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a-headless-angel · 8 months ago

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Redamancy - Zestial X Angel!OC

Chapter Nineteen: Sooner or Later

Word Count: 5,621

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In a dimly lit office, shadows stretched long and ominous against the cracked walls and peeling paint. The air was thick with a dense mix of cigar smoke and incense, curling together in a haze that seemed to settle over everything. The solitary lamp cast an uneven, flickering glow, intermittently revealing the room's cluttered disarray.

At the heart of this darkened refuge stood a shrine to Mammon, a grim testament to a faltering devotion. Candles flickered, their flames casting eerie, mocking shadows that danced across the walls. The acrid smell of incense hung heavily in the air, blending with the stale residue of old cigars to create a dismal atmosphere.

Amidst the haze and gloom, a figure slumped in a chair, barely visible in the faint light. His dark silhouette, hunched over a desk strewn with growing unpaid invoices, scattered papers and photos. The room’s oppressive silence was occasionally broken by the crackle of the incense, heightening the sense of isolation.

Gradually, the chair's occupant shifted, the dim light revealing a face marked by frustration and weariness. His red eyes, glinting with a mix of despair and defiance, were locked on the shrine's golden trimmings, which seemed to taunt him with their indifferent gleam. The harsh lines of his expression were stark against the flickering candlelight, accentuating the weight of his burdens.

Vinny stared at the shrine with a mixture of frustration and desperation. He questioned Mammon aloud, his voice tinged with both defiance and pleading. He had sacrificed more to Mammon than he could count, kept every ritual and offering, but all he got in return was growing debt and cash flow as dry as a desert.

He mulled over his recent misfortunes and his mind wandered to the numerous repairs he had to endure. The first time, it was due to that creep's unexpected appearance, scaring off all his patrons and employees. His café had looked like a war zone afterward, with furniture overturned and broken glass scattered everywhere. Then came his own reckless anger. Chasing Mimzy with his gun had caused even more damage—bullet holes in the walls, a shattered bar, and a broken jukebox. He laughed bitterly, thinking about how much money he’d wasted fixing the café each time on short notices.

With a sarcastic chuckle, Vinny mused about the irony of it all. Maybe Mammon had a twisted sense of humor, enjoying the show from his gilded shrine. Or perhaps Vinny was just cursed to be a perpetual disaster zone. One way or another, he had to find a solution fast.

His gaze shifted to framed photos of his colleagues, now deceased, a stark reminder of his mounting misfortune. Each picture was a silent testament to the price he had paid, a grim gallery of lost comrades who had met their fates in a violent clash with the infamous radio demon.

Vinny’s lips curled into a sneer of bitter resentment as he focused on a photo of Mimzy, the one he considered the root of all his current woes. He glared at the photo as if willing it to burst into flames. She had to make a spectacle, didn’t she? As if the chaos and attention weren’t already her personal stage. And look where that got him—his colleagues dead and his money bleeding away like a faucet left wide open.

Vinny threw up his hands in exasperation, as if to say, What more could he have done? The room seemed to mock him with its silence. His thoughts spiraled into bitterness. Maybe Mammon was too busy counting his own losses to notice his or perhaps there was a special hell for failed devotees like him.

Vinny collapsed back into his chair, feeling like he was speaking into an abyss. He supposed he’d just have to wait for a sign, though he wouldn’t be surprised if it came with a bill.

In a moment of grim desperation, he pulled out another photo, one that he managed to secretly take from a hidden camera of the ladies' restroom, his eyes narrowing with a complex blend of frustration and twisted satisfaction.

The one good outcome from Mimzy’s catastrophic escapade was that it had rid him of his incessantly nagging girlfriend, who now languished in a coma—a state Vinny regarded with a mixture of indifference and relief. Her absence allowed him to focus on his new target: Celeste.

From the moment Celeste had walked through the café doors, Vinny had recognized her as a potential asset. He had hoped that the meager wages he offered to his employees and the oppressive environment would drive her into financial distress.

However, to his surprise, Celeste had shown remarkable resilience. Despite the grim circumstances and his intentional pressures, she had not succumbed to despair as so many others had. Vinny had deliberately intensified his demands, hoping to drive her to a breaking point where she would come begging for his help. His plan was simple: if she fell into debt, he could offer her a way out—by becoming his mistress.

His mind twisted with perverse fantasies of Celeste on her knees in his office, pleading for a way out.

The scene unfolded in his mind’s eye with an unsettling clarity: Celeste, her face streaked with tears of desperation, her eyes wide and pleading. The office, a fortress of his authority, was now a stage set for his cruel whims. Her trembling hands clutched at the edge of his knees. Her pleas echoed hollowly in his ears, a symphony of supplication that excited him. The stark contrast between her dignity and her current, degraded state heightened his perverse satisfaction. The image was as alluring as it was repugnant, a vivid manifestation of his darkest desires and frustrations.

But just as the dark thoughts were coalescing into a disturbing image, Vinny was jolted from his reverie by a sudden knock on his office door. The sound sliced through the haze of his fantasy with jarring abruptness. His thoughts scattered, and he straightened up, irritation flashing in his eyes.

Who could be bothering him at this ungodly hour? The café hadn't even opened yet. His first thought was that one of his employees was likely at his door, hoping for another loan or some ill-timed request. With a snarl of frustration, Vinny stormed over to the door. He yanked it open with a forceful swing, only to be greeted by the empty hallway. He peered into the dimly lit corridor, expecting to see someone lingering, but the only sound was the distant hum of the café’s machinery.

A rare chill crawled up his spine, but he dismissed it with a shake of his head. It was probably just the weight of recent losses playing tricks on him. He slammed the door shut with an exasperated thud, the noise echoing through the empty office. He turned back to his desk, where a half-dead bouquet of cheap flowers sat in a dusty vase—an afterthought from his hurried trip to get to his office early.

His gears shifted as he stared at the wilting flowers. Instead of waiting around for Celeste, as he originally intended, he decided that would finally take the initiative. If Celeste wouldn’t fall into his debt trap, the next best thing he could do was tempt her with his wealth and offer her an escape from work and become his next girlfriend.

He picked up the bouquet, holding it awkwardly like a prop, and began to rehearse his love confession with a mix of exaggerated flair and disingenuousness.

“Oh, Celeste,” he began, cradling the flowers with a melodramatic flourish. “From the moment you stepped into my café, your beauty has been a beacon in my otherwise dreary existence. These humble flowers are but a symbol of my—”

As he spun around, he stopped mid-sentence as he came face-to-face with Zestial, who stood inches away in front of him with an arched eyebrow. The sight of the demon overlord caused Vinny to lose his balance, dropping and shattering the bouquet.

“L-ord, Zestial!” Vinny blurted out, his voice a strangled mix of surprise and fear. He scrambled to his feet, but his composure was gone. “I-I didn’t expect—uh, to see you! Here, of course!” His words tumbled out in a jumbled mess as he fumbled for the remaining flowers, now clutching it like a lifeline.

Zestial’s eyes never left Vinny as he surveyed his disheveled state. “I trust I am not intruding upon anything too… personal,” he said, his tone laced with subtle mockery. His gaze slightly lingered on the shattered bouquet.

Vinny, still struggling to regain his composure, cleared his throat and attempted to mask his unease with a forced smile. “Of course not, Lord Zestial. What can I do for you today?”

Zestial took a moment to enjoy Vinny’s visible discomfort before leaning forward slightly. “As a fellow proprietor, I possess a discerning eye for worth,” he began smoothly. “I have observed that thy establishment hath faced its share of trials. Thus, I have come to parley concerning a business proposition.”

Vinny’s heart leapt at the mention of a proposition, his fear momentarily eclipsed by hope. Could this be a sign from Mammon? A chance to unload the café, with all its mounting costs and endless repairs. It seemed like a golden opportunity. “Oh? Do tell,” he said, trying to sound more composed than he felt.

With a slow, deliberate gesture, Zestial conjured a check from thin air, holding it out towards Vinny with a flourish. “I am inclined to purchase thine establishment,” he said, his voice smooth and confident. “I have appraised its worth and deem it a valuable addition to my portfolio.”

Vinny’s eyes widened with greed. The rumor mill had painted Zestial as an immensely wealthy overlord, and the sight of the check filled him with anticipation. He snatched it from Zestial’s hand with a barely concealed eagerness, imagining the windfall that could free him from his financial woes.

But as he looked down at the check, his anticipation swiftly turned to shock. The figure written on it was paltry, barely a fraction of what he had invested to start the café. His face flushed with confusion and anger. “Uh, Lord Zestial… I must be misunderstanding something here,” he stammered, struggling to keep his voice steady. “This amount… it’s not even close to what I put into this place.”

Zestial’s smile remained infuriatingly calm. “Ah, but thou seest, Mr. Vincent, it is not merely about what thou hast invested,” he said, his tone carrying a subtle edge. “It is about what it signifies to me. The café’s worth is… subjective, wouldst thou not agree? And in such dealings, value relies more upon perception than upon reality.”

Vinny’s frustration bubbled beneath the surface, but he forced himself to nod, the check now feeling like a cruel jest. “I see,” he said, though his voice dripped with sarcasm. “And what else would you be needing from me?”

Zestial’s eyes narrowed slightly, a glint of mocking amusement still present. “Merely thine agreement,” he said smoothly. “And perchance a measure of patience. I am confident we may reach a mutually advantageous accord. After all, all value may be reassessed in due course.”

Zestial’s gaze drifted past Vinny and momentarily darkened, replaced by an inscrutable intensity on the picture clutter of Vinny's desk. He turned his attention back to Vinny.

With a flourish, Zestial conjured a contract and a feather pen, both appearing with an almost theatrical flair. The parchment seemed to shimmer ominously in the dim green light, while the pen hovered tantalizingly above it. Vinny’s eyes darted between the documents and Zestial, a growing sense of unease creeping over him. He knew better than to make deals with demons, especially one with an overlord.

Vinny took a cautious step back, his mind racing. “Uh, I appreciate the offer, but, um, I think we might need to renegotiate a bit,” he said, his voice quivering slightly. “The amount you’re proposing doesn’t quite match what I’ve invested. Perhaps there’s some room for improvement?”

Zestial’s smile hardened, and his glowing eyes took on a dangerous cold edge. “Mr. Vincent, my patience is not boundless,” he said, his tone darkening. “Thou hast two choices: accept the terms I have offered, or endure the consequences of thy refusal.”

Vinny’s heart raced as he paled visibly, the weight of Zestial’s words sinking in. He had heard the chilling stories of deals gone awry with Zestial.

His blood ran cold as he observed Zestial’s glowing smile, a twisted expression that seemed to stretch unnaturally across his face. It was a smile devoid of warmth, cold and calculating, sending a shiver down Vinny’s spine as he realized just how truly unsettling Zestial’s presence could be.

He swallowed hard, his small bravado evaporating into sheer terror. He just wanted to get this over with and to get this creep out of his sight.

With shaking hands, Vinny took the pen and signed the contract, his signature barely legible as he hurried to complete the transaction. Each stroke of the pen felt like a step toward an inescapable doom.

As soon as Vinny had finished, Zestial’s expression grew into a sadistic smile. “I am pleased we could reach an agreement,” he said, his voice full of insincere warmth. “I look forward to our forthcoming endeavors.”

Vinny nodded weakly, feeling a chill run down his spine. “Yes, of course,” he mumbled, trying to steady his trembling hands. The sense of dread lingered as Zestial turned to leave, his presence fading from the office like a dark specter.

Once the door clicked shut, Vinny took a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves. His mind reeled from the encounter, and he reached for a cigar in his pocket, seeking solace in the familiar ritual. With shaky feet, he turned towards his desk, the contract and check still looming ominously in his peripheral vision.

But as he took a step forward, he suddenly felt an unsettling shift beneath his feet. The floor seemed to give way, and before he could react, he plunged into a dark, swirling void that had materialized without warning.

His scream echoed through the empty expanse, a desperate cry swallowed by the abyss. The void closed in around him with a final, crushing embrace, cutting off his pleas for help. The oppressive darkness seemed to stretch on infinitely, consuming all light and sound.

In an instant, the void closed completely, leaving no trace of Vinny behind, his screams fading into an eternal silence.

As Zestial stood outside the door, he took a slow, deliberate breath, savoring the finality of the silence—a sure sign that his conjured void had done its job. The loan shark’s presence had been erased from the world, leaving nothing behind but the quiet aftermath.

With a self-satisfied nod, Zestial stepped back into the office and he made his way to the desk, his steps silent on the worn carpet.

His gaze fell upon the cluttered desk, its surface strewn with unpaid invoices and scattered documents, but Zestial’s glowing gaze focused on the photo of Celeste. With a practiced hand, he picked up the picture—a damning piece of evidence that confirmed his fears. Celeste had indeed attracted more unwanted attention aside from what occurred earlier, making her a true target in the twisted underbelly of Hell.

Zestial’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the desk, taking in the disarray of neglected paperwork. It was a mess, but one that he could easily clean up. With the loan shark out of the way, the path was clear for the next phase of his plan: placing Celeste in charge of the café.

Celeste had suspected that she was being followed, and by placing her in charge of the business. This move would provide him with a legitimate reason to be involved in her life, under the guise of helping her manage the business. Zestial would gain a legitimate foothold in her world, allowing him to monitor her closely and protect her from the dangers that lurked in the shadows—dangers he knew all too well.

Zestial paused, reflecting on this unexpected turn. His sudden possessiveness was a stark departure from his usual detached demeanor. It was a curiosity he seldom indulged in—this deep, almost protective instinct that had emerged. He had always viewed others as pawns or tools, manipulated from a distance to suit his grander schemes.

Yet, this new impulse was not entirely unanticipated. His involvement with Carmilla and her daughters had set a precedent, slowly shifting the boundaries of his once rigid personality. The time he spent helping them, the bond he had forged as a surrogate father figure, had softened the harsh edges of the overlord he once was.

His growing attachment to Celeste was not merely a tactical decision but a manifestation of this evolving part of himself, a direct reflection of this softer side—a side nurtured by his experiences with Carmilla and her daughters.

However, Zestial was acutely aware of his lingering capacity for cruelty. The void he had conjured moments ago, with the echoes of desperate screams growing fainter as the darkness consumed the unsuspecting victim. He had taken a dark pleasure in the loan shark's scream, savoring the moment the void closed in on him.

His thoughts turned to the moment he had pinned Celeste against the wall, a reckless display that had nearly shattered the fragile trust he had begun to build. He recognized that this newfound sensitivity needed careful management. If he allowed his emotions to run unchecked, he risked overstepping his boundaries once more and completely undoing the progress.

Zestial now aimed to regain her trust and solidify his role in her life, and he was determined to win her trust and affection in the right way.

Where he once envisioned keeping his enigmatic butterfly in a jar, to study under a magnifying glass, Zestial now found himself drawn to a more nuanced approach. Rather than confining her, he wanted to guard her from afar, ensuring her safety while observing her from a distance.

Patience would be his ally, and careful planning his tool. Zestial understood that a relationship built on trust and respect required time and attention. He was prepared to do everything in his power to make sure things unfolded smoothly, ready to navigate the complexities of his status and emotions with a newfound commitment.

As Zestial turned to leave the office, his gaze fell upon a shrine tucked away in a corner, partially obscured by clutter. The intricate altar was adorned with gold, its centerpiece a gleaming symbol of no other than—Mammon. The golden emblem, catching the flicker of the dim light, immediately drew Zestial’s attention. He had been so engrossed in his dealings that he had overlooked this detail.

The shrine stirred a wave of buried memories. He recalled his mortal days as a fierce devotee of Mammon, dedicating every ounce of his being to the prince of greed. The devotion had paid off in the end, leading him to his current status, but the shrine was a stark reminder of a past life he had long since moved beyond.

Shaking off the nostalgia, Zestial waved a hand dismissively, and the shrine dissolved into nothingness. The present demanded his attention. He gathered the documents scattered across the desk, his mind already shifting focus to the next step in his plan.

With the papers clutched in his hand, Zestial descended the stairs, ready to wait for Celeste. The office fell silent once more, leaving behind only the faint echoes of his footsteps as he prepared for the next phase of his carefully orchestrated scheme. Sooner or later, Celeste would come to see the world through his eyes and find her place beside him.

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Michael jolted awake in the dead of night, his senses instantly alert. The room, bathed in a soft, otherworldly glow from the moonlight filtering through the open window, felt strangely familiar. He turned his head and saw that Lucifer’s side of the room was empty. The bed had been left untouched, but the space beside him was conspicuously vacant.

And Each subsequent night, Michael awoke to find the room empty, Lucifer’s absence a constant, disconcerting presence.

When Lucifer eventually returned at dawn, his demeanor was always nonchalant, his excuses as fluid as they were vague. “Just needed a breath of fresh night air,” he’d say one night, his voice tinged with a playful lilt. “Caught up in some old memories,” he’d offer another time, his eyes twinkling with cryptic amusement.

Michael’s unease grew with each passing night. Lucifer’s explanations did little to quell his growing skepticism. The room—once a sanctuary of shared trust—now felt like a stage for a perplexing charade.

One night, Michael decided to take matters into his own hands. He feigned sleep, his breathing slow and steady as he waited for the familiar, soft rustle of Lucifer’s departure. The night stretched out, the quiet broken only by the occasional creak of the room. When the room grew still and the whisper of wings on the wind told Michael that Lucifer had left, he rose from his bed, shrouded in shadows and cloaked in the silence of the night.

His gaze fell upon his training sword, an extension of his vigilance and discipline. He grasped the hilt, feeling the familiar weight in his hand—a reassuring presence in the uncertainty ahead.

Michael crept through the darkened corridors, following the faint echo of Lucifer’s retreat. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the distant sounds of soft wind chimes as he made his way outside. The moon cast long shadows across the celestial landscape, guiding his path as he pursued the subtle trail of Lucifer’s presence.

As he reached the edge of a celestial forest, the moonlight revealed Lucifer’s figure in the distance, his wings unfurled, shimmering in the dark. Michael watched as Lucifer hovered briefly before conjuring a swirling, iridescent portal with a flick of his hand. The portal pulsed with a strange, otherworldly light, its surface rippling like water disturbed by an unseen force.

Watching Lucifer’s shimmering form in the moonlight, he couldn’t help but reflect on their diverging paths. The brothers had been forging their own identities over recent years. Lucifer had always been the more creative of the two, his talents leaning towards the mystical and magical arts. His ability to conjure and shape reality was unparalleled, and it was clear he had channeled his energy into perfecting those skills.

In contrast, Michael had always felt a deep, unshakeable connection to the physicality of combat. The thrill of clashing swords and the spark of metal against metal were where he truly found his essence.

While Lucifer molded the fabric of creation, Michael relished the precision and power of his weaponry. The contrast between their chosen paths was a testament to their unique strengths, and Michael couldn’t help but admire Lucifer’s skill, even as he remained wary of the unfolding mystery.

With a graceful stride, Lucifer stepped into the portal, disappearing into the shifting colors. Michael’s heart pounded as he moved closer, the portal’s light casting an eerie glow over his face. Before the portal could close, he leaped through, driven by a mix of determination and dread.

Instantly, Michael found himself in a realm of breathtaking beauty—a lush, verdant paradise that he recognized as the Garden of Eden. The air was rich with the scent of blooming flowers and ripe fruit, and the landscape was a tapestry of vibrant greens and brilliant hues. The garden stretched out in all directions, a living canvas of natural splendor.

Michael’s gaze swept over the garden, and a wave of confusion washed over him. What could Lucifer possibly be doing here, in the realm of Adam and Lilith? The thought lingered uneasily in his mind.

As Michael continued to survey the garden, the unease continued to crept in. Some time ago, Lucifer had shared about Lilith's discontent with Adam, a matter Michael had brushed off as none of their concern. He had advised Lucifer to avoid meddling in their personal affairs, emphasizing that such matters were not for them to influence. Seeing Lucifer here, in Eden, seemed like a violation of that very boundary.

Michael did not see Lucifer anywhere in sight, so he descended gracefully from his elevated position, his wings folding in as he touched down on the soft, dew-kissed grass.

As he began to explore the garden, Michael marveled at its beauty. The Garden of Eden was strikingly similar to Heaven—an uncanny reflection of the divine realm he was familiar with. The symmetry, the vibrancy, the perfection of the landscape; it all echoed the heavenly gardens of his own world.

Michael thought about the origins of Earth, the creation of Adam and Lilith, and the purpose of this terrestrial paradise. It was not a matter he had ever been deeply concerned with, nor had it been his place to question the decisions of his Father and the Elders. Yet, standing in Eden, he could not help but wonder about the connection between this place and the divine realm he called home.

Michael wandered through Eden, the verdant splendor surrounding him blurring into a timeless blur. His thoughts meandered with the same aimlessness until distant, faint noises pierced the tranquility. Curiosity piqued, he navigated through the dense foliage, each step rustling the underbrush as he followed the sounds.

As he moved deeper into the garden, Michael glimpsed Lucifer’s wings shimmering through the gaps in the trees. His heart quickened as he heard Lucifer’s voice and another—strained and unfamiliar. With a mix of urgency and apprehension, Michael unsheathed his sword and leapt through the trees, determined to uncover the source of the disturbance.

The scene that greeted him was one of pure confusion and chaos.

Lucifer and Lilith were entangled in a frantic embrace, their bodies entwined in a manner Michael had never encountered. Their cries of distress mixed with the fervent sounds of their actions. Lucifer, stark naked and momentarily immobilized, looked up in shock as Michael burst into view, while Lilith scrambled to cover herself with a flurry of leaves.

Michael’s eyes widened, his face flushed with a deep crimson as he struggled to make sense of the display before him. The act was completely foreign and bewildering, and the realization of what he was witnessing sent a rush of heat to his cheeks. The scene felt like a stark violation of the sacredness he had associated with both Eden and the celestial order.

Lucifer’s face was a mask of sheer panic and mortification as he stumbled to put on his robe. He stammered, his voice trembling, “Michael! What—what are you doing here?

Michael’s confusion was palpable as he stammered, his sword hanging loosely at his side. “I—I don’t understand. What is this?”

Lilith’s face was flushed with both anger and embarrassment, her efforts to cover herself futile against the intensity of Michael’s confused gaze and Lucifer’s attempt to to cover her. The once serene garden now seemed to echo with the dissonance of the confrontation.

The sense of intrusion and the visceral reaction to the sight left Michael feeling disoriented and unsettled. His heart raced and his mind a whirlpool of confusion and betrayal.

The sight of Lucifer's disheveled state, juxtaposed with the once-sacred garden now tainted, pushed him beyond his threshold. With a swift, anguished motion, Michael turned away, his wings unfurling in a burst of forceful wind. He took to the sky, the cold air rushing past him as he fled from the scene of his shattered understanding.

Lucifer’s panicked voice could be heard from a distance. “Brother, wait! I can explain!” his voice cut through the chaos, a mixture of pleading and anxiety.

The world blurred around Michael, the night sky stretching endlessly as he sped through the darkness. Michael's flight was frantic, driven by the turmoil of the revelation and the desperate need to escape the haunting vision.

Just as the landscape below began to dissolve into unrecognizable shapes, an icy jolt seized him. The rush of air and the night’s darkness abruptly vanished.

Michael awoke with a start, his body drenched in cold sweat. He gasped for breath, the unsettling memory of Lucifer’s frantic plea and the haunting garden lingering in his mind. As he sat up, the remnants of the nightmare clung to him, a stark reminder of the disquieting events that had just unraveled in his dream.

The soft, golden light of early morning crept through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Michael squinted at the sunrise, realizing with a jolt that he had overslept. He had been waiting all night to hear from Keenie or Gabriela, but neither had reached out. With a groan, he stretched his body, attempting to shake off the lingering effects of the disturbing dream. Dragging himself to the bathroom, he splashed cold water onto his face, letting the icy shock awaken his senses.

As he stared into the mirror, he took a moment to reflect on his appearance. The face staring back at him bore the marks of time and responsibility, a stark contrast to the youthful countenance he remembered from years past. Michael’s thoughts wandered to Lucifer, wondering if his brother had changed as much as he had. It had been ages since he last saw him. When he last confronted him—a period Michael preferred to keep buried—surfaced reluctantly.

He pushed those unsettling thoughts aside, focusing on the tasks ahead. He returned to his room, donning his training armor with practiced efficiency. His gaze fell on the file from the archive that he had found after much searching—a file reported by Raphael:

Confidential Archive File: Subject—Zestial Morde

Compiled by: Raphael, Archangel

Zestial was a figure of significant note during the Elizabethan era. The available records indicate a series of notable actions and behaviors that suggest a complex and troubling character.

Notable Events:

Political Influence: Zestial was deeply engaged in the political landscape of his time. His involvement in various political activities led to notable shifts in power dynamics within the court. His actions in this sphere were marked by strategic maneuvers that affected several key figures and events.

Economic and Social Impact: Zestial's role in economic and social matters during this period was significant. His activities included leveraging his position to influence economic outcomes, which had far-reaching effects on the social fabric of the time.

Personal Practices: Numerous reports indicate Zestial’s involvement in esoteric and unconventional practices. His associations with various clandestine activities were viewed with suspicion by his contemporaries. Notably, there were strong ties to Mammon, suggesting a deep-seated alignment with dark and ambitious pursuits.

Conclusion:

The information available about Zestial from his mortal life suggests a figure who wielded considerable influence and engaged in activities that were both strategic and enigmatic. While the specifics of his actions remain partially obscured, the nature of his endeavors during this period reflects a character of considerable threat.

Recommendation:

Given the limited but concerning details of Zestial’s past activities, continued vigilance is recommended. His historical record suggests a propensity for influence and secrecy that warrants careful observation.

End of Report

As Michael read over the report, his irritation grew; the lack of substantial information only offered little insight into Zestial’s activities or motives. The mere mention of Mammon, however, piqued his interest. Michael could understand why Raphael might have been compelled to monitor Zestial, given Mammon’s influence.

Whenever a mortal was suspected of involvement with high demonic figures—whether the Seven Deadly Sins or the Ars Goetia—it warranted immediate and thorough attention from the Morningstar brothers. These connections were not to be taken lightly; they often signaled a potential threat that could ripple through realms both celestial and infernal.

In Michael’s case, he had harbored similar concerns about Alastor—his ties to Lilith. Michael’s frustration mounted as he compared his extensive work of Alastor to the scant information Raphael had provided on Zestial.

Michael’s desk was littered with a meticulously organized collection of reports on Alastor—so numerous that he had dedicated an entire shelf to them. Michael took great care to track every action and connection.

And his exhaustive documentation eventually proved invaluable.

The accumulation of evidence he had gathered provided him with a compelling case to present to Sera and the Elders. The details he presented painted a stark picture of Alastor’s dangerous influence and connections, influencing the decision-makers of Heaven to grant him divine intervention on Earth.

However despite the decisive actions taken on Earth, Michael found himself grappling with the difficulty of monitoring Alastor in Hell. The complex and chaotic landscape of Hell presented a significant challenge.

From his vantage in Heaven, Michael struggled with frustration and helplessness. His attempts to keep tabs on Alastor were stymied by the realm's tumultuous environment and the lack of direct access, making it increasingly difficult to discern the true extent of Alastor’s connection to Lilith.

Michael’s thoughts turned to Gabriela’s undercover presence in Hell, which promised to be a crucial asset in his ongoing surveillance of Alastor. Yet, as he reviewed Raphael’s report on Zestial, his concern for Gabriela's safety deepened. The enigmatic and unsettling nature of Zestial’s past—especially his connections to powerful demonic figures like Mammon—made Michael worry about the risks she faced.

Raphael’s file on Zestial was a single page of basic information—barely scratching the surface of Zestial. He hoped that sooner rather than later, he would have the opportunity to speak with Raphael directly. His brother would provide the answers he needed, uncovering the missing pieces of the puzzle surrounding Zestial's past and his ties to Mammon. Sooner or later, Gabriela would fulfill her mission and return to Heaven, safe in Michael's embrace, bringing clarity and closure to the uncertain path ahead.

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a-headless-angel · 8 months ago

Text

Redamancy - Zestial X Angel!OC

Chapter Eighteen: Misunderstanding

Word Count: 6,170

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The dining room of Carmilla's residence was bathed in the soft, golden glow of candlelight, its flickering flames casting shadows that danced playfully across the ornately carved walls. Amidst the array of delicacies on the dining table, was a steaming pot of sancocho, as Carmilla called it, a dish of rich, hearty stew that took center stage. Its fragrant steam swirled upwards, carrying with it the mouthwatering scents of slow-cooked meats, vibrant vegetables, and a blend of spices that hinted at the depth of flavor within. The aroma was warm and inviting, a comforting contrast to the chill of Zestial’s usual surroundings.

Each mouthful of the stew seemed to embody a warmth and richness that transcended mere sustenance, offering a taste of something deeply nurturing. The dish, with its robust flavors and comforting essence, brought an unexpected sense of home and belonging to Zestial.

Zestial sat at the head of the table. His lime green eyes glowed softly, reflecting the candlelight as he listened intently to the lively conversation around him. Despite his imposing presence, his manner was relaxed, his usual formal demeanor softened by the warmth of the late evening.

Carmilla sat across and presided over the table with an air of graceful authority. She watched her daughters with a tender smile, clearly enjoying their company and the relaxed mood.

Odette had just finished recounting a particularly amusing incident. Her red-tinted glasses reflected the light as she spoke, her tone measured but laced with a subtle amusement. “And just as we were about to finalize the deal, this customer—oh, you wouldn’t believe it—tried to claim that the weapons were defective.”

Clara, her cream curls bouncing slightly as she spoke, added with a smirk, “He insisted that our top-quality blades were rusted, and then tried to haggle us down to half the price. Can you imagine?”

Carmilla chuckled, her black lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “And how did you handle this… impertinent fellow?”

Odette’s eyes twinkled with mischievous satisfaction. “Well, Clara here decided that a demonstration was in order. She took out one of the supposedly ‘defective’ blades and sliced through a thick steel chain with it—right there in front of him.”

Clara shrugged nonchalantly. “The look on his face was priceless. He went from trying to cheat us to practically groveling for the same deal he’d initially rejected.”

Zestial’s lips curved into an amused smile. “And did this… lesson prove effective?”

Odette nodded, her expression one of satisfied triumph. “Oh, indeed. He paid up without further argument. And he even threw in a tip for good measure.”

“T seems Odette and Clara are making quite the impression,” Zestial remarked, his tone rich with approval. “A most satisfactory result, I do declare.”

Carmilla’s eyes softened as she looked at her daughters. “You two never cease to amaze me. Your professionalism and ingenuity are truly commendable.”

Clara, with a playful glint in her eyes, leaned forward. “Well, if anyone’s deserving of a commendation, it’s you, mom. You’re the one who taught us how to handle ourselves in these matters. We’ve just perfected your techniques.”

Zestial chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. “"Thou hast clearly absorbed her teachings and made them thine own. Beholding thy progress is a testament to how far thou have all come."

Carmilla’s smile deepened, her eyes tracing the empty dishes on the table before settling on Zestial with genuine appreciation. “Those early days were indeed fraught with obstacles,” she admitted, “But the progress we’ve made and the strength of our family now made every challenge worthwhile. Your guidance was pivotal to our success, Zestial.”

Zestial inclined his head graciously, his lime green eyes softening with appreciation. “It hath been a privilege to witness thy progress and the strength of thy bond. Thou have all become a family in the truest sense, and that is a reward beyond measure."

Carmilla, her dark eyes twinkling with gratitude as she observed her family and their esteemed guest, glanced around the table. The plates were nearly cleared and she placed her fork down and folded her hands gracefully in her lap.

“It appears that everyone has enjoyed the meal,” Carmilla remarked, her voice imbued with a warm, maternal tone. “I trust the sancocho met with your approval, Zestial?”

Zestial offered her a genuine smile, his lime-green eyes reflecting the candlelight. “Indeed, Carmilla. The dish was a revelation—both comforting and delightful.”

Clara and Odette exchanged a glance, the corners of their lips lifting in silent agreement with Zestial’s praise. Their mother’s cooking always held a special place in their hearts, and it was clear from their expressions that tonight’s feast had lived up to its reputation.

Carmilla rose from her seat with a fluid grace, her dress rustling softly as she moved. “I am pleased to hear it,” she said. “It is a small token of my appreciation, and many more to come, for the company and the continued support you have provided us.”

Carmilla’s eyes then sparkled with a hint of mischief as she rose from her seat. “But before we conclude our evening, I have a special treat that I recently acquired,” she announced, her voice carrying a playful note.

Clara and Odette’s expressions brightened immediately, their curiosity piqued. They leaned forward, eager to see what their mother had brought.

Zestial’s eyes brightened with curiosity as he inclined his head. “I’m intrigued, Carmilla. I look forward to savoring whatever special delight thou hast acquired.”

With a flourish, Carmilla returned to the table, cradling a bowl of exquisite candies and a bottle of fine wine.

Carmilla placed the bowl on the table with a flourish, revealing the candies within. Each piece was a marvel of confectionery artistry, glistening with a mesmerizing array of colors. The candies were encased in delicate, translucent wrappers that sparkled under the candlelight, casting a kaleidoscope of hues across the table.

Some were shaped like intricate flowers, their petals dusted with a fine shimmer of edible gold. Others resembled crystalline fruits, their surfaces catching the light and reflecting it in prismatic splendor. There were also candies shaped like delicate, twisted ribbons, each one marbled with swirling patterns of vibrant blues, purples, and pinks.

And the wine, rich and deep, was a complement to the delicacies.

“Behold, a selection of rare confections!” Carmilla declared.

Odette’s eyes widened as she reached for a candy, examining it with an appreciative nod. “These are exquisite, mom. Where did you find such a thing?”

Carmilla smirked, a hint of pride in her voice. “A secret acquisition, of course. I have my sources. One must indulge in the rarest of pleasures now and then.”

Zestial watched with subtle amusement as Clara and Odette enjoyed the candies, their delight clear. He knew that such treats were rare in Hell, often due to the rare ingredients, like sugar, or intricate processes required to make them. Observing their enjoyment, he was reminded of Celeste. The rarity of these sweets seemed to mirror the elusive quality of Celeste—a rare gem in a world where such things are hard to come by.

The scent of the candies, faint and intoxicating, drifted through the air like a whisper of forgotten enchantments. It spoke of distant, unreachable realms, of pleasures that danced just out of reach, evoking a sense of longing and wonder.

Zestial’s thoughts were interrupted by Carmilla’s voice, breaking through his reverie. “I see you both are thoroughly captivated. I trust you will find these as delightful as the rest of the evening’s offerings?”

Clara and Odette exchanged grateful glances before Clara spoke up, “Thank you, mom. These candies are beyond anything we've ever tasted.”

Odette nodded in agreement, her excitement evident. “Yes, they’re truly exquisite. We appreciate you thinking of us.”

Carmilla’s gaze softened with maternal affection as she looked at her daughters. “I’ve seen how hard you both work, and it’s only right that you get to enjoy something special. I’m so proud of all that you do and grateful for your dedication in the business.”

Turning her attention to Zestial, Carmilla noticed he had yet to sample any of the confections. “Zestial, would you care for one?”

Zestial’s gaze lingered on the bowl of shimmering candies, the allure of their rarity both captivating and faintly unsettling. He was cautious, not wishing to be stirred by more memories or emotions tied to their elusive charm. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, his voice measured, “but I believe I shall forego the sweets for now. A glass of wine would be more fitting.”

Carmilla’s eyes sparkled with understanding as she poured a glass of wine for Zestial and herself. “As you wish.”

Clara and Odette, finishing their exploration of the candies, stood and stretched with a shared sense of purpose. Clara stretched her arms, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Mom, we’ve been rehearsing our lines and dances for an upcoming play at the Orpheum. We could use some help with the choreography. Would you be able to assist us tonight?”

A wave of nostalgia swept over Zestial. His thoughts drifted back to a time long past, to his mortal life when the world was rich with the artistry of Shakespearean plays. It was during those days that he had fostered a profound love for theatre—a passion that persisted even into his demonic existence. This love had driven him to open the Orpheum, a grand edifice that now stood as the finest theatre in Hell.

However, in his current guise, Zestial remained an anonymous benefactor of the theatre, shrouded in secrecy due to his status as overlord. He had remained in the shadows, allowing his creation to flourish under the guise of anonymity.

As he had gotten to know Carmilla, he had been struck by her deep love for ballet, and the fact that she had named her daughters, Clara and Odette, after iconic ballet protagonists only deepened his admiration. Moved by this connection, Zestial had encouraged Carmilla to allow her daughters to showcase their skills at the Orpheum. This gesture was more than a mere act of support; it was a transformation of the theatre into a vibrant hub for both dramatic plays and exquisite ballets, blending the old with the new and providing a platform for young talent to shine.

Odette, her glasses catching the candlelight, nodded enthusiastically. “It would be wonderful if you could join us for practice. Perhaps Zestial could offer some insights for improvisation?”

Zestial’s eyes sparkled with a touch of amusement as he addressed Clara and Odette. “It seems the stage doth call for its most dedicated performers. Rest assured, I shall do my utmost to aid with thy lines. As for the dancing, I shall leave that to the more agile feet.”

Carmilla smiled warmly at her daughters before turning to Zestial. “I’d be happy to help, my dears. We’ll join you soon. For now, I’d like to have a moment with Zestial.”

With a sip of his wine, savoring its rich flavor, Zestial followed Carmilla as they made their way to a high balcony overlooking the studio, where Clara and Odette entered to start their rehearsal.

The studio below was a marvel of elegance, its walls lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that caught every graceful movement. The wooden floor gleamed under the soft light of chandeliers, and the room’s expansive space seemed to stretch endlessly, perfect for the dancers' pirouettes and leaps. The high balcony where Zestial and Carmilla now stood offered a panoramic view of this stage, creating a serene distance between them and the bustling activity below.

Carmilla took a deep breath, her eyes reflecting a mixture of warmth and nostalgia as she looked at Zestial. “Zestial, I’ve been thinking about the reassurance you gave me after that disastrous meeting, and I just want to express my deepest gratitude for all you’ve done for me and my daughters. You’ve been a true ally, and your support has been invaluable. I must admit, when I first met you, I was terrified.”

Zestial’s thoughts drifted back to that fateful night. He recalled how, amid the chaos of the extermination, he had moved through the shadows, offering fleeting safety to the desperate. Most souls accepted his offers without a second thought, driven by sheer fear.

Amid the turmoil, a piercing cry had cut through the din, compelling him to investigate. He followed the sound and discovered a heavily pregnant Carmilla, wracked with pain, alone and vulnerable.

Zestial approached her, his presence and offer both terrified and reassured her. Despite the agony she was enduring, Carmilla had looked at him with a mixture of fear and assessment. Most souls accepted his offer of temporary refuge without hesitation, but she had paused, her gaze sharp even in her distress.

When she finally took his hand, Zestial felt an unexpected pang of empathy, a gesture of unusual compassion that marked the beginning of their complex relationship.

Zestial chuckled softly, a touch of amusement in his eyes as he took a slip of his wine. “Ah, Carmilla, it is quite understandable. One’s first impression of me is often rather... formidable.”

Carmilla took a sip of her wine, her gaze steady on Zestial, reflecting a mix of sincerity and warmth as she continued, “But presence has been a pillar of support for us, Zestial. I’ve seen how your dedication goes beyond mere friendship. It's clear that your sentiments for me are deeper.”

Zestial, caught off guard, nearly choked on his wine. The revelation was unexpected, shaking his composure. He had long suspected that Carmilla might never acknowledge his affections, and her admission was both surprising and disarming.

After regaining his composure, Zestial said with a reflective sigh, “Tis true, Carmilla. Yet I have ever been cautious not to overstep the bounds of our relationship. I feared to risk disturbing the balance we have established."

Carmilla’s eyes softened further, her expression a blend of appreciation and regret. “I admire your restraint, Zestial. It truly speaks to your character. But I must be honest: while I deeply respect and value you… the feeling is not mutual."

The words hit Zestial like a quiet storm.

He had always suspected that Carmilla might not share his affections, but he had allowed himself a glimmer of hope, driven by the warmth and depth of their connection.

The confirmation of his long-held doubts stung more than he had anticipated. The truth had always been a shadow at the edge of his hopes, and now, hearing it articulated with such honesty and grace, it felt like a quiet but undeniable impact.

Carmilla, sensing the weight of Zestial’s internal struggle, spoke with a reassuring tone, “I want you to understand, Zestial, that while my sentiments may not align with yours, my gratitude is profound. Your support has been a beacon in my life, showing me that not all men are monsters. You’ve proven that kindness and integrity exist, even in the darkest corners of Hell.”

Carmilla's eyes glistened with a sadness that spoke of deep, unspoken memories.

Zestial, despite the rejection, was respectful of the sensitivity of her emotions, and he felt a familiar urge to offer comfort. Recalling the comfort he had shown her during their previous encounter, he extended his clawed hand with careful grace. It was the same reassuring warmth he had offered before, a silent promise of support and understanding in the midst of her vulnerability.

Carmilla looked up at him, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, and the faint touch of his gesture bridged the final gap between them.

“I respect thy choice, Carmilla,” Zestial said, his voice steady and sincere. “I wish thee to know how much I value what thou and thy daughters have brought into my life. Thou have made a greater impact on me than I ever anticipated."

Carmilla’s curiosity was piqued. “How so?”

Zestial’s expression turned introspective. “Before meeting thee and thy family, I was entrenched in the shadows of Hell, solely engrossed in my own power and dominion. Yet, through aiding thee in thy trials, I have come to perceive things anew. ’Tis shifted my view of both this realm and my place therein."

Carmilla seemed relieved by his candidness. “Thank you, Zestial. For everything.”

The studio below buzzed with Clara and Odette’s rehearsal as Zestial and Carmilla lingered on the balcony. Their movements flowed gracefully, a blend of discipline and artistry that reflected their dedication. The mirrors lining the walls captured every pirouette and leap, showcasing their skill and commitment.

Zestial now leaned slightly on the railing, his gaze contemplative as he watched the rehearsal unfold below. "Moments such as these," he said quietly, "remind us of what truly matters, especially in a place like Hell. Despite the chaos and darkness surrounding us, all our deeds are for their sake. We wish to grant them a chance to rise above the errors of our past and carve a better path amid these harsh conditions."

Carmilla, standing beside him, looked out at her daughters with a mixture of pride and melancholy. “Yes,” she agreed softly, her voice tinged with sorrow, “I only wish I could have helped her too…”

Zestial sensed the weight behind Carmilla’s words and the sadness in her eyes. It was clear she was referring to Velvette, who had once been close to her—a girl Carmilla had hoped to guide and support. He recalled Carmilla’s genuine affection and high hopes for Velvette, as she reminded her of her own daughters, her desire to offer her a better future in Hell.

But Velvette’s ambitions had taken a different path. Instead of embracing Carmilla’s guidance, she had allied herself with Vox and Valentino, betraying Carmilla’s trust. The memory of Velvette’s betrayal, aligning herself with those Carmilla despised, was a painful reminder of the consequences of failed expectations.

And the true reason why Zestial maintained his composure at the overlord meeting. His calm demeanor was not just for show; it was driven by a deeper purpose. He had kept his cool to shield Carmilla from further humiliation and to protect her from the emotional fallout of Velvette’s betrayal. His restraint was a silent act of support, aimed at sparing Carmilla from additional distress in a moment when she needed his solidarity the most.

Carmilla took a deep sip of her wine, her frustration evident as a vein throbbed at her temple. “That girl,” she said, her voice trembling with anger, “had the audacity to walk into that meeting with such disrespect… She spat on everything I tried to offer her…”

Zestial cut in gently, “We can only offer our aid to those who are willing to receive it. Velvette’s choices will, in time, come to bear upon her. We should not permit her errors to overshadow what truly matters,” he said, as he gestured at Clara and Odette.

As Clara and Odette’s rehearsal continued below, the music softening to a close, Carmilla’s anger began to dissipate. She took a deep breath, her gaze lingering on her daughters. “You’re right,” she said, her voice softening, “I have more important matters to focus on now.”

Together, they watched in quiet companionship, each finding solace in the shared vision of a brighter future for Clara and Odette.

As Carmilla took her leave to join her daughters, Zestial stood alone on the balcony, the distant hum of the studio below faded, leaving him with his thoughts. Zestial took another sip of his wine, savoring the last of its rich, velvety taste before setting the glass aside. The wine had been a pleasant companion throughout their conversation, its complex flavor both soothing and stimulating.

The revelation that Carmilla did not return his affection had been a sobering moment.

What he had once mistaken for romantic longing was, in reality, a deep sense of kinship and respect—a recognition of kindred spirits rather than a romantic pursuit. His grasp of these emotions had been muddled. In his mortal life, and throughout his existence in Hell as an overlord, the concepts of genuine affection and familial bonds had been foreign, leaving him to navigate these feelings with uncertainty.

With this clarity, Zestial now felt a sense of liberation. His connection with Carmilla was not the romantic bond he had hoped for, but rather a profound, familial one. This realization allowed him to acknowledge his true sentiments, which were now directed towards Celeste.

Her presence resonated with him in a way that transcended mere admiration or friendship. It was not just her rarity that drew him, but the profound depth of her mysterious essence that seemed to mirror his own desires and needs. Her aura carried a purity and complexity that spoke to the very core of his being, evoking a sense of connection that felt intense.

He wondered if Celeste could possibly feel the same way.

The thought now stirred a mix of anticipation and uncertainty within him. He had never before experienced a connection so profound, and the possibility that Celeste might share his sentiments both exhilarated and intimidated him. Could she recognize the same sentiments he felt? Would she understand the depth of his emotions and see beyond the surface of his formidable presence?

He knew there was much he still didn’t understand about Celeste. Her presence was an intriguing mystery, and he was eager to learn more about her. The idea of helping her uncover her past was not just a way to get closer, but to discover whether her heart aligned with his own.

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

—Present—

Zestial’s world froze as Celeste pressed her lips onto his.

Even after leaving Carmilla's residence, his mind had been consumed by thoughts of Celeste. He found himself restless, seeking solace in more wine at his sanctum, but it did little to quench his agitation. Desperate for clarity, he decided to take a walk through the city, hoping the twilight air might clear his thoughts.

The city, eerily quiet at that late hour, was still fraught with danger. For most, wandering these streets at night was risky; for Zestial, his mere presence deterred all formidable predators. As he walked, the shadows seemed to pulse with his unease. Despite the city’s ominous silence, his mind remained fixed on Celeste.

The ever present smell of brimstone and sulfur in the air forced him to go Celeste’s residence, even though it was well past the appropriate visitation time. Her aroma, tinged with her sweet fragrance, had become an irresistible lure. He longed to be in her presence again, to bask in the soothing essence that seemed to comfort his own restless thoughts and desires.

To his surprise, as he approached her window, he found it empty. A wave of bewilderment and worry swept over him. He continued his anxious trek through the city, now on edge, his senses alert to every sound and movement.

Then, amidst the familiar stench of brimstone, he caught a whiff of Celeste’s sweet fragrance, and his mind raced. Hidden in the shadows, he saw her in scandalous attire, surrounded by a predatory demons. One of them lay on the ground, writhing in pain, clearly having failed in an attack. The sight of her vulnerability and the demons' profanities ignited a fury within him.

The scene was a brutal reminder when he had been attacked and outnumbered in his childhood.

Driven by an overwhelming rage, Zestial unleashed his demonic powers with a savage force. A swirling, pitch-black cloud of shadow descended upon the assailants, thickened and coiled, enveloping them in a suffocating shroud of terror. Inside this malevolent mist, Zestial's wrath manifested in grotesque and horrific ways.

The demons’ screams erupted from within the darkness, sharp and frantic, a mixture of agony that sliced through the screams. His dark energy lashed out with brutal intent, each surge of his force digging into their flesh with a horrifying, almost surgical precision. Limbs were wrenched from sockets, bones splintered into jagged shards, and skin stretched into grotesque, gaping wounds. The very essence of their forms was contorted into nightmarish shapes, their features distorted beyond recognition.

Zestial’s energy clawed and tore at them, a relentless assault of searing pain and disfiguring torment. Blood and viscera splattered across the blackened mist, their suffering palpable in the thick, acrid air. It was a brutal, unending cycle of mutilation and suffering that seemed to stretch into eternity. The demons’ forms were systematically deconstructed, their flesh peeling away in strips, their bones snapping like brittle twigs.

When the dark cloud finally dissipated, the screams ceased abruptly, replaced by an eerie, oppressive silence. The demons were gone, banished to an endless dimension of bleak void and ceaseless despair—a fate Zestial had inflicted upon many before. The air around him was thick with the acrid stench of sulfur and blood, the grim aftermath of his unrelenting fury.

As the smoke cleared, the scene shifted to an unsettling calm. Zestial, his anger still simmering, found Celeste standing there, visibly terrified. Her fear was palpable, cutting through the aftermath of the violent assault and starkly contrasting with the eerie quiet that now enveloped them.

When she sensed his presence and turned to face him, her fear seemed to wane. But before he could offer reassurance, she turned and fled, much to his surprise and irritation. In his urgency to keep her safe, he followed after her, but his attempt to protect her only seemed to escalate the situation.

Desperate to stop her from further danger, Zestial conjured his tendrils and captured her. In his haste and frustration, Zestial's tendrils wrapped around Celeste with an almost desperate urgency as he pinned her against a wall with unmeasured force. His claws, razor-sharp and unyielding, gripped her arms with a force that left her wincing. His intentions were muddled, driven by a tumult of emotions—protectiveness, anger, and a deep-seated worry that clouded his judgment for the first time in a while.

From Zestial's perspective, the intensity of the moment was overwhelming. He drew closer to Celeste, his dark figure casting elongated, menacing shadows in the faint light of the streetlamp. He could see her fear reflected in her wide, terrified eyes as he clutched her arms, feeling the tremor of her panic beneath his grip.

“What’s your deal Zestial?” she yelled, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

In the intensity of the moment, Zestial's emotions got the better of him. He recalled his initial impulse to keep Celeste in his sanctum. In his mind, it seemed logical to ensure her safety within the confines of his own domain. Yet, in believing so, he had inadvertently revealed his intentions and the conflict within him.

“My matter is that I’m beginning to believe granting thou freedom may have been a misjudgment,” Zestial’s voice rumbled, low and dripping with an echo that seemed to vibrate in the night air.

The words felt like a chilling confession, each syllable steeped in a mixture of frustration and regret.

His green eyes bore into hers, their luminescence almost hypnotic against the dark backdrop. The stark contrast between his brooding presence and the harsh light made his features appear even more formidable. “Though mine day hath been occupied with… other concerns,” he continued, his voice softening slightly as his face drew nearer to her, “I still cannot cease to ponder upon thee, Celeste.”

The cryptic nature of his revelation only deepened Celeste’s confusion and fear. He felt her heart racing, as she attempted to mask her terror.

Then, in an unexpected twist of fate, Celeste’s lips met his in a sudden motion. The sensation was electric, a shocking contrast to the intensity of the moment. His mind went blank, the surge of raw emotion freezing him in place. The contact, though fleeting, was a jolt that cut through his tumultuous thoughts like a sharp, unanticipated flash of light.

The immediate effect was palpable: his conjuring powers, previously vibrant and menacing, dissipated like smoke in the wind. The dark tendrils that had held Celeste vanished, leaving him bereft of his control. He let go of his grip and Celeste fell to the ground, the impact jarring her from the tumultuous moment.

Zestial stood, motionless and stunned, his complex emotions momentarily stilled by the unexpected kiss. The chaotic maelstrom within him was abruptly silenced, replaced by a profound, bewildering stillness.

The brief contact tasted of Celeste’s own essence—like a hint of rich, velvety sweetness that seemed to blend the sharp tang of fine wine with the delicate, sugary notes of candy. It was as if her very being had been distilled into that fleeting touch, a tantalizing blend of warmth and allure.

But as he took in the sight of Celeste, trembling on the floor, the warmth of the moment was eclipsed by a cold rush of regret. The terror in her eyes was a harsh reminder of the unintended fear he had caused, jolting him from his bewildered reverie.

But then Celeste closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

The act seemed to ripple through the air, casting away the lingering shadows of fear. In an instant, the terror in her eyes evaporated, replaced by a serene calmness that seemed to envelop her like a cloak. Slowly, she stood up with newfound composure.

The frightened, trembling figure he had seen moments before had vanished. Zestial could sense a profound spiritual fortitude within her. The shift in her aura was palpable, revealing a depth of strength and serenity that he did not anticipate.

Zestial regarded Celeste carefully. “Thy spiritual strength is excellent,” he said, his voice a blend of careful admiration and bewilderment. “In mere seconds, thou hast qualled thy fear…”

Celeste looked into his eyes and spoke. “It looks like the root of all this mess was a misunderstanding,” her voice steady but reflective. “In the heat of the aftermath of the attack, I didn’t react well. I panicked and ran, and I understand now that your intent was to protect me, not harm me. If you had meant ill will, you would have killed me by then.”

Zestial absorbed her words, a wave of relief washing over him. The weight of his own tumultuous emotions began to lift, replaced by a sense of calm. Her acknowledgment of his protective intent and the insight into her reaction eased the tension he had felt.

Celeste slightly hesitated, her cheeks flushing a soft pink as she searched for the right words. “I realize that my… actions might have caused you distress,” she said, her tone faltering as she stumbled over the final words. “I... I hope that, um…” Her voice trailed off, her face growing redder with each passing second.

Zestial’s relief was palpable, and an unexpected chuckle escaped him, surprising Celeste. "I am the one who should apologize," he said with a softening tone. "I thrust thee into an uncomfortable situation, driven by my own turmoil. I should have been more mindful and considerate."

As he replayed the moment of Celeste’s unexpected action, a thought tugged at the edge of his mind: If she had initiated such contact in an impulsive surge, does that mean—

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to head back to my residence and die of shame,” she said with a weak, wry smile, her cheeks still red as she turned to leave.

Before she could retreat further, Zestial’s concern reasserted itself. “"I shall escort thee home.” he said firmly, stepping closer.

Celeste glanced around, her gaze catching the dim, shifting hues that marked the passage of time in the infernal realm. “Look,” she said, brushing off his concern, “it seems like the sky is starting to brighten a bit. I think I can—

However, in a sudden, dramatic twist, a loud, sharp rip echoed through the air. Celeste's eyes widened in alarm as her dress, strained and torn, began to unravel. Her face went pale as she reached for the tear, but before she could scream, Zestial acted swiftly.

With a fluid motion, he shed his dark cloak and draped it around her, the fabric moving like a protective shield. His cloak enveloped her, concealing her and offering a moment of cover.

Celeste’s initial panic melted into a mix of surprise and wry as she felt the warmth of his cloak enveloping her. She looked up at him, her face a shade darker from the ordeal. “Oh, what a gentleman you are... Now I really want to die… again.” Her tone was light but edged with the strain of the unexpected mishap.

Zestial’s lips curled into a reassuring smile. “"I assure thee, I shall let nothing else go amiss this day. Let us see thee safely home."

Celeste, clutching the cloak around her like a lifeline, nodded gratefully. They began to walk together through the dim, shifting hues of Hell’s endless sky.

As they walked together, Zestial noticed Celeste glancing at him from time to time. Her gaze seemed particularly drawn to his back, where his bat-like wings, now exposed, were clearly visible.

Curiosity tinged her voice as she asked, “I didn’t expect you to have wings.”

Zestial’s eyes flickered with amusement. “I usually keep them concealed beneath my cloak. Not something I display about, truly."

Celeste tilted her head, now intrigued. “So, what exactly are you, Zestial?”

He chuckled softly. “"Well, it seems I am a bit of everything—demon, spider, vampire, the boogeyman. I’ve heard it all. Yet, truly, I believe I am but the embodiment of fear, a manifestation of my own making."

Celeste nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”

Then Zestial’s gaze shifted back to her, taking in the way his dark cloak draped around Celeste. The fabric swirled like a shadowy shield, obscuring the tattered remnants of her once-sensual attire beneath.

With a sly grin and a raised eye, he said, "So, what precisely werest thou doing out here so late in this... unsavory part of the city? Pray, tell me thou hast not embarked upon a new vocation… as one of Hell’s more, shall we say, enterprising souls?"

Celeste’s face turned red again, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and indignation at his insinuation. “Hey, don’t jump to conclusions!” she stammered, her voice flustered, “I was just helping out a friend at a lounge to pick up some extra cash. Unlike you, I’m not the middle manager of Hell, so I have to take whatever I can get, within reason of course. It’s not like I’ve joined the ranks of Hell’s... more entrepreneurial souls.”

Zestial chuckled, catching Celeste off guard. “Entrepreneurial souls, indeed? That’s a charming way to phrase it,” he said, his grin widening.

He couldn’t help but reflect on their first encounter, when he’d casually explained his role as an overlord in Hell with a mix of casual light-heartedness and wit. It gave him a peculiar sense of satisfaction to see her remember his offhanded remark from that conversation.

As they continued their walk, the earlier tension seemed to dissipate like mist in the morning light, replaced by a comfortable silence that settled between them. The streets of Hell, with their usual sinister ambiance, now felt more like a backdrop to a tranquil stroll. Celeste, wrapped snugly in Zestial’s cloak, seemed at ease, and Zestial’s mood lightened as he walked beside her, their earlier discord fading into the background.

The quiet was punctuated only by the occasional distant crackle of Hell’s chaotic atmosphere. Zestial’s mind began to wander, an idea slowly forming amidst their conversation.

When they finally reached Celeste’s residence, Celeste turned to Zestial with a grateful smile. “Thanks for walking me home and for saving me. once again,” she said, her eyes twinkling with a mix of warmth and mischief. “And about this cloak…” She gave a playful, mock-serious glance at the dark fabric still draped around her. “I’ll make sure it gets returned in better shape. Unless, of course, you’d like to keep it as a memento of our little adventure.”

Zestial chuckled, a deep, genuine sound that resonated with amusement, I believe I shall manage quite well without it," he replied, his eyes dancing with mirth. "But regarding today’s little adventure…"

Celeste’s curiosity was immediately piqued. “Oh?” she asked, her tone curious as she tilted her head slightly.

Zestial’s expression grew thoughtful, as if weighing his words carefully. "Learning of thy financial situation hath given me an idea,” he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

Celeste’s interest was visibly heightened. “An idea?”

A sly grin spread across Zestial’s face, his gaze sharpening with mischief. “I was contemplating that thou might join me at thy workplace before it opens today."

Celeste remained still, though her concern was growing. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Zestial’s grin widened, revealing a glint of something almost roguish. “I intend to have a simple discourse with thy boss.”

Celeste’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wait, what!” She took a step closer, her voice tinged with a mixture of worry and concern.

Zestial gave her a final fleeting, enigmatic smile before turning smoothly on his heel. “See you soon,” he said.

At that, He left, leaving Celeste to grapple with his cryptic promise.

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

Thanks for reading!

Story available on AO3

Chapter Nineteen: Sooner or Later

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