't matter. Only one thing matters, Moonchild, only the results! '
' It's thinking like that that got us here, Diavolo, I'm shocked you still can't see that. '
' What? Here? Hell? Ha! You should be thanking me for landing us here! We're more powerful than ever before! ' Diavolo laughed, cruelty and spite staining his words. ' Hell is only the beginning for us, Mi Caro , and once we become whole, become who we were meant to be, it will be ours. '
Moonchild was silent.
' However will you avenge your precious Octavia as you are now? ' Diavolo said. ' We can defeat Sallos, but only together! That junkyard dog doesn't know it yet, but his defeat was guaranteed before this fight even began. '
Moonchild blinked. ' You think we can beat him? '
' I know we can, ' Diavolo said, the confidence within him was downright palpable. ' So, what do you say? '
Moonchild paused, turning back to the outside world, seeing the man, the demon, who had taken everything from him, the hate and fury building within him like hot, bubbling magma. The wrath, potent, vital, flushed from his mind all notions of prudence, of hesitance. Before him, looming, wasn't Sallos, wasn't the Duke, but was Hell itself. Hell that had constantly beaten him down, trodden on him, taken from him everything he could ever value, his freedom, his dignity, his love. And now he had a chance, a chance to hit back, a chance to be the man he'd always been meant to be, the man who'd been stolen from him by cruel, hateful fate.
He would be whole, and Hell would pay.
"I accept your terms," Moonchild growled.
"Solido will not attack you," said Diavolo, his smile triumphant.
"Very well," Sallos said, holding out his hand. "Ready yourselves."
They closed their eyes and the air began to hum. Sallos' voice rumbled anew, that same strange ancient energy bubbling up from deep within him. His ancient power, his Concept, that of unity, thrummed to life as he called upon it.
"͎A ͉̦̺p̠̦͇a̗̩͉ḷ̟̱ͅa̘ ͖̬̤o̻̙͚l͚͉̩ e̲̥̤ọ͉l̘͚̯ ͓e̳l̻̺.͇̠̳" Moonchild and Diavolo glowed as the Grand Duke's phenomenal power coursed through them, suffusing their every essence with its light. The two distinct personae, their minds, their souls began to melt, melting and running together like tallow. Thoughts, feelings, wants and desires, all flowed and exchanged, mixing. The fissure between them bubbled away and at the center of their being a single word echoed from within, the Duke's Concept. "̤͇E̘t̗h̠ͅa̙̟̮rz̮̝̹i̜̞̪."
Sallos stepped back as his power bubbled away, sweat breaking out on his tall, proud forehead. Despite his tremendous might, using a power designed for his former Seraphic body was taxing on his demonic form. He stepped back from the unified demon, who was slowly getting to his feet, his back turned to the Duke.
"There, a much more clean fusion," said Sallos. "Wouldn't you agree, Solido?"
"The wonders of common ground," the demon said, his voice low, smooth, and slightly raspy.
"Wh–"
–A large, pale fist smashed into Sallos' face with tremendous force, sending the larger demon skidding on his heels across the floor. Sallos rallied instantly and turned back to where the demon had been before.
"How?!" He roared. "You accepted the terms! You should not be able to attack me!"
"The terms?" A voice came from behind him. "Ah, yes. Solido cannot attack you."
Sallos spun around to see the sea-demon standing before him, identical and yet utterly different. His face was hard and cruel, his emerald green eyes held within them wicked amusement.
"You're… you're not Solido."
"A ding-ding-ding!" This new demon cheered, clapping sarcastically. "Lucifer's best agent, everyone, barely capable of stating the obvious."
"Who are you?"
"Hmm." The demon made a show of pondering the question. "Good question. You know, Diavolo, the egotist, actually thought he'd predominate untainted this time around, but I honestly find myself chafing under the name. I mean, 'Diavolo'? We're in Hell. Even I think that's a touch gauche. However, it occurs to me that I've been saddled with a much more appropriate moniker this whole time. You have the pleasure of speaking to none other than Red Nightmare."
Sallos snorted. "You think 'Red Nightmare' is less gauche than 'Diavolo'?"
"Hey, it's either that or Bible Black."
Sallos stood up straight, his massive hands balling into fists. "How can this be? I blended your minds together, why are you so different?"–
–A voice came from elsewhere in the chamber. "Ah, well, that's the million soul question, isn't it? Maybe it was the circumstances? Solido was formed from Moonchild's sorrow, his heartbreak, his love. Disgusting human sentiments like that. But me? I'm born of ambition, of desire, hatred and wrath. They found common ground in their desire to be whole, to be strong, to see your head rolling on the floor like a pompous football. If I were Charlie, I'd make some twee analogy about souls being less like jigsaw puzzles and more like clay, or Lego! Infinite permutations possible from the same basic components."
Sallos cracked his neck and rolled out his shoulders. "It matters not. You're still no match for me, 'Red Nightmare'. Either come with me willingly, or in pieces, it makes no difference to me, so let's make it your decision, shall we?"
"Hmm." Red Nightmare said, stepping out of a bank of smoke. "Do let's."
" Visus Orobas, " sighed Sallos, a thoroughly tired look on his face.
The newly-minted demon would rush forward as he erased time, shifting into his unleashed form. Foolishly, he would emerge from his snippet of obliterated time directly in front of Sallos and begin hammering away on his gouged breastplate. It would be painful, true, as while the plate had taken the lion's share of what would have otherwise been a possibly fatal blow, the flesh below the impact site was shredded, seared, and bruised.
Far more painful, however, would be the raw, bloody knuckles Red Nightmare would receive, heedlessly hammering away at the indestructible metal like a wild beast. Sallos would then grab the fool's hands mid-punch, effortlessly crushing his fists into pulp. A brisk kick would send the impudent demon flying backwards minus his arms, which were still dangling from Sallos' hands. These limbs would not regenerate until the purified tissue had been extricated. From there it was a simple matter to neutralize the brute for safe transport.
And so it would be.
Red Nightmare lunged towards Sallos–
–Loosed a hot, sea-stinking roar as his massive fists hammered against the cracked, slashed Seraphim steel breastplate of the Duke's armor. The air was filled with demented, bell-like ringing as the flurry of fists beat uselessly against the still-indestructible armor. Blood and strips of sizzling flesh splattered the holy metal as the beast beat his knuckles apart against the plate.
Sallos withstood this attack with a look of profound boredom on his face. "I tire of this."
In a flash, his gauntlet-clad hands grasped the demon's fists, steaming blood squirting out between the metallic fingers in steaming streams as he crushed Red Knightmare's fists to pulp.
"I'm sure you were expecting a different outcome," Sallos sneered at the agonized sinner. "You know, after all that bluster, I admit I was expecting more from you, Red."
"More?" Red Nightmare panted, his grimace becoming a pained smile, the face tattoo on his forehead open its eyes, two little pits of burning fuchsia light. "Well, I do have one more trick up my sleeve. Hey, you wanna see something cool?"
"I–"
–Pain surged in his head as Orobas' blessing soured, rebelled, and left.
Sallos shook his head and blinked, clearing his eyes. Standing before him was Red Nightmare, having erased a snippet of his immediate past.
"Oh, this again?" Sallos growled. "I thought you said you had a new… wait."
The demon's knuckles were still sizzling, bloody, and stripped to the bone from where he had uselessly hammered against his armor.
"But, why didn't you undo the damage–?" Sallos said, pointing to Red Nightmare's shattered knuckles, only then noticing his own bare skin. "What?"
Sallos looked down at his hands. They were bare, his gauntlets were gone. "What?!"
"Oh, that feels so much better!" Red Nightmare said, rubbing his cheek, it still bore the injury Sallos' metal-clad fist had made, but was different now, somehow. Sallos' eyes widened as the realization took hold: the wound was slowly healing, the holy energies within dispelled, gone.
"How?"
Red Nightmare smirked and rested his chiseled chin on his bloody, tattered knuckles. "Come now. You know."
Sallos' eyes narrowed; this was bad. "Psychometry…"
"Correct!" Red Nightmare said, spreading his arms wide–
–From behind, causing Sallos' head to whip around. "To peer into an object's past with a touch. To thumb through its history like a snot-nosed brat with a book, and then–"
–A low croon sounded over his shoulder, hateful glee dripping from every syllable. "Tear it out, root and stem, and with it, its future. "
A tap, light and delicate against his backplate, the sound it made was almost musical–
–Air kissed his bare skin as a great, burning pain flooded his body. Blood burst from Sallos' mouth in a torrent, three huge ragged gashes raked up his torso, mementos of Lucifer's tantrum, the slashes sizzled and flashed with residual holy energy, the rage of an archangel. Dozens, hundreds of contusions appeared, targeted over the grievous wound, tearing it open and deepening the damage, the result of Red Nightmare's now-unimpeded attack. Sallos screamed in agony, his legs buckled out from under his might frame, sending him tumbling to his knees, blood gushing from his mouth and splayed open chest.
Sallos looked up to see a pair of feet trodding the ground before him. Slowly, wracked with pain, Sallos reared up, glaring up at the sinner. In his hands was one of his exquisitely crafted gauntlets. He put it on, the huge piece of armor looking comically large on the smaller demon. But then, the mirror-polished metal shimmered, warped, and shrank, fitting snugly over the sinner's hand and forearm.
"B-but…" Sallos said, hoarsely, blood trickling down his chin. "Only… only royalty…"
"Perhaps my heritage isn't quite as humble as you assumed, Uncle Sally," Red Nightmare said, grinning toothily. "What was it you said? I don't even know what I am? Well, I'm starting to understand that, perhaps, my nanny was right about me all along. "
"You can kill me," growled Sallos, gritting his teeth. "But you'll never win."
Red Nightmare raised his armored hand over his head. "Well, you're half right."
Light glinted off the gauntlet, glittering along its articulated surface.
A low, meaty crunch echoed off the walls.
A long fan of blood splattered across the floor.
Sallos' head hit the floor with a muted thud, rolled for a bit, and then stopped. His eyes, wide and staring, flared with blue fire, the last embers of a proud Seraphim, before fizzling out once and for all. His mountainous body slumped to the side, his remaining armor clattering. Red Nightmare sighed and ran his hand through his hair, standing in the middle of the chamber, exultant. He glanced about, seeing the other gauntlet in the display case alongside the pristine breastplate. An instant later and it was on his other arm. He looked down at the glittering Seraphim steel boots and greaves on the Duke's corpse. They, too, were donned soon after.
Red Nightmare preened a moment before a large mirror, admiring the deadly additions to his arsenal. He grimaced, however, at the bloody tattered clothing still hanging from his magnificent body. Across the room, in a crystal display case, was one of Sallos' custom tailored suits. It, like the armor, altered itself to fit him, presumably this function was to avoid buying a new set every time one unleashed their true form.
Red Nightmare admired himself in the mirror, a creosote-black three-piece suit with a crimson tie, his forearms, shins, and feet clad in ornate holy-metal armor. "Acceptable."
The sea-demon made for the door when something caught his eye. Up, near the ceiling of the chamber, was the cold, glinting eye of a security camera-dome. Red Nightmare leapt up to the ceiling, his metal fingers digging into the rock like soft clay. He touched the camera-dome and reached into the past, flicking through the entire security system's past. He smirked as he found a point in time when the system was down for maintenance, sometime in the past few days, in fact. He erased the point in time when the system was reactivated.
That done, he set back down on the ground and strolled off towards the exit. Out in the hallway, among the rubble and smoke and corpses, Red Nightmare pondered for a moment how he would get out of this place. He smirked and reached into his pocket, producing the coin. "Three of a Perfect Pair, let's see where you take me."
The hallway light flickered, the low, musical notes of his armored boots echoing off the walls as he strode over debris and broken glass. He came to a stop outside a huge vault door, his tentacles curling as he felt the curious gravity pulling at him from within. He took a step–
–Echoed off the walls of the vast, empty room. Florescent lights buzzed overhead, the only sound audible in the crypt-quiet room. The room, obviously a storage unit of some stripe, had been recently and thoroughly plundered, the remains of possibly valuable items strewn about, the lions share of which having been made off with. He snuffled for a moment as he sampled the air, his snout and tentacles curling in disgust as he noted the familiar, tangy musk of a certain disgusting imp.
"Blitzo…" He growled, contemptuous. "Count yourself lucky that you're now beneath my notice."
Red Nightmare strode forward, his heart hammering as a strange anxiety filled him, a curious, excited energy surging through him. He felt it, he knew it; he was standing at the precipice of his destiny. His cold, green eyes snapped over to the sound of tinkling glass, drawn to a shattered display case of some kind. He made his way over and knelt before the rubble, clearing it away.
His eyes snapped open wide, his mouth agape.
An arrow lay among the broken glass and shredded red velvet.
A Stand arrow.
Carefully, gingerly, he grabbed the shaft and picked it up, holding it out reverently in his armored hands. His shocked expression eventually gave way to a cruel, victorious smile, his eyes shining like polished emerald with manic glee.
What was it the fortune teller had said? ' As long as your keep your secret, the death of others will bring you good fortune! '
His smile vanished, his eyes became cold and distant. While victory against Sallos had not been a fluke, it was certainly due to the Duke's ignorance that he was able to bring about his end. His new powers were overwhelming, certainly, but against the upper crust of Hell… well, the element of surprise would be the difference between victory or death.
His hand clamped shut around the arrow shaft, his mouth peeling back into a toothy snarl, his eyes set, determined, and hard. "I have some loose ends to tie up."
He turned towards the vault door–
–The room was empty once more, quiet as death itself.