Chapter 27: Dream

It was some hours later before the damage control teams fully got the palace back under control. The fires were doused, the holy energies dispersed, and the damage assessment was finally underway.

And so, too, was the casualty report.

"…Thousand personnel confirmed dead, three thousand missing, and over ten thousand seriously injured with more coming in."

"Very well," muttered Gallia. "Have the most recent count sent to me, I will convey the information to the Duke as soon as possible."

"Understood." The ducal guard saluted and left.

Gallia, Lieutenant Horis, and another lieutenant (she couldn't recall her name) continued down the debris strewn hall towards the Duke's chambers. This whole day had been an unqualified disaster. Not only had the palace been breached in the most brazen manner possible, but the interlopers had made off with their informants and Princess Octavia. She surmised her Duke would be secretly delighted to hear his niece was alive and well, but openly outraged that they'd been set back to square one.

Gallia was not looking forward to this debriefing.

She steeled herself as they approached the Duke's chambers. The door swung open with a groan and a surge of smoke, they were immediately assaulted by a distinct odor. Burning wires, the sour, musky odor of infuriated demons, and the thick, cloying stench of blood and effluence.

"Your Excellency?" Captain Gallia ventured. "Your Excellency, are you here?"

They entered. The room was awash with smoke that poured in from various vents, now tapering off as the various fires about the building were wrangled under control. The floor was strewn with debris and rubble and several puddles of what appeared to be tar, but Gallia knew wasn't.

"Oh, shit…" said a hoarse, horrified voice.

Gallia turned around to see Hircus standing over a massive… body. She was at his side in a flash, her eyes wide in. On the floor, crumpled and maimed, was a headless body. It was huge, massively muscular, and utterly familiar.

"Grand Duke Sallos?" Croaked the nameless lieutenant.

Captain Gallia was silent, her face expressionless save for grim, hardset scowl.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit…" Hircus whimpered. "Oh Satan…"

"Get ahold of yourself, Hircus!" The other lieutenant snarled, striking the insectoid demon across his dumbfounded face. "And do not invoke His name!"

Gallia stood staring straight ahead, her eyes wide and unseeing, hands unconsciously flexing and squeezing. The others were making noises like panicked rats, squeaking, squealing. Her own thoughts were a maelstrom, roaring and whispering, babble filtered through and her training took over.

"What do we do?!" Hircus whined, panicked. "The Duke, he's-h-he's… what do we do?!"

"Find his head, I guess?"

"Found it."

They turned around to see Gallia, who was pointing to a spot on the floor, where the Duke's head lay. Hircus groaned, his hands shooting to his mouth.

The lieutenant turned to Gallia. "Orders, Captain?"

Gallia stood statue-still, staring at the head, those formerly warm, friendly eyes, now dead and glazed. His mouth, prone to slipping into a smirk when speaking to her, now slack and ringed with blood, his proud ashen beard matted with the stuff. There was only one thing to be done. When Gallia responded, it was from somewhere beyond thought.

"Go to the delivery room and bring a box," said Gallia, not turning to face them, her voice flat and calm. "And one of Lucifer's courtesy cards."

"What?" The lieutenant said. "Why–"

Hircus clapped a taloned hand over her mouth, his red eyes wide and terrified. "Yes, Captain. Right away!"

With that, he left, dragging the confused lieutenant along with him. The door swung shut and Gallia set off towards her Duke. The world bled away, the ambient sounds, the smells, everything went dull and numb. She knelt down next to the head, turning it so that it faced upward. She set a trembling hand over his face and deferentially shut his dull, dead eyes. Gallia gingerly picked the head up off the floor. It was heavy, hard, like a lump of granite, but still warm, almost alive. Gallia brought his face up to hers and planted a gentle, loving kiss on his bloody lips, tasting that which she had only ever dreamt of, now only possible in this new nightmare she found herself in. She broke the kiss and hugged Sallos to her chest, squeezing tight.

"I'll keep her safe, Sallos," she whispered. "For you, my Duke, I'll keep her safe."

"Uh… what are you doing?"

Gallia turned around to see the No-Name Lieutenant and Lieutenant Hircus standing in the doorway, having apparently made excellent time on their errand. She was looking at Gallia like she'd just walked in on her grandfather in the middle of a birthday blumpkin while Hircus, rightfully, looked as though he had seconds to live and knew it. Gallia glanced at Hircus, her eyebrow arching slightly.

"Were you–"

Hircus reached over and snatched the stark white box out of her hands. A moment later and a crackling stream of yellow lightning hit her center-mass. The ducal guard went stiff, her final scream escaping her lips as a strained exhale as every muscle in her body contracted, her organs boiling and rupturing in an instant. Gallia ceased the attack and the No-Name Lieutenant stood for a moment, meat-stinking steam and smoke pouring from her mouth, nose, and eyes. She fell over backwards with a muted, thud, sizzling inside her armor.

"Uh," Lieutenant Hircus said, holding out the box. "We, uh, we got a big one? Since his, uh, His Excellency's head is–was, uh…"

"Shut up."

Hircus nodded, pantomiming zipping his lips. An act made more absurd by the fact that he had no lips, but chitinous mouthparts.

Gallia gingerly, respectfully placed the peaceful-looking head into the box before shutting it, wrapping it in a bow, and placing the hateful little note on top.

To: La-La

From: Lucy

Enclosed: How to get ahead in life

She wanted to vomit.

"Grand Duke Sallos was well-loved by Prince Stolas and his family, as any good uncle should be," she said, handing the box to Hircus. "Deliver this to Stolas. I will officially declare the Decree satisfied and release Princess Stella. Do you understand?"

Lieutenant Hircus snapped to attention. "Yes sir!"

"Dismissed."

With that, Hircus was gone. Captain Gallia waited a moment before collapsing to her hands and knees, a deep, keening wail ripping out from deep within her. Tears spilled from her eyes in torrents, boiling on her cheeks as she ceased to make sounds that could be mistaken for human. Her grief poured out of her in waves, her aura low and blue as she clapped her armored hands over her face. She slumped next to her Duke's body and wept, curling up on the floor, pulling his massive arm around her in one final embrace.

Her sobs echoed off the chamber walls.

"OW FUCK!" Blitzo hissed as an attendant saw to his wounds. "Watchit with that shit!"

"I'm sorry, sir," said the pretty human girl seeing to him, her single green eye wide.

Blitzo watched as she applied a fragrant poultice onto the little nicks and cuts he had accumulated over the past few days. He didn't think much of them, but apparently they had been made by holy metal, so, whatever. "What is that shit, anyhow?"

"A poultice of frankincense and unblessed anointing oil," she said. "The holy energies should transfer from the wound and into the poultice in a process not unlike osmosis. Once it's done, your wounds should heal normally."

"How will we know when it's done?" Moxxie said as he picked at his own patches.

"It will start to itch," the girl said, patiently. "Remove it before it starts to burn."

"Stuff smells like a nun's cooter," Millie said, sticking her tongue out before looking about. The room was dark and austere, with pipes and wires crisscrossing the bare concrete floor and walls. In the middle of the room was some manner of huge, defunct machine, not too dissimilar from the one that had nearly peeled their souls away like an onion. "Where are we?"

"Oh, we're in the Vault," Blitzo said, peeling off the poultice. "In the innermost chamber. This was where I busted Danger out and got the Corpse."

"The Vault?!" Moxxie exclaimed. "What are we doing here?"

"Real question is, who are these people?" Moxxie said, gesturing at the human staff.

Blitzo eyed up the girl for a moment, eyebrow cocked. She was young, maybe fifteen, with a dusky complexion and long black hair. Her eye, for she had only one, was bright and green, the other socket a scarred ruin mostly hidden by a black eyepatch with an inlaid red heart in the center. She sensed his attention and said: "Demons were not the only ones being held here. The Vault staff would keep a population of human guinea pigs on hand to test out their new spells and technology. When Lord Danger escaped, he routed the staff here and freed us. We now manage the facility for him. We're grateful to our lord."

"Huh? Yeah?" Blitzo said, he was actually going to ask if she knew where the shitter was, he had to see a man about a horse. Still, the various humans milling about as staff each bore similar, long-healed injuries, some of them even missing limbs.

"Since then, we've been learning as much as we can about this facility and its contents, going where Lord Danger cannot due to wardings and other such countermeasures," she said, mixing up more of the smelly goop she and the other helper monkeys were applying to him and his team. "Demon medicine is my speciality."

Millie scratched at the patch of gauze on her arm. "Ouch! Okay, mine's ready."

Millie peeled off her bandages and walked over to Moxxie, taking his hand in hers. "Still doesn't explain what we're doing here."

"We just spat in Lucifer's eye," came a deep, even voice, each of the human staff bowing their heads upon hearing it. "This facility is one of the most consecrated and well defended locations in the multiverse. If the three Dukes of his peacekeeping force rallied their armies and marched on this place, they would be turned back. And, thanks to my connections in the Capital, the human government will ignore our presence."

They turned around to see Danger as he entered the room, followed closely by a small group of humans and a familiar Hellhound and homunculus.

"Loonie!" Blitzo cried, shooting to his feet. "Baby-girl!"

"Dad!" Loona exclaimed, sprinting across the room and scooping her father up in her arms, drawing the ecstatic imp into a crushing hug.

"Gabriel!" Moxxie and Millie said, running over to the insectoid homunculus, wrapping their arms around him.

"Mom! Dad!"

"You've raised a fine lad, you two," said Danger, clapping him on the shoulder. "It was him who alerted me to your predicament."

"Oh, we're so proud of you, honey!" Millie squealed in delight as she squeezed his cheek.

"Indeed," said another voice. "It would seem that we find ourselves in your debt, Gabriel. And you, Overlord Danger."

St. Anger hobbled into the room, supported by Aoxomoxoa and Good Vibrations, followed by the bandaged, battered forms of the rest of Il Nove. Followed, after a while, by a sullen, scowling Octavia.

Playlist sneered at Gabriel before bowing to his fellow Overlord. "In fact, we would like to request a boon."

Danger crossed his arms, nodding. "Let's have it."

St. Anger stepped forward, pointing to IMP. "As you know, they were not our targets, but we had a debt to settle. No, we were seeking to spare Prince Stolas' daughter Lucifer's wrath. To this end, we will require her decoy in order to make our actions legal. Now, due to some unforeseen circumstances, we have reason to believe its delivery will be delayed. Would you be able to get it for us, that we may deliver it ourselves?"

Danger stood before them, silently eyeing them up, turning his magenta gaze towards Octavia. "My Lady. Upon your return, would you tell your father of my role in your rescue?"

Octavia studied the Overlord's face. This demon held little of the pig-in-a-velour-suit mien most Overlords gave off like waves of tacky cologne; he was dignified, self-assured, and remarkably humble despite his admittedly impressive abilities and accomplishments. Not a commoner, but not a royal either. A chill raced up her spine: this wasn't a request for credit, toadying to her father for clout. No, this was a veiled test of sorts.

"No." Octavia gestured to the assorted member of Il Nove. "They wouldn't qualify for payment if they couldn't get the job done themselves. Unless they pay you, that is."

"And there were witnesses to my interference," said Danger, turning back to Il Nove. "Unless you want the likes of the good Captain gunning for you on a technicality, I do believe we should agree on a suitable payment before you wrap up your business, yes?"

Il Nove was silent, the group turning to their leader. St. Anger was silent for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Willin'. The trailers."

"W-what?!" Willin' exclaimed. "But Boss! That's our loot!"

"Then it's ours to offer as payment," snapped St. Anger, turning to his team. "He's right. If we don't clear this up now, our contract with Stolas will have a back door allowing for reprisal. And, as Lord Danger says, we just spit in Lucifer's eye. This is the only way."

Slowly, silently, each of the dreaded team gave their consent. Willin' grumbled and walked over to the towering rabbit-demon, reaching into his pocket and producing ten fully-loaded, miniaturized semi-trailers.

"That will not be necessary," Danger said, airily, as he put a hand out. "I already took the liberty of relocating your prizes to the Vault's own storage units."

"You what?!" St. Anger snarled, his hands balling into fists.

"And I refuse this offer." Danger continued, hands pulling back into his cape. "No. My payment will be much less concrete and far more valuable."

St. Anger relaxed and folded his arms across his chest, his expression resigned. "Let's have it."

"A partnership," said Danger, gesturing at the facility, the mutilated humans standing at attention. "Between our organizations."

"May I ask why?"

"You may ask."

St. Anger opened his mouth to ask when Moxxie fearlessly tugged on his sleeve, shaking his head. "That means he's not going to answer, trust me. But I can guess why."

Danger glanced down at the bold little imp and smirked, gesturing for him to continue.

Moxxie did. "He needs boots on the ground in Hell. Ever since his army got destroyed up here, he's lost his influence down there, so he needs you lot and your connections to do… whatever it is he's up to."

"Very good, Moxxie," said Danger, grinning now. "It will be a joy to work with you going forward."

"St. Anger," said Blackbird. "With our new armory and the territory freed up with Sallos' massacre at the palace, we could become one of the largest, most powerful organizations in all of Pride!"

"And he knows it," said St. Anger, smirking. "Even with all that, we'd be bugs before Lucifer's wrath, unless we cover all our bases. We need him to get our plunder and to save ourselves, and in doing so we further his goals as his lackeys."

"I detest the term 'lackey'. 'Partners' is far more my wheelhouse," Danger said, shrugging apologetically. "Ah, but there I go, quibbling semantics like a politician. But then, it's been my experience that building a political party is much like building a mighty fort. Identifying and accumulating skilled people and the proper materials, building a foundation of security and support, and applying necessary leverage to get the job done." He extended his hand to St. Anger. "My payment is partnership. Take it or leave it."

St. Anger studied the hand, arms still crossed. "We maintain our independence in Hell. Our business is ours to run as we see fit."

"Of course. But when I call, you come."

"You can guarantee the safety of our assets up here?"

"You've tried to break in, you tell me."

St. Anger smirked and shook his head, incredulous. "On behalf of Il Nove, I, St. Anger, agree to your terms. We hereby align our skills and assets to the goals of Overlord Danger."

Their hands clasped and a flash of green Pact energy passed between them: the Pact was sealed.

"Now, for my end of the agreement."

Danger threw back his cape to reveal the surprisingly intact decoy body of Octavia's decoy.

Octavia turned away, her face blanching in horror, as Willin' cocked his head and drew his talon across his neck. "Y'know, I could've sworn she was recently made a lot shorter."

"Her head's back on?" Good Vibrations muttered, turning to Aoxomoxoa. "I thought she–"

"Would you please stop referring to that thing like it's me?!" Octavia screamed.

"Some people have no appreciation for art!" Playlist said, affronted.

"Danger, is this your doing?" St. Anger asked, gesturing at the un-decapitated decoy.

"No," said Danger, shaking his head. "Will it be a problem?"

"No, it's just…" St. Anger sighed and rubbed his temples. "It's been a long day."

Danger shrugged and reached behind his back and pulled out one of Lucifer's delivery boxes. With a flick of his cape, he obscured the body for an instant. When the cape fluttered away, the body remained, but the head was gone.

"It still hurts to watch that," Playlist said, his wince melting into a leer. "Ah, but, not unlike Venus De Milo, perhaps she is more beautiful for her desecration…"

"Big Bro," Good Vibrations said, his expression that of flat disgust.

"Yyyyup."

Aoxomoxoa fired a blast of concentrated gas at the headless decoy, reducing it to dust in an instant.

"Vandals!" Playlist wailed in dismay.

"Thank God," said Octavia, relieved.

Danger turned around and handed the heavy white box to Octavia. "Give this to your father, will you? Il Nove and I have much to discuss."

"W-what?!" Octavia sputtered, looking at the box in her hands in abject disgust and horror. "H-hey!"

"Be well, dear," said Danger, tipping his hat to her. "Until next time."

"Don't you da–" Octavia began to say as he flared his cape in front of her.

The next instant and the Princess was gone.

"With that business thus concluded, if you would all follow me." Danger set off for the door, beckoning them to follow.

I.M.P. got to their feet and followed after, only for Danger to gesture for them to stop. "Blitzo, my friend, you and your team have exceeded all expectations. However, you need not involve yourselves in this business. It will be very dangerous. I can send you and your team–"

"Ah-bup-bup!" Blitzo said, setting his foot down. "No dice, Mr. President! We're just as much on Lucifer's shit-list as the rest of you. If you guys are heading off to piss in Lucy's cornflakes some more, we may as well tag along! Besides, you dipshits never would have found Sally's loot crate without me, so the way I see it, 10% of the bling belongs to I.M.P.!"

Danger turned to St. Anger, who smirked warmly and nodded. Danger himself smiled and gestured for them to follow. "You continue to impress me, my friend. Very well. Il Nove, I.M.P., if you would follow me. We have much to discuss."

Kabby drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he rolled down the street. He was a tallish imp, some four feet tall, but could just barely peer over the steering wheel despite the various books and bricks propping up his booster seat. His cab had to accommodate Sinners, after all, whose forms were just as changeable and varied as human souls themselves. This meant that the vehicle needed to be able to house a customer anywhere between three and ten feet tall! He needed the job, and it paid well, but that didn't mean any allowances were made on behalf of his own shortcomings. A stack of bricks, cinderblocks, books, and a Salamandrine baby's booster seat (those little shits popped out of their moms weighing as much as a baby hippo!). Even with all that, he could barely see the hood if he craned his neck, to say nothing of the road. Not that it mattered, so long as he got his customers to their location in a timely manner, it didn't matter who or what he hit along the way.

"Taxi!" A Sinner cried, waving him down with a fat wad of cash: this lad had places to go.

Kabby signaled and pulled off to the side, his tricked-out Humvee taxi-cab taking any room it could, and making the rest to a chorus of bleating horns. He rolled to a stop and pressed a series of buttons on the center console. A card-reader/bill-eater popped out of the side; if anyone wanted in, they paid first. The other demon did and hopped into the front seat, separated from Kabby by three inches of bullet-proof plexiglass. He was a shortish demon, at least compared to other Sinners, at about six foot, with pale mottled skin in a faded checkerboard pattern of green and pink, his three eyes, two on one side and one on the other, were clear with colored bands, like catseye marbles. Kabby blinked as he recognized the kid, he was the fearless cameraman who'd brazenly walked up to Red Nightmare earlier that day.

Small afterlife, huh?

"Where to, Mack?"

"Channel 666, doubletime!" The Sinner said, excitedly.

Channel 666? That was near PC Central. "Tall order."

"Big prize!" He said, brandishing his phone. "Hey… yeah! You're the cabbie that–look, remember when Red Nightmare was scrounging about, lookin' for Duke Sallos' palace?"

Kabby shuddered at the memory. The demon had lifted his 3.5 ton cab over his head by the nose like it was made of styrofoam! Naturally, he'd let the guy in, gratis, since if he didn't he'd be out a door. The guy then had the balls to demand the imp commit treason, and after some back-and-forth Kabby showed him the door by way of pneumatic piston.

"Yeah?"

"What do you mean 'yeah'?!" The demon exclaimed. "Haven't you been listenin' to the news?"

He hadn't. After his little brush with that guy, he kept his head down, dreading that if he turned on the box, he'd hear his name screamed over the airways. "Nah."

"Sallos' palace is on-fuckin'-fire!" He practically cheered. "Popped off like a roman candle! Thousands dead! And after Red fuckin' Nightmare publicly asked after him! Coincidence? I think fuckin' not!"

Kabby gaped in shock. By Satan's Unholy Undercarriage had he dodged a bullet there! "Deadass?"

"Dead-fuckin'-ass, brother!" The Sinner crowed. "And I got his rant on camera! Take me to Channel 666 and Killjoy will lay down bank for this! I'll split it with you halfsies if you get me there as fast as you can!"

Welp.

"Buckle up, kid," said Kabby, grinning widely. "I've got a few shortcuts."

He prepared to shift the taxi into first gear, internally relieved that he had invested in a new Wrath-steel cow-catcher for the front of his taxi. A shape moved out the side of his eye and before he could blink, the shape became solid when sound, the shriek of rending metal and shattering glass, filled the cab.

He turned to see his driver-side door on the street. "Hey, what the–"

A huge arm, clad talon to elbow in mirror-polished Seraphim steel reached into the cab and grabbed the imp by the head. Like shifting gears, the imps head was snapped to one side, then to the other, and then all the way back, his horns jabbing in between his shoulder blades. The imps wide, dying eyes locked with the mortified sinner in the passenger seat.

"…fuck…" He croaked, his voicebox shredded.

The imp was torn out of his seat, his fragile body crunching and contorting as the kevlar straps snapped, his tiny, broken form cast into traffic. The various bricks and books flew out onto the street as the large Sinner clambered into the car, behind the wheel.

"Ah! Here we go!" The sinner, a sea-demon of some kind, said, smiling like a shark. "I've always wanted to drive a cab."

The muscular, sharply dressed demon boggled at the various gauges, lights, pedals, buttons and knobs. "…Oh yeah. I can't drive."

The sea-demon turned to the petrified sinner in the seat next to him and smiled handsomely, beautifully, the air around him practically glowed. "Excuse me, sir. Do you know how to drive stick?"

"Uh…" The demon stammered, shaking his head. "No? Sorry."

"Darn."

A huge armored boot burst out the side of the taxi an instant later, sending a squall of putrid gore splattering onto the sidewalk. The door, a supersonic blade, cleaved a half-dozen pedestrians in twain to the mild irritation of the other pedestrians, who now had to walk around the puddles of blood and piles of viscera. The more intact of the hewn demons grumbled to themselves as they dragged themselves along on the sidewalk, grousing about their now-imperiled schedules and ruined clothing.

He sat down in the passenger seat, humming to himself as he straightened his tie, checking his teeth with his tongue in the visor mirror–

–"The fuck?!" Kabby cried at the completely intact door. "My fuckin'… wait, what?"

Kabby rubbed his neck, remembering a pain there that was now gone. Or did he? What just happened? He turned to see a large, red sea-demon in a nice black suit, his hair, actually some form of rose-colored tentacle, looked to be a neat, shoulder-length braid with a few stray tentacles forming his bangs. The man himself was remarkably handsome and fabulously well-built, and the smile on his face seemed warm and friendly, radiating a palpable sort of affability. But there was something off about him, something deeply and terribly wrong. His eyes, a bright jade green, would have been the cherry on top of this gorgeous demon, were it not for the fact that they held within them all the warmth and goodwill of a royal, seeing Kabby with the sort of amused indifference one might spare a benign insect.

"Hello, sir," the demon said, smiling handsomely. "I should like to charter a ride in this fine vehicle of yours, provided you're not too busy. Are you busy?"

"What?"

"I said–" The demon blinked, his smile faltering, eyeing up the plexiglass barrier ruefully. "Ah. Of course."

Kabby cried out and flinched away as a shiny metal fist smashed through the plexiglass like it wasn't even there. The smaller imp cowered away as the sea-demon peered through the hole, his smile warm and friendly beneath cold hateful eyes. "There. Now you can hear me. I'd like to charter a ride."

"The going rate is five souls per K," Kabby said, automatically, internally mortified.

The red sea-demon nodded and pat about on himself, his smile fading. "Oh, I'm sorry. I must have left my wallet in my other suit."

"Uh–"

The smile returned and he snapped his fingers, a sound not unlike a gunshot. "Ah! A moment, please."

With that, the demon stepped out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk. He stepped over the bodies, adroitly crushing a blood-splattered Hellphone amidst the carnage, destroying it utterly. He stood among the twitching eviscerated demons and watched as the crowd filtered by, each pedestrian blithely minding their own business. One demon, a tall, thin roach demon in an expensive-looking fur coat and a comely succubi on each of his four arms strutted by, only to stop when a shiny, armored hand shot out in front of him. The large insect sneered, revealing a dozen gold teeth inlaid with rubies and sapphires, his girls exchanging concerned glances.

"Yeah?" The pimp-bug said, peering out from behind his dollar-sign shades at the grinning sea-demon. "Ya want somethin', Shamu?"

"You have money," the sea-demon crooned, looking him up and down. "Lots of it."

"And you have a keen grasp of the fuckin' obvious," the ganglord sneered, swatting away the demon's hand as he fiddled with the garish gold necklace around his neck. "Hey, hands off, psycho!"

"I need money," the demon said, holding out his hand, palm up. "Your wallet."

The roach gangster gawped, an incredulous smile tugging at the side of his mouth. "You fuckin' wot."

"Your wallet, please."

"You ain't gettin' my wallet, freak," the gangster snarled, shooing away his girls and putting up his four dukes, cracking his knuckles, a cruel looking, gnarled gold ring on each finger. "But I can send some gold your way, if'n that's more your speed."

The sea-demon's eyes flashed. "Any donation will be graciously accepted."

Kabby grimaced and averted his gaze as a peal of shrill, horrible screams filled the air, backdropped by gruesome wet, meaty sounds and the occasional boney crunch. He clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, curling in on himself. The taxi jostled as the demon sat back down in the passenger seat, the sound of the door being put back in place drew him out of his cowering. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to turn his head and see that smile, those horrible eyes. He didn't want to die.

"Ah, there," the demon said, sounding as though he'd just found a spare bill in his pocket. "There should be enough in here to cover the fare, don't you think?"

"Please, p-please," Kabby whimpered, still not looking. "Please don't kill me."

"Hm?" The demon said, as though hadn't heard. "Oh, dear. Would you look at that."

A shiny, metallic talon tapped the display of his radio, pointing to the clock display. "I'm afraid there's no time to chat, my friend. We simply must get going. Here, some incentive."

The huge, armored fist reached into the driver's side through the hole in the bulletproof plexiglass. It opened up and a dozen bloody gem-encrusted golden teeth and heavy gold rings, some of which, revoltingly, still had fingers in them, dropped into the imp's lap.

"A gratuity," the demon said, his tone chipper as he pat the cowering imp on the head. "Now, may we please get underway, Mr… actually, I don't believe I caught your name."

"K-Kabby," said Kabby, pointing to his nametag. "M-my name's Kabby."

"Kabby? Really." His voice dropped a nigh-imperceptible register before snapping back to that distressingly jovial lilt. "I suppose you could call that fate! Some decisions are just made for us, wouldn't you say? Well, Kabby the Cabbie, my name is Red Nightmare."

Kabby did a brief double-take: Red Nightmare? He allowed himself to look over at the demon and, to his horror, could begin to see the resemblance. The hair, the face, his coloration, at once he was incredibly similar and utterly different. Those warm, desperate fuchsia eyes had been replaced with two gleaming pits of venom-green malevolence. Just what had happened to the guy between then and now to prompt such a profound change?

"Red Nightmare the red nightmare," Kabby said, on impulse, his hands shooting to his mouth a second later, eyes wide.

Red Nightmare only threw his head back and laughed. "Quite right! Oh, Kabby, you and I are going places, oh yes! Specifically, we're going to the Happy Hotel."

"Be well, dear," said Danger, tipping his hat to her. "Until next time."

Octavia shook her head, eyes blazing as the large rabbit demon lifted his cape. "Don't you da–"

The cape dropped away and she was in her bedroom in her father's estate. "–re! Whuh–oh, you long-eared dog-fucker!"

The smell of her perfume, ambient in her old room, brought with it smells of her bed, her dusty old books, the scent of her family wafting in from under the door, even that odd, sterile perfume the servants wore, presumably to make themselves smell less appetizing. All of it brought back powerful surges of nostalgia, a yearning for a simpler time in her life when all she had to worry about was her parents' deteriorating relationship. Part of her wanted to weep, part of her wanted to roar in fury, all of her wanted to scream.

Her attention was drawn back to the heavy, laden box in her arms. The stark white of the box clashing with the ruby-apple red of the ribbons, that hateful little letter hanging from it on a delicate string. Worst of all, worse than the weight of it and the malice behind such playful, jaunty packaging, was the smell, and not just the tantalizing meat and blood smell radiating from within. To her horror, she realized that the leering, screen-faced pervert had managed to perfectly replicate not only her favorite perfume, but her natural scent as well.

She was going to be sick.

Octavia moved to hurl the box across the room, but thought better on it, fearing what might come tumbling out. Instead, she set it down on the floor and pushed it away from her with her foot. Unwilling to tarnish her childhood room with a fresh puddle of vomit, Octavia turned and ran out the door, slamming it shut behind her. She panted out in the hallway, waiting for her stomach to stop doing backflips, for her heart to stop racing. The princess buried her face in her hands as tears flowed unbidden, her quiet sobs echoing down the empty halls. She just wanted to go home.

She was home.

But this wasn't home.

This place was where home was, used to be, a place of comfort and memories, now empty and cold.

A sound, low, muted, but certainly not the wind: someone was here.

'Of course,' she thought to herself. 'Dad must still be here. Shit. Well, if I'm going to get this Decree bullshit off my back, I may as well get this mess over with, then I can go to Charlie's, get that spell off of Moonchild…' She allowed herself to smile a bit at this. 'Oh, man, is he ever going to be pissed.'

She made her way down the hall, towards the dining room, recalling sweet memories of good smells and family dinners alongside bitter ones of screams, recriminations, and bile, hating how she felt a curious sort of longing even for that. How long had it been since all this bullshit had started? A week? Two? In such a short span of time she'd gone from lamenting the state of her home-life and being riddled with teenage angst, to hiding from Lucifer's peacekeeper, her favorite uncle, by crashing in the inane pet-project of Lucifer's sugary crotch-spawn. To say nothing of the clusterfuck that happened after that.

God, she needed a drink.

She'll get to that, too.

Octavia approached the door, she could sense her parents on the other side, uneasy with the quiet emanating from within. It was the kind that suggested not tranquility but a loud, pregnant silence, a tension in the air was as torrid as any row. She took a deep breath and exhaled, centering herself, making sure that her feathers were in order, that the patches under her eyes weren't visibly damp.

She opened the door.

Sitting around the table were her mother and father, their expressions tired and flat. No. 'Dazed' was a better word for it. They sat about the table, not looking at one another, but Octavia could tell from the taste in the air, the subtle static in her feathers, that each one was a bundle of stress. She opened her mouth to say something when she saw it: a box.

There, in the middle of the table, was a large, white box with an apple-red ribbon and a little letter: a Luciferian delivery box. But how? Did they send them her decoy immediately, before all that bullshit got going? Then what was all that up in Danger's compound? What in the Four Planes was in that box?

"Mum?" She ventured, her voice small, juvenile, deafening in the crypt-silence of the dining room. "Dad?"

Both of their eyes snapped open in shock, their heads spinning around as though on swivels to look at her, their dazed expressions giving way to dumb shock.

"Via?" Stella whispered as she slowly got to her feet. "Via, is that you?"

"Uh… yeah?" Octavia said. "Who else would it–"

She was cut off as her mother was upon her in an instant, her face pressed into her bountiful chest-feathers, two steely arms squeezing her in a crushing embrace.

"Octavia!" Her mother cried, half a cheer and half a sob. "Oh, owlet, we were so worried about you!"

Stolas was there equally fast, wrapping his arms around them. "Starfire! You're safe! Ever since what happened at Sally's, we feared the worst!"

"Mum, Dad," Octavia mumbled, muffled by her parent's brazen affection. "I'm okay. Really, I'm fine."

Stella pulled away from her and looked her over, a worried crease forming in her brow. "Oh, but look at you! You look like you've been in a fight! Are those burns? And bruises?! Who dared lay a finger on my baby girl?!"

"I'm fine, really," Octavia said, flushed with conflicting feelings; sure, this whole mess was their fault, but her parents… really cared about her, didn't they? "Some of Uncle Sally's goons got a little handsy. Don't worry, I sorted them out. Your, uh, 'friends' helped."

"That's my girl!" Stolas chuckled, pinching her cheek. "Oh, those ruffians I hired were worth every soul!"

"Ruffians?" Stella said, her smile fading. "What ruffians?"

"Oh, uh, I maaay have hired some… help?" Stolas said, smiling and shrugging.

"You hired people to save her from Sallos?" Stella snarled. "From Lucifer?!"

"No! No, of course not!" Stolas recoiled. "I merely paid a band of skilled sinners to watch after her while the Decree was pending, to keep her safe from Morax's goons."

Stella jammed a finger at Stolas, then at Octavia, before relenting and giving her daughter another fierce hug. "Well… thank God you did, La-la. Thank… thank God."

"Er… Dad?" Octavia said, once again squeezed against her mother's chest. "About that. Your team? Uh, y'know…"

"Hmm?" Stolas cocked his head before snapping his fingers. "Oh, yes! Yes, of course! Francois! Francois come here, please!"

"Francois is at the other estate, La-la."

"Ah." Stolas turned around and gestured elaborately, summoning a portal over the table. Out of the portal plopped a small, sharply-dressed imp, a lunchbox in his lap, in it was a buttered slice of french bread, a deviled egg, and some fresh fruit, a baffled but resigned look on his face. "Francois! Are you busy?"

The little imp looked down at his lunch. "Uh."

"Excellent! Here." Stolas reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his checkbook, after a moment of scribbling he ripped out a check and handed it to the dapper little Hellion. "Give this to the illustrious members of Il Nove as payment for their exemplary service! Convey unto them my most humble gratitude and proud thanks. This is their payment, but I am in their debt. Understood?"

"I–"

"Good!" Stolas tucked the check into his chest pocket and waved his hand again, a portal opened beneath the bemused imp, unceremoniously dropping him in some distant part of Pentagram City.

"Phew!" Stolas exhaled, wiping his brow. "There! Legal!"

"Thanks dad," Octavia said, relieved, jumping over and pulling him into a tight hug, whispering in his ear. "They're safe, Dad. He's safe."

Stolas locked her with a stunned look, his quartet eyes wide and wet, tears pouring down his face. He pulled her into another tight, crushing embrace, weeping. "I'm so sorry, Via… I'm so sorry, for everything."

Octavia eyed at him, her stare icy. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

Stolas turned to Stella, his expression hangdog, utterly ashamed. "Starlight… Stella, I just want to–"

"No." Stella said, her tone cold, but her expression shifting, from hurt to furious to just plain tired. "Not now, Stolas. I want things to be better, but I don't think they can. And I want to forgive you, but… I just don't have it in me… yet. Let's just give it some time."

Octavia felt the tension ramping up again, the resentment, the bitterness, the hatred born of hurt and betrayal. The air went electric and she looked about desperately for a change of subject. "Oh, hey. What's in the box?"

Her parents went silent, stiff, like they'd been electrified. Their wide eyes following her as she made her way over to the table, Octavia continued: "Must have been a shock. See, Dad's guys made this, like, really gross, accurate body-double of me. See, they wanted to get Lucifer to buy it so his pride would, I dunno, keep him from coming after me after? Mindgames shit, but it seemed to work."

"Via…" Stolas said, slowly.

"Anyway, that must have been a shock for you guys, huh?" Octavia approached the box, it was enormous, more than two feet a side. "Anyway, Lucy bought the scam and… oh! Poor Uncle Sally!"

"Via," Stella said, approaching her, hand outstretched.

Octavia spun around, ignoring her parent's mortified expressions. "Uncle Sally still thinks he killed me! It must be eating him up inside. We have to tell him I'm okay!"

Stella and Stolas were silent, watching her with wide, sorrowful eyes. "What? What is it?"

"Octavia…" Stolas said, slowly, as though talking to a dangerous animal. "There's been… an accident."

"An accident?!" Stella hissed, glaring at him.

"Well, what would you call it!?"

"Mum, Dad," Octavia said, her heart dropping. "What's going on?"

Stella looked to Stolas, and Stolas to Stella, his beak working uselessly as he stumbled over words. Stella, with a cold, resigned strength, stood up straight and gestured to the box. "It's Sallos."

Octavia cocked her head in confusion, looking over at the box. "Uncle Sally was in an accident? I don't…"

She turned back to her parents, Stella wore her mask of indifference like armor, keeping herself together with that cold, hateful pride that was her strength, her weakness. Stolas, on the other hand, had turned away, his face in his hands, his back heaving as he sobbed silently.

Octavia's heart dropped, her blood ran cold like ice water as a dull ringing sounded in her ears. "No."

"The Decree has been satisfied," said Stella, her tone even as her aura lashed like fire, her hands balled into trembling fists at her side. "A beloved family member has been executed. You're safe now, Octavia."

"No, no it's–that's not–but…" Octavia walked over to the box, her heart hammering in her chest. "You're joking, right? It can't be him in there! Uncle Sally wouldn't–he saw me get–why would–?!"

She set her hands on the box, suddenly very nauseous, the blood and meat smell was back, along with a strong, smokey odor, like an old, comforting campfire or a peaty scotch. Her father called from somewhere else in the room, she couldn't tell where, didn't care. "Via, don't…"

She clapped her hands to her mouth, suddenly sure she was going to vomit as a confusing whirl of questions smashed about inside her head. Sallos had executed her double, Lucifer saw it happen, approved it even! Why kill him after that?! Lucy's an evil, vicious beast, but he's not stupid! Did Sallos… was he so distraught over it, did he… because of her? Then why send his head? Why? Why?!

A hand settled on her shoulder. "Via… Starfire?"

"Don't touch me!" Octavia roared, slapping Stolas' hand away from her. "This is all your fault! All of it! Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

Stolas nodded and went in for a hug. "I do, Via, and deserve your anger, but–"

"Shut up!" She screamed, her eyes blazing. "Uncle Sally didn't want any of this, and now he's dead! Because of you! What your imp fuckbuddy stole from Earth, what it could do to all of Hell! It's all your fault!"

"Octavia, please–" Stella pleaded.

"And you!" Octavia hissed, pointing at her with a trembling talon. "You're just as much to blame! You knew things weren't working, you knew Dad wasn't happy, and you just let it fester, turn to hate and spite! Sally would have helped if you asked! But no, you let things get so bad Dad went to that disgusting asshole and now Uncle Sally's dead! All because of your fucking pride!"

Stella recoiled as though struck, her eyes wide and hurt.

"You both make me sick!" Octavia spat, storming off towards the door. "I never want to see either of you again! I'm going to Charlotte's, and if either of you follow me I'll have her twist you into knots!"

This snapped them out of their daze, Stolas stepped forward. "Octavia! Wait!"

"Fuck you!"

"Via, please!" Stella said, following after. "We must give the Decree time to settle. If you expose yourself too soon, the others will–"

"I don't care!"

"I'm sorry, Starfire…" Stolas' eyes narrowed, glowing red as his body was subsumed in shadow, slithering under her feet and rearing up in front of her in a horror of black shapes and red light. "B̟̭͉̹̠̭̻u̫̘̱͙̠͕͚t̘̘̳͓͖͈ ̜͚̻̯͙I̪̭̝͟ ̟̠̳d̸o̙̬̹̮.̻ͅ"

His eyes flared as a piercing scream split the air, medusa-energy flaring. Octavia could barely flinch before she was completely petrified.

Stolas reverted to his former state and sighed. "I hate doing that."

"She'll understand," said Stella, setting a hand on his shoulder. "She just needs time. We all do. This will be… difficult, going forward."

"You've always had a talent for understatement, Starlight," Stolas said, sounding unfathomably tired. "I truly am sorry, you know. I never wanted to hurt you, that was never–"

"I know," said Stella, nodding. "But we're too far gone to go back now. We must move on. We must be… honest with one another."

Stolas nodded. "Very well. In that case, I think we should live in separate estates, if we're being honest."

"Agreed." Stella turned away, looking embarrassed. "And If we're being honest… I may have put out a hit on you."

"Hm? Oh, I know."

"You do?"

"You arranged it at the dinner table, Starlight!" Stolas chuckled, gesturing at the table. "I thought you were being coy!"

"I suppose I was. But still, he may try to kill you," Stella said, gesturing at their petrified daughter. "Let's get her to her room, she needs her rest."

"Yes, let's."

Husk sat and watched the news, an anxious Angel Dust sitting next to him. The bug was so high-strung he looked fit to pop. The news cycle wasn't helping, and no mistake. Ever since Sallos' palace lit up like a firecracker, Channel 666 and its competitors had been beating that drum like a methed-up monkey. Things seemed to quiet down some as the Duke's PR team got on the air and assured everyone that the situation was well in hand and there was no cause for concern. Then, someone dropped what appeared to be a fully-laden oil-tanker on top of the already smoldering ziggurat, causing a massive, photogenic fireball to flare to life, rising high over the palace in a mushroom cloud.

"He ain't… he ain't in there. He's fine," Angel muttered, more to himself than to anyone around him, his eyes wide and harrowed. "Moonie's fine."

"I hope so," said Husk, wanting more than anything to down a bottle of bourbon and pass out. "I mean, the kid just left, right? There's no way he'd have been able to make it there in time, Stand or no. Poor kid's probably holed up in a cab somewhere, nose-to-ass in traffic."

"Y-yeah, that's right," Angel said, smiling feebly. "Poor little hunk is probably pulling his tentacles out right now!"

"Heh! Yeah!"

They watched the footage in silence, the sick feeling in their guts stubbornly persisting, despite their platitudes. A veritable pall had settled on the hotel, Vaggie and the Goat Bois were doing their level best to buoy Charlie's spirits, but to limited success. That bottomless well of positivity that seemed to give the Princess life had, to all outward appearances, finally run dry. Niffty had, wisely, given Charlie a wide berth, busying herself with various chores, tidying up the Hotel without the usual zeal. Even the Radio Demon, to the shock of everyone, was muted and clipped, refraining from giving this fresh sore spot a hearty poke.

Husk sighed and leaned back, ruefully noting that despite his reassurances, Angel's anxiety had spiked, the spider demon was now wringing his many hands as he watched the news with rapt attention. Part of Husk wanted to be there for him, to be tactful and cogent while the Hotel endured yet another tragedy.

"Fuck it."

He reached into the couch, between the cushions, and produced a bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He capped the bottle and raised it to his lips–

–Mouthful of bourbon. Husk gasped in shock, accidentally inhaling more than a little burning, stinging alcohol. Husk sputtered and spat the bourbon out in a fine mist, coughing and hacking as his chest filled with what felt like fire. Angel jumped at the sudden outburst, reaching out and patting Husk on the back.

"You okay, Mittens?" He said, smirking somewhat. "Down the wrong pipe, eh?"

"Ack! Cack! Nhk-fuck!" Husk coughed, waving Angel off. "Th'fuck was–wait. Waitaminute."

"What is it?"

A small, relieved smile spread across his sour features. "I think time just skipped."

Angel blinked in confusion before a sharp, golden smile spread across his exquisite features. "Deadass? That means…"

"Moonie!" A voice called from the other room.

Husk and Angel shot to their feet and sprinted out the room, skidding to a stop in the lobby. There, in the middle of the room, was Charlie, stooped over a muscular, suited figure kneeling on the ground, helping him to his feet. Angel beamed and started forward, only to have Husk reach out and grab his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Husk! What–" Angel began to say, shutting up upon seeking Husk's wide, harrowed eyes. "Husk?"

"That ain't Moonie."

"Charlie, what–?" Vaggie said as she walked into the room. "Moonchild!"

"Charlie…" Moonchild croaked as she helped him to his feet. "I… I need to tell you something."

"Yes, Moonie?" She said, her eyes wide and wet with tears of relief. "What is it?"

"I need to tell you," he said, his green eyes locking with hers. "What comes next…"

Charlie's smile dropped, horror clear on her face. "Everyone! Look ou–"

–Armored fist burst from her back with a dull, wet ripping sound. Blood gushed from Charlie's mouth in a crimson jet alongside a pained, shocked grunt, her Hellion flesh and blood sizzling against the holy metal.

The figure loomed over her, his vicious green eyes glaring at her from over her shoulder. "…Isn't personal."

The demon ripped his arm out of her with a meaty crunch. Charlie's legs buckled and she collapsed to her knees, clutching her wounded abdomen. He loomed over her, a hateful sneer on his perfect features. "Well, it's a little personal."

Vaggie reared up behind him, bellowing a warcry as she brought her Seraphic harpoon down on the sinner, it's impossibly sharp edge–

–Into the floorboards with a muted whack. Vaggie blinked in surprise as a set of shiny, armored hands grasped her a single, clean motion her head was snapped around backwards on her shoulders, her eye wide and mouth open with shock. He smirked and leaned in, planting a delicate kiss on her lips. The demon stepped back and lightly tapped her back, causing the standing corpse to topple forward.

"Charlie!" Angel screamed, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Vaggie!"

"Diavolo, you son of a whore!" Husk roared

"Ah bup!" The demon said, wagging his finger. "While I wouldn't put it past her, my mother was only a petty criminal. Moreover, I go by Red Nightmare now. Calling myself Diavolo is just… tacky."

"Ya think 'Red Nightmare' is less tacky than 'Diavolo'?"

"You know, you're the second person to say that…" Red Nightmare grumbled, his attention drawn to the floor. "Hm?"

Charlie moaned and crawled forward, pawing at her murdered lover, muttering silent denials and pleas, desperately trying to rouse her. A shadow fell upon them and Charlie looked up, on her face was not an expression of rage, or sadness, or betrayal, but of honest confusion.

"Still kicking?" Red Nightmare said, honestly baffled. "I could have sworn I at least nicked a ventricle in there."

Charlie opened her mouth to say something but lurched forward, vomiting a huge gush of blood. "Ah, there it is."

A pair of basso roars drew their attention as Razzle and Dazzle, no longer cute little goats but massive, muscular nightmares of horns and fire, streaked towards the towering demon.

"Just a moment, Charlie, gotta take care of this," said Red Nightmare as he lunged forward, grabbing them both by their necks. " Razzle, Dazzle, a question I've been meaning to ask you two: If there was a third one of you, would they be named 'Pizazz'?"

His fingers dug into their necks, the talons shredding and tearing, black, unctuous blood spurting out between his fingers, sizzling against the Seraphim steel. Red Nightmare grinned toothily as the demonic goats' movements became less and less animated until they ceased altogether. With a final squeeze, he pried apart their vertebrae, dropping the corpses to the floor like dead weight.

"Because I think 'Pizazz' is a cute name," said Red Nightmare, jerking slightly as a shadowy black tendril erupted from his chest. He looked down at the intruding tentacle, rolling his eyes as dark green blood spurted from his mouth. "Ugh. Rude."

The shadow tendril writhed and–

–Red Nightmare stood about a foot to the left, completely uninjured, his armored hand grasping the demonic shadow. He spun about, slashing the living shadow with his talons, causing it to burn away like embers. Standing in front of Husk and Angel was Alastor, his black aura flaring, outlined with red as wing-dings and symbols floated in the air around him, his eyes glowing radio dials, his ever-present smile now twisted into a furious snarl.

"Radio Demon," sneered Red Nightmare. "I understand that you and one of my components started a game you never got to finish. Let's see you count to three and snap your fingers this time."

Alastor glanced over his shoulder at the stunned Angel and Husk. "Run, you fools."

Niffty popped up behind them and grabbed their hands, pulling them backward. "Come on! Let's go!"

Angel, his eyes wide and harrowed, could only follow after her. Husk glanced back over his shoulder as the horror advanced on Alastor, eyes glowing and talons flexing. Husk turned away and ran down the hallway with Niffty and Angel.

"W-who the fuck was that?!" Niffty said as she dragged the stunned demons along behind her. "Was that Moonie? Diavolo? Why's he attacking us?!"

"He's fuckin' green-eyed shitlicker, is why!" Angel snarled, now snapped out of his stupor, eyes blazing with fury. "Fucker killed Chuck! Fucker killed Vaggie! Of course it's fuckin' Diavolo!"

"No, it ain't," Husk said, panting now at the sudden exertion. "It's neither of 'em. They've changed. Whatever happened to them at Sallos' palace, it musta put 'em back together!"

"Then let's take 'im a-fuckin'-part!" Angel bellowed, summoning a trio of Browning Automatic Rifles. "Let's make some fuckin' sushi!"

"Are you kidding?!" Niffty exclaimed. "If he's strong enough to bust up Charlie, we're–"

–"Little more than bugs."

Niffty ran head-first into a huge, armored shin, her ruby-red lip splitting open from the impact. Two arms shot out and grabbed Husk and Angel tossing them over Red Nightmare's shoulders and tumbling down the hall. Niffty groaned and wiped her chin, grimacing at the blood on her wrist, dripping onto her dress. The top half of Alastor's head plopped down on the floor between her legs, his remaining teeth digging into the carpet as black blood pooled around him, red eyes dead and staring. Niffty loosed a full throated wail of terror and anguish, only to be silenced as a huge foot set down beside her. She looked up, her eye wide and terrified as Red Nightmare loomed, his eyes glowing green lanterns in his shadowed face, an armored boot raised high over the monocular insect demon.

"Speaking of bugs…"

"Oh, please no…" Niffty whimpered, picking up Alastor's head and hugging it. "Not like this…"

The foot came down with titanic force, the hotel shook, lines of dust cascading from the ceiling. Red Nightmare grunted approvingly, wiping his boot on the rug as he turned around to face Angel and Husk, who were picking themselves up off the floor. "You know, I was half expecting her to say 'step on me, Daddy' or something gross like that."

"Pigfucker!" Angel roared, opening fire with his assault rifles.

Red Nightmare scratched his snout with one hand while the other was a glinting blur, the bullets plinking to the ground harmlessly. "Angel, please."

"Fuckin'!" Angel spat, summoning and throwing a grenade. "Cocksucker!"

The grenade bounced off his barrel chest and thudded to the floor. Red Nightmare cocked his head and examined it, tapping it lightly with his boot–

–Smoke and dust filled the air, the carpet and wooden floor had been shredded and shattered. Husk and Angel relaxed slightly, hands falling from their ears. Out of the smoke strode Red Nightmare, his expensive black suit not so much as dusty. "There. Feel better?"

"FUCK!" Angel roared, a pair of bats in his four hands. "YOU!"

The heavy oak bats connected with Red Nightmare's head with tremendous force, exploding into a shower of splinters. The muscular fish-demon didn't so much as twitch. "I'm detecting some hostility."

Red Nightmare reached out and gave Angel a light shove, sending the spider-demon tumbling backwards. He started forward as Husk helped Angel to his feet, the spider snarled and hissed as he approached.

"What?" Red Nightmare said, holding his hands out in front of him. "What's with all the anger? I'm not going to hurt you! You guys are my friends!"

"Friends?" Angel spat. "Friends?! Ya think we're still friends after what ya just did?!"

"What I just–?" Red Nightmare paused, tapping his chin with a talon. "Oh. Oh, you mean all the killing."

"Yeah, we kinda mean all the fuckin' killin'!" Husk roared. "Ya slaughter our friends right in front of us and think we're just going to keep on being buddies, ya psychotic bastard?!"

"I can't say I'm too crazy about your tone, Husk," Red Nightmare sneered before relenting, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. "Look. I had to kill them, they knew too much, too much about me, about my abilities, everything. Not to get too deep into the nitty-gritty, but I just did something that probably didn't make me any friends in the Inner Circle, I couldn't afford to have loose ends like them running around!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Never mind that! It'll be just us now! The Three Amigos, just us against all of Hell!" Red Nightmare said, grinning maniacally. "With my powers, with what I've found, we can each of us become Overlords! Husk, you could have your own casino, to run as you see fit! Angel, anything you want, and it'll be yours! Let's be honest, this whole 'redemption' thing was never going to–"

Angel launched himself at the sea-demon with a wrathful bellow, his Seraphim steel dagger glinting in the hallway lights. A high, melodic note hung in the air, the blade trembled, its point bare inches from Red Nightmare's throat, his eyes wide with shock. Angel gripped the hilt and grit his teeth, placing his other two hands on the pommel as he tried desperately to drive the blade into the demon's neck. Red Nightmare kept him at bay with a shocking modicum of difficulty, the blade held in place between his thumb and forefingers.

"Angel?" Red Nightmare whispered, aghast. "What are you doing? It's me, your friend."

"My friend is dead!" Angel snarled. "All my friends are dead! Because of ya, ya fuck!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Angel."

He twisted the blade about and drove it deep into Angel's chest, skewering the demon's heart. Angel grit his teeth, magenta blood spurting out from between them, trying manfully to say something, anything, but only managed to shoot him one last baleful look before succumbing. The willowy spider-demon fell to the floor with a muted thud, his eyes flashing magenta before going dead and dark. Red Nightmare stood over the fresh corpse, his shoulders heaving as he attempted to center his breathing.

He huffed, his brow furrowing together. "I didn't want to…" He turned to Husk. "Not to you. Not to either of you."

"Ya play the cards yer dealt, ya cocksucker…" Husk growled, drawing his Seraphic playing cards. "Well? C'mon then. One more loose end to tie up."

"Husk, please, don't make me–"

"If'n ya let me live, fish, I'll tell everyone everything. I'll run to the hilltops and scream it as loud as I can!" Husk snarled, drawing a card and preparing to throw. "Or I'll, y'know, get Killjoy on the horn, make a buck that way."

"Husk…"

"Shit or get off the pot, kid."

Red Nightmare was on him in an instant, his shining armored fist wound back, his eyes glowing toxic green above a white rictus of fangs. Husk flinched as he prepared to be ripped apart, the holy metal burning his flesh as he–

–Opened his eyes again, he was standing alone in the hallway. Husk looked down at Angel's body, prone on the ground in a pool of his own pinkish blood. He turned around to see the wall, huge tears and claw marks rent the plaster asunder, studs and support beams smashed to splinters with tremendous force. At the center of the maelstrom of violence was a patch of pristine wall, exactly where he had been standing.

Red Nightmare trod through silent hallways and into the lobby. Where triumph and exultation should have been, he felt only emptiness, cold and bitter. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't finish it. Why?! He was stronger than ever now! More powerful than he ever could have dreamed of back when he was alive! Why couldn't he just finish it?! His past survived, not because he lacked the strength to destroy it, but the will? For all he had done, for all he could have become, he was still too weak to overcome his past, too weak to start anew and forge his perfect future.

He was pulled from his rumination by a slender, delicate hand wrapping around his ankle. He looked down to see Charlie, her alabaster skin now taken on a greasy pallor. "S-stop…"

"How are you still alive?!" Red Nightmare snarled. "Please understand, I wanted it to be quick for you, a clean stroke, but if you're going to be stubborn I suppose I have no choice but to be more thorough!"

"Don't have to…" Charlie croaked. "Still… still good in you…"

Red Nightmare paused, his eyes wide. "What."

"I can help you… help you…" Charlie slurred, her eyes going dim as blood pooled around her. "Let me…"

"After all that, after all I did…" Red Nightmare said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "You still want to… help me?"

"Good in you…" Charlie muttered, her voice very quiet now. "Still… good…"

She was still.

Red Nightmare watched her silently for a moment, her hand limply falling away from his ankle. Something bubbled up from within him, his face pulling into a vicious, sharklike smile. Red Nightmare threw his head back and cackled, his voice high and shrill.

"You fool!" He sneered, before losing himself completely to barking, staccato laughter.

The laughter deepened, hitched, became a string of reedy whines as tears began to pour down his cheeks in hot torrents, his smile pulling into a grimace as he reached up and clutched his face in his hands, his breath coming out as clotted ragged sobs. Red Nightmare fell to his knees, his fingers digging into his scalp, threatening to draw blood, as he wept over Charlie's still-warm body, the tiny set of eyes on his forehead opening into two little dots of fuchsia light.

"You f-fool…" He heaved as he–

–"Moonie?" Charlie exclaimed, running to his side.

Red Nightmare's eyes snapped open, snapping his head up to look at her. Before him stood Charlie, a ways behind him was Vaggie, a wary, surprised look on her face. On the other end of the room was Angel and Husk, the latter of which wore an expression of confusion quickly giving way to horror.

"Charlie, what–?" Vaggie said, locking eyes with him. "Moonchild? …Oh shit."

Charlie saw his eyes and stepped back, away from him, shock spreading across her features. Did she remember? Perhaps she wasn't completely dead when he had… erased his past? When had he done that?! And why?!

"Red Nightmare?" Charlie said, her voice hushed.

On impulse, Red Nightmare wound up a mighty blow, this time he would tear out her heart and rip off her head!

"Chuck, watch out!" Husk cried, flapping his wings with uncharacteristic vigor.

The sphinx streaked across the room, thudding into Charlie with all the force he could muster, knocking her out of the way. Husk grunted as a mirror-polished metal fist erupted from his back, his still-beating heart in its talons. Red Nightmare gasped in shock, glancing down at where his forearm impaled his former mentor. Shock gave way to horror when he locked eyes with Husk, who looked at him not with hatred or rage, but sadness… pity.

"Kid…" Husk whispered, coughing up blood onto his chest.

Red Nightmare moaned in horror as Husk's eyes went dull and glass, the eyes on his forehead opened once more and–

–"Moonie?" Charlie exclaimed, running to his side, skidding to a stop before she got too close. "Wait. Oh, my God."

Red Nightmare shot to his keep, some part of him disgustingly relieved to see them all alive and unharmed. It was then he could feel it, more clearly and distinctly, a sensation he though long behind him: there was someone else in his head with him. They were weak, poorly defined, melancholic, but they were there, and they were the cause of this malfunction. "What is going on?!"

"Charlie, watch out!" Husk cried, pulling out his deadly playing cards. "That's not Moonie!"

"I know!" Charlie cried, her aura flaring to life as her eyes flashed red, horns sprouting from her forehead. "Alastor!"

Red Nightmare spun around to see Razzle and Dazzle shift into their powerful demonic forms, at their side was Alastor, his red-lined, shadowy aura blazing as wing-dings and symbols appeared in the air around him. Angel summoned a sextet of MG-42s, leveling them at the new demon. Red Nightmare turned about as the group closed in on him, his hands balling into fists.

"Rrrgh!" He growled in frustration. "Curses!"

Alastor and Charlie lunged forward when–

–Skidding to a stop at the center of the empty lobby, looking around.

Red Nightmare was gone.

Kabby sat in his booster seat, nervously fiddling with the radio dial. What were they doing here? What was going to happen when Red got back? What had he done to deserve this?

"…Cause of the explosion is presently unknown, however the appearance of what seems to be an oil tanker crashing into the courtyard of the palace suggests potential foul play. The owners of the oil tanker have been brought in for questioning, torture, and summary execution. Let's listen in, shall we?"

Kabby sighed and tuned out the horrible screams and begging for mercy that sounded over the speakers, alongside with dry, impersonal questions as to the nature of their involvement, all while the announcer offered a play-by-play.

"And now comes the Pear of Anguish," the announcer said, softy, as though at a golf game. "The interrogator seems to be angling for a urethral insertion. A bold move this early in the session."

Kabby winced at the wails of the poor schmuck. 'Ah, well, better him than me.'

The wiry imp watched as cars sped past, in the distance swarms of helicopters still circled over the smoldering palace. He couldn't help but wonder just what his new client had to do with that whole mess, but decided that it was manifestly none of his business and helping the guy keep off the Inner Circles radar was absolutely in his best interests. A particularly grisly scream highlighted this point, underlining the sort of measures the Inner Circle would take even against those tangentially related.

No, sir. He was going to keep this little foray to himself if he wanted to–

– "…Cause of the explosion is presently unknown, however the appearance of what seems to be an oil tanker crashing into the courtyard of the palace suggests potential foul play. The owners of the oil tanker have been brought in for questioning, torture, and summary execution. Let's listen in, shall we?"

Kabby blinked. "Huh?"

He just had the weirdest sense of deja vu. Didn't they already commence the interrogation?

Cars sped by, helicopters circled, distressingly familiar screams played over the radio. What the hell was going–

– "…Cause of the explosion is presently unknown, however the appearance of what seems to be an oil tanker crashing into the courtyard of the palace suggests potential foul play. The owners of the oil tanker have been brought in for questioning, torture, and summary execution. Let's listen in, shall we?"

"Okay…" Kabby said aloud, sitting up in his chair. "What the fuck is–"

–The taxi shifted on its axles as a huge, heavy body set down in the seat. Kabby looked over to see his client, the terrifying Red Nightmare, sitting in the passenger seat, looking desperately into the visor mirror.

"Damn it…" Red Nightmare hissed under his breath. "Damn it all! What's going on?"

Kabby watched as the little face-tattoo-thing on Red's forehead opened its eyes for a moment, its features twisting into a snarl, before closing them again.

"No! No! No no no!" Red Nightmare bellowed. "You can't do this to me! It's my power! Give it back!"

The little face did nothing.

"Give! It! Back!" Red Nightmare roared, punctuating every word by pounding the dashboard with his armored fists, turning the entire passenger's side of the taxi into a pile of hopelessly twisted metal.

"Hey!" Kabby cried on impulse. "My cab!"

Red Nightmare spun around to glare at the little imp, his eyes burning pits of green light. Suddenly, on his forehead, the little face's eyes snapped open, glowing with–

–Red Nightmare was clutching the visor mirror, the passenger's side restored to its former state. A look of almost comical indignant fury spread across Red Nightmare's face. "What?! Oh, you'll do it for him, but not for me?!"

The little face opened one eye, smirking mockingly, and closed it again.

Red Nightmare growled with inarticulate rage for a moment, before burying his face in his hands, heaving like a buffalo. After a moment he spoke again, his voice clipped, strained, attempting something like calm. "Listen to me, Solido. We must move past this. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to–well, I did, but they're still alive! Your friends and the others, even that hideous little insect! They're all fine! I promise you I won't go after them ever again, okay? Just give them back. Give me back my power!"

'Solido' said nothing, did nothing, the little face looking to all the world like it was asleep.

"Please," Red Nightmare said, sounding close to tears. "Please give them back. My past-vision, my psychometry… without them, I can't… we can't… don't you see, without them I can't protect us from-from-from… and when they find us, they'll… Oh, God…"

The hulking demon sobbed into his hands, muttering in despair. Kabby paused, fidgeting as he attempted to formulate what to do next. Should he run? Yeah. He should probably run. This demon was clearly in the midst of some kind of mental breakdown, and his powers were, apparently, on the blink. Would he be able to catch him if he darted out and jumped down a manhole? Would he even bother giving chase?

Kabby reached through the hole in the bulletproof glass and patted Red Nightmare on his rippling shoulder. "Hey, man, it's gonna be okay."

'What the fuck am I doing?!' Kabby raged at himself as Red Nightmare locked him with another glowing glare.

The demon's face split into a wide grin, his eyes lighting up. "Yes… you're right! I've got a few more surprises in me yet!"

Red Nightmare reached into his breast pocket and produced an elaborately designed arrow, a brutal, triumphant grin on his face as he shucked his armored gauntlet and vambrace and rolled up his sleeve, revealing his bare scaly flesh. "Once again I will overcome! My hidden potential will be unleashed and you, Solido, you will be cast aside like the sentimental trash that you are!"

With a victorious laugh he plunged the arrow into his arm… to no effect. Kabby blinked and looked closer. The arrow didn't even pierce his skin, instead, the flesh went transparent, ephemeral, as though it weren't even there. Red Nightmare growled and stabbed at his arm over and over, his expression shifting from outrage to desperate, despairing confusion.

"What is happening?!" Red Nightmare roared, dropping the arrow into his bare, unarmored hand, growling in rage as the shaft phased through his hand as though it wasn't there. "Curses!"

Kabby sighed and reclined in his seat as the demon put his fancy armor parts back on, allowing him to touch the arrow. The imp rubbed his temples, bemoaning how little sense his life was making recently. He just wanted to earn a living, was that too much to ask?

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Kabby glanced over at his terrifying passenger, who was presently looming over him on the other side of the glass, a low, unpleasant smile on his face, the arrow in his armored hand tapping against the barrier wit a curious, inorganic rhythm. Kabby couldn't articulate how, but he knew that it wasn't Red tapping, but the arrow itself.

It was trying to get at him.

"Uh…" Kabby said, "Can I help you, sir? Will you be needing another ride?"

"That depends," Red Nightmare hissed, the arrow tapping against the glass. "You've been very helpful, Kabby. Perhaps another gratuity is in order."

"What, like, a tip?" Kabby said, reluctantly, hoping he wasn't going to get another handful of teeth.

"A tip." Red Nightmare's smile widened. "Yes… a tip. Here."

He pushed the arrow through the hole in the glass. "Take it."

Kabby studied the arrow, not sure what its deal was, but quite sure he wanted nothing to do with it or the weird thrumming vibrations it was putting into the air. "No. Th-that's okay. I got, uh, plenty of arrows at home. Thanks, though."

Red Nightmare sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes, flicking the arrow through the hole, its tip burying itself in the imp's neck. Kabby croaked and gagged, black imp blood bubbling up from around the shaft. He grabbed it and gurgled in pain, attempting to pull the arrow from his flesh, but something, a strange force of some kind, kept it firmly lodged. His eyes, wide and pleading, shot over to Red Nightmare, who was smiling not with malice or sadism, but with honest excitement.

"Yes. Yes!" Red Nightmare pressed his face up against the glass. "Come on, Kabby. Pull it out! Pull it out or it will kill you!"

Kabby's eyes took on a pleading shine, his gurgled and coughs plaintive; Red Nightmare shook his head. "I can't help you, Kabby. This has to come from you. Pull it out, save yourself, show me and the arrow that you have that strength! Pull it out, Kabby!"

Kabby grit his teeth and grasped the shaft, his heart thundered, the flow of blood increased as the imp reached deep within himself and drew on a vicious, clawing tenacity that defined his race, his people. Imps were the lowest of the low in all of Hell, an existence that would have rendered any other species long-extinct. But not imps. Not Kabby!

With a roar, Kabby wrenched the arrow out of his neck, the wound closing up almost instantly afterwards. His aura flared to life as glowing streamers of light and energy arced about the interior of the cab, revealing what appeared to be a small quiver of large red map-pins, ten of them in total, and in his other hand was a single glowing blue map-pin.

"What…" Kabby gurgled, the taste of his own oily blood still strong on his tongue. "What the fuck is this?"

"That…" Red Nightmare said, gleefully. "Is your Stand. An extension of your soul, the manifestation of your fighting spirit. This is momentous, Kabby. Do you know what this means?"

"No…?"

"It means…" Red Nightmare said, reaching through the hole and patting the little imp on the shoulder before picking up the arrow. "It means I can still regain my lost glory, and you can help me."

Kabby looked at the ephemeral objects in his hands, already forming some instinctual understanding of what they could do. What was this power? Could he expand upon it? Wait… what was he doing?! He wasn't actually considering this lunatic's offer, was he? This guy just set Sallos' house on fire, something Lucy's goons were publicly skinning innocent(ish) people publically for! Part of Kabby told him to run, to use this new power to give this freak the slip!

But… then he'd live the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. Glancing in the rearview mirror with dread, expecting to see those eyes glaring back at him, and it would only get worse with time. Red Nightmare had 'Overlord' written all over him, his power and influence would only grow until he found him. Kabby was, well, a cabbie, he didn't have the resources to hide, to run! No, Hell was dangerous enough for an imp without an obviously insane super-sinner gunning for him. Besides… the guy had 'Overlord' written all over him, and seemed to like(?) him. Being the personal chauffeur for a powerful demon was miles better than being a cabdriver in Hell! No more muggings, or bullying or lost wages. No more watching people fuck in the back seat and cleaning up the resulting puddles of unspeakable fluids. Sure, it was dangerous, but so was being an imp! In any of the rings, being born an imp was a sentence to an early, painful, and undignified death.

What was it all those Satan-cultists back home in Wrath would always say? 'It's better to be at the Devil's side, than in his path.'

Yeah. Cabbie himself had a sage proverb he'd bust out when confronted with dilemmas. 'The only difference between a good idea and a bad idea is options.'

This was a bad idea, but he was plum out of options. Might as well make the most of it!

Kabby grinned, it was a similarly toothy, ecstatic grin, much like the one on the face of his former customer. "Where to, Boss?"

Boss Red Nightmare saw the gleam in the imp's eye, felt his energy: His destiny was back on track! "Take me to Lady Belladonna's Orphanage. We've much to do."

Kabby nodded and pulled out into the street, pulverizing a small flock of cyclists. Red Nightmare examined the arrow in his hand, holding it up to the window as they passed a throng of imps, succibi, and other disheveled Hellions, his eyes lighting up as he felt the arrow twitch, even in passing. It would take some leg-work, and more than a little luck, but his future was still his to command, his destiny his to control. He would regain his lost power and be rid of his baggage, and then Hell would kneel to his might.

Things were looking up.