The inside of the palace was just as grand, if not grander, if you ignored the layers of dust that covered every surface. The walls were plastered with crooked artworks and the odd tapestry. Vases filled with dead flowers, bust carvings of unnamed historical figures in both Heaven and Hell, unused furniture… The interior felt like a sad neglected monument to the past.
Alastor stifled a shiver as he walked past a particularly large painting of the former lovers of this home, looking highly affectionate.
More and more of these paintings and photographs crossed his sight. Some depicting Hell, some of their whole family, and some just of Charlie.
Alastor strode to a meaningful stop in front of one such photo. A smaller portrait where Charlie was dressed entirely in black, complete with black hair and make-up. A comical frown marred her face.
"Charlie, my dear," he couldn't help but ask, "What is this photo of you?"
The half-angel in question had been searching for her father and stepped closer to look. "What photo- AHHHHH! DAD!" Charlie rushed forward and splayed her hands over the image to keep the red demon from looking. "Why the fuck is this hung up!?" she shrieked.
"I love that photo! My cute little gothic Princess! Ha-ha!"
Lucifer floated from some unseen corner of the room, landing gracefully in front of the two of them. He glared briefly at Alastor but then flipped it into a smile at his still floundering child.
"Gothic? As in the style of architecture?" Alastor asked, curious.
"No–! Ugh, don't ask! It's just some stupid phase I went through as a kid."
Lucifer chuckled heartily.
Alastor fought the urge to laugh himself, not wanting to be caught dead enjoying the same image as Lucifer. He coughed into his fist instead and smiled. "That look is very becoming of you, darling. Minus the frown of course."
"Hey, hey, hey," Lucifer said, jabbing a claw into Alastor's abdomen, with light but pointed force. "None of that crap is allowed here."
It was such a subdued reaction that Alastor couldn't help but wonder if Charlie had something to do with it. And what in Hell she did or said to get the King of Hell to be so docile in his presence. His grin grew two-fold at the thought. "I'd be delighted to learn more about your many phases… I am quite unaware of what a Hellborn childhood entails." He feigned ignorance, batting his eyelashes at her.
"Stoppp," Charlie moaned, ushering the group towards an open doorway, away from the rest of her family history. "Let's move on, please?" she begged.
"I'll bust out the photo albums next!" Lucifer promised.
…
After Charlie banished all of the photo albums into a hidden void, the group finally settled in what might constitute a sitting room, or what was left of it amongst the mess. Alastor stared at the piles of rubber ducks left in the corner but Lucifer paid no mind as he conjured himself up some tea. He did not offer any to the Radio Demon.
"So," Lucifer began, sipping thoughtfully. "What do you want? How goes the death mark?"
"Please don't call it that, Dad… it's just the Mark of Judgment…" said Charlie from her perch. She looked uncomfortable.
Alastor conjured up his own coffee, much to Lucifer's annoyance. "That brings me to my first question, actually. How did it get its name?"
"Huh?"
"Who named it the Mark of Judgment? And where did this book of poetry come from?" Alastor pulled the tattered book from his jacket. "Surely someone had to survive the ordeal in order to write about it and document its existence. Otherwise it would be nothing but some bedtime rag for children."
Lucifer sat back, thoughtful for a moment, sipping his tea. "...It was named long before anyone had the gall to try and survive it. It's a force older than the realm of Hell itself!"
Alastor fought the gut-instinct to mock the king's lack of a real answer. He was already too frustrated with the lack of information to bother right now. "And yet this lovely piece of literature exists! Who penned it if no one survives to tell the tale? And better yet… a book that is able to add pages whenever it fancies?"
"The book changed again?" Lucifer said aloud to himself, placing his cup down.
Alastor's eyebrow rose at his response and then he impatiently flung the book open to the last page, the one with the Angel's Lament on it. Blue ink shimmered back, alive and acknowledging its new audience.
Painted vision, come to pass
The future's spun with threaded glass.
An angel weeps upon your bed
And reads aloud the book of dead:
"Bring back my fellow, foe, and friend
Bring back my lover tho he's bled
On saintless sheets of the condemned,
On tapestry of woe.
A life of searching I shall spend
Reaping truth I'd never sow
When all was lost, the Dark did take
His heart of love, his heart to break?
My dear hath fought, my dear did bend
But all was naught to comprehend.
I beg of thee, my dream's at end
Pray grant me this, my final ask:
Remove my soul, remove my mask."
Lucifer's eyes scanned the page quietly. "An omen."
"Well?"
Lucifer was stewing, a knot bridging across his features. "No one… wrote it, technically, not in the way you're thinking. Not a person," the King of Hell clarified. "It writes itself."
"Huh?" Charlie turned to her father, confused. "You never mentioned that before."
"The book could be considered a record of sorts... Marked individuals appear and with it a fragment of themselves go into the book. Don't ask me how it works," Lucifer preempted. "This is just what I've gathered over the years."
"A record…" Alastor pondered. "A collection of memories?"
"Sure, if you'd like," Lucifer continued, "A reflection even. A story?" The demon king began naming off other fitting synonyms on his fingers as Alastor's eye twitched, the vestiges of his patience further whittling away.
"So what you're saying is you actually have no idea, you ignoramus–"
Charlie quickly interjected. "But is it actually a prediction?" she asked, sitting up straighter. "And if it was written by some unknown force, can't a new… more happy prediction appear instead?"
"Oh Charlie…" Lucifer eyed his daughter with sympathy. He hated to see her hopes be crushed. "Maybe… If deer-boy here were to actually really change something about himself. But the Mark just can't be stopped."
"But–"
"Can't or won't?" Alastor cut in, parroting an earlier unanswered question, his temper rising. "So who coined the Mark of Judgment?"
"Listen, I told you what I know–"
"Who was the marked man you knew before? Was he an angel? What happened to them? What do you know of the Supernal Sea?" Alastor asked one after the other, static rolling and pitching between each word.
"How do you know about the angel–"
"So you are withholding information, you pernicious twit!"
"Now wait just a second!" Lucifer stood and pointed a sharp finger towards Alastor's infuriating face. "I'm doing my daughter a favor by even listening to you, you furry jackass! If it were up to me, you'd be sipping coffee in the black abyss!"
"Come on, you guys–!" Charlie's hands raised between them. "We don't have time for this!"
She gripped Alastor by the wrist and squeezed before he could get in another jab. The demoness instilled in him what semblance of calm she could conjure and, surprising everyone, it worked. Alastor's heaving breath came to a halt and he settled back in his seat.
Lucifer watched this exchange with a mild wonder, his own steam extinguishing.
"Pardon," said Alastor, dabbing his mouth with a napkin as if nothing happened. "You were saying?"
"Uhh…okaaaay," Lucifer drawled before taking his seat as well, disbelief written across his face. He eyed his daughter and she smiled haltingly at him. Her eyes read nothing but 'please.'
The demon king exhaled before speaking again. "Yeah, fine, the guy I knew who was marked before was an angel. He came to me for help, but uhh… I wasn't exactly the most forthcoming at first… I had a lot on my mind back then..."
Alastor bit his tongue and nodded instead.
Lucifer continued. "Eventually I told him what I knew about scourged souls and the Mark but this guy was on another level. He wanted to go to war with Heaven and I told him what a pointless waste of time that would be!
"I showed him this book but he brushed it off, guess he didn't see much value in it. The Mark made him hateful."
"What do you mean?" asked Charlie, still holding Alastor by the sleeve.
Lucifer shrugged. "It kept growing. And then a poem appeared." The pages briefly flew apart and there another solemn poem read:
Challenged by your kindred foes,
No succor left to soothe such woes.
So banished to the dark you go,
Vanish in the dark below.
Rot away, lost to time
Bid for power, shameful crime
A hint of light, a mighty grudge
No good deed won without the Judge
O sore, O hate, O bloody fight
O what was done to wrought such spite?
Forgive me for this bleak, black strife
Forever dreaming of a life.
You warred but wrath was all you met
Into the dark'ning depths you get.
…And yet you'll stay singing,
a most somber duet.
Alastor and Charlie read it to themselves, realizing this was a poem they had seen but not registered as significant. It made some sense, in regards to the angel, but there were holes they could not possibly understand without context.
"Enough of these mummer's poems…" groaned Alastor but Charlie shushed him.
"What did it mean to you back then?" she asked.
"He was an angry guy. I don't think he ever got over his banishment. And the last line... 'And yet…' didn't appear until later. So the poems can change…to what extent, I have no idea."
Charlie's hands curled into fists, her eyes watering with a mix of hope and fear. "There must be something he failed to do. Something we haven't tried. If he was able to change the poem…"
"Well, for a short while, he actually seemed to be doing all right!"
"And? What did he do?"
"He was a popular guy for a time while trying to rally up support for his cause. He even had a close companion for a while. The Mark was quiet then. Well, according to him at least."
"Who are these demons? Maybe we can ask them what they remember!"
Lucifer grimaced, a hint of pity crossing his features. He shook his head. "They've long been exterminated."
…
The group took a quick break to collect themselves.
Alastor felt particularly peevish, more so than usual when it came to the demon king. Nothing he was gaining here was helping him piece together this puzzle and the urge to wreck havoc was rising within him once more.
But the previously marked angel did provide a bit more detail. The poem did change (if Lucifer was being truthful), and that was enough to get Charlie's optimism bouncing against the walls again. Alastor failed to see what was so great about that. Clearly, it didn't matter. The fallen angel was still gone. But the Mark did well when he was surrounded by companions, so Alastor was doing okay on that front, for the most part…
Still, he thought the King of Hell would have provided more. Something to click within his mind as to a solution of some sort. Ancient Knowledge be damned, he thought. How can a once powerful angel such as he not know? Was it so beyond comprehension that even Heaven was out of the loop?
A self-writing book? A name passed down through centuries?
Not to mention all the other instances of clues pointing in the direction of love? Some infernal mystery sea? (Lucifer knew of the Supernal Sea, but nothing beyond it being barred to visitors with an aged plaque that reads: "The Veiled keep my secrets.")
More questions and still few answers. And what did the answers even matter without a solution?
Alastor felt his muscles tense, his claws sharpening into points.
He was running out of time. And for the first time in a while, he felt its creeping presence. The looming sensation of doom.
Alastor spotted Charlie down the hall, carefully pulling photographs off the wall. She bit her lip to stop from cringing as she hid another embarrassing family memory from view.
An ease entered his bloodstream and tension within his shoulders released as he approached her. He had been attempting to keep himself in check by not engaging too frequently with the demoness. But it felt pointless or even foolish to bother right now.
He had once considered the end of his time in Hell as the only deserved conclusion for him. But now, when he thought of his reasons to stay…
"Al," she beamed at him, a smile to hide the anxiety within. As hopeful as she was, he was sure she could also feel that impending end.
The end of their time together.
This thought raced through his mind and fear struck him dead in his heart. He nearly frowned.
He walked towards her and reached out. One hand traced the delicate line of her elbow, the ones holding picture frames, as his other hand came to rest against her cheek. She squeeked in surprise, unable to move, not expecting his caress. Her eyes darted in every direction, fear of her father entering, no doubt.
But Alastor didn't care, and probably wouldn't have cared even if the entirety of Hell were present.
"Al? W-What're you doing? I thought–"
"Soon I won't be able to touch you," he said mournfully. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched her expressive features travel between so many emotions in a fraction of a second. He would miss that endearing quality of hers.
"That's… not true," Charlie said, her voice only half assuring.
His fingers continued to follow along the angles and curves of her body, as he attempted to memorize every detail. His index finger flowed silently from her arm, onto her waist, over her hip and then to her thigh.
She opened her mouth in a silent intake of a breath, twitching at his tender touch. "I… I thought you were avoiding me," she suddenly admitted.
"I was," he said, his eyes moving to look at her. His expression was faraway, lost in some dream. "Forgive me."
"Why?" she asked, the word coming out hurt.
He acknowledged her hurt with a simpering smile. "Because I was worried… about what I might do in your presence…" His palm smoothed against her thigh and he debated picking her up off the ground and wrapping her around himself. His voice turned deadly at the thought, his restraint positively on the edge. "-What I might do to you."
She tensed in his grasp. "What… what would you do?" she asked.
Alastor grinned as the Mark swirled delightedly and he welcomed the sensation like an old friend. The shimmering blackness was him as much as he was it. He'd let the Mark take the lead this time. Carry him to some dark oblivion.
"Would you like to find out?"
Charlie looked at him, eyes wide and open, before she nodded, silently, damningly.
And that was all it took.
Alastor's clawed grip curled around her wrist and raised it above her head, so quick that the wooden picture frames clattered noisily to the ground.
He stepped forward, pressing her back firm against the now blank wall behind her. She was caged by him, his eyes half-lidded, misty with a dark promise. He bent forward until his mouth was against her ear.
"You'll be the end of me," he rasped in some brief moment of lucidity.
His lips fell from her ear and found her neck.
Charlie shuddered, fully succumbing to whatever sensation curled within her now. Her free hand came up to grasp tentatively at his side, steadying herself.
His breath was hot and uneven as he panted against her burning skin.
And then, came his teeth.
Charlie let out a dumbstruck gasp, her head tilting helplessly to the side as he bit down, taking her within his mouth. His tongue followed soon after, eliciting more curious and unusual noises from the princess's lips.
He couldn't get enough of this. He knew he wanted more. But what he didn't know was why his first instinct upon seeing Charlie was to sink his teeth into her. To taste her. To feel her in a unique way that coursed through his black blood. Maybe this was what desperation for him manifested as. Maybe this was all he knew how to do.
"Al…" she whimpered.
"Don't ever say my name again if you want me to stop," he growled, his voice dripping with both warning and desire. His black lips continued their trail around her neck, achingly slow, kissing a hot path. His grip tightened, fearful that she may disappear if he let go and he would discover this was all just an impossible dream.
Her breath hitched and she tugged at his jacket to stay upright, feeling herself teetering on some dangerous edge.
He dropped her upraised hand and repositioned his arm around her waist, pulling her into him, their hips aligned. He pressed feverishly against her, nuzzling her shoulder with the point of his nose. He inhaled deeply and Charlie let out a sound she didn't recognize.
"A-Alastor, we should–" She spoke, but reluctantly, compulsorily.
His hands were in her hair in a second, red claws tangling.
His face millimeters away from hers, his eyes alight with fire. "What did I just say, my darling?"
…
AN: Ayyy who was waiting for another poem to appear!? No one? Awww lol
Anyway, a little lore this chapter, and a little bit of spice! Hope you enjoy this chapter and can't wait to hear your thoughts! I'd love to discuss in depth with my readers!
Also, I've been a little busy lately since I've been rehearsing for a ballet performance! Just to share haha, I'm quite nervous and can't wait for it to be over tbh...
Thanks for reading!