Conjunction of the Goetia

by InkBlotSpotShot

Summary:

Vassago has lost the ability to divine the future. In his moment of need, he writes to Andrealphus and Stolas in the hope that they could possibly aid him. As they delve into the arcane in search of answers, their presented solutions threaten to expose hidden feelings for one another. (Polycule incoming.)

Notes:

A few details to set the stage.
1: In lore, the Goetia are the angels that fell with Lucifer after his rebellion in Heaven. (But how can this be if we see Stolas as a kid in the show? Clearly he wasn't around for that. Same soul, new body, always an owl, happened before he hatched again, that's how I'm leaning into it, in case anyone is confused.)
2: Andrealphus and Stolas are related by marriage, not by blood, so they're in laws.
3: Any use of the term brother is under the umbrella of camaraderie, not the term for siblings.
4: Rating has been set to Explicit due to future content.

Chapter 1: We Royals Three

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

‘Turbulent times have left the cards unreadable.  

I seek the ancient verses, perk for their call; yet they remain absent.  

Am I to blame? Have I transgressed in an unknown manner?  

All there is to do is try again, and hope that this time, my sins be laid bare.’  

Vassago dipped a feathered quill pen back into a dark ink pot and watched in silence as nearby candle flames dried his scrawling. Private thoughts, etched within the confines of a leather-bound journal, that might one day prove useful to a curious acolyte. Being a Goetia, he was by nature eternal, but it did not mean his soul could not be rent from his flesh. In such cases, one’s thoughts were best put to parchment or stone, and he never cared much for stone. 

Naught but the patter of rain upon glass echoed through his library, it’s steady assault a reminder of the gentle tempest that raged outside his home. An ornate lighthouse that glowed with hellish fire; wrapped in an obsidian sconce that allowed the flame to be both protected and free, to a degree. Below its’ all-seeing head, the tower was wrapped in ebony marble. Veins of gold traced its outer and inner walls, akin to that of a mine dragged to the surface of the earth and warped into a refined state. 

For the Seer of Hidden Truths, such a place was fitting. 

It was for the best, perhaps, that the denizens of Hell continued to view him in such a light; the Diviner, Reader of Fate, for his powers had all but abandoned him. One morning, he had simply been unable to perform the proper rituals and found his abilities absent ever since. Troubling didn’t even begin to properly describe his distress over the situation. If his brothers in arms were to discover his ailment, few among them would pounce upon the opportunity to dethrone him.  

Who could he confide in? Two choices sprang to mind, as he gazed out into the distant storm clouds. Prince Stolas and Marquis Andrealphus; both immensely powerful wielders of the arcane. One presided over the fortunes written amongst the stars, the preciousness of stones, and all flora that existed. The other ruled over a realm of ice and handled the mathematical equations and scientific principles that kept the universe in balance. Just like their academic differences, their temperaments were equally opposed. Thoughtful kindness and self-sacrifice against cold indifference and patient scheming; the choice seemed obvious. 

Yet it was not. Such a decision must be made with the utmost care and consideration. 

On a separate piece of paper, Vassago began to jot down a list of pros and cons for each individual. Prince Stolas; helpful, but distant. He always seemed to be elsewhere in his own mind. Ironically, it was the exact level of social anxiety that could cause more problems than it solved. Marquis Andrealphus; blunt, biting, unwelcoming, but pragmatic. There would certainly be a price to be paid for his aid, as he was also a staunch believer in mutual gain; if only so that he may gain anything at all from the arrangement. Increased caution would be needed, but it would most certainly be worth it. 

Only one consideration remained: rank. As a prince, Vassago and Stolas both outranked Andrealphus, despite all of them sharing the title of Goetia. The title of Marquis was just below that of Prince, and while there was nothing Andrealphus could do to rightfully transfer the title, he could feasibly find a way to gain permanent power through a temporary arrangement.  

Vassago rubbed at his temples; such thoughts hurt it lingered upon for too long. 

He could always command Andrealphus to assist him, but even the hypothetical thought brought bitter bile to Vassago’s beak. No; no coercing, forcing, strong-arming, or anything else relative to the sort. A delicate touch would be needed; one that may require bending the ear of both parties, at least momentarily. 

His journal closed with a soft thump, then levitated into the air in a cloud of sparkling, red magic. Amidst a vast array of tomes, it found a home, and two pieces of blank parchment took its place upon his desk. 

…..  

‘Dear Prince Stolas,  

I hope this letter finds you in high spirits. Most recently, a rare vintage has stumbled into my possession, and I wished to extend an invitation for its consumption. There are important matters, as well as fine cheeses, that would pair well with it. If you are so inclined to visit, pay no heed to an offering of your own. While kind, your presence is gift enough.  

Your Fellow in Arms,  

Prince Vassago  

…..  

With one hand and a flick of his wrist, the parchment rolled up, was tied with a thick red ribbon, then stamped closed with a wax seal bearing his personal crest. He never knew Stolas as anything but punctual, so it likely wouldn’t take long to receive a response; even silence would suffice. The first letter signed and sealed, he brushed it to the edge of his desk and turned his attention to the second piece of parchment. Once more, his inky pen began to write. 

….. 

‘Dear Andrealphus, the Mighty Marquis, Commander of Thirty Legions,  

Graceful be the stars that shine upon you. An intriguing bauble has come into my possession that might interest one of your station. I have no use for it, and therefore extend thee an invitation to examine it firsthand. Let us unlock its secrets together, and if you wish, refreshment shall be provided. If you find yourself occupied, I can always find another, but as you know I am always inclined to reach out to you first.  

Your Brother in Arms,  

Prince Vassago  

….. 

Wrapped in royal ribbons and stamped in his royal seal, both scrolls would fetch a small fortune amongst the commoners. Now, all that was left was to deliver them. With the storm that raged outside, conventional means were out of the question. Perhaps he could simply wait it out, and ponder over the proposals in the meantime? 

He had not lied, in either case.  

The wine was of an ancient roman variety, sealed for thousands of years and kept perfectly preserved within a magical field. The bauble was a journal; thick and padlocked. Vassago had gazed into it once, but found the astronomical scrawling indecipherable. Fitting gifts for two potential solutions to his problem. It was then that a thought crept into his absent mind; why not utilize both? In truth, he didn’t wish to lose such a precious artifact from human history, and there was something off about the journal; something that caused a prick of mental agitation when he read it. Perhaps it was nothing, yet he hesitated at the idea of dropping such a thing in Andrealphus’ lap. Between the marquis’ penchant for scheming and the prince’s rumored alcoholism, they’d claim their tribute for sure. 

Despite his caution, the thought emerged once more; why not both? 

Was retaining stewardship over such things worth the loss of his powers? No, absolutely not. Yet, if they were truly lost to him, he would need to hoard what worth he could.  

“Alejandro.” His voice briefly echoed into the darkness above his head, before the sound of wheels on a track replied. A steady drone grew louder, like that of an approaching train, and then jolted to a halt. Behind him, two small, hooved feet clopped against the floor, and a timid voice spoke. 

“Yes, my prince?” 

“Mi amigo, could you tell me when this storm is scheduled to let up? I have an urgent matter that requires it.” 

“Yes, Prince Vassago, right away.” Pattering hooves skittered around the room, then there was silence; albeit brief. He knew what was going on, even without needing to look, but impatience gnawed at his chest. Thankfully, he received a prompt response. “The forecast predicts it shall last for another three hours.” 

Damn, not nearly soon enough for his liking; it threatened to steal the remainder of the day away. “Thank you, Alejandro; that will be all.” 

“Is there any way I could assist you, my prince? I heard you writing, the roll of parchment and could smell the wax. I would be more than honored to deliver whatever it is that you need.” 

A smile peeked onto Vassago’s beak at the offer. “What if these were naught but sultry exchanges? I would hate to risk my best imp on such a trivial thing.” 

“I rather like the rain; it smells nice.” 

“Your assistance is appreciated, but no. While the letters are important, it isn’t anything I can’t simply wait out the weather for.” 

“Shall I prepare dinner and warm your evening robe, then?” 

“Only if you will be joining me at the table.” 

He could feel the smile behind him, and hear the gentle tap of adjusting heels. “Very well; if it would please his highness. Are you possessed of a particular preference or craving, this evening?” 

“Something with peppered corn; perhaps a rice dish, or maybe stuffed bell peppers. I am, however, as you know, not opposed to trying your scratch cooking. That cheese and rice bowl with chicken and peanuts was…” Vassago preened his beak in satisfaction, then clicked at the air. 

“I shall endeavor not to disappoint you.” 

“As always.” It was only when the footsteps quieted entirely did Vassago turn his attention back to the letters. Even thought he was locked in by the storm, his mind was free to wander. What could Stolas and Andrealphus be up to? 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Stolas flipped the page of a book, his form cradled by the curve of a massive leaf. All around him, cultivated flora sat watch; some possessed of peering eyes and others without. Lower body draped in the embrace of an astral blanket that shimmered with stars, he wore a loose bed shirt to let his shoulders breathe. His fluffy and prominent chest plume freely exposed, the prince kept all four of his eyes fixated on the most recent page. 

Inner Mechanisms of the Heart: How to Process Intimacy Death; not exactly the most riveting of reads. A sultry romance novel was more his speed, but that particular evening, the owl found himself to be rather sullen. It was why he chose to read in his arboretum in favor of his study, as the location all but guaranteed utter privacy. Word after word streamed into his mind and brought an increasing level of melancholy by the second.  

“ Absence of emotional fulfillment may stem from several factors that may, or may not be, outside of any individual’s control. Unknown factors may also contribute to a sense of loneliness; including undiagnosed mental illness, unresolved trauma not recognized as trauma, and in some cases a pure misunderstanding of proper social conventions. Although the stated afflictions can be medicated, the results of one’s medicated state may result in worsening the situation. Therefore, it is always recommended to thoroughly discuss options with your medical professional regarding these issues.  

Further studies completed in the Lust Ring showcase promising results through sexual experimentation. Swapping partners, otherwise known as swinging, can open emotional avenues to freedom, comfort, and confidence that might be otherwise unattainable via a monogamous relationship. Dating outside of one’s comfort zone has had mixed results, with only thirty-four percent of test subjects having felt improved by the experience. However, their gained, fresh perspective has opened new ways of thinking into their lives, and thus allowed for greater empathy and emotional vulnerability.    

Ensure all grievances are properly aired between any and all partners to establish personal boundaries. Conflict resolution is critical in maintaining healthy and long lasting relationships. It is by this committee’s recommendation that power imbalances are avoided, as they are a prime breeding ground for resentment to fester. Do not—”  

Stolas slammed the book shut with both hands. He couldn’t read anymore. While one catalogue of advice wasn’t the be-all-end-all of his situation, what he had absorbed so far wasn’t promising. It was hard enough to feel so vacant and yearning without the extra chastisement from a supposed group of experts. A part of him knew that if he wanted to fix himself, he was going to need to take a few more hits. What was one more battering of his emotions to weather? All it did was leave him tired, drained, and morose.   

It was within that dreariness that he descended from his natural seat; the stem of the leaf slowly possessed of a gentle bend till his talons touched ground. As he walked towards the exit to the arboretum, the argument with Blitz on the previous Full Moon replayed in his mind. It had played so often that what once brought tears to his eyes only brought a welling sense of deep sadness. He had tried to be open, to voice his desires and feelings, but all it had done was cost him something truly precious.  

If there was to be another attempt at happiness, where would he even begin? Did his heart even have the will to try? Even the mere thought of Blitz threatened to make him smile, but to also immediately reverse the expression. Could he mend that bridge? Was there anything left of it to salvage? Was he a fool for entertaining such a thought? Stolas felt the cool air of his mansion, as he left the humid room, and found himself in a vast, quiet hallway.  

Echoes of the past taunted him, 

‘You can’t dismiss me like one of your little butler imps! You royal fucks think you can do this every time; that you can play with our feelings because we’re smaller and not as important! Well, I’m not letting you bitch!’  

He strode past the memory with haste, eager to escape the phantom condemnation. Pain gripped at his heart; not physical, but emotional, yet it was equal in potency. Stolas gave a small wince as the echo trailed after him down the entire hallway; just another specter to haunt the halls of his home. All he could do was continue on, even if it was out of fear and self-loathing; if he hadn’t opened his beak, if he had just been fine with the sex, maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone. 

A flash of lightning cast long shadows upon the tile. It was raining? Odd, Stolas hadn’t seen any weather reports about rain. He reached into his pocket, mid-stride, and pulled out his phone. Hesitation seized his thumb; what if Blitz had tried calling him again? What if there were a hundred apologetic text messages? Fear tucked his phone away; he didn’t need to know the forecast. 

No matter where he looked, he heard Blitz, he saw Blitz, he thought about Blitz. Obsession was the only proper word, but it wasn’t intentional; he just couldn’t shake the imp. There were too many memories, too many mental recordings of his voice; every inch of his body, what his breath tasted like… 

Stolas quickened his pace and burst into his bedroom, then immediately froze. No one was there, his balcony doors were closed and covered. Again, another echo of that night played in his mind. 

‘I don’t understand. Why…why are you giving me this? Is it because I’m not fucking you good enough, because, I can…I can do better!’  

In retreat, Stolas slammed the door to his bedroom closed. Dryness invaded his throat and the pain within his heart grew; what a fool he had been. Despair carried him to the grand foyer of the mansion, and a suffocating extravagance struck. Compiled with the darkness, it didn’t seem like a home; it felt alien, it felt wrong, it felt malevolent and aggressive. Tightness squeezed at both lungs, and in desperation for fresh air, Stolas threw open the front door to his home. 

Wind, rain, and the flash of lightning greeted him. Humid air surged into his nostrils as cool droplets pelted his face and nature’s tempest caused the blanket that was tied around his waist to whip and billow. Realization struck, and it was such a profound thought that Stolas had to utter it aloud. 

“I need a vacation.” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Another grape, Edmund.” 

“Yes, sire.” 

Andrealphus lounged atop a luxurious half-bench, his knee up and his arms draped. Glittering robes designed after winter rime covered his magnificent, white and turquoise feathers. Extravagant tail feathers, marked with diamond patterns, acted as an impromptu blanket atop the piece of royal furniture. His head tilted back, and his imp butler Edmund, with striking blue eyes and graying hair, gracefully dropped a single grape atop his master’s tongue. 

“Exquisite.” the peacock crooned. “Remind me to requisition the agriculturist who cultivated these: another.” 

The comforting drone of harsh wind and slapping rain provided a lovely backdrop to his evening reverie. How he adored such weather; it conjured forth memories of his first ever snowstorm. What was a rainstorm but a warmed blizzard? Oh, the high marks he had received for managing such a feat at such a young age. A smile peeked onto Andrealphus’ beak as he chewed on a fresh, slightly frozen grape.  

“I do believe they have had past dealings with numerous Goetian princes, my lord.” 

“For a king’s ransom, I presume.” If they were accustomed to such deep pockets, his own status might prove an obstacle. The glorious title of Marquis might have not been far off from that of a Prince, yet it would not be the first time it had been ignored with agitating brazenness. “Are we aware of which ones?” 

“Off the top of my head, my lord, Prince Vassago is the first that comes to mind.” 

An inward groan rumbled its way up that thin, regal neck and rattled at the back of his beak. “Of course it would have to be Vassago.” Gaudy, V-shaped shades were the first image to pop into Andrealphus’ mind, followed by fiery feathers and golden accents. Diametrically opposed in their respective elements, ice against flame, he was a royal figure deserving of caution. “Likely for one of his tropical themed getaway parties.” 

“They are rather lovely sire. I’ve heard that the fruit punch is eloquently spiked, so much that you can’t even taste the difference.” 

“As if I’d ever debase myself to such a level; fruit punch, honestly.” Andrealphus scoffed, nothing but tacky tiki statues and pineapples on the mind. “It’s undignified for a royal to consume a drink designed for children.” Vassago’s lax nature was of constant vexation; how could one possessed of such power, to see the unseen and glimpse the destiny of all, be such a lout? If anything, given the way they each conducted themselves, Andre should be the prince and Vassago should be the marquis.  

“Well, I am sure he would not be opposed to sharing the relevant contact information. Shall I call his abode, sire?” 

“That would be the correct course, if only he had a phone.” 

“That seems rather impractical sire; however does he conduct his royal duties?” 

“He knows of the request before anyone asks. The next time I see him, he will likely mention it before I do.” An enviable ability, that future sight. All secrets were naught before his gaze, yet any or all could be contained within his mind forevermore. “Which means he will either shoot down the proposal immediately, or bring the damn farmer into our conversation before it begins.” 

“If Prince Vassago isn’t the preferred route, my lord, I do believe Prince Stolas has also—” 

“Prince Stolas.” Andrealphus spat the name, each syllable laced with venom. “You know how I feel about my brother-in-law, Edmund.” 

“Do forgive the candor my lord, but it is such a shame that you two couldn’t see eye to eye. A proper alliance could provide great, positive change to Hell, as was King Lucifer’s intention from the beginning.” With the bundle of grapes in one hand, the imp used his other to expertly knead and massage his master’s shoulder; thumb at the blade and tips to the collarbone. “You two could stand to benefit each other greatly.” 

“I do not need him, Edmund; better to be an honorable marquis than an adulterous prince.” As he leaned his neck to one side, to provide greater space for Edmund to massage, anger shined across Andrealphus’ blue, iris-less eyes. “Cheating on my sister…with an imp, no less. He preferred some foul mouthed, uneducated, dirty circus freak over royal pedigree; and broke our laws by leveraging his grimoire to do so.” A vein bulged in the marquis’ neck, his beak tense as a shimmer of frosty magic brimmed to life at his fingertips. Diamond patterns upon his tailfeathers began to glow, as if a conduit for his power. “Even thinking about it brings my blood to a boil…” 

“My sincerest apologies, sire. I did not mean to upset you.” 

A heavy sigh caused the peacock’s glow to fade, and a tired expression marred his relaxed face. “I know, Edmund; you have always had my best interests in mind.” His neck craned to the opposite side, and his head leaned back to try and embrace the blanket of bliss known as relaxation. “Perhaps you are right; an alliance would be of great benefit, but it cannot be with Stolas. My honor shan’t allow it.” 

“A meeting with Prince Vassago may then allow you to, forgive the expression, kill two birds with one stone, my lord.” 

The pieces clicked in Andrealphus’ mind; yes, expand his power and further remove himself from the blemish on his family’s name. “You might be onto something, Edmund. I shall make a point to visit his little obsidian lighthouse in the morning.” 

“And if he isn’t at home, sire?” 

“Then I shall have my answer, because there’s no way he wouldn’t anticipate my arrival.” Andrealphus reached out and eased the grapes closer to his beak. In quiet contemplation, he enjoyed another, and quickly sank into a half-sleep under the skilled grip of his attendant. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Morning came with the scent of brine and the whisper of wind. High atop a cliffside that overlooked a vast ocean stood Vassago’s lighthouse; aglow in the sun’s radiant greeting. As always, beauty blossomed in the aftermath of the storm. The water that beat against the jutting cliffside glittered with the tears of God; violent up close, but peaceful as it stretched endlessly into the unknown horizon. Turmoil came, and it had passed, and it would come again to face the same fate as before. This was the way of things; a universal truth. 

Vassago adjusted his star-shaped brooch, the very same that kept his cloak attached, and turned his head to check his plumage. Sharp, colorful, pristine: perfect. He had to look his best, even if it was simply to drop off letters at the post office. Due to the vertical nature of his home, travel between the floors simple and effective. A single metal pole connected the roof to the ground floor, with wide open holes to allow for a speedy descent. Ascending was just as simple; an enchantment that allowed one to rise as well as fall. Due to its implementation, stairs were irrelevant, and thus absent.  

From his private quarters, he grasped the pole and allowed gravity to seize him. Three floors rushed past him, and his white boots touched ground in no time. Peppers, eggs, chives, fruit, and dark coffee assailed him with their combined aroma. A gentle sizzle of a skillet turned his attention to the stove, where Alejandro stood in an apron. 

“A magnificent morning to you, Prince Vassago. I have prepared first, second, and third helpings of breakfast; omelets, grapefruit, oranges, which would you like?” 

Sunlight filtered in through a circular window that overlooked the singular dining table and the spread of cutlery upon it. Steaming plates of food covered nearly every inch, and yet it seemed that the imp was eager to make even more. Curly black hair was pulled back and bound atop his head, proceeded by two short horns that looked no larger than tiger fangs. Despite their small size, golden engravings ran through the obsidian texture; sharp and broad with the authority and presence of ancient carvings. 

“While I hate to turn down such fine cooking, there is an urgent matter I must attend to. If it will keep; save me a pot of coffee, an omelet, and grapefruit for when I return.” 

“Off to the post office, my prince?” The question seemed rhetorical, as if Alejandro knew full well what his master was up to. “If you would rather stay and enjoy breakfast, I can easily dispense the letters for you.” Still so adamant, even after a night to sleep on it; such dedication brought a smile to Vassago’s beak. 

“The fresh air will do me well. Besides, I foresee a rather productive and exciting day ahead, and I’d rather not miss it because of a pleasurable food coma.”  

Gentle clapping of hands briskly struck the air, as he watched his butler dust them off. “Very well, my prince. I shall gift the leftovers to the local hellgulls; I’m sure they’ll be most appreciative.” 

Once Vassago turned from his butler, a small frown settled on his face. It had been a small fib when he said he foresaw a pleasant day. In truth, he couldn’t foresee anything at all. The loss of his powers was something he had not dared to tell Alejandro, and thus the need for further secrecy was fueled by a steady supply of little white lies. Guilt nibbled at his chest, as the door opened, and he stepped into Hell’s morning sun. Fresh air carried the residue of rain; a potent and cleansing rush that filtered through his lungs. After one mighty inhale, an equally mighty exhale bid the parrot’s eyes to gaze at the path towards down; and with one tap of his heels, his means of transportation was summoned. 

Beneath his feet, magical flames ignited and curled around the back of his heels. Makeshift wings took form, and the prince launched himself forward in a trail of flames. Like skating on wheels, each slow and steady push of his feet put him into a constant glide. Two trails of fire were left in his wake, but quickly vanished without any harm to the environment. 

Wind rushed through his pristine red feathers and caused his cloak to flap. Power flowed freely, brought about by the brilliant gleam of the sun’s rays, and it was through them that Vassago appeared as a brilliant phoenix. Fire spread from his feet to the rest of his body, forced into the shape of dancing ribbons against a beautiful seaside landscape. Empty land perched atop an unforgiving sea; lush and akin to places untouched by industry. Floating islands dotted the pink sky, all different shapes and sizes, but completely separate from one another. Vast, quiet peace joined with the wind to cool Vassago’s flames, and in the constant tempering he found jubilation wrap around his soul.  

What would take less capable demons hours only took the prince ten minutes. The closest town to his home was located at the outer curve of Sloth; a little hovel called Languor. Sparse buildings resided alongside a train station, the tracks being the center point of the entire town. Supplies, mail, and demons often departed and arrived on the same train, which made the station a community hub for activity. The post office itself was inside of the station; tucked at one end behind a gated desk and a locked door. With only one attendant, the need to beat the line was paramount, and thus Vassago had arrived in the early morn.  

The jingle of a bell chimed above him, when he walked inside. It was his only greeting, as the station was vacant. Rows of conjoined seats and benches filled its center and hugged its walls, which left impromptu walkways for everyone to go about their business. To the slow tick of a clock, he approached the mail desk. Behind it sat a horned cyclops, a single horn to match its single eye, with three digits on each hand and a glossy look in his iris. The demon raised a hand in greeting, the bowtie around its neck tensing at the tautness of his clerk attire. 

“G’mornin’: mail?” 

From an inline pocket within his coat, Vassago retrieved the two scrolls and held them out. Upturned, brutish hands reached out with the temperance of a humbled child and took them. Fat thumbs brushed over the royal wax seal, as the attendant muttered to himself.  

“Royal…first class…urgent post…” Between the intelligible words, gibberish grunted forth in brief oinks and grumbles; as if he had to fight through stupidity to speak coherently. Its large, white eye looked back up at Vassago. “Both to Pride?” 

“That is correct. I need them delivered before the strike of mid-day.” 

Reluctance and discomfort shuffled the cyclops side to side, and it gave a gurgling squeak at the request. “Train…keeps its’ own schedule. Can’t speed up. Slow and steady, but always there, always on time; never before, never early. No point in’nit.”  

Such was the way of Sloth, and thus no amount of agitation sparked in Vassago. “Very well; does this establishment still offer instantaneous delivery?” A heavy price, but one he was willing to pay; and so, it was that the prince fished amongst the inner lining of his coat for payment.  

“Yes: portals. Portals nice; not expected, not rushed, just there then gone. For you, Prince Vassago, one for each. Imps will receive, but not read.” 

From his coat, he pulled two thick, crimson coins etched with his royal seal. Royals had a different form of currency than the commoners, or at least it could be considered so. Far more valuable, and therefore less was required, thus each house had their own unique bills and coins. Magic was involved, its process closely guarded; which owed to their high worth. Vassago placed both coins upon the table, and the cyclops slid them behind his protective gate.  

Two fat fingers pressed onto the coins, one for each, and two portals spawned directly where they once sat. Unable to touch them, but able to see, Vassago glanced at the flora-covered mansion of Stolas and the icy castle of Andrealphus. Each letter dropped into its respective portal, then each shut, and the coins reappeared. 

“Thank you for your kind patronage, Prince Vassago. Please come again.” With that, the attendant tucked the coins away. 

Peace of mind quickly settled over his mind; the knowledge that the letters had been delivered a hefty weight off his shoulders. Hopefully they would find their recipients in receptive moods and grant swift responses. There was still much to ponder but having started had checked one box off his to-do list. Vassago turned from the mail station…and realized that he wasn’t alone.  

A figure that had previously not been present sat in one of the numerous seats. Short of stature, concealed by a wide brimmed hat and a dull brown poncho, the only discernable feature was a pale pink tail of an impish nature. It was unclear whether the figure was asleep or simply shy, and the uncertainty put a wary step in the prince’s stride. Right as he was about to pass by, like his foot had triggered an invisible tripwire, the figure spoke. 

“Pardon me mista’, you wouldn’t happen to have the time, would ya?” Clearly male, the figure spoke in a sultry, drawling country tongue. Each syllable felt like honey oozing straight from a hive; delicious and dangerous all at once.  

Vassago swallowed his trepidation and withdrew a small pocket watch from his coat. “Certainly; it’s a quarter past seven.” He made sure to close the timepiece with a brisk snap and tuck it away; one less thing for the potential thief to appraise.  

“Much obliged, I ain’t from ‘round here; no one seems to be awake, and I couldn’t find a damn clock for the life of me.” Casual swings of the impish tail kept beat, and a gloved hand reached up to tip the brim of his hat. 

“You’re rather welcome, sir…?”  

At the question, metal spurs clinked with the motion of shifting boots. An arm shifted across the poncho; leather against cloth as he reached for something beneath it. A shining golden cracker, airy and freshly baked, appeared in the figure’s grasp. It was then, with an upwards tilt of the head, that Vassago saw the demon’s face. Ringed, yellow eyes, one sharp moustache, and prominent, viper-like fangs composed his face. At the edge of his brim, white locks poked out to accent the lighter complexion of his skin. Crumbs tumbled onto the ground between his feet, as the sudden crunch and crackle of a consumed cracker responded to the question. “Name’s not important. No one’s called me sir before though, let alone a pretty bird like yourself.” 

Vassago’s head tilted slightly, “Pretty…bird?” His throat cleared, unsure whether it was used in a derogatory sense or a bit of flirtation.  

“Si, amigo. Could see you for miles, burning up the road on yer’ way into town. Most folk wouldn’t miss out on something like that.” Another bite was taken out of the cracker, which was then extended. “Want a piece?” 

“No, I already ate breakfast. Thank you, though.” 

Where he expected a groan to induce guilt, he instead was met with a chuckle, “Suit yourself. Lemme guess; it was a big ol’ spread, made fresh by the time you woke up this mornin’. Since you had to burn it all off, I’m also guessing it was damn good eating.” The imp pushed the brim of his hat back and leaned into his seat, legs spread wide open. It was then made clear; two loaded holsters sat at his waist, one for each hip.  

“However, did you guess?” Vassago forced a friendly smile, but his attention was unable to be fully removed from those firearms. The door looked more promising with each passing second.  

“Because I’ve seen a lot of pretty birds in my time. Some like seeds in a bowl, some like fruit from a branch, and some like…” The imp’s fingers wiggled, then curled inwards, and his knuckles popped under the tension. “…meat. I’m a meat man myself; love my vittles, my beans, my salted pork and tough jerky. Nothing better than some rabbit and potato stew on a clear, starry night, you know?” 

“I must admit, it has been quite some time since I was camping.” 

The admission brought a smile to that fanged, mustached face. “I bet it has. You look like you were born in a ballroom. Fancy clothes, fancy shades, all fiery and bright; a real walking sun. Mind telling me what the sun likes to eat?” 

“Pineapple.” Vassago had no clue what game was being played, but one was definitely afoot. Everything the imp said was layered with double meaning.  

“Nice fruit; fancy too. Rough and dangerous on the outside, but vibrant and delicious on the inside…after you slice it open, of course.” Veiled amusement and joy could barely be felt in those words, almost as if he was being psycho-analyzed with metaphor. “I wouldn’t mind some, but it ain’t something you find in my neck of the woods.” 

“How unfortunate; perhaps you should consider a change in scenery.” 

“Perhaps I should. Know any qualified fortune tellers that could feel out the right place for a guy like me?” 

Vassago paused for, perhaps, a bit too long. “No.” 

In the distance, a train’s horn blasted out to announce its imminent arrival. He dared not take his eye off the mysterious imp, who simply leaned forward. “A shame; maybe all I gotta do is go where all the birds go and convince them to share.” From inside that closed mouth, the outline of a forked tongue dragged against sharp teeth. “But that’ll have to wait for some other time. For now, I gotta catch a train.” 

Vassago stepped aside as the imp stood and adjusted his hat, then walked towards the train platform without another word. He didn’t need to be told twice to leave while he had the chance; something about that entire interaction had gently rattled him. All other potential errands wiped from his mind, he focused on the path home.  

Awoken by the call of the first scheduled train, multiple citizens had wandered out into the open. Composed of mostly baphomet demons; goat-like humanoids with a lit candle upon their heads, they seemed to pay Vassago little mind. They were courteous enough to divert their sluggish shuffling out of his path, but offered little to no greeting otherwise. To them, he was most certainly an oddity, which only made the imp’s presence even more suspicious; not to fault a random wandering traveler, but sometimes simple things weren’t inherently innocent. It was within that paranoid line of thinking that his eyes fixated upon the road to his home, and a gentle bump of his boot tip atop the ground ignited the sparks of locomotion.  

Hopefully, breakfast was still warm. 

Chapter 2: Sincerity and Jest

Summary:

Stolas answers the summons.
Vassago receives a surprise visit from Andrealphus.
The flicker of something more begins to shine.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Hazy tile crept out of the darkness to greet Stolas’ groggy mind. Trapped halfway between mental alacrity and deep slumber, he groaned as the cold indifference of the floor sank into his shoulder. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, mouth dry and body stiff. With a naturally curiosity for where he was, he sat up and braced himself upon an elbow.  

An open book lay on its face next to a spilled bottle of pills, and the acrid odor of fermented wine polluted the air. Small puddles of red wine pooled beneath a tipped over glass, which made his beak curl; such a mess. Stolas sat up and mashed both hands against his face, in an effort to squeeze and rub out the aftermath of a shitty night’s sleep. It was then that he noticed the blanket that covered his lower body.  

Funny; he couldn’t recall grabbing one, but it wasn’t odd to curl up with a good book and some wine on a stormy night. Blankets were a natural occurrence in that scenario, so at some point he must have… 

“A letter has arrived for you, Prince Stolas.” 

The owl’s eyes shot wide and his slender, tall frame jumped at the abrupt voice of his imp butler. Well, he was certainly awake now. Confusion must have been apparent, or perhaps it was the extended silence and inaction, as the imp continued. 

“It is from Prince Vassago, your highness. Would you like to me read it aloud for you?” 

Vassago; what did he want? That name hadn’t crossed his mind for months, and yet he could picture the parrot perfectly. “No, I’m quite…quite…” A discombobulating hiccup weakened his neck and forced his four eyes to look at the floor. “…just give it here.” he commanded, with a beckoning gesture. Smooth parchment slid against his palm, which made the rigid and waxy seal at its center all the more enticing. His thumb dragged over it immediately, and without looking, he opened the scroll. 

One glance brought immediate weariness; such a short letter. It took five seconds to read, yet the prince re-read it again and again. Urgent matters, fine wine and cheese, pleasurable company; leave it to Vassago to be vague. Still, what was excitement without a lack of information, fueled by curiosity? “I hope this letter finds you in high spirits…” Stolas glanced towards the spilled wine and laughed at the irony. He muttered the rest beneath his breath, “While kind, your presence is gift enough…”  

Unbidden warmth sparked in his chest; aw, what a sweet sentiment. If only others could be as warm as those words and the honesty behind them. Other nobles would proclaim it, but even on paper, their words would reek with dishonesty. From Vassago, however, their relationship had always been a more positive one. It was so positive, in fact, that Stolas could certainly consider the parrot a compatriot. 

A flick of his wrist ushered an ink pot and quill to his side, carried by a magical blue glow; and it was with the same power that the pen began to write.  

…. 

Dear Prince Vassago,  

Your generous request has been received and is appreciated. It has been too long since we last conversed outside of work, and I yearn for enlightened companionship. Whatever these urgent matters, I am certain I can provide some measure of aid. My schedule is rather clear, as of late, so a great measure of flexibility is afforded in planning this get together. If you’d prefer, I can be there today, but if not, there is always tomorrow as well.  

Warm Regards,  

Prince Stolas  

….  

Parchment rolled and a satin blue ribbon magically wrapped itself around the center to tie it shut. Then, with a click of his fingers, a small portal opened, and he dropped the scroll inside. A secondary snap caused the portal to close, and with a newfound uptick in energy, Stolas rose to his feet. It seemed in his scrawling, his butler had departed from the room; yet had taken the time to tidy up the mess beforehand. 

If by any chance Vassago wished for an immediate meeting, Stolas would need to properly prepare. That meant, of course, ample hydration and a change of attire. As he walked from the grand foyer and into the kitchen, the topic of the urgent matter settled upon his mind. What sort of thing could someone of Vassago’s power need his help with? It must be serious, considering the parrot could see into the past and future. Aiding the other Goetia wasn’t an unheard-of practice; after all, they were kin in goal alone, but most were too engaged in their own respective projects to pay heed to their brothers. Overlap of purpose was also rare, yet the mere notion of needing aid wasn’t given lightly, and thus taken quiet seriously when necessity overcame pride.  

One cold glass of water later, he strode towards his bedroom to access his wardrobe. Along the way, a song hummed in his throat and left his beak with grace. Although wordless, the tune was light and whimsical; filled with layers of hope and a modicum of potential happiness. His talons began to glide along the floor, a twirl to carry each step by the time he reached the end of the hall. No other voice was present; no phantoms, no guilt, just beams of sunlight through his balcony window and giddiness in his heart.  

Its’ profound power stopped him, right as he threw open his wardrobe. When was the last time he had been so excited for something so trivial? How should he dress for such an occasion? Formality was important, but he didn’t want to set a tense vibe. Yet, there was a particular beauty in regality that could allow for great self-expression. Stolas looked over his options, and paused as a familiar, starry cloak caught his eye. 

Oh: that.  

Memories flooded back to his one and only date with Blitz. Ozzie’s bar, the public mockery, the rejection, and how he had cried atop his own doorstep by the end. It was not the first time that he had extended his hand in love, only for it to be slapped away. Anger briefly flared in his mind, but solemn truth extinguished it in seconds; he had set that precedent.  

He pushed the cloak aside and buried it between two other articles of clothing. No cloaks; something slimming, something…dignified. A black vest caught his eye, “Ooh.” Seeing one piece triggered a domino effect, and he quickly picked up another. An ensemble quickly came to mind; a pronounced red paisley ascot to match his eyes, and black Victorian pants to complete the look. Black was slimming, and while Stolas’ slender build indicated that he definitely didn’t need to look any thinner, the need for something less vibrant compelled him to try it on. 

In a quiet section of his mind, he hoped that Vassago would like it. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Vassago returned to the steps of his lighthouse home, only to find Alejandro on the outside of the door. He was not cleaning, smoking, or enjoying the weather; a nervous little tap in his hooves. Upon seeing his master return, the imp hopped from the step. 

“Your highness, I swear, he simply barged his way in.” 

“Calm yourself Alejandro; who barged in?” 

“Marquis Andrealphus! I tried to inform him that you were off on an errand, but he wouldn’t listen. He didn’t call, he didn’t write, I received no correspondence from his manor; he simply appeared.” 

“He must be over eager to see the book…” A slow inhale puffed out the parrot’s chest, and Vassago used it as a moment to clear his mind. It certainly sounded like Andrealphus, to show up unannounced. “Do not worry, you’ve done nothing wrong. Come, I’ll talk to him while you fetch the journal. You remember it; the one bound in dark leather?” 

The imp nodded, and Vassago pushed open the door to his own home…only to witness a seemingly disinterested peacock sitting at his dinner table. It had been pulled to the center of the room, far from the window, and the breakfast that Alejandro had prepared sat upon a single plate. Cutlery, formed of ice, pierced and sliced through an omelet, which was then gracefully lifted into a snow-white beak. 

“I must say, I expected a much more dignified breakfast for a prince.” 

“And I expected a notice.” 

“Oh, terribly sorry; there was a matter just a-buzz in my mind that I simply had to resolve with you.” Andrealphus sliced another section of the egg open to reveal red peppers, mushrooms, and chives. “It was that exact matter that makes this breakfast so appalling. Honestly, Vassago, these eggs taste like they were mass produced in a two star hotel.” 

“If I had known you were coming, I would have prepared something more…demanding.” Vassago’s brow twitched, but he quickly relaxed his beak and sat across the table to watch Andrealphus eat his eggs. “I assume you received my letter?” 

“A letter? Heavens no; I don’t read my mail until midafternoon. There are simply more important ways to start the day than digging up more work for yourself.” The gentle scrape of utensils against the plate made up for the marquis’ silent chewing. He always waited until the eggs were swallowed before speaking again. “It would seem a happy accident that we both have need of one another, then.” 

“You know I don’t believe in accidents, Andre.” 

A pause, a sneer, one final beakful of eggs, then a set of raised brows. Cold swept beneath the tablecloth, as if a freezer door beneath the ground had been opened. Unyielding blue eyes stared through the golden brim of Vassago’s shades. 

“It’s Marquis…” The title held in the air, then was followed by, “…Andrealphus; not Andre, Prince Vassago.” 

The table gently creaked as Vassago smiled and leaned forward, hands clasped in his lap. Beneath his shades, he met that frigid gaze with confidence. “If titles were all I cared about, you’d be kissing my feet in apology for entering my home without permission.” He reached across the table and pinched the edge of the omelet, then peeled a thick section for himself. Without breaking eye contact, he popped it into his mouth and chewed. “And these eggs are delicious.” 

Not even the tapping of hooved feet could break their stare down. “I have the item you requested, Prince Vassago.” 

“Thank you, Alejandro.” An offered palm received the book, and talons immediately curled around its’ thick spine. Chains that wrapped around at every angle pressed against his hand, and the padlock they attached to clattered with the weight of movement. “If you had deigned to read my letter, Andre, you’d know what this is.”  

Alejandro pulled a key out of his breast pocket and handed it to Vassago, who jammed it into the lock and gave it a hard turn. With a harsh click, the lock opened, and the chains tumbled to the table: limp. His hand brushed the bonds aside, then splayed out atop the dark leather cover.  

“Considering the ominous ceremony, I’m going to assume something nefarious.” 

“Perhaps, and I am willing to offer it in exchange for a favor.” 

“Oh, Vassago, this could have simply been a phone call.” 

“Then how would you be able to see what’s inside?” Pages fluttered as Vassago threw the cover open. Words and symbols glowed with unknown energy, next to diagrams of nebulas and star systems. Formulas were scrawled amongst footnotes in the text, and as he passed his hand over it, projected image hovered above the page. A network of planets, stretched out like the veins of one’s nervous system, sparkled in brilliant golden hues.  

Andrealphus stared at the display with clear interest; his gaze intense and flickering, as if it attempted to fully absorb every sight as it came. Being of an analytical and mathematical mind, he lay engrossed amongst the familiar and the new.  

It was in the midst of his trance-like observations that Vassago closed the book. 

“Where did you get this?” Ah, there was the youthful brilliance and wonderment that Vassago remembered; laced with a narcissistic compliance, but nonetheless enraptured.  

“It stumbled into my possession during my royal duties. I tried to make sense of it, but I’ve never been much of the astrological sort. In pondering what use I could have for it, my thoughts turned to you and your…passions. You would surely gain to benefit more from it than I; am I correct in that assumption?”   

A familiar veil of guarded interest swept over Andrealphus’ face, as he adjusted his spot on the chair. Crooked, white-gloved fingers arched together and embraced, his elbows touched the dining table to bully the plate aside, and the peacock’s brow furrowed.  

“You’re calculating the risk to gain ratios in your head, aren’t you? Do you not trust me?” 

“Hard to trust a man who holds every card. What do you want for it?” 

“Like I said, a favor.” 

“Too vague; what’s the favor?” 

“Your sealed silence, bound by ancient oath and magic.” 

Andrealphus’ brow furrowed deeper, and a heavy sigh burst from his beak. “Why do you torment me so? Surely it can only be because the future in which I speak is of immense ill consequence. Then of course, why would you provide me with a choice unless it was simply an illusion, and in every future that exists, I took the deal?” 

“The future isn’t that complicated.” 

“I daresay it is, actually. Either I always take the deal, or I only sometimes take the deal; because in all of the futures where I decline, the outcome must be so appalling that you were forced to subject me to such an insult of character to prevent it entirely.” 

“If this is too much of a burden, I can always give it to Prince Stolas.” 

“...what?” 

“He is an astrologer like yourself, no?” Vassago rubbed his fingertips together, all to conceal a smile on his beak. He knew the difference between the two, and that purposefully calling Andrealphus by the incorrect one would goad him. 

“How...dare you lump me in with that hoity-toity...spiritualistic...rock rubber?! Prince Stolas wouldn’t know centripetal force if he teleported into its path! What could he, in his minimalistic approach to the cosmos, possibly hope to achieve with a starfield map?!” 

“Oh, so that’s what it is.” Feigned interested carried the parrot’s words; this was too easy. 

“You might as well incinerate it on the spot, if you would consider, even for a moment, to bequeath that...that...disgrace of a Goetia with such untapped potential!” 

“If you say so, Andrealphus; you always were the wise one.” Fire ignited upon his fingertips and coiled down their stalks like serpents. Their glow cast a shadow over the leatherbound tome. 

“No!” 

The peacock snatched the book to his side of the table and grasped it tight to his chest. 

“What sort of madness has overtaken you, Vassago?! Have you no respect for artifacts of the arcane? Has living secluded inside of this lighthouse, gazing into the timelines of existence, turned you absolutely mental?!” 

Unable to contain it any longer, a boisterous laugh leaked from the parrot’s beak. Slow, at first, then it gained speed and turned into a booming fit of laughter that only grew stronger at the mortified and befuddled expression on his colleague’s face. “I wasn’t going to burn it, Andre!” The more Vassago laughed, the redder Andrealphus’ face became. This reaction only made the laughter arrive in stronger waves, until the prince was practically crying. “I have never seen you so flustered! Look at you, like a rosy cheeked toddler just in from its first winter!” 

“You...are...vile.” 

“Not as vile as what happens if you don’t get that book.” 

Andrealphus’ face dropped, and all the color drained from it.  

Vassago stared across the table, his smile gone, his jovial tone lowered to a near mumble.  

“You’re right, I have seen every future in which you don’t accept my deal; they’re not pretty. If you could only gleam the hidden truths of the universe like I have, Andre, you’d shudder at them all.” A chair creaked as he leaned across the table and whispered. “Truly horrifying things; it’s why I wear these. They're not just for show.” Vassago tapped his golden-hued shades. “They help keep me sane...through all the death, all the loss, the turmoil, and the wailing; oh, the wailing, Andre.” 

“Do...do you jest with me?” 

“No, I do not.” Vassago leaned closer to cast a shadow over the marquis, who in turn clutched the journal closer to his chest. “It is imperative that you accept this deal, because it is imperative that you give me what I ask of you to keep it.” That shadow grew, and it wasn’t long before the two avians were a mere slip away from clacking beaks.  

“My silence?” 

“And everything that falls within it.” 

“There’s more?” 

“Yes...”  

In rapt breath, Andrealphus stared helplessly into Vassago’s golden gaze, the flush from earlier returned to his face. Attention flickered from eye to beak tip, and it was through what appeared to be the peacock’s imagination did he shuffle in his chair. 

“...and it’s that I’ve been fucking with you.” 

“...huh?” 

“I just need a smidgen of your magical reserves.” 

A storm of befuddlement, rage, and shame wiggled over Andrealphus’ face as he worked to find his words. “You...!” 

Vassago removed his glove and extended a bare set of talons in offering, “All it takes is a handshake, and the book is yours to do with as you please.” His eyes half-closed, and a clear smile preened onto his beak. “Or would you perhaps which to pay in some other way?” A flirt, a tease, a temptation; one that Andrealphus seemed to honestly consider before he slapped his hand in Vassago’s without a word. 

Immediately, the chill current of pure arcane energy flowed into Vassago’s hand and up his arm, where it eventually settled in his heart. Like being submerged in a comforting cold beverage, the sensation was pleasant and pure; water, untouched by the frosty alterations of Andre’s craft and personality. Hopefully, it would be the key to a successful divination. 

“Your magic essence has always been so...wonderful, Andre. The journal is yours.” With that, Vassago gently retracted his hand and separated the hold.  

Flustered beyond belief, Andrealphus launched from his chair with the journal in hand and made for the door. Not even a goodbye rang out before it slammed shut with a crash and rattled the window.  

Had his minor flirtation been too much? In all honesty, it was likely the jest that sent the marquis out into the daylight. As that pure magic swirled around his fingertips, he contemplated the consequences of his actions...and found them favorable. Tonight, he could finally attempt to regain his divination abilities, yet there was one detail that remained. 

“My prince, there is a letter on your desk from Prince Stolas.” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

From a distance, Stolas gazed upon the mystical obsidian tower that was Vassago’s lighthouse. Why he had chosen to take up residence within Sloth was anyone’s guess, as opposed to the usual Goetia dwelling of Pride, but the view was certainly lovely. Vibrant cotton candy skies filled with floating rocks and cascading waterfalls; a paradise amongst the dreams of mortals. While it was far from the graces of Lucifer, it had charm. 

He approached the lonely abode and tapped his knuckles upon the door, then adjusted his ascot just in time for the door to open. Vassago stood before him, red and vibrant as ever, and gave a shallow bow of the head and dip of posture. “Prince Stolas, delighted to see you. Thank you so much for accepting my invitation.” With a wave of his wing, he beckoned the owl into his home and closed the door. 

“I must say, it has been quite some time since I last visited this Ring. The sky is much more vibrant than I remember.” 

“Careful, lest you stare too long and find yourself dozing. Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to a table, where a basket of cheese and a tall bottle of wine sat next to two glasses. As Stolas took a seat and Vassago joined him, he picked up a nearby cheese fork and began to portion himself a plate. Out the corner of his eye, he caught the scampering of tiny hooves, and turned to see an imp butler uncorking the wine bottle. With a resounding pop, the cork came free and Vassago raised a hand. 

“Gracias amigo, por favor, juego cuando quieras.”  

Stolas couldn’t understand, but the scent of roasted nuts and apples ensnared his nose to entrap his mind. “Do you entertain all guests like this?” he asked, as the scent of aged cheddar joined in the air.  

“Only for important matters...and special occasions.”  

Oh, he was a special occasion? Stolas smiled at the thought. “Ah yes, your note did mention some matter of great urgency? I do hope it’s nothing severe or ominous.”  

Vassago’s lack of an immediate answer did little to inspire confidence. The wine bottle rose with a red, magical field and tilted to fill Stolas’ glass with a golden amber liquid. Outside of its container, the drink’s odor was free to run rampant, but it was...oddly alluring. “It is a personal matter.” 

Musical notes were plucked with the song of the heavens, and Stolas turned his head to spot that same butler imp from before, now sat at a harp. Eyes closed, he appeared to feel out the harp strings and began to fill the air with a beautiful serenade. Fluid and graceful, all tension in his body began to ease. Sharp cheddar touched his tongue, and was followed by a sip of wine; which sizzled across his tastebuds in a spicy concoction of nuts and fruits. “Oh, Vassago…this is divine!” 

“Hopefully divine enough for me to bend your ear?” Vulnerability flashed across those golden-veiled eyes. It was an expression he wasn’t familiar with seeing on his fellow Goetia; as their performative masks all but kept their true emotions hidden. If it was a willing slip, then the matter must truly be grave. 

“Of course, whatever troubles you?” 

A heavy sigh slipped from Vassago’s beak, and he rose his wine glass for a spirited sip. “I need your help, Stolas. I know we have never been close, no more than work confidants, but there is no one I could trust more with the matter. You see…” Red feathers furrowed, and a white gloved hand was quick to reflexively brush them back. “…I cannot divine the future, nor the past, as of late." 

Stolas paused, a piece of cheese skewered on his fork. “What?” 

“Appalling, I know. My rituals no longer work, to put it bluntly, and I have no clue as to why; which is why I have brought you here to ask for your aid.” 

“That…isn’t possible.” A Goetia losing their power was unheard of. Sure, their magical reserves could be drained with overuse, but they could easily be refilled. If Vassago had indeed lost a portion of his power permanently, the implications were… 

“Yet it has happened. All else is intact, save that one ability. I am no more than a glorified fire juggler, at the moment, I’m afraid.” 

“How long has this been going on?” 

“Weeks; just long enough for me to exhaust every solo endeavor I could imagine.” 

“Vassago…” Stolas reached across the table and took the prince’s hand in solidarity. “I am sorry, but what could I possibly do?” Magic was second nature to the Goetia, so to be without even a small part of it was like lacking a fragment of one’s soul. To think, Vassago had silently suffered through that pain alone; it made his heart clench. While it was true they had never been close, the parrot was always one of the more agreeable of his comrades, and his distress brought immense worry. 

"Your expertise lies within the spiritual nature of the stars, the value of flora, and the majesty of stone. Perhaps…through some plant-based hallucinogenic, or a ritual of your own, I might gain insight into why my divination has abandoned me.” Stolas’ grasp was tender, and the prince tilted his wrist to embrace it, if only in the spirit of collaboration. “Even if you do not have the power to restore what I’ve lost, any answers or paths you can provide will be more than enough.” 

For a moment, Stolas mentally flipped through all of his memorized rituals, and cursed his inadequacy at the lack of anything immediately helpful. “I would need to retrieve my Grimoire.” The embrace of his hand grew tighter, and the owl gave a gentle hoot at the gesture. A silent plea, the hope of aid, and an earnest soul could be felt in that simple increase of grip. “…If it would not be too absurd of a request, we could conduct our research here.” 

“Not at all! I am indebted to your kindness, Prince Stolas. Anything you need, I shall do my best to provide.” 

“I can easily bring materials from my own home, so your hospitality is more than enough.” Stolas turned in his chair and began to mutter the silent incantation to conjure a portal home, when he felt the brush of a beak against his hand. A preening kiss followed, and although he knew it was a gesture of respect, his cheeks couldn’t help but heat up at the sensation. 

“I shall eagerly await your return.” 

Stolas retrieved his hand and made his exit through the portal. It was going to be a long night, but as the warm view of Vassago’s home vanished from existence, a thought prodded his mind. After all this time, with years of minimal contact, this meeting was too abrupt. It did feel nice to be wanted, even if it was only for one specific thing, but perhaps...just maybe, there was more hidden beneath the initial intention? 

Up through the staircase of his empty foyer, he made a sharp turn and headed directly for his room to grab the grimoire. Budding anxiety fueled his pace; the silence too eager to prey upon his lonely mind and recently broken heart. Vassago hadn’t even commented on his attire, but the atmosphere had been romantic, his pleas had been heartfelt, and his eyes... Stolas shook his head and grabbed the grimoire. Surely, there would be something useful within its pages. If not, at least he could enjoy some civilized company. Blitz would never-- 

At the name, an unbidden image flashed in front of his mind, and he shook it off. “No, this will be good...as time to get away from everything. Distract yourself, yes, that’s what I need; a good, lengthy distraction.” Beneath his breath, the incantation to summon a return portal began to flow. Blitz needed to get out of his mind, to bury the sadness that his face invoked, and there was one person in particular who could help him. 

Chapter 3: Secrets Unveiled, Secrets Kept

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Deep into the night, Vassago and Stolas poured over the pages of the grimoire for a potential cure. A combination of a study and a lab had been cobbled together with their dual resources, nestled upon the second floor of the lighthouse. Baskets of plants, geodes and gemstones littered the erected desks. Dried herbs dangled from metallic hangers and arcane circles made from chalk were scribbled all over; from the floor to the walls.  

In the beginning, they focused solely on the concept of transcendence in its many forms; mental, physical, and emotional. Mentally, narcotics were the most inelegant route. With peyote and mood suppressants, magic could be added to amplify the effects and potentially send one’s mind to a higher plane. They shelved that option for later, as the side effects were too severe to risk so soon. 

Physically, muscle relaxants and prolonged meditation could induce a bliss like state of awareness that might reach the same juncture. The downside was the time required to properly attune to one’s body; even with magic to aid in the process, some things could simply not be forced. In doing so, the results would be faulty, and so that path was shelved as well. 

Emotionally; well, that was perhaps the trickiest of all. A dual pronged approach of mental and physical stimulation would be required. Happiness was a complicated matter, but a particular section of Stolas’ grimoire caught Vassago’s eye. He paced, tome in hand, and silently scanned the text while Stolas took a wine break. 

“This could hold promise.” Paragraphs of solid text, verifiable walls of information, poured into his rapidly scanning eyes. The near obsessive mutter that left his beak fueled his scholarly mania, and within it, his hand found itself unable to remain still. Adjustments were made; shades, head feathers, and the number of undone buttons on his vest all manipulated in the throes of thought. “Have you paid much mind to the Sextile Conjunction Ritual?” 

“Complimentary elements supporting one another in a moment of harmony to manifest a union of synergy? Yes, but it’s rather complicated. What drew your mind to it?” 

Thick talons tapped against the ground as Vassago cradled the book and his fingers traced the text. Ingredients, words of power, and ritual circle patterns were catalogued clearly; the only challenge was adding it together. “Your magic possesses an earthly element, as it deals with the plants and stones, correct? This text implies that all we need is the complimentary element of water, and we can enhance your magical capabilities. In turn, all I would need is the element of air; however, I might know of a theoretical workaround. If I am correct, this will allow us to perform the ritual…and potentially result in the return of my powers.” 

Stolas huddled close to his fellow prince and took a deep sip of wine; all four of his red eyes locked upon the contents of the tome. “Let’s imagine that your workaround is successful; what does the ritual entail, exactly?” Before an answer was given, a diagram appeared in his line of sight. In the footnotes of the illustration, an asterisk was followed by the phrase, *Join the mind, join the body, join the soul. Deeper observation of the diagram revealed a rather sexual nature, and a deep blush rushed into the owl’s face. “Oh.” 

“It appears…our three avenues are meditative yoga, heavy drug use…or sex.” 

Stolas covered his face with one free hand and squeezed his temples. “Clearly, that’s an old ritual; just look at the preparations. Full nudity, body paint, a special drink mixture to imbibe beforehand. I hardly recall this section as a child.” Once again, he took another deep sip, but this one was longer than the last. “Besides, we still lack the element of air.” 

Vassago shut the book with a heavy thud and turned to Stolas, fingers splayed in a gesture of pause. “I happen to have a source of water magic on hand. Since earth is not that separate from air, if we join it with my natural element of fire, we might be able to form a pseudo-source of air magic.” 

“And if we filter that back into the process, we have Sextile Conjunction.” 

“Yes; that’s the theory anyway.” 

Stolas paused, “…why do you have a source of water magic, Vassago? We are kept to our own realms of study, and with your aspect being that of the flame…” Suspicion crawled into every tipsy word, and it was all the parrot could do not to look guilty. 

“I…recently acquired some through a mutual dealing.” 

“With who?” 

“…your brother-in-law.” 

At first, there was only silence and the burning gaze of four occult rubies against the back of his head. Then, the gentle clink of a wine glass as it was sat down. “Andrealphus; I wasn’t aware that you were on speaking terms with him. Just how recent was this deal, hm?” Anger, although simply the size of a seed, bloomed in the owl’s words.  

Vassago sighed; if they were going to collaborate, there couldn’t be secrets, but if those secrets threatened to sunder the alliance…damn it. “It was earlier today, but he does not know about my affliction.” 

“So, you kept this a secret from him while simultaneously getting his help.” 

“I am not deceiving you, Prince Stolas.” 

“Quick to know exactly what I’m thinking, for someone so innocent.” 

“You know how he is; this information would be hoisted above my head to perform his every whim. That is why I could only confide in a fellow prince…in you.” 

Stolas planted both hands upon his slender hips and looked away from Vassago. His gaze landed upon a random basket of geodes; something beautiful to focus on as he spoke his mind. “I should have guessed. All the wine, the cheese, the harp; are you actually devoid of your abilities, or was all of this an elaborate ruse to bed me?” 

“What?” 

“I am no stranger to such hoaxes.” 

Disbelief coursed through Vassago, and he pinched his brow before it could overwhelm his composure. “No, this isn’t—I sincerely—no!” Where was all of this coming from? He hadn’t anticipated such a response; where had it all gone wrong? “That isn’t how I would approach you.” 

For a moment, Stolas fell silent. Red eyes flicked about, then closed as the owl’s slender shoulders rose; the telltale signal before he sighed. “So, you admit there’s an interest. You have considered it.” 

“This isn’t relevant.” 

“It is if you want me continued help. I want the truth, Vassago.” 

The parrot shuffled on his feet and tensed his beak, his gaze tilted towards the floor. Looking Stolas in the eye was impossible. “I wrote letters to both you and Andrealphus, in the hope that one of you could help me. I wasn’t sure which of you would be willing, or even capable, so I hedged my bets. Andrealphus showed up first, unannounced, and I had to think on my feet. I failed, but took a consolation prize, and then I received your letter. Because I cannot see the future, I didn’t know of his early arrival or how to handle it…just like I don’t know how to handle this right now.” 

Vassago looked towards his fellow prince in search of a sign, anything that those words were getting through. Honesty was often the higher road, but it was equally often a detriment to any relationship. Sometimes, lying was kinder, but not always right.  

“Stolas, without my foresight, I am nothing. It is what allows me to fulfill my purpose, to be useful, and if I cannot be useful then my title as prince is worthless. I will do whatever it takes to get my power back…so if you wish for me to—”  

Warm hands cupped his own in a gentle, smothering embrace.  

“I believe you.” A voice, filled with heaviness, followed. “I apologize for accusing you; there has just been a recent event that has made me wary. If you think this ritual will help you, then I am willing to try it…just not immediately.” 

Disappointment wracked his own tone, “I understand.” As their hands parted, a warm smile caught his eye, and he felt Stolas’ hand upon his shoulder.  

“We shall keep looking. Perhaps there is a far more simple and elegant solution to the problem that we simply haven’t discovered yet.” 

“Of course, you are more than likely right.” 

Other books rested in short stacks upon the tables; supplementary works, references, citations to draw upon in relation to what they found in the grimoire. Such texts were numerous, for those with the proper intellect to comprehend them and authority to obtain them. Nothing was cursed, but the knowledge was primal; unsuited for lesser minds. As Vassago read a few of the spinal columns, the approach of footsteps caught his ear. 

From behind, bodily warmth pressed to his back, and the tracing touch of long fingers moved over his forearms. “Please, don’t misunderstand.”  

“Mis...misunderstand?” The sudden contact, rather close and intimate, filled Vassago’s limbs with tenseness. Stolas’ voice felt like it was being inserted into his spine; not unpleasant, just intense. Soft finery, with likely equally soft feathers beneath, provided a touch he hadn’t felt for...well, too long. 

“You are lovely, Vassago. With the dissolution of my marriage and other events, I’ve found myself at a crossroads. For the first time in a long time, since even I can remember, I’m staring into the uncertain future with no plan, no goals, simply my heart and what it tells me.” Weight shifted, and the coverage of his torso shifted upwards to rest his chin upon the prince’s shoulder. “I am...so very tired, of everything.” 

Hollow weight hoisted his heart by its strings and vacated its center. Such dejection, such resignation, and the profound burden conveyed through the tone alone made Vassago turn his hand and embrace Stolas’ hand; just to show that he wasn’t alone.  

“Have you ever experienced it; to be so heavy, yet incapable of rest? Life marches on, and no matter what our desires, we must tread onward to its tune; powerless, mute, unloved. Surely you must understand the intimate knowledge, the realization, that beneath all of this...” Stolas moved his hands upwards to embrace Vassago’s chest from behind, as if to feel his spry heartbeat. “...we are not immune to melancholy.” 

“...I have, and I do.” 

Stolas’ head tilted inward, and his beak brushed against a neck of red feathers. “I would like to resist it with someone, and perhaps, find my feet off the beaten path. If Sextile Conjunction is the only way to make you whole, then I only ask that you help mend my heart first, before its broken again.” 

Vassago’s fingers curled his hands into gentle fists atop the table. Each breath and brush fluffed his feathers and titillated his nerves. How long had it been since he’d been held like this, whispered to, by someone of equal measure? Prolonged isolation in Sloth, with naught to talk to but spirits and the fates of people he held no attachment to were all that he had; aside from Alejandro.  

“That is your price?” 

“It is my hope.” 

Finally, that embrace opened enough to allow him to turn, and so he did. Face to face with Stolas, he rested both hands upon the owl’s waist and gazed into his eyes. “I suppose we could all use a little more hope, these days.” 

He found it all too easy to slip into Stolas’ lead; to be guided by his touch, and the research efforts of the evening slipped into distant memory. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Morning sunlight peeked through the single porthole window in the laboratory. Vassago groggily awoke in a cushioned sitting room chair, his feet propped up against a mountainous stack of books. The aftertaste of nuts and morning breath made his head spin, and as the books tumbled to the ground, a secondary wave of nausea overcame him. Unsure whether to clench his head or cover his beak, the prince simply swallowed and grit his teeth. What happened last night? 

The world swayed and tilted as he raised his head; oh right, the laboratory. He and Stolas had spent all night doing research. Said prince was passed out at one of the numerous desks, head planted atop both arms. Vassago’s head dipped as weakness gripped his skull, and only a prolonged stretch of the eyes could fight against it. To try and comfort his aching body, he planted a hand to his chest…and felt bare feathers.  

Where he expected the smooth silk that wove his royal attire, he instead felt his own plumage. Momentary confusion and a gentle spark of panic forced his vision into focus. No shirt; where was his shirt? He tried to stand and felt his legs tremble, so much so that he had to brace himself against the armrest of the chair. Sleep tried to lull him back into its embrace with gentle and scraping claws, but he resisted and fully stood to let blood cascade back into his lower body.  

Static-like deadness seized his legs, but he muscled through with great determination and slowly walked to the door. Alejandro would surely know what happened; he was always so vigilant in his duties, so surely, he would have kept watch. Another wave of chestnuts and grapes hit his throat, an after effect of the ancient roman wine from the previous evening. Vassago grabbed the door handle and pulled, only to jolt to a sudden stop. 

Andrealphus stood in the doorway, a mug of steaming coffee in hand. “You little slut.” The marquis raised the mug for a slow sip, yet his eyes never left Vassago’s wide eyes.  

“…what?”  

Realization crept upon him, then pounced as his freshly booted mind caught up to the peacock’s words. Bare chest, disheveled appearance, Stolas: oh no. 

“Oh! No, this isn’t--!” Sharp pain burst against Vassago’s beak as Andrealphus gave it a harsh and cold flick. As sensitive as a soft tooth, painful shockwaves rippled down the parrot’s back and settled in his tailbone. It was so powerful that he immediately gripped his face and groaned into both hands.  

“Fucking my brother-in-law under the guise of academic study; really Vassago?” 

“God…damnit Andre, that hurt!” 

“Not as much as my dignity. You bribe me with a starmap to turn my attention from the fact that you are cavorting with Stolas under my very beak? Have you no shame?!” 

It took several seconds for the pain to begin to fade. “What are you even doing here?” 

The peacock huffed, “A little birdie informed me of your deception, so I came to confront you. How fortuitous that I catch you red-handed!”  

Vassago was forced to lean back as the marquis’ puffed out chest jutted close to his face. Resentment, anger, agitation, yet…a hint of sadness, marked the lines in the peacock’s scowl. 

“I thought you had better taste, Vassago. Needless to say, I am immensely disappointed; downtrodden even, inconsolable!” If it wasn’t for the stare of icy death trying to drill into his soul, Vassago might just assume Andrealphus was actually hurt; but nothing that angry could feel pain. “I thought we were comrades.” 

“Andre, we didn’t have sex, we were conducting research!” 

“Who researches without a shirt, Vassago?! Do you take me for a blind fool? I can see his skinny little ass passed out at that table over there, likely a belly full of bird seed!” An accusatory finger jabbed against bare red feathers. “No doubt you hiked your trousers up, as so not be seen with your dignity in the breeze, because you knew I would be standing behind this very door!” 

“It. Was. Research.” 

“I can smell the wine on your breath.” 

Vassago groaned and pinched the space between his eyes, grip tight to try and squeeze the agitation out of his brain. His muscles tensed in a still stretch, and when they released, he unleashed a blasting sigh. “Yes, I invited him over for cheese and wine last evening, over business. That business is private and does not concern you.” 

“Clearly; not only is your taste in bedfellows atrocious, but also your sense for proper research partners.” Contempt ran rampant in Andrealphus’ face. “He reads tea leaves and caresses rocks, Vassago; what could you possibly hope to gain from nonsense such as that? You deserve so much better.” 

“Wait,” Vassago raised a hand to halt whatever might be said next. “Are you…offering me your help?” 

A peer, a shuffle, a raise of the chin, and an averted gaze. “…only if you want it; for the research, obviously, not the…sex.” 

Such humility was rare, and its source made Vassago raise a brow. Typical Andre, barking one second and thinking the next, but he wasn’t wrong. Having a third mind might just help expedite the process. Yet, doubt lingered in his mind; could he confide in the marquis? “You don’t even know what we’re researching.” 

“You can enlighten me over morning coffee…and after you put on a shirt.” 

“What is with all the yelling?” Stolas had awoken and now stood groggily behind Vassago. His beak curled at the sight of their visitor. “Oh, Andre, it’s you.” 

“Gone from imps to princes, Stolas? Your sexual depravity is unparalleled.” came a hissing rebuttal. 

“…beg pardon?” 

“He is under the assumption that we had intercourse.” 

“We did not; we studied.” 

“Silence whore, dignified adults are speaking.” 

“Andre.” 

“Frilly pigeon!” 

“Adulterous cur!” 

Insult after insult hurtled over Vassago’s shoulder with increasing ferocity and creativeness. Caught in the middle, he pinched his brow again. "Gentlemen, please, cease your squawking! Stolas, Andre has offered us his aid. Andre, Stolas and I did not engage in sex. Now, stop bickering and let us focus on the academia!” 

“Very well, at the dinner table, then.” Turquoise tail feathers fanned out in front of Vassago’s face and threatened to knock him onto his ass, as Andrealphus turned and strut towards the transportation pole. The flourish tipped the peacock back a step, but he was immediately caught by Stolas. 

“…why is your shirt off?” 

“To be honest, I have no idea.” 

---

“Sextile Conjunction? Are you two absolutely daft?” Over a plate of eggs, Andrealphus chastised his fellow Goetia. Flecks of egg white flung across the table with every flick of his fork, as he waved it to and fro like some haughty lord. “If you were to attempt to bypass the elemental synchronicity, you could cause a catastrophic reaction. Forget simply burning the drapes, you’d likely spawn an unnatural maelstrom that could level the entire coast!” Silver pierced the runny egg yolk and struck the plate beneath with a sharp tink.  

“It was not our first option, merely a promising one.” Vassago sipped from his coffee mug, the bitter and dark beverage enough to stall a headache that brewed at the back of his head. 

“That does not make it any less reckless, or idiotic! You’re not some makeshift tinkerer of the arcane, you’re a prince; start acting like one.” Cerulean eyes, sharp and intense as freshly honed daggers, glared across the table at Stolas. “Spiritualism has no place in experimentation; you cannot simply believe a shortcut into being.” 

“It was an offshoot, alchemical theory based upon critical thinking. You’re acting silly.” Stolas glanced to his plate of breakfast sausage and sliced a portion of one with his fork and knife. As he consumed a piece, his attention shifted fully from Andrealphus to the meat product. 

“Silly is thinking you look good in black satin. Wishing to risk a ring-wide incident, because you don’t wish to speak to the other Goetia, is asinine.” 

“Yet, here you are, the most asinine thing I’ve ever laid eyes upon.” Stolas groaned. 

“Only because you are blind to your egregious taste in men!” 

“Oh, Lucifer preserve me...” Vassago sighed. The lamentation drew the attention of both royals. “I know you two have a fractious history, but if we are going to gain any serious ground, it must not be allowed to continue.”  

Andrealphus folded his arms and locked his shoulders back; the purest object of egotism in all of Hell. “Fine; let me begin with a question, do you two have any other possible solutions to this problem?” 

Stolas and Vassago slipped into relative silence. In truth, they hadn’t. Sextile Conjunction had been the most promising thought they could recall having. Hours of endless reading, even with a staggering words per minute score, had rendered their memories rather abstract. If they had stumbled upon an alternative, neither of them could remember it. The prolonged silence drew a creak of the marquis’ chair, drawn out as if to replace any dissatisfied noise his mouth could conjure. 

“I suppose unless we wish to try and shove three beaks into the same book at once, a trip to Lust might be in order. Who better to assist in a sexual ritual than a child of Asmodeus?” 

“Assuming any of them would wish to help us at all.” 

Vassago idly rubbed at his beak with a single finger; relations between the Goetia and the common folk of Hell were complicated at best, disastrous at worst. “Do you intend for us to simply wander the rainy streets and ask at random, or is there an actual plan behind this suggestion?” 

A smug smirk rose on the marquis’ beak that made Stolas’ stomach flip; oh, he’d seen that look before. Not only was there likely a plan, but it would be the certain solution to their issue, no matter how large. It was the expression of a cocksure intellectual, or more appropriately, a self-indulgent dickhead. 

“I’ve had many dealings with the Sin of Lust, and I also to happen to be on agreeable terms with the guard to his esteemed nightclub. Asmodeus can surely guide us to who we need, or better yet, bring them to us.” 

With a plan seemingly at the ready, the three Goetia exchanged glances, until Vassago spoke. “So, Stolas, you can conjure us a portal to the Lust Ring outside of Ozzie’s, where Andrealphus will then get us through the front door and hopefully to Asmodeus. I suppose that leaves me to do all of the talking.” 

“We should confer with him as a group.” Andre interjected. 

“How do you expect us to do that when we can’t even share a civilized breakfast?” Stolas countered.  

Two firm hands slapped against the table and pressed on either side of the cutlery. “Regardless,” Vassago began. “We will need something to persuade Asmodeus to actually aid us in this joint endeavor.” 

“Knowing him, he’ll likely want to watch.” 

Heat surged into Vassago’s face, completely unbidden, and as he glanced over the table, he saw Stolas possessed of a similar malady. Lewd imagery whisked around in his brain, and the squeamish dig of discomfort welled in his chest. “I…don’t think we could offer him that.” 

Andre tugged at the bottom of his eyelids with two sets of talons, gently. “If you think of it as simple theater, your shame will vanish in an instant.” 

“I don’t like the idea of someone gleefully watching as we…” Another blast of heat rushed into his lungs and jumpstarted his heart with fresh, volcanic vigor. Images of feathery bodies pressed together, grinding, hands groping and stroking, beaks nipping and preening in the throes of— 

“It’s not as if it’s a romantic affair.”  

Those words snapped Vassago from his fantasies. Feathers pointed, he slapped the table with enough force to induce a powerful, throbbing sting into his palm. Its impact was so mighty that it shook the dishware and caused his companions to jump. Golden-shaded eyes of deepest ruby narrowed; his breathing still high, his blood pressure fit to boil. Unwelcome emotion rampaged inside of his heart, then snaked outwards to the limbs as they burned with idle static. Several seconds passed in silence, save the thudding of his own heartbeat, until Vassago tried to wet his beak. Scratchy dryness met him, like that of a cracked desert plain; it hurt.  

“No, just…no.” 

Now it was time for the brothers-in-law to glance at one another in mutual thought, curiosity and caution upon their faces. It was Stolas who reached his hand out to rest it atop Vassago’s own.  

“We will think of something else, won’t we Andre?” A barbed, pointed tone capped the sentence as a rhetorical question. While the marquis didn’t respond, his gaze was solely locked on the clearly bothered parrot; something was on his mind, but he kept it caged. 

Silently, Vassago mentally willed his body to calm itself. Angry commands for control tore from his mind’s eye to scream at his veins, his cells, his very blood; yet they freely ignored him. That image, the three of them lost in the throes of bliss together, sank its teeth in and left a mighty wound. So engrained in his own thoughts as he was, the sharp pattering of hooves didn’t reach his ears, not until the touch of tiny fingers pressed to his ribs. 

It was Alejandro. 

“This conversation will need to continue another time. You are free to stay while I tend to my master. Help yourself to the pantry, for we will be unavailable for some time.” Spoken without an ounce of fear, as one who ruled over the domain, they all stood within, the imp wrapped his arm around Vassago’s waist and eased him out of the chair. In the motion, Stolas’ hand slid free, just as a trail of sweat formed against the parrot’s head. 

Hot. 

Everything was hot. 

“Gentlemen…” the prince muttered, before he turned and with the aid of his butler, ascended to a higher level of the lighthouse. 

All that remained was a pair of confused and curious birds, their trepidation matched only by their concern. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Vassago heaved, ash-like breath bursting from his beak in a series of thundering pants. Fingers clutched at his chest, he approached the dresser of his private quarters with Alejandro in tow, who sat the prince down and quickly opened a drawer. Wheezing replaced his natural breathing, and each movement became scorched agony. 

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt! 

Heat rubbed the back of his eyes raw, and his tear ducts shriveled into raisins. Steam poured from where water would be, and his skin smothered to rabid mania underneath his feathers; at least, that’s what it felt like. The heat was so intense, that he discarded his shades and firmly planted a hand across his eyes. 

“Hold steady master.” Alejandro said, his voice accompanied by the sound of a drawer being opened. 

“It burns…!” Vassago heaved, wheezed, and coughed all at once. “My eyes…my eyes are melting...!” Panic kicked his body’s need for air into overdrive, and the parrot hunched in his seat, the back of his ribs heaving and inflating. It was all he could stand not to let his heart explode. 

“The serum is almost ready. Remember your chants.” 

Sweat flowed freely over his hand and dropped to the ground below. Their path crept between his talons and seared his eyes further, and in the added pain, all he could think to do was exhale. “Aaah!” Not a word, but a sound, a pant; desperate, pleading, uncontrolled. More came soon after, “Aaah! Aaah! Hah! Ah! Hah!” 

He gripped his desk. The tension in his grip would help; it didn’t. 

Fresh claws of heat curled over the top of his heart, and their power was too much for Vassago to withstand. Veins bulged in his arms; his head dropped low. A prince, brought to bow before his pain, seethed in futile denial of his weakness. 

“Alejandro…please…no more…!” Cold steel pressed to his neck, and he welcomed the needle’s bite upon his neck. Relief poured inside of him, and Vassago went limp immediately, like a river of bliss had pulled him undertow. Eyes now uncovered, they gaped wide and stared at the floor. “Oh…oh!” 

Steadfast hands pulled him back up and leaned his head back. Above his quivering eyes, a white towel descended and filled his vision, only to feel the fabric mold directly into his sockets. Gel-like, it cradled and soothed their pain; similar to the aloe vera plant employed by humans on Earth. Gratitude poured from his beak in a pained gasp, only for his butler to speak ahead of him. 

“Prince Vassago, the chants.” 

In the white void, he felt the tight embrace of two hands around his own, and moisture returned to his throat. Raw as it was, he was able to rasp out the incantation. 

“Augur of Fate…All that Shall Be…Fires four and Fires three…illuminate me evermore, spare my eyes your wrath and scorn…” 

A hand touched his chest and laid there, as if to absorb the chaos in his heart. Alejandro’s voice joined his own. 

“For all that is and all shall be, what lies beyond in eternity, gift him power to withstand… the vengeful wrath of time’s own sand. Future’s light must never fade, darkness made to be overcame, cast in the glow of the Weaver’s thread, shield my master from his dread.” 

Vassago’s heart slowed, and slowed…and slowed…and…an— 

Air leapt into his lungs. Everything became still, calm, and quiet. 

No longer did his eyes burn.  

He gasped, and felt the firmness of all things. His chair: rigid as stone. His fingers; brittle as sticks. A fire raged within him, and once again…he could see. Blindly, he groped for the cloth, only for it to be pulled away for him by Alejandro. Both hands jutted for his face, fingers splayed over his eyes. 

His eyes. He could still see. 

Adrenaline fueled the boulder of air that he inhaled, and was what expelled said air with all the force of a water geyser. Gratitude made itself known in his heart, a fine replacement for the fire, but then… 

Fear. 

It was brief, but powerful, and it was enough to bring the prince to bow his posture forward once again.  

“Thank you…Alejandro. Thank you dearly…” 

“Do you wish me to expel your guests sire?” 

“No, they do not know…how could they…their transgression was innocent. Do not punish them.” 

“This episode was worse than the last. I fear what happens if they continue to worsen. You must—” 

“It was a slip. I slipped, nothing more; my mind was…was filled with perverse imaginings and then the…” Vassago groaned and gripped his forehead.  

“You need to rest. Let me tend to the marquis and the prince.” 

“No.” 

“Sire?” 

“We must go to Lust, speak with Asmodeus, find a guide for this ritual. My weakness cannot be an obstacle.” He reached down and scooped his glasses off the floor, then placed them back upon his face. Rays of heaven shielded his gaze in a cool, comforting glow. “Please inform our guests that I shall be down shortly, and that I wish for the portal to Lust to be open when I arrive.” 

“Yes, Prince Vassago, as you command.” 

Chapter 4: The Key to Conjunction

Summary:

Vassago, Stolas, And Andrealphus take a trip to meet Asmodeus, but it appears one of them doesn't have the best relationship with the Lust Ring. Will they find answers, or will their differences unravel the journey before it even begins?

Notes:

The language that they speak in the third part of this chapter is latin.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Neon lights of purple, pink, and blue cast a rainbow sea along the rain-splattered streets outside of Ozzie’s. A line stretched from the heart-shaped arch of the entrance, to the end of the block. Demons of all sorts stood patiently, arm in arm, as the establishment’s doormen checked identification at the door. It was fitting that the three Goetia stood across the street, a practical world apart from everyone else.  

Stolas carried a wide and starry umbrella that protected his head from the warm rain. Andrealphus needed no cover, as every raindrop that fell towards him froze and became naught but harmless snowflakes that melted upon the ground. Vassago was the only one to cover his finery; a drab and hefty raincoat with an equally thick hood that cast his large beak in shadow. 

“Are you certain we can enter without an appointment?” Stolas asked, his eyes locked on one of the doormen and the clipboard in their hand.  

“What’s the point of being of higher class if you can’t skip in line?” Andrealphus brushed a small dusting of snowflakes from his shoulders, as if to preen himself for inspection. “All it will take is a few words in the correct ear.” 

Dampened by the rain, Vassago remained silent beneath his hood and lost himself in the echoing drone that surrounded his ears.  

“This is a couples only club, correct? What if we are barred for that reason alone?” 

“A polycule should count, no?” 

Stolas scoffed, “That is one rumor I’d rather not start.” 

“For once, we agree. You’d likely cheat on me with an endowed carnival barker, anyway, and I’d rather skip the headache.” 

“Stop talking.” Vassago huffed, his reprimand a swift and tight bark. “Andre, hurry up and get us inside.” 

“Oh, is a little rain bothering you?” 

“Yes, it is.” Whatever Andrealphus and Stolas detected in his tone, it was enough to create a glance between the two. “I don’t like it here, so let’s hurry up and get this over with.” 

“As you wish.” 

As a unit of three, they strode across the vehicle-vacant street. Multiple heads from the demons in line turned, fingers pointed, and a muttering began that hummed beneath the muffled club music. At the door, two demons stood; an incubus and a succubus. The succubus was thick of arm and tall of stature, her blonde and braided locks a jeweled curtain on either side of gleaming emerald cat eyes. The incubus was far shorter in stature, but also firm of build. Broad shoulders, white hair, sharp jaw; he stood without a shirt, and two black tape pasties covered his nipples. Leathery wings adorned both of their backs, and heart-shaped tails flicked in the rain. 

“Jesse, darling.” Andrealphus crooned, his posture bent closer towards the lesser demon’s height. 

“Andrealphus, this is…what are you doing here?” Rumbling baritones, similar to a weary lion’s growl, graced their collective ears as yellow eyes darted between the Goetia.  

“My colleagues and I require an audience with Asmodeus.” 

Jesse glanced to his partner, who shifted her gaze between him and the three towering birds. “His Sinfulness isn’t available right now.” Andrealphus’s head swiveled to the side, and despite not being to see his eyes, the aura of his stare made his companions tense. “You are all, of course, free to enter and await his arrival.” 

“When would that be?” Vassago asked, his voice low and rife with impatience.  

“…I can’t say.” 

“I’m certain that if you were to inform him of the combined magnitude at his doorstep, he would surely expedite whatever he’s occupied with.” 

“Andre…” Jesse started to speak, like he was about to end at the shortened version of the peacock’s name, but held the ending vowel and carried it onward. “…alphus, this isn’t something we can talk about. I can let you all in, but that’s it, I’m sorry.” 

With a sharp click of his beak, Andrealphus leaned close and raised a hand to brush against the handsome incubus’ cheek. “Aw, not even for me?” Misty breath floated into Jesse’s mouth and against his face while everyone watched. His tail flicked and his wings gave a little flap. Hesitation weighed upon his face, a pierced brow glimmered in the movement of his brow, and finally, he sighed.  

“God…fucking damnit. Fine, follow me. Jules, hold the post; I’ll be back in a minute.” 

Ozzie’s was now open to them all, and as they followed after the flustered incubus, the merriment of the establishment wrapped around them. Even on the outskirts, they couldn’t ignore the energy of a vast proscenium stage dotted with stripper poles and flanked by hanging iron cages. Some were occupied, most were empty, but the majority of the activity was on the ground where multiple dining tables were set up. Couples sat and talked over a shared meal; shark demons, baphomet demons, imps, incubi, even a hellhound or two.  

Vassago kept his hood up and his eyes on Andrealphus’ back, more focused on not stepping on tail feathers than the vibe around him. Stolas, however, gazed out upon the floor with a resigned sigh. Ozzie’s, for him, had a troubled past. In fact, the only one who seemed to be comfortable was Andrealphus, who’s lengthy stride carried him with a powerful gait. Head raised, shoulders proud, he acted as if he owned the club itself. 

A large and open staircase soon yawned before them, and Jesse’s pace sped up as he took two stairs at a time. In seconds, he outpaced the group, but they could still hear his clopping footsteps.  

“Hypocrite.” Stolas quipped, as raindrops slid down his sheathed umbrella. 

“Pardon?” 

“You assassinate my character over being with an imp, yet here you are with an incubus. Thus, I repeat: hypocrite.” 

“Jesse is a work associate, nothing more.” 

“That was not work associate behavior back there. There’s a history, you two have clearly—” 

“Not another word.” 

“Are you ashamed? Too proud to admit that your inhibitions are tempted the same as everyone else’s?” 

“I said be quiet.” 

“Does your sister know?” 

Andrealphus’ ascent came to a dead halt, and it was only through Vassago’s absence in the conversation that he reacted in time to the movement. Whatever conjuration of cold that the peacock’s anger had crafted never got the chance to be unleashed, as he grabbed the marquis’ wrist and countered the cold with a dull flame. It caused no pain, but it lit up the staircase nonetheless and cast their faces in deep shadow.  

“Can neither of you stand each other’s company for even a minute? Are you truly so filled with hate?” He loathed it; the fighting, the bickering, the arguing. He always had, and always would, resent such things. 

“Have you not already glimpsed our shared history, Vassago? You know full well why this…false prince will always vex me. We would be better off without him.” 

Dread sank into his gut like a rock; Andrealphus still didn’t know. They had told him what the research was, but not what it was for. Now, that decision reared its ugly head to create division in the ranks. Stolas looked his way; they were of one mind, but the owl said nothing. Perhaps it was out of respect, but Vassago couldn’t know.  

“No, Andrealphus, I have not. I cannot.” 

Revelation wiped the anger from those bright blue eyes, and his posture changed. Arm relaxed in that moment of shock, Vassago released it and let it tumble. Andrealphus shifted in place and his tone lost a fragment of its original haughtiness. “What?” 

“My divination is gone.” Where once he would have reveled in having dropped such a bombshell, he felt a solitary determination to bare the truth in its entirety. “That is why I sent you both those letters; in the hope that one of you could aid me. I hoped that my brothers, my fellow Goetia, would be able to set aside their petty grievances. I hoped that my worth to you would prove greater than your mutual disdain for one another.” Vassago bumped past Andrealphus and began to ascend the stairs. “Yet, you bicker even now, while I stand in the background and absorb it all!” 

Hurried footsteps followed him; two pair.  

“Vassago, wait!” 

“I cannot afford to wait! With each passing day, my chances of recovery diminish.” 

A firm grasp wrapped around his arm, just above the elbow, and stopped him on the step. He whipped his head over his shoulder; it was Stolas who had grabbed hold. “Please, take a moment to breath.” 

“No, I hate it here; this ring, this atmosphere. I am not comfortable around the denizens of lust, or these conversations of…of…and yet here I am!” Fervor fueled his words, and once measured breaths slipped into heavy heaves of air. Familiar anxiety flooded his heart until he felt his very eyes bulge with the sensation. 

“Vassago, breathe!”  

His back stumbled into the nearby wall; it was happening again. Fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of losing everything that composed his being, balled itself inside and burned. Stolas was right on top of him, his aura smothering, yet inescapable. Andrealphus stepped forward, grabbed his hand, and pulled… 

…only to wrap both arms around Vassago in a firm hug. 

Soothing cold radiated down his body, and unmistakable bliss washed down his mind like a fine mist. The fear began to fade, dissolved in the embrace of his fellow Goetia, and it only dissolved further as he felt another pair of arms embrace him as well. He shuddered, his heart slowed, and the threat of burning alive withered away in seconds. Their shared warmth replaced his own, and it was full of love; it could be nothing else. 

“Breathe, brother.” Andrealphus took a deep breath of his own, as if to guide the parrot’s lungs to do the same. Chests rose and chests fell in synchronicity, the marquis’ grip firm and full of comfort. After three deep breaths, he pulled back just to check Vassago’s eyes. “There is nothing within this realm that can hurt you. You are a prince of the Ars Goetia. You are stronger than your fear.” Strong hands slid through his cheek feathers and clasped firmly to his face to heavily encourage eye contact. Andre’s gaze brimmed with resolve and brotherhood; every word spoken as gospel. “Even if such a thing happened to exist, we are with you.” 

“He’s right,” Stolas said, his embrace just as strong around the parrot’s torso. “You aren’t alone, Vassago.” 

Swelling emotion choked at his throat, and in a moment of release, Vassago wrapped his arms around Andrealphus’ waist and hugged him back. His anxieties were gone; what was this…this feeling, this sense of safety and assuredness? “Thank you…thank you both, I—” 

“We doing okay down here?” 

Jesse’s voice broke the hug, and all three birds jumped an equal distance apart. None of them answered, their gazes pointed every which way except towards each other.  

“…alright; Asmodeus is ready for you.” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Double doors swung wide to reveal a sprawling office and sitting room combo. Multiple braziers filled with blue and purple flames illuminated the room, a stone hearth sat against one of the walls to frame a modest sitting area, and a meeting table sat across the way from it. Drapes and photos adorned the walls, but the real focus was the towering, rooster-like figure that sat in waiting at farthest end: Asmodeus. 

Possessed of three faces and adorned in the striped, colorful attire, the Sin of Lust looked up from his desk and planted both elbows atop it. Andrealphus spread his arms wide in greeting and bellowed down the chamber, “Asmodeus, my lord, it has been far too long since we last conversed!” 

Tiny reading glasses were plucked from those ghostly, green eyes by a hand far too large for them. They scanned the three visitors with a passive, albeit slightly miffed expression. “Yet you felt the need not to call ahead of time.” 

Vassago glanced at Andre, knowing full well the agitation that Asmodeus felt. 

“Yes, and I am truly, absolutely remorseful over it, but this is sudden and rather important. We—” 

A large hand rose, and was cast in shadow by the flames that surrounded the sin’s head like a lion’s mane. “Have a seat, all of you; get comfy.” As the three Goetia did as he bid, Vassago removed his hood out of respect; his colorful plume like that of porcupine quills. Before any of them could utter another word, Asmodeus pointed directly at him. “You are uncomfortable being here: why?” 

Taken aback, Vassago exchanged glances with his fellow Goetia, “It’s personal.” 

“Lord Asmodeus, we have come to—” 

“Don’t try and distract me Stolas, I can smell the disdain for my realm on him.” Towering high above them all, the sin’s colossal frame cast a shadow all its own amidst its natural, lustful flames. “I’d rather not let bad vibes run the scene, if you know what I mean; so, we’re gonna air out this laundry before it starts to stink.” Asmodeus’ fingers gestured forward like little butterfly wings at an odd angle. “Go on, get it out of your system.” 

An awkward glance was exchanged; shit, he didn’t want to say it in front of Andre and Stolas. It was such a silly, vulnerable reason, and a knot of hesitation lodged itself in his throat. “…long ago, I had a rather…fraught sexual experience here that I’d rather not relive. As such I put myself as far away from the ring as I could think to.” 

While Stolas and Andrealphus digested that information in their own way, Asmodeus opened an unseen drawer and pulled out a stack of paper. Glasses adorned his face once more; comically small, but seemingly effective. He scanned the documents and flipped through their pages, until he stopped and folded one particular corner. “I see.” It was a curt statement, yet beneath the edges of his tongue lay a soft and unspoken understanding.  

“Lord Asmodeus, please, this is entirely irrelevant. We have come to ask for your aid in a most urgent matter. As your business partner, our relationship has always been positive, so regardless of Prince Vassago’s misgivings regarding your home, I ask that you drop the matter.” Andrealphus was firm, his voice unwavering, and his gaze solid. His words seemed to have some effect on the issue, as the towering, flaming demon gave a sigh. 

“Alright, I’m listening; what do you three want?” 

Stolas placed the grimoire atop the desk and opened its heavy pages to the proper, marked section. He spun the book around and pointed to the diagram, his back bent forward to reach. “For your expertise in the matters of Sextile Conjunction.” 

All three of Asmodeus’ faces arched their brows in surprise and looked at the book. “That’s a phrase I haven’t heard in a long ass time.” 

“We had hoped that due to it requiring a rather…intense and physical connection, you could provide us with insider knowledge on how to boost the success rate, or at least direct us to someone who can supervise the process.” A swift backhand swat to Andre’s thigh made the peacock jump, a frown smeared across his beak at Vassago. 

Momentary confusion wracked the sin’s face, and splayed fingertips braced against his forehead. “Let me get this right, before we go any further. The three of you, who I’ve never seen together at any party, heard of even liking each other or working together, suddenly want to drop acid and hump on the floor for some…magical cleanse?” 

“When you put it like that, it sounds crude.” Andre said. 

“What it sounds like is you have no idea what you’re doing. You’re talking about opening and sharing a part of yourselves that isn’t just sensitive, but volatile; okay? This is…it’s like letting someone touch your soul.” Asmodeus paused for effect and raised his brows with a firmness that showcased his intensity. “It goes beyond the most intimate, wholesome form of love we get to experience.” 

“You’re saying it’s impossible?” Vassago twiddled his thumbs as Stolas asked the question, as doubt began to fester.  

“Not impossible, just difficult; this is soulmate level shit.” Asmodeus declared, as he repeatedly stabbed at the page with a single finger. “You can’t disassociate from this; you are exposed, which means your trust levels have to be through the roof to even attempt it. It’s the bravest, riskiest, and potentially dumbest thing you could ever do.” 

“The text mentions imbibing a potion. What can you tell us about that?” 

“Andre, did you listen to a fucking word that I just said?” 

“Every word.” 

“Alright, what is Stolas’ favorite food?” 

Andre blinked, as did his companions. “What?” 

“What is Stolas’ favorite food?” 

The peacock turned his head, eyed up the owl for several seconds as if simply looking would grant him the information, then looked back at Asmodeus. “I would have to guess imp cock.” 

For that jab, Andre received a proud and erect bird, gestured harshly in his direction from Stolas. 

“What kind of music does he like? What’s his favorite type of weather? What are his kinks, how does he like to be touched, where are his sensitive spots? These are all things that are going to help you all link together. The more in tune with one another you are, the higher your chance of pulling this off. Problem is, all three of you need to accomplish this for two entire people!” 

The magnitude of the endeavor slowly crushed Vassago’s shoulders, and he sank his face into both hands. Gaining that amount of knowledge would take far too long! He was doomed. 

“Between your baggage,” he pointed at Andre. “Your baggage,” he pointed at Stolas. “And whatever you’ve got going on, I’m not seeing any unity. Want my advice; look for another option.” 

“Asmodeus, please, what if we can’t afford to spend the time to find another option?” 

“Then you all better start living together.” 

Andrealphus was the only one to burst into laughter at the suggestion, but it slowly withered as he looked around and realized it wasn’t a joke. “You’re serious? Move in together with…these two?” 

“Yup; eat together, bathe together, sleep together, share everything that you can. Most importantly, you have to communicate.” Asmodeus closed the grimoire and spun it back around for Stolas to take. “Get to know each other better, then you can think about trying. Do not rush it.” 

As Andre opened his mouth to protest, Stolas stood with the grimoire and extended a hand down to rest atop Vassago’s shoulder in support. “Thank you, Asmodeus, for your time. We will consider what you’ve said.” One look was all it took; the conversation was over and Stolas was ready to act. It was then that Vassago stood alongside Andrealphus, and all three Goetia gave a short bow before they turned and walked out the double doors. Once they closed, Stolas spoke again. 

“Thoughts?” 

“He has to be joking. It has to be some sort of perverse prank.” 

“Would it really be so bad?” 

Further contemplation was needed, as Andre fell silent at the question; arms folded and back to the door.  

“We have all been rather isolated for some time. Perhaps…this could be a good thing.” 

“So long as I don’t have to sleep next to Stolas.” Andre grumbled. “I suppose we could give it a try.” 

Three Goetia under a single roof; had it ever been done? To their collective knowledge, it had not.  

“The only question right now would be…who’s home are we moving into?” 

“…rock, paper, scissors for it?”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

 “I can’t believe none of us could win.” 

Vassago, Stolas, and Andrealphus stood outside of a building that didn’t belong to any of them, deep within the ring of Gluttony. It was a vacation home shared amongst the Ars Goetia, possessed of honeycomb like walls, windows that could count as entire walls, and a rhombus-like architecture. Placed atop a winding hill, it stood far above and beyond the protective gate that circled the perimeter of land at the bottom.  

“I can’t believe we couldn’t bring our servants.” Andrealphus huffed, his talons the first to step along the polished cobblestone that led to the entryway.  

“They shall be fine back at home.” Vassago chimed in, as he followed. Stolas brought up the rear and became the recipient of a half head turn from the parrot. “There are plenty of duties to keep them occupied while we’re gone; they might not even notice.” 

“Yes, I’m quite sure that’s the case, but it’s hardly my intended point.” As he approached the door, Andrealphus raised his hand to the elaborate sigil inscribed upon it. An occult chill began to glow around his fingertips, then became a cloudy shimmer that covered the whole hand. “I am Marquis Andrealphus of the Ars Goetia. Accept my vow and grant me passage.” 

His eyes began to glow; their usual blue retained, but cast in an otherworldly sheen that radiated strength. “G lacies prima sanguinis mei est. Non labet haec sacrata domus.” In response to the ancient words, the sigil glowed a bright cerulean hue and then faded. 

Vassago stepped forward, as Andrealphus stood to the side. “I am Prince Vassago of the Ars Goetia. Accept my vow and grant me passage.” Glittering crimson hue, akin to a crab nebula, formed around his hand. “Flammae Parcae animam calefaciunt. Meus spiritus purus manebit in hac sacrata aula.” Once again, the sigil glowed in response to his oath, this time possessed of a warm crimson hue. 

Stolas was the last to approach, and both Goetia gave him passage. “I am Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia. Accept my vow and grant me passage.” All four of his red eyes shifted to a brilliant purple, their gleam positively radiant and littered with starlight. “Flora et lapis caelos iungunt, eorumque lux mentem meam illuminat. Nullas in hac sacrato aedificet aula cogitationes.” The sigil glowed purple, then began to spin against the wooden texture of the door until it pressed into an indent. A click was heard and the door swung inward to grant them passage.  

Three oaths bound to their very being; if any of them violated their pact, they would be expelled from the residence altogether. An old practice, to stop bickering amongst the Goetia as a whole, for little did their minds seek to collaborate. Personalities often clashed, and thus a safety measure was put into place eons ago; speaking the vow was the only way to enter. Within lay a private sanctuary with everything they would need to conduct and catalogue their research.  

As they walked through the door, a vast living room opened up before them. A white leather sectional flanked a dark and rather ancient coffee table at its center. Next to it stood a spiral staircase that lead to an upper floor. At the opposite end of the room stood a wall of stained glass; deep turquoise and seaweed greens carved a tale of old with swaths of expert artistry. To their left, a modest kitchen shined to a polished sheen and an island to place all of their meals. A closed door sat in the far left corner of the room, its contents unknown to them.  

“I suppose the lab is upstairs.” Vassago commented, his eyes already locked on the staircase. “As well as the rooms, I’d wager.” 

“If there happens to be only one bed, I am not sleeping on the couch.” Andrealphus was the first to take the stairs, his translucent finery a trail of glittering stars behind him. 

“Could you imagine?” Stolas asked, brevity in his voice as he gently nudged Vassago. “All three of us locked in one bed; we’d overheat.” 

“I’m more concerned about any potential snoring. With Andre’s natural body temperature being on the lower end, I feel as if he’d balance things out. Noise, however, is far more difficult to manage.” 

With Andre on a higher floor, it left the remaining two Goetia entirely alone with each other. Questions festered and emotions stewed, particularly within Stolas. “Vassago, may I ask you something; it’s about earlier, before we departed for Ozzie’s.” 

His answer was thick with reluctance. “You may.” 

“I only ask because I wish for there to be no secrets between us, but I feel as if you are more apt to speak your mind when Andrealphus is absent. When we were all back at your home, what did you and your butler need to step out for? It appeared…serious.” 

Gloved hands reached up to unclasp a star-shaped brooch that held his cape in place. For a moment, he said nothing, and simply allowed the question to linger. Red fabric swept through the air as Vassago pulled his cape off from around his shoulders and folded it over a forearm. After using the action as a moment to compose his thoughts, he answered. “My eyes were hurting, so he administered a medicinal cure. It’s nothing to fret over.” 

To his surprise, a soft bump of fingers touched his downward hand, as if to seek or show affection. “If it were to happen while we were here, would you be able to manage?” 

Trapped between the implications of his potential answer and the tender touch of Stolas, Vassago took his time to answer again. If he said yes, that could call the previous necessity of his butler and unravel his little white lie. If he said no, an offer would surely be extended to help administer the medicine, and the ruse would come the light when that time came. Did Stolas possess a preconceived notion that he was being lied to, and thus fabricated a conversational trap in the guise of simple caring? 

No, that was far too malicious and crafty. Shame filled Vassago’s mind at the thought, but it remained regardless. Right as his beak opened to give an answer, Andrealphus appeared on the stairs and slapped the railing. “Curse my tongue, there is actually only a single bed. ‘Tis massive, but a single bed it remains.” 

“Well, this trip is meant to bring us closer together. Perhaps sharing a bed is simply one necessary step upon that path.” Vassago sighed, happy that his proverbial bullet was dodged now that Andre had reappeared.  

From the stairs, Andrealphus glared down with judicious blue eyes and crossed his arms. “I am not sleeping next to Stolas, I refuse on principle.” 

“For once, we are in agreement.” Stolas replied. 

Vassago threw up his hands, eager to squash a potential argument before it started. “Then it is settled; I shall sleep in the middle and you two will sleep on either side of me. Since we still have a few hours before nightfall, we should spend our time productively and begin summoning proper supplies. I will check the cabinets to see what ingredients, if any, are available to make dinner.” He didn’t feel the need to elaborate further, nor was he in the mood to repeat himself, and so Vassago walked away from his fellow Goetia with purpose. 

Andrealphus gripped the railing and watched the parrot walk away with a modicum of respect. It was always a wonderful thing to see one take charge with such confidence, even if it was born from an unconscious mind. “Very well; Stolas, it would seem that you and I have a wardrobe to fill. Come along, then.” 

Uncertainty was the first emotion to press its fangs to the flesh of Stolas’ mind, at Andrealphus’ beckoning. Being stuck upstairs with his arrogant brother-in-law wasn’t likely to be pleasant, but with little choice, he ascended the stairs after the frigid bird. The stairs weren’t that tall, their travel time only about ten seconds of climbing before the upper floor opened up. It didn’t make the chill that emanated from Andrealphus any less tolerable.  

It was a singular space with little furniture; only the aforementioned massive bed, a floor trunk at its foot, a wardrobe, and a large dresser. The ceiling towered above them, fixed with a singular slanted and rectangular window to allow sunlight to beam in and provide natural lighting. There was ample space to open a few portals, and with the lack of any laboratory equipment, Stolas deduced it must all be downstairs.  

He almost bumped into Andre, as the peacock abruptly stopped walking and turned towards him. “You and I need to have a conversation before this goes any further.” 

Stolas crossed his arms over his chest and allowed his beak to fall into a light frown. “About what?” 

“Your proclivities.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I have seen the way you look at him. Do not try and deny it; you harbor romantic feelings towards Vassago.” 

“And what if I do?” 

Stolas didn’t expect the pause from his in-law, but he relished in the frustration upon his face.  

“Knowing how your previous two relationships have gone, I will not allow it.” 

“You are in no position to disallow anything, Andrealphus.” 

“It will…not…happen. You will not lead him by the nose into some foolish flight of fancy that you are actually worth being with. If you do have any genuine affection for his well-being, then you will spare him the trouble.” 

“If I’m not worth being with, why did he ask me for help and not you?” 

Andrealphus’ beak curled in seething rage and his eyes seemed to deepen with harrowing strength. Stolas could sense the bile that grew within that expression, and he mentally prepared for the inevitable barrage of venom to come his way. “You--!” the peacock growled, then stopped himself mid-sentence to lower his voice. “This might be impossible for you to comprehend Stolas, but while you have been breaking vows and bedding imps, I have been nurturing proper relations within the Ars Goetia. I know Vassago far better than you, and I won’t allow you to make him another notch in your belt.” 

Incredulous understanding struck with the weight of a wrecking ball, to crash through Stolas’ mental barrier. In a moment of surprise, he let out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “Are…are you jealous? Is that what this is; your unspoken feelings being faced with someone brave enough to make a move, and now you feel compelled to defend what you think is yours?” 

Panic flashed over Andre’s eyes, if only for a moment, but it was all the confirmation Stolas needed. “We are here to fix him; to return his rightful power to him. Everything else is secondary!” he hissed quietly, for fear that Vassago would hear them from below. “You will focus on the task at hand and keep your depravity under wraps, or so help me, I’ll—” 

“Anything you could do would have you expelled from the premises…and leave him and I all alone.” Stolas grinned, his confidence at an all-time high over Andre’s flustered responses.  

Seemingly done with the conversation altogether, Andrealphus huffed and flung his arms down, then shot them back up as he began to conjure a portal. “Just…get your fucking stuff in here.” he growled. 

This was going to be a very interesting co-habitation. 

Chapter 5: Burnt Fuses

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Hours passed as the Goetia steadily made themselves at home. Stacks of folded clothes, magical instruments, and research material filled the upstairs bedroom before long. They worked in relative silence, neither willing to speak to the other. A lack of proper mental distraction turned their thoughts towards a mutual point of interest: Vassago.  

To be without one’s powers; such a fate was on that chilled Andrealphus to his core. All those within the Ars Goetia viewed their individual gifts as the source of their self-worth. Without their magic, they were no different than any other common demon. If the knowledge that they could lose such power was ever made public, it would spread like wildfire and create a domino effect of anarchy and rebellion against the royal houses. There was far more at stake here than Vassago, and history wasn’t kind to royalty; human history, at least. Decapitations, hangings, floggings and much worse had befallen numerous human rulers at the hands of their empowered subjects. Yet, through the fear of annihilation, Andrealphus could not fathom how it would feel to lose his cryomancy, his mastery over geometry, and his artistic eye. To lose even one would carve a hole so deep and unfillable… 

Stolas side-eyed Andrealphus, as he magically sorted through his assembled attire with a flourish of the hand. Cloaks, capes, top hats, buttoned Victorian bottoms; all necessary, if out of season for the current climate. His mind recalled the intimate moment he had shared with Vassago the night before Andre had arrived and thrown a wrench into matters. Contempt and annoyance were commonplace in his mental garden for the frigid marquis, but he couldn’t deny that he seemed to possess Vassago’s best interests in mind. For that, he deserved some measure of trust, even if it were begrudgingly given.  

“I feel as if we have done enough for one evening.” Stolas sighed, hands on his hips as he observed their joint handiwork. All that was left was for Vassago to stock his own personal essentials.  

“Agreed.” Andre ran both hands through his pale blue hair. “Remain here, if you wish. I am going to check on Vassago in the kitchen.” 

For a moment, a biting remark hinged at his beak to prevent the marquis from having any one on one time with Vassago, but it quickly died. Trust was never easy, especially when it proved to be the most sensible path in the most uncomfortable scenarios. This was one such scenario. “Very well. Do try not to snag your robe on the steps going down.” 

A dry laugh escaped that ivory beak with zero enthusiasm, and Andrealphus walked down the stairs. From his place along the railing, he quickly spotted Vassago busy at work in the kitchen. Even from such a far and high place, the heat of kitchen steam and the scent of cooking vegetables reached him. Steamed carrots, boiling corn, hot red peppers and white onions sliced open upon a cutting board, but what was more appealing was the cook.  

Vassago’s cape and fine, white gloves had been discarded altogether in place of a white apron that covered his front. From the back, Andrealphus could see the tight vest that traveled to his waist, yet left a window of room to gaze upon a striped dress shirt which hid beneath. Slim trousers, possessed of a stunning red and fit for a royal, hugged his backside and legs. The marquis’ steps slowed; his mind locked in on the prince’s physique while his voice of caution forced some attention to descending the stairs safely. Near the bottom step, he found his voice. 

“You know, I’m not fond of the heat, but for something so delicious I might just make an exception.” Sharp talons tapped against the polished wooden floor, in synch with the sound of a cooking knife dribbling on a cutting board. It was to his minor dismay that his words didn’t draw a glance, but it mattered little. 

“Do you not cook for yourself when your aid grows ill?” A brisk chop to the board and a resounding, swift scrape ushered the diced peppers into a skillet. 

“Edmund doesn’t grow ill; he’s far too healthy.” 

“Perhaps you ought to learn; self-sufficiency is always beneficial.” 

Andrealphus rounded the island at the kitchen’s center and leaned upon it, elbows propped upon the marble slab and chin cradled in the wedge of both palms. “Are you offering lessons?" A brief, over the shoulder glance from the parrot made his feathers lightly puff up beneath his robe. Red eyes, so pure and gorgeous that they should be guarded in an ancient temple as rubies, almost brought a smile to his beak. 

“Considering that I still have much to learn from my own aid, Alejandro, and that I can distinctly recall you detesting his cooking…likely not.” Hips turned to divert his attention towards a boiling pot, then leaned in so he could grab a container of seasoning. Drawn between Andrealphus’ presence and the task at hand, Vassago sprinkled an unknown powder into his palm with rapt precision. “Will Stolas not be joining us?” 

“There were matters upstairs left to attend to. In his absence, you need not worry about curbing your tongue, should anything be on your mind.” 

The sound of brushing hands sprinkled a healthy amount of glittering red powder, most likely a potent spice, into the skillet. “Is that so?” Dexterous hands scooped up an idle chef’s blade, it’s song and glint another combined note that filled the empty space in conversation. “Were you expecting to hear something specific?” 

“Perhaps, or maybe I’m just testing a theory; who’s to say?” 

Vassago gently placed the knife back down and turned to face Andrealphus, a single hand on his hip as his torso bent forward. It was a rather…alluring stance; those bright tail feathers pushed back with pride, that waistline tantalizing to the eye.  

“Normally: me.” Somehow, he had kept his shades on while cooking. Their glass didn’t smudge or fog up, magical as they were. “I’d know everything you were going to say, in the exact manner you’d say it; when, where, how, and why. Do you take some…prideful pleasure in the knowledge that I am hobbled?” 

“Not at all. In fact, whereas you infer that I could stand to learn cooking, I infer that perhaps picking up the skill of deduction might be good for you.” Andre had to admit, if only to himself in secret, that he did experience twinges of excitement at the lack of Vassago’s foresight. It opened a multitude of opportunities to surprise him. 

“You think me incapable of reading people?” 

“I believe you can be…” A sharp hiss of air pulled up through Andre’s beak, at the sudden mental roadblock. “…healthily oblivious, at times.” 

“Alright; name one such time.” 

“Oh, let’s see.” Elbows propped upon the table, the peacock cradled his chin atop his knuckles and leaned forward with a smile on his face. Confidence radiated from Vassago’s own stern brow; a testament to how sure he was in himself. Andre couldn’t wait to shatter it. 

“Third Lunar Junction from three years ago, you played your hand at wooing the duchess of house Murmux, only to miss every glance she gave to her husband over your shoulder.” 

Color drained the feathers around his beak and eyes, then was quickly followed by a harsh blush of pink. “…you saw that?” 

“From across the pool. I must say, I never knew that Count Murmur had such a powerful striking hand; your response time was clearly diminished for the remainder of the evening.” At the memory, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “But who could blame you; she was rather dazzling that evening. Luckily for everyone else, you were the first one through the wall; so to speak.” 

“That’s one memory I’d rather like to forget…” 

“I always placed my bet on your flirtation being centered on activities of a flexible and... bisexual nature. Would you answer me truthfully, if I asked? I’d take you at your word, but you; bonding and all that.” 

Vassago sighed and turned his shoulder towards Andrealphus, arms still across his chest. In his momentary silence, they grew tighter. “I might have inquired about the Count’s, as you put it, flexibility, but only in the vein of mutual cooperation.” 

“And by mutual cooperation, you mean a menage’ a trois.” 

“…yes.” 

“I always knew you were an adventurous sort, Vassago.” Andrealphus chuckled. “No wonder you latched onto the opportunity to perform Sextile Conjunction.” 

A brisk wave of the hand, to bat away the potential mockery, ruffled Vassago’s sleeve against the other. “If you have a better avenue, I have yet to hear of it; and you are here, aren’t you? That says to me that you don’t.” 

The peacock slid around the table, the click of his talons slow and purposeful, like that of an encroaching lion ready to pounce. “I am here, and while Stolas’ involvement is rather irksome..." He stood directly next to the prince, hip to hip, and planted his hands back against the edge of the marble island. “…it is an avenue I am more than willing to engage in, with you.” 

With their bodies connected at the hip, it was difficult not to brush the sides of their talons together as well. To anything else, the sensation would be rough and potentially unpleasant, but talons touching talons was met with only a light caress. The chill that accompanied Andrealphus felt less biting, and the combination of all three gestures turned the parrot’s head in an inquisitive way.  

“You are brazen, when it comes to matter of the heart. I respect that, and it’s clear that your heart yearns for its power to be returned. So, in recognition of your desire, and the respect that you have earned, I am here.” 

“You make it sound so noble of me; you would surely want the same if you ever lost your powers.” 

Andrealphus’ gaze shifted away, if for all but a moment, and it obscured the expression that Vassago searched for. Seconds passed, long and odd that stretched into what felt like minutes, with only the bubbling and sizzling of the stovetop to fill the space.  

“There are times…” Andrealphus began, his voice notably softer than moments ago. “…where I might wish to be without them.” He raised a hand in demonstration, and it quickly sprouted with a frosty aura of white and blue. “Just as your flame invigorates you, my ice numbs me. I find myself increasingly unmoved, day by day, as those left around me are more than eager to create distance; to escape and sequester themselves away from the cold.” Snowflakes twinkled and shined within his palm, like that of a night sky filled with brilliant stars. They began to coalesce in his palm and form an amorphous blob of ice, which shifted into the shape of a lotus. “Yet, just like you do now, I would feel helpless without it. It’s a part of me; my strength, my curse, my burden, my privilege.” 

“Andre…” 

“Do not be offended, but your misery and distress over the situation has actually made me feel better; for we are one in the same, in that regard.” The lotus sculpture cracked, then crumbled and tumbled harmlessly to the floor; turned to water before it even touched the wood. “It is good to…relate to someone, of similar societal stature…” The peacock turned his head, his shoulder gently eased against Vassago’s, and he looked directly into the parrot’s focused eyes. “…and mating preference.” 

It was now Vassago’s turn to go silent, in the face of a rather prominent hint. First Stolas, and now Andrealphus? Heat burned beneath his collar, and he found a talon beneath it to air out his scratchy, smothering sensation it kept under his attire. “Well, I am…happy that my mere existence can bring you such…relie—comfort.” 

At the rapid word change, likely to avoid any sexual implications, a weak smile graced the peacock’s sharp beak. “It is the purpose of all this, yes; learning more and more about each other to increase the success rate of the ritual?” 

“Right, for the…for the ritual, yeah; of course, certainly.” 

“Now you know.” The marquis pushed away from the island, and Vassago, without a sound. “But if you ever wish to gain more…intimate knowledge, find me when Stolas isn’t around. He might possess a mighty constitution for alcohol, but that simply makes the resulting slumber all the more heavy…and long.” 

Vassago watched as Andrealphus headed towards the door they had yet to explore and opened it, only to vanish quickly inside. Dinner would be ready soon, indicated in the scent of the vegetables that were almost too cooked. Vassago stumbled back into his kitchen duties; two hands on a dial each to snuff out the burner flames and a guarded waft of the fumes to gauge how overdone the meal was. Dark, but not burned: good. He left the skillet and the pot to simmer, while he reached into the nearby cabinets for utensils and plates; a welcome distraction from the sexual thoughts that raced through his head. 

Did he trigger this somehow? Was Andre’s interest and flirtation a consequence of his trickery with the starmap? As he went to move the cutting board and knife, he paused. Far too many questions ran through his head and he held answers for none of them. Perhaps it was of little consequence, as the reality of the affection far outweighed its source…or did it?  

To quell the mental tempest, Vassago resumed his removal of the cutting board. In his moment of hurriedness, it shifted, and the parrot hissed as a sharp, hot pain slashed across his hand! 

Metal and plastic clattered to the floor. Blood flowed from the fresh cut that sat at the bottom of his thumb and dribbled through his fingers. “Shit…!” Hot white pain stung in the open air that penetrated the grip of his hand and pulsed with the beat of his accelerated heart rate. 

“Vassago?” Stolas’ voice sounded from the stairs. “I heard a crash, is everything alright?” 

“Everything’s fine.” He replied, and prayed that the vein he felt in the side of his temple wasn’t visible from the steps. “I just dropped something; nothing to worry about.” In dismay, Vassago turned towards the sink and hurried to try and wash his wound, as the sound of footsteps approached from behind. 

“You’re bleeding!” 

“It’s nothing.” Hot water poured down his hand, stained with the diluted color of crimson as it splattered the sink in royal essence. The instant that the initial blood had been washed away, a flame sprung to life at the parrot’s left hand fingertip. Through his gentle groans, the flame concentrated; it became thinner and denser until it resembled the fire of a welding torch. Burning flesh made his beak curl as he cauterized the wound; the expression made all the more pronounced by the gritting of his jaw. Once completed, his fingers trembled and the flame vanished to leave only a fresh, soft line that held his flesh together. “There…as I said: nothing.”  

“Do you do that every time you have a cut? Why not just use a bandage?” Stolas’ flabbergasted face peered into Vassago’s peripheral vision. Unable to speak the truth, the red-feathered prince gave a grunt and wiped a minimal amount of sweat from his brow.  

“I…suppose you’re right; a bandage would have been far more…comfortable.” How could he bear to say that the sexual tension in his body was so high and his mind so cluttered, that if Stolas were to touch him at all he’d likely need to excuse himself to the nearest restroom? A shift in the air signaled the owl’s movement, and Vassago instinctively, almost timidly so, stepped to the side. Their eyes locked; a duel which Vassago quickly lost. “It’s fine, I’m fine; just…didn’t want to contaminate the food.”  

Hurried fingers fumbled at the knot of his apron, which was marred with flecks of biological red.  

“Are you sure? I can always take a second look, still get you a bandage and some—” 

“I’m sure. Now, enough about that; I need to go and change my attire for dinner. Feel no need to prepare anything. I’ll set the table in a few minutes.” Head down, he walked wide around the table and made for the stairs; steps brisk and long of gait.  

Stolas was quickly left alone once again, a gentle frown of worry upon his beak. It was such a barbaric, if effective, method of healing a wound. Speed was to be sought and appreciated, sure, but certain wounds required time; else they split open worse than before. A proper flora paste, perhaps a soothing leaf wrap, could do him wonders.  

As he waited for Vassago to return, he hoped that everything wasn’t progressing at a dangerous pace. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Dinner began in relative quiet, save the clink of steel against ceramic as the three Goetia set themselves a plate. Only a singular dish was being served; a healthy amalgamation of vegetables scattered atop a bed of golden corn, seasoned with mild spice and pepper. Each royal eyed their meal differently; Vassago with content, Stolas with curiosity, and Andrealphus with apprehension.  

“Thank you for cooking, Vassago; it looks and smells delicious.” Stolas said, his fork already pierced with multiple peppers and carrots.  

“While it isn’t what I’m accustomed to, I must agree.” Andrealphus chimed in, a small procession of corn scooped into the curve of a fork. With dignified grace, the marquis slipped the utensil beneath his beak. “Mm, what a compelling flavor.” 

Vassago made a point to keep his injured hand, now wrapped in a white bandage about the hand and wrist, beneath the table. Fork in his left hand, he dug into the meal with large, scooping motions that quickly ushered the hot meal into his mouth. It’s flavor beckoned his mind home, back to the lighthouse where Alejandro would have made him something similar by now. Oh, how he missed his butler; not simply for the service, but for the company. 

"Perhaps we should discuss plans moving forward?” Stolas chirped. “I have considered a multitude of concepts by which we can became more in sync with one another.” 

“As do I.” Andrealphus was quick to counter, his gaze locked onto his plate. “And mine weren’t likely drawn from the script of a novella.” 

One loud throat clear from Vassago was all it took for the bickering in-laws to concede with a shared change in body language. Time and time again; it had begun to grow to be Vassago’s biggest concern. If there was to be any success in their shared endeavor, Stolas and Andrealphus would need to become less prickly towards one another.  

“We have already made great progress. We’ve moved in together, are sharing dinner together; let’s not diminish it with competition. Every idea will be considered, and likely attempted given time.” 

“Yes, but how do we decide which to pursue first?” Andrealphus slipped his fork beneath the bed of corn and dabbed at his beak with a cloth napkin. “It would be unwise to risk pursuing avenues that aren’t likely to yield favorable results, given the situation.” 

“Asmodeus said we shouldn’t rush the process.”  

“I didn’t say that we should, but there must certainly be methods far more effective than others. What was it he said; know each other’s likes, dislikes, etcetera.” 

Vassago paused in the middle of chewing to ponder Andre’s words. Fact sharing in itself required a measure of trust, or at least the ability to take information at face value, so it could be a rather easy and invaluable first step in the journey. “Then, perhaps, we should begin sharing truths. I’ve often read that food relaxes the mind and calms the temperament.” 

All three birds exchanged glances, until Andrealphus spoke with a hoist and tap of his fork. “Alright; Stolas, why did you cheat on my darling sister?” 

Tension locked down Vassago’s throat, which caused him to choke on his half-eaten corn and cough it up all over the ground. “An--ack!--dre!” 

Slightly raised eyes looked across the table with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment at the display. “What; it’s a proper question, given that we are meant to understand one another. Consider it the first truth, and in exchange, a counter question may be offered in turn.” 

Stolas, who had more than ample reason to be righteously offended by the question, instead gave a light sigh and clasped his hands atop the table. “It’s okay, Vassago, I’ll answer.” The prince slightly turned in his seat and opened his hands, only to lean against an elbow as his arm lay towards the table’s center. “Andrealphus, your sister was an abusive, uncaring, and malicious harpy who sought to make my life a waking misery. I remained faithful to her for seventeen years...but no longer.” 

It was the calmest that he’d ever seen them look at each other, and it made the atmosphere all the more tense. Quiet before the storm wasn’t just a phrase, but a warning, and Vassago could read the writing plain as day. They might have looked docile, but he could feel the rage and bile at Stolas’ words bubble in in Andre. It was the little things; the twitch of a finger, the shift of his robe, the tiniest flicker of white across blue eyes.  

“So, you simply woke up one day and decided that you had enough? You, scrounged up some filthy circus imp, invited him into your shared bed, allowed him to ravage you and then propped up your grimoire as a bargaining chip for repeat offenses...after seventeen years of nested hate?” 

“Okay, I think we’re getting a little--” 

“Quiet, please, Vassago; we are bonding.”  

The sheer disdain in Andre’s pronunciation nearly made the parrot wince. 

“He was not simply any imp, but a childhood friend from...long ago. He appeared out of the blue on our anniversary, and we got to talking. I hadn’t seen him in such a long time; much had changed, and while we caught up...there were advances made in my direction. They were rather sudden, direct...” Stolas cleared his throat, and Vassago swore he spotted a half-brewed blush across his beak. “...and effective.” 

Andrealphus held a firm expression; one that danced on the precipice between laughter and anger. “See, Vassago, with that one little story I’ve already learned much about my darling brother-in-law. Stolas...is an opportunist, who can clearly bide his time and play the long game; a truly resolute soul. ‘Tis a respectable quality in a Goetia, for as you know, we live a life eternal.” One of his palms rose and was briefly coated in a cerulean glow. A bottle of wine levitated towards him, and the magic vanished as the peacock caught it. 

“Where did you--” 

“Yet I can’t help but to point out...” Andrealphus’ words were elevated, designed to interrupt Vassago’s inquisitive speech and keep the conversation in his favor. “...that my sister was also a prisoner in that marriage. She told me about it repeatedly, how there were far more desirable men, attentive men, men who could recognize her true worth and compensate her accordingly.” The neck of the bottle began to frost over, then freeze; a misty haze cascaded downward. With a gentle flick of his thumb, a clean slide was made, and with a whisk of his hand, an icy chalice was summoned from air vapor. “We all suffer, in our own way; my sister with her outbursts of rage, and you with...adultery.” 

“Andre, you’ve--” 

The peacock shot a finger upward, to gesture for silence, and poured himself a full chalice of dark red wine. It’s heady aroma drifted across the table where Stolas sat in relative silence; his eyes locked on Andre’s every move. If anything, he was patient.  

“Yet, despite you clearly being in the right to do whatever you please, Stolas; you must know how this looks. Here we sit with the intent to earn each other’s trust, to bond in a dangerous and sacred magical practice not unlike that of a marriage consummation, and one of the participants has admitted to being a dirty little cheater.” A gentle, but loud sip followed, and Stolas shifted in his seat as Vassago’s eyes slipped down to look at the table in thought. “I already don’t trust you, but with this new information, why should Vassago?” 

“Because that...all ended.” Stolas sighed, and everyone felt the weight of it press atop his shoulders. Tired, downcast eyes turned towards Vassago, who leaned his entire being into them; trapped by their sorrow. “I thought it was something. I thought I could make it more than...what it really was. I thought that he felt the same way about me as I did about him, but I was wrong. It turns out that all he saw me as was some stuck up, prissy royal who could never have feelings for someone like him. So... maybe royalty is what I need; just a different version of it.” 

“Stolas, I had no idea.” A gentle hand extended itself over the table to rest atop the owl’s; the bandage wrapped one that Vassago had gone to great lengths to obscure. Momentarily forgotten in the revelation of such sorrow, it was soft and full of comfort, love, and brotherhood. He didn’t need to see the relationship to recognize the honesty in Stolas’ voice; it clearly meant a lot to him. Within the same realization came a secondary one; that was where the fear of immediate sexual activity had come from days ago! Guilt wracked Vassago’s brow, and his hand squeezed down. “I am...so sorry, if what I said back at the lighthouse--” 

“No, that was...” Stolas sniffled as a tear brimmed at the corner of his eye. “...I dressed up and got all excited to see you, to see anyone that wasn’t... him. I just couldn’t...” Another sniffle, then a scrunch of the beak as the prince blinked hard to fight against more tears. “Excuse me!” In a jolt of royal finery, Stolas left the table and ran up the stairs. 

“Shame, he didn’t ask me his question.”  

Vassago’s hands slapped atop the table, palms out, his feathers bristled and his back clenched. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Andre?”   

“Vassago, please, you’ll scatter the corn.”  

Another sip of wine only ignited the prince’s blood, and he leaned menacingly over the table. “What does this accomplish? I am here trying to pull us all together and you form a wedge with pointless, pointed questions!” 

“Progress is pain.” he responded in a relaxed and resigned tone, gaze locked on the meniscus of his beverage as he swirled it around. “We learned much, and all it took was the right question. You couldn’t have asked it, only I held the proper keys to open that particular lock. If that makes me the villain, so be it, but I did what was necessary.” 

“Necessary?!”  

“In more ways than you apparently know.” 

Frustration curled Vassago’s fingers into tight fists to the point that he felt the freshly sealed flesh of his hand stretch against the strain. Borderline pain; one flex too hard could break the seal, but the need to mitigate his anger was too great. “I know what this is, you’re being territorial.” So far over the table that they were face to face, Vassago’s beak tensed with each word to properly infuse them with his contempt and disappointment. “If this is your idea of courting me, pick a different method.” He reached out and snatched the top of the icy chalice, then channeled hellish flame into his hand. The makeshift glass melted in seconds, its contents, as well as its new state of matter, poured into Andre’s lap.  

Without another word, Vassago stormed upstairs to comfort Stolas.  

Left alone, the marquis gazed down at his state of dress with newfound discomfort. “Shit, all of my clothes are upstairs...” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

 At the top of the stairs, a newly occupied bedroom opened up before Vassago. For all of the fine clothing and arcane wonder that sat organized across it, his attention landed directly, and entirely, on Stolas. Sat on the bed, face turned from the stairs, his arms wrapped around himself in a hug; gentle sobs bounced the owl’s back. The mere sight of those slender black talons, as they tightened against their wielder’s arms, broke Vassago’s heart. 

“Stolas...” it was a hesitant and worried tone, one infused with a low and soothing pitch. He sat next to his fellow prince and made zero effort to respect any space bubble; distance wasn’t going to help.  

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled, then wiped his eye with the brunt of his palm. “It’s just...hard, to think about it; about him, I...” 

Vassago rested a hand against that slender, bouncing shoulder and gave a gentle shush. “Hey, it’s alright; it just means you have a big heart.” When was the last time he’d seen a Goetia, or any demon for that matter, cry so openly? Maybe his time in Sloth had secluded him from such things, as he found the current experience rather awkward, but something within him demanded that he stay and see it through. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

It was to the parrot’s eternal surprise when Stolas whipped around and threw himself into those red-feathered arms. Gentle sobs, muffled by his chest, vibrated into his heart and made the emotion all the more powerful. “I just...want to forget for a while.” Slowly, Vassago’s arms draped about the beautiful prince and kept him cradled close; his embrace an offering of solidarity. “I want to feel like someone wants me, that I matter, that I’m not a burden; the husband no one wanted...” 

“Of course you matter, Stolas.” 

“No, I don’t; even here, me simply existing is messing everything up! Andre is right; how could you trust me?! This trip is all about you; to help you, to fix you, and I’m making it all about me, and... and...” 

“Stolas, look at me.” Vassago scooped up the owl’s soft face and cradled it in his hands. “I reached out to you, and you answered. You didn’t have to write back or accept my invitation, but you did; and you’re still here. That help, your help, gave me hope. It still does, as we chart into the unknown together.” His grip tightened, if only a little, and to heighten the power that his words carried. “You are worthy of friendship, of admiration, of respect, and of love; and don’t you let anyone convince you otherwise.” 

All four of Stolas’ eyes brimmed with moisture, and his beak scrunched again as a herald of oncoming tears. “Vassago...” 

“You are here for me, so I shall do the same for you. Whatever you need, I will--” 

Their beaks slid together as Stolas lunged upwards and wrapped his arms around Vassago’s neck; head tilted to allow for a proper and intimate connection. Passion, need, vulnerability all swirled together in a single and sudden kiss that rocked Vassago to his core. His heart, wreathed in the fires of his Goetian blood, glowed and pulsed to the tune of Stolas’ pace; one prince to enrapture another. He leaned back, the owl’s fingers engaged with his prominent and sharp plumage, and ultimately found himself straddled. 

Within the kiss, Stolas’ tongue was tender and explorative, yet clung to every inch of Vassago’s that it could. He detected experience of a carnal nature, but also an inclination towards romance in the soft manner of its oral caress. Deeply held breaths lingered between them, until the need for air became too great, and Stolas huffed from the corner of that handsome beak. 

“Help me forget...please.” 

Preening nibbles caused Vassago’s head to tilt back and a huff of arousal to slip free; tender nips carried by pins of pleasure perfectly teased at his flesh. To expose that spot for another was normal, as it was the standard grooming zone for parrots, but as that beak dipped lower towards his collarbone the sensation grew stronger. Everything below the neck was considered sexual, in terms of avian preening, and Stolas was about to activate every trigger in the parrot’s nervous system.  

Buttons began to come undone, and a single hand cupped the lower half of Stolas’ head as a guide. Excitement conjured a roaring typhoon of lightning and fire within Vassago’s chest, and his chest rippled with its power. It didn’t take long for his shirt to completely open out and splay apart like a novel.  

“You have such beautiful red feathers.” A soft kiss planted itself right into his chest plumage, and the sensitivity was too great to resist. Ripples of pleasure caused him to shudder atop the mattress, as the presence of Stolas’ rear pushed down from above and into his lap. He didn’t stop his shades from being lifted off of his face, nor did he stop the second kiss that made his back arch. Kissing Stolas was like being pulled into a dream most pleasant; soothing, saving, and alluring. Vassago quickly returned it and closed his eyes, only to gasp into his fellow Goetia’s mouth at a curious press and grind to his groin. 

Abducted by sexual affection, he couldn’t keep his words at bay any longer.  

“Stolas, I haven’t...been with anyone for—mmh!” Another kiss drove the remainder of Vassago’s words back down his throat. It was a brief kiss, but no less needy than the previous.  

“Then we’ll go slow...” Two gentle hands slid atop his own and raised them towards a slender waist. Immediately, a nervous tingle swept down Vassago’s fingers as they cupped around soft feathers. Smooth and cool to the touch, he shakily exhaled and traced his hands upwards. “Touch me wherever you’d like...”  

Trembling hands traced down those slender curves, their velvet touch enough to electrify the prince’s cells with temptation. At the waist, they cupped each hip in turn, which brought a tense inhale from Vassago; his gaze half-lidded and in awe of what was happening. Instead of moving elsewhere, he found both hands rigid and unable to move. This newfound intimacy had accelerated his heart, but in its excitement, a foreboding sensation snuck in to corrupt the moment. Brief pain, sharp and tight, teased at the top of his heart and began to draw sweat from his brow.  

“Is everything alright?” Stolas asked. 

“…yes, everything’s fine.” 

“You look uncomfortable.” 

Vassago briefly grit his beak, only to fight off the pangs of pain that thumped from his chest. They were light, and if he couldn’t reign them in, they’d only worsen. “It’s just…ever since that instance in Lust, I haven’t, you know…” Heat rose into his face. 

“It’s alright; we’ve all had dry spells. As I said, we can take it slow to make up for...?” 

“…five years.” 

Stolas blinked, his expression unreadable for the faintest of moments. Out of all the responses he could’ve had to that staggering factoid, stoicism wasn’t an expected one. Instead of shock, instead of a gasp or a chuckle, he simply…slid off of the parrot. Knees upon the bed, he tugged at the sleeves of his robe to tighten them towards his chest; as if to seal off his chest plumage. However, the action wasn’t as it appeared, as the prince’s brow furrowed in contemplation. 

“You haven’t had sex in five years?” Astonishment finally crept into his tone, but it was soft; far more amazed at the fact than judgmental of its existence. “Oh, Vassago…” Stolas slid his hand up that red-feathered chest and lay alongside his fellow prince. “…that sounds awful. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I’d rather not; I came here to console you, not the other way around.” 

“I wouldn’t mind; I’m a very good listener; or so I’ve been told.” 

“No, this—” Frustration bubbled; how was he already fucking this up? This was nothing; just some preening, some kissing, some grinding. Surely a prince should be more than capable of withstanding such basic intimate activities? Those confident musings did nothing to sway the tautness of his heart, and it continued to thud at an irregular beat against Stolas’ touch. “I’ve burdened you enough with my woes, and I don’t wish to add another to the pile.”  

A silken touch embraced his cheek, and Vassago turned to its silent call for attention. “It’s alright; I completely understand. You simply being here right now is more than enough.” 

Stolas’ consoling words were of poor effectiveness, as despite being told there were no expectations, Vassago felt chided for even considering them present in the first place. It was a fleeting, ugly, and reactionary emotion that he forced down without expression. Exhaustion shrouded his shoulders and his head sank forward to press their foreheads together; attention fixated on the beautiful and well-dressed body before him instead of the face above. “I am sorry…for being weak. It is unbecoming of a prince, such as myself.” 

Nothing but the gentle sway of weight traveled between them in smooth, near-absent motions. “We’re all weak, Vassago, but together we can be strong.” 

“…does that mean you’ve already forgiven Andrealphus for his comments?” 

Stolas sighed, and the sound pulled Vassago’s head upwards; for it was now the owl’s head that hung low in a bid to avoid criticizing eye contact. “There’s nothing to forgive.” Nervous fingers brushed against each other, crooked at the joints before they eventually combined at the thumbs. “While the marriage was against my will, I was not the sole party involved. I endured the abuse for my daughter’s sake, but now by my actions, I may have very well undone all it was supposed to achieve.” Four red eyes raised back up, and a gentle hoot left the prince’s slender throat. Light moisture caused crimson hues to glisten with the majesty of a crab nebula. “So, however weak you might feel in this moment Vassago, know that you can never be as weak as me.” 

Aghast, the parrot watched as Stolas dabbed dew droplets of tears from his eyes. 

“I am sorry that it caused you greater discomfort, and will endeavor to restrain myself in the future. If you can forgive me…” 

Vassago raised a hand and wiped away those tears with the back of his fingers. “Before you even had the chance to offend.” Joy swelled his heart as his response conjured a surprised smile onto Stolas’ somber face; a smile that needed to be capitalized upon. With a snap of his fingers, a portal appeared and spat out a record player. It sat atop the nearby dressers; its’ red felt ornamentation and embroidered gold frame snuggled neatly between folded shirts and trousers. Fueled by a long-laid enchantment, the needle rose as a record magically appeared on the turntable; and soon, soothing music fit for a ballroom began to play. He slid a knee back, only to offer his hand forward, and gazed into Stolas’ eyes. “Dance with me?” 

The two Goetia slid off the bed together and stood amidst the vacant floor, hand in hand. Together, their bodies moved to the melody; fingers clasped and eyes locked. A hum grew in Vassago’s throat that joined along with the tune, and it only grew louder with each turn, spin, and dip. Stolas, indeed soothed by the newfound activity, couldn’t wipe the smile from his beak. Little laughs occurred with each deep movement, all of which occurred as Vassago lead their feet and bodies. At the end of a particular bridge, a twirl slid Stolas into an embrace from behind that illuminated his soul to press the darkness thin; and as he found himself halfway through a parting spin, he managed to stop himself facing Vassago. Chest to chest, their beaks close enough to clack and bump, the owl reached up and gently removed the golden shades from the parrot’s face. They dangled loosely in his fingers, gripped with a casual intimacy that could spell their doom. 

However, their owner gave no glance their way; his attention set fully on the powerful Ars Goetia who pressed against him. Their foreheads touched once more, and Stolas found his beak to be dwarfed by Vassago’s in thickness and length. A blush slowly overcame the ivory sheen of their avian faces as one draped an arm around the other’s back, while a hand touched his upper back in kind.  

“Stolas…” the name was spoken in a hushed, almost awed tone. 

“Vassago…” the touch to his back was tender, cautious; as if it dealt with the finest and most fragile material in all of existence.  

Close enough for a kiss, temptation drew their collected gazes along each other. Majestic tailfeathers swung about as red and black hues began to smear together in the speed of their dance. Faster and sharper, with tighter grips and shorted breaths, the waltz turned into a certifiable tango as the music began to increase in tempo. Lost in the reverie, the world and its worries slipped away to become dim and bothersome specks reserved only for the future. 

The band stopped in a flourish of sound, an explosive finale for the ears that ignited the soul, and brought both Goetia to a jolting halt. Dipped low, the gentle huff of their breath joined between their beaks, they lingered in the moment. So close to a kiss, but with recent truths revealed, hesitation gripped them both. With an amicable parting, they rose to a standstill.  

“Thank you, Prince Vassago, for the dance. It was wonderful.” Stolas said with a dignified bow; hands soon at work to tug the top of his robe back over his shoulders. 

“I could not ask for a better partner.” Vassago responded and gave a bow of his own, hand over the heart and foot back to sink low and bow his head.  

Stolas glanced towards the stairs and tightened the appearance of his evening robe; hardly anything aside from his chest plumage left in the open. “There is something I must attend to, but I shall be back for bed shortly.” 

“As you wish…my prince.” The moniker tickled Vassago’s tongue tip with sweet promises of eternal happiness; his prince, what a wonderful and affectionate manner to address Stolas. Still, he couldn’t help but watch the owl head downstairs with longing. Already, he missed him. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Andrealphus stood outside in the backyard of the vacation home; arms propped against a golden railing with glass to shield his legs. A spacious deck hovered above the grounds below; whose contents were difficult to make out in the darkness of night. Pool, summoning grounds, a storage shed; all useful in their own manner, but of no use at the present moment. Astral blue drifted from his beak, a cigarette the source, as he stood in his undergarments. With the staining of his royal robes, he had to strip down to a revealing pair of cerulean panties and a loose, translucent shawl, after his companions had vacated to lash their tongues upon his name in private. Such feelings were normal, and his cold heart couldn’t muster the friction to accept anything other than resignation over the thought.  

Silent darkness stared back; a void seemingly capable of swallowing the majesty of his glimmering smoke trail. Unlike space, there were no distant stars to gaze upon to kindle the hope of eventual salvation, and the weight of pure, impenetrable black carried debilitating heat. For all of its honeycomb and summertime aesthetic, the lack of any artificial or natural light exposed the true nature of Gluttony; an insatiable, all-consuming maw that not even the heavens could breach.  

Why the lodge had been sequestered in such a place, Andrealphus could only speculate. Such thoughts were prematurely ended, however, as he heard the door behind him open and an unwelcome voice address him. “I thought I’d find you out here.”  

Instead of a response, the nearly bare peacock deeply inhaled from his cigarette; Stolas’ feet would approach him all the same and their gentle clacking chorus served well to light the spark of agitation in his brain. Whatever the owl had to say, a resilient wall rose to deafen it in spirit. Any reprimand that him or Vassago could conjure up would do little to sway Andrealphus’ mindset.  

“Can we talk?” 

All that was given was the turn of a head and a long, steady stare as starlight trailed into distant comet dust from his cigarette. Discomfort palpable in Stolas’ eyes, Andrealphus held the gaze with resolute muteness, his mental faculties alight with psychic desire for the owl to take a hint and speak his peace.  

“You said earlier, at the dinner table, that if you could ask me a question, you’d let me ask one in return. Does that offer still stand?” 

The exhale that left Andre’s lungs sizzled along the lining of his organ; a sign to toss the stick away, and thus he withdrew the cigarette from his mouth and gave it a harsh, taut flick into the darkness. With nothing left to occupy him orally, he waved a hand. “For the one.” 

Further clacking echoed into the night, if for only a few seconds as Stolas approached the railing and leaned against it in the same fashion as his Goetian brother. “Why do you hate me?” 

“Ask another question.” The response was swift, barbed, and low volume.  

Stolas paused, momentarily taken aback by the snippy retort. “Is it because you like Vassago?”  

Andrealphus turned his head away and once again gazed into the darkness. Time passed, enough to which it was clear that he wasn’t going to answer, but Stolas relented. 

“It can’t just be the divorce; why do you hate me, Andrealphus?” 

“You aren’t asking the right question.” Spoken in a louder tone than the owl’s own, the declaration strained to overlap the barrage of questions. 

“Then what’s the right question for me to ask: hm? It’s apparently not any of the multitude on my mind, so what is it?” 

Another sigh rippled out, followed by the brisk slap of palms against the metal railing. Andrealphus’ height increased as his elbows locked in and his shoulders threatened to sit beside his head. “Allow me to answer your question with another question, just to remove the lustful cobwebs from your mind; no doubt having been spun by your little private time with Vassago just now. What is courtesy?” 

Perplexed, Stolas’ face tilted, his eyes blinked, and a flabbergasted hand raised to brush back his soft, feathery head. “…what?” 

“I shall repeat; what is courtesy?”  

Andrealphus waited for an answer, his posture unmoving, and it hardly seemed as if he were breathing either. Stolas wracked his mind for an answer, contemplated every trick that could be woven into the question itself, and eventually found nothing but the basic definition.  

"It's a common kindness bestowed upon others, usually established as a societal nicety, to both improve general well-being and foster a cooperative communal climate?” 

Seemingly appeased by the answer, or perhaps possessed by the lack of caring altogether, Andrealphus spoke. “Stella told me the story; a naked imp, clad in a dirty ringmaster jacket, plummeted from your manor balcony and landed directly in the midst of evening tea with fellow royals. Clutching your grimoire, he admitted to your illicit affair and ran off, upon which you abruptly announced in front of esteemed guests that you were getting a divorce.” His grip on the railing creaked and tightened, but his tone nor posture changed. “You bed…one of the lowest castes in all of Hell, broadcast it to the entire ring and beyond, bring shame to your family house in the display, allow him to abscond with one of the most powerful arcane artifacts in all the realm, and then proclaim that your marriage of seventeen years is about to be nullified. Do tell where I can find even a scant trace of courtesy in that." 

Despite his composure being ironclad, tongues of fiery anger managed to lick out amidst his pointed words. While it seemed, he was simply regurgitating information, the deliberation and weight behind the recounting was enough to give Stolas pause. It was odd to hear of the event, one that he had personally witnessed, be told through the eyes of a third party.  

“You shamed the Ars Goetia with your actions, threatened the safety of Hell’s denizens, and dissolved whatever family chemistry your daughter had…because you were sad. Do you not realize the gravity of your actions? What if that imp had never returned your grimoire? What if he had discovered a way to unlock its secrets?” As he spoke, the composure began to crack further as frost began to accumulate on the railing. “Why not money, like any other whore? You could have given him anything, anything, besides the grimoire and yet you allowed him to take it; an imp, Stolas, an imp.” 

“He was not a whore, Andrealphus, and his race does not matter.” Stolas folded his arms, eyes narrowed in a judgmental glare.  

“You had seventeen years to find someone else to make you happy, and instead of choosing someone worthy of your station, you...!” Andrealphus caught his words before they could run too far ahead, his beak taut with infuriated strain and effort. “You didn’t even have the courtesy to look. For seventeen god forsaken years, I watched you raise your daughter, and just as you were about to be free, you…” Another sharp inhale, a shoulder glance filled with rage, and the crackling of ice heralded the marquis’ rapid descent into losing his composure.  

Curiosity began to corrupt the harsh judgement in his eyes, for the response felt far too genuine to ignore. “What are you saying, Andrealphus?” 

Finally, the marquis spun around. “I was right there!” 

The statement struck with the force of nature’s fury compiled into a single bolt, and its power left Stolas in a state of shock that widened each of his eyes and turned his tongue to stone. He watched as slender talons curled and tightened into fists; the audible creak and pop of joints and knuckles made to amplify the flex of white-feathered arms. That same tightness gripped the peacock’s neck and beak, as if the emotion had to physically be resisted.  

“Not one approach, in seventeen goddamn years, Stolas. How many royal banquets did we attend and catch each other’s gaze, only for nothing to occur? In all that time, did you never consider me; someone who was your equal, worthy of your hand? It would have been easy to keep Stella unaware! No one knows her better, no one could have made the transition easier with minimal damage. You would not have needed to risk the grimoire or to scar your daughter emotionally with this messy divorce.” Andrealphus strut forward, head held high, even as Stolas detected the tiniest glimmer of crystal light in his blue eyes. “In the end, you chose…common street trash…over me.” 

Astonished, Stolas stared at that beautiful, regal, and furious face. It was like waiting for a bear trap to spring, a rope to snap, or a shadow to shift. “I…Andre, I didn’t know you felt that way. Why didn’t you..?” 

“Because raising Octavia was the entire point of your marriage. I had planned to approach you properly once she had come of age, but…” Bitterness brimmed in his voice. “…things just turned out differently, didn’t they?” In a flash, as if something had been triggered, Andrealphus’ emotional mask slipped back over his face. Disappointment, regret, anger and sadness all were swept beneath the unbendable guise of disinterest. His head turned away from Stolas, and a gentle sniffle raised his beak for but a moment; curt and cold. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, in the end; you are interested in Vassago, not me. Once again, I have been outdone.” 

An overload of information assaulted Stolas’ mind; all this time, he had a secret admirer! Had he simply been blind? His memory blank, all he could do was suffer the emotional discomfort that the revelation brought. “I’m sorry…” It was all he could say. 

Andrealphus scoffed and turned from the railing, “As am I.” the growl that filled the dying syllable of his words indicated his lie. Without further word, he hurriedly walked back into the house, slammed the door shut, and left Stolas out in the cold. 

Notes:

Thank you for reading. I know this was a meaty chapter, as long as one of my stand alone fics, but it underwent a rewrite which spanned nearly 3k words on its own. That being said, I've been stockpiling chapters for this story, and this was the first one to be posted without another one in the wings already completed. This just means that the next chapter might take longer to come out; so, instead of a week, maybe two or three...or potentially longer.

As always, thank you for your time, your love, and check out my other works if you crave more of my writing style.

Chapter 6: To Burn

Summary:

With tensions running high, Vassago makes an attempt at diplomacy amongst the group, and the seeds of Sextile Conjunction are sowed. In the aftermath, an unexpected visitor arrives to their private domicile to shake things up.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Stolas liked to sleep in the nude. Andrealphus liked to sleep in a pair of panties. Vassago liked to sleep in an entire set of pajamas.  

Needless to say, Vassago wasn’t getting much sleep.  

With Andrealphus on his left and Stolas on his right, the heat was inescapable. He couldn’t even get up and move, as it would toss their shared covers and comforter off. The fact that all three of them had mutually agreed to sleep in the same bed came as a surprise, considering the events of the previous night; and the stern look upon Andrealphus’ face when he stormed into the bedroom and slid beneath the covers without a word. 

Something had occurred, but what exactly that something was, he didn’t know. Stolas hadn’t been much help either; his demeanor silent and unresponsive. Vassago hoped that whatever it was, that it hadn’t undone what joy their moment together had created. Yet, such was life. 

Not even a goodnight had been exchanged, yet as all three Goetia lay together, the energy between them couldn’t have been farther apart. No matter how hard he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, a cement wall of unshakable awareness kept him awake. Without even a clock to listen to, the silence began to drag and scrape into infinity; and thus conjured a seed of mania that Vassago sought to quickly cull.  

He shifted onto his side towards Andrealphus and dragged himself up the bed with an elbow. A bed of pristine, white feathers stared back up at him like a garden of lilies that gently glowed with the light of the moon. As Vassago dipped his head lower and pressed his beak and face against the side and back of the marquis’ neck, a gentle inhale helped calm his soul. Cool and refreshing scents of strawberry and peppermint surged into his mind and tickled his throat. The lightest of tenses firmed the muscle in that slender neck; his signal that Andrealphus was indeed awake. 

Then, he turned to Stolas and slid his beak into his head fluff. Lavender, fresh laundry scented waves greeted him in potent buckets of sensory bliss. He took extra care not to slide too close to his fellow prince, given his absent state of dress; nudity was…a barrier, in its own ironic way. Beneath his affection, Stolas gently stirred, but Vassago questioned if he had ever been asleep to begin with. If their resolve to remain silent was adamant, to allow the tension between them to fester, then Vassago would help bridge that gap. 

A droplet of affection, was sometimes all that was required. 

Cool fingers brushed along his tail feathers from behind and trailed up towards his lower back, only to scoop around and caress his thigh. Light pressure eased against his back as he felt a body slide perfectly against his, and a pointed beak preened the feathers along his neck. Abundant affection, laced with a dose of sensuality, eased its way through his clothing; every trace a pleasant glide, every beat against his spine the heart of another. An arm arched back, and Vassago found Stolas’ hand against his cheek and chin. Red eyes thrummed like embers in the quiet darkness of their room, and in that silence, a beak raised up and slid against his own. 

The kiss was slow, considerate, and gluttonous. All the time in the world, encapsulated within that single moment, was at their beck and call. There was no rush, there was no urgency; just the desire for the taste of another, for the comfort of loving hands and the joining of heartbeats. Vassago closed his eyes and sank into the motions; a gentle tug of war with Stolas that dipped between them like ocean waves. It became far too easy to let his mind wander, to slip beneath the pull of that flavor, of that love, and let it consume him fully. 

However, Andrealphus’ hand soon slid over his shoulder, along the side of his neck, and gripped Vassago’s chin in a similar fashion. A gentle, but sudden turn of the head, and the parrot found himself face to face with those glowing blue eyes; as clear as the purest waters in Alaska. “Stop hogging him.” Andre muttered. 

That was all the warning Vassago had before a brand new flavor enraptured his tongue, as the peacock got a taste for himself. Just like his feathers, cool, wispy winds threatened to sap the moisture from his throat. As the cold began to dry out his tongue, Andre’s own slid against it for a potent dose of hydration. It was such a wonderful sensation that enveloped the entire inside of his mouth, and Vassago’s talons curled beneath the sheets as his heart quickened and his breaking fell out of rhythm. Needy for a breath, he sucked in air in the form of a light moan; a sound that summoned a beak to the side of his neck.  

While Andrealphus charmed his mouth, Stolas preened at his neck with the tantalizing and teasing edge of his beak. Here and there, the scrape of that ivory tickled the nerves on his nape and made him shudder; trapped between prince and marquis, a willing outlet for their need.  

“Good to see…mmn…you two are speaking with each other again.” Vassago muttered through Andre’s beak.  

“Against my better judgement, perhaps…” Slender fingers slid up his neck and held it at the side, right upon the pulse of his heart, as Andrealphus slid a second hand down a chest of feathers. “…but I shan’t allow my patience to be of waste.” 

“Wait, what—hnn—does that mean?” Stolas was nuzzling and nipping at that neck more and more, to the point that it curled Vassago’ talons. It was all he could do to utter a single sentence, let alone do it smoothly. As he spoke, the nibbling ceased, and a hush fell over the bed as both birds looked over him to one another.  

It was then, in that quiet moment, that the light of the marquis’ brilliant eyes dimmed. “It’s…” he began with a sigh, posture dropped low to lay into Vassago’s side. “…a complicated matter.” 

Perplexed, a glance towards Stolas rewarded Vassago with silence and a downcast set of eyes. Where he had once witnessed anger between the two, now stood only a mist of sadness and resentment. Without any context, it was impossible for him to know how to feel about the matter; however… 

“I won’t force either of you to reveal anything, but if it would make you feel better, know that I am here to listen.” 

To his surprise, it was Stolas who spoke first, preluded with a sigh to catch the parrot’s attention. “Since it’s a matter of the heart, it might be unavoidable; as to not sabotage our efforts here. However, since I was not the wronged party, I shall allow Andrealphus to speak of the matter.” 

Vassago turned back to Andre, who had unburied himself from that deltoid of vibrant crimson feathers and propped his back against the headboard. Arms hugged across his chest, he sourly stared at the sheets, with only scant eye flickers to indicate his knowledge of other eyes upon him. “I…” he shuffled, voice soft and deeper; it’s haughtiness absent. “…was passive…and afraid. I could not chase after what I desired, and for nearly two decades I lived alone and sought no other. Then, I not only lost my chance, but I lost it twice, and now I sit here in this bed more conflicted than I’ve ever been.” 

This was a new tone, one that reverberated deep within Vassago’s core. In all the years they’d known each other, he had never heard this voice. To say that it was unnerving was a disservice; it felt like a thing he should not be privy to, nor anyone else. Was this what a bared heart sounded like? Reserved pain, tempered and familiar, thickened the air with bitter notes of practiced melancholy and acceptance. Vassago’s eyes flicked back to Stolas, but the owl remained silent, his head turned away.  

“The worst of it, is that after speaking my grievances aloud, a startling realization occurred; my misery is of my own making. I should have been less considerate. I should have been brazen and taken what I wanted; made the declaration long ago…but the same fire that should have stoked the heart of another has only burned the bridge between us.” 

“Bridges can always be rebuilt.” A comforting hand rested atop Andre’s shoulder, and Vassago’s soft voice warmed their bedchamber.  

Sadness flashed across blue, irisless eyes. “I would not blame him if he wished it to remain ash. He possesses the spark of passion, of dreams, that I lack; and I am the cold hearted monster that allowed his forced matrimony to continue on in misery.” 

“You—” In that moment, it all became clear. He spoke of Stolas, and upon the thought, Vassago whipped his head back towards the owl. “Oh…oh.” The parrot reached out with a hand and touched his fellow prince’s waist. “Stolas?” 

His head did not turn. “It does not matter anymore.” 

“What?” Those words beggared belief. 

“I said, it does not matter. My marriage is dissolved, the damage is done, and none of it can be undone. My romantic relationships are dead, one and all, and now in my moment of recovery he pits himself against me.” 

Vassago’s confusion was overwritten by Andre’s retort. “I am not pitted against you.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Andrealphus, you made it clear on the balcony.” 

“I am angry, not vengeful.” 

“Out of all the other Goetia, all the other demons, why did it then have to be him?” 

“I could ask the same of you.” 

“You have more motive than anyone to chase him out of wounded spite!” 

“You would know all to well, since you’re the one who caused it!” 

“I was not told! You should have just told me; do you know how miserable I was?! Why was I unknowingly deemed the one who needed to initiate?” 

“Royal duty comes first; something that you clearly have difficulty comprehending!” 

“I sired a child with a banshee of a woman, suffered through years of abuse at every turn, hid who I really was from everyone and everything so that I could do my duty, and you sit there and dare to claim that I don’t understand?!” 

Feathers puffed up, weak eyes reinvigorated with the flames of disagreement and negative emotion, with Vassago trapped between them. Things were getting out of hand, and the parrot raised a hand to each of their chests to keep the two royals from ripping each other to shreds. 

“That does not undo the consequences of your actions!” 

“My actions?! I was Octavia’s age when my father forced me to bed your sister to ensure an heir for the Goetia; a woman I had no interest in romantically or sexually whatsoever! I had no say in anything; my fate was decided for me! You had your entire life to do anything you wanted; love anyone, be anyone, and yet you chose to be a cold hearted bastard who punches down and laughs as he does it!” 

“That is not--!” 

“You defended Stella on every occasion. Not once did you ever take my side in any matter; even in the divorce proceedings you tried to grab as much power as you could for that bitch you call a sibling! You sat by and let that assassin make an attempt on my life in broad daylight, and then have the gall to excuse your attitude with the claim of a broken heart?! Fuck you, Andre.” 

Gagged by the outburst, the peacock fumed, and it was all Vassago could do to keep them from leaping at one another’s throats. All of this information was new to him, each a startling revelation that would have been previously known through his divination. As such, processing it was difficult, and panic beat inside of his heart as he frantically thought of a way to diffuse the situation.  

“You were free, and you squandered it by mewling over your own misfortune. I had to seize freedom for myself, and it cost me everything.” 

“I have never been free.”  

“With your powers, no attachments, no expectations; I would have lived.” 

“You want to know of my power?!” Before Vassago could stop him, Andrealphus’ hand shot forward, wreathed in shimmering frost, and planted itself against Stolas’ bare chest. “Then have a taste!” 

“Andre, no!” 

A layer of frost crackled up Stolas’ chest, and his red eyes deepened into a dull purple, then shifted into an icy blue. Surges of arcane might poured into him and mingled with his own natural magics; the might of their combination rooted the owl to the spot. Stolas’ beak shivered in the cold, groan in his throat as a visible current of energy flowed from Andre’s arm into him. Astonishment covered the prince’s features; eyes wide, beak agape, raspy throat. “What…what is this…I…”  

His shoulders rolled and froze, his back arched, and his fingers curled midair to grasp at nothing. From his throat, a misty stream of cold poured forth as he exhaled in the undertow of the marquis’ curse. Undulating currents enveloped his soul, and an overwhelming wave of power washed over his mind. His heart slowed, his vision sharpened, and his mind tightened beneath the invigorating chill. Yet, it was not a sensation that brought jubilation, only stark awareness and lack of empathy. Stolas’ heart emptied, and for a brief moment, he felt nothing at all despite the fact that he lived.  

He could not feel the warmth of the room, the pulse of his hot blood, nor the relief of emptied lungs. Stolas clutched at his ribs, as if to stave off the cold, and found that his feathers had no texture. They lacked any sensation against his hands, and his hands gave no sensation to his feathers. This was untold misery; like that of space without stars and the ever painful throb of frigid stillness. 

Then, within the prison of Andre’s magic, fire spewed forth to melt it all away. Vibrant, glorious, joyous flames licked and lapped to bring life back to Stolas’ soul. As if a waterfall of heat, it washed over every last corner and crevice with startling efficiency. The owl gasped; he could feel again! His eyes shot over and saw Vassago’s hand upon him; the same manner of energy pouring through his arm in a stream of bright red. He could feel the two inputs of magic mingle and swirl against each other, and then cycle out him…and up Andre’s arm. 

“A-ah!” Blue eyes shifted into a pink hue, then a vibrant orange, and the peacock bowed under the weight. “Vassago, this is…oh!” Eyes rolled back, a chest pushed forward, but the arm stayed connected as to not sever the connection. Peace, for the first time in his life, roiled throughout Andrealphus. Right to his heart, that fiery magic enveloped his heart in an inferno; and with it, pure elation. “Is this…what hope feels like? Is this…what…” Before Andrealphus could finish, Vassago yanked his hand away from Stolas, then removed his own hand to sever the current completely. Pants and gasps escaped the peacock’s beak in rapid succession, but his widened eyes and smile downplayed any manner of distress that might be assumed. He looked down to his hands, as if in disbelief at what he had felt. “I…” 

“Stolas, are you alright?” Vassago asked urgently, his fingers and eyes all over the owl to inspect his composition. To have such a sudden and intimate thing thrust upon him was no laughing matter. After a brief inspection, as the prince stared into space, all appeared well. Yet, those four red eyes didn’t look his way. “Stolas?” 

A trembling hand rose from his thigh, awash in an absent breeze. Filled to the brim with hesitation, his fingers twitched as they hovered closer to his chest to slide through the fluff and rest against his heart. Frigid, scalding, numbing cold formed within the Goetia’s chest and funneled up through his esophagus; all to result in a visible trail of breath.  

“This…is this what you always feel, Andrealphus?” he asked, eyes raised. “I had no idea that you suffered so.” Stolas wrenched his trembling hand away from his still chest and began to rub it within his other palm. Vassago watched as his companion’s face furrowed, and the rubbing grew erratic. “I can’t…I can’t get warm; the cold won’t cease.” 

Across the bed, a hand reached over and planted itself atop Vassago’s shoulder; its’ warmth stifling. “Brother, this sensation is wondrous; I feel as if I have inhaled fresh air for the first time in all my existence!” Andrealphus smiled, and the expression was wracked with enough joy to make the parrot lean away in discomfort. “I can feel--I can feel my heart beat again!” Two hands slapped to his ivory feathers and dragged through, the marquis’ beak and eyes wide in happiness. “Wait...” The smile began to decay, as did the width of his eyes as confusion set in. “…it’s…it’s fading; the warmth is fading!”  

Meanwhile, Stolas appeared to be quite brighter than before; blood had returned to nourish his complexion.  

“No…no!”  

The fear that sparked in Andrealphus’ voice compelled Vassago to drape an arm around him and pull the peacock close; not just for the comfort of a hug, but for the natural warmth of his body. “Andre, look at me.” 

Heedless to the words, “Vassago, please; please, I can’t…” 

A gentle shush left his large beak to calm the panic, “If you absorb too much, you will lose control and be devoured. You must learn to acclimate to its presence, first. Until then, let the warmth of my body be enough.”  

Vassago turned to look at Stolas, who gazed past him and unto Andrealphus with a look of abject pity. The experience had been a brief step into his waking existence, and the aftereffects lingered. It came as no surprise, at least to Vassago, when Stolas slid from the sheets and walked around the bed; only to slip behind Andrealphus and pull their bodies close. 

“And mine…for what it is worth.” 

Nestled between two soft, feathery, warm bodies beneath the bedsheets, Andre stifled what tears the injustice of his momentary bliss compelled to create. In that moment, as nary a demon spoke and all that could be heard was the beating of two hearts, along with the gentle rise and fall of steady breathing; Andre, for a brief instant, slipped into the velvety embrace of soft serenity. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

It wasn’t Sextile Conjunction, but it was a start. 

Feathers were strewn everywhere, a canvas of black and red and white. All three avians lay nestled together in a pile; reluctant to shed their shared body heat into the morning. There was no rhyme of reason to the position, and the air was a certifiable buffet of scents to any would-be predator lurking about. Beckoned by the fingers of the morning sun, Vassago crawled out of bed as his fellow Goetia slept like stone golems, and walked downstairs to make some coffee. 

All was silent within their vacation home; not even the steps uttered a single sound as he descended in his pajamas. His beak stretched in the formation of a yawn, and just as his mind moved his mouth to ask Alejandro what was for breakfast, Vassago suddenly remembered where he was. With no butlers present, morning brew would need to be made, if he wanted a mug; and so, the prince nimbly skimmed the island and prepared a filter. What he didn’t expect, as soon as he poured in the coffee grounds and started the pot, was to hear a loud knocking at the front door. 

“Stolas; you in there?” an unknown voice called out. Clearly, it was male, but beyond that it was entirely foreign to him. In attire hardly befitting a dignified prince of the Ars Goetia, Vassago approached the door and tried to smooth out his head feathers along the way. Appearances always counted for something, no matter the locale. As he turned the doorknob, the voice began to speak again. “Finally, about time; I was—” 

An imp stood on the front step. Black leather jacket with polished studs on the shoulders, thick curved horns that arched behind his large head, and a combination of red and white skin. Vassago knew that particular marking well; this demon had been touched by green hellfire. Upon further inspection, it marked not only half of his face, but his hands as well. Tight jeans and a dark t-shirt beneath the jacket made it impossible to tell if there was anymore.  

“…who the fuck are you?” the tone in his voice made it clear that Vassago wasn’t expected. Combined emotion flit in those large yellow eyes; surprise, worry, and a dash of anger.  

“I am Prince Vassago of the Ars Goetia.” How interesting; was this the same imp that had previous relations with Stolas? Judging by the context clues, it was more than likely. “Who are you?” 

“A friend; where’s Stolas?” The imp shifted towards the door and leaned to one side, so that he could shout through the door. “Stolas?” 

Vassago raised a hand to silence him. “He is asleep, and this is private property.” 

“Oh, what are you; the fucking guard dog? Yo, Stolas!” 

Vassago rolled his eyes, sighed, walked through the door, then closed it behind him. “You’re a noisy little thing. Don’t you know it’s rude to arrive unannounced, let alone bark in the early hours of the morning?” 

“Like I said, it’s fucking important, so I don’t give a shit! STO—mmnph!” 

Before another shout could be uttered, Vassago bent down and slapped his talons over that loud, toothy mouth. “Whatever it is, I’m certain it can wait until he’s had his beauty rest.” Muscles slid and tensed against his palm, as the imp’s face shifted; which was the perfect sign for his hand to retreat. Just as it yanked away, shark-like teeth chomped down upon the open air, and an incredulous expression crossed that scarred visage.  

“Are you fucking him?” An accusatory jab, thrust forward by a rather venomous tone, made that digit all the more heinous to his sensibilities. “Look at you…” he sneered. “…tall, fucking bright, hot shit with an accent and a big fucking beak. You look like the type to be sleeping with my—” Whatever word was about to be said was stopped; it appeared that either there was no proper term or his brain had simply doubled back into itself via fear and doubt.  

Either way, Vassago crossed his arms and arched back to his proper, full height. “Your what? I don’t know what your relation to Prince Stolas is, but he is in the midst of handling a highly sensitive royal matter and will not be disturbed.” 

“Is that right?” Twitchy spikes rattled on a spindly, spade-tipped tail; the little crack-addict of a dinosaur fidgeted in place, itching for an excuse. “And who’s gonna keep me out, you, you Kool-Aid colored fuck?” 

Agitation twitched in Vassago’s brow; it was too early for this. So used to simply knowing, having to pry information out of demons had began to grow its personal garden of annoyance in his mind. To ease the pressure, he pressed a digit to his brow and gave a slow, meaningful knead of his skull.  

“If it comes to that.” he sighed. 

The imp spread his arms wide, chest out. “I’m right here, motherfucker.” 

Vassago stared down at the foul-mouthed, brazen little imp. He had to admit, he was either incredibly cocky in his abilities to combat a Goetia, or was simply an idiot. Since not even a waft of alcohol could be detected on his breath, inebriation was ruled out entirely.  

“While I’m tempted to kill a minute of my time, I much prefer diplomacy. Tell me what you need to see him for, I shall relay the information, and if he wishes to contact you about the matter; he shall.” 

“Or, how about you go…” A thick middle finger rose with a rather sturdy punctuation. “…and fuck yourself. You don’t get to know my business just because you’re standing in my way.” The finger fell, only for the imp to step forward; his intent clear to push past Vassago entirely.  

Fire flashed along Vassago’s leg as he stomped his foot against the stone to bar the path. That gave the imp pause, as his foot favored to lean on his heel instead of his toe. 

Vassago bent down at the waist and maintained the pose, which gave off the appearance of a bow, but the menace in his facial expression was anything but honorary. “You are very rude.” Voice lowered, the heat of the astral flames that immolated his foot and leg visible through the waves of a mirage, his talons clenched against the stone with an audible scrape.  

Nostrils fumed, that spiked tail whipped through the air, and the imp’s fists clenched as he stared into Vassago’s pitch red gaze. “You think…” he muttered, forked tongue out to wet his lips for a brief second. Upon the next words, his face muscles tensed and twitched; eyes latched between the prince’s face and the fire that burned below. “…some fancy fucking fire scares me?” Clearly, by the reaction, it did. “You wanna go, you puffed up, pompous fuck; huh?! Go on, do it, hit me; it’ll be the last fucking mistake you ever--!” 

Vassago’s leg swept upwards, the tips of his talons skimmed along that leather jacket, then clutched around the imp’s face for a second…and flung him straight into the sky. From an outsider’s view, it would appear as a kick, but in reality, it was simply a grapple and a throw in one motion. Seemingly, the diminutive demon was equally consumed by the maneuver, as it took him a solid five seconds of air time to scream. 

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”  

Luckily for him, or perhaps not so, a helpful tree stood in the distance to catch his fall.  

“Goh!” he cried out in pain, as he struck a branch and continued to fall. His body tumbled every which way, as numerous branches served to divert the energy of motion to spin him about like a ragdoll. Some were thin enough that he snapped straight through them, others…well, stopped him for a moment with a resounding, solid crash. “Fuck! Shit! Ass! Motherfu—aagh!” The imp struck the lowest branch and let out a heaving, sickly groan, then slid off and hit his back upon the ground.  

With a satisfied nod, Vassago snuffed the flames from his leg with a swift, downward kick to the stone steps, and turned back inside.  

As the door closed, silence took over, and the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee hooked his olfactory senses. Near the top of the stairs, a twinkle of light appeared, and Andrealphus soon stepped into view. Rather ruffled, yet alight with a homely glow, the peacock stretched out his arms and unleashed a massive yawn.  

“Good morning…Vassago.”  

“Good morning Andrealphus. How did you sleep?” 

At the bottom of the steps, the marquis tilted his neck for a morning adjustment, and the resounding pop brought serenity to his face. “Twas marvelous. I can’t recall the last night I slept so soundly. Are you always up so early?” 

“Yes; normally, I like to catch the sun as it rises into the sky, but I appear to have missed the window.” 

One of the cabinet drawers swung open, and two coffee mugs floated out in the embrace of Andre’s blue-tinged magic. They set themselves right next to the coffee pot, upon which Vassago filled them with steaming hot caffeine. Eyes barely a quarter of the way open, the peacock blindly took his mug and held it to his beak for a gentle, lengthy sip. As he drank, the tension visibly drained from his shoulders and face; not from the rigors of life, but simply from having slept in such a vulnerable position for hours.  

“Well, that is unfortunate.” he sighted, content with the brew and the revitalizing energies it bestowed. “But, there is always tomorrow.” 

“Indeed.” Now, it was Vassago’s turn to take a drink, and the potent, rich flavor of premium coffee washed over his taste buds. Nothing was better than a good homemade dark roast batch of coffee. Alejandro would often grind the beans himself; oh, what a magnificent experience of love and care. That simply memory filled Vassago’s heart with watered down homesickness, and so his mind turned to other matters. “We have made ample progress in such a short time, no?” 

Momentarily, a flinch twitched in Andre’s neck muscles; as if to hold back a retort. “Yes…despite the fact that it was a consequence of my over emotional state.” A slow sip of coffee occupied his beak long enough to think, to keep silent, to provide a pause for the conversation to divert. “What I did was dangerous.” 

“Remove it from thy mind, amigo.” Vassago said with a shake of his head. “We have all erred, in one fashion or another. Focus on the good that came of it, and how we may foster that success into something greater than its failings.” He stepped closer to Andrealphus, just to provide a sense of comradery. “In fact, I have the perfect activity which might help.” 

“Oh, what?” 

Vassago slid his fingers through the handle of his mug to the knuckle, then extended his fingers on both hands. He gave them a showmanship like waggle and smiled at Andrealphus. “Shopping.”  

“…” 

The resounding blank expression made the prince unleash an awkward, side step of a chuckle. “We need ingredients for meals, mainly, but since we have found ourselves on the same page now, so to speak, a trip into Lust might be required.” 

Andrealphus raised a brow over the rim of his mug, as his free hand began to smooth out his feathers. “You hate Lust; I thought that was well-established.” 

“That’s correct, however, if we are to…” Vassago twirled a hand to conjure up the appropriate phrase from his mind. “…understand each other more deeply, we will need…” 

“Right, right: that. Can’t very well use our beaks and fingers for everything; they are only so long.” Red blossomed in the marquis’ cheeks, at the casual nature of the conversation, despite its’ intimate and lewd topic. “You don’t happen to already have--?” 

“Me? Oh, no, Hell’s no; that’s…no.” 

“Should we ask Stolas, once he awakens?” 

The presence of the imp flashed across Vassago’s mind. Was he still out there, trying to get in somehow? Waiting, watching; no one sane would dare after that gravitational tumble. Yet, if it happened to be the same imp who upended Stolas’ life and created that rift between himself and Andrealphus…he couldn’t leave much to optimism and chance. “I think it best if we start fresh, with unanimous agreements on the purchases, of course.” 

“Money is no object.” 

“It’s not about money, but taste. Recall Asmodeus; we must know the most intimate, deepest parts of one another for the ritual to succeed. That might require us to expand our horizons, somewhat.” Vassago finished the final remnants of his coffee and sat down the mug. “Besides, I believe anything that Stolas does have in reserve would likely be used. I do not relish the thought of—” 

Andrealphus made a face and waved a hand. “Right, right, right; yes, I understand. We are in agreement on that.” 

Now, it was Vassago’s turn to feel a rush of blood to his face and an uncomfortable warmth envelope his cheeks. Two cups of coffee sounded lovely, in his mind, as his tongue tied itself into an indecisive knot; until finally, he rebelled against further caffeine. “Share your thoughts with me; the other night, that kiss. Given recent revelations, I have to ask.” 

Andrealphus shifted and poured himself another cup. “It wasn’t a mistake, if that’s what you imagine. While I did in fact pine over Stolas for years, I spent that time observing you. Seventeen years of hesitation needs to be filled with something, and in that time, my heart…developed a second fondness. Your fire…” Andre’s touch was light, almost reverent, as his fingers traced Vassago’s wrist. “…entices me, even now, and has only grown stronger after the brief taste of its power you graced me with.” 

“So, you want me for my power?” 

“No.” Andre shook his head and frowned. “I want you, because you are everything I am not; social, beloved, radiant.” Closer and closer he drew, until a kiss could be all too accidental. “You are kind, strong, wise…and possess a heart.” A hand placed itself over that same mentioned organ, for a moment of tender quiet. “Perhaps, in some part of me, therein lies a hope that I could gain those qualities in your presence.” 

Red feathers rose against the silken material of his pajama shirt, and Vassago looked down at that hand with a pensive eye. “You speak as if I am perfect.” Gently, his touch wrapped around Andrealphus’ wrist; and upon contact, the marquis’ hand slid up to drag a finger beneath the curve of that big beak. Such a simple motion, but one that enflamed Vassago’s heart and quickened his breath.  

“You divine the fates themselves, Vassago. Your power is the salvation of lost and hidden souls. Amongst all of the Goetia, you alone possess the humility to wield such immense strength.” Smooth fingers traced backwards from that chin and up the cheek. “Without the soul, there is no song, no thought, no drive, and no will. Can you imagine it? An existence without music, without intellect, without purpose? You, more than any of us, prevent that from happening. Thus, to me, you are not required to be perfect; all that you must be…is present.” 

Solemnness descended over the parrot, “Yet, here I stand: blind.” Dejection sank into his shoulders, and all the strength in his posture slipped free so that he may lean against the kitchen sink. “With zero knowledge as to how I became this way. How can someone so unaware, so helpless, be worthy of such a hefty role?” 

“Enlightenment comes to us all, often through the strangest of circumstances.” 

Vassago’s head gazed to the floor, his feet out and ankles crossed, wrists bent as he gripped the sink’s edge. “Time is the one thing I cannot afford to waste. Each moment that passes without my powers, another soul remains lost, another strand of fate is left unchecked to fray and unravel into untold consequence. We cannot rush this ritual, but we cannot afford to waste time; the paradox is…absolutely infuriating.” His grip tightened, and his eyes closed completely to seek the comfort of darkness. Within, a dim light greeted him, and both eyes snapped open in an instant. That feeling, familiar and eldritch, began to warm within his sockets. Fingers began to tingle, then spread the sensation up his arms to the elbow; the beginning of his dread.  

Vassago slowly exhaled and tensed his brow to stave off the warmth that he knew would only intensify. It was happening again; the same as it was mere days ago at the lighthouse. 

“Vassago, are you alright? You appear…distressed.” 

In that brief moment of panic, he had forgotten Andrealphus’ presence altogether; but upon hearing his voice, he clamped a palm over his eyes. The warmth had began to itch, to cook against the fibers of his optic nerve, to bear against his mind with unwavering force. Sweat formed on his temples, and his spine began to bend in an attempt to escape the heat. 

“Forgive me, Andrealphus…for I have not been entirely forthcoming with my state of being!” Steam billowed within the airspace above his tastebuds, only to flood and pollute the entirety of his beak. Pain twitched in his fingers, as his throat clenched and seared with invisible fire that threatened to recreate the imagery of a dragon. “My eyes…” Sharp stakes stabbed at the back of his eyes and propelled the prince’s back into a mighty arch, a secondary hand joined to clutch at his sockets as a pained groan burst free. 

“Vassago, what is happening?” A stern tone, but one marred with concern, bore through the seething orange flame that replaced the darkness behind his lids. 

“In my effects…upon the dresser…a syringe!” he groaned. Pressure built within the inferno that whirled in his sockets, and as he heard the rapid sound of running steps, it erupted. The intensity yanked a short howl from his beak, and the adrenaline of the moment sent the flames scorching down his spine to encapsulate every bone. Sacred mantras whipped about his mind, their tender pages charred by the flames, so much that he struggled to recount the exact words. “Augur…of Fa—AAAAAAAGH!” He dropped to his knees, elbows jabbed into his ribs, as his torso inflated and deflated in manic succession. “Augur! Augur of Fate, All that Shall Be…Fires four and Fires…th-three…illuminate…” Billows of thunderous smoke heaved upwards from his lungs and escaped his beak in draconic huffs; their exit violated the entirety of him in a way that made his head spin and his soul rot. 

Vassago felt his skull begin to split apart; a visceral tear that couldn’t be stopped. All he saw was a blinding typhoon of orange and yellow, marred with sickly, vomit-like stains of red. The colors glared at him… 

…they GLARED! 

Both hands mashed against his skull and clutched at his feathers for sanctuary, for stability, but to no avail. His eyes finally opened, and from them poured a torrent of chaotic flame. Straight into the maelstrom of malevolent energy, the prince attempted to scream out his chants; but fell beneath their violent surge. 

All he could do was scream. 

In his personal realm of fire, endless eyes looked upon him as legion. Unblinking, the souls of those he was meant to guide surrounded him in a forum of dead. Behind those glassy, unmoving irises lay an insanity that hummed and grew and invoked a dread beyond compare. The angry dead, come to judge, come to jeer, come to spite ; the price of his failure come to collect, to watch his torment unfold. There was no escape, no protection, no hope; and as the encompassing shawl of finality draped over him, as he unleashed on more terrified howl, the embrace of cold pierced his neck. 

“Hold him still!” 

Relief cascaded over his eyes and directly into his brain with a near-orgasmic chill. Heavenly cold crept into his sight and withered the rancorous flames until they became not but a frosty sheet of ice. All of his muscles released, and Vassago felt his body hurtle forward; only to be caught by four hands.  

“Vassago!”  

Suddenly, the world as he knew it snapped into view; the void now gone. Every limb trembled like a newborn faun, and his throat struggled to function to form a response. His body lifted, then leaned back, and he stared into the deeply concerned expressions of Andrealphus and Stolas. 

“Vassago, by Lucifer, are you alright?! Speak to us, please!” Stolas waved a hand before the parrot’s face to gauge a reaction, and upon receiving none, his head whipped towards Andre. “We need to call his butler; he’ll know what to do.” 

“There’s no phone in the lighthouse, that’s why Vassago wrote us those letters!” 

“Shit!” Stolas’ four eyes, wide and panicked, flittered left and right with rapid energy. He jumped to his feet and snapped his fingers, upon which a set of traveling royal attire began to form around his body. “Andre, stay here and keep him cool; I’ll travel to Sloth and bring Alejandro!” The door opened, then slammed shut, as Andrealphus cradled Vassago close and channeled his cryomancy to combat the heat. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Just beyond the door, stones beneath his feet, Stolas ran down the pathway towards the open road. There were too many trees to take flight, and portals couldn’t be opened on Goetian property; due to defensive wards. As he sprinted towards open skies, so that he may take flight, his peripheral vision didn’t notice movement until it was too late. 

“Stols!” Right in front of him, Blitz jumped into view and held his hands out. “Oh, thank Satan, you came out. Listen, I really need to—” 

“Now is not the time.” he snapped, then brushed past his old flame, only to hear hurried steps behind him. An abrupt tug snagged his sleeve, and the owl screeched to a halt. His head whipped around at a one-hundred and eighty degree angle to glare at the imp…but those eyes immediately softened. “Wait…Blitz? What…what are you doing here?” 

“I came to find you. Listen Stols...” Blitz began, then shuffled on his feet, but didn’t let the garment go. “…I was a real fucking asshat the last time we talked, okay? I’m not good at this relationship shit, but that’s no good reason for me to have blown up on you the way I did. I know you’re pissed, and you have every fucking right to be, but please…can we talk?” Watery yellow eyes shimmered his way, and he watched in astonishment as Blitz swallowed. “I’m sorry.” 

Stolas groaned at those puppy dog imp eyes. “Of all the times…” How long had he waited to feel that touch again? How many bottles of wine had he chugged down to forget the pain of losing it?  The moment should have been joyous, exuberant even, but his goal-driven mind dampened the happy moment. Vassago needed him. “Blitz, at any other moment, I would have addressed your sincerity, but I’m in the midst of something critical.” The owl’s foot slid forward. 

“Wait! Let me help you; whatever it is you need, I’m there.” 

Hesitation withered beneath that guilt-ridden stare, and Stolas unleashed a sigh that dropped his shoulders. “Alright, fine; I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” 

“Great! So, where are we going?” 

“Sloth.” Without warning, Stolas reached out and picked the imp up beneath the armpits.  

“W-wait, why are you—” 

Black and crimson wing of primal, occult energies spawned into existence upon his back. Blitz only had a moment to react before Stolas launched skyward, stray feathers left in the wake of his ascent. 

The imp’s scream could be heard for miles, “Oh fuck, not again!” 

Chapter 7: Light my Heart, Soothe my Soul, Expose my Weakness

Summary:

The clock ticks down, emotions are shed, magic is woven, and bargains are struck. Secrets upon secrets; the lifeblood of the Goetia, yearn to be brought to light.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Alejandro sighed and hefted a tome over his shoulder and into its vacant place on the bookshelf. The library’s silence was monstrous; thousands of volumes left without a master to read them. Could there ever be a more dreaded fate for written knowledge? If Prince Vassago were present, surely, he could answer.  

Feather duster in hand, the imp descended and gave each spine a thorough brushing, along the way. Music played in the background, birthed by a pointed needle that traced the code of a record; its’ notes spirited and brisk, yet possessed of a gentle air. Without anyone to talk to, for the first time in ages, he had to settle for strings and brass. His heel braced against the final rung of the ladder, so that his other could touch the wooden floor. Another shelf, done and dusted, momentary satisfaction rose as a tide, then waned at the ever-present absence of his master. 

A gentle pop of transitioning static crackled from the gramophone, and Alejandro approached it to set down his cleaning tool; eyes locked longingly on Vassago’s high back reading chair.  

“I’m sure the master is fine. After all, he is in the presence of two fellow Goetia.” Talking helped fill the void left the by lifted record needle. Not even the sunlight that trickled through the porthole of a window, helped to dispel his loneliness. There had been no good morning greeting, no cheerful smile or fiery feathers. Even the mere thought of those missed rituals placed a weight upon his heart, one that he quickly bade vanish with a shake of his head and a new task.  

The entire library had been dusted, and without anyone to cook for, he skipped to reinforcing the magical wards around the lighthouse. Incantations yanked from his memory banks, Alejandro grasped the traversal pole at the center of the room, and made for the front door as he touched the ground floor. Morning sunshine poured through the entryway, as he opened it and stepped outside; the click of the door his sign to begin.  

Far as his eye could see, the skies of Sloth were the same as they always were; languid and peaceful, enough to lull one to slumber with enough stargazing. Before he spoke the words, he cleared his throat and let them stew behind his closed lips; fingers crooked between even and odd standings to form arcane symbols for casting. Gentle, red mist brewed between his fingers, and Alejandro swept the air with practiced and precise shapes as he uttered the incantation.  

“Cylpeus terrenus ab tumultu oculus, ut pharus salutem afferat.” 

His master’s sigil, carved into the air, glowed with dull intensity, as he spoke. Once the shape was fully formed, a sharp swipe of both hands flew in opposing directions, and the sigil bulged and brimmed with strength. One down, four to go. 

The brush of wind caressed his skin, and the imp paused to ruminate on its peculiarity. Having lived in Sloth for as long as he could recall, he knew what belonged and what did not. Sloth’s winds were yawning, steady blankets that hugged the skin, but this particular wind was sharper, far more urgent and powerful; and thus, the imp’s mind bid him to turn. In doing so, a dark dot presented itself in the far distance. How curious; but if so, why did his heel drag backwards? Likely an instinct, and such things weren’t designed to be ignored by their very nature.  

With greater urgency, he moved in a clockwise motion to cast the second ward. For a defense to be proper, it must be layered and all-encompassing; and for that to be done, five wards must be cast.  

“Cylepus terrenus ab tumultu oculus, ut pharus salutem afferat.”  

A second sigil, identical to the first, was drawn in the air. As it was created, red threads stretched from one sigil to the other to latch together; each would follow, if Alejandro could complete casting them in time. His head turned; the dot was closer, dark wings visible but their wielder still a blur. In haste, the imp moved to the next spot, his breathing slightly quickened. 

“Cylepus terrenus ab tumultu oculus, ut pharus salutem afferat.” 

Two more. Sharp winds picked up. He rushed to the next position. 

“Cylepus terrenus ab tumultu oculus, ut pharus salutem afferat!” 

The final spot. The final sigil. He had only but to utter the words and form the gestures. 

“Cylepus terrenus--!” 

Rock and soil trembled as the unknown object crashed down in front of the lighthouse. Dust spewed into the air; vibrations rippled throughout the cliffside that traveled into Alejandro’s knees; he was too late. 

New spells leapt to the forefront of his minds; means of offense as well as protection that formed an orderly que upon his tongue. Through the concealing and debilitating cloud, he peered, fingers bent and arms outstretched.  

“Stamina fatorum--!” 

“Wait!” 

His ears perked, upon receiving that voice, as it was one that he recognized; and through the fog walked a royal figure…and an unknown imp.  

“Prince Stolas?” 

“Alejandro, we require your aid; it is Vassago.” 

A cinderblock of dread pressed upon his heart and scraped against his lungs. Eyes wide, his head shot between the lighthouse and the Goetian Prince that stood before him. “Is it his eyes?” 

One nod was all it took to propel the butler into a full-on sprint back to his domain; heart a thunderstorm within his head. Alejandro bulldozed through the front door with his shoulder; its wide swing and eventual crash naught but a gentle echo from behind as he gripped the traversal pole. As if it sensed his urgency, the magic within shot him to the library in under three seconds.  

Amongst its many effects, Vassago’s desk housed the materials to treat his condition. Alejandro swept aside scrolls to reach into a hollow shelf and grab his master’s grimoire, his other hand quick to throw open one of the many drawers below him. A thick roll of leather was retrieved and opened; within lay a spread of liquid-filled syringes that cast the open air in cold mist. As if each had been wrapped in frost, they possessed their own cloud of cold, and after a quick head count, Alejandro rolled them back up. Grimoire in one arm and leather roll in the other, he sprinted for the pole and made a leaping grapple with both legs.  

As his tail tip touched the ground floor, he quickly disengaged and rushed out of the front door…only to find the unknown imp bent at the waist, a spot of vomit at his feet and Prince Stolas’ hand upon his back. 

“Blitz, now is not the time…” he soothingly muttered, lanky fingers spread between the spikes upon the hellborn’s back.  

Blitz gave a dry heave, his entire back arched as his face scrunched up in distaste. “I didn’t even eat carrots…” 

“I have what we need.” Alejandro stated boldly, in blatant disapproval of the situation at hand. “How bad is he?” 

“I’m fine; just gimme a minute…” Blitz burped, both hands upon his knees as a gag reared in his throat; tail curved to the sky in a shuddering tremble. 

“Not you: Prince Vassago!” Wide eyes whipped towards Stolas in search of answers, hands gripped tight and tail a storm of whips.  

“I am unsure; one moment he was fine, the next the entire kitchen was up in flames.” Stolas reached out a hand for the butler to grab, then bent down to wrap his other around Blitz’s buckled waist. 

“No…” Alejandro muttered in fear at the declaration, then slammed his palm against Stolas’ and latched on tight. “His condition has worsened; you must bring me to him posthaste!” 

Dark wings spread wide and gave a singular flap, only to be parsed with a gurgling groan from Blitz. “Fuck…be gentle…”  

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Twinkling astral starlight drifted onto Vassago, as if the breath of winter itself. Andrealphus, face wrought with concentration, channeled the power of cold from his palm, in the form of a gentle mist. Potent as always, his cryomancy fought to equalize the parrot’s temperature; every flame enfeebled, each puff of smoke crystallized to water vapor. To his dismay, the rampant fire within his fellow Goetia resisted, with bursts of intensified and angry heat. Whatever that had been inside of that needle had run dry. 

In response, Andrealphus’ hand glowed with greater intensity, and the stream of cold widened. It was a war of stabilization, one that he found no pleasure in. Through the veil of frost, tongues of fire poked and prodded, as if they intended to infect him. His lack of attire was a detriment, but such things mattered little, so long as he succeeded in the task at hand. An analytical gaze scanned over Vassago’s body; the twitching had grown less violent, but no less common. Determination filled Andre, and he soldiered through the discomfort in nothing but his meager nightwear. 

“Andre…” came a rasp so dry and cracked that it bordered on dead language. He could not tell if his magical application was helping or not, but there was no way that he could stop. 

“All will be well, brother; Stolas has gone to fetch your butler. He shall know what to do.” 

“My…” Vassago’s eyes squinted, then shivered, as roots of vibrant, volcanic orange crept towards them. A gasp, one of pain and fear, but also importance, pushed his spine into an arch. Two hands gripped Andre’s magically coated one, and did not relinquish their hold, even as ice began to form over those fine red feathers. “…Andrealphus; he cannot know…” Another dry inhale, another wheeze, another lungful of scorched air. “…I cannot lose him…” 

Confused, the marquis cradled the side of Vassago’s face in his inactive hand. “Shh…shh-shh-shh; speak softly, do not injure yourself further.” 

Through what likely agony speech caused, Vassago spoke. “He does not know…of my…blindness…” Both eyes fluttered and flickered, as if in search of something unseen, then narrowed at Andre as the veins crept closer. His grip on Andrealphus’ hand increased into that of a beggar’s touch; pitiful and humble, without any regard towards saving face. “…do not…tell him…please…he is all I have…he is my friend...! ” 

“I will speak nothing on the matter, you have my word.” With the affliction seeming to have grown worse, Andre raised his head towards the door. “Damn it, Stolas: hurry!” 

A rush of wind and the rush of steps ignited his hope; and from outside the walls of the abode, a voice called. 

“Master?! Master!” Something impacted upon the door with a booming thud, yet it did not open. “Prince Stolas; the door, it won’t open!” 

“Shit; one moment, move!”  

Seconds later, the door flew open, and in the doorway stood a panting imp with curly black hair and gold engraved horns. Frantic yellow eyes stretched tall at the sight in the kitchen, and bare hooves galloped along the tile as he rushed towards the two Goetia; only to leave the third by the door. The red leather tome in his hands practically slammed against the ground, as he slid to a stop upon his knees. 

A fierce, determined gaze snapped upwards to stare at Andrealphus. “Did you administer the serum?” Was this the same little imp who couldn’t even muster a simple ‘go-away’ when had intruded upon Vassago’s home days ago? Gone was the protocol, the weakness, the timid nature he once displayed. 

“Yes; ‘twas the first thing we did.” 

“Did you speak the incantations?” 

Their conversation was halted, as Vassago raised a hand towards his butler and rasped. “Alej…andro…” 

Compassion flared to life in those dark yellow eyes, and the imp immediately grasped that offered hand! Despite the arcane flames, he held fast. “No temas, mi senor. Tu companero esta aqui.” From his master to Andrealphus, his attention turned. “There are two incantations; one he must speak and a second to be spoken by another.” 

“He did not tell us of such things.” Stolas interjected, as he appeared on the scene. Just as he did, his arrival turned Andrealphus’ eyes towards the door…in which he spotted another imp loitering outside. Like a vampire, he lingered on the precipice, despite the open door; likely the wards managed to bar him entry. The marquis’ eyes narrowed; was that...? 

“Que jodidamente desafortunada.” Tiny hands flung the hefty cover of the grimoire open, then began to haphazardly flip through its pages. His tail pushed open a roll of leather, upon which held rows upon rows of identical, frozen needles. Magnificent craftsmanship was wrought upon every inch of metal; engraved in symbols that Andrealphus immediately recognized; the arcane markings of cryomantic magic.  

“His voice is damaged, so speaking is going to be an issue.” Andre noted. 

“Then soothe his throat.” The response was witty and sharp, almost like the snap of a reed against one’s ass. “Your base magic is of water, is it not? You are only soothing his exterior, when it is the interior that requires it.”   

Andrealphus blinked, and momentary anger flickered in his mind. To be talked down to by an imp, of all demons; yet, given this particular imp’s particular expertise on the matter, the peacock held his tongue. The stream of cold ceased, and the magical aura around his hand shifted from a brisk, cool blue to a deep, dark one; from ice to water in a singular moment of concentration.  

Liquid formed into a gentle, rounded tendril that teased at the tip of Vassago’s beak; and as Andre’s fingers curled about the parrot’s neck to tilt his head back, Alejandro pulled out one of the needles. Gently, he pushed up on the injector and flicked the needle to remove the air, then immediately eased it into the side of Vassago’s neck. A wash of relief materialized on his face, and the roots that stretched towards his eyes began to recede. If it weren’t for the need to drink, he would have smiled.  

“Master, I need you to begin the invocation.” 

Vassago swallowed, and as Andrealphus’ magic parted from his beak, he spoke with steady clarity. “Augur of Fate…All that Shall Be…Fires four and Fires three…illuminate me evermore, spare my eyes your wrath and scorn.” 

The instant the word ‘scorn’ was uttered, one of Alejandro’s hands rested atop Vassago’s heart and the other atop a page of the grimoire. His voice was filled with strength and authority, as if it wasn’t to beseech, but to command whatever he invoked. “For all that is and all shall be, what lies beyond in eternity, gift him power to withstand the vengeful wrath of time’s own sand! Future’s light must never fade, darkness made to be overcame, cast in the glow of the Weaver’s thread, shield my master from his dread!” 

Pages of the grimoire erupted with pillars of red light that vanished into the ceiling above. Stolas took a step back as Andrealphus squinted and paper fluttered and slapped in an eldritch wind. Upon the back of Alejandro’s hand, a Goetian sigil glowed to life and gleamed with intense power. Vassago clamped both hands atop his butler’s, as if it was his life’s desire to absorb them into his heart, and convulsed as the fire began to ebb.  

“What the fuck?!” came the second imp’s astonished cry from the doorway, his body trapped deep into a self-serving squat with arms covering his head and horns. Alejandro, however, was resolute, and didn’t even so much as blink. 

Then, the ritual came to a close, and for a brief moment the entire building was cast into darkness. It was such a brief blanket of sightlessness, akin to that of a blink, that the moment was immediately forgotten by all that were present. Instead, their attention was locked onto Vassago. Motionless, speechless, the prince lay cradled in Andrealphus’ lap; all visible affliction faded from his body. Immediate hands, borne of talons and red imp skin, touched the unconscious bird’s face, as Stolas hovered over them. 

Alejandro’s fingers slipped low and braced against the side of his master’s neck, in search of a pulse. The imp sighed, relief plain on his face, as he found one; only for the expression to quickly drop. “How did this happen?” Gaze caught between both Stolas and Andrealphus, he sought an answer from either, or both.  

“I don’t know.” Andrealphus replied, as his hand stroked the feathers along Vassago’s head. “We were just… talking, planning out the day, drinking coffee...” 

“Did you say anything biting? The exploits of your tongue are well-known amongst royal circles, and my master’s condition is known to be triggered in moments of high stress.” 

“That information was not known to us; neither of us.” Stolas said. Right after he did, a hollow thunk of a sound poured into the home. Everyone turned to stare towards the source, and were met with a flummoxed Blitz staring back at them. A dazed expression covered his face; shocked eyes, bent knees, and an electric tingle in his spiked, spade-tipped tail. He took a few steps back, then rushed forward…only to bounce right off the air and tumble backwards down the hill. “Oh, Blitz!”  

As Stolas rushed back outside to catch the roll-away imp, Andrealphus glanced down at Vassago’s slumbering visage. Hesitation tickled the bottom of his frigid heart with tongues of heat. That promise rang in his head; the promise to lie, to conceal the truth from the only person who might be able to help the most. Two ends tore at each other in a momentary and mental tug of war; should he forsake his honor and reveal Vassago’s lack of divination, or keep the secret and run the risk of his condition worsening over time? 

Alejandro had the equipment, the knowledge, and clearly possessed magical talent. Was it worth losing all of that, when he and Stolas knew so little, and Vassago apparently still harbored secrets from them all? Secrets upon secrets; the lifeblood of the Goetia. 

“No, nothing biting, as you put it. We discussed shopping for cooking ingredients and visiting Lust, but that was all.” 

Upon the mention of Lust, the imp’s face soured further. “…I see. Yes, that…particular incident would surely be a proper…strong catalyst for such an outburst.” 

It would appear that secrets and truths were spread amongst the help and the brotherhood like butter on bread. 

“Those words you spoke; would they work for us as well, should this happen again?” Within that question, he searched the imp’s eyes for deceit, and found none.  

“It is not a simple matter of knowing the words.” 

“My magical abilities are more than capable.” 

“You misunderstand.” Alejandro raised a finger and touched one of his decorated horns, its golden carvings a vibrant mirror against his skin. “It is a primordial matter, one far beyond your expertise. These carvings aren’t just for show; they are a conduit between me and my master. I crafted them myself, after his affliction arose.” 

“An affliction he did not think to mention to us, in any capacity.” Lies aside, and their nuanced necessity, Andre couldn’t muster the spark to be angry on the matter. His eyes drifted towards the grimoire, and curiosity arose. “The instructions for your carvings, were they found in the grimoire?” 

Alejandro briskly slammed the tome shut, with a cracking boom. “This knowledge belongs to my prince, and he alone. I will not allow another to gaze upon it; not even a marquis.” Possessively, he scootched the book towards the leather roll of syringes and began to roll them up. 

“In this particular circumstance, it would be unwise to withhold information. That is the precise approach which landed us in this…predicament.” 

There was silence, risen to a mumble as unintelligible words floated into the house from outside. Stolas and the other imp appeared deep in conversation, but about what remained a mystery. He would deal with that little issue later, but Vassago’s well-being took precedence; and so Andrealphus began to raise him to his feet and drag him towards the sectional. Another’s gaze latched onto his movements the entire way, even as he gently lowered the prince onto his back and propped his head up properly with a throw pillow.  

It was then that Andrealphus recalled his state of dress. He was still in just his nightwear. 

Without another word, he marched up the stairs to don new attire, and left Vassago under the watchful and protective gaze of his butler. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

 As Blitz tumbled down the grassy hill, shredding blades of grass with his horns and studded jacket, Stolas stumbled after him. Cloak in the wind, the prince reached out to try and stop the imp with magic, but the speed at which he rolled didn’t allow him to ‘get a grip’ so to speak. As such, the assassin and the prince soon found themselves at the bottom of the hill; far from the vacation home at its crest.  

Being the ever-graceful beast that he was, Blitz had managed to skid to a halt directly on his face, rear in the air and shoulders limp. Stolas, on the other hand, stood tall with only a slight elevation in breathing for his efforts.  

“There is a ward placed around the estate.” 

A groan followed, as large and milk-splotched hands pressed flat to the ground and shoved the imp to his feet. He stumbled, then brushed his jacket off; tiny bits of grass and rock pressed against his face. “Now you tell me!” Blitz winced as he began to pick and brush the debris clean, but otherwise seemingly no worse for fear. “Just what are you doing here, Stols?” 

That particular nickname flapped against Stolas’ heart, if for only a single beat, and loosened the post-breakup grip on his mind. “Assisting a dear friend.” 

“Oh, yeah, nice friends you’ve got up there; one in nothing but panties and another one who fucking explodes.” Blitz patted down his jacket, then bent to do the same to his jeans. “Speaking of, that red-feathered fucker kicked me into the damn sky earlier!” 

“Well, I’m certain you must have done something worthy of it.” Stolas raised a brow as Blitz bent backwards with great exaggeration, until a rail of pops burst out in a satisfying sequence. 

“If you were into threesomes, you should have just told me. I could’ve…you know…adapted to that.” Doubt loitered in his language, and doubled in the motions of his body. Clearly, the idea was not a comfortable one; at least not in the terms that he thought up.  

Such a display brought with it two emotions, one before the other; minor admiration, then resignation worthy of a sigh. “What is it you want, Blitz?” 

“To talk, like I said earlier.” 

“About what, exactly? If you wish to give me back the crystal, I will deny you outright.” 

Tall eyes dipped, as if distraught by that information. Whatever impact it had upon the imp only showed on his face, yet left his words alone. “Look, like I said before, I’m sorry about how the last full moon went. I was…” Those same expressive, vibrant eyes twitched reflexively, almost like they worked to power a lie. A frustrated sigh and stutter escaped the imp, only for his gaze to rise again. “…There was a lot riding on that night, alright? I was…I was high strung.” 

“Oh, were you?” Stolas almost couldn’t believe the excuse; high strung? “You were nothing but smiles and throbbing determination when you climbed onto my balcony. In fact, you were adamant in your ability to, as you put it, ‘not disappoint’. So, do forgive me if I don’t believe your claim.” 

“I was, I swear!” Hard walled by the denial of his feelings, Blitz’s tail flicked behind him as he shuffled in a wide stance on both feet; almost like he was prepared to block a tackle. “I only brought that fucking huge bag of shit along because it had been forever ! Every time it was time for me to come over and fill my end of the deal, you’d tell me not to; again, and again, and again.” 

“I gave you a choice on whether to appear or not, and you didn’t. That alone was enough proof for me to discern your true feelings on the matter.” Stolas leaned against a nearby tree and folded his arms, elbows buried protectively beneath his cape. 

Blitz balked, mouth left to hover open, his words bursting to escape and utter their peace. “What are you talking about? You think running a business is easy? I needed some time off to keep my shit in order.” 

“Yet, before, you always made time regardless.” 

“Wha—because that was part of our deal!” 

“Exactly.” 

Frustration bubbled, then simmered as the imp tugged at his eyelids and took a calming breath. “I was only doing what you told me to do.” 

“That’s right, and the moment I gave you an opportunity to decide for yourself, you decided not to see me.” 

“Wait…” Blitz held up a finger, as gears churned in his head. “Waaaaaait, wait, wait, wait, wait… wait.” Stolas watched as that thought visibly wove through the imp’s face; eye flickers, brow twitches, and the slow curvature shift in his mouth. “You were letting me decide?” 

“…was that not obvious?” 

“No! Fuck, Stolas, I’ve got bills to pay and you were my lifeline; why would you…you dick with me like that?! You’re a fucking Prince; why would a ‘little imp’ like me ever think that you would ever give me any real choice?” Despite his exasperated and frantic tone, the conversation didn’t feel like it was in Blitz’s favor. “My entire fucking existence hinged on you! When you told me not to show up for like…the fourth fucking time in a row, Loona started telling me you were getting bored of me! I had to do something…” 

A white beak curved inward, as the prince held his tongue and the welling emotion that had been summoned. He tried his best to listen, to absorb and unpack Blitz’s side of the story, but all that played in his mind was the blowout at the mansion. “That is exactly why I ended the agreement; you shouldn’t want to be with me because I’m your lifeline. You should want to be with me because you want to be with me!” 

“What does that even mean?! No matter what I do, you’re always going to be a prince with magic and servants; and you curse fucking moons, and move the stars, and turn into a giant monster owl and I’m always just going to be me!” Blitz thumped his chest with both flattened palms in rapid succession, utter frustration within each strike. “The lowest of the low, a broke ass bitch with no prospects, who has to scrape the bottom of the fucking barrel every single day just to keep the lights on! I have a daughter, I have employees I have to pay, I murder people; and you’re up here going to fancy balls, drinking fancy booze, being fucking beautiful with your constellation capes and your eyeliner and your…. your singing!” 

Stolas stared, as the gravity of Blitz’s feelings began to weigh upon him like the heavens themselves. 

“Just look at that fucking place.” He said, and pointed at the house atop the hill. “I’d need to kill thousands of people just to pay a months’ rent for that bitch, and you’re living it up in there with two other fancy royal birds for free; sucking face and fucking.” Tense lips, taut brow; as a finger jabbed repeatedly at the abode above. “That’s your life, and the only way I got to be a part of it was because you needed some good dick.” 

“At first, yes!” Stolas’ yell was enough to stop whatever assembly line of thought ran in Blitz’s mind, and it was his turn to stare up at the owl. “My marriage was miserable, downright atrocious, but I did it for my daughter. I suffered under my wife’s treatment for seventeen years, and then you appeared!” A breathy laugh, one that carried just a hint of disbelief and mania, puffed out. “You came…out of nowhere, after years of nothing, and landed on my doorstep. After all that time, my only friend finally returned to visit me; and I was happy! I was finally, momentarily happy, Blitz. Then, for reasons unspoken, you came onto me, and I thought it was all a dream. Finally, I could get a divorce. Finally, I had connected with someone who brought me joy, who pulled me out of the utter shit that was my life; who cared about what I wanted for once. You empowered me, and after all the intimate nights we spent together, all the time and effort I poured into supporting your business and involving you in my life, I thought it was enough to go beyond the arrangement because I loved you!” 

Unable to mask the cracking emotion that plagued his voice, Stolas shielded his eyes behind a palm and bent his neck. Darkness would help calm his breathing, surely; to give him time to regain his composure. Somehow, despite the thought, not looking at Blitz only made the powerful urge to cry swell in strength. He couldn’t hear a response from the imp, and after a shuddering breath and a ripple of his shoulders, continued on. 

“That deal was a leash…and I knew it. After a while, it didn’t sit right with me, and I sought to change that. That is why I wanted the grimoire back. That is why I bequeathed you the crystal, because I wanted you to tell me how you really felt, without my power looming over you.” 

Through the dark, a rapid and aggressive shuffling caused Stolas’ hand to raise. As he looked, he saw a flurry of leaves from the tree above scattered at his feet, then the expression on the imp’s face. Shark-like teeth chomped down atop his bottom lip, and line-marked eyes welded shut with intense effort. Both hands gripped his curved horns, while his forearms tried to shield his visage from view.  

“…Blitz?” 

A shiver, a sniffle, a ripple in the throat. “Do you really want to know how I feel, Stolas?” 

“Yes, more than anything.” 

“I feel sorry…that I somehow tricked you into falling head over heels for a piece of shit like me.” His forearms moved to reveal bent, weak eyes that wavered on the border of bursting into tears.  

“Stolas.” 

Both demons jumped at the intrusion of a deep, smooth, and cold voice that stretched through the trees and nipped the back of their necks. Andrealphus emerged, his attention focused entirely upon his fellow Goetia. “Vassago has awoken.” 

“Oh, thank Lucifer. I’ll…” his voice wavered, as his head turned between Andre and Blitz. “…be there in a moment.” 

Piercing eyes glared down at Blitz, Andrealphus’ demeanor worthy of the heartless marquis that commoners spoke of in hushed tones and wary glances. A curl of his beak was all the expression he surrendered. “So, this is the imp; the spitting image of my sister’s description.” 

“Don’t get your feathers ruffled, Frosty.” Blitz sniffled, then shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I was just leaving.”  

As he began to walk away, his upper body lurched forward, and his feet were suddenly frozen to the ground. 

“Andre!” Stolas chastised.  

“Have you explained to him your reason for being here, Stolas? I hope through all the yelling, that was at least conveyed.” 

Instantly, the owl’s face recoiled in distaste, but the following rebuttal was halted entirely by a rather odd look from Andre; whose eyes rolled in a rather specific direction away from Blitz. Perplexed, Stolas stomached his distaste and walked close enough to hear the peacock’s whisper. 

“Do not scare him away. The imp may yet be of use to us.” 

“What?” 

“Vassago keeps secrets from us, still. He begged me not to speak of his ‘blindness’ to his butler. If we are to truly help him, we must use everything at our disposal.” Andre’s beak twitched, and an almost carnivore-esque growl rumbled at its edge. “No matter how unsavory.” 

“Don’t call him unsavory.” 

“Not him, but what I have in mind does involve keeping him around. Thus, we need to be more…” That same growl traced up to his very eyebrows and forced them to grab his eyes and spin them about. “…hospitable.” 

Stolas’ beak hung open, and his hands rose to chastise, but they stopped. Fingers rose to the sky, as if to commune with God, and then those four red eyes slowly closed, alongside a deep sigh. “You’re the one suggesting this; given the complicated history?” 

“I know it’s messy, and believe me, far from ideal; but if Vassago’s condition worsens with time, then we have even less of it to waste. The imp knows things; techniques, buttons, language that will jumpstart our intimate understanding of you to near completion. All we have to do, is give him what he wants.” 

Three talons tapped against Stolas’ forehead in rapid succession, like a fork brought to stab into a stubborn cut of steak. “Have you lost your mind?!” he hissed. “Him being here will only complicate things! How am I supposed to focus on forming a bond with you and Vassago, with the demon that I just had break my heart stumbling around?” 

“Simple.” Andrealphus’ gaze turned back towards Blitz, who had resigned himself to his fate and now dribbled his fingers along the ground; muttering to himself in anger. As the peacock’s eyes shifted, so too did the owl’s. “We give him one that he can’t.” 

Completely and utterly perplexed, Stolas stood still as Andrealphus cleared his throat and rose his tone to a normal speaking volume.  

“Pardon, imp; I have a proposition for you.” A brisk snap of Andre’s fingers dissipated the ice around Blitz’s feet in an instant; upon which he immediately began to kick and shake flecks of water off his boots like a wet cat.  

“The name’s Blitz, popsicle tits; and if you’re gonna stick me to the ground again, you can shove it.” 

“Blitz.” Andrealphus clicked his beak and swallowed his agitation at the comment. “Like that of the Krieg; no?” Thick talons gripped the earth and pulled the marquis in slow, smooth steps; a rather serpentine gait with all the quiet menace of a viper. “I do apologize for the restraints; although, by all accounts, you are rather familiar with such bondage; aren’t you?”  

“The fuck you know about me?” The imp asked, with a rough adjustment of his leather jacket. “I’ve never met you.” 

“Matters that involve my brother-in-law are often at the forefront of my attention.” Sheer gratification soared in Andre’s soul at the sight of Blitz’s astonished expression. “And you are a rather important matter.” A white-gloved hand, wrapped in royal silk all the way to the elbow, lowered itself in offering. “Why don’t you join me for a drink up at the estate, and I will explain what we are doing here.” 

Distrust filled Blitz’s eyes, and for a split second, they looked to Stolas in search of answers. Rather in frustration, or simply borne of pure curiosity, his nostrils flared and his tail whipped against the denim of his pant leg. “No invisible walls this time?” 

“You have my word.” 

Once again, he looked towards Stolas, and what fire had been ignited from the passion of their emotions faded into complacency. “You know what, I could use a drink right about now.” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Blurred fragmentations of color faded into reality, and an inescapable weight overtook Vassago’s neck. He felt the pull of gravity, and then something soft cushion his face with the embrace of velvet flowers and vanilla fragrance. Tender fingers scooped under his beak, and through their touch, the world came into focus.  

“Master? Master? Prince Vassago, please, open your eyes; I beg you.” 

“Alejandro…” the parrot rasped; his hand lifted to brush the back of his knuckles to the imp’s face. “…what…” Confusion infected the prince’s half-lidded gaze, and his head turned to try and look about his surroundings. “…what are you doing here?” 

Vassago’s confusion only deepened, as the face of his servant frowned pensively. A wet cloth dabbed to his forehead; it’s touch squishy and warm.  

“You had an episode. Prince Stolas came to the lighthouse to fetch me, and I administered the proper rites. You are safe now.” 

“Stolas…Andreal…Andrealphus…” Air rushed up through Vassago’s throat in a frightened gasp, and he shot straight up; hands dipped into the cushions as his head whipped about. “Andrealphus! Where is Andrealphus?!” The last thing he remembered was their conversation before his eyes erupted into flames.  

Two red hands pressed to his chest, and vibrant yellow eyes lowered at the sight of their master’s panic. “The marquis is fine; he’s having drinks with a guest in the other room.” 

“What…I…oh…” Cradled in the resolute arms of his butler, Vassago felt his back drop back onto the couch. “…good…I thought…” 

“Everything is okay now; you have nothing to fear. I will stay until I am certain your condition does not worsen, and attend to all of your needs.” 

Unable to help himself, Vassago chuckled, and the motion agitated his throat enough to conjure a cough. “Always…taking such good care of me…you deserve better, mi amigo.” The brief smile dipped, then vanished altogether, as both of those red eyes closed. “What did I ever do to deserve such a soul by my side?” 

Alejandro stood and touched the back of his hand to his master’s forehead. “You already know the answer to that.” With the wet cloth in hand, the imp walked into the kitchen and wrung out the leftover water; only to turn the faucet on and re-wet the rag. The controlled rush of water began to lull Vassago back into slumber; as even the sound of cold liquid soothed him. By the time Alejandro returned to the couch, the parrot was fast asleep again; and with a solemn smile, the cloth was draped over his brow.  

Glass clinked together, and its echoing call garnered the imp’s attention.  

Andrealphus’ voice, poised and bloated with charm, floated down the hallway. “Tell me, my dear Blitz; how much do you know of the Goetia?” 

Alejandro stopped right outside the open door, back against the wall to conceal his presence. With a perked ear, he listened… 

“They’re a bunch of rich bitches who fling spells.” Glass dragged against the table, and an airy scrape signaled its’ airborne ascent.  

Air cooled, then dipped into a frigid chill that flash froze the room temperature. Alejandro’s breath puffed out in front of his face, and immediately after, warmth returned to put everything back to normal.  

“An apt, if entirely inelegant description.” Andrealphus said, with a click of his beak. 

“…the fuck does that mean?” 

“Inelegant; it means unrefined.” 

“…what does unrefined mean?” 

“To lack elegance, culture, or class.”  

“Might as well add know-it-alls to that list.” Blitz scoffed. 

Silken fabrics brushed against feathers; a sound that wasn’t uncommon for an imp butler to hear, and his eyes narrowed to focus his hearing. Clawed hands gently tugged at the wall in a bid of resistance against a mighty urge to peek beyond the door frame. 

An unamused chuckle punctuated the conversation, “There are three Goetia under this very roof; myself, Stolas, and Vassago. Do you know what we are doing here?” 

An explosive burp cracked the air, and the secondhand shame from hearing it made Alejandro wince. He could only imagine the marquis’ face, in the face of that crude gesture. “I don’t know; fucking my—” 

“Guess again.” The interjection was swift, yet soft; like that of a father gently reprimanding a child’s mistake. 

The resulting eye roll could be felt through the wall; it’s exasperation mighty enough to embitter the atmosphere. “Planning to raise taxes?” 

“We don’t do that.” 

“Are we playing fucking twenty questions or something? Just…” Hard glass impacted upon a table, rang out violently, then scraped along. “…quit edging me.” 

“While I won’t divulge the intricacies of the matter, because you don’t need to know them; simply understand that Stolas and I are here to help our dear friend Vassago.” 

“...The parrot? What’s wrong with him?” 

“Again, the details are unimportant, but it is a matter of vital magical urgency. We three have been tasked with gaining understanding of one another; a level of which can only be achieved through extreme means. As such: co-habitation.” 

“Okay, quick question…” Chair legs scraped against the ground. “…why should I give a flying fuck what happens to him? He kicked me into a tree, earlier! I’ve still got twigs in places I can’t reach because of that fruit punch fucker.” 

“Because it is my understanding that you are a businessman, and I am offering to do business with you for his benefit.” 

That glass slammed down again, like a thunderous hammer to a spring-loaded nail. “I don’t need another magic book.” Blitz growled. 

“No, of course not. What you need…” Tiny dribbles, like the pattering of fingers, tapped across the table. “…is money; which I happen to possess in great abundance. Assist me in this matter, and I shall bequeath unto you riches befitting royalty.” 

“…keep talking.” 

Andrealphus’ smug chuckle tickled Alejandro’s shoulders and forced them to sink back against the wall; as if the mere presence of the marquis’ voice could detect him, if he so much as stuck a toe out of his hiding spot. 

“I understand that you and Stolas have a unique and complicated history with one another. We are alike in that way; as he and I too possess a similar history, albeit far less eventful or gratifying. Yet, despite the similarity, you have access to knowledge that I don’t; knowledge that I need to save Vassago.” Suddenly, a cork popped from a bottle, and the fizzle of spirits followed.  

“If you’re asking me to rat him out, the answer’s no.” 

“No, no, nothing like that. What I need to know is far more…sexual.” 

“Sexual?” 

“Yes; tell me what he likes, how he likes it, then show me how you do it. There is no better path to learning than through firsthand experience, and I have always been a hands-on sort of academic.” 

Rough leather, the clink of a studded belt, the tap of a boot’s heel against a wooden chair; Blitz shifted, but in what manner was unclear. Was he agitated, confused, uncomfortable? Without taking risk, Alejandro could never know. Only sounds would have to do, for if Andrealphus discovered him eavesdropping… 

Incredulity, borne from a loud, accented scoff said all that he needed to know to paint a mental picture of the other imp. “This is a joke. You’re fucking joking with me; ha-ha, take the shitty little lowborn for a spin around the block, get him hard, then dump him in the desert with blue balls and a rod broke up his ass. It’s classic royal comedy!”  

Silence followed; steady, heavy, cold silence. Andrealphus must have kept a rather steady stare pointed across the table, because eventually, Blitz spoke again. 

“…are you serious? You want me to spill the beans about my sex life?” 

What sensation that crawled upon Alejandro’s shoulders was one that he couldn’t describe. All there was…was instinctual fear. Smothering wasn’t the proper term, yet even as his mind raced to make sense of it, the neural links of logic locked down in a cold spiderweb of terror. To have such a thing descend upon him without warning…it froze him to the spot, just as it made him wish to sprint for the hills and never stop. 

“Allow me to elucidate; I already have great knowledge of your sexual escapades with my brother-in-law. You are the imp who shattered a marriage, who seduced a Prince into putting himself, as well as this entire realm, in peril; and you did it all with your cock and a healthy dose of desperation.”  

Slowly, the chair creaked, and the gentle crackle of ice accompanied it. Once again, Alejandro could see his breath.  

“That is a feat unheard of. Who better to seek tutelage from, on the matter of Stolas’ sexual needs?” Further creaking groaned out, and all that was imagined was that towering peacock draped across the table; claws to the marble and menace in his stare. “You get everything you want; a royal bird to stuff, money to keep your life and loved ones afloat, and a net negative chance for me to ‘develop feelings’ for you. In return, I save the life of my dear friend, and gain understanding of why Stolas did what he did; why he threw away everything…for you.” 

“You…want me to fuck you?” 

“In the exact same way that you fucked Stolas. Every touch, every word, every kink; all the way down to the lighting, the bedroom dynamics, and everyplace your tongue and other digits have been in or on.” 

Despite the atmosphere, the imp’s words were brazen; a warm fire within the cold tundra. “I’m not some whore. If you want my help on…shit, this, I’m gonna need a lot more than just money.” 

One final, drawn out, laborious creak signaled Andrealphus’ descent back into his chair. Once he settled, the creak stopped, and he spoke with a low, firm veil of menace. “I’m listening.” 

“I want magic lessons for my daughter; she knows how to make portals, but that’s it. I want my employees to have a place in any ring they want; as big as they want, with whatever they want. When we’re done with this, I want your word that no one is going to come knocking on our doors over the stuff that happened with Stolas’ book; bury that shit.” 

“This is all, of course, on top of what I shall already be paying you, correct?” 

“Yeah, I want the money too; and not in some fancy little…note or some shit. I want it all in cash.” 

“That can be arranged. Is there anything else?” 

Alejandro shrank against the wall; what was he hearing?! To think that the marquis would go this far, just for Prince Vassago’s sake! It was no secret that Andrealphus’ disdain for imp was on the more extreme end; so, for him to bed an imp…Disbelief wracked Alejandro’s mind in pulses of paralyzing waves, until whatever else was uttered in that room became white noise.  

It was only the approach of another that stirred him into action; dark talons against the ground, and a large gait that belonged to none other than Prince Stolas. Alejandro’s feet moved, without thought, and placed him directly in the owl’s path. “Pardon me, my prince, but I was actually just looking for you.” 

A fabrication, a lie, a distraction; anything to divert him from walking past that door! 

“Oh, Alejandro; was it? Do forgive me, but with all of the early excitement my brain appears to be rather poor at recalling new names so readily.” 

“No offense taken; I’m more than grateful that you were able to grant me access to the estate in such a short period of time. I know it’s simply a guest pass, but it is more than sufficient for me to care for my master.” Every atom in his body fought the urge to even glance back at the doorway. “While I’m on the topic, I wished to bend your ear about the aural properties of magical flora; their photosynthetic capabilities might provide an easier way of providing Prince Vassago with his medicine, with some tweaking.” 

To his immediate relief, Stolas latched onto the topic; eyes perked and a small, surprised smile stretched onto his beak. “I was unaware that you were educated in such niche areas of study, Alejandro! Yes, I would be more than happy to discuss the possibilities with you over—” 

“The kitchen shall be more than adequate, my lord.” 

“Right, well within sight of Vassago, and…” Stolas trailed off, eyes narrowed and hand raised in a hesitant, limp curl.  

“Does something trouble you?” 

“Before all of this, Andrealphus and Vassago were apparently speaking of shopping. Since the both of them are…otherwise engaged, at the moment, I should attend to that myself.” 

“Are you certain?” 

“I’m certain that you wouldn’t wish to leave your master’s side. You show great loyalty, a trait that is…well, allow me to say that I envy it. Far be it for me to drive a wedge between anymore souls.” That statement carried a hint of sadness, as did the light of the Goetia’s eyes; for they momentarily drifted apart from their shared connection with Alejandro and towards the floor. Long hands folded atop one another, and the prince cleared his lanky throat. “May I ask you a question, Alejandro?” 

“Of course.” 

“Why would Vassago not tell us of his condition? Up until now, we had no knowledge of its existence. It simply makes no sense to me, what could he stand to gain from keeping us in the dark?” 

Alejandro’s hands clasped together behind his back, and his eyes slowly closed with a deep, nasal exhale. “My master has always been a guide. To some, he is a leader. To others, he is simply a useful tool. To those who need him the most, he is their savior. He may not appear so, but Prince Vassago is proud…” The imps’ voice tightened, as did his throat, and the sentence threatened to grind to halt. “…and stubborn, and…” He swallowed, and was greeted by nothing but a scratchy pit in his esophagus. “…well; weakness does not befit a paragon of hope, does it?” 

Stolas turned his head towards the couch to look upon a sleeping Vassago. The red-feathered prince looked anything but proud, in that moment. “Was he simply afraid?” 

“We are all afraid, Prince Stolas; some of us are simply better at holding it at bay. Please, do not judge him too harshly; my master has lived a quiet life ever since the—” 

“Incident in Lust?” 

Sour notes blossomed on his tongue, and fangs were brought to bear, as stakes of silence. That mention unveiled a particular memory, one that flashed through his mind; for if he stopped to examine it, surely, he would lose his composure. “Yes.” 

“He mentioned there was an unsavory sexual experience, but…nothing aside from that; and only in the presence of the Sin of Lust himself.” 

“Him being here, alone with you and Marquis Andrealphus, shows my master’s resolve in more ways than you know.” 

“Well, I sure would like to know just how brave he is.” 

Alejandro tightened his lips, the curve of a fang pressed to sharpen another’s edge. “…no, you would not.”  

Urgent steps propelled the imp forward, in a bid to snatch the owl’s attention to another topic. “But, perhaps, a little shopping spree would be wise. I shall attend to Vassago, and once the marquis is available, I shall send him your way.” 

“Is there anything I can pick up that would help with Vassago’s condition?” 

“If I think of anything, I shall relay it to Andrealphus to relay to you. Now, I must check the master’s pulse, sight, and temperature; excuse me.” Instead of doing what others would have done, and walked around Stolas, Alejandro elected to guide the prince towards the front door. While there existed a minor air of confusion, the owl was too deep in his own thoughts to dwell on hanging around; and so, it was little effort to get him outside. 

The instant that the door closed, Alejandro sighed and leaned his forehead against it. Truly, the work of a butler was never done. 

Notes:

R.I.P. to the 2k words that I lost in a bugged out saving process. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. It was a lot of yelling, a lot of font, but it felt right. To all my dedicated commenters; I see you, and you keep me going. To all those who leave kudos; the very same. Stay safe, stay healthy, stay sane, and I'll see you in the next chapter.

Chapter 8: Crowded Spaces, Brand New Faces: You'll Speak with Him, but Not with Me.

Summary:

Stolas shops for a romantic solution and digs for information on Andrealphus. Blitz's presence at the Goetian vacation home throws a wrench into everyone's day, and Vassago has a heart to heart with Alejandro. Shoes, spanish swearing, and thirsty bitches abound.

Notes:

WARNING: 18+ chapter for description of adult toys and sexual acts.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“You want me to live in a shed?” 

A fixture no larger than a dwarf’s home stood before Blitz, nestled in the backyard of the Goetian vacation home. Singular door, metal smoke stack, pile of covered wood along one side; more of a cabin than a shed. Small though, seemingly only large enough to fit a king sized bed and a writing table. He hadn’t even seen inside, and the imp had already made up his mind about it. 

“A royal shed.” Andrealphus corrected. 

Chin high and hands clasped behind his back, he was certainly dressed for warmer weather; exposed arms, midriff, and legs revealed not only the marquis’ naturally majestic physique, but also the pristine sheen of his ivory feathers. Gentle wind pushed against them, but only succeeded in causing a momentary and light ruffle with zero consequence. Every piece of clothing was some shade of blue, and practically see through. Also, glitter; an overabundance of glitter. Blitz had begun to notice a pattern between royal birds and shiny shit. 

"Is there a bed in the royal shed?" 

"If you wish to rest your head within the shed, I can procure a bed.” 

Tired of rhymes, Blitz grasped the door handle and gave it a pull. Sunbaked air poured out in an eye-tightening wave and carried the odor of hot musk and…pickles? His nose curled, but a hand was required to block out the smell. 

“Satan’s Sunday Socks, this bitch needs washed.” 

“There is a shower, back in the shared abode, if you have need.” 

“…I was talking about the shed.” 

“Of course you were, my apologies.” The sarcasm was so thick, it could’ve been drank as a smoothie substitute.  

“Well, you better get used to it; Stolas loves my natural stink.” 

“…how delightful.” Andrealphus groaned.  

A chilly hand appeared in front of Blitz’s face, and a surprisingly obscuring forearm incentivized him to back up; which he did.  The peacock raised a hand, and hissing mist formed a cloud around it. Right after, a powerful wind coursed straight through the open door to rattle the windows and cleanse the stale air. From moldy cellar to freshly cleaned car; what a treat. 

“Cool trick.”  

“As per our deal, you shall abstain from entering the vacation home, outside of our ‘personal’ interactions. Vassago’s butler shall share the space with you, the means to create your own meals shall be provided, and until our business is settled, you will steer clear of Stolas.” 

As Andrealphus spoke, what objects were within the single room began to levitate. Nothing but a shelf of dusty books, a dirty crafting table, some empty pots meant for plant life, and a croquet mallet; all of which floated out onto the lawn to collect in a neat little pile.  

Blitz peeked around those tall, lanky legs; eyes doing their best not to spend too long on those shapely hips.  

“What if I have to piss?” 

A weary sigh deflated the marquis’ shoulders, and a hand rose to slap a set of kneading fingers to his brow. Perhaps he hadn’t thought out all of the fine details, as he had once assumed… 

“Until I can conjure a civilized solution to that query, you may use the house bathroom.” 

With the grace of a half-drunk cat, the imp sidled into the now vacant shed to take a gander. His head turned and tilted, eyes traced over each plank of wood, until he finally spoke.  

“Could just forget the beds and go pirate style; get two hammocks and hang one above the other. One whole bed would barely fit, so two definitely aren’t working.” He lightly tapped the black iron furnace with the tip of his boot. 

“A sound proposal. I’m certain there exists at least one outdoorsman’s shop somewhere in this ring.” 

From seemingly nowhere, a joyous series of barks slapped into being. Loud, obnoxious; hardly discernable from an angry mutt, but their choir made the imp’s face light up. He fished into his pocket and procured a cell phone, then tapped the screen with his thumb and held it to his ear.  

“Hey Loonie Toonie, what’s happening?” 

Andrealphus raised a brow: Loonie Toonie? What an insipid nickname. 

“Yeah, no sweetie, I’m in Gluttony. Paychecks are on my desk.” He paused, attention set far beyond Andrealphus and his immediate surroundings. “Just working on a business thing, that’s all.” Tiny, measured steps placed him in an infinite circle, his tail constantly twitchy. “Listen, I’m gonna be out of the office for a bit. While I’m gone, give Moxxie the paperwork, try not to take any big contracts over the phone, and make sure Millie doesn’t go stir crazy.” Blitz stopped in his tracks and returned his gaze to Andrealphus. “When will I be back?” Wordlessly, he stared at the marquis in search of an answer. When no one was given, after several seconds, the imp sighed. “…hopefully as soon as I can. I’ll call you, okay?” 

Andrealphus watched as the imp’s hand flinched slightly and tugged the phone away from his ear; not from the pain of being yelled at, but surprise from the call’s abrupt ending. “I take it that was your daughter.” 

“Yeah, that was my Loona.” As he pocketed the phone, a smile filled with sunshine covered the demon’s face.  

“If I had done such a thing in my youth, my mother would have forced me to polish every suit of armor in the family estate.” Chastisement and judgmental tone in tow, a miniature notebook was snapped into existence; followed by a microcosmic star shower of purple, blue, and white. Despite the show of magical talent, it appeared to just be a normal, everyday piece of office equipment. A pen rested inside of the metal coil, and Andrealphus handed it down to Blitz with a steady stare. “Write down everything you will need for the lessons.” 

Blitz took the notebook, then blinked. “Oh…kay. I mean; I’ve already got a trunk of shit that Stolas likes back at my office.” 

“I shan’t be given his sexual hand-me-downs like some pornographic actress. We start from scratch; so, get to scribing.” 

Slowly, Blitz retrieved the pen and gave Andrealphus a look of disbelief that radiated ‘this-fucking-guy’ energy. As he began to jot down all of the supplies he’d need, his fingers soon began to wander, as they started to sketch a rough and cartoonish doodle of the peacock. Triangular face, huge eyebrows, big grumpy frown; completed with sticks for arms and a shower of snowflakes all around him. “I’ll admit, this is pretty ballsy Andro.” 

“Andre.” 

“Yeah, what’s what I said. Anyway, some of this stuff is pretty out there; lot of dirty talk, screaming…” Blitz’s brow wrinkled, and his pen hand quickened to shade in the doodle’s dress. “You smoke?” 

“Astral cigarettes, yes.” 

“Don’t know what the fuck those are. Stolas likes the heavy shit, so we smoke hellvine.” 

Andrealphus’ beak tightened, and the feathers around his eyes gently puffed up. “Is this relevant to anything?” 

“Yeah; the ash smears on a lot of shit. You’re gonna need the best soap your royal ass can afford to get it out; stink and color.” He glanced upwards from the notebook, and felt a smile steadily stretch along his cheeks at the bird’s unnerved expression. “Also, how tough are you?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“How well can you take a bite?” 

“A bite?” 

“Yeah.” Shark-like teeth chomped together in succession as a showcase. “What about a slap?” 

“That’s—” 

“Also, how much do you weigh?” 

“Excuse me!?” 

“Hey, no one sits on my face before I know how much I gotta beef up my neck…” Blitz paused, and his eyes trailed to the side as a flicker of importance sparked in his brain. “…or after I’ve just had a chemical peel; gotta stay handsome.” 

“Do you need to ask all of these questions now?!” 

“Last one, I promise; what are your thoughts on egg laying?” 

Ivory feathers shimmered with hot-sauce red hues, and Blitz’s smile couldn’t have gotten any wider if it tried. He couldn’t tell if all of these details were scaring the peacock, turning him on, or just embarrassing him to hear them out loud.  

Splayed fingers pressed to Andre’s temples and kneaded away, “I’ve never been bitten, I would need to gauge your backhand, I will acquire the soap, my weight is none of your business, and…no.” 

“See, that wasn’t so bad? Lemme just write all of that down…” On paper, he scribbled the keywords, ‘Test Nom, No Rings, Good Kush is a Go-Go, PHAT’.  

“Let us just focus on crafting you an actual domicile to reside in. You are getting ahead of yourself, imp.” 

“In the bedroom, Stolas calls me Blitzy. Get used to saying it.” 

Andrealphus, in disgust, silently mouthed out the nickname. He then shuddered from head to talon, “I need to obtain these…hammocks. Stay here and do not stray.” The command was accented with a sharp snap and a downward-pointed finger. “This won’t take long.” 

Low-born eyes locked onto Goetian ass. It wasn’t the exact same as he was used to, but the hips, the walk, the tailfeathers…Blitz would be lying if he said that he wasn’t popping a bit of a stiffie as he watched Andrealphus leave. “Damnit, Stolas.” He huffed. “Stupid…bird kink.” 

---

 Meanwhile… 

---

Stolas’ head shot forward and his shoulders hiked up, as an explosive sneeze echoed around him. Both hands clamped over his mouth, all four eyes wide and admonishing of anyone who dared to look his way in that moment. Luckily, there was no one around.  Hands free, he sniffled and scrunched his beak, “Oh, dear me.” 

Shelf after shelf of sex toys towered above, backed by velvet red walls and chandelier-lit ceilings. Dildos, vibrators, masturbator sleeves; all boxed up and orderly as could be stretched into what must have been hundreds of products. Further down the line, there were anal plugs with tail attachments, whips, paddles, blindfolds, chastity cages; a nondiscriminatory plethora of equipment. Stolas sighed and folded his arms.  

In silence, his eyes scanned across his options; a truly daunting task. Decision paralysis ran rampant; what would Vassago and Andrealphus even like?  

“…This was a dumb idea.” 

All they had shared was a single night. Was he moving too fast? The thought caused his fingers to gently dig against his covered arms; Andrealphus’ words of warning an echo amongst his doubts. Vassago still held secrets. Time was of the essence. That tedious tight rope of caution stretched across his heart and halved his breathing. 

“I have to do something.” He muttered, eyes entrapped by the myriad of toys and sexual gear before him. “Something tasteful, something basic, something…” Stolas leaned his weight into a single hip, as his gaze landed on a rather large and vertical box. Glossy texture, bold lettering, thick cardboard, and a sharp rendering of what lay inside: a dildo. Bright red, with a built in vibrating feature and a pair of ‘realistic’ balls. No fancy bumps, spikes, or ridges in sight; it’s only negative was the size. Double digits aren’t what Vassago needed. 

He strode down the aisle and continued to mutter to himself in the softest of all tones. “Maybe a strap-on would be more intimate…” he mused, as he stopped in front of an entire three shelves worth of them. Among his musings, his mind wandered back to the first time he had introduced a strap-on to Blitz… 

---

 “Are you ready?”  

“…just, gimme a fucking second; okay? I haven’t done this in years.” Knees shuffled, and a spiked tail drooped low. “Fuuuuck, why did I agree to this?” 

The squirt of a bottle lead to a started yelp, then a groaning shudder. 

“That’s cold!” 

“Relax Blitzy, it’s just lube. Give it a second to warm up.” Soft silicone rubber brushed between two toned cheeks, and tight muscle flexed against Stolas’ palms. “I’m grateful that you are doing this for me. I honestly meant it in jest, originally, but now that you’ve been so brave…” 

“Heh, right…is it too late to chicken out?” 

A pleased giggle, another shift of the sheets, and an upward trace of abdomen muscle. “Inhale…” 

Breath was drawn in from below, as Blitz did as he was told. 

“…then exhale…” 

Breath was released, and just as relaxation washed over the imp’s body, Stolas eased his hips forward. An honest and elevated moan jumped from Blitz’s lips; equally overwhelmed as it was pleasured and surprised.  

“What a lovely sound, Blitzy~” 

---

Stolas covertly shifted a hand over his beak, face flush with heat. Given the particular anatomy of avians, such relaxation techniques likely wouldn’t be needed. However, given Vassago’s troubled history on the matter, something modest would likely be the best choice.  

“Finding everything alright, your highness?” 

A twang accompanied the words, and Stolas turned to lay his eyes upon the one who spoke them. There, no taller than his thigh, leaned a strapping imp. Slicked back hair, thin but sharp moustache upon an equally sharp snout, and ringed yellow eyes were the most notable features; aside from his black vest and silken red sleeves. Black and red; a classic combo that complimented the hue of the establishment’s lighting. Upon his left breast sat a golden nametag which read, Julian, in cursive scrawl. 

“Oh! Yes, quite fine; I’m finding everything quite fine, thank you. I’m just trying to decide which model would be best.” 

“Well, this is my section, so I can answer any questions that you have.” 

Stolas fed his tongue to his inner cheek, eyes half attached to the shelves and half attached to the employee. “What’s…a good option for someone wanting to take things slow?” 

“Are we talking about you, or someone else?” 

“Why does that matter?” 

“Context, and whether or not I can go by my eyes or not.” 

“It’s for a friend.” 

“A friend, or a friend?” 

“Again, why does that matter?” 

“The significance between a genuine gift and a gag gift is mighty far apart, your highness.” 

Irritation fueled the pressure of his tongue, as it pressed to his inner cheek once again. After a moment of silent thought, he responded. “A friend.” He made sure to mimic the inflection perfectly. “I’m trying to discern what he likes, but he won’t tell me and I’m trying to take things slow.” 

“So you’re going basic: smart. You’ll want a moderately sized pecker, then; don’t want anything that’ll scare him off. He a bird?” 

“Why, yes; how did you--?” 

“Lucky intuition.” The imp turned and gripped the edge of a shelf, then stuck his ass out and kicked up. Just like a mountain climber, he ascended with great care; those dress shoes never even bumped a single box. “Sounds like what you need is an all rounder model; something with options.” He said, head tilted back and down to look at Stolas.  

While the prince couldn’t quite know exactly where the imp was headed, he watched his every movement. Finally, near the peak of the shelving, he slid a bulky box out. A dexterous tail slapped the shelf below him, and a slanted platform shot out, with a mechanical click. He planted his feet to it and slid down, poised as a wave rider, until he slid safely onto the ground. The next moment, the platform retracted back into the shelf like it never existed.  

“This model is versatile, compact, and only as powerful as you want it to be.” As he spoke, the imp pointed to each of the gaudily labeled portions of the box. “It’s got vibration with six different speeds and tempos, realistic flesh-like feel…” The top of the box opened, and the moderately sized phallic toy was withdrawn; a classic pink with a little cap at the bottom. To Stolas, it looked like an old school vibrator. “…and comes with multiple ‘enhancements’ for the discerning lover.”  

Julian gripped the ribbed cap and gave it a turn, which caused smooth bumps to grow along the pesudo-shaft. He gave it another turn, and those same bumps were replaced with soft-looking barbs. Another turn summoned a ribbed-texture that ran up the underside of the shaft. 

“If none of those are to your liking, it also comes with…” 

A fourth turn caused a rather thick-looking knot to swell at the base. 

“…Hellhound mode.” 

Stolas’s elbow dropped into his open palm, and his cheek rested atop the other. “It’s certainly impressive, and I suppose it’s always best to be prepared. I’ll take it.” At least with the option to switch the features on or off, it was a safe bet, should Vassago’s tastes evolve over time. 

With a smile, Julian slipped the toy back into the box and handed it to the prince; yet, his gaze lingered expectantly. “Now, if you would kindly follow me, we’re running a deal on collars and cuffs that you might find interesting.” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Fluorescent runes and symbols of shimmering red floated through the air. Vassago panted as he stood above his grimoire, a fiendish fever upon his brow and in his hands. He flipped through the pages like they belonged to some gossipy street rag, and not a magical artifact of immense power. It had been in a fright, that he had awoken from his exhausted and dry stupor, and found Alejandro to be absent at the time. 

“Where is it…where is it?” he mumbled, brain fixed to hit the breaks the instant he saw the correct passage or diagram. Through all of his flipping, startling dejection struck as he reached the back cover; what he sought still unfound. Back to the front of the book, he began from the beginning, the frantic energy within him fed by the negative feelings of dejection and failure in his head. Once again, he reached the end of the book. 

Vassago slammed the grimoire closed and flung it to the side. Breathless anger surged into his lungs and over his head, as his fingers stabbed against the table below. Deep within, a scream charged up his throat, but the prince mashed both hands over his face to prevent it from escaping. An almost comical anger turned the scream into a chuckle, and it rolled over the sharp edges of his beak…only to be silenced with a swift fist to the desk. 

That same fist tightened until bones audibly popped, and it was then that he footsteps ascend the stairs behind him. 

“Master?” 

Drowned in a wave of habitual masking, a smile rose to Vassago’s face and his breathing was locked into obedience. An even, kind tone, floated from his beak as he slicked back his colorful plumage. “What is it, mi amigo?” 

“You shouldn’t be up and moving around yet. Come, return to bed and get some rest.” 

An unseen gaze shot to the side; the grimoire, it was still on the ground. With a meager tilt of the wrist and a curl of fingers, crimson magic enveloped the tome and raised it from the ground. “As soon as I locate a means to properly contain this fire, I shall.” The key to that very goal floated towards him, as he spoke, and gently opened atop the table. 

The footsteps stopped, but Alejandro’s presence didn’t depart. Like a cloud of congealed heat, it hovered behind Vassago to cook his neck and ears. “Allow me, sire. You need to take it easy, so that the serum can properly do its’ job.” 

“I am taking it easy.” 

“Attempting to read, shortly after your only pair of eyes scorched the kitchen, signals otherwise.” Footsteps followed, and Vassago eased his waist against the table’s edge to hover protectively over the pages. “May I be blunt, Master?” 

Already, he had began to flip through the pages again, but this time with a cautious edge that resembled borderline paranoia. Crinkling paper cut like the roar of a speeding train in his ears, each turn of the page another instance where Alejandro might just leap upon his activities with judicious disapproval. “You may.” 

“I am worried about you. You have had two incidents in a single week, and I think it has something to do with Prince Stolas and Marquis Andrealphus.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Alejandro.” 

“…Sire, you cannot keep lying.” 

Vassago’s mind sank deeper into the pages, shoulders tensed into a slight raise from the accurate accusation.  

“Why didn’t you inform them of your condition? It is a gross oversight, considering their close involvement in your well-being.” 

“Choosing not to divulge information is not the same as weaving a falsehood, Alejandro.” 

“What does that matter, when either achieves the same effect? You are damaging yourself for their sake, but are at the mercy of their aid. You need to stop punishing yourself; I am worried.” The aura grew closer, as did the pleading voice; now clear enough to imprint onto his dreams. “You help everyone else, except yourself, and when the moment comes when your pride lowers just enough to ask for assistance, you put up barriers that stop people from truly helping you. All those souls, all those seekers of truth; you can’t keep—” 

“Yes, I can.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I must.” Vassago’s hand stopped in its quest for knowledge, and rested upon the open page; fingers splayed along an illustrated ritual circle. “I cannot be a burden. Do you understand? I have been tasked with guiding the lost, comforting the damned, illuminating the truth for those too blind to see it; I am not allowed to crumble. No matter how much my eyes may hurt, or how tired I might be, I am needed. I am necessary.” 

“Isn’t it enough that you simply exist?” 

That pitiful, mockery of joy attempted to pop from his tongue again. To simply exist; he knew the answer, as it brimmed upon the edge of his beak, of his mind. Vassago hesitated to release it into the air, knowing the pain that it would surely bring; a measured poison, surely, but perhaps a necessary one. Give and take, after all, was the state of all existence. 

“No.” 

Alejandro remained silent, but his eyes burned a hole into the back of his master’s head to compel him to turn. He did not. 

“I would not have your admiration and love, if I weren’t a Prince, because then I’d have no need of an attendant. Prince Stolas and Marquis Andrealphus wouldn’t even think to memorize my presence, let alone my name or face if I did not run in the same hierarchy. These powers, these gifts, wouldn’t be in my possession if they weren’t weighed down with an equally powerful burden. If I simply existed, what would I be, then?” Vassago’s hand rose, as if to ward off any response that could be given, just so that he could finally exhale. “No; fire must be fed, and whatever it feeds upon moves it ever forward. Fire never sits unless it is trapped; harnessed safely by the hands of men to fuel their civilization and improve their lives. I am a tool, Alejandro; and when a tool breaks, it is often replaced instead of fixed.” 

“…You are not a tool to me, sire.” 

“Then you misunderstand my very nature.” 

“We are defined my more than just our nature.” 

“Are we?” Vassago discreetly winced at the sound of his own rebuttal; thick with thin bards and a minor dose of anger he didn’t consent to apply.  

“Most Goetia are cruel to their servants. You, as a Goetia, have never been cruel to me, your servant. If we were defined by nothing but our intended design, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. We would not be friends, and I would cheer at your affliction instead of weep and worry.” 

Finally, the touch he had been silently dreading brushed gently upon his shoulder. 

“Besides, isn’t defiance in the face of what the almighty universe decrees to be absolute the reason you are down here to begin with?” 

Vassago’s mind froze, and he stared down at the open pages of his grimoire in silent wonderment. There was nothing he could say to that.  

“Come; I shall order us all a filling meal, and we can spend the remaining hours in relaxation.” Without asking, an arm dripped beneath Vassago’s, and its strength filled his body with a sense of assurance that brought out a mighty exhale. All of his anxieties drained freely, and it was willingly that the prince stood.  

Together, they left the grimoire behind in the bedroom and descended the stairs. 

Faded, black scorch marks still covered the kitchen; from the island to the sink and across every cupboard and drawer. A consequence of Vassago’s lack of control, of his weakness and instability. However, nearby, a bucket filled with soapy water and numerous rags sat nearby. While the mess hadn’t been entirely cleaned, progress had been made, and of all people; Andrealphus stood in the nearby living room with a phone to his ear.  

“Yes, two hammocks.” His back to the stairs, he did not see Vassago and Alejandro. “I also require proper bedding for each, as well as pillows. Mmhm, yes; two imps. Horn shape?” The marquis’ neck craned back, and the slightest parting of his beak indicated mild annoyance. “I’m not running a bed and breakfast, I just need a place for them to put their heads.”  

Quietly, Goetia and imp stepped off the stairs, as to not interrupt the call. 

“Integrity concerns? If he breaks the first one, I shall simply buy him another one; how difficult is that to comprehend?”  As they drew closer, what sounded like a female voice faintly blabbered from the speaker. Every word was a mystery, but whatever they were brought a frown to Andre’s beak. “No, I don’t need a warranty. No, I do not want to sign up for a membership…no, I shall not hold! Don’t you—” 

“Who are you shopping for?” 

Vassago’s voice sent the marquis into a tailspin, and whatever indignation remained on his face plummeted away as he spotted the parrot. “Oh.” The hint of a smile quickly faded back to a neutral expression, and Andre cleared his throat, then slicked back his head feathers. “One of our new guests…” his eyes traveled south and landed on Alejandro. “…and your butler.” 

“…why?” 

“In light of newly gleamed information, I have decided that it would be wise to keep some aid about the premises; just in case of any further incidents. So, I have taken the liberty of re-outfitting the shed into proper living quarters; perfectly imp sized.” 

“Wait a second.” Vassago raised a hand, head turned towards the nearest window to see into the backyard. “You know that Goetian ruling prevents the presence of servants in this place.” 

“Yes, but the rules are far more flexible when it comes to guests.” Andrealphus idly gestured towards Alejandro and cast those glowing, cold eyes upon him. “He was only able to enter and aid you because Stolas gave him a pass to do so. As such, he must abide by all of the same oaths, but his presence is tolerated for a set amount of time as a trade off.” 

“I’ve…” Vassago wracked his brain, trying to discern if that was actually accurate. Blank after blank appeared in his mind; gaps in his memory, all to the detriment of his assuredness. “…I’ve never heard of that stipulation.” 

“That’s because you never leave Sloth, my dear. You rarely crawl out of that candlestick you call a home, save for the odd gathering or two. I believe they updated the rules of this place some—oh, I don’t know—odd half decade ago.” Andrealphus’ hand gently rested against Vassago’s cheek. “…thank Lucifer for it; without the aid of your butler, I shudder to imagine what might have happened.” 

Just as Vassago was about to reply, the door flew open. 

There, in the middle of the doorway and the sun at his back, stood Blitz. His leather jacket had been discarded, as had the striped shirt beneath it, which left him in only a thin black undershirt. Exposed, milk-splotched shoulders appeared to brim with energy in the sun; perhaps a mirage, or moreso, simply the reflective lack of melanin in the skin. His jeans and boots, however, stayed on. 

“Yo, Andy; I’m starting to get hungry. If you want me to do my job, I’m gonna need protein.” As if said before his eyes could land upon every figure in the room, Blitz blinked at Vassago, then grimaced in distaste. “Well, isn’t this funny as all fuck? Check me out bitch!” he taunted, as he put a single foot over the threshold of the entrance. “I got past you.”  

The air between Alejandro and Vassago grew noticeably hotter; akin to a scalding grill top left to bake in an oppressive heatwave. Royal eyes sharpened, and an impish tail cracked the air with a ferocious snap. Alejandro was the first to speak. 

“Maestro, ¿tiene antecedentes con este hijo de puta?”  

“Desafortunadamente, intentó ver a Stolas esta mañana.” 

“No me gusta.” 

“A mí tampoco me gusta, amigo; pero más importante ¿quíen le dio el pase para entrar?” 

Two pairs of eyes slipped from Blitz, who stood in complete befuddlement at his inability to understand the language, and rested on Andrealphus; who regarded the imp with an exhaustive and slow closure of his eyes. 

“Andre; is there something you’d like to tell me?” Vassago asked, both of his hands upon his hips.  

“You don’t have to tell him shit; his brain and his beak are the same: nosey!” Like a free bird, Blitz wandered into the domicile and made straight for the kitchen.  

“Regard my friend with respect, imp.” There was just enough ice in the peacock’s tone to calm the room, somewhat. Blitz, however, merely shrugged and opened a scorched cabinet.  

“Why; I’m not here to fuck him, I’m here to fuck you. He doesn’t need to like me.” 

“Andre…” Even the marquis wasn’t immune from the rare menace in Vassago’s tone, as the moment his name touched the air, Andrealphus’ beak aimed straight down. “…would you care to explain?” 

For several moments, there was nothing but the sound of heavy boots, the crinkle of a chip bag, the opening of said chip bag, and then a sigh as Blitz flopped onto the couch. Without a care in the world, he popped a chip into his mouth; jalapeno something or other. The following crunches only served to keep the anticipation rife with annoyance, as no small measure of bewilderment pressed against Vassago’s eyes.  

“This is the imp that Stolas was…cavorting with. I have brought him into my employ, so that he may impart what he knows about our fellow Goetia’s needs.” 

Clarity struck, and the parrot stared at the lounging imp; Andre’s gaze completely ignored. The smug smirk that greeted him in turn only served to twist the fire of his heart; bathed within its own wrought shadows. Seeming to sense this, the rich and melodic voice of Andrealphus made itself known in his ears once again. 

“He is here to instruct; that is all. Given I have no idea how long his tutelage will take, I opted to have him stay. Your ward is also welcome to stay, given he has the most acute knowledge on how to handle your…previously unknown condition.” 

Emotions mashed and tumbled and writhed atop another. There was guilt over his personal secrecy, betrayal over the undermining of his own authority as a protector, and anger at the insinuation that this unwelcome development was somehow his fault. Out of them all, his body bid him to harness the flames within, to lash out with righteous and warranted disdain over Andre’s behavior…but, experience and kindness tempered the immediate reaction. Vassago felt that urge squirm and cry out in disbelief, as it raked down his neck and shoulders, only to be banished from his back like luggage.  

“Does Stolas approve of you bedding his ex? The feelings will not be pretty, even if you pass it off as purely educational.”  

“I haven’t exactly divulged all of the finer details of his involvement, but he knows of the imps’ presence, at least.” 

“Hey, Cherry Vanilla Twink Swirl; I have a name, it’s Blitz.” 

At the outrageous moniker, both Goetia slow turned towards the couch, only for Alejandro to slip off one of his dress shoes and make a beeline for Blitz! 

“¡Perro grosero, cállate la lengua!” A mighty swing whipped that shoe down, and struck Blitz upon his arm. 

“Yeow! Mother fucker!” He lunged forward, and both imps tumbled to the ground. Leather swung, crimson flesh mashed to crimson flesh, and even sharp teeth gnashed in the open air as they each sought to subdue the other. 

At a particularly explosive strike with the shoe to Blitz’s head, which only appeared to enrage him rather than deter him, Andrealphus gently hissed through his beak. “I don’t suppose this would be a good time to tell them that they’ll be sharing a space together.” 

“Speaking of roommates, where is Stolas, anyway?” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Beneath the pattering, warm rain of Lust, Stolas stood outside of a ramshackle hole in the wall. Umbrella raised to protect his hat from the rain, and seeing that there wasn’t an overhang to shield him from creation’s ire, he dipped at the waist and pushed through the door.  

Glass exploded against a nearby wall, beneath a rancorous choir of hoots and hollers. Unknown substances clung to the bottom of his talons, chair legs scraped across the ground, and a rather potent odor of peanuts drifted amongst the stink of spilled hops and foamy head. Through the dim lights, he peered across all of the patrons until, finally, he happened to spot who he expected to see; a familiar incubus sat alone at the bar.  

With a little magical application, his umbrella shrank and vanished into the folds of his cloak, which raised its hem slightly above ground to avoid being stained or snagged. At his approach, several patrons slapped their companions to look towards the well-dressed Goetian Prince. Several mutterings reached his ears, but none of them amounted to more than mere astonishment and confusion over the presence of royalty.  

As he slid atop a barstool next to the incubus, a masculine voice breached through the rabble. 

“Did you get lost or something? I told you it was just a few blocks down the street.” 

The same doorman who had granted them access to Ozzie’s a mere day or so ago didn’t even look Stolas’ way, and took a drink of his half-full bottle.  

“Oh, heavens no; just…nervous, I suppose.” 

A humorous scoff sliced itself in two against a handsome, white fang within Jesse’s smile. “Right.” 

“Frankly, I am surprised you wished to talk at all; given the topic.” 

“Yeah, well…” Jesse spun his wrist, and watched as the remaining alcohol within the bottle swirled and foamed against the inner glass. “…why the hell not, you know?” He reached down and snatched up a little ball of bar food, from a plate that Stolas hadn’t noticed up until then. An inquisitive glance showcased an outer layer of breading, and the sweet scent of warm sauce tickled Stolas’ nose. Likely, by his estimate, a mushroom of some sort. There was subtlety in the incubus’ chewing; odd to see manners in such a ramshackle establishment. 

“I suppose the beginning is the best place to start. So, how did Andre…approach you?” 

Jesse’s leather-covered arms shifted, and the material caught snuggly against his biceps to produce a light creak. Looking at it for the first time, Stolas noted how weathered the jacket appeared; bomber style, scuffed elbows, faded olive green coloring. “One night, I’m working the front door like always; he pulls up in a carriage, I don’t recognize him. He goes upstairs for a meeting with Ozzie, then I get called up there, thinking I’m about to get canned…but then he offered me a modeling gig…” A swig of refreshing booze sloshed about, as Jesse raised the rim to his lips. “…and I took it.” 

Stolas raised a brow at the story. The incubus before him certainly wasn’t unattractive; no demons borne under Asmodeus’ influence ever were. For them to be models wasn’t odd in the slightest, but the apparent connection brought about further questions. 

“Andre is a photographer?” 

“Sculptor; he wanted me to post for an ice sculpture.” 

That logic was easy to accept, even if it were rather stereotypical. 

“And he treated you well?” 

“Not at first. There were a lot of hoops, a lot of secrecy, and he had me talk to his butler to even set things up; kinda thought he was just jerking me around.” Another one of those oven cooked delights slid into view, held securely in two of Jesse’s fingers. Was it simply a moment to recall the story, or potentially fabricate one for effect? Stolas couldn’t know, but his gut told him to trust the incubus. “But then, he did a few things that surprised me.” 

“Oh; do tell.” 

“So, early on; I’m talking like day one into the project, we hit a snag. I won’t say what it was, only that it was…pretty big. It took hours to get shit sorted out, and a lot happened in that window. I needed a break, Andre wanted to keep going. So, get this…” Jesse’s fangs sliced deep into that juicy piece of bar food, and upon viewing the inside, Stolas could confirm that it was indeed a mushroom; a stuffed mushroom. Hardly the best use for such a useful fungus, but who was he to judge? He had to admit, they were tasty. “…he pays me for the day, lets me head out early, and says I’m welcome back once my head is on straight. Needless to say, I wasn’t expecting that.” 

Pensively, Stolas upturned a finger and wrapped one of those stuffed mushrooms within the embrace of his magic. The ball of cooked goodness hovered his way, and the owl took a little bite out of it. Juice, some sweet white sauce, and a faint hint of pickles danced upon his tongue and slid down his slender throat.  

“Mm, oh my…” Stolas licked his beak and immediately seized another mushroom for casual consumption. “I gathered from the single conversation I witnessed between you two, there was some…romantic angle, happening behind the scenes?” 

If Jesse took any offense to his mushroom supply, it didn’t register on his face. Instead, his jaw shifted and ground for a brief moment. “Took a bit, but yeah.” 

“What was that like, being in a relationship with the Mighty Marquis?” While he didn’t enjoy the feel of Andre’s moniker on his tongue, it did properly represent the severity of the relationship. A royal and an incubus; no different than a royal and an imp. It was a moment of ultimate hypocrisy, and Stolas desired context. How different was it from his own romantic situation with Blitz? 

Suddenly, the atmosphere about the lust demon shifted, and a hand rose to rub at the back of his neck. “Maude; ‘nother beer.” He called out, then sat in silence as he waited for a portly, warthog-looking demon to present him with a fresh bottle. Once he got it, she quickly shuffled along without a word to help other patrons; not even granting Stolas a single glance. Jesse sighed, “He was sad; couldn’t touch me properly because of his magic.” 

Stolas took a moment to absorb the gravity of that statement, and Jesse allowed the contemplative silence to hang, as he held the cap of his beer to the edge of the table and yanked up. Cool, smoky foam bubbled up from the neck, and the incubus quickly caught the outflow in his mouth. To think, that Andre hadn’t been able to even hold Jesse’s hand…or kiss him. The thought softened Stolas’ heart, and his follow up statement was rife with pity.  

“I cannot fathom how that made you feel.” 

“Honestly; like complete shit. Andre didn’t have a great childhood, and he struggled with being…” A slip of the lip brought out a single quiver; all but a millisecond, but enough to highlight how difficult the memory was to handle. “…who he was.” Jesse’s eyes shifted to the distance and lingered, as if his voice gained a mind of its own and addressed a dream. “He gave me a room in his mansion; even warmed it up. After work, he’d read me the poetry he had written, we’d eat dinner, talk about life, hobbies, dreams; sometimes, he’d even sing.” 

“Sing?” 

“Yeah…” Jesse gave a short sniffle. “…and it was fucking beautiful, like a songbird.” 

Such generosity from Andrealphus was, to say the least, unexpected.  

“So, it was a chaste relationship.” 

“Pretty fucked for an incubus, isn’t it? I think Andre knew, and that’s why he ended things the way he did. Caged birds sing poorly…or something like that.” A swift, harried, huff slid from Jesse’s nostrils.  

“If this isn’t too sensitive of a subject, may I ask what you did to garner his interest?” 

“I had a strong jaw and a huge cock…not to toot my own horn or anything.” 

Such a brazen response made Stolas drop his stuffed mushroom, and it rolled off the bar, bounced off his knee, and hit the floor with a gentle tap. As if sensing the follow up question, Jesse elaborated. 

“It was a nude modeling job, so obviously, he saw all of me. He talked a lot about how geometrically gifted I was, and why it made me perfect for his art. That was actually something he talked a lot about: art, philosophy, the responsibility of making shit. Andre took that shit seriously."  

"You two seemed rather familiar at Ozzie’s; how can that be if you’re no longer…working together, quote on quote?” 

A little smile slid onto Jesse’s lips; half formed, but genuine. “We keep in touch, go out and grab food from time to time, but he’s never invited me back. Once the statue was done, everything just…fizzled out. We knew that we just weren’t compatible.” 

There was a sad finality in those words, and they pained Stolas’ heart to hear. Through words alone, it was a tale of unfortunate hearts unable to truly express their love, and his first instinct was to wrap Andrealphus in the tightest hug ever, upon his return. 

“It was nice seeing him though; a surprise, but a nice one. I figure you had something to do with that, since you were there; so…thanks for that.” 

“Actually, it was Andre who insisted we visit Asmodeus.” 

“…yeah?” 

“Indeed.” 

“…huh.” 

Jesse fell silent, his beer left forgotten on the table and the stuffed mushrooms cold in their little dish.  

Stolas wiped down his pants and pushed back atop his seat. “You’ve been most helpful, Jesse. I have much to think about; thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it, your highness.” 

One talon upon the guard rail of the bar below; a smudged brass pole that caught everything from stray kicks to pieces of food, Stolas hesitated. Should he tell Jesse about the estate? From what he could garner, the imp definitely missed Andrealphus; but would it impede their goal, if he were to arrive? It possibly could…and that was already too great of a risk.  

So it was, that Stolas left the bar with a tip of his hat and stepped back out into the warm rains of Lust. In his absence, the previous rambunctious noise rose from the grave. Beneath the pattering canopy of constant raindrops, he gave a little sigh and retrieved his umbrella. “Way to be a mood killer, Stolas…”  

Chapter 9: Does it Hurt?

Summary:

WARNING: Explicit 18+ Chapter.
TRIGGER WARNING: Light Insinuations of Cuckolding.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Andrealphus curled his beak at a discolored piece of meat that sat speared upon the fork in his hand. “What did you say this was called again, Vassago?” 

All around the sectional, three other demons sat; mouths too stuffed with noodles, meat, and vegetables to immediately answer. A prince to his right, an imp to his left, the peacock inquisitively sniffed the pungent, tangy morsel in front of him; it only increased his hesitation to actually eat it.  

“Orange chicken.” 

“Orange chicken?” He turned the fork, as it to catch sight of something unseen. While the meat was indeed orange in coloration, the unnatural state of it was enough to lower his fork. “Where does the orange portion of the name come from?” 

“The sauce.” 

“Orange sauce?” Andrealphus arched his brow until it began to strain the muscles of his face, as he turned to look at Alejandro. “What in Lucifer’s name have you brought into this house?” 

“What I’m wondering is—” Blitz interrupted, three eggrolls jammed into his mouth. He chewed through them at a ravenous pace, head arched back to let them slide smoothly down his gullet. Everyone watched with disgust, astonishment, and awe as a singular bulge appeared, then vanished as he swallowed. “—isn’t it cannibalism for you two to eat chicken?” A pointed finger flicked between Vassago and Andrealphus, who shared a look that conveyed a singular thought: this motherfucker.  

“My Lord is not a chicken.” Alejandro said, as he spun lo mien noodles around a silver fork.  

Blitz and Vassago locked eyes, only for a smug grin to spread across that white-splotched face. He leaned forward, elbow atop a knee, “Ba-kawk.” Immediately, a single piece of crab rangoon struck him in the side of his head, thrown by none other than Alejandro. Blitz recoiled, sputtered, then wiped white sauce off of his face with a frown. “Who throws take out?!” 

“Do find it within your trained capabilities to not damage him, Alejandro.” Andrealphus chuckled. “I know his tongue boils your blood, but I’m starting to believe he enjoys the physical reprimand.” 

“Sure do; popped a boner after Iago over here kicked me over fifty feet into a tree.” Blitz quipped, already back to his food. A knowing grin revealed rows of, admittedly, dazzling teeth between those red lips; teeth that Andrealphus was quick to mark in his mind. There had been discussion of biting, after all.  

Finally, the marquis took a bite of the orange chicken. He stopped chewing almost immediately, which drew Vassago’s eye. 

“Don’t like it?” 

“Nnn.” 

“You’re making the I-don’t-like-it face right now.” 

“Hnn?” 

“You made the same expression last time you ate my breakfast in front of me.” 

“Hmph.” Bright eyes twitched as he swallowed, and a shiver wracked up his arms and neck. Andrealphus shook his head, and scraped his tongue alone the sharp edge of his beak to shrive the flavor clean. “That is vile; no thank you!” 

“…who is Iago? That better not be some derogatory term.” Alejandro warned with a side eye at Blitz.  

“What? No, he’s a bird in a movie; you know, sits on an evil wizard’s shoulder, talks shit, loves treasure.” Four prongs of a fork, covered with beef and broccoli, jabbed in Vassago’s direction. “Looks just like him.” 

“What movie?” 

“Aladdin.” 

“Aladdin?” 

“It’s a human movie.” 

“It is also a novel.” Andrealphus chimed in, a napkin hard at work to pat his beak clean of that nasty taste. “A human novel, mind you. However, I remember no such character in the novel, therefore, he might as well not even exist.” 

“So, let me be clear; you are referring to my master as a foul-mouthed, greedy, and irrelevant henchman to some higher malicious power?” 

Everyone went silent, even Blitz, who paused with beef hanging out of his mouth. Slowly, he continued to chew, then swallowed, gave a little burp, and wiped his lips with the back of a hand. “I didn’t say that, but you just did.” 

“Why you--!” 

“Oh, better watch out, your majesties; Alley-Oops over here is about to blow a gasket. You might want to get clear before you get covered in imp juice; it’ll stain your feathers.” 

Clearly, a joke, but one that only caused Alejandro to fume even further, and Andrealphus to slip back into his mind. Did imp juice actually contain such powerful staining properties? Worry sprouted for his own finely maintained coat, and the peacock gave a discrete glance towards his wrist. They were white enough, so perhaps… 

A doorknob clicked, and everyone’s attention turned to the front door. It swung open, and in walked Stolas; multiple shopping bags held in both hands. The owl stopped, blinked, then shuffled further in and closed the door with a bump of his hip. All four eyes rapidly locked on Blitz, then Alejandro, then Vassago, and finally Andrealphus.  

“Stolas, you’re back. Come and have some food; there’s plenty to go around.” Vassago’s warm smile was enough to draw the owl closer, but Blitz’s reserved lean back into the couch slowed his approach. Instead of taking a seat, he turned wide and headed for the stairs. 

“I’ll join you all in a moment; just need to place some things upstairs first.” 

As everyone watched the owl ascend to the upper level, a hush fell upon the room. Numerous pairs of eyes glanced to one another, as they all pondered the same question; who was going to tell him? The perpetrators, perhaps; but that may only incite mania. Vassago was the first to break the silence with a sigh. 

“Andre, are you certain this idea isn’t highly insensitive?” 

“Quite certain.” 

“It’s just…sleeping with someone’s recent ex, in their own bed no less, seems rather…uncouth.” 

“Uncouth, you say.” 

“You’re not doing this just as some rebuttal, are you; because, if you are, I find it far beneath you.” 

Andrealphus turned his head to finally acknowledge Vassago face to face; expression passive and stone-like. “Rest assured, there shall be no pleasure derived from this arrangement; ‘tis purely educational. Besides, if my actions displease him, pleasure shall be returned after I’ve learned all I need to know; with interest, mind you, for the slight.” 

“But…” Vassago glanced over at Blitz, who simply cupped a cheek in his own palm and allowed his tail to leisurely sway over his thigh. “…isn’t pleasure the point?” 

“There is pleasure of the body, and then there is pleasure of the heart. While the physical aspect is required, the emotional side is not.” 

“And you think that will soften the blow to Stolas’ heart?” 

Andrealphus fell silent, the stoic expression upon his face infected with scant traces of doubt. It was then, then a hearty and dulled slap to a couch cushion drew Vassago’s attention towards Blitz. 

“How about you put a cork in it, Feathers; alright? There are a lot of people who are gonna benefit from this, and if you fuck this up for me—” 

“You have done enough damage already.” The retort cracked the air like a whip, and all without a single raised octave. Red eyes flit towards the stairs, “To Stolas and Andre.” 

“Vassago.” 

A cold hand rested atop his leg; one that quelled the tiny flame of anger that had began to spark to life. Pulled by the gesture, his gaze turned from the object of his frustration and rested upon a calm, beautiful visage. Andre’s eyes appeared to glimmer, as his hand trailed from the parrot’s thigh and onto his face, where a thumb gently rubbed along that red-feathered cheek.  

“This will be worth it; anything to reach our goal in time…” 

A distended, obnoxious groan droned out over the moment, “You two are giving me fucking diabetes; I’ll tell Stolas. Who knows, he might just want to watch.” Blitz kicked his heel against the front edge of the couch, which propelled him smoothly into a one-legged standing position, and began to move towards the stairs. 

“Imp,” Andrealphus said, the warning clear in his voice. “Do not even suggest it.” 

“Oh, relax; he’s hornier than the three of you combined. A little cuckolding won’t hurt him.” 

“I will freeze you to the floor.” 

“Look, it’s a better option than hearing the ceiling squeak for hours on end. At least this way he’s more involved, and maybe will have some fun along the way.” Blitz turned back to the staircase, only to find his path barred by the Andre, who appeared in a flash of motion. 

The marquis glared down at him, eyes alight with a menacing sheen as he bent at the waist. In seconds, he and Blitz were beak to face. 

“I will not be ravished in front of a Goetia by an imp; let alone in front of Stolas by the one who shattered his marriage. Make no mistake…” Andrealphus growled, the edges of his eyes tight as they stretched to swallow what courage Blitz held. “…you and I are not friends. Our arrangement exists because you are useful, and only in this one specific instance. This matter is vile, and will be done with the utmost care and discretion; do you understand?” 

Ego squirmed beneath a much larger counterpart, as Blitz grit his teeth behind tight lips. Thin ice was all he tread upon, even with his use; there was no guarantee he wouldn’t be discarded if he overstepped his bounds. A little click of the tongue and a light nod were his response. 

“Yeah, I get it.” 

“Good. Now, you and Alejandro are going to tidy this place up while Vassago and I talk to Stolas. Neither of you are to come upstairs; is that clear?” Little room for denial, a cold glance between both imps left them with no other option than to nod. Silently, Andrealphus looked towards his Goetian companion, and together they ascended the stairs in sequence. 

Numerous boxes were spread out atop the singular bed, all rather plain and mono-colored displays of commerce. Yet, even from behind, a particular pondering giddiness could be detected from Stolas. Tail feathers swayed, ruffled, and adjusted themselves as his hips turned and tilted; mind focused on the contents of the apparent shopping spree.  

“Stolas.” 

The owl didn’t turn, and simply gave an inquisitive, “Hm?” in response. 

“We need to discuss something with you.” 

“As do I. We should really begin working on the Conjunction ritual, outside of the familiarity enhancement, that is. That lab needs tidied, and with all the excitement going on lately, it’s been untended.” He opened one of the boxes and reached inside, “I also managed to grab some supplies for the more…private affairs of the process.” 

Andrealphus sat on the bed beside Stolas, careful not to squish any of the boxes. Cool fingers brushed against dark hands, and the peacock’s voice slipped into a soft mutter. 

“Please, sit down.” 

Vassago sat on the other side, and held up a hand to ease the owl’s descent onto the mattress. Confusion covered his face for a moment, then clarity arrived to wash it away.  

“Is this about Blitz?” 

“It is.” Andrealphus wiggled in place, straightened his posture, and brushed his hair back; all to steady his nerves. “If you become angry at this information, simply know that I do not judge. I have employed the imp, you might say, to assist in the matters of Sextile Conjunction. He is here to teach me all about your…physical desires.” 

Stolas crossed a leg, leaving a large taloned foot to idly bounce about in the air. “Yes, you already told me about this; or did you happen to forget?” 

“No, but since then an arrangement has been made. He isn’t simply going to tell me…but also show me." 

"..." 

"As in we’re going to be sleeping together, educationally; mind you.” 

Andrealphus paused to give the owl time, and Vassago stared with equally bated breath. They watched as four red eyes turned left and right, yet none of the attention was on them at all. Stolas was in the middle of reacting, of thinking up a response to that information. To their surprise, his face didn’t slip into immediate anger or sadness, but something akin to befuddlement.  

Momentarily, his beak parted, and then shut, as whatever rumbled in his head appeared to settle. “How are you going to do that?” 

Now, it was time for that confusion to spread between all parties. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m of the assumption that the only way you can touch Vassago and myself is because were are magically gifted. Blitz has no such tolerance for magic; if you laid a hand upon him, he would surely freeze.” 

Vassago’s eyes widened; that detail had slipped his mind entirely. Too much time had been spent on his own ailment, that his knowledge of Andre’s had been pushed aside. Stolas was right, according to everything he had been told and witnessed firsthand. 

“That’s…a rather damning point, Andrealphus.” He spoke, eyes fixated squarely on the marquis. “The entire point of this endeavor is to channel vast quantities of dangerous arcane power through our bodies; if you tried to lay with a simple imp, he would—” 

“Yes, there is inherent risk, but it can be mitigated with vigilance.” 

“Is that how you managed your working relationship with Jesse: vigilance?” 

Andrealphus froze, expression grave.  

Vassago, likewise, found his rapt attention stretched between his companions.  

“While I was out shopping, and in lieu of your efforts to hasten our knowledge of one another, I had a meeting with him. He told me of how you two met, and also imparted some rather interesting information on the nature of your relationship together. He also mentioned that it was a chaste relationship, because your magic wouldn’t let you touch him.” 

“You—”  

“Now, I’m inclined to believe him; every word. What troubles me, is that you are willing to bed my ex without any such fear. So, that implies that you either lied to him, or you are lying to us.”  

Once again, concern filled Vassago’s mind. Was this actually, truly, an act of spite? There was a mountain of history regarding the imp, and with things as they were, it made absolute sense to him that Andrealphus would consider such a thing. Disguise it as an accident in the bedroom; the implications bade him speak in worried tones. True, Vassago himself wasn’t that fond of Blitz either, but he had no reason to take his life. Andre, on the other hand… 

“You had no right.” Andrealphus hummed through a tightened beak. “To interrogate him over such matters.” 

“It is hardly any different than what you are doing.” 

“You have the gall to pry into my private life?” 

“As no mercy was given unto mine.” 

“I was not married!” 

As the argumentative words spiraled around in Vassago’s mind, his nerves began to prick up and burn. There had to be a solution, a resolution to the growing conflict, and his brain searched at mach-nine to try and think one up. Then, as if gifted by an unknown benefactor, one such idea struck. 

The snap of Vassago’s fingers halted the bickering, instantly. 

“I know what to do.” Both hands splayed out midair, as if to lay out his plans before them. “I can negate Andre’s magic, so that he can safely engage with the imp.” 

Stolas and Andrealphus opened their beaks to speak, but were quickly shushed into submission. 

“Listen…” Vassago wet his beak, as his mind lined up his thoughts. “…if I’m there, I can channel my flame into you, which should stop Blitz from freezing. That way, you and I can both receive the same information and he doesn’t end up dead; it’s a win-win.” 

“But Vassago…” Stolas interjected. “…that would require you to be in the same room. You’d have to witness, well, everything!”  

“I know.” 

“It’s too risky; what if you have another flare up? Your experience in Lust showcased a clear traumatic impact and—” 

“I know, but as you said Andre; with vigilance, the risk can be mitigated. Alejandro is now here, my supply of medicine is greater than before, and I’m confident that I can temper any negative response. If things grow too intense…” 

“…then we shall immediately stop, simple as that.” 

Stolas sat, face in his hand, and groaned. “Fine…fine; so long as we do not forget that there are more needs around here than my own!” He jutted to his feet and smoothed down his clothes. “You have my blessing to…fuck him; just don’t grow too carried away, or I might just have to fuck Alejandro and Jesse as recompense!” Red filled the faces of all three Goetia, even as one stood indignant and tall amongst his fellows. “Given they’re all connected to us in rather intimate ways, and all three actually possess cocks, I’m only partially joking!” 

With that, he left down the steps, muttering all the way. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Hours passed, and each Goetia sequestered themselves in separate sections of the vacation home. Andrealphus remained outside to oversee the continued construction of Alejandro and Blitz’s temporary home. Vassago cleaned the kitchen with as much meticulous detail as he could. Stolas stayed below, deep within the bowels of the building and the laboratory that it housed. 

As the afternoon began to wane, Andrealphus tapped Blitz on the shoulder. “That’s enough work for today. Go and shower, then wait for me in the bedroom on the second floor.” 

“Where’s the shower?” 

“On the second floor…in the bedroom.” 

Blitz held up his hands, as if to mime ‘excuse me, your almighty highness’, and wandered back into the house. With his absence, a pit of gnawing nerves chewed the inner lining of the peacock’s stomach. It all seemed so final, in essence. Stolas clearly still had reservations about the entire thing, despite his reluctant blessing, and worry over Vassago’s own involvement didn’t make things easier. 

However, the shed was close to being completely refurbished, so a minor victory had been achieved. With what minor pride he could muster, Andrealphus made his own way back inside, where Vassago’s attention had been long fixated on the door. They regarded each other in silence, for all but a moment, then sighed in unison. 

“So, this is…this is really happening.” Vassago gulped, eyes tilted towards the stairs.  

“Yes.” 

“Finally going to get to see you…without clothes.” 

“Yes.” 

“Stolas is in the basement; you know, grinding down herbs, drawing chalk circles, that sort of thing.” 

“Yes.” 

“…Are you okay?” 

Andrealphus shifted on the spot and slowly inhaled through his beak. “It is simply performance jitters; nothing unordinary.” 

“Are you mad at him?” A reluctant question, but one that helped to combat the turmoil in his stomach.  

“Stolas?” 

“Yeah; for talking to Jesse?” 

“I don’t think ‘mad’ is the appropriate word choice for how I feel.” 

“Well…we’ve got time: betrayed?” 

“No.” 

“Hurt?” 

“No.” 

“Guilty?” 

“…” 

“You feel guilty, don’t you?” 

Andrealphus’ attention wandered into the great beyond, into a space far from what Vassago could see in that moment. Those long-off glances were beginning to grow familiar; always brought about whenever the peacock was deep in contemplation.  

“I had not even considered the possibility back then. If I had only had the foresight to ask you for aid, perhaps Jesse and I could have been…more.”  

Vassago gave no response. 

“Maybe I could have been better; had made it work at the expense of my powers. I don’t know for sure, but the possibility provokes me to try again.” 

“Perhaps you could, after all of this is resolved; if you still wish to, that is.” 

“It is hard to say. All I can know is how I feel at this exact moment.” 

Vassago allowed Andre’s words to carry into silence between them, as he took the time to reminisce upon an earlier time in the day. “…you don’t think Stolas would really sleep with Alejandro, do you?” 

“I don’t know; is Alejandro even interested in males?” 

“He’s so attentive in his duties that I am unsure. I cannot remember the last time I gave him any time off.” Arms folded across his chest, a frown slid its’ way upon the parrot’s beak. “This outing might be the first time he’s properly left Sloth in years.” 

“If our efforts yield fruit, then you can give him a vacation. For now, he is needed.” 

“It sounds like, once this is all over, we will all have more than a few relationships to tend.” 

“Indeed.”  

New musings were allowed to stew, as both Goetia stood side by side and stared at the stairs. For the first time since their conversation had began, the distant and muffled sound of running water became clear in their ears. Just as they heard it, the noise squeaked to a halt, and then a drip; as if a shameful child caught red-handed by parental figures.  

“Should we give him more time?” Vassago asked, fingers pinched at the hem of a glove. Nervous and idle plucks threatened to fray the fabric, but the resilience of the expensive material was more than adequate to save it from ruin.  

“I did tell him to dress the room as he would during one of those…” Andrealphus quickly clenched his eyes closed, then opened them, as if to poise himself against a conjured thought. “…full moon rendezvous he had with Stolas. Frankly, the thought to ask how elaborate that would be didn’t strike me, at the time.” 

Vassago’s finger plucked faster; still below frantic, but noticeable and distracting. “Not to be rude, but you seem really confident about all of this.” 

“Do you quake like a leaf when you open a new book, Vassago? Perhaps you are simply gifted with oversensitive endorphins. This is simply an educational experience; no different than attending a lecture.” 

“Watching a close colleague sleep with a near stranger is not the same thing. You do know that my magic will likely lower your icy stoicism, in the heat of the moment, right?” 

Andrealphus twitched, caught in the beginnings of a flinch that his demeanor subdued in milliseconds. “…you only think to mention this now?” 

“I thought you already knew that going in!” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

They zipped their beaks, as footsteps echoed from above. Then, Blitz’s voice carried down the stairs. “Yo, I’m ready.” 

Down to a whisper each, peacock and parrot tread towards the stairs.  

“You can’t remember something that happened only a mere day ago?!” 

“It has been a highly strenuous series of hours since then.” 

“What if you like it?” 

“I won’t.” 

“How do you know?!” 

“Because I am in control of my own body, and I am not so weak as to allow a little bit of carnal mating to obliterate my willpower.” 

Andre’s confidence was infectious, and a sense of awe washed over Vassago. Whether it was simply the magic that ran through those royal veins or learned behavior, it made him shine with an aura of supremacy and safety. That comfort tickled the deepest reaches of Vassago’s stomach, and as they ascended the stairs together, he stopped plucking at his gloves altogether. 

At the top of the staircase, a subdued red light shrouded the room in relative darkness; powered only by a dimmer switch. Clean and tidy, a faint scent of fresh linen and humidity trailed out of the nearby bathroom. Every box from Stolas’ shopping free had been stacked away from the bed, from where they had first rested. In their place, Blitz lounged in nothing but a pair of red boxer briefs. Upon seeing Andrealphus, he gave a short stretch. 

“Half expected you to show up with a bunch of fucking trumpets!” Fingers crooked and wiggled to mimic the act of playing a trumpet. “Make way, make way; his royal snowy-ness has arrived! Faces down, asses up; c’mon everyone!” Blitz snickered, as he slapped the mattress in amusement. “I’m just bullshitting; now, let’s—” Vassago stepped into view from behind Andrealphus, and that jovial mockery deflated quick. “The hell is he doing here?” 

Without ceremony, Andrealphus began to remove his clothing; starting from the top and working his way down. “In order to ensure you don’t perish, Vassago will be mitigating the strength of my magic; as he possesses an opposing element to my own.” 

Milk-splotched forearms and hands folded over a taut chest of toned muscle, as their owner stared daggers at the uninvited guest. “You know what; fuck it, it’s fine.” Openly, the imp caught the waistband of his undergarments with a thumb and gave a teasing tug, then released to snap them back to his abs. The entire time, he stared down the tropically colored avian with a mixture of smugness and ill-intent.  

“You are not to touch him, understand? He can take his hands off of me at anytime, and I shouldn’t have to tell what will happen as a result.”  

Normally, all of his attention would have been locked in on Blitz, but Andre’s quickening nudity had him deadlocked. He had seen the peacock in naught but panties before, but as fields of ivory lilies came into view, their brilliance washed all familiarity aside in favor of pure mental adulation. Cast in the red hue of the bedroom’s lighting, they took on an almost pink hue, and those bright cerulean eyes warmed to fit the setting. Diamond-patterned tail feathers caught the light and reflected it in such a way that Vassago found his breath held; particularly as said feathers moved aside so that Andre could remove the last of his clothing. 

“Yeah, yeah…” Blitz grumbled, his eyes similarly locked on the stripping at play. “All of the kinky shit hasn’t been bought yet, so we’re going to start basic.” Attention wandered, if for but a moment, as the imp slid upon his knees atop the bed; hands rested upon his thighs. “You want a chair, cuck?” 

Feathers of white whipped upwards, as an equally polished beak opened to snap back at the imp. However, both were compelled into docility, with a simple wave of Vassago’s hand. “I’ll take the bed, thank you; so long as my presence doesn’t cause you to experience performance anxiety and choke in the first session.” 

A lip corner twitched, and brows rose to arch down in momentary surprise. It was quickly swapped for a more aggravated expression, “Oh, I’ll give you something to choke on…” 

Vassago brimmed with confidence as he lifted Andrealphus’ hand and bowed his head towards the bed. “Your majesty.” he proclaimed, foot back, tail feathers out and proud. That playful tone left the peacock gob smacked, only to find himself led by the hand and onto the mattress next to the imp. As they occupied the center, the prince took his place behind Andrealphus and rested a hand to his back.  

Crimson starlight glittered around his palm and fingers; a magical aura that began to transfer a steady and gentle stream of arcane flame into all that it touched.  

“Great; fucking finally. Now, Stolas always liked a good make out session and some fingering to warm up.” Blitz leaned in and brazenly scooped up Andrealphus’ chin in his fingers. The speed was enough to cause the marquis’ back to tense for a moment, up until commoner and royal locked mouths. A low grunt emanated from Andre, as the imp’s tongue casually invaded his mouth and wound about his own.  

Forked, thinner than his own but just thick enough for his liking; Blitz’s tongue took its time to gyrate and glide wherever it saw fit. Flavor ignited in their mouths, shared between lips and beak as the far more devilish tongue coiled about the other for a sensual suck. Another grunt hummed out from Andre’s beak, as explorative fingers traced down his chest and stomach feathers. Right between those legs, his broad palm cupped at the groin and scooted closer to the base of the tail; upon which he brushed against that cloaca. 

That made Andrealphus tense, but the steady exhale that followed worked to relax him. At the reaction, Blitz gave a teasing growl and began to gently press and rub a finger against that sensitive erogenous zone. Their kiss broke, to allow the peacock a proper chance to breath, only for that serpentine tongue to mash and snake up the front of his neck. 

“When’s the last time anyone touched you; and here I thought Stolas had soft feathers.” 

“S-silence, you…” A shudder rippled up Andre’s legs at an abrupt shift of the imp’s wrist. That rubbing began in earnest, each press more insistent than the last; teasing on the cusp of penetration.  

“It’s a compliment; learn to take it, Stolas loves them.” A second finger joined, and Blitz leaned forward into Andre. The resulting shift in weight pushed him back to Vassago, who in turn tilted into the row of pillows; face doing its best not to display any extreme annoyance. “Stolas also likes it when I finger fuck his hot bird pussy, especially with a side of dirty talk.” 

An honest gasp of heated breath left that pristine beak, and a grimace twisted into form as two thick fingers pushed up inside of Andrealphus. Steady thrusts began, and one finger immediately departed in exchange for enhanced control.  

“He likes two, but I’ll start you off at one as a favor. You seem too tight to take me to the knuckle.” 

Unable to trust in the composure of his fellow royal holding true, Vassago peeked over Andre’s shoulder to watch the show. His hand remained fastened to the peacock’s back, of course, even as he witnessed Blitz’s wrist start to pump with increasing speed. Foot talons curled, a neck craned back, and further huffs escaped in greater frequency. 

“You don’t play with yourself much, do you?” Blitz asked, as he withdrew his finger and subsequent hand from between those snowy legs. “Guess not all of you rich fucks sleep around as much as I thought.”  

“Is the quipping really necessary?” Andrealphus huffed, face lightly flushed.  

“Stolas likes my quipping.” 

“Lucifer preserve me…”  

Two white-scarred hands gripped slender thighs and pulled them apart, and Blitz licked his lips at the sight. Both knees slid back, his face dipped lower, and made a show of letting that wet, demonic muscle hang freely as he approached his intimate destination. Vassago and Andrealphus stared in rapt anticipation, only for the imp to catch their combined looks.  

Smooth, experienced words traced off that tongue; almost like that of an incubus in terms of skill. “You getting wet, watching me about to lap up your boyfriend’s pussy?” Without the need to wait for an answer, Blitz dipped lower and pressed the flat of his tongue to Andrealphus’ cloaca. 

“Hnngh!” Talons shot out and gripped a thick, striped horn for support. Muscles rippled beneath a sea of feathers; mostly located on the flat abdominal region, and a reluctant moan squeezed its way from Andre’s beak. Heat rushed into Vassago’s face at the sound; only intensified as he look upon his fellow Goetia’s expression. Nothing short of bliss, confused bliss perhaps, but still bliss. Through the endorphin-induced look, something similar to frustration wrapped around and smothered it, as both legs were lifted.  

Blitz greedily tugged that ass closer, only to reinforce his dominance over that bird-puss; tongue lapping with strong, steady, and confident strokes. Rumbling, horny growls vibrated through his chest and into his tongue, as every lap was capped off with a kiss. Ego grew at the sounds coming from the rich prick, whose ironically rich flavor saturated his tongue and made his cock twitch. It was in obedience to that ego, born of a quest to ride the high, Blitz flipped Vassago the bird. 

Immediately, pressure clamped down on his head.  

Before he could react, his frame was raised, only for Andrealphus’ thighs to squeeze down around his neck. Mouth now completely detached from their oral duties, the imp groped for dear life, as the familiar swell of over pressurized blood rushed into his face! He stared into the flush, panting face of the peacock. Ruffled hair, half-lidded eyes, but still entirely in control; those thighs weren’t going to move. 

“You will showcase proper respect to your betters; deal or no!” 

Blitz rapidly tapped against Andre’s thighs, as he tried to squeak out an apology through surprisingly powerful leg muscle. “I’m—gah—sorry! You said you wanted the—hnk—the real deal! Just never had…someone…w-watching!” Red and white began to change hue. 

Unsure of which was more attractive; seeing the cocky imp’s mood plummet into panic, the leg lock that Andre had around that thin neck, or the oral skills that had just been displayed, Vassago leaned into Andre’s ear. “I’ll accept an apology.”  

At his words, those legs parted, and Blitz gasped for air as he fell forward into a bed of preened feathers. Talons were quick to scoop him up by the jaw and raise his eyes up, so that Andrealphus could address him properly. “His inclusion is vital. You will adjust to it, or the deal is off.” 

Butterflies fluttered about in Vassago’s heart, moved by the repeated displays of comradery. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected such gallant friendship and love from such a source, and guilt began to brew over that fact. It was light guilt, easily wiped clean by a simple kiss; one that was delivered against Andrealphus’ cheek. First, there was tension, but the instinctual reaction quickly dropped away, in favor of a smile.  

“You are too sweet, Andre…” he muttered. “…but as we have just learned, this is a new experience for him too. Perhaps, some leeway can be granted in our judgement.” 

“Hmm…” A pensive hum rumbled in the peacock’s throat, neck craned back to properly see Vassago’s kindly visage. “…very well.” To seal the agreement; a gentle kiss, barely a peck at the parting of upper and lower beak, but enough to incite the prince’s heart to thunder in his chest. “Now, from the top, Blitz; and this time, focus on teaching more than performing.” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Alejandro peered down the darkened staircase that lead to the basement, hands braced against the closest wall. No one had seen Prince Stolas in hours, but everyone had seen him descend into the laboratory just before that. According to his master’s account, it was all to simply prepare for the eventual ritual, yet there was an unshakable sense of worry that plagued him.  

Dust, musty air, and the smell of old wood stalked him, down to the last step. Nothing but concrete and loneliness were there to greet him, and an unnatural chill emanated from the very stone. Ethereal fingers skittered down his shoulders, along his back, and into the base of his tail, as a yawning doorway gaped before him. Gentle, pale blue candlelight burned in void to illuminate the beginnings of a ritual circle; drawn in chalk that seemed to shelter that same light within. 

“Your Highness?” 

Silence. 

“I don’t wish to intrude upon any important incantations that you might be weaving, but…” Narrowed eyes peered into the dark, but their shift granted no increased clarity. He jumped, as the tip of his shoe accidentally kicked something along the floor; from the sound, it was something made of glass. “…you haven’t been seen in…in several hours.” 

Alejandro was used to sunshine, fire, and other forms of natural light; not the impenetrable gloom that swallowed him whole. Somehow, the candles did little to comfort him, and in fact cast even more twisted figments amongst the shadows. Fear snapped at his heels, but a hard head pushed him forwards into the unknown and the unseen.   

Steps shifted into shuffles, toes a measured detector for anymore debris in his path. Sound that should have been little more than a soft annoyance erupted into booming scrapes against concrete; and then, his legs bumped into something. Rigid and unyielding, the object snapped Alejandro forward, only for his upper body to slam against something wooden. Pain and copper graced his senses, and a stunned groan fed the basement. 

Four red eyes sparked to life in the dark, right before him. Glass clinked, rolled across wooden planks, then crashed against the ground with hollow thuds; only to roll even further away. A groan, not of his own, mimicked Alejandro. As he recovered, the imp himself fixated on its source. 

“Prince Stolas, are you alright?” 

Sluggish movements dragged the faintest outline of a body, along what he deduced was a table. “Never better…” Halfway between a mumble and a croon, the prince’s speech was thick with slurred syllables and melancholic tones. “I am simply…” A sharp sniffle, an awed breath, and finally a relieved exhale. “…drowning my sorrows, as any proper Goetia is want to do.” 

“In the dark?” 

“Oh, there are candles; I’ll have you know, and I wasn’t expecting…company.” 

“Is there a light switch or an oil lamp down here, sire; a candelabra, anything?”  

Two claps rung out, and just above them, a pale light slowly began to come alive. It wasn’t proper, as it didn’t illuminate the entire room, yet it covered enough ground to showcase the prince’s state. Bottles littered the wooden table; thick, thin, dusty, label-less. Some were still corked, others were on their side with their guts spilled out to stain the wood. An entire kingdom of liquor and spirits, and Prince Stolas was its one ruler.  

The owl himself lacked his trademark top hat, but was otherwise garbed as he had been. Between the four of his eyes, three squinted against the weak lighting; submerged under the influence of alcohol.  

“There…” he drawled, face quick to thump against the table. “…let there be light.” 

“Is that what you’ve been up to all this time, drinking?” 

“I have been drinking…since the day I was wed; I’ll have you know.” Despite the inebriated pace of his words, regal elegance remained which raised each word with a manner of haughtiness, akin to Marquis Andrealphus. “I am an expert, in such things.” 

“Seems an odd place to do so, my prince.” 

“Odd?” His head began to raise, ruffled head feathers rolling and waving against a struggling brow, as it worked to furrow. “Odd?! It is the best—hrrk—place to do so! The walls are…are thick, so that I cannot hear the…the…” A wilted wrist waved an equally dead hand about in the air; like that of a drunken daisy.  

That dry heave made Alejandro grimace; not just at the sickening sound, but also the instinct that compelled him to do the same. Invisible, mentally-conjured sick prodded at his nose in anticipation of actual vomit; yet, there was none, to his immense relief. “The fornicating, sire?” 

“Yes! Exactly that; the fornicating! I could not have conjured a better word for it myself; the absolute fuckery!” A hand crashed to the table and fumbled for a bottle; something rectangular and marked with a dead orchard on the label: poison-something-something.  “My brother-in-law and your master fucking around with my ex…” Stolas’ voice dipped into sheer mockery; chiding, sneering, high pitched. “…for the sake of emotional science.” 

“If the event bothers you so, why not—” 

“Cause discord through disagreement? Butt heads with Andrealphus and hope that my lack of spine will somehow magically deliver us the keys to fixing Vassago? Noooo…no, I am not an idiot, Alejandro.” 

“I did not mean to imply you were, Prince Stolas, but your feelings on the matter do, in reality, matter greatly.” 

Fine fabrics sloppily wiped away the remainder of booze from beak, and an accusing finger jutted his way without breaking a grip on the bottle’s neck. “First rule of being a royal; no one fucking cares, not really. No one cared when I was a hatchling, no one cared when I could cast my first spell, and no one cares currently.” 

“That is simply untrue.” 

A defeated scoff hopped from Stolas’ beak, and he let the bottle messily tumble down into a roll. Alejandro stopped it before it could fall and shatter upon the floor; having to reach halfway across the table to do so.  

“What does truth matter, in the face of grim reality? For Vassago’s sake, my feelings do not matter. It would be a selfish act, to allow my personal grievances agency in making such vital decisions. I cannot control what Andrealphus does, nor what Blitz decides to do in response to it. If they want to fuck…they are going to fuck.” 

Alejandro sighed. “So, your solution is to sit in the dark, all alone, and feel sorry for yourself?” 

“Oh, I beg for your pardon, Grand King of Discernment; should I trot my way upstairs and play the role of cuckold? Would watching Blitzy ravage Andrealphus make me suddenly feel all better? I might as well allow your master to spit in my mouth, while we’re at it.” 

“Well, if you three could simply talk about what you—” 

“Don’t you—ghhk—Lucifer preserve me—talk to me about talking! If it weren’t for Vassago’s withholding of vital information regarding his illness, such drastic measures might not have been taken. If Andrealphus had just talked to me, instead of caring about my feelings, we could have avoided seventeen years of bad blood! We are of the Ars Goetia; stewards of the stars, architects of Hell, but when it comes to the simple act of talking, we—” 

A hand slapped the table. 

“—cannot—” 

Another slap. 

“—do it!” 

Alejandro frowned and smoothly slid his hands together atop the table. “Why do you think that is?” 

“Because royalty is all about half-truths and masks.” A grand wave of the hand absent-mindedly knocked a bottle over, and it tumbled onto the seat, then onto the ground. “You cannot simply express your honest, most authentic self; the others will use it to their advantage. If you are morose, they will capitalize on it to mock you in court, steal your wealth, or fuck your spouse. If you are happy, they will jab holes in your joy and cook up schemes to wrench the rug from under you; because we all must be neutrally, equally miserable. That is why we don’t talk.” 

“Prince Vassago does not—” 

“Oh, he does.” 

“No, he doesn—” 

“Oh, he does.” 

“No, he does no—” 

“Trust me, Alejandro. He does.” 

“I am a far better authority on my lord’s true self than you.” 

A brutish snort cackled from Stolas’ beak, and a drunken laugh tumbled right after in chase. Perplexed and infuriated, Alejandro stared agape at the owl; tail taut and twitchy at the same time. 

“Why are you laughing?” 

“Because—ah-ha—because you aren’t privy to the whole of it!” Almost akin to a jackal’s sneer, Stolas’ face scrunched up as his arms hugged about his waist in a drunken fit of giggling. “Vassago has not told you everything. Hell, there are still truths that even we are not aware of, even when his very life depends on it!” 

“You’re lying.” 

“Why would I lie? He has not told us the breadth of his trauma experienced in Lust, even as he sits upstairs and engages in sexual escapades with my ex before me.” Stolas’ spine suddenly swung up and straightened, which made him tower above the table, and his voice dropped to a dull, rumbling whisper. “How do you think that makes me feel; knowing the only place I can shield myself from that pain, even a little, is at the bottom of the house, and at the bottom of a bottle?” 

Alejandro’s eyes flickered, his loyalty tested by the barrage of words. Was this simply drunken assumptions brought out by alcohol, or was it all true? Was Vassago not telling him everything; him, his most faithful and dutiful servant?

“But…he is my friend; he wouldn’t lie to me.” 

To his surprise, a hand reached across the table and rested upon his shoulder.  

“First time?” 

Heavy darkness draped across his shoulders and forced the imp to slouch. His gaze drifted towards the wooden table, close enough to count the individual splinters and water marks. Slow breath flared out his ribs and flared his nostrils. His fingers squirmed; twitchy, itchy, hot and tingly all at once. Spider legs tip-tapped upon his nerve endings, so much that he mashed single digits beneath multiple to scratch, claw, and knead them into behaving.  

A bottle pushed itself beneath his face. Liquid sloshed about inside, and the owl spoke, “You can at least find some comradery in drink; besides, I believe they’re going to be a while. Blitz always had good stamina; sometimes, even long into the morning.” 

Alejandro stared at the bottle, but he didn’t care about its contents. All that mattered was the promise it held; the promise to help ease the doubts that swarmed his mind. He trusted his master, whether he was wise to do so began to grow louder. What harm was there in one drink? It was an innocent enough idea; he’d keep Stolas company in his hour of need and quell his own negative thoughts in unison. The imp gripped his hands together, trapped by indecision. 

“I shouldn’t; if Prince Vassago has another flare up, he will need me. I cannot help him, if I’m inebriated.” 

Stolas’ hand reached up and touched Alejandro’s cheek. Where he expected a clumsy grasp, what he got instead was the softest touch he had ever felt; almost like that of a motherly figure. The drunken owl smiled, and set the bottle side. “You are so loyal…” 

Alejandro did his best to ignore the warmth that spread from that hand and into his gut. “I’d rather not leave you down here, so why don’t you join me in the backyard? There’s a little fire pit, and we could roast s’mores in it.” 

The hand dropped away, “Will I not have to hear them?” 

“No, my prince, you won’t hear them at all.” He offered a small smile, and then slid out from his seat to aid the owl to his feet. “Sometimes, fresh air can do wonders for the mood.” 

“Fine…I could use some chocolate, anyway.” 

Together, they shuffled through the darkness, and left everything that had been said buried within that dark chamber. Alejandro hoped with all his heart, that such things would never re-emerge. 

Chapter 10: Brittle Foundations

Summary:

Vassago seeks a deeper understanding of Stolas and Blitz's relationship, Andrealphus makes a rather unexpected connection, and Alejandro struggles with accusations towards his master's credibility.

Notes:

18+ Warning for...
• Nudity
• Hangover Spewing (Vomit)

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Morning came, and Blitz was starving. To him, it was nothing new; but he typically didn’t need to sneak his way out of a bed to get it. A bed, no less, occupied by two other demons. Not just any demons either: birds. Fucking wizard birds; rich and powerful, royal, wizard birds, even. Red feathers and white feathers lay lightly tossed about the sheets, like human hair on a pillowcase, as he lay wedged between two fluffy chests of plumage.  

Luckily for him, they seemed to be heavy sleepers; their long arms draped over him to rest upon each other. It was like being trapped in one of those extra-long claw clips, and he was the gorgeous bun that needed holding. More than manners slowed his attempts to escape; if the parrot let go of the peacock…well, imp-cicle: supposedly.  

His stomach growled, all the same. So, with a tense bite of his lower lip and a graceful hand, he kept their hands joined and lifted their arms up. When enough room opened up, he rocked up onto his ass and rolled towards the edge of the bed; quick to turn the tumble into a handstand, as to not fall on his face. That happened way too often.  

Taut muscles stretched, his dick slapped against his abs, and fresh air rolled across his completely nude body. Man, what a night that had been. Sure, it wasn’t what he was used to with Stolas, but it had been oddly…fun? Blitz allowed his heels to pull back, and the rest of his body followed in a curved motion to stand him straight and proper upon the ground. Free, he began to hum to himself, with a swish of his tail and a bounce of his hips.  

“Mm-mm, yeah-uh, gonna get some pancakes. Making some fucking pancakes: yeah.” He trotted down the steps with a steady pace; ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, until he reached the bottom. No one was in the living room, all the lights were off, but the kitchen looked a lot better. Far from the shart of a fireball’s leftovers it used to look like, the sink actually held a reflection as he approached.  

Immediately, he ran into an issue: cabinets.  

“Fucking…tall ass, lanky ass…bird bitches.” Blitz grumbled, as he climbed atop the kitchen counter to reach the doors above and the secrets they held. Pancake batter…pancake batter…where in Satan’s festering asshole was the motherfucking pancake batter? He checked them all, and found none. Maybe they were in the lower cabinets? 

Blitz scooted his ass off the countertop and opened the first cabinet door at waist level. Marshmallows, spices, icing…but no batter.  

“Damn it.” Annoyed, he turned his eyes to the fridge. If they kept the damn pancake batter in there, of all places, he was going to add spanking to the next sex lesson! 

A quick peek inside told him all he needed to know: no batter in sight. It then dawned on Blitz, that perhaps there was simply no pancake mix at all in this entire house! In a panic, he scuttled about the entire kitchen, displacing drawers and flinging every cabinet open until there was no place left to look. Despite his hope, despite his desire, and despite his need…there was simply no delicious batter to be found. Distraught, he placed his forehead to the fridge door. 

Thud, thud, thud. 

Gentle headbutts against cold steel rang out, in a display of unjust punishment. 

“Looking for something?” 

Blitz closed his eyes, as he instantly recognized the voice. He turned, then smoothly folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the fridge like one cool cat, as his cock and balls dangled free in the wind.  

Vassago raised a hand in front of his face and clicked his beak. “Charming.” It was clear from his tone, that he was lying.  

“What, does it intimidate you or something?” Nothing but smug teeth grinned from the imp’s mouth. He knew how hung he was; Stolas never shut up about it whenever the Full Moon came around. Sometimes, he’d even bug him with thirsty texts about it. Blitz still had them, even after…well: everything. As he stared at Vassago, someone not too far off from Stolas in many ways, he found himself noting the differences. 

Larger beak, brighter feathers; more of a red smoke bomb to the face than a peaceful night sky. Suddenly, being a similar color began to rub him the wrong way, and a single finger began to unconsciously rub at a burn splotch on his arm; in the hope that it would smear away the red. 

“No, it doesn’t. I’m just not used to that being the first interaction I have, first thing in the morning.” 

“Sorry that my crotch isn’t smooth and boring.” Blitz sneered, as he reopened the fridge. Even though his dreams of flapjacks had been ruined, there might still be bacon or eggs to make up for it. “Figured all you rich fucks would appreciate something more manly.” 

“Manly isn’t the word I’d use; more like crude.”  

The sudden brush of feathers rubbed against the tops of his horns, and Blitz tensed as a long, red feathered arm reached over him to grab a carton of eggs. When the silky sensation went away, he turned to watch the parrot grab a skillet from a lower cabinet and turn on the stove.  

“…the fuck are you doing?” 

“Making breakfast, what does it look like?” 

“I was going to do that.” 

A dismissive grunt, no more than a pop of doubt, highlighted the immediate crack of an egg. Vassago only used one hand, fingers bent in such a way that the egg immediately split apart and dropped the yolk without any shell fragments along for the ride. Those big, glowing red eyes stayed on the skillet, as he spoke. “Well, now I’m doing it; wouldn’t want you to get another burn, would we?” 

The verbal jab turned the gentle caress of his finger into a hot-blooded drag. “You fucking making fun of me?” 

“Merely making an observation.” 

“I can handle a pan just fine.” 

“Not as well as I can.” 

Blitz stared and stepped closer; not enough to be within arm's reach, but just so he didn’t have to shout to elevate his voice. “You trying to start a cook-off, bitch?” 

“No, simply my day.” 

“Uh-huh; sure, whatever. Weird flex; oh, I can make eggs, look at me. Not like you didn’t just spend all of last night watching me fuck your boyfriend.” 

Aside from the tiniest bit of tensing in his shoulders, Vassago didn’t appear bothered by the goading. “His name is Andrealphus, and he is not my boyfriend; he is a work associate and friend.” 

“Whatever makes you feel like less of a failure.” 

Another crack, as eggshell struck iron, followed by a vicious rip that plopped another yolk onto the sizzling pan. There was no rebuttal, verbal or physical. It was like the comment didn’t even register in the bird’s brain, but Blitz knew better than anyone the power of words.  

He re-learned the lesson every single day. 

“So, what’s your fucking malfunction, compadre’?” An insinuated accent was added to the final word, as a way to potentially spike the prince’s blood. Instead, all Blitz received was a measured, even response. 

“My malfunction?” 

“Yeah; why do you explode?” 

“I don’t explode; I—” 

“You exploded just the other day.” 

“I did not.” 

“Then what was with all the screaming and the fire and the magic?” 

A gentle sigh puffed from his nostrils, and he blindly grabbed a nearby spatula to flip one of the eggs. His other hand grabbed a salt shaker between two fingers, and a pepper shaker between two more; a bottle of chives gripped by a thumb. “I have a sight problem.” 

“So, you drag Stolas all the way to richie-mick-rich land for some sort of magical fuckfest?” 

For several moments, Vassago said nothing, and all that existed was the sizzling of eggs and their seasoned scent. His expression was hard to read, but Blitz hoped that it meant the bird was just stewing in his own emotions; really make him think about the shit he had done up to this point. To his surprise, the parrot suddenly smiled. 

“It was in Stolas’ grimoire, actually.” 

“…what.” 

“The ritual; the one that we are here to prepare for. We are to join harmoniously in an act of intimate physicality and magical convergence; after which, hopefully, my sight shall be restored.” 

Vertigo eased the imp’s head back, and he fell back against the sink. Feet out, shoulders braced to the counter’s edge, he ran a hand across his face to remove the momentary fog that brightened his eyes. Everything felt untouchable and ungraspable. Blitz couldn’t gain any mental footing, and his senses soon ran on auto pilot; each stark and overwhelming as his world came to a jagged stop.  

Vassago simply flipped the other egg. “Pardon me; I didn’t assume that such information would bother a simple ‘fuck buddy’ of Stolas’. If that is, of course, all that he was to you.”  

Panic slipped beneath the guise of doubt, then sadness welled at the top of his mind to try and gain a foothold. However, the strongest and oldest of Blitz’s emotional self emerged to mash it all down: bitterness. He straightened himself, only to stay leaned against the kitchen counter; his voice absent of all mockery or rudeness. In fact, it was quiet, honest, and finite. “I don’t know what I was to him…or even the other way around.” 

“Have you ever held his hand?” 

The question brought Blitz’s head back to attention, eyes focused completely on it. “Held his hand? Yeah, once…at Ozzie’s, but that night didn’t—wait,” He blinked, then snarled, “Why the fuck am I talking to you; you don’t even like me, and I sure as shit don’t like you!” 

“Because understanding your enemies is an important part of overcoming them.” With a click, the stove dial was turned to off, and Vassago finally turned towards Blitz to let the eggs simmer. “If you meant anything to Stolas, and he meant something to you, I need to know. To understand that, is to understand him, and understanding is what we seek in this house.” 

“What are you, some fucking love guru?! Stolas and I don’t do words, we do sex; nasty, primal, dirty, bed-breaking sex. I fuck him, I get the Grimoire, I get to stay in business and keep my lights on.” 

“So, his emotional state means absolutely nothing to you, in any way?” 

“What the fuck do you mean, his emotional state? He loves seeing me, because he’s got a fucked-up fantasy about getting slamfucked full of eggs by some lower class, big dicked killing machine. I bring it all; I bring the dick, the energy, the skills! That bitch is thirsty for me; he never shuts up about it. Texts out the ass, hour long phone calls, liking and commenting every post I put up on Sinstagram; he’s horny and obsessed!” 

“So, he enjoys spending time with you.” 

Blitz’s anger was cut in half, his face refilled by a mixture of confusion and oncoming realization.  

"He tries to engage with you on a daily basis, even outside of your monthly meetup.” 

“Yeah, because he’s overcooked and underfucked. He doesn’t want to hang out, he wants me to fuck him more than I already do.” 

“And you are completely, one-hundred percent, certain that is the only reason?” 

Blitz scoffed and stared Vassago directly in the eye. “What would a fucking Prince want with a nobody like me?” A deep frown covered the imp’s jaw. “I’m just…a thing to him, a hot piece of ass to play around with until he moves onto bigger and better things.” As he spoke the words, a hand rose upwards to loosely gesture in Vassago’s direction, then fell to slap against his bare thigh. “We had one blow up, one bad night, and he runs off here to fuck with two pretty ass birds in a five-star vacation home. Really shows how much I meant to him, even after saying all that stuff about being in love with me.” 

As he recounted it all and aired the dirty laundry, water began to strain against the corner of Blitz’s eye. Through sheer fucking will, he kept it at bay, but could still feel the tiny burn of a tear. There was no way he was going to cry in front of this pompous, rich fucker. Yet, his voice couldn’t hold, and it tightened against his will. 

“It—” he stopped, at the sound, then yanked his head away from view. A sniffle slipped out, and the imp groped at his face for a quick rub. “…just fuck off, okay?”  

A plate of eggs, soft and vibrant, appeared right under his nose. Vassago said nothing, and waited for Blitz to take the plate. Slowly, he did. 

No other words were exchanged, as the Goetia left through the front door. Delicious yolk, cheese, and butter tickled his nose. When did he add the extra stuff? Fork in hand, he scooped up one of the eggs and took a bite. 

They were delicious. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Sunlight bathed Vassago in a blinding display; one that poured atop him and brought naught but peace and elation. Wrapped in his red bed robe, it made absorbing those rays all the easier, even if the tradeoff was the need to squint before their power. With the gloomy vibe left in the room behind him, he mulled over the conversation that had just taken place and began to walk around the side of the house.  

Clearly, there were scars left over from that relationship. He had recognized them in Stolas, and they were just as unmistakable in Blitz; those two had been a genuine item. If only he had his divination, then perhaps Vassago could have peered into the future to see what would become of them. Heartbreak was abound in his fellows, and his inner, kind self desired to help them heal. To that end, he needed to find Stolas. 

As the backyard fence finally came within scaling distance, Vassago peered over the pointed tops to gaze into the backyard. He had no idea where his fellow Goetia could be, as he hadn’t seen him since retiring upstairs with Andrealphus the evening before. More of a mystery was the location of his butler, Alejandro, who similarly hadn’t been seen. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he found them almost immediately.  

Two lawn chairs flanked a newly constructed fire pit; it’s embers long faded and its fuel long charred black and gray. Alejandro appeared to be asleep, head braced against his shoulder, knees relaxed to open his legs, right in one chair. Next to him, in the other, slumped Stolas; discarded and empty bags of plastic around his feet. Just like his companion, the owl was heavily unconscious; at least, seemingly. An amused smile crossed Vassago’s beak; they must have whittled the night away, deep in conversation. 

With everyone accounted for, a gentle incantation graced him with the power of levitation, and he used it to easily cross over the fence. When they had first arrived at the vacation home, the backyard hadn’t been much to look at; but with Andrealphus’ work on the shack, it looked more like a sophisticated second yard. Of course, the pool had already existed to spruce things up, but the refurbished shed just made it all click.  

Trimmed and healthy grass brushed against the parrot’s legs, as he walked towards the two slumbering demons. Since the pool was so long and wide, it took considerable time to walk around. He could have just floated across, but he wanted the extra travel time to gather his thoughts. What would he ask, or even say, to Stolas? Would he just be opening a massive can of ugly worms? There had been hints, advances, but now their intent was left far more open than previously believed. Was he simply a rebound? Did it even matter? Did it even hurt like it should? 

Too many questions; all silenced as he got close enough to nudge the owl’s foot.  

“Stolas.” There was no response, not even a gentle snore to indicate a true state of sleep. “Stolas.” He gave that slim shoulder a gentle shake, but even still, the prince did not stir. Gently, despite the desire to wake him up, Vassago slid his hands against those soft, feathery cheeks to tilt Stolas’ head. Light puffs of air from his nostrils indicated he was breathing, at the very least. At the touch, a tiny groan was emitted. 

“No…” 

“Stolas, wake up; tis morning.” 

With a breathy jolt, riddled with lethargy, four red eyes split open; dazed and confused. Ruffled feathers, heavy bags beneath his largest two eyes, and a general cloud of hops and brimstone floated about Stolas’ person. It took the owl a solid three seconds to register what reality he was in, and as clarity formed on his face, he groaned again. 

“Vassa—BLEGH!”  

A torrent of vomit rocketed from his beak; it’s acidic stink enough to vaporize air particles and grass alike. Vassago barely had time to leap aside, as the majority of it blasted the already dead fire pit. Amongst the general sludge, bits of half-digested marshmallow could be seen, which caused the parrot to cover his own beak.  

Fortunately, whether by sheer luck or magic, none of it even touched Stolas. As the spew ended, the owl slumped to the side, neck weak and head dangling. 

Before the smell could get to him, a fireball sprung to life in Vassago’s hand, and he whipped it into the fire pit to vaporize every last molecule of vomit. “How many s’mores did you have last night?!” he exclaimed, eyes drawn to the empty bags of marshmallows and chocolate strewn about the grass. On a rough count, there were about three bags of each. “Maldición…are you alright?” 

At the sound of his name, the prince managed to groggily raise his head. Both hands, poised by a stoic inhale, ran back through his head feathers to smooth things out; always one for appearances. “Oh, don’t worry about me, Vassago…” Thick avian grippers swung out and dug into the ground, just to push the prince to his feet. “How was your training with my ex last night? Was it invigorating; enlightening, even?” 

No mercy was granted in his tone, eyes narrowed and back locked; not even taking the time to look at his compatriot directly, as if he didn’t care one wink.  

“Is that why you’re out here?” 

“Is that why you’re out here?” Stolas mocked; voice altered to a nasally pitch. “No, it’s not like I wanted to escape the noise, the smells, or the air quality; nothing of the sort.”  

Pain was clear, as was the avoidance tactics used to mitigate emotional pain. Humor was a common road to hardening one’s skin; no matter the manner of loss experienced.  

“I simply wished to make sure you were alright. You did not come up to bed, last night, and—” 

“Pardon me for not wishing to be some secondhand sponge.” 

“Certainly, Andrealphus would have preferred that you be in bed with him, in place of that imp.” 

Stolas frowned and covered his eyes with one hand, only to knead at his temples. “I honestly doubt that. If he truly wished for my comfort, he wouldn’t need to circumnavigate my affection by bedding my ex-lover. He could simply ask me what I enjoy.” 

“He simply wishes to come out the gate swinging, as they say; practice makes perfect, after all.”  

“Given our complicated history, it’s more than likely he’s taking out seventeen years of frustration out on me, Vassago; don’t be daft. Andrealphus might have a heart, but weave no illusions that he is a vindictive bastard. He is, after all, my ex-wife’s brother.” 

“…what are your honest feelings on Blitz?” 

The question heralded pause, and with it came the ungodly pressure of Stolas’ glare against him. “Why are you asking? It doesn’t matter, because we are not together. He made that abundantly clear.” 

“Because I just had a little chat with him inside, over breakfast, and I’ve come to the conclusion that neither of you are seeing the whole painting; as it were.” 

“Suddenly, you’re an expert on my love life; is that it, Vassago?” 

“I am only seeking to understand your relationship. Clearly, you care a great deal for him; otherwise, you wouldn’t be in such a state. There are no delusions that you care for me nearly as much, nor for Andrealphus, and so I ask…are you here to heal, or to cope?” 

Stolas’ arms hugged one another, clamped tight over his chest. Even still, he didn’t look directly at Vassago. It was an opportune moment to fill the silence with further insinuations, and Vassago leapt to do just that. 

“What better time to sequester yourself with your fellow Goetia, left to toil privately in sacred, guarded halls where no imps would dare to normally tread? Your mind, given a more than welcome distraction, would be eager to occupy itself from the pain of a messy breakup. You wished to run from whatever transpired between you and him, by assisting me with my own troubles, and now he has found you and inserted himself into your life once again; now to the point that you cannot run from him.” 

An ivory beak visibly tightened, arms gripped each other tighter, but Stolas remained silent.  

“Stolas, talk to me.” 

That beak creaked, and muscles flexed beneath fine, flowing fabrics. None were seen, but their presence was felt through the air.  

“Stolas—” 

“I heard you.”  

“Then say something.” 

“What do you want me to say? What is it that you exactly want to hear, Vassago? Do you want to hear that I thought he would make me happy; that ever since we first met as children, there has existed a seed of joy in my heart that only ever bloomed in his presence? How we were separated for years, with zero contact, until he dropped back into my life; just like the romance novels I supped upon for a scant semblance of relief?”  

Stolas finally looked his way. 

“How I thought that, with him, I could finally escape the unfortunate hand that life had dealt me? I had finally, finally, found the one that could enable me to fix my life, and when I dared try to make the relationship to the next level, he did the exact opposite of what I needed?” 

Through the conjured wall of his psyche, each word picked away, brick by brick. 

“That I sacrificed everything for happiness, and had it thrown back in my face, because perhaps I’m not meant to be happy? That, I’m not allowed by the universe to be happy? I try to move on, I try to let it go, and he follows me here to reap the new garden I had only just sowed? As if by divine hands, he knew where I was, and Andrealphus suddenly thought up the idea!” 

He stopped, eyes at the apex of widening, and his voice lowered. 

“…Andrealphus.” 

Vassago didn’t like the look, or the aura, that radiated from Stolas in that moment. It dumped a ball of unease into his gut. 

“This is all his doing.” 

“Stolas…” 

“He knew what you and I were up to, in the beginning, and interjected himself. He was the one who told us to visit Asmodeus, knowing full-well what would be suggested. He confessed not even a day into this outing…and then Blitz appeared.” Stolas’ eyes flickered from side to side, a spider web of red thread formed with each movement within his mindscape. “To try and hide his schemes at revenge, he feigned the guise of an unfortunate and pining lover, so that he may fuck my ex in front of me; the center of everything!” 

In a rush of movement, shoulders mashed, and Vassago was pushed aside as the owl made an aggressive beeline for the vacation home. 

“Stolas, wait!” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Rage; misty, crimson fury fumed out from the mire of his mind as he threw open the back door. Blitz jumped, plate and fork in hand, but he paid him little mind. He didn’t even respond, as the imp’s words were drowned out by mental anguish. Stolas whipped his head towards the staircase, and his feet instantly began to carry him over to it. Unbridled in the throes of furious momentum, he practically flew up the steps and into the bedroom. 

At the dresser stood Andrealphus, back to the stairs, as he preened himself in the gaze of his own reflection. It was in the same reflection that he noticed Stolas and turned, but not until the owl was already a mere two steps behind him.  

“Good mor—” 

A fierce, open palmed swing struck the marquis in the face, and the resounding slap cracked the air. “You…duplicitous bitch!”  

Andrealphus blinked, eyes mired in the cold mists of indifference, and a set of fingers rose to touch the harsh sting upon his cheek.  

“I finally figured it out; your schemes, your deception. This entire thing was simply a ruse to get revenge on me, wasn’t it?!” Stolas leaned into Andrealphus, face twisted into a grimace of rage. “Did Stella send you to collect on what she believes she’s owed? What was the plan; seduce me into forfeiting my guard, then steal Octavia’s inheritance out from under me?” 

“Stolas!” Vassago rushed forward and grabbed his forearm, just as it reared back to unleash a second slap upon the marquis. He struggled against the owl’s strength; taut muscles powered by eldritch and magical might blossomed with an uncanny level of power, despite their gaunt appearance.  

“Let go of me!” 

“Not if you’re going to strike him again!” 

“Why not?! It’s what he deserves!” 

Andrealphus cleared his throat, and both avians turned their heads. “Is that what my sister always told you, Stolas, when she’d beat you?” A gentle scoff, no stronger than the lightest puff of air, struck the air like cracking ice. “I suppose I am an appropriate surrogate for her punishment. Go on: another.” He tapped his cheek, but his face remained impartial, frozen, and robotic. 

“So, you don’t deny it? You admit to deceiving us both for your own ends?!” 

“No.” Andre shook his head. “I have not deceived you. All that I have said has been true; but I’ve learned that you are a deeply angry and hurt individual. If this is the only proper outlet for you to air your grievances at your existence, then by all means, strike me until you are satisfied.” 

A hush settled over the three royals. Neither moved, but Stolas did slowly lower his arm, and Vassago eventually released it.  

“You’re mad.” Stolas muttered, voice thick with disbelief and spite. 

“Madness is preferable to loneliness. If pain is what is required for our relationship to remain intact, then I shall bear it. After all; it is all that I have ever done.” 

Vassago’s eyes softened, and the red curtain of anger that obfuscated Stolas’ vision cleared away. In its’ place, there was only a glorious and stoic display of utter bravery; one that shined with all the dim light of their shared bedroom. That same vision, cleared by such a selfless act, began to blur as he stared down at his trembling hand. Was he no better than Stella?  

The very thought curdled the acid in his stomach.  

“I…can’t trust you.”  

Like a leaf in the breeze, his hand continued to quiver, a not even a steady grip of his opposing hand could quell it.  

“I understand.” 

It was a small, defeated, but firm response that sank into Stolas’ mind; as concrete slabs to the bottom of a dark lake. He could not form a response. 

Andre continued on; voice unchanged. “…that’s what we are seeking here: understanding.” He walked forward, his touch like that of a calming breath of cool air to Stolas’ shoulder, as he paused mid-stride. “I understand if you cannot love me in the way that I love you. You are here to save Vassago, not me. I do not, cannot, fault you for that.” 

As he passed, and that cooling touch vanished entirely, his gaze linked with Vassago’s; who regarded him with an abject expression of pity. All the marquis gave in response, was a small smile, before he walked towards the stairs and silently exited the bedroom.  

In his absence, Stolas felt no better.  

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Alone, Andrealphus stood at the edge of the Goetian property. Clad in nothing but a silken bed robe that reached no further than beyond his thighs, he soaked in the artificial sun of Gluttony; astral cigarette in hand. Even in the rays of a most desirable light, he felt no warmth. It was an oddly hopeful sensation, however lacking in any practical purpose it may have ultimately been.  

Morning had yet to pass into an elevated afternoon; one where the sun would shine the brightest and hottest for three entire hours, only to eventually die on the horizon and sink into an earthen grave. To rise and fall, only to rise again; an everlasting requirement for life to exist. His mind drifted to humans, and how integral the sun was to not only them, but all other life on Earth. Plants, animals; they would all perish when the sun died and went cold. The heart of their universe, of their solar system, would kill them all…the moment it lost all warmth.  

Ironic; perhaps he and the sun were quite alike. 

A perked whistle tugged on the attention chord of his mind, yet he didn’t turn. The sound lacked a particular telltale elegance; thus, surely it could have only been one particular individual. Seconds later, his assumption was validated, as Blitz hopped up onto the banister. Natural heels reinforced his upright perch, as the imp gazed out into the horizon, flattened hand up to shield his eyes.  

“Well, that was fucked.” 

Andrealphus regarded the showboating demon with naught by a side eye and a puff of his cigarette. Cosmic hues of deep blue and twinkling stardust hissed from his beak in gentle torrents; torrents that turned Blitz’s head and dropped his ass to the banister. That spiked, spade-tipped tail swished and swung below, but made sure to give the marquis ample personal space. Big, yellow eyes seemed to hover about his struck cheek. 

“Care if I ask what you did?” 

Slowly, darkness cradled everything in sight, as Andrealphus closed his eyes and allowed more stardust into his lungs. For several seconds; peaceful, indifferent, beautiful, all was serene. What flicker of emotion managed to secure life within his frigid frame remained, but was quieted into dull edges of existence. When he exhaled, he answered. 

“Too much.” 

As if two words were enough, his silence resumed.  

“So, this is what you do after getting slapped; go outside for a smoke?” Legs began to idly kick in sequence, as back spikes bristled and stretched with the bend and arch of his back. “Bet a nice, angry fuck would be good for you; the shack’s looking nice.” 

Weariness enveloped the soul of Andre’s gaze, and with it, his muscles loosened with fatigue to languidly hold his cigarette. Despite the overwhelming lack of exuberant energy, there was enough coil in his body language to warn of an impending strike, if aggravated enough.  

“I’m not fucking you in a shack, imp.” 

“What, did you forget my name already?” 

“No, I simply do not care to utter it.” 

“Sex is good for you; helps clear the head, makes you relax, and it’s better for your lungs. Why suck on that, when you can suck on something a lot tastier…and bigger?” A dirty chuckle and an eyebrow bounce accentuated the offer. At the peacock’s prolonged stare, that suggestive expression slowly dropped. “Okay, geesh, forget I offered; like talking to a fucking morgue.” 

Together, Goetia and imp idled away several minutes in view of the sun. Vibrant, healthy palm trees stretched forever into the distance. Rolling, rocky hills and pure streams of golden honey filled the eternal vista of Gluttony. Such gorgeous sights were a meager balm to Andrealphus’ emotional turmoil, even if his mind was fast at work to figure a way to escape it. Deeply enveloped in his own thoughts, the natural aura of potent cold that forever followed him was free to wreak havoc. 

Yet, Blitz never shivered or sneezed; but he did sniffle. 

“So, uhh…what’s it like being Stolas’ brother-in-law? Do you guys, like, meet up for the holidays and shit?” Blitz shuffled on his thin, golden bar of a seat. “Must be nice, having some family that still, you know, give a shit about you.” 

Andrealphus tapped ash from the end of his cigarette and watched it evaporate harmlessly into oblivion. “We’re not exactly close.” 

“Could’ve fooled me; you seem to care a whole fucking lot for someone you’re not close with.”  

“It’s a complicated matter.” 

“You want to fuck him. That’s not hard to figure out.” 

“Why are you talking to me?” It was an abrupt question, meant to fully halt the conversation at its heart and bring it to an end. At it, Blitz shifted in his seat again, and fully leaned forward to brace his elbows atop his thighs, forearms upon his knees, and large hands clasped together. Even Andrealphus’ attention and vertigo couldn’t resist the urge to indicate just how close the imp was to tumbling off.  

He could see the gears churn behind vibrant yellow eyes, eyebrows rise and furrow, a nervous tongue lap along the inside of sharpened teeth, and lips form numerous silent words to find the correct ones.  

“I guess…I just wanted to know if Stolas is going to hate me forever.” 

He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t even aware of the sensation until it struck.  

Pure, concentrated amusement shot up his throat and into his beak to form a scoff. Andrealphus leaned over the railing, as the singular sound quickly evolved into a laugh. It lacked any joy or warmth, and it came entirely from an unknown pit within his soul; yet, it came all the same. Just as quick as a scoff, his deep voice trailed back into stillness, then repeated the question.  

“Is Stolas going to hate you forever?” A particular hue of awe marked the peacock’s voice, and lingered on the precipice of disbelief. “I suppose that all depends on what you did.” 

Blitz frowned, but not at Andre. “He was apparently sending me signals the whole time we were fucking around, and I was too damn stupid to see them.” With the admission came a sigh, and a rub of the brow to knead scarred skin. “He dropped a bombshell on me, wanted something else; something more, and I couldn’t even…” Blitz paused, words trapped halfway out and halfway in. “…he didn’t give me time to even think about it. Now, he’s up here fucking around with you two.” 

“A wounded animal often retreats into seclusion to lick their wounds.”  

“So…what, he’s up here to forget about me?” 

“Amongst his people, to assist a dear friend, and perhaps even find someone who will return his romantic affections: yes.” 

Andre watched passively as the imp’s face sank, and at it, a fresh cigarette appeared in a swirl of blue starlight between his fingers. He extended his hand, and Blitz slowly accepted the gift. From within his robes, he withdrew an eccentric silver lighter to quickly provide a light, then snapped it shut as the imp began to puff smoke.  

“In response, you followed him up here. That says a great deal, even if it ultimately means nothing to you.” 

“I don’t know what it fucking means!” Blitz hissed, trails of blue left in a chaotic zig-zag pattern as he waved the cigarette about. “He had a book, I needed it to survive, and everything just…” Pursed lips, frantic hands, and tightened eyes all functioned in unison. “We were just fucking, you know, once a month. Then he started commenting on my socials, wanted me to stay longer and longer; busted out movies to watch and invited me out to shit, but I don’t do relationships: they’re boring! I’m not…I’m not made for them. No one wants me for that shit!” 

Angrily, Blitz sucked down about six lungfuls of astral smoke in a single drag, then vented it all with a loud hiss.  

“It’s just easier to show them a good time, then bail before they can hate me.” 

In that morning light, for the first time, a measure of kinship manifested in Andre’s mind. They couldn’t have been farther apart in power, status, or responsibility, but the self-loathing bound them together. How deep did that hatred go? Just what had this imp gone through to develop such a view of himself? It was comforting, in an odd way, to know that Andrealphus wasn’t alone.  

“The angry sex isn’t for me, is it? That’s your coping mechanism.”  

“…it’s all anyone sees me as, so might as fucking well.”  

“Sees you as what?” 

“Some…some kind of fucking sex object. Good for fun, good for a fuck, but that’s it. Anything further than that…doesn’t survive.” 

Andrealphus grew quiet, at the parallels. It wasn’t far off from what Stolas’ marriage was like, according to the owl himself. Naught but to procure an heir; all emotional investment between spouses dead at the altar. Perhaps he had erred with greater severity than he knew…and the thought frightened the deepest reaches of his soul. With the unique view of both perspectives, Blitz and Stolas’ relationship made more sense; both in why it was so perfect, and also why it hadn’t worked.  

Two broken puzzle pieces could never fit together, unless they were mended. Even improper tilting wouldn’t allow for a proper joining, but when positioned properly and made whole, they were literally made for one another.  

From Andre’s left eye, the one free of anyone’s gaze, a tear flowed.  

“…Stolas won’t hate you forever.” 

Blitz turned his head towards Andre. “How do you know?” 

“Because you’re the reason that he struck me.” 

Attentive eyes fell into their own carousel of thought, and once more, both demons fell silent in each other’s presence.  

In the distance, near the bottom of the hill, a mail truck putted down the road. Its presence stirred Andrealphus from his musings. “Come, that might be the supplies for both the shed and our lessons. We will both wish to ensure nothing was damaged.” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Sign here, please.” 

Alejandro scratched the back of his neck with the eraser end of a borrowed stylus. Curly hair ruffled, shirt tugged up into ruffles above his belt, the imp stared at five entire pages of manifesto. Two towers of boxes sat upon the front porch, all of which possessed contents he could only assume; as the actual descriptions of said items were nonsensical. They likely made sense to the delivery driver or the warehouse worker that composed them, but not to an imp whose brain hadn’t even been conscious for an hour.  

The delivery driver seemed patient, at least. Thin moustache, golden tooth, slicked back white hair and thick, angular horns complimented the black shades that covered his eyes. A dark red polo, two buttons left open, showed off a slightly hairy chest of white fur, above a sturdy-looking belt and short shorts. Tall socks, running shoes; everything standard about most delivery drivers in Hell. Alejandro did note, however, that it was odd the packages weren’t just simply dumped on the lawn; as he signed a digital square. 

“Also, sign there.” The imp pointed to the screen with a trimmed claw, and scrolled down to tap at the next box. In waiting, a spiked and striped tail idly dusted the steps below and behind him. “There…there…and there.” After three more signatures, the driver smiled and tipped his head for a nod, as he took back his electronic device. “Congratulations, you are now the official owner of three towers of shit.” A click of the tongue, a turn of the heel, and the stranger was on his way back to the delivery truck. As he departed, a spark of familiarity tickled Alejandro’s mind, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. 

“I assume that everything is in one piece?”  

Alejandro turned, only to lay his gaze upon Andrealphus and, to his surprise, Blitz. “It would appear so, at least on first glance.” The edge of his lip twitched and curled down, as the smoking, homewrecking imp walked past to grope for the topmost box. How unfortunate for him, that it happened to be out of reach, even as he stretched onto his tip toes. 

“Andy, the shit’s too tall.” Blitz grumbled, with a near childish grunt and an exhale of cerulean smoke.  

Andrealphus waved a hand, and a magical aura covered one of the boxes. It lifted off the stack and hovered down into Blitz’s groping, eager hands; upon which his back bent forward under the weight. 

“Oof! Damn, last time I checked, fake dicks weren’t this heavy!” Almost immediately, he placed it upon the ground and ripped the packing tape asunder, in a single yank. Flaps flew open, greedy elbows bullied them aside, and an impressed whistle slipped from pursed lips. “Oh yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.” Blitz began to dig through the packing peanuts. “Got the bridle, got the ball gags, got the—” 

“I’m right here.” Alejandro interrupted. 

“As a matter of fact, you are.” Realization filled that deep, smooth voice, just as glowing eyes landed upon the butler. “I had not even considered it, but the opportunity might prove illuminating. Tell me, Alejandro, what can you divulge of Vassago’s preferences?” 

A pale sheen swept over red skin, “Nothing at all, marquis.”  

“Nothing at all? Not even so much as a single word for me to work with? I daresay, you appear hesitant towards the salvation of your master.” 

“That is not at all my intent.” 

Blitz looked up from the box, as Alejandro sporadically smoothed and straightened out his shirt.  

“Such matters are sensitive, private, and at my lord’s discretion to reveal. You might be used to loose lips wandering about your own staff, but I would never do such a thing.” 

“Even if it would help him?” 

“How do you know what would help him; you hardly know him.” What passed for a shade of contempt passed along Alejandro’s face, just as a dangerous ball of resentment and frustration frayed his composure. “All that you have done is worsen his condition. He was fine before you and Prince Stolas dragged him into this farce.” 

“He asked us for assistance, or did you forget that?” 

“I was taking care of him just fine. We had no need of either of you.” 

“Oh, were you?” 

“Yes, because when he really needed it, you all came running to me.” 

Alejandro glared at Andrealphus, his short stature not enough to lessen his presence before the towering marquis. An equally fierce fire to match the chilling stare that drilled back against his concentrated gaze. Hooves dug into the front steps, as Andrealphus clicked his beak. 

“If you were such a prolific servant, then you would know there is more going on than simple outbursts of uncontrolled magic.” 

“Vassago has told me all that I need to know.” 

“Has he?” The punctuation chilled the very air, and even Blitz couldn’t help but stiffen at the power behind two simple words. It hung in the air; an ultimate accusation to force trust into question. “Ever since we have set upon this journey, he has withheld information from us: all of us. Like a content, blissful and happy sheep, you cast a blind eye to the inner machinations of your master’s royal nature. He has split the puzzle, emptied the box of pieces and separated them into portions that he dishes out at his own discretion.” 

“You lie. You lie, just as Prince Stolas lied to me in his drunken ramblings, and I will not stand here and allow you to openly besmirch my master’s good name! He is not like the other Goetia, and he is especially not like you; the black-hearted bastard who is the shame of his royal house!” 

Blitz bit his tongue, eyes wide and shoulders hunched; practically sank into the box to hide away from the conflict. His head, against better judgement, tilted to look at Andrealphus.  

“Unable to bear a proper heir, wasting your royal spoils on haughty impressions to entice others into giving you the time of day, because not even your own parentage could stand to tolerate your presence. A conniving, backstabbing, vicious weasel, who twists every word and sentiment into mockery and spite, all because you’re not strong enough to properly control your own magic! You lash out at the world, sneer at their normalcy, but crave it yourself because you hate what you are, yet do not possess the strength of will to end your own misery. You are a sad, pathetic, hindrance of a Goetia; hiding behind your weakness and masking it as an incurable affliction so that you may squeeze pity out of those you look down upon! You, Marquis Andrealphus, couldn’t even muster the self-esteem to simply be intimate with Prince Stolas, because as logical as you are, it is plain to see that you have nothing to give!” 

Alejandro panted, the angriest he had ever been in his life. All of his frustration, compiled rapidly over a few short days, had combusted into an inferno of judgement. In wake of his words, the marquis silently stared at him; unmoving, unblinking, with an utterly blank expression writ upon his face.  

“So don’t you dare stand before me and accuse my master, your superior, of weaving lies; when all you’ve done this entire time is lie to yourself.” 

Hooves dug in, Alejandro stood his ground, resolute and adamant against the potential danger that stood before him. He had insulted a marquis; one well within his means and right to take his life for such a slight. If this had been done in front of other Goetia, especially those of the courts, they would have vaporized him long before his outburst finished. As such, it was to his immense surprise as Andrealphus turned…and walked back inside. 

A sharp exhale from Blitz broke the long-held silence. “Christ on a stick; he’s already been through enough today. Get your head out of your ass.” With his condemnation expressed, Blitz closed up the box and carried it inside.  

Not even the birds applauded Alejandro’s victory, as his shouting had driven them all away. All alone, he stared at the front door, knowing full well that his master lay beyond it; unaware of his faithful servant’s show of devotion.  

Pride was all that kept him company, and he stood unrewarded for his efforts, with naught but the seeds of doubt left to sprout amongst his loyalty. There was no way that Prince Vassago was misleading him… 

…right? 

Chapter 11: Try and Fail

Summary:

Andrealphus and Blitz smoke some hellvine to take off the edge. Stolas and Vassago work to prepare the foundation for Sextile Conjunction. Inner guilt unleashes a truth that threatens to undo all they have striven towards.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Here you go, take a deep puff of that…” Blitz muttered, as he held a thickly rolled tube of special paper in Andrealphus’ beak. Gentle flames flickered in his eyes, as the imp also provided the lighter to kickstart the entire relaxation process. Pungent smoke billowed from that beautiful beak, Blitz’s rapt attention curious as to his first reaction.  

To his credit, the peacock didn’t cough. Hell, he didn’t even wince or recoil in any way. Given after the verbal lashing he had just received, the imp didn’t blame him; he’d feel pretty fucking dead too. Maybe that’s why he had followed him all the way upstairs and back into the bedroom.  

“I don’t feel anything.” 

“Just keep on puffing, and it’ll hit you eventually.” 

Andrealphus leaned back onto the pillows, hiked a leg over a knee, and let his face grippers bounce to an unknown beat. They were about the same as Stolas’; maybe a little thicker, the longer that Blitz looked at them. It was strange just how different the two birds were, but they still had the same beauty. Was it a royalty thing, or was it just magic related? 

“Just forget about that asshole, alright? He’s probably just trying to protect his paycheck.” 

“Like you are doing right this second?” 

Blitz shrugged; he got him there. “Well, at least I’m doing it in front of mine to show my work and get some credit for it. All he did was…piss you off, and everyone here is supposed to be all buddy-buddy, right? So, he’s fucking up the operation.” 

“Alejandro is important to this endeavor…” The end of the paper roll glowed bright with green-hued fire, and a billow of thick smoke drifted into the air shortly after. “…whether I like it or not.” Another glow of light accompanied another inhale, and for what it was worth, the marquis’ face appeared to relax, somewhat. “He wasn’t completely wrong though. Did you know that I waited seventeen years to bed Stolas?” 

The number caused the imp to reel, “Why?” 

“He had his child. He was married to my sister. I would have made a terrible father; the list goes on.” The glow in his eyes dimmed, and the expression in his beak slipped into the traces of a mind on the fast track to indifference. It seemed that the hellvine was kicking in, at least a little. “A child I could not hold. A child which would always feel cold in my presence. Yet…”  His voice trailed off, and Andrealphus re-established eye contact with Blitz; a deep, frozen lake of abject misery in his gaze. “…maybe I was simply just a coward; hiding my insecurities and fear behind a wall of respect and duty.” 

“Yeah, the hellvine is definitely working.” 

“Maybe I should just surrender myself to an early grave.” 

“Okay, no more weed for you, your majesty.” Blitz leaned over and quickly yoinked the paper roll free from that beak. “Listen, I don’t have the best track record with Stolas either, alright? I mean, I had my shot, and I fucking blew it on…being me. Like, we didn’t have a relationship or anything, but…I’ve got regrets too.” 

Blitz wiggled closer to the peacock and laid down next to him on the bed, arms folded behind his head to help keep his horns from impaling the pillows. He and Andrealphus didn’t touch, and it was really fucking cold, but he was as close as he could get without freezing to death.  

“When I was a kid, I was in the circus. I had this brother, Fizzarolli; blood brother more than real brother; he was adopted: anyway! Fizz was better than me at everything; acrobat routines, making balloon animals, telling jokes. Side by side, he was the golden boy, and I was a fucking failure. Money was always tight, our father was a piece of shit, and our mother was always sick. Our lives weren’t great, but we stuck together.”  

Blitz glanced over to Andrealphus, to see if the peacock was listening, and continued when he caught that dimly glowing gaze.  

“So, we grow up. It’s Fizz’s birthday. Everyone’s got gifts and party favors, and there was this big fucking banner to celebrate the star of the entire circus; which was him. Me; I’m standing behind a curtain, holding a...a note that I wrote…for Fizz. We’d been together so long, that somewhere in all of it, I…felt something…for him; and all of it was in that letter. It even had a flower to go with it.” 

His mind locked on that exact moment; as clear as it had been back then. Blitz took a slow, shuddery breath, and rubbed a hand over his mouth to compose himself. 

“I was just about to give it to him; opened the curtain and looked out, and all I saw was everyone being happy for him. I’m not sure if it was just my nerves, or my jealousy, or that I thought I’d just ruin the moment…but I left, without giving him the letter.” 

A pause, a breath, a lump in the imp’s throat swelled to weight down his voice. 

“…and then the entire circus burned down…with all of us in it.” 

He felt the covers shift and eyes land upon him, but he didn’t dare to turn his head. If he did, his composure would shatter. 

“Everyone hated me after that; said I caused the fire. My sister, my dad, my best friend…my mom; they all left me in one way or another.” Blitz moved his hand from his mouth to his eyes, just to knead back oncoming water. “So, I ran away, got a crew together, started my own business, but it all still hurts…” 

“…what was the point of telling me such a morose story?” 

“That if you don’t push past your own bullshit and be honest with people you love, then it’ll just make things worse. If you want to be with Stolas, like really want to be with Stolas, put your fucking best foot forward. You’re afraid you’re gonna fuck up and not perform enough in bed: tell him. You’re sorry for all the shit he’s been through because you shut up instead of nut up: tell him.” 

“…what does nut up mean?” 

“It means to find your courage; you know, your balls!” 

Andrealphus arched a brow. 

“Oh…right.” Realization dawned on Blitz, and he cleared his throat. “Bird pussy: totally forgot.” 

“Why would you encourage me like this? Aren’t you interested in getting back with Stolas yourself? Isn’t that why you came up here to begin with?” 

“Yeah, but…I kinda started to figure something out. Stolas is lonely, so why not fill his life with people who make him happy?” 

“I do not make Stolas happy.” 

“Well…have you tried?” 

Blitz watched as Andrealphus went silent and stared at the ceiling. Leftover stink from the hellvine floated above them, and luckily none of the ash had smeared on anything; so cleanup would be easy. Odd that someone so prissy and focused on appearances would tolerate such a stink, but again, depression changed a lot of viewpoints.  

Andrealphus was the first to move from the bed, and he dusted off his clothing as he stood. “Your kindness perplexes me. Is the reward for this venture really that valuable to you?” 

“It’s kinda life changing, so…” 

The peacock turned, and the look that he gave Blitz made the imp tense; not from fear or surprise or any other negative-related emotion, but sincerity. Whatever he was about to say, it felt like it was about to be real. 

“As one who has never lived without wealth or power, at the expense of love, I highly recommend that you choose love.” 

Having said his piece, he watched as the marquis walked down the spiral staircase and vanished from sight. An unease roiled in his chest, one that heralded an inhalation of hellvine; and so, Blitz put that paper blunt between his lips and took a deep huff of the stuff.  

All it made him think of was Stolas. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Vassago levitated three feet above the ground; legs folded and talon tips touched together. Hues of red shimmered in the outline of his body, as magic flowed through every inch of his being. His eyes were shut, mind focused far from the material world to grasp at the intangible threads of magic that coursed through reality. With naught but his mind, astral influences coiled and connected; the beginnings of something built from the scraps of nothing. 

Across from him, Stolas did the same. His aura was different; far from the combustive heat of Vassago’s potent flames. The owl’s essence shined a blinding violet, its emanated sound a river’s free flow. All of nature’s beauty, all to conceal the inner brutality of reality; a serene, snowy mountain could suddenly quake with the fury of an avalanche. A soothing breeze could become flesh-rending gales. Solid stone could slip into an abrupt rockslide.  

They each floated on opposite sides of a drawn ritual circle, deep within the basement. Occult flames flickered atop wax candles, which themselves hovered multiple inches off the ground. They were an anchor, tethering points for both sorcerers to attune their mental constructs onto; for when wading into dark waters, a lifeline was highly recommended. If Sextile Conjunction was to take place, an apparatus to help direct the chaotic and primordial energies was required.  

As such, they concentrated in mutual silence. 

Emotion, to a point, was reliable fuel for all manner of spellcasting. Controlled anger could grant heightened focus, inner serenity could allow for smoother output, and hardy determination could maintain an incantation for longer periods of time. However, unruly emotions that often ran wild would only hinder the viability of the spell caster. If emotion overcame them, their magic could sweep them further into utter destruction. 

It was with that knowledge in mind, that Vassago tapered his concentration.  

Embroiled in emotional distress, Stolas had required a distraction. What better one than work, Vassago thought; and thus, into the basement they went. It was a cool, dark, and peaceful place; save the earthy odor of old wood and accumulated dust. However, as their minds set to work in the ritual circle, he detected pangs of continued anger from Stolas. Uncertainty, regret, righteous reassurance, and a whirlpool of depressive mania. 

Upon recognition of such negative emotion, Vassago’s heart bled; his altruistic soul stretched to fray in helplessness. There must be something that could be done.  

“…do not dwell on it, Stolas. You simply had a rough night.” he spoke, eyes shut. 

“As opposed to your evening.” 

“…I am sorry, truly. “ 

“No, no; I entirely understand. You need to play both sides so that harmony is maintained. So long as I consent to being kicked in the heart, it’s completely fine.” 

“We didn’t wish to include you, out of respect.” 

“You could have shown him the door.” 

“Believe me, I tried.” 

“So, are we both at the whim of Andrealphus and his roundabout methodology? It hardly seems fair, given we both outrank him.” 

“I do not wish to cause an imbalance of power.” 

“It’s a little late for that, Vassago.” 

The parrot sighed, and his brow tightened to reinforce his mental hold over the threads of loose magic in the air. Replications of the ritual circle had to be formed; one stacked above the other, until a proper conduit tower was formed. As without, so within, and as such, a simple chalk drawing wasn’t enough on its own.  

“Have you considered that Andrealphus is genuine in his desire to please you?” 

Another pang of anger reflected in the air; reflected by invisible light that only the attuned could see. As such, they were seen by the two Goetia.  

“I refuse to consider that someone who supposedly harbored love for me sat by and allowed my harpy of an ex-wife to abuse me for seventeen long years. That is not to mention the assassination attempt, his culpability in the divorce proceedings, or his cruel and flippant mannerisms.”  

Stolas’ hands tilted alongside his wrists, and the placement of his talons changed. As if purely on muscle memory, he weaved his sigil into the air; it’s runes like stars in the darkness of the in-between. Symbols rotated in a curved line and flashed in sequence, as the largest symbol amidst it all slowly spun. It was a lock, of sorts, to solidify the positioning of his harnessed magics.  

“If it were not for you, I wouldn’t stomach his presence.” 

Vassago frowned; was the rift between them truly so vast?  

“He has apologized to you.” 

“Words are pointless.” 

“Oh, come now Stolas; Andrealphus is not that bad.” 

“I suppose you would know.” 

The owl’s tone stung, and as the incantation resolved with a lack of movement and an ever-floating symbol, he opened his eyes. Magic faded around him, and talons touched to ground with the gentlest of taps.  

“Is there nothing I can do?” Vassago asked, in the midst of conjuring his own sigil.  

“Stop making excuses for him.”  

Steps creaked at the Goetia’s ascent; a sound that left Vassago with nothing but weariness as Stolas climbed out of sight.  

Eased back into his trance, the prince allowed emotion to fall away; shed in the name of progress and concentration. From the depths of his chest, his power coiled up both arms and into the tips of each talon. They glowed in the same hue as his aura; brilliant beads of light that left comet trails with each movement. Just as he began to trace his sigil, footsteps echoed down the stairs. 

With his eyes shut, Vassago had no idea of who it could be. His only potential clue was how heavy the steps sounded, but given the array of sizes in the building…it was difficult to guess. Fortunately, the answer came, as if granted through divine favor. 

“Master Vassago.” 

Alejandro’s invigorating voice filled his ears and brought a smile to his beak. “Yes, Alejandro?” 

“I wish to ask you a question.” 

“Of course, mi amigo; I can weave and talk at the same time. Go ahead and ask.” 

Thick silence dangled in the air, then spread into a blanket of smothering presence. He dare not open his eye, for doing so would sunder his connection and would need to be regained. Several seconds passed, and as Vassago traced the third of many runes into his sigil, Alejandro spoke again. 

“Could you look at me, please?” 

Shock snapped his concentration, both eyes opened; then, his brow furrowed at the look upon his servant’s face. Gone was the cheer, the dignity, and in it’s place sat an expression of sheer uncertainty. He had never seen the imp so haggard; worn down to his very soul, as if something weighed upon it with long-reaching effects. Beneath his master’s gaze, he shifted on tiny hooves, fingers curled and uncurled with nervous energy, until at last he settled. 

“You trust me…right?” 

Vassago’s talons touched to ground, and he paced around the ritual circle to close distance. “I do.” 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, then, because you made me a promise, long ago, that you would never—” 

“Alejandro.” Down on a knee, the prince rested a hand upon the imp’s shoulder and made eye contact, genuine concern laced behind his golden visor. “Tell me, what troubles you so?” 

A tiny tongue wet tight lips, only for a single dollop of moisture at their forefront face. “Last night, Prince Stolas delved deep into his cups. I found him down here, and he claimed that you hide beneath a mask of half-truths, as all royals do.” Alejandro’s eyes remained locked, but they did quiver in their sockets. “I refused to believe it, but then Andrealphus uttered the same accusation earlier today.” Red hands grabbed Vassago’s free hand and gave it a desperate squeeze. “…I am beginning to doubt myself, my prince; their words have burrowed into my mind and I cannot shake them. Please, I must know if you are telling me everything!” 

To soothe and placate, Vassago moved his hand from a shoulder and onto a cheek. Despite the kindness in his touch, dread burned his chest to a ragged, ashen husk from within. He couldn’t run from it anymore; the reckoning for his obfuscations had arrived, in nothing short of a cataclysmic blow.  

Perhaps Alejandro had caught the change in his eyes, as Vassago resolved to divulge his sin, the imp’s face tightened. 

“You…you wouldn’t lie to me, right my Prince? You…p-promised me…you swore…” 

Heavy breath filled his lungs, only to expel with just as much weight. “You are my most treasured companion, Alejandro. Ever since that day in Lust, you have been the most faithful, loving, and resolute friend that anyone could ever ask for. I am truly honored, and count myself exceedingly fortunate, to have met you.”  

Expectant eyes widened, and that dual grip on his hand squeezed down hard. In fear, in anticipation, in denial of what was about to come. Vassago could feel it; the desperation in which those tiny hands strangled his singular, much larger one.  

Despite how much it hurt, he had to reveal the truth. 

“…I cannot divine the future. I have not been able to for weeks.” 

“…n-no…” 

“Alejandro—” 

“No!” 

Vassago winced in shame at the pain in the imp’s voice, and even moreso as his hand was practically thrown down. “Please understand, I—” 

It was too late. Alejandro had already shoved the embrace away from his face and taken multiple steps backwards. Every inch of him trembled, tears freely poured from his eyes, and his chest heaved for air. “You promised me! You promised, and you lied!” 

“Alejandro, please listen.” 

“Was it all a lie?! When you saved me from Lust, were your oaths false?” Arms folded across his chest, as Alejandro hugged his shoulders; as if to support a structure on the verge of collapse. Fear filled his eyes in real time, and Vassago’s stomach flipped as the imp stumbled backwards again towards the stairs. “Am I just…just some toy for you, like I was for them?!” 

“No! No, I swear it; upon all that is right and true, that was not my—” 

“I cannot trust you! The one thing you swore never to do…” His bottom lip trembled, and his face scrunched. The little imp looked as if he would implode, and then in a burst of energy, whirled around and dashed up the staircase. 

“Alejandro, wait!” 

Vassago gave chase, his wide gait able to cover twice the distance in half of the time. He bound up the stairs, but the imp had a head start, and reached the top before his master could. Desperate to catch up, flames flashed behind Vassago’s visor, and the Goetia appeared in a billow of flame right in front of Alejandro! 

Arms outstretched, he caught the imp in a tight hug, and held on as that nimble, strong body wiggled like a fish in his grasp.  

“Please, just listen to me! Yes, I lied to you; I lied and I feel terrible about it, but I was terrified of losing my only real friend in all of Hell!” Vassago re-established his grip, ass horns, curly hair, and a flicking tail all threatened to bludgeon his face. “If you found out that my divination had been lost, it only would’ve compounded your already great worry; it’s why I turned to Andrealphus and Stolas. I didn’t want to place an even greater burden upon you!” 

“You were supposed to be better than them!” Alejandro cried out, as his body thrashed to escape. “How dare you give me hope, and then take it all away? How could you do this to me?!” 

Vassago buried his face into the imp’s shoulder, both as a way to try and restrain and comfort him in unison. It worked, as the tightened grip made it so those limbs couldn’t wiggle about anymore, all except his neck.  

“I had faith in you!”  

“What in the hell is going on down here?” 

The commotion had attracted the attention of Andrealphus, Stolas, and Blitz, who now all stood in different sections of the living room; faces rapt with surprise at the scene before them.  

“You’re all monsters!” the butler seethed, spittle frothed and foamed until it dripped onto Vassago’s head. “Self-loathing, empty, gluttonous, lecherous bastards!” 

“Little shit’s gone feral.” Blitz noted, as he slowly walked forward; a hand slightly outstretched, as if to ready himself.  

“Alejandro, please, calm yourself!” Vassago pleaded. 

“Your love is a lie! Your compassion; a farce! You never truly cared about me, and you never will. It was all just a means to procure yourself an obedient thrall that would revere you above all else!” Alejandro fought and strained against the Goetia’s grip until veins bulged in his neck and forehead. Red skin darkened to a deeper hue, and his words grew tighter as he struggled to keep control. “Let me go! Let me go…let me go! I don’t---” Rage cracked, and a pitiful bubble of a cry tumbled from his lips, as his expression slipped into sorrow. “---aaah, let me go…let me go…” 

Vassago clutched his beloved friend closer and stroked the back of his head. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” It was an utterance that played on loop, as the other demons gathered close. 

“…you…bastard! I hate you…I hate you…” Beneath the sobs that wracked through his tiny body, tears poured down Alejandro’s face. Sadness built in his throat, and it roared into a wail that crumbled back into babbling cries of a shattered heart.  

As Vassago’s own sadness kept his strength firm, the more that his friend bawled, the more his own emotion welled. In the midst of such a heart-rending display, the parrot’s muscles twitched… 

…and it was enough for Alejandro to slip free. 

An arm rose, an elbow cocked back, and a fist smashed against the side of Vassago’s face! 

“LET GO OF ME!” 

The Goetia reeled from the strike and hit the floor. 

Blitz leapt forward, but Alejandro sprung away and made a mad dash for the exit.  

“Vassago!” Stolas ran forward and slid onto his knees at the parrot’s side to check his injury, while Andrealphus swiped a hand upwards; crystalline magic upon his palm.  

A wall of ice blocked the front door, and Alejandro skid to a stop. In that moment, Blitz rammed the side of his forearm against the other imp’s neck and pinned him to the wall! 

“NO!” Vassago’s roar stopped everyone in their tracks, as blood ran from a cut above his eye. It had already began to swell; a nasty, purple bruise soon to form in the near future. “Don’t hurt him…let him go…” the prince panted. 

“But—” Andrealphus began. 

“Let him go, Andre…” 

Begrudgingly, seen in the grit of his jaw and the anger in his eyes, the marquis dispelled the wall of ice. Freedom in sight, and with nothing else to pin him down, Alejandro slipped away from Blitz’s arm and ran down the front path.  

Tears flew all the way, as he ran from the estate…and the only friend he had ever known. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“What the fuck was that all about?!”  

Vassago winced as Stolas’ finger traced the outline of his wound, “Keep your head tilted; I will fetch a salve.”  

The owl rose, only to be replaced by the peacock; frost at his fingertips. Soothing mist radiated from Andrealphus’ palm, as it hovered an inch in front of that downtrodden face. “It’s already starting to swell…just sit still.” 

No complaint was uttered, as the shock of overwhelming dread metamorphosed into a reality most bitter. Another wince, as Andrealphus pressed two fingers just below the cut to more effectively combat the body’s reaction to it. 

“I...told him the truth.” 

“The fuck does that mean?” 

Vassago closed his eyes. Force pooled in his chest, then quickly encompassed the entirety of his torso; an inescapable and ferocious weight. In his effort to stay its influence, his heartrate soared to force an off-centered breath from his beak. “It means that I betrayed the trust of my oldest and most loyal friend…” 

Andrealphus frowned, his mind too at odds with itself to remain confident. Guilt struck, with all of its power, and compelled him to both silence and duty. He had never seen such a harrowed expression upon kindly Vassago’s face. “All will be well.” 

“No…I—” 

“Vassago.” Two hands clasped the parrot’s face, and the marquis’ forehead gently pressed against his. “Look at me.” Every ounce of care that he could draw from his cold heart radiated in incandescent eyes, all in an attempt to banish the early veil of misery. “I’m here.” 

Magical frost crept into Vassago’s body; a healing balm to calm his combustive spirit. Spurred by the heavy onset of negative emotion, it burned with equal strength to Andrealphus’ cold, but couldn’t overcome it. Balance, so long as the marquis held him, was maintained. 

“I failed him, Andre…He looked to me, and I failed him…” 

“You have failed no one. Your heat remains kind. Your intent remains pure.” 

“You don’t understand.” 

“Then help me to.” Andrealphus redoubled his grip, yet all Vassago felt was the cradle of kindness against his face. Blitz gathered close, and his presence loomed behind the marquis. 

“Alejandro…was a servant in Lust…to a cruel and craven mistress. When I found him, he begged me, pleaded with me, to save him.” As if pained by the memory, Vassago grimaced, and their shared gaze broke. “I did, but at great cost…and I swore to him, upon my heart and soul, that I would never mislead him; as it was all that had ever been done to him, in her service.” A shudder wracked the powerful sorcerer’s body, tightness choked his voice, and his eyes glistened. “My lie, in his eyes, was the ultimate betrayal of our relationship. No matter my reasoning…it made me no better than his old mistress: a deceiver.” 

New footsteps approached from behind, followed by the ruffle of silken fabrics. Shortly after, a wet substance dabbed just above his brow. “How is he?”  

“…” Andrealphus remained silent, as he watched Vassago begin to unravel. 

“He sacrificed so much to aid me, as best he could. Altered his horns, accepted the toll of my grimoire…tried to cure my affliction, and I betrayed him…” 

“Vassago…” 

Unable to stop it, a fresh shudder sent the prince’s chest into a rippling, bouncing mess. A hand rose to rest atop Andrealphus’, then slid higher to press Stolas’ to his wound. “I am a craven…undeserving of your kindness.” Sobs wracked his shoulders, and the parrot sank into a weak posture; sadness having overcome his poise.  

Andrealphus leaned in, softly slipped his beak low, and granted him a soft kiss. It was short, but overflowed with affection. “You are loved…no matter your faults.” Another kiss, another gentle stamp of love, fought against despair; and Vassago’s sobs grew less frequent.  

From above, Stolas graced his head plumage with a kiss; the edge of his sharp beak immediately dipped to preen at those vibrant red feathers. While he remained silent, his heart rang with identical sentiment to Andrealphus’, and a hand lowered to rest upon that thundering chest to comfort it.  

“Should I…uhh…give you three the room?” As an array of colors merged together into a group hug, and no answer was given, Blitz gently tapped at his thigh. “Oookay; yeah, I’ll just…leave you lovebirds to it.” Spring-heeled steps carried him clean through the front door, and his eyes immediately peered down the front drive.  

There was only one thing on Blitz’s mind; find that butler. It was with said singular thought in mind that he trotted down the hill, the morning sun having stretched to mid-day. Crisp, clear, and savory winds blew against his skin and enticed his nose with purity. Pretty on point for Gluttony; nothing but sunshine and fucking rainbows to keep demons around.  

Maybe, just maybe, it was trying to keep Blitz from going forward. Take a rest, it seemed to say; soak up the sun, smell the flowers, take a breath and let that little imp get further ahead of you. Why would it ever want to? He didn’t know; he didn’t think knowing would achieve anything. He just needed to bring back the butler. 

It wasn’t like he liked Vassago, so his reason for giving chase wasn’t clear; even to him. Making the parrot happy would probably make Stolas happy; at least, that was the working theory.  

Alejandro couldn’t have gotten far; it had only been a few minutes. With any luck, Blitz would have him back before dinner, and they could all have a nice, little kumbaya circle to patch everything up. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Hours passed. 

Vassago stared at the open pages of his grimoire. Familiar text floated into indecipherable smears of air to cloud his vision.  

Why had he opened it? 

He couldn’t remember.  

A sharp, encompassing pain floated above the center mass of his chest. Lungs and heart; smothered beneath the veil of his emotional torment eclipsed any thoughts of joy that happened to cross his mind. Optimism soured, the instant it attempted to emerge.  

Weight pressed onto his very soul; absent of a key piece of his life. He had bid Stolas and Andrealphus leave him be, so that he could process his deeds in private. Their absence didn’t improve his mood, but even in the depths of distress, he couldn’t bear to lean on them.  

“Vassago?” 

It was Andrealphus. Vassago didn’t respond. 

“Stolas and I have finished making dinner. Come; join us.” 

Evermore did his milky stare fixate on the pages below, neck weak and limp, without energy to pull himself up.  

“You haven’t eaten anything today. A full belly will aid your mood, so it’s time to come out.” 

Still, Vassago didn’t respond. A sliver of bitter satisfaction festered with glee, at the denial of words. It was something he could control; a method to clearly indicate the severity of his dismay. If he spoke, it would simply be another loss; another piece of agency rent from his ego; another mistake. 

“Self destruction will do you no good. It will not bring Alejandro back, nor will it bring us any closer to completing the ritual.” 

No, he thought, but it was what he deserved. Vassago’s elbows hiked themselves up and thumped onto the desk; head quick to collapse into his hands. Fingers slid through head feathers and squeezed at his skull, yet all it brought was further melancholy. Teasing touches traced and prodded at the tender wound upon his brow, all in the pursuit of further punishment.  Nothing he could do would fix things. Words, actions, sentiments; all were powerless.  

“Vassago.” 

Be quiet. 

“I know you’re better than this.” 

No, you don’t. 

“Stop this, and come downstairs so that we can—” 

Stop. 

His hands slammed down onto the open pages of the grimoire; fingers latched atop the hard edges of its binding. Leather creaked under his strength, and his beak grit until its inner lining strained. 

Anger surged, eyes bulged; retort curled back on his tongue, eager and ready to snap. 

He exhaled, then trembled. 

“Go away.” 

“For your sake, I will not.” 

What manner of composure that had been regained by a single breath was undone with a single sentence. Hands shot back up to clasp against Vassago’s face, as a sort of half-formed mask to hide himself away; to protect and harm himself in unison. A spark of frustration roiled above his resentment and powered his grip; rebuttal at the tip of his beak once again.  

Before it could fly, footsteps sounded behind him.  

“How is your wound?” 

Concern silenced the parrot, and the retort slithered back into the darkness of his heart; another thing to bury, better left untouched. When the seat shifted with added weight, it wasn’t enough to turn his head; nor was the cool, light touch that teased his wound dressing. Minimal discomfort struck, in the wake of that check-up, but even that couldn’t turn Vassago’s attention.  

“Well, the swelling has greatly reduced. Stolas will be pleased to hear his botanical skills came in handy, for once.” Andrealphus’ gentle touch served to soothe a modicum of distress, but it was simply a balm; no more than a minimizing agent that could never hope to tackle the root of his pain. “You’ll be pleased to hear that, in these past few hours, Stolas and I have committed the incantations to ward off your affliction to heart. In his flight, Alejandro left the syringes behind. With time, I can replicate them; an endless supply to aid in our endeavors.” 

“I do not care, Andre.” 

At his muttered, morose words, Vassago felt one of those delicate fingers twitch. Yet, instead of retreat, they chose to slide down his cheek, under his chin, and up alongside his opposite cheek. Guidance worked to ease his face in Andrealphus’ direction, but he resisted. 

“Come now, it does not befit the sun to wither in the face of clouds; it shines bright, regardless.” 

Annoyed by the constant tug, Vassago finally reached up to grasp the peacock’s slender, dainty wrist.   

“I am not the sun.” 

“You are to me.” Weight shifted along the dresser seat once more, and Andre’s words were brought intimately close. “You are the source of our life, Vassago; the center of the universe that we all rotate around. Through you, we are given life, happiness, opportunity; but most of all, you give us beauty. Bright, unparalleled, furious beauty that eclipses the majesty of all other stars in the sky.” 

His head swayed from left to right, denial in each swing. “Stop trying to flatter me. It won’t work. It will not make me feel better.” 

“Well, what would make you feel better, then?” 

“If you left me alone to be sad.” 

More than ever, the weight of Andre’s gaze pressed against his temple and burned his cheeks; not from shame, but simply from presence alone.  

“I am not a child to be ordered about. You cannot force my mood to shift into compliance with your desires because you don’t wish for me to be upset. I am miserable, and I will let that feeling gnaw away at my soul until I feel satisfied with my punishment.” 

“Vassago, I simply wish to help you.” 

“You should not need to.” For the first time, he looked at Andrealphus, and felt no satisfaction in the minor jolt of shock that flashed along his face. “I am a Prince of the Ars Goetia. Yet, even with all my power, influence, and resources; others suffer for my weakness. If I had not lied out of fear, out of worry, Alejandro wouldn’t feel so utterly betrayed. If I had not been so weak, neither you or Stolas would be here to coddle me in these moments; moments that shouldn’t even be an occurrence in our lives. You should not wish to help me, Andrealphus! I should be able to help myself!” 

A tremble in his voice shattered what ferocity existed, and in its place, sounded the cracked toll of a mental bell. Then, as swiftly as it appeared, an expression of cold dejection smoothed over his torment. Vassago yanked his head away. 

“Just…leave me be: please.” 

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Andrealphus gave a sigh and stood to his feet. “Very well, but if you need anything; even if it’s simply someone to grant you silent company, you need only but to ask.” In mere seconds, a gentle beak pressed to the top of Vassago’s head. “I will have Stolas bring you a plate.” 

Footsteps faded into the distance, and in their absence, Vassago trudged towards the bed. Sleep pulled at the corners of his mind, until it was all he desired to do. In sleep, his eyes wouldn’t flare. In sleep, the trials of the waking world were far away. In sleep, he could not hurt anyone. 

Perhaps things would be better if he simply never woke. 

Chapter 12: Wash Away My Fears; For I Love The Way You Shine

Summary:

Blitz has set off in search of Alejandro.
Stolas takes to the field.
Andrealphus attempts to comfort Vassago...by opening up.

Notes:

+18 CHAPTER!
(Sex.)

Posting this on the day that Mastermind, the first ever canonical appearance of Vassago, is due to release. So long to all of my constructed musing about him, for the canon has arrived!

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Warm rain pattered against the protective lining of Blitz’s hood, cast aglow by cool neon lights. All was dry, save his horns; not bad for something he had yanked from a donation bin. Perched atop a roof, the heels of his feet locked onto the brick and concrete edge, while his body leaned out to inspect the streets below. 

Alejandro’s trail had led him to Lust. Few demons, if any at all, walked the puddle-ridden streets. It was happy hour, so they were all likely mashed up in bars; sucking face and whatever else they could get their lips on. They’d be no help; what was one little imp in a sea of abs, tits, and ass? That fact might have hurt him, but it was also to his advantage. It made Alejandro easier to find, but if he was even a little bit paranoid… 

…well, Blitz would just have to turn on Ultra-Stealth!  

Problem was, he had no idea where to even start looking. The trail had gone cold, shortly beyond the train station. He could scour every street, leap every rooftop, and peek into every open store for blocks, but that was the slow way of doing things; Blitz didn’t have any.  

A buzz in his pocket instinctually sent the imp fishing. Careful not to get the screen wet, he swiftly tapped the accept call button, without a glance to see who it was. 

“Yello?” 

“Blitz, where are you? It’s been hours.” 

His worries grew lighter, at the sound of Stolas’ voice.  

“I’m tracking down your new boyfriend’s boy toy. I’ve got him pegged down in Lust, but I’ve lost the trail; got any magical doodads that could help me out right now?” 

“No wonder I couldn’t find you.” The click of a beak echoed through the phone, followed by the gentle ruffle of fabric and feathers. It sounded like Stolas was on the move.  

“Figured I’d help clean up that mess of drama going on between you three, by bringing Mr. Muy Caliente back; save you all the headache.” 

“While that is appreciated, it is unnecessary. Even if you find him, Alejandro likely won’t wish to return, given the emotional state of everyone involved.” 

“Best way through is forward, right? Can’t break down walls without charging them, or whatever the fuck it is my therapist says.” 

Long silence filled the speaker. “…you have a therapist?” 

“Forget I mentioned it. Can you help or not?” 

Tapping, likely of fingers, dribbled into his ear. “While I don’t have anything to grant over the phone, I could join you in the search personally.” 

A smile tickled the corners of Blitz’s lips. “What, like a dynamic duo?” 

“A bird’s eye view, one might say, would be beneficial.” 

“What about Mr. Moody?” 

“I am certain Andrealphus would have no complaint in watching over him while I’m gone.” 

“…Alright, fuck it; beats getting my ass soaked out here alone. How soon till you get here?” 

“As long as it takes me to don something inconspicuous; so around fifteen minutes.” 

“I’m on the rooftop of…” Quite unsure as to where he exactly was, Blitz leaned his torso over the building’s edge. A blinding neon sign glared in his face, and he squinted to read the massive letters. “…Asstral Accessories.”  

Blaring red was certainly a choice. 

“I shall see you there.” 

Before Blitz could utter a goodbye, his thumb tapped the ‘end call’ button on his screen. Regret stung him immediately, but faded with the knowledge that he’d see Stolas soon. All he had to do was wait fifteen minutes.  

With nothing to distract him, he began to stalk the rooftop, and found himself quickly lost in thought. First, basic questions perked up; why Lust? Why not go back to Sloth and the lighthouse? It was the obvious choice; first rule of breakups, grab your shit. A tinge of bitterness touched his tongue; yeah, plenty of chances to take that lesson to heart.  

Location aside, the sudden disappearance of the trail turned his brain on edge. How had he managed it? Alejandro knew some magic, so maybe he had cast a spell to cover his tracks? If he did, then why take a train and do it in Lust, instead of just doing it right there in Gluttony? No, something was weird; something he wasn’t getting. 

For a moment, Blitz tilted his head back and let the rain of Lust caress his face. His thoughts slid back to Stolas, back to their fucked-up night together in the very ring he found himself in. It all came back as a flood, clear as crystal; the over-the-top outfit, the handholding, the questions about his day. A grimace split the imp’s face, and a groan followed. 

“Fuck me, I’m an idiot.” 

A hand rose to rub over his mouth, then cover it. Memories drifted to the ride from Ozzie’s, to the conversation in his driveway, the things he had said; and all he felt was guilt. No, it was more than guilt. Blitz felt like a complete piece of shit. 

Unbidden, as if summoned to ward away the negative thoughts, Stolas’ smile shined in his mind. Heat planted itself in his heart, rose to prick at its shell, and quickened the beat. One after the other, instances of Stolas’ smile formed, and each one made his heart a little lighter.  

It wasn’t long before Blitz found that a smile of his own had returned, stronger than ever. He wanted that sight; as much of it as he could get. He wanted to see him smile; he wanted to see him happy; he wanted to be what made him happy.  

If that meant he had to help out Vassago, so be it. Andrealphus wasn’t so bad; bit of a prick, but just like any prick, he had a soft side. How different would things have been if he had run into either of them, instead of Stolas? Would his life be any better, any worse, or maybe exactly the same; tangled up in some magical threesome nonsense, just to fix things he had no business knowing about? 

A slow sigh lowered Blitz’s face out of the rain, and he wiped the droplets away. Alejandro wasn’t so bad either; just…protective. Maybe he thought about Vassago the same way that he thought about Stolas? Wouldn’t that be fucking wild? 

Then, from behind, a flash of cool light illuminated the sheen of concrete beneath his feet. He turned, just in time to see a summoned portal close and Stolas step through. A dark cloak, trimmed with ornate vine patterns, and a wide hood covered him from the head down. At his neck, a crescent-shaped metal crest kept the garment closed to hide the prince’s body from view.  

“You look like a fairytale prowler.”  

“…is it truly so bad?” 

“Like you’re delivering goodies to grandma.” Blitz stepped forward to get a better look, but to the clothing’s credit, couldn’t make out much more than what he’d already seen. “But hey, it’s exactly what we’re looking for.” 

“Well good, now…” 

 From beneath the cloak, both of Stolas’ arms rose to part the fabric. Wreathed in ribbons of magic and sigils of power, they stretched wide, as if to grasp something large and cumbersome. Then, tiny hoof prints glowed upon the ground in a trail; one that lead down to the street and continued deep into town. 

“Whoa.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing; I simply affixed a tether to the presence of magic in his body, then commanded it to playback its most recent whereabouts within the past thirty minutes.” 

Blitz gave a slow blink, one eye after the other.  

“…huh?” 

Stolas rolled his eyes, with a giggle. “Follow the hoof prints, Blitzy.” 

“Oh! Well then, what the hell are we waiting for; let's go!”  

Across the rooftop, Blitz turned and took off into a dead sprint. He needed to build up just enough speed to vault over to the next rooftop. Mentally, he judged the distance by eye, and dug his toes in at the opportune moment to push himself forward. Wind and rain ruffled his jacket as he soared through the sky, and landed with a splash; only to continue on. He skirted the edge, attention spread between the path of the bright blue hoof prints, and the oncoming gaps to the alleys below. Rain pattered against his face; the hood rendered relatively useless as it flew back over his horns. Each leap across required just as much energy as the one before, but years of acrobatic training had honed his stamina to above average levels.  

Only when the prints turned down a seemingly random alley, did he skid to a stop. Heartrate elevated, a gentle pain in his side, Blitz took a moment to catch his breath a little… 

“It appears he dipped into that alleyway.” 

“GAH!” 

…only for Stolas’ voice to hum right up against his ear! 

“How the fu--?!” Bewildered, the imp’s head swiveled to the side, back in the direction he had just ran, then swiveled back to the owl. “I jumped like seven rooftops!” 

“Yes, I saw; it was all highly impressive.” 

“And you kept up with me?!” 

“I wouldn’t be standing here, otherwise.” 

“How?!” 

A brow rose, and the simplest answer fell from his beak.  

“Blitzy…I am a bird.” 

At that profound and obvious statement, he had nothing to say, but the second use of his ‘Stolas-Only’ nickname raised his pointer finger. 

“You called me Blitzy again.” 

As if he had just realized it himself, Stolas let out a short, “Ah.” 

“Does that mean anything, or...?” 

“Old habits, I suppose.” 

“…because I mean, you’re really working on this royal nest thing and I don’t wanna, you know, fuck that up.” 

Stolas’ brow rose, “Are you jealous?”  

Fingers, guided by nervous ticks, interlaced and bent as Blitz looked to the side. “…not if that sort of thing makes you happy.” 

Quiet fell, save the raindrops that endlessly filled Lust. They pattered off concrete, brick, metal, and glass; all with their own unique chime. If one were to simply listen, wondrous, eldritch instrumentation awaited, and it was a beauty that both demons experienced, in that moment. Blitz waited wordlessly for Stolas to speak; the mission temporarily entirely forgotten. All that he saw, all that he cared to see, was the magnificent, towering, and beautiful demon that stood next to him on the rooftop.  

“Despite its faults…it does.” 

His heart dipped beneath the surface of murky, resigned waters. There it was; the answer he had expected all along. Whatever shot he had at Stolas had long been wasted. There was no hope to— 

“But, then again…” 

Blitz’s heart skipped a beat, held suspended upon a razor-thin wire of hope. 

“…so do you.” 

Time came to a standstill. All sound slowed into a quiet death, as the purples, pinks, and blues of neon signs cast Stolas’ face in a serene, otherworldly glow. Even the rain seemed to freeze midair; its cold enough to freeze Blitz’s throat. So pretty…Stolas was so…pretty. 

A gentle cough and a wave of a hand before his face couldn’t break his stare. 

“Blitzy?” 

“Yeah, Stolas?” he sighed, a weak smile slapped onto his face. 

“As much as I enjoy standing here in the rain with you, the magic will not last forever. We should resume the search before the trail goes completely cold.” 

Right; Alejandro, Vassago, the birds, the ritual, the—right. He shook away the veil of attraction which had fallen over him, and cleared his throat to focus. “Right! Time to go get him. Just…need to get down from here.”  

One quick glance over the edge revealed an easy way to descend; a downspout. Blitz turned, gave Stolas a cheeky little salute with two fingers, and winked. “See you at the bottom…Stols.”  

The polished rigidity of metal, the slickness of rain; and he touched down onto the street. He looked up in the hope that an impressed and amused bird would be looking down at him from on high. When nothing was there, it was only the eventual pert whistle that drew his attention. There, right aside the open alley, was Stolas. 

“Okay, now you’re just creeping me out a little.” 

Deep into the alley, they tread without fear; the glow of magic set to guide them. Past scraps of garbage, discarded cans, and walls covered in graffiti, that single stretch felt unending. Soothing illumination gave way to damp gloom, and level ground cascade into a serrated stairway. At its bottom lay a metal door, wreathed in the shadow of a dim, red light. Alejandro’s hoof prints continued beyond it. 

“What an odd place for him to tread.” 

Blitz jiggled the handle, but the door didn’t budge.  

“Why would he lock it?” 

A boot kicked forward and slammed right below the handle. 

“I believe it might be a pull.” 

“Thank you, Stolas.” 

“You’re welcome, Blitzy; might I have a go at it?” 

“Knock yourself out.” Blitz sighed, his sore foot ankle all the encouragement he needed to bow out. What he hadn’t expected, however, was for dark talons to tilt his head, and a warm palm to slide across his cheek. 

Smoldering heat cooked beneath his red skin, and an impish tail flicked with giddy, nervous energy. Stolas’ fingers gave a swift flourish, starry trails of blue and purple dust to light their path, and then curled to a point. Transparent, glowing talons gripped the door and sank into metal as if it were thin paper. Astonished creaks and groans of an unyielding material rang out, as magic easily separated it from its hinges and flung it to the side.  

“Remind me never to lend you money.” 

A little, amused hoot escaped the prince. “Come, hopefully Alejandro is close. I’d like to get him back home to Vassago, before this situation worsens.” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Andrealphus stared at the stairs that lead up to the shared bedroom. Polished wooden handles rested in his hands; a tray of food, meant for a prince. It was a paltry offering for one of such high station. Without servants on hand, trained in the proper culinary arts and possessed of the dietary knowledge to feed a Goetia, Vassago was as likely to smack it onto the floor as he was to set it alight.  

In short, he was certain to hate it.  

Once upon a midnight moon, Andrealphus had witnessed the construction of what had been described to him as ‘grilled cheese.’ Butter, two slices of heated bread, and cheese placed between them; an odd and childish concoction, but one that was sworn upon to illuminate even the darkest mental states. It had also been recommended, to the marquis’ further chagrin, that it be paired with tomato soup.  

And thus, he had also prepared tomato soup. 

So began the careful journey upstairs, the warm aroma of freshly made food a constant buffet against the frosty sorcerer. Speech after speech raced through his mind, desperate to fabricate the correct one to fix the current mess. Declarations of brotherhood, promises of eternal bonds, and even considerations to replace the butler altogether emerged, yet none struck Andrealphus as being proper. 

It was then he decided; if his mind couldn’t conjure a solution, then he would be forced to rely on his only other source of inspiration…his heart. 

“Vassago?” he called out, pace stopped mere feet away from the entrance to the second level. “I understand you were not hungry earlier, but I have brought a different dish for you to indulge in.” 

No answer came, and in the silence, he dared another step. When still, no answer came, he claimed another, then another, until he finally passed through into the realm of quiet. Darkened by a lack of light; magical, technological, or natural, the bedroom resembled more of a tomb than a place of reprieve.  

A fitting domain, then, for the motionless mass of red feathers and purple plumage that lay curled on its side beneath a thick blanket. The serene glow of Andrealphus’ eyes, combined with the gentle light of his aura, provided brief succor to the hope-starved space around him. Silently, he approached with the tray; and with equal measures of care to maintain the quiet, set it down atop the shared dresser.  

Sequestered away in a corner of his heart, Andrealphus hoped that he was simply asleep; and that only pleasant dreams dared to tread amongst his unconscious mind. Curiosity, and all of its vices, bid him to circle the bed. Thus, he did, and saw that his hope had been for naught. Red eyes, smooth as polished stone, remained immovable above a closed beak. Their path stared into the distance, into nothing, and the stoicism that kept it that way brewed woe within Andrealphus.  

It was an expression that he was far too intimate with to ignore. 

His hand, cool and kind, rested atop the parrot’s head and slid back down his feathers. Then, he sat upon the bed’s edge. 

“I do not think any less of you, my friend.” 

Vassago’s feathers were warm, like perfectly heated sand upon a smooth beach; where pure waters darkened the shore with rejuvenating life. His silence, however, remained. 

“To ruminate on one’s actions and cope with the consequences is rather normal. Despite your lofty ideals of being a pillar for all others to lean against; as an architect, I can tell you that it always takes more than a single pillar to hold a structure aloft.” 

His hand found a spot on the back of Vassago’s neck and rested there, content to cup and cradle what it could without proving too cumbersome.  

“It takes many, all of equal measure, of shared purpose and design; but, also care. They must be checked for chips and cracks, and all manner of damages. Yet, it is simply viewed as a required act, because it is. There is no such thing as a truly invincible pillar.” 

Still…no answer. 

“My father’s form of maintenance was drink. As a child, I would watch him lounge by the pool and down glass after glass of the fruitiest concoctions money could buy. Even now, I remember their smell, their vibrancy, and how much he smiled when he drank them. Then, of course, he’d be miserable the following morning…or that very same evening, depending. When I grew a little older, I once asked him if it helped; and do you know what he told me?” 

Andrealphus slid his hand back up into Vassago’s head feathers, and traced a thumb along his cheek.  

“He said yes. Of course, it wasn’t the truth; he was only trying to ward away my worries. What sort of child needs to see their father hobbled by existence? No, he needed to be an example, but not just any example; a shining example. So, he’d usher me off to mother, so I couldn’t seem him pour another glass; but being the inquisitive child I was…” 

Memories, stark and unforgiving, reformed in Andrealphus’ mind with such weight that his very face sank beneath them.  

“…I pried. Straight to mother, I went, and asked her if father was really okay; if what he had told me was true. She looked me dead in the eye, smiled, and said that it was the truth. Mind you, my mother never smiled. Such a miraculous and unexpected moment rocked me to my little heart; and I thought everything was fine.” 

A flicker, a twitch, a flutter sent a smile across Andrealphus’ beak, but it was accompanied by a short laugh that just…didn’t quite fit. The sound tilted Vassago’s head, for it was a rare emotion indeed, to slip through the marquis’ frozen mask. 

“Weeks later, the disease that she and father had hidden from us claimed her life.” 

Vassago’s head rose further, eyes finally latched onto Andrealphus, even though the soothing administrations of his hand had long ceased. 

“I awoke one morning…and she was simply gone. They had lied to us, to their children, because they were afraid of how we would react to the news that our only mother had a terminal illness. The shock was…” He held that final syllable, somewhere hollow and mute within his throat. “…cataclysmic. Stella never recovered, and father drank himself to death in grief.” 

A mask of pure ice kept his true emotions at bay; deadened in a deep, crystalline tomb in a place that only the purest of flames could dare to thaw. It was a tale reserved for archives, worthy of scholars to recite without connection and attachment. The presence of grief, though heavily imprisoned, shook Vassago’s heart. 

“We all have our coping mechanisms, Vassago. My father’s was consumption, but mine is indifference; for what can truly hurt one who cares for nothing?” Hands returned, slow, but deliberate, as they slipped into, and grasped, both of the parrot’s own. “Yet here I am, with love in my heart.” 

Like weak streams of water, flame began to flicker amongst the cold. From within, magic traced from inside of one Goetia into another, and Andrealphus’ eyes tightened. He stared, unblinking, into Vassago’s eyes; even as he felt tears sprout within his own, tears that threatened to plummet at any second.  

Andre’s heart had melted. 

“You have just lost someone most dear to you, as my father once did; as I did.” His grip squeezed down, as the first tear fell; like that of a shooting star through the cold night sky. “Vassago, I will do anything to ensure you do not succumb to your sorrows as well. Whatever I can grant you, whatever I can be for you: name it. Please…I beg you; talk to me.” 

In the wake of those words, Vassago had no clue what to say. So stunned by not only the story, but the fact that Andrealphus had just opened up to him in not simply one way, but two. On top of it all, the tears that twinkled in his cerulean eyes hypnotized the prince; who had never witnessed something so primal, true, and deeply personal. 

At the hesitation, Andrealphus’ grip tightened; not in anger, but to beg.  

“Do not shut me out as they did…please, I—mmph!” 

Warm hands cradled his face, torn free from the tender grasp that once contained them. A beak that was not his own parted to join him as half of a kiss. Worries, doubts, fears, sadness; all fled in the embrace of the prince. Clinging, protective fingers curled into the back of Andrealphus’ head feathers and pulled him close. Sweet surrender filled the marquis, as he allowed Vassago to pull him down atop the bed. 

Crimson and ivory feathers pressed together atop silk sheets. Breath hissed between both birds as their hearts beat as one, through brilliant plumage and light clothing. One’s tongue and breath tasted of cinnamon mixed with delectable cocoa, while the other tasted of lightly thawed berries the sweet alacrity of winter’s kiss.  

Andrealphus shifted into a straddle, Vassago’s hands fast at work to explore the properties of his slender hips and lower back. No matter where his hands tread, his beak never left its place, if only to deliver succumbed moan after moan into the marquis’ own. There was no expulsion of fire; no storm of unchecked fury to scorch another room in the vacation estate. It was quelled by the magic within Andrealphus, and in turn, the peacock’s emotions were allowed to flourish further. 

Desire smashed against need until they were nigh indistinguishable from each other. Hips pushed down and ground into a welcoming lap, all to create another musical moan to carry down into Andre’s heart. His back arched, his heart soared, and the kiss finally broke.  

Flushed faces panted, mere inches from each other, yet neither retreated.  

“Andre…” 

“Yes, Vassago?”  

“…touch me.” 

Hands were swift, but hesitated on the precipice of their target; the one nestled between the prince’s soft legs. An immediate lift of the chest, caused by a sharp inhale, only brought greater pause.  

“Are you certain?” 

Vassago’s answer came in the form of a hand around the loose fabric of Andrealphus’ lounge wear, and a firm tug into a second kiss. Both of them moaned, their polar opposite elements all that allowed for carnal pleasure to even take place. As careful digits brushed further down, a sudden buck of the hips brought soft flesh against them; new and hot.  

And so it was that the marquis slipped two fingers inside. Powerful muscle clamped down; their embrace surprising but no fully unexpected. Gentle thrusts of each finger brought the prince’s back up willingly; that feathery groin in the palm of Andrealphus’ hand. Along the way, as Vassago gyrated into the considerate and slow pace of those fingers, the kiss broke for a second time; only for a huffy peacock to bury his face against a feathery neck. 

“Does that feel good, my darling?” 

“Y-yes…a-aah!” 

A nibble, a kiss, a pinch and tug, and a low rumble in his ear. 

“Do you like when I call you darling, my darling?” 

In judgement of the two separate squeezes about his fingers, Andrealphus took them as confirmation.  

“Would you like to touch me as well?” he whispered, and received a rushed, blushed nod. Diamond tail feathers whisked across the bed; a partial veil to conceal all that was about to occur atop the bed. With a soft smile, Andre withdrew his fingers and tasted their edge with the very tip of his tongue. Then, after he was fully satisfied with the awestruck expression upon Vassago’s face, took him by the hand and planted it against his flat stomach. “You can touch…every inch of me, Vassago…” 

Palms immediately slid upwards through the lush, white plumage and groped at the peacock’s chest. A shaky exhale escaped as lustful steam, beneath a twinkling canvas of frosty stars; as Andrealphus’ body twinkled in the joined aura of their magic. He squeezed, then released, then squeezed again; as if to test the density of the marquis’ muscles, or perhaps the rapid beat of his heart.  

While an amused smiled made itself comfortable on Andre’s beak, he shifted the covers completely out of the way. Then, his hand slipped back down towards Vassago’s casual trousers and tugged them down; and granted a lift of his rear to let them slide past the parrot’s ‘knees’.  

The motion of silk drew those thighs close, and inquisitively, Andrealphus glanced up. “Are you nervous, my prince?” 

“I haven’t done this in years.” 

At the admittance, the peacock clicked his beak, as if in disapproval. “A handsome royal such as yourself? That’s downright criminal…” Sharp, lengthy talons tip-toed down the parrot’s sea of red feathers, to the delight of sensitive twitches and shivers. “…perhaps it is time to put my lessons to work.” 

Vassago’s eyes widened, but he said nothing, even as the peacock’s beautiful visage slipped down…and down…and down . Nestled right over his lap, the prince tensed and shuddered in excitement; all of it a needle’s tip on a balloon of overfilled lungs. That rush of anxious, positive energy came from more than just the eventual act, but also the lack of any subsequent freakout. His eyes didn’t hurt, not even a little.  

Blissful, cleansing coolness pressed into his palm, as one of Andre’s hands reached up to hold his own. Then…he watched as cerulean eyes dipped low, a beak parted, and a stroke of pure delight quaked through his thighs and stomach! 

“O-oh!” 

Another stroke; Andre’s tongue. 

Another glance; Andre’s glowing gaze. 

Vassago wanted to touch his head, but his fingers lay trapped in a clamp of his own making; one around the hand of his fellow Goetia, and the other to strain the rich sheets below. As a third lick graced his most carnal and sensitive of areas, his back arched! 

Immediately, a hand supported him beneath the tail feathers, while that tongue gently prodded for entry.  

Face flush, the back of his skull and shoulders mashed deep into the mattress, Vassago clamped a hand over his beak to muffle a loud moan. Then, that thick, slick, solid force penetrated his body and traced around inside. Talons traced up the low of his back, tip-toed along his spine, then harmlessly dragged back down to add another layer of pleasure to it all. 

It was already too much! His head spun; his body sank deeper into Andre’s embrace; unable to even consider pulling away. A most delectable and heinous nectar, yet beautiful all the same, roared at the tip of his tongue, in a deep hunger for more. That sensation…he wished to be overwhelmed by it, washed, drowned, even. A primal tide within Vassago grew in power; each lap of waves against a figurative beachhead to increase their potency with every return.  

“A-Andre, wait…” 

Immediately, that pleasurable pressure inside of him slid free. It was a relief all of its own, and he allowed the warm, long-lost sensation within him to bake in his stomach. Slowly, he pushed his hips back down to the bed, and the hand that supported them slid free. Momentarily, the room spun, but righted itself as Vassago sat up and pulled his lover in by the shoulders. 

Rather quickly, their beaks bumped against one another, but a kiss was held at bay in favor of a heated embrace. Fingers slid from shoulders to back, explored north and south along fields of purest snow-graced feathers… and Vassago opened his legs. 

“Can you…can you...?” 

Andrealphus shifted his position and slipped a leg up beneath Vassago’s knee, before their lower bodies slid together. Two opposite puzzle pieces, joined as one for a moment, the marquis ground his hips upward to ignite another strike and roil of bliss in Vassago’s gut.  

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered, voice calm and cool. Another, stronger upwards grind blasted the parrot’s brain with pleasure, and he couldn’t stop the moan that dropped from his beak. Just when he thought that was all, the same tongue that had just explored his body pressed and dragged up the side of his neck. 

Vassago melted into Andrealphus’ embrace, as their hips rocked into one another. A truly intimate heat; its every touch enough to root the long-denied prince in a pleasant haze of lust and need. That same need expelled itself in the increasingly excited groans, huffs, and moans that spilled forth by the minute; all to Andrealphus’ apparent delight.  

Close to the precipice of release, Vassago initiated another kiss. Clumsier than all that came before, infected with ragged pants for air and the symphony of sexual satisfaction, he cradled the marquis’ face and dug his fingers through those regal, elegant feathers. The added fuel of their kiss heightened every gyration, every touch of sensitive flesh; even the sound of the occasional moan from Andrealphus spiked his enjoyment to a higher plane. 

As all things, with increased enjoyment came the relaxation of inhibitions, and as Vassago gently pulled his beak away, tongue a-tingle with the flavor of the frosty peacock, a new desire flooded into every hot blood cell that flowed through his veins. It manifested as magical impulse within his palm; shapeless, until his heart’s desire granted it form and intent. The imbued hand slipped low, planted itself against Andrealphus’ groin, and a red-hued shaft of light grew between them. 

It shimmered with heat; a transparent and crimson phallus to rub between them. Between both Goetia, the arcane pathways were open, and thus the endowment was bestowed with relative ease. A girthy thing, possessed of gentle spikes that ran down the front of an engorged shaft, it pulsed with virility and power against Vassago’s cloaca.  

“Please…” he huffed, face almost as red as his own plumage. “…I need more…” 

White and red cascaded down, winter to blanket summer in glimmering brilliance. The spear-like tip of that fabricated, and rather lengthy, phallus prodded, rubbed, tapped between his legs. Gloating was expected; that typical top energy that someone with Andrealphus’ composure was more than sure to possess, but for the benefit of putting all of his sorrows behind, he welcomed the chastisement with a pre-turned cheek.  

Instead, what he received was a serene caress to the side of his face, as a breathtaking pressure pushed within him. Andrealphus hovered above, a loose strand of handsome hair dangled down over half-lidded eyes that brimmed with concentration, laced with the after effects of physical bliss. Gently, he thrust his hips forward, and allowed a moan to tumble from his beak. 

Vassago clutched the sheets, foot talons dug into the vacant air with a death grip, to combat the swell of pressure inside of his groin. Deeper it pushed, and with every inch, vulnerability afflicted the prince more and more. When the first nub-like spike pushed inside, a crackle of pleasure cracked across his brain, which caused his hands to grab a new source of support; Andrealphus’ forearms.  

With no lips to purse, eyes did all of the work, along with the songbird cries that echoed through the empty estate.  

"All the way...put it all in…” 

“Are you…nhhh…certain?” 

“I want it…I want to forget…” Talons traveled up slender arms, back held fast to the mattress, and eased the Goetia low. It was an intimate thing, a joyous thing, to feel the chill of Andrealphus’ breath upon his face, to bask in the glow of his gaze, to feel the beat of his heart through their symbiotic connection. “…please…fuck me…” 

Upon his request, Vassago tilted his beak and surrendered his mouth to the marquis. Once again, their tongues embraced; delicious, wet, friendly tendrils that gave and took in equal measure. Flavor, pleasure, control, consent; all freely exchanged as snowy-white hips thrust deeper, then began to settle into a brisk tempo. 

With every pump of hips, the bed rocked.  

But it wasn’t enough. 

There remained inches of that magical cock that had gone unsheathed. 

“Harder…” Vassago huffed through the kiss, no small measure of need in his tone. When he felt those hips speed up, but push no deeper, the heels of his taloned feet dug into the back of Andre’s thighs. Every thrust; he helped fuel with exuberant strength, arms fast to drape up around slender shoulders and pull the beautiful face above into a chest of red feathers. “…it’s been five years, Andrealphus: rut me!” 

Then, hips slapped against his own. 

Pleasure cast a shockwave through his mind, as that entire cock hilted inside; tip in his stomach. 

Dug in, he gasped and hugged Andrealphus closer; voice elevated in pitch and intensity, but not in volume. “Oh fuck…yes…yes…oh…OH!” 

Surprise swarmed over an ever-rocking ocean of bliss, as a thick tongue curled about his once again. Andre’s eyes were clamped shut, and a deep, bull-like huff hissed from his nostrils as his hips began to pump in earnest. Vassago immediately slipped into the dominant embrace, eyes rolled up as a moan rocked back in response. That thick muscle conquered his mouth; coiled, pulsed, jerked about the tendril of his own tongue until it drowned in the flavor and essence of the marquis. All the while, powerful hips dug deep, and a chorus of slaps filled the air. 

Unending, inescapable; like paradise, Vassago didn’t wish for the moment to end.  

He thought of nothing else; of no one else. Duty, honor, responsibility, fear, concern, anxiety; the weight of everything, dashed to pieces upon the love of another.  

When, finally, their tongues parted, and a trail of saliva momentarily kept the tips connected, the parrot was quick to beg again. 

“I’m close…Andr—” 

Reality spun, the girth of that rod pulsed and stretched inside of him, and Vassago quickly found himself off of the bed. Stood on his feet, hips mashed against his ass and a firm hand about his neck, he trembled at Andrealphus’ heated, sultry words as they melted into his ear. “Do you want to cum, my darling Sunfire?” Fingers curled in deeper, with practiced elegance and care, as a slow but almighty thrust slammed inside of Vassago from behind.  

“Y-yes!” 

Then, without warning, a furious onslaught of thrusts bombarded the prince like nothing he had ever felt before. Each blast of pleasure came without time to react; the spear-shaped tip brought to his core each and every time. It was an unbearable joy; so much that his knees quaked and quivered as Andrealphus’ thrusts made that entire ass bounce away from the base of the thick shaft.  

Rising, boiling, electrifying; all happened in sequence to bring their mating to a natural finality. A molten ball with a hardened shell, eager and ready to be penetrated, cracked repeatedly at the nonstop thrusts that stimulated every hidden spot and button that existed.  

Vassago couldn’t take it anymore. 

“F-fuck! Cum inside…cum inside of me…fuck: Andre!” 

A hand turned into a full arm, as he was yanked back into a headlock. Hips slammed against that ass and held firm, as both parrot and peacock hit their respective orgasms together. Vassago trembled, his entire world shattered in the most wondrous was; as tension burst into contentment. His heart, seized by the force of release, kicked his lungs and vacated them of all air, as he felt a molten liquid gush deep inside of his core. 

Andrealphus groaned, his grip tight and his gifted cock even tighter as it pumped out shot after virile shot of magical baby batter. Refined as he was, in control as he was, his beak held back a shotgunned gasp for as long as it could; but, failed. It was a ragged thing, a slip, an admittance that he was just as aroused and needy as the bird he just came inside of.  

Cold mist streamed out from his beak as his body clenched and trembled, in the throes of orgasm. A seductive, uncharacteristic snarl joined in on the huffs and groans. 

“Fuuuuuck…”  

Slowly, as the most immediate destruction of their orgasms faded into afterglow, the headlock was released, and caring fingers tilted that flushed face once more. Like a long-lost lover, Andrealphus offered up his tongue to Vassago, and the two joined in a sensual, affection-infused kiss that helped to cool the scalding hot result of their union.  

A true moment of peace; the best they had ever experienced in all their years.  

The kiss, eventually, parted. Then, Vassago spoke. 

“…can we go again?” 

Chapter 13: Forgetfulness is a Path to False Peace

Summary:

Vassago finds deep companionship in a certain marquis.
Blitz and Stolas have a heart to heart about Andrealphus.
Alejandro retreats to old haunts, hoping that he can cure his fractured faith.

Notes:

18+ chapter for sexual content of the Hetero and Homo variety.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Vassago shuddered; a sensation that started just below his ribs and grew in strength, as it snaked up into his shoulders, then the back of his head. Pleasant shivers washed beneath his vibrant feathers and turned heated breath visible; a cloud of bliss to merge with the hidden sky above which emerged as a gentle gasp. Thighs clenched, talons splayed; another tickle of pleasure shocked his system and forced his hands to curl about ivory feathers. 

“Andre…” he huffed, the name barely able to rise through the tumultuous sounds that bubbled in his throat. Hours had passed with limited hydration, too enamored with one another to even consider it an option. In the aftermath, in consequence of hubris, Vassago’s body had run its limits. Multiple orgasms had muddied his mind and sapped his body of strength, yet the marquis possessed a vigor which surpassed his. Perhaps Andre’s loneliness was far greater, and thus, his appetite far more ferocious.  

As he raised the sheet, dazzling blue, bedroom eyes, snowy white feathers, and a curious glance greeted him. Kisses from a well-kept beak preened at his coat, from navel to neck, as he felt cool, slender muscles drag upwards in an intimate press. “I take it the imp’s tutelage was adequate?” he whispered, beak quick to brush and clack near Vassago’s own; in hopes of a kiss.  

Bathed in afterglow, the parrot acquiesced, and tilted his head. New and interesting flavor lingered in the familiar; the sweet taste of Andre’s tongue a welcome presence atop his own, laced with what could only be his own natural flavor. It was interesting, but not entirely off-putting or unappealing; and the more their tongues draped and embraced along each other, the weaker it became.  

A single palm cupped the peacock’s cheek and pulled him deeper into the kiss, tenderness laced within every thumb stroke. After so long without a partner, instinct egged at his mind to hold this one close for as long as he could. Despite his fatigue, Vassago allowed the breath and energy of his fellow Goetia to infuse him with strength; borrowed breath won with subservience and shared desire for the carnal. When their kiss eventually parted, an answer was given. 

“You are…a very fast learner, it seems.” 

“Or perhaps your sensitivity to such things have given me an unspoken edge.” 

“Too proud for compliments; and here I thought you thrived off such things.” 

“Make no mistake, I receive many; it’s just…” 

Andrealphus’ pause and deeper shift towards a more intimate place at Vassago’s side shifted their feathers amongst each other. Diminished as it was, counterbalanced by its opposed element, the marquis’ elegant plumage maintained a hint of cold. Laced in every feather, they heralded a refreshment of mind and body; like an inhalation of clean, fresh mountain air where the skies were pure and nature lay untouched by the ravages of industry. Vassago found his fingers quick to trace through their edges, with respectful and rapturous pacing.  

“…well, I suppose I’m simply not used to receiving any from those who matter.” 

At those sad words, Vassago brought his beak along the crest of the peacock’s head and allowed his breath to heat the loneliness of his frozen soul. “I am grateful for your company, mi amigo.” Thin bodies pressed together, to unite heartbeats and warm blood alike, beneath the esteemed comfort of silken royal sheets. Fatigue had settled in, and afterglow was all too eager in its arrival, yet Vassago conjured the energy to ravish Andrealphus in sweet nothings. “If you wish, your vulnerabilities won’t leave this room; simply say the word.” 

Soothing chill, brought about by the embrace of Andrealphus’ arms about his body, conjured a smile onto Vassago’s beak. It was a pleasant thing to experience the change within his fellow Goetia; as it heralded higher success in their join endeavor. What he had not expected, however, was an abrupt wash of fatigue to descend over his mind; to which the parrot found his beak agape with a mighty yawn. 

For whatever reason, the sound brought a light chuckle from Andre. “I suppose a shared secret between companions is, in itself, a sign of trust; or so I am told.” Weight and positions shifted, which left Andrealphus as Vassago’s back, as he hugged from behind. Laid out on the bed, the aura of afterglow swelled with strength, to which Vassago felt his eyes wilt.  

In the beginning, the temptation to slip into peaceful slumber was all too easy, but then memories of earlier events bubbled to the surface of his mind. A sick concoction of mental anxiety rushed into his limbs, and not even the new, long-lost arms of another demon were enough to keep him still. “I should go search for Alejandro.” 

Right as he shifted forward, Andrealphus’ arms eased him back; hands swift to place themselves gently upon the tender curve of that slender, crimson neck. “There is no need to worry.” Like sparkling water, fresh from the natural gifts of an oasis in the desert, the reassurance imbued within each word bade him relax. “Stolas and his imp are already out looking for him.” 

Vassago frowned at the new knowledge, immediate guilt upon his conscious yet again. Not even the safety of his best friend and assistant was something within his capabilities to maintain. A hefty sigh, its price the last of comfortable air in the parrot’s lungs, tumbled onto ivory feathers. “They could use my help.” 

“I do not think that course would be wise. Your presence would more likely exacerbate the issue, rather than resolve it.” 

“My divination might be gone, but I am not helpless. I owe him a personal apology, first and foremost; and so, should also be the one to bring home back home where he belongs.” 

Fingers traced upwards to cradle the edge of Vassago’s face, then turned it to face the opposite direction. Forehead to forehead, beak close enough to plant an eternal barrage of kisses should it choose, serene blues calmed the fire that brewed within his heart. “Shhh…” Not an ounce of sharpness was to be found in the sound that slipped from Andre’s beak, nor could anything other than comfort be felt in his movement, as he slid a leg over his partner’s lap.  

No further words, in that moment, were spoken. Tender touch fully embraced a gentle sea of red feathers, and sharp beaks touched once again; so, breath and tongues could be shared. To Vassago, it was an embrace that dragged him under and held him close; one that excited his spine and swelled his heart with life. With his elemental magic at play, it was as if he was sharing himself with himself; filtered into purity by Andre’s cold. Far too easily, he succumbed to sensual affection, and felt his mind drift into peaceful complacency. 

With Andrealphus, his worries melted away. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Through a dark tunnel, graced by the blinding light from a conjured orb in Stolas’ hand, he and Blitz tread into depths unknown. Cracked concrete constructed their pathway, infused with the faint musk of bloated moisture, traded its scarred appearance for the grace of graffiti art. At first, chaotic tendrils swirled into the dark to form unreadable scrawls of text; names, perhaps. Their significance lay unknown, and it was from said unknowing which Stolas drew his curiosity.  

Sharp, black fingers traced their thick, faded outlines; as if to commune. Blitz side-eyed him in complete silence, more concerned about keeping his head forward and senses alert. Yet, even he couldn’t ignore the graffiti, as it became increasingly vibrant the deeper they walked. After several minutes, Stolas spoke; the sudden song of his soft voice a pleasant trill which rippled up Blitz’s tail and into bone.  

“There is magic within this artwork.” 

“Is it the kind that we should be worried about right now?” 

“I don’t believe so. Normally, intent is obvious, as to ward away those who’d dare to approach. This magic, however, is subtle like a whisper. I can hear it, and some of the words are recognizable, but just as many slip through my mind like mist; unable to be deciphered.” 

“So, it’s shitty magic?” 

Something akin to amusement and embarrassment at the word bounced from the sorcerer’s beak. “Not shitty; more like…subtle.” 

“You know, you really never talk too much about all this magic stuff with me. I kind of forget time to time that you’re so…” As Blitz floundered on the next word, Stolas raised a brow. Nothing but the clack of his talons, the tap of the imp’s boots, and the faint sound of a hesitant throat graced the air between them.  

“Knowledgeable?” 

“Is that the same thing as really fucking smart?” 

“The less crass version, yes.” 

“Hey, with some of the things I’ve heard come out of your mouth, I’m not taking any backhand for my language.” Blitz whipped his tail over, and its tip touched against the graffiti on the wall like a spear point, to trace along with Stolas. “Anyway, did he make this?” 

“By ‘he’, are you referring to Alejandro?” 

“Yeah.” 

“No; this is older than the both of us. Whoever wove this particular spell did so with utmost care, with longevity of use in mind. Most enchantments fade completely when the caster dies, but in some cases, a strong enough sorcerer can make their work everlasting.” 

“So, you’re saying that whoever drew this was either really fucking strong, or is just really fucking old? Think they’ve got some connection to him?” 

“It would certainly give him a reason to come here; perhaps, in search of a previous life, to pick up the pieces now that he believes his master has abandoned him.” 

“Is that what all that horseshit back there was about?” An almost spiteful sputter, like a horse, vibrated across the imp’s lips. “So Big Red kept a few secrets; who the fuck doesn’t?” 

“I’d say it was more meaningful to him than just a secret, Blitzy.” 

“Or maybe he’s just sensitive.” 

Stolas sighed and grimaced, as if he’d consumed something sour. “No; he appeared to be fully resistant to the knowledge that Vassago was lying to him. I had no small part to play in maintaining those lies, so I witnessed his grit; Alejandro truly believed that he knew everything.” 

“Big fucking whoop; we all think that at some point. Our nuts get swollen, we think we’re hot shit, so we run headfirst into everything that comes our way and assume it’s never gonna hurt. It’s life; we’re not perfect.” 

“Compassion and empathy are also parts of life. Would it hurt you to showcase a scrap of it, for his sake?” 

Blitz stopped walking, and the abruptness of it caused Stolas’ light to only catch him at its edge; where twilight emerged to bathe the imp’s expression and body. Momentum ceased, and the Goetia looked back at his companion with inquisitive eyes.  

“If I do, are you gonna spare any for Andrealphus?” 

To hear such a name, and so perfectly spoken on Blitz’s tongue, was enough to truly snatch the owl’s attention by the throat. He stared with widened eyes, yet no less curious ones; now more so, if not unchanged entirely. “What do you mean by that?” 

“You hate him, but there’s a lot of stuff about him that you don’t know.” 

“And you do?” 

“I do, yeah.” Blitz crossed his arms, voice steady and calm, but weighed down with importance. “Had more than a few conversations with the guy, and got a ton of details that I don’t think you’d pass over.” 

Stolas leaned back against the wall; a light frown freshly birthed upon his beak. “Oh please, do go on: enlighten me.” 

Sincerity, mixed perfectly with serious undertones, flashed across the imp’s yellow eyes. In the half-darkness, they glowed all the more stoic and menacing; to the point they captured the entirety of Stolas’ attention. 

“Did you know that he wanted to be a dad?” 

Immediately, eyes rolled in disbelief. “Oh, please.” 

“You don’t believe me?” 

“I believe what you’ve heard, but I find it hard to believe it was spoken in a genuine nature. Andrealphus is—” 

“He waited seventeen years to make a move on you, because he didn’t want your kid to be around whatever ice shit he’s got going on. You know, that permanently cold thing whenever you get close to him; he said he wouldn’t have even been able to hold Octavia.” 

“You have only known Andrealphus for a short span of time. You are incapable of knowing him as well as I do, so trust me when I say that you can’t trust a word he utters; not completely.” 

“I’ve spent more time with him in the past few days than you probably have most of your long-ass life.” 

“Then how do I understand him better than you?” 

“You don’t.” 

Stolas sighed and pulled away from the wall. “Blitz, all I don’t know is how under the span of just a few days, he already has you in his corner. Is it simply about the reward for your cooperation?” 

The imp balked; offense scribbled across his face. “You think he bought me out?!” 

“It’s certainly worked in the past.” 

“Look, all I’m saying is that he gave up seventeen years of a future with you, all for the sake of your kid. Pardon my fucking French, but that seems like fucking top shelf dad behavior to me; sacrificing his own happiness like that.” Blitz held out a hand, and counted off fingers as he rambled. “He checked my shit when I went too far with Vassago, has been throwing everything he can into the ring to make this fucked-up situation work, and you just keep shitting on him. He’s like a cracked mirror, and all you wanna do is chuck rocks, even after he came out to help you!” 

“It does not matter what he wanted, only what he did.” 

Serpentine eyes narrowed, the natural dark fang-accents which marked them all the sharper, in the moment. “So, what, he fucked up one time and you’re just never going to forgive him for it? You’re not even going to try?” Arms crossed, hands grasped at biceps, and fingers dug into triceps with guarded energy. Fear entangled his heart, dangled upon the edge of Stolas’ answer, and brought a nervous, pleading moisture to his eyes. 

“Blitz, you see a man who distanced himself out of sacrifice. All I see is someone who could have helped me, and chose not to.” The orb which levitated within the owl’s hand intensified in brightness, as if enhanced by the emotions that swirled in his chest. “He is here for Vassago, not for me. That should tell you who he truly cares for.” 

“You don’t think he’s miserable? You don’t think that having to watch me swoop in and screw up everything he waited all that time for didn’t fuck him up? You don’t think he doesn’t live with all that regret from replaying his decisions on loop, every single day in his head, nonstop?” Through the heated emotion, hints of deeper meaning escalated Blitz’s tone further; not simply a conversation about Andrealphus anymore, but a reflection of the self. “You don’t think he feels like utter shit for seeing you hate his guts, and that he’d do anything to fix that; just for one chance to show you how fucking sorry he is?!” 

Blitz’s words echoed down the dark hallway; food for the flood of black which existed as a barrier to their mutual goal. Greedily, they swallowed every syllable, with no indication if anything hidden within registered them as something to investigate. For a time, nothing appeared, and even longer still did nothing arrive. It was nothing but Stolas and Blitz, together, entangled in a game that held no incentive to pursue victory.  

They had the potential to carry on, to bicker and banter deep into obliviousness; until their objective had been forgotten to the point of amnesia. Despite the heightened state of remorse and anger within the tunnel, a schoolyard appreciation for competition managed to worm its way into Stolas. Seeing the other side, after being abjectly opposed to civil conversation with it for long enough, was a defeat he wasn’t willingly to take. Pride in his stance, in his pain and the wrongs done to him, front-lined the insistence to make another point, to justify another act of distaste as a victim of another person’s actions. 

Yet, all the Goetia did, ultimately, was sigh. 

“I think that when we find Alejandro and return home, I will have an honest discussion with Andre; but, for now…” Stolas turned his back and looked ahead, the talons on his feet quick to tap against the hard ground as he strode forward. “…I do not wish to talk about it any longer.” 

Posthaste, Blitz followed in his trail. “Look, I really think he just wants to make you happy.” 

“Did I not just convey that I didn’t wish to continue speaking on the matter?” 

“I just don’t want you getting pissed at me because I told you the truth.” 

“I am more agitated in your insistence than anything.” 

“But—” 

Talons gripped the ground and brought the owl’s stride to a jarring halt. His head, and his head only, swiveled around to look back at the imp; a frown stretched across his beak. “Stop. Talking.” Four red rubies gleamed in the shadows of that magical light, which only cast them in darker shades of predatory menace than before. “I detest arguing with you over insipid things. Andrealphus is a sore spot in my life, and it is not one that you can swoop in and cure just to make your way back into my bedchambers.” 

“Why would I be trying to get back in your bed, when I’m already fucking two other birds?” 

It was a comment made in the moment, baked by frustration that nothing he said seemed to get through to Stolas. No consideration for the argument, no progress, or even a kind word in Andre’s favor to show sincerity about mending fences. The instant the words left his mouth, red eyes narrowed, and the owl’s head promptly snapped back around, as Blitz’s anger vanished into fear and regret. 

“…hey, I didn’t mean that.” 

It was too late; Stolas had already begun to walk away. 

“I didn’t—hey, Stolas: c’mon.” 

Still, the Goetia gave no response. 

“That’s not what I meant. They’re not better than you, and I technically didn’t even touch Vassago; he was just there while I ate—Okay, look, I’m sorry. We were having a good moment earlier, and I don’t want to fuck that up, but I feel like you’re just running away from your shit again.” 

Deeper into silence, deeper into the tunnel, Blitz’s voice reflected off of the stone- constructed walls, as well as the rigidness upon Stolas’ composure and tongue. A desperate, frightened pit germinated in the imp’s stomach; he always hated the cold shoulder treatment, deep down. He’d rather be yelled at than be ignored. 

“Stolas, please, say something.” Blitz’s pace increased, desperate to close the distance between them. An outstretched hand, taut down to the socket of his shoulder, lunged forward and snatched up the towering demon’s hand. “Sto—” 

He felt himself hoisted off the ground; two hands, tucked beneath his arm pits, feet and tail left to dangle in the air! Incapacitated, like how a father would a child, Blitz blinked at the humiliating, pet-like pose he was trapped in. Stunned, all he could do was stare at Stolas, who in turn stared right back. 

“You were my friend.” 

Blitz’s eyes widened. 

“In you, I found hope. Our relationship was one of the only things that kept me going, through my darkest days. I did not live, save for when the Full Moon appeared, and any scrap of attention you gave me caused my heart to leap from my chest. When it finally dawned on me that, perhaps the only reason you stayed with me was because of our arrangement, I took a chance on love; and what occurred, occurred. Yet, as I tried to compose myself, tried to mend my shattered heart, tried to pick up the pieces and start anew, you came back.” 

He had never seen the bird’s face so firm, so immovable. It was beautiful, terrifying, and majestic all at once. 

“Do you know how it made me feel, to find out that not only did you make a deal with Andre, but that you were fucking him for my sake? Do you know how much it tore me up inside, to hear you replicate our nights together, those precious nights of hope, with that cold-hearted bastard…for my sake?” 

Stolas’ grip tightened, but just enough so that Blitz couldn’t slip free, and not enough to cause discomfort or pain.  

“To watch him, an enemy for as long as I’ve been wed to his sister, twist the arrangement I had made with you and shove it back in my face; it was nothing less than agony. You and Vassago both, have fallen under his spell, and I have had to sit by and watch while you each pour honey into my ears; telling me that I was wrong about Andre all along, that I’m the problem, that I need to mend fences and make peace, while he struts around taking what I earned! ” 

Blitz flinched at the elevated tone of Stolas’ voice, as he shouted those declarations of the soul loud enough for them to echo deep down the tunnel.  

“All I wanted was to be free to make my own choices, to love who I wished, and to be loved just as much in return. I thought I had that in you, but you never listened to me! You hear, but you do not listen! You, just like everyone else in my life, have been telling me what I should do and how I should feel; what is best for me, but that isn’t up to anyone but me.” 

As Stolas’ speech grew faster, he pulled Blitz in; those four rubies threatened to devour the imp’s whole existence. 

“I will not forgive Andrealphus, until I decide he is deserving of it; and if that day never comes…then too fucking bad.” 

His rant over, Stolas’ hands slid out from beneath Blitz’s armpits and dropped him to the floor. Too stunned for his acrobat’s instinct to kick in, a sharp sting shot up the imp’s ass as he landed on cold, uncaring concrete. Ashamed in himself, he didn’t even look up to the sound of Stolas’ footsteps, as they grew farther and farther away. Each step caused the light to him, and eventually, he was left sitting in the dark.  

That was a scolding, no doubt. While it had certainly given him answers, they didn’t feel good to have. If anything, the entire situation was more complicated than he originally thought; and with no cellphone reception likely to be found deep underground, there was no way to fill everyone in. Unfortunately, that would need to wait until after they found Alejandro and brought him back.  

At the rate things were going, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Censers, constructed of pure silver, poured out aromatic smoke into a star field of purples and pinks. Serene mist obfuscated all, save any objects which bridged the gap between one another, to the gentle melody of a string harp. Celestial drapes curved down from the ceiling, an extra touch of concealment and charm for those that lay beneath the heavens. 

Nestled atop a beanbag chair, Alejandro held a hookah pipe to his lips, surrounded by bodies, and inhaled. Embers of life, shifted into docility amongst the ashes of woe, mingled with the newfound corrupted dragon’s breath that hugged his lungs. A conglomeration of berries, a hint of mint, and one little kick’s worth of sweet precum mingled on his tongue; as he exhaled the smoke.  

Arms draped across his bare chest, hips hugged his thighs, and cheekbones nestled themselves into the crook of his collarbone on either side. Nameless, warm bodies kept him company in that packed, smothering den of pleasure. Hot kisses, breath laced with aphrodisiacs, pecked and brushed along his skin. Not a shred of clothing remained; and so wandering hands touched upon more erogenous and sensitive zones. A fresh, wet tongue; like a soaking hot fruit-skin, trailed up the side of his neck and made the imp groan.  

“Are you back for good, Ali?” a feminine voice whispered into his ear, just before shark-like teeth nibbled at his jawline. 

“Please don’t leave again, the parties just aren’t the same without you.” a deep, masculine tone purred into his ear, rugged yet soft lips quick to grace his own for a tender, sensual kiss. Alejandro surrendered to it, and basked in the long-forgotten aroma and flavor of another male’s touch.  

“I have no reason to go back.” He sighed, eyes half-lidded, as the alluring trace of smooth nails tickled along his chest and stomach with ease. “My master has betrayed me…” 

“Oh, was he a dirty, dirty liar, Alejandro?”  

“You know no one ever lies to you here.” 

“Here, we all know each other’s most intimate secrets.” 

A slender arm reached up and gently took the hookah pipe away, only to hold it to brand new lips for a slow inhale. A beautiful baphomet demon; pentagram etched above her pierced breasts and jeweled chains draped across her girthy, curved horns. Deep purple fur, like that of a delicious and juicy plum, dressed her curvaceous body and shined in the dark glow of smoke. As she exhaled, stars trailed over the small group, and a curious hand traced the self-inflicted carvings upon Alejandro’s own horns.  

“Here, we can sleep peacefully, and no one bothers us.” 

“All of life’s pleasures come straight to you, and no one ever betrays your trust.” 

“You are safe here with us.” 

“Yes, very safe.” 

“The safest one could be in this world.” 

Pressure, gentle and focused, pressed against the side of his neck. Hot breath wafted across bare skin, and a forked tongue lapped along its surface to in indulge in its infernal flavor. A hooded cobra, with appeasing tones of light blue for scales and skin alike, draped a smooth lower body atop his lap. “Would you like to feel it again, Alejandro?” he softly hissed. “Simply say the word…” 

To him, it was like slipping into an old, comfortable bed on the verge of slumber. Too tired to walk, to think, to continue on without a recharge; his eyes closed further. A soothing vibration in the serpent’s voice ran from the center of his mind and to his heart, where it spread like a most pleasant virus. “I want to feel it…” 

Fangs eased into the flesh of his neck, and immediately, pleasure followed. A mist, a stream, a purifying shower; it was all of those and more. A blast of fresh lava, a splash of cold water on an unwashed face, a loved lips upon his own: bliss. Alejandro groaned, without a trace of fear, as his body accepted the dose of venom.  

Enraptured by his mental coil, the imp only cracked open an eye once he felt a warm tail drift off of his lap to be replaced by another source of intimate warmth. Hands cradled his face, and gentle lips pressed to his own, as weighty hips rocked back and forth. “That’s a good boy. You always had such a great cock.” Soft, hot, and wet flesh pressed down upon his tip. Alejandro couldn’t even remember when he got hard, but as it was quickly wrapped in the silken embrace of demonic pussy, he suddenly forgot to give a shit. 

Pinned beneath child-bearing hips; a glorious sensation of titillating entrapment fished a moan from his throat. Fangs withdrew from his neck; their poison injected deep enough to breed within his veins, and a cooling lick from a forked tongue soothed the two holes. To be content, to be so light that not even reality could ground him: true bliss. To not exist in the present, but to exist in the space between it and the future. He was beholden to no one.  

Pleasure rolled upwards from his groin and infected his entire torso; mind lulled into serene complacency. Thoughts of his home, perched upon the precipice of Sloth’s yawning ocean, wandered into his mind. Warm sun, the smell of salt in the air, the gentle song of morning birds upon first light… 

His master, sitting at his writing desk, planting quill to parchment in the dull light of glowing candles. 

Where did I go wrong? he thought. Was I simply not a worthy enough servant? Did I not study hard enough? Were my eyes not keen? How did I not see he held secrets? Why did I think I was beloved enough for such a thing not to exist…  

He thought of all the companions that his master had gained, since he had written those letters. Prince Stolas; spiteful and bitter beneath a mirthful veil of caution and song. Marquis Andrealphus; a coward, nestled within a hollow shell of ice and lofty delusions. Blitz; a lowly imp, like himself, who sought comfort and love in the arms of another far above his station.  

All striding towards the same goal. 

All wrestling with the same faults. 

Resentment. Terror. Uncertainty.  

At any point, to the bid of any slight, they could have departed; abandoned his master.  

Yet, the only one who abandoned Master Vassago…was his most devout follower.  

Alejandro grimaced at the realization and drew the hookah pipe back to his lips. With a mighty, measured inhale, the imp thrust his hips upwards in earnest, and exhaled as the baphomet demon cried out in pleasure. Star-filled vapor rushed from his lungs, but all they reminded him of were faces he’d much rather extinguish. The pain of seeing his friend’s face, and all of its rich crimson feathers, opened the door to allow the indulgences of forgetfulness inside.  

Better to forget, at least for a time, in the hopes it would somehow dull the agony in his heart.  

Chapter 14: What is My Worth To You?

Summary:

Hot on Alejandro's trail, Blitz and Stolas reach a deviant den of delights, deep within the crust of Lust.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧ 

After a time, dark hallways slowly embraced lines of installed light; fluorescents of violet and green that smoothly curved around corners and hugged flat to concrete. Graffiti only grew in frequency, the colors emboldened by youth and the lines bloated with bold displays of artistic fire. With newfound illumination, there was no need for Stolas to light the way, and so he dispelled the magic, makeshift lantern in favor of modern advancements.  

Blitz didn’t open his mouth, until he saw the guard; a colossal, three-headed hellhound. The physique of a brick shit house wrapped in a smothering amount of tight leather, it was a trifecta of danger; and the worst part was that it stood at the end of the hallway.  

“Been a hot minute since I’ve seen one of those.” he muttered under his breath. Three heads meant three mouthfuls of teeth, three brains to strategize, three voices to sway anyone it spoke to, and the strength of three hellhounds to boot. Common sense told him that if Alejandro went anywhere, it was straight ahead; which meant he got past the guard, and they’d need to do the same. “I’ve got a good feeling it’s not just gonna let us in.” 

Holstered in a hidden pocket, right against his tit, the thick curvature of his flintlock pistol dug against toned muscle. The tip of his tail consciously traced a hidden knife, sheathed at the back of his belt. Which to use, which to use… 

Stolas remained quiet; arms hidden beneath the coverage of his closed cloak. He hadn’t said a single word since the outburst from earlier, and the prolonged silence had left Blitz to entertain himself. Normally, a steamy session of rough, hate sex would have cleared the air; but even the horniest idiot could sense the ‘fuck-around-and-find-out’ energy that surrounded the owl.  

Perhaps it was that same energy, which quickened Stolas’ stride ahead of Blitz and straight towards the massive demon. 

“Stolas!” Blitz hissed; tongue mashed against the back of his teeth. “What the fuck are you doing?” Only tail feathers and coat tails paid the imp any mind. “They’re not just gonna let us in; we need a plan.” Again, no response, no recognition; that damned cold shoulder. “Stolas!”  

Frustration welled, mixed with a fat dose of creamy fear which give him heart jitters. The hallway wasn’t exactly big, and he’d need the rest of his crew to even consider taking that particular type of guard down. Blitz jogged to catch up; Stolas was going to get himself hurt! 

At their approach, the massive hellhound stuck out a hand, “Halt.” Gruff, but feminine, all three heads locked forward, but only the center spoke. “State your business.” 

Before Blitz could crack a word out, Stolas had already started speaking. 

“We are to meet our mutual companion.”  

“Passcode.” 

“Passcode?” 

“Yeah, passcode.” Leather creaked and strained against the flex of iron muscle, as the hound’s forearms clenched. “No passcode, no entry.”  

“Hold on, hold on…” the right head spoke, its tone identical to its neighbor. Brown eyes, like fresh chestnuts, darted in Blitz’s directions. “…he’s got an imp.” That canine head jutted forward; its muscular neck stretched as it sniffed. “They’ve been fucking too; it reeks of cloaca.” 

“Now wait just a fucking minute, you--!” Stolas’ hand clamped over Blitz’s mouth, quicker than a lightning strike.  

“Is that an issue?” 

The leftmost head snarled, then chuckled, as if giving an elaborate snort of amusement. “No, just rare; a Goetia, fucking an imp? Oh yeah, you’ll fit right in down here.” 

At the declaration of his status, Stolas lightly twitched, and at the motion, the left head continued to speak.  

“Even with that hood up, we know.” 

“It’s our job to know.” 

“It’s also our job to know who belongs here.” 

“And who doesn’t.” 

“You two horny fuckers definitely belong.” 

“Couple of degenerate freaks.” 

“Absolutely nasty pair of fornicators.” 

“You here to swing? Chase down some more lower-class cock to stuff in your royal bird puss, your highness?”  

At the playful jab, all three heads chuckled and snickered amongst each other. 

“Not the first Goetia we’ve seen down here either; bunch of preening, pretty, porcelain money pouches.” 

“You want in, pretty bird? Flash us your house sigil to prove who you rep, and we’ll swing these doors wide open.” 

Their barrage of information was so swift, that neither Blitz or Stolas could get a word in edgewise. All they could do was blush, tense, and shuffle; the imp far more than the owl. Those shit eating grins tickled the back of his scalp in a way that made his skin crawl. Yet, discreetly, he pulled his jacket collar in for a quick sniff; did he really smell like Andrealphus? Maybe the mutts were good enough to smell bird, but not tell the difference between one to the next. 

“Very well.” Both of Stolas’ hands rose, talons touched their tips together, and as they pulled apart, threads of sparkling blue appeared to connect them. Commanded by an unseen force, those same threads drifted upwards, then began to snake and twist about to form a brand-new shape. From the side, Blitz could hardly tell what he was looking at, but eventually he made out a few specific details.  

At the center, a heart; that was obvious. Above it, two thick, wing-shaped eyebrows and a five-pointed crown. Below, broad lines that turned and hooked up, while some hooked down at sharp angles; all which pointed down to a small, filled ball: and below that, a smaller set of wings. It was the same symbol that covered Stolas’ place; banners, blankets, just about everywhere and on everything.  

"Welcome, Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia.” 

“Welcome, Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia.” 

“Welcome, Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia.” 

Each head spoke in unison, then set their sights upon Blitz. “Does the little red twink have a name?” 

“Twink?!” Heels dug into the ground, thighs and calves tightened; he was ready to spring.  

“Is his name truly important?” Stolas sighed. With a wave of his hands, the sigil unwound into mist.  

“Unless you want him to be considered free range meat while inside.” 

“Either he’s with you, or he’s with everyone; if you catch our drift.” 

A sideways glance was exchanged between both demons, and while Blitz didn’t possess the aptitude for telepathy, they made due. To wrangle his anger at being labeled as a twink, both a blow to his ego and his pride, he ground his teeth.  

“It’s Blitz.” 

“Welcome Blitz, Twink of Prince Stolas.” 

“Welcome Blitz, Twink of Prince Stolas.” 

“Welcome Blitz, Twink of Prince Stolas.” 

“I am not a twink!” 

The heads exchanged doubtful glances, as Stolas did his best to keep his laughter in check; a cute, smug little snicker that was completely grown from his expense. Blitz’s face burned red hot, and his spiked tail lashed at the ground. He had half a mind to flash them his abs and dick, just to show them what was what! 

Lumbering muscle shifted out of the way, one huge paw already wrapped around the door’s handle, and opened the way. Smoke drifted into the hallway, as did the melody of a string instrument; both saccharin sweet upon their ears, noses, and tongues. Below it, a feminine moan drifted through, to pair with the tri-faced grin of the hound.  

“Go on, enjoy yourselves.” 

“No one will disturb you, here.” 

“If you ever get tired of your little imp, I’ll be right out here, Your Highness.” A sultry lick of teeth, bared things and pulled back lips, accented the offer, as all six eyes devoured Stolas’ form like he were a five star, three course feast. 

Beneath the spotlights of hungry eyes, Blitz stifled the most colorful curse he could conjure. He and Stolas didn’t travel into the guts of Lust just to fuck it all up at, what felt like, the starting line. They’d made it pretty damn far; all that was left was to figure out how much further the race track ran. Together, they walked past the guard and through the door, only to hear it close behind them with a surprisingly quiet click.  

Piles of pillows, floor futons, and various breeds of demons lay strewn about a wide and circular room. Congregations of demons, no more than five to a group, lounged around large, glass bubble-shaped vase fixtures; each with protruding tubes which hung towards the floor like a gorgon’s locks. Several demons imbibed a thick smoke from inside the vase, their faces the epitome of rapturous delight, mingled with a touch of euphoria as eyes rolled back into skulls. Above such a grisly display, harp strings plucked in the pattern of a serene melody; one which incited comfort across all of den’s denizens.  

At the room’s center, sat a demon devoid of a face; it’s four sets of fingers raised to trace and pluck at silken strings. Bloated, possessed of gelatinous folds of pockmarked skin, it’s swollen, sausage-like digits carried themselves with unexpected grace. Yet, none of the other demons reached close to its size. Oddly, it possessed no horns of any kind, nor a tail, but it couldn’t be human; despite its appearance.  

Somewhere, amongst the squalid collection of souls, a feminine moan cried out in mulled delight.  

“…wow, what a shithole.” 

“Why would Alejandro come to such a place? He was always so distinguished…” 

Their whispers turned a small number of heads; scruffy hellhounds, beautiful incubi and succubi wrapped in tight leather garments, even a few shark demons from the seas of Envy. Out of them all, only one summoned enough gumption to approach; a ragged, purple skinned imp. One bloodshot eye, baggy clothes, loosened tie, and bare hooves sold him as a businessman, but the glaring lack of pants or underwear indicated a lack of decorum. His hair was shaven short, and gazelle-like horns curved in opposite angles from one another.  

“You guys look new! Wanna snort some devil-dust?” From out of his shirt pocket, he pulled his hand, and opened it to reveal a glimmering pile of what looked to be black sand. “It’s just like angel dust, but it’s got way more punch!” 

“No thank you, we’re just here to—” 

“Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah; I know why you’re here. You wanna have a good time!” The imp’s head jolted with an erratic twitch, followed by a powerful but short sniff of the dark sand and a subsequent rub of the nose. “You wanna cut loose; fuck the standards man, fuck the rules. There ain’t no rules in here; heh-heh: none!” 

“Guess that explains the no pants thing.” Blitz muttered under his breath.  

“Yes, we do, but we’d like to do it with someone we already know. The thing is, they’ve gotten here before us, and we need some help finding them. Could you help us, perhaps?” 

“Depends, I—” The imp snapped around and furiously clawed at his back, feet caught in a stampede of movement as he spun about. Agitated, feral snarls flew from his mouth like a swarm of piranha, until his claws sank into the spot he had been reaching for. Back arched, head tilted, pure relief washed over his face. “—oh, that’s the fucking spot…right there…oh, fuck yeah…take that, you dirty little bugs…” 

“Hey, basket case!” Blitz barked, as he snapped his fingers at the stranger. “Curly hair, engraved horns, looks like a pompous dickhead; probably been crying. You seen him?” 

 “Let me just…wrack my memory here: one sec…” The flattened edge of his hand struck the side of his own head, which caused his entire upper body to lean slightly in one direction. He then repeated the action, hitting himself as if to revive a corpse. “Almost got it…”  

Blitz and Stolas glanced to one another in mild concern, but also with a touch of incredulity.  

“Should we make him stop?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not his mom.” 

“It would take far more than a mother’s worry to fix this one.” 

“Someone else has gotta know if Alejandro’s been here.” 

“If you wish to wander up to any of these addled minds and try getting anything useful out of them, be my guest, but I think we’re wasting our time.” 

“What, you wanna go back out the door and ask Dick, Dick, and Van Dyke?” 

Stolas shuddered, and a downturned frown wiggled onto his beak. “I’d rather not.” 

“That’s what I thought; she’s not your type anyway.” 

“Well, she had the proper physique, at least.” 

“Enough about Muscle Mommy Mania, we’ve got a job to do.” 

“She really rubbed you the wrong way, didn’t she? Was it just the twink comment, or was it more that she made a pass at me in front of your face?” 

Blitz fell silent; a response at the precipice of his mind, ready to catapult from his mouth. It slapped against the back of his teeth, and was allowed to stew atop his tongue for a brief time. “Both.” 

“Well, now you know somewhat how I felt when you agreed to fuck Andre; not a pleasant feeling at all, is it?” 

As he swallowed Stolas’ words like the most bitter of pills, the sound of muffled impact reached their ears, and both demons looked down to see that the purple-skinned imp had knocked himself out cold. Silently, they stepped around his body. 

“Ugh, he’s got a boner.” Blitz groaned in disgust. 

Stolas gave a heavy sigh and pinched at the space between his eyes. Finding someone reliable would no doubt prove difficult; as everywhere he looked, he witnessed not a single well-kept or trustworthy-looking soul. Goetian parties looked heavenly by comparison, even if just as dull; they at least had the manners to debase themselves behind closed doors. Lost in his thoughts, the abrupt tug on his cloak nearly caused him to stumble, and with a degree of annoyance, he turned to look at Blitz.  

“What?” 

The imp said nothing, his wide eyes locked on something amongst the smoke-filled crowd; arm out and finger pointed. Stolas followed the direction of his finger, and immediately understood what had stopped Blitz dead in his tracks.  

“You cannot be seri—” 

“It’s a fucking horse!”  

Across the room, leaned back against the wall, stood a stallion. Hands in its chain-laden pockets, sleeveless arms bulged with white-furred muscle, it paid little heed to the circle of smokers which sat directly at its flame laden hooves. A mane of purple fire crackled atop its head, flanked by two dark horns, and stretched down the back of its neck, metal spikes jutted upwards from the shoulders of a black jean jacket, and a tight decal shirt hugged its pecs and torso, while leaving a window for the abs to show. Two sets of glowing, pupilless eyes stacked atop on another, on either side of a lengthy and broad snout, and matched the shade of molten-hued fangs that jutted down from its top lip.  

It was only then, that Stolas recognized the brilliant, gleeful twinkle in Blitz’s eyes.  

“…No.” 

“What?!” 

“No, do not go over there and talk to it.” 

“But—” 

“I said no.” 

“But he’s wearing pants, Stols! That’s way better than the last guy!” 

“He’s also not smoking or fornicating. Take a moment and ask yourself why you think that is.” 

“Because…” Blitz began, the excitement hitched in his voice, undeterred by the difficult task given to him. “…because he hasn’t met me yet!” 

“No, because he’s likely the one guarding the door that he’s standing directly next to.” 

Blitz blinked, “…oh hey, there is totally a door there.” 

“Which means that Alejandro might not even be in this room.” 

“All the more reason to talk to the fucking horse guy so that we can find out!” 

“I will speak with him. You will stay put.” 

“What?! Why?!” 

“Because I recognize that look on your face; you want to fuck it, and as the resident bottom of our situationship, I can tell you with a straight face that you wouldn’t survive.” Stolas rolled his eyes as Blitz dashed forward, only to be snagged by the prince’s talons and held back. The imp stretched his arms as far as they could go, whipped his tail, and strained with effort. “I understand this is a special moment for you, but we cannot afford to be distracted right now.” 

“Oh, come on, we can tag team him!” 

“You were the one just preaching about how we have a job to do.” 

“Yes, and that job is now to get through that door, and I am willing to take one for the team to reach our goal! It’s called synergy, ever heard of it?!” 

Stolas hoisted Blitz off the ground by the back of his jacket and held him there. Having effectively disabled the imp’s flailing, he began to walk towards the aforementioned horse, carrying the imp like a handbag.  

“Fine, we shall speak to him together, but you will keep your hands off.”  

No one paid them any mind, truly lost in their own heads; too full of addictive smoke and drugs to do much else. Their utter lack of concern made the journey quick and simple, the end of which brought Stolas and Blitz directly before that hulking horse demon. In silence, it regarded them with a downturned snout and a gentle snort of hellish breath; one which summoned plumes of black smoke that drifted into the air. If there was any amount of confusion regarding the status of Blitz’s heightened elevation, none showed upon its face.  

“Pardon, but what lies behind that door?” Stolas asked. 

“Who’s asking?”  Measured, deep, concentrated; a voice of authority backed by complete confidence, as expected for a doorman. Yet, in it, a delicate kindness lurked behind the scenes, as if without spite or disdain for the question. 

“Prince Stolas, of the Ars Goetia.” 

“Welcome, Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia. The V.I.P. Lounge sits beyond this door, but there’s a nominal fee for entry.” The stallion’s attention turned down at Blitz, and all four of his eyes narrowed. “Is this your…luggage?” 

“He is my partner for the evening, and we are to meet with a third, whom we believe is already inside waiting our arrival.” 

Blitz gave an excited little wave, tail curled up close to his thigh, but otherwise kept his mouth shut. Even from on high, his sheer wonderment reached Stolas, and incited what could only be described as annoyance within him. He had never seen, or felt, such a strong positive emotion from Blitz before. Inadequacy sank its fangs deep and injected jealousy to stir in his veins; was it misplaced, in the face of such fawning?  

“Is there any particular reason that your partner is eye-fucking me so voraciously?” 

“Oh, pay it no mind; he simply has a bit of a fascination with equines. It is rare to see one who walks on two legs instead of four.” 

“Hi-my-name-is-Blitz-and-I’m-totally-a-power-top-but-for-you-I’d-saddle-up-if-you-know-what-I’m-saying-hahaha!” 

Secondhand embarrassment wracked through Stolas’ spine and shoulders like the lash of an ice-cold whip; a sentiment not shown in the expression of the guard, who simply perked a brow.  

“Oh, so he’s one of those.” 

“I’m…terribly sorry about that.” 

“Don’t worry, it happens a lot, so I’m used to it. Around here, with these freaks, it’s to be expected at this point.” The horse demon pulled a set of keys out of his front pocket, attached to a lanyard, and flipped them up into the air. Deftly, he snatched them clean, and slipped a single key between his thumb and index finger. “Royalty automatically possesses clearance to enter the V.I.P Section, but payment is still required. A simple, honest moment of passion between you and your partner will get you in.” 

“Like…” Blitz began, as he glanced to the nearest group of fornicating demons. “…how passionate we talking?” 

“Simple typically means basic, in case you missed the meaning. I’m not expecting the both of you to fuck in front of me; just show a little love.” 

Stolas raised Blitz upwards, until both demons sat at eye level with one another. While his set of four were narrowed, an awkward, shifted pair could hardly maintain contact. His feelings about Blitz had been made rather clear, to his face no less, but reluctance towards intimacy remained. It appeared, in not so many words, that the imp sensed the tension their shared history caused; and not only did he not leap at the chance, he outright waited for Stolas to make the first move.  

A secondary arm scooped the imp up beneath his legs and supported his back. The hand upon that cloak’s collar shifted to the back of Blitz’s head. Cradled like a princess, he blushed at Stolas’ initiative, and his heart hammered. He’d taken a lot of orders in the bedroom, even barked out more than a few of his own, but had always felt in charge; even on bottom. Perhaps it was the silence that carried between them, or maybe just the surprise he felt at how easily he fit in the prince’s arms, but a tremor of butterflies fluttered in his stomach nonetheless.  

Stolas leaned in, the once sharp angle of his narrowed eyes turned to a gentle, almost bedroom-esque calm, and slipped his beak against Blitz’s lips. 

Reunited with a sensation he had longed to experience again, a moan trembled out of the imp’s throat and into that royal beak. Drained of breath, filled with the intimacy of a previous lover, submission came all too easy; an empty vessel to be filled with whatever Stolas wished. Blitz’s eyes slipped shut, and the sweet twinge of that succulent tongue caused his own to arch in bliss. Wrapped up against the much sturdier, girthier muscle, he didn’t resist as they coiled amongst one another; left to wind and suck and caress in kind.  

Then, just as seamlessly as it began, it ended. 

Mouths parted, and while Blitz’s face simmered with the fires of romance, Stolas' remained the picture of stoicism. Without a word shared, he turned his head towards the sentry. “Was that sufficient?” 

Key already lodged in the door’s handle; the equine demon nodded. “Quite; more than sufficient, really. I’d say that single kiss counts as passage in perpetuity.” With a single push, the door swung inwards, and a cornucopia of sounds, scents, and colors poured out. Its combined presence bled into the dingier, rattier space in which they stood, and several loungers fixated their attention on the open door. “Please, enjoy your evening.” The horse gave a bow, waved them through, and shut the door behind them. 

Still captured in a state of allure, magnified by the assertive and confident nature that Stolas had exhibited to induce it, Blitz hardly comprehended his surroundings. A constant tingle zapped back and forth along his lips, while he traced and scraped his tongue along the insides of his mouth; each stroke a dose of Stolas’ flavor absorbed into his body. Unending, that savory, succulent sensation weakened the resistance of his nerves; blankets of pleasantry draped over his mind, to make each of his sense that much stronger. 

He dabbed at his lips; hot, seemingly thicker than usual, and watched as his fingers trembled. 

“…the fuck was that?!” 

“A kiss.” 

“No, oh no, no, no, no, no— no. You’ve never done that before, whatever the fuck it was.” 

“I’m telling you Blitz, it was just a simple kiss, done to get through an obstacle; nothing special about it.” Arms parted and practically dumped the imp down onto the floor, but years of acrobatic training landed him on his feet with relative ease. “Now, start looking for Alejandro, so that we can leave.” 

Bathed in a red glow, the V.I.P Lounge stood with all the grace and dignity of a five-star restaurant. Red velvet material covered the walls, like the upholstery of royal chairs, capped with a diamond to secure each portion in place. Dim, shadowy chandeliers dangled from on high; a mixture of smaller models amongst positively massive behemoths of crystal and gold. Slow, solemn strings of a violin drifted through a foyer of elegantly dressed guests. Half-capes, shined boots, frilly dresses; a proper ball, at first glance. Gem-adorned masks concealed the faces of every occupant, as did the thin veil of smoke that drifted alongside the music.  

Not a single hand was void; wine glasses, cigarette holders, all gripped with elegance. Horns, spikes, tails, and tendrils smeared their attempts at refinement, yet each demon carried themselves with a straight back and an upturned chin. Tall, short, wide, thin; all obscured by the garments they donned. 

“It’s definitely a far classier atmosphere, I must say.” 

“Yeah, not a single ball sack in sight.” At Stolas’ grimace, Blitz defensively folded his arms. “What?” 

“You switch dispositions quicker than the Albizia Lebbeck grows.” 

“…the Ali-Baba what now?”  

Out of the crowd, a singular figure slipped into view; or, more accurately, scuttled. A crustaceous lower body, like that of a lobster, walked on eight legs; each capped with a curved claw-like nail. Thick, shiny plating covered the creature’s lower body, all the way to its fan-shaped tail. At its front, sat not the guise of a seaborne beast, but that of a rotund woman. Multiple rings rested around her pudgy fingers, all save the index, which was graced with a hinged finger guard that ended in a sharp point. A singular, egg-shaped brooch rested atop an ample bosom of pale white skin, which was allowed breathing room via the window of her red, silken dress. Said dress ended where humanoid met animal; cut perfectly to hide any skin which made try to bare itself below.  

Upon her face sat a mask of ornate design; thick golden lines upon a backdrop of black, twisted and curved into an intricate maze of swirls. Two constructed what appeared to be eyes, around two beady white dots, while the rest twisted about the top of her chin and jawline like braided hair. Atop her head of graying hair rested a glimmering tiara; laden with just as many jewels as her hands, unbothered by the presence of horns.  

“What do we have here?” she crooned. “New guests, after oh-so long? Oh— ” A paper fan snapped open, with a flick of her thick wrist. Decorated in opulent depictions, far too complicated to discern in motion, it rapidly flapped and stirred up a breeze towards her covered face. “—positively stupendous! It has been an age; simply an age.”  

All four sets of her legs bent, and she lowered into what appeared to be a polite curtesy.  

“I am Lady Filigrace, and I welcome you to this lovely little corner of Lust. Tell me, did you have any trouble with the doorman? Sebastian is prone to engage in a good, rousing joust, and sometimes he can be rather forward, but I assure you he’s a proper workhorse.” 

“Sebastian was…” Stolas began, his topmost eyes fixated on the newcomer’s aquatically-adapted body, while his main pair remained locked on her masked face. The swirls, sharp in color and stroke, blurred with prolonged observation. “…polite.” 

“Does he always have people make out to get in here?” Blitz planted himself firm, legs splayed and hands planted on his hips. Many demons were taller than him; it came with being an imp, but Lady Filigrace made Stolas look like a malnourished teenager. 

A boisterous and cheery laugh erupted from her mouth, “Only when he wishes to indulge his voyeuristic tendencies. Believe it or not, Sebastian is what we like to call a parasocial cuckold.”  

Memories of previous, personal escapades involving his employees dashed through Blitz’s mind, and incurred a toll of defensive posturing; arms crossed, head turned, eyes averted. He’d hardly ever thought of himself as a fucking cuck of all things. 

“Now, gossip aside, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing this evening?” 

“Prince Sto—” 

“Stolas and Blitz. He’s a prince, I’m his dick.” The curt response emerged as an oppressive bark; irritation at being asked multiple times its fuel. Predictably, the searing gaze of Stolas’ eyes burned into the side of his head, and Blitz whipped his head around to stare them down, in full on pout-mode. “What, it’s true! I’m tired of being asked the same shit, when no one can even answer our one fucking question!” 

Lady Filigrace’s expression, if offended, stayed hidden behind that ornate mask. Her body language did not shift, nor did the upbeat tone to her voice, but her legs did bend low and gave her human half room to dip closer towards him.  “And what question would that be, my dear, Sir Blitz?”  

“Where, in this underground fuck palace, is Alejandro?” 

With a brisk snap of the wrist, her paper fan clacked shut. Formed into a sharp, black rectangle, its end eased against Blitz’s chest. The plating on her tail and legs shifted, as if in the midst of a shiver, and the volume of her voice dropped low. “What business do you have with Madam Kai’s protégé?” 

“Listen lady, you’re prime bucket list material, but if you don’t get that weird ass toilet paper roll off my chest, I’ll butter and boil you!” 

The mask, and all of its golden majesty, instantly snapped into a new guise altogether. Glaring swathes of red, angular lines wove the appearance of a demonic, spiteful face. Furrowed brows, mouth parted in a ferocious scream, with violent, zig-zagging lines to fill its maw; all beneath a steadily growing pair of wooden horns. Blitz recoiled, as did Stolas, as hellish heat fumed from behind the false visage. 

“You stringy little shit; how dare you speak to me in such a crass manner?!” A small legion of legs angrily scuttled in place against the ground and drew several turned heads. Gouts of black smoke trailed from behind her mask, as Lady Filigrace reared back and kicked her front most legs at the air; a single hand shoved down the cleavage of her chest. The glint of a firearm shined in the club’s dim, crimson lighting. “Ungrateful dogs get put down, you know; shot in the streets!”  

Faster than expected for someone with such plump arms, she whipped out a pistol and aimed it straight at Blitz’s face! 

The hammer cocked back, with a click. 

Blitz tensed, too caught off guard to move in time.  

Fierce, radiant light flashed through the room, and a damned howl wailed with enough force to shake the crystal chandeliers. It was Lady Filigrace; in the split second before her entire body turned to stone. 

Frozen in time, the masked demon stood arched, caught in the middle of a violent rebuttal. Blitz blinked in shock, then turned towards Stolas; whose eyes shimmered with a menacing sheen.  

“Stolas…you…” 

“…have also grown weary of our lack of progress. As if I was ever going to allow anyone to shoot you in the face.” One single finger dipped low, then pushed Blitz’s slackened jaw back up to a full close. “Now then, I wish to be home; so, let us dispense with formalities, find Alejandro, and drag him out of whatever hole he’s hiding in.” 

Stolas’ cloak brushed alongside Blitz’s skin, cool and smooth, as he walked into a crowd of murmuring onlookers; all of whom parted for the prince. Awe, gratitude, happiness, and even confusion wormed their way into Blitz’s legs and bid him forth in eternal pursuit; for he would follow Stolas until the end of time, and a miniscule hope dared to dream that the feeling was mutual.  

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧ 

Andrealphus, feathers rustled and drenched in the aroma of intimate delights, watched in silence as Vassago slumbered peacefully beside him. At long last, the parrot had tired himself out. Of course, the marquis had played no minor role in such an achievement, to which pride roared in his fluffy chest. In admiration for the beautiful feathers of his bedfellow, a gentle brush of the hand smoothed back the stray plumage which dangled over Vassago’s face.  

Never before had he seen anyone so content, and the urge to kiss him once more tethered its strings to Andre’s beak. Innumerous times had he been graced with such a gift, yet hungered for its fulfilling grace: unquenched. Gentle breaths grew all the more visible, as he leaned down and planted a soft kiss upon Vassago’s forehead; their rhythmic rise and fall like a field of roses which wound upon untouched, sacred hills of the wildlands.  

Then, quiet as a door mouse, the peacock slid out of bed and donned his nearby night robe. With each step towards the winding staircase, the warmth of Vassago’s presence faded, and once the top step braced against the bottom of his foot, the smile faded from Andrealphus’ beak. In the dim shade of night, he glowed and glittered with the majesty of stars, as he spiraled down into the living room. Without the others around, an aura of uncanny serenity was all that was left to greet him. 

 Such memories they had made in such a short time; each conversation, bitter jab, and physical assault clear as day in his mind. Their extended stay had been riddled with many ups, and just as many downs, but the end was still not in sight. Uncertainty pressed against bitter cold, but apathy warded it away; only for another emotion to test its luck against Andre’s curse. He thought of Alejandro, of his flight from the estate, and the severe reaction to such a simple white lie. His beak dipped into a frown, as the image of Vassago’s emotional torment hammered a sharply honed nail into his frozen heart. It was not guilt, or empathy, or pity that violently flailed its way into the depths of Andrealphus’ mind and soul; but anger. 

Windows crackled in the embittered embrace of frost; solid fields of sharp snowflakes which concealed all from inside and out. An imbued hand slicked back the plumage atop his head and froze it into proper shape, as a multitude of scenarios ran through his mind. Surely, when Alejandro was brought back, there would be numerous changes in the household. If he played his cards right, any further emotional torment to Vassago could be mitigated, but if not…then he would have words with that little imp and clarify the situation. 

Claustrophobia tickled the edges of his senses. Ice had grown from beneath his fluffy robe and spread like a malignant disease; having stretched across the entire couch and turned the fire pit into a crystalline ash tray. Andrealphus breathed deep, eyeballed the sliding door, and wandered his way out to the back porch. The ever-accepting maw of Gluttony’s darkening day cast the altered landscape of the backyard in soft orange hues, yellow streaks of dying sunlight, and the soft rustle of nearby trees.  

Locked behind a canopy of nature, long drifted below what he could see, the sun struggled to beam through the branches. Its rays did nothing to comfort Andre; not its presence, touch, or imagery. It wouldn’t be long before, it too, slumbered and allowed a colder, darker moon to cast a pale glow across the ring. Sadly, Gluttony’s darkness would eventually swallow up what light the moon gifted them; in its insatiable lust for all things.  

Branches rustled in the wind, and as the final beams of sunlight faded behind the skyline…a footstep tapped out right behind him. 

“You overestimate your guile.” He said, arms clasped behind his back. “If I had arrived with the imp a moment sooner, he may have recognized you.” 

Metal clinked, alongside the sturdy tap of a strong heel. Another followed, then another, and another; each possessed of increased volume as they drew close.  

“So, tell me, were you successful?” 

Smooth, heavy paper brushed the back of his hand, and the marquis parted his fingers to accept it into his grasp. It was a thick, maroon-shaded file folder stamped with an Asmodean wax seal and smothered in an assortment of other, more magical seals. Naked to the uninitiated eye, but oppressive to a Goetia, Andrealphus’ beak quietly uttered a dispelling incantation. 

“Wasn’t easy, bustin’ into a Sin’s nesting ground.” 

One of the seals dissipated into a trail of icy butterflies which fluttered into the air and quickly vanished; their accompanying blue glow enough to flash across the peacock’s face. “As we agreed, your compensation shall be great and fair, if you have truly succeeded.” 

“Compensation don’t begin to cut it. Your information was half-baked, so I’mma need to up my fee for my trouble.” 

Another seal ruptured into butterflies, just as a wave of resigned irritation coursed down Andre’s spine. A weary, hapless sensation; one that not only weighed down his mood, but his mind. Dispelling the seals required the lion’s share of his attention, and one mistake could potentially trigger a fail-safe to destroy what they guarded.  

“Were you seen?” 

“Not by anyone who can speak about it.” 

Sharp air slowly surged into the marquis’ nostrils: imbecile. “If you left a trail…” he warned, steady tone rife with menace.  

“I didn’t: professional’s guarantee.” The hefty weight of metal, once again, clacked along the wooden deck. “But, you know, once some bookkeeper takes stock, they’re probably gonna find themselves short; and when that happens…” 

“… it will be all they know.” A third and fourth seal metamorphosed together; the flash of which caught Andrealphus’ side eye in a thick veil of shadow. “If, however, they somehow manage to link me to its disappearance…” 

“Say no more; read ya loud and clear, Your Lordship.” His title, reinforced with a lightly laced hiss of venom, drew a cold chuckle from the marquis. 

“Good.” The fifth seal met the same fate as its four siblings; and then, there was one. “Keep your phone close. I will have more work for you soon, but for now; observe, record, and lay low. Payment shall be sent, once I absorb what you have brought.” 

The presence behind him drew away, its steps slow to fully die into silence; and before they could… 

“Oh, and one more thing.” 

A warning rattle; caught mid-stride. “What?” 

Andrealphus watched as the sixth and final seal fluttered away, his fingers quick to trace at the edges of the folder’s labeled tab. “No more disguises.” 

Chapter 15: Markings of Royalty

Summary:

Searches end and begin anew. Concern breeds investigation and actions unsound. What are the consequences of will? What is the purpose of righteous deeds done for selfish means? All paths leave trails; their footfalls marked by past action, taken without consideration for the future.

One slumbers.
Two meet.
Three engage.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧ 

From scarlet hues filled with velvet and crystals, Blitz and Stolas shifted into a bath of purple and blues. Soothing in palette, gentle in application upon the walls they walked between, the air grew still and quiet. An infantry of doors, lined at attention, dared not shed their inner secrets; save with those who wandered past. Lust’s natural melody echoed through wood, in the essence of ecstatic moans, the creak of springs, and playfully wrathful utterings of sweetest sugar.  

After the petrification of Lady Filigrace, onlookers had denoted the two demons worthy of a wide berth and loose tongues. Alejandro’s location within those lurid halls had been freely divulged, and it was to that exact room which they traveled in close company. While silence floated between them, the opportunity for solitary thought pushed Blitz to conjure up a potent query; one which he couldn’t keep to himself. 

“What if he doesn’t want to come back?” 

Stolas looked ever onward, but his upper and lower eyes both shifted in direction of the question. “If he’s in half the state I assume he’s in; Alejandro won’t be able to say no.” 

“I just want to be clear on the game plan.” 

“If by some obtuse miracle he isn’t lethargic, we explain the situation in full and hope that he listens to reason.” 

“Stolas, the guy knocked Velvet-Vaseline right in his big, curved schnauzer; reason flew out the window back at home.” 

“Knowing that, what was your plan, upon chasing after him?” 

“Hey, I didn’t know he was going to get so far so quick and definitely didn’t expect him to end up in a place like this.” Blitz’s tail flicked, as if annoyed by the implication of his empty headedness. “And, you know; you had medicine, Andre had his magic, but all I could do was stand around like a dope after the fact.” 

“So, you gave chase because you felt inadequate?” 

“Packed in a house full of magic royals, it’s hard not to. You’ve got money, power, looks; and then there’s me, the breeding stock. I swear, if any of you were swinging double digits like me, Andy wouldn’t have invited me in.” With the self-degradation came an all-too familiar knot of bitterness that nested behind his heart. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that no one really wants me there, either.” 

Momentary silence harrowed Blitz’s tugged nerves. His eyes grew hot with dregs of shame; vulnerability wasn’t his thing, it never paid out well, but there he was spilling his guts in front of Stolas. Instantly, the uncomfortable memory of their last Full Moon rendezvous sparked to life in his mind’s eye, to reinforce his fears. The only consolation was that the silent treatment didn’t feel nearly as painful as before.  

“Do you expect that, by returning Alejandro home, you’ll gain some manner of genuine respect from Vassago?” 

“Wouldn’t fucking hurt, but if he’s all mopey, then your little ritual thing doesn’t work; and then what’s the point? You’re gonna be stuck in that place forever, spinning your wheels; can’t have that.” 

“Since when did you concern yourself with how I spend my time?” 

A particularly loud moan rattled one of the nearby doorknobs, followed by a crash that shook the entire door itself. Unmitigated by the soundproofed walls, a fervent chorus of fornication beat against wood; flesh slapped against flesh, clothing tore, and breath panted. Stolas and Blitz shifted closer to the opposite side of the hall; one massive stride each.  

“Since you, you know--!” A shade of red flashed across the white-scarred portion of his face; not from the sounds or the memory conjured, but the deadly dynamic of their teamwork. “—said you loved me…and shit.” Uttering it aloud only deepened the shamed heat that flared in his face.  

At that, Stolas’ head finally turned his way, and Blitz couldn’t help it but to meet that shining, four-eyed gaze. Through so little, their texture conveyed so much; visible pupils, for the first time in, what felt to the imp like ages, graced him with their presence. Rare as they were, those pupils were always so beautiful; enough to stir a swarm of butterflies to life within his guts. Combined with his slicked back hair and long cloak; Stolas ripped the breath from Blitz’s lungs with ease.  

“…If you are doing all of this for my sake, I swear…” 

“H-hey, Andy’s gonna give Loonie magic lessons, Mox and Mills gets a fancy ass, paid off house; I’m doing this for everyone!” Hands raised defensively in front of his chest; the imp stumbled slightly in his steps but caught himself instantly. “He’s also paying me a lot of fucking money. I didn’t leap between his legs for shits and giggles, if that’s what you think; I set that bar fucking high.” 

Whatever else was on his mind filed itself away for a potential future conversation, as the sight of a particular pair of numbers brought him and Stolas to a dead stop. Room forty-eight; the supposed location of Alejandro. A mixture of relief, nerves, and agitation scattered the butterflies in his stomach, at the prospect of finally ending the long hunt.  

“Finally; was beginning to think not even the fucking IRS could track this bitch down!” Belligerently, Blitz grabbed the door handle and yanked it to one side: unlocked, perfect! As he braced an arm and shoulder against the door, he called out. “Yo, Alejandro, put on some fucking pants, because we’re taking you home!” 

“Blitz, wait—” 

Too late, as the imp turned the knob and pushed, the door swung open with ease. He barged his way inside; aromas of hellvine, gunpowder, and sexual fluid quick to invade his nostrils. Clothing littered the floor, some far too big to belong to an imp, along with discarded bottles of wine and cans of alcohol. A standard hotel room setup, but one that could be mistaken for one of those fancy love hotels, adorned the space with a television, a large mirror, and a love seat in the far corner. Near said love seat stood a topless imp, with a head of curly black hair, shirt in hand, and their back faced towards the door; the sight of which froze Blitz’s stride. 

Scars. 

A gaping, rugged gash of mutilated flesh shred a thickened path from the back of one shoulder, all the way to the diagonal hip. On one side of that marred divide sat field of punctures; arranged in such neat lines that nothing other than a deliberate, sadistic act could have birthed them. Between each, smooth, curved lines of thickened scar tissue wove about like vined serpents; yet few circles remained untouched by their presence. Beneath the horrid act, another scar slashed across the lower half of its larger sibling and stopped at the base of the imp’s tail. Next to it, what appeared to be bite marks, hewed their own pound of flesh; sharp and honed to a deadly edge, like those of Envy’s shark demons.  

Engraved horns turned towards an occupied, nearby bed. Two slumbering demons lay upon it, the deathly still state of their bodies raised an uncertainty of whether they still lived. Given the copious amount of alcohol and devil dust that nested around the television, it was a complete toss-up.  

“Here to drag me back, are you?” Devoid of any life, save the scratched and dulled stone of drug-inhibited apathy, Alejandro’s voice scraped through the air. Without evening looking back at Blitz, he dropped his shirt upon the ground and snatched up the closest bottle of alcohol. 

“Fucking…Satan’s backsack, man; what happened to you?” A natural inclination to avert his gaze constantly yanked at the edges of Blitz’s eyes. He was no stranger to scars; hell, he was covered in them, but his were an accident.  

“The marks?” he asked, as the bottle swirled under the smooth twirl of his wrist. “They are a memento from my first master. I prefer them to the new ones.”  

The brush of Stolas’ cloak dragged along the carpeted floor, followed by a short and quiet jolt of motion. “New ones?” Blitz cautiously slid his foot forward; since Alejandro wasn’t looking at him, it was the perfect opportunity to close distance. Right as he conjured the intent, whether by instinct or a supernatural sixth sense, the other imp turned and stared right at him. Compared to his back, his front was pristine; not a single scratch to be found.  

A single finger touched at his temple; glare cut to a rugged sheen. “The ones in here…” Slowly, his finger traced down and tapped at his breast. “…and here, thanks to my second master’s deceit.” He turned back around, shambled towards the love seat, and turned again as he lethargically plummeted down onto his rear. Alejandro braced the cap of the bottle against the edge of his hoof, then flicked upwards, and produced a volcanic amount of bubbling head that spilled down the dark glass. “So, here I am: healing.” 

“Alejandro, you must come home.” Stolas said, as he stepped forward, head held high. 

At the sound of the prince’s voice, those dull eyes lit up and his head tilted upwards; as if he only just realized Stolas existed. “Why?” 

“Vassago is distraught without you; an emotional wreck. He deeply regrets what he did and only seeks to make amends, if you would grant him the opportunity to do so.” 

Consideration lingered in the imp’s limp expression, but then, a wide grin pounced upon his visage and split him cheek to cheek. “Is that a lie? Are you lying to me right now, Prince Stolas?” Around that stretched smile, laid an air of uncomfortable menace; one that continued to bear down upon all in its vicinity with continuous oppression.  

“No, I am not.” 

“Funny; I don’t believe you. In fact…” Alejandro raised the bottle’s neck to his lips and took a quick swig. “…wasn’t it you who told me that all Goetia are incapable of telling the truth; that they weave lie upon lie, because they all seek to devour each other in some way or another?” 

As Blitz looked over at Stolas, upon hearing that new tidbit of information, the owl’s feet lightly shuffled. “In a manner of speaking, I implied it. I remember being rather intoxicated at the time, as you are now.” 

“Drunk minds speak sober thoughts.” 

“Alright, enough with the poetry; get your shit, we’re going.” 

“You two are; I’m not.” 

“Listen here you little shit, you’ve caused a ton of fucking problems by being a sensitive baby and running off like you did. We tracked your tight little ass all through Lust, had to deal with the weirdest security I’ve ever met, Stolas had to petrify a bitch, and I’m still not fully dry from all the horny sex-rain outside! I’m bitchy, I’m damp, and I’ve had enough of your horseshit!” Blitz strode forward, tail caught in a whiplash of annoyance, and his voice shifted into a mocking, whining tone. “Oh, my master lied to me! A little, itty bitty white lie, so I punched him in the face and ran away like a dramatic bitch. Oh, woe is me; master had new friends to talk to instead of my clingy ass, and I got a widdle jealous, so I’m going to make everything about me, and my feelings, and threaten to sink the whole ship if I can’t be the First Mate. Fuck you; grow the hell up!” 

Sourness pulled back Alejandro’s lips, but were quickly hidden as he took another swig of his liquor. An excess of foam dotted his mouth, and as he finished, his forearm rose and wiped it away, with a light sigh. “Why are you here anyway, Blitzo?” A click of the tongue, raised brows, and a tiny shake of the head. “Why aren’t you back at home with your daughter, running your business, making sure your two employees don’t die on the job? Oh, wait, because you ran off to chase after Prince Stolas.” 

Stunned, the second outburst that Blitz had cooked up in the furnace of his angered mind simmered away to cold embers. “How do you—” 

“You came out here, stalked him, so that you could apologize, right? You inserted yourself into his business, left your family behind, because you couldn’t just let things go.” Alejandro scowled an ugly scowl, laced with contempt and venom, then furrowed his face at the imp. “Puta madre, since the moment you showed up, everything has been about you; who gets to fuck you, who gets to watch you fuck, and who gets to wallow in their heartbreak about it down in the basement.” That unnatural grin returned, in a flash, and a laugh leapt from his lips. “I’d say you’re not better than me, but that would be a lie, because at least I’m not a willing whore!” 

Blitz’s hand jammed itself beneath the inner lining of his coat, before he even knew it. Familiar steel dug into his palm, fingers clenched around a round, thick handle. Blindly driven by emotion, he yanked the flintlock halfway into the open...only for Stolas’ hand to counteract his own. 

“I believe the term is, tag-out, Blitzy.” Calming, gentle, focused eyes siphoned the majority of Blitz’s anger away, as both demons shared a long look. Slowly, rage abetted, the butt of his gun lowered back into the hidden confines of his coat; holstered, for the moment. With disaster averted, his attention shifted back to Alejandro. “You have every right to care about your personal well-being, after you faithfully served Vassago’s interests for years. His needs were at the forefront of your existence, so after being betrayed, it is only natural that you’d relapse into selfish desires. I, for one, can empathize with that.” 

As Blitz stepped back, Stolas stepped forward, but not too close to the love seat as to hover. Instead, he gestured towards the empty space that remained.  

“May I sit?” 

Alejandro said nothing at first, but regarded the Goetian Prince with a subdued, languid gaze; as if his outburst came with brief surges of emotional mania. Then, he shifted aside to open more room. “Knock yourself out.” 

Ever the graceful one, Stolas daintily rotated around and sat down, nice and proper; hands on his thighs, knees touched together. “You once came to me, as you recall, when I was a disheveled and drunken mess; buried deep in my cups over the actions of another. Now, I shall do the same for you, if for no other reason than to repay your kindness.” 

“…I should’ve listened to you, back then, when you told me.” Alejandro scoffed. “You and the marquis already knew the truth of things, and I just didn’t want to believe it.” 

“Your devotion and trust in Vassago were extraordinary; but I’m curious, what exactly did he do to gain it?” 

Softness crept its way across the demon’s face, until it dissolved the hardened shell of bitterness and pain which coated his heart. “He lowered himself.” 

“Lowered himself?” 

“Down to my level; the level of an imp.” Deadened eyes slid over towards Blitz. “We’re useful, but not in any valuable way. Disposable muscle, obedient servants who fetch beverages and polish bookshelves, the bottom of Hell’s barrel…” Bare muscle stretched, ribs flared, and a flat stomach sank further inward, as Alejandro raised an arm to touch at a spot upon his back. “…but in some circles, certain demons like how we taste.” 

Stolas watched in considerate silence and followed the movements of those red fingers, as they explored a rugged canvas of memories. Blitz, meanwhile, kept his distance; emotions still elevated from their recent spout. Still, even with his anger, those words captured his full attention.  

“While I was under the service of my first master, I saw many such demons. They’d always wiggle their fingers at me, lick their chops, haggle out a bargain rate for a cut of my hide; but she always laughed them off. I was…too important, she said; too valuable to be tossed into a pot or dissected.” The arm moved away and lazily flopped down atop his thigh. His head turned back to Stolas, and while he didn’t turn his face upwards, the eyes started upwards from below. “Little promises, speckled with feigned moments of caring, and wrapped in a bow of lies; all to keep me complacent and unaware.” 

“This first master of yours; we heard a name uttered earlier, in relation to you. Was her name Madam Kai?” 

Alejandro frowned so deeply, that it appeared as if his face would melt into his lap. Then, muscle slipped back into place, weariness enveloped his aura, and the imp leaned his head back against the couch. “It would better for everyone, if you forgot you heard that name.” A dark shadow cast itself over his words; each hesitant to form, not out of consideration, but of fear. “No good will come of you prying into my past, all so you can better satisfy a demon who is simply using you, as he used me.” 

Stonewalled by the declaration, Stolas folded his hands upon his lap. “Then, perhaps, we should speak of the future.” The prince gazed around the messy room, his thoughts a complete mystery, as the wonders of reckless indulgence stared back. Discarded clothes, nude bodies, rampantly discarded bottles drained to the last drop; fluids in and fluids out, a true exchange of convenience and coping. “If you do not wish to return to Vassago, what shall you do?” 

“Stolas.” Blitz interjected, voice tense. “He’s coming back with us, so why—” 

A single, raised palm in his direction silence the assassin; raised by none other than the prince himself. At both the question and the subsequent silencing of opposition towards its existence, Alejandro’s neck straightened, and thus, his visage shifted into one of consideration. “My pockets are rather light, with my flight from servitude. I had thought to return to Sloth and retrieve my things, but…” 

“You are afraid it’s the first place he would look.” 

“Yes; not as if there was much to my name, anyway. There is, however, one thing I’d wish to have back.” 

“If I were to retrieve this object for you, would you consider relocating?” 

“Stolas!” 

Alejandro leaned forward, hands clasped together, expression deep in thought. His tail slid along the couch cushion, no longer tucked behind his back, and wiggled with the wavelength of inner thoughts. “To where, exactly?” 

“Wherever you wish, so long as it isn’t…anywhere like this place.” 

“…I would, at least, consider it. What I want doesn’t have any monetary value; I can’t, nor would I, sell it. Even if I did leave this place, I would have nowhere else to go.” 

“If you agree to leave this place, I can provide you private accommodations; both far from Vassago and far from your past.” 

Before Stolas could continue, a firm, irritated grip closed around his hand and forcibly yanked him to his feet. “Excuse us for one fucking second.” Blitz growled, as he pulled the owl far away from the couch. Planted by the door, after he managed to create ample distance between them and Alejandro, he hissed up at Stolas. “What the ever-loving, fling-flong fuck are you doing?! We traveled all this way to pick up this bitch, and you’re offering to write him a check to go away?!” 

“Blitz, I cannot simply force him back into a relationship he wants nothing to do with.” 

“Yes, you can; you absolutely fucking can!” 

“No, I cannot; it…” Stolas sighed, fingers upon his brow to partially shield his eyes. “…it wouldn’t be right.” 

A vein throbbed in the side of the imp’s temple, and thick fingers tugged at the bottom of his eyes; a rather ghoulish appearance, in the dim lightning. Followed up by a low groan, Blitz’s tail whipped against the ground with a soft, dull thud. “Don’t tell me your giant fucking heart suddenly started playing love ballads, right as we’re about to fix this mess.” 

“Forcing him back would only stir up resentment amongst those present, especially with Vassago. It is too soon; emotions are too high. A healthy degree of separation might help them…reconcile.” 

“Stolas…” Blitz pinched the space between his eyes, body taut with tension. It appeared as if he were working to hold back from saying something he’d regret, but the force of his frustration bore a bulge against his cheek. “Do not do this. Do not fuck with me right now, okay? I know you wanna be an understanding guy, and I get it; it’s one of your sexiest qualities and it gets me hard as fucking rock deep down, but you pick the worst possible times to fucking do it! ” 

Two, pleasantly cool hands cupped the imp’s heated face and massaged away; gentle strokes to relax and promote docility. “Please, darling; let me do this.” 

At the term ‘darling’, spoken in such a serene, tender tone, the entirety of Blitz’s face burned with a scarlet hue; one so deep that it eclipsed the natural red of his skin and the mismatched white that accompanied it. Possessed by the tender and intimate act, his tail twitched and flicked wildly at the air behind him, all while words struggled to properly from his lips. Several seconds passed, before resignation washed across sharp features to soften them. The twitchiness of his tail only increased one hundred-fold, as the towering Goetia bent down and leaned in close; a dubious and beautiful sheen of ruby that filled most of Blitz’s world. Down to the last ounce of weight lifted from his heart; wrapped in  immobilizing flight, at the subtle taste of Stolas’ breath upon his face.  

“I would rather appreciate it, if you and I could land upon the same page, regarding this matter. It would make my heart…” Enrapturing hands gracefully rubbed downward, in a single stroke, from cheeks to shoulders; all for one to divert its course and trace teasingly against Blitz’s thundering chest. “…absolutely burst at the seams with happiness…” Stolas finger traced back upward, curved around the imp’s adam apple, and caught his chin in a sensual lift. “…in the face of such kindness.” 

Vision foggy, head light, heart about to leap from his chest; Blitz forced himself to swallow, in the hope he’d reroute some of his blood back to his brain. “…Okay, if it’ll make you happy, but what do we tell—” Before he could finish, his words were muffled by the smooth sheen of an owl’s beak. The finger which hooked his chin lifted the imp’s face deeper into a deep kiss; one that only shared the breath between two sets of lungs and the intimate rumblings of the heart. Synapses fired, heat flared, his tail curled, and his heels levitated from the ground in complete surrender. Bliss; only for a mere five seconds, but enough to reignite his craving for the prince. As their mouths parted, he shuddered in ecstasy; eyes left half-lidded and riddled with invitation. “—Vassago?”  

“The truth, but first…” Stolas straightened back up to his full height and turned towards the couch, where Alejandro appeared to not have moved a single muscle. “Tell us more about this memento of yours, Alejandro.” 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧ 

Andrealphus slammed the heavy maroon folder shut and leaned back in his seat; mind burdened with new knowledge. Distaste furrowed his brow, curled his beak, and bid his reading glasses off his face with a gentle clatter. Tense fingers dug against closed eyes and rubbed away, as a sharp, deep inhale inflated the peacock’s chest. How long had it been since he first gazed upon the contents inside? A half-empty bottle of wine, combined with the chirp of nocturnal creatures and a heaviness upon the marquis’ vision, indicated his time spent muddling over the documents had been not only lengthy, but taxing.  

An equal distillation of clarity, rage, and immense concern broiled within; no wonder Asmodeus had sealed the file so meticulously. He glanced towards the stairs, and thought only of what rested above. How could Vassago have carried such immense weight for so long, all under a veil of silence? His powers of projection, nay, his ability to persist, instilled within Andrealphus a new tier of respect and admiration for the Goetia. Even so, his cold heart cracked and churned; and he poured himself another glass of red wine to stave off the effects. 

Alone, the peacock drank deep from that clear chalice; eyes shut in ignorant bliss as debilitating spirits poured into his gullet with multiple, deep, unyielding gulps. A wish to drown a singular question, one which burned away the sanity of his regal mind, kept his drinking hand steady and his gluttony bottomless. At the bottom of the glass, met with nothing but his stained reflection, Andrealphus allowed his arm to drop; naught but the most minor amount of tension in his fingers to support the cup from hitting the floor.  

Then, in his lonesome silence, a brief chuff bounced from his beak, as disbelief wracked the entirety of his words. “For an imp?” What he had witnessed amongst those walls of text and photographs beggared belief; his very core shaken to its foundations. A familiar pattern had emerged, one which he had witnessed in Stolas firsthand; the rejection of one’s fellows, in favor of something lesser. Bitter inadequacy gnawed upon his ego, as a mutt would a beloved toy; and with it came a measure of introspection.  

For all their quirks, Vassago and Stolas were not idiotic. Cowards, perhaps, in certain ways, but never lacking in intellectual poise. The triumph of the heart over the mind was a quality which remained unfamiliar to Andrealphus, but clearly, Goetia could initiate such events. Envy sprouted in him; clearly, they possessed a unique perspective that he could never quite relate to or even see.  

Why? 

A simple question, but packed with all the righteous fury of an inquisitive and cocksure soul. Why were they so willing to destroy themselves, to threaten the fabric of their lives, for imps? 

It was maddening, unlike anything he’d ever known. First Stolas with the grimoire, and then Vassago with… He didn’t wish to allow the images of what had transpired to grace his mind, and so his fingers bore down against the edge of the wine glass until it threatened to crack. Despicable was a term far too kind, for what he had read. It enraged him. 

Andrealphus surged to his feet and paced towards the sliding glass, then stared into the abyss of Gluttony. Action had to be taken, of that he held no doubt, but what? He couldn’t approach Stolas with this information; it would only unnecessarily complicate matters. No, what he needed was more information, more insight on the pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. There was only one individual who might possess the proper guidance he required… 

…and so the marquis snapped his fingers, summoned his cellular phone from the depths of the bedroom, caught it as it flew through the air towards his palm, and hit a singular number to activate the speed dial; all in one smooth sequence. 

Yet, as the phone rang, a sensation akin to nervousness sprung to life in his chest. In seconds, whether present or not, he’d hear a voice which hadn’t graced his ears for quite some time. A small measure of awkwardness wriggled alongside his nerves and stirred them into a minor tantrum, by the fifth ring. Then, on the sixth, the line picked up. 

“Andre?” 

It was a deep tone, laced with surprise and what he dared identify as hope. Memories surged forth, emotions followed, and a smile crept upon the marquis’ beak. “Hello Jesse; it has been some time. I see you still have my number.” 

“Y-yeah, of course; why wouldn’t I?”  

“I see. Is this a bad time to talk?” 

“No, not at all! What’s…what’s up, is something wrong?” 

“There is a sensitive matter which has been brought to my attention. Is there anywhere we can meet; somewhere private?” 

A pause, possibly spawned by confusion, settled over the conversation. “…I’ve got the keys to Ozzie’s; if you—” 

“No!” Andre barked without thought. Immediately, he grimaced, and cleared his throat. “I…apologize for my outburst. We need somewhere without cameras, where no one could recognize us, and is lowly populated; if not completely deserted.” 

Again, momentary silence settled over the phone. In that silence, Andrealphus cursed himself for the involuntary snap, but could do no more than hope that his apology was enough to cement the severity and necessity of their chosen meeting spot.  

“There’s an old underground theatre down in Lust that might work; no cameras, no people, but a bunch of stage equipment.” 

“It will have to do. Send me the address, and I will meet you there shortly.”  

“Alright; I’ll be waiting with the door unlocked, by the time you get there.” 

Satisfaction softened Andre’s features, as the ending drone of the phone call sounded in his ear. Now that the destination had been decided, all that was left was to gather the proper attire as to not be noticed on the dark, rainy streets of Lust. He stared back at the table, and the file folder which rested atop it; no, he couldn’t show it to Jesse, but he couldn’t leave it laying around the estate for anyone to find. As he headed towards the stairs, Andre snatched up the files and tucked them beneath his arm; they’d need to be hidden away, but reluctance compelled him not to let them leave his person.  

Until he could think of a proper storage space, he’d do just that. Secrets upon secrets; the way of the Ars Goetia. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ 

Later, in the Ring of Lust… 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ 

Down a set of worn, concrete steps that sank beneath a sidewalk, Andrealphus found himself face to face with an iron door. Riddled with flyers, its heavy frame groaned against the strength of his arm, as it swung inward. Thick, musty air surged out to greet him; a mixture of dust, old wood, and poorly ventilated air. Inside, a carpeted venue sat secluded from the outside world. Mottled with sub-standard seating for the audience, a square stage sat at the farthest end of the room. Littered with unrigged lights, propped ladders, and a spread of open toolboxes, it appeared that the stage had been gutted for reusable parts.  

Far below his standards, the marquis regarded the locale with light disdain and took careful note to watch his footing. Such places were often loaded with tripping hazards, and the last thing he wished to do was tumble in front of Jesse. Speaking of which…the incubus was nowhere in sight. While the door was open, as he said it would be, his immediate absence sparked a small note of concern; not for him specifically, but the promptness of their meeting. If he was gone for too long, Vassago would awaken and find him absent; and then only questions would follow… 

“Andre, over here!” 

Far beyond the sea of seats, sat at what looked to be a lightswitch board for the stage, was Jesse; a smile on his face, as his arm waved through the air to signal his location. Before the marquis could even reach him, the incubus was on his feet, arms outstretched in greeting and a charming grin on his lips. The gesture caused Andrealphus to pause; if only Vassago were here, he might have been able to hug Jesse for the first time… 

“I see that your many connections continue to bear fruit.” he noted. “Truly, as always, I’m impressed.” 

A single wave of the hand, and a dismissive scoff of deprecation, followed. “It’s nothing; comes with working downtown as a people person. Talking opens a ton of doors.” 

The marquis’ gaze wandered away from his ex’s face, if only to temper his steady decline of confidence. False pretense wasn’t the first note he wished to sour the conversation with, but it was a necessary deception to achieve his goal. He only hoped that, if ever discovered, Jesse could forgive him for it. “It certainly helped achieve an impromptu audience with Asmodeus. I do hope you didn’t receive any tongue lashing for it.” 

“Nah, you know Ozzie; the second you all left, he went straight back to work. I bet he doesn’t even remember it happened, to be honest.” 

Too long did Andrealphus stare at the chaotic clutter of the main stage, his nerve adrift amongst the comfort of such soft, rumbling syllables and inflections. Nostalgia struck, in a manner most cruel, at how often he’d fall asleep to its unique melody; and how, in his willing flight for the betterment of all involved, regret festered. “Yes, well, Asmodeus aside, I came to ask you about something rather particular. Given your reach, I assumed—” 

“That I’d know exactly what you’re looking for.” Jesse plopped down into a wheeled office chair; one which was long frayed by time and overuse. Exposed cushions peaked from beneath torn fabric, scratches and scuffs marred the plastic legs, and a harsh squeak bounced from the acoustically enhanced walls of the theater with immense grate. Always so graceful, even in brutish actions; the gift of demon built for naught by seduction. “I might. Does this mystery thing have a name?” 

Silver flashed, as if possessed with a light all its own, in the dim cavern of tall tales. A lighter, one which he and Andre often shared, flicked open with a click beneath the tip of a cigarette. Oh, how long they’d talk into the night, bathed in the smoke of fine inhalants, with nothing on their minds save the joy they shared for one another. Sharing a light was the closest that Andre had ever come to touching the incubus, as the action allowed their faces to close distance, yet never touch. It was an intimate action, one which instilled within him vast bouts of peace, and on habit, he asked… 

“For old times' sake, care to indulge me?”  

In a swift flourish, a secondary cigarette flicked through the air, only to be snatched clean by the marquis. Without hesitation, he gripped its paper-like structure in his beak and approached; lanky, towering frame bent at a steep decline. Together, in the quiet theater, Andrealphus and Jesse shared a single flame; a connection which meant more than mere convenience. Flickering tongues, reflected in the demon’s eyes, cast reality into a new lens; a dark, comfortable, serene land where one may spend their waking hours in contemplative solitude, while the embers of love lapped away the stresses of living.  

Beauty, unlike any he’d ever considered, radiated deep within those windows to the soul. Even as the cigarette tips parted, the lighter clicked shut, and a plume of smoke drifted from relaxed, masculine lips, Andrealphus found his attention anchored. Before the effects of enhanced, pleasurable narcotics could fully kick in, the name he wished to utter floated from his beak. 

“Madam Kai.” 

Jesse’s dual eyebrow piercing reflected a dark gleam of its own, as at the utterance of such a name, a measured deposit of tension dropped upon his face. It was an expression that Andre had only seen a handful of times, no more than thrice, but his recollection incited the need for concern. Shoulders leaned back and pressed to air, as the lumbar support of the chair held his muscular back in proper position; a far cry from the casual, forward lean they had just shared. As if to avoid having heard it, to deny reality its due, Jesse’s mouth scrunched up.  

“Yeah, I know Madam Kai. The more important question, though, is why do you?” 

Undeterred, he pressed. “That is irrelevant. I simply wish to know all you can tell me about her.” 

“The less you know about…” A click of the tongue, a shifty backwards glance, a baring of discontent fangs; like the mention of the name was enough to befoul his senses. “…Madam Kai, the better off you’ll be, Andre. If you’re trying to get a hold of her, for any reason, take my advice: don’t.” 

“Please, Jesse, this is important. I wouldn’t be asking, if it weren’t.” 

One leg crossed another; a perfect balance beam for palms to perch upon. A knee bounced with nervous energy, agitated by the conversation in a way which didn’t promote the concept of disdain, but great reluctance. “The few people that know about Madam Kai don’t talk about her; and for good fucking reason. It’s bad luck to even…” Jesse shifted again; his gaze locked upon the front door. What was he thinking? Was he wondering if it would be better off locked? What was he afraid of; ‘twas only a name.  

“Why does such a name intimidate you, when you sit in my presence?” 

“Okay look, I’ll be straight with you…” Jesse bent forward, back hunched as the chair creaked to support his shifted weight. Elbows planted themselves on his knees, a cigarette jutted towards Andre as an impromptu finger, and the incubus’ arm bobbed in a lecture-like manner. “You, as a royal, need to keep your nose out of it: alright? She’s an animal, a sadist, a sycophant; so, whatever reason you wanna see her, whether it's for business, a grudge, or just plain fucking curiosity, I’m begging you to just let it go. Bury that shit and let it lie, because digging it up is only gonna make the grave keeper plot another hole.” 

“Jesse,” a peculiar scoff threatened the lining of his beak; an incredulity, but one borne from a cocktail of surprise and not offense. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it sounds like you think I’m incapable of protecting myself.” The potential scoff transformed into something more harmless; a small smirk of confidence. “You do not need to worry, I am cursed with great power, after all.” 

“Andre, the bitch is insane.” 

“It is inconsequential.” 

A firm slap to the back of the neck, a practiced bend of the back into an upright position, and a groan of dismay clouded Jesse’s expression.  

“All I need is a location. I don’t need secondhand accounts of her doings, only where she is.” 

Contemplation buzzed in the incubus’ eyes, as he took a slow, deep inhale of his cigarette; that was, until he closed them both for a moment of security. After what felt like an entire minute, a mighty exhale rushed out from his nostrils to which gouts of smoke followed alongside. Then, a scratch to the forehead; ashes of the cigarette left to plummet and crackle to the ground; only to be immediately ground out by his attentive boot.  

“…You’re not gonna stop looking until you find her, aren’t you?”  

“That is correct. Your cooperation would save immense time and effort.” 

An expression akin to doubt, crossbred with a dubious gaze, lingered. Steadiness, slow and considerate, filled his voice. “Where did you first hear the name?”  

Tension, similarly, reinforced the peacock’s posture: careful, now.  

“Like I said, only a few of us know it. I only know because I work for Asmodeus, but how do you know to begin with? Who told you?” 

“Is this relevant?” 

“I want to know…” To Andrealphus’ surprise, a chastising, almost threatening warble overtook Jesse’s tone. “…how that name even reached your head.” 

Apprehension wrenched his mind to a standstill. Over the entire length of their past relationship, such gravity had never graced the male’s handsome face until that exact moment. Guised in the skin of masculinity and all its implied qualities, pleading fear infested both eyes. Would the truth placate such a thing, or only exacerbate it into something far worse? A shift of posture rejuvenated his inner poise, all to answer in a calm manner. 

“You have your sources, I have mine.” 

“Then why ask me?” 

“Because I missed you.” 

The answer came with such immediacy, that it stunned both demons; a confession spoken without forethought. At his own slipup, Andrealphus inhaled a secondary dose of smoke from his cigarette, only to occupy his voice from the duty of speech.  

“Prince Stolas said that it was your idea to visit Ozzie’s, so on some level, I figured…” 

What passed for a blush tested the bounds of his icy exterior but was ultimately smothered beneath the act of another drag. “He also informed me of the meeting you had with him, and that you discussed our shared history.” 

“…that piss you off?” 

“At first, but none of it was a result of your compliance.” He stifled his surprise; Stolas had spoken fondly of him to an old lover. Had it been an act of charm, to better pry desired information loose, or a genuine reflection of the owl’s perspective of him? Recent events swayed the likelihood towards charm, and yet… 

“…I’ve missed you too, but that’s exactly why I can’t give you what you want.” Jesse sighed. “If keeping my mouth shut saves your life, or even keeps bad shit from happening to you, I’ll take your hate; for however long it lasts.”  

Andrealphus frowned; not at the answer, but the measure by which he was viewed. “You believe that I could find it in myself…to hate you, Jesse?” The belief was so powerful, so flooring, that the world washed away in a brief smear of light headedness. “What have I done to earn such an illusion?” 

“No, it’s just that...you’re with your own people now, right? You’re back amongst other Goetia, which...” Jesse’s eyes turned downcast, and he dismissively snuffed out his cigarette against the lightboard. Ash and smoke marred the air; a measure of discomfort woven to live in the physical plane. “...I never was. You can touch them, walk around in public with them; they’re on your level, basically. That’s the whole reason we split, remember?” 

Dour notes plucked within his heart, upon the memory of that specific day; the day which they had decided they were better off apart. A sobering reality, wrapped in the threads of uncomfortable truth that cut deep enough to draw blood, carried itself as a parcel to the center of his ego. Jesse, by all accounts, was correct. Their relationship hadn’t worked, despite the immense joy he had felt during their time together. It hadn’t felt right, shackling him to a burden not of his own making, all for the selfish desire to experience love; and the mere thought twisted Andre’s stomach into a mangled knot. 

“You’re happier with them, aren’t you?” 

A cataclysmic question; how could he truthfully answer such a thing? He already knew, of course, but to laude the efficiency of his new, developing relationship to the old...even the Mighty Marquis wasn’t so cold. Fatigue vacated his body of energy, with all the force of a legendary gale, and he raised a hand upon his forehead. The abrupt lack of willpower to fuel further resistance, or perhaps a deeply rooted desire to shift the conversation into less turbulent waters, conjured a sigh of surrender to the marquis’ ivory beak.   

“It is why I seek Madam Kai.” Shadows cast themselves upon the peacock’s tired visage in broad strokes and swaths of severity. Laden in the tired lines of his face, that pristine mask a hollow shell to hide the void that resided within; desperate to be filled by something, anything, yet too afraid to truly expose itself. “She has committed an irredeemable act upon one of them; one that I cannot ignore. Call it dignity, call it belligerence, whatever you wish, but know that I intend to remove her from the board, for the sake of his peace.”  

Quiet befell the incubus. Face rigid as stone, not a sound emanated from him for several moments. He didn’t even look at Andre and instead latched his attention onto the stage. As to why, well, it did not matter; averted eyes meant disconnect and disconnect bred distance. They were both already so far apart. Just how far did that sea of separation stretch; that purgatory of loneliness built upon unkind chaos and harsh truth? The answer lay far beyond even a Goetia’s perception. 

“...Do you really want to reopen his scar, just because you think you can make it fade a little better?” 

“...” 

“...” 

“...” 

“...Andre--” 

“Thank you for your time.”  

Chin held high and proud, as befitting of a royal, Andrealphus turned away and strode for the exit. He wouldn’t entertain the possibility of forcing the information out of Jesse, and it was clear that the incubus’ views of his intentions weren’t in favor of cooperation; so, the only reasonable course was to leave. There were other avenues, other methods he could utilize in achieving his goal. However, as his hand pressed upon the paper-littered surface of the door, an irresistible urge compelled him to look back. He had to see Jesse’s face, one more time, and absorb his reaction properly. 

What he witnessed, brought him no peace.  

Defeat lay plain upon his former partner’s face, writ plain as day. Wilted wings, drooped shoulders, tired eyes; he appeared lost, unsteady, and consigned. Whether through affection, intelligence, or experience, it appeared as if he’d make no attempt to stop the Goetia. All that could be said, already had, and yet the marquis hadn’t been deterred in the slightest. To witness his willpower break another’s own, especially that of one he still held fondly in his heart; it bid him linger for but another word.  

One last utterance, to perhaps mend what he had shattered. 

“You were always more than enough, Jesse. You made me happy, but I was simply too weak to keep you. For that, for what it is worth, I am truly sorry.” 

At the lift of that handsome face, the tiniest shimmer of vulnerability rose to the surface of golden eyes, and Andrealphus couldn’t bear to witness it for a moment longer. He pushed through the door, rose into the rainy world above, and allowed Hell’s tears to chastise him through the lonely journey home. 

Who wouldn’t wish to remove their scars, if given even the slightest chance? 

Chapter 16: Baptism in Black

Summary:

Vassago awakens after the best sleep he's had in years, but finds himself in an empty home. All alone in the late hours of night, he searches for his companions, only to stumble upon something wholly unexpected.

Notes:

--- Several new tags and Archive Warnings were added to the story, upon the posting of this chapter. Please reinspect all tags before reading, as this chapter possesses content which deviates from the norm, up to this point in the narrative. ---

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧ 

In an instant, Vassago awoke to the dim, warm environment of his shared bedroom. There had been no dreams or darkness; simply rest. Begun with great relief and concluded with seamless progress, it was the best sleep he’d had in weeks. Leftover scents of lurid copulation mixed with brisk, pure air and a dash of perfume; a combination which he buried his beak in with lethargic glee. However, as he turned towards the source of said smell, he was surprised to find that nothing was there. 

He was alone. 

An empty spot upon the bed, base sheet lightly ruffled by the presence of a previous body, maintained an aura all its own. Cold lingered within the sheets; perhaps their low temperature was a contributor to his deep slumber…or rather, more likely, the remnants of one lovely cryomancer. Oh, how wonderful it felt to have broken that dreadful streak; an entire half decade without the touch of another.  

Hands planted, Vassago slowly twisted and arched his back, determined to work out the kinks before climbing out of bed. While Andre had certainly been vigorous during their lovemaking, it wasn’t to the point of injury; although, admittedly, light soreness lingered between red feathered thighs. Light as a cloud, he all but bounced to his feet, “Andre?” 

When no answer came, he wandered towards the stairs and peered down their winding path, only to pause at the realization that while one of his fellow Goetia had seen him in an intimate state, the other had not. So, with a snap of his fingers, a red and gold robe flew from the wardrobe and slid itself upon Vassago’s body. He tied the waist rope as he descended, attention homed in on any stray sounds which might clue him in on the home’s activity levels… 

…only to discover both the living room and kitchen completely vacant.  

A quick peek out the windows revealed no signs of life; all save a single light which emanated from inside the backyard shed. Relief rushed forth and fueled a smile; Ah, they must be continuing work on Blitz’s abode…but why at such a late hour? Curiosity compelled investigation, so he pushed open the wooden door and stepped out onto the back porch. Beneath the bottomless abyss of Gluttony’s sky, sound itself was swallowed whole. No chirps of birds, the hum of insect wings, or the midnight songs of amphibians filled the aura of nature’s splendor. There was simply…silence. 

Stasis gripped his surroundings, and it was only the motion of his own body which reassured him that motion persevered. Down from the deck, green grass brushed pleasantly along his bare feet, and starry waters within the pool twinkled despite the sky’s lack of illumination. How little they had used of that particular amenity; a thought which turned Vassago’s head, and by proxy, bid him stare at the similarly unused summoning grounds. To be fair, there had been little reason to make use of either, yet a twinge of sunken cost fallacy bubbled to the surface.  

“Andre, Stolas, are you both in there?” The shed’s door pulled open with ease, revealing it to be wholly unoccupied. A hanging lantern burned with magical light, and while the beginnings of a bunk bed frame were assembled, it remained half-finished; no bedsheets, no pillows, and no mattresses. Oddly, a half-opened, rectangular can of tuna sat upon a small writing table as well. Mostly untouched, its watery pink color appeared to moisten further beneath Vassago’s touch, as he hoisted the can and turned it about. Although lacking proper additives, the meat smelled fresh, despite being exposed to the open air of Gluttony. 

Its presence intrigued him; Blitz seemed the most scatterbrained of the group, so perhaps he had opened the can for a snack and simply became distracted? If true, it would’ve had to have been a recent event, considering the freshness. As he lowered the can, heat flashed across Vassago’s eyes; the same, soul-deep burn which he had experienced far too much as of late. Immediately, a sharp groan dropped from his beak as both eyes clenched shut…only for the burn to immediately dissipate, and a new sight to appear in the darkness. 

Red lines, sharp and neat, stretched like spider threads across the infinite black. There were thousands, all indistinguishable from one another, as they formed a jungle of impassable scarlet. Wait, this is…is...!  

“Hands up, shit head.” 

In the silence of night, even a feminine voice triggered every cell’s deeply ingrained survival instinct. Surprise, fear, confusion, adrenaline; all of it smashed into the parrot’s heart and shocked his system. His eyes shot open, and the swathe of red threads vanished. Slowly, he raised his hands, the can of tuna still in his grip. “Who are you?” 

“I’ve got two barrels of premium fuck-around-and-find-out aimed right at the back of your skull. Turn around, now.” 

Withholding further questions, he carefully rotated on the spot to face his ambusher. True enough, the dual barrels of a shotgun brushed the edge of his beak; their scratched and scorched sheen signifying a long history of bloody use. A hellhound stood before him, right in the doorway of the shed. Dark studded jacket, short-cut jeans, exposed mid-riff; yet no face covering. Gray and white fur, topped with a large mane, kept her presence minimal in the lantern light. One gnawed ear flicked, as silver slits darted across bloody pools in observation.  

“How did you get in here?” A seemingly innocent enough question, but one met with two barrels pressed beneath his beak, right at the flesh of his slender neck. “Easy…” Vassago warned, voice rife with caution and concern. “…if you’re here to rob me, I left my purse at home.” 

Wolf fangs bared, alongside a sharp, gravelly snarl. The hellhound’s snout jutted towards his beak; humid breath thick with an animalistic vapor of dog treats and honeyed beer. “Where is he?” 

“Who?” 

A hot, crackling ruptured in Vassago’s gut, as the butt of the shotgun slammed itself through the fabric of his robe, forcing him to take a single step back and clutch at his abdomen. His knee struck the ground, his lungs winded, and he gasped for air. By the stars, what a blow!  

“The peacock.” came a second growl. “I know he’s here!” 

“What…do you want with Andrealphus?” Vassago asked through a pained grimace. To try and conjure up an escape plan, his brain kicked into overdrive…but thinking became all the more difficult, as both shotgun barrels tipped his beak and raised his head.  

“My dad has been missing for days; no phone calls, no texts: nothing. Then, earlier today, I got an invoice from the fucking bank to the company account for thirty-thousand dollars, with the message For Your Father attached to it.” Clawed fingers wrapped into fine red feathers, and a new kind of sharp, digging, stretching pain pulled at Vassago’s scalp. “So, I followed his scent, and it brought me here, but surprise surprise; he’s nowhere to be seen.” Metal clacked and dug against his flesh. “I’m only gonna ask this one more time, before I pummel the ever-loving fuck out of you.” That fierce grip tightened, then yanked, causing Vassago to chirp in pain. “Where…is…Andrealphus?!”  

Molten light bloomed from below; a silent incantation, woven by the mind, to heat the metal of the shotgun to its melting point. The hellhound cried out in pain, as steam and the odor of singed fur filled the air, then leapt away; leaving the broken weapon to clatter upon the wooden floor. Vassago kept himself grounded with one foot and kicked out with the other; as it wreathed itself in protective flame. Satisfaction flowed through the Goetia, as his strike sank into the belly of his opponent and launched her through the open doorway and back into the yard; a scorch mark upon her jacket. 

“If you seek to harm him…I will not let you!” 

A growl surfaced from his attacker as she furiously patted at the new mark. “Oh, now you’ve fucking done it; this shit was custom- made!” Upon uttering the final word, she charged straight at him, without seemingly any tact or strategy to behold. Vassago stood his ground and examined her every move; the slightest flick of the eye, the raise of a limb, anything which could instantly give her away. Yet, as she barreled ever closer, the hellhound hadn’t given any indicator of what her weapon of choice would be. Surely, she’d— “Mother fucker!” 

Vassago blinked in shock, as a shockwave crashed into him with thunderous force. Wood and metal crashed against his body, as he smashed through them all and out the back of the small, makeshift hovel! Splintered fragments rained from the sky, rich brown earth rose up to meet vibrant green grass, all while the tropical feathered bird balked in shock; back buried in a pile of upturned dirt.  

“You—that was magic!” he coughed, as his mysterious attacker strolled through the destruction she just caused. Suddenly realizing his legs were spread open from the impact, the seer quickly shut them, before the debacle became even more shameful.  

“Yeah, it was.” She kicked up one of the busted planks of wood and spun it around in both hands, appraising the nails which jutted from it; half-snapped and bent. “But I think I’d rather just beat your ass with this stick, until you tell me what I wanna know.”  

A sudden, wild swing of timber rushed down at his prone form, threatening to bludgeon and pierce him. Vassago’s bare foot shot up and clutched the plank; talons curled deep before bursting into flames, which reduced the plank to ash in seconds. The frown of annoyance and surprise which enveloped her face, gave him just enough time to swing another kick her way; one which she leapt away from and perched atop the shack with equally surprising guile. 

Vassago’s flaming foot extinguished itself, as it dragged through the dirt. Soreness pulsated throughout his body, but the heat of coursing blood revitalized his muscles. As his physical form recovered, his mind stitched pieces of information together to form a cloak of truth; that’s how she managed to breach the protective wards: magic! To create a propulsive shockwave with one’s own vocal cords…it wasn’t a beginner’s spell, and certainly not one that could be found just anywhere.  

“There are no hellhounds here, chica. I don’t know anything about your supposed father.” 

“Bullshit, I know he’s here!” Shingles flew as she launched off the roof, one foot raised to bring its heel crashing down in a crescent-shaped arc. “My nose doesn’t lie!”  

Vassago dove forward to avoid the strike, rolling beneath her and leaping through devastated clutter to come out the other side. He hoped to create distance; clearly, she was a close ranged combatant, so if he could just— 

“Running away, huh?!”  

Arms clamped around his stomach from behind and squeezed, faster than he believed possible. Vassago saw and felt the world whip upside down, right before the back of his head, neck, and shoulders slammed against the ground! The impact rattled the Goetia to his core; pure, undiluted trauma shot directly into his skeletal system, and for a brief second, unconscious darkness threatened to envelop his vision. Through the black, a fierce grip seized his legs just as his waist was released, and the soft touch of grass dragged against his back. 

The void of Gluttony’s sky slid past like a faulty slideshow, until the world spun once again, and Vassago found himself staring down into a pool of glimmering stars. “Wai—” Before he could finish, his head was shoved beneath the water! The parrot held his breath, but the insistent pushing from the hound caused air to bubble from his beak, and thus, slowly fill it with unwanted water. Pressure built, and with it came the need to exhale but all that did was amplify the rate at which he’d drown. It was only after several bubbles roared to the water’s surface, was Vassago’s head yanked above the rippling stars, and he gulped desperately for air. 

“Can’t use your fire when you’re all wet, can you?” the hound growled, her fingers snagged tight in his head plumage. “Tell me where Andrealphus is, or I drown your ass.” 

Through a messy veil of chlorine infused water, Vassago scrunched his face in defiance and pain. “Never!” he spat, each breath an investment with little return. “Even if I knew…I wouldn’t tell you…”  

“Wrong answer.”  

A swift strike to his kidney ignited a sweeping, debilitating pain; but not even the urges of survival could spark his magic. Before an attempt at recovery could be made, the underwater world enveloped his head in warmth once again; bubbling, glittering, astral warmth. Vassago thrashed in rebellion, but a powerful weight kept him pinned in every area he could use to fight back. Without his magic, he was screwed. 

Lungs crackled until explosive pressure strained against the inside of his chest and beak. With no breath held in reserve, he could withstand even less punishment beneath the pool’s contents. How his tormentor knew when he was about to suffocate must have been a practiced art, because just as it all became nearly too much, Vassago was yanked upwards again. Ragged gasps and spit-ridden coughs for air, far deeper and more desperate than previously, accompanied the steady drip of water. Chemicals flowed freely from his feathers and stung his eyes, as they gaped wide despite the additional discomfort; what was one more drop in a bucket of agony? In the end, it all became one indiscernible blob with no end in sight. 

“Last chance, you rich prick.” 

“I…will not betray…him…” 

What happened next, Vassago could not immediately explain. Perhaps it was the imminent threat to his life or another trigger altogether, but as he stared into the endless blur which lay ahead, red threads emerged. Like a network of webbing, they stretched beyond the sky in seemingly endless numbers but slowly began to thin. Millions became thousands, thousands became hundreds, and hundreds became one; a singular thread of incandescent white flame.  

Then, his consciousness shot across the seven rings of Hell, latched upon the thread as it whisked him towards an unknown destination. Flashes of polluted green, translucent orange, roiling indigo; all flashed past his gaze in a tunnel of lights, a smear of reality as sharpness faded from the world. Guided by the thread, he passed through the fog of unknowing and jolted to an abrupt halt…only to gaze upon a familiar sight. 

Stolas and Blitz stood before an obsidian lighthouse, his home, upon the seaside cliffs of Sloth. Side by side, they exchanged an inaudible glance, and Stolas waved his hand.  Symbols of a magical protective ward appeared upon the door; one which Vassago recognized immediately as an incantation from his own grimoire. Several seconds passed until the ward faded, upon which the door swung open in greeting, and both demons stepped inside. 

As quickly as it happened, Vassago felt himself sucked back into his body; his pain fresh and stark. Mind muddied with trauma but wiped momentarily clear by the vision he had just experienced, a plea for pause leapt from his beak. “Wait…wait...! It was spoken barely in time, and pressure upon his back lessened. 

“You gonna talk?” 

“Is…is your father an imp?” 

A pause, a ray of hope; yes, yes! 

“You have seen him then!” Immediately, the pressure reinforced itself.  

“Is…his name…Blitz?” 

The parrot soon found himself snout to beak with one very pissed off hellhound, spun upon his back by inescapable hands. Her growl was so ferocious and deep that it rumbled all the way from her gut, vibrated up his arms, and shook the collar of his robe. Bared claws sprung up, reflected in the light of the pool’s cosmos, then pressed right below the softest pocket of his feathery neck; one wrong slip, and he’d drown in something other than water. 

“Where?!” 

Words halted by a need for air, Vassago’s chest heaved to inhale as much oxygen as his lungs could handle; all while paying diligent attention to how close his throat was to potential impalement. “They’re…they’re in Slo—" 

An earsplitting gunshot cracked the sky and caused the trained grip which held him to jolt open. Wood cracked and snapped in the far distance, and from that same distance, a new voice called out. 

“I know where your failure of a daddy is, mutt.”  

Leaves shifted, a blade scraped free from its sheath, all while an enhanced snarl snapped to fruition. She must’ve had a knife hidden on her person the entire time but refused to use it. “You! The fuck are you doing here?!” 

Eyes winced from several sources of pain, the Goetia raised his head to try and see who was speaking. There, sat amongst one of the tree branches outside the property line, was a rustic looking imp; cowboy boots, dark poncho, wide-brimmed hat, and a gleaming golden fang. A spiked, spade-tipped tail rattled as he laughed; rifle smoking and propped upon a single knee. “Wait…you’re…the traveler from the train station…” 

“That’s on a need-to-know basis, ya mangy flea breeder. You wanna find your daddy so bad? You’re barking up the wrong fucking tree; the bird don’t know shit, but I sure as hell do.” 

An ear-splitting bark shot through the air, and the spot which the imp sat exploded in a shower of leaves and wood. Despite the destruction, his laughter rang out, and he stood upon a different branch completely unharmed. Gold sparkled amongst his feral grin, as he raised his rifle with terrifying speed and another gunshot echoed through Gluttony. The pinging spit of a bullet striking earth landed close by, and Vassago watched as his attacker dove to avoid the shot.  

“Nice try vermin, but my bullets got more bite than your bark!” 

“Striker!” she roared. In a flash, the hound shot into the trees, and the familiar imp vanished into the thicket just as quick; leaving Vassago all alone in the backyard.  

Gluttony’s trademark quiet descended upon the estate grounds, shortly after. So, the mysterious figure from so long ago had a name: Striker. Yet, questions remained. Why was he lurking in the trees, and for how long? Why did he save Vassago’s life? Why had a small portion of his power returned, seemingly out of nowhere? Why were Stolas and Blitz at his home? Pain ebbed within his thin body, as Vassago shakily pushed himself upright and observed the destruction the battle had wrought.  

While the monetary damage was regrettable, there were more important matters at hand. New revelations, as well as new queries, had arisen. So, that had been Blitz’s beloved daughter; surely, he’d wish to know that she was looking for him. And Andrealphus; where had he gone? A choice dangled within Vassago’s mind, one which was answered without much thought. He needed to know why his home was of sudden interest, first and foremost. Wherever Andrealphus was, surely, he would find his way home soon; and if not, then the search for him would come immediately after.  

After all, a modicum of trust was the least he could gift the marquis. 

 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧  

 

“Scroll up, this video is boring.” 

“I like it.” 

“No one cares what you like.” 

Guard duty was dull, insanely dull; dull enough to drive someone bat-shittingly mad. So, having two other heads for company should be an effective work around, right? Turns out, it was just like dealing with guests, only the guests never fucking left! Still, the Goetia from earlier was a one hell of a surprise. 

“Unexpected surprise is a redundant-ass statement; surprises are always unexpected!” The leftmost hellhound head barked at its sibling.  

“Quit reading my thoughts; you know I hate that shit.” The right head said to the left. 

“Well maybe if you didn’t take all the fucking mental bandwidth, I could have some peace in my own head for once!” 

“Someone has to do all the thinking around here, because you quit contributing anything of value a long time ago!” 

“You bitch!”  

“Who you callin’ a bitch: bitch?!” 

The middle head sighed in exasperation as her flanking neighbors snapped and snarled at one another; eyes tilted down to avoid the shots of spittle between sisters. “Would you two stop fighting? It’s making it tough to hold onto the phone.” 

“Again, no one cares.” 

“Yeah, why don’t we put it away and check on the party? I wanna see how that little red twink ended up.” 

“Probably pinned to the wall, squealing like a horny little pig.” 

“Think the bird brought a strap?” 

“Nah, he’s probably taking more cock than his little imp pet. You know how depraved the Goetia can be.” 

“True, true…think he’s trying for an egg?” 

“Can the dudes even get pregnant?” 

“Don’t you mean…eggnant? ” 

The left head stared, deadpan, while the middle head slowly turned to face the only remaining sibling. For several seconds, they stood in silence, unblinking and mute as the discomfort levels skyrocketed above ground. While their sister expected laughter, even if it was of the canned variety, none came at her pun. Then, after an entire minute, the left head spoke. 

“That is the dumbest fucking thing that’s ever flapped out of your mouth.” 

“Never say that shit again.” Said the middle head. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” 

“It’s a terrible pun.” 

“Next time I need to vomit, I’m redirecting it to your mouth, just because of how bad that joke was.” 

“I’m ashamed to know you.” 

Ears folded back, and the reprimanded hound looked at the floor with upmost dejection. Shameful heat rose to her face, but then…a chill crept up her snout. Muzzle curled, nose wrinkled, a roaring sneeze rocketed from her mouth and bounced from the narrow, graffiti-coated tunnel walls.  

“The fuck you sneezing for?” 

“Must be her allergies again.” 

“Allergies to what: dirt? ” 

Instead of responding, the middle head perked its ears and snapped its attention down the hall. Triggered by the reaction, its siblings did the same, and only then did it speak again. “You hear that?” 

Pointed ears pivoted like radar dishes, picking up all manner of vibrations as they bounced from the concrete walls. “Yeah…what is that?” 

“It’s…whistling?” 

The cerberus hound cried out in shock as something struck them dead in the chest, with blinding speed, and slammed their back against the door! A massive spike of misty ice jutted from their chest, black blood pouring from around its girthy structure. Massive hands grabbed the spike and attempted to pull, but only burned with pain and slid about as it was too cold and too slippery. White hot, searing agony shot through their shared chest, where their three hearts beat in unison, as a creeping lake of ice. Like a cancer, it corrupted every cell and sapped the entirety of their strength. Soon, muscular, furry arms dangled uselessly at both sides and two of the three heads lost the light within their eyes; necks slack and mouths bloody.  

As the last living head, the middle one coughed up a spatter of blackened flame as everything around it froze. Concrete, flesh, fur, teeth…and just before the creeping frost reached her eyes, she beheld an approaching figure. Tall, flowing, pale as death and just as cold; it stalked foward with a restrained, callous malice which radiated outward with every step. Ice formed beneath its taloned feet, a thick frozen mist trailed from its polished ivory beak, and the closer it drew…the more fear ravaged the hound’s flagging heart.  

All the guard was afforded, in the end, was a killing blow. The violent thrust of a palm rammed the spike deeper, right through that final heart, and as the door flew from its hinges and slid into the busy club...nothing filled the air from that point on but the terrified screams of unsuspecting patrons. 

 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧ 

 

“Please! Please, no, noooo--!” 

Andrealphus slammed the heel of his foot upon the demon’s head and silenced its pitiful screams, smashing through weak bone and mangling its brain to mush. Slowly, he pulled his leg up from the stubborn cranium, one talon lodged on what he assumed to be a jawbone and eventually flung brain matter across the rest of his wrought carnage. Bodies lay strewn about the now silent auditorium; sliced, stabbed, frozen, shattered, none allowed to escape. A slow, furious exhale rushed from his beak; to think that Vassago had suffered in such a place… 

Frigid as his blood was, the imagery brought it to a roaring boil; his bloodlust unsated by the paltry number of miscreants under Madam Kai’s roof. How fortuitous it was, that no sooner he had left his secret rendezvous with Jesse, Andrealphus had spotted none other than Stolas and Blitz leaving the same tunnel in which he currently found himself; tales of Alejandro loose upon their lips. He would have words with the imp, and nothing would bar his way; not even drug-addled sycophants or hired muscle. 

Frozen talons impaled the door which blocked his way to the next room, and within seconds, the entire barrier shattered outward into shards of ice. Terrified screams erupted in an unending screen of fluctuating noise, as Andrealphus’ rapier flashed through the air. Wealthy garb blossomed with deep gashes and spurting wounds; chests and necks the primary targets of the marquis’ fury. Those who were intelligent enough to run found their legs quickly frozen in place like a fly in a spider’s web and could only beg for their sorry lives before he cut them down mercilessly.  

Complicit savages!  

Some attempted to resist; garter blades and weak-wristed punches aplenty, but were all brutally felled with malicious, violently indulgent swipes of a trained sword arm. Black fountains of corrupted blood splattered upon the ground, and Andrealphus, in near equal measure; as the more demons he slaughtered, the deeper his baptism of vengeance became. It wasn’t until his royal robes were weighed down by the shed souls of the damned, did he discover that only one final occupant of the club remained. 

A baphomet goat, coated in silver rings from horn to ankle and wrapped in a fine red petticoat, jingled as they stumbled across the field of fallen, frozen dead. Mortified, horizontal irises stretched wider than humanly possible, upon a backwards glance at the marquis; hooves frantic to carry them beyond the hall and into a nearby hallway. A lake of frost nipped ravenously at their heels, spread by the marquis’ menacing gait, and snapped shut their final hope of escape by blocking the way forward. Furry hands scratched and pounded at the thick wall of ice, fearful whimpers cascading from a braided muzzle as the lit candle which blazed atop their head flickered in fear. Shavings flew until streaks of black painted the finger-carved canyons and ceased only when escape proved impossible. Andrealphus’ shadow snuffed out the last of the candle’s violet flame, and the goat demon bleated pitifully as it turned and fell to its knees. 

“Please! Please don’t kill me…please…why are you doing this?! What did we do to slight you?!” 

Andrealphus’ cerulean eyes gleamed with a sharpness only unnaturally honed diamond could produce. Bones creaked and veins flared within his hand, grip all but welded to the grip of his rapier. He needed one alive. He needed information. As much as the thought wounded his pride, his logical half spoke with clarity to ultimately overwhelm his warrior’s instinct. Honed talons pierced the wall on either side of the goat’s slender neck and scraped inwards, shredding through as if it were loose gravel, until his grip closed completely. Ensuring their horns scraped the entire length of the journey, he dragged them up to eye level; fury barely contained beneath a cracked, cursed mask. 

Jeweled hands grasped at ivory feathers, desperation flooded beneath tear-filled eyes, “Please, my lord, spare my life! I don’t…I don’t want to die down here, like this…please…I beg of you…”  

Such pathetic mewling, no matter how satisfactory, also came with an equal dose of annoyance. Andrealphus tightened his grip, finding greater pleasure in the croaked gasps for air that followed. “Cease your sniveling, worm. What remains of your depraved existence hangs in the balance of a single answer. Answer truthfully and without pause, or I shall slather these halls in your guts like I did those before you. Do you know of Madam Kai?” 

With blurry speed, the demon nodded.  

“Do you know where she is?” 

“Yes!” 

Andre’s muscles clenched, invigorated by the spur of success. “Tell me.” 

“Gluttony; she’s in Gluttony!” 

Satisfaction was rendered extinct, in a hell-shattering instant. If the demon spoke true, then the architect of Vassago’s trauma hid beneath their noses all this time! How close was she to their estate? Was she aware of Vassago’s presence in the ring itself? So rapid were his thoughts, that a sensation which had long since abandoned him returned to inject its venom into his heart: fear. 

“Where in Gluttony?!” he roared, the strength of his voice enough to shake the entire chamber. It was all he could to do mask his dread, upon the burden of such knowledge.  

“The Underbite!” the demon screamed, barely able to look at the marquis; tears streaming down its face, feet continuously galloping against the ice at its back. “She’s in The Underbite! Five years ago, she used to be here, but then something bad happened, and the Sin of Lust kicked her out! That’s all I know; I swear!” 

Desperation was a nasty energy source; prone to recoil and messy outcomes, but it made for a potent tool of survival all the same. That same need for survival; the survival of his relationship with Vassago, the survival of his quest to right a great wrong within Hell itself, fueled his strength…and it was the same strength which squeezed the goat’s windpipe shut. No one could know he was here, least of all Madam Kai. 

“But—you said--!” it croaked, eyes bulged and discolored beneath an ornate eye ballroom mask. An infection of red veins welled at their edges; swelling from a lack of oxygen and immense pressure. Realizing what was happening, furry arms flailed outwards with wild punches, claws gouged into royal sleeves to try and rip their way into flesh yet were met with a cold stare and an even colder grip. “No—you—you bastard!” Spittle and foam bubbled to the surface of flat, herbivore teeth as croaks turned into gurgles…only for Andrealphus to squeeze harder. “Damn…you...!” 

With an abrupt and sickening crack like that old brittle bark being ripped from a tree, the Goetia sundered the baphomet demon’s neck with one hand. Eyes vacant, tongue limp and dangling from its mouth, the creature went completely limp: a lifeless doll in the marquis’ grasp. 

Ice cracked, then shattered into a hailstorm of deadly shards as Andrealphus smashed the corpse right through the wall. It struck the ground several feet ahead and bounced; a tangle of deactivated limbs anchored by dead weight, leaving two distinct splatters of blood upon impact. He strode over as if it were nothing more than discarded litter. Creeping rime continued to shadow every step, the clack of talons enhanced by its unique texture, until he reached the first of many doors. With a balled fist, he struck the door, and it flew from its hinges under the strength of a winter’s gale. A scream rang out, and Andrealphus dipped inside to quickly silence it. Shrill cries of fear swiftly devolved into drowning gurgles, until the room fell silent; another useless soul cast into the pits of oblivion.  

It was the first of many embittering moments; door after door, room after room, yet none of them held the demon he sought. How comfortable the depraved were in that den of sin; fully ignorant to the fact that their lives were always forfeit to those of greater purpose and power. None stood a chance against his magical prowess and ruthless efficiency, as beneath his sharpened sight, their worth was determined in a fraction of a second. How many times had he wiped his blade clean, after it had been stained black by the blood of demons? Such things became irrelevant; mere monotonous muscle memory as he cleaned each room. Ten rooms, twenty, thirty; until at last, Andrealphus smashed open the forty-eighth door and stood face to face with the one he sought. 

Caught mid-swig of some unidentifiable bottle, Alejandro spit out his beverage with a clamorous flinch. Through ragged coughs, his hooves rotated, and he faced the marquis with a mixture of displeasure, astonishment, and disgust. “Unholy fuck…” 

“Sit down.” 

“What did you—” 

“Sit. Down.” 

Slowly, the shirtless imp settled back onto a ragged couch. Color fled from his cheeks, a pale, diseased exasperation of dread at the sight of the marquis, as he watched bloody fabrics trail upon the carpet. His eyes latched onto the dripping gore of royal steel, tightening his throat and accentuating the adam's apple which lodged itself tight and dry in his airway.  

Andrealphus snapped his fingers and summoned a block of ice from the ground. He sat upon it, then stabbed his rapier into the ground; hand left wrapped safely within its guard.  

“What are you doing here?” came the tentative question. Alejandro’s gaze flickered to the left, and Andrealphus’ naturally followed. Another baphomet demon, a female, slumbered upon the bed beside a cobalt-scaled cobra demon. Anger twitched upon the peacock’s brow, a newfound glow upon his diamond-patterned tailfeathers.  

“I know.” he declared, the edges of his being polluted with fine, freezing mist. “I know what happened here five years ago. I know what you did. I know what you allowed to happen.” 

What passed for defiance, as a cornered rat would to a predatory feline, steeled itself in the imp’s gaze. “You know nothing.” 

“Do not play coy with me, imp; I know everything! How one of Hell’s lowest caste was to be stuffed and carved, its only remaining purpose to be consumed by its betters, but instead of accepting its station pleaded for one of the mighty Ars Goetia to spare its existence as if it were worthy of such a boon. How a bargain was struck, where one stood to gain everything, and one stood to lose everything. Do you deny it?” 

“I den—” 

“How Vassago of the Ars Goetia, the Seer of Truth, succumbed to his kind-hearted nature and chose to suffer in your place; so that you might escape the situation that you paved for yourself, while you sat back and watched, untouched?” 

“That’s not--!” 

“How he struck a deal with Madam Kai that, in exchange for your life and freedom, he was to bear the debt that you owed unto her; your first beloved Master?” Frost crept up the walls of the room, over photos, over the television, and over the bed; freezing its occupants to it in an icy tomb forevermore.  Andrealphus’ rage leaked from his body, draining all warmth, until one would feel their skin crack. “How they toyed with him; violated him, while you sat back and let it happen?! ”  

It took everything he had to remain seated; to not shatter the entire Ring of Lust on the spot. Alejandro remained rooted; both the ice and Goetian rage serving as excellent deterrents. Shame, fear, dishonor all crept into his face; a face which boiled Andrealphus’ blood to a searing hot alabaster. In it, he saw the admission of guilt, the verification behind his words as memories raced behind those eyes; memories long prayed to be forgotten and buried until the imp’s final breath.  

“You should have died that day. You should have accepted your fate and suffered the consequences of your poor decisions; at least there would have been an end. Instead, your weakness afflicted one of the kindest souls I’ve ever known, and I cannot forgive that.” Andrealphus stood, cold fire ablaze behind his iris less gaze, rapier left impaled within the ground. “You once called me weak, because I could not control my own magic; because I was incapable of ending my own misery. Yet, I am stronger because I suffer; strong enough to make the decisions no one else is willing to make…” 

Bloody hands reached forward and snatched up the former servant’s face, smearing blackened life essence upon crimson skin with spiteful intensity. Talons, palms; deep and kneading to stain the flesh, as a fierce, furious grip seized his chin to hold him in place. Alejandro squirmed, struggled; feet kicking and tail flailing as his groping hands did little to deter the marquis. “Stop! What are you--?!” 

“You are unworthy of his love; of his devotion. For all he has endured, only for the one he trusted most to take flight from a single lie…it shows just how little you value his sacrifice. So long as you are around, he shall continue to suffer; eternally searching, unable to let go due to his kind heart. I shall not allow you to inflict such a curse upon him.” Magical shackles snapped around Alejandro’s ankles and wrists, pinning him down and preventing any further attempts at clawing or kicking free. Andrealphus waved his hand, and a pile of devil dust floated towards the imp’s face; who snarled and bared his teeth. “I shall grant you last words, if you have any.” 

It was then, upon the precipice of demise, that the imp did something that perplexed the Goetia. He laughed. 

“When Vassago completely gets his powers back, and he finds out what you did here today, what do you think is going to happen to you? Do you think he’ll just forgive you for killing his most beloved servant; his best friend?!” 

The question brought momentary pause, yet even in granted silence, Andrealphus’ resolve maintained. Resigned to the fate which he knew could befall him upon such an event, his heart remained steadfast upon its due course, and as the peacock’s expression snapped from the peaks of anger to the stable ground of stoicism, Alejandro’s smile slowly withered. 

“Even if he doesn’t, he’ll be better off without you.” 

Panic flashed across the imp’s face, just before an exorbitant amount of glimmering black devil dust forcibly shoved its way up his nose. Alejandro writhed, as Andrealphus kept his head locked in place; unable to stop him from inhaling the powder. All the while, he snarled, screamed even, but to no avail. The marquis forced every last speck into his nasal cavity via magic, watching as the poison flowed into that tiny red body. A ragged cough scraped its way up to an explosive arrival, splattering a spray of hot blood upon already-soaked garments, while tiny limbs trembled violently within their magical bonds. Involuntary lunges of the neck began, whipping curly black locks about with chaotic fervor while the body seized and spasmed. 

Andrealphus stepped aside, listening to every panicked gasp for air, as Alejandro’s chest visibly vibrated and bounced at dangerous speeds. Agonized cries leapt from foaming lips; hyperventilation fully set in; the deadly pounding of a heart visible beneath his left pec. Defiant, even in overdose and steady brain death, vitriol enflamed each spastic twitch and lunge; curses unleashed in the throes of his final moments. Through venomous foam, serrated scrapes for air churned from Alejandro’s throat and his eyes latched upon the marquis. “An…dre...alllphussss! ” A true serpent’s hiss, infused with all the hatred such a small soul could muster; yet, unable to withstand the dosage, his tiny heart accelerated beyond its limits…and burst.  

Alejandro’s wrath puttered away as light faded from his eyes, and his head slumped to one side; a death rattle mid-flight from his throat. 

Silence descended upon the room; haunting, final, and absolute. Slowly, the ice melted away. Water soon dripped down from on high and birthed sound back into existence. It pattered upon the carpet, the furniture, and even the demons themselves; a purifying rain, but only on the surface, as the sight of what he had done branded itself upon Andrealphus’ mind. Rivers of inky black clawed down along his pearly beak as if they were the most crocodilian of tears; the stench of lesser demon long sunk into the feathers around his eyes. Infused with magic, the rainfall washed away his surface level sin in mere seconds beneath a peaceful tide. Tingling, rising, ebbing and crashing upon the waves of his soul, Andrealphus encouraged his power to return; and thus, it did.  

Lost amongst private thoughts, he flicked his wrist upwards, and his rapier wiggled within the ground; shortly springing free of the floor and returning to an open, outstretched hand. It too was conjured by his magic, and thus, returned as the rain did; without complaint or delay, as a natural part of himself. He regarded Alejandro’s body with an unflinching gaze, absorbing every detail; blemishes, scars, the light shifts of hues upon his skin, the way his vacant eyes stared forever forward: banished from being. Andrealphus returned their ire without fear, for if the vengeful dead were to ever return and act upon grudges long sown, he would vanquish them again.  

Upon a heel he spun, the glimmering fabric of his robes restored to their original splendor and strode from the room. Amongst the thawed, quiet dead, he strolled like a monarch amidst its kingdom; widened eyes, outstretched jaws upon the ground prostrated upwards in honor of his status. Reflective pools of blood parted in his wake, just as the room before, and the hallway was washed clean; swept into the influence of the Mighty Marquis. Every drop of life swept beneath the waves returned to him and coagulated into an obsidian ball above his hand; the fruits of his efforts, the newfound burden to make him stronger. The long-forbidden art amongst his royal house: the art of blood manipulation. 

Siphoned from all those he had slaughtered on his way to Alejandro, power surged into the orb as he walked, growing larger and brighter with every step. By the time he passed from one hall to the next, it had swelled to a size larger than his head. Opening the inner pathways of his palm, Andrealphus steadily absorbed the unholy essence; it would be needed for the act which was to come.  

An utter necessity, as no one suspect his presence. How fortunate it was that Stolas and Blitz had long vacated the premises. Not only that but had also granted him the knowledge of Alejandro’s whereabouts; albeit without knowingly doing so. He would have to bestow rewards upon them both as a silent thank you; an acknowledgment of their vital role in repairing Vassago. Perhaps his body, or an uncanny kindness; quality time spent in leisure instead of turmoil, would be a balm for them all. 

Leaving the underground club behind, Andrealphus stood upon the precipice of its once-guarded entrance and placed his empowered palm upon marked stone. Dark blue light bloomed, which swiftly froze upon the wall and spread deep into the complex, forcing the foundation into a brittle state. A secondary force then flowed from his palm; the force by which bury the entire club, and all those in it, beneath a mountain of concrete; delayed long enough for Andrealphus to finish his escape, of course. Only when he once again tasted the warm, sweet air of Lust did the ground beneath his feet quake and the calamitous rumble of falling stone tattle against his head like a child’s set of blocks.  

Finality followed the raise of his arms; elegant and polished talons swift to smooth back his head plumage. With it, Andrealphus wiped the deed into the recesses of his mind; doubts erased beneath the weight of what he had done. There was no stepping back now: no retreat. Such thoughts were better left buried, and as he gazed into the gloomy, indigo sky, new musings formulated within his mind. The looming presence of Madam Kai remained; one which he dared not ignore for long, but he needed more information on the location he’d been given, first and foremost.  

Stepping forward to begin the journey back to Gluttony, the blue light of his cellular phone’s screen cast upon his face, a short-lived ringtone sang amidst the rain. When it ended, he spoke.  

“I have another assignment for you.” 

Chapter 17: Fragmented Memory: Glass of the Cosmos, Reflect Conjunction

Summary:

Within Vassago's lighthouse, imp and owl search for a journal at Alejandro's behest.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧ 

“What are we looking for again?” Blitz asked, as he peered through the magnified lens perched above an open tome. Not that a closer view helped; as the words weren’t even written in English. Maybe if he opened one of the other countless books stacked nearby, he’d find something he could read, but the moment had passed, and the imp quickly grew bored.  

“A journal.” Stolas replied; hands raised and brimming with magic. At his command, books slid from the towering shelves in single file and flew directly towards him, where they stood at attention before the prince. “Hmm…Dawkins, Reprieve, Dillinger, Obfuscary…” he muttered, eyes narrowed.  

“You casting a spell or something?” 

“They’re names of authors, Blitzy.” Having reached the end of his list, one hand flicked to the left, causing the line of books to slide away. Guided back to their place of origin, each thick book slipped back onto the shelf as the shelf right below it emptied. “For the life of me, I cannot figure out Vassago’s sorting system.” 

One backwards crane of the head conjured a grin upon Blitz’s face; for he gazed upon a verifiable rock wall of shelves to scale. A harsh crack of knuckles, a wiggle of the tail, and a shuffle of the feet was all he needed…before he sprang into action! His nimble body slapped against a row of books above six or seven shelves up, only for the trained grip of an acrobat to ensure nothing shook loose. With no idea where to start, he tugged one book out with a single hand; using his other, alongside both feet, to keep himself latched on. “Tits for Tats: Sexual Favors throughout the Ages.” Immediately interested, he rested the book onto his bent knee and opened it. “…damn, these are some nice tits.” 

“Purely educational, I assume?”  

“Uh-huh; yeah sure, whatever…” Blitz waved. “Why would he have a book on tattoos? He’s covered in feathers.” 

“That would only be a concern if non-magical ink was the only option anymore, but artists have been weaving illustrations upon the furred and feathered for eons.” 

“If it’s so common, then why the fuck haven’t I heard about it until now?” 

“Because you wouldn’t need to. You are neither furry nor feathery, therefore, normal ink would suffice.” 

“Hey; I’m furry…in places: you know that!” 

“Stop oggling breasts and keep looking.” Stolas chuckled, swiping another lackluster row of tomes to the side, only to summon another. What wonders awaited within the dusted shelves of the library, he pondered. Knowledge on tattoos certainly wasn’t a field he’d expected to find in Vassago’s collection, but perhaps it was simply to achieve a wild field of data? He resolved to ask, upon their next encounter; for the sake of sheer curiosity, if nothing else. 

“Yo Stols, he’s got a book about taxidermy; want it?” 

“We are not here to steal.” 

“What, it’s not like you two aren’t rooming together. It’s not stealing, it’s…borrowing; borrowing and relocating.” 

"I’d rather not.” 

Dejectedly, Blitz huffed and slid the book back into place. “Is this going to be some weird spy movie shit, where it’s going to be a book hidden inside of another hollowed out book?” 

“Alejandro said that the journal was in plain view, so I doubt it.” 

“I still don’t fully trust that guy, you know.” 

“Hells forbid, I cannot imagine why.” Stolas sighed, levitating a row of books back onto the shelves and refraining from seizing another. Searching randomly would take far too long; they needed to be precise. “Remember, we’re looking for a cover adorned with the occult sun. Do you recall what that looks like?” 

“Uhh…” Blitz droned, as he leapt up to a higher shelf. “…a circle with…other shapes around it?” 

“Quadrants Blitzy; the circle is flanked by quadrants with accompanying astral symbols inside. They’ll be rather curvy.” 

“Got it.” It was then, as he grabbed the spine of another random book, that an idea struck. “Don’t libraries have a…a—fuck what the hell is it called—some kind of list? You know, the kind that tells you what books they have and where they are? Why don’t we just look at that?” 

“This is not a public collection, so I’d deduce Vassago would have no need for an index.” 

A groan of frustration slipped from crimson lips, as yet another tome came up worthless. “Fuck me, this is taking too long!” Like a scampering cougar, the imp scaled down from on high until his boots touched ground. “Let’s just flip his bedroom inside and out or crack open a desk or two. Who the hell puts a journal in a library?” 

“Someone who remembers exactly where they put it.” 

“Fine; you’re better with books than me anyway. You do what you do best, and I’ll do what I do best—” 

“Don’t—” 

“—break shit!” Giddy as a sugar-fueled little impling, Blitz shot out of the library and raced up the stairs of the lighthouse. He hadn’t been in many lighthouses, but something told him they shouldn’t have huge ass rooms off the staircase. It must’ve been magic; had to be, how else could he ever explain how a dick-shaped building could hold a whole library? Bounding two stairs at a time, his gait didn’t diminish until he reached the next plateau in the steps; one which held a new room for him to explore. 

Without even considering that it could be locked, or worse: booby-trapped, Blitz turned the doorknob and pushed.  

A colossal chamber of obsidian rock, golden metal, and glass awaited him; its presence majestic, surreal, and unnerving all at once. Yet, curiosity bit deep and bid the imp enter; and so, without a second thought he did just that. Gilded chrome coalesced into a huge, floating orb at the center of everything. Flanked by curing lines of likewise make, their sheen possessed a liquid-like sheen as they wrapped about the ball like a wicker basket. Black rock coated the walls from top to bottom, laced with glowing, volcanic lines of growling red. There was only one wall which was not; as its entire body was constructed of vibrant stained glass.  

Knives of ochre, crimson, lavender, cerulean, indigo fragmented into rays of light and shot across the portrait in streaks of starlight; their beauty grand enough to halt Blitz’s steps altogether. “Wow…” he gasped in awe, not daring to even blink for fear of missing a mere second of sheer wonderment. “…what the hell is this?”  

A curious arm rose, fingers outstretched in an attempt to perhaps grasp a ray of light for himself. Through the gaps, fractals of brilliance poured through; rainbows in and of themselves which drowned his coat in an ocean of color. Warmth giggled in his throat, peace tickled the tops of his eyelids, and the longer he kept his hand up, the greater his smile became. From somewhere beyond sight, something tickled his cheek; a breeze, a hum…and eventually a voice. 

It said nothing, but it giggled; a childish sounding thing at the edges of his mind. 

Blitz narrowed his eyes, trying to shift his senses to better focus on the sound, but it remained out of reach. “Hello? Is someone there?” 

Another giggle, softer than a whisper and a lover’s tender lips, brushed atop his mind. His inability to concentrate on it transformed the sensation into a prickling shudder but did nothing to diminish his excitement.  

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find a journal around here, could ya?” 

Glass shimmered, a gentle crackle of shifting edges followed, and the voice fell to a hush.  

“It sure would save me a lot of time…unless I’ve just gone nuts and am talking to a regular window; but it’s got a sun on the front, with a bunch of other symbols around it.” 

Blitz waited, and waited, and waited…but no response came. No whispers teased his ears, nor did the warmth of the window exist upon him; its rainbow glow faded away. That couldn’t have been a coincidence, and at the presumption he had somehow fucked up, fear launched another sentence from his lips.  

“Alejandro told us to come get it.” 

And still, there was nothing. 

“…hello?” 

Defeated at last by the pronounced and heavy silence, Blitz turned from the window with an equally weighty sigh. “Must be losing my damn mind…” 

*clink* 

At the noise, he turned back around; nothing had changed. 

*clink* 

Unable to figure out where the sound originated from, his stomach tensed, and his head turned about once again for an answer. Nothing near the orb, nothing in the room; so where? 

*clink* 

“Where in the name of Satan’s enormous boulder balls is that damn sound coming fro--?!” Anger, brief and brutal, froze with jarring speed as he turned back towards the window; the source of the noise suddenly revealed to him.  

Descending a single staircase of shattered glass, was a faceless humanoid body. It was not made of flesh, plastic, clay, or even metal; but of the stained glass he had just gazed upon in wonderment. Empty pockets of space floated between the thousands of broken fragments which constructed its form, twinkling specs of spiked stars dotted about the darkness. Right at the stomach sat a distorted hole; its edges hazy as a desert mirage, while the center possessed a deep and terrible void…one which incited fear within Blitz’s heart the longer he stared upon it.  

Behind the figure, the window stood shattered, and behind it…nothing. A vast, endless pit of nothingness yawned into infinity.  

Oh, how it terrified him. The empty. The cold, emotionless pit of horrors that gaped like an ugly wound in the world. 

And so, Blitz stepped backwards, unable to keep his body from shaking. Cold sweat trailed down his face, a dry throat all that kept his words restrained beneath lock and key. Face to face with the unknown, a broken monstrosity of something he didn’t understand, both heels gravitated towards the exit.  

It watched him as he backed up, several feet between it and the imp. By the time he reached the orb, it had only just finished going down the steps…only for them to float upwards like two streams of razor blades and form the shape of wings upon its back. The glass which constructed its head warbled, until a hollow ringing dropped into the air; so deep and immediate within his ear that it felt waterlogged.  

“STOLAS!” Finally, Blitz found the courage to scream, feet dancing on the edge of an ankle fracture as he bolted around towards the door…only to smack face first into a mirror. The door was gone. There was only glass and the reflection of his bloodstained nose; and behind him…the creature’s approach continued. 

He swung his arm back, cocked his elbow, and unleashed a powerful punch; the impact of which rattled up to his shoulder, but did no more than smudge the mirror. So, Blitz threw another, then another, and another until his knuckles stung with pain. Still, his strength was found wanting.  

“Hey, listen—” he babbled. “—whatever I did to piss you off, I’m sorry! The book isn’t for me; it’s for some asshole who works for the guy who lives here!” 

Another wild swing smashed against the glass, this time in the form of an elbow strike: futile. 

“I don’t even read all that much. I’m more of a comic book guy!” 

Blitz lashed out with a forward kick but was only pushed backwards by his own generated force. Knowing it had pushed him closer to the creature only lodged his heart into his throat. 

“I don’t even fucking know what’s in it! I’m just here because—fuck—because…because--!” He scrambled back towards the transformed door, back pressed to it as his eyes frantically scanned the room. Keep talking, keep it distracted, and just maybe it’ll buy enough time to figure out an escape plan. “Because I fucked up with someone I love and I’m trying to make it up to them!” 

Too late; it was right in front of him. Blitz clenched his eyes shut and shrank back, bracing himself for the end… 

…only for nothing to happen. 

A single eye peeked open and found that the monster of glass was simply standing there, its head tilted to one side. Blitz had expected to be grabbed, choked, impaled, but none of those things happened. In fact, the creature hardly moved; its only signs of life the constant, warbling distortion of an underwater echo.  

What stopped it? Did it understand him? 

“Do you…know what love is?” 

“LoVe…” 

High pitched and low, feminine and masculine, roars and whispers responded in a coalition of voices. Blitz nearly shit himself with how discordant, yet harmonic, the sound was; but more so, he was overjoyed at the revelation that it could talk! 

“...wE…KnOW lOvE...iT’s wARmth…iT’s EmBRAce…in ThE niGhT…”  

Screeching, scratching, grating; shards upon shards, translucent teeth of sharpest soul gnashed and ground together in a cacophony of overwhelming mania. A verifiable blender of serrated noise shredded the inside of Blitz’s skull; so powerful that his hands quickly slammed over his ears to escape it. 

“SoNgs…kiSSeS…daNCinG bEneATh thE sTarS…LoVe gIVen…LoVe LoST…aNd reTUrNed…”  

Head ringing, temples pounding, Blitz grit his teeth and cried out. “What…are you?!” 

“We…ArE faMILy…”  

An unnatural breeze swept through the room, sweeping the creature’s form up with it. A trail of deadly, glinting feathers whisked through the air, and in their chaotic swirling constructed a new form. Broad shoulders, thick arms, and sharp head features cut a rather heroic figure; one which blazed with brilliant swathes of multicolored light. What appeared to be a swathe of tail feathers formed behind it, plumage atop its head, as well as a large, rounded beak. In mere seconds, the outline and figure of a bipedal bird stood before him, talons and all; hands planted upon its waist. Two brilliant ruby stars gleamed where eyes would be, and every star housed within its many shattered galaxies shifted to glow with an identical hue.  

Blitz stared, jaw slack, as the thing threw its head back and unleashed a deep, boisterous laugh! Suddenly, the volcanic cracks in the walls glowed all the brighter, and the golden globe groaned as it started to rotate. Magic was in the air; even someone like Blitz, who possessed little aptitude for the craft, could feel it. Face rife with fear and bewilderment, he couldn’t help but risk a glance back towards the sealed door. 

“You wish to speak of love: no?” Rich with an accent right out of Stolas’ novellas, sultry tones boomed across the room with infectious energy. “Of the grand enchantment; its enflaming rhythms, its intoxicating heartbreak, that which spins the greatest legends and crafts the grandest of sacrifices?”  

Before Blitz could muster up an answer, he found himself swept off his feet; horns scraping the floor while a warm, solid hand braced his lower back! He stared upwards into the mosaic face of the creature, shocked that the glass which composed its body wasn’t slicing into him. In fact, it was simply bumpy; like rock candy. One of his hands was wrapped in such a grasp, and an unfamiliar sensation welled within him. 

“Ah, you have already felt love’s sting; I can tell!” it chuckled, as it not only raised its posture, but Blitz as well. Immediately, the imp’s vision blurred as he was spun about; able to still feel that eldritch grip encompassing his own. “From family, from a destined lover, from those who call you, their amigo; it is all the same and yet not. To be so beloved by so many; there is no greater gift in the universe!”  

Just as his stomach shifted and dizziness set in, everything came to a jarring halt…and he found himself lifted into the air! Balanced upon the creature’s palm, its rocky fingers pressed flat against the bottom of his ribs, Blitz tensed his abs as equilibrium shifted out of his favor. Laid out like a board, he could only stare down at the large, reflective figure which was straight up dancing with him! 

“Nothing fans the flames of passion, desire, and truth more than cooperation between beloved comrades. Do you feel it; the spur of energy, the invigoration to bring you entire being to bare for the sake of another’s happiness?” A firm heel slammed against the ground with a crack, as another laugh threatened to shake the entire room. Magma gushed from their canals within the walls, the globe spun with immense intensity; like a drill going absolutely ape shit on the highest setting. Arcane runes and etched lines now coated the orb, from what Blitz could make out from his unwanted perch and bloomed with a similar aura to that of the mysterious stranger itself.  

“Who the fu--?!” he began, only to find himself suddenly shot upwards into the air. Reflexively, an entire childhood’s worth of acrobat training took hold, and his body tucked into a protective ball. Once he touched down, he’d simply time his roll to absorb the impact and— 

Nope: for as he tucked in, he felt the same hand from before press up beneath him…and toss him back up! Like a ball upon a seal’s nose, the poor imp was toyed with before a crowd of nothing; lost in seemingly infinite rotation. 

“Ah-hahahaha: bravo! You are like an egg in the palm of my hand.” 

“Put—” 

Flip. 

“—me—” 

Flip. 

“—down!” 

Flip. 

“As you wish; prepare for the dismount!” 

Immense pressed reared back from below; its touch unfelt but its aura unmistakable. Blitz had the dreaded feeling that he was about to be launched very, very high… 

“¡Vuela bien, pequeño diablo!” 

With what could only be described as a slap to the ass, Blitz rocketed into the sky; eyes scrunched tight while a scream shot from his lips. “I don’t know what that meeeeeeeeaaaaaaans!” 

 Higher and higher, ever closer to cracking his membrane and showering the rock in yolk, the eventual tug of gravity tugged upon Blitz’s body. What started off as life-ending velocity unwound into a steady, menial drag that left him floating mid-air for a few seconds before dropping him back down just as quick. Mid-fall, he uncurled and spread his limbs wide to slow his fall, only to spot the figure below him; still dancing, still laughing, but its head upturned to his rapid descent. 

Right before he hit the ground, the snap of fingers punctuated the air, and a cloud of sparkling crimson stars appeared beneath him. At first, he feared he’d cut right through them, but Blitz quickly realized otherwise as his ass hit the softest, bounciest pillow-like surface he’d ever felt. Dazed, utterly confused, but ultimately safe, he stared at the ceiling and panted; eyes locked wide. Magma cooled, spinning ceased, and magical auras dimmed; whatever had been going on seemed to have stopped, or at the very least, slowed down. 

A repetitive celebration of clapping filled the room; more akin to rhythmic chiming than flesh slapping against flesh. “¡Bravo! ¡Bravo!”  

Momentarily, his heart warmed to the praise; for its tone sounded utterly genuine. It was almost enough to stop him from being pissed off…keyword being almost. Blitz decided that he’d let the glass bird off easy and merely shifted atop his cloud of stars. “Okay…I think I’ve had my fill of dancing! Who are you, what are you?” 

“Who am I? Who are you? I shall tell you my name, if you tell me yours.” 

An elbow shifted position, finding the cloud rather squishy; just enough stability to prop himself up. “Blitz.” 

“Encantado de conocerte, Blitz.” The thick accent placed far more emphasis on pronouncing a sharp “E”, rather than a flat but punctuated “I”. During the greeting, the figure’s broad torso bent forward at the hip, his head dipped; several floating knife-like shards shaped into a mohawk of plumage. “I am…”  

Several *shinks* of glass slid into place, as makeshift wings appeared along bent arms; from wrist to shoulder. Each shard flashed with emerald, ruby, and topaz in a blinding startup sequence. To seal the performance, the figure straightened its back and raised its arms, locking them both into place with an identical flex of biceps while it struck a pose. 

“…Ignacio of the Ars Goetia!” 

The entire room rumbled, its volcanic structure re-invigorated by the powerful boom of his voice as rivers of lava momentarily flared up and spat upon the floor. 

“…” 

“I see you have been rendered speechless by my appearance. Fear not; for not all are so blessed as to gaze upon a Seer of Truth.”  

Blitz gently scratched at his cheek with a single finger. “You’re a…thingy of Truth; like Vassago?” 

“Vassago?” Once again, as if it were as natural as a beating heart by that point, Ignacio threw his head back and laughed; hands planted back upon v-shaped hips. “Oh, no no no, my little brother is nowhere near a true Seer. He has many, many decades of hard work and study ahead of him before he’s earned that title.” 

“Brother?”  

“Si, and my eventual successor. But as I just said, that will not be for quite some time. Until then I, and I alone, divinate the truth of things.” 

“Okay…I can buy that, but…why are you--?” Blitz’s hand waved up and down at the strange construct; held together by magic and, seemingly, space itself.  

“Such a magnificent specimen? You do not look half-bad yourself, amigo; but you definitely need to eat more protein.”  

Another snap of the fingers, and the cloud suddenly lowered him to the ground, where he hopped off and brushed himself down. No stray glass, no cuts, no damage; a blessing, he supposed.  

“But I must ask, why are you in my tower?” 

Blitz blinked, trapped on the brink between being utterly lost and keeping his head on straight. Honestly, he had no clue who was more confused; him or the walking mirror-art that called itself Vassago’s brother. “I was…asked to get a book.” 

“Did the servants let you in? Oh, what am I saying; of course they did, how else would you have passed through the wards? Tell me then, which book is it, and what is the name of your master?” 

“My master?” Indignation flared, but the sheer insanity of his day had jacked his brainpower up to eleven. Wait, no, don't get mad; just play along. “Right, my master. My master is…” Tongue between his teeth, trapped like a forked fruit by the foot, its tip flapped in the air as he held the word. “…Stolas. Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia.” 

“Hm…” Ignacio hummed dubiously; the mechanics and logic of which scrambled Blitz’s brain into something akin to a mutated love child born of mashed potatoes and scrambled eggs. “…haven’t heard of him; must be a newly blooded up-and-comer.” Out of nowhere, the mirror-made avian bent over, which caused Blitz to instinctively take a protective step backwards and raise his fists, only for Ignacio to seemingly sniff him. “Yet, you smell exactly like one of us; there is no mistaking the aroma…” 

Questioning just how it could smell him; let alone talk, hear, or anything else for that matter wasn’t going to get him any closer to the book. “I don’t know the title, but the cover is supposed to have a sun on it and…four other symbols. Stolas called it an Occult Sun.” 

“There is no such book.” 

Blitz blinked. “But…Alejandro said—” 

Ignacio straightened to his full height, and his hands slid off his hips. “Hm, I know of no Alejandro, but whomever that is, they have misled you. There is no such book.” 

“So…” he deflated. “…I came all this way for nothing?” 

“I am afraid so.” 

Unable to withstand the depressive wave of defeat, he flopped down onto his ass and hiked up his knees; forearms draped atop them. He stared towards the ceiling, then back towards the gaping void in the wall: fucking magic. The sight still unnerved him; like even just looking at it was enough to be swallowed whole. Prickles of fear danced atop his skin until he averted his gaze.  

“Then that’s it; I’m royally boned.” 

The gentle clinking of footsteps reached his ears, and when he finally looked towards them, he found that Ignacio had too turned towards the void. What did he see, when staring into those depths? Clearly, he viewed the world through a different lens than Blitz, and while no less confusing, the imp understood that he and the bird were experience two entirely different realities at the moment.  

“Do not worry pequeño diablo; power comes, and power goes. It shall always exist to be sought. Your master can always send you out to find another source, if such a thing is truly so important to him. There, you will find a chance to regain any lost favor.” 

“I don’t want favor. I want this shit to be fixed so everything can go back to fucking normal!” He stamped the ground with his foot, tail agitated by his fiery disposition. “Everything was fine; I had my shit together, I had him, but then I dropped the damn ball and I’ve been chasing after it ever since; but whenever I bend over to pick it up, I get railed in the fucking ass!” 

“Ah, you are angry.”  

“Noooo, I’m happy as a fucking clam. The only reason I’m yelling is so that someone will fucking listen to me for once!” Loaded with sarcasm, his words practically oozed with venomous contempt.  

"What exactly is it that you are angry with? Are you angry at your own failure, or the fact that you were lied to by someone you trusted? Are you mad at everything for falling apart, or your inability to hold it all together? Do you fear your master’s rage, or do you fear he will truly never recognize all you do in service to him?” 

“I’m not afraid!” 

“Fear is natural. Denial is man-made.” Ignacio turned back around, arm bent, and hand raised as he clenched the air within a fist. “You can never be courageous without being afraid, and to conquer that which you fear, you must be brave. Otherwise, all you will have is anger, which only serves to fuel more anger; where passion will serve you far better. So, I ask you again, are you angry at others, or are you angry at yourself?” 

Blitz winced; too many words, too many questions. “Hey, I didn’t come here looking for a fucking therapist; alright?! I just came here for the book, so if there isn’t a book, then do me a favor. Shut the hell up, let me out of this fucking room, and mind your own damn business!” 

Ignacio’s form crumbled back into the chaotic, humanoid mess it once was; the featureless head of the unnerving creature brought mere inches from his face! Distorted noise roared against his brain was crashing waves, while the world around him blurred, muddied, and drained itself of color. Blitz slammed his hands over his ears, just as an internal pop within his head enveloped them in a pulsating wave of immense discomfort. Everything shook, hummed, rattled, as the formless mirror stretched like liquid metal; his own reflection a malformed phantom twisted with agony before him. Ever-rising, ever-burning, the intensity of the distortion darkened the world. Thought faded, sensation dulled, staring…staring…staring into chaos… 

“FiNd tHe coURaGe…tO LoVe yOUrSelF…Or YoU wiLL ForEVeR bE pOWerlESS!”  

The scream stretched the creature’s face, right where a mouth would be, into thin bars; behind which nothing but the swirling cosmos raged. Larger and larger, as if it planned to consume him entirely, Blitz was too paralyzed to look away. The ridges of his mind undulated, softened, flattened, melted into fecal pulp as he witnessed the unspeakable, beautiful horror of an endless, cold night! 

….. 

….. 

….. 

….. 

….. 

…and then all was well. 

The stained-glass window was mended. The gaping void was gone. Ignacio, or whatever that thing had truly been, had completely vanished. The door to the room had returned to normal. 

He was back. He was free. 

Blitz moved his hands away from his head and stared at the door; breath heavy, body trembling. A dark spot, warm and wet, soaked the crotch of his pants. For several long minutes, he languished upon the floor; his mind lost amongst all he had just witnessed. It was long, in fact, that the click of the door being opened shot him right to his feet: pure adrenaline bypassing paralysis.  

“Ah, Blitz, there you are.” Stolas stood in the doorway, caught mid-stride at the sight of the imp’s frazzled state. “I see that you’ve found the Aural Observatory.” 

“…the what?” 

“The Aural Observatory; an apparatus by which sounds are transmitted and received through the vacuum of space.” The owl smiled as he stepped inside, the door left ajar behind his flowing cloak. “Note the walls; crafted with meteoric material. They are used to better entrap any signals which are picked up. The orb; an affix by which language is transcribed from such sounds via magic. This room is essentially a radio dish, crafted to commune with the cosmos.” 

“…uh-huh.” 

At the two-word response, Stolas tilted his head. “Are you alright? You appear shaken.” A single downward tilt of the head altered his expression immediately from a concerned smile to a concerned line. “…and you also appear to have pissed your pants.” 

Three heavy huffs of air followed; two to wrangle the mess that was his mind, and one to conjure what he wished to say. Preparation, concentration, delivery; guess the scratch he’d thrown at his therapist hadn’t been a total waste. Honesty was best; fuck his ego. “I don’t like it here, Stolas…” 

Immediately, the owl’s expression tightened somewhat. “What happened?” 

Pungent waves of hot, sour urine curled Blitz’s nose and filled him with shameful self-consciousness. Tucking his knees up, he pushed to his feet and turned to the side, to try and hide the dark spot best as possible. “Can I…get some new fucking pants first; before I drip all over the floor?” 

Stolas unclasped the neck of his cloak and whipped it around his shoulders. The massive garment was the very definition of overkill, but a gentle aura of familiar magic quickly stretched across it, then carved away a more suitably sized portion for Blitz to wear. It looked exactly like a long skirt. “Come, let’s find you a bathroom to wash up in.” 

A gentle hand rested upon his shoulder, and equally gentle fingertips brushed against his back spines as Stolas escorted him towards the exit. All the while, Blitz mentally kicked himself as his face burned red hot with debilitating embarrassment. They’d seen a lot of each other, but there was always a sense of control about it. They only showed as much as they wanted to. It had always been a conscious decision to expose whatever parts of themselves they were comfortable with sharing; but this wasn’t that…it was involuntary. 

A sense of betrayal coursed through him, by the time they reached the winding stairs. What kind of person pissed themselves like that? Soon, the shame became too great to bear, and Blitz simply stared at his feet; doing his best to ignore looking at his pants at all. By some grace of luck, they stumbled upon a bathroom relatively quickly. The moment they did, he rushed inside, slammed the door closed, and furiously unfastened his trousers.  

“If you’re not comfortable talking about it, that is perfectly fine.” Stolas’ gentle voice vibrated through the door; no more than a few feet away. “But you do know that you may confide in me, should anything be troubling you, right?” 

Cool metal. The turn of a knob. Rushing water crashing upon smooth ceramic.  

“I know…” 

There was a pause, as he stepped out of his pant leg.  

“If today has been…confusing for you, know it has been the same for me. I don’t want there to be any doubt regarding my sincerity.” 

“Look, just—just don’t go telling anyone, alright? It never happened.” 

“Done; wiped from my mind entirely.” 

“Good…” Blitz sighed; they were ruined. Even if he did wash them, the memory would never let him wear those pants again. “Anyway, I’ve got bad news. We’ve been had. There’s no book. Alejandro sent us here on a wild fucking goose chase…” 

“You came to this conclusion; how, exactly?” 

“Vassago’s brother told me.” 

“Brother? I saw no one else in the room with you.” 

“Because he fucked back to wherever he came from. Before you showed up, I asked him about that Occult Sun thing, and he said it didn’t exist. He also asked why I was in his tower, which was really weird; but the guy was all kinds of confusing…” 

“What was his name?” 

“Ignacio.” 

“Hm, Vassago has never mentioned a brother. Perhaps…” the hiss of the pronounced “S” lingered momentarily in the air, while Blitz splashed water on his groin and thighs. “…we should keep searching, despite his claims. He could be lying.” 

From somewhere far away, far below, a door opened; its echo enough to induce a sudden jolt of curious panic in the imp. “Stolas did someone just walk in?” he hissed at the door, only to be met with relative silence. “Stolas? Stolas!” When no answer came, frustration and worry rose to greet its absence. “Fuuuck…” Quickly, he wrapped the gifted portion of Stolas’ clock around his waist and cinched it off, then opened the door just enough to peek out onto the stairway. “Stolas?” 

While he didn’t see his favorite owl, a distant conversation did in fact reach his ears. 

“—in my home. Where is Alejandro, tell me!” 

“He is not here, but something he needs is.” 

“What he needs is to return to Gluttony so I may set things right; but if he isn’t here, then why are you?” 

Blitz peered over the bannister, needing to hike himself up on his tippy toes to see, and the instant he did; Vassago’s visor-covered eyes homed in on him in a heartbeat: busted! 

“Blitz.” He called out. “Come down here.” 

“Heyyyyy buddy.” An awkward, half-hearted finger twiddle followed. “I thought that…you were back home chilling with Andy; what happened?” 

“I woke up…and received an unexpected visit from your daughter, of all demons.” 

“Loonie?” Interest instantly piqued, Blitz scaled the railing and leapt off; arms outstretched as he grasped the support pole that ram from floor to the unseen roof. Graceful as a stripper, he gripped it with his inner thigh and spun all the way down to Stolas and Vassago’s level. As his boots slapped against the ground and whirled him around, he was met with a rather…displeased look on the parrot’s face; hand slapped atop his beak to cover his eyes.  

"Why is he not wearing pants?” came the rather understandable groan. 

“Oh, quit whining; you’ve seen it before, just tell me about Loona! She came to the house? What did she want? What did she say?”  

“She came looking for you; said you hadn’t talked to her in days. There was also…” Vassago sighed. “…a rather poorly worded message sent her way. She thought something had happened to you, so she sniffed you out all the way back to the estate. Upon arrival, you were nowhere in sight…and thus decided to ambush me for information.” 

“What?!” Stolas stepped forward, posture dipped as he scanned for any injuries. “Are you unharmed?” 

“Relatively.” Another sigh dropped from Vassago’s large beak. “Let's just say she was rather…spirited, and there was a bit of property damage. Luckily, someone had been watching from the trees; someone who saved me.” 

“Wait, wait, wait; what do you mean saved you, huh? What happened to Loona?” A spur of protective fatherly instinct tensed his thigh muscles with explosive power; ready to race out the door if anything had happened to his only daughter.  

“That’s what’s interesting. She recognized my savior; even addressed him by name before giving chase. While I have seen him before, it was long ago and for but a moment. Why he was lurking on the edges of the estate, watching over us for who knows how long, is an utter mystery…” True befuddlement passed upon Vassago’s face, and his arms folded across his chest. “…but I can say this; she and him were not friends.” 

“I’m calling her right now!” Blitz’s hand shot towards his pants pocket, desperate to fish out his phone; only to slap his cloak-covered thigh. “Fuck, I left it upstairs in my pants!” In a mad dash, he sprinted towards the stairs; his thundering gallop a storm amidst the vertical confines of Vassago’s lighthouse home. 

“You said that she called him by name; this savior of yours. What was it?” 

“Striker.” 

Together, Blitz and Stolas froze in place, eyes wide. Like frightened beasts which roamed nature’s vast plains, joints locked in place and skin tightened, trapped beneath an aura of survival instinct, paranoia, terror, and expertly concealed killing intent. It was Blitz who broke the silence; voice taut. 

“You’re telling me…Loona went after Striker alone?!” 

“Well…yes; is that a bad thing? She proved rather capable, so I didn’t give it much thought.” The Goetian Prince turned towards his fellow royal as if he were some gossiping old lark. “Were you aware she’s able to create sonic ripples with her vocal cords and propel them forward as a shock wave? That’s a rather advanced level of sorcery for someone not of royal blood.” 

“Fuck the ripples!” Blitz twitched, half of his body turned up the stairs and the other half faced the birds. “Stolas, I gotta go get her! Open a portal; we need to get back to Gluttony, now!” 

“But what about—” 

“But nothing! I’mma run up, grab my phone, and be back down in like five seconds. You don’t have to come with me, but at least get me there, please!” 

“…very well; just promise me you’ll come back unharmed.”  

Perhaps it was the best he could do, short of coming along for the ride; but trying to negotiate with Alejandro had been Stolas’ idea. Sure, Blitz had been the one to initiate the chase, but his part had already been played. Fuck Alejandro; there were more important people in his life at stake now! 

“Thank you…” With nothing left to be said, he finally dashed up the stairs to grab his phone; the only thought in his head how much time he had to find her…before it would be too late. 

Chapter 18: Wayward Thunderclap

Summary:

As Blitz races to locate Loona, Andrealphus catches up on current events, and Stolas makes new plans with Vassago.

 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

 

Andrealphus stared at the devastated backyard of the estate, with equal measure confusion and anger. His precious makeshift shed home; the same which he had painstakingly repurposed for the imps, stood desecrated. As he gawked at the hole in its frame, in the exact place where one served little purpose, a singular question rose to his beak. 

“What in the seven hells…?”  

In an ironic twist of fate, the shed itself now held little of value; given the state of half its’ intended occupants. 

He had thought Vassago asleep, but upon his return from Lust, all that greeted him home was vandalism and utter silence. There was no one in bed and no one in the back yard; all the damage restrained to the outside, which meant that for some reason…Vassago had wandered out and been ambushed. 

By whom? For what reason? The dreaded weight of yet another secret, another layer, loomed above Andrealphus as his magical gaze scanned the wreckage for clues; something, anything which could help him find his fellow Goetia. Yet, as if Lucifer himself was watching over him under the veil of darkest night, a flash of light enveloped his back; and as the Mighty Marquis turned around, he found himself faced with a rather bewildered, huffy Blitz. 

“Andy!”  

“My name is not—” Andrealphus stopped himself, then sighed. There was no point, he thought; allow the imp his beloved infrequencies. “Never mind; where have you been, did you find Alejandro, and where is Stolas?” 

“No time!” 

Blitz zipped forward, just as the portal snapped shut behind him; on the cusp of nipping the tip of his tail clean off to be lost to the universe. Devoid of any sense of personal space, his arm crashed against the peacock’s hip amidst his mad dash for the house. An utterly perplexed expression crossed Andrealphus’ face, as he witnessed quite the sprint; perhaps the swiftest he’d ever seen in all his days.  

So, as any companion would do in times of crisis, he followed. 

Upon entering the home, only the faintest smear of red was visible upon the stairs, and the panicked chorus of thundering boots bloated the living room. Followed by steps from above, the ruckus drew him closer towards the stairs, and he called out to the space above. 

“Was that Stolas’ portal you just spawned out of?” 

The sounds of someone rummaging echoed from on high; their descent just as winding as the staircase itself, yet still no response came. Normally, it would be an irritating nuisance of disrespect, but the frantic energy on display was potent enough to quell such assumptions. Right as his beak parted to bequeath another question, cloak fabric ruffled in the wind as Blitz slid down the railing and dismounted with supreme grace.  

Before the imp could, again, dart away; diamond-patterned tail feathers flared outwards and barred his way.  

“Stop running. Take a moment, breath, and explain to me what is going on so that I might help.” 

“It’s my daughter! My Loonie Toonie; she came here looking for me, ran into Corporal Big Beak, then took off. She’s chasing trouble; big trouble she’s not ready to tackle on her own, and I’ll be fucked in my tight little ass if I’m gonna let her face it alone!” 

“I beg of you, please use proper names when referring to people. It used to amuse me, but now the lines have grown too muddied. Your daughter came here, encountered Vassago, and then ran off? Your story makes little sense; why would she come here to begin with?” 

“Vassago said she sniffed me out all the way from Pride. I’d been so busy with you guys and this…” Blitz’s arms rose, as if to flap, but only achieved an abrupt descent. Frustration coursed across his features, regret instilled within every hurried breath. “…this crazy shit that I hadn’t been checking my phone.” 

Andrealphus absorbed the information in silence; mind alight as it pieced the narrative together. It was evident who was responsible for the destruction of their yard; a fact which downturned the peacock’s beak. “I’m hoping you discovered this information from Vassago, as he is absent from the grounds.” 

“Yeah, he’s fine.” A huff of desperation flew from the imp’s mouth, and he shoved past the marquis; who swiftly followed with a wide and elegant gait. “He’s at the lighthouse with Stolas.”  

A sigh of relief drifted from the marquis, and his eyes closed with a comfort experienced by all who had ever feared once in their lives. Even with his superior legs, keeping up with Blitz taxed him; for the fires of fatherhood blazed within the imp’s every step. Andre wished to ask more about Vassago, but witnessing such determination, such vigor and fear all at once…he could not help but note the pang within his heart. “This trouble, the one your daughter is pursuing, what is it?” 

Out the door and into the yard, the sliding doors slammed open with explosive strength, and the tap of hoven boots transformed to crackles of arcing thunder. “A fucking merc, one whose been up my ass for too long. When we first met, he attacked my team and tried to kill Stolas, but we stopped his ass. Then he kidnapped Stolas, and—” Conjured by the recollection, a feral snarl burned within Blitz’s throat and erupted into a volcanic bark as he whipped his flintlock from his coat. “If anything happens to Loonie…I’ll fucking kill him!” 

A pit of tension spawned in Andrealphus’ stomach. “Given you have such an intense history with this individual, I’m assuming they have a name?” Suspect, but confirm; always confirm… 

“His name is Striker.”  

Andrealphus pace came to a standstill and an unpleasant wriggling of raw dread scaled up into his beak.  

FUCK! That…that imbecile! What was he thinking?! I told him to lay low, and now— 

Glowing eyes tightened in their sockets, shielded by a quiet mask of contemplation to fool the outsider’s gaze. To them, he was just as cold and confident as always, but inside his brain smoked with furious thoughts. 

Why would he reveal himself? There must have been a reason; defying me gains him nothing. No, there’s more to this; there must be!  

“Hey, Andre!” 

Ripped from his mental chaos by Blitz’s softened bark, the peacock’s eyes snapped to attention. Parked at the fence, feet planted with the itching desire to hunt and eyes of yellow fire, the barrel of his gun gestured towards the nearby tree line. 

“Can you track people’s magic like Stolas? Vassago said she used some.” 

“Yes, it is a rather simple matter, in fact.” 

“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?!” 

I can’t let him discover the connection. If he does, this entire endeavor will crumble, but I cannot turn away from his pleas for aid. There must be some way out of this predicament: think…think…  

Easy as breathing, cerulean magic flowed down Andrealphus’ arms from his core, then blossomed in the palms of his hands. Psychic tendrils extended into the air, and although they were intangible to Blitz’s eyes, he saw them clear as day. Traces of magical expulsion lingered; dust clouds of crimson, gray, purple and yellow. Their intensity varied from cloud to cloud, but a singular touch from the tendrils provided all the information he needed.  

The gray and purple belonged to the mutt; this Loonie Toonie Blitz kept talking about. Their essence hummed with a loosely bound containment field, leaving trickles of the arcane to spark in the air between planes. It was effective, but rather patchwork; nothing which would hold up under any sort of precise counterspell. She must have used it once, as a surprise attack, and then never again. Yet, among the precariously captured clouds of wrathful thunder there lingered an unexpected revelation. 

“…Has your daughter ever been tutored in the arcane arts?” 

“No, she learned it by herself, but what’s that got to do with anything? Do you have the trail or not?!” 

“So, everything she knows has come directly from Stolas’ Grimoire?” 

“Andy!” 

In an attempt to placate the imp’s mind, Andrealphus illuminated the unseen trail of magic of purple and gray. Shaped like a scent trail, a wavering, intangible fence of color snaked beyond the fence and into the deep wood. 

“There, now did you know that she has somehow managed to—” 

“HANG ON LOONIE, DADDY’S COMING!”  

Blitz scaled the fence on all fours, as if possessed by the spirit of a skittish lizard and vaulted over into the trees beyond. Sprinting steps, cracking branches, and rustled leaves banged upon the sound barrier for a brief moment, then trailed off into the distance. If Andrealphus had blinked, he likely would have missed the impressive display of lightning-quick athleticism, but he made a mental note to properly appreciate that muscular structure at a later junction. 

Matters of far greater importance needed to be addressed, and doing so required him to give chase. As the marquis hovered off the ground, ascent carried by a cloud of crystalline mist, the revelation returned in startling clarity. Upon touching down, the grass and earth below froze over beneath his talons; as it did with every step then on out, until Andrealphus surged through the woods at high velocity; a singular thought upon his mind. 

The hound has somehow managed to augment herself with the power of Stolas’ Grimoire. If not properly contained, it could not only eliminate Striker, but also herself.   

 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧ 

 

“Take me to Alejandro.”  

Stolas sighed, as Vassago’s repeated demand graced his ears for the third time since Blitz left. Troubling developments aside, the small comforts of being near his imp, as well as missing him, left behind a gift of tickling warmth and longing. If it weren’t for the incessant badgering from his fellow Goetia, the feeling might have been enough to join the search for Loona.  

“As I’ve already said, I can’t return without the item he desires.” 

Having climbed from the ground floor of Vassago’s lighthouse, parrot and owl found themselves upon a higher floor, nestled within the Aural Observatory. What amount of searching Stolas had managed to conduct between the constant flow of questions could be described as miniscule. Curiosity lingered over what Blitz had experienced, and so while the unstoppable flow of requests to leave and head straight to Lust amplified, Stolas multitasked as best he could. 

“I shall give it to him, once I know he is safe back at the estate where he belongs.”  

“Vassago…” came the burdened sigh of a heart too kind for bluntness. “…Alejandro doesn’t want to see you right now.” 

“I’ve already forgiven him for striking me; did you let him know that? I just need to talk with him face to face, so that he can look me in the eyes and feel my sincerity.” 

Hesitation clamped the owl’s beak shut; should he even mention the state Alejandro had been in? Should he mention the drinking, the drugs, the fornication? It likely would make Vassago feel even guiltier than he already did… “I doubt it would do much at the moment. The event is still painful and fresh. What you need to do is give him space and time to think.” 

Howling red silk and elevated white leather nearly blinded Stolas, as Vassago stepped in front of him. “No, if I allow this wound to linger it shall grow infected, and mending the rift between us will only prove more difficult. I need to talk to him, now.” 

“You don’t know that’s what will happen.” 

“But I feel it!” A powerful stomp of elevated boots rattled the ground, the vibrations of which instantly snapped Stolas into a more reasonable perspective. It was an expression of desperation, fear, pain, and more; sights which chewed upon his heart. Steadily, and with enough speed that Vassago could recognize that the newly outstretched hand extended with nothing but love, Stolas touched his shoulder. 

“I understand, truly I do.” 

“Then help me Stolas: please.” 

A conflicted sigh overtook him, and the majesty of the observatory’s grand window hummed with an indiscernible melody. The goal remained unchanged, but the means had been questioned. If he betrayed Alejandro’s trust, it may cause the imp to flee, which would undoubtedly greatly distress Vassago. However, denying the parrot outright would achieve nothing but further dramatics; which was the last thing they needed.  

Therefore, Stolas had no choice. 

“If we can locate this tome he seeks, I will personally take you to Alejandro. There, the two of you may converse in confidence, and whatever result occurs…occurs.” As he spoke the words; uttered the bound promise, Stolas clasped the side of his companion’s face and brought their foreheads together. Wide eyes, absent of all save sincere severity, stared through a shield of gold. “I only ask that you honor his decision, no matter what it is.” 

In equal measure, Vassago’s golden gaze gleamed with the beauty of twin topaz; breath bereft in awe of granted intimacy. A slow exhale followed, as he cupped Stolas’ cheek. “…with you there alongside me, I believe I can…” 

Guilt; it was all he felt amongst the gentle caress of gloved talons. What should have calmed his nerves and wiped away stress merely smeared the mud of his conscience. Lies and secrets and half-truths; born naught but to fester beneath his feathers and chew upon the fat of his shame. Yet, the intent was designed solely for Vassago’s benefit; a smile all that Stolas wished to see upon his face.  

For a moment, one quiet and private stretch of time, both Goetia basked in each other’s warmth. Silence littered the observatory; not even the occult hum of stained glass enough to pierce their measure of found peace. Though, fleeing as it was, such a thing couldn’t be misunderstood as anything other than a gift. 

Weariness long circumnavigated returned with a vengeance; how long had it last been since they touched one another? Not since the night they had first kissed; when in a moment of need Vassago had been there for him. Now, despite all which had happened since, he needed to do the same. It was, after all, only right. 

“No matter the outcome, I shall be by your side to face it, but first we must locate that which apparently does not exist; according to your brother, at least.” 

Peace transferred soft facial lines into taut, lightly bewildered creases. “My brother?” Gently, Vassago leaned away; the warmth of his forehead immediately missed.  

Stolas gave a nod and an accompanying sound of approval. “Blitz claims to have spoken with him in this very room, and that he declared the book we seek doesn’t exist.” 

The news tightened valleys of red feathers, while the curvature of a large beak lay in stasis; unsure of which expression to don, in light of such a claim. However, what passed could only be tantamount to bewildered concern, cast in a shadowed veil.  

“That is not possible.” 

“From the energy with which the tale was told, I don’t believe Blitz was weaving a yarn.” 

“Even so, it could not have been…” 

“Why?” 

“Because…” Vassago replied, as his head turned towards the towering glass window, peering, pondering. “…my brother passed long ago.” 

 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧ 

 

Thin branches whipped against Blitz’s skin with every leap, their sting naught but fuel for the fire of his athletic form. Superior momentum propelled him through the trees; a daring combination of swings, perches, and vaulting launches which promised a prompt arrival to his intended destination. As a beast, the canopy of bark and leaves became his kingdom of traversal, all while a bird of majesty skated below. 

Focus on the colors. Focus on the colors.  

His mind chanted the mantra on loop; the pedal to which spurred his organic engine to feats of desperate, drastic alacrity. In single minded mania, intense yellow eyes locked onto the magical trail of purple and gray; a flare in the nostrils with each intensified display of shading. Deep into the woods, there had yet to be any physical sign of his daughter but given how deep Gluttony’s darkness of night ran it didn’t come as a surprise. However, the sheer distance which she had pursued the assassin did; to think that Striker could be faster than any hellhound on foot… 

Suddenly, the gentle rush of water and a break of smothering, sheltering branches assaulted his eyes and ears. A babbling brook, flanked by sediment and soil, carved a gentle wound through the thicket…and with it, devoured the platforms by which Blitz flew. Caught mid-air by the abrupt shift in terrain, both of his arms pulled back to catch the wind and slow his fall. Right as a bed of pebbles, dirt, and grass shot upwards to meet him, thickened air globbed up the space around his legs; only for Andrealphus to slide into view, his hand awash with magic and raised in incantation. Gently, Blitz hovered to ground; its’ startling peace enough that his thundering heart dried out both the throat and the eyes. 

One off-centered inhale later, “…Thanks, that would’ve hurt like hell.” 

“With how wildly you were catapulting yourself into the unknown, I’m shocked you didn’t collide with any thickened tree limbs. Consider yourself fortunate; injury would only impede your goal.” Andrealphus’ sharp, blue-tipped beak jabbed at the nearby stream. “Drink, catch your breath, and then we shall continue.” 

“I’m fine…” Blitz huffed, unable to steady his breath beyond weighty exhales. Forehead slick with sweat, the salty liquid stung his eyes and pricked his taste buds; the interior of his maw that of dry meatloaf.  

“Are you so unconfident in your capabilities that maintenance holds no value? An engine devoid of oil burns itself to rapid expiration. No harm shall come from taking a moment to cool off.” 

Buried below the apex of Blitz’s throat, a growl of irritation scaled to sharpened teeth. Dual hands each slapped a knee and pushed him tall. “I’ve been late before…” Fatigue tickled his thigh, tension bloomed within muscle and beneath bone, yet he pushed through the momentarily disarming hobble in his step.  Images of failure past; Stolas on a stretcher, wheeled out from the IMP van as M&M stood nearby, beaten and bruised on his behalf. “…never again, Andre; never fucking again.” 

A white gloved hand raised to halt the imp’s advance. “I’m unsure if you’ve noticed, but my speed far exceeds your own. I can follow the trail and reach her in no time; you simply need to trust me.” 

“I just told you, I—” 

“You have been running around all day in search of Alejandro, whereas I have plenty to spare. If this demon, this Striker as you’ve named him, is truly as deadly as you claim then going in tired will only lead to injury or worse.” Andre’s voice softened an octave, as did the glow of his eyes. “Lest I slip into sentimental nonsense, simply understand that is something I do not want.” 

Between breaths, Blitz balked; hand rested upon his knees in support of his bent back. Staring at the forest floor provided precious seconds to absorb the emotion behind Andre’s admission, and he milked every last millisecond that he could from them. He couldn’t lie, the day’s events had caught up to him; running through Lust, arguing with Stolas, dealing with the sights and smells of an underground sex club, and all which happened with Ignacio…it was a lot, even for someone like him. It made sense to let the peacock go ahead. 

“Fine, but I’ll be right behind you.” His hand dipped beneath the inline of his coat and pulled out his pistol. “Here; just in case Striker’s still carrying around some angel rope…” With a natural flip of the handle, he caught the smooth barrel and held the stock out towards Andre. He’d never given his gun up to anyone before, not even once to simply look at, so a thorn of hesitation twitched in the tendons of his fingers while Andre, too, took a moment to pause. “Unless you know how to load gunpowder and balls, you’re only to get one shot. If you do…shoot that motherfucker right in the neck for me.” 

One second passed, then two seconds, until finally a chilly touch reached out and accepted the antiquated firearm; its draconic patterns and colors hidden immediately within the marquis’ fluffy robes. “Have no worry, for my aim is as pinpoint as my glare.” 

As Andre turned away, a revelation shot through Blitz’s mind, and his arm shot out in the hope of snagging the attention of cold, glacial eyes. “Oh, and if for whatever reason Loonie tries to jump you too—” 

“It shall not come to that.” 

“You sure? She’s…pretty trigger happy on a good day.” 

“No self-taught novice of the arcane is capable of holding a candle to the power I possess.” 

“But she—” 

“Ambushed a greatly diminished Prince in the dead of night. She has no chance against a knowledgeable and prepared member of the Ars Goetia.” 

“Hey.” Blitz’s tail whipped upon the ground; a striking bell to enslave Andre’s full attention. The sound, indeed, turned the marquis’ head. A stone-dead glare of honed fatherly instinct filled the imp’s gaze enough to slice clean through any winter storm; for when the snow melted, rocks remained. “If you put even so much as a scratch on her, we’re done. I’ll pack up my shit and hop the first train back to Pride; don’t fucking test me.” 

Andrealphus said nothing, his expression blank, but his body language tight; too tight, actually. Locked shoulders, head slightly leaned back to raise his beak, hands hidden around his front, yet his face didn’t twitch. Perhaps it was the severity, the genuine truth imbued within Blitz’s words, that left him speechless. Then, within that window of silence, the Mighty Marquis turned away and shot into the tree line; a trail of crystal comet left to slowly vanish in his wake. 

 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧ 

 

Honey-laced rock shattered beneath Loona’s fist; fragments of which blasted outwards in a chaotic spray of sharpened shards, just as Striker dodged away with a villainous sneer. Both demons danced upon a precarious ledge, flanked by the overflowing, gleaming ichor of Gluttony as it cast them in the crystalline glow of a hive. Swipe after swipe, lunge after lunge; nothing but air, nothing but thin edges of fabric and the whiff of adrenaline which only seeped from eluding death’s grasp.  

A mighty right hook, backed with the fury of hell’s hounds and a deep seated love, swept Striker’s hat from atop his head. He laughed with crazed bravado; his beloved accessory snatched from the jaws of honey’s flow by the tip of his tail. “You’ve gotten faster!” In a flash, he drew a revolver; its dark barrel aimed directly between her eyes. Just as the hammer cocked back, between the faintest second of him squeezing the trigger and the chambers rotating, Loona struck. 

Wild momentum, wielded in the form of a kidney-crushing roundhouse, pivoted her body out of the way of his shot. A blinding light and the deafening crack of a gunshot penetrated deep into her enhanced vision and hearing, but the satisfaction of feeling her foot and ankle smash against Striker’s side made it all worthwhile. He crashed into the rocky wall, pinned by her blow, yet his gold tooth grinned all the same. One look into his eyes revealed nothing buy joyous mania, and in that moment, Loona realized that she was fighting a crazed killer; not a true professional as he once claimed to be. 

Mesmerized momentarily by the intense, pulsating rings of the demon’s eyes, the searing hot pain which erupted in her thigh soon after was all the more unbearable. A dagger, buried to the hilt in flesh and fur, unearthed a healthy font of black blood; an eternally gluttonous entity, eager to sake its ravenous thirst on the riches of her body. At her pain, his sadistic cackle poisoned the idyllic night air, and he twisted the blade. “And stronger!”  

She grit through it, a howl left to bounce from the back of her fangs and die at the bottom of her throat. With her opposite hand, she seized Striker’s hand around the hilt of his weapon and squeezed tight. Then, Loona kicked her leg backwards, wrenched the blade free of her thigh, and surged forward with savage velocity. A gut-curling crack, like that of a rotten melon splitting upon the ground, rent the air with a spray of blood and a startled cry as she smashed his face in with her forehead. His immediate cackle, right afterwards, ignited her hatred further. 

“Where is he?!” she roared, arm locked in a deadly contest of strength with his own; the blade between them soaked in her black, oily life essence. Tremors tore through both limbs, and as Striker attempted to aim his gun once more, she snatched up his wrist and pointed it towards the rushing falls.  

A bloodied face, yet one no less cocksure of the fight’s outcome, grinned at her; as though a smeared artist’s painting. “Look at you, bashing in royals and trained killers in the same day, all to bring your dear ol’ papa back. I’m so proud of you, mutt!” His laughed roared into her snapping jaws, as gleaming fangs thirsted for the meat of his throat. “Maybe you and I got more in common than you want to admit.” 

“Cut the shit!” Paws dug into the rough, rocky terrain, Loona funneled increased strength from the tightness of her core into both arms. Tight muscles strained beneath furry arms and shoulders, kept locked in place by the pure fuel that created her snarl, determined to snap the imp’s spine in half and stomp on his smug fucking face. “You said you know where he is; now tell me, before I kill you!” 

“You kill me? I’ve heard a lot of tall tales, little lady, but that one’s gotta be the tallest one of all! You couldn’t beat me on your best day, let alone kill me.” Despite her efforts, Striker remained resolute, unmoved; matched perfectly as her equal in their struggle. If she faltered for even a second, he’d slip free for sure. “And if somehow you managed to, you’d be back to square one. Face it, you’re at my mercy.” 

Loona’s dual grip tightened until an audible pop of muscles perked her ears. Despite his poker face, she knew Striker was hurting; the sweat on his brow, the deeper shade of color on his face, the smallest shift of shortness in his breath all proved it. From deep within, she summoned the tumultuous and wild, the crackling and destructive: the storm. Superheated air swelled in her lungs, fumes from which trailed from the edges of her maw while every pump of her heart injected another magical dose of power into it. Dark, smoky purple hues soon replaced steam, and as she parted her jaws…an occult light cast Striker’s light into the depths of shellshocked surprise.  

“Shit.” 

He attempted to pull back, but her grip held fast, and the more and more desperate his struggle became, the more power she poured into the spell. Eyes cast in monstrous menace; she glared at him all the while; determined to blast his head from his shoulders. A sparking ball of pure lightning materialized at the front of her maw, tendrils of natural destruction lashed about as if seeking sustenance, and an ominous white light bloomed from the depths of her throat.  

That was it. The spell was fully charged. All she needed to do was fire. 

Surges of arcane might rushed through her body. Elating, they invigorated her with a sensation of ascension. Never before had Loona felt stronger, more in control of her fate than ever before. She’d get the information out of Striker—no—out of anyone who knew anything about her father’s whereabouts, or they’d be melted down for defying her! Nothing was going to stop her! She was going to save her dad! She would--! 

Equilibrium tilted as the world lifted and spun. 

In an instant, her power fizzled out, her grip released, and the ground rushed up to meet her. 

The last thing Loona saw before she passed out was the rocky overhang above, the honeyfall, and a blanket of darkness that was Gluttony’s starless tapestry. 

 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

 

As Andrealphus ceased channeling his silent incantation, the pinpricks of blood magic danced across his hands. A single shake was enough to deter them, mostly, but the use of such potent power left an egotistical and sour flavor to fester atop his tastebuds. With upmost care and grace, he turned the corner and glared at the bewildered expression of his hired hand. 

“Explain yourself: immediately.” 

It was with no small measure of agitation and fury in which he witnessed the tip of Striker’s boot nudge the hound’s shoulder. “What in the seven fuckin’ hells just happened; she short circuit or something?” Leather on metal attempted to soothe the marquis’ ear, as the outlaw holstered both his firearm and his dagger in unison. His head stayed downward, lost in momentary curiosity, that was until Andrealphus surged forward and snatched up his chin. 

Making no effort to hold back his cryomancy, a cold hiss of dry ice punctuated the air, and the villainous imp hissed in response; face contorted into an expected expression. Yet, while full of piss and vinegar from the initial wounding, the entirety of his rage vanished as he looked up and beheld his employer’s own. 

Even he winced at the ghastly expression hewn into Andrealphus’ face.  

“You have one minute.” 

Frozen, reluctant, his hand pulled away and gifted Striker freedom; only to watch as the lowborn immediately took to rubbing out the cold. “She was snooping around, jumped your bird, and she was winning. He was just about to sing before I lured that mutt away. You’re fucking welcome, by the way. If it wasn’t for me, he’d be floating face down in that fancy pool.” 

Anger, liquid and unfathomably icy hot coursed through Andre’s veins at the mention of the attack on Vassago. If it weren’t for the hellhound’s close ties to Blitz… “Is she injured?” 

Striker shrugged. “A little; had to stab her, bitch has a kick like a roid-raging stallion. I’m alright, by the way, considering she was about to blow my head off a second ago. I figure you’re the reason that didn’t happen?” 

“No more questions, no more fights; you need to leave.” There was no time for delay. With Blitz close behind, he needed to resolve matters quickly, and so he knelt beside the hound with zero regard for the cleanliness of his robes. Both eyes homed in on the gash upon her thigh, and a hand placed itself over the wound like a seal, then began to glow a cool, abyssal shade of red. Beneath his very palm, he felt the stitching of her flesh, her cells, her sinew as it all spun back together in an effort to heal. Rapid as it was, the process was effective; her leg appearing as if it had never been touched at all. 

“Well, that’s new…” 

“Return to your duties and do not resurface unless I tell you it is safe to do so. We cannot risk the others digging any deeper.” 

“What about the girl?” Striker asked, a wince upon his lip at a tender, experimental touch to his ribs. 

In a bridal carry, Andrealphus lifted Loona from the ground, his gaze locked upon her unconscious, peaceful face. Already, he felt the hastily harnessed arcane powers within, and their aura strung up his beak with a harsh frown.  

“I will handle her.”