Winter, 1992

The woods shudder.

Cedrik Burnell feels it from his perch atop a high spruce tree, cascading dark blond hair wavering in the gentle breeze. His alert brown eyes skim the forest beyond.

Logging? That tends to happen in this area. Except… it's only a shudder. The buzz of saws, the felling of trees, it's nonexistent.

A great force moved the forest.

He slides down the broad length of the tree, scant branches supporting a safe descent, down from unsafe heights. Earthquakes or sinkholes are no possibility, either. What could have caused that tremble?

A scattered flock of birds fly overhead. Looking exactly in the direction they fly from, Cedrik marches on. He's lived in this forest his whole life; if something happens to it, he has to know, no matter what.

Seven miles are tread in his boots, the thin snow hardly slowing down his trained trekking. No sign of anything unusual. He looks high and low, searches the snow and examines the trees for a clue.

He stops in a dense part of the old forest. The boreal climate preserves a lot of the dying elements in this kind of limbo, dead wood hiding the details of the landscape, stumps of various sizes eroded over time beside fallen trees while others grow and reach great heights. The tallest trees obscure much of the noon sun. It's all a bit shaken, but untouched… He came all this way only to end up empty-handed.

He turns to leave.

A glimpse of red, just in his left peripheral, and he stops all motion after his head snaps to the side.

Red? He swears he would've noticed blood on the way here.

That hollow tree, lying on the ground in front of him, hides something. He approaches the hollow log and walks around it.

Skittering from inside.

His instantaneous reaction is to get away from the source. He stumbles over his feet creating distance from the hollow log and trips backwards, crawling away with eyes wide. He didn't come armed, now he's in a really bad position.

There. Something red pokes out for just a flash, but Cedrik sees it clearer in his head.

A red-skinned creature, with black-and-white striped horns. Slender head with a broad, fanged mouth, reaching from ear to ear. Vacant red eyes in a sea of sickly yellow.

The sight haunts him. Like a primal nerve has just been struck, screaming danger in the language of Mother Nature. But something that small and… abnormal. What is it? Is it related to that shudder?

For a third time, it pokes out - and it stares.

It's… exactly as imagined. A small, red being. It stares blankly, intently. Shivering, clear as day even with how little of its body is poking out.

A long, silent moment passes. The breeze picks up, the only noise amid the silence. It's studying him.

It doesn't look aggressive. Rather, it looks just as scared of him. Cedrik can only guess, but regardless, it can't be left alone. He needs answers, whatever he can infer.

It's freezing up, so… maybe building a fire is a start.

Without a word, he picks himself up onto his boots. The little thing ducks into its meager shelter, but that's exactly what he wants; it needs that shelter for now.

The area, teeming with fuel, is a little frozen over from recent snowfall but some crevices stayed dry. A bundle of dry bark and rotting wood are brought to a somewhat level spot near the log. There, he gets to work clearing the snow and staging the fuel for a fire. He keeps matches on him - exclusively for emergencies, but this will have to count as one. From there, lighting the match sets the tinder ablaze, slowly building up into a warm fire.

Soon, it crackles and thrives against the cold breeze. It's stable, at least for another hour.

He then divides his attention between the fire and the log. He needs to control the blaze, but it needs the warmth.

"You should get warmed up," Cedrik murmurs, more to himself than to it. "I won't hurt you. Promise."

"Liar!"

A young voice shouts from inside the log. Whiplash hits him like a freight train. Cedrik is stunned to have heard a voice at all, let alone in direct response to his mumbling. He's not… delirious, he's sure.

It can speak. Questions for later, but right now…

"I'm not lying. Th-This is my home and… you need to tell me if something happened."

No response. Cedrik's brow furrows slightly.

"I felt the forest shake. Something far out of the ordinary. I-I'm the one who should be feeling threatened, y'know?"

Red eyes peer through a crack.

"You can understand me, right? What's happening to my home?"

"You're not with him…" It murmurs, a hint of shock in there.

That makes Cedrik evermore fearful. He's plainly in the dark, but now there's a mention of… 'him'? He wants answers, but his head is already buzzing with more uncertainties and questions than before.

Soon, it's crawling out of the log and right toward the fire. Getting a better look at its body, it's clear to him that it's a young humanoid being no more than two feet tall, with black unguligrade feet. Its horns are larger than expected, and curve almost toward the ground. Rags and a thin cloth blanket hardly shelter the boy from the cold.

In the fire's light, he can see clearer a pitch black mark of a stylized heart on his forehead… kinda like a heart-shaped skull, he thinks.

"Who's 'him'?"

Ignoring his question, the kid creature holds his four-fingered hands out to the fire, skin licked by the flames. To Cedrik's surprise, he's completely unharmed.

This is the work of something far beyond him. The forest shakes with no discernible source, and the only clue is a demonic toddler hiding from an unknown male. This is bad business for him.

"I ran," the kid continues after a long pause. "I'm scared. I-I don't know where I… Where's…"

His mouth closes. Whatever brought this kid here, the cause is lost to the fog save for a notable, potentially dangerous entity. Now, he takes in the warmth of the fire.

"You're in the U.S. The human world."

"The human world?" He looks up at Cedrik. "Are you… human?"

He nods. The kid reflects on this, looking as though he just might run. Ultimately… he loses tension, and gazes into the fire.

"Feeling warmer?"

"I'm fine." He glances at Cedrik only briefly. "Why do you care?"

"Humans like to help."

The kid's gaze returns.

"Usually," Cedrik continues, "it's for no gain, except to feel good having offered it. That's why I care to ask… kid."

"I have a name…" He grumbles, as his volume falls to an almost incomprehensible level. "It's Blitzs…"

"Your name is?"

"Blitzo…"

Cedrik's eyes light up a little.

Blitzo.

"That's… a cool name," he comments with a small smile. "I'm Cedrik."

"Zedrick?"

"Ce-drik." He leans forward slightly, tucking his legs to his chest. "So… you ran from a man, but… you don't exactly know who? His associates?"

The boy stays quiet. Cedrik's gaze drifts to the side. There's no way forward without prying, and to say the least, that is not ideal. It's looking as though he's being kept from trouble he shouldn't involve himself in, anyway.

Considering the young creature in front of him is the embodiment of a demon, he feels that much smaller in the scope of this situation.

He decides it's time to leave. Blitzo has a fire, and… seemingly no aim. Cedrik doesn't know what's happening. As much as he would like to help, he'll be reaching further than he's capable of. Hell, he might make the situation worse.

"I should be getting back," he states quietly.

Blitzo's eyes shoot wide.

"Wh…Where?"

"My house," he answers. Momentarily, he looks up as snow begins to fall. "It's getting colder by the day, and it's about to snow. Again. Can you… handle yourself?"

The question flies out. Truthfully, he voices his concern for no trivial reasons. Blitzo may be a demon, but damnit, he's just a kid. And he doesn't give an answer, just an unsure stare amid silence.

"You're… not sure, are you?"

Blitzo's gaze drops. Sure enough, he doesn't know what to do, and Cedrik fears the worst for him. It was pure luck that the human happened to be around.

This may become something he'll regret, but… maybe he could help for a little.

"Do you need shelter?" He hesitantly offers.

Blitzo's visage tightens.

Cedrik carries little Blitzo to his front door in his arms, wrapped loosely in a wool sweater, as light snow begins coming down on them. A lone one-story cabin stands in the midst of an array of snowy spruce trees. Wood chopping implements lay outside under a canopy adjacent to the house, and under a large canvas cover is his car.

He makes a beeline for the free-swinging door. Blitzo's body heat, being tucked this close to him, makes him sweat under his otherwise comfortably warm layers. Throwing a boot to the sturdy, knobless door, he kicks it open and then seals them both in his insulated home.

"Okay, Blitzo," he says, pulling apart the wool sweater and revealing curious red eyes. "We're-"

Without letting him finish, Blitzo deftly leaps out of Cedrik's arms and vanishes in the dark.

"This is your home?" His glowing red eyes zip from one area to the next. "It looks so… human-like."

"Th…Thanks?"

Cedrik flips a switch by the door. Hanging iridescent lights ward the darkness with a pale orange glow, tinting the mute gray walls. Directly before the door is the living room, a large couch facing the fireplace. Toward the back wall is his desk, where lies a stack of paper, a pencil, and a closed book. To the right of the living room is a walk-in kitchen with all the basic appliances. A hallway behind the kitchen leads to the rooms. Overall, it's a small but cozy interior suited to Cedrik.

"Make yourself at home," he states, though not without some nervousness as Blitzo hangs from the ceiling supports by his tail to get a closer look at the living room light. Still, Blitzo has been pretty tame. "I have a room you can take for yourself."

At least until he figures out what to do with him.

"My own room?" Blitzo pipes up, his gaze on Cedrik.

"That's right."

Blitzo's tail unravels from the support, his hooves landing on the floor in front of Cedrik following an expert flip. He shows off the brightest grin - filled with yellow, razor-sharp teeth, like rows of interlocking knives.

"Show me!"

The stark contrast of Blitzo's unsettling appearance and his childlike joy conflicts Cedrik - not to mention the shocking acrobatic feat. Not eager to keep Blitzo waiting, his feet get moving and the little demon follows closely.

Cedrik takes him around the corner of the kitchen, down the hall and to the first door on the right. He opens up the door to the guest room, where all that's inside is a full-size bed, an empty steel footlocker, and a wardrobe stuffed with some old clothing he mostly forgot about. One window would offer a view outside, but its deep blue curtains are closed.

Cedrik motions to flick the lightswitch, but Blitzo's already scurrying, laughing, bouncing on the bed - all in the dark. The kid can see just fine in darkness.

But he can't, and he needs to physically see the rascal to oversee him. On it goes, revealing Blitzo to be especially captivated by the footlocker, as he throws it wide open with a mischievous grin.

"A treasure chest!" He slams the lid back down, kicking up some dust as he brushes aside the rest. "Just what I need!"

"Treasure chest?"

Blitzo hops onto the footlocker and stands proud.

"Can't be a pirate without 'em!"

"A pirate?" Cedrik echoes again, chuckling over his words as he cracks a smirk. "I guess not. You plan on filling that one up yourself? Raiding the next town over?"

"Why not? If I'm in the human world, that means there's human loot to be pillaged!" He holds out his hand as if gripping a sword and spaces out his legs, shooting a playfully mean look at Cedrik. "Starting with your goods!"

"Oh, is a whole room not enough for you?"

"Never!" He hisses through his teeth in exaggerated fashion, a clawed hand raised. "First, I need a sword - extra curvy! Then, I need a scope to see what's over the horizon!"

"I'm starting to regret being unable to help the young pirate."

"Help?" A more derisive laugh slips out of him. "Can you use a mop?"

"I used to practice the blade, little man!" Cedrik remarks with a sharp expression and a small smile. "Don't you underestimate a-"

"You did!?"

Blitzo's eyes light up, a sharp-tooth grin plastered on his face. Cedrik is wise to where his mind goes and raises a finger at him.

"Ah," he exclaims, erasing Blitzo's grin. "You're too young and small to handle a sword."

Now it was a mistake to say that. Blitzo's brow furrows, red eyes flaring briefly as he snarls through his teeth and crosses his arms. The sudden flash of anger makes Cedrik's throat tighten, but he quickly thinks of an easy compromise.

"B-Besides… a wooden sword is how you start training, of course!"

This brightens his mood. He's back to grinning, more eager than ever.

"You'll really train me?"

Cedrik lets out a quiet sigh. With every word and action, he seems to dig himself a deeper hole, giving Blitzo expectations that he shouldn't have.

"Everything that I know," Cedrik soon replies.

"YEAH!" He cries out, fists raised to the sky.

Meanwhile, Cedrik anxiously runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't know how long he should keep Blitzo around. A lingering sense of danger hangs over him, waiting to ruin his mortal life.

Well, he's long since passed the point of no return. Blitzo needs someone now, and Cedrik might be all he has.

Now that he knows what he knows, he feels like he must keep Blitzo safe in his time of need.

A question jumps in the back of Cedrik's throat, but he holds it back. A demon kid lost out in the overworld is no casual coincidence, and it has to be related to this mystery man. Though he's unsettled by the fact that he's housing a demon, Blitzo is, personality-wise, everything he didn't expect out of one. Wherever his parents or guardian may be, they'll figure it out later. The best thing he can do for now is to take good care of the kid.

No information. Nothing. He wants to bang his head against his desk and will the answers out of thin air. The fully rational side of him, however, starts to walk himself out to go rest.

"You get comfortable, Blitzo," he says, taking steady steps back. "Let me know if you need anything at all."

Blitzo's playful pirate persona dims away as Cedrik nearly shuts the door, left ajar by an inch. A bitter reality check, he remembers his predicament all over again: living with a human and going to be trained by him, but with no knowledge of his pursuer or if he's even being pursued still.

Memory eluded Blitzo until recent moments.

He went through a portal, a roughly-made one leading from the depths of Hell to the surface of Earth. He was escaping something, leaving behind his mama and sis. That they're both safe in Hell is all he hopes.

His mother told him something, but he can't remember what it was.

Everything's getting fuzzy again.

While almost all of his memory is muddled, he vividly remembers the male imp's threat growled from behind a loaded gun.

"Run, boy."

He sits on the bed, holding his legs against his chest, staring into nothing. His memory comes and goes. He just has to wait for any lucidity to pluck another small piece of the mystery…

Cedrik is seated at his desk, chin resting on his crossed arms.

Blitzo is a unique case he hasn't dealt with before, but that goes without saying. As much as he wants to brainstorm, exhaustion has set in fast. He begins to nod off absently, but keeps his eyes open for some time. He doesn't feel safe enough to lay in his bed. He has to think of something, and be ready for another being, likely a demon, to seek him out. Yet he has nothing to think over, and it frustrates him. How can he possibly extrapolate from this?

He could also be overthinking it. Blitzo could be left stranded, simple as, making his care more of a priority and a long-term focus, out of the goodness of his heart.

He loses track of time, eventually losing the fight against his fatigue as he slips into a stuporous sleep.

Soon, cloven hooves clear the distance from the guest bedroom to Cedrik's desk in a mere second. Blitzo wanted to see the human one more time and finds him slumped over his desk, head buried in his sleeves.

"Zedr-" His expression flattens. That's not right. "Zed- Sed…? …Cedrik!"

He finally gets his name right. A burst of energy sends him onto the desk surface, just near Cedrik's right elbow. He turned in at his desk after leaving Blitzo's new room not twenty minutes ago. How tired was he?

"Cedrik?" He calls, leaning forward and giving his shoulder a poke. "Wake up. I'm hungr-"

Cedrik shifts suddenly, Blitzo's hand recoiling in an instant. He doesn't move much, only adjusting his head.

So that's it. Sleepyhead here is out like a light… and the more he stares at the back of Cedrik's head, the more slappable it looks. He can envision it now - entertaining the image of a firm windup leading to a resonating slap! And then Cedrik would jolt awake… mad. Really mad.

He doesn't like the image of this. After all, a weak human took him out of the cold and is going to give him sword lessons, not a few hours after knowing him. Ruining his much-needed sleep may just be one of the worse practical jokes to play now.

So he gives Cedrik's dark blond head a pat.

"Sweet dreams… whatever humans dream about."

With that, Blitzo turns and leaves Cedrik to rest. For now, maybe he can scavenge a snack.

20 years later…

A curtain of white light falls over Stolas' face, the gradient of his navy and slate blue feathers barely hidden by his crumpled blanket. Still in his bed, the burst of sunlight harshly awakens him. He lets out a frail groan and raises a skinny hand against the beams, shielding his white visage and four drowsy red eyes from the sun.

Amid the beams of light, there stands his arranged wife Stella, currently donning a showy but slender dress that hugs her figure more closely than her usual outfit, while always wearing her golden three-prong crown. Her elegant white plumage reflects the sun akin to a mirror, accompanied by her luscious and lengthy lashes split open by her luminescent magenta eyes. Her absurdly long crest of grayish-white feathers, similar to a peacock's tail drooping down over the length of her back, wavers to her every movement.

"Get up, Stolas," she announces in displeasure, her accent thick and royal.

Stilettos click across the floor from the broad window to the right side of the bed. His preferred side.

"What is-"

Before Stolas can slur anything more out, he cries out involuntarily as his nerves are set alight by a hard flick on his beak. Instantly, he's wide-awake, due to the radiating pain that forces tears to bead up.

"What in the Seven Hells is the matter with you!?" He screeches, holding his beak.

"What's the matter with me!?" She throws a finger to the window, velvet curtains hung aside to let in a literally stunning array of daylight. "It's half past ten and your lazy arse is still slumbering the day away!"

An irritated, wavering hiss comes through Stolas' grit beak as his feathers ruffle up. However, he quickly regains control of himself. Now's a good time to bring 'it' up - for the fifth time, and hopefully the last.

His hands fly up to chest level, fingertips casting a projection between him and Stella. Amid the white noise forms the image of Earth's horizon from space, the moon in view against a black starry sky - and a red lunar eclipse behind it.

"Look! This is… a false moon. Humans can't see it, but I can. I've hardly wrapped my head around this anomaly in the two entire days it's emerged." A long yawn slips out, making the projection temporarily flicker. "Two days and I feel as though I haven't slept in a decade."

"A red moon's kept you up?" She remarks, an eyebrow raised. "Hells… It does look horrendous up there."

"This 'red moon', 'eclipse' event is known by few among the Goetia and understood by none." He dispels the image and sits up semi-straight. "No celestial bodies interact with it to even create a lunar eclipse at all, as if superimposed on the fucking night sky behind the real moon! What little I can infer is that it finds its origin from Hell."

"Meaning?" Though she poses the question, some awareness of the danger of uncertainty is becoming all too evident in her gaze. It's an assurance that Stella is finally listening this time.

"Meaning someone in Hell is responsible for this nightmarish anomaly, and they may not be down here at this moment. It looks to be advancing in stages slowly," he explains further, looking only more stressed as he lays bare his sparse understanding, "starting from new. By the time the moon reaches its full phase, who knows what'll become of it? I believe its influence lies in all of the human world as well as Hell. While it progresses slower than the true moon, it leaves me still with only four months at best to grasp its purpose and potential capacity for destruction."

"You mention this now?" Stella hisses, getting a slight glare from him.

"You never showed an interest in astrology - my very purpose in life and royalty. I will gain an understanding of the anomaly, with or without you knowing - since you refuse to notice my work when I do tell you, let alone with your own two eyes." His brow furrows as he cocks his head to the side. "Any more ridiculous questions?"

"This clearly concerns the balance of Hell, you daft shit!" She plants a finger on his thinly-feathered chest and growls her next words through a clenched beak. "As your wife and emissary, I need to know."

As soon as their forced marriage went her way, a chaotic life and the eventual birth of a beautiful girl, Octavia, Stella had made an eventual shift away from the party girl's life and towards Goetic politics. Specifically, as a foreign emissary. This makes the human world her domain as much as it is Stolas'.

But she rarely opens her fucking ears. She thinks she can impose her flawed judgment and narrow, radical views, and get by just fine. Someday, she'll get a brutal reality check.

At the least, her career means she travels a lot more - putting her out of her element, not that it's a great concern of his - giving some breathing room between the two of them. Stolas hasn't much noticed anyway; the past twenty years have been mundane, emotion and drive drained away from him long ago. Yet, he's committed himself to his arranged family nearly as much as the stars. Fake smiles, happy pills, a miserable façade of security and assurance in front of his precious daughter. All it can take is a slip-up to tear everything down.

Satan forbid something happens to Octavia. He's tried so hard to raise her well, but some days, his stresses catch up to him. He's afraid he might completely unravel at the worst possible moment.

For now, the ship floats, if only just. Analyzing this anomaly has been laborious and overall an acute stressor, but simultaneously a pressing matter he cannot keep from haunting him. Its looming presence screams danger. It needs dedicated studying - and he'd do so regardless of anything else.

He supposes he could try to make her aware of it, if she chooses to continue listening.

"Of course, my love," he mutters dryly. "I will inform you as soon as I have something… sufficient."

"Best you do," she growls, before turning away with a flick and taking her leave. "Breakfast is fresh on the table for you - and only you. I've places to be right now."

Before Stolas can voice anything more, Stella has already shut the door. Octavia is in school by this time. In solitude once more, Stolas slips his thin legs over the side of the bed and faces the balcony. A gust of wind blew one of the doors slightly ajar, letting in a cold breeze.

The breeze carries with it some leaves. And trash. A piece of paper flies through the narrow gap, skidding across the open floor, much to Stolas' annoyance.

"Damned latch…" He mutters, getting up and sluggishly sweeping the paper off the ground. "'Lazy arse.' The nerve of-"

He glimpsed a name on the paper. His name. And… a red blotch? All four eyes re-center on the loose parchment now held up to his face.

"Stolas,

We reach out to you with a plea.

Whether you remember or not, you are bound to It.

End the Eclipse."

Below the scrabbled writing is a bloody print of an imp's hand. His eyes glow bright red with growing fury, white pinpricks piercing the crimson spotlights.

The Eclipse. This event has a 'name' after all? What pre-existing ties does Stolas have to 'It'?

A second later, he snaps his attention to the balcony doors, bursting through and skimming the cityscape beyond.

He demands answers. This anonymous group of imps knows something he doesn't. Imps to a fucking prince of Hell! This note reaching him a short moment ago means at least one of them is close.

He'll just have to hunt them all down, one by one…