Daten City, USA.
The vast metropolis and its sister city of Oten City, home to millions of souls going about their daily lives, largely oblivious to the fact that their homes, their communities, were built on the intersections of leylines. These arteries of cosmic energy serve as the bones and connective tissue of Creation itself, upholding that which mortals would call 'reality'. Normally, these conduits of power are arrayed in parallels, but at select points these lines intersect, creating a thinning in the veil between realms. It was upon two such intersections that Daten City and Oten City were built, and not by accident, for it is upon these threadbare spots in the veil that, under the right conditions, a gateway could be opened, either in one direction, or the other.
The sky was a rainy gray, the taste in the air indicative of an imminent downpour, covering the coastal metropolis with gloom. At its center, looming over the bustling city, were two bent skyscrapers, sprouting diagonally up from their foundations before curving inward towards one another: Spread Leg Towers, formerly the home of the city's administrative body, now headquarters of the Tyr-Annie Investment Firm.
A fine cover story, but when Heaven could provide a small country's GDP in raw wealth and resources, acquiring office space of suitable grandeur was a necessary expense to maintain the front.
"Bleagh, I can still taste the stench in the air," Beater groused as he walked on in, taking off his trenchcoat as he set it on a coat rack. The building had been bought, renovated and cleaned in record time thanks to Bra's connections and contractors. Still, the lingering aroma of demonic energies was noticeable, like a small, vile animal had died in the walls and was taking its time decaying into nothingness. "Guess human cleaning services can only go so far."
"Rest assured brother," Boxer chimed as he walked on in with Pajama walking beside him, and umbrella held over her. "The demon taint will fade, routed by our Heavenly auras. We will simply have to grin and bear it for the time being."
He looked around the vast lobby, seeing only a single reception desk flanked by rows of seating arrangements. Behind the desk was a small, mousy woman, her strawberry blonde hair done up in a prim, tight bun.
"Oh! Hello!" She exclaimed, hazel eyes snapping up from her business, slightly magnified by her thick rimmed glasses, only adding to her small, vulnerable mein. "Are you… the Boxer Party?"
Boxer smiled as he stowed his umbrella and walked towards the desk. "Indeed. We are taking up residence here for the time being. I'm the CEO of the Tyr-Annie Investment Firm, Boxer. I take it my COO is awaiting us?"
"Ah yes! Miss Bra is in the penthouse suite on the top level of Tower Two! Apologies for the confusion, I-I should have known you were coming." The receptionist, the little plastic tag resting on her modest bosom read 'Lyn Jackson', pressed a button and spoke into a small microphone. "Miss Bra. Mr. Boxer is here."
"Excellent!" Chimed a richly toned, sultry feminine voice. "Send him and his party up. Any sign of Miss Germaine by chance?"
"Are you a… Miss Lin Germaine?" Lyn asked as Pajama shrugged.
"Nah. Just PJ." Pajama toned, leaning her head against Boxer's arm as she got out her tablet and began to play some game again.
"We'll be on our way." Boxer nodded, smiling benignly. "And do take care, Miss Jackson."
"Thank you, sir," she said, blushing slightly at the gorgeous blonde man. "Y-you too."
With that, Boxer strode past her desk, followed by the slightly unkempt, drowsy young woman and their towering, bullishly built chauffeur. She jumped in her seat as her stomach loosed a low, protesting growl, the sound practically echoing off the walls of the deserted lobby. The huge man stopped, turning to face her, a bushy red eyebrow arching up from under his dark sunglasses.
"S-Sorry… missed lunch. And b-breakfast." Lyn replied, sheepishly, feeling like a lamb before a wolf as the huge man stared at her. "The old boss wouldn't let anyone eat on the job and only let us take one lunch break and I had to catch up on some–"
"That's dumb," Beater snorted, literally, gesturing at the lobby and the building in general. "We're changing things 'round here. Food's allowed on the job and you'll get more breaks. Order delivery or somethin'. Pig out."
"Indeed. We can't have our receptionist fading away on us. Hungry people are poor workers," Boxer said, gently, reaching out and handing her a card. "Here. A company credit card. Indulge yourself, Ms. Jackson."
"Really? Oh, thank you Mr. Boxer! Mr. Corset was always so stingy about what his employers ate! Something about a 'no fatties' policy…" She sighed in relief. "Thank you, sir."
"You'll be tending to the front desk, Ms. Jackson, the first face people will see when they arrive," he explained, turning and heading back towards the elevator. "You must be fit and tim, but also happy and healthy. For your own sake, at the very least." They got inside, Pajama leaning fully on him as Beater took the opposite side as they began their climb up. Boxer smiled and waved goodbye to the receptionist as the doors closed. "Have a good night, Ms. Jackson."
"Can't believe Bra got this place…" Beater mused, the elevator rising out of the foundation, its glass wall giving them a full view of the city as they ascended, the skyline glowing lurid orange-red through the clouds and rain. "Guess this is where we're gonna be setting shop, huh?"
"It's the finest structure in the city, the tallest and most grand. Our operation deserves nothing less. Besides," Boxer had his hands in his pocket as Pajama played her game again, arm looped under his. "We are closer to our home residing in the tallest structure in this location."
"Yeah… heard this place was also where the Keyhole was too." Beater rolled his neck a bit, the red haired man loosening his tie a bit. "If that demon comes sniffing around the ol' haunt, we'll be here to personally kick him back where he came from!"
"Where is Corset, anyway?" Pajama inquired. "Isn't he in Oten?"
"Knowing that tenacious degenerate, he's no doubt attempting to procure the Hell's Monkey once more," said Boxer, looking out at the city and the world beyond. "That Brief is missing would be worrisome, were it not for the fact that Corset clearly has not found him. However, once we are established, finding Corset and the Key become our paramount concerns."
"And that means our first order of business is arranging a nice little chat with those demon bitches," Beater said, grinning and punching his palm. "Real neighborly-like."
"It would only be polite to introduce ourselves officially." Boxer smirked as they began to ride the elevator past the fiftieth floor. Then the fifty-fifth. Then sixtieth.
"High." Pajama droned and yawned.
"We're going to be getting the best eats, yeah? I'm starving!" Beater grumbled. "Knowing Bra, she'll only hire the best catering!"
"Indeed. But temper your expectations, brother. She just bought this place," Boxer chuckled as they finally arrived at the top floor of the right tower. "Though, even I would admit to a degree of peckishness."
With a chime, the doors opened. They exited and saw before them was the suite. It was lavishly appointed with an open floorplan, panoramic windows encircled the room, giving an immense view of Daten City. At the center of the main living space was a long, polished ebony table set with the finest sterling silverware and dazzling white china, tall crystal glasses incandescent in the soft light cast by the glittering chandeliers hanging overhead.
Boxer smiled and started forward, drinking in interior design and the paintings hanging from the walls. Bra always had an immaculate eye for the arts.
"Da Vinci's Last Supper. The Creation of Adam by Michaelangleo…" Boxer mused as Pajama went ahead to the table and sat down, looking down at her gaming device as she tapped at the screen. Beater whistled as he checked out the bar, grinning at the ornate bottles of expensive spirits he found. Boxer stopped before two fine paintings, blue eyes glinting.
"The Ascension and Coronation of our Mother and…" Boxer turned to the next painting, one that filled him with unmistakable awe and admiration, even as an unnamable shadow slithered over his being. "Raphael's 'Michael Vanquishing of Lucifer'."
There, in the painting was none other than Archangel Michael, the general of Heaven's armies and undisputed Second in Command to Father Himself. Above all but One, Boxer held Michael in unalloyed admiration. This painting, despite being but a rendition of the event by a –his genius notwithstanding– mere mortal resonated within him like no other. The Traitor splayed out on the ground, vanquished, squashed under sandaled foot by the victorious Michael like so much dirt. While even the venerable Raphael Sanzio da Urbino was an absolute master, even he could not capture the truth of the vision sent unto him by God, ultimately limited by his Human perceptions and his means to convey them. However, there was one aspect Boxer felt he captured without flaw; Archangel Michael's expression.
He With Might Above All Under God was a being with every right to feel pride in his victory, to feel wrath towards the Fallen, to feel contempt and disgust for the wallowing figure squirming beneath his heel. But Michael's expression held none of that, not the barest hint of exultation or ire, no wallowing in his victory or satisfaction at the Unclean One's defeat. No, on Michael's face was an expression of supreme serenity, perhaps even a subtle streak of pity for the disgraced, defeated creature. The subtlest of smiles curled Michael's lips, a smile that spoke to Boxer of adamantine confidence. For despite the ferocity of the battle, the stakes of the war, Michael seemed unaffected by his victory, unsurprised by its totality. Michael's expression told Boxer that at no point in the fight was the Archangel troubled, at no point had he allowed his own misgivings or fears or doubts to cloud his judgment or forestall his actions. Nor did he debase himself by savoring his victory. For it was not his victory to celebrate, to congratulate, but Father's.
Michael's serenity, his smile, was an expression of unshakable, unbreakable faith. Faith not in himself but in Father. In Father's faith in him. His faith in The Plan.
What a sublime source of inspiration.
Boxer smiled widely, eyes glittering like glaciers in the arctic sun. "You know how to pick them, Sister."
"You make it easy, Box! I just know how to procure them. I can be quite… persuasive~"
He turned, looking up at the shapely woman walking up to the balcony overlooking the dining room, leaning over the handrail. She wore a snug-fitting matte black business dress-suit that highlighted her outrageous figure, hugging her ample curves in a way that no doubt filled mortal women with ravenous envy. It was no secret in Heaven that Bra Tyranny was, to be blunt, a bombshell. With flowing silver-white hair spilling down over her shoulders, her bangs playfully drawn over one eye, giving her a sultry, flirtatious mein, accentuating her naturally flawless angelic features. Her full ruby-red lips pulled into a wry smile, the kind of smile that had no doubt sealed the deal with the flustered, distracted mortal retailers. All it would have taken was that smile and her hands on her wide, shapely hips, topped off with a confident straightening of her back, presenting the mountainous heft of her G-cup bust and any mortal man would be putty in her hands. One could be forgiven for assuming she had work done but, as an Angel, Bra was as immaculate and unadulterated now as she was at her first manifestation. For, despite the ample attention her figure and looks earned her, Bra Tyranny only had room in her heart for two things, her family and finance, matters such as vanity being well beneath her attention.
…Mostly, anyway.
"Oh great," grumbled Pajama, rolling her eyes behind her tablet. "Miss Twin Peaks is already here. I thought I smelled silicone."
"Oh ho ho ho~" Bra chuckled into the back of her hand as she descended the staircase, sashaying to accentuate her many enviable ratios. "Biting wit as always, dear sister. I've always admired that about you, that and your quiet confidence and clear sense of self worth."
Pajama blinked, glancing up from her device, arching an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Oh yes!" Bra said, walking behind her and leaning over, her bust looming next to the sullen Angel's head, just one of her endowments comparable in dimensions. "Why, the fact that you're willing to be seen looking like that in public suggests nothing less! What a power-move."
"Smug bitch…" Pajama grumbled, turning back to her game only for Bra to quickly turn to face Boxer, her hefty, heavy bosom thudding into the side of her slovenly sister's head in the process. "OOF!"
"Boxer~!" She crooned, walking over and looping her arm under his and pulling him into an affectionate hug. "I trust you were successful in convincing our irascible sister to rejoin the cause?"
"Fuckin' bitch!" Pajama growled, rubbing her head. "Watch where you're swinging those ham-hocks! It's like getting smacked with a medicine ball!"
"PJ, please," said Boxer, calming her pique with a simple gesture before turning back to Bra. "After a fashion, yes. I made my terms clear and offered her an ultimatum. She'll come around, and soon."
"Wonderful! Just wonderful!" Bra exclaimed leaning into her brother as she led him to the dining table. "I know I'm technically the negotiator of this outfit, but I don't think even I could have gotten through to that stubborn creature! Please, do tell of how you did it!"
"I merely took a page from your book, dear sister. A few choice words, an offer…" Boxer said, reaching into his breast pocket, producing the small glowing vial containing Panty's purloined divinity. "…And just a bit of leverage."
Bra gasped, her eyes wide. "Is that…?"
"A simple reminder to our dear sister to check her privilege." Boxer pocketed the vial once more. "She will now be subject to the consequences of her actions. Panty has never been one to suffer hardship for long, much less gracefully. It's only a matter of time before she acquiesces."
"Oh ho ho ho~" Bra laughed, leading Boxer to the head of the table, bidding him to sit. "Wonderful! Come! Sit down, all of you. I've arranged a celebratory dinner."
"Haw! Yes!" Beater crowed, knocking back the whiskey sour he'd made. "You're the best, B-Cup!"
She smirked at the affectionate, grossly understating nickname. "I know."
They all took their seats and, with a crisp clap, Bra summoned the catering. Smartly dressed men and women walked in with carts piled with steaming platters and warming trays, setting them about on the table at pre-assigned areas. Each one stood at attendance as a pretty young woman set about filling each of the glasses with a rich Cabernet Sauvignon or a chilled Pinot Noir.
"For Beater, we have a carré d'agneau, rare, with mint sauce, and a side of scalloped garlic potatoes and roasted garden greens," said Bra as the attendant removed the platter cover, revealing the steaming flesh and bones.
"Yeeeah!" The brutish redhead growled, eyes gleaming.
"For Pajama, we have a baked maccheroni al formaggio e pancetta, with a cheddar béchamel sauce and a dusting of parmesan."
Pajama glanced at the hot cast iron cast holding the delicious-smelling golden brown mass, a furtive smile on her face. "…You know me so well."
"For Lingerie, we have a filet mignon, medium rare, with mashed purple potatoes and garlic-herb butter, and a garden salad with a raspberry vinaigrette reduction."
"When she gets back from her mission, she'll no doubt be thankful," said Boxer.
"And for our esteemed elder brother," said Bra as the waiter doffed the cap, revealing a pile of inky-black noodles and a nearby serving plate with a bifurcated bowl in the center, ringed with thin round cakes. "A wonderful pasta negra, spaghetti in a creamy aligue sauce and calamari slices, with a side of beluga caviar, cremé fraiche, and blini."
"Delectable." Boxer smiled at the spread, turning to her. "And for you, dear sister?"
Her attendant set a large bowl in front of her, revealing a large salad. "Just a light garden salad. I have to watch my figure, you know. Now, shall we dig in?"
"Of course." Boxer turned to his siblings as they prepared to devour their meals, holding up his hand and gesturing to the empty chair. "Once Lingerie joins us, that is."
Beater, Pajama, and Bra unquestioningly set down their utensils and sat back in their chairs, staring ahead. Boxer wove his fingers together and leaned forward, glowing blue eyes locked on the door.
They waited, the food before them steaming, filling the room with delicious smells.
(X)
Lingerie sat in the back of the limo as it pulled into the reception area of Spread Legs Towers. She ruminated on her findings; zip. Arthur Rock was as cagey as ever, brusquely ignoring any and all attempts at an in-person meeting. Even his staff appeared to be under orders to be as reclusive and aloof as humanly possible.
'If Bra had shown up, it'd be a different story…' she groused internally, scowling. 'She'd just have to titter and wave her buppies about and she'd have been delivered to that moldy old fart's office on a fucking palanquin!'
Still, her infiltration had revealed two interesting points of information. Or, rather, the absence of information had allowed her to make two pointed deductions.
One: the Rock Foundation had been deprived of communication with its Infernal patron, hence the stagnant and desultory adherence to security, permitting her easy access.
And two: The heir was missing. Not simply out and about or in hiding, but missing. Gone. AWOL.
The subtle desperation and near-total lockdown of communication told her that much at least. If Briefers Rock was beyond the Foundation's ability to track and wrangle, that could only mean one thing: the Hell's Monkey was not in Daten City, possibly not on Earth.
She had to get this info to her siblings, doubletime.
The limo lurched to a stop and the driver announced their arrival. Lingerie grunted an affirmative and tapped her card to the payment machine, tipping her driver and then some. She stepped out of the limo and straightened her suitdress, accentuating her lack of features. She marched imperiously into the lobby, glancing at the meek, mousy woman at the desk. She looked up from a freshly delivered piece of take out, cheeks bulging like a squirrel as she ravaged her meal like a starved animal. She made a show of hurriedly processing her mouthful and swallowing it before getting to her feet.
"Miss Lin Germaine?" She said, making her way over.
"That's right."
"Oh, good!" Ms. Jackson said, nodding. "Your associates arrived just a few hours ago. They'll be waiting for you on the top floor."
"Excellent."
They both got into the elevator, the timid little receptionist stood next to her. Lingerie eyed her up out of the side of her eye, ruefully noting that even though this mortal was as plain as white rice on oatmeal, she still towered a full head over her, with comparatively robust feminine features showing through her prim working clothes.
'Gonna have to implement a new dress code around here,' Lingerie thought, acidly. 'Robes or something.'
The elevator continued its rise to the top of the Right Leg, slowly but surely rising above the neon squalor of the Damned City. The bell dinged and the doors opened, revealing a pitch black room, the only illumination coming from the lurid glow of the city sprawling outside.
"Oh?" Ms. Jackson squeaked, surprised. "Oh, that's odd. The lights should be on. These suites all have motion trackers, so–"
The words died in her throat as she noticed the four pairs of glowing blue hovering in the darkness at the center of the room, her sight adjusting just enough to see four humanoid figures sitting ramrod stiff around the central table, their blue eyes glowing like those of animals prowling in the black around a campfire. The furthest pair of eyes flickered with a blink, darting over to them, the form holding them shifting in the darkness as its head turned, followed immediately by the others. At the sudden movement, the lights came on, revealing the Tyranny Siblings sitting about a table, in front of each of them platters of sumptuous food, now long-cold and stale.
Ms. Jackson uttered something between a croak and a squeak at the collective stare, visibly jumping when Boxer spoke. "Ah. Lin. How good of you to join us. We were waiting for you."
"Much obliged," said Lin, unaffected, brushing past the petrified receptionist. "I have some choice information to impart."
"Of course," said Boxxer, graciously gesturing to the spread before the empty seat at the table. "But first, we must eat. Please, dear sister, take your seat."
Lingerie did, noticing the meal. "Filet mignon? Just what I was craving."
"Uh," Ms. Jackson finally managed to say when all five heads snapped around to look at her, the faces holding them flat and expressionless as a cat eyeing up prey, causing the mousey young woman to squeak and recoil. "Eep!"
"Ms. Jackson," said Broxer, that ever present smile on his face now taking on a subtle but unignorable synthetic quality, like the aftertaste of saccharin. "Thank you for your service, but this is a personal affair."
She felt her feet walk her back into the elevator, her hand pressed the ground floor button of its own accord, numb and tingling as though asleep. She stared out wide-eyed as the door closed, the five entities watching her with their unblinking, glacial blue gazes. Only when the doors shut and the elevator began its earthbound journey did she, for the first time in over a minute, take a breath. She stooped over as she gasped, hands on her knees, staring at the floor as cold sweat ran down her face in rivulets.
"Why do I always have to work for weirdos?" She moaned, panting softly.
(X)
Oten City
Dillon/Dickens-Orson (Dil.D.O.) Foundation Headquarters.
Scanty got up from her desk and sighed, rolling the stiffness out of her shoulders. The deal was sealed, the funds would be delivered to all the appropriate parties and funneled into their good works. It struck her as flatly amusing that it took a pair of literal demons to make a charity run properly. Only those born to the infernal Plane had the raptorial instincts necessary to anticipate likely areas of corruption and malfeasance and purge them with ruthless efficiency. While wrangling the lesser impulses of these supposedly moral mortals was a full time task, she couldn't deny the satisfaction of a job well done, as the multitude of donations flowed through their organization unmolested, reaching the targets of their donor's generosity without so much as a wasted dollar.
Still, it had been a long day, and Scanty needed some well-deserved R&R.
"Come out and relax, sister," Kneesocks called from the kitchen. "You've worked quite enough."
Scanty smiled and chuckled; Kneesocks was nothing if not punctual. "Your timing is impeccable, dear sister. You read my mind."
"I know."
Scanty rose to her feet, rubbing her neck and shoulders before pushing her chair under her desk and leaving her office. The demoness was greeted with the wonderful aromas of her dutiful sister's cooking. A lamb shank, seasoned and roasted to perfection from the smell of it, a warm flush of saliva filling her mouth. She walked into the kitchen and smiled, behind the counter was her diligent sister, Kneesocks. The teal-haired demoness looked up from chopping veggies for the salad, her focused expression shifting and softening slightly when she saw her sister, her hands a blur of red and glinting steel as she diced the onions.
"Smells good, my darling sister," Scanty said, shashaying over to the counter. "Delectable. How long until it's done?"
"The salad," said Kneesocks, scooping the diced veggies from the cutting board into a nearby bowl with the flat of the knife. "Is finished. It only needs vinaigrette."
"And the rack of lamb?"
Kneesocks looked at her watch. "Fifteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds… now."
"Oh good," Scanty purred, sashaying up behind the other demoness. "That gives us some time, then."
"Time?" Kneesocks said, turning to face her sister. "Time for–?"
Scanty silenced her sister with a gentle but firm kiss, her tongue parting her lips and tracing her fangs. Kneesocks moaned into her mouth and returned the favor, their tongues playfully fencing as Scanty's hands drifted down her waist, towards the band of her skirt.
Scanty broke the kiss, drinking in Kneesock's lust-dumb expression. "Time to work up an appetite~"
Kneesocks giggled as Scanty peppered her cheek with delicate kisses, moaning when she scraped her sharp fangs across the skin of her neck, licking and sucking as she did. Ever since their 'father's' second defeat, they'd been bold and open about their relationship. Hundreds of succubi orphans had walked into Corset's labs, but only they walked out. They had been warped, modified, endured surgery and sorcery to become what they were today, conglomerations of Hell energies and aether, empowered by King Asmodeus Himself to guard his agent against Celestial interference. Where scores had withered and died in agony, only they persevered, their love for one another buoying them through the ordeal. In all respects but blood they were sisters, birthed by a cruel and uncaring father, but were also more, so much more.
Truthfully, the revelation of the artificial nature of their conception had been… rough. Minor existential crisis and such. But, as always, they had one another to turn to for support. For love. Despite this, neither could deny that the persistent and slightly grating positivity of a certain cursed Mortal boy was as much responsible for their perseverance as their love. Briefers Rock, the Hells Monkey, the Dick That Would Mindbreak Creation, had been there for them, cheering them on with pep talk after pep talk, his rambling musings on the nature of existence and self-determination accepted as much for their merits as to shut the rambling nerd up. Once they had assisted him in defeating Corset and reassembling his hateful, philandering 'girlfriend', they had been lost, aimless and without purpose. It was at his insistence that they establish Dil. D. O., an organization dedicated to charitable works around the globe. A saccharine pipedream that, were it not for his insistence (and generous monetary contributions), would never have occurred to either of them. And yet, a year later, here they were, busily making Earth a slightly less miserable place.
'We should touch bases with Brief soon, now that work's not crushing us flat,' Scanty mused, one hand drifting up under Kneesocks' shirt as the other crept down to the waistband of her skirt. 'He's been real quiet recently. I hope that cumdumpster of an Angel hasn't done anything too horrible.'
"Ahn~!" Kneesocks moaned as Scanty's skilled fingers found their mark. "Don't tease me!"
"Stop being so fun to tease~" Scanty purred. "Not in the mood for foreplay, dear sister?"
Kneesocks blushed a furious shade of pink, lips tight as she shook her head.
"As you wish…" Scanty chuckled, eyes lighting up as a notion occurred to her. 'On the subject of Brief…'
Scanty reached across the table, fingers wrapping around the truly immense daikon radish they had found at the market the other day, a huge, brutish thing some 18 inches long by 3 inches wide. For its size, Kneesocks had jokingly dubbed it 'Mr. Rock' and bought it straight away. It struck Scanty as somewhat humorous that even these impressive dimensions still fell short of its namesake. During their year-long odyssey with the simpering yet sweet-natured geek, Scanty and Kneesocks inevitably succumbed to curiosity and clandestinely monitored the lad in a private moment of self-service, witnessing what could only be the work of King Asmodeus Himself; a veritable Monolith of Lust.
Needless to say, Scanty fully understood why a slut of Panty's caliber even considered putting her Olympic-level dick-polishing campaign on hold, as no Human man or the vast majority of beasts would touch the sides or reach the back after that… not that Scanty would put the latter past the prurient Angel. For their part, Scanty and Kneesocks doubted if even their hellacious resilience could see them though a hypothetical 'sharing is caring' exercise unruined.
Not without practice, that is…
"Ready to jump into the deep end, dear sister?" Scanty crooned, drinking in Kneesocks' demure lust, reaching for 'Mr. Rock' without breaking eye contact, grabbing it. "Perhaps you'll wish I'd warmed you up first?"
Kneesocks' eyes darted over to the object in her hand, but instead of fear or trepidation, her flushed face shifted into a mask of confusion. Scanty looked down to the object in her hand, a small green homunculus in the shape of a crude stitchwork dog. She immediately recognized it: Chuck, the Slut Angel's disgusting little pet.
The construct leered at them, smiling knowingly before shooting them a wink. "Chuuuuck~"
Scanty exclaimed in disgust, tossing the little beast away with enough force for him to crater the drywall with a splatter of purple blood. Chuck groaned and peeled out of the crater, falling to the counter. Chuck shot his head and looked up at them, his normally vacant eyes strangely set and focused.
"Chu–" He began to say, only to be viciously set upon by a sharp-faced pink construct, their own pet, Fastener.
"Fas! En! Er! Fasten! Er! Fastener!" Fastener snarled, punctuating every syllable with a vicious blow, the little voyeur evidently displeased his show had been interrupted. "FA! ST! EN! ER!"
"Fastener, enough," said Scanty, herself displeased at the interruption. "Chuck? What are you doing here?"
Chuck groaned and stood up, pushing his head back into shape and shaking off the purple blood, expression frantic. "Chuck! Chuck Chuck Chuck! Chuck Chuck! CHUCK!"
"Calm down, you're not making sense!" Scanty growled. "Who did what to Garter? Brief's missing?"
"Deep breathes," said Kneesocks, calmly. "Center yourself, Charles."
"Chuck…" Chuck breathed in, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. "Chuuuuck."
"There, better?" Kneesocks said, stepping towards him. "Now, Charlies. What's got you so out of sorts?"
"Chuck Chuck Chuck. Chuck Chuuuuck! Chuck Chuck Chuck Chuck Chuck!"
"Someone must know where Brief is!" Scanty exclaimed. "The Rock heir does not simply disappear!"
"Suppose that's why he's been so quiet recently?" Kneesocks said, dismayed. "Oh, sister, I knew we should have checked in on him! We were just so busy!"
"Calm yourself, Kneesocks. There's no helping it now." Scanty set a hand on her agitated sister's shoulder, turning back to Chuck. "Chuck, Brief could be laying low of his own accord. Do you have reason to think Brief is in trouble?"
"Chuck!" Chuck exclaimed, waving his arms. "Chuck Chuck Chuck Chuck Chuck Chuck! Chuck Chuck Chuck, Chuck Chuck! Chuck CHUCK!"
Kneesocks gasped sharply, hands shooting to her mouth as Scanty recoiled, eyes wide. "He did what to Garnet?!"
Chuck opened his mouth to respond before going stiff, his eyes wide. "CHUCK!"
The little dog-doll lunged forward, slamming his head into Scanty's forehead, knocking her backwards. The far window burst inward in a shower of glass as a glowing blue .50 caliber round streaked through the air, hitting Chuck centermass as he tumbled through the space Scanty's head occupied not moments before. The little green construct exploded in a squall of purple gore as the celestial bullet tore through him, punching a cratered hole into the polished steel of the fridge.
"Scanty!" Kneesocks cried, rushing to her dazed sister's side. "Are you alright?"
"I–" Scanty began to say before lunging at Kneesocks, tackling across the room. "Look out!"
The pair tumbled across the floor as sun-bright headlights filled the room with bright blue-white light through the window, the entire wall bursting inward in an explosion of sound, wood and plaster. The roar of an engine filled the room as a gleaming white limousine slammed into the far wall, obliterating the fridge, oven, and counter. The doors swung open simultaneously, two pairs of glowing blue eyes glowering out at the demons from the darkness.
"Oh dear…" A smooth, erudite, feminine voice crooned, a long, shapely leg stepping out from the limo. A tall, impossibly shapely woman dressed in a black dress-suit exited the door, flicking her long platinum blonde hair over her shoulder, a mocking look of faux-concern on her flawless face. "Is this a bad time? Were you two in the middle of something? We can come back later if you like."
"Is that lamb I smell?" A deep, rough masculine voice inquired as a tall, brutishly built man dressed in a white tuxedo and black bowtie stepped out of the driver's seat, his immaculate, ruggedly handsome face twisted into a savage smile. "Love me some lamb. In fact, I just ate some and I could still go for more!"
"Wh-who are you?!" Kneesocks exclaimed, sweat beading on her brow.
"Your new neighbors, dearie. Oh! Where are my manners?" The woman gestured to herself and then the man. "My name is Bra, and this charming gentleman is my brother, Beater. Like yourselves, we're not exactly locals to this world."
"Figured we'd drop by and introduce ourselves," growled Beater, cracking his knuckles. "Letcha know the Tyranny Siblings are in town."
"The Tyranny Siblings?" Scanty muttered, horrified. "You're…"
"Angels," Scanty growled, her yellow and green ringed eyes narrowing.
"That's right," said Bra, reaching back, her hand slipping under the neck of her dress.
"And we're here to set things right," said Beater, unbuttoning his suit jacket. "Forever."
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The world vanished, reduced to a pair of spotlights surrounded by blackness. Standing in them were the Angels, their immaculate forms wrapped in flowing Heavenly silk and gossamer ribbons. Beater swayed with the beat, head bobbing in tandem with his hips as he pulled away his suit jacket, casting it over his bullish shoulder in a casual manner, revealing his suspenders and tank top, straining against his rippling muscles. Bra smirked coquettishly, resting her fine, pointed chin on the back of one hand as she reached down the back of her dress with the other, stepping through a flawless flamenco baile, her stiletto heels spitting out a machine-gun rapid series of clacks.
They spoke in unison, voices harmonizing: "To protect the righteous, the virtuous, the innocent."
Beater cast his arms up, displaying his perfectly muscled arms before tracing his broad chest with his hands, thumbs hooking under his suspender straps, pulling them away from his shoulders.
"To smite the sinful, the depraved, the corrupted."
Bra let off a series of harsh, rhythmic steps, her other hand reaching down the front of her dress, over her mountainous-yet-perky breasts.
"By the authority vested in us with Heavenly edict."
Beater reached down and grabbed the hem of his tank top, peeling it off, revealing his rippling, glistening abs and bulging pectorals, hard and defined as though carved in marble, twisting the garment into a tight band over his head, squeezing shimmering Angelic sweat from it, running in silvery rivulets down his torso. The twisted tank top glowed white blue, its form shifting, elongating, its lines becoming hard and straight, the outline more and more defined. Beater grinned and spun the long, thick glowing shape about over his head, letting it spin off center and grabbing the narrow end, swinging it forward before him, the light dispersing to reveal a huge glowing blue kanabo, its length peppered with glowing silver-white metal studs.
"With the blessing of the Celestial Kingdom, we command thee…"
Bra finished her flamenco with a decisive flourish, unlatching her brassiere with one hand and swiftly and smoothly pulling the immense garment out of her plunging v-line. She spun the bra about on her finger as it melted into a mass of blue-white light, the cups shifting into profile opposite one another, forming two large crescents joined in the middle, a long, pommeled shaft shooting out from between them. She cast the weapon up, its glow dispersing to reveal an enormous double-headed battle axe. It spun in the air before plummeting downward in a languid arc. Bra performed a final baile, stepping forward with her hand outstretched, snatching the falling weapon by the haft, spinning it about her head and shoulders before brandishing it before her and striking a fighting pose.
"REPENT!"
(X)
"The fights on." Pajama mused as she pulled the cock back on her Barrett sniper rifle. She was in her undies, her pajamas having formed into the great long barreled weapon in her arms as she knelt down. She crouched atop a skyscraper antenna, looking down on the busted-in complex where those demons were loitering through a high-powered scope. "It's gonna be a two-v-two down there. That shitty little construct saved the demon."
"Appears that Charles has gone rogue. He's grown attached to them, it seems." Boxer mused as he stood by his sister's side, clad in his suit as he ruffled the pinkette's head. "For now… aid them as best you can. Those unclean beasts won't be getting away."
Pajama aimed her rifle as yellow light burst from the building, Boxer smiled as he watched. "Seems the sisters themselves have transformed. Such tenacity. Admirable but futile."
His siblings needed to stretch their muscles. What better way than to exterminate two foul demons spreading their stench across the Lord's sacred garden? After all, they could not turn a blind eye to the workings of such creatures upon this earth.
Scanty and Kneesocks. Two demon abominations crafted and molded to counter them, the Divine Garments. The Divine Arms of God.
The utter gall.
"Well now, Hell, let's see how your imitation rags compare," Boxer mused with his eyes alight with anticipation, his smile widening to a grin. "…To the original vestments."
Big thanks to Wr1teAn0n for writing this up. Was hard to tackle, but largely due to IRL factors getting in the way.
So yeah, the Tyranny Siblings have set up shop, and we have our introduction to the last one. Bra, and her bra busters in all their glory(as well as their own 'Song' to strip to to unveil their Divine Weapons). The dinner segment was originally going to have them wait, days for Lingerie to arrive and the food becoming moldy and maggot ridden with our Angels eating it up no problem to showcase their inhumanity(and gross out more Ms. Jackson even more), but even me and WA when tried to write it out or even speak it in convo got quesy. And we decided to move away from that.
And the Demon Sisters make their debut in the story! Things are little hot between them, and this is the tamer draft. QQ and AO3 will be getting a more raunchier variant between the two. Foodplay ahoy.
But hey, this means I'm up and I get to write up a major Angel vs. Demon battle!