"Blitzø!"
Cedrik's call from the living room snaps teenage Blitzø to attention, barely audible through his earbuds cranked to the max with metal. From his guest room-turned-bedroom, he drops his pencil and large sketchbook with a groan, yanks on his earbuds, and meanders out.
"You called?" He remarks with a wry smile, eyeing Cedrik leaning against the back of the couch. "What's so important, you just had to drag me out?"
"Take a chill pill, Blitzø," Cedrik firmly states. He then presents a flier. "Wanted you to know that your favorite band is taking their first tour through our state."
The grimly-designed flier of Blitzø's favorite band, a growing heavy metal trio known as Nihilist, shows that there is an array of cities that they will be visiting in-state for a week, playing alongside other big names. He's never been to a concert, and this is his chance. Already, he's beaming at the notion.
"Oh, Hell yeah!" He shouts, swiping the flier and holding it up to the light. "About time they made up their minds! Looks like they'll be closest to us on Saturday!"
Unbeknown to him, Cedrik primarily wants to put Blitzø to the test.
Up to now, the past decade has been relatively quiet. Six-year-old Blitzo Buckzo grew into the sixteen-year-old Blitzø he is today - and no one's the wiser, neither demon nor human. It was no easy feat, human curiosity making for too many close calls, some of which have hardened his conviction as much as they've tested his morals.
However, it's perturbed Cedrik that ten years have passed with no notable demon-related events. One crossing into the human world is no insignificant matter, surely. Unless…
Of course, the thought crossed his mind far more than once. An abandoned demon is not a responsibility he can keep for much longer, especially considering the good fortune they've had. For so long, he's given his own home to an entity he still doesn't really understand - an entity that has made him enemies with mankind. And yet, this entity is a sapient being with a personality and desires. So, he wants to let Blitzø tread the open world, no longer confined by Cedrik's roof and four walls - if Blitzø can prove himself capable of hiding his nature beyond the walls.
"So what's the plan?" He pipes up, the smile on his face somewhat dimming. Due to their strict budget, he rightfully suspects there's more than meets the eye about this. Not to mention, there's bound to be a lot of people - a lot of potential for discovery. "I mean, I'm dying to go, for sure. But you're letting me thrust myself into a crowd?"
"Hell no," Cedrik states, as Blitzø cocks his head in slight confusion. "We'll work out the how's when we scope the venue. For now, we have to earn some change - you and me - and we have four days to get about 140 before they come around."
"Really? That kinda money is not gonna" - He throws his hands out as if casting magic. - "poof outta thin air just because we need it. I still need braces and boy, something tells me I'm gonna grow old before that subject sees the light of day again." His voice struggles with sudden anger. "So what gives, Cedrik?"
For a flash, Blitzø's eyes glow. Cedrik can't mistake an unnerving will in his hard stare. Admittedly, Cedrik grazed his hair trigger with a rough segue.
To add to the situation, growing up has made the once knee-height demon sharper, yet impulsive and overall angrier.
"If you can talk about my income," Cedrik mutters, "then let me at least get a word in on how this is gonna happen."
"Oh, you're just brimming with ideas, aren't you?" Blitzø remarks dully, then his voice sharply raises again. "I don't think you get it. Your little side business of selling hides and firewood isn't exactly a stable income. I've been looking for ways to get some cash - by myself! Out-"
"You did what?"
Cedrik's voice falls low. The kind of low that borders on 'bad omen'. It catches Blitzø off-guard, but just as soon as he cracks, he rebuilds his composure and stares back into Cedrik's still expression.
"…O-Outside the edge of town." He turns his head without looking away and tenses his features. "Don't say it. I don't wanna fucking hear it…"
"So you're dealing, then?"
"I wish," he scoffs in response. "It's…- See, these two nobodies have this ring that I peeked at and, long story short, they're gonna hand it over so I can pawn it."
"Pawn it, Blitzø?"
"If I could pick it offa them, I'd have done it already - and I tried. Many times. Conning them out of a ring is a hassle just to pawn it off, but I got them thinking they're at the end of their rope. They're desperate. I just need to" - He raises a hand in front of him and grasps the air. - "take it from them when they think it's useless. It's laughably ideal for me."
Blitzø shuts his mouth, growing uncomfortable with Cedrik's silence. Rarely does the human allow himself to say nothing at all.
He looks Blitzø over. Having seen him grow so much, and that he's already made his first move on his own, it leaves Cedrik uncertain yet a little more confident. Anything could've happened with Blitzø doing who-knows-what in town.
He knows one thing, though. Blitzø may be impulsive, but he's smart. Now Cedrik gets to see him in action.
"All right. Whatever this is you got into, you're getting yourself out of it. I can only hope that you know what you're doing." He rubs his eyes hard as the situation fully consumes his thought process. Deep down, though, he's a little eager to see Blitzø in action. "Just one thing. I want a front-row seat to your scheme."
"My…-" Slowly, Blitzø's eyes widen. "You mean I-I can follow through?"
"I can't say no to money that's this easy to grab. Plus, you got me to pawn it for you." He nods to Blitzø with a small smirk. "You got initiative, going through the effort all by yourself, y'know?"
"Y-Yeah?" He lets out a sheepish chuckle and grins, bearing his row of yellow daggers. "Glad you see it that way. What's a little crime?"
"Oh, your life and more is at stake, but you'll be sure to get away with it."
"Yeah- W-…" His expression goes cold. Cold with fear. "Wha-What do you mean my life is at stake?"
"There's no legislature for dealing with demons. Nothing practical, anyway." Cedrik's face darkens. "You know what happens when the wrong souls find out?"
"You mean, like… cops?"
In response, Cedrik pulls on the collar of his shirt, exposing his left collarbone to show rough stitchwork from old scars. By the looks of it, a bullet shattered the bone on its way out and made a horrific mess.
Blitzø's skin fades in color, eyes locked on the old wound.
"Especially cops," Cedrik states. "If you get unlucky, one might be just willing enough to put lead in you for the 'right' reasons."
"Allll-right!" He replies in complete awkwardness. Anxiety lurks deep down as he hastily covers the scar back up for Cedrik. "As much as this scare tactic has me dying for the straight and narrow, I think I've heard enough!"
"I don't do shallow scare tactics."
This cuts Blitzø short. "Not true! You-" No words follow. Only the stammer of all blanks, eyes drifting as he vainly tries to place a supporting memory, and so Cedrik continues his sentence shortly thereafter.
"I never scared you without a present danger, Blitzø. And if you ache from a blunt sword's love tap, I don't like your chances of walking away from a firefight in one piece."
"A-And?" Blitzø mutters lowly. "What makes you think I'm fucking with gun-toting asshats? Last thing I wanna do is eat lead - like you, apparently."
A long breath escapes Cedrik over a frail chuckle. He might as well come out and say it. He stops leaning back and wears a small smile.
"If 'I worry for you' would've sufficed, I'd have left it at that." His smile drops. "Blitzø, it's dangerous for you out there, and you should know that very well. Not just because you could get killed, but also that you might be greeted with a fate worse than death."
"I got this!" Blitzø reinforces the notion that everything will go swimmingly. Then his voice tightens. "Not that I don't… appreciate you taking a bullet for me and all that, just to break open your lie to make an obvious point."
"I-" He sighs heavily. "Yeah… I know. I lied about it for a long time, Blitzø, and I'm sorry. But fair enough, I won't be the broken record. You're fully capable of tricking some dense nobodies, as long as it's just them."
"Damn straight. Oh, and one more thing…"
Without another word, Blitzø's fingers slip around the collar of Cedrik's shirt. A cold expression is the last thing he sees before the imp's striped horns ram against his face with enough force to send him stumbling back against the couch with a pained yell.
"J-" Cedrik throws a hand over his bruised face, the other one keeping his balance while his head spins. "Just wh-what was that for?"
"What the fuck else?" He snaps, jamming a pointed finger mid-sentence into Cedrik's scarred collarbone. "You sure like your lies, don't you? Treating a bullet to the chest like a casual experience. Shit, I don't even want to know how long ago it happened." He averts his gaze and crosses his arms, eyes cast to the ground. "…There's a fenced field to the east of town, empty and far away from curious eyes. That's where I'm headed."
"A field." Impressed by this, he yields a weak grunt through the radiating pain. "You silver-tongued devil, heh… How'd you manage that?"
"Don't call me that." Behind the snark, though, there's a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "But, y'know, I have my ways. So if you're still, uh… coming, you're gonna need to cover up that shiner." He turns forward, eyes skimming Cedrik's form. "Actually? I got something you can do for me while you're tagging along. So you can be useful."
"Something even I can't fuck up?"
"Exactly."
Cedrik's digital watch reads 12:02.
"Tonight at midnight, I'm making a deal with these two chumps. If you really wanna watch, I can hide you in plain sight, but you need to be dead silent and out of the act."
In the dead of darkness, the waxing moon gives a bit of illumination for human eyes. It's just enough to catch the silhouette of an 'ornate' latched box big enough for a knife, held close to him in his left hand. The polished copper accents gleam almost like gold, though it would be too obvious in broad daylight - so said Blitzø.
"There will be a fake 'ritual' I have to do. They have a silver ring worth fuckall as far as having 'magical properties', but it'll sell for more than enough. You'll hold the ritual knife for me until I need it - and that's it. Got that?"
Blitzø never did give up his method for bringing people out into a dark field. Cedrik gets some idea, however, after he spots Blitzø trudging through some snow with his phone out. It had to be a phone call, which has two implications: calling was already a way to reach them, and they're in fact carelessly desperate for something they think he can offer.
Blitzø is veiled in dark clothes and a hooded cloak - one of two that Cedrik broke out from deep in his closet - with two coarse holes made from his horns. Covering the lower half of his face is a black bandana. Of course, Cedrik is in a similar getup. This whole setup is shoddy, to say the least.
"Got the knife?" He asks once within a comfortable distance.
"Nicely tucked away," Cedrik replies, holding up the box in his off hand.
"All right!" He exclaims joyfully, finally stowing his phone. "They should be here any minute now."
Suddenly, he gets very close to Cedrik, a flare in his luminescent eyes.
"Not a fuckin' word, Cedrik. Not" - He pokes Cedrik's chest firmly. - "one. I'm doing the talking and the acting. Period."
"I got it!" He grunts out quietly. Blitzø looks back, as if expecting his fools to appear out of thin air. "Damn… You're welcome for the cloaks, by the way. Hoodies were an awful alternative."
"Shut up. I think that's them now."
Cedrik tucks his hood forward as he then snaps his attention to where Blitzø is looking. Two warmly-dressed guys in beanies are making their way over to the clearing. One pasty white guy, the other tanned and stocky.
The former can't help but let loose a chuckle.
"What's the password?" He slurs in his mockery, followed by a hearty laugh. His friend, however, is stone-faced and skeptical as all Hell. "Even got light-up eyes, huh? Oh, this is rich!"
"Laugh it up, shithead," Blitzø snaps, the other two coming to a halt within ten feet. "In a minute, you won't believe your fuckin' eyes." He then holds out a gloved hand. "The ring. Fork it over."
"Who's this motherfucker?" The tanned one interrogates firmly, nodding to Cedrik. This makes him tense up.
"My servant, as far as you're concerned."
Servant! Cedrik just barely refrains from making a noise, gripping the box tightly and physically biting his tongue.
The other two exchange a glance.
Eventually, the stocky one produces the ring from his pocket, briefly showing it off in his bare palm before tossing it over.
Caught in Blitzø's hand, he and Cedrik get a better look at it. It's a thick, tarnished silver ring, as far as he can infer in the dim light, but more distinct is the engraved seal on it.
Namely, a distinct Goetic seal.
Cedrik's eyes shoot wide under the shadow of his hood. After harboring Blitzø for some time, Cedrik began to - quietly - explore demonology and the literature written on it. By memory, he could recognize something authentic, or at least something trying to be. Whether it truly is, and whose seal it may be, eludes him in the moment.
Blitzø removes his left glove and tosses it into the snow, exposing his deep red hand as he slips the silver band on his ring finger. With his other hand, he exposes his palm to his 'servant'.
Not a word is traded as Cedrik opens the box, revealing a velvet cushion that displays a jagged obsidian knife with a fine wooden handle, which gets placed in Blitzø's palm.
As much as he was told not to get involved, Cedrik finds the growing urge to speak up. A heavy silence permeates the cold air. Something feels really off about this 'ritual'.
Then, it happens. Blitzø slices across his palm, a pained groan stifled, while he shakily closes his hand. Blood flows from his wound onto the ring and the snow at his boots.
The ring's seal soon begins to glow. While it awes the other two, Blitzø and Cedrik look more anxious and stunned, watching as the subtle red glow amplifies into a vigorous, misty aura that spreads from the ring to encompass his entire body.
Doing his best to keep his composure, Blitzø tries to look as if this is going exactly according to plan. Cedrik, though, can tell that there's red flags in every inch of his body language.
Every fiber of Cedrik's being screams at him to intervene.
"Oh shit…" Blitzø's feigned confidence quickly slips. Dropping the knife, he tries to pry off the ring, to no avail. "ShitshitnonononoshitshitSHIT-"
Darkness.
Everywhere he looks - the snowy forest around Blitzø, the people with him - is replaced by a void. The burning sensation he was freaking out about is substituted with cold.
A deep, empty, freezing cold.
Panic sets in. He's alone, naked, and afraid.
"Oh, you poor thing."
His head sharply swings behind him.
There stands what looks to be a demon - human in stature, with otherworldly features. Piercing, vacant red eyes; solid black horns, sprouting from his temples and curved rearward; and pale gray skin. Wrapped around his body is the length of a grayish-green serpent, at least fifteen feet long. While the humanoid caresses the body, its head peeks over his shoulder, revealing an angular python visage with glowing white serpentine eyes.
"A…Are you-"
"Andromalius," the humanoid replies swiftly, "Earl of the Ars Goetia. An uneducated whelp like you wouldn't know of me; I punish the 'wicked' and have a hand in dishonest dealings that take place on Earth. I must commend you on your sinister deed. However…~"
Andromalius points to the ring on Blitzø's finger. While he snaps his gaze towards, the earl's visage warps with displeasure.
"…You did so possessing an artifact most important to my name. This, I cannot allow."
"Wait!" Blitzø cries out, tucking his hands to his chest. "I-I need this!"
"Ohh," he rumbles lowly, looking steadily angrier as his hand drops to his side. "You lost what little say you once had when you dealt in deception using my ring." His upper lip curls in disgust. "In the name of greed, no less."
"I have a better fucking reason, asshole!"
The distance between them is closed in an instant, drawing a cracked yelp from Blitzø while Andromalius' authoritarian visage hovers just inches from his face.
"I've hung sinners for less than the backtalk with which you dare to disgrace my ears. You wish for amnesty? Understanding?"
The snake hisses in front of Blitzø, exposing a black maw and huge fangs leaking noxious venom. Andromalius nudges it away and brings the focus back to the two of them, though it continues to glare from just over his shoulder. This got personal.
"You'll get nowhere - nowhere - having done what you did, furthermore speaking against nobility. Learn your place, imp. Or must I fucking repeat myself in the only language your kind will understand?"
His voice begins to fall off, however, when he notices that Blitzø's tension has turned to quivering, tears fighting to be held back behind a hateful visage only to eventually spill forth. The earl looks stunned, almost, watching Blitzø shed tears openly. Slowly, he leans back, the grand difference in size between Goetia and imp amplified from this close.
"You…-" Words promptly fail the noble.
Then, a genuine chortle slips out.
Blitzø's eyes shoot wide, forced to witness a higher being hold back laughter in his face. His body twitches, a deep impulse to physically lash out. All the fury he's internalized, manifesting in an instant, only to sum up to a near-total absence of movement.
"I felt that, you know," he says through his short-lived chuckling fit. "You cannot harm me in my domain. Your fervor is impressive. A shame your spirit is so frail, and your knowledge insufficient to handle my tether to the living world."
"I just want to see my family!" Blitzø cries out again. This visibly annoys the Goetia. "I've been searching everywhere for a sign, something to push towards, and your ring is the only real piece of Hell I've seen in a decade! Fuck your spirit, fuck your judgment of the wicked or whatever!"
Momentarily, Blitzø buries his face in his forearm, wiping the tears that flood his eyes. Anger and pain wracks his voice, his very being. His gaze falls from Andromalius, who ever so patiently waits out his fit.
"I want to go home. That's a-all I ever wanted, you jackass…"
"Look at me."
With great hesitation at first, Blitzø slowly meets his stern eyes once more. He's too late to notice the backhand coming for him, striking his jaw with incredible strength, a pained yell resounding through the void as clearly as the meaty impact. He falls on his side, dazed, a trembling hand cupping his radiating cheek.
"If you weren't this idiotic child who truly believes he can commit any deed and get away with it because he has 'good reasons', you would be limp on the floor, writhing and begging for mercy. Did your human master never teach you discipline? The weight and consequences of insubordination?"
"He-He's not my-"
"You submitted yourself to him. He is the reason you are so damn frail and ignorant. A real demon wouldn't be caught dead near a human, let alone warming up to one. He made you irreversibly weak. Vermin like you are below a hellhound."
"I…I'm-"
"You" - He suddenly elevates his voice, causing Blitzø to flinch, and deflate evermore. All eye contact is avoided. - "have not been told to speak. You cannot even properly look me in the eyes when I command you. Your mere presence insults. Get that through your fucking skull."
A moment's pause. No response, only choked whimpering.
"That wasn't so difficult, hm?" The earl huffs irritably through his nose. "I will be very clear: there is no passage to Hell for you."
Finally, Blitzø looks up at Andromalius' looming glare. Eyes wide in shock, heart torn to shreds, all willpower reduced to nothing.
He doesn't want to believe it. Was there really no way back to Hell for him?
"You truly are pathetic. Finding my ring is not the key you believed it was, nor is it a sign of destiny. You are perceptive and lucky - that's all. Treasures to be hidden will remain as such until it is in the hands of someone worthy of an audience with the Ars Goetia. You, like those humans, are no such being. Do you understand, imp? Speak."
Blitzø struggles to find his voice. The earl's overwhelming presence robs his mind of clarity. He plants his hands on the 'ground', swallows dry air, and opens his mouth. His voice is small, almost a mumble.
"Yessir…"
"You will address an earl as 'my Lord'. Speak up!"
"Yes, my Lord!" Blitzø echoes, nearly screaming as he tightly shuts his eyes.
"Hmph…"
The neutral grunt gets Blitzø to crack open an eye, seeing the earl turn up his nose and extend a hand. The ring on Blitzø's left ring finger slips off by way of a reddish telekinetic energy that sends it into Andromalius' palm. Blitzø involuntarily tries to move, but his muscles lock up, as his vision begins to go black. By now, Andromalius and the serpent upon his body have mostly lost interest in the imp.
"Let this be a lesson you shall take to the grave you have dug yourself."
The shadows more rapidly encroach on his vision, robbing him of all senses until he's numb…
"Blitzø! BLITZØ!"
As his senses slowly return to him, Blitzø gasps and snaps his eyes wide open, beholding a source of light in the darkness.
The moon. A meager comfort from the imperceptible dimension he just came from.
"Blitzø. Are you with me, bud?"
Shifting his eyes slightly, he looks toward Cedrik. His hood is pulled back, bandana down, concerned visage illuminated in moonlight. At some point, Blitzø fell back-first into the snow, now lightly shivering in Cedrik's arms - who's himself on his knees.
The imp quickly glances around for the other two humans, but the only trace of them is a trail of broken snow leading back the way they came.
"It's okay," Cedrik states, coaxing Blitzø's attention. "They aren't around. They… They split."
"What?" He murmurs weakly.
"When your blood mixed with the ring, it… did something to you. It started to glow, I think? After you panicked, you suddenly had a blank stare, mumbled insensible words, and… when you stopped, you collapsed, and they made themselves scarce."
"That…-"
"Blitzø," he murmurs gently. "Listen. You got what you wanted. You have the ring-"
Just then, Blitzø throws his hand up in front of him. Contrary to Cedrik's statement, Andromalius' ring has vanished. His cut is still there, lightly bleeding on him. While Cedrik is confused, Blitzø looks mournful, yet almost relieved at the same time.
"What… happened to…" A low sigh leaves Cedrik's mouth as he slips the bandana from Blitzø's face and tucks it in his wounded palm. "Nevermind. We should head back."
"So much f-for that ring," he mutters, balling his left hand into a tight fist around the bloody cloth. "Good riddance…"
"Huh?"
"I don't-" Blitzø's fist limply drops on his stomach. The immediate distress in his body and tone hardly evades notice. "I don't wanna talk a-about it…"
"That- That's okay, Blitzø. Can you stand?"
He responds by shakily pulling himself onto his feet, aided slightly by Cedrik. The human stands with him, trying to get a better look at his features, but he pulls his damaged hood farther over his face.
"I wanna go…"
"Of course." As soon as Cedrik starts walking, Blitzø follows with his head down. "My car's just this way. Let's get you warmed up."
Back at the cabin, the solid front door firmly seals shut behind them.
Blitzø wastes no time. He's already headed straight to his room. After latching the front door, Cedrik watches the entire way, until Blitzø disappears from sight and shuts himself in his bedroom.
"Fucking Hell…" He whispers and runs a hand through his hair, throwing off his hood in the same motion.
The seal on that ring hasn't left his memory. While it's still relatively fresh, he darts to his desk and breaks into the drawers. He sifts through textbooks and novels amid scraps of old paper, looking for one book in particular that quickly jumps out at him.
The Lesser Key of Solomon.
Blitzø is curled up in his bed, gazing into nothingness, his back to the door, where he's discarded his warmest layers. Over and over, the words of Andromalius repeat in his head.
"There is no passage to Hell for you."
There has to be a way. There has to be…
"You truly are pathetic."
So many years wasted. He had the confidence to face the world, and that earl talked him down.
"Vermin like you are below a hellhound."
He was put down… by another demon. A growl rumbles in his throat. It's the first time he's seen one other than in the mirror, and all he did was scream and cower. The Hell was he thinking?
"Learn your place, imp."
No… For all he knows, Andromalius could've been lying. What's he moping about?
What's he trapping himself here for, when the real answers are out there somewhere?
He won't be lucky enough to have an artifact in his grasp a second time. There might be no passage to Hell through Andromalius, but lesser beings have done it themselves. Oracle, an imp like him, mustered a shitty portal himself all those years ago.
There is a way. He just needs to find it.
He dug himself this grave. Now he has to climb out.
A gentle knock on the door. Blitzø snaps out of his thoughts and looks over his shoulder.
"Blitzø."
"What do you want, Cedrik?"
A long pause. Cedrik is trying to place his words.
"I… I just want to know if you're okay. You were really shaken up after that whole situation. I'm here for you, whenever you… want to talk about it. All right?"
Blitzø sits up in his bed, eyes cast to the wound on his palm.
"I'm fine," he mutters firmly. "Just leave me alone."
Not another word is traded between them. Footsteps march away from the door, once again leaving Blitzø in his solitude.
Back in the living room, Cedrik leans against the couch, holding close his copy of the man-made 'grimoire'. Though more of a butchered and censored index than a demonic tome, he got enough information to infer something greater than Blitzø is willing to disclose.
Andromalius, earl of the Ars Goetia. Nobility resides amid the humans of Earth, and the ring is responsible for showing him that.
The other two that were with them might spill their story or they might not, but they're irrelevant either way. Cedrik has much bigger fish to compete with now.
The following morning, Blitzø's bedroom door creaks open. He lost his appetite for a long while after last night's terrifying encounter, but he's reaching his limit. His body aches for food.
The final straw was the savory smell of breakfast. His mouth waters, the sickly delicious aroma overbearing.
Cedrik, seated at his desk with the chair turned to the hall, is almost finished with his plate. His fork freezes halfway to his mouth, his attention snapping to Blitzø.
The two meet eyes.
Then, Cedrik points toward the kitchen.
"Your breakfast is getting cold."
Blitzø's gaze averts, locked to the floor as he heads straight for the kitchen and scoops his plate off the counter. Three waffles, ground venison on top, and a tablespoon of butter melted over it all.
Blitzø stares. There it is, food ready to be eaten. Yet he stands motionless, gulping saliva and warm air.
Cedrik's fork quietly clinks on his plate, the very last bite still stuck to it. Once again, he's focused on the imp - worried for him. Not once has he left a meal untouched, especially breakfast.
"What's going on, Blitzø?" He speaks up and rises from his chair. "Aren't you hungry?"
The full plate falls from his hands, loudly clattering on the marble counter and spooking Cedrik.
"Why me?"
The question catches Cedrik completely off-guard.
"Wh…What?"
Blitzø faces him, looking him dead in the eyes. While the worry only grows, a frustration swells in the imp.
"I… h-heard a lot from this 'Ars Goetia' bastard last night," he begins. This brings some seriousness to Cedrik's expression. "Andromalius - an earl. I had no idea Hell has nobility. Really, he…" A small pause. "…taught me the hard way. Said I dug my grave here. The only other demon I've ever seen since I was six thought I was lower than dirt."
"Blitzø…"
"He didn't fucking care that I wanted to go back to Hell and see my family," he growls, now very slowly advancing forward. "I called him names, he got mad… but he taught me one thing - one thing that I couldn't stop thinking about."
He spreads his arms out and shakes his head, while his visage is marked with grimness.
"There was no way I'd reach Hell." His arms drop limply. "Not through him. Maybe he had clues he didn't tell me, but now I'll never know. And I realized… you sheltered me for so long. I'm more human than demon. Alone, a shut-in, raised by a guy who hasn't once made a real effort to help me."
"Blitzø, I-"
"You said we would find my way home someday. 'When you're ready,' you said, over and over. Well, no portal is opening in our backyard, so what's our game plan? When am I 'ready'? Or were you really talking about yourself?"
"I didn't choose to shelter you like this, Blitzø," Cedrik finally asserts. "Against other humans and unknown demons, it was and is a necessity. You need to understand, I'm not a demon expert. I'm what you said I am - just a guy. But, the world's worth of reading and scouring couldn't prepare either of us to… to-"
"To what!?"
"For starters, to face demons like him!" He shouts with a finger pointed to the front door. "Out of nowhere!"
"Did you know they were out there?" Blitzø snarls angrily. Andromalius' remark on his ignorance comes forth, fueling his frustration. "Fucking nobles on Earth? You're hiding things I should've known about a long time ago!"
"This is not as easy as we'd like it to be, Blitzø! It's not like we can just go out there, look for answers, interview the local demon, and have everything go our way. I mean, what the fuck was that last night!? Because whatever angle you look at it from, your 'fake' ritual was pure recklessness!"
Cedrik turns to his desk and picks up the Lesser Key of Solomon. For how spotty its use has been, he didn't think it too important to bring up, especially since he didn't expect a real Goetia to just... show up. But now's as good a time as ever to show it to Blitzø. And so he holds it out in front of him, tightly gripped in both hands.
"This is the best we got. The only section directly useful to us is fluffed-up descriptions of the Ars Goetia - royals and such, most or all of whom should reside in Hell." Behind the book, his features contort with worry. "I don't know any more than tidbits of real information, I really don't! Besides that ring, which is now long-gone, almost everything related to demons on this plane is man-made - fabricated, censored, useless in achieving anything! Going buck wild at the first thing you see is-!"
Blitzø's spaded tail wraps around the book, wrenching it from Cedrik's hands and sending it flying into the cupboards behind him. The book rips apart as the sheer force fragments the wood, shrapnel scattering and tons of dishware crashing very loudly on the floor.
In utter shock, Cedrik stares at the mess. The most destruction ever brought upon his house, his book in pieces as well as sentimental items in that cupboard.
"The fuck makes your way any good!?" Blitzø yells back at him, entirely remorseless. "Everything about what you haven't done- I looked like an ass in front of a noble who coulda led me even slightly to something useful, if I'd known how the fuck to deal with him! Even a little bit! But" - Red hands shove Cedrik back. - "what do you do!? Tell me it's better to waste away in the fucking sticks!? When are you gonna grow a pair and help me do something!?"
Heavy breaths soon take the place of Blitzø's outburst. All concern and surprise has left Cedrik, subdued outrage coming forth.
"Why me?" Blitzø asks again. "Why waste my time? Why keep me here just to turn your back on answers out there that won't fall at our doorstep?"
"Man is our enemy." Cedrik's reply only deepens the lingering rage, yet the human gets in his face and boldly plants an index finger on his chest. "Think what you will about me and the world outside, but put simply, there's no finessing a solution or just finding one. Everyone is against you, and against me for associating with you."
"That's not even the least bit helpful."
"It will be when you learn to face the truth that Hell will find you only when it needs something from you. That's the only way back in."
Bitter silence implores Cedrik to elaborate. He takes a second to compose himself, clear his head, and find the words to say. However, there's noticeable hesitation from him.
"I learned to read between the lines. That book you just destroyed? It leads the average reader astray, but I buried myself in the paper, learned the language that's overlooked, and the pattern was made clear: realistically, the only way to Hell from the living world is to be sent there. Trying to force your way in leads to resistance. The living have been a medium since demons walked the Earth, and nothing more. We don't hold, and can't attain, the kind of power that lets us cross over into Hell nice and easy."
"So it's true?" Blitzø hisses under his breath, the glow in his eyes intensifying for a flash. "And you kept this from me?"
"I wanted to hold onto a little hope that I was wrong. I didn't want to hurt you, knowing your family means so much to you. I wanted to help, Blitzø, please believe me when I say that." For a second, Cedrik shuts his eyes, and backs away slightly. "We can't just cruise into the underworld in our own portal, and it doesn't take a fruitless search to tell us that. I really tried to find a way… but there's nothing I can do. Nothing we can do. We can only wait, hide from people who would do cruel things to us, and I had no idea how to tell you that…"
While Cedrik is confessing all this, latent information suddenly being laid bare, Blitzø feels a pang of hurt, mixed with distress. This is the last thing he wanted to hear at a time when he's seemingly at his most vulnerable. But then, a spike of defiance etches into his features. A lingering willpower that refuses to let go of the small hope deep inside him.
"If you ever spent a damn day more than some ten miles away from this place," Blitzø mutters, "maybe I'd believe you. If you taught me what you know instead of hoarding info for yourself because you think I can't use my head, maybe I'd take your side, Cedrik. But you didn't do any of that!"
Critical red eyes, tinged with newfound malice, look over Cedrik. The human's firm demeanor starts to crack.
He really hadn't involved Blitzø at all, convincing himself that it was right. Instead, it only led to the hurt and neglect he sees in the imp. How could he trust him now?
"No," Blitzø continues, his tone low and disappointed. "Ten years is too long. You taught me to read, write, count, use a sword, rifle, shotgun… I looked up to you. I did have hope that someday, you'd come around with good news, or any news, but you never did. The first time you even let me step out into the world, I beat you to it and had another demon reach out to me. Now I just feel like a dumb, exotic animal you couldn't let out of your sight lest I'd be poached. Do you have any idea how that feels?"
Cedrik's lips part slightly, but no words escape. Only silence, as he shuts his mouth and turns away in shame.
"Of course you don't. You're living your perfect, safe life out here while I'm barely more than a runt you pitied. If you really cared, you would've told me what I needed to hear before you were obliged to tell me."
Blitzø begins to back away, more than a little upset that the human he's lived with has nothing to say.
"Here you are now, tongue-tied. You don't know what's really out there, and there's nothing left for me here. I don't want anything to do with this kind of life. I'm leaving - for good."
Light brown eyes rise from the ground at last.
"Oh, are you done admiring the floor?" Blitzø snaps.
"There are other reasons why I haven't been forward with you. Please forgive me-"
"You are way beyond" - He throws a hand diagonally down in front of him. - "any fucking forgiveness!"
All Cedrik can do is flinch. The consequence of his negligence, waiting too long, comes crashing down on him.
"Save your breath. You found me in a dead tree. No one asked you, a regular human, to look after me or to die for me. But when I asked you for help, you left me in the dark. Whatever 'reasons' you have, I don't care anymore. Let the burden that is me off your shoulders already, since you clearly don't know how to fucking carry the weight."
The dialogue ends there as Blitzø turns his back and returns to his room, leaving the door cracked open just slightly.
Asylum and unfulfilled promises. Cedrik should've realized when everything began to fall off. He's better than this. There's more he should've done, if only he put as much trust in Blitzø as was put in him.
But it's too late for that. Blitzø made up his mind, and his future no longer involves Cedrik.
Ten minutes pass.
By the time the bedroom door opens back up, Cedrik is leaning on his desk with a peculiar object in his hands. Out of his closet, he had broken out a long blade sheathed in worn black leather.
"A moment, Blitzø?" He murmurs softly.
Looking his way, some curiosity breaches the imp's stoic expression. Slung on his back is a satchel positively crammed to the brim with his belongings, and the cloak he ruined with his horns tucked under an arm.
"The Hell do you want now?"
"I, um…" He takes a deep breath, then makes firm eye contact. "There's nothing I can do to make up for all the time lost. Trust that you deserved, and inaction that you didn't. I realize this, but… if there's even the smallest thing I can do, it's to not let you leave unarmed." He briefly raises the sheathed sword to chest level, coaxing a glance from Blitzø. "This is my first longsword from when I'd first started learning swordsmanship. It's no saber, but… she's sturdy, well-oiled, and she can kill."
Letting his words die there, Cedrik extends the sheathed sword to Blitzø, who hesitantly takes it from him. A small nudge with his thumb basks the blade in the first light it's seen in a little while.
Etched into the flat of the blade, close to the guard, is one distinct, coarse tally.
"If you'd prefer a gun to carry, you can-"
"No." The blade is tucked back in before it's transferred to his prehensile tail. "It'll do." He looks up. "Any other last-minute surprises?"
At first, it seems Cedrik resolves himself to silence, until he gives his parting words.
"Whatever happens… my door's always open to you."
Blitzø doesn't confer the dignity of a response. Straddling the cloak over his shoulders, he walks out, and slips the hood up while the door creaks shut.
"If ever you come back, I hope to have become a better man." His solemn gaze drags toward his room at the end of the hall. "Damnit… Goddamnit. I really-"
"CEDRIK!"
In an instant, all other thoughts are pushed away by the distressed cry. That door that he thought would never be graced with Blitzø's presence again flies open, giving way to the imp that barely took two steps into the snow before coming right back in a full-blown panic.
For the short second that the door is open, Cedrik spots a black-and-white SUV in the distance headed for his place.
Did those two from last night see him drive off with Blitzø? Where were they hiding?
"You gotta be fucking kidding me…" He mutters.
"They saw me!" Blitzø holds his head and paces. "Oh fuck, a cop saw me. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! What do I do!?"
"What else?"
Blitzø sharply looks his way, but Cedrik is already halfway into the hall.
"You trashed the place," he announces loudly, "and you let an officer see the very subject of a now-confirmed call. We have an extremely short window of time to act. Keep that door closed!"
Almost following after Cedrik, Blitzø then runs back to the door and latches it shut. A good kick will break it, though, and the Interceptor will be on them very soon.
Distinct red and blue strobe lights pierce through the window curtains. There's really no turning back now.
"They're almost here!" Blitzø lets a growl slip, a hand on his newly-acquired sword. "Oh, I am not about to let this be it! Over my dead body!"
Suddenly, pounding feet race across the floorboards. Blitzø is met with the charging and now-armed human wielding his Mossberg pump shotgun. The imp freezes up.
As soon as he reaches the door, Cedrik pumps a shell into the chamber, then kicks the door wide open and shoulders the shotgun. The officer, parked just twenty feet away and out of his car, barely has time to reach for his pistol before he's peppered with buckshot.
One booming shot to the torso and he staggers. Two and his neck blows wide open as he falls to the ground.
Smoking shells clatter at Blitzø's feet, his body shaking slightly from the sudden act. Silence hangs after the two shots.
"H-Holy shit…" Blitzø pokes an eye out past the doorway. "Is he dead?"
The officer is motionless. His uniform, the white snow, dyed red with cold-blooded murder.
"Do you have your emergency rations?"
Instantly, Blitzø sharply looks up at the stone-faced human, sights still trained on the mangled cop, features illuminated by the flashing light bar. Cedrik only barely glances back at him, anticipating a response, which he momentarily struggles to voice.
"Uh- Yeah," he finally inches out. "I-I got it all."
"Good. Run to the mountains and don't ever look back. Do not let them catch up to you. All right?"
Cedrik isn't playing around. His eyes are almost lifeless. This is something he was thoroughly prepared to do.
So Blitzø makes a run for it, sprinting as fast as he can through the trees while closely clutching his cloak. The snow barely slows him down, and soon enough, he's gone with hardly a trace.
This would be the last time Cedrik closes his own door. Slacking the shotgun in his right hand, he uses the other to pull the door shut, and it falls still in its frame. A heavy, low breath leaves him, thinking over what he just did.
He feels more than a little conflicted. He gulps, his throat dry and his head spinning - but not a tear is shed. The law has been his enemy for so, so long, he's not sure if he feels regret or remorse for having Blitzø's back at the cost of yet another human life.
He's more demon than human.
"Well…"
He scans the polymer body of his shotgun. His grip tightens.
"Funny how unexpectedly things play out sometimes… eh, bud?"
10 years later…
An imp falls from Stolas' grip onto the hard stone of an empty guest room. With arms bound behind his back and ankles tied together, the stocky Wrath-born imp thrashes and snarls - more out of terror than ferocity.
"Don't bother."
Stolas' voice forces him still, eyes snapped up at the looming Goetia. Behind him is a door - the only door leading out, creaking shut until it's snugly in frame. A wardrobe, curtains over four tall windows, and markings on the floor that betray a bed's recent removal are all the features of an otherwise barren room.
"You'll be getting very familiar with this room, imp. How long you stay here depends on whether I like what I hear."
"Like I got anythin' to say to you, Your Highness," he growls.
In displeasure, Stolas shuts his eyes.
"Tsk… So defiant for one so anxious."
A sparkling blue aura envelops his fingertips as well as within the imp's chest. His right-side eyes crack open just to behold the imp's temper shift to something more favorable - for the prince.
"To your knowledge, what is the worst way to die without directly damaging the body? Drowning, you might think, robbed of air and drifting from consciousness in minutes. The right poison, when ingested, may bring on a swift and painless death as much as it can cause and perpetuate agony with just the right touch. Well, both require preparation to surely end a life, and that is far too personal for an imp."
His hand raises to chest level, followed by a firm grip on air. Immediately, the imp cries out in pain and curls up into himself. His breath quickens and becomes shallow. His fearful eyes lose focus as clear pain courses through him.
"I would say cardiac arrest suits slippery rats better," he says, nigh on emotionless.
The imp gasps for air. Already, his breathing is disrupted while the rest of him steadily shuts down. Stolas opens all four eyes, a satisfied smile breaking his jaded visage.
"You will be resuscitated after death. When you find life coursing through you again, your heart will stop within minutes or even mere seconds, thus ending your life for but a moment until you come back."
"S… St…-"
"The cycle continues. You ache and moan and mutter, suffocate on fresh air, and then… you're numb. Cold. Objectively, the worst death is not a painful one, but one where you wither and drift repetitively, helpless to prevent the slow, total failure of bodily functions once you feel the first jolt, and so on. Subjectively, I prefer not to dirty the hands of my servants, much less my own talons, with your filthy blood."
"M…erc…"
The imp's body falls still. His mouth hangs open, agonal breathing soon to take over. Some part of him still fights, but soon, death will settle on the rather hardy creature.
"Sleep. You will be reunited with your friends very soon."
Stolas places a hand on his chest. Inside, his own heart pounds, and it pounds with fervor. A rush, almost a high, from dooming the imp to sensory and cognitive deprivation amid a death loop.
"Heh…" A small laugh slips out. Suddenly, he feels kinda fuzzy inside in a way that's refreshing. White slits appear through the red luminescence of his largest two eyes. "Heheheh…! Ahah…-"
A quiet creak from behind. He clears his throat somewhat forcefully. It would seem he isn't done yet.
"Now… who let this one in?"
Immediately as a feminine gasp arises behind him, Stolas swivels his head 180 degrees and petrifies an imp through a crack in the door. A surge of red is the last thing she sees - aside from her raised forearm, a failed attempt to evade his magic. Though it slows the process, allowing her to stagger weakly, the animated imp is soon enough nothing more than stone.
"Tricky ones," he remarks.
His head straightens out as he strolls to the doorway, tossing the stone imp next to the dead one and throwing the door shut. A stern, cautionary glance amid his hall alludes to some privacy, but he must prepare himself for anything. For now, the vicinity is clear.
"Guards!"
Doors in the distance burst open, promptly followed by his two personal hellhounds' advancement to their prince. Broad-shouldered, well-dressed, openly carrying, and standing at attention before him like the highly disciplined hounds they are. They're the ideal security for a mansion - or at least they should be.
"Another one got in," he hisses. "This is the second imp that has trespassed, and the wench was at my back!"
Of course, the hounds can't restrain a slight eyebrow raise. After all, they're actively failing at their job.
"Double all security across my estate. Every inch of my walls, all doors and windows, must be scoured for vulnerabilities and have eyes around the clock. Furthermore, I give authorization for trespassers to be killed. On. Sight! Make it happen!"
A simultaneous bow and a "Yes, Your Highness!" later, the hellhounds get on their way. Another fuck-up like this will not be tolerated.
"Princess! Please excuse us."
The guards' exclamation hardly evades Stolas' excellent hearing. He rushes over and comes into view of Octavia, who just steps into the luxurious lit hallway leading through the mansion's many quarters.
"Octavia?" He pipes up, eyes wide and losing their violent glow. "You should be in school. Why are you home so early?"
"It's half past three."
"What…-" Quickly, he reaches for his pocket watch. "Th-That can't be…-"
The golden watch reads 3:32. School has been over for half an hour.
"Dad. What's going on?"
"Nothing!" The sudden, curt response makes him clear his throat as he then clasps his hands together. "I lost the time, that's all."
"You were supposed to pick me up so we could go to the shops. You weren't… with someone, were you?" She asks further, glancing at the smaller branching hall she saw him emerge from.
"I-" His eyes grow to the size of saucers. Hells, it completely slipped his mind, and Octavia is borderline pissed off. "Oh no, I'm so, so sorry, my dear. I-I promise to make it up to you-"
"Start by being honest. I heard your shouting from the front doors! What the Hells is happening?"
Whatever improvised train of thought Stolas has, it falls apart right then. For some time now, the prince's quick thinking has failed him, and he never prepared a solid excuse. Neither for the imps, nor for her seeing the guards barreling through the halls. He didn't expect the search earlier in the day to take nearly as long as it did.
A low sigh leaves his beaked lips. He desperately needs a good night's sleep to get his head on straight.
"A few imps found their way inside. Please don't worry, 'Via, it's being handled appropriately."
"Imps?" She queries, but any seeking of answers quickly stops. It's a subject that has brought her discomfort before, and now is no different. "Whatever 'appropriately' means… try to… get some sleep, would you? You look awful."
He lets a nervous laugh out and smiles warmly.
"I'm doing better than I was a day ago. I… I greatly appreciate your concern."
"Sure…" She starts heading to her room, on the other side of the mansion. "I'm off tonight to hang with a friend."
"Homework first, my owlette!"
"Will do, Dad."
As she drifts out of sight, Stolas' stiff expression relaxes into a natural grimness. For some time now, Octavia has been seeing 'a friend' after school. Never has a name been spoken. It's improper for a young Goetia to spend so much time out on the streets. As of late, he doesn't have the energy to supervise her, but… a momentary checkup is in order.
Soon, once he's brought order to more immediately-threatening affairs.
AN:
At the moment, there's no schedule for chapter updates. Due to school and personal matters, they'll happen as I find the time and motivation.
To those who've read this far, thank you. Criticism would be greatly appreciated, no matter how small.
