Chapter 1: Prologue: One
Chapter Text
The Ring Bearer
Blake POV - The Dig
Three months of digging in the Sahara had taught Blake Cedar exactly two things: sand got into places sand had no business being, and Professor Flint's enthusiasm for "authentic field rations" was going to be the death of them all.
"Blake! My boy, come see this!"
Blake wiped sweat from his brow and squinted across the excavation site. At twenty-two, he was the youngest graduate student on the dig, but Flint had handpicked him after Blake had literally chased the professor down at a university lecture three years ago. Most people called it dedication. Blake's ex-girlfriend had called it "obsessive stalking behavior," which was probably fair.
"What've you got, Professor?"
Flint was practically vibrating with excitement, his weathered hands hovering over what looked like a stone tablet covered in symbols that definitely weren't hieroglyphic. "This script—I've never seen anything like it. It's older than anything we should find here. Older than anything should exist here."
Blake knelt beside his mentor, running his fingers along the carved symbols. The stone felt warm despite being buried for God knew how long, and the symbols seemed to shift slightly when he wasn't looking directly at them.
"These aren't Egyptian," Blake muttered, his mind racing through every ancient language he'd studied. "Not Nubian, not Coptic. Professor, what exactly are we looking at?"
"I don't know," Flint whispered, and that should have been their first warning. Professor Marcus Flint had never encountered a historical mystery he couldn't at least theorize about. "But look at this—there's more beneath. Much more."
That night, Blake couldn't sleep. He kept thinking about those symbols, the way they'd seemed almost alive under his fingertips. He'd spent five years studying archaeology because he was addicted to the thrill of discovery, the rush of uncovering humanity's hidden stories. But this felt different. This felt like the story was trying to uncover him.
At 3 AM, he gave up on sleep and grabbed his flashlight.
The excavation site looked different in moonlight—older, more ominous. Blake made his way to the tablet, then began carefully clearing away more sand and debris. If there really was more beneath...
His trowel struck something metallic.
"What the hell?"
Blake worked faster now, adrenaline overriding proper archaeological protocol. The object was small, circular, definitely silver despite being buried for centuries. As he brushed away the last of the sand, his breath caught.
A ring. Six-pointed star engraved on its face, with smaller stars nestled between each point. The craftsmanship was incredible—too incredible for the time period this site supposedly represented.
"Blake? What are you doing out here?"
He turned to find Jackie Morrison, another grad student, approaching with her own flashlight. Jackie was brilliant, ambitious, and had been making increasingly obvious moves on Blake for the past month. Under normal circumstances, he might have been interested. But archaeology had always been his first love.
"Couldn't sleep. Found something interesting." He held up the ring, and Jackie's eyes widened.
"Jesus, Blake. That's... that's beautiful. And completely impossible. Nothing like this should exist in this stratum."
"I know. Professor's going to flip."
Jackie moved closer, close enough that Blake caught a whiff of her perfume mixed with desert dust. "You know what they say about ancient jewelry and curses, right?"
Blake grinned. "That's exactly the kind of superstitious bullshit that gives archaeologists a bad name."
"So you won't mind putting it on?"
It was a dare, obviously. Jackie's way of flirting while simultaneously testing his commitment to rational thinking. Blake looked down at the ring, felt that strange warmth emanating from the metal.
"Why the hell not?"
The ring slid onto his finger like it had been custom-made for him. For a moment, nothing happened. Then—
Power.
It hit him like a tidal wave of liquid lightning, flooding through his veins and setting every nerve ending on fire. Blake gasped, stumbled, and suddenly he could see everything. Not just with his eyes—he could see the history of the place, layer upon layer of time peeling back like pages in a book. He saw civilizations rising and falling, saw things that shouldn't exist, saw—
"Blake? Blake, are you okay?"
Jackie's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. Blake blinked, and reality snapped back into focus. He was on his knees in the sand, Jackie's hands on his shoulders, concern written across her face.
"I'm... yeah. I'm fine. Just got dizzy for a second."
But he wasn't fine. He could feel the ring pulsing against his finger, could feel something vast and ancient stirring in the depths of his mind. When he looked at Jackie, he could see her in perfect detail despite the darkness. When he looked at the excavation site, he could see through the sand to the structures buried beneath.
"We should get Professor Flint," Jackie said. "This discovery could change everything."
Blake nodded, not trusting his voice. Because he had a horrible feeling that she was absolutely right.
The Temple - Next Day
"Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!"
Professor Flint was having the academic equivalent of a religious experience. The underground temple they'd discovered was unlike anything in the historical record—a fusion of architectural styles that shouldn't exist, covered in the same impossible script from the tablet.
"The craftsmanship is incredible," Blake said, running his hand along the stone walls. Ever since putting on the ring, his appreciation for ancient artistry had intensified to an almost painful degree. He could feel the passion and skill of every craftsman who'd worked on this place, could sense the purpose behind every carved symbol.
"It's not just incredible," Flint breathed. "It's wrong. This level of sophistication, this style of construction—we're looking at technology that predates known civilization by thousands of years."
The rest of the team was spread throughout the temple complex, documenting everything they could find. Blake had volunteered to explore the lower levels, partly because he was eager to learn more, and partly because he was starting to suspect the ring was guiding him toward something specific.
The stairs descended much deeper than they'd initially thought. Blake's flashlight beam seemed to stretch forever into the darkness below, and the air grew thick with an smell he couldn't identify. Sweet, cloying, with an undertone of something that made his stomach turn.
The ring on his finger was growing warmer.
"Guys?" Blake called up the stairs. "I think you need to see this!"
No response. Maybe they couldn't hear him from this depth.
Blake continued downward, following a pull he couldn't explain but couldn't resist. The ring's warmth was spreading up his arm now, and he could swear he heard whispers in languages that predated human speech.
The bottom level opened into a vast chamber, far larger than should have been possible. And there, in the center, stood something that made Blake's academic mind rebel against accepting what his eyes were showing him.
An altar. Obsidian black, covered in symbols that moved when he looked at them directly. And surrounding it...
"Oh God. Oh Jesus Christ."
Bodies. Dozens of them, arranged in careful patterns around the altar. But not ancient bodies—fresh ones. Recent enough that the smell...
Blake stumbled backward, his flashlight beam dancing wildly across the carnage. Some of the bodies were wearing familiar clothes. Modern clothes. Clothes he recognized.
The archaeological team. His friends. His colleagues.
Professor Flint lay nearest to the altar, his body positioned like an offering. His eyes were gone, and something had carved symbols into his chest with surgical precision.
"Blake?"
He spun around, and there was Jackie, standing in the doorway. Alive, unhurt, smiling at him like nothing was wrong.
"Jackie! Thank God, we have to get out of here. Someone's killed everyone, we have to—"
"Has to what, Blake?"
Her voice was different now. Colder. And when she stepped into the light, Blake saw that her eyes were completely black.
"The ring chose well," Jackie said, taking a step closer. "So much passion. So much hunger for knowledge. You'll make an excellent vessel."
Blake tried to run, but his legs wouldn't obey him. The ring on his finger was burning now, sending waves of heat up his arm and into his chest.
"What are you?" he gasped.
"We are what remains when knowledge becomes hunger, when curiosity becomes obsession. We have waited so long for someone worthy to find our gift."
The ring pulsed, and suddenly Blake understood. The temple wasn't a relic of human civilization. It was a trap. The ring wasn't an artifact—it was a leash. And he'd walked into both willingly.
"The others tried to resist," Jackie said, gesturing toward the bodies. "They lacked your... appreciation for the ancient mysteries. But you, Blake Cedar, you understand the thrill of discovery. The addictive rush of forbidden knowledge."
Blake felt the ring's influence spreading through his mind, felt his own thoughts becoming entangled with something vast and alien. Part of him was terrified. But another part—the part that had chased Professor Flint across the country, that had devoted his life to uncovering hidden truths—was fascinated.
"What do you want from me?" he whispered.
"To finish what was started long ago. To bridge the gap between what was and what will be. To open doors that should remain closed."
The temple began to shake. Not an earthquake—something else. The walls started to crack, but instead of debris falling, light poured through the fissures. Not normal light. Something darker, hungrier.
"The binding is complete," Jackie said, and Blake realized she wasn't Jackie anymore. Maybe she never had been. "Welcome to the first day of the end of everything."
Blake tried to scream, but the sound that came out of his mouth wasn't human. The ring flared with malevolent energy, the temple collapsed inward like a dying star, and Blake Cedar—archaeology student, devoted mentee, passionate seeker of hidden truths—fell screaming into the depths of Hell with cosmic horror wrapped around his finger like a wedding band.
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Jackie's face melting away to reveal something with too many teeth and eyes like burning coals.
Then nothing.
Then everything.
Then Hell.
Charlie POV - Pride Ring Streets
Charlie Morningstar was having what could generously be called a "spectacularly shitty day." Post-extermination cleanup always left her feeling like she'd been emotionally bulldozed, but this time felt different. Wrong. Like reality had shifted slightly to the left and nobody had bothered to tell her.
She'd been wandering the blood-soaked streets of Pride for hours, trying to work up the courage to go home and face her father's inevitable disappointment about her "rehabilitation hotel" idea, when the sound of something hitting pavement at terminal velocity made her jump out of her literally perfect skin.
"Oh, fudging fudge-sticks!"
Around the corner, she found him: face-down in a puddle of his own blood and what looked suspiciously like grave dirt, but—and this was the important part—completely and utterly human. Not human-looking. Actually human. Which in Hell was about as impossible as finding a vegan at a barbecue competition.
But more importantly, he was alive. She could hear his heartbeat, could smell the distinctly mortal scent of him beneath the dust and blood. A living human in Hell? That was... that was unheard of.
"Okay Charlie, you've got this," she muttered to herself, then louder: "Hey! Uh, stranger who fell from the sky! You alive? Because you really, really shouldn't be, considering where we are right now!"
The guy stirred, coughed up what looked like crushed limestone, and opened eyes that were absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent the most beautiful shade of forest green Charlie had ever seen. Which was not the point. The point was that he was breathing. And that his dark hair fell across his forehead in a way that made her stomach do little fluttery things. And that when he sat up slowly, wincing, the movement revealed muscles that suggested he spent a lot of time doing physical work, and—
Focus, Charlie. Focus.
"Hell," he said, voice rough but oddly steady. No screaming, no denial, just... acceptance. "That explains the whole 'falling through the center of the Earth' thing."
Charlie blinked. "Most people take at least ten minutes of existential crisis before they get to casual acceptance. Also, you're breathing. Like, actually breathing. Do you know how weird that is down here?"
"Most people don't watch their mentor get ritually sacrificed by an ancient evil wearing their girlfriend's face." Blake ran a hand through his hair—and Charlie definitely didn't watch the way his bicep flexed with the movement—then looked around with the analytical gaze of someone trying to process impossible information. "I'm Blake. And you're either the politest demon I've ever met, or this is the most elaborate psychological torture in the history of damnation."
"Charlie Morningstar, Princess of Hell, and definitely the first thing! I mean, I am a demon, but like, the nice kind! We exist! There are dozens of us!"
Blake's gaze found the pentagram moon hanging overhead like a cosmic middle finger. His face went pale, and Charlie saw his hands start to shake—subtle, but there. The first crack in his composed exterior.
"Princess of Hell," he repeated slowly, and Charlie could see him processing this information with the methodical approach of someone used to analyzing evidence. "So either I've completely lost my mind, or I'm actually in the literal underworld talking to actual demon royalty." His laugh had a slightly hysterical edge. "Honestly? After today, the second option seems more plausible."
He held up his hand, and Charlie saw the silver ring on his finger pulse with its own inner light. "So you're either going to help me figure out what the fuck this thing did to me, or you're going to torture me for information about it. Please tell me it's the first one, because I'm really not sure how much more I can handle right now."
There it was—the vulnerability he'd been hiding. Charlie's heart did something complicated in her chest as she watched this clearly traumatized man try to hold himself together through sheer force of will.
"Help! Definitely help!" she said, softening her voice. "I run a rehabilitation hotel—it's like a safe house for people who need a second chance—and you look like you could use somewhere secure to figure things out. Not that you look dangerous! You look very un-dangerous. Suspiciously un-dangerous for someone who just fell into Hell, actually."
Blake studied her face with an intensity that made Charlie acutely aware of every expression she was making. She could see him cataloging details—her genuine concern, her nervous energy, the way she kept glancing at his injuries with obvious worry.
"You're serious," he said finally. "You actually want to help a complete stranger who just crash-landed in your dimension."
"Well, when you put it like that, it does sound pretty crazy—"
"No." Blake's voice was quiet but firm. "It sounds like exactly what someone who's completely fucked would need to hear."
Charlie felt her cheeks warm at his directness. There was something about the way he looked at her—like he was trying to solve a puzzle but also like he was grateful for what he saw.
"The thing is," Blake continued, running his thumb over the ring, "I should be terrified of you. Everything I've ever been taught says demons are evil, manipulative, dangerous. But..." He met her eyes directly. "You're the first person to show me genuine kindness since my entire world went to hell. Literally. And right now, kindness matters more to me than theology."
Charlie felt something flutter in her chest that had nothing to do with her usual rehabilitation enthusiasm. "So... you trust me?"
"I trust that you're being honest with me right now," Blake said carefully. "And honestly? You could have done a dozen horrible things to me while I was unconscious, but instead you're offering to help. That has to count for something."
The ring pulsed again, brighter this time, and Charlie could have sworn she heard something vast and ancient whispering just at the edge of her hearing.
"Well," she said, offering him her hand, "lucky for you, I specialize in impossible cases. And a living human in Hell definitely qualifies."
Blake looked at her outstretched hand, and Charlie saw him make a conscious decision to trust her despite everything he'd been through.
"What the hell," he said, accepting her help to stand. "Literally."
When their hands touched, Charlie felt a jolt of something electric pass between them. The ring flared brilliant silver-black, every streetlight in a three-block radius flickered, and somewhere in the depths of Hell, something that had been sleeping for eons cracked open one ancient eye.
But Blake squeezed her hand gently, his smile warm and real and completely, impossibly human, and Charlie decided that whatever cosmic horror was lurking in his jewelry could wait until after she got him somewhere safe.
After all, everyone deserved a chance at sanctuary.
Even if they were carrying the apocalypse on their finger.
Carmilla's Warehouse - Vaggie POV
Vaggie came to in chains, which was becoming an annoying pattern in her afterlife.
The angelic steel burned against her skin, but not as much as the memory of Lute's blade punching through her back. Not as much as Adam's laughter as he crushed her halo under his boot. Not as much as the realization that everything she'd believed about duty, honor, and righteousness was apparently negotiable.
"Ah, you're awake."
The voice belonged to a demon unlike any Vaggie had encountered during the exterminations. Tall, elegant, with white hair styled into horn-like peaks and legs that looked like they could kick through a brick wall. She was flanked by two younger demons—daughters, based on the family resemblance—both holding angelic spears with the casual competence of professional killers.
"Let me guess," Vaggie spat, testing the strength of her chains. "Torture, interrogation, then a slow death while you broadcast it to every demon in Hell?"
"How tediously predictable." The demon—clearly the one in charge—examined her perfectly manicured nails with theatrical boredom. "I am Carmilla Carmine, and I deal in information and weapons. Both of which you represent."
Carmilla gestured, and a golden contract materialized in the air between them, complete with a pen that looked suspiciously like it was made from bone.
"Five years of service in exchange for protection, training, and a salary that would make most Overlords weep with envy. At the end of your term, complete freedom to do whatever your little heart desires."
Vaggie stared at the contract like it was a venomous snake. "You want to employ me?"
"I want to own you," Carmilla corrected with brutal honesty. "Your skills, your loyalty, your considerable talent for violence. All directed toward protecting my interests rather than slaughtering my customers."
"And if I refuse?"
Carmilla's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Then I release you into Pride Ring as a curiosity. How long do you think a wingless, powerless ex-angel will survive among demons who've spent eternity being butchered by your kind?"
The warehouse fell silent except for the sound of Vaggie's breathing. She could feel the weight of the choice crushing down on her—sign away her freedom or face certain death at the hands of those she'd spent a century killing.
"Why?" she asked finally. "Why offer this instead of just... ending it?"
For a moment, something almost like sympathy flickered across Carmilla's features. "Because once upon a time, I was also abandoned by those I served. Left to survive in Hell with nothing but my wits and my willingness to do whatever was necessary."
Carmilla leaned closer, and Vaggie could see her own reflection in the Overlord's dark eyes.
"The question, little angel, is how badly you want to survive. How much are you willing to sacrifice for the chance to prove that your abandonment was their loss, not your failure?"
Vaggie looked at the contract, at Carmilla, at the daughters who watched her with professional interest rather than hatred.
She thought about Adam's laughter. About Lute's betrayal. About Heaven's willingness to erase her from existence rather than acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, their methods were wrong.
"Five years," she said finally.
"Five years," Carmilla confirmed.
Vaggie signed her name in what looked suspiciously like her own blood.
The moment the ink dried, chains of shadow and starlight wrapped around her throat—not painful, but absolutely unbreakable. Her soul now belonged to Carmilla Carmine, and for the first time since falling, Vaggie felt something other than despair.
She felt purpose. Dark, twisted, probably damning purpose, but purpose nonetheless.
"Welcome to the family," Carmilla said, and her smile promised that Vaggie's new life would be many things, but boring would never be one of them.
Blake POV - Observing Charlie
Blake had always been good at reading people—it came with the territory when you spent your life piecing together fragments of lost civilizations. But Charlie Morningstar was unlike anyone he'd ever encountered, and not just because she was the daughter of the literal Devil.
She was beautiful, obviously. Even traumatized and running on fumes, Blake wasn't blind. Her red eyes sparkled with this manic energy that should have been terrifying but somehow wasn't. Her blonde hair caught the hellish light in ways that made his archaeologist's brain catalog it as "precious metal, possibly cursed." And when she smiled—which she did constantly, despite living in what appeared to be the armpit of existence—it transformed her entire face.
But what really caught his attention was how she looked at him.
Charlie kept stealing glances when she thought he wasn't paying attention, and Blake found himself cataloging those looks with the same methodical approach he used for artifact analysis. There was concern there, obviously—she kept checking his injuries with the focused intensity of someone who actually gave a damn about his wellbeing. But there was something else, too. Something that made her cheeks flush slightly pink whenever their eyes met.
"So," Charlie said as they walked through the hotel's front doors, "fair warning—the place is kind of a work in progress. And by 'work in progress' I mean 'held together by optimism and prayer.' Also, we don't actually have any other residents yet, so you'd be our first official guest!"
She was nervous. Blake could tell because she kept talking faster and faster, words tumbling over each other like she was afraid if she stopped talking, he might realize what a terrible idea this was and leave.
"The thing is," Blake said, watching her face carefully, "I should probably mention that I'm not actually dead. The ring—whatever it did, it transported me here alive. I'm still human. Still breathing, still got a pulse, still need food and sleep and all that mundane biological stuff." He held up his hand, and the ring pulsed weakly. "Which means I probably don't belong here any more than a fish belongs in a tree."
For a moment, Charlie just stared at him. Then her entire face lit up like Christmas morning.
"I know," she breathed, and there was something in her voice—wonder, maybe, or hope—that made Blake's chest tight. "An actual living human. In Hell. That's... that's incredible!"
"Most people would call it impossible."
"I'm not most people." Charlie grinned, and Blake felt something warm settle in his chest despite everything. "I'm the demon princess who thinks sinners can be redeemed, remember? Impossible is kind of my specialty."
Blake found himself smiling back, which was ridiculous considering his current circumstances. But there was something infectious about Charlie's optimism, something that made him want to believe that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to him.
"You know," he said, studying her face, "for a demon, you're surprisingly..."
"Disappointing? Non-threatening? Embarrassing to the family name?"
"Kind," Blake finished. "I was going to say kind."
Charlie's cheeks went full crimson, and she ducked her head in a way that was so endearing Blake had to resist the urge to reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Which would have been wildly inappropriate, considering they'd known each other for all of twenty minutes and she was literally royalty of Hell.
"I just think everyone deserves a chance," Charlie said softly. "Even if they're carrying cosmic horror jewelry and probably shouldn't exist in this dimension."
Blake laughed—actually laughed—for the first time since the temple. "When you put it like that, I sound like quite the catch."
"You are," Charlie said, then immediately looked mortified. "I mean—for rehabilitation! You're a good candidate for rehabilitation! Not that you need much rehabilitating, you seem very... rehabilitated already. Mostly. Sort of."
And there it was—the thing Blake had been trying to identify since they'd met. Charlie wasn't just being kind to him because she felt sorry for him, or because it was her job, or because she wanted something from him.
She liked him. Actually, genuinely liked him, cosmic horror and all.
It should have been impossible. Blake was traumatized, displaced, carrying what was apparently an artifact of unimaginable power, and oh yeah, completely human in a dimension designed for the eternally damned. He was nobody's idea of a good romantic prospect.
But Charlie kept looking at him like he was something precious she'd found in the rubble. Like he was worth saving, worth protecting, worth the risk she was taking by bringing him here.
"Charlie," Blake said carefully, "you realize I have no idea what this ring actually does, right? Or what it wants? For all we know, bringing me here could put you and everyone you care about in danger."
"Then we'll figure it out together," Charlie said without hesitation. "I mean, if you want to stay. You don't have to—I'm not trying to trap you or anything—but if you need somewhere safe while you work things out..."
She trailed off, looking suddenly uncertain, and Blake realized she was giving him an out. A chance to walk away, to handle this alone, to not drag her into whatever cosmic nightmare was apparently attached to his finger.
The smart thing would be to leave. Find some corner of Hell where he could figure out the ring's purpose without risking anyone else. Especially not someone who looked at him like he was worth saving.
Instead, Blake found himself stepping closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo beneath the omnipresent smell of brimstone.
"You know what?" he said. "I think I'd like to stay. At least for a while."
Charlie's smile could have powered a small city.
"Really?"
"Really. Besides," Blake grinned, "someone needs to keep an eye on you. Make sure this 'rehabilitation' thing doesn't get you killed."
"Ha! I'll have you know I am extremely good at not getting killed. I've been not getting killed for over two hundred years!"
"Impressive resume. I've only been not getting killed for twenty-two years, but I'm pretty dedicated to the cause."
Charlie giggled—actually giggled—and Blake felt that warm feeling in his chest expand. Maybe this was insane. Maybe he was making a terrible mistake. Maybe the ring was influencing his judgment.
But for the first time since the temple collapsed, Blake didn't feel alone.
And Charlie Morningstar, Princess of Hell, was looking at him like he was the most interesting thing she'd encountered in centuries.
Chapter 2: Prologue: Two
Chapter Text
Chapter Two: Bonds and Revelations
Blake POV - Morning After
Blake woke up in what was either the fanciest hotel room in Hell or a bordello designed by someone with serious daddy issues. The ceiling was covered in cherubs doing things that definitely weren't in any Sunday school textbook he'd ever seen.
"Well, that's... artistic," he muttered, squinting at a particularly acrobatic angel carved into the molding.
The clothes on the nightstand came with a note in aggressively pink ink:
Hey Blake, hope you're feeling better!
I had Razzle bring in some old clothes an ex of mine left behind. I can help you get some new ones today if you want, but hopefully those should fit fine. Don't be afraid to ask if you need anything.
~~Love~~ Your friend, Charlie.
Blake couldn't help grinning. Even in literal Hell, Charlie managed to be adorably awkward about basic human interaction.
"Morningstar... Son of the Morning..." He paused while pulling on the surprisingly well-fitted black jeans. "Oh, shit."
The shower felt like heaven, which was probably ironic considering his current zip code. After months of archaeological grime and desert sand, being actually clean felt like a minor miracle.
Downstairs, he found Charlie on the lobby couch with what appeared to be a cyclops cat—because of course Hell had cyclops cats. The little black furball had one enormous golden eye and immediately abandoned Charlie to climb Blake like a tree.
"Whoa there, tiny Sauron," Blake laughed, letting the creature perch on his shoulder. "You're friendly for a demonic pet."
Charlie's giggle was worth whatever damage the cat's claws were doing to his borrowed shirt. "That's KeeKee! She likes you—that's actually super rare. Usually she just hisses at new people and knocks things off tables."
"Great, I've been approved by Hell's quality control department."
Charlie bounded toward the dining room with the kind of manic energy that suggested she'd either had way too much coffee or was naturally caffeinated by pure optimism. The spread Razzle and Dazzle had prepared looked like something from a five-star restaurant, which raised questions Blake wasn't sure he wanted answered.
His stomach rumbled loud enough to wake the actually dead.
"Damn, sounds like you're already turning demonic," Charlie teased, plopping down next to him.
"We had to ration food on the dig," Blake explained between bites of bacon that tasted suspiciously perfect. "Professor Flint brought too many rich kids whose parents would sue him into oblivion if little Timmy missed a meal. So I usually gave mine away to avoid the drama."
Charlie's expression shifted to something softer. "That's... really sweet of you."
"Sweet nothing. You try listening to a trust fund baby whine about being hungry. I'd rather starve."
"Still," Charlie insisted, and Blake noticed how her eyes got this intense sparkle when she was genuinely moved. "Not everyone would do that."
Blake shrugged, uncomfortable with the admiration in her voice. "Look, archaeology isn't just my job—it's my thing. Finding lost civilizations, uncovering forgotten history... I'd sacrifice a lot more than a few meals for that kind of discovery."
The way Charlie looked at him then made something flip in his chest. Like she saw something in him that he didn't even know was there.
"Blake," she said, fidgeting with her napkin, "can I tell you something kind of... big?"
"Shoot."
"It's about why I started this hotel. And why I, um, why I wanted to help you specifically."
Blake set down his fork, giving her his full attention. "I'm listening."
Charlie took a deep breath. "Okay, so when people think 'Hell,' they picture chaos and murder and, you know, general apocalyptic nonsense. Which—fair, there's definitely some of that. But there's also structure here. Rules. My mom helped create that order."
"Right..." Blake said slowly. "And your last name is Morningstar, which in my admittedly rusty Bible knowledge refers to—"
"Lucifer," Charlie blurted out, then immediately looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. "My dad is Lucifer. As in, the Lucifer. Prince of Hell, fallen angel, gave humanity free will and got cast out for his trouble. My mom's Lilith—first woman, first succubus, general badass. And I'm their daughter, so..." She spread her hands helplessly. "Surprise?"
Blake blinked. Then blinked again. "You're the Devil's daughter."
"Yep."
"The literal Devil."
"That's the one."
"Huh." Blake went back to his bacon. "Well, that explains the really nice hotel."
Charlie stared at him. "That's... that's it? No screaming? No religious panic? No running away while making the sign of the cross?"
Blake looked up from his plate. "Charlie, I've met televangelists. Trust me, you're way less evil than most of them."
The laugh that burst out of her was pure sunshine, and Blake felt something warm settle in his chest. When Charlie was genuinely happy, she literally glowed—like actual light radiating from her skin.
"Oh my God—sorry, probably shouldn't say that around you—"
"It's fine, Dad's got bigger things to worry about than casual blasphemy."
"Right. Anyway, I can't tell you how much I needed to hear that." Charlie's smile could have powered a small city. "Because now I can tell you what this place is really for."
Blake gestured for her to continue.
"The Happy Hotel," Charlie announced with the kind of dramatic flair that suggested she'd rehearsed this speech, "is a rehabilitation center for sinners who want a second chance at redemption. The goal is to help them become better people and eventually... get into Heaven."
Blake nearly choked on his orange juice. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I know how it sounds—"
"Charlie, you want to rehabilitate the damned and send them to Heaven. That's like... that's like opening a finishing school for rabid wolverines."
"It's not impossible!" Charlie protested. "People can change! They can grow and become better and—"
"And you think Heaven's just going to roll out the welcome mat?"
Charlie's face fell slightly. "I... well... they'll have to listen if we can prove it works, right?"
Blake studied her face—the hope, the determination, the complete and utter naive optimism—and felt his cynicism crumble. Here was the daughter of Satan, living in Hell, surrounded by the worst humanity had to offer, and she still believed people could be redeemed.
It was either the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard or the most tragic.
"You know what?" Blake said finally. "Fuck it. I'm in."
"Really?"
"Really. I've got a psych minor, I'm stuck here anyway, and honestly? After watching my entire life get destroyed by cosmic horror jewelry, helping the Princess of Hell reform sinners sounds like a perfectly reasonable Tuesday."
Charlie launched herself across the table to hug him, nearly knocking over the orange juice in the process. Blake caught her—and tried not to think about how perfectly she fit in his arms.
"Thank you," she whispered against his shoulder. "I can't remember the last time someone believed in me."
"Well," Blake said, his voice a little rougher than intended, "get used to it."
Charlie POV - The Song
Charlie pulled back from the hug but didn't let go entirely, her hands still resting on Blake's shoulders. This close, she could see the gold flecks in his green eyes, could smell whatever soap he'd used that morning mixed with something uniquely him.
"There's something else," she said softly. "About why I wanted to help you specifically."
Blake tilted his head, waiting.
"After the exterminations—that's what they call it when Heaven sends angels down to cull Hell's population—I always feel like... like I've failed everyone. Like I should be doing more, should have found a way to stop it." Charlie's voice broke slightly. "And then I found you. This human who shouldn't exist here, who got dragged into Hell through no fault of his own. And I thought... maybe this is my chance. Maybe if I can help you, I can prove that this place, this idea can work."
Blake's expression softened. "Charlie..."
"I know you're hurting," she continued, the words spilling out faster now. "I can see it in how you hold yourself, how you get this look when you think no one's watching. Whatever happened in that temple, whatever you lost—you don't have to carry it alone."
Blake's composure cracked, just for a moment, and Charlie saw the raw grief underneath. Without thinking, she stood and guided him toward the hotel's grand staircase.
"Come on," she said. "Let me show you something."
They climbed past portraits of happier times—her parents young and stupidly in love, herself as a wide-eyed kid who still thought she could fix everything. Charlie led Blake through ornate hallways to a set of double doors that opened onto her private balcony.
Hell spread out below them in all its chaotic glory—fires burning in the distance, neon signs advertising sins Charlie didn't want to think about, the blood-red sky that never changed. But from up here, with the hellish cityscape laid out like a twisted fairy tale, it almost looked beautiful.
"This is where I come when everything gets too much," Charlie said, settling on the balcony's edge. "When Dad disappoints me again, when another sinner gets killed in the extermination, when I start thinking maybe everyone's right and I'm just a naive little girl playing with fire."
Blake joined her, and they sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
"But then I remember," Charlie continued, "that someone has to try. Someone has to believe that things can get better, even when—especially when—it seems impossible."
She could feel her magic stirring, responding to the emotion in her voice. It always did that when she sang, building until she couldn't contain it anymore.
"Blake," she said softly, "I know you're carrying so much pain right now. I know everything feels broken and wrong and like it might never be okay again. But..." She turned to face him fully. "What if it could be?"
And then she began to sing.
I see the weight you're carrying alone
All the ghosts of everyone you've known
But honey, grief's not meant to be a throne
Let me help you find your way back home
Her voice started soft, tentative, but gained strength with each note. Magic sparkled around her fingers, golden light dancing in the hellish air.
'Cause there's still light inside the darkest night
Still hope when everything's gone wrong
Still love to make the broken whole and right
Still time to write a different song
Blake's breath hitched, and she saw tears starting to form in his eyes.
So let it out, let it go
All the hurt you've held so long
Let it out, let it flow
You don't have to be strong
Her magic was building now, creating small fireworks of light that burst around them like supernatural fireflies. Charlie stood, her voice growing more powerful, more sure.
I know you've lost what mattered most
I know the pain won't disappear
But love's not just a memory or ghost
Sometimes it's standing right here
She reached out her hand to Blake, and when he took it, her magic surged. Light exploded skyward in cascades of gold and pink, illuminating the entire Pride Ring like the world's most beautiful emergency flare.
Let it out, let it go
All the guilt that's not your own
Let it out, let it flow
You're not meant to grieve alone
There's still tomorrow after today
Still a chance to start again
Still someone who wants to stay
Still love that doesn't end
As the final notes faded and her magic rained down around them like glittering snow, Charlie found Blake staring at her with an expression of complete wonder.
"Holy shit, Charlie," he breathed. "You're like... you're like if Disney princesses came with actual supernatural powers and a really good therapist."
Charlie burst into giggles. "That might be the best compliment I've ever gotten."
"I mean it. That was... I haven't felt that light since before the dig. Since before everything went to hell. Literally." Blake wiped at his eyes, but he was smiling now—really smiling, not the careful expression he'd been wearing. "How do you do that? How do you take all the garbage and pain and somehow make it feel manageable?"
"Practice," Charlie said softly. "Lots and lots of practice."
Blake stood and pulled her into another hug, this one slower, more deliberate. "Thank you," he murmured against her hair. "For everything. For seeing something worth saving in me."
Charlie's heart did complicated acrobatics in her chest. "Blake?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't see something worth saving in you." His face fell slightly, and she rushed to continue. "I see someone who's already worth everything. Someone who gave up meals for spoiled rich kids, who devoted his life to preserving history, who's willing to help reform demons despite having every reason to hate this place."
The look Blake gave her then was soft and warm and made Charlie feel like she might actually float.
"Careful, Princess," he said with a crooked smile. "Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me."
"Well," Charlie said, blushing furiously, "that would be terrible, wouldn't it?"
Blake's grin widened. "Absolutely devastating."
Vaggie POV - Orientation Day
Vaggie woke up in her concrete box at exactly 0600 hours, because apparently even getting abandoned by Heaven couldn't break military habits. The uniform waiting for her was standard corporate drone—black slacks, white shirt, and an eyepatch with a red cross that she was pretty sure was meant to be ironic.
The text from Clara Carmine was about as welcoming as a kick to the teeth:
Morning, angel-tits. Be ready by 8 or you're street pizza. Don't start shit, don't steal shit, don't fuck up my shit. Questions?
Vaggie typed back: Understood.
Then added: Also, fuck you.
Then deleted that part. Barely.
Clara showed up looking like she'd been dragged backward through a blender—pink bathrobe, hair that defied several laws of physics, and a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth like a cigarette.
"Morning, sunshine," Clara mumbled around the toothbrush. "Ready for your exciting career as Hell's most overqualified pack mule?"
"Thrilled," Vaggie replied flatly.
"Ooh, sarcasm. I like you already. Come on, let's go meet your adoring public."
They walked through corridors that screamed 'industrial stronghold'—concrete, steel, and lighting that made everyone look like they were dying of consumption. They arrived at the same chamber where Vaggie had signed away her soul, finding Odette already present with some bird demon who took one look at Vaggie and practically sprinted away.
Odette Carmine was the kind of beautiful that came with a government health warning. White hair pulled back in a bun that could cut glass, pale skin, red eyes, and legs that went on for approximately seven miles. She looked at Vaggie the way someone might examine a particularly interesting bug.
"Clara," Odette said in a voice like expensive wine, "I told you Mother put you on angel duty. Remember, she's supposed to show proper respect to her superiors."
"Blah blah blah, respect, blah blah, hierarchy," Clara replied, spinning her toothbrush like a baton. "She knows Mom will turn her into angel confetti if she gets uppity."
"Your grasp of diplomacy is truly inspiring," Odette said dryly. "Vaggie, we have intelligence suggesting at least four dozen pieces of angelic steel are scattered throughout the city. You're going to help us collect them."
Vaggie nodded. "The extermination focused primarily on Cannibal Town this cycle. Next year's target was the Entertainment District, followed by the southern sectors, then this district. Lieutenant Lute had mapped out a four-year rotation."
Both Carmine sisters stared at her.
"Well, shit," Clara said finally. "That was easier than expected."
"Indeed," Odette murmured. "Clara, relay this to Mother immediately. Vaggie, follow me."
They descended into what could only be described as 'Weapons R Us'—an armory that would make most small countries weep with envy. Swords, spears, guns, and things Vaggie couldn't identify, all incorporating angelic steel in ways that were honestly pretty impressive.
"Obviously we're not trusting you with the good stuff yet," Odette said, selecting a black extendable baton from a rack. "But this should keep you from getting murdered horribly on your first day. Consider it a probationary weapon."
Vaggie took the baton, testing its weight and balance. Decent craftsmanship, good grip, serviceable for close combat. "Thanks, I guess."
"Don't thank me yet. Clara's going to be your babysitter today."
"Lucky me," Clara said cheerfully. "I get to watch the ex-angel not die messily. This should be fun."
Clara POV - Field Trip
Clara had to admit, Vaggie was handling the whole 'waking up owned by demons' thing better than expected. Most people would be having screaming breakdowns by now, but the angel just took her weapon and followed orders like the good little soldier she used to be.
It was almost disappointing how professional she was being.
They loaded into one of the family's armored trucks—because walking through Hell with a load of angelic weapons was a good way to get mobbed by every desperate sinner in the Pride Ring. Vaggie sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the post-extermination carnage with an expression Clara couldn't quite read.
"Penny for your thoughts, angel-face," Clara said, navigating around a crater that was definitely glowing ominously.
"Just... processing," Vaggie replied quietly.
"Processing what? The fact that you're now working for the people you used to hunt?"
"Processing the fact that I helped cause all this." Vaggie's voice was barely above a whisper. "Those bodies, those families... I did that."
Clara glanced over, surprised by the genuine remorse in the angel's voice. "Yeah, well, join the club. We've all got blood on our hands down here."
"That's not the same thing."
"Isn't it?" Clara pulled up next to their first collection point—a pile of rubble that had been someone's home twelve hours ago. "You followed orders, right? Did what your superiors told you was necessary for the greater good?"
Vaggie's jaw tightened. "That's different."
"Is it, though?" Clara hopped out of the truck and started examining the debris. "Because from where I'm sitting, sounds like you're just another soldier who got fucked over by command."
They worked in tense silence for a while, Clara using her enhanced strength to move chunks of concrete while Vaggie carefully extracted angelic spears from the wreckage. The angel's technique was flawless—quick, efficient, no wasted motion.
"You're good at this," Clara observed.
"I've had practice."
"Yeah, I bet you—oh, shit. Company."
Three demons had been watching them from across the street, and apparently decided that two females with a truck full of valuable weapons looked like easy targets. They approached with the swaggering confidence of idiots who'd never faced professional killers.
"Well, well," the leader said, a reptilian thing with too many teeth. "What do we have here? A couple of ladies playing with daddy's toys?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Clara muttered. "I haven't had my coffee yet and you're already ruining my day."
"Just walk away," Vaggie said quietly, her hand moving to her baton. "This doesn't have to get messy."
The demons laughed. "Big words from a one-eyed freak and a little—"
The leader's sentence ended in a wet gurgle as Clara's spear punched through his throat. The other two barely had time to look surprised before Vaggie was among them, baton extended, moving like liquid death.
The fight was over in seconds. Clara's spear work was brutal and efficient, but Vaggie... Vaggie was poetry in motion. Every strike perfectly placed, no energy wasted, two demons down before they knew what hit them.
"Damn, girl," Clara said, wiping blood off her spearpoint. "Remind me never to piss you off."
"You already piss me off," Vaggie replied, but there was something that might have been humor in her voice.
"Yeah, but not enough to murder me. There's a difference."
They loaded the bodies into the truck with the weapons—waste not, want not—and continued their collection route. The work was methodical, almost meditative, and Clara found herself stealing glances at her new partner.
Vaggie moved like someone who'd been fighting her whole life, but there was something else there. Pain, maybe. Regret. The kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from realizing everything you'd believed was bullshit.
Clara knew that feeling.
"So," she said as they approached the Entertainment District, "what's your story? I mean, before the whole 'getting kicked out of Heaven' thing."
Vaggie was quiet for so long Clara thought she wasn't going to answer. Then: "I was Firstborn Adam's right hand. Best of the best, or so I thought. Turns out I was just useful until I wasn't."
"Ouch. Been there."
"You've been cast out of Heaven?"
Clara snorted. "Worse. I've been a teenager with Carmilla Carmine as a mother. Talk about impossible expectations."
That actually got a small smile from Vaggie. "That does sound terrifying."
"You have no idea. She once made me redo weapons training for six hours because my form was 'adequate' instead of 'exemplary.' I couldn't feel my arms for a week."
"Sounds familiar," Vaggie muttered.
They pulled up outside the V's tower, and Clara felt her good mood evaporate. The Entertainment District was Overlord territory, which meant dealing with Vox, Velvette, and—God help them all—Valentino.
"Alright, new girl," Clara said, checking her weapons. "Time for your first real test. We're going into the viper's nest, and these particular vipers have money, power, and a serious lack of impulse control."
Vaggie nodded, her expression going professional. "Rules of engagement?"
"Try not to die, don't start a war with the V's, and if you see a tall purple moth guy, run like hell and don't look back. That's Valentino, and he makes serial killers look cuddly."
"Understood."
Clara studied the angel's face, looking for any sign of fear or hesitation. She found neither. Just cold professionalism and maybe—just maybe—a hint of anticipation.
"You know what, Vaggie?" Clara said with a grin. "I think we're going to get along just fine."
Famous last words, probably. But as they walked into the V's tower together, Clara couldn't shake the feeling that having an ex-exorcist watching her back might just be the best thing to happen to the Carmine family in decades.
Even if the angel did have terrible taste in former employers.
Vaggie POV - Into the Viper's Nest
The V's tower looked like someone had let a Vegas casino designer loose with unlimited funding and a serious cocaine habit. Neon lights pulsed in patterns that probably triggered seizures, holographic advertisements promised sins Vaggie didn't want to think about, and the whole place reeked of desperation masquerading as glamour.
The lobby was packed with demons of every shape and size, all looking like they'd rather be literally anywhere else. Most were clearly employees—their hollow eyes and defeated postures screamed 'trapped by contract'—while others appeared to be clients sampling whatever depravity the V's were peddling today.
"Remember," Clara murmured as they approached the reception desk, "we're here for business, not a fight. Though knowing these assholes, we might not get a choice."
The receptionist was a nervous-looking imp who nearly jumped out of his skin when he spotted them. "C-Carmine Industries! We weren't expecting—"
"We're here about the steel collection," Clara interrupted, flashing her most intimidating smile. "Tell Vox we've got a proposition that'll make his circuits tingle."
Before the imp could respond, a voice boomed through the lobby that made every demon in earshot flinch:
"OI! WHICH ONE OF YOU WORTHLESS WHORES HAS SEEN ANGEL DUST?!"
Vaggie's hand went instinctively to her baton as a towering purple moth demon stormed through the crowd, grabbing employees at random and shaking them like rag dolls. This had to be Valentino—even without Clara's warning, everything about him screamed 'dangerous predator.'
"Fuck," Clara breathed. "Val's having a tantrum. This is not good."
Valentino's rampage continued as he tossed aside a sobbing secretary. "If that little puta isn't back on set in ten minutes, I'm making everyone in this building work overtime! And by overtime, I mean getting fucked six ways from Sunday for a fucking WEEK!"
Vaggie dove behind a conveniently placed cardboard cutout of what appeared to be some kind of social media influencer—a young-looking demoness with elaborate pink and black hair and a outfit that cost more than most demons made in a year. The cutout was covered in hashtags and promotional text for something called "VoxTech Social."
One of the cowering employees managed to stammer that Angel Dust had snuck off to the Doomsday District after getting a call from someone named Cherri Bomb. Valentino's shriek of rage could probably be heard three rings down.
"When I find that spider slut, I'm gonna—"
"Val, darling, you're scaring the help."
The voice was crisp, British-accented, and absolutely dripping with condescension. Vaggie peered around her cardboard shelter to see the demoness from the cutout approaching Valentino with the kind of confidence that came from either supreme power or supreme stupidity.
She was smaller than Vaggie had expected—maybe five-foot-nothing in her platform boots—but she moved through the chaos like she owned the place. Her hair was an elaborate construction of pink and black curls with streaks of neon colors that seemed to shift in the light, styled in a way that probably required a team of professionals and a structural engineer. Her outfit was haute couture meets cyber-punk: a cropped pink blazer over a black corset, a ruffled miniskirt that cost more than a car, and accessories that looked like they belonged in a museum.
But it was her eyes that made Vaggie's blood run cold. Bright magenta with an intelligence that was calculating, predatory, and completely without mercy.
This had to be Velvette. The youngest of the V's, the social media queen, the one who'd managed to claw her way to Overlord status before her twentieth birthday.
"Velvette, this isn't your concern," Valentino snarled, his four arms gesturing wildly. "Angel Dust is MY property, and he's being a disobedient little bitch!"
"Your property is tanking our social engagement metrics," Velvette replied smoothly, examining her perfectly manicured nails. "All that screaming and crying doesn't exactly scream 'aspirational lifestyle,' does it?"
She looked up from her nails and her gaze swept the lobby, cataloging every face, every reaction, every detail with the precision of a security camera. When her eyes landed on the cardboard cutout Vaggie was hiding behind, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched in amusement.
"Besides," Velvette continued, pulling out a phone that looked like it had been designed by aliens, "I'm rather more interested in our unexpected guests from Carmine Industries."
Clara stepped forward, all business. "We're here about the angelic steel collection. Mother thought Vox might be interested in—"
"Oh, I'm sure he is," Velvette interrupted, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "But first, let's address the elephant in the room. Or should I say, the angel behind the cardboard?"
Every head in the lobby turned toward Vaggie's hiding spot. She considered making a run for it, but Clara shot her a look that clearly said 'don't you fucking dare.'
Slowly, Vaggie stepped out from behind the cutout, her hand resting casually on her baton. The lobby fell silent except for the electronic hum of various screens and the distant sound of Valentino's heavy breathing.
Velvette looked her up and down like she was examining a particularly interesting piece of merchandise. "Well, well. An ex-exorcist working for the Carmines. That's either the most brilliant power play I've seen all week, or Carmilla's finally lost her goddamn mind."
"Both, probably," Clara muttered.
"I do love a good plot twist," Velvette said, her smile widening. "Tell me, angel, what's it like working for the people you used to hunt? Must be quite the adjustment."
Vaggie met her gaze steadily. "I'm adapting."
"I'm sure you are. The question is, are you adapting fast enough?" Velvette tilted her head, and something predatory flickered in her magenta eyes. "You see, having Heaven's former lieutenant as a business associate could be... useful. Assuming, of course, that she's properly motivated to stay loyal to her new employers."
The threat was subtle but unmistakable. Vaggie felt her grip tighten on her baton, but before she could respond, Clara stepped between them.
"Velvette," Clara said with forced casualness, "always a pleasure. But we're here on business, not for social hour. You interested in our offer or not?"
Velvette's attention shifted to Clara, and her smile became less predatory and more genuinely amused. "Oh, Clara Carmine. Still playing the tough girl, I see. How delightfully retro."
"Yeah, well, some of us can't all be teenage Overlords with daddy issues and a social media addiction."
"Ouch. That almost hurt." Velvette laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "But you're right about one thing—I am interested in your little offer. Vox has been positively gagging for more angelic steel, especially after yesterday's festivities."
She gestured toward the elevator with a flourish. "Shall we? I'm sure he'll be thrilled to meet our new friend here. Ex-angels are so rare these days."
As they walked toward the elevator, Velvette fell into step beside Vaggie. "You know," she said conversationally, "I've been following your story. The angel who spared a child and got cast out for it. Very compelling narrative—tragic, heroic, with just the right amount of righteous suffering. It's got real viral potential."
"I'm not interested in being your content," Vaggie replied flatly.
"Oh, darling, you already are." Velvette's smile was razor-sharp. "The moment you put on that little eyepatch and started playing soldier for Carmilla Carmine, you became part of the story. The only question is whether you're going to be the protagonist or a cautionary tale."
The elevator doors slid open with a cheerful ding that seemed wildly inappropriate given the circumstances.
"After you," Velvette said with mock politeness. "Let's go see what Vox makes of Hell's newest employee. I have a feeling this is going to be absolutely fascinating."
As they stepped into the elevator, Vaggie caught Clara's eye in the reflection of the polished metal doors. The demon's expression was tense, alert, ready for trouble.
Good. Because Vaggie had a feeling they were walking into a lot more than a simple business meeting.
The elevator began to rise, carrying them toward whatever fresh hell the V's had planned. And somewhere in the back of her mind, Vaggie wondered if maybe—just maybe—she should have taken her chances on the streets after all.
But it was too late for second thoughts now. The doors were closing, Velvette was humming something that sounded suspiciously like a funeral dirge, and Vaggie was about to come face to face with one of Hell's most powerful Overlords.
Just another Tuesday in her new life as a fallen angel.
Fucking fantastic.
Chapter 3: Prologue: Three
Notes:
Since Velvette was confirmed a lesbian, that's kinda how this story came to be. Vaggie/Velvette was too juicy to pass up.
Chapter Text
Chapter Three: Hell's Most Wanted
Vaggie POV - Playing with Fire
Vaggie's throat went desert-dry staring into Velvette's hypnotic magenta eyes. There was something absolutely captivating about the way this demon carried herself—like she owned every room she walked into and knew exactly what effect she had on everyone in it.
"Excuse me," Vaggie managed, trying to sound professional. "I'm Vaggie from Carmine Inc., and I need to speak with Vox about—"
"Ugh, don't tell me a top-shelf hottie like yourself actually wants to work for that decrepit old windbag?" Velvette rolled her eyes with such theatrical disdain that Vaggie couldn't help but snort with laughter.
Shit. Laughing was not part of the plan.
Velvette's smirk was pure satisfaction. "There we go! Much better than that stick-up-the-arse routine." She fluffed her elaborate pink and black curls. "So what's the real tea, gorgeous? And don't feed me some corporate bullshit—I can smell desperation from three districts away."
"Carmilla found me during the extermination," Vaggie found herself saying. "Gave me a choice: sign a soul contract or become street paste."
"Ooh, the classic 'join or die' pitch." Velvette tapped something on her phone, nose scrunched in concentration—which was annoyingly adorable. "How very traditional of her. Though between you and me, babe, I think that crusty bitch has finally lost what's left of her marbles. Probably caught something nasty from shagging that fossil Zestial."
Before Vaggie could process that mental image, Velvette grabbed her arm and yanked her close enough that Vaggie could smell her perfume—something expensive that made her head spin.
"Selfie time, love!" Velvette chirped, phone already up. "This is going straight to my story. 'Mystery angel crashes the V's—exclusive content!' The engagement will be chef's kiss."
Two days ago, Vaggie would've put her spear through this demon's pretty little skull. Now she was blushing like a fucking teenager.
"Come on then," Velvette purred, hips swaying in a way that should be illegal. "Let's see what Voxy makes of you. Try not to drool, darling."
Vox's office looked like a paranoid dictator's wet dream—wall-to-wall monitors showing every corner of Pride Ring, vintage Valentino pin-ups, and enough surveillance equipment to make Big Brother jealous. The man himself spun around in his chair like a Saturday morning cartoon villain, his flat-screen head displaying that trademark too-wide grin.
"Well, Velvette, you've certainly brought me something interesting," Vox said, his voice crackling with static. "Gorgeous and mysterious—my favorite combination."
"Down, boy, she's already house-broken by Carmine," Velvette laughed. "Our little Vaggie here says the old bag wants to talk business."
Vox's screen literally glitched—complete with Windows error sound effects because of course it did.
"About fucking time Carmilla pulled her head out of her arse and joined the winning team," he said, electricity crackling as he leaned closer. "What's the pitch, angel?"
"Contact Carmilla directly for terms," Vaggie replied, fighting the urge to step back from his electrical field. "Top-quality angelic steel, market rates, but she sets final pricing."
Vox's screen went blue—an actual blue screen of death—before rebooting with an obnoxious dial-up sound.
"Ballsy sending one of her pets in unprotected," he mused, moving close enough that Vaggie could feel the heat radiating off him. "I know how much dear Carmilla values her employees..."
"Oh please, Vox, you absolute melt," Velvette cut in with a laugh like shattering glass. "This one's expendable goods. Carmine practically threw her at us like chum. Though honestly, I think the old cunt's finally cracked—probably from riding that decrepit fossil Zestial too hard."
Vox deflated slightly. "Fine. Tell your boss we'll discuss terms at the next Overlord meeting. Now piss off before I decide to be less charitable."
Velvette linked arms with Vaggie and dragged her toward the exit. "Sorry about Voxy, darling. He gets bitchy when Val won't put out—and Val's been sulking because Angel Dust blue-balled him again."
"Christ, you'd think Hell's most powerful Overlords would act less like horny teenagers," Vaggie muttered.
"Trust me, nothing a good hate-fuck wouldn't cure," Velvette said casually. "Speaking of which..." She leaned in until her lips nearly brushed Vaggie's ear. "How do I stack up, angel face?"
The question hit like a lightning bolt straight to Vaggie's core. Images flooded her mind—those perfect lips, predatory eyes, what it would feel like to have Velvette's hands all over her...
"I think you're a manipulative little bitch who uses people and knows exactly how to fuck with their heads to get what you want," Vaggie said, voice rougher than intended.
Velvette threw back her head and cackled. "Guilty as fucking charged! But like any girl with taste, I don't break my favorite toys." Her voice dropped to pure sin. "Ditch the geriatric cunt and I'll take you home and absolutely ruin you for anyone else."
Vaggie's legs went weak as her imagination ran absolutely wild. Before she could form words, Velvette pressed something into her hand and gave her ass a firm squeeze.
"Think about it, gorgeous," she purred, then sauntered away with a wink that could melt steel.
Standing outside the V's tower, Vaggie stared at the business card in her trembling hand while her phone buzzed with Clara asking how the meeting went.
She was so completely fucked.
Clara POV - Damage Control
Clara took one look at Vaggie's flushed face and disheveled appearance and knew exactly what had happened.
"Let me guess—Velvette?" she said, tossing her empty coffee cup in the trash.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Vaggie replied, way too defensively.
Clara and Odette exchanged a look that said yep, she's fucked.
"Velvette's hot as hell but she's basically a black widow in designer heels," Clara warned. "She's already burned through half a dozen of our employees, sweet-talked them into handing over thousands in steel without paying shit."
Vaggie blinked, looking genuinely shocked. "How much?"
"Enough to buy a small country. But hey, at least they got some good orgasms before she destroyed their lives, right?"
"Dating demons isn't on the fucking table," Vaggie snapped, pulling her baton from Odette's hands with more force than necessary. "I can barely stand being around your kind as it is."
Both Carmines rolled their eyes. If Vaggie wanted to keep lying to herself, that was her funeral.
"Sure thing, angel-tits," Clara said cheerfully. "Just remember—when you inevitably end up in Velvette's bed, use protection. We don't need you catching feelings and chlamydia."
Vaggie's scandalized expression was worth the death glare she got in return.
Blake POV - Psychology 101
The moment Blake started laying out psychological rehabilitation techniques, Charlie was frantically scribbling notes like her afterlife depended on it. Her enthusiasm was infectious—and incredibly attractive.
"So with sinners who've given up on themselves, Solution-Focused Therapy works wonders," Blake explained, pacing Charlie's office. "You identify positive patterns they already have but don't recognize."
"Like if they help someone, that proves they can be generous?" Charlie asked, eyes bright with understanding.
"Exactly. People dismiss their good actions as flukes, but behavior is patterns. Show them the pattern, and suddenly someone who thinks they're irredeemable starts seeing possibilities."
"What about relationship drama? How do we handle that without playing favorites?"
Blake paused, considering. "There's a difference between a break and a breakup. For actual growth, I'd suggest they put romance on hold to work on being complete individuals. Then they can come back together as two whole people instead of two broken halves."
Charlie's expression grew thoughtful. "That's... really insightful."
"Just basic psychology," Blake said with a shrug. "Though speaking of relationships..." He grinned. "Got any hypothetical questions about family communication issues?"
Charlie's cheeks went pink. "I mean, hypothetically, if someone kept trying to call a family member who never responds or texts or does ANYTHING—"
"Totally hypothetical, right?"
"Completely!"
Blake's smile softened. "I'd tell that person to put down the phone, find a mirror, and say 'It's not my fault.' Unless they explicitly said they were leaving because of you, don't assume responsibility for their absence."
Charlie took a shaky breath, then smiled—genuinely smiled—for the first time since bringing up her father.
"Better?"
"Much. God, I'm so grateful you're helping with this, Blake."
"Hey, I promised to make myself useful for your dream," Blake said. "Besides, I've got hundreds of flyers printed and it's only 3 PM. Plenty of daylight left to take Hell by storm."
Charlie's expression shifted to concern. "Blake, you realize you're human in Hell, right? Going outside could be—"
"Dangerous? Yeah, probably. But I can't live trapped in these walls forever." Blake's voice grew firm. "Sinners need someone willing to take risks, and I can't help them from a hotel room."
The way Charlie looked at him then—like he was something precious and brave and worth protecting—made his chest tight with emotion.
"Okay," she said finally, taking his outstretched hand. "Let's go save some souls."
The warmth of her fingers in his sent electricity up Blake's arm. He'd missed this—missed having someone to share adventures with, missed feeling useful and needed.
Don't get too attached, he warned himself. She's demon royalty and you're just some archaeology student who got in over his head.
But as Charlie smiled at him with absolute trust and affection, Blake found it increasingly hard to care about the logical reasons they shouldn't work.
Charlie POV - Street Team
Blake had changed back into his washed clothes—tank top and shorts that showed off his lean build in ways that made Charlie's brain short-circuit temporarily. Dazzle drove them to the Entertainment District, which Charlie deemed the safest starting point compared to Cannibal Town or the Doomsday District.
The aftermath of yesterday's extermination still clung to everything—the acrid smell of angelic steel, dust that used to be people, bloodstains that would probably never wash out. Blake handled it better than she'd expected, though she caught him covering his nose occasionally.
"Water?" Charlie offered, handing him a bottle she'd bought from a vendor. "It's from the Cocytus River—one of the waterways connecting the rings. Freshly filtered with lemon flavoring."
"Delicious, thanks," Blake said, then grinned. "Let me guess—your dad controls interdimensional plumbing too?"
"Among other things. Perks of being the king of Hell, I guess."
"Must be nice having a dad who actually answers when you call."
The comment was casual, but Charlie caught the underlying pain. "Blake—"
"Sorry, that was shitty of me. Your family drama isn't about my family drama."
"No, it's..." Charlie struggled for words. "It's actually kind of nice, knowing someone else gets it. The disappointment, I mean."
Blake squeezed her hand gently. "For what it's worth, he's an idiot for not appreciating what he's got."
Charlie felt her cheeks warm. "You don't have to—"
"I'm not just being nice, Charlie. You're incredible. Anyone who can't see that is fucking blind."
Before Charlie could respond, a demon wolf-whistled at her from across the street. Blake immediately stepped between them, his easy smile shifting to something much more dangerous.
"Keep walking, asshole," Blake called out.
"Easy there, human boy," the demon laughed. "Just appreciating the view. Princess got herself a bodyguard, huh?"
"Blake, it's fine," Charlie said quickly, tugging his arm. "I can handle—"
The demon made an obscene gesture. Blake moved so fast Charlie barely saw it—one second he was beside her, the next his fist was connecting with the demon's jaw hard enough to send him sprawling.
"I said keep walking," Blake repeated, his voice deadly calm.
The demon scrambled away, clutching his face and muttering curses.
"Blake!" Charlie grabbed his arm, checking his knuckles for damage. "You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." Blake's green eyes were intense, protective. "Charlie, you can't just excuse everything. Setting boundaries isn't giving up on people—it's teaching them how to treat you with respect."
"I know, but this is Hell. If we can save even one soul—"
"Not at the cost of your safety or dignity." Blake cupped her face gently. "You matter too, Charlie. Your wellbeing matters. And anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve your help."
The way he looked at her—fierce and protective and absolutely sincere—made Charlie's heart do acrobatics in her chest.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll try to... set better boundaries."
Blake's smile was warm and proud. "That's my girl."
My girl. The words sent sparks through Charlie's entire nervous system.
They continued distributing flyers, falling into an easy rhythm. Blake had a way of talking to people that put them at ease—casual and genuine without being pushy. Several demons actually took flyers without immediately setting them on fire, which Charlie considered a massive win.
"You're really good at this," she told him during a break.
"Years of talking professors into letting me join digs I wasn't qualified for," Blake replied with a grin. "Turns out desperation makes you pretty persuasive."
"It's not desperation. You genuinely care about people—I can see it when you talk to them."
Blake's expression softened. "Maybe I just learned from the best."
Before Charlie could ask what he meant, a familiar voice cut through the afternoon air like nails on a chalkboard.
"Well, well. Look what the hellhound dragged in."
Charlie's blood turned to ice. Standing across the street was the one demon in all of Hell she couldn't stand—Helsa von Eldritch, looking like she'd crawled out of a Hot Topic explosion. Pink, yellow, and black clothes, hair like writhing tentacles, and that same smugly superior expression she'd worn in high school when she'd stolen Charlie's crown at homecoming.
"Helsa," Charlie said through gritted teeth. "How... wonderful to see you."
"I bet it is, considering your little 'hotel' is the laughingstock of Pride Ring." Helsa's grin was all sharp teeth. "Though I see you've finally gotten so desperate for dick that you're fucking human strays now. How delightfully... pathetic."
Blake stepped forward, his expression dangerous. "Who the hell are you?"
Helsa laughed—a sound like breaking glass. "Oh, this is precious. Charlie's keeping pets now? Tell me, meat—does she make you bark for treats?"
"Helsa, enough," Charlie warned, feeling her demonic nature stirring.
"What's wrong, Charlie? Afraid your human boy-toy will realize what a failure you are? That daddy dearest won't even return your calls because he's ashamed of his pathetic daughter?"
That did it. Charlie felt her horns sprouting, her eyes turning red, power crackling around her fists.
"Don't," Blake said quietly, catching her hand. "She's trying to provoke you. Don't give her the satisfaction."
Charlie took a deep breath, forcing her demonic features to recede. "You're right. She's not worth it."
"Aww, how sweet," Helsa cooed mockingly. "The little princess found someone to keep her on a leash. Too bad it won't last—humans are so fragile."
Helsa raised her hands, crackling energy gathering around her claws.
"FUCK YOU, BITCH!" she shrieked, unleashing a barrage of yellow lightning directly at them.
Blake shoved Charlie behind him just as the energy struck. But instead of tearing him apart, something impossible happened—the lightning twisted, flowing into his ring like water down a drain.
The silver band flared brilliant white, and Blake's eyes filled with otherworldly light.
"Bad mistake," he said, his voice echoing with power that definitely wasn't human.
Blake POV - Power Surge
The energy coursing through Blake felt like liquid fire and lightning combined. Every cell in his body was supercharged, and he could see everything—the flow of magic around Helsa, the ley lines of power running through Hell, the way Charlie's own demonic energy pulsed like a second heartbeat.
"Blake!" Charlie's voice sounded far away. "Your eyes—they're glowing!"
Blake looked at his hands. Silver flames danced around his fingers, and he could feel the ring's power responding to his will like it had been waiting for this moment his entire life.
Helsa hurled another blast of energy at them. Without thinking, Blake raised his hand and absorbed it effortlessly, the ring growing brighter with each attack.
"What the fuck are you?" Helsa snarled.
"Someone who's really fucking tired of bullies," Blake replied, then launched himself at her with inhuman speed.
His fist connected with her jaw, sending her flying through a storefront window in an explosion of glass and debris. Blake landed lightly, silver fire wreathing his body as his muscles visibly enhanced, his canines elongating to match Charlie's fangs.
"Blake," Charlie whispered, somewhere between awe and terror. "What's happening to you?"
"I don't know," he admitted, staring at his transformed hands. "But whatever this ring is, it's been holding back. I can feel... everything. The power flowing through Hell, the connections between dimensions, like I'm plugged into the source code of reality itself."
Helsa erupted from the ruined building in her true form—a massive serpentine nightmare with a shark's head and claws like industrial razors. Her roar shattered windows for blocks.
"Oh, shit," Charlie breathed.
"Language, Princess," Blake said with a grin that felt more demonic than human. "Time to show this bitch what teamwork looks like."
He offered Charlie his hand. When she took it, he felt their powers merge—her hellfire mixing with his silver flames to create something entirely new.
"Together?" Charlie asked.
"Together," Blake confirmed.
They moved as one, Charlie's magic amplifying Blake's enhanced abilities while his power gave her spells devastating new potency. Helsa lunged at them with snapping jaws, but Blake caught her head in both hands and drove her snout into the pavement hard enough to crack the street.
"You know what your problem is, Helsa?" Charlie called out, her own demonic form manifesting—horns, wings, eyes like burning rubies. "You always were a basic bitch!"
She unleashed a torrent of hellfire that Blake redirected and amplified with his silver flames. The combined attack sent Helsa skidding backward, her serpentine form smoking.
"Impossible!" Helsa shrieked. "You're just a failed princess and her pet human!"
"Wrong," Blake said, power crackling around him. "I'm her partner. And you just made the biggest mistake of your afterlife."
They launched their final assault together—Charlie's hellfire and Blake's otherworldly energy combining into something that lit up the entire district. Helsa's scream cut off abruptly as the blast engulfed her, and when the light faded, she was back in her normal form, unconscious and thoroughly defeated.
Blake swayed, the silver light fading from his eyes as exhaustion hit him like a freight train. Charlie caught him before he could fall.
"Holy shit," he gasped. "Did we just—?"
"Kick seven kinds of ass? Yeah, we did." Charlie's grin was pure pride and adrenaline. "Blake, that was incredible! How did you—?"
"I have no fucking idea," Blake admitted. "But whatever this ring is, I think we just scratched the surface."
A slow clap echoed through the destruction, and both of them spun around to see a familiar figure in a white suit and top hat emerging from a portal that definitely hadn't been there a second ago.
"Well, well," said Lucifer Morningstar, his expression unreadable. "That was quite the light show. I think we need to have a chat."
Charlie POV - Post-Battle High
Charlie was still buzzing from the fight, adrenaline and magic crackling through her veins like the world's most intense drug. But what really had her heart hammering wasn't the victory—it was the way Blake had moved, the raw power he'd commanded, the absolutely feral grin he'd worn while demolishing Helsa.
Jesus fucking Christ, that was hot.
"Dad," she managed, trying to sound composed while her entire nervous system was short-circuiting. "We can explain—"
"Oh, I'm sure you can." Lucifer's gaze flicked between them, taking in their proximity, the way Blake's hand was still on her waist, how neither of them seemed inclined to move apart. "Though I have to say, Charlie-bear, your taste in men has certainly... evolved."
Blake stepped slightly forward—not away from Charlie, but in front of her, and the protective gesture made something molten pool in her stomach.
"Sir," Blake said, his voice still carrying traces of otherworldly power. "I can explain about the ring—"
"Oh, I know exactly what that ring is," Lucifer interrupted, his expression growing serious. "The question is whether you know what you've just awakened."
A golden portal opened behind him—because of course her dad had to make an entrance and an exit dramatic.
"My palace. Now. Both of you. And Charlie?" Lucifer's grin turned sharp. "Try not to jump your boyfriend's bones in the limo. We have so much to discuss."
Charlie's face went nuclear red. "DAD!"
"What? I have eyes, sweetheart. The sexual tension is so thick I could cut it with a blade." He stepped through the portal. "Five minutes or I'm sending Razzle to drag you here!"
The portal snapped shut, leaving them alone in the wreckage.
"Well," Blake said after a moment, "your dad's... direct."
"He's the fucking worst," Charlie groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I can't believe he just—"
"Charlie." Blake's voice was soft, and when she looked up, he was standing close enough that she could see silver still flickering in his green eyes. "Are you okay? After the fight, I mean?"
"Am I—Blake, are you okay? You just absorbed a demon Overlord's attack and turned into some kind of supernatural badass!" She gestured wildly. "Your eyes were glowing! You had fangs! You moved like—like—"
"Like a demon?" Blake finished quietly.
"Like the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life," Charlie blurted out, then immediately clapped her hands over her mouth.
Blake blinked. Then his lips curved in a slow, devastating smile that made Charlie's knees weak.
"Really?" he asked, stepping closer.
"I—you—that's not—fuck." Charlie's brain had apparently decided to take a vacation. "Blake, you literally just fought a demon Overlord for me. You could have died. You could have been torn apart or—"
"But I wasn't." Blake cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "Charlie, I've never felt more alive than when I was fighting beside you. When our powers connected..." His voice roughened. "It was like finding a missing piece of myself I didn't know was gone."
Charlie's breath hitched. They were standing so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, could see the way his pupils had dilated as he looked at her.
"Blake," she whispered.
"Charlie."
They were leaning toward each other, gravity and desire and two days of building tension pulling them together like magnets—
A car horn blared obnoxiously loud, making them jump apart.
"LOVEBIRDS!" Lucifer shouted from the the portal he remade. "DAD SAYS MOVE YOUR ASSES!"
"I'm going to murder my father," Charlie muttered.
"Get in line," Blake said, but he was grinning as he offered her his arm. "Shall we go face the music, Princess?"
Charlie took his arm, trying to ignore how right it felt, how perfectly her hand fit in the crook of his elbow. "Together?"
"Always," Blake said, and the promise in his voice made her heart skip three beats.
As they walked toward the limo, Charlie caught Blake staring at her with an expression of such raw want that she nearly tripped over her own feet.
Dad's interrogation first, she told herself firmly. Then we can figure out whatever the hell this thing between us is turning into.
But as Blake helped her into the limo, his fingers lingering on hers just a moment longer than necessary, Charlie was beginning to suspect that waiting might actually kill her.
Blake POV - Power and Desire
Blake had thought the ring's power surge was intense, but it had nothing on watching Charlie fight. The way she moved, the confidence radiating from every gesture, the absolute authority in her voice when she'd called Helsa a "basic bitch"—it was like seeing a goddess of war in designer clothes.
And the way she'd looked at him afterward, like he was some kind of hero instead of a guy with cursed jewelry...
Focus, asshole. Her dad literally just threatened to drag you to demon court.
But focusing was easier said than done when Charlie was sitting close enough in the limo that he could smell her shampoo, when she kept stealing glances at him like she was cataloging every detail of his face.
"So," Charlie said, breaking the charged silence, "that was... intense."
"Which part?" Blake asked. "The fight, your dad's surprise visit, or the fact that I apparently have supernatural powers now?"
"All of it." Charlie bit her lip—a gesture that was definitely not helping Blake's concentration. "Blake, when our magic connected during the fight... did you feel...?"
"Like I'd been plugged into the source code of the universe?" Blake finished. "Yeah. Like everything finally made sense."
"It was incredible," Charlie breathed. "I've never felt anything like that. The way our powers just... merged. Like we were meant to—"
She cut herself off, cheeks flushing pink.
"Meant to what?" Blake asked softly.
Charlie met his eyes, and the desire there hit him like a physical blow. "Like we were meant to be a team."
Team. Right. That's definitely what she meant.
Except the way she was looking at him suggested she was thinking about a very different kind of partnership. The kind that involved significantly less clothing and a lot more touching.
"Charlie," Blake started, then stopped. What was he supposed to say? Hey, I know we've only known each other for two days, but I'm pretty sure I'm falling for you and also I might be turning into a demon?
"I know," Charlie said quietly. "It's crazy. We barely know each other. You're human, I'm the Princess of Hell. You probably want to get back to your real life, and I shouldn't be thinking about—"
"About what?" Blake interrupted.
Charlie's blush deepened. "About... things. Things we probably shouldn't be thinking about."
Blake felt his own temperature rise. "What kind of things?"
"Blake..."
"What kind of things, Charlie?"
She looked away, then back at him, something bold and desperate flickering in her red eyes. "About kissing you. About what it would feel like to have your hands on me. About whether you'd still want me if you knew how much I—"
The limo jerked to a stop outside Lucifer's palace, cutting off whatever Charlie was about to confess.
"Fuck," Blake muttered.
"Yeah," Charlie agreed breathlessly.
They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them crackling with unfinished sentences and barely restrained want.
"After we deal with your dad," Blake said finally.
"After we deal with my dad," Charlie agreed.
But as they climbed out of the limo and walked toward the palace doors, Blake was pretty sure the anticipation alone was going to drive him insane.
Because if that almost-confession was any indication, Princess Charlotte Morningstar wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.
And that knowledge was more intoxicating than any supernatural power could ever be.
Chapter 4: Prologue: Four
Chapter Text
Chapter Four: Confessions and Consequences
Lucifer POV - Family Interrogation
Lucifer's palace medical wing looked like a cross between a five-star spa and a maximum-security prison—all marble and gold with demonic nurses that could probably double as executioners. The sheep-like creatures in pastel scrubs were gentle enough, but their eyes held the kind of professional detachment that came from centuries of patching up the damned.
"So," Lucifer said, perched on the edge of a medical bed while one of the nurses finished checking Blake's vitals, "want to explain how my daughter's new boyfriend just absorbed enough demonic energy to level a city block?"
Blake sat up straighter, and Lucifer noted how the kid didn't flinch or grovel. Interesting. Most beings—human or otherwise—turned into quivering messes in his presence.
"Sir, I honestly have no idea what this thing is," Blake said, holding up his hand to display the silver ring. "I found it in an archaeological dig, put it on, and the next thing I knew, I was falling through the Earth into Hell."
"And then you just happened to meet my daughter?"
"I crash-landed in an alley. Charlie found me and offered to help." Blake's expression softened when he mentioned Charlie. "She didn't have to. Hell, she probably shouldn't have. But she did."
Lucifer studied the young man carefully. No deception in his voice, no calculated manipulation—just genuine gratitude and something that looked suspiciously like...
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Lucifer muttered. "You're in love with her."
Both Charlie and Blake went nuclear red.
"Dad!" Charlie protested.
"What? It's written all over both your faces! The lingering looks, the protective stances, the way you keep gravitating toward each other like horny magnets—"
"We're not—I mean, we haven't—" Blake stammered.
"Yet," Lucifer added with a knowing smirk. "Though judging by the sexual tension radiating off you two, it's only a matter of time."
Charlie looked like she wanted to spontaneously combust. "Can we please focus on the cosmic horror jewelry?"
"Fine, fine." Lucifer waved dismissively, then his expression grew serious as he examined the ring more closely. "Blake, take that off. Now."
"Why?"
"Because I need to see something, and if I'm right, we're all completely fucked."
Blake struggled with the ring for a moment—it seemed reluctant to leave his finger—but finally managed to remove it. The moment it left his skin, he swayed slightly, and Charlie immediately moved to steady him.
Lucifer took the ring, and his face went pale. "Oh, shit. Oh, shit shit shit."
"Dad, what is it?"
"This," Lucifer said, holding up the ring like it was a live grenade, "is the Seal of Solomon. As in King Solomon. As in the human king who bound seventy-two demons to his will and used them to build his temple."
Blake blinked. "I'm sorry, what now?"
"My dear brother Michael made this little trinket specifically to give humans dominion over demons. It was supposed to be a one-time deal—help Solomon build his temple, then disappear into history." Lucifer's grin was sharp and humorless. "Clearly, that didn't work out as planned."
"But I can't control demons," Blake protested. "I mean, I've never tried, but—"
"Kid, you absorbed Helsa's attacks like they were fucking snacks. You moved fast enough to make Overlords look like statues. You're manifesting demonic traits." Lucifer leaned closer. "The ring is changing you, and if you keep using it, you'll become something that can command every demon in Hell."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Fuck," Charlie whispered.
"Indeed." Lucifer tossed the ring back to Blake, who caught it reflexively. "The question is: what are we going to do about it?"
Blake POV - Nightmare Fuel
The temple was wrong. Everything was wrong.
Blake stood in the center of the ancient chamber, but the walls were bleeding now, crimson rivulets running down stone carved with symbols that writhed and twisted when he wasn't looking directly at them.
His friends surrounded him—Flint, Jackie, Sam, Carlos—but they weren't dead. They were worse than dead. They were alive and aware and screaming as their bodies twisted into unnatural shapes, bones cracking, skin stretching, eyes rolling back to show only whites.
"Look what you did to us," Flint gasped, his jaw hanging at an impossible angle. "Look what your precious ring made us become."
"I didn't—this isn't real—"
"Isn't it?" Jackie's voice came from behind him, but when Blake spun around, she was hanging from the ceiling like a broken puppet, her limbs bent in directions that made his stomach lurch. "You put on the ring, Blake. You chose power over people. You chose her over us."
The ring on his finger pulsed with malevolent energy, and suddenly Blake could feel it—the power to command, to control, to make anyone do anything he wanted. All he had to do was speak the words...
"No!" Blake tried to pull the ring off, but it had fused with his skin, silver metal melting into flesh. "I won't use it! I won't!"
"But you want to," Sam whispered, his voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. "We can see it in your eyes. The hunger. The need to be in control."
The temple began to collapse, not with stone and debris, but with bodies. Hundreds of them, thousands, all the demons he could command, all the people he could control, all falling on top of him in an avalanche of flesh and bone and screaming—
"Blake! BLAKE, WAKE UP!"
Blake jolted upright, gasping, his sheets soaked with sweat. Charlie was beside him on the bed, her hands on his shoulders, her face tight with worry.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," she said softly. "You're safe. You're in the hotel. I'm here."
Blake's heart was hammering so hard he thought it might burst. The ring on his finger felt like it was burning, pulsing in rhythm with his panic.
"Charlie," he gasped. "The ring—I can feel it wanting—"
"Wanting what?"
"Control. Power. It wants me to use it, and I—" Blake doubled over, clutching his head as another wave of phantom screams echoed in his mind. "God, Charlie, what if I hurt someone? What if I hurt you?"
"You won't," Charlie said firmly, moving to sit in front of him. "Blake, look at me."
He raised his head, and she cupped his face gently.
"You won't hurt me. You won't hurt anyone. I know you."
"You don't understand," Blake said, his voice breaking. "In the dream, I wanted to use it. For just a second, I wanted to make them stop screaming by forcing them to be quiet, and that's—that's not me. That's not who I want to be."
The ring flared brighter, responding to his emotional distress, and Blake felt that familiar pull—the temptation to just make everything stop, to command silence, to control...
"Blake." Charlie's voice was gentle but firm. "Tell me about your friends. The real ones. Not the nightmare versions."
Blake blinked, thrown by the change of subject. "What?"
"Your friends from the dig. Tell me something good about them."
Blake took a shaky breath. "Sam was... Sam was the one who taught me how to play poker. Terrible at it himself, but he loved the game. Always said it wasn't about the cards, it was about reading people."
"What else?"
"Jackie organized everything. She had these color-coded schedules and backup plans for backup plans. Drove us all crazy, but we never missed a deadline or forgot supplies." A small smile tugged at Blake's lips. "She also made the best coffee I've ever had. Claimed it was a family secret."
"And Carlos?"
"Carlos could make anyone laugh. Even when we were hot and tired and covered in sand, he'd crack some stupid joke and suddenly everything was bearable again." Blake's voice grew softer. "He was going to propose to his girlfriend when we got back. Had the ring and everything."
The burning sensation in Blake's finger was subsiding, the ring's glow dimming.
"They sound wonderful," Charlie said.
"They were." Blake met her eyes. "Charlie, I failed them. I should have been there, should have protected them—"
"Blake, stop." Charlie's voice was gentle but unyielding. "What happened to them—whatever killed them in that temple—that's not your fault."
"But if I hadn't overslept—"
"You might be dead too. Then I never would have met you." Charlie's hand found his, intertwining their fingers. "I'm not saying their deaths don't matter, or that the pain you're feeling isn't real. But surviving doesn't make you guilty."
Blake stared at their joined hands. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Make the noise in my head quiet down."
Charlie smiled. "Maybe I'm just that good."
Despite everything, Blake found himself smiling back. "Yeah, you are."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Charlie spoke again.
"Blake, I need to tell you something."
"What is it?"
Charlie took a deep breath, like she was steeling herself for something terrifying.
"I love you."
Blake's world stopped.
"I know it's crazy," Charlie rushed on, "we've only known each other for a few days, and you're human and I'm a demon and my dad is literally Satan, but I can't help it. You make me feel like I'm not broken, like my dreams aren't stupid, like maybe I'm worth something more than just my title—"
Blake kissed her.
It was soft and desperate and tasted like tears neither of them realized they'd been crying. When they broke apart, Blake rested his forehead against hers.
"I love you too," he whispered. "Charlie, I love you so much it scares me."
"Good scared or bad scared?"
"Good scared. Definitely good scared." Blake cupped her face. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. In any dimension."
Charlie's smile was radiant. "Even though I'm a demon princess with daddy issues and a probably impossible dream?"
"Especially because of that."
They kissed again, slower this time, and Blake felt something he hadn't experienced since before the dig: peace. The ring was quiet on his finger, the nightmares pushed back by Charlie's presence, the guilt and trauma still there but manageable.
"Charlie," he murmured against her lips.
"Mmm?"
"Stay with me tonight? I sleep better when you're here."
"I was hoping you'd ask."
Charlie POV - Morning Revelations
Charlie woke up to Blake's alarm going off and the absolutely adorable sight of her boyfriend—boyfriend—with his dark hair sticking up in every direction and a confused expression on his face.
"Morning, handsome," she said, propping herself up on one elbow.
Blake's face lit up like Christmas morning. "Good morning, beautiful. Sleep well?"
"Best sleep I've had in decades." Charlie stretched languidly, noting how Blake's eyes tracked the movement with obvious appreciation. "You?"
"No nightmares," Blake said, sounding almost surprised. "First time since... well, since everything went to shit."
"Language," Charlie teased, then immediately contradicted herself. "Though I have to say, waking up to your face is definitely better than my usual routine of stress-eating ice cream and crying about my failures."
Blake laughed—a genuine, warm sound that made Charlie's chest flutter. "Well, I'm honored to be an upgrade from ice cream."
"Don't get cocky. I really love ice cream."
"I'll keep that in mind for future reference."
They were both quiet for a moment, just looking at each other in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Charlie felt like she was memorizing every detail—the gold flecks in Blake's green eyes, the way his hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck, the small scar on his chin from some childhood accident.
"Charlie," Blake said softly.
"Yeah?"
"About last night... when I said I loved you..."
Charlie's heart clenched. "If you're having second thoughts—"
"No!" Blake said quickly. "God, no. The opposite. I meant every word, and I just... I needed you to know that this isn't some trauma response or rebound thing. What I feel for you is real."
"Blake—"
"Let me finish." Blake sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. "I know we're moving fast. I know there are a million reasons this shouldn't work. But Charlie, you make me want to be better than I am. You make me want to stay in Hell if it means I get to be with you."
Charlie felt tears prick at her eyes. "You'd really stay? Even though you could probably find a way back to Earth?"
"Earth doesn't have you on it," Blake said simply. "And honestly? After everything I've lost, I think maybe I was meant to end up here. Maybe I was meant to find you."
"That's either the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me, or the most depressing," Charlie said, wiping at her eyes.
"Can it be both?"
"Yeah," Charlie laughed wetly. "It can be both."
Blake leaned over and kissed her forehead. "So, what's the plan for today, Princess? More demon rehabilitation? Dealing with cosmic horror jewelry? Meeting with sketchy Overlords?"
"Actually," Charlie said, sitting up properly, "I was thinking we could focus on something more important."
"What's that?"
Charlie grinned. "Figuring out how to run a hotel together. You know, since you're officially my staff manager now."
Blake blinked. "I'm your what now?"
Charlie reached into her nightstand and pulled out a laminated ID card and a sleek black credit card. "Surprise! You're officially employed by the Morningstar Foundation. Salary, benefits, dental—the works."
Blake stared at the cards like they might explode. "Charlie, I can't take this. It's too much."
"Blake, you're living in Hell with no money, no connections, and no legal status. Let me help you."
"But I haven't done anything to earn this—"
"You believed in my dream when everyone else thought it was stupid," Charlie interrupted. "You fought an Overlord for me. You're dealing with supernatural trauma and PTSD, and you still wake up every day trying to help people. If that doesn't qualify you for a job, I don't know what does."
Blake looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head with a rueful smile. "Has anyone ever told you that you're impossible to argue with?"
"My dad might have mentioned it once or twice."
"Fine. I accept the job. But I'm earning this salary, okay? No free rides."
"Deal." Charlie bounced slightly on the bed. "So, first order of business: we need to get you some proper clothes. Can't have my staff manager running around in my ex's hand-me-downs."
Blake glanced down at himself. "What's wrong with these clothes?"
"Nothing, if you're going for 'recently escaped mental patient' chic."
"Ouch."
"I'm kidding! You look good in everything. But Blake..." Charlie bit her lip. "After yesterday, with the fight and the power surge, you look more... demonic. The silver eyes, the fangs. People are going to notice."
Blake ran his tongue over his elongated canines. "Yeah, I figured. Guess I should update my wardrobe to match the new supernatural aesthetic."
"We'll make it work," Charlie assured him. "Besides, I happen to think you look incredibly sexy with fangs."
Blake's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"
"Really really."
"Good to know," Blake said with a grin that was definitely more predatory than it used to be. "Though I should probably practice not accidentally biting my tongue."
"I can think of better things for you to bite," Charlie said without thinking, then immediately turned red. "I mean—that's not—I didn't mean—"
Blake's grin widened. "Charlie Morningstar, are you flirting with me?"
"Maybe," Charlie squeaked.
"Good," Blake said, leaning closer. "Because I was starting to think I was the only one having increasingly inappropriate thoughts about my boss."
"Definitely not the only one," Charlie managed.
They were leaning toward each other again, that magnetic pull between them stronger than ever, when a sharp knock interrupted them.
"Lovebirds!" came Lucifer's voice through the door. "Media circus outside! I says get dressed and look presentable!"
Charlie and Blake looked at each other.
"Rain check?" Blake asked.
"Rain check," Charlie agreed, though she was pretty sure the anticipation was going to kill her.
Lucifer POV - Damage Control
Lucifer surveyed the crowd of reporters, camerademons, and general rabble gathered outside his daughter's hotel with the kind of resigned annoyance usually reserved for root canals and family dinners.
"Fucking vultures," he muttered, adjusting his bow tie. "Can't even let the kids have a moment to process nearly dying."
The front doors opened, and Charlie emerged with Blake close behind. Lucifer had to admit, they cleaned up well—Charlie in her signature red blazer and Blake in borrowed clothes that actually fit his new supernatural physique.
What concerned Lucifer was how Blake moved now. More fluid, more dangerous. The ring was changing him faster than expected.
"Your Majesty!" One of the reporters called out. "Any comment on yesterday's battle in the Entertainment District?"
"Yeah," Lucifer said dryly. "Don't fuck with my daughter. Next question."
"What about reports that Princess Charlie is dating a human?" another shouted.
Lucifer glanced at Blake, who stood protectively close to Charlie but didn't look intimidated by the crowd. Good. The boy had backbone.
"My daughter's dating life is her business," Lucifer replied. "Though I will say, anyone who fights an Overlord to protect her has my provisional approval."
"Provisional?" Blake asked quietly.
"We'll talk," Lucifer murmured back.
The questions continued, most focusing on the hotel's mission and Charlie's relationship status. But Lucifer noticed several reporters seemed more interested in Blake specifically—particularly his changed appearance and the rumors about his supernatural abilities.
This was going to be a problem.
"Alright, that's enough," Lucifer announced, his voice carrying enough authority to make the crowd step back involuntarily. "My daughter has actual work to do. Anyone else who wants to harass her can make an appointment through official channels."
The crowd began to disperse, though Lucifer noticed several demons lingering at the edges, still watching Blake with calculating expressions.
"Charlie," Lucifer said once they were back inside. "We need to talk. All of us."
Charlie looked between her father and Blake nervously. "Dad, if this is about—"
"It's about keeping you both alive," Lucifer interrupted. "That little light show yesterday got attention from people you really don't want to be noticed by."
Blake stepped forward. "What kind of attention?"
Lucifer studied the young man. Still protective, still brave, but there was something else now—a hint of steel that hadn't been there before. The ring was definitely accelerating his transformation.
"The kind that ends with you dissected in a lab or enslaved by someone with enough power to make your worst nightmares look like pleasant dreams," Lucifer said bluntly. "Blake, that ring makes you valuable. Not as a person—as a weapon. And there are plenty of demons who would love to get their hands on a human who can command infernal power."
Blake's jaw tightened. "Let them try."
"That's exactly the attitude that's going to get you killed," Lucifer snapped. "Or worse—get Charlie killed trying to protect you."
The words hit their target. Blake's expression crumbled slightly, the protective fury replaced by fear.
"Dad," Charlie warned.
"No, he's right," Blake said quietly. "Being with me puts you in danger."
"Blake—"
"Charlie, I can't live with myself if something happens to you because of me."
Lucifer watched the interplay between them with growing interest. The boy was clearly struggling with guilt and self-doubt, but he wasn't running. And Charlie... Charlie was looking at Blake like he'd just suggested cutting off his own head.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily," Charlie said firmly. "We're in this together, remember? Partners."
Blake met her eyes, and Lucifer saw the moment the boy made his decision.
"Partners," Blake agreed.
"Good," Lucifer said, though internally he was doing complex calculations about worst-case scenarios and emergency evacuation plans. "Now that we've established that you're both idiots in love, let's talk about keeping you alive long enough to enjoy it."
He pulled out a folder thick with documents and photographs.
"First order of business: you're going to learn how to use that ring properly. Right now, you're like a toddler with a loaded gun—dangerous to everyone, including yourself."
Blake looked down at his hand. "I don't want to learn how to control demons."
"Too bad. Because that ring is bonded to you now, and ignoring its power won't make it go away—it'll just make you more likely to lose control when you're emotional or stressed."
"He's not wrong," Charlie said reluctantly. "Blake, if the ring is changing you anyway, shouldn't you at least understand what's happening?"
Blake was quiet for a long moment. "What would training involve?"
"Learning to channel the ring's power without losing yourself to it," Lucifer explained. "Understanding the difference between commanding demons and working with them. And most importantly, figuring out how to keep the ring from turning you into something my daughter won't recognize."
The last part hit home. Blake's hand moved instinctively to the ring, and Lucifer caught the flash of fear in his eyes.
"I don't want to become someone Charlie can't love," Blake said softly.
"Then you'll do the work," Lucifer replied. "Because right now, that ring is driving the bus. Better to learn to steer before you crash into something that'll get you both killed."
Blake looked at Charlie, who nodded encouragingly.
"Okay," Blake said finally. "I'll do it. When do we start?"
Lucifer's smile was sharp. "Right now. Hope you're a fast learner, kid, because we've got a lot of ground to cover and not much time to do it."
As they headed toward Lucifer's private training facility, the fallen angel made a mental note to have a very serious conversation with his brother Michael about the ethics of giving humans weapons of mass destruction.
But first, he had to make sure his daughter's boyfriend didn't accidentally enslave half of Hell.
Just another Tuesday in the Morningstar family.
Blake POV - Power Lessons
Lucifer's "private training facility" turned out to be a pocket dimension that looked like a cross between a military obstacle course and the world's most expensive gym. The space stretched impossibly far in all directions, with floating platforms, conjured targets, and what appeared to be a small army of practice dummies that looked suspiciously realistic.
"Okay, kid," Lucifer said, clapping his hands together with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for root canals. "Let's see what you can do without nearly dying first."
Blake looked around nervously. "I'm not really sure how any of this works. Yesterday with Helsa, it just... happened."
"That's the problem. Right now, the ring is using you instead of the other way around." Lucifer gestured to one of the practice dummies. "Try channeling some energy into your hand. Small amounts—I don't need you accidentally opening a portal to the void."
Blake held up his hand, focusing on the ring. Nothing happened.
"Concentrate," Lucifer said impatiently. "Feel for the power. It's there—you just need to—"
"I can't feel anything," Blake interrupted. "It's like the ring's... sleeping or something."
Lucifer, who'd been watching the battle from the sidelines, stepped closer. "Blake, yesterday you absorbed Helsa's attacks. Maybe you need an energy source?"
"Absolutely not," Charlie said quickly. "I'm not letting anyone blast my boyfriend just so he can—"
A small bolt of golden energy shot from Lucifer's fingertip, striking Blake square in the chest. Instead of knocking him backward, the energy swirled around him like water before being absorbed into the ring.
Blake's eyes immediately flared silver, and power crackled around his hands.
"There we go," Lucifer said with satisfaction. "Much better. Now, try directing that energy at the dummy."
Blake pointed at the target, and a stream of silver flame shot from his palm, completely incinerating the practice dummy and leaving a smoking crater in the ground behind it.
"Shit," Blake breathed, staring at the destruction.
"Language," Charlie said automatically, then immediately contradicted herself. "Holy shit, Blake, that was incredible!"
"That was terrifying," Blake corrected. "What if I lose control? What if I hurt someone?"
"That's why we're practicing," Lucifer said, conjuring another dummy. "Again. This time, try for precision instead of raw power."
They spent the next hour working on basic energy manipulation. Blake was a surprisingly quick learner once he got the hang of it, though Lucifer noticed the ring seemed to have its own agenda. Several times, Blake would attempt a small, controlled blast only to have the ring amplify it beyond his intentions.
"It's like the ring wants to show off," Blake said after accidentally melting a third target. "I try for a little spark, and it gives me a fucking flamethrower."
"That's because it's testing you," Lucifer explained. "The ring responds to emotion, intent, and will. Right now, it's stronger than you are, so it's calling the shots. You need to establish dominance."
"How do I do that?"
"By not being afraid of it." Lucifer's expression grew serious. "Blake, I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to really hear it. That ring chose you. Not your professor, not your friends, not some random person—you. There's a reason for that."
"What kind of reason?"
"The kind that usually involves a lot of cosmic bullshit and predetermined destiny," Lucifer said dryly. "But the point is, you're not a victim of circumstance. You're the ring's chosen wielder, which means you have the potential to master it completely."
Blake looked down at his hand, where the silver band seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat. "And if I can't?"
"Then we'll deal with that when it happens," Charlie interjected, moving to stand beside Blake. "But I believe in you. And for what it's worth, I don't think the ring is evil."
Both Blake and Lucifer stared at her.
"Hear me out," Charlie continued. "If the ring just wanted power or destruction, it would have chosen someone ruthless. Someone who'd use it without hesitation. But it chose Blake—someone who's spent the last three days agonizing over the moral implications of having supernatural abilities."
"That's... actually a good point," Lucifer admitted reluctantly.
"Plus," Charlie added with a grin, "if the ring wanted to hurt me, it wouldn't have made Blake stronger every time I was in danger. Yesterday, when Helsa attacked, the ring didn't make Blake run or hide—it made him protect me."
Blake's expression softened as he looked at Charlie. "You really think the ring chose me for you?"
"I think," Charlie said, taking his hand, "that maybe sometimes the universe gets things right. Even if it takes a really weird, roundabout way to do it."
Lucifer watched the exchange with growing amusement. "Oh, for crying out loud, you two are disgustingly sweet. It's like watching a Hallmark movie directed by cosmic horror."
"Is that good or bad?" Blake asked.
"Jury's still out," Lucifer replied. "But let's see if your newfound emotional clarity helps with the power control."
This time, when Blake focused on the target, the energy that emerged was controlled and precise. Not a devastating blast, but a focused beam that struck exactly where he intended.
"Better," Lucifer said approvingly. "Now let's try something more advanced."
Charlie POV - Media Circus
While Blake continued training with her father, Charlie found herself dealing with a different kind of chaos: her phone, which had been ringing nonstop since news of yesterday's fight broke.
"Princess Charlie!" came the voice of 666 News anchor Katie Killjoy through the speaker. "Care to comment on reports that your new boyfriend is a human with supernatural powers?"
"No comment," Charlie said firmly, then hung up and immediately blocked the number.
The phone rang again thirty seconds later.
"Hello, this is Vox from VoxTech Entertainment—"
Charlie hung up even faster.
"Nope. Absolutely not."
Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: Heard you're dating a human with a magic ring. Interesting choice. We should chat. —V
Charlie stared at the message, trying to figure out which "V" it could be from. Vox seemed too obvious, Velvette was more likely to show up in person, and Valentino...
Actually, she really hoped it wasn't Valentino.
Another text arrived: P.S.—love what you've done with the place. Very 'redeemed chic.' —Velvette
"Well, that's not ominous at all," Charlie muttered, then looked up to find Razzle and Dazzle hovering nearby with worried expressions.
"What is it, boys?"
Razzle pantomimed someone knocking on a door, while Dazzle made exaggerated "scary" faces.
"Someone's here? Someone scary?"
Both goats nodded frantically.
Charlie sighed and headed toward the front lobby, where she found an unexpected visitor waiting by the reception desk: a tall, elegant demoness with white hair styled into horn-like points and legs that went on for approximately seventeen miles.
"Carmilla Carmine," Charlie said, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice. "This is... unexpected."
"Princess," Carmilla replied with a polite nod. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion. I wanted to discuss a business proposition with you and your... companion."
"Blake's training with my father right now. Can I ask what this is about?"
Carmilla's smile was sharp as her legendary blades. "I think we both know that your boyfriend's newfound abilities have attracted quite a bit of attention. Some of it friendly, some of it... less so."
"And?"
"And I'm here to offer my services as a mediator. There are parties interested in meeting Mr. Cedar, and I thought it might be better to handle these introductions in a controlled environment rather than letting them approach him... organically."
Charlie felt a chill run down her spine. "What kind of parties?"
"The kind that collect rare and powerful artifacts," Carmilla said smoothly. "The kind that have been waiting centuries for someone capable of wielding Solomon's ring to appear. The kind that won't take 'no' for an answer."
"Are you threatening us?"
"Quite the opposite. I'm offering to help you navigate a very dangerous situation." Carmilla's expression grew more serious. "Princess, your boyfriend is carrying one of the most powerful magical artifacts in existence. Word is already spreading through the rings. How long do you think it'll be before someone decides to take it from him?"
Charlie's blood ran cold. "They can't. The ring is bonded to him."
"Bonded, not fused. There are ways to transfer such bonds, though they tend to be... unpleasant for all involved." Carmilla leaned forward slightly. "I'm offering you my protection, my resources, and my expertise in dealing with supernatural weapons. In exchange, I'd like Mr. Cedar to perform a small service for me."
"What kind of service?"
"Nothing dramatic. I simply need someone with his particular abilities to retrieve something that was stolen from me. Something that conventional methods have failed to recover."
Charlie crossed her arms. "And if we refuse?"
"Then you're on your own against every demon, fallen angel, and cosmic entity that wants to claim that ring for themselves." Carmilla's smile returned. "Though I'm sure you and your father can handle that just fine."
Before Charlie could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from the training room corridor. Blake emerged, looking slightly singed but triumphant, with Lucifer close behind.
"Charlie, you should have seen—" Blake stopped mid-sentence when he spotted Carmilla. "Oh. Hello."
"Mr. Cedar," Carmilla said, rising from her chair with fluid grace. "I was just explaining to the Princess how many people are interested in making your acquaintance."
Blake's expression immediately grew wary. "What kind of people?"
"The kind you really don't want to meet in a dark alley," Lucifer said grimly. "Carmilla, I should have known you'd show up sooner rather than later."
"Lucifer," Carmilla replied with a nod. "I trust you've been explaining to your daughter and her companion exactly how precarious their situation has become?"
"We were getting to that," Lucifer said dryly.
Blake looked between the adults, then at Charlie. "Okay, someone want to fill me in on why I feel like I just walked into the middle of a mafia negotiation?"
"Because you basically did," Charlie said. "Blake, meet Carmilla Carmine. She's an Overlord, arms dealer, and apparently the person who's going to help us not get murdered by everyone who wants your ring."
"For a small fee," Carmilla added pleasantly.
Blake studied the demoness for a moment, then looked at the ring on his finger. Charlie could practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighed their options.
"What exactly do you need me to retrieve?" he asked finally.
Carmilla's smile widened. "A former employee of mine who's been... difficult to locate through conventional means. Someone with your particular talents should have no trouble bringing her home."
"Her?"
"A fallen angel who's been hiding among the general population. She has something that belongs to me, and I'd very much like it back."
Blake's eyes narrowed. "You want me to hunt down and capture a fallen angel?"
"I want you to extend an invitation for her to return to work," Carmilla corrected smoothly. "What she chooses to do with that invitation is entirely up to her."
Charlie felt her stomach drop. Something about this felt wrong, but with threats circling and limited options, she wasn't sure they had much choice.
"We need time to think about it," Blake said firmly.
"Of course," Carmilla replied, producing an elegant business card from thin air. "Take all the time you need. Just remember—every hour you delay is another hour for less... diplomatic parties to make their own approaches."
As Carmilla glided toward the exit, she paused at the door.
"Oh, and Princess? You might want to have a conversation with your first hotel guest. I believe she'll be arriving sooner than expected."
The door closed behind her, leaving the three of them staring after her in confused silence.
"Well," Lucifer said finally, "that was ominous as fuck."
"Dad, language," Charlie said automatically.
"Charlie, sweetie, I think we're well past worrying about my vocabulary."
Blake sank into one of the lobby chairs, running his hands through his hair. "So let me get this straight. I have a magic ring that makes me incredibly powerful, which means every bad guy in Hell wants to either kill me or use me, and our only option for protection is to work for an arms dealer who wants me to hunt down fallen angels."
"That's... pretty much the size of it, yeah," Charlie admitted.
"And this is supposed to be the good option?"
"Welcome to Hell, kid," Lucifer said with dark amusement. "Population: fucked."
Blake looked at Charlie, his expression a mixture of determination and worry. "Charlie, I don't want you getting caught up in this. Maybe I should—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Charlie interrupted. "We're in this together, remember? Partners."
"Partners," Blake agreed, though his smile was strained. "Even if 'this' apparently involves cosmic politics and supernatural arms dealing."
"Hey," Charlie said, moving to sit beside him, "at least it's not boring."
Blake laughed despite himself. "No, it's definitely not boring."
"Plus," Charlie added, leaning against his shoulder, "I happen to be pretty good at dealing with impossible situations. It's kind of my thing."
"Your thing?"
"Haven't you heard? I'm the demon princess who thinks sinners can be redeemed. Impossible is my specialty."
Blake's arm came around her, and Charlie felt some of the tension leave his body.
"In that case," Blake said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "I guess we're in the right place."
"Disgusting," Lucifer commented, though he was smiling. "Absolutely revolting. I love it."
As the three of them sat in the lobby of the Happy Hotel, surrounded by the chaos of their new reality, Charlie couldn't help but think that maybe—just maybe—they might actually figure out how to make this work.
Even if it killed them.
Which, knowing their luck, it probably would.
Chapter 5: Prologue: Five
Notes:
Things will be heating up this time.
Chapter Text
Chapter Five: Power, Seduction, and Shopping Disasters
Blake POV - The Ring's Whispers
The nightmares were getting worse.
Blake sat in Lucifer's training facility, sweat dripping down his face as he tried to focus on the meditation exercises. But every time he closed his eyes, he could hear it—the ring's voice, slithering through his thoughts like oil through water.
"Why struggle so hard against what you are becoming?" it whispered. "You felt the power when you fought Helsa. You felt how good it was to have control."
"Shut up," Blake muttered, opening his eyes to find Lucifer watching him with concern.
"The ring talking to you again?" Lucifer asked.
"More like lecturing me about the benefits of embracing my inner tyrant," Blake replied, flexing his fingers. The silver band seemed to pulse with amusement. "It's getting harder to ignore."
"That's because you're fighting it wrong," came a new voice. Both Blake and Lucifer turned to see Carmilla Carmine materializing from the shadows like she owned the place.
"Carmilla," Lucifer said with obvious irritation. "I thought we agreed you'd wait until—"
"Until the boy accidentally enslaved half of Hell because you're teaching him meditation instead of actual control?" Carmilla interrupted smoothly. "I don't think we have that kind of time."
Blake stood, the ring flaring with defensive energy. "I'm not enslaving anyone."
"Not yet," Carmilla agreed. "But tell me, Blake—when you're angry, when you're afraid, when someone threatens Charlie... what does the ring want you to do?"
Blake's jaw tightened. Because she was right. When he'd seen Helsa attacking Charlie, the ring hadn't just offered power—it had whispered suggestions. Make her kneel. Make her beg. Show her what happens to those who threaten what's yours.
"I see you understand," Carmilla said with a knowing smile. "The ring doesn't just grant power, Blake. It feeds on emotion, on desire for control. And the more you use it, the more it shapes your thoughts to match its purpose."
"So what's your solution?" Lucifer demanded. "Let the kid become Solomon 2.0?"
"My solution is to teach him to work with the ring instead of against it." Carmilla produced a set of ancient-looking manacles from thin air. "These will limit the ring's influence while you practice. Think of them as training wheels."
Blake eyed the restraints suspiciously. "And what's the catch?"
"No catch. Simply a business proposition." Carmilla's smile turned predatory. "I provide training, protection from other interested parties, and resources. In exchange, you help me with a small matter."
"The fallen angel," Blake said.
"Among other things. There are several... problems that someone with your unique abilities could solve."
Lucifer stepped between them. "Absolutely not. I'm not letting you turn my daughter's boyfriend into your personal enforcer."
"Dad," came Charlie's voice from the entrance. She strode into the training room, looking determined. "Blake and I already discussed this. We're accepting Carmilla's offer."
"Like hell you are."
"Like Hell we are," Charlie shot back. "Dad, Blake needs proper training, and you're not equipped to give it to him. No offense."
"All the offense taken, thank you very much."
Blake moved to Charlie's side, taking her hand. The ring immediately quieted at her touch, its whispers fading to background noise.
"Sir," Blake said respectfully, "I appreciate everything you've done for us. But Charlie's right. The ring is getting stronger, and if I don't learn to control it properly..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but they all knew what he meant. The risk wasn't just to Blake—it was to everyone around him.
Lucifer looked between his daughter and Blake, then at Carmilla's expectant expression.
"Fine," he said finally. "But I'm supervising the training. And if you try any of your usual manipulation bullshit—"
"Lucifer, please. I have no interest in corrupting the boy. He's far more useful to me with his moral compass intact."
Blake wasn't sure if that was reassuring or terrifying.
Velvette POV - Digital Seduction
Velvette lounged on her bed, phone in hand, scrolling through her latest messages with the deliciously conflicted ex-angel. Getting Vaggie flustered had become her new favorite hobby, and the girl made it so easy.
[Velvette]: Working hard or hardly working, angel face? 💋
The response came back faster than expected.
[Vaggie]: Just finished my shift. Why?
[Velvette]: Because I'm bored and you're the only interesting person I've talked to all week. Send me a selfie.
[Vaggie]: I look like shit right now.
[Velvette]: Impossible. You're gorgeous even when you're trying to murder people.
There was a longer pause this time, and Velvette grinned. She could practically feel Vaggie's internal struggle through the phone.
[Vaggie]: [Image attached]
Velvette opened the photo and had to bite her lip to keep from making an undignified noise. Vaggie was clearly in some kind of industrial setting, her hair slightly messed up, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, looking absolutely sinful in her work clothes.
[Velvette]: Fuck me, you're stunning. That whole 'hot and sweaty' look really works for you.
[Vaggie]: You're ridiculous.
[Velvette]: I'm many things, darling. Ridiculous is definitely one of them. But I'm also very good with my hands. And my mouth. Just saying.
The typing indicator appeared and disappeared several times before Vaggie's response finally came through.
[Vaggie]: Jesus Christ, Velvette.
[Velvette]: Wrong deity, love. Though I don't mind if you scream my name like a prayer. 😈
[Vaggie]: I hate you.
[Velvette]: No you don't. You hate that you like me. Big difference.
Another long pause. Velvette was starting to wonder if she'd pushed too hard when her phone buzzed.
[Vaggie]: What do you want from me?
The question was blunt, honest, and completely Vaggie. Velvette found herself pausing, her usual flippant response dying on her lips. What did she want?
[Velvette]: Honestly? I want to take you somewhere nice, buy you dinner, and then fuck you until you forget your own name. In that order.
[Vaggie]: That's... direct.
[Velvette]: I don't do subtle, angel. Life's too short and Hell's too long for playing games. I like you. You like me, even though you're fighting it. So what's the real problem?
[Vaggie]: You're a demon. I'm a fallen angel. You work for people who want to use me. I work for people who would probably kill you if they knew about this.
[Velvette]: So? Romeo and Juliet were from feuding families and look how that turned out.
[Vaggie]: They both died.
[Velvette]: Details. The important part is they had great sex first.
[Vaggie]: Did they? I don't remember that part of the play.
[Velvette]: Trust me, it was heavily implied. Shakespeare was very big on subtext.
Despite herself, Velvette found herself smiling at the mental image of Vaggie rolling her eyes.
[Vaggie]: You're insane.
[Velvette]: And you're beautiful when you're angry. Match made in Heaven. Or Hell. Geography is negotiable.
[Vaggie]: I have to go.
[Velvette]: Sweet dreams, gorgeous. Think of me. 💕
Velvette set her phone aside and stretched luxuriously. Vaggie was proving to be much more interesting than her usual conquests. Most demons either threw themselves at her immediately or ran screaming. But Vaggie was fighting an internal war between desire and duty, and Velvette found the whole thing absolutely fascinating.
Plus, the girl was gorgeous, deadly, and had this adorable way of getting flustered that made Velvette want to corrupt her in the most delicious ways possible.
This was going to be fun.
Charlie POV - Mall Mishaps
"I cannot believe you talked me into this," Blake muttered as they approached Stylish Occult, one of Hell's premier alternative fashion stores.
"Hey, you're the one who said you needed new clothes to match your 'supernatural aesthetic,'" Charlie replied cheerfully. "Besides, I want to spoil my boyfriend a little. Is that so wrong?"
"When said spoiling involves spending the GDP of a small country on clothes? Maybe."
Charlie bumped his shoulder playfully. "Blake, honey, we've been over this. I'm literally Hell royalty. Money is not an object."
"That's exactly what makes me uncomfortable about it."
"Well, get uncomfortable later. Right now, we're going shopping."
The store was everything Blake had expected from a place called "Stylish Occult"—dark, dramatic, and expensive enough to make his human brain weep. Charlie, however, was in her element, pulling items off racks with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store.
"Ooh, this would look amazing on you," she said, holding up a black leather jacket that probably cost more than Blake's entire college wardrobe.
"Charlie, I'm not sure leather is really my—"
"Trust me. With your new look? You'll be absolutely devastating."
Blake caught sight of himself in a nearby mirror and had to suppress a wince. His transformation was becoming more obvious daily—the silver eyes, the pronounced fangs, the way shadows seemed to bend around him. He looked less human and more like something that belonged in Hell.
"Charlie," he said quietly, "are you sure you're okay with... this? With what I'm becoming?"
Charlie set down the jacket and moved to stand in front of him, her hands coming up to cup his face.
"Blake Cedar," she said firmly, "I fell in love with your heart, your mind, and your absolutely terrible sense of humor. Everything else is just packaging."
"Even if the packaging includes supernatural murder jewelry?"
"Especially then. Do you know how sexy it is having a boyfriend who can literally set people on fire with his mind?"
Blake felt his cheeks warm. "Charlie..."
"I'm serious! Yesterday when you were training with Dad, watching you control that power? I had to excuse myself to the bathroom because—"
"Okay, okay," Blake interrupted, his face now completely red. "I get the picture."
Charlie grinned wickedly. "Do you? Because I could be more specific—"
A commotion from the front of the store cut her off. Through the racks of clothes, they could see a familiar figure with magenta hair holding court at the checkout counter.
"Shit," Charlie whispered. "Velvette."
"The social media demon?"
"The same. And if she sees us..." Charlie grabbed Blake's arm. "Changing rooms. Now."
They grabbed an armful of clothes and made a beeline for the back of the store, slipping into the largest fitting room and pulling the curtain shut behind them.
"Okay," Charlie breathed, "we just wait until she leaves and then—"
She turned around and immediately forgot what she was saying. Blake had already started changing, and was currently shirtless, his lean but muscled torso on full display.
"Charlie?" Blake noticed her staring. "You okay?"
"Yep," Charlie squeaked. "Totally fine. Just... admiring the view."
Blake grinned—that new, more predatory smile that made Charlie's knees weak. "Like what you see, Princess?"
"That's not fair," Charlie protested. "You can't just... flex like that and expect me to form coherent thoughts."
"I'm not flexing."
"You're breathing. It's having the same effect."
Blake stepped closer, and Charlie found herself pressed against the fitting room wall. "Is that so?"
"Blake," Charlie warned, though her voice lacked any real authority. "We're in public."
"Are we?" Blake's hands came up to rest on either side of her head, effectively trapping her. "Because it feels pretty private in here."
Charlie's breath hitched as Blake leaned down, his lips brushing against her neck. "Blake, if someone hears us—"
"Then you'll have to be very, very quiet," he murmured against her skin.
The first kiss to her neck made Charlie bite her lip to stifle a moan. The second made her grab his shoulders for support. When his fangs grazed the sensitive spot just below her ear, she had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.
"You are evil," she whispered.
"I'm learning from the best," Blake replied, then proceeded to demonstrate exactly what those fangs could do.
Charlie was rapidly losing the ability to care about their location when voices from the neighboring fitting room made them both freeze.
"...absolutely divine, darling. You simply must get it."
Velvette. She was right next to them.
Blake immediately pulled back, and Charlie had to resist the urge to pull him back down. Instead, she pressed a finger to her lips and pointed toward the wall.
They stood perfectly still, listening to Velvette's conversation with what sounded like a store employee, waiting for her to finish and leave.
It was going to be a very long wait.
Blake POV - Dark Whispers
That night, Blake lay in bed next to Charlie, staring at the ceiling while she slept peacefully beside him. The ring on his finger—now hanging from the chain Octavia had given him—pulsed with a gentle silver light.
"She looks so peaceful," the ring whispered. "So vulnerable. So trusting."
"Shut up," Blake muttered under his breath.
"You could make her stay with you forever, you know. One simple command, and she'd never want to leave your side."
"I said shut up."
"You felt how good it was today. The power, the control. She enjoyed it too. Humans and demons alike—they all crave being dominated by something stronger than themselves."
Blake sat up, running his hands through his hair. The ring's voice was getting stronger, more insistent. Sometimes he caught himself thinking thoughts that didn't feel entirely his own.
"Blake?" Charlie stirred beside him. "You okay?"
"Just restless," he lied. "Go back to sleep."
Charlie propped herself up on one elbow, studying his face in the dim light. "The ring again?"
Blake nodded, not trusting his voice.
Charlie sat up and moved closer, taking his hands in hers. "What's it saying?"
"Things I don't want to think about. Ways I could use the power. People I could control." Blake's voice was barely above a whisper. "Sometimes the thoughts feel so natural, like they're mine. What if I'm losing myself, Charlie? What if I become someone you can't love?"
"Hey." Charlie cupped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay? The Blake I fell in love with is the same Blake who's sitting here worried about becoming a monster. Monsters don't agonize over their morality."
"But what if—"
"No what-ifs. Look at me." Charlie's voice was firm but gentle. "You are not your thoughts. You are your choices. And every day, you choose to be good. You choose to help people. You choose to fight against the ring's influence. That's what makes you who you are."
Blake felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. "I love you."
"I love you too. All of you. Even the scary supernatural parts." Charlie smiled. "Besides, if you ever do turn evil, I'll just have to seduce you back to the good side."
"That's your plan? Seduce me into being good?"
"I've got a very persuasive argument," Charlie said, leaning in to kiss him softly.
As their lips met, Blake felt the ring's whispers fade to silence. Whatever darkness was growing inside him, Charlie's love was stronger.
For now.
Vaggie POV - Workplace Revelations
"Impressive work, Vaggie," Carmilla said, examining the latest batch of angelic steel ingots. "Your efficiency has increased our production by 300%."
Vaggie nodded stiffly. "Just doing my job, ma'am."
"Indeed. Which is why I'm promoting you to floor supervisor permanently. Along with a substantial raise and additional privileges."
"What kind of privileges?"
"You may leave the compound during off-hours, provided you're accompanied by one of my daughters. Consider it... supervised freedom."
Vaggie blinked in surprise. She'd been expecting this arrangement to be pure punishment, but Carmilla was actually treating her like a valued employee.
"Why?" Vaggie asked.
"Because talent should be rewarded, regardless of its origin." Carmilla's expression softened slightly. "You've proven yourself to be reliable, efficient, and surprisingly honorable for an ex-angel."
"Gee, thanks."
"Don't be sarcastic. It doesn't suit you." Carmilla moved closer. "Tell me, Vaggie—are you happy here?"
The question caught Vaggie off guard. Happy? She hadn't thought about happiness in weeks. She'd been too busy surviving, adapting, trying not to think about everything she'd lost.
"I... don't know," she answered honestly.
"An honest response. Most people would lie." Carmilla studied her carefully. "You've been texting someone frequently. A friend?"
Vaggie's blood went cold. "How do you—"
"I don't monitor your personal communications, but body language is difficult to hide. You smile when you check your phone. It's... refreshing to see."
"It's complicated."
"The best relationships usually are." Carmilla turned toward the door. "Your first supervised outing will be tonight. Clara will escort you. Try to enjoy yourself."
As Carmilla left, Vaggie's phone buzzed with a new message.
[Velvette]: Plans tonight? I know a place with excellent drinks and terrible lighting. Perfect for clandestine meetings. 😉
Vaggie stared at the message, her heart racing. This was dangerous. Stupid. Probably going to end badly for everyone involved.
[Vaggie]: What time?
Some risks were worth taking.
Clara POV - Sisterly Advice
"You're seriously going to let her meet up with Velvette?" Odette asked as Clara got ready for what was officially a "routine supervised outing" and unofficially a date between an ex-angel and one of Hell's most dangerous social media influencers.
"What Mom doesn't know won't hurt her," Clara replied, checking her reflection. "Besides, Vaggie's been working her ass off. She deserves a night out."
"A night out, sure. But with one of the V's? Clara, that's not just dangerous—it's potentially catastrophic for our business."
"Relax. It's just drinks and flirting. What's the worst that could happen?"
Odette gave her a look that clearly said 'famous last words.'
"Look," Clara continued, "Vaggie's been miserable since she got here. Yeah, she's good at hiding it, but I can tell. She lost everything—her home, her purpose, her identity. If getting laid by a hot demon helps her feel better about her situation, who are we to judge?"
"We're the people who will have to explain to Mother why our most valuable asset ran off with the enemy."
"Vaggie's not going anywhere. She's too honorable to break her contract, and honestly? I think she's starting to like it here."
"What makes you say that?"
Clara pulled up security footage from the factory floor. "Watch her with the other workers. She's not just managing them—she's protecting them. Yesterday she stopped one of the guys from getting his hand caught in the machinery. Last week she covered for someone who was late because their kid was sick."
Odette studied the footage, her expression thoughtful. "She's adapting."
"She's healing. And if Velvette helps with that process, then good for both of them."
"You're assuming Velvette's intentions are pure."
Clara snorted. "Have you met Velvette? Her intentions are never pure. But they're not necessarily malicious either. Sometimes people just want to get laid."
"Eloquently put."
"I try." Clara grabbed her jacket. "Come on, we're going to be late for the most interesting train wreck in recent memory."
As they headed out, Clara couldn't help but feel like tonight was going to change everything. Whether for better or worse remained to be seen.
But it was definitely going to be entertaining.
Blake POV - Ancient Secrets
"The history of your ring is far more complex than the simple story I told you," Stolas continued, pulling out several ancient tomes from his library. "The legend I shared was merely the most well-known version. The truth goes much deeper."
Blake leaned forward, despite his unease. "How much deeper?"
"The Seal of Solomon has been appearing throughout history under different names and forms. Josephus wrote about a similar ring in the first century, used by one Eleazar to command demons in front of Emperor Vespasian. The Talmud tells of how Solomon used it to capture Asmodeus—the same demon who later stole it and ruled in Solomon's place for forty days."
"Wait," Charlie interrupted, "Asmodeus? Isn't he one of the Seven Deadly Sins?"
"Indeed, Princess. The King of Lust himself." Stolas's expression grew grave. "The ring has been stolen before, Blake. And each time, it corrupted its thief until they were consumed by its power."
Blake felt the ring pulse against his chest where it hung from Octavia's chain. Even through the protective links, he could sense its amusement at the conversation.
"But here's what's truly fascinating," Stolas continued, flipping through pages covered in symbols and diagrams. "The design has changed throughout history. Sometimes it's depicted as a hexagram—the six-pointed star you wear. Other times as a pentagram. Medieval Arab texts, Jewish Kabbalah, Byzantine Greeks, even ancient Mesopotamian cuneiform—all contain references to Solomon's Seal."
"So what does that mean?" Blake asked.
"It means," Lucifer's voice cut through the library air as he materialized in a swirl of golden light, "that the ring you're wearing is far older and more dangerous than any of us realized."
Blake jumped. "Jesus Christ, does everyone in Hell just teleport wherever they want?"
"Pretty much, yeah," Charlie said. "Dad, what are you doing here?"
"Damage control," Lucifer replied grimly. "Blake, we need to talk. The ring's energy signature has been detected by some very old, very powerful entities. And they're coming to collect."
Carmilla POV - Unlikely Chemistry
"Well, this is cozy," Carmilla said as she stepped through her own portal into Stolas's library. "A family reunion and I wasn't invited?"
Lucifer's jaw tightened. "Carmilla. Of course you'd show up."
"When the fate of Hell potentially hangs in the balance? Naturally." Carmilla moved with fluid grace toward the group, her eyes meeting Lucifer's with an intensity that made the air crackle. "Besides, someone needs to keep you from making another catastrophically poor decision."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, where do I start? Agreeing to the exterminations, abandoning your daughter for fifty years, letting your wife walk out—"
"That's enough," Lucifer snarled, his demonic form beginning to show around the edges.
"Is it?" Carmilla stepped closer, unafraid. "Because it seems to me you have a pattern of running away when things get difficult."
Charlie and Blake exchanged worried glances as the temperature in the room rose noticeably.
"I didn't run away," Lucifer said, his voice dangerously low. "I made strategic decisions—"
"You made coward's choices." Carmilla was close enough now that they were almost touching. "And now your daughter is paying the price for your emotional constipation."
"My emotional what now?"
"You heard me. When's the last time you actually talked to Charlie about anything that mattered? When's the last time you fought for what you believed in instead of just... existing?"
Lucifer stared at her, something shifting in his expression. "Why do you care?"
"Because someone has to." Carmilla's voice softened slightly. "Because watching you waste your potential is almost as frustrating as watching you push away everyone who gives a damn about you."
The silence stretched between them, charged with an tension that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with years of unspoken attraction and mutual respect.
"Um," Blake cleared his throat. "Should we leave you two alone to... work through whatever this is?"
"No," both Lucifer and Carmilla said simultaneously, then glared at each other for the synchronization.
Charlie grinned wickedly. "Oh, this is interesting."
"Charlie," Lucifer warned.
"What? I'm just saying, you two have some serious unresolved tension going on."
"We have professional disagreements," Carmilla said primly.
"Is that what we're calling it?" Lucifer's smile was sharp. "Because I seem to remember a certain arms dealer being very... vocal about her opinions on my leadership style."
"Well, someone needed to tell you that your isolationist approach was idotic."
"Idotic isn't a word."
"It is now. I'm making it a word specifically to describe your decision-making process."
Blake leaned over to Charlie. "Are they flirting or fighting?"
"With those two? What's the difference?"
Stolas cleared his throat loudly. "If you're quite finished with your... professional disagreement... we have more pressing matters to discuss."
Carmilla and Lucifer stepped apart, both looking slightly flustered.
"Right," Lucifer said, straightening his coat. "The ring. Blake, what you're wearing isn't just a single artifact. It's been appearing throughout history because it's a fragment of something much larger."
"Larger how?" Blake asked.
"The original Seal wasn't a ring," Carmilla explained, her professional demeanor restored. "It was a crown. A crown that gave its wearer dominion over all supernatural entities—angels, demons, everything in between."
Blake felt his blood go cold. "And my ring is a piece of that crown?"
"One of seven fragments," Lucifer confirmed. "Michael broke it apart after Solomon's death and scattered the pieces across dimensions to prevent anyone from reassembling it."
"But if someone were to collect all seven pieces..." Stolas said ominously.
"They would have power that could rival God himself," Carmilla finished.
The weight of the revelation settled over the room like a suffocating blanket.
"So what you're telling me," Blake said slowly, "is that I'm wearing a fragment of the most powerful magical artifact in existence, and there are six more pieces out there?"
"That's exactly what we're telling you," Lucifer replied.
"And other people know this?"
"Other people, demons, angels, cosmic entities that predate creation itself," Carmilla added helpfully. "Yes."
Blake sat down heavily in one of Stolas's chairs. "I think I'm going to be sick."
Charlie moved to his side immediately, taking his hand. "Hey, we'll figure this out. Together."
"Charlie's right," Lucifer said, his expression softening as he looked at his daughter. "We're not letting anyone take that ring from you, Blake. But we need to be smart about this."
"Which means," Carmilla interjected, "that you need proper training. Not just in controlling the ring's power, but in defending yourself against those who would take it."
"I suppose you have a training regimen in mind?" Lucifer asked dryly.
"I always do." Carmilla's smile was sharp. "Though it will require... close cooperation between our organizations."
"How close?" Lucifer's voice carried a warning and something else entirely.
"Very close. Daily meetings. Extended training sessions. Late night strategy discussions..."
Charlie coughed to hide a laugh. "Wow, you two really aren't subtle."
"We're being professional," Carmilla insisted.
"Extremely professional," Lucifer agreed.
"The most professional," Carmilla added.
Blake looked between them, then at Charlie. "Are all demon politics this sexually charged?"
"Only the fun ones," Charlie replied cheerfully. "Dad, just ask her out already. The sexual tension is making everyone uncomfortable."
"Charlotte!" Lucifer's face went red.
"What? You've been alone for fifty years, she's gorgeous and intelligent and obviously interested—"
"She is standing right here," Carmilla interrupted, though she was fighting a smile.
"And looking very beautiful while being talked about in the third person," Charlie continued relentlessly. "Dad, seriously. Life's short, eternity's long, and you're both clearly attracted to each other."
Lucifer and Carmilla looked at each other, the air between them crackling with possibility.
"Perhaps," Carmilla said carefully, "we could discuss the training arrangements over dinner. Somewhere... private."
"That sounds..." Lucifer paused, then seemed to make a decision. "That sounds lovely."
Blake shook his head in amazement. "I'm carrying a fragment of cosmic power that could destroy reality, we're being hunted by ancient entities, and you two are planning a date."
"Multi-tasking," Charlie said proudly. "It's a Morningstar family trait."
"I'm beginning to see that," Blake replied, then squeezed Charlie's hand. "So what's our next move?"
"Training," Lucifer and Carmilla said in unison, then glared at each other again for the synchronization.
"Lots and lots of training," Charlie added. "And probably some very awkward family dinners."
As the group began planning their next steps, Blake couldn't help but think that his life had somehow become simultaneously more complicated and more entertaining since falling into Hell.
He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
But with Charlie by his side and what appeared to be the beginning of an extremely dramatic romance between her father and their business partner, he had to admit it definitely wasn't boring.
Chapter 6: Prologue: Six
Chapter Text
Chapter Six: Transformations and Revelations
Blake POV - Combat Training and Transformation
One month in Hell, and Blake was beginning to realize he wasn't remotely human anymore.
The hellhounds circled him in Stolas's training room, their suits immaculate despite the violence they were about to unleash. What should have been a routine sparring session was rapidly becoming something else entirely—something darker, more primal.
"Remember Blake," Stolas called from his observation perch, adjusting his feathered collar nervously, "control is paramount. You're no longer fighting to survive—you're learning to master what you've become."
What I've become. The words echoed in Blake's mind as the first shots rang out.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Blake could hear each bullet's trajectory, feel the displacement of air as projectiles whizzed past his head. His enhanced senses mapped the room in perfect detail—every shadow, every scent, every heartbeat of his opponents.
The first hellhound, grey-furred and overconfident, rushed him with fangs bared and claws extended. Blake's knee connected with its solar plexus, and the satisfying crack of ribs breaking sent a thrill through him that was definitely not human. The hound flew backward, hitting the wall with enough force to leave a crater in the reinforced stone.
"Yes," whispered the ring's voice in his mind, a seductive purr that made his vision flash silver. "Feel the power. Embrace what you are becoming."
Two more hounds—black and brown—came at him simultaneously, trying to flank him. Blake grabbed the black one by the throat, his grip strong enough to crush windpipes, and used it as a battering ram against its partner. Both hit the wall with a wet thud that echoed through the chamber.
"Shit, sorry guys," Blake panted, but the apology felt hollow. Because the truth was, he wasn't sorry. The violence felt right. Natural. Like he was finally using muscles he'd forgotten he had.
Charlie watched from the observation deck, her red eyes wide with a mixture of concern and something that looked suspiciously like arousal. Seeing Blake move like liquid death, all controlled power and predatory grace, was doing things to her that she probably shouldn't be thinking about during combat training.
"Now to get serious," Blake snarled, and his voice carried a resonance that made the remaining hounds step back in genuine fear.
Blake summoned his silver hellfire, but it came easier now, more controlled. The flames danced around his hands like eager pets, and when he heated the metal of the hounds' guns until they glowed red-hot, their yelps of pain sounded like music to his enhanced hearing.
"More," the ring urged, its influence seeping deeper into his thoughts. "Show them what happens to those who dare challenge their superior."
Blake dove into the fray with inhuman speed, his enhanced strength sending bodies flying with each calculated strike. Bones popped with each impact, and he found himself relishing the sound. One hound tried to attack from behind, and Blake swept three opponents with a single kick, their forms embedding in the second-floor balustrades like grotesque art installations.
The scent of fear and blood filled his nostrils, and Blake felt his fangs extend further, his silver eyes blazing with inner fire. He was reaching for the white-furred hound, ready to demonstrate exactly what his enhanced strength could do to a spine, when—
"BLAKE! Stop. You won already."
Charlie's voice cut through the red haze like a blade of pure clarity. Blake froze, his hand inches from the whimpering hellhound's throat, and suddenly the world snapped back into focus. The bloodlust receded, leaving him shaking with the realization of what he'd almost done.
What the fuck was I doing?
"Come on," Charlie said softly, approaching with silver gloves designed to handle the ring's energy. "Hand it over. You've absorbed enough power for today."
Blake's first instinct was to refuse—the ring was his, part of him now, why should he give it up?—but the look in Charlie's eyes, equal parts love and concern, made him reconsider. Reluctantly, he pulled the chain over his head and placed it in her protected hands.
The moment the ring left his skin, clarity returned like a slap of cold water. The enhanced senses dimmed, the whispers stopped, and Blake was left feeling strangely hollow.
"According to my studies," Stolas said, helping his injured employees to their feet, "you're no longer fully human, Blake. The demonic energy you've absorbed has permanently altered your soul's composition. You are, for all intents and purposes, a Cambion now—half-human, half-demon."
Blake stared at his hands—still his hands, but stronger, faster, more dangerous. His reflection in the mirrored walls showed someone he barely recognized: silver eyes that glowed with inner fire, fangs that could tear through steel, an aura of barely contained power that made the air around him shimmer.
"I can't use the ring anymore," Blake said, his voice hoarse. "Not until I get my current power level under control. Hopefully what I've got now will be enough."
"Actually," Charlie said, studying the ring through her protective gloves, "I think you're more in control than you realize. A month ago, you would have killed them all without thinking. Today, you stopped when I asked."
"That's supposed to be reassuring?"
"It means you're still you, Blake. Just... upgraded." Charlie's smile was soft and proud. "And honestly? Watching you fight like that was incredibly sexy."
Blake felt his cheeks warm despite everything. "Charlie..."
"What? I'm allowed to find my boyfriend attractive when he's being all powerful and dangerous." She winked. "Besides, I happen to like the fangs."
Charlie and Blake POV - Meeting Angel Dust
Later that evening, Charlie dragged Blake to the V's tower for what she diplomatically called a "business meeting" and what Blake more accurately described as "walking into the lion's den."
The lobby was its usual chaos of desperate sinners and corporate excess, but Charlie's attention was immediately drawn to a figure lounging on one of the waiting area's plush couches. A tall spider demon in a striped suit, with impossibly long legs and carefully styled fur that looked more like fashionable hair.
"Excuse me," Charlie approached with her trademark enthusiasm, "do you work for the V's?"
The demon rolled multiple eyes in a gesture that somehow managed to convey both annoyance and amusement. "Nah, toots, I just sneak in here to steal the coffee. What do ya think?"
"Watch it," Blake said, his voice carrying just enough edge to make the spider's eyes snap to him with new interest.
"Well, well," the spider demon said, uncrossing his long legs and sauntering closer with predatory grace. "Didn't see you there, handsome. Name's Angel Dust, and you are one fine piece of—"
"Taken," Blake interrupted firmly, placing a protective hand on Charlie's waist. "Very, very taken."
Angel's grin widened, showing sharp teeth. "Ain't they all, sugar. Don't mean a guy can't appreciate the view." His gaze traveled appreciatively over Blake's enhanced physique. "And what a view it is."
Charlie felt a spike of possessive irritation that she tried to push down. She trusted Blake completely, but something about Angel's predatory confidence set her teeth on edge.
"I'm Charlie," she said, extending a hand with perhaps more firmness than necessary. "Princess of Hell. And this is my boyfriend Blake—the most amazing, loyal, completely unavailable man in any dimension."
Angel raised an eyebrow at her territorial display but accepted the handshake. "Princess, huh? Well, ain't you a peach. So what brings royalty to this den of sin and questionable business practices?"
"Actually," Blake said, his businessman instincts kicking in, "we're here because we have a proposition for you. Charlie runs a rehabilitation hotel—free room and board for demons looking to better themselves."
Angel's laugh was sharp and cynical. "Rehabilitation? In Hell? That's rich, doll. What's the catch?"
"No catch," Charlie insisted. "Just some basic rules—no hard drugs, no excessive drinking, no violence, and participation in group activities."
"Group activities?" Angel's expression turned skeptical. "What kind of group activities we talkin' about here?"
"Therapy sessions, skill-building workshops, community service projects," Charlie listed enthusiastically. "We want to help you develop healthy coping mechanisms and discover your potential for good."
Angel was quiet for a long moment, his cynical mask slipping slightly to reveal something vulnerable underneath. "And what makes you think I got any potential for good left in me?"
Blake studied the spider demon carefully, noting the carefully concealed pain behind the flippant attitude. "Because you're asking the question. Someone who was truly beyond redemption wouldn't care."
"That's either real smart or real naive, sugar."
"Why not both?" Blake's smile was understanding rather than judgmental. "Look, Angel, I've seen what rock bottom looks like. Sometimes the only way out is accepting help from people who believe in you when you can't believe in yourself."
Angel's facade cracked a little more. "And you believe in me? Don't even know me."
"I believe in second chances," Charlie said softly. "I believe that everyone deserves the opportunity to become who they're meant to be."
Before Angel could respond, a booming voice echoed through the lobby: "ANGEL! GET YOUR WORTHLESS ASS TO REHEARSALS BEFORE I SHOVE MY DICK UP YOUR ASS AND THROUGH YOUR SKULL!"
Blake's hands immediately ignited with silver hellfire as Charlie jumped behind him. Angel's face went pale, all his bravado evaporating in an instant.
"Shit," Angel muttered. "Val's in one of his moods."
"I'll handle this," Blake said grimly, extinguishing his flames but keeping his enhanced senses on high alert. "Charlie, call your dad if things go south."
"Blake, no," Angel grabbed his arm. "You don't understand—Val ain't someone you can just intimidate. He's got connections, power—"
"And I'm dating the Princess of Hell," Blake replied calmly. "Trust me, Angel. I've got this."
What followed was a tense confrontation that ended with Blake purchasing one of Angel's films and Valentino backing down in the face of potential royal retribution. When they emerged from the studio, Angel looked at Blake with something approaching respect.
"You actually stood up to Val," Angel said wonderingly. "Nobody does that. Nobody."
"Well, I'm not nobody," Blake replied. "And neither are you. The offer stands, Angel. You want out of this place, we'll help you make it happen."
Angel was quiet for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I'd like that."
Charlie's squeal of delight could probably be heard three rings down.
Velvette and Vaggie POV - The Date
Three days after their public debut as Hell's newest power couple, Velvette picked Vaggie up for their first official date in a limousine that cost more than most demons' annual income.
"You look stunning," Velvette said as Vaggie slid into the leather seat, and she meant it. Gone were the deliberately shabby clothes from the hotel opening. Instead, Vaggie wore a deep purple dress that hugged her curves perfectly, her grey hair styled in an elegant updo that showed off the graceful line of her neck.
"You clean up pretty well yourself," Vaggie replied, taking in Velvette's outfit—a black cocktail dress with strategic cutouts that somehow managed to be both elegant and scandalous.
"Where are we going?" Vaggie asked as the limo pulled away from the Carmine compound.
"Dinner first," Velvette said, pouring them both champagne from the limo's bar. "There's this little place in the Entertainment District that does incredible Italian food. Very private, very romantic. Then I thought we could go dancing."
"Dancing?"
"You do dance, don't you?"
"I... it's been a while," Vaggie admitted.
"Don't worry, angel face. I'll lead."
The restaurant was everything Velvette had promised—intimate, expensive, and completely private. They were seated at a corner table with a view of Hell's twisted skyline, surrounded by enough ambient noise to ensure their conversation remained confidential.
"So," Velvette said over appetizers, "tell me about this hotel situation. Are you actually buying into the whole redemption thing, or is this some kind of long-term con?"
Vaggie nearly choked on her wine. "What makes you think it's a con?"
"Please. You're an ex-exorcist who spent a century killing demons, and now you suddenly want to be redeemed? Either you've had the world's most dramatic personality transplant, or you're working an angle."
Vaggie studied Velvette's face, looking for any sign that this was a trap. But all she saw was genuine curiosity and perhaps a hint of admiration.
"What if it is an angle?" Vaggie asked carefully.
"Then I'd say you're even smarter than I thought." Velvette leaned forward conspiratorially. "Honestly, the Princess seems sweet, but she's naive as hell. Getting close to her, earning her trust, positioning yourself as indispensable—that's solid strategy."
"And you're okay with me manipulating your business partners?"
"Darling, this is Hell. Everyone's manipulating everyone. The only question is whether you're good at it." Velvette's smile was sharp. "And from what I can see, you're very good at it."
Vaggie felt an unexpected pang of guilt. Velvette's approval of her supposed manipulation skills should have felt like validation. Instead, it made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
"What about us?" Vaggie asked, changing the subject. "Is this real, or are we both just working angles?"
Velvette's expression softened. "For me? This is as real as anything gets in Hell. I don't do relationships, Vaggie. I do conquests and power plays and brief affairs that end when I get bored. But you..." She reached across the table to take Vaggie's hand. "You make me want to try something different."
"Different how?"
"Exclusive. Committed. All those disgusting romantic clichés that I used to mock." Velvette's thumb traced circles on Vaggie's palm. "I want to take care of you. I want to show you off. I want other demons to look at us and know that you chose me."
Vaggie felt her chest tighten with an emotion she couldn't quite name. "Velvette..."
"I know it's crazy. We've known each other for what, a week? But angel face, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that first day at the tower. You're gorgeous and deadly and you challenge me in ways I didn't know I needed."
"I'm damaged goods," Vaggie said quietly. "I've got more baggage than a luxury cruise ship, and most of it involves violence and betrayal."
"Good thing I like complicated women." Velvette's smile was warm and genuine. "Besides, I'm not exactly a stable relationship prospect myself. We can be disasters together."
Despite herself, Vaggie laughed. "That's either the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me, or the most honest."
"Why not both?"
After dinner, they went to one of Hell's more exclusive nightclubs—the kind of place where Overlords went to see and be seen. The music was loud enough to make conversation impossible, which suited Vaggie fine. She wasn't much of a talker anyway.
But she was, it turned out, a surprisingly good dancer.
"Where the hell did you learn to move like that?" Velvette shouted over the music as Vaggie spun her expertly across the dance floor.
"Military training includes combat choreography," Vaggie replied, pulling Velvette close enough that their bodies pressed together. "Angels are taught to fight in formation, which requires perfect timing and rhythm."
"Remind me to thank Heaven for their educational programs," Velvette purred, her hands finding their way to Vaggie's hips.
They danced until the club closed, lost in the music and each other. When they finally made it back to the limo, both were breathing hard and charged with the kind of energy that demanded release.
"Your place or mine?" Velvette asked, her voice husky with want.
Vaggie hesitated. Going to Velvette's place would mean leaving Carmine territory without permission. But staying here would mean bringing Velvette into the compound, which raised security concerns.
"Mine," she decided. "But you'll have to be gone before morning. Company policy."
"I can work with that," Velvette said, already reaching for Vaggie's zipper.
What followed was passionate and desperate and everything Vaggie had been trying not to think about for the past week. Velvette worshipped her body like she was something precious, mapping every scar and sensitivity with skilled hands and clever tongue.
When they finally collapsed together, sweaty and satisfied, Vaggie found herself tracing patterns on Velvette's bare shoulder.
"So," Velvette said lazily, "are we official now?"
"I think we were official the moment you announced it to all of Hell," Vaggie replied dryly.
"True. But I wanted to hear you say it."
Vaggie was quiet for a moment, then pressed a soft kiss to Velvette's collarbone. "Yes. We're official. You're my girlfriend, and I'm yours."
"Good," Velvette said, pulling her closer. "Because I'm not letting you go anytime soon."
Carmilla and Zestial POV - Warnings and Revelations
The next morning, Carmilla summoned Vaggie to her office for what she termed a "strategic briefing" and what Vaggie suspected was actually an interrogation about her relationship with Velvette.
But when Vaggie arrived at the appointed time, she found Carmilla wasn't alone. Standing in the corner like a living shadow was one of the most terrifying demons Vaggie had ever encountered—tall, gaunt, with skin like charcoal and glowing green eyes that seemed to pierce straight through to her soul.
"Vaggie," Carmilla said formally, "I'd like you to meet Zestial Morde, my mentor and one of Hell's oldest Overlords."
Zestial stepped forward with fluid grace, his archaic clothing rustling like autumn leaves. "So," he said in a voice that sounded like wind through a graveyard, "this be the fallen star that hath graced thy presence, Carmilla."
Vaggie felt every instinct she possessed screaming at her to run, but Clara and Odette flanked her supportively, their presence helping to anchor her courage.
"Sir," Vaggie said stiffly, offering a small bow.
"A warrior's bearing," Zestial observed approvingly. "And wise enough to show respect to her elders. Thou hast chosen thy protégée well, dearest Carmilla."
"Zestial has graciously agreed to brief you on recent developments," Carmilla explained. "There are... complications arising from your mission that require additional context."
"What kind of complications?" Vaggie asked, though she suspected she already knew.
"The ring," Zestial said simply. "The Seal of Solomon that adorns thy target's finger. 'Tis a relic of power most terrible, child. One that hath already begun to corrupt its bearer."
Vaggie felt a chill run down her spine. "Corrupt him how?"
"The boy groweth stronger with each passing day," Zestial explained, moving to examine an ancient text spread across Carmilla's desk. "His humanity fades as demonic essence taketh root in his very soul. Soon, he shall be neither man nor demon, but something... other."
"A Cambion," Carmilla added. "But one bonded to an artifact that grants dominion over supernatural entities. The implications are staggering."
"And dangerous," Zestial continued. "For if the boy should lose himself to the ring's influence entirely, he would become a threat not merely to Hell, but to all existence."
Vaggie absorbed this information with growing unease. "What does this mean for my mission?"
"It means," Carmilla said carefully, "that your role may need to evolve beyond simple intelligence gathering. We may need you to get close enough to the ring-bearer to... intervene, should it become necessary."
"Intervene how?"
"However the situation demands," Carmilla replied, her tone making it clear that all options remained on the table.
Zestial produced a small green spider from the folds of his coat, its body pulsing with eldritch energy. "This little one shall serve as our connection to thee whilst thou art within the Princess's domain. It will allow us to monitor thy progress and provide assistance should danger arise."
Vaggie stared at the spider with undisguised revulsion. "Is that really necessary?"
"I'm afraid so," Carmilla said. "The stakes are too high for us to operate blindly. This is not merely about gathering intelligence anymore, Vaggie. This is about preventing a potential apocalypse."
Reluctantly, Vaggie allowed Zestial to place the spider on her outstretched hand. The creature immediately burrowed into her skin, becoming a tattoo that crawled up her arm to settle at the base of her neck like a macabre collar.
"The binding is complete," Zestial intoned. "Fear not, young warrior. The familiar shall cause thee no harm unless thou dost betray thy oath."
"Comforting," Vaggie muttered, fighting the urge to scratch at the tingling sensation on her neck.
"There is one more matter," Carmilla said, pulling out a tablet displaying social media feeds. "Your relationship with Velvette has generated considerable attention. While this provides excellent cover for your activities, it also raises certain... concerns."
Vaggie's jaw tightened. "What kind of concerns?"
"The V's are our competitors, not our allies," Carmilla explained. "Your emotional attachment to one of their number could complicate your ability to carry out your duties objectively."
"My personal life won't interfere with the mission," Vaggie said firmly.
"See that it doesn't," Carmilla replied. "Because if it comes to a choice between your girlfriend and your obligations to this family, I trust you'll make the correct decision."
The threat hung in the air like smoke, and Vaggie felt the spider tattoo pulse against her neck as if in reminder of exactly who owned her soul.
"Understood," Vaggie said through gritted teeth.
"Excellent. Then you're dismissed. Your cover story and credentials have been prepared. You'll present yourself at the hotel tomorrow as a desperate sinner seeking redemption."
As Vaggie left the office, she caught Clara's sympathetic look and Odette's concerned frown. Both sisters understood the impossible position she was being placed in, but neither could do anything to help her.
Walking back to her quarters, Vaggie wondered how long she could maintain her balancing act between duty and desire, between the mission and her growing feelings for both Velvette and—if she was being honest with herself—the people at the hotel who were starting to feel like more than just targets.
The spider tattoo pulsed again, and Vaggie realized that regardless of her personal feelings, she was in too deep to turn back now.
Charlie and Blake POV - First Time
That evening, back at the hotel, Charlie found herself staring at the black package Valentino had "generously" included with Angel's film purchase. The contents had made her face turn roughly the same color as her hair, but they'd also given her an idea.
"Blake?" she called through their bedroom door. "I have a surprise for you."
"Good surprise or 'we need to call your father' surprise?" Blake replied, and she could hear the amusement in his voice.
"Definitely good," Charlie said, disappearing into the bathroom with the package. "Just... give me a few minutes."
Twenty minutes later, Charlie stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hardly recognizing herself. The lingerie fit like it had been custom-made—black lace with red accents, strategically placed hearts, and enough sheer fabric to make her feel both powerful and vulnerable.
You can do this, she told herself. You're an adult demon. You're allowed to want things. You're allowed to want him.
She opened the bathroom door and leaned against the frame, going for casual confidence and probably achieving 'nervous but determined.'
Blake looked up from where he sat on the bed, and his expression made every moment of self-doubt worth it. His silver eyes widened, then darkened with unmistakable desire.
"Holy fucking shit," he breathed. "Charlie, you're... you're absolutely perfect."
"You like it?" she asked, doing a slow turn that made the sheer skirt float around her thighs.
"Like it?" Blake stood, moving toward her with the fluid grace of his enhanced physique. "Charlie, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. In any dimension."
"Good," she said, surprised by how steady her voice sounded. "Because I have plans for you tonight, Blake Cedar."
Blake's smile turned predatory—all fangs and promise. "What kind of plans?"
"The kind that require privacy," Charlie murmured, using her magic to light candles around the room while dimming the electric lights. "The kind that require trust. The kind that—"
Blake kissed her, cutting off her nervous rambling with lips that tasted like sin and salvation combined. His hands found her waist, respectful but possessive, and Charlie melted into his embrace.
"Are you sure about this?" he whispered against her lips, his enhanced senses picking up her elevated heart rate and the subtle changes in her scent that indicated arousal. "Charlie, once we cross this line—"
"I've been sure for weeks," she interrupted, her hands finding the buttons of his shirt. "Blake, I love you. All of you. The human parts, the demonic parts, even the scary supernatural parts that could probably bench-press a car."
"Even those parts?"
"Especially those parts."
What followed was tender and desperate and perfect in all the ways Charlie had dreamed. Blake worshipped her body like she was something sacred, his enhanced senses allowing him to map every sensitive spot with devastating precision. When he used those fangs on her neck—just enough pressure to make her gasp without breaking skin—Charlie saw actual stars.
His enhanced strength meant he could hold her exactly where she wanted to be, could lift and position her with effortless ease. But more than that, it was the way he looked at her—like she was the most precious thing in all of creation, like he couldn't believe she was real and choosing to be with him.
"Blake," she gasped as he lavished attention on the sensitive spot below her ear, "I need... I need..."
"What do you need, Princess?" His voice was rough with desire and affection. "Tell me what you want."
"You," she breathed. "All of you. I want to be yours completely."
Blake's control snapped at her words, and suddenly they were moving together with desperate urgency. Every touch sent lightning through Charlie's nervous system, every kiss tasted like forever, and when they finally came together it felt like coming home.
They moved together like they'd been made for each other, finding a rhythm that was theirs alone. Blake's enhanced stamina meant he could maintain their pace longer than any human could have managed, while Charlie's demonic nature meant she could match his intensity without fear of being hurt.
"I love you," Blake whispered against her throat as they moved together, his fangs grazing her skin in a way that made her arch beneath him. "Charlie, I love you so much it scares me."
"I love you too," she gasped, her nails leaving crescents in his shoulders as pleasure built between them like a gathering storm. "Blake, I love you more than anything in any realm."
When they finally reached their peak together, their combined cries of release shook the entire hotel. Charlie collapsed against Blake's chest, both of them breathing hard and grinning like idiots.
"So," Blake said after they'd caught their breath, "how was that for a first time?"
"Perfect," Charlie murmured, pressing a kiss to his collarbone where she could feel his pulse still racing. "Absolutely perfect."
"Good," Blake said, his arms tightening around her possessively. "Because I plan on doing that again. Frequently."
Charlie laughed, feeling drunk on happiness and afterglow and the certainty that she'd found her person in the most unlikely place imaginable.
"I love you, Blake Cedar."
"I love you too, Princess Charlotte Morningstar. Forever."
Outside their room, the rest of Hell continued its eternal chaos, but inside their sanctuary, wrapped in each other's arms, Charlie and Blake had found something that even the forces of darkness couldn't touch: perfect, absolute love.
Epilogue - The Hotel's Grand Opening
Three days after Charlie and Blake's first night together, Lucifer surprised everyone by actually following through on his promise to help promote the hotel. A press release appeared across Hell's media networks, announcing the grand opening of the "Harmony Hotel" - Charlie's rehabilitation center for sinners seeking redemption.
"Did you see this shit?" Angel Dust asked, scrolling through his phone at the hotel's newly installed breakfast bar. "Your old man actually came through, Princess."
Charlie bounced excitedly beside Blake, who was making coffee with the focused intensity of someone who'd learned to appreciate good caffeine after a month in Hell. "I can't believe Dad actually did it! Look at the coverage - we're trending on VoxBook, Sintagram, even TikTok!"
"TikTok exists in Hell?" Blake asked, pausing mid-pour.
"Hun, everything exists in Hell. That's kind of the point," Charlie replied, stealing a sip of his coffee. "Oh, this is perfect timing! If sinners are actually going to show up, we need to make sure everything's ready for—"
She was interrupted by a knock at the hotel's front doors - not the aggressive pounding they'd grown accustomed to from bill collectors and angry neighbors, but a hesitant, almost reluctant tapping.
"Our first potential guest!" Charlie squealed, practically vibrating with excitement. "Blake, Angel, how do I look? Do I look professional? Welcoming? Like someone who can definitely help you get into Heaven?"
"You look like someone who's about to give herself a heart attack from pure enthusiasm," Angel observed dryly. "Maybe dial it back like... twenty percent?"
Blake wrapped his arms around Charlie from behind, pressing a calming kiss to her temple. "You look perfect, Princess. Just be yourself."
Charlie took a deep breath, smoothed down her blazer, and opened the doors with what she hoped was a welcoming but professional smile.
Standing on the other side was a grey-haired demon in a red dress that had clearly seen better days. Her single visible eye was guarded, almost hostile, and everything about her posture screamed 'reluctant but desperate.' What caught Blake's attention immediately, however, was the barely visible tattoo crawling up her neck - and the way his ring suddenly grew warm against his chest.
"Hi," the demon said, her voice carefully neutral. "I'm here about the... rehabilitation thing?"
"Yes!" Charlie practically bounced on her heels. "Please, come in! I'm Charlie, this is my boyfriend Blake, and that's Angel Dust. Welcome to the Harmony Hotel!"
The newcomer stepped inside, her gaze immediately cataloging exits, potential weapons, and defensive positions with military precision. "Vaggie," she said simply. "And before you ask - yes, I know how it sounds. No, I didn't choose it."
Angel snorted with laughter. "Trust me, doll, we've all got names we ain't thrilled about. At least yours doesn't imply you're a walking pharmacy."
"Or a breakfast pastry," Blake added helpfully.
Vaggie's mouth twitched slightly - not quite a smile, but close. "Fair points."
Blake studied her carefully, noting the way she carried herself, the strategic positioning, the barely concealed wariness. His enhanced senses picked up something else too - a scent that was distinctly different from other demons, something that reminded him of ozone and starlight.
Angel, he realized with a start. She's the fallen angel Carmilla wanted me to retrieve.
"So," Charlie continued, oblivious to Blake's realization, "what brings you to us? What made you decide that redemption was worth pursuing?"
Vaggie was quiet for a moment, and Blake could practically see her cycling through potential lies before settling on something closer to the truth. "I lost everything. My home, my purpose, my... family. Figured maybe it was time to try a different approach to existence."
"That's so brave," Charlie said softly, and her genuine compassion seemed to catch Vaggie off guard. "Starting over is never easy, especially when you've lost so much."
"Yeah, well," Vaggie shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with sympathy. "Don't get too excited. I'm probably going to be a terrible student."
"Nah," Angel interjected, sprawling across one of the lobby couches with practiced grace. "Terrible students are my specialty. Besides, misery loves company, and I got plenty of both to share."
"Charming," Vaggie replied, but there was almost-fondness in her tone.
Blake's phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: Package delivered as requested. Payment will be discussed at our next meeting. - C
He glanced at Vaggie, who was now engaged in what appeared to be a verbal sparring match with Angel about the relative merits of cynicism versus nihilism, and made a mental note to have a very careful conversation with Charlie about their newest guest.
"Well!" Charlie clapped her hands together. "This calls for a celebration! Blake, could you make some of that amazing coffee for everyone? And maybe we should call the press - our first official resident checking in is definitely newsworthy!"
"About that," Vaggie said quickly. "I'd prefer to keep a low profile. Media attention isn't really my thing."
"Oh, of course! Whatever makes you comfortable." Charlie's expression turned thoughtful. "Although, if you're comfortable with it, maybe we could do a small social media post? Nothing identifying, just a general 'new resident' announcement?"
Before Vaggie could respond, Angel's phone exploded with notification sounds.
"What the hell?" Angel muttered, scrolling rapidly. "Uh, Vags? You might wanna see this."
Vaggie looked at the phone Angel held out, and her visible eye went wide. On the screen was a professionally shot photo of her and Velvette from their date, posted to all of Velvette's social media accounts with the caption:
"Meet my girlfriend @VaggieOfficial 💋 She's gorgeous, she's dangerous, and she's MINE. Also apparently seeking redemption at Princess Charlie's hotel - because even bad girls deserve second chances. #Vaggette #PowerCouple #RedemptionIsSexy"
"Oh fuck," Vaggie breathed.
"HOLY SHIT!" Angel jumped up from the couch. "You're dating Velvette?! THE Velvette? Fashion week, social media queen, one-third of the V's Velvette?!"
"It's complicated," Vaggie muttered, her face flushing red.
"Complicated my ass! Do you know how many demons would kill for a chance to even talk to her?" Angel was practically vibrating with excitement. "And she's calling you her girlfriend! On main! With heart emojis!"
Charlie looked between the phone and Vaggie with growing understanding. "So when you said you lost your family..."
"It's not what you think," Vaggie said quickly. "Velvette and I... we just started seeing each other. It's new."
"New enough that she's publicly claiming you across all social media platforms," Blake observed with amusement. "That's either very confident or very possessive."
"Both," Vaggie admitted. "Definitely both."
Angel cackled with delight. "Oh, this is perfect! Princess Charlie's hotel is gonna be the hottest story in Hell - redemption, romance, reality TV drama all rolled into one!"
"It's not reality TV," Charlie protested weakly.
"Babe, with your track record? Everything's reality TV," Angel replied. "But hey, at least it'll be entertaining reality TV."
Blake's phone rang - Vox's number. He answered with resignation. "Let me guess - you want to discuss media strategy?"
"Blake, my boy!" Vox's voice crackled with electronic enthusiasm. "This is perfect! A fallen angel seeking redemption while dating one of my business partners? The publicity potential is enormous!"
"I'm hanging up now," Blake said.
"Wait! We need to discuss how this affects our arrangement—"
Blake paused, glancing at Charlie, then made a decision. "Actually, you know what? You should pitch this to my boss." He put the phone on speaker. "Charlie, meet Vox. Vox, meet Princess Charlie - the actual brains behind this operation."
"Your Highness!" Vox's voice filled the lobby, suddenly dripping with corporate charm. "What an absolute pleasure! I've been telling Blake how much I admire your vision for demon rehabilitation."
Charlie blinked in surprise. "Oh! Um, thank you? Blake mentioned you were helping with publicity."
"Among other things," Vox continued smoothly. "Actually, I have a proposition that could benefit everyone involved. You see, I'm developing a new game show - high stakes, high drama, perfect for showcasing extraordinary abilities."
Angel perked up with interest. "Ooh, like a talent show?"
"More like gladiatorial combat meets reality TV," Vox explained. "Contestants face increasingly difficult challenges while viewers vote on outcomes. Very interactive, very engaging."
Blake felt his enhanced senses pick up the subtle shift in Charlie's mood - curiosity mixed with wariness. "What does this have to do with the hotel?" she asked.
"Well, Princess, your boyfriend here has some truly remarkable abilities. Abilities that would make for compelling television. Imagine - Blake competing in our arena, showcasing the power of redemption, proving that even the most dangerous beings can choose to use their strength for good."
"Absolutely not," Charlie said immediately. "Blake isn't a performing monkey for your entertainment."
"Charlie—" Blake started.
"No, Blake. I'm not letting Vox turn you into some kind of spectacle."
Vox's laugh crackled through the speaker. "Princess, please! This isn't exploitation - it's marketing genius. Think of the exposure for your hotel! Blake wins a few rounds, demonstrates that rehabilitated beings can be trusted with power, and suddenly every demon in Hell is talking about redemption."
Vaggie watched this exchange with sharp interest, noting how protective Charlie became and how Blake seemed to be considering the offer despite the obvious risks.
"What kind of challenges are we talking about?" Blake asked, ignoring Charlie's sharp look.
"Combat scenarios, puzzle solving under pressure, tests of moral character," Vox explained enthusiastically. "All designed to showcase different aspects of supernatural ability. The audience loves watching powerful beings pushed to their limits."
"And if Blake gets hurt?" Charlie demanded.
"Medical team on standby, full insurance coverage, and healing magic at the ready," Vox replied smoothly. "Plus, given Blake's unique... enhancements... I doubt anything we throw at him would pose a serious threat."
Angel whistled low. "Damn, that actually sounds pretty entertaining. Like, terrifying, but entertaining."
"The prize money alone would fund your hotel for years," Vox added. "Plus the publicity value is incalculable. One successful season, and you'll have sinners lining up to join your program."
Charlie looked torn between her protective instincts and her desire to see the hotel succeed. "Blake, you can't seriously be considering this."
Blake studied her face, then smiled gently. "Charlie, love, you said it yourself - sometimes we have to take risks to prove what we believe in. If I can show Hell that power doesn't have to corrupt, that strength can be used to protect rather than dominate..."
"It's brilliant marketing," Vox continued. "The reformed bad boy with supernatural abilities, fighting not for personal gain but to prove redemption is possible. The audience will eat it up."
"What's the catch?" Vaggie asked suddenly, speaking for the first time since the call began.
"Smart question," Vox replied approvingly. "No catch, per se. Blake competes, showcases his abilities, promotes the hotel's mission. Win or lose, everyone benefits from the exposure."
"Except if Blake gets killed on live television," Angel pointed out cheerfully.
"Which won't happen," Vox said quickly. "We have the best safety protocols in Hell."
Blake looked at Charlie, seeing the war between her fears and her dreams playing out across her face. "Princess, it's your call. This is your hotel, your mission. I'll do whatever you think is best."
Charlie was quiet for a long moment, then sighed. "What would this involve exactly? How many episodes, what kind of time commitment?"
"Standard season is twelve episodes, filmed over six weeks," Vox explained. "Blake would need to be available for challenges, interviews, and promotional events. Nothing that would interfere with hotel operations."
"And the other contestants?" Charlie asked.
"A carefully selected mix of Overlords, Goetia nobility, and other supernatural beings," Vox replied. "All consenting adults looking to prove their superiority on camera."
Blake felt the ring pulse against his chest, responding to his elevated emotions. The idea of testing himself against Hell's elite was more appealing than he cared to admit.
"I need time to think about it," Charlie said finally.
"Of course! Take all the time you need," Vox said magnanimously. "Just remember - opportunities like this don't come around often. And with your new resident's relationship status trending across all platforms, the timing couldn't be more perfect."
"We'll be in touch," Blake said, ending the call.
The lobby fell silent except for the sound of Angel scrolling through social media and Vaggie's barely audible snort of amusement.
"Well," Charlie said finally, "that was unexpected."
"Welcome to dating Blake Cedar," Angel said without looking up from his phone. "Never a dull moment with this one."
"Is it always going to be like this?" Vaggie asked. "Overlords calling with increasingly ridiculous proposals?"
"Probably," Blake admitted. "Sorry about that."
"Don't apologize," Charlie said, moving to stand beside him. "This is what we signed up for - changing Hell, one impossible situation at a time."
Blake wrapped his arm around her waist, marveling again at how perfectly she fit against his side. "So what do you think? Game show or no game show?"
"Ask me after I've had more coffee," Charlie replied. "And after we figure out how to handle our new resident's trending relationship status."
Vaggie looked between them, noting the easy affection and shared decision-making. Whatever she'd expected from the Princess of Hell and her human boyfriend, it wasn't this kind of genuine partnership.
This could complicate things, she thought, the spider tattoo pulsing against her neck as if in agreement.
But as she watched Charlie fuss over Blake's coffee and Angel provide running commentary on social media reactions, Vaggie found herself thinking that maybe - just maybe - her mission was going to be more interesting than she'd anticipated.
"Business partners?" she asked casually.
"It's complicated," Blake echoed her earlier words. "But don't worry - it won't interfere with your stay here. Charlie's rehabilitation program is completely independent of any... external arrangements."
Vaggie nodded slowly, filing that information away for later analysis.
"Well," Charlie said brightly, "this is certainly an exciting start to our first day as a real, functioning hotel! Vaggie, let me show you to your room - it's right across from Angel's, so you'll have someone nearby if you need anything."
"Lucky me," Vaggie muttered, but she was almost smiling.
As they headed upstairs, Angel fell into step beside the newest resident. "So, dating an Overlord, huh? How's that working out for ya?"
"Ask me in a week," Vaggie replied. "Assuming I survive that long."
"Aw, come on, it can't be that bad. I mean, sure, Overlords are manipulative, power-hungry control freaks with abandonment issues and a tendency toward dramatic gestures..."
"You're really selling it."
"But hey, the sex is probably amazing."
"ANGEL!" Charlie's scandalized voice echoed down the hallway.
"What? I'm just saying, power is an aphrodisiac! It's like, scientific fact or whatever!"
Blake shook his head, grinning as he listened to their banter fade up the stairs. Angel and Vaggie were going to be an interesting combination - the cynical porn star and the guarded ex-warrior, both trying to figure out how to be something other than what Hell expected them to be.
His phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Charlie: I love you. Thank you for making this possible.
Blake looked around the hotel lobby - their hotel lobby - and felt something settle in his chest that he hadn't experienced since before the dig. Purpose. Belonging. Hope.
Maybe redemption was possible after all.
Even in Hell.
Chapter 7: Game Show
Chapter Text
Chapter Seven: Game of Power
Blake POV - Morning Summons
Blake's phone buzzed like an angry wasp at 6 AM, dragging him from dreams of archaeological digs that didn't end in cosmic horror. Charlie mumbled something intelligible against his chest, her blonde hair a tangled mess that somehow made her look even more beautiful.
The text was vintage Vox—direct and obnoxious: Get your ass to the tower in ten for the Overlords meeting. Time to show those stuck-up bitches who runs this Ring. Good press op for your babe's hotel~
"Fuck me, he wants a poster boy," Blake muttered, carefully extracting himself from Charlie's embrace.
Charlie stirred as Blake emerged from the shower, water still dripping from his enhanced physique. She blinked sleepily at him, then her eyes widened as she noticed the high-tech battle uniform Vox had delivered yesterday—black tactical gear with silver accents that matched his transformed features.
"Blake... where are you going dressed like you're about to storm a fortress?"
"Vox wants me at an Overlord meeting," Blake said, adjusting the combat jacket. "Says he'll do another campaign run for the hotel if I attend."
"A WHAT—Blake, that's suicide! Even for the hotel—"
"I know it's risky, but so is blowing Vox off." Blake sat on the bed, taking her hands. "He could strip your life's work of any attention, and we both know how hard it is to get your dad motivated to help."
Charlie growled in frustration, her demonic features flickering briefly. "Fine, but I'm not letting you walk into a room full of Overlords alone. I'm the Princess of Hell—that has to count for something."
"What about Vaggie and Angel? Someone needs to keep them from murdering each other."
"Actually," Charlie's expression brightened, "this could be perfect. Vaggie's dating Velvette, who'll probably be there. And Angel... this could be his first real test of accountability."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "You want to leave Angel Dust alone with an entire hotel?"
"It's called personal growth through responsibility," Charlie said with the confidence of someone who'd read too many self-help books. "Either he'll prove himself, or he'll fuck up spectacularly and learn a valuable lesson."
"And if he burns the place down?"
"Then we'll have a very educational conversation about consequences."
Vaggie POV - Divided Loyalties
Twenty minutes later, Vaggie sat in the hotel's kitchen, nursing her third cup of coffee and trying to ignore the way Blake and Charlie kept exchanging worried glances. The spider tattoo on her neck pulsed gently—Carmilla's reminder that she was still very much owned.
"You're positive it's okay to leave Angel with an entire hotel?" she asked Blake, who was shoveling hashbrowns into his mouth like he was fueling for war.
"Charlie wants it to be a test of character. I'm expecting him to give in to temptation, then learn a lesson about accountability. Either way, someone's getting educated today. Potatoes?"
Vaggie declined but filled a travel mug with coffee. She was nervous about seeing Velvette again—their relationship was still new, still fragile, built on attraction and mutual manipulation rather than anything deeper. And if Carmilla was at this meeting...
They left four notes for Angel—on his door, in the dining room, the foyer, and the kitchen. Blake's were stern warnings about consequences and responsibility. Charlie's were encouraging reminders about personal growth. Vaggie's simply said: Don't be a dick.
"Think he'll listen?" Charlie asked as they climbed into the limo.
"He'll do whatever Angel thinks is most entertaining," Vaggie replied. "Question is whether that aligns with your definition of responsible behavior."
Blake snorted. "My money's on chaos."
"That's why it's a test," Charlie said primly. "Growth requires challenge."
Velvette POV - Fashion and Manipulation
The V's tower buzzed with pre-meeting energy as various Overlords and their entourages arrived. Velvette stood in her private studio, putting the finishing touches on an outfit that would make jaws drop and cameras flash—a black and magenta ensemble that screamed 'dangerous and I know it.'
Her phone buzzed with a security alert: Vaggie had arrived with Princess Charlie and the ring-bearer. Perfect timing.
"Ma'am?" One of her assistants peeked through the door. "Your girlfriend is here with the Princess's party."
"Send them up," Velvette commanded, then paused. "Actually, just send Vaggie. The royals can wait in the lobby."
Minutes later, Vaggie appeared in the doorway, looking stunning in the red dress they'd picked out during their shopping trip. But something was off—tension in her shoulders, wariness in her single visible eye.
"Well, well," Velvette purred, moving to embrace her girlfriend. "What brings my beautiful angel to this den of corporate sin?"
"Vox summoned Blake for some kind of Overlord meeting," Vaggie replied, accepting the kiss but remaining guarded. "Charlie came as backup."
"And you came as...?"
"Moral support. And maybe to see my incredibly attractive girlfriend work her magic."
Velvette's smile widened. "Flatterer. Though I do love watching you watch me work." She gestured toward her design station. "Actually, perfect timing. I need a model for my new line, and you'd look absolutely devastating in these pieces."
Vaggie examined the sketches—elegant, dangerous, designed to showcase rather than conceal. "Velvette, I don't know if I'm ready for—"
"For being photographed looking like the goddess you are? For showing Hell that you're mine?" Velvette moved closer, her voice dropping to that persuasive purr that made Vaggie's resistance crumble. "Angel face, you're stunning. Let me show the world what I see when I look at you."
Before Vaggie could respond, another voice cut through the tension.
"How touching. Young love in full bloom."
Both women turned to see Carmilla Carmine standing in the doorway, elegant and dangerous in her signature white and red. Her dark eyes took in the scene with calculating interest.
"Carmilla," Velvette said coolly. "Didn't expect to see you in my studio."
"I was looking for someone," Carmilla replied, her gaze fixed on Vaggie. "Hello, dear. You look... well."
Vaggie felt the spider tattoo pulse against her neck—a reminder of exactly who owned her soul. "Ma'am."
Velvette's eyes narrowed as she caught the formal address, the way Vaggie's posture shifted to military attention. "Interesting. Very interesting."
"Is it?" Carmilla moved into the room with predatory grace. "I was simply greeting an old friend."
"Friend?" Velvette's voice carried a dangerous edge. "That's what we're calling it?"
The tension in the room ratcheted up several degrees. Vaggie found herself caught between her girlfriend's protective fury and her owner's icy control, the spider tattoo pulsing faster with each passing second.
"Ladies," Vaggie said carefully, "maybe we should—"
"Actually," Velvette interrupted, her social media instincts kicking into overdrive, "I think we should talk. All of us. About relationships, and ownership, and the interesting way some people treat their... friends."
Carmilla's smile was sharp as a blade. "By all means. Let's talk."
Blake POV - Into the Lion's Den
The Overlord meeting room was a study in intimidation—high ceilings, dark wood, and enough supernatural predators to make a pack of velociraptors look cuddly. Blake counted at least a dozen beings who could probably kill him without breaking a sweat, and that was before factoring in whatever cosmic bullshit they might be carrying.
Vox materialized beside them with his trademark electronic grin. "Blake! Princess! Welcome to the big leagues. Try not to die, it's terrible for ratings."
"Comforting," Blake muttered, his enhanced senses cataloging potential threats and escape routes.
"Oh, don't worry," Vox continued cheerfully, "most of them are more interested in posturing than actual violence. It's like a very expensive, very dangerous pissing contest."
"And we're here because...?" Charlie asked.
"Because Blake here is going to demonstrate why the V's are the future of Hell's entertainment industry," Vox explained, leading them toward a raised platform in the center of the room. "Think of it as a job interview with more explosions."
That's when Blake spotted him—a tall, aristocratic demon with green skin and a familiar sneer. Seviathan von Eldritch, Charlie's ex-boyfriend, looking like he'd stepped out of a Gothic romance novel and into a revenge fantasy.
"Well, well," Seviathan drawled, approaching with predatory confidence. "Charlotte. Still slumming it with strays, I see."
Charlie's grip on Blake's arm tightened. "Sev. Still compensating for personality deficits with expensive clothes?"
"Ouch. That almost hurt." Seviathan's gaze shifted to Blake. "So you're the human who thinks he can handle our Charlotte. How... quaint."
Blake felt the ring pulse against his chest, responding to his rising anger. "And you're the ex-boyfriend who couldn't keep her interested. How... pathetic."
Seviathan's eyes flashed with fury. "Careful, mongrel. You're out of your depth here."
"Am I?" Blake let some of his enhanced presence leak out, shadows bending slightly around him. "Funny, I seem to recall beating your sister into the ground without breaking a sweat."
"Gentlemen," Vox interrupted, practically vibrating with excitement, "save it for the arena! Speaking of which..." He gestured toward the platform, where magical barriers were rising. "Ladies and Overlords, welcome to the inaugural episode of 'Trial by Fire'—Hell's newest and most dangerous game show!"
The room filled with interested murmurs as Vox launched into his pitch. Blake half-listened, more focused on the way Seviathan was glaring at him with murderous intent.
"The rules are simple," Vox continued. "Contestants face three challenges—Combat, Strategy, and Character. Last one standing wins a prize package worth millions of souls and bragging rights for the next century."
"And if we refuse to participate?" asked a particularly intimidating Overlord with too many teeth.
"Then you miss out on the greatest publicity opportunity in Hell's history," Vox replied smoothly. "But I'm sure none of you would let a little thing like pride get in the way of good business."
Blake felt Charlie squeeze his arm. "You don't have to do this," she whispered.
"Actually," Blake said, loud enough for the room to hear, "I think I do. Someone needs to show these assholes that power doesn't automatically make you right."
Seviathan's laugh was like breaking glass. "How noble. I accept the challenge as well. Time to show this pretender what real breeding looks like."
"Excellent!" Vox clapped his hands together. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have our first competitors!"
Carmilla POV - The Overlord Assembly
The Overlord meeting room was designed to intimidate—high vaulted ceilings, obsidian walls, and a circular table that could seat the ten most powerful demons in Hell. Carmilla took her usual seat, noting who was present and, more importantly, who was absent.
Alastor's chair remained empty, as it had for seven years now. The Radio Demon's mysterious disappearance had left a power vacuum that everyone was eager to fill, but no one quite dared to claim his seat outright.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Vox announced with his trademark electronic grin, "welcome to tonight's very special Overlord assembly. We have some... entertainment planned."
Rosie, the elegant cannibal queen, raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Entertainment? Vox, darling, if this is another one of your reality show pitches—"
"Oh, it's much better than that," Vox interrupted. "Tonight, we get to see the Princess's pet human in action. Consider it a field test of his... capabilities."
Carmilla felt her attention sharpen. This was about more than entertainment—this was Vox positioning himself as the power behind Blake's abilities, demonstrating his influence over the royal family.
"The boy with the ring," rumbled Zestial from his corner of shadows. "Most intriguing. I confess curiosity about his... evolution."
"Evolution is right," said Frederick von Eldritch, his yellow teeth gleaming. "My son seems to think this mongrel needs putting in his place. Personally, I'm inclined to agree."
"Your son thinks a lot of things," Carmilla observed coolly. "Most of them wrong."
Frederick's expression darkened, but before he could respond, the arena's barriers activated. Through the magical screens, they could see Blake and Seviathan taking their positions.
"Shall we see what your protégé is truly capable of?" Frederick asked Carmilla with mock politeness.
"He's not my protégé," Carmilla replied, though she made a mental note to pay close attention to Blake's performance. If he was going to be a major player in Hell's hierarchy, she needed to know exactly what they were dealing with.
As the first round began, Carmilla found herself genuinely impressed by Blake's tactical thinking. He wasn't just relying on brute force or the ring's power—he was adapting, learning, fighting smart.
"Interesting," she murmured to herself, earning a sharp look from Zestial.
"The boy shows restraint," the ancient Overlord observed. "Most who bear such power cannot resist its... temptations."
"Most who bear such power don't have someone like Charlotte Morningstar keeping them grounded," Carmilla replied.
When Blake chose to win through moral superiority rather than domination in the final round, Carmilla found herself joining the applause. Not because she approved of mercy—she was far too practical for that—but because she recognized the intelligence behind the choice.
Blake hadn't just won a game show. He'd demonstrated that he could resist the ring's corruption while still showcasing its power. That made him either very dangerous or very valuable.
Possibly both.
Blake POV - Trial by Fire
The arena had transformed into something out of a gladiatorial nightmare—floating platforms, swirling energy barriers, and obstacle courses designed by someone with a serious grudge against gravity. Blake stood at one end, Seviathan at the other, while Vox provided commentary that somehow made everything sound like a wrestling match.
This wasn't just about Vox's publicity stunt anymore. This was Blake's chance to prove himself, to show Hell—and more importantly, himself—that he was worthy of standing beside Charlie as an equal rather than just her rescued human pet.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Round One: THE GAUNTLET OF AGONY!" Vox announced with electronic glee. "Our contestants must navigate a shifting mechanical maze while being hunted by my personally designed Exterminator Drones!"
The arena floor split open with grinding metal, revealing a three-dimensional maze of shifting walls, razor-wire obstacles, and steam vents that hissed with superheated vapor. But the real threat emerged from hidden compartments—sleek chrome demons with glowing red sensors and enough weaponry to level a city block.
"Oh, and did I mention?" Vox added with sadistic cheer, "the maze reconfigures every thirty seconds based on our contestants' performance! The better you do, the harder it gets!"
Blake felt the ring pulse against his chest as the first wave of mechanical demons poured into the maze. Their movements were precise, calculated, designed to corner and overwhelm. Seviathan was already moving, his shadow form allowing him to slip through gaps and avoid direct confrontation.
The first machine that targeted Blake got a face full of silver hellfire. But instead of melting, its chrome armor simply absorbed the energy and redirected it back as a focused laser beam that Blake barely dodged.
"Adaptive armor," Blake muttered. "Of course."
The mechanical demon rushed him with hydraulic-powered limbs and spinning blade attachments. Blake ducked the first swipe, grabbed its arm, and discovered that his enhanced strength was barely enough to match its mechanical power. This wasn't going to be a quick fight.
As the maze reconfigured around them, Blake found himself separated from Seviathan and facing three more drones. His archaeological instincts kicked in—read the patterns, find the weak points, use the environment.
The spinning blade trap to his left wasn't just an obstacle—it was a weapon. Blake baited the first drone into charging, then rolled aside at the last second. The machine's momentum carried it straight into the trap, which shredded its adaptive armor and exposed its core systems to Blake's hellfire.
"Clever boy," Seviathan's voice echoed through the maze. "But cleverness only goes so far."
Blake could hear the Goetia prince fighting his own battles—the sound of shadow magic clashing with chrome and steel. But Seviathan was struggling; his aristocratic training had prepared him for magical combat, not mechanical warfare.
The maze shifted again, walls grinding into new configurations as Blake fought his way toward the center. Each mechanical demon he destroyed seemed to teach the others his tactics, forcing him to constantly adapt and innovate.
When he finally reached the central platform—a raised disc surrounded by spinning energy barriers—Seviathan was already there, looking battered but determined.
"Took you long enough," the Goetia prince sneered.
"Had to stop and appreciate the craftsmanship," Blake replied, breathing hard.
The final challenge materialized between them: a massive mechanical construct that dwarfed the earlier drones. This one had adaptive armor, multiple weapon systems, and what looked suspiciously like artificial intelligence.
"Only one of you can claim victory," the machine announced in Vox's voice. "Destroy your opponent, and I will power down. Fail, and I will eliminate you both."
Blake and Seviathan looked at each other, then at the towering mechanical demon.
"Temporary truce?" Blake suggested.
"Until this thing is scrap metal," Seviathan agreed.
What followed was a masterclass in supernatural teamwork. Blake's enhanced strength and hellfire complemented Seviathan's shadow magic and aristocratic combat training. They moved in perfect synchronization, covering each other's weaknesses and amplifying their strengths.
When Blake's hellfire proved ineffective against the machine's adaptive armor, Seviathan's shadows provided distraction and misdirection. When Seviathan's magic failed to penetrate its defenses, Blake's enhanced agility got him close enough for physical attacks.
The machine fell in a spectacular explosion of sparks and molten metal, leaving both contestants standing victorious on the platform.
"ROUND ONE: DRAW!" Vox announced, though he sounded somewhat disappointed. "Both contestants advance to Round Two!"
Blake and Seviathan looked at each other, the temporary alliance already dissolving back into rivalry.
"Don't think this changes anything," Seviathan warned.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Blake replied.
Blake POV - Mind Games
"Round Two: CEREBRAL WARFARE!" Vox's voice crackled with renewed enthusiasm as the arena transformed into something that looked like a cross between a chess board and a sensory deprivation chamber.
The space was divided into two separate puzzle chambers, each one filled with floating holographic displays, ancient symbols, and what appeared to be torture devices designed to break concentration.
"The rules are beautifully simple," Vox explained with electronic glee. "Solve the puzzle sequence fastest while enduring maximum psychological torment! Each wrong answer triggers increasingly painful feedback, while each correct solution unlocks the next level of difficulty!"
Blake studied his puzzle chamber—nine interconnected displays showing symbols that seemed to shift and writhe when he wasn't looking directly at them. The first sequence looked almost familiar, like something he'd seen in dusty archaeological texts.
"BEGIN MENTAL WARFARE!"
The moment Blake touched the first symbol, agony lanced through his skull. Not physical pain, but something deeper—the sensation of having his thoughts invaded, twisted, turned against him.
You failed them, a voice whispered in his mind, sounding suspiciously like Professor Flint. Jackie, Sam, Carlos—they died because you weren't there.
Blake gritted his teeth and focused on the symbols. Ancient Mesopotamian, but not quite—something older, more primal. His archaeological training kicked in, pattern recognition cutting through the psychic noise.
In the adjacent chamber, Seviathan was having his own battle with both puzzles and psychological warfare. His aristocratic composure cracked as phantom voices reminded him of every failure, every disappointment, every moment his father had found him lacking.
"Concentrate, you fool," Seviathan snarled at himself, his hands shaking as he manipulated holographic symbols. "You are Goetia nobility. You do not succumb to parlor tricks."
But the psychological attacks were specifically calibrated for demonic minds, hitting Seviathan harder than they hit Blake. Each wave of mental assault made his vision blur, his hands tremble, his confidence erode.
Blake, meanwhile, was discovering an unexpected advantage. The ring's presence in his mind meant he was already used to dealing with alien thoughts and whispers. The psychic attacks were just more noise to filter out.
The symbols began making sense—not just their individual meanings, but their relationships to each other. This wasn't just a language puzzle; it was a mathematical equation written in ancient script, describing the geometric relationships between dimensions.
"Impossible," Blake breathed, his hands moving faster as understanding dawned. These weren't just random symbols—they were instructions. A manual for manipulating the fabric of reality itself.
The ring pulsed against his chest, not offering help this time, but recognizing something familiar. These symbols were connected to the same forces that had created the ring, the same cosmic mathematics that allowed it to function.
Blake's progress accelerated, each solved sequence revealing deeper layers of meaning. But with each breakthrough, the psychic attacks intensified. Now it wasn't just guilt about his dead friends—it was every insecurity, every moment of doubt, every fear that he wasn't good enough for Charlie.
She's a princess, the voices whispered. You're nobody. What makes you think you deserve her love?
"Because she chose me," Blake said aloud, his voice cutting through the psychic noise. "And I choose her. Every day."
The conviction in his voice seemed to weaken the psychological attacks, allowing him to focus completely on the final sequence. It was the most complex yet—a three-dimensional mandala that required solving multiple layers simultaneously while under maximum mental assault.
In the adjacent chamber, Seviathan collapsed to his knees, his mental defenses completely shattered. "I can't," he gasped. "The voices, they won't stop—"
Blake's final symbol clicked into place, and the torture devices powered down abruptly. He looked over at Seviathan, seeing genuine anguish in the Goetia prince's eyes.
"ROUND TWO GOES TO BLAKE CEDAR!" Vox announced. "Though I have to say, that was some impressive mental fortitude from both contestants!"
Blake helped Seviathan to his feet, noting how the aristocrat's hands were still shaking. "You okay?"
"No," Seviathan admitted quietly. "But I will be. That was... humbling."
"The voices get easier to ignore with practice," Blake offered.
"Is that why you won? Practice dealing with madness?"
Blake touched the ring through his shirt. "Something like that."
Blake POV - Demon's Awakening
"FINAL ROUND: PRIMAL POWER!" Vox's voice had reached fever pitch as the arena transformed one last time into a simple colosseum—no tricks, no gimmicks, just raw supernatural combat.
"Gentlemen, this is it! Full access to your abilities, no holds barred, fight until one submits or falls! Let's see what you're really made of!"
Seviathan's eyes blazed with renewed confidence. This was his element—raw magical combat where aristocratic breeding and centuries of training would give him every advantage.
"Finally," he sneered, his form already beginning to shift and expand. "Time to show this mongrel what real power looks like."
Seviathan's true demonic form was a nightmare made manifest—twelve feet of scaled muscle, shadow-wreathed claws that could tear through steel, and eyes like burning coals. His magic surged around him in visible waves, making the arena's very air crackle with malevolent energy.
Blake, by comparison, looked almost mundane. Enhanced, yes, but still fundamentally human in shape and scale.
"Is that all?" Seviathan laughed, his voice now a demonic roar that shook the arena's foundations. "This is what has Charlotte's attention? This is what thinks it can stand beside royalty?"
Blake felt something shift inside him as the taunts hit home. Not anger—something deeper, hungrier. The part of him that had been growing stronger since his first taste of demonic power, the darkness that whispered sweet promises of dominance and control.
"You're right," Blake said quietly, his voice carrying an edge it had never held before. "I have been holding back."
The transformation was gradual at first—Blake's silver eyes deepening to molten gold, his enhanced musculature expanding, his canine teeth elongating into proper fangs. But then something fundamental shifted, and the change accelerated.
Blake's skin took on a subtle metallic sheen, like burnished copper shot through with veins of silver. His hair darkened to jet black, and when he moved, shadows seemed to cling to him like living things. His height increased to match Seviathan's intimidating stature, but where the Goetia prince was bestial, Blake remained eerily humanoid—making his transformation somehow more unsettling.
Most dramatically, curved horns erupted from his temples, not large but undeniably demonic, marking him as something that belonged in Hell's hierarchy.
"What the fuck?" Angel's voice would have carried from the hotel if he'd been there, but he was currently passed out in a pile of empty bottles and party debris.
Blake flexed his transformed hands, feeling power flowing through him like liquid fire. This wasn't the ring corrupting him—this was him finally accepting what he'd been becoming all along. Not human, not fully demon, but something new and dangerous and entirely his own.
"Better," Blake said, his voice now carrying harmonics that made the arena's barriers vibrate. "Much better."
Seviathan's attack was everything he had—shadows given physical form, raw demonic magic, centuries of aristocratic fury unleashed in a single devastating assault.
Blake caught the magical blast with his bare hands and absorbed it.
The energy that should have vaporized him instead flowed into his transformed body, making him stronger, faster, more dangerous. Blake stepped forward, his enhanced form radiating an aura of controlled menace that made even the Overlords in their viewing box lean forward with interest.
"My turn," Blake said.
The counterattack was measured, precise, and absolutely overwhelming. Not the silver flames of his ring, but something darker—hellfire that burned with his own personal darkness, energy that didn't just damage but dominated, power that spoke to the predator in every demon watching.
Blake's assault lifted Seviathan off his feet and held him suspended in the air, completely helpless against the transformed Cambion's will.
"Submit," Blake commanded, his voice carrying absolute authority.
Seviathan struggled against the dark energy binding him, his demonic form writhing in Blake's grasp. "Never! I am Goetia nobility! I will not bow to some jumped-up ape!"
Blake's grip tightened, and Seviathan cried out in genuine pain. It would be so easy to squeeze just a little harder, to show this arrogant prick exactly what happened to those who threatened what Blake cared about. The demonic part of him whispered encouragement, urging him to establish dominance, to make an example, to embrace the darkness completely.
But then Blake's gaze found Charlie in the audience, and he saw something in her eyes that stopped him cold. Not fear of his power, but concern for his soul. She could see the darkness taking hold, could see him teetering on the edge of becoming something she couldn't love.
Blake took a deep breath and made his choice.
Instead of crushing Seviathan, Blake set him down gently and stepped back, his demonic form slowly receding until he was merely enhanced rather than transformed.
"The fight's over, Sev," Blake said, his voice returning to normal. "You lost. But that doesn't mean you have to keep losing."
Seviathan stared at him with naked confusion, his own demonic form flickering back to normal. "Why? Why didn't you finish me? You had every right—"
"Because finishing you wouldn't prove I was stronger," Blake replied. "It would just prove I was crueler. And despite what just happened, I'm still trying to be better than that."
"WINNER, BLAKE CEDAR!" Vox announced to thunderous applause. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think we've just witnessed the birth of Hell's newest power player!"
As the arena erupted in cheers, Blake looked up at the Overlord viewing box. He'd shown them his power, proven he could be as dangerous as any of them. But more importantly, he'd shown them he could choose restraint even when drunk on demonic strength.
That combination of power and control would make him either a valuable ally or a dangerous enemy.
Either way, he had their attention now.
Velvette POV - Truth and Consequences
While Blake was getting his ass kicked on live television, Velvette was dealing with her own battle in her private studio. Carmilla had made herself comfortable in one of the designer chairs, while Vaggie stood between them like she was facing a firing squad.
"So," Velvette said, her voice dangerously sweet, "let's talk about friendship, shall we? Specifically, the kind of friendship that comes with magical tracking devices."
Vaggie's hand moved instinctively to her neck, where the spider tattoo was barely visible beneath her collar.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Carmilla replied smoothly.
"Of course you don't. Just like you didn't know that Vaggie here works for you, not the hotel. Just like you didn't know she's been reporting on Princess Charlie and her boyfriend." Velvette's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Honestly, Carmilla, I'm almost impressed. Using your own brand of 'caring for the souls you own' to justify slavery. Very on-brand."
Carmilla's expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. "Careful, child. You're approaching dangerous territory."
"Am I? Because from where I'm sitting, you've got my girlfriend on a leash, lying to people who trust her, all while pretending to be the caring mother figure of Hell's arms dealing community." Velvette stood, her petite frame somehow radiating more menace than Carmilla's imposing presence. "That's not friendship. That's ownership."
"Velvette, please," Vaggie said quietly. "You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly. You made a deal when you were desperate, and now you're trapped." Velvette moved to stand beside Vaggie, her hand finding her girlfriend's. "The question is: what are we going to do about it?"
Carmilla laughed—a sound like ice breaking. "And what exactly do you propose? I own her soul, legitimately and legally. There's nothing to be done."
"Isn't there?" Velvette pulled out her phone, already typing. "Because I'm thinking a nice social media campaign about Hell's most respected arms dealer using fallen angels as unpaid spies might damage that carefully cultivated reputation of yours."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me. I've got three million followers across all platforms, and they love drama. #AngelGate could be trending within the hour."
For the first time since entering the room, Carmilla looked genuinely uncertain. Her business relied on trust, on the perception that she treated her contracted souls fairly. A scandal about exploitation could destroy decades of careful relationship building.
"What do you want?" Carmilla asked finally.
"Simple. Release Vaggie from her contract. Let her choose her own path." Velvette's grip on Vaggie's hand tightened. "Love should be about choice, not compulsion."
"Absolutely not. The information she possesses, the training she's received—"
"She can still work for you if she wants to. The difference is, it would be her choice." Velvette's eyes glittered with triumph. "Unless, of course, you're afraid she'd choose to leave if given the option?"
The challenge hung in the air like smoke. Vaggie looked between her girlfriend and her owner, seeing the trap Velvette had laid. Either Carmilla released her and risked losing a valuable asset, or she confirmed that her 'caring' reputation was just marketing.
"I..." Carmilla began, then stopped. For perhaps the first time in centuries, she was genuinely conflicted.
The sound of thunderous applause from the arena below interrupted the standoff. On the monitors scattered around the studio, Blake could be seen standing victorious over Seviathan's prone form.
"Well," Velvette said cheerfully, "looks like your boy toy is making quite the impression. Shall we go watch the rest of the show while you decide whether your reputation or your control is more important?"
Lucifer and Carmilla POV - After Hours
Two hours after Blake's spectacular victory, Lucifer found himself sitting across from Carmilla in Hell's most exclusive restaurant, still processing what he'd witnessed at the Overlord meeting.
"That was... unexpected," he said, cutting his steak with perhaps more force than necessary. "I knew the boy was powerful, but that transformation..."
"Devil Trigger," Carmilla said calmly, sipping her wine. "I've only seen it described in the oldest texts. The complete fusion of human will and demonic power into something entirely new."
"And you're not concerned?" Lucifer's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "A being that powerful, that close to Charlie?"
Carmilla's smile was enigmatic. "Should I be? He had Seviathan completely at his mercy and chose to spare him. That tells me more about Blake's character than any amount of power ever could."
"Still," Lucifer muttered, "I should probably have a conversation with him about... expectations."
"Such as?"
"Such as not accidentally destroying Hell if he has a nightmare."
Carmilla laughed—a genuine sound that made Lucifer's chest tight with emotions he'd forgotten he could feel. "Lucifer, you're overthinking this. Blake isn't a threat to Charlie—he's her anchor. Without her, that power would consume him. With her..." She shrugged elegantly. "With her, he's exactly what Hell needs."
"A moral compass with the ability to level mountains?"
"A reminder that power doesn't have to corrupt." Carmilla reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. "Something I think you could stand to remember."
Lucifer stared at their joined hands, marveling at how right it felt despite the complications. "Carmilla, about us—"
"We're taking this one dinner at a time," she interrupted gently. "No pressure, no expectations. Just two immortal beings who've forgotten what it feels like to enjoy someone's company."
"I'd like that," Lucifer said softly. "It's been... a long time since I've had something to look forward to."
"Good," Carmilla said, her smile warm and genuine. "Because I was hoping you'd say that."
Two blocks away, hidden behind an elaborate fountain, Clara and Odette Carmine crouched with high-powered binoculars and a growing sense of sisterly satisfaction.
"Twenty bucks says she's holding his hand by dessert," Clara whispered.
"You're on," Odette replied. "Mother's too professional for—oh my god, she's already holding his hand."
"Pay up, sis."
"The night is young. I bet she doesn't kiss him goodnight."
"You're about to lose another twenty," Clara said with glee, adjusting the focus on her binoculars. "Look at that smile. Mother's totally smitten."
"Mother doesn't get smitten. She gets strategically interested."
"Same thing, different vocabulary." Clara grinned. "Besides, after what we witnessed tonight with Blake's little light show, I think Mother could use some happiness in her life."
"You really think they're good for each other?"
"I think they're both too stubborn and powerful for anyone else to handle them," Clara replied. "Which makes them perfect for each other."
Inside the restaurant, Lucifer was working up the courage to ask Carmilla about her thoughts on the future when her phone buzzed discreetly.
"Work?" he asked.
"Vaggie," Carmilla replied, glancing at the message. "Apparently, her evening with Velvette went well. Very well, from the sound of it."
"Should I be concerned about one of the V's having that much influence over your... employee?"
Carmilla's expression grew thoughtful. "Honestly? I'm not sure. Velvette is manipulative and dangerous, but she's also intelligent enough to recognize genuine value. And Vaggie..." She paused. "Vaggie deserves to make her own choices about who she cares for."
"Even if those choices complicate your business arrangements?"
"Especially then." Carmilla met his eyes. "Love should be about choice, not compulsion. Something I'm still learning to navigate."
The weight of her words hung between them, honest and vulnerable in a way that made Lucifer's breath catch.
"Carmilla," he said quietly, "I'd like to see you again. Soon."
"I'd like that too," she replied, and her smile could have lit up all nine circles of Hell.
Angel POV - Party Aftermath
"Look, before y'all start lecturing me," Angel said, adjusting his feather boa with as much dignity as someone wearing glittery nipple tassels could muster, "let me explain the educational value of what happened here tonight."
Charlie stared at the poker chips embedded in the holy water font. "Educational value?"
"Absolutely! I learned that Lord Paimon cheats at cards, succubi tip really well for private dances, and your fancy chandelier makes excellent stripper pole when you remove the crystals."
"The crystals are gone?" Charlie's voice cracked.
"Sold 'em to pay for the entertainment. But hey, I made a profit! We're actually ahead money-wise." Angel waved a wad of cash triumphantly. "Plus, I got some great networking done. Turns out half the minor Overlords are looking for event planning services."
Blake surveyed the chaos—overturned furniture, mysterious stains, and what appeared to be a small crater in the dining room floor. "Angel, how exactly does poker create a hole in the floor?"
"That wasn't poker. That was strip limbo with a guy who could breathe fire. Don't worry, I made him pay for damages before he passed out."
Vaggie held up a sequined thong she'd found hanging from a picture frame. "Do I even want to know?"
"Probably not. But if it helps, everyone had a really good time! I got five-star reviews on HellYelp and three marriage proposals." Angel grinned. "One from a really cute incubus named Trevor. I'm considering it."
"You're considering marriage?" Charlie asked, momentarily distracted from the property damage.
"Nah, just the proposal. Guy's got commitment issues anyway—he's married to like six other people already."
Blake found a business card stuck to his shoe. "'Pandemonium Party Supplies - We Supply the Sin, You Supply the Location.' Angel, did you hire professional party planners?"
"I am a professional! This was my audition tape, so to speak." Angel struck a pose. "Gotta diversify my skill set if I'm gonna be rehabilitated and shit."
"By throwing orgies in our lobby?"
"Educational orgies! Very different! I learned about networking, event management, and the importance of proper ventilation when serving flaming cocktails indoors."
Charlie looked around the destroyed lobby one more time, then sighed. "You know what? I'm impressed."
"Really?" Angel's face lit up.
"You threw a massive party with Overlords, collected enough money to pay for damages, didn't burn the building down, and somehow made it educational. That's actually... kind of brilliant."
"Does this mean I pass your test of responsibility?"
"This means you're never unsupervised again," Vaggie said firmly. "But yes, you technically passed. In the most chaotic way possible."
Angel pumped his fist in victory, causing more glitter to fall from his boa. "Sweet! So what's my next assignment, teach?"
"Cleaning up this mess," Blake said, tossing Angel a mop. "Every single poker chip, every piece of glitter, every suspicious stain."
"Aw, come on! That's gonna take hours!"
"Should've thought of that before you turned our holy water font into a chip bowl," Charlie replied cheerfully. "But hey, look at it as more educational experience in consequences and accountability."
Angel groaned dramatically but accepted the mop. "Fine, but I'm billing this as overtime. And I want hazard pay for whatever's growing in the corner over there."
"Deal," Charlie said. "Just... maybe next time you want to throw a party, give us a heads up?"
"Sure thing, Princess. Though you might want to invest in some heavy-duty cleaning supplies. I got a feeling this won't be the last time the hotel gets a little... lively."
As Angel began the monumental task of cleaning up his educational disaster, Charlie couldn't help but smile. This was exactly what she'd hoped for—sinners learning, growing, and finding new ways to express themselves. Even if those ways involved glitter bombs and demon lords in her bathtub.
"Come on," she said to Blake and Vaggie. "Let's go check what's in my office. How bad could it be?"
The sound of Angel's hysterical laughter from behind them suggested it could be very, very bad indeed.