Chapter Text
By the time the mist dissipates, Satan already knows that something has gone wrong.
The alarm bells go off as soon as he feels IK’s hand go slack in his - he manages to move fast enough to catch her before she hits the floor, but he can’t tell what’s happened when he can barely see two inches in front of himself. He thinks that he’s supposed to know what’s happening, but each of his senses seem to have been cut off, somehow.
He can’t see, and whatever he’s hearing seems to come through him through about a metre’s worth of cotton - honestly, he can’t really be blamed for panicking.
“IK,” He says. “ IK!”
No response. His throat feels tight, but he still has enough wits about him to feel for a pulse, check for breathing - she’s still alive, at least. But she doesn’t respond, no matter how urgently he calls her name; she doesn’t move when he starts shaking her, either. His breathing quickens. Don’t overthink it, don’t overthink it—
Quite suddenly, his field of vision finally clears, and the first thing he hears is a lot of confused yelling. He looks up. Whatever has knocked IK unconscious - it seems to have gotten his brothers, too.
“Oh—” Simeon’s hurrying over. He seems unscathed, as do the others - that’s one less thing to worry about, at least. “What happened?!”
“I don’t know,” Satan mutters, unable, briefly, to tear his eyes away from his brothers’ prone bodies. After a moment, though, he manages it, and forces himself to focus on the more important thing. “Are you seeing any injuries?”
“Not as far as I can tell…” He pulls off his gloves - his hands are already beginning to flare. “Let me take a closer look.”
The glow intensifies. Satan winces slightly, but it’s not like the angelic light is bright enough to do any damage - in any case, it’s not like he’s unable to endure it.
The ballroom feels too quiet in the aftermath of what’s just happened - everyone seems too frighteningly calm. Satan himself is surprised he doesn’t feel more distressed, but - and he supposes it might be the same way for the others - there’s an odd serenity washing over him. Like watching a tidal wave come crashing in, he supposes it might have been inevitable that something like this would happen as soon as the king appeared.
Luke, across the room, makes a choked noise - there’s a brief scuffle as he flings Solomon’s hand from his shoulder, then hurries over. Solomon himself doesn’t try to stop him; the danger seems to have ceased for now, at least.
“IK’s okay, right?” Luke asks tremulously, crouching down beside Simeon, hands clasped together as if in prayer. He doesn’t get a response; truthfully, Satan doesn’t know the answer. (He feels a little ill at the thought.)
Simeon passes his hands briefly over IK’s face, then gently presses his fingers to her wrist to take a pulse. He leans forward, mumbling something to himself (or to her, maybe), and then pulls back again. His frown is deep. “...as far as I can tell, she just… fell asleep.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” says Mephisto dryly. (Satan jumps - he hadn’t noticed him hovering over his shoulder.) “How much d’you wanna bet it’s the same story for the other guys?”
He pauses and glances over at the other five brothers, raising a brow briefly. “...well, someone check, ‘cause I’m not doing it.”
“Lazy ass,” mutters Alecto, but approaches one of them anyway. The look on her face is strained, as if she can’t quite believe anything that’s happening right now. “Right, uh…”
One of her hands mists over; she pokes hesitantly at Beel, like a child would at a dead thing they found on the side of a road. Then she announces, “Just conked out. I’m not seeing any damage.”
“That was some strong magic in the fog,” says Wiz, trotting over to Levi and nudging his side with the tip of her foot. He doesn’t move. “Though, I don’t know if you felt it - it felt like it was ignoring the rest of us deliberately.”
“Of course it was,” says Solomon darkly. He’s staring towards the middle of the room, but he hasn’t made any moves yet. “Just what is Sonno’s game here…?”
Satan looks towards the mirror. The glass had shattered, so it shouldn’t be surprising that its frame is empty - but he still sucks in a breath, anyway. Of course, the king’s image is nowhere to be seen.
He looks at Diavolo. The prince is staring blankly at the empty space where the reflection had been - he hasn’t said a word. In fact, he doesn’t even seem to have noticed that a significant portion of their number is no longer awake.
Satan feels a spark of irritation. Aren’t you supposed to be a ruler? Shouldn’t you be taking charge? You’re the last person who needs to be panicking right now.
Barbatos is frozen to the spot, hand still outstretched. He’s blinking rapidly; slowly, he lowers his arm, but he doesn’t look any less troubled.
“...His Majesty said that he sensed a presence at the gates,” He says softly after a moment. “If we were to check - I suppose we would find Belphegor in a similar state there.”
“Bet you anything Roth’s trying to drag him up here,” Mephisto remarks. “Hey, Wiz, d’you reckon he’s flubbed the motor spell again?”
Wiz turns and raises an eyebrow at him. She seems impressively calm. “Shouldn’t you be going to help him, in that case?”
“You do it,” Mephisto replies, folding his arms and aiming a distant glare at his feet. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be alone with either of them right now.”
“Always with the dramatics,” Wiz sighs, but turns and sets off down the corridor anyway. The grimoire is still hovering beneath her hand; an entourage of Little Ds follow after her blindly.
Alecto, meanwhile, surveys the five unconscious demons in front of her, then sighs. “...well, might as well get this lot tidied up. One hell of a weekend, this is…”
Satan watches as she slings Mammon over a shoulder with one hand, then braces herself and seizes Lucifer by the arm with the other. It’s a shame this couldn’t be happening in better circumstances, or else he’d have been able to enjoy how funny it looks. As it stands, he can only watch as Alecto props his brothers up against the wall with something distantly resembling amusement.
“What I don’t understand is why Astaroth would bring Belphegor here in the first place,” murmurs Simeon absently, tapping IK’s face and watching anxiously for any changes in expression. Nothing happens.
“Because he’s dumb, obviously,” Mephisto says scornfully, folding his arms. “He was friends with Belphegor, apparently - I’m guessing he thought he was helping out, but… seriously, of all the stupid ideas…”
There’s silence for a while, broken briefly by the sound of Luke sniffling. Satan feels a little bad for him - this is hardly an appropriate situation for a young angel. But, then again, none of this has been an appropriate situation for a human child, either.
“Hey, you,” He hears Solomon say, and looks up again to see that he’s talking to Diavolo. “Snap out of it. We’ve got more serious things to worry about.”
Diavolo doesn’t respond. Barbatos approaches cautiously. “...Young Master. Your father is not here at the moment. You can relax.”
“He absolutely cannot,” growls Solomon in reply, not even deigning Barbatos with a glance in his direction. “This could have all been avoided if the two of you weren’t such idiots.”
“The king is a formidable demon,” Barbatos says quietly - the look on his face is reproachful. “It is not easy to stay in his presence, let alone talk to him.”
“And Diavolo here’s his successor, isn’t he?” Solomon replies sharply, and turns to address the prince once more. “I don’t know how you expect to have a better rule when you can’t even challenge the head of the old one. Grow a backbone, would you?”
Still no response. Solomon scoffs, then finally turns to Mephisto instead. “Go on, then. You explain what’s going on.”
Satan’s not entirely sure how Mephisto’s supposed to know - but, interestingly enough, he does seem to. He links his hands behind his back, then says, “Well, the king’s gone and done what the king does best. He’s playing another one of his games.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Simeon rises to his feet. “What kind of game, exactly?”
“Well, you look at them,” Mephisto says, waving a casual arm in the brothers’ direction. “Conked out, aren’t they? That’s Sonno’s specialty. Dreams are what our minds decorate time with when we’re away from the waking world - as soon as he pulls someone into his dominion, all that is under his control.”
“Memories act strangely in the Dreamscape,” Barbatos says quietly. “In that space, His Majesty is capable of dredging up one’s worst fears - whether from distant past or subconscious present. I presume that he is amusing himself with watching it all unfold."
“You can quit it with the poetry,” Satan spits. “I don’t know how the hell you know this, but do something about it!”
“The Dreamscape is impenetrable,” Mephisto tells him flatly. “Or else I’d have done something already.”
Luke isn’t even bothering to hide his own distressed tears at this point. “Th-then what do we do? What’s happening to IK in there?!”
“Who knows?” For a moment, Satan feels like aiming a punch directly into Mephisto’s expressionless face - but he forces himself to stop. “...even if I had an idea, it wouldn’t work. I don’t exactly have the means of executing it anymore.”
Barbatos pauses, and looks at him. “...what do you mean?”
“What it says on the tin,” He says with a shrug. “Got most of it burnt out of me years ago. But, you know— you might be able to, if you tried.”
“Against the king?” Barbatos shakes his head almost absently. “I wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“I did say most,” Mephisto reminds him. “I’ve got a bit left in me. Might just be enough to push over the threshold.”
“Whatever you’re going to try,” Solomon interrupts, “I presume you’ll need access to the Dreamscape’s border, won’t you?”
Mephisto pauses. “...that’s a bit of an issue, yeah.”
“My father is only able to connect to the outer world from his plane through me,” Diavolo says suddenly, and both Mephisto and Solomon start. “It’s the reason he hasn’t been able to leave the castle. He’s retreated back into the Dreamscape now, but if you use me as a link, you might be able to…"
Barbatos looks anxious - uncharacteristically so, though Satan doesn’t suppose he should be surprised after all this. “Would that work?”
“It has to,” Diavolo mutters, face creased into a deep frown. “All of this— this is our fault. We have to do all that we can to fix it.”
He and Barbatos look at each other for a moment. Then, finally, Barbatos nods. “As you wish, Young Master.”
“Then I’ll help,” Solomon cuts in, and interrupts Barbatos before he can say anything, “We still have a pact. Whatever power you need - I’ll provide it. Just know that it isn’t for your sake.”
“We do need something to maintain stability,” Mephisto interjects. “If we play our cards completely wrong, you could end up collapsing the whole plane.”
Solomon nods. He glances back, briefly, at IK - then turns back to the others, face set. “Just tell me what to do.”
Satan looks away. He’s not particularly interested in whatever they’re planning. He feels useless just watching them - all he can do is shift IK slightly so that her head isn’t bent at such an awkward angle.
“Come on, Luke,” Simeon says gently. “Let’s see if we can find any blankets or cushions, alright? I’m sure IK would like to be more comfortable.”
Luke’s pulling so aggressively at the fabric of his shirt that the creases don’t look like they’ll ever come out. “No, I— I wanna stay here. If anything happens, if—”
“IK will be safe with me,” Satan says firmly. “Go on, Luke. Don’t worry so much.”
“We won’t be able to help if we panic too much,” Simeon tells him. “We need to have faith that it’ll be alright. Think about it - it wouldn’t make IK feel any better to know we’re fretting ourselves into oblivion, would it?”
“I… I guess…” Luke takes in a deep, shaky breath. “...o-okay.”
“There’s a lounge somewhere nearby. We can check there.” Simeon pats him gently on the head, then glances at Satan. “IK seems stable. If you notice any changes - call me.”
“Just be quick,” Satan shoots back. “If something happens - you’d better be here. I don’t care how you do it. Just move quickly.”
Simeon nods firmly. “As if my life depends on it.”
He leads Luke out of the room, murmuring something comforting to him as they go - he makes a funny motion, as if to protest, but he only bends over briefly, apparently having seen something on the floor. A moment later, both angels disappear out into the corridor.
Satan lets out a long sigh, and sits back against the wall, shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable. He passes a hand over IK’s face again, only half-expecting anything to happen. Nothing does.
He closes his eyes, and wonders what his brothers might be seeing in that Dreamscape. Not that he cares about whatever hell it might put them through - they deserve whatever’s coming to them - he’s just curious, really.
Anyway, even if he knew, he’s not sure he’d understand. He doesn’t have nightmares about the same things that they do; whatever memories they share, his only recollection of them consists of a long blur, coupled with a vague sense of loss. He can’t comprehend what he’s supposed to remember - mostly because he wasn’t there to see it. They’re residual; fragments of the being he was born from, recollections of a time before he existed.
It’s so easy to forget now, but he remembers how it’d been in the early days. They’d still been blood-soaked, still smouldering after the tail-end of the war; those festering wounds were still fresh, and the battlefield was still a recent memory. It had been strange to watch them attempt to recover, to learn to walk without the weight of their white-feathered wings; after all, Satan had never had those wings in the first place.
If he was to peek into that Dreamscape, if he was to see things through his brothers’ eyes for a moment - he imagines it’d be the same feeling. He knows what they fear remembering, and he knows why they are afraid - because he can still recall faint impressions of those memories if he tries. But he doesn’t understand it. He’s never understood it.
But he’s never begrudged his brothers for that - at least, with them around, he’d had company from the beginning. Though he’d been alone in his fear of himself, he was never quite lonely. It had been comforting, especially when he still wasn’t sure of where he belonged - or whether he belonged anywhere at all.
He’d found the answer by taking a little piece from every new memory he created, like cutting a passage from a book, and glued each one inside himself, as if putting a puzzle together. He never stopped building - he spent each moment silently filing away a little part of each encounter and interaction for his own perusal later. And, over time, he came to a conclusion: this was his family, and he was a part of it. This was where he belonged.
But he isn’t so sure anymore. He wonders where his place lies, now; if it has always been indisputable, or if it had only ever been conditional. After all this, the question is - just how are they supposed to define their family now?
He supposes that he fears the answer for the same reason that this all makes him so angry. Perhaps, for those who arrived late, their places in the family are only relative to those who were already there.
That’s about as much as his brothers have given him reason to think. After all this, it had seemed natural that IK would have a place with them after all that’s happened - but if they had been capable of casting her aside in favour of Belphegor so easily, then perhaps they’d never thought that that place was as important as Satan does. And, after they’ve refused to listen to him, even when all the signs point in the direction he‘s been so desperately trying to herd them towards - then who the hell is he to them?
It’s these doubts that Satan had feared back in the beginning - seeds sown as soon as Barbatos warned them about the contradictory memories. If IK’s place in the family wasn’t sure, then neither was his; they’d always be valued less than the rest, because the others were still so stuck in that past that they’d feared so much.
Far from that, they owed it to that child to remember. The fact that Satan didn’t recall the truth from the beginning is shameful; the fact that his brothers still haven’t is damn near farcical.
Ah - not that coward, though. Satan hasn’t looked up, but he’s heard Wiz arriving with Astaroth in tow, and he knows that the last of his brothers has been dragged into the room, too. He can’t quite bring himself to look at him - he’s a little afraid that he might attempt to kill him in his sleep if he does. That he’s even in the same room as IK feels wrong, even though they’re both unconscious.
Satan sighs. It feels like it’ll take a miracle for this all to end even remotely well now. But, then again, he supposes a lot of what’s happened since this entire exchange program started has been a miracle, and he has proof that they’re possible here with him now - asleep, but here, and alive… which is another miracle in and of itself.
He’ll have to hang on, he decides. He’s not sure how he’ll ever forgive his brothers, but if there’s any hope that things can change again - and there must be, because things have changed so much in this year alone - then he’ll have to be there to see it through. So he’ll wait, even if the very idea is just a distant dream.
—
It’s raining.
Levi’s never seen weather like this before - clouds shrouding everything up above, with no stars in sight. He doesn’t recognise this sky, let alone anything in his surroundings. He’s standing by a railing painted in bright blue, but the paint is flaking away - he can see the rusting metal beneath.
He holds his hands out and squints hard at them. He can see the rain falling down to his palms, but the droplets never quite strike his skin - they seem to pass through him entirely. His clothes are still completely dry, too. What’s going on…?
He was in Diavolo’s castle, wasn’t he? What’s he doing here? He remembers panicking about the mirror shattering, he remembers that sense of guilt dropping like a heavy stone in his stomach - but what happened after that?
Nothing about this situation seems to make any sense at all. He turns around. The railing surrounds some kind of building. There’s a sign hung by the gate, but no matter how hard he squints at it, the words on it refuse to come into focus. It’s just a blob of colour.
He looks left, then right. The street he’s standing on seems to vanish into a mist at the ends - like a video game with a short render distance. Somehow, he gets the feeling that he won’t get anywhere if he attempts to venture into that fog.
Well, there only seems to be one place he can go. He can move, at least… his hand passes through the gate when he reaches out to open it, but it doesn’t even surprise him. He just steps through, and begins to approach the building. Then he stops. He doesn’t recognise the woman standing on the veranda, but that little kid next to her…
He thinks back to the last things he remembers before ending up here. Maybe it’s not so surprising that he’s seeing a familiar face.
“...not allowed,” The woman is saying as he approaches. She doesn’t seem to see him, even when he comes to a stop directly in front of her. “We have to wait for your dad.”
“He’s busy,” responds the kid shortly. She seems annoyed. “I want to go home.”
Levi wonders how old this IK is. His perception of time is too skewed from a human’s to be able to tell… but she’s tiny, that much he can tell. Even tinier than the version he’s used to.
“I know, but it’s against the rules,” replies the woman with a sigh. “It’s not safe for you to be going home on your own, anyway. Especially in this weather.”
“I’ve got an umbrella,” IK says stubbornly. Levi stifles a chuckle - he knows that look.
“That’s not…” The woman shakes her head, then turns to glance back at the building. “...tell you what, I’ll walk you home. Wait for me to get my coat, alright, sweetheart?”
She hurries inside, shouting something to someone else as she goes. IK watches the door that she’d used for all of five seconds, then turns, opens her duck-patterned umbrella, and hurries off towards the gate.
Bit stupid to leave her outside on her own, Levi comments to himself, beginning to follow. He contemplates attempting to tell this little IK off for not listening to the woman, but given that no one’s acknowledged him thus far, he doubts she’ll hear him.
He reaches out instinctively to help her open the gate, then pulls back when his fingers pass straight through it again. IK manages to heave it open with impressive ease, and sets off down the street without so much as a glance back.
Levi wonders distantly why he’s just accepting all this so easily. This hardly seems like it should be happening, but as it stands… all he can really do is watch with an oddly serene kind of calmness. He knows he should be questioning it more, but something about the pitter-patter of the rain seems to cloak everything in the same fog that obscures the ends of the road.
Little IK disappears into it soon enough, and Levi doesn’t think twice before plunging in after her. His surroundings warp, and for a moment the spinning makes him feel a little sick - but then he emerges onto another street, this time lined with modest - if shabby - houses.
IK’s just ahead of him, still marching forward at the same determined pace, one hand holding her umbrella and the other beginning to rummage about in her little satchel. She comes up empty-handed - she pauses, looking dismayed, then heaves a worldly-weary sigh and approaches one of the houses.
Levi looks up at it. There’s a hole in an upper window that’s been clumsily patched-up with what looks like plain old paper, and the paint is peeling from the front door. IK hurries up to it, seems to brace for a moment, and then goes right up onto the tips of her toes, attempting to reach for the doorbell. It’s set wonkily beside the door, and it seems entirely too far off the ground, even for a fully-grown human - as if a giant just slapped it there.
Try as she might, IK doesn’t seem to be able to reach it. Levi, despite knowing that it won’t work, reaches out and attempts to press it himself - of course, nothing happens.All he can do is step back and watch as IK begins to knock loudly on the door instead.
There’s no response, but she doesn’t look surprised by that. She just stands back, staring up at the door, expression unreadable, then turns and hurries down the path, then to the next house over. She weaves through the large array of flower pots spread out in front of it, hesitates briefly on the doorstep, and then begins to knock again.
This time, the door opens - but Levi doesn’t have time to register who opened it, because then the fog rushes in again, and suddenly he’s standing back out on the street. When he attempts to approach the house once more, the same thing happens. It seems that he isn’t allowed any further in.
He glances about. No one else is around. Heaving a sigh, he sits down on the curb, not particularly caring about whether or not he looks weird. It’s not like anyone can see him here, anyway.
What was that? He thinks. That IK was so small… is this a memory or something…? How’s that even possible?
Absently, he reaches up and pinches hard at his arm. Nothing happens - he doesn’t feel a thing. But he doesn’t wake up, either. He stays there, sitting at the side of the road, staring blankly down at his feet.
There’s something odd pooling at the bottom of his chest. Something forlorn, something disappointed… but the feelings don’t seem to be his. That doesn’t make sense.
Far from that - nothing about this makes sense. Forget the fact that he was witnessing any of that - he might not know a lot about humans that young, but he’s pretty sure they’re not meant to do what he just saw that little IK do. When she was searching her bag - had she been looking for a key? Why would a kid that young even need one…?
“Bit late to be outside.”
Levi starts, then turns to see that someone’s joined him on the side of the street. Something of a pang seems to strike him directly in the gut when he realises who it is. It’s the IK he knows - but what’s she doing here?
He glances around. This IK doesn’t seem to be part of the mirage-like scenario from before. Anyway, there isn’t anyone else for her to be talking to - even though she isn’t looking at him.
Then it hits him that that really is IK, his friend that he hasn’t seen in what feels like forever, and somehow it’s been bewildering and yet almost unsurprising at the same time. He scrambles forward, urgency rapidly beginning to grow - he opens his mouth, but none of the multitudes of things bubbling in his head take shape. He feels like he’s supposed to know what to say, what words to pull out of that mess, but he just doesn’t.
He feels all mixed up. There’s a rapidly growing sense of panic growing inside him, and yet IK continues to stare out across the street, completely calm - eerily so. It doesn’t seem like she’s entirely here, in almost both the physical and mental sense.
Maybe Levi’s being conceited, but— IK’s never ignored him when he starts to mix himself up. Whenever she’s been absent like this, there’s always definitely been something wrong… this time, though, she just doesn’t seem… whole. It feels as if he’s only talking to one piece of his friend.
His hands curl into trembling fists. The panic is fading, but as he goes over his thoughts, he feels a flash of sudden, overwhelming disdain. Why would you deserve being paid attention to?
It’s inexplicable, though. The thought feels foreign, even if its content is familiar. He’s wondered it plenty of times - why would he warrant consideration when there are other more interesting, more competent demons to talk to? Why come to him when there are infinitely better beings to spend time with - beings that he can only wish to be anything like, beings that he can only ever observe with resentful longing?
But— the question doesn’t belong here. IK comes to him because she thinks he’s fun to hang out with. IK talks to him because he’s her friend. He knows this, so why is the thought still plaguing him…?
He thinks it over again. He’s messing something up here. The question comes with that contempt so often… maybe he’s mistaking what it really is for something else.
“IK,” He says out loud, finally managing to speak, “U-uh— hi?”
She says nothing. The panic returns.
“I— everything happened too fast, I don’t know what’s going on—” Levi fumbles with his words, feeling unbearably clumsy, “I saw— I saw you going home. You were little, and—”
“I remember,” She says distantly. “It happened a lot.”
“O-oh.” He falls silent for a moment. “But what— what are we even doing here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to remember this.” She leans forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. Then she abruptly turns to face him. “...are you lonely, Levi?”
“Huh?” He blinks at her. There’s so much… missing from her expression that it’s almost frightening. The closer he looks, the more it feels like her presence is more of a mirage than anything. “...I don’t think so. Uh— why?”
“Mm…” IK turns away again. “I thought that might be why we’re here.”
Something twinges a little. “...are you okay?”
“Is it important?” She asks.
“Wh— yeah, of course it is!” He straightens up, feeling a little outraged on her behalf. “C’mon, you’re my—”
But then his mouth dries, and he finds himself unable to finish his sentence. It’s that feeling from before, magnified tenfold - and he feels like he knows why it settles over him so heavily, but it seems buried somewhere in his memory.
It feels as if he's been missing out on pieces of his own mind - why else is it telling him so forcefully that he doesn’t deserve to say this? He feels dishonest, unsure, pained, all at once, gaps in his recollection of consciousness filled in with nothing but inexplicable emotion, but he just doesn’t understand why .
You’re my friend, He thinks fiercely. You’re my friend!
But, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to say it out loud.
—
One of Asmo’s favourite things about the human world has always been the flowers. The Devildom’s flora is pretty and all, but when everything back home follows the same rule - always subtly sinister, hauntingly beautiful, all sharp angles and unnervingly intricate patterns. And it’s lovely, sure, but sometimes he just wants to enjoy something more simple and bold, something unapologetically bright in its beauty.
It’s not like you can’t find those back home, but it usually takes a little work. In the human world, though, they’re abundant as long as you know where to look.
He wishes he could appreciate it more, really. The fields are spotted with little flecks of golden yellow - if he looks that way, he can see a bed of roses, carefully pruned, in endless shades of soft pink and vibrant red. It’s all so pretty, but it’s all too familiar, too.
There’s no one around. He’s standing on the outskirts of a village, and he can see from here that its streets are empty. The doors are all locked and the windows are all shut. The air is heavy, but why wouldn’t it be? There’s been an execution, after all.
A patch of once-green grass is still smouldering. Most of the pyre has already been cleared away - an offence on the innocent eyes of those murderers, of course - but the charred remains of the platform remains. From this distance, the jagged timber looks eerily like a skeleton.
Asmo turns. There’s a forest nearby. He knows what he’ll find if he goes there, who he’ll have to confront if he takes the same path he did back then - and he doesn’t want to.
He’s left it behind him now. He thought he had before, and he’d been wrong then - but he’s sure he’s done it now. Why should he be forced to dwell on it?
“It’s pretty out here.”
His breath catches in his throat. “...yeah.”
What are they doing here, anyway? Was IK always standing there beside him? What must have possessed him to bring her here, of all places? And— how are they here? This was so long ago… surely the remains of the fire must have disappeared by now?
“Can’t stand around forever,” IK announces, and begins heading in the direction of the village. “Let’s have a look around.”
“Th— huh?” Asmo fumbles for a moment, then begins to follow her. “W-where are we going, darling?”
“Anywhere,” She replies through the faint smile that seems to have been stuck on her face from the beginning. “It’s nice and quiet around here.”
Quiet, yes, but it’s hardly a pleasant silence. There’s a sickening sense of familiarity puddling in the bottom of Asmo’s stomach, growing with each step he takes closer. This is the same path he took when he first came here - he remembers the turning heads, and he remembers revelling in the attention. He remembers the distant, gnawing guilt as he’d left after that night, too.
He could never quite bring himself to confront it. He thought he’d stomped it down after so long - but a lot of things he’d once thought had ended up wrong, after all. This was no exception.
“Asmo?”
He realises he’s stopped walking. IK’s looking back at him expectantly, still smiling - it’s almost unnerving, how little her face has changed. Is he imagining it, or is there something wrong with her expression? She seems so content, but there’s something almost… artificial about it. Or is he just being dumb? If IK’s happy, he should be happy too, right?
He turns, and realises with a sharp inhale that he’s stopped in front of something in particular. He hadn’t realised it, but it doesn’t feel surprising that it’s happened. The flowers climbing the frame around the door haven’t started withering yet; the owner of this house hasn’t been gone for that long.
He reaches out towards the handle, then pauses. Whether or not the door’s locked - he doesn’t think he wants to go inside.
“Humans are fully capable of infidelity on their own,” Helene had told him one afternoon - when he’d gone back to the castle to talk to her again. “And, if I’m honest, I did find you rather easy on the eye. You said it yourself - I wanted you.”
“But—” He remembers shaking his head vehemently - it had felt odd to challenge this idea when he’d forced himself to believe it for so long. “Your Rose—”
“Enough about this, Asmodeus.” She’d frowned at him. “Neither of us will ever know how much the blame falls on our shoulders. Who knows - perhaps I simply didn’t love Rosie enough not to be unfaithful.”
“But that can’t be true! I know it, I’ve seen it - you never loved me, Helene, but you’ve still loved Rose all these years, haven’t you? There’s no way— I don’t know what I—”
“Ah… you’ve gotten a lot kinder over the years.” Helene had smiled a little then. “...just let the matter rest. There’s no point in dwelling on it for either of us. Goodness knows it makes it easier not to hate you - and perhaps you wouldn’t have completely abandoned the situation if you hadn’t."
It hadn’t made sense to him then, and it still doesn’t make sense to him now. He doesn’t feel quite as if he’s allowed to let go, just like that - so quickly after he stopped forcing it down for the first time. As long as Helene’s soul is still sealed away in that painting, teetering on the brink between one world and the next - as long as she still remembers the life and love she’d lost because of him, how is he supposed to ever completely let go?
Scratch that - what is he supposed to think now? He’s spent so many years shoving down that guilt - telling himself I’m a demon, I’m an avatar of sin, what am I supposed to do about it? He admires his reflection in the mirror, he traces his every feature with satisfaction, but just what he supposed to be beneath it? What’s the point of beauty if he can only use it to tear people apart?
Helene was the last, but she wasn’t the first. All those others, all those lives - how many of them did he leave in pieces? He’d only ever thought of himself as a flight of fancy, a fleeting night to succumb to desire, something that comes and goes like a breeze. He’d never thought to consider how infinitely cruel he might’ve been, and he’d never stayed long enough to find out.
The spotlight shines on him forever, but he’ll run out of places to hide eventually. When his reflection catches up with him, with everything he is capable of, with the ashes he’s left in his wake - the glitter will fade, and he will be rotten and disfigured beneath. And what the hell would he be worth then?
“There are dandelions over here,” He hears IK say, breaking through his reverie. “They’ve seeded already.”
“Is that right?” He shakes himself off and attempts to mimic her smile. “That’s lovely.”
“You’re supposed to wish for something when you blow the seeds off,” IK says, crouching down and reaching out as if to pluck one - but her hand passes straight through them. She pauses. “...oh.”
“That’s not supposed to happen,” Asmo mumbles absently, though he finds that he doesn’t really care that much. He steps forward, then crouches down beside IK. “You can still make a wish. darling. I won’t tell.”
“Nah. I don’t need to wish for anything.” She leans back, smile widening a little. “You came. That’s plenty.”
He pauses. “What do you mean?”
“You came,” She repeats. “I wasn’t expecting you all to show up. It’s nice that you did.”
“I—”
There’s something so strained about IK’s expression - her voice is trembling almost imperceptibly. She looks at him as if pleading with him to agree with her, as if desperately trying to convince herself that what she’s saying is true. Asmo freezes. Something is terribly, horribly wrong.
Something has been wrong for a long time, and— just what does he think he’s doing, absorbed in nothing but himself? He’s forgotten something, something important - and what business does he have bemoaning himself, caught up on old fears when there are so many things going wrong right now?
“What happened?” His voice quivers. “Is that really you, darling? Why— why are we here? Where’ve you been?”
“I’ve been somewhere,” She replies, her smile only faltering a little. “And now we’re here. Cheer up, it's better to focus on the nice things. Do you wanna make a wish?”
“No, something is wrong— something—” He reaches out to her, and feels a pang when she recoils slightly. “—darling, please, what happened?”
“Make a wish,” She tells him blankly, seemingly not hearing the question. “Go on. It’ll make you feel better.”
He stares at her, breaths coming short and shallow. The urgency is growing, but— what is he supposed to do? This isn’t real, it can’t be, this isn’t right - he’s guilty all over again, and this time he grasps onto the feeling as tight as he can. He doesn’t have time to be stirring up old memories anymore, not now, especially not after what his friend has done to help him move past them— but he has to have to time to focus on the present, to focus on what’s important, to focus on what he’s abandoned—
IK is still looking at him expectantly. He tries to calm himself, taking in a deep breath. History can’t repeat itself, he won’t make the same mistake twice - if he has to make a wish, it can’t be for himself. But what is he supposed to wish for?
This isn’t about him, he knows that much. He needs to drag his thoughts away from himself - maybe then he’ll jog his memory, and finally remember the right things.
—
“Wait— IK, it’s me, slow down!”
The clouds shouldn’t be solid beneath his feet, but somehow they are, anyway. The sky that stretches out beneath them feels horribly familiar, but he doesn’t have time to stop and ponder why - or how he’s even up here. Beel’s running as fast as he can, and yet somehow he still isn’t fast enough to catch up - surely IK’s not supposed to be able to run this quickly?
He finally stops, digging his heels into the ground and coming to a halt. IK stops too, but she doesn’t look back at him. She doesn’t say anything, either.
“IK…” Beel pauses to catch his breath. “What’s happening? Did— did we get teleported or something? Were we—”
“Go away!” She snaps suddenly, and Beel finds himself recoiling slightly in surprise.
“Calm down,” He says softly, taking a step forward - IK still isn’t looking at him, but she jolts anyway. He pauses. “Come on, it might be dangerous here. We’re way too high up.”
She doesn’t respond. Beel looks a little closer - she’s shaking.
“What’s wrong?” He asks worriedly. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”
“No!” IK’s voice is choked. “Leave— leave me alone!”
“I can’t do that,” He attempts to reason, wondering vaguely where the rest of his brothers are. Mammon would know what to do, but he’s not here. “We need to stick together. We don’t know what’s going on.”
She finally turns around to face him, and for the first time Beel sees how contorted her face is. She’s backing away from him, arms braced in front of herself like a shield, still trembling like a leaf - she’s terrified, he realises with a pang.
He holds out his hands, cautiously attempting to move closer. IK shrinks back, and he stops again, feeling an odd mixture of confusion and hurt. “Just tell me what happened, tell me what’s wrong—”
“I can’t! I can’t!” She bursts, beginning to back away again - she’s so unsteady on her feet, she’s going to trip and hurt herself— “You— you won’t believe me, you’ll—”
“IK—” Beel steps forward, and this time he seems to go too far - IK jolts backwards, eyes widening, and somehow he senses that something is about to happen just before it does.
IK’s foot twists beneath her, and suddenly the cloud beneath her seems to dissolve. A split second later, she’s falling.
It only takes a split second for the wings to burst from his back, and he leaps, already reaching out - the cloud clings to his face as he dives through it, and he reaches up to swipe it impatiently away. But as he clears the fuzz from his eyes, as his vision clears, he sees—
No, no, no! What is this? He’d thought he’d left it behind, he thought he’d made it out - how is he here again?
Wake up, Belphie! It’s not real, it’s not real, you’re just having a bad dream— he hears his own voice calling for a moment from an old memory, but the reassurance is meaningless; he’d forgotten what it was like to have a nightmare like this, forgotten how much each little sound ripped into him and unravelled him all over again.
It all echoes around him, reverberating, intensifying, surrounding him in its cacophony. He’s back on the battlefield, trapped again in that time when they were all dancing with death with each passing day. The armour breaks, the blades clash, the arrows whistle, and he recognises this sky. Today, one of them doesn’t survive the fight.
He knows what’s about to happen - he knows who he’ll find if he allows himself to focus on the fighters within the horde. Amidst this war, where bloodshed begot bloodshed, where ally became enemy, where it was impossible to keep everyone alive - there is someone with eyes like his, and there is someone that he still misses across the years.
But there’s someone else, too, isn’t there? Someone is about to fall, someone he’d already watched them disappear so long ago - but there’s someone falling now, and he’s wasting vital time on something that doesn't exist.
The phantom battle rages on around him, but what kind of choice is there to make? It’s already been made by someone that he isn’t anymore. He tears his eyes away from the memory, from the mirage around him. He doesn’t know how this is happening, he doesn’t know why this is happening - but no, he thinks, fiercely, suddenly - not my family. Not again - never again.
Long ago, he’d only had the chance to save one, and there’s no changing what decision he made then. He ignores the clash of the blades, the explosions of magic - but then comes the whistle of that arrow cutting through the air. For a brief moment, it all comes rushing back in; he hears his own voice, screaming out across the sky— but he rips his gaze away, and plunges down, down, down through a sea of clouds.
The sounds of the battle follow; he snarls, tearing the ring of those blades from his senses like parasites from a festering wound, and listens only to the silence as he crosses each darkening expanse below. All that matters is that the sky is endless, and someone he holds dear is falling again - but he’s stronger, faster, surer now, and—
IK hadn’t screamed as she fell, but she screams now, as he catches her - he fumbles and almost drops her, careening sideways in the sky. The mirage dissipates; all he can hear now is the furious beating of his wings, and IK’s uneven, frenzied breathing.
“IK, please—” He tumbles for a moment, then rights himself, “I’m here, I promise I’m here—”
“But you weren’t ! You— you weren’t there, and you aren’t here, you— let me go!”
Her voice breaks; she thrashes, beating at him, and he barely feels a thing, but it hurts all the same. He doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand why this is happening - I’m just trying to protect you, I’m your friend, what’s wrong?!
“Come on,” He tries, beginning to “It’s just me, IK. It’s okay.”
“It hurts,” She sobs, finally going still. She curls up small, attempting to shield herself with her arms, scarcely daring to breathe - why is she so scared of him? “I don’t— I don’t wanna go again—”
“IK—” His voice cracks, despite himself. “I don’t get it, what’s— what’s wrong?”
He catches her hand as she claws almost savagely at her own face, as if trying to physically rip the tears away - the crying quiets to a whimper, and she stutters, “You don’t remember, you don’t even remember—”
Remember? Remember what? He thinks desperately - surely this is something important, but how has he forgotten? He’s never seen IK like this, and he doesn’t know much about what’s going on, but he knows that he’d never want to do anything like this to her.
What has he forgotten? He rakes his mind, trying as hard as he can to find that essential recollection - and he remembers something, but it isn’t right. He’s seen IK afraid. He’s seen her reduced to something pitifully tiny, and he wasn’t allowed to get closer because Mammon had to go first— but he didn’t care, because he was so relieved, because— why?
Something’s missing. He’s known something was up for a while, it’s why he’s been so confused, it’s why his family hasn’t been functioning anything like it’s supposed to. There are blank spaces where there shouldn’t be, discrepancies in what he’s remembering - things happened without any reasonable explanation, and yet he blindly accepted false ones.
He recalls, briefly, lying awake, conflicted. He’s staring up at a dark ceiling, and the anguish is still clinging to his heart, even though it should be alright now. He wonders if he wants to be here, whether that someone in the next bed should be here at all— and he feels guilty, because he’s so dear to him, but still— how is he allowed to stay after what he’s done?
But another part of him, despite everything, is almost relieved. He knows where every member of his family is. They’re all at home, they’re all here. But how long will that last? How long before they’re split up again? There’s a rift forming, one that he’s always been afraid of, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to hold it together.
Their family split once - it had felt like the vacuum left behind would never be filled. He misses what it had been, yes, but that’s all the more reason to cling to what he still has. Everyone he loves, everything precious to him - it’s all here within these walls. And it feels like, if they leave, the world just might end.
He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to think. And then he remembers something, he remembers screaming - so small so broken so beaten - and something snaps again. He knows it too well, this fury born from grief, and he’s afraid of it. He knows what it can make him do, what manic rage it possesses him with. Even now, long after the war has ended, he is drenched in golden angelic blood.
He’s terrified, he’s terrified of what the memory is doing to him, of what he might do. If he lets it linger, if he dwells on it - what if he ends up with his own brother’s blood on his hands?
But where is this coming from? Why is it happening? This memory, this night, it shouldn’t exist, he didn’t remember it before - what happened, what happened?!
And, finally, something clicks. Belphie—
—what have you done?
—
Mammon’s not supposed to be here. He knows he can’t be here, because IK’s here and IK hasn’t been with him in a long while. But, well - it’s a damn good illusion.
He’s holding a deck of cards. A whole bunch are messily piled up between them, as if they were in the middle of a game. It’s completely silent here in this space that looks like his room - they’re just staring blankly at each other across the table.
“Your move,” IK says finally. “You’re supposed to put down a card.”
Mammon looks down at his deck. He doesn’t even know what they’re meant to be playing - in the first place, this isn’t meant to be happening. They were in the castle, everything went foggy, and he remembers shouting because every fucking time something goes wrong, IK’s somehow at the centre of it, and if something really does happen to that kid this time—
—but something did happen, didn’t it?
His hands are trembling. He puts the cards clumsily down on the table. He’d led his brothers to the castle, insisting that they had to go, they had to go see IK, but how had he known she’d be there in the first place?
He blinks, and he finds himself on an unfamiliar street, perched at the edge of a rooftop he doesn’t recognise. There are figures below him; he tucks his wings closer to himself and leans forward to listen. There are figures he vaguely recognises, but he focuses on the smallest one - head bowed, fiddling anxiously with their hands.
And then he’s back in his room, back at the table, and now he remembers something - the crow, it was the crow that told him where to go, and somehow he didn’t question it. He trusted its word, and it had been right, but what was it? Where did it come from?
It hadn’t talked. Crows aren’t meant to, after all. But he’d known what it was trying to communicate, anyway… and that wasn’t the first time he’d seen it, was it?
“Mammon,” IK says, and now she looks a little concerned. “I can play on my own if you don’t want to.”
“H-huh?” He reaches absently for the cards he’d put down - they’ve scattered over the table like a wonky folding fan. “Right, uh— what’re we playin’...?”
“Snap,” She replies, watching him with a slightly furrowed brow. “What’s wrong?”
“I— I dunno, we…” He picks out a card at random and drops it haphazardly on the pile in the middle of the table. “...we’re not meant to be here, are we?”
“Not really.” She looks supremely unconcerned by this. “But we can still stay anyway.”
Mammon watches blankly as she places another card neatly on top of his. This isn’t right. Nothing’s been right. He’s been in a daze for who knows how long, stuck in some kind of perpetual tug-of-war - why can’t he remember what happened?
He closes his eyes, crushing them into the heels of his palms until little lights begin to crackle across his empty field of vision. He’d been so sure, so determined, and he’d still failed. Had he just been too weak? No, that couldn’t— how could he ever let himself be weak in a situation like…
…in a situation like what? What the hell is he even supposed to be remembering? It feels important, so damn important - but what is it?
He thinks back to the crow again - he’s perched outside a window, knocking to be let inside, someone is talking to him, and he’s so desperately unhappy because this part of him knows what he’s supposed to do, what’s supposed to happen, but he’s still lost, still afraid - what is it?
Come home. Come back home. He wants to say it, but he doesn’t have enough of a form to string the words together. He’s perched outside a window again, a different one this time. You’ll be safe with me.
The crow came to him - she’s okay, she’s not hurt, at least she’s safe there - and he didn’t understand what it was trying to tell him at first. He didn’t understand anything; every movement he made felt artificial, every word he said preordained, as if he was only going through the motions to maintain the illusion of life. Every thought he had felt wrong, and even when his mind was blank, it still felt so unbearably cluttered.
The House of Lamentation had been suffocating, and he found himself wandering - he was running away, absorbing himself in treasures and shiny things and all that glitters, too dazed to try to parse the hurricane in his head, too afraid to confront the ghost hovering over his shoulder. He remembers the warning, he remembers resolving to heed it - but the time came, and he tried to go in two directions at once, and he only managed to tear himself apart in the process.
He’d wanted to remember, and he’d wanted to forget. He’d wanted to protect IK, but he’d tried to protect himself at the same time, and it just didn’t work. In hindsight - he really was stupid.
The memory is still there. Everything had changed in an instant - the split second for which he still thought everything was alright, and then it was all suddenly falling apart. The fear had come in a frenzy; he remembers holding on tight with blood-stained hands, throat suddenly too raw to get the words out - stay with me, stay with me - and desperately hoping until the very end, until all movement stopped, until the breathing went quiet, until that last little flicker of light went out.
It was only then that he’d managed to scream.
Nothing made sense. It had felt as if the world was holding its breath - surely this was just some cruel prank, surely this wasn’t happening, this can’t be happening, wake up wake up wake up wake up—
He wonders now what was happening around him, what everyone else was doing - he hadn’t been able to distinguish any of it. Everything is foggy until the moment the body was pried from his arms.
Coward. He’s a coward who, deep down, had wanted to take the easy way out - to escape his own grief by forgetting it. He’d let it fester when he should’ve ripped it out by roots the very moment he ran into the library and found IK there. He remembers now how afraid she’d been - crushed to dust and scared out of her damn mind - so why the hell was he so caught up in mourning when he had someone to take care of?
“Kid,” He starts, pulling his hands away from his face, “I…”
IK looks at him, a slight furrow in her brow. “...are you okay?”
Mammon shakes his head absently, trying over and over to find the right words - but none of them come. What’s he even supposed to say? I’m sorry I came too late, I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you—
“...I remember,” He says finally. “I— I remember it all now.”
IK’s expression seems to stutter for a moment - but she replaces it with a good-natured smile almost as soon as it happens. “You have to be a bit more specific than that.”
“No, I—” He finds himself standing up, pushing back his chair so forcefully that it tips backwards and falls over. “I remember, I— I know what happened—”
“What?” IK gives him a glassy-eyed look. Something about it makes his skin crawl. “Nothing happened. Everything’s fine. Calm down.”
Calm down and count with me, one, two, three, four— there’s no way, there’s no way she doesn’t know, she has to be messing with him - but is he supposed to be surprised? How was he ever meant to expect anything but to be brushed off when he caught up so late, when he let himself get swept away by his own battle of consciousness for so long?
For fuck’s sake - why can’t he ever hold onto the good things? He doesn’t know what else he was supposed to do! The one time someone’s nice to him, the one time someone tells him that no, you don’t deserve to be used as a punching bag - the one time someone will always look at him and see someone worth caring about, he messes it all up.
His brothers can flip on him in an instant - he’s used to teetering on a line, wavering between places in their esteem. And, even though he gets a little smaller each time he goes too far, each time they turn on him again, it’s still his own cardinal avarice holding him to the rope.
They come back around, they help him regain his balance; part of him is just grateful that they’ll at least always be watching. But still - the circle dictates that, eventually, it’ll all come back to the tirade, back to the vicious insults again. His value fluctuates, and it gets unbearably dizzying sometimes.
Has he just been too greedy? He knows he isn’t the greatest guy, he knows that he has bad ideas and makes even worse mistakes, but— it had been nice to know that that didn’t define him. It’d been nice to know that, slowly, his worth was becoming constant, because for once in their lives, his family was changing. Maybe he’d just gotten too comfortable with the feeling.
He’d never deserved to forget. He should have remembered from the beginning. He can’t even begrudge IK for brushing him off - it’s his own fault, after all. But, still— he has to be here now.
“Kid,” He starts, “C’mon, I… I know I’m late, but— talk to me. I’ll listen, I swear I’ll—”
“I don’t have anything to talk about,” She says in a parody of cluelessness, but her facade is falling apart - her voice trembles, and she refuses to look him in the eye. “Do— do you want to play something else?”
“Tell me the truth,” He pleads, reaching out for a split second - then faltering, and pulling back again. He doesn’t deserve to get too close. “I just— I just need to know you’re safe, alright? I— I know I wasn’t there when I was meant to be, I know it ain’t my right— but— please .”
IK looks at him. “...I’m fine, Mammon. Everything’s okay.”
She’s lying.
—
This isn’t real, Lucifer knows that much. This space feels too disconnected, too far from reality - in any case, the last thing he remembers is the king’s mirror shattering, some kind of attack coming his way, and suddenly finding himself somewhere completely new. It certainly hadn’t been a teleportation spell; logic dictates that he’s been placed in some kind of illusion.
He has to be careful. He’s not arrogant enough to think he could take the king in a combative confrontation, and he doesn’t know what his goal is here. He just needs to remember that, whatever he sees, it probably won’t be real.
He hadn’t been able to see his brothers through that fog. He hadn’t been able to see IK, either. Was he the only one struck? Hopefully he was - if someone had to face whatever the king is planning, better him than anyone else.
He turns and finds himself somewhere new. This is the House of Lamentation, isn’t it?
But not as he remembers it - of course it wouldn’t be. It isn’t real. He’s standing in the hallway, just outside the kitchen. The door’s open.
He steps through, without much else to do, then pauses, feeling a flicker of brief dismay. “...IK?"
So the king did manage to get her, too. He gets a little closer. IK doesn’t acknowledge him; she’s staring into the open fridge, a hand reaching out to brush a glass bottle. The look on her face is dull, expressionless - as if everything has been sapped out of it. It’s almost frightening.
“IK?” He repeats, quietly.
Nothing. She stays there a little longer, and something passes over her face - something lonely, despairing, unbearably hopeless - and then it vanishes again. And then she turns and walks away.
Lucifer stares after her, opening his mouth to say something else, then stops and reconsiders. Is this just a part of the illusion as well? What exactly is the king playing at, here?
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He pauses. The voice is familiar, but what it’s saying—
He’s not in the House of Lamentation anymore - the mirage has disappeared. But there IK is - and this time, she’s looking directly at him.
But she’s never looked at him like that before. He stumbles over his breathing briefly, something striking him - but this can’t be real, can it? Surely that contempt is just another illusion?
He takes a step forward, and IK recoils - her face curls in disgust. “Get away from me!”
He doesn’t even know why he’s reacting so strongly. This can’t be real, can it? If he knows it isn’t, why should he care what happens here? Or— is he only fooling himself?
“IK,” He starts again, cautious. “Is that you?”
She scowls at him. “Who else would it be?”
There's a pause. Maybe, he thinks distantly, the king is interfering with her perception somehow. What is she seeing when she looks at him.
“It’s me,” He says softly, attempting to hold his hands up in some kind of gesture of peace - but IK’s eyes only narrow further.
“I know it’s you, Lucifer.” She says, emphasising each word as if to drive the point home. “Get lost.”
Lucifer isn’t the type to be rendered indignant by scorn - in most cases, he brushes it off. But he feels as if he should feel something other than this strange, distant regret. The way IK’s looking at him - it reminds him of something
“You’re our eldest brother, Lucifer,” Satan had said. “If you keep refusing to remember— they won’t remember, either.”
He’d been worried because IK wasn’t behaving anything like she was meant to - he should’ve gotten angry that Satan had gotten in the way when he had something important to take care of. But when his brother had countered his irritation with that flat derision, he’d only acquiesced, and left. Why?
And the same thing had happened when he’d gone to Purgatory Hall, hadn’t he? He’d been concerned about nothing but her wellbeing - he didn’t understand what was happening. And Solomon had scorned him too - told him point-blank to get out. He’d felt a sting of anger then - I have someone to take care of, get out of my way - but he hadn’t broken the door down when it was closed, even though he was fully capable of doing so. He’d just left. Why?
You’re guilty, says a voice in the back of his head. And you know it. That’s why you’ve been ignoring me, even though you know that things aren’t as they seem.
He looks at IK again. He finds himself at a loss for words - unbearably clumsy in his speech as he begins, “I don’t understand, but— whatever has happened, I’m sorry—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” She cuts him off, and now her glare becomes downright venomous. “You don’t even know what you’re saying sorry for.”
“I—” He can’t even argue, because she’s right. He attempts to change tactics, but he feels dishonest even doing so. “IK, you have to know that I— that we wouldn’t do anything to harm you.”
“Is that meant to be a joke?” She raises her right hand at him and waves it, slowly - as if taunting him. “You’re just lying to me now.”
The hand - for the briefest moment, their surroundings change. IK is staring into a mirror - she looks younger than he’s ever seen her - and, even as he watches, her face twists, and she drives her right hand into her reflection. The impact is loud, so loud that he almost covers his own ears, but she doesn’t make a sound, even as the blood begins gushing from her hand—
—and her hand is raised before her, trying fruitlessly to shield herself, and he watches his own attack come plunging down, down, down—
—and he’s back again. It all calms for a split second. IK regards him with little more than distaste.
“I—” Lucifer blinks, disoriented - he doesn’t know what he’s meant to do. “You—”
“You really do suck at apologising,” IK mutters, beginning to turn away. “If you don’t care, don’t pretend that you do.”
“That’s not what I—” Against better judgement, he steps forward again - but, as he blinks again, IK disappears, and the space around him changes once more.
He’s back home, he’s back in the House of Lamentation - but he’s standing at the foot of the attic stairs. Then there comes a thump - he turns, and— Belphie!
He’s striking, again and again, teeth bared in a vicious snarl - and she can’t do anything, she’s powerless against him, and the only thing Lucifer can hear is the awful snap of breaking bone— there’s blood, why is there so much blood—
IK’s name is ripped from his mouth in a cry he didn’t know he was capable of, but he reaches out too late - and the illusion shatters again. It disappears just as quickly as it had formed.
He doesn’t know where he is now - he doesn’t care. He finds himself heaving for breath, eyes still wide, still grasping for something that isn’t there anymore. It’s been such a long time since anything has done this to him - since fear has suffocated him like that. For a moment he curses the king, because how cruel would someone have to be to conjure an mirage like that - but that’s not right, is it?
Because that hadn’t been the first time it had happened, that hadn’t been the first time he’d seen it. He remembers it, the flooding horror, the realisation that he’d come too late - buried beneath leagues of fear, once again too afraid to confront his own memories.
It feels impossible, it feels ridiculous - but since when has Lucifer been good at reconciling with the past? The truth is that— well, he fears truth itself, he fears acknowledging what the past has done to him, because he knows that it is ugly and weak and everything he scorns. He’s never been able to do anything but endure it - to lock it away, somewhere where no one can find it, and try, just try to mourn in peace.
He listens for IK’s voice again, straining to pick it out - he doesn’t care what poisons he might hear, what kind of resentment he might face, what ire might be thrown his way. He just needs to know that she’s still here.
But he hears nothing. It’s all deathly quiet. There is nothing left - not even the anger.
He supposes he’s well and truly failed. He’d only wanted to protect his family - but, with phantoms of what once was still hanging over his shoulders, he’d forgotten what he was trying to take care of. He’d gotten mixed up between an image trapped in his memories and the reality of today, and it’s very nearly cost him everything.
He’s lied and hurt and suffered - all to maintain a resemblance of something that hasn’t existed in a long, long time. But— he can’t let IK get dragged down with him. Not when all she’s done is try to help him dispel the delusion - whether intentionally or not.
He arrived too late, and now he’s very nearly squandered this second chance - but if he catches it by the tail, if he hangs on as if his life depends on it, he just might be able to make a salvage. By the end of it all, IK might well hate him, but it’s not like that isn’t a sacrifice he’s willing to make. Compared to everything she’s done for his family - it’s miniscule.
He has a duty of care - not imposed on him, but one that he chooses now. Despite everything, all can’t yet be lost; he has to take up responsibility now. He owes IK that much, even— especially after she’s had to face everything on her own. She’s been a hell of a lot braver than him, but she shouldn’t have had to in the first place. He has to correct that now.
This is something he can’t forsake. This is something he has to safeguard - something precious, something essential - and he has to hold onto this little life for all it’s worth.
—
It all happens in a storm, lashing at him like lightning - the hurricane throws him back and forth, back and forth, and Belphie can barely even fight back.
It’s all so loud. He howls, but no one hears him.
It feels as if every last weapon that the cosmos could conjure is being hurled at him - latching to him and ripping, tearing, shredding him to the bone - and the nightmare comes back, another memory hauled from the past—
Fire without light - it shouldn’t have been possible, but there they had been, burning away in the darkness. They had fallen like stars with none of the beauty, caught in a blaze that ate greedily at their flesh, but wasn’t merciful enough to devour them entirely. They lost it all on the way down, spitting out bloody shards of something that had once been divine, and the rock had splashed around them like water when they finally struck the ground.
He remembers choking, each breath burning, and watching the charred remains of his angelic feathers fade away, scattered around him like silvery little corpses. He remembers waking again after what felt like forever, lying in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar castle - but surrounded, at least, by four familiar faces. But four… something was missing.
And he’s trailing, haggard, after the sound of voices. There had been a new being among their number when they landed, someone that wasn’t there before, and he has done nothing but scream. Scream and scream and scream, tearing at his hair and clawing at his face, as if something inside him is fighting tooth and nail to rip him to pieces.
Belphie doesn’t know him. But he hears Lucifer now, speaking to someone - “His name is Satan.”
The demon is thrashing. He says nothing; all Belphie hears is a low, tortured growl. And Lucifer continues, “His name is Satan, and he is my brother.”
But what about our sister? Belphie thinks in a sudden flash of bitterness. What about Lilith? Have you forgotten already?
And then he stops, and he sighs to himself. He’s tired - he’s exhausted and battle-worn, and he wants nothing more than to lie down and sleep for the rest of eternity. He isn’t thinking straight. He just misses his family, even though he’s not completely sure what that means anymore.
So he turns on his heel and leaves, and neither Lucifer nor Satan ever find out that he was there that night.
They had all needed Satan from the moment they landed in the Devildom, in a way. After all, who else is going to teach their new brother how to live? They’re all uncertain of who they are now. They might as well find out together. And Belphie's never begrudged him for it - they’re family now; they have to stick together. He only begrudges himself for being so slow.
He’s always been slow. He hadn’t been there in time to save his sister, and he’s been late ever since. The others walk forward, but he drifts behind - unable to let go of the past, perhaps, or just too languid, too complacent with his grief to even try to dress his wounds. This is how it’ll always be , he tells himself. It’ll never stop hurting. Why waste energy trying to change that? Just close your eyes and ignore it.
Something had torn into him from the moment he watched his sister disappear into the endless sky below, and he lets the wound bleed. The scars will be ugly, he already knows that - but that hardly matters, as long as he doesn’t let it heal. If he never leaves the battlefield, if he keeps that memory held tight, he won’t have to face what comes after it.
The memory comes to visit him, time and time again; he finds himself facing ghosts that take form from his own dripping blood, and the pain only sinks deeper into his bones. And so he nurses his hatred, because it’s the only thing he can use to protect himself from that all-encompassing terror - the only thing that helps him forget his own desperate longing.
But it doesn’t work, because of course it doesn’t - one half of him tries fruitlessly to run from the past, and the other is mired so deep in it that they might as well be one. The nightmares will always be there, taunting him each time he closes his eyes. He’d thought they were getting better, but, alone in the attic, they’d only sunk their claws deeper.
The moment is a blur. He only remembers the pounding of his heart in his own ears, each sense flooded by anguish like red-hot metal - and he saw a face as he woke up, peering worriedly down at him, and—
—his mind is screaming, but the wound has dug its roots so deep that it takes complete control - he strikes again and again, each movement puppeteered by that an alien savage pleasure—
—and then a scream, and suddenly everything snaps, and he goes completely cold.
And then his brothers had arrived. The shouts had been instantaneous, and even now, remembering what had happened stings - you didn’t scream like that when you found out Lilith died.
(They didn’t have to watch her fall with their own eyes. They hadn’t felt it the way he did - that realisation that she was never coming back up again.)
Why did they care so much? One infinitesimal loss, one tiny human - how had it been enough to rip them apart like that? It had felt for a moment as if they’d be beyond repair - and he had been bitter once more. You still went back to battle after the one that killed our sister.
(They were still fighting a war. They had to move forward, or else they’d fall next.)
It had been the expression on Beel’s face, Belphie thinks, that made him remember. For the first time in their lives, Beel had hated him - for a split second, Belphie hadn’t been his twin brother. He’d just been a dirty murderer.
Belphie still doesn’t understand it. He’s never had to struggle just to try to figure out what’s going on in Beel’s head, but— it’s all just incomprehensible.
He still hasn’t caught up with his brothers, it seems. He’s lagged behind for so long that he’s not sure if he quite recognises them anymore.
He remembered because the way his brothers had looked at him was still seared into his vision, and he pretended to forget because he couldn’t bear the thought of it happening again. He’s selfish, so fucking selfish - and he can barely even bring himself to feel ashamed for it.
The fog is rolling. It all rushes in on him, converging, every last awful thing digging into him like shards of glass. For a moment, he thinks he hears his brothers’ voices - but they’re getting further away, and he knows it isn’t him that they’re calling out to. He’s brought this upon himself; he’s alone, and that’s all that he deserves.
There’s blood on his hands. A scream echoes in his ears. He hears himself as if from afar, feverish - what am I doing? What have I done?
He should’ve known it wouldn’t last. He’d tried to pretend everything was fine, tried to go along with whatever version of reality his brothers’ half-true memories created - and it had been disgusting, because what right had he ever had to do that? He’d tried to take the easy way out, to go along with an illusion that absolved him of responsibility - no wonder he’d been punished for it.
And the guilt had lingered, growing with each passing day. The lie had never been worth it in the first place - the House of Lamentation wasn’t the same.
His brothers didn’t stay complacent in their own ignorance for long. Belphie knows what he should have done, what he should have told them - but he’d only hid. Satan had kept his distance from him, ever since he’d taken IK away from the house, but he’d felt his brother’s vitriol in each glare he aimed his way; he didn’t think he’d be able to handle any more of the same.
He’d tried to run away again, but this time there hadn’t been anything to run away from. And now everything is mangled and wrong, everything he thought he knew has been turned on its head - he doesn’t even know if he’ll have a family by the time this is over. And, honestly - does he even deserve one?
Belphie still doesn’t understand it. But… IK’s just a kid. All she’s been doing is trying her best to get through the year. And he doesn’t know her well, but - they could have been friends. They’d been getting there.
None of this was ever about her. She’d only been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Belphie had made it about her the moment he let the hysteric delirium of the nightmare take over. Beyond everything else… he’s just sorry he dragged her into all of this.
As if that’s nearly enough, though. Ah - it really is all hopeless, doesn’t it? He’s let himself fall behind for so long that he’s lost any path he could’ve taken forward, and now…
He hears his name, but it doesn’t feel real. No one should be here, after all. Belphie buries his head a little deeper in his arms. …is it time to wake up already?