Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello. If you are reading this, then I want to add this disclaimer in case there is a bit of backlash. Here are things to address:

1. Although the Calamity Trio will end up in canon situations in Helluva Boss, there will be some scenes and dialogue that will be fanon/mostly in my head, so please respect that.
2. I obviously own none of the shows used to make this fic.
3. There will be signs of violence and angst.
4. I won't use every Helluva Boss episode for this, but only episodes I personally think would be perfect for the Calamity Trio to be in.
5. There might be times where the canon scenes will have a bit of altering/rewriting, so I'm sorry about that if you find this cringey.
6. Any swears used in Helluva Boss are  partially toned down in my story, and I appreciate respect.
7. Please read the previous 3 stories first if you want full context on how the Calamity Trio ended up in Hell to begin with.

Hope you understand, and thank you for reading! Now without further ado, let's begin!  😄

Chapter Text

The palace was alive with activity. Marcy had been drowning in paperwork and various royal duties ever since she became an advisor to Stolas, an owl prince of Hell. She and her friends had been stuck in this realm, much like characters in an isekai anime, but unlike those stories, there was no clear way home.

Earlier that evening, she had seen Stolas off as he cheerfully waved goodbye, stepping through a portal he created. He wore a stunning blue and white outfit, a starry cape billowing behind him, his expression filled with excitement. It had been a while since she had seen such a genuine smile on her father figure’s face.

Octavia, Stolas’ seventeen-year-old daughter and Marcy’s older sister figure, often divided her time between two palaces. Her parents' constant arguments made it difficult for her to stay in one place for long. On weekends, she stayed with her mother, leaving Stolas alone. While he often grew bored and melancholic during these times, Marcy usually found ways to cheer him up.

Once Stolas vanished into the portal, Marcy resumed her duties, taking occasional breaks. When she finally finished her work, she retreated to Octavia’s room, collapsing onto the couch for some much-needed sleep.

Hours later, Marcy jolted awake, gasping as she abruptly sat up. Her heart pounded, and cold sweat dripped down her forehead. The same nightmare plagued her again—broken strings and an endless sea of tears, drowning her over and over.

Ever since reuniting with her first best friend, Anne, the nightmares had returned without fail. That unexpected reunion had occurred when Anne, now an intern for a company run by an imp named Blitz, had accompanied him to retrieve Stolas’ grimoire. Typically, Blitz handled this alone, but Anne, half-bored and half-curious, had tagged along. Stolas had agreed to an early exchange of the book, and the rest had been history.

But for some reason, ever since that day, the nightmare refused to leave Marcy alone.

She tried to force herself back to sleep, but the fear clung to her too tightly. Frustrated and restless, she rose from the couch, deciding to walk off her anxiety. As she wandered the dimly lit hallways, a melancholic melody reached her ears. The sorrowful sound drew her in, guiding her toward Stolas’ bedroom.

Through the open doorway, she saw him standing by the balcony, singing in a broken, mournful voice. Mascara-stained tears streaked down his face as he reached toward the starry sky. Marcy’s heart clenched at the sight.

Before she could step inside to comfort him, footsteps echoed in the hall. Panic surged through her, and she instinctively transformed into her demon form, activating an invisibility spell just in time.

A moment later, a tall swan-like demon, dressed in a pale pink gown with puffed sleeves, strode into the room, cursing under her breath. Stella.

Stolas had always warned Marcy never to reveal her human form in front of Stella or anyone untrustworthy. Remaining unseen, Marcy tried to ignore their argument, but then she heard something that sent a jolt of anger and confusion through her.

"I like tormenting you!" Stella spat venomously. "I want to keep reminding you of what you did!"

Marcy’s brows furrowed. What did he do? She had no idea what Stolas had done to deserve this level of cruelty, but as the heated exchange continued, shocking revelations spilled out.

The marriage had been arranged.

Octavia existed only as a precautionary heir.

The divorce was going to be finalized soon, despite Stella’s furious protests.

Marcy barely had time to process these truths before Stella suddenly lunged at Stolas, hand raised to strike him.

Her eyes widened in horror.

But Stolas caught her wrist mid-swing, blocking the attack just in time. A wave of relief washed over Marcy, but it was quickly replaced by unease.

After a few more moments of arguing, Stella stormed out, unaware of Marcy’s hidden presence. Stolas, visibly shaken, turned back to the balcony, staring at the stars once more.

Seeing her chance, Marcy lifted the invisibility spell and returned to her human form. She cautiously stepped into the room.

"I told you I want you out! Satan’s sake, haven’t you tormented me enough already, you—?!"

Stolas spun around in anger, but his rage melted into surprise when he saw Marcy standing there.

"Oh! Marcy, darling." His voice softened instantly. "I didn’t see you there. I—I'm sorry about that outburst. I just had a rough night, that’s all." He wiped his tears, forcing a weak smile.

Marcy shook her head. "I don’t mind." She waited as he composed himself.

"You should be asleep, dear. It’s quite late to be wandering around like this."

"I tried, but I’m too scared to sleep tonight," she admitted.

Stolas sighed knowingly. "Another recurring nightmare, I see."

Marcy nodded. He had first discovered her nightmares when he checked on her and Octavia one night, only to find Marcy hyperventilating in fear while Octavia desperately tried to comfort her. Stolas had projected a soothing galaxy onto the ceiling to help her sleep, but the nightmares persisted.

She hesitated, then confessed, "I heard everything you and Lady Stella said. I wanted to check if you were okay."

Stolas stiffened, clearly surprised.

"I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have eavesdropped. I just—I wanted to understand what’s going on. I won’t do it again, I promise."

A sigh escaped him, but instead of scolding her, he said, "It’s fine, dear. I appreciate your concern."

Turning back to the balcony, he fell silent for a moment before murmuring, "You’re probably wondering what exactly I did to deserve this. Well… it’s complicated. Via already knows, and she’s still coming to terms with it."

Marcy stepped closer, concern never leaving her face. Stolas gave her hand a gentle pat before continuing.

"The truth is… I’m gay. I always have been. And Blitz—the imp you met—is the first person I’ve ever truly loved."

He told her about his childhood, about meeting Blitz at a circus, and how the imp’s humor and carefree spirit had enchanted him. But after marrying Stella, his life had been nothing but misery—except for Octavia. Then, twenty-five years later, Blitz had reappeared at one of Stella’s parties, reigniting the feelings Stolas had buried for so long.

"And so, I… I cheated on Stella with Blitz," Stolas admitted, voice heavy with guilt. "I won’t burden you with the details, but just know that Stella took every opportunity to make my life a living Hell after that. Now, the divorce is finally happening, and I can focus on Via. But…"

His eyes darkened.

"I think I ruined things with Blitz. Tonight, I wanted to make things right, but he was still angry. Perhaps it's because of how I acted at Ozzie’s. He thinks all I want is a shallow affair. But I love him, Marcy. I truly do. And I fear I’ve already lost him."

His voice broke as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks.

Without thinking, Marcy stepped forward and hugged him. Stolas let out a surprised hoot before melting into the embrace.

"Don’t give up," she murmured. "You still have a chance to make things right with Blitz. And you and Octavia helped me realize that second chances do matter. That’s why I’ll keep trying to be better. I hope you give yourself the same faith."

Stolas gazed at her, touched. Then, with newfound determination, he picked up a book about Asmodean Crystals.

"I know what I’m going to do," he said. "I’ll get one of these for Blitz. It will make his work easier than relying on my grimoire. Maybe then, he’ll see how much I care."

He turned to Marcy. "And I promise to get you and your friends home."

She smiled. "Thank you, Stolas."

As exhaustion finally set in, Marcy yawned.

"Now do you want to sleep?" Stolas teased.

She laughed. "Fine. Goodnight, Stolas."

"Goodnight, Marcy."

As they both went to bed, they held onto the hope that their words and actions would lead them toward something better.

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, but I’m just… not in the mood to do anything right now," Octavia mumbled, pulling her knees to her chest.

She sat on her bed, staring at the darkened ceiling of her bedroom in the grand palace of Prince Stolas. Marcy, her human friend, had just asked if she wanted to play a game—anything to pass the time and, more importantly, to keep her from drowning in her thoughts.

Octavia could tell what Marcy was trying to do, and she appreciated it… but right now, it just wasn’t working.

Marcy hesitated before answering. "Oh. Uh—okay. I’ll just… be over here, then."

She plopped down on the floor, pulling out her journal and doodling absentmindedly. The room fell into silence, save for the occasional scratch of her pen against the paper and the soft hum of Octavia's phone as she put her earphones in. It wasn’t awkward exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

Octavia knew Marcy was only trying to help, trying to distract her from it. The divorce.

Sure, her dad had remembered her wish to see Azathoth’s Tears, the meteor shower she’d wanted to watch since she was little. And he’d actually taken the time to see it with her, just like he promised. But even that couldn’t change the reality of what was happening—her family was falling apart.

She knew Stolas had originally planned to spend today moving Stella’s things out of the palace, but instead, he’d chosen to spend the time with her. A single day without stress, without reminders of the mess they were stuck in.

But ever since she found out her parents were finalizing the divorce, it was like a switch had flipped inside her. The anger, the sadness, the exhaustion—it all settled in, making her feel more distant, more numb.

Even when they had gone to The Richest Cup for coffee—when Stolas and Stella had sat down to discuss the logistics of their separation—she’d barely been able to focus. Stolas had asked Marcy to keep her company while he handled the conversation, but Octavia had barely registered their chatter.

And now here they were, sitting in near silence, waiting for something to happen.

Then it did.

A sound.

Faint—distant—but something about it made Marcy pause, her pen freezing mid-stroke. She tilted her head, listening for a moment before brushing it off and returning to her journal.

But hours later, the noise came again.

This time, it was clearer.

This time, it was unmistakable.

Marcy’s body stiffened, and in an instant, she transformed—her limbs shifting into taloned bird-like hands, feathers ruffling in alarm. She listened—deeply, instinctively, cupping her sharp claws around her ears.

Octavia blinked in confusion, removing her earphones. "Marcy? What’s wrong?"

Marcy’s eyes widened in horror. "It’s your dad," she said, voice shaky. "He’s—he’s being stabbed."

The words sent a cold shock down Octavia’s spine. "W-what?! You—you can’t be serious! How do you even know that?!"

"My demon senses." Marcy was already moving, heading straight for the door. "I can hear it. He’s in the Wrath Ring—I don’t know how, but I have to go."

Octavia sprang to her feet, heart pounding. "Are you insane?! You’ll get killed! Or worse!"

Marcy spun on her heel, eyes burning with determination. "He’ll die if I don’t do something!" Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying the fear she was barely holding back.

Octavia’s breath caught in her throat. She had no words.

Marcy turned away, pushing forward. The two rushed through the halls, heading straight for Stolas’s bedroom. When they reached the balcony, Marcy shifted—her arms morphing into wings, her entire form resembling a harpy, her raven-like features fully manifesting.

Octavia grabbed her wrist at the last second, voice trembling. "Please don’t do this. You’re too young. Besides, I—I can’t lose you too!"

Marcy hesitated, staring at her.

"If I lose my dad and—and you," Octavia's voice broke, "I’ll be alone. Please… don’t risk your life for this."

A moment of silence stretched between them.

Then, Marcy reached out and squeezed Octavia’s hand. "Nothing bad will happen to me," she promised, voice gentle. "I’ll bring your dad home safe. I swear."

Octavia sniffled, trying to steady her breathing. She wiped at her eyes and managed a weak, shaky smile. "You’re way too mature for a thirteen-year-old, you know that?"

Marcy grinned. "I get that a lot."

Then, Octavia’s face fell serious as she pulled her into a tight hug. "Be careful."

Marcy returned the embrace. "I will."

With one final look, she turned away, stepping onto the balcony. Then, with a powerful flap of her wings, she launched into the sky—flying off into the darkness, leaving Octavia standing there, whispering into the wind.

"Please come back safe. I need you to be okay. I really can’t lose you."

Marcy flew fast.

Faster than she ever had before, following the deep pulse of her demonic instincts. They led her straight to the Wrath Ring, straight to him.

She spotted it—a mineshaft, deep in the Badman Lands. Below, she saw a familiar gray van crashing into a cavern, its horn blaring into the night.

Diving down, she found herself in the dimly lit shaft—Stolas was there, tied up, bleeding out on the train tracks. Nearby, two imps—Moxxie and Millie—stood, ready to fight.

And standing before them—grinning like the devil himself—was Striker.

Marcy's heart pounded.

She had no time for hesitation.

She moved.

Chapter Text

Shots. Nobody likes them. The needles are sharp, long, and look like something straight out of a horror movie.

Loona, the adopted hellhound daughter of an imp named Blitz, was no exception.

She sat in the van, arms crossed, tail flicking in agitation. Her expression was blank, but the tension in her body made it clear—she was not looking forward to this.

Blitz was at the wheel, driving with his usual reckless enthusiasm, while Moxxie and Millie sat in the back. Also in the van was Anne, I.M.P's newest intern—a 13-year-old human who had somehow ended up working for a literal assassination company in Hell.

Anne glanced at Loona and offered an encouraging smile. “It’s really not that bad, y’know? Just a tiny poke.”

Loona turned her head slightly and gave a forced smirk before staring back out the window.

“Yeah, good luck with that, kid,” Blitz muttered, eyes on the road. “She’s had that look on her face for the past hour.”

Anne just shrugged. “Hey, worth a shot.”

Blitz snorted. “Not the best word choice, given the situation.”

Anne had been through a lot since she and her friends were accidentally transported to Hell via a magical artifact known as an Asmodean Crystal. Meeting I.M.P had been chaotic, to say the least, but in time, she had adjusted. Living with Loona and Blitz had its ups and downs, but overall? She kinda liked it here.

Just then, Blitz’s phone rang. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he dug into his pocket with the other and fished it out.

“Oh, for fu—Stolas!” Blitz groaned, putting the phone on speaker. “Now’s really not a great time, buddy.”

Anne blinked at the mention of Stolas, the Goetic prince. What does he want now?

Her first encounter with Stolas had been intimidating, mostly due to the sheer height difference. But after spending time around him (and seeing how much of a dork he actually was), Anne had grown fond of him.

Even better, that visit had reunited her with Marcy—her best friend.

Anne remembered that moment vividly. The way she had screamed before spinning Marcy around in an excited hug. The way Marcy had eagerly babbled about working as Stolas’ advisor. The way Blitz had immediately started teasing her about it afterward.

“Welp, looks like somebody’s in loooove,” Blitz had smirked, nudging her with an elbow.

Anne had turned red and waved him off. “Shut up, Blitz! She’s just my best friend!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, kiddo.”

At the time, Anne had laughed it off. But later, she found herself wondering—was Blitz actually onto something?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Stolas’ voice on the speaker.

“I do apologize for the interruption, Blitzy, but I seem to have found myself in a bit of a... predicament.”

Blitz exhaled sharply. “Oh for—what now?”

“I’m currently tied to the back of a horse.”

There was a pause.

Blitz scoffed. “Oh, lucky you.”

“Ah, well, no, actually. Rather unlucky,” Stolas corrected. “It seems your little cowboy friend has abducted me.”

Anne frowned. Cowboy friend? Blitz had never mentioned anything like that before.

“Ohhh, which one?” Blitz asked.

“How many cowboy friends do you have?” Moxxie interjected, incredulous.

Blitz ignored him. “What’s he look like?”

There was a brief silence before Stolas responded hesitantly. “Umm... sexy?”

Millie immediately clapped her hands over Anne’s ears.

“That’s Striker, sir!” Moxxie exclaimed, glaring at Blitz.

Anne pried Millie’s hands off and frowned. Who the heck is Striker?

“Oh, for fu—” Blitz caught himself. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“I wish I were,” Stolas muttered.

“Can’t you get away? You’re, like, super powerful, aren’t you?”

“Normally, yes, but I’m currently bound with blessed rope, which... complicates things,” Stolas admitted. “So, I’m afraid I require rescuing.”

Blitz groaned. “Oh, geez, Stolas, I’d love to drop everything and come save you, but I’m literally on my way to get Loona her very important Hellbies s-h-o-t.”

Loona’s eyes widened in horror.

“It takes years to book an appointment here, and it took me five to get this one! So, you know—she needs it.”

“Oh, I completely understand,” Stolas replied, though his tone suggested otherwise. “Buuuut—”

A new voice suddenly cut in, dripping with amusement.

“Would ya shut up already? I can hear ya, y’know.”

Anne immediately bristled at the Southern drawl. So that’s Striker.

“Don’t worry about your lanky birdy,” Striker continued, his voice laced with smugness. “He’s in real good hands.”

A crunch sounded through the phone, and the call cut out.

Blitz froze. Then his face twisted in rage.

“GOD—DAMN IT!”

With a growl, he slammed his phone against the dashboard, shattering it, then floored the gas pedal.

Anne jumped at the sudden burst of speed. “Okay, uh—chill??”

“Sir, we’ll handle this,” Millie said firmly.

Blitz let out a sharp breath, clearly trying to rein in his frustration. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Moxxie adjusted his tie. “Striker has a personal history with us.”

Millie nodded. “Very personal.”

Anne immediately perked up. “I’m coming too.”

Millie hesitated. “Anne, honey, I love your enthusiasm, but Striker ain’t just some small-time crook. He’s an assassin. Trained. If you go up against him, you’ll get killed.”

Anne scowled. “I can fight.”

Blitz shook his head. “Not this time, kid. You’re comin’ with me to help Loona.”

Anne pouted but eventually relented.

Moments later, the van skidded to a stop in front of St. An’s Hospital.

“Be careful, y’all,” Anne said as Moxxie and Millie climbed out.

Moxxie nodded. “You too, Anne.”

As the couple drove off, Blitz turned to Loona. “Alright, Loonie. Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

Before Loona could bolt, he picked her up and made a break for the entrance.

Anne (after using her demon disguise spell) jogged after them, shaking her head. “Dude, you’re making this worse.”

Blitz dragged Loona across the floor inside the waiting room by the tail.

“Five damn years of waiting, and of course Stolas gets himself kidnapped today!” he ranted. “THROW ME OVER A WALL.”

A mother and her son stared at him.

“What the hell you lookin’ at?” Blitz snapped at the kid.

Anne sighed and took a seat, waiting for this nightmare of a day to be over.

Anne sat down, exhaling as she watched Blitz argue with the receptionist.

Loona was still under the chairs, tail twitching, glaring at everything around her like the hospital itself was an enemy.

Blitz, on the other hand, looked one second away from jumping over the counter.

“What do you mean ‘it’s not in the system’?! I booked this appointment five years ago! You think I just pulled this outta my ass?!”

The nurse, a bored-looking demon with droopy eyes, lazily typed on her keyboard. “Mmm. Yeah. No record of a Blitzø appointment.”

“Are you fucking blind?!” Blitz practically vibrated with rage.

Anne leaned over to Loona and whispered, “I think Blitz is gonna pop a blood vessel.”

Loona smirked. “Hopefully.”

After an eternity of Blitz yelling and the receptionist barely responding, the nurse finally said, “Oh. Here it is. Just wait for the doctor.”

Blitz threw his hands up. “Finally,” he muttered, storming over to the chairs.

Anne stood up and motioned for him to sit. “Here. Before you explode.”

Blitz flopped down, arms crossed, glaring at nothing.

A few minutes of silence passed before Loona let out a whimper, then bolted from her seat and crawled underneath the chairs again.

Anne peeked under the chairs. “Uh, Loona?”

Blitz sighed, his previous frustration momentarily fading. He crouched down and poked Loona’s nose.

“It’s okay, Loonie. It’s just one little prick. You won’t feel a thing.”

Loona gave him a murderous glare, but she didn’t snap at him.

Anne smiled softly. It was moments like these that reminded her that, despite Blitz’s chaos, he did care.

Then, a voice ruined it.

“Ew, don’t say that. It sounds vulgar.”

Anne turned and saw the same mother from earlier wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Blitz blinked. “Excuse me?”

The mother scowled. “Pervert.”

Anne slapped a hand over her face. Oh, for the love of—

Blitz’s entire body twitched. He took a deep breath, turned to Anne, and said, “Sit. Before you gotta bail me out.”

Anne obeyed.

Thirty minutes of Blitz and the mother passive-aggressively bickering later, a nurse finally called them in.

“Blitzø and Loona?”

Blitz leapt out of his seat. “THANK SATAN.”

Anne sighed in relief as they followed the nurse.

Inside the doctor’s office, a short, pink goat demon in a white coat greeted them cheerfully. “Hello, I’m Dr. Somna! Hope you’re doing well.”

Anne gave a polite wave. Blitz just grunted.

Dr. Somna checked his clipboard. “Welcome, Bingo. And this must be Tuna.”

Anne barely contained a laugh.

Blitz deadpanned. “Loona. Yeah.”

The doctor looked at Anne. “And you are?”

Blitz cut in. “That’s just my intern. Can we hurry this up? Loona is terrified of shots, and I don’t wanna be here all day.”

Anne's smile dimmed slightly. She didn’t know why, but something about Blitz calling her just his intern stung a little.

Dr. Somna, however, was completely unfazed. “Oh, come now! It’s just one little shot. I see hellhounds every day, and none of them ever cause any issues.”

He turned to grab the syringe.

Then pulled out a giant-ass green needle.

Loona’s pupils shrank.

Anne’s mouth fell open.

Then all hell broke loose.

Loona lunged at the doctor with a snarl.

Dr. Somna barely dodged. “SATAN ABOVE!”

Blitz tackled Loona mid-air, grabbing her arms. “I told you, dumbass!”

Anne scrambled to grab Loona’s tail, trying to keep her from kicking. “Loona, come on! Just get the damn shot!”

Loona thrashed, biting, clawing, and snarling.

It took an entire five minutes of chaos, but eventually, Blitz and Anne pinned her down long enough for Dr. Somna to inject the shot.

Loona let out a dramatic howl of betrayal.

Anne slumped against the wall, panting. “I feel like I just wrestled a freaking bear.”

Dr. Somna dusted himself off. “Well, that was thrilling. But good teamwork, you two!”

Blitz grinned and nudged Anne’s shoulder. “Hell yeah, we did good.”

Anne chuckled, elbowing him back. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Dr. Somna handed them each a lollipop before placing a medical cone around Loona’s neck.

Blitz snickered. “Aww, Loonie, you look adorable.”

Loona, still fuming, gave him the filthiest glare imaginable.

As soon as they left the hospital, the I.M.P van pulled up.

It was battered.

Anne’s stomach dropped. “Wait—what happened?”

Before anyone could answer—

“LOOK OUT!”

Anne tackled Blitz to the ground as a wave of medical staff rushed past them, carrying someone on a stretcher.

Blitz’s voice was muffled against the pavement. “Anne, the crisis has been averted. You can get off me now.”

“Oh! Right! Sorry.” Anne scrambled off him.

Blitz dusted himself off and turned to Moxxie, frowning. “Alright, what the hell happened?”

Moxxie sighed. “Stolas is fine. But...” He hesitated.

Anne looked between them, heart pounding.

Then Moxxie finally said it.

“That was Marcy.”

Anne’s entire body went cold.

Blitz frowned. “Wait. Did she get hurt? How?”

Millie bit her lip. “She... used a spell to heal Stolas’ injuries. But doing so caused her to take the damage instead.”

Anne stood frozen, her brain refusing to process what she was hearing.

“That’s not funny,” she said quietly.

Moxxie sighed. “Anne—”

“No.” Anne shook her head, forcing a laugh. “I know Marcy. She’s clumsy, sure, but she’s not reckless like that. She wouldn’t just—just—”

Her voice cracked.

Moxxie’s expression softened. “She knew it was dangerous. But she did it anyway.”

Anne’s hands clenched into fists. “No. No, no, no—”

Then the tears came.

Before anyone could stop her, Anne ran for the hospital entrance.

Blitz, Millie, and Moxxie grabbed her before she could push through the doors.

“Anne, stop!” Millie pleaded.

“Let me go!” Anne screamed, struggling against them. “I need to see her! I have to see her!”

Blitz tightened his grip. “Anne, she’s in critical condition! You can’t—”

“I’m not letting her die!” Anne sobbed, her voice raw. “I won’t! I—” She hiccuped. “I love her!”

Silence.

The three imps blinked.

Anne’s breath hitched. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

And yet, as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew they were true.

Blitz slowly let go. “Kid...”

Anne fell to her knees, shaking. “I should’ve been there. I could’ve helped. I—”

Blitz crouched beside her and, to her shock, hugged her.

“It’s okay, kid. Marcy’s strong. She’ll pull through.”

Anne hiccupped, burying her face in his shoulder.

After a long moment, Blitz pulled back and patted her head. “Come on. Moxxie and Millie’ll take you home. I’ll stay here and check on her for you.”

Anne sniffled and nodded. “Okay.”

Blitz smiled softly. “Atta girl.”

He watched as Anne climbed into the van, then turned to face the hospital, determination burning in his eyes.

He was going to make damn sure Marcy made it out of this.

Chapter Text

A few days had passed since Marcy sacrificed herself, using a powerful spell to save Stolas from the brink of death. Striker's angelic weapons had gravely injured the prince, and without hesitation, Marcy intervened—at a terrible cost.

She had been in a coma ever since, her condition unchanged. No matter how long Anne waited, no matter how hard she hoped, Marcy would not wake up. The frustration was eating her alive.

Marcy was Anne’s first best friend—the one person she cherished above all else. The thought of losing her was unbearable, a wound so deep it could shatter her heart and drive her insane. But thanks to Blitz and the I.M.P. crew, Anne hadn’t fallen into that darkness.

Sure, she had her bad days—sometimes she was snippy, sometimes she lost her temper—but overall, she was holding it together. At least she had Octavia, Stolas’ daughter, and even Loona to lean on. She and Loona had bonded a little after accompanying Blitz to the palace a few days ago.

Things were looking up.

Until today.

Blitz had been acting strange. Restless. More erratic than usual. He was stressed, snapping at everyone, pacing like a caged animal.

Anne had been there when he blew up at Moxxie, screaming at him to get out of his office. But Moxxie, oddly enough, had just smiled before walking off to reception.

It didn’t take Anne long to figure out why. Moxxie and Millie had been assigned their first solo assassination mission—without Blitz.

Anne didn’t care much about human assassinations. For one, she wasn’t about to commit murder and end up in juvie, and two, she only fought other demons if absolutely necessary. And besides, only true demons could travel through the grimoire’s portals. That meant human souls disguised as demons couldn’t access the living world.

Still, the thought of returning home nagged at her. She had to find a way back to Earth.

But first, she needed to figure out what was going on with Blitz.

Carefully, she approached his office and peeked inside. He was frantically switching between internet tabs, taking multiple phone calls, and scribbling notes all at once.

"Hey, Blitz? Can we talk?" she asked, hesitantly.

Blitz barely looked up. “What the hell do you want, Anne? Can’t you see I’m busy? Like, SUPER busy?”

His tone was sharp—bitter. It made Anne flinch.

She hadn’t seen Blitz this irritable in a long time. Sure, she’d pissed him off before—like when she accidentally burned his pancakes when she first arrived in Hell, or when she teased him about Stolas—but this? This was different.

"I get that you’re busy, but I just wanted to see what’s wrong," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Maybe I can help?"

Blitz sighed, rubbing his temple. Then, without warning, he glared at her and snapped, “Listen here, you little twerp. I don’t care about your goody-two-shoes act right now. If you ever bother me again today, I SWEAR TO SATAN—I’ll kick you out of my apartment and fire you on the spot! NOW GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!"

Anne froze. His words hit her like a slap.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring at him in disbelief.

Then, something inside her snapped.

Her face twisted in anger, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. "YOU’RE SUCH A JERK!" she screamed. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND, BLITZ! EVEN IN THIS CRAPPY PLACE—IN HELL—I STILL BELIEVED IN YOU!"

Her fists clenched at her sides. "YOU SAID I WAS LIKE A DAUGHTER TO YOU! I’M NOT FAKING IT WHEN I SAY I CARE! AND I NEVER WILL!"

Her voice cracked. "IT’S BAD ENOUGH THAT MARCY IS IN A STUPID COMA, BUT I DON’T NEED YOUR VERBAL LASH-OUTS—AND NEITHER DOES EVERYONE ELSE!"

Blitz stared at her, stunned.

Before he could respond, Anne turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Silence filled the room.

Blitz swallowed, his expression darkening with guilt. "...Shit," he muttered. "What have I done?"

Anne barged into the meeting room and slammed the door shut behind her.

Moxxie and Millie exchanged concerned glances but focused back on their mission prep.

Loona, however, watched her. Anne was visibly seething, her arms crossed, her breathing uneven.

After a moment, Loona sighed, got up from reception, and knocked gently on the door.

"Leave me alone, Blitz!" Anne shouted through the wood.

"It’s Loona," came the response. "Can I come in?"

Anne hesitated, then exhaled sharply and opened the door.

Loona stepped inside, closing it behind her. She leaned against the table, arms crossed. "I heard you and Blitz arguing. You okay, kid?"

Anne bit her lip. She wanted to brush it off, pretend she didn’t care—but she did. "No. Everything is not okay."

She sat down, rubbing her temples. "I wanted to help Blitz, but he lashed out at me. He even threatened to fire me." She let out a shaky breath. "I get that I pissed him off, but he didn’t have to be that cruel."

Her voice wavered, and she quickly wiped at her eyes.

Loona listened, quiet for a moment before she placed a hand on Anne’s shoulder. "Look, I get it," she said, her voice softer than usual. "You wanna help people, even when they don’t ask for it. You’ve done it for Blitz, for me, Millie, and even for Fatty of all people."

Anne sniffled while showing a grin, knowing that Loona likes to call Moxxie that nickname. "Moxxie’s not fat."

Loona smirked. "I see a smile, don’t try to hide it."

Anne rolled her eyes. "Ugh, why do you do this?"

"Because I’m used to your dumb smile," Loona teased.

Then, her expression turned serious again. "But listen—just because you wanna help doesn’t mean Blitz wants help. He’s not ungrateful, but he’s... complicated. Pushing him when he’s like this? It just makes him push back harder."

Anne mulled over her words before sighing. "So... the threats weren’t on purpose, huh?"

Loona nodded. "Nah. He’s just a dumbass."

That made Anne smile—just a little. "Thanks, Loona."

"Anytime," Loona replied with a rare, genuine smile. She ruffled Anne’s hair, making the teen swat her hand away with a playful pout.

Just then, a knock came at the door.

"Anne? I know you’re in there," Blitz’s voice called through. "Can I come in, please?"

Loona glanced at Anne. "You want me to let him in?"

Anne hesitated, then nodded.

Loona got up, opened the door, and stepped aside. Blitz walked in, looking uncomfortable.

After Loona left, an awkward silence stretched between them.

Blitz finally sighed. "Listen, Anne. About earlier..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I’m so sorry. I was a dick. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that."

His eyes softened. "I’ve hurt a lot of people already. I don’t wanna add you to that list." He hesitated. "Can you forgive me?"

Anne studied him for a long moment. Then, she sighed. "Yeah, Blitz. I forgive you. I just hope you can forgive me for barging in on you."

Blitz’s lips twitched. "NOPE!"

Anne blinked. "Wait, wha—"

He tapped her nose. "Gotcha! Of course, I forgive you, ya dork!"

Anne groaned. "You little trickster!"

Blitz cackled. "Oh, come on! No need to get cranky, Stolas!"

Anne's eye twitched once she was being called Stolas, however, despite the fact that Blitz was only teasing.

"OH, YOU ARE SO DEAD!" Anne lunged at him, but Blitz dodged.

After several attempts, she finally got him in a headlock and noogied him.

"Not so cocky now, huh?" she grinned.

"Okay, okay! I surrender!" Blitz laughed, gasping for air.

They broke into laughter, just like old times.

Then Blitz got serious. "I’m looking for someone, Anne."

Anne tilted her head. "Who?"

Blitz hesitated. "My sister."

Anne stared at Blitz, processing his words. "You mean Barbie isn’t missing?"

Blitz sighed, rubbing his arm. "No. She’s been moving around, supposedly job-hunting, dealing with… stuff. It’s complicated. But I need to find her."

Anne considered his words carefully. "Do you… want me to stay behind? I don’t want to get in your way."

Blitz hesitated before shaking his head. "I was gonna go solo, but… maybe having you around wouldn’t be so bad. Could use the extra help while M&M handle their job." He shot her a half-smile. "What do you say, kid?"

Anne still felt uncertain. "I don’t know… I might upset you again."

Blitz rolled his eyes. "Nah, I’ll manage my temper. I promise."

After a moment, Anne nodded. "Alright. I’m in."

With that, they set off.

Blitz and Anne scoured the streets of the Sloth Ring, following any lead they could find. It was a grueling week-long search, with Blitz asking around, checking different places, and hitting dead ends. Anne could see Blitz growing more tense with each passing day.

Eventually, their efforts paid off.

A passing imp mentioned that Barbie Wire had been spotted in a human summer camp, working undercover.

"That means we need a way to Earth," Blitz muttered, tapping his fingers against his skull charm.

Anne bit her lip. "Do you think we should try the Asmodean Crystal? I mean, my disguise worked last time… right?"

"Worth a shot," Blitz replied.

It took them another few hours, but eventually, they found an imp willing to open a portal to the human world using their Asmodean Crystal.

Blitz jumped through first. Anne hesitated.

What if it didn’t work this time? What if her disguise wasn’t enough?

"Come on, Anne!" Blitz called from the other side. "Just jump!"

She swallowed her nerves. The portal was shrinking.

"Trust me!" Blitz urged. "You can do it!"

Anne clenched her fists, took a deep breath, and leaped—

And everything went black.

"Anne! Anne, wake up!"

A voice—Blitz’s—echoed in her ears.

Her eyes fluttered open. Blitz hovered over her, looking worried.

"Blitz…?" Anne groggily mumbled before blinking at the ground beneath her.

It wasn’t cobblestone. It wasn’t the rough texture of Hell’s streets.

It was… grass.

"Blitz—did I…?" She looked down at her dirt-covered hands. "Am I—?"

A grin broke across Blitz’s face. "You did it, kid. You made it to Earth again."

Anne’s heart nearly burst. "I did it? I actually did it?!"

She laughed, throwing her arms around Blitz in pure joy. He patted her back with a chuckle.

"I was worried when you hit your head after diving into the portal," Blitz admitted, pulling away. "Don’t scare me like that again, alright?"

Anne wiped dirt off her clothes. "Got it." Then, her grin turned serious. "So… where’s Barbie?"

"Last spotted near the camp’s boathouse." Blitz motioned for her to follow. "Let’s move."

They crept through the bushes, staying low.

Suddenly, a rustling noise.

Before either of them could react, a figure tumbled from the brush and landed directly on top of Blitz.

"What the—?!" Blitz yelped.

"SIR?!" the figure shouted.

Anne blinked. "Moxxie?!"

Sure enough, Moxxie—in drag, no less—stared at them with wide eyes.

Blitz shoved him off. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

"Trying to finish the mission you gave me!" Moxxie huffed.

Blitz groaned. "Christ on a stick, you’re still working on that?! It’s been a week! This is why I don’t trust you with things, Mox."

Anne patted Moxxie’s shoulder in sympathy. "Don’t listen to him. I’m sure you did your best." She glanced at his outfit. "Also… nice fashion choice."

Moxxie huffed. "Not my idea."

"Enough chit-chat," Blitz said, crawling toward the boathouse. "We’re here to find my sister."

Anne and Moxxie followed.

The Reunion

Blitz kicked open the boathouse door. "BARBIE!"

Inside stood two people—a young human man in a camp uniform, and a dark-haired woman in a striped dress and tattered vest.

The woman turned.

Her eyes widened.

"BLITZO?!"

"You know her?" Moxxie asked, confused.

"Do I know her? That’s my sister, dummy!" Blitz snapped.

Anne’s breath caught in her throat. Even with her human disguise, Barbie’s real impish features flickered through—her tattoo, her piercing gaze.

"What the hell are you doing here, shithead?" Barbie growled.

"I should be asking you the same thing!" Blitz shot back. "You disappear, no call, no note—I had to track you down! What the hell is this?!"

He pointed at the human man beside her.

Barbie rolled her eyes. "No one. He works for me."

"And who's the little twink?" she smirked at Moxxie.

"No one. He works for me," Blitz deadpanned, copying her motion.

Anne barely suppressed a laugh, though she still glared at Barbie for her dismissive attitude.

"And this girl?" Barbie gestured at Anne. "Another nobody who also happens to work for you, right?"

"I am not a nobody!" Anne snapped.

"Then what makes you special?" Barbie taunted.

"Enough!" Moxxie interrupted. "Sir, that guy's the target."

Blitz’s smirk returned. "Oh shit, Barb! Looks like your little boy-toy got himself into trouble!"

"The hell you talking about?" Barbie asked confusedly, to which Moxxie instantly spoke up.

"He killed our client. And now the client wants to kill him back."

Barbie turned on the human. "You did WHAT?!"

"I-it was an accident!" The human stammered anxiously.

"I don't want to hear it!" Barbie snapped back before turning to Blitz and Moxxie with the same glare.

"You're not killing my co-worker, whether your client asked for it or not!"

"Sir," Moxxie began as he stared at Blitz for a brief second before staring back at Barbie while slowly raising a knife, "I've spent a whole week on this.. I'm finishing it, one way or another."

Barbie instantly snapped.

"DON'T YOU DARE!"

Chaos erupted seconds later.

The Fight

The mission spiraled into a heated brawl.

Barbie transformed into her imp form, fighting Blitz. Moxxie and Anne struggled against the human.

Anne fought defensively—she wasn’t keen on killing—but she wasn’t about to let Barbie win either.

The fight dragged on, tension mounting.

Then—

A firework rocket whistled through the air.

"ANNE, LOOK OUT!" Blitz shouted.

Moxxie lunged, shielding Anne. The human wasn’t so lucky.

The firework hit.

Blood splattered.

Silence followed.

Anne stared at the remains of the human, her stomach twisting. "Oh my God…" she whispered.

"It’s okay," Moxxie murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It’s over."

Barbie, furious, cursed under her breath. "Great. Thanks a lot, Blitzo! Now I’m out of a job!"

She turned to storm off.

"Wait!" Blitz called after her. "Let me help you—please! We can even catch up over dinner. Please.. Don't leave."

Barbie stopped. Laughed bitterly.

"You don’t GET it!" she snapped, jabbing a finger at him. "I NEVER want to see you again!"

Anne clenched her fists. "You’re so heartless!" she yelled. "He searched for you for a week! He still loves you—why can’t you see that?!"

Barbie faltered.

Anne softened. "You don’t have to forgive him, Barbie. Just… hear him out."

Chapter Text

Today was a whirlwind. It involved a double reunion, some heated arguments, and a terrifying kidnapping.

Despite all the chaos, everything worked out in the end. Curious to know how? Let’s start from the beginning.

It all began in the luxurious confines of the Lust Ring, where an unlikely pair—the impish Fizzarolli and the formidable Asmodeus, the King of Lust—shared a secret, wholesome morning routine. Their relationship, a delicate balance of power and affection, was kept hidden from the prying eyes of the underworld. Asmodeus, ruler of desire, could not afford to be seen as a hypocrite, and so their love remained a closely guarded secret.

Only one being knew the truth: the human girl, Sasha Waybright. She had stumbled into Hell, an accidental portal-hopping adventure, and forged an unexpected friendship with the two demon lovers. Her acceptance and understanding had made her a trusted confidante, sworn to secrecy.

On this particular morning, Sasha slept soundly in the tower’s guest room while Fizz and Asmodeus enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. A sudden plan to venture into the Greed Ring for milk had seized Fizz, much to Asmodeus's concern.

When Sasha awoke, she found Asmodeus alone in the kitchen. "Morning, Oz," she greeted him. "Where's Fizz? I thought he was up already."

Asmodeus smiled. "Morning, Sash. Fizz went to the Greed Ring for milk. He planned on going alone, that stubborn cutie. I worry about him, but that’s just the way he is."

Sasha chuckled and grabbed a slice of chocolate cake. After a brief moment, Asmodeus returned from a wardrobe change, phone in hand. "Hey, Sash, I need a favor. I just got a text from Fizz. He’s fine, but I’d feel better if you could check on him. I’m swamped with work today."

"You got it, Oz," Sasha replied confidently. With her demon disguise activated and a few handy weapons tucked away, she set off to the Greed Ring, ready to protect her friend.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Greed, Blitz was out for a coffee run. His intern, Anne, tagged along, eager to experience the infamous Greed Ring firsthand.

Apparently she used an imp disguise to visit this particular ring, just so that no one would know her true human form there. Only Blitz and a few others Anne grew close with during her time on Hell knew.

"You didn't have to come," Blitz said, a touch of surprise in his voice.

"I often grab coffee alone too," Anne replied. "But something about this place feels... off. It's hard to explain."

Blitz nodded. "I know what you mean. I could call M&M and Loona, but they seem busy. You might be useful."

They arrived at a dimly lit coffee shop. A hellhound barista, her voice monotone, greeted them.

"Iced coffee, large," Blitz ordered.

"And for you, miss?" the barista asked, turning to Anne.

"Nothing, thanks," Anne replied, surprising Blitz. She usually enjoyed a good cup of coffee.

As they waited, Blitz inquired, "Everything okay? You seem a bit down."

Anne forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just not in the mood for coffee today."

Blitz knew better. "Still thinking about Marcy, huh?"

Anne sighed. "Yeah, a little."

Blitz empathized. Marcy's coma had hit Anne hard, revealing a side of her that she'd previously hidden: her feelings for her 1st best friend.

Just as Blitz took a sip of his coffee, a look of disgust crossed his face. He spat it out, exclaiming, "This tastes like saltwater! I've had better coffee from a gas station!"

Anne winced as angry glares turned their way. The barista, visibly irritated, scolded Blitz for causing a scene.

"Your coffee sucks!" Blitz retorted, pointing at Anne. "My intern could make better coffee!"

Anne's face flushed with embarrassment. "Blitz, stop!"

The barista threatened to call the police, prompting Blitz to challenge her. A moment later, he found himself sprawled on the sidewalk, having been unceremoniously ejected from the shop.

"Look, lady, it's not my fault you only know how to make coffee that tastes like piss!" Blitz yelled angrily.

Anne felt bad about Blitz being thrown out, but she decided to console the barista first before she could leave.

Fizz, a former friend turned rival, happened to be passing by. He smirked at the sight of Blitz as the latter rubbed his back in pain from the previous impact.

"Oh, wow. Lookie who it is."

Blitz, who turned to the sound, instantly showed an annoyed expression on his face as he got up.

"Oh, great. You again."

"Stalkin' me now, huh?" Fizz taunted.

"Don't flatter yourself, clown. I have a life of my own, you know. Without you in it." Blitz retorted.

"Uh-huh, sure, Blitzo."

"The 'o' is silent now, bitch! And gee whiz! We've been at each other's relative vicinity twice in the past 15 years. That would make me THE SHITTIEST STALKER IN HISTORY!"

Anne, confused and alarmed as she left the coffee shop, asked Blitz, "Is that Fizz?"

"The one and only," Blitz replied, annoyance  still evident in his tone.

"Who's this over there?" Fizz asked, raising an eyebrow as he stared at Anne curiously, to which the latter replied in a somewhat cold tone, "If you must know, I'm Blitz's new friend, and it would be best if you would stop treating him badly like this."

"Really? That's rich coming from a little girl like you. You could've picked better friends," Fizz sneered at Anne.

A heated argument ensued, escalating quickly. Just as Blitz was about to retaliate, a hand smacked his arm.

"Watch it," a familiar voice warned. It was Sasha, a former acquaintance with a grudge against Blitz.

Anne was shocked to see her. She can't believe that after endless attempts of searching, Sasha was finally spotted.

But that excitement instantly was replaced with anger. "Why are you with Fizz?" she demanded.

Sasha smirked. "I'm here to keep an eye on him. And you? What are you doing with Blitzo?"

A tense exchange followed, filled with accusations and insults.

"Twice is already way too much, and as much as I love to chat, I have other things to do. Come on, Sash, let's go."

As Fizz and Sasha walked away, Blitz couldn't resist a jab. "At least I'm earning my keep, unlike some pampered freeloader!"

Fizz paused, grinding to a halt with a growl of frustration. His fists clenched, tail flicking.
Sasha reached out and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, her voice soft. “Hey… breathe. He’s not worth it.”

Fizz glanced her way. Slowly, a smirk began to spread across his face. Then he turned toward the source of his anger—Blitz. The smirk stretched wider.

"Yeah, well... guess that's what talent and resilience get you," he said, chuckling.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "And let’s face it—my horns were always bigger. Right?"

That was enough to stop Blitz in his tracks. His jaw tightened, a flash of irritation in his eyes. Anne, watching, stepped forward quickly.

“Blitz, don’t. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

But Blitz was already moving, ignoring her. Determined. Angry.

Sasha and Fizz were just turning to leave when Sasha heard fast-approaching footsteps. She turned, alarmed, just in time to see Blitz charging toward them.

“Fizz! Look out!” she yelled.

Too late.

Fizz barely had time to turn before Blitz tackled him to the pavement in a blur of limbs and fury. The street exploded into chaos.

Anne and Sasha rushed in, trying to separate them, but it was hopeless—fists flew, snarls echoed, and the crowd began to gather.

Elsewhere in the Greed Ring, a conversation unfolded atop a dark skyscraper. The lights of the city flickered below, reflecting in the windows like broken promises.

Crimson, the infamous mafia boss of Hell, lounged in a chair. Across from him stood Striker, lean, weathered, and grinning—ever the mercenary.

“So,” Crimson said, swirling his wine, “you say you’re good?”

“The best,” Striker replied with a cocky tilt of his hat. “Had a Goetic royal on the ropes just last week.”

Alessio, Crimson’s ever-loyal right hand, poured his boss a glass of wine while Crimson continued, unimpressed.

“Sure. But not dead?”

“It was... called off, and it eventually didn't turn out the way I wanted to,” Striker said hesitantly.

Then, smoothly changing the subject, he added, “But my body count’s in the hundreds. I don’t care who you are—woman, kid, overlord—if you’re in my way, you’re gone.”

Suddenly, the sound of chaos echoed from outside. Curious, Striker stepped to the window.

What he saw made him grin.

Blitz and Fizz were brawling like rabid animals. And two human girls—Anne and Sasha—were now locked in a vicious scuffle of their own.

“Well now,” he muttered. “This just got interesting.”

Earlier

Back on the street, Anne and Sasha shoved against the crowd, trying to pull the imps apart.

“This wouldn’t be happening if you hadn’t egged Fizz on!” Anne shouted.

“Excuse me?” Sasha snapped. “Blitz started it. Or are you having memory issues?”

“We were leaving until Fizz ran his mouth!”

“We were, too!”

“Fine! Whatever! Just help me break this up!”

“Oh, are you trying to save them or make sure Blitz doesn’t get his ass kicked?” Sasha sneered.

“I said I don’t want to argue!”

“Well, maybe you should unfriend that jerk before he screws up your life too.”

“OKAY, THAT’S IT!”

Anne lunged.

In an instant, the two girls were grappling, throwing wild punches. Gasps rose from the crowd as the glamor spells disguising Anne and Sasha shimmered and broke, revealing their true human forms.

But neither girl noticed. They were too angry to care.

Now

Minutes passed before Blitz and Fizz, bruised and heaving, finally paused. Then they looked up—eyes widening in disbelief.

Anne and Sasha were now full-on brawling in their human forms.

“HEY! Knock it off!” Blitz shouted, grabbing Anne.

Fizz pulled Sasha back just as she hissed, “LET ME AT HER!”

“You’re done,” Blitz growled, pointing to Anne’s human features.

Anne blinked. Then looked down at her hands. Sasha followed.

“Oh... crap,” they muttered in unison.

Suddenly, a lasso whirled through the air.

Too fast.

It wrapped around Blitz and Fizz, yanking them skyward. Anne and Sasha screamed and tried to pull it off—but the loop snapped them up too.

With a brutal slam, they were dragged into a warehouse and thrown against a wall.

Striker stood in the doorway, grinning.

“Hired!” Crimson called out, delighted.

Striker chuckled, drawing a blade and stepping toward Blitz and Fizz.

“Funny seein’ you again, Blitzy,” Striker cooed mockingly when he saw Blitz's annoyed expression.

He then turned to Fizz with his blade sliding under the latter’s chin as he added, "And with a famous friend".

Sasha lunged forward, only for Anne to stop her.

Striker turned, eyeing them both as he put the blade away from Fizz while the jester rubbed his neck with relief after finding no scratches.

“Well, what do we have here? Unknown creatures of Hell, eh?”

“We’re not creatures, we’re humans,” Sasha snapped.

“Ooh, feisty.” He leaned in. Anne stepped forward.

“Back off, Striker.”

The imp blinked. Then laughed.

“Well damn. You know my name?”

“I work for Blitz. Heard all about you.”

“That’s right!” Blitz added proudly. “She’s my intern.”

Anne facepalmed herself in frustration.

Crimson’s voice boomed, “Enough! Tie them up. Bring me the jester.”

Goons rushed forward. Blitz and Fizz shouted in protest. Anne and Sasha fought back, but they were bound as well.

In the chaos, Sasha’s transformation bracelet clattered to the floor. Crimson picked it up, examining the heart-shaped symbol.

“Well, well,” he mused. “Another tie to the King of Lust?”

“Give that back!” Sasha shouted.

“Bring her forward with the jester,” Crimson ordered. “We’ve got a call to make.”

Hours later, the group sat imprisoned in a steel cage in Crimson’s warehouse.

Fizz whimpered, “I was just supposed to buy milk and rehearse some juggling...”

Sasha reached over gently. “Sorry, buddy. I was supposed to have your back... and I didn’t.”

Anne scowled. “Drama queen.”

“What was that?!”

Blitz cut in. “Oh, shut up, both of you.”

Fizz sat up. “You’re a jerk.”

“Checks out,” Blitz said.

Fizz sobbed. “I just wanna go home...”

Blitz hesitated, then asked, “Want me to get you out?”

Fizz nodded.

Blitz smirked, pulling a hidden knife from his boot.

“YOU HAD A KNIFE THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

Anne only smirked knowingly.

Soon, Sasha revealed her own dagger and began cutting herself free.

“You had a weapon too?!”

“I forgot, okay?!”

Fizz sighed.

Blitz freed the others, then spotted the cage remote below.

He hatched a plan, and chaos unfolded as a forklift was set off, beer flew, a card tower fell, and bullets rained down.

Eventually, a cue ball rolled, hit the remote—and the cage dropped like a stone.

Fizz flipped Blitz off.

“Show-off.”

The dust settled as the cage lay broken on the warehouse floor. Fizz, coughing and bruised, dragged himself upright. Blitz stood and dusted off his coat like nothing happened.

"Still think my plan sucked?" Blitz asked with a smirk.

Fizz flipped him off again. “I’m surrounded by lunatics.”

Gunshots rang out. Crimson and his goons stormed in.

“THE FUCK?! GET THEM!” Crimson roared.

A net gun fired at Fizz. Blitz dove, shoving him aside and grabbing his hand.

“Move!” Blitz barked, eyes scanning for a weapon. He dove for a dropped rifle and returned fire, covering their escape.

“Anne! Sasha! Get outta here—NOW!” he shouted.

“What?! Hell no!” Anne snapped. “We’re not leaving you!”

“I promised I’d watch Fizz’s back!” Sasha added defiantly.

“I said GO!”

With reluctance and one last look, the girls fled into the maze of crates and shadows.

Sasha suddenly pulled Anne behind a stack of boxes just before bullets shredded through their previous path.

“Hey! What the hell?” Anne hissed.

Sasha shushed her, eyes locked on Fizz’s movements. He was trying—badly—to fight.

He flung a juggling pin, blew an airhorn, threw a banana peel… and nothing worked.

Fizz got tackled.

“Augh! This usually works!” he yelped.

One of the goons raised a cane to strike.

“CRUD!"

Fizz dodged just in time. He stumbled back into Blitz’s arms.

“Really? With all that flexibility, and you’re still useless?” Blitz yelled over the din.

“I’m a performer, not a fighter!” Fizz protested. “I dance, I sing, I model shit I don’t use—I don’t do danger!”

Still, together, they scrambled for cover, returning fire when they could.

Meanwhile, Sasha and Anne huddled behind the crates. Anne peeked out, only to freeze.

A goon raised his gun at Sasha.

“LOOK OUT!” she yelled.

Anne sprinted from hiding, grabbed Sasha’s arm, and dragged her away—seconds before bullets tore into the crates.

They scrambled up a nearby warehouse shelf, panting.

Sasha looked at Anne, stunned. “You didn’t have to save me.”

Anne turned to her. “I don’t hate you, Sasha. I actually... missed you. I just wish today hadn’t turned into a mafia nightmare. I already found Marcy, and she missed you too.”

“You found Marcy?” Sasha asked, shocked.

Anne nodded. “She’s currently in Sloth. I’ll explain later. For now, you’re welcome for saving your ass.”

Sasha scoffed—but smiled. “Thanks.”

A beat passed. Then Anne asked, “What is your deal with Blitz?”

Sasha crossed her arms. “Same as Fizz. Blitz ruined his life.”

Anne groaned. “Oh god, not the fire story...”

“You know?!” Sasha looked stunned.

“Yes. From Blitz’s point of view. It was an accident, Sasha.”

“You’re saying... he regrets it?” Sasha’s voice softened.

“Every day.”

Sasha looked shaken. “I... I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Anne, angry tears in her eyes, snapped, “Are you? You tried to make me choose. It’s always your way or nothing. You controlled me—controlled both me and Marcy.”

Sasha flinched.

“I’m not your puppet,” Anne continued. “I need a friend, not a commander.”

Silence.

Then, quietly: “I’m sorry,” Sasha whispered. “For all of it. I wanted to be better.”

Anne wiped her eyes. “I think you’re trying. And... I forgive you.”

The girls laughed softly, wounds momentarily forgotten. They climbed down—but danger returned fast.

A familiar Southern twang froze them in place.

“Where you two think you’re goin’?”

Striker.

The girls ran. But Striker was faster.

He tackled Sasha, raising a blade to her throat.

“Let me go!” Sasha struggled.

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Striker growled.

Anne lunged. Striker kicked her hard in the stomach, sending her sprawling.

Sasha’s eyes went wide. Rage overtook her, and she elbowed Striker hard in the gut, breaking free.

“Anne! Are you okay?” Sasha called out.

Anne coughed, winded. “I’ve had worse...”

They didn’t get a break.

“BEHIND YOU!” Sasha shouted.

Anne turned—too slow.

Striker slashed Sasha instead, leaving a nasty gash on her cheek.

Sasha barely winced. She shoved Anne behind her.

Anne snapped. She slammed her fist into Striker’s nose, kicked his ankle, and the girls ran.

They ducked behind more crates, hiding.

“You okay?” Anne whispered, reaching for Sasha’s cheek.

“I’m fine. You saved me—again. And I saved YOU beforehand. Call us even.”

Anne shook her head and began rummaging in a crate. “Need to clean that."

“I’ll get it fixed in Sloth—”

“Nope. Hold still.”

Anne dabbed away the blood, applied disinfectant, and stuck on a bandaid. Sasha winced, but didn’t pull away.

She stared at Anne. Something warm stirred in her chest.

“What is this feeling...?” Sasha wondered silently.

“You good?” Anne asked.

“Y-yeah! Peachy!” Sasha replied too quickly.

They laughed—awkwardly, nervously.

Then, a voice. Striker’s mocking, cruel.

Anne peeked—and gasped.

Crimson, Striker, Alessio, and the rest of the mafia had Blitz and Fizz cornered.

“We need to help them,” Anne said, standing.

Sasha stopped her. “Wait. They’ve got a plan.”

They watched as Fizz began to sing—a distraction. Blitz climbed, sneaking toward a dynamite stash near a window high above.

“They’re gonna blow the wall,” Sasha muttered. “We follow when they jump. Got it?”

Anne nodded. “With you all the way.”

Bullets flew. Blitz threw the dynamite. An explosion rocked the warehouse. Fizz and Blitz leapt through the shattered window.

“Now!” Sasha ordered.

She and Anne dashed from hiding, climbing the shelves.

Crimson spotted them.

“Shoot them down!” he shouted.

The girls climbed faster, dodging bullets, slipping, catching each other’s hands.

At the last second, they leapt.

The warehouse collapsed behind them.

They hit the ground hard, rolling. Dizzy, scraped, but alive.

Sasha paused, staring back at the wreckage.

“I lost my bracelet…” she whispered. “Ozzie made it... it let me pass for a demon.”

Anne gently patted her shoulder. “He’ll understand. You didn’t mean to lose it.”

But Sasha’s eyes welled with tears. “I ruined everything. I was awful to Blitz, didn’t help Fizz—”

Anne embraced her. “It’s okay. You tried. That counts.”

They stood. Walked.

Eventually, they reached a junkyard.

“How are we supposed to find them here?” Sasha asked.

Anne sniffed the air. “Smoke. This way.”

“Are you a hellhound now?”

But Anne was right. They found Blitz and Fizz atop a beam, talking—no longer fighting.

“HEY!” Anne called.

“HEY YOURSELF!” Blitz shouted back.

“You need help getting down?”

“Nope!” Fizz said as his robotic limbs did the work.

When they landed, Blitz ruffled Anne’s hair. “Still in one piece, kid.”

“Stop that!” Anne laughed.

Sasha apologized again to Fizz, and to Blitz.

“No hard feelings,” Blitz said. “You were there for him when I couldn’t be.”

Fizz smiled. “We’re good. And I know Ozzie won’t be mad.”

He pulled something from his pocket. Sasha gasped.

“My bracelet?! How?!”

“I have my ways,” Fizz smirked.

Blitz found a car and hotwired it.

As they drove, conversation filled the space. Anne learned Crimson was Moxxie’s dad. Sasha learned Fizz did use Tai Chi—and impressed Blitz.

They stopped at a bus station.

“Sloth Ring, right?” Blitz asked.

“Yeah. For her check-up. I’m going with,” Anne said.

They waved goodbye, watching the imps drive off.

Quiet fell.

Anne finally answered Sasha’s earlier question.

“Marcy’s in a coma. She.. Sacrificed herself.”

Sasha froze. “Tell me everything.”

Anne did.

Sasha hugged her tightly.

“I’m going with you. We’ll face this together.”

Anne smiled through tears. “All three of us. Together again.”

A bus rolled to a stop.

“After you,” Sasha said.

Anne grinned. “Don’t mind if I do.”

They boarded. The doors hissed shut.

As the bus pulled away, neither of them saw the cloaked figure in the shadows, silently watching.

Chapter Text

Things in Hell were finally starting to look up. Sasha, with Anne by her side, got to visit Marcy in the hospital—awake at last. That alone lifted a huge weight off Sasha’s chest, and Anne’s too, considering how sick with worry she’d been.

Marcy had lit up the moment she saw Sasha again. All that endless searching had paid off—Anne finding Sasha in the most unexpected way imaginable.

Another burden lifted for Sasha: reconnecting with Marcy, and even more surprisingly, how she and Anne had started to grow closer again. Their friendship felt healthier than it had in a long time.

And yet, Sasha couldn’t help but feel flustered around Anne sometimes. That fluttery nervousness kept showing up, no matter how often she tried to ignore it. Eventually, she brought it up to Fizz.

“That’s an easy one,” Fizz had said, grinning. “You’re totally in love with Anne!”

Sasha had blinked at him in disbelief, stammering, “Pfft, what?! N-no way! Just because I realized I’m bi doesn’t mean I’m into Anne! There’s no chemistry whatsoever!”

“Uh-huh,” Fizz teased, “Sure, Sash.”

Sasha had pouted, trying to shove the idea aside. Anne couldn’t have stolen her heart... right?

Even if there was chemistry, there was no way she’d admit it. Besides, there were bigger things to worry about.

Like today—the annual clown pageant, hosted by none other than Mammon, the King of Greed.

Sasha was buzzing with excitement. It would be her first pageant since becoming Fizz’s assistant performer. But Fizz? He seemed nervous, despite her checking in on him that morning. She’d gone to his and Asmodeus’s room in her demon disguise, already dressed and made up for the event—cheek scar covered, makeup subtle but effective.

Fizz stood at the vanity, staring at the gray patch over his right eyebrow. Asmodeus lounged nearby, watching him pace.

“Oh, shit! Mammon’s gonna notice that,” Fizz muttered, frantically rummaging around. “Ozzie! Where’s my foundation?!”

Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “This is, what, year ten? You’ve done this stupid pageant nine times already and you win every single time. Why do you keep stressing about it?”

“I wanna make Mammon proud, okay?” Fizz replied, slumping onto the couch. “He’s... really passionate about clowning. He expects perfection. I have to be perfect.”

“Fizz, no one’s perfect. You don’t need to run yourself into the ground just to impress that greedy bastard,” Asmodeus said, stepping closer. “Maybe sit this one out. Let someone else take the stage for once.”

“I can try,” Sasha offered from across the room. “I’ve picked up some solid moves, not to brag.”

Fizz scoffed lightly. “I had to fend off creeps before the robots. Now I just have worse ones. Besides, I have to do this.”

Asmodeus frowned. “I don’t like how many creeps you’ve got now—thanks to Mammon. And I really don’t like making life-sized dolls of you for him. Pretty sure you don’t either.”

Fizz muttered, “A toy is a toy,” his tone tight and frustrated.

Sasha tried to cool things down with a calm, friendly reminder to breathe. Fizz listened, calmed himself, then said, “This is important to me, Ozz. Mammon’s been my idol since I was five. I can’t just... not compete. I’d be letting him down. I’d be letting the fans down.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow. Mammon, his childhood idol? That was... unexpected.

“Mammon can eat my arse—in a bad way,” Asmodeus replied flatly. “Fizz, I’ve known him since the beginning of Hell. He’s always sucked. Doesn’t even do clown shit anymore.”

Seeing the way Fizz deflated, Asmodeus sighed and handed him a jar of foundation he’d had the whole time.

“I just don’t want you doing this for someone else’s approval,” Asmodeus added gently. “Sometimes, your heroes let you down.”

“I know, Ozz. But this... this is for me. I don’t wanna lose.”

Sasha and Asmodeus shared a look—different kinds of concern, but equally deep.

Eventually, Sasha placed a hand on Fizz’s shoulder and smiled. “Then you won’t be doing this alone. I’m with you. We’ve got this.”

Fizz chuckled. “Thanks, Sash. Let’s do our best.”

While Fizz got ready, Asmodeus quietly mulled something over.

Elsewhere, Blitz was slouched on his couch in a dark apartment, eating cereal and watching TV when his phone buzzed.

“Yello?” he answered with his mouth full.

“Is this... Fizz’s former bestie, lifelong enemy, accidental savior, now recently-rekindled kind-of-friend, Blitz?”

Blitz raised an eyebrow. “Weird way to put it, but yeah, that’s me.”

“This is Asmodeus.”

“Oh, shit. The big Ozz himself! Uh, any particular reason you’re calling me on a weekend, Your Sin-ness?”

“You’ve lived rent-free in Fizz’s head for years. I figure he might actually listen to you.”

“Yeah,” Blitz agreed. “I was the one with all the strong opinions. Like the time he tried to convince me juggling was cool—it’s not.”

“He’s dead-set on re-entering the pageant,” Asmodeus continued. “I was hoping you’d help talk him out of it.”

“What? Why? Doesn’t he always win?”

“Because Mammon is a selfish, manipulative piece of SHIT,” Asmodeus snapped. “And Fizz won’t listen to me.”

Blitz paused, then gave a slow smile. “Alright. Count me in.”

“Excellent,” Asmodeus replied, relieved. “One more thing—Anne Boonchuy with you?”

Blitz looked at the sleeping teen on his beanbag. “Yeah, she’s napping. Lives here now. Why?”

“Sasha’s competing with Fizz for the first time, and I’m worried about her safety. She mentioned Anne saved her life, and—if I’m not mistaken—knows martial arts.”

Blitz scratched his head. “Not sure fangirls will back off just ‘cause Anne’s with me, but... she’s always trying to be helpful. Okay. She’ll come.”

“We’ll pick you up soon.”

The call ended, and Blitz walked over, nudging Anne. “Hey, kid! Wake up!”

Anne stirred, groggy. “Blitz...? Wha...?”

He smirked. “Get dressed. You’re gonna be a bodyguard today.”

As promised, a sleek, black limo rolled into the Pride Ring, stopping in front of Blitz and Anne. The door swung open with flair. Anne blinked in shock at the sight of such luxury, clearly not used to this kind of treatment. But the real surprise came when she spotted Asmodeus stepping out, towering above everyone — even taller than Stolas. Her jaw nearly dropped.

Blitz, already suited up in a sleek bodyguard uniform, gave a half-smirk, barely phased. He motioned for Anne to get in.

Inside the limo, Fizzarolli sat comfortably, only for his mood to sour the instant he caught sight of Blitz in the bodyguard getup.

Sasha, seated beside Fizz, didn’t know how to feel. Her eyes flicked over to Anne, who now had her curly hair pulled into a sharp ponytail. Dressed in a suit and knuckle guards, Anne looked unexpectedly badass. The moment made Sasha blush so hard she had to turn away.

Anne noticed, of course.

"Why’s your face red?" she asked as she slid into the seat beside her.

Sasha panicked. "It’s the weather!" she lied, wiping invisible sweat from her forehead.

Asmodeus and Fizz exchanged a quiet smirk — subtle, teasing. Even Blitz caught on and smiled to himself, watching Anne remain blissfully unaware of the effect she was having.

The limo came to a halt in front of one of Greed’s grand circus tents. A red carpet stretched toward the entrance, already lined with eager fans. Before the driver could even open the door, Fizz leapt out.

"Hup-hup—Hey!" he called, striking poses as the crowd cheered.

Sasha followed next. To her surprise, the crowd had fans of hers too — small hellhound pups and young implings waving with excitement. She gave them a composed nod. Being a role model actually felt... kind of nice.

Then Asmodeus stepped out, teleporting in his low-key form. Blitz tried to follow but tripped immediately, landing face-first on the ground.

“Crap,” he muttered into the pavement.

Anne sighed and offered a hand. “Come on. Let me help you up.”

Fizz, Sasha, and Asmodeus walked ahead on the carpet. Blitz dusted himself off, pulling a small sidearm from his coat as he caught up.

Anne raised her fists instinctively, scanning the area — but lowered them again when she realized there was no real danger.

The crowd’s cheers grew louder. The lights. The noise. The scent of fried food and glittering vanity. Blitz took it all in with a nostalgic breath.

“Wow,” he muttered. “Haven’t been to a crowd like this in years.”

Fizz shot a look over his shoulder. “Remind me again why you’re even here?”

Before Blitz could speak, Asmodeus jumped in. “I invited him! Extra security — you know how your fans get. Since I can’t stay with you the whole time, I figured he was the next best thing.”

Fizz raised a skeptical brow. “He’s the next best thing?”

Asmodeus shrugged. “He’s kept you safe before. I trust him. Same for Anne — she’ll keep Sasha safe.”

At that, Sasha raised a finger, pointing toward the crowd.

“You sure about Blitz?” she asked.

An imp child in the front row let out a giddy laugh — and Blitz immediately aimed his gun.

“Blitz!” Anne shoved his arm down. “He’s a kid!”

“You never trust a fan just ‘cause they’re small,” Blitz replied seriously, gun still in hand.

Anne snarled, “Put the gun down before you murder someone.”

“Fine, fine,” Blitz grumbled. “You’re still soft.”

As he walked off, Asmodeus laughed nervously while Sasha tried not to think about how endearing Anne looked defending that kid.

Fizz whispered beside her, “Mmm-hmm. L’il sus, babe.”

They strolled on, Blitz catching up with them as the crowd kept cheering.

“C’mon,” he said. “It’s just like old times. I’ll make sure no one gives you trouble.”

“You mean besides you?” Fizz shot back.

Anne crossed her arms. “Fizz. Blitz is just looking out for you. No need to be rude.”

“I’m not being rude! I just...” Fizz sighed. “I’ll be fine. I can handle myself.”

Sasha looked at him, concerned. No, he wasn’t fine. She could see it in his face — the tension, the effort to pretend. Maybe Asmodeus was right. Maybe Blitz really was needed.

And then, with a green puff of smoke, Mammon appeared.

“Aaay, there he is!”

Mammon’s booming voice cracked like a whip through the tent, cheerful and smug with a thick Australian accent. He clapped his golden claws around Fizzarolli’s cheeks, holding the jester's face like a prized collectible.

“How’s my bright, shiny, brand-new baby doin’? Ready to snag that win again this year, yeah?”

Fizz’s response came muffled, squished between Mammon’s claws.

“You know it, Mammon sir.”

Mammon dropped Fizz unceremoniously back to the floor, chuckling.
“Goooood. You’ll need that fire, mate. I scoped the competition this year, and it’s stiff. So you're gonna have to bring more than fireworks—like, I dunno… maybe fix that sad sack posture.”

Fizz straightened up immediately, spine like a board.

Mammon grinned and finally noticed Sasha standing nearby, having watched the entire exchange silently.

“Sashy! How are ya, lass?” he said with exaggerated warmth. “Big day for ya, eh? First-time nerves settin’ in?”

“Y-yeah,” Sasha replied with an awkward laugh. “First clown pageant. Can't wait, sir!”

But Anne, standing beside her, could tell the laugh wasn’t genuine. Something was definitely off.

Mammon’s attention snapped back to Fizz. He gave the imp’s paper-thin belly a friendly-yet-too-hard pat.

“Not gonna lie, Fizzie—you're lookin' a bit chungo, yeah?” He jabbed Fizz’s abdomen with a clawed finger, making Blitz lower his sunglasses in shock. Anne’s expression soured immediately.

Mammon glanced at Sasha, then jabbed a thumb toward her.
“People like 'em skinny as hell—like Sasha here. You? Might wanna shed a few pounds before we gotta redesign the Fizzie dolls.”

Fizz’s smile faltered.
“Oh—right, sir. Of course. I’ll… I’ll work on that.”

Sasha looked like she wanted to say something, apologize even, but she didn’t get the chance.

“What?!” Blitz and Anne exclaimed in unison, stepping forward.

Blitz strode up to the group, sunglasses off, jaw tight. Fizz flinched slightly—nervous about introducing him.

Mammon eyed Blitz with a mix of curiosity and disdain.
“Oh? And who’s this dumpster-diver ya brought with ya?”

Blitz didn’t miss a beat.
“Hi, yeah, nice to meet you. I’m the guy who saw through your fake-ass bullshit the day I spent my life savings on your shit-covered, dick-circus you call a performance. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Fizz let out a brittle laugh.
“Ha! He’s… always like this. Thinks he’s funny.”

“Offended,” Blitz muttered flatly.

Mammon flashed a grin at Blitz, sharp as broken glass.
“Right, yeah. You can shut your filthy mouth now, boy.”

He turned back to Fizz and Sasha, still grinning.
“I’ll see you two on stage. And don’t forget to smile, Fizzarolli. Same to you, Sasha.”

Fizz offered a rigid salute with his forced grin. Sasha mirrored it with a weaker one.

Mammon leaned in, teeth glittering.
“The smile is the face people like to seeeeee frooooom you!”

Then—poof—he vanished in a cloud of green smoke.

Blitz stared at the empty space.
“Wow. That guy sucks so hard.”

“Agreed,” Anne added flatly.

Fizz exhaled, already tense.
“Look, Blitz—I don’t know why Ozz brought you here, but could you please not mouth off to my boss? I need this gig.”

Blitz arched an eyebrow.
“Why? Isn’t the royal birdman enough for you?”

“I just… I just need it, okay?!” Fizz snapped, voice cracking with frustration.

Before Anne could step in, Sasha raised her hands gently to calm him down. But Anne’s patience had thinned.

“Sasha, that fat sack’s a jerk! Blitz was trying to help! You were uncomfortable too—why can’t either of you stand up to him?!”

Sasha’s tone dropped cold.
“Anne, that’s enough. Fizz is right. Mammon is our boss. Talking back gets you nowhere.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me say the three words, Anne. Zip it.” Sasha’s voice was steel.

Anne stepped back, irritated. Blitz put a hand on her shoulder with a look that said We tried.

Sasha turned to Fizz, who murmured under his breath:
“Smile inside and out…”

Fizz walked forward onto the red carpet, waving to the crowd. Sasha followed, mimicking his steps, though guilt tugged behind her smile.

The crowd cheered louder.

“We love you, Fizz! Ready to win again?!”

Fizz chuckled nervously.

“Oh, pfft. Well, I wouldn’t assume, but I’ve got an act that’ll definitely—”

“—make you lose!” two voices interrupted in eerie unison.

Fizz and Sasha turned sharply. A demon girl with aquatic features flipped her shimmering fin-hair and moved aside to reveal her sister. The crowd roared at the sight of the two posing dramatically.

The Glam Sisters had arrived.

Sasha instantly pulled out her phone, eyes scanning rapidly. Her expression tightened.

Glitz and Glam… Envy Ring… professional performers. Great.

Fizz swallowed and forced a smile.

“Ah… fun! You girls competing too? That’s… nice.”

Glitz sneered.

“Shut up, you fugly imp.”

Sasha clenched her fists. How dare she!

Glam chimed in.

“We’re not here to chat—we’re here to win.”

Fizz nodded calmly.

“Wow. What attractive attitudes.”

“Seriously?!” Sasha hissed under her breath.

“Like we care what your opinion is, Fizza… uh…”

“—rotty!” Glam blurted, cutting Glitz off.

“Ugh! I was still thinking of one!” Glitz snapped.

“Should’ve been faster.” Glam grinned, flipping her sister off.

The bickering escalated until—

“ENOUGH!” Sasha shouted, stepping forward.

Everyone—including the crowd—went silent. Fizz, Blitz, and Anne looked at her in alarm.

Sasha's eyes blazed.

“Listen here, Flotsam and Jetsam—Fizz won’t be the only one dealing with your slimy act today. I’m performing too. So get ready, suckers. It’s two-on-two now.”

Blitz snorted.

“Damn. And I thought I was the savage one.”

Sasha stood tall, fire in her voice.

Glitz glared.

"You got some nerve, little girl.”

“Yeah, we’ll crush you anyway, you…”

“—scrawny-ass broad!” Glitz interrupted with a smirk.

Sasha blinked, half confused, half insulted, as Anne and Blitz instinctively covered her ears.

“Hey! I was gonna say that!” Glam protested.

“Too slow, bitch.” Glitz said sassily to Glam while flipping the latter off.

They squabbled until Blitz rolled his eyes.

“You two can’t even keep your mirror act straight. It ain’t cute.”

“We don’t need to,” Glitz shot back coolly.

“We channel our energy into our performance,” Glam added.

“And into winning Mammon’s favor.”

Fizz forced another smile.

“Looking forward to seeing what you do. May the best clown—”

“—we plan to,” the sisters snapped, flipping both Fizz and Sasha off before strutting into the tent.

“…win,” Fizz muttered quietly.

“Oh, I am so ready to throw hands with those two!” Sasha growled, raising her fists.

Anne and Blitz immediately held her back.

“Sasha, chill! The crowd’s watching!” Anne hissed.

“Yeah, Sash,” Fizz added, trying to steady her. “Smile inside out, remember? I’m not offended. Don’t take them seriously.”

Sasha looked unsure, but nodded. She turned and bowed to the crowd, apologizing softly.

Just then, music swelled from inside the tent.

The show was about to begin.

The tent buzzed with anticipation as the competition officially began. Spotlights flashed, music blared, and costumed demons took the stage one by one, each act more elaborate than the last. Fizzarolli and Sasha waited in the wings, both wearing their performance grins. But behind his painted smile, Fizz was visibly shaking. He kept adjusting his cuffs, his breathing shallow.

Sasha leaned toward him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said too quickly. “Just stage jitters.”

From across the backstage area, Mammon loomed into view, flanked by flashing cameras and clapping sycophants. His gaze zeroed in on Fizz like a spotlight.

“There’s my boy!” Mammon cheered, bounding over. “Hope you're not choking up now, yeah?”

Fizz gave a nervous chuckle.

“No sir, just... preparing.”

Mammon bent down until they were eye to eye. “Don't prepare. Deliver. Got that, Fizzie?”

He gave Fizz a rough squeeze on the face, cutting off any reply.

Sasha’s hands curled into fists behind her back. She wanted to say something—anything—but that familiar cold coil of fear wound around her spine.

Mammon turned away with a grin. “Now, go give ‘em what they want. You’re a bloody legend, remember?”

He vanished again in his usual puff of green smoke, the air reeking of ozone and sulfur.

Fizz slumped as soon as Mammon was gone, his hands trembling.

Sasha stepped closer. “Fizz, you need to take a second. You're freaking out.”

“I said I’m fine,” Fizz muttered. “I have to do this. I have to.”

Before she could respond, a shrill voice rang from the audience.

“Boo! Sellout piece of shit!”

The crowd turned, confused, murmurs rising. Fizz flinched at the sound, his mask of confidence cracking.

“What the hell?” Sasha asked, scanning the seats.

A figure clambered up on a chair at the back. He was a scrawny, greasy imp with shaggy white hair and oversized glasses. His voice dripped with derision.

“Fizzarolli! Still selling your tired old shtick? You’re everywhere now, and it’s gross.”

From the catwalk above, Blitz’s voice rang out. “Oh, HELL no.”

Anne turned toward him. “You know that guy?”

“Yeah. His name’s Burnie Burnz. Longtime stalker, full-time asshole. He’s been on Fizz’s case since we were teens.”

Fizz stared wide-eyed at Burnie, visibly shaken. Sasha immediately stepped in front of him.

“Hey! Back off, creep!” she yelled. “Leave him alone!”

Burnie sneered.

“What’s this? You’ve got a girl now, Fizzie? You’ll work with her but not with me? Typical.”

Then, without warning, he shoved Sasha aside. She stumbled and fell, catching herself with a wince.

“Sasha!” Anne shouted, rushing forward.

Blitz, watching from above, snapped into action.

“Go check on her,” he told Anne. “I’ll handle this.”

Burnie stepped closer to Fizz, his expression twisted.

“You’re not even a clown anymore,” he spat. “Just a walking sex toy with an ego problem.”

Fizz backed away until his spine hit the backstage wall.

“Y-you don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Oh, I know everything,” Burnie said, voice soft and cruel. “Your bots can’t even get me off right, Fizzie. What kind of performer can’t do the one thing he was built for?”

Then Blitz landed between them like a thunderclap, sniper rifle drawn and aimed straight at Burnie’s face.

“One more word, you twat-stain,” Blitz snarled, “and I’ll turn your skull into a popcorn bucket right in front of these kids.”

Burnie raised his hands but kept grinning.

Fizz, now cornered, couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved as panic took hold.

“Fizz!” Sasha cried, scrambling to her feet. “Breathe, it's okay! You’re safe, I promise!”

Fizz’s hands clawed at his chest. He was spiraling, mind drowning in memories and shame.

Burnie laughed maniacally behind them.

Blitz didn’t hesitate—he slammed the butt of his rifle straight into Burnie’s face. The imp dropped, glasses cracked and nose bleeding.

“You’re not done with me, Fizzarolli,” Burnie growled as he staggered off into the crowd.

Sasha knelt beside Fizz, trying to steady him. Anne joined her, both speaking in gentle tones.

Mammon appeared out of nowhere in a swirl of green smoke and threw Blitz aside like a rag doll. Anne dashed to check on him.

Mammon lifted Fizz by the shoulders, inspecting his shaking form.

“You alright there, mate?” he asked with a menacing smile.

Fizz forced a trembling grin.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. Really.”

Mammon’s gaze narrowed.

“Tell you what. I’ll let the hotties go on first, give ya a minute to pull your shit together.”

He pinched Fizz’s cheeks, yanking him close.

“Get your shit together, Fizzie. You’re a bloody legend. You’re MY bloody legend.”

Then, just as quickly, Mammon spun Fizz like a top and sent him stumbling toward the backstage curtain.

Sasha stood frozen, guilt and fury battling inside her. Blitz limped over, brushing off the dust.

“Oh, shit,” he said quietly. “That guy got to you bad.”

Fizz steadied himself, barely.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you're not. And this clown act? It’s not worth it.”

“It is to me!” Fizz shouted back.

The Glam Sisters suddenly stepped through the curtain, their silhouettes glowing in the dark.

“Everything…” they said mockingly, laughing as they disappeared behind the drapes.

Sasha clenched her fists. Anne gently placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her.

Blitz stepped forward again.

“Mammon’s using you, Fizz. Because you're likable. And he's a flaming dumpster fire of a boss.”

Fizz clenched his jaw. “No, he’s not. He’s… just trying to make me better.”

Blitz narrowed his eyes. “'Better'? What do you mean by 'better'?”

Before Fizz could answer, music swelled. Lights brightened.

The Glam Sisters were on.

Fizz turned toward the stage, and for the first time, Sasha saw genuine fear on his face.

Fizzarolli barely made it offstage after the Glam Sisters’ performance.

He’d watched them from behind the curtain, each polished move, each perfect note and acrobatic twist making his chest tighter. Their act was flashy, confident, and undeniably good. Mammon was beaming the entire time.

Fizz's legs trembled beneath him. His breath hitched.

He turned away before anyone could see, bolting down the hallway. His boots echoed loudly against the floor. He didn’t stop until he reached his dressing room.

SLAM.

The door shut behind him. Locked.

Inside, his hyperventilating intensified. He dropped to his knees, gripping his head.

Outside the door, Sasha arrived seconds later, heart pounding.

“Fizz! Are you okay?” she asked, knocking gently. “Fizz, please talk to me!”

“I’m fine!” came the strained reply. “Just go. I’ll be out soon.”

“No. I’m not leaving you like this.” Sasha’s voice wavered. “You’re my friend too. Not just Blitz’s. Let me help.”

“I don’t need your help, okay?!” Fizz snapped through the door. “I need to win. I need to make Mammon happy. If I don’t, everything I worked for—everything—will be lost. And Mammon will—”

“Will what?” Sasha interrupted, her voice rising. “Torture you? Humiliate you? News flash, Fizzarolli—you’re not the only one he’s abused!”

Silence fell. Thick and heavy.

Fizz’s breathing slowed just a bit.

“…Since when did he abuse you?” he asked quietly, voice hoarse.

Sasha’s reply came bitter and cold.
“Like you’d care.”

“Of course I care!” Fizz shouted back, still behind the door. “You never told me! You just stood there and took it, like I did!”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Her voice cracked slightly. “This whole pageant—this whole circus—it’s not what I thought it would be. I thought it’d be fun. Competitive, sure, but not this. Not... terrifying.”

She turned to leave—until she heard him gasping again.

Her eyes widened.

“Fizz? Fizz, I’m sorry! Please—I didn’t mean it like that!”

From the far end of the hallway, a deep, familiar voice spoke.

“Sasha?”

She turned.

It was Asmodeus. The king of Lust stood tall, his normally calm expression twisted with concern.

“What’s going on?” he asked, approaching quickly.

“It’s Fizz,” Sasha stammered. “He’s having a panic attack. He locked himself in and won’t let me help. I— I tried…”

“I’ve got it,” Asmodeus said gently. “Go. I’ll handle it.”

Sasha looked like she wanted to argue—but something in his tone made her step aside. Her eyes shone with regret as she left, wiping tears from her face.

She hadn’t meant to yell. She hadn’t meant to snap. But the guilt was drowning her.

She walked down the hallway in silence, heart heavy, mind spinning with memories—and fears.

But something else crept in too.

That strange feeling.

The feeling of being watched.

She stopped.

A voice cut through the air like a knife.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the girl Fizzarolli replaced me with.”

Sasha froze. Her heart plummeted.

She turned slowly—and there he was.

Burnie.

Grinning. Smirking. Eyes filled with malice.

“You again?” she spat. “How did you even get in here?”

“I slipped past the crowd,” Burnie said with a shrug. “Thought I’d ask you to take me to Fizzie. After all, you’re such a loyal friend.”

“In your dreams, you creep,” Sasha hissed. “He wants nothing to do with you. Especially after the shit you pulled earlier.”

Burnie’s smile twisted into rage. “Oh, really? So that’s how it is?”

He lunged.

Sasha ducked, bolting down the hallway. Her heart raced, panic blooming. She didn’t get far.

She tripped—a bad landing—and pain shot through her ankle. She cried out, clutching her leg.

Burnie approached slowly, laughing under his breath. “There’s no escaping me, sweetheart. You think you can keep Fizzie away from me? Nah. I’ll end you if that’s what it takes.”

Sasha began to hyperventilate. Her vision blurred. She pressed herself back against the wall, shaking.

But then—

WHAM.

Burnie’s wrist was caught mid-swing.

“Touch her,” a voice growled, “and I’ll break you.”

Anne stood between them, holding Burnie’s wrist in a crushing grip. Her face was calm. Cold. Deadly serious.

Sasha blinked through her panic.

Anne... she saved me.

Burnie sneered. “Another wannabe hero. Cute.”

Anne’s voice dropped. “You wanna bet?”

She slammed him against the wall, twisting his arms behind his back.

Burnie yelped and thrashed. “Not bad, but not good enough!”

He whipped his tail around her ankle and managed to trip her, lunging for a punch. Anne blocked it and slugged him in the jaw.

Their brawl escalated fast—fists flying, tails whipping, claws scraping.

Burnie landed a hit to Anne’s jaw and took off running.

Anne winced, adjusted her jaw with a sharp twist, and pulled out her walkie-talkie.

“Anne to Blitz. Burnie Burnz is headed toward Fizz’s dressing room. Do you copy?”

“Blitz to Anne. Heard you loud and clear. Finding a detour. Over and out.”

Anne turned and rushed to Sasha’s side.

“You okay? Did he hurt you?”

Sasha shook her head. “No. He didn’t get the chance—because of you.”

She winced as Anne helped her sit upright. “I just... tripped. I think I sprained it.”

“Other than the ankle... are you alright?”

Sasha’s mask cracked.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Her lips trembled.

Anne pulled her into a gentle hug.

Sasha clung to her, shaking.

“I’ve never been this scared before,” she whispered. “Not since... not since Mammon.”

Anne pulled back, her voice low. “What did he do?”

Sasha hesitated—then took a deep breath.

“I’ll tell you. I will. But right now, we need to get to Fizz. Burnie might already be there.”

“I’ve got you,” Anne said.

She tried to lift Sasha.

“Wait—what are you doing?!”

“Carrying you.”

Anne hoisted Sasha into a bridal carry. The latter blushed furiously.

“Not like that, you idiot! Put me down!”

Anne smirked and gently set her down again.

“Fine, fine. Piggyback instead?”

Sasha nodded silently, cheeks still red.

As Anne carried her on her back, a gunshot cracked through the tent.

Sasha’s eyes widened.

“Blitz,” Anne muttered, picking up her pace. “Let’s go.”

Anne burst through the hallway, Sasha still riding piggyback. The sound of a gunshot had only heightened their urgency.

They reached Fizz’s dressing room.

The door was already wide open.

Inside stood Asmodeus and Fizz, both holding onto each other’s arms. Asmodeus looked protective—Fizz looked like he had just barely pulled himself back from the edge.

Sasha quickly slipped off Anne’s back, now hopping on one foot for balance.

She tried not to gag at the sight of Burnie’s corpse, split in half across the floor.

“Oh. So you two are an item?” Blitz said as he appeared behind the girls, arms crossed and glaring at Fizz and Asmodeus.

He then casually polished his gun, slung it over his shoulder, and added,
“Congrats, you goddamn hypocrites.”

Fizz winced, but Asmodeus simply raised an amused brow.

Anne nudged Blitz with a grin.
“Someone’s jealous.”

“Shut up, kid,” Blitz muttered, rolling his eyes.

Fizz turned, alarmed, when he saw Sasha’s swollen ankle.

“Sasha! What happened?! Are you okay?”

Asmodeus stepped forward, concern softening his face. Even Blitz looked taken aback.

“I tripped while running from Burnie,” Sasha muttered. “Sprained my ankle.”

“She would’ve been hurt worse if I didn’t step in,” Anne added.

Sasha flushed with embarrassment but nodded in thanks.

Blitz crossed his arms again. “Then it’s a good thing I shot the bastard. Who knows what he’d have done next.”

Sasha looked toward Fizz, guilt bubbling up again. “Fizz... I’m sorry.”

Fizz took a breath, stepping closer. “No, let me go first.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry for shutting you out. I guess I was so obsessed with being perfect for Mammon that I pushed away the people who actually matter—including you.”

Sasha smiled weakly. “And I’m sorry too—for yelling at you. I made your panic worse.”

Fizz nodded. “We’re okay. I forgive you.”

She chuckled. “Good. I forgive you too.”

Blitz cleared his throat. “Cute. Apology hour over? Or are you forgetting something?”

Anne joined in, arms crossed like Blitz.

Fizz and Sasha both turned to their respective best friends and apologized for being cold and distant. The apologies were accepted.

Then Sasha glanced at her foot.

“So... I guess you’re going solo now?”

Fizz looked at Asmodeus, who gave him a knowing smile.

“Not necessarily,” Fizz said.

“You mean...?”

“I know you love performing with me. And I love performing with you. So...”

Asmodeus raised a hand, fingers glowing with soft pink light.

“I’ll heal your ankle,” he said with a wink.

Sasha hesitated—but nodded and extended her foot.

Within seconds, the pain faded, and she stood up with ease.

“Oh wow... That actually worked. Thanks, Oz.”

“Anytime,” Asmodeus replied.

They turned toward the stage entrance.

Out in the audience, murmurs had turned into impatience. People were shouting Fizz’s name. A few even called for Sasha.

Mammon stood at center stage, sweating nervously.

“Don’t worry, folks! I’m sure Fizzarolli’ll be out soon with his assistant for one helluva show! Just hang tight!”

As if on cue, the lights dimmed.

Fog spilled across the stage.

Mammon grinned—until he saw Asmodeus materialize above the stage, calmly teleporting to the VIP box.

Then, center stage, Fizzarolli’s voice rang out, clear and confident.

“This is my last performance,” he sang.

A hush fell over the crowd.

Fizz and Sasha emerged, walking onto the stage beneath the lights. They weren’t dressed in flashy circus garb anymore. They were themselves—bare-faced, real.

Their performance wasn’t just spectacle. It was a statement.

A fire act opened the number, followed by synchronized flips, tightrope swings, and even some trapeze. The crowd cheered wildly, loving every moment.

And through it all, the lyrics cut like knives.

Fizz sang about exploitation. About being bought. About losing himself to Mammon’s greed and pressure. About reclaiming freedom.

Sasha joined in for the chorus, harmonizing in both voice and spirit.

Mammon, watching with an amused grin at first, slowly began to frown. His foot tapped. His eyes narrowed.

Fizz looked straight into the audience.

“...And that’s why I quit.”

He dropped the microphone.

Gasps.

Whispers.

Chaos.

Fizz turned and walked away.

Sasha picked up the mic with a sly smile.

“And for those wondering—yeah. Me too. I’m quitting. So sorry, not sorry!”

She dropped the mic as well and followed Fizz offstage.

Mammon stood, mouth open, popcorn spilling from his bag.

“WHAT?!”

In a flash, he teleported to the hallway just ahead of them, blocking their exit. He held his scepter to Fizz’s throat, eyes blazing.

“Quit?! What do you mean, quit?!”

Fizz stared him down, calm as ever.

“I mean I quit,” he said, stepping around him. “I’m done. G’day, mate.”

He flipped two middle fingers at Mammon in perfect sync, arms stretching behind him like ribbons.

Sasha stuck out her tongue as she walked by.

“See ya never, sucker!”

Mammon trembled, his skin rippling with barely-contained rage. Six extra eyes blinked open on his forehead. Electricity sparked around him.

Then—

BOOM.

A giant, metallic spider leg slammed onto the stage behind them.

The circus tent quaked.

Sasha and Fizz turned, stunned.

From the smoke, Mammon’s full demon form emerged—towering, monstrous, furious.

“You ungrateful little shits!” he roared. “I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING! I RAISED YOU LIKE THE SON I NEVER WANTED!”

Fizz slapped away the giant finger pointed at him and stood tall.

Mammon’s gaze turned to Sasha.

“YOU! You think you're strong now, huh?! Did you forget what I DID to you?!”

Sasha didn’t flinch.

“I remember. And I don’t care anymore. I’m not afraid of you. I’ll stand by Fizz no matter what. So back the hell off!”

Then the roar of fire erupted behind them.

Asmodeus, in his full demon form, descended from the rafters, wings ablaze.

“You’d better back the fuck up, Mam,” he growled, his voice shaking the arena.

Mammon laughed bitterly.

“Well, look at you, playing hero. You sure you want your little secret getting out?”

Fizz and Sasha exchanged worried glances.

Asmodeus narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t care anymore.”

Fizz’s eyes widened.

“Ozz?”

Mammon smirked. “If you let him go, I could tell everyone—”

“That I love him?” Asmodeus said plainly. “Because I do.”

Fizz blushed. Sasha grinned. The audience exploded in cheers and chants.

“I knew it!” they shouted. “I knew it!”

Mammon, momentarily stunned, looked around as the crowd pulled out their phones to spread the news like wildfire.

Mammon blinked, cheeks flushed in frustration.

“Oh… shit. You dirty bitch.”

He hissed and slithered between them, whispering into Sasha’s ear.

“You’ll regret this. Just like the last time. Remember that scar?”

Sasha flinched, fury flaring in her eyes.

Mammon turned to Fizz and snorted green smoke in his face.

Then he raised his scepter and unleashed an implosion of green energy.

CRASH.

The entire circus tent began to collapse. Screams rang out as the structure shattered and fell.

The explosion rocked the entire tent.

Green smoke rolled out in thick waves, choking the air. Screams echoed as audience members scrambled through the rubble, blinded and coughing.

Blitz and Anne ducked behind overturned seating as wooden beams crashed down, sparks flying from shattered lights above.

“Fizz! Sasha!” Blitz shouted, coughing violently. “Where the hell are they?!”

Anne pushed aside a curtain with one arm, waving smoke from her face.

They didn’t have to look far.

The green fog began to lift—and what emerged was a vision of protection.

Asmodeus, still in his full demonic form, crouched low to shield Fizz and Sasha beneath him. His vast, armored wings curled around them like a fortress.

Fizz clung to him, arms around his neck, eyes wide with relief. Sasha, still trembling, gave a quiet nod to Asmodeus.

“You okay?” he asked.

Fizz nodded into his chest. “I am now.”

Sasha exhaled slowly, then looked back over the wreckage of what used to be the circus tent. Smoke still hissed from collapsed structures. But Mammon was nowhere in sight.

Behind the wreckage, Glitz and Glam stirred, buried under debris.

Glitz groaned. “So… does that mean we win?”

Before Glam could answer, a massive wooden plank dropped directly onto them with a loud thud.

“…never mind.”

Later, after everyone had escaped the wreckage, the group piled into a long black limo that sped away from the chaos.

Fizz and Asmodeus were pressed together on one side, arms wrapped around each other with affectionate ease.

Blitz, wedged uncomfortably between Asmodeus and the limo wall, looked deeply unamused.

Anne and Sasha (now in their human forms) sat opposite, equally squished. Sasha was doing her best not to blush, her face far too close to Anne’s.

“So…” Blitz muttered, raising an eyebrow. “Who tops?”

Fizz groaned.

Asmodeus grinned wickedly.

Before the teasing could continue, Sasha cleared her throat.

“Okay. Could we all just maybe… get a little space in here?”

“Oh, my bad,” Asmodeus said, chuckling. “I’ll switch back to my low-key form.”

With a shimmer of pink light, the towering demon shrank down to his normal size, freeing up the seats instantly.

Everyone exhaled in unison.

“Thank Satan,” Blitz muttered. “My lungs were about to get flattened.”

“Same,” Anne added, stretching her arms.

Sasha gave Asmodeus a quick nod.

“It’s not an offense. I just needed to breathe.”

“None taken,” Asmodeus replied with a smirk.

But the moment of calm didn’t last.

Anne noticed Sasha staring out the window, silent, her expression unreadable.

“Sash,” she said gently. “Something on your mind?”

Sasha blinked. She looked at Anne… then at Blitz, Fizz, and Asmodeus, all of them waiting.

She took a breath.

“I guess… it’s time I finally told you what Mammon did to me.”

“What?”

Blitz sat forward. “You too?”

Anne looked stunned.

Fizz reached out, gripping Sasha’s hand.

“She told me... he abused her,” he said softly.

“You were WHAT?!” Blitz, Anne, and Asmodeus said in unison.

Sasha closed her eyes and nodded slowly.

“I never told anyone. I knew how badly Mammon treated Fizz. So one day, I tried talking to him. Privately. Just... asking him to ease up.”

Her hand trembled.

“And for that… I got this.”

She turned slightly and pulled back her shirt collar.

Across her upper back, faintly visible even through old healing, was a jagged scar.

Anne’s eyes filled with tears. Fizz covered his mouth.

“He told me,” Sasha continued, “that if I ever tried to mess him up again, he’d make sure I’d never walk again. So I never told anyone. I thought I could handle it.”

She looked down.

“I didn’t want you getting hurt too, Fizz. You’ve already been through enough.”

Fizz was frozen, speechless.

Then he moved closer and hugged her.

“Sasha… you got hurt because of me. And you never told me?”

“I wanted to. But I didn’t want to add more pressure to what you were already carrying.”

Anne joined the hug without hesitation. Blitz leaned over and gave Sasha a comforting pat on the head. Asmodeus placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Sasha blinked in surprise.

Then she cried—softly. Quietly.

Not from fear.

From release.

Everything she’d held in for so long had finally been spoken. And no one blamed her.

No one turned away.

She was finally free.

Just like Fizz.

Chapter Text

Months had passed in Hell, and the days had settled into a rhythm—either slow and uneventful or wildly unpredictable with moments that veered into the bizarre. There rarely was an in-between.

For Anne, today was one of those unexpected days—an experience unlike any of the strange chaos she'd grown used to navigating.

It began on a surprisingly sunny morning in Pride. Anne awoke to the unmistakable scent of pancakes wafting through the apartment. In the kitchen, Blitz was humming cheerfully as he flipped another one onto a plate, unusually upbeat.

Loona cracked her bedroom door open just long enough to peek at the source of the noise before muttering something under her breath and closing it again. Apparently, she wasn't ready to deal with the day just yet.

Anne didn’t mind Blitz being in a good mood—it made the morning a little more bearable—but she couldn’t help but wonder what the occasion was. Something had clearly lit a fire under him today.

She considered asking, but held her tongue. Instead, she smiled when Blitz turned and greeted her with theatrical cheer.

"Good morning, Anna-Banana! Up and shining like a galloping stallion!"

Anne chuckled. “Mornin’ to you too, Blitz.”

He’d made pancakes for the both of them—Loona wasn’t up to eating yet, but Blitz still left a plate for her just in case.

Anne remembered her first breakfast in Hell, how the pancakes had been a strange shade of blue and the scrambled eggs a vivid purple. Thankfully, the butter and syrup had retained their familiar colors, and even more surprising, everything had tasted just like breakfast back on Earth.

It helped that Blitz actually knew how to cook. Over time, the surreal appearance of the food stopped bothering her.

After serving breakfast, Blitz disappeared into his bathroom to change for work. Anne noticed he was still in high spirits when he returned—though she did raise an eyebrow at his outfit. Instead of his usual red turtleneck and gray pants, he was wearing a white collared shirt, red bow tie, and black suspenders.

Curious, but not pressing it, Anne finished up her own morning routine. Loona eventually stirred and went through hers too, albeit much slower.

Just as the three were preparing to leave through the front door, Blitz surprised them again. He threw open the window leading to the fire escape and, without hesitation, jumped out.

Alarmed, Anne rushed to the fire escape and leaned over the edge, only to roll her eyes in relief. Blitz had landed safely after sliding down a metal pole dramatically, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off a perfect stunt.

“Oh, yeah!” he whooped triumphantly from the alley below.

“That’s Blitz, alright,” Loona said, chuckling under her breath—an expression of amusement she didn’t show often.

“Come on, girls! The van’s not gonna drive itself!” Blitz called up, still buzzing with energy.

“Okay, okay! We’re coming!”

With that, Anne and Loona made their way out of the apartment, descending the fire escape to join Blitz and head off for another day in Hell’s version of the working world.

Hours later, Anne and Loona sat in the office, waiting for Blitz and the rest of the I.M.P crew to return from an assassination job. The quiet was broken when a swirling portal suddenly opened in the ceiling, casting an eerie glow across the room.

Loona, already expecting it, had the grimoire out and ready. She’d gotten a heads-up from Blitz that the mission was complete, and sure enough, the portal shimmered to life. One by one, Blitz, Moxxie, and Millie stepped through.

“Damn good shooting, Mox. Clean and efficient as always! Millie—absolute carnage. Beautiful bloody mess in there,” Blitz declared with a wide grin.

He blew Millie a playful air kiss, and she responded by proudly flexing her biceps.

“What a great fuckin’ day this is!” he announced to the room, absolutely beaming.

Anne couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. Still, she found herself wondering—again—what exactly had Blitz so unusually chipper.

Fortunately, Moxxie voiced what she was thinking.

“You’re in suspiciously high spirits today, sir. And, uh... It’s weird to see you wear something that actually looks... not awful.”

He gestured toward Blitz’s white collared shirt, red bow tie, and black suspenders pants as he said this.

“Well, first of all—rude. Second—” Blitz smirked, “It’s the Full Moon. I’ve got a little meet-up with Stolas tonight.”

Anne’s eyebrows shot up in sudden realization. “Oh, right! The monthly thing! Man, I totally forgot that was tonight. I should really check the calendar more.”

“Don’t worry about it, Anne,” Blitz said with a shrug. “Anyway, figured I’d dress up a little. Been a few months since I dropped by Stolas’s place.”

“A few months?!” Moxxie exclaimed in disbelief.

“Yeah. The bird’s been giving me outs. Keeps saying stuff like, ‘Oh Blitzy, I know it’s the Full Moon, but you don’t have to come if you’re not feeling up to it, Blitzy,’” Blitz replied, imitating Stolas with an exaggerated, goofy British accent.

Anne tried not to laugh but couldn’t hold it in.

“That’s... unexpected, sir,” Moxxie said, still puzzled.

“Point is, I think tonight I could use some company. It’s been a good day, and I’m feeling energized. Why not?”

Then, from the couch, Loona piped up. “Oh shit. He’s getting bored with you.”

Blitz blinked. “Whaaaat?”

Loona didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, dude. If someone wants to see you less and less, red flag. If they give you easy outs, they’re probably hoping you’ll dip first. Passive-aggressive way to end things. Sucks.”

Anne looked over, slightly concerned now. Could Loona be right?

“And how do you know?” Blitz asked, a bit defensive.

“Because I do it all the time. Like right now.”

Without further comment, Loona stood and walked out of the office.

Blitz stared after her. “Well, shit. Guess I gotta up my game tonight.”

He snatched the grimoire off the reception desk and held it up with renewed purpose.

“Don’t worry. This book isn’t going anywhere if I’ve got anything to say about it. I’ll keep Stolas entertained so well, he’ll let us hang on to this thing for another year, easy.”

“I hope so, sir!” Moxxie added. “Business has been booming lately. Losing our access to the grimoire now would be a disaster.”

Blitz waved him off with a grin. “Relax, Mox. By the end of tonight, Stolas’ll be eating out of the palm of my hand... if you know what I mean. Eh? Eh?”

Moxxie turned bright red in frustration while Anne looked between them in confusion. Blitz burst into laughter.

“Stoooop...” Moxxie groaned.

“Grow up, Mox. Adults make suggestive jokes. Part of the job,” Blitz shot back, then walked into his office and began digging through a chest.

Anne, noticing his energy shift, followed him in. His movements were more frantic now, his face tightened with stress.

“You okay, Blitz? Are you sure you want to do this? I mean... you said you haven’t talked to Stolas in months.”

“Yeah, of course I’m sure, kid,” he said, brushing it off as he slammed the chest shut. “You got to catch up with Sasha and Marcy, right? No reason I can’t do the same with Stolas.”

He turned to her with a mischievous grin. “Besides, maybe you should be thinking about talking to a certain someone. You’ve been friends with Marcy for thirteen years. Kinda overdue, don’t you think?”

Anne blushed, scowling. “Blitz, come on! I’m waiting for the right moment, okay? Not now.”

“Alright, alright. Take your time.” He began putting the grimoire into a bag. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even mind if you invited Marcy over sometime. Could be fun.”

Blitz returned to the front desk, calling out, “Moxxie, I need you to hold down the fort and finish up the paperwork backlog.”

“What paperwork?” Moxxie asked—just in time for Blitz to dump a giant stack labeled JUST GIVE TO MOXSIE MOXXIE onto his head.

Crawling out from under it, Moxxie looked like he wanted to scream. “Satan’s sake! Can he not just use folders?!”

Anne, feeling bad, offered to help. Moxxie visibly relaxed. Millie, seeing the situation, decided to order coffee and sandwiches to keep everyone going.

Anne had never liked paperwork back on Earth—especially school assignments—but after months in Hell, she’d finally learned how to handle it. If she ever got back home with Marcy and Sasha, her parents might actually be impressed.

Two hours later, the pile was done, and the sandwiches had helped more than she expected.

With her share of the work finished, Anne decided to spend the last part of the evening doing solo combat training. But something was off. Her strikes were slower, her reflexes dulled. She was clearly distracted.

Millie noticed immediately. “Somethin’ on your mind, hon? You’re usually sharper than that.”

Anne sighed, lowering her stance. “It’s what Blitz said earlier... about Marcy. I want to tell her how I feel, but I don’t know how. What if she’s into boys? Or someone else? What if it just... ruins everything?”

Millie placed a comforting hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Take your time, sugar. If you need space to sort it all out, that’s okay too.”

Anne smiled softly. “Thanks.”

She turned to leave, activating her imp disguise. But just before stepping out, she paused and looked back at Millie.

“Hey... do you think we should check on Blitz? I know he’ll play it cool, but... I’m worried.”

Millie hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. That’s probably smart. It is the Full Moon after all, and Blitz is trying to make a good impression tonight.”

She grabbed her phone. “I’ll call Moxxie—and get Loona involved too.”

And with that, the plan was set in motion.

After rallying Moxxie and Loona to help, Anne and Millie made their way to the Lust Ring. Loona, having picked up Blitz’s scent earlier, confirmed that he was there—prompting everyone to head out immediately.

They arrived by bus, stepping into the pulsing, fluorescent-lit chaos of the district. Without wasting time, they began scanning for Blitz.

It took a while, but eventually, they spotted him in the distance, strolling with a shopping bag slung over one shoulder.

But Anne noticed something else.

“Hey… I don’t know if I’m seeing things, but are there three pastel-colored imps following him?”

“What?” Moxxie asked, grabbing the binoculars she offered. He peered through, then groaned and lowered them.

“Oh, crumbs. Not them again.”

Millie, taking her turn with the binoculars, sighed in recognition. Loona narrowed her eyes, already suspicious.

“You know them?” Anne asked.

“They’re not imps. They’re cherubs—angels,” Moxxie explained grimly. “They’ve got it out for Blitz. Looks like they upgraded their gear.”

“They tried to block us during a job once. We had to fight them off,” Millie added.

Anne blinked. “Wow. That’s... a lot.”

“Okay, less talk, more stalking,” Loona hissed. “If they’re here, they’re up to something.”

The group quickly moved out, tailing the cherubs from the shadows.

Hiding in an alleyway, Anne whispered, “Do they have names?”

“If I remember right, the red one is Cletus, the yellow’s Keenie, and the purple one’s Collin,” Moxxie replied.

They all peeked from cover just as Cletus spoke.

“Alright, it’s time to make our move—”

“No you don’t!” Millie growled as she dashed out, slamming Cletus to the ground. She stood over him with her axe, eyes blazing.

“W-What? How did—?”

Before Collin could finish, Loona darted out and knocked him down with a punch.

“Find you? We’ve been shadowing our dumbass boss all night. You’re not exactly subtle,” Loona snapped.

Anne finally got a clear look at the cherubs. Despite their threat, they looked oddly... harmless. Stuffed toy faces, toddler-like expressions—comical rather than terrifying.

But Keenie was already making a move toward Blitz.

Moxxie stepped out of the shadows and fired a warning shot near her. “Not very covert, are you?”

“You got a lotta nerve showin’ your faces here,” Loona added.

“A lotta nerve—and a LOTTA upgrades, mutt!” Cletus roared, slamming his robotic fist into Loona’s chest and launching a missile at Millie. She deflected it, but the blast sent her flying into a nearby adult store.

Moxxie opened fire as Cletus barked, “GET THEIR BOSS!”

Missiles screamed through the air. Moxxie fled, and Collin lined up a shot on Blitz—still unaware of the chaos behind him.

But Loona lunged, knocking the weapon aside. “No you don’t, bitch!” she snarled, accidentally firing a shot into a random incubus instead.

Blitz, unaware, bent to pick up a coin, just as the body fell nearby. “Hey, wake up, asshole,” Anne heard him say, and she let out a relieved breath.

The battle raged. Keenie flew at Moxxie, but Anne tried to intercept, failing. Millie re-emerged, ready to brawl.

Collin aimed at Loona, who grabbed the barrel and redirected it. His shots tore up the pavement toward Millie and Keenie’s skirmish.

Millie used her axe hilt to snatch a sewer lid, blocked Keenie’s blades, and shattered her arm-gear with a slam.

“Playin’ me doesn’t make you me, sweetheart—!”

Cletus yanked her back with a robotic arm, dragging Keenie with her. Keenie stabbed Millie’s leg, making her scream—but Moxxie shot her off.

“MOX!”

Millie hurled Keenie into a wall. Moxxie pinned her, aiming his gun.

“Welcome to Hell, bitch.”

But Keenie yanked him into the sky. Millie leapt onto Cletus, severed his arm, then stabbed his jetpack, launching them both airborne.

Meanwhile, Collin was raining bullets on Loona’s cover. One grazed her shoulder, causing a yelp and forcing her briefly into her human disguise.

“Loona! You okay?!” Anne cried, rushing to her side.

Loona winced. “It stings, but I’ll live.”

Anne fumbled for a bandage, eventually attempting to tear her shirt sleeve before Loona stopped her.

“Relax. Not fatal.”

“I know. I just... want to help.”

“You worry too much. I’ll head to Sloth later.”

Anne relented. Peeking out, she caught a glimpse of Collin’s face—open, sad, unsure.

He doesn’t look like he wants to be here, Anne thought.

Suddenly, Cletus crashed onto Collin. Millie stabbed Keenie’s jetpack, and all three cherubs froze in midair—before falling.

Loona, shifting back to her hellhound form, launched a missile at a rooftop pool to soften the fall.

Blitz, oblivious, continued walking. A Robo Fizz truck rolled by, hiding the destruction behind him.

Millie and Moxxie fell into the pool and began making out beside Keenie.

Cletus, now armorless, dragged his teammates to safety and used a remote to summon a portal.

Loona snatched it and crushed it in her fist.

“No! Please spare us!” Keenie cried. “That was our only way back to Earth!”

Anne blinked. “Wait—Earth? Aren’t you from Heaven?”

“You should’ve stayed there,” Moxxie growled. “Now you pay for what you did!”

“Yeah, and endin’ you feels like justice to me,” Loona said, raising her claws.

The cherubs screamed.

“NO!”

Anne stepped between them, arms wide.

Loona froze, stunned. Moxxie and Millie stared, baffled. Even the cherubs blinked.

“What the fu—Anne, move!”

“No! There has to be another way!”

“They tried to kill my dad! You’re letting them get away with it?!” Loona shouted, her voice cracking with tears.

“W-wait. Peanut-Head is your dad?!” Collin asked.

Anne cut in. “His name is Blitz, and yes, he adopted her. If you’d killed him, she’d be alone.”

The cherubs fell silent.

“But Moxxie and Loona are right—this can’t go unpunished. We need answers. Real ones.”

Anne crossed her arms. “Now both sides: How did this start? No yelling.”

Loona huffed. “Ugh, fine. But I wasn’t there for their first screw-up.”

“We’ll handle it,” Millie said.

They told their side: A mission to kill Lyle Lipton, an old millionaire. Blitz and the team were hired by Loopty Goopty—Lipton’s former partner. The cherubs intervened to save Lyle, who ended up dying anyway in the chaos.

The cherubs, from their view, were exiled from Heaven after that botched mission. Deerie, their boss, refused to let them return.

They wandered Earth aimlessly until captured by agents in suits—D.H.O.R.K.S.

“We pretended to be exorcist angels,” Cletus admitted. “Said we’d finish Blitz off for them.”

“That’s how we got here,” Keenie added.

Anne processed the story. Moxxie, Millie, and Loona looked furious.

“That’s low—even for humans,” Millie muttered.

“Another reason I should’ve ended you three,” Loona snapped.

“No one’s killing anyone,” Anne insisted. “Let me handle this.”

She turned to the cherubs, squatting down.

“Back off! You’re still a demon!” Cletus said.

“Seriously?” Anne deadpanned. “After I spared you?”

Loona growled for effect. Keenie instantly backpedaled. “Never mind! We take it back!”

Anne turned to Collin. “You looked… uncomfortable. Were you forced into this?”

“I—I...”

“He agreed!” Cletus cut in.

“Y-yeah, totally!” Keenie added.

Anne glared. “I’m talking to Collin.”

She softened. “It’s okay. I get peer pressure.”

Collin looked between his friends. Then he exhaled.

“I didn’t want this. I never wanted revenge. I wanted to go back the right way. But you two never listened…”

Tears welled in his eyes.

Cletus and Keenie exchanged guilty glances.

“We’re sorry, Collin,” Cletus said.

“We were too focused on Heaven,” Keenie added. “We’ll do better.”

Collin sniffled. “You promise?”

They nodded. And the group hugged.

Anne smiled, as Loona, Moxxie, and Millie looked on—stunned but impressed.

“You gonna apologize to us now?” Anne asked.

The cherubs blinked. “Uh... sorry for trying to kill your boss and wrecking your city?”

“Close enough,” Anne smirked.

“So what now?” Cletus asked. “We can’t stay here.”

“We’ll help. But no more helping D.H.O.R.K.S. or scamming people,” Loona warned.

“Deal.”

Millie chimed in. “Let’s make it look like you died in Hell. That’ll throw ‘em off.”

With Anne's help (by borrowing an Asmodean Crystal from a succubus) , they placed the broken armor in front of the D.H.O.R.K.S. building with a mocking note.

Later, Anne opened a portal to Earth—specifically, an orphanage.

“Maybe try being guardian angels for kids in need. A fresh start.”

“That’s... generous,” Cletus said.

Anne smiled, her disguise fading, revealing her human self.

The cherubs gasped. “A living human?!”

“Long story. And yeah—I have friends stuck here, too.”

“Like us…” Collin murmured.

“Exactly.”

She waved toward the portal. “Go, before it closes.”

They stepped through, waving goodbye. “We’ll send a sign if we make it back to Heaven!”

After the portal vanished, Loona patted Anne’s shoulder.

“You’re a good peacemaker, kid.”

Anne shrugged. “Always have been.”

Millie grinned. “We’re proud of you.”

Anne offered to accompany Loona to Sloth, but Loona declined with a small smile. “Just don’t tell Blitz.”

Anne nodded in agreement.

They all parted ways for the night.

Back in Pride, Anne collapsed onto Blitz’s couch in silence. A few minutes later, she pulled out her phone and texted:

“Hey. Want to come over?”

Both Marcy and Sasha replied with a quick yes.

Anne smiled.

Tonight wasn’t just about resolving someone else’s battle. It was her turn now—to take Blitz’s advice and finally tell Marcy how she felt.

While Anne waited for her friends to arrive, she hurried through her routine—cleaning herself up, adjusting her hair, changing her clothes. She didn’t take long; excitement sped her through it all.

She sat on the edge of the couch, clutching her phone tightly, eyes glued to the group chat screen.

Then, a message popped up from Marcy:

"LOOK OUTSIDE 😄"

Anne rushed to the window by the fire escape. Down below, Marcy and Sasha were waving up at her, smiling wide. Marcy, especially, was almost bouncing on her heels.

Anne grinned and slid the window open. “HEY GIRLS! HOLD ON, I’M COMING DOWN!”

Sasha and Marcy looked up, expecting her to head for the stairs.

Instead, they both gasped in unison when Anne jumped from the window—then watched, stunned, as she expertly slid down the fire escape pole, landing gracefully.

“Ta-da!” Anne said, striking a pose with jazz hands.

Sasha rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Show off.”

Marcy burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. “I’m sorry! It was the jazz hands, Anna-Banana! Completely caught me off guard!”

After calming down, she added, “But seriously, I’m glad you didn’t break anything.”

Anne chuckled. “Guess my agility’s improved.”

“Alright,” Sasha said, arms crossed. “Cute acrobatics aside, are we going inside or not?”

“Oh! Right—come on, I’ll show you where I’m staying.”

Anne led them up through the apartment building until they reached the door to Blitz and Loona’s place. She opened it with a small, proud flourish.

Sasha stepped in and looked around. “Huh. Cozy... Not trying to be rude.”

“None taken,” Anne said, closing the door behind them. “It’s not fancy, but it’s got its charm.”

Marcy's eyes lit up. “Ooh! A beanbag chair!” She giggled, plopping herself onto the red beanbag in the corner.

“You really don’t mind I’m living somewhere like this, Mar-Mar?” Anne asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Why would I?” Marcy replied with a shrug. “It’s not about where you live—it’s about staying in touch. That’s what matters.”

Anne grinned. “You know, staying with Stolas has made you nerdier.”

Then, realizing how it sounded, she stammered, “I-I mean wiser! That came out wrong.”

Marcy laughed. “Anne, seriously, it’s fine. I know what you meant.”

Just then, Sasha, who had been scanning the room, paused. “Okay, what’s up with the black scribbles on these pictures?”

She pointed to the wall where photos hung—each one with Blitz’s face scribbled out.

Marcy stood, joining Sasha. Her breath caught.

Anne walked up behind them. “That’s... Blitz’s doing. After the fire. He’s still carrying it. He hates what happened—what he lost.”

“Oh god...” Marcy whispered, her eyes soft with sorrow.

Back in Sloth during her recovery, Anne and Sasha had explained the fire incident between Blitz and Fizz. It all came rushing back to Marcy now—along with what Stolas had confided in her: that Blitz didn’t believe Stolas ever truly cared about him.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

“Mar-Mar?” Anne asked gently.

“Huh? Oh—yeah. Just thinking. That’s all.”

“Good,” Sasha said, her voice more upbeat. “We were starting to worry.”

Anne decided to shift the energy. “I’ll grab something to eat. You two like breakfast for dinner, right?”

Moments later, the three sat around the small table eating blue pancakes and purple eggs—Anne’s cooking surprisingly on point. Working at Thai-Go back on Earth, paired with observing Blitz, clearly helped jog her skills.

After dinner, they relaxed in the living room. They played charades, laughed, caught up. Still, beneath the surface, thoughts stirred.

Anne hadn’t forgotten why she invited Marcy over. She still hadn’t told her how she felt. And Sasha—she was thinking about confessing to Anne.

But none of them voiced it. Instead, they played truth or dare—light and easy, until round four, when Marcy picked “truth.”

Sasha leaned forward. “What’s one big secret you’ve never told us?”

Sasha immediately regretted asking it. But Marcy just looked down at her hands, then stood.

She spoke carefully. “Remember the crystal from the thrift shop? The day we ended up in Hell—Anne’s birthday?”

Both girls nodded.

“Yeah. What about it?” Anne asked.

“Seriously, where are you going with this?” Sasha added, her tone cautious.

Marcy inhaled deeply. “It... wasn’t an accident. I sent us here on purpose.”

“WHAT?!”

“On purpose?! Are you out of your mind?!” Sasha shouted, standing.

“Not for anything evil! Please, let me explain!”

Sasha sat back down reluctantly, glaring. Anne remained silent—frozen.

“My dad got a job out of state,” Marcy continued. “We were moving. I panicked. I thought if I left, our friendship would fall apart. I ran away. Found the crystal. Recognized it from a book I read... and used it.”

The silence that followed was heavy, unbearable.

Then Sasha laughed bitterly. “So you kidnapped us. To protect your fantasy. Jesus, and I thought I was the toxic one.”

“Sasha, please—”

“DON’T!” Sasha snapped, rising again. “You betrayed us. You lied ! I’m out. I’m going to Fizz and Oz. At least they’re honest.”

She stormed out, slamming the door.

Anne sat, still not looking at Marcy. Not because she was shy—because she was hurt.

Marcy’s voice cracked. “Anne... I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll find a way to fix this. We’ll get back to Earth, I swear.”

Anne stood slowly. Her voice trembled with rage.

“You say that like everything’s fine. It’s not.”

“Anne—”

“Sasha and I almost died because of you! You nearly killed yourself to heal Stolas! And you brought us here—to HELL—to escape moving?! That’s the stupidest and most selfish thing I’ve ever heard!”

Anne’s chest heaved. Her eyes were wild. But her expression quickly changed from anger to regret at what she saw.

Marcy had took a step back, lips trembling.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “It was stupid. I was stupid to think you’d ever forgive me.”

She turned to the door, glancing at Anne with sadness in her eyes.

“Goodbye, Anne.”

Anne panicked. She extended a hand, desperately reaching out.

“Marcy, wait—!”

But she was already gone. Anne rushed to the hallway, but Marcy had vanished.

The girl collapsed to her knees and sobbed.

Blitz arrived hours later, visibly irritated—until he saw Anne in the hallway, crying.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling beside her.

Anne couldn’t get the words out, only mumbling incoherently.

“You wanna talk inside?”

She nodded.

They sat across from one another at the kitchen table.

“I got into a fight with Marcy,” Anne said eventually. “I called her stupid. Sasha yelled at her too. And now... she’s gone.”

Blitz blinked. “You fought with Marcy?”

Anne nodded again. Then she explained everything—excluding the cherub incident.

Blitz let out a slow sigh and rubbed his temples.

“What she did was messed up,” he said. “But if she waited this long to come clean, it probably means she did change. Maybe you two were just... too quick to blow up.”

Anne looked down. “Maybe. But I was going to confess to her tonight! Now she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Blitz said. “You’ll patch things up.”

Anne huffed. “Fine. What about your night? How’d it go with Stolas?”

Silence.

“...Blitz?”

He flinched. “No. I’m not okay.”

“What happened?”

He inhaled, then exploded.

“He said he wants his spellbook back permanently. Said I don’t have to visit him anymore. And then—then—he gave me this!”

He raised his gloved hand, revealing a glimmering amber gem.

Anne’s eyes widened. “An Asmodean Crystal?”

“Yup. And to top it off... he said he cared deeply for me.”

Anne grinned. “That's code for ‘I love you.’ What did you say?”

“I thought he was joking. So I cracked a line. Then realized... he wasn’t. I panicked. Called him a pompous rich asshole. And he portaled me out.”

Anne’s grin faded.

“I don’t get it,” Blitz said, voice quieter. “Why would a prince fall for someone like me? Imps are nothing to them. I thought he was just like the others... but now? I don’t know.”

Anne reached for his hand. “Maybe we both suck at love.”

Blitz looked at her, caught off guard. Then he looked away.

“Yeah... but I think I suck worse.”

Meanwhile, Marcy ran.

She didn’t know where she was going—only that she needed to be anywhere but near Blitz’s apartment. Away from Anne’s voice. Away from her anger.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She had no right to cry.

She’d ruined everything.

Telling Anne and Sasha the truth—the real reason they ended up in Hell—was supposed to be a step toward healing. But instead, it had been a breaking point. Their reactions, the anger in their voices, the hurt in Anne’s eyes…

They had every reason to be furious. But it still hurt.

It hurt that they didn’t believe she had changed.

All this time, Marcy had worked so hard to redeem herself—to earn back their trust. But clearly, it hadn’t been enough.

She made it to Stolas’s palace without even remembering how she got there. Her feet simply moved on their own. Numbly, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her, her thoughts a blur.

She considered going straight to Octavia’s room to rest. Hide. Sleep this awful day away.

But then she heard something.

A sound—quiet, trembling. Crying.

And it wasn’t hers.

Heart tightening, Marcy followed the sound upstairs, her footsteps soft against the marbled floor. The faint weeping led her to the vast, empty ballroom. Shadows stretched across the space, silver-blue in the low light.

There, crumpled near the edge of the room, was Stolas.

He was on the floor, shoulders shaking. His regal feathers were disheveled, and he barely seemed to notice her until her footsteps echoed close.

He turned suddenly, blinking in surprise. Then, quickly, he tried to compose himself.

“M-Marcy? You’re back,” he said, wiping at his damp eyes. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean for you to see me like this.”

Marcy’s concern deepened. “Where’s Octavia?”

“She left with Stella for the evening—shortly after you went to visit Anne and Sasha.”

Marcy nodded slowly. “Oh. Okay.”

She hesitated. “Can I ask... why you’re upset? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Stolas took a deep, shaky breath. He looked down at his hands as he answered.

“It’s alright, dear. I suppose... it was inevitable.”

Then he lifted his gaze, and there was something hollow in his voice when he added:

“Blitz and I… we’re finished.”

Marcy froze.

Her lips parted, but no words came. She just stared as Stolas quietly explained what happened—the conversation, the gift of the Asmodean Crystal, the attempt at sincerity, Blitz’s reaction, and the painful way it ended.

By the time he was done, it wasn’t Stolas who was crying.

It was Marcy.

Her tears came slowly at first, then all at once, her face crumpling in grief. She sank to her knees beside him, hands trembling.

“Marcy?” Stolas reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Darling, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

She looked at him, face soaked, breath stammering.

“I messed up,” she whispered. “I got them hurt. I brought them here. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I put them in danger. I ruined everything!”

She covered her face with her hands, sobbing into them. “I broke everything we had—and now I can’t fix it. I don’t think Anne or Sasha will ever forgive me.”

Stolas’s arms wrapped around her carefully, drawing her into a soft embrace like a shield.

“That’s not true,” he said gently. “That’s not true at all.”

But Marcy couldn’t hear him. Not really.

Because in her mind, she was replaying Anne’s voice. The way she had screamed. The way Sasha had stormed out.

They hated her.

And one of them—Anne—had been the one she loved most.

Chapter Text

Marcy wasn’t sick, but she felt hollow, quietly devastated by the night before. The memory clung to her like smoke, leaving her numb. She stayed curled up on Octavia’s couch, wrapped in silence and half-shadow. Her eyes were open, but her thoughts were far from the present.

She wasn’t the only one burdened.

Stolas, too, was steeped in melancholy. Hoping to distract himself, he’d retreated to his private garden, lying on a lounge chair beneath the elegant shade of a royal canopy.

A book rested in his hands, unread. Beside him sat a delicate tea table with a half-full glass of wine, its surface trembling lightly from a warm breeze brushing past the palace pool.

He wore a robe unlike his usual crimson—this one light pink, patterned with purple leaves and finished with magenta tassels. A silky magenta ribbon was tied neatly around his waist, completing the look with an oddly wistful grace.

Unbeknownst to the prince, a familiar nuisance was scaling the outer garden wall.

“‘Ello, ‘ello, ‘ello, Stolas!” Blitz's voice rang out suddenly.

Startled, Stolas peered over the top of his book. The moment his gaze landed on Blitz, his expression soured. That face—the source of last night’s bitter pain. He immediately covered his face again with the book, lips drawn tight.

"You have—AH!"

With a yelp, Blitz slipped and tumbled into a thicket of thorny bushes. Moments later, he emerged, muttering curses as he wrestled a snapping carnivorous plant from his ankle. Despite the spectacle, he marched forward with unwavering nerve.

Overhead, Marcy had heard the commotion. Intrigued and cautious, she slipped into Stolas’ bedroom and out onto the balcony. Using her demon disguise, she summoned an invisibility spell to mask her presence as she eavesdropped.

Blitz strutted forward, grinning like nothing had happened.

“You haven’t answered my texts,” he said, as if this were a casual reunion. “I sent you some real funny shit. So, what gives?”

“I was hoping,” Stolas replied without lowering his book, “that my lack of ‘ha ha’s’ would suggest I didn’t want to speak with you.”

Blitz rolled his eyes. “Come on, Stolas. We had a rough night, yeah—but you always want to hear from me.”

In an attempt to force attention, Blitz pressed his finger into the center of the book, pushing it down until their eyes met. Stolas sighed and closed it with a soft snap.

“Blitz. What do you want?”

“I wanna feel like I’m earning my way to Earth, okay? So get that tight, feathered ass outta the chair and into the bedroom so I can fuck it!”

Blitz climbed into Stolas’ lap without hesitation. Stolas didn’t react. No spark. No smirk. Just a cold, detached silence. With a bitter breath, he rose from the chair and stepped away.

“Wow. Poetry,” Stolas said flatly. “I’m sure such eloquence would’ve swept me off my feet—on another day.”

Blitz blinked. The shift in tone startled him.

“Uh—shit—yeah, okay, that came out wrong. But you like it when I talk dirty. Usually.”

Stolas froze. Slowly, he turned his head and gave Blitz a dark look.

“We don’t do words, remember?” Blitz added, grinning. “We do sex.”

From above, Marcy winced and instinctively filtered the sentence with a quick censorship spell.

Stolas gave a dry, unimpressed laugh.

“As shocking as this may sound, Blitz, I’m not in the mood to ‘do sex’ with you,” he said, making air quotes with deliberate mockery. “In fact, I don’t want to do anything with you right now! So, if you could respect that—”

“Oh, come on,” Blitz interrupted, following as Stolas walked away. “You don’t mean that. You always love seeing me.”

He leaned against a decorative column, throwing on a seductive smirk. Stolas shot him a look of barely contained anger.

“Seeing you right now is hard,” he snapped. “I already feel like shit.”

With a sigh, he set his book down and picked up a folded envelope from the tea table. Gold lettering glinted in the sun: You’re Invited.

“It’s bad enough I got this,” he muttered. “An invitation to some Anti-Blitzo party, and apparently, I’m an honorary guest. As your 'freshest ex'.”

Blitz’s brow furrowed. “Anti-Blitzo party? Who the fuck—?”

He lunged for the envelope, but Stolas swatted his hand away.

“Oh, it’s utterly childish,” Stolas said, his tone airy with sarcasm. “I’d never entertain something so petty.”

“Real classy of you to say that,” Blitz muttered, grabbing the invitation anyway.

“Still,” Stolas added slyly, “kind of them to invite me. Would be rude not to show up.”

Blitz opened the envelope and scanned the contents. His jaw dropped.

“Verosika?! Of course. That bitch.”

Marcy, still hidden above, tilted her head in confusion. The name meant nothing to her.

“I must admit,” Stolas said, arching a brow, “it’s quite telling that someone threw a party just to hate you.”

Blitz snorted. “Please. Everyone hates me for stupid reasons.”

He tossed the invite back and sauntered to the table, slumping into a chair.

“End of the day, they’re just bitter they couldn’t tie this ass down. I’m too much imp to simp.”

He kicked his feet up as he said it, grinning at his own cleverness.

“You really believe that?” Stolas asked, unamused.

“Yup. They couldn’t handle that I moved on.”

“Oh, so you’re used to breaking hearts and crushing feelings,” Stolas said as he approached. “Being the one who walks away.”

“If by ‘crushing feelings, ’” Blitz mocked the phrasing, “you mean ending it before it gets boring, then sure. I’m doing everyone a favor. Relationships are lame and a chore to handle.”

Stolas’s expression darkened, but his beak curled into a bitter, sarcastic smile.

“How fascinating. And yet… you’re here.”

Blitz hesitated, scrambling for a response. “I, uh, was hoping you’d see how good an angry fuck could be!”

That did it. Stolas stood, pointing to the garden gate.

“Get. Out.”

“What?!” Blitz yelped.

“I’m done!” Stolas barked. “The way you’re talking—it’s disgusting!”

“Don’t pretend this isn’t a fantasy of yours!” Blitz protested, stepping onto the table now, wild with energy. “You love being taken by someone you think is beneath you.”

Stolas turned sharply, white pupils showing up in his red eyes with frustration.

“I do not look down on you!”

“Oh really? You sure as hell act like it,” Blitz said, jabbing a finger.

“How many times do I have to—When have I ever?!”

Stolas sank into a chair, tired, his voice fraying while Blitz got off the table as he angrily stared at the former.

“You sound just like that Striker friend of yours,” he muttered. “The one who tried to kill me while you couldn’t be bothered to come and show up. Remember him?”

Blitz suddenly flinched, words catching in his throat.

“I—I didn’t know he’d try again! I stopped him the first time!”

“The first time?” Stolas echoed, stunned. Even Marcy blinked in surprise from the balcony.

“Shit—wait—I mean—uh—no one said—”

“You knew someone was trying to assassinate me?” Stolas said, voice hushed with disbelief.

“I stopped him!” Blitz insisted. “And I didn’t think you could actually get hurt! You’re immortal! You’re a prince!”

But Stolas only stared, wounded.

“And what do you mean, ‘couldn’t be bothered to come’?” Blitz snapped.

“My daughter needed her Hellbies shot! I told you! I sent Moxxie and Millie to save your feathered ass!”

He took a breath.

“Hell, even Marcy risked herself for you, took your injuries for you, and Moxxie told me that he and Millie tried to stop her in the first place! Anne was crying her eyes out, wishing she could’ve helped, because she was with me in helping Loona that day when it comes to getting the goddamn shot that I remembered telling you took 5 years to get!”

He fell silent, then exhaled.

“What I’m saying is… if me, my team, and Marcy could kick that guy’s ass without breaking a sweat, then I figured you could too.”

Stolas froze the moment Blitz mentioned Marcy’s name, though he didn’t turn to face him. His posture stiffened, his feathers ruffled slightly and his grip on the book in his hand subtly tightened.

Up above, still cloaked in her invisibility spell, Marcy felt the sting of guilt ripple through her. She hadn’t expected Blitz to bring that up. The memory of that day—the pain she chose to bear—resurfaced sharply in her mind.

Then Stolas spoke, voice low, tense.

“Don’t you dare bring Marcy into this.”

He still didn’t turn, but his fingers whitened around the book’s spine.

“I owe her my life for what she did. And now that you’ve reminded me… I suppose I owe your employees my life as well.”

But his other hand balled into a trembling fist, his next words breaking through with visible strain.

“I just wish Marcy hadn’t transferred my wounds onto herself like that! You were right—I’m immortal. I would’ve recovered. But when she got hurt…”

His voice faltered, cracking under the weight of the memory.

“I realized I wasn’t fine. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It terrified me—still terrifies me. It felt like losing Via.”

He inhaled shakily.

“If Marcy had died trying to help me, she wouldn’t have made it back to Earth. Where she belongs. And I’d never forgive myself for that.”

A heavy silence followed. The air between them was thick with tension—regret, defensiveness, and wounds still too fresh to touch.

Finally, Stolas turned. His expression was composed, but the bitterness in his smile was unmistakable. He gave a mocking bow, all elegance twisted into sarcasm.

“But of course, you’re right. Silly me. It’s not an imp’s place to protect a Goetia, is it?”

Blitz’s jaw clenched. He hated when raw emotion was buried under that polished mask. But still, he smirked.

“There it is. Took you long enough.”

Stolas’ mask cracked.

“That’s all you wanted, isn’t it?” he snapped. “For me to fall into your stupid narrative. That I’m just some pompous prince who thinks he’s better than you. But I don’t!”

His voice rose, sharp with frustration.

“Why do you think I’ve been so open with you? Letting everyone see how much I like you? I’ve tried—gods, I’ve tried so fucking hard—to spend time with you. Support you. I never said you owed me anything. But you can’t pretend I did nothing.”

Blitz, oddly calm, stepped closer. He reached out and took Stolas’ hand—not roughly, but gently. It was rare tenderness from him. For a moment, it almost looked real.

“You know, Stolas... I’ve spent all morning listening to love ballads,” he said softly.

Then, suddenly, he shouted in Stolas’ face.

“And that was still the GAYEST thing I’ve heard all day!”

Stolas recoiled, face twisting in fresh offense. He jerked his hand away.

“Do you ever feel remorse for what you do?” he demanded. “Have you ever apologized for anything in your life?”

Blitz whipped his tail in anger, his entire body bristling with fury. As Stolas turned and walked off again, Blitz snapped.

“Oh, you think I can’t apologize?! For what?! What do you want me to say, ‘Oh, sorry, I’ve spent my whole life assuming the worst because I’m convinced a prince could never love someone like me, and I’ve let my own self-hatred destroy every good thing I’ve ever touched’?!”

His voice cracked, and for once, it wasn’t performative. Blitz was unraveling. Marcy, still hidden above, felt a sharp tug in her chest. The scribbled photos she’d seen last night, memories of Blitz’s self-loathing, his loneliness, suddenly hit harder.

Stolas stopped in his tracks. His expression shifted slightly, surprised, maybe even moved. Marcy leaned forward, waiting. Expecting empathy.

Then Stolas spoke.

“Well. Yes. That.”

Marcy’s heart sank.

Well, yes, that?  What kind of freaking answer is that?!

She scowled invisibly. The silence that followed was suffocating—thick and awkward.

Blitz finally cut through it with his usual bite.

“Well, fuck you! I can sorry the fuck out of people, just you watch! I sorried Fizz so hard he cried! And I cried too!”

Stolas had reached the stairs by now. Blitz shouted after him.

“And I can sorry more people! Everyone but you! Because I don’t owe you dick!”

Without hesitation, Stolas slammed the door behind him, leaving Blitz seething on the other side.

From above, Marcy watched him—watched the defiance melt into quiet, simmering resentment. He turned away slowly, muttering under his breath.

“Everyone but you.”

Marcy released her spell and quietly shifted back into her human form, her heart pounding with everything she had just absorbed. It was too much. Overwhelming.

She had promised she wouldn’t eavesdrop again—but the moment was too explosive, too raw, too important to ignore.

She made her way toward the bedroom exit, only to freeze as Stolas suddenly appeared, eyes wide with surprise.

“Marcy? What are you doing in my room? Were you looking for something?”

She winced. There was no point in lying anymore. With a sigh, she confessed.

“I heard everything. I was on the balcony… listening.”

Stolas' expression faltered, and disappointment flickered behind his eyes.

“Marcy, you promised me you wouldn’t do that again. Why break your word?”

“I know, I know,” she said quickly. “But what you said to Blitz… it bothered me. I couldn’t help it.”

Stolas crossed his arms, brow raised. “What exactly did I say that upset you so deeply?”

“A lot of things!” Marcy snapped, surprising even herself with the edge in her voice. “You expected Blitz to be your knight, to mirror your feelings exactly, and you didn’t even care that he clearly has self-hatred issues!”

Stolas blinked, taken aback by her shift in tone. Calm but curious, he asked, “What makes you think I didn’t care about that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Marcy began, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because when Blitz broke down, your only response was ‘Well, yes, that.’ Like it was nothing. Like you didn’t care at all!”

She stepped forward, fists clenched.

“You could’ve said anything. That you wanted to help him find peace with himself. That you’d try to start over. But no, you just made snide comments and bragged about getting invited to some Anti-Blitzo party you didn’t even know about!”

Realizing she had shouted, Marcy abruptly stopped, covering her mouth, guilt surfacing fast. Stolas didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His silence said more than any retort.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to yell. I was just—”

“No,” he cut in gently, raising a hand to stop her. “You were right.”

His voice was quiet now, full of resignation.

“I didn’t try hard enough to understand Blitz. I acted cold when I should’ve shown compassion. I see that now.”

He dropped his hand and looked away.

“But… I still don’t understand how I got that invitation. Ignoring it feels rude.”

Marcy frowned. “But that makes it seem like you hate him. It’s an Anti-Blitzo party.”

“As strange as it is,” Stolas said, “I don’t hate him. Not for what he said last night. I’m just… hurt.”

He softened his voice.

“I’ll go. But only for a drink. Nothing more. I promise.”

Marcy sighed, still uneasy. “Okay. Just… don’t give up on him. Not yet.”

Stolas gave a soft laugh. “I’ll try not to, darling. And I hope you won’t give up on your friends either. Anne still cares for you, even if it doesn’t feel that way right now.”

Marcy forced a smile for his sake. She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she appreciated the attempt.

Hours later, she helped him prepare for the party. His final outfit: a crimson ruffled shirt, black high-waisted pants with silver buttons, a cape draped elegantly around his shoulders, and a regal hat with a crown affixed on top. The look was theatrical, dignified, quintessentially Stolas.

He searched for his invitation until the last minute, only to realize it was missing. Eventually, he gave up and left without it, stepping through the glowing portal with one last amused comment.

When the portal closed behind him, Marcy’s smile finally faded.

She couldn't hold it anymore. Not after everything that had happened.

Not when, deep down, she still didn’t feel like she deserved to smile at all.

Back at Blitz’s apartment, Anne stood silently at the fire escape window, watching the city outside. Her eyes didn’t focus on anything in particular. She was lost in thought.

She kept replaying that heated moment last night. The yelling. The fury. The way Sasha's voice had cut through the air in front of Marcy, angry at the latter's betrayal.

And then there was what Marcy had said (as soon as Sasha stormed out and Anne got her turn to be angry at Marcy), that it was stupid to think Anne would ever forgive her.

Those words echoed inside Anne like a splinter twisting deeper every time she tried to breathe. She hated how it made her feel. Every bit of it.

Eventually, she moved to the kitchen table, slammed her fist against it, and shouted, “Goddammit! Why did I have to be so harsh on her like that?!”

The pain from the impact only made her angrier. She stormed into the bathroom, ran the cold water, and thrust her bruised knuckles beneath the stream. It numbed the sting, but only slightly.

After a while, she turned off the faucet and sank into a beanbag chair in the corner of the room. She rubbed her sore hand, trying to calm herself, but her mind refused to let go of the memory.

Even the beanbag reminded her. Marcy had laughed, so softly and adorably, when she sat on it the night before. That small moment returned now, amplified by guilt.

Anne pressed her palms to her face and sighed, her whole body heavy with regret. She wished she could take back her words.

Minutes passed. The front door opened, and Blitz walked in with the energy of a man who’d just lost a fight he never wanted. He made his way to the couch and collapsed onto it with a look of exhaustion.

“You had it rough, huh?” Anne said, walking over.

Blitz let out a deep sigh. “Yeah. I tried everything I could to get Stolas to listen, but he was sour as expired cheese.”

That morning, Blitz had told her all about his plan. He was hopeful, really hopeful. He’d spent the hours beforehand listening to love ballads on the radio, sporting a ridiculous grin while asking Anne to wish him luck.

But looking at him now, it was obvious that the plan hadn’t worked.

Anne needed to know what had gone wrong, so she asked. Blitz, as he often did with her, didn’t hold back. He told her everything.

Anne was stunned into silence.

“Stolas said all that?” she finally managed. “That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“I know, right?” Blitz snapped. “And the funniest part? He acted like I’ve never apologized to him before. But I have. Twice! First at Ozzie’s, then when he got birdnapped.”

His voice was full of anger, but behind that anger, Anne saw something else—hurt.

Blitz pulled something from his pocket: an invitation. Anne leaned in to see. The card featured a cartoonish drawing of Blitz being stabbed. She recoiled.

“I’m guessing Stolas is already at this shitty party. Pretty sure all my exes are there too.”

Anne’s eyes widened. “Wait, exes? As in, plural?”

It was something Blitz hadn’t mentioned earlier.

She took a closer look at the card and frowned. “Verosika? Seriously? What makes her so sure you and Stolas even dated?”

Anne remembered Verosika from the body-swapping incident. She’d briefly inhabited Blitz’s body that day, and the memory of how Verosika had treated him stuck with her. Even so, Anne had found the succubus strikingly beautiful.

“She probably thinks that stupid night at Ozzie’s counts,” Blitz muttered. “But we never dated. Not once.”

“Got it,” Anne said with a nod, finally understanding.

Blitz turned back to the couch and fell into silence. His eyes drifted to his Asmodean Crystal, now glowing faintly on the coffee table. His expression became unreadable.

Then, out of nowhere, he stood and clenched a fist. Anne followed him into the kitchen, half-expecting him to do something reckless.

But all he did was grab a coffee mug.

Despite the calm action, there was a determined glint in his eyes.

“I’ll show that birdbrain. If he wants remorse, he’s gonna get remorse. It’s Operation Apology Tour.”

He took a sip from his cup. Anne raised a brow.

“You really think you’ll pull that off?”

“I can apologize to the people I’ve messed with,” he said.

“Except Stolas, right?” she replied flatly.

“Forget him,” Blitz huffed. “Why should I apologize when he’s the one confusing the hell out of me?”

Anne crossed her arms. “So… yes, then.”

Blitz rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his coffee. He grabbed the invitation, his wallet, a stack of papers, and a marker before heading toward the door.

As he stepped outside and climbed into his van, Anne leaned against the frame.

“How many people are we talking about here?” she asked.

Blitz shrugged. “How bad could it be?”

He started jotting names down on one of the papers. The top three were: Moxxie?, Annoying Kid, and Southern Bitch.

“The last two are targets we hunted down. The ‘Southern Bitch’ was named Martha. As for the 'Annoying Kid', I think he's named Eddie, so don't worry if you thought you were the target,” he added when Anne raised an eyebrow.

She nodded afterward, then asked, “Okay, but how did you even get that invitation in the first place?”

“I swiped it off Stolas while he wasn’t looking.”

“…And how many exes do you have?”

“Ten. Maybe.”

Anne smirked. “You really are irresistible, huh?”

“Oh, shut up. Like you don’t have charm yourself, kid.”

Anne scoffed. “I don’t have any charm at all. If someone ever did like me, it’d have to be dumb luck.”

Blitz didn’t reply, but he remembered something. He remembered Sasha blushing the day Anne wore a bodyguard uniform at the clown pageant. He smirked anyway.

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

He climbed further into the van and called out, “I’m gonna be out a while. I need to buy gift baskets for all the people I plan to apologize to.”

“You want help with that?” Anne offered.

“Nah. This tour’s a solo thing. But thanks.”

He paused, then added, “Maybe you should start one too. Could help.”

Anne was caught off guard by the suggestion, but nodded. She watched him drive off until the van vanished around the corner.

She stood there, still for a while.

“Easier said than done,” she murmured, heading back toward the apartment.

But just as she was about to go inside, something shiny caught her eye on the ground.

She walked over and bent down.

It was Marcy’s hair clip—green, gleaming in the light. She picked it up, staring at it for a long moment. It must’ve fallen when Marcy left the night before.

Anne looked back toward the road Blitz had taken, her expression unreadable.

Then she closed her hand tightly around the hair clip and walked inside without another word.

She knew exactly what she needed to do next.

Back at Stolas’ palace, Marcy was still struggling.

Normally, when both Stolas and Octavia were away, she would spend the day chatting with the butlers, much to their enjoyment. Sometimes she would even feed Stolas’ carnivorous plants, who were surprisingly tame when approached calmly. They only snapped when impatient or hungry, and Marcy had learned how to handle them.

But today wasn’t normal. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation or chores. In her role as royal advisor, she gave the butlers the day off, and when the plants chirped at her cheerfully, she responded with only a tired nod.

She also usually looked forward to video calls with Octavia whenever the young princess visited her mother’s palace. But not today.

It wasn’t that Marcy was beginning to dread talking to her. It was that she couldn’t find a way to speak about what happened with Anne and Sasha without her heart sinking.

Octavia tried her best to cheer her up, and Marcy did her best to smile through the call. But even the act of pretending to be okay was starting to wear thin.

Worse than that, Marcy kept thinking about a nightmare she once had. A cruel voice, born from her own insecurities, echoed inside her.

Do you think Anne and Sasha will forgive you for sending them to Hell? Do you really think Anne will ever love you after what you’ve done?!

She shuddered slightly.

Hoping to quiet her thoughts, Marcy stepped outside for some fresh air. She wandered to the edge of the pool and sat down. The clean, still water reflected her face with haunting clarity.

The soft sounds of water lapping against the pool’s edge began to soothe her. She closed her eyes and quietly began to sing a familiar song from Earth.

🎵 And we will come back home

And we will come back home

Home again 🎵

🎵 And we will come back home

And we will come back home

Home again 🎵

🎵 From now on

From now on

Home again 🎵

Marcy stopped abruptly. She had just heard something—clapping.

Her body tensed. She opened her eyes and looked around, confusion mixed with alarm. She was sure the palace was empty. Had someone broken in?

“What a lovely voice you have. Such a shame no one else heard you. You would have drawn a crowd,” said a soft, unfamiliar voice.

Marcy stood up quickly and scanned the area.

“Who are you? Show yourself,” she demanded.

“I apologize,” the voice replied with calm politeness. “I seem to have made myself invisible. Allow me to correct that.”

In the next moment, a figure faded into view.

Marcy gasped.

Standing before her was a demon with sleek black and dark purple skin, four glowing orange spider-like eyes, and the body of an axolotl. They wore a midnight blue cloak with a large orange Eye of Sauron symbol on the back. Beneath the cloak, they had armored pieces that blended black, gray, and purple in an elegant but menacing design.

“I see I surprised you,” the demon said smoothly. “Marcy Wu.”

Her mouth opened slightly in shock. “H-how do you know my name? And how did you even find me?”

“I meant no harm,” the demon said, bowing their head slightly. “I’m an observer. A watcher, if you will. I’ve known about your arrival in Hell for some time, but I didn’t have the courage to speak with you until now.”

They stepped forward, lowered to one knee, and gently took her hand.

“My name is Legion. It’s an honor to meet you.”

They kissed her hand politely. Marcy blushed.

“Oh. Uh, it’s nice to meet you too, Legion,” she replied.

Legion chuckled as they rose to their feet. “You sing beautifully. And you’re quite courteous. Yet I wonder why someone like you is spending the day alone in a grand palace like this.”

Marcy thanked them, but the compliment faded quickly as her sadness returned.

“I’m just... not in the mood to talk to anyone.”

Legion gave a sympathetic nod. “I understand. Perhaps I’ve chosen the wrong moment to visit. If you need time alone, I can leave.”

They turned to go, but Marcy quickly stepped forward.

“No, wait. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. Please stay. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

Legion paused. They seemed surprised, then smiled.

“As you wish.”

Marcy showed them around the palace, both the gardens and the grand halls. She spoke freely and seemed genuinely happy for the first time in hours. Legion listened with quiet interest, clearly impressed when Marcy mentioned her advisory role and the magic she learned from Stolas.

As they walked, Legion watched her carefully. They were glad to see her smile, but they couldn’t help wondering what had caused her sadness in the first place.

Eventually, Legion asked gently, “Forgive me for asking, but what made you so upset earlier?”

Marcy hesitated, then nodded and asked them to wait outside for a moment.

Curious, Legion agreed.

Marcy went into Octavia’s room and opened her backpack. From within, she pulled out the familiar photo of herself with Anne and Sasha, the one she kept tucked away like a secret.

When she returned, Legion was seated at a tea table. Marcy sat across from them and placed the photo on the table.

Legion looked at it and fell silent. They seemed to recognize the girls in the picture. Though they never said it aloud, they remembered seeing Anne and Sasha at a bus station in Greed once.

“You alright?” Marcy asked.

Legion blinked and smiled softly. “Yes. Just lost in thought.”

They pointed to the photo. “These two—are they your friends?”

Marcy looked down. “I don’t know anymore. I did something terrible, and I don’t think they’ll ever forgive me.”

She told Legion everything she had shared with Octavia earlier. She spoke of what she’d done and how it had hurt Anne and Sasha.

Legion listened quietly.

“So,” they said after a pause, “you tried to preserve your friendship with them by bringing them here. But they responded with anger.”

Marcy nodded. “I had already changed. I meant to tell them the truth. But I waited too long. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“The worst part is... I fell in love with one of them. Anne. I admired her. Her strength. Her kindness. And now... what good is any of that? I was selfish. I lied. I don’t care if I’m smart—I had no common sense. I deserve to be hated.”

Legion said nothing for a long while. Their expression was unreadable.

Inside, however, they were burning with rage. How dare these girls make someone like Marcy cry? Their hands clenched briefly beneath the table.

Then, they smiled again.

“You know,” Legion said in a calm, reassuring tone, “it doesn’t have to end this way. I can help you make things right.”

Marcy wiped her eyes. “Really?”

“Yes. I can. Do you trust me?” Legion held out their hand.

Marcy hesitated. Then, slowly, she reached forward and took it.

“I trust you,” she said softly.

“Good. Now look into my eyes. Just relax and focus.”

Marcy was confused but obeyed. Legion’s glowing orange eyes seemed to shimmer unnaturally. The longer she looked, the heavier her eyelids became.

A moment later, she went limp, collapsing into Legion’s arms.

They chuckled quietly to themself, their voice no longer as gentle as before. Dark mist rose from their body, wrapping around Marcy like smoke.

In the blink of an eye, Legion disappeared into her.

Marcy’s eyes snapped open. They now glowed with a haunting orange hue.

The same smile, sinister and controlled, spread across her lips as Legion’s voice echoed from her mouth.

“Time for the revenge plan to begin.”

Elsewhere, in the Gluttony Ring, Sasha sat inside Beelzebub’s mansion, quietly sipping a boba tea. It had been Anne who first introduced her to the queen of Gluttony a few months back. Since then, Sasha would occasionally stop by for a drink, taking in the relaxed atmosphere.

But today, she wasn’t relaxed at all.

Her mind lingered on the previous night’s fight. Her anger at Marcy still lingered like a bitter aftertaste, though beneath it was a gnawing question she couldn’t silence.

Had she been too harsh?

Before Sasha could dwell on it further, the sound of labored breathing reached her ears. She turned sharply, just in time to see Anne rushing in, panting and bent over.

“Finally… I found you… at last,” Anne said between breaths.

Sasha blinked in surprise. “Anne? What are you doing here? Sit down first. Catch your breath.”

She got up, allowing Anne to take her seat. After a moment, Anne sat down and managed to calm her breathing.

“I was looking for you. I tried Fizz and Ozzie’s tower first, but they told me you came to Gluttony. So I ran all the way here,” Anne explained.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Okay, you found me. Now what?”

“I need to talk to you about Marcy.”

The moment Anne said her name, Sasha stiffened. Her expression darkened, and she looked away.

“Forget it. There’s nothing to say. Don’t waste your breath.”

“No,” Anne said firmly. “Just listen. If you still want to walk away after, fine. But let me say what I came here to say.”

Sasha groaned, rubbing the back of her neck. “Fine. Say it, Anne.”

Anne hesitated before speaking.

“I yelled at Marcy too. Right after you stormed out. I was just as angry. But then Blitz told me something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.”

She looked Sasha in the eye.

“He said Marcy had changed. That maybe we were just too fast to explode on her. And… he’s right.”

Sasha crossed her arms. “So what if he is? Marcy can say she changed all she wants, but that doesn’t erase what she did. We can’t forget that.”

“I’m not saying we should,” Anne replied. “I’m just saying we could try to go easier on her. Maybe even start over. I feel awful about what I said to her. I want to make it right. Are you with me?”

Sasha didn’t answer at first. She was still hurt. Still angry. But beneath all that, Marcy was still her friend. Always had been. She sighed.

“Fine. I’m with you. We’re heading to Stolas’ palace, right?”

Anne grinned. “Where else would Marcy be?”

Sasha rolled her eyes and stood. She tossed her empty cup in the trash as they headed out, making their way toward the Pride Ring.

The trip was long, and they arrived at the palace a few hours later, both walking the last leg of the journey on foot. Anne stepped forward and knocked on the front door.

No one answered.

“Huh. Guess the butlers have the day off.”

She tested the handle, but the door didn’t budge. That was unusual. The palace doors were rarely locked.

“If no one’s home, let’s just leave,” Sasha said, turning away.

Anne frowned. Something felt off. In Stolas’ home, someone was usually around, even when others stepped out. Her instincts told her there was another way in.

Without warning, she stepped back and looked up at the balcony.

Then she climbed.

“Anne, are you nuts?! Get back down before you break something!” Sasha called out.

But Anne was already halfway up, gripping the balcony rails with determination. The last time she’d done this, she’d nearly fallen—until Marcy pulled her up. This time, she managed on her own.

She pulled on the balcony doors. Locked.

“Seriously?! These are locked too?”

Panic crept in. Maybe Stolas had locked everything before heading to that ridiculous Anti-Blitz party. Maybe Marcy convinced him to.

Then Anne noticed something strange. A faint orange glow shimmered around the doorknobs.

Curious, she leaned in, inspecting it closely. A magical seal. Not Stolas’ aura. Not Marcy’s.

She quickly climbed back down and landed in the bushes with a thud.

“Took you long enough,” Sasha said, helping her out.

Anne dusted herself off. “The doors are sealed with magic. But not from Stolas or Marcy.”

She pointed to the main doors, where the same glow shimmered faintly.

“Stolas uses bluish purple magic. Marcy’s is green. This one’s orange. Which means someone else is here.”

Sasha clenched her fists. “Who the hell would do something like that?”

“That would be me. Or rather, us,” said a voice from behind them.

They spun around. Standing there was Marcy.

But something was wrong. Her eyes glowed orange, and her voice carried an eerie tone.

Anne narrowed her eyes. “Who are you? What did you do to Marcy?”

Sasha stepped forward. “And why the hell is the palace sealed? Is this a joke?”

The figure tilted their head, smiling wickedly.

“Curious, aren’t you? The name is Legion. And yes, we know who you are, Anne Boonchuy and Sasha Waybright.”

Their eyes widened in shock.

“As for what we’ve done to Marcy and the palace, it’s simple. We’re helping her get revenge.”

“Revenge?” Anne echoed in disbelief.

“Exactly,” Legion said, smiling through Marcy’s lips.

Sasha clenched her fists tighter, fury growing by the second.

“Marcy welcomed our visit. But when she mentioned how you two treated her, we decided to give her what she needed. A place of peace. A mindscape. While we handle things out here.”

“That’s not helping her. You trapped her!” Sasha shouted. “What’s your real plan, freak?”

Legion chuckled. “We told no lies. Marcy has a brilliant mind. Rare for a human. We intend to preserve it. Make her one of us, part of Hell’s finest minds. And when she agrees, it will be perfect.”

“Like hell she will!” Anne snapped, lunging forward.

Legion moved fast. With a cruel smirk, they punched Anne in the face, sending her tumbling. Sasha rushed to her side and helped her up.

Orange magic crackled around Legion as dark green tentacle arms extended from their back.

“This is going to be fun.”

And so, the battle began.

Anne and Sasha fought together, striking with coordinated attacks. But Legion was fast—too fast. Possessing Marcy’s body made the fight even harder. They dodged blows with fluid grace, their smirks never fading.

“Impressive,” Legion said as Anne missed an ankle kick. “But predictable. We’ve faced countless enemies. You’re no different.”

The battle raged on, intense as ever. Anne and Sasha activated their demon disguises in hopes of gaining an edge.

But when Legion transformed, it was horrifying. Marcy’s demon form merged with Legion’s features, spider eyes glowing, axolotl-like fins framing her head. A Goetia hybrid now stood before them, wielding a massive double-ended sword.

Even so, the palace remained surprisingly intact.

Anne and Sasha, on the other hand, were bloodied and bruised. Cuts covered their arms, and their movements slowed.

“It’s no use,” Sasha said, clutching her bleeding wrist. “We’re not strong enough.”

“We can’t give up,” Anne replied, dodging a whip-like tentacle. “We still have a chance. You wouldn’t quit, and I won’t either.”

Sasha nodded, breathing heavily. She pulled herself together and fought back with every ounce of energy she had.

But Legion’s strength was overwhelming. In one swift move, they slammed both girls to the ground.

“How touching. You still care,” they mocked. “But it’s over. Marcy won’t return. Not now, not ever.”

Enraged, Anne surged forward and tackled Legion, pinning them.

“Marcy! Please, if you can hear me, say something! We’re sorry! We see you changed! Come back!”

Her voice cracked, and tears streamed down her face.

Legion shoved her off, eyes blazing.

“She can’t hear you. Give up.”

Anne gritted her teeth, trembling with rage. Sasha steadied her.

“Then we fight to the end,” she said.

Meanwhile, deep within her mind, Marcy awoke.

She was seated at Stolas’ outdoor tea table, sunlight filtering gently through the trees. It was quiet. Peaceful. But something felt… off.

“Legion?” she called. “Where are you?”

She rose from the chair and looked around.

They said they’d help her. Said they’d fix everything. But where were they?

As she searched, she spotted two familiar figures approaching. Anne and Sasha.

“Hey, Mar-Mar!” they called.

She ran to them, tears in her eyes, and embraced them tightly.

“Girls! You’re here! I’m so sorry. I really have changed. I don’t want to be selfish ever again.”

Anne smiled. “It’s okay, Marcy. We’re here. Always.”

“Yeah, whatever you want to do, we’ll follow,” Sasha added.

But something about their words felt… wrong.

Marcy pulled back, frowning. “Wait… are you saying it didn’t matter that I nearly got us killed? That we’re stuck in Hell?”

“Who cares?” they replied together, smiling eerily. “We’re still together.”

Marcy froze.

“No… no, that’s not right. We were supposed to go home. We were supposed to escape this place.”

She stepped back in horror. “This isn’t real. You aren’t real! The real Anne and Sasha wouldn’t say that!”

The world around her began to flicker. The trees, the sky, even her friends began to distort.

In moments, the illusions vanished, revealing projections of the real Anne and Sasha—scarred, bruised, fighting for her.

Marcy stared at them in shock, her fists tightening with anger.

“Legion tricked me.”

Back in the real world, Anne and Sasha were barely standing.

Their bodies ached. Their energy was drained. Bruises and scrapes covered their skin, and they had long since reverted to their human forms from pure exhaustion. Even Legion, still using Marcy’s form, had returned to a less intimidating human appearance—though no less dangerous.

Their attacks had grown weak. Each punch and kick they managed to throw was little more than a slap compared to the brutal force Legion had dealt in return.

Still, neither girl gave up.

Legion, watching them continue to fight despite their state, was impressed. But more than that, they were annoyed.

Then Anne tried something unexpected. She circled behind Legion, hoping to land a surprise hit. But Legion, already anticipating her move, smirked and turned. With one swift movement, they used a tentacle to hurl Sasha aside just as she tried to warn Anne.

Before Anne could react, Legion struck her hard in the head. She collapsed onto her back with a groan.

“Well, well, well. You came so far, but you still lose,” Legion taunted, pressing a foot down on Anne’s chest. She grimaced in pain, pinned.

Sasha tried to rise, but her legs gave out beneath her. All she could do was watch in horror as Legion shifted the double-ended sword into a single-bladed weapon. They raised it high, the tip aimed directly at Anne.

“Goodbye, Boonchuy. It was fun while it lasted,” Legion sneered.

“No!” Sasha screamed, her voice cracking. Anne squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the end.

But the blade stopped.

It froze in midair, just inches from Anne’s chest. Her eyes slowly opened. Her breath hitched as she saw it. One of Marcy’s eyes—once glowing orange—was brown again.

Marcy was fighting back.

She gritted her teeth, both hands trembling as she resisted the sword’s pull.

“YOU FOOL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Legion’s voice rang out, booming with rage.

Marcy didn’t back down.

“Taking back what’s mine. You lied to me. You manipulated me. I’m done listening to you. I won’t let you hurt my friends again!”

With a shout, she threw the sword to the ground. Anne blinked in shock, blushing slightly at the fierce determination in Marcy’s voice and expression.

Sasha, watching from the ground, let out a breath of relief. “She’s back…”

Marcy turned to Anne, her gaze full of concern.

“You okay?”

Anne gave a small nod, smiling through the ache. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

Marcy smiled too, but it didn’t last.

Suddenly, she cried out and clutched her head in agony. She fell to her knees, screaming. Anne and Sasha rushed to her side.

“MARCY!” they called out together.

Their concern quickly turned into fury as Legion’s voice returned, darker and more venomous than before.

“What a naive little girl. She should have stayed quiet,” they hissed, fully back in control.

They retrieved the sword and lunged toward Anne again, but Anne rolled out of the way just in time and sprinted toward Sasha, helping her to her feet.

Legion snarled in frustration, charging toward them with violent intent.

But then, something happened.

Their movements faltered. Their grip on the sword shifted. To Anne and Sasha’s shock, the blade slowly turned—not toward them, but toward Marcy’s own chest.

Legion twitched, their body convulsing uncontrollably.

“What… what is this? This isn’t right!” they shouted.

Anne and Sasha stared, frozen in horror.

Marcy’s voice echoed from within. “I told you. I won’t let you hurt them again.”

Legion laughed bitterly. “You really think this will work? You think stabbing yourself is going to stop me? I can leave your body any time I want!”

“Wanna bet?” Marcy replied.

A glow formed at her chest. The sword trembled in her hands as the light intensified. Anne and Sasha watched, speechless.

Marcy turned to them one last time. Her eyes were sad, but her voice was steady.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

She closed her eyes and whispered the spell.

“Parasitum ex hospite extrahe, et eum semel et omnino perire sine.”

With that, she drove the blade into her chest.

The glow exploded outward. Legion screamed as their presence was ripped from Marcy’s body. Their form flickered, then burned away into mist and vanished completely.

The magic seals on the palace doors and balcony faded. The orange light disappeared, leaving only silence.

Marcy stood motionless for a moment, then collapsed. Blood pooled beneath her as the sword clattered to the floor.

Anne and Sasha ran to her side, horror written across their faces.

“Marcy! No!” Anne cried, catching her in her arms. “Please don’t die! Get up!”

“Come on, Marcy! We need you! Don’t leave us now!” Sasha begged, tears running down her cheeks.

Anne wiped her eyes, then looked up at Sasha with urgency.

“Get her upstairs. Now. Try to find gauze or something to stop the bleeding.”

“I’m on it!” Sasha said, lifting Marcy as carefully as she could and rushing toward the palace.

Anne pulled out her phone with shaking hands. She knew she couldn’t take Marcy to Sloth in time. Blitz and Stolas were out of reach, dealing with their own problems. Moxxie, Millie, and Loona were all busy.

But she knew one person who would come through.

She opened her contacts and dialed.

Octavia.

Marcy woke up hours later, her head heavy and her vision blurry. Shapes and shadows moved until they formed into the image of someone standing nearby. She blinked slowly, trying to focus, just as the figure sighed in relief.

“Stolas?” she asked, her voice groggy.

“No, Marcy. It’s Octavia. Thank Lucifer you’re alive!”

Marcy let out a soft groan as she tried to sit up. Pain flared briefly, but it faded as Octavia gently helped her adjust. She soon realized she was in Octavia’s bedroom, resting under the covers of a large and comfortable bed.

“Wait,” Marcy said, finally coming to her senses, “Shouldn’t you be at Lady Stella’s palace? And how… how am I not dead?”

Octavia sat at the edge of the bed and gave a small smile.

“I was supposed to be at my mother’s place, yeah. But Anne called me. She said you were hurt, and I got worried. So I snuck out and rushed over here.”

She sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I had to borrow Dad’s grimoire. I found a healing spell and followed it carefully. It wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t even sure it would work at first, but…”

She gestured toward Marcy with a relieved expression. “You’re still here.”

Marcy took a moment to absorb everything. Then she glanced around the room.

“Where are Anne and Sasha?”

“I asked them to wait outside. I didn’t want to risk hurting them while casting the spell. You want me to bring them in?”

Marcy nodded slowly. Octavia stood and walked to the door, pausing just before she left.

“Take it easy while I get them, alright? I’ll check on you again after.”

Once Octavia left, Marcy slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She expected to feel sharp pain, but nothing came. There was only a faint stiffness, probably from being unconscious for so long.

Curious, she touched the spot where she had stabbed herself. Her clothes were clean, no trace of blood or torn fabric. The skin underneath felt smooth and whole.

She stood up carefully and took a few steps. Her legs held steady. It felt strange to move so normally again, but she was grateful.

She tried to conjure her demon disguise, but her magic fizzled out. It didn’t bother her too much. She figured it would return with time.

Just then, the bedroom door opened. Anne and Sasha stepped inside, their scars and bruises gone (most likely from magic) and their faces brightening with joy and relief as soon as they saw her.

“Hey, girls,” Marcy said softly, giving them a tired but genuine smile.

Without hesitation, Anne and Sasha rushed over and pulled her into a careful embrace. Tears welled in their eyes.

“I can’t believe you almost died again,” Anne whispered. “We were so scared…”

“We didn’t know what we’d do without you,” Sasha added, her voice thick with emotion.

Marcy hugged them back. Her arms trembled slightly, but her smile never faded. As they pulled apart, Marcy looked at her friends with renewed seriousness.

“Anne. Sasha. I really am sorry for not telling you everything sooner. I just… I didn’t want to lose what we had. You two are so important to me.”

She paused, taking a breath.

“I thought that moving away would ruin our friendship. That if I brought you to Hell, I could keep us together somehow. But I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have run away. I understand if you can’t forgive me. If you hate me for it all.”

“Hate you?” Sasha said with a surprised frown. “No way. Yeah, what you did hurt us. But we could never hate you, Marcy.”

She looked to Anne, who gave a supportive nod before Sasha continued.

“To be honest, I thought I needed more time to decide whether I could forgive you. But now I don’t need that time. You saved us. That says everything.”

“Same here,” Anne said gently. “You’ve changed, Mar-Mar. I see that now. And besides, we’re still going to be friends, even after you move away. You were right. It doesn’t matter where we live, as long as we stay connected.”

Sasha gave an awkward smile.

“About what we said last night… we’re sorry for yelling at you. We were too quick to judge. Can you forgive us?”

Marcy chuckled quietly and hugged them both again.

“Of course. Apology accepted.”

Relief washed over Anne and Sasha’s faces. They laughed, wiping their eyes, and soon the three of them were teasing each other and reminiscing like nothing had changed.

Outside the room, Octavia peeked through the slightly opened door. She smiled softly at the sight of the three reunited friends.

“Man, I’m starving,” Anne said suddenly. “Sorry if we’re overstaying our welcome, but can we grab something to eat?”

Marcy looked sheepish. “I gave the butlers a day off, so… not unless you feel like cooking.”

“I don’t mind. Just tell me what they usually make,” Anne replied confidently.

“Well, let’s see. Kale salad, roasted vole, and fire koi,” Marcy listed.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is fire koi? And roasted vole?”

“I can explain,” Octavia said, stepping into the room. “Fire koi is a spicy, exotic fish. Roasted vole is… cooked rats.”

“Ew!” Anne and Sasha exclaimed in perfect unison. Then, realizing their reaction, they quickly added, “No offense.”

Octavia just laughed. “None taken.”

Afterward, the girls made a simple meal with whatever they could find in the palace kitchen. The conversation started heavy again, as Anne and Sasha told Marcy about Legion’s twisted plan to preserve her mind as a trophy.

Marcy clenched her fists in anger. “So that’s why they acted like they cared. I should’ve seen through it…”

But the discussion slowly lightened. Laughter returned, and Marcy could finally relax.

Eventually, it was time to say goodbye. Anne returned to Blitz’s apartment. Sasha went back to Fizz and Ozzie’s tower. Octavia, after promising to return later that night, made her way back to her mother’s palace.

Marcy stood in the garden after seeing everyone off. This time, she wasn’t lonely.

She smiled. She had her friends back. That was more than enough.

Just as she turned to head inside, a glowing portal opened nearby. Her smile faded slightly.

Out stepped an incubus with white hair, wearing a tank top and gray pants. He supported a dazed and stumbling Stolas, guiding him gently toward the palace.

Marcy quickly disguised herself with a burst of green light, her demon form active again. As the two approached, the incubus met her eyes.

“Oh, hey. Could you help me carry him upstairs? He drank way too much, so I figured I’d get him home.”

Marcy blinked. A brief memory flashed in her mind—Stolas had promised to have only a small drink. What happened?

Still, she nodded and stepped in to help carry the prince. Together, they led Stolas to his bedroom and carefully laid him down on the bed. Marcy removed his hat and placed it on the nightstand.

“Would you like me to walk you out?” she asked the incubus politely.

“No need. I’ll see myself out. Thanks, though,” he replied with a smile. “Have a good night, miss.”

“You too.”

As he left, Marcy stood by the bed, watching Stolas breathe slowly. She turned to leave, only for a gentle hand to catch her wrist.

She gasped softly until she realized who it was.

“…Via? Is that you?” Stolas mumbled, barely coherent.

“No, Stolas. It’s Marcy. Octavia will be back later tonight.”

“Oh… could you stay with me a while? I’m tired of being alone.”

His voice was weak and sad, even through the drunken haze.

Marcy looked down at him, concern filling her expression. She couldn’t bring herself to walk away.

She placed a hand gently over his.

“Alright. I’ll stay. Just until you fall asleep.”

And so, she did.

Chapter Text

Even though Anne and Sasha had managed to reconcile with Marcy last month, things hadn’t been going well for Blitz.

The turning point came the day after the full moon. Anne had just returned from dealing with some bizarre drama at Stolas’ palace when she found Blitz sobbing on his apartment couch.

Through broken gasps and teary eyes, Blitz confessed that he had gone to the Anti-Blitz party to apologize to Stolas. He couldn’t bear the guilt any longer and felt like he had to make things right.

But Stolas, completely wasted, didn’t care. Worse, he ended up making out with someone else in front of Blitz.

To add insult to injury, Verosika had told Blitz to let Stolas go. That one stung deep, like salt in a wound that never had time to heal.

All Anne could do was hold the weeping imp in her arms and whisper that things would get better.

But it’s always easier to say than to believe.

A month passed. Blitz—once bold, sardonic, always in control—had crumbled into a pitiful mess, and Anne found herself dragged into the spiral right alongside him.

One morning, Millie barged into the office carrying a tray of coffees, kicking the door open for flair.

“Another day in paradise!”

But her cheer vanished the moment she stepped inside.

The office was a disaster zone—open boxes everywhere, some still sealed, a rogue cactus somehow taking root on a desk, and Loona slumped next to a barrel fire, looking utterly drained and holding a stuffed owl like it was a sacrificial offering.

Anne wasn’t doing much better. Her curls were untamed, her eyes hollowed out from nights without sleep.

Loona cracked an eye open at the noise and tossed the stuffed owl into the fire.

“Oh shit, it’s morning,” she mumbled.

Millie shut the door behind her, surveying the chaos with a mixture of concern and disbelief.

“Have you two seriously been here all night? What are you even doing?”

Loona barely glanced at her as she took the tray from Millie, too exhausted to care.

“Blitz bought two hundred taxidermy owls. Said we couldn’t go home until we burned every last one.”

Anne yawned and nodded. “Yep. What she said.”

Despite her exhaustion, Anne managed to snatch a drink from the tray before Loona could hoard them all, placing the rest on the front desk.

A knock sounded almost immediately. Millie, still processing what she walked into, opened the door to reveal Wally Wackford, now apparently running a taxidermy owl delivery service.

“Hey hey! I got another shipment of a hundred more wacky owls!”

He handed Loona a clipboard with the delivery receipt. Her face twisted in despair.

“Fuuuuck,” she groaned.

Wally chuckled obliviously. “Been a while since I seen y’all! Wanna hang out some—?”

SLAM.

Millie shut the door in his face. His muffled voice floated through.

“Okay! That answers that, I say, I say!”

She flipped through the papers on the clipboard, eyebrows shooting up.

“He’s still sulking? It’s been over a month. And where the hell is Moxxie? He didn’t come home last night.”

From the adjacent room came the unmistakable sound of a panicked scream. Millie sprinted over, toppling boxes in her path, ready to maul whoever dared touch her husband.

But she stopped short.

Moxxie was surrounded by papers, frantically flipping through them, his face pale and sweaty.

“Honey...? You okay?”

“No! I’m stuck in a math nightmare!” Moxxie was gasping, trembling as he waved around spreadsheets and overdue notices. “The numbers don’t add up! WE’RE FUCKED!”

He collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

Millie hurried to comfort him. “C’mon, baby, it can’t be that bad.”

“It’s worse than bad!” Moxxie snapped, yanking open a box and pulling out—not owls—but collectible dinner plates featuring a very realistic horse.

“He drained our pension to buy these!”

Millie clicked her tongue. “Damn. I’ve never seen him this bad.”

“This isn’t bad, Millie,” Moxxie wailed. “This is a FINANCIAL APOCALYPSE!”

He threw more papers around, hyperventilating as he paced.

“I should’ve been a theater critic. At least I have objectively correct opinions.”

Millie sighed and waded through the boxes, heading toward Blitz’s office. As she stepped closer, his voice rang out.

“Loona, I need my piss bucket NOW!”

“Get your lazy ass up and use the toilet!” Loona shouted back.

Moxxie’s mumbling was a constant background drone. “We’re gonna default… it’s his fault…”

Inside the office, Blitz looked like the embodiment of rock bottom—curled into a nest of blankets and pillows, shoveling ice cream and cheese spread into his mouth while watching an adult film called Ghostfuckers.

On-screen, the starlet Bethany Ghostfucker moaned, “Ooh, I’m getting sexy vibes from this room... definitely a fuckable spirit here.”

Blitz snorted. “Yeah… get that spooky ghoul cock, bitch.”

“Blitz?” Millie’s voice cut through the moment.

“Go away!” he shouted. A paper taped to the chained door read FUK OF in angry letters.

“I’m coming in.”

“Read the chains!”

Millie twisted the knob. It opened easily. She strode in with a scowl and shut off the TV. Blitz glared at her through the reflection on the blank screen.

“What are you doing? You’ve been watching this trash for days.”

“I’M COPING!” Blitz snapped.

Millie sat beside him, watching him flick a spoon into a box.

“You ‘coped’ away every cent we had.”

“They’re collectibles,” Blitz insisted, tone defensive. “Next year I’ll flip ’em for triple. Then maybe I’ll have something to show for everything that left me.”

“My mama always said, when you’re sad, sweat and hard work can wash away tears better than time.”

Blitz rolled his eyes and used his tail to turn the TV back on.

“Save the country-wisdom bullshit, Millie. I just wanna watch people get dicked down by ghosts and eat until my heart stops.”

Millie tried a softer approach. “I don’t think anyone wants you dead, Blitz. Not even Anne.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Blitz sneered. “She tries too damn hard to find good in everyone. Like she’s Charlie Morningstar's clone or something.”

Millie glared. That look.

Blitz’s bravado faltered. A painful memory surfaced—Anne screaming at him, hurt and betrayed. His voice softened.

“I didn’t mean that. Just let me eat in peace. And don’t tell her what I said.”

He dumped the cheese spread into the ice cream and devoured it in one sad gulp.

Millie sat in silence.

“All this… over a breakup?”

Blitz whipped his head toward her, eyes glassy. “IT WASN’T A BREAKUP!” he barked, then whispered brokenly, “You need a relationship for that. We never had one. We never will.”

Before she could respond, the phone rang.

“What?!” Blitz snapped.

Loona, half-asleep at the reception, responded wearily, “We have a client.”

“Tell them to FUCK OFF!”

“Don’t!” Millie shouted. “I’ll be right there!”

She rushed out and saw Rita, a sinner demon with a dramatic flair, rattling on to Anne, who now looked much better—hair tidy, energy restored, and currently using an imp disguise at the moment.

“You know, my psychic told me I’d go somewhere bad on Wednesday. I just thought she meant Baltimore.”

Anne smiled awkwardly as she tried to pretend to be a hellborn with some knowledge of Earth while she spoke. “Well... at least it’s not L.A. From what I hear, it’s worse.”

Rita blinked, then laughed. “You’re funny, darling!”

Loona groaned. “Mhm. Fascinating.”

She grabbed Millie and shoved her forward. “Someone else’s problem now.”

Millie tried to focus. “Alright, ma’am. What happened?”

“I was killed by an evil ghost haunting a hotel.”

Millie, Anne, and Loona exchanged bewildered looks.

“Um… ghosts… aren’t real,” Millie offered hesitantly.

Rita just blinked again. “Ohhh. I don’t understand.”

“She means ghosts don’t exist, lady!” Loona snapped.

Suddenly, red warning lights lit up the hallway. Blitz exploded from his office, eyes gleaming.

“GHOST?! WHERE!?”

“Blitz, she was killed, not—”

“Let me have this,” Blitz growled, pulling out his “Unconditional Support” punch card.

Millie sighed, relenting. She punched the card with her knife.

Blitz snatched it back and turned to Rita. “Describe the ghost. Start with its abs. Was it tight? Hot?”

He strutted out with Rita in tow.

Millie watched him go, then turned to Loona—who was dozing off with a snot bubble that popped.

“At least he’s out of his office,” Millie muttered.

Anne nodded. “Finally.”

Hours later, outside the I.M.P. headquarters…

Millie heaved a heavy box labeled “Gost Fokrz! Shit” down the front steps. It was clearly Blitz’s latest obsession—random ghost-hunting gear cobbled together from discount shops and sketchy infomercials.

As she set it down with a grunt, Loona leaned against the wall, arms crossed, brows furrowed.

“This whole thing feels like a bad idea,” she muttered, eyeing the box like it might explode.

Anne stood nearby, adjusting her hoodie sleeves. “You mean Blitz getting hyped to catch a ghost? Or me tagging along with him and Millie?”

Loona rolled her eyes. “Both. Obviously. Don’t make me say it again.”

Anne gave a half-smile. “Message received.”

Millie piped in cheerfully. “C’mon, it’ll be fine. We scope out some weird Earth place, Blitz gets his ghost kicks, and maybe we don’t end up in jail. You just gotta keep an eye on Moxxie, Loona—he’s been a little…”

From the rooftop, Moxxie’s voice screeched through the air.

“BANKRUPTCY! BANKRUPTCY!”

Millie cringed. “Upsetti.”

Loona scowled. “Not my circus, grandma.”

Anne shot her a glare. “It’s a small favor. No need to be rude.”

Millie gently placed a hand on Anne’s arm and gave her a sad smile. “It’s okay.” Then she turned to Loona with a pleading look. “I can’t keep Blitz and Moxxie from combusting at the same time. Anne’s already in with me and Blitz. Please…”

Loona looked away, conflicted.

“Please?” Millie echoed softly. Anne mirrored the look.

Before Loona could answer, the I.M.P. van screeched around the corner, plastered with a new decal: “Ghost Fuckers” in bold, glowing letters.

Blitz stuck his head out the window with a manic grin. “Get in, losers. We’re going ghost fuckin’!”

Loona sighed and rubbed her temples. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll babysit the nerd. But you’re cleaning the van.”

Millie beamed and climbed into the passenger seat. Anne followed, glancing back.

“Thanks, Loona.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Loona snapped, but when her eyes met Anne’s, her expression softened. She gave a warning look. Anne nodded.

With everyone settled, Blitz hit the gas and activated the Asmodean Crystal. A swirling portal opened, leading to the coordinates of their “haunted” location.

“Let’s gape this hole wide open!” Blitz howled.

The van screeched into the portal—only to crash moments later with a deafening CRUNCH. A tombstone now had a skeleton lodged between its cracked base and Blitz’s hood ornament.

“We’re here…” Blitz wheezed as Millie and Anne groaned in unison.

They climbed out of the wreckage, taking in their surroundings.

“Wait… weren’t we going to a haunted hotel?” Millie asked.

Blitz turned and spotted it: The One Star Wonder, looming in the graveyard like a condemned relic from a ghost reality show.

“Oh-ho-ho yeah,” Blitz grinned, rubbing his hands together. “This place is dripping with spirits that are just begging for it.”

He popped the van’s crumpled door open and started rummaging through the gear. Millie watched with growing concern. Anne stood close, clearly second-guessing her choice to join.

Blitz pulled out a glowing dildo-shaped device. “Gotta get a reading.”

Millie groaned. “Blitz, ghosts aren’t real. You know that, right?”

Blitz shined a flashlight under his chin dramatically. “But they are…”

She facepalmed. “Oh my Satan.”

Before Anne could offer support, Blitz produced a cheap vacuum and brandished it like a holy relic.

“What… is that?” Millie asked flatly.

“Behold! The Bethany Ghost-Fucker Ghost Sucker 9000! Sure to snag you a ghost after it snags you... off. Set me back a couple grand!”

Anne and Millie gawked.

“A couple what?!” they shouted together.

Millie snatched a bone from the dirt and hurled it at him.

“You haven’t paid us in a month!”

Blitz flipped on the vacuum and caught the bone midair. “Oops! Looks like it sucked all the fun outta you.”

He tossed a costume bundle at them. “Suit up, ladies. Those ghosts aren’t gonna fuck themselves.”

Millie bristled, one hand twitching toward a hidden blade. Before her rage could boil over, Anne gently rested a hand on her shoulder.

“You okay?”

Millie looked at her and sighed. “Yeah… I’m fine, hon.” She inhaled slowly. “He needs this. He needs this. He needs this…”

Ten minutes later, the Ghost Fuckers were in costume.

Blitz sported a blond wig, a frilly purple witch dress, thigh-high boots, and a wide-brimmed hat with a red ghost charm. His vacuum dangled in backpack form. His signature skull pin was clipped neatly to his collar.

Millie rocked a street-punk look: purple-yellow beanie, tank top with “STAFF” scrawled across the chest, fingerless gloves, and a camcorder.

Anne looked surprisingly professional in a pastel blouse, white leggings, oversized lensless glasses, and a compact makeup kit.

“Lookin’ good, honey!” Blitz chirped.

Anne blushed. “Thanks. Though… are the glasses really necessary?”

“It’s a disguise, sugar,” Millie said. “Roll with it.”

Blitz added, “And who says makeup artists can’t rock glasses? Nobody cares!”

Feeling a bit reassured, Anne nodded.

They entered the hotel lobby. Blitz activated his ghost sensor (dildo), waving it around dramatically.

The hotel manager, a tired man named Rolando, greeted them with a forced smile.

“Welcome to the One Star Wonder, where it’s a wonder we still have that star. How can I help?”

“We’re filming an exclusive episode of my show,” Blitz said in a syrupy valley accent. “Need access to everything.”

Rolando glanced at the info card, raised an eyebrow, then blinked at Blitz’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned. You are Bethany Ghost-Fucker.”

“That’s the name. Don’t wear it out,” Blitz replied sassily.

Rolando’s mood shifted. “Good thing you’re here. We’ve had disturbances. Real nasty ones.”

Blitz perked up. “Sexy ones?”

Millie groaned.

Rolando slapped three photos on the desk: one levitated corpse, one sliced in half, one decapitated.

Anne’s breath caught at the photo of the decapitated head, noticing something familar about the person's face. “Rita…”

“You knew her?” Rolando narrowed his gaze.

Anne stared at the reflection in her makeup mirror. The resemblance to the dead girl was uncanny.

Millie jumped in. “Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out.”

“Ghosts are real,” Blitz said.

“They’re a conspiracy,” Millie snapped.

“Then what the hell am I supposed to fuck tonight?!”

“Can we not fight right now?!” Anne shouted.

The lights flickered ominously. Blitz screamed. “Where’s my lube?!”

Rolando sighed. “Look, real or not, I need this crap to stop.”

Blitz extended his hand. “Then gimme the keys and a condom, chief.”

Rolando dropped a ring of room keys—and, awkwardly, a few condoms—on the desk. “Just clean up after yourselves. My last maid was murdered.”

He gestured to a drooling hunchback bellhop, Toledo. “Now I’ve got him.”

Toledo waved. “Buh-buh-bitch!”

Blitz blinked. “No promises!”

“Come along, Milton. Anya,” Blitz called as he headed down the hall.

Blitz, Millie, and Anne moved deeper into the hotel’s dark hallways, the floorboards groaning underfoot like something out of a cheap horror film. A dusty portrait of Rolando glared at them from the wall, its painted eyes subtly shifting as they passed—just enough to be unsettling.

Millie’s grip on her camcorder tightened. “He’s just using this mission to distract himself from his not-breakup,” she muttered.

Anne heard the frustration in her tone and glanced over with concern. “You okay?”

Millie didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were locked on a nearby phone hanging off the wall—its cord had been severed, yet it was ringing. No one picked it up.

They continued in tense silence until Millie broke it.

“Blitz, we’ve got an actual job here. Someone got killed. Probably not by some ghost fetish fantasy. We should be tracking—”

“Woah, woah, Mils!” Blitz interrupted, waving the dildo at her like a finger of shame. “Just 'cause you’re a country bumpkin doesn’t mean you get to drop the F-bomb around ghosts!”

Millie blinked. “What—what F-bomb? Phantom?!”

“Shhh!” Blitz hissed, putting a finger to her lips. “You can’t say that! Ghosts hate that word.”

“You are insane.”

“Quiet. I’m getting a reading…”

Blitz’s toy glowed and beeped as he zeroed in on a specific room. He reached into his cleavage—yes, cleavage—and pulled out the master key.

“Hold on!” Millie jumped between him and the door. “There might be someone in there!”

Blitz was unbothered. “Exactly! A ghost. Ready for a mouthful of si… uh… something sexual!”

Anne stepped forward. “This isn’t a good idea. We should turn back.”

Blitz ignored her, kicked the door open, and raised the vacuum like a weapon. “LOOK ALIVE, YOU UNDEAD COCK SLEEVE!”

Inside, a very alive, very elderly couple sat reading in bed, startled into shrieks as the vacuum sucked their blanket and books away. Both were left trembling in their underwear.

“Prepare to get sucked off to the astral plane, bitch!”

The husband scrambled upright. “Oh my, Dolores!”

Millie barreled in and smacked the vacuum aside. “Blitz! They’re not ghosts—they’re just wrinkled people!”

She turned to the man. “No offense.”

He stood up, fists clenched in boxer’s stance. “Offense taken, you pointy-eared little freak!”

Millie turned to Blitz, ready to leave, but didn’t get the chance. The old man’s fist rocketed out—WHAM!—sending Millie flying back into the wall. Her body left a crater-shaped imprint.

Anne winced from the hallway.

“I beat the Nazis, and I’ll beat you too, bitch!” the old man roared, advancing.

Blitz’s eyes went wide. “Look out, Millie, he’s a patriot!”

Dolores pointed at Blitz. “Get him, Harold!”

Harold swung. Blitz ducked, counterpunched, and crashed through the same wall Millie had just destroyed.

Blitz grabbed Millie by the arm. “Abort mission! Patriotic ghost in the room!”

Dolores gave chase with a cane, yelling obscenities.

The team bolted down the hallway, chaos unfolding behind them. Blitz tossed toilet paper, yanked fire alarms, and generally made everything worse. Guests screamed. Lights flickered. Anne and Millie were barely keeping up with the running and the insanity.

The trio now crawled through narrow metal air vents, the only escape from the madness below. Anne wore her imp illusion spell, and Blitz still clutched the dildo, checking it like a compass.

“Nice job back there, Mils,” Blitz muttered sarcastically.

Millie, in front, stopped abruptly. Blitz slammed into her, and Anne bumped into him.

“Enough!” Millie snapped.

Blitz blinked. “What?”

“I’m done,” she said sharply. “I didn’t sign up for ghost-fucking theater. I didn’t say a word while you moped around for weeks like a kicked puppy. But this? This is too much. We haven’t been paid in a month, Blitz. We’ve got rent. Debt. I can't keep playing your grief games.”

She shoved the ridiculous witch hat into his chest.

“Go chase your stupid fantasy. I’ve got a real job to finish.”

Without waiting for a response, she took the left split in the vent tunnel.

Blitz stared after her, fuming.

“Fine!” he shouted. “Who needs you anyway?! Bethany Ghost-Fucker works ALONE!”

Anne hesitated behind him. She took one uncertain step forward.

“Anne…” he warned.

“Didn’t you hear what I said? ALONE! So SCRAM!”

Anne froze. Her expression, once worried, soured.

“…As you wish, Bethany,” she said coldly.

Blitz turned to stop her—just in time to see the tears on her face. His heart dropped.

“Anne, wait—!”

But she was already crawling down the left path, following Millie.

Silence filled the vent. Then:

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Blitz pounded the metal walls in rage.

“Goddammit! Way to go, genius! You ruined everything again, just like always!”

His screams echoed, bouncing off the cold steel and empty air.

Millie dropped from the vent with a quiet thud, brushing dust off her jeans as she landed in the dimly lit hallway. Her boots echoed against the cracked tile as she walked, fists clenched and shoulders tight with frustration. She muttered under her breath, each step sharper than the last.

She didn’t hear anyone following at first. But the moment a hand touched her shoulder, she spun with a snarl, ready to throw a punch—only to stop short when she saw Anne standing there, slightly sheepish.

“Satan’s sake, Anne! You scared the crap outta me.”

Anne laughed nervously, pulling her hand back. “Sorry. I didn’t know who to go with, so… I followed you.”

Millie’s eyes softened. But when Anne looked away, something unreadable in her expression, concern replaced irritation.

“He yelled at you, didn’t he?” Millie asked.

Anne gave a small nod, glancing back at her. “I just wanted to help. But I guess that made him mad. He said he wanted to be alone.”

Her shoulders sagged as she added, “I’m mad too, Millie. At him. He’s clearly hurting after what happened with Stolas, but that doesn’t mean he gets to act like none of us matter. I mean… If it were me, I’d deal with it and get back on my feet. Pretend nothing was wrong, y’know?”

Millie tilted her head slightly, reading the hesitance under Anne’s voice. Something about that didn’t sound right. Her eyes narrowed a bit, her voice careful.

“Would you, though? Not judging, but… you and Marcy—it’s different. You’ve known each other forever. You’re close. Blitz and Stolas... that’s a whole different mess.”

Anne bristled, voice rising just a little. “Yeah, well… Blitz and I aren’t that different either. We both suck at feelings!”

The words came sharper than she intended, and she winced. “Sorry. I got off track.”

Millie shook her head gently. “It’s alright, sugar. I know what you meant. But…” She gave Anne a look. “Why’d you bring that up just now? Something happen?”

Anne hesitated. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Eventually, she exhaled.

“I… I’ve been avoiding Marcy lately. Not because I want to. But I… I get insecure. Around her. I keep thinking I’m not good enough for her. It’s stupid, but it won’t go away.”

Millie paused, genuinely taken aback. “So that’s what this is about.”

Anne gave a small nod.

“That why you came along?”

“Partially,” Anne admitted. “But mostly I just… wanted to help Blitz get through this. We all want that, right?”

Millie sighed. “Yeah. I guess I was a little too hard on him.”

“Maybe a little,” Anne said, smiling faintly. “But that’s just tough love for a friend who needs it.”

Millie nodded, then kept walking. “Let’s find him. Make sure he’s alright.”

They called Blitz’s name as they moved down the hallway, checking corners and rooms. But it was like he’d vanished.

Millie’s voice wavered. “Dammit. I didn’t mean to push him over the edge. Where could he have gone?”

Then, a raw, desperate scream echoed from down the corridor.

“NO! NO, NO, NO—MOM, I’M SORRY! MOM, PLEASE, I’M SORRY!”

Anne’s eyes widened. Her voice turned steely. “I think I know. Come on!”

They ran.

Down the hallway, they found a room with the door slightly ajar. On the floor was Blitz’s skull charm.

Millie picked it up slowly, then pushed the door open.

Blitz sat on the floor, huddled behind the bed. His wig was askew, makeup running, breath ragged. The room reeked of fear.

“Blitz!” Millie cried, running to him. “Are you—”

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted, pushing her back. “I ruin everything—I ruin everyone! I screw up everything I touch!”

He crawled backward, voice cracking. “I make people miserable. I don’t deserve—”

“Not me,” Millie said, stepping closer. Her voice was soft but firm. “Blitz, remember how we met?”

He looked at her, confused and disoriented. “…What?”

Anne lingered by the doorway, curious. “Wait—how did you guys meet?”

Millie glanced at her, then sat beside Blitz. “You’re in for a story, sweetie.”

Years ago, back before I.M.P. had even formed, Millie had been a solo assassin, carving her way through lower rings of Hell. Meanwhile, Blitz and Moxxie had just started working together—same business, different style.

They crossed paths in a bar after Millie unknowingly stole one of Moxxie’s hits. Blitz should’ve been furious.

Instead, he was impressed.

The night ended with a brawl, bruises, and an unexpected job offer.

Millie accepted.

From there, things fell into place. She found love with Moxxie, but more than that, she found a friend in Blitz—a chaotic, relentless, loud-mouthed jackass who never stopped believing he could be something bigger.

And he helped her believe the same.

“That year I spent with you two, figuring shit out, making our mark… it was the best kind of chaos,” Millie said, smiling. “I used to think all I’d be was a dirt farmer, or some faceless goon. But then I met this loud, annoying asshole who didn’t care what Hell thought of him.”

Her voice softened.

“He made me believe I could be more. He gave me a job, a family… a future. He’s my best friend.”

Blitz’s lip trembled. “You… you don’t hate me?”

Millie shook her head. “Naw. Never.”

He moved toward her, slumping onto the bed. She handed him the skull charm. He stared at it for a beat, then clipped it back to his collar.

She leaned in.

“What I said earlier… you’ve always been this tough, bulletproof bastard. I guess I didn’t realize how much I depended on that. I didn’t know what to do when you turned into… Bethany.”

Blitz chuckled weakly and removed the wig and hat. “Better?”

“Much.”

Anne stepped in. “I’ll admit… you were kinda pretty as Bethany.”

Millie gave her a look.

“But,” Anne quickly added, “you’re better as yourself.”

Blitz looked up at her. “You don’t hate me either? After I yelled at you. Again?”

“Hate you?” Anne said gently. “No. I respect you. Even when you’re stubborn and loud and borderline unbearable. You’ve helped me more than you know. Everyone at I.M.P. has.”

Millie grinned and nudged him. “Told you. Nobody wants you dead.”

“Okay, okay! I get it! I’m beloved and admired! Stop tickling me, Mils!” he laughed.

Their laughter filled the room. Anne wiped the streaks from Blitz’s cheeks and reapplied his eyeliner with practiced ease.

Millie hopped off the bed. “Now, you ready to finish this?”

“Hell yeah!” Blitz jumped up. Then paused. “Wait, what are we finishing?”

Millie rolled her eyes and followed him to the hall. “Blitz. What’s the one thing you know that comes to Earth and screws with people’s minds?”

Blitz furrowed his brow. “I dunno… like an infestor demon or something—”

His eyes widened. “Ohhhh.”

Millie smirked. “Bingo.”

Anne blinked. “What’s an infestor demon?”

Before anyone could answer, a distorted voice slithered down the hall.

“So-ho... Figured it out, have you?”

They turned.

Rolando stood at the corridor’s end, smiling. The lights flickered—and he vanished.

Then came the jump scare.

Rolando’s grotesque face slammed into view, teeth bared.

“A bit out of your depth, aren’t you, little ones?”

His form shifted—his skin crawling with shadows, eyes glowing, body elongating as lights burst one by one behind him. A massive wave of darkness surged forward.

“RUN!” Blitz shouted.

They bolted. Rolando’s monstrous laughter chased them as the shadows closed in.

“Damn our tiny legs!” Blitz barked.

Anne spotted a dining cart. She dashed toward it, dropping her disguise.

“Millie! Blitz! Get in!”

They jumped on. Anne pushed with every ounce of strength she had.

It wasn’t enough.

Rolando’s shadow caught up—and with a growl, knocked the cart over. They all crashed.

Before they could get up, a tendril of darkness wrapped around Blitz’s leg, yanking him down the hall.

Millie and Anne scrambled to follow, but Rolando threw them aside like toys.

Blitz smashed through several walls before landing near the pool, coughing hard.

Rolando slithered through the debris. His true form emerged: tall and eel-like, skin a sickly teal, teeth like shattered glass, and unblinking yellow eyes.

“Oh, this is fun!” he cackled, stomping Blitz’s face into the tile.

Before he could finish the job, Millie burst in, slamming him hard into the wall.

“Atta girl, Mils!” Blitz croaked.

Rolando hissed, escaped into the pool, and emerged snarling. “No thatta, bitch!”

A brutal two-on-one fight erupted. Despite their teamwork, Rolando’s strength overwhelmed them. He hurled them into the water.

Anne, ready to dive in, was thrown back, her head cracking against the wall.

In the pool, Rolando thrashed Millie and Blitz, dragging them like rag dolls.

Back on dry land, Anne stirred, rage rising.

She charged, tackled Rolando, and screamed, “I’LL TURN YOU INTO SASHIMI, FISH-FACE!”

Rolando grinned wickedly and headbutted her. He pinned her, choking.

“Touching. But you all die here.”

Anne snarled through the pain. “Not… today!”

She morphed back into imp form, whipping her tail into Rolando’s back. He released her with a snarl.

Anne punched him in the jaw—but was thrown again.

Then came the lights, all flickering. Rolando hovered, choosing his next victim.

“Eenie… meenie… miny… mo.”

He pointed at Blitz.

Before anyone could stop him, Rolando’s shadow lunged and entered Blitz, striking him with a jolt.

Blitz’s eyes rolled back. He collapsed.

The last thing he saw was Millie and Anne rushing toward him, screaming his name.

Then—darkness.

Blitz awoke in darkness.

His breath came slow and shallow, like he’d been underwater too long. His limbs ached. His head pounded. But the worst sensation was the pressure—not physical, but wrong, like something had crawled inside him and shut off the lights.

And then the lights came on.

Harsh beams flickered to life, revealing that he was seated—chained—to a faded, squeaky theater chair. His arms and legs were shackled, the metal biting into his skin. He tugged, strained, cursed, but the restraints only tightened in response.

A low laugh echoed around him.

From behind his seat, a sickly green mist coalesced—and from it emerged Rolando, sliding free from Blitz’s body like syrup from a rotting bottle. As the demon’s ooze-like form reassembled itself, he leaned in, dragging a forked tongue slowly along Blitz’s neck.

“Welcome to the show, asshole,” Rolando purred.

He vanished into the fog and reappeared a row behind, lounging across the chairs like a bored usher on his last shift. A flickering movie projector snapped on from the booth above, casting shaky light toward the screen.

“I hear this one’s a real titillator,” Rolando mused, licking his teeth.

A countdown began—five, four, three, two—

The screen came alive.

Flames. Screams. Blitz’s old carnival, reduced to smoke and ashes. From his point of view, he saw himself trying to rush into the inferno, searching for someone—his mother. But all he found was her scorched necklace, glittering in soot.

The memory cut—hard—to another.

His father, Cash Buckzo, raising a fist. “This is your fault, you little freak!” A blow. Then another.

Blitz thrashed against his restraints. His breath hitched. The metal cuffs rattled.

The footage rolled on.

Fizzarolli in a hospital bed, missing limbs. Cash again, counting money. Verosika and Fizz at Ozzie’s, mocking him on stage. Then—

Moxxie and Millie. Laughing. Holding each other. A slow montage of every moment Blitz had been forced to third-wheel, gritting his teeth through it all.

Rolando clapped slowly. “Aww. Feel that envy? That cold bite in your gut? Delicious.”

Blitz shook his head, but the film continued. More chains suddenly sprouted from the floor, curling around his horns and yanking his head back. Another set forced his eyes open, Clockwork Orange-style.

“Eyes on the screen, babe,” Rolando cooed.

Next came Loona’s rage. The nights Stolas reached out—tried—and Blitz shoved him away. That night at Ozzie’s Lounge. The crystal. The Anti-Blitz party. The final fracture in what could’ve been something more.

Blitz’s chest heaved. His vision blurred. “Stop… Stop showing me this…”

Outside, in the real world, Millie knelt beside his body, still unconscious, still limp. She shook him.

“Blitz! Wake up! C’mon, we need you!”

Anne was next to her, eyes wet. “Please, Blitz,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please come back…”

Back in the mindscape, Rolando’s expression soured.

“Oh, look at that. Some disturbances trying to ruin our good time.”

He smirked, floating toward the screen. Anne and Millie’s reflections shimmered in the film grain.

“That was a sweet heart-to-heart you had earlier,” he said, glancing down at Blitz. “Be a shame if you ruined it… again.”

Smoke flooded the theater. Thick, choking, tar-black mist. Blitz gagged, struggling for breath as Rolando’s laughter grew louder, the air heavier, until—

Everything went black.

Blitz’s eyes snapped open.

Only… they weren’t his anymore.

Anne reached out with a hopeful gasp— “Are you oka—?”

CRACK.

Blitz—possessed—slugged Millie across the face. She flew back into a support beam, hitting it hard.

“Millie!” Anne rushed to her side.

Millie groaned, rubbing her jaw. “I’m okay… just a little numb…”

They both looked up.

Blitz stood hunched, twitching, bones cracking as he realigned. His eyes glowed with Rolando’s eerie yellow light.

Anne froze. Her throat tightened. The scene mirrored something she’d once lived through—something she'd buried deep. Legion. Marcy.

The demon’s voice, now pouring from Blitz’s mouth, slithered into the air.

“Oh, the filthy little Wrathian and her human sidekick wanna help…”

He lunged, but missed as they ducked. His head crashed into the support beam instead, cracking the concrete.

“You’re just the muscle, remember?” he sneered at Millie, circling. “That’s all imps are good for. You said it yourself.”

Millie didn’t blink. She’d heard worse. She’d lived worse.

Rolando attacked—blades formed from the air itself—but Millie blocked each strike with grit and instinct.

“I’m inside his mind,” Rolando hissed. “I see everything. Every little thought. Every ugly truth.”

Blitz’s tail lashed out, grabbing Millie and slamming her into the ground.

“Especially the ones he has about you.”

He laughed and headbutted her hard, then tossed her across the pool deck.

Anne’s eyes blazed. She charged.

“Give him back!”

She grabbed Blitz from behind, locking her arms around him.

But Rolando broke her grip with a vicious backhand, claws slicing her neck. Anne hit the ground hard—too hard—and didn’t get back up.

“Anne!” Millie screamed, her voice cracking.

But Rolando turned back toward her, grinning. “You’re alone now.”

Back in the mindscape, Blitz sobbed as he watched through half-lidded eyes, chained still to that damn chair.

“Stop… Please, STOP! Don’t hurt them!”

Rolando appeared beside him again, smiling like a cat with a dying mouse.

“Your insecurity is intoxicating. You’re going to push away the only people who still give a shit.”

Reality—

Rolando dove into the pool, resurfacing before Millie.

“He thinks you’re a brute!”

He twisted through the air, kicking off the support beam and launching both legs into her chest.

“Too stupid to do anything but kill!”

He aimed an axe-kick—missed. Millie dodged and steadied her footing.

“You never should’ve left that farm! You’re just a backwards, inbred, lowborn—”

He went for a power punch.

Millie caught his fist. Unmoved. Unimpressed.

She smiled.

“You done?”

Rolando blinked. “Excuse me?”

CRACK. She swept his legs out from under him, twisted his wrist behind his back, and slammed him face-first into the floor.

“Let me tell you something, combover,” she growled, pinning him down. “One: your words don’t mean shit to me. And two: Blitz can handle this.”

She punched him hard. In the mindscape, Blitz felt it—and smiled.

“Buckle up, buttercup.”

Millie threw Rolando across the pool. He hit the wall, bounced, staggered. She followed, relentless.

Punch after punch. Kick after kick. Bruises bloomed across his stolen face. A black eye swelled shut. Blood dribbled from Blitz’s nose—Rolando’s pain bleeding through.

She grabbed him, flipped him, launched him into the pool’s edge. His skull cracked against the tile.

And then—he vomited.

Black goo spewed from Blitz’s mouth, and Rolando’s true form splashed into the water.

Blitz coughed, blinking, eyes returning to normal.

“Ugh. Good work, Mils.”

Millie, not realizing, socked him in the face.

“OH-HO—AH FUCK, IT’S ME!”

“Oh—shit, sorry!” she winced. “Welcome back, boss.”

They hurried to Anne, still unconscious. Millie gently lifted her head.

“Anne! Stay with us, hon!”

Anne stirred. Her eyes fluttered. She blinked up at them.

“Blitz… Millie… you’re okay…”

Blitz gave her a shaky smile. “Damn right we are. And you are too, kid.”

Behind them, Rolando dragged himself up—barely standing.

“You little ass plugs—you’re dead, Bethany!”

Blitz rose. Picked up the vacuum. Marched toward him.

“No. I’m not Bethany Ghost-Fucker.”

He flipped the switch.

“I’m Blitz… Demon-Dicker.”

WHAM!

The vacuum slammed across Rolando’s jaw, knocking him back into the pool. Blitz kicked the vacuum in after him.

Electricity surged.

Rolando screamed—screamed—as volts tore through him. His eyes burst. His mask cracked. The water boiled around him. His screams distorted, then stopped.

His corpse sank.

Silence.

Blitz raised an eyebrow. “And that’s how you get GHOST-FUCKED.”

The pool crackled with dying sparks as the last of Rolando’s body sank beneath the surface, steam hissing upward in slow tendrils. Blitz wiped a smear of blood from his face, grinning like a lunatic.

Millie slung Anne’s arm over her shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” Blitz muttered, rubbing his jaw where she’d punched him. “Fuck hotels.”

They kicked through the ruined double doors, the morning sun already creeping into the sky—an eerie, golden reminder that they’d somehow survived the night.

Back outside, they found the van half-buried in rubble. Blitz sighed and kicked at the dirt. “She’s stuck.”

“I’ll check the wheels,” Anne offered, her voice still hoarse.

She moved around to the back of the van and crouched. “Found the problem!”

She held up a bone—wedged between the rear tire and the axle. Millie grinned.

“Way to go, sugar!”

Blitz gave an approving nod. “You saved us from being stranded. Not bad for a human.”

The three of them worked together, shoving the van out of the gravel. Once inside, Blitz turned the ignition, activating the Asmodean Crystal. A violet portal cracked open in front of them.

They passed through, reentering Hell’s humid, sulfur-tainted air. The van screeched into the lot outside I.M.P. headquarters.

Inside the office, Loona sat at the front desk behind a fortress of stacked paperwork. When the trio entered, looking battered and barely held together, she raised an eyebrow—but said nothing at first.

“You look less pathetic. That’s something,” Loona muttered.

Blitz gave her a sheepish grin. “Thanks, Loonie-Toonie.”

Loona rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the ghost of a smile.

Millie scanned the room. “Where’s Moxxie?”

“In your boss’s room. He was stressing over some math puzzle, so I brought in backup.”

Anne’s brow furrowed. “Backup?”

A loud crash from the meeting room answered that question. Moments later, the door swung open, and in stumbled Marcy, a file folder in her arms and a pen tucked behind her ear.

“I’m okay!” she chirped. “Just slipped trying to open the—oh! Anne?”

Anne froze mid-step. Her face flushed instantly.

“Oh. Hey. You’re here?”

Marcy smiled nervously. “Yeah. Stolas had a meeting with someone named Vassago. So I stopped by to help.”

“Vassago?” Blitz repeated, trying—and failing—to sound casual. “That some old friend of his?”

“Something like that. They met at one of Lady Stella’s galas. Barely know each other.”

Blitz nodded slowly, the tension in his jaw easing.

But Marcy’s smile vanished the second she looked at Anne’s neck. “You’re bleeding!”

Anne reached up, fingers brushing the scratch left by Rolando. Her hand came away red.

Blitz stepped forward. “That was me. Sort of. Possession. Not my fault. Sorry!”

Loona’s eyes widened. “You were possessed?!”

“It’s a long story,” Blitz replied with a sigh. “I’m fine now.”

Marcy, however, wasn’t listening to him. She was still staring at Anne with concern. “Come sit. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Anne hesitated, her voice suddenly colder than before. “You don’t have to.”

Marcy froze. “Why are you acting like this? I thought we were… okay.”

Anne looked away. “It’s not about what you did, Marcy.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence.

Millie gently leaned toward Blitz and Loona, whispering, “Let’s give them a minute.”

Blitz nodded. “C’mon. Let’s go check on Moxxie.”

The door to Blitz’s office clicked shut behind them.

The room was quiet now, save for the gentle shuffling as Marcy rummaged through drawers.

Anne sat stiffly on the couch, hands clasped tight in her lap.

Marcy returned, first aid kit in hand. She sat beside her and got to work—cleaning the wound, dabbing ointment, and placing a bandage with careful precision.

Anne didn’t flinch. But her breath hitched just a little when Marcy’s hand lingered.

Marcy set the kit aside. “Now will you tell me what’s going on?”

Anne looked at her. Finally, the dam broke.

“I’ve been avoiding you,” she said quietly. “Not because I wanted to. But because…”

She inhaled, then let it all out.

“I like you, Marcy. Really like you. And I’ve felt that way for a long time.”

Marcy’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think I was good enough,” Anne went on. “Not because you work with royalty or anything—just… because I thought you liked boys. That everyone would like you. You’re smart, sweet, talented… perfect.”

There was a pause.

Then Anne said quickly, “I’m sorry if this makes things awkward. I get it if you just want to stay frie—”

Marcy lunged forward and hugged her tightly.

Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I’ve wanted this. I’ve felt the same way since we were kids.”

Anne stared at her. “Wait, what?!”

Marcy laughed, pulling back. “Yeah. Since the beach. I didn’t realize what it was until… Hell.”

“You don’t like any guys?”

“No. I think I’ve been gay all my life.”

Anne blinked. Then: “Oh. I didn’t expect that.”

Marcy giggled. “First time coming out to someone. You took it pretty well.”

“I mean, you’re Marcy Wu,” Anne said, smiling. “And I’m—me. But thanks.”

Marcy took Anne’s hand. “You’re brave, loyal, hilarious, and honestly really hot when you’re mad. And your cooking? Criminally underrated. You’re everything I want.”

Anne grinned, standing up.

“So, Marcy Wu…” she said, reaching for her hand again. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Marcy beamed. “Yes.”

“Yee-haw!” Anne whooped and lifted Marcy into a joyful spin, both of them laughing.

Across the hall, Blitz watched through a narrow gap in the office door. His expression was unreadable at first, but softened into something warmer—wistful, but content.

Millie leaned beside him.

“You good, Blitz?”

He looked at her. Thought for a moment.

Then smiled.

“Yeah. Never better.”

His gaze returned to Anne and Marcy, now curled up on the couch, hands intertwined, whispering things only they could hear.

“I think it’s time we promoted her,” Blitz said. “Anne. She’s earned it.”

Millie nodded. “Long overdue.”

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, Blitz felt something close to peace.

The fight was over.

And, just maybe, something new was beginning.

Chapter Text

To say Anne had finally gotten the girl of her dreams might have once sounded like a fantasy. But this time, it was real.

Anne and Marcy were officially a couple—and neither could be happier.

The whole crew at I.M.P. had celebrated the moment Anne confessed her feelings, and Marcy had returned them. Blitz, of course, had been one of the most enthusiastic supporters.

"I knew you had it in ya, kid!" Blitz had roared with laughter, pulling Anne into a headlock for a playful noogie. Anne had just laughed along, her joy unmistakable.

But the surprises didn’t end there. That same day, Anne received news that made her chest tighten with emotion—she was no longer just an intern.

She'd been promoted. A full-fledged associate at I.M.P.

The announcement hit her harder than she expected. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she barely managed to choke out, “Thanks, you guys. I’ll do my best!”

Moxxie gave her a proud nod. “We know you will, Anne. You earned this.”

Weeks passed, and Anne started to believe things in Hell were finally calming down.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

—

One day at I.M.P. headquarters, Blitz was lounging in his office, idly squeezing a Moxxie-shaped stress toy while “interviewing” four newcomers.

"So... you four aaare... remind me again?" he asked lazily, not even trying to hide his disinterest.

“We’re interns, sir!” chirped one of them—a young imp with shaggy white hair, a wrinkled dress shirt, and a crooked tie. “Looking for cool businesses to get experience from!”

He handed Blitz a flimsy, poorly formatted resume. Blitz stared at it flatly, crushed it in his fist, and tossed it aside without even pretending to read it.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—I know what interns are. One of my employees used to be one. But we can’t afford new hires right now. We’re still recovering from near-bankruptcy last month.”

Under his desk, Blitz casually moved his fingers toward a silent call button to have security boot them out.

But then the intern piped up again, almost too cheerfully: “Oh, interns work for experience, sir!”

Blitz paused mid-motion. “Come again?”

“Experience!” the intern repeated, wide-eyed and smiling.

A beat. Then Blitz slowly leaned back and grinned.

“Oh... you mean for free.”

“Experience..?”

“Well, hell, I can’t argue with free. You’re hired!” Blitz declared and gave the intern an aggressive handshake.

Just then, Moxxie burst in through the door, panic written across his face. “Sir! You need to see this—right now!”

Before Blitz could ask what was going on, a shout echoed from outside.

“COME OUT! YOU’RE SURROUNDED!”

Blitz and Moxxie rushed to the window. What they saw made their blood run cold.

Up in the sky, storm clouds swirled violently into a black vortex. A massive eye opened within it, glowing ominously. Then, from the hole, a horde of demonic Reapers descended like a plague.

One Reaper unrolled a scroll and read aloud. Behind him, ethereal clouds formed to reveal glowing, mugshot-like images of the I.M.P. crew: Loona. Millie. Moxxie. Blitz. Across each image, blood-red letters appeared:

“YES, YOU.”

Anne blinked. Her picture wasn’t there. Relief was drowned out by a rising panic.

The Reaper’s voice thundered again: “Employees of the illegal business I.M.P. You are hereby under arrest for violations of demon law. Surrender immediately!”

A second Reaper hollered, “YOU GUYS ARE IN DEEP SHIT!”

Blitz and Moxxie backed away from the window, white-faced and shaking.

“Blitz... what do we do?” Moxxie whispered, clutching his chest.

Blitz stared blankly, his gaze flicking between his team and the Reapers outside.

“YOU CAN’T ESCAPE!” another voice bellowed.

With a jolt, Blitz snapped out of it. He grabbed Moxxie by the face. “QUICK—HIDE EVERYTHING!”

He shoved the door open and stormed out into the main office. Blitz leapt onto Loona’s desk and seized control of her computer, pushing her out of the way.

Loona, annoyed, yanked out an earbud. “Seriously?”

Blitz clicked through her search history, desperately trying to clear everything. Just as the screen began to erase the data, it froze.

Then—CRACK! Millie stormed in, swinging her axe and slicing the computer in two. Sparks flew. She and Blitz high-fived and scattered to cover their tracks.

Loona opened a drawer stuffed with client files—and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. She popped the bottle open and doused the paperwork.

From outside came more yelling.

“There’s nowhere to run, you little red shits!”

Loona paused as her eyes landed on a photo tucked under the files—a snapshot of the team from their very first mission. Blitz, Moxxie, Millie... and her.

She groaned, yanked the photo out, and stuffed it into her shirt. Then she tried to light her lighter.

Click. Click. Nothing.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Millie kicked open a stall and dumped a garbage bag full of disguises into the toilet.

The toilet refused to flush.

Snarling, she grabbed her sniper rifle and used the stock like a plunger. Water squirted everywhere. She finally flushed, satisfied—until water began rising again.

She gagged in disgust.

Back at Loona’s desk, Blitz appeared behind her.

“Hurry it up!” he barked.

“I’M TRYING! I’M FUCKING TRYING!” Loona yelled, still jamming her thumb against the lighter.

With no time to waste, Blitz grabbed it from her hand and tossed it into the whiskey-soaked drawer. A flame ignited instantly, smoke pouring out. They shared a thumbs-up before racing away.

In the kitchen, Moxxie was at a shredder, frantically trying to destroy files. Anne stood beside him, overwhelmed. The machine jammed.

Moxxie yanked at the paper, eyes wide. “The shredder’s jammed!!!”

Blitz skidded in, took one look, then stuffed the files into Moxxie’s mouth.

“Then figure it out, Moxxie!!”

“Come out with your hands up!” another guard shouted from outside.

With chaos closing in, Blitz picked Moxxie up and sprinted toward the nearest window, where the rest of the crew was gathered. He shoved Moxxie into Millie’s arms and tried to pry the window open.

A low rumble shook the air. Thunder cracked. Lightning curled through the clouds.

They all froze—staring at what was coming.

Then, an eye-shaped smoke bomb shattered through the window, blasting the room with thick fog. Coughing, Blitz slammed the window wider.

“C’mon guys!” he said between coughs.

Moxxie hesitated. “They’ll see us!”

“We can either run,” Blitz said, eyes flashing, “or face the music.”

“I’m coming with you!” Anne shouted suddenly.

Everyone turned.

“No way!” Blitz growled. “You’re the only one without a mugshot! They don’t know your name! Stay here and hide!”

“I’m not letting you all go down without me!” Anne snapped.

“You’ve already been hurt enough because of us!”

“And I’m still standing! That never stopped me before!”

“Enough!” Loona shouted.

Silence fell. She stepped forward, staring at Anne with a steady gaze. “Blitz is right. We don’t want you paying for our mistakes. You’ve already done more than enough.”

Anne’s hands curled into fists—but she finally nodded.

The group turned toward the window again, uncertain of what lay ahead.

Then the new interns stepped up awkwardly.

“Uh… sorry to interrupt, but, uh… is there anything we can do to help?”

Everyone turned toward them.

And just like that, an idea sparked.

Meanwhile, the entrance to the I.M.P. building was shrouded in thick smoke, the air crackling with static energy as Reapers lined up outside. Lightning arced behind them, casting their silhouettes in strobing menace.

One Reaper glanced at its watch, tapping it impatiently. Its eyes narrowed at the doorway as vague shadows began to form within the mist.

"Move," one muttered.

Suddenly, four figures emerged through the haze. The Reapers tensed, and one of them hurled a rope into the smoke.

A firm tug.

But instead of the I.M.P. team, they yanked forward the interns, dressed up as Blitz, Moxxie, Millie, and Loona—barely convincing, but good enough in the confusion.

“Is this part of the job?” one of the interns asked, deadpan.

The Reapers stared in stunned silence, momentarily processing the bait-and-switch. Then, realization hit.

They'd been duped.

Outside, in the parking lot, the real I.M.P. crew sprinted toward their van. Blitz was carrying Loona, who was still groaning from smoke exposure.

“Get. In. The. Van. Go, go, go!” Blitz barked, nearly throwing the side door open.

Everyone piled in. Blitz slammed the door, leaped into the driver’s seat, and jammed the keys into the ignition.

“C’mon, c’mon... Let’s get outta here!”

The engine sputtered—then roared to life.

“Where are we even going?” Moxxie asked, peeking nervously out the back window.

Blitz adjusted the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Moxxie. “Anywhere but here. Hope you’re ready for a life on the run, gang.”

He hit the gas.

The van surged forward—straight into a light pole.

CRUNCH.

Steam hissed from under the hood. A wheel cover popped off and rolled away like a coin of fate.

Everyone groaned.

Moxxie glared at Blitz. “I fucking hate you so much right now.”

Before they could recover, a wave of Reapers descended, surrounding the van with glowing weapons drawn.

“Freeze, criminals.”

The doors ripped open. Blitz was yanked out, thrown to the ground. Chains materialized in the air and bound his wrists with a crackle of magic.

Moxxie and Millie were cuffed and separated, kicking and shouting. Loona snarled before she was slammed with a magic collar and forced into submission—muzzled and dragged like a beast.

Inside the I.M.P. building, Anne stood frozen. Through a window, she watched her friends get overwhelmed. Her heart pounded.

“No, no, no—what do I do?!”

She started to pace, pulling out her phone. But then a memory surged—Sasha's mocking voice the day they'd arrived in Hell:

"You’re just a good little girl who always runs back home to mommy and daddy."

Anne’s eyes hardened.

"Not today."

She shoved her phone into her pocket, instantly used her demon disguise spell, and bolted out the door.

Outside, a few Reapers remained on patrol.

“HEY!” Anne shouted.

They turned, confused.

Blitz, chained, groaned in disbelief. “Christ on a stick... Anne, what the fuck are you doing?”

Anne stood defiantly. “IF YOU WANT I.M.P., YOU’LL HAVE TO GO THROUGH ME!”

A guard stepped forward, stern. “Stand down. This doesn’t concern you.”

Anne's glare sharpened. “Then you just made it my problem.”

She launched forward, knocking a scythe from a Reaper’s grip with a fierce kick. Before the Reaper could retrieve it, Anne snatched it up and spun it with surprising agility, a wicked grin stretching across her face.

“Come on, then!”

The Reapers lunged. Anne ducked, spun, blocked—her movements wild but determined. She wasn’t  trained to use a weapon yet, but adrenaline and desperation drove her forward.

She lasted almost a full minute.

Then—ZAP.

A bolt of electricity surged through her chest. Her muscles locked up, and she crumpled to the ground, the scythe clattering beside her.

“I surrender,” she groaned, hands in the air.

Seconds later, she was cuffed and shoved into the police cruiser—right next to Blitz, who looked like he was about to explode.

“I told you to stay inside!” he hissed. “You just got yourself arrested! What were you thinking?!”

Anne looked down, guilty. “I just... didn’t want to lose you guys. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

Blitz's expression faltered. After a pause, he sighed. “Fine. You care that much, huh?”

Anne smiled faintly. “Despite everything... you’re my family. And family’s got each other’s backs.”

Blitz blinked, stunned. Then he laughed. “Damn. That’s corny as hell. But... thanks.”

He smirked. “And hey, I gotta admit—those scythe moves? Kinda badass.”

“I learn from the best,” Anne replied.

They shared a look.

Then the car screeched to a halt. Not at a jail—but in front of the Pentagram Courthouse.

“What the hell?” Blitz muttered.

Two Reapers yanked the doors open and dragged them into a looming, dark hall. The courtroom glowed with lava-lit braziers and burning scales. The silhouette of Hell’s highest authority towered above:

Satan.

He emerged in full—a massive reddish-orange dragon, crowned with horned ridges that almost resembled a cowboy hat. He wore a black vest and pants, each thread shimmering with infernal runes.

“We are here to sentence the criminal imp—Blitzo.”

Blitz flinched. “A-actually, it’s Blitz, the ‘o’ is—”

Satan snarled and blew smoke in his face. Blitz wilted instantly.

“Totally there! Yep! Nailed it!”

The charges were read: misuse of a Goetia grimoire, assault, unauthorized access to the mortal realm.

“How do you plead?”

“Oh come on!” Blitz groaned. “I tried to steal the book, yeah—but I didn’t! It was given to me!”

“LIES!” a pompous voice rang out.

A peacock demon glided forward on a platform of ice—Andrealphus, eyes cold and theatrical.

“I speak for my dear sister Stella. This vile little imp seduced her husband—our dear Stolas—and coerced him into aiding his crimes.”

Blitz’s eyes bulged. “What?! I didn’t force shit!”

A mouthguard conjured over his face, silencing him.

Andrealphus continued dramatically, accusing Blitz of manipulation, seduction, and attempted assassination.

The courtroom gasped. Satan’s fury began to rise, smoke curling from his nostrils until a timid demon named Yogirt whispered calming advice.

Satan inhaled deeply. “Continue.”

Then from the gallery, a red parrot-like demon interjected.

"Wait a minute! I have something to say! Something isn't right here!"

"Ugh, what do you want, Vassago?" Andrealphus groaned in annoyance while rolling his eyes.

Anne and Blitz looked at each other with shock when Vassago's name was mentioned. So that parrot was the guy Marcy mentioned when he came to Stolas' palace last month.

Vassgo instantly asked, “Where is Stolas? Shouldn’t he testify?”

Andrealphus glared. “He has not been informed.”

Vassago’s feathers ruffled. “¿¡Qué!? That’s absurd!”

More arguing. Tension rose.

Then, Andrealphus snapped his fingers—and Striker emerged from the floor, scarred, sneering.

“It was him. Blitz hired me to kill Stolas. Tried to cover his tracks with that spellbook.”

Blitz, after tearing off the gag, roared, “I’M AN ASSASSIN! If I wanted him dead—I WOULD’VE DONE IT MY-FUCKING-SELF!”

The courtroom fell into stunned silence.

Asmodeus choked. Beelzebub facepalmed. Vassago gaped. Even Mammon stopped laughing.

Anne smacked her face with her cuffed hands. “Oh my God.”

Moxxie cried in Millie's arms. “We’re gonna die!”

Blitz tried to backpedal. “Wait, that’s not what I meant—!”

The gag returned, magically locking shut.

Satan shook his head in disappointment. “You are a disgrace.”

Beelzebub and Asmodeus argued for Blitz’s chance to speak. Mammon mocked them. Vassago tried to mediate.

Chaos.

Finally, Satan slammed his claws down.

“Let us vote. Who wishes to hear testimony?”

Spotlights on Asmodeus, Beelzebub, the I.M.P. team, and Loona—after some reluctant eye-rolling.

“And who votes death?”

A blinding majority of spotlights.

Anne’s jaw dropped. “Oh come on!”

Mammon cackled. “HA! You’re done, ya rats!”

Satan rose.

“For the theft of a sacred Goetia heirloom, breach of hellbound law, and treason against the noble class… I sentence you, Blitzo, and your associates… to death.”

Cameras blinked to life.

Across all Seven Rings, every screen turned to the courtroom broadcast. Verosika, Fizzarolli, Barbie Wire, Wally, they all watched in stunned silence. Fizz gripped his phone and texted in panic: “OZZIE WTF. DO SOMTH.”

Back in court, Blitz slumped in his chains. Loona shut her eyes. Anne trembled.

They were out of time.

Hell was watching.

And this was only the beginning.

Back at Fizzarolli and Asmodeus’ tower, tension thickened the air like smoke.

Fizz was pacing in front of the massive wall-mounted TV, his mechanical hands clenched tight, eyes wide with growing panic. The courtroom broadcast played on every screen in the room—Blitz, bound and gagged, awaiting execution.

Fizz’s voice trembled as he whispered to himself, “Come on, Ozzie... do something. Say something. Please.”

But the screen offered no such salvation. Asmodeus sat silent in the courtroom, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

Fizz’s breath hitched—and then he exploded.

“FUCK!!” he screamed, hurling a nearby pillow at the television. The soft impact barely made a sound, but the outburst was enough to bring Sasha running from down the hall.

“Fizz! Are you okay? What’s going o—?”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Her eyes locked onto the TV.

The camera feed showed Blitz at the execution stand while in chains. The execution order had just been passed.

Sasha gasped, hand flying to her mouth.

Fizz turned to her, eyes glassy and voice cracking as tears welled up and spilled over. “Blitz is going to die, Sasha! They’re going to kill him!”

He collapsed onto the couch, curling in on himself as sobs shook his body.

“I just got him back... after everything we went through—he was finally back in my life. I can’t lose him again! I can’t!”

Without a word, Sasha crossed the room and dropped beside him, wrapping her arms tightly around the weeping jester. She held him, rocking slightly, trying to steady him through the storm of emotion.

Fizz clung to her as if letting go would make the nightmare real.

Sasha kept her gaze on the screen. Her grip tightened. Her expression hardened.

Please, she thought. Let him survive this.

Silently, she hoped—no, willed—that somehow, Blitz would make it through.

Because this wasn’t just Hell anymore.

This was personal.

The courtroom shifted.

With a low, mechanical rumble, the stand beneath Blitz began to transform—panels sliding and grinding until it reassembled into a jagged execution block. The iron clamps snapped shut around his wrists and ankles.

Blitz’s eyes widened in raw panic as Reapers emerged like shadows behind him and the rest of the I.M.P. crew, their scythes gleaming, their faces unreadable.

He thrashed against the mouthguard, fighting to pry it off with desperation bordering on feral.

Then—snap—he tore it free.

“NO! Not them, Your Highness!” Blitz shouted hoarsely, voice echoing through the massive chamber. “It was me! It was all me, okay?! You can’t teach anyone a damn thing by killing all of us!”

The room held its breath.

Satan’s eyes narrowed.

And then, slowly, ominously, he rose from his throne.

The entire courtroom quaked, flames flickering wildly as the colossal Wrath-King’s footsteps boomed like divine judgment.

He loomed over Blitz, casting a shadow thick with fury. Smoke poured from his snout as his massive face lowered to Blitz’s level.

“You dare… tell me… how to PUNISH?”

Each syllable struck like a hammer.

Before the tension could ignite into something catastrophic, Yogirt floated into frame, awkwardly sliding between Satan and Blitz with a nervous laugh.

“Uhh—Satan! Buddy! Heh... today's an amethyst day, remember? And you’re acting kinda ruby, okay? Maybe pause... take a breath… realign your chaaaaakras?”

Satan gave a low growl but didn’t respond.

Blitz, not backing down, turned to the audience, to the cameras.

“Hell’s watching, right? Then let them see this: a mass execution of imps who were just doing their jobs! I’m the rogue. I’m the one who broke the rules. Don’t punish them for what I did!”

Across the courtroom, Moxxie jolted.

The Reaper restraining him faltered slightly as Moxxie pulled himself free, stunned by Blitz’s words.

“Blitz... what are you doing?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Blitz didn’t turn around. He just stared ahead, waiting.

Finally, Satan exhaled a plume of smoke and dropped back into his throne with a resounding thud. Lava in the braziers flared once more as the tension softened by a sliver.

“Fine,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I created imp-kind to be obedient. If these others were simply following orders... I see no reason to punish the dutiful.”

He leaned his head into one clawed hand.

“Just axe only him."

Silence.

Then Blitz felt a cold, clawed hand settle on his shoulder. The grip was firm. Final.

A low growl from the Reaper echoed behind him.

Deadpan, Blitz stared forward.

“...Oh shit.”

Back at Stolas’ mansion, the demon prince reclined lazily on a chaise, idly flipping through channels. One moment he watched Hell-a-Novela Season 2, the next—a bizarre Wacky Charms cereal commercial.

Then he froze.

The screen changed.

The courtroom broadcast. Blitz, bound and kneeling at the execution block.

Stolas choked on his drink, nearly dropping the glass.

“Oh... my Lucifer,” he gasped. “What are they doing?!”

Panic washed over him. He sprang to his feet and rushed to his wardrobe, hastily throwing on his crimson tunic, faux fur cape, and ceremonial hat.

As he darted for the stairs, a voice called out from behind him.

“Stolas? What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

He turned to see Marcy, her brows furrowed with concern.

“Marcy, there’s no time to explain,” he said quickly. “Blitz—he’s about to be executed. I have to stop it.”

Marcy’s breath hitched. “What?! How are you even going to do that?”

Stolas paused. Then, solemnly:

“I’ll take his place.”

Marcy stared, stunned. “What? You can’t do that! You can’t just die! What about Octavia? She needs you! I need you!”

Tears welled in her eyes. Her fists clenched.

Stolas’ voice cracked as he replied, “I’ve done so much wrong, Marcy... especially to Blitz! If I let him die—if I do nothing—I’ll never forgive myself!”

Before she could respond, another voice joined them.

“Dad? Marcy? Why are you yelling?”

They turned to see Octavia, confused and groggy as she descended the stairs.

Stolas took a deep breath, then pulled both girls close.

“Marcy, Via… whatever happens to me, stay together. Be there for one another. And know I’ll always be with you—in here.” He gently tapped their chests. “In your hearts.”

He embraced them both tightly, eyes brimming with tears. Marcy stood frozen. Octavia’s confusion deepened, but something in her father’s voice told her this was serious.

Stolas stepped away, conjured a portal with a flick of magic, and looked back one last time.

“Goodbye, girls. Thank you for everything.”

“STOLAS, NO!”

“Dad, wait—!”

But the portal snapped shut before they could stop him.

Octavia turned sharply to Marcy, anger flaring in her voice. “What did he say to you?!"

Marcy swallowed hard. “He said... he’s going to take Blitz’s place.”

Octavia’s face turned pale. “No... no he didn’t. He wouldn’t just—”

Without finishing, she bolted upstairs. Marcy chased after her, both rushing into the living room where the television still showed the courtroom live feed.

And what they saw made their stomachs drop.

Back in the courtroom, the execution was moments away.

Blitz, now unbound, stood at the block, looking back at the I.M.P. crew one last time.

Satan smirked.

“Do you have any final words? We’ll pretend to care.”

Blitz snarled. “All I ever wanted was to rise above this stupid, fucked-up system YOU all forced us into!”

Moxxie cried out, pleading. “Your Highness, please, Blitz just—!”

“Moxxie, stop.” Blitz cut in firmly.

“But—”

“This big red bitch never planned on listening to us,” Blitz muttered bitterly.

That’s when Anne broke down, tears running freely.

“Blitz, please... you can’t do this! There are people out there who love you! You have family. Friends. People who need you!”

Blitz turned to her, expression soft—but final.

“I know what you’re about to say, Anne. And no. You don’t get to take my place. You’d never make it back to Earth if you did.”

“But—!”

“I made my choice. End of discussion.”

Silence fell.

Millie clutched Moxxie. Loona turned her face away, fighting back tears. Anne tried to speak again, but no words came.

Blitz turned to the crew one last time.

“Take care of Loona. And Anne.”

Moxxie sobbed into Millie’s arms once more. “I—I can’t watch, Millie…”

Chains slithered up Blitz’s body, locking his arms and legs. A thick collar snapped around his neck, yanking him forward to the block.

A Reaper raised an ethereal axe, its blade glowing with red-hot fire.

Loona whimpered softly, turning her head.

Anne bit her lip until it bled.

Blitz, eyes wet, looked up at his team, his family, and said:

“I love you guys.”

The axe came down-

But it never struck.

The entire courtroom gasped.

A single feather floated down and landed beside Blitz.

Yogirt whispered in surprise, “Oh my unholy heck…”

Blitz opened his eyes in shock as the axe, inches from his neck, froze mid-air.

Stolas, glowing with violet energy, stood between Blitz and the blade, his magic holding it aloft.

Blitz blinked, stunned. “S-Stolas?! W-what are you—?!”

“I’m here to make things right,” Stolas said, firm but gentle.

From the throne, Satan erupted in rage, lifting Yogirt like a chew toy.

“WHAT IN LUCIFER’S HELL IS THIS?!”

“I’ll explain everything!” Stolas said quickly.

With a burst of magic, he blasted the executioner away and shattered the chains around Blitz.

“I’ll clear Blitz’s name—even if it’s the last thing I do!”

“YES! Tell them, baby!” Vassago shouted from the gallery in triumph.

Satan seethed but settled. “Very well. Since the matter centers on you, let’s hear your side.”

And so, Stolas explained.

He had given Blitz permission to use the grimoire—for monthly meetups. No coercion. No crime. Blitz had been honest, if emotionally messy.

He spoke of their complicated relationship, of the assassination business that mostly targeted evil humans—not demons.

He explained that Blitz had earned an Asmodean Crystal, legally, with Asmodeus' help, to allow lawful travel between realms.

“I wanted Blitz to have the freedom he deserved. I offered the crystal as a show of trust. Because I— I care for him.”

Blitz flushed.

Stolas went on. The marriage with Stella was arranged, loveless. Octavia was the one good thing to come of it.

“But true romantic love?” Stolas said, looking at Blitz. “I didn’t understand it—until him.”

The courtroom was silent.

Then came the final blow.

“And for my part in all this, I offer myself in exchange for Blitz’s life. Let me take his place.”

“WHAT?!” Blitz’s voice cracked. Everyone—Moxxie, Millie, Loona, Anne, Vassago—was horrified.

“I started this. I broke demon law. I will take full responsibility.”

Satan laughed darkly.

“A Goetic prince, falling on his sword. How quaint.”

Chains and cuffs appeared around Stolas’ neck and limbs.

“Release the pawn!” Satan commanded.

Blitz’s bindings dissolved. But Stolas stood firm.

Blitz ran to him, grabbing his cape.

“No—no! Stolas, you can’t! You don’t deserve this!”

Stolas looked back, offering a sad smile.

“Please…”

Two Reapers grabbed Blitz, dragging him away.

“GET OFF ME!”

He broke free—only for magical chains to catch his wrists again.

He was yanked from the chamber, screaming.

“STOLAS!! Stolas, fuck, do something! Use your powers—anything!”

Blitz was hurled through the doors. They slammed behind him with a thunderous boom.

He scrambled up, tried to reopen them—nothing.

He punched the door in frustration—then yelped.

“OW! My supple wrist!”

Finally, Blitz collapsed against the door, broken.

The rest of I.M.P. was thrown out moments later. But none of them cared. They were alive. Blitz was safe.

And yet...

He wasn’t whole.

They rushed him in a group hug, sobbing.

Moxxie gripped him tight. “Sir! Sir—you’re here!”

Loona wrapped her arms around him. “Dad…”

Millie, angry through tears: “Don’t ever pull that shit again, you dumbass!”

Anne wiped her eyes. “You scared us, Blitz!”

Blitz trembled in their arms. His tears finally fell.

But he didn’t cry for himself.

He cried for Stolas.

The one who taught him how to believe in love again—

Now gone.

Meanwhile, in Stolas’ palace, the mood had plummeted into silence.

Marcy and Octavia sat frozen on the couch, eyes glued to the screen. The courtroom broadcast had shown them everything—the chains, the declarations, the heartbreak—and now, Stolas, their father and friend, knelt before the execution block.

Octavia was pale. Her expression was unreadable, swirling with confusion, anger, and a hint of something deeper.

She had just learned the truth—that her parents’ marriage was arranged, loveless. That she was brought into the world not out of love, but as a precautionary heir. And that Blitz wasn’t some casual fling... but something real. Something that made her father willing to die.

And she hated it.

Before she could speak, the news camera cut to Stolas, kneeling.

His cape billowed out behind him as he rested his neck upon the executioner’s block, eyes closed in silent resolve.

Octavia snapped.

“No—no, I can’t take this anymore!”

She bolted for the door.

“Octavia, wait!” Marcy called, chasing after her.

Just as Octavia reached the foyer, she stopped—blocked by Stella.

“Mom—?”

Octavia froze.

Stella said nothing. She simply opened her arms... and embraced her daughter.

Octavia’s walls cracked. Tears spilled from her eyes as she fell into her mother’s hug.

But behind Octavia’s back, Stella smirked—cold and calculating.

Marcy, who had caught up, stopped just in time to witness the twisted expression cross Stella’s face.

Her eyes narrowed.

Something’s wrong.

Keeping hidden, she slipped back toward the living room, discreetly conjuring her demon disguise. The courtroom footage was still playing. And though her heart raced, her hope hadn’t faded yet.

She stared at the screen.

Come on, Stolas… please find a way out.

Back at the trial, Stolas still knelt at the block, eyes closed, waiting for the blade.

But it didn’t fall.

Satan just stood there, staring down at him, perplexed.

“Uh… what exactly are you doin’?” he asked.

Stolas blinked, lifting his head slowly.

“...I assumed you were going to execute me?”

He traced a finger across his throat dramatically.

Satan chuckled, slapping a hand on his knee.

“Execute you? Nah. You’re a Goetia, remember? Demon royalty. You’ve got actual value.”

Stolas furrowed his brow. “But… I’ve committed a heinous crime. Shouldn’t that matter?”

“Oh, it matters,” Satan replied, his voice sharpening. “But we don’t kill royalty. We punish them... creatively.”

Just then, Andrealphus glided into view on a platform of polished ice.

“Your Majesty,” he said smoothly, “if I may offer a fitting suggestion?”

He approached Stolas, dismissing the magical chains with a flick of his fingers.

“Banish him. Strip him of his title, his power. Let someone more capable manage his legions and possessions.”

He smiled like a vulture. “Stella and I have already agreed to share the inheritance. She’ll handle the estate. I’ll take the prophecies and forces. After all, we didn’t humiliate our bloodline with scandal.”

He straightened his coat with satisfaction. “We’d be everything he was—just… competent. And not, ahem, a deviant disgrace.”

Satan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah. That works.”

Then, rising from his throne, his tone dropped into something darker, smoke coiling from his jaws.

“Stolas! I hereby strip you of your status, your power, and your title.”

A golden set of demonic rings, etched in ancient symbols from Lucifer’s fall, hovered into the air. They began to spin, glowing crimson.

Stolas’ eyes widened in horror. Andrealphus trembled with glee.

“Yes! YES! YEEEESSSSS!!”

Satan raised his hand. “...For the next hundred years.”

Andrealphus gaped. “Wait—what?! That’s it?!”

“Aw, quit whining,” Satan muttered.

The rings released a bolt of crimson lightning, striking Stolas directly. His feathers seared, magic bled from his core, and his royal essence was ripped away.

The courtroom watched in awe as his once-glorious aura collapsed, and the glow of Goetic nobility flickered out.

When it ended, Stolas crumpled to the block, breathing hard, his voice hoarse.

“You will now live... as a common citizen of Hell. And you’ll revel in your disgrace.”

Still dazed, Stolas managed to lift his head and whisper:

“But... what about my daughter? What of my advisor?”

The rings slowly descended, vanishing into the floor as Andrealphus stepped in with smugness.

“Oh, don’t worry. Octavia will be safe. With her loving mother.”

He winked. “As for this mysterious ‘advisor’? I’d be very interested in meeting her myself.”

Satan dismissed the court. “Trial’s over. Time for lunch!”

Mammon, ecstatic, summoned a bucket of unnaturally green chicken and plunged his face into it like a rabid animal.

“YEEAAAH! It’s fuckin’ lunch time!”

The crowd cheered half-heartedly. Asmodeus and Beelzebub watched in horror.

Beelzebub turned to Stolas, concerned.

The Reapers seized Stolas by the arms.

He was limp. Powerless.

And as he was dragged away, Andrealphus stepped on his fallen hat.

“Bye-bye, Stolas,” he sneered. “Enjoy horny jail.”

Back at the palace, Marcy watched in horror. She couldn’t sit still any longer.

She yanked out her phone and dialed Anne’s number.

It rang.

No answer.

“Come on, Anne!”

She called again.

Still nothing.

Her grip tightened. She quickly called Sasha.

“Marcy!” Sasha’s voice came through instantly. “Thank god! Did Anne try calling you?”

“No,” Marcy said, breathless. “I was about to ask the same.”

Sasha paused. “She’s not answering me either. That’s not like her.”

Marcy's stomach turned. Her eyes widened in realization.

“Oh no… Sasha... I think she’s at the trial.”

“What?! Are you serious?! That idiot!”

“We have to find her! She could be in serious danger!”

“Right. Call her again—keep calling her. I’ll try to reach her on my end again.”

Without another word, Marcy started dialing again and again, heart pounding in her chest.

Please, Anne. Pick up.

Meanwhile, outside the courtroom, Anne and the rest of I.M.P remained huddled in the halls. The trial was over, but Blitz was still ramming his shoulder into the closed doors in a futile attempt to get back inside.

“YOU! Open this—gah—OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR RIGHT—AHH!”

Anne wanted to stop him. She wanted to tell him to stop hurting himself. But she didn’t.

Because she understood.

She remembered that same helplessness—crying in front of the hospital door in the Sloth Ring, desperate to see Marcy after her injury. The feeling of being locked out of something life-changing. Something you couldn’t control.

Before she could speak, the courtroom doors suddenly creaked open.

Two Reapers shoved Stolas out, weak and stripped of his power. He hit the ground with a grunt. The doors slammed shut behind him.

“Stolas!” Blitz ran to him, dropping to his knees. “What happened in there?”

The former prince lifted his head slowly. His feathers were dulled, his eyes tired and dim. “I… I’ve been banished.”

Almost on cue, a coffee drink hit him square in the face.

An imp janitor nearby flipped him off. “You suck, Stolas!”

“HEY!” Blitz shouted, spinning toward the imp. “Fuck off, you little rat!”

Stolas gently caught Blitz by the sleeve. “It’s okay. I’m okay, Blitz.”

“You need a ride home.”

“I… don’t have a home anymore,” Stolas replied, voice hollow. “Everything I had is gone.”

The I.M.P. crew watched in silence. Sympathy flickered in their eyes—Anne especially. Stolas wasn’t royalty anymore. He wasn’t powerful. Just… lost.

Blitz offered his hand.

“Come with me. We’ll get you outta here. You’ll need a place to stay.”

Stolas hesitated… then nodded.

Blitz helped him to his feet. The rest of I.M.P. followed them somberly down the steps.

Outside the courthouse, Moxxie hailed a taxi. He opened the door for Millie, then followed her inside. Before leaving, he glanced back at Blitz, Stolas, Anne, and Loona.

His expression was hard to read—tired, still shaken—but grateful. He gave a small wave.

Blitz returned it.

The cab drove off into the haze of Imp City.

Later, the group arrived at Blitz and Loona’s apartment.

As they walked down the sidewalk, Anne noticed the cheering crowd of imps lining the streets. They held up hand-painted signs: “We ❤️ Blitzo!” (with the “O” clearly obstructed).

Blitz gave a nervous wave. “Thanks, everyone—thank you, heh…”

But the joy didn’t last.

As soon as they passed the cheering crowd, the jeers began. Garbage, filth, and glowing green slime rained from the balconies—aimed directly at Stolas.

Anne immediately stepped in front of him, taking the brunt of it with her arms raised like a shield. Blitz rushed to their side.

“Thanks, but okay—THE THROWING? Not necessary! We got it—thanks!”

Inside the apartment, Loona opened the door and flipped on the lights.

Blitz guided Stolas inside, followed by Anne, who was still wiping sludge from her sleeves.

Stolas looked around. He took in the cluttered but homey decor. Framed photos of Blitz and Loona. A certificate of Loona’s adoption. A faded picture of Blitz and Barbie Wire—Blitz’s face scribbled out with ink.

His eyes lingered on that one.

He remembered the way Blitz viewed himself… and felt a pang of guilt.

A ceiling fan clunked above him as he reached up to fix its angle, then turned to face them again.

Loona set the van keys on the counter, then walked over to Blitz. “Hey… I’m glad you’re okay.”

She surprised him by hugging him tightly. Blitz blinked—then returned the hug, his arms wrapping gently around her.

“I love you, Dad.”

Loona stepped back and quietly headed to her room.

Stolas had watched the exchange in silence.

The warmth. The ease. The love.

And it reminded him just how far away he now was from Octavia. From Marcy. From everything.

Anne noticed his expression.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You alright?”

He turned, caught off-guard. “I… I’m alright, dear. Thank you for asking.”

But she could see the sadness in his eyes.

A while later, Blitz helped Stolas bathe.

“Here we go, here we go,” he muttered, gently scrubbing him with a sponge. “Some nice agua.”

Stolas flapped his lips lazily, still dazed.

A knock on the door.

Blitz opened it slightly. Loona handed him neatly folded clothes.

“For him,” she said. “They’re mine, but—he’ll fit.”

“Thanks, Loona.”

He turned back—only to see Stolas with his head underwater.

“Oop! Hey—try not to inhale the water.”

He closed the door—then cracked it open again.

“Yeah. Seriously. Don’t inhale the water.”

Stolas let out a deep, weary sigh.

Back in the living room, Blitz sat on his beanbag chair, scrolling through his phone. The news headlines flashed: “I.M.P Survives Trial by the Seven Deadly Sins!”

“Blitzo: From Criminal to Hero?”

Message after message poured in. Job offers. Praise. Fan art. Apologies.

He smirked. “Well, that’s new.”

The bathroom door opened.

Stolas stepped out, now clean and wrapped in one of Loona’s oversized sweaters. Anne slipped into the bathroom after he passed.

Stolas walked to the couch and laid down.

Blitz draped a blanket over him.

“Thank you, Blitz.”

Blitz hesitated. Then:

“Thank you, Stolas. For saving my life.”

Stolas smiled faintly. “Always.”

Blitz turned away for a moment, hands on his hips. He was about to say something more—but when he looked back, Stolas was already asleep.

He chuckled, cheeks pink, and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep tight, birdbrain.”

Then he sat back in his beanbag and looked out the window.

The sky above Imp City lit up with fireworks. Celebration for I.M.P's survival. Banners were strung across rooftops, and cheers could be heard in the distance.

Blitz rested his head back, content—for now.

Anne rejoined him, drying her hair with a towel.

She smirked playfully. “So… that kiss you gave Stolas. Real cute. You do like him, huh?”

Blitz grinned. “Yeah… I do. But we need a fresh start. That kiss? Consider it a friendly one.”

Anne nodded. “Noted. And don’t worry—I won’t tell him.”

She pulled out her phone—and nearly dropped it.

“Holy shit!”

She scrolled through dozens of missed calls and texts from Sasha and Marcy.

Blitz leaned over. “Well, looks like I’m not the only one drowning in messages.”

Anne groaned, but smiled as she tapped to call.

The video call connected—both girls popped up on screen immediately.

“ANNE!” Marcy shouted. “Took you long enough!”

“Yeah! You totally went to the trial, didn’t you?!” Sasha demanded.

Anne winced. “Yeah… and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want Blitz and the others to get hurt.”

“You dummy!” Sasha barked. “You could’ve died!”

“I know! I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be safe from now on. Promise.”

Marcy exhaled, relieved. Sasha rolled her eyes.

“You’re seriously becoming unrecognizable.”

Anne chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Suddenly, yelling could be heard behind Sasha.

She turned her head. “Ugh—Fizz and Ozzy are arguing again. I gotta go put out another fire. Talk to you both tomorrow!”

She hung up, leaving Anne and Marcy.

Marcy smiled. “So, do you know where Stolas is?”

Anne nodded. “Yeah. He’s sleeping here, in Blitz’s place. He’s gonna stay with us from now on.”

Marcy’s shoulders eased. “That’s good. I was worried he’d end up on the street.”

Anne hesitated. “What about Octavia?”

“She… doesn’t know he was banished. She thought he died. I’m going to tell her tomorrow.”

“You can tell her now, if you want. I don’t mind.”

“You sure? I don’t want to cut this short.”

“It’s okay. I’m heading to bed anyway.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Anne.”

“Night, Mar-Mar.”

Anne leaned in and blew a flirty air kiss before ending the call.

She set the phone down, stretched, and glanced toward the couch.

Stolas slept peacefully beneath the blanket. Blitz, still sitting nearby, watched the fireworks in silence.

Anne smiled.

They had survived.

But something told her their story was only just beginning.

Back at the palace, Marcy let out a small giggle at Anne’s flirty air kiss before the call ended. But the moment her screen went dark, the smile faded.

The silence returned—and with it, the weight.

With Stolas gone, banished from his own home, everything had changed. Stella was moving back in, and with her came the kind of malice and chaos that filled rooms like poison.

Marcy knew things were about to get difficult.

She needed a moment to breathe. Maybe talk to Octavia—someone else carrying the same heaviness. So she turned down the hallway toward Octavia’s room, footsteps light.

But then, she heard laughter.

It came from another room. Loud, sharp, and unmistakably Stella’s.

Marcy was about to walk away, when a sentence stopped her cold.

“I’m so happy I took your advice to spare Stolas’ life and end the whole ‘kill him’ thing I hired Striker for! Now he’s living like a dirty, imp-loving peasant while we get all his riches—just like you said, Andy!”

Marcy’s heart skipped a beat as her face showed horrified shock.

Stella.

Striker.

The assassination attempt that apparently happened twice but ended up unsucessful.

She had suspected Stella was cruel—but this? This was evil. Calculated. Almost gleeful in its wickedness.

Before she could leave, a floorboard creaked beneath her foot.

Stella’s laughter cut off.

Marcy’s breath caught as Stella turned toward the door.

A slow, chilling smile crept across her face.

“I have to hang up, Andy. Seems a little butler is here, wanting orders,” she said sweetly, then hung up.

Her gaze snapped back to Marcy, now disguised in her demon form, standing in stunned silence.

The sweetness disappeared instantly. Her face curled into a scowl.

“What do you think you were doing,” she spat, “snooping around in someone else’s conversation?”

Marcy forced herself to stay calm, despite the thundering of her heartbeat.

“I apologize, Lady Stella. I was just heading to check on Lady Octavia. The rest… was… accidental.”

“Oh, drop the act, Michelle.” Stella crossed her arms. “I may not be as clever as my brother, but I’m not stupid.”

“Actually… it’s Marcy, Lady Stella. And—”

“Do I look like I care?!” Stella snapped, cutting her off.

She took a step closer.

“So, you figured it out. I hired that cowboy to put Stolas six feet under. So what? The man disgraced our name. He spent years rolling around with a filthy imp while I had to deal with his messes—and make sure our daughter didn’t end up like him.”

Her voice cracked, but not with sadness—only rage.

“But she always picks him over me! Me! The one who carried her! I’m tired of being treated like some joke! That’s why I sent Striker. And Andy’s plan—banishment instead of death? Genius.”

Marcy clenched her fists. “That still doesn’t justify what you did. You’re not just hurting Stolas. You’re hurting Octavia. She needs her father.”

That’s when Stella lunged.

She grabbed Marcy’s wrist with a clawed hand, digging her nails deep into her skin.

Marcy gasped in pain as blood welled up.

“Listen here, you little brat,” Stella hissed. “I don’t care about right or wrong. And I don’t care what you think. You’re lucky I’m letting you live under this roof. But don’t test me.”

Her grip tightened further.

“You’re no longer his advisor. You serve me and Andrealphus now. Do I make myself clear?”

Marcy fought to keep her voice steady.

“Y-yes, Lady Stella. I understand.”

“Good.”

Stella released her, flicking the blood from her nails with a grimace.

“If you want to stay in Octavia’s life, then know your place.”

She turned and walked away, heels clicking down the hallway like a judge’s gavel.

Marcy stood there, cradling her wrist, frozen in place.

Then she turned and ran.

In the bathroom, she slammed the door shut behind her, gasping for air.

Her breaths came fast, ragged, uneven.

She scrubbed her wrist under cold water, watching the blood swirl down the drain. Her vision blurred as tears formed.

She slumped to the tiled floor, body trembling.

And then she cried.

Sobs broke through the panic. She curled in on herself, trying to make the fear go away.

She felt small. Powerless.

But then… she looked up.

The bathroom, like most rooms in Stolas’ wing, was decorated with celestial art—stars, constellations, distant galaxies painted on dark walls. It reminded her of who used to live here. What he stood for.

Her thoughts flashed to Stolas’ last words:

“Whatever happens to me… you and Octavia will always have each other. I’ll be in your hearts.”

Marcy wiped her eyes. The sobs subsided.

A breath.

Then another.

And finally—a spark of fire returned.

“No,” she whispered. “I got this.”

She stood up, found gauze in the medicine cabinet, and wrapped her bleeding wrist carefully.

Then, with resolve in her step, she exited the bathroom.

Her mind was set.

She was going to tell Octavia the truth.

Stolas is alive.

And she wasn’t going to back down.

Not from Stella.

Not from fear.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The morning after the trial, and Stolas’ banishment began peculiarly.

He woke up in a disorienting sprawl, surrounded by a mountain of horse plushies scattered across the couch like a bizarre tribute.

Blinking blearily, he sat up, plush fabric clinging to his hand-me-down sweater from Loona. The sheer volume of equine-themed decor was overwhelming.

Horse figurines lined the shelves. A rocking horse stood in the corner, one glass eye missing. Even the TV played a rerun of an old horse competition show.

In the kitchen, Blitz was humming as he flipped something in a skillet. He turned his head at the sound of movement.

“Well, good morning, Prince Sleeps-A-Lot,” he called with a grin. “Sleep alright, big bird?”

Stolas gave a long, feather-ruffling yawn. “As well as I could, I suppose,” he replied, brushing off a plush pony that had latched onto his side.

He glanced around the room again, then gently picked up a particularly fluffy horse plushie and set it aside. His eyes lingered on the rocking horse.

“Uhhh… My, Blitz,” he said slowly. “You certainly have... a lot of horses. Quite the collection.”

Blitz chuckled as he stirred the eggs. “Sure do.”

Stolas turned to face him more fully, his brow raised with genuine curiosity. “Is there a story behind all this?”

Blitz paused. The cheer in his voice dimmed for a moment. “There is… but it's long. And way too traumatic.”

Without missing a beat, he smiled again. “Anyway, breakfast’ll be ready in a jiff!”

He went back to the stove. Stolas blinked at the sudden shift, a smile tugging at his beak, though it faltered just as quickly.

He stood and wandered into the bathroom. Opening a cabinet, he found a toy horse nestled between various toiletries. He pushed it aside and reached in for something, but came up empty.

His eyes drifted to the running faucet. He stared at the stream for a moment, then spoke.

“Blitz? Um… would you be able to grab some—”

“Grab some what?” Blitz called back, still in the kitchen.

In the mirror, Stolas caught his reflection. His expression faltered, eyes tired. He forced a weak smile.

“Never mind!” he called, shutting off the tap.

He returned to the living room, where the table had been set. Plates were laid out with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. It smelled warm and earthy, foreign but comforting.

Just then, Anne emerged from her sleeping bag, her curls wild and her face still marked by sleep. “Morning,” she mumbled, stretching.

“Morning,” both Blitz and Stolas echoed as she wandered toward the bathroom.

The two demons sat down at the table.

“So, I didn’t know what you actually eat,” Blitz said, gesturing to the spread. “So I just made a little of everything. Hope something works for you. Got eggs, made 'em special.”

Stolas picked up his fork, poked at the eggs, and instinctively gagged.

Blitz’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh shit. Is that—wait, is that like… cannibalism for you?”

Stolas coughed into his fist. “No, not exactly. Just... a little off-putting. But it’s protein, I suppose.”

He began to chew slowly, tentatively. After a few bites, his expression crumpled with regret.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that as an insult. I’ve never eaten food like this before, that’s all.”

“It’s fine, Stols. No offense taken,” Blitz said, waving it off as he took a bite of his own eggs.

He chewed, then asked, “So what do you usually eat?”

Stolas sat back slightly. “Normally, I’m served a custom diet by my staff. Nutrient-balanced dishes. Delicacies. Things like roasted vole, or… fire koi.”

Blitz raised an eyebrow.

“Kale salad?”

Stolas nodded. “Yes. Sometimes.”

Blitz squinted at him. “Anything I could get that won’t burn a hole in my wallet?”

Stolas pondered. “Perhaps... rats?”

At that, Blitz stood abruptly and gathered the plates. “On it. I’ll grab my stompers and head to the alley this afternoon!”

Stolas smiled faintly, lifting his coffee. “That would be thoughtful. Rats were always Via’s favorite snack.”

As the cup neared his beak, his expression changed. His hand stopped mid-motion. His eyes went wide.

“Oh no!” he blurted, setting the mug down hard. “Where’s your phone?”

Meanwhile, in the royal palace, Octavia’s phone buzzed insistently on the side table.

The call was from an unknown number, but her heart leapt all the same. Ever since Marcy told her last night that Stolas was still alive, she’d been waiting, hoping, for some kind of sign. This, maybe, was it.

She reached for the phone, but before her fingers could touch the screen, Stella swept in and snatched it from her.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she said airily. “No talking to strangers.”

With a swipe, Stella declined the call.

“Mother!” Octavia snapped, her tone rising. “What was that for?!”

“I’m doing this for your own good, darling,” Stella replied, with mock sweetness. “You know better than to answer strange numbers. Honestly, Octavia, use your head.”

Octavia tried to grab the phone back, but Stella kept it just out of reach.

Then, the phone buzzed again.

Stella glanced at the screen, and a curious smile crept across her face. She turned toward her brother, who sat across the room with a book in hand, glasses perched on his beak.

“Andrealphus,” she said with a delighted little purr. “Guess who’s trying to call.”

Andrealphus didn’t look up right away, but the smugness in his voice was unmistakable. “Oooh, did he finally find the nerve? Took him long enough. That’s rich.”

The phone kept ringing. Stella didn’t answer. She only admired her manicured claws while basking in the moment with her brother.

Across the room, Octavia sat on the couch, fuming. She clutched a pillow to her chest, her jaw clenched in frustration. Her father had been trying to reach her. And her mother had stopped her from even knowing.

“He actually thinks he’s going to speak to my daughter?” Stella laughed, voice dripping with cruelty. “Hilarious!”

She and Andrealphus laughed in sync.

Octavia grabbed her beanie with both hands, beak grinding. Finally, she stood and stormed past the butlers—who were in the process of hanging a new portrait of Andrealphus over where Stolas’ had once been—and out of the room.

Marcy, who had been watching the scene from a distance, took a step forward to follow her. But Stella’s sharp voice cut through the air.

“Let her go, Marcy. Octavia’s nearly eighteen. Constant coddling doesn’t suit a future heiress—especially from someone a few years younger than her.”

“Lady Stella, I—”

“Excuse me,” Andrealphus interrupted, his voice colder than frost, “but were you about to challenge my sister’s judgment?”

His piercing eyes bore into Marcy.

Marcy froze. She hadn’t been able to shake the fear from meeting him last night—and now, with him staring directly at her, her nerves unraveled.

“No, Marquis Andrealphus,” she replied quietly, lowering her gaze.

“Good,” he said simply. “Then be a good little advisor. And stay put.”

Marcy obeyed, but deep down, the shame stung. Her hands clenched at her sides. All she could do was glance toward the hall Octavia had run down, silently hoping she would be alright.

Back at Blitz’s apartment, the mood was entirely different—but no less tense.

Blitz stood at the sink, drying a pan, glancing over his shoulder every so often at Stolas, who was pacing the room like a stormcloud in feathers. The phone was still ringing in his hand.

“Come on… come on… Via, please. Please pick up…”

Eventually, the ringing stopped—and the call dropped into voicemail.

“No! No, no, no… damn it.” Stolas groaned and pressed the phone against his forehead in frustration.

Blitz quickly set down the pan and walked over. He crouched in front of Stolas and gently took his hands.

“Hey, hey, whoa. Deep breaths, alright? I’m sure she’s fine. Probably just… away from the phone. It'll be okay.”

Stolas took a shuddering breath, clutching Blitz’s hands in return. After a moment, he gave a small, grateful smile.

“Yes. You’re right. Thank you, Blitz.”

Blitz returned the smile with a small chuckle. “Don’t sweat it, birdie. That’s what friends are for.”

They held that gaze longer than either expected. No more words, just a shared silence.

Until...

“Hey, I’m done!” Anne called as she stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung over her shoulder.

Blitz and Stolas jumped apart like startled cats, both blushing furiously. Anne smirked but said nothing, clearly amused.

Moments later, Loona stumbled out of her room with her usual morning scowl, yawning as she trudged toward the bathroom.

While Anne poured herself some cereal, Blitz glanced over at Stolas again.

“So, I was thinkin’—since you’re kinda new to this whole, uh, ‘living like a commoner’ thing, maybe I could show you around? We can pick up some rats for you too. Y’know. As a treat.”

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Only if you want to. No pressure.”

Stolas’ eyes lit up just a little. “Actually, I’d love to. I’m curious to see how you live when you’re not working.”

Blitz beamed. “Sweet! Let’s hit the town!”

He tugged Stolas off the beanbag, and the two headed out together.

Over the following weeks, Stolas gradually adjusted to his new life. He learned how to do laundry. He ate at small, scruffy diners. He even started dressing more modestly, donning a red turtleneck with a neat chest cutout and beige leggings for his walks through the city.

At first, the sight of a fallen Goetic prince strolling through Imp City drew sneers and bitterness. But there were others—imps who’d watched the trial—who greeted him with nods of appreciation. It was a start.

Blitz and Stolas' friendship deepened through shared moments, jokes, and quiet understandings. Anne saw the change. She felt proud watching Blitz open up. Even Loona—reluctant to admit it—was happy for her dad.

Still, it wasn’t all well.

Every morning, Stolas exited the bathroom with the same weary sigh. Anne and Loona noticed, but said nothing. They knew he’d just smile and deflect if they asked.

He skipped meals. Sometimes forgot to drink. The failure to reach Octavia was taking its toll.

Blitz did what he could, cooked more, talked more, tried to make him laugh, and slowly, Stolas began to eat again. It took time, but it helped.

Anne had tried to call Marcy to get any update from the palace, but received no reply. The silence was unnerving.

Two months later, Stolas stood in front of the bathroom mirror, shutting the cabinet with a soft click. He studied his reflection for a long moment, then turned and walked back into the living room, collapsing face-first into the couch with a long, despairing squawk.

Anne approached, concerned, about to say something—when Blitz suddenly popped up from behind the couch.

“Eyyy, Stolas! Merry Sinsmas!”

With no warning, Blitz flipped the couch forward. Stolas yelped as he tumbled to the floor.

“What the hell was that for?!” he squawked, glaring up at him.

Blitz leaned casually on the back of the overturned couch, grinning.

“It’s Sinsmas, baby! Y’know, the holiday where everyone embraces their birth sin—or whatever sin they’re feelin’ at the time. Hellborn tradition!”

“I can’t say I’m familiar,” Stolas muttered, brushing off his turtleneck.

Anne joined in, “We have something kind of like that back home. It’s called Christmas. We give gifts, sing songs, stuff like that.”

Blitz looked at her with genuine curiosity. “Huh. Sounds… tame.”

He then turned to Stolas. “So, rich people don’t do holidays?”

Stolas gave him a sharp look. “Fun is free. We just pay for better surroundings.”

Anne blinked, surprised by the bitterness in his voice. Blitz noticed it too and changed gears quickly.

“Well, maybe what you need is some good old-fashioned paperwork!” he declared.

He pointed at Loona, who was now munching dog treats from the box.

“C’mon with us to the office. Help Loony out with her… whatever-the-hell-it-is she does.”

“I’m a secretary,” Loona said flatly, not even looking up.

“Right! That!”

Stolas grimaced. “You spend your holiday at work?”

“By choice!” Blitz grinned. “Last year I set my apartment on fire, so this year we’re doing it somewhere insured!”

Stolas stared at him. “Charming.”

Still, he sighed and headed toward the door with the others.

Just as Blitz opened it, Sasha stood outside.

“Hey. Did I come at a bad time?”

Anne lit up. “Sash! We were just heading out. What brings you here?”

“Fizz and Ozzie had plans. Thought I’d see what you were doing.”

“We’re going to the office,” Anne said. “Wanna come?”

Sasha wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Working on a holiday?”

Anne smirked. “Feels like déjà vu.”

Sasha squinted. “What?”

“Never mind. Come on.”

Anne transformed into a demon by using a spell like usual. Blitz, Loona, and Stolas followed suit.

With a final grin, Sasha activated her transformation bracelet, and joined them.

Hours later, Blitz pushed open the office door and stepped inside. Stolas followed, but immediately hit his head on the top of the doorframe with a dull thud.

Things in the palace had grown more stressful than they ever should have been.

Marcy lived each day walking a tightrope, careful not to say or do anything that might upset Stella or Andrealphus.

When she did slip up, the punishments were swift and cruel. Scratches. Slaps. The kind that left her aching.

Whenever Octavia asked about the bruises or cuts, Marcy would lie, brushing them off as accidents from being "clumsier than usual."

Octavia didn't press her on it, but the silence between her questions grew heavier with suspicion.

Marcy couldn’t bring herself to answer Anne or Sasha’s calls.

The idea of telling them what was really happening in the palace felt impossible.

She always feared that Octavia would end up trapped in the same miserable cycle if she stayed there too long.

But today felt different.

She managed to slip out of the living room while Stella and Andrealphus lounged in robes, laughing over spa treatments provided by the palace butlers.

Their laughter echoed behind her, but she barely heard it. The halls were colder than usual. Lifeless.

The once-vibrant palace was losing its warmth, and the dying remains of Stolas' carnivorous plants only made it worse.

Marcy wandered aimlessly, not sure where she was going until she found herself at Octavia’s door. She heard the soft strumming of a guitar. The melody was gentle, but sorrowful.

She followed the sound to the closet.

Inside, a voice sang quietly. Melancholy. Intimate. It stopped suddenly when the floor creaked beneath Marcy’s feet.

“Who’s there?” Octavia’s voice called from within.

“It’s me. Marcy. Can I join you?”

A long pause followed. Then, the closet door opened. Octavia stepped aside to let her in, then returned to her place, sitting among scattered clothes and trinkets. Marcy sat down beside her and watched quietly.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this,” Marcy said softly, “but I like your singing.”

Octavia managed a faint smile. “Thanks. I guess it runs in the family.”

Her eyes fell to the guitar in her lap. It was lavender, decorated with silver stars. On the back, a message was written neatly in ink: LOVE, DAD.

Marcy noticed it immediately. “You miss him, don’t you?”

Octavia looked at her, voice low. “Yeah. I’m guessing you do too?”

Marcy nodded.

Octavia continued, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. “I just don’t get why Dad did what he did at the trial. I know he didn’t die, but he still got banished. It’s like he chose to leave me, even though he promised he wouldn’t.”

“When did he make that promise?” Marcy asked gently.

Octavia hesitated. Her eyes clouded with old memories. She took a slow breath and told Marcy about the trip to Loo Loo Land in the Greed Ring.

How she had been too old for the park, but went anyway. How Stolas spent the entire day flirting with Blitz, barely paying her any attention, until she finally broke and ran off.

She’d hidden in an empty ride. Her father found her, guilt all over his face.

They’d talked. Fought. Hurt each other with words. But by the end, they made peace. Stolas held her close and promised he would never leave her. That she would never be forgotten.

Octavia’s voice cracked as she reached the end.

“I was afraid he’d leave me for Blitz. That I’d be left behind. And he told me I wouldn’t be. That he’d stay. Then Blitz almost dies on live TV and what does he do? He throws everything away for him!”

Her voice spiked in anger.

Marcy flinched.

Octavia quickly turned her head and apologized, voice now trembling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just… I feel betrayed. Like maybe he never really loved me. Maybe I was just... part of the image.”

Marcy didn’t say anything. Her silence was full of compassion.

On the floor nearby were scattered childhood drawings. One showed Octavia and Stolas holding hands, both smiling like characters in a storybook.

There was also a photograph of them together, floating among stars in the cosmos during one of their stargazing nights.

Marcy picked up the photo and held it toward Octavia.

“Let me ask you something. That memory, right here, do you think this moment with your dad was fake? Be honest.”

Octavia stared at the photo in her hands. Her expression slowly changed. Her shoulders eased, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, she smiled. Just a little.

“I don’t think it was fake,” she said quietly.

Marcy smiled too. “Exactly. Your dad loved you. Even when Blitz came into his life, he never stopped caring about you. He makes mistakes, yeah. Big ones. But he’s always tried to fix them. He told me himself that he wants to do better for you. And I believe he will. Even if he’s far away right now, I don’t think anything’s going to stop him from finding his way back to you.”

Octavia seemed taken aback by the words. Then she nodded.

“Yeah. Maybe he will.”

She stood up and glanced around the closet. Before stepping out, her eyes caught the top shelf. She reached up and pulled down a small bottle.

It was labeled Happy Pills. Stolas’ prescription. Behind it was a box, more bottles, identical.

Marcy walked over, stunned. “Antidepressants? Since when has he needed these?”

Octavia stared at the bottle, confusion rising. Her thoughts spiraled, but her voice was steady.

“We’ll just have to find out.”

Together, they left the room, moving quickly and carefully down the halls, trying not to be seen. The cold bit at their skin as they stepped outside. Neither of them slowed down.

They didn’t know that Stella was on her way to Octavia’s room at that exact moment, searching for Marcy to assign another errand.

Stella opened the door, expecting to find them. The room was empty.

She huffed. “Useless advisor. She must’ve run off with Octavia. I’ll deal with her when she returns.”

She turned to leave, but something crinkled beneath her foot. Frowning, she looked down, then lifted the hem of her dress to see what it was.

A photo.

Three human girls stood in the frame. Stella picked it up, confused and disgusted. She examined it closely. One of the girls—short black hair, soft features—looked eerily familiar.

Her eyes narrowed.

Then widened.

Marcy.

Her expression twisted in fury as she stormed back into the living room. Andrealphus was still reclining on the sofa, reading lazily.

“What’s troubling you, Stella?” he asked, looking up casually.

“Marcy is a traitor,” she hissed. “She’s been a filthy human this whole time. Disguised! Lying to us!”

She thrust the photo at him, jabbing her finger at the image.

Andrealphus raised an eyebrow, then took the photo. He studied it, eyes flashing with amusement.

“A living human in Hell. Now that’s a surprise. And there’s no doubt in my mind your darling ex-husband played a role in hiding her real identity.”

His beak curled into a thin, satisfied smile as he stood.

“Don’t worry,” he said, tucking the photo into his coat. “I know exactly what to do.”

Sasha, meanwhile, waited as patiently as possible for Blitz and the rest of I.M.P's return.

But as the clock kept ticking and Karen slowly flipped the pages on Stolas' journal, Sasha started to grow impatient.

What's taking them so long?!

She rapidly, yet softly tapped her nails on the the desk, trying her best to stay sane through everything.

However, the clock kept ticking and Karen kept turning pages, making Sasha tap her nails even faster.

Just as she was about to scream, a portal suddenly opened, with Blitz, Loona, Moxxie and Millie stepping out in respective order.

Sasha let out a sigh of relief. "Finally!"

Blitz, apparently, is shivering from experiencing the cold weather during his mission as Karen continues to read Stolas' journal.

"Wow! I never wanna go anywhere cold again."

Blitz notices that  both Stolas and Anne are nowhere to be seen, before turning to Karen.

"Uhh. Stolas? Anne?"

"They're gone," Karen began as she looked at Blitz.

"And your 'Stolas' guy left this terribly cheesy fanfiction behind. Can you believe this trash?"

She tosses the journal aside as she concluded, "Didn't entertain me at all."

Blitz frowns at her statement. In response, he throws her out of the window. She screams as she falls out of the building, and Blitz waves at her with Stolas' journal.

"Wow, I feel lighter!"

Sasha, noticing all that, looked overwhelmed.

"What happened to asking her to pay you double?"

"I changed my mind. And I didn't even kill the assigned target." Blitz replied with a shrug.

Before Sasha could have time to be confused, Octavia suddenly enters the office with Marcy right behind her.

"Dad?" Octavia asked as she looked around. Marcy started to do same thing as she called out Stolas' name.

Blitz looked shocked as he turned around to see them both. Even Sasha didn't expect to see Marcy today.

"Octavia? Marcy? Wh-what are you both doing here?" Blitz asked.

Octavia held up the pills in front of Blitz as she replied in annoyance, "We came to give these back to my dad, where the fuck is he?"

Marcy started to look around the office again, this time searching for someone else. "Uh, has anyone seen Anne?"

"I swear, they were just right here." Blitz replied, equally puzzled.

Octavia groaned. "Ugh, where would they go?"

"I can answer that." Sasha suddenly said.

Marcy didn't realize that the former was even here, so she asked in surprise, "Oh! I didn't see you there! Why are you in I.M.P Headquarters?"

"It's a long story." Sasha began. She continued while looking at Octavia.

"Anyway, Stolas said something about seeing you, so he headed back to the palace. Anne went with him."

"What?! They went to the palace?! Christ on a stick, I told Anne to keep an eye on Stolas, not get in danger alongside him!"

Blitz started to walk to the door afterward, only to urgently call his team over as he turned to them. "Loona, M&M, let's move out! We got a bird and a fellow employee to catch up to!"

And so, Blitz and his team set off on foot to prepare their newest mission for the day.

Sasha was about to leave as well when she stopped to look at Marcy and Octavia.

Octavia had an unreadble look on her face, while Marcy seem concerned for the former.

"You okay, Octavia?"

"..He wanted to see me." Octavia repeated quietly.

"Yeah. You coming or not?" Sasha asked.

Octavia looked at Sasha hesitantly before eventually replying, "I.. I think I need a minute. It's not that I don't want to help, I just have a lot on my mind right now."

Marcy and Sasha looked at each other before turning to look at Octavia again.

"We understand. I'll go with Sasha on this. Just don't take too long, okay?"

Octavia nodded at Marcy's words as she watched the latter head out the door with Sasha doing the same thing afterward.

She then noticed Stolas' journal that was placed on the desk and picked it up.

She didn't want to snoop around her dad's personal items than she already have done, but something about the journal made her want to open it up for answers--clues even--when it comes to the questions that are left unanswered in her head.

So that's what she did. But as she took one peek at one of the pages, she instantly closed the journal in disgust and rage, for it contained a picture of her dad and Blitz together.

Octavia put the journal back on the desk, instantly taking out the pill bottle from her cardigan pocket again.

"Dad.. I'll be there to help you. But don't think that this would fix what you did to me."

And with that, she put the pill bottle in her pocket and headed out of the office, her mind set on seeing her dad again--even if she would have to confront him once the situation he's dealing with is over.

Stolas and Anne moved quickly through the frozen landscape surrounding the palace. The deeper they went, the more the cold cut through the air. Anne pulled her coat tighter, her teeth chattering.

Stolas stopped and turned toward her. “Darling, are you alright?”

“I’m f-fine,” Anne replied with a shaky breath. “I just didn’t expect Hell to be freezing cold. Is it always like this?”

Stolas narrowed his eyes as he approached the palace. The once-grand structure was now coated in sheets of ice, with towering sculptures of Andrealphus carved from frost along the path. He looked at them grimly.

“With magic, it’s possible.”

He stepped onto the front steps, ascending slowly as Anne followed behind. The wind had finally begun to settle, but tension hung thicker than ever.

Suddenly, ice spread beneath Stolas’ feet. A solid wall shot up in front of him, forcing him back down with a violent slide.

“Stolas!” Anne ran to him and knelt beside him as he groaned and rubbed the back of his head.

“I’m alright. Just a bump,” he muttered, then added bitterly under his breath, “Fucking Ice Queen. How extra can you get?”

“Oh, this is just sad, Stolas.”

A cold, familiar voice echoed behind him. Stolas stood, his fists tightening as he faced Andrealphus. Anne stepped forward, her expression burning with fury.

“Let me see my daughter. Now,” Stolas snapped.

Andrealphus walked past him with a smirk, soaking in the moment. “This must be difficult. Stripped of your plants, your stars, your little advisor, and your precious daughter. All alone now. Everything you were…”

Without hesitation, Stolas punched him.

The crown toppled from Andrealphus’ head. Blood ran from his nostrils. Even Anne froze for a moment, stunned that one punch had been that effective.

Andrealphus raised his hand, using his magic to halt the second strike. Stolas was flung back by a blast of icy wind. The crown rose and landed perfectly atop Andrealphus’ head once more.

Then his tail feathers shifted into sharp icicle blades. They launched outward, grabbing Stolas by each limb and suspending him midair.

“Anne, look out!”

Stolas shoved her aside just as more ice swept toward them. Anne fell hard, skidding across the ice with a gash across her side. She winced, gripping the injury.

Stolas hung, restrained, as more icy spears formed from Andrealphus’ feathers and aimed for his face.

“You are dead for that,” Andrealphus snarled.

“Do it,” Stolas spat, eyes locked on him. “Pussy.”

Anne screamed from the ground. “Stolas, no!”

She tried to charge, but Andrealphus slammed her down again with another burst of ice. Stolas watched, helpless and furious, as the spears crept closer.

“I will enjoy this,” Andrealphus whispered.

“Hey, Andy!”

A snowball collided with his face.

Andrealphus turned, shocked. Blitz stood across the courtyard, Loona beside him in her demonic form, with Moxxie, Millie, Marcy, and Sasha behind them.

“Get your icy hands off my owl, bitch!” Blitz shouted.

Andrealphus laughed at first. “An imp? Challenging me?”

Another snowball hit him directly in the face. His smile dropped.

“Scatter!” Blitz yelled.

Everyone split. Loona lunged upward to grab Stolas but was knocked back as Andrealphus shifted his hold.

Sasha and Marcy rushed to Anne. Moxxie grabbed Millie, flipped, and launched her into the air. Millie aimed for Andrealphus but was swatted away like a fly.

“Millie!” Moxxie called out, running after her.

“Loona! Launch me!” Blitz shouted.

Loona grabbed Blitz and hurled him into the air. He landed on one of the icicles and began sprinting upward.

Andrealphus expanded the ice, forming thicker structures. Blitz kept climbing, reaching for Stolas—but slipped. He screamed as Andrealphus caught him midair.

Loona roared. Her body mutated further, more monstrous and furious, new eyes glowing as she launched herself after them.

“You really think you can challenge a Marquis of Hell?” Andrealphus sneered. “Delusional insects.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Blitz replied, grinning. “But at least I’m not some demon trying to cosplay Elsa.”

Andrealphus screamed, summoning more power.

But Loona crashed into him, teeth sinking into his shoulder. He shrieked and released Blitz, who grabbed onto Loona’s fur. Together, they dropped back to the ground.

Stolas was now completely encased in ice.

From the center, the ice erupted into a massive dragon.

“Christ on a stick,” Blitz muttered, riding Loona away from the beast as it roared.

Millie stumbled into a hallway filled with weapons and grinned.

“Fuck yes.”

Moments later, Moxxie ran in and found her strapping explosives to her belt, wielding Stolas’ old banner like a cape.

“Catch, baby!” Millie tossed him a sword.

Moxxie caught it, his eyes lighting up. “You are so fucking hot right now.”

Millie handed Blitz a spear as he arrived. “Go get ‘em!”

Millie gave Anne and Sasha weapons as well, with Marcy wielding her own.

The dragon exhaled thick smoke. Blitz and Loona charged through it.

Anne and Sasha darted along its tail, slashing as they ran. Marcy fired enchanted arrows from afar. Millie fired missiles while riding atop a hunk of ice like a sled.

Moxxie climbed onto Loona’s back.

“The prince’s knight needs his sword!” he shouted, kissing Millie’s cheek.

The dragon began stumbling from the barrage.

Loona climbed to the dragon’s snout. Blitz dangled over its gaping throat, spear wedged between its jaws. He looked disgusted.

“Ugh. This mouth smells like rotted icicle breath.”

“Blitz!”

Blitz looked up. Moxxie was hanging from above with the sword.

“Catch!”

He threw it. Blitz caught the weapon mid-air.

“Yeah, Moxxie! High five!”

They slapped hands, but Blitz lost grip and fell straight into the dragon’s mouth.

“Shit!”

The dragon’s jaws clamped shut.

“BLITZ!” Anne’s scream echoed across the field.

Andrealphus grinned triumphantly. But his celebration was short-lived.

An explosion burst from the dragon’s throat. The head was severed cleanly. Blitz dropped to the ground, cradling Stolas in one arm, sword in the other.

“You risked your life to save mine,” Stolas whispered, stunned.

“So did you,” Blitz replied, smiling faintly.

Their lips met in a kiss, brief, tender, real.

Anne, watching, smiled through tears.

But the peace didn’t last.

The dragon’s body twitched and reformed. Three heads grew in place of the one. Each turned to different parts of the group.

Andrealphus stood at the balcony, eyes glowing. “Now I’m angry.”

One head roared at Loona and Sasha. Another aimed for Millie, Moxxie, and Anne. The third, massive and snarling, faced Marcy, Blitz, and Stolas.

“You’ll all hang for this treachery!” Andrealphus howled.

But a purple barrier slammed between the dragon and its target.

Octavia had arrived, energy burning in her hands, pushing forward to shield her father.

Marcy stood behind her, joining her power with Octavia’s.

“ENOUGH!” Octavia screamed. The combined force shattered the dragon and knocked Andrealphus from the balcony.

Octavia stepped forward, furious.

“You will not hurt my dad. And you will definitely not hurt my friends.”

Andrealphus snarled. “You dare defy me? Think of what your mother will say.”

Blitz rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Imagine what she’ll say when she finds out you got clowned by a team of imps, a hellhound, and a couple magic birds. Talk about embarrassing.”

Octavia nodded. “A very bad look.”

Andrealphus began to laugh. But then he snapped.

With a surge of power, he grabbed Marcy with his tail feathers and yanked her into the air, binding her limbs.

“You want a bad look? Here’s one.” He held up the photo. “She’s human.”

Marcy’s disguise melted away.

Octavia stepped forward. “So what? I already knew. She’s my friend.”

“And so are we!” Anne and Sasha shouted, both revealing their human forms.

Andrealphus smirked. “Fascinating. But that doesn't mean that I can't finish with what I started.”

He prepared to strike Marcy, much to everyone's horror. Marcy squeezed her eyes tight as she braced herself for the worst.

Until..

“STOP!” Anne’s voice cracked with power.

Everyone, including Marcy, looked stunned at Anne's reaction.

Andrealphus paused mid stirke as he turned to glare at Anne.

“I challenge you,” Anne said firmly. “One-on-one. Release Marcy. If I win, you stop treating others like dirt. If you win, Octavia goes with you.”

Everyone gasped.

“Anne, no!” Marcy cried.

Andrealphus considered, then smirked. “Fine.”

He dropped Marcy (with Octavia and Stolas rushing to help her up), descended from the balcony, and readied his sword. Anne caught Blitz’s and faced him.

They clashed. Steel met ice. The duel was fast, brutal, and balanced. Anne was knocked down once but fought back hard by finding a way to use Andrealphus's sword against him.

Then she won.

The sword pressed to Andrealphus’ throat.

“A deal is a deal.”

He reached up, asking for help. Anne pulled him.

And he stabbed her.

The blade pierced her chest.

Everyone screamed.

Anne fell to her knees, hands trembling. Ice crept over her limbs.

“It burns,” she whispered, “like knives.”

Andrealphus sneered. “Enchanted. You’ll freeze from the inside out.”

Everyone ran to her. Marcy held her, sobbing. Sasha shouted her name. Even Blitz couldn’t speak.

“Why?” Marcy cried. “Why did you do this?”

Anne smiled weakly. “Because I love you.”

Marcy's breath hitched at Anne's words. But she managed to whisper back, "I love you too."

Suddenly, the ice climbed higher, reaching up to Anne's waist .

Everyone felt panic, with Marcy instantly being the most terrified.

"No no no no no! ANNE! Please stay! I-I can't let you die because of me! There has to be a way to fix this!"

Marcy cried as she said this, slightly shaking from the cold.

Anne reached for Marcy afterward, tenderly touching the latter's tear stained cheek. “Don’t cry. You have people who need you.”

Marcy remained speechless while still having tears in her eyes.

Sasha, on the other hand, grabbed Anne’s other hand while crying harder. “So do you, dummy!”

Anne looked at Sasha with shock before softening her expression afterward, showing a slight hint of sadness.

"..Yeah. I can see that."

Anne then closed her eyes with a smile. “Thanks… for everything.”

Her body was frozen completly by the time she exhaled her last breath while both her hands went limp on the ground.

Then she was gone. Ice became snow, her body scattered on the wind.

All that remained was a photo in the snow. And it was none other than Marcy's copy of the BFF photo.

Marcy picked it up with shaking hands.

She stared.

Then she broke.

Sobbing into the snow, she didn’t notice the others surrounding her.

Sasha hugged her first. Octavia and Stolas joined. Then Blitz and his crew.

Blitz, voice raw, finally said, “She was a brave kid. And she was a good one.”

No one disagreed.

They just held on to each other.

And they grieved.

“...Anne.”

 

“...Anne!”

 

“ANNE!”

Anne jolted awake, gasping for breath.

Her eyes darted around, expecting to see someone, anyone, but she was alone. Only the sky greeted her, painted in soft ombres of peach, pastel pink, and glowing yellow, like the colors of a living sunrise.

What...?

She sat up slowly, blinking. The surface beneath her shimmered gold. She looked down and froze. She wasn’t sitting on ground or clouds. She was on a golden platform, suspended in open air.

Her hands trembled. Her breath fogged just slightly in the air. This couldn’t be real.

Was this a dream?

She slowly stood, her shoes clicking softly against the metal. The path stretched on into the clouds, a long, endless walkway.

She didn’t know where it led, but she walked anyway.

Every step forward filled her with more wonder. Clouds rolled beneath her feet like waves, the sky glowing with a warmth she could feel in her chest. It felt like a scene straight out of one of Marcy’s favorite RPGs.

Marcy...

Anne’s heart clenched. Images flashed in her mind. Her friends. Their faces. The cold. Darkness. And then... nothing.

Before she could dwell on it, the golden path ended at something massive.

Anne stopped, eyes widening.

A pair of giant gates stood before her—tall, ornate, shining with divine light. She felt herself shrink beneath them.

“...Oh my God,” Anne whispered, overwhelmed.

A gentle voice spoke up from behind her.

“Hello there! You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Anne turned quickly to see a tall, slender figure walking toward her. He had pale skin, bright turquoise eyes with no pupils, and a lock of blond hair that curled neatly above his brow. His clothes were as odd as they were elegant: a pastel orange bowtie, a pale yellow shirt beneath a soft blue vest, and a blue skirt paired with gold flats.

His wings were beautiful—cream and soft blue feathers, perfectly fanned. A golden halo hovered above his head.

Anne blinked. “Uh... yeah. I guess I am. Who... are you? And where exactly is here?”

The man smiled and gave a polite bow. “I’m St. Peter. Welcome to Heaven.”

Anne’s jaw went slack.

“Wait. Say that again?”

“You’re in Heaven, miss,” he repeated gently. “Are you alright?”

Anne looked around again—at the clouds, the sky, the gates, his wings. Then down at her reflection in the gold, slightly stunned at what she saw.

Her skin was bluish-gray. Her hair, dark purple with soft curls. Her eyes glowed cyan, pupil-less. Her clothes shimmered with snowflake patterns, her blazer and shoes dusted with pale blue. A halo floated above her head. Wings sprouted from her back.

“I... I died.”

St. Peter’s smile faltered slightly. “Yes. But you must’ve done something truly noble to end up here.”

Anne looked up and stared at St.Peter. “I guess so.”

St. Peter gave her a gentle smile. “And your name, miss?”

“Anne. Anne Boonchuy.”

He flipped through a large glowing book, scanning for her name. His brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, “but... your name isn’t on the list.”

Anne blinked. “What? That's..odd. Could you check again?”

He checked again, more carefully this time. Still nothing.

“If I’m not on the list, then... why am I here?”

A new voice entered the conversation. “Is there a problem?”

Anne turned to see two figures descending gracefully from above.

The first was tall, regal in her bearing. Her skin was cedar brown, her lips black, and her hair a flowing silver ombre that curled elegantly at the ends. She wore a periwinkle gown with puffed sleeves and layered skirts. Her wings were immense, and her glowing tiara doubled as a halo.

Beside her stood a younger-looking angel. She had gray skin, white freckles, long periwinkle hair tipped in white, and expressive blue eyes. Her own outfit was princess-like, adorned with stars and a sash. She had the same elegant wings—though smaller—and she gave off a gentler, more playful energy.

“Your Highness,” St. Peter said quickly. “We have a new arrival, but she’s not on the list.”

The two angels examined Anne with curiosity. She gave a shy wave, chuckling nervously.

After a moment, the younger angel gasped.

“You must be the chosen one He was looking for!”

“Wait—what? Chosen one?” Anne took a step back, overwhelmed.

Seeing her distress, the older angel spoke with a soft but commanding voice. “We were told that if the chosen one reached the gates, we were to bring them to Him.”

“Who’s ‘Him’?” Anne asked, confused.

“You’ll see,” the younger one said, smiling brightly. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with us.”

The golden gates creaked open.

Anne followed the two angels through, eyes wide at the stunning cityscape before her. Buildings of marble and crystal, bridges of light, gardens that floated midair.

As they walked, Anne and the younger angel—who introduced herself as Emily—chatted. Anne quickly grew fond of her. She laughed and waved at the passing angels, all of whom greeted her warmly.

Finally, they arrived at a large white building with tall, silver pillars.

Inside, chandeliers sparkled and mosaics danced across the walls. They reached a meeting room with periwinkle walls and white chairs. At the center sat a large chair, its back turned to them.

“Sire,” said the tall angel, whose name Anne learned was Sera. “We’ve brought someone who wishes to meet you.”

The chair turned.

Anne’s breath caught.

The figure that faced her was unlike anything she expected. Tall and refined, porcelain skin glowing. He wore a pale blue and white tuxedo, with gold shoulder pads and tassels. A black bowtie rested at his throat. Multiple eyes circled his hat and floated around him—unblinking and calm.

Multi-layered wings folded behind him.

“Ah,” he said, smiling. “Anne Boonchuy. So nice to finally meet you.”

Anne swallowed. “Y-you too. Are you...?”

“God? The Father of Creation? Yes. It’s not every day I get to meet someone face-to-face.”

He chuckled, and Anne relaxed slightly.

“Come. Sit.” He pulled out a chair for her. She thanked Him and sat down, still in awe.

Sera and Emily took seats beside her, while God settled back into His own.

Anne hesitated. “I know I died. But... I can’t remember how.”

God’s expression became somber.

“You were impaled. And frozen, simultaneously.”

Anne reached for her blazer. Her fingers brushed the snowflake symbol. Memories began to flood in.

The cold. The scream. Marcy. Sasha. Stolas. Blitz. Everyone’s faces.

Tears filled her eyes.

“I died protecting the people I care about,” she whispered.

Emily rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around her.

“For a thirteen-year-old,” she said softly, “that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Anne hugged her back for a moment, then sat up, wiping her tears.

“Can I see them?” she asked. “Please. I want to know how they’re doing.”

God blinked in surprise, then smiled gently. He reached toward the center of the table, forming a glowing orb that expanded slowly into a vision.

The scene revealed the outside of Stolas’ palace. Stolas and Blitz stood together, the I.M.P crew nearby. Marcy and Sasha were silent. Grief was still etched into their faces.

“You and your friends were brought to Hell through a demonic crystal, correct?” God asked.

Anne nodded. “Yeah. But... we made friends there. They’re good people. Even if they don’t always show it.”

As she watched, she noticed something strange.

Octavia stood up.

She was walking toward the palace, alone.

Everyone else called out to her, but she didn’t stop.

Anne leaned forward, alarmed.

“Octavia... what are you doing?”

She gripped the edge of the table, watching with worry.

Something was about to happen. Something big.

And Anne didn’t know if she could do anything from where she was.

But she silently hoped, with every part of her, that her friends would be okay...

"Your uncle practically murdered Anne, but you're doing as he says anyway? How could you?!" Sasha shouted, voice sharp with disbelief.

"I have no choice, alright?! I never had a choice, unlike someone here," Octavia snapped back, glaring at Stolas as she said it.

Stolas immediately stepped forward, worry tightening his face. "Via, what's wrong? Please, talk to me."

"Don't touch me!" Octavia shouted as she shoved his hand away. "You want to know? Fine. You lied to me. You said you would never leave me. You promised!"

Stolas stammered, desperate to reach her. "Via, I didn't mean to leave you. I swear, it wasn't my decision."

"It was a decision. You chose him."

Octavia pointed at Blitz, who turned his gaze to the ground, unable to meet her eyes. Everyone around them stayed silent, stunned.

Stolas tried again to come closer, but Octavia stepped back, arms tight across her chest.

"Via, I had to. You don't understand."

"No, I do understand," she said as her fists clenched, magic sparking between her fingers. "I understand that we were never enough for you. You made it clear during the trial that you never loved Mother, but you don't love me either. You only love him."

She pulled out the pill bottle from her coat pocket and held it up with a trembling hand. "And these. You needed these. Was that because of me?"

"No. Never because of you," Stolas replied, his voice cracking as he grabbed her hands gently. His eyes were beginning to tear. "You have always been the only good thing in my life."

"So what then? You stayed miserable because of me? Was I just an obligation? Is that why you didn't even hesitate when you finally had the chance to run?"

Octavia pulled away from him again and turned toward the palace doors.

Stolas dropped to his knees and caught her arm. His voice came out broken. "I love you, Via. More than anything. Please, let me explain."

Before Octavia could say anything, Marcy rushed to her side and took her other hand.

"Please, Octavia. He risked everything trying to reach you. Marquis Andrealphus almost killed him. The least you could do is hear him out."

Octavia stared at Marcy, her jaw trembling. "What's there to listen to? He gets to escape an arranged marriage by being with the one he loves. And I can't even make my own choices."

Her voice cracked at the last sentence.

Blitz took a step forward, speaking low but clear. "Octavia, I get it. You're upset with your dad. But it's not all his fault. It's mine. I'm the one who tore you two apart. You made it clear you didn't like me. So if you're going to yell at someone, yell at me."

Before either Stolas or Octavia could say a word, Sasha cut in with her voice full of frustration.

"Alright, that's enough! This is getting out of control. Octavia, you're not the only one who has divorced parents. I know what that’s like."

Octavia looked toward her with narrowed eyes. "As surprising as it might be, I already knew. Marcy told me the day we met. But do you have divorced parents who fell in love with completely different people instead of each other? Tell me that."

Sasha hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. I have that too."

Octavia looked startled.

Sasha continued. "I was five when I saw my parents fall apart. My dad remarried a few years later. Then my mom met a single dad with three kids. I hated it. I still do sometimes. But I also remember moments when I had fun with my step-siblings. My step-parents have flaws, but they care."

She glanced around before going on. "Even now, whenever I see my parents in the same room, I still wonder why they couldn’t make it work. But I’ve come to accept that love changes. It doesn't always look the same, but it doesn't mean the love for me disappeared. Being in Hell helped me see that clearly."

Octavia was quiet for a long time.

Then, in a quieter voice, she said, "But that's just it. I don’t understand love the way others do. Not romantic love, anyway. Not like that."

Stolas looked at her, stunned. "Sweetie, are you saying what I think you are?"

Octavia looked at him now, with something other than anger in her eyes. "I'm asexual. I don't want a romantic partner. I overheard Mother talking to Uncle Andre once. They were planning to marry me off when I turn eighteen. That’s part of why I was angry at you. You get to escape an arranged marriage, and I’m stuck facing one I never even asked for. All because I don’t want to be with anyone. And you... what are you, exactly?"

Stolas looked uncertain for a moment. Then Marcy gave him a subtle, encouraging nod. He took a breath and faced his daughter.

"I'm gay, Via. I've been attracted to men my whole life."

He added quietly, "But that doesn’t excuse the things I’ve done. I should have been more open with you from the beginning. Especially during our time at Loo Loo Land. You didn’t deserve to find out during the trial. I am so sorry."

Marcy took a step forward now. "There’s something else you both need to know."

Octavia and Stolas both looked at her.

"After your dad was banished, Lady Stella and Marquis Andrealphus made me their advisor. And they hurt me. Repeatedly. For every mistake. For every disagreement. I'm sorry I never said anything."

A wave of horror rippled through the group. Blitz’s jaw dropped. Loona growled softly. Sasha’s eyes narrowed with fury. Stolas looked devastated.

Octavia stared at Marcy in disbelief. "So all those times you told me you were clumsy... all those bruises and cuts... they were from them? You lied to me?"

"I didn’t want to. I just wanted to protect you," Marcy said quickly, voice trembling.

"I'm almost eighteen. I should be protecting you!"

"I couldn't let you. Especially not after what your mother did before that."

Octavia blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Marcy swallowed and hesitated. "She tried to have your dad killed. Twice. First attempt failed. Second was called off."

Octavia turned to Stolas. "Is that true?"

He nodded solemnly. "Yes. And she hurt me too. I started taking medication to cope. Not because of you, never because of you. I didn't tell you because I didn’t want to make you hate her. But maybe that made things worse."

Sasha turned to Marcy. "Is that why you’ve been distant lately?"

Marcy nodded, her eyes low.

Octavia ran her hand through her hair, overwhelmed. "This is a lot. I don’t know what to do with all this."

"You don’t have to decide anything now," Stolas said gently. He reached for her hand again. "But I love you. You’re the most important person in my life. Blitz may have my heart, but you have everything else. You always have."

Octavia’s eyes welled up again. "You mean it? No more lies?"

"I swear to Lucifer," Stolas said softly.

Octavia stayed silent for a moment. Then, after a deep breath, she wiped her tears and nodded. "I still need time. But that doesn’t mean I want you to be alone forever. So if you want to be with Blitz... I won’t stop you. Just make sure he treats you right."

Blitz smirked. "I'll take care of him. I promise. And Loona too. She’ll keep me in check."

Loona nodded and folded her arms.

Stolas gave both of them a thankful smile before turning back to Octavia. "I understand. You don’t have to forgive me now. I just wanted to see you again. That’s all I hoped for."

Octavia nodded slowly. Her smile was faint, but it was real. Forgiveness would take time, but she was willing to start.

The others looked visibly relieved. Sasha exhaled. Moxxie and Millie exchanged hopeful glances. Loona finally let her tense shoulders relax.

Marcy stood off to the side. She smiled too, but hers held sadness.

"If only Anne was here to see this."

The mention of Anne’s name pulled everyone's mood down again.

Sasha looked at the sky. "Yeah. I bet she’d be happy to see us finally learning from her. She really rubbed off on us, didn’t she?"

Again, no one disagreed.

Meanwhile, back in Heaven, Anne sat in silence, processing everything she had just seen. The vision still lingered in her mind. Emily and Sera were just as stunned, their faces pale with surprise.

God, on the other hand, appeared calm, even pleased. A warm smile stretched across His face as He looked over at Anne.

"Your friends speak highly of you," He said gently. "That brings me to the reason I had Sera and Emily escort you to me."

He rose from His chair, the folds of His robe flowing like mist.

"I have watched all you did during your time in Hell. You did not simply survive. You helped your human friends, and time after time, you chose to help your demon companions too. You even gave three fallen cherubs a chance to return to Heaven. That alone is remarkable."

Anne listened, still uncertain about where this was going.

"I have a proposition for you, if you are willing to hear it."

She blinked. "What kind of proposition?"

"I would like to make you my next seraph angel."

Anne’s eyes widened. Sera looked shocked. Emily beamed with excitement and gasped in delight.

"A seraph angel? What's that?" Anne asked, still reeling.

Emily rushed forward and grabbed her hands with sparkling eyes.

"It means you'd work beside Him and with us! Sera and I are seraphs already. Our role is to guide peace, joy, and healing to others. Isn't that amazing? I could show you everything, I promise it’s the best."

Anne stared at her, then glanced around at the golden city surrounding them. She was stunned. But more than that, she felt overwhelmed.

She stepped back slightly, her voice quiet. "As interesting as that sounds, I think... I have to pass."

God raised an eyebrow, His smile never fading. "Why is that, child?"

Anne took a breath and stepped forward again. "Because I’m only thirteen. I just got here. If I did say yes, I’d probably mess things up. I don’t know how to do anything close to what a seraph is supposed to do."

She walked away from the table as she continued. "I want to learn and grow first. I want to understand myself better, to live my life the right way before I think about guiding anyone else."

She stopped. Her voice grew softer.

"I know I could have done that if I were still alive."

God watched her closely. Emily and Sera exchanged concerned glances. The sadness in Anne’s smile was evident.

Sera finally stepped forward.

"Sire, she deserves a second chance. It's clear that she wishes to return and live her life fully."

Both God and Emily turned to Sera in surprise. Anne stared, wide-eyed.

"You really mean that?" Emily asked, her voice hopeful.

Sera nodded. "If a sinner can earn redemption and ascend, then someone who died too young should be allowed to continue their journey. I believe she is not finished yet."

Anne could hardly breathe. She didn’t expect an offer like that. She certainly didn’t expect anyone to stand up for her like this.

God gave the idea some thought. Then, with a gentle nod, He answered.

"Very well. It is not something I do lightly. It risks drawing unwanted attention. But I will allow it, just this once."

He turned to Anne, His tone kind but firm.

"Anne Boonchuy, you shall have a second chance at life."

With a simple gesture of His hand, light surrounded Anne. Her wings disappeared. Her glowing halo faded. Her curls returned to brown, her skin tan once more. She looked down and saw that the snowflake symbols were gone. Her human body had returned.

Tears formed in her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered, voice trembling. She looked at both Sera and God with a grateful smile.

God raised His hand again and opened a portal, swirling and radiant, leading back toward Hell.

"You will return for seventy-eight more years. Once you and your human friends return to Earth, you will live a full life. That is my promise to you."

Anne blinked. "Wait. That means I'll be ninety-one the next time I die?"

God nodded. "Yes. Now go. Be with them."

Emily ran over and hugged her tightly.

"I’ll miss you, Anne. But I know you’ll do great things."

Anne returned the hug, smiling through the emotion.

"Thanks, Em. I’ll miss you too. And who knows? Maybe I’ll join you and Sera as a seraph one day."

Emily laughed. "I'll hold you to that."

With a final wave, Anne jumped into the portal. Her descent was long, but she landed safely, cushioned by a strange, protective bubble. She didn’t stop to question it.

Instead, she looked around and found an abandoned bike nearby. That would have to do.

She jumped on, pedaling hard in the direction of the palace, praying her friends were still there.

A few blocks later, one of the tires popped. She groaned in frustration, tossed the bike aside, and broke into a run.

"I guess it's athlete mode now."

She kept going, and soon enough, she spotted the familiar silhouette of the palace in the distance.

Then, she saw them. Her friends.

She slowed down, catching her breath.

Marcy looked up, hearing the sound of someone breathing heavily nearby. Her ears twitched.

She turned, eyes wide.

"Anne?"

"Marcy, what are you talking about? Anne's gone. She can’t be—"

Blitz turned to look and froze.

"Oh, my Satan."

The rest followed his gaze. Their faces all froze in disbelief.

Anne stood there, panting, smiling, tears in her eyes.

"Hey, guys. I'm back."

"ANNE!"

Marcy ran full speed and tackled her with a tearful hug, knocking Anne flat on her back.

Anne laughed joyfully. "Good to see you too, Marcy."

"Good? It’s incredible! I thought I’d never see you again!" Marcy cried harder, burying her face into Anne’s shoulder.

Everyone surrounded them, overwhelmed with joy. Blitz ruffled Anne’s hair with a grin.

"Welcome back, kid."

"Blitz, not the hair!" Anne giggled as she swatted his hand away.

Sasha stepped forward next and pulled Anne into a tight hug.

"You idiot. Don’t ever do that again!"

"Okay, but you’re squeezing me too hard, Sash!"

Sasha blushed and pulled away with an awkward laugh. "Sorry. Got a little excited."

Anne brushed off her clothes. As she slipped her hand into her pocket, she felt something strange. She pulled out three silver pendants with stars on them and a folded note.

Millie leaned in curiously. "What’s that?"

Anne unfolded the note and read aloud:

To Anne,

I secretly placed these pendants for you and your human friends while you weren’t looking.

I figured you’d need protection in the future. Don’t worry, they won’t hurt your demon friends.

They only work when you’re in real danger, not for play fights.

T.T.Y.S! 👋

– Em

Anne smiled warmly.

Sasha tilted her head. "What are those symbols? They look kinda like pentagrams."

Loona leaned in too. "Yeah, I was thinking that. They look similar."

Marcy took one and examined it closely.

"This is a pentacle. It’s used for protection in pagan tradition. A pentagram doesn’t have a circle. These do. But it doesn't have those flashy colors or wing designs..."

She then paused and stared at Anne in surprise.

"Wait. You were in Heaven?"

Everyone turned, eyes wide. Anne gave a sheepish laugh.

"Long story."

Marcy smiled, then leaned in and kissed Anne gently. Anne blinked, then kissed her back.

It was brief, but meaningful for a first kiss.

Octavia and Stolas respectfully looked away, with Loona doing the same. Millie clasped her hands with a joyful squeal. Moxxie gave a supportive nod. Blitz grinned smugly.

Sasha stood still. Her heart sank, but she smiled anyway. Even as Anne and Marcy pulled away, giggling softly while pressing their foreheads together.

Sasha knew that she could never have that strong connection that both Marcy and Anne share, despite being best friends with them and that she would never get the courage to tell Anne her feelings.

The only thing to do was to be happy for them.

"So, you two are together now. Congratulations."

Anne looked over, suddenly worried, with Marcy looking at Sasha as well. "You sure it’s okay? I mean, we’re still friends, right?"

Sasha gave a soft laugh. "Of course. I kinda saw it coming anyway. You two nerds were always endgame."

Anne pouted slightly, but smiled.

She glanced up and noticed the sky growing darker.

"Is it really that late already?"

Octavia looked at the palace, then turned back to everyone.

"I should head back. It’s time."

The mood dropped a little.

"I’ll walk with you," Marcy offered.

Octavia shook her head. "No. You should stay safe. Mother and Uncle Andre would hurt you again if you showed up."

"I’ve got room at the apartment," Blitz said.

Marcy gave him a grateful smile. She and Stolas both turned to Octavia, still worried.

"Are you sure about this?" Marcy asked.

Octavia nodded. "It’s like Dad said. No matter what happens, I’ll have you both in my heart."

She hugged them. Stolas was surprised at first, then began to weep softly as he held Octavia tight.

"My brave girl. I’m so proud of you."

Marcy, who had pulled away from Octavia's embrace beforehand, watched with  joy and relief as Octavia and Stolas continued to hold each other for a little bit longer.

Octavia finally pulled away, smiled, and walked to the steps.

Before she entered the palace, Stolas called out. "Octavia!"

Octavia turned her head around, only to see her father smile at her softly.

"Merry Sinsmas, my special little starfire."

She paused, her eyes wide.

"You too," she  finally replied with a soft smile before closing the door.

A barrier of ice formed behind it. Stolas stared at his reflection in the frozen wall, placing his hand against it. In his other hand, he gripped the pill bottle tightly.

"I’ll find a way to see you again. I promise."

Inside the palace, Marquis Andrealphus stood near the window, trembling with fury. He had seen and heard everything.

He expected Octavia to turn against Stolas while shutting everyone else out. He expected Anne to remain dead.

None of that happened.

"Impossible! This cannot be."

He turned to Stella, who stood beside him with a calm, almost amused expression.

"Her mind has been tainted by that deadbeat and his pathetic human. They’ve ruined everything!"

Stella gave him a cold smile, lips curling.

"Don't worry, Andy. It’s not over yet."

Andrealphus stared at her in confusion.

"What do you mean by that?"

Stella’s smirk widened.

"You’ll see."

Hours later, after leaving the palace and parting ways with Moxxie, Millie, and Sasha, Anne and Marcy joined Blitz, Stolas, and Loona as they returned to the apartment.

Loona was the first to open the door. She let out a long stretch and groan as she stepped inside.

Stolas quietly entered next. He was still wearing Blitz's jacket, his steps soft as if he were trying not to disturb the air around him. Blitz followed, watching the owl demon closely as he held the door open for Anne and Marcy, who stepped inside and walked toward the fire escape together.

"Whew. That was intense," Loona eventually said with a sigh. "I'm gonna see if my friends can still come tonight. I need some drinks after what happened today."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, Loony. Mmkay?" Blitz replied with a nod, his tone tired but gentle.

Without saying a word, Stolas held out Blitz’s jacket to return it. He didn’t make eye contact. Blitz took it slowly, eyes never leaving the prince, then gave a small sigh before noticing something in the jacket pocket.

He pulled out the familiar pill bottle and quietly walked into the bathroom. Once there, he placed it inside the cabinet, shutting the door without a word.

A few minutes passed.

Blitz came back out and gently draped a blanket over Stolas’ shoulders, who hadn’t moved from the couch. He then went into the kitchen.

There, he cracked open a few lava eggs, cooking them quickly and scarfing them down. The heat warmed him up from the inside. Once satisfied, he returned to the living room and settled onto Stolas’ lap, acting like nothing was unusual.

He looked up at the former prince.

"Hey... You alright, birdie?"

Stolas met his gaze. For a moment, he was silent. Then he gave a faint smile and quietly replied, "Never better."

Blitz did not respond right away. He stayed seated, one arm around Stolas loosely, letting the silence speak for them.

Time passed.

Eventually, the Sinsmas party came to life.

Millie and Moxxie visited Blitz's apartment, arms full of food and gifts. Loona chatted with her hellhound friends, Gigi and Russ, near the hallway. Blitz had changed into a holiday sweater and was now standing by the kitchen, watching everyone with crossed arms and a soft smirk.

Anne and Marcy were nearby, laughing with Loona and the others as a Sinsmas song played in the background. The atmosphere had shifted. There was warmth, joy, and a little bit of chaos, just the way holidays should be.

Moxxie approached Stolas with a plate of homemade cookies, shaped like stars, snowflakes, and horses. Two cookies stood out. One had Blitz’s horns and smirk. The other was clearly shaped like Stolas, complete with feather detailing.

"You wanna try one of my home baked Sinsmas cookies, Your Highness? Eeh? Eeeh?" Moxxie offered with a hopeful grin.

Stolas gave a polite chuckle and replied, "I think I’ll pass, but thank you. And you don’t need to address me like that anymore."

"Oh, right. My apologies, Your Hi—I mean Stolas." Moxxie fumbled, still adjusting to the change.

Without warning, Blitz leaned forward and grabbed his shaped cookie with his tongue, snatching it off the plate in one swift motion.

Moxxie stared in disbelief. "Really?"

Blitz chewed with a shrug. "What? It looked good."

He then glanced around and furrowed his brow.

"Hey... Where’s Mills?"