Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inspiration: 4chan (appropriately enough)
HH with Yoshikage Kira

Kira is in hell and has accepted his fate, living out his old routine of being a 9-5 office worker with mundane habits. This, of course, profoundly creeps out the other denizens of hell, as what kind of utter lunatic goes back to their 9-5 after they die.
He thus becomes the first demon mandated to attend the Happy Hotel, if only to get his spooky ass out of hell.
Charlie now has to figure out just what it is that got such an aggressively normal person into hell in the first place.
Shenanigans ensue

In keeping with the sparkledog aesthetic, he's fused with Killer Queen into a spiky pink cat-man with blonde hair. Also Sheer Heart Attack has become a pet attack-turtle that sits on his shoulder

>Kira meets Charlie at the Happy Hotel.
>"Hello, Mr. Kira! So good to meet you, I'm Charlie!"
>She goes in for a handshake
>Kira looks down, his eyes widen
>Her hands
>smooth, blemish-less; elegant, perfectly proportioned fingers; her nails expertly pedicured and black, contrasting perfectly with her alabaster skin
>He fought the urge to lick his lips, mind aflush with vivid fantasies. Her hand in his as they overlooked the river styx. Her exquisite digits testing the firmness and freshness of bread. Slipping a platinum and red-gold weaved ring onto her ring finger. Taking her delicate pinky into his mouth and sucking...nibbling...
>"Uhm...Mr. Kira?"
>Sweat formed on his brow. Her wrist, so slim, so delicate, how easy it would be to sever, to make all these cretins disappear. His powers were just as potent as ever, his new body notwithstanding. It would be so easy
>But
>That would attract all the wrong attention, now wouldn't it? Endless challenges from tough guys, offers of gang affiliations, other such pointless nonsense
>Kira, above all else, just wanted a quiet life
>He took her hand in his, sensually running his thumb across her soft, smooth knuckles, and bent over and kissed the air above them, momentarily sampling her perfume
>"Your highness," he said, quietly. "Pleased to meet you."
>Charlie blushed and waved him off, loosing a flustered giggle. "O-oh, Mr. Kira! Please, just call me Charlie. Here at the hotel, I'm no more a princess than you are!"
>"I'm more of a Queen, really," Kira mumbles under his breath, before saying. "Of course. I'm pleased to meet you, Charlie.”


>It was 8:35, he was late
>Work starts at 9, but he always gave himself plenty of time to get his desk in order, to organize his pens and office supplies
>He was late because some asinine cyclops woman had thrown a bomb through his window during a fight with clutch of eggs
>The explosion had destroyed his sock drawer and scattered his clothes across the floor. By the time he had neatly folded and stacked his laundry it was already 8:30!
>Vulgar woman! Vulgar woman with messy bombs
>Her hands, like so many in hell, were grotesque talons
>Repulsive
>His routine was smashed, his calm compromised, Yoshikage Kira was in no mood for further nonsense
>A gang of demons stood clustered together on the sidewalk in Kira's path, one saw him coming and alerted the largest of the sextet, a massive minotaur
>"Heeey!" the oaf lowed, sauntering over to the unassuming cat-demon. "You going somewhere, kitty-kat? What's the hurry?"
>"I'm late for work. Please, let me through."
>The Minotaur laughed thickly. "Ya didn't say 'please'."
>"Yes, I did," Kira said, looking at his watch. "Excuse me."
>The Minotaur grabbed him by the shoulder and snarled. "Lissen here pussy-cat! This here's my corner, my sidewalk! You don't pass without a toll!"
>This was all that woman's doing, Kira thought, I must usually be at work by the time these imbeciles show up!
>"A toll?" Kira intoned, not sounding the least bit intimidated
>He checked his watch again
>8:40
>Damn
>"That's right!" said the Minotaur. "Usually I'd bend you over and show you what pussies're for, but y'seem like you're in a rush and I'm a nice guy, so I'll just take that snappy tie of yours. Sound fair?"
>Kira sighed and undid his tie, one of the smaller demons hooted and clapped "Slow down, baby! Work it!"
>Kira handed the tie to horned oaf who promptly and crudely put it on. The Minotaur turned to his gang and laugh, gesturing at the tie stretched around his bullish neck. "How do I look?”
>The other demons murmured admiringly
>"Lookin' good, boss!"
>"Sharp and professional-like!"
>"Suits ya, boss!"
>He turned around and loomed over Kira, smiling like an ass, twiddling the tie in his huge clawed fingers. "Whaddaya think, Pussy Kat? How do I look?"
>"Shorter," said Kira, raising his right hand, thumb cocked
>"Whu–?"
>Kira's thumb pressed into his index finger with a metallic click. The tie crackled and flashed into a small explosion, popping the Minotaur's head off like a cork
>Kira expertly side-stepped a small spray of blood as the Minotaur's head rolled on the pavement at his feet, expression confused, his eyes wide with surprise before glazing over, dead
>Kira reached up and pulled his tie off the cauterized stump of a neck, checking it for any mess
>Upon finding none, he tapped the headless corpse and it tumbled over backwards, landing at the feet of his shocked gang
>He looked over at them as he put on his tie, expression wan and carefree. "Feel free to run."
>The gang members screamed and took off down the road, turning into an alleyway. Kira raised his left hand, it glowed with power as a small blue turtle-like creature materialized on the ground. "Not that it will help."
>Sheer Heart Attack hissed and scurried off after the demons and Kira resumed his walk to work. "I hope the deli has my favorite on special today…"

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Assessment

Can anyone change their fate? The destiny to which they were born? For some, the answer would be a defiant roar to the heavens that they’re no character written by a hack author! That fate is a four letter word that rivals a select few in foulness. Such people strive and fight! They chafe against the ‘nays’ and ‘naughts’ of the world and blaze their own trail. Welcoming hardship and savoring victory. Whether they’re righteous or damned, such people will never be idle or mundane.

And then there are the others. When asked of changing fate and destiny they shrug and sigh. Might as well try and stop your fingernails from growing…

A man torn to pieces.

A girl stands triumphant, her back turned.

“Where are they taking me?!” He manages to say.

“Beats me,” she replies, not a hint of relish in her voice, her satisfaction is cold and joyless. “All I know is that it’ll be someplace without any sort of peace.”

He snapped out of his reminiscence and looked down at his hands.

Claws.

He had claws now.

Near on twenty years in this pit and there were still times when he’d look down at his hand and expect to see flesh. Expect to see his long concert pianist fingers and fine, trimmed nails. But no. Claws. Claws and fur and other things. If pressed he could find some pride in his new cat-like countenance. One could could even deem it apropos, as he always fancied himself a lithe graceful hunter. Conscientious, careful, and above all, clean. At least he was, when he wasn’t shedding all over everything! Not to mention, the contrast between his pink fur and blonde hair was more than a little bothersome. He’d changed, coming here had changed him like everyone else. Not that he stood out in a crowd. The rest of the population of this abyssal plane were all some manner of twisted monstrosity. Ironic reflections of their damned souls.

…Maybe?

To be honest, no one seemed to have the first clue to why they looked the way they did, but that they did and c’est la vie.

Or, rather, c’est la mort.

Hell, he was in Hell, yet another horror amongst horrors, lost in the sea of horns and scales and fangs and wings. There was no uniformity, no rhyme or reason, a flurry of nauseating inhuman mishmash. That alone had taken some time to adjust to. The sheer nonconformity of everyone and everything. To a man whom prided himself on cleanliness and routine, this Hell was rather on-the-nose in its irony.

Kira, he called himself. Yoshikage Kira, age 53. He’d been the sole remaining heir to a long-defunct samurai clan, now extinct. Without getting into too many embarrassing details, he had died at the age of 33 some twenty years ago. He was a simple man, a quiet man, not a man one would suspect of dozens upon dozens of homicides. Suffice it to say he had an odd hobby. One that he strove to keep in check with his one true goal: to live a peaceful life, a goal that was now next to impossible. But still, he tried.

He walked down the street, homeward bound after a long day’s work. Hell still needed middle management, so he was in luck. The streets were chaos as usual. Demons scurried to-and-fro, stealing and fighting and fornicating. The reddish tint of the city lent a foul, greasy quality to every reflective surface it disgraced. It was as though a thin film of filth covered everything, it was inescapable. He wanted to get home to his sanctuary and decompress. To wash his hands, to try and cope with this day past and the day yet to come. If he could just get back home without–

“Don’t move,” a curdled voice said from behind, accompanied by a sharp prick in his back. “Or I’ll stick ya.”

God dammit.

Shiv to his back, he walked into an alley and pressed himself against a wall. Busy hands set about checking all his pockets, finding nothing. “Turn ‘round.”

Kira complied, now able to see his assailant; thin, short, somewhat rat-like in form. His bloodshot eyes and tremens that of a druggie desperate for a fix. Lucky for this would-be thief there were precious few things in Hell that could permanently kill. Otherwise he’d likely be dead of an overdose by now, among other things. Unlucky for him was his present choice of targets, one of those precious few.

Kira’s hand moved with a deliberate slowness, reaching into his jacket. The druggie noticed and brandished his weapon. It was a crude handle, affixed to which was with a shining sliver of something. Something that resembled a shard of an Exterminator’s spear. The notion that this degenerate could have such a weapon was ridiculous. Odds were it was a mere mirror shard, sharpened and polished to look like one. Not that anyone would take those odds. Death was unpleasant enough the first time around, and no one was in a hurry to repeat the experience.

“Wachit, man! I gotta ‘Sterminater bit right here, man! Y-you better not try nothin’!”

Kira did not flinch, instead he pulled his jacket open, revealing his breast pocket. He tapped his wallet with his finger. “Is this what you were looking for?”

The rat’s eyes shot to his wallet, he brandished the shiv in a trembling hand and reached for it. He cracked it open, saw the ten hundred-dollar bills inside, and smiled a yellowed, rotten smile.

“Heh! Ha! Thanks, man! You not as stupid as y’look!” The druggie said, eyes wide and wet as though he were about to cry.

“Don’t mention it,” Kira said, his tone flat, cocking his right thumb up in what appeared to be a friendly gesture. “You have fun, now.”

“Oh, man will I ever! I’m gonna–”

Kira’s thumb pressed into his index finger with an audible ‘click’. The druggie grunted and froze, his eyes bugged out with terror. His body bloated and contorted as bursts of light and smoke poured from cracks in his flesh. He didn't let out so much as a squeak as he blew apart from the inside out, consumed in fire and flame. Flame dissipated to smoke, then to ash, and then into nothing at all.

Kira sighed, content, smoothing back his hair. There was something indefinable yet gratifying about a clean set-up and a perfect pay-off. He knelt down to gather his wallet and noticed a small silver shard amidst the garbage. He picked it up with care, holding it on the flat between his fingers as he pressed a leathery pad against its tip. It should have followed its owner into nothingness. A brief moment of pain and a small wisp of smoke confirmed his suspicions: it was a shard of an Exterminator’s spear.

“Hm.” He stuck his finger-pad in his mouth to stanch the bleeding. “Interesting.”

He made it home without further incident. He carded into the smallish slum apartment that served as his home. Kira strode through the hallways, avoiding garbage. He stepped over druggies and vagrants, acknowledging any neighbors that greeted him. In the corner of the hall, a hellhound thrust away. A succubus writhed beneath his heaving furry body, gasping and squawking. Their clothing, or whatever tatters that qualified, lay scattered hither-thither on the floor. He passed by without so much as a glance, not wanting to gratify them in the slightest with his attention.

“Eeeey Pink Panther!” One of the demon sluts crooned. She leaned over and hooked a finger into her shirt collar, exposing her cleavage. “You one sexy cat! Why don’t you come on over and show me whatcha got?”

His red eyes darted over to her. She was some manner of fanged cycloptic gorgon, slimey purple eels writhed atop her head. Her clammy, jaundiced bosom on display like they were some sort of selling feature. But what drew his attention were her hands, or what passed for hands. Grotesque, angular, a hag’s paw crested with talons and covered in scales. Utterly repulsive. He could not help himself, his muzzle fleered back in a disgusted grimace.

“Fuck you, man!” The hooker marched over to him, leaning in and staring up at him with her single eye blazing. “You think you’re better than me?!”

Kira resisted the urge to turn her necklace into a bomb and blow her head off her shoulders “No, no. Just gay.”

“Oh,” she said, round face breaking into a crescent of yellow teeth. “Well, yeah. You do you.”

“Have a good night, miss,” Kira said, turning the corner.

She waved after him. “Yeah! Hey, let’s grab a coffee later! Swap girl stories!”

Kira turned the corner and found his room, tapping his card against the lock. A thump, a click, and a jolt and he was in. Back into his room. He sighed with relief and slumped against the wall. Back home, where things make sense.

His apartment was tidy and austere, two decades in Hell had taught him the importance of living light. When it came to get-going a heavy suitcase was only an encumbrance. His furniture was cheap and tacky but discarded with ease. Decorations were non-existent and the appointments were basic. He was not the type to entertain guests, after all. All he needed was some proper suits and the appropriate kitchenware to feel at ease. So long as he could dress as he wished and eat to his standards, he could call his life bearable. Or, that's what he told himself.

Kira doffed his jacket and set it to hang on his folding garment rack. he thumbed off his tie and bundled it at the base of his bed, a pull-out closet mattress. He made his way to the ‘kitchen’ and opened his half-size fridge. He pulled out some eggs, old rice, and various this’n’thats from the week’s leftovers. What he would have given for a well-made gas-top stove and a proper cooking-space. Still, he made do with what he had.

He ate alone in his room, watching the news. Some harridan grimaced at the camera opposite a thing that appeared to be wearing a gas-mask. Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench. Their mutual disdain notwithstanding, there was little in the way of compelling content. The gang wars in the west side of Pentagram City had worsened. The ‘Dipshit Duet’, as an old acquaintance had dubbed them, engaged in all out war over purged territory. Kira thanked himself for cutting ties with the wretched display that passed for the Hellscape crime scene nowadays. He grimaced, the less time spent reminiscing on those days the better.

Kira was scraping up the last of his ‘weekend omelette’ when a knock sounded at his door. “Hey! Neighborhood meeting! Twenty minutes in the common area, if you’re not there it’s 50 bucks put onto your rent!”

“Hmm.”

The ‘neighborhood meeting’ was about as degenerate one might expect. Whores and pimps and druggies aplenty. Fifty in all, the meeting had been something of a clusterfuck, with everyone cawing over everyone else. The reasons for the meeting was to announce a 3% raise in rent. Then the installation of a blood fountain for the hemophages on the second floor. And finally something about an intervention. Kira sort of tuned it all out. With the meeting over, everyone began to file out. This left only him in the rec-room along with about twenty or so other demons, all from his floor.

Kira poured himself a cup from the coffee urn, and sipped it without relish. It was an alright brew, but lukewarm regardless of the steam wafting off of its surface. Despite this, Kira knew if he were to spill it on himself it would be as hot as though fresh-brewed. Hell was like that, he found, the coffee was cold on the tongue but hot on the lap. Little things that helped to make existence unbearable. This Hell was nothing so crass as fire and torment. Rather, the suffering was in continued, tedious existence rife with inconveniences and nonsense. A Hell made all the worse when populated with the absolute worst humanity had to offer.

“Hey, Yoshi!” A voice called, a hand setting on his shoulder.

Kira’s eye twitched at his nickname, a moniker he loathed almost as much as its coiner. He turned to see the hideous grinning face of one of his more gregarious neighbors. He was some manner of lizard-thing, with three red eyes and a snaggle of long sharp black teeth. Kira nodded his acknowledgement. “Blacktooth.”

“So, what did you think of that meeting, huh?” Blacktooth said. “Funny about the fountain. Hot blood on tap!”

“Mmm,” Kira replied, sipping his coffee. “Suppose the rent hike is related to that?”

“Yeah, probably…”

Kira waited for him to leave. When he didn’t he looked back over, now aware that all his neighbors were standing around, looking at him. “Is there… a problem?”

“Yeah,” Blacktooth said. “This is an intervention.”

“An intervention,” said Kira, confused. “For me?”

“Yeah man, we can’t take it anymore. You’re creeping us out!” Blacktooth gestured at the other neighbors, who nodded in agreement. “All you do is go to work, pay your rent, cook, and clean. You don’t do any drugs, you don’t drink, you don’t steal or fight; just Mr. Normal all the time! It’s freaky!”

Kira blinked, his ears flattening. “What.”

Blacktooth looped his arm around Kira’s shoulders. “Look. I’m not sure if you noticed, but you’re in Hell. It’s over, Bad End, there’s no point in pretending to be a good person or play by the rules or any of that shit! Game over! You’re here because you did something evil, so fucking act like it! You’re just acting like you’re still on earth is rubbing us all the wrong way, yeah? Still using your human name and dressing like your human self! Like you think you’re better’n us! Or maybe you’re just hiding like you were up there. Either way, we’re letting you know how we feel, so unstraighten a bit and sin it up! Otherwise, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

Kira looked around at them, all their eyes on him, he could feel their stares. His hand shot to his mouth as he began to gnaw on his claws. How could this have happened? His lifestyle, his treasured peaceful lifestyle, was making him… stand out? Making him noticeable? What to do? What to do? All these neighbors, all these witnesses, people who knew his name and now had reason to suspect him. The quiet existence he had built for himself was coming down around his ears. It wouldn’t be long before they found out, before his secret was revealed. It would be back to the old days, the stressful days, back to the endless passionless killing and violence.

“Hey now Yoshi, don’t be like that!” Blacktooth said, clapping him in the shoulder. “We just wanted to give you a bit of a reality check! If you wanna live in Hell, y’gotta be in Hell, y’gotta own it! ‘Cause it’s not like you’re goin’ anywhere.”

“Or you can check into the Happy Hotel and go to heaven,” one of the other neighbors, Shiv, said, laughing out loud.

The rest of the group joined in, their laughter mocking and derisive. It echoed in Kira’s pointed triangular ears. His brow furrowed, his pupils contracted to slivers, his hackles rose. He could feel his claws as they pushed their way out of his fingertips. The urge to kill screamed at him from within. A roaring beast that was bare moments from blasting Blacktooth’s jaw clean off his ugly face. To reach out for his neighbors and show them his true nature, his true self, to rip and tear and–

Wait. Heaven?

“The what-hotel?”

Blacktooth’s laughter trailed off. “Huh? Oh, Lucy’s daughter opened up some stupid hotel to rehabilitate sinners or some shit. You know, make ‘em better so they move on to heaven, yeah? Stupid bitch actually thinks that’ll fix the population problem!”

“Hm,” Kira tapped his finger to his chin. Fate had sided with him, after all. Redemption? Heaven? Could he get of this awful place once and for all? Could he yet live a peaceful life?

“Hey, you’re not actually considering going there, are ya, Yoshi?” Blacktooth said, grinning. “Ha! I never took you for a sucker! You’d have to be some kind of–”

“This intervention is over.” Kira tossed his coffee over his shoulder.

The scalding liquid splashing Blacktooth square in the snout. Blacktooth screamed and clutched his steaming face, staggering backwards. Kira made his way through the exit, leaning back into the room. “Thank you for your time, everyone. Goodbye.”

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” Blacktooth bellowed. “I’m gonna–”

A blue shape streaked through air and smashed into his face with a wet grisly crunch. Blood and brain sprayed out at the surrounding neighbors, who were silent with shock. Crawling around in the crater of blood and gore that used to be Blacktooth’s face was a blue, skeletal turtle. It looked up at the gathered demons with black, eyeless sockets. “Hey. Look over here.”

Kira closed the door behind him and set off a small bomb in the lock, fusing it and sealing off the door. Not a moment too soon, as the handle jittered and the door shook on its hinges as bodies piled against it. Screaming voices overlapped and mingled, threats and pleas for mercy merged together pleasingly. Kira allowed himself a moment to savor their fear, the delightful build-up to a slaughter. He stepped back and walked off down the hall. A massive explosion blew the door off its hinges and sent it crashing into the opposite wall. Kira sighed, smiling to himself.

He had some packing to do.

Charlie hummed to herself as she cleaned. The hotel was a mansion in years long past, and an exorbitant one at that. As such it required full-time staff to be kept in a presentable state. Charlie didn’t have a full-time staff, she didn't have any staff, to be honest. All she had were friends and a dream. Razzle and Dazzle helped, of course, and Vaggie was tireless. But they all had other duties on top of their full-time jobs, so the bulk of the cleaning fell to her while Nifty, their eccentric, effervescent maid, was on a two-week paid vacation while the Noise Marines were touring the city. Charlie didn’t mind. Anything she could do to help the hotel and her dream was a reward in and of itself.

Well, most of the time.

Their first and only customer presented some… unique challenges. Angel Dust was a difficult person at the best of times, and worse still when going through withdrawal. He tended to act out, to vent on things… and people.

Charlie jumped at the sound of automatic weapons-fire. The heavy crack of .45 APC rounds peppering the walls at 1500RPM. “Yeee-AAAH! Fuckin’ cockroach! Eat demonic lead, ya fuckin’ crunchy spawn of a hellhound’s sweaty ballsack!”

Charlie sprinted down the hall to his room. She threw herself to the floor to avoid a 3-second burst as it sawed through the door. She waited on the floor, calm and patient, listening for her cue. The roar of Angel’s quartet of Tommy-guns cut off into a series of clicks.

“Ah! Shit!”

Charlie hopped to her feet and slowly opened the door, peering into the room. Angel had his 'hangover shutters' drawn, which were essentially heavy switch-activated steel slabs that shut out every last flicker of light for when he was feeling 'sensitive'. Charlie flicked the switch and shutters retracted with loud 'thunk', the room awash with the soft light of 40 watt luxury bulbs. The furniture, walls, floor and ceiling, all riddled with bullet holes. Long meandering strings of pockmarks crisscrossed and scattered hither-thither. Angel was in the middle of the room, panting and hissing a long unbroken string of foul curse-words. His Tommy-guns still clutched in his shaking hands.

“Angel…?” Charlie said, entering the room. “Something wrong?”

“Is somethin’ wrong?” He muttered, glowering at her. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed deep with exhaustion and withdrawal. “Is somethin’ wrong?! Only the biggest hairiest roachiest cockroach to ever wriggle out of your dad’s asshole! He's hauntin' me! Always watchin', always waitin’, scurryin’ away when I turn on the light like, what, ya too good for me ya fuckin’ bug?!”

Charlie looked out at the tatters of the room. “A… cockroach?”

Angel sighed, the Tommy guns clattered to the ground. “Yeah, he was all… roachy… man, has it always been so stuffy in here?”

“That’s probably the gunpowder.” Charlie swept the guns away from him with the broom. “I should open a window.”

Angel shuffled over to the bed and collapsed, shivering. “I feel like I’m turnin’ inside out! Like I gotta shed or somethin’!”

Charlie opened the window and sighed, the air outside wasn’t much better, but it was different. “What did you do before, when you couldn’t get drugs?”

“I did drugs!” Angel said. “All the drugs! If I couldn’t get one kind I grabbed another.”

“Angel…” said Charlie, turning to him. “I can only help you if you let me!”

Angel Dust groaned and rolled onto his back. “Booze? Got any booze?”

She picked the guns up off the floor and headed for the door. “I can get you a big jug of water, some Tylenol, and some immodium for the… bathroom.”

“Whadaya mean the bathro–” An ominous grumble sounded from Angel’s belly. His eyes snapped open in horror. “Aw fuck.”

Angel scrambled for the adjoining bathroom. Charlie smiled and headed out the door, she needed to find him a hobby.

She walked into the main foyer and dropped the guns down the main garbage chute.

“What the fuck was that?” Vaggie said, bursting into the room. “Was he shooting inside the hotel?!”

“There was a cockroach, apparently,” said Charlie, dusting off her hands. “It’s no problem, Razzle and Dazzle will patch up the holes in the wall and the room will be good as new. He’s up and walking around, so it seems like he’s over the hump.”

“He better be!” Vaggie grumbled. “Otherwise we’ll be down a customer.”

“Our only customer…” Charlie drummed her fingers together. “But hey! If we can redeem someone like him, well, there’s no one we can’t help!”

A knock sounded at the door.

Charlie’s face fell for a moment, the people who liked to vandalize the hotel rarely knocked. The only person to knock thus far was…

Vaggie looked over at her, drawing her Exterminator’s spear from its usual hiding spot. She locked her eyes on Charlie’s, glancing over to the door, brandishing the spear. Charlie swallowed and started down the hall. The knock sounded again, slow, prim, deliberate. It was hardly the ‘shave-and-a-haircut’ of their unnerving ‘benefactor’.

“Coming!” She called. “Be right there!”

She took a deep breath and centered herself, she opened the door with a theatrical flourish. “Welcome to the Happy Hotel! Where sinners come in and the redeemed depart!”

Standing on the steps was a trim, tallish cat demon with light pink fur and coiffed blonde hair. His suit, a purple Valentino, was impeccable, cleaned and pressed by a careful hand. He bowed respectfully, the ghost of a smile on his well-proportioned face. “Ma’am. My name is Yoshikage Kira. I would like to humbly submit myself to your care in the hopes that I may be redeemed. Will you accept this sinner into your fine establishment?”

Charlie’s smile widened, her face alight with joy; a second customer! “Oh, of course! Of course! Please, Mr. Kira, come on in!”

Mr. Kira nodded and followed after her. She led him down the hall and to main foyer where Vaggie was waiting, spear at the ready. Charlie did a little pirouette and framed Kira to her friend, grinning like a goon. “Vaggie! Look! A customer!”

“I can see that, Charlie,” Vaggie said, lowering the spear. “He got a name?”

“Yosh–”

“Yoshikage Kira!” Charlie said, grabbing his arm. “Look at him! So dapper!”

Vaggie grabbed Charlie by the wrist, looking up at Kira, something like a concerned smile on her face. “Just a second, please.”

“Of course,” he replied, checking his watch. “Take your time.”

Vaggie pulled Charlie halfway across the room and whispered. “What are you doing?”

“He’s a–”

Vaggie shushed her. “He’s some rando off the street! You’re just gonna let in anyone who knocks on that door?”

Charlie swatted Vaggie’s hand out of her face, annoyed. “We did with Angel!”

“That’s different! We know who he is, he’s famous. Who’s this guy? What’s his deal?”

“That doesn’t matter!” Charlie pointed over at the panther-demon. “He said he came here because he needs help, because he wants to be better. That’s good enough for me!”

“Charlie–”

“Bup!” She broke away and returned to he new acquaintance, who was admiring the pictures on the wall. “Mr. Kira? Sorry about that. Here, allow me to introduce you to the hotel staff. This is Vaggie, she’s the hotel administrator.”

“Hey,” Vaggie said, flatly.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“And these two,” Charlie said, gesturing at two winged goat-creatures. One was carrying a ladder and the other a bag of plaster mix and a trowel. “Are Razzle and Dazzle. They’re the groundskeepers, cooks, handymen, and musical accompaniment.”

“Musical–?”

She spun around and beamed at him, hand shooting out in front of her. “And I’m Charlie Magne, primary rehabilitation officer… and janitor.”

Mr. Kira froze, his red cat-eyes wide, locked on her hand. His nostrils flared for a moment as he appeared to tense up all over. Charlie paused, clearing her throat, not sure what to make of his sudden tension. “Uhm… Mr. Kira?”

He rallied in an instant, bowing deep, almost genuflecting, as he took her hand in his. He turned her hand palm-down and kissed the air above her knuckle. “Apologies, Your Highness. I just this moment remembered that I was in the presence of royalty.”

Charlie blushed and giggled, tapping him on the shoulder. “O-oh! My! What a gentleman. Please, Mr. Kira, it’s just Charlie around here. I’m no more a princess than you!”

“Still, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He kissed the air above her knuckles again. The points of his claws pushed out from his fingers.

She giggled and grabbed one of his suitcases. “C’mon! Let’s get you feeling right at home!”

Charlie set off up the staircase with Kira following close behind. Vaggie watched them as they did, her eye narrowing. There was something off about this guy.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Detox

The hotel was elegant in a way. The decorating, while not quite to his tastes, was at least consistent in its philosophy and use of color. It looked like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe story, with tall, dark hallways and Gothic murals peppering the walls. The severity of the style held an undeniable air of grandeur and elegance, reinforced by the red and black color scheme endemic to Hell. Indeed, rather than seeming dirty or illicit, the colors made it seem… ominous? Foreboding?

Kira decided then that he actually quite liked it.

“And through here is the second floor rec-room. It has a foos-ball table and a billiard table, though the pool table is out of order at the moment. Angel took the billiard balls for ‘reasons’ and I don’t think we’ll be wanting them back, so I ordered new ones. They’ll be in next week. Do you play pool, Mr. Kira?”

Kira looked down at the hostess of this strange establishment. She was rather short for a denizen, reaching about mid-chest on him and thin, but in a way that didn’t convey any frailness; athletic, like a ballet dancer. She seemed very human, a look that Kira realized he’d missed dearly since coming here. Doll-like and elegant, with flowing blonde hair, porcelain-white skin, and charming little red dots on her cheeks.

Then there were her hands.

Long perfectly-proportioned fingers. Cute, delicate knuckles. Clean, trimmed, pedicured nails done up with shiny black nail polish contrasting exquisitely with her smooth alabaster skin. He’d almost given himself away the instant he’d seen them. In all Hell there were no finer hands, not since he had been alive had he encountered such delicate, subtle beauty. He longed feel those hands in his own. To have them caress his face, to draw those dainty fingers into his mouth and play with them with his tongue. The mere thought made his heart race, set his teeth on edge, his claws once again pushed out from the tips of his fingers.

“Mr. Kira?” She repeated, turning to look at him.

Kira tried his best to look nonchalant, glancing over at the rec-room. “I’ve been known to sink a few pockets. I find the mathematical aspect of it soothing. Numbers in motion.”

She smiled and nudged him with her elbow. “You’ll have to show me some moves, I’m absolutely terrible!”

Kira thought about wrapping her hands around the shaft of a cue-stick, her fingers caressing a billiard.

“Well, here’s your room!” She said, gesturing at a door.

They entered and Kira gawped. It was opulent by Hell’s standards, and outrageous compared to what he had become accustomed to. A twenty-by twenty room with a double-king sized bed set in a Gothic-style canopy of carved ebony and red gossamer curtains. Across the room was a stylized Victorian-era red leather lounger with a black tassel skirt. In the corner of the room was a handsome hand-carved desk with a scallop-bell lamp on top. All as neat and clean as any Five-Star Hotel on Earth. Where had this place been all these years?!

“And through that door is your private bathroom. It has a large-sized walk-in shower with a rainfall showerhead and adjustable steam nozzles. Toiletries and all that stuff are under the sink. If you’re missing anything don’t hesitate to let us know!”

“Thank you very much,” Kira ran a finger across the desktop, nodding in quiet approval at the lack of dust. “You’ve done a marvelous job of cleaning, this place is spotless. I think I’ll be very happy here.”

“Oh!” She squeaked, reaching out and placing her hand over his, squeezing it. Her hands were as soft and gentle as they looked. “Thank you! It makes me so happy to hear you say that!”

She turned her back to him as she continued to prattle on about the Hotel’s mission. Something-something dream, something-something rainbow, something-something blah-blah. Kira could not hear for his heart thundering in his ears, her words drowned out in by the heady tone of rushing blood. He crept up behind her, eyes blazing, hands raised and clasping. Her slender, dainty neck exposed and vulnerable. He wanted to open up to her, to tell her his deepest, most intimate feelings. To throttle her and show her his true unabashed self. And once they were acquainted and his heart was laid bare, he’d render her into a more pleasing form. A form rid of all that chaff and baggage and reborn as something he could love and dote on. Her hands were the most beautiful in all Hell, and they would be his.

“…Don’t you agree, Mr. Kira?” Charlie said, turning around.

Kira’s hands were at his collar as he loosened his tie. He doffed his jacket, exhaling through his mouth before smiling at her. “Oh? Yes, of course. I’m surprised no one thought about it before. Is there anywhere I could hang up my clothes?”

“Oop! Yes!” Charlie gestured at the very obvious closet door. “Right in here!”

Kira opened it and placed his jacket on a hangar and his tie on a hook. Charlie watched him for a moment before saying: “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, no. I think I’ll just take a minute to settle in and decompress. Get a feel for the place. You’ve been a great help, Miss Magne. I really appreciate your dedication.”

She puffed up and a radiant smile spread across her face, as though he had told her she’d won at life. Kira noted her reaction to his modest praise. Surprised, desperate even, as though unaccustomed. Then again, he supposed, one might expect some friction when opening a rehab clinic in Hell itself.

“Well, you just let me know if you need anything, Mr. Kira,” she said, shooting him two finger-guns. “And ‘Miss Magne’ is my mother’s name (well, actually, it’s Mistress Magne) I tend to go by ‘Charlie’ ‘round these here parts!”

“Of course, Charlie. And if I do, I’ll let you know.”

She clicked her tongue and winked, stepping out the door and closing it behind her. Kira doubled over and exhaled. He held his shaking hands out in front of him, his claws pale white slivers extending from his fingertips. He flexed his hands, they would not retract no matter how much he willed them to do so.

“This was a mistake. I can’t stay here.” He shook his head, as if he could rattle the image of her hands out of his mind. “No… no… I just have to control myself. It won’t do to kill my hosts on the first day. That’s probably impolite, not to mention I need her to get me out of this horrid place.”

He walked over looked out the window, out at Pentagram City. The wretched people, the filth that saturated every pore, chaos defiled every crack, every crevice. He drew upon the vast well of willpower within him, once Yoshikage Kira had set about a task, no force on Hell or Earth could stop him. Fate was on his side, and would not have led him here for some tawdry fling with a new girl. He had to escape Hell, and escape he would.

“Charlie…” he murmured, tasting the name. “Charlie… it is a cute name, though.”

He grit his teeth and inhaled, long and deep, centering his breathing and closing his eyes. His claws retracted further into their sheaths with each breathe. He balled his hands into fists and exhaled one last time. Opening his eyes, he turned away from the window, drawing the curtain. “I’m no animal, no wild beast! I can control myself! I will control myself! I just need a new hobby…”

Charlie entered the foyer and plopped down on a love chair, brow furrowed. “Phew!”

Vaggie walked over from the front desk, where a particularly wretched-looking Husk sat like a congealed lump of misery. “Hey, so, what’s his deal?”

“I… don’t know.” Charlie drummed her fingers on the armrest. “He seems really nice. He’s polite, charming, gracious… just really…”

“…Nice,” Veggie said, grimacing. “That’s weird. How many nice people go to Hell?”

“Bet he’s a pedo or somethin’,” Husk grumbled from under his arms. “Sounds like a poof, anyway, sliding that sweet-talk.”

“Husk!” Charlie said. “That’s rude! We can’t just go assuming people’s sins! Besides, it doesn’t matter what he did, he came here to get help all by himself!”

“For all you know,” Husk said, looking up from his arms, his eyes rheumy and lidded. “Maybe he’s just looking for a place to crash, like Angel.”

“Speaking of crashing, what happened to you?” Vaggie said, nose curling at the stench of alcohol pervading the room. Husk was no teetotaler, to be sure, but he seemed to be suffering more than usual this morning. “Did you go on a gasoline bender or something?”

“Near enough.” Husk straightened out, wings flexing with a nigh-audible creak. “Some of my old buddies went and got dusted t’other night.”

Charlie’s hand shot to her mouth. “Oh no! What happened?”

“Came down wit’ th' cansker!” Husk sneered. “How the fuck else do folk die around here?! Gang shit, prolly. The West Side’s gone to the birds since the purge. Lotta big figures there got pegged and the jackals come a’runnin’ to fight over the carcass. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Charlie said. “Is there anything I can do?”

Husk buried his face again. “Stop bashing ears and let me suffer in peace.”

Vaggie walked over a slammed a dossier down next to his head. “Suffer in peace all you like, but do your job while you do it! New guy’s name is Yoshikage Kira, find out where he’s from and what he does and then write him up in the guest list. Oh, and by the way, work starts at 7:30, not 10:30! Think you can handle that?”

“You’re a real peach, y’know that?” Husk looked up at Vaggie and smiled a sweet smile while staring daggers. “Well enough you’re a kiki, a fella’d lose his prick to frostbite!”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Vaggie growled as he took the dossier. She turned to Charlie, arms crossed. “So, what’re we going to do with new guy?”

Charlie shrugged. “Going to do? We’re going to rehabilitate him.”

“Okay…” Vaggie nodded and gestured for her to continue. “…How? We don’t know what he did! We can’t treat sins if we don’t know what they are!”

“He’ll tell us, eventually. He just needs to settle in, I think.” Charlie said, clasping her hands together over her heart. “He’s committed, I can feel it! He really wants to be a better person!”

“Pedo!” Husk called over from the front desk. “Or a rapist!”

“My money’s on serial killer,” Vaggie said.

Husk’s ears perked, a wry smile on his otherwise dour face. “Wanna bet?”

Vaggie grinned and crossed her arms. “Even hundy, serial killer.”

“You’re on!”

Razzle and Dazzle leaned into the room and bleated in unison.

“What’s Unit 731?” Husk said.

“Think Mengele but Japanese,” Vaggie said, gesturing so-so. “More or less.”

Husk gave an impressed whistle and drummed up a pool in the margins of the dossier. “Goat Bois, swinging for the bleachers! Pool’s 400 bucks, accepting all comers!”

Charlie shot to her feet, eyes crimson as a pair of horns sprouted from her hair, her voice reverberating. “Enough! We have to be welcoming, understanding, and professional. Everyone has something good in them. Everyone. Husk, get to work. Razzle, Dazzle, get back to fixing up Angel’s room. Vaggie, see what you can dig up on Mr. Kira’s past. I have to get Angel his medicine. Everyone got that?”

Everyone nodded, eyes wide and surprised. Charlie smoothed her horns down and nodded, smiling. “Good! Alright everyone, break!”

Razzle and Dazzle set about patching the bullet holes in the wall with plaster, their cute little workmen’s hats hanging off their horns.

Angel Dust blew a raspberry as Charlie listed off his list of new hobbies. From model-making, to Lego, to knitting, she even brought him a tablet to ‘express himself without bullets’.

“Hard to communicate a desire to murder with a tablet. Besides, I suck at art,” Angel rasped, taking a sip from the big glass of water she’d brought him. He grimaced and held it out, shaking it at her. “Care to Irish this up a bit?”

Charlie smiled and shook her head. “No Irish here!”

“Racist.”

“Oh, I’m not aaaaalll bad…” Charlie said with a wink, dropping two tablets on the nightstand.

Angel’s eyes widened and he looked up at her. Charlie very pointedly turned around and watched her Goat Bois work. Angel Dust snatched up the pills and crunched them between his teeth, swishing the bitter paste about his mouth as he waited for that sweet, sweet hit.

And waited.

And waited.

“Aw c’mon!” Angel cried, scowling at Charlie. “Ya fuckin’ tease!”

“Naltrexone,” Charlie said with a gentle smile. “Wash it down.”

Angel sipped from his glass and grumbled. “You’re getting better at this whole ‘rehab’ thing.”

“I’ve been talking to some people. I almost sorta know what I’m doing! Look, it’ll take the edge off, but the low is something you’ll have to learn to deal with now so you don’t relapse later. That’s what the Lego is for!”

Angel scrunched up his face in a childish pout, grabbing the Lego box from her. He pulled it open and extruded his third pair of arms, a crazed smile on his face. His arms were a blur, the snaps and clicks of Lego bricks filled the air like Tommy-gun fire.

“Ta-daa!” Angel exclaimed, turning the tableau around for Charlie to see. “ART!”

Charlie’s smile faltered at the grotesque scenes of sex, violence, and hedonism Angel had somehow committed to Lego. Made all the more disturbing by the placid yellow faces of the Lego-men. She leaned in and pointed at the jolly little fellow getting a hypo in his eye from another dressed in bondage-gear. “Why in the eye?”

“His arms are all tracked out,” said Angel, matter-of-fact. He pointing at the ghoulish lines on the Lego-man’s arms. “See?”

She pointed at another particularly graphic scene. “I, uh, didn’t realize that Lego made, uh… strap-ons…”

Angel waved a hand and scoffed. “Naw, that’s mine.”

Charlie almost asked the obvious question before deciding that she didn’t want to know the answer. She stood up and clapped her hands, a strained smile on her face. “Well! I can see that you’re just bursting with creative energy! You okay on your own for a little bit?”

“Bit peckish,” said Angel, fiddling with the tableau. “Lunch soon?”

“An hour or so. Do you think you can wait?”

“Yeah, I’ll be hungry by then.”

Charlie was almost out the door when Angel called after her. “Hey! Were you talkin’ to someone earlier or did I just hallucinate that?”

“Yes! We got a new customer this morning! He’s very… mysterious.”

“In my Line a’work ‘mysterious’ usually means ‘hiding from the mob’ or ‘I’m actually broke’. Pass!”

Charlie shook her head and left. Angel rolled his eyes as door shut. “Fuckin’ Lego? Really?!”

He moved to swipe the set off his lap before pausing and leaning in, examining the orgy. “Hmmm…”

He pawed through the box full of random pieces, eying the parts with care as he shifted them about. “Where… where… Ah! Perfect!”

The piece set down with a snap and Angel admired his work… for about five seconds. He turned back to the box. “But what if I…”

Charlie stood outside the door, a knowing smirk on her face at the sound of snapping plastic. “No one can resist Lego.”

A click from across the hall drew her attention. From the corner of her eye she saw the door opened a crack, an eye peering out. Charlie resisted the urge to call out to him, opting to give him space. It took a lot of bravery to come off of the streets and seek help, to seek redemption out of the blue. She mused that she was treating him like some kind of sick, scared animal, careful not to spook him or scare him off. Still, she could hardly contain her excitement: a second customer! Charlie hummed to herself as she skipped down the hall. Red eyes watched her, purple pupils narrowing to slits.

Vaggie scrolled through Hell’s registry, fingers flying over the keyboard of her laptop. Much to her surprise, Hell had an in-depth database of all its occupants. Unfortunately each bio contained only inane information like favorite flavors of ice cream and number of nocturnal emissions. Nothing more hellish than an intricate, labyrinthine, and yet entirely worthless bureaucracy.

She hated this place.

Oh! A hit!

“Ah,” said Vaggie, smirking. “Gotcha.”

Yoshikage Kira, no other known aliases in Hell. Tch! Still using his human name! Pretentious dipshit. Vaggie read on, having a chuckle at his ignominious and rather ironic death. She’d keep that one to herself, in case she needed to bust that bombshell out and take him down a few pegs. Okay, let’s see, let’s see… Collected his fingernail clippings (ew) to [REDACTED] his [REDACTED] and predict his chances of [REDACTED]. Real helpful… Enjoys long walks in the park. Had bunch of third place trophies. Favorite sandwich was the fried katsu at St. Gentleman’s. Favorite fashion brand is… Gianfranco Ferre?! Shit, credit where it’s due, that’s some damn good taste. The rest was some nonsense about stands (like, as in sheet music?) and a killer queen, also someone had a heart attack? The fuck’s a ‘duwang’? Who translated this garbage?!

She shut her laptop with a disgusted growl. “You find anything, Husk?”

“Not really,” said Husk, glowering at the hotel’s PC. “Guy’s been all over the west side for the past 20 years, never stays anywhere very long. Longest was at Belial & Scratch Apartment Complex on Bartleby Street, been there since the purge of ’16. Can’t blame the fella for wanting to scoot from that neck of the woods, though. Says here he works a middle-management position at a local department store. No complaints, no missing kids, no nothing.”

“Any insight on, you know, why he’s here?” Vaggie said, unable to think of a more boring person in Hell if she tried.

Husk smirked. “Not too late to change your bet.”

“Oh, you wish!” She walked over and looked over his shoulder. “Skooch over.”

“Piss off!”

A brief struggle ensued, ending with Vaggie tapping away at the keyboard with one of Husk’s wings batting the back of her head. “Ah! Here, look! ‘B&S building burned down just the other day! Authorities suspect quote: ‘arson or gangs or some shit’ to be the cause. Twenty-two residents missing, all from the same floor.’ Ha! See? Guy butchers his neighbors and hides out here until things blow over! Total serial killer move!”

Husk grumbled something before shooting to his feet, knocking Vaggie off. “Wait, what? They’re missing? As in, they’re actually dead?”

“Uh,” Vaggie peered over his shoulder. “Hey, yeah… says here none of the gangs in the area have taken responsibility. No remains have been found, and there’s no evidence of them having moved or escaped…”

Husk whistled, impressed. “If you’re right, then we’re sharing a roof with a guy that soloed more than twenty demons without so much as a scratch on him.”

Vaggie recalled all the mundane details about Mr. Murder’s life and death; she crossed her arms and huffed. “Fuck. Well, I still say he’s a serial killer. Just, y’know, a boring one.”

“Peeeedoooo,” said Husk in a sing-song voice. “Me and four Benjamins got a binge with my name on it!”

“Fuck you!” Vaggie seethed as she stormed off.

Husk chuckled and called after her. “Get four C-notes of booze in me and you might have a chance!”

Kira inhaled through his nose, hands planted shoulder-width as he held a plank, his phone on the floor in front of him. The smooth serene voice of a yoga instructor the only other sound in the room. His focus on the moment, the urge within him ebbed away unnoticed. For now, anyway. All he had to do was keep himself in line for a little longer, at least until he could glean some more information on the redemption process. Was it something he could bluff? Maybe he could cop to some lesser sins and be on his way? His gut told him no, but could he really risk coming clean with his earthly crimes? Best to let that wait until no other opportunities remained. Not to mention his early days in Hell, something he’d keep secret at all costs. No, he just had to play it cool, wait and see what all this ‘redemption’ talk entailed. For now he just had to be patient.

“And now from plank we’ll go through a flow. Exhale into a cobra position… and then inhale into a downward-facing dog. We’ll hold here for three breaths.”

A knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Kira?”

“Come in,” he said, exhaling through his mouth.

Charlie entered the room and started when she saw him. “Whoops! Am I interrupting anything?”

“…Lift that right leg into three-legged dog…”

“Not at all, Charlie,” Kira said, leg raised high behind him. “Can I help you with anything?”

“…Exhale that leg up between your hands and flow into a runner’s lunge…”

Kira swung his leg down and between his hands, slow and controlled before rearing up with his back straight, arms high over his head.
“Just thought I’d pop up and tell you that it’s–”

“…now, be aware of your front foot, feel your strength drawing up from it as you plant your toes and heel. Imagine you’re a tree, sending your roots deep into the ground. Straightening your front leg, stacking more and more weight into it and less and less into the back foot. Back foot is lighter, lighter, so light it’s off the ground completely, floating like a bubble. At your own pace, find your focal point for balance and pivot forward at the hip. Straight as possible, like your arms and leg are being pulled in opposite directions…”

Kira did without so much as a hint of imbalance, smooth and practiced.

“…if you’re feeling confident, reach back with your right hand and see if you can grab that extended foot. Now, exhale into a standing-bow pose…”

He reached back with a slow, cat-like grace and grabbed his shin. He pulled his leg up and high into an impressive sideways split.

He exhaled quietly, eye sweeping over to Charlie. “It’s what?”

“Wow!” Charlie looking up and down. “Snack–I mean–lunch! It’s lunchtime!

Kira let go of his leg and righted himself, flicking out his arms and legs, rolling his shoulders. He turned to her and gestured at himself. “Should I put something on?”

Charlie shook her head. “Oh no, you look great! Uh, I-I mean, no need! It’s pretty casual!”

“Mm.” He followed her to the door. “What’s on the menu?”

“Mexican today, soft and hard shell tacos with all the fixings, birria soup as a side, and a salad. Sound good?”

He couldn’t complain about free food. “Very.”

“So… yoga?” Charlie said, incredulously. “You don’t seem the type.”

He shrugged. “I’ve always been a stickler for basic fitness and wellness. Though I took up yoga after I died to deal with… stress. It keeps me from focusing on negative thoughts. Helps me sleep.” Kira rubbed his thumb across his fingertips, feeling the claws still in their sheaths. “I find it centering.”

“Careful now,” Charlie said, elbowing Kira in the arm. “You might go and do my job for me!”

He chuckled and shook his head, running his fingers through his hair as he swept it back. “I’m sure it’s not that easy.”

“Ha ha ha… yeah, no, not… not easy…” Charlie said, trailing off.

“Hm?”

She spun around, her cheerful smile bordering on a rictus. “Lunch? Lunch! Let’s get lunch!”

“…Okay.”

They walked out into the hall and Charlie walked up to the door opposite his and knocked on it. “Aaaaangel! Lunchtime!”

Shuffling sounded from inside, a few bangs, and a muffled string of curses. The door swung open to reveal a tall, disheveled, haggard-looking spider demon. He was wearing a frayed pink tank-top and pair of jogging shorts that were one size too small and several years past their intended lifespan. Behind him was what appeared to be a half-completed 1/130th scale model of the Eiffel Tower… made of Lego. “What what whaaaaaaat?! Can’t ya see I’m in the middle of my magnum opus?!”

“Come eat!” Charlie said, and then half-sung: “And also meet our new customeeeeeeer~!”

Kira stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Hello. Angel, was it? I’m Yoshikage Kira and I–”

Angel Dust’s eyes bugged wide, fanged mouth hanging open in shock. He slammed the door shut.

Kira blinked and looked over at Charlie. “Was it something I sa–?”

The door opened in a slow, sultry manner. Angel hung in the doorframe, his hair coiffed and flawless, his eyes shining, dressed up in his best out-on-the-town fare. “Why… hello there.”

“Hello.” Kira repeated. “I’m–”

Angel swatted at Charlie, batting his eyes at Kira. “Charlie, how rude! Ya didn’t introduce us!”

“He’s–”

“Yoshikage Kira,” Kira broke in, thrusting his hand out. “I’m a recovering sinner, like you.”

“Ain’t no sinners like me, pussy-cat,” Angel purred, arching an mischievous eyebrow as he took Kira’s hand. He pulled him close and whispered. “And that’s a claim I’m willin’ to back up, all’s y’gotta do is ask.”

“I’d… rather not encourage a relapse,” said Kira, trying to free his hand from the spider’s steely grip.

“Oh ho ho~!” Angel laughed into the back of his hand while waving him off with another. He kept his death grip on Kira’s hand with his other two. “Where in Hell’d ya find such a straight-edge, Chuck? Ha! Either someone Up There fucked up or you’re a goddamned psychopath!”

Kira said nothing.

“Ey, you’re a real sport!” Angel said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think I’m gonna like messin’ wit’cha.”

Charlie led the two of them into the foyer. Angel was mock-flirting with Kira, hanging off his arm like a debutante at the ball. Kira seemed neither interested or irritated, deflecting Angel’s innuendo and backhanded repartee in a calm, straightforward manner. Charlie could see it was driving Angel up the wall. Vaggie and Husk looked up from their computers, exchanging brief glances with one another. Husk looked at Vaggie, expression urgent, nodding at Charlie.

“Ugh! Fine!” Vaggie got up and walked over. “Hey, Charlie, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“In a bit,” Charlie, looking over at the dining room. “Where’s lunch?”

“Lunch?” Vaggie looked over at the empty table in the room over. “Hey, yeah. Weren’t Razzle and Dazzle supposed to whip something up?”

“Yeah! Tacos!” Charlie put her hands on her hips, scanning the foyer. “Where are those two? They were supposed to make lunch after they finished fixing up Angel’s room!”

“Oh, them?” Angel Dust said, an innocent smile on his face. “I drafted them to help me make my sculpture. Oh! Why don’t you come up and see my art, Mr. Kitty? Come and see how I… express myself!”

“With Lego,” said Kira.

“Among other things,” Angel winked and flashed a gold-toothed smile. “I’m flexible. Very flexible.”

“I’ve always been partial to Playmobil, myself,” said Kira, the hint of a smirk on his face.

“P-Playmobil?!” Angel sputtered, disgusted.

“Sorry guys, looks like lunch will be delayed for a bit,” Charlie said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just a minute, I’ll see if I can put some sandwiches together or something. Hope you like PB&J!”

“Hey, there’s a good take-out place down the road,” Angel offered. “The Yowl reviews said the food had way less pubic hair than the competition!”

Kira hissed something and brushed past the two of them and headed for the dining room, rolling up his sleeves.

“Mr. Kira?” Charlie followed him around the corner, turning it in time to see him disappear into the kitchen. The door shut in her face. She could hear the clatter of pans and bowls being set on the counter and the dull ‘fwoosh’ of the stovetops being lit. “Mr. Kira, you really don’t have to do this! It’s fine, we’ll just–”

He peered over the order counter, the smile on his face was gentle save for the harried look in his eyes. “I don’t care for take-out. Please, cooking is therapeutic for me. I find it calming.”

“O-okay…” Charlie said, looking over the counter and into the kitchen. “What’s on the menu?”

“I’ll have to check the pantry.” He turned away from her, putting on an apron. “It’ll be a surprise! Any allergies I should know about?”

Charlie shook her head, looking at the floor. “No, I’ll just… be waiting, then.”

She made her way back to the foyer and ran her hands through her hair, groaning in frustration. “Oh God, I’m so embarrassed! The clients aren’t supposed to… UGH! Not two hours here and he’s already cleaning up after us! Real great first impression, Charlie!”

“What?” Vaggie said, looking to the dining room. “He’s cooking? For us?”

Charlie nodded and sighed. “Yeah. ‘Our service can’t be beat’ my butt!”

“Damn Charlie,” Husk grunted. “Got yourself a real catch, there! Too bad he’s a–”

“Don’t. Say. It.” Charlie growled, turning to Vaggie. “You wanted to talk about something?”

Vaggie crossed her arms and nodded. “Yeah. He’s the most aggressively normal person in all Hell. No one knows what he did to get here and he hasn’t done anything of note in twenty years. He works a mundane job, in which he has a perfect record of attendance and service. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t do drugs. He’s just a guy.”

Charlie blinked and nodded, gesturing for more. “And that’s… bad?”

“It’s weird, really weird. People like him don’t just wind up in Hell, there’s always a reason! And it’s not just that he’s not telling us something, it’s like he’s gone out of his way to seem normal to everyone. He’s hiding something, I know it.”

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Charlie looked her in the eye. “You think he’s a murderer, I know, but do you think he’s dangerous?”

Vaggie sighed and rolled her eyes. “No. I just… I dunno. You’re probably right, he seems pretty harmless. It’s not like he can actually kill anyone down here. Guy just creeps me out, you know?”

“All guys creep you out!” Husk shouted from elsewhere.

“What? No!” Vaggie said, pointing to Angel. “He doesn’t!”

“I should.”

“You’re not helping!”

Kira seethed to himself over the stove as he whisked the diced onions, red pepper and tomato in with the eggs in a large mixing bowl. No matter what he tried, no matter what he did, there was always something to put him in a killing mood. Not that he was unique in this regard, five minutes alone with that spider would drive anyone homicidal. He’d have to make a decision, and soon, otherwise he was going to lose control and admit defeat to his urges. He’d have to find a way to manage or give up on this dream of redemption and kill them all. If only he had a little more time!

Time…

That’s it!

Kira smirked as he poured the first of the eggs into a buttered pan, the hiss and sizzle like a crowd at a stadium going wild after a daring play. He fought the urge to raise his hands in victory. It had been a while since he’d used this particular talent of his, but it could work. If he planted his third bomb, Bites The Dust, onto someone and detonated it himself, he alone would loop back in time one hour. One critical hour to center himself, to think. He would have redemption yet!

And he knew just who to plant it on.

Lunch was ready not long after. Kira beckoned the assorted degenerates and Charlie into the dining room. He laid out seven sets of plates and cutlery on the table around three stainless steel food warmers in the middle. He directed each of them to their seats, a genuine, jolly smile his face.

“Please, be seated everyone!” He said, gesturing out at the table before patting the chair next to his. “Charlie, if you please.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Kira!” She giggled.

He opened the food warmers, announcing as he did. “For lunch today we have sliced asparagus bundles wrapped in prosciutto, roasted until crispy and dusted with Parmesan. Here, we have a very fine huevos pericos, and as a side we have a caprese salad topped with a sweet balsamic reduction. Help yourselves and enjoy!”

“Caprese!” Angel exclaimed. “I knew I’d like ya.”

“Mr. Kira, this all looks so good!” Charlie said, patting him on the wrist as he seated himself. “And I’m really hungry!”

“Please, call me Yoshikage,” he said, placing his hand over hers and giving a friendly squeeze. Her eye flashed purple, invisible to all but him; the bomb was set. “And it’s the least I could do for such a warm welcome.”

He stood up and raised his glass. “If it pleases you all, I have an announcement to make. First, I’d like to formally introduce myself. My name is Yoshikage Kira, I died July 16th 1999 and I’m a serial killer.”

“Oh, that’s ni–GHLRK!” Charlie began to say before spluttering into her glass.

“I killed 48 women and collected their hands, which I then treated like girlfriends. I'd buy them rings, watches, I would cook with them, clean with them, taking them out on dates, that sort of thing. I bear no ill will towards women in general, I simply have an overwhelming urge to kill and a love of beautiful hands. It’s a quirk I try to stay positive about.”
He let the news sink in for a bit before he moved to push the switch, looking over at Charlie. To his surprise she didn’t seem mortified, or even disgusted. If anything she seemed… sympathetic?

“YES!!” Vaggie roared, triumphant, leaping up onto her chair, punching the air. “Serial killer! Called it! Cough it up, hairball!”

“Fuuuuuck…” Husk groaned, getting out his wallet and slapping a hundred dollar bill into Vaggie’s outstretched hand.

She turned to the Goat Bois, who were silently despairing their loss. “Hey! Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dipshit! Slap them bills down!”

“Oh, come on!” Angel cried. “There was a pool and you left me out of it?!”

“You snooze you lose, bug!” Vaggie cackled, holding the three hundred dollars high in the air. “This is going into the Gucci fund!”

Kira faltered, this wasn’t quite the reaction he was expecting. He felt a hand grab his, he looked down to see Charlie’s, her brow furrowed with concern. “Is it bad?”

“Is what bad?”

“These violent impulses you have,” she said. “Can you control them?”

Kira paused, this was definitely not the reaction he was expecting. “I… can. Sometimes. If I don’t indulge I become anxious, stressed. I lose sleep, I can’t think straight. It’s a need, like hunger.”

Charlie nodded and skooched closer, eyes locking with his. “Have you ever tried seeking help?”

Kira chuckled incredulously, priming his switch finger. This asinine conversation was about to never have existed. “There’s no helping it. No one can change their nature.”

“Have you tried?”

Kira paused. Had he? Had he ever? Was there ever a reason to? No, never. Not then, when he was alive, but now… now he had a reason. What was more important to him? Killing or living the kind of life he’d always wanted, a peaceful life?

“No…” His hand softened and wrapped around Charlie’s, squeezing lightly. Her eye flashed purple, the bomb was retracted. “But, I’d like to.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Methodology

Conversation around the table returned to normal after the announcement. Charlie watched him try and process the situation. He hadn't expected indifference, much less acceptance. She found herself wondering how someone who’d been so evil in a prior life hadn’t so much as threatened to harm anyone in twenty years. Had he been controlling himself this whole time? She tapped her finger against the table, Yoshikage Kira was an interesting man, to be sure.

She stuck one of the wrapped asparagus segments into her mouth and sighed, savoring the crisp, salty prosciutto and the rich juicy asparagus. He was a very talented man, too. “Mr. Kira, really, this is amazing! Where’d you learn to cook?”

“I’ve always had certain standards when it came to food, and eating below them would always affect my mood and cause me stress. So I learned to cook to my specifications,” he said, gesturing at his plate.

“That’s important to you, isn’t it?” Charlie said. “Avoiding stress.”

He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin, nodding. “I try and structure my life around routine and sleep. Anything that interrupts either is the enemy. I get eight hours of sleep every night, I go to work, and the spare time is filled with exercise and calming hobbies.”

“What, like murder?” Angel said through a mouthful of caprese and egg, spraying out as he spoke.

“Angel!” Charlie scolded.

“It’s alright,” Kira said. “The cat’s out of the bag, so to speak.”

“Ha!” Husk barked from down the table.

Angel leaned in, pointing a mozzarella-laden fork at Kira. “So lemme ask ya somethin’! Why hands?”

Kira crossed his arms, examining his claws. “That’s a legitimate question. I’m here to redeem myself, can’t very well do that without some openness. As for your question, I honestly couldn’t tell you. Ever since I was a boy, I’ve always been fascinated by them, their elegance, their beauty, their utility. As humans they’re how we interact with the world. Powerful, destructive, and yet delicate. Sensitive. It only became a problem when the urge set in later in life.”

“So, you admit that they were a problem?” Charlie said. “Your urges?”

“Well…” Kira paused, setting his fork down; she could see he hadn’t ever considered his need to kill as a problem before, but was now. “I suppose it got me killed, didn’t it? And because of it I wound up here, in Hell. So, yes, it turned out being something of a hindrance to me.”

“Charlie…” said Vaggie, a tense smile on her face. “Maybe the therapy stuff can wait until after lunch?”

“Oh! Right!” Charlie said, somewhat embarrassed. “Sorry, Mr. Kira. I get carried away. Maybe we can all get together later?”

Kira was staring his plate, brow creased before blinking and turning to her. “Hm? Sorry, I was…you were saying?”

“Well, I was thinking that maybe you, me and Angel could get together after lunch and have a group support session. It’s really encouraging how you’ve come forward and opened up like this. I’d like to touch bases with you both and see where we can go from here.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, distracted. “Anything.”

Charlie reached out and squeezed his hand, a warm smile on her face. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Charlie hummed to herself as she scrubbed the dishes, all in all things were going great! Their charming new customer had revealed some choice information about himself and seemed to have embraced the hotel's ethos. Two! Two clients! Two lost souls to rehabilitate! And who better to prove her theory than a ruthless, debauched gangster-whore and a paraphilic serial killer? If she could set them down the road to redemption, she could do it do anyone.

“Room for one more?” A voice said from behind; it was Vaggie, a rare smile on her face.

Charlie stepped to the side and patted the sink with a soapy hand. “For you? Always.”

“If it pleases you, madam,” she said in a faux-snobby accent, grabbing a towel and a plate.

“Hmm. That’s not like you.”

“What do you mean?”

She reached up and booped her nose with a sudsy finger, winking. “Making things dry.”

Vaggie giggled and turned away, blushing. “Charlie, what’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, I’m just…excited! He opened up so easily! I really think we can help him.” Charlie sighed and clutched a plate to her chest. “And Angel is doing so good with his rehab too, I just can’t wait to get them together and sort through their feelings!”

Vaggie laughed and put another plate onto the pile. “Who better to get through to Mr. Hand-Job than the girl with the best pair in all Hell?”

“Best in Hell?” Charlie looked at her hands, surprised. “You really think so?”

Vaggie shuffled right up to Charlie and leaned her head onto her shoulder, grabbing her palm and turning it up. “Not if you get ‘em all pruney! Bah, look at this! Like an old hag’s! 4/10, would not dismember and date.”

Charlie chuckled and rolled her head off her shoulder. “And here I thought you’d warm up to him once he made you lunch and several hundred bucks!”

Vaggie put her hands up in concession. “Okay, I admit it was really cool how he opened up like that. I mean, that’s not an easy bomb to drop on people you just met…he’s still fucking creepy, though.”

Charlie sighed and smiled, locking eyes with Vaggie. “Thanks for worrying. If this hotel’s gonna work, I need someone who’s a little more…”

“Sensible?” Vaggie said, polishing a fork. “Realistic? Skeptical?”

“Paranoid,” Charlie said, playfully nudging her with her elbow. “But really, I’m glad I have you in my corner. I just… I really appreciate it.”

Vaggie reached out and grabbed her hand in both of hers. “For you? Always.”

Charlie pulled her best friend into a tight hug, nuzzling her cheek into her neck. “Thanks.”

The wreckage of the B&S building was still smoldering when they arrived. Heat radiated off of the baked brick and plaster, charred belongings littered the rubble. Demons scavenged the wreckage, taking the abandoned, slightly singed belongings for themselves. A quartet of demons stood in a rough circle around a hole in the ground, all of them eyeing the section of debris not ten feet from them. The bulged, crumpled remains of a door their only clue as to the nature of the fire. It fit their expectations, given their quarry.

“You sure, God Given?” One, a small, spindly, emaciated creature with a stag-beetle for a head said. “He went in there?”

God Given was a tall, blonde mole-like creature in a white v-neck suit and a stethoscope around his neck. He gestured at the hole. “You saw it, Bug Boogie. Second floor rec-room, Mr. Clean went in with a couple a dozen people. Then he leaves and the whole thing goes boom.”

“Shit,” a muscular purple fish-demon said, scraping at his barnacle-encrusted chin with a long, needle-like claw. “Dusts his neighbors and scoots. That’s Clean all over.”

“Not that we were expecting anything less, eh Moonshine?” A gecko-demon in a poker-themed three-piece suit said, looking over to God Given. “So…are we gonna look in on the memory? He ghosted after he torched this place, we might be able to figure out where he’s run off to.”

God Given smirked and pointed to the hole in the ground, the image within frozen on Kira walking away, backdropped by an explosion. “Hey, Poker Face, if you want to go running dick-first into one of Mr. Clean’s bombs, be my guest. If I open the memory of that room, that explosion’s gonna pop right back out at us.”

Poker Face contemplated this for a moment when a finger tapped on his shoulder. He turned around to see a grimy puppet demon pointing at something on the ground. “Hey man, you want that mug there?”

Poker-Face looked down at the stained, charred mug on the ground and arched an eyebrow. He looked over at his companions and jabbed a thumb at the marionette. “Will he do?”

God Given nodded. “Yeah, do your thing.”

Poker Face turned back to the puppet and smiled, brandishing a coin. “Call it for the prize. Get it right, you’re the best, get it wrong, you know the rest. Agreed?”

The puppet demon rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, sure man, whatever.”

Poker Face flipped the coin high into the air and caught it, slapping it down on his wrist. He looked up at his rube and smirked. “Call.”

“Uhh, heads!”

Poker Face revealed the coin, sucking his teeth in mock-disappointment. “Ooh… too bad!”

“Shit,” the puppet said, shrugging. “Whatever. I–Urgh… G-gaaah!”

The puppet demon paled and lurched forward, bending and flexing like putty. He shot backwards into Poker Face’s wide, gecko hands. Poker Face hummed as he kneaded and pulled the mass in his hands, squeezing his palms together with a grunt. He opened this hands to reveal a small green poker-chip in his palm. “Heh. Sorry, kid. Here in Hell, the default prize is souls. Should have been more specific.”

He flicked his wrist and the poker chip was gone. He raised his other hand, rolling the poker-chip across his knuckles before flipping it into the hole in the ground.

“Show-off,” God Given grumbled, conjuring the memory from the hole around the poker-chip. “Here we go.”

The four huddled around the hole and watched.

“Is this safe?” Bug Boogie said, backing away from the hole. “Don’t things like explosions and shrapnel tend to come out of these memories?”

“Yeah, we’ve done this before back in 2013,” Moonshine said, winking with two of his four eyes. “See, we throw some putz into the memory recreation and then spy in on their memories of the memory. That way there’s enough lag for us to duck any spillover.”

“Huh,” Bug Boogie leaned back over the hole. “You kids and your fancy powers.”

“Shut it,” God Given hissed, popping the stethoscope into his ears. “He’s up.”

The Puppet Demon shook his head as he got up off of the stained linoleum floor. “Ugh… what… happened?”

He looked around at the room he was in. It was trashy and dingy in that ‘tile-and-plaster’ kind of way. Cheapness seeped from the walls themselves. There were twenty-or-so demons in the room, all them standing around a single figure, a tall pink cat demon in a stylish purple Valentino suit.

‘That’s him!’ Moonshine exclaimed. ‘Those fuckin’ Valentino suits!’

‘What’re they all doing around him like that?’

“Hey!” The Puppet Demon said, grabbing the nearest person. “What going on? Where am I?”

The demon, some manner of flaming skull beast, nudged their head over at the cat-guy. “You’re in the second-story rec-room. We’re having an intervention for our neighbor, Yoshikage Kira.”

‘Using his human name,' Bug Boogie scoffed. ‘Haughty prick!’

“He’s way too, like, normal, yeah? So we all got together to tell him to stop cause he’s creeping us out.”

‘Phhht! Hahahaha!’

‘Oh man! Clean’s so normal he skeevs out demons!’

“What the fuck are you talking about?! What’s going on?! I was just in a burn-out a second ago!” The Puppet Demon cried.

The skull-creature shrugged. “I don’t know about any of that. Anyway, we’re all going to die in about thirty seconds. He’s going to do…something…and then we’ll all be dead. I die over there…no, wait…there. It’s like fire, but it’s cold, everything goes cold and hard and then there’s nothing.”

‘Fuck me, it’s spooky when they say shit like that,’ Moonshine shuddered.

‘Shhh!’ Hissed God Given, hand on his stethoscope. ‘What’s that lizard saying to Clean?’

“This intervention is over,” a familiar voice says from somewhere else in the room. Screaming commenced and a commotion started up.

The skull-creature bloated and spasmed as their body inflated to grotesque proportions. Veins bulged and flesh split open, black smoke and orange light spurted out from within. Their voice was still flat and conversational. “It hurts though. Oh God, it hurts so much.”

“What the fuck?!” The Puppet screamed.

He pushed through the crowd of deforming, combusting demons and towards the door. A figure on the other side of the door slammed it shut. The last thing visible through the crack in the door was a single red eye with a cold, purple sliver for a pupil. The Puppet Demon slammed against the door as something small and hard and heavy smashed into his shoulder, shattering it with a low crunch.

“Hey,” a tinny, mechanical voice rasps from his back. “Look over here.”

The Puppet cast a terrified eye over his shoulder, his eyes staring into the black, cold sockets of a blue skeletal turtle. A click sounded from its gaping, serrated beak.

God Given shut off the memory just in time, with only a small squirt of fire and smoke blasting from the hole. “Woof!”

“Sheesh!” Poker Face said, shielding his face with his arms. “He sicced Sheer Heart Attack on the poor bastards?”

“I know!” Bug Boogie shuddered. “That thing always creeped me the fuck out!”

“Get anything useful out of that, God Given?” Moonshine asked the mole-demon as he got to his feet.

“Yeah, I got some good background with that one.” God Given got to his feet. “Mr. Clean up and went to the Happy Hotel.”

“What, really?” Moonshine scoffed. “That stupid rehab place uptown?”

God Given nodded, hooking his stethoscope back around his neck. “One of those idiots mentioned it to him and he seemed to consider it. Then he whipped out his turtle and cooked them all.”

“Well, it’s a lead,” Poker Face said, kicking dirt into the smoldering hole. "Guess that anonymous tip wasn't a prank."

"Which is worrying for all kinds of reasons," said God Given. "But we'll figure that out later."

“Imagine, Mr. Clean of all people caring about redemption! Guy’s a cold, hard-ass killer! He’d boil a baby alive if it benefited him in some way.”

“You’re wrong,” God Given said. “Clean’s got it in his blood, for sure, but he’s always been torn between what he wants and what he needs. It makes sense for him to try and leave, if it means he can live quietly.”

Bug Boogie sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. “ ‘Live quietly’! I remember all that bull now. Hell ain’t quiet, friend, get used to it!”

“I never said it made sense.” God Given moved to head back to road, to the limousine parked outside the gate. “But it’s all he ever wanted. It’s true, he may have ghosted like he always does, killing everyone he's ever met. But I think if there’s even a chance of getting out, he’ll take it. I say we check it out.”

The other three followed after him, Moonshine pulling out ahead of the group. “If that’s the case, he’s not gonna be too happy to see us.”

“Was he ever?”

Kira sat next to Angel in a large room, empty save the three of them, hands crossed on his lap. Angel squirmed and fidgeted on the hard plastic folding chairs, muttering something to himself as he did. At the head of the room was Charlie, scribbling on a white dry erase board, muttering to herself. She turned around and peeked at them, smiled, and went back to scribbling.

“Psst,” Angel whispered, leaning over to Kira. “Wanna skip this hokum and go fool around?”

Kira turned his head, a slow and deliberate motion, to look at Angel. His stare was icy and long before turning back to the front of the room. Angel leaned over, tracing his jaw-line with one hand and giving his chest fluff a suggestive squeeze with two others, a coquettish smile on his face. Kira shifted his chair away from Angel in a pointed rebuke, the squeak of the chair legs on the hardwood echoed off the walls. Angel frowned and loosed an affronted gasp.

“Alright!” Charlie said, turning around from the board. “It is my pleasure to invite you all to the Happy Hotel’s very first Sinner Group Support Session!” All two of the attendees took a moment to scan the empty room for anyone else. Charlie stepped forward, hands clasped together. “It is my hope that this will be the first step in my comprehensive sinner rehabilitation program! Here we will discuss the nature and causes of our sinful behavior and work towards overcoming and controlling our less-than-wonderful urges. Any questions?”

“Yeah, I got one,” Angel said, raising one hand and pointing another at Kira. “Why am I in the same session as this psycho?”

“I was just about to ask,” Kira said, nodding. “Surely I require different rehabilitation methods than this degenerate.”

“Hey! Who’re you callin’ a degenerate?!” Angel growled.

“The gangster-prostitute-drug-fiend,” Kira said, his tone flat and dismissive. “Also, actor.”

Angel opened his mouth to retort, paused for a moment, and relented. “Right, okay, fair enough. But Chuck, should I even be in the same room as this sicko? Lookit all these hands I got, I’m probably a goddamned smorgasbord to Finger-Food over here!”

“Oh, please,” Kira scoffed, disgusted. “You aren’t remotely my type.”

“I’m everyone’s type!” Angel snapped, extruding his third pair of arms. “I could get ya off with a different hand for every day of the fuckin’ week!”

“What about Sunday?” Kira said, repulsed but curious.

Angel smiled and winked, his gold tooth glinting. “Oh, I’d use my mouth for Sunday. Gotta reward myself for a good week’s work, yeah?”

Kira drew away, shuddering.

Charlie broke in with a strained smile. “Okay! Haha! Good questions. And I’ve got the answer, if you’ll just turn your attention to this board.” She stood primly before the whiteboard, and gestured at two circles, one with an “S” in it and the other with a “B”. “After talking with some spiritual types and dead doctors and such, I’ve come up with a theory! You see, on Earth, you each had a soul that was confined to a body. That body was this complicated biological construct with all kinds of funny quirks and chemical foibles.”

“I gotta foible for ya,” Angel muttered.

Kira had his pen to paper. “Shh!”

Charlie continued. “You see, the soul is a pliable thing, very responsive to stimulus and patterns. Over the course of your lives, your experiences combined with your body’s structures and imprinted onto your souls in a way that made you who you are now. That’s where the process comes in! On Earth, you were souls bound to bodies, but here in Hell it’s the other way around! Here, the soul is able to form a body to suit itself, hence why demons are unique, immortal and essentially indestructible. That’s the same reason I think that similar rehab methods will work on different types of sinners. On Earth, we’d have to treat the body to get to the soul, but not here! You are both souls that carry the baggage of quirksome bodies, be it a predisposition to chemical dependence or… some weird brain structures that cause murderous impulses. Point is, neither of those factors really exist anymore, physically. They’re just carry-overs from when they did, imprints on the goo that is your souls. Imprints, I think, that we can work out.”

“Then why’d ya give me withdrawal meds if I’m actually a junkie-ghost in a bug-suit?” Angel said.

“The real question is, why did it work?” Charlie countered. “Did it work because you still have a brain and all the chemical stuff needed for all that medical this’n’that, or do you just think you do? Angel, demons don’t make any biological or chemical sense! Those drugs only work because you think they do. You’re a soul first down here, and souls aren’t physically addicted to ‘all the drugs’.”

“Huh,” Angel muttered. “Never considered that…”

“And me?” Kira said, leaning forward in his chair. “You’re saying that my impulses might be treatable like a drug addiction?”

“Exactly!” Charlie said, pointing at Kira and then at a list on the board. “From what you’ve told me, and what I’ve read up on the subject, the urge to kill for you is functionally a lot similar to addiction and withdrawal. You reported stress, anxiety, difficulty sleeping and concentrating, diarrhea, flop sweats, tremors–”

“Uh,” Kira raised his hand again. “No diarrhea.”

“Oh,” Charlie glanced over at the board and erased the word from the list with her finger. “Well, good, now we’ve both learned something.”

Kira leaned forward and sighed.

Kira admitted, even after her flub he found the concept provocative, interesting even. And Charlie acquitted herself well in her explanation of her theories. If she was right, redemption should actually be possible.

He still had some… misgivings, though.

“I don’t see how this is supposed to cure me of my urge to kill,” Kira said, standing on his chair with his back to them.

“Trust is a virtue, and therefore the opposite of a sin,” Charlie called out, patting Angel on the shoulder. “Trust Angel to catch you and you’ll be able to open up to him more. Trust is what these group sessions are all about!”

“But I don’t trust Angel.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Angel said, grinning. “Fall into daddy’s arms, baby! He’ll give ya a great big hug!”

“You’re not helping.”

Charlie walked around the chair and looked Kira in the eye. “Please, Yoshikage?”

Kira’s eye twitched as she stumbled over his name, but he sighed and leaned back over the edge of the seat. He felt his weight shift, his feet left the seat, he was in open air, falling, his instincts screaming for him to roll midair and catch himself, but he resisted. Trust was a virtue, no doubt about it, and he’d need to trust someone if he was going to rejoin humanity. For so long he’d thought of himself as outside, other, a lone predator set apart from the herd by the simple fact of his nature. He never felt his damnation was fair or just, for he couldn’t ignore his urges any more than a normal person could ignore hunger or thirst. Damned for eternity for doing something as natural to him as breathing. He was never one to dwell or despair, but now, for the first time in a long while, he had hope. It was shaky and could very well be a farce, but he was willing to try.

His back crashed into the floor full force. His breath exploded from his mouth as the back of his head slammed against the hardwood. Stars exploded behind his eyes as pain streak through his body. He lay on the floor, stunned for a moment.

“Angel!” Charlie shouted, marching over. “What are you–?! You were supposed to catch him!”

Angel shrugged, grinning like a goon. “Oh, what? Hey, this whole trust thing is a two-way street, yeah? How was I supposed to know he wasn’t gonna bite my hands off or whatever? He’s a killer!”

“Angel, you’ve killed hundreds of people!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t need to!”

“A-and that makes it better?!”

“Well yeah! If I’m killin’ a schmuck it’s because I’m gettin’ paid, or he stole from me, or I’m doin’ a buddy a solid. I don’t go on dates with fuckin’ body parts!”

Charlie seethed, her hands clenched into trembling fists.

Kira grunted and kicked up from the ground, landing on his feet. He straightened out his tie and pulled on his cufflinks, turning around to face them. “It’s quite alright, Charlie. Angel has every reason to mistrust me. Perhaps we should switch places? I can show him I’m trustworthy.”

Charlie grinned at Angel, crossing her arms. “I think that’s an excellent idea! Angel, your turn.”

Angel’s eyes went wide and he looked back and forth between them. “Wait, what?! No way!”

“Oh, I guess the exercise is over, then… that’s too bad… darn…” Charlie said, cocking her thumb under her chin, a smirk tugging at the sides of her mouth. “On an unrelated note, Angel, I honestly can’t recall where I put all those recordings of you playing with Lego. Why, they could turn up just about anywhere!”

Angel’s eyes bugged, his mouth pulled into a thin grimace. “Ya wouldn’t.”

“What?” Charlie said, shrugging in mock-confusion. “Is Lego not ‘gangsta’?”

“Y-you–I’ll–GAH!” Angel sputtered, throwing his arms up. “Fine! I’ll let your pet psycho drop me! Thought ya were supposed to be nice…”

“I am nice!” Charlie said, smiling. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be ruthless.”

Kira looked at Charlie with open admiration before taking his position behind Angel, his arms outstretched.

“Okay, okay, get your sick kicks, ya freak…” Angel braced himself and fell backward. Kira to stepped to the side and caught him in a bridal carry. Angel opened his eyes and looked up at Kira, blinking in surprise. “Uh…”

“Don’t worry,” Kira said, looking down at him, his face stoic and dour. “Daddy’s got you.”

A sharp crescent smile crawled across Angel’s face, he looped his arms around Kira’s shoulders. “And here I thought ya didn’t have a sense of humor. How ‘bout ya give baby a kiss, Daddy?”

Kira lifted Angel up over his head and set him down on the ground. “That’s quite enough of that.”

“Whoa,” Angel said, impressed. “Do I weigh anything to ya?”

Kira shook his head. “It’s like you’re made of pipe-cleaners and lint.”

Charlie squealed and clapped her hands, running over and pulling Kira into a tight hug. “Very good, Yoshikage!”

Kira winced and cleared his throat. “Could you just call me ‘Kira’ from now on?”

“Oh!” Charlie stepped back. “Oh, no! Is it rude to call you Yoshikage?”

“No, just…” Kira paused, surprised and stymied by her wide eyes and mortified expression. “You don’t quite pronounce it right. It’s ‘Yoshikage’, all at once, like that. But please, call me Kira, everyone else does.”

“Okay…” Charlie paused before snapping her fingers, a grin on her face. “May I call you 'Yoshi'?”

Kira’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You may not.”

Charlie drew back. “Okay.”

“I feel we’ve made some real progress today, me’n’Yoshi!” Angel said, clapping Kira on the shoulder.

Kira glared up at Angel Dust, his claws pushing out of his fingers for the first time since that morning. It’d be easy, to light this infuriating creature up like a candle and be free of his haranguing. His power surged to his right hand, ready to turn this grinning freak into a bomb and erase his disgusting countenance from reality. All he's have to do was touch him once and he’d be able to vaporize him at any time. No one would even know he was dead! They’d assume he skipped out or something. It would be perfect.

Angel looked down at him and grinned and pulled him close. “Whaddaya think, buddy?”

His hand faltered.

Why? Why was he hesitating? …Maybe Angel was necessary for this procedure to work? Yes. That’s all it was. This was no doubt a delicate process, after all, and any relapse would be his undoing, like with any addict. That’s what he was, right? An addict of some stripe? He couldn’t fall off the wagon after less than a day without killing something! What would that say about his willpower? Nothing good.

Not to mention Charlie seemed to like this grinning idiot. It wouldn’t do to exterminate her friends without consulting her. It might make her (unhappy) disinclined to help him.

He reached up and returned the shoulder clap, a strained smile on his face. “Can we try the exercise again? I’d like to drop him this time.”

It was later in the day. Not that time held much meaning in Hell, for it was never night nor was it ever day. Regardless of the exact nature of time or the meaninglessness of schedules, for some it was Happy Hour.

Angel Dust sauntered down the hallway, humming to himself and shaking a dark glass bottle with vigor. Not since coming here had he felt so chipper; he finally had someone new to annoy. He was a tough nut to crack, to be sure, and the art of razzing someone was a finicky and subtle thing. He'd learned that calling him ‘Yoshi’ was one of his murder-triggers, so best to let that one sit on the shelf. Still, there were so many other ways to yank that kitty’s tail. But what would be the best way to start off a conversation?

“Hey Pink Panther!” He crowed, knocking on his door. “It’s me, your trust-buddy! Wine-tasting on the roof! C’mon!”

Kira answered the door, wearing a different Valentino suit from before; how many did even he have?

“A what?”

Angel brandished the bottle and two wineglasses. “Ya heard me! Ya drink, right?”

He crossed his arms and nodded. “On occasion.”

“And this is an occasion! How about that!”

Kira paused for a moment, as though trying to figure out a tough cross-word puzzle. “If I say ‘no’, I’ll never hear the end of it, will I?”

Angel shook his head and clinked the glasses together. “Nope!”

Kira sighed and deflated somewhat. “Alright.”

The view from the roof was great, for Hell anyway. Pentagram city sprawled out for hundreds, if not thousands of miles in all directions. Huge towers of glass and steel loomed over an nigh-endless urban thicket, lost in the reddish haze of the polluted horizon. The neon sign of the hotel flashed and buzzed overhead as the two sat on the edge of the roof. Angel sighed and stretched out on the parapet, pouring himself a towering glassful of a dark maroon liquid. He brandished the bottle at Kira, who held out his glass. Kira examined the curious liquid and sniffed it, curling his nose at the noxious chemical smell wafting off of it.

“What is it?”

“Wine.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“I told Husk I’d suck him off every day for a week if he gave me some booze,” Angel said with a sly grin. “He gave me this to 'never say that again'.”

Kira shrugged and took a sip. Immediately, he spluttered it back out, coughing and retching.

“Hey, don’t waste it!” Angel exclaimed.

“Th-that’s not wine!” Kira wheezed, his lips and tongue tingling.

Angel rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Okay, it’s rubbin’ alcohol and Welches’ Grape Juice. Same thing!”

“This is poison,” Kira said, holding the glass as far away from his face as possible. “We’re drinking poison and grape-juice.”

“Good thing we’re demons, right?” Angel said, taking a heavy slug from his glass. “Ahhh… bein’ dead really takes the edge off.”

Kira sipped at his drink, wincing at the flavor.

Silence hung in the air. The sound of distant gunshots and explosions sounded from somewhere far off in the city. Screams and theatrical declarations of revenge followed. This was the ‘crickets’ of Hell, ambient noise on a quiet night.

“So,” Angel said, looking over at Kira. “Serial killer, huh?”

“Yes.”

“How’s that goin’ for ya?”

“Well,” Kira gestured at his surroundings and sipped his ‘wine’. “I’m in Hell.”

Angel chuckled and shook his head. “Ya really hate this place don’t ya? Twenty years and you’ve never gotten used to it?”

“Have you?”

Angel laughed and leapt to his feet, arms open wide as if to embrace the city. “Nah, Kitty! This place? This is my kinda town! On Earth I had to hide who I was and numb myself with cheap tar and ripple! Here, I preen and flaunt and hit up the good stuff! I was born for Hell, baby! I just had to get through Earth first.”

Kira stared at his grandstanding, his face placid. “So, why are you here?”

“Killed some folk, gangster shit mostly,” Angel said, tapping his chin. “And I seem to recall a whole lotta theft and larceny. Also I’m a right lusty li’l fella, so that too, probably.”

“No, I mean why are you here at the hotel?”

Angel glared at him and sat back down on the parapet. “I needed a place to stay. Free food, etc.”

“Hmm.” Kira grunted and took a heavier hit from his glass.

Angel rolled onto his back looked over at Kira. “So… 48 girls, huh? It ain’t 50, but I guess it’s pretty good.”

“It’s probably closer to 75 or 80,” Kira sniffed, taking another sip. “You know, collateral damage; parents, siblings, boyfriends, husbands, other assorted witnesses. It might be higher, I didn’t really keep track of them because, well, you know…” he waved his hand, wiggling his fingers.

“Huh,” Angel nodded, smirking to himself; Pink Panther was finally opening up. “Why didja kill?”

“I have… had to,” Kira said, tapping his fingers on the masonry, a bit of a sway in his shoulders. “And I enjoyed it. I’m not sure if I learned to enjoy it or if it’s always been a part of me but it’s just my nature, like you and your various… things.”

‘Oooh, Pussy Cat’s a lightweight!’ Angel took a gulp from his cup while maintaining eye contact. Kira mirrored the action, unaware. “Oh? My ‘things’? What things could that be?”

Kira gestured in Angel’s direction, a wobble now very clear in his posture, his otherwise smooth, even voice now wavering and slurred. “You know, your…say you see an attractive m-man and you think-think of all the things you want to-to do to him, right? You can’t not think those things or not feel them you just do and it’s not your fault. I’m like that. I have to engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale; it cannot be corrected but, uh, I have no other way to fulfill my needs.”

Angel skooched closer, refilling Kira’s glass with ‘wine’ in a smooth adroit motion. “Ooh… ‘needs’. That sounds intimate. So, when you’re walkin’ down the street and ya see a nice Able Grable, whaddaya think, whaddaya feel?”

“I want to open up to her. I want–I want to spill my heart and reveal my deepest, most private thoughts to her! To show her who I really am…” Kira hissed a breath, clawed hands in front of him, clenching. “I want to wrap my hands around her throat and strangle her to death!”

Angel emptied his glass and chuckled, tracing Kira’s high, defined cheekbones with a sharp finger. “I dunno how, Snagglepuss, but ya done made that sound downright romantic!”

Kira flinched away from the hand, stumbling back a ways before catching himself of the parapet. He muttered something as his hand shot to his face. “W-what’s… how am I…”

Angel hopped off the parapet and went to his side, hand on his shoulder. “Whoa there, Big Cat!”

Kira swatted the hand off of his shoulder, teeth bared in a sneer. “Don’t think I forgot about today! Don’t think I don’t know I make you sick! You look down on me! You! The gangster! I know what I am, I’m a predator, but you! You kill for money and you think that makes you better than me?!”

Angel smirked and waved him off. “Ya still sore about that? I was just eggin’ ya on! That whole bit, I was just tryin’ to get a rise outta ya. Mr. Prim’n’Proper; how could I not try and mess with ya? I couldn’t give a half-ounce of deep-fried shit about your murder-schtick, I’ve been down here seventy years! I’ve met, been friends with, and fucked way worse than you, Peter Sellers!”

“Peter Sellers?”

Angel Dust stepped in front of Kira and leaned in close. His arms propped against the parapet around his prey, a single finger tracing under Kira’s jaw. “It’s true, I do a lot of weird shit for money, but I also do it for fun. Whaddaya say? Howzabout ya go and show me who ya really are?”

Kira’s eyes went wide. “What?!

“C’mon!” Angel purred, reaching down and grabbing his wrists, lifting his hands up to his throat. “Go animal on me, Tiger! I got six hands and they’re all yours! Hurt me, Daddy…”

Kira’s eyes lit up, his fingers tensed around Angel’s throat and he began to squeeze. Angel smiled and gurgled as his steely fingers crushed his airway shut. His vision began to tunnel as his hand pulled Kira’s tie loose while another fiddled with his belt-buckle. Fingers traced up the side of Kira’s face. The panther-demon leaned his cheek into the palm, nuzzling and rubbing against it. He took Angel's thumb into his mouth, giving it a soft, sensuous nibble. Dark spots flashed behind Angel’s eyes when he felt something like an electrical current pulsing through Kira’s right hand. It was tiny, on the bare edge of sensation, but the second it started Kira’s eyes snapped wide open. His hands released Angel’s throat and shot back. He braced himself against the parapet, panting and trembling. His hair mussed, his shirt half-way unbuttoned and his unbuckled pants somehow clinging to his hips.

Angel gasped for air and stumbled backward, landing on his rear. He panted and rubbed his sore neck, savoring the delightful soreness. That weird tingling feeling was still there, though. “Hey Kitty, what gives? It was just gettin’ good!”

He looked up at Kira to see him staring at his right hand, his red eyes wide and blazing. He looked over at Angel, fangs bared, his hand curled into a strange kind of fist, his thumb cocked over his index-finger like some kind of switch. Kira growled and shook his head and his hand went slack. At the same time the weird sensation on his neck evaporated. Kira hiked up his pants and stumbled off for the door, a harrowed look in his eyes.

“Hey!” Angel called out after him. “Where’re ya goin’? You gonna leave me with blue balls here?!”

Kira grabbed the door-handle and looked back over his shoulder. “…I’d rather not encourage a relapse. Good night.”

He hurried through the door and Angel tossed up his hands and scoffed. “Fuck me, I was this close!”

He looked down to his middle right hand, in it was Kira’s tie. Angel shrugged and looped it around his neck and pulled it tight. “Eh, do whatcha can with whatcha go–Grrk! …Heh… oh yeah… harder…”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Ongoing Recovery

    Charlie rolled around the janitor cart, looking for messes; one of the nice things about only having two customers was the easy clean-up. She turned the corner into the second story rec-room and saw Angel lounging on the couch in front of wide-screen TV, eating a bowl of cereal. Charlie wiped off the counter and emptied the garbage can, eying the full set of billiard balls that had mysteriously reappeared on the pool table. ‘I should probably boil those… in bleach.’

    “Hey, Angel!” She said, leaning over the couch. “How are you doing this morning?”

    He looked up at her, spoon in his mouth. “Alright enough. Been sleepin’ better.”

    His voice sounded a little rough and croaky, Charlie reached out and felt his forehead. “You okay? You sound a little froggy.”    

    Angel waved her off, shaking his head. “Yeah, no. I think I’m shakin’ somethin’ off. I think Kira might be a little under the weather, though. Didn’t even answer when I knocked this mornin’. I was pretty choked up.”

    Angel snickered and rubbed his throat, hand slipping under the skull-and-diamond patterned tie around his neck.

    “Oooh…” said Charlie, admiringly, rubbing the tie between her fingers; silk, very nice. “This is new! Since when do you wear ties?”

    Angel smirked mischievously. “Figured I’d try the look. I really like how it feels on my neck. Besides, I think it brings out my tits.” He reached up and adjusted his chest fluff, winking.

    Charlie rolled her eyes before looking up and pointing at the TV. “Angel, look! Isn’t that your gangster friend?”

    Angel looked up at the screen, backdropping Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench was a splash page of his gal-pal, Cherri Bomb. “Eyyy! Cherri!”

    He grabbed the remote and boosted the volume. “…Just goes to show, ladies and gentlemen, mimes can’t say no, so you can do whatever you want to them.”

    “The only way you can get laid, eh Tom? Ah ha ha ha, I’m joking, I’m joking; we all know you can’t get it up unless clowns are involved.”

    “You said wouldn’t tell!–I mean–ha ha haaa… This just in, the on-going turf war between Sir Pentious and Cherri Bomb has reached a fever-pitch! The terrible two are tearing up town in a towering torrent of torment! But we here at Channel 666 have people on the ground, ready and willing to risk life and limb to bring you live footage to satisfy your morbid curiosity!”

    “Hahaha! Tom, you are a card! Interns aren’t people.”

    “And they certainly aren’t willing, either! If they refuse, they’re reassigned to Katie’s dressing room.”

    “Truly, a fate worse than second death. Let’s cut to the live feed!”

    The feed switched to to the shaky footage of a terrified hawk-demon ducked behind the remains of a brick wall, explosions and huge stomping footsteps roared in the background, her eyes huge and harrowed with fear. “T-this is Buteo Jaimie of channel 666, reporting to you live from ground-zero of the most recent outbreak of violence in this ongoing war zone! As you can see, just beyond this wall the two factions are waging a campaign of utter genocide against one another, with death rays and bombs and robots and eggs wreaking untold devastation on the surrounding area!” The camera peered over the wall to show Cherri Bomb straddling a kill-bot, its death rays shrieking as it tried futility to get her off.

    “My girl!” Angel cheered.

    “The fighting appears to have reached a stalemate, with neither side gaining any ground, merely content to destroy as much of the surrounding area and population as possible! They appear to be trying to maximize collateral damage for seemingly no reason beyond some sort of publicity stunt to attract advertisers!” Buteo Jaimie looked up and over the camera-man’s shoulder, expression confused. “E-excuse me, sir? Sir, this is a Channel 666 exclusive! I’m going to have to ask you to–”

     An encroaching, deep-toned buzzing blared over the speaker followed by the sharp wet sound of cleaved meat and the low heavy crunch of bone. A spurt of blood splattered on Buteo’s face and the camera dropped to the ground. Buteo began to scream as a pair of finned, scaly legs strolled by the lens, which quickly became encrusted with… something. Just before the image was totally covered, the figure advanced on Buteo with a glimmering ornately designed single-flued harpoon. The image blacked out and Buteo’s pleads and screams filled the air before being abruptly cut off by a low, meaty ‘thwack’. The feed cut back to a nonplussed Katie and Tom.

    “Oh, how horrible!” Katie said, outraged. “Those cameras cost twenty grand each and that idiot just dropped it like a handbag!”

    “This just in, two positions have opened up at Channel 666,” said Tom, gesturing at the upper right hand corner of the screen where the channel’s web address flashed. “If you’re interested, please submit your resume to us online at www.channel666news.he/careers/newmeat! We’d be happy to have you for as long as you last.”

    Angel laughed and punched the air. “Ha! Man, Cherri Bomb is just givin’ it to that snake! If I could get off on wanton destruction like she does, I wouldn’t need heroin.”

    “Was that an Exterminator’s spear? It looked more like a harpoon,” said Charlie, her hand over her mouth in shock. “Are those two actually dead?”

    “Who cares?” Angel sniffed and switched the channel. “It’s Dahm Good is on!”

    “Hello, everyone, it’s your boy Jeff,” Dahmer droned, flatly, standing awkwardly on a street corner. “People ask me ‘Jeff, how do you get such wonderful cuts of meat? Who’s your butcher?’ Well, like all things, it’s the personal touch that matters. I don’t buy any of my ingredients from a store, I go out and forage them myself.” He pushed his Unifit-Bridge glasses up on his nose and shouldered a machete, stiffly jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the demons walking the street. “With a positive mental attitude and a sharp knife, any sidewalk can be your grocery store. Come along and I’ll show you what to look for in your cuts and what easy beginner mistakes to avoid. Before long, you’ll be wowing dinner guests and impressing dates.”

    The program went on, broken up intermittently by screams and the dull thud of metal on bone. The door across the hall from the rec-room was cracked open, a single, heavily bagged and bloodshot eye peered out. It narrowed and door closed slowly, carefully, so as not to make a sound.

    Cherri Bomb stood atop a twitching, whirring wreck that was once a kill-bot, in a clearing amidst the rubble, huffing with a bit of healthy exertion; this was getting interesting. Sir Pentious stood opposite her, his death ray in hand and a few dozen of his Egg Bois standing around him, his crest flared, taloned fingers flexing.

    “Had enough, harridan?” He called. “I might consider letting you go if you turn tail and run right now!”

    “Tss! The day I run from a pompous tryhard shit-twizzler like you is the day I suck on an angel’s poker!” Cherri flicked her wrists, producing a half-dozen bomblets. “Let’s dance, Danger Noodle!”

    “Hello, Cherri,” a voice said from the side of the clearing.

    Both sides stopped and looked as a blonde mole-demon strolled into the clearing from the smoldering ruins. He looked around, flatly impressed by the devastation; he turned to Cherri, gesturing broadly at the wreckage. “Is this a bad time? Are you busy?”

    “GiGi!” She cried, her smile sharp and cruel. “Naw, man! Join on in, I was just mindin' the elderly.”

    “Exssscuse you?!” Sir Pentious hissed, his Egg Bois drawing their weapons. “I’ll have you know, church-bell, that I was just about to batty-fang you into the latter sabbath, but if your Johnny with the parish pick-axe wants to join in, I’d be more than happy to ‘lay the smack down’ on both of you!”

    “The fuck did you just call me?” God Given said, confounded. “Also, the fuck did you even say?”

    “I said you’re about to ‘get rekt’ sonny-boy!” Sir Pentious cackled. “Egg Bois! Smoke this foo’!”

    God Given rolled his eyes and shook his head, scuffing the dirt in front of him with his foot, drawing three large gouges into the ground with his toe-claws. Out of the hole materialized a ragged, frenzied-looking Angel Dust, each of his four arms wielding a Tommy-gun.

    “Yeee-AAAH! Fuckin’ cockroach! Eat demonic lead, ya fuckin’ crunchy spawn of a hellhound’s sweaty ballsack!” The Angel apparition screamed, machine-guns roaring at full-tilt.

    In five seconds the entire throng of Egg Bois were shredded into frothy paste flecked with pulverized shell. Sir Pentious squeaked and curled up as a furious storm of lead tore into the ground around him. The apparition disappeared when God Given kicked some dirt into the holes.

    Pentious paused for a moment before uncoiling, checking his body for holes, finding none. “Congratulations Eagle Eye! You went and made scrambled eggs! Are you going to post it on the Instagram and get mad upvotes?”

    “Instagram has likes, Reddit has upvotes. ”

    “Whatever, ‘Bruh’” Sir Pentious said, finger-quote blazing. “Your homie dun goofed. Whiffed it hardcore!”

    “That wasn’t my homie.” God Given smirked, raising his hand. “These are my homies.”

    A sharp-dressed gecko-demon and a fish-demon sprouted from the shredded ground, Exterminator’s spears pointed at Pentious’s throat. “Now, please, shut your mouth.”

    He turned to Cherri, straightening his jacket. “Cherri. How are you doing?”

    “Pause,” Cherri said, reaching over and playing with his stethoscope. “Is this a booty call? Because I’ll tell you right now, I don’t go for anyone’s sloppy seconds, not even mine.”

    God Given sighed; this was going about as well as anticipated. “More like a business proposition. You have something I want.”

    “Yeah, I do!” Cherri cackled and tossed a pebble at Pentious’ face. “Shoot.”

    “Things are in motion, Cherri, we’re coming back from the shadows. We could use a vicious, bloodthirsty creature like you.”

    She strolled away from him and rolled her eye, her hand making a flapping gesture as he spoke. “A-bup-bup-bup! I thought I told you, I don’t work for, with, or around anyone! I’m a force of nature, GiGi! Can’t ask a hurricane to play nice with a–”

    “Holy Diver’s back in town.”

    Cherri stopped dead in her tracks, her eye wide as her grin vanished. She turned around slowly, her voice low and quiet. “What?”

    God Given sniffed dismissively, moseying closer to her. “You got one ear, too?”

    “Holy Diver’s dead,” Cherri whispered, looking over her shoulder. “He got vaped by an Exterminator back in ’16. Everyone saw it.”

    “No, he just hitched a ride with one.” God Given examined his claws, making every effort to appear aloof. “Had some business in the Other Place, didn’t pan out, so now he’s back here and he’s got plans. Plans that involve you.”

    Cherri saw his posturing and bristled. The little shit was just as spunky and arrogant as ever, but she knew that underneath he was a bitter little boy with a grudge against everyone, convinced that he deserved the world bent over a barrel. Blame fate all you want, kid, it’ll keep fucking you so long as you grab your ankles and take it! “Well, I’ll tell you what I told him, then: Sit. And. Spin. I don’t take shit, I don’t take orders, and I sure as shit don’t take shit orders! Now…” she made a point to wink at Sir Pentious, well, it was technically a blink, but his eyebrows arched up in acknowledgement. “Fill in your holes, bury your bad memories, and make like the thot you are.”

    “What does that mea–?”

    Sir Pentious' tail swiped dirt into the disturbed ground, filling in the shallow pockmarks. The spear-wielding specters evaporated and Pentious drew his death ray and cackled. “BEGONE, THOT!”

    “What?!” God Given raised his arms to defend himself as the death ray bolt screamed through the air and exploded on contact, throwing a huge cloud of dust into the air.

    Sir Pentious cackled and pumped his fist. “Sssssee?! That’sss what happens to… huh?!”

    God Given stood at the center of a cloud of rapidly dispersing dust. His raised arms encased in thick slabs of a stony-looking substance, white and glowing from the heat of the ray. “I had the situation in hand, Moonshine.”

    “Yeah, yeah, that’s what everyone says right up until they get shot,” came gruff voice from behind Sir Pentious. “Also, you’re welcome.”

    Sir Pentious began to turn around but a creaking, crackling sound drew his attention. He looked down at his death ray, it and the hand holding it were quickly being overtaken by thick slabs of rough, pointed structures: barnacles. He reached over to claw at the invading mass but his hand only got stuck as the barnacles grew overtop it like a scab. His hands and forearms became an immovable slab of living, twitching barnacles, the weight was too much and he toppled over onto his belly. He moved to roll over when a harpoon sliced into the ground next to his head, Sir Pentious could tell from the burning sensation he was getting from the mere glean off of the blade that it was divine in origin: an Exterminator’s spear reforged to resemble a single-flued toggle harpoon, a popular design from his boyhood.

    He looked up at the huge fish-demon holding it: Moonshine, one of Holy Diver’s top lieutenants. “Good God. He’s back. Holy Diver’s back.”

    “That’s right, inch-worm,” Moonshine snarled. “You sit tight, now.”

    “Moonshine!” Cherrie Bomb exclaimed, rushing over. “You old chum-bucket, I thought you were dead!”

    Moonshine reached out and grasped her hand, the two of them moving through a smooth, flawless dap. “Like a bad smell, I linger. How have you been, mon chéri?”

    “Oh, poppin’ fools and wreckin’ shit. The usual!” Cherri said, kicking Pentious’s prone form. “Been chewin’ on this old bone for a bit. He’s still got flavor.”

    “You’re one of the best, sister,” Moonshine chuckled, his smile fading as he leveled gaze at her. “Now, back to business.”

    “You’re a rock, man.” Cherri jabbed a thumb at God Given. “Tell me, is Donny talkin’ shit?”

    “'Donny'?” Moonshine said, incredulously.

    “I never should have told you that!” ‘Donny’ said, outraged.

    Cherri cackled and shrugged. “Hey, kid, pillow-talk’s a bitch and so am I!”

    Moonshine chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah. Boss-man’s back and he’s getting the band back together. He went out abroad and he’s come back with some fancy new ideas.”

    “Abroad?”

    “Yeah. Alternate timelines and such. The whole thing’s a great big headache.”

    “And he came back here?”

    “Well yeah,” another voice said, Cherri turned to see a familiar gecko-demon approach her. “Where was he gonna go, Detroit?”

    “Poker Face,”said Cherri, snorting a laugh. “Whole gang’s gettin’ together, huh? Aw, don’t tell me that creepy bug-face fucker’s still kickin’!”

    Poker Face nodded. “Doing perimeter duty.”

    Cherri Bomb sighed and turned back God Given. “Alright, I know daddy would never let you out without your back-up dancers. What do you need?”

    Sir Pentious grunted and strained as he lifted the huge mass of barnacles off of the ground. “What the Hell is going on here?! If Holy Diver is back, he’ll have to face the fury of Sir–”

    Cherri Bomb shook her head, her finger on his lips. “Penty, honey, the grown-ups are talking.”

    He snapped at her and tried to speak some more when a patch of barnacles crept up and over his mouth. He mumbled some infuriated garble and collapsed back onto the ground.

    “Think you could show me that trick, ‘Shine?”

    “Are you ready to hear me out, now?!” God Given growled.

    Cherri Bomb shrugged and sat on Pentious’s prone form, resting her chin on her hand. “Yeah, shoot.”

    God Given pressed his hands together and exhaled, exasperated. “Alright. Holy Diver’s getting his top lieutenants back together. He’s going to move in and sweep everyone else aside like before, only there’s one catch.”

    “One, two, three, four…” Cherri counted. “Legend has it Big Boss had five top fellas.”

    God Given tapped his nose. “Mr. Clean’s been ghosting us for years. We just now figured out where he’s at.”

    “Oh? Well, good for you!” Cherri said, grabbing a handful of Sir Pentious’s crest and tugging it. “This is the part where you explain why I should care.”

    “We have reason to believe Clean’s shacked up in the Happy Hotel,” God Given said.

    “Apple Daddy’s backyard,” said Moonshine.

    Poker Face stepped forward, springing cards back and forth between his hands. “With the cute little Appleseed there, too, no less.”

    ‘Don’t mention Angel don’t mention Angel don’t mention Angel’ Cherri nodded, these were reasonable concerns. “And I can help because…?”

    “We also have it on good authority that a close acquaintance of yours is camping out in that particular establishment. Get him to get Clean out in the open, someplace public, so we can talk to him without him, you know, killing us.”

    Cherri Bomb blinked in surprise, Donny was an arrogant, entitled little bastard, but he was also one of the most powerful demons she’d ever met; he was afraid of this Mr. Clean guy? “Mr. Clean, Mr. Clean, Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser,” she hummed the old jingle. “…Never met the guy, heard almost no one has and gabbed about it. He really that scary?”

    “Guy was a serial killer in life, a real monster. Does it for fun.” God Given said, evenly. “He’s one of two things in all hell that can kill demons. No spear, no knives, nothing. He just needs to touch you and you’re gone, and that’s not even getting into his pet. You’re damn right I’m afraid of the freak. I’d be even stupider than you think I am if I wasn’t.”

    Cherri whistled, impressed. “Alright. I can see why Holy Diver wants that on his payroll. What’s in it for me?”

    “A stake in the claim,” God Given said, smirking. “Any territory you want, it’s yours. You don’t have to pay dues, you don’t follow orders. We’ll all be friendly, like allies. You know what he’s like, how it’s going to be when he puts the screws to the posers that have been setting up shop since he’s been gone. Holy Diver appreciates bloodlust, but he respects pragmatism. Get what you can while the getting’s good.”

    She tapped her chin in contemplation. “…Alright, deal.”

    “Glad to hear it.”

    She snapped her fingers. “Just two conditions.”

    “Lay ‘em out.”

    She held up one finger. “One: you don’t hurt Angel.”

    “Done. And two?”

    She grinned widely, cruelly, her eye gleaming as she pointed at the snake-demon under her rump. “I get him. Holy Diver can get his snarl on everyone else, but this fop’s mine!”

    God Given smirked and shook his head, not sure if he should envy the poor idiot or not. “Right, sure. Wiggly Boi is all yours.”

    Sir Pentious loosed a muffled roar and reared up, bucking Cherri off his back. His tail swung over his shoulder and pressed a little tab on his lapel with a beep. A moment later and a huge armored war-bot thudded down into the clearing from the sky. The transparent dome atop its shoulders opened and an articulated metallic claw shot down, shattering the barnacles on Sir Pentious’s arms with a strike. He reached up and peeled the patch off his mouth, wincing as it stung.

    “Stop treating me like a joke, dammit! I am Sir Pentious! Genius! Inventor! The future King of Hell!” The claw grabbed him by the scruff and hoisted him into the air, plopping him into the cockpit. The war-bot flexed and weapons of every stripe sprang out on mechanical arms. “Get YEETED ON!”

    “What do you see in him?” God Given grumbled.

    Cherri shrugged. “Dude’s like a dork-shaped stress-ball. Lots of fun to squeeze.”

    The war-bot stomped towards them when a low-pitched buzz drew closer, and closer, and closer until a small black shape thudded into its armored back, punching through the metal like a hot knife through butter. The mech shuddered and jittered as the thing smashed about inside, large dents punching out of its chassis as sparks poured from the gaps in the armor. It slumped forward as its systems failed, a pair of razor sharp mandibles sprung out through the chest plate, slowly wrenching and tearing a hole in the armor with the low groan of rending metal. The small black thing burst out of the mecha’s chest and streaked into the air before slamming into the transparent canopy. Sir Pentious flinched at the impact and looked up, what appeared to be a huge stag-beetle was clinging to the plexiglass, its mouthparts sticking into the transparent substance.

    “You’re just spare parts, aintcha bud?”

    It flexed its jaws and the canopy shattered. Sir Pentious was flung screaming from the cockpit an instant later, landing hard on the ground at Poker Face’s feet. He sputtered and groaned, looking up at the smirking gecko-demon.

    “Hey, snake-boy,” said Poker Face. “The Game.”

    “Wh-what?”

    “You lose.”

    Sir Pentious blinked in confusion for a moment before his face lit up. “Oh! Oh! I understood that reference! I… Aw, dammit! Guuaaaaah…!” He turned pale and boneless, flying up into Poker Face’s hands. A pull and a squeeze later and Poker Face tossed the chip over his shoulder at Cherri Bomb, who snatched it out of the air.

    “Heh heh heh…” she chuckled, flipping the chip in the air. “You’re comin’ home with me, Sir Edgelord. I gotta Bo Peep outfit with your name on it!”

    “Send pics,” Moonshine cackled.

    Bug Boogie’s headless body walked up to them, his head hovering before setting down on his shoulders. “All these years and that’s the first time I’ve seen that work.”

    Poker Face snickered. “All these years, he was only one stupid enough to play along.”

    “So, you can get us Angel and he can get us Clean?” God Given said, offering his hand to Cherri.

    Cherri eyed him up for a moment before taking it. “Yeah. You just wanna talk to the guy, right?”

    “That’s right.”

    “Sit on your phone, I’ll be in touch.”

    Kira lay in his bed, curtains drawn, the room was dark. He felt abominable; his head throbbed, like his brain was trying to push its way out from behind his eyes. Nausea came in waves, pulsing and throbbing with his heartbeat, he even felt as though his liver was swollen to the size of a beachball. Charlie’s ‘soul over body’ theory was being strongly tested.

    That said, he felt… exultant. Only now could he see how out of control he was, how strongly that noxious mixture had affected him. The things he had said, confessing to his collateral killings, divulging his drives, even feeling that familiar heady rush of hot blood as fingers caressed his cheek, a warm, moving thumb in his mouth, and the feeling of a neck between his hands as he squeezed. The fact that it was a man he was expressing himself to seemed secondary at the time; he was frenzied, wanton, his urge to kill burned like it hadn’t in years, the bomb was set, the switch primed, and the target was deplorable and uncouth; his type.

    And then he stopped himself.

    He was practically an animal and he had, from the murky depths of passion and alcohol, reached out and grabbed ahold of himself, reigned himself in, and left. For the first time in a long time, he felt in control of his urge and not simply well-equipped to manage it. His impulse had reached its peak, its strongest, and he had wrestled it into submission.

    He was in control.

    He was going to vomit.

    Kira burst from his bed and into the adjoining bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before retching into it. A few coughs and spasms and he lifted his head from the bowl. He rolled over onto his rear and lay on the ground, savoring the cold floor on his body. Disgraceful as it was, he couldn’t wrest himself from the soothing chill of the marble, even with his newfound willpower, and instead rolled over and pressed his face into it.

    Moonshine was still alive; he accepted this fact with little surprise, the old fish was a tough sort, resourceful. Bug Boogie was with him, too, if the death of that camera operator was any indication. Kira wondered how the rest of the old gang was doing, what they were doing, if they were even alive. Ever since their boss had died, Kira hadn’t had anything else to do with the gangland scene, just the way he liked it. He had been Holy Diver’s hitman of choice, his go-to cleaner, and personal accountant. That last part had been his favorite role, as he didn’t have to fight or murder anyone.

   Murder was a funny subject for Kira, he found it flatly amusing that all it took was a lack of agency to transform his treasured hobby into work and drudgery. He loved to kill on his own terms, nothing else gave him greater joy, but being told to kill, being coerced into it, made all the gratification dry up and blow away in the wind like so much ash and smoke. He dreaded the day some buffoon with delusions of grandeur and memories of Holy Diver’s reign, of his utter domination, would come and track him down. His neighbors had come close, they had seen his normalcy and deduced wrongness, one of those cretins would have blabbed at a bar or strip club, said the wrong thing to right set of ears and then they would be upon him. He took some satisfaction in knowing his last kill would be a group of loathsome garbage.

    He felt like loathsome garbage.

    Maybe this is what regret feels like? If it was, he would have dropped this whole redemption crusade right then and there.

    There was a knock at the door. Kira groaned, it was probably Angel looking for a continuation of last night’s venture, and while not opposed to exploring the extent of his self-control, there was always the risk of relapse. Also… maybe… he’d rather not risk killing Angel? There was something… compelling about the degenerate’s acceptance of his murderous nature. Honestly, this whole place had a similar atmosphere, there wasn’t any of the encouragement or enabling he had experienced in Holy Diver’s company, but rather a sort of acceptance. Acceptance without approval. It was a strange feeling. Alien.

    The door opened, suggesting someone with a key, meaning… “Mr. Kira? Angel told me you were feeling a little off today. Thought I’d peek in and say hello. …Mr. Kira?”

    He grit his teeth and willed himself to his feet, hobbling out of the bathroom. There was Charlie, standing in the doorway with a dinner tray, hot soup and a glass of something cold and sweet. Her inquisitive expression dropped like a stone, a look of shock and concern replacing it like a pulled shutter.

    “Kira!” She started forward before looking down at the tray, placing it on a nearby nightstand.

    He almost made it to his bed before she was upon him, grabbing his arm and helping him to the bedside.

    He waved her off. “I’m quite alright. Just a little under the weather.”

    She helped him down, sitting beside him as he slumped over atop himself. “I brought soup.”

    Kira looked over at her, the look in her eyes, the concern; Kira felt himself growing uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Why? She was here to help him, this was her fate, her role, if he didn’t need her assistance he wouldn’t be here. So why this feeling? This strange, unfamiliar feeling. The look on her face was that of worry, he knew that much, but why was it affecting him so acutely?

    It was because of him: he was making her worry.

    Charlie should be cheerful and happy, she should be smiling, but she wasn’t. Because of him. He was worrying her. This revelation filled him with… anxiety? Why? She was worried and concerned, and something in him found this change in her demeanor unacceptable. Something in him demanded that this situation be corrected immediately.

    “That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Kira, smilingly weakly. “Thank you.”

    “You just rest up and get better,” said Charlie, helping him down onto the bed, pulling the covers over his legs. “Need anything?”

    ‘Don’t.’ Kira thought, no, raged to himself. ‘Don’t. Not her. Don’t. You can’t.’

    “Could you…” he looked up at her hopefully. “…Rub my cheek? It would make me feel so much better.”

    Charlie paused for a second, the worried crease in her brow replaced by a vibrant smile. “Of course!”

    Her hand. Her beautiful, perfect hand cupped his face, her delicate fingers coursed through his fur, her small, gentle palm cupped his jaw as she stroked the side of his head, brow to jaw. He surged with joy, his heart thundered as his face flushed. He sighed and nuzzled into her hand, his instinct was to grab her wrist and lap at her fingers, to pull them into his mouth and suckle, to feel their perfection on his tongue, tasting them, knowing them. To pull her onto the bed and throttle the life out of–

    Something happened that he didn’t expect, something that he couldn’t have anticipated: revulsion. The thought of pulling her down, of licking her perfect, divine digits, of doing anything to spoil that smile, anything that would worry her, filled him with a bone-deep wretched disgust. Not any kind of disgust he was familiar with, either; it was an inward manifestation of loathing, towards himself.

    He reached up and cupped his hand over hers, sighing wistfully as he delicately pushed it away. “Thank you so much. You’re an angel.”

    “Well, half,” she said, blushing slightly, before pressing her palm over his forehead. “You don’t feel too warm. Just a stomach bug?”

    “Must be.”

    She rubbed his cheek again and smiled warmly, standing up. “Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

    “I’m sure I’ll feel better by dinner,” he said, smirking weakly. “I might even make dinner!”

    “Don’t get my hopes up!” She said, chuckling. “I love Razzle and Dazzle, and they try their best, but… they chew on tin cans, so…”

    “Not much of a palette.”

    She tapped her elegant, pointed nose. “You said it, not me!”

    “I’ll try to feel better by dinnertime!” He croaked, pulling the blanket over him. “As a thank you.”

    Charlie giggled and excused herself, careful to turn off the light and leave without making too much noise. Kira lay curled up in his bed, not sure what to make of these new feelings of self-loathing.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Sponsorship

    Vaggie sat in her office, the hotel’s expenses done up in a spreadsheet on her PC; this place would be out of business in a day if it didn’t have the resources of Hell’s own Royalty to draw on. She sniffed, an absolutely wonderful smell wafted though the air: dinnertime. Razzle and Dazzle made alright food, but they were always willing to try a new recipe, which was something Vaggie respected. Her stomach rumbled, she’d skipped lunch today, it seemed like a good idea at the time but now it felt like she was digesting herself. She got up and breathed deeply, trying to identify the smell. Vaggie followed her nose down the hall to the dining room, the sounds of chopping and mixing just audible as she got closer.

    “…me how to cut like that?” A familiar voice said. What was Charlie doing in the kitchen?

    “Certainly,” said a much deeper, masculine voice. Him. “It’s easier than you think.”

    Vaggie peered into the kitchen and saw Razzle and Dazzle manning the stove, frying up finely diced chicken in a greased pan and mixing a saucepan full of an off-yellow substance. Charlie stood in front of a cutting board with a peeled, halved-carrot on it, knife in hand. Kira was standing behind her, leaning over her shoulder.

    “Now, I’ll just show you what motions to use,” he said, reaching around and wrapping his hand over hers on the handle; Vaggie’s eye narrowed. With his other hand he placed her hand on the carrot, guiding her fingers. “These fingers are bent like so, to avoid cutting yourself. Now, it’s a flowing motion through elbow and wrist, this is important because it will prevent the food from sticking to the blade. The knife never leaves the board, you just pull it back and up and when cutting you push it down and forward. Back and up, down and forward.” He led her through a few chops. “There, see? Now, you try.”

    Vaggie almost sighed in relief when he let go of her and backed away. Why? Charlie could take care of herself, and a lot better than one might expect, and it’s not like he could actually kill her. Why did it bother her so much when he was close to her?

    Charlie slowly but surely repeated the chopping and before long she was pushing the carrots through quickly. She looked up a Kira, a grin on her face. “I think I’m getting it!”

    She sounded so… happy, and not just normal Charlie happy either. Vaggie noticed her fist clenching, her claws digging into her palm.

    “Brava! You’ll get faster as you practice more,” Kira said, picking up the cutting board and swiping the diced carrots into a boiling pot. “Now, dice the onions and break up the broccoli. Razzle, that chicken looks about ready, it can go in. Dazzle, how’s the roux?”

    Dazzle sampled the yellow sauce from the wooden spoon and nodded approvingly. “Baaah.”

    “Good, mix it all together and leave it to simmer, then help Charlie cut up the octopus, onions and ginger. I’ll get to work on the batter.”

    He picked up a bowl and a grated spatula, with a flick of the spatula he launched a nearby egg into the air, quickly and effortlessly positioning the bowl below the falling egg, catching it just above with the edge of the spatula. The egg split and disgorged the white and yolk into the bowl while the shell remained on the spatula, which Kira then flicked into a waste basket. He Picked up a second egg and cracked it on the counter, splitting it overtop the grated spatula over a smaller bowl. The egg white slid through the grate and into the smaller bowl while the yolk remained and was dropped into the mixing bowl.

    A small round of applause drew his attention to the other side of the kitchen, where Charlie, Razzle, and Dazzle stood in a line, clapping. Kira looked confused for a moment before taking a bow.

    “You’re certainly feeling better,” Charlie said. “Any idea what it was?”

    “Some idea,” he said, flatly, whisking the eggs. “But as you say, we’re souls first down here. Think of it as mind over matter.”

    “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said, slicing a green onion. “So, tomorrow I was thinking that the three of us could have a skill-share exercise, where we teach each other our more constructive hobbies.”

    “That sounds very interesting,” Kira said, whisking the eggs and adding flour and the other ingredients. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask why.”

    Charlie shook her head. “Oh, of course not! You see, boredom is a major cause of relapse. A lot of the time, drugs or, uh, other behaviors are a result of boredom or the feeling that something is missing. I believe that a constructive hobby and the mental stimulation from it could help resist the urge to relapse.”

    “Fascinating,” said Kira when a ‘ding’ drew his attention to the oven, his ears perked up and he put on an oven mitt. “Ah! That’s the pan. Everyone get ready now.”

    The four gathered around the oven, Kira regarded them all with the resolve and intensity of a football coach at a major game. “Alright. As soon as it comes out I’m going to fill it partially with batter, then each of you add your ingredients, understood?”

    “Yes, chef,” Charlie said, trying and failing to look as serious as him.

    Kira nodded and opened the oven, pulling the pan out of the oven. Vaggie watched as he poured the batter into the small semi-spherical molds of the pan. ‘Huh. I always wondered what that thing was for.’

    Kira urgently waved the other three in. “Now, now! Go!”

    “Baaah,” said Dazzle, sprinkling a generous amount of green onion into the molds.

    “Octopus!” Charlie cried dramatically, dispensing lumps of octopus meat into the sizzling batter.

    “Baaah~!” Razzle said, mirroring Charlie’s flair as he dispensed shredded ginger and tempura pearls.

    Kira poured another hefty dose of batter overtop the molds, overfilling them. “And now we just have to wait.”

    “Where’d you learn to make these, Kira?” Charlie asked, watching the batter excitedly.

    “When I was a boy, I would love it when the festivals came to Morioh, my hometown. I loved them because there would be different foods and interesting acts and such. My favorite snack from them was the octopus takoyaki. My father saw how happy they made me so he learned how to make them, he taught me all the tricks and special recipes. I only make them every so often, but it’s a calming thing for me, reminds me when I could talk to my parents.”

    “You had a good relationship with your parents, Kira?”

    Kira looked over at her and nodded, slowly. “They didn’t know how to help me, so they… helped me… with my habit. I suppose you could call it 'enabling'.”

    “Oh…” Charlie said, tapping her fingers together. “Well, uh, um… oh, are those ready?”

    “Just about,” Kira said, smiling slyly. “Here, this is my favorite part.”

    He pulled out a chopstick and hooked into the edge of the sizzling mass, pulling a shell of cooked batter up from the mold and overtop the still-raw lump of batter, creating a browned sphere. “And voila! We just need to let them cook through while we prepare the salad.”

    Charlie looked over at Razzle and Dazzle. “We’re learning so much! C’mon, let’s get the veggies!”

    Kira went about flipping the rest of the balls, a serene look on his face. He blinked and looked up and over his shoulder and those cold, blood-red eyes locked with hers. They stared at each other for a moment, sizing each other up. Kira glared at her, sensing her hostility, his hackles rising.

    “Kira!” Charlie called, holding up a massive daikon radish. “What do I do with this thing?”

    “Ah,” Kira shot her one last venomous look before giving Charlie a placid smile. “Well, it’s a little complicated. See, nearer to the stalk is the salad material, further down the root should be saved for later, it’s a little strong.”

    Vaggie broke away from the kitchen and seethed, marching off down the dining room. She was riled, het up, she just needed to be anywhere else.

    “Hey, Vaggie!” Charlie called from the kitchen.

    Vaggie turned around slowly; sure enough, there was Charlie, grinning and waving, but behind her was him, with his flat, icy expression. “…Hey.”

    “Dinner’s almost ready!” She proclaimed, proudly. “Mr. Kira’s teaching us how to cook!”

    “Great,” she said, flatly. “I’m not hungry.”

    Husk turned the corner. “Bah gawd! What smells so good?!”

    “Husk and I have business to attend to,” Vaggie said grabbing Husk by the collar. “C’mon.”

    “But–!”

    “–’s are for sitting,” Vaggie growled, dragging Husk along behind her. “C’mon.”

    
    “Why are we even here?” Husk groused, kicking at a piece of mortar. “The vultures already grabbed all the good stuff!”

    “We’re not here to steal dead people’s junk.” Vaggie rolled her eye. “We’re here to find out why they’re dead.”

    Husk threw his hands up, looking around at the wreckage. “…Why?”

    “Because twenty people directly connected to our client mysteriously died just before he came knocking on our door.” Vaggie grunted as she leveraged a large slab of cement. “No bodies, no one’s claimed responsibility.”

    “Yeah, that narrows it down,” Husk grumbled. “Everyone around here is connected to a murder, one way or another.”

    Vaggie dug through the rubble, tossing charred belongings over her shoulder. “And he admitted to being a serial killer, to killing girls, to taking their hands… I don’t know how she can stand talking to him…”

    “She’d be a lousy redeemer she was put off by a little dismemberment,” Husk said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, his eyes lighting up as a malicious smirk crawled across his face. “That said, she is pretty impressed with him, isn’t she?”    

    “…What?”

    “Hey c’mon, you have to have noticed how she dotes on him. And its not like you can blame her; he’s handsome, a sharp dresser, polite, charming, he can cook, he can clean, and, most importantly, he’ll happily settle for a handy if she has a headache,” Husk said, grinning now, leaning in over her shoulder. “Honestly, he’s the perfect man.”

    Vaggie scowled at him and went back to examining the debris. “He’s a murderous psychopath.”

    “You say that like it’s not sexy as hell! It’s that bad boy charm. Even worse, he comes up to her right off the street, bats them big ol’ kitty cat eyes and says ‘I’ve been a baaad boy, but I wanna be good. Can you please help me be a better person?’ I’m surprised she didn’t jump into his arms then and there!”

    “Shut up!” Vaggie said, disgusted.

    “You’re jealous!”

    “I am not! It’s not like that!”

    “Come off it, Vaggie! Admit it! You can’t stand seeing your princess makin’ eyes at a literal lady-killer!”

    “No, I can’t!” Vaggie snarled, spinning around, stabbing a finger at him. “When I was alive it was every day, every fucking day, we’d hear about girls disappearing! Oh, we’d say they got out, that they moved on, but we knew. We all knew what happened, and we all knew that no one else cared! Every job, every John, there’d always be that little voice in the back of my head saying, ‘is this the one? Is this him?’ And guess what? One day, it was.”

    “What d’you…” Husk’s mouth hung open, his eyes wide. “…Oh.”

    “If Charlie wants to try and redeem the cabrón mamahuevo, that’s fine, that’s her business. But you better fucking believe I’m going to go over that shitstain’s background with a fine tooth comb, because I’m done letting people I care about get hurt or killed by monsters like him!”

    “Right, right,” Husk said, quietly. “Uh… sorry.”

    Vaggie marched off into the wreckage. “Get back to work.”

    Husk looked down at the ground, seeing a mug. He picked it up and rubbed the soot from it, it read ‘I like my coffee how I like my women; thick, sweet, and hot on my lap’ “Heh-heh! Hey, that’s pretty good.”

    A muffled noise caught his attention, it was nearby and sounded like a voice. He looked around for its source, his ears rotating. The noise came again, now a little louder, it seemed to be coming from a hole in the ground, it was shallow and looked like it had been dug, a thin wisp of smoke emanated from it.  Husk pocketed the mug and walked over, kneeling down and reaching into the hole, pawing at the mysteriously smoking dirt. A wooden hand burst out of the ground, a muffled scream gurgled up from the dirt.

    “Vaggie!” He called out. “Vaggie, get over here!”

    Vaggie ran over and looked at the waving limb. “What is it?”

    “Oh, I’ve taken up gardening and it’s paying big dividends.” Husk deadpanned, pulling on the arm. “What the fuck does it look like?! Help me pull!”

    Husk and Vaggie grabbed the arm and pulled, the dirt yielding a body. It came loose from the ground and they dropped it, Vaggie gasped in surprise and stepped back, horrified; laying on the ground was a badly mangled puppet demon. His left arm and shoulder was simply gone, the grotesque crater in his body still glowed and crackled with some kind of destructive energy, smoldering like an old ember. His left leg hung on by a sinew at the hip and his face was blasted back to the skull trailing up the side of his head.

    “Ugh…” he sputtered, his remaining arm weakly scooping the ground. “Ghhk… Agh…”

    Vaggie started forward, only for Husk to grab her and haul her back. “Don’t touch him! You don’t know what’s been messin’ with him!”

    “He’s hurt!” She said, struggling. “He needs help!”

    “If he’s not dead by now, he’ll be fine,” Husk said. “You’ll be fine, right?”

    “FffffffFFUCK this hurts!” The puppet demon gurgled. “FUCK! AAHAHAOOOOW!”

    “Yeah, he’s fine.”

    Vaggie swatted Husk’s paws off her, glaring at him. “What the hell is going on?!”

    Husk shrugged, gesturing at the puppet demon. “Fuck, Vag, ask him, not me!”

    Vaggie looked down at the puppet, unsure. “Hey… are you… yeah, you’re not okay, duh. Can you tell me what happened here?”

    “Do you have any heroin?” The mangled demon said, his tone conversational and matter-of-fact. “I’m missing large chunks of my body and it hurts quite a bit.”

    “Uh–”

    “FUCK THIS HURTS! AAAAAHGGGOD PLEASE KILL ME!”

    Vaggie rolled her eye and drew her spear, running the tip across his exposed neck. “Okay.”

    “Wait!”  He sputtered, his eyes wide and terrified. “Don’t! Please, I’ll do anything!”

    “Tell us what happened here,” Vaggie said, gesturing at the wreckage. “Start to end.”   

    “I was looking for shit to fence!” He said, tears pouring out of his remaining eye. “Just junk people might buy, yeah? The some card-deck-looking motherfucker flips a coin and next thing I know I’m in a room with a bunch of creepy dead weirdos!”

    “Oh, okay,” Husk said, a received smile on his face. “He’s tweaking.”

     Vaggie’s brow creased and she knelt down closer. “What happened after that?”

    “There was like this kind of meeting, I think? Everyone was gathered around this pink cat guy, but then everyone started exploding and there was a turtle and it could talk! It said ‘Hey, look over here’ like, what?”

    “That’s enough,” Husk said, crossing his arms. “He’s just some junkie that got torched... and buried.”

    “Pink cat guy?” Vaggie pressed. “Did you see him?”

    “Not really? There were a bunch of people around him,” he said, before adding. “But he’s the one that killed all of them. He locked them all in the room with his murder-turtle.”

    “Murder-Turtle?” Vaggie said. “What do you mean?”

    “He’s tripping, Vaggie,” said Husk. “He’s out of his goddamned gourd.”

    The puppet-demon shook his head, gritting his teeth. “Fuck you, man! I was just minding my own business when I found those assholes! That gecko-lookin’ motherfucker did this to me!”

    “Wait,” Husk knelt down next to Vaggie. “Gecko? A gecko-demon did this to you? Was he a smug bastard in a card-deck style suit?”

    “Yeah!” The puppet said, pointing at Husk. “Prick done flipped a coin and here I am!”

    “He had company, right?” Husk said, frowning. “A fishy-lookin’ guy and a skinny bug-faced creep?”

    “Yeah!” The puppet cried. “And a mole-demon. Younger guy. He was the ring-leader. He dug that hole I fell down, yeah?”

    “Fuck,” Husk hissed. “Fuck me runnin’.”

    “What?” Vaggie said, looking back and forth between Husk and the junkie puppet. “What’s wrong?”

    Husk shook his head and grabbed the puppet by the chin. “That room from before, who was there? What do they look like? Can you drum up a name?”

    The puppet-demon strained for a moment and said. “A buncha dead people. They talk like they already died, creepy right? It’s a bad scene man, they got the cat-guy on the grill. Yoshi-something, I think they call him. He got done with that shit and booked for the door. Then people started exploding. I was at the door and the thing hit me and… ugh…”

    Vaggie looked over at Husk, who was scowling into the mid-distance. “What’s up?”

    “Maybe nothing,” Husk said, standing up and walking away. “Maybe some real bad shit. Got some questions to ask, you an’ me. Let’s go chat up your girlfriend’s boyfriend a bit, yeah? I need a goddamned drink, anyway.”

    “Why is the only person on my page a fucking alkie?” Vaggie sighed.

    “F’real man, you got any chiva? This shit hurts. …Okay, no? …C’mon man…” Vaggie and Husk left the freshly destroyed lot; the puppet demon sighed and planted his face in the rubble. “I just wanted a damn mug…”

    Angel Dust hummed to himself as he got dressed for dinner. He smiled as he adjusted his chest fluff, stuffing his new tie down the front of his his low-cut top, lending his chest the impression of cleavage. Angel rubbed the silk between his fingers, admiring the skull-and-diamond pattern. He preened for a bit in front of the mirror when a red bomblet smashed through his window, rolling across the floor before stopping at his feet, its fuse hissing.

    “Cherri!” Angel exclaimed, happily, picking up the bomb and reading the messy scrawl on its side: ‘Pole Katz 1 hour. We gotta talk.’

    “Pssh! I have a phone, Cherri!”

    He opened the window and tossed it back out, whereupon it landed in the back of a pick-up truck as it sped by. Angel returned to the mirror and went about applying his make-up when another bomblet smashed through his other window. It read ‘In person, bitch!’

    “Oh, come on!” Angel pointing at the first window. “That one was open!”

    Another bomblet flew through the third and final window, a crudely rendered hand flipping the bird drawn on its side. Angel rolled his eyes and sighed, picking up the second one and writing ‘C u soon’ on the side in purple lipstick and threw it back out the window. He snuffed the fuse of the third one and stuck in his purse. You never know when an insulting bomb might come in handy.

    Angel made his way down to the dining room, something smelled great. Of course, Kira, Charlie and the Goat Bois were already there, chatting about something.

    “Oh, hey Angel!” Charlie said, gesturing at the spread. “Help yourself!”

    Angel took a few of the weird fried balls, a side of some kind of salad, and a bowl of creamy yellow soup. “What’s all this?”

    “Octopus tokoyaki, chopped daikon salad, and Japanese cream soup,” said Kira.

    “Tokowhati?” Angel eyed the battered balls dubiously, before shrugging. “Whatever, when have I ever said no to balls in my mouth?”

    He popped one into his mouth and chewed, his eyes snapped open wide. “Oh, my God!”

    “I know, right?” Charlie said, polishing her nails on her lapel with a proud expression. “I’ll have you know we lent a hand this time around!”

    “Very much appreciated.”

    Angel stuffed three more into his mouth and smacked his lips. “Mmm I bet. The more hands the better, eh Kitty?”

    To Charlie’s surprise Kira simply smirked and meaningfully fiddled with his tie. “Careful not to choke.”

    Angel paused, before smirking and pointing at him. “Ayyyy! Nice to hear ya loosenin’ up! Betcha were a little tender this morning! Bit of a postumi, or was it some palle blu, eh?”

    “Oh, I’m fine,”said Kira, popping a ball into his mouth. “Is that tie too tight? You sound a little croaky.”

    “Throat’s a little sore, but it’s a good hurt.”

    “Okay, what’s going on?” Charlie interjected.

    “We hung out on the roof last night,” Angel said, airily. “Just guy stuff.”

    “Yes, just getting to know one another,” said Kira.

    Charlie looked over at Angel, who was smiling devilishly, toying with a now very familiar tie. “Is that where you got that tie?”

    “It’s alright, Charlie. He asked for it.”

    “Yeah, I did,” said Angel, winking.

    “So, I gave it to him.”

    “Yeah, ya did!"

    Charlie eyed the two of them suspiciously, certain that there was something they weren’t telling her, but she relented and said: “Well, good. I’m glad you two are getting along, it’ll make what I have planned tomorrow a lot easier! You see, boredom is a primary factor in relapse, so we’re going to–”

    “Rivetin’. Look, howzabout ya surprise me. I just wanted to let ya know I’m headin’ out tonight, gotta talk with some buddies.”

    “No.”

    Angel blinked in surprise. “Whadaya mean ‘no’?”

    Charlie crossed her arms. “I mean, the last time you went out with some buddies, you got caught up in a gang war. I know I can’t keep you here, but I also can’t condone you entering a high-temptation situation while you’re in my care. I won’t stop you from leaving, but if you do I’ll consider it a liquidation of our contract.”

    Angel gawped at her, before chuckling, giving her a sharp smile. “Ha! Chuck grew some balls! Alright, what if I had a chauffeur? Like Snatch or Grump Card?”

    Charlie shook her head. “Vaggie and Husk are out right now doing… actually, I’m not sure what they’re up to. Anyway, I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

    “Hmmm, this place did seem brighter… happier,” said Angel Dust, popping another one of those tasty little batter balls into his mouth. “What about him?”

    Kira looked over his shoulder to see if someone was behind him. “Excuse me?”

    “Kira?” Charlie said.

    “Yeah, he’ll be my, uh, whachamacallit…” Angel snapped his fingers as he thought. “Sponsor! Yeah, a fellow sinner in rehab to keep me out of trouble. His schtick is different from mine, so it’ll be what ya’d call a ‘low-temptation environment’ for him. He keeps me off the drugs, I keep him from choppin’ off people’s hands. Howzat sound?”

    Charlie paused for a moment, considering it. “That’s… not a terrible idea. I’d rather you didn’t go, but if you have to, it’ll be better if you don’t go alone.” She turned to Kira. “Kira, would you like to be Angel’s sponsor and accompany him to a strip-club?”

    “Hey, who said it was a strip club?” Angel said, defensively.

    “Angel, please, this is you we’re talking about here,” she said, turning back to Kira. “Feel free to say no if it makes you uncomfortable.”

    Kira paused, looking over at Angel, who was stuffing his face with tokoyaki and drinking the soup like it was a pint of beer. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to change the scenery.”

    Angel belched loudly. “Great! Throw somethin’ fetch on, Bagheera, we’re gonna get our dicks wet!”

    “I immediately regret this decision.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Maintaining Abstinence

Angel strutted down the street, high heels clopping on the pavement, he opened his pocket mirror and gave himself a once over, glancing at the dour panther-demon following close after. “Hey, lighten up! You’ll like this place, it’s real classy!”

“I doubt that.”

“Well, anyway, we’ll be meeting a buddy of mine for some chitty-chat, so try to be on your best behavior.”

“I’ll restrain myself, somehow.” Kira frowned, looking away.

“Alright,” said Angel, snapping the mirror closed and turning around to face Kira. “What’s your deal. Why’d ya offer to nanny me if ya were gonna be miserable the whole time?”

Kira hesitated for a moment before saying: “I wanted to thank you. For the other night.”

Angel eyed him, an incredulous look on his face. “What? Why? We didn’t even get to the good part, or do ya like being blue-balled?”

“I didn’t know I could control myself once I got that far along. I never tried before, and I wouldn’t have known without you. You helped me see that I have more control over myself than I thought. So, thank you.”

Angel chuckled, casting an arm over Kira’s and kissing him on the cheek. “Hey, any time Big Cat! Though, if ya really wanna thank me ya could go ahead and finish the job next time! Nothin’s worse than gettin’ good and revved up and bein’ left to peel the banana with nothin’ but sweet dreams and a suit-noose.”

“…What?”

“Y’know, playin’ five on one with broke puffer. Blue-faced Jay Owen? The Ol’ loose-doorknob! Wheezy white-water wristin’! Drivin’ stick while pullin’ the choke! The Beverly Hills Necktie! Skinnin’ and scarfin’! Spank’n’strangle!”

Kira pinched between his eyes and took off down the sidewalk. “Stop.”

Angel cackled and skipped after him. “Hey! I’m done with the tie, ya wannit back?”

“No.”

“You sure? It’s nice! Really soft!”

“Burn it.”

They strolled past the still-burning wreck of a pickup truck, a twisted mass of smoking metal, a semi-circle of demons roasted hotdogs and marshmallows over the flames. Across the street was Pole Katz, a delightfully sleazy affair, the bass of the club music inside thudding like a druggie’s heart. Angel burst through the door and inhaled, his arms spreading wide as he drank in the atmosphere; the smell of booze, of sweat, of sex in the back rooms. Dancers of all shapes and sizes ground and spun on poles atop stages as a teeming mob of demons waxed and waned in waves to the rhythm of the music.

Angel was dimly aware that Charlie was probably 100% right that this was terrible for his rehabilitation, but mostly he was just ecstatic to be out amongst his people again, away from the crushing boredom and uncertainty of the hotel. He just wanted to unwind a bit with his buddies.

“Heeey!” A familiar voice crowed over the pounding music, he scanned the room and saw her at a booth, waving her hand at him fervently: Cherri Bomb. “Aaaaaangel!”

He laughed and run across the room. “Cherri!”

Angle and Cherri met in a friendly embrace, with her pulling away and looking him up and down. “You look like shit!”

“Rehab’s a bitch and so are you!” Angel said, laughing. “Saw ya on the news this mornin’! Didja put that tube-steak in his place?”

Cherri grinned even wider and laughed. “You could say that! Got some good times planned for that prissy little shit-tin! I, uh…” she looked over his shoulder, smile fading somewhat. “Uh, hey, Angel, looks like you got an accountant following you.”

“Junior Administrator, actually,” said Kira.

“Who’s the suit?” Cherri sneered. “Real style-cramper.”

“Who, him?” Angel said, dismissively. “That’s my sponsor, he’s here to keep me from havin’ too much fun.”

“Want me to curb him?”

Angel shook his head. “No, no, he’s…well, he’s part of the program.”

Cherri did a quick double take. “Wait. He’s from the hotel? Him? He’s…hey, could I talk to you alone for a minute?”

“Sure,” Angel turned to Kira. “Give us some space, yeah? Go skulk in a dark corner somewhere.”

He frowned and looked at his watch. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Angel blew a raspberry as Kira walked off to the bar next to the dance floor, leaning against it and watching them. Angel turned back to Cherri, an apologetic smile on his face. “Only way they’d let me out is with gruesome over there. He’s not so bad once ya get a few sips of hobo-wine in him, though.”

“How many of you guys up there?”

“Just us two. Why?”

Cherri shook her head and laughed. “Angel, you never let me down! Even when I haven’t asked yet, and y’still come through!”

“What?”

Cherri subtly gestured over at the panther-demon, who was frozen in disgust as a sweaty pig demoness hung off his tie and enthusiastically ground her bare rump on him. “Met some old buddies today and they told me a pal of theirs was hanging out in the Hazbin Hotel, they came to me to get to you to get to him. I wanted to get you out here to see what you could do, and here you are with ya boy in tow!”

Angel gestured for her to stop. “Wait, what? By ‘buddies’, ya mean…”

“Holy Diver’s old crew,” said Cherri. “Or, I guess I should just say ‘Holy Diver’s crew’ now.”

Angel digested this for a moment, his eyes going wide. “You mean–?!”

“Yup.”

“He’s–?”

“Back.”

“And he’s–?!”

“Mr. Clean.”

Angel ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled loudly. “Well, that’s…a development. Wait, so ya didn’t just wanna talk to me?”

“Sorry,” said Cherri, shrugging.

“Oh! Betrayal!” Angel said, hand to head in a maudlin display of woe, before breaking out into a sharp, shining smile. “So, what’s the take?”

“Ol’ Snorkel’s back in town (don’t ask how) and he’s puttin’ the band back together for a whirlwind tour of Pentagram City. He’s got his drummer, bassist, and guitarists, but I guess he needs the cellist over there to really get things goin’.” Cherri punched her palm. “In exchange for bringin’ their homie to the table, I get some territory to call my own and a pass to the comeback tour.”

“Hey!” Angel said, pointing to himself. “Whadabout me! Don’t I get a piece of this pie?”

“I thought you were goin’ clean?” Cherri said, checking her nails and smirking playfully.

“Yeah, yeah. So, what’s the game plan?”

Cherri shrugged. “Well, I’m gonna call ‘em up and get ‘em over here. Until then, we have to distract him and keep him here until they show. Y’know what he likes? Booze? Drugs? Women? Men?”

“Hands.”

“…Hands?”

“Nice hands, preferably women’s.” Angel tapped his chin. “Oh, and killin’ people. Though unless y’got a spear and someone ya don’t like, that’s a big zip.”

“Hands I got,” Cherri said, looking up. “Oh, shit, here he comes. Act natural.”

“Hands hands hands!” Angel said, doing jazz-hands with both pairs. “He’s just soooo into hands! Also, a serial killer. Killed, like, 80 people, did things to their hands, like, weird things! Oh, hey Peter Sellers, I was just talkin’ about ya!”

“I gathered,” he said, expression dour. “Also, ‘Peter Sellers’?”

“Played Cluseau in Pink Panther.” Cherri clarified.

“Ah.” He gestured at the buttock-shaped stain on his lap. “I’ve gotten some residue on me. Is there a garbage can where I can incinerate these and then myself?”

“That’s my cue,” Cherri said, heading out into the crowd. “Grabbin’ drinks. Want anything?”

“Strawberry-Kiwi Mad Dog,” Angel said, sitting down in the booth. “Just the bottle.”

“I’m pretty thirsty,” Kira sat down across from him. “Water, please.”

Angel rolled his eyes and leaned back. “Ya could at least try to have fun?”

“Not my scene.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

A few minutes later and Cherri returned with another demoness, a tall and well-proportioned gorgon with four green eyes and mass of golden snakes on her head, drinks in their hands. Cherri plopped herself down next to Angel with a tall glass of what smelled like grain alcohol in front of her and an entire bottle of red MD 20/20 in for Angel, the gorgon set a tall glass of dark liquid in front of Kira.

“Ice tea,” said Cherri. “No alcohol, promise.”

“Thank you,” he said to the gorgon.

“Oh, this is my good friend, Peaches,” Cherri said. “Peaches, this is Kira.”

“Pretty name.” Peaches extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Mm.” Kira grunted, grabbing her hand and giving it a limp shake.

Angel took a long, hard pull on his 20/20, wiping off his lips and sighing. “Woof! Beats wine, dunnit, Kitty?”

“You mean rubbing alcohol and grape juice?” Kira said, taking a large gulp from his tall glass.

“Ahahahaha!” Cherri cackled, punching Angel on the shoulder. “You fuckin’ animal!”

“What can I say, it’s a dry house!” Angel shrugged. “Chuck seems to think we gotta handle all our addictions at once! What’d she say her theory was, Kira?”

Kira cleared his throat and took another gulp. “Hmmh! Charlie’s approach is that many addictions and other such urges originated from the body and experiences of a soul on Earth, and that here in Hell we’re merely repeating patterns to which our souls have become accustomed without any of the hardwiring enforcing it. Her theory is that any misalignment in the soul can be treated with therapy and deprogrammed from the soul. We’re still in the very early stages, Angel and I, but I myself can attest that I’ve been noticing some changes.”

“Yeah, I admit I’ve been missing the White a lot less than I thought I would,” said Angel. “It was a rough time kickin’ it, but I think it was a mind over matter thing, yeah? Like, I knew I’d be hurtin’, so I did, but now that I’m thinkin’ I don’t have to want it, it’s…I dunno. I’d like a hit, sure, but I can think about other things now.”

“So it works because you think it does?” Peaches said, cocking her head, her snakes exchanging dubious looks.

“What if you, say…” Cherri clicked her claws against the tabletop. “Gave someone drugs without them knowing. Would they still work?”

“Huh, I guess roofies wouldn’t work if that was the case,” Angel said, shaking his head and grimacing. “And, boy, do they ever.”

“Maybe the drugger thinking they do makes them work? It’s the perception by the observing soul that informs reality.” Kira offered, drumming his fingers rapidly. “Some kind of ‘Shrödinger’s drugs’ scenario.”

“You’re really smart,” Peaches said, smiling. “You go to college or something?”

“Or something, yes,” he said, turning to her and yawning. “Oh, excuse me.”

“Are you tired?” Peaches said, patting his hand.

“Nah, we’re just boring him,” said Cherri, nudging Angel under the table.

“No, no, nothing like that I just–” Kira yawned again and rolled his shoulders out, stretching his back in his seat. “I’m just…yawny. And my shoulders are stiff?”

Peaches reached over and began to rub his shoulders, smirking. “Maybe you need a massage?”

“Maybe, maybe,” Kira mumbled, looking over at the hand on his shoulder; they were human, the skin was cyan but smooth, blemishless, her nails were immaculately pedicured and painted a bright complementary red. “…Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful hands?”

Peaches blushed and giggled. “I could stand to hear it more often.”

He reached over and took her hand in his, gingerly holding her by the wrist with one hand while he played with her fingers with the other. “They really are…quite, quite beautiful. The skin on your knuckles is so soft and smooth, and I love the color of your nail polish, it works so well with your skintone.”

Angel blinked, his expression confounded. “Uhh…ya feelin’ okay over there, Kira?”

He rubbed his pink furry cheek against her hand, sighing happily. “…Better than okay…”

“Looks like Molly just arrived,” Cherri snickered.

Angel perked up and looked around. “Molly? Here? Where?”

“Not your sister!” Cherri elbowed him and glanced over at Kira’s glass. “No alcohol, remember?”

Angel gawped at her, his face breaking out into a huge smile. “You didn’t!”

“Guy needed to loosen up.” Cherri shrugged. “Besides, he’s tolerable company now, right Peaches?”

Peaches grinned as she ran her fingers through his soft cheek fur. “I’m not complaining!”

Angel cackled and took a hard hit from his Mad Dog. “Oh, man! I hope ya packed your bags, Killer Queen, because you’re goin’ on a trip!”

Kira stopped rubbing her hand against his face, his eyes snapping open wide. “Why…why’d you call me that just now?”

Angel tapped his chin, shrugging. “Ya know, I dunno. It just kinda fits? Hey, Peaches, didja know that he still uses his human name! ‘Yoshikage Kira’!”

“How long have you been here?” Cherri said, incredulous.

“Twenty years,” Angel said.

“Oh, honey,” Peaches giggled.

Kira’s face broke out into a huge grin and he loosed a deep hearty laugh, slapping his hand to his face. Angel, Cherri and Peaches exchanged nonplussed looks as the panther-demon succumbed to helpless howls of laughter.

“How much did you give him?”

“I fudged it.”

“Fate!” He exclaimed, rapping his knuckles on the tabletop. “It’s fate! Ahhh…alright. That’s my Hell-name, then: 「Killer Queen」.”

“Okay, wow, it sounds way cooler when you say it,” said Cherri, impressed.

Kira sipped from his glass, Peaches shuffled up closer to him, tracing his jaw with her finger. “So…how about my hands, then?”

“They’re exquisite!”

“Careful, honey,” Angel said. “Guy’s a real lovebug. Tell her about your girlfriends, Killer.”

Kira toyed with her fingers, mumbling: “Oh, I’ve had a few…”

“Yeah, a few dozen!” Angel broke in. “What was it, 75? 80? He died when he was 30, ‘mind, helluva winnin’ streak.”

“33!” Kira’s ears went flat. “And, no! 48! Those others were collateral damage!”

“48? You must know a thing or two about pleasing a lady, then,” Peaches purred into his ear.

“No, no, just their hands,” he said, cheerfully tracing a claw across her palm. “I killed the women and took their hands; they were my girlfriends.”

Cherri snorted into her drink. “Phhhahaha whaaaat?”

Angel pressed on, grinning at Peaches. “What’d ya do with ‘em, Killer?”

Kira’s expression became wistful, serene. “Oh, all kinds of things. Long walks in the park, picnics, we’d go shopping and I’d buy them rings and watches and wristbands. They’d help me cook and clean around the house. If I was feeling especially bold, I’d sneak them off to work with me and we’d fool around at the office, ha-ha-ha!”

“Oh, my God…that’s so…” Peaches whispered hoarsely, her eyes wide as she latched onto Kira’s hand. “…Romantic!”

Kira beamed. “Right?”

Angel laughed and thumped his fist on the tabletop. “Ha ha! Yeah, that’s so–excuse me, what.”

“Oh, Peaches has a type, didn’t I mention?” Cherri said, gulping her grain alcohol. “Phew! Gotta catch up here!”

“Matchmaker, ain’tcha?”

“When I was alive, my first and only boyfriend was a killer,” Peaches said, a dreamy look in her eyes. “A spree killer. The two of us went on a bloody, three-week rampage across the American Southwest. Killing in the daylight, making love in the moonlight, a pair of wolves on the prowl…ahhh…then we got cornered by the state police in a shack outside Tucson, Arizona. I peeked out a window and they turned my head into a canoe! Heehee!”

“Where is he now, your boyfriend?” Kira asked. “Have you ever tried to find him?”

“Oh, no, he’s still up there,” she said, derisively. “Insanity plea. Coward.”

“I was never caught.” Kira smiled and winked at her. “The police never even knew I was killing, they just thought people disappeared. It took a mob of busy-bodies to take me down.”

“Oooh!” Peaches cooed, rubbing Kira’s cheek. “Mob justice! That’s how a real killer bites the dust!”

Kira grinned, kissing her knuckle. “I like you!”

She grabbed Angel’s Mad Dog (“Hey!”) and, cupping her hand, poured the sweet, sticky red liquid into her palm. “Oops! I went and made a mess!”

Kira smiled and leaned in, noisily lapping the sugary ripple out of her hand, his long feline tongue pushing through and cleaning her fingers. Angel and Cherri watched, dumbfounded but amused looks on their faces.

“Think he’s distracted enough now, Cherri?” Angel whispered out the side of his mouth.

“Oooh yes Mr. Kitty, lick it aaallll up…”

Cherri Bomb chuckled. “He was distracted five minutes ago. This is just entertainment.”

“Dontcha think ya oughta call your buddies soon?”

“Ah shit, right. I’ll be back.” Cherri got up, pulling out her phone before she turned back to Angel. “Oh, by the way, Bastille’s at the bar, says he wants to pay you back for that solid you did him.”

“Oh, well then!” Angel said, getting out of the booth. “I’m off for a bit. Dontcha go anywhere, lovebirds! I wanna watch…”

“Mmhm,” Kira mumbled through a mouthful of fingers.

Angel bobbed and ducked around the dancing, bopping club-goers. Bastille was standing at the bar, easy enough to spot, being a enormous green minotaur in a red and black Paisley suit. “Eeey! Bastille!”

His ear cocked back, he turned around, three purple eyes locking onto Angel, lighting up. “Hey! Angel Dust, you’re back! It’s been an age! I was worried about you, brother!”

Angel Dust clapped him on a rippling shoulder, grinning. “Heard ya were looking for me and figured, better pay the ol’ cow a visit, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah!” Bastille said, leaning in close, his voice low. “I’ve got a present for you.”

He pulled back his vest and reached into his breast pocket and produced a little round bag with a pretty pink bow. He dangled it in front of Angel, grinning proudly. “My newest batch. Been messing with the recipe and I came up with this, and let me tell you, it’s some proper product. This here bag is a scoop off the top of my first production batch; it hasn’t been cut, doctored, aged, or molested in any way. I call it A Star’s Platinum, because this White ain’t white, baby, it’s platinum! For you, buddy!”

Angel’s eyes went wide, sparkling in the strobelight. The powder in the baggy almost shone, glittering invitingly like some kind of ancient treasure trove and he was Indiana Fuckin’ Jones! He felt his heart pound, his body ached for the hit, needed it; he felt like a man that’d been starving for so long he’d just become numbed to the bone-deep gnawing hunger, like some part in him had shriveled and died, but now it had come alive again, growling and roaring like a bear in a trap.

He needed it.

Right?

He reached up for the bag, hand trembling, before placing his hand over Bastille’s and pushing it away. “H-heh…hey man, it wasn’t that big a’favor! I’d buy that offa ya, but, y’know, I’m between bills at the moment. Thanks, though.”

Bastille looked confused for a moment, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Heh? Ha! Angel Dust playing hard to get? I figured I’d have to die twice to see that! It’s a gift, and it’s free, gratis, the debt is paid! I don’t want to carry this shit much longer, I’ll get shanked.”

“Nah, man,” Angel said, forcing a smile on his face. “I’m good.”

Bastille’s eyes narrowed. “…I heard some things on the street. That you skipped town, that you’re hiding from the mob, that you were dead. Fair enough, that’s the life. But you know what I heard that I just couldn’t believe? That’d you’d gone clean, that you were shacked up in that harebrained bitch’s clinic.”

“Shh! It’s not like that,” Angel said, shushing him. “It’s just…y’know…”

“No, I don’t. What are you trying to do, get into Heaven?” Bastille scoffed. “What makes you think they’d let an ass-bandit like you past the pearly gates, if not to tongue some cherub’s balls! You wallowed in sin for decades and now you think you have a chance at redemption?! Don’t make me laugh! Whores like you can’t change, and pretending like you can and spurning my generosity, what, like you’re too good for me now? I should tie your arms and legs in a knot and throw you out with the rest of the trash, but I’m a nice guy. Just take the fucking chiva and get out of my sight!”

Angel sighed and reached for the baggy, but Bastille snapped it up in his huge hand, shaking his finger. “Oh, and if you don’t want me running my mouth about where you’ve been, you’ll meet me in the alley for some proper fun.”

“Fun?” A low, smooth voice crooned. “Two minutes of huffing and puffing next to a garbage can doesn’t sound fun to me.”

The two of them looked over and saw a bemused-looking panther-demon in a slightly rumpled suit. “Kira? Whadaya doin’?”

“An intervention,” Kira said, holding up the baggy in his left hand and dangling it. “Tsk tsk tsk, Angel! This isn’t icing sugar, now is it?”

Bastille looked at his now-empty hand and snarled. “Who the fuck is this?”

“I’m his sponsor,” Kira said, smiling like a goon. “And I go by Killer Queen, now, Angel. I thought we agreed on this.”

Angel looked back and forth between Bastille and Angel, chuckling nervously. “Bastille, c’mon, look at him, he’s just some junky! No need to–”

Bastille shot to his feet, rearing up to his full nine foot height, a towering mountain of muscle. He grabbed Kira’s lapel in a huge fist and leaned down, sneering. “After I’m done with this spider-whore, I’m going to show you what pussies are for!”

Kira stifled a giggle and raised his right hand. “That rhymed.”

In a smooth, casual motion Kira jabbed the fingers of his right hand into Bastille’s upper forearm. A single loud report split the air, cutting through the roaring music and mingled conversations like a thunderclap. The bartender was splattered with a mist of blood, meat, and pulverized bone; he flinched back in horror as another bar patron, a cycloptic demoness, screamed. Bastille stared dumbly at his forearm, which extended a mere four inches from his elbow before terminating in a bloody, jagged stump with loose strips of shredded skin and muscle hanging from a stark white protrusion of bone. “Uh…uh…whuh?”

A long ropy squirt of blood sprayed out and streaked across Kira’s suit, from which the minotaur’s hand still hung. “Hm. Rude!”

Bastille mumbled and sputtered, tightly clasping the stump with his other hand as he slumped against the bar top. “My…my…”

Kira chuckled and sat on a bar-stool, placing his chin in his hand. “Don’t worry, it’ll grow back. Two weeks and your girlfriend will be as good as new. Ten days, even, with the right diet and some blood-flow exercises. Ach! But look at this, you’re bleeding all over this fine gentleman’s bar. Don’t you know that this is a classy establishment?”

“My…my…” He growled hoarsely, glaring up at Kira, shoulders tensing.

“Your…?” Kira looked at the baggy in his hand, a melodramatic look of shock on his face. “Oh! I’m sorry, is this yours? Here, bygones and such.”

Kira stuffed the little bag into Bastille’s hip pocket. A moment later and his hip and upper leg were consumed in a small, bright flash of light, another sharp crack filled the air. Bastille roared in pain and crumpled to the ground; a red, melon-sized crater where his hip used to be.

“Ah, see?” Kira said, popping a few peanuts into his mouth. “I always knew that stuff was dangerous.”

Bastille wriggled on the ground, slowly dragging himself away with his remaining limbs. Kira got up and followed after him. The minotaur rolled over, tears pouring down his face, snot bubbling up from under his septum ring, his three eyes wide and terrified. “I’m sorry, man! I’m sorry! Please! I didn’t–I wasn’t gonna–please man I’m s-s-s–”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…” Kira said, looming over him. “None of that. You know, it really bothers me when people apologize. Do I look angry to you?” Kira pointed at the grin on his face. “Do I?”

“P-p-p-puh–”

“No. I’m not.” Kira crouched down, his smile soft and serene. “This is something I enjoy.”

Bastille squeezed his eyes shut as Kira reached out for his face. Angel swung in from behind and grabbed Kira and pulled him up and back. “Intervention!”

“Oh, hello Angel,” Kira said as he was dragged by the hand across the dance floor. “Where are we going? Ooh! The dance floor! Would you like to dance?”

“Yeah, sure!” Angel grunted as he made for the rear exit of the club. “Let’s dance out back, yeah? Just us!”

“Oh, alright,” Kira chuckled. “I must warn you, though, I’m probably not very good!”

“Angel, what the fuck?!” Cherri cried as they stumbled by, phone in hand.

“Niceseeingyoubye!”

Peaches waved to Kira as he was pulled out the door. “Call me!”

“Oooh, can Peaches dance with–” Kira said as the door swung shut.

A few alleys away and Angel peered up over a garbage can to see if the coast was clear. When no one came sniffing about he slumped back down, running his fingers through his hair. He looked over at Kira, who was staring at the sky, mouth slack and eyes vacant. “Ya just got me in a whole lotta trouble.”

Kira snapped out of it. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?!” Angel exclaimed. “Ya just crippled one of the biggest dope-slingers in town! He’ll be gunnin’ for me now!”

“You’re right,” Kira said, getting to his feet. “I should go kill him. Hmm…I should probably kill everyone else, too. Just to be safe.”

Angel grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him back down. “You’re not killin’ anybody! This is an intervention! The state your in, ya’d probably torch the wrong buildin’!”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Kira said, indignantly.

“Ya have a fuckin’ hand hangin’ from your jacket!” Angel said, gesturing wildly at the dripping limb.

Kira looked down and pried the meaty fingers from his suit. “You know, Angel, I don’t think that fellow in there is a good influence on you. You should sever ties with him. Snnnrk…!” He held up the hand and jostled it around, limp wrist and fingers flapping as he sniggered like a schoolboy. “Get it? ‘Sever ties’? Hahahahahahaaaa…alright, fine, the pun works better in Japanese.”

“Will ya get rid 'a that thing?” Angel whisper-shouted. “It’s creepin’ me out!”

The hand sizzled and glowed, slowly evaporating until it was gone. “Poof!”

“Okay, how the fuck are ya even doin’ that?!” Angel said, waving at the smoke.

“Oh, this?” Kira shrugged. “Something I picked up in life. It’s a long story.”

Angel rolled his eyes, demons with powers was nothing new; rare, but not unheard of. That said, he’d never heard of anyone with dynamite fingertips!

“We should get back to the hotel,” Kira said, proudly. “I want to tell Charlie how I helped you!”

Angel’s eyes went wide with outrage. “What?! ‘Helped’ me?!”

“Well, you weren’t going to turn down those drugs, Angel!” Kira scoffed. “You didn’t even try. I did my sponsorly duty and removed you from the situation.”

“I dragged you outta there!” Angel said, poking Kira’s chest. “Y’were gonna kill that guy!”

“No!” Kira said, before gesturing so-so. “I was just going to…maim him some more. Blow off his jaw, blind him, that sort of thing. If I wanted him dead, I could have vaporized his whole body!”

Oh, and that’s better?!” Angel roared, throwing his arms up. “Ya seriously wanna go back to Charlie and brag about how you’re still a bloodthirsty, sadistic psychopath?! Look atcha, you’re covered in blood!”

“Hmm,” he considered this for a second, examining himself. “You have a point. What do we d–”

Angel’s fist smashed into his snout with a crunch, sending him staggering backwards until he fell flat on his ass. Kira clutched his nose as blood poured out, spilling down his chin and onto his chest.

Angel stood over him, shaking out his fist. “Let it bleed. Story is, we were minding our own business when some guys tried to offer us funtimes. Ya said no, they laid ya out, and then we ‘removed ourselves from the situation’. Like it?”

He offered a hand to Kira, who took it and smiled toothily. “That’s good, though if I may add something.”

Kira loosed a powerful uppercut into Angel’s midsection followed by a hard left hook to the face, sending the spider-demon stumbling into the wall of the alley. “You being such a good sponsor, you stepped in on my behalf and soaked up a few hits yourself.”

“Yeah, alright. That’s good.” Angel sucked and spat blood from his freshly split lip, turning around to face Kira, a hard, angry look on his face. “But man…they fucked you up.”

Angel charged him with a roar, all six arms extended. The two scuffled about the alley exchanging blows, one’s speed offset by the sheer multitude of limbs available to the other. Kira charged and grappled Angel about the midsection, slamming him up against brick walls and then him into some crates. Angel grabbed and hoisted a steel garbage can up over his head and brought it down on Kira’s back, dropping him to the ground in an explosion of garbage. Kira grunted and swept Angel’s legs out from under him, clambering on top of him, raining down punches on his face and head. Angel’s legs swung upwards, kicking him in the upper back, knocking him off of him and forward. Angel wriggled up and got on Kira’s back, grabbing his head and shoulders, fingers hooked into his cheek in a fishhook.

“Ha ha! Yeah!” A green harelquin demon cheered, pumping his fists. “Bum fight! Bum fight! Bum fight!”

Kira and Angel both looked up at the jeering jester, then at each other, nodding. Roaring in unison they tackled the clown to the ground, fists pummeling and thumping. They got to their feet and rain downed a flurry of kicks and stomps onto the prone, twitching form, stopping only when they were both too out of breath to continue. They stooped over, panting and coughing, spitting blood and wiping their noses on their sleeves.

Kira examined his suit, coated in filth, dark splashes of blood everywhere, the sleeve ripped near off; pain in his face and back mixed curiously with the surges of euphoria that continued to pulse through him; it was an almost pleasant feeling, life-affirming. He looked over at Angel, his prized slutty outfit was a similar shambles, his hair and make up were beyond saving, and he had a hell of a shiner setting in with an ugly split lip and more than a few skuffs, scrapes, and bruises.

“You look like shit.”

Angel glared at him, wiping his bloody chin with his sleeve. “You should see the other guy.”

Kira met his glare, fists balled, before a wide, bloody smile pulled across his face. A high wheezing chortle bubbled up from his throat before becoming full-on bellows of laughter, Angel slouched and snorted, grinning as he tried to say something before giving up and joining Kira in a belt of laughter. They looped their arms around each other’s shoulders and leaned on one another, guffawing madly. The battered harlequin demon sat up on a wobbly elbow and joined in the laughter, pointing up at them. An instant later Kira’s heel smashed into the side of his face, shattering his jaw with a meaty crunch. The jester flopped back down bonelessly and Angel loosed one last high, wheezing laugh before reaching down and rummaging through the clown’s pockets. He produced a wallet and gutted it like a fish, stuffing several twenties into his pocket.

“C’mon, Killer Queen,” he said, clapping Kira on the back. “I’m way too sober for this shit.”

Kira nodded and obediently followed after him. “I’m starting to think that your friend put something in my drink…”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Personal Inventory

    Charlie reclined in her chaise lounge, a romance novel in one hand and a tall glass of wine in the other. A trashy novel and a fine wine, a nice little vice she enjoyed from time to time but so rarely had the chance to indulge. Besides, if Angel knew there was so much as a drop in the house he’d guzzle it like a Hummer on a gentle incline. She’d taken measures to hide her various stashes, one of which was inside a large-size jug of Welch’s Grape Juice. It was the perfect crime. But now that the kids were out on the town, she could kick back, relax, and read her lady-smut.

    In her novel, Love and Armageddon, an idealistic military doctor on the frontlines against Heaven must grapple with her obligation to the patients under her care and her smoldering, passionate, forbidden affair with her nurse, a gruff and surly but noble-hearted lesser demon. Oh! The scandal! An Archdevil like the good doctor can’t fraternize with the lower orders! But…forbidden fruit must be tasted, it is the tragic duality of this wretched thing called love!

    Doctor Drusilla leaned in close, finger notched under Nurse Sherah’s elegant, pointed chin.’

    Nurse Sherah’s cheeks burned, her orange quartet eyes shining. “D-Doctor Drusilla!”

    “Please,” Drusilla said, her flush, full lips drawing ever closer to Sherah’s. “Call me Dru.”

    “Dru…” she sighed, her sweet breath hot against Drusilla’s face. “…You…I…”

    Their lips met, a sigh passed between them as their bodies and souls connected; all that energy, all that tension, all that doubt and fear and pressue, it all melted away like snow on the coming of spring, burned away by their passion. They embraced, tongues and bodies writhing against one another, Dru could feel her heart thundering through her chest as she pressed against her, their pulses becoming one as they joined. Sherah’s hand snaked up and coursed through Drusilla’s hair, squeezing a handful of it as she pushed into the kiss, driving Drusilla back against the desk, the only substantial piece of furniture in their sparsely appointed tent. Sherah reached down and cupped Drusilla’s rump and hoisted her onto the desktop. Their kiss broke as Sherah went lower, and lower, her fingers hooking into the hem of Dru’s pants, shuffling them and her briefs down her hips in a smooth, practiced motion.

    “Sherah,” Drusilla panted. “I’ve wanted this for so long…”

    “I know, Dru.” Sherah peppered her inner thigh with slow, gentle kisses. “I’ve always known.”

    “Sherah,” said Drusilla, huskily, reaching down and gently grabbing her head. “I can’t wait any longer!”

    Sherah simply smiled up at her lover, her superior, her social better, drinking in the low wanton need in her eyes, the pleading tone of her voice. She nestled her head into the hot crux of her thighs and–

    The door swung open with a bang, Husk’s deep, throaty drawl cut through the air. “We’re back!”

    “Charlie?” Vaggie called. “You here?”

    Charlie near enough jumped out of her chaise lounge, just barely keeping her wine from spilling. She dog-eared the book and stuffed it in between the cushions, safely out of sight. She sipped her wine from a frazzled hand, hoping she looked casual as Husk and Vaggie walked in. Husk looked to be in a particularly foul mood as he shambled over to the ficus. He grabbed the plant and pulled it out of the pot, reaching in and producing a filthy bottle of Johnny Walker Red.

    “Husk, what–?!” Charlie began to say.

    Husk capped the bottle and held up his finger to pause her, knocking back the bottle and taking several hard, deep gulps. “Pfaaah! That’s the stuff! Chuck, we gotta talk.”

    “About wha–”

    “Where’s the psycho?” Vaggie demanded.

    Charlie frowned at her tone. “Out. Angel had another one of his ‘buddy calls’ and I paired them up to keep him out of trouble.”

    “Ha!” Husk barked, taking another swig. “That’s just ducky! When’ll they be back?”

    Charlie shrugged. “Not sure, it’s Angel, so… sometime? If I set a curfew it’ll just encourage him to break it, you know how he is!”

    Vaggie sighed and clapped her hand to her face. “Alright, Charlie, we need to talk.”

    “That can wait, Vaggie,” grumbled Husk, tipping his hat and heading back for the door. “I gotta go talk to some connections. Keep an eye out for any suspicious-looking assholes; and I mean any swinging dick. I’ll be back.”

    “Oh, that’s helpful!” Vaggie shouted after him. “Yeah, go get drunker and wheeze at some barflies! What happens when those freaks show up here looking for their psycho buddy?”

    “And that’s why you’re staying here, Chica,” Husk said, sneering over his shoulder at her as he exited the hotel. “Someone’s gotta protect the place.”

    “Protect…?” Charlie said, turning to Vaggie. “What’s going on?”

    Vaggie turned to Charlie and sighed, shaking her head. “It’s… complicated. Look, I don’t want to get into it until Husk gets back, he seems to know who’s involved. It’s a little bizarre.”

    Charlie crossed her arms across her chest, frowning. “Vaggie. You know I don’t like being kept out of the loop.”

    Vaggie held her hands out, placating. “I know, I know, Charlie. It’s just that it’s something I’d like to get straight before talking about it. Trust me, it sounds ridiculous!”

    “Try me.”

    “Husk and I were looking into that freak’s background and saw that his old apartment burned down just before he showed up here. Then we found a jacked-up puppet buried in a hole who said he saw psycho in a weird ghost-filled room killing everyone with a murder-turtle.”

    Charlie blinked, opening her mouth to say something before pausing, words evidently failing her.

    “Charlie, look, I know how it sounds–” Vaggie groaned, grimacing now that she’d heard it all out loud.

    “I believe you,” said Charlie, her voice even. “You wouldn’t lie to me, Vaggie. Husk, maybe, but he’d come up with a better story than that.”

    “You do?”

    Charlie nodded. “I believe that you saw something, and that we should wait for Husk to get back with his ‘connections’. Until then, how about we don’t worry too much about it and just hang for a bit.”

    Vaggie sighed, relieved; she was expecting some sort of defensive outrage on behalf of her precious patient. ‘Why would I expect that? Ah shit, I really am jealous…’

    “So…” Vaggie said, pointing at the glass. “Wine? Where’s the book?”

    Charlie smiled, nervously, sipping from the glass. “W-what do you mean? I was just having a little drinky while the kids are out!”

    “Kids!” Vaggie chuckled, offering a tired smile. “Seems like it sometimes, doesn’t it? When was the last time we had a conversation that wasn’t about the 'kids'?”

    “At least a few days…” Charlie sighed, shaking her glass. “Pour you one?”

    “Nah, I’ll just…” Vaggie sighed and pinched between her eyes. “You know what? Husk has a point. Big glass, please.”

    Charlie laughed and set off for the staff lunchroom, cracking open the fridge and grabbing the grape juice bottle full of wine. It seemed a little light. Huh. She poured her friend a great big relaxing glass and headed back to the rec-room. “Well, here’s to another kid. I want to tell you about all the fun little activities for the–”

    Vaggie sat on the sofa across the coffee table from the chaise lounge, Love and Armageddon in her hand and a wry smile on her face. “…Oh? Do go on, please.”

    “Uhh!” Charlie lunged forward and snatched the novel out of her hand, replacing it with the wine glass. “Just some, um, some literature I came across!”

    “Funny, I recall owning this particular book some time ago.” Vaggie sipped delicately from her wine. “It went missing and I always blamed Angel Dust. I know, it’s missing a few of his favorite points of interest, but you can’t really put anything past that guy, can you?”

    “I was going to give it back,” Charlie whispered, clutching the book out in front of her. “Y’know, when I finished.”

    “That thing’s so dog-eared, I’d say you ‘finished’ a few times!”

    “Nnng…” Charlie groaned, hand on her face.

    Vaggie chuckled softly and walked over to Charlie, patting her on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay! Just ask next time.”

    Charlie looked to Vaggie and nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d miss it.”

    “I don’t,” Vaggie shrugged. “The sequel’s better.”

    “Really? I’ll have to put some time aside for it.”

    “Enjoy your carpal tunnel.”

    Charlie laughed aloud playfully batted Vaggie’s shoulder. “Vaggie! Really! So, I… um…”

    Vaggie watched her try and fail to segue that into something a little less risque; Charlie looked crestfallen, no, mortified. “Oh, my God.”

    “What is it?”

    Charlie’s hands rose to her face, twisted with horror. “All I can think to talk about is work! I’ve… become my father! ”

    The two paused and looked at each other for a moment. Charlie’s mask broke first, a snort of laughter sneaking out of the cracks before she dropped the faux-horror entirely. Vaggie scoffed and rolled her eyes, smiling. Charlie reached up and grabbed Vaggie’s shoulder for support as she laughed.

    “Sorry, I needed that,” said Charlie. “So, how’s your day been?”

    “Murder-turtle.”

    “Right.”

    Vaggie took a step forward and suddenly noticed just how much this single glass of wine was affecting her. She wondered for a moment before noticing the low, thrumming ache of her stomach: she hadn’t eaten all day!

    “Any of that whatever-the-hell left?” She said.

    “Lots!” Charlie beamed. “C’mon!”

    Vaggie eyed the food set before her dubiously. “What’s in this again?”

    “Batter, onions, ginger, tempura and octopus.” Charlie grinned and gestured at herself. “I helped make them!”

    “I know, I know…” Vaggie said, putting one of the balls in her mouth. She bit down, felt the subtle crunch of the shell, the low-key sweet of the onions, the savory twinge of the meat, the slight but present bite of ginger: it was delicious. The soup wasn’t any less sublime, with a low, savory richness that didn’t overpower the veggies or chicken, and a perfect level of creaminess and substance that let the flavors settle on the tongue and bombard it with each ingredient’s own subtle contribution. And the salad offered the perfect counterpoint to the richness of the mains, with a sharp, acidic reduction that played perfectly into the crisp sweetness of the radish and the umami of the dried seaweed flakes on top. “…God dammit.”

    “What?”

    “Nothing,” she said, shoveling the food into her mouth like starved animal. “Just… good.”

    Charlie watched her eat, smiling gently. “This is nice.”

    “Hmm?”

    Charlie gestured vaguely. “Oh, you know. Just this. Sitting, talking, not worrying about… you know, everything.”

    Vaggie swallowed and looked over at Charlie, the ever-present smile on her face slipping away, revealing a tired resignation. “Charlie?”

    She sighed and shook her head. “I just… I still don’t really know what I’m doing, and I’d like for anything, anything at all to… I don’t know… show me that it’s not just some fantasy.”

    Vaggie reached over and grabbed her had on both her, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Charlie… if anyone can do this, it’s you. You’re the most compassionate, giving, kind person I’ve ever met. A day doesn’t go by that I’m not thankful I was sent here, because I got to meet you.”

    “Vaggie!” Charlie exclaimed, shocked.

    “I mean it,” Vaggie pulled closer, eye blazing. “Whatever it was that I did to get here, to you, I’d do it again. Because there’s no way Heaven or any of the other planes could have a more beautiful, caring soul. You can do this, I believe in you, and I’ll support you no matter what.”

    Charlie’s eyes glistened her mouth pulled into a wobbly smile. “Vaggie…”

    She lurched across the table and pulled her into a firm hug, Vaggie smiled and delicately crossed her arms around her friend and pulled her close. Charlie pulled away and looked at her, eyes shining with tears. “Thanks… I really needed that. You’re the best friend anyone could have. It’s good to know I have you in my corner.”

    “For you? Anything.”

    Their eyes met, something warm and welcome suffused the air between them, an understanding of sorts. Charlie reached over swept Vaggie’s hair aside, revealing her whole face; she was pretty, though even Charlie could admit she was more than a little severe. Angel would have called it ‘resting bitch face’ but Charlie knew that it was just the echos of a hard life clinging to a beautiful soul. She cupped her cheek, only slightly aware that she was leaning in. As they drew closer the air between them electrified, the warm understanding between them becoming an unbearable tension. Closer. Closer.

    *Rap rap-a rap-rap, ra-tap* sounded from the door.

    Charlie and Vaggie jumped apart like they’d been electrocuted, their eyes the size of dinner plates.

    “Uh.” Charlie’s hands shot to her mouth.

    “We–I–you…” They said in unison.

    “No, you–”

    “Sorry, I–”

    *Rap rap-a rap-rap, ra-tap*

    “…I should go…answer that,” Charlie said, smiling bashfully.

    “Yeah…” Vaggie said, quietly.

    Charlie hurriedly excused herself from the suddenly very awkward presence of her best friend and set off down the hall, trying her best to swallow her confusion and put on a winning smile for whoever was at the door. She grabbed the doorknob and swung the door open.

    “Hel…”

    The figure was tall, slender, looming; a trim form in a bright red coat over top a dark pinstripe undercoat. High, high above her head were eyes, glowing red-within-red over a sharp yellow crescent of a smile. Her smile dropped like a rock, he eyes huge as her pupils shrunk to dots.

     “…lo…”

    He chuckled, a cold tinny distant sound, like the ghost of a long-dead studio audience. “My dear, I believe that’s my line.”

    The Caym overpass hung over the River Styx, the main highway connecting all sectors of Pentagram City. A massive highway, perpetually dotted by countless vehicles as they streaked hither-thither in an eternal rush to escape to and from other parts of the damned city. So profound was the flow of traffic, so enormous, even bumper-to-bumper congestion still somehow rolled along at a healthy 50mph, much too slow for certain denizens.

     One such car, a true monster resembling two Cadillac Coupe de Villes fused together tore down the highway, flames belching from its quartet of side-mounted exhaust pipes. The heavy, vicious-looking cow-catcher on its prow scooped under and upended other, lesser vehicles as the demonic hotrod plowed through entire lines of traffic. It bellowed down the River Styx, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Its four occupants hooted and roared in triumph, cackling in glee at the exploding pile-ups unfolding in their rear window, none of them noticed as a peanut collided with their windshield with a muted ‘plink’.

    The peanut detonated in an enormous flash of light and sound, the peeling the steel roof back like paper as smoke and fire consumed the insides of the cab. The smoldering hotrod swerved abruptly and breached on the concrete divider, slamming into the support beam of the overpass in a coughing explosion of orange flame and black greasy smoke. Two figures stood on the pass, leaning over the siderail, a high-five passed between them.

    “Oh!” Angel cried, jubilantly, fists pumping as he took a long pull off a bottle of cheap whisky. “Oooh! Direct hit! Not so hot now, are ya, ya Mad Max-lookin’ motorheads!”

    Kira leaned over and looked at the screaming hotrodders as they flailed about around the crumpled mass that was once their vehicle, each one totally wreathed in flames. “They look pretty hot to me.”

    One of the flaming demons shambled out into traffic and was immediately mowed down by a seemingly unending line of cars. It could well be hours before he would be able to drag himself off the road. Poor asshole probably had someplace to be! Feeling unusually attuned to his victim’s plight, Kira grabbed another peanut from the extra-large jar Angel had bought him, and charged it with a powerful concussive blast. He dropped it down into traffic, roughly where the demon lay. A loud splitting crack followed and the demon, along with a multitude of cars, sailed through the air. The demon splattered against the divider, sliding down its far side and into the trough between roads. He’d pulled himself together and be off before long.

    “You’re welcome!” Kira called out as a snickering Angel passed him the bottle.

    As he moved to wipe the drool-covered finish off on his sleeve, Angel sneered. “Don’t wipe it off, ya fuckin’ pussy.”

    Kira paused, shrugged, and took a heavy swig, hissing at the burn and handing it back. “Should I be mixing alcohol with… whatever it is your friend hit me with?”

    “If ya were alive… eh, I still would, but I’m me,” Angel said, licking the threads on the bottle. “As is, it’ll help ya get to sleep later.”

    “Good, good. That’s very important to me.” Kira threw another peanut off the overpass, not even aiming. A moment later and it exploded, causing several cars to swerve to avoid it.

    “Oop! Air ball! No points,” Angel chuckled, looking at Kira. “So… you can control how much badda-bing those have?”

    “Anything I touch with my right hand becomes a bomb, either a contact bomb or a switch bomb.” Kira said, popping a peanut in his mouth. “I can control how big the explosion is, how destructive, or the rate of destruction. Say I want to erase someone, but not a certain body part, I can just make it so the rest disappears. See, I don’t want to kill anyone down there, so these peanuts are only blasting, not erasing. But if I–”

    A loathsome pair of hands crept up on Kira’s back, a hideous gremlin-like creature peered over his shoulder. “Listen here, Pussy. Don’t make any funny moves, ‘kay? You an’ me, we’re just gonna walk to the nearest ATM, ‘kay? Aaaallll your cash. No funny moves or I tear you up and suck you dry, ‘kay?”

    “Oop, hold on a second.”

    Kira flicked a peanut over his shoulder and hit it in the face. A flash and a pop and the demon’s face exploded into a pinkish mass of shredded flesh and shattered bone. Kira reached back and grabbed the stunned, gurgling creature by the wrist and flung it off the overpass into the neverending traffic. A dull thud was heard, followed by a series of progressively wetter crunches as cars raced by.

    “What was that?” Angel muttered, not really all that interested.

    “Hmm?” Kira replied, eating another peanut.

    “Nothin’.”

    Kira sighed and leaned back against the concrete divide, sliding down it and staring out at the hundreds of miles of cityscape before him; drinking in the dull reddish glow of the endless shining lights, waving his hand in front of his face, smiling. “…Oooh…”

    Angel saw this and grinned despite his split lip. “How ya feeling?”

    “Great,” Kira said, looking over at him. “Better than great. What’s this stuff called?”

    “Molly, MDMA, Thizz, and a whole bunch of others.” Angel said. “Ecstasy, mostly.”

    “How apropos,” Kira said, rubbing his face, sighing in satisfaction. “How long is this going to last?”

    “Ya got rollin’ pretty quick, but you’re just peakin’ now,” Angel said as he plopped down next to him and grabbed a peanut. “Five, six hours. Maybe more.”

    “Mmmm…” he said, stretching out like a cat, laying down flat on his back. “Right now I feel like I could just… poof… like smoke, and spread out over everything. Hmm. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.” Kira reached up with his right hand and went to touch his forehead.

    “Whoop!” Angel reached over and grabbed his wrist. “Oh, no ya don’t!”

    “Is suicide murder?” Kira said, chuckling. “Does that count against my rehabilitation?”

    “Probably, ya crazy fucker!” Angel said, mussing his hair. “Besides, if ya go and dust yourself, what’ll I tell Charlie? ‘Sorry Chuck, guy just wanted to be smoke. Who am I to say no?’ Yeah, that’d go over well!”

    Kira sat up and examined his hand for a second. “You’re probably right. Thanks, Angel.”

    “'Thanks, Angel',” Angel muttered, mockingly.

    “Now, now.” Kira’s right hand plopped on Angel’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Angel, I mean it. I meant it before and I mean it now; thank you. Always putting me in unfamiliar situations, always…” His hand snaked up Angel’s neck, fingers coursing through his fluff, before coming to rest on his cheek, rubbing it soothingly. “…testing my self-control. I’m serious about this rehabilitation thing, but I never would have put myself in situations where I’d be tested like I have been with you. And don’t think I don’t appreciate your intervention earlier. You were right, I was going to kill that man. I was ready to erase everyone in that club to cover my tracks. It’s nice to know I have someone to hold me back when the urge strikes, even if it is a little…frustrating.”

    Angel’s eyes went wide, his shoulders tensed; he was going to die.

    He’d heard of Holy Diver and his core crew before, sure; he even had word on who was who despite never having met any of them. But there was always one who no one seemed to have ever seen, the one they said made the Boss-man’s problems disappear. No bodies, no clues, not even a sticky residue or stain on the carpet; Holy Diver’s enemies either died publicly, with pomp and gruesome spectacle, or they simply ceased to exist. Mr. Clean, they called him, a ghost with no face, no MO, no calling card except when somebody important suddenly vanished. Angel had known goons who swore up and down that their bosses and associates were there one second, eating pizza, opening mail, answering the door, even just walking down the street, only to be gone the next.

    How easy would it be for someone whom no one knew to pose as a mailman or a pizza delivery guy? Shit, how easy would it be to just touch a doorknob or brush by someone on the sidewalk? Holy Diver waged war, killed thousands in bloody conquests, sure, but how many of his more problematic foes had simply gone missing? Hundreds? Thousands? More? How many people had been erased by the same hand that now caressed his face? A hand that belonged to the mostly-unrepentant serial killer sitting next to him, the dangerously impaired serial killer who got a rockin’ jolly out of making people dead. Is this what he had meant by testing his self-control? Spending time with someone he’d have otherwise slaughtered?

    How many times did Kira have to stop himself from killing him?

    How many times had Angel figuratively and literally flirted with permanent death?!

    Angel slowly glanced over at his fellow hotel-mate, expecting to see a cold killer’s glint in those blood-red cat-eyes, to feel the charge of his power course through him. Would it hurt? It sure looked like it hurt Bastille! Screaming and bleeding on the ground with chunks of him missing and oh God, oh God…

    “You’re really soft,” Kira mumbled, his stare vacant, a dopey grin on his face as he ran his fingers through Angel’s cheek fluff. “Like a pussy willow.”
    

     He leaned in and rubbed his cheek against Angel’s, right hand reaching around to rub Angel’s other cheek, which had become quite swollen since their scuffle earlier.

    “I’m sorry I punched you,” he whispered.

    Angel pushed him off. “Get any handsier, Killer, and I’ll hafta charge ya! Nothin’ personal, I just got a reputation to uphold.”

    “Right, right,” Kira said, looking a little embarrassed. “Apologies.”

    Angel snickered, looking over at Kira, his bruised, bloody face, his ruined suit, his crestfallen expression. Ladies and gentlemen, the mysterious, the infamous, the outright dreaded Mr. Clean: high off his ass and in desperate need of a ball of yarn and a great big snuggle! Angel couldn’t help himself, he began to laugh. Kira looked confused for a moment before joining in, apparently just liking the sound of their voices mingling.

    “Ah ha… ha… ohh…” Angel trailed off, wiping a tear from his eye. “You’re a funny guy, Killer. Ya can rub my cheek anytime ya like.”

    An instant later and Kira’s hand was on Angel’s cheek, who simply smiled, rolling his eyes and taking another pull from his bottle of whisky, finishing it off. “Ah, shit… teaches me for sharin’. C’mon, let’s go find someone to roll and get some more dough.”

    “Oh! Hold on!” Kira exclaimed, unbuttoning his shirt. Angel watched with some moderate confusion but mostly lurid interest as he took notice of how outrageously jacked Kira was. Seriously, the guy was cut like fashion model on a coke-binge. With a sound not unlike an elastic band snapping, Kira’s washboard abs shifted and split apart, revealing an ever-so-slighly horrific pocket in his abdomen. He reached into the compartment and produced a large bottle of white rum. “Here! I stole this while you were listing all those names for hand-jobs to the clerk at the liqor store.”

    “Why the fuck do your tasty abs have a secret compartment?!” Angel demanded, pointing at it in horror. “Fix them right now!”

    Kira looked down at his closing belly and seemed at a loss. “Because my stand had it, I guess? But then, why did it have a compartment there to begin with? I don’t really think about it all that much.”

    “The fuck’s a stand?”

    “It’s… complicated.” Kira held out the bottle. “You like rum?”

    Angel hesitantly reached out and poked his naval like it was going to bite. “…m’sorry wha?”

    “Booze.”

    “Right!” Angel snatched the bottle, capped it and knocked it back, draining almost a quarter of it; he needed to catch up to his sponsor and calm his last remaining nerve. He scrunched his face and stuck out his tongue. “This bottle smells like an old wallet. Also, overproof Wrey and Nephew’s. Nice grab.”

    “You’re welcome,” said Kira, looking down as Angel’s hand returned to his stomach. “It only opens when I make it open. There’s no button.”

    “That’s nice,” Angel muttered, distantly, as he traced his abs, another hand getting in on the action.

    “Yes…” Kira leaned back and sighed happily, eyes closing as Angel rubbed his belly. “It is…”

    The panther-demon stretched out on the concrete, arms and legs spread, hands clasping and flexing, a deep rumbling purr emanating from low in his throat.

    “Ah ha ha ha! Are ya fuckin’ purrin’?” Angel cackled, now scratching his sides and belly with three arms. “Ya like that, kitty? Scritchy-scritchy-scritchy!”

    Kira was lost to sensation, arms slack on the ground, hands kneading, shirt unbuttoned to reveal his bare, sculpted torso, a look of utter bliss on his face. Angel bit his lip and smiled, eyes glinting drunkenly as his hands drifted down Kira’s v-line. He stopped himself; this probably wasn’t appropriate behavior for a sponsor… but, then again… no, no, it definitely wasn’t. Angel found himself in a moral quandary, foreign territory for him. Usually he’d just do whatever he wanted, but he’d turned down the heroin earlier and felt that he was on a bit of a roll here. He’d need to do something radical: consult his conscience.

    “Hey,” Angel said to the little devil-Angel on his shoulder. “Sup.”

    “Wrong shoulder,” said the little devil-Angel, pointing. “Over there.”

    Angel looked over to see a little angel-Angel reclined on a lawnchair, reading a book, he blinked in surprise. “There’s two of ya?!”

    “Wow, ya really suck at this,” Devil-Angel scoffed.

    “Shaddup!” Angel turned to the lounging Angel-Angel. “Ssst! Hey!”

    “Hmm?” Angel-Angel didn’t respond for a moment before looking up from his book. “Ya talkin’ to me?”

    “No, I’m talkin’ to the other hallucination on my shoulder!” Angel hissed. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to ya!”    

    Angel-Angel looked confused for a moment before setting his book down and getting off the lawn chair.  “Uh, right, okay, just a sec…”

    He reached into his robe  and pulled out a halo, he blew a cloud of dust off of it and set it in place over his head. It flickered unsteadily like a broken neon sign before settling into a dull, sanctimonious glow. Angel-Angel cleared his throat and donned a holier-than-thou expression. “Uhhh… don’t do the bad thing.”

    Angel looked over at Devil-Angel, who could only offer a shrug.

    Angel turned back to Angel-Angel. “Do ya even know what’s goin’ on here?”

    “Uhhh… no? When was the last time ya asked me anythin’?”

    Angel sighed and gestured at the prone figure. “I’m askin’ ya if I should go ahead and have some fun with the kitty-man, here. He’s rollin’ like a beachball and high off belly rubs.”

    “Well, ya probably shouldn’t take advantage of someone on a roll, right?” Angel-Angel said, uncertainly, looking over at Kira. “I mean, that’s, like… bad? Not to mention–whoa, goddamn, that bod!”

    “Right?” Angel said, grinning. “That’s one six-pack you can’t get at the liqor store!”

    “Should have sent a poet…” Angel-Angel said, before shaking his head. “No, no. Ya really shouldn’t. It’s, like, immoral or somethin’… I think.”

    “Whadaya mean ‘I think’?” Angel snapped. “Aintcha supposed to know?!”

    “Look, if I was good at my job, ya wouldn’t be a spider-monster in Hell!”

    “Right, right,” Devil-Angel interjected. “Howzabout this? You give three points why we shouldn’t, I’ll give three points why we should. Then we vote. Democratic like.”

    “Democracy,” Angel said, nodding. “I like it!”

    “Lotta Bolsheviks in Hell, but not up here!” Angel-Angel said, nodding.

    Angel-Angel produced a whiteboard and a pile of notes. “Here’s why we shouldn’t. 1. It’s immoral (…?) 2. It’s probably not great for our rehab. 3. …uh… wait, it says here he’s Mr. Clean?! Okay, so he’s a superpowered murderer, that’s, uh, that’s a good reason.”

    “Fair enough.” Angel turned to Devil-Angel. “Counterpoint?”

    “1. Ya want to. 2. I want to 3. We haven’t gotten laid in a week.”

    Angel shrugged and raised his hand. “…Shit. Got my vote.”

    “Yeah,” Angel-Angel said, raising his hand. “Ya done convinced me. Ooh! Ooh! We could even make a T-Shirt that says ‘I Fucked Mr. Clean and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt’!”

    “You’re the worst conscience ever, ya know that?”

    “Why did you stop?” Kira mumbled.

    “Be right with ya, Kitty.” Angel grinned, unbuttoning his top. “Say… y’ever had a belly-shot?”

    Kira looked over at him as he lay down next to him. “No. What’s that?”

    “It’s where I pour a shot in your belly button,” Angel said, as he did just that, causing Kira to gasp at the sudden cool sensation. “And then I drink it.”

    “Oh.” Kira chuckled, dipping a finger into the clear pool on his stomach. “I thought that was a sex move or something.”

    “No, that’s a jelly shot,” Angel said, winking as he quickly slurped up the alcohol. “And that comes later.”

    Kira’s head lolled back in bliss at the sensation, sighing luxuriously as Angel’s tongue rolled up his abs. Angel deftly undid his belt-buckle as his fingers hooked onto Kira’s pants.

    “What,” said Moonshine.

    “The,” Boogie Bug said.

    Poker Face leaned over the concrete divider. “Fuck.”

    “Is going on here?!” God Given roared.

    Angel looked up at the quartet, his tongue lapping at Kira’s alcohol soaked fur. “Do ya mind? I’m lickin’ my pussy here!”

    “Yeah!” Kira said, before looking up at the source of the interruption. “…Oh, shit.”

Chapter Text

   Chapter 9: A Higher Power

    Vaggie buried her head in her hands.

    What was that all about?

    She… Charlie… they were going to…

    “Fuck,” Vaggie grumbled, pushing her fingers through her hair.

    She loved Charlie, in every way possible. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her, she’d kill for her, commit atrocities for her, she’d do things for Charlie that Charlie would, no, could never ask of her. She was the one decent, good thing in this entire hellscape, the one truly pure person in all Hell or, really, all of creation. That someone like her could even exist would have boggled Vaggie’s mind back on Earth, much less the fact that she’d have to go to Hell itself to meet her. That she was lucky enough to call Charlie her friend was nothing short of a miracle.

    A finger tapped on her shoulder. Vaggie looked over and saw nothing. She turned back and saw something out of the corner of her eye, something terrible. An angular horror of teeth and antlers, red eyes leering out from a swirling mass of black, squirming, verminous shapes. It ate color and cast not shadows, not darkness, but the death of light itself, black like a star’s corpse. A long, slender hand slunk out in front of her and plucked an octopus ball off her plate. The horrible shape coalesced in an instant into something more humanoid, his wide, crescent grin cracked apart and popped the fried lump of batter past those sharp, yellow teeth.

    “Alastor,” Vaggie growled. “What are you doing here?”

    “Just popped in for a snack,” Alastor crooned, chewing loudly in her ear. “Mmmm! Now, I’ve never been one for oriental food, but shucks, buster, if this isn’t a treat! Tell me, how’s the new resident faring?”

    “Turns out he’s a murderous psychopath who chops off people’s hands,” Vaggie said, getting to her feet. “You’d like him.”

    “Doubt it!” Alastor said. “Mr. Clean always was something of a sourpuss. But out of all of them I never would have thought he’d even consider redemption. What a humdinger of a turn-up!”

    Vaggie slammed his fist on the table. “You know something about all of this, don’t you?! Tell me what’s going on!”

    Alastor chuckled in a hair-raising fashion, the sense of amusement was genuine, but the malice within shone like a beacon. “Ever the intrepid guard dog, I see. Ah, it’s so grand when schemes pile up! The thrill of keeping both boxcars on track even as they smash into one another! The chill of seeing a long-term plans go off the tracks! The sweet satisfaction when they all merge together, trollies and boxcars and cabooses and locomotives, all hop on the same track and go along their merry way! It’s scheme synergy! And to think, all it took was a gag-call to one of Ol' Snorkel's dogs! Ho ho ho ho!”

    “What the Hell are you talking about?!” Vaggie exclaimed.

    Alastor shook his head and walked out of the room, brushing past Charlie as he did. “Just that la vie est drôle, and if you can’t laugh you’ll go daffy! So crack a smile while you can!”

    Alastor chortled to himself as he set off down the hall to the rec-room. Charlie walked over to Vaggie, her expression that of concern and more than a little nervousness.

    “Are you okay?”

    “I hate that grinning, cryptic, smug, condescending… UGH!” Vaggie threw up her arms. “Bad enough we’re dealing with two psychopaths, but one of them is a pompous ass!”

    “He told me that he’s here to ‘picks some brains’ and I’m not sure if that means he’s going to ask some questions or…” Charlie trailed off, wringing her hands together.

    Vaggie reached out and took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly. “Hey. It’ll be okay.”

    Charlie looked down at Vaggie’s hand and back up at her. She squeezed back and smiled.

    A bang rang through the foyer as Husk kicked open the door, the winged cat shambled in, clearly soused. “I’m back! My sources came through! *Uuurp!* I just need to–”

    Husk locked eyes with Alastor, whose smile only widened, and snarled. “You.”

    “Oh, don’t mind me.” Alastor stopped mid-stride and beamed at Husk. “Please, do go on about your ‘sources’.”

    Husk growled and jabbed a talon at Alastor. “Fuckin’ tin-mouthed ham-radio shitkicker! This whole mess is probably your doin’!”

    Alastor simply shrugged turned to Charlie. “It would seem our barfly is in something of a buzz. I’ll make like a class act and bow out while you get kitty his milk.”

    Charlie shook her head and gestured at the door to the first floor rec-room. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll take care of Husk.”

    “Much obliged.”

    Husk started forward towards the Radio Demon, Charlie and Vaggie intercepted him, holding him back. Charlie winced at the fumes coming off of the drunk, but forced a smile. “Husk! Didn’t you have something to tell us?”

    “Yeah!” Vaggie said, crossing her arms. “What’d your sources say?”

    Husk glowered in the general direction of the rec-room, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, pointing at Charlie.  “Is she all filled in?”

    “Murder-turtle,” said Charlie, crossing her arms.

    “Right, so, that puppet-demon at the B&S wreckage, he mentioned some demons I’m acquainted with, cut cards with one of ‘em. Poker Face, he calls himself. Right cocksucker, petty, arrogant, but slap my ass if he ain’t a born card-shark. Anyway, him and three others have been rolling around the west side, getting their ducks in a row, making a lotta people nervous. See, back before the purge of ’16, they ran with a powerful demon lord by the name of Holy Diver; he had the entire west side on lock, other gangs paid tribute or they got made example of, so it was no small party when he found himself of the wrong side of an Exorcist’s spear.”

    Vaggie gestured for him to hurry up. “What does that have to do with–”

    “Seems like they’re getting the band back together,” Husk said. “The four of them are well known around these here parts as high-grade hired muscle or significant operators, but now they’re patrolling around together like back when the boss-man was alive, and it’s got more than a few backs up. Worse yet, and what’s got people really worried, is that they’re looking for someone. The fifth lieutenant of Holy Diver’s old crew, a guy by the name of Mr. Clean.”

    “Mr. Clean?” Charlie said. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

    “Yeah, sure, except that he was Holy Diver’s hand of death,” said Husk, producing a hip flask and taking a pull. “No one’s ever seen him, no one’s ever talked to him, but whenever someone important went missing, everyone knew it was Clean what did it. He was almost an urban legend, like a boogey man, that anyone who crossed Holy Diver would turn a corner and never be seen again. No bodies, no blood, not even a stain on the rug. Clean.”

    Charlie pressed her hands together, touching her fingers to her lips. “So, let me get this straight. You two think our client is a infamous mob hitman who burned down his old apartment building, somehow created a room in the ground, threw his neighbors and a demon puppet in, and then vaporized them all with a murder-turtle?”

    “No, he killed his neighbors with the murder-turtle first,” said Husk, Vaggie clapped her palm to her face. “See, the other gangsters used their powers to dig up the memory in the dirt, then they turned the puppet into a poker chip and threw him in, where he met the memories of the murdered neighbors and got partially exploded by the memory of the murder-turtle.”

    “Oh,” Charlie said, flatly. “Of course.”

    “Y’know, when I say it all out loud, it sounds a little silly.”

    “Yeah, no shit!” Vaggie said. “Poker chips? Memories? What the fuck are you talking about?!”

    Husk sighed and shook his head, leveling a stare at both of them. “They got powers, okay? Everyone in Holy Diver’s inner circle got powers! It doesn’t matter! What matters is that they were looking for Mr. Clean and they wound up sniffing around our client’s old home after it mysteriously exploded. What matters is that our witness said he saw a pink cat-guy killing a buncha people using some kind of weird power! What matters is that we’re now in the crossfire once these bad boys come calling!” Husk looked up and his lip fleered back in a snarl. “And what matters most of all is that this mugging can-jockey has something do with it! Don’t you?!”

    They turned around to see Alastor looming over them, looking down at Charlie. “Tit for tat, my brusque bookie boozer. Charlie, what is the ‘Wi-Fi’ password?”

    “Uh, XOXO4EVR,” Charlie replied. “I didn’t know you had a phone.”

    “I don’t!” Alastor crooned, leaning over to Husk. “And to answer your question: …maybe.”

    Husk sputtered enraged semi-words as Charlie and Vaggie held him back from the chortling deer-demon. Vaggie pulled Husk away to a far corner of the room, Charlie turned to face Alastor, her expression set and determined. “Alright Alastor, no more games; why are you here?”

    “Is it so hard to believe that I simply want to booshwash with this fine gentleman? To assess his character before leaving him in your capable, beautiful hands? Is it so hard to believe that I was concerned for you?”

    Charlie crossed her arms. “Yes.”

    Alastor’s hand shot to his chest as though stricken, a smile still plastered on his face. “Well, that’s just peachy! After all this time, all my help, all my gestures of good will, and you still *choke* don’t trust me?”

    “Nope,” Charlie said, flatly.   

    “Miss Magne…” he said, leaning in, his voice grew deeper, more distant, as though he was falling into his own personal abyss, static and reverb clawing at the edges as he spoke. “There's͗ͮ hoṗ̈́e̋̚ ̓̐f͊ōͧr ͦ̓ͨyo̊͌͑u ͌̉͌yͮͨ̓et̐.”

     He pulled away from her and chuckled, giving an ‘aw shucks’ gesture. “Well, you done twisted my arm, sweetheart! The pouting prehab over yonder is all right and a bag of chips! Some ne’er-do-wells are on the prowl for for a former associate and they have it in their bonnets that the charming Pip is here, making dents-in-beds. It’s not in my or anyone’s best interests that they reassemble their brass section for a show, so I thought I’d drop by and get a bead on Mr. Clean’s openness to a reunion tour.”

    “And if he was open to it?” Charlie asked, pointedly.

    “Better for everyone this particular fad doesn’t make a comeback, doll.”

    “Now, you stop right there!” Charlie jabbed a finger up into Alastor’s face. “I don’t care who you are or what you think you can get away with, but I’ll just tell you now; as long as they’re in my care I won’t allow you or anyone else to harm my patients! You hear me? My patients have the Magne Family seal of protection!”

    “‘Allow’?” Alastor said, cocking his head to one side. “Darling, if I feared your father I wouldn’t be here.”

    “I’m not talking about my father,” Charlie growled, not breaking eye-contact. “I’m talking about me. You hurt them, you deal with me, understand? They’re my patients, and I promised to do everything in my power to help them, and if that means kicking your smirking red keister out on the curb, then you better believe I’ll make your pompous pinstriped patootie an appointment with the pavement!”

    The room was silent; Husk and Vaggie gawped in the far corner, all irritation and anger drained from their faces. Charlie stood defiantly before the Radio Demon, one of, if not the most feared denizen of Hell itself. The shadow that eclipsed Pentagram City hung over Charlie, his red, glowing eyes leered down at her as his smirk transitioned into a grin. She stood fast, eyes locked with his.

    Alastor broke the stare-down and the silence when he threw his head back and laughed jovially, clapping in glee. “Such moxy! Such verve! Such adroit, adept adoption of alluring alliteration! A-1! Very well, Your Majesty, I give you my vow as a demon of means and a Southern Gentleman, I shall not harm one hair or otherwise appropriate protuberance on the personage of any peons on premises. If there was any doubt before, kid, I’d say you done made yourself a bookie’s favorite with that little performance!”

    “I’m glad we’ve reached this mutual understanding,” Charlie said, her tone even as she crossed her arms over her chest to hide her trembling hands. “Now we just have to sit tight and wait for them to get back. I’ve got a few questions for them myself, you know?”

    “Bully!” Alastor crowed, thumbing over his shoulder at the rec-room. “I’ll be waiting in the adjoining boudoir, you may join me if you like.”

    “I’ll stay out here, if that’s okay.” Charlie offered a wan smile. “To meet them as they come in.”

    “Suit yourself!”

    Alastor left, chuckling quietly to himself. Charlie waited until she was fairly certain he was out of earshot before loosing an explosive exhalation, palm clapping against her forehead. Vaggie was at her side in an instant. “Oh my God, Charlie…are you okay?”

    “Y-yeah, just…” she said, her voice wavering. “I’m just gonna head over to the bathroom and throw up a bit, okay?”

    Husk stood by, silent with shock, and handed her his hip flask. Charlie eyed it for half-second before snatching it, knocking back the contents in one long drought. She puffed and wiped off her chin, handing the empty flask back to Husk. “Thanks.”

    “Yeah,” he muttered, still stunned as she walked away and sat down on the bench next to the door. “Woof. I think I grew an extra pair just by being in the same room.”

    “Charlie’s the kindest person in Hell, no doubt,” Vaggie said, proudly. “But if you think that ‘kind’ means ‘weak’, you’re in for a nasty surprise.”

    Husk smirked and nodded. “Angel and Mr. Clean are in a whole lotta trouble when they get home, that’s for sure.”

    Angel slowly rose to his feet with all four arms raised, squinting in the itchy, burning glare coming off of the Angelic harpoon that was currently pointed at his face.

    “Get up,” Moonshine growled. “Hands where I can see ‘em. All of ‘em, spider-boy!”

    Angel grumbled and pushed out his third pair of arms. “There, happy?”

    “You had us scaping dirt all around downtown trying to find you idiots!” God Given said, examining his claws. “We’re a little miffed.”

    “What was even going on over here?” Bug Boogie demanded, gesturing Kira, who was still lying on his back with his shirt splayed open. “Clean, what the hell man?!”

    “Do you see them, too?” Kira asked Angel.

    “Yeah,” Angel said. “Get up.”

    Kira sighed and begrudgingly got to his feet. He straightened his back and rolled out his shoulders. “God Given, Moonshine, Bug Boogie, Poker face, how good to see you all again!” He turned to Angel, grinning like a loon. “That’s a lie. I actually hate them.”    

    “We… we can hear you!” Mooshine said, his harpoon bare inches from Angel’s neck. “I’m standing right here!”

    “I was really enjoying that belly-rub,” Kira grumbled, staring into the middle distance as he buttoned up his shirt and jacket. “I wonder if I can get through this without killing them all. Probably not. Oh, well.”

    Moonshine gawped at him, two of his four eyes glanced over at Angel, who could only shrug.

    “Is it in violation of my rehab if I kill in self-defense? Does it matter if I enjoy killing in self-defense? Does that, I don’t know, void the sentiment? I should probably ask Charlie about that…” Kira noticed their reactions and tapped his chin. “Ah, shoot, did I say all of that or just think it?”

    “Okay, what’s wrong with him?” God Given said, warily.

    “He’s… he’s…” stammered Bug Boogie.

    “Smiling.” Poker Face finished, horrified.

    Angel cleared his throat. “Cherri popped a Molly in his drink to get him to loosen up a little.”

    “Pahpd a Mahly,” Kira intoned, snickering.

    Moonshine jabbed the harpoon in Angel’s face, causing him to flinch and recoil. “You fuckin’ idiot! You know he’s a psycho and then you blitz him on E?! He coulda killed everyone in there!”

    “Hey, stop that!” Kira said, reaching into his pocket. “Get that pickle-fork out of my friend’s face.”

    “Friend?!” Moonshine spat, turning to face him. “Christ, you really are–”

    A peanut bounced off his rounded snout, his eyes snapped open wide in horrified realization.

    “Shoot,” Kira said, meaningfully brandishing another peanut in his right hand. “Forgot to do the thing. Here you go.”

    He tossed the other one and it bounced off of Moonshine’s forearm. The fish-demon squawked in terror and lunged backward, tripping and falling before scrambling along the pavement, screaming and clutching his arm. All of the other demons immediately leapt back, bracing themselves for the imminent explosion.

    Nothing happened.

    Moonshine hyperventilated on the ground, flexing and clenching his hand a few times before glaring at Kira, who was grinning widely as he chewed a peanut. “What the fuck, man?!"

    Kira snorted and doubled over laughing, slapping his knee. “I’m sorry, that was mean, but… oh, the look on your face! Priceless!”

    Kira bent over and picked the jar of peanuts off the ground and poured himself a handful. “Alright. Now that we’re all reacquainted, here comes the part where you answer my questions. First: what are you doing here?”

    God Given exchanged looks with his team mates, each of them nodding at him. “We’re working.”

    Kira nodded and whispered to Angel. “Angel, put your arms down.”

    “Right,” Angel said, not taking his eyes off the four gangsters; these were Holy Diver’s boys alright. He slowly and quietly reached into his purse, grasping the little metal sphere inside; things were about to get messy.

    “I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means because…” Kira’s smile suddenly became a lot less friendly. “That’s really not going to work out for you.”

    “Not what you think,” said God Given, calmly. “We were sent to find you.”

    “And how did you do that?” Kira said, wagging his finger forebodingly. “And do try to silence your inner pedant, boy. You know what I mean.”

    God Given smirked and sighed. “Anonymous tip. Someone called us up and told us you were living at the Belial & Scratch building. From there I just had to scrape dirt to get a bead on you.”

    “Mmhm,” Kira said, flatly. “And now that you’ve found me… what?”

    “We’re taking you back with us,” God Given said, his tone authoritative. “To talk with the Boss.”

    Kira shook his head and waved his hand. “I’m going to have to stop you right there. I’m going clean, I’m trying to get redeemed, that’s hard enough as it is without slaughtering gangsters for money! I’m not interested in some Holy Diver wannabe’s delusions of grandeur. That dream died with daddy, Donnie. Now leave, please.”

    God Given shook his head and smirked as the others laughed. “You still don’t get it, do you? We all had good things going, real tidy operations and regular work. Now we’re all back together, just like old times. Doesn’t that strike you as a little odd?”

    Kira’s eyes narrowed. “…What do you mean?”

    “You’re smart, do the math.”

    Kira’s eyes went wide, a look of unrestrained horror crept across his face. “No! That’s impossible! I can’t–I won’t!”

    “It’s just a little chat.”

    “And this is just a little peanut!” Kira roared, throwing the peanut at God Given’s feet; it exploded into a burst of light and sound, the concussive force threw the mole-demon backwards into a concrete divider with crushing force. The other three snapped into action: Moonshine’s harpoon at the ready; Poker Face produced his stack of Seraphim Steel playing cards, springing them between his hands; Bug Boogie’s head leapt from his body and into the air, an Exterminator’s blade exuding from between his mandibles.

    “Come on!” Kira hissed, left hand raised. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Angel, left hand balling into a fist. He hissed: “Dammit!”

    God Given peeled himself off of the divider and, noticing Kira’s hesitation, smirked; he pointed to Bug Boogie and said: “Disarm him! Right hand!”

    The large flying beetle streaked forward, wings roaring like a horde of locusts, the blade between his mandibles glinting in the street lights. Kira’s fist shot out and smashed into the concrete divider with all his strength, smashing a section of it into small pieces. He grabbed a chunk and charged it before crushing it into pieces, each shard now a small portion of the same bomb. He threw the handful at the oncoming demon. Bug Boogie bobbed and weaved around the debris, not one so much as touching him, and continued on his mad dash towards his prey. Kira pressed the switch and the bombs went off in a splendid display of light and fire, tearing the air with heat and light. Bug Boogie was hurled forward through the air by the concussive blast, tumbling out of control towards Angel, the glint of his holy blade a silver streak of death.

    “Get down!” Kira shouted, roughly shoving Angel to the ground as Bug Boogie tore by in a flash. Kira growled in pain as his left hand bounced on the concrete followed shortly by a splash of blood. He drew back, hissing as he clutched the bleeding stump of his wrist. Bug Boogie recovered and doubled back, charging headlong for Kira, his razor-sharp mandibles snapping with malice.

    “Scissor-faced motherfucker!” Angel roared, summoning a Tommy gun and opening up with fully automatic fire.

    Bug Boogie effortlessly bobbed and weaved around the flurry of bullets, cackling madly as he swooped in towards Angel. “Wouldn’t mind carving off a piece-a that fine ass!”

    In the last instant Kira swept up behind Angel and hurled another crushed chunk of concrete up at the gyring insect. Bug Boogie swerved to dodge a lethal shard of concrete and caught six bullets in his side, knocking him out of the air in a spiraling plummet. The beetle-demon bounced across the pavement, skidding to a stop at the feet of the other three, his panicking, headless body rushed forward to collect his squirming, bleeding head.

    Angel whirled about with his Tommy gun and leveled it at the others, teeth bared in a savage snarl. He pulled the trigger only to be met by a low, muffled ‘click’. Angel blinked and examined the machine gun, turning it over to see a sprout of barnacles spreading from the trigger and onto his hand, quickly growing over and up to his wrist.

    “Hold still!” Kira said, reaching over and touching the encroaching barnacles, blasting the crust off of Angel’s hand. Kira grabbed the Tommy gun, ripping it out of Angel’s hands before hurling it at the quartet.

    “Poker Face!” God Given commanded.

    Poker face hurled a card and knocked the machine gun out of the air, causing it to erupt into a massive, crackling explosion.

    “Now!” Moonshine knelt down behind the fireball, hands knit together to form a step. “Slow him down!”

    Poker Face charged forward, planting his foot in Moonshine’s hands, and jumped. With a mighty heave, Moonshine sprung up and hurled Poker Face high into the air amidst the evanescing smoke. Poker Face grinned and flicked his wrist, four razor-sharp cards cast from Seraphim steel flashed between his fingers. He laughed and swiped down at Kira, the cards cut through the air with a thin, reedy whistle. Kira managed to dodge one of them, but three of the shrieking blades found their mark, burying their keen, holy edges deep into his right knee and shoulder while another sliced through his right brow.

     Kira growled as blood poured into his eye, blinding it; he fell to one knee as the divine substance violently corroded his demonic body, liquefying his flesh with a bubbling hiss. Poker Face landed and raised his hand, clenching it into a fist, the cards withdrew from Kira’s body and slipped back between his fingers. Kira panted and grimaced up at the quartet, grinning in victory despite the fact that they were still very obviously keeping their distance on the other side of the road.

    “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Bug Boogie crowed, unsteadily hovering over God Given’s shoulder. “Do we really need this asshole?”

    “He’s still dangerous,” God Given sneered, drawing a line across his throat. “We only need to bring the Boss his head, the rest will grow back in a few months, plenty of time to chat. Bug, do your thing.”

    Bug Boogie cackled and hovered slowly, deliberately, towards the stricken Kira, his mandibles snapping open and shut. “Big bad Mr. Clean, ‘bout to get a whole lot shorter!”

    A small red ball thudded on the asphalt in front of them. It rolled languidly towards the quartet, a low hissing sound now audible. They boggled at it as it drew closer, its far side reared up to reveal a crudely-drawn hand flipping the bird and a very short lit fuse. Angel scooped up Kira under the arms and dove off the side of the overpass, offering six one-finger salutes to the gangsters as they made their futile attempts to escape the bomb’s blast. The Caym overpass was consumed in a huge blossom of flame and red glitter, splitting the air in a massive thunderclap. The gangsters were hurled through the air, bouncing and skidding down the road and crunching into the dividers.

    Some ten feet down and on the better side of several feet of concrete Angel loosed an impressed whistle as he clung to the bottom of the overpass.  “Never pass up a free hand grenade, that’s what I always say! Those little bastards are always useful…” He looked down at Kira as they dangled over the busy highway. “How ya holdin’ up?”

    “You know…” Kira said, examining the squirting stump that was his left wrist. “Dismemberment is a lot less funny from this perspective. Maybe I should go apologize to that cow-man?”

    “I think that might be empathy, Killer!” Angel cheered, patting Kira’s cheek. “Charlie will be so happy to hear that.”

    “You think so?” Kira said, pointing up at the sheer concrete to which he was clinging. “Also, how are you doing that?”

    “I’m a spider, duh!” Angel laughed and began to clamber along the underside of the overpass. “Spider-Twink, Spider-Twink / does exactly whatcha think / Takes a dick, any size / y’better pay / ‘r’someone dies / watch out! / Here comes the Spider-Twink!”

    “Emissary of Hell, Supaidâ-Twink!” Kira chuckled, looking down at his dangling legs. “We’re really high.”

    “Workin’ on it.”

    Once they’d reached the far side of the highway Angel scuttled down the support column and set Kira down on the sidewalk, puffing as he swept sweat from his brow. That asshole wasn’t exactly light.

    Kira hissed, sliding down to the sidewalk with his back to the column, his injured leg held out straight. “Okay… all this is really starting to hurt.”

    “Adrenaline’s wearin’ off.” Angel reached into his purse and produced the bottle of rum. “Molly don’t do dick for pain, but this will.”

     Kira feebly grabbed the bottle and instinctively reached over with his stump to uncap it. Angel bent over and screwed off the top and Kira knocked it back for a few hearty tugs.

    He leaned back and sighed with relief. “Thanks, Angel.”

    “‘Thanks, Angel’,” Angel repeated, faux-mockingly. “Hey, don’t think I didn’t see ya lose your paw pushin’ me outta the way. Now we’re even.”

    “Not the smartest thing I could have done.” Kira grimaced as he worked his tie off and pulled it tight around his bleeding wrist. “…Don’t even know why I did it, actually.”

    “Hey, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Angel chuckled, nervously side-eyeing Kira; he’d probably expect questions, right?

    “So, were they like, uh, old friends or something?"

    “Old co-workers,” Kira muttered, ripping off his damaged sleeve and clumsily fashioning it into a crude tension bandage around his knee. “I’ve been avoiding them for years, laying low, keeping my identity a secret. I can’t go back to the life I led, I can’t be Mr. Clean again. They’re not the type to return empty-handed. They didn’t go through all the trouble of tracking me down to politely accept my resignation. That said, I think I may have overreacted.”

    Angel craned his neck up at the column of smoke rising from the overpass overhead. “They’d probably agree with ya.”

    “We’d best get going, they’’ll pull themselves together before long,” Kira grunted, trying to get to his feet and stumbling as soon as he put weight on his partially liquified knee, the bandage doing little to hold it together.

    “Whoa, there, Pink Panther!” Angel caught him and steadied him. “Daddy’s gotcha.”

    Kira chuckled weakly and gestured at Angel with his stump. “Don’t push your luck.”

    “You seem pretty comfortable with that stump there,” Angel said as the two of them hobbled down the sidewalk. “Figured you’d at least be a little, I dunno, upset at losing a hand?”

    “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Kira said with a shrug, taking another belt of rum. “Besides, it’ll grow back. Tying my shoes is going to be a chore for a while, though.”

    “If it helps,” Angel reached into his purse and produced Kira’s left hand. “I grabbed this while I was on the ground. Think ya can reattach it?”

    Kira took the hand and stopped walking, sitting down on a nearby bench and examined the wound. “Seems pretty clean. We won’t know until we try.”

    “So, I guess that means ya owe me one, yeah?” Angel said, smirking.

    “Yes, of course,” Kira said, stuffing the hand into his jacket pocket and getting back to his feet. “Anything.”

    “Famous last words,” said Angel, smirking deviously. “C’mon. Let’s getcha back to the hotel. Chuck’s probably gonna give us an earful.”

    “Barring that last part, I had fun,” said Kira, patting Angel on the shoulder. “We should hang out more.”

    “Sure, if ya can promise not to dismember my friends.”

    “I’ll think about it.”

Chapter Text

    Chapter 10: Aftercare

    Charlie yawned, stretching her arms over her head. She looked up at the clock, not that time meant anything in a realm with no day or night, but it had still been a while since she’d last slept. Vaggie murmured something in her sleep, Charlie’s suit jacket draped over her shoulders as she nestled on her lap. Charlie smiled and stroked her hair gently, careful not to wake her; Vaggie had had a long day, she deserved a good sleep.

    Husk snored like a bandsaw on a lounger nearby, his hat set on his face as he cradled an empty bottle of Johnny Walker Red in his arms like a baby. Charlie mused that she probably couldn’t wake him if she tried. If any gangsters burst through the door he probably would still be too drunk to defend himself. Images of all her friends getting skewered filled her mind; Alastor would no doubt stand in the back corner of the room and grin, reminding her of his promise not to harm anyone on premises. Vaggie would try to defend her, and maybe she would, or maybe they’d overwhelm her and–

    Charlie shook her head, her heart suddenly racing. She knew from the get-go that this job would be dangerous, but she didn’t expect it all to unravel so quickly! All this had happened so suddenly, it was a lot to take in, and Alastor showing up and taking personal interest sure wasn’t helping matters! Charlie inhaled sharply through her nose and exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself. There was still the possibility that this was all some silly misunderstanding. Yeah! Kira would explain he’d escaped this terrifying hitman and decided to redeem himself right then and there. He had admitted to being a serial killer, which was bad enough, but what sort of kind and loving God would give such awful powers to a murderer?

    If he was this ‘Mr. Clean’  that would mean he’d have been tempted this whole time to slaughter her and everyone she knew. He said it himself, he had an uncontrollable urge, if he could have killed them, he would have, right? This whole time he could have erased her friends like he did all those gangsters and she had just let him in and tried to help him and been alone with him and–and–and–

    Charlie jumped when door clicked and creaked open, slowly, tenatively, as though trying to escape notice. The bench was close enough to the exit that when the door opened it effectively blocked the it from the view of the entering party. Charlie suspected this was by design, as her father’s favorite thing in the world was looming in the background unnoticed to lull people into a false sense of security. Angel peered in through the door, his eyes darting around. Charlie very gently and quietly slid out from under Vaggie and got to her feet.

    “Okay,” he whispered to someone behind him. “Husk’s out cold and I don’t see the wardens anywhere. C’mon, try to be quiet, we’ll getcha patched up and Charlie doesn’t need to know–”

    “Know what?”

    Angel jumped and spun around with a squeak. He’d looked like he’d been in a brawl, with  one eye nearly swollen shut, a wide array of scrapes and bruises and a nasty-looking split in his lip. Angel adopted an unconvincingly casual posture, half his body conspicuously hidden behind the door. “BWHOASHIT–hey Charlie, how’s it goin’? Us? Nothin’-nothin’ to report. Just guy stuff, y’know? Ya wouldn’t understand. We’ll just–”

    She kicked the door closed and gasped in horror at what she saw; Kira hung off Angel’s arm, his suit filthy with garbage, dirt and a sickening amount of blood. He was covered in wounds; in addition to just generally looking like he’d been in a cage fight, his right eye crusted shut with dried blood from a deep gouge on his brow, his right shoulder and knee were a bloody mess, and most horrifyingly, his left arm abruptly terminated at the wrist in a sheer bloody stump crudely stanched with a necktie tourniquet. His open eye locked onto her, his pupil a massive purple circle ringed with red, a joyous, oblivious smile on his face.

    “Charlie! Hello!” Kira said, waving his stump. “I–oh, uh…”

    He looked at his wrist for a moment, his smile faltered before he seemed to remember something; he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and, to Charlie’s horror, produced his left hand, which he then proceeded to wave at her. “Hello! I had a wonderful night! I met this girl named Peaches, and I got to meet Angel’s friends, and I almost killed some people but Angel stopped me! He’s such a good sponsor!”

    ‘He’s in shock! He must be in shock!’ She thought, frantically. “Kira, oh my God, what happened to you?!”

    Kira re-examined himself and chuckled, nudging Angel with his elbow. “You should see the other guy. Eh? Eh?”

    Charlie’s mouth hung open, her eyes flashed red and snapped over to Angel, who raised his arms defensively. “Hey, now–”

    “What did you do to him?!” Charlie demanded.

    “It wasn’t me!” Angel said, pleadingly. “His old buddies from work jumped us! I saved his life!”

    “It’s true, he did,” Kira interjected, the hand in his hand flashing a thumbs-up. “Thanks Angel!”

    “Kira.” Charlie turned to Kira, her eyes were no longer red but tension sang at the edges of her voice. “Go sit down, please. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

    “O-okay…” Kira nodded sheepishly and hobbled over to a nearby bench.

    Angel chuckled, looking between Charlie and Kira, waving her off. “Okay, if ya knew whatcha just did, it’s really funny.”

    “Yeah, I know. I just told Mr. Clean to go sit down like a naughty child,” Charlie hissed. “Har-har.”

    “I always hated that name,” Kira grumbled.

    Angel blinked in surprise, recoiling. “How…?”

    “They,” Charlie pointed to Vaggie and then Husk, who were beginning to rouse. “Did a background check. Did you know about any of this?”

    “No! No! Well, kinda,” Angel said, shaking his head. “I just found out earlier tonight. It’s why Cherri wanted to talk, to get him out somewhere so his buddies could find him. When ya paired us up it killed two birds with one stone, see? Anyway, his pals tracked us down and walloped him pretty good, we barely escaped with our lives!”

    Vaggie’s eye snapped open and she jumped to her feet. “They’re back? Husk, wake up!”

    “Been awake the whole time,” Husk said, opening an eye. “Don’t tell me you actually dozed off?”

    “Uh…”

    “So it’s true…” Charlie whispered, turning to Kira, her voice hard. “All this time, you were lying to us!”

    Kira shrugged, gesturing so-so with the hand in his hand. “I told you the truth, just not all of it.”

    “Lies by omission count!” Vaggie marched over and jabbed a finger in his face. “Now, thanks to you, we’re all in danger! What do you think your friends will do when they come here looking for you?”

    “Well, they’ll probably…” Kira blinked, his brow creasing as the realization took hold. “…Kill you all. No one can know who I am.”

    “That’s right!” Vaggie growled, gesturing at Kira in general. “Also, what the fuck happened to you? And why do you smell like a bloodbank’s dumpster?”

    “Angel hit me with a garbage can,” Kira mumbled, staring into the middle distance.

    Husk got to his feet and marched over to Kira. “Why do your boys want to find you? And why don’t you want to get found? Why kill all those people at the apartment? Why come here?!”

    Kira stared at his feet, silent.

    Angel spoke up: “Holy Diver’s back.”

    Husk stiffened galvanically, he turned to stare at Angel, his eyes wide and ears flat. “What?”

    “Holy Diver’s back in town,” Angel repeated. “Turns out he didn’t bite it in ‘16. He’s back and he’s getting his lieutenants together to stick it sideways to the West Side again. He wants to get Kira back in his fold because, hey, apparently being able to perma-kill someone with a peanut is awful handy. We gave his boys the slip on the Caym overpass, but they’ll be back. They’re armed with Seraphim Steel and they ain’t messin’ around.”

    “Fuck.” Husk clapped his hand to his face, gritting his teeth. “Oh, fuck. He’s back. Oh, fuck.”

    “Charlie, I…” Kira looked over at Charlie, she wouldn’t meet his gaze, clutching her arms, her expression hurt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen.”

    “Well, good for you,” Vaggie said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re in a right fucking mess but at least you feel bad about it!”

    “I do… feel…” Kira shook his head got to his feet, slowly, painfully. “You’re all in danger while I’m here. When they find me, and they will, they’ll kill you all to keep my identity a secret. Holy Diver wouldn’t have it any other way; the more who people know about me, the less useful I am to him. Angel, tell Cherri to watch out for them, she’s probably on their list too.”

    Angel nodded and Kira hobbled over to the door, his hand on the knob when Charlie grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

    “Leaving.” Kira didn’t face her. “I’ll keep ahead of them as long as I can, draw them away from here. Maybe if I give myself up… maybe if I go to Holy Diver myself, I can convince him to spare you all.”

    “Fuckin’ A,” said Husk, nodding. “He’s reasonable, I hear.”

    “And what happens to you?” Charlie said.

    “I go back to being Mr. Clean,” said Kira, a tired smile on his face. “Back to work.”

    Charlie stepped out in front of him, glaring up at him. “Back to killing, you mean!”

    Kira shied away from her gaze. “This was never going to work, Charlie. This is my fate, I can’t fight it any more than I can change my nature. I’m sorry I wasted your time and caused all this trouble. If you’ll excuse me.”

    Charlie leaned against the door, her arms crossed. “No.”

    Kira blinked. “No?”

    “No.” Charlie said, smiling gently, gingerly turning him away from the door and tucking under his arm, supporting him. “You’ve barely started your therapy. I’ll decide when you’re a lost cause, and not before you’ve shown me a few more recipes! Come on, let’s get you to a shower and clean you up. Vaggie, grab your sewing kit and tell Razzle and Dazzle to prep the first aid station.”

    “Charlie?!” Vaggie exclaimed in shock.

    “Vaggie,” Charlie replied, her smile unwavering.

    Vaggie attempted to articulate some kind of response before slouching in defeat, sighing and nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

    Angel sauntered after them, a smug smile on his face. Vaggie scowled and reached out, grabbing him by the arm. “And where are you going?”

    Angel donned a sickeningly innocent expression. “Me? I was just gonna help my buddy get cleaned up. If ya hadn’t noticed, he’s down a paw and he’ll need a hand or six. Figured I’d do him a solid, like friends do!”

    “Do him a solid?” Vaggie intoned, frowning. “Or do him hard?”

    “To-may-to, to-mah-to.”

    She pulled him along behind her. “Come on. We got prep to do.”

    “B-but!”

    
    Charlie led Kira into the bathroom and sat him down on the toilet, cranking the hot water in the shower, letting it run. She opened the sink cabinet and got out a bottle of ‘Blud-B-Gone’ and a fine-toothed comb. She picked up the bottle and shook it, half-full; cleaning the stuff from hair and fabric was so common in Hell that there were a multitude of rival brands competing for the niche. Charlie preferred ‘Blud-B-Gone’ because it worked best with warm water and had a nice flowery scent, ideal for removal from hair in a nice relaxing hot shower. Movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention, Kira was attempting to get undressed. ‘Attempting’ being the operative word. Between his injured shoulder and missing hand, all he was accomplishing was ruffling his already disastrously rumpled jacket.

    He seemed to admit defeat and slouch, sighing in frustration.

    Charlie got to her feet and stepped over to him. “Do you need a hand?”

    He shot her a look over his shoulder, his blood-crusted eye a narrow sliver of red and purple.

    Charlie’s eyes went wide, her hands shot to her mouth. “Oh! Oh my God, I didn’t mean–”

    A wide grin spread across his face and he threw his head back and laughed, holding up his stump. “Ahh! I get it! A hand! Hahaha!”

    “I’m so sorry!” She said, mortified. “It just slipped out!”

    “Wish I could just slip out of these clothes,” Kira mumbled, fidgeting with the buttons of his undershirt.

    “Let me help you get your clothes off!” She offered, still a little flustered from her faux pas.

    Kira paused and eyed her suspiciously. “…Ms. Magne, are you just looking for an excuse to undress me?”

    Charlie blushed and stammered something, Kira chuckled and hooked his finger around his collar. “I’m just messin’ witcha’.”

    “I think Angel’s a bad influence on you,” Charlie grumbled, the blush still stubbornly burning in her cheeks.

    “Oh, probably… tsk, this outfit’s done for anyway.” The jacket and shirt flashed briefly and slowly dissolved into smoke and ash, disintegrating right off of his body.

    Charlie watched the ash slowly fade from existence as it swirled through the air. “Is that… how you do it? The killing?”

    “Yes,” he said, absently, doing the same to his pants. “Well, it’s one of the ways. The other way is a–”

    “Murder-turtle?”

    Kira smirked and snorted. “Yeah. I guess it is a ‘murder-turtle’. It’s called Sheer Heart Attack, and I summon it from my left hand. It’s fast, indestructible, and will not stop until its targets are destroyed. It’s my most powerful weapon. It used to be a tank, though, I don’t know why it’s a turtle now…”

    “If it’s so powerful, why didn’t you use it to defend yourself tonight?” Charlie said, looking at his bloody wrist. “Or is that why they…?”

    Kira hobbled over to the shower, thumb hooked in the elastics of his underwear. “No. It’s automatic, I can’t control it beyond turning it on and off. If I summoned Sheer Heart Attack tonight it would have killed everyone but me. Angel is not me, therefore…”

    Charlie perked up. “So, you put yourself in danger over Angel?”

    Kira shrugged and nodded slowly. “Well, yeah, I guess.”

    “That doesn’t sound like something Mr. Clean would do!” Charlie said, nudging him with her elbow. “Seems to me like this place is leaving its mark on you~”

    “You think so?” Kira said, hopefully. “I’m getting better?”

    Charlie nodded enthusiastically. Oh, yes! Even just from earlier today, you seem so much more… up! Chipper, even! You’re smiling and laughing and cracking jokes!”

    “Ah right, that,” said Kira, amused. “Now might be a good time to mention, I’m really high.”

    “Oh.”

    “Yeah, Angel’s friend, the scary one with the eye, she put some, uh, Molly, I think, into my drink and I’ve been just…” Kira undulated his hand and wrist, a placid smile on his face. “~Whooosh~ all night long. Also, I’m pretty drunk, too. So, there’s that.”

    Charlie cleared her throat and laughed nervously. “Well… you still didn’t want to murder Angel, right?”

    “Yes. I would prefer that Angel not die,” said Kira, nodding.

    “See?” Charlie cheered. “That’s improvement!”

    “It is?”

    “Yes!”

    Charlie went in for a high-five, Kira wound back his stump before stopping himself, he seemed to contemplate his limbs for a moment before awkwardly clapping her hand with his right. “Yah!”

    “Well,” said Kira pointing at the shower. “I think it’s time I hit the showers. Now that I’m in an enclosed space, I can really smell the coffee grounds and used wet-naps that were in that garbage can.”

    Charlie nodded and scrunched her nose. “Yeah, I didn’t want to say anything, but you miiiight want to get on that!”

    “Right. I will.” Kira paused and stared at her for a moment before clearing his throat and pointing at his underwear. “So, I’m going to…”

    Charlie started a bit before shooting him an apologetic smile. “Oh, right, right, you probably want to… I’ll just wait outside. If you need anything, just shout.”

    She ducked out of the door, closing it behind her, smiling to herself. High or not, he was different, he was opening up, learning to care. Would a monster offer to damn himself for people he’d known for only  few days? It was working! Her program was working! There was still the whole ‘impending gang war’ situation to deal with, but what if she could redeem him before they showed up? Not likely, but as her father would say ‘it’ll sure lite a fire under your ass!’ Of course, he probably meant that literally more often than not.

    “AAAAAAAHN~” a voice moaned from within the shower, the tone harried and almost frantic. “Oh, my GOD!”

    Charlie burst through the door in an instant. “What is it? What’s wrong?!”

    Kira hobbled out from behind the frosted-glass, sopping wet as whorls of steam trailed about his body. “Hm? Oh, nothing! Just, this hot water feels really good!”

    “O-oh…” Charlie said, very pointedly not looking at his face. “Okay, uh, good… so long as you’re not… uhhh…”

    “Oh! Charlie, I may have overestimated my range of motion with this bad shoulder,” Kira turned his back to her and jabbed a thumb stiffly over his shoulder, smiling innocently. “Could you please shampoo my back?”

    Charlie’s eyes slowly drifted back up. “…I’m sorry, what?”

    “My back,” he repeated. “Could you get it for me?”

    “Oh!” Charlie leapt to attention, unbuttoning and rolling back her sleeves. “Of course! Our service can’t be beat, after all!”
   

    The first aid room was clean and brightly lit, with every stylistic hold-over from the rest of the house blending somewhat jarringly with a sterile, medical aesthetic. The medicine cabinet was bordered with baroquely carved wood mouldings, the examination table was dark glossy leather and its legs skirted with red and black tassels. Overhead was a medical lamp done up to resemble some manner of chandelier.

    Kira decided that he didn’t particularly care for the merging of styles.

    Razzle examined the wound in Kira’s shoulder, a long, sunken oblong crater in his flesh, as though it had been doused in acid. His knee was no better, Dazzle shone a light on it and made dissatisfied grunts, shaking his head.

    “Why are the groundskeepers here?” Kira hissed as Dazzle prodded his knee a little too hard with a hoof.

    “You learn to patch up just about anything working in the Magne household.” Charlie explained, patting his hand comfortingly. “And Vaggie’s good at sewing!”

    “So the hand and the cut above your eye seem fairly clean, they should close up pretty quick,” Vaggie said as she put the finishing touches on the sutures attaching Kira’s hand to his wrist. “But your shoulder and knee… it looks like the blade stayed in there for a little while, so there’s a lot of damage.”

    “Playing cards,” said Kira.

    “What?”

    “They were playing cards.”

    Vaggie rolled her eye and shook her head. “Whatever. Seraphim Steel is a Holy metal, it purges evil energies. You know, the stuff keeping our bodies together? Those wounds won’t heal until we… deride?”

    Dazzle looked up from the knee, his expression somewhat exacerbated. “Bah~”

    “Right, right.” Vaggie gingerly laid his hand to rest in a hard wrist-brace, strapping it all together and wrapping it with a bandage. “We need to debride the purified tissue before we can sew you up.”

    “I know,” said Kira, reaching over to pat her hand. “Not the first time I’ve been tagged by a holy weapon.”

    Vaggie swatted his hand away and got up. “Why am I not surprised? I’ll go find you something to bite down on.”

    “She’s joking,” Charlie interjected, smiling nervously and batting Vaggie’s arm. “You’re joking, right?”

    “We had to get rid of everything stronger than aspirin, remember?” Vaggie said, nodding her head at Angel Dust, who was peeking into the medicine cabinet.

    “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Angel said, outraged.

    “I caught you eating flowers because you thought they were poppies!”

    “…Those weren’t poppies?”

    Kira followed the conversation with flat interest before glancing over at Razzle and Dazzle; they were grinning maliciously, meaningfully brandishing a melon baller and a skin-stapler. A cold sweat broke out on his brow, hand raising to his shoulder.

    “Posies! They were posies that I bought for Charlie’s birthday!”

    “Aww, Vaggie! Thank you!”

    “Huh, ‘cause I got a good float offa them. Know where I can get more?”

    His finger gingerly poked the effected area, he inhaled slowly as he activated his primary bomb, his face pulled into a tight grimace.

    “No! I can’t! This is Hell! Nice flowers are rare, that’s why I bought them for her, you asshole!”

    “Oh, Vaggie, you shouldn’t have!”

    “Yeah? Shit. Ah, well. They were some really top notch botanicals.”

    He flipped the switch and grit his teeth as the purified tissue crackled and disintegrated, turning gray and evaporating in a puff of smoke leaving behind a larger but much cleaner lesion. Razzle and Dazzle gawped as he reached down and did the same thing to his knee, slowly and certainly not painlessly burning it away. He sat up, expression harried, and pointed at the trembling Goat Bois, gesturing at the stapler in their hands and beckoning them over.

    “Charlie, at least have the backbone to get mad at him for that! I called in major favors to get those flowers and this skinny cocksock eats them!”

    “Backbone? And just what is that supposed to mean?”

    “Uh-oh…”

    Razzle and Dazzle obediently set about their work with the stapler, almost recoiling from him the second they were done. Kira exhaled and wiped the sweat from his forehead, testing the limits of the staples before deciding to move. He grabbed a triangle bandage and fashioned a messy sling for his newly reattached hand to rest in. As he struggled one-handed with the sling something surged within him, familiar feelings that had been conspicuously absent for the past few hours: irritation, frustration, and disgust. His true nature was slowly but surely eking its way back in, not yet fully, but inexorably like a waxing tide.

     He looked over at the squabbling trio, where were those strange warm feelings from before? Still there, but fading, their content and meaning lost like a sweet dream upon awakening. He recalled risking his life for Angel, being prepared to do the same for any of them, but now he could not for the life of him fathom why. There wasn’t a word for what he had felt, at least not one that held any sort of meaning to him now; all he knew was that, at the time, these people mattered more to him than himself. Worse yet, some part of him still felt this way.

    Confused and frustrated, he slowly and painfully shuffled off the table, careful not to alert them, to draw them away from their precious argument. They so freely engaged with one another, openly expressing their emotions and were, in turn, governed by them. He’d tasted that tonight, filled with some kind of mildly repulsive self-sacrificing sentiment, the echos of it still present like a particularly saccharine aftertaste. He needed space, to clear his mind, to return to the safe, comfortable confines of his well-insulated former self. But still, some drug-addled part of him fretted over their spat, worried over the raised voices and increasingly hurt tones. That part of him yearned to interject, to involve himself, to help them resolve their differences over… actually, what were they talking about?

    “Aww c’mon! We were playin’ charades! I was a dog, it was in-character!”

    “There’s being ‘in-character’ and then there’s pissing on a houseplant! You think Sago Palms just grow naturally in Hell?!”

    “I thought it was an Areca?”

    ‘Ah well. Nevermind.’

    Kira silently hobbled out of the first aid room down the hall. He turned the corner into the foyer, scanning around for that surly drunk. He was at the desk, face down with a more than half-empty bottle of scotch, snoring like a wino in an alleyway. He snuck by him as quietly as he could on his stiff, injured leg. He entered the rec-room and gently set himself down on the sofa in front of the widescreen TV, sighing in relief as he took weight off his leg. He reached over and grabbed the remote. The TV snapped on, showing a bespectacled demon seasoning a disembodied leg. He flicked through the channels until something caught his interest. He stopped and turned up the volume.

    A pretty young demoness, probably some kind of succubus, was reporting on-site. “…Caym overpass, where a large explosion has caused damage to the surrounding structure. Although the damage isn’t serious, delays can be expected until 10am. Luckily, no-one important or famous was injured.”

    Tom Trench leaned forward and chuckled, making eyebrows at the camera. “Any word on what caused the explosion, Becky?”

    “As of yet, first responders have not determined the cause of the explosion, though there were reports of hooligans throwing explosives into oncoming traffic prior to the main detonation. The identity of these offenders are unknown, but they are assumed to be these bodies you see around me.”

    “What bodies?”

    Becky looked down and around, a confused expression on her face. She opened her mouth to speak when the shining blade of a harpoon erupted from her belly. So surprised was Becky that she didn’t even scream when a large blue webbed hand reached up and grabbed her shoulder from behind and the harpoon began to saw its way up through her torso. The low grisly crunch of cleft meat and bone was underscored by the sputtering sizzle of angelic metal corroding demonic flesh.

     Becky slumped forward, her eyes flashed with magenta light before going blank, a thin trickle of smoke trailing out of her slack mouth. The huge fish-demon tore his harpoon free and swung it down in a flashing arc at the camera-operator. A splat was followed by a squawk and gurgle and the camera clattered to the ground.

     Just before the feed cut a pair of legs strode by, dragging two other limp and dangling bodies.

    “Dammit!” Katie roared, ripping her earpiece out and throwing it to the ground in disgust. “Those cameras better not be docked from the profit-share!”

    “This just in, two positions have opened up at Channel 666,” said Tom, gesturing at the upper right hand corner of the screen where the channel’s web address flashed. “If you’re interested, please submit your resume to us online at www.channel666news.he/careers/newmeat! We’ll be happy to have you for as long as you last.”

    Katie reached over and grabbed Tom’s tie and yanked it down as hard as she could, smashing his face into the desk with a audible crunch. “We’d have news crews that could protect the equipment if you’d stop selecting the applicants with your dick! Next time, I’m sending you out there!”

    “God, they go through reporters there like copypaper,” Kira chuckled.

    “You shred it, wheat,” said a hollow, staticky voice to his left; it was a friendly-sounding voice, high-toned and well-heeled with a smooth transatlantic accent.

    He glanced over the source of the voice; a tall, lanky deer-demon in an eye-gouging red-and-black dress-suit, a dark monocle sat playfully on his cheek, held up by his everpresent grin. “Alastor.”

    “Mr. Clean.”

    Kira suppressed a flinch. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

    “No.” Alastor winked at him. “If we had, we wouldn’t be wagging chins right now, would we?”

    “No,” said Kira, turning to him and smirking. “Definitely not.”

    “You know, I’m of the opinion that most of Ol’ Snorkel’s dogs are all bark and no bite! But cats don’t bark, now do they?” Alastor laughed, a ghoulishly happy sound, and slapped his knee. “So, you’ve heard of me. Should I be flattered?”

    “It was my job to keep tabs on important people. What that means for you now, well, that’s not my business anymore.”

    “Sounding awfully past-tense, there, friend.” Alastor’s eyes narrowed in fascination. “Planning on relaxing that any time soon?”

    Kira turned back to the TV, Katie had Tom in a leglock on the desk while he futilely swung a trench shovel. “No.”

    “Not even if the job were offered?”

    Kira smiled and gestured at the variety of bandages festooning his body. “Met some aggressive recruiters just this night, they offered and I let them down as gently as possible.”

    Alastor gave an impressed whistle. “Looks like they were some real headhunters! No offense, kid, but you look like secondhand gum!”

    “If you tell me it’s raining in Yakushima, I won’t get mad.”

    “Rainy place, I take?” Alastor said, eyebrow arching.

    “35 days a month.”

    The Radio Demon cawed a laugh and snapped his fingers. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor!”

    “Only when I’m kidding myself,” Kira sighed. “So it’s true, then? He’s back.”

    Alastor nodded. “Surprised?”

    “Not really,” Kira growled. “If anyone could blight Hell itself, it’s him.”

    “He won’t give up, you know,” said Alastor. “You’re a favorite of his.”

    “True enough. But I’m not going back. He can send his people, he can come himself, I’ll never return to that life. I’ll kill them all.” Kira glared off into the middle-distance, his gaze softening as he turned back to Alastor “So… what are you doing here? You don’t seem the type to seek redemption.”

    “Quite right!” Alastor shot to his feet, examining his nails. “I’m something of a business partner with our lovely mutual acquaintance. It’s all very technical, you wouldn’t be interested.”

    “True.” Kira slowly rose to his feet, Alastor watched him as he struggled to get up. “I’m not. Whatever you’re planning regarding Holy Diver, I’ll have no part in it. Whatever you’re planning for this place, I’ll have no part in that, either. Any and all plans, plots, schemes and conspiracies…”

    “No part in it,” Alastor finished, tapping his chin in mock-contemplation. “Thoughts on rackets?”

    “Too noisy,” Kira said, smirking. “All I want is a peaceful life.”

    Alastor’s smile widened, yellow teeth shining. “A peaceful afterlife.”

    “Pedant.” Kira matched his grin. “Let’s keep this civil. Shake on it?”

    Kira’s hand shot out, Alastor didn’t flinch, merely examining the extended hand with something like curiosity, his eyes narrowing as his gaze rose to meet Kira’s. “You realize you're offering your hand to a dealmaker?”

    “I am,” said Kira. "I'll stay out of your business if you stay out of mine."

    Kira’s hand hung between them, red eyes met red eyes, neither blinking, smiles all around. Alastor reached out with friendly vigor, grasping in a firm but not crushing grip, flares of demonic energy crackling where they met. The handshake held for a moment, their eyes did not wander from each other. The Pact was sealed.

    A cold glint flashed in Kira’s stare. “There’s one last thing I’d like to know.”

    “By all means.”

    "Are those..." He glanced up at Alastor’s head. “…Ears?”

    Alastor’s grin dropped to a smirk, a noticeable crease formed in his brow. “Yes. What else would they be?”

    “I just heard that they were hair tufts. You know, like pigtails.”

    “Tsk.” Alastor rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No. Rosie just said that at a party and it stuck.”

    “Ah, I see.” Kira nodded approvingly. “Thank you, that’s been bothering me for years.”

    "So, it's a deal, then?"

    Their hands unclasped and they stood opposite one another, unblinking, smiling at each other. Kira’s hand shot up, thumb primed, his eyes narrowing. Alastor cooly observed this bit of theater, eyebrow cocked in a silent challenge.

    Kira’s thumb pressed down.

    Alastor examined Kira’s clenched fist wryly. “Only when you’re kidding yourself, eh?”

    “What can I say,” said Kira, lowering his hand. “I’d rather not relapse.”

    Alastor took a step back and nodded at Kira. “If that’s all, I’ll be off.”

    Kira nodded in return and watched as the Radio Demon made his exit. He sat back down on the couch and flipped back to the cooking channel, where Dahmer was presenting his patented finger-food.

    “Hm. Doesn’t look half-bad.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Advanced Recovery

    “Hey pal, need a hand?”

    “No.”

    “C’mon! Ya gotta let me try my hand at it!”

    “No.”

    “It’s scrambled eggs! I could do it with five hands tied behind my back.”

    “Get out.”

    “Alright, alright! Geez! Cranky-ass motherfucker…”

    The bowl shook as he whisked the egg, his shoulder throbbed abominably at the best of times and it outright screamed when he raised his arm more than a hair over his chest. Needless to say, it was proving somewhat difficult to make breakfast this morning. The bowl was beginning to shift on its rims, threatening to spill, he tried to lift his wrist slightly in order to get a more stable angle. His shoulder tensed, an electric jolt of pain raced up the side of his neck as torn muscles spasmed, yanking on steel staples. Kira hissed as his elbow instinctively pulled into his side, bracing the injury. The bowl nearly flew off the counter when a pair of alabaster hands shot in from beside him, scooping the potential disaster up and to safety.

    He looked over and saw Charlie, she was wearing a white shirt and black pants with suspenders, her long, flowing hair done up in what appeared to be a multi-stage ponytail with at least three bands that he could see. Her sleeves were rolled up like they were the other night, when he asked her to…

    He turned away from her and stared at the stainless steel counter, his own red eyes glaring back at him in the reflection; if he never saw Angel Dust again it would be too soon! If he ever relapsed, Cherri would gain a profound and revelatory new understanding of explosives.

    “Whoops!” Charlie chirped, setting the bowl back on the counter. “Almost had an accident there!”

    She stood there and smiled at him, bright and chipper as ever. That she of all people had seen him in such a disheveled state, heard him babble whilst in the grips of some infernal joy, so sure that all was right and well, it burned in the pit of his stomach like acid. The indignity of last night stung him, gnawed at him, and now he bore the wounds and encumbrances of his little foray with humanity, with what these people considered ‘normal’. He could have erased some, if not all, of his pursuers that night, but he had hesitated; he held back to protect Angel Dust of all creatures! And now he was hobbling around, one arm useless, the other crippled, essentially helpless should Holy Diver send any sort of follow-up team to the hotel. And he would... eventually.

    But he hadn’t; not yet, anyway.

    Why?

    “What are you making?” Charlie said, looking into the bowl. “Plain Jane scrambled eggs?”

    Of course! Not even Holy Diver was bold enough to endanger the Princess of Hell! …Probably. That would buy him some time to recover, to establish a bulwark, to–

    “Here! I’ll help!” Charlie said, grabbing a salt-shaker and moving for the bowl. “Just a little dash and–”

    Kira’s hand shot out and he snatched the salt from her hand. “Stop!”

    Charlie flinched and stepped back, surprised at his sudden outburst.

    Kira set the shaker down on the cooking station with loud ‘bang’. “Never add salt to eggs before they’re cooked! It’ll change how they rise and ruin the texture!”

    “O-oh…” said Charlie, an embarrassed blush forming in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

    Something in her expression dug into him like fish hooks; a hot flush burned across the back of his neck, his hackles raising as a cold sweat formed on his brow. What was wrong with him? He was right, wasn’t he? She almost ruined the cornerstone of everyone’s breakfast. He corrected her and now he could get back to work.

    ‘Apologize,’ he thought to himself, gripped by this strange new feeling. ‘You shouldn’t have been so harsh. Apologize.’

    ‘But I was right to–’

    ‘Hm.’ This strange new part of him grunted in assent, but did not relent. ‘True, yes. The eggs would have been ruined, but you snapped at her and she thinks she did something to upset you.’

    ‘She did! The eggs–!’

    ‘–Don’t matter. She didn’t know. Apologize, she’ll feel better.’

    ‘But–’

    ‘And so will you,’ he said, with smug self-assuredness.

    “…I’m sorry,” said Kira, shifting awkwardly. “I shouldn’t–I’ve been in a… mood. You didn’t do anything wrong, I apologize for snapping like that.”

    “That’s okay, I understand,” Charlie nodded, her expression still somewhat hangdog.

    The fact that she had not returned to her former bubbly disposition was bafflingly unbearable for him. He had to do something to fix this, but what?

    “…lp me,” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

    “Excuse me?”

    He gestured at himself and scoffed in exasperation. “I’m a little… disadvantaged right now. Could you please help me?”

    She reached out and touched his arm, a sympathetic look on her face. “Kira, you don’t have to make us all breakfast. Razzle and Dazzle could–”

    He held up his hand, a playful smirk on his face. “To be perfectly honest, I’m making myself breakfast. Any extra that’s left for all of you is incidental.”

    Charlie giggled; a wonderful, welcome sound. “Okay! You walk me through it, I’ll be your hands! What’re we making, Chef?”

    He sighed in relief, perplexed at this sudden elation but thankful to see the end of this abrupt empathetic episode. “I was thinking bacon and scrambled eggs with pancakes and a fresh fruit salad.”

    “Sounds great!” Charlie cheered, saluting. “Ready, Chef!”

    It was a familiar pain. The nausea, the throbbing headache, the acid reflux; they were all old friends to Husk. Truthfully, the hangover wasn’t that bad, all told, but the name that stuck in his head throbbed and pulsed, the dread adding a whole new dimension of unpleasantness to his suffering: Holy Diver.

    He’d always tried to keep his affiliations with the gang-scene to a minimum, what kind of lunatic is in a ripping hurry to get themselves offed a second time? Unfortunately, those very same lunatics always seemed to find him and strong-arm him into their bullshit, Grins McGee chief amongst them. The Radio Demon was bad enough, with his smug, self-satisfied attitude and jaundiced smile, but at least he seemed content enough with just fucking with people. All the torture and murder was for a jolly, and getting a kick out of Hell was something Husk understood well enough to almost sympathize with.

    But Holy Diver…

    Holy Diver was a malcontent. Ambition and lust for power were the rotten foundations of his soul, sitting at the bottom of his very being like a greasy drain in a diner’s sink. A gaping hole sucking in anything and everything, guzzling all around it, never stopping, never satisfied. At one point he essentially commanded a fifth of the entire city, his name rubbed shoulders with the likes of Vox and Alastor, some brave souls would even privately compare him Lucifer himself. And it wasn’t enough, never enough. God, how many people died in the chaos after his extermination? What did it say about a man when murder and mayhem followed him even in death?

    But that’s just the thing, isn’t it?

    He wasn’t dead.

    Word had it he tangled with Exorcists every year right up until the ‘end’, pummeling Angels with his bare fists and stealing their weapons. Unbelievable, but the surplus of Seraphim Steel he had at his disposal lent credence to this rumor. Everyone in his posse had some kind of angelic bling, making even the unpowered demons in his service a holy terror to fight. The rumor was that he grappled with an Exorcists as it was sublimating back to Heaven and was gone in a flash of light, never to be seen again. But now he was back, rumors be damned, and he was going to steamroll the feuding factions that had been trying to carve up his empire. Examples would be made, the streets would run red with blood.

    Husk shuddered. He’d actually met the guy once, kind of. It was some twenty years ago, in the Azathoth Casino uptown. He was playing a particularly smug gecko-demon by the name of Poker Face. Aces were high and the stakes were higher; they’d been at it for hours by that point, the other players having long since bowed out, it was now a game of wills for a very deep pot. His hand was good, high-ish four of a kind with an damn good kicker to top it off, but there were better hands, and Poker Face was giving every indication that he had one.

    Ah, but that was the joy of the game, wasn’t it?

    The prick was a master, to be sure. A master card-counter, a master at sleight-of-hand, and a master bullshitter. Husk didn’t know it at the time, but the stakes were higher than he could have imagined. Poker Face had a power, you see. A particularly demonic ability that allowed him to bind a soul to his will by dint of consent to a game, but only when the game was won. Husk was no slouch himself, but even he could see the fine-toothed gears that spun behind those reptilian eyes; this game was going to be a drawn-out, bare-knuckle brawl. But Husk had an ace up his sleeve and it was one that had Poker Face in a sweat.

     It was a rather brilliant strategy on his part: throughout the game he would slowly but surely get so drunk that his tells switched places or new ones took their place. He had been a hundred grand behind during the opening salvos of their mano-a-mano match, but when Poker Face called his bluff on what he assumed was his ‘shit-hand’ tell, he got slapped with a straight flush. After that he was wary and more than a little frustrated, something Husk had taken full advantage of with characteristic tact and finesse.

    “Well?” Husk slurred, only slightly playing up how drunk actually he was. “Call’r’fold, I gotss places t’be.”

    “Worried your friends at the drunk tank will miss you?”

    “W’rried yur ma’ll take another customer if’m late.”

    “Fuck you, wino!”

    “Fuck you, Hand-Bag, y’fuckin’ loser. Your ma calls me Subway.”

    “Because you’re a fat pedophile?”

    “Cuz I got a fi’e dollar foot-long an’ she pays me. Fuck your entire fuckin’ afterlife, bud.”

    This got a good round of chuckles from the assembled gamblers watching the grudge match.

    “Get fucked, Husk!”

    “That’s what your pop says, tuggin’ his chode watchin’ me fuck your ma for booze-money. Best damn bottle a’ripple I’ve ever drank.”

    “You better watch it!”

    “–Is what your ma told me t’tell you. I got a video t’send you, by the way. It’s four hours long and called ‘Poke Her Face’. Spoiler warnin’: her face ain’t all that gets poked.”

    The audience was laughing outright now, with calls for ice and sarcastic pleads for mercy on behalf of the enraged gecko-demon.

    “Motherfucking–”

    “You catch on quick.”

    “–Prick!”

    “Them’s fightin’ words.”

    “Anytime, anywhere, you shittalking flea-baiter!”

    “Wanna joust? See what happens.”

    “Yeah? What happens?!”

    “Three things; I hit you, you hit the ground, I hit up your ma for Poker Face Two: The Bigger, Better Sequel, and I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout a video, either. You’re gonna have a fuzzy li’l brother come Christmas. So, you gonna call or fold? I gotta get to it fast if you want your present on time.”

    The peanut gallery roared with laughter, Poker Face growled and slammed down his cards. “I call!”

    “Four of a kind, seven of hearts with a ten of clubs kicker,” the dealer announced.

    Husk sighed and slowly set down his cards, spreading them. Poker Face’s eyes had lit up as he saw four seven of clubs get laid out before him. No doubt the smug number-cruncher was calculating the long odds of him having a kicker higher than ten.

    “Well… shit. And here I thought seven was a lucky number,” Husk grumbled before looking up at Poker Face, a cold glint in his orange-on-black eyes; a flick of a claw revealed an ace of spades at the bottom of his hand. “Whadda heartbreaker.”

    The the assembled gamblers and drunks exploded into cheers and applause, money was passed about freely as someone had unsurprisingly started a pool on the game. Poker Face turned a deep furious shade of green as Husk reached across the table and scooped the whole pot over to his side.

    “Well, gawrsh, Pokey,” Husk said, without so much as a hint of a slur in his voice. “I guess poker just ain’t your game, huh?”

    “Smug sonuva–” Poker Face roared and reached into his coat pocket, grabbing something small, rectangular, and made of Seraphim Steel.

    Then, he arrived.

    There was no sound, no door opening, no howl of the cheering crowd, not even ambient noise from the rest of the casino. Husk looked around, confused; everyone was gone, not just the audience, but everyone else in the casino had disappeared, not even the canned music played over the speakers. A casino that had, not one moment before, been as bustling as any high class joint ought to be was now completely empty and completely silent. Silent, save for a muted mechanical click followed by a slow hiss of air that emanated from directly behind him: breathing. Husk looked over at Poker Face, who was still there, but frozen like a deer in headlights, the only indicator of life were the rivulets of sweat that poured down his face. His expression that of sheer, unadulterated terror as he stared up at something standing behind Husk, something high over his head; something huge.

    “H-Holy Diver…” He whimpered.

    The low, slow mechanical breathing sharpened somewhat at the utterance of his name. Poker Face gulped loudly and straightened his back like a soldier at attention. “E-excuse me! HOLY DIVER, I was just–”

    Husk was trying to wrap his head around exactly how the pronunciation between the two differed when Poker Face vanished. Husk had been around the block, he’d been in Hell long enough to see all manner of teleportation, displacement, and magic whatsits to have a pretty good idea of when he was being spoofed. This was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, it was like he was there one moment and then *blip* gone. No smoke, no portals, no incantations or demonic energy, not even the sound of moving air: he had simply disappeared.

    “Husk.” A voice from behind called his name, he didn’t dare turn around to face it for some hysterical, irresistible part of him screamed that, if he did, he would die right there and then.

    The voice was low, deep, but pleasant in its slightly reverberating timbre. He could practically feel it on his back. His hackles rose as HOLY DIVER drew closer, the oppressive aura, the sheer weight of his presence, it was like being slowly crushed by an oncoming glacier. A golden guantleted hand the size of a dinnerplate set down on his shoulder, eclipsing it entirely.

    “Do you know who I am?” HOLY DIVER said, his speech back-dropped by the constant click-and-hiss of his breathing.

    “H-Holy–*ahem*–HOLY DIVER,” Husk stammered, well-aware of how badly his ‘aloof asshole’ personae was buckling, but he didn’t care, he was going to die.

    HOLY DIVER laughed, a charming and surprisingly genuine sound. “Sharp one, aren’t you?”

    “N-no, just old enough to know better,” Husk said, quietly. “Look, if this is about the money, I–”

    “I am long past the point of caring about money, Husk,” HOLY DIVER interrupted. “No. Think of this as an… aptitude test. You passed.”

    “I did?”

    The hand patted his shoulder in a friendly, comforting fashion, those cruel-looking knuckle stubs glinting in the fluorescent light; Husk could practically hear the bones they had shattered, the fleshed they had pulped.

    “Indeed. It takes luck to successfully bluff Poker Face for so long, but it takes skill to get under his skin and make him lose his cool. To make him make a mistake.” There was pause followed by a small, stifled chuckle. “Ahh… 'Poke Her Face’… I value luck, Husk, but I treasure skill. A man with your savvy, your knowledge, your connections. You know everyone, Husk. Half of Hell owes you money, and you owe money to the other half. Join me, and I’ll settle your debts on both ends. Get me names, information, be my eyes and ears as only you can be. Help me, Husk, pledge your loyalty to me, and I can make you…” Husk gasped as his hand was suddenly raised, in his hand was a royal flush. “…Royalty. I’ll let you to think about it.”

    The next instant he was gone and, like a flip had been switched, the patrons reappeared in an explosion of sound; the spectators cheered, the music blared, the slots rang and clamoured, the clientele was blipped back into existence as abruptly as they had left.

    Husk pondered if someone had simply slipped something into his drink when he looked down at his hand. Sure enough, a royal flush sat in his paw. He looked up, Poker Face was nowhere to be seen.

    
    Husk recalled fleeing the Azathoth with his winnings and never looking back. He paid off his debts and endeavored to lay low for a while, a couple of centuries or so. After a while it seemed that HOLY–ugh–Holy Diver had let him go, he probably found someone else to fill that role or something. Still, there were times that, when things went quiet, even for a second, he’d expect to feel that huge armored hand clamp down on his shoulder.

    He shuddered again, and that psycho put up with that terror for how long? No wonder he was trying to get out of Hell, who would want to get caught up in all that bullshit?

    “Huuuuuusk!” Charlie called out from down the hall, her chirrupy voice a stiletto in his ears. “Breakfast is ready!”

    He slowly got to his feet and sniffed the air, sure enough the rich smokey smell of bacon hung heavy alongside the low sweetness of flapjacks. He knew that if anything would chase away this babalaas it was some nice salty bacon, a mountain of greasy eggs, and a nice hot cup of Joe. And he had a new mug to break in.

    Perfect.

    Angel Dust struggled to keep his smirk from blossoming into a full-blown grin. He had a lot of things to be happy about. He’d turned down that killer white Bastille was trying to shove down his throat, though the ensuing horror-show probably meant he was a ‘knife-on-sight’ for any of the big dealers in the West Side. That was less great, but if he was serious about all this rehab bullshit, it was probably for the best. And, to top it all off: pancakes!

    “Mmm! Di Molto! Mwah!” He exclaimed around a syrupy mouthful. “How do ya make ‘em so fluffy?”

    “Well, I,” Kira began to say, before turning to Charlie, a smile on his face. “…didn’t do anything. Charlie made breakfast this time.”

    Angel cooed in surprise as the Goat Bois gave impressed bleats and a round of applause.

    “A-1 flapjacks, Chuck,” Husk mumbled from behind his coffee mug.

    Vaggie muttered something.

    “Oh, please! I just did all the hands-on stuff. Kira walked me through the whole thing. See, you beat egg whites until they peak, then fold them into the batter! I was working under the master chef, here,” Charlie said, playfully punching Kira’s shoulder, causing him to grunt and grimace. “Oh! Sorry!”

    “It’s alright,” he said, rolling his shoulder. “Just don’t put salt in the eggs before they’re cooked.”

    They shared a laugh and Charlie continued talking about all the things he’d taught her in the kitchen. Angel could care less about what constitutes a ‘dollop’ of creme fraîche, even though it seemed to be a source of goodnatured contention between the two. No, all that mattered to Angel was that it was bananas-good when used to make scrambled eggs. Just then, between their comfortable banter, Angel looked up and saw a sight sweeter than the syrup on his light, fluffy pancakes; Vaggie glowering at the chef and his potégé. Every time Charlie would smile at Kira, or touch his hand, or even so much as look at him, her eye would twitch. She was holding herself together well, but he could tell that she was reaching her limit.

    She’d obviously never liked the guy, probably something to do with him being a girl-murdering, hand-collecting serial killer, and last night’s revelation certainly hadn’t sweetened her opinion. All that was reasonable enough, but then add one Charlie to the mix and all the frustrated pining and ridiculous idolization that comes with her, and you’ve got yourself bag of cats and a bucket of water! Sweet, sweet, sweet!

    Not to say that Angel took any pleasure in Vaggie’s suffering in particular; honestly, he actually kind of liked her. She was a square and grump, sure, but her salt offset Charlie’s sugar in that peanutbutter-and-chocolate kind of way that made this hotel hop like a Mexican jumping bean. But, on the other hand…well, Angel was an unabashed pot-stirrer, and seeing Vaggie lose her cool was his favorite pass-time.

    “Sounds like the two’a’yous are makin’ that kitchen work!” Angel said, smirking at Vaggie from across the table. “When the pots and pans are rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’!”

    She grit her teeth and set down her utensils.

    “It really helps to have an extra pair while I’m, heh, understaffed in that department,” said Kira, flexing one hand and barely twitching the other. “And Charlie’s such an attentive set of hands!”

    “Cute ones, too,” said Angel, winking at Vaggie.

    “Better watch it around those knives though. Don’t want to lose anything.” Vaggie said, her tone withering.

    Silence fell over the table, the only sound was that of Husk disinterestedly chewing his bacon and slurping his coffee.

    “Excuse me?” Kira ventured, possibly in what he thought was a goodnatured fashion.

    “Yes,” Charlie said, her expression that of mild confusion but her voice was gilded with tension. “Excuse you?”

    Upon hearing Charlie’s somewhat disguised outrage Vaggie shot to her feet, glaring at Kira before excusing herself in a huff. “Watch your back with your kitchen buddy!”

    “Vaggie.” Charlie got up and followed after her. “Vaggie!”

    Their argument faded away as they stormed off into the hotel, their heated voices overlapping and becoming indistinguishable noise.

    “You’re a real bitch, y‘know that?” Husk grunted at Angel, reaching over and shoveling Vaggie’s unfinished breakfast onto his plate.

    “What did I do?” Angel said, faux-scandalized, turning to Kira. “Killer, did ya hear me say anythin’ bitchy?”

    “Well, you opened your mouth and then words came out, if that’s what you mean.”

    “Hah!” Husk barked. “Get fucked for free, Bug.”

    Angel snorted and waved him off. “Ouch, Kitty, you’re breakin’ my heart!”

    Kira blinked, confused. “Were you talking to me, or Husk?”

    Angel laughed and winked at Husk. “Nah, alls I ever call Husk is ‘Daddy’. He gets right into it, rough-like, makes me squeal! Ain’t that right, Daddy?”

    “That’s right, I’m your daddy.” Husk popped a piece of melon into his mouth. “Angel, you’re a constant source of shame and a disappointment to me and the family.”

    Angel blinked in surprise, his smile fading. “Heh! …What?”

    Husk adopted a crass Brooklyn accent and jabbed his fork at Angel. “Why can’t ya be more like yer brother? He’s out there pickin’ locks and whackin’ Micks while yer suckin’ cocks and slappin’ dicks! Y’come home with prick on yer breath and tracks up yer arms, it’s killin’ yer mother!”

    “Husk,” Angel snarled, his fist balled. “This ain’t funny.”

    “You’re telling me,” Husk said, flatly, examining his claws. “Didn’t even have to break out the big guns to wash the starch outta you. You hoot and snark like you’ve got nary a care, but you’re fucking ten-ply, Bug. You wanna fuck with people and all the shit they’re going through? Fine. But don’t unravel like a cheap sweater when someone finds your sore spot, bends you over the table and sticks it in. Play your kiddy games somewhere else ‘fore this cardshark picks you outta his teeth.”

     “Ya fuckin’–!” Angel lunged forward, only for Kira to grab him by the lower shoulder and haul him back. Angel spat and growled as he was pulled back, enraged. “Alky pissant fuck!”

     Husk nodded at Kira. “Yeah, see, even the psycho knows better."

    Kira effortlessly pulled Angel back and out of the room, calling to the Goat Bois. “Razzle, Dazzle; could you please clear the table and wash the dishes when you’re done?”

    “Bahh,” said Razzle.

    “Baah,” sighed Dazzle.

    Husk scoffed and reached over the table, grabbing Kira and Angel’s unfinished breakfasts, scooping them onto his plate. “Talk shit, get hit, y’little…pshh!”

    He moved to stick his fork into the mountainous pile of scrambled eggs when Kira’s hand appeared around and corner and flipped the switch, causing the eggs to explode in a small cracking ‘pop’, showering Husk with scrambled egg, bacon bits, and sticky, syrupy pancake crumbs.

    “Oh, what the FUCK!”

    Kira smirked at Husk’s roaring, garbled vitriol and turned back down the hall. Angel was braced against the wall, arms crossed tightly across his chest. Kira approached him, hand outstretched.

    Angel scoffed and slapped it away. “Piss off! I don’t need your fuckin’ pity!”

    Kira smirked. “Out of anyone in this hotel, I’m the least likely to pity you, Angel.”

    Angel looked over at him, a forced smirk on his face. “Yeah? Why? ‘Cause you’we my fwiend?”

    “More that I’m a psychopath,” said Kira, leading Angel down the hall. “Pity isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

    “Uh, yeah, right…” Angel said, walking alongside him.

    Kira looked over at Angel, who was quietly glaring off into the middle distance. Husk’s words must have really stung, no doubt alluding to some truth. Bizarrely, Kira found himself pondering this uncouth, abrasive, overtly prurient demon’s past. He spoke like an extra in a Cagney film and was very obviously a gangster or criminal in life. A flamboyantly gay man in a 1940s American crime syndicate, how well would that have gone over? Kira thought back to his own life, how his own parents doted on him, coddled him, and eventually even helped him cover up his murders. His father, Yoshihiro, even gave him his powers for this very purpose. What would he have done without their unwavering love? How far could he have gotten without their support?

    Angel had none of that. No support or approval from his people, his clan, no respect or regard, and certainly no love.

    Did he turn to drugs because of it?

    His family had likely either disowned him or…

    A strange, heavy feeling blossomed in Kira’s chest, a curious tightness that seemed to weigh him down and affect his breathing. What was it? Why was he feeling this way? Was he dying? Again? No...he thought back to earlier, to making breakfast; was this what caring for others was like? Is this what normal people went through every day? He didn't want to think about that, he wanted it to go away. But how?

    “Angel…” he began to say before faltering. “…I…”

    “Huh? What?” Angel turned to him, his expression flat and tired.

    He reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I do consider you a friend.”

    Angel looked confused for a moment before smiling. It was a small smile, unlike any of his other grins, smirks or otherwise self-satisfied simpers. “Thanks, man.”

    The smile lasted for a moment before Angel remembered himself and turned away, clearing his throat. “U-uh, well, yeah! Of course ya do! Lotta people would like to call me their buddy, y’know? You’re lucky I feel the same way, yeah?”

    “Oh yes,” Kira said, smiling as he gestured at his various wounds. “Very lucky.”

    Angel laughed and clapped him on the back. “S’why I don’t stick my neck out for anyone! C’mon, let’s head to the rec-room. I got some bloodlust to vent! Y'can be my cheerleader!”

    “Sounds good to me,” Kira said, following after. He felt better, lighter.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Honesty

    Vaggie stormed into the main office with Charlie following closely after. She leaned up against the wall as Charlie slowly shut the door behind her, taking extra care to not slam it. Vaggie rolled her eye, whenever she was annoyed, Charlie would make every effort to seem calm; she even knew exactly how she’d start off this little chat.

    ‘‘Kay, so… what was that all about?’

    “‘Kay, so,” said Charlie, turning around with a tight smile on her face. “What was that all about?”

    “Exactly what it sounded like,” Vaggie said, calmly.

    “Vaggie, that was unfair, insensitive, inappropriate and very unprofessional!” Charlie said. “That man–”

    “Is a monster!” Vaggie interjected. “He’s a murderer, Charlie! A killer! A hitman! He’s–”

    “He’s our client!” Charlie interrupted, pointing at Vaggie and then then herself before gesturing at the room around them. “This is a rehab clinic in Hell! Who did you think we were going to rehabilitate?!”

    Vaggie threw up her arms. “Prostitutes! Druggies! Thieves! Literally anyone but someone who kills for fun! How the fuck are we going to rehabilitate someone who’ll kill us the second he feels like it?!”

    “Maybe by not insulting him to his face, for starters!” Charlie said. “Maybe by showing a tiny bit of faith in me! In this hotel!”

    “Wh–Charlie! No one in Hell or anywhere else has more faith in you than I do! Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to help you with this?!”

    “And you still don’t think I can do it! You think I didn’t hear him confess to being a serial killer, to being Cleaner Guy or whatever? Of course I know he’s dangerous, I’m not stupid! But he’s a client, he wants to move on, to get out, that means he wants to be better!”

    “Does it?” Vaggie leaned in. “Does it really? He wants out, sure, but how do you know he actually wants to be a better person? How do you even know he can be better?”

    Charlie paused, her brow creasing. “Because I have to. Because I believe that everyone who walks through those doors wants to be better. Because I believe that everyone down here has something good about them. If I didn’t believe that from the bottom of my heart, I’d be exactly what everyone thinks I am; a stupid, spoiled, naive princess in way over her head! So, yes, I believe that he wants to be better, I believe that he can be better, and I know that we can help him. Not me, ‘we’, us!”

    She reached out and grabbed Vaggie’s hand, squeezing it tightly in both her hands. “I need you, Vaggie. I need you to be with me on this. I need you to be what I can’t be, I need your skepticism, I need your realism, I need you. But I need you to work with me. I know you think you’re right and I know you’re just doing what you feel is best, but if you really want to help me then I need you to trust me! Do you trust me?”

    Vaggie met her gaze. “Charlie, of course I trust you! If anyone can pull this whole thing off, it’s you. I’m sorry, I know I haven’t been the as helpful or… professional as I could have been, it’s just… just…”

    “Just what, Vaggie?” Charlie pressed, stepping in. “You need to tell me!”

    Vaggie paused for a moment before hooking a hand around the back of Charlie’s neck and pulling her in, pressing her lips against hers in a passionate kiss. Charlie’s shoulders tensed fora moment before going slack, her hand reaching up tentatively settling on Vaggie’s hip. Her lips were soft, warm, the taste of her was light and delicate, sweet in her mouth. Warmth passed between them, understanding, they lit up like a completed circuit, a surge of passion and energy flowed as they connected on this new, intimate level. They broke the kiss, Vaggie sighed dreamily, gazing half-lidded into Charlie’s eyes. “Figured I should just show you.”

    Charlie stared at her, surprise clear on her face. “Vaggie?”

    Vaggie’s eye snapped open in horror. What had she done?!

    She stepped back, her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God! I-I’m sorry, I just, I thought–”

    Charlie was on her in a flash, pulling her into another, deeper kiss. Charlie pressed forward, pushing Vaggie back against the desk. Vaggie squeaked in surprise before that familiar heat, that current passed between them, melting her resistance and surprise like ice in summer. Vaggie yielded to he pressure, her passion, bunting her rear up onto the desk as Charlie leaned over her, her hands slipping up Charlie’s back, clinging to her. Their lips opened and their tongues met, probing, caressing, playing.

    Charlie broke the kiss and smiled. “I was just surprised. Now you know how I felt.”

    “Ch-Charlie,” Vaggie stammered, still fresh off the rush. “I…”

    “Shhh…” she said, leaning back in. “Trust me.”

    “Huh,” Husk grunted, standing in the doorway. “Coulda hung a sock on the doorknob or something.”

    Vaggie and Charlie shot apart as though electrified, Charlie stammered and straightened her her shirt. “I was–we were just–”

    “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Vaggie snarled. “Knock, asshole!”

    Husk snorted and sidled in, followed shortly by the Goat Bois. “Figured you were throwing a staff meeting. Though, from the look of it ‘staffs’ were the last thing on your minds.”

    Charlie straightened out her tie and huffed, a healthy flush outlining the red spots on her cheeks. “Vaggie’s right, you should have knocked.”

    “Because you two were about to fuck in a public office?” Husk said, smirking. “You’re right. How inconsiderate of me.”

    Charlie cleared her throat awkwardly as Vaggie buried her face in her hands. “Why did you think we were having a meeting?”

    Husk shrugged. “Call it intuition. Call it our friendly neighborhood serial killer just exploded my breakfast in my face.”

    “Is that what all that stuff in your fur is?”

    Husk grunted an affirmative and flicked a wad of scrambled egg off of his chest. “Figured you two would have a row about whether or not to curb him. Also figured that, as staff, maybe me and the Boi’s oughta be a part of that conversation. We’re in danger too, after all.”

    Charlie sighed and nodded. “You’re right, I should have included you–in the meeting! Not the… it was supposed to be a meeting, we just–”

    “Don’t care,” Husk snorted, waving her off. “Let’s narrow it down, yeah? What we have on our hands here is a dangerous superpowered psychopath with no particular aversion to killing and maiming. He’s admitted to enjoying it, even. He’s a stone cold mob hitman and he doesn’t seem to care who he kills or who gets killed so long as he’s safe, drug-fueled babble notwithstanding. To make matters worse, he’s now the target of a gang of dangerous superpowered psychopaths who will kill everyone who’s ever laid eyes on the bastard to keep their secret weapon secret. That about sum it up?”

    Charlie opened her mouth to retort before pausing and nodding in defeat. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s… pretty much it.”

    “Also, he’s an arrogant, misogynistic asshole!” Vaggie added.

    “You say that like it’s a bad thing, Chica,” Husk laughed.

    “You’re being unfair!” Charlie exclaimed. “He’s not all bad!”

    “Name one good thing about him!” Vaggie said, crossing her arms.

    “She can name six,” Husk chuckled, gesturing at his belly.

    “Ugh! Thank you!” Vaggie said. “I almost had to throw a towel over them so Charlie’d be able to string words together, it was like waving milkbone in front of a hungry dog!”

    Charlie gasped sharply, affronted. “What? I... no!”

    “C’mon, Chuck. Even I was staring.”

    Razzle held a washboard out on his tummy and rasped his hooves on it while wagging his eyebrows seductively, Dazzle wore a mop on his head roughly resembling Charlie’s hair, he swooned and loosed a bubbly, high-pitched bleat.

    Charlie tried to be offended but wound up chuckling despite herself. “Okay, okay… not even his nicest feature, while we’re on the subject…”

    “Tell me about it,” Husk said, chuckling. “Didja see legs go up and made a complete ass of themselves?”

    “Can we focus?!” Vaggie exclaimed. “Charlie! Yeah, he’s hot. I get it. I’m gay, not blind! But even Husk agrees that we can’t keep him here! I get that you want to help him, and I know that a time will come when we’ll have to try and redeem people like him. But him specifically, he can’t stay here! He’s a danger to everyone in the hotel, both him and his friends. He has to go!”

    “Now, now, Vaggie,” Husk said, patting Charlie on the shoulder. “Don’t go putting words in my mouth.”

    “What?!”

    “Yeah, what?” Charlie said, confused.

    Husk rolled his eyes and sighed. “Him being him, and his buddies being who they are, that’s exactly why we can’t turn him loose. Think about it! Their boss is back and looking to clear out three years worth of squatters on his property. We kick him out and he goes back to being Mr. Clean and that’s thousands, tens'a'thousands of people who are going to die. A gang war unlike any we’ve seen in decades, and he’s going to be the right hand of the worst slaughter this side of a culling! We let him go, we may as well be slitting their throats ourselves.”

    “Okay, I didn’t consider that…” Vaggie sighed and folded her arms, looking over at Razzle and Dazzle. “What about you two? Thoughts?”

    Razzle burped loudly and Dazzle patted his tummy, licking his lips.

    "Figures." Vaggie rolled her eye and shook her head. “Okay, he stays. So, what now?”

    “What we were going to do, silly! We’re going to help him!” She reached out and took Vaggie’s hand in hers, pulling her close. “Together.”

    Vaggie smiled and threw her arms around Charlie, hugging her tightly. Husk rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Fuckin’ hell…”

    Green armored gauntlets grabbed an imp by the throat before tearing its torso in half like a phonebook, its pulverized remains unleashing a torrent of glowing pellets. He whirled about and unloaded both barrels into another roaring hellion, reducing its body to a quivering lump of gore.

    “Gitsuuuuum!” Angel cackled, the controller in his hands clicking as he whirled about. “Groovy!”

    “I think that’s another game,” said Kira, flinching as the player character tore off a horn and stabbed its owner with it. “Is this what games are like up there nowadays? Whatever happened to the Mario Bros?”

    “One cut his throat shavin’ and the other fell down an elevator shaft,” Angel said, not looking away from the screen. “Onto some bullets. Terrible accident. Sad, really.”

    “What?”

    “Ya asked me about the Mario Brothers. Rumor was they were rats, but turns out it was Rick Guiseppe. Too bad they had such terrible accidents, they made good cannoli.”

    “Huh,” muttered Kira, watching the horror unfold onscreen, the high notes of gunfire underscored by low, gruesome crunches of meat and cartilage. “Can you imagine if this guy showed up here?”

    “I’d fuck ‘im,” Angel chirped.

    “Your funeral.”

    “Would he be able to kill us? I mean, he can off these dipshits but they’re all… meaty.”

    Kira tapped his chin, contemplating. “He’s empowered by Seraphim, right? That’s why he can get health and ammo from killing.”

    “Where did it say that?”

    “The codices.”

    “Ugh! Well, their Seraphim ain’t our Seraphim!”

    “Semantics.”

    “Says the guy that actually read the codexes in Doom!”

    “Codices.”

    “Fuck off!”

    Kira chuckled and pat Angel on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, if he ever turns up here, I’d protect you–Berserk sphere!”

    “I see it,” Angel said, licking his lips. “Get ready for some real shit!”

    A long string of horrifying noises ensued, Kira grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. “You know what, nevermind. You’re on your own.”

    “Woof!” Angel chuckled. “Felt that, didja?”

    Kira hissed through his teeth and shook his head. “More that it just… brings back bad memories.”

    “Oh?” Angel cocked an eyebrow and glanced at him. “Back when ya dusted folk for the Big Man? Saw some shit, yeah?”

    Kira nodded, pointing at the screen. “Holy Diver’s fighting style really isn’t all that different from this gentleman’s. Neither are the results, really.”

    Angel paused the game and turned to Kira. “He really scares ya, doesn’t he?”

    “He’d scare you if you knew any better,” said Kira, staring at his good hand.

    “Well…” Angel said, making himself comfortable. “Why dontcha educate me? Tell me why he scares ya so bad.”

    “That goes back to when we first met,” Kira said, with a sigh. “Or, rather, when I first arrived in Hell…”

    The hands.

    Those horrible, awful hands.

    They pulled him apart, him and his Stand, Killer Queen. The pieces were passed back through the throng, he could see bits and pieces being dropped, being lost, others still were clustered together and separated and taken elsewhere, never to be seen again. He saw a main mass being assembled in a long line, at one end was his head and at the other was a burning, screaming ring of light, the pieces being passed along and tossed in like coal into the boiler of some infernal steamliner. He drew closer, and closer, and closer, he could feel the heat on his face now, hear his pieces crackle and hiss as they passed through the maw. He whimpered and shook his head, neck stump wiggling pathetically as he tried in vain to pull away. He managed a squeak of horror when his head was finally hurled into the roaring portal.

    His head tumbled through the blinding void, the heat scorched the hair from his head and blackened his skin. His smouldering, sizzling head plummeted ever downwards before thudding into a pool of viscous, molten light with a rich splat. He sunk slowly into the thick, burning liquid, tongues of flame crawling up his face as did. Fully submerged he felt the flesh of his face melt and slough away, his eyes bubbled in their sockets and evaporated. The terrible burning agony tore a high, horrible sound from him, beyond anything he could ever imagine coming from a human being. The molten substance poured into his open, screaming mouth, the heat from within met the heat from without as he felt himself melt and spread out within the light. The last vestiges of his old body evanesced within the light.

    Utter obliteration.

    (“Yeah, that part’s a bitch, ain’t it?”)

    (“Shh!”)

    His consciousness spread out across the all-encompassing molten mass, consumed with pain and terror, a bodiless mass of frenzied thoughts and memories. Instincts took hold, his mind scrambled with no limbs, thrashed with no body, desperate to escape. At the peak of his despair he felt something again, something besides pain. Something was moving through the thick, liquid medium, something that moved when he willed it: a limb of some kind. He latched onto the sensation with a wretched, animalistic desperation, his vast well of willpower focusing solely on this new sensation. Something was growing, coalescing, a rough approximation a form, something solid conjured from the liquid fire. Arms, legs, a body, a head, all strange and unfamiliar; he knew, somehow, that this body was manifested by his will, his desperation, his instincts, and it would be he salvation.

    He imbued himself into this form, wriggling into it like a suit that was several sizes too small. The body thrashed and struggled, his panicked frenzied motions slowly become more and more controlled and deliberate as his soul settled into this strange new flesh. He kicked his legs and paddled with his arms, reassured by the feeling of the thick liquid rushing over his body: he was moving.

    Up! Up! Swim up! He was compelled to swim.

    He had no way of knowing which way was was up, but knew nonetheless.

    His pace quickened as he drew closer, closer, compelled by some force deep within the center of his soul. He burst from the surface and tried to take the first breath in what felt like years, but his lungs and throat were filled to the brim with the thick, molten liquid. He felt himself drawn upwards out of the pool, blood rushed to his head as though he were hanging upside down. He fell up and out, blind from a thick film of the stuff still clinging to his body.

    Utterly disoriented, he tumbled through the air. He recalled that skydivers in spins would try to make an X with their limbs as symmetrically as possible to control their decent. The tumbling stopped and he managed to flip over onto his belly, the roaring wind tore over him, peeling the sticky film from his body in viscous rivulets. He opened his new eyes for the first time and tried to gasp: he was plummeting through the sky hundreds of meters above a massive city. It sprawled out in all directions, its lurid red glow flickered in the horizon, back-dropped by an abyssal, starless sky. He looked down, eyes widening as the cityscape drew closer and closer. A sector, a neighborhood, a block, a street, and finally, a single car at the head of what appeared to be a caravan. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact.

    Pain exploded in a flash, consuming his entire body. Flesh ruptured, bones shattered, metal crumpled and brakes squealed. His shattered body was flung from the destroyed hood of a limousine. He twitched on the ground and gagged, the glowing liquid pouring from his wounds. The second the liquid touched air it evaporated in a shimmering cloud, leaving no trace of an injury behind. Bones knit together and joints popped back into place. A few seconds later and he was completely healed.

    “Oh, what the FUCK!” A voice bellowed. “Watch where you’re falling, asshole!”

    The newly-born demon rolled onto his hands and knees, looking up at the car blearily, confused; standing on either side of the car were hideously malformed monsters. One was a tall, black dog-man dressed up in some ridiculously overwrought zoot-suit while the other appeared to be a metallic Hell’s Angel with a V-8 motor block instead of a head.

    “Top Gear, you got this?” The Dog-Man said, gesturing at the ruined hood.

    ‘Top Gear’ nodded his engine-head. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Take care of the pavement-diver, Anubis.”

    Anubis grinned, exposing a mouthful of fangs. “Yeah, yeah. Hey, HOLY DIVER, this’ll just be a minute!”

    He started towards him, drawing a long scimitar from a scabbard on his back. “Man, I don’t know what kinda fun you were having before, jumping out a window naked as a jaybird, but you done landed on the wrong car!”

    He opened his mouth to speak and a torrent of glowing yellow liquid poured out onto the pavement. He doubled over and vomited a seemingly endless volume of the stuff, emptying his stomach and lungs.

    “Oh-ho! A newby! See that, Top Gear? We got us a fresh-baked demon over here!” Anubis stood over him, notching his blade under the panther-demon’s chin and raising his gaze to meet his. “What’s your name, Pussy?”

    “…Klr-kl-een…” he gurgled, glaring up at the grinning dog.

    “Clean?” Anubis sneered. “What kinda name is 'Clean'?”

    “Mr. Clean sure left a fucking mess on this hood!” Top Gear growled, setting his hands on the crumpled metal, it glowed and the steel groaned and popped as it slowly returned to its former shape. “Gonna have to take it to the wash!”

    “Hear that?” Anubis said. “Boss’ll be late for the opera now. Can’t show up with your gunk all over his hood, what would the other Bosses say? Nothing personal, but I’m gonna have to give you a bit of a slap on the wrist.” He raised his sword over his head, leering down at the naked panther demon. “Hope you enjoyed your stay in Hell, Mr. Clean!”

    “It’s Kira, actually.” He reached out and grabbed Anubis’s ankle with his right hand.

    “What the–?!” Anubis grunted before bloating hideously for a moment, fire and smoke bursting from his shattering body, and then he was gone, his sword clattered to the ground.

    Top Gear gawped as Kira slowly rose to his feet, looking at his new hands in horror. Kira reached up and felt his face, his snout, the fur, his teeth, he tugged a strand of his blonde hair and examined it, a look of flat distaste on his face. Two more demons burst from the limousine and rushed at him, spears and swords drawn. Kira side-stepped one and unleashed a rush of punches into the side of his head, decapitating him in a cloud of gore.

     The other skidded to a stop on his heels, eyes wide. Kira advanced on the terrified demon, who held out a trembling spear. Kira reached out and poked the side of the speartip. The demon screamed and spasmed as his body was wracked with destructive power, orange blossoms of energy sprung up all over his body, leaving grey patches of smoldering ash in their wake. The spear fell from his hands as they turned to dust and blew away in the wind, his screams of agony winding down as more and more of his body succumbed. They eventually stopped when his knees evaporated and he keeled over forwards, crumbling into a pile of dust before disappearing entirely.

    Kira walked over to the blood-splattered limo, Top Gear stammered in terror and backed away, eyes wide and pistons trembling. Kira examined himself in the passenger-side mirror: a pink panther with blonde hair? Why would something covered in fur have hair? The incongruity was making him anxious.

    Where was he?

    What was this place?

    Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. He ducked a swipe from a skull-faced demon with flowing brown hair. The demon’s left arm ended at the wrist, no hand, but when his swipe missed and slashed at the side-mirror there was a strange bass sound and the mirror simply ceased to exist.

    ‘Spacial destruction!’ Kira thought. ‘Just like Okuyasu!’

    (“Who?”)

    (“Shush.”)

    The Skull-Demon balled his right hand into a fist, squeezing so tightly his knuckles popped. Harder and harder he squeezed until his right first collapsed into itself with a low, buzzing thrum, creating a void at the end of his wrist. He swiped again and Kira leapt up onto the roof of the car, the demon's void hands effortlessly tearing a long gashes into the door. He looked around from atop the roof and saw a long line of stopped vehicles, a veritable army of demons now converging on the limo, all armed with some manner of weapon. Kira raised his left hand and prepared to deploy Sheer Heart Attack when all the demons stopped dead in their tracks, awe and terror clear on their hideous faces.

     Kira felt the steel roof behind him bucke as a massive weight set down. He began to turn around when his body suddenly crumpled in a sickeningly familiar way, as though under the force of a thousand simultaneous blows. He was sent flying backwards through the air at tremendous speed, blood trailing in the air behind him from a dozen ruptures. He saw an enormous figure standing on the roof where he had been standing an instant before, its fist extended. Terror and fury blazed in him as he flew through the air; it couldn’t be! It couldn’t be him!

    The figure blinked out of existence, at the same time an armored fist the size of a basketball slammed into his ribs at bullet-speeds, crushing them utterly. He smashed into an adjacent car with enough force to crush it like an aluminum can and send it skidding up onto the sidewalk. Inside the collapsed ruin of metal and glass, Kira barely clung to consciousness, his vision going dark as massive hands pulled the warped steel apart like paper. The next instant Kira found himself skidding across the pavement in front of the limousine, his body a screaming mosaic of agony as contusions, lacerations, and shattered bones each sang their own song of pain.

     He turned over onto his back and glared up at the massive demon. He was huge, ten feet tall at least, his bulging muscular body was gleaming platinum, covered in polished gold armor with cog-shaped pauldrons. On his chestplate was a raised, jade-green heart. His head crowned with a savage mane of shining golden hair that reached over his shoulders and down his mid-back. His face was that of a unnaturally beautiful man with alabaster skin and red gear-shaped pupils. Sprouting from his cheeks were metallic articulated tubes that wrapped around and connected to the back of his shoulders; as he drew closer Kira could hear the regular, mechanical hiss of air that was his breathing.

    “I-is it you?” Kira sputtered, a clot of blood spraying from his mouth as he spoke. “J-Jotaro Kujo?!”

    (“Seriously, who?”)

    (“A guy who beat me up a few times! Now, quiet!”)

    The demon paused, his breathing sharpened. “…What did you say?”

    Kira took the opening and used his last bit of strength to launch Sheer Heart Attack. The automated bomb now manifested as a small blue skeletal turtle, but Kira wasn’t picky. It roared and launched itself at his enemy. The giant demon smirked and pointed at the incoming bomb, it froze in mid-air, frozen in a tiny isolated bubble of stopped time. Kira gasped, not even Jotaro could do that!

    “You send toys to defeat me, HOLY DIVER?” HOLY DIVER laughed, drawing both his fists back before unleashing a furious barrage of punches to the little turtle. His brow furrowed as the pummeling continued. He intensified his barrage, kicking and kneeing the frozen creature. Eventually his smirk became a scowl and he broke off the attack to find Sheer Heart Attack little worse for wear. “Hmph… impressive. Am I correct in assuming that this is also some manner of erasing weapon, like you used before on Anubis and the other peon?”

    Kira didn’t answer.

    HOLY DIVER raised his hand and a throwing knife appeared in it. He stabbed the glittering blade into Sheer Heart Attack with tremendous force, the otherworldly metal scored its shell but little else, a small cut appeared in Kira’s hand. “Interesting, your connection with this Stand is weak but its power is outstanding. Tell me, what is its range?”

    Kira said nothing.

    “Hm.” HOLY DIVER flicked his wrist and the knife whistled through the air, stopping only a centimeter from Kira’s left eye. “You made me late for an opera and killed one of my top assassins. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t spend the next several years killing you.”

    There was no doubt in Kira’s mind that HOLY DIVER meant every word. This was a being of gargantuan patience and cruelty. If he was indeed in Hell, there was no telling what horrors awaited him.

    “Kill me and you walk away from this late to an opera and down an assassin.” Kira grit his teeth and forced himself to smile. “Consider this my resume.”

    HOLY DIVER eyed Kira up for a moment before smiling and laughing. “Ho-ho! Not five minutes in Hell and you attack its future king, kill his soldiers, and demand a job. Such brass! Such boldness! Very well, resume accepted. What is your name?”

    “Yoshikage Kira.”

    HOLY DIVER did a double take. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Yoshihiro Kira, would you?”

    “My father.”

    “Gravity! This was ordained, my friend!” HOLY DIVER clapped his hands together, a sound not unlike a thunder-crack, and chuckled. “In life, your father was an employee of mine. No doubt he gave you your Stand with one of my arrows. How fitting that I, in life, would grant him the means to provide me a powerful warrior to aide me in death.”

    That was a lot to take in. “…What?”

    The next instant they were in his car. Kira was clothed in a dapper Valentino suit, his wounds were cleaned and bandaged, his ribs and other broken bones reset and splinted, the sweet warmth of opiates flowed through his veins. He sighed and leaned back into the pillowy seats of the limo, just then noticing the drink in his hand; scotch, from the smell it was a single malt, probably very expensive. HOLY DIVER sat opposite him, taking up an entire four-person couch. His skull-faced henchman glared at Kira from across the cabin, his hands, visible once more, folded neatly across his lap.

    “Now,” HOLY DIVER said, sipping from his glass. “Do you like opera… Mr. Clean?”

    “And from there on out, my life was his to command,” said Kira. “I lived in opulence. Working tirelessly to see that his enemies disappeared, that fear was rampant, and that his books were balanced. But there was no peace in it, no plateau. Every neighborhood taken, every borough conquered, every gang exterminated, there would always be more. More and more. I only wanted a peaceful life, one free of conflict and stress, but Holy Diver only wanted constant struggle and bloodshed, more opportunities to dominate and destroy. The days following the Purge of ’16 was the closest to happy I've been since coming here.”

    Angel shuddered, a cold chill working his way up his spine. “Shit, no doubt. The guy sounds terrifying. How does he do all that shit?”

    “His power on earth was to stop time and move within it. As I understand it, his demonic form allows him complete mastery of time within a certain radius.”

    “Yeah, okay, but how–”

    “The only thing I do know is that the one reason he hasn’t attacked this place yet is because of–”

    Charlie strolled into the rec-room, a sprightly spring in her step, Angel resumed playing the game. “Goooood morning everyone! Sorry about earlier, just some philosophical differences, it’s okay now!”

    “…Her.”

    “How are–oh… oh, my God, what are you doing?” Charlie said as Angel ripped off a Hell Knight’s jaw and threw it across the screen.

    Kira looked up at her, his expression flat. “Punishing Hell.”

    “Duh,” Angel said, smirking as a chainsaw growled over the thick splattering of mulched tissue.

    “I don’t remember buying this,” said Charlie as she tried very hard not to look at the screen. “Since when do we have a game console?”

    “I ‘unno.” Angel shrugged. “It just sort of appeared on the coffee table, right Killer?”

    Kira nodded. “Yes, there was this flash of red light and there it was. A bit peculiar, in retrospect.”

    Charlie gasped, her eyes wide. “Really?”

    “Pft, no,” Angel scoffed.

    Kira shot her a wry smile. “Razzle and Dazzle bought it the other day.”

    “Oh,” said Charlie, somewhat embarrassed. “…Well, turn it off. It’s time for therapy! Today, we’re going to try a hobby-swap!”

    “This is plenty therapeutic!” Angel said, grinning. “I think I found my new heroin!”

    “Hmm,” Kira grunted in assent, a dull wet crunch sounded from the TV. “I killed a punk kid like that, once. Well, ‘killed’, the little shit didn’t stay dead.”

    Charlie reached over and turned the console off despite their protests. “I don’t think this game is good for either of you. Now, come along, I’ve got a whole day planned!”

    Footsteps echoes up the dark stairway, the low, soft light of the sequenced candelabras cast long shadows across the hewn stone of the old castle walls. He ascended the staircase in a slow, cautious manner, sure to allow his distinct, deliberate steps to announce his approach. He stood before the elaborately decorated red mahogany door. The approacher, a tall, horned, skull-faced demon paused for a moment, listening. A voice sounded from the other side, it carried the high angry notes of an infuriated woman. His lord was entertaining a guest. Upon closer listening her easily recognizable voice identified her as a powerful and influential media mogul.

    “I know you surround yourself with a low sort, but do try and keep your dogs on a leash!” Katie Killjoy crowed. “Tell them to stop attacking my camera crews! They’ve endangered two sets of very expensive equipment!”

    “Mind your tone, harridan!” The equally shrill but familiar voice said; Boadicea the Witch. “My Lord HOLY DIVER has magnanimously granted you an audience. Show your gratitude and stop wasting his time with your petty nonsense!”

    “Oh, shut it, you grovelling hag!” Katie snarled. “And you! I promised you prime coverage, you promised me ratings! I can’t very well hold up my end of the bargain if your hired filth keep breaking my cameras!”

    He couldn’t help himself. This harpy had the nerve to address his lord with such flippancy, such disrespect! His hand brushed the doorknob before he remembered himself once more. That HOLY DIVER had not yet put a angelic blade through her heart suggested that he took no offense at her hideous etiquette.

    He would wait.

    Before he could blink he was in the throne room, standing next to Killjoy, who recoiled with a start. “Who–?!”

    His master sat upon his throne; he gestured, beckoning. “You have news, Crossroads?”

    “I do, My Lord,” he said, brushing past Killjoy. “Mr. Clean has been definitively located. It will interest you to know that he’s been seen in the company of the Heiress.”

    “Mr. Clean?” Katie gasped, a grimace of horror on her face, but an excited, predatory glean in her eyes. “He’s real? What a scoop! If you could fix us up for an interview–”

    “Ms. Killjoy, this is a sensitive matter,” HOLY DIVER said, casually, waving goodbye at her. “If you’ll excuse us.”

    “Oh, no you don–” She vanished midsentence, to where Crossroads did not know, nor did he care.

    “Finally!” Boadicea, a cloud of writhing silver smoke in the shape of a gaunt young woman, said. “Disrespectful little bitch! It would bring me so much joy to see her broken and humiliated before you for such impudence!”

    “I enjoy her drive, her single-mindedness. She’s a creature of great ambition and will. I can respect that,” said HOLY DIVER, chuckling. “Besides, who better to herald my arrival? Let it be known that none of our number are to harm or allow to come to harm any equipment or associated personell of Channel 666.”

    “It will be done, My Lord.” Boadicea genuflected and turned to Crossroads. “Where are my four lieutenants? Should they not give their reports in person?”

    Crossroads glanced between her and HOLY DIVER. “Against orders, they confronted Mr. Clean in order to apprehend him and bring him to you.”

    There was a pause, HOLY DIVER’s breathing sharpened, quickened, before returning to its normal clock-like rhythm. “Who’s left?”

    “All of them, My Lord,” said Crossroads. “In fact, they claim that they gravely injured him, and would have been victorious had–”

    “Is it a victory if I did not demand it?” HOLY DIVER growled. “I ordered them to find him. To report on his location. To open a dialogue if possible. Nothing more! If they won a battle I did not condone, could it possibly be called a victory?!”

    “No, My Lord,” Crossroads said, bowing. “It would be insubordination.”

    “And they lost! Insubordination and defeat! Two insults upon my reputation! That fool…”

    “A son will brave any hardship for the approval of his father,” Boadicea said, soberly. “Take any chance, seize any opportunity, risk his very life if it will raise him up in his fathers eyes.”

    “If the father is worthy,” HOLY DIVER grumbled. “Status?”

    “Bug Boogie and God Given are unconscious and bedridden, Poker Face and Moonshine are conscious but out of action. Doctors estimate four days for a full recovery, My Lord.”

    “But the matter remains of what’s to be done with Mr. Clean,” said Boadicea. “It stands to reason that he’s unwilling to return to your glorious service, My Lord.”

    “For that dishonor alone he should be made example of,” Crossroads growled.

    “Truly! My Lord, please, allow me to send my son to dispose of this loose end!”

    “Mr. Clean wouldn’t be troubled by that indiscreet buffoon! Please, My Lord, send me. No one else in your service stands a chance, especially now that he knows we're after him.”

    HOLY DIVER held up his hand, silencing them. “He will be dealt with in time. For now, we wait.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Coping Strategies

    His eyes opened, it was bright enough to make him squint.

    Where was he?

    The room was sparse, austere, with little else in it but a door, a chair, the bed he was in, and a desk with a television on it. His thoughts were slow, sludgey, the inside of his head felt like pudding. He centered his breathing, inhaling and exhaling, pumping oxygen to the still-slumbering parts of his brain. It would not do for a man of his talents and background to languish in bed for so long, whatever those talents and background were. He presently couldn't recall the specifics, but there was little doubt in his heart that he was a man of means, a man of standing. Slowly but surely, memories began to resurface.

    A road?

    A bridge?

    An overpass. Yes. An overpass.

    Others were there, people he trusted, and others too, a stranger and a demon. A tormentor. A devil. He held this man in particular regard for some reason. This figure burned in his mind like an ember. Who was he?

    The door opened and in walked a fish-demon. His huge, muscular bulk took up much of the room as he stooped and turned sideways to enter. In his hands was a tray and on it was a bowl, a juice box, and a Styrofoam cup. The fish-demon’s quartet eyes locked onto him and lit up like he’d seen an old friend.

    “GiGi!” He exclaimed, a grin spreading across his snout. “You’re up!”

    GiGi? G-G. God Given. His name, his HERE name. He had another, but that was from before, from elsewhere, a shameful name. Here he was God Given, someone of repute, someone of means, someone respected and renowned. Someone feared. God Given was the man to know. He was God Given.

    The fish-demon glowed in his murky memories as a man of integrity, someone he could trust. A man with a name…?

    “…Moonshine?”

    “Yeah!” Moonshine said, grinning happily as he limped over to the bedside. “Sorry I didn’t get you anything. The docs went and said you wouldn’t wake up for a few days! Figures you’d show ‘em who’s boss!”

    Of course! Who could expect someone of his lineage to lay back and coalesce like some weakling? He’d been laid low, certainly, but nothing short of second-death could keep him down! He was indomitable!

    He was hungry.

    Moonshine picked up on this and set the tray down over him, clipping it onto the handrails on either side of the bed. God Given tried to sit up, hissing as his ribs and shoulder protested loudly and fiercely. He still managed, not to be cowed by a little pain, swatting away Moonshine’s webbed hand as he moved in to help. He examined his meal. A bowl of chunky, watery soup, a box of Tuti-Fruti, and in the Styrofoam cup was a single scoop of strawberry ice-cream. He sampled the soup and was dismayed to discover it was an especially inept attempt at jambalaya. Still, it was food.

     As he ate his mind cleared, memories edged their way back in, Mr. Clean, the fight, the… thing that happened. Light and sound and pain. “What happened?”

    Moonshine sighed and shook his head. “That whore Clean was neckin’ with sucker-punched us with a bomb. You and Bug got it worst, but me and ‘Face caught some flak, too.”

    God Given sucked his teeth in disgust. “Dammit. We had him, too. We were so close!”

    “Ayuh.” Moonshine nodded. “Boss ain’t happy, though. Turns out we weren’t supposed to attack him. Now, why didn’t that little tidbit get back to us?”

    God Given turned away from him, indignant. “Would it have changed anything? He attacked us, remember?”

    “Sure enough,” said Moonshine, counting off his claws. “After we tracked him down, cornered him, and threatened him at spearpoint. We showed up because he was in the club and probably wouldn’t pop us. But by the time we got there he’d already taken some poor asshole apart! The only reason we went after him is because you said to. Now we’re in bits and Boss is pissed. Got any choice words on that?”

    “We’re warriors, not messengers,” God Given growled. “If he wanted to pass on an invitation he could have sent some peon, not his top lieutenants! It’s overkill! …It’s insulting.”

    “Orders are orders,” said Moonshine, gesturing at himself and then the bed-ridden demon. “And the results speak for themselves.”

    God Given was silent, his face dark with fury, Moonshine sighed and shook his head. “You never got on with Clean. From day one he got under your skin. So, what, you got a grudge and we almost get killed because of it?”

    God Given didn’t answer, he didn’t have to. What good would it do? Moonshine was a good lieutenant, a warrior through and through, but he had only ever been and would only ever be a criminal. God Given was different. He was royalty, destined for greatness. His cursed, maligned existence on Earth and his ignominious end was just another tally on his scoreboard, another slight to pay back. His father could unlock the secrets of Heaven, the power of creation itself. He believed in his father, in his mission, from the bottom of his heart. He was his son, his heir, their destinies were intertwined. He himself was a powerful demon and a canny warlord, he’d earned his position in his father’s organization. He deserved to rule alongside him.

    But Clean?

    He didn’t believe. He didn’t even want to be there! All he wanted was to live quietly, like a plant! So why did his father insist on bringing him back into the fold? Why was he so important that they couldn't proceed without him? Why did his father obsesses over him? He was powerful, no doubt about it, but he lacked conviction, lacked passion. He only ever did as he was told and not a whit more. God Given conquered entire neighborhoods, exterminated whole gangs, all by himself! He was known and feared throughout the entire West Side!

    Clean was feared, but only because no one knew any better! The fact that Hell itself checked the shadows for a disgruntled salaryman galled God Given to no end. Clean had everything! Tremendous power, a terrifying reputation, and his father’s favor. He had everything a demon could want and more, and what did he do with it? Bemoan his lot. Resent his renown. And now he spat at an opportunity that God Given would have killed for. To call it infuriating was an understatement. If only they’d killed the bastard, or at least subdued him and brought him back to his father in pieces, maybe then the ridiculous myth surrounding him would finally be dispelled!

    “I wanted to prove to him that we don’t need him,” said God Given after some time. “That we can move on with the plan without him. He doesn’t want to be part of our organization, he’s made that abundantly clear. In any case, we accomplished our mission. We found him, we opened a dialogue, and we gauged his willingness to return to service.”

    Moonshine sighed and nodded, a wry smirk on his face. “That’s a way of putting it. But the Bossman is pissed, and you’ll have to answer for that.”

    God Given ate his jambalaya without much enthusiasm. “He just might get angry enough to give us another shot at him.”

    Moonshine threw up his arms and leaned back in his chair. “You really got it out for him, dontcha? Well, I hope you got a plan going in, because we’re not going to catch Clean fucking some whore while riding the Blue Dolphin next time. That ship has sailed! He knows we’re coming now, and he’s not fucking around. God knows what that lunatic is up to right now!”

    “Okay everybody!” Charlie cheered, standing in front of a whiteboard, the word ‘hobby’ written on it and surrounded with smiley faces and stars. “Today we’ll be trying the hobby-swap! It’s a well-known fact that boredom and relapse go hand-in-hand. When you get bored, your first instinct will be to fall back on old habits that scratched that itch, resulting in relapse. What I hope to accomplish here, in addition to getting to know each other better, is to exchange calming and constructive hobbies that will help you manage your addictions. Any questions?”

    Angel raised his hand.

    “Yes! Angel!”

    Angel glanced at Kira and then at Charlie. “Howza ‘bout this? Say ya fuck your own clone, is that gay or masturbation?”

    Charlie giggled and playfully waved him off. “Okay, Angel! You know that’s not–”

    “It’s gay,” said Kira, authoritatively.

    Charlie blinked in surprise and Angel scoffed, crossing his arms. “Oh, yeah, right. Of course, of course. …Ya wanna clarify that position, Killer?”

    Kira shifted in his seat, his expression that of scholarly interest. “Well, you see, if it’s a clone we’re talking about, then having sex with them would be a homosexual act, as they are another being of the same sex.”

    “But they’re a clone, your clone,” said Angel. “They’re you.”

    “No, they’re just identical, physically and psychologically, but they’re a separate being of the same sex. Therefore, any sexual activity with them would be, by definition, homosexuality, or ‘gay’. Just because they’re genetically identical doesn’t matter. Identical twins are just that, but they’re distinct people, and if they had sex it would be considered homosexual. And incest, too, obviously.”

    Angel shook his head. “Twins and clones are two different things!”

    “If we’re talking about identical twins, they really aren’t.” Kira contemplated this for a moment. “If we really wanted to get into semantics, one could argue that any hypothetical clone-boning could be classified as incest.”

    “Hah! ‘Clone-boning’,” Angel sniggered. “AKA sixty-sixing.”

    Kira smirked. “A dopplegangbang.”

    “The ol’ auto-erotic enchilada!” Angel countered.

    “Twins with benefits!” Charlie broke in, giddy at their candor. “Okay, but what if instead of a clone, you yourself get cut in half down the middle and each half grows a new half?”

    Kira nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Like a starfish.”

    Charlie tapped her nose and grinned.

    “And then they fuck?” Angel said.

    “Obviously!” Charlie turned to Kira. “You’d have all the same memories and stuff instead of just being physically identical. Would that still be gay?”

    “Yes,” Kira got up and grabbed a dry-erase marker and limped over to the board, illustrating as he spoke. “You see, the second the bisection happens, one half is physically seeing things from a different point of view than the other, and thereby becomes a separate person via the formation of a unique perspective. Both sides have the same memories and body layout, but now are perceiving reality separately, therefore creating two similar but distinct entities. It’s that distinction that makes it gay as much as any sort of biological element.”

    “Whoa,” said Angel, nodding. “Deep.”

    “But would it still be incest?” Charlie proposed, sitting down in Kira’s seat.

    Kira nodded. “In as much as identical twins having sex would be. As it is, by definition, consanguineous.”

    Charlie frowned and rubbed her chin. “Well, that’s a downer. Sort of puts a damper on the whole exercise.”

    “Tell me about it,” Angel huffed. “I draw the line at sibling slap’n’tickle. Shame too, I’m just about the only person in Hell who could keep up with me.”

    “You’d know all your own moves, too!” Charlie added. “It’d be like chess!”

    “Sounds exhausting,” said Kira before smirking and wiping the board clean. “Ah, but I think I have a solution.”

    “Oh?” Charlie turned to Angel, who was taking notes. “By all means.”

    “Who here knows what a stable time loop is?”

    Vaggie hummed to herself as she chopped some carrots, arranging them next to an assortment of other veggies on a platter. Mother Goose wanted some snacks for her wayward, helpless, murderous goslings. She felt different though, lighter. What had been bottled up and caged before was out in the open, free. The world was different and yet much the same. Also, Charlie was a surprisingly forceful kisser. Not a bad thing, no, definitely not a bad thing. Just… surprising.

    Her cheeks burned at the memory. Charlie was a lot of things, but passive wasn’t one of them. Friendly and agreeable, certainly, but not passive. If anything, she could be stubborn and downright fierce when challenged. Lucifer didn’t sire weaklings and Lilith raised no fools, Charlie needed her wits and a spine to survive that household.

    Still. She’d been surprised.

    The door swung open and Vaggie jumped, in walked Charlie, an especially happy smile on her face. “How are the snacks coming along?”

    “Coming!” Vaggie announced, still a little flustered.

    “That’s what she said,” Charlie snickered under her breath.

    “Hm?”

    “Nothing!” She said and popped a cherry tomato into her mouth.

    Vaggie smiled at her elation, Charlie really was happiest when helping others. “So, how’s it going?”

    “Great! I got them to list all their hobbies and pass-times for the swap as well as a little explanation as to why they pursue those specific activities,” Charlie said, producing a notepad. “We’re learning so much about each other! For instance, did you know that Angel Dust considers fellatio a passtime?”

    “I didn’t know that, but I’m not surprised. Are you gonna take up that one or will Kira?”

    Charlie scoffed and shook her head. “No, no! No sex stuff! Almost all of Angel’s hobbies are… not conducive to redemption. Except for make-up and ensemble crafting! Oh, we’re going to have fun with that one!”

    “What about Mr. Clean?” Vaggie said, crossing her arms. “Any stimulating hobbies from him?”

    Charlie grimaced slightly and drummed her fingers on the notepad. “Errr… well… he likes to, uh, measure and collect his fingernail trimmings…”

    “Oh, well, yeah, I knew that!” Vaggie chuckled rolling her eye. “From his profile. Gross, huh?”

    “Yeah, also not exactly… well, he used them to gauge his chances of success at murder when he was alive. So, uh, that’s not really an appropriate hobby, either. It was really, er, surprising… and gross.”

    “I guess a rockin’ bod will only make up for so much, eh?”

    “Oh, no, not at all! I still want to eat my breakfast, lunch, and dinner off of those abs. I’d lick. That. Plate. Clean!” Charlie said, a playful, teasing moue on her face. “Rub ‘em on my face!”

    Vaggie scoffed and lightly punched Charlie on the shoulder. “I think you’re spending too much time with Angel!”

    “I’m starting to see why he teases you so much!” Charlie giggled. “It’s fun!”

    “God, that’s just what I need. You two tag-teaming me,” Vaggie grumbled, handing Charlie the platter. “Here, you should probably get back to them. Who knows what trouble they’re getting up to.”

    “Oop! Right!” Charlie darted back out the door with the platter in hand. “Thank you, Vaggie!”

    Vaggie smiled and turned around to clean up when Charlie leaned back into the kitchen. “Also, did you know that if you have sex with your clone that it’s gay incest, but if you travel backwards in time and have sex with your past self it’s masturbation? Weird, huh?”

    She ducked back out again, leaving Vaggie to stand in amused silence, shaking her head. “Now I don’t know who to be worried about, her or them!”

     Kira stared at his lump of clay, a dull red brick on plate atop a turn table. He was acutely aware of how, in his present condition, this could have been seen as some kind of jab. Sculpting with one hand wasn’t impossible, but it was annoying. He only had to remember who put him up to it to dispel this notion, as Charlie was incapable of malice. Teasing, maybe, but not malice. This was one of Charlie’s hobbies, pottery and sculpture. She seemed to have a wealth of passtimes, hobbies, and interests. Though, he supposed, she had to do something with all that energy!

   It had been a long day of inane time-killers, nothing particularly resonated with him. He was proud to admit that he hadn’t felt the urge for quite some time. Perhaps all these funny little diversions were working! He could even admit that he found Angel’s minor dissertation regarding lipstick fascinating.

   The importance of color coordination, which brands were best, and his surprisingly in-depth knowledge regarding the viscosity of certain makes and styles over others. You see, for day-to-day ‘out on the town’ lipstick, long-lasting or ‘low-smudge’ was preferable to more traditional makes. That said, certain clients preferred these messier types for aesthetic kiss patterns, not to mention leaving the coveted ‘high-water mark’. Similar logic applied to mascara, all-day ‘scara was the most practical, but traditional brands ran pleasingly when the tears began to roll. No matter the situation, Angel took care to look exactly how he wanted, and even when disheveled and degraded he strove to look his best. Kira could respect that. Almost enough to not be completely disgusted.

    Almost.

    Regardless of his current disability, he was more than able to work the clay, to express himself. Working for Holy Diver forced him to hone his abilities, to mature and expand somewhat.

    He’d once had to break in to a secured location, practically a fortress, and had been force to develop a relevant skill. A traitor divulged some information regarding the location of one of Holy Diver’s caches of Seraphim Steel. It was Mr. Clean’s job to erase the information and the informant. What initially seemed to be a straightforward B E &M (Break Enter and Murder) soon revealed itself to be one of the most frustrating missions of his afterlife. The mansion was barricaded, with high walls, sensors, and a full platoon of angelic-armed soldiers. Inside there were keycard locks, thumbprint scans, retinal scans, the works.

    The direct approach seemed to work well enough. The strength and speed lent to him by his stand allowed him to bypass the barricades with ease while Sheer Heart Attack handled the guards and soldiers. During all the noise and confusion he killed his way through the facility, collecting cards, thumbs, and eyes as to bypass security. What would have taken an army all night he had done in thirty minutes.

    But.

    The sniveling little bastard that'd stolen the information to begin with had forwarded the location to a contact of his the second the commotion commenced. Needless to say, Bites The Dust fixed that right up and Kira was free to try again. Again and again he had tried, and again and again he had failed. After about the ninth or tenth reiteration he’d been at the end of his rope. Breaching the facility gave the informant enough time to email the info. Bypassing the security was easy enough, but how to get in? Ironically, for all the sophistication of the inner layers the main security kiosk was secured with a simple key-lock.

     After an exploratory timeloop Kira was able to commit the shape of the key to memory. From there it was a simple matter to disintegrate the chaff off of a larger mass, in that case a manhole cover, and he had his key. The lock clicked, the security guard evaporated, and Kira walked out of that kiosk wearing a uniform with a keycard bouncing on his hip. A nice, quiet stroll through the mansion and that whimpering little rat and the location of the cache had become so much smoke.

    Sometimes his work was creative and stimulating, though he suspected that it wasn’t the same sort of creativity Charlie was talking about.

    He looked over Angel and Charlie as they discussed the placement of a single blob of clay. The goal of the exercise was to visualize something you cherished, or at least regarded as valuable, and replicate it in clay. Charlie surmised that Angel could do with placing more emphasis on the elements of his life not related to drugs and prostitution, in this case a pot-bellied pig. He was doing quite well, though he was struggling with the curly little tail.

    “Man! The second I get it wet enough to sculpt it falls apart,” Angel said, squishing another collapsed pig tail between his fingers, wadding it up. “It’s a conundrum…”

    “Maybe you could just make it look curly?” Charlie offered, fiddling with a piece of clay. “See? Just texture a piece like this to look like a curly tail!”

    “And compromise my vision?!” Angel scoffed, outraged, flicking the clay out of her fingers. “I want to commit my precious baby to immortality! That means his tubby li’l belly to his pokey li’l feet and funny li’l nose and, this is important, his curly-whirly li’l tail! I want to show it to him when he gets back from his spa vacation!”

    This conversation was both stupid and loud, so Kira decided to put a stop to it. He picked up a wad of clay in his right hand, a click sounded and the clay began to dissolve. Energy crackled and wisps of smoke carried away the evaporating ash, leaving behind a tiny, perfectly molded pig tail. He walked over to the arguing pair and carefully attached the tail to the sculpture.

    “Uh…” Angel said, examining the perfectly formed tail. “Thanks?”

    Kira didn’t answer and sat back down, staring at his brick of clay. Charlie touched his shoulder and leaned over. “Everything okay?”

    He looked over at her and, slowly and painfully, gestured ‘so-so’ with his left hand. Charlie cleared her throat and chuckled, a little embarrassed. “Right… uh, would you like some help? Oh! I’ll be your hands!”

    She plopped herself down on a stool across from him, wetting her hands. “Alright! What are we making?”

    Kira shifted awkwardly and looked over at Angel, who was fiddling with his pig, careful not to touch the tail. “Uh, that’s not the problem, actually.”

    “Okay…?”

    “I’m not sure what to sculpt.”

    “Oh, that’s okay! I never know what I’m making when I start out!” said Charlie, gesturing at the clay. “What we have here is potential! You can try and see your sculpture in it, like Michelangelo, or you can just squish it up and see where your creativity takes you. That’s what I do, I just remove structure and and remake it into something useful.”

    “Like that ashtray on the front desk?” Kira said. “That was you?”

    “…It was supposed to be a bowl…” Charlie grumbled before snapping back into a grin. “But yes! You could make something functional, like a bowl or vase, or you can make something that reminds you of something or someone you love, like Angel did. You don’t need to know what you’re going to make, just that you’re going to make something!”

    Kira pondered this for a moment. He reached out and poked the clay with his finger, suffusing it with power. There was a flash and a pop and the lump disappeared in a puff of smoke. Charlie gasped, her eyes widening in amazement. The smoke and ash swirled about, evanescing to reveal a perfectly molded pair of hands. The detail was exquisite. The creases in the skin. The texture of the perfectly pedicured nails. The plushness of the flesh as long, delicate fingers intertwined in an intimate embrace.

    “Oh, my God…” Charlie muttered, leaning in. “It’s beautiful!”

    “Hey!” Angel cried, pointing in an accusatory finger at Kira. “That’s cheating!”

    “Hmmm.” Kira gave a satisfied huff and smiled, admiring his work. “I’m starting to see your point, Charlie. This really is… I never even considered this. Committing my fondest memories to clay, it makes them more, I don’t know, more real? Memorializes them.”

    “Oh, ummm.” Her eyebrows knit together as she wrung her hands. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, but I’m going to have to discourage you from memorializing your, uh, ‘ex-girlfriends’. I don’t think it’s good for your recovery.”

    “Hm? Oh no, these are my hands” said Kira as he examined his hand, his beast’s paw with its fur and pads and claws, and frowned. “Back when I was, you know… I always thought they were the most beautiful hands in all the world. I used to love to see beautiful hands in mine. It felt like they’d been completed, one set paired with another. I’d give anything to have them back. But, I suppose that this is good enough. Just seeing them again as I remember them is rewarding.”

    “Really?” Charlie reexamined the sculpture. “Sorry, I just saw the long nails and I thought–you know what, nevermind. This is a wonderful sculpture, Kira. Would you mind if I put this on display around the hotel?”

    “Not at all!” Kira said, awash with strange but positive feelings.

    Charlie giggled and picked up the plate, carrying the hands off to the kiln to be fired. He watched her leave, a small smile on his face. This feeling, this light, warm feeling, what was it?

   
    God Given hobbled up the seemingly endless stairs. He squinted in the darkness, his injured leg grumbled at him as he strove ever onward and upward, making promises of pain and discomfort for later. His ribs were still knitting together, making his breath shallow and strained, adding to his struggle. Still, he did not stop, did not so much as slow his pace. His father had summoned him, and so he would. After what seemed an eternity he saw the door. He breathed a sigh of relief, he’d half-expected that his father was pulling the old ‘Endless Staircase’ routine on him. He was wont to do that when he was feeling particularly contemptuous of someone.

    God Given reached up and grabbed the knocker and stuck three times. The deep, booming sound reverberated off the wrought-stone walls, becoming a low, clattered echoes as they bounced about down the winding stairway. He waited.

    And waited.

    And waited.

    This was his price to pay for his ambition, for his ‘impudence’. To suffer his father’s power-plays while he labors a point. It was a tiresome, necessary thing.

    The door opened in a slow and deliberate fashion with a low, dry creak. God Given limped into the throneroom. It was a large room, not ostentatious but hardly austere in its decorating. HOLY DIVER’s banners hung from golden pikes as candelabras and an elaborate chandelier cast the room in flickering orange light, the kind of light that bred ample shadows for his father to skulk about in. Boadicea and Crossroads, the two ever-present decorations wherever his father was, stood at attention. Boadicea bowed deeply upon seeing him, Crossroads merely nodded. These two knew their place, knew his status. At the head of the room, sitting atop a three-layer dais, was his father’s throne. His father sat shrouded in darkness, one leg canted atop another as he rested his head on one hand and held a book in another. His glowing red eyes did not even glance up at the visitor as he flicked a page, giving the impression of total engrossment. God

    Given knew what to do. Knew what was expected. He grit his teeth as he lowered himself to the floor, his injured leg screaming now as he knelt. HOLY DIVER took no notice, or didn’t care if he did, turning yet another page. God Given could make out to the word Paradiso on the cover. Of course. Ever since his return, HOLY DIVER had been preoccupied with Heaven. He’d held ultimate power in his hands, he’d known some form of godhood, but once again been cast back down to this pit. Now he had a plan, a goal, and the conquest of Hell was the first step. All his pieces were in place, his return to Hell was set to be a bloody, televised event. Killjoy would get her views, alright, and Hell would once again tremble in fear at the mere mention of his name.

    But first they had to make their move and, for some unfathomable reason, HOLY DIVER would not commit while Clean was AWOL.

    He disappeared from his throne without a sound. The mechanical hissing of his breath now emanated from behind him, the dusty clap of a book closing and the low ‘clunk’ of it being returned to its rightful place on the bookshelf.

    “God Given,” he began, his voice calm and even. “I’m glad to see you up and about. I heard you took something of a drubbing.”

    To fail to respond was something his father considered rude. To be petrified with fear was a common and appropriate reaction to his presence, but he called him here to explain himself, not grovel. “It could have been worse.”

    “Oh, indeed!” He said, now back in his throne. “Must be an interesting story. Care to share?”

    God Given ground his teeth together. “We followed an anonymous tip to the Belial and Scratch Apartment Complex and got a positive track on Clean.”

    “An anonymous tip?” HOLY DIVER frowned, tapping his armrest. “That’s troubling.”

    “It panned out.”

    “Even worse. It would be prudent to investigate that.”

    God Given sighed and nodded. “As you say, My Lord, but our mission–”

    “Your mission!” HOLY DIVER exclaimed, smirking. “Do humor your father in his dotage. Could you remind me what that was, exactly?”

    “Our mission, as given by you, was to locate Mr. Clean, to make contact with him, and to assess his willingness to reenter your service.” God Given paused for his father to interject. When he didn’t, he continued. “We discovered that Mr. Clean had taken up residence in the rehabilitation center run by Lucifer’s daughter.”

    “The Heiress,” mused HOLY DIVER.

    “For obvious reasons, we did not approach. Instead, we tracked down an associate of one of the hotel’s other occupants. She was able to convince this demon to get Clean out into the open where he would be less likely to try and make us disappear.”

    “And you had reason to suspect he would?” HOLY DIVER wove his fingers together. “Since your mission was merely to talk to him and make an offer.”

    “It was a precaution. Clean has avoided us for years up until this point, and he was never shy about voicing his dissatisfaction with this line of work.”

    “True.”

    “That night, our contact calls us up to tell us that Clean was at a nearby club, but by the time we arrived he’d moved on. After some digging we managed to track him to an overpass, where he became confrontational and attacked us.”

    “I see,” said HOLY DIVER, rising to his feet. “Because Moonshine and Poker Face mentioned something about bringing Clean back to me for ‘a talk’. I don’t recall giving such an order. Though I am 150, and things must be slipping my decrepit mind. At least, that’s the only explanation I can fathom, since the alternative is that you abused your position to fulfill your own agenda in my name. And that would be…” He appeared in front of God Given, towering over the kneeling demon. “…Foolish.”

    God Given didn’t say anything.

    “Well?” HOLY DIVER demanded. “The answer is not on my boot! Look at me and tell me; did you issue orders in my stead? Do you dare to think that you knew better than me?!”

     “I extrapolated your meaning,” God Given did as he was told and rose to his feet. He craned his head up to meet his father’s burning gaze, hoping his expression betrayed nothing of his indignance and fear. “Sending us, your top lieutenants, to find him and deliver a message, it’s overkill. Subduing him was implied in our mission statement. You sent us because he’d have more trouble killing us than some peon, because we’d be able to fight back! And we did, we fought him and we would have won! If we’d brought him back you would've congratulated us, but since we failed while following your orders you punish us? Punish me?! It’s insulting!”

    “Enough!” HOLY DIVER bellowed. “I did not summon you here to stamp your feet and pout like an entitled little brat! Insulting? You insult my bloodline with your petulance!” He set an enormous hand on his injured shoulder, squeezing with just enough pressure to be uncomfortable. His voice became low, filled with disgust. “Little God Given. Little Donny. Little boy. You scowl at the world and demand it recognize you, demand it respect you. True greatness doesn’t demand respect, it commands it! Flowing through your veins is not only my blood, but the blood of my most treasured enemy! That you dishonor both lineages with your childishness is what’s truly insulting.”

    God Given couldn’t bare to look at him any longer and glared at the floor, his clawed hands balled into fists.

    “Look. At. Me.” HOLY DIVER grabbed him by the chin and forced their eyes to meet. “You want to prove yourself? To show me that you’re worthy to rule all of creation at my side? Very well. I will give you one last chance. In fact, I will give you a gift.”

    “A gi–?” God Given began to say when a sharp, stabbing pain exploded at the base of his skull. His knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor in a heap. He felt it squirming, wriggling around inside his head like some insidious octopus, tendrils stretching out and burying themselves into his brain. He looked up to see his father towering over him, a single braid of hair undulating next to him, at its end was the spear-like depositor of a flesh-bud. “Wh-what have you done?!”

    “I’ve given you what any good father would give his son,” said HOLY DIVER, spreading his arms wide, his face alight with a manic grin. “I have given you 「The World」! And… a mission.”

    “What? What do you need me to do?” God Given said, getting on his hands and knees, staring up at his father, his king.

    “Bring me two things.” HOLY DIVER held up two fingers. “Bring me Mr. Clean and bring me the Heiress.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Relapse Part 1

    Some days later.

    A quartet of demons strode down the sidewalk towards the hotel. Their strides were long, confident, almost brash. They were on a mission and had every reason to believe they would succeed. Passersby saw them coming and crossed the street. Onlookers notched their hats down over their eyes or found something of monumental interest on the ground. As they passed, demons removed themselves from the impending situation with promptness, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

   The quartet approached the door to the Happy Hotel. They were acting under orders from their leader, their overlord, their God, and they would not fail. For all was part of the inviolate plan. All would come to fruition. They would see Hell itself reshaped and come under the rule of their most splendid master.

    They knocked.

    A pink-furred cat-demon with blonde hair answered. He wore a wary, cautious expression. “Yes? Can I… help you?”

    The lead demon moved forward without taking a step. He was a white-skinned humanoid with black eyes and horizontal and vertical lines engraved into his pallid, bloodless flesh. At each intersection of these lines a single, bejeweled nail had been hammered down into the bone. His garb was no less ostentatious, leather and fabric interwoven with his flesh and sinew. Shining silver hooks pulled the white skin of his chest taught until it was as shiny and lifeless as leather. The butcher’s smock he wore about his waist was festoon with veins that pulsed and throbbed as though alive. His thin, lipless mouth split like a wound, revealing diseased, yellowed teeth.

    When he spoke his voice was deep, ancient, like a echo from a dark cave. “We are the Cenobites of the Labyrinth. We have been dispatched by our lord and master, the God Of Flesh, the Leviathan…”

    He reached out with a cold marble-white hand, clenched in fingers with bruised-black nails was a pamphlet. “…to spread its Good Word to the denizens of Hell. Did you know that the original purpose of Hell was to redeem sinners through blessed suffering?”

    The cat-demon looked over at the other demons; a bald female with a flayed-open trachea; a round, moist lump of scar tissue with sunglasses; a faceless creature with no features save for a pair of chattering, blood-caked teeth. “…Is that so?”

    “Indeed!” The lead cenobite crooned. “Once a soul has undergone its penitence, it is released of its sins and made whole: nirvana through holy agony. The Pretender Lucifer perverted the true purpose of Hell, turning it into the overpopulated, hedonistic stye you see before you. It is only through suffering that true redemption can be achieved.”

    “I see,” the cat-demon said, his eyes glazing over. “Well–”

    “We understand that this hotel seeks to do the same,” said the female cenobite, her voice a low flanging croak. “Perhaps we can come in and discuss methods?”

    He shook his head. “Ah, well, you see I’m just a patient of this establishment. I can’t really invite anyone in without approval from the owner.”

    “Is the owner in?”

    “No, she’s not.”

    “Do you know when will she be back?”

    “No.” He began to close the door. “Good day.”

    The lead cenobite wedged his foot in the doorframe. “Are you interested in seeking redemption through exquisite torment?”

    “No, I’m quite happy here, thank you,” the cat-demon said, allowing a small pause to pass. “Also, I’d like you to leave now, because you fill me with disgust.”

    “For your soul’s sake,” he said, handing the pamphlet to him through the crack in the door.

    He kicked the cenobite’s foot out of the jam and slammed the door shut.

    Kira sighed and rolled out his shoulders, flexing his mostly healed wound. He raised his left and and focused. His fingers clenched, slowly, feebly, until they formed a fist. He smiled to himself, all that experience he had with dismemberment had really paid off. He’d be back in working order in just a few days.

    Angel peered out from the rec-room. “Who was that?”

    He looked up from his fist and shook his head. “Oh, just some Cenobites of the Labyrinth.”

    “Ugh!” Angel rolled his eyes. “The only fuckers in Hell too creepy to screw! I mean, I’ll do anything for money, but they do that shit for fun!”

    “They wanted to talk to Charlie,” he said as he walked into the rec-room. “To ‘discuss methods of redemption’.”

    “Ha!” Angel barked, slapping his knee and patting the spot on the couch next to him. “I’da let ‘em in! Just to see the look on her face!”

    “I can go chase them down if you like,” Kira offered, plopping down next to him.

    “Ew, no.” Angel shuddered and pulled out a piece of paper. “C’mon. Chuck left us some homework to do.”

    “Alright, what’s on the docket?”

    “We did painting?”

    Kira nodded, gesturing at the pair of canvases in the opposite side of the room, one a flawless replication of Bacchanal in Honour of Pan by Sebastiano Ricci, the other a meticulously detailed oil painting of a pair of hands. “Done.”

    “Next was needlepoint.”

    “Done.” Kira held up a pair of pink mittens and a an eight-inch enclosed tube of white cotton banded with pink stripes. “Also, what is this? A sock?”

    “Yep! Just, y’know, not for a foot,” said Angel, smirking as he checked it off the list.

    Kira dropped the sock, his expression that of flat disgust as he contemplated chopping off his hand. ‘No… Vaggie worked hard to reattach it. That would be rude.’

    “And haiku?”

    Kira held up a sheet and read aloud: “To touch and be loved/I’m holding and held/the world in my hands.”

    “Pretty good.” Angel nodded approvingly. “Now, do mine!”

    Kira sighed and rolled his eyes, reading from another paper. “Dick-dingers and scotch/bagpiping and buggery/sit on my face, please.”

    Angel stuck his nose in the air at Kira’s distaste. “I’m unappreciated in my time!”

    “Alright, what’s next?”

    “Hmmm, let’s see here…” Angel examined the list. “Ah! Here we go. Fellatio practice!”

    Kira arched an eyebrow. “What.”

    “Fellatio. You know, beej, blumpkin, bob-a-knob, deep-throat, derbing, gettin’ gobbie, havin’ a hummer, playin’ the skin-flute, the ol’ smoke-a-pole, sucky-fucky, whaps!”

    “…What’s next on the list?”

    “Lessee here…” Angel squinted at the paper. “Sodomy feat. reach-around. Followed by sloppy make-outs. Order of events is optional, synergy is encouraged.”

    “Let me see that!” Kira snatched the paper from his hand, poring over the list. “For one, ‘fellashio’ is spelled with a ’T’. Secondly, you can spell ‘synergy’ but not ‘fellatio’? Thirdly, this list is written on a cocktail napkin.”

    “What? A ’T’? How does that make any sense? It has a ‘shh’ sound. Fel-ay-shi-oh!”

    “No, no. You see, it stems from fellatus, the past-particible of the Latin verb fellare, meaning ‘to suck’. Linguistic drift led to it becoming a noun, and English phonetics led to it sounding like a ‘shun’ instead of a ‘ti-on’ sound. Fel-ay-ti-oh. Understand?”

    “English is weird.”

    Kira scoffed and nodded. “Glad I don’t have to talk to American brokers anymore. All the ‘lemme tell ya this’ and ‘ko-knee-chee-wa Mister K-eye-ra’ drove me up the goddamned wall!”

    The sound of the front door opening sounded from up the hall. Charlie’s beaming face leaned into the rec-room, grocery bags hanging off her arms. “Heeey! We’re back, want to help us in with some of the groceries?”

    “Meh,” Angel grunted.

    “Yes, of course!” Kira said, getting to his feet.

    “Thank you!” Charlie said as he walked over to her. “Oh, it’s so good to see you moving around. You sure bounce back quickly!”

    “Ah, well, I’ve had an excellent nurse,” said Kira, taking the bags off her arms and following her out.

    “Kiss-ass,” Angel grumbled and turned on the TV.

    On the screen was a trembling and thoroughly terrified reporter. She was a shapely young demoness with the head of a goat and the wings of a bat, her make-up ran with tears and sweat. Behind her, well off in the distance, was the Happy Hotel.

    “Th-th-this is Ruh-Rachel Retch of ch-Channel 666, reporting in fruh-from the West Side.” She took a deep, shrill breath and resumed, somewhat steeled. “Not long ago the controversial Happy Hotel opened with little fanfare and more than a little skepticism. Since then it has been a source of constant public ridicule and of criticism toward the Luciferian Rule. However, we here at Channel 666 have an inside source that claims that a powerful former-assassin for notorious crimelord Holy Diver is residing inside the Happy Hotel. Oh! Uh, I mean, HOLY DIVER. This assassin, known as Mr. Clean, is rumored to have been responsible for between one and ten thousand disappearances, and has maintained his anonymity… uh, u-until now… w-we here at Channel 666 will bring you the first in-person interview with Mr. Clean ever, uh, ever… attempted…” She hyperventilated for a moment before turning back to the camera, her tone shrill. “B-but I-we here at Channel 666 will compromise any moral code, bend any law both demonic and natural, and endanger ourselves and others to satisfy your morbid curiosity! Let’s go!”

    A large, blue, webbed hand set down on her shoulder from somewhere off-camera. The hand squeezed the space between her shoulder and neck, giving her a amicable pat as a towering fish-demon stepped into view of the camera. He set the pommel of his huge, brutal harpoon down behind her with a thunderous crack. As Rachel flinched away from him, a short, black, emaciated stag beetle-demon brushed past her and gave a thick, clotted chortle.

    A gecko-demon sprung silvery metallic cards back and forth between his hands as he walked by and down the sidewalk, winking at the camera as he made the card deck vanish with a flick of his wrist.

    Next, a tall blonde mole demon strode into view, his claws shod in shimmering, articulated silver blades. He smiled handsomely at the petrified reporter, tracing a Seraphim Steel talon under her chin, notching a finger and tilting her head up. His smile became a lot less friendly as he traced her neck with his deadly talons. He relented and patted her cheek with the back of his hand. He broke away and followed his two other companions. Rachel trembled, tears streaming down her face as the huge fish-demon leaned in, his huge mouth splitting into a yellow thicket of needle-like teeth.

    “Ey. You’re a real sport, y’know that?” He leaned in and gave her a peck on her tear-streaked cheek. “Keep on truckin’.”

    He licked the salty tear from his lips and followed after his compatriots, whistling jovially.

    Rachel collapsed into a blubbering heap. The operator set the camera down on the ground with utmost care before rushing to her side and pulling her into a tight, comforting hug.

    The feed cut back to a glaring Katie. “Tsk! Pussy!”

    “This just in,” said Tom Trench before pausing for a moment. “Wait, did they die?”

    “No,” Katie sneered, tapping her fingers on the desk. “So they have no excuse for not covering the story!”

    “Ah, okay. This just in, two positions have opened up at Channel 666,” said Tom, gesturing at the upper right hand corner of the screen where the channel’s web address flashed. “If you’re interested, please submit your resume to us online at www.channel666news.he/careers/newmeat! We’ll be happy to have you for as long as you last.”

    “Heh!” Angel said, smirking. “Uh-oh.”

    Angel sat for a moment, digesting what he’d just seen. “Ha… heh… oh… oh shit.”

    A thud sounded from the foyer.

    “Kira!” Charlie cried. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

    “Oh, fuck!” Angel shot to his feet and raced of the rec-room and up the hall.

    He rounded the corner to see Kira kneeling on the ground, his hand to his head, a grimace of pain on his face. Charlie knelt next to him, her arm cast comfortingly around his shoulders as the Razzle and Dazzle went about picking up the dropped groceries.

    She looked up at Angel. “Angel! Something’s wrong!”

    “They’re coming!” Angel exclaimed. “Killer! Your buddies, they’re on their way!”

    “It’s him!” Kira said, through grit teeth. “It’s Holy Diver! He’s here!”

    “Kira, what’s wrong?!”

    Kira got to his feet and shook his head, steadying on his feet. “It’s Holy Diver, he’s doing this!”

    “Hold on…” Kira reached down and grabbed the pamphlet up from the floor. “Ah, perfect.”

    “What’s perfect?” Charlie said, picking up the groceries he dropped. “What’s going on?”

    “Those gangsters that jumped us on the overpass, they’re on their way here! They’re comin’!” Angel said. “We gotta get the fuck outta here!”

    “Running isn’t an option.” Kira stepped away from the door, ears laid flat against his head. “God Given will find me no matter were I am… I’ll have to fight.”

    Vaggie and Husk burst into the room, searching for the cause of the commotion. Vaggie rushed over to Charlie, helping her gather the canned food on the ground. “Charlie, what’s wrong? What happened?”

    “Forget the fuckin’ groceries! We gotta fuckin’ book it!” Angel said, ever more agitated. “We got Holy Diver’s hit squad rollin’ up the street lookin’ to make a Hazbin shish-kabab!”

    “Oh, God.” Vaggie’s eye went wide. “What do we do?”

    “Fuck me for saying this, but the bug’s right,” Husk said, shaking his head. “We can’t fight these guys. We gotta get gone. There a back door to this joint, Chuck?”

    Charlie nodded and shot to her feet. “Yes. There’s fire exits all over the place. Let’s go!”

    Charlie took off down the hallway and the rest followed after, except Kira. Charlie stopped and turned around, beckoning him over. “Kira? Kira! Come on, the exit’s this way!”

    “You go,” said Kira, folding the pamphlet in half length-wise. “I’ll buy you all some time, maybe take a few of them with me while I’m at it.”

    “Fuckin’ A!” Husk exclaimed, nodding in agreement.

    “Kira, what are you talking about?”

    “Yeah,” said Angel, incredulous. “What? No, you’re comin’ with us, right?”

    He folded the pamphlet corners down diagonally, not meeting their gaze. “I’ll head upstairs and draw them away from you. They’re scared of me so they’ll try and take me in a group. I should be able to keep them occupied long enough for you all to escape.”

    “Oh, not this again!” Charlie’s expression became set and hard as she marched over to him and grabbed his sleeve. “You’re not turning yourself over to them! I won’t–”

    “Shut up and listen!” Kira snapped, yanking his sleeve out of her grasp. “This isn’t just about me anymore! Holy Diver’s making his move! He wouldn’t attack this place if he wasn’t prepared to face the consequences. That means he’s coming for you, too. He’ll kill everyone here and take you as his prisoner to use against your father. That’s why you have to run!”

    She looked up at him. “Kira…”

    “Fuck that!” Angel cried, his eyes blazing. “No way am I leavin’ a buddy to fight alone! I got a fuckin’ arsenal upstairs! I can–”

    Kira reached out and set a hand on Angel’s shoulder, shaking his head. Angel tried to retort before relenting and nodding, eyes cast down to the floor. “…Fuckin’ sucks…”

    “None of that,” said Kira as he pat his shoulder, a soft smile on his face as turned to the rest of them. “Now go, all of you. We don’t have much time.”

    Charlie rushed forward and hugged him tightly. “Be safe.”

    “And you,” said Kira, patting her head.

    She reached up and cupped his cheek before heading off down the hallway. Husk shot Kira a short, respectful nod and followed after with Razzle and Dazzle. Vaggie stopped and turned to Kira, a hard-set expression on her face. “Guess I was wrong about you.”

    “I wish you weren’t.” Kira smiled wanly as he resumed folding the pamphlet. “Protect her.”

    "With my life," said Vaggie, looking over at Angel. “You coming?”

    “Yeah, yeah,” said Angel, jabbing a thumb upstairs. “Just gonna grab my stuff, we’ll need some gear if Killer can’t dust these chumps. I’ll take the fire escape and meet ya at the rally point.”

    Vaggie nodded and set off down the hallway.

    “C’mon!” Angel clapped Kira on the shoulder and raced up the stairs.

    Kira followed him, still fiddling with the folded paper. He smirked and stopped at the top of the staircase. With a delicate flick of the wrist he threw a simple paper airplane. It dove, picking up speed before flicking upwards and leveling out, gliding languidly through the foyer before veering away from the door and landing softly in the far corner of the room. That done, Kira resumed a brisk, leisurely pace to the second floor.

    The door exploded inwards in a shower of splinters as the crumpled, bloody form of a cenobite crashed through it. The four lieutenants followed after, their steps measured and cautious.

    “Knock-knock?” Moonshine said, eyes shifting suspiciously. “Where is everybody?”

    “Guess they watch the news,” Bug Boogie grumbled. “They booked.”

    Poker Face kicked the limp form on the ground. “Why’d you throw the nail-head through the door if you were expecting to surprise them?”

    “Those guys piss me off,” said Moonshine, grinning. “Besides, what if he booby-trapped the door? You can never be too careful with Clean.”

    “True enough,” said God Given, swaggering through the entrance. “Looks like they caught wind of us. HOLY DIVER said Clean would notice when I activated 「The World」’s time-static. Nobody drop your guard, Clean still could’ve left some nasty surprises for us.”

    God Given walked into the foyer, stepping over a paper airplane, and looked around. He gouged the floorboards with his metal-shod toe-claws. An old memory of a ritzy crowd of demons sprung from the gouges and walked carefree into the foyer, stepping on the rug and bumping into furniture. None exploded. “Alright, room’s clear. C’mon.”

    As the others grouped around him, God Given knelt down and drew a claw along the floor. “Alright. Now, let’s see where you ran off to, Li’l Kitty.”

    The group, including Clean and the Heiress, popped up from the gouge in the wood. God Given and the others stepped backwards as the scene played out.

    God Given glared at the memory of Clean as he spoke. God Given wasn’t surprised that Clean figured out his father’s plan. He always was a smart, insufferable asshole. No, what surprised him was his decision to stand and fight. The Princess of Hell itself pushed her pretty little face into his chest, her eyes begging him to stay with her. Why didn’t he? Why not try and run? Sure, God Given would have tracked them down anyway, but they’d been given plenty of heads up. There was a chance, anyway. So why run upstairs? Did anyone actually buy that ‘buy you time’ garbage?! Please!

    “Awww!” Bug Boogie crooned. “Mean Ol’ Mr. Clean has a heaaaaart!”

    “I never would have figured,” said Poker Face. “Still, he’s right. We can’t very well chase her and fight him.”

    “Ha! Yeah!” Moonshine said. “Clean’s sober, indoors, and has prep time. That’s a four-man job if ever I heard one! No way we’re pulling some Micky Mouse dogshit like splitting up!”

    That’s it!

    That’s why he did it!

    If God Given returned with only Clean’s head in a sack, it would be nothing less than a failure in his father’s eyes. Clean knew this was the case, knew that God Given’s future in his father’s organization hung in the balance. No, this wasn’t him spontaneously growing a heart! This was some act of unimaginable spite! Even though they were sure to win, Clean would not go easy. He’d drag this out as long as possible! Why? To give the Heiress time to escape. To humiliate him. To rob him of this victory. He was here for both of them, and he would get both of them.

    “We’re splitting up,” said God Given. “Poker Face, Moonshine, you get the Princess and kill the witnesses. Bug Boogie, you’re with me.”

    “What?!” Bug Boogie exclaimed. “You and me against Clean?!”

    “No, no,” he pointed at the memories of Clean and that spider-slut as they made their way to the stairs. “Clean and that bitch from the overpass are heading upstairs. I need you to ice that whore. No witnesses.”

    “GiGi, you can’t be serious!” Moonshine said, holding a hand out. “You’re gonna take him on by yourself?!”

    “Yeah. Is that a problem?” God Given snarled and slapped his hand away. “We were sent here to get both Clean and that pale bitch. If she gets away, that’s Lucifer pissed off and breathing down our necks with no hostage to use against him. Go get her! Kill the witnesses! I’ll take care of Clean! Is. That. Clear?”

    Moonshine sighed and nodded, reaching out and patting God Given’s shoulder. “Be careful, okay?”

    “No need to worry, ‘Shine,” God Given chuckled. “With power of「The World」, there’s nothing he can throw at me that I can’t handle!”

    The memory of a paper airplane swooped down the staircase and poked Moonshine’s rippling arm with a dull, dry rustle.

    “…Fuck.”

    A slow rumbling ‘boom’ reverberated through the building, causing it to shudder on its foundations.

    Kira smirked as Angel stumbled. “Heh. Bad memories.”

    “Whoa!” Angel said, steadying himself on Kira’s shoulder. “The fuck was that?”

    “The memory of the paper airplane,” said Kira. “I knew they’d check the door and lobby for bombs, so I left the memory of a little something for when they tried to track us.”

    “I was wondering what that shit was all about,” said Angel, impressed. “Damn, you didn’t waste any time! That was some quick thinkin’!”

    “That sort of thing is all over these kinds of fights,” Kira said, shrugging. “You get used to it.” He winced and grunted as a familiar, disorienting static filled his head. “Damn! He’s still alive!”

    “What is it? Why d’ya keep doin’ that?”

    “It’s Holy Diver,” said Kira as he shook his head, his mind slowly but surely clearing. “His power is to stop time, but since coming to Hell he’s learned to generate a sort of ‘temporal static’. While he’s doing that, I can’t travel back in time with Bites The Dust.”

    Angel stared at Kira for a moment before throwing up his arms. “What the fuck are ya talkin’ about?! Y’can travel time?!”

    “Oh? Uh, yes,” said Kira, shrugging. “I can rewind time one hour. Didn’t I mention it?”

    “No!”

    Enraged bellows sounded from downstairs, Kira sucked his teeth. “Tch! Sounds like I just pissed them off. Angel, get your weapons and get out of here.”

    “Right, okay!” Angel said, turning to head down the hallway before stopping and turning back. “Hey, lemme give ya somethin’…”

    “Yes?” Kira said, peering around the corner at the main staircase. “What is–?”

    Angel grabbed him by the collar, pulled him around and pressed his lips into his. He wrapped his arms around Kira’s shoulders and pinned him to the wall in a passionate embrace, his hand snaking up to cup the back of Kira's head, fingers coursing through his blonde hair. Angel ran his tongue along Kira’s teeth, tracing them in a jaunty, playful manner. He broke the kiss and drank in Kira’s dumbfounded expression, a mischievous smile on his face. “For luck, Killer.”

    “Uh…” he muttered, a confused, flustered blush forming in his cheeks. “Thank you, Angel.”

    “‘Thank you, Angel,’” Angel repeated, mockingly. He smile faltered and he ran a gentle hand down the side of Kira’s face. “Be careful, okay? Don’t go and do anythin’ stupid like gettin’ killed!”

    Kira reached up and took his hand in his. “And you. Look after Charlie, and yourself.”

    Angel winked and took off down the hall to his room. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Kira, watching him turn the corner and race up the stairs. “See ya around, Killer.”

    The quartet were scattered about the room, ash and smoke whirling about them. There were a coughs and groans as the forms stirred on the ground. God Given groaned as he got to his feet. He was sore, but mostly unhurt. Better than unhurt, in fact. He was exultant! He’d done it! He’d froze time!

    The memory-plane had thumped into Moonshine’s arm and passed its charge. Time seemed to slow down as Moonshine’s hugely muscled arm began to bloat and distort, erupting into smoke and fire. God Given felt it then, almost like a full-body lurch as he entered the world of frozen time. Like a spasm at the center of his mind, a piteous and atrophied muscle straining under abuse. He could feel his grip on this world slipping the second he’d grasped it, but he had grasped it. He’d lasted a mere second, but that was all he needed to act. He severed Moonshine’s outstretched arm and gave it a mighty kick. His grip on time slipped that instant and the arm hurtled across the room and exploded, knocking them all flat but leaving them more or less unharmed.

    “AAAAAH!” Moonshine bellowed, clutching the bleeding stump extruding from his shoulder. “Clean, you fuckin’ bastard! That’s my jerkin’ off hand!”

    “You’re welcome,” God Given grumbled, getting to his feet. “Patch yourself up and get yourself a princess. Unless you still want to take a swing at Mr. Clean.”

    Moonshine grunted as a cap of barnacles crusted over his bleeding wound. He shot God Given a look before thumping the pommel of his harpoon into the floor. “Hey, you have fun with that. ‘Face! Gonna go grab some chicks. Be my wingman?”

    “Oh, yes!” Poker Face chuckled and flicked his wrist, his angelic cards appearing between his fingers. “Ladies love the magic tricks.”

    They took off around the corner and Bug Boogie turned to look at God Given. “You sure about this?”

    God Given smirked and straightened his jacket, tugging at his cuffs. “Oh, yes. All I need you to do is make sure that whore doesn’t inturupt again. Think you can do that?”

    “Eeee-hee-hee-hee!” Bug Boogie cackled, wringing his hands together, his mandibles snapping as drool dripped from his serrated mouthparts. “Oooh yeah! I got some ideas for that tasty little snack!”

    “Go have fun, then,” God Given said, smirking. “Take your time with him.”

    Bug Boogie did a double take. “She's a guy?!”

    “Yeah…” God Given said, about to admit he’d seen some of Angel Dust’s work. Bought some, even. F-for a friend! That wasn’t important right now. “Does it matter?”

    “Nope!” Bug Boogie clapped in glee. His head tore from his shoulders with a wet snap, his wings roaring like a tiny helicopter. “That makes it even better! Here I come, hot stuff!”

    He streaked upwards, smashing through the ceiling. His headless body eagerly ran up the staircase. God Given shook his head and followed after. He almost felt bad for the spider-bitch. Almost.

    ‘Here I come.’ God Given slowly ascended the staircase, a grin pulling across his face. ‘Here I come, you smug prick.’

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Relapse Part 2

    The Happy Hotel was a deceptively large structure, easy to take a wrong turn, easy to get lost. Her father had insisted on hiring H. H. Holmes as the designer, so there had been a process of ‘disarmament’ when getting the old shack back into working order. Still, the thing was laid out like a maze, with literally hundreds of traps, backdoors, and secret passages. Luckily for Charlie, she’d spent the better part of a century getting familiar with the layout, learning all the good hiding spots and places to stash candy. She still stashed candy here and there from time to time!

    “How much further?” Husk said, panting. “I ain’t drunk or sober enough for this much running!”

    “Yeah, Charlie,” Vaggie said, spear clasped tightly in her hands, her eyes wide. “You said there’s an exit back here?”

    “This place wasn’t designed to let people out!” Charlie said, exasperated. “But we just have to take a few more lefts, a few rights, and go up a hidden staircase and we’ll be out.”

    “Not very safe to hide your fire-exits,” Husk grumbled.

    “I just call it a fire-exit.” Charlie let out a bashful chuckle. “It’s really more of a, uh, well, Daddy always called it the ‘Aunt Flo Emergency Hatch’ for when Mom was cross with him. He always told me ‘When red tide’s in the clam, it’s time to scram!’ And then we’d go out for ice cream and shoot at homeless people. I liked the ice cream and I’d always miss on purpose. Win-win!”

    Husk and Vaggie exchanged looks. “It’s a miracle you’re as normal as you are, Chuck.”

    “…So, shouldn’t we keep going?” Vaggie offered, her tone urgent as she squeezed her spear shaft. “I don’t care what Kira says, they’re probably after us!”

    “Did you see all those turns and doors we went through?” Charlie peered around the corner. “We’ve got a bit of time to talk things over.”

    “Talk what over?” Vaggie said, dreading what she knew was coming. “You better not say we’re–”

    “Splitting up! Yes!” Charlie blurted out. “I’m the one they’re after, so they’ll come after me. If I head off into the building, I can get them lost in here. You, Razzle, Dazzle, and Husk, you’re just witnesses, they won’t go after you if they still haven’t caught me.”

    “Charlie, that’s stupid!” Vaggie said, grabbing Charlie by the shoulders. “What if they, I don’t know, split up themselves and one kills us and the other catches you?”

    “How is that any different than them catching all of us?” Charlie cupped Vaggie’s face, a sad smile on her face. “Between Kira and me, they won’t have too many hands to spare. I can buy you guys enough time to get to one of my parent’s estates, you’ll be safe there.”

    “Much as I hate to admit it, she’s right,” said Husk as he pointed at the ceiling. “Clean’s their prime target, so is Charlie, we’re an afterthought. Between Clean and Chuck, that just might be all of ‘em.”

    “Tell me about it,” said Moonshine as he leaned on the wall behind Husk, unshouldering his harpoon. “I mean, only a fucking idiot would fight Mr. Clean all by themselves!”

    Husk and the Goat Bois squawked in surprise and leapt back. Vaggie was in front of Charlie in a flash, her spear at the ready.

    “Aw hey, she’s got a poker,” the one-armed fish-demon snorted, unimpressed. “Careful now, missy, that thing’s sharp. You’ll hurt yourself.”

    “I’ll hurt you!” Vaggie roared, lunging at him.

    “Fuck me, that comeback sucked.” With a roll of his wrist, Moonshine’s harpoon flashed down in a shimmering arc. Vaggie only barely managed to bring her shaft up in time to catch the razor edged flue bare inches from her face. With a flick of his massively muscled arm he tore the spear from her grip and into his hand. He examined the spear and nodded approvingly. “But hey, this thing ain’t bad.”

    Moonshine and Poker Face started forward, the group backed away with every step.

    “How did you find us?” Charlie said, her eyes narrowing. “You have powers too, don’t you? Like Kira?”

    “Yeah, like ‘Kira’.” Poker Face said, grinning. “But that ain’t how we found you.”

    “Then how?”

    Moonshine scoffed and tapped his snout. “I can detect a drop of blood at a hundred leagues. A spritz of Joy by Jean Patou in an enclosed space? May as well have bathed yourself in chum! Heh-heh!” Charlie’s brow furrowed and she sniffed her collar. “Err… not that you smell like–look, it’s great pick, yeah? Elegant, but ebullient. It suits you, Your Majesty.”

    “Oh, thank you,” Charlie chirped, stepping out in front of Vaggie. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and flashed the two gangsters a big puppy-dog stare. “I don’t suppose there’d be any way for me to talk you two out of this, huh?”

    “Nope.”

    “None.”

    “Darn.”

    Charlie reached into her pocket and produced a small bottle of Joy and threw it in Moonshine’s face. The thin glass shattered, coating the fish-demon’s sensitive chemoreceptors and eyes in perfume. Moonshine stumbled back, roaring in pain and surprise. Poker Face drew a card in a flash, but not before Vaggie rushed in close and grabbed his wrist. Then, with a practiced motion, drove her knee up and between his legs with a resounding ‘thwack’. Poker Face was lifted off the ground for a moment before collapsing into a wheezing heap on the floor, his eyes wide as they bugged out of his skull. He dropped his card as his hands shot to his crotch.

    Vaggie swept in and grabbed her dropped spear up from the ground. A thin, whistling sounded from behind and she ducked just in time to dodge the deadly edge of Moonshine’s harpoon. She looked up as he loomed over her. All but one of his eyes were squeezed shut, red and weeping. Eyes met. He glared down at her, she glared up at him. She hopped to her spear and readied herself, placing herself between the killer and her friends. He paused, blinking furiously, but he did not attack, merely adopting a defensive posture.

    Vaggie smirked and felt a pang of dread; even when in pain and enraged, this guy had enough self-control not to attack half-blind.

    This was going to be tough.

    Charlie popped in behind her and pulled on a candlestick poking out of the wall. There was a ‘click’ and the floor dropped out from under Husk and the Goat Bois. They screamed in surprise and plummeted into the darkness. Charlie scrambled over to the trap door and shouted after them. “Raz, Daz! Get Husk to safety!”

    “Baaah!” Razzle called back.

    “Bahhh,” said Dazzle, somewhat less enthusiastic.

    Charlie got to her feet and turned to Vaggie. “If I told you to jump in there…?”

    Vaggie smiled at Charlie over her shoulder. “I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”

    Charlie smiled and shook her head. “And you have the nerve to call me stubborn?”

    “You love it!”

    Charlie grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her over to the opposite wall, she looked back at Poker Face and Moonshine, who were beginning to recover. “It was nice meeting you! Bye!”

    She pressed a circular pattern in the wallpaper. There was another ‘click’ followed by the sound of grinding concrete as the section of wall rotated inward, taking them with it.

    “Fuckin’!” Moonshine growled, smashing his spear into the floorboards and vigorously rubbed his eyes. “ ‘Face! Take care of the– ‘Face!”

    “H-how the fuck did she kick me in the b-balls?!” Poker Face sputtered, still kneeling with his head to the floor and his hands between his legs. “They’re internal!

    “Gather your nuts and put ‘em in your purse, you pissy pile of boot leather!” Moonshine snarled. “You go after the drunk and the livestock. I’ve got dibs on the Princess and her bitch friend!”

    “Take ‘em!” Poker Face got to his feet and gave a strained smile. “Me and that drunk have some unfinished business.”

    Moonshine roared and lunged forward, smashing through the trick wall as though it weren’t there. An overwhelming cloud of Joy underscored by day-old fish hung in the air.

    “Holy Diver ain’t here to save you this time, Subway.” Poker Face chuckled as stood over the trap door, shuffling his cards in one hand. “It’s just you, me, and the cards now.”

    He sniffed the air coming out of the trap door, it was cold and dry, with the faint but unmistakable scent of potatoes. He set off back down the hallway. “See you there.”

    Angel peeked out from behind the door. Once satisfied that the coast was clear, he stepped out into the hallway, his arms laden with various purses, bags, and totes. “Just the essentials, ha-ha!”

    He set off down the hallway and towards the fire-escape. Angel clumsily maneuvered his many bags as he attempted to open the window. He unshouldered his totes and filed them through the tiny opening and out onto the balcony of the fire escape. A dry rustling sound echoed from down the hall, the scuttling of legs, the creak of plaster, and the unmistakable flutter of wings.

    Angel spun about in an instant, four Tommy guns primed and ready. He scanned the hall, beads of sweat forming on his brow, eyes darting back and forth. The hallway was empty.

    “Huh. Must be hearin’ things,” muttered Angel, lowering his choppers.

    With a crackling snap the floorboards bulged outward, splinters tearing up through the carpet. The fissure streaked forwards, plowing its way through the floor towards Angel, throwing up plumes of dust, shards of wood, and shreds of carpet. Angel loosed a defiant cry and opened fire. His four sub-machineguns roared to life and a barrage of bullets converged onto one point, pulverizing the floor in front of the oncoming menace. With frightening speed, it changed direction, deking around the fusillade and up the wall. It tore through the plaster and lathes with even greater ease, closing in on its prey.

   Angel unleashed another blast of full-automatic fire, tearing a long, wide gash into the wall. Once again the thing changed direction, spiraling around the stream of bullets and trailing up the wall and onto the ceiling. It stopped not six feet from Angel. He trained his guns up at it, eyebrows knit close together, gold tooth glinting in a focused grimace. The lump on the ceiling didn’t move, the only sound in the room was that of falling debris and crumbling plaster. Angel dared not take his eyes off it, his fingers twitched over the triggers, his heart pounded in his ears like the infernal bass of some distant rave.

    Fuck, he needed a hit right now.

    A low, droning buzz from behind drew his attention. Careful not to take an eye off the bulge (ha-ha) he slowly angled his head back, cocking an ear. The sound was not unlike a lawnmower, or an RC plane…or a creepy flying bug-demon!

    Angel leapt out of the way just in time to avoid the shower of glass as something something black and glossy streaked by. He felt a slight snag, as though he’d been shoved from behind. Angel thought nothing of it as he ducked and rolled, bringing all of his guns to bear on the hovering figure. Sure enough, it was that bug-faced asshole from the overpass! He sured up his sights, all three guns leveled on the speedy little shit.

    Wait.

    Three?

    It was then that Angel saw something in Bug’s pincers. Something long and slender, something white with a red elbow-length glove, clutched in its hand was a Tommy gun. His Tommy gun. His arm!

    “Oh, no…” Angel looked down at his left side, a short, clean-cut stump where his lower left used to be. A long squirt of mangenta blood issued from it as a larger stain oozed down his side. “Asshole! This was my favorite top! Ya got any idea how long it takes to get blood outta white satin?!”

    “I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Bug Boogie, pulling the bloody stump into his mouth and devouring the arm like a beansprout, leaving the Tommy gun to clatter on the ground. He chewed for a moment before grinning with mangenta-stained teeth. “You’re not gonna be around that long!”

    Bug Boogie chattered his mandibles and a Seraphim Steel blade extruded from his mouth. His wings roared as he charged, razor-sharp pincers spread wide, his daggar glinting. Angel held his ground, his remaining Tommy guns primed and ready. At the last moment, he let off a short burst, causing Bug to swerve. Angel took this tiny window and leapt towards his attacker, guns blazing. Bug bobbed and weaved around the bullets as they streaked by, unharmed but unable to attack his prey. Angel ducked and rolled down the hall, popping out his third pair of arms and deftly grabbing up his fourth Tommy gun off the floor.

    No sooner that he had stopped rolling, Angel produced, armed, and threw a small green hand grenade. Bug Boogie grunted in surprise and streaked to the left, effortlessly punching a hole in the wall. An instant later and a short, powerful explosion split the air, blasting a small crater in the floor and tearing the walls apart with scatter-shot shrapnel.

    Angel smirked and ran down the hall, ducking into the rec-room. He peered around the corner and listened. Sure enough, he heard buzzing and crashing throughuout the hotel. Angel considered bolting for the fire escape, but quickly discarded the notion, as fighting this guy was bad enough in an enclosed space. His mind raced, searching desperately for a way out. He was too fast for his Tommy guns, guy could just zip around the bullets as they flew! Going outside was instant death, and staying in here was just slightly prolonged death!

    He was trapped!

    Trapped…

    Angel’s eyes snapped open, a wide toothy grin spread across his face.

    That could work.

    “S-stop!” Husk panted and huffed as he was pulled along by Razzle and Dazzle. “Fuh-fuckin’ st-stop!”

    They slowed down and let go of his hand, wringing their hooves together, looking about nervously. Husk leaned on his knees and panted, as though trying to dislodge what felt like a hot coal from his lungs. He scanned his surroundings, the Goats had hit the ground running and practically dragged him along, it was all he could do to keep up. He immediately recognized the room they were in as the pantry. His eyes lit up as he rushed over to a nearby sack of potatoes. After a second digging though the tubers and laughed triumphantly, holding up a bottle of Johnny Walker Black.

    He capped it and took a hard pull. “Paaah! Alright, let’s go!”

    Razzle and Dazzle exchanged unimpressed looks and beckoned him to follow. The trio took off down the adjoining walkway and up a flight of stairs that led into the ceiling. They unlatched it and exited into the hotel’s large, walk-in freezer. Once out they slammed the door shut and Husk knocked one of the large food racks over on top of it, with Razzle and Dazzle piling sacks of yams and whole turkeys on top. Satisfied that no one was going to follow them through that door, the trio filed out of the freezer and into the kitchen.

    Husk contemplated grabbing one of the razor sharp kitchen knives or a meat cleaver, but immediately dismissed the notion as foolish. He was a lover not a fighter! Well, a shitty lover, but an even shittier fighter.

    “C’mon!” He called to the goats, opening the kitchen door and waving them on. “Let’s get the fuck outta here!”

    “Baah…” said Razzle his eyes wide.

    “Bahh!” Dazzle said, pointing over Husk’s shoulder.

    Husk turned around, his eyes narrowing. Standing in the doorway of the dining room was a tall, well-built gecko-demon, his poker-themed three-piece suit perfectly cleaned and pressed. A small, self-satisfied smirk pulled at the corners of his wide, lipless mouth as he shuffled a silvery metallic deck of cards in one hand. “Hello, Husk.”

    “Pokey,” Husk snarled. “How’re you now?”

    “Good’n’you?”

    “Not s’bad.” He jerked his head at the trembling pair behind him. “Let them go. They got nothing to do with all this.”

    “Now, now, Husk, you know I can’t do that,” said Poker Face, walking towards them. “Boss has a very comprehensive policy when it comes to witnesses. Quoth Holy Diver, ‘No witnesses.’ See? Not much wiggle room there.”

    Husk glanced back into the kitchen, to the shiny steel knives, the meat cleaver. Could he reach it in time? “Don’t you mean HOLY DIVER?”

    “Ha. You really can’t help it, can you?” Poker Face said, pulling out a chair from the dining table and taking a seat. “But that’s alright. In fact, this is perfect. See, we’ve a score to settle, you and I. It was all a test to gauge your usefulness to Hol–HOLY DIVER’s operation, sure, but after I lost to you there was some…judgement. The guys were calling me ‘Pokey’ for a month.”

    “Oh, so what? It’s personal now?”

    “Oh yes. Very.” Poker Face smiled a cruel, black-toothed smile. “Come. Have a seat and crack a deck.”

    Husk’s eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for me?”

    “I could kill you all right now,” said Poker Face, before tapping his chin in thought and shrugging. “Ah, well…how about this; you win, you and the goats go free. Hell, I could even get you three a job in the Boss’s organization.”

    “And if you win?” Husk said, slowly making his way over to the table.

    Poker Face’s eyes glinted with cold joy. “Then your souls belong to me.”

    Husk paused and looked over at Razzle and Dazzle; the poor little guys were clutching each other, quivering. “…How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

    “You don’t,” said Poker Face, gesturing at the far side of the table. “Now, sit.”

    Husk snapped his fingers and beckoning Dazzle to follow him. “Dazzle, you’re dealing. Razzle, fix us up some drinks.”

    “B-bah,” Razzle shuffled off into the kitchen as Dazzle hopped up onto the table.

    “Texas Hold’em?” Poker Face said, a wry look on his face. “How do I know this cute little guy won’t cut the deck in your favor?”

    “I’d be just as surprised as you if he did,” Husk snorted. “This little shit burns cornflakes.”

    Dazzle grumbled and picked up the deck, shuffling the cards. He bleated in pain and surprise as a wisp of smoke trailed up from his finger.

    “Careful,” Poker Face crooned. “They’re sharp. Bear in mind that the stakes are raised, one token each. Throw down the flop.”

    Dazzle sucked on the cut and continued shuffling the deck. It was obvious to both of them that he’d never shuffled before, but he managed. He dealt the cards, two to each of them and three between them, a pair of two of hearts and a six of clubs, and sat back on the table. Razzle showed up with the drinks, scotch on the rocks, and set it next to them.

    “Alright,” Poker Face said, checking his cards. “Now…let’s begin.”

    The sound of Moonshine smashing through the wall echoed off the bare concrete walls of the narrow, winding passageway.

    “I’m coming, Your Highness!” Moonshine roared as he ran after them. “If you give up now, I promise I won’t hurt you!”

    Charlie ran as fast as her legs could carry her, dragging Vaggie along behind her. “This way!”

    Vaggie looked back over her shoulder as they turned another corner, the sounds of his footsteps were like hammer strikes, his huge bulky shadow cast long and far by the dingy potlights in the ceilings. There was no way to tell if he was getting closer. “Charlie, where are we going?”

    “We’re trying to lose him,” she said, pulling Vaggie around a corner and down another flight of stairs. “That perfume I doused him with ought to keep him from tracking us.”

    Charlie stopped them at the base of a staircase and began feeling along the bare, cold concrete wall. “C’mon, c’mon…”

    Vaggie clutched her spear in her hands, her knuckles white as she squeezed the shaft. The hard, powerful thuds of his footsteps seemed to increase in pitch and intensity: he was getting closer. “Charlie…”

    “Hold on, hold on…” she muttered, a bright smile lighting up her face as she found what she was looking for. “Here!”

    She pressed a nearly invisible indentation in the wall and the solid concrete split into twelve slabs that receded into the wall from the top down, forming stairs. Charlie grabbed Vaggie by the wrist and pulled her up the stairs and into a hallway. Charlie pointed to the far end of the hall, a double-wide door with a glowing red exit sign above it. It was the most beautiful thing Vaggie had seen in her life. “There it is!”

    They started towards it when the floor exploded upwards in a shower of wood splinters and concrete as a massive shape burst through and set down on the floor. Moonshine stood between them and the exit, his bulk taking up much of the hallway despite his missing arm. He brandished his harpoon and took a step forward, his yellow eyes bloodshot and furious.

    “Run if you like, it’ll just make it worse for you,” he rumbled, baring his needle-like fangs.

    Vaggie looked around for a way out, finding an elevator. She drew her spear and swooped in around Charlie’s left, stealthily tapping the button on the panel and stepping in front of her friend, spear at the ready. “You’ll have to go through me first, cara de pez chimando!”

    Moonshine grinned and tapped her shaft with his flue. “Well, gee, gawrsh, if I have to…”

    “Vaggie…” Charlie set her hand on her shoulder from behind, her tone desperate. “Come on, let’s run! We can outrun him!”

    “No, we can’t,” Vaggie said. “Charlie, you have to get out of here. I’ll hold him off!”

    “No, don’t do that,” Moonshine said to Charlie. “If you run, I’ll definitely kill your friend. As slowly and horribly as possible. But if you, say, give yourself up? I’m a reasonable demon, I could be persuaded to spare her. Hell, we’ll even take her with us! It’ll be like a sleepover or slumber party or whatever bullshit you kids get up to these days.”

    “I’m much older than you,” said Charlie, annoyed.

    The elevator dinged and Vaggie sprung into action. Before the doors had even opened, she leapt forward in a mighty lunge. Moonshine leapt backwards, well out of reach of the spear tip. Vaggie drew back and drove the pommel of her spear into Charlie’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her. She swooped in and caught her before she could fall and threw Charlie into the elevator. She selected a floor without looking, not taking her eyes off of the advancing fish-demon.

    Vaggie slashed the control panel with her spear, the holy metal shredding it in a shower of sparks, destroying it utterly. She pressed the door button and leapt out through the closing doors just in time to head off Moonshine, locking spears with the much larger demon. She looked back to the elevator, the last thing she saw was Charlie shakily getting to her feet, breathless but her eyes called out to her. The doors slid shut and the elevator began its slow, leisurely pace to whatever floor it was heading to. Vaggie hoped Charlie would be safer there, and that she wouldn’t do anything stupid like try and rescue her.

    She broke the lock with Moonshine and leapt back, adopting a defensive stance, her eye blazing. “I won’t let you have her! Even if I die, you won’t lay a disgusting fucking paw on her!”

    Moonshine merely smiled and sighed. “Ah, you remind me of my mother. I’ll kill you quick-like. Painless.”

    Kira stood in the middle of the hallway. He clenched his left hand into a fist, moving it about in his brace. He breathed in deep and let it go, centering himself as he held his hand up in front of him. The bare, ghostly image of Sheer Heart Attack flickered on the floor for a moment, only to vanish an instant later.

    Damn.

    If only he had a little more time to heal…

    He chose not to dwell on the ‘if onlies’, instead steeling himself for the coming fight. They were coming, and they had some new tricks. Kira’s suspicions had been confirmed the second the memory bomb had gone off: Holy Diver wasn’t here. There was no way he would have been gulled by such a simple trick. The fact that he and Charlie weren’t already in his clutches only lent credence to this theory. It stood to reason that someone else was making the time-static that kept him from resetting this increasingly terrible situation, but who? And how?

    Kira had theories, certainly, but that would have to wait. His old friends were about to arrive.

    A lone figure turned the corner, a tallish, blonde mole-demon. Kira noted his relaxed posture and cocky attitude, his cold stare and warm smile. He’d seen God Given like this often, almost always when he had someone trussed up and helpless. It all made sense now.

    “Oh, hey!” He said, his tone winsome and amicable. “Long time no see. How’s rehab been treating you, ‘Kira’?”

    “Can’t complain, Donny,” said Kira. “Where’s the gang? You didn’t actually come up here to fight me all by yourself, did you?”

    “And what if I did?” God Given said, examining his claws. “You so eloquently spelled out your plan to those idiots down there. Why, it was almost like you were telling me on purpose. Well, I called your bluff! Bet you weren’t expecting this, were you?”

    “This is unexpected, true.” said Kira, derision dripping from every syllable. “Though, to be fair, I can’t be asked to account for shocking idiocy.”

    “Talk big all you like. I’ve developed powers you couldn’t hope to comprehend, much less match. It’s in my blood to dominate, to conquer. Your corpse be just the first in the foundations of my ascent to Godhood!”

    Kira seemed not to hear a word. “Tell me, did he go in through the back, or the front?”

    God Given blinked in surprise. “What?”

    “When he gave you his stand,” said Kira, his tone patient and patronizing as though talking to a small child. “Stand synergy. I’ve dabble in it myself, you know. He’s been trying that one for ages. Understandably, I mean such a thing could theoretically make even you dangerous, Donny.”

    “What.”

    Kira shot him a condescending smirk. “Oh? He didn’t…? Hmm. No, I suppose he wouldn’t. I mean, do scientists tell lab-rats what’s in the needle? Ha-ha-ha! So, he stuck a piece of his brain in yours and now, what, you think you have all his powers? Please! If you had a whit of his speed and strength, that memory bomb wouldn’t have gotten within ten feet of you. It’s clear that your grasp on 「The World」is very weak. You’ve enough control to make static, but not much else. Even if you can stop time, it’s only for an instant. Though, even that would have been a problem for me if you showed up with your buddies. But, as is, I’ll be done with you before too long.”

    “You underestimate me.”

    “I overestimated you, Donny,” Kira sneered. “Not in a million years I could have predicted you’d be this arrogant, this deluded, this stupid. So, tell me, was it through the back, or the front?”

    “Why do you want to know?”

    Kira smiled. “Because if he implanted it in the back of your head, it means he didn’t trust you not to flinch.”

    God Given bared his teeth and started walking towards Kira. “Enough talk.”

    Kira strolled towards him. “Agreed.”

    God Given roared and hurled himself at Kira. “「The World」!”

    The mole demon flickered, running through the bare instants of stopped time he could muster. Kira maintained his calm easygoing pace, adjusting his suit jacket with aplomb. God Given closed the distance in mere seconds, his toe-claws tearing long slashes into the floorboards. Kira was within reach, frozen in time, helpless. God Given lashed out with his steel talons, aiming to skewer his quarry’s heart. At the last moment he noticed the smirk on Kira’s frozen face. That familiar, infuriating, self-satisfied smile could only mean one thing: gotcha. 

     God Given hesitated, stopping himself just short of touching him. His grip on time slipped and Kira’s smirk blossomed into a grin. Before he could freeze time again Kira’s fist smashed into the side of his face. God Given’s head snapped to the side with the impact and stars exploded behind his eyes.

    “Not quite as stupid as I thought.” Kira grabbed him by the collar and held the dazed mole-demon up. “Now, what is it your father is always saying? Oh yes, that’s right. WRRRYYYYYYEAAAAH!!”

    He threw the dazed mole-demon into the air and unleashed a punishing rush of punches. God Given twisted and contorted in midair, his body floating atop a crushing blur of fists. Kira broke the rush and delivered a single devastating roundhouse kick that sent him flying upwards, smashing a hole into the ceiling before plummeting down to the floor. God Given quickly got to his feet only for his legs to buckle out from under him. He knelt, panting unsteadily, he spat a wad of blood and glared up at Kira as he loomed over him. “Y-you turned yourself into a bomb?!”

    “Maybe,” said Kira as he straightened his tie. “Touch me and find out.”

    God Given growled and froze time, leaping to his feet and slashing at Kira with his talons. Careless with rage, his time ran out just as he claws neared Kira’s throat. The much faster panther-demon swatted his claws away and smashed the back of his fist into God Given’s snout with a grisly crunch. God Given rallied and swung at him with a messy haymaker. Kira ducked out of the way as the talons shredded the wall. He bobbed backup and jabbed with his right, catching God Given across the jaw. The mole-demon stumbled back, freezing time long enough to regain his balance, and aimed a powerful roundhouse at

    Kira. Kira stepped forward, inside the radius of God Given’s kick, causing him to overextend and bury his toe-claws in the wall. He lunged forward in an instant, putting all his strength and weight behind a crushing knee-strike to the solar plexus, sending God Given flying backwards down the hallway. God Given dug his talons and toe-claws into the floor, drawing long, deep gouges into the carpet and wood as he slowed himself to a stop. God Given lurched forward onto his hands and knees and coughed, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. “Guh…”

    “Hmm?” Kira cocked his head and set a hand to his ear. “What was that? You’ll have speak up, lad. You know, they say that you can’t think straight if your nose is plugged. Do you need a handkerchief?”

    “Piss in your shoes, asshole,” said God Given, shakily rising to his feet. “I’m still in this fight.”

    “Mh-hm.” Kira ran his thumb across his fingertips, smiling as his claws remained sheathed. “You know, it’s funny. I’ve been doing well, haven’t felt the need to kill in days. Then you and your back-up dancers kick down my door and threaten a relapse. But here I am, staring down someone I detest and…nothing. I could just as easily let you go right now. In fact…get out of here, I’m tired of looking at you.”

    God Given clenched his fists, his face contorting in rage. But then, suddenly, a smile pulled at the sides of his mouth. He chuckled and wiped the blood from his chin. “You’re right. I overestimated my ability to use my father’s powers. I allowed them to make me overconfident and careless. But now I realize that I don’t need to beat you. I just need to keep you busy long enough for the others to butcher your friends!”

    Kira felt a strange surge of alien feelings, of panic, of dread. He was safe, certainly, but what about Charlie? Or Angel? He’d been so distracted with putting this little bastard in his place that he hadn’t considered what the other gangsters were up to.

    “Oh, don’t worry.” God Given grinned, he knew he struck a nerve. “All your friends are probably dead by now. Bug’s after that tasty little whore you’ve been palling around with, and you know how he gets with the pretty ones. He was real excited to take a bite outta that!”

    Kira felt his heart drop, he’d seen the aftermath of Bug Boogie’s ‘fun’ on more than one occasion. Angel…oh, God, Angel!

    “And that pretty little princess? I saw how she latched onto you, how you looked at her. Is there something going on there? Hmm?” God Given sneered. “Anyway, Moonshine and ‘Face will probably keep her in one piece, or at least bring back enough for HOLY DIVER to ransom. Oh, and don’t you worry, we’ll all be reeeaaal friendly to her while she’s our guest. All of us. We’ll take turns being her friend, even. Who knows, maybe by the end of it she’ll look at me the same way she looks at you.”

    Kira’s pupils narrowed to slits, his claws sprang from his fingertips as his hackles rose. When he spoke, his voice was calm and measured. “I guess I’ll have to finish up here and go give them a hand, then.”

    “There we go!” God Given cackled, his arms spread wide. “Come and get me, Mr. Clean!”

    Kira lunged forward, his teeth bared as his right hand reached out. God Given brought his hands down and stopped smiling, his expression cold and focused. “Idiot.”

    Something sprang up behind Kira, a tall, spindly shape backdropped by a pair of furled, feathery wings. He side-stepped just in time, the holy speartip that would have pierced his heart instead only sliced a long, smoking gash along his side. Kira spun around to face his assailant; its body was dull grey, like old marble, its face black and glossy like a television screen, the red graphics that were its leering eyes and grinning mouth flickered and jittered in a glitchy, mechanical fashion. Atop a pair of curved, caprine horns was a glowing platinum halo with a gleaming gem inset at its central ornament.

     Standing in front of Kira was the memory of an Exorcist.

     God Given hadn’t been trying to hit him this whole time, he’d been surrounding him with holes, tears, and gouges from which to conjure his ultimate weapon!

     Now, all around him, identical creatures clambered out from the numerous slashes and holes God Given had left in the floor, walls and ceiling. Five, then ten; Kira found himself surrounded by a dozen of the deadly angels, in their hands were spears, swords, and bows, all cast from Seraphim Steel. The Exorcists closed in around him, silently laughing as they closed on their quarry. Kira tensed and prepared for battle when a short, musical ‘ding’ sounded to his left. The elevator. He and the crowd of Exorcists stopped and turned to look as the doors opened. Inside was Charlie, her eyes wide she looked around at the assembled angels and Kira.

    “Uhh…” said Charlie, a nervous smile on her face as she waved at them. “Hi?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Relapse Part 3

    “Huh,” grunted God Given. “Guess it’s my lucky day.”

    “Oh, my God!” Charlie muttered, hoarse with shock. “Are those angels?!”

    “Charlie?!” Kira said, horrified. “What are you doing here?!”

    “Well, it’s a long story,” said Charlie, her eyes darting back and forth between Kira and the angels. “You see–watch out!”

    An Exorcist leapt forward in a flash, spear at the ready. Kira barely reacted in time, dodging the thrust and grabbing the spear shaft. He hissed at the Exorcist and surged his power into the angelic weapon. Weakened by passing through the holy metal, the explosive charge sizzled and sparked as it pulsed through the angel’s body. Flashes of orange light blossomed all over its body, leaving patches of dissolving ash and smoke in their wake.

    Undaunted, the Exorcist continued to wrestle with Kira over the spear, its grinning mouth and flickering eyes turning a deep blood red as it slowly but surely overpowered him, forcing him to his knees. Kira growled in exertion and gave the spear one great twist, the angel’s hands snapped off at the wrist, the stumps glowed like dim embers as the destructive energy coursed through its body. The angel examined its sparking stumps, its expression jittering before settling into a distressed grimace. Kira delivered a powerful kick to the crumbling angel’s midsection, sending it flying backwards into a wall where it exploded into a cloud of dust.

     He swirled around to see a trio of spears converging on him. Kira managed to bring his weapon up just in time to glance the speartips up and over his shoulders. The three angels leered down at him as they locked shafts with his and leaned down onto him together. Kira grimaced and braced himself, feeling the floorboards buckle and splinter under his feet as they angels brought their gargantuan strength to bear. He felt himself being inexorably crushed into the floor, his arms and legs burned with exertion. Above him the glowing, flickering faces of the Exorcists loomed, an unmistakable self-righteous contempt radiated from their smiles in waves. They redoubled their efforts and leaned in, sparks flying from where the spears intersected.

    Kira smirked.

    Pushing off of their spears he flung himself between their legs, causing them to topple forward into their faces, their wings and spears tangling together. Kira skidded across the floor and shot to his feet, ripping a button off of his suit and tossing it at the struggling angels. The button bouncing off of one of their upturned faces with a dull, plastic ‘click’. The angels on the floor were consumed in a flood of light as a massive explosion split the air, shattering the walls, ceiling, and floor, collapsing the hallway in on itself and the angels. Kira flew backwards into the open elevator, slamming into the far wall with enough force to crumple the metal.

    “Kira?” Charlie said, coughing as the smoke and dust hung in the air. “Are you okay?”

    Kira rushed forward, shoving his fingers into the sheet-metal doors and slamming them shut with a wrenching, metallic shriek. He ran his finger down the seam where the doors met, a rapid series of micro-explosions snapped and crackled as he welded the door shut. That done, he turned to the control panel, sighing in exasperation upon seeing its utter destruction. “Of course.”

    “Kira?” Charlie said. “What’s going on? Why are there angels out there?!”

    “God Given can summon physical constructs of any event that’s happened in Pentagram City from breaks in surfaces. That includes the angels that show up periodically to murder a fraction of the population.”

    “That seems… incredibly unfair. How are we supposed to fight that?!”

    “Well, we’re not going to,” said Kira, scanning the interior of the elevator. “You have to get out of here.”

    “What? No! I can fight! They’re after me, too!”

    “Which is precisely why you have to run! If they capture you it could start a war that would devastate Hell itself.”

    “But our friends! Vaggie’s fighting that fish guy! I heard gunfire on the way up here, so Angel’s probably in trouble, too! I don't even know what's happening to Husk and Razzle and Dazzle! We have to help them!”

    Kira shook his head and looked away, staring up at the ceiling. “Out of the question, I will–”

    Charlie grabbed his arm and turned him back around to face her, her expression soft but unyielding. “You tried to protect us, and I’m grateful for that, but our friends are in danger! You can’t do this by yourself, so please, let me help.”

    Kira locked eyes with her, she returned the stare, her brow furrowing as she tried her best to seem intimidating. He blinked first and sighed, shaking his head. “Alright. Fine. But first, we have to get out of here.”

    “Oh! There’s an escape hatch on the elevator roof! It’s probably locked, hold on…” Charlie rummaged around in her pockets for a moment. “Shoot! I could have sworn I had my keys on me!”

    “Here, I’ll–Aaah!” He reached into his pocket and hissed, yanking it out and shaking it vigorously.

    “What is it? Are you okay?”

    A small filament of smoke trailed up from the small cut in his fingerpad. He carefully reached back into his pocket, producing a small shard of Seraphim Steel. He pocketed the little shard. “Hm. May come in handy…”

    “What–”

    He ripped another button off his jacket and threw it upwards and a small, sharp explosion consumed the ceiling. Charlie cried out and ducked, covering her head as smoking debris bounced off of her. She waited a moment before opening her eyes and looking up; the safety hatch had been blown out, along with a significant chunk of the ceiling. “If we live through this, Vaggie is going to flip when the repairs bill comes in.”

    Kira knelt down and knit his hands together into a step. “Come on, I’ll boost you up there.”

    “Aw, that’s so sweet of you!” Charlie cooed before effortlessly leaping some ten feet into the air. She hung off the cable and called down to him, a playful, teasing smile on her face. “Well? Hurry up!”

    Kira cleared his throat, a little embarrassed, when a spear tip burst through the door, followed by another, and another. He wasted little time following after her, hurriedly clambering up the main cable as the sounds of rending metal echoed out of the steel box. He looked down and saw the Exorcists pile into the cab, their flat, twitchy expressions confused as they scanned the interior for their prey. They looked up through the hole, wide red crescent grins filling up their visors.

    Kira smiled back at them as he hung from the main hoist cable, his right thumb cocked. “Fly, fly, fly, little angels.”

    He pushed the switch and the heavy metal anchor holding the cab to the cab exploded violently. The Exorcist’s faces simultaneously flickered from malicious grins to mortified grimaces. The cab lurched downward, groaned, and finally let loose, plummeting into the dark with a screech, sparks from the guide wheels visible all the way down to the ground floor.

    Kira chuckled to himself when Charlie snicked up above him. “‘Fly, fly, fly, little angels’?”

    “Because they’re falling, and they have wings but can’t–you know what, I’d like to hear you do better!”

    “Hmm…” Charlie shimmied her way down the cable. “Oh! How about ‘Going down’?”

    His ear twitched in irritation. ‘Shit…’

    “Or maybe ‘Call for you in the lobby, you better go take it’!”

    “Alright, alright, that’s enou–”

    “Ooh! Ooh! ‘Next time, take the stairs!’, or–”

    “Charlie!” Kira barked, climbing up to her. “Climb now, one-liners later.”

    A huge, reverberating boom filled the elevator shaft, rattling the metal and causing the cable to jostle and swing. Dust poured down from up above along with small pieces of debris.

    “That took a hot second,” said Charlie, a nervous twinge in her voice as she climbed up. “How high up are we?”

    “High enough that you probably shouldn’t look down,” Kira said, smirking.

    Angel poked his head out into the hallway, scanning with eyes and ears for that creepy bugheaded freak. A huge explosion from somewhere else in the hotel shook the building on its very foundations, causing the lights to flicker and plaster dust to trickle down to the ground.

    “You show ‘em, Killer!” Angel said, grinning. “Cut those fucks down to size!”

    He stepped out and made his way down the hall towards his room, his Tommy guns at the ready. His steps were slow, steady, measured. He dared not make a sound. He just had to make it to his room, if he could just get there!

    The floor exploded in front of him, causing him to leap back. The roar of wings filled the hall, Bug Boogie gnashed his jaws at Angel, drool dripping onto the floor. “Still trying to escape, eh? Understandable. You find yourself in the clutches of Bug Boogie! The Tearer! The Slicer! Ravager! Mutilator! Your suffering will be legendary, even in Hell! I will tear open your–”

    Angel stood and waited as the beetle-demon hovered in front of him. Bug Boogie’s jaws were flapping as his grotesque face contorted with malicious glee, his skinny little legs gesticulating wildly. The buzzing howl of his wings filled the air, drowning out all other sound. Was he saying something? Angel cocked his head and tried to listen, cupping a hand to his ear. “What!?”

    Bug Boogie raised his voice. “I said you will scream for mercy as I–”

    His words blurred together with the stifling roar of rushing air.

    “‘Choo op bur ockenalls’?” Angel muttered. “The fuck’re ya talkin’ about?!”

    “Allow me to demonstrate!” Bug Boogie streaked forward.

    Angel stumbled back, Tommy gun’s roaring. Bug Boogie dodged and weaved around the streams of bullets, swooping in from the side. Angel slipped on a piece of debris and toppled backwards, falling just out Bug’s path, his razor-sharp pincer streaked by close enough to tousle his short face fuzz. Angel, acting on a killer’s instinct well-honed by decades in Hell, filled the air to his left with bullets. Bug Boogie flared out his wings to stop himself and doubled back, just as he turned to face his prey, dozens of bullets whizzed by. Quick as ever, his tucked and rolled through the air.

     Not quick enough, as a single bullet grazed the carapace above his eyes, tearing the shell away in a long jagged gash. Green, foul-smelling blood poured from the wound and into his eyes, blinding him.

    “Aaah!” Bug Boogie roared. “You fuckin’ whore!”

    “Whores get paid.” Angel rolled to his feet and leveled his choppers at the thrashing insect. “This one’s a freebie!”

    Before Angel could pulled the triggers, Bug Boogie dived into the floor. Angel took a step forward to examine the hole when Bug burst from the ceiling directly above him, pincers spread wide like deadly scythes. Angel leapt backwards just in time as a mandible that would have cleaved his head from his shoulders flashed before his eyes. Angel looked on in horror as clumps of white and pink hair fluttered to the floor like snow, he reached up to run his fingers through his expertly styled bangs, only to find them shorn away.

    “My ‘do!”

     Bug Boogie doubled back and streaked for the source of the dismayed cry. Angel Dust unleashed a fusillade of bullets at the blinded demon, but once again he proved too swift and swerved into a nearby wall, punching a hole into it. Angel wasted no time and took off down the hall in a sprint. His kinky boots clopped on the carpeted hardwood like little hammer strikes. Bug Boogie was hot on his heels, bursting from the walls, floor and ceiling, razor-edges whistling as they cut through the space Angel had been only instants before.

     Angel deked off to the side of the hall, hurling himself at a door, knocking it open. Angel wasted little time upending his coat dresser in front of the door. He turned about to see a tall, spindly headless body standing in front of his lavish full-length dressing mirror, draped over his form was one of Angel’s best dresses. The body started and attempted to hide the dress behind his back.

    “Aw, shit.”

    Bug Boogie’s head burst in through one of his already-broken windows and hovered. His body walked over and seated the flying head on his shoulders. He dabbed the blood out of his eyes with the dress.

    “Hey!” Angel cried. “That’s a silk dress you’re messin’ up there! I made it myself!”

    “And I bet it looks great on you,” Bug Boogie crooned, blinking his eyes as his sight was restored. “Maybe I’ll keep enough pieces of you to fill it out!”

    Thinking quickly, Angel reached over and flicked the switch to his ‘hangover shutters’. The lights went out and heavy steel shutters slammed down in front of the windows with a loud ‘clank’, plunging the room into total darkness.

    The sound of scuttling limbs and clopping boots sounded from all around him, the floors, the walls, even the ceiling. Bug Boogie didn’t even bother to follow his movements, able to guess exactly what the panicking spider was up to, trying to distract him with noise while he made his escape.

    The lights flicked back on and Angel skidded to a stop. Between him and the door was Bug Boogie, his finger on the switch. Bug Boogie grinned and started forward, arms spread wide. “Have to say, I’m flattered! It’s not often a hot piece of ass like you invites me into his room! Maybe after I do a little pruning, you and me can break in that bed of yours! You pissed me off, kid, and after I’m done with you, you’ll beg for my blade. But, until then…”

    His head launched from his shoulders, wings roaring, jaws gnashing, pincers snapping open and shut. His voice was high and frenzied, loud and clear over the din of his wings. “Come give Daddy a kiss!”

    He made one last rush at Angel, a huge toothy grin on his face. The spider brought up his Tommy guns in a defiant but futile gesture.

    Good, he didn’t like it when it was too easy.

    Husk knocked back his third tumbler of scotch in as many minutes. Not to employ his ingenious ‘drink your tells away’ gambit. No, this wasn’t that sort of game. Rather, it was merely a measure to make Poker Face’s endless smug warbling only somewhat unbearable. Husk had no illusions, all that talk about sparing their lives was just so much belching outside a pub, noise and stupor. This game was a sham to prop up some braying jackass’s bruised ego, a twenty-year-old grudge he’d nursed and doted on for the off-chance he’d get to indulge it one day.

    Christ, what a cunt.

    “Slow down, old man,” said Poker Face. “You’re no spring chicken, you have to pace yourself.”

    “Gotta do something to amuse myself while you jack off over there,” Husk growled.

    A thundering explosion rocked the hotel, rattling the windows and almost knocking over the bottle of Johnny Walker Black, saved only by the quick hands of Razzle, who cast a wide-eyed stare at Husk. Poor little guy was scared out of his mind. He had to get them out of this.

    “Hear that?” Husk said, turning back to Poker Face. “Sounds like your buddies found Kira.”

    “Oh, yes. That certainly sounded like one of Clean’s party favors. I’m not worried, though. God Given’s got an ace up his sleeve. Clean doesn’t stand a chance… maybe.”

    Husk wasn’t particularly interested in how these idiots measured their dicks, but whatever gave him some breathing space was a godsend. “Yeah? Do tell.”

    Poker Face sipped his scotch, still on his first glass. “Well, you see, HOLY DIVER gave God Given his powers… or did he just copy them? God Given is HOLY DIVER’s son, so maybe that’s why it worked? Anyway, now our boy can freeze time and all that. Neat, huh?”

    “Holy Diver can freeze time? Is that what all that was?” Husk probed, hoping to get this prick off on a good long tangent. “Say, do you know how you got your powers? I mean, you’re gonna kill me or whatever, right? Oh, come on, kitten! I won’t tell anyone.”

    Poker Face pondered this for a moment and shrugged. “Why not? I’ve always had these powers, even when I was alive. Same goes for most of our gang. Some of them, like Donny, they got their powers later from the Arrow.”

    “The Arrow?” Asked Husk, almost intrigued.

    Poker Face eyed Husk up a bit before grinning, jabbing a finger at him. “Ahh! Nice try! Move it along, furball, we don’t got all day!”

    “Fine,” Husk grunted, tapping the table with his claws. “Raise.”

    “One soul.” Poker Face made a show of counting. “One for me and one for you.”

    “Cut the horseshit, I know how your game works. I raise Dazzle’s soul.”

    Poker Face looked over at Dazzle, who swallowed and nodded his assent. “Alright. I raise too. Razzle's soul.”

    Razzle let out a small, defeated bleat.

    The sawing buzz of automatic fire blared from somewhere not too far above their heads. Husk's brow creased a tiny increment, his poker-face holding well enough: he knew the sound of Tommy guns when he heard them.

     "Ayup." Poker Face smirked and thumbed his nose. "That'd be Bug Boogie having a go at your friend up there. Sounds like the slut's fighting back. Maybe he'll get smart and turn those choppers on himself!"

    Husk didn't say anything.

    Poker Face leaned in, winking at Husk. “Between you and me, Bug’s a bit of a fuckin’ creep. I’ve seen what weird shit he does with his victims. Creeps me out. But, y’know, that’s Hell for you! He’s deadlier than an angel’s cock, and twice as hard! The things he’s doing to that spider! Woof! Make an archdevil blush!”

    Husk’s eye twitched somewhat. No. None of that. Can’t let on that he got to you, even a little.

    “But man…” Poker Face said, eyes glinting. “That’s nothing compared to what Moonshine’s doing to those ladies. He’s a decent enough guy, but you tell him to kill someone? Ouch! Let’s hope he keeps the princess in a big enough piece to bargain with! As for that spicy one-eyed tamalé? It’s gonna be some real slow, messy doing, I tell you!”

    Fuck. Vaggie, too? No! Husk was determined to power through it, that he betray not a single mote of feeling to this asshole’s bait.

    Poker Face examined his face for a bit, testing his dour mien. “Yeah… didn’t you know? All your friends are being chased by our boys. Even if Clean gets past God Given, he’s got us to deal with, and you’ll all be our hostages. See, Clean, he cares about you all for some reason. I guess the Princess was onto something? Yeah, you’ll all be leverage if he gets in our face.”

    “He scares you that badly?” Husk sneered. “Billy-Badass Poker Face is grabbing some meat-shields between him and a pussy in the Valentino suit?”

    “You know it.” Poker Face’s smile drew down into a grimace. “Me? I can steal souls, OG demon shit. Bug’s fast enough to dodge bullets and can tear people apart like he’s pruning a hedge. Moonshine strong as a motherfucker and can crust a target up with barnacles and poke ‘em with his harpoon. God Given can even summon an army of Exorcists to wipe out an entire neighborhood! But everyone, and I mean everyone, gives Clean a wide berth. One bomb and, bam, dead. No backsies, no two ways about it. Just *poof* you’re gone to the next place, or nothing, whatever it is on the other side of this shithole! Understand that HOLY DIVER isn’t fucking around here! If we can’t have Clean, then no-one will, least of all Lucifer. So stall and piss about all you like, Husk. You’re gonna lose.”

    Husk peeked at his cards: a king-of-spades and a six. Two pair. Not bad. But what if the fucker had two sixes? Ot two twos? Unlikely, but…

    “I raised,” Poker Face snapped at Dazzle. “Throw down the turn, you idiot!”

    Dazzle scrambled for the card, slapping it down face-up next to the flop: it was a the king of hearts. Two-pair with a high-end. That’s nothing to sneeze at! Still, it left the two-twos scenario, but…

    Husk slapped his cards down. “I raise.”

    She was fast, certainly, but there was more to a fight than speed. He was down an arm, but experience was the best teacher in Hell, and he was well-learned. Vaggie parried a slash only to have him let got of his harpoon for enough of an instant to deliver a devastating punch to her gut. Before she could even double over, his hand was back on the harpoon shaft, raining slashing and stabs down on her like rain. Her guard was drawn up, opening her midsection up for a knee, an opportunity her took full advantage of, lifting her off her feet with the force of the blow. She couldn’t so much as exhale before a bone-shattering heel-kick swept across her upper body, hurling her through the air.

    Vaggie cried out as she flew into the wall, caving in the plaster and lathing. She barely had time to get her feet on the ground before she had to raise her spear, catching Moonshine’s harpoon in a shower of sparks. The towering fish-demon leaned on her with his massive weight, muscles bulging as he strained down on top of her. Vaggie’s arms and legs trembled under the strain, but she held him at bay.

    “You know, when I said I’d kill you painlessly,” Moonshine growled. “I didn’t think you’d make it this hard!”

    He hooked the flue of his harpoon down on her shaft and pressed her against the wall and, in an explosive display of raw strength, swatted her clean through the mass of plaster and wood, sending her flying across the adjacent hallway and into the wall. She crumpled to the ground on her hands and knees, gasping in pain.

    Moonshine stepped through the hole and towered over her, harpoon drawn and ready to deliver the killing blow. He paused for a moment and considered his options. A wide, yellow-toothed grin spread across his elongated face. He wound back and unleashed a brutal kick to Vaggie’s ribs, sending her flying down the hall tumbling across the floor.

    “Jeez, it’s like kicking a rock…” Moonshine walked casually towards her, almost swaggering. “You know what? I have to thank you, sister! Sending the princess away like that? You went and made my job a helluva lot easier! I mean, I could have kept her alive, maybe, but killing you with her around would have been a pain in the ass! I mean, keeping people alive isn’t exactly my forte, you know? So, thanks. You sent the person I needed alive away and kept the person I needed to kill around! It works out for everyone!”

    Vaggie spat blood and glared up at him through her bangs.

    “Well, everyone who counts,” said Moonshine, raising his harpoon over his head as he towered over her.

    His harpoon swung down in a glittering arc, smashing into the floorboard where Vaggie used to be, shattering them in a shower of splinters. Two of Moonshine’s eyes followed Vaggie as she dove between his legs. She rolled onto her knees and swung out with her spear at his Achilles tendon.

    She struck only air.

    Vaggie’s eye widened as a shadow fell over her. All of Moonshine’s tremendous bulk fell on her midsection in a knee-drop. Vaggie gasped breathlessly, her eye wide and glazed before falling unconscious. Moonshine slowly rose to his feet, looking down at her and smiling. He stabbed his harpoon into the floor. He grabbed her by the neck and hoisted her effortlessly off the ground and slammed her against the wall. A mass of barnacles formed around her shoulders, spreading across her chest like a rash, sticking her fast to the wall.

    “Phew!” Moonshine said, shaking his head. “You know, you got sand, kid! I mean, I’ve had a couple, oh, decades on you, but you didn’t make it easy! Hell, if you fell in with our crew, you’d have been a contender for sure!”

    Vaggie shakily managed to raise her head enough to glare at him.

    “Also, I gotta say, that’s a helluva stink-eye you have there!” He said, grinning. “Do you practice in a mirror or something?”

    “It just happens when shitheads fuck with me,” said Vaggie, her voice hoarse. “Keep talking, fishdick.”

    “Fishdick? Do I look like some kind of acid drinker to you?” Moonshine said, leaning in. “Why do you want me to keep talking? I guess every second I talk, is a second I’m not carving you apart, eh?”

    Vaggie smirked. “No, every second you talk is a second Charlie has to sweet-talk that psycho into coming back down in that elevator and turning you into chum while you’re still alive!”

    Moonshine spared the elevator a glance, betraying his apprehension; Vaggie grinned and seized upon this. “They have a thing, you know? He likes hands, you know that, right? Sure you do! Well, she’s got the best pair in all of Hell! She can get him to do anything! She’ll come back down with him, and he’ll be carving you up like a fucking turkey!”

    Moonshine stepped back from her, eyeing the elevator defensively, he wrenched his harpoon from the floor and leveled it at her throat. “Well, I guess I should just gut you and be done with it, then?”

    “Yeah.” Vaggie smirked. “You should have.”

    High above, on the roof of the hotel was an elevator kiosk. Stationed next to a now-defunct helipad. The door blew outward, carried by a titanic explosion as it skidded across the roof. Charlie hopped out of the elevator shaft and shook out her hands.

    “Woof! That’s a forearm workout!” Charlie puffed. “I have to say, I’m starting to see how handy that power of yours is.”

    “It’s convenient, certainly.” Kira followed after her, scanning the roof. “Now, where’s the fire escape?”

    “Uh…” Charlie looked around, face lighting up as she pointed to the far side of the building, moving towards it. “There! Under the sign! Come on!”

    “Charlie, wait!”

    The roof burst open from beneath in an explosion of smoke and fire, sending Charlie flying back through the air. She skidded along the coarse, pebbly tarpaper, coughing as acrid smoke and dust filled the air. God Given strolled out of the smoke, a spent RPG-7 slung over his shoulder. He discarded the weapon and reached down, grabbing Charlie by the throat, his razor-sharp steel talons pressed against her alabaster flesh, threatening to slice.

    “Hello, Charlie.” God Given smirked, lifting her off the ground. “Don’t you do anything silly like struggling, now. These claws are awful sharp, and we don’t want any unfortunate accidents, now do we?”

    Kira leapt through the air, right hand extended and primed as he hurtled towards God Given. A grey fist shot out of the column of smoke, catching Kira across the face with terrific force. He was sent flying bodily through the air, stopping only when he smashed into a heavy metal support beam for the hotel’s massive sign. Kira peeled off the beam and fell to his knees, blood trickling from his mouth.

    Out of the smoke stepped the spindly ashen form of an Exorcist, cracking its knuckles as it stared unblinkingly at him, a mocking grin on its screen-face. Kira grit his teeth and got to his feet, wiping the blood off his chin with the back of his hand. He silently marched over to God Given, his calm, tranquil red eyes promising a thousand painful deaths.

    “Ah-ah!” God Given positioned Charlie in front of him, his talons at her neck. “Careful now. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to the Princess, would we? Unless you want to sign her up for a deep-tissue neck massage, you’ll do as I say!”

    “Leave the bluffing to Poker Face.” Kira did not stop, a sneer flicked across his face. “She’s no good to your daddy dead, you idiot.”

    “Maybe I’m feeling a little insubordinate? Maybe you’ll kill me otherwise? Maybe I just want to spit in your eye?” God Given said, flexing his talons against her throat. “Still feel like testing me?!”

    Kira stopped, his eyes locking with Charlie’s. She shook her head, reaching out to him. “Don’t worry about me! Get out of here, save yourself!”

    God Given’s smile only deepened as Kira ignored her pleas. “Heh! I have to say, Your Majesty, I’m all kinds of impressed! All this time I figured he was just hanging out here to give us the slip, but it looks like you went and made him grow a heart! The Clean I know would just as soon have turned you into a bomb and thrown you at me than not. But ‘Kira’? No, no… Kira doesn’t want to see so much as a hair out of place on your pretty little head. Kira’s going to be a good boy and get on his knees. Isn’t he?”

    Kira complied, his hands raised.

    “Claw the roof,” God Given demanded.

    Once again, Kira complied, slowly lowering his hands.

    “Ah-bup-bup!” God Given squeezed, his talons now digging into the flesh of her neck, bare motes of pressure away from breaking the skin. “Empty your pockets and take off your jacket.”

    He sighed and reached into his jacket pockets, turning them inside out, and proceeded to unbutton his shirt.

    “Hey, hey! Slowly. Let us enjoy the show!” God Given crooned.

    Kira tossed his shirt and jacket away and scraped the tarpaper with his claws, drawing long, shallow divots into the tacky, pebbled surface. Two Exorcists sprouted from the gashes, each one grabbed a wrist and hauled him off his knees, pulling his arms taught, their speartips criss-crossing at his neck.

    God Given handed Charlie off to the Exorcist, who drew her into a crushing bearhug, and walked over to Kira. He turned and faced Charlie, tracing Kira’s jawline with a shimmering claw. “Eh? You like that, don’t you, Princess? Good looking fella, I’ll grant him that. Get a good look now, he’s not going to be pretty much longer.”

    “You don’t have to do this,” said Charlie, her voice a hoarse whisper.

    “You’re right, I don’t.” God Given ran a long metallic claw slowly across Kira’s cheek, smoke and blood poured from his wound as the holy metal purified his flesh. Kira grit his teeth and bit back a cry, his face a tight rictus of pain. “But I’m going to anyway. You have to treat yourself from time to time, you know?”

    He pressed his clawtips into Kira’s chest and dug in, smoke billowed as flesh sizzled. The claws drew four long, ugly troughs across his torso. Kira strained against the implacable grip of the angels with all his might, but they held fast. God Given cackled and slashed another, bloodier quartet of slashes overtop his work. “I’ll make a checker-board out of you, Clean! Where’s that smart mouth of yours now, huh?! Talk shit now, you son of a bitch!”

    “Stop it!” Charlie cried out, struggling against the clutches of the Exorcist. “You’re going to kill him!”

    God Given glanced at her over his shoulder. “Kill him? Great idea!”

    The mole-demon wound up and thrust his talons into Kira’s belly as deep as they’d go. Kira’s eyes snapped open wide as the Seraphim Steel burned deep inside his body. Unable to contain himself any longer, Kira threw his head back and screamed. God Given closed his eyes and savored the sound. It was the sound of triumph, of victory, the first step of his ascension. His father would forgive him for killing Clean. So long as he brought the Princess back in enough pieces to blackmail her daddy with, Clean’s death could be chalked up as a preventative measure.

    After all, if a weapon’s not yours, it’s a threat.

    He twisted his claws in Clean’s flesh, trying to coax that coveted high-note out of him. He didn’t, but his screams were still pleasant enough. He prepared to angle his claws up and inward, something that would have slashed his heart to ribbons. ‘Finally, time to put this prick out of my misery.’

    A small, dainty hand set on his shoulder. He withdrew his claws from his limp, whimpering prey and turned around. It was the Princess, her beautiful face placid and calm around a pair of glowing, hellish orange-within-red eyes. Her mouth then pulled into an grim, fanged snarl, red light poured out from the gaps between her shark-teeth like a grate at the mouth of a furnace. Hellish heat radiated off her in waves, the air around her crackled with power. He stepped back a half-step looking over her shoulder at the shattered remains of the Exorcist that had been restraining her.

    “I said…” Her voice was just as sweet and delicate as before, but the tone and fury behind it made his hackles stand on end. “…Stop it.”

Chapter Text

    Chapter 16: Relapse Part 4
    
    Bug Boogie cackled as he effortlessly dodged Angel’s bullets. “Idiot! You’re just wasting ammo now! But please! Keep struggling, it’s more fun that way!”

    The roar of Angel’s Tommy guns cut off abruptly, the dreaded ‘click’ of a dry magazine filled the air. Angel’s eyes went wide, his expression that of sheer, unadulterated terror. Bug Boogie swooped down, jaws spread wide, his Seraphim Steel blade burst from his mouth, glinting in the light. He was going to peel this peach before he ate it!

    A smirk pulled at the sides of Angel’s mouth. “Gotcha.”

    He dove out of the way at the last instant, pulling a bundle of hitherto unseen fibers taut. Bug Boogie overshot and found himself caught amidst dozens of hair-thin, translucent strands: silk. Angel laughed and pulled the handful of strands tighter, constricting him further in unbreakable filaments. Bug Boogie could see them now, criss-crossing in the air from the floor to the ceiling, leveraged and bound amongsts the furniture and white, gossamer anchors set at strategic locations all around. When slack, the fibers hung free, flat on the floor or in loops too wide to be noticed, almost invisible except in exactly the right light. But when tension was applied they all snapped to attention, becoming a deadly overlapping thicket of fibers!

    “A web?!” Bug Boogie screamed in disbelief. “H-how?!”

    “Home field advantage, creep!” Angel said, triumphant. “I led ya here because I know my room like the back of my hand, even in total darkness! Ya let me weave my web, thinkin’ I was just panickin’ like the new girl at a whorehouse, ya fuckin’ idiot! I led ya into a trap and ya fell for it, hook, line, and sinker!” Angel’s multitude of arms cleared, cocked, and reloaded his four Tommy guns in a smooth, practiced motion. He let off a short burst behind him, obliterating the knees of Bug Boogie’s body as it snuck up behind him before leveling his arsenal at the struggling gangster. “Welcome to my parlor, motherfucker!”

    The four submachine guns roared like dragons, the air filled with light and sound as a veritable cloud of bullets streaked towards their struggling target. Bug Boogie thrashed futility against the webbing, his razor sharp pincers hopelessly bound. He screamed in horror and outrage as his body disintegrated into stinking bloody chunks by a wall of supersonic metal. Green blood and steaming, twitching viscera splattered all over Angel’s room as Bug Boogie exploded into a squall of gore, his angelic blade falling to the gut-strewn floor with a high, musical ‘ting’.

    Bug Boogie’s body hobbled over to the door, fumbling with the doorknob in panic when the silvery blade erupted from his chest. Angel leaned over his shoulder and sneered. “This is for my top.”

    He twisted the blade with a slow, tearing sound before yanking it out, letting the corpse fall limp to the floor. Angel Dust sighed and instinctively reached up to run a hand through his bangs, only to remember they’d been shorn. Angel growled in outrage and proceeded to viciously kick the prone corpse on the floor. “Fuckin’! Piece! Of! Shit! Fuck with my hair, see what happens, ya cocksuckin’ sister-fuckin’ piece of poorly packaged–”

    A reverberating boom sounded through the hotel. Unlike the others, it had a distinct clattering sound with notes of twisting metal and debris. That was no explosion, that was an impact and a close one at that!

    “Common sense tells me I oughta book it, find the nearest dealer and get lit like a Christmas tree!” Angel mumbled to himself before sighing and shaking his head. “Fuckin’… ! Well, I gotta holy-poker now, be a shame not to use it… hold on guys, I’m comin’!”

    “You raise?” Poker face said, smirking.

    “Did I stutter?”

    “No, no,” said Poker Face, glancing at his cards. “Must be a peach of a hand.”

    “Maybe I’m just sick of your yapping,” said Husk, slugging back his scotch. “Why? You scared?”

    Poker Face shook his head and sighed. “I’ve got nothing to lose. Just annoyed you’re in such a hurry to end the game so soon, Husk. I like this cat and mouse thing we got going on.”

    “That makes one of us, Mickey.”

    Poker Face’s lip curled and he set down his cards. “So, who do you raise?”

    “Me,” said Husk. “I raise my soul.”

    “Oh ho?”

    “Yeah, y’fruit,” Husk rasped. “That a problem?”

    “Not at all, just…” Poker Face tapped his cards on the table. “You might want to keep that on hand. In case you want to try and win their souls back.”

    “I raise, you fuckin’ pussy.”

    Poker Face shrugged. “Alright.”

    Dazzle set down the river: a six of clubs

    Poker Face chuckled and flipped his cards. “Six of spades and ten of hearts. Three of a kind.”

    “Well… shit,” Husk sniffed, slapping his cards down.

    Poker Face’s eyes glimmered as he knit his hands together.

    Husk flicked his cards over with a claw. “Six and King. Bob Saget.”

    Poker Face’s expression flickered through several different emotions in the time it took for Husk to reach over and scoop up his winnings; surprise, incredulity, disbelief, denial, acceptance, anger, rage, fury, hatred, rancor, and then total loathing.

    God, if Husk could have died right there, he would have been happy for once in his life. “Ain’t that a daisy?”

    Poker Face fixed Husk with a look that burned its way through hatred, blew past loathing, and settled into the black, obsessive abhorrence that characterized true antipathy. Husk knew that if this bullshit wasn’t snuffed then and there, it would resurface to blight him until the end of time.

    “You bastard,” Poker Face snarled, his teeth clenched, bringing his handful of deadly cards up, ready to throw. “You utter bastard.”

    Husk knew how to string along a vicious crowd, knew how to bait the brutal impulses of his opponents. Poker Face could have killed him and the Goats at any time, but he didn’t. Instead, he’d sat them down for a nice game of poker. He wanted to win, he wanted to settle that little score of theirs and show Husk and everyone (and himself) that he was the superior card shark.

    “Hey, that’s the game.” Husk handed his cards back to Dazzle, who looked expectantly at Poker Face. “You still got a chip. Why not try and win ‘em back?”

    Poker Face fixed Husk with an ugly glare. “It doesn’t work that way.”

    “Why? Worked for me when I bet my soul. Why wouldn’t it work for you?”

    Poker Face set his cards on the table and glowered.

    Husk saw his opening and took it. “So, I win, then?”

    Poker Face slammed his fist down on the table and leapt to his feet. He held his hands out before him and grimaced, the air between his palms sparked and shimmered. The light coalesced into a small, pale disc, a poker chip. He set the dummy chip down on the table and pushed it forward.

    “My soul,” he snarled. “Now put ‘em up.”

    “Sure thing,” said Husk, his tone amicable and sportsmanlike. “Here you go.”

    Husk stood up and pushed the pot into the middle of the table. Poker Face looked down at the chips on the table, Husk’s hand perched over them, his thumb and index finger curled into a circle as his other fingers splayed out over top the pot like an upside down ‘OK’ sign.

    Poker Face blinked in confusion before groaning, a wan sneer on his face. “You petty shithead.”

    “You looked~” Husk cooed.

    Poker Face nodded and loosed a mocking chuckle, reaching out for the pot to set it aside. His eyes snapped open in shock as the color bled out of his hand.

    “W-what?!” Poker Face grimaced as the rest of his arm followed suit, the pallor racing up his arm and into his body. “Impossible!”

    “Huh,” Husk grunted, watching as Poker Face slumped forward in a boneless mass. “Gross.”

    “Damn you, Husk!” Poker Face roared as his body collapsed into the dummy-poker chip he had made for himself. “Damn youuuuuuuu…”

    “Didn’t even think that would work.” Razzle handed Husk a glass of scotch, which he pounded back. Husk reached out and picked up the poker chip, a sour, triumphant smile on his face. “You beat yourself, you stupid bastard.”

    Husk flicked the chip over to Dazzle. “A tip for the dealer.”

    Dazzle snapped the chip out of the air and swallowed it whole, patting his tummy and smiling. “Baah!”

    “I’ll be taking these,” Husk picked up the deck of Seraphim steel playing cards and shuffled them and getting to his feet. “Razzle, Dazzle, let’s bounce.”

    A thunderous, bone-shaking crash shook the floor from beneath their feet, the groan of metal and crack of shattered concrete adding their own distinctive notes to the cacaphony. “Jesus! This whole place is coming down! C’mon, let’s make like trees and fuck off!”

    "Say what?"

    "You should have killed me when you had the chance!" Vaggie spat, a venomous smirk on her face.

    "Is that bluster or are you just delusional?" Moonshine snorted at her defiance, leaning on his harpoon. “Ah, well. Guess I'll never know.”

    The massive fish-demon roared as he wound his weapon back, his quartet of yellow eyes glinting in the hallway light, lips pulled back to reveal a snaggled thicket of needle-like teeth. Just as he prepared to unleash his final strike, the elevator doors exploded outwards in a rush of dust and debris, the steel doors exploding outwards and smashing into the walls. Moonshine’s stab went wide, burying the tip into the wall a hair’s breadth from Vaggie’s head.

    “What the–?!”

    Seizing the opportunity, Vaggie swung her legs up off the floor. In a display of astonishing flexibility, she reached back behind her head with her feet, grabbing one of the daggers she kept hidden behind the large red bow in her hair. A flash of steel, the unmistakable sounds of cleaved bone, the singing of metal on metal. Moonshine grunted in surprise and pulled his hand away, expecting his harpoon to pull free from the wall as he did. The harpoon stayed stuck in the wall. Moonshine blinked in confusion and examined his hand, his mouth hanging open in shock as he saw four bloody stumps where his fingers used to be.

    Motion out of the corner of his eyes drew his attention, the small grey demoness’s feet grasped the shaft of his weapon and yanked it out of the wall. He rushed forward to swat it out of her grasp, but she was too quick. She growled and kicked upwards, driving the single-flued blade of the harpoon up and straight into his throat. The blade hissed and sizzled, smoke and steam pouring from his splayed open neck, black blood pouring from the wound in great gushing surges.

   Moonshine gurgled urgently, his mouth opening and closing in soundless, outraged curses. His four eyes rolled upwards in his skull, a final, audible flash of magenta light engulfed his eyes as steam and smoke poured from his open, working mouth. With a final, deflating rattle, the huge fish-demon keeled over backwards, dead.

    Vaggie glared at the corpse, sliding down off the wall as the barnacles decayed away into nothing. She stepped forward, kicking the disembodied fingers out of her way. “Never liked fish-fingers.”

    She reached down and grasped the harpoon shaft, pulling it out of the corpse and examined the fine craftsmanship; the harpoon was longer than she was tall, the blade almost the size of a shovel-head. She smiled, her eye glinting. “Now this, on the other hand…”

    Down the hall, something in the ruined elevator shaft stirred. Vaggie snapped into readiness, the business end of the harpoon at the ready. “What now?!”

    Footsteps, the sound of rummaging bodies and shifting debris sounded from the elevator shaft. A grey, spindly hand reached out and grabbed the jamb and the a horned, haloed head of an Exterminator peered out, it’s eye-graphics flickered and flashed red as it saw her, its grin a blood-red crescent.

    “Always something…” Vaggie grit her teeth and drew into a fighting stance. “Alright, you feathered flickery-faced fuck! Come get some!”

    Seven more angels leaned out of the elevator and leered at her. Vaggie’s face dropped, her eye wide and terrified. The deadly, holy host slowly, casually stepped out into the hall, their various Seraphim steel weapons glittering. One winked at her, finger cocked like a gun.

    “Nope.” Vaggie spun about and ducked through the hole in the wall, taking a hard turn and jumping down the hole in the floor Moonshine had made. “Nope nope nope!”

    She heard them scrambling after her as she weaved through the labyrinthine walkways, the dry, loathsome fluttering of their feathered wings echoing in her ears. Vaggie kept running, hoping that the twisting, turning layout of the hotel would stymie the pursuing angels, at least enough for her to find someplace to hide. She turned a corner and pressed herself against the wall, panting and trembling. She held her breath and listened for their approach, cursing the thundering of her own heart in her ears. Distant thuds and scuffling sounded from somewhere else in the hotel.

    The sounds drifted further and further away until she could no longer hear them. Vaggie exhaled explosively and leaned forward, hands on her knees. Careful not to make too much noise she made her way through the hotel’s winding halls until she found herself in the lobby. Vaggie sighed in relief and headed for the door when a hand set down on her shoulder. Vaggie spun around, harpoon raised and ready to skewer, only to relent when she saw it was only Angel Dust.

    “Whoa!” Angel cried, holding two of his hands out in front of him. “Simmer down, sister!”

    “Angel!” Vaggie exclaimed, somewhat surprised at the warm surge of relief rushing through her at the sight of the irritating spider-slut.

    “Vaggie!” Angel looked her over, her rumpled clothes, her numerous bruises. “Doll, ya look like recycled dogshit.”

    Vaggie scoffed, outraged. “Better than you! You look like you got on the bad side of a lawnmower! I… oh my God, Angel, are you missing an arm?!”

    Angel shrugged with all five shoulders. “Meh, it’ll grow back. Besides, I got a few to spare. No biggie.”

    “Well… at least the rest of you is okay, I guess.”

    “Better’n okay!” Angel said, posing triumphantly with his angelic dagger. “Scratch one gangster!”

    "Yeah, well..." Vaggie shouldered the enormous harpoon and sniffed nonchalantly. “Ditto.”

    “And me makes three!” Husk said, strolling into the lobby with Razzle and Dazzle, flipping his Seraphim steel cards back and forth between his hands. “Glad to see you’re all in once piece…more or less.”

    “Husk!” Vaggie said, laughing joyously as she walked over to him and set her hand on his shoulder. “You guys, too?”

    “Baah!” Razzle exclaimed.

    Dazzle polished his hoof on his shirt, looking rather pleased with himself. “Bahh.”

    “We all iced our baddies?” Husk snorted, incredulous. “What were we even afraid of these assholes for?”

    “Easy for you to say!” Angel said, gesturing at his shiny metal cards. “You got the pansy in the suit! Vaggie took out that swole fish-guy and I fought the pervy flying hedge-trimmer!”

    “Hey, Angel…” Husk blinked slowly, looking Angel up and down, “…Nice 'do.”

    “Fuck you!”

    Husk turned to Vaggie. “Where’s Chuck?”

    Vaggie looked up at the ceiling. “I got her out of harms way. Put her in the elevator and… the elevator… oh, shit, right! We gotta get out of here!”

    A dry, woody crash drew their attention as a pair of Exterminators smashed through the wall. Four more burst up from the floor and another from the ceiling. The eighth and final angel set down on the front steps, strolling through the shattered remains of the front door, a smug, endlessly amused grin on its flat, screen-like face.

    “Are those–?!” Angel sputtered.

    “Yep.” Vaggie affirmed. “Exterminators.”

    “Are we…?” Husk said, his tone grim.

    “Going to die?” Vaggie said, drawing her harpoon. “Probably. But we’ll take a few of ‘em down with us!”

    Husk sighed and drew his cards. “I can slice an apple across the room with paper cards, let’s see what I can do with these babies.”

    Angel drew his own Seraphim dagger, his locked and loaded Tommy Guns at the ready. “Been here almost eighty years, and these grinnin’ winged shitheads ain’t killed me yet!”

    The angels closed in around the small group of battered demons, their weapons raised.

    God Given swallowed hard, this was bad. It was easy enough to forget just who this chick was, what with her being such a sweet, delicate thing most of the time. But this was no spoiled royal brat, no rich girl living off daddy’s buck, this was the Princess of Hell. The Infernal Child, Hell’s Firstborn, the Daughter of Light and Dust. Her mother was the first human woman, made from dust, just like Adam, a pure creation unlike Eve. Her father was Lucifer, the Lightbringer, with might above all under God. Two of the most powerful entities in all creation had come together in infernal congress and produced the creature before him.

    It hadn’t occurred to him just what such a profoundly impressive pedigree might entail, but he had a sick sinking feeling that he was about to be made painfully aware.

    No!

    This wasn’t where his story ended!

    He still had her right where he wanted her! Her power was an edifice of the old ways, the old establishment! He was the son of HOLY DIVER, creation’s future king! How fitting that its future prince would be the one to subdue his counterpart in the early days of his reign! Now, all he needed was leverage, an opening, and he knew just how to get it.

    “Ah-ah-ah Princess!” God Given commanded, hooking his talons under Kira’s chin, raising the barely-conscious panther-demon’s head up to face her. “One more step and I’ll–!”

    God Given barely had time to blink before Charlie had grabbed him by the ankle and swung his entire body up and over her head. She slammed him down face-first into the roof, the impact of his body smashing a huge crater into the tarmac and concrete below. She effortlessly hoisted him up into the air before swinging him back down again, this time to her left. Then to her right, then her left, then on her left again. Then to the right. God Given was barely registering the impacts anymore, the pain suffusing his body was so total and complete as to be an endless wave of agony washing over his limp, flailing body. Charlie loosed a deep, guttural roar and swung him around over her head like a lasso, letting go and sending him cartwheeling through the air across the hotel roof, before hitting the ground and tumbling to a stop like a ragdoll.

    Charlie spun around and glared at the two Angels holding Kira, horns sprouting from her forehead as her flowing blond hair undulated, glowing gold and red like Hell’s own flames. The Exorcists exchanged horrified looks, the one on the right feebly attempted to threaten Kira with a speartip to his throat, only for Charlie to thrust her long black talons into its faceplate with a sharp, metallic crunch. She withdrew her fingers from the sparking ruin of its face and turned to shoot the other one an unimpressed but expectant look.

    The Exorcist’s nerve broke and it took off into the air, its red eyes and grin replaced with a dull blue rictus of panic. Charlie’s hand flashed out and grabbed its ankle, yanking it back down to the rooftop. She effortlessly subdued the struggling angel and grabbed its head, twisting it clean off as though capping a bottle. Sparks shot from its neck stump as its face became a terrified mass of static before going blank. She tossed the head over her shoulder and looked down at the prone form on the ground, her ferocious expression softened and she kneeled down, turning him over.

    “Charlie…” Kira croaked. “How…?”

    “Shh,” she said, her voice underscored with a hellish reverberating rumble. “You’re going to be okay. You just let me take care of things from here on, alright?”

    She cupped his cheek in her ghoulish, taloned hand, a gentle smile on her face. He reached up and took her hand in his, squeezing lightly. Kira’s eyes closed and his head lolled off to the side, his hand limp. Charlie’s fingers rushed to his neck, her eyes wide. She let out a sigh of relief when she felt his pulse, it was slow and weak, but it was there.

    She slowly stood up and glared over her shoulder at the mole-demon struggling to get to his feet. “You!”

    God Given spat a wad of blood and looked up to see her slowly marching towards him, her face a horror of teeth and burning red eyes. He clapped his hands to the roof, his one eye not swollen shut huge and white with terror. A veritable army of Exorcists sprang up from the ravaged rooftop and converged on the enraged Princess of Hell.

    “People like you! People like you are what makes this all so difficult!” She seethed, dodging a spearthrust, grabbing the shaft and wrenching the weapon away from its holder, along with both of its hands. “War! Hatred! Cruelty! Death! Didn’t you get enough of that on earth? Why bring it here? Why?!”

    She gripped the spear and it surged with power, morphing into an ornate trident with a scarlet apple where the prongs intersected. She spun it about over her head, creating a whirling ring of flame that expanded outwards and incinerated a dozen Exorcists.

    “All I want to do is help! All I want to do is improve the lives of my people, even if by a tiny bit! You think I don’t know how people like you sneer behind my back? You think I don’t see the contempt in your eyes? Well, I do! And you know what else? I don’t care! You can say or do whatever you want to me, because I can take it! But if you hurt my patients, if you hurt my friends? No force in the four planes will keep you safe from me!”

    Charlie tore through the remaining Exorcists like a thresher, the hunters of Hell itself falling before her like wheat before a scythe. Charlie closed the distance between her and God Given, who was fiddling with a two sheets of tarpaper.

    “Yeah, neat,” God Given muttered, scoring each sheet with a talon. “Hey, want to see something cool?”

    He froze time, putting all his might into channeling his father’s power.

    One second…

    He threw the first square of tarpaper, it hurtled through the air before coming to a halt next to the Princess.

    …Two…

    He threw another, both pieces now astride Charlie.

    …Three.

    Time resumed its flow.

    From the scored surfaces of the paper came two steaming, hellish locomotives, belching smoke and streaking through the air at maximum speed. Charlie was sandwiched between hundreds of tons of metal smashing together at over one hundred miles per hour. The steel groaned and warped, bending and forming around the body of the angelic devil, encasing her.

    God Given limped towards the twisted wreckage, a pained grin on his face. “You’re one tough bitch, I’ll give you that. But all that comes from your parents, your bloodline. You’ve never faced any real hardship in your life. Never had what you’ve always wanted, what you’ve always deserved, dangled in front of your face, always out of reach!”

    He held his hand out and a two-headed battle axe sprung from a hole in the concrete. He strode up to Charlie, her head and right shoulder the only parts of her not wreathed in hundreds of tons of hopelessly tangled metal.

    “You go on and on about rehabilitation. Redemption!” He spat blood at the mere mention of the word. “Dancing to some omnipotent bastard’s tune, playing His game, abiding by His laws! Piss on that! I’ve spent my whole life on wrong side of other people’s rules, and you know what it’s taught me? Good and evil! Right and wrong! God decides what those are because he’s more powerful than us! There’s no such thing as redemption if rules are arbitrary!”

    He stood over her, raising the axe over his head, lining himself up with her bare, vulnerable neck. “Laws are created by those who can enforce them! Sins and virtues hang on the whims of the mighty! When I bring my father your still-living head, Hell will fall! Then Heaven! Then I will finally get what I am owed! What I deserve!”

    “For God’s sake, do you ever shut up?” Came a voice from his right.

    God Given looked over to see a bloody, shirtless Kira propped up against one of the sign’s support beams, his hand clutched over the huge, gaping wounds in his abdomen.

    “Feh!” God Given snorted in contempt. “The cat came back! Have the decency to wander off and die somewhere, will you?”

    “Get away from her, Donny,” Kira demanded, pointing at him with his right hand, finger pointed like a gun. “I mean it.”

    God Given threw his head back and laughed. “Oh! You ‘mean it’! Look at you! Your guts are practically hanging out! What could you possibly do?!”

    The claw of Kira’s right index finger unsheathed, stuck to its side, previously hidden within the sheath, was a small, shimmering sliver of metal. “Relapse.”

    A click sounded in the still air, followed by a quick, snapping ‘pop’. The shard of angelic metal launched from his exploding fingertip with the speed of a bullet, cutting through the air in a long, flashing line of light. The shard froze mid-air bare inches from God Given’s face.

    One second…

    He breathed a sigh of relief. That splinter of Seraphim steel was set directly for his forehead. He looked over at Kira, his fingertip a bloody ruin, destroyed by his own bomb. God Given shook his head, incredulous. He hated the bastard, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t a stone-cold sunuvabitch!

    …Two…

    God Given moved to step out of the path of the shard, only to find his arm caught on something. He looked down to see the small, alabaster hand of the Princess clasped implacably around his arm, having wrenched her arm free of the metal with her apparently preposterous strength. The rest of her seemed to be bursting from the steel like it was so much tinfoil. He couldn’t move!

    …Three.

    'No!'

    Time resumed its flow.

    God Given’s head snapped back as the shard pierced his skull. His eyes wide, the look on his face that of utter disbelief. The last thought racing through his mind before the holy metal scoured it of all traces of his disheveled soul was ‘Impossible…!’

    His eyes flashed magenta as his soul was purged from his body. His corpse crumpled to the ground, limp, lifeless.

    Charlie burst from the ruins of the freight trains, her eyes red and hair blazing, lashing about like an aura of fire. She looked down at the lifeless body, her snarling expression fading as she realized what had happened. A hand set on her shoulder, she spun around to see Kira, a flat, apologetic smile on his face.

    “Sorry, Charlie,” he said. “I guess I fell off the wagon, huh?”

    Charlie stared up at him with glowing eyes, her aura crackling.

    “Charlie?”

    She cupped his head in her hands and pulled him down to her, kissing him forcefully. Kira’s eyes went wide as she pulled herself closer to him, his arms subconsciously wrapping around the small of her back. Charlie broke the kiss after a few seconds, completely back to normal.

    She giggled nervously and wiped off her mouth, pushing herself away from him. “Ha ha haaaaa… sorry! Sorry! I just got, uh, caught up in the moment!”

    “Uh.”

    “Just, uh, y’know, all that adrenaline!” Charlie continued, gesticulating wildly. “Just all ‘whoosh’! You know?”

    “Err…”

    “Just-just glad to be alive! And what better way to be alive than to kiss someone, right?”

    “Um.”

    “Also, I’ve wanted to do that, like, ever since I met you.”

    “Really?”

    “Oh God!” Charlie buried her face in her hands, mortified. “That was really unprofessional!”

    “A bit, yes.”

    “Look, Kira, don’t get the wrong idea. That was–let’s just say that never happened.”

    “Alright.”

    “Not to say I don’t–it’s just that I‘m already seeing someone and… you know…”

    “You are?”

    “Well…” Charlie cleared her throat and smoothed back her hair, smiling shyly. “No, but... I will be?”

    “Ah…”

    Charlie looked down at God Given’s body, a slightly forlorn look on her face. “I know I should feel bad about him dying–well, I do feel bad about it, but… jeez, what a shithead!”

    Kira snickered and patted her on the shoulder. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear, Charlie.”

    Charlie chuckled and shrugged. “I don’t have much to swear about!”

    Kira looked down at his abdominal wound, his expression flat and disinterested. “I’m bleeding profusely and am in quite a bit of pain.”

    “Oh my!” Charlie looped his arm over her shoulder and began to walk him over to the roof-access staircase. “Come on, we’ll get you patched up!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Rehabilitation

    Vaggie dodged a spear thrust from an Exorcist by a hair’s breadth. She hissed a curse and pushed off the shaft with her hip, angling her harpoon up and under the angel’s head. The damnably fast creature bobbed around her strike, its hand streaking out too fast to see. It grabbed her by the throat and hooked its speartip around the harpoon shaft, locking it with its gargantuan strength. Vaggie grabbed its wrist, struggling futilely in its implacable grip.

    She looked around at her other friends as they fought for their lives. Angel was pouring streams of hot completely ineffectual lead into an oncoming Exorcist. Husk was snapping his wrists as he sent cards flying; these, at least, were injuring the angels somewhat, though not nearly as disastrously as they would have had they been demons. They’d held them off for as long as they could, but there was no beating them. She felt tears burning in her eye, is this how she’d die? Her mind went to all the things she’d never do or see again.

    Charlie.

    She’d never see Charlie again. Never see her smile. Never hear her laugh. Who would run the hotel for her? Who would help her make her dream come true?

    No!

    She would see Charlie again! She’d kill these feathery assholes and find Charlie and fucking marry her!

    Vaggie reached up and drew her dagger from its sheath, jabbing it into the smooth, rounded surface of the Exorcist’s screen-face. The steel blade snapped with a sharp ‘plink’. The angel’s smile flickered, deepened, its red circle eye flashed a wink at her. Its deadly spear drew towards her with sadistic slowness, the Exorcist’s grin bounced and jostled in what she could only assume was a laugh. Vaggie squeezed her eye shut, waiting for the burning pain and eternal darkness.

    She felt herself falling, her rear thudded painfully on the floor. Vaggie opened her eye and looked around: the Exorcists were nowhere to be seen. Vaggie got to her feet, scanning the lobby frantically. Angel and Husk were no less confounded, their backs pressed together, wide-eyed and panting.

    “What happened?” Angel demanded. “Where’d they go?”

    “I dunno,” Husk muttered, looking up at the ceiling. “God Given. Either he switched ‘em off or he’s dead.”

    “So, that’s it, then?” Vaggie ventured, cautiously as though saying it aloud would call the angels back; considering the kind of day it had been, she felt this wasn’t an unreasonable concern. “We won?”

    “Looks like it,” Husk said, also unwilling to tempt fate.

    The five demons looked at each other and sighed, slumping in relief and exhaustion. It was over. It was finally over.

    A small figure in a dress and a pink helmet appeared in the entrance, a boombox held over her head. “THIS QUIET OFFENDS SLAANESH!”

    A soul-assaulting bass-line poured from the boombox’s speakers, rattling windows and teeth as grating electronic screeches cut through the air like knifes. Angel screamed and spun around, Tommy guns blazing. The tiny figure squawked in surprised and leapt out of the way as a wall of lead disintegrated the boombox, killing the music.

    The little demon peered around the door, flipping up the helmet and revealing a toothy, monocular face. “My boom box!”

    “Nifty?” Husk said, swatting the muzzles of Angel’s Tommy guns away from her. “Where have you been?!”

    “Following the Noise Marines around on their Pentagram City tour!” The chipper little bug-demon chirruped, holding up a poster and some merch. “Sick Beats and Sticky Sheets: An Atrocity of Sound! …Didn’t I tell you I was taking a vacation?”

    “Probably.” Husk brandished his half-empty bottle of scotch. “To be fair, I was definitely drunk when you told me. Anyway, glad you’re not dead, kid.”

    “Aww! Thank you!” For the first time since she got back, Nifty took in her surroundings, the mess, the ruin, the serious impairment of the overall structural integrity of the building, not to mention the heavy weaponry her friends were wielding. “Did you guys have a party without me?!”

    “Some party,” Vaggie snorted. “We’ll fill you in later. Right now I gotta go lie down and have a heart attack.”

    “Preach it, sister,” agreed Husk, taking a belt of scotch. “Angel, I’m gonna go get disastrously drunk. Want in?”

    “Yeah, sure, after we find Chuck and Killer,” Angel said, turning around to head for stairway. “Right, Vaggie?”

    Vaggie shot to her feet, her eye wide. “Fuck! We gotta find them! They could be hurt! Or dead!”

    “Well, you’re half right,” said a strained, weary voice.

    They turned to see Charlie and Kira hobble into the room, the ragged, bloody panther-demon practically draped across her shoulders. Charlie herself looked little worse for wear, tattered tuxedo notwithstanding.

    “Charlie!” Vaggie raced over to her, checking frantically for any injury. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

    Charlie smiled and shook her head, handing Kira off to a fawning Angel. “No, Vaggie, he didn’t! If anything he protected me.”

    “What? No, I meant the other guy!” Vaggie winked at Charlie and gestured over her shoulder at Kira as Angel gently set him down on a bench. “I know he didn’t try to hurt you… he looks too good!” Vaggie paused and sighed, a somewhat ashamed look on her face. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

    Charlie leaned in and placed a feather-soft kiss on her cheek. “You hurt me because you love me. I wouldn’t have gone otherwise. Besides, it all worked out! We’re all okay!”

    “NOOOOOO!!” Angel wailed in anguish. “Murderers! Goddamned butchers! Look how they’ve massacred my boy!”

    They spun around to see Angel draped over Kira’s lap, his face buried in his arms. “Angel? What’s wrong?”

    “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?!” Angel said, gesturing at Kira devastated torso. “His tasty washboard abs! His chiseled pecs! Ruined! Defaced! Why, God?! Why didn’t ya take me instead?!”

    “It’s a tragedy!” Nifty cried, turning to Kira. “Hi, who are you?”

    “Uh, my name’s Yoshikage Kira, please to meet you…?”

    “Nifty!” She said, holding out her hand.

    Kira took it and nodded. “Yes, I suppose it is a nifty name. It means ‘lucky shadow’.”

    “No, silly! That’s my name! Nifty!” She giggled, taking his hand, rubbing his knuckles with a tiny thumb. “Your fur is really soft, and such a pretty shade of pink! If you weren’t so torn up, I’d make a coat out of you!”

    “Uh… thanks.” Kira grimaced as he tried to pull his hand away from her, struggling against her surprisingly firm grip.

    Charlie walked over and set a sympathetic hand on Angel’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Angel, he still has that rocking butt.”

    Angel sniffed in a maudlin fashion. “He does?”

    Charlie nodded, giving him a reassuring pat. “I checked!”

    “Please stop objectifying me,” said Kira, visibly uncomfortable.

    “Yeah, stop!” Vaggie said, shoving Angel, Charlie, and Nifty out of the way. She shot Kira a wry smile and winked. “Looks like someone needs patching up.”

    “If you would be so kind,” Kira said, extending his hand to her.

    Vaggie took it and helped him to his feet. “It’s the least I could do, hermano.”

    Angel swept up next to Kira and the three of them made their way to the infirmary.

    “Did you get a new haircut, Angel?” Kira asked.

    Angel sighed and rolled his eyes. “I guess!”

    "Looks good,” said Kira, tousling his short bangs. “I like it.”

    “Really?”

    “No.”

    Angel chuckled and sighed. “You prick.”

    Charlie and Nifty busied themselves with the initial clean-up. There were holes in the ceiling, walls, floor, splintered bits of door, to say nothing of the top floor and roof. It was going to be a long, expensive next little while.

    “So!” Nifty chirped,  throwing the last piece of door on top of a pile of debris. “I leave for a few weeks and the whole place falls apart!”

    “Looks that way!” Charlie giggled. “Our new patient had some… interesting friends.”

    “How are we on blud-B-Gone?” Nifty said, smirking as she prodded a cold blood puddle on the floor.

    “A little low, I’ll add that to the list.” Charlie sighed, even rough estimates on damage ran into the hundreds of thousands. Daddy would probably raise an eyebrow, but not think too much of it, provided this little spat somehow missed the newscycle. If it got out that the Princess of Hell had been attacked so brazenly, he’d have no choice but to retaliate! Holy Diver would press even harder to get his weapon back, the hotel would become a battleground!

    A winged goat-headed demoness cautiously stepped through the shattered doorway, her tubby, reptilian cameraman followed closely after. “Is the coast clear? Has the fighting stopped?”

    “Who are you?” Charlie said, not even surprised considering her luck today.

    “Rachel Retch, Channel 666!” Rachel proclaimed, with a mite too much zeal. “Here to get first dibs on this juicy story! We have it on good authority that you’re housing an infamous mob hitman, Mr. Clean. On behalf of Channel 666 and all of Hell, I would like to request an exclusive interview!”

    Charlie opened her mouth to reject the request out of hand when she stopped, her eyes gleaming. “Tell me, what’s the average viewership for 666?”

    “4.6 billion,” replied the cameraman. “Gets up to twenty billion with big story breaks and sweeps. Maybe more! The whole West Side will want to get a look at this guy!”

    “Hmmm.” Charlie tapped her chin in thought, a slow smile crawling across her face. “I’ll go ask him. But there are conditions.”

    “Shoot,” Rachel said, beaming.

    “It’ll be a studio interview with Katie herself,” Charlie said. “With all the major advertisers and a good timeslot.”

    “I’ll have your answer by the time you get back!” Rachel Retch said, pulling out her cellphone. “Thank you!”

    “Think nothing of it!”

    Some days later.

    Fat Nuggets leapt onto a pile of debris, squealing happily. He snuffled and snorted for his prey, looking around frantically. The little red dot of the laser-pointer raced away from the pile across the floor, with the pig in hot pursuit. Moments later and a small blue turtle skeleton smashed into the pile, vaporizing it completely.

    “Hey, watchit!” Angel barked, twirling the laser pointer about in his hands. “Another second and he woulda smashed my Nuggy!”

    “It was attacking the rubble, just like the rest of them,” said Kira, not looking up from the newspaper.

    The Sheer Heart Attack milled about the room, locating and vaporizing small pieces of debris and dust. He presently had one following each of the occupants around to help them clear up debris all over the hotel. Charlie told him it was taking days off of the clean-up effort! Kira noted with some irritation that Nifty and Charlie found the little bombs utterly adorable and endeavored to find each of them a unique accessory.

    Fat Nuggets hopped into Angel’s lap and nestled against his owner, snorting contentedly. Angel smiled fondly at the little demon pig, moving to brush off the piece of debris on his back; all that time and money spent to get the little guy looking as fabulous as possible and he goes and rolls around in filth! Lipstick on a pig, honestly!

    Before he could, the Sheer Heart Attack landed on Nuggets, soundlessly vaporizing the piece of plaster as well as the dust around it, leaving the pig pristine.

    Angel smirked and prodded its gruesome skeletal head, a doll’s bow-tie around its neck. “It honestly never occurred to ya to try and control these things? Or make a bunch of ‘em?”

    “To be honest, no,” Kira said, flipping through the newspaper. “The one I had did its job so well I didn’t even consider other functions. Therapy’s really helped me develop my powers in more constructive ways. I only seem to be able to make seven, though… for now. Useful little things, actually.”

    “I’ll say!” Angel pet the little turtle tentatively. “Heh… they are kinda cute,  y'know?”

    Sheer Heart Attack looked up at Angel, empty sockets flashing with purple light. “Look over here, idiot.”

    “Hey!” Angel glared at Kira. “Excuse you?!”

    Kira hid his smirk behind the newspaper. “I don’t control what they say!”

    He turned the page on the newspaper and was greeted by a splash-page of Charlie kissing him forcefully amidst smoldering rubble. Kira admitted it was a good picture, very dynamic and well-framed. Still, the lurid speculation underneath left something to be desired. Quite a lot to be desired, actually. In addition to being essentially tabloid trash, it presented some very presumptuous and unfortunate speculation regarding Charlie’s style of therapy. Regardless, Charlie’s plan worked brilliantly! Kira’s face was plastered all over the papers, the streaming video of his interview with Katie had some truly outrageous view numbers.

   Mr. Clean was no longer the shadowy boogeyman he had once been, he now had a face (a handsome one, as many, many people were willing to point out), a voice, a preference for Valentino suits, and an opinion on what, exactly, constitutes the perfect sundae. No longer could Mr. Clean skulk about in the shadows, unknown. Holy Diver’s gun had its firing-pin removed. The offers for book deals were alluring and, though tiresome, getting recognized on the street was bearable if it meant that Holy Diver had lost his primary motive for his dogged recruiting him.

   The idea of media coverage had never occurred to him, but then he supposed it wouldn’t have. Charlie had a well-hidden Machiavellian streak, he deduced, only adding to his already high opinion of her. Holy Diver had no use for a celebrity, after all.

    At least, he hoped he didn't.

    Lucifer’s response to Holy Diver’s brazen attack was swift and brutal. Casualties were high, as expected, and all the usual suspects managed to fight their way out, but in the end thousands of demons were slaughtered and a vast cache of Seraphim steel weapons was seized. Enough to arm half the West Side some sources said. Kira thought that was slightly hyperbolic, not for the overall quantity of Holy Diver’s arsenal, simply that he wouldn’t have kept it all in one place.

    “Ha!” Angel said, peering over Angel’s shoulder. “Man, that’s a shot Chuck’ll never live down! Oh, ya should have seen the look on Vaggie's face when they played that footage!”

    “If I’d been there I probably would have been skewered!” Kira chuckled. “I have to wonder how they even got that shot…”

    “That reporter chick had wings, didn’t she?” Angel offered. “Got moxy, that one.”

    “I’ll say,” Kira said, setting the paper down on the table with a sigh.

    Angel sat down next to him. “What’s up, Killer?”

    “Just… thinking,” said Kira. “Thinking about Holy Diver.”

    “Why he wanted ya back so badly?”

    Kira nodded. “I know I was useful to him, but I’d hardly call myself indispensable. Was it pride? Was he worried that Lucifer would use me against him?”

    “Maybe he was sweet on ya!” Angel said, winking. "Y'bein' a tasty snack of a kitty-man and all."

    Kira smirked and shook his head. “Sending a bunch of heavily armed killers to dismember me is a strange way of expressing affection.”

    “I’ve heard of stranger,” Angel sniffed, scritching Fat Nuggets. “Got any theories? I mean, y’knew the guy!”

    Kira tapped his chin, contemplating for a moment. “Maybe…”

    “Maybe what?”

    “Before Holy Diver disappeared, he sent me on a mission. A strange mission.” Kira pondered this for a moment. “Of course… why didn’t I think of it before?”

    “What?”

    A knock on the door sounded from the lobby. A moment or two passed before the knock sounded again, polite and amiable, a friend’s knock.

    “Could someone get that?” Charlie called from the other room. “Kinda busy painting here!”

    “I’ll get it!” Kira made his way over to the door, stepping over the rough patch-jobs Razzle and Dazzle had made in the floor. The knock sounded again, somewhat less amiable this time. Kira opened the newly ordered door and looked out at their guest. “Hello?”

    It was a short, rotund demoness with a shock of blue and red hair, she looked up at him with huge, shimmering eyes. “Y-you’re Mr. Clean!”

    “Yes.”

    “H-hi…” she squeaked, starstruck. “I’m Staphie.”

    “Hello, Staphie.”

    “I w-wanted to, uh,” she held up a rock. “I heard you l-like to sculpt? Could I…?”

    Kira examined the rock for a moment before cluing in. “Ah! Yes, of course.”

    He took the rock from her and pressed the trigger. The stone sizzled and smoldered, when the smoke cleared a sculpture of his hands remained. “There you are.”

    “Th-thank you!” She squealed, pulling out her phone. “Can I also have a picture? I-if you wouldn’t mind...”

    “Of course.” Kira leaned in a smiled over her shoulder, displaying the sculpture in his hands for authenticity's sake.

    She took the picture and examined it, beaming with joy. “Oh thank you, Mr. Clean! I hope you get redeemed!”

    “Thank you for your support!”

    She took off down the steps, cradling the sculpture in her pudgy little hands.

    Kira smiled and waved goodbye, another picture, another step away from his former life.

    He sighed, he felt lighter somehow, at least a little upbeat at how happy that girl had been at his meager contribution to her life. She could probably sell that sculpture for some serious cash!

    Another knock rattled at the door, a different cadence, but just as friendly.

    “Can I help you with anyth–” Kira said as he opened the door.

    Staphie stood in the doorway, her eyes blank, her hand raised as though to knock. She slumped forward, dead, the sculpture tumbling from her limp hands, shattering on the floor. Jutting from her back was a horrifyingly familiar kind of knife.

    “N-no…” Kira spun around, a massive shape with glowing red eyes loomed over him.

    A fist the size of a melon smashed into Kira’s gut with incredible force, bursting the thicket of stitches on his abdomen. He flew backwards, smashing into the far wall, caving in the plaster. He crumpled to the ground and grasped his bleeding gut with his right hand, trembling with pain and shock and as he clenched his left.

    “Did you honestly think I’d let you get away?” HOLY DIVER rumbled, stomping over to Kira. “You’ve cost me much, Yoshikage, and I do not suffer disappointment well. What was it that I said to you all those years ago? Ah, yes. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t spend the next several years killing you.”

    Kira roared and launched himself at the much larger, more powerful demon. HOLY DIVER smirked and Kira froze in mid air, his right hand extended. “You didn’t actually think that was going to work, did you?”

    Kira struggled as overlapping bubbles of frozen time encased his limbs, pinning him to the air.

    HOLY DIVER snapped his fingers and seven figures appeared in the lobby, Nifty, Vaggie, Angel, Husk, the Goats and Charlie, all trapped like him.

    “What the fuck!” Angel exclaimed, his head snapping around. “What happened?! Where are… oh, my God.”

    “You…” Husk whispered, his voice hoarse and low.

    “Holy Diver?” Charlie whimpered.

    “HOLY DIVER!” HOLY DIVER bellowed, indignant. “You are all suitably impressed, I know. Fear is the appropriate response, for each of you now find your fate in the hands of the killer you’ve so readily accepted. Time to find out if your program works, Princess.”

    HOLY DIVER held out his hand, a fan of glittering Seraphim steel knives appeared in his grasp, one for each of the captives. In a single motion, he threw all seven, each one streaked through the air, stopping bare inches short of their hearts, frozen in time.

    He turned back to Kira. “I am a generous man, Yoshikage. A fair man. You cost me four of my best people, so I think it's only fair that you offer four of your friends in return. Choose four, and the rest will be spared. Then, only then, may I consider sparing your life.”

    Kira turned away from them, grimacing. “HOLY DIVER, please don’t…”

    HOLY DIVER threw his head back and laughed. “Is that trepidation I hear in you, Yoshikage? How useless! Here, allow me to simplify matters for you!” He threw another knife, at Kira this time. It froze in the air, point aimed directly for his heart. HOLY DIVER held up his hand, open with fingers spread “Choose who dies in five seconds, or I’ll kill you all! One… two… three…”

    Kira looked out at his friends, at their wide, terrified eyes.

    “…Four…”

    He winked.

    “She’s not here,” announced Kira.

    HOLY DIVER’s smile vanished in an instant. “What did you say?”

    “I said: she’s not here. Your mother,” said Kira, his tone patient and his stare withering. “That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? My last mission for you. She’s not here. She’s not in Hell.”

    HOLY DIVER was silent.

    “You sent me to track her down, to use every resource at my disposal to find her, find any trace of her. I couldn’t, because she’s not in Hell, never was.” Kira shook his head and scoffed. “I tried to tell you, the day before you left. But you wouldn’t hear it! All these years I wondered why, but now it’s so obvious! She was the only person to ever show you love, unconditional love! The only person in your life that was anywhere near a decent human being!”

    “Silence,” HOLY DIVER growled. “Yoshikage, if you know what’s good for you…”

    “That’s why you couldn’t bear to hear it either way! If she was here, in Hell, she couldn’t have been as pure or wonderful as you remembered!”

    “Shut your mouth!”

    “But if she wasn’t, and you were. You’d have to admit it to yourself. You’d have to admit to the dark emptiness in your soul! You’d have to admit that you were, have, and always will be a vicious, evil, coldhearted bastard!” Kira bellowed, grinning madly at the towering demon lord, a being fit to be the king of Hell itself. “Is that why you left? To finally, after all these years, see your mommy again?!”

    HOLY DIVER scowled at Kira before scoffing, sticking his nose up in contempt. “HOLY DIVER is above such crass sentimentality.”

    “Did you meet her?” Kira asked, pointedly. “Did she want to see you, what you’ve become?”

    HOLY DIVER’s face darkened, his lips pulling into a snarl.

    “I didn’t find your mother, but do you know who I did find?” Kira chuckled, sneering up at HOLY DIVER. “A foul, disgusting little toad. A filthy little pimp in the South Side who drank away what few earnings his girls and boys could scrounge up. Spending his days in dingy bars ranting and raving every time the news came on, telling of your exploits! ‘There he is,’ he’d say! ‘There’s my boy! Mark my words, one day Hell itself will bow to the son of Dario Brando’! You may not have found your mother, Dio, but at least you can live the rest of your life knowing that you made your daddy so proud!”

    Holy Diver held up his hand and clenched it into a fist. “Die.”

    All eight knives unfroze and streaked through the air towards their targets, their Seraphim steel blades glittering in the lobby’s bright yet soft lights.

    Shrill, musical ‘pings’ sang throughout the room. Holy Diver spun around to see the seven blades at the feet of their targets. Something beneath their clothes stirred and moved. Seven little skeletal turtles poked their heads up out of the fur or from beneath the clothing of their wards.

    “Idiot,” they croaked in unison.

    The seven Sheer Heart Attack’s lunged at Holy Diver with blinding speed. They were fast, especially across short distances, but not nearly fast enough. Holy Dive froze them all with a wave of his hand.

    “I see you’ve learned a few new tricks, Yoshikage,” said Holy Diver, turning to face Kira. “Oh?”

    Kira grit his teeth and panted, the holy knife buried to the hilt in his chest, hissing and sizzling as smoke and steam escaped around the blade.

    “Ho-ho!” Holy Diver grinned and walked over to the mortally wounded demon. “You protected them over yourself? You prompted me to attack even if it meant your own death. Just for a chance to kill me and save them? What is this wretched sentiment?! I expected better from you, Yoshikage! But here you are, dying! After everything you’ve done, all you could have accomplished, and you just threw your life away! Useless! Useless! Useless! Useless! Useless! Useless!”

    He reached out and yanked the knife from Kira’s heart, followed by a spurt of bright red blood. “I can only hope you hold on long enough to watch.”

    “My thoughts… exactly…” Kira panted, a tired, triumphant smile on his face.

    Holy Diver opened his mouth to ask when a dull, metallic sound drew his attention. He looked down at the floor; at his feet was the knife, surrounded by slowly evaporating dust. He looked at his hand, his fingers were gone, his palm grey and ashen as a slow wave of orange energy traveled across his flesh.

    “What?” Holy Diver looked down at himself, similar patches of orange energy blossomed all over his body, leaving grey patches of ash, rapidly dissolving away into nothing. “N-no! No! This can’t be!”

    The corruption spread, devouring ever larger portions of his massive frame. Holy Diver stumbled back, his right arm cracked and tumbled off, exploding into a cloud of powder and smoke as it hit the ground. He locked Kira with baleful glare and his rapidly disintegrating body lurched towards his former underling. “K… kill you! I-I’ll…”

    He stepped forward and his knee crumbled at the joint, causing his enormous bulk to topple forward. “I… can’t… die!!”

    The future king of Hell and all creation exploded into a cloud of ash the second he hit the floor, before long even his dust dissolved into smoke, which rose into the air before becoming nothing.

    Time unfroze and the seven hostages collapsed to the floor. As Vaggie helped Charlie to her feet, she looked out at the little Sheer Heart Attack that had been accompanying her. It looked back up at her with its hollow eyes and said. “Thank you.”

    It vanished, the little top hat she’d given it tumbled to the ground.

    “Vaggie! Get over here!” Angel shouted, cradling Kira in his arms. “Now, dammit! Now!”

    Charlie rushed over and gasped, her hands clapping over her mouth. Kira lay limp in Angel’s arms. “Oh, God…”

    “Come on!” Angel cried, looking up at Charlie, his eyes wide and desperate. “W-we gotta help him! We gotta patch him up! He’ll be fine, right? He’s a tough fucker, yeah? Come on, Killer, hang on! We’ll put ya back together!”

    “Angel…” Vaggie said, quietly, shaking her head.

    “Shaddup!” Angel roared, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Shaddup, ya bitch! Y'always hated him! Y-ya never even gave him a chance! He’ll be okay if ya, if-if ya…”

    “He’s gone, Angel,” Charlie murmured, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

    “God…” Angel whimpered, pulling the body close to his chest, squeezing it tightly. “God dammit… please…”

    Husk sighed heavily and pulled a bottle of scotch out of a nearby stash. He capped it and lifted it to his lips before, disgusted with himself, poured its contents out onto the floor.

    Angel gently lowered his friend’s head down to the floor, crossing his hands over his chest. He got to his feet and stormed off, heading out of the lobby, glaring at the floor as his mascara ran.

    Charlie opened her mouth to call out after him when something caught her eye, her face illuminated by a strange golden glow. “Angel! Angel come quick!”

    Angel sprinted back into the room, his eyes wide. “What the...?”

    Rising from Kira’s body were translucent, golden streams of flickering light. The light coalesced into a cloud of sorts, building and undulating until it took on a rough shape. For an instant Charlie could have sworn she could see a face in it. And then it was gone.

    “What… what was that?” Vaggie muttered, awestruck.

    “I don’t know,” said Charlie, allowing a small, sad smile to spread across her face. “But I can hope.”

    Whiteness.   

    Or was it darkness?

    Whatever it was, it was all-encompassing. There was no border, no boundary, nothing to separate him from it. He felt lost, like a raindrop in an ocean.

    “Yoshikage Kira,” said a voice from everywhere. Its words vibrated in his core and all around him, suffusing him with purpose, identity.

    Yes.

    He was Yoshikage Kira.

    Or, he used to be?

    “Where am I?” He asked. “Is this Hell?”

    “No.”

    “…Heaven?” He ventured, hopeful.

    “Not there either,” the Voice replied, something warm like amusement in it. “But yes, you are out of Hell.”

    “So, I’m redeemed?”

    “No,” it said, flatly, less amused. “You’ve a long ways to go before you've redeemed yourself. But… you are on the right path.”

    “What am I, then?”

    “Let’s call it 'rehabilitated'. You have shown yourself to be capable of redemption, should you choose to seek it.”

    “Choose?” He was confused.

    “Yes. You will be granted one more chance to prove yourself a righteous man.”

    “How?”

    “In the only place righteousness can be proven. In life.”

    He felt himself drawn down, towards something, away from the void. The voice followed after him, distant like an echo.

    “Oh, and do try to not be such a prick this time around… oh, who am I kidding, you won't…”

    A baby cries.

   The first touch of air burns his face and body, and for the first time he can remember he feels cold. A blanket is wrapped around his tiny body, embracing him in soothing warmth. He is helpless, blind, he screams for comfort.

    Huge hands pass him around, swaddled in soft, warm fabric.

    He’s handed to her, the woman with whom he shares some unconscious, indelible connection: his mother.

    “A healthy baby boy, Mrs. Joestar-Kira,” says one of the doctors.

    “Hello, little one,” she cooes, running a soft, gentle hand over his red, weeping face. “It was touch and go for a bit there, huh? But you’re a fighter, aren’t you? A lucky little shadow. My Yoshikage…”

Chapter Text

EPILOGUE

Charlie stood motionless in front of her whiteboard, dry eraser in her hand. She had to. She had to. She still had her other patient, and he needed her now more than ever. On the board was the helpful diagram Kira had used to explain time travel and the possible self-seducing applications thereof. That had been a fun day. Part of her liked to think that he was in a better place, that he’d found the peace he so desperately sought. Fine rationalizations, and not baseless, either. In all her time in Hell she’d never seen a death quite like that, the warm yellow light of what could only be his soul sublimating to… elsewhere.

But he was still gone, and that hurt.

He had come to them a remorseless killer, and left… well, she never did quite get the feeling that he regretted his past actions, but he’d learned to value the lives of others. He had changed. He barely even knew Niffty, and he still placed her life above his own, defending her from his vile former boss. He protected all of them. She couldn’t stand to feel even a little vindicated that her program worked; maybe if Kira had kept a bit of his selfishness he’d still be alive? Had all her self-righteous meddling gotten him killed?

No.

She couldn’t afford to think that, even for a second. It was a narcissistic rationalization to give herself the illusion of control over past events. What happened and its aftermath was completely and utterly out of her hands. She couldn’t have done anything to prevent it, and as agonizing as it was admit to that helplessness, she knew it was the healthiest way to deal with it. She had to move on.

Slowly, hesitantly, she erased the diagram. It felt like she was erasing him, tarnishing his memory somehow, but she pushed through it. The whiteboard was clear, ready for her to fill up with whatever saccharine nonsense she was going to try and peddle to her one remaining patient. She turned around to face the mostly empty room and gasped; in her thoughtlessness she had put out two chairs instead of one.

Suddenly too tired to stand, Charlie sat herself down on one of the chairs and buried her face in her hands. She felt she should just call off today’s session. She doubted that Angel would even show.

He’d taken Kira’s death hardest out of all of them. They’d become friends, much to her surprise, and not even the kind of ‘friend’ Angel was wont to have. In fact, Kira probably couldn’t have been further from Angel’s usual sort of companion if he tried. His death had left the normally irreverent spider despondent, withdrawn. Even his irrepressible wit had become hard, bleak, a sour sort of humor that spoke to some deep-seated anger within.

Angel had thick skin, and not just because of his carapace, either. It covered something soft, sensitive, and vulnerable. He’d let a killer in out of some strange sense of kinship, and now probably resented himself for doing so. Angel handled pain poorly at the best of times, he needed her to be strong now if he was to get through this.

But she didn’t feel strong. She felt helpless, useless. He'd had been her patient, her responsibility, and she’d let him die. And now she was letting her other patient down as she wallowed piteously in depression. She didn’t know what to do.

Her head snapped up at the sound of a door opening. She looked over and saw Angel, his adorable pig nestled in his arms. Angel rarely went anywhere without Fat Nuggets anymore. The attentive little creature would follow him around and offer his support whenever he saw his master wane. Angel quietly made his way over to her.

“Angel, hey,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m glad you showed up. Uh… I’ve got a few fun things planned f-for us today. Umm…”

He sat down next to her. His make-up, usually applied with zeal and skill, was flat and desultory. His hair, still recovering from his fight with the gangsters, was messy and frayed. He looked at her with dull, baggy eyes and set a hand on her shoulder. “That’s okay, Chuck. I think I just wanna chat today.”

Fat Nuggets nuzzled Angel, comfortingly.

“Okay, Angel,” Charlie said, nodding. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine, I guess,” Angel said, scritching the little pig behind his ear. “Don’t even want a hit.”

Charlie’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Chuck,” Angel grumbled. “I’m a little surprised, actually. I just think… nah, that wouldn’t be right. Last time I was tempted, Killer stepped in and helped me. Fallin’ off the wagon now would be like, what, grabbin' a cookie like some shithead kid? I dunno. I just don’t even want to, y’know?”

“I think I understand,” said Charlie. “The progress you made while he was around reminds you of him. You don’t want to let it go.”

“Mm,” grunted Angel, pulling Fat Nuggets closer to him. "When you put it like that, sounds kinda schmaltzy... but yeah."

Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like a fog. It was the sort of silence that you could almost hear.

Charlie drummed her fingers on her thigh, trying to think of something to say.

"You hungry?"

Before she could scold herself for saying such an inane thing, Angel smiled a wan, tired smile. "I could eat."

Charlie's face lit up as an idea struck her. "Hey! Would you like to learn how to make takoyaki?"

"Taco-whati?" Angel replied, eyebrow arched.

"Those fried octopus ball things," said Charlie, standing up. "We can make them together!"

Angel's face lit up, a flicker of his former irreverence shining through. "When have I ever said 'no' to balls in my mouth?"

He lifted Fat Nuggets off his lap and held the little pig up to his face. "Would my little Nuggies like some tasty fried octopus balls? Yes, he would!"

Charlie smiled, relieved; now was not the time to wallow in sadness or regret. The Hotel was at peace, for now anyway, and she was going to make the most of it. Besides, positive grief management and stuffing one's face with fried batter so rarely coincided.

Charlie led Angel out of the event-room and into the hallway. "Razzle! Dazzle! Kitchen, double-time! We've got balls to cook!"

Razzle fluttered off after his mistress, licking his lips in anticipation. A toilet flushed and Dazzle came scrambling out of one of the rooms, a length of toilet paper stuck to his hoof as he took off after his friends. The commotion of overlapping voices and clattering pans echoed in the halls. Husk grumbled from behind the desk, head down on the flat-top, hands clasped over his ears. Something like normalcy had returned after a turn for the bizarre.

Somewhere, on the outskirts of the city, a river flowed at a steady pace. Its mottled surface was beset with large, unctuous bubbles that occaisionally burst with a loud, wet belch. The odd flare of blue flame flashed out from beneath the thick, syrupy fluid that once, long ago, might have been water, now defiled beyond measure by the effluence of billions of hellions. Being a sewage treatment worker in Hell was a fate richly deserved by Humanity's worst.

A trio stood on the bank of the river, overseeing the vast tributary of filth.

"Disaster!" Boadicea seethed. "Utter, unqualified disaster! Our lord, dead! Our army, scattered! All that planning and preparation... all for naught! And now you have us trudging about in the muck! To what end?!"

"Calm yourself Boadicea," said Crossroads. "There are things Lord HOLY DIVER did not divulge to us. Only one man in all Hell could be called his confidant. Isn't that right, Trouble?"

'Trouble' did not turn away from the river, shining silver eyes locked on the shifting, putrid liquid. He was tall, perhaps eight feet tall at the top of the black horns that made up the crown-like structure atop his head, covering much of his face. His bare arms were white as marble and covered with raised, scar-like brands that read 'G∆CT', hands bound in studded black leather. His body was covered in a hellish mockery of a priest's robe and about his neck was a clerical collar studded with sliver spikes and a dog-tag that read 'Trouble'.

"Is that jealousy I sense in you, Crossroads?" Trouble said, smirking.

"Of course not," Crossroads turned his gaze back to the befouled river. "Our Lord's actions and motives are his alone to understand. I am content to serve."

"And you will serve again," said Trouble, grinning now as a a form waded out from beneath the river's surface. "As will we all."

The figure was barely recognizable as a demon as the filth and muck clung to them like tar; a female voice gurgled out from underneath the gunk. "Found it. It was right where you said it would be."

The figure abruptly vanished into the ground, leaving only a puddle of vile slime. She re-materialized next to the puddle, the concrete liquefying and reforming into the shape of a well-endowed and beautiful demoness with a wild tassel of brown hair and tribal marking on her face. He held out her hand to the Hellish priest, in it was a single poker-chip.

"Thank you, Rose. Your service, as always, has been greatly appreciated," said Trouble, taking the chip from her.

From his hand sprouted several thorny vines, they wove themselves into the chip and pulsed. "You've work yet to do, Poker Face. We've work yet to do. The plan is still in motion, and only together can we obtain Heaven."

Author's note

Looks like Hell's... (puts on the tackiest sunglasses imaginable) ...in for some trouble.

...yeah.

Oh, hey, check out my other fic Helluva Job if you want to follow this plot.

Keep on readin'!

Be sure to check out a fancomic sequel DEMOXdaGUY decided to whip up. Give it a good and give them a like/watch!

https://www.deviantart.com/demoxdaguy/art/KPA-FHFH-Cover-of-the-1st-chapter-831721366