Hidden In The Stars
By
Reptilian-Angel
Prince Stolas always knew that his so-called 'wife' hated him with a passion. Ever since they were forced to be married she had done nothing but make it clear that their relationship was a sour one with her in control. The emotional and verbal abuse did little to help matters. So when his wife tried to poison him, he actually really thought about ending it all, but instead came up with a solution. He would fake his death, disguise himself, and live free from the chains of being a noble. Having done so, Stolas finds himself disguised as a very tall imp and living in Imp City with a small fortune he smuggled out. Of course, every commoner needs a job, so Stolas picked the first random company that was hiring: The Immediate Murder Professionals.
It also doesn't help that their boss wasn't that bad looking.
Prologue:
"Dust in the Wind"
The sinner they had been paid to exterminate must have been a small-time felon when they were still alive. Or more accurately, a fan of the types of poorly written, stereotypical "master" villains children would read about in comic books and fairy tales or watch bumbling all over themselves on Saturday morning cartoons. In other words, petty, melodramatic and superbly cliched.
After all, who else would choose an abandoned warehouse in the Greed Ring as a hideout? One that was either a tuna or a diaper factory at some point, if the lingering smell was any indication . . .
Slots Grimbeak crinkled his nose at the faint stench, keeping his ears open to any exposed holes and creaky floorboards as he tread softly down the hallway. The scabbard that hung on his hip patted his thigh with each step, he only clutching at it when the noise of it seemed a touch too loud.
It hadn't been just the smell alone that this cesspool of a building so terrible. The entire structure of the building was shoddy, just on the verge of collapsing if some demon or that "Cherri Bomb" didn't get to it.
Then again he couldn't say he was all that surprised; he knew first-hand how much of minimalists most architects were when hailing from the ring of Greed – Even more so when there was a sale on "cheap" material that was just beginning to show signs of rot. And even with all the customer complaints they still make a killing in the construction market.
The smallest sound further down the hall, immediately tensed. Speaking of killing . . .
He took two and half steps back before ducking into the closest decrepit doorway, keeping in mind no to let his sword smack against it in the process. Fools had been slaughtered for a lesser mistakes. Cautiously leaning out, watching in silence as the figure came into view.
He blinked calmly at the sight of the hellhound coming closer. Late twenties, lanky for his breed, definitely a mixed breed, definitely a mixed breed judging by that scruffy pelt. He noted the drunken, prominent stumble in his stride. And also inebriated. Possibly under the influence. Not exactly becoming for a competent guard.
But that would work out just as well for whom was matching the poor mutt in just a moment.
He slowly stuck out one more long thin arm, giving the mold-covered wall one loud and subtle knock. Even in his dazed state, the hellhound picked up the sound with a surprised twitch of his ears. That's right. Here doggy, doggy, doggy. Slots smirked, his other hand releasing his sword to reach inside of his vest. Have I got a special treat for you.
The shadow of his prey grew closer, passing him by harmlessly as it's owner neared his position. Three steps, two steps, one more . . .
There!
The millisecond Slots saw the mutt's thin shoulder blades, he pounced. Pulling out his concealed dagger, he mercilessly suck the tip into the greasy fur and muscle tissue of the hound's threat, aimed carefully right at the joint where the head connected to the neck, jet black demonic blood spurting out in bursts.
His cries of surprise and/or pain were smothered as a much smaller, daintier hand clamped onto his muzzle with a vice grip. As the half-breed struggled in his grasp, he could vaguely hear the friendly reminder given regarding this type of restraining chirp at him cheerfully in his subconscious. "Don't forget, hun. Keep the pressure tight and even in both arms – And make sure all yer fingers are holding tight or ya'll can say bye-bye to wearin' pinky rings for the rest for your life!"
Were it not for the panicking hellhound in his hold, Slots probably would've smiled. As the hellhound's struggling grew more frantic, he couldn't help but for the sorry creature. Aww. He tsked silently as frightened paws scrabbled blindly at his hands.
Poor thing. That wouldn't do him much good. Unbeknownst to him, Slots had proven inexplicitly that contrary to what his delicate and, erm, birdish frame suggested he was much, much, MUCH stronger than what was expected. What remained of his cohorts downstairs was further evidence of that. Not that this unfortunate soul would ever see them. At least not in this life.
Had he not been concerned about the undoubtedly sharp teeth this hellhound possessed, Slots would have given him a reassuring pat on the head.
"Poor thing," His apologetic tone earned him a confused, pained squeak. "I doubt you really deserve this. After all I know absolutely nothing about you, save from what I've learned in the roughly, mmm~, let's say two and half minutes since we've met. That said, based on what I've discerned, my best is that you are one of the junkies that nowadays are a dime-a-dozen in Greed – the kind of intoxicated breed that take literally whatever shite job they're presented with at first glance with nothing to come out of it except enough souls to purchase just the tiniest bit of blow, correct?"
A frantic nodding, paws still searching fruitlessly for some measure of escape from his grasp. Slots tutted. "Yep. I was afraid of that. It truly is a pity the cards that the hands of fate deal others in life." He shook his head morosely. "Especially those who live amongst the rabble." The hellhound's offended grunt and muffled curse was quickly cut off with his next statement. "But then again, there's the one benefit to those who are born here; Hell simply recycles the soul in question and reshapes it into someone entirely new, bar Exterminations and give and take a few years. So odds are perhaps I'm doing you a favor today in taking your life. Hopefully you'll have better upbringing and career options in your nest life. With that said, -"
SHUNK!
"- Sweet Dreams and good luck."
With a smooth twist of his wrist, hos now blackened dagger from the limp hellhound's neck, the rapidly cooling body falling into a leaking heap on the floor. He pulled a face at the splatters of black that matched the growing pool of Hellborn blood forming under the dead hound's corpse. Great, so much for doing this neatly. Oh well.
He managed to wipe off most of the blood on his knife on the dead hellhound's dirty jacket but the grip felt a little too slick for his tastes. Probably because he took too long to actually kill his target which allowed too much to spill on the grip. That's the price you pay for expressing sympathy for your target, he supposed. It would be better for him to use his sword for the remainder of the job, lest he'd be the one berated for butchering an assassination due to a lack of proper grip. He would never let Slots hear the end of it if that happened.
He tucked the semi-clean dagger back into his vest with care before casting a glance at the still body below him. "If it's any comfort to you, our main target is going to endure much worse before he meets his end."
BANG!
A large hole exploding from his right launched Slots's heart-rate into high gear, his body instinctively lurching away from the shot radius while drywall and plaster fell to the floor in messy and somewhat smoking pieces. "Not if I get you first, you long-legged bitch!" A panicked, nasally voice called out.
He eyed the gaping hole with a much more calmer expression than what was expected when one just barely escaped instant death by mere inches. Or in actuality, half a foot now that Slots really looked at the angles of the shot's entry. He blew air past his lips at the sloppy mistakes even an utter amateur marksman could pick up on. "Right, assuming you can actually hit me with whatever it is that you're handling over there. Do you even know what you're doing? I mean that shot was just terrible."
"F-fuck you, asshole! I'm better than you!" The voice squeaked out before a pump of a shotgun was heard and swiftly followed by another (even more sloppy) shot that impacted itself just two feet above the first. Slots rolled his eyes.
However terrible of a shot he was, that at least answered the question as to what sort of weapon he was using. 12 gauge pump action shotgun. Exact make and model to be determined. Six to Seven rounds total depending on the type of ammunition. Five or/three rounds left.
"COME OUT, Bastard!" BANG!
Make that four or two.
"Oh, I'm quite comfortable right here, thank you." Slots called out. "But while I have your attention, a query; you're the sinner they call "Lez" correct? The "Drug Boss of Greed"?"
"Y-yeah, so what?" Lez responded sharply, his panic still all too clear in his voice.
"Ah good. Just need to verify real quick on whether or not you're some random fool standing in for a bonus." He started as he reached inside his vest again. "Although if you ask me, standing in just to get shot or worse seems like a lousy position to volunteer for the sake of a paltry bonus."
"Oh fuck you!"
Slots chuckled. "But then again, I guess you can afford burning some souls on whatever sorry demon asks for it. After all, what you stole from Mammon's private tax reserves provides plenty for you, doesn't it?"
"More than you get in a fuckin' year, you prick!" Another pump. Another bang. This time, the shot missed the wall entirely and smacked against the door. Slots had been hiding by previous, blowing a massive hole in the center. A disgruntled curse made the paltry shooter's frustration known.
"Yes, I'm sure, you're right." Slots nodded to himself. He then felt the shapes he was searching for, carefully grasping both before pulling them out. The vial and capped syringe held delicately between his fingers, he slid the cap off the needle and tucked it in trouser pocket. "I'd expect nothing less from the one of the many stockpiles of the King of Greed himself. Which makes it all the mere stunning regarding your audacity at actually stealing from him."
"Like that fucker would miss one fuckin' pile money?! Fat bitch has hundreds all over Greed!"
Caring not a smidgen for the soon-to-be-dead sinner's faulted logic, Slots's attention was more focused on the small vial in his hand. "That he does. But you know, he is the Ruler of Greed for a reason."
Carefully turning the syringe around, he aimed the point of the needle towards the still sealed vial and pushed it through the cap. "King Mammon is Greed personified; over since the birth of Hell, his sole purpose is to take and take and take, to hold whatever he covets with a tight grip and never let it slip from his grasp. Any who dare try and take what he deems is his are nothing but gnats to him," As the plunger sunk into the barrel, he watched in quiet satisfaction as the vial was slowly drained of its contents. "Gnats that are needed to be squashed."
Slots could hear the poorly disguised panic rising in Lez's voice. "A-a-and what? So what? You and those dumb fuckers you came in with are gonna squash me? Just for getting one up on some fat cat who's nothing but Lucifer's bean-counter?! Fuck that!" Pump. Bang. Once again the door was the only fatality but fortunately it was put out of its misery quickly, the top half being blown clean off the hinges. Slots rolled his eyes at the prompt curse.
"Be honest now, have you ever used a gun before now? And I do mean something other than a bb gun?" He questioned the simmering sinner, as he can only assume he was considering Slots still had yet to see him.
"Oh, fuck you!"
Slots rolled his eyes again. Satan, this sorry sinner's verbal dictation did take him far, did it? Seriously, his boss's teenage daughter had better cursing range than this.
". . . L-Look, whatever that lard-filled asshole is paying you, you and the rest of your crew to off me, j-just let me go and I'll – I'll pay you whatever you want." Lez pleaded. "Double, triple, w-w-whatever you want! Just walk away and you'll be set for life!"
Slots "mulled" over those words as he pulled the needle out of the now empty vial. Tucking it away, he gave the filled syringe a proper once-over, tapping the needle to ensure there were no clogs, examining the barrel for leaks and the proper amount was inside, all as such that was necessary. Perfect.
Slots would be lying if he said the desperate offer wasn't tempting. Considering how meticulous the Lord of the Greed was, even just a single handout of the riches "liberated" from him could very easily ensure a comfortable lifestyle for him for the rest of his days. Even when split amongst he and his cohorts, such wealth was nothing to sniff at.
It would be easy. Just take what was given to you and be grateful . . .
That said, what would his boss say?
Had he been here instead of him, there was a definite possibility that he would give the offer much more consideration, after all for him the sheer possibility of buying any tiny yet obscenely expensive horse and pony figures would be undoubtedly mind-boggling and all at the cost of taking the easy way out . . .
. . . . . Then again, he was never the type of to take the easy route. More like he would pour gasoline, set it on fire and roast marshmellows over the burning remains. Slots had learned that first hand.
So . . . what else was there to think about?
". . . Thank you, but no." He gave a small smirk as he heard Lez sputter. "I've learned recently that there's much more satisfaction to earning your money rather than simply being handed it on a silver platter. It's a greatly tedious process to be sure, but, oh, the rewards it can reap, I never could have imagined how . . . fulfilling it can be."
"You- wha- let's- let's see how fulfilling it is when you're full of holes, you bitch!"
The second Slots heard him take a step out from the corner he was quivering in, he was already on his feet and running.
He didn't go straight for Lez. No, he angled his sprint so he had the room to dive into a deft somersault that kept him low enough to avoid any bullet that the scrawny, bowl-legged sinner attempted to fire at him –
- Only for that woeful, ominous click to sound which signaled its owner of its lack of ammunition when Lez aimed at for the taller imp and squeezed the trigger. Slots made a minor note of the instantaneous horror that bloomed on his features as he rolled onto his feet and gripped at the hilt of his sword. No longer to keep it still, but to let it swing for its prey.
In a flash, Slots pulled out the sleek and near pristine saber in a deadly frontal swipe, the thin blade easily slicing the now useless shotgun in half as well as Lez's right arm. The sinner screamed in pain as both parts fell to the floor in a shower of crimson red. Distracted by his brutal amputation, Lez never even noticed the loaded syringe in Slots's hand which the imp was extremely careful not to drop with his movements earlier lest he wanted what was inside to go to waste.
And it didn't. Faster than either of them could blink, Slots practically stabbed the needle into the soft side of Lez's neck and with a steady push of his thumb, ejected it straight into the punctured vein.
Shock running rampant on Lez's stocky frozen face, he could only choke audibly for a few choice moments, the bloody stump that was once his limb completely ignored. Well, almost. Slots felt his brow furrow at the amount of red staining his clothes. All that blood is going to be a pain to rinse out later. All that I can't get out myself, that is.
Just about right after the syringe was completely depleted Lez finally regained enough sentience to move, smacking Slots's hand away he stumbled back a step and yanked out the protruding medical tool with a yelp. "The fuck you doing, you -"
The muscles in his neck contracted without warning, cutting off his poor tirade with a surprised grunt.
Half of a second after the contraction moved down to his shoulders. Then his torso. And not even a full minute had passed before his whole body began to convulse uncontrollably; his shuddering legs giving way underneath him and sending him falling through an unhinged doorway and into a madly twitching heap on the floor.
Slots observed all this with a cool look in his eyes, although in reality if one could look closer, they would actually see the beginnings of the broiling, simmering, burn-you-to-the-touch anger that inspired the fright in many caught in his yellow sclera gaze. His voice was just as chilling as he started, "Hmm. That started much more quickly than I expected. Still, hard to argue with results." He languidly recapped the needle and returned it back to its proper place. "Especially since this is my first time doling out such a concoction."
The panicked "What did you do to me?" that Lez tried to spit out only managed to articulate itself as a pitiful whimper. Said sound had been accompanied by rivulets of drool that spilled from the corners of his chapped, cracked lips and ran down the sides of his face.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Slots said casually as if he was addressing an acquaintance and not a person he just shot up with "questionable" substances. "You must be confused as to what just happened. I know I would be in your position. So allow me to explain," He pulled out a handkerchief from his sleeve which he then used to wipe the red sheen on his blade while stepping into the room with a languid stride.
"What I just injected you with isn't some common drug like cocaine, morphine or methamphetamine. No, no, no, that would've been too quick for you. What's now coursing through your veins is, in fact, extract of the Phyllobates Terribilis. Or in plain English, the "Golden Poison Dart Frog" which, if you ask my opinion, is the perfect embodiment of the consequences of succumbing to greed. I mean, think about it – That one little, almost innocent lump of gold that cements a person's undoing the very moment they hold it in their hands. Nevermind that unsightly rash that always occurs when one happens to touch said gold."
Spotting an old, shabby-looking chair, Slots pulled it over by his tail and gracefully sat on it as he continued. "Here's an interesting fact, though, something I've just learned recently – Depending on the daily diet that is used on the frog, their toxicity can be greatly affected to the point where most can hold the creature with no risk of suffering. But that's for the tamed ones." He held his sword to his face, inspecting it for anymore smears or stains before nodding once satisfactorily. "Now the ones in the wild . . ." He chuckled darkly. "They're a whole different story."
The malicious smirk that was growing on the tall imp's face could have made Lez pee himself had he not been currently experiencing a near-seizure on the ground.
"The toxin that makes this class of amphibian so beautifully deadly is one called batrachotoxin. Nasty little bugger and to note, incredibly rare. Not that it stops most of the people upstairs on the surface around South America from loading it up on blowgun darts and wasting it on primates and the occasional revolutionary. Not that you can really distinguish one from the other these days." He gave a subtle "tsk". "But do forgive me, I'm getting away from the point."
A choked gasp was his only pardon.
"When batrachotoxin secreted from the Golden Dart is consumed with its host, it goes right to work; attacking the nervous system with only a moment's silence before the symptoms begin, - I hope you're listening because this concerns you. -" He pointed lazily to Lez. "The first symptoms are uncontrollable convulsions which is then simultaneously followed by muscle contractions, said signs you are now experiencing to their full effect." Lez's body was shaking harder than a baby rattle in the hands of a chimpanzee at this point while Slots was calmly crossing one long, slender leg over the other as he leaned back in his chair. "Then the salivary glands inside your mouth began to build up on fluid before quickly expunging, leading to massive amounts of salivation, Of course, you can see that clearly for yourself."
He twirled the hilt of his saber until the tip faced the ground, allowing Slots to prop both hands on it as if it were a cane. "Of course, all of this is just a build-up to the main event, where the toxins permanently open the sodium channels of the nerve cells in your body and prevents them from closing. Once that occurs, the end result is steadying paralysis and cardiac failure."
The dying sinner's eyes were wide and watery as they bore into his.
"In other words – Death." He stated matter-of-factually. "And since there's no known cure, I'm afraid there's no helping you. And that's fine by me since it defeats the purpose as to why my friends and I are here."
Both eyes were now leaking like faulty faucets, veins popping shamelessly on his neck and head as to illustrate the utter hopelessness he was feeling.
Not that Slots was bothered by it. In fact, that brought a previously discussed matter to mind. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "That reminds me, you recall how you said we were hired by King Mammon? Allow me to clarify that accusation,"
He allowed the smirk to morph into a smug smile as he demurred as cordially as possible, "Mammon has no fucking idea you exist."
He tried not to look too gleeful at the small spark of confusion that made its way onto Lez's face despite the undeniable pain he was enduring. Pretty impressive. Of course that didn't last long as it evaporated with the intensifying convulsions.
"At least, he doesn't know yet. We'll be leaving an anonymous tip for his secretary to deliver once we're finished here. After that, it's out of our hands. I'm honestly surprised that all of Greed hadn't found out about it sooner, seeing as how loudmouthed your security was when we arrived. I mean, really, the "daring" heist pulled on one of the Sins is not something one should just blab about over a round of beer."
His scolding was interrupted by a sudden thought. A sudden thought that earned a frustrated sigh. "Although, I have no doubt than my employer will do likewise the minute this ob is through, reckless demon that he is . . ." Too reckless sometimes, for all his charm . . .
He stopped himself before he started to ramble again. After all, he owed the future late Mister Lez that much.
"Getting back to what I was saying earlier, no. Mammon isn't our current client. No, the dear client paying for this endeavor is a mere succubus paying out of her wages to render our services for the sake of avenging her twelve-year-old daughter, Susie."
In an instant, all the air felt like it was sucked out of the room as that name hung between them. Whatever warm politeness was showing on Slots's face was wiped clean away to be replaced with a terrifying piss-inducing placid expression of pure rage.
"Don't recognize the name?" Slots uttered lowly. "That would be awfully rude of you, considering one of your dealers made the wise decision to sell your product at the school she was attending. Somehow, she would up with a bad batch of it after being cajoled into buying it with her lunch money."
The hands gripping his hilt started trembling smile the anger in his voice became more and apparent. "They found her dead in one of the stalls in the girl's bathroom when one of her friends went to check up on her. Quite the spectacle it was, I heard." His chalk white claws flexed tersely over each other with the low breath he breathed in. "And since you're so street-smart, you've certainly bribed enough of the local law enforcement to keep such a scandal from spreading. Pity you forwent taking care of the mother, isn't it?"
Lez was by no means capable of responding to that since he was entering the final throes of his death, a weak, pathetic keen the start of the countdown. Eyes popping out his head, teeth clenching so hard they were on precipice of breaking, skin paling to a shade of ivory that made ghosts look more alive in comparison.
It was indeed a sorry sight, one akin to seeing a helpless mouse just before it passed through the gleaming bicuspids of a hungry cat.
That would inspire sympathy in some others. That is, others who weren't him.
In his modest opinion, with some partial influence from his frequently foul-mouthed boss, this fucker had it coming.
"But then again it's better that you did. After all, if you hadn't, I wouldn't be here to tell you this -"
Sheathing his saber with a finality signaling that pleasantries were now over and done with, Slots straightened his legs and leaned down towards the sinner as far as he could without falling forward, his previously schooled features now hard and cruel while his eyes were alight with a scorching fury that could melt steel and burn you from the inside-out with nothing but a glance. Even in the almost non-existent lighting of the room, his sclera almost betrayed a shade of brilliant red that spoke of nothing but silent power and swift death to all caught in their gaze.
"- I am no saint. I am no judge. I have, along with many who reside here in Hell, committed many a sin that will surely damn me for all my days. I am no angel, but even I know there are some lines that you never cross. And taking the life of a girl who he's yet to live her life, to rob a parent of their beloved child without even sparing the chance to say goodbye, -"
The brilliance of scarlet in his eyes was now hotter than the core of any star. "- Is without a doubt the worst, inexcusable, damnable thing any soul could commit."
Only after he edged back did he clam down, while Lez's eyes rolled back into his head, the final sign of his coming death.
He huffed silently, ". . . I'd say may God keep you, but since when had he cared about any of us?"
He received no answer. With a few lasting shudders, one last groan, his body thoroughly stopped, his skin pale as paper and lips left permanently open in an immortalized look of agony. The "Drug Boss of Greed" had breathed his last.
Slots observed all this with an icy stare, the teeth digging into his lip all he could do to keep in the hot curl of remorse snaking up within his chest.
He loosened his posture, rolling his head back and shutting both eyes tightly to fight off that familiar burn of tears. None of which for the dead man at the his feet. No, his recompense had been his just desserts.
Susie's mother had been quite clear on whatever be done unto him was fair. Something he could definitely relate to.
Grief and loss were fabulously toxic motivators when it was time to dispense due justice. Not that it did much to help the constantly gnawing sting that was left afterward. Where all you could do was let it swallow you up piece by piece. He sighed heavily.
But that was all back then.
This was now.
He wasn't that demon anymore.
He reached into his trouser pocket again and felt around until he once again felt his desired item touch his fingertips. He calmly pulled out his wallet, opening it up. He slowly blinked back at what he had tucked in oh so carefully almost a year before.
In almost every wallet, there was a tiny sleeve of plastic that most people would use to store anything from driver's licenses to keepsake pictures of family, friends, even precious pets from time to time.
For Slots Grimbeak, however, he had something just as important.
The neatly-cropped piece of newspaper had been cut halfway through its article, the story written inside of it severed mid-paragraph. Not that Slots needed to read it. He had read the whole of it word-for-word when it had been published almost two days prior to its titular incident. He remembered how the worries he had been carrying until then had been lifted with each sentence that was read until all he could do was smile as softly as he could.
The smile was still there. Albeit nowadays there was the barest hints of regret liken to that of absolving his wrists of the heavy shackles he had worn and carried for countless decades, and still wanting for the weight.
There on the scrap did the headline read -
"A STAR OF HELL HAS FALLEN:
Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia Declared Dead after Assassination"
A grainy black and white picture of the Prince of Stars was photocopied next to it, his barn owl features disciplined and regal in permanent keep for the picture.
Slots puffed a small chuckle. Honestly, it had been a terrible picture the day it was taken. Not that anyone noticed.
Then again, whoever did?
No point to wondering that now.
Those shackles were gone. All of it was in the past.
Prince Stolas was dead and there was nothing to do for it but . . .
. . . But to reflect.
To reflect and wonder on what had been.
It was startling to know that when compared to the vast expanse of the universe, you were nothing.
You were just a speck, a single speck of insignificant matter simply filling in a micro-space of the limitless plane of existence. True, there are those that think themselves as all there is and that all may ever will be, but others knew better. I knew better.
I learned very earlier on that no person is some magnificent phenomena. No singular soul is the heart of creation where every solitary step taken sparks the foundation of a whole new dimension. No one mind, no matter how imaginative or creative, has the sheer force to bring life into a rough amalgamation of cosmic energy and mortal rock.
Well, perhaps maybe ONE person does. But He never exactly explains how He accomplishes such feats. Same case being when He destroys them.
But I'm getting off track.
Like I said, in the grand scheme of things, no single person matters. One life lost simply leaves room for yet another to take its place. And when that one soul fades away, another fills in the missing gap and the cycle continues on.
No one matters to the universe. When they experience pain, life goes on. When they experience sorrow, life goes on; regret, longing, envy, joy, euphoria, peace, it's all just a momentary breeze to be noted and waved off without a thought.
I've known many people in my existence. Some whose essence radiated a bleak emptiness that could rival the heart of a black hole and others whose pride and ferocity could light up the sky and set it aflame to where the beauty of it outshone the sun. Some brave and foolhardy, some so conniving and greedy they could give injustice to rats in comparison.
But be they royalty to commoner, Fallen Angel to imp, they all share the same amount of purpose.
None.
And I wasn't any different.
For the longest time, I just existed on what minimal lackluster space in reality I was granted. Not dead but not quite alive either. I went through the everyday motions of what could be laughably referred to as a "life". But I never "lived".
Never have I experienced the best in the life. Not the true kind, at least. True, materialistically I was never without, but it wasn't quite the same.
I had a crown which I wore with pride.
I had power which applied properly, I could use to destroy an entire city with a wave of my hand.
I had a domain which, second only to one other, I held reign and commanded.
You would think I had everything, anything I could ever want.
But I didn't.
I didn't because with all I had, I was never . . . Happy.
Not content. Not satisfied. I was just . . . Just.
Not that I ever realized it until I met him.
This story is about how I met him. The man who changed my life.
But that's not all there is to it.
This is the story of how I not only died – But how I had begun to live.
I am Stolas of the Ars Goetia.
And this is how it all began.
Me: Hello, all you sinners! Here's my first story EVER in the Helluva Boss fandom! Or at least my first story adoption ever. That said, Thank you so so so much TalosLives for giving me the opportunity; the "Starting over with a new life" trope is one my ABSOLUTE favorite story-lines to read about and I was BEYOND thrilled that you put up this story prompt for adoption. Coincidentally, I actually had a similar story in the works in the chaotic train track called My Mind but I liked your spin on it WAY BETTER so thanks SO much again for giving me a chance!
For those of you wondering about the next chapter, let me assure you it IS coming, but due to me going to visit my mom out of town next week, there's a strong chance that I won't be able to get it posted until sometime AFTER thanksgiving. It WILL be worth the wait whatever happens, I promise – but word of warning, there's going to be a LOT of nastiness starting out :(
All Characters in this story belong to their respective owners, save an OC or two tossed in by me.
'Til next time!