Chapter Text
“Ars Goetia has millenia old tradition of passing names of the ancients upon the chosen heirs. Heir doesn't have nor need to prove direct ancestry to their namesake. So what leads, what influences what overrides choice for the name and thus title and internal ranking within avian aristocracy of Hell, you ask? Heavens. Heavens of Men's Realm is defining and final factor. Unimagined and imagined signs corresponding with the date of heir's birth as well as pronounced— and far less mundane —astronomic events have the final say about the hatchling's fate.”—
—Gatling G., Ars Goetia: Explained to Commoner and Sinner Alike, Awe Publisher, Imp City 15.916.
Paimon knows that Baal, was never fond of his full title, he couldn't blame him. For he is and will be the unrepeatable King of Kings. He is the first amongst Ars Goetia, not envious second , nor a sluggish third or let alone twenty first! Not that Paimon was envious, but it is nonetheless...peeved when anyone mentions that Baal is one step above him. Ignoring that, he has better things to discuss than pout as a child.
„And he was so melodramatic about me kicking his ugly plant,“ Paimon says, fiddling with goblet of wine. „It isn't my fault that misbegotten thing offended my tastes.“
„Yes,“ Baal says, „It seems Stolas's botanical skills aren't to your liking.“
Paimon stops right before golden goblet meets his beak. „Stolas, who?“
„Stolas,“ Baal retorts, „One of your heirs. Inheritor of the Fifth Great Principality of Hell and its twenty-six legions. Soon-to-be-Master Astrologer?“
Paimon stares at him blankly. „Oh, you mean owl boy! Yes, well, it is hard to keep track of all of them, you know? Besides my duty is to father them and, well, do the whole "daddying" thing.“
Baal doesn't respond, but nods. Paimon nods curtly in turn. When decades pass like fleeting seasons growth of a child doesn't seem that long. Some might say he isn't all that present in his progeny's upbringing.
Poppy cock, Paimon denies it. Besides that is butlers job to teach little ones to...I don't know read or ride horses.
„Good excuse,“ Baal brings his goblet to his chest. „To not cause strife with parents with your wild oats.“
Paimon scrunches his eyes, scrutinizing Baal, watching closely. He closes his eyes and shrugs. He motions for impish servant to pour him more wine. Paimon casts his gaze upon Baal's throne.
Elevated above smal set of silver and gem emblazoned stairs. With two terrifying beasts of gold: scaly monstrosity with ray of needles in it's mouth and a hooded cadaver on all four. Nothing but armrests, with trails of scratches and punctures from which a red fluid drips from.
„My that is quite macabre.“ Paimon comments. „What is that, exactly? A dragon tree's sap?“
“No,” Baal answers raising his glove, stretching his serrated fingers tips back and forth. Then placed thumb, first finger together, rubbing coagulating red matter.
„It was bleeding since the morning,“ Baal guesses. „It smells...like an iron.“
Paimon clears his throat looking at the rest of the throne. It's top spread like tree, with each branch bearing blood red gems. Gems that glow soft red.
He takes tentative look behind. Nothing but an empty hall held together by the pillars of timber and ivory.
“It is rather empty.” He comments. „And dreary to boot. Can you please let some light in, your grace?“
Baal stands up from his throne and hands stretched wide he claps them. Blast of light surges forth, setting torches to burn dark green fire. “Why are you here, cousin?”
“Now, that is not how you talk to family, Baal.” Paimon puts goblet down not breaking from judgemental fire in Baal's eyes. In the light, he is so unnerving... human. Human countenance, with curly, braided hair and wide presence.
You look way better with a hawkish beak, but it isn't my right to judge your life choices. Paimon cringes. Or lack of consistency in fashion.
Clearly he wasn't human for his skin was deathly pale with watery gleam and eyes round and white on black. And upon him is a royal purple outer garment, with a long, red flaring sleeves. And upon his brow a conical crown with horns on its base and his sigil.
“I am serious, Paimon.” His eyes turn to cat-like slits. Paimon doesn't look him right in the eyes and clears his throat. An unbearable cold trickles down his nerves. A frost cold dropping down thinning threads.
“Answer me,” Baal orders flatly. “If you please, that is.“
Alas Paimon rises from his seat, wordlessly and slowly. Baal doesn't yield his harsh and unrelenting gaze, he merely tilts his head, chin up. Paimon wants to groans, but he knows better than risk offense.
Not that you will kill me, but this silence is frankly apso-fucking-lutely migraine inducing. At least owl boy doesn't stare like a serial killer on a loose.
“As I said, cousin.” Paimon starts. “You're quite abrasive, not to mention rude and selfish.“ Paimon tilts his head.
“Selfish?“ Baal cuts him off, silts thinner and nearly indistinguishable from the depressing darkness in his eyes. “How am I selfish one here?“
“Most people–at least of our station– would consider being a bore to be unbecoming of a host!”
“It is also unbecoming of any self-respecting Ars Goetia, especially of your station, to unceremoniously barge in demesne of another. If you wanted to meet with me you could have sent herald or anyone to announce yourself.“
“Herald!? Really now?“ Paimon chortles. “We have phones, Baal, P-H-O-N-E-S. Besides, I am here to just congratulate our excellent King, his graceful Queen and, uh, their lively Princess on yet another Sinsmass.“
Paimon leans in, with but a simpler whisper calling for Baal to come closer.
Baal doesn't budge. Not a inch. Paimon rolls his eyes and nonchalantly sets his clawed feet on marble table. Sauntering towards Baal.
“Also I heard our Princess, Charlie Morningstar–“
“Yes,“ Baal snaps. “I am more than acquainted with her Grace's name. The whole realm, also.“
Paimon shots him nasty glare. “Yes, I am glad to see you are well read. You probably know that her Grace broke her engagement with Seviathan von Eldritch.“
Baal narrows his eyes. “And what does that have to do with your arrival?“
Paimon chuckles and leans on Baal. “You are lacking imagination, cousin. Let's say I am here to console her.”
“Of course you are. You–“
“WHAT IN THE HELL IS THIS!?”
“Is that the King?” Paimon asks.
Baal, gently pushes him with his hand, marching down the hall. Leaving Paimon bristling.
“Oh you–you know why I bother!“ Paimon shouts, Baal exits not looking back.
“Look, it isn't like that.” Charlie says, phone on the ear. “Mom and dad are just having... misunderstandings–no I know, I know.”
Charlie sighs. “No, Uncle Satan, I do use WAP Browser. I am not playing Snakes all day. No dad isn't–okay, yeah he is into it. Okay,now you are just being mean.”
Charlie takes good look at the little one yawning, Razzle and Dazzle following it in suit.
Charlie smiles. “Yeah, thanks for calling. Oh, I will don't you worry. Bye, love you!”
She puts her Mochia 6161 on the nightstand.
“WHAT IN THE HELL IS THIS!?”
Shout reverbs through the walls. Charlie doesn't wince, she doesn't even move besides slumping.
“Uncle Mammon,“ Charlie groans, massaging her temples. “What did you do this time?“
“You mean,” the husky voice dripping with annoyance left Asmodeus's throat, as he leans on his seat. “What he DIDN'T do this time? ”
“Ozzy, honey,” Bee calls him, crossing her lower pair of arms and shrugging with upper. “That pretty much narrows it down to big ass ZERO.“
“Yeah, zero,” Asmodeus's nostrils flare down neon blue vapour. “Zero, as in zero fucks given to charities and shit. There ain't any shit too underhanded for him to pull.”
Except when he tries to make his PR team shut up. Beelzebub snorts, her ears folding back. “So what fat-ass DIDN'T do exactly?”
“He, apparently, ‘forgot’ to tell me there were... environmental incidents in his seas.”
Beelzebub, glances up to Asmodeus with half-lidded look.
“Okay, that is like, nothing new. Mammon has been literally fracking his ring for a century and half.“ She quips and takes look through the limousine's glass. Snow is falling. A black snow. “Wait, did you say incidents? Like protests in Ransom over some factory poisoning air or...”
“Oil spills, plural,” he says and she follows his narrow gaze through the window. Deep blue sky of Lust enveloped by pitch dark clouds. Frame of the window had black lay dripping viscous matter. “Twenty six fucking people ended up in hospital.” Asmodeus pinches bridge of his beak.
Fucking hell, how Lilith didn't strangle fat bastard, already?
“Are they well...people I mean?” she begins, shoulders slumping. “Did oil slip down into the atmosphere? Were there any acidic rains or shit?”
Beelzebub didn't want to think about it. It was five centuries or so when Mammon's greedy ass developed obsession for steam engine. That was one miserable decade.
“Thankfully, no. As for them, they are doing fine, but most of them already had asthma or were just old.” Asmodeus replies, his scowl softens into a small frown. “I had to cancel my visit to Pride. It was mess back in the Crystal Stadium.”
Asmodeus's mane flares up bright blue. “Mammon, a buisnies savvy genius, somehow managed to sink five crude tankers. He didn't bother to update oil platforms for two decades Bee. Oh and he pissed off workers after he busted unions so much that they burned dozen or so oil wells.“
Bee doesn't answer she without looking takes bottle of wine. Effortlessly, opening it and with only one sniff she takes it all.
“Uuuuh, Bee...”
Bee cuts him off with one index finger. And then drops bottle as if it is nothing. She takes long breath.
“Damn, that's a downer.” she opines and with flick of a finger following soon after a crackle of mana popsicle of oval shape manifests between her fingers. “You want some? It is blueberry and strawberry.” she offers.
Asmodeus shakes his hand. “No, thanks. I am just hoping Charlie didn't feel left out when I didn't come.”
“Oh come on! Baby girl loves you, big guy. Besides, you at least have good excuse.” She mutters under her breath.
“I know, but I still feel bad. I have feeling Charlie is having hard time. I mean, you probably saw Lilith and Lucifer lately. There isn't much of a spark between them.”
“It doesn't help that Luci...” She stops, looking through the window yet again. “Look, I love him, he is our buddy, but he just...too busy with his issues.”
“We cannot help him. You know how he is. If anyone asks him does he need something he immediately acts high and mighty. He even stopped going out. We didn't see him out for six decades, Bee.”
“Lily is also withdrawing,” Beelzebub, frowns sadly. In the distance she sees bridge of gold and platinum over serene ocean. Leading up to grand tower. Runes floating serenely on its top. She could hear blissfully whispers of the arcane. A faint motion of little Charlie walking between her parents down the park. Happy and content. Luci and Lily outreach their hands for Charlie. Smiles warm and sweet. Honey and milk in her gullet.
What is going on? What went wrong? Bee asks herself whenever she talks with Charlie. Holding onto a single hope. Hope that Charlie would know, even if Lily and Lucy go their ways. That it isn't her fault.
“It isn't her fault they are up their asses. Lucifer, especially went off bad and moldy.“
“Moldy? Good old Lucy is a lot, but to say he is ‘moldy’ isn't what I would call it. I think he is more of a, you know, uh, in his own world.”
“Yes, his safe space. A little corner of rubber ducks. So many damn rubber duckies. And he sits on it with fingers in his ears.“ Beelzebub chuckled quietly.
“What to say? Depression is a bitch. He cannot just zap it and smile like a jackass.” Asmodeus retorts.
“I know, I know, I know. I had fair share of boys and girls.” Beelzebub says, slumping down her seat. “And no matter how honest and nice to them. Their brain just…” She doesn't finish it. Her eyes close as she curls herself up on the seat.
“I guess,” Asmodeus taps her shoulder gently, “The most baddest motherfucker any person can have as as their enemy is... themselves. And what is worse...they aren't the only victim.”