a-headless-angel

[a-headless-angel]

I agree, Hail Elmo.

Sesame Street post because it's what i need right now and maybe you need it too.

Who's your favorite? my favorites are big bird and elmo. very relatable.

[a-headless-angel]

Helluva Boss Speculation: Envy Ring Twin Population

Leviathan’s official design. Conjoined twins.

As stated by many already, this reveal was hinted way before. It was hinted with glitz and glam, twins 👯

The Envee app logo, two faces 🎭

Clearly there is a theme of duality. The idea of pairs or counterparts having that constant source of comparison because you’re like your literal half. But that got me wondering about the population of envy.

Like is envy full of twins??? Like just twins???

I’m super curious to see more of Leviathan in future episodes and whether her realm is twin-heavy.

Just food for thought.

[a-headless-angel]

Hazbin x Barbie Crossover

Okay… hear me out:

Random art idea. Hazbin Hotel’s Clara and Odette meets Barbie. Someone please make this crossover a thing!

[a-headless-angel]

[a-headless-angel]

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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Thanks for reading!

Story available on AO3

[a-headless-angel]

[a-headless-angel]

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. 

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—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

[a-headless-angel]

If you ever told me this was the fisherman who cut a guy's ear off and was squaring up when the tax collectors arrived at Jesus' place I'd laugh

[a-headless-angel]

Asaph Cabriolet // ( Psalm 82:6-7 ) // MidJourney v4 + Deluxe Paint IV, 2023

[a-headless-angel]

is not a heaven

[a-headless-angel]

Redamancy - Zestial X Angel!OC

Chapter Seventeen: Respite

Word Count: 5,191

Chapter music: Respite

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— Earlier —

Nestled among the fluffy clouds of Heaven, Cherub Town was a place where celestial splendor and ethereal charm coexisted in perfect harmony. It resembled a fantastical dreamscape, with pastel-colored buildings shaped like stars and moons. Each structure seemed to float on air, connected by delicate bridges of glimmering stardust, all thanks to Archangel Jophiel’s architectural touch. 

Cherubs, with their radiant wings and halos, flitted gracefully between the buildings, their laughter and joy mingling with the harmonious music that filled the air.

For today was the Heavenly Harvest Fair, the crowning jewel of Cherub Town’s yearly festivities. From dawn until twilight, the fair transformed the town into a paradise of celebration, where every corner was adorned with twinkling lights and celestial decorations.

The fairgrounds were a breathtaking sight, with glittering fabric stretched overhead, casting a soft, iridescent glow over the scene. Stalls and booths, each decorated with intricate patterns of stars and clouds, offered an array of heavenly treats. Tables were laden with angel food cakes, their spongy textures dusted with shimmering sugar, and cotton candy clouds that melted in the mouth like sweet, sugary dreams. 

Games and attractions lined the fairgrounds, each designed to captivate the cherubs’ playful spirits. Halo ring toss stations featured shimmering rings that floated effortlessly, and cloud hopping platforms invited the cherubs to leap and bounce among fluffy, soft clouds. The laughter of cherubs echoed as they competed in friendly contests and engaged in joyous play.

The fair's highlight was the talent show, held in a grand, open-air amphitheater. Cherubs showcased their talents, from heartwarming renditions of angelic lullabies played on glockenspiels to enchanting performances by harpists whose melodies wove a tapestry of tranquility and delight. Each act was met with applause and cheers, adding to the festival’s joyful ambiance.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the fair, the sky above would be illuminated by a spectacular display of lights. The cherubs gathered to watch the evening’s grand finale—an awe-inspiring show of falling stars and shimmering constellations, choreographed to the soft strains of celestial music. 

But amidst the radiant festivities, a depressed cherub laid in her soft, cloud-like bed, her pale yellow skin barely visible under the light blanket. The cheerful noises from outside seemed a world away as she stared at the ceiling, her light reddish-pink eyes dull and distant. Today, the fair felt like a bitter reminder of her past.

Keenie’s thoughts drifted back to the Heavenly Harvest Fair a few years ago.  It was the day she had met Michael, the Archangel who had captivated her at first sight. 

The Heavenly Harvest Fair was in full swing, with cherubs flitting about, their laughter and excitement blending with the gentle strains of celestial music. Among the crowds, Keenie, Deerie, and Cletus found themselves squeezed into the bustling entrance area of Cherub Town. The excitement was palpable—Archangel Michael was set to open this year’s Heavenly Harvest Fair, and his appearance had drawn a throng of eager cherubs as such an appearance was exceedingly rare.

An archangel’s presence was nothing short of extraordinary. The six archangels of Heaven, also known as the Morningstar brothers, were tasked with the highest duties and responsibilities within the heavenly realms, rarely venturing beyond their sacred duties to grace events like the Heavenly Harvest Fair. 

Each year, a different archangel was chosen to open the fair, a tradition designed to honor the cherubs for their relentless dedication and hard work. The fair itself was a celebration of their unwavering service, a rare opportunity for the cherubs to bask in the warmth of divine acknowledgment. The honor of having an archangel grace their presence was a significant highlight, reflecting the heavenly appreciation for their efforts.

This year’s excitement had reached unprecedented heights, thanks to a leak from the Archangel Michael Fan Club—a devoted assembly of cherubs who had managed to uncover the secret of Michael’s upcoming appearance. 

The entrance had become a bustling sea of shimmering wings and eager faces, all converging in anticipation. The stories of Michael’s bravery were well-known: tales of his unyielding courage in the face of cosmic trials, and his profound wisdom. His legend was woven into the very fabric of heavenly lore.

Michael was famed not only for his heroic deeds and unwavering commitment to Heaven but also for his legendary beauty, rivaled even the most ethereal of beings like that of his banished twin, Lucifer. His presence at the Harvest Fair was seen as a celestial honor, a glittering jewel in the festival’s crown.

Among the crowd, Keenie stood somewhat apart, her yellow wings fluttering with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Despite the fervor surrounding Michael, she wasn’t the type to be easily swayed by appearances.

Keenie’s thoughts were grounded in a more introspective place. To her, the fervor of the crowd was almost amusing and downright ridiculous. Where others were anticipating Michael’s legendary beauty and heroic tales, she found herself evaluating the situation from a more detached perspective.

“I’m not like the other cherubs,” she mused quietly to herself, her reddish-pink eyes scanning the crowd with strained gaze next to her two close friends and work colleagues, Deerie and Cletus.

Deerie bounced excitedly in the crowd, her bright, apologetic tones reflected the general enthusiasm, yet Keenie remained grounded in her quiet contemplation. Even Cletus, with his blend of optimism and occasional frustration, was swept up in the collective anticipation, his periwinkle eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and impatience.

Keenie was trying her best to navigate through the masses. Her fluffy yellow wings fluttered nervously as she adjusted her yellow dress and large pink bow. Deerie and Cletus flanked her, each handling the crowd in their own way.

Deerie, with her tall, fawn stature attempted to lead the way. “Oh, dearie me! I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, every cherub! Please forgive the crowding, and try to stay calm and polite,” she said, her voice an endless loop of polite apologies.

Cletus, on the other hand, was visibly frustrated. His large periwinkle eyes scanned the crowd, and he grumbled under his breath, his cheeks puffing out in annoyance. “Ugh! How do they expect us to see anything with this many cherubs packed in here? I’m about to start shooting arrows just to clear a path!”

Keenie rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin. “Cletus, for the last time, shooting arrows is not going to help. We’re already in a jam, and adding chaos to it will only make things worse.”

Cletus huffed, adjusting his overalls. “I’m just saying, a little divine intervention might be nice right now. Maybe if I hit a few cherubs with my arrows, it’ll be less crowded.”

Deerie chimed in with her characteristic optimism, “Oh, but dear Cletus, we must remember to be kind and considerate. We wouldn’t want to disturb the divine harmony now, would we? Oh, sorry!” she said as she bumped into a cherub. 

Keenie’s frustration broke through her usually calm demeanor. “Oh, come on, Deerie. If I hear one more apology, I might just explode. We’re all excited to see Michael, but getting squished to death isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

Deerie tilted her head, her pastel yellow ears twitching in confusion. “I’m so sorry, Keenie! I didn’t mean to cause any distress. I’m simply trying to keep the atmosphere pleasant.”

This time Keenie simply rolled her eyes at Deerie’s apology. 

Cletus, catching Keenie’s mood, added with a smirk, “Well, at least we’re all here to see the great Archangel Michael. Maybe he’ll have a solution for all this madness.”

With that, the three cherubs continued their way through the crowd. As they finally reached a better vantage point, the anticipation of seeing Michael began to overshadow their earlier frustrations, and the promise of the upcoming talent show filled them with renewed excitement.

As the throng of cherubs continued to jostle for position, a hush of anticipation began to spread through the crowd. The murmur of excited chatter ebbed away, replaced by a collective breath held in eager expectation. It was then that Cletus, with his sharp periwinkle eyes, finally spotted the archangel figure emerging from the distant crowd.

Suddenly, the crowd of cherubs erupted into a wave of ecstatic cheers and applause, their collective energy nearly palpable.

“There he is!” Cletus proclaimed, his voice ringing with excitement. “That’s Michael! I can see him from here!”

As the Archangel drew nearer, the sheer magnitude of his presence began to overshadow everything else. The cherubs' voices melded into a harmonious din, their wings fluttering with exuberant anticipation.

Deerie, her tall fawn frame straining to catch a glimpse, turned to her friends with a mix of excitement and determination. “We must get closer!”

Keenie, stuck in the middle of the chaotic crowd, found herself struggling to see through the swarm of flapping wings and eager faces. Her yellow dress and fluffy wings were practically swallowed by the sea of celestial bodies around her. Deerie and Cletus were both vying for a better view, their enthusiasm inadvertently pushing Keenie further out of sight.

“Excuse me, coming through!” Deerie’s cheerful voice tried to cut through the commotion, her hooves tapping and pushing as she maneuvered through the masses.

Cletus, clearly agitated, added with a frustrated tone, “I can barely see anything! Why is everyone so tall!”

Just then, Deerie’s eyes lit up as she caught a glimpse of Michael. “Oh my heavens! Look at that!”

Her voice was barely audible above the clamor, but it was enough to prompt a renewed frenzy among the cherubs. Keenie, still straining to see, was about to respond when she heard Deerie’s next exclamation.

“Nice ass!” Deerie blurted out.

Keenie’s eyes widened in surprise, “Deerie! Do not lust in your heart. We are here to honor Michael — Heavens you’re right.”

Keenie's words faltered. She finally managed to catch a full view of Michael through the gaps in the crowd. The Archangel Michael, walking and greeting the cherubs, was an embodiment of celestial perfection. The stories and descriptions had not done him justice. The sight of him in person was a revelation, striking and profound.

His skin, a flawless white, gleamed with an otherworldly luster, appearing more like a living statue brought to life than a mere celestial being. His hair cascaded down his back in waves of golden silk, catching the light in a way that made it look like strands of liquid sunlight.

His eyes, an azure blue, held an intensity and depth that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of the crowd, and his tall, muscular stature was impressive, a physique sculpted with a heroic grace that spoke of both strength and elegance. 

But what truly stood out, was the gentle kindness that softened his otherwise strikingly formidable appearance. His cheeks bore the marks of red circles, like a delicate blush, adding a touch of warmth and humanity to his otherwise ethereal visage. This small detail, so at odds with his imposing figure, conveyed a tender vulnerability that made him appear both regal and approachable. The contrast between his striking, almost chiseled features and the tender smile and red circles created a disarming effect. 

As Michael moved through the crowd, Keenie felt as though she had been struck by a love arrow. Her heart fluttered uncontrollably. The sight of Michael, so perfect and so impossibly beautiful, left her breathless and awestruck.

Keenie felt as if the celestial music and the radiant lights of the Harvest Fair had all faded into the background, leaving only the resplendent figure of Michael at the forefront of her senses. 

It was in that moment, amidst the dazzling lights of the Harvest Fair and the swirling chaos of the cherub-filled streets, Keenie experienced the undeniable pull of love at first sight. The connection she felt was instantaneous and all-consuming, a powerful recognition of something deeply emotional and transformative. Her previous attitude melted away, replaced by a profound admiration that left her feeling both overwhelmed and exhilarated.

The initial encounter at the Harvest Fair had been the catalyst, igniting a burning desire within her to be as close to Michael as possible. From that day forward, Keenie made it her life's mission to keep as close to him as she could, attempting to remain in his presence whenever possible.

Her infatuation drove her to an almost obsessive pursuit. She would follow Michael discreetly, her yellow wings fluttering softly as she navigated the ethereal landscapes of Heaven, always careful to remain unseen. Whether it was the celestial plazas or the grand halls, Keenie was there, a silent observer of his every move. Her dedication was relentless; she attended every possible event, every appearance Michael made, always seeking to be in his vicinity.

She would time her appearances with meticulous precision, making sure to be just around the corner whenever Michael was to make a grand entrance or to attend a significant gathering. She carefully crafted moments to "accidentally" be in the same place as him, from wandering near his usual spots to appearing at the scenes of his known duties.

Keenie’s fascination with Michael had a clear purpose. She hoped to build a relationship with him, to show him that she was more than just another cherub. Her eyes, once dull and distant, now sparkled with determination and an ever-present yearning.

The pinnacle of her hard working devotion came true when Michael appointed her as his messenger cherub. The day she received that honor was one of the happiest of her life. Keenie’s heart soared with pride as she accepted her role, vowing to be the perfect messenger for Michael. Her days were spent ensuring that her duties were performed with impeccable precision, her nights filled with dreams of being in Michael’s presence officially. 

However, as time went on, Keenie began to notice something unsettling that went over her head initially. Keenie, over time, began to notice Michael's particular attention to one of his guardians, Gabriela. It started subtly—an extra moment of conversation here, a shared smile there—but soon, it became more pronounced. Keenie would often follow Michael and Gabriela from a distance, her jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

One day, she ventured to Michael’s training grounds, hiding in the shadows like she always did. There, she watched Gabriela linger after training sessions, chatting with Michael in a manner that seemed far more personal than professional. Michael's enjoyment was evident; he would laugh, his eyes lighting up with genuine pleasure. To Keenie, this was a painful sight, each moment a stab to her heart. Her previously intense feelings now carried an edge of bitter jealousy.

The culmination of Keenie's frustration came during the recent parade, when she was summoned to deliver an urgent message to Michael. Her excitement was palpable as she anticipated the chance to be near him. However, when she arrived at the grand hall of the banquet, she noticed a familiar white figure in the gardens.

With a hopeful flutter of her wings, Keenie sped towards the gardens, only to be met with a sight that caused her heart to plummet. There, under the celestial glow, was Michael, and standing beside him was Gabriela. The sight of them together, alone in the garden, filled Keenie with a surge of unreasonable jealousy. Her heart clenched with rage. 

Calming herself, Keenie focused on her mission. She needed to deliver her message, and she could not let her emotions betray her. She approached Michael, her face a mask of calm professionalism. Ignoring Gabriela, who was engaged in a private conversation with Michael, Keenie pretended not to have seen her.

Michael’s expression shifted from one of gentleness to a serious focus as he processed the message. Understanding the gravity of the situation, he nodded and took off towards the CCC, leaving Keenie and Gabriela alone in the gardens.

As Michael disappeared from view, Keenie’s mask of composure shattered. Her frustration and anger at Gabriela burst forth uncontrollably. She glared at Gabriela, her eyes flashing with a mix of hatred and envy. With a final, bitter glance, she turned and followed after Michael, her heart heavy with the weight of her unfulfilled longing and unresolved feelings.

Keenie’s dedication to Michael had become a double-edged sword. Her intense desire to be close to him had led her to a place of emotional turmoil, where admiration had intertwined with jealousy. As she flew through the celestial skies, chasing Michael, her thoughts and emotions were a chaotic swirl of love, anger, and hope, each emotion pulling her in different directions.

Finally, The CCC, the Celestial Council Chamber, loomed ahead, a place of solemn importance reserved only for high officials of Heaven

As she approached the grand structure, Keenie could see its dim glow cutting through the heavenly darkness, casting a soft, ethereal light that hinted at the activity within. The glow was not one of the usual golden hues associated with celestial buildings but rather a mixture of more subdued illumination that intrigued Keenie. Her curiosity, paired with her desperation to understand Michael’s seriousness, drove her to make a daring decision.

The CCC was typically off-limits to lower-ranked angels and heavenborn like herself, but Keenie’s determination overruled her apprehension. She maneuvered her way to a secluded open window high on the ceiling of the CCC. With a careful flap of her wings, she eased her way through the narrow opening, her small frame slipping into the chamber with practiced stealth.

Inside, the chamber was an architectural marvel, its vast expanse filled with majestic columns and intricate celestial patterns. The dim light came from a large, ornate furnace that dominated one end of the room. The furnace was a marvel in itself, with flames that danced in a spectrum of colors—fiery reds, electric blues, and soft purples—casting an enchanting glow across the room. Keenie momentarily wondered about its purpose, sensing that it was more than just a decorative element. 

In front of Michael was a projected screen, emanating from the center table, casting a soft light over the area. The image was a live feed of an angel Keenie recognized—Lute, a figure often seen in the company of Adam. Though she wasn’t entirely sure of Adam and Lute’s official duties, their frequent appearances at important events suggested they held significant roles. 

As she perched on a high, concealed ledge, Keenie's gaze was fixed on Michael. His usual calm and composed demeanor was replaced by visible anger, a side of him she had never seen before. The tension in the room was palpable, the atmosphere of the CCC seemed charged with an unusual gravity.

Michael’s voice cut through, sharp and demanding. “What do you mean you don’t know how it happened?” he asked, his tone edged with frustration.

Lute, appearing flustered and anxious, struggled to respond. “My exorcists said it all happened so fast—”

Michael interrupted, his anger evident. “I need you to thoroughly look into this again before I speak to Sera.”

With a decisive motion, Michael cut off the screen before Lute could offer any further explanation. The abrupt end to the conversation left an unsettling silence in its wake. Keenie’s eyes widened as she took in Michael’s distressed and angry expression. This new side of him was jarring, a stark contrast to the serene and heroic figure she had always admired.

The mention of “exorcists” by Lute caught Keenie’s attention also. What could that term mean in this context? The word echoed in her mind, adding to her growing confusion. The urgency and distress in Michael’s voice, combined with Lute’s incomplete explanation, left her with more questions than answers.

Feeling overwhelmed by the unexpected revelation and Michael’s intense emotions, Keenie decided to retreat. She took one last look at the scene below, her heart heavy with the weight of her observations. The furnace’s colorful flames flickered eerily, casting long shadows across the chamber, as if mirroring her inner turmoil.

With a final, shaky breath, Keenie flew away from the CCC, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and unease. She made her way back to her home, in Cherub town, the familiar celestial landscape offering little comfort. The soft, melodious hum of Cherub Town’s nighttime symphony and the distant sound of the Parade’s fireworks did little to soothe her agitated mind. 

The secrets she had glimpsed and Michael’s new, unsettling side left her shaken, and the weight of the unresolved mystery pressed heavily upon her, but what really bothered her was the fact that there was possibly more between Michael and Gabriela than she had anticipated.

What were they doing alone? Her mind churned with worry and jealousy, interlaced with the gnawing unreasonable anxiety that she might lose the position she had fought so hard to secure. The dream of being Michael’s confidant was now overshadowed by the haunting suspicion of an unresolved and potentially devastating love between Michael and Gabriela, one that would completely take away his attention from Keenie to Gabriela. 

The night was restless. Keenie tossed and turned, her mind unable to escape the unsettling images of Michael and Gabriela. Every detail she had witnessed played over and over in her mind. Romance between angels was forbidden, but the thought that there might be more between them gnawed at her with a fierce intensity. The love she once felt for Michael had transformed into a tumultuous sea of anxiety and determination. She knew she had to do something, but the path forward seemed obscured by a fog of uncertainty.

The next day passed and Michael’s silence was a painful echo in her once vibrant life. He neither called nor summoned her, which added to Keenie’s growing worry. It felt like an eternity, and the absence of his presence left a void that was becoming increasingly difficult to bear. Her duties and interactions with other cherubs now seemed hollow, their brightness dimmed by her inner turmoil.

However, a few days ago, a sudden commotion at a crowded cherub area drew Keenie’s attention. The cherubs, who had been engaged in their usual lively chatter and playful antics, were struck dumb by the unexpected arrival of Michael. His descent from the heavens cut through the usual buzz of excitement, leaving the area in stunned silence. The once animated scene froze in awe, all eyes wide with disbelief at the sight of Michael’s sudden and dramatic appearance.

Keenie’s heart leapt at the sight of him. She fluttered upwards, her wings beating with a mixture of excitement and desperation. “Hello, Michael. Fancy seeing you here!” she said

But Michael’s gaze was directed elsewhere, and he cut her off without a second glance. His demeanor was curt and distant, a stark reminder of the anger she had seen in the CCC.

Michael loomed over Collin, one of the less significant cherubs in their circle. The shift in Michael’s mood, coupled with his uncharacteristic sharpness, stung Keenie deeply. She hovered nearby, her wings drooping as she watched the interaction unfold.

Collin appeared visibly nervous, his usual bravado, if he had one, was replaced by a quivering demeanor. Michael's voice was low and sharp, “ Who instructed you to deliver Gabriela’s message? ”

Keenie’s curiosity was piqued at the name Gabriela.

Collin stammered, “ I-I, um, it was... Gabriela herself. ”

Michael’s eyes narrowed, disbelief evident in his expression followed by anger. “ Do not play games with me, Collin. I will not ask again ”

The tension was palpable as Collin, under pressure, finally admitted, “It was Sera.”

At the revelation, Michael flew away with a powerful beat of his wings, leaving a visibly shaken Collin behind. 

Keenie’s heart sank as she processed the implications of the conversation. The fact that Michael was actively seeking Gabriela, ignited a new wave of jealousy and frustration within her. The realization that Michael was now focused on Gabriela left Keenie feeling abandoned and neglected. 

The days that followed were a blur of melancholy for Keenie. Michael’s silence persisted, and the weight of her unspoken fears and frustrations grew heavier. The depression she felt was a suffocating blanket, darkening the once-vibrant world of Cherub Town. The joy she had once found in her duties was eclipsed by the gnawing uncertainty of Michael’s change. Her role as Michael’s messenger, now felt like a distant memory overshadowed by a dynamic she couldn’t control.

Now in the present, Keenie had remained in her cloud-like bed all day, the drapes drawn tight against the setting sun. The approaching twilight signaled the start of the grand light show, a spectacular event she had always enjoyed, but today it seemed a distant echo of a time when her world was simpler. 

Suddenly, a loud banging on her door jolted her from her somber thoughts. Cletus’s voice, raised in a mix of urgency and exasperation, cut through the haze of her despair. “Keenie! Open the damn door! You’re going to miss the light show!”

Irritated by the intrusion, Keenie reluctantly dragged herself from her bed. Her once-fluffy yellow wings drooped, and her dress was crumpled and disheveled, mirroring the state of her emotions. She approached the door and opened it slightly, just enough to see the concerned faces of Cletus and Deerie peering through the gap.

Cletus’s eyes widened as he took in Keenie’s appearance. “By the stars, Keenie! You look like you’ve been hit by a meteor!”

Deerie’s bright fawn eyes softened with worry as she chimed in, “Oh, Keenie, dear, you’ve been cooped up here for days. You can’t let yourself be consumed by this sudden darkness. Come on, it’s the light show! You’ve missed so much already, like Jophiel’s opening ceremony.”

At the mention of Jophiel, Keenie’s thoughts drifted back to the young archangel, who had been selected to oversee this year’s Heavenly Harvest Fair. 

Jophiel, the youngest of the Morningstar brothers, was often overshadowed by his older siblings. Despite his youthful appearance, which contradicted his actual age, he had become a beloved figure among the cherubs. 

His role as the archangel of beauty might have seemed insignificant compared to the likes of Michael, Uriel, or Raphael, but Jophiel’s contributions to Heaven were invaluable. His sketches and designs had transformed Heaven, adding beauty and inspiration to the lives of many and of the cherubs. He had worked tirelessly to improve their quality of life, earning him a special place in their hearts, as they were often overlooked. 

Keenie was reminded of how time in Heaven felt strange and timeless, as angels and Heavenborn seemed to age differently. Jophiel’s boyish appearance masked the wisdom and experience he possessed. 

Cletus’s voice broke through her reverie, his tone softening with rare empathy. “Keenie, you’ve been so wrapped up in whatever you got going on. The fair’s lights are a celebration, and Jophiel’s work deserves to be seen and appreciated.”

Deerie nodded in agreement. “Yes, Keenie, you need to get out and see the light show. It’s not just about the lights; you have to take care of yourself, too.”

Keenie hesitated, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions. The thought of stepping back into the world felt daunting, but the concern in Cletus and Deerie’s voices tugged at her. Just as she was about to make a decision, the shrill ring of her home phone pierced the quiet. Startled, Keenie abruptly shut the door and rushed to answer it, her heart skipping a beat with a flicker of hope.

To her surprise, it was Michael on the other end. The familiar tone of his voice immediately lifted her spirits. “Keenie? It’s Michael. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Keenie’s voice trembled slightly with relief as she replied, “Michael! No, not at all. I was just— I mean, it’s good to hear from you.”

Michael’s tone softened, and he quickly added, “I’m sorry for being so abrupt last time and for not communicating with you these past few days. I’ve been extremely busy with pressing matters.”

Keenie felt a surge of happiness at hearing Michael’s apology, though a trace of lingering hurt remained. She forced a smile and said, “It’s fine, Michael. I understand.”

Michael continued, his voice taking on a more urgent tone. “Look, I need you to deliver a message with the utmost urgency. Raphael is not currently in Heaven, so I need you to go to Earth and find him. Tell him he needs to return to Heaven as soon as possible, or to let me know when he will be back.”

Keenie could hear the desperation in Michael’s voice, but she chose not to comment on it. Instead, she nodded, though Michael couldn’t see her. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

“Thank you, Keenie,” Michael said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “You’re the best.”

As Michael hung up, a radiant smile spread across Keenie’s face. Her spirits soared, renewed by the unexpected call. She quickly opened the door to find Cletus and Deerie still waiting, their expressions a mix of annoyance and concern.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got work to do,” Keenie announced with newfound energy. “You two should go ahead without me.”

Cletus and Deerie exchanged bewildered glances, but Keenie’s determination was clear.

With a final wave, she straightened her dress and flew into the sky, leaving a flustered Cletus and Deerie behind. Her heart raced with hope as she soared towards Earth, ready to fulfill her new task and rekindle the spark of her role as Michael’s messenger. The vibrant world of Cherub Town slowly faded behind her, replaced by the promise of action and the chance to bask in Michael’s presence again. 

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As the shadows deepened and the fiery glow of Hell cast long, flickering shadows across the landscape, Zestial approached Carmilla's residence. The evening air, tinged with the ambient heat of the infernal realms, seemed to hold its breath as he made his way through the darkened streets. The evening had cast long shadows across the cobbled streets, and the warmth of the house glowed invitingly through its windows. Zestial's imposing figure stood out starkly against the darkening landscape.

He knocked gently on the door, his knuckles rapping against the old wood with a rhythmic, deliberate cadence. Moments later, the door creaked open, and Odette stood in the threshold. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Zestial, a mixture of surprise and happiness dancing across her features.

"Good evening, Zestial," Odette greeted, her voice tinged with a polite but noticeable excitement. "We’re glad you decided to join us for the evening. Mother and Clara will be thrilled to see you."

Zestial smiled, his gaze warm and appreciative. “Likewise Odette, I am truly glad to be here. ’Tis always a pleasure to spend time with thy family.”

She called out across the hallway, her voice echoing with the promise of an evening gathering. "Mother! Zestial is here!"

Odette swung the door wide, the soft, warm glow from within spilled out, casting a welcoming light across the threshold and Zestial stepped inside. Odette’s eyes sparkled with anticipation as she closed the door behind him, the subtle click of the latch sealing the evening’s promise. 

The soft murmur of voices and the clinking of dinnerware from deeper within the house grew louder, hinting at the lively scene awaiting Zestial.

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

Thanks for reading!

Story is available on AO3

Chapter Eighteen: Misunderstanding

[a-headless-angel]

Redamancy - Zestial X Angel!OC

Chapter Sixteen: Red Velvet Lounge

Word Count: 6,146

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The morning, or what passed for it in Hell, had long since faded into the afternoon. Inside Pandemonium Café, the chaotic energy intensified as the hours wore on. The place was alive with clattering dishes, shouted orders, and the constant murmur of conversation from the packed tables. 

Since the moment I walked in, I'd been on my feet, serving and taking orders, barely catching my breath once again.

The hours blurred together, each one marked by the relentless pace and the constant flow of customers. Yet I felt the unusual vitality coursing through me, a lingering effect of Zestial’s apple. The crisp sweetness of the fruit had not only been a fleeting pleasure but seemed to imbue me with a lasting energy that carried me through the day. It was as if the essence of the apple had woven itself into my very being, fortifying me against the relentless demands of work. 

Suddenly, the café door burst open, and a small, plump demoness strutted in, her maroon-pink flapper dress swishing with each step. Her platinum-blonde bob framed her face and her black and cerise eyes gleaming with desperation. 

Ashley caught sight of the demoness and rushed over, her eyes wide with surprise. "Mimzy, darling! Haven't seen you since—what, forever?"

Mimzy flashed a practiced smile, batting her thick magenta lashes. "Oh, Ashley, sweetie! You know how it is, a girl needs to keep herself scarce when things get... dicey." She glanced around the café, as if expecting someone to jump out and grab her. "Speaking of which, I need to see Vinny. Now. It's urgent."

Ashley raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but intrigued. "Vinny, huh? Sure thing, sugar. Just don't expect him to roll out the red carpet." She turned on her heel, heading upstairs to fetch Vinny.

Moments later, Vinny descended the staircase, his expression a mix of anger and suspicion. His presence was imposing, a stark contrast to Mimzy's flamboyance.

"Well, well, well," he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "look who decided to grace us with her presence. I thought you got smoked in the extermination, Mimzy. What happened to showing up to work?"

Mimzy fluttered her lashes, attempting to appear nonchalant. "Oh, Vinny, darling! You know how these things go. A lady has her distractions. I’ve been working on a business venture that you might be interested in." She waved her hand dismissively.

Vinny's eyes narrowed, and his tone grew cold. “Business venture? Like borrowing fifty grand and then ghosting me?” 

Mimzy's smile wavered, a flicker of panic crossing her face. She tried to maintain her composure, responding with a shaky laugh. "Oh, Vinny, darling! That fifty grand was to start the business venture. But you know how these things go—I need a little more to push it over the edge. Say, an extra twenty thousand? It’s an investment, really. Once the club hits, I'll pay you back, with interest, I promise."

Vinny's expression hardened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "An extra twenty thousand? You must think I'm a complete fool, Mimzy. You disappear and now you want more?" His voice dropped to a menacing growl.

Vinny’s expression grew dark. “You know, Mimzy, it’s quite the coincidence that my car went missing too and then—surprise, surprise—it somehow crashed into my girlfriend. Care to shed some light on that little mystery?”

Mimzy's eyes widened, her bravado slipping further. "That... that was a misunderstanding! I wasn't stealing it; I was borrowing it! And the crash—it was an accident! You know how crazy things get around here. I had no idea who she was, honest! It was all just a big mix-up." 

Vinny wasn't buying it. He reached into his holster and pulled out a handgun, pointing it at Mimzy with a steady hand. "You think this is a joke? Pay up now, or it's your life."

In a desperate bid, Mimzy blurted out, "You can't touch me! I know Alastor!"

My attention was instantly grabbed at the name Alastor.

Vinny's lip curled into a sneer. "Run, bitch," he said, squeezing the trigger.

What occurred next was like a scene straight out of a dark comedy.

As the gunfire erupted, the café descended into pandemonium. Workers and patrons dove for cover, ducking behind tables and counters as Vinny chased Mimzy through the café, bullets whizzing past. The air filled with screams, shouts, and the sound of shattering glass once again. Vinny, still firing and was now shouting into his phone, calling in backup from his associates to hunt down Mimzy.

In the midst of the chaos, I ducked behind the counter, heart pounding, watching the mayhem unfold. The lively café had turned into a battleground.

Tables and chairs were overturned, shards of glass glittered on the floor, and the acrid scent of gunpowder hung in the air. Mimzy, in a desperate bid for her life, darted toward the exit, her flapper dress fluttering wildly. Vinny pursued her with grim determination, his handgun still raised, eyes locked on his target.

The door swung open with a crash as Mimzy burst out into the street, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Vinny followed, barking orders into his phone, his voice a harsh growl. 

"I want her found! Now!" his words echoed off the walls, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance as he continued his relentless chase.

Inside, the café was left in a stunned silence, save for the soft murmurs of the few remaining customers and the distant wail of sirens. My co-workers, including myself, were already moving to clean up the aftermath. Broken glass crunched underfoot as we swept, the weight of what had just happened settling over us like a heavy fog.

Ashley glanced over at me as we swept the debris into a pile. Her expression was a mixture of concern and exasperation. "Well, that was a hell of a show, wasn't it?" she said, her voice tinged with irony.

I nodded, still processing the scene. "Is Mimzy a close friend of yours?" I asked, curious about the nature of their relationship.

Ashley smirked, shaking her head. "Close? Yeah, you could say that. Mimzy’s like a cat—always landing on her feet, but you never know where she's been or what she's dragged in. She keeps things... interesting, I guess." She sighed, her gaze sweeping over the mess. "One thing's for sure, though—she's got a knack for getting into trouble."

We continued to sweep up the glass, a few brave souls began to trickle back into the café, their expressions a mix of curiosity and wariness. We did our best to tend to the new arrivals, offering apologies and assurances as we cleaned up the chaos. The café, though still a mess, began to return to some semblance of normalcy.

Vinny returned, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, a scowl etched on his face. The tension in the café thickened again as he entered, his expression dark with frustration. Without a word, he stormed past us, ascending the stairs to his office. The slam of the door reverberated through the building, signaling the end of his pursuit of Mimzy, at least for now.

The afternoon gave way to the early evening, the café still buzzing with the residual energy of the earlier chaos. Vinny reappeared, his demeanor stern and unyielding. "Everyone out," he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're closing early for repairs again."

No one complained; in fact, there was a palpable sense of relief among us. 

A second chance to leave early was a rare gift, especially after the day's events. As I made my way toward the door, I mulled over the opportunity to scout the hotel, eager to resume my mission.

Just as I stepped outside and was about to make a turn, Ashley came running up behind me, a playful grin on her face. "Hey! Want to join me at a club? It's Mimzy's opening night."

The mention of Mimzy piqued my curiosity. "So, she survived her shootout with Vinny and his friends?"

Ashley smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Got a text from her a while ago. She's a survivor, alright. But if you want the full story, you'll have to hear it from her. She's got a way of turning near-death experiences into a show."

I hesitated, torn between my duty and the unexpected invitation. "I don't really have clothes for an outing," I said quickly, conjuring the excuse.

Ashley waved off my concern with a dismissive hand. "You look just fine. Besides—it's Mimzy's grand opening! After that stunt earlier, don't you want to see how she bounces back?"

Weighed by my mission but intrigued by the prospect of unraveling Mimzy's connection to Alastor, I made my decision. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to go out for a bit," I agreed.

Ashley beamed, grabbing my arm and interlocking it with hers. "That's the spirit, sugar! Let's go see what kind of chaos Mimzy's stirring up now." 

We walked together, weaving through the busy streets of Hell, the neon lights casting an eerie glow over the crowded avenues. The air crackled with the energy of the evening. Our destination loomed ahead—a shadowy building that seemed to pulse with a mysterious allure.

As we approached, the club's name came into view: The Red Velvet Lounge. 

The exterior was draped in rich, crimson velvet, with intricate gold filigree framing the entrance. Two imposing hellhounds, their eyes glowing like molten coals, stood sentinel at the doors, their formidable forms a stark warning to would-be patrons.

I looked at Ashley, a touch of hesitation in my voice. "Is this really a good idea? It looks... intense."

Ashley’s eyes sparkled with mischief and confidence. “Oh, relax. Just follow my lead sugar.”

As we reached the entrance, the hellhounds immediately blocked our way, their growls low and threatening. One of them stepped forward, a deep voice rumbling, “The longue’s not open yet. You’ll need to come back later.”

Ashley gave a charismatic smile, unfazed by the resistance. “Darling, call your boss. Let her know Ashley’s here with a friend.”

The hellhound, slightly taken aback by Ashley’s assertiveness, gave a begrudging nod. With a quick, low growl, he made a call. After a brief conversation, he looked at us and said, “You’re in luck. Go on in.”

As we crossed the threshold, we entered a realm of decadent excess. The Red Velvet was a dazzling display of 20s opulence infused with a touch of Hell’s infernal charm.

Rich, deep red velvet draped over every surface, from the walls to the plush seating. Gold-trimmed chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the room. The air was filled with the smoky, sweet scent of exotic incense mingling with the sharp tang of sulfur.

Elegant, overstuffed armchairs and antique sofas were arranged in intimate clusters, providing a sense of luxurious seclusion. The stage, draped in red velvet curtains, was set for performances that promised to be as mesmerizing as they were provocative. 

However, what captured my attention was the crackling sound of low, soft jazz music emanating from a vintage radio tucked discreetly at a polished mahogany bar that ran along one side of the room where Mimzy sat drinking an amber liquid in pensive thought. 

The delicate notes floated through the room, their gentle rhythm evoking a sense of nostalgia that tugged at my memories. It reminded me vividly of Évangéline and the cherished moments I spent with her in Heaven, savoring the tranquil ambiance of her café. 

As we approached the bar, Mimzy's eyes lit up with recognition, and she hurried over to embrace Ashley in a warm, enthusiastic hug. "Ashley, darling! I'm so glad you could make it!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with genuine gratitude.

 She then turned her attention to me, her gaze curious and welcoming. "And who might this delightful creature be?" Mimzy asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Ashley’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she made a show of looking me up and down. “Oh, this is my friend, Celeste. Haven’t quite decided if she’s an angel or a devil yet—though she seems to be a bit of both.”

Mimzy's gaze settled on me, her eyes twinkled with curiosity. “And what brings you to Hell, darling? Did you lose your way or is there a particularly interesting reason?”

I shrugged casually, trying to appear nonchalant. “Oh, you know, the usual. I don’t remember much about my life, but I was a nun.”

Both Mimzy and Ashley’s eyes widened and jaws dropped in surprise. 

Mimzy let out a melodramatic gasp. “A nun? Well, that certainly adds an unexpected twist to the tale. I suppose you’re not here to perform any exorcisms then?”

Ashley leaned in, her voice dripping with playful disbelief. “Hold on, you were a nun? That’s like saying you were an angel who took a wrong turn. What’s the story behind that?”

Oh, if only they knew the truth.

I chuckled softly, trying to keep my composure. “Honestly, it’s a bit of a blur. I woke up here and figured I might as well make the best of it.”

Mimzy raised an eyebrow, her tone shifting to a mix of intrigue and amusement. “And here I thought my life was a soap opera. How did a nun end up in the fiery depths of Hell? Surely that’s a story worth hearing.”

Ashley, ever the instigator, couldn’t resist adding, “Oh, come on Celeste, spill the beans! Did you have a secret rebellious streak?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Not quite. I think I’m just a little more adaptable than I used to be. Let’s just say my past life was a bit... complicated.”

Mimzy clapped her hands together with glee. “Well, isn’t this delightful? A reformed nun in Hell, and here I thought I’d seen everything. We’ll have to hear more about your adventures.”

Ashley chimed in with a playful grin, “Speaking of adventures, I’m dying to know how you managed to wriggle free from those loan sharks?”

Mimzy’s eyes sparkled with dramatic flair as she recounted her narrow escape. “Oh, you’re in for a treat! So, there I was, laying low at the Hazbin hotel.” 

My ears immediately perk up at the mention of the hotel. 

Mimzy continued “Then, the loan sharks came pounding on the door. And I mean that quite literally—they were armed to the teeth, wielding guns, melee weapons, and a battering ram as big as a small car!”

Ashley leaned in, eyes wide with intrigue. “Sounds like quite the spectacle. What happened?”

Mimzy grinned, leaning back and spreading her arms wide. “Well, they weren’t exactly the subtle type. But oh, did they underestimate what they were walking into!”

She paused for dramatic effect, her eyes narrowing with mischief. “As they were gearing up to break down the lobby door, the whole place started to glow with this eerie, greenish light.”

My eyebrows shot up in curiosity. “Green light? What was that about?”

Mimzy continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That, my dear, was the Radio Demon making his entrance. Alastor himself!”

Alastor was at the hotel? Now, I’m really invested in Mimzy’s story. 

Her voice grew more animated as she described the chaos. “Alastor didn’t just stand there. Oh no. He appeared in his full demonic splendor and unleashed his tentacle tendrils—yes, I said tentacles—right outside. One smashed a catapult to splinters, and the others were, shall we say, very effective at dealing with the loan sharks.”

Ashley’s eyes were wide with amazement. “And what did you do?”

Mimzy chuckled. “I ducked behind the nearest column and watched as Alastor grew larger and more intimidating. His limbs stretched out, and he just stood there with his sinister smile, sending the few remaining ones running for their lives.”

She gave a satisfied sigh, the memory clearly still thrilling. “Needless to say, I’m no longer on their hit list. At least for a while.” 

Ashley whistled, clearly impressed. “It’s a shame that Vinny wasn’t there to experience Alastor’s wrath.” 

Mimzy smirked, her tone dripping with playful malice. “Oh don't worry, he’ll get his turn in the spotlight eventually. Hell has a way of evening out the score.”

I couldn’t help but be intrigued by Alastor’s role in this unfolding drama, so I steered the conversation. “You certainly have quite the guardian angel—or should I say, demon—on your side. How did you manage to get in his good graces?”

Mimzy’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Ah, well, let’s just say Alastor and I go way back. We used to cross paths when I sang at a bar he frequented. We committed every sin together known to mankind, ah those were the good times,” she reminisced. “but despite his reputation, he’s quite the ‘kitten’ when you play him some jazz and pour him a few fingers of rye.”

I made a mental note of this tidbit about Alastor and played dumb to gather more information. 

“Really? From what you’ve recounted moments ago, I almost expected Alastor to be all brimstone and terror. Are you sure you’re not just making him out to be more of a softie than he really is?”

Mimzy’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in closer, clearly enjoying the attention. “Oh, believe me, he’s one of Hell’s most intriguing enigmas. But since you’re so curious, let me tell you something that might surprise you even more.”

She leaned in, her voice taking on a more confidential whisper. “Back in the day, Alastor was the new sensation in Hell—making quite the splash and enemies. Overlords started disappearing left and right—major players, not just the small fry.  And then—poof—he disappeared for seven years. No one knew where he’d gone. Just when everyone thought he was gone for good, he reappeared—of all places, helping Princess Charlie with the hotel.”

He’s helping Lucifer’s daughter? Now that is news.

Who needs enemies when you’ve got friends like Mimzy, who’ll spill your business to a stranger. Just as I was about to speak, Ashley cut in with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

“Speaking of the hotel, Celeste was actually interested in checking it out.”

My heart skipped a beat as I scrambled for an excuse. “Oh, just curious about the place. Nothing more.”

Mimzy’s eyes widened with intrigue. “Don’t bother, darling. Alastor’s got this lovely little phrase for incoming folks, ‘You’re welcome to stay if you actually want to give redemption a shot.’” She air-quoted Alastor’s words with a sardonic grin.

Mindy continued. “But let me tell you, he couldn’t give two shits about your redemption. For fucks sake, he’s an overlord! He owns souls for a living!”

Ashley’s curiosity seemed to be satisfied for the moment, and she shifted the topic with a more pressing question. “Alright, enough about Alastor. Mimzy, why did you invite us to the lounge if it isn't open yet? What’s the deal sugar?”

Mimzy’s expression shifted slightly, and she looked a bit uncomfortable. “Ah, well, remember when I tried to borrow an extra money from Vinny a while back? I needed the cash to hire more help. As you can see, I may have... overspent a tad.” 

She gestured around the lounge with a rueful smile. “ So, I was wondering if you and your lovely friend might be willing to lend a hand and be bottle girls for tonight.”

Ashley shrugged. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to help,” she said, agreeing to Mimzy’s proposal. 

The image of Alastor—the Radio Demon—loomed large in my mind. The tidbits Mimzy had shared about him only deepened my curiosity. Alastor’s dramatic rise, his mysterious disappearance,  and his return to aid Princess Charlie were all pieces of a puzzle I was eager to explore. The Hazbin Hotel, with its enigmatic allure, had truly become a focal point of my investigation.

I mentally resolved to make my way to the hotel as soon as I could. The opportunity to scout it out was too tempting to pass up now.

I glanced at Ashley, then back at Mimzy, considering my next words carefully. “Mimzy, I really wish I could help, but it’s been a long day, and I’m honestly a bit worn out. I think I might head home and get some rest.”

Before I could say more, Mimzy’s eyes widened with urgency. She stepped closer, her voice full of desperation. “Oh, please, Celeste! I totally understand, but I’m really in a tight spot here. You can keep all the tips! I promise, it’ll only be for tonight!” 

I considered Mimzy’s plea. My thoughts drifted to how little I had earned today and how being on Mimzy’s good side might open doors to more valuable information about Alastor. Her openness might be beneficial in the long run.

With a resigned sigh, I gave in. “Alright, I’ll help out tonight.”

Mimzy’s face brightened with relief and joy. “Oh, thank you, Celeste! You won’t regret it. Come on, let’s get you both set up!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Mimzy grabbed me and Ashley by the arms and led us towards the dressing room. The excitement in her step was palpable, and as we entered the room, I was immediately hit by a wave of nostalgia for the Roaring Twenties. The room was filled with an assortment of elegant and somewhat risqué attire from that era.

Mimzy practically bounced over to a rack of clothes and pulled out two skimpy dresses, glistening with sequins and fringe. The dresses were a dazzling mix of deep reds and golds, designed to sparkle under the dim lights of the lounge. “Here we go! These will be your uniforms for the night.”

Ashley’s eyes lit up with delight. “Oh my Gosh, Mimzy, these are absolutely gorgeous!” She eagerly reached for one of the dresses, twirling in place. “I’ve always wanted to try something like this!”

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret as I eyed the dresses. They were stunning, no doubt, but not quite the kind of attire I’d hoped to wear. I cleared my throat and ventured, “Mimzy, do you have anything... a bit more, uh, modest?”

Both Mimzy and Ashley burst into  raucous laughter at my words.

Mimzy’s eyes glinted with dark mischief. “Oh, come on, Celeste! You’re not a nun anymore—you’re in Hell now! Dress like you’ve given up on the idea of modesty and embraced the seven deadly sins. A little glamour never killed anyone... except maybe a few souls!”

With that, Mimzy left, laughing, and went to prepare the lounge for its grand opening, leaving me and Ashley to get ready.

Hours later, I was astounded by the scene before me.

The lounge was a pulsating hive of activity, far beyond what I’d expected for its inaugural night. The air was thick with swirling smoke, mingling with the hum of animated conversations and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. Above it all, the lively strains of jazz from the stage surged through the room, filling every corner with a rhythmic energy that was both intoxicating and relentless.

The bar was a chaotic epicenter of activity, with one overworked bartender scrambling to keep up with the unending demand. His hands moved in a blur, mixing and pouring drinks with the precision of a well-oiled machine. The clink of glasses and the hiss of shaken cocktails provided a constant backdrop to the evening's festivities.

Ashley and I were swept up in the frenetic whirlwind, our movements fluid and practiced despite the chaos that enveloped us. Each time a new guest crossed the threshold, we greeted them with our most dazzling smiles and warmest welcomes. Our charm became an integral part of the evening’s allure, melding perfectly with the vibrant atmosphere of the lounge. Despite the relentless pace, the generous tips and the infectious energy of the crowd kept our spirits buoyant.

But as the night wore on, the apple’s effect—an initial surge of artificial energy—began to wear off. Fatigue started to edge in, and I found myself struggling to keep up with the rapid rhythm of the evening. 

Just as I was starting to feel the weight of the twilight hours, the lights in the room began to dim, casting a soft, anticipatory glow over the crowd. A single spotlight flared to life, cutting through the dimness and focusing on the stage. The room fell into an expectant hush, the energy momentarily shifting from frenetic to anticipatory.

Suddenly, the stage curtains parted with a dramatic flourish. Mimzy emerged with a dramatic flair. She made her way to the center of the stage. Her platinum-blonde bob bounced with each step, and her eyes twinkled with mischief and confidence. Once in the center, her presence commanded immediate attention. She took a moment to survey the crowd with a wide, radiant smile before raising a classic, vintage microphone. 

“Demons and sinners of all stripes!” Mimzy’s voice rang out, clear and melodious, carrying an unexpected enchanting tone. “Thank you all for joining me on this splendid night! It warms my heart to see so many of you here for our grand opening night.”

She paused, letting her gaze linger on the crowd with a mischievous glint. “It’s been a whirlwind getting this place ready, and I couldn’t have done it without each and every one of you. Your presence here tonight makes it all worth it!”

Mimzy raised the vintage microphone to her lips, her fingers caressing its polished surface. “Now, to celebrate the lounge’s debut, I’m going to treat you to a little nostalgia. I’ll be singing one of my favorite tunes from my mortal days. It’s a song that’s close to my heart and I hope it brings a bit of that old-time magic to this night.”

With that, she flashed a dazzling smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “So, sit back, relax, and let the music take you away. Here’s to the magic of tonight and to the many more nights to come!”

Mimzy took a deep breath, her lips curving into a sultry smile as she began to sing. The moment her voice filled the room, I was instantly captivated by the sheer depth and power of her voice.

“This suspense is killing me

I can't stand uncertainty

Tell me now, I've got to know

Whether you want me to stay or go

Love me or leave me

And let me be lonely

You won't believe me

And I love you only

I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else

You might find the nighttime

The right time for kissing

But nighttime is my time

For just reminiscing

Regretting instead of forgеtting with somebody else

Thеre'll be no one unless that someone is you

I intend to be independently blue

I want your love

But I don't want to borrow

To have it today

And to give back tomorrow

For my love is your love, there's no love for nobody else”

Mimzy held the last note for just a heartbeat longer, then gave a deep, graceful bow.

As she straightened up, the crowd erupted into applause and her eyes locked onto me and Ashley. A mischievous smile curved her lips as she walked down the stage and approached us with a confident stride, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished floor.

“So, how’d I do?” Mimzy asked, her tone a mix of genuine curiosity and playful bravado.

Ashley grinned, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms with an air of casual elegance. “Well, Mimzy, you can be quite the talent when you're not busy dodging bullets.”

Mimzy’s smile widened, and she gave a theatrical wink. “Oh, darling, trouble is just part of my charm. Besides, it wouldn’t be half as interesting if I were any less fabulous.”

At that, hours drifted by as the lounge continued to pulse with its dynamic energy, though gradually the crowd began to thin. The once-packed room now saw fewer patrons, their lively conversations replaced by a softer, more subdued ambiance. As the hours wore on and the patrons dwindled, Mimzy approached us with a look of relief and gratitude.

“You’re both free to go,” she said, her voice carrying a note of sincere appreciation. “Thanks for all your help tonight.”

Our faces lit up with joy and we gathered our things as we left the lounge though the dressing room.

Ashley, happy as ever, exclaimed, “That was a blast! I might seriously think about quitting my day job to work for Mimzy, full-time.”

I nodded, considering Ashley’s words. “I would think about that if I were you. From what I’ve seen, Mimzy is not the most financially responsible person around.”

Ashley chuckled, giving me a playful nudge. “You’ve got a point there, sugar.” With a hug and a grin, she pointed skyward. “See you in a few hours!” she said, her excitement was palpable as her departure.

The first hints of dawn painting the sky with its pale light. I sighed, relieved by the decent earnings, but fatigued at the fact that I missed a whole night of rest. 

As I walked down a street, I looked forward to a shower and another apple to recharge, but my thoughts were interrupted when a sudden figure lunged at me from the shadows. 

A demon with a knife brandished menacingly said, “By the way you’re dressed, it’s like you’re asking for it. So, you can either make it easy or hard. Your choice.”

I sighed once again, numb to threats, and despite my exhaustion, I squared my shoulders and met his gaze. 

“I’d prefer the hard way,” I said, steeling myself for a fight to the demon’s surprise.

In an instant, I moved with instinctive precision. I dodged his initial strike, grabbed his wrist, and twisted the knife from his grasp with a swift, practiced motion. As the blade clattered to the ground, I delivered a sharp kick to his midsection, sending him sprawling onto the pavement.

Just as I began to regain my footing, more demons emerged from the hidden areas, surrounding me like wolves scenting prey. Panic surged through me; I could handle one or two, but the growing number of adversaries was daunting. Without my wings or any angelic weapons, I felt vulnerable and exposed. Their taunts and crude remarks only heightened my unease as they closed in.

“Ooh, look at that! A fresh little lamb all alone. Maybe we should show you just how much fun Hell can be. Bet you’d love a hands-on introduction.”

Another demon, a wiry figure with a sickly smile, added with a laugh, “What’s the matter? Afraid you won’t be able to pay your way out of this one? Don’t worry, we’re happy to help with that.”

A demon, his voice dripping with derision, jeered, “Hey, sweetheart, if you wanted attention, you could’ve just asked. No need to dress like that and make it so easy. Or are you just too stupid to know better?”

My muscles tensed, my heart pounding as I prepared to face the swarm of demons. I squared my stance again, ready to fend off whatever came next, even as my growing fatigue and lack of weapons and wings weighed heavily on me.

Just as the demons were about to pounce, a thick, swirling black cloud erupted around us, shrouding the scene in impenetrable darkness. The air grew heavy and stifling, and the suffocating blackness made it impossible to see or even sense what was happening. The screams of the demons pierced through the oppressive fog—an eerie symphony of terror and pain that seemed to echo endlessly.

The mixture of horrific shrieks reached a crescendo, then abruptly fell silent. The darkness began to lift, dissipating like ink washed away by a sudden storm. As the mists of blackness evaporated, revealing the street once more, I stood alone amidst the scattered chaos. The demons were gone, leaving behind only the haunting echo of their screams and the faint scent of burnt ozone.

I was still trying to process the surreal turn of events when a chilling presence made itself known behind me. I turned slowly, my heart racing, and found myself facing Zestial. His figure loomed large, his shadow casting a long, menacing silhouette against the backdrop of the dimly lit street.

Zestial’s expression was inscrutable, a mask of cold severity that revealed nothing of his thoughts. But his aura spoke volumes. The air around him crackled with a palpable tension, a tempest of dark energy and simmering rage, pressed against me with a force that was both stifling and terrifying. His lime green eyes, previously sharp and intense, now burned with a ferocity that felt like it could incinerate everything in its path, including me.

For the first time, Zestial’s presence ignited a deep-seated fear within me. 

It wasn’t just his appearance or his power that was unsettling—it was the eerie realization that Zestial’s presence here might not have been a mere coincidence.

The uncanny series of events, the way he had arrived, began to weave a chilling pattern. It dawned on me that Zestial might have been tracking me, following my movements with predatory precisions. The thought set my heart racing and my mind whirling with fear.

Without another second to spare, I spun on my heel and bolted down a darkened street, my feet pounding against the pavement in a desperate bid to escape. 

But the instant I turned to flee, I could sense a ripple in the air behind me—a shift in the darkness that signaled Zestial’s reaction to my attempt at escape, but my sense of urgency turned to sheer terror when I felt a sudden, unnatural shift in the air behind me.

In an instant, a wave of green, crackling energy surged forth from the shadows, coiling and twisting like a serpentine creature. The magic appeared with a blinding flash, its emerald glow casting eerie, dancing patterns across the walls. Before I could react, the magical tendrils snaked around me, gripping my arms and legs with an iron-clad hold. The force slammed me against the brick wall of an alleyway, my back hitting the hard surface with a jarring impact. Pain shot through me, a sharp hiss escaping my lips as I struggled against the restraints.

The green magic shimmered and writhed, its oppressive weight pinning me firmly in place. My breath came in ragged gasps as I watched Zestial approach, his form emerging through the swirling mists of green with an ominous grace. 

He drew closer and then gripped his claws on me.

I began to really panic, desperation gripping my voice. “What’s your deal Zestial?” I yelled, trying to mask the tremor in my tone with defiance. 

Zestial's green eyes bore into mine with an unsettling intensity. His face now level with mine, the contrast between his dark, brooding figure and the pale light of the streetlight casting long, menacing shadows.

“My matter is that I’m beginning to believe that granting thou freedom may have been a misjudgment,” he said, his voice low and dripping with an echo. The words sent a shiver down my spine, each syllable punctuated by a chilling confusion. 

His gaze remained fixed on me, the green light reflecting in his eyes and making them appear even more intense. “Though mine day hath been occupied with… other concerns,” he continued, his tone altering subtly as he drew nearer, “I still cannot cease to ponder upon thee, Celeste.”

Confusion and fear warred within me, the urgency of my situation only heightened by his cryptic revelation. I stared at him, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. 

HIs tendrils and claws still held me in its unyielding grip, and despite the pain, I found myself caught in the enigmatic gaze of the demon who seemed to be far more interested in me than I had anticipated.

This is not good. 

My heart raced, the fear and confusion melding into a singular, overwhelming sensation. It was as if the chaotic swirl of emotions within me had reached a fever pitch. 

Perhaps it was sheer desperation, or maybe a reckless desire to break through the suffocating tension. Whatever the reason, it happened in a heartbeat.

Without thinking, without fully grasping the implications of my actions, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against Zestial's. 

The moment our lips met, everything seemed to stand still, the world around us dissolving into a blur of raw emotion. 

Zestial’s eyes widened in shock. The green light that had enveloped him and tendrils that held me flickered and then vanished, leaving us suspended in a fragile, unsettling silence. 

Before I could fully comprehend what had just happened, Zestial dropped me and his expression shifted from surprise to something unreadable, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race.

The precarious balance between us felt like it could tip either way, and I could only brace for whatever came next.

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

Thanks for reading!

Story available on AO3

[a-headless-angel]

Helluva Boss Theory/Speculation: Love Letter not from Blitz

Hey everyone, it's clear that Blitz has a very low opinion of royal demons. The real question is, why does he hold this belief so strongly?

Recently, it has been speculated that Blitz perhaps dated or was in love with another royal demon before Stolas. It seems more likely that personal experience with royal demon deeply influenced Blitz's perspective. Perhaps he was manipulated into believing he was loved, only to be betrayed later on.

This is where my theory comes in.

The attached images suggest that Blitz was about to confess his love to Fizz, as many believe so. However, I’m more inclined to believe that the love letter wasn't from Blitz.

Instead, it might have been from the royal whom Blitz was in love with, but this royal had feelings for Fizz instead.

Blitz's expression can be interpreted as envy, which seems partially true given the favoritism Fizz received. However, I see it as more complex—Blitz's face shows a mix of envy, disappointment, and sadness.

This stems from the heartbreak of discovering that the royal he loved had feelings for Fizz instead.

The love letter was intended for Fizz, but Blitz somehow found it, setting off the chain of events that changed their lives forever.

These are just my thoughts and speculations, as I haven't seen this perspective widely discussed yet.

[a-headless-angel]

Redamancy - Zestial X Angel!OC

Chapter Fifteen: The Spider and Butterfly

Word Count: 4,286

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

Look, God does not even trust

the angels.

Even the heavens are not

absolutely pure in his sight.”

(Job 15:15)

The next morning I woke up in my bed with a pounding headache, the dull ache throbbing with every beat of my heart. The fiery lights filtered through the cracked blinds, casting long shadows across the room. Outside, the familiar sounds of Hell—screams and violence—echoed through the air, making my head throb even more. I buried my face in the pillow, trying to block out the harsh reality around me.

My mind replayed the chaotic events of the past night, each memory sharp and vivid. 

It began with the shattering revelation about the exterminations. I had fainted, the shock too much to bear, only to wake up in Zestial's place, of all places. I remembered the tears that had flowed so freely, a vulnerability that I hadn't shown in years. It was unsettling to think that I had broken down in front of him.

Then, as if things couldn't get more complicated, I had returned to my own place, expecting Sera through the mirror. But instead of Sera, it was Michael who appeared, his eyes filled with shock and something else—something deeper. The sight of him had broken me again, my composure crumbling as the weight of everything came crashing down. I had cried in front of him too, unable to hold back the torrent of emotions. 

The memory of his eyes, filled with a plea for understanding, only added to my inner turmoil. How had I come to this point, where everything felt so out of control? 

I prided myself on being composed, on keeping my emotions in check, I was expected to. Yet, here I was, unraveling in front of two powerful figures in such a short span. It was humiliating to think that I had shown such weakness, especially in front of Michael, whom I admired so deeply. 

It was so unlike me to cry, and now I had done it twice in one night. The thought made me wince, both in embarrassment and frustration of the aftermath.

With a heavy sigh, I forced myself out of the uncomfortable bed, my body aching from the poor sleep and stress. I stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the remnants of last night's turmoil. Everything had been building up, and finding out about the exterminations had been the breaking point. 

I have to pull myself together now, more than ever, if I want to reunite with Michael. 

The thought of him brought a fresh wave of emotions. I had been so upset when I confronted him about the exterminations, especially since he knew about them all along.

It shattered my image of him. I had been set on not hearing any excuses, but then he said he wanted me by his side. That changed everything. Becoming an archangel was my goal, to stand by Michael as an equal. His words had validated that notion. Deep down, I knew the exterminations were cruel, but as Michael said, they were a necessary evil to maintain balance. It's our duty, after all, right?

Zestial's words echoed in my mind, about angels following their duties regardless of how harsh or cruel they seemed. There was a layer of truth to his statement that I hadn't considered before. 

How much free will do we angels really have? So far, my choices had been my own, including coming down to Hell, albeit with a different perspective on Heaven. But now, Michael's words made it seem that if I didn't follow Sera's orders, I'd be abandoned here. The idea terrified me. Did I accept Michael's proposition out of longing for him, or fear of being stranded? Either way, I knew I had to get back to Heaven.

Then, a chilling realization struck me. The parades... they coincided with the exterminations. It wasn't just a coincidence; it was a deliberate political diversion. The festivities, the music, the distractions—all designed to mask the horror of what was happening. The realization hit me like a cold wave, sending a shiver down my spine. My mind began to spin, overwhelmed by the implications. 

The thought of being complicit, even unwittingly, in such a deception made my stomach churn. The reality of Heaven's actions, and my place within it, felt like a trap closing in around me.

Shivering at the realization, I decided a shower would be the next best course of action, hoping it would clear my head. 

Before I showered, I returned to the bedroom to reach for my bag, but I noticed something strange inside—apples. I didn't remember buying any at the market. With what I’ve seen, fresh fruit was rare and expensive in Hell, a luxury I hadn't afforded. When I brought the child a meal, I had to choose between spoiled food for pennies or a fresh meal that drained my savings. And now, I was left with no money.

I picked up an apple, examining its perfect red skin. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten. I decided to take my chances and bit into the apple. 

The taste was unlike anything I had ever experienced, far surpassing even the finest apples in Heaven. Each bite was a burst of crisp, sweet flavor that seemed to envelop my senses, awakening parts of me that had been dulled by the harsh realities of Hell. I found myself savoring every mouthful, unable to resist the urge to devour the entire apple, leaving only the core behind.

As I finished, a remarkable sensation swept over me—a wave of rejuvenation that seemed to reach deep into my very being. The fatigue and hunger that had weighed me down vanished, replaced by a newfound vitality and clarity. It was as if the apple had infused me with energy, a startling contrast to the bleakness that had surrounded me. The sensation was unsettling, though. How could an ordinary piece of fruit, from Hell, have such a profound effect?

I couldn't help but wonder about the origin of the apple and why it had been left in my bag. The thought crossed my mind that Zestial might have placed them there. But why? His intentions were a mystery. Yet, despite my reservations, I couldn't deny the tangible benefits I had just experienced. It was hard to mistrust something that had made me feel so unexpectedly well.

I remembered the glass of water Zestial had given me, and how it too had seemed harmless. He hadn't done anything to harm me, at least not yet.

The memory of his gentle touch when he wiped away my tears, flashed in my mind. It had been a simple gesture.

His touch had been warm, and it had sparked a strange sensation within me. When our hands brushed, that same warmth spread through me again, lingering like a gentle flame. It was a sensation that felt both comforting and unsettling, a stark contrast to the usual interactions I had with others.

Michael, whose touches had always been guarded and respectful, came to mind. He maintained a careful distance, as did I, both of us bound by the same celestial code of conduct. Our touches were fleeting and chaste, meant to uphold the boundaries of our roles and responsibilities. It was a mutual understanding, an unspoken agreement to preserve the sanctity of our duties.

But Zestial's touch, though respectful, carried a different weight. It wasn't that his touch was improper or inappropriate; it was the way it seemed to reach beyond the physical, stirring something deeper within me. The warmth of his hand felt like a quiet promise, a connection that defied the stark divisions between Heaven and Hell.

I felt a growing warmth inside me, a mixture of confusion and curiosity. 

What am I thinking? Am I going crazy over a simple touch? I've held hands and hugged others before, yet why did Zestial's simple gesture evoke such a response? It made me question the walls I had built around myself, the strict adherence to the rules that Michael and I had always followed. 

I quickly shook my head, trying to dismiss these thoughts. It was too confusing, too much to process. Yet, the memory of his touch lingered.

I needed to calm down. I pushed the thoughts aside, not wanting to delve too deeply into the complexities of Zestial's actions or my reactions to them. 

A cold shower seemed like the best solution. The cold water would help me clear my head, washing away the confusion and the thought of the strangely lingering warmth. I needed to focus on my goals, on the bigger picture, and not let —strange sensations—distract me.

I hurried to the tiny bathroom, eager to wash away those sensations.

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

Zestial stood in his garden, meticulously planting apple seeds that Lucifer had gifted him some time ago. Gardening had become his solace, a pastime that connected him to his mortal roots and offered a quiet reprieve from the tumult of his existence as a reclusive overlord. 

He found peace in the delicate art of botany, studying the many functions of plants, including their more nefarious uses, such as poisons. His dark gray, spider-like fingers, elongated and tipped with sharp claws, moved deftly through the soil, planting each seed with care.

Even as he focused on his garden, his thoughts were inexorably drawn to Celeste. 

The revelation that Celeste was not an angel, as he had once suspected, gnawed at Zestial, leaving him, for the first time in a long time, with a lingering sense of unease.

He vividly recalled the moment he had caught her when she fainted. Time seemed to stand still, allowing him to simply hold her, as if the universe had conspired to grant him a brief, stolen moment. In that instant, Zestial felt a deep, inexplicable pull toward her, something beyond mere curiosity or fascination.

Yet, despite this burgeoning emotion, Zestial had acted swiftly and with purpose. He conjured a portal, taking her to his sanctum, and gently laid her down in one of his guestrooms. The action was instinctive, protective, even. As he looked down at her sleeping form, he couldn't deny the strange mixture of emotions swirling within him—curiosity, protectiveness, and a growing fondness that bordered on something more. 

Then, he caught that same intoxicating scent that had first drawn him to her. It was the fragrance unlike any other—a heady combination that evoked images of forbidden indulgence and innocent delight, as it weaved its way through the air. 

This unique combination tugged at a primal part of Zestial, awakening urges and emotions he couldn't fully comprehend. It was as if the scent itself held a spell over him, pulling him closer, urging him to uncover the mysteries it concealed. The fragrance seemed to embody Celeste’s essence—a juxtaposition of purity and temptation, of light and shadow. 

The allure was powerful, almost magnetic, and Zestial found himself unable to look away from Celeste, the source of this mesmerizing fragrance and Zestial knew that he was no longer just intrigued by Celeste—he was truly captivated.

Then, Zestial made up his mind  and went to his study room.

He meticulously arranged an assortment of small instruments, his dark cloak trailing behind him, accentuating his tall, lean frame. He moved with an eerie grace, each step deliberate and measured. His thoughts were focused on the enigmatic woman now resting in his guestroom. 

Her reaction seemed personal, too intense for someone merely posing as a nun. The way she had responded to the exterminations, with such profound emotion, had been unexpected. It was as if the knowledge had struck a deeply personal chord within her.  It was then that Zestial was convinced she had to be an angel.

As he approached her bedside, Zestial's eyes held a contemplative gleam. He conjured his magic and pulled out a butterfly needle from his assortment. With meticulous care, he channeled a subtle, almost invisible strand of energy towards Celeste, guiding the needle with the utmost precision. 

The magic flowed gently, making contact with her skin in a way that was imperceptible to the naked eye. It was a delicate process, one that required not only skill but also a steady magic.  Zestial focused intensely, while trying not to be overwhelmed by her fragrance, ensuring that the needle interacted with her in the gentlest manner possible

The process was so refined and controlled that the needle left no trace, no marks, no bruises—nothing to suggest that anything had occurred. The blood was drawn into the stream, but to his surprise, the liquid that filled the syringe was not the golden ichor he had expected, but regular red blood. 

No, this couldn’t be right, he thought, his lime-green eyes narrowing in disbelief. He repeated the process, pricking another part of her body, but the result was the same. Determined to find an explanation, he returned to his study, examining the samples under a microscope, cross-referencing them with a conjured medical book. Yet, the results were unequivocal—her blood was ordinary by all accounts. He had expected something otherworldly, a sign of celestial origins, but it appeared normal.

For the first time in a long while, Zestial found himself baffled. He returned to the guest room, standing by the bed where Celeste laid.

Now, he felt like a spider who had ensnared a butterfly in his web, now pondering his next move. Would he let her go, free to flutter away, or would he keep her, preserving her beauty as a taxidermist might a prized specimen?

In the heat of thought, Zestial failed to notice the bag on the floor, dropped when he placed her on the bed. His curiosity piqued, he conjured magic to pick it up, examining the contents inside. It was mostly mundane—clothes, a few personal items—until he spotted a paper tucked into a side pocket. He pulled it out and unfolded it, revealing what appeared to be directions. The handwriting was neat but hurried, and the destination was unmistakable: the Hazbin Hotel.

Zestial's eyes narrowed as he considered the implications. He carefully returned the note to the bag, his mind racing with possibilities. 

Now intrigued by the note and the enigma that Celeste presented, he decided he would continue to observe her closely.

With a deliberate, predatory grace, Zestial retreated into the shadows of the room—silent, watchful, and unsettling. The darkness seemed to embrace him, making him one with the gloom, his lime-green eyes the only hint of his presence. He waited patiently, engulfed by her scent, a silent sentinel in the shadows.

Time passed, and he saw Celeste begin to stir. As she slowly registered her unfamiliar surroundings, confusion and the beginnings of panic flickered across her features. Before she could react, Zestial stepped forward, his tone calm and measured, as he announced his presence and maintained an air of composed detachment.

Zestial watched as Celeste slowly sat up, her movements cautious and disoriented. He could see the confusion etched on her face, a mixture of fear and bewilderment as she took in her unfamiliar surroundings. 

Her presence in his sanctum felt like an intrusion, yet also strangely fitting.

He noted the dryness in her throat, her parched lips—a clear sign of her need for water.

Without waiting for a response, Zestial extended his hand from the folds of his cloak. His long, clawed fingers, usually concealed, glinted ominously in the dim light as he deftly conjured a glass of water. 

The act was simple, yet he performed it with a certain elegance, watching as the glass materialized, filled with pristine, shimmering water. He approached her, offering the glass with a calm assurance, the cold condensation forming small droplets on its surface.

He noticed her hesitation, the way her eyes warily tracked the glass, balancing her thirst against her apprehension. Her caution was palpable, and Zestial found himself both amused and oddly intrigued by her wariness as he assured her that the drink wasn’t tampered or poisoned.

As she gingerly accepted the glass from his monstrous claws, Zestial observed her closely. The way she drank, desperate and eager, spoke volumes of her thirst, but also of her trust, however tentative. It was a trust he hadn’t earned, yet here she was, vulnerable and reliant on his hospitality.

When she placed the empty glass down, Zestial’s eyes narrowed slightly and he got straight to the point. He remarked on her reaction to the exterminations, his tone carrying a note of subtle intrigue. 

As he stood there, Zestial’s mind raced with more questions. Who was this sinner truly? Why was she in Hell? What was her past, her secrets? The scent of her, that intoxicating fragrance, lingered in the air, pulling at his senses, adding to the enigma she presented.

Zestial watched as Celeste fell silent, lost in thought, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions that swirled beneath the surface. Recognizing that she wasn't going to answer, he decided to shift the conversation, hoping to draw her back into the moment, so he commended her for helping the demon child, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. 

Zestial thinks back to how he slipped away from his sanctum and subtly invoked an illusion spell, his form fading into the shadows until he was completely invisible to find Celeste to avoid causing another scene at her workplace. 

He arrived at the place only to find it closed early for repairs. The sight of the shuttered establishment momentarily thwarted his plans, but he decided to continue his search, his curiosity piqued. As he wandered through the city, he reached out with his senses, seeking any trace of her presence. Then, faint but unmistakable, he caught the scent that had become so familiar to him—a unique blend of innocence and allure that stood out in the air of brimstone and sulfur. 

Following the scent, Zestial navigated the winding streets of the city until he turned a corner and saw her. To his surprise, she was not alone; Celeste was with a young demon child. He observed from the shadows as she struggled to help the child, her every movement marked by determination and compassion. She appeared to be assisting the child in finding his parents, despite the evident difficulties and dangers that such an endeavor entailed.

Zestial watched as the situation reached a dramatic peak. The child, holding a dead bird, seemed poised to eat it out of desperation. Celeste intervened just in time, stopping the child and offering him food she had procured, though none for herself. 

After the child had eaten, they returned to a nearby bench and sat down. It was then that Zestial decided to reveal himself. With a slight flicker of magic, he dispelled his illusion, stepping out of the shadows and into the dim light of the street. His sudden appearance startled Celeste and the child, but he remained calm, his eyes fixed on her with a mixture of curiosity and quiet respect.

In the present, Zestial watched Celeste's reaction closely, noting the sudden shift in her demeanor. His words seemed to have triggered something within her—a memory, perhaps, or an emotion because her eyes began to glisten, forming tears. Her tears caught him off guard.

Finally she spoke. “Children... they’re often overlooked and dehumanized.” 

Her words painted a picture of suffering and neglect that resonated with him on a level he had not anticipated. His heart, if he had one, stirred with an unexpected emotion as he observed Celeste's tears and listened to her words. Her genuine concern for children touched something deep within him—a memory long buried, yet never forgotten.

It was one of those cold nights. He would huddle in dark corners, trying to disappear into the shadows, hiding from the world that seemed intent on rejecting him. 

One night, colder and more desolate than most. It began like any other—I was skulking through the darkness, searching for scraps to survive another day. 

But they found me, a group of older children, their eyes glinting with malice and something more—fear, perhaps, or hate. 

They surrounded me, their hands clutching stones and sticks, their faces twisted with a mix of revulsion and glee. 

"Demon," they called me, their voices a sickening blend of fear and contempt. 

"Mother and Father say thou art a demon," one said.

"The townsfolk declare thou art accursed," another said.

The first blow  came vividly—a sharp, searing pain across my arm, followed quickly by another and another. I curled up, trying to shield myself, trying to make myself small and unseen. But the blows kept coming, relentless and unyielding. The pain was real, yes, but what hurt more, what cut deeper, was the realization of my utter isolation. 

It became clear to him that he was truly alone in a world that saw him as a monster, a thing to be feared and despised. 

And that monster was what he became. 

With hesitance, Zestial reached out, his clawed finger gently brushing away the tears from her cheeks. The touch was meant to be comforting, an unspoken gesture of understanding and solidarity. To his surprise, it was a moment of unexpected intimacy, one that left him feeling exposed.

Her whispered "thank you" resonated with a sincerity that touched him, though he struggled to fully comprehend the depth of her gratitude. Zestial nodded slightly, his expression remaining calm and inscrutable, though inside, he felt a strange turmoil. 

When she expressed her desire to return to her own place, Zestial thought back to that moment of decision. The delicate balance between confinement and freedom weighed heavily on his mind. 

As he gazed at her, he realized that to truly understand and appreciate the enigma that was Celeste, he could not confine her. Her beauty and spirit, like a butterfly, were meant to be seen in their natural state, not controlled or restricted. 

Thus, with a sense of resignation and curiosity, he chose to release his hold, hoping that in her freedom, the answers he sought might eventually reveal themselves.

He conjured a portal, ensuring it led safely to her home and allowing her freedom. As she stepped through the portal, Zestial handed her bag with a small gift he conjured inside. Her hand brushed his, noting the brief contact with his claws. The sensation was fleeting, yet it left a lingering impression, and he watched her go, a mix of emotions swirling within him—relief, curiosity, and a lingering sense of connection that had formed between them.

Zestial watched her disappear, the portal snapping shut behind her. He stood there for a moment, lost in thought, replaying their interaction in his mind. 

Her compassion, her tears, the warmth of her skin—all of it left him feeling strangely unsettled, yet undeniably intrigued. He realized that he was no longer merely curious about her; he was falling for Celeste.

But he couldn't afford to let himself become ensnared by these burgeoning feelings. There was too much at stake, too many unanswered questions about who she truly was and why she had such an effect on him. He had to maintain control, to keep his emotions in check. Yet, even as he resolved to distance himself, he couldn't shake the warmth of that brief moment when he held her, a moment that left him yearning for more.

His thoughts wandered to Carmilla, a long-standing presence in his life. 

His feelings for Carmilla had been complex and layered, growing slowly over the years like vines around an ancient structure. Despite his sophisticated exterior and guarded nature, Zestial had allowed himself to feel for her—a silent, unspoken affection that, while not reciprocated, had never been a source of bitterness for him. It was an affection built on shared history, mutual respect, and countless interactions that had woven their lives together in subtle, intricate ways.

Zestial recognized the difference in his feelings for Carmilla and Celeste. 

With Carmilla, his emotions had developed gradually, almost imperceptibly, a slow burn that had never threatened to consume him. But with Celeste, it was as if a spark had been ignited within him, intense and immediate. It was unsettling, this sudden depth of feeling, and it made him wary. He had always prided himself on his ability to remain detached, to not be swayed by fleeting emotions. 

Yet here he was, unable to shake the sensation that Celeste had somehow slipped past his defenses, stirring something in him that he hadn't felt in a long time, if ever.

As Zestial finished planting the last of the apple seeds and carefully gathering the poisonous plants, a note materialized in the air before him, shimmering with a faint glow. Zestial recognized the familiar handwriting of Carmilla. The note floated gently down, and he caught it, reading the words:

Zestial,

 I would be delighted if you could join me and my daughters for dinner this evening. Your presence would bring much joy to our gathering, and it would give us a proper chance to catch up on all that has transpired in our respective lives

-Carmilla

Zestial's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he considered the invitation. It had been a while since he spent time with Carmila and her daughters, outside of meetings, and the idea seemed like a pleasant distraction. More importantly, it was an opportunity to confront what he felt for her. The invitation might offer clarity, not only about his feelings for Carmilla but also about the turmoil Celeste had stirred within him. 

With a final glance at his garden, Zestial tucked the note away and went to his study room, determined to find answers to the questions that had begun to cloud his mind.

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

Thanks for reading!

The story is available on AO3

Chapter Sixteen: Red Velvet Lounge

[a-headless-angel]

Blud thinks he’s the true savior

[a-headless-angel]