"WAAAAAAAHHHH!"
"MISUMI!"
Shiro Fujimoto tore through the monastery, two wailing bundles in his arms. Eventually he found the older priest he was looking for and shoved the twins into his arms. Shiro's eyes were bloodshot and twitching. His hair was greasy and askew. He'd been back from his last mission for four hours and he hadn't even had time to change out of his exorcist's coat. There was spit-up on it. "I am taking a break!" he declared, with the same authoritative force he'd use to banish a demon to Gehenna.
Misumi winced, looking down at the screaming babies. "But Father Fujimoto, I have my own work to-"
"A BREAK, Misumi!" Shiro gripped the man's shoulders. "Just let me have fifteen minutes. That wouldn't be so hard, would it? Just twenty minutes?"
Misumi gulped. This had to be serious if Shiro was pronouncing his question marks. "But-"
"Misumi." Shiro's grip on his shoulders tightened. He pleaded with his eyes. "You gotta help me out here. I am losing my fuckin' mind."
"You should watch that kind of language around the boys-"
"THEY'RE ONE they can't understand SHIT!" Shiro let go of Misumi and headed for the nearest door. This was no longer a discussion. He fumbled in his pockets for his key ring. "Thirty minutes. If anything comes up, no it didn't and you don't need to call me." He put a key in the door, opened it, and stepped through.
When he emerged on the other side, he was in a secluded spot on the roof of True Cross Academy. The door closed behind him, and his shoulders sagged. "Christ…" he muttered.
There was a low wall on the edge of the roof that offered a view of the whole city. Shiro leaned against it and watched the sun set over the buildings below. He took a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit up. He was supposed to be trying to quit, but technically he hadn't started on that yet so this couldn't be called a relapse.
Lately it felt like being paladin of the Knights of the True Cross was the busiest job in the entire world. Of course, it felt like that because he was still counting raising Rin and Yukio as part of the job. The Order ran him ragged during the day, not only sending him on all of its most dangerous missions but also requiring him to act as the Round Table's personal HR department. And when he got to spend time at the monastery, the twins always needed his attention. If all he was doing was taking care of them it still would have been hard, but on top of everything else… Shiro sighed. Mephisto sure hadn't been lying when he'd said the Order would make him its dog.
The memory of the demon's grinning face stuck in his mind like a burr. It was, after all, responsible for most of his current stress. Lately Sir Pheles had been ~ rewarding ~ him with extra-difficult exorcisms that the Honorary Knight delivered to him ~ personally ~. They were all horrible and time-consuming.
Except for the one that turned out to be a hunt for a rare Moe Moe Mew Mew! figurine, that hadn't actually been so bad. The desperate otaku part of Mephisto was almost endearing … but it was by design. Everything the King of Time did was. Whatever underwear the demon decided to wear on a Wednesday was no doubt woven into some grand century-spanning scheme that would eventually end in ominous Latin music, just like his favorite video games. Everybody knew that and Mephisto wasn't exactly subtle about it. He made sure you could see his damn chessboard as soon as you stepped into his office. The thing that tended to stick in the mind, though, was whether or not he was playing on your side.
Shiro had long since moved past being angry at Mephisto for treating everyone like chess pieces. He'd accepted the fact that being a manipulative bastard was just the way that Mephisto was. And he hadn't cared about the demon's motives much until Rin and Yukio had come along. Now that question bothered him, though. The stakes felt higher now. Everything felt much more serious. Especially after Yuri's…
. . .
Shiro clenched his fists and spat the cigarette out onto the concrete, grinding it under his boot. "Dammit," he muttered. His thirty minutes were gone already. That clown didn't deserve to be on his mind so much.
His thoughts circled as he trudged back to the door. This was all too much for him. He deserved a vacation. He wished he knew what Mephisto was planning. He needed a getaway. Would it kill Mephisto to not be an asshat for two consecutive seconds? He needed a much longer break from his own life. Exactly what kind of twisted eldritch spring made Mephisto tick?
He fumbled in his pocket for the key ring and stuck the monastery's key into the lock without looking at it. This was a mistake.
He opened the door and stepped through.
Immediately Shiro noticed that he was not back at the monastery. The room he'd stepped into had leather-bound books piled everywhere, high ceilings, and arched Gothic windows. The sky outside was just barely beginning to lighten, and the room was filled with flickering candles. The air smelled of sage and sulfur, and he could hear church bells somewhere in the distance. In the corner, a black poodle sat on its haunches, watching him.
Shiro blinked. "Uh…" He turned around, only to find the door closed behind him. There was a sheet of paper nailed to it, with a pentagram drawn in what Shiro optimistically thought was red ink. He took a closer look. It was crude, with many elements that didn't seem to be useful, but was nonetheless a serviceable demon barrier. It looked like it had been made by a person who'd never had any exorcist training, but had somehow managed to arrive at the correct result on their own.
There was a startled noise behind him. "...Kann ich Ihnen mit etwas helfen, Pater…?"
Shiro turned around. At the other end of the room was a big wooden desk, facing one of the windows. On the desk was a strange collection of beakers and test tubes that fizzed and bubbled alchemically, sometimes sending up puffs of yellow smoke. And sitting at the desk, dressed in black robes that looked like some kind of graduation outfit, was…
"Mephisto?!"
The face of the man at the desk was exactly the same one that had been swimming in his mind. Except instead of smug, this one looked a little confused. Shiro walked towards him. "What are you doing here? Are you stalking me or what? If you have another last-minute mission for me, someone had better be dying and I fucking mean that."
This only seemed to make Mephisto more confused. Now that Shiro was looking closely, there was something … off … about him. "Was sagen Sie?" he said. "Was für eine Sprache ist das? Ich kann Sie gar nicht verstehen…"
"Huh?" Shiro took another step forward. "C'mon, knock it off! You know I don't speak German." Now that he thought about it, weren't Mephisto's ears usually a little pointier? And his teeth a little … sharper? "What's going on? Did you hijack my key? Where is this place?!"
There was a rustling behind him, and the poodle padded over from the corner to stand next to Shiro. "I think you ought to be asking 'when,'" it said.
Shiro gave a start in spite of himself. The poodle looked up at him. "Hello again Shiro. Or, well, I suppose this is technically the first time I've met you. Es freut mich ~ !"
"...Mephisto." This time Shiro was sure it was actually him. Only one demon could put a shit-eating smirk on a dog. He glanced back to the man at the desk. "But isn't that…?"
"Not yet," Poodle-Mephisto said. Those two short words were heavy with implications. "You're poking around in my past, you sneaky bugger. Don't you have anything better to do? Future-me should give you more work."
"...Your past?" Shiro looked down at the key still in his hand. His heart sank as he realized that it wasn't the key to the monastery. It was…
"The Kamikakushi Key," said Poodle-Mephisto.
"I didn't know it could time-travel," Shiro muttered weakly.
"Well, now you do! And I'll take that back for now, please." He yipped, and the key disappeared from Shiro's hand in a puff of pink smoke.
"Hey!" Shiro cried. "I need that! I have to get back to the present!" The frazzled feeling was creeping up on him again. "It's almost time for the twins' bottles and you have no IDEA the unholy terror that'll be unleashed if I'm even a little bit late with the-"
"Oh don't worry, you'll only be gone a moment. Your story's been so intense lately, it could use an interlude." Poodle-Mephisto bared his teeth in a canine grin. Shiro liked the little terrier version of him better; despite the frou-frou cut of its fur, this dog was big and looked like it could rip his throat out. "Stay a while. Pull up a chair. You look exhausted. Besides … you wanted to know more about me, didn't you? The key brought you here because you were curious."
Shiro swallowed. "I…"
Poodle-Mephisto barked out a laugh. "It's no matter. After all…" It winked at Shiro. "...what's a show without an audience?"
"Der Hund spricht auch diese seltsame Sprache…" muttered the man at the desk (who was not Mephisto). "Klingt ein bisschen wie Chinesisch nach." He seemed to be taking notes with a quill pen. Shiro looked at him. "I still can't understand what he's saying."
"Hold out your hand," Poodle-Mephisto said. Shiro complied. There was a puff of pink smoke, and a bright aquamarine worm appeared in his palm. Shiro almost dropped it. It had a smiley face and it was looking at him. "What the hell is this?!"
"Put it in your ear."
"What?! No way! Are you shitting me?! Haven't you seen The Wrath of Khan?!"
"It's one of my kin. It'll translate for you. Don't worry, it's quite safe."
"Hallooo!" said the worm in a high-pitched voice. "Konnichiwaaa!"
"Eurgh." Shiro grimaced. "...If I find out you can do this some other way I'm gonna kick your curly ass." He put the worm in his ear.
There was a horrible, horrible squelching feeling that made Shiro's spine crawl and his stomach turn, along with a pressure boring slowly inwards from his ear to his brain. He almost threw up. Eventually, however, the feeling disappeared, leaving him with a faint headache.
The man at the desk watched him with disgust. "Good lord," he said.
Shiro blinked. He could still tell that the words were not Japanese, but now he could understand them. "It actually worked…"
Poodle-Mephisto tapped him on the leg. Shiro looked down.
"Now keep your mouth shut and follow my lead," the dog said. "We wouldn't want to influence this timeline too much. It's one of my favorites."
"Timeline? What—"
"I can work you into the story but remember, here you're just a bit part," Mephisto said, ignoring him. "Now it's time for the real lead to make his big entrance!" Then, before Shiro could retort, fog began to rise from the floor, and the candles in the room went out. The dog grinned. "Eins, zwei, drei!"
A plume of pink smoke engulfed the center of the room. Shiro coughed, covering his face as his eyes started to water. "Dramatic son of a…" he muttered, but trailed off as the smoke dissipated.
A human figure had replaced the poodle, but it didn't look much like the Mephisto Shiro knew. The dress sense was the same, if somewhat Shakespeare-ified, but this man was short and slight. He had a rounder face with a bit of a snub-nose that gave him an impish appearance, and his hair was a much lighter purple, cut close to the scalp until halfway up his head, where it became a puffy cloud of curls.
Despite all the differences, the expression was the same. Half-lidded eyes, and that too-wide smile showing pointed teeth. Now it was trained on the man at the desk. "Pardon the interruption," Mephisto said, "my friend here misplaced his cue." He flourished his cape and bowed. "What are my lord's commands?"
The man at the desk stood, raising a pair of small, round spectacles to his face. It was deeply uncanny to see a Mephisto look-alike so… serious. He actually looked like he could be the principal of a school, for one thing. "So this was the poodle's real form," he said. Even his voice sounded like Mephisto's, but without ninety-percent of the smarm. "An … interesting choice of attire. What's your name, demon?"
"Bit of a shallow question from such a learned man," Mephisto said mysteriously. "I'm a part of that Power, not often understood, which always wills the bad, and always works the good ~ "
"His name's Mephisto Pheles," said Shiro. He couldn't let the demon continue if he was descending into poetry.
Mephisto shot him a grin that said 'one more word out of turn and I'll snap you like a twig,' and a large piece of brightly-colored tape suddenly poofed into existence over Shiro's mouth. Shiro clawed at it, producing only muffled noises while Mephisto continued on. "And this is Wagner, my servant. He's more than a bit dense. So while I already know your name, good doctor, for his sake, would you mind giving it again?"
The man glanced between the two of them. The rings around his eyes made him look like he hadn't slept in forty years despite being in his twenties, but there was a spark of curiosity there, as well. Shiro could see it drilling through Mephisto like it wanted to take him apart and put him back together again, just to see how he worked. That kind of attitude could be dangerous. "It's Faust," the man said. "I'm Doctor Johann Heinrich Faust."
Faust regarded the two figures—the priest and the demon—before him. He'd only meant to catch the one.
Just as he'd hoped, the big black poodle that had been following him all day had also followed him into his study, without noticing the pentagram on the door. He'd been preparing an invocation to force it to reveal its true identity when the man known as 'Wagner' had entered without warning and started shouting at him. Apparently the priest was the demon's servant. It was a little confusing … but perfectly ironic now that he thought about it. Luther would love this. He'd have to tell him the next time he saw him in Auerbach's Keller.
Faust fidgeted with a piece of lint in the pocket of his robes and hoped the demon couldn't hear the pounding of his heart. Despite his interest in it he knew he could be easily frightened by the supernatural; his only other encounter with a real spirit had gone … extremely poorly. But this time he had a clear goal in mind, and he wasn't afraid. Much. "Herr Pheles," he began.
The demon with the purple hair and outrageous clothing waved a gloved hand. "Just 'Mephisto' is fine, and you can use 'du' with me if you like. No need to be so formal!"
"Mephisto, then. But please call me 'Faust.' After so many years at the university my given name feels foreign to me." Faust picked up a sheaf of parchment and readied his quill. "Now then … What manner of demon are you? I'm unfamiliar with your name. Do the invocations in the Greater Key of Solomon work? You transformed yourself before I could try them. Is there a ritual that reliably summons you? Do you have an affinity or weakness towards any natural elements? Are you limited in your movements or can you enter and leave this earthly plane as you wish? Is Hell a primarily physical or metaphysical realm? Does God really exist? If so, why didn't He simply prevent you demons from rebelling in the first place? Is your human host still conscious while you possess him or-"
Mephisto held up his hands. "Patience! Might as well ask me my star sign and my humour balance while you're at it. It's Gemini and sanguine, by the way."
"S- Sorry. Just one more question." Faust took a steadying breath. "I've heard that demons like you can be bargained with. Is this true?"
Mephisto raised his eyebrows. "It is. Although I prefer wagers."
"Then make a wager with me," Faust said, firmly.
"Sure, sure!" Mephisto clapped his hands. He'd agreed far more readily than Faust had thought he would. "Let's set the conditions, then." He took a few bounding leaps up one of Faust's piles of books and perched on top of it, balancing perfectly, as if he had no weight at all. "You want a life of limitless wealth and pleasure, yes? A fountain of coins from your coffers? All the fine food you can imagine? The most beautiful women in the world fawning over your every word? Speaking of, are you a bosom or a bottom man? Or perhaps you prefer lords over ladies?"
Faust's cheeks burned in spite of himself. "...That's not what I want," he said. He cast his eyes downwards. "Worldly pleasures no longer satisfy me. Though I have great freedom as a professor, more and more I do not venture from my study. I take no joy in anyone's company, man or woman. In fact, I've tired of earthly things so completely that I nearly … forsook them altogether." He shook his head, to move on from the thought. "No, what I lack—and what I hope you can give me—is knowledge."
Mephisto paused atop the pile of books. "...I see," he said. "Interesting." He motioned to the entire room. "Don't you have enough knowledge already? Is there anything man can know that isn't somewhere in all these books?"
Faust stepped forward so suddenly that Mephisto wobbled and fell into the book pile. "No! That's exactly the problem!" Faust said, eyes blazing with fervor. "I want to know what man cannot know!" He took a breath. "Some years back I started studying the metaphysical as a lark, but then… I actually encountered a spirit! And now I see all manner of strange and terrible creatures everywhere I go. Demons."
Mephisto popped back up, holding a book. "Oh dear. Quite scary, isn't it? By the way, is this a first-edition Chaucer?"
"No."
"No to Chaucer, or…?"
"What frightens me," Faust said, his hands balling into fists, "what haunts my sleepless nights, is that there is a whole second side to this world that I never even knew existed. I, the most learned man in Christendom, the youngest professor in this university's history, with all my knowledge and accolades—all along, I was as ignorant as an infant! So I studied every magical text I could find, day and night, until I reached the very peak of humanity's supernatural knowledge. But all of the books, the magic tomes, the grimoires … well …" He snorted. "They must have been written by madmen! One says an imp may be summoned by bending a spoon, and the other by holding your nose and spinning around three times. They're less than useless! Frankly, I'm lucky that pentagram on the door even worked. And the Church is no better; all their so-called exorcists can do is recite the Bible until the demon gets annoyed and goes away. There's no method there, no logic. It's shameful. How can we humans, light of God's creation, be so woefully benighted?" He held out a hand towards Mephisto, imploring. "So you see, I must know more about you. About demons. I want—I need!—to know everything. I'll give anything for you to tell me. My soul, if I must."
Mephisto stood in silence atop the pile of books. Then he chuckled. And then, he laughed. He laughed himself down to the floor, where he alighted on the carpet and held his sides and laughed some more. His sharp teeth flashed in the light. "Oh my…" he said at last. "I think I'll like you."
Faust eyed him warily. "Well? Can you fulfill my wish or no?"
"Oh, I certainly can," Mephisto said, "and I will! I'll make you the foremost expert on demons the world has ever seen, hee hee! Ah, but…" He tilted his head. "I don't want your soul. Contrary to popular belief, most of us don't particularly care for them."
"...Then," Faust said, "what do you want? You must want something from me. You followed me here, after all."
Mephisto grinned. "Indeed. You're a clever-clogs so I'll be frank. What I want from you, Faust, is your body." He giggled. "But not in that way, you perv ~ "
Faust froze. "My body…? You mean, you want to … possess me? Why?"
"Here's your first piece of knowledge," Mephisto said, "as a freebie. We demons prefer vessels that are suitable for us. This body…" He touched his own face. "...does not suit me. I mean, for Satan's sake, it had a tonsure when I first got it. Awful. I'm still growing it out. But yours…" He then moved his hand to brush Faust's cheek. "Your body would suit me," he purred. "Very well, I suspect. It's the best one I've found in a good, long while. So I want it. Simple as that."
Faust jerked away, his cheeks burning. "But I'm still in it."
"Hence, a wager." Mephisto removed his gloves. His fingernails were black and pointed, like claws. "My proposition is thus. I'll bind myself to you indefinitely, and I'll help you learn everything you want to know. My powers will be at your disposal. You can have Wagner too, just pay him in tobacco. In return, however…" He held up his pointer finger. "If you're ever satisfied; if you ever reach the one perfect moment you wish would last forever, you lose. Your soul will fly off to who knows where, and you'll bequeath your body to me." He extended his hand to Faust. "Well? How about it?"
Faust hesitated. Somehow, the loss of a body seemed more frightening than the loss of a soul. And he didn't like the light in the demon's eyes. It terrified every part of him, all the way down to the shadowy places in his mind that he himself didn't touch.
Over Mephisto's shoulder, he could see Wagner, still with the piece of tape over his mouth. The priest caught his gaze, and slowly shook his head.
Faust swallowed. "...Deal," he said. He took Mephisto's hand. It was cold.
The demon grinned. "Wunderbar! Excellent! I knew I'd like you." He kept his grip on Faust. "Now, are you ready to have your eyes opened? Your world inexorably changed?"
Faust tried to wriggle his hand away but found it impossible. "Actually, if I could just gather a few things-"
Mephisto held up his other hand, ready to snap his fingers. There was a roaring in Faust's ears, as if a wind was blowing through the study. "Eins…"
"W- wait, I really would like to-"
"Zwei…"
"But what about-"
Mephisto's eyes flashed. "Drei ~ !" He snapped his fingers.
The study disappeared.
Author's Note: Hi there! I just got caught up with Blue Exorcist again and this idea wouldn't leave me alone, although I'm sure it's been done before. Let's see, the last Blue Exorcist fic I wrote was … *checks notes* … ten years ago. …Damn.
I'm taking extensive liberties with the Faust story here but it mostly follows Goethe's. Also I haven't had a German class since 2016 so I apologize if there are errors.
Anyway, if you're enjoying this so far, feel free to leave a comment! Thanks for reading!
