Chapter Text
Crimson sands and burning skies. The smell of ash and unbearable heat. A place where the weak perished. Amidst burning sun choked dust storms a sliver of broken royalty walked. She was regal, she was stunning, she was going to die. She was tall and avian. Long obsidian eyelashes and petite pink beak were settled against a face of soft down and once regal alabaster feathers. Wearing a tattered dress worth a small fortune, she stood out against the dead landscape around her.
Gritting her teeth and holding her wounds, she limped through an uncaring ring and a desolate landscape. Once beautiful white feathers stuck together from sweat, spittle, and dripping blood. She pressed on, her stubbornness alone pushing away her inevitable demise. If one could see her eyes they would see a fire that would char the earth and raze the hells until nothing was left, such was her unending rage.
She was Stella Goetia. Child of lords and conjurer of infernal magics. And yet she was limping away from a wreckage alone. She swallowed, a lack of water and freely dripping sweat causing her to hallucinate. Causing her to remember…
~~~ ~~~
Stella huffed as she stared out the window of the carriage. Rocky mountains and windswept plains passed along. She looked back into the lavish carriage, sighing. She was alone, despite her power. Wife of a Prince of Hell and mother to one of Paimon’s successors. This position alone should have granted her legions to command, a respectable position in the infernal courts, and wealth beyond imagining. But her husband’s head was stuck in the stars, her daughter refused her birthright, and she was stuck holding together a royal legacy that almost wanted to die. What meager businesses and holdings held by Stolas had slowly begun to dry. What territory they held quickly diminished under subterfuge and open warfare by Goetian noble and the mass of plebian hellborn around her.
She was in the Wrath ring at the moment, coming back from business dealings with a winery known for its rich taste amidst the seven rings. It used to be under her and Stolas’s control. It used to be a steady source of income for what little the Prince had left. It wasn’t anymore.
She saw her own reflection. Crimson eyes that almost burned a hole through the thrice cursed glass of the side door window. Partially open, it allowed infernal heat and dry wind alike to billow into the carriage. She grimaced at the drudgery, quickly picking up a wine glass and a bottle of her favorite vintage. From her favorite winery. That she just lost . She gracefully filled the wine glass halfway.
Then downed the rest of the bottle.
“... H-How was the meeting miss…?” An imp asked from the driver's seat of the carriage.
The imp was male. Dressed modestly in his servants suit. He had a small rectangular touch-phone on him, some trite modern invention recently introduced to hell.
“ What do you think!?” She sneered, quickly downing the drink she’d saved in the wineglass.
The imp gulped. “I-It didn’t go so well-,” He began. He didn’t have a chance to finish.
Stella turned back to the imp. “One of our biggest sources of secondary income is GONE you cretin! No, it didn’t go so well!” she emphasized by quickly closing her fists.
The shattering of glass brought her eyes down to her talons. Wine and shattered glass dropped on her immaculate dress. Great. One more thing to worry about . She sighed and looked back out the window. The wine slowly began to spread through her system, and she gave a relieved sigh as she leaned into the carriage’s seat. Only heavy drink seemed to blunt her rage now. Fitting, given her lot in life. She caught sight of the imp looking at the destroyed wine glass. The now familiar look of fear etched across his face before he turned and focused on the road ahead and the horses pulling the carriage. One rogue thought pushed through her mind, assisted by drink. Another one of my servants is staring at me with hatred and fear… When was the last time I’ve seen a smile? Stella grimaced and crushed the thought. She was Stella Goetia, known for her wrath, cruelty, and the iron fisted control she had over her crumbling family. She had no need for tenderness… Right? I’ve been angry for so long… It would be so nice to just let it go…
There was a knock by the carriage window, pulling her out of her drunken musings.
A hellhound on horseback looked back at her. Donned in a suit and cradling a rifle, he motioned ahead of them. “We have an obstruction on the road,” he said. The carriage slowed to a stop in front of an obstruction she couldn’t see.
Her temper flared. “Then do something about it,” she snapped.
The hellhound flinched, quickly calling out orders to the rest of her protective retinue. Stella boredly watched him go before poking her head out the window to look at the obstruction on the windswept road. It was a carcass, some Wrathian beast long since dead. Her guards walked up to the obstruction, a mere dozen hellhounds pushing away at the carcass grimly. She turned her head, staring back out at the infernal landscape.
Then the earth in front of her erupted. The world shook, an explosion turning the flaming horses pulling her carriage into faint mist. The carriage itself was blown off the pathetic dirt path they called a road, throwing her onto the windswept plains proper. Her servant imp cried out in surprise and despair as he was thrown back. Stella let out an ignoble squawk as her world tilted dangerously. When the carriage finally stopped rolling she found herself upside down, the carriage lying on its roof. The servant imp was outside the window, struggling to right himself. He looked up, raising his hands and shaking his head vigorously before she was deafened by the thundercrack of a gunshot.
The imp dropped where he stood, dangerously still.
“Come out come out princess… It’ll make our job easier,” someone tutted.
Fear gripped the Goetia. But it was quickly stamped out by a more familiar feeling. Rage. She pulled herself out of the wreckage of her carriage, leaning against it as she looked at her assailants.
They were plebians. Filth. The lowest rung of hellborns to grace the seven rings. Imps and hellhounds. Dressed in the rugged leather and rough textiles of the Wrath ring, all the imps were armed with ranged weaponry. Those dogs were dressed and armed similarly, many of them wielding clubs and bladed implements in an intimidating fashion.
Darkness and flame alike licked at her fingertips, demonic form slowly beginning to manifest.
“Who do you think you are, attacking me ? Do you have the slightest idea of who the fuck I am?” she demanded.
One imp stepped forward from the tangle of vermin in front of her, taller than the rest and clad in a bikers jacket. He thumbed the cocking hammer on a revolver as he sized up the Goetian noble.
“Oh we know who you are darlin’. But do you know who we are?” he asked, speaking in a wrathian drawl. He cast a cocky grin to his compatriots.
He was answered by dark chuckles and lascivious smiles.
Stella’s eyes narrowed into slits as her hand slowly groped for something, anything, to be used as a weapon. Her touch quickly fell on a sliver of metal, a part of the carriage’s frame. It was easily broken off with a snap of her wrist.
The vermin surrounding her simply laughed.
“Darlin, that poor excuse for a shiv ain’t gonna work,” the tall imp said, leveling his revolver at Stella. “I reckon you’re good at terrorizing anyone under you, sure. But I also reckon you haven’t actually had to fight before, have you? Little princess thinks she can take us on, whaddya think boys?” Their hoots and raucous laughter only angered the Goetia more.
Stella’s eyes narrowed, and she charged forward, rage and indignance burning through any sense of reason. But her assailants were ready. Her charge was stopped by bullet and bludgeon, throwing her to the ground in a steaming heap.
She pushed through the pain, demonic form quickly pushing to the fore. “You dare defy a Goetia!? You dare defy me!? She lashed out quickly, half formed spectral talons cutting through the first rank of her assailants. Imp and hellhound died, black blood splattering against the crimson sands. The Incubus glared and fired his gun.
Her initial wounds had already begun to heal, the weapons of hell merely inconvenienced her. But this shot shook her to her core. She gasped, stumbling and falling against the carriage. Her demonic form quickly withered away as something poisonous settled within. White feathers drifted down to the ground as she sucked in a breath. The bullet embedded in her side seemed to suck away her infernal powers. Her eyes widened, looking up to see angelic light slowly bleeding away from the end of the imps revolver. The imp leader sighed and stalked forward until he was a stone’s throw in front of her.
He squatted in front of the Goetia, drawing patterns in the dirt with his pistol. “Now you might be wonderin’ why we’re here in the first place darlin,'' he began, looking her in the eye. “And perhaps yer wonderin’ why I got holy weaponry on me. Nasty little thing, this.” He chuckled darkly. “I got clients. Folks up in Pride aren’t happy with you. Sayin’ yer a problem. Or yer just weak .” he grinned haughtily. “In fact, they didn’t even give us a proper divine weapon to kill you.” He put his revolver on half cock, spinning the cylinder slowly before opening the loading gate and extracting a spent casing. It glowed with angelic etching. “Ain’t that pathetic? All we needed was blessing tipped bullets, and not even a high caliber either.”
Stella sneered, her hand clutching a wound that refused to close. “At least tell me who wants me dead you fucking bastard.”
The incubus laughed and shrugged. “Darlin, I don’t give out client details. But let’s just say yer cousins will love pickin’ apart what’s left of yer family when you shuck off the mortal coil.” he laughed and stood up. “C'mon boys, payday.”
An imp busy looting one of his dead comrades looked up at the incubus. “Boss, customer wanted proof of death.”
The incubus grinned. “Ain’t nothin’ round here for miles and our darlin’s got angel shot in her gut. I say we hit the nearest bar then pick up the body.” he leaned and grabbed a handful of her feathers, grinning. “But I reckon this’ll be more than enough. Besides, even if she runs the beasts out here’ll tear her apart. Don’t matter if she’s royalty or not.”
Her assassins turned, laughing in the distance as they picked through her former guards for weapons. They didn’t look back as they left her to die.
~~~ ~~~
How long had she been walking? Did it even matter? Time was meaningless when existence was nothing but agony and delirium. Every step was weaker than the last. Death’s doorstep drawing ever closer with the passage of time. But she refused to give in, refused to just give up and die. The rage inside burned brighter than the agony, and the prospect of revenge was sweeter than the relief of death. Her murderous musings were interrupted by a howl.
She looked up to see feral beasts stalking her, their burning eyes locked on hers. Scaled or furred, all bore teeth and claws designed for tearing apart flesh. They cast long shadows in the dying evening light, Wrath's dusky sky the color of freshly spilt blood. Stella adopted a stance she hoped was intimidating, clutching her wound defiantly. The beasts weren’t convinced with her display, slowly descending from the hills beyond and beginning to circle her.
Stella returned their hungry leers with a scowl of her own. “This isn’t how I die.” Calling upon old powers seldom used, she began to feel her demon form slowly forming around her.
The angelic bullet embedded in her side flared in defiance, pain lancing through her midriff and bringing the Goetia low as she stumbled into a crouch. Blood flowed freely through the gaps in her hand. The beasts drew closer, saliva dripping and leaving steam on the dead earth. Her vision began to dim, the world swirling around her as blood loss took hold at the worst moment.
Rage slowly gave way to desperation. “It can’t end like this… Not like this… Please…” Stella whispered, obsidian blood staining an alabaster dress. Tears began to stain her face, tears that were never given the chance to be shed. “Someone… Anyone… Please… Help me,” she whispered. Just this once, she would let her guard down. Just this once she would pull away the mask of rage.
Her vision dimmed as beasts lunged for her. Senses died one by one: touch, taste, sight… She braced herself for the tearing of claws and the shedding of teeth. But in her dimming world she heard the crack of gunshots and the ripping of blades. Smelled the rich scent of blood and sharp tang of gunpowder. With no strength left she fell, her body toppling.
She was like a sliver of moonlight against the dusky red. But it wasn’t into the dust she settled. Neither did she see crimson skies as her eyes began to close. She felt her head and shoulders propped up on arms strong and warm. She tasted water from some unseen flask, the cool liquid a reprieve that set her mind at ease. And finally she saw a gaze brighter than the sun. A gaze coming from a warm face shrouded by dark hair and a red bandana.
A gaze filled with concern.
“Go ahead and rest now, I got you.” her savior said in a thick wrathian drawl. It was only then, upon seeing horns glinting in the evening light, that Stella realized her savior was an imp .
She wanted to protest. To refuse this imp’s help. But that gaze stopped her. A gaze that wasn’t full of scorn, hatred, or pity. One of concern. One of care. So Stella finally let go. Let go of her prejudice in her wounded delirium. For the first time in recent memory she decided to trust. And fell asleep in her savior's arms.
“There ya go, it’s all right now. I’ve got ya.” the imp whispered, followed by a soft lullaby that eased the Goetia to sleep.