The Seraphim both received an email from Elida. They breathed a sigh of relief; The Ambassador they'd sent on a fool's errand was still alive and unharmed. Three redeemed souls in and Sera still was having a hard time keeping from pulling the whole project. Elida was supposed to be under her protection, and that was hard to do when she wasn't safely behind Heaven's gates. However, she'd promised to give the little white witch five years, so five years was what she'd get.

The email included a report on the hotel's progress, along with some extra achievements that neither of the Seraphim had expected or even told her to do. The absolute madwoman was making friends with some of the most powerful people in Hell, including Lucifer Morningstar himself, and she was successfully easing tensions in key areas. They'd decided to call her 'Hell's Sweetheart,' which made Sera uneasy, but she supposed it was a good sign that the Ambassador wasn't being harassed by an angry mob.

Elida provided a well-made video presentation, backed with data and evidence, that the hotel was on track to succeed in Heaven's goal to prevent a war. Clearly, her background as a business owner was transferring over well, and it was hard to argue with the hard facts she was showing. Emily was thrilled, and Sera was cautiously impressed.

However, the email included one extremely dangerous request. The least horrifying part of it included allowing her access to Heaven's confidential files on human souls and contracts. These records were magically tracked for both angels and demons alike. She theorized that these contracts could be a major roadblock in some souls' path to redemption. By being granted access, Elida could look for loopholes to free the souls of any bound hotel guests. Regular citizens didn't have access to that kind of information, but Elida argued that she had more valid reasons to be given the clearance than any human soul in history.

That alone was a big ask, but arguable enough; It was the other part of the request that bothered the Seraphim. All Elida needed was their approval and she'd handle the rest. The audacity of human souls never ceased to amaze Sera, even after ten thousand years.

"I think we should let her," Emily argued, "this contract she's drawn up is airtight. No one can get hurt."

"There's more to it than that. If we allow this, we'll set a precedent that we might not be able to take back," Sera disagreed.

"But this whole thing is setting a precedent. There have been so many firsts; the first angels killed, the first redeemed souls, the first battle between our realms… I could go on for ages. Elida has been down there long enough by now to get a feel for the place, and she's clearly taking this seriously. We told her we'd give her any support she needs. Wouldn't this be a big part of it?" Emily took her sister's hand and offered her a comforting smile, "Let's trust her. She's one of ours, after all."

Seraphim stared at her sweet sister's face. There was so much hope and kindness in her eyes. She had a hard time saying no, especially when Emily had been looking at her so differently after finding out about the exterminations. Seraphim would give anything for Emily to look at her like she had before this whole mess began. And she had a point; the contract Elida had prepared was airtight.

She sighed, tired and worried. "Alright, fine. We'll give it a shot. But if anything goes wrong, will you promise not to argue with me if I pull my permission in this?"

Joy lit up Emily's face. "I promise," she agreed.

So, as agreed, Sera and Emily signed their names and sent a copy of the contract back to the woman that they hung their hopes on. Sera desperately hoped she wouldn't regret it.

Meanwhile, behind Emily's back, Sera was taking precautions. Elida was clearly doing well, but who knew what the next few years would hold. So, when her sister wasn't looking, she coordinated with the exorcists. In secret, they commissioned Heaven's most talented craftsman to design special armor for each of Heaven's soldiers. The battle had shown a serious weak spot in Heaven's defenses that Sera would not allow to remain in place. What Emily didn't know couldn't hurt her, and if one day she had to find out about it, Sera would have bigger problems to deal with than hurt feelings.

What Sera didn't know, though, was that she wasn't the only one making preparations for the years ahead. Down in Hell, Carmilla Carmine and her daughters were hard at work. She intended for every single one of her people to be armed, armored, and trained to be ready for the worst. Now that the secret was out that angels could be killed, there was no sense in hiding her knowledge.

The Ambassador had openly admitted to the overlords that if the hotel failed, Hell would essentially be nuked. There was no way of knowing who, if anyone, would survive a war. Carmilla had very little faith in the project's success, and even the slightest chance of failure was too much for comfort. She'd not allow her daughters to come to harm, even if she had to burn Heaven itself down to keep them safe.

The Vees were doing something similar. They were hoping to earn Elida's soul, but the closer Alastor got to her, the less likely it seemed that they'd make that happen. So, Vox continued to work on developing the angelic security he'd promised out his ass to the masses. Velvette spent her time keeping up appearances, and Valentino was in charge of keeping their income growing. They made a good team, and if shit hit the fan, they intended to be ready.

Each of the overlords in Hell had their own way of dealing with the situation. Some were making their peace with dying, some were buying up weapons, others were cracking down on dealmaking. Most were making plans to construct fortresses that even angels would have trouble penetrating, the idea being that they'd skip over the souls that were tough to reach and attack the easier targets. A small percentage actually believed that the hotel would work, but they were in the minority. Most people were just happy that the Princess had managed to buy them time to prepare.

Lute up in Heaven, on the other hand, was pissed. She wanted to take the entire army and wipe every demon in Hell out without mercy. She wanted revenge. Unfortunately for her, she had to wait until that crazy witch failed. That misguided little doe-eyed cunt was preventing Lute from the vengeance she was owed. She sat in her home, in pain and blood boiling, when someone knocked on the door.

She didn't want to answer, but she opened the door anyways. She'd hoped it would be one of her sisters in arms with good news about the war Lute so desperately wanted. She was disappointed to only see a chipper little cherub holding a package.

"Delivery for Lute," he smiled up at her, "Sign here, please."

Lute hadn't ordered a package. "What the fuck is this?"

"I dunno, I'm just the messenger. It was left anonymously at the post office with no return address." He held out a clipboard.

Lute signed it and took the box, closing the door in the cherub's face. It was a bit heavy. She set it down and sliced it open, peering into the mysterious gift. Inside she found a masterfully crafted mechanical arm. It gleamed in the beam of sunlight that was pouring though her window. The joints moved freely without a sound. Clutched in its hand was a note that just said, 'I'm sorry you lost your arm. I hope this helps you feel a little better.' There was no name.

The metal shimmered in that distinct way that only angelic steel could. She wondered who had made it. If it was from Sera or the newly conscripted blacksmiths, why the secrecy? They could just tell her they made it for her. But no, it was sent anonymously. If it weren't so obviously made by a fellow angel, Lute would have hesitated to put it on. But if it came from one of her own people, then she'd wear it with pride. Battle scars were a status symbol among soldiers, after all. The bigger the better.

Whoever made it had had the presence of mind to make it easy to strap on with her one remaining hand. She tried it on and adjusted the straps to fit just right. When it was in place, the arm came to life, moving and responding to her command just as easily as her true arm had before tearing it off. She tested it out by taking a weapon off her wall and swishing it about a few times. It was perfect.

Lute knew exactly what she was going to do with it. But first, she needed to find a way to sneak down to Hell without anyone noticing, especially the Seraphim. That would take a while, so she got to work.

While the major players of Heaven and Hell each plotted and prepared for whatever the future would hold, the Radio Demon enjoyed an afternoon walk by himself with a jolly spring in his step. He smiled at the blood and screams surrounding him. Alastor casually stepped over a disembodied limb that was so mangled that even he couldn't tell whether it had been an arm, a leg, or a tentacle.

As soon as the people around him saw who he was, they scattered. No one wanted to be the next scream on his broadcast. It was one thing to be torn apart and sent through the painful process of respawning, but Alastor's famous grin represented a fate worse than death. Some people who accidentally made eye-contact chose to slit their own throats rather than let him have them. He was having a lovely day.

A strange rustling caught his ear, and it twitched toward the sound of its own accord. Alastor turned to see a swarm of paper planes headed in his direction. Demons dodged and ducked as the swarm sliced through them, leaving deep and nasty papercuts on the unlucky ones who didn't manage to get out of the way on time. Alastor offered the swarm a familiar wave.

When it reached him, instead of slicing through his skin and tearing him to shreds, the swarm gathered closer in on itself, swirling and compressing in a tornado of paper and ink until it took the shape of a paper-mâché man in a crisp black suit. He puffed a large cigar rolled out of what appeared to be dollar bills.

He reached out and shook the Radio Demon's hand, "Well met, Alastor, it's been quite a while. I regret we didn't get the chance to talk at Carmilla's meetin'. You've certainly been a busy bee, haven't ya?"

"Salutations, Snyder, always a pleasure." Alastor turned to continue his walk, knowing his fellow overlord would join him. Snyder fell into step at his side, footprints of black ink leaving a trail behind him. Someone sobbed behind a trash can as they passed.

"Say, whaddya been up to with that pretty little doe o' yours? You'se been makin' some waves. All my writers ever wanna talk about is that little lady and you. I keep havin' to remind 'em that we got other shit to write about, too."

The two media giants knew each other well. After all, what went together better than radio and newspaper? They'd collaborated more than once on some major stories, and even pulled a few public pranks together to cause some immensely amusing mass hysteria. Snyder was always good for a laugh.

"Oh, you know how it is," Alastor answered, "There's nothing quite like an impending war to get people listening. I rather enjoyed the article you printed the other day on the expected impact a total reset in Hell's sinner population would have on the local economy. Maybe even the imps will want our Princess to succeed in her silly little goals if our annihilation would be so bad for their wallets."

"Yeah, pulled that one straight out my ass," He took another puff of his money cigar. "One o' my best writers up and died right before their article was due, so I had to improvise. When they regenerate and get back in the office, they're in for the whoopin' of a lifetime." The newspaper overlord gave his colleague a curious glance. "Say, you and that girl sure have been getting' on swell, haven't ya? What the deal there? You got dirt on her or somethin'? Or maybe," he grinned a little at the thought, "She's got dirt on you?"

A laugh track played in the air at that, "Ha ha, no, I've simply been cozying up to the little darling for my own reasons. And boy, has she been good for business."

"So you ain't friends or what?"

"That is between her and I." Alastor loved when people were curious about him, and he especially loved leaving them wondering. "She's getting wrapped around my finger, though. She's an over trusting goody-two-shoes, that gal. She'd slice her own skin off if I asked nicely enough."

"That a fact? Whaddya say we make little wager, then? For old times' sake."

Jackpot. The deals were finally ready to start rolling in. All those public appearances were paying off. "Oh? What did you have in mind?"

"Get a slice of her, with her permission, before midnight. I'll even come visit that silly hotel 'o yours to see it."

"You're on. If I win, I get to pick one soul you own. If you win, you get one of mine." Alastor had been warming this guy up for decades, making small deals, minor bets, trading souls here and there to make him comfortable. He'd phrased this particular deal very carefully. The key was in its simplicity.

"Agreed." They shook hands, and the ground trembled with the weight of it, magic sealing the wager in an irreversible contract. This wasn't their first rodeo.

So, they headed back to the hotel, enjoying some small talk on the way. When they arrived, Snyder shrunk down into a single paper plane and wafted in with an artificial breeze, concealing himself among a pile of drawings sitting on a table nearby. He watched with amusement as the interaction began.

Elida was on the ceiling, having flipped her entire store over. Her hair dangled downward while she worked as if this was an entirely normal thing to do. She was humming to herself as she brewed. The rest of the room was abnormally empty. It was just the three of them.

"Darling, why are you upside-down?" Alastor asked, bemused.

Elida looked up, or rather down, toward them. "Hm? Oh, this. It felt like an upside-down day is all. Care to join me?"

"You're going to get hoofprints on my ceiling."

"I'll clean them up when I'm done."

Snyder studied the odd woman. She was fucking gorgeous. He wouldn't mind having a thing like her brightening up the place at his own estate. He wondered if Alastor had tricked her into a contract yet. If he had, she was definitely the soul he'd pick when the Radio Demon lost their little bet. She'd make a delightful little plaything in his bedroom.

"Can I ask a favor?" Alastor began, batting his eyes at her.

"You can ask," she agreed, "but whether or not I'll do it remains to be seen." She gave him a friendly but knowing glance.

"I want a piece of your skin."

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"Will giving it to you hurt anyone, besides me?"

"No, dear."

"What will you give me in exchange?"

If the newspaper man had been in his humanoid form, his jaw would have dropped. She wasn't recoiling in horror, she wasn't dismissing him outright, and she didn't even seem put off by the request. She responded with a calm demeanor, as if Alastor's request was nothing more than a business transaction. Just what kind of angel was this girl?

Alastor tilted his head at her, considering. "Well, that depends. What would you like?"

"I want information."

"Careful dear, the walls have ears. What kind of information?"

"Then come up here and I'll whisper it to you."

"Very well."

She reached out her hand and he grasped it, letting her magic pull his feet to the ceiling. Gravity was such a silly thing. "What do you want to know?"

She leaned in and whispered something that nearly made him falter. It didn't show. Was it worth it? He ran the risks and benefits though his head, considering all the options. The fact that she even knew enough to ask him her question was concerning enough. However, there was her personality and good nature to take into consideration. Of all the people he knew in Hell, she was easily the safest person to know about this.

"I'll tell you," He bargained, also whispering, "On the condition that you keep it to yourself, and you slice the piece of skin off with your own hand."

"Unless you give me prior permission, or someone else figures it out on their own," She amended. She wasn't born yesterday.

Snyder watched them leaning close to each other conspiratorially. He'd thought their public friendship was a PR stunt, but watching their body language now, when she thought they were alone, he wasn't so sure. Alastor was still holding the hand she'd used to pull him onto the ceiling, and she was letting him. That could have been to keep him up there, or it could have been something else.

Alastor nodded at her, dropping the whisper that Snyder couldn't hear, "So, it's a deal, then?" His notorious sharp-toothed smile widened.

"Deal," Elida stated, and shook the hand he already held.

Well damn, if that wasn't an interesting turn of events, Snyder didn't know what was. He wasn't too upset about losing; What was a single soul among tens of thousands? He'd just consider it an entertainment fee and move on. He tried to hear what Alastor said. The Radio Demon was whispering his part of the bargain into the Ambassador's ear. It had to be something juicy. Unfortunately, he couldn't make it out.

She didn't have a big reaction to whatever it was. She simply nodded and summoned an angelic knife into her hand, putting her foot up on a nearby stool and pulling her dress back to expose her thigh. She sliced a small piece of herself off, golden essence leaking from the fresh wound, and then kissed her own leg. The cut closed itself up immediately, and she handed Alastor his prize. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"That was easier than I thought it would be," he mused, examining the tasty morsel in his hand.

"I'm a witch, sweetheart, you'd do well to remember that. We use bio ingredients all the time."

"Well, I'll be off then." Alastor dropped back down to the ground. "Dinner at 6, before our segment?"

"I'll be there," she promised, then turned back to her cauldron.

Alastor walked back to his room, his paper airplane guest following discreetly behind. When the door was shut and they were alone, Snyder returned to his more human form and made himself at home in one of the chairs by the fire. He took another long draw from his money cigar.

"Brandy?" Alastor offered.

"Please."

"Here you are then," he handed him the drink and sat in the other chair. "I believe you owe me one soul of my choosing." Alastor popped Elida's skin into his mouth and savored the treat. Angel flesh was easily the best-tasting thing he'd ever had, and there was nothing in their deal that said he had to give the piece to Snyder. He'd won.

"A deal's a deal. Who ya goin' for then?" Snyder took a sip of the drink, unconcerned.

Alastor's smile grew darker and more sinister. He looked thoroughly pleased with himself. "Why, haven't you guessed, old friend?"

"Guessed what?" Snyder blew a last puff of smoke and tossed the finished cigar into the fire pit.

"I want yours."