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Chapter Text

Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia was seen mounting a brand new car. He looked around in confusion; usually, at this time, the highway of Pride was more crowded, much like the terrifying hospital he had just left, which seemed to have gone through a war zone. He shook his head and ignored the graveyard of cars. He needed to get back home to his daughter.

As he passed a deserted gas station, a chill ran through his feathers. The gas station, like the highway, was empty. He noticed cars arranged in a circle, enclosing a camp littered with clothes and trash, as if it hadn’t been cleaned for months.

The air smelled of death.

But Stolas pressed on. He managed to get out of his car, noting that the vehicles surrounding the ‘camp’ served as some sort of defense against an unknown threat. As he peered through some car windows, what he saw made him stifle a bird-like screech. Inside one car was a gruesome sight: two imps, both dead.

Their skin was rotting as flies buzzed around, enjoying their feast of flesh. Stolas quickly recoiled from the scene, covering his mouth as vomit threatened to escape, causing his feathers to puff up. What in Lucifer’s name was happening?

Once the feeling of disgust subsided, he continued until he saw a sign on the door of the gas station, its glass broken. Using his magic, he brought the sign closer to read it, and what he saw puzzled him. The sign was barely legible, smeared with a black substance Stolas preferred not to identify. The writing stated:

NO GAS

NO FOOD

NO SUPPLIES

FUCK OFF

Stolas scoffed in disbelief at the rude message on the sign, returning it to its place. However, as he was about to head back to his car, he heard faint footsteps, prompting him to rush toward their source. Finally, someone who could tell him what the fuck was going on! He didn’t care if he got robbed in the process.

As he approached the source of the footsteps, Stolas saw what appeared to be the back of a little imp girl. She wore a pink nightgown that was torn and dirty. Odd growling and moaning noises emanated from her, and he sensed something was terribly wrong.

He noticed she had a missing horn, with blood oozing from the injury, causing him to wince. “L-little girl,” he nervously called out as he watched her slowly lean down to retrieve a ripped teddy bear from the ground. Suddenly, a thought struck him like one of Stella’s hard slaps: where were this girl’s parents?

“Hey,” Stolas tried again, this time with a warmer tone, which caused the girl to stop walking and stand eerily still. He counted that as a small victory. “Where are your parents? Do you know what happened…” However, his question trailed off as the girl turned toward him, her growls becoming more hungry and angry.

Stolas froze. What greeted him wasn’t a child—it couldn’t be. Though she was shaped and dressed like one, her skin was pale, not the strong red typical of an imp’s skin. No, it was white, from head to toe. Her left cheek was missing, replaced by a large bite mark that seemed infected and swarmed with flies.

Her eyes were entirely white, matching her skin. What had happened to her? “Little girl, do you want help?” Stolas asked, his fatherly concern overwhelming him. “Where are your parents?” But the girl didn’t respond; her growls intensified, sounding almost like a wild animal. And just like one, she began moving toward him, her mouth making biting motions.

“Little girl, stop! I don’t want to hurt you!” Stolas pleaded once more, but his pleas were ignored as the imp quickened her pace. He had no choice. “I am sorry,” he murmured with guilt as he raised his hand, closed his eyes, and chanted a spell.

When he opened his eyes, he gasped and clutched his hospital gown. The girl lay there, lifeless, his magic having left a large, gory hole in her head, right where her brain should have been. “I am so sorry,” Stolas said, unable to hold back his tears. He cried as a troubling thought crossed his mind:

What if that had been Octavia?

He couldn’t help it. He broke down.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

Timeline: Few Months Earlier

“You had another fight with Stella, didn’t you?” Vassago asked Stolas with concern, noticing the angry red marks across his cheek. Stolas nodded in response. “Why?” Vassago inquired, prompting Stolas to sigh deeply.

“Octavia wanted to go to a sleepover with one of her few friends, but Stella wouldn’t allow it. She grounded Octavia for a month after she started crying, which led me to let her go, and you know what happened next,” Stolas explained, causing Vassago to nod as he took a sip of his tea. “She turned her anger on you. Octavia ran and hid, and you got smacked,” Vassago concluded.

“Yeah…” Stolas replied with a defeated sigh, covering his face with his hands and massaging it. Vassago gently patted his friend’s shoulder. Before he could say anything else, shots rang out, causing the two Goetia members to become fully alert. Suddenly, a shark wielding an angelic weapon and his gang emerged from the shadows and began shooting at them.

Vassago was fortunate; he managed to dodge a few bullets and even created a shield. But as he tried to protect himself and fend off their attackers, one of the sharks landed a hit on Stolas, eliciting a painful yell as he fell to the ground, the green grass now stained black. “Stolas!” Vassago cried out as he finally eliminated the threat.

Ignoring the commotion gathering around them, Vassago picked up the injured Stolas, disregarding how his friend’s black blood stained his expensive attire. “H-hey, Stolas! Keep your eyes open, do you understand?” Vassago desperately held tightly to Stolas’s wound. “Stay with me, keep your eyes wide open for me, alright?” As Vassago pleaded, he heard the incoming sirens. “Help is almost here, just hang on!”

“Hey buddy…” A tired Vassago greeted the now stable yet comatose Stolas, whose side was wrapped in bandages and connected to IVs and other bags that Vassago cared little about. “I am so sorry for not noticing that you were about to get shot,” Vassago said, trying not to cry as he held Stolas’s cold hand tightly.

“It’s my fault you’re in here. I should have noticed them coming. I should have acted faster,” Vassago lamented with another sigh. “It’s going to be very difficult to tell this to Octavia. She’ll be devastated. But… it has to be done. I just hope you like those flowers I got you,” Vassago said as he stood up. “Hope you wake up soon,” he murmured as he walked away.

Timeline: Now

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Stolas’s weak and raspy voice called out to the hallucination of his best friend, which was slowly fading away. Whatever else Vassago was saying sounded as if he were underwater. Stolas felt his ears ring as he opened his eyes to a very dark room. Was he dreaming? It seemed so real.

With great effort, he turned his head toward a vase of dead flowers on the nightstand. So it was all a dream. “Vas?” Stolas tried to call out. Nothing.

He reached for the emergency button and pressed it repeatedly. Nothing. Odd. “Nurse! Doctor!” he called out desperately. Once again: nothing. He looked around and noticed a clock that seemed frozen in time, sending shivers down his spine. A gut feeling told him something was wrong and he wasn't welcome. So, Stolas forced his body to move up.

Attempting to stand was a mistake. As his weak body rose, a sense of dizziness spread through him, causing his vision to be obscured by a black curtain. He fell to the ground. “Ow…” he murmured, shaking his head to regain his sight.

“Nurse!” he called out, only to cough and rub his painful throat, which felt as if he’d walked on rubble. But as he suspected, no one came to his aid. He was alone. He pushed himself up, rushed to the bathroom, turned on the sink, and drank the flowing water, which sounded like music to his ears. Though it tasted terrible, he was grateful for that small mercy. Once finished, he closed the tap and wiped the water from his beak, pondering:

What should he do next?

The answer was simple: return to Octavia.

As he walked out of his room into the hallway, he held tightly to his side, noticing multiple beds undone and blocking the doors. He even had to use his magic to move one that obstructed his own door. As he moved, he saw papers scattered around, lights flickering, and a lot of black liquid he couldn’t seem to escape. What had happened here? It was as if an extermination had occurred.

When Stolas reached the front desk, it was as messy as the hallways. He quickly searched for the phone and managed to find it—a small victory. However, his happiness was short-lived; when he dialed his wife’s number, the line didn’t respond. It was dead. “Shit,” he murmured in frustration, throwing the phone harshly, causing static. He continued walking down the deep, dark hallways, summoning an orb of light to guide him.

“Stars protect me,” he pleaded. The more he walked, the more he noticed old bullet holes in the walls, stained with blood. He then came face to face with two metal doors wrapped in chains and secured with a wooden board, as if trying to prevent something inside from escaping.

Stolas gulped as he read the sign on the doors:

DON’T OPEN, DEAD INSIDE

What did that mean? Suddenly, he heard horrifying moaning and growling as the door was banged upon, and hands emerged through the small opening the doors allowed. They were pale, stained with dried blood. Frozen in fear, Stolas came face to face with white eyes devoid of emotion except for one: hunger.

Stolas let out a low, terrified chirp and quickly backed away from the still-banging door. What was that? He wasn’t going to stay and find out, that’s for sure. Stolas made his way to the elevator, but like everything else, it didn’t work. With a sigh, he found a stairwell. A groan of disappointment escaped him until he suddenly realized he could teleport out of there. How foolish he felt for not thinking of it sooner!

With a flick of his wrist, Stolas teleported outside. What greeted him was even worse than what he had seen inside. Bodies—there were multiple bodies wrapped up and lined next to each other in rows upon rows. He scrunched his face in visible disgust. Surely the king of Hell wouldn’t allow this, right?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After managing to teleport from the horrific scene at the gas station to his palace, he threw the doors open. A sense of dread began to build in his gut. It was too quiet. “Octavia!” he called out for his daughter as he frantically searched every room, every door of his empty palace. Nothing. “Vassago!” he shouted, hoping his friend would answer. Still nothing.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

He made it to the kitchen and broke down, letting tears fall. He felt defeated. Stolas stood up and numbly made his way out of the palace, continuing to walk through the oddly deserted neighborhood. He didn’t care. As he wandered around, he noticed a limping figure making its way toward him. “Hey…” Stolas said, not wanting to speak but forced to if he wanted to know what was going on and where his daughter and best friend might have gone.

However, what happened next was unexpected—a loud gunshot echoed, making him flinch as he saw the walking figure collapse to the ground. As Stolas turned to see what had occurred behind him, he was met with a painful blow to the head by a shovel. Yes, he was definitely going to have a concussion. “Mommy!” he heard a terrified child call out. It wasn’t his child; he knew it wasn’t Octavia as he heard a woman scolding the kid.

Stolas felt his eyes grow heavy and tried to reach out to the child who clearly wasn’t his, only to have his hand smacked away harshly. He winced as a strict, enraged woman’s voice demanded, “Were you bitten? What’s that injury on your side?”

Stolas couldn’t answer her; her voice felt like knives piercing his skin. He only managed to make eye contact with the child, and before he passed out, he whispered, “Octavia… I found you.” And just like that, he lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

“Where were you bitten? What’s that injury on your side?” These were the first words Stolas heard as he emerged from the dark abyss of sleep, only to find himself being scrutinized by the intelligent woman who had asked him that question minutes—or perhaps hours—earlier. He coughed slightly, prompting the woman to let out an impatient, lion-like growl.

“Just a shot,” Stolas explained, though she didn’t seem satisfied. “Why aren’t you satisfied?”

She huffed, “Not in this hell we’re living in now. Sure, hell was bad before, but now? It’s even worse with this plague. Were you bitten?” she pressed.

“Bitten by what?” Stolas asked, causing her to chuckle. “Are you serious?” the purple woman asked, crossing her arms.

“I am… uh, what’s your name?” Stolas awkwardly inquired.

Mayberry,” the woman answered as she adjusted her glasses, still looking at him with uncertainty. “I’m a sinner, if you’re wondering, but in this new hell, who cares?” she added.

“Wait, what do you mean by plague?” Stolas asked Mayberry. “Also, who was the kid that hit me on the back of my head?”

The woman laughed, "Don't tell me you didn’t know? Did you just wake up from a coma or something?” Mayberry asked, and to her great surprise, she saw the owl look down, indicating she was mostly right. She sighed. “Alright, what’s your name, and I’ll tell you whatever I know.”

After Stolas introduced himself, he was also introduced to Mayberry’s child, whom she had once taught on Earth and now cared for as her own. She shared most of what she knew with him, leaving Stolas even more confused. As he munched on dinner—yes, dinner—she offered him some mac and cheese, and his stomach growled since it had been a long time since his last meal.

“So, the sinners and other hellish beings that were brutally killed regenerated and came back, but not like they used to? Instead, they returned as mindless monsters? And if you’re bitten or scratched by them, you turn into one?” he asked.

Mayberry nodded. “Pretty much, yeah. The only thing that can kill them off completely is angelic weaponry or high-powered magic, but only if you aim for the head.” This made Stolas wince and instinctively reach for his wounded side, something Mayberry noticed. “You got shot by an angelic weapon before everything in hell went to chaos, right?" 

Stolas nodded. “Yes. My friend Vassago and I were going out because my wife and I had a fight the night before, and she had taken my daughter to school that day. A bunch of bandits ambushed us. I got shot, and, well, you know the rest,” he sighed, lightly tapping the glass plate with his fork.

Mayberry nodded. “I see. And you believe your friends are still out there?”

“They have to be,” Stolas said, suddenly losing his appetite and gently pushing the plate forward. As if on cue, Esmer, the girl Mayberry had taken in, announced she was done. Stolas took the liberty of helping wash the dishes; after all, it was the least he could do to thank her for her hospitality.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After getting everything ready for bed, Stolas sat on a couch where he would sleep, telling Esmer about his life before all this. “So you were a prince!” the little girl exclaimed, amazement lighting up her face as her eyes practically shone in the darkness. It made Stolas chuckle. “Yes, I was. I was known as Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia.”

“That’s a long ass name,” Esmer said with a chuckle, ignoring Mayberry’s disappointed admonition, “Watch your language!” This only made Esmer laugh even more.

However, the moment was interrupted when a car alarm went off, causing everyone to freeze. Mayberry was the first to recover; she quickly dimmed the light they were using and pulled the now crying Esmer closer to her. “Shh, it’s alright,” Mayberry tried to comfort and quiet the child as familiar groans echoed in the distance. “They’re attracted to noise,” she explained to a confused-looking Stolas.

“So the car will bring others toward us?” the owl prince asked, preparing to use his magic just in case.

Mayberry: “No, not if we stay silent. They travel in groups, mostly like a horde.”

Stolas: “So what do we do now?”

Mayberry: “We let them pass. We wait until morning.”

Stolas didn’t like that answer, but if it kept him alive, what else could he do?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next morning arrived, and true to Mayberry’s words, the creatures had indeed left without any confrontation. “Are you sure they’re dead?” Stolas asked for the tenth time as they stepped outside, the bright red hellish skies signaling daytime.

“As I said before, they are. The only thing keeping them ‘alive’ is their brain, which is why we aim for the head with angelic weapons or, in your case, high-powered magic. That’s how we kill them completely,” Mayberry explained with an exasperated tone, prompting Stolas to let out a sheepish laugh. “What’s your plan now?” Mayberry asked, eager to change the subject.

“I’m going back to my palace. I want to see if there’s anything left behind by my daughter—a clue, something indicating she’s still alive,” Stolas said. Before Mayberry could protest, he teleported himself and the mother daughter duo into his empty and cold palace to search for anything he might have missed last time, now with a clear mind and renewed determination.

He had his mind set on the task, not just for himself but for Octavia and Vassago.

“Your palace is beautiful!” Esmer exclaimed as she looked around, prompting Stolas to turn to her. “No sinner or imp would be allowed outside any palace, let alone enter one!” she said, which saddened him because it was true. If hell hadn’t descended into chaos, imps and sinners would have been shot on sight if they even thought of entering a palace.

Stolas shook his head as he heard Mayberry ask, “So you really think they’re still alive?”

He nodded and rushed to his dusty library, quickly opening a secret compartment that only he and Octavia knew about. It was empty. “They are alive. They’re alive and they’ve left,” he said as he closed the compartment.

“How do you know?” Mayberry asked.

“Because the Grimoire isn’t here. It’s a powerful book that only Goetias can possess. My daughter must have taken it with her if they’re still out there.”

“So you’re saying they’re still alive because of a missing book?” Mayberry questioned skeptically as she and her student followed him. “You know that’s a lot of nonsense.”

“Octavia and I are the only ones who know where that book is located. She knows most of the spells, so I pray she knows how to handle it,” he said, entering a code into a random door, which opened to reveal rows upon rows of angelic weapons.

Mayberry whistled in amazement as she watched Stolas arm himself. “I just hope she’s with safe people who won’t take advantage of her and seize the book for themselves,” Stolas said, handing her a few guns.

“So you’re going?” Mayberry asked, causing Stolas to nod. “But you don’t even—”

“Mommy!” Esmer called out, waving a piece of paper proudly. “I think I found something that Mr. Stolas might like to read!"

Stolas quickly shoved the gun he was loading behind his back and took the note from the little girl. After a quick read, he began smiling like a madman. “I’m guessing you have a lead?” Mayberry asked Stolas, who nodded eagerly. “Mind sharing it?” Stolas nodded again and, with shaky hands, began to read the note aloud:

"Dear Stolas,

My friend, if you’re reading this, Octavia, Stella, and I have fled your palace along with Stella’s brother, Andrealphus. We—I couldn’t wait for you. I am so sorry for letting you get shot. If by some miracle you’re alive and reading this, just know: I am caring for Octavia. Rest assured, I’ll protect her from Stella and her brother as best I can. If you’re reading this, we’ll be gone, but we’ll be at the very rural ends of Pride. Hope to see you soon.

Your best friend and daughter, Vassago and Octavia.”

Tears began to fall onto the paper. Stolas didn’t need to ask; those tears were his. His smile grew wider. He had a destination.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“So you’re leaving?!” Mayberry yelled as she followed Stolas outside, where he was starting one of the fast cars. “I have to. They’re waiting and expecting me,” Stolas said, his mind already made up as he handed Mayberry the keys to the palace. “These are yours.”

A stunned Mayberry looked at the golden keys before shaking her head. “I am but a mere sinner. I can’t take that—”

“Then take it as a ‘thanks for your hospitality’ gift,” Stolas insisted, pressing the keys into her hand, which prompted Mayberry to accept them. “Thank you,” she said with gratitude.

“You’re welcome. Here, have this too,” Stolas said, handing her a highly expensive, high-frequency radio that she most definitely couldn’t afford. “I’ll radio you every day at dawn. You can answer my calls there. If you need any help or anything at all, call me.”

Mayberry nodded at his command, thanking him once more. “Take care of your girl,” Stolas told her. “Because this is one messed-up hell we’re all living in."

“You got that right,” Mayberry agreed as she watched Stolas start the car, place his hands on the wheel, and… hesitate. “You alright?” Mayberry asked, leaning on the window.

Stolas: “Are you sure you and Esmer don’t want to come with me? I’m sure my friend—”

“Just give us a few days,” Mayberry promised. “I can teach Esmer how to shoot, and I’ll be a bit better than now."

Stolas accepted that answer, even though he somehow felt she might be lying. “Alright. You know when I’ll be on the radio, right?” he asked again, seeking reassurance.

“Every day at dawn,” Mayberry reassured the tense Stolas. “I won’t forget.” She nodded, causing Stolas to relax slightly. “Now go find your girl.”

“And you protect yours,” Stolas said to Mayberry as he drove off.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few hours had passed, though Stolas wasn’t sure how many, as he drove along the deserted, apocalyptic road. He seemed to be the only living soul in sight. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached for the walkie-talkie, trying to find any channel that wasn’t just white noise. He hoped someone would answer him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Meanwhile, a camp a few miles away was bustling with activity until one of their walkie-talkies began to crackle and buzz, almost as if it were trying to speak. A spider demoness rushed over to grab it. “Hello, yes? I can hear you just fine!” she exclaimed excitedly, her eyes filled with hope as she realized she was speaking to someone outside the camp, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Can anyone hear me?” the voice on the radio called out.

“Yes, we hear you!” the female spider sinner responded, confused. “Can’t you hear us?” she asked.

“Can anyone hear me?” the voice repeated. It was clear he couldn’t hear her. Damn.

“Tony!” the female spider demoness called out to her twin brother.

“What?!” her twin replied.

“Someone is trying to contact us but can’t hear my voice!” she shouted.

“Are you sure, Molly?” Anthony, also known as Angel Dust, asked as he approached her. As if to confirm her statement, the voice spoke up once more.

“Hello, can anyone hear me?! I’m trying to find a safe place to go. Please, someone respond,” the voice was laced with desperation.

“We’re on the outskirts of town!” Angel tried to reply, but it was a bad idea as the communication went dead, causing Angel to panic and start hitting the walkie-talkie. “Damn it!”

“What is it?” one of the other camp members called out to a distressed Angel Dust. “Did you get something on the walkie?”

Angel nodded, “Yeah, Vassago. But can you get Pentious? I know he’s a lot better at this than any of us!”

Vassago didn’t hesitate to fetch Pentious. As soon as he and the serpent sinner arrived, Pentious began to work on the device. Once he got the signal, he spoke into the walkie-talkie. “This is Sir Pentious speaking, over.” The snake patiently waited. Silence. He tried again. “This is Sir Pentious, please answer this call, over.” Still nothing.

“We lost him,” Pentious said, setting down the walkie-talkie.

“But there are more people out there?” asked Octavia, the youngest in the group. She sat uncomfortably between her mother and uncle, who exchanged a look of disdain.

“Must be a peasant,” Andrealphus remarked in his haughty British tone, prompting Stella to laugh in agreement. Vassago merely rolled his eyes.

“No one here is a peasant or royalty. Not anymore. Out here, we’re all the same,” the parrot demon told both Stella and Andrealphus, causing Stella to stop laughing and Andrealphus to roll his eyes.

“We need to warn those folks that they’re walking into a death sentence,” Angel insisted, ignoring the glare Valentino sent his way, even though it intimidated him as Valentino approached.

“We won’t be able to do that, amor,” Valentino said in his signature seductive yet cautionary tone. “We don’t have enough time.”

“Then we’ll make time,” Vassago declared, a surge of determination coursing through him, reminiscent of when he saved Stolas from dying. “I’m going. Prepare me a ride.”

“No, you’re not,” Andrealphus barked, grabbing Vassago’s hand tightly and forcing him to face him. Andrealphus activated his power, slowly freezing Vassago’s hand. “You’re not dying out there like—”

“That’s not your call, so I’m going to ask you again: Let. Me. Go.” Vassago commanded, pulling his hand away from Andrealphus’s grip, melting the frost as he brushed off his suit. “Get me a vehicle ready,” Vassago repeated, turning to Pentious, who nodded quickly and slithered away.

As Vassago entered a tent, Octavia managed to sneak in, startling him. “Octavia?” Vassago asked, kneeling to her height and noticing the worry etched on her face. “What is it?”

“Please, you can’t go. What if something happens to you?” Octavia whispered in her British accent, as if afraid he’d refuse. “Who’s going to protect me from my own family if not you? They’re too entitled to listen to anyone who isn’t royalty, and the closest thing to royalty here is Valentino since he was an overlord, and I highly doubt he’ll do anything. So please, just stay,” she pleaded.

Vassago sighed as Octavia wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug, prompting him to return the gesture. He heard a few saddened owl cries from her. “Alright,” he decided, gently patting her hair. “I’ll stay.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

Meanwhile, Stolas was running out of gas. As his car sputtered to a halt near a farmland, it became as useful as a rock. Frustrated, Stolas cursed at it before calming himself down. He took out his wallet, revealing a smiling portrait of two of the most important people in his life: his daughter and his best friend. Though it also contained images of himself, Stella, and Andrealphus, he had long ago scratched their faces with black marker, leaving only the light in this hellish world visible.

He quickly tucked the photo back into his wallet and approached a farmhouse. Standing on the porch, he knocked several times. “Prince Stolas!” he announced, knocking again. “I’m here for some gas, nothing more!” No answer. It seemed he was getting a lot of silence lately.

With a sigh, he resigned himself to walking. Just as he was about to leave, he heard it—a horse neighing. Stolas teleported to the source of the sound, startling the Hell Horse. “Oh, no, no,” Stolas said softly, reaching for the horse’s snout. “I’m not here to hurt you, little fella. I just need your help. Can you help little ol’ me?”

The horse neighed again, now calm, sensing that Stolas posed no threat. “Good. You and I can help each other. You help me find my family, and I’ll find you a safer home. How about that?” Seeing the horse nod, Stolas quickly mounted it. “Let’s head to the nearest town from this farm, alright?” he asked, and the horse began to walk. If Stella saw him talking to a horse, she would have laughed in his face.

After a short journey, they arrived in town. It resembled a ghost town—houses barely standing, skyscrapers with broken windows, papers and trash strewn about. The sight made Stolas nervous. “Hello!” he called out. Then, making a questionable decision, he turned into an alleyway. He let out a startled yelp upon seeing multiple undead creatures, foolishly attracting them.

Stolas signaled the horse to sharply turn back, but it was too late. Before he could pass a military tank, the horse was caught and began to be torn apart. The only thing Stolas heard was the painful screeching of the horse as its flesh was ripped open by the monsters. Making eye contact with the doomed creature, Stolas teleported into the safety of the military tank.

Once inside the military tank, Stolas began to pant heavily. The horrific image of the undead tearing through the horse’s skin, devouring its insides, and ripping apart its organs haunted him. He felt a wave of nausea but was quickly distracted as the dead started to rock the tank. Their growls grew more desperate, more ravenous.

Stolas shivered. He needed to teleport out, but he had no idea where to go. He could technically teleport back to Mayberry; at least it would be safer there, and he could start anew. Alright, that seemed like a good plan. However, just before he could teleport, the radio in the tank crackled to life, and a voice came through. “Hey, you there? Dumbest bird in hell, are you nice and cozy in that tank?”

Realization struck Stolas—he wasn’t alone in this nightmare. There were others out there. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to respond, still stunned by the revelation that other people might be alive. So, he let the radio continue to chatter.

Chapter Text

Stolas stared dumbfounded at the radio for a few more seconds. His mind raced as multiple thoughts ran through his head. “Are you still there?” the voice asked impatiently, prompting Stolas to quickly grab the radio, praying to the stars that it wouldn’t fall. “Sorry. Yes, I’m still here,” Stolas began.

“Okay, that’s good. I thought you died in there, Your Highness.”

“Wait, you know I am—was royalty?” Stolas asked in confusion, which earned a laugh from the other side of the radio.

“Of course, it was so obvious. You walked in on a hell horse like you owned the place, so with all due respect, Prince Stolas, that was—”

“The dumbest move I could have pulled. Yeah, yeah, I’m aware,” Stolas sarcastically replied. He knew he couldn’t see the man who owned the voice, but he could imagine him nodding as his response came in. “Yeah, that.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Stolas asked, trying not to accidentally destroy the radio.

“Yeah, I am. Can you teleport yourself out of there like you teleported yourself in?”

Stolas nodded even though he knew the man couldn’t see him. “Yes, I can. But I need a specific location to do so.”

“Alright, first teleport to the angelic bag of weapons. Then teleport to an alleyway with a yellow ladder. Do I make myself clear?” he asked. Stolas nodded, “Clear as glass.”

Suddenly, with a new location in mind and realizing he must have dropped his angelic weapons when he fell from the horse, he quickly teleported out of the military tank to fetch them. After a few seconds, he saw those same yellow staircases atop a building—could those be it?

He didn’t have time to dwell on that as undead hands were reaching for him, covered in now dried blood, ready to tear him apart. He couldn’t afford that. The smell of horse blood still lingered in his nose as he shook his head and teleported to the location, only to realize he wasn’t alone.

He quickly pulled out a gun and pointed it at the imp, who fearfully surrendered. “Whoa, it’s me!” the imp exclaimed, causing Stolas to lower his weapon.

“You’re the imp from the radio?” Stolas asked, prompting the imp to nod and point up the stairs. “We go up,” the imp said as he began to climb, with Stolas quickly following suit.

However, the undead must have heard them because, in the blink of an eye, they were surrounded. Some of the dead were even trying to climb up the stairs themselves. If one of them fell—his attention was diverted as the ladder began to shake.

“Crumbs,” the imp muttered the word as if it were a curse. Stolas would have giggled if they weren’t in such a dire situation. However, the railings that kept the ladder attached to the wall began to come undone due to the weight placed on them, both by those climbing and the dead trying to pull it down. The dead succeeded in ripping the ladder off the wall.

The only sound that echoed was the imp’s terrified screams before Stolas teleported them onto the building’s roof. They were safe. Stolas watched as the imp kneeled down, gagged, and threw up. Poor thing must have been terrified.

Now that they were in a safer location, Stolas could see the imp more clearly. Like most imps, he had red skin, white hair, and white freckles. He wore a business-like suit that had definitely seen better days. “What’s your name?” Stolas asked once the imp was done throwing up.

“No ‘gee, thanks for saving me’ or ‘how can I ever repay you?’” the imp asked with an eye roll. “I’m Moxxie, nice to meet you.”

Stolas nodded as he accepted Moxxie’s hand, which caused the imp to look at him in surprise before he composed his face into a serious expression. “Likewise,” Stolas said as the handshake ended. “Do you have people, or are you alone?”

“I have people,” Moxxie replied with a nod and began to descend a ladder on the other side, with Stolas quickly following until they met up with another imp. “Moxxie!” the other imp greeted.

Moxxie nodded, “Derek, we’ve got a new guest and four dead ones making a move on us. Come on, let’s go!” As he said that, Derek shot a few of the dead that were advancing towards them, and the living trio made their way to a store, ensuring to lock it up.

However, as the trio entered, Stolas was then pointed at by a hellhound who barked in rage. “You dumbass! I might as well kill your sorry ass! You led them right to us!”

“Loona!” Moxxie cried out. “Leave him alone; more noise will only attract them, and besides, you’ll be wasting a bullet!”

Loona growled; he was right. Damn it! She hated when he was right, so she angrily put her weapon away but not before threatening the owl. "I am watching you,” which made the owl audibly gulp.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Through the glass doors, they could see the silhouettes of the dead trying to claw their way in. Some were pounding hard on the glass, and one of them was slowly picking up a rock.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“How do we get out now?” Loona asked Moxxie with an angry growl. Moxxie looked thoughtful before coming up with an idea. “This building must be old, meaning it might have a basement that connects to the sewers. We can leave from underground.” The group nodded and followed Moxxie to what they all assumed was the basement, and true to Moxxie’s words, there was indeed a path that led them to the sewers.

“Huh… I’m impressed,” Stolas voiced, causing Moxxie to adopt a disatisfied expression. “Thank you. I used to be the son of a mafia boss; I know a lot about these things,” the white-haired imp said sourly before his expression turned serious. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do: Loona, you go in there since you have a better sense of smell and will be able to detect if there are any of those monsters down there.”

“Oh wow, sending the goth chick into a dark place. So stereotypical,” Loona replied sarcastically. If she had access to her phone—which she still had, even though she knew she couldn’t use it anymore, which pissed her off even more—she would have taken a picture of Moxxie’s tight face as his eye twitched and a forehead nerve popped up. “Fine, don’t piss your pants, I’ve got it,” she said as she turned around, crossed her arms over her shoulders, and dropped into the tunnel.

Moxxie sighed as he watched Loona drop herself down and then turned to both Derek and Stolas before realizing something: Where was Jason? Suddenly, as if to answer his mental question, shots from up the building could be heard.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Moxxie said as he looked at Derek. “You stay here and make sure to shoot anything that isn’t alive.” Derek nodded, holding his gun as Moxxie and Stolas made their way up the stairs.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

What they saw was a lunatic succubus who seemed to be mixed with a snake, although he looked more snake than succubus. “Jason!” Moxxie yelled out like a disappointed father scolding his son. “Drop that! You’re wasting ammo—”

“Shut up, vermin!” a southern accent retorted as the half-succubus cowboy turned to face Moxxie and glared at him. “Ya ain’t my dad ta tell me what ta do! Ya ain’t even the leader of the group!”

“But I am in charge of the weapons!” Moxxie shouted back, glaring at Jason, who laughed like a madman before shaking his head in denial and slowly moving the rifle as if taunting him. Moxxie would definitely prefer dealing with Loona over Jason.

Jason then proceeded to shoot at random places, sometimes hitting the dead, other times hitting glass or other objects. “Stop that!” Moxxie demanded, letting out a growl.

“What’re ya gonna do ‘bout it, huh?” Jason taunted as he continued shooting. Moxxie let out a war cry before attempting to rip the rifle from Jason, only for the stranger man to push him hard into a metal air conditioner, causing Moxxie’s vision to blur for a moment.

Jason took this opportunity to drop his rifle and began punching Moxxie, intent on killing the imp because how dare he touch him? “Don’t ya ever put yer—”

However, Jason was hit with a gust of magic that pinned him down to an airway, causing him to glow as he looked at the blue-blooded figure who dared to hurt him. He could see those red eyes filled with hatred as Stolas stood over an injured Moxxie. “For a succubus, you sure are violent,” the blue blood snarled.

“I ain’t like them whores.” Jason claimed, shaking with anger. It seemed Stolas had struck a nerve. “I ain’t weak and pathetic; I ain’t no slut.” Stolas didn’t bother listening as Jason continued ranting profanities.

Instead, he turned to Moxxie and quickly healed the imp, whose face was pretty messed up. “Thanks,” Moxxie said as he grabbed the rifle Jason had been shooting. “Let’s go down and see what Loona has found. Then, if we have time, we’ll come back and you can free Jason from your paralyzing spell."

“We don’t have to come back,” Stolas said as he followed Moxxie down the stairwell. “I could let him go once we’re ready to leave. I don’t necessarily have to be there to free him.”

“Alright,” Moxxie agreed as they made it back into the basement where Loona was waiting for them.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

“Found anything?” Stolas asked her, and she nodded.

“Yep, guess you were right, fatty.” Loona said as she faced Moxxie, “There was a sewer tunnel, but it was blocked by a grate holding an undead prisoner.”

“Just one?” Moxxie asked, choosing to ignore the insult Loona sent his way as she nodded, confirming his question. “Alright then, we shoot that bastard and cut through the grate.”

“But how?” Derek asked Moxxie. “We don’t have the appropriate tools for that.” He was right. Moxxie let out a sigh. “Crumbs. Now what else—” Moxxie’s question was interrupted as the glass shattered from the pressure the undead had put on it. It definitely wasn’t thanks to that one undead who had picked up a rock.

“Shit!” Stolas cried out in alarm as the undead began to overpopulate the small store. “We’ve got to go. Now.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

Stolas teleported everyone up to the roof. They were trapped, but Stolas knew he wasn’t going down like this. “Look!” Loona suddenly yelled out in excitement. Everyone turned to where the hellhound was pointing, her tail wagging. It was a truck! “I can make it there,” Stolas said with determination. “I can teleport myself there.”

“But wouldn’t that tire you?” Moxxie asked, causing Stolas to turn to him with a look of confusion. Moxxie continued, “You’ve already teleported yourself more times than I can count, and I heard that teleportation spells take a lot of energy from their user. Not to mention you used healing magic on me and paralyzing magic on Jason—”

“Wait, Jason is paralyzed?” Loona asked in amazement, turning to Moxxie. “What happened?”

“The jerk was shooting at random. I tried to take away the rifle, he punched me, and Stolas paralyzed him,” Moxxie quickly summarized.

“Only his hand,” Stolas clarified. “I only paralyzed his hand, pinning it to the ground.”

“Sick, dude!” Derek said with a smile. “It was about damn time someone showed that cowboy his place.”

Stolas nodded before returning to the original conversation. “Yes, Moxxie, you’re correct. I do tire from excessive use of magic, but what else should I do?”

Loona smiled, “I might have an idea.”

Chapter Text

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Derek asked with disgust as Loona used her claws to cut open a now-dead undead, revealing its guts while black blood pooled on the floor.

“It’s worth a try,” Loona replied as she covered her hands in the body’s blood, ignoring the horrible iron scent that smelled rotten. She smeared the blood over both Moxxie and Stolas who both had on a lab coat, chuckling at how Stolas looked ready to pass out as she draped the large intestine of the dead hellhound over his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Prince, just think about puppies and kittens,” she said, holding back her mocking tone.

“Dead puppies and kittens,” Moxxie murmured as he covered himself in the rotten blood. That comment seemed to trigger Stolas, making him throw up before quickly recovering as he shut his eyes tightly, murmuring “happy place” over and over again. It was a miracle he had made it this far.

“Alright, I’m done,” Loona said proudly as she wiped the final patch of blood all over Stolas’s coat. “Now go, and don’t get bit.”

“Oh wow, so reassuring,” Moxxie said sarcastically as he loaded his angelic gun, with Stolas quickly following suit. “Just make sure Jason doesn’t make more stupid choices.” Both Loona and Derek nodded, ignoring how they could still hear Jason yelling profanities that would make a sailor proud and baby’s cry, even though they weren’t on the roof.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

Stolas and Moxxie made it outside, both tense as they held onto their weapons, walking in silence toward the truck. So far, they were being successful. Every undead that looked at them passed by without giving them a second glance, as they both smelled like them: dead.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

The surviving imp and hellhound had made it up to the roof. “What the hell is going on?” Jason demanded, but of course, he was ignored, which caused him to rattle his tail as he shouted the same question at the group, receiving the same answer: silence. “Y’all are just bein’ downright petty at this point.” he murmured.

“Can you see them anywhere?” Loona asked Derek, who had somehow acquired some binoculars. “Yeah, they’re over there,” he responded, pointing at the tense duo pretending to be undead. “How’s your attempt to reach camp going?” he asked Loona.

“I’m trying, just give—” Loona was interrupted as the hellish sky rumbled and thundered, signaling an approaching storm.

“Welp,” Jason said, finally catching the duo’s attention as he chuckled, “We’re all fucked.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

Sir. Pentious kept himself busy, standing guard at the camp. He sighed as he watched Octavia and Vassago playing some sort of card game while Stella and Andrealphus glared at them.

“You did it just fine,” Vassago praised Octavia for beating him, causing the owlet to laugh.

“You shouldn’t be teaching her worthless junk, you know that, right?” Stella asked as she paced around, clearly annoyed by the circumstances they were in.

“Ugh, if this plague hadn’t hit us, I would be at home celebrating the death of my husband—” That comment earned a glare from Vassago and Octavia, causing Stella to pause before she huffed and crossed her arms.

It was clear to everyone present that she missed her pampered life without having to fend for herself. She most certainly hated wearing ‘normal non-royal attire’ (which consisted of white pants and a pale pink shirt).

“You should be teaching her royal etiquette in case Heaven decides to take us away from these heinous lands,” Andrealphus chimed in, wearing a top similar to his sister’s but in a lighter shade of blue with a snowflake embroidered in the center, paired with similar white pants. His comment caused Vassago to sigh in frustration.

“If Heaven had pity on us royals, don’t you think they would have already pulled us out of this mess?” Vassago snarled, leaving the peacock to quiet down because he was indeed right. Vassago smirked at his small victory and was about to continue playing cards with Octavia when Sir. Pentious’s radio suddenly crackled to life with a very familiar voice.

“Base camp, this is Loona, please respond, over.”

“We hear you loud and clear, Miss. Loona!” Sir Pentious quickly answered, motioning for the group to gather closer to listen. “What is it, over?”

“It’s about to rain, and the store is overrun by thousands of those creatures. We cannot escape; we cannot get out. Vassago, we need reinforcement—” Before she could continue her plea to Vassago, the line went dead.

“Shit!” Pentious exclaimed, hitting the radio as if that would bring Loona’s voice back. It didn’t.

“Why are we panicking over lower status?” Stella suddenly asked with a chuckle, her brother agreeing with her. “We don’t need them here anymore; we should be thanking those monsters—”

“We need to save them because that’s what we promised when the epidemic first started!” Vassago raged. “And not to mention, they’re out there finding supplies for us!”

“We can always send another round,” Valentino, who had been silently watching the bickering, spoke up as he puffed out smoke from his cigarette. “Besides, dear Stella is right.” No one missed the heated look he sent her, nor the wince Angel let out as Molly comforted him and glared at Valentino.

“That loba and imp are goners,” Valentino pressed as he invaded Vassago’s personal space, blowing his red smoke into his face. “Nothing we can do, bebe.”

“No me llames eso, estúpido. No tienes derecho,” Vassago growled as he waved the smoke away from his face and pushed Valentino back. He made his way over to Octavia, realizing they were right: it was too dangerous to go out there. Even with his powers, he had no idea how to defend others. The shot Stolas took was a testament to that. He heard thunder rumbling, signaling an Impending storm.

Somewhere deep down, Vassago began to have a terrible feeling that something would go wrong.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

Stolas and Moxxie were not having any difficulties so far, unless you counted the fence standing between them and the car, along with the undead roaming around. “I am going to teleport us to that truck,” Stolas announced in a determined whisper.

“Are you sure?” Moxxie asked, clearly unconvinced.

Stolas nodded. “Yes, my energy is restored since I went, like, what? Two or three hours without using my powers. I’ll be fine.” Before Moxxie could continue arguing, they both teleported right inside the truck. Stolas looked unfazed. “Told you,” the owl said smugly, causing Moxxie to roll his eyes.

“Alright… Let’s go,” Moxxie said as he turned on the truck and headed to the back of the store. Stolas sent gusts of magic that cut through the undead’s heads, causing them to fall.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

The duo of Imp and hellhound saw the truck moving. “Do we go now?” Derek asked Loona, who quickly nodded. “Let’s go,” she confirmed as she and Derek began their escape, while Jason still had his paralyzed hand stuck in the airway. “Get yer ass back here! “ Jason demanded, but he was ignored and left behind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

As Stolas and Moxxie waited for the rest of the group, Stolas set off a nearby car alarm with his magic, making all the undead rush toward the distraction, leaving the loading docks empty. The duo rushed out and quickly climbed into the truck.

Once they were all in, Stolas realized that Jason wasn’t there, which made his eyes widen. “Shit!” he yelled, causing Moxxie, who was ready to go, to stop. “We can’t leave Jason up there!”

“Oh sure we can!” Loona barked. “He’s an ass! No one will care if he dies or not… well, maybe Striker, but that’s just one person. He'll get over it, besides I chained the door.”

“I should at least un-paralyze his hand,” Stolas said guiltily. “I-I should—”

“We don’t have time for this!” Loona shouted. “Un-paralyze his hand, sure, but don’t teleport over there to get him! If you do, we’ll leave without you!”

Stolas winced and sighed, accepting the situation. Fine. He would un-paralyze Jason’s hand and hope for the best. After deactivating his spell, he murmured, ”Let’s go.” With that, Moxxie started the truck once more and fled the scene, leaving no trace of living beings… except for Jason.

Chapter Text

Jason finally managed to break free from the paralyzing spell that the troublesome bird had cast on him. As he massaged his wrist, a look of hatred flashed in his eyes as he gazed at the undead creatures trying to reach him but were restrained by chains keeping the door shut. “I’m going to kill you all,” he muttered, his tail rattling as he imagined the faces of the people back at the camp as the undead.

He chuckled while reaching for his knife, determined to escape and make everyone pay for leaving him behind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

Stolas wore a sad expression as he fiddled with his fancy hat and turned to Loona. “A few minutes ago, you mentioned a Striker. Who is he?”

Loona rolled her eyes. “Another jerk, but more tolerable than Jason. He’s Jason’s younger brother, and like I said before, the only one who’ll miss that piece of shit. So don’t feel bad about it. Just think of it as doing everyone a favor back at camp.”

It's safe to say Stolas remained silent for the rest of the ride.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───   

Back at the campsite, Stella was attempting to fix Octavia’s messy hair. Key word: attempting. “Keep still, you ungrateful brat,” Stella snapped as she smacked Octavia on the back of her head, causing the poor girl to wince while Stella wore a smug smile. “I told you to stay still,” Stella said, as if that would solve everything.

“Yes, listen to your mother, or else she’ll cut off all your hair, and that would be so unladylike. You wouldn’t want others to think you’re a boy, right?” Andrealphus asked Octavia, who was gently massaging the spot where Stella had hit her with the brush.

“I want Vassago to do it! He does it more gently than you—” However, before Octavia could complain further, Stella smacked her again, causing the poor girl to quickly silence herself and weep silently into her hands as she stood still for her mother to continue brushing her hair.

A few tense moments passed when they heard Sir Pentious calling out to them, prompting both spider twins to rush toward him. “What’s up, Pentious?!” Angel Dust shouted to his friend standing guard with binoculars.

 “Is it them?!” Molly suddenly asked, causing the rest of the group, including Vassago, who was setting up a row of cans to alert them of any approaching undead, to come rushing over.

“I think so,” Pentious said, squinting his eyes despite having binoculars. The hot Hell sun made it difficult to see clearly.

A truck was seen entering the campsite. It came to a sudden stop, and a very familiar white-haired imp got out. “We made it!” Moxxie exclaimed, beaming with pride. “We all got out… well, except Jason, but other than that, we’re all good!” He barely finished speaking before Molly tackled him in a hug, crying with relief.

“Oh, thank the Sin’s you guys made it!” she wept as Moxxie managed to stand up with her and awkwardly patted her head. “Yeah, we’re fine,” he confirmed as both Derek and Loona got off the truck and began distributing supplies. Yet, it seemed odd to Moxxie that the one who saved them hadn’t come out yet. Was he just nervous?

“Some prince guy saved our asses,” Loona spoke up, snapping Moxxie out of his thoughts as he quickly nodded in agreement.

“Prince?” Vassago suddenly asked, and Moxxie couldn’t help but notice the hope radiating from the red parrot and how Stella’s talons dug deep into Octavia’s shoulders, causing the poor girl to wince.

Moxxie felt his blood run cold, but he tried to control his anger as he saw the mother-daughter scene. “Yes,” he said before turning his gaze back toward the truck. “Hey, Your Highness! We have people over here who want to meet you!”

Stolas heard Moxxie calling out to him as he nervously fidgeted with his hands. Should he? What if he wasn’t welcomed? What if they took one look at him and decided he wasn’t worth keeping? What if—“Hey, bird brain, get your ass out of there before you boil to death!” Loona’s agitated voice snapped Stolas out of his ‘what if’ thoughts.

He quickly took a deep breath to calm his nerves, adjusted his already adjusted top hat, took another deep breath, and reached for the car door, opening it slowly.

Once the door opened as far as it could, he stepped out and began walking toward the camp with his head hung low, multiple thoughts racing through his mind until he heard a very familiar voice that made him pause in his tracks.

“Dad?” Stolas lifted his head, his jaw dropping as emotions flooded him: relief, parental love, and the feeling of finding something precious that he thought he’d lost.

Octavia and he made eye contact. “DAD!” she cried out once more, rushing toward him with arms wide open, making sure not to be pulled back by her mother or uncle.

She saw her father also rushing toward her, mirroring her movements and calling out to her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Vassago freeze before he too made his way toward them.

Stolas couldn’t believe it. As he hugged both his friend and daughter, he began to cry. He didn’t care that others were watching. To him, they didn’t exist—Stella and Andrealphus didn’t exist. At this moment, only he, Octavia, and Vassago existed, emotions running high.

Stolas could barely contain himself from squeezing the two people he cared about most to death, but could you blame him? He had awoken from a coma to a hellish world, thinking his family wasn’t alive anymore, yet here they both were: alive and well.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

“Aww, what a cute scene, verdad Bonita?” Valentino asked Stella, who wore a look of disdain, her face expressing clear displeasure. For the first time, she ignored Valentino. He didn’t like that, so he tried to soothe her shoulders. “I can take all this tension away, just like always,” he offered.

Stella scoffed. “Fine. Come on,” she said, beginning to pull the moth away from the happy reuniting family to find her own pleasure. She smirked as she noticed the hurtful look the spiders sent in their direction. But what could he do, honestly? His soul belonged to Valentino whether he liked it or not, and he would have to endure it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

Later that same night at the campsite, once everyone’s emotions had settled down, Octavia sat next to her father in comfortable silence, nuzzling deeper into his embrace.

Stolas recounted to the surviving group his experience when he first woke up in that dreadful hospital. “I was so confused… so distressed. There were so many emotions I can’t even begin to describe,” Stolas concluded, hugging Octavia tighter without causing her any harm.

“I’m so sorry,” Vassago spoke up, though he didn’t take his eyes off the roaring flames as he used a stick to poke the log being consumed by the fire. “It was my fault you got shot. I should have tried harder to protect—”

“It wasn’t your fault. You did the best you could, and before you say it wasn’t enough, it was,” Stolas said, holding his best friend’s hand. “You saved me from bleeding out; you gave me a chance to find you and Octavia. So thank you. I am in debt to you.”

As Stolas spoke those words, Vassago felt a wave of relief wash over him. The guilt he’d carried for so long slipped away. And then he felt it: the urge to cry. And cry he did. Vassago buried his face into Stolas’s shoulder and cried, releasing his guilt as Stolas held him closer. Stolas truly was the best friend he could have asked for, and what does he do in return?

He lets him get sh—he saved him from being shot.

“Mom said you died,” Octavia cried out. “I never once believed her lies!” she declared with pride.

Stolas nodded, feeling pride swell within him. “That’s my girl,” he said, ruffling her feathers, earning a warning growl from Andrealphus, which he clearly ignored. However, the peacock’s attention was caught by Valentino, who held a log and was about to throw it onto the fire. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Andrealphus warned with a glare.

The moth overlord returned the glare as he spoke, “Cariño, I am cold, and if I am cold, I can do whatever I want to get warm.” As Valentino threw the log into the fire, making the flames larger and brighter to the point they outlined his features, Andrealphus stepped in front of him. “Are you sure you want to argue with a Goetia who took pity on you and your whore?” he asked. “I can easily freeze you here and now.”

Valentino felt his eye twitch and turned to Angel, who sat next to Molly. “Take it out,” he ordered.

“B-but Val, I’ll get—” Angel began before a hot pink chain wrapped around his neck, causing him to choke. Before he could catch his breath, Valentino harshly grabbed his cheeks, smirking at the low whimper Angel let out as blood oozed from where Valentino dug his claws in. “Take. It. Out,” he commanded before finally throwing Angel to the floor and walking away.

Angel managed to catch his breath and quickly pulled out the log, grateful not to be burned by the fire or frozen by the ice Andrealphus used to extinguish the log. “Thank you for putting out the fire,” Angel heard Vassago’s warm tone as he crouched down to meet his gaze.

“You’re welcome,” Angel said softly, barely a whisper, before speaking up again. “I am so sorry for his actions—”

“No need to apologize for his shitty behavior,” Vassago said with a sigh as he glanced at Valentino, who was now next to Stella, audaciously holding her waist possessively. He winced as he saw Stolas watching before quickly looking away. “Listen, if I knew how badly he treated you…” Vassago said. “I could have tried—”

“You can’t,” Angel interrupted with hatred, clenching his fists. “In my contract, it says that if I were to harm him or if he were no longer alive, I will never know peace, and those I care about will pay for it as one by one they suffer.”

Vassago tried to reach out for Angel until Pentious, who had been quiet for too long, spoke up, “So what do we do with Striker? I may not have a sibling, but I would be pretty pissed if they weren’t here and were up on a roof paralyzed, even if they’re the biggest asshole known to mankind.”

“I’ll tell him,” Loona said with a look of defeat. “I chained down the door—”

“Yet I paralyzed him,” Stolas suddenly said as he stood up. “If anyone is at fault, it should be me. I am telling him.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Stolas awoke and looked around the tent, noticing that both Octavia and Stella were absent. He quickly got up and began making his way through the campsite, greeting everyone he passed while his mind raced with thoughts: How was he going to tell Striker that he had left Jason behind? What if Striker asked him whether Jason was even alive?

Stolas headed towards where his attire hung, freshly washed on a drying rack. As he touched his red cape, Angel approached him. “Molly washed your clothes, or at least she tried,” he chuckled. “It wasn’t easy since your suit is made of such expensive material that we would never have been able to touch.”

Stolas blinked slowly with all four eyes as he comprehended what Angel had just said. After an odd plastic duck sound came from nowhere, he quickly shook his head. “Thank you.”

Angel nodded. “She did her best, but if you feel like we didn’t do enough, I could always sneak in a kiss,” Angel said in a seductive, low voice, narrowing his eyes. However, his demeanor changed when he saw Stolas cringe away, his feathers puffing up in disgust. Angel let out a loud scoff, clearly not offended by the reaction.

“Fine, suit yourself. Just know I’ll be here when you’re ready, daddy,” Angel said before blowing Stolas a kiss and walking away. It was fortunate he didn’t see Stolas move away from the imaginary kiss sent his way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

After some time, Stolas finally found Vassago. “Can we talk?” Stolas asked his friend, who was sitting on a picnic blanket. Vassago immediately moved and patted the now-empty spot, motioning for Stolas to sit next to him, which the owl prince did. “What’s on your mind?” Vassago eventually broke the silence.

Stolas: “I’m thinking about the man we—I left behind. Jason.”

“You can’t be serious!” Vassago exclaimed, turning to look at Stolas with disbelief.

Stolas nodded. “Yes, I am planning to go back for him—”

Vassago: “But we just got you back, and we’re going to lose—”

“You won’t lose me. That’s a promise I won’t break,” Stolas said firmly, his tone clearly indicating he was serious and unwilling to back down from this disagreement.

“Fine,” Vassago conceded. “Go, risk your life for a hijo de puta that no one likes,” he said as he stood up and began to walk away. He hadn’t gone far before Octavia’s horror-filled voice rang out through the camp, causing both the owl and parrot to rush to her aid.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

“Dad!” Octavia cried out as she threw herself onto a worried Stolas, weeping as the undead sinner reached out to her.

“Are you alright, my owlet? Nothing bit you, nothing scratched you?” Stolas asked Octavia as he gently held her cheeks, turning her head to check for any bite or scratch marks. “No, it just scared me,” Octavia replied, burying her face into her father’s chest. Nearby, Valentino, Andrealphus, and Stella were seen ‘attacking’ the undead by hitting everything except its head.

Suddenly, a bullet pierced through the undead’s head, splattering black blood on the ground. Angel and Molly looked disgusted as they walked away.“What in tarnation is wrong with y’all? I reckon we’ve lived long enough to know how to kill these sons of bitches.” a rough southern accent drawled, causing the group to turn towards the bushes.

“Oh, here comes problem number two,” Andrealphus said with an eye roll, but squealed like a little girl when a bullet barely missed his head. “Next time, I ain’t gonna miss.” the voice promised as a figure emerged from the bush.

What Stolas saw was the most striking creature he’d ever laid eyes on. The cowboy had peach-toned skin, white hair under a hat, and piercing yellow eyes. He resembled Jason but appeared softer, less muscular. He seemed more succubus than serpent. Despite having the same facial structure as Jason, there was something different—Stolas’s train of thought halted, and his heart sank.

This was Striker.

The brother of the man he had left paralyzed at the camp.

He gulped audibly, noticing his daughter’s concerned look but choosing to ignore it. Oh no. All the rehearsed lines he had memorized vanished. He couldn’t recall how his speech began or ended. Did he even have an introduction?

“I brought y’all dinner, and if you make it last, maybe breakfast and lunch for tomorrow,” Striker announced proudly, displaying a string of dead squirrels he had hunted.

“We are not eating that!” Andrealphus exclaimed in disgust, with his sister and Valentino nodding in agreement. “We haven’t sunk to your level of poverty yet.”

Striker seemed unfazed as he tossed the squirrels to Moxxie, who clumsily tried to not drop them only to immediately dropped them, prompting a disappointed sigh from the cowboy. He turned back to the trio who refused the meal. 

“Suit yourself. Besides, we might even have more for the new guy… Whoever that rich blue-blood son of a bitch is,” Striker said, pointing at Stolas, who winced. “Unless he’s like y’all—”

“Of course, I would eat it!” Stolas blurted out, mentally chastising himself. “I-it would be considered rude not to eat something someone has hunted for you, so count me, Vassago, and Octavia in!”

Striker was taken aback, ignoring Stella’s outburst and tantrum about her daughter not eating ‘peasant’ food as Valentino tried to calm her. He simply stared at Stolas, placing a hand on his hip, scratching his head, and giving Stolas a look that said, ‘I wasn’t expecting you to say that,’ before sighing and rubbing his temples. “Fine, do what ya want. What’s your name anyway?”

Stolas gulped again. Was this where he was going to drop the bombshell? “Stolas,” he introduced himself. “Stolas Goetia. Listen, I need to talk to you about y-your brother.”

“Jason? What the hell did that idiot do now?” Striker asked, and suddenly something clicked in his mind. He rushed back to camp, yelling his brother’s name like a madman.

“Well, your brother was being an ass,” Loona said, growling and then snapping her teeth at the air as Moxxie tried to shush her. “Don’t shush me!” she commanded.

“What the hell did you do?!” Striker demanded, getting up in Loona’s face, causing the startled hellhound to yelp as she felt the cold metal of a gun against her skull. “I—we left him paralyzed on a rooftop! We were running out of time, and nothing could be—”

“You left my brother paralyzed on a roof!” Striker raged, his entire body shaking with anger. Sure, his brother was an ass and perhaps not the best person to be around, maybe even abusive, but he was still family! Besides, Jason would have done the same for him?

Right?

“She or the others who went there aren’t to blame,” Stolas interjected, raising his hands in surrender. “It was me. I cast the paralyzing spell. I left him behind, but before we left, I granted him mercy and undid the spell. So he’s probably somewhere there—” Stolas didn’t have time to finish his sentence as a bullet narrowly missed his shoulder, startling the entire camp as they looked at Striker in fear, everyone backed away.

He was the one who had shot at Stolas.

It made Stolas’s heart squeeze in despair.

“Oh hell no, not again,” Vassago cried out as he grabbed Striker’s gun and pointed it upwards just as Striker fired another shot. And with that, a fight broke out. Striker tried to reclaim his gun to shoot Stolas, while Vassago struggled to disarm him to prevent any harm.

“Alright, enough!” Stolas commanded, using a spell to separate the fighting duo and pin them to the ground. “No one is fighting, and most certainly, no one is killing anyone.”

He then crouched near Striker, who was trying to resist the spell, which Stolas found impressive. “I will go with you to find your brother if you promise to calm down and not kill anyone.”

Striker paused, actually considering the blue-blooded offer. It was difficult since his father, when alive, had always warned him never to trust any royal types. But what other choice did he have? Striker sighed. “Fine. Now get this spell off,” he demanded.

Stolas nodded and quickly released both Vassago and Striker from the spell. They got up and dusted themselves off. “We leave in the afternoon,” Stolas announced to the group watching him. “Me, Striker, Loona, and Moxxie. We leave in the afternoon.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

Octavia was curled up in her bed inside her tent after her father left. Why did he have to leave? Why did he have to risk his life for someone no one liked in the camp? Suddenly, she heard the tent being unzipped and saw Vassago entering before closing it and sitting next to her on her inflatable bed. “Mom and Uncle will kill you if they see you here,” Octavia was the first to speak.

“True. But who’s going to tell them? You? Because I’m surely not,” Vassago said with a chuckle, attempting to lift the girl’s spirits. It didn’t work, so he sighed and gently caressed her hair. “I bet your father is going to be just fine,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if he was reassuring her or himself. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Octavia only nodded as she leaned back against Vassago’s legs, seeking comfort. “Yes, I am. I’m worried they won’t make it.”

Vassago felt his heart break. “Ay mija… You shouldn’t think like that. Your father is like a cockroach. Nothing can kill him.” That made Octavia laugh, and a smile spread across Vassago’s face because he hoped that if he kept telling himself that, he might actually believe it.

Chapter Text

“Are you promising me that my brother is still up there?” Striker asked as he, along with the group assigned by Stolas, teleported to the building’s back alley and pointed to the very top.

Loona nodded. “Yes. I chained the door. No one can get through it but us. Mark my words.”

Striker couldn’t help but believe that promise.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey Pentious, have you seen Octavia?” a worried Vassago asked Pentious after unsuccessfully trying to ask Stella for Octavia’s whereabouts. Stella, being the bitch she was, didn’t tell him anything.

What a waste of space.

What a dishonorable woman.

To not even attempt to hide her cheating.

“I saw her being taken by Andrealphus towards the creek,” the snake overlord said, pointing in the direction he saw the uncle and niece heading from his van. “I heard that Andrealphus wanted to teach her about some politics.”

Vassago’s eyes widened. “Thank you,” he said as he began to rush towards the destination Pentious had mentioned, praying that Andrealphus wasn’t doing anything foolish. He felt his protective rage roaring within him.

“Do I really have to be mean to every person that’s considered below me?” Octavia asked Andrealphus as the two sat next to the lake. A few feet away, Angel, Derek, and Molly were washing clothes while Valentino stood by, watching them and smoking without offering any help.

“For the last time,” Andrealphus said angrily as he massaged his head. “Those below you aren’t people. They’re things. Servants. And yes, you have to be ‘mean’ to them, or else how would they respect you? They’ll walk all over you like you’re worthless trash.”

Octavia scoffed, “But Uncle Vassago—”

“I don’t care what Vassago says. What he says is wrong. That’s something only someone without self-dignity does!” he yelled, not caring who heard. “Royals and Overlords who risk their lives for their ‘people’ will be mocked and later forgotten! Do you want to be forgotten, girl?”

Octavia shook her head slightly.

She didn’t want to be forgotten.

Not in this world.

Yet, she couldn’t help but start to think that her uncle was right. The kind and caring will not last in this new apocalyptic Hell.

“I am really beginning to question labor here,” Derek suddenly spoke up a few feet away from the arguing uncle and niece duo to the two twin siblings who let out a laugh. “I mean, why do we have to wash the clothes while Valentino just stands behind us? Oh Asmodeus, don’t tell me that gets him hard. Pssh, what a crazy bastard. Angel, how did you even manage to surrender your soul to him?”

“Well, did you forget the memo? The world ended,” Angel said with sadness as he scrubbed a particularly hard bloodstain off a shirt.

Molly couldn’t help but agree with him as she shook her head. “It’s how hell is now.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

“So we get in and get out,” Stolas ordered his team once they made it inside. “Do I make myself clear? We’re only here for Jason. Nothing more.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go get that son of a bitch,” Striker said as he cracked his knuckles. It was clear to everyone that during this moment, during this time, Striker was in charge.

He got the final say.

That was the least they could do.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

Meanwhile, back in the survival camp, Derek was seen scrubbing a random pair of pants when he sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “Man, I miss home and football matches,” he said as nostalgia filled the area.

“I miss my cute outfits that I left behind,” Molly said with a pout.

Angel smirked, a devious smile spreading across his face as he spoke seductively, “I miss my stripping days back home~”

This caused the trio washing clothes to burst into laughter, pausing their work for a moment. Valentino tightened his grip on his cigar. “What’s so funny?” he asked, breaking the group’s brief moment of fun and making Angel flinch.

“Nothing, Val, just sharing what we miss,” Molly said sternly.

However, Valentino didn’t seem to like that answer as he moved forward, standing proud and tall. “Is there a problem, Val?” Derek asked as he stood up. Though he wasn’t as tall as Valentino, he tried his best to look as intimidating as Valentino was making himself now.

“Nothing that concerns you, boy,” Valentino finally spat with venom after a few tense seconds before commanding, “Now hurry up with that work. This isn’t a comedy show to laugh like little girls.”

Derek felt his eye twitch in irritation.

Vassago had finally found Octavia, and true to Pentious’s words, she was indeed ‘studying’ politics with Andrealphus. A surge of protective rage surged within him as he created a star-like hoverboard beneath him to reach the arguing duo faster.

“Octavia, there you are,” Vassago said as he finally reached them, causing the star hoverboard to dissolve and disappear. “What are you doing out here? It’s quite dangerous to be alone,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and his anger in check.

“Well, Uncle Andrealphus commanded me to learn some politics with him while Mother backed him up,” Octavia explained. “Besides, I’m not alone; I have them over there,” she said, pointing at the group who were washing clothes.

Vassago sighed as he massaged his head. “It doesn’t matter what your uncle or mom say, young lady,” he smirked, earning an insulted scoff from Andrealphus. “You listen to what I say, alright? Your father left me in charge of you—of this place—and what I say goes. Now hurry off to the tent.”

However, before Octavia could leave peacefully, Andrealphus yelled out, “Where do you think you’re going?! We’re not done yet!”

“Oh yes, you are!” Vassago said, motioning for Octavia to keep going, which she did, only raising Andrealphus’s anger.

“Vassago, why are you being so difficult?” Andrealphus complained now that they were ‘alone.’ “Why can’t you accept that whatever I say is right? And who does Stolas think he is by leaving you in charge?”

Vassago just glared at him, “First of all: cállate. Second of all: Stolas left me in charge because he trusts me to actually care for these people and his daughter, so under no circumstances am I allowing you to speak ill of him while he’s not even here to silence you.”

That got a laugh from Andrealphus before he turned to Vassago, “What makes you think he’s capable of leading this group when he couldn’t even lead his people—”

“Neither could you, hypocrite,” Vassago said, feeling a vein bulging. He was going to finish this argument, so he did what he always refrained from doing. He gave a command. “So you and your sister better stay away from my girl. Do I make myself clear? I don’t want to see either of you near her. You come any closer, and I will shoot.”

“But Stolas said murder isn’t allowed,” Andrealphus said, his voice quivering. He’d never seen Vassago use this much rage before, and it angered him even more.

“Well, tell it to the frogs, ‘cause I certainly don’t care what you have to say,” Vassago said as he began to march away from the argument, leaving an angry Andrealphus behind.

But he couldn’t care less.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

As the survival group ventured deeper into the building where Stolas swore he’d left Jason, Striker was the first to notice an undead making its way toward them. He carelessly grabbed one of Moxxie’s knives, causing Moxxie to let out an annoyed, “Hey.” Yet Striker didn’t listen.

He stabbed the undead without much effort or noise. The only sound was the undead falling to the ground, permanently dead.

It was safe to say Stolas was impressed by Striker’s little show.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

The clothes-washing trio was almost done—almost until Derek couldn’t take the glare Valentino was sending their way. He could practically feel it burning into the back of his head. Angel noticed it too and sent Derek a pleading look that clearly said, ‘Just ignore him.’ But Derek couldn’t anymore, so he stood up once more and approached the moth man.

“Is there a problem, Valentino?” Derek repeated as he clumsily wrapped Valentino’s shirt, not even folding it properly as he spoke. “Because if you don’t like how we wash your clothes, you can always do it yourself, you ungrateful bastard,” he said, pushing the poorly folded clothes toward Valentino, who quickly caught them before they fell.

Valentino was stunned for a moment before shaking his head, the shock replaced with anger. How dare a mere nobody like Derek talk to him like that? An overlord with power far beyond what Derek’s little mind could comprehend?

 So what did he do? He threw the shirt right back at Derek, hard, causing it to land on the ground. Valentino smirked. “Looks like you’ve got to pick it up and wash it again. And to answer your question: I don’t wash it because I’m not on your level, puto.”

“Derek…” Angel said, trying to reach for him, his voice trembling in fear and plea. He didn’t care if his acting persona had left him, revealing who he truly was: a scared, broken man.

“Then what is your job, huh, Val?” Derek pressed, gritting his teeth and purposely ignoring Angel’s plea. Someone had to show this man that he wasn’t an Overlord anymore just because he had ONE soul under his control. “Sitting on your ass and watching us do laundry like a pervert?”

Valentino sneered as he glared at Derek. He hated when someone talked back to him. “Angelito, let’s go,” he said, using his sweet tone to command Angel as he stretched out his hand for Angel to reach. However, just before Angel’s hand made contact with his own, Molly had the nerve to pull Angel away from him.

“I don’t think my brother is going anywhere,” the female spider said with a protective growl as she pushed Angel behind her. She didn’t care how his eyes widened in pure horror that soon radiated off of him. “Your abuse stops now.”

“Oh really?” Valentino asked mockingly. “What are you going to do about it, huh, slut? Just because you’re Angel’s twin doesn’t mean you’re safe from my anger. Now hurry up, Angel,” he pressed.

“He isn’t going,” Derek said firmly. “We see what you do to him every time you two are alone. Yeah, don’t act dumb; we’ve seen how you treat him in and out of your tent.”

“I don’t care what you have to say. He’s coming with me whether you like it or not. I don’t have time for this…” Suddenly, an idea flashed in Valentino’s head, and his sadistic smirk spread even more. “Besides, it’s either Angel or that fine-ass half-succubus… What’s his name… Oh yeah… Striker.” That seemed to make the trio tense even more. How sick could this guy be?

“Fine, I’ll go,” Angel said quickly. He could tolerate Valentino doing the unthinkable to him, but to the man who risks his life just to get them food every time they’re running low? And who he sees as one of his best friends even if the cowboy denied it. He could never live with himself.

“That’s what I thought,” Valentino said proudly as he reached for Angel once again, only to be denied access, which broke his anger. “That’s it!” he yelled as a pink chain appeared around Angel’s neck, causing Valentino to pull on it hard—hard enough to choke the poor spider, causing both Derek and Molly to start yelling and making a scene, which caught the attention of a still-angry Andrealphus from the fight he had with Vassago.

“Tonight, I’m going to fuck you and that half-succubus for all this trouble!” Valentino demanded as his smirk turned into a smile at Angel’s fear. “After all, it’s been a while since I got my hands on a fine-ass succubus.”

“Please…” Angel pleaded as his breath began to quicken, his mind racing with fear. His ears rang as the desperation of both Molly and Derek trying to stop Valentino from pulling on the chain even harder sounded like muffled yelling in his ears. “Leave him out of this…”

“I don’t think—” However, Valentino was interrupted as a fist made contact with his chin, sending him flying and causing Angel’s chain to disappear. Angel took a well-needed gasp of air as he was slowly starting to see black dots. His vision cleared, as he saw Derek and Molly on each side of him, trying to offer comfort while Andrealphus beat the hell out of Valentino.

Andrealphus was relentlessly beating Valentino’s face into the ground. He didn’t care if he killed the bastard. He wasn’t doing this for Angel or their food supplier; he was doing it for himself. After his conversation with Vassago, he needed to vent his frustration on someone—anyone.

With Valentino sporting a split lip, broken nose, probable concussion, and swollen eye, Andrealphus seemed satisfied as he dug his heel into the man’s stomach. “If I see you threatening our food supplier again, you’re dead,” he warned before getting up, cracking his knuckles as the rage and adrenaline left him, leaving the stunned trio behind.

He couldn't help but smirk.

At least he could still show some pity to those beneath him after all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

The surviving group finally made it to the roof. Moxxie picked the lock that kept the doors secured, which Striker quickly kicked open. He was the first to ascend to the rooftop, only to gasp, cover his mouth, and fall into a crouching position as his body shook. The rooftop was empty. No Jason in sight. Instead, there were three of the undead, all stabbed to death and placed on top of each other.

Jason wasn’t there.

It was all empty.

Chapter Text

Angel Dust and Derek were now on a boat, fishing in tense silence following the morning’s incident. “Why did you do that?” Angel suddenly asked, breaking the quiet as his anger threatened to explode, his eyes glowing a shade of pink.

“Because I couldn’t stand him hurting you anymore! What kind of friend would I be if I let that bastard hurt you without stepping up to help?” Derek replied, his eye twitching as he placed his catch in a bucket.

“Well, you shouldn’t have!” Angel snapped, his eyes glazing over with tears as he backed away from Derek’s reaching hand. “Now I have to deal with his anger. I have to do whatever it takes to get Striker out of the danger zone he doesn’t even know he’s in! So, thank you for ‘standing up.’” Silence fell between them once more.

The friends didn't speak to each other for the rest of their time fishing.

Meanwhile, Pentious was patrolling the area with his binoculars when something caught his eye—or rather, someone. It was Molly. She was at the top of a valley, her clothes dirty as she dug tirelessly. She showed no signs of stopping, and it scared Pentious.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Back on the rooftop, the group of survivors continued to stare at the bodies piled on top of each other. Suddenly, Striker stood up and pointed his gun at Loona, tears threatening to spill as his hand shook uncontrollably, preventing him from pulling the trigger. He eventually gave up.

“I’m so sorry,” Stolas said, reaching out to offer the grieving brother a hug. For some reason, it pained Stolas to see this man cry; it hurt him to see him break.

“Don’t touch me!” Striker demanded, shoving Stolas away and causing the owl to stumble over his own cape. “We’re not leavin' this place 'til we find him or a clue that he’s even alive,” Striker insisted, his tail rattling like a snake’s.

Stolas nodded and bowed slightly, ignoring the mental voice of his father warning him to not bow to Striker, who was considered beneath him. But he didn’t care. “As you wish.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Pentious cautiously approached the spider demoness. “Miss. Molly, I’m worried about you. Please take a break; you’re going to pass out from a heatstroke if you keep going like this.” he advised, noticing her sweaty forehead.

But it seemed she wasn’t listening.

Despite her exhaustion, she continued digging holes in the ground.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Moxxie shot down an undead creature that had approached the group as they entered the building. He turned to Stolas, saying, “I thought royalty didn’t bow to the lower class?” He was still shocked and impressed by what Stolas had done earlier, and if he weren’t so surprised, he might have laughed at Striker’s flabbergasted expression during the moment.

“They don’t,” Stolas confirmed Moxxie’s question.

“Then why did you do it?” Loona suddenly asked. “Because something deep down tells me this won’t be the last time, huh?”

Stolas remained silent, knowing she was right. This was the first time he had bowed to Striker, but certainly not the last.

“Look at this,” Striker’s voice prompted the group to rush to his side, and what they saw made their jaws drop. On the wall was a message written in black blood, unearthed by a few unmoving undead. They didn’t need to guess who wrote it; they all knew it was Jason.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Angel and Derek finally returned to camp, each carrying two buckets filled to the brim with fish. “Wow,” Octavia exclaimed in surprise as she and Vassago approached them. “That looks amazing!”

“I know, right?” Angel teased Octavia. “We worked out pretty little assess off to have something nice alongside the squirrels Striker brought, so get ready for dinner. The sun is setting, so let’s get these bad boys cooking!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

Back in the building, the survival trio was devising a plan to cover more ground quickly. Loona looked uneasy. “Yeah, I don’t like this idea,” she said. “And Moxxie, I don’t even like you.”

Moxxie rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad of an idea. We’re splitting up into groups of two, so we’re not going alone. The plan is simple: look around for Jason and get out.”

Stolas seemed unconvinced, but before he could speak, Striker asked, “Who goes with who?”

“Me and you,” Moxxie said, pointing to himself and Striker, “and him and her,” he added, gesturing to Loona and Stolas. “Fifteen minutes, and then we’re out.”

Striker and Moxxie were in an alleyway, hiding behind a trashcan as Moxxie prepared to dash to the other alley while Striker loaded his angelic gun. “You’ve got some guts for a possum,” Striker remarked, shooting an undead creature.

“I’m not a possum,” Moxxie replied irritably sending him his best bitchface he could muster and rushed out of the alley toward the street. “Whatever,” Striker responded, keeping his focus on Moxxie and the undead getting too close to the imp. He didn’t notice a hellhound slowly approaching until it was in his line of vision, prompting Striker to point his weapon at it.

He tried to maintain distance between himself and the hellhound. “What are you doing here?!” he raged, causing the hellhound to yelp. “Have you seen my brother? His name is—” However, before Striker could continue, the hellhound, much larger than him, began to move closer.

“That’s as far as you—” Striker began, but was interrupted. “Are you a half-succubus?” the hellhound asked, causing Striker to freeze in place. “Oh my Mammon, you are!” the hellhound exclaimed, his tail wagging with excitement. “Stay where you are!” Striker commanded, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

He tried to stay strong.

He wasn’t going to show his fear, even if the hellhound could easily smell it.

His attention was so focused on the overly enthusiastic hound that he didn’t notice three more hellhounds emerging from the darkness until it was too late.

Moxxie had almost reached the other alley when he heard Striker’s yells. He turned around and saw several hounds ganging up on him. His blood ran cold as he quickly ran back to the alley, unable to think straight.

Forget Jason and whether he was still out there.

His friend needed him now.

Getting to Striker was his first priority.

As Stolas and Loona explored an empty alleyway, they heard screams coming from where Striker and Moxxie were supposed to be. They exchanged a brief glance before Stolas began his teleportation spell to reach the alley.

Moxxie was losing, as embarrassing as it was.

But he was trying—clawing, punching, hitting. He even thought he shot someone in the arm at some point. But it wasn’t enough. He saw two hounds shove Striker into a van as he screamed and reached out for help.

Moxxie could have sworn he heard Striker call for Stolas. Now, the other hounds were getting into the van, except for the one he held at gunpoint—the one who started all of this.

As the van sped away, Loona and Stolas finally teleported in front of him. “What happened?!” Stolas asked, noticing Striker wasn’t with them.

Moxxie didn’t respond immediately. He kicked the hellhound hard before finally answering, “His friends came and took Striker!” he raged, charging his gun and ready to shoot the hellhound’s head. “I’m going to kill him!”

However, before he could do anything else, Loona managed to stop him from shooting, and Stolas spoke up, having pieced together what happened. “No, leave him alive. I want answers. And once we save Striker, if there’s even one scratch on him,” his voice deepened with rage, making even the undead the where around them shiver, “not even God will stop me from ripping them all apart.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

“Hey Molly, listen, you have to stop,” Vassago told the spider sinner as he along with the rest of the camp gathered, called by Pentious to check on her. “You’re scaring us. Just tell us what’s wrong.” Vassago pleaded yet Molly kept working in silence, occasionally pausing from digging to catch her breath before continuing.

“How about this: come down, eat something, and drink some cold water. Then I’ll personally come up here with you. How does that sound?” Derek offered, reaching for the shovel, which she quickly pulled away. “Or what? You’ll have Andrealphus beat me like he did with Val?” she asked with hatred, swinging the shovel.

“That was a different reason, and you know it!” Derek said, dodging another attempted hit. “Val was hurting Angel; you’re hurting yourself—” He was cut off as Molly managed to hit his shoulder, causing him to wince.

That was the final straw for Andrealphus. He had enough and ripped the shovel from Molly as Stella harshly threw herself at her and held the struggling spider down. “Molly,” Angel finally spoke up, receiving a glare from her. “You need to stop!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

“Are you sure this is it?” Stolas asked the half-beaten hellhound, throwing him at an abandoned location. The hellhound nodded fearfully, “Y-yes, your Highness, we brought him here.”

“You better not be lying, or else I’m shoving this bullet up your ass,” Loona threatened, aiming her gun exactly where she promised to shoot. The hound let out an arrogant huff. “Well, M is going to do the same thing to you…” However, Stolas didn’t hear the rest of the hound’s claim as he suddenly paused.

Someone had used his last name as their own.

Someone claimed to be a Goetia.

Yet, unlike how Stella and Andrealphus used it for their own purposes, this felt different.

This one felt right.

This one felt like it belonged.

Suddenly, he thought of Striker, and his instincts kicked in. How dire was the situation that Striker had to use his last name to feel safe? “Your Highness?” Moxxie’s uncertain tone brought him back to reality. “Yes, I am fine,” Stolas replied, pushing forward, ready to get this done and over with.

Chapter Text

After Molly was chained to a tree, Angel approached her with a water bottle. “Want some?” he asked. She quickly nodded and drank half of it in one gulp before turning to Angel.

“Can you pour the rest over my head?” Angel nodded and slowly poured it over her. “Thank you,” Molly said contentedly as she leaned her head against the tree.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to hit Derek. It was an accident,” Molly spoke up after a few minutes of silence.

“Why were you diggin' holes?” Angel asked, causing her to shrug. “I had a two-part dream,” she responded flatly.

Angel: “What was it about?”

“I don’t remember… But it involved you, Stolas, Striker, Vassago. You, however, were screaming and crying out for someone I can’t recall. Then a flash forward happened, and I saw the most beautiful pair of green eyes, which I know none of the group has, so it must be someone new,” Molly explained as Angel listened intently. “For some odd reason, those beautiful green eyes seemed full of pain and full of secrets. They seemed to hold much more than we know, but other than that, I don’t remember anything else.”

After another pregnant pause, Molly asked, “When did Vassago say I can be set free?”

“I don’t know, probably when he deems you no longer a danger to yourself or others,” Angel replied as he sat next to her. The siblings remained silent for the rest of the hour.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Mat!” A small woman, likely a sinner, made her way Stolas and his group as they forced their way in. Her voice only irritated the Goetia further. “Where on earth have you been?! And boy, you have to warn a gal when royalty is coming!”

“Sorry, Mimzy ma’am, but they surprised us! We had no idea they were there!” the hound claimed, prompting Moxxie to shoot him on the leg. The hound cried out, which made Mimzy’s people pointed at him, but Moxxie didn’t care as he cried out, “Liar! You attacked us and took our teammate!”

“I am here for my people,” Stolas said coldly, glaring at her. “You took one of mine; I have one of yours. We can trade.”

The woman in the purple flapper dress chuckled and looked behind Stolas, noticing the bag of guns. Her eyes shone with greed. “Nah, honey, what we’re trading is my people, your handy bag of guns, and then I might just hand over that succubus since they’re getting pretty rare these days. So, what do you say?” she asked, audaciously reaching out her hand with a smug smile.

Stolas, however, did not reach for her hand. With a single swish of magic, he caused one of her people to fall dead on the ground, half her head and brain cleanly severed. “My name is Stolas Goetia, and my demand is that we only trade people. Guns are out of the question."

”O-of course!” Mimzy said nervously, her skin paling as she saw one of her people down. “W-whatever you say, Your Highness! How very rude of me,” she added with a nervous laugh, beginning to walk deeper inside, followed by two bodyguards. This was much easier than Stolas had anticipated.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I used your last name,” Striker confessed to Stolas as the group finally drove back home.

Stolas nodded. “I am aware.”

“That doesn’t mean I am part of your twisted family,” Striker quickly added, not taking his eyes off the window. He didn’t want the bird to ‘make him a Goetia'. 

Not to since, he was the reason his brother was missing in the first place, which he was still mad about!

“And that’s just fine by me,” Stolas spoke up, causing Striker to turn and face him with surprise in his eyes. “I only want you to feel safe,” Stolas continued. “If you don’t wish to be apart of ‘my twisted family’, then I wouldn’t force it upon you. That’s your choice, not mine.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Angel approached Valentino’s tent with a look of fear yet determination. He would try to change Valentino’s mind, even if he knew it was impossible. “Val?” he called out softly. “Time for dinner.”

“Get lost!” Valentino’s raging voice exploded as he turned to face Angel. His face was still messed up, but it wasn’t as ugly as Andrealphus had left it. “I’m not eating with fuckers tonight, you hear?!” he yelled, throwing a pillow at Angel.

Angel sighed and began to walk away, only to stop when Valentino spoke up again. “And you better bring Stella, yourself, and that succubus tonight. After all, it’ll be my reward for the emotional trauma I endured today. Once we’re done, you and I are leaving this camp as soon as the sun rises!”

The spider demon didn’t want to agree.

He wanted to say no.

He actually enjoyed this camp. He saw them as family.

He wanted to somehow stop this tragedy.

But he felt ghostly chains around his neck and sighed in defeat. “Yes… Valentino.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Valentino was shaken awake as his tent began to tremble, and as a shadow casted by the nearby fire appeared at the entrance. He growled, intending to give Angel a good beating. Did he not understand what time he was supposed to be here?

“What did I say—” he was cut off as multiple undead ripped open his tent and made their way inside, slowly tearing his skin and ripping apart his insides. He couldn’t even scream in pain as his mouth was being devoured at that very moment.

He couldn’t scream for help.

He couldn’t even scream at all.

As he felt the undead rip through his skin, tissue, and organs, he might have been high on pain. Or perhaps he was hallucinating, but he, very clearly, heard one of the undead whisper closely in his ear, "There's a cure out there.”

And finally, he could scream.

He screamed as the hallucination of the undead who ‘spoke' to him gave him an impossibly wide smile.

He screamed as the hallucination of the undead who ‘whispered’ in his ear laughed like a madman.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Molly stepped out of the RV, looking disappointedly at the group while holding up an empty roll of toilet paper, causing Stella and Andrealphus to burst into fits of laughter. “Are we out of toilet paper?” Molly asked, when suddenly she felt something grasp her hand.

She let out a yell as she felt something bury itself deep into her flesh.

Suddenly, that something dropped dead as Vassago shot it.

She shakily reached for her wrist.

It was bit.

She felt tears welling up.

No.

It can’t be happening.

She wasn’t just bit by an undead.

She wanted to live.

Just to at least celebrate her and Angel’s birthday properly.

It was so close.

“Were you bitten?” Vassago asked the spider demoness, who shook her head. “N-no…” she lied. She was bit.

But she wanted to hang on just a little longer.

Please, God, give her mercy.

“Everyone get in a circle!” Vassago commanded as the camp suddenly and without warning became overrun by a horde. The group did as told, putting Octavia and the grimoire in the middle as they shot, killed, and stabbed the undead. But there were too many, even with the other Goetia. They needed backup.

“Ugh, where is the rest of this pathetic group?!” an angry Stella demanded as she backed away from an incoming undead whose gnarled hands were reaching out to her.

“I thought you said we were expendable!” Derek suddenly declared as he stabbed the creature with his angelic weapon right in the forehead. That action caused Stella to gag and back away. “I want to hear you say we aren’t and that you’re wrong!”

Just as Stella was about to admit her defeat, a truck pulled up, and as it parked, the other survivors got out and quickly joined those who were actually trying to protect the camp.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After a few more hours passed, the group still stood, alive and well, except for Valentino, whom Angel had dragged out of the tent and began to weep over.

He cried.

Angel cried.

He didn’t cry for Val.

For the person he turned into.

No, he cried for the person Valentino used to be.

A kind, loving, and respectful partner.

Someone who treasured him.

Yet he knew it was all a lie.

An act.

Yet he felt even worse as Striker held him close, allowing Angel to hug him. Angel felt like he needed to throw up. As Striker’s hands tried to soothe his trembling shoulders, Angel promised himself he wouldn’t let anything like what Valentino was planning happen to Striker again. He knew Valentino was a terrible person at heart, preying on the innocent.

So why was he crying for him? As he wiped away his mascara, he noticed Molly standing in the center of the undead with a blank expression. “Oh…” Molly spoke up, causing most of the group to turn toward her as she spoke with a trembling voice, “I remember half of my dream now.”

Chapter Text

“Mayberry, I don’t know if you can hear me or if you’re even listening, but I’ll always try to contact you. Listen, I found them. I found my daughter and my friend; they’re safe. They’ve let me join their group. However, something tragic happened last night.”

Angel was still cradling Valentino’s lifeless body, his mind spinning with a whirlwind of emotions. He felt a sense of relief that the thorn in his side was finally gone, but this relief quickly turned into guilt for thinking such a thing.

He missed Valentino.

But why would he miss him?

Why did he want him alive?

To abuse him?

To violate him?

“We need to kill that bastard,” Andrealphus said as he approached them, pointing a gun at Valentino’s head. He recoiled when Angel growled at him like a feral animal yet he couldn’t pounce at him due to Striker who still held him held him back. “Fine, do what you want,” Andrealphus said, walking away as he huffed.

Angel then felt Striker’s gentle hold be replaced by Vassago’s. “We need to end him, Angel, or else you know he’ll come back and that won’t be him,” the parrot said, as he pointed right at Valentino's head.

Just as Vassago was about to shoot Valentino, he came back. Valentino returned as an undead, weakly reaching out to Angel. Angel yelped, pushed him away, and without a second thought, he snatched Vassago's gun and pointed the gun at Valentino and shot him straight in the head without a second thought. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“We were ambushed, Mayberry. A horde attacked our camp. We lost one. However, my group seems almost relieved and happy about his death. I haven’t had a chance to speak with him, but I heard Valentino was abusive towards Angel, so I’m glad he’s gone as well.”

Striker and Loona were seen dragging the undead bodies into graves that Molly had apparently dug yesterday due to a dream she had. They were about to throw Valentino into a very cramped grave, ready to set it on fire just like the last three before this one, when Moxxie approached. “Shouldn’t we bury Valentino somewhere else? I mean, he was part of our group.” the imp asked them.

“We only bury people who aren’t assholes and rapists,” Loona spat at Moxxie as her and Striker threw Valentino’s dead body into the grave before lighting the lighter and setting the bodies inside ablaze. The growing flames quickly consumed them, leaving Moxxie to sigh and accept the answer as he walked away.

“My ‘wife’ is upset her little side piece isn’t here to please and pleasure her anymore. However, something inside me tells me that Stella is planning something. Something bad, every time she stares at Striker a little too long... Speaking of Striker, he was kidnapped a day ago. Don’t worry, we managed to save him. But what I’m trying to say is this: we’re leaving. Our camp isn’t safe anymore.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I am insisting that we stay here,” Stella demanded as she approached Stolas, who had just finished loading the last bag into one of the cars they owned. “It doesn’t matter what you want,” Stolas retorted, glaring at her. “These people need me. They need walls.”

“Well, we can always add more cans to alert us if something were to happen. Besides, where are we even going?” an angry Andrealphus who had interjected in the conversation, demanded, striking the hood of a car.

Moxxie was then seen holding a map of all Hell and its rings, pointing to a very specific one.

“We’re headed to the Sloth Ring. Moxxie claims there are hellborns working on a cure there. The facility is only about a hundred miles away by car.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Molly and Derek were seen loading luggage into the RV. Molly was trying not to scratch the bite she had covered with a scarf, but it wasn’t hidden as well as she thought since Derek noticed it. “You’re bit?” he asked in horror, looking at her wrist, causing her to nod. “For how long?” he asked.

“Since last night. Please don’t tell anyone, especially not Angel. I’m fighting to live for our birthday. Please let me live until then. After that, I’ll disappear! I’ll shoot myself in the head if that’s what it takes. But please, for the love of everything good, don’t tell anyone!” Molly begged desperately, her eyes blurring with tears as she clung to Derek’s shirt.

Derek sighed.

He knew Molly wanted to end it all; he did too.

He didn’t want to keep living in a world like this.

Where you have to fight just to survive.

He was getting exhausted.

“Alright, I’ll keep your secret,” Derek promised a now-relieved Molly, who thanked him. That same evening, everyone got into their own cars and the RV, ready for their next destination.

With a new goal in mind.

With a renewed surge of hope.

“So, I hope to see you in Sloth pretty soon, Mayberry. Do you have anything to say?” The voice paused, letting the static and chatter of the radio be the only sound accompanying the owl during the silence before he sighed and repeated, “Mayberry, do you copy?” Nothing. She didn’t answer. “Alright then… This is Stolas Goetia signing off.” The radio went dead as it was turned off.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After a long day on the road, the group decided to stop for the night. As they set up camp once more on an empty road, Andrealphus walked towards Vassago. “Are you alright with us following this idiot’s lead? What if he sends us to our deaths?”

“He is my best friend,” Vassago answered, as if that would solve everything. “Wherever he goes, me, Octavia, and it seems everyone else in the group except you and Stella think the same.”

Andrealphus scoffed arrogantly, “Fine, do as you wish, but know this: I will get this group back under my control. Stolas isn’t this group’s leader—I am.”

“Sure, pendejo, keep thinking you and Stella have control over this group,” Vassago said sarcastically, only for his hand to be roughly grabbed by an angry Andrealphus, causing Vassago to glare at him. “You’re just mad Stolas is slowly gaining respect from this group. You’re mad that Stolas would let everyone in this group use our last name and let them be part of the Goetias,” Vassago spat as he pulled his hand from Andrealphus’s grip.

“I know that both you and Stella felt it when Striker used our last name. You both felt the control and connection to it slowly falter because you know Striker is supposed to be with Stolas, not Stella. And I know the two of you are praying that he doesn’t find his other partner because that’s when you truly lose the grip on the Goetia name,” Vassago said, accusingly pointing at an angry Andrealphus.

“You’re both angry that your time of ‘royalty’ is running out. That the whole group will take the Goetia last name whether they’re related to us by blood or not. I’ll give it to the end of the month when Stolas officially calls this group our family—Derek, Molly, Moxxie, Loona, Striker, Pentious, fuck even Angel Dust will have our last name. It’s only a matter of when,” Vassago finished his speech with a smug grin as he watched Andrealphus walk away angrily.

Vassago wasn’t angry.

He had already accepted the group as his family.

The way they each ensured Octavia was cared for was more than he could have asked for.

And the more he thought about it…

Both Loona and Striker seemed more worthy of the last name.

Well, not Loona directly.

But someone close to her.

Now that someone and Striker seemed just right for Stolas.

If only they could find that person.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Molly was in the RV’s bathroom, hunched over and vomiting her lunch. Her body shook from the heat; she must have a fever. With a shaky hand, she wiped away her sweat and leaned back against the wall, trying to absorb its coolness.

She then shakily removed the scarf covering her bite mark, which was an angry shade of red. Her breath quickened as she began to hallucinate.

She saw Valentino in his undead form.

She saw those hungry eyes.

She saw how he reached for her.

“Angel loves you… You are his hermana, so I am taking you with me,” Valentino’s undead form spoke to her between growls and snarls.

She shook her head and curled up, trying to avoid the crooked hands of the moth reaching for her. “I promised Angel I’ll take everything he loves, chiquita…” Valentino’s undead voice echoed in her head, and she couldn’t help it. She screamed.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Stolas, Andrealphus, and Pentious were searching the nearby woods. They were ensuring there weren’t any undead around. While Stolas was looking for the undead, he had a side quest: he was still searching for Jason, which is why he wasn’t focused when Andrealphus, who was only a few steps behind him, held him at gunpoint.

Andrealphus smirked wickedly as he held Stolas right where he wanted him. He could end it all. He could prevent this pathetic lower-class group from stealing his last name. He was fine with Pentious getting his last name since he’s an overlord, which makes him some type of royalty. But the imps? The hellhound? The succubus?! The porn star and his sister?

Oh, how he hated that succubus.

He should have listened to his gut when it told him that he was a bad addition to the group.

That he was going to start problems.

That just by staying alive, that half-succubus threatened his and his beautiful sister’s place as true Goetias.

He would have ended It all if it wasn’t for a low gasp, which made Andrealphus quickly turn to see a worried, horror-filled Pentious. “I thought I saw something move,” Andrealphus answered carelessly and began to walk away from them. He knew Pentious didn’t believe his lie in the slightest.

But he didn’t care.

Pentious just had to keep his mouth shut.

Or else he’d be next on his hit list.

Chapter Text

“You may have heard from me yesterday, Mayberry. If not, I’ll give you a brief update: We’re moving to Sloth, where we’ve been staying isn’t safe anymore. So, please don’t come here. If you do, I’ll leave you a note with directions.”

Stolas was then seen writing on a sticky note and placing it near a tree branch. “What ya doin’?” he heard Striker ask, causing him to turn to a suspicious cowboy. "Oh, um, leaving a note,” he answered nervously.

“Is it for the one you’re tryin’ to reach through the radio?” Striker questioned as he leaned against a tree and saw Stolas begin to do a spell on the sticky note. He tried reaching out for the bird but stopped himself. “Fine, do what ya want. We’ll wait fer ya.” he decided before looking at Stolas one last time and making his way back to the group.

“If you pass around here, I’ve put two spells on the sticky note: one to make it invisible to anyone except you and Esmer,” Stolas explained after finishing the two spells.

He quickly teleported to the car that Moxxie was chosen to drive, as the imp insisted that even at the end of Hell, one must ride responsibly—a sentiment Pentious agreed with, which is why he chose to ride the RV.

“The second spell is a tracking spell. If you find this place, your gut will feel as if you’re being pulled somewhere. Please follow it. It’ll lead you to the sticky note that contains our location,” he said. Suddenly, there was a pause, and just like always, the bird’s question echoed, “Mayberry… do you copy?” There was no response. He hung up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

In a faraway place deep within the Sloth Ring and inside an old underground laboratory stood a sheep. However, this wasn’t just any normal sheep. This was Belphegor, the personification of sloth—the sin, if you will.

Right now, she looked like she hadn’t slept in days, causing her head to slowly fall and her eyes to close, but she would always catch herself before she could properly fall asleep.

She was recording herself before she yawned, “It’s been a few months since Hell’s downfall. Sure, I’ve figured out why this epidemic was released and know who did it. But now, I’m too tired to care. As you can see, King Lucifer, I haven’t been able to sleep in a long time. Being underground isn’t helping me maintain my schedule.”

Belphegor let out a sigh, “I found out something extraordinary. I accidentally fell asleep while trying to write down a note in my notebook, causing me to have a vision. It was a prophecy, but it was in Valyrian. I quickly wrote it down as you’ll soon see.” She said as she excitedly showed the camera the neatly written prophecy.

“As I am speaking to you, my king, I am trying to decode it. I only have the first two lines, but please don’t be disappointed! I assure you, I’ll crack the code and find a cure for this outbreak. That’s a promise,” Belphegor said as she turned off the camera, causing her professional façade to break into her tired one.

She had been promising a cure since all of this started.

Yet she couldn’t even crack the code of a simple prophecy.

Man, she needed company.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

After she was done recording, she was dressed in her lab coat in her laboratory. She held a small piece of tissue of skin from the undead imp on her metal table and put it under the microscope, zooming in close enough to see the cells. Then she swapped the undead’s skin with a skin that wasn’t infected.

She could clearly see the difference. The undead's cells—red blood cells—were a different color than the healthy non undead cells, which was something not new to her. She already knew this.

As she moved the microscope, she accidentally spilled the beakers of liquid onto the tissue. “Shit,” she muttered as she tried desperately to clean it with her gloved hands. She didn’t care that it was contaminated.

Suddenly, an alarm went off, causing Belphegor to rush out of the laboratory into a small room where she pressed a button and removed her attire as puffs of air and water began to decontaminate her.

As she was done with the process, a masculine robotic voice could be heard through the speakers, “RISK OF CONTAMINATION. IT ISN’T SAFE ANYMORE. LABORATORY SHALL BE BLOWN UP.”

“No!” Belphegor yelled with desperation as the countdown began and the laboratory exploded, engulfing all its contents in pink flames.

She couldn’t do anything else other than watch her hard work disappear.

She couldn’t help but scream.

She’ll have to start all over again!!

But she didn’t have all the time she wanted.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I failed you, my king,” Belphegor said with a saddened tone as she looked at the camera recording her. This time, she didn’t care if her professional façade had broken; she didn’t care at all. She let out a manic laugh, “You’re not even listening to this, huh?” she asked the camera as she poured herself a full glass of wine. “I am probably talking to ghosts.”

She chugged the whole glass of wine, “Who knows? Maybe all of Hell and Heaven are gone. No one truly will care if I ended up blowing myself and this place up.” She paused before taking out the notebook where the prophecy was written in, “I only managed to figure out two lines of this prophecy, so might as well say it out loud. Not like anyone is going to hear it.”

Belphegor cleared her throat, “Green eyes full of secrets, Green eyes full of pain.” She paused before sighing in disappointment, “ This is all I got so far. I am so sorry, my king… Lady Lilith… Princess Charlie, if any of you can hear me, please answer my call.”

As she was about to turn off her camera, she noticed something from the camera that tracked every movement outside her establishment. She couldn’t believe it.

She let out a watery sigh of relief.

Those were living beings.

Her call was answered.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

Stolas and the group had made it to the Sloth Ring, right where Moxxie had suggested they travel to. “Alright, so what now?” Loona asked Stolas as they all got out of the car. “Their bodies… upon bodies out here the air smells like rotten flesh; we can’t stay here for long or else this place will be our grave,” Loona pointed out.

“Well, we just knock on the door,” Stolas answered as he pointed at a metal door. “And you think someone will answer it?” Octavia asked her father with sarcasm.

“Hopefully,” Stolas replied as he went up to the door and began knocking on it at a quick speed.

“Ugh, they better answer. I deserve a beauty sleep,” Stella said as she crossed her arms. She’d been this angry and bitchy since Valentino had died, which caused Angel to subconsciously hold Striker’s shoulders in a protective manner. Stella looked at the half-succubus for a little too long before looking away. That only made Angel sigh in relief, though he didn’t let go of Striker’s shoulders.

“Ya alright—” Striker was about to ask a tense Angel who held on to him in a protective manner before Molly screamed out, causing the rest of the group to gather closer. Multiple undead began to reach for them.

Stolas’s pounding on the door became more desperate as he heard the snarls and groans of the undead and how his group began attacking said undead. “Stolas, we got to go,” Vassago said as he tried to pull Stolas away from the metal door.

However, Stolas wouldn’t budge. He was still stubbornly hitting the door, “I am not leaving!” he demanded as he backed up and glared at the camera with his glowing red eyes, “You’re killing us! You’ll have our blood on your hands if you don’t open this goddamned door!”

“Stolas!” Striker called out as he shot an undead reaching out to him, causing the blue bird to face him, “We gotta go! It ain’t safe if we stay—”

“We’re not dying here!” Stolas, angry, cut off the cowboy as his gaze filled with hatred and desperation as he looked at the camera, “I am Prince Stolas of the Arcs Goetia and I command you to open this damn door! Now!”

Just as he demanded, Octavia managed to kill the last undead that ambushed them as a soft, almost sleepy voice spoke up, opening the doors to the institution wide. “Take whatever you hold dear,” the feminine voice cracked through the outside speakers, “Because as soon as these doors close, they’ll never open again.”

Chapter Text

Timeline: Day of the Apocalypse

There was screaming.

That was the first thing Vassago heard as he opened the door to Stolas’s hospital room. He saw Satan’s military passing by, fully armed and covered head to toe in armor. The smell of smoke invaded his nostrils, and he quickly managed to stop a nurse. “Ma’am, please… You have to tell me—”

He didn’t get to finish his plea before the frightened nurse looked at him with fearful eyes, ripped her hand from his grasp, and rushed out with the other staff members and patients. What was going on?!

Was there another extermination happening?

No, it was far too early.

Ignoring the panic in the hospital, he made his way back to his comatose friend. “Stolas,” Vassago began with desperation and a hint of fear but quickly ducked down under the bed as a soldier entered, holding a rifle. The soldier did a quick survey of the room before leaving and closing the door behind him.

After a few minutes passed, Vassago gained the courage to lift himself up and desperately began to shake Stolas. “Come on, man…” He looked at the heart monitor and quickly turned to face Stolas. “ Por favor I need you to give me a sign… I-I don’t know what’s going on, but just give me a sign that you’ll wake—” Suddenly, a bomb exploded.

The whole hospital shook, causing the heart monitors to turn off, and Vassago’s eyes grew wide. “No, no, no, no, no…” Vassago repeated as he shook the unconscious Stolas. Nothing. “I’ll be back,” Vassago whispered to Stolas as he once again opened the room’s door and quickly rushed out.

The smoke became denser after the bomb went off, and he could see the hallway was a mess. Beds were pushed in front of some doors. Hell born’s and sinners alike screamed in fear and agonizing pain.

Vassago shivered; he didn’t like this feeling at all.

Especially the sight of those dead bodies.

He was walking around trying to get some help when he made eye contact with a man. Except… it wasn’t truly a man. His left cheek was bitten. He was snarling and growling, his eyes filled with hunger. Vassago noticed the man had a twisted ankle. He rushed to him, but a soldier caught him and began to pull him away.

“What are you doing?! No, wait, my friend is in there!” Vassago cried out as he was dragged further and further away from Stolas’s room. “Let me go back!”

“Your Highness, it isn’t safe for you here!” the hellhound holding him barked out. “You’re our top priority; we need to keep you safe!” Those were the last words Vassago heard, causing him to huff. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he made a bed appear right in front of Stolas’s room, preventing anyone from entering.

Timeline: Now

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Vassago shook his head, dispelling the memory as he and the others managed to get inside the facility. The room itself was eerily dark. All the lights seemed to be turned off. “So what now?” Angel asked, breaking the unsettling quiet as he held both Molly and Striker.

“Guess we split up into groups of two and see if we deem this place safe,” Stolas ordered the group. They were about to follow his instructions when suddenly the sound of a gun charging echoed, causing Moxxie to point his weapon at the source, only to quickly drop it in amazement.

“Is that…?” Moxxie asked Stolas, pointing at the sheep with a candle atop her head. Stolas nodded, “It is… She’s Belphegor, the Sin of Sloth.” He said before he, Andrealphus, Stella, Vassago, and Octavia quickly bowed down to show their respect. “Your honor,” Vassago spoke up, “We are grateful for your hospitality.”

“Well… you’re not in the clear yet,” Belphegor responded as she lowered her weapon but not her guard. Although she had prayed for these people, half of them were strangers to her. “I need a blood test from each and every one of you.”

“What? Seeing us here alive and well don't count?” Striker asked with sass, only to be painfully punched by Stella. “Watch your tone around her!” Stella dangerously warned, “Or else there’ll be consequences…” Her tone was almost seductive, causing Angel to step between them and glare at her, “Fuck off,” he warned.

Stella seemed unwilling to back down until Stolas intervened, “Back. Down.” he commanded, causing Stella to grit her teeth, huff, and return to her original place next to her brother.

“It’s a safety precaution. Besides, you never know what people are hiding these days. So please, just let me do this,” Belphegor pleaded with the group, who exchanged glances. “Sure thing!” Angel quickly agreed as he hugged his twin tightly, “We’ve got nothing to hide, right Molly?”

Molly froze as she made eye contact with Derek, seeing the same fear reflected in his eyes because she did, in fact, have something to hide.

“Molly?” Angel asked again, this time less certain, which prompted Molly to quickly nod and put on a cheerful façade, “Of course!” she agreed, replacing Angel’s worry with happiness. “You heard her!” Derek suddenly spoke up as he too wrapped Molly in a hug, “We have nothing to hide.”

Stolas nodded before turning to Moxxie and Loona, who were suspiciously quiet. Moxxie just nodded, and Loona rolled her eyes, which he took as agreement. “Alright, let’s get those blood tests done.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Molly was the last to have her blood drawn. As the needle finally left her vein, she felt her body tremble as she stood up from the chair, becoming dizzy and losing her balance. Fortunately, Derek was there to catch her before she hit the ground.

Belphegor reached out for the falling girl, as did most of the group. Thankfully, the imp named Derek caught her. However, Belphegor noticed something on Molly’s wrist, particularly the one covered by a scarf.

It looked like it was bleeding, an open wound seeping through the fabric, which set off alarm bells in Belphegor’s mind. “Are you—” the sheep began, only for Derek to quickly interject, “I am so sorry, my lady. It’s just that she hasn’t eaten in a long time.”

Derek hoped she would believe his flimsy excuse.

Suddenly, Stolas nodded, unknowingly reinforcing the half-truth as he spoke up, “None of us have… We haven’t eaten in a few days.”

“Ah, well, you’re in luck!” Belphegor cheered, clapping her hands together and smiling brightly, completely ignoring the previous conversation, which made both Molly and Derek sigh in relief. “I have plenty of food saved up in the pantry! We’ll have a feast today, but first, let me take you to your rooms, yeah?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she began to lead them down the seemingly endless hallways.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“J.A.R.V.I.S., turn on the lights,” Belphegor commanded as they entered another dark hallway.

“Lights turned on,” a sudden male voice announced through the speakers, causing the group to jump in surprise. “Fear not, J.A.R.V.I.S. means no harm,” Belphegor reassured them before pausing in a hallway lined with doors. “This hallway contains bedrooms. Pair up for sleeping arrangements and take a hot shower. I shall await you within an hour.” With a magical swish of pink sand, she vanished.

“Wait… Did she say ‘hot water’?” an overly excited Derek asked Angel, who seemed to share his enthusiasm. “That’s what tits said,” Angel confirmed, and both of them proceeded to hold hands and shriek with excitement. They were about to leave when Stolas momentarily paralyzed them. “Wait,” the owl said, “We need sleeping arrangements.” As he spoke, he released Angel and Derek from his spell.

“Here’s what I thought: Angel, you’re with Molly; Octavia will share with Loona; Derek and Moxxie; me and Vassago; Andrealphus and Stella; and finally, I guess Striker could stay alone, just like Pentious here, who suggested having his own room,” Stolas said, turning worriedly to Striker. “Are you alright with that?”

Striker didn’t like the idea of having his own room. It could be because he was going to sleep in a place he’d never been before or perhaps the unsettling feeling in his gut telling him to share a room with someone else.

It might also have been the uncomfortable goosebumps on his skin as he felt Stella eyeing him oddly.

He didn’t like that look at all.

It made him feel dirty.

 It made him feel used.

“Striker?” Stolas’s concerned voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Yeah?” he responded, clearing his throat.

“Are you sure you want to be alone? Angel and I don’t mind sharing,” Stolas offered, calculating his every move. “Nah, I’m fine,” Striker replied, adjusting his cowboy hat. “Let’s settle into our rooms and meet back here in ten minutes?” Striker suggested to Stolas, who nodded and turned to the rest of the group. “You heard the man. Get going.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After showering, Pentious slithered through the hall, greeting a freshly showered Stolas when he heard it: vomiting. The sound came from Angel and Molly’s room. After a brief internal debate, he knocked on their door, but no one answered. So, the most rational thing to do was to pick the lock, which he did.

Upon entering, he quickly covered his nose and dashed to the bathroom, where Molly was bent over, throwing up into the toilet. Pentious swiftly slithered in and helped by holding her hair away from the mess. “It’s alright, everything is going to be fine,” he whispered into her ear as she emptied her stomach.

Once she was done, Molly flushed the toilet and leaned back against the cold wall, clutching her growling, painful stomach. She knew what it wanted—of course, she did—but she wasn’t going to give in. “Shoot me…” she pleaded with Pentious, who looked at her in shock, clearly not expecting such a request. “What…?” Pentious asked, too shocked to form a proper sentence.

“Please…” Molly weakly begged, clinging to Pentious’s comforting shirt. “I can’t turn into one of them! I-I can’t let Valentino have that satisfaction!”

“Wait, wait, what?” Pentious finally managed to ask, snapping out of his confusion. “Why should I shoot you? The only way to turn into them is if you regenerate or get bit—” His statement trailed off as Molly pulled away the scarf covering one of her most hated secrets: the bite marks of the undead.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few minutes later, the group found themselves at the dinner table, laughing and celebrating. That was until Stella and Vassago started arguing. “I’m telling you, Vassago, this is Hell; there is no drinking age!” she angrily declared, downing her fourth glass of wine.

“No, she will drink when she’s eighteen. I don’t care that we’re in Hell,” Vassago insisted, his eye twitching. “Besides, it might be dangerous for her!” As Vassago claimed this, Pentious spoke up, “Actually,” the snake began with professional authority, “alcohol can be dangerous to children because…” However, as he continued listing facts, no one seemed to pay attention—not even Octavia.

Octavia just stared at the glass of wine, grabbed it, and chugged it down. She instantly regretted it, coughing and pushing the glass back to Vassago. “Eww…” she said in disgust, causing her mom and uncle, who were definitely drunk by now, to laugh. “That’s right, niña: Eww,” Vassago said, patting Octavia’s head, sharing a proud look with Stolas.

“Hey, wanna trade?” Striker softly asked Octavia, offering her a soda can with Beelzebub’s logo on it. “Here, soda for the wine?” Octavia didn’t need to be told twice; in the blink of an eye, she swapped drinks, cracked open the can, and chugged it down. Unlike the wine, she didn’t spit it out.

“Wow, little lady, that shit isn’t going anywhere!” Loona told Octavia with a laugh at the display before turning to Angel. “How are you doing?”

Angel just nodded, about to answer when he noticed something: Stolas was looking at Striker with soft eyes as Octavia and he were having a conversation. Suddenly, it felt as if his brain was doing math for the first time and crashed. He knew that look! Stolas was most definitely in love!

Oh yeah! Angel would have fun being a wingman. “I’m good,” he answered Loona, taking a sip from his wine glass to hide his knowing smirk.

“Hey, Moxxie,” Striker suddenly called out to the imp, who turned to him. “Octavia and I are bettin' a soda can that you won’t be able ta drink seven glasses of wine without passin' out drunk,” he said confidently, his tail swaying, causing most of the people who heard him to go ‘ooohh.’ Moxxie, however, just scoffed. “Fine, I’m going to make you eat those words,” Moxxie said, accepting the challenge by taking a glass of wine.

Molly had a content smile as she watched this whole beautiful scene unfold, feeling as though she might cry. This would be her last night feeling like this. She could die happily as she memorized how happy everyone looked.

She memorized their bright, caring smiles.

She memorized how, despite Hell being worse than ever outside these four walls, everyone seemed to be having a good time.

Which was just fine with her.

She took in a ragged breath, memorizing the scent of food.

It was decided: this would be the last memory she would hold onto as she died.

Moxxie lost the bet. He was drunk as could be, his head leaning on the table while Derek voluntarily massaged his shoulders. “Man, I’m actually surprised he lasted as long as he did,” Striker told Loona as he passed Octavia another can of soda, causing the girl’s eyes to light up. “I’m surprised he's even still standing," Loona said with matching amazement.

However, Moxxie must have heard something else entirely in his drunken state, and with slurred speech, he demanded, “I am not a possum.” He spat, causing Derek to chuckle, which then turned into laughter as Moxxie kept repeating that phrase over and over again, each time more desperate as if he were having an identity crisis.

Stolas then noticed Belphegor; she looked like she wasn’t really present, as if she were in a far-off place. Then it hit him: they hadn’t properly thanked her for this opportunity. So, as he stood up, holding his glass high, he tapped it with a fork, causing everyone, even Belphegor, to face him.

“It seems we haven’t properly thanked our Ladyship yet,” he said in his professional prince tone. “My lady, we’re honored you let us all have a second chance. Thank you,” he said, offering a toast, which some of the group returned.

Belphegor only sent Stolas a small smile. “You’re welcome,” she told the owl as he sat back down. A few minutes after Stolas sat down, Molly quickly got up, preparing a toast of her own. “To our salvation.” That prompted Angel to get up and toast with her. “May we have many more years to live!” he cheered as he closed his eyes.

Molly was grateful Angel blinked.

She didn’t want him to see her flinch at that comment.

She didn’t want him to know that this would be the last week she’d celebrate with him, with these people.

But that’s just fine.

She’d enjoy it while she could.

However, the happy moment was ruined when Andrealphus looked Stolas dead in the face, cleared his throat, and spoke up. “While I’m enjoying this little party going on…” He paused dramatically before continuing, “I feel as if we should be asking our lady here what we originally came to ask: how did Hell descend into this epidemic?”

Chapter Text

“Buzzkill…” Moxxie muttered after hearing Andrealphus ask that question. Everyone had ignored it until Stolas finally spoke up.

“We’re celebrating, Andrealphus,” Stolas said sternly but gently. “Besides, half the table is drunk as hell and won’t even make it to the room where Miss. Belphegor will explain everything. Besides it’s already late—we should all head to bed. We have all the time in the world.”

Andrealphus didn’t look happy, but he couldn’t help agreeing. He knew his beloved sister was far too drunk for any explanation to stick, so he rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed in frustration. “Fine,” he spat as he stood up and quickly scooped up his sister. “We’re both leaving!” he announced. “But we’d better get answers first thing in the morning!”

Derek sighed as he watched them leave, then gently picked up Moxxie. “Alright, me and Mox here are heading to our room. Good night,” he said, carrying Moxxie—who still insisted he wasn’t a possum—which left Striker wondering: what was his beef with possums?

“Alright, good night!” Stolas called, waving as Derek left with Moxxie.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The last ones remaining were Striker, Angel, Octavia, and Loona, who had all gathered in the library. Octavia was reading a book while Loona was passed out in a chair.

“I see the way Stolas looks at you,” Angel teased Striker, wiggling his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” Striker asked, turning to face him.

“He’s giving you the ‘I love you’ look,” Angel replied with a smirk, causing Striker to snicker.

“Nah, yer seeing things,” Striker said, giving Angel a playful punch on the shoulder.

“No, trust me—I can spot true love from a mile away!” Angel grinned, his smirk widening.

“He probably just looked at me like that because he got a dust particle in his eye,” Striker joked.

Angel stared at Striker as if he’d been shot, thinking, Man, this guy has some serious self-esteem issues. “Sure…” Angel said, watching as Striker lifted Loona.

Angels then tried reaching out to him, “Are you sure you want to sleep alone? I can share my room with you—I’m sure Molly wouldn’t mind—”

“Nah, I’m good,” Striker promised, lifting Loona and tapping Octavia’s shoulder to signal her that it was time to go. The owlet quickly rose from her chair.

“I’ll take these two ladies to their rooms. See you tomorrow, alright?” Striker said, not waiting for an answer before leaving with Loona and Octavia, leaving an anxious Angel behind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Striker had just finished cleaning his angelic rifle when the door to his room slowly opened. He was so focused that he didn’t notice Stella quietly entering and leaning against the wall.

She watched him for a moment before grabbing the doorknob and, with one loud and harsh motion, slammed the door shut behind her. Striker tensed and turned to face her.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Striker asked.

Stella just laughed, swaying slightly. “Well, I want to be in my room…” she slurred, revealing just how drunk she was.

***********************************

“You’re in the wrong room,” Striker said, but in the blink of an eye, Stella managed to pin him against the wall. He hissed in pain as she leaned in closer.

“Nah, I don’t think I am…” she whispered seductively.

“Stella, you’re drunk,” Striker said, trying to be the reasonable one as he struggled to free himself from her surprisingly strong grasp.

“So what?!” Stella yelled, her voice filled with rage. “Valentino promised me a wonderful night with him, Angel, and you before he died! Sure, he isn’t here to keep his promise, but I am!” she raged angrily.

Striker froze. Valentino and Angel promised what?! Suddenly, all the trust and respect he had for the spider demon vanished.

“This is what you get for trusting others too quickly, bro…” Jason’s taunting voice echoed in his mind. “They stab you in the back… The question is: what are you going to do about it? Be a coward and take it?”

No. He was not.

Just as Striker heard Stella unbuckle his belt, he managed to free his hand from her grip and slapped her—hard.

He struck her so forcefully that even if she hadn’t been drunk, she would have lost her balance. Taking advantage of the moment, he pushed her away, causing her to stumble to the ground.

***********************************

Stella shakily reached for her swollen cheek. When she pulled her hand away, she saw a few beads of blood. Did Striker scratch her when he slapped her? Before she could react or defend herself, the sound of a gun cocking made her freeze. She turned and found herself staring down the barrel.

Striker, hands trembling, held the gun to Stella’s head and demanded in a dangerous whisper, “Out.”

Stella didn’t need to be told twice. But before leaving, she turned to Striker and hissed, “This isn’t over.” Then she slammed the door behind her.

Striker lost it.

He screamed into a random pillow, then somehow found the strength to shove a heavy metal desk against the door. For extra precaution, he locked all four locks on the door. Afterward, he slid down the nearest wall, hugged his knees, and cried.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next day, half the group gathered for breakfast. Moxxie massaged his head, clearly suffering from the worst hangover of his life.

“Don’t you ever dare me to drink again,” he groaned, glaring at Striker, who seemed out of it as he listlessly played with his food, dark circles under his eyes.

“Whatever…” the cowboy muttered tiredly.

Angel and Stolas exchanged glances, as if trying to figure something out. Angel could feel guilt slowly consuming him—but what guilt?

Suddenly, Stella made her way to the kitchen table and stretched. As she sat next to Andrealphus, the peacock asked, “My beautiful sister, whatever happened to your perfect cheek?” His question drew everyone’s attention to her.

Stella shrugged, still hungover, but managed to glare at a tense Striker. “I don’t know… Must’ve done it in my sleep,” she replied to Andrealphus’s question.

“Huh…” Andrealphus responded. “That’s odd. You’ve never damaged that glorious face of yours before.”

“Yeah…” Stella spat venomously, her glare of hatred toward Striker deepening. “I don’t know what came over me.”

She thought everyone would be oblivious. She thought no one would notice the true meaning behind her words. But Angel did—oh, he did. He felt his blood run cold, his stomach drop as he connected the dots. He remembered… Oh no. Is that why Striker was so cold to him when Angel greeted him this morning?

Angel suddenly felt like he might throw up.

He left the table, feeling an overwhelming urge to tear Stella apart.

But the most important question in Angel’s mind was: What did Stella tell Striker to make the cowboy hate him so much? Angel didn’t know, but by God’s good grace, he was determined to find out.

“Lady Belphegor…” Sir Pentious greeted suddenly as the personification of sloth made her way into the kitchen. “I apologize for asking questions this early—”

“But you’ll do it anyway,” Belphegor cut him off, making herself some coffee as Pentious nodded. “Yesterday, you promised us an explanation,” Pentious reminded her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“The reason this epidemic even happened is because Heaven wanted to destroy any trace of Hell,” Belphegor finally admitted as they returned to the laboratory after breakfast. “They feared that some hell beings would go up against their precious exterminators, so Heaven created this virus.”

A few gasps went around the room. “But it didn’t go as planned, huh?” Molly asked. Belphegor nodded.

Belphegor : “Correct. The epidemic not only attacked us hell beings, but also them. And when they tried to look for a cure…”

“They failed?” Vassago finished her sentence, causing Belphegor to nod again.

Belphegor : “Yes. They wanted to wipe us all out but didn’t expect the tables to turn on them. And the one angel who knew the cure had fallen a long time ago—and no, it’s not Lucifer. It’s someone else.”

Stolas asked, “Do you have any information about this angel?”

Belphegor shook her head. “No. The only thing I know is that he was known as the Angel of Thursday.”

That caused Stella to let out a loud laugh that echoed through the walls. “What a pathetic way to be remembered! No wonder he fell! If I were remembered by a day of the week, I’d be so fucking embarrassed!” Her comment made Stolas and Octavia glare at her. How dare she insult someone they’d never met—especially an angel?

“Stella, calm yourself,” Stolas demanded, grateful when she actually listened—or perhaps she was just shocked that he spoke back to her so firmly.

He didn’t care. Suddenly, he spoke up, “They didn’t expect us to survive this.” Stolas held Octavia tightly. “They thought they could get rid of us.” He scoffed. “Pathetic. If they saw that a few of us are still standing, they’d be furious.”

“Looks like we aren’t as worthless as they thought,” Angel said, his smirk turning determined. “I suggest we show Heaven that a bunch of nobodies—hellborns and sinners—made it through whatever shit they threw at us. I’m going to live through this just to laugh in their pathetic, bitchy faces.”

“Then what?” Molly asked Angel. “There’s no cure for this. We can’t live like this for the rest of our lives.” As Molly mentioned a cure, both Stolas and Belphegor exchanged glances—something Octavia noticed. It looked as if they were having a silent conversation. But about what?

“There is a cure,” Belphegor finally admitted, causing everyone to freeze.

“What?” Pentious asked.

“There’s a cure,” Belphegor repeated. “I was shown a prophecy… J.A.R.V.I.S., show them the prophecy,” she commanded.

“PROPHECY SHOWING IN A FEW SECONDS,” announced the male voice as the large computer in front of them powered on, displaying a script in what looked like a different language. Stolas immediately recognized it yet barely understood it.

“Is that Valyrian?” he asked.

Belphegor nodded. “Yes. I was only able to decipher two lines.”

“The first two?” Loona asked, prompting another nod from Belphegor.

“What do they say?” Stella asked, more interested in her nails than the screen or the conversation.

“Oh, I don’t know… You have eyes, don’t you?” Striker spat, glaring at her. Stella growled, but before they could start arguing, Moxxie spoke up.

“Green eyes full of secrets, green eyes full of pain,” he read aloud.

“You speak Valyrian?” Stella asked, almost impressed.

“Nah, it’s just translated,” Moxxie replied, shooting her a look that made Stella shriek and look away in embarrassment. Before Belphegor could say anything else, the lights suddenly went out.

“What’s going on?” Stolas asked Belphegor, turning to face her, his white pupils showing due to the powerful emotion of fear in his being.

“Uhhh… Lady Belphegor, what is that clock?” Pentious asked, motioning to a clock that was slowly counting down. “What happens when it reaches zero?”

“Time run's out,” Belphegor admitted as she turned to face the group for a moment before sitting back down in a chair. However, before she could do anything else, Loona barked out, “The fuck do you mean ‘time runs out’?!”

“We will all go…….boom,” Belphegor said, causing Stolas’s eyes to widen even further. “No…” the owl whispered as he slowly backed away. Belphegor was planning to make this whole place explode—with him and his people inside. No. He wasn’t going to let that happen. “Go!” he yelled at his group. “Grab everything that’s yours—then we leave!”

But just as they reached for the door, it slammed shut, sealing off any exit.

“No!” Stolas shouted angrily as he, Vassago, and Andrealphus tried everything they could to open the door—even using their magic—but nothing worked.

" FIFTY MINUTES LEFT BEFORE EXPLOSION,” J.A.R.V.I.S. suddenly announced, making the whole group tense up.

Belphegor, however, seemed resigned. She opened her camera one last time, ignoring the chaos as the group desperately tried to break down the door. “I did my best…” she spoke softly into the recording. “This will be my last night living like this… I can’t—” But she was interrupted when Angel yanked her rolling chair away from the desk, forcing her to face him.

“Open the goddamned door!” Angel demanded, his eyes glowing pink, more intense than usual.

“I can’t!” Belphegor yelled as she stood up. “I told you and your group: once those doors close, they stay closed! I can’t just open them like I used to! Besides, those doors are made of angelic steel—nothing can break through them. They were designed to withstand any angelic weapon.”

“Well, your head isn’t!” Striker shouted 'calmly,’ raising a crossbow and aiming it at her head. Those nearby tried to wrestle it away from him. Honestly, Belphegor was impressed—last she checked, there weren’t any crossbows in this place. So where in the ever loving fuck had he gotten that?

“Striker, calm down!” Stolas tried to stop him from doing something he might regret.

But he couldn’t focus on Striker for long, because Loona seemed to be in distress as well. “Loona?” he asked gently, heartbroken to see her ears pinned back in fear.

“FORTY MINUTES LEFT BEFORE EXPLOSION.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Loona covered her ears; she didn’t want to hear the countdown.

She wasn’t ready to go yet.

She still needed to see him.

To find out if he was still alive.

To see if she could apologize for leaving him.

No… She couldn’t die without seeing her father one last time.

She wanted to hug him…

To say so much…

Then, suddenly, she heard the doors open.

“THIRTY - THREE MINUTES LEFT BEFORE THE EXPLOSION.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Stolas turned from the panicking Loona to face Belphegor. “Please…” he begged, his voice laced with desperation. “Let us go. Let us show Heaven we can live—let us prove them wrong.”

“You’re only harming yourselves more if you go out there,” Belphegor replied coldly. “Besides, weren’t you the one who suggested this?” That made everyone freeze in shock.

“Que?” Vassago asked, looking at Stolas, who now seemed to shrink in disbelief. “Cuando paso?!”

“I—I—I was drunk! I had no idea what I was saying—I didn’t mean any of it, I—” Before Stolas could finish his stammering explanation, Belphegor cut in.

“When all of you went to your rooms, he came to me—drunk—and admitted he didn’t want any of you to suffer anymore. He couldn’t handle losing any of you out there.”

“Are you crazy?!” Striker yelled, glaring at Stolas, who winced. “You promised to help me look for Jason, and now you want us to explode?!”

“I was drunk!” Stolas exclaimed, turning to Belphegor. “My lady, please… I promise you, we’ll keep trying to find the cure—”

“Then what?!” Belphegor shouted, glaring at Stolas. “There will be no more sinners, no more hellborns, no winners, no angels, no sins—nothing! What would you do if you actually found the cure?!”

“TWENTY MINUTES BEFORE THE EXPLOSION.”

“Then we’ll find a way!” Stolas yelled. “We’ll find a way to keep the cure safe. We’ll find a way to keep going! But we can’t do any of that if you don’t let us go!”

Belphegor flinched. She didn’t understand—she truly did want to let them go… but if she did, she would die alone. She didn’t want to be alone in her final moments. Suddenly, deep within her mind, she heard a voice: “Let them go… they’re the chosen ones.” With a sigh, she pressed the button, causing the lab doors to open.

The group didn’t waste any time; they all bolted out. However, Stolas lingered for a moment, sending her a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Belphegor shook her head and looked at him with teary eyes. “Save the world,” she whispered, passing him her leather notebook filled with annotations and her prophecy. Stolas nodded as he rushed out.

Pentious was about to leave when he grabbed Derek’s wrist. “No,” Derek said, pulling away from the snake, causing Pentious to pause and look at him with wide eyes. “I can’t live out there like this,” Derek admitted, wiping away his tears. “Just go."

Pentious wanted to argue—he really did—but when he saw the tears in Derek’s eyes, he shrank back. He didn’t try to convince the young imp to come with them. Instead, he pulled him into one last, crushing hug—the last until, hopefully, they met again on a sunny day.

“NINETEEN MINUTES BEFORE THE EXPLOSION.“

Pentious quickly said goodbye before turning to Molly, who also seemed determined to stay. He watched as Angel marched over to her. Pentious tried to stop the spider, but Angel was just as set on staying, so Pentious had no choice but to slither out of the room.

“Angel, I don’t want you here,” Molly said as she saw Angel sit next to her in an empty chair. “Go,” she demanded angrily.

“No, I don’t feel like it, sis. If you’re staying, why should I leave? Besides, don’t you remember: everyone I love is cursed to suffer, so why not avoid more pain for the group and just end it all here with you?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Derek is staying—why can’t I?”

“Because I want you to live. I want you to find someone who will value you, treasure you, and treat you with the same respect you give them,” Molly explained.

“Well bullshit you hypocrite! Because I want the same for you, but it looks like neither of us gets that choice, huh?” Angel replied with a snicker.

That answer alone left Molly with a difficult decision.

“FIFTEEN MINUTES BEFORE THE EXPLOSION.“

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Stolas and the others had made it to the laboratory’s exit door. Just as Belphegor said, it was impossible to get out. “Oh, Your Highness, why don’t you just teleport us away?!” Moxxie suddenly asked. Stolas stopped pounding on the window and smacked his forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?!” he muttered angrily, prompting Andrealphus to make a snarky comment, which Stolas wisely ignored.

Molly glanced between the slowly counting-down timer and Angel. Why was he just sitting there?! She couldn’t hold it in any longer. As soon as the clock hit the ten-second mark, she gritted her teeth, grabbed Angel’s hand, and bolted.

She and Derek locked eyes for just a second. She saw fear in his gaze—not for himself, but for her. She felt it too. How long before she would have to end it all?

“ FIVE MINUTES BEFORE THE EXPLOSION. “

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Outside, Moxxie was just about to start the car as the countdown grew more urgent. Suddenly, Octavia called out, “Wait!” She pointed back toward the building—both Molly and Angel were running for the exit. “Father,” she pleaded, turning to Stolas with desperate eyes.

Stolas knew what she wanted. “We don’t have time for this—let’s go!” Andrealphus’s voice crackled through the radio connected to the RV, where he, Stella, Loona, and Pentious waited. But Stolas ignored him and began casting the teleportation spell.

“ THE EXPLOSION STARTS NOW. “

Suddenly, everything happened in slow motion. Both Molly and Angel disappeared just as the building was engulfed in pink flames that rapidly climbed up its walls.

The explosion shook the ground, a massive energy blast sending a thick cloud of dust sweeping across the area. Molly and Angel were teleported safely inside the RV just as an enormous, roaring tsunami of dust and harsh wind swept through.

The passengers inside both cars were violently thrown around as the vehicles shook. Alarms blared, windows cracked and shattered, leaving some of them with cuts. Their ears rang from the force of the explosion.

After the chaos subsided, Stolas was the first to rise from his curled-up position. He looked out at the former laboratory, now completely consumed by flames. Staring intensely at the inferno, he spoke in a voice so low it was barely audible, “Derek… Belphegor…” He paused to catch his breath. “I give you mercy.”

Chapter Text

“Mayberry… The Sloth Ring was a dead end. There wasn’t any progress in finding a cure.”

“Now where the hell do we go?” Loona asked angrily.

“I don’t know,” Stolas replied firmly.

“Should I start the car to let the others who rushed to the RV know that we’re moving?” Moxxie asked Stolas, who nodded.

“Let me take count first,” Stolas said, beginning to tally the people in the car with him before radioing Pentious to ask how many were with him.

“We lost one yesterday. His name was Derek. The whole laboratory was consumed by fire, and he, along with Belphegor, decided to stay behind. But who am I to judge them? They didn’t want to live in a hell like this, and I had no choice but to respect that.”

The car carrying Stolas’s group suddenly started, shifted into reverse, and then drove back onto the highway—without any real destination.

Because they had no idea where to go.

Because Belphegor was right: no other hell beings or heavenly creatures could be seen… At least, none that were still alive.

“I gave them both mercy. I don’t know why I did it—maybe it was for me, maybe it was for them. I’m not sure, but I hope they’re resting peacefully wherever they are now. Mayberry, do you copy?” Silence. “This is Stolas signing off…”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Stolas sat in the car seat, accompanied by Octavia, Striker, Vassago, Moxxie, who was currently driving and Loona who sat next to him on the passenger seat. 

“Remember when we went to the Envy Ring to see its beautiful waterfalls?” Vassago asked, trying to break the tension in the car.

“Yes, I remember,” Stolas replied. “We took little Octavia with us.”

“But I don’t remember it,” Octavia chimed in. “So it definitely didn’t happen.”

“Oh, it did happen, young one,” Vassago said, ruffling her feathers. “You were just a baby back then!”

“Not to mention, we didn’t even reach the waterfalls because you got sick,” Stolas pointed out. “You had a stomach bug. I was the one who dragged everyone back home, of course. I was so worried you wouldn’t make it, but after a few reassurances from the doctors—who were probably tired of seeing me at the hospital every day—I finally accepted that you were alright.”

Octavia chuckled at her father’s overly protective instincts, but then an idea struck her.

“Can we go there now?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm and hope. “And can we bring the others with us? Pretty please?” She looked at her father, trying her best puppy-dog eyes.

Stolas and Vassago exchanged uncertain glances. Sure, they could go there now and start over… but would it really be safe? Would it be filled with the undead?

“Sure, why not?” Stolas suddenly agreed, prompting Octavia to exclaim a satisfied, “Yes!”

“We can bring everyone in our group,” Stolas said, making eye contact with Moxxie through the rearview mirror. He then glanced at the sleeping form of Striker, before turning back to Octavia.

“So we’re all staying together?” she asked.

Stolas nodded. “Yep. Together forever.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Back inside the RV, Molly and Angel were sitting together on the couch.

“You had no right to pull me away from what I wanted,” Molly murmured, glaring at Angel.

“Yes, I did have the right!” Angel retorted, his eyes glowing pink. “I didn’t want you to die!”

“Well, I’m going to die anyway!” Molly yelled, then quickly covered her mouth as Angel’s angry pink eyes faded back to their natural color, now filled with confusion.

“W-what do you mean?” Angel asked softly.

Molly sighed as she removed the scarf covering her infected bite mark, causing Angel to gasp. “See? I don’t have much time left. I don’t want to turn into one of those monsters, and the only way out was that way.”

“No…” Angel whispered, his eyes wide with fear. “No, no, no, no!” he repeated desperately, shaking his head as if trying to wake from a nightmare. “Val can’t take you away from me! W-we can find a cure!”

“I don’t have that much time!” Molly shouted, glaring at him. “I’m weak—I can’t go on like this! This is why I didn’t want you to know! This is why I don’t want the others to know! Only a few people in the group are aware!” She suddenly paused, realizing what she had just revealed.

“Wait…” Angel said, his voice slowing as he connected the dots. “Others knew about this?”

Molly stayed silent, staring intently at the table as if it were suddenly fascinating.

“Molly…” Angel repeated, his tone soft but warning, as he stood up and placed his palms firmly on the table. “Answer my question.”

“Derek and Pentious knew before you, alright!” Molly yelled back, standing up as well. The twins now faced each other, glaring daggers. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you at all!” she continued. “Because you’d act like a whiny little bitch!”

Angel let out an offended, pained gasp.

“Fine, have it your way!” he shouted. “Die and turn into one of those undead bastards for all I care!”

Molly felt her anger drain away at his words. “Y-you don’t mean that…”

“Hell yeah, I do!” Angel raged, pushing himself away from the table. “I hope you turn, I hope you’re terrified while it happens, and I hope to God you die alone and scared.” He spat the words with venom, refusing to meet Molly’s eyes—she had no right to feel hurt.

He should be the one who felt hurt.

He should be the one who felt betrayed.

He should have been the first person she told!

He was her brother, for crying out loud!

“Fine,” Molly snapped back. “Have your fucking wish.” She turned and began walking toward the small bed, when suddenly the RV started to slow down and come to a stop.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Angel quickly made his way to Pentious, who was angrily pounding the steering wheel.

“Problem, Pen?” Angel asked the irritated snake overlord, who flicked his forked tongue in annoyance and glared at the dashboard.

“The damn radiator hose broke,” Pentious growled.

“And can’t you fix it?” Stella asked suddenly, not looking up as she turned the page of her old newspaper. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at that stuff?”

Pentious felt his eye twitch in irritation. He was about to respond when they heard a car honk behind them. He immediately recognized who it was.

“Go let the others know the radiator hose is broken,” he told Angel. As soon as the spider gave him a devious smirk, Pentious instantly regretted how he’d phrased that command.

“The radiator has hoes?” Angel asked, bursting into laughter at Pentious’s flabbergasted ‘I can’t believe what I just heard' expression. However, his laughter quickly turned into a pained “Ow!” as Pentious quite literally threw him out of the RV.

Rolling his eyes, Angel hurried behind the RV and stood in front of the approaching car, waving all six of his arms. He must have looked ridiculous, but it worked—Moxxie brought the car to a stop. The passenger window rolled down slowly, revealing Loona.

“What the hell is wrong with the RV?” she asked.

“The hose broke, and Pentious has his panties in a twist because now he has to fix it… again,” Angel replied with a sigh.

“Great, so we’re stuck here?” Moxxie asked as he got out of the car, the others inside quickly following suit.

“Might as well look around the abandoned highway. It’s not like we’re going anywhere with all these cars blocking the way,” Striker added as he exited the car, stretching and letting out a yawn.

“He’s right,” Stolas agreed, surveying the car graveyard. “We can split up and search for food, water, clothes, ammo, and weapons.” The group, along with those who had gotten out of the RV, nodded in agreement. But before they could disperse, Stolas spoke up once more.

“And stay within my line of sight at all times,” he instructed firmly.

Chapter Text

“Oh, sister!” Andrealphus called out to Stella, who was only a few feet away. His voice rang out in a high-pitched, sing-song tone as he motioned her forward, which she quickly did.

“What?” she asked him.

Andrealphus simply smirked, then broke the lock on the truck and opened the door, revealing gallons upon gallons of water.

“It’s like being rich!” Andrealphus exclaimed greedily. Without thinking, he unplugged a water gallon, letting the water spill out and soak him. Stella didn’t hesitate to join in, wasting another gallon of water.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Vassago was leaning against the hood of a car, legs crossed, holding the leather notebook that Belphegor had given Stolas before the laboratory exploded. He reread the first two lines of the first verse, planning to decipher the rest.

“What ya doin’?” Angel suddenly asked, startling the red parrot with the unexpected question.

“Oh. Well, I’m rereading the prophecy, trying to see if I can get past the first two lines,” Vassago answered as Angel opened the car’s hood, searching inside.

“Any progress?” Angel asked, pulling out several pairs of different pants.

“Nada,” Vassago replied with a sigh, prompting Angel to stop and face him.

Angel Dust : “Mind reading the ones we know?”

Vassago nodded. “Alright.” He opened the notebook again. “Green eyes full of secrets, green eyes full of pain.” He paused, causing Angel to hum thoughtfully.

“What other verses are we looking at?” Angel asked, leaning closer to get a better look at the notebook.

“I’m trying to decipher them all. I’m not stopping at every line,” Vassago replied.

Angel snapped his fingers as if struck by inspiration. “Maybe that’s why you can’t figure it out—because you’re forcing your brain to solve everything without breaking down the context,” Angel explained matter-of-factly. “Why don’t you read me the next two verses, and we’ll focus just on those for now? Then we can keep going from there.”

Vassago looked at Angel as if he’d seen a ghost; the spider actually made sense. With a sigh, he began to read the Valyrian text beneath the first two already translated verses: “Masked se claimed ondoso se morghe geptot ondoso aōha own ñelly.”

Angel hummed. “Oh… Well, I think I heard a few familiar words in there, but never mind.”

“Oh no, do share!” Vassago insisted, turning to face Angel. “Which words sounded familiar to you?”

Angel gently took the book from Vassago’s hands and pointed at a few words. “‘Masked se claimed,’” Angel echoed.

“What do you think it means?” Vassago asked.

Angel shrugged, then took a deep breath as he tried to jog his memory. “If I remember correctly, those words might mean ‘masked’ and ‘claimed.’”

Vassago quickly jotted down the potential meanings above the original words. Just then, Angel lifted up a bold, decorative western-style belt made from brown leather. It featured large metallic studs, round iridescent rhinestones, and prominent pink crystal cross inlays framed with smaller clear rhinestones.

“Do you think Striker would accept this?” Angel asked, showing Vassago the belt.

“What do you mean?” Vassago replied, sending Angel a confused look. “Why would he want a new belt? Doesn’t he already have one?”

“Yeah, but don’t you notice how he fidgets with it? How it takes him a few seconds to put it on? If I were in his place—and Stella tried what she’s about to do—I’d feel more comfortable with a new belt,” Angel said, his tone tinged with sadness.

Vassago’s confusion deepened. “What are you talking about?” he asked, prompting Angel to turn and face him.

It was at that moment Angel told Vassago what Valentino had promised to do.

It was also then that he shared his suspicions about what Stella had tried to do.

Just as Angel predicted, Vassago went through the five stages of grief and disgust during the entire explanation.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Octavia wandered aimlessly, bored out of her mind. There was nothing for her to do, but suddenly she paused. The feathers on her neck stood up—something wasn’t right. She could hear whispers all around her, even though no one was nearby.

“Toliot kesīr…” a male voice called out to her. Octavia looked around, but saw nothing.

The whispers grew louder and louder as she followed them. They led her to a car, where an undead figure sat inside. She noticed a bag in the car.

“Open ziry,” the voice commanded, and Octavia obeyed. She opened the car door, but quickly recoiled from the rotten smell of flesh that had been contained for so long.

As her nose recovered from the assault, she coughed a few times, then covered her nose with her beanie and reached into the car to grab the bag.

It was a struggle—the dead man had a tight grip on it. After wrestling it free from the undead’s grasp, she fell backward, landing on her backside. Embarrassed, she quickly got up. As she set the bag down, the voice eagerly repeated, “Open ziry.”

“Oh shit, I really am going crazy,” Octavia murmured, but she did as the voice in her head commanded. Yet as soon as she opened the bag, her eyes sparkled with disbelief. Inside were angelic daggers, ammo, guns—even an axe! 

“Look at the axe,” the male voice in her head said, finally speaking in a language she understood. She did just that, her eyes widening as she saw three names engraved on it.

“Is one of these yours?” she asked aloud, but received no response, causing her eye to twitch in frustration.

Still, she picked up the axe and held it up toward the sun to read the names more clearly: “Dean, Sam, and Castiel…”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Vassago was left shaken by what Angel had told him. He didn’t know why, but he was certain he wouldn’t tell Stolas. As he continued reading the notebook, an excited Octavia rushed over, carrying the bag.

Octavia : “Uncle Vass! You’ll never guess what I found!”

“What is it?” Vassago asked, watching as Octavia opened the bag. His eyes widened in amazement. “Where did you find all this?” he asked, kneeling down to her level as she sat.

“Found it in a car! Isn’t it cool?” Octavia replied proudly.

Vassago nodded. “Yes, dear. Now go and give it to Pentius—he’ll keep it safe.”

Octavia nodded in agreement. “Fine, but the axe is mine,” she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Está bien,” Vassago said with a sigh, knowing he wouldn’t win this one. “As long as you’re responsible and treat that weapon with care and respect!” he called after her as Octavia rushed off toward Pentius. He couldn’t help but sigh again.

Chapter Text

Stolas looked around, taking in the scene with perfect clarity. Pentious was perched atop the RV, Vassago tended to Octavia, while Moxxie and Molly were searching through a blue car. Loona remained inside the RV, Stella and Andrealphus stood idly by, Angel scavenged through a green car, and not far behind, Striker rummaged through a red one.

Everything seemed so peaceful.

So normal.

Until a male voice whispered in his ear, “Look forward…” The words sent chills down his spine. Obeying instinctively, he squinted into the distance and noticed movement far away, prompting him to raise his binoculars. “The undead,” Stolas whispered fearfully before dropping them.

He rushed toward the group, panic etched across his face. “Get under the fucking cars!” he shouted, sprinting to Vassago and Octavia. Vassago tried to speak, but Stolas shoved him and his daughter beneath a car. He saw everyone else scrambling to do the same.

Molly hid under a car with Moxxie.

Andrealphus and Stella ducked beneath another.

Finally, Striker and Angel were the last to take cover.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Loona was inside the RV, practicing how to assemble her gun faster, when she saw the door swing open and an undead creature enter. Without hesitation, she dashed into the bathroom, the undead imp lurching after her.

As she struggled to close the door, the undead imp wedged half its body inside, clawing at her. Using her feet to brace the door, Loona frantically tried to ready her Glock. Then she saw him.

Valentino smirked at her—undead, with a shotgun wound in his forehead leaking blood. “I’ll take you with me,” the moth demon said, staring at Loona with hungry, white eyes.

“You wish, fucker,” Loona spat at the hallucination, ghost, or whatever he was, as she began firing at the undead now crowding the doorway. There were nearly ten, all pushing to get inside. “Oh no… I know…” Valentino taunted, his smile widening as black blood spilled from his mouth. Loona fired her last bullet. “You’ll never see him again,” Valentino tempted.

“Shut up!” Loona yelled, glaring at him.

Valentino : “He’ll never hold you again. He’ll hate you, just like you hate him.”

Loona : “That’s not true!”

“Is it? Well, we’ll never know~” Valentino replied, but was abruptly silenced as the window above the bathroom ceiling opened and a reloaded gun dropped onto Loona’s legs. “Use it!” Pentious  shouted, restoring Loona’s confidence. She grabbed the weapon and finished off the remaining undead, watching Valentino’s apparition slowly fade away with a scowl on his face.

When she was done, Loona quickly exited the bathroom and locked the RV from the inside, securing it.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Molly glanced around, noticing the coast was clear. She bolted out from under the car, ignoring Moxxie’s panicked cries and desperate attempts to reach her. She didn’t care. She just… ran.

She ran as if nothing could hold her back.

She ran as if she controlled her own world.

She ran as if Valentino’s undead form wasn’t chasing her at top speed.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Angel’s eyes widened as he watched his sister dart out from her hiding place and flee deep into the forest. His heart shattered, and he was about to chase after her when Striker’s tail wrapped around his waist, pulling him back under the car.

“Let me go!” Angel cried, struggling against Striker’s grip. “They’re chasing my sister!”

“Shut up!” Striker whispered harshly, quickly covering Angel’s mouth and muffling his screams. “You’re goin' ta get us caught!” he scolded the still-struggling spider, until something caught his attention. “Look…” he said, prompting Angel to stop thrashing and follow Striker’s gaze. “See? Moxxie is followin' her. Now calm down.”

And Angel did.

He calmed himself and put all his trust in Moxxie.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Molly was about to round a bend when she felt someone grab her hand. Her eyes widened as she was pulled into a small cave near a creek. She struggled until—

“Can you stop!” The voice made her freeze; she recognized it instantly.

“Moxxie?” she asked, turning to confirm her suspicion.

A very angry Moxxie glared at her, arms crossed over his chest. “Why the hell did you run off?”

Molly started to answer, but Moxxie cut her off. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Just stay here and wait for me, alright? I’ve got to distract these bastards.” He pushed Molly deeper into the cave before rushing out, yelling and screaming at the undead like an idiot as they chased after him.

Molly waited… She waited until she was sure Moxxie was long gone, then she began to run again. This time, she wasn’t stopping.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Are you sure this is where you left her?” Stolas asked Moxxie. The two of them, along with Striker, stood inside the same cave after the horde had moved on. Moxxie only nodded, pacing anxiously as he tugged at his hair.

“I swear this is where I left her,” Moxxie insisted, gripping his white hair. “I told her specifically not to move—and that’s the first thing she does!”

“Maybe she got spooked by something and ran off?” Stolas suggested, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Striker huffed and quickly added, “Doubt it. Besides, she’s a grown woman. If somethin' scared her, she would’ve run back to us, not away…”

Striker sighed, rubbing his nose before turning to the stressed Moxxie. “Tell ya what—we have a bit of sunlight left. Me and Stolas will look around here, and you go let the others know.”

Moxxie didn’t waste any time. He rushed back to the group, leaving Stolas and Striker alone. As Striker looked down, he noticed something—a trail.

“If you wish, I can communicate with the stars to find her location,” Stolas offered.

The cowboy shook his head, crouching to examine the trail more closely. “Nah, bird. It’d take us months just to get a clue. Besides, I found a trail.”

Stolas looked at him, clearly impressed. “Really? That quickly? How?”

Striker chuckled before turning serious again. “Listen, we’re looking fer Molly, not givin’ you trackin' lessons. Now hurry up,” he said, motioning for Stolas to follow.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Back at camp, Angel paced back and forth, worry, guilt, and regret etched across his face.

“Don’t worry—they’ll find her,” Pentious said, patting Angel’s shoulder. “She’ll be just fine.”

“Nah, she won’t,” Loona spoke up, smoking her cigarette. “She’s probably dead already.”

“You are not helping!” Pentious yelled angrily, causing Loona to shrug and reply, “I’m not trying to help. I’m just speaking the truth.”

“What’s your fucking deal?” Angel shouted, pointing accusingly at Loona. “Don’t you have any sympathy?!”

Loona : “No.”

“Then whoever raised you must be shitty parents!” Angel growled. That earned a reaction from the hound, who stepped closer.

Loona : “The hell did you just say?!”

“That whoever raised you is a shitty parent! To teach their kid to have no sympathy… what a monster,” Angel spat with hatred, causing Loona to see red. No one insulted her father.

“Take it back!” she yelled, trying to lunge at the spider causing Pentious to jump in between them, attempting to break up the fight.

“Why should I?! Everything I say is true!” Angel yelled, trying to land a few punches himself.

“That’s not true! He was a great dad!” Loona shouted back.

“Then where is he, huh?!” Angel demanded. “Where is that son of a bitch to prove—”

“He’s dead!” Loona’s words brought the entire camp to a standstill—even the birds and insects seemed to fall silent. She hesitated, her voice faltering. “Well… he’s not really dead. At least, I hope not. We got separated, and I’ve been looking for him ever since. I said some pretty awful things before I ran off, and then the sanctuary we were staying at blew up.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Are you sure this thing ate a bird?” Striker asked Stolas as they stood in front of an undead creature whose stomach had been cut open by Stolas’s magic. Stolas now held up a bloody piece of partially digested meat.

“I assure you, I used the spell three times, and every time it pointed to a bird,” Stolas replied. The cowboy just hummed as Stolas dropped the bird’s flesh.

“Dead end?” Stolas asked.

“Guess so,” Striker said, massaging his neck. “I think it’s time to go. The sun’s settin', and we can pick this up in the mornin’.”

Stolas nodded. “Couldn’t agree more.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Did you find her?” Angel asked hopefully as Striker and Stolas returned to camp. “Please tell me you did.”

“I’m afraid not,” Stolas said quietly, eyes downcast. Everyone could see the defeated look on his face, each step heavy with a sense of failure.

“But we did see one of those bastards,” Striker added, causing Angel’s eyes to widen in fear. “But there was nothing inside it—just a poor bird,” Striker quickly reassured the terrified spider.

“H-how are you so sure?” Angel stammered, gripping his hair as panic threatened to overwhelm him.

“We—Stolas cut it open,” Striker admitted. “When he ripped its stomach apart with his magic, there was a piece of decomposed flesh. Then he examined it like two—”

“Three,” Stolas corrected, prompting Striker to roll his eyes, a small smile ghosting across his lips.

Striker : “Three times. We figured it was just a damn bird.”

Angel let out a sigh of relief. That meant Molly was still out there. Jason was still out there. Now that he was calm, he couldn’t help but fangirl over how Striker and Stolas interacted. Call him crazy, but he needed something to distract himself until they found Molly. And if that meant shipping these two idiots—the literal definition of ‘slow burn’—and playing wingman, then so be it.

“We’re planning to search for her at first light tomorrow,” Stolas announced, snapping Angel out of his thoughts. “Everyone is coming along. That way, we’ll cover more ground and hopefully find her faster.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Just as Stolas had ordered the night before, everyone woke up as soon as the hell sun signaled the start of a new day. The group was preparing their weapons when Octavia, who was supposed to stay behind with her mother and Pentious, approached Stolas. Determination burned in her eyes as she spoke.

Octavia : “I want to go too.”

Stolas shook his head. “No, it’s too dangerous—”

“It’s either I go with you or I go alone,” Octavia insisted stubbornly, gripping her axe. “Besides, you said yourself—you need people to help cover more ground.”

Stolas sighed in defeat as he loaded his gun. “Fine. But you stay near me, Vassago, or Striker at all times. Understood?”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

The chosen group—Stolas, Angel, Moxxie, Loona, Striker, and Octavia—walked deep into the forest until they came across a tent. Stolas motioned for everyone to stop, then turned to Angel.

Stolas : “I think you should call out to her, in case she’s inside.”

Angel nodded. With Striker standing guard at the entrance, angelic dagger drawn, Angel took a shaky breath and called out, his voice raw with hurt and desperation. “Molly… Please… Come out. I’m so sorry.”

There was no response. After a tense moment, both Striker and Stolas forced their way inside.

“Smells like death in here,” Striker muttered, covering his nose just as Stolas did the same.

“Look,” Stolas said, pointing to someone sitting on a camping chair. The two men exchanged a glance—a silent conversation passing between them. Both knew that if Angel saw, he’d call It ‘eye-fucking,’ which made them quickly break eye contact as the thought crossed their minds.

“We should leave,” Stolas said awkwardly. “Besides, the one inside is dead. It would have attacked us as soon as we unzipped the tent.”

“Yep, I agree,” Striker replied, clearing his throat before being the first to exit, with Stolas quickly following.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Was there anything in there—” Moxxie began, but his question was drowned out by the sudden, thunderous ringing of church bells echoing through the forest. Without hesitation, the group rushed toward the sound.

“Do you think Molly is the one doing it?!” Angel shouted, trying to be heard over the bells.

“Probably!” Loona yelled back, then shook her head. “Who the hell has a church in literal Hell?!” she added, stopping abruptly as the church came into view. It was adorned with bones, red candles, a pentagram at the entrance, and constructed from black wood that only heightened its eerie presence.

“Probably someone into Satanic worship,” Striker answered breathlessly, shivering at the sight.

“Fuck no,” Moxxie said, backing away from the entrance. “I may be an imp—a hellborn, if you will—but there’s no way I’m going in there.”

“Wait, wait…” Loona chuckled. “You can handle the dead walking around, even killing them, but a satanic church is too much for you?” She gave Moxxie a teasing look.

He shot her the best bitchface he could muster and pointed at the doorknobs, which were actual skulls. “The doorknobs are literally bones!”

“Well, I don’t care,” Angel said, reaching for the doorknobs just as the church bells finally stopped. “If Molly’s in there, I’m—”

“She’s not there,” Vassago announced, approaching from around the side of the church. “The bells were set off by a timer. I shot it, and that stopped the ringing.”

“It’s still worth checking out,” Angel insisted, pushing open the doors. What he saw inside was even worse than the outside. The interior was covered in blood, candle wax, multiple pentagrams, and strange symbols. At the very front, someone sat motionless.

“Molly?” Angel called hopefully, rushing forward.

He grabbed the figure’s shoulder and turned it, desperate to see if it was who he hoped. All hope vanished when he saw the truth: it was an undead. Its eyes had been gouged out and now hung from empty sockets, flies buzzing around them. Angel recoiled as if burned.

But he wasn’t quick enough—the creature grabbed his hand, pulling him forward and snapping at him. Angel screamed. A gunshot rang out, and the undead collapsed to the ground. He turned to see Striker, gun raised, smoke curling from the barrel.

“Yer welcome,” Striker said, taking a seat on an empty chair.

Angel felt his feet moving toward Striker almost involuntarily. He knew why—he was tired of always being saved by Striker, unable to return the favor despite promising himself he would. Sitting down next to the cowboy, Angel noticed Striker about to get up and acted fast.

“Wait!” Angel cried, reaching for him. “Let me explain. I want to explain everything.”

Striker looked at Angel, then glanced at the door. He didn’t want to hear it—he already knew the story. But the pleading, guilt-ridden look in Angel’s eyes made him relent.

“Fine,” Striker said, settling back into his seat. “Say your piece.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Meanwhile, Stolas, Loona, and Octavia were deeper in the woods. Loona glanced up at the sky. “Looks like the sun is almost setting. We should head back.”

“You’re right… we should go,” Stolas agreed, turning to leave. Suddenly, the sound of cracking branches and rustling leaves put the trio on alert. Loona quickly drew her weapon, only to sigh in relief when a deer emerged from the underbrush.

Octavia watched the beautiful creature as it grazed. She and the animal locked eyes, and for a moment, she was mesmerized—so much so that she ignored the whispers echoing in her mind. When she glanced at her father, she saw that both he and Loona looked just as captivated.

“Go ahead,” her father whispered, giving her an encouraging nod.

As Octavia moved closer, the voices in her head grew louder. “Jiōragon qrīdrughagon,” they warned, but she didn’t listen. Step by step, she drew nearer to the deer, until she was only inches away—when the unthinkable happened.

A gunshot rang out.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion.

One moment, Stolas and Loona were watching Octavia approach the deer; the next, they saw a bullet pierce through the animal and then strike Octavia in the chest, sending both her and the deer collapsing to the ground.

“No!” Stolas cried, rushing desperately to his daughter’s side. He quickly examined the wound, but froze when he realized—the bullet was angelic. He needed a surgeon to remove it.

“No!” he screamed again, tears streaming down his face as he pressed his hands against the wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. “Stay with me, please!” Stolas pleaded, noticing Octavia’s eyes fluttering shut while Loona stood protectively over them, her gun sweeping every direction.

“Nyke ivestretan ao naejot jiōragon qrīdrughagon.”

Chapter Text

Timeline: The Day Stolas Got Shot

Stella was waiting. She stood with her butler as she waited for Octavia’s school day to end.

“I see you’re angry,” her friend Olive remarked, sitting down beside her. That only prompted Stella to laugh out loud. “Of course I am! I just can’t stand him. He’s always acting like a bitch!”

“Oh, so I assume you’re talking about your pathetic excuse for a husband?” Olive asked, handing Stella a drink. Stella nodded gratefully and took it. “What did he do this time?”

Stella didn’t mind that Olive only spent time with her for the family drama—after all, she was doing the same. And she needed someone to vent to about how idiotic her husband was.

Stella : “Octavia wanted to go to a sleepover, but as usual, that idiot had to say something about it.”

Olive raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I told Octavia she wasn’t allowed to go to her friend’s sleepover, and when I said no, he got in the way. I put him in his place by beating some sense into him. Now he’s probably moping around with Vassago,” Stella said, rolling her eyes.

Olive smirked. “I hear an ‘and’ in there~.”

Stella chuckled. “And I hired a few sharks to assassinate him.”

That made Olive burst out laughing. “Good! Hopefully they don’t fail and actually succeed.”

“Amen to that!” Stella agreed, clinking her champagne glass with Olive’s just as the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day.

As soon as the bell rang, a swirl of magic appeared, revealing Vassago. He looked furious, his once-red suit and white gloves now stained with black blood.

“You did this,” he accused, pointing at Stella.

“Did what?” Stella replied with a smug expression.

“You hired someone to kill Stolas, didn’t you?!” Vassago shouted.

Stella gasped, then broke into the brightest smile she could muster, which only confirmed Vassago’s suspicion. “Is he finally dead?!”

Vassago’s eye twitched. “So you’re—”

“The one who’ll kill him?” Stella interrupted, twisting his words before he could finish or correct her. “Of course!”

Suddenly, Vassago caught Octavia’s gaze from the corner of his eye, but he forced himself to focus on Stella.

“What am I supposed to tell Octavia now, genia?” he demanded, clenching his fists so tightly that, if not for the bloodstained gloves, his knuckles would have turned white.

“Tell her he got what he deserved. I don’t know—just tell her that her good-for-nothing father is dead,” Stella said, waving her hand dismissively and turning away, signaling she was done talking.

Vassago sighed and walked over to Octavia. He stopped in front of her and slowly knelt down to her level.

“Uncle Vass… Why are you covered in blood?” Octavia asked quietly.

A lump formed in his throat, making it hard to speak. He didn’t want to say it, but he knew he had to. He sighed.

“Octavia, te tengo que decir algo…” he began gently, as if speaking to a wounded animal. “It’s about your father…”

Timeline: Now

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“How much farther?!” Stolas demanded, his voice thick with emotion, as he carried an injured Octavia. He addressed the new imp that Loona was dragging along as they ran. “Answer me!”

Loona shoved the guilt-ridden imp forward, her gun pointed at him. “You heard him—answer the question!” she snapped.

“Only a mile away! Ask for my mom—her name is Lin! She’ll be able to help you,” the imp stammered, just as Loona yanked him upright and glanced at Stolas.

“Go! Teleport yourself there if you have to. I’ll catch up with this little bastard!” she urged.

Stolas didn’t need to be told twice. One look at his daughter’s condition was enough.

He remembered the first time he cradled her in his arms.

The way her tiny hand had grasped his finger for the first time.

Her first word: “Dad.”

Clutching Octavia tightly, Stolas made up his mind. With a flick of his wrist, he teleported himself and Octavia away.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

A red imp woman sat on the porch of her home, watching over their peaceful land. When she noticed a figure teleporting into the distance, she stood up and reached for her binoculars. Squinting to get a better look, she gasped in horror. “Mom!” she called out.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

As Stolas approached the farm, he saw several people already waiting for him. An older, rugged woman who seemed wiser than the two younger ladies beside her spoke up. “Was she bit? Where’s my son?”

“She was shot. By one of your men. And I don’t care where the fuck your son is—just fix her,” Stolas said, glaring at her.

The imp woman only nodded, unfazed by his harsh words. She understood—if it were her child, she’d react the same way. “Millie, Sallie, get everything set up! We’ve got a surgery to perform!”

The two younger women nodded without hesitation. A life was at stake.

Inside the house, everyone moved with such speed and purpose that it felt like a tornado had swept through. “Please, help my daughter,” Stolas pleaded with the elder woman as Millie gently took Octavia from his arms and rushed her upstairs.

“What’s your name, Your Highness?” the elder woman asked.

Stolas : “S… Stolas Goetia. The girl I brought is my daughter, Octavia.”

“My name is Lin,” she introduced herself, hurrying up the stairs with Stolas close behind. “I’ll do my damned best to save your kid. No one dies on my farm.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

In the room, Millie pressed a towel against Octavia’s wound to stem the bleeding. “Sallie, get the kid on an IV,” Lin instructed, and Sallie quickly complied. Then Lin turned to Stolas. “I’m going to need her blood type—”

“We have the same blood,” Stolas interrupted, rolling up his bloodied sleeve. “Take as much as you need.”

After drawing a bag of blood from Stolas and transfusing it into Octavia, Lin checked for a pulse and sighed. “It’s there, but it’s weak. Millie, magnifying glass!” As soon as Lin gave the order, Millie handed her a magnifying glass so she could inspect the wound more closely.

“Is she… going to be alright?” Stolas asked, pale and weak, leaning closer.

Before Lin could answer, the door burst open and her son Joseph was thrown inside, landing face-first on the wooden floor. Sallie rushed to comfort the guilt-stricken imp.

“Mom, I swear I didn’t see her behind the deer until it was too late! I never would have shot if I’d known!” Joseph cried, tears welling in his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter now. We have to operate. How old is she?” Lin asked Stolas.

“Seventeen,” Stolas replied quickly, slowly rising to his feet with Loona’s support.

Lin : “Then I need your consent for this operation.”

Stolas barely heard the rest. Operation. His daughter had been shot. Oh, Lucifer. Vassago didn’t know—his best friend didn’t know! “No, this can’t be happening!” he cried desperately, as Loona held him tightly to keep him from collapsing.

“Is she allergic to anything?” Lin asked with concern as her hands hovered over the surgical tools.

“No… My friends—my people—they aren’t here. I need them here, I have to…” Stolas spun around abruptly, only to lose his balance as his head swam, dizzy as if he were on a high-speed carousel.

“Calm down,” Loona whispered, but Stolas shook his head. “No. I need them here. I need to go get—”

“We can bring two people here,” Millie announced gently, approaching Stolas as Loona helped him sit back down. “I need names. You can’t leave—you’re more important here. Give me two names, and I’ll tell the rest of your group where to go.”

Stolas nodded, accepting her answer. “Vassago Goetia.”

Millie : “And the other?”

Stolas hesitated. He knew he shouldn’t; he hadn’t given permission before. But he needed him now. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he said, “Striker… Striker Goetia.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“I found a trail, but it just vanished after I followed it!” Striker exclaimed in panic to Vassago, who could only sigh. If only he had the power to locate others, this would be so much easier.

Suddenly, Moxxie let out a panicked yell as one of the undead reached for him. Before he could be bitten, a bat struck the creature, knocking it to the ground. Moxxie looked up at his savior and immediately fell head over heels—she was beautiful.

“Are you Striker or Vassago Goetia?” she asked. Moxxie felt disappointed.

“That’s us!” Vassago called out, causing the woman to look up as he dragged Striker with him. “How do you know—”

“Octavia has been shot, and Prince Stolas needs both of you.” Her words froze the group. Octavia had been shot?

“How do we know you’re not lying—Striker, are you serious?!” Angel cried out as he saw Striker rush over to the woman and mount her horse without hesitation.

“Whether she’s lyin' or not, Stolas needs us. And I’ll be damned if I leave him alone,” Striker said, holding onto the woman’s waist. “Let’s go.” She glanced at Vassago, who raised his hand, summoning a star-shaped hoverboard beneath him, which seemed to reassure her.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Stolas paced anxiously before turning to Lin. “What do you need? Do you need my powers? I can help.”

Lin shook her head. “No, we don’t need your powers right now. We might need more blood from you, like earlier, and we don’t want you passing out from overexertion.”

“Then what can I bring you?” Stolas pleaded desperately, his eyes breaking Lin’s heart. Before she could answer, they heard someone calling for Stolas. The owl rushed outside, supported by Loona, and sighed in relief when he saw both Vassago and, to his surprise, Striker.

He truly thought Striker wouldn’t come—and it would have been justified. After all, Stolas was the reason his older brother was gone to begin with.

Stolas watched as Striker dismounted the still-moving horse, prompting Millie to come to a harsh halt, and Striker ran toward him, while Vassago sped up on his hoverboard.

At least now, Stolas could feel some peace.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Pentious confronted Moxxie and the regrouped team. “What do you mean an imp came and took both Vassago and Striker—and you let her?! Didn’t you think it might be a trap?!”

“She seemed pretty serious,” Angel replied. “She said Octavia was shot.”

“Impossible!” Stella shouted angrily, clenching her fists until her knuckles turned white. “I should have been the first to know—not Vassago or some nobody!”

“This is why they didn’t say your name!” Moxxie finally exploded, fed up with Stella’s mistreatment and audacity. “You act like a brat. You never listen when someone asks anything of you. You act all pampered—well, Your Highness, forgive my language, but you’re the most stupid, selfish—” Suddenly, as Moxxie’s cursing intensified, random plastic duck sounds drowned out his words.

With every censored insult, Stella and the others grew pale and stunned. Andrealphus was literally clutching his pearls, while Angel and Pentious stood with their jaws on the ground. Since when could Moxxie curse this much? And how did he even know such horrid words? They had always thought Moxxie incapable of such behavior.

“And this is why neither your husband nor your daughter loves you!” Moxxie finished, his face flushed red with anger, shoulders trembling, and foam at the corners of his mouth as his eyes blazed like a madman. “So stop acting like the world revolves around you and let’s go to Stolas!”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Vassago turned to Lin as he and Striker caught up on the situation. “So we need painkillers, a breathing mask, and oxygen tanks since Stolas won’t be using his magic?”

Lin nodded. “Yes, that’s what we’ll need to ensure the operation goes smoothly and so the prince doesn’t pass out on us from using his magic too much. ”

“Then I’ll go,” Loona announced, loading her gun. “Just give me a location—”

“Absolutely not!” Stolas burst out, his voice sharp. “I am not risking your safety.”

“But it’s necessary!” Loona began to argue, but was interrupted as a familiar RV and several cars pulled into the farm. As they parked, those inside rushed toward the farmhouse doors.

“We’ll continue this later,” Stolas stated firmly, rising to greet the rest of his group and fill them in on the situation.

Chapter Text

After everyone had settled down in Octavia’s room and been filled in on the situation, Stolas leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the arms of the chair, hands cradling each side of his face. “God is punishing me,” Stolas spoke up.

“What do you mean?” Loona asked, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow.

Stolas had a sad and defeated look on his eyes as he weakly spoke, “He brought me back from my coma into this apocalyptic hell where there are barely any sinners, hellborns, or overlords. He allowed me to reunite with my loved ones, only for us to have one month together after the outbreak—and now one of them is in a life-and-death situation.”

As his words faded, Striker, who was leaning against the wall to his right, sighed and placed a comforting hand on Stolas’s shoulder. “Stolas—” he began, but his words were cut off as Octavia, lying eerily still, suddenly began to shake, causing the group to spring into action.

“What’s going on?!” Moxxie yelled, feeling Millie begin to push him, Loona, and Angel out the door, while Sallie May told the others to get out. Before Moxxie’s question could be answered, the door slammed shut in his face.

“She’s havin' a seizure!” Lin cried out, rushing to the young girl’s shaking body and trying to hold her arms down, though there was little she could do. Her heart broke as Octavia woke up screaming, crying out in pain and for her dad. Lin gasped in horror as she saw the shotgun wound rip open, causing dangerous blood loss. “Shit! Millie, help me hold her down!”

Millie didn’t hesitate; she held the child firmly, trying to prevent her from unknowingly hurting herself further. Sallie applied more pressure to the wound as she watched her mother pull out a needle connected to an empty blood bag and another empty syringe.

“Stolas, she needs more blood!” Lin called out, seeing panic, fear, guilt, and too many emotions swirling in Stolas’s eyes as he struggled against Vassago’s and Striker’s grip.

“You’re killing her!” Stolas cried out in rage, held back by the two men as he watched his little girl shake and groan in pain, desperately calling for him. His eyes burned with rage and anguish, yet he felt utterly helpless. “Let me heal her!”

“And risk you passing out on us?!” Vassago’s angry tone snapped through the ringing in Stolas’s ears. “No, cabrón!”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Moxxie grew more helpless, sensing most of group felt the same. As he paced around the room, he heard Pentious speak, “Everything will be alright. Nothing bad shall happen—”

“What if it does?!” Angel interjected, frantically searching through the Goetia grimoire for a healing spell, only for Stella to snatch it from his hands and point an accusing finger at him. “You dare touch something as valuable as this?! I should have your head cut off where you stand!”

“That’s enough!” Stolas’s voice rang through the farmhouse living room like a rocket leaving Earth, causing everyone to turn toward the weak but determined owl, supported by both Vassago and Striker.

“How is she?” Pentious was the first to ask, standing up along side Moxxie and Angel, each wearing matching expressions of worry and tense body language.

“She needs surgery. Now,” Vassago answered for Stolas.

“What do we need?” Angel asked Vassago, his eyes full of determination.

“Painkillers, a breathing mask, and oxygen tanks,” Loona replied before Vassago or Stolas could reply. Before she could speak again, Joseph—the one who started all of this—stepped forward. “I’ll go,” he said resolutely, beginning to load his gun.

“No, it’s too risky. We cannot allow you,” Stolas protested, but the imp seemed not to hear him.

Joseph : “No, it’s my fault this happened. I’m going to fix it. I have to.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Andrealphus volunteered unexpectedly. “I can’t let the only person here that actually matters die, since I know for a fact my extremely hot sister will never reproduce another heir with him!” he said, pointing disdainfully at Stolas.

“I shall not allow it!” Stolas only rolled his eyes as Andrealphus kept on ranting, ignoring the harsh words as he gracefully took a seat near the couch then turn to face Joseph. “Thank you,” he murmured, almost grateful.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“You don’t have ta go…” Millie, who had come out of Octavia’s room to say goodbye to her brother, spoke softly as she watched him start the car, Andrealphus sitting in the passenger seat with a wide smile that Millie for some reason didn't like and send shivers down her spine. That bastard was definitely planning something. 

Joseph : “I have to, Mills. I can’t carry this guilt, knowin' these people are sufferin' because of me. I have to make this right—”

“Right for who, huh?!” Millie yelled angrily, her tail swaying in irritation.

“Right for me!” Joseph shouted as he quickly adjusted the rearview mirror. “I have to get rid of this guilt somehow. It’s gettin' too big for me ta hold. This all happen because of me, and I just can’t sit on my ass and do nothin'!”

As he spoke, he started the car, its engine roaring to life. The lights flickered on, and the windshield wipers cleared the fogged glass before returning to their resting position.

Seeing the car start, Millie sighed and backed away from the open window she’d been leaning into. She knew Joseph well—he was just as stubborn as she was. “Fine, but you come back to us. Do I make myself clear?”

Her brother nodded firmly, gripping the wheel. “Crystal clear.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Stolas and Vassago sat together in the room next to Octavia’s. Striker had offered them some time off to recover while he guarded her, and the two birds had accepted. Now, they sat side by side, only aware of what Striker was doing, with no idea where the others were or what they were up to.

“He’s good for you,” Vassago said suddenly, prompting a confused look from Stolas.

“Pardon?” Stolas asked. 

Vassago : “Striker. He’s good for you. He worries more about Octavia’s safety than her own mother does. Hell, he even offered to care for her while you rest and prepare for her upcoming surgery.”

“Just because he’s good to Octavia doesn’t mean he’s good for me—” Stolas began.

Vassago : “But he cares for you. We all see it—I see it, Angel sees it—”

Stolas let out a weak chuckle. “Oh God, not Angel! Anyone but him! He invents things that aren’t even there!”

Vassago covered his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. He knew Stolas was just as obvious as Striker was. Yet, deep down, he felt—everyone felt—that this ‘relationship,’ this ‘situation,’ was missing something… or someone.

“Are you sure?” Vassago teased, making Stolas laugh even harder.

“Of course!” Stolas declared, throwing his head back in laughter.

After a few moments, Stolas finally calmed down, wiping away a tear from laughing so hard. He sighed, “Vassago, whatever would I do without you?”

Vassago paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Well, you’d probably hallucinate my ghost,” he joked, wiggling his fingers at Stolas, focusing on making him laugh. He had to—because if he didn’t, he’d be left alone with the small voice in the back of his mind: " Issi ao sure? "

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Night had fallen. Lin stood outside her farm, gazing up at the deep, starry sky. Call her selfish, but she was grateful for this epidemic in Hell—she’d never seen the sky look so beautiful. The stars shone brightly, like flashlights or a clean mirror catching the light. Yet, something felt wrong—something she couldn’t quite place.

“Is Octavia alright?” The question made Lin turn to face who she thought was Pentious.

“Yes, she’s stable for now. We’re just waitin' for the equipment before the surgery—if it arrives within the night we can do the surgery without using magic. If not, we’ll have ta use Stolas and risk him passing out from either blood loss or too much power use,” Lin replied.

“What caused the seizure?” Pentious asked.

Lin : “Well, blood loss and a growin' fever might be  part of it.”

Pentious : “And the other cause?”

Lin : “Her abdomen, right where she was shot, is distended. Her blood pressure’s dropping, which means there’s internal bleeding. A fragment must have nicked a blood vessel. I have to open her up, find the bleeder, and stitch it. And she can’t move while I’m in there—not at all. If she reacts like before, I could sever an artery, and she’d be dead in minutes.”

That statement made Pentious’s blood run cold. If the operation wasn’t successful… No. He shook his head, trying to banish those horrid thoughts. Octavia couldn’t die yet. She was so young, barely beginning to experience life. He saw her as a niece, for crying out loud.

Looking out over the fields, he felt the cold night air on his face and sighed. “You’re lucky. Most homes and buildings look deserted thanks to the undead, but your farm—it looks untouched.” He tried to ignore his aching heart and keep his mind off the grim subject.

Lin must have sensed it, because she let out a sigh and rubbed her neck. “Yeah, but that don’t mean we haven’t lost people… I’m just hopin' for a cure. Somethin' the Sloth Ring could offer, ya know?”

Pentious : “That’s gone. We went to the Sloth Ring—Lady Belphegor said her time was up and there was nothing she could do. Then she and the laboratory exploded.”

“So you’re sayin' there’s no cure at all?” Lin asked, turning to face the serpent overlord, fear and hopelessness in her eyes.

Pentious : “There is… but it’s written in a prophecy, in a very old language that’s almost unheard of. The good news is, we know the first two lines, and we’re about fifty percent sure about the other two, thanks to Vassago, who is working to decipher it.”

“Can ya tell me the four lines, then?” Lin asked, looking at Pentious with renewed hope. The serpent nodded before clearing his throat.

“The first two lines are: ‘Green eyes full of secrets, green eyes full of pain.’” He scratched his head, as if trying to remember something else.

“And in the original language, it says: ‘Masked se claimed ondoso se morghe geptot ondoso aōha own ñelly,’” Pentious pronounce, earning a confused look from Lin.

“And you guys think you know what that means?” she asked clearly skeptical.

Pentious lifted his hand and wiggled it awkwardly in the air. “Fifty-fifty.”

“Well, it’s better than nothin',” Lin said, leaning against the farm wall. “Mind sharin' whatcha think it means?”

“‘Masked and claimed by the dead, left by your own flesh,’” Pentious told her, chuckling as he saw her nearly choke on her own spit.

“Damn, that’s messed up!” Lin laughed, causing Pentious to nod in agreement.

As Lin calmed down from her laughter, she grew thoughtful. “‘Left by your own flesh…’” she echoed, prompting Pentious to look at her.

Pentious : “Pardon?”

“What if ‘left by your own flesh’ means the cure was abandoned by their family?” Lin suggested.

“Could be a possibility,” Pentious agreed. After that, they fell into a calm, contemplative silence.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Joseph and Andrealphus arrived at the school where Joseph claimed the needed supplies were located. However, there were a few problems. First: the undead. They wandered around the front, sides, outside, and probably inside the school. Second: they hadn’t found a safe way to enter.

“This is it?” Andrealphus asked Joseph, who quickly nodded.

“Yeah,” Joseph replied. “But how do we get in?”

Andrealphus let out a nonchalant chuckle as he rolled the car window all the way down, ignoring the imp trying to pull him inside. With half his body out the window, Andrealphus pointed up at the sky and conjured a small hail cloud. Hail and thunder rained down, drawing the undead toward the falling ice like water drops, clearing a path to the school doors.

“Like that,” Andrealphus said as he got out of the old car—the kind he’d never be caught dead in if Hell hadn’t ended. He pulled the stunned and amazed imp out after him, and together they rushed into the school.

The only sound was the echo of Andrealphus and Joseph’s footsteps through the empty hallways, the lonely beam of Joseph’s shaky flashlight illuminating their path. “Are we close?” Andrealphus whispered. Even though his voice was low, it seemed to bounce off the walls, mixing with the tap of his high heels.

“Ta the infirmary? Yeah,” Joseph replied, carefully avoiding a puddle of black blood that covered both the walls and floor like some sick, twisted painting.

Once they arrived at the infirmary, the two quickly rushed inside and began searching for the supplies they were assigned to collect, as well as grabbing anything else they thought might be useful or necessary.

Just as they finished, something fell to the floor—a piece of metal clattered against the marble, sending a loud ringing echo through the school like death bells.

“Shit!” Andrealphus cursed, panic in his voice. He grabbed Joseph and started dragging him out of the infirmary, but as the doors swung open, they found themselves surrounded. Andrealphus glanced to his right—the door they had originally entered was now blocked by the undead, cutting off any chance of escape.

He looked to his left—more undead filled the hallway, leaving only one option: forward. As they pushed ahead, the undead chased after them, reaching out with clawed hands, desperate to tear them apart. There were too many.

The two survivors burst through another set of doors and realized they had entered the gymnasium. Both let out a sigh of relief. Without hesitation, Andrealphus tossed the backpack to Joseph and scrambled up the bleachers as the room began to flood with the undead, Joseph quickly following. Pressed against the wall, the only question running through their minds was: How the hell are we going to escape?

Chapter Text

Andrealphus and Joseph were still on top of the bleachers, each trying to push down the undead that attempted to climb up the stairs to reach them.

“How do we get out?!” Andrealphus yelled in frustration as he froze one of the undead’s heads, refusing to let go until it stopped moving.

“Ya see that window?” Joseph shouted, pointing at a window just a few feet away. “We can reach it!”

Andrealphus asked, “How?”

Joseph replied, “You can create an ice bridge from here, above the undead’s heads, all the way to the window!”

Andrealphus scoffed, “Are you crazy? There’s no way I’m using my magic for an imp!”

Joseph felt his eye twitch. “Then you’ll kill us both!”

Andrealphus let out the loudest, most annoyed sigh he could muster before stepping forward, causing a few inches of ice to appear in front of them.

“That’s it?” Joseph asked, disappointment clear in his voice.

Andrealphus simply rolled his eyes, then stretched out his hand, causing the bridge to grow all the way to the window—their escape route.

“Nope,” Andrealphus said, pushing Joseph aside so he could step onto his own creation first, quickly followed by the imp.

Once they reached the window, Andrealphus smashed it open and looked down. There was nothing below to break their fall, but he didn’t care. He conjured a small mountain of soft snow to prevent any major injuries as he—and presumably the other imp—jumped.

He took a deep breath before leaping. As he landed on the snow pile, he quickly rolled out of the way, watching the imp tumble down and smirked at the imp’s small, “Ow…”

“Oh, get up,” Andrealphus said with annoyance, pulling him up and beginning to drag him back toward the car. The only problem was that the car was surrounded by the undead. There was no way to reach it without a distraction.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“So, do we just knock on the door and hope they let us in?” Moxxie asked, holding a bag of medicine. Angel carried several rolls of bandages, a few boxes of mupilex, some needles, and surgical threads. Angel scoffed, “I think we’re past that stage. We’ve already entered their home, and they’re treating one of our own.”

“Exactly, so we should be polite,” Moxxie said, raising his hand to knock when Millie suddenly opened the door.

“Where did ya two go?” she asked, leaning her hip against the doorframe.

“We went to the nearby store, princess,” Angel replied in his usual flirty, playful tone, quickly pulling down Moxxie’s hand, which was still hanging in midair. “To get some useful stuff, right, Moxxie?” Angel turned to the imp, who seemed frozen in place with a comical expression, like he’d been caught stealing cookies from the jar. ‘Man, he looks just like a stunned possum!’ Angel couldn’t help but chuckle at his own tough.

“Ain’t that right?” Millie asked, shifting her attention from Angel to Moxxie, who tensed even more.

“I, um… Y-yeah, we… did…” Moxxie stammered, his voice rising until he cleared his throat, ignoring Millie’s look that seemed to say, ‘What’s the matter? Never talked to a chick before?’ Moxxie blushed in embarrassment and finally settled on, “Those Goetias in there are my group… My family… Even if not by blood, this group is all I have." 

As he finished, he gave Millie a pleading look, prompting her to sigh in defeat. “What medicine do ya have?” she asked cautiously, eyeing the bag.

“Oh, well, I’ve got a few bottles of iron,” Moxxie said, handing her the bag and allowing her to pull out and examine each medication as he named them. “Calcium, antifibrinolytics, ibuprofen—but not enough for the whole surgery since there are only five pills—warfarin, heparin…” Moxxie continued listing every medication as well as the stuff Angel held while Millie inspected them.

Millie nodded in appreciation and finally stepped back to let the imp and sinner enter. “Alright, I’ll take these to my mom,” she said, disappearing deeper into the house to find Lin.

Both Moxxie and Angel made their way around, searching for Vassago and Stolas. They found them reading: Stolas had a book, and Vassago was studying the prophecy.

“Hey,” Angel greeted as he sat down next to them, quickly followed by Moxxie.

“Evening,” Stolas replied, closing his book and gently placing it down.

“I see you’re feeling better?” Moxxie asked Stolas, looking the owl up and down. Stolas nodded.

“Yes, I’ve recovered my strength,” he replied.

“Who’s with Octavia? Stella?” Angel asked, trying to hold back a chuckle. He already knew the answer—Stella didn’t care about anyone but herself.

“No…” Vassago sighed, taking a break from reading the prophecy to rub his temples. “Striker was watching her, but then he swapped places with Pentious.”

“Then where is he now?” Angel asked in confusion. If Striker had been with Octavia and now he wasn’t, where else could he be?

“He’s out there looking for both Jason and Molly,” Stolas answered before Vassago could. “I told him not to, but he insisted it was the only way to keep his mind occupied.”

Angel felt his eyes sting with tears. Striker was much kinder—or at least more loyal—than any of them had given him credit for.

“But we have to ask you two something,” Vassago spoke up, drawing both Angel’s and Moxxie’s attention to the red parrot. “Well, we were planning to ask the whole group, but for now, we’ll start with just you.” Vassago cleared his throat and used a more formal tone. “You two have been on our side since all this started. You helped us care for Octavia, kept her safe even when you didn’t have to. You bled for us… you bled with us. So I wanted to ask: Anthony, Moxxie… will you allow us to share our last name with you?”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

A few hours later, Angel and Moxxie had returned to the RV. Night had fallen. Angel wept into his pillow, Vassago’s question echoing in his mind: ‘Will you let us share our last name?’ He had declined. He hadn’t wanted to hurt any of them.

‘I will take down everyone you care about or, God forbid—love.’ Valentino’s voice haunted him.

Angel knew he was free.

That he didn’t need to fear Valentino anymore—he was dead.

But he still did.

He feared him. He couldn’t be happy because of him.

He’d already lost his sister and had no idea where she was. He couldn’t lose anyone else. Then guilt filled him—was this why Octavia got shot? Because he cared for her like a second sister? Was he the reason Stolas’s daughter was hurt in the first place? How could they want him in their family? Why would they?

Vassago knew about his contract. He knew what it meant. Why would he risk his life just to give Angel a last name—a place, a home?

Striker saw Angel weeping into the pillow. He could hear the quiet sobs mixing with the sound of Loona loading her gun. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m going out,” he announced, heading for the door and ignoring Angel as he slowly sat up.

“Are you crazy?! It’s dark outside! You won’t be able to see anything!” Moxxie shrieked, jumping in front of Striker to block the door.

“Besides, you already went out there all evening, and you found absolutely nothing!” Moxxie pressed, standing firm as Striker tried to get past him.

Striker : “Well, at least I’m looking for—”

 Moxxie then cut Striker off. “We can look—”

“At least I’m trying to find Molly and Jason!” Striker snapped, finally pushing Moxxie aside causing the imp to fall onto the couch near the door. “All y’all do is sit on yer asses and do nothin'. You just mope an' cry. Well, guess what? That ain’t gonna help find them!”

Striker grabbed the door, ready to open it, when Angel spoke up.

“Wait!” Angel called, pulling out his weapon and wiping away his tears. “I’m going with you.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Angel and Striker walked together into the deep darkness of the night. It was just the two of them, the hellish night, and if they weren’t lucky—the undead.

“I wanted to thank you for doing all of this,” Angel said, breaking the thick tension between them. “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well, you know, I know how it feels to be lost and all alone in the woods,” Striker replied, and to Angel, it sounded like the cowboy was speaking from personal experience.

“What do you mean?” the spider asked curiously.

Striker shrugged then spoke up, “When I was young, I got lost in the woods behind my ranch. No one noticed. No one really cared. I was gone for, like, a whole week. Miracle I survived. When I returned, my parents acted all ‘worried’—then beat me black and blue.”

“They beat you black and blue for being missing?!” Angel whispered in disbelief. He knew if he raised his voice, he’d attract unwanted attention, but he couldn’t help the anger coursing through him.

“Yeah, and Jason just laughed at it. Laughed like it was some damn comedy show,” Striker replied with a shrug, making Angel see red. Still, he reminded himself to stay calm. “Then why look for him? Why not just let him die?”

“Then why did you hold on to Valentino’s dead body when we all knew he abused you? Why did you cry for him after you shot him?” Striker shot back, causing Angel to stop in his tracks. In that moment, he realized he and Striker were far more alike than he cared to admit.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Maybe this world wasn’t built for my daughter anymore,” Stolas said quietly. He now sat beside Pentious near Octavia’s bed while Vassago showered.

“Why on earth would you say that? She’s here now, and she’s here to stay, my friend,” Pentious replied, reaching out to clasp Stolas’s hand in his own. “You were so determined to live… You begged Belphegor to let us out. So why change your mind now?”

“Because she’d have blood on her hands every day and night just to survive—if she even survives. I don’t want her to feel the pain of losing someone, or dying, or betraying, or killing,” Stolas said, taking a deep, shaky breath. “If this surgery fails… if she dies tonight… then it’ll be over for her. This farm will be her resting place. She won’t have to fight just to survive every single day.”

“But Belphegor said there’s a cure out there!” Pentious insisted.

Stolas stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. “Based on a prophecy written in a language we know so little about! We don’t know where to find this cure, or what it is! If it’s alive or not, if it’s a sinner, hellborn, hell animal, or plant! The only things we’ve managed to figure out are that it has green eyes, apparently wears a mask, and is claimed by the dead and left by their family—but that sounds completely impossible!”

After his outburst, Stolas slumped back into his chair, panting as he tried to smooth his ruffled feathers. “That’s all we know, and there are still so many lines left to decipher… And even if we do find this cure, what do we do with it? We don’t have the proper materials to use it.”

Pentious sighed. He could clearly see Stolas’s worry, his pain, and his sense of helplessness. Stolas felt useless, his hands tied, unable to do anything but wait—and Pentious could tell it was killing him inside. Instead of moving forward, they were slipping backward.

They were falling.

And they were falling hard.

Chapter Text

Stolas and Vassago were now the ones taking care of Octavia when Lin entered. “I don’t mean to intrude,” she began, “but we don’t have enough time. We can’t wait any longer—we have to start the surgery now, or else—”

“No!” Stolas yelled, standing up so abruptly that his chair scraped across the wooden floor. “You said I couldn’t use my magic because I might pass out when you take the necessary blood from me, yet you offered me options. Now I’m waiting for those options to arrive—”

“But if we wait another hour, she’ll—” Before Lin could finish, a car horn sounded outside, prompting both Stolas and Vassago to rush out. The early hours of a new day greeted them, just as a truck pulled up in front of the house. Only Andrealphus stepped out, carrying a backpack, which he slowly handed to Lin.

“Where is my son?” Lin asked, surveying the area anxiously.

Andrealphus flinched before meeting her gaze, trying to appear pitiful and guilty. “I tried to convince him to come back with me, but he ‘sacrificed’ himself to help us.”

Lin’s eyes widened as her grip on the bag tightened, her heart shattering. She pushed her grief aside. “Alright. His sacrifice won’t be in vain. The surgery will start now.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“I think we should head back,” Striker told Angel for what seemed like the tenth time that night. “All we’re doin' is walkin' in circles. Besides, it’s almost sunrise and you haven’t slept all night.”

“So what?” Angel replied stubbornly. “We aren’t ‘walking in circles.’” He made air quotes, prompting Striker to point at the same tent they had passed for the tenth time, just to prove his point.

Angel felt his eye twitch but sighed, finally following Striker back to the RV. Once there, he reached into his chest fluff and pulled out the belt he’d found for Striker at the car graveyard. “Here,” he said, handing it over.

Striker took the belt, confused. “But I already have one—”

“But you hate it,” Angel interrupted. “You hate it after what Stella tried to do. You didn’t have to tell me—I see how you act when you try to hold it. So I thought this would be a way of apologizing—”

“But didn’t you apologize and explain everythin’ at the church?” Striker asked, reminding Angel of his desperate explanation. Angel nodded. “Yeah, but I thought you might need another apology.”

“Fine,” Striker decided, removing his original belt and quickly replacing it with Angel’s. “There.”

As Angel watched Striker toss his old belt away, he felt a seed of hope bloom in his chest. At least he had Striker’s friendship back!

And he most definitely ignored Valentino’s silhouette watching them as they returned to the farm.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Millie was crying in the kitchen when Moxxie, who had come over from the RV after Angel and Striker returned, tried to comfort her. “Listen... I know what it’s like to lose a family member. I lost my mother too,” Moxxie began, gently patting her shoulder. Millie looked up at him. “Really?”

Moxxie nodded. “Yeah. She was killed because she wanted a better life for me, just like your brother wanted a better life for Octavia. Sure, the circumstances are different, but the motive isn’t.” He stood up and walked to the fridge, pointing at an old family picture. “Is this your family?”

Millie nodded, then stood and joined him by the picture. “Mind telling me who this is?” Moxxie asked, pointing at a person hugging a young Millie.

“That was Sallie May, before she transitioned from male to female,” Millie explained. Moxxie nodded, accepting her answer, then pointed at another figure. “And this one?”

“That was my aunt. She was killed during an extermination. This was the last picture we ever took of her and her family. They never got to see how Hell has changed since then,” Millie replied, staring at the ground. “They were all good people.”

Moxxie nodded in agreement, even though the only people he knew were Lin, Millie, and Sallie May. “And him?” he asked, pointing at a man embracing Lin.

“That’s my dad. The sickness took him,” Millie answered, hugging herself.

“Fuck… Sorry, I—” Moxxie began, but paused as he saw Lin approaching Stolas, Vassago, Andrealphus, and Stella, who were all sitting in different living room couches. Only Stolas and Vassago were awake; Stella and Andrealphus snored loudly, as if they owned the house. Moxxie hurried over, hoping to hear some good news from Lin.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Lin made her way over to Stolas and Vassago, glancing at the nearby clock before Stolas suddenly teleported in front of her. “What is it? Did something happen? Is my daughter alive?” he asked rapidly, his questions tumbling out in a panic. Vassago gently placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down, while Lin smiled brightly—her eye bags probably matching theirs.

“Men…” she began, making Stolas pause mid-question. “At six-thirty this morning, Octavia’s surgery was completed—and it was successful so Stolas you can finally use your healing magic for her to have a quick recovery.”

Stolas felt as if his world had stopped.

Successful.

That word echoed in his mind, repeating over and over as his ears rang and his legs turned to jelly. He lost his balance and collapsed to the floor.

“Stolas!” both Vassago and Moxxie shouted, startling Stella and Andrealphus awake from their naps. They were still grumpy even after Vassago shared the wonderful news, but Stolas didn’t care. He needed to tell the others!

His daughter was alive!

They needed to know!

They deserved to know.

“Now I have to break the news to Sallie May that Joseph is gone…” Lin’s saddened tone broke through the happiness, causing Stolas to notice how Andrealphus looked away and reached for his wrist when Joseph was mentioned. But Stolas couldn’t focus on that—his daughter was alive. “I have to tell the others—”

“Maybe in the morning, Your Highness,” Moxxie said, now standing beside him. “Striker and Angel just got back from searching for Molly, so please… let them rest.”

“He has a point,” Pentious added, emerging from the bathroom. “We all need rest, so why not share this great news tomorrow?” Stolas nodded, then watched as Lin made her way toward Sallie May. Vassago patted Stolas on the shoulder. “Relax, amigo. I’ll go with her.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

By the next morning, Sallie joined the group. By this point, Angel, Loona, and Striker had arrived at the farm and had been told both the good and bad news. “Here,” Sallie said, handing a bundle of clothes to Stolas. “There might not be enough, and some might not fit you—”

“We appreciate it anyway,” Stolas replied, gently taking the small bundle and offering it to Vassago first. “How about this one?” Stolas showed Vassago an outfit: a gothic-Victorian-inspired look with a ruffled crimson blouse, black fitted waistcoat, flared black pants, dramatic flowing sleeves, and black gloves.

“I’ll take it,” Vassago said. With a flick of his wrist, his old outfit transformed into the new one. He spun around, showing off as if on a fashion runway, prompting both Angel and Moxxie to clap.

“Huh… But I thought it wouldn’t—” Millie started, but Vassago interrupted, “I'll handled the measurements, dear.” Reassured, Millie hummed and sat back down next to Moxxie.

“Oh, I like this one!” Angel exclaimed, picking another outfit from the bundle. This one was a pink and black dress with a galaxy-like gradient, sheer sleeves, and a dramatic spiderweb design on the chest and back. As Angel admired the outfit, Vassago snapped his fingers, and in an instant, Angel’s old pink-and-white striped outfit changed into the new one—except for his black platform shoes.

“You look nice,” Striker complimented, giving Angel a fist bump.

“Thank you, sugar,” Angel replied in a playful, flirtatious tone, chuckling as he noticed Stolas’s eye twitch. 'Jealous much?’ Angel thought, before sitting back down as Loona approached Stolas and picked out an outfit for herself.

Her outfit featured a sheer black crop top, celestial-print denim shorts, black combat boots, a brown satchel, and cosmic-inspired accessories. Vassago repeated his magical gesture, transforming her clothes instantly. Stolas couldn’t help but chirp softly in approval.

He would never admit It aloud, but he felt as though he’d marked Loona as an adopted daughter. Their bond had grown stronger after she accepted his last name—Loona Buckzo Goetia. It felt right. Yet her last name, Buckzo, seemed oddly familiar.

But he couldn’t place it.

Where had he heard it before?

It might matter, because he felt drawn to it.

But for now, it would remain a mystery, because the group was having fun—they were happy. Stolas wouldn’t ruin it.

“I’ll take this one!” Pentious yelled, grabbing a suit from the pile. The outfit was a steampunk-inspired ensemble featuring a white shirt, brown patterned vest, long brown waistcoat, black gloves, and ornate metallic details. After the suit was fitted to his proportions and replaced his old one, Pentious let out a contented hiss as he returned to his seat.

“Moxxie?” Stolas offered the imp the now small pile of clothes, but Moxxie politely declined. “No thanks, Stolas,” he replied, feeling more comfortable addressing the royals by their first names now that he had accepted his place among them. “This suit can probably last me another month.” Stolas nodded in understanding before turning to Striker, who also declined. “Nah… The possum’s right.”

That comment made Moxxie’s eye twitch. “I am NOT a possum!”

The group erupted in laughter. “What’s your deal with possums?” Vassago asked curiously, causing Moxxie to roll his eyes. “My father sent me into the living world to complete a mission, and a human called me a possum… I am not a possum,” Moxxie explained bitterly. His explanation only made the others laugh harder.

Just then, Lin appeared at the door, knocking lightly. “Breakfast is ready!” she called with a bright smile. As everyone began to stand up, Andrealphus announced, “I’ll take a shower. You all go ahead and have breakfast without me.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Andrealphus was in Lin’s bathroom. He could hear the hot water pounding down like a rainstorm, filling the room with steam from the intense heat, but he didn’t care.

He shook his head and scratched at his already bloodied wrists, where deep marks ran across the skin. He hadn’t been scratched by the dead—no, someone done this to him but he was making them deeper. He glared at the foggy mirror, barely able to see his own reflection.

And that was fine.

He was dirty anyway.

He chuckled.

His hands were covered in blood—not literally, but if someone like an angel could see his hands, they would see the fresh blood because of what he had done.

He laughed maniacally, punching the wall in front of him and welcoming the pain.

He shouldn’t feel guilty.

It was thanks to him that Octavia was alive.

ⱧɆ ₩₳₴₦’₮ ₮ⱧɆ Ø₦Ɇ ₮Ø ฿Ⱡ₳₥

As Andrealphus glared at the mirror, he was suddenly swept into a flashback—a memory of what actually happened when he and Joseph were at the school.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Timeline : Few Hours Earlier At The School

As Andrealphus and Joseph made their way back to the car, both froze. The vehicle was surrounded by the undead. “Fuck,” Joseph muttered, turning to Andrealphus. “What do we do now?”

Andrealphus looked between the school, the undead encircling the car, Joseph, and the night sky slowly giving way to dawn.

Octavia didn’t have much time.

And he’d be damned if his sister had to create another bastard child with Stolas. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t mean it. He noticed Joseph looking at him in confusion, but Andrealphus wasted no time. He manifested an ice dagger and stabbed Joseph in the side, earning a painful scream from the man.

Andrealphus laughed coldly, making sure no blood stained his outfit as he dropped Joseph to the ground and began to back away. Joseph’s screams of pain and betrayal attracted the attention of the undead surrounding the car. Yet before Andrealphus could escape, Joseph managed to tackle him, causing Andrealphus to shout as the two rolled on the ground like two lion cubs play fighting, but this fight was real Andrealphus dodging every punch aimed at his face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Joseph yelled, slamming his fist into the ground as Andrealphus stabbed him even deeper.

“It’s nothing personal…” Andrealphus replied, his tone eerily calm for the situation. He punched Joseph away and quickly stood up. “But Octavia needs these, and I’m afraid there won’t be enough room for both of us in the car.”

“Bullshit!” Joseph yelled as he managed to reach out and scratch Andrealphus’s wrists, cutting deep. The peacock demon let out an angry scream before throwing another punch.

“Think of it as a sacrifice,” Andrealphus spat, moving out of the way as the undead drew closer and closer to Joseph. “You’ll be honored…”

Without another word, Andrealphus climbed into the car, tossed the backpack full of supplies onto the now-empty passenger seat, and started the engine. As he drove away, Joseph’s screams—torn open by the relentless undead—echoed behind him, never seeming to stop.

Timeline : Now

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

When the flashback ended, Andrealphus stared at his reflection in the mirror and couldn’t help but let out a manic laugh.

Chapter Text

The group gathered outside, standing next to a pile of rocks. Sallie handed Andrealphus a stone and pleaded, “You were the last one with him… please, tell me his death had meaning.”

Andrealphus gripped the rock tightly. “Joseph was a good man, even in the short time we knew him.”

Joseph’s pained and betrayed screams still echoed in Andrealphus’s mind.

“His death did have meaning,” Andrealphus said, pausing as he considered what else to add to make his story believable. “Without his sacrifice, I wouldn’t be here. Octavia wouldn’t be here. Thanks to him, someone else got to live.”

He could still hear the sound of tearing flesh.

“So if any death had meaning,” Andrealphus continued, marching to the pile and placing his rock on top, “it was his.”

He could still smell the fresh scent of blood.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“How long has this group member of yours been missin'?” Lin asked, spreading out a map of her land and the surrounding areas on the hood of a car for everyone to see.

“This is day three,” Stolas answered, studying the map. “But now that we have proper guidelines for the town, we can finally start to actually search for her. We can split into groups of two—”

“No. No, you won’t. At least not today,” Lin interrupted firmly. Stolas opened his mouth to argue, but Millie cut him off. “You gave three liters of blood. You wouldn’t last five minutes in Pride’s heat before passin' out.” Stolas fell silent, and Millie turned to Andrealphus. “You’re not going either. Ya think you’re slick, but I can see ya limpin'. You’ve been limpin' since you got back from the school, haven’t ya?”

Andrealphus felt his eye twitch under Millie’s glare before sighing. “Yes.”

“Then I guess I’ll go out alone again,” Striker spoke up, looking at the map and ignoring Stolas’s worried expression. “Are you sure—”

“Yeah. Besides, what could happen? I’ve been searching for her alone these past few days,” Striker replied, pointing to a abandoned house in the map. “I’ll start looking there, then return by sundown.”

“I’ll check if she returned to the highway,” Pentious offered. “Just to see if she’s there.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Angel said, prompting Pentious to nod in agreement.

“Alright, so we have a plan,” Stolas declared, placing both hands on the map. “We’ll start today, but only for a short while. The real search begins tomorrow.”

Lin spoke up, “If you’re stayin' here, I don’t want anyone carryin’ guns around my property. This place is peaceful—I don’t want it turning into a war camp.”

“Can we at least carry knives?” Moxxie asked as he and the others began unloading their guns onto the car. “For self-defense?”

Lin thought for a moment before nodding. “Alright, but only knives. Nothing more.”

When the conversation ended, Andrealphus approached Lin. “I demand you let us carry our weapons.”

Lin stood firm. “No. This is my land, so my rules. You should be grateful I’m allowing knives at all.”

Andrealphus : “But that’s not enough! What if the undead come in packs? Then what—”

“Andrealphus!” Stolas cut him off, stepping toward the blue peacock. “She’s right; this is her land, and it’s her decision. We must respect that.”

Andrealphus : “But what if—”

“My decision is final,” Stolas stated firmly, glaring at Andrealphus. “And my group will follow it.”

Lin suddenly pointed to the red barn. “And lastly, I don’t want anyone snooping around in that barn over there.”

Stolas nodded. “Of course. Anything else?”

“That’s it. You’re welcome to stay here until you find the girl you’re looking for,” Lin said, then paused. “Actually, yes—we’re running low on medication. Millie will go to town to get more.”

“The same school?” Stolas asked worriedly.

Lin shook her head, causing Stolas to sigh in relief. “No,” she replied. “There’s a nearby pharmacy she can go to.”

“Oh, well, she can take Moxxie!” Angel offered, hiding a grin as Moxxie shot him a glare that could have put him six feet under, though the blush on his face made it impossible to take seriously. “He’s our ‘safety guy.’ He’s always chosen when we need something from town.”

Millie nodded. “Alright… I’ll think about it.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

As Millie and Moxxie came to an agreement, Millie was soon seen talking to Pentious. “Pardon me, madam,” he began nervously, “but I wish to know about the… water situation?”

Millie nodded as she replied, “We have a couple of wells on our farm. That one,” she said, pointing to the nearest well just a few feet away, “is our main source—we use it for fresh water. There’s another one near the animals. We use that for them, but it’s just as fresh. If you’d like, I can help you get some.”

Pentious nodded. “That would be very much appreciated. If you want, I can gather a few people to help.”

Millie nodded in agreement. “You do that while I round up a few horses to help us haul the water.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Striker was saddling a horse when he sensed her presence, causing him to freeze before turning to face Stella—who looked furious. “What?” he sneered.

“‘And my group will follow it.?’” she repeated Stolas mockingly, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “And you agreed?!”

“Stolas is in charge of this group, not you or Andrealphus,” Striker replied, glaring at her. “You’ve lost your power here.”

That made Stella laugh. “You idiot, you’re lying. I haven’t lost anything. Sure, that red imp, the serpent, the wolf, and probably the porn star took our last name, but you haven’t! You haven’t taken Stolas’s last name yet! So the others claiming it means nothing.”

“I don’t give a fuck whether I take it or not,” Striker shot back. “I don’t want it, nor do I need it.”

Stella : “Well, it seemed like you needed it when you got taken… It seemed like you needed it when I—”

“Shut it,” Striker cut her off, his tail rattling, making Stella pause. “I don’t make the rules here, no matter how much you threaten me. But I have noticed how desperate you and Andrealphus are getting, trying to reclaim what you thought was ‘yours.’”

Stella : “That’s not—”

“Oh, but it is!” Striker yelled as he finished saddling the horse. “It sure is.” Stella gritted her teeth, then turned and left as she saw Stolas approaching.

“You don’t have to go alone,” Stolas pleaded with Striker after Stella had left. “You can wait until tomorrow, like Lin requested…”

“And like I said, bird. I’m fine going alone. Besides, why do you care so much? You didn’t care this much the last few times I went out alone,” Striker asked as he reached for the saddle, yelping when Stolas helped him mount the horse.

“I don’t know…” Stolas answered truthfully. “I just have a bad feeling—”

“Yet you’re helping me set up,” Striker pointed out, then sighed as he saw Stolas look down. He could tell something was eating at him—and it wasn’t the undead. “I’ll be fine,” Striker said more softly, his tone comforting as he took up the reins. “I’ll come back, alright?”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Stolas didn’t get a chance to say anything else as he watched Striker ride off toward the horizon.

As Stolas exited the horse barn, he was stopped by Lin, who spoke quickly, “Once your girl is healthy enough to travel and you find the girl you’re looking for, I want you and your people off my farm. This isn’t a mandatory stay. Do I make myself clear?”

Stolas froze. He had expected this demand eventually, just not so soon. “You have my word. I’ll inform my people.”

Lin nodded. “Good. Make sure you tell them today—I don’t want anyone thinking this stay is permanent.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Andrealphus and Pentious were at the well Millie had mentioned, the one near the house. Pentious waited under a tree as Andrealphus pumped the handle, filling a cup with water. As the cup filled, Andrealphus’s eyes lit up with pride, and he was about to drink when Pentious suddenly smacked it out of his hand.

“What the hell was that for?!” Andrealphus demanded, anger clear on his face.

Pentious just shushed him, whispering, “Did you hear that?” Before Andrealphus could respond, a low growling echoed from inside the well. Pentious quickly uncovered the well and peered inside, instantly cursing under his breath.

An undead was Inside the well.

Soon, Andrealphus, Vassago, Millie, Moxxie, Loona, and Pentious gathered around, peering down at the creature moving restlessly below, its claws scraping at the sides as it tried in vain to climb out.

“Damn, he might actually become an envy demon by now,” Loona joked, prompting most of the group to burst out laughing.

The group now stood a few feet away from the well, trying to come up with a way to get the creature out.

“Why don’t we just shoot it?” Andrealphus asked, clearly tired of the situation. But Millie shook her head in disagreement. “No, its blood will contaminate the water.”

“But isn’t the water already contaminated?” Moxxie asked, turning toward the well as the echoing growls and groans of the undead could be heard.

“No,” Millie replied, rolling her eyes as she tried to think of a plan. Before she could continue, Loona spoke up. “Why don’t we send fatty here—” she said, smacking Moxxie’s shoulder, “—down there? He can wrap a rope around the undead’s waist so we can pull it up.”

Andrealphus was about to agree, but Vassago interrupted. “Too risky. He could get bit.” Vassago rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “There’s got to be another—”

“I can go,” Moxxie said determinedly, grabbing a rope near the well and tying it around his waist. “I mean, that’s the only way anyway.”

Vassago wanted to argue, but he saw the stubborn look on Moxxie’s face as he handed the end of the rope to Millie and Loona. With a sigh, Vassago rubbed his temples before conjuring armor around Moxxie’s small frame, earning a confused look from him.

“It’ll keep you from being bit,” Vassago explained, and Moxxie nodded. Before they knew it, Moxxie was slowly being lowered toward the bottom of the well.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Moxxie felt himself descending further and further. “Just a bit more!” he yelled, gripping two ropes—one tied around his waist, the other meant for the undead. With shaky hands, he separated the second rope and gripped it tightly. “I can do this,” he whispered, psyching himself up as he began to lower the second rope.

He was so focused that he didn’t notice the undead slowly reaching for him. Suddenly, a voice echoed, “Jurnegon hen.” Moxxie screamed as he felt the undead grab his leg, yanking him down. The others shouted his name in panic and fear.

Desperately, Moxxie stretched both hands to brace himself against the sides of the well, trying to stop swinging. Who was talking to him? He didn’t care—he was just trying to calm his racing heart, which threatened to leap out of his chest.

“Va aōha geptot,” the voice continued. Moxxie shrieked as he came face-to-face with the undead and immediately yelled, “Pull me up!”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

The others outside tried to haul Moxxie up, but Andrealphus lost his grip on the rope, causing everyone to lose their balance and the rope to slacken. “No!” Millie cried in panic, while Vassago looked around desperately for something to help them gain more leverage.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Moxxie plunged into the water and frantically tried to climb up the well’s wall. ‘I am so fucked,’ he thought as he saw the undead reaching for him.

“Finally taking you with me…” a familiar voice—Valentino’s—spoke from behind the waterlogged undead. The darkness made his silhouette even more frightening. “After all, I’m taking everything Angel cares for…”

Moxxie screamed as the undead drew closer—far too close. Then, suddenly, the unthinkable happened. A bright light filled the inside of the well, forcing Moxxie to shield his eyes. Another silhouette appeared, but unlike Valentino’s menacing form, this one radiated peace and light. It had wings. Was it some kind of hellborn? Or was Moxxie just imagining things?

Suddenly, Moxxie watched as Valentino glitched away before the glowing figure spoke in a raspy tone, “Ziry iksos daor ao jēda.” The figure reached for the back of the undead’s head, which began to glow even brighter. Moxxie covered his eyes, and when he finally dared to open them, the radiant figure was gone—and the undead was dead.

Moxxie was left frozen in shock and confusion. It seemed as if the life had been literally sucked out of the undead. There were no bullet or any kind wounds. So… what he saw wasn’t just a hallucination?

“Moxxie, we’re pulling you up!” Loona yelled in a panicked, guilty tone, snapping Moxxie out of his trance. He quickly wrapped the other rope around the undead’s waist.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“So you’re saying you saw a white light with wings save your ass?” Loona asked incredulously as Moxxie—who was finally out the well—panted, trying to catch his breath and weakly recounted what he’d seen while Millie patted his back.

“I’m telling you, that’s what I saw!” Moxxie insisted, sticking to his story. He glared at Andrealphus, who let out a loud, wolfish laugh.

“What’s so funny?!” Moxxie demanded, balling his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Do you honestly think we’ll believe you saw Valentino?” Andrealphus scoffed. “He’s dead, and the dead don’t return. There’s no way a ‘white light’ saved your ass! We didn’t see anything glowing, so—”

“Shut up!” Moxxie yelled, his voice trembling with anger. “You’re the damn reason I almost died today! And that did happen!”

Andrealphus only rolled his eyes. “Sure… Seeing Valentino’s dead form and a white light? Pathetic—”

“I saw Valentino too,” Loona suddenly revealed, making everyone turn to her. Moxxie’s anger faded slightly while Millie’s curiosity grew. “He said, ‘I’ll take you with me,’” Loona claimed, using air quotes to mimic Valentino’s words. “But he looked—”

“Undead,” Moxxie finished for her. “With a wound on his head?”

Loona nodded. “Yeah…”

Andrealphus just scoffed again. “Oh please, Valentino is gone. You’re just being paranoid little—” As Andrealphus continued his rant, Vassago paused, deep in thought. Both Loona and Moxxie saw Valentino during their near-death experiences? Why? He tapped his chin, sensing something was wrong. Suddenly, it hit him like a bolt of lightning as he remembered a phrase that stood out:

“In my contract, it says that if I were to harm him or if he were no longer alive, I will never know peace, and those I care about will pay for it as one by one they suffer.”

Something told him Angel was at the center of all this. Vassago recalled the day he offered Moxxie and Angel the chance to share the Goetia name. Only Moxxie had accepted, followed later by Loona and Pentious. Striker hadn’t, but that was just stubbornness. But Angel…

Vassago knew he needed to have a long talk with him.

“Pālegon se undead around,” a sudden voice interrupted Vassago’s thoughts. It felt as if his body wasn’t his own as he slowly crouched down toward the corpse, causing Andrealphus to stop ranting. The others, who seemed tired of Andrealphus, watched Vassago curiously.

“ Prince Vassago?” Millie asked, concerned, but he ignored her and turned to Loona. “Help me turn this thing over, would you?”

Loona hesitated, puzzled. “Why? It’s already dead. There are no bullets or stab marks…” she said, but still helped Vassago, prompting Millie to join in as well.

“What are you three doing? We should head back—it’s almost lunchtime,” Pentious called out as he watched the trio struggle to move the undead.

But they didn’t listen. Together, they managed to roll the undead onto its back, and what they saw made them freeze in terror.

What they saw was a freshly engraved ‘C’ on the undead’s back.

“This…” Moxxie began, his eyes fixed on the large ‘C’ as he relived the last twenty minutes, “this… changes everything.”

Chapter Text

“So, the undead came out like this?” Stolas asked. Alongside Lin, Andrealphus, Stella, and Sallie—who had all been dragged back to the well and briefed on the situation—they saw the undead lying motionless on the ground, a large capital ‘C’ imprinted on its back. Now seeing Moxxie nod, Stolas questioned. “And you heard the voice, or whatever it was, speaking in Valyrian?”

“Yes,” Moxxie replied. “It sounded just like when Vassago reads the prophecy, so it must be that language.”

Stolas nodded, glancing around at his group. “Well, it looks like I’ll be teaching you all how to understand—”

“Are you mad?!” Stella suddenly raged, causing most people to roll their eyes. “They’re beneath us! They have no right to learn such a complicated language! Only the most powerful know it! The Sins, Arc Goetias, Overlords, and the Royal Family are the only ones who do! We’re not supposed to share with—”

“Ahi vas, sonando como un maldito disco rajado!” Vassago yelled at Stella, clearly annoyed by her stubbornness and constant excuses, comparing her to a broken record seemed fitting. Before he could hurl more insults, Stolas interrupted, surprising everyone.

“Because we weren’t even supposed to know it!” Stolas shouted, making Stella flinch as surprise crossed her face. “We demons… creatures from Hell… weren’t holy enough to know it! But when Lord Lucifer fell and his memory of Heaven was wiped, he gave us the mercy to learn the few words he still remembered. That language isn’t from Hell…” Stolas paused dramatically, letting only the sound of crickets fill the silence. “It’s from Heaven.”

“I hate to agree with this specimen, sister,” Andrealphus spoke up, avoiding Stella’s betrayed glare. “If we’re hearing this so-called ‘hallucination,’ I’m not translating every damn word. Let’s just teach these rats the few words Lucifer taught us, so Stolas will finally shut the fuck up.”

Vassago nodded, surprised that Andrealphus agreed. “Yes, además, a few of them are family now since they accepted our last name—”

“WHAT?!” Both Andrealphus and Stella shrieked, startling nearby birds into flight.

“Loona, Pentious, and Moxxie all agreed to carry it,” Vassago explained.

Those names made both Stella and Andrealphus sigh in relief. “So what? They don’t matter,” Stella said, her smirk growing as Stolas’s glare intensified.

“The one who’ll dethrone us hasn’t agreed,” Andrealphus added in an annoyingly high-pitched sing-song tone. “He’s stubborn. ‘Doesn’t need the last name.’”

Stella then joined in Andrealphus poorly mockery of Striker’s words, putting phrases in the cowboy’s mouth now that he wasn’t there to defend himself, since he was out searching for Molly. “‘I don’t need a pathetic excuse of a title.’”

Stolas just glared at her. He seemed calm on the outside, but inside, he was raging. There was too much going on within him.

He felt rage.

Rage at Stella for mocking Striker simply because he wasn’t present to defend himself.

He felt sadness…

Because…

What if she was right?

That thought made Stolas shake his head. No, he wasn’t going to let Stella win. This was a new world, and he’d be damned if he didn’t allow himself to agree, ‘wish you would just die already,’ Stolas thought, clenching his fists so tightly they turned white.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Striker forced the horse to a gentle halt as he spotted a nearby abandoned house. “Let’s get a closer look, yeah?” he whispered into the horse’s ear. The horse responded with an agreeable huff and began walking toward the house. Once they arrived, Striker dismounted. “Wait here,” he commanded, tying the horse to the nearest rail before carefully entering.

As he stepped inside, he tried to make as little noise as possible, wary of any undead—or living—creatures that might be lurking. However, the old wooden floor creaked with every step, making stealth impossible. Still, Striker kept his guard up and his weapon ready. In the kitchen, he spotted an open bag of Asmodeus-themed gummies, which made him smile nostalgically as he picked it up.

The bag looked like It had been open for several days, judging by the dried black blood nearby. But the real question was: Who opened it? Striker scanned the mostly empty room until he noticed a trail of blood leading away. He had two options: leave, or follow the blood trail.

He chose option two.

Even if he knew that's how people in horror movies usually die. 

But he didn't care. 

Striker moved quickly but cautiously, following the small drops of blood. “Molly?” he called out in the lowest whisper he could manage, though it sounded loud in the silence, making him tense. He stopped abruptly when he saw a makeshift bed, its pillow stained with blood. “Molly?!” he whispered urgently, glancing around before kneeling beside the bed to investigate.

He pulled out the pillow and shook it, startled by the clatter of metal that followed. It was a razor blade—bloodied. “No…” he murmured, reaching for the blade. “Come on, Molly… don’t do this to Angel…” Striker said, denial heavy in his voice. He carefully placed the razor In the pocket of his vest and turned around, only to realize his mistake.

On the wall, something was written in blood.

It reminded him of Jason’s message left at the building where Stolas had abandoned him. The method of leaving a message might have been similar, but the tone was completely different.

While Jason’s message had been threatening,

Molly’s was heartbreaking:

Stop looking for me… If you’re reading this, I’m gone. The sickness won. Valentino won. Tell Angel Dust I am so sorry.

– Molly

Striker stared at the message, shocked and hurt—hurt for Angel. “Fuck…” he muttered. Before he could search the house further, he heard bushes rustling outside. “Molly…” he murmured, rushing out.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Meanwhile, Angel and Pentious were on the highway, just as they’d told Stolas they would be. Angel was cleaning his hands as he looked at the car he and Pentious had decorated. It was stocked with snacks, drinks, and new clothes, and pink paint on the windshield read: “Molly, if you’re reading this, wait here. We’ll come back in the morning.”

“Do you think she’ll find this?” Angel asked. Pentious hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, I believe she will,” the Overlord replied with blind faith, causing Angel to shake his head.

“I’m a terrible brother,” the spider murmured under his breath, but unfortunately, Pentious heard him.

Pentious : “Whatever do you mean?”

“All this is my fault,” Angel finally admitted, guilt heavy in his voice. “I started all this. I found out she was bit after you and Derek did, and the first thing I did was get mad at her—”

“And that’s nothing to feel guilty about,” Pentious interrupted, placing a reassuring hand on Angel’s shoulder. “I would have been pissed too if my sibling hid a bite mark from me. That anger and sense of betrayal are natural. But you shouldn’t blame yourself for her actions.”

Angel shook his head, pushing Pentious’s hand away as his other hands clenched, trying to hold back the guilt and anger threatening to explode. “I told her to die,” he confessed. “I wished death upon her, Pen… See how this is all my fault?! And unless we find her…” Angel trailed off in defeat, staring down at the road. “Then I don’t know what to do…”

Pentious finally understood.

He realized why Angel was taking this search so personally.

Angel wanted to apologize.

Pentious sighed, rubbing his forehead before glancing up at the setting sun. “I think we should head back.” Angel didn’t respond verbally; he simply nodded.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Moxxie had instantly agreed to accompany Millie to the pharmacy for more medical supplies when she asked. He whistled awkwardly into the calming silence until he couldn’t take it anymore. “S-so, you always worked on the farm?” he ventured.

Millie chuckled at his attempt at small talk, finding it endearing. “Yep. And you’ve always been in the mafia, huh?”

Moxxie nodded. “Yeah, until I realized it wasn’t for me. So I just left without looking back.”

Another long silence followed, broken only by the sounds of insects, the horses’ huffing, and leaves crunching beneath the horses heavy steps. As they neared the town, Moxxie spoke up again. “So, aside from Joseph and Sallie… you have another brother?”

“Yep,” Millie replied, popping the ‘p’. “Mark. And he doesn’t know you guys are here… He doesn’t know that…” Her voice broke. “That Joseph is gone.”

Moxxie looked down at the reins of his horse, sadness in his eyes. “Why isn’t Mark here anyway?”

“We sent him out to look for more fruits and veggies,” Millie explained. “Our plan before meeting you and your group was to send both Joseph and Mark out to find food. Joseph went hunting, and Mark was sent to look for vegetables and fruits since we’re running out. Hopefully, he’ll be back today.”

Moxxie hummed as he finally dismounted his horse upon arriving at the pharmacy, Millie quickly following behind before taking the lead—which suited Moxxie just fine. As the duo scavenged through the abandoned pharmacy, each with their own list of items, Moxxie felt his face tighten in annoyance when he saw Angel’s request: “Please get me condoms unless you aren’t man enough.”

Moxxie read the note in a low whisper, tightening his grip on the paper.

He knew Angel was just messing with him.

He knew Angel was… Actually, Moxxie wasn’t even sure why Angel wanted them nor did he care. Yet, he found himself reaching for a nearby shelf, muttering curses under his breath as he put the box into the small basket. When he turned around, his face went almost completely pale—Millie was standing there, tapping her foot, arms crossed, and an angry look on her face. Moxxie felt as if he was about to meet his creator.

“Got a little girlfriend I don’t know about?” Millie asked suddenly, a hint of jealousy in her voice as she placed both hands on either side of Moxxie’s face, caging him in.

“N-no, of course not!” Moxxie stammered, trying to defuse the situation, but he could tell Millie wasn’t convinced. “I swear—it’s not mine! It’s for one of my friends—”

Millie smirked, leaning closer so her breath was warm against Moxxie’s ear. “Well, in that case… I guess you’ll let me fuck you?” she teased, waiting patiently for his response and chuckling at how brightly Moxxie blushed.

“S-shouldn’t I be the one to ask that?” Moxxie squeaked, causing Millie to laugh and kiss him.

Millie : “Nah. So?”

Moxxie felt himself blush even deeper.

He knew the pharmacy wasn’t exactly the right place for… that. But with the way Millie looked at him—oh, fuck it. He kissed her back.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Angel lay on the RV’s bed after he and Pentious returned from the highway when he heard a knock at the door. “Go the fuck away… I ain’t in the mood,” Angel muttered, but the person outside ignored him, opening the door and walking over.

“Quit moppin'. I found somethin’,” Striker’s voice made Angel sit up abruptly, hope flickering in his eyes. “What’d you find?”

Striker winced at the hopeful look Angel gave him, instantly regretting coming in, but he took a deep breath. “I saw a message,” he said, slowly pulling out the bloodied razor blade from his vest pocket. “Written in blood. Molly wrote it. She said she gave up to the illness, Angel.” His tone was cold. “Was she bit?”

Angel took the bloodied razor with shaky hands as all hope vanished. She couldn’t have given up… “She was bit,” Angel answered quickly.

“Then there might be a chance we’re lookin' for an undead,” Striker said simply, sighing as he opened another pocket and pulled out a few white and pink crocuses. “Here.”

As Striker handed him the flowers, Angel snatched them eagerly. He knew flower language; he had studied it when he was alive. Angel cradled the flowers as he watched Striker leave. “Hope, renewal, new beginnings,” Angel murmured, reciting the meaning like a prayer.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Millie and Moxxie were now returning to the farm, both wearing matching smiles. As they dismounted their horses, Millie spotted her mom talking to Mark and quickly rushed over to them.

It was safe to say: Moxxie was disappointed.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Stolas was speaking with Octavia, who had woken up and was now resting on the bed. He told her everything—or at least what she had missed, which wasn’t much.

“So, are we close to finding Molly?” Stolas heard his daughter ask, hope in her voice breaking his heart.

He hated it.

He hated the fact that they hadn’t even come close.

“Yes, owlet, we’re close to finding her,” Stolas lied gently as he patted her head. He hated lying to her. Suddenly, the door opened to reveal Striker.

“Stolas…” the cowboy began, “I’ve got to tell you something… It’s about Molly.”

Chapter Text

Timeline: Evacuation Day

Twenty-four hours had crawled by since the news of the recent epidemic had erupted across all of Hell. The Pride Ring was in chaos—every resident flooded the highways, desperate to escape their cruel fate.

Sirens wailed endlessly, drowning out everything except Overlord Vox’s infamous broadcast: “Trust us with your safety.” He promised that the Vees would oversee every extermination, yet no one in Pride had seen them. Just as they hadn’t glimpsed any other overlords, Sins, or even the Royal Family. Some whispered that they had fallen…

Others believed they were hiding.

Stella didn’t care. As Vox’s announcement echoed through the air, she rolled her eyes and leaned against the car door. She, Andrealphus, Vassago, and Octavia had gotten out of their vehicle—the traffic was hopelessly jammed. “Mother, I’m hungry…” Octavia whimpered, her voice frail and pleading as she tried to open the car door. Andrealphus slammed it shut, his tone sharp, “Are you out of your demented, girl? This food is precious—we cannot waste it.”

Octavia turned to Stella, her eyes wide and imploring. Stella sighed, exasperated. “Go to sleep or something. We’ll eat when we’re hungry,” she said, gesturing to herself and Andrealphus. “Not when you demand it, little girl. Now shoo.”

Defeated, Octavia trudged over to Vassago, who paced nervously. “Uncle Vass…” she murmured, catching his attention. He looked down at her, concern flickering in his eyes. “Sí?”

“I’m hungry,” Octavia admitted shyly, her stomach growling loudly—a sound so raw and desperate it reminded her of Mammon. “Did Stella let you have any food?” Vassago asked, though he already knew the answer. Octavia shook her head, whispering, “No.”

Vassago sighed heavily. He had enough troubles without sparking another fight with Stella and Andrealphus, but—

“Hey, handsome!” a voice called out. Vassago glanced up, recognizing the infamous Angel Dust from countless porn movie posters. Angel stood beside Valentino, offering, “If you don’t have any food, me and Val here have plenty! We can give that poor girl some.”

Octavia’s eyes lit up with hope, but Vassago noticed Valentino’s cold, hateful glare. Where were the rest of the Vees? Why was Valentino here, alone?

“Oh, we don’t mean to intrude,” Vassago replied cautiously, “but we’d greatly appreciate it.”

Angel approached the car, but before he could open the door, Valentino slammed it shut. “Estúpido,” he spat, his gaze icy. “We aren’t sharing food with these… strangers. It doesn’t matter if they’re Arc Goetias.”

“But Val…” Angel pleaded, “A child is hungry—”

“Fuck that child,” Valentino snapped. “This is Hell, not a charity event. Food is sacred now. Besides, they have food—they’re just teaching the girl not to gain weight. And speaking of food…” Valentino conjured pink chains around Angel’s neck, tightening his grip. “Don’t forget your querida hermana is with us. Do you want her to starve?”

Angel shook his head, defeated.

He couldn’t bear the thought of Molly going hungry.

“Good boy,” Valentino sneered, patting Angel’s head like a dog. “Now go tell those buitres we’re not giving them any food.”

“Yes, Valentino…” Angel replied, his voice hollow.

Vassago tried to distract Octavia from her hunger when he saw Angel approaching, wearing a forced smile and guilt-ridden eyes. “Listen, hot stuff…” Angel began, “I miscounted. We don’t have enough to share. Sorry…”

Before Vassago could respond, helicopters thundered overhead, making him smile with sudden hope. Maybe they knew what was happening. “Can you watch Octavia?” he asked Angel, who nodded quickly.

Seizing the moment, Vassago sprinted toward where he thought the helicopters would land, ignoring Andrealphus’s frantic calls. But he couldn’t run far—Andrealphus grabbed him, arms tight around his waist. “Where do you think you’re going?!” Andrealphus demanded coldly.

“I’m going to see if they have answers!” Vassago struggled against the iron grip, but Andrealphus wouldn’t budge. “Let go—”

Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the air, freezing everyone on the highway. Vassago watched in horror as a bomb dropped into the heart of Pride, flames erupting and devouring buildings in their path. He stared, wide-eyed, terror clutching his soul as the inferno consumed everything he knew…

Then he suddenly remembered : Stolas was still in that hospital.

Timeline : Now

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Hey, Angel, can you help me?” Vassago called out, watching the spider set up Lin’s kitchen table alongside Moxxie, Loona, and Pentious. They were preparing a dinner for Lin and her family—a small token of thanks for sheltering them and helping cure Octavia. Angel nodded silently and made his way over.

“Trying to crack more of that prophecy?” Angel asked, his voice low.

Vassago nodded, eyes flickering with uncertainty. “Listen to this: Kostilus rȳbagon īlva call.” He read the next line from the ancient text, then cleared his throat. “What do you think it means?”

Angel clicked his tongue, frustration evident. “Damn… That one’s tough. Sure, I know some of this—Valentino forced me to learn it because he thought it sounded sexy for his movies—but honestly? I don’t recognize it.”

Vassago sighed and glanced at the translated portion of the prophecy—the fragments they’d managed to piece together. “‘Green eyes full of secrets, green eyes full of pain, masked and claimed by the dead left by your own flesh.’” He repeated the cryptic phrase, “‘Kostilus rȳbagon īlva call.’”

“At least we know what ‘call’ means,” Stella muttered from the couch, doing nothing as usual. Vassago rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Yes, Stella, obviously we know what ‘call’ means.”

Pentious chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. “Why don’t you clear your head a bit? Help us set the table for Lin and her lovely family’s thank-you dinner.” Vassago hesitated, then surrendered, setting aside his notebook and joining the others.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Stolas, Andrealphus, Striker, and Clark—who knew the area better than anyone and was explained what the fuck was going on—gathered to plan their next move in searching for Molly or Jason.

“I’ll go out alone again today,” Striker announced, pointing toward the riverbank. “I’ll search there an' return before sunset.”

Stolas felt a chill run down his spine. Every time Striker went out, unease gnawed at him, but today the feeling was stronger—more dangerous. “Don’t let him go. You’ll regret it.” The voice (who the gang had decided to call ‘C' after the undead in the well) echoed in Stolas’s mind, louder than ever. For the first time, Stolas responded mentally, “You’ve been quiet for a while. Why shouldn’t I let him go?”

“ Mirros quba jāhor massigon,” the voice replied cryptically. Something deep within Stolas bristled, compelling him to ask the question he’d long avoided: “How do you know Valyrian only heavenly creatures know that?” Silence. Not a single whisper. The voice was hiding something. Was this being truly on their side?

It had helped them on the highway.

It had told Moxxie it wasn’t his time.

Was it willingly guiding them—or did it want something in return?

And the golden question: Who, or what, was it?

“Uh, Stolas?” Andrealphus’s voice snapped Stolas out of his trance. He looked up, startled. “What?”

Andrealphus awkwardly clapped his hands, glancing around. “Striker is… um… gone. He left.”

Stolas blinked, reality crashing down around him. He croaked, then shouted in horror, “He WHAT?!”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Stolas, I think you’re overreacting,” Andrealphus said as they walked near the farm after the search party split up. “You acted like Striker was going to die—which, frankly, wouldn’t bother me. That succubus is a threat to me and my hot sister.” He chuckled, earning an eye roll from Stolas. “Got something to say?”

“Striker is more than just a succubus, you idiot,” Stolas muttered. “He’s half serpent, a badass cowboy, and—”

“A pain in the ass,” Andrealphus interrupted, ignoring Stolas’s twitching eye. “Here’s some advice: He isn’t fit for the Goetia name. Neither are most of the group. Pentious is fine—he’s an overlord—but the rest? Ha! What a joke. They came from nothing and will always be nothing. Time to face reality, Stolas: They’re not worthy of our last name.”

Stolas felt anger boiling inside him. How dare Andrealphus insult his chosen family? How dare he fucking try to manipulate him into abandoning them? He wasn’t in charge—neither was Stella. They never were. They were just too far up their own ass to see it.

“I just think you being so emotional isn’t good for the group,” Andrealphus pressed. “The porn star—”

“The porn star has a name, you know,” Stolas growled through gritted teeth.

Andrealphus rolled his eyes. “ANGEL,” he spat, putting hateful emphasis on the name. “Knows better than to take our last name. He knows he isn’t worthy—unlike that imp and hellhound who shamelessly claimed it without a second thought.”

“Angel is afraid to take it—not because he thinks he’s unworthy, but because afraid of Valentino,” Stolas answered coldly, his face hardening, clearly wishing to end the conversation.

Andrealphus smirked, undeterred. “Alright then… I don’t care for that spider’s drama or excuses. What really intrigues me is this: why doesn’t Striker take our last name? Even if he did, Stella and I still wouldn’t back down, because—”

“I’m missing someone else,” Stolas murmured under his breath.

“Yes,” Andrealphus agreed, his voice turning icy. “You are. And you’ll never find them. We’ll make your life a living hell.”

“Just shut up,” Stolas snapped, finally reaching his limit. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

But Andrealphus pressed on, ignoring Stolas’s plea. “Besides, why are we even looking for Molly? Didn’t you tell everyone that Striker said she was dead—that bite mark she was hiding, the one Angel and half the group already knew about? She’s gone, Stolas!”

Stolas nodded sadly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, which is exactly why we have to keep searching. I can’t leave this farm knowing Molly might be wandering out there, lost and suffering. I… I want to find her, to give her mercy—a proper burial.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Striker rode along the riverbank he’d marked on the map, astride one of Lin’s horses—Bombproof, the same sturdy hell horse he’d taken to search the abandoned house days before. He pulled the horse to a halt when something caught his eye in the water. Sliding off the saddle, he patted Bombproof’s mane gently. “Stay here, Bombproof, alright?” he whispered.

The horse let out a worried huff, pawing at the ground. Striker tried to reassure him, patting his neck again. “Stay put, boy.” But Bombproof nudged at Striker’s sleeve, almost as if trying to hold him back. Striker forced a smile. “I’ll be fine. Just a quick look, then I’m out.”

He picked his way carefully down the steep ridge, every step treacherous—one wrong move could mean disaster. At the bottom, he spotted a familiar scarf tangled around a tree root—the very scarf Molly used to wrap her wrist. A bittersweet smile flickered across his lips as he gently retrieved the bloodied, sodden fabric.

“Molly!” he called, desperation cracking his voice as he scanned the riverbank. “Molly!” His shout echoed through the trees, but no answer came. Nothing but silence.

Frustration boiled over. Striker slammed his fist against the tree root, shouting into the empty woods, “Son of a bitch! Molly, come out ya bitch! I’m done with this hide-an'-seek! Dead or undead, I don’t care—you owe us an explanation! How the hell did you hide those bite marks?!”

Only silence answered him. Not even the usual sounds of the forest dared to break the tension.

“Fine! I’m goin'!” Striker growled, turning to climb back up the ridge toward Bombproof. But anger clouded his senses, and he didn’t notice the undead figure lurching from the shadows. The sudden movement startled Bombproof, whose terrified scream mingled with Striker’s own as the undead lunged, dragging Striker down the muddy slope.

He crashed hard, pain exploding in his side as a jagged tree root drove deep into his abdomen. Gritting his teeth, Striker tried to wriggle free, adrenaline surging—but the root was buried too deep. Panic clawed at his mind as he pressed trembling fingers to his side, feeling warm blood seeping through his shirt.

Everything hurt.

How long had it been since he’d had water?

Where was that undead now?

Striker shook his head, instantly regretting it as his vision blurred. Then, a voice—familiar, mocking—cut through the haze. “Wow, baby brother, you really gonna die like this?”

Striker froze. That voice—it was Jason. No mistaking it. But Striker stayed silent, jaw clenched, which only seemed to infuriate Jason further. “Answer me, damn it! You’re gettin' soft on these bastards. What happened to the ruthless side of you?”

“Shut up…” Striker demanded weakly, struggling to tear the long sleeve from his vest.

“That’s a bad move,” Jason taunted, his voice dripping with malice. “Dad’ll be pissed at you for ruining his favorite vest—the one he grudgingly gave to his disappointment of a son. He’d be even more disappointed if you dirtied it. If he were alive, he’d have beaten yer ass.”

“Well, Dad can go suck—” Striker started, but froze as Jason flickered and vanished, replaced by Valentino. The sight made Striker tense up, adrenaline surging. With a burst of strength, he ripped the sleeve free and wrapped it tightly around his wound, stifling a groan.

Valentino watched him closely, eyes glinting. “Why don’t you use Stolas’s last name to get the bird down here?” he asked, voice smooth and mocking.

“Don’t need ‘em,” Striker muttered, drawing in a shaky breath as he tried to pull himself away from the root. Pain exploded through him, forcing out a yell.

“Amor…” Valentino crooned, “that looks very deep. You want to know what else goes deep?”

“No.” Striker spat, wiping sweat from his brow before trying again. He refused to die here—not now, not in front of Valentino. Damn them all. Damn death itself. He was too stubborn to give in.

“Fuck off. I don’t want you here.” Striker was nearly free when Valentino suddenly grabbed his chin. “Get your hands—”

“Mira alla,” Valentino interrupted, forcing Striker to look where he pointed. Squinting, Striker saw an undead figure standing eerily still on the over side of the riverbank.

It was watching him.

It had antlers—long, twisted, like a deer’s but grotesquely exaggerated.

“Wendigo,” came the chilling chorus of Valentino and Jason’s voices, blending together as static filled the air. Panic surged through Striker, adrenaline flooding his veins. He pushed harder against the root, ignoring the agony that felt like his insides were being torn apart. He needed to escape—from the hallucinations, from the nightmare.

They were inside his mind.

“Pick it up.” The command stopped Striker cold. It wasn’t Valentino or Jason speaking now—it was Belphegor.

“What?” Striker rasped, confusion clouding his thoughts.

Belphegor repeated herself, glitching in and out of reality. “Pick.” Then she vanished, replaced by Valentino, who stepped closer. “It.” Finally, Jason appeared, pointing beside him. “Up.”

Striker followed Jason’s gesture and spotted his gun lying nearby. Nodding, he took a deep breath and reached for it, blocking out everything else—the pain, the growls of the undead closing in.

He loaded the weapon just as the same undead that had dragged him here lunged, pinning him down. Striker used his arms as shields, fighting desperately to keep its jaws away. The creature pulled him further down the muddy bank, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through his body.

The pain was indescribable.

It felt like needles stabbing into him from every direction. Striker bit back a gasp, knowing he couldn’t afford weakness now. Cold water splashed over his wound, numbing it slightly, but he barely noticed.

Desperate, he turned to the silent, antlered undead standing nearby. “Help me out here, would ya? Stop standin' there and do somethin'!” he shouted, but as expected, the hallucinations vanished into thin air.

His strength was fading.

Was he really going to lose this fight?

Would Stolas be alright without him?

“I’m so sorry…” Striker murmured, unsure who he was apologizing to—but somehow, he knew.

He was ready to give up when a familiar sound cut through the chaos—a horse’s neigh. In a flash, Bombproof charged in, crushing the undead’s head with a powerful kick. The horse huffed triumphantly, filling Striker with contagious relief.

Striker patted Bombproof gratefully, whispering, “I’ll give you a mountain of treats when we get back to the farm, boy.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Stolas returned with the others, empty-handed once again. He approached Vassago, weariness etched into his features.

“Andrealphus wants me to call off the search,” Stolas said quietly. “After Angel told Striker, and Striker told us Molly was bitten…”

Vassago set aside the prophecy scroll and looked up. “And what do you want?”

“I want to find her,” Stolas replied firmly. “I want to give her mercy. A proper burial. If not for me… then for Angel.”

“Figures,” Vassago murmured, signaling the conversation was over. But Stolas spoke up again, unable to hide the worry in his voice. “Has Striker returned?” he asked, anxiety creeping into his tone.

Vassago shook his head, making Stolas’s concern deepen. “No. He’s been gone for a while.”

Stolas froze. Where the hell was Striker?

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Stella stood atop the RV, cleaning her angelic rifle with cold precision. Pentious lingered below, but she paid him no mind—her focus was on the horizon. She scanned the land, ever vigilant, when movement caught her eye in the distance. Narrowing her gaze, she raised her binoculars, leveling her rifle at the approaching figure.

“Wait!” Pentious shouted, his alarm drawing the attention of Vassago, Stolas, and several others nearby.

But Stella didn’t care. She recognized the silhouette in her sights.

“That’s Striker!” Angel cried out, sprinting toward the RV, desperate to stop her. He aimed to wrestle the weapon from her hands, but she ignored him.

She took a steadying breath.

“Stop!” Pentious pleaded, panic rising in his voice.

She didn’t care.

Her finger hovered over the trigger.

“Stella!” Stolas roared, fury and fear mingling as he and Vassago rushed forward.

But she didn’t care.

A twisted smile curled on her lips.

“Die, you filthy succubus,” she whispered.

Before anyone could reach her—

She fired.

The shot echoed across the fields. In that instant, Stolas felt his world shatter—for the second time.