Chapter 1: Of Warmth and Welcome (Part 2)
Chapter Text
Barbatos led Ves through vaulted halls and velvet-draped corridors until they reached their new quarters—high in one of the eastern towers, where morning light would stream through arched windows and spill across polished stone. The room was stately and serene, far larger than what they were used to, with quiet corners for reading, for spellwork, for solitude.
Their bags had already been delivered. The soft sound of water trickled from a nearby fountain, and pale blue curtains stirred with a breeze from the balcony. From here, the Devildom stretched far and wide—the jagged cliffs of Mount Sorrow in the distance, the silver thread of the river winding through shadowed trees.
It was beautiful… and overwhelming. And very, very quiet.
Barbatos bowed, as polite and unreadable as ever. “If you need anything, ring the bell. Otherwise, we’ll leave you to settle in.”
Ves nodded, offering a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
When the door closed behind him, they just stood there for a moment, feeling the stillness settle in. For the first time in weeks, there were no brothers arguing outside the door. No sound of Mammon crashing into furniture. No scent of Beel’s baking or Belphie’s sleepy complaints. Just the distant hush of wind, and the soft sound of water trickling from the fountain in the corner of the room.
The silence was a little too complete.
Ves crossed the chamber in slow steps, fingertips trailing along the edges of the carved desk, the heavy velvet curtains, the window latch. The view from their tower overlooked a part of the garden they hadn’t noticed before—stone pathways winding through moonlilies and fireleaf, an old gazebo half-cloaked in ivy. It was beautiful… but strange. And impersonal.
Their bags had been unpacked for them, of course. Their familiar cloak hung neatly in the wardrobe. The dress from the night before had been folded and pressed. Everything was orderly, pristine, untouched.
Ves wasn’t sure what to do with their hands.
Eventually, they sat at the edge of the bed, then lay back across the embroidered coverlet, eyes tracing the arch of the ceiling above. They could still feel the weight of feathered wings against their back, the ghost of Lucifer’s voice in their ear.
The knock at the door came softly, a few minutes later. Barbatos stood in the doorway with a small smile and a bundle of scrolls in his arms.
“If you’re not too tired,” he said gently, “Lord Diavolo thought you might be curious to see what we’re working on. It’s nothing urgent—just a few laws in revision. He values your perspective, especially as someone caught between realms.”
Ves sat up slowly. “That’s… kind of him,” they said, and followed.
The next few days passed in quiet rhythm.
In the mornings, they took breakfast with Diavolo in one of the sunlit parlors overlooking the eastern grounds. Ves’ place was always set first, beside a large window and across from the prince, who was already halfway through his toast by the time they arrived. Barbatos stood silently to the side, always brewing something fragrant—teas steeped with orange peel or dried apples or silverleaf from the Devildom’s southern coast.
The food was good. The conversation was better. Diavolo, it turned out, was charming in a way that felt genuine, easy. He didn’t push. He didn’t pry. But he watched them with careful eyes, always trying to read the space between their words.
In the afternoons, Barbatos walked them through what felt like endless scrolls of law drafts and diplomatic memos—some of it dry, but some fascinating in the way only old and brittle magic could be. Ves wasn’t expected to make decisions, just give thoughts, impressions. Diavolo wanted their instincts. Their honesty.
Ves was grateful for that.
Still, despite the comfort, the food, the gentle routine… something pulled at them.
Now and then, when Diavolo was mid-sentence or Barbatos paused to pour another cup of tea, Ves would glance toward the windows—as if expecting to hear Mammon shouting from the garden, or to catch the flick of Satan’s latest book dangling from his hands around the corner of the hall. But the castle remained quiet.
Too quiet.
Diavolo noticed.
On the third morning, he leaned his elbow on the breakfast table, chin in his hand, and smiled across the toast and marmalade. “You’ve been missing them,” he said softly. Not accusatory. Just true.
Ves looked down at their plate. “…Is it that obvious?”
He chuckled. “You haven’t once asked to sit on the left side of the table. That’s the seat you took when you were with the brothers. Always at the end, right next to Lucifer.”
They smiled faintly. Such a small detail… but you noticed anyway.
“Old habits,” was all they could think to say.
He nodded, then brightened slightly. “Maybe you could show me the human world next. It’s been a while since I visited the wilds up there. You know the area better than anyone. And I imagine… the sun might feel good on your skin.”
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The sunlight was warm, startlingly so.
They hadn’t realized how much they missed the colors of the human world until they stepped into them again—how green the trees could be when kissed by summer, how soft the golden haze of morning looked filtering through leaves. Diavolo stood beside them on the worn trail, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping across the rolling hills and rocky cliffs beyond.
“This is where you grew up?” he asked, his voice hushed with something like reverence.
“Near here,” Ves replied. “That was further north. There’s a tiny old village past those woods. I haven’t been back there in a long time.” They stepped forward, boots pressing into the soft soil. “But this? This was always my sanctuary.”
The trees rustled overhead. A raven called once from high in the branches.
They wandered together through the wilds, Diavolo letting Ves take the lead. They showed him the stream that glittered like starlight when the sun caught it right, the flat stone where they used to sit and press herbs into their book, the hollow stump where foxes sometimes nested. A quiet kind of magic lived here—deep and subtle, the kind that didn’t announce itself.
Diavolo listened closely to every story Ves shared, nodding when they pointed out plants the brothers had helped them gather just a few weeks earlier. His expression grew gentler with each word.
“I can see why you loved this place,” he murmured, crouching to brush his hand over a patch of flowering witchgrass. “It suits you. It’s quiet, wild, persistent.”
Ves smiled faintly. “It feels different now. Not bad, not at all. It’s just… lonelier. I keep expecting to hear someone grumble about mosquitoes or complain about the mud.”
Diavolo looked over at them. “You’ll see them again soon,” he promised, gently but firmly. “They miss you too, you know.”
Ves nodded. The wind shifted, stirring the grass at their feet. Somewhere in the distance, a bird took flight.
They lingered a little longer before returning to the Devildom.
Just before they left, Ves paused at the edge of the clearing, the familiar hush of the woods wrapping around them like a fading lullaby. Diavolo stood beside them again, his gaze cast toward the sun-dappled trees.
“I meant what I said,” he said quietly. “It’s good to have you here with us, in the Devildom. But more than that…” He glanced at them, a rare softness in his golden eyes. “It’s good to see him happy.”
Ves turned, startled. “You mean Lucifer?”
Diavolo nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “He pretends well. He always has. But I’ve known him long enough to see the cracks; the way he closes off, how he carries the weight of everyone else’s expectations on his shoulders without ever allowing himself to ask for anything in return.” His voice was gentle, not pitying—just achingly fond. “He’s… different with you. Lighter. Less… guarded.”
Ves was quiet for a moment, their gaze dipping to the moss-lined roots at their feet. Then, carefully, almost hesitantly, they said, “You care about him a lot.”
A beat passed.
Ves looked up again, brow furrowed slightly. “Do you—” They hesitated. “I hope this isn’t out of line, but… do you love him?”
Diavolo didn’t speak right away. He didn’t need to.
The silence answered for him—quiet and full of warmth. There was no denial in his expression. No shame. Just a steady, bittersweet light in his eyes as he looked toward the trees once more.
“I want him to be free,” he said finally. “To feel like he doesn’t have to earn every moment of peace. Like he doesn’t have to fight for his place in the world.”
Ves swallowed, something catching behind their ribs.
“Neither of us quite belong, do we?” Diavolo added, his voice softer now. “You, caught between realms. Me, born into power I didn’t choose. And him… something forged in the wreckage of a war, held together by duty and pride.”
He turned to them, a smile full of quiet hope.
“I think he finally found someone who sees him—all of him—and stays.”
Ves didn’t answer. At least, not in words.
They just nodded, holding his gaze steady, the echo of a promise thrumming beneath their skin like magic.
Evening had just begun to settle by the time they arrived back at the castle. The air in the gardens was cool and quiet, touched with the faint perfume of night-blooming flowers. Ves, still in their wilderness garb, quickly made their way outside, a small bundle of herbs and cuttings cradled in their arms—shade-loving things they’d gathered from the forest, their roots still damp with river soil.
They found a quiet patch beneath a stand of tall blackgloss trees, where the garden wall cast long shadows and the earth was soft and rich. Barbatos had clearly kept the space well-tended, but he left a few wild corners untouched, as if he’d known they’d want somewhere to leave their mark.
Ves knelt and began to dig, their fingers careful and sure despite the ache of travel still in their limbs. There was something steadying about the rhythm of it: turning the soil, easing each plant into place, patting it firm. The garden around them hummed with evening life—crickets in the hedges, soft wings brushing through the dark. Somewhere nearby, a lantern flickered on.
They lost track of time.
At one point, a quiet footfall behind them made them glance up—Barbatos, of course, with a something small in his hands and an unreadable look in his eyes. He set the thermos of tea on the low stone bench beside them and gave a polite nod before retreating, leaving them to their work.
Ves smiled faintly. Their hands were already stained with earth, sleeves rolled past their elbows, their loosely braided hair mussed from the breeze. But something in their chest, anxious and unrelenting, had finally begun to settle.
They worked until the last plant was in the ground, until the moon rose high enough to silver the leaves.
Only then did they wash up, change into something soft, and retreat to their room—mud-touched and tired in a way that felt right.
Nightfall came slowly, painted in twilight hues.
Their room looked the same as it had before—their cloak, with Lucifer’s clasp still notched on its shoulder, draped neatly on the chair, their books stacked by the bedside. And yet, somehow, it felt more like theirs now.
They sat by the window for a while, legs tucked beneath them, watching stars prick the sky one by one. And when the moment felt right—when the hush of the castle had truly settled around them—they reached for the velvet pouch on the windowsill and drew out the runes.
They hadn’t cast them since leaving the House of Lamentation.
The stones clicked softly against the wood as they poured them into their palm. Warm, familiar. A part of them, always watching, always waiting in the dark.
They took a breath, slow, steady, centering. Then they cast the runes in a loose, gentle arc across the floor.
Even though they no longer had the fae ring, it seemed their Nephilim blood alone held more than enough power to inspire the stones.
The runes clicked softly as they tumbled from Ves’ hands, settling unevenly across the smooth floor like scattered whispers.
Three lay upright.
Shadow, upright. Stars, reversed. Fae, upright.
Ves’s breath caught—not with understanding, but with a quiet, nagging disquiet.
The runes felt different today—charged, restless—as if they held a secret just beyond reach. Yet the meaning slipped through their thoughts like water, elusive and shifting.
They traced a finger over the Shadow rune, feeling its faint warmth. A sensation stirred inside them—an echo of something old and unsettled, but whether it was the runes or their own heart they couldn’t tell.
Ves closed their eyes, breathing deep, searching within.
Maybe it was just the hollow left by the brothers’ absence.
Or maybe it was the weight of this strange new life, stretching unfamiliar and wide before them.
They were uneasy, yes—but nothing more. The stones reflect the caster, after all. Perhaps that’s all it was.
They gathered the stones carefully, tucking the pouch away with a lingering touch, and turned toward the window.
Outside, the stars glimmered steady and distant.
And for now, their silence was enough.
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Time passed differently at the castle. It was slower, somehow. Quieter. Ves began watching the moon from their balcony just to mark its phases, drawing comfort in the slow shift of light and shadow across the Devildom sky. One cycle passed, then two.
They had fallen into a rhythm—mornings spent in the garden or at Diavolo’s side reviewing proposals, afternoons studying old laws, sometimes sparring with Barbatos in the shaded courtyard behind the kitchens, just to keep their reflexes sharp. It wasn’t bad, exactly. There was warmth here, in Diavolo’s kindness and Barbatos’ steadiness.
But it wasn’t home.
They missed the brothers. They missed the way the House of Lamentation was never quiet, not really. They missed Beel’s laughter echoing from the kitchen and Levi’s muffled game sounds bleeding through the walls. They missed Asmo singing in the shower. Even Mammon’s stomping, Satan’s sighs, Belphie’s grumbles. And Lucifer’s voice—measured, dry, amused when it wasn’t scolding someone.
They missed being known.
They tried not to show it.
Instead, they tried to be grateful, because they were. Diavolo had given them a room, a garden, space to think and breathe. He was kind—genuinely kind—and Barbatos never let them go without tea or rest. It was quiet here, gentle in a way the House of Lamentation never was.
But maybe that was the problem.
The silence clung like fog. The hours stretched long between conversations. Meals were quiet, even with Diavolo’s cheerful warmth. The evenings… Ves could only read so many scrolls, only write so many notes. Only sit with so many unsent messages on their screen, watching the brothers' contact names light up and go dark again.
They didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Diavolo had done everything to make them comfortable. He’d asked for nothing in return, save for their thoughts on policies and their presence at the breakfast table. Ves didn’t want to let him down. They didn’t want to seem like they were running from this place—this peace.
But it wasn’t peace. Not really.
It was loneliness.
And the longer it sat in them, the heavier it became, curling like smoke in their chest until it ached just to sit still.
They waited days before saying anything, biting their tongue when Diavolo looked concerned, smiling through the hollowness when Barbatos asked if they were sleeping well.
But that morning, with the last sliver of moon dipping below the edge of the distant mountains, Ves found Diavolo alone on the steps, tea in hand, watching the dawn rise pale and muted over the Devildom.
They stood for a moment behind him, their heart thudding loud against their ribs. If they said it wrong, would he think them ungrateful? Would it hurt him?
The wind shifted.
“…Can I go visit them?” they asked at last, their voice low. “The brothers, I mean. …Just for a little while?”
There was a brief pause, then the soft clink of porcelain as Diavolo set his cup down on the stone railing beside him. He didn’t turn around right away—he just let out a quiet, amused breath through his nose.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask.”
Ves blinked, startled. “You… knew?”
“Of course,” he said, finally glancing back at them with that familiar, open smile. “You’ve been watching the moon like it owed you something. Barbatos says you’ve barely touched dessert in days. And I may not have the sharpest senses in the realm, but even I could feel how heavy your silences have been.”
A small, rueful smile tugged at Ves’s mouth. “…Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He turned fully now, his hands tucked behind his back in his usual princely manner. “You love them. They love you. I figured this quiet wouldn’t hold you for long.”
He stepped closer, looking them over, not unkindly—just taking in the tiredness around their eyes, the slight furrow of their brow, the wear in their stance.
“You’ve done everything I asked and more. If you want to see them, you should see them. In fact—” his expression brightened, eyes gleaming with something more mischievous now, “—Are you sure you only want to visit?”
Ves blinked, startled. “I—what?”
“I’ve seen how you are here,” Diavolo said gently, “And how you were with them. You laugh more around them. You shine more.” His smile softened. “As much as I’ve enjoyed having you here, the House of Lamentation suits you. And the brothers—well, they’ve been… asking about you. Often.”
Ves’ throat tightened. “Do you mean—are you saying I could go back?”
“If they want you back,” Diavolo said with a wink, “And if you want to go, then I’ll help you return.”
Ves blinked, their breath catching—then let out a startled, breathless laugh. For a moment, they couldn’t speak. The emotions tangled fast and hot in their chest—relief, joy, longing, and something too vast to name.
“…Really?” they managed, their voice soft but rising with hope. Their hands had curled slightly at their sides, knuckles white with the effort not to bounce. “I mean—if they’re okay with it… then yes.” A smile tugged helplessly at their lips, wide and luminous despite their best attempts to temper it. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”
Diavolo beamed, clearly pleased. “Then it’s settled.”
That afternoon, Diavolo brought them to RAD, to a council chamber already filled with the seven brothers. They sat around the long obsidian table—some mid-argument, some yawning, all casting shadows in the golden light that filtered down from the vaulted windows.
Ves paused just outside the doorway, the flickering torches catching in the threads of their sleeves. Their heart gave a sharp, almost painful flutter at the sight.
It was the first time they’d seen them all together since leaving the House of Lamentation. All of them, in one place. The weight of it hit like a wave—familiar voices, familiar shapes. The slope of Beel’s shoulders, the glint of Asmo’s jewelry, the quiet stillness of Lucifer’s hands on the table. Every detail came rushing back with the force of memory and missing.
They hadn’t realized how much they’d needed this. How much they’d missed them—not just as individuals, but as a chorus. A family.
Diavolo stepped forward with a warm smile, and Ves followed, quiet and hesitant, trying to keep their expression even.
When they entered with Diavolo at their side, the noise in the room stuttered, then stopped entirely.
Silence fell.
Then chaos.
Mammon was the first out of his seat. “Ves?! What the—what’re ya doin’ here?!” He didn’t wait for an answer. He just barreled toward them and wrapped them in a hug that lifted them slightly off the ground. Ves gave a surprised laugh, their arms coming up to clutch at his jacket.
Beel followed with a quieter but no less firm hug, warm and grounding. Belphie leaned in from the side to rest his chin on their shoulder with a soft sigh. Asmo squealed, catching one of Ves’ hands and pressing it to his cheek. Satan smiled, his eyes gleaming with unspoken relief, while Levi blinked hard like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing—then immediately started fidgeting with his sleeves.
Ves felt dizzy, overwhelmed, but in the best way. Their chest ached with it—so many days of silence and polite conversation, of wondering if this had just been a dream they wouldn’t be allowed to return to. But this—this was real.
Lucifer, still seated, gave a long, slow sigh that didn’t quite mask the fondness in his voice. “If you’re here to distract them from this meeting, congratulations. It’s working.”
“I’ll take full responsibility,” Diavolo said, grinning. “But I do have a question for all of you.” He turned to the room, his tone light, but his gaze sharp. “How would you feel if Ves came back to live at the House of Lamentation?”
“Yes,” said Mammon immediately, still clinging to Ves.
“Please,” said Asmo, both hands over his heart.
“Absolutely,” Satan added, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.
“They should never have left,” Belphie mumbled, not bothering to lift his head from Ves’ shoulder.
Lucifer raised a brow at the room’s utter lack of decorum, but he made no move to stop it.
Beel smiled, calm and sure. “We’d like that. Very much.”
Levi was already vibrating from where he stood beside Ves. “They can have their room back, right? Like—exactly how it was. I didn’t touch anything, I swear—!”
Diavolo laughed, eyes bright. “I’ll take that as a unanimous yes.” He turned to Ves, voice gentle. “It’s settled, then.”
The rest of the meeting dissolved within minutes. The brothers couldn’t sit still—Asmo was already planning the welcome-back dinner, Mammon was arguing with Belphie about who got to help unpack first, and Lucifer, finally rising from his chair, just gave Diavolo a mildly exasperated look.
“I hope you weren’t expecting any of us to focus after that,” he said.
Diavolo chuckled. “Not even a little. Go on—take them home.”
They walked back together, all eight of them, through the winding streets of the Devildom.
The air smelled like warm stone and citrus trees, touched by the faint spice of something baking in the distance. The lanterns lining the path flickered softly, casting golden pools of light that moved across their feet as they walked. Ves stayed near the front, flanked protectively by Mammon and Levi, with Asmo looping in and out to clutch their arm or fix a stray lock of hair. Beel and Belphie walked just behind, their quiet presence steadying. Satan, animated for once, was recounting the latest prank he’d narrowly avoided thanks to “certain predictable twins.”
The brothers were loud. Chaotic. They bickered, teased, laughed with reckless joy—and Ves soaked it in like sunlight after a long storm.
“Wait till you see what I did to your room,” Mammon said, grinning proudly.
“You didn’t touch it, remember?” Levi snapped, shoving his shoulder. “You swore!”
“Yeah, but I dusted! That counts as improvement!”
“Only if you used actual dusting tools and not your shirt,” Satan muttered, exasperated.
“I smudged it off! That’s efficient!”
Asmo slipped an arm through Ves’s and gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I’ve missed this. You, me, and total emotional chaos.”
“You’ll be back in the mix soon enough,” Belphie said from behind them. “Bet you’re not gonna get a full night’s sleep for a week.”
Ves laughed, their breath catching. They couldn’t stop smiling.
Only one of them remained composed: Lucifer. He walked at a measured pace just behind Ves and slightly to the side, his hands loosely folded behind his back. But Ves could feel him—his gaze lingering, his steps always aligned with theirs. Even without words, he never let them stray too far.
And still, there was a tension to him: a quiet, charged stillness, like a harp string drawn just taut enough to sing if touched.
When the House of Lamentation finally rose before them—tall, strange, and familiar—Ves paused, the others surging ahead.
They looked up at it, heart stuttering.
It wasn’t perfect—it never had been. It was drafty and loud and cursed in at least three ways Barbatos hadn’t fixed yet. But the windows still glowed golden, and laughter echoed through its halls, and the door—
The door was theirs.
Lucifer came to a stop beside them. His sigh was long and patient, though the way his shoulders eased told another story entirely.
“This walk,” he said dryly, “Has tested every ounce of patience I possess.”
Ves turned toward him, unable to keep the smile from their lips. “So you did miss me, after all.”
He glanced down at them. And in that look—steady, warm, just a little tired—was the truth Ves had been hoping to see.
“Yes,” he murmured. “We all did.”
He offered his arm with courtly grace.
Ves took it, fingers curling lightly into the crook of his elbow, and together, they stepped through the open doorway, the rest of the brothers already calling to them from inside.
Home.
Chapter 2: Of Syrup and Shenanigans
Chapter Text
They stepped through the door.
The House of Lamentation exhaled around them—wood groaning softly, the warmth of hearth and shadow curling in welcome. Ves barely had time to take a breath before Asmodeus’ voice rang out like a shot of glitter, bright and impossible to ignore.
“Ugh, Lucifer, really? You get to play the gallant gentleman while the rest of us suffer in silence?” Asmo flounced toward them, hands on his hips, curls bouncing with righteous frustration. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he locked onto Ves’ side. “You can’t just casually escort them in on your arm like it’s some Devildom romance drama. That’s my job too, you know.”
Ves felt a flutter in their chest, both amused and slightly overwhelmed by the sudden attention. Lucifer, unfazed, didn’t even turn to face him. “I wasn’t aware this was a competition,” he said smoothly, the faintest curve tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, it is now,” Asmo huffed, stepping closer. Before Ves could blink, he reached out, fingers lightly tugging their sleeve and steering them gently but insistently away from Lucifer’s side.
“Come on, I deserve some quality time too,” Asmo whispered, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial murmur, his breath warm against Ves’ ear.
Ves hesitated for just a heartbeat—caught between the comfort of Lucifer’s steady presence and the sparkling pull of Asmo’s playful insistence—but the corners of their lips lifted in a reluctant smile. “Alright, but don’t make the others too jealous,” they teased softly.
Asmo’s grin was all teeth and light. “Jealousy’s the sweetest spice.”
Before Ves could respond further, Mammon cut in with an exasperated grunt, crossing his arms, though it did little to mask the light in his eyes. “C’mon, enough posturin’. Ves, you hungry? We can make something for dinner.”
Leviathan leaned in, his eyes wide and shining behind his usual bangs, voice quick and hopeful. “Wait, but do you want Devildom food or like… something from the human world? I mean, we can do Celestial cuisine, but it’s kinda complicated…”
Beelzebub smiled quietly, his fingers twitching like a chef ready to leap into action, his calm presence anchoring the group. “Whatever you want. Just say the word.”
Ves laughed, breathless and touched in a way that made their chest ache. “I—I don’t know. Whatever you feel like making is fine. Really.”
“You sure?” Mammon asked. “No fancy requests?”
“None,” Ves said. “I think I’d be happy with anything, as long as it’s with you all.”
Asmo’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam as he tugged gently at Ves’ hand, guiding them toward the couch. “Good choice. Now come sit with me—I'll make sure you’re spoiled properly tonight.”
As Asmo guided them along, their gaze flicked back to Lucifer. The look in his eyes caught them—warmth and mirth dancing just beneath the surface, but deeper still, something dangerous, sly, and wicked hid behind his crossed arms. It was the same look he’d worn that day Ves left for the Demon Lord’s castle—the kind of look that whispered promises.
Lucifer’s low chuckle broke the moment. “Don’t get too carried away, Asmo.”
Ves’ chest swelled with a strange fullness, a mingling of comfort and something sharper, steadier. Between the vibrant chaos of the brothers and Lucifer’s quiet, knowing smile, their heart felt caught—pulled in two directions, yet somehow perfectly whole.
Lucifer’s eyes flicked toward his brothers, amusement curling the edges of his lips. “Truth be told, you should’ve seen them earlier—they were arguing over what they’d do if you were here. What to cook, how to spend time with you… It nearly came to blows.”
As Ves settled beside Asmo on the couch, the brothers exchanged mischievous glances, ready to relive their impromptu squabble.
Asmo sniffed, tilting his head with mock indignation. “You say that like you weren’t involved.”
“He totally was,” Levi muttered. “He just acts smug about it because he won the arm thing.”
Ves turned to Lucifer, amused as Asmo wrapped an arm around their shoulder. “Did you lose your cool?”
Lucifer adjusted his gloves with a faint smile. “Don’t let their dramatics fool you.”
The warm hum of conversation floated in from the living room as Mammon retreated to the kitchen, determined to prove himself. The door closed behind him with a soft thud, muffling the clatter of pots and pans.
Asmodeus sighed on the couch beside Ves, his curls bouncing. “Mammon’s cooking again? Should we be worried”
Leviathan smirked, folding his arms. “Knowing him, probably.”
Beelzebub settled quietly nearby, already licking his lips. “I’m just hoping he doesn’t blow something up before it gets to us.”
Lucifer, arms crossed, glanced toward the closed kitchen door with a smirk. “He’s being unusually secretive about this batch. It’s unlike him.”
Leviathan, his eyes flicking toward Ves, grumbled half to himself, “Hopefully he’s not trying to sneak in any ‘special secret ingredients’ like last time…”
Ves smiled, watching the lively group. “Secret ingredients?”
Asmo grinned, nudging Ves gently. “Oh, it’s a whole saga. Mammon’s convinced it’s the magic that makes the soup legendary.”
Ves laughed softly and leaned back into the cushions. “It sounds like things here were lively as ever… totally opposite than the Demon Lord’s Castle.” They paused, realizing what they just said, and quickly amended it. “It wasn’t bad, no—not at all—it was just… different. Quiet, but heavy, with lots of politics and power plays. Diavolo’s been keeping busy, but I missed this—missed you all.”
A warmth settled around the room after that, soothing and wholesome. Ves breathed it in, just happy to be home.
After some time, Mammon’s voice drifted through the kitchen door, muffled but enthusiastic. “Soup’s almost ready! Get your spoons ready!”
Beel’s eyes twinkled. “I’m glad it wasn’t so bad. But at least, now that we have you here—you’re home now. And we’re glad you’re back,”
Ves glanced around at their family, feeling the steadiness in the air. “It’s good to be home.”
The kitchen door creaked open, and Mammon appeared, wiping his hands on a towel, eyes bright. “It’s done! Come and get it!”
He carried a steaming pot over, setting it on the dining table. One by one, he ladled generous bowls for everyone.
Ves took a careful sip and smiled warmly. It was warm, comforting—like a gentle embrace from home, with just the right touch of spice to remind them of the brothers’ chaotic care woven into every spoonful. Although it was just soup, somehow, it tasted like belonging.
And yet… beneath all that, there was something else.
A strange heat bloomed low in their belly, slow and unexpected, like a flicker of ember caught beneath the ribs. It wasn’t unpleasant—on the contrary, it made their skin feel a little too aware of itself, their thoughts just a touch more golden at the edges. They blinked once, then shook it off with a small laugh, chalking it up to being too long away from familiar food and familiar faces.
Still, the warmth lingered, curling like smoke through their veins.
Beel reached for another serving, his voice full of approval. “Not bad.”
Lucifer’s eyes glimmered with quiet fondness. “Welcome home, Ves.”
The brothers exchanged knowing glances, the air thick with affection and unspoken promises—the kind that only a family can share.
Once dinner was complete, the brothers were quick to put away the dishes, laughter still echoing through the room like the tail end of a favorite song. Ves had barely settled back onto the couch when Levi called out.
“Oh! I almost forgot!” He darted out of the room and returned with a sleek, empty bottle cradled like a relic. “Check this out, Ves. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. I got it from Akuzon. It cost me like half a week’s allowance, but it was totally worth it for the collection.”
Lucifer glanced over. “You’re displaying an empty bottle.”
“What?!” Levi’s eyes widened. He shook the bottle in disbelief. “It was full! I—I just bought it!”
Mammon stiffened mid-ladle. “Wait. You mean that was yours?”
Levi stared at him. “What was mine?”
Mammon tilted his head sheepishly. “I found a bottle earlier and thought it sounded tasty. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup? Yummy. So I tossed it in the soup.”
Levi’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not a cooking ingredient! It’s a limited-edition replica of dragon fog! The secret remedy of the Dragaul folk in TSL Volume 7!”
Asmo giggled from the couch. “You mean the one made from newts who were set on fire in the human world and reincarnated here in the Devildom?”
Satan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s so bad about that?”
Levi’s whole body froze. “It’s… it’s not just Regular Hellfire Newt Syrup,” he muttered. “It was the special edition—wait—”
He clapped a hand over his mouth.
His face turned red. Not pale pink, not embarrassed. Scarlet.
“Don’t come near my room!” he blurted, eyes wild, and bolted up the stairs like his life depended on it.
Ves blinked, spoon still halfway to their mouth. “Is he okay?”
“Drama queen,” Satan muttered. “But if he sprouts scales or something, we’ll know why.”
The room burst into laughter again, the kind that melted into the walls, into the bones of the house itself.
Ves leaned back, eyes half-lidded, the warmth in their chest refusing to fade. It lingered, low and persistent, a quiet thrum beneath their skin—like the slow spread of candlewax across their bones, honey-thick and golden. Not uncomfortable. Just... unfamiliar. Strange, that a single bowl of soup could leave them feeling so flushed, so deeply nestled in their own body.
Ves shrugged it off.
They were home.
That was all that mattered.
Once the dishes were all put away, Satan approached then, his arms loosely crossed and curiosity glittering in his eyes. “Feel like a trip to the library?” he asked, voice casual. “Just in case Levi actually did dose us with something cursed or experimental? If he’s about to molt, I’d rather know how to treat it.”
Ves blinked, then laughed softly. “Sure. We can’t let him turn into a salamander without a contingency plan.”
“Exactly.” Satan smiled, pleased. “Come on, then. Let’s do some damage control.”
“Let us know if you uncover anything… concerning,” Lucifer said from his place by the doorway, his voice smooth as ever. “Preferably before Levi starts glowing in the dark.”
“Will do!” Ves replied.
And just like that, they slipped out of the warmth of the living room and into the hall, the laughter still echoing faintly behind them—like an anchor, like a promise.
Satan closed the door gently behind them as they stepped inside together, his expression already thoughtful, eyes scanning the rows of worn spines.
They spent a few minutes weaving through the stacks in silence, the soft sound of pages rustling and fingers trailing across leather bindings filling the space. Occasionally, Satan paused to tilt his head at a title, only to mutter a soft “No, not that one,” before moving on.
Ves trailed behind, their eyes drifting over the shelves—but their mind felt hazy, slower than usual, their focus slipping like water through their hands.
Eventually, Satan gave a quiet sigh and turned toward them, his green-blue eyes catching the lamplight. “It’s not here. It must be in one of the books in my room.”
“Of course,” Ves said, dryly. “Well… lead the way.”
Satan’s room was just as Ves remembered it: soft lamplight and gentle clutter, cat-shaped pillows and towers of precariously balanced books. They wove through the maze, trailing behind him as he muttered to himself and started opening spines at random.
“Want to help me look?” he asked after a moment.
Ves nodded and joined him. Their fingers skimmed spines still warm from his touch. Something inside them was buzzing faintly, something warm and liquid and unsettling. Their cheeks were flushed and their limbs felt a little too aware of themselves. Every brush of Satan’s sleeve or arm sent a little bolt of heat to the pit of their stomach.
Eventually, Satan let out a quiet “Aha,” and pulled a thick, gold-bound volume from a crooked stack.
“Found it.”
He opened the book and scanned quickly, flipping through pages of runes and diagrams until he landed on a stylized illustration of a creature halfway between newt and flame. “Here we go.”
He read aloud, his brow furrowing with increasing disbelief.
“The term hellfire newt refers to a newt reborn in the Devildom after being consumed by fire in the Human World,” Satan explained slowly, his finger tracing the delicate illustrations. “It’s used in remedies and elixirs to restore and revitalize the body as well as stimulate—ah.”
Satan’s eyes flicked up to meet Ves’s curious gaze.
“Stimulate what?” Ves asked, their voice quiet but edged with a flicker of surprise.
“…Sexual desires,” Satan finished, his cheeks tinged with a faint pink that only made him look more amused.
Ves blinked, their mind catching on with a slow, dawning understanding. The warmth curling beneath their skin, the sudden flush of heat that seemed to pool in their chest—it wasn’t just the spice of the soup.
They swallowed, glancing around the softly lit room, which suddenly felt a little warmer, a little closer.
“So… that’s why the room feels like it’s practically glowing,” Ves murmured, a mix of bemusement and awkwardness threading through their tone.
“…Yeah. I guess so.” Satan’s smile was slow, amused but tinged with genuine caution.
After a moment, he cleared his throat and continued, his voice lowering, something sultry tinging on its edges. “Apparently a number of different elixirs use it, but the most well-known is called Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. When consumed by demons… it induces a state of infatuation… and causes demons to experience extremely heightened sexual urges.”
“Of course it does,” Ves muttered, their cheeks flaring like burning coals. “And of course Mammon had to put that into the soup.”
“Levi’s going to kill him,” Satan said, flipping the page with a dry chuckle. “Huh. It says the effects usually wear off in a few days, but some cases have lasted up to two hundred years.”
Ves stared at him, eyes narrowing.
“Oh, and—if the demon has a pact with someone, it can be neutralized by fulfilling a command from their master. Convenient.”
He closed the book and fixed Ves with an unreadable look.
“So,” Satan said, leaning closer with a sly grin, “Shall we find out just how powerful this little potion really is?”
“Satan,” Ves warned softly, though a smirk tugged at their lips. But he was already closing the space between them, gently guiding them backward through the narrow aisles of books. Ves stumbled slightly, their heel catching on a loose edge of carpet, sending a small cascade of books fluttering to the floor around them.
“You missed me, didn’t you?” Satan asked, his voice dipping low, smooth as velvet but laced with challenge. “Tell me you did.”
“Of course. I had no one to share my books with.”
Ves shook their head, trying to keep a straight face as the syrup’s warmth spread, knotting their thoughts into a dizzy, glowing haze.
The scent of old paper and ink wrapped around them, thick and comforting. Books shifted as another pile tumbled behind them. They stopped, pressed between the tall shelves and Satan’s intense, emerald gaze.
That’s when they remembered.
They drew in a shaky breath.
“You said following an order would make it stop,” Ves said, their voice hoarse but playful. “If you’re so eager, then… how about you meow for me.”
Satan blinked, caught off guard. His lips twitched, as if fighting an internal battle between dignity and mischief. He took a breath, eyes flickering with reluctant amusement. “Meow?” he repeated, his voice low and uncertain.
“You heard me,” Ves said firmly, crossing their arms with a grin.
A long pause stretched between them before Satan finally let go of his usual composure and released a soft, perfectly pitched meow.
Ves laughed, the sound bubbling out bright and free, and for a moment, the awkward heat pooling in their chest lightened.
The effect was immediate. Satan blinked as if shaking off a fog, his eyes sharpening, posture straightening.
“Well,” he said after a moment, running a hand through his hair, “That… actually worked.”
Ves stifled a laugh behind their hand. “I didn’t realize the great Satan could be so easily neutralized.”
He smirked, but there was concern lurking in his gaze. “Enjoy it while it lasts. You’re half-demon, so you must be feeling the syrup’s effects too, huh? I can’t exactly order you around with a pact to fix it, but you’re definitely glowing.”
He paused, then added, teasing but serious, “I’ll do some digging—I’ll see if there’s anything else to know. In the meantime, stay hidden, okay? We don’t want the others catching on before we understand what we’re dealing with.”
Ves nodded, cheeks still warm, but they felt comforted by the quiet steadiness in Satan’s tone.
Ves slipped quietly out of Satan’s room, the heat of the syrup still lingering beneath their skin in a way that was both distracting and oddly pleasant. They barely had time to steady themself before they bumped into Beelzebub, who was carrying a tray piled with snacks and a wide, hopeful grin.
“Hey, Ves! Want to come with me to the kitchen? I’ve got some stuff to eat, and it’s better with company,” Beel called out, his voice warm and easy.
Ves hesitated, a flicker of anxiety tightening their chest. Satan said to stay hidden until the syrup wears off... They tried to pull back, but before they could, Beel’s large hand caught their wrist gently but firmly.
“Come on,” he said with a grin, tugging them insistently. “You need a break. I won’t let you hide away alone.”
Ves exhaled slowly, surrendering to the warmth of his concern, and let themself be pulled along. The distraction was welcome, even if their mind still buzzed beneath the surface.
As they walked, Beel’s tone softened. “I missed you when you left the Devildom. It wasn’t the same without you around.” He smiled, his eyes shining with something like fondness.
Ves smiled back, feeling the syrup’s warmth ripple again beneath their ribs. “I missed you, too.”
They fell into an easy rhythm, reminiscing about the retreat at the Demon Lord’s Castle—the quiet moments, the laughter, the way Beel had tried to impress them with his cooking. But as they continued, his movements grew a little more languid, his gaze a bit too intense.
This isn’t good.
Ves’ fingers trembled slightly as they reached for a cream puff from the tray, hoping to distract Beel. “Here—this might help tide you over,” they offered, their voice a little too bright.
Beel eagerly took it, his eyes gleaming like a kid on a sugar rush. But just as he bit down, the cream puff suddenly exploded in a gentle burst, whipped cream splattering everywhere—dollops landing with a cold, sticky splash on Ves’ hands, smearing across the sleeves of their clothes, and dotting their collar.
They froze, blinking down at the mess dripping from their fingertips and clinging to the soft fabric.
“Aah...” Ves exclaimed, blinking in surprise and hastily wiping at their hands, trying to clear the sticky whipped cream.
Beel’s eyes widened, then narrowed with unmistakable hunger, his grin deepening. He leaned in just slightly, the heat of his breath warm against their skin, and his eyes roamed over the whipped cream-coated spots like a predator eyeing a feast.
“You look like a real snack now,” Beel said, his voice low and playful, yet unmistakably earnest. He stepped closer until his large frame had gently cornered Ves against the wall.
Ves’ breath hitched, their cheeks flushing hotter under the weight of his eager gaze. They swallowed, heart racing—not just from the syrup now, but from how close Beel was, how warm his body felt pressed near theirs.
Quick, quick, think of something! An order, anything, before you explode!
“Beel,” Ves said softly, voice a mix of amusement and slight desperation, “Could you—um—help get this cream off me?”
Beel’s eyes lit with that familiar, earnest hunger—though now, there was something else beneath it: a gentler heat, a flicker of want that had nothing to do with the custard and everything to do with them.
His large hand wrapped gently around Ves’ wrist, steadying them, before his tongue traced a slow, deliberate path over their fingers. It was warm and rough, but somehow careful, reverent. Ves let out a shaky breath.
That… that’s not what I meant…
But Beel didn’t stop. One hand settled at their waist, the other sliding up to their shoulder as he stepped in close—close enough that Ves’ back brushed the edge of the kitchen cabinet. The space between them vanished, swallowed by the breadth of Beel’s body and the low, pleased sound rumbling in his chest.
“You taste really good,” he murmured, his voice low, almost in awe. “Sweet. Like you’re made of dessert.”
Ves’ cheeks flamed. Beel leaned in, nose brushing along their jaw, his tongue sweeping up a line of custard on their cheek, then dipping lower to catch a smear near their throat. The sensation sent a shiver skimming down their spine.
“Beel—” they tried, but their voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a plea.
“I can’t seem to get enough of you,” he admitted, lips grazing the sensitive skin just beneath their ear.
His grip tightened—not harshly, but just enough to remind Ves how easily he could lift them, carry them, hold them steady if they fell apart right here. The cabinet was a poor shield against the press of his chest, the warmth of his breath, the faint sweetness that clung to their skin and stirred something deeper than syrup could explain.
Ves swallowed hard, their heart pounding erratically, torn between the embarrassment of the moment and the strange comfort that came with his closeness. Somewhere in the back of their mind, a warning whispered—Satan had said to stay hidden until the syrup wore off—but in this quiet, warm bubble, it felt almost impossible to care.
Each lick was both balm and spark—soothing in its gentleness, yet teasingly intimate, stirring something stubbornly alive beneath their skin.
They bit back a moan as Beel’s tongue slid over their collarbone, rough and wet and right.
“Ah, Beel—”
They tilted their head back against the cabinet and closed their eyes, willing their heartbeat to slow, to not give in to the syrup’s pull—or to the way Beel’s mouth hovered just over their skin, dragging them deeper into the flames.
This wasn’t how they’d meant for things to go. Not here, not now.
But the slow, careful rhythm of Beel’s ministrations was disarming, teasing the edges of their composure gently apart.
They held on with what little willpower they could manage. They would not come undone.
Not yet, at least.
Not if they had anything to say about it.
Beel had just finished cleaning the last of the whipped cream from Ves’ hands when the door creaked open behind them.
Belphegor stood there, arms crossed, face unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable.
“Seriously?” he muttered, his eyes flicking from Ves’ flushed cheeks to the tray of ruined cream puffs. “You didn’t see Satan’s message?”
Beel turned, blinking. “What message?”
Belphie scoffed. “The one about the soup. The syrup. The aphrodisiac you apparently swallowed, along with the rest of us.”
“I didn’t—” Beel started, then paused, his eyes widening slightly. “Oh. Oh. So that’s why Levi was so freaked out.”
Belphie’s voice was low, biting. “And you—” His gaze settled on Ves. “You’re supposed to be lying low, not playing snack platter for my brother.”
Ves’ mouth opened—and promptly closed.
Belphie shook his head, disgusted. “I’m going to the attic.”
He turned on his heel.
“Wait.”
The word left Ves’ lips before they could stop it.
Belphie halted mid-step. His shoulders jerked back like something had struck him, and for a beat, he just stood there, breath catching in his throat. A visible shiver rippled down his spine as if the command had traveled through every nerve. Slowly, rigidly, he turned.
“…Did you just—?” His voice was quiet, caught somewhere between disbelief and something rawer.
Beel glanced between them, brows furrowing as realization dawned. “Oh, right, our pacts! Satan mentioned that using them might help make this more bearable.”
Ves shifted uneasily, their heart thudding in their chest. “I didn’t mean to use it like that. I just—didn’t want you to go. Not when you were still upset with me.”
Belphie’s lips parted to retort—but then he flinched.
It was subtle: a break in his composure, a hitch in his breath. His lashes fluttered, and his hands clenched at his sides.
A slow breath escaped him. When he looked up again, something had changed.
“…Oh,” he said softly.
Beel tilted his head. “What is it?”
Belphie blinked, like the fog had lifted. His brow furrowed, expression softening in real time as he looked at Ves—really looked. The irritation had drained from his face, leaving behind something more thoughtful. Regretful, even.
“…That was it,” he murmured. “That one word—you really pulled me out of it.”
He exhaled again, longer this time, and rubbed a hand down his face like he was shaking off a bad dream.
“I felt like I was being pulled under,” he said after a pause, quieter now. “Everything was hot and… loud. Like I needed to prove something. Claim something. But now…” He looked over at Beel, then back at Ves. “Now I just feel tired.”
Ves’ arms slowly lowered.
Belphie offered a faint, crooked smile—not smug this time, but rueful. “Thanks for stopping me before I did something I’d regret.”
They nodded, voice thick. “Just glad I could help.”
Beel reached over and ruffled Ves’ hair gently. “Looks like we’re not the only ones who need protecting.”
Belphie’s eyes flicked to him. “Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook either. That was my cream puff.”
Beel winced. “Sorry.”
Belphie rolled his eyes, but the tension was gone now, replaced by a deeper, quieter concern. His gaze returned to Ves—and lingered.
“And you…” he said, his voice lower now, “You’ve been wandering around the house like this?”
His eyes swept over them—flushed skin, slightly tousled hair, whipped cream streaked across their collar and sleeves, the mess drying in sticky patches against fabric and skin. His brows drew together, almost in disbelief.
“No wonder everyone’s losing their minds.”
Ves flushed deeper, folding their arms tightly across their stomach as if they could somehow hide all of it. “Believe me, I didn’t want part of this either,” they muttered.
Belphie sighed and stepped in close, close enough that Ves could smell his familiar scent—cool linen, faint sleep musk, and the ghost of spice from Beel’s late lunch. He reached out, gently brushing a bit of cream off their shoulder with a frown.
“You need to lay low,” Belphie said quietly, the edge in his voice softened now to something that almost sounded like worry. “You’re the only one who can stop the rest of us from—well, doing something stupid, and in the state you’re in… trying to help them now will only get you deeper in trouble."
Ves hesitated. “You think the others are still…?”
Beel nodded grimly. “Probably. Especially if they haven’t seen Satan’s message yet.”
“Then we’ve got to get you out of sight,” Belphie added. “Before Asmo decides he wants a taste, or Mammon starts getting ideas.”
Right. I haven’t even started to think what something like this would do to a lust demon like Asmo.
He reached out, briefly linking his pinky with Ves’—a rare gesture, quick and grounding.
“Come on. We’ll take you to your room. You can stay there ‘til this all blows over.”
Ves glanced between them, something warm unfurling in their chest despite the lingering haze. The syrup still hummed low in their veins, but it felt… quieter now. Less like a storm, and more like a tide, slowly pulling back.
“…Alright,” they said softly.
And with Beel on one side and Belphie on the other, they made their way back to the safe confines of their room.
Chapter 3: Of Embers and Ease
Notes:
Something about this chapter bothers me, so this might change in the future as I come back and make edits. Please forgive my errors... or point them out, if you have ideas on how to make them better. Thank you.
Chapter Text
Ves closed the door behind them with a quiet sigh, fingers lingering on the wood as the soft click echoed through the room. Beel offered a quick, one-armed hug—gentle despite his size—before disappearing down the hall. Belphie, still subdued, gave a quiet “Try not to melt anyone’s brain,” before shuffling off in the opposite direction.
Finally, they were alone.
Ves let out a breath and leaned back against the door. The room was cool and dim, heavy curtains filtering the light into a bluish haze. The silence was blessed. They stripped off their sticky outer layers—shirt ruined by whipped cream, collar still a little crusted with sugar—and tossed it toward the hamper. Then they collapsed backward onto the bed with a groan, sinking into the familiar comfort of blankets and soft pillows.
Their head was still spinning, skin warm and a little too aware of itself, but at least there were no more—
Click.
Ves blinked.
That sound hadn’t come from the hallway.
Their head turned slowly, their heart already dropping.
The bathroom door creaked open.
“Asmo,” they groaned, sitting up just as a soft giggle echoed from within.
“Well, well, well…” came the unmistakable purr, sultry and delighted. “There you are, darling. I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”
Asmodeus stepped out of the bathroom in a swirl of rose-scented mist, his cheeks flushed and lips parted in an anticipatory smile. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, collarbones gleaming with faint shimmer, as though he’d applied something there, just for this moment.
Ves sat frozen and topless on the bed, still halfway in their trousers, half out of their patience. They quickly redid the belt and buttons, murmuring a quiet thanks to the stars that they hadn’t gotten fully undressed.
“You were in the bathroom,” Ves said flatly. “Waiting for me?”
He twirled a lock of hair around one finger, sauntering closer. “Because I knew you’d come back here eventually. And after that lovely message Satan sent, I figured—why wait for fate?”
“Asmo,” they said more firmly. “No.”
He paused a few steps away, pouting like a cat denied cream. “Oh, come now. You’re not immune either, sweetheart. I can see the flush in your cheeks from here.”
Ves’ heart thumped once, hard.
“Mmhmm, I thought so.” Asmo took a step forward, bare feet whispering over the floorboards. “I thought I’d surprise you. You’ve had a very long day, haven’t you?” His voice dipped. “I could make it better.”
Ves flinched, not from fear, but from the sudden awareness of every inch of their skin. The open air on their bare chest, the faint stickiness of cream puff residue they still hadn’t fully wiped away, the way Asmo’s eyes tracked their movements like they were something delicate and delicious.
They dragged a hand down their face. “Asmo… the syrup, remember? You’re not thinking straight.”
Asmo pouted. “Of course I am. I know exactly what I want.”
Right. He’s the Avatar of Lust, Ves reminded themself. This is exactly who he is. Even without the syrup... this is just Asmo.
He was beside the bed now, close enough that Ves could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. His fingers brushed the edge of the mattress, then inched toward Ves’ knee.
Ves took a deep breath, shifting on the bed to steady their nerves. “Asmo,” they said firmly, “Go find me a clean shirt.”
Asmodeus’s eyes sparkled with amusement and something warmer as he grinned. “Anything for you, darling.”
He glided out of the room like a flame flickering just out of reach, leaving Ves alone to gather their scattered thoughts.
Moments later, Asmo returned, holding a soft, silk shirt that seemed to catch the light with every breath. He draped it over Ves’ shoulders with deliberate slowness, fingers lingering a heartbeat too long along their collarbone.
Ves swallowed, their cheeks flaring hotter despite the relief of covering their bare chest. “Thanks, Asmo.”
He leaned close, whispering, “You know, I don’t really need the syrup to want you like this.”
Before Ves could respond, a sharp knock interrupted the charged quiet.
“Enough,” Lucifer’s voice cut through the room as he stepped inside, his eyes flickering over the scene like a quiet storm.
Thank the stars.
“Asmodeus,” he said, clipped but calm, “Knock it off.”
Asmo smirked without missing a beat. “But Lucifer, I was just about to have some fun!”
A sharp glance was all it took before Asmo skittered out.
With Asmo gone, Lucifer’s gaze lingered on Ves—the tousled hair, flushed cheeks—but he said nothing. His eyes, sharp and steady, held a flicker of something unreadable—an effort to appear unaffected, though a faint flush tinged his cheeks.
“I saw your message,” he said quietly, his voice calm but with an edge that didn’t quite hide the strain. “Are there any brothers you haven’t helped yet?”
Ves hesitated, then answered, “Levi, Mammon, and… you.”
Lucifer’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he gave a slight shake of his head, trying to dismiss the notion. “Did you really think a little something like that would affect me?” His tone was dry, but there was an underlying tightness to it. Stress, perhaps?
He stepped back, folding his arms neatly before Ves could ask more. “Satan’s still digging through the archives. He’s found no cure for you yet, but he’s looking.”
Ves watched him carefully—Lucifer’s usual unshakable poise was there. Maybe he was just warm. He certainly didn’t seem very different than normal.
“Come on,” Lucifer finally said, his voice steady again. “Levi’s waiting.”
Without offering a hand, he turned toward Levi’s room, leading the way with quiet confidence.
Ves trailed behind, the uneven rhythm of their breath a stark contrast to Lucifer’s composed stride. The residual stickiness of the syrup clung to their skin, a faint prickling warmth simmering low in their gut, urging caution even as the quiet urgency of the moment pushed them forward. Lucifer’s presence was a mix of comfort and distance—he walked just a half-step ahead, eyes fixed straight ahead, his calm aura a tether amid the chaos inside Ves.
They approached the door to Levi’s room. Lucifer raised a hand and knocked sharply.
A muffled, irritated voice answered, “Go away. I don’t want to see anyone.”
Ves swallowed their apprehension and stepped forward, their voice steady and clear. “Levi, open the door.”
There was a pause, then the faint sound of feet moving away from the door. Moments later, it swung open, revealing Levi’s face—tired but clear-eyed, the dull fog of the syrup lifted.
His gaze landed on Ves, and a breath of relief escaped him, soft and trembling. “Ves…”
He stepped back, allowing them inside. “I’m so sorry… for everything. For being such a burden. For hiding. For all the trouble.”
His hands trembled slightly as he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes flickering with guilt and gratitude.
Ves gave him a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Levi. We’re here now.”
Levi let out a soft sigh, his shoulders loosening now that the syrup’s grip had eased. “What’s next? We can’t just wait here.”
Lucifer folded his arms, eyes darkening with a trace of impatience. “Satan’s still digging through the archives.”
Ves glanced between the two, the weight of exhaustion heavy on their shoulders. “Mammon still needs help. We can’t leave him alone like this.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes, but it was a slow, knowing motion—he wasn’t about to dismiss the concern. “Of course. I know better than to let him run wild.” His tone softened, almost reluctant. “Let’s go.”
The hallway’s dim light stretched long shadows as they moved toward Mammon’s door. Ves’s heart thudded unevenly—part worry, part anticipation. This was Mammon of all demons… it would be a cold day in hell before he ever let anything happen easily.
Lucifer knocked sharply, then called, “Mammon. Open up. We’re here.”
The door creaked but didn’t swing open.
Ves stepped forward, voice firm but gentle. “Mammon, come on. Open the door.”
A muffled groan came from inside, followed by a sulky, “I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”
Lucifer’s jaw tightened. “You’re not fine, and you know it. We’re not leaving without you.”
A pause, then the door swung open a crack, revealing Mammon’s flushed, defiant face. His eyes flicked between them, burning with something more than irritation—a tangled mix of frustration and something else, something unspoken.
“I don’t need your pity,” he snapped, stepping back as if to close the door, but Ves’ hand caught it. “And I certainly don’t need your company, either. Go away.”
“Mammon... we’re not here to pity you,” Ves said softly, meeting his gaze steadily, doing their best to ignore the heat pulsing from Mammon’s palm. “We just want to help.”
His defenses faltered, if only for a moment, before his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re always helping everyone else. It’s not like you care about me.”
The question hung between them, raw and vulnerable. Ves’ chest tightened.
“I do care about you,” they whispered. “I wouldn’t have come, otherwise.”
Mammon’s eyes flickered with something almost like relief. He shifted, finally letting the door open wider, stepping aside.
Lucifer nodded toward the room. “You go ahead. I’ll wait for you out here.”
As they entered, Ves closed the door behind them and let out a breath. This wasn’t going to be easy, but nothing worth having ever was.
Mammon slumped onto the edge of his bed, his arms crossed stubbornly. The heat of the syrup still glowed faintly behind his eyes, making his usual sharpness edge toward something more desperate.
Ves settled beside him, careful to give him space but close enough to offer silent support. Their voice was low, steady—something Mammon hadn’t heard from them in a while.
“It’s okay to lean on me. I’m here.”
Mammon’s jaw clenched, but the tension in his shoulders started to ease, if only slightly. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure.
Ves reached out, gentle and sure, and pulled him into a hug.
“Hug me back. It’s okay. It really is.”
At first, Mammon stiffened, but then his arms came up, wrapping tight around Ves. The warmth of the embrace was grounding, steady.
A faint shimmer—the syrup’s lingering haze—flickered and began to fade.
Mammon exhaled deeply, burying his face in Ves’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “For everything… and for being a mess.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Ves whispered. “You’re all good.”
Outside, Lucifer leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed, listening quietly but giving them the space they needed.
After a moment, Mammon pulled back, his eyes clearer now but still tinged with wariness. “Thanks... I guess you’re not as annoying as I thought. You really aren’t bad, for a human… or whatever it is that you are.”
Ves smiled gently, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind their ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Lucifer’s gaze flickered briefly to Ves, unreadable but softer than before. “Ready to go?”
“Yes,” Ves replied, standing a little straighter now, the warmth from Mammon’s hug still lingering in their chest.
Lucifer nodded once, then turned with measured steps. He didn’t reach out or touch them, no matter how much Ves wished he would, but there was no distance in his movements—only a quiet resolve.
Together, they walked through the quiet corridors toward Lucifer’s study. The air felt heavy with unspoken tension, but Ves focused on the path ahead, determined.
Lucifer opened the door and gestured inside.
“We’ll start here. Satan’s still combing through every archive he can find, but any new clue will help.”
The study was lined with towering shelves crammed full of ancient tomes and scrolls, the air thick with the musky scent of parchment and polished wood. Lucifer moved with purposeful grace, opening books and scanning texts, while Ves sifted through piles of notes, the haze from the syrup still clouding their thoughts.
As time dragged on, the heat in the room felt oppressive—like the walls themselves were closing in. Ves shifted uncomfortably, swallowing the growing urge to release the tension coiling inside.
They didn’t know what to do, only that they needed space. They took a tentative step backward—only to find themselves unexpectedly pressed against Lucifer’s side.
His sharp reflexes kicked in instantly, steadying them before they could stumble or fall. The contact was electric—warm, grounding, and somehow impossible to ignore. Their gaze lifted, locking with Lucifer’s, and the truth became undeniable in the gentle curve of his brow, the slight darkening of his lashes.
“So…” Ves breathed, teasing but soft, “You lied, didn’t you? You look plenty affected to me.”
Lucifer’s usual cool mask cracked, his gaze flickering away momentarily before meeting theirs again with a resigned frankness. “I am,” he admitted quietly, “Though I’d really hoped you wouldn’t notice.”
Ves’ lips curved into a small, knowing smile. As he let go, the heat of his touch still lingered, a subtle thrill buzzing through their veins. Just as the moment seemed to stretch between them, Lucifer withdrew his hand, kneeling gracefully before Ves.
No no, that just makes it worse…
“Master,” he said softly, head bowed but gaze steady, “Give me a command. Help me free myself from this… weakness.”
Ves blinked.
Master.
Something rushed in their blood at that.
Ves studied him for a moment—the way his pride flickered behind those steady eyes, how different he sounded compared to the last time they’d been alone together. There was something almost endearing in his vulnerability, a rare break in the avatar of Pride’s armor.
“You sound… almost cute like this,” Ves said, trying not to sound breathless, unable to suppress the teasing lilt in their tone.
Lucifer’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson, a mixture of embarrassment and something else—pleasure, perhaps? “Don’t mock me,” he replied with a small smirk. “Hearing someone use that word to describe me… it’s strange. But if you think I’m cute, truly, then I’ll take the compliment.”
Ves’ smile deepened, their eyes sparkling. “You are. Give me a hug and a kiss?”
“Certainly.”
Lucifer’s arms wrapped around them, pulling them close with a slow, deliberate pressure that made their breath hitch. His hands traced the curve of their waist, sliding lower to cup their hips before sneaking beneath the fabric of their shirt. Ves sighed, leaning into the touch, into the rightness of it as they burned like fire in Lucifer’s arms.
Between kisses, his voice was low and husky, threaded with the syrup’s haze. “I missed you.”
Well, aren’t you sweet.
Ves tilted their head slightly, catching his breath against their lips. “I missed you too, Lucifer. I really, really did.”
His eyes lit up at that. He smiled, pressing his forehead to theirs as his hands roamed up their back beneath the tunic, pressing them ever closer.
One hand slipped free to thread around the nape of Ves’ neck as he whispered, “I thought of you every day.”
A shiver ran through Ves at those words. With a soft smile, they urged their own arms higher until they were looped around Lucifer’s shoulders, their fingers tangling in his hair.
“You were never far from my mind,” Ves murmured, their voice barely more than a breath against his skin. They pressed a kiss to his jaw, to his neck, and were about to plant another on his throat when he caught their lips with his, and Ves melted into his embrace.
Before they had much chance to go further, the soft ping of Ves’ D.D.D. broke the charged silence, pulling them reluctantly apart. Their chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as they reached for the device, their fingers trembling as they opened the message.
Lucifer watched, his sharp eyes tracing the flicker of Ves’ flushed cheeks and the slight sheen of sweat at their temple. When Ves read aloud, their voice was gentle, but edged with the syrup’s haze:
“Satan says he’s still combing, but no there’s cure yet. Since I’m only half-demon, the effect should wear off by tomorrow or the day after… He says I should try to relax in the meantime to help the symptoms pass.”
Before Lucifer could respond, a brisk knock echoed at the door, sharp and urgent.
Ves’ body stiffened, the heat in their veins sparking anew. They turned, cheeks burning deeper, to face the intruder—Asmodeus, who stepped in like a tempest, breathless, cheeks flushed as if he’d sprinted through a rose garden.
His eyes flicked past Lucifer, landing on Ves with a playful glint. “Well, well,” he murmured, his silky voice threaded with mischief, that ever-present scent of roses, and something sweeter. “Seems like trouble follows wherever you go.”
Ves averted their gaze, tilting their face towards the cool wall, hiding the deep blush threatening to betray every secret the syrup had stirred within them. The faint stickiness of residual cream puff still clung to their skin, the memory of Asmo’s earlier attentions burning anew in their mind.
“There’s been some trouble downstairs—Mammon and Levi got their hands on another bottle of syrup.”
Though Ves couldn’t see Lucifer’s expression, the usual warmth and amusement in his tone had drained away, replaced by a sharp edge. “I don’t want to be indulged with this,” Lucifer said flatly, his voice low and controlled. With a swift gesture, he waved Asmo away, his tone firm but measured: “Deal with it.”
Asmo disappeared shortly after, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Lucifer, now satisfied, leaned back into the nape of their neck, his breath warm and teasing. “I’m happy to help you relax,” he murmured, echoing Satan’s advice. Ves’ breath caught at the sensation—the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the lingering sweetness of syrup and cream puff—and their eyes flickered with temptation, though their face remained hidden from Lucifer’s view.
The heat pressing against Ves’ back was comforting, grounding, yet inside, the storm churned relentlessly. Every nerve seemed alight, the syrup’s haze thickening like fog in their mind. They tried to steady their breath, but the coil of tension tightened, refusing to unwind. Lucifer’s hands glided up and down their sides, pressing kisses along the delicate curve of their neck, each movement only adding to the fire and temptation.
Ves swallowed the lump in their throat and whispered, “Lucifer… I—” Their voice faltered, vulnerable and raw. “I need help.”
Lucifer’s arms tightened just so, steady and patient. “Do you now?” he said softly, his voice like velvet and steel combined.
They’d never asked for help like this before. Not like this. Their arms tightened around their body, their fingers curled into the fabric of their shirt, a lifeline anchoring them to the present. “I can’t—this won’t go away… unless…” Their words hung suspended, a plea wrapped in uncertainty.
Lucifer’s gaze lowered, darkening with understanding, a slow, knowing smile curling his lips. “Tell me what you need.”
Ves hesitated, then leaned into the warmth behind them, letting the confession slip free. “I need to… get this out of my system. I can’t focus. I—I’m too tangled up inside.”
The silence that followed was soft and reverent, as if the room itself held its breath.
It’s burning. It hurts. Help me, Lucifer… please…
Then, with a gentle exhale, Lucifer’s hands began to move—slow, deliberate, exploring with care and purpose. His fingers traced the curve of their waist, gliding beneath their tunic, leaving trails of rightness in their wake. One hand rose to cradle their ribs, while the other slid lower, beneath the belt of their trousers, down to trace loving circles on the front of their thigh.
Ves’ breath hitched, every touch unraveling the tautness knotting inside. Their body responded before their mind could catch up, opening like a bloom coaxed by sunlight.
“Lucifer—"
Lucifer’s lips brushed a soft kiss against the nape of their neck, warm and grounding. “Relax,” he murmured, low and steady. “I’m here.”
He had them now. And here, with him, they were safe.
Chapter 4: Of Satin and Surrender
Notes:
Hello, friends. We've arrived at a smut chapter. Skip if you are uninterested, or read on: the choice is yours, but you've been warned. :)
Chapter Text
In that cocoon of heat and whispered promises, Ves felt the walls inside them crumble, the syrup’s grip loosening with every deliberate stroke and tender kiss.
Fingertips trembling, Ves reached up hesitantly, their hands fiddling with the collar of Lucifer’s shirt as if seeking permission in the soft folds of fabric. The simple act—so small, so tentative—carried a weight far heavier than the cloth itself. Their breath caught, cheeks flushing in the silence, words caught somewhere between want and embarrassment.
Lucifer’s voice cut through the haze, low and velvety, carrying both command and comfort. “Don’t fight it. Take what you need.”
The words slid over Ves like silk, loosening their last thread of restraint. With trembling hands, they reached for him, fumbling at the many precise layers of his clothes. A breathless laugh slipped past their lips—half apology, half hunger—as the fabric began to yield beneath their touch.
“Damn these layers…” they muttered under their breath, cheeks warming as they struggled to keep their voice steady. It wasn’t just the physical weight of fabric—it was the weight of needing this, of needing him, that pressed heavy on their chest.
Lucifer’s soft chuckle brushed against their ear, warm and amused. “Patience, Evenstar.” His hands settled over theirs, steadying, guiding with easy precision.
Ves swallowed hard, the knot of embarrassment tightening, but the warmth in Lucifer’s voice was a balm, a quiet permission that they weren’t too much—not now, not ever—even if it went unsaid.
His thumb traced over their knuckles, a grounding pressure. “You don’t have to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
After taking a deep breath to steady their hands, Ves slowly began to unbutton the layers cloaking Lucifer’s chest. The faint rustle of fabric mingled with the soft thud of their heartbeat in their ears. They knew they ought to linger, to savor this, to stretch it out and let the moment bloom—but their body screamed for more, every nerve alight, urging them to move faster, faster.
Each piece that slipped free revealed warm, smooth skin beneath—skin that radiated quiet strength and unexpected vulnerability. The subtle scent of his cologne deepened as his shirt fell open, mingling with the faint trace of lingering syrup on Ves’ own skin.
When the last button gave way, Ves hesitated for just a moment, then wrapped their arms around Lucifer’s shoulders, pulling him into a gentle, searching hug. The solid weight of him grounded them, the steady rise and fall of his chest matching their own ragged breaths. The warmth of him pressed against them like a quiet promise, a steady wall they could cling to.
Lucifer’s hands slid around Ves’ waist, drawing them closer with a softness that made their breath hitch. His mouth curved, the barest suggestion of a smile brushing their ear. “So eager… and yet you’re still dressed,” he murmured, velvet wrapping around the words. His thumbs traced slow circles at their hips before tugging lightly at the hem of their tunic—only to let it fall back into place.
The tease made Ves’ breath catch, heat sparking sharp under their skin. Every nerve screamed for him to hurry, to strip the layers away, but his deliberate restraint only wound the need tighter.
“Lucifer, please…” The words slipped out like a prayer, quiet and shaking. They leaned harder into him, chest heaving, desperate for more than the steady patience holding them in place.
Lucifer chuckled low, savoring the sound of their voice breaking on his name. At last, with tender care, his fingers began easing the fabric upward, skimming slow, unhurried paths over their skin as he helped peel it away. Then, deliberately, he moved lower, working at the waistband of their trousers with the same maddening precision.
“There you are,” Lucifer smiled gently. With his hands on Ves’ lower back, his bare fingers rubbing little circles against the burning flesh, he started to walk backwards, guiding them with him.
“Come sit with me for a bit.”
Ves nodded again, their breath catching at the quiet intimacy of the offer. It wasn’t long before the space between them shrunk to nothing but shared warmth and quiet trust.
Lucifer settled himself atop his desk with a fluid grace, the polished wood cool and smooth beneath him. The soft gleam of candlelight caught the defined planes of his chest and shoulders—bare skin that seemed to glow with a quiet, radiant strength, only highlighted further by the slim cut of his pants. Somehow you look even more breathtaking than the last time I saw you like this. Every muscle of his torso was well defined, every breath measured and steady.
Ves’ pulse quickened, heat flooding their cheeks as a shy tremble ran through their exposed skin. The mixture of awe and something deeper, something urgent, pushed past their usual reserve. Despite the haze and their vulnerability, they felt an undeniable pull—the need to be closer, to feel the warmth of him against their own bare body.
With hesitant fingers brushing against his waist for balance, Ves carefully climbed into Lucifer’s lap, their heart pounding wildly. In their nervousness, their elbow nudged a neat stack of papers, sending them fluttering to the floor like startled birds.
I’d take this world and cast it aside, just to be with you.
A spark raced under Ves’ skin, stoking the fire burning in their gut hotter, fiercer, sharper. The papers—to see them scattered about like that, so carelessly and raw…
Focus, Ves!
“Ah! I’m sorry,” Ves murmured after they came back to themself, cheeks burning hotter as they bent to gather the scattered sheets. But before their fingers could touch the parchment, Lucifer’s hand gently covered theirs, stopping the motion.
“Let it be,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “We’re here now. Nothing else matters.”
Ves hesitated, caught between embarrassment and a deep craving for comfort. Slowly, almost reluctantly, they eased themself deeper into Lucifer’s embrace, seeking the steady warmth that had always grounded them. But the close contact, the soft press of skin against skin, set a fire blazing through their veins—too hot, too insistent to stay still.
Impulsively, Ves tilted their head, their lips brushing a tender kiss against the hollow of Lucifer’s neck. The scent of him—warm and sharp with a faint trace of sandalwood and something uniquely his—wrapped around them like a silken cloak, pulling them deeper into the moment. Their breath hitched, mingling with the subtle heat radiating from his skin.
I want more…
Without thinking, they bit down a little, their teeth and tongue grazing his salty skin. The sudden contact pulled a sound low from Lucifer’s throat, barely audible, and it stirred something electric in the stillness.
Ves froze, the realization blooming instantly. They pulled back immediately, and guilt bloomed alongside a flush deeper than before.
I didn’t mean to do that, they thought, heart pounding. But after a moment, another voice within them murmured, he did just this to you last time you were together… why do you feel so nervous now?
They started to shift, to retreat, but Lucifer was faster. His hand rose to gently catch their chin, halting their escape. The other arm stayed firm around their back, keeping them close, pressed to the solid warmth of his chest.
“Now, now,” he murmured, his lips curving with quiet amusement, “Don’t go running off just because you got a little bold.” His thumb brushed softly beneath their chin, tilting their face toward him. “You weren’t nearly this shy last time.”
Ves’ blush deepened to something almost painful, their voice tight and flustered. “That’s because you were the one taking the lead then!”
Lucifer chuckled—low, velvet-smooth, and far too pleased. “So that’s all it takes to make my Evenstar blush?” he teased, his voice a rich purr against their skin. “I put you in charge for one night and suddenly you're trembling in my lap.”
Ves groaned softly and buried their face in the crook of his neck, trying to will the blush away, but failing. The fabric of Lucifer’s pants felt a little too rough between their thighs. He was too warm. None of this was according to plan.
“Shut up, demon,” they muttered, voice muffled and trembling with a mix of mortification and something dangerously close to laughter.
Lucifer huffed a quiet laugh, pleased and unbothered. “You’ll have to make me,” he said, rocking his hips against theirs. Ves bit their lip to hold back a moan, their nails digging into the sweet skin on Lucifer’s back.
Gods, the things you do to me…
Lucifer’s fingers continued their slow ascent along Ves’ spine, each stroke leaving a trail of heat and raised skin in its wake. Ves shivered—not from nerves this time, but from the way the ache inside them sharpened, growing heavier, needier with every breath.
They could feel him hardening beneath his trousers, the heat of him pressed just barely out of reach. The friction—so close and not enough—made them sigh, a desperate, helpless sound. Their fingers curled tighter against his back, searching, pleading for more.
When they finally lifted their head, their gaze found his again—wide, uncertain, burning.
“You’re impossible,” they breathed, voice trembling with frustration and affection in equal measure.
Lucifer’s smile softened, that ever-present amusement tempered by something deeper. “And yet here you are,” he murmured, stilling the movement of his hips as he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind their ear. “You keep holding on.”
The loss of friction hit Ves like a drop into cold water. A needy whimper escaped them before they could stop it. They caught his hand without thinking, guided it back down, and pressed it firmly to the curve of their ass.
“Why’d you stop?” they asked, their voice breathless, low.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in delight. “You wanted me to keep going?”
Ves stared at him, incredulous, lips parted and cheeks flushed. They didn’t answer right away.
Lucifer tilted his head, the tease deepening in his voice. “I can’t read your mind, Evenstar. If you don’t talk to me,” he said, sliding his other hand down to join the first, “How else am I to know exactly what you need?”
“You’re insufferable,” Ves hissed, burying their face against his neck again.
Lucifer chuckled again, unbothered and amused. His hands remained steady, fingers warm and patient as they returned to the small of their back. “You still haven’t told me what exactly you want,” he said softly, voice just above a whisper—low and coaxing. “You guided me here, but you haven’t said a word.”
Ves groaned against his skin, the sound half frustration, half surrender. “Isn’t it obvious?” they mumbled, hoping he’d get the hint.
He did not.
Lucifer’s thumb moved in a slow, teasing circle. “Mmm… not quite.” He leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of their ear. “I want to hear you say it. What is it you need from me?”
Ves muttered something barely audible—more breath than words, the shape of a confession blurred by shame and heat.
Lucifer tilted his head. “Hmm?” he said softly, and there was a smug little note under the gentleness now. “You’ll have to speak up, Evenstar. I didn’t quite catch that.”
Ves groaned again, pressing their forehead to his shoulder. I’m going to die right here in his lap from sheer embarrassment.
They clenched their jaw, breath shuddering out.
“Fuck me, Lucifer.”
There was a beat of silence. Ves didn’t dare look up—they couldn’t bear to see the inevitable smug smile he was no doubt wearing.
“See?” Lucifer drawled, his silky voice wrapping around their throat. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
Ves lifted their head just enough to glare at him.
He laughed softly, no less pleased, but there was something gentler under it now. “Alright, alright,” he murmured, easing back slightly to make space. “Here. Let me help you…”
With a quiet murmur of instruction, he guided Ves to shift—just enough to lift onto their knees as his hands moved down. His fingers brushed warm along their thighs as he worked at the fastenings of his trousers, slow but practiced. The brush of knuckles, the scrape of cloth—it sent sparks racing up Ves’ spine.
When the last barrier was eased away, Ves settled back down against him, and Lucifer’s hands were there to catch, steady, and cradle. Their mouths met again, this time with no teasing in the kiss—just heat, just the soft press of want and something deeper.
Lucifer no longer held anything back. His movements were sure, deliberate, every touch now a promise: I’m here.
Ves melted into him, their last semblance of control slipping quietly from their grasp. It didn’t feel like surrender so much as relief—like being caught in strong arms after falling for too long. They clung to him through the kiss, all breath and pressure, mouths and tongues moving with rising urgency as the fire coiled tighter in their belly.
When they parted for air, flushed and panting, Lucifer rested his forehead briefly against theirs, his breath warm across their cheek. Then, with a murmur of reassurance, he gently shifted them.
“Turn around for me,” he whispered. His hands helped guide them, and Ves moved willingly, settling back with their spine to his chest, still cradled in his lap. The new position made them shiver—exposed and close, surrounded by the heat of him.
Lucifer’s hands resumed their exploration without hesitation. One moved along the curve of their waist, the other sliding lower, down over their hips, the side of their ass, and then lower, until he found the edge of their hole. Ves tensed—but only briefly—until they felt the subtle flick of magic in the air.
A small jar shimmered into existence at Lucifer’s side—simple, inconspicuous, familiar. Ves recognized it in a haze: it was the exact same as the one he kept in the nightstand beside his bed. The sight stirred something molten in their chest.
“You came prepared,” Ves murmured, their voice unsteady.
Lucifer smiled against their hair. “Always,” he said, and kissed the crown of their head.
The cap clicked open. Ves didn’t have to look to know what Lucifer was doing; especially not when the cool slickness met their skin a mere heartbeat later.
How right it felt to have him there, right where Ves wanted him.
Lucifer traced a reverent circle around Ves’ hole—one, then another—before slowly, finally, pressing one inward. Ves gasped, their hands gripping the edge of the desk for support—but Lucifer’s other arm was already around them, holding them steady, grounding them.
As Ves leaned back into his embrace, Lucifer’s free hand slid up their chest, finding a nipple with practiced ease.
“Ahh—”
Lucifer nibbled their earlobe in answer, already teasing their little chest nubs into stiff, red peaks. Between every movement, he pressed sucking kisses to their hair, their neck, their shoulder—anchoring them with each touch.
“There you are,” he murmured. “Just like that.”
Ves could only moan in response as he eased in deeper, their breath hitching as the sensation built—stretching, filling, warmth curling low in their gut like a candle catching fire.
Lucifer’s fingers moved with aching patience, curling and pressing, drawing soft sounds from Ves with every subtle shift. When the second finger joined the first, Ves gasped, gripping the desk harder. They rocked back instinctively, needing more—the friction, the contact, him.
The stretch was intense, but welcome. Anchored by Lucifer’s body behind them and the steady rhythm of his voice murmuring praise, Ves let themself open to the sensation.
“Look at you,” Lucifer whispered again, his lips brushing against the shell of their ear. “How beautiful you are, coming undone for me.”
By the time the third finger slipped in, Ves was panting, their thighs trembling slightly as pleasure blurred the edges of their thoughts. Lucifer’s hand on their chest still moved in slow, coaxing circles, grounding them through the heat.
And then—he paused.
Ves barely had time to whimper a protest before Lucifer withdrew his hand, slick and careful. A soft sound, a shift—and then something else brushed against them.
Ves sucked in a breath, heart thudding. They remembered the shape of him, the feeling of his body pressed close, but this was different. They weren’t imagining it on lonely nights in the Demon Lord’s Castle, trying to remember how it felt. This time, it was real.
Lucifer pressed a kiss to the back of their neck. “Breathe for me, Evenstar,” he whispered. “Let me in.”
He moved slowly, easing into them with careful precision, his hands steady on their hips as he sank in. Ves clung to the edge of the desk, eyes fluttering shut as the stretch bloomed through them again—but there was no fear, only fullness and the burn of relief.
They whimpered, leaning back against his chest, and Lucifer didn’t move until Ves did.
They guided the rhythm—tentative at first, then more sure, rocking back into him with growing need. Every movement was slow, reverent, and shared. Lucifer matched them, letting them lead, his voice low with encouragement, his hands caressing every patch of skin he could reach.
The fire, the connection, the intimacy—it was everything Ves had missed, and more.
The rhythm they built together was slow, rising and falling like waves pulled by some shared, unspoken tide. Lucifer held Ves through every motion, every gasp, every shiver that left them boneless and breathless. His hands roamed their skin like a litany, like worship—soft touches that reminded them they were safe. Wanted. Desired.
Ves could feel the heat coiling tight in their belly, the pleasure mounting with every stroke, every low whisper of their name against their ear. Their body moved without thought now, chasing the rising edge as Lucifer’s voice turned ragged, praise slipping into moaned syllables and half-caught breaths.
“Stay with me,” he murmured, one hand threading through Ves’ fingers where they gripped the desk. “Feel me with you, all the way.”
The final crest came like lightning—hot, bright, unstoppable. Ves’ whole body arched back into him with a broken cry, eyes fluttering shut as the world tipped and scattered like stars.
Lucifer followed with a low groan against their shoulder, arms tightening around them as he buried himself deep, filling them up, riding out the waves of release with them until they both fell still, trembling and tangled in one another’s warmth.
For a few long moments, neither of them moved. Ves felt weightless, breathless, heart full and aching all at once. And then, with a little sigh and a weak laugh, they slumped forward, completely boneless, marveling at the wetness leaking out of them.
Lucifer gently caught them before they could collapse to the floor—but Ves was already sliding down anyway, giggling softly as they puddled into a warm mess of limbs and breath. “I’m fine,” they whispered, glowing and radiant. “I’m just… ahh… I feel like a wet noodle now.”
Lucifer chuckled, low and fond, and leaned down to press a kiss to their temple. “Then you’re a very beautiful one,” he murmured.
He helped them up with careful hands and carried them the few steps to the couch before the fire. The warmth of the flames painted them both in soft gold and shadow, the air thick with quiet satisfaction. Lucifer sat with them, arms folded around their waist as Ves curled in his lap, their head resting over his heart.
“I missed you,” Ves murmured, the words half-asleep already.
“I know,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Me too.”
At some point, Ves drifted off, warm and utterly at peace in his arms.
When they blinked awake the next morning, it was to soft sheets and the familiar scent of their own room. Sunlight filtered dimly through the curtains. Ves was tucked neatly into their bed, lovingly wrapped in their usual nightrobe, the rich red velvet plush against their skin.
They shifted slightly and winced—they were sore in all the right ways. A satisfied smile crept across their lips as they pulled the blankets tighter around them, basking in the afterglow of memory.
Lucifer may have been gone from the room, but he’d left his care behind in every detail.
They lay there for a while, limbs heavy with sleep, mind still swimming somewhere between memory and morning.
For once, Ves didn’t feel the ache of everything waiting for them outside the covers. No curse. No pressure. Just the comforting softness of velvet against their skin, the faint scent of Lucifer still lingering on their body, and the echo of his voice still tucked into the quiet corners of their thoughts.
They breathed in, slow and steady, letting it fill them. The soreness in their body was a gentle reminder of last night’s closeness—not just physical, but something deeper. Lucifer had seen them. Held them. Helped them. And they had let him in.
If anything, it had mended something they didn’t know was fraying.
Ves smiled to themself, small and content. “Insufferable,” they whispered fondly to the empty room, curling tighter into the blanket.
There would be time for everything else soon, but not yet.
For now, they let the warmth linger.
They rested.
Chapter 5: Of Flight and Fog
Chapter Text
The morning sun filtered through the kitchen windows in gentle shafts, illuminating the long dining table where the brothers had gathered in various states of sleepiness and dishevelment. The scent of black tea and honeyed toast lingered in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional scrape of silverware.
Ves sat nestled between Beel and Satan, nursing a cup of tea while Mammon complained loudly about the injustice of having to wake up before noon.
“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” Mammon groaned, head buried in his arms. “I swear, breakfast should be illegal before ten.”
“It’s already eleven,” Satan said, not looking up from his book. “You were just late.”
Beel reached over to pluck another muffin from the basket, offering one silently to Ves. They took it with a soft smile, their eyes a little heavy from sleep but grateful for the calm. After everything, they were finally starting to feel like themself again.
Then their D.D.D. buzzed.
The vibration against the wood of the table was soft, but it might as well have been a thunderclap. Ves blinked and reached for it. A new group chat had appeared, titled Celestial Visit?, and the participants were Simeon, Luke, Solomon, and now… Ves.
Simeon: Good morning, Ves.
Luke: We hope you’re doing well! We were wondering…
Simeon: Would you like to come visit us in the Celestial Realm?
Luke: You’ve never seen it before, right? It’s your home, too. We'd love to show you around.
Solomon: I’m in the human world for now, but I can meet you at the Demon Lord’s Castle. Sound good?
Ves froze mid-bite.
“You okay?” Beel asked around a mouthful of pastry.
Mammon, ever nosey, leaned sideways. “What’s that? Group chat with who?”
“The angels,” Ves murmured. “They want me to visit the Celestial Realm.”
The room fell silent.
Mammon gawked. “You’re goin’ where?!”
I could just tell him no, Ves told themself.
“I’m not going,” Ves said quickly. Their fingers curled around the D.D.D., heart beginning to pound. “I mean—I can’t. I won’t.”
“Why not?” Belphie raised a brow. “You’re half-angel. Doesn’t that mean you belong there too?”
“That’s the problem,” Ves said, a little too sharply. “I don’t, not really. And besides… the one who cursed me lives there. I don’t exactly want to run into him.”
“The Arbiter,” Satan said flatly.
Ves didn’t answer. Their face said it for them.
Solomon’s name popped up again on their screen, a private message this time:
Solomon: I know you’re nervous, but they wouldn’t have invited you if it wasn’t safe.
Trust me, Ves. It’ll be lots of fun, and I’ll be right there with you the whole time. I’ll come over to pick you up. See you soon!
The pit in their stomach didn’t ease. If anything, it settled deeper, leaden and cold.
No. He wouldn’t get it. And trying to explain it all to him… I’m not ready for this. It’s too much.
They pushed the muffin away.
Beel frowned. “Ves?”
“I have to go,” they said suddenly, rising from the bench.
“What?” Mammon looked up, startled. “Go where?”
But Ves didn’t answer. They turned and slipped down the hallway, their movements too fast, too quiet. Too purposeful.
Just before disappearing around the corner, they looked back over their shoulder. Their voice was calm, but firm.
“Don’t let Solomon find me. If the Arbiter finds out that I got dragged to heaven, I doubt I’ll ever see any of you again.”
They set their D.D.D. down gently on the side table—the screen still glowing with Solomon’s message—and kept going.
The silence that followed was thick and uneasy.
“Wait—what the hell does that mean?” Mammon asked, already half-rising from his chair.
Satan’s brow furrowed as he closed his book. “They’re planning to run.”
“Then we should stop them,” Belphie muttered, but Beel put a hand on his arm.
“No,” Beel said softly. “Let them. I wouldn’t want to go either, and you know Solomon doesn’t take no for an answer.”
By the time anyone could start to follow, Ves was already gone from the hall. They had doubled back to their room in silence, every step measured. Their cloak hung by the window where they’d left it, dark and nondescript, ideal for traveling unnoticed. They wrapped it around their shoulders, drawing the hood up to shadow their face, and eased open the windowpane.
It would be easier this way, they told themself. No confrontation, no awkwardness, no getting dragged along without their consent.
When faced with a bear, backing away—choosing not to engage—it was always the safest answer.
The angels would understand.
Solomon, though…
No. I don’t care of it’s overdramatic or flighty or stupid. I am not going to heaven, and no one—no angel, no demon, no sorcerer—is going to convince or trick me otherwise.
There would be no grand escape, no final words.
Just the wind, and the open wild beyond the courtyard wall.
They slipped through the frame like mist, boots hitting the grass without a sound, then vanished into the thick auburn landscapes of the Devildom.
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A ripple of magic shimmered through the air just outside the front door.
With a soft crack, Solomon appeared in the courtyard, his usual smile in place, though his cloak still carried the scent of early human world rain.
He straightened his cuffs and raised a hand to knock, only for the door to swing open before he could.
Satan stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. Mammon hovered just behind him, wearing a scowl.
“They’re not here,” Satan said without preamble.
Solomon blinked. “Ves?”
Mammon jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Gone. Left their D.D.D. behind, too. They told us not to let you find ‘em.”
The sorcerer’s brow furrowed, just for a moment. “Did they say why?”
“They didn’t have to,” Satan muttered. “Surely, you can guess.”
Solomon exhaled and stepped back, scanning the sky as though hoping for a hint of direction. “They’re running from the Celestial Realm.”
“And from you,” Belphie called flatly from the staircase behind them.
The corner of Solomon’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile. “So be it. It only makes them more interesting.”
Before any of the brothers could respond, he vanished in a flicker of magic, leaving behind the faint scent of incense and ozone.
He reappeared just outside the House of Lamentation, the early morning light filtering through the misty garden. For a moment, there was nothing. The air was still. Too still.
But then—faintly—with the help of his magic, he caught it.
The scent of stardust, ash, and petrichor. Ves.
He turned toward the woods.
Of course, he thought. If they were going to run, they’d run somewhere familiar. Somewhere difficult for anyone else to follow them.
He followed the trail as it wove its way through the Devildom, towards the edge of the wilderness. It started strong—sharp and shimmering with residual energy, easy for his magic to track. But once he entered the trees, it began to shift. The scent grew fainter, stranger, as if scrubbed by wind and moss. He passed through curtains of wet ferns and ducked beneath low-hanging branches slick with dew. Somewhere along the way, the path doubled back on itself, only to vanish again beneath the crushed stems of wild mint and loam.
His brows furrowed.
Ves was muddying their trail, deliberately.
Clever.
The scent veered toward a stream, and he knelt, touching the stones. Wet. Recently stirred. They’d splashed through the water on purpose, letting it carry traces of their scent away.
Solomon rose and continued down the trail. It led him through brambles and fog, across twisted roots and long-forgotten paths, each turn more chaotic than the last. As the forest deepened, the sorcerer paused to glance at the trees. The trees grew denser here—ashen-barked and strange, shadows thick between them.
The farther he pushed into the wilds, the more the path unraveled. Their trace grew thinner, wilder, and eventually, unreadable.
He straightened, brushing a smear of mud from his fingers, and narrowed his eyes into the deep wood.
They were gone. Not lost.
Hiding.
Solomon’s eyes darkened as he stepped deeper into the wilds, the air thickening with the scent of moss and damp earth. The fading trace of Ves’ aura tugged at him like a stubborn thread he refused to let go. He moved deliberately, his senses sharp, weaving carefully between ancient trees and tangled undergrowth.
But Ves was no novice in these woods.
Every so often, the trail twisted unexpectedly—an illusion crafted by crushed leaves flipped upside down, broken twigs carefully replaced, patches of mud trampled to mask footfalls. They had splashed deliberately through brackish pools, dragging branches behind them to scatter their tracks, confusing the natural rhythm of the forest.
Solomon followed all the same, stepping lightly, attuned to the subtle changes in the air. His magic detected the faint shimmer of their presence hovering in places, but each step forward was met with growing uncertainty. The forest seemed to close in, swallowing signs and erasing patterns.
Hours seemed to pass as he pushed onward, through thick brambles and patches of mist that clung to his cloak like cobwebs. His magic stretched thin, searching for the slightest hint, yet the woods held their secrets tight.
At last, the scent vanished entirely, like a candle snuffed in the dead air.
Solomon stopped, his breath steady but his eyes scanning every shadow, every rustle. He exhaled slowly, acknowledging defeat.
“They’re gone,” he murmured to himself, voice low and reluctant.
But his resolve did not waver.
“If they want to hide, they’ll have to do better than this.”
He cast one last searching glance toward the wilds then turned back toward the House of Lamentation, mind already plotting his next move.
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The trees grew stranger the deeper Ves wandered.
They’d long since left the ashen groves behind. Here, the trunks leaned too close together, limbs knotting like tangled fingers. Bark peeled in strips. Fungi bloomed in moist curls across hollow roots. Everything seemed wilted and close to spoiling, like fruit left too long in a sealed box.
But worse than the decay was the stillness.
There were no insects. No birdsong. Only the sound of Ves’ own breathing, the soft press of their boots on sponge-soft earth. It was like the forest was holding its breath.
Or listening.
They crouched beside a fallen log, tugging their cloak tighter against the faint, cloying heat that clung to the underbrush. The air tasted strange. Sweet, but metallic, like nectar poured over rust.
Then—a sound.
Something small. A skitter. A whimper.
Ves turned.
A creature emerged from the brush: something small, mammalian. Ves narrowed their eyes, but the creature’s identity was difficult to place—it looked like a cross between a rabbit and a possum, with patchy fur and milky eyes. It limped closer on unsteady limbs, its breath wheezing wetly in its chest.
Ves stilled. Their heart cracked.
It looked so sick. Not just weak, but wrong. Its skin was too thin. Its bones too sharp. Something black and oily pulsed beneath its jaw.
Is it the forest? Is it sick?
The creature was small and narrow-bodied, keeping low to the ground: barely more than a blur of matted fur and delicate, shaking limbs. Ves caught only a flicker of movement at first—thought it might be a trick of the gloom—but then it blinked. Once. Twice. Milky white eyes caught the dim light as it edged forward.
They stilled, crouching low to avoid startling it further. “Hey,” Ves murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Easy. Just let me take a look at you.”
The creature froze. Its nostrils flared. It took a step back, but then seemed to change its mind.
When Ves didn’t move, it carefully inched closer.
Ves frowned. It moved strangely, like it wasn’t entirely in control of its legs. Every motion came with a hitch or a shudder. But its nose twitched again, and Ves felt the creature lock onto their scent—some internal recognition flickering behind those dull, too-wide eyes. It knew them, somehow… or at least something in it did.
Ves slowly reached into their cloak pocket and withdrew a bit of dried fruit—one of the few rations they’d always kept stuffed into their pockets, just in case. They placed it on their palm and extended their hand, still and open.
The creature crept closer. Sniffed again.
It hovered just out of reach.
One long moment passed. Then another.
Something flickered in those milky eyes.
Just as Ves started to think they might’ve earned its trust, it lunged: not for the fruit, not for the comfort of touch.
But for their hand.
Its teeth scraped across their fingers with a flash of pain—sharp, shallow, desperate. Ves flinched, blood blooming on their fingertips. The creature sprang back, twitching, spasming, snarling, until—something in it, something under it, began to change.
Ves didn’t dare to breathe. They watched with wide eyes as its breathing slowed, as its ragged coat settled. The black ichor threading beneath its skin receded, almost shyly, vanishing into whatever hollows it had burrowed through. The shaking… stopped.
It blinked again, its milky eyes clearer. Calmer. Healthier.
And then, without hesitation, it turned and skittered off between the trees—faster, steadier than before.
Ves stared down at their bleeding hand.
Vermillion blood. Stark against the ashes.
What… just happened?
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The knock came just as Lucifer was finishing his annotations on a shipment requisition. He paused, the dark ink still wet beneath his gloved hand. Another knock followed—brisk, restrained, but unmistakably urgent.
With a sigh that masked a flicker of unease, he set the quill aside and made his way through the hall.
When he opened the front door, Solomon stood waiting on the stone porch, his travel cloak still dusted with chalky grit from the lower valleys. His usual easy smile was absent.
“Lucifer,” he greeted.
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re knocking? How polite of you.”
“The wards,” Solomon replied, inclining his head. “You know I can’t teleport inside without an invitation.”
Lucifer said nothing for a moment. That was true—he’d made sure of it. The House of Lamentation did not take well to intruders, and the seals were designed to rebuff even experienced sorcerers. Solomon wouldn’t have knocked unless he absolutely had to.
“I assume this is important.”
“It is,” Solomon said. “I’m here for Ves.”
Lucifer’s expression darkened. “What happened?”
“They fled,” Solomon said simply. “Earlier this morning, we invited them to visit the Celestial Realm. The invitation frightened them more than I expected.”
The demon lifted a brow. “…We?”
“Simeon and Luke. They asked me to come along as well.” Solomon’s tone was calm, measured. Even. Too even.
“And no one told me?” Lucifer’s voice dropped low, edged with something between disbelief and irritation.
“I believe your brothers were hesitant. They didn’t want to worsen the situation.”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying that my guest—who is my responsibility to protect—ran off, and they dared keep that from me?”
Solomon inclined his head slightly. “They hoped things would calm on their own. Clearly, they have not.”
“Clearly.”
Lucifer’s gaze sharpened. Solomon would not have come to the door unless he truly needed something from inside the house. The wards on the grounds kept any outsiders from teleporting in. Otherwise, he’d have taken what he needed and left a long time ago.
What are you planning, Solomon?
The sorcerer’s eyes flickered, wary and wise as they tracked his expression, every nerve and wrinkle on his face. “My scent-tracking spell was insufficient for trailing a wilderness expert like them in their natural habitat. I need something with their essence on it, so I can cast something stronger. That’s why I came.”
Lucifer crossed his arms, his voice low and clipped. “If I find you something to track them with, I’m coming with you to the wilderness. There will be no forcing them into the Celestial Realm before they’re ready. No surprises.”
Solomon’s lips twitched—almost a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Agreed. I would not risk alienating them further.”
Lucifer gave a curt nod, barely suppressing his urge to scowl. His Ves was out there, alone in the wilderness. Not that the thought concerned him—Ves belonged out there, among trees and river and earth and stone—but they were afraid.
And he’d done nothing to prevent it.
“Then let’s find them,” he said, already heading down the hall. “Before they disappear completely.”
The sharp rhythm of his boots faded into silence, leaving Solomon to wait alone on the threshold—uninvited, unwelcome, but not yet turned away.
Several minutes passed.
When Lucifer returned, his steps were quieter. He held a folded bundle of pale fabric in his gloved hands, carefully wrapped but unmistakable in shape.
“Their nightrobe,” he said, his voice even, but his gaze distant. “They always wear it to sleep. It should hold their essence more clearly than anything else.”
He didn’t meet Solomon’s eyes as he handed it over. Just the briefest flush touched the tips of his ears.
Solomon took it gently, bowing his head slightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”
“This is for tracking only. Nothing more.”
“I know,” Solomon said. And for once, his voice was completely sincere. “I’m not playing games.”
Lucifer hesitated for a moment, then turned toward the front door. “Then let’s begin.”
They stood just beyond the wards now, beneath the spreading canopy of the front garden’s withered trees. The early light was mist-draped and still, a hush hanging over the stones like the world itself was holding its breath.
Solomon unfurled the robe carefully, reverently. Velvet, crimson silk rippled in the morning breeze, faintly touched by Ves’ scent—old herbs and ash, and something softer beneath, like frost on moss.
He pinched the fabric between two fingers, thumb brushing until he found it: a fine thread of long, dark brown hair, nearly invisible in the light. Gently, he drew it loose.
“This will do.”
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Ves didn’t stay long in the rotting woods.
They wanted to. The forest was still, quiet in a way the House of Lamentation never was, and the air here didn’t judge them for breathing. But it felt wrong beneath their feet—wrong in the roots, wrong in the soil. The rot was too complete, too deliberate. Something deeper than disease had curled into the marrow of this place.
They glanced down at the creature’s tracks, already fading into the loam. No birds called. No insects sang. And somewhere in the back of their mind, an old instinct stirred.
You don’t belong here.
So they left.
The trees thinned around them as they moved west, heading toward higher ridgelands where the air grew thinner and colder. Ves traveled on foot, winding through goat trails and dry riverbeds, careful not to leave a straight line. They were used to avoiding pursuit. Used to being unseen. The longer they walked, the more their pulse steadied—until something in their chest twisted sharp again.
It wasn’t sound that had stopped them, nor was it scent.
It was presence, like eyes on the back of their neck. A weight just behind them in the fog.
They froze mid-step.
No one was there.
Still, their skin prickled, the way it always had when something was about to go wrong.
They ducked behind an outcrop and crouched low, fingers tightening around the hem of their cloak. If someone had found them—if Solomon had found them—then they needed to move again. Hide better. Get farther from the cursed trees and whatever old sickness had been stirring beneath their roots.
But no footfalls followed. No voice called their name.
Only the wind moved.
Still... something watched.
They kept moving.
Slower now, more deliberately. Every path Ves took was broken with sudden turns, misleading trails, false scents. They walked through streambeds and ash patches, rolled in sulfur-slick mud and brushed their cloak against thorn-brambles, letting them catch and scatter their scent in impossible directions.
If he’s tracking me by magic, Ves thought grimly, Then he has something of mine. And if he has something of mine, it’ll take more than footprints to shake him.
They crouched beside a cluster of basalt rocks, peering out over the landscape. The Devildom’s wilds stretched wide and gray before them—no longer sick and decaying, but rough and ancient. Untamed.
Solomon wouldn’t give up easily. But magic wasn’t infallible. Not in a place like this.
Ves scouted the area for choke points, natural traps—low gullies, broken caves, narrow deer paths through steep ravines. The land here didn’t welcome travelers. If I can find a way to use that to my advantage…
They paused, crouched low in the shadow of a leaning ridge. Their breath slowed, ears open, spine alert.
There was no movement behind them. No magic flaring in their senses.
But still, that creeping feeling remained.
It wasn’t pursuit. Not yet.
It was pressure, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Let him look. I’ll be long gone by the time he catches the trail again, Ves thought, sliding deeper into the rocks, letting the shadows claim them.
They didn’t know what they were planning yet—only that they needed higher ground, more distance, and a place to think. A place to prepare.
Whatever magic Solomon had used to follow them… they’d figure it out.
They’d survived too long to go down now.
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Solomon stood still in the overgrown courtyard, nightrobe in one hand, eyes narrowed in concentration. The fabric fluttered faintly in the low Devildom breeze, catching scents and threads of memory. He twisted his ring once, murmuring under his breath.
“By essence, by bond, by breath—
Let path unwind, let truth be left.”
The spell shimmered through the air, casting a faint silvery arc from the robe to the ground. A trail emerged—not visible to the eye, but pulsing to Solomon’s senses. There. Ves’ essence; distant, but traceable.
Lucifer stepped forward, his arms crossed, silent.
“They passed through the wood just beyond the southern ridge,” Solomon said. “They’ve taken care to mask their path, but I can still feel it—barely.”
“Barely,” Lucifer echoed, voice dry. “And what happens when it fades completely?”
“Then we rely on what’s left behind,” Solomon said. “Tracks. Terrain. Instinct.”
Lucifer gave him a long look, then turned toward the path. “If that’s your best idea, we’re going to need speed. Ves won’t stay still for long.”
Lucifer paused. His gaze darkened slightly as he scanned the landscape. “They’re not just running. They’re trying to disappear.”
“That’s what I’d do,” Solomon said. “And they’re good at it, too. Too good.”
Lucifer’s mouth tightened.
Solomon adjusted his grip on the robe. “They’re thinking like a survivor.”
Lucifer glanced sidelong at him. “They are a survivor.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them—only the wind in the trees, the low hum of magic still lingering in the air.
Then Lucifer stepped forward, his boots striking the packed dirt. “Let’s go.”
The hours stretched on, the wilds growing colder and quieter as the Devildom light edged toward dusk. Solomon pressed forward, patient but growing wary. Each step sifted through tangled underbrush and cracked soil, the scent of Ves’ passage weakening with every mile. What had once been a clear trail now splintered into riddles—scattered footprints, disturbed leaves, and faint, conflicting traces that refused to coalesce into a path.
Solomon knelt, his brow furrowed in concentration, fingertips brushing the earth as he sifted through the chaos. Some tracks were genuine; others were clever decoys. None promised a straightforward way ahead.
Lucifer’s gaze scanned the dimming forest canopy, thoughtful. “The trail’s gone cold for you down here,” he said, voice low but steady. “It’s time I take to the skies. I’ll watch from above. Between your tracking and my sight, we’ll find them.”
With that, he stepped forward, shedding his mortal guise. His wings unfurled with a soft rush, casting long shadows beneath the fading light.
“Let’s move.”
Lucifer’s wings beat steadily, rising above the twisted canopy as he soared into the fading light. His sharp eyes pierced the wilds below, searching for any sign of movement—any flicker that might betray Ves’ hiding place. The air was thick with the scent of earth and ash, but Ves’ trail remained maddeningly elusive.
On the ground, Solomon pressed forward with renewed focus, teleporting short distances whenever the faint scent allowed. Yet even his magic struggled to keep up; the tracks were foxy and disjointed, designed to confuse and mislead.
A sudden flicker caught Lucifer’s eye—a flash of pale fabric caught on a gnarled branch, swaying slightly in the breeze. He descended cautiously, his wings folding back as he landed softly on a mossy stone.
Solomon was not far behind, his eyes narrowing at the sight.
Lucifer reached out and touched the fabric. A familiar cloak, carefully draped to tempt the senses. A fake, to throw them off the trail.
From a shadowed hollow nearby, Ves watched with bated breath, their muscles coiled tight, heart pounding against their ribs like a frantic drum. Lucifer was here—his presence a strange comfort amid the thorns and decay—and so was Solomon. I’d only expected the sorcerer to come.
Lucifer’s voice floated faintly through the thick air, low and thoughtful. “They want us chasing shadows. We need to be smarter.”
“We should take different paths,” Solomon’s tone was sharp but fraying at the edges. “I’ll stay on the ground. You keep the skies.”
Ves’ mind raced. Lucifer had come for them—an unexpected beacon of hope in a day full of shadows. But Solomon was still close enough to catch even the smallest slip, the faintest scent, the slightest sound. One misstep, one careless breath, and it would be over.
They needed to draw Lucifer away, slip into his familiar shadow like a ghost, invisible and silent—without Solomon catching wind. It felt like walking a knife’s edge, but it was the only path they had.
When the sound of Solomon’s searching boots finally began to fade, they moved.
Careful and slow, Ves trailed Lucifer through the trees, every step a whisper against the brittle leaves.
You’re too far ahead. Turn around, or else you won’t see me!
Ves bit their bottom lip, the urge to call out clawing at their throat. They couldn’t shout, couldn’t throw anything, couldn’t spark a fire—none of the usual signs to catch his attention were safe now. What, then, could they do?
Ves glanced upwards, into the boughs of the trees.
That’s it.
A low branch creaked under tentative fingers. After ensuring no wandering sorcerer had heard, they climbed higher, scaling the gnarled tree until their head was just visible above the boughs—a slender silhouette, faintly outlined against the dying light.
“Lucifer,” Ves called softly, their voice barely a breath.
Lucifer banked. A sharp tilt of his wings, a subtle adjustment mid-air—then his flight path shifted, his eyes catching on the flicker of movement in the trees.
Yes, Ves thought, their chest aching. Just like that. I’m here. I’m here!
His wings folded soundlessly as he descended, dark and graceful against the failing light. He landed a few yards from the tree, boots barely whispering against the forest floor. For one breathless moment, he only looked at them—really looked—like he was afraid to blink and lose them again.
“Ves,” he murmured, his voice steady like salvation in the hush of the woods.
Ves clung to the bark, hesitant to come down just yet.
“You came,” they whispered.
Lucifer nodded once, slow. “Of course I did.”
The silence came, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Lucifer didn’t reach for them, didn’t move to close the space. He only stood beside them like a tall shadow waiting for the wind to shift.
“You don’t have to explain,” he said quietly. “But if you’re ready… will you come back with me?”
Ves looked down at their hands, scratched and smeared with dirt. Their fingers flexed, remembering the bite from the forest creature, the slow rot that had seemed to pause—just briefly—at the touch of their blood.
“I didn’t want to run,” they said. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of going there. Not so soon.”
Lucifer’s jaw tensed, but his voice stayed low. “He won’t take you anywhere. Not without your permission.”
“You promise? He’s stubborn, and…”
“I promise, Ves.”
It was simple. There was no oath, no arcane seal. But the way he said it—steadfast, immovable—cut through Ves like warmth through a wintered field.
“I just…” Ves hesitated. “There’s something about him. I don’t know what it is, but—when he’s around, something in me bristles. It’s like I’m being… studied. I don’t like it.”
Lucifer’s jaw shifted slightly, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The protective edge in his silence said enough.
Ves exhaled and moved.
Carefully, they slipped down from the branches, their fingers steady despite the tremor in their chest. Bark cracked beneath their boots, dry as bone. As they reached the forest floor, Lucifer stepped closer, instinctively offering his arm for balance—not because they needed it, but because he wanted to.
Their fingers brushed, just briefly, as Ves took his arm. The contact, though hard to get used to, offered them a steady sense of calm.
“I can fly you back,” Lucifer said. “It’ll be faster.”
Ves nodded… then hesitated.
“There’s something I want to show you first.”
Lucifer tilted his head, faintly surprised. “Something here?”
“Close by,” Ves said, already glancing through the trees. “You should see it. I don’t know what it means, but… it doesn’t feel right. None of this does.”
A pause. Then he gave a short, quiet nod.
“Lead the way.”
They moved quickly—quieter now that the worst of the chase was over. Ves kept a few steps ahead, guiding by instinct more than memory, like the forest itself had etched the path into their bones. The deeper they went, the stranger the trees became: bark split and sloughing off like wet parchment, leaves mottled with unnatural grays and blacks. No birdsong. No insect buzz. Only the dry hush of wind, like breath pulled through hollow lungs.
Lucifer followed without question, his presence steady behind them. Once, Ves glanced back and caught him watching the treetops warily, as if listening for something neither of them could name.
“Almost there,” Ves murmured.
Lucifer gave a small nod, and while Ves turned forward again, he withdrew his D.D.D., thumbed out a brief message, and sent it without ceremony.
Found them. They’re safe. Return on your own.
No signature. Solomon would understand.
By the time they reached the glade, the air had shifted. It was warmer here, but not in any pleasant way. It was stifling. Still. The soil looked scorched in places, but not by fire. Roots curled in on themselves, branches sagged like limbs too tired to hold weight.
Lucifer came to a stop beside Ves, his eyes narrowing.
“…What is this place?”
“I don’t know,” Ves whispered. “I didn’t even mean to find it. I came here on accident when I was trying to lose Solomon.”
They stepped further in, skirting the edge of a wide, sunken grove where the trees leaned toward one another, bent at odd angles like broken limbs. A faint shimmer hung in the air, the kind that prickled the skin without making contact.
Lucifer crouched near a blighted root and traced it with gloved fingers. His gaze stayed sharp, but his silence stretched long.
“It feels like something’s watching,” Ves said quietly. “Or maybe waiting.”
He looked up at them, a flicker of something grim passing across his features. “This wasn’t here last time I flew over the range. It’s recent.”
Ves swallowed. And here I’d hoped this was all just normal. “Do you think it’s a disease? A curse?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t like how it’s spread.”
The two stood still for a moment, the world around them too quiet.
Then Ves exhaled and stepped back from the ring of withered trees. “That’s all I wanted to show you. We can go now.”
Lucifer nodded once. “Alright.”
He lowered slightly, wings spreading. When Ves climbed onto his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders, it felt like exhaling for the first time in days.
Then, with a beat of wings and the rustle of brittle leaves, they rose above the trees, gliding toward the waiting dark.
Chapter 6: Of Moonlight and Mazes
Chapter Text
The scent of the forest still clung to them. Not leaves and soil—no, that would have been comforting. This was older: bitter bark, rusted iron. Moss slicked with memory and malice.
Ves closed the door to their room with shaking fingers. The latch clicked softly into place, but it sounded too loud in the hush that followed, like even the house was holding its breath.
They were lucky Lucifer had found them in time.
They hadn’t explained why they ran. Not to Solomon, at least, though the others understood.
He’d promised—over text, like it was something simple—that it would be safe. That they’d be protected in the Celestial Realm, watched over, welcomed.
But Ves hadn’t believed it.
They’d feared having to explain it, having to tango with the sorcerer when he did what he want without understanding the meaning of “no.”
The thought of returning to that place, of walking through gates that could close behind them like a prison… I’m dead if I ever end up there.
So they had ran.
Not far, not really—they could only go so long on foot—but they went far enough to lose the path, far enough to find themself somewhere they were never meant to be.
The woods had no name, no past, no known history. But the moment Ves stepped between those leaning trees, something ancient noticed.
The forest didn’t just surround—it pressed. It had twisted too slow, breathed too shallow. Cold had slid into their lungs like it belonged there, like it had always been there, and Ves had only now remembered.
They’d made it out, somehow. But something about that place…
It stuck.
Like soil beneath the nails. Like a song they couldn’t stop humming. Like a hunger that wasn’t theirs.
Ves brushed their arm, which they’d wrapped around Lucifer’s shoulders the night before—gentle but unshakable. A tether. A reminder. They hadn’t called for his help, but he’d found them anyway. And not once had he said I told you so.
It made something in their chest ache.
They weren’t used to being found, weren’t used to being anyone’s priority. Yet Lucifer had moved through the thorns and shadows like the path knew to make room for him, and when he’d reached them—silent, steady, real—they had realized how close they’d come to unraveling completely.
He’d never let them fall.
And Ves didn’t know what to do with that, not really.
They were grateful—stars, they were grateful. But that gratitude came tangled with the burden of guilt.
I don’t know what we are—friends, family, maybe even something more—but I never want to be a burden to you. I fear that one day, I’ll ask too much, and you’ll never forgive me for it.
“I won’t,” Ves murmured, their voice barely audible. “I’ll get stronger.”
They wanted to stand beside him, to be worthy of his trust. To wield what they were with purpose instead of panic. The Nephilim blood that buzzed faintly in their veins—it brimmed with potential.
One day, they’d learn how to use it. One day, they’d be ready.
But tonight, they were just tired.
Ves sank to their knees beside the low table, hands already retrieving the soft cloth pouch from its hiding place under their bed. The runes were warm when they touched them—warm like breath, like blood.
They whispered even before they were cast.
Shadow. Fae. Stars.
The stones landed in silence.
Shadow overturned, facing away. Unwilling. Fleeing.
Fae upright, pulsing faintly with that chaotic shimmer Ves still didn’t fully understand.
Hello again. Sometimes I swear half my bag must be Fae runes, with how often you like to show up.
And then there were Stars… cracked down the center.
They blinked, startled. They’d always treated their runes with upmost care. That line—that crack—hadn’t been there before. …Had it?
They brushed their thumb across the groove, feeling little, but their chest hurt like something inside was splitting, too.
It wasn’t a clean break, at least not yet.
But the damage was real.
Ves could only hope it wouldn’t spread.
“Tell me something new,” Ves whispered. “Tell me how to fix it.”
But the stones stayed quiet, their message already given.
Instability, fear, a legacy undone… and nothing else.
Ves cleaned the surface slowly, fingers steadying with repetition. They rewrapped the runes, pinched out the candle, double-checked that their curtains were closed. Their room felt like a shell, like the forest had followed them home and peeled the skin off everything soft.
They meant to stay up and try again.
They meant to write it down.
They meant to be strong.
Instead, their limbs folded under them like cards, and sleep took them like a tide.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The dream slipped out of reach the moment Ves opened their eyes, but the feeling lingered: cold, heavy, threaded through their lungs like smoke that wouldn’t clear. They hadn’t screamed—not this time—but they woke with clenched fists and aching legs, breath too fast for a room so still.
The forest was gone. The house was safe.
They knew that. Hell, they could say it aloud if they had to.
But despite that knowledge, their body hadn’t caught up yet.
Ves washed their face with trembling hands, changed into something soft, and made their way down the hall like a ghost who hadn’t quite remembered how to walk. The scent of coffee reached them first—rich, dark, grounding. It helped.
So did the sound of chairs scraping, forks clinking, Beel quietly asking if he could finish someone’s hash browns.
Normal things. Familiar ones.
They stepped into the kitchen and felt several sets of eyes land on them—some curious, some worried—but only one greeted them without any judgment at all.
“Morning,” Satan said, sliding a mug toward them without looking up from his book. “You’re just in time.”
“For what?” Ves asked, though it came out hoarse.
He glanced at them then, his brows tugging together just slightly. “Breakfast, first. Then a bit of news.”
They nodded and sat down, curling both hands around the warm mug. Its heat burned a little. They didn’t let go.
Satan let them eat in peace. No questions, no probing looks. He read quietly at their side, flipping pages like time wasn’t real, like nothing urgent waited in the wings.
Ves was grateful for it. The dream hadn’t let go yet. Every time they blinked, they half-expected to see ashes on the floor, or bark and twisted branches growing from the walls.
Eventually, Satan closed his book and folded his hands in front of him.
“Diavolo asked me to let you know—there’s a meeting after classes today for the RAD council members. He wants you there.”
Ves blinked at him, unsure if they’d heard correctly. “He does?”
“Mm,” Satan said, nodding. “He didn’t say why. Just that it’s important.”
That made Ves’ stomach twist. Their first thought, of course, was the runes, what they alluded to. The strange forest, caught between curse and disease.
Was something bigger happening in the world?
Their hand itched to return to the stones, to ask questions until they gave answers as clear as crystal in the sun. But some part of them was afraid to cast again.
They were afraid of what it might mean, should the darkness be contagious instead of just sticking to that single patch of blighted ground.
They’d already lived with more than enough problems for one lifetime.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RAD’s administrative wing smelled like old paper and faint ozone, as if the building itself remembered every spell ever cast in its halls. Ves sat beside Diavolo at the long RAD council table, a stack of club budget reports in front of them and a thin headache building behind their eyes. It was hard to focus—last night still clung to the edges of their mind like fog—but they did their best.
Diavolo, at least, didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
“Make sure to triple-check the Charms Club receipts,” he said cheerfully, flipping through a report with lazy interest. “They tend to buy in bulk, then forget where they put things. I once found an entire crate of floating pens in the roof beams of the west hall.”
“I’ll… keep that in mind,” Ves said, lips twitching.
They worked in silence for a while—Diavolo humming now and then, Ves sorting and signing forms with cautious focus. Eventually, though, the question slipped out.
“Do you know anything about a… blighted forest in the Devildom wilds?”
Diavolo’s brows lifted in mild surprise. “A blighted forest?”
“Yeah.” Ves hesitated, then tried to explain. “It felt sick, like the air was thick with something wrong. The trees—twisted slowly, like they were alive, but struggling… like something poisoned the place.”
Diavolo folded his hands, his gaze sharpening thoughtfully. “Sickness? Disease? Magical corruption?”
“Maybe all of those,” Ves said. “I don’t know. I only found it because I got… lost. I showed it to Lucifer, too, and he said it certainly didn’t look normal. That’s why I got concerned.”
He leaned back, his expression turning serious but calm. “No one’s reported anything unusual out that way, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. The Devildom’s vast—and wild places don’t always get much attention.”
Diavolo’s voice lowered, steady with quiet authority. “I’ll have Barbatos send a scout team to look into it. If something is going on there, we’ll know soon enough.”
Ves felt a small relief settle in their chest. “Thanks. It felt… wrong. Like it wasn’t supposed to be there. Or maybe I wasn’t supposed to be there.”
Diavolo gave a slow nod, voice gentle when he said, “Then we’ll make sure no one else ends up there by mistake.”
The day drifted on with the slow certainty of ink drying on paper. Ves and Diavolo returned to the mounting stacks, signing and sorting, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional hum from Diavolo or the soft scratch of pen on parchment.
When the clock chimed, signaling the start of the council meeting, the door swung open, the demon brothers swept in, and Diavolo rose with his usual bright confidence.
“Alright, everyone, let’s get started,” he said, voice ringing with enthusiasm. “First order of business: the RAD Winter Festival!”
Ves blinked, caught off guard. “Festival?”
“Yes,” Diavolo said, spreading his hands as if unveiling a treasure. “A celebration, a chance to bring all the realms together for fun, games, and goodwill.”
Satan, already seated, tapped his fingers on the table. “It’s on the calendar, and it’s coming up fast.”
Ves felt their chest tighten a little. All this time, they had braced for something serious—some crisis or magical threat—and instead, they were being asked to plan a party.
You have to be kidding me.
Diavolo smiled warmly. “And to make sure it’s a success, I want Ves to take a lead role.”
Ves blinked again, mouth slightly open. “Me? Lead?”
“Yes,” Diavolo said firmly. “You’ve been handling your duties with care and skill. This will be a chance to show everyone what you can do.”
Ves opened their mouth to protest—maybe say something self-effacing, maybe ask what lead even meant in this context—but the moment was interrupted by the subtle shift in Lucifer’s posture. His gaze swept the room, suddenly sharp.
“Where’s Belphegor?”
“He confirmed he’d be here,” Satan said, frowning. “I reminded him twice.”
Lucifer’s jaw tightened. “He’s missing, then.”
Beel’s face fell. “I’ll go find him.”
Beel was already halfway to his feet when Ves stood too. “I’ll go with you.”
Beel nodded, and the pair slipped out together.
The hallway outside the council room felt oddly quiet compared to the bustle of the meeting inside. Beel didn’t say much at first, his pace steady and certain—like he already had a mental list of places to check. Ves fell into step beside him, still trying to shake the aftertaste of that strange conversation.
“A festival,” they muttered.
Beel gave a soft huff of amusement. “He hates festivals.”
“Yeah?”
“Too many people, too loud. He says there’s too much pressure to be in a good mood.”
Ves nodded slowly. “That… actually explains a lot.”
And if that isn’t at least somewhat relatable, I don’t know what is. Why in the three realms did Diavolo even think I might be a good choice for something like this?
They checked his usual nap spots at RAD first—the empty classrooms, the infirmary, even the roof. No sign of him. Beel’s brows drew together more with each failed attempt, worry starting to press into the space between his shoulders.
“He wouldn’t have gone far,” he said quietly, mostly to himself. “Not without saying something.”
Ves hesitated. “Maybe he never came to RAD at all today. What if he’s in the attic back at home?”
Beel looked at them for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah. That… feels right. Let’s look.”
The walk back to the House of Lamentation was quiet but companionable, the kind of silence that settled easily between people who’d long since stopped needing to fill it. The chill in the air had deepened since morning, brushing at their coats and curling into their sleeves. RAD’s grand silhouette faded behind them, replaced by the softer familiarity of home.
By the time they stepped through the front door, the rest of the house was still and hushed, like it already knew where they were headed.
Beel didn’t need to say anything—he just started up the stairs, and Ves followed.
To think, after all this time, it was just an ordinary room up here.
And yet…
Even now, even with Belphie likely safe and sleeping inside, Ves couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the attic didn’t belong to the rest of the house. It wasn’t the dust or the dimness or the clutter—it was something quieter than that. A tension in the floorboards. A stillness in the air.
For so long, they’d imagined this place as a battlefield: the final chamber in some half-remembered nightmare. Even now, with the truth out in the open and Belphie forgiven, their body still tensed on instinct as they stepped through the door.
They’d only been up here twice. Maybe it would always feel strange.
The room possessed its usual state of semi-chaos: scattered pillows, haphazard books, the faint scent of old wood and dust. And there, right in the center of it all, was Belphegor.
He was curled up in his usual nest of blankets, one arm thrown over his face to block the light from the narrow window, boots still on. The steady rise and fall of his chest said he’d been asleep for hours.
Beel exhaled, shoulders finally relaxing. “I knew it.”
Ves leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, and let out a sigh.
Beel smiled faintly. “He does this sometimes. He just… disappears.”
Ves stepped closer, careful not to trip over a discarded astronomy book. “Should we wake him?”
Beel crouched beside the mattress and shook his head. “Just give me a second. I can try.”
He touched his brother’s shoulder with a kind of tenderness that didn’t need words. “Belphie.”
Belphegor stirred with a low groan. “Mmmnh.”
“You missed the meeting.”
Belphie groaned, face still half-buried in his blanket. “What meeting?”
“For the school festival,” Ves said, exasperated.
He cracked one eye open, blinked slowly. “Oh. That.”
Beel raised an eyebrow. “You forgot, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” Belphie muttered. “Even if I didn’t, it still wasn’t worth waking up for.”
Ves rolled their eyes, but their words came out light instead of bitter. “You’re impossible.”
Belphie gave a lazy stretch and smirked. “Call it a silent protest.”
Beel pulled out his D.D.D. and typed out a quick message. A soft chime sounded almost immediately.
“Lucifer says not to bother coming back,” he said, glancing at the screen. “The meeting’s already over. They’ll hold another one tomorrow.”
Belphie gave a content sigh and turned deeper into his nest of blankets. “Good. Wake me when it’s over.”
Ves shook their head, but the tension in their shoulders had eased. Belphegor was safe. Lucifer could scold him all he wanted once he got back.
For now, the house was quiet.
Good enough.
They moved to lean against the wall near the window, arms folded loosely. The attic still felt strange—but a little less so with company.
Tomorrow would bring new expectations, new responsibilities.
But tonight, they could rest.
…At least, so they thought.
Ves followed Beel down the attic steps, stretching their arms above their head with a quiet groan. They were just beginning to think about tea—maybe something calming, something warm—when Beel stopped at the landing and frowned at the nearest door.
He tried the handle. Then again. Then harder.
“…It won’t open,” he said, confused.
“What do you mean it won’t open?” Ves asked, stepping past him to try it themself. The knob turned, but the door didn’t swing open into the hallway as it should. Instead, it creaked into another room entirely—one that shouldn’t have been there.
The lights were off, but Ves could just barely make out the edge of a vanity. A long couch. Rows of shoes.
“…That’s Asmo’s room,” they whispered.
Beel stared. “But it’s supposed to be the stairs.”
“I know.”
They shut the door again and tried the next one down.
This time it opened to a closet, and not just any closet—Mammon’s hoard closet, which very clearly was not connected to the attic by any logic this house should have followed.
Ves stared at the precarious stacks of enchanted jewelry boxes, designer shoe bags, and collector’s edition figurines balanced like a goblin king’s Jenga tower.
Good thing this isn’t his real hoard closet, they thought. If it was, we’d be buried alive in garbage. Well… if he hasn’t sold it all to pay off some debt of his, that is.
They shut the door very, very gently.
And that’s when Asmodeus himself appeared behind them, robe fluttering around his legs and slippers sparkling faintly in the dim light. “There you are! I’ve been trying to get to the bathroom for five minutes, and I swear the walls are gaslighting me.”
“We’re stuck,” Ves said plainly.
Asmo huffed. “Obviously. This better not be Belphie’s idea of a prank again—my night serum only works once and I already used it.”
Together, the three of them navigated their way through a seemingly endless series of wrong rooms: Mammon’s, then Asmo’s again, then what looked like Barbatos’ pocket pantry (no one touched anything), then one of the guest bedrooms, and finally—
“The kitchen!” Beel lit up as they stumbled through the swinging double doors. “We’re saved!”
He made a beeline for the counter, where a gorgeously decorated cake waited under a glass dome. Ves opened their mouth to stop him, but they were too late—his hand was already lifting the lid when a familiar voice rang out behind them.
“Don’t you dare touch that!” Leviathan skidded into the room in socks and a hoodie, his face pale with panic. “That’s for my special celebration tonight! If you eat it, I’ll have to start the whole thing over from scratch!”
Beel’s hand hovered midair. “You left food unattended during a house-wide teleportation glitch. That’s on you.”
Levi flailed. “It’s not a glitch, it’s a feature! I—I left one of the multidimensional maze mods running on my new simulator. It’s supposed to procedurally generate interior layouts for dungeons and stuff—it wasn’t supposed to spread to the actual house!”
Ves rubbed their eyes. “Come again?”
Asmo huffed. “So you’re saying the whole mystery door thing is your fault?”
“I just connected the household grid. And maybe the structural enchantments… as well as the ambient magic flow. But it was for immersion!”
Asmo pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew something wasn’t right. I thought I was going crazy.”
“Can you shut it off?” Ves asked.
Levi hesitated. “I can try.”
He reached for the next door, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a cheat code, and stepped through. The rest of them stayed put.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Asmo yawned dramatically. Beel eyed the cake again. Ves leaned on the counter, resisting the urge to laugh or cry.
Finally, after what felt like far too long, the door rattled again and Levi stumbled back through, looking disheveled but triumphant.
“It’s off,” he panted. “Takes a second to reset, but once it does, everything should be back to normal.”
Ves raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Like, 85 percent.”
“Close enough,” Asmo muttered.
They tried the next door. It opened into the backyard, just as it was supposed to.
Everyone exhaled.
Ves returned to their room late—much later than they meant to. Dinner had passed in a sleepy blur, with Beel raiding the fridge for “emergency rations” and Levi sulking dramatically from across the table about corrupted save files and ruined plotlines. Asmo had taken a thousand selfies with the “glitch doors,” and Mammon insisted on checking every room in the house for lingering treasure chests.
By the time things settled down, Ves could hardly keep their eyes open.
Or at least, they thought they couldn’t. Until they opened the door to their room and found Belphie already inside.
He was draped across their floor pillows like he owned the place, a notebook balanced on his knees and pen half-heartedly scribbling something into the pages. He didn’t look up when Ves entered—just yawned and scratched behind his ear with the same hand holding the pen.
“Lucifer give you hell?” Ves asked, toeing their boots off.
Belphie gave a soft grunt. “He didn’t even yell. That’s how I knew he was mad.”
Ves set their cloak on the nightstand and flopped into a seated sprawl near him. “You can stay, if you want.”
“I figured you wouldn’t mind,” he said, as if that explained everything. “He said I had to get this done tonight, since I bailed on the RAD council meeting.”
Ves raised an eyebrow. “That’s the first I’ve heard of this.”
Belphie shrugged, barely paying attention as he scrawled something across the page. “He probably assumed you’d kick me out if I got annoying.”
“Gotcha,” Ves muttered—but without much heat.
For a moment, they considered fetching their runes from under the bed out of habit… then hesitated.
Belphie hadn’t looked over—he wasn’t paying attention, really—but something about the moment felt too close, too exposed. No one knew about the runes. No one needed to. They were always careful when casting, always quiet.
And maybe they didn’t have to be anymore, not really. Having magic to power the stones was no longer a secret. But even so…
Later, Ves told themself. Outside, under the moonlight.
For now, they leaned back against the side of the bed and let the silence stretch between them.
Belphie kept writing. His handwriting was a mess.
Eventually, without looking up, he asked, “You really okay with the whole ‘festival leader’ thing?”
Ves let the question hang for a moment, watching the shadows slide across the floor with the slow turn of the hour. The idea still felt strange—like wearing someone else’s clothes. Ill-fitting, awkward. A little absurd.
They’d spent so long trying to survive. Trying to understand what they were. Trying not to die.
And now… a festival?
“It feels silly,” they admitted. “Like something from a different life. But Diavolo’s serious about it, and if it matters to him, I want to take it seriously too.”
Belphie finally glanced up. “He would make a whole parade out of it. He can’t help himself.”
Ves gave a faint smile. “You think it’s just another game to him?”
“I think he’s bored,” Belphie said bluntly, dropping his pen. “He’s self-centered. Childish. The Demon King’s off doing who knows what, and Diavolo gets to run the whole show without anyone saying no.”
Ves didn’t reply.
Maybe it was a little immature. Maybe it was about control. But it was also about joy—and community—and for all his quirks, Diavolo never seemed to build things just to break them. He wanted people to come together. That had to count for something.
Belphie sighed and let himself flop sideways across his blankets. “Whatever. If you’re doing it, it’ll probably be decent.”
He didn’t bother finishing the assignment. Within minutes, he’d gone completely still, one arm tucked under his head, breathing soft and slow.
Ves sat a while longer, the quiet wrapping around them like a blanket that wouldn’t quite warm.
Eventually, they rose.
They moved silently, so as not to wake him, and slipped out the door, grabbing their runes before they left. The house felt hushed, as if the mischief from earlier had been nothing but a dream. Ves padded down the stairs, across the common room, and through the back door into the garden.
The grass was cool beneath their bare feet, silvered by moonlight and still damp from the evening air. Ves stepped to a worn patch of earth near the garden’s edge, far enough from the house to be alone, close enough that the warmth of it still lingered in their memory.
They knelt carefully, the rune pouch resting in their lap. For a moment, they just listened—to the rustle of trees, the slow breath of the Devildom night, the heartbeat that echoed faintly in their ears.
They knelt at the garden’s edge, the rune pouch cradled in their lap. Moonlight caught on the cloth as they unwrapped it, and for a moment, Ves hesitated. Maybe the runes would offer something clearer this time. Or maybe they’d only confirm what Ves already feared.
They cast.
Magpie, reversed. Goat, reversed. Stars, reversed—and cracked.
A cold breath passed over their skin.
The magpie lay on its back, sharp-beaked and glittering. Reversed, it spoke of lies worn like masks. Facades. A theft of truth—either by another’s hand, or worse, their own. Ves didn’t know which felt worse.
The goat joined it, overturned and solemn. Not strength, but stubbornness. Not endurance, but punishment. The kind you give yourself when you think you deserve it.
And then—Stars.
Fractured and flipped, the rune that should have meant origin, memory, legacy… now whispered of something lost. A broken line. A future misaligned with its beginning.
Ves stared at the three stones, chest tight. None of them told them anything they hadn’t already felt curled behind their ribs. But seeing it laid out like this—proof of the fracture—they couldn’t quite breathe past it.
Something isn’t right in the world.
They could only hope it wasn’t, somehow, their fault.
Ves gathered the stones again, wrapped them tight, and stood.
The garden stretched quiet around them. No wind. No voices. Just the still breath of the Devildom at night, and the soft pulse of magic waiting just beneath their skin.
The Witches had taught them how to listen. Satan had taught them how to shape. Ves had been practicing—quietly, carefully—but tonight, they let their guard slip a little more, letting the magic come easier.
It didn’t rush. It never did. Instead, it built like a tide: a low hum through the bones, a thrum behind the heart. Their body shimmered at the edge of definition, and then—
Their limbs shifted.
Their shoulders realigned, spine lengthening slightly. Their ears took on a point at the end, sharp and refined like the elves. The familiar ache behind their ribs began to stir as the first traces of pressure unfurled beneath their skin.
Wings.
They came slowly, uneasily, like a memory half-recalled. Not feathers. Not metal. Nothing solid, nothing divine. They spread with a soft whisper, faerie-wrought and translucent—like moonlight filtered through glass and stormlight. Veins of magic pulsed faintly within them, catching the night air with a shimmer too subtle to name.
They weren’t symmetrical. One wing folded a little strange, like it still remembered an old wound. The other flexed wide but trembled at the edges. Ves rolled their shoulders and stretched them again, muscles straining under their weight.
Stars, they were heavy.
Ves staggered back a step as they opened fully, shoulders trembling beneath the strain. Muscles tensed. Fae-wings quivered. Their balance shifted, and they had to brace against the garden’s stone wall to keep from toppling.
Of course it was hard. They’d lived their whole life until now as a human, and humans—at least, as far as Ves knew—didn’t possess wings. But if they wanted to master flying, they’d need to memorize every detail of their new form: the wingspan, the strength, the strange gravity their magic tried to resist.
So they stood. Arms out, wings spread, and they breathed through the burn.
They moved through the exercises Satan and the wilderness had shown them. Changing form. Holding weight. Bracing their core with each deliberate stretch, forcing their body to remember that it had power now. That it didn’t have to fold and vanish every time it was touched.
Up. Hold. Down. Stretch. Again.
It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t glorious. Just work—raw, repetitive, a reminder that even inherited power demanded effort.
The cracked rune echoed in the back of their mind, quiet but insistent.
I will not be the problem that brings this world apart.
They could bear it. They would bear it.
Because whatever this festival required of them—whatever this forest, these runes, this future held—they refused to meet it weak.
They raised their wings again.
And again.
And again, until the muscles in their shoulders screamed. Until their legs shook. Until the night itself seemed to soften around them, soothed by their stubborn rhythm.
Only then did Ves fold the wings carefully back and let their form fade—bit by bit—into stillness.
Sonic_hedgehog on Chapter 1 Tue 02 Sep 2025 02:53AM UTC
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ytanaytakana on Chapter 1 Sun 07 Sep 2025 08:55PM UTC
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Flamber (Guest) on Chapter 6 Sun 07 Sep 2025 03:44PM UTC
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ytanaytakana on Chapter 6 Sun 07 Sep 2025 09:02PM UTC
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