Year I - Act I - Laws of corruption - Chapter I.

"Tell me, young Prince. Do you know why you are here?"

The room was rather lavish. Well decorated, furnished, and with illumination designed to highlight everything from portraits, pictures, the meticulously crafted furniture, drapes and every single detail the eye could land on. It was not itself designed to impress, more to push attention away from the figure sitting on an armchair facing the fire and away from the entrance.

Spectacle. The being sitting there loved it. Hell was his personal circus and he was the ringmaster. This was but another act, only this one was a bit special considering the ramifications that could come from the news brought by the Goetia Prince.

The white figure sitting there was Lucifer, The Fallen one, the Lord of the Damned, the Ruler of Hell. A tall, pure white being with white hair, black lips and a smile the likes of a shark, full of sharp teeth and a mile wide. His eyes were closed as he sat, purple eyelids covering yellow eyes with red slitted pupils, a hint of his nature contrasted with rosy cheeks. He needed not look or change his appearance, for what he was was indeed what he wanted others to see.

And what an interesting sight it was. With a white high collar suit, black bow tie, red undershirt with white stripes and a wide brimmed white tophand with a golden snake and red apple over golden spikes that remind those that look upon it to a crown. An over the top presentation far grander to the far more simple, but just as important, golden ring on his left pinkie… or the apple topped black cane he held on his free hand.

Everything on the fallen angel was deliberate. Some obvious, some not. But his otherwise carefree and funny persona, much like his over the top appearance, barely hid what lies beneath.

And Stolas wanted for the hidden aspects to remain that way.

"I am not truly aware, your Highness." Stolas was close to the door, respectful as he had waited a whole minute for Lucifer to speak. "I… only suspect it has to do with my report about the change in the stars."

Unlike in the myths of the Bible, Stolas was far more anthropomorphic than his depictions would tell you. Then again, who was to say if there had been one Stolas? Not that the slender owl demon could tell you, if he had had any inclination to check on his own name's history that is.

No, Stolas' look was rather different than expected, much like Lucifer, if one was to guess. Stolas was indeed slender, perhaps lanky, sporting thin, black limbs as well as feet tipped with owl claws. His appearance was rather subdued; gray blue feathers, slowly growing dark gray/blue on his head, with a long plume like tail and a lighter gray puff of fur on his chest, with a white, heart shaped facial disk and a small black beak resembling your regular owl. But that is where the 'normal' aspect of the demon would end, as he had four eyes of deep crimson, two where the eyes should be, two more on top of that, shaped like almonds and, at first glance, lacking pupils or irises until you got a glance at the small white orbs within the red pools.

If a normal human was to meet the demon in a casual conversation they'd think him rather particular, eccentric even, but quite approachable and nice. Perhaps far more than a demon of his station should be. A fact that brought him brief often, to be sure.

On the other hand Lucifer was cheerful, funny and silly in general, taking things seriously when needed, but otherwise enjoying his time as best as he could. After all, he was not just a jailer and a king, but an inmate as well. One has to earn their little piece of heaven, or forge it if needed. And Lucifer had the POWER to force things his way if he so chose, yet he usually remained docile and civil, unless someone proved the need to be taught a harsh lesson.

And yet Stolas could not afford to be comfortable. No, he had to use his most royal garb, the clothes he reserved for get togethers, parties and other crap he had so little interest in, at least with the company he was allowed to 'enjoy'. This case had nothing to do with his ill conceived marriage, or his screeching wife, it should've meant that he wore this to enjoy himself. Instead of that, his clothes today meant that there was a very real chance he, and his immediate family, would cease to exist if he said or did the wrong thing.

His formal wear consisted of a red tunic with six linked buttons down the breast as well as beige breeches. His favorite accessory, somewhat inspired by his sitting lord, being a feathery tophat that featured a regal god crown encircling it. He also sported two other things; a long burgundy cape that he had 'personalized' by tattering it at the hemline and a plus ermine looking fur collar, and long black gloves with white feathered trims and elbows. A rather regal, but not overly excessive, attire when compared to his more pompous family members and other Goetia demons of similar positions.

To be honest, Stolas was wondering if what he had been sold was true. Could these clothes survive everything? Because there was that nagging feeling telling him they'd be the only thing remaining if Lucifer was truly angry for some reason.

"What was that you told me, Stolas?" Lucifer's smile never left his face as he summoned a letter. The envelope being one of those Stolas had for his own personal use. "A prophecy has… changed? At the last minute no less, at least when talking about such events and their magnitude."

Stolas was happy that his beak was unlike those of mortal owls. Still, feeling his 'lips' dry right now was an extra distraction he didn't need.

"Yes, my Lord." Stolas cleared his throat. "I… Shall I speak my piece? I don't wish to repeat myself and take your time if the matter is more dire than I thought."

"Please." Lucifer hummed, the letter gone with a flick of his wrist. "I would like to hear this from you. If I did not want you to do so I would've made it clear. Besides, had there been any… 'mistake' in that little missive of yours, you can make up for it now. So worry not about time, not right now, when I want you to spare no detail."

"Yes, sire." Stolas cleared his throat, mouth almost dry at this point. Lucifer made it clear he wanted all he could offer, so failing was the last thing in his mind. At least if Stolas wanted to live another day. "Then I'll begin by saying that it was sudden, my Lord. Nothing big, that is to be sure, and I can assure it would be less than likely for mortals to notice. It was simple enough to detect with the proper magic however, that of my grimoire being particularly inclined. In fact it was only because my book alerted me that I thought it prudent to inform you as soon as I deciphered all I could. Maybe the fate altered matters not to us, but if that is the case then it is you who should decide." Stolas recalled the event clearly considering it had been mere days. "A fraction of an inch may not mean much, there are many phenomena in space that can achieve such effects, but for something set in stone it may change the world. In this case the stars told me of the genocide of a whole family line; a bloodline consumed in its entirety by someone using stolen powers from your servants, my Lord. A mortal fueling their own desires by taking away from your power."

"Yes, not that many of those anymore." The Devil tapped his cane, humming a little before finally opening his eyes. The death of many was not that big of a deal; they'd either join him or his Father, that was all there was to it. But if their fate was set in the stars, then the change had to mean something. If we add that it was his own power, albeit a minuscule portion, the one to be drained to fuel someone else? Well, maybe it was still irrelevant, but one had to take precautions. "Such changes may very well leave a great impact, Stolas. What else did the stars tell you?"

"I am… sad to report I know very little." Stolas tried to not shiver as he saw Lucifer stop what few movements he had been making. The lord of Hell was paying full attention. Stolas knew better than to deliver more bad news. "I have, however, found something peculiar." And every bit of information was to be given. "A small section of the Cannibal Colony in Pentagram City was damaged during the last extermination, and a very small parcel was still void of new housing or business planning to occupy it, strange as it may sound considering their speed at reclaiming 'remains', as it were."

At this Lucifer turned. He looked both amused and bemused. For Stolas it could mean surprise, anger, or simple curiosity at this tidbit. Either way Lucifer himself made his question clear. "And why would that be important when discussing this topic, my good man?"

"I lack the knowledge that details the spell that is to be used. There are far too many that could be employed for this deed and far too many that would require expertise different from mine. I do know it will be used today, however. In a few minutes, if I am correct, and I *am* completely sure of that, at least." Stolas knew he was stalling, after all he wasn't sure how Lucifer would react to this. "Between the prophecy and the link I share with astrology itself, I managed to feel the flow of the power it is using. Whatever guided the changes in the stars, alterations in the moment, the actions, decisions and more, has flawed the outcome of the ritual. The stars themselves seem to have reacted to this, redirecting some of the effects, draining some of the power, but still allowing it to work mostly as intended, even if it won't fully deliver quite as expected. This 'altered' effect is to bring something to the city, something that will land in that particular spot. My best guess is that these souls weren't meant to land in Hell, otherwise the spell itself would've paid no more attention to their arrival than any other cause of death would."

Stolas considered it a win when he saw Lucifer bringing his free hand to his chin. Pondering, wondering, planning. The Devil himself knew of many outcomes possible to this mess, and he was getting ready for every single one of them in his mind. With his characteristic grin not only in full force, but stronger than ever, the fallen angel allowed for his smile to infect his voice.

"You are correct in that assessment. Thus I have a simple order: Let us wait." Lucifer conceded with mirth. There was a hint at him knowing at least part of what was going to happen, that much Stolas could see. "We will, you and I, watch what unfolds. Depending on the outcome we will make a trip to the affected area in Pentagram City once the dust settles. A nice surprise after the New Year's Extermination being so underwhelming this time around, don't you agree?"

In a way Stolas couldn't help but nod with sincerity. Although spending more time with his Lord could prove to be enough to drain Stolas' optimism, depending on the result this corrupted magic was meant to deliver.

After all, if this spell brought something that soured his Lord's mood, the visit could end up being rather… brief.

The last days before going back to the drudgery that was everyday life. It wasn't even Christmas, not quite. Just the last day of 'cheer' before things became busy enough for the family to ignore one another again.

It… could've been worse.

I mean, the gathering was rather massive. Twenty four people in a single place. Without killing each other. And for once they were all rather happy at that. It was quite the achievement that they remained civil this long. In fact it was the one year that there had been no fights or one word sparking a shouting match. Though those usually ended in a few laughs and insults thrown around good naturedly, it was good to have a simple, no fighting involved, gathering.

Spanish families tended to be very damn rowdy, and most of them were happy for things to stay that way. But holy fuck do the rare calm events end up being well received.

Carlos was as happy as could be, to be honest. Still not 'happy' per se, but happy enough. Tonight was going to be the last 'hurrah' of this new year before the family ever saw each other again, and this time they had managed to get a hold of a lot of people.

There was his little sister, of course, little Marcella. His mother, Sofia, and his father, Juan, were there too, of course. It was the same with his grandfather Manuel and his grandmother Antonia. All of them were guaranteed to be around at this time of the year. Didn't hurt that the house was his grandfather's after all.

The rest of those present, or even contacting by some other means? Their appearance was a bit of a surprise.

Carlos couldn't help but look at the room next to the one where he was. It was nice, similar in a way to the stragglers outside, enjoying themselves and having fun on the streets. At home things were more orderly for one reason or another. From left to right he could name all of them and marvel at how this year had ended far better than many others to this day.

On his father's side he saw the pair that all but owned that side of the massive table holding them all; Grandmother Pilar and her husband Grandfather Pedro. Pilar matriarch of his father's side and the one with the most sway, while her husband was a brutal hammer with a deep voice that brought order when Pilar's commanding presence failed.

Shame not all of her children were here physically, then again it was hard for them to be. One of her daughters in Africa, her younger son in Greece and her final daughter in Japan. Still, they were here in another way, but they took a backburner when compared to Carlos' other two aunts and their families.

Aunt Valentina came first, with her husband Uncle Francisco and their children, Cousin Gonzalo and his big sister Cousin Rosa next to their grandfather. Not surprising. After all, Valentina had always been a daddy's girl, and things hadn't changed much over the years, with her family being more favored by their father than their mother, mostly because they were a lot more into cursing, hands on approaches and a lot less into going to church. If you asked Carlos, and you would in this case because you had no other recourse, they were the family he liked most on his dad's side. Mostly because they were nice, normal people, because Valentina was caring beyond belief, Francisco was a very funny guy, Rosa was a mini motherly figure and because Gonzalo was a game nut that loved gore, destruction and shit that Carlos was into. Being fishermen meant being many things, but shy about spilling guts, metaphorical or otherwise, wasn't one of them.

Aunt Rocio came next, sitting with her husband, Uncle Raul and looking over her children, Cousin Enrique and his big brother Cousin Javier, as they took Pilar's side. Rocio was a devout Christian, although Raul didn't give half a shit, and he was probably the most outspoken about it. Enrique was the same, but Javier was as staunch a follower as his mother. In general, and when together, were rather uptight (or a lot, if you asked Carlos), but they were also warm to almost everyone unless given a reason not to. In fact he loved them all to death, though his aunt trying to get him to go to church every week was a tiring experience. They were also the giants of the family, with almost all of them close to two meters in height (With Javier going above that) and also sharing in the heavy build. Simply put, Rocio, Raul, Enrique and Javier could be a wrecking team on their own if they weren't generally nice people with far too much patience for their own good.

On his mother's side, or the right side of the table, had his parents, grandparents and also the two other families that composed the people Carlos had more interactions with. Which was also why he was away from the table since he had almost started a playfight with one of his cousins.

Fine. So he was twenty two. What was so bad about that? Roughhousing was always fun, age be damned.

Sadly, the only son of Manuel and Antonia, Uncle Ramon, didn't think so. It was mostly his wife, Aunt Carmen, the one at fault. Her children, the twins Ander and Alfonso and their little sister Sandra were more ambivalent. Well, at least Ander was. It was all mostly Carmen's fault. She was a preachy woman, and a control freak. Not bad but… well, not many liked her personally. Why? Was it more religion? No, worse. Politics. Mostly modern Feminism that no one else liked, her ideas getting close to communism (which got just as bad, if not worse, a reception), and the fact that she saw herself as holier than thou. Ander was itching to live on his own because of this, sadly Alfonso and, worse yet, his little sister seemed to be eating from their mother's hand. Generally speaking many of the verbal fights took place whenever Carmen opened her mouth. That was why Carlos had opted to walk away when he and Ander began to have fun. The only reason Carmen was 'happily' accepted was because she brought her children into the world, and because she hadn't been this extreme until a few years ago.

But ignoring her, the family still had the middle child, Aunt Mireya and her two sons, Pablo and his little brother Ernesto. They had been the focus these past years, for various reasons. For one, the woman was curt and dry most of the time, but also rather fun whenever she relaxed, and a good aunt whenever you didn't piss her off, but she had been in a funk for a while now. It was the second year since the divorce as her ex husband had blown most of their savings on drugs AND hooker. Why? Carlos didn't know, nor did he want to pry the reason behind a change that most considered to come out of the blue. It had hurt Pablo a lot, almost as much as his mother, but luckily Ernesto had either not cared or, being still ten at the time, didn't understand anything beyond 'Dad was very bad, so he had to go away'. Either way, and while they were more subdued than usual, Carlos enjoyed their company more than Carmen, that is for sure. Everyone did, though it was hard to watch them be so mellow and retracted most of the time.

This reunion was both large and unusual, but more unusual was the set of three screens that grandmother Pilar had managed to set up. How and why? Good question, although the answer probably had to do with one of her daughters sending them over. Probably because she wanted this meeting.

That'd be typical of Olga. She was the wealthiest of those in the family that kept in touch.

Aunt Olga, her husband Hotaka Enomoto (Or uncle 'Eno' for short) and his lone daughter, Akiko, were present on the central screen. They had been the ones to set this up from their manor in Japan. This wasn't much of a flex, in fact it bothered Eno a lot. He was a renowned blacksmith, used to the old way of life, capable of creating almost any weapon from Japan's history as well as his country's armor. A business that turned a pretty penny… and for some reason made the man despise modern technology a whole lot. But! He considered family important, and his wife's reasoning for this had won him over in the end. That, and he was a family man entombed in tradition. Paying respects to everyone close to his lineage was a must Didn't exactly hurt that Eno loved his wife's side of the family, especially the food.

Aunt Yolanda came next. With her screen next to Olga, closer to her mother, probably to anger the old matriarch. While Pilar had a say in most of her children's marriage, Yolanda had 'escaped'. She went on and married her highschool sweetheart who came here as an exchange student. Funny as shit that he had turned out to be a 'witch doctor' from Africa of all things! True, Uncle Zaid wasn't a superstitious fool or anything like that, though they DID live a rather austere lifestyle close to a few more traditional villages. They and their two children, Cousin Jamba and his little sister Nuru, were rather cultured and used modern medicine, even if they also dabbled in more 'traditional' stuff for the more superstitious people of the area. The fact that Yolanda gave the closest thing to zero fucks when it came to her own mother's teachings was perhaps one of the reasons Carlos loved to talk to the woman whenever he could.

Hector was a more neutral figure on all this. He was the only other man on his grandmother's brood, and the youngest child, yet he was far more down to earth. That is why his screen was placed on Carlos' side of the family; because the man was rather off-color with his remarks, and because, unlike everyone else, he enjoyed the bachelor lifestyle. In fact he was the only one without a family of his own, and he seemed happy streaming from the villa he had acquired somewhere in Greece. Good business acumen, a lot of luck and a rather decisive personality described him well enough. He had used it all to move to a place with a culture he loved just as much, if not more so, than the Spain he was born in.

This was family.

To many, it was huge. Insane. Probably about to kill each other too.

To him, it was just family, and the people he had grown up with.

There were others. There were many others. The most their 'little' clan had held together, and that was only having one side of Carlos' family, his father's side in this case, numbered close to sixty individuals. That new year had been a very fun experience with a lot of children making the house tremble.

It was also more than a decade ago.

Things… had changed over time. Carlos couldn't think but look back at it.

First came Mireya having her first child, out of wedlock at that. Considering Pablo was only a year younger than Carlos, that meant the schism began more than twenty years ago. Still, there had been comments all his life, comments he hadn't noticed, or understood, until he grew older. It was something that made Carlos' mom angry, something that made her blood boil, but luckily it came to a stop by itself when that side of the family moved away to their ancestral home somewhere in Leon. Carlos had never been there himself and, considering how tense it had been when that side of their family had parted ways, he was happy to never visit.

In any case, his mother's side was somewhat similar, meaning a good chunk had gone away. It was more so because of greed in this case. His mother's parents each had a fight with their respective families over inheritance at different points in time. Yeah, greed ran rampant in his mother's blood, but so did their thirst for revenge and general anger problems. Was it lucky or unlucky that those left here were mostly plagued by Wrath instead of Greed itself? Carlos didn't know, but he was just as happy that way. Being a nice fellow that didn't shy away from violence had its perks. Though those closest to him having what could only be described as a 'problem with revenge' did have its ups and downs.

STILL! He tried to be positive. From nearly a hundred people they fell to twenty or so, only with the extra visits they managed to go above thirty, and not all of them were present. But this WAS like old times, only with (most of) those that he still felt close to.

The young man sighed as he looked out the window.

It felt good to be together, but there were things missing. For one, while he considered his grandmother Pilar to be a great woman, if a bit of a religious nut, he also knew her to be relentless. And the fact that he had stopped one of their few bonding experiences, an act that made her rather mad, still weighed him down.

You'd think that it was a selfish thing. To be angry at stopping something. Well, yes and no. Carlos did stop it because, while he liked the idea, he didn't like the slave driving methods of his grandmother and her husband. Problem is, Pilar wasn't angry because he stopped. She was angry because Carlos nearly killed himself.

See, Carlos wasn't the most imposing man right now. In fact, height wise, he was around average, so he hadn't been a Hercules (or Heracles, if you want to be nitpicky), but he had been fit and had a nice form. Short chestnut colored hair, chocolate eyes, a firm chin, gentle smile, broad shoulders and rather dapper looks if he was to ditch the usual black and green he liked so much. Heck, back then, having trained under Pilar's tutelage since he was ten, as he was the only one of her grandsons that was interested in her special teachings at the time, Carlos had been fit.

Then one day he got tired of it. His grandmother was driving him so far and so hard that he had run out of the few friends he had managed to gather outside of his family. Not that his overbearing mother and Pilar allowed him to take risk or be without something to do for long, so he had few people to lose, sad as it was. Nevertheless, Carlos had wanted some independence, some time to try and be himself. His mother would make a fuss about it, but Pilar was the biggest obstacle there. Of course, a teenager almost about to become an adult thought of the most cleverest of all plans. Nothing could go wrong!

But 'faking an injury' wasn't easy, nor was it the 'cleverest' in any way. In fact it was very hard to pull out without messing everything up. Worse: The injury became real when his training nearly threw Pilar to the ground and Carlos ended up having to support his weight, his grandmother's weight and a few training implements, all of it with just his left arm in a position that made him scream to the heavens.

A massive muscle tear from his elbow to his shoulder blade. He was lucky it wasn't serious, more so that it wasn't permanent, but it was horribly painful for two years, then another year of rehabilitation and this last one had still very little activity until he felt he was ready.

Carlos was fat now. Overweight more like, but still chunky. Much of what he once was died as he went from an active and very happy teenager to an inactive, sad young adult that had given his whole family a massive scare. The looks, the muscles, those were gone. Even the desire to be active had been replaced, now the pain was present and his just deserts as far as Carlos was concerned. He had fucked up, he admitted so himself, and he had paid the price. The one part he absolutely hated was how this had also been very close to opening another chasm in their family. Luckily for all involved, it didn't happen, but there were many cold looks when this topic was presented in one way or another.

"You okay there, Carlitos?"

Apparently Enrique had walked away from the table too. The window wasn't that far away, technically in another room, if you consider a low wall, some glass and a door leading to a small vivarium that was next to the dinning room to be 'far'. Carlos hadn't even heard the glass door opening, so engrossed had he been with his thoughts.

"Just thinking about why our reunions are such a sausage fest nowadays." Carlos waved his cousin's concern away. "I still find it surprising, considering seven out of ten of our cousins are girls."

Enrique snorted, knowing he was fed a crock of shit. The golden haired young man, two years younger than Carlos, was the 'little one' among the three cousins that made their little posse. He, Carlos and Gonzalo always went together everywhere, even today. And despite being the youngest, and blonde, he wasn't stupid. At best he was 'simple' because he knew things were easier when he presented it that way.

It was a rather funny picture. Enrique was shy of one meter ninety five or so, he was portly, but strong, very strong, like a warthog. With golden locks reaching halfway down his back, a rather fine face and a generally smiling expression, you'd think the man was a charmer. And he was. But he also was the most irreverent, sarcastic and trollish piece of shit you'd ever find. Ironic, considering he had always been the shyest among the trio, yet in recent times he had gone for the bold approach. Carlos had to admit he loved it, though the rest of the family wasn't so keen.

Those blue eyes of his had always been faithful despite his height. It wasn't until Enrique nearly got beaten in high school that he smashed someone against a wall. THAT had been a picture for the ages. Luckily for everyone involved, the idiot hadn't suffered more than a broken tooth and a demolished pride. After that Enrique had started covering less, opting for shorter pants, sleeveless shirts and sport shoes. The image did hint at the fact that he was exercising and moving more and yes, while he was still rather portly fellow, he had slimed down to the point of being very much chunky, but showing those huge muscles on arms and legs when he flexed.

Why was the picture funny? Because Carlos was the oldest, the brains and the shortest, with Enrique being the tallest, was also the strongest, youngest and nicest, while Gonzalo was the middle one with twenty one years on his belt, a massive amount of charm and the worst acidic tongue on the land.

Speaking of which.

"Hey bitch. You okay there?"

Carlos didn't hide his groan as he turned. Short raven colored hair, green eyes and a smoke on his lips marked the last member of the trio, much like that shit eating grin that got even wider after Gonzalo saw his cousin's frustration. At first glance Gonzalo was a wiry man, with gaunt appearance, bags under his eyes, a preference for rolled up sleeves on his shirts and pants with many pockets for just as many knick knacks, knives and whatever else he could fit in there. He was a pack rat and a dirtbag, but also a very loyal cousin and friend despite always looking like he was out of a dumpster. Except for his oily, slick hair that he paid a lot of attention to. Seriously, don't touch the hair and you'll be golden… probably.

His worst habit was getting everyone into trouble, that, and greed. He was a hoarder of all things he found interesting, be it movies, books, games, cards or whatever else. This also meant that he was wealth driven even from a young age. The gaming addiction the three cousins shared had to do with Gonzalo's meddling and penchant for getting every single game he could.

"You know, it is days like this I hope you fall from your father's boat and get fucked by a sword fish." Of course, more than anything else, the trio shared that bond that demanded insults, ribbings and sometimes a punch at the mere sight of each other. "Is everyone going to bother me tonight?"

"Until you stop being a little whiny bitch? Yeah." Gonzalo approached the pair, taking a drag from his cigarette before looking outside. "Huh, people have cleared the place, eh?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Carlos did note that no one seemed to be partying outside any longer. Strange, true, but he didn't care that much. "Seriously, why are you two here?"

"You have been shitty all Christmas." Was all Enrique managed to blurt out.

Because Gonzalo was far more direct. "You have been a piece of shit since the 'accident'." Mostly because he knew pussyfooting around wasn't going to do jack. "Look, we all know grandma's bullshit is a lot to take in. We may have said 'no' to her crap, but our mothers did put us through some of the same bull you had to go through, although they did turn it down a bit more after your mess. Less intense or not, no one in our family got away from it. It takes a lot of time and dedication, and I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't have told her to fuck off. Heck I remember how you told me you were getting fed up with it… But I also remember telling you to be clear about it. Grandma would understand."

"Look, I kno-"

"You know, yes. We have had this fucking conversation before." Gonzalo pushed. "But you still feel like shit and that fact seems to not be able to pierce your reinforced fucking skull." He sighed, snubbed his smoke on a nearby ashtray and came clear. "You are practically good to go. It is time to get away from those bad habits you have gained and get back in shape. Turn a new page and get back to being a cool bro instead of this permanent downer." And before Carlos could say anything he had Gonzalo's hand smacked against his lips. "Shut the fuck up and agree." A quick nod was all it took for his cousin to remove the appendage. "See? Told ya. Good to go."

Carlos answered by flipping him off, making Gonzalo chuckle and Enrique smile.

It wasn't nice to push someone like that, but Carlos knew his cousin had to. Carlos wasn't going to accept, instead ruminating on things as he usually did, another thing passed down from his mother, though he couldn't fault her on this one.

Many things were 'wrong' with Carlos, at least when it came to his character. He was a procrastinator if he didn't like something, which was easy. He took offense with difficulty, as it was very hard to bother or outright anger him, but he could be the biggest piece of shit once you got him riled up, to the detriment of those around him. He was also naturally lazy if he wasn't regularly active, which was why he scheduled his weeks on a regular basis before the accident. Those were just a few of the things his cousins knew to look out for, and the low self esteem Carlos suffered from when he did something wrong, perhaps one of the most poisonous parts of his persona, was always very hard to get rid of.

Self deprecation can be funny when used correctly. Self deprecation when alone and at all times is, at best, sad, and at worst it is a pain to everyone involved considering it looks like you are searching for validation and pity.

Carlos didn't. He wouldn't care if someone tried to make it sound like he wasn't at fault or anything. He just had a hard time forgiving himself when he was truly the one to fuck shit up. Hurting family in any way was something Carlos considered to be the lowest of the low, and getting out of that mindset tended to be complicated.

Only this time Carlos did want to fix things up. "You are such a fucking asshole, but you are right." He finally admitted, taking a deep breath as he did so. "I should get my shit together. Maybe speak with grandma again about this. It is not like I have friends to get back to anymore, and I don't know what I want to do with my life. Spending some time with her wouldn't hurt TOO much."

Enrique rolled his eyes at that. "You have always been a loner. The few friends you had left far too soon to be called 'friends'."

"Maybe." Carlos hummed. "Either way, I know you guys are right to pester me."

"Of fucking course we are." Gonzalo slapped his cousin's back hard enough to make the shortest of the trio gasp. He was the weakest member of the group, but he still packed a punch, and none of them were gentle. "So we'll start tomorrow or we'll fucking kill you. Enjoy the last day of laziness, you tube of lard."

"Suck a dick, you piece of shit." Carlos chuckled, giving his cousin a not so serious glare. "Just… go easy on me, alright? I don't want to pull something the first day after getting back into things." Neither one of his cousins said anything, only giving him wide grins. "Oh fuck yo-hey. What are those weirdos doing there?"

While at first both cousins were about to tell Carlos to stop fucking around, they too soon found out that the once empty area in front of the house was once more occupied. Not by a group of party goers, but by two people in robes. As you may have guessed, this was a bit stranger than expected.

For one, they were in clear view of the house. A house that was on the sixth floor of one of the many buildings surrounding a plaza. A plaza that, every night, had drunken idiots partying around at this time of the year. It was almost mandatory. Even when they were a handful, like it had been minutes ago, that was the norm. Now it was all deserted, with only the two figures there, doing something…

"Is the ground around them… glowing?"

Carlos thought he was seeing stuff, at first. When both his cousins nodded their heads in affirmation that thought was erased. And it got worse as soon as he heard the footsteps of his grandmother, of Pilar, running his way.

"Children! We have to-!"

Nothing.

That was what was left of the whole floor they resided in. That section of the house was swallowed whole in a second. Those words were the last ever heard of the old Pilar before she was sucked away from Earth.

To a trained eye the motion would've been… sickening, in a few ways. It was as if a small black hole, a maw eager to send something, anything, to somewhere unknown, had opened. It sucked all material with gusto, taking most of the structure in one single pull, breaking apart sections, but cleanly cutting away most of it, with a few bricks and shingles flying at incredible speeds. Then, with its prize sent wherever it was meant to be, the portal closed with a singular 'blip' like sound. An underwhelming end effect for what was supposed to happen.

And the two robbed figures knew it.

One procured a phone, the other a remote. What should've happened was akin to lighting, a forceful transmission of energy from one point to another. The current was meant to go UP, not DOWN, and the spell certainly wasn't meant to just suck up something and send it somewhere. Someone had fucked up, badly.

The figure with the phone moved away, with the other moving somewhere deeper into the plaza. When the phone found the right elevation, the figure holding it took a photo. A quick command, amplification, and a good look…

The runes were wrong. They had made everything as intended, from the chants to the ingredients and the markings that were meant to develop in the appropriate circle, only to dissipate after all the magic had been spent. They were sure everything was correct because they had to put their lives on the damn line! A mistake would've botched the spell, not turned it into something else. They knew that the preparations should've created different patterns, VERY different patterns, so the dread that began to creep in was justified. This could get them both ki-.

The phone rang. A quick question, then an equally prompt confirmation. A few others had similar problems. It was not the pair that was in the wrong, but something else. Still, five misses? That was not supposed to happen. On the one hand the family was gone. On the other hand, their purpose wasn't fulfilled to the extent expected. A success, but with a mishap. Not good enough for some. Although their master had acquired the energy as intended.

Whatever, the pair was safe from failure. The Anointed One said so. The deed was done. The bloodline was gone and the power it would grant them was secured. Time to cover up and go. A quick nod towards the other figure and it was as if they had never been there.

Moments later a large explosion rocked the now incomplete building. The cause? Faulty and massive gas leak. Considering the building itself had been emptied and no one was affected beyond material loss, it was assumed that at least one of the many families that left to enjoy their time elsewhere had left a stove on or something similar. The town mourned the lives lost at the top floor, the explosion so brutal nothing was left behind, as if by magic, as even the most brutal explosion and fire usually left something behind. As such, and despite some rumors, nothing would ever come of it.

Very few knew just how real the mention of magic was.

The time of the year held very little importance somewhere else: Hell. And the events that just transpired were yet to be realized. For someone else, right now, right there, in the land of the damned, what just went on in Earth was unimportant.

Mostly because having survived her supposed 'firing' for a simple mistake had already been a stroke of luck.

Only one way out of other rings, and only one way for her to survive. As it stood, common demons, the lower castes, could easily be killed by nearly any normal means. Of course they were tougher, generally either hardier, stronger, faster or had some powers humans did not. This didn't mean they couldn't get murked in an old styled shooting. Getting shot in the head was a good way of fucking dying, by the by. The one reason Heaven had no desire to Exterminate all Hellborn was simply because, unlike Angels, they could massacre each other often enough.

Leonor would've loved to be a Goetia or something akin to that right now. She had evaded a shot to the head, but not without getting part of her torn off. She was not going to get that back, unless far more powerful demons would. At least her ex-superiors hadn't wasted angelic weapons on her.

Getting that kind of shit on her would've been like poison. Being permanently blinded on one eye was already going to suck enough.

Admittedly, being here could very well work as a different kind of poison. The Pride Ring was home to many demons, but generally they were the most weak, common, unlucky or, flipping it on its head, the most powerful of the bunch. Her kind, 'kindly' referred as 'Loan Sharks' for those that didn't know the proper term, alongside a more generic 'Greed Sharks', were 'native' to the ring of Greed, a different race developed away from their home ring in Envy, under the control of Leviathan.

Her kind was forged in the waters of the Greed ring, made to bleed their prey dry through any means and, if they could not pay, then do what comes natural to hungry sharks. Unsurprisingly, they did not mind preying on many of those new, weak or gullible from the Pride ring. In most cases fear, pain and the fact that very few opted to end Sinners with the only thing that could permanently end them, that being holy weapons, kept Sinners from truly retaliating when a school of sharks was in business. That didn't mean it didn't happen, or that Sinners would look at a lone member of her kind with kind eyes if they were in need.

A lot of words to simply mean: You shouldn't be here, alone, at all.

Much less wounded.

Generally speaking Leonor would be rather imposing. Her particular heritage looked close to that of a hammerhead shark, only instead of a 'blunt' hammer like head, the sides of their cranium went upwards to mimic horns. Much like all other demonic creatures that were fashioned as a mockery of animals made by God's design, they were far more akin to humans than they should, no matter the species they resembled. Leonor was no different there, and her snarl showed the blood marred fangs her kind was rather well known for. Shame most of that blood

She had very clear green hair, almost silvery with an emerald like hue, part of it now stained blackish thanks to her blood. Her eyes were silver with metallic gray irises, and they had three other rings the color of the iris, as most of her species did. A clear difference with her now was how her right eye had been turned milky white, with a wound, now quick healing into scarred flesh, marking that side of her face. Still, her black lips had enticed many a target with a coy smile, before those teeth hidden beneath made short work of them.

Her face, even hurting, could've easily been defined as pretty; smooth, with a clear white coloration on the front, and the back having a grayish green tint to her 'skin'. Leonor was a statuesque, tall woman, and while she couldn't be considered luscious, as she had a modest butt and equally modest bust, she took care of herself. A good figure, some muscle, more agility than strength, that had both tempted, distracted, and killed many people in the past. She could be considered a real beauty by some, plain by others, but certainly dangerous with a hint of predatory attraction that more than once had turned feral as she tore away at those that needed to die.

The only problem was her clear scowl, her teeth threatening to shatter each other as she drew blood and the very real possibility that she bit her own tongue out as she gnashed at anyone that got close. Her temper had always been rather calm, but she lost it when violence was present, and right now she saw it everywhere. Not surprising considering that she couldn't be shot HERE, but this was a very short reprieve.

Guaranteed violence aside, many knew not to antagonize the woman, not in close quarters at least. It was common for her kind to accessorize their shark tails with sharp objects, and while Leonor hadn't gone for the usual 'piercings', she did have a blade fixated on the end. Pair that with the revolver (sadly spent, not that the onlookers would know any better) on her hands, and her getup, and you get why you shouldn't add to her anger. Gray blue with red lines wasn't so much a fashion statement as it was a marking for an organized group down in the third ring. Whatever the woman had been involved in, none of the other demons wanted to be roped into.

There was ONE demon she could force though. That was the only reason you got dirt on somebody else: Options.

"Pick up, you little bitch." Leonor hissed, her hair, usually in a ponytail resting on her shoulder, now covering most of her face and in an abhorrent mess of a state. Making it harder to see what she was pressing on her phone was certainly not helping matters. Considering she had her phone next to her face when she got shot, which got the device banged up by both gun and ground, it was a miracle it worked at all. "Pick up. Pick up. PICK UP." Then her contact finally got up and picked the phone. "The fuck took you so long, Zana!?"

"Bitch, I don't know what time it was down there but I was about to go to bed." The voice on the other side growled tiredly. "And you only call me to do you a favor while holding old shit over my head. So what do you want?"

"To square things out." Leonor couldn't believe she was going to do this. It was an act that went against her basic instincts. Survival trumped it though, even an entity meant to embody something in particular would want to live more than, in this case, OWN and TAKE. "Do me a solid and you owe no one anything anymore on my end."

"..." There was a moment of silence. It was clear Zana had doubts. Wouldn't you? To let go of a debt could only mean one thing, and she knew it: Death was knocking. "What the fuck happened?"

"A failed raid on a rival group three days ago." Leonor could feel the blood flow stop. The wound was healing. And it was smarting like a bitch. "Lost two of the guys under me. Worse, five others got serious wounds. Someone ratted on us, but I got the brunt of it. Had I been hurt in the fight things would've been different, but I got 'lucky'." She let out a hiss as another drop of blood fell on her suit. 'Luck', eh? Luck was a bitch. "I survived getting 'fired' and I need out. You are the only one I know in Pride."

"Of course I'd be your only way out of there. Figures." Zana drawled, now fully awake but very, very tempted to avoid this mess. Although Leonor could hear her voice giving mixed signals with her next line. "You knew your boss only put you in charge so he could get rid of you. You said so yourself. How didn't you prepare for this, Leonor?"

Was that concern on Zana's voice? The two weren't friends, hell, Zana hated Leonor's guts, and Leonor made sure Zana DID hate her. It was the dynamic the shark woman wanted.

Whatever. If it helped, then all the better.

"You cannot 'prepare' with him, Zana. You know it. That is the fucking reason you left. I don't know why you didn't return to Wrath, but this helps us both." Leonor bit her lip, drawing blood. She wanted to scratch her eye so bad she didn't care if her claws tore it apart. Fucking-! No, calm down. "Look, ignore that. I lost an eye and nearly lost my life. I am not interested in seeing if he'd entertain the idea of resurrection to fuck me over some more or just let me rot in the canal. All I want is a ride from the elevators to Pentagram City."

"You do know that you are going to get fucked, right?" Zana was drumming her fingers on the other side of the phone. The woman was either angry, annoyed, or concerned. Leonor didn't care. "You could go to Imp City…"

"Or any of the other shitty places he'd be more than willing to send a suicide mission to? No thank you. Pentagram is big enough to not get found out if I hide well enough AND has far too many Sinners for my boss to try and get me with his usual crew. The Sinners would rather eat them alive, literally, considering how many of my kind fuck them over on the regular." Leonor let out a dry, angry laugh. "That may ALSO kill me, but a) They are less likely to kill me than the boss, and b) I just need a few days until he gives up. He has far too much crap to take care of, and now that includes having lost me. With how much he dislikes people that go against him he will seek a way to regain face once he sees he can get to me anymore. A heist, a hit on the gang that screwed us over, or finding the rat in our group."

"Always the same with that piece of shit." Zana grumbled and Leonor heard a bed squeaking. Apparently her 'acquaintance' had opted to help. "You are pushing your luck, but you know what? I don't give a fuck. Just hand me over the things I need to make sure you will NOT come back to bite my ass after we are done and I'll take you wherever. Don't and… well, the guards outside the elevators have great aim if someone starts shit. But you already know that."

That last part was more Leonor's speed. She didn't do more than grunt in acknowledgement as Zana ended the call. This was more normal for her; big fish, small fish. Right now she went from big to small, and she had lost a part of her to get away.

Losing a bit more blood in the form of permanent favors was the least of her concerns.

"Fuck." She let her body fall against one of the terminal's pillars. "Please, just a few days."

Leonor wasn't one for begging, or hoping. Growing where she did, and knowing what she knew, she was aware that having hope in these situations only lead to a much harsher fall.

Still, who knew, right? Perhaps the stars would shine on here, even in Hell.

Somewhere else a rather refined woman took a sip of her tea. This year's Extermination hadn't hit them too hard, but there were still a few casualties and a lot of damage. A few buildings just weren't there anymore. Pity.

A slender demon with pale white skin, sharp teeth and fairly long neck, the woman was called Rosie. She was a natural born demon, mostly human in appearance minus the already mentioned physical differences, including the completely black eyes and unnatural white hair done in a bun. A fairly composed, intelligent, competent and oh so Victorian Era woman that considered herself prim, proper and very much lethal.

She didn't like her red Victorian Era dress because of the color itself, but because it easily hid the blood she spilled. This didn't mean she couldn't accessorize though! Gray shoulder pads, black belt, black wrists and her beautiful red sun hat. Oh how she loved that little thing hanging just a few steps away. It was a subtle reminder of her demeanor with just a few touches here and there; two skulls and three black flowers on the front, a clear hint of beauty and danger, while the red and black plume of the side hinted at a very thin veneer with her classy behavior if you were to tick the woman off.

Masks did come off easily, and Rosie, as posh and proper as she could be, did bite.

And right now she did want to bite. Paperwork was such a chore.

The businesses that were hit weren't all that important as far as the Overlord was concerned. The people weren't irreplaceable. True, the hit WAS a sting to her power, small as it was considering it had been Exeterminatos the ones to cause that blow, but this was Hell. Every Extermination was another chance for those with power to take what they wanted. Every bit of damage dealt to anyone's territory was a wound, and you do not want to bleed openly in Hell, no matter where you reside.

As it was, Rosie had many headaches still to go through, and the paperwork next to her tea was not worth it right now. It had been just a few days and most turf wars were already settled anyway. All she needed to do was go through the candidates for the open spots and see who'd be more beneficial to her.

A knock stopped her mid sip. "Come on in, dear."

The sweet voice of Rosie did not hide the fact that there was blood to be spilled for whoever bothered her. You do not interrupt tea time. Such horrid manners. All her staff knew this. To break the rules was to invite yourself to dinner around here.

As in YOU would become dinner.

"Madam Rosie." The voice of a young demoness came soon after the door was opened. The figure didn't even step in. Odd. This was just asking for a surefire way to the oven. "You have to come, quick."

Or perhaps it was really serious?

"Hmm? What for, dearie? It is tea time, you know." Rosie hummed, trying to see if it was indeed just a ploy from the woman to save her own skin.

"We know, my lady. But something happened near the area the Exorcist attacked." Oh? That did get Rosie's attention. "A door appeared not long ago, then a small corridor, or… well… maybe it'd be better to call it the start of one? It is a bit complicated and I don't want to give you the wrong impression. It is something that must be seen."

Magically appearing buildings? Rosie frowned. This could be some idiotic and uncouth newcomer trying to invade HER turf. Magical contraptions were rare, limited to very select individuals, and hard to maintain, be it material, magical and financial wise. It was usually a powerful flex to summon one, even for a short while. Rosie wasn't the most powerful Overlord, but she had other means beyond raw power to get people to know their place. Perhaps tea could wait, for if someone had indeed dared to do this on HER land, then she already had a guest for dinner.

"Well, this won't do." Rosie put on a smile, her massive fanged grin clear on display. This would end in her favor one way or another, the demoness had no doubt about it. "Do wait for me outside, dear. Grab a few others and tell them to be ready." She chuckled before grabbing her hat. "It wouldn't reflect well on us if we make our unknown guests wait."

A lady knew how to do many things, Rosie knew this. She was a master of many, for no demon, previously mortal or otherwise, could ever become an Overlord without more than an ace up on their sleeve. As for a killer entrance?

Well, Rosie was rather adept at turning heads. Willingly or not. This situation would be no different.