Denied

Professor Utonium's voice projected through the television. It likely did so through quite a few, and would probably echo throughout the night as various stations lower on the food chain got their shot, with likely snippets reappearing in the weeks to come as the situation was over-analyzed.

Professor paused before he spoke. He waited for the sea of clicking from dozens of cameras snapped shots of him at the podium. The sound had always been a little strange in its own way, but today those clicks seemed eerie. Hungry. Alive, somehow. It wasn't a sea of reporters, but some delegation of an alien race chattering anxiously amongst themselves in their languages of clicks and whirring.

Worst part was, likely every one of those cameras were digital, the sounds just for feedback. Just for show. For effect.

Professor forced himself back to the moment, doing his best to hide the fact that for a brief moment his mind had been elsewhere. At least he didn't have the distraction of worrying about his daughters. There had been no reason for them to be here, so they waited at home.

"This is a rather difficult thing for me to say. And, I understand, many people have been waiting to hear it. So I'll do us both favor and cut through the pleasantries."

Professor tried hard to look up at his audience as he spoke, and into the camera. He didn't want to look ashamed or defeated. He probably didn't need his notes at all, but it was still difficult to turn his gaze from the comforting lifelessness of the podium and the still, crisp print on the pristine white paper.

"My daughter, Buttercup, has been dealing with some unexpected issues."

Briefly the sea of alien chatter arose again.

"I see," it said to him. "Fascinating. Just as we'd predicted, yes?"

"These have only recently come to light--in our household, though it seems some fallout has spread beyond it before we had quite decided our course ourselves."

"Interesting," the cameras chirped briefly.

"I can say matters aren't so severe as some would claim, though I'm afraid that beyond that statement I must request you respect our privacy in this matter."

The response was scattered, indignant muttering Professor couldn't quite make out. The reporters themselves were politely silent.

"We are giving this matter our full attention, however, and while we are not certain such measures are necessary, we see no harm in, and thus are seeking to arrange, a psychological evaluation."

The cameras roared, delighted.

"I do not, however, see reason why Buttercup, or any of my daughters, are not fit to continue in both their schooling and their duties as public defenders. My family and I appreciate your patience in this matter--"

Sensing the approaching conclusion, the reporters present burst into a flurry of voice and action, clamoring to make their questions heard. Professor Utonium continued over the sound without missing a beat or raising his voice once decibel.

"--and hope you will continue to trust in us."

Princess almost broke another screen. Even if she avoided that, the remote shattered on the floor when she stood up and threw it down. She fumed as she watched Professor Utonium make his way through the back door, ignoring the bustling reporters.

The shot then cut back to some newsroom or another, but she didn't care. Him had been wrong. Not one damned bit of useful conversation from her surveillance, and when the family had come forward they'd been almost honest and properly vague. Princess's own publicity experts could hardly have done better.

But what bothered her most was that her video was nearly wasted. If she shared it now she'd just look spiteful, kicking the poor, poor freaks while they were down. Now she'd be doing nothing more than filling in details. At least if she had come forward before they had admitted to anything, it would have been closer to her calling them out.

"Now I know why they say not to make deals with the devil!" Princess cried out to the empty room. "He doesn't know what in the hell he's doing!"

At first nothing happened. Then a worrisome sensation settled in on her. The air was still, but it felt like seething currents of anger were flowing through the room. This sensation lasted only a short while before the room grew dim.

It did so in a most unnatural way, everything growing darker and grittier even while the lamps and ceiling lights seemed to grow brighter. They became spheres of lights that seemed more distant than they really were, shining brightly as if pained by the crushing darkness they could not hold back.

Wisps of smoke or something like steam rose from briefly the huge television screen. A swathe of it melted, dripping into a small pile on the floor as Him strode through it, seeming as angry as Princess. Angrier.

"Shut your accursed mouth, insipid brat!" He growled as he strode quickly towards he. His pleasant, sing-song voice was not to make an appearance this time.

Princess, taken aback by his brashness and fury, started to backpedal when he didn't slow his approach. Her hesitation was too great, however, and one of Him's hard, unfeeling pincers closed around her neck and lifted her off the ground. She gasped and choked, and her hands tried to push open those pincers as much as they tried to hold her up.

"I will not be insulted by such an impudent, insignificant child as yourself!" His eyes glowed fierce red, and Princess swore she saw faint smoke rising from them. The smell of brimstone, smoke, and death hung strongly in the air, quite a change from the normal, sickeningly perfumed aromas that typically accompanied Him.

"And this is far, far from over! They will not escape their dues! They will pay their penance! They will be held before their people, and they will be cursed at and spit upon! They will show their sins to the world and be damned for them! Let the world see their ideals of goodness and perfection brought to the lowest, most primal, and filthiest depths! They dared to claim a throne at the peak of the world, to let themselves be praised an adored as above all others!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously. If not for the faintly visible slits, revealed by the intense glow beneath, Princess would have thought them closed. "If I cannot lay claim to that without such vile suffering, neither shall they."

Princess continued to gape, and her eyes briefly, involuntarily rolled back. When they did so she fell to the ground, coughing and spitting. She felt her neck, which shouted at her in a mixture of pain and relief. The pressure was gone, but she drew back her hands to find them slick with blood.

The lighting was back to normal, but the television screen remained melted. At least there was nothing but burnt circuitry on the other side.

What had she expected? A lasting portal to hell?

The thought chilled her, and she shuddered. She felt drained, crawling to the stand beside her easy chair to call for someone to tend to her injury and again replace the television for the second time that week.

She'd often, privately or in the presence of others, decried Him's efforts to antagonize the girls. His plots, she felt, were needlessly over-elaborate. Especially for one of such power as Him.

Her personal opinion was that he was no devil. No Lucifer. No Mephistopheles. No Baal. No Beelzebub. Just some magical red-skinned fairy who was closer to the Lucky Charms leprechaun than the tempter of ages.

Now Princess thought back to her old pet cat. When she was a child, it had come across a mouse. Princess had watched at first, and several times thought the thing must surely be dead. Princess quickly grew bored, and with no small amount of annoyance in her voice suggested her cat just finish off the damned thin.

She didn't have to wonder why those thoughts returned to her now, and she shuddered again.