#Downloadable resource for knee pain

[health-product-for-men]

Stepping Up My Game: How Feel Good Knees Helped Me Rediscover Movementpen_spark

For years, knee pain had become a constant companion, limiting my physical activities and impacting my overall enjoyment of life. Climbing stairs, going for walks, or even playing with my grandchildren became increasingly difficult. That's when I stumbled upon the Feel Good Knees program, a downloadable ebook that promised to help me regain control of my knee health. After following the program for a few months, I'm happy to report a significant improvement and a renewed sense of freedom in my movement.

A Holistic Approach to Knee Pain Relief

What initially attracted me to Feel Good Knees was its holistic approach to knee pain management. Unlike other resources that solely focus on pain relief exercises, Feel Good Knees delves deeper into the root causes of knee problems. The program explores the impact of posture, muscle imbalances, and even inflammation on knee health. This holistic understanding allowed me to address the underlying issues contributing to my pain, not just the symptoms themselves.

Simple Yet Effective Exercises for Lasting Results

Feel Good Knees isn't a program filled with complicated exercises requiring expensive equipment. The program focuses on simple, targeted exercises that can be done from the comfort of your own home. The clear instructions and step-by-step photos made it easy for me, even as someone who isn't the most athletic, to follow the program effectively. The best part? I started noticing improvements in my knee mobility and flexibility within just a few weeks of consistent practice.

A Focus on Long-Term Maintenance, Not Just Quick Fixes

One of the things I appreciate most about Feel Good Knees is its emphasis on long-term maintenance. The program doesn't just offer quick fixes; it equips you with the knowledge and tools to maintain healthy knees for years to come. The program includes valuable sections on proper stretching techniques, healthy lifestyle habits, and even preventative measures to avoid future knee pain. This focus on long-term well-being has been instrumental in preventing setbacks and keeping me active.

A Downloadable Resource That Fits Your Schedule

Being a downloadable ebook, Feel Good Knees offers the advantage of flexibility and accessibility. I can access the program materials anytime, anywhere, allowing me to fit the exercises into my daily routine at my own pace. No more struggling to attend physical therapy appointments or feeling pressured to follow a rigid schedule. This convenience has been a major factor in my commitment to the program.

A Renewed Lease on Life, One Step at a Time

The positive impact of Feel Good Knees extends far beyond just pain relief. With my knees feeling stronger and more flexible, I've rediscovered the joy of movement. I can now climb stairs without dread, go for longer walks without discomfort, and even keep up with my energetic grandchildren. Feel Good Knees has given me back the confidence and freedom to embrace a more active lifestyle.

Overall, Feel Good Knees has been a life-changing resource for me. The program's holistic approach, simple yet effective exercises, and focus on long-term maintenance have empowered me to take control of my knee health and rediscover the joy of movement. If you're struggling with knee pain, I highly recommend giving Feel Good Knees a try.

[reptilian-angel]

Chapter 3: “This Time I Might Just Disappear”

-

ME: OK, one corrupted file, libreoffice download & chapter retype, A BRAND SPANKIN NEW LAPTOP, one series of murder mysteries, three tiktok comedy sketch series’s, one season two finale of Helluva Boss (I’m still hurting for Stolas ),:) the whole of the FIRST season of Hazbin Hotel (and plenty more to come I hope!), one freak slip on the carpet where I narrowly avoided a snapped knee but couldn’t avoid a NASTY case of carpet burn on my ankle and over a thousand Dr. Peppers later, here we are with another chapter!

I hope everyone had a great time at LVLUP and got a whole buncha great stuff and was safe as could be given . . . Everything these days. That said, I hope all shes, gays and theys are all living it up and staying safe this month – remember, you all are valid, you all matter and you all are loved.

Also, due to some completely assholery involving AI and some of my fellow A03 writers getting their stories scanned and used by similar assholes, I have made the decision to limit those who see my stories to be registered accounts. So far, I haven’t heard anything about my work being stolen but better to play it safe.

. . . Okay, chapter summary time!

Stolas, in my cranial vortex of chaos, is a mastermind when it comes to magic, and with this chapter, I shall make that truth.

Be safe and enjoy!

-

TRIGGER WARNING: NEAR PANIC ATTACKS & TEMPORARY DEATH!

September 19 th , 9:48 AM

Sprig hadn't the slightest idea how he ended up crumpled up against the wall of Count Ronove's mansion, coughing up too much blood to have come from biting his tongue on impact. His eats were ringing louder than the bells on Extermination Day and the world swam in his sight when he tried to peel open his eyes. Everything from the neck down hurt like someone had shot him multiple times and felt as though the pain was growing worse by the minute.

All that to say, he had no idea what the fuck had just happened.

It had started out like any other day. An average morning at the estate. Sprig had been watering and trimming the hedges alongside the front steps of the Count's manor, with one of the Hellhound security guards, Riff, looking over the front of the estate with obvious slouch that surely would have gotten him berated harshly had anyone of importance been around.

Sprig couldn't blame him being so lax, even as a member of the Ars Goetia family, the Count hadn't either the resources nor the desire to draw in any visitors to his region of Pride. And given how devoted the Count was to studying the vast amount of lost languages and lost scripts of Hell's history, it would be the day that hellhogs start flying if he had chosen to host some large gathering at random instead of choosing to bury his nose in a thick tome. More often than not, the only frequent visitors they ever got were the delivery boys bringing in a month's worth of the latest newspaper, each one fresh off the presses and sent from every news outlet there was in Hell.

(According to the few maids they had on staff, the Count had found a supposedly lost alchemy formula somewhere in the editorials and since then, he had been obsessed with scanning each and every page of whatever rag he could get his hands on. Which did wonders for the Count's reputation.)

Today had been one of those rare times. Prince Stolas, who ruled over Imp City and was stations above caring about people like the Count, had sent a request for a meeting. What it was about and why he needed to speak with the Count, it was neither important or concerning enough for Sprig to pry into. As a gardener and an imp, his job was to maintain the gardens and the plants around the Count's mansion, to ensure every patch of grass, hedge and flower looked as immaculate and as captivating as his master's home. Granted the whole estate together was barely bigger than a modest country club, but still, work was work.

Which had been exactly what he had been doing when, twelve minutes shy of ten o'clock, the Prince's towncar had pulled up to the front gates. Sprig had just exchanged the trimmers for the pruners as two of the other security guards marched to the entrance. Opening up, one guard went through them and went up to the towncar, the first part of standard protocol for the Count's security; although Sprig couldn't hear them, he knew that the guards were performing the usual checks, and judging by the calm in the air, weren't going to find any problems. Basically, it was more of a rigid knock-knock joke without the punchline, where the worst they got was a stray Hellcoon, the absolute bane of Sprig's meager existence.

After a minute or so, the Hellhound outside calmly signaling to the guard still inside to open the front gates. He did so without ceremony, the iron-wrought gates slowly creaking open after he pressed the switch controlling the locks. Once wide open, the towncar entered calmly, the flags flapping from where they were screwed onto the headlights as they proudly displayed Prince Stolas's crest for all at the estate to see.

Sprig had seen that as good a time as any to bow out. The front courtyard was raked, trimmed and watered down as perfectly as could be. Going on past experience, it was frowned upon to be tottering about in plain view while important visitors were set to arrive. He heard a few rumors that Prince Stolas wasn't the type to sneer towards the help, but all the same, it was best to make himself scarce. He had been quick to gather his tools in the homely bucket he had used to collect his weeds and had stood up to make his way back to the shed.

When, out of nowhere, the world exploded in bright white.

He remembered being thrown hard by the sound.

He remembered the impact of his back bouncing off the capitol at the front of the mansion so soundly he felt his spine snap.

He remembered going blind from the intensity of the light.

And of course, he remembered the pain.

The feeling of smoke invading his throat and constricting his lungs, the pain of even daring to look at he source of the burst, and the pain of the shrapnel that dug into his chest like bolts from a crossbow.

Sprig wasn't a soldier, having prayed that he never would with his weak constitution, but even he knew that small flecks of metal like this shouldn't hurt this much. He barely processed the sensation of his dark blood staining his shirt, the warmth clashing harshly with how fucking cold he felt himself growing. Pressing a shaking hand to his chest, the puncture wounds dripped with blood, his fingers gone numb save for something that tingled and hot and wrong. What in Satan's name -?

His blood ran ice cold when enough of his focus came back to recognize the glow that shone in the black – the pure, Holy glow that he had prayed that he would never experience in this lifetime.

Angelic steel shards.

The only surefire way to permanently kill a demon, from royal to rabble.

And now, it was buried deep in his body and some, he realized too late. Pierced through his heart, slowly and painfully bringing his organs to a stop.

All at once, his body finally caught up to the fact that it was dying, convulsing, liquid ebony and bile began to force its way up his windpipe and spill onto the ground, and Sprig couldn't do a thing to stop it.

He felt nothing when he collapsed into a boneless heap. The ringing in his ears dying down did nothing but make room for the sounds of him choking on a never-ending stream of black and ethereal white that spewed from his stomach. The warmth of his blood escaping from his wounds and mixing into the pool of gray steadily growing under his cooling body felt about as comforting as a casket ready to carry him down to the void for all eternity. Never to come back as someone else one day thanks to the mercy of Satan.

There was no time to feel panic. No time to register the hot tears running down his face. No time to even try and call for help for someone, anyone to help him. Not that they could.

It was one of the most well-known truths of Hell.

No one struck down by the weapons of Heaven could be saved.

The only thing that could be done would be to pray for an easy fall into oblivion.

So Sprig did. Or tried to, in his last moments. He doubted either God or Satan would hear him, but when you lay dying in a puddle of your own blood, there wasn't much else he could do.

So with what breath he had left, he would pray for his soul . . .

. . . And the Prince's. Since he was most likely joining him in the void.

That was made certain as the last thing that Sprig could make out the corner of his darkening sight was a long, delicate hand, covered in feathers as black as night, dangling like a rag doll's out of what the flaming, white-hot wreckage of burnt metal that was once Prince Stolas Goetia's towncar, drops of obsidian dripping down to the formerly pristine courtyard.

Sprig wasn't even halfway through a psalm before his last breath left him a moment later.

Truly, no could withstand the might of Heaven.

Not even a Great Prince of Hell.

~X~

Two hours earlier . . .

Stolas's heart was racing.

His heart was racing and he couldn't stand it.

His pulse had started going at the same pace as that of a hummingbird's ever since he awoke, all four eyes snapping open like shutters when the hour reached the time of twilight, his magic as in tune with the rise of the sun as the rise of the moon. He was never the most coherent demon upon waking, even less in the first few years of his marriage when was harshly risen by Stella's shrill commands for him to get his lazy arse out of bed while she was still all tucked up and cozy.

But today, his mind had never felt clearer.

Today's the day.

Today's the day and you're still lying in bed.

You don't have time. Get up and get ready.

He rose out of the bed, pushing away the plush, heavenly warm blankets he had tangled himself up in the night prior, his piddly attempt at savoring what might have been the last comfortable sleep of his life. One last selfish indulgence.

But now, he couldn't be selfish. He needed to move.

He swung his legs over the side, the feeling of the supple rug under his talons helping to center his thoughts. He took a deep breath. He looked around. The room was still dark from the late morning hours. By his account, it was still a good thirty minutes until Hell's sun rose fully into the sky. The staff wouldn't rise until ten minutes past eight. And Stella, for all her bereavements, made an obnoxious point of rising whenever she damn well pleased. He quietly cursed. He didn't have too much time. He needed to hurry before anyone else was up.

The countdown started now.

He leapt off the bed, summoning his favorite red robe, frayed and soft and as comfortable as anything, from the closet with a flick of his fingers and pulled it on, cinching the belt tight with a jerk. Stolas spread his hands wide, opening a portal with no fanfare and stepping through into the part of the manor that may have been his one and only sanctuary. Even with the urgency, he could feel his heartbeat settle into calm.

The fresh air of the Garden house always did wonders for his many anxieties over the millennia. Probably because contrary to all her efforts to spread her reach over the household, this part had been the one place she hardly touched. Sure, there were a slew of ass-numbingly dull garden parties hosted by her here a handful of times, his wife preening with pride as her close friends for the week complimented on her excellent flower arrangements and selections for the theme of the events, as though she were the one who had been rising up at the crack of day and working until dusk with her arms elbow-deep in compost and reeking long after.

Fed up with her after one such party, he dared to call her out on her claims in front of her vapid companions, taking extreme gratification at seeing her turn purple with rage. The momentary glory was wiped away almost immediately after when she later smashed every single pot in the palace that she could get her grubby hands on, with him and a few employees being practically clobbered on the spot.

Those instances aside, overall it had remained the last part of the palace was still wholeheartedly his. First it had been his mother's, one of her greatest joys and comforts when she had fallen to Hell. And now, after having proved himself capable, it became his to preserve and cultivate. And he did so with the utmost diligence and love. From each simple sapling to the most exotic flora, he had made this place a private oasis nearly as worthy as Eden.

And now he was leaving it all behind.

Well, almost.

He hurried over to the supply cabinet and opened it up. He ignored the hung collection of well-used tools and pots and took one of the small pouches from where they hung on the inside of the door. Small enough to hold in his hand and keep out of sight and big enough to carry what little he could take with him. He shut the cabinet as quietly as he could as the hinges tended to creak.

Twenty-eight minutes. Hurry. Only take what won't be missed.

He approached one bed of soil, the seeds inside having yet to sprout. Carefully, he stuck two talons inside and dug tentatively around until he the smooth shell of the seed. He pulled it out with the utmost care and tucked it inside the pouch.

Hydrangeas. Check.

He moved to another bed. Looking over it carefully, he repeated the process just as surgically as before. There was a slight of green beginning to climb out, but it was nothing to worry about. In the pouch, they went.

Amaryllis. Check.

He began moving on autopilot. He knew he didn't have time to take every pod and seed, even though the thought made every inch of his heart hurt, but he be damned if he didn't take the plants most precious to him along with him. Each time before plucking a seed, he double-checked their progression to ensure they wouldn't be harmed by his harried actions, any beds that held sprouts or bigger, he chose to leave be. He refused to let his last act towards them ruin them or stunt their growth.

They would be lovely when they fully bloomed, for certain. He only wished that he could be there to see it. But for now, he needed to focus.

Dropping yet another seed in the pouch, he took note of the sizable amount now inside, the soothing sound of them rustling together provided a small comfort. He quickly checked them over.

Sweetpeas? Check.

Violets? Check.

Chrysanthemums? Check.

Foxgloves, peonies, vanilla, sakura, orchids, gardenia, daffodils, lilies, lavender, mint, bluebells, peach blossoms. Many more and the like were accounted for.

Twelve minutes left. Damn.

He admittingly rushed with the fruits and vegetables, forgoing the more widespread free-range ones. No telling if he would actually need them or not. Eventually, he had tied the pouch closed as tightly as possible so the precious seeds wouldn't spill out. Part of him desperately wanted to make his way to some of the just as dear plants and vegetation that he had planted all throughout the palace, like his more sentient devourer blooms – or perhaps some of the seed pods from his more coveted specimens.

He shook off the urge. No, he couldn't. Only take what what you can carry. No excess baggage. Speaking of which . . .

He rushed over to the quaint work bench that he had set close to the door leading outside. On it's surface, were all the tools necessary for an apothecary – an old worn mortar and pestle, grinder and cutting knives, each blade clean as can be if not a little dull. There were also a number of assorted jars, measuring spoons, cloths, and boilers scattered nearly all over. All of them had served Stolas well with his studies of botany and horticulture.

But at the moment, all he was interested in was what he set on the bench just a few days prior. The barrel was about 7.8 pounds as wooden as basic as any other standard barrel used for outside storage, capable of holding anything from water to manure. A cheap purchase that Stolas had often purchased in bulk for his many gardening projects. Also, coincidentally, one of the things he knew Stella wouldn't even think of having searched, especially if it was filled to the brim with Hellbull dung and compost. If she had, she would have dismissed the poor soul in a heartbeat if it meant keeping such filth away from her and "noble" nostrils. The threat of feces had been a surprising deterrent to things he had wanted to keep away from her prying eyes over the years, even just slapping a label calling it such keeping even the most determined help on her side away even though it could be completely empty.

But it wasn't today, Satan willing.

He looked over the barrel with a scrutiny far more suited for examining a disarmed bomb. He nodded to himself. Good. His darling wife hadn't had her lackeys peek inside this one. This was going to be an important ingredient for today's recipe, after all, and he didn't need anyone spoiling it. Least of all some of her more surly minions spitting in it out of sheer spite. He carefully removed the lid. Leaning in, he scanned the inside of the barrel for a brief moment, letting out a puff of air.

The soil was still perfect. The earth he had been collecting and compiling together from various samples of dirt and loam he had been pain-stakingly procuring like it was a universal secret. In normal circumstances, he would have had some of his own servants aid him, had he not been worried about their tendency to gossip. He doubted Stella would give two figs about a near ten pounds of dirt, but he absolutely did NOT want to leave it to chance.

He couldn't afford any.

Just to be extra cautious, he tucked a soft hand into the soil, allowing the grains of dirt to fall though his claws in a meticulous sift. No unusual lumps, unwelcome shapes or sizable anomalies hiding inside. Excellent. Nothing had been tampered with. He'd be absolutely fucked, otherwise.

At ease, Stolas promptly shut the barrel, resealing it and ensuring the safety of the contents inside. A quick clap of his hands made quick work of the dirt stuck to his feathers.

Nine minutes. Keep moving.

Another portal. He stuck his head in the rip in space, surveying his surroundings with caution. His work office was still dark, the candles unlit and the sunlight still too low to peek through his spacious stained-glass windows. It took him a moment or two to be utterly confident that there was no other soul mucking about in his office aside from him. Seeing no signs of the staff or Seven forbid it, Stella, he beelined for his desk. Rounding the side of it, he quietly nudged the chair aside before falling to a knee. Once again checking for any unwelcome voyeurs, he focused on the blank slab of wood that made up lower left side of the desk.

Pressing the tips of his claws to the surface, he needed only wait a second before three rings of energized light glimmered to life, each ring baring a sequence of random symbols, not like the tumblers with numbers on regular safes. Stolas kept his touch light as he rotated each ring separately, as the slightest bit of heavy-handedness would trigger the repelling spell that was set inside them, reinforcing the seal and preventing any other attempts at opening it for twenty-four hours. As well as a rather nasty sting. He would know as he had constructed the seal himself.

Most would probably consider a magically conjured seal a waste of time and resources, but any decent spellcaster, if given enough cause to do so, would all agree that a metaphysical vault was far more effective and a much more efficient repository than that of large, gaudy and needlessly expensive steel storage units.

Plus, making a safe with magic provided its maker more room for positioning its location and designing a more discreet, and therefore safer, hiding place. Such as the lower right side of your work desk.

With one last decisive turn, the ring's sigils flashed brightly, signaling his success, before it disappeared just as quickly. The wooden surface crinkled like burning paper, the lacquered wood fading away as though tossed in the fireplace before a simple, small safe door appeared in place. Stolas turned the just as plain silver handle, forgoing his routine sigh of relief. The damn thing had a bad habit of jamming on him and he in a great hurry to day so any delays would certainly cost him dearly.

Opening the safe, he took a seconds to view its contents; a thick, mammanilla envelope with a prominent bulge in its middle, a handful of insanely rare jewels that Stolas had stumbled upon his work trips on Earth, small stacks of $ouls that easily added up to half a billion, enough to buy a modest country and bars of gold and silver that could also but an additional one to got with it. There was also the odd piece of jewelry that would make any greedy soul salivate. In fact, each piece would tempt even the most senseless of sinners to traipse into his palace for the chance to purloin one. Not that they'd succeed, of course. Not like he would.

With a wave of his hand and a blink of his eye, a small pile of treasure that mirrored the items in the safe materialized with s muted flash on the floor. Picking up a jewel, he held it up. He hummed in approval. Perfect. As solid and as real as the original. By that logic, the rest should be just as convincing. With another wave, the treasure fell into a small portal with the mammanilla envelope, the one item he left without a twin, following after it, the tear blinking away. Having practiced this spell for the past few eeks, he was confident that his smuggled bounty would go where he had meant it to go.

There, funds secured.

Seven minutes.

That out of the way, Stolas moved on to the second reason he was here.

Just as he had expected, his most prized possession was right there waiting for him – The Grimoire shelved neatly on one side, exactly where he set it after fulfilling the work that required it a week ago.

He wasn't as well-braced for the abrupt somberness that overcame him when he saw it. The violet tome was light in his trembling hands, yet the inside of it contained a weight of knowledge and spells that was over eight lifetimes, each page painstakingly written, drafted and embalmed with power great enough to raise the moon and swallow stars. He himself had made his own additions to the Grimoire over the centuries, but none that were particularly as noteworthy as the powerful enchantments and hexes crafted by his mother.

Indeed, the book had served him a great deal from the first day he had been granted its ownership. From reading countless prophecies that wee spoken amongst the cosmos to touching ground on planets and moons light-years away from their own solar system, Stolas could hardly imagine where he would be without it.

He quietly sighed. But I'll soon have to, won't I?

He opened the Grimoire. The pages fluttered softly as he spread it open, holding it with a reverent cradle before shutting all four eyes and taking a deep breath . . .

. . . And snapping them back open with a burst of illuminating amethyst.

As though being hit with a gust of wing, the pages began flipping by themselves with a fury, page after page they turned as the words written upon them shone an entrancing cobalt.

To any who were watching, it would have looked like Stolas was simply showing off with magical sparks as he skimmed through the thick book. Not that Stolas would've noticed them anyhow.

All he saw was words.

Words. Phrases. Sigils. Diagrams. Spells. Incantations. The very essence of the Grimoire itself was flowing into the Prince's synapses without restraint, the speed like that a swift and vicious hurricane. Such a sudden mental onslaught would grossly overwhelm any novice practitioner of the arcane arts. But, of course, Stolas had learned how to endure the brunt force of the spell ages ago. It was all simply a matter of readying himself before casting.

A much younger Stolas in the past had figured out very early on as a fresh student of sorcery that studying could be a mental, physical and at times, emotionally straining venture. True, he was a quick learner and a natural-born prodigy but none of that earned him any way of cutting corners or a work around for his education. Not that it made him any less determined to learn.

He naively believed that with proper self-maintenance and discipline, he could easily tackle each hurdle that he came across and get through all of his curriculars in a snap. Famous last words.

In less time than the city of Troy had fallen, with him burning the midnight oil at both ends, forgetting to consume actual food and water and falling into a near-dead sleep at the most random times, one instance landing him face flat in a bowl of Vole soup, became his doubly hellish study routine. The politics of Hell, its history, the arts of diplomacy, business and economy of the damned had been the bare minimum of his curriculum as he was a Goetia Prince first and sorcerer second.

After perhaps the fourth time of finding her son half-dead from exhaustion and burnt out worse than a fallen church candle, it hadn't been too much of a shock that Queen Alycone, frustrated and concerned, not with Stolas's lack of progress but with the rapid decline of his health and stability, confronted her husband. Paimon, even with outwardly looking guilty with driving his only son so hard, stood firm on the point that Stolas's studies were vital to his future role as a prince of Hell. And even more so, when the time would come for Stolas to ascend to Paimon's position and take his place as a Goetian King.

Most noble wives typically take such words with bowed heads and folded hands, but, never one to be content with just taking the absurdity, Stolas's mother was quick to act.

First, she sentenced his father to sleeping in the guest wing for three weeks. The moment she declared his "exile" to the bewildered king was quite a sight, Alycone even going as far as to have removed each mattress within so his sleeping options would be either the sofas or the floor (Stolas could never help the small bubble of mirth every time he thought of the miffed, sulky look on the face of the Lord of Love and Chaos as he walked around with mussed feathers and a sore back every morning at breakfast).

Second, once his father was done eating crow and had earned his way back to their bed, she taught Stolas how to 'cheat-yet-not-cheat'. The way she had phrased it had baffled him when she first spoke of it. But of course, after she explained, Stolas understood.

The trick his mother had taught him had, in fact, been yet another handy spell she had constructed. The spell allowed its caster to take a book and, in layman's terms, command it to inject its contents directly into his mind. Once you learned to deal with the initial shock, anything you absorbed would be automatically ingrained into his memory. Even one who had neither the ability nor the cognition to obtain literary knowledge whatsoever could gain the intelligence of a Levi-League scholar if they had the talent to attempt such a feat. And it could all be done in a matter of seconds. As it did for Stolas there and then.

All at once, with subtlety of a dam slamming shut, the stream of wisdom cut itself off in a snap, jerking the Owl back into reality with a gasp.

Feeling like he had been holding his breath for half an hour, he definitely needed a moment to gather himself. The center of his forehead throbbed in beats, each eye blinking rapidly from the serendipitous dryness that occurred like he had just spent yet another full week beak-deep in one of his botanical books. But beyond that, nothing that would waylay him.

That said, he needed to hurry.

Still, he took his time in shutting the Grimoire. This would be the last time he would be holding it after all.

He held the treasured book in his hands, simply holding it for one, two, three moments of precious time. He had taken in everything inside that the Grimoire had to offer, but the physical memory of it was what Stolas wanted to have committed to memory.

Its weight, the soft, preserved leather of the body decorated with runes scried from the stars, the jewel embedded on its spine that his mother had plucked from the remains of a ferocious beast and crystallized to complete its beauty. Her greatest work. The work he had been entrusted with. His one last piece of his mother's legacy that he had left of everything that she was and had been. And over time, everything that he was, or what he was supposed to be.

And now he would leave it all behind.

Stolas did not allow the tears he could feel budding in his eyes to shed as he reverently tucked his most priceless keepsake back into the safe. He did nothing to stave off the guilt and remorse that bludgeoned him square in the chest the split second his fingers parted with it.

Forgive me, mother. I know I've disappointed you in the most shameful way a son could . . . But if you were in my place, if you had suffered what I had for all these years, I could only pray that you would understand.

. . . . . . . . He was stalling.

Two minutes.

He made to shut the safe. He had to get back to his room before -

- A small box, the one damned thing he had tried his damnedest to ignore, as he did every single bloody time, halted him.

His blood chilled in his veins.

It wasn't the most grandiose item in his safe, in fact, it was by far the simplest looking thing inside it. A small, plainly decorated silver box only big enough for a average ring. Absolutely unimpressive by anyone's standard.

But to Stolas – it was what was inside that mattered more than anything. More than Hell, than the Grimoire, and even the universe itself.

He stilled. He felt his body constrict him tighter than a snake's. His hands were the only things that had the will to move, shaking terribly at the fact that he was leaving this behind too.

He couldn't take it.

He couldn't take it. He couldn't take it with him.

It wouldn't be safe. Far too many risks. He knew that.

No, it was far safer here.

Is it, though?

Is it, really?

You are leaving it behind. Leaving it all alone, with HER .

I don't like it.

I don't like it but I can't take her with me.

Can't you?

No, I can't.

I can't. Not if everything is still uncertain.

I can't take her, I can't.

You know what SHE is like.

You know she'll disappear for good if SHE gets her hands on -

I can't.

I can't. I can't. I can't. i can't. i can't i can't lose her twice -

Time was up.

In the span of six seconds, he snatched the little box out of the safe, shut it none-too-gently, allowing the seal to return and conceal the door once again, opened a portal back to his personal chambers, flew straight into it like the tide of Armageddon was right on his tail-feathers, threw off his robe, whipped back the blankets and bed sheets before diving underneath them once again like a shot, curling up in a tight ball as he wrapped his covers around him as tightly as a cocoon's, turning his world black.

He waited with harsh pants for something to happen. He knew it was nonsense but panic made fools of the powerful and wise. He waited for something to come in and catch him dead in the act. Some guard that Stella sent just to rattle him. A servant who rose too early barging in to see him tear into his room like a whirlwind. Stella herself storming in just to spew venom at his shaking form under the blankets for daring to think he could pull the wool over her eyes and how pathetic he was for even trying OH SHUT UP mind you are NOT helping

The gasps of air he let out bounced back towards his face from the walls of luxurious fabric that surrounded him. His pulse sang with fright, his body vibrating with the building anxiety that was rising in him. His head began to feel fuzzy, his erratic emotions doing nothing to help it subside. All the while, the small box that had triggered such discourse within him was held to his chest with the grip of a starving man, his thin arms pressing it directly over where his racing heartbeat thumped the loudest.

His breath then stopped only to leave him feeling like it had lodged like a rock in his throat, choking him unexpectedly, drawing sharp panicked chirps from his mouth. Being an owl, the worst thing he had ever had the misfortune of getting stuck in his esophagus was a too large shrike he had been too impatient to subsidize and consume properly. By comparison, this felt infinitely worse.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was about to fall head-first into a full-blown panic attack. It had been sometime since he had endured one, but he could easily put together why he felt as rattled as seasoned soldier would be after confronting the End dead in the face, barely escaping with His hounds biting at his heels. He knew it was preposterous, but . . .

The precious, damning little box was held even tighter to his chest.

He would have taken to being chased down by the Eldritch monster residing inside him then leave behind what was inside the box.

The sound of his distressed breathing finally registered to his ears, even if just barely heard over his heartbeat. Each bark of air rebounded back into his face made the limited amount of air grow hotter and more stifling. The soft, tractile fabric just then feeling rough and enclosing, his minuscule space beneath his comforter unabashedly that much more smaller and confining. Stolas could already feel his adrenalized mind edging to nothingness -

It's too much. Something said. It's too much. This plan of yours is too much. The overwhelming dread grew even more heavy with the weight of the words hissing in his ears.

This isn't going to work.

This plan isn't going to work.

You know that this plan isn't going to work.

You really think you can do this?

You really think you could succeed?

You honestly believe that you won't get caught?

You will. You know you will.

You failed at everything else that's ever mattered – Your duties. Your crown. Your parents. HER -

Isn't that proof enough that you will fail? Fail like you always do? Like you have always done?

Isn't that proof enough that will fail again ? That you will always fail?

You need to to stop.

You need to stop this.

You need to call it off.

It's not too late.

Stella will never know.

It's easy. Just undo everything you've done and things will be okay-

NO .

The sharp, fine tips of his claws dug deep into his palms. The sting grounded him in an instant, bringing the insidious whispers to a shuddering stop.

NO. No. They will not. Things would not be okay. They never will and won't ever be again.

Not if Stella had anything to say about it.

He struggled to grasp enough control back to force his breathing to slow. He eventually did, even though it felt like he was trying to climb his way up a steep mountain in Wraith and failed with every stone he stretched for. Regardless, his thoughts gradually relaxed bit by bit, the ringing of his pulse fading away to a near imperceptible silence. His breathing finally getting a grip and breathing in languidly air helped immensely to grapple back his focus. A few ticks away from having his resolve imploded into ruins, he could feel it rebuild itself with shaky determination.

This wasn't the time to lose his proverbial shit.

He had to hold it together.

He couldn't back down. He couldn't turn back. Not now.

He had bidden his time. He had gone over this plan step by step. He corrected every mistake he found, improved every flaw that presented itself, he could do this blindfolded, hand-cuffed and walking on his tips of his talons if he had to.

He knew what he was doing. He had made it to this point. He was not going to fail. He couldn't fail.

He couldn't afford to fail.

The sizable lump in his throat had vanished, the air no longer feeling as suffocating, but it did feel a tad too much for him to bear for much longer, tentatively poking his head from under the blanket. The early morning light had belatedly arrived and brightened his room considerably. Nary a bit of shade to delay Stolas's awakening further.

Which meant in a quarter hour's time, his morning routine would begin.

He didn't get a chance to get another thought in before the enchanted clock on his nightstand sparked to life; in a squall of indigo flame, the image of the next moon phase was proudly displayed along with a small blip in regards top the weather.

Tonight's Phase – Waxing Gibbous

Next Phase – The Harvest Moon

Partly cloudy today, with skies even redder than usual somehow

He gave the message a wry smile. The Harvest Moon, eh?

By this time of year, he would have already been halfway out the door just as the schedule he had planned out a year ago demanded. I wonder who'll they get to replace me?

Oh well, no sense wondering about that. It wasn't going to be his concern anymore soon, provided everything went well.

He got up once again, this time at a more lazy pace. He kept the box cradled close to his chest, but he no longer squeezed it within an inch of his life. He sighed. Taking the box had been a mistake. But there was no taking it back now. He . . . He would just need to be much more careful in holding in any future impulses. The last thing he needed was to be royally fucked over because he made a reckless move.

He patted the clock without even looking, his touch calmly putting out the flames, and calmly put on his favorite pair of bunny slippers, the pink lifeless faces of bunnies looking up at him hilariously contrasting the adorable squeaks that peeped out with each step he took as he strode to the bathroom. The sight in the grandiose bathroom mirror wasn't welcome but not unexpected. His plumage looked haggard, messy and unkempt in a way that couldn't be blamed on a restless night. Each feather stuck out this way and that, their usual sheen dulled and in definite need of a thorough combing and preening. Which he had every intention of doing, even with his urgent schedule. One should look one's best when they're meeting their end.

Usually, he would go to fill his large, marble claw-foot tub, adding as many bathing oils and bubble soaps as he could, and lounge the morning away in mountains of bubbles as his glamours of glimmering constellations wafted through the air like incense. But not today. Stolas directed himself to the glass shower, just as elegant with an ivory stone interior and an industrial-strength shower head, taking care to set the box on the side of the sink before hopping in, momentarily savoring the hot sprays once inside. While not his daily bath, it did well enough when he was in a hurry.

He couldn't help but add an ungodly amount of his favorite jasmine and lavender scented body wash to the loofah before he sudded up his feathers. He did his best to enjoy the silkiness of the soap as much as he could while simultaneously plucking out any broken shafts he felt tucked away, each one falling to the shower floor with a quiet splat. He wasn't sure when his next shower might be so he needed to get in as much showering in as he could. Soon, all the suds had been rinsed away and he was forced to turn off the water. He stepped out of the shower and gave a small breath in relief as he spotted the little box still sitting prone on the sink. Good. A snap of his fingers and a gust of hot dry air rushed over him, almost instantaneously drying his body, leaving him feeling physically refreshed and very, very fluffy.

Taking one of his preening oils on the rack above the left of the sink, he popped off the cap and raced through the last bit of his feather maintenance routine. He was sure that he had set some kind of world record for application speed by the time he was done. Giving himself a swift once-over, he carried all the removed pinions to the rubbish bin, by magic, of course. No sense leaving the help to clean up his mess one last time.

He had reached out for the box when he caught something in the corner of his eyes. A small orange pill bottle, nearly depleted, the sticker proclaiming its name "Happy Pills" for all to see, the miniature symbol of Belphegor stamped on the corner of it.

Ah.

Right.

Almost forgot his last dose.

A more sensible soul would only take one or two of the Sloth-Ring High Grade Anti-depressants and had tucked away the rest for later. That is, if they were perhaps a lower-tier demon like a succubus or an imp, or Satan forbid, a sinner.

But being a Goetian Prince, it was nothing to him to simply down the last six pills inside like they were tit-tacs. Any fear of a high was dashed long ago, having been taking double the prescribed amount for years, or even triple depending on how profoundly malicious Stella had been on a day in particular. Besides, given how today had to go, he would need the double dose to stay focused. He delivered the now empty bottle into the rubbish bin in a flippant underhand throw that would have made any lazy addict proud. He knew the staff wouldn't inquire about the bottle that had been delivered fairly recently. Like a great many things, they had simply gotten used to it. At least they won't have to worry about going on prescription runs for me anymore.

He swallowed the bitter lump in his throat, bidding a silent goodbye to the bottle as he swept up the little box and stepped back into his bedroom. The fissure of self-loathing he could hear growing loader in his eardrums was cut off by a faint buzz.

Stolas didn't jump in fright. Instead he went erect with attention. That was the first call.

He hurried over to his dresser, ignoring all of the drawers, he kneeled onto the floor, easily reaching under the blood-oak dresser and felt around for a special something he had rarely pulled out until the very night before. In no time at all, feeling a touch of fabric, Stolas pulled out a small leather sack barely bigger than his palm. Pulling the strings tightened at the top, he deftly turned it over, allowing the object inside to fall into his hand.

The old Voxtek flip-phone looked perfectly intact, its screen bright as the frame vibrated in repeated notice. There was no name displayed in the contact, but Stolas didn't need it. He knew who was calling him. Flipping it open, he pressed the answer button with no hesitation, holding it up to his ear. All he heard was the faint sound of static and soft, crackled breathing before -

"Rise and shine, feathers."

Stolas scoffed. "And a good morning to you as well. Am I correct in assuring that this isn't simply a wake up call?"

A crackled chuckle. "You might wanna catch you beauty sleep while you still could, your highness."

"I've rested enough. So let's get to business, shall we?"

". . . You sure y'know what to do?"

"Yes, do you?" His cheek retort earned him a scoff.

"I'm all ready to go, birdie. Just waitin' on you."

"Is our location set?"

"All good here."

"My errand list?"

"All taken care of."

"Anything we need to worry about?"

"Nothin' I can't take care of."

"Good . . . I trust that you will be on time?"

"Like I said, just waitin' on you."

"Marvelous. See you soon."

"Lookin' forward to it, your highness."

Stolas ended the call. He took a deep breath.

Alright. Time for Phase One.

It was easy to let his body fall into autopilot, allowing it to carry on with a stoic demeanor; gathering the outfit laid out for him the night prior, his usual romper and khaki slacks, and dressing without fanfare, made half a minute quicker by having the romper tailored so instead of extending into shorts that stopped around mid-thigh, the hem stopped at his waist. That would make it much faster for him to undress later on. Next the gloves, the long black ballroom gloves that ended with faux feathers right at where it met the elbow joint. Right after that, his blood red cloak which fastened at his neck with golden clasps and was collared with a high neck of ermine fur. The usual stiff, tight sensation that came with it each time he wore it barely came to mind.

No, it was far more preoccupied with other things.

To be exact, the precise amount of steps to take, how much time each of his tasks the rest of the morning would take and going over each possible delay. It helped him to stay calm. Although he did damn nearly button his romper wrong, with one side higher than the other. Thankfully, it didn't take long to redo them, even as his fingers trembled.

Damn nerves.

He gave himself a small shake to refocus. Plucking his crowned cap off of the dresser, he had been about to place it on his head when he remembered. The little box that gave him so much trouble, tribulation and anxiety in the past quarter hour was carefully tucked into one of the inner pockets of his cloak. The phone was tucked out of sight into the chest pockets inside his romper, his long chest feathers hiding its shape perfectly. Finally, he put the cap on. The cap added a good half-height to his already towering figure, but as a prince it was a symbol and therefore, necessary to wear. Regardless of whether or not the said demon who made it was influenced by the tall buckskin caps that British mortal guards.

It was the last time he would have to anyway. No sense fussing about it.

Knock knock

"Your Highness, are you awake?" A voice quietly inquired from the other side of his bedroom door.

Ah. Right on time. Time to get ready.

Squaring his shoulders, he readily schooled his expression into what most would call a "resting bitch face" – eyes hooded and empty of anything except contempt, his beak thinned into a neutral line and his posture as stiff as a hard drink. Not a single emotion to be discerned anywhere on his features. In other words, a picture perfect privileged, shallow royal. A role he had been taught, and forced, to play for centuries.

And now, he would play it for the last time.

"I am." He responded coolly. "Come in."

The door opened right away. The imp servant scurried inside, stopping abruptly at a respectful distance and bowing at the waist. "Good morning, your Highness. I hope you slept well."

It didn't take Stolas long to recognize the imp; small and diminutive with two tiny horns simply poking out of his white hair, Peabody was one of the more, to put it loosely, complacent ones that he had in his employ. He wasn't one hundred percent certain on whether or not his loyalty was to him or to Stella, but he had yet to act upon anything that would draw suspicion from either of them. He was one of the most recent hires, a transfer from the Lust Ring and diligent in his work. His tasks weren't terribly crucial to the work flow, delivering letters and significant parcels to either he or Stella, bringing a suitable snack tray when he was working long hours in his office and often making sure to deliver one of the two vintage custom phones in the house, bulk and all, to whichever royal was receiving a call.

He was surely aware of the situation between him and his "Darling" wife, but seemed to be more neutral in terms of allegiance. He never went out of his way to try and curry favors between them, neither had he attempted to sabotage either he or Stella for some petty act of rebellion against the Upper crust as some of the more radical imps attempted to do nowadays, or to earn favoritism simply to elevate his position in the household. As long as he knew when to stay out of the warpath, he saw no reason to get involved.

In short, just a demon doing his job. Stolas saw no need to ponder further.

"I slept fine." Stolas answered, his tone cordial but already sounding bored of the conversation. "Hardly anything worth discussing."

"Of course, your Highness." Peabody straightened up. "Princess Stella has yet to rise. Shall I go and awaken her?"

Stolas laughed dryly at the innocent question. "Not unless you wish to get one her shoe heels lodged in your eye."

The much smaller demon gulped. "Y-yes, your Highness."

Good. One less mess to deal with this morning." He fixed Peabody with an expectant glower. "Have you been my itinerary for the day?"

"Of course, your Highness."

"So let us not waste any more time with idle chit-chat then."

"Yes, your Highness." Stolas would not normally be so curt with the staff, but his usual courteousness would leave him liable to give his true thoughts away. And to do so now would be as good as a death sentence. Keeping that in mind, the Prince strode past the imp and out of the door. Hearing it shut and quickly be followed by a trail of hastened hooves, Stolas continued. "My meeting with Count Ronove has been confirmed?"

"Yes, your Highness. Mister Pringles himself made sure to confirm it last night before going to bed." Peabody huffed, already out of breath from having to hurry to keep up with the Goetia's much longer stride.

"And the route to the Count's estate?"

"I'm afraid it's still blocked by construction, your Highness."

"And I don't suppose it'll be cleared before my departure to the count's?"

"I don't think so, your Highness." Peabody's breathing was growing more haggard. Feeling slightly guilty, he slowed his pace, an action that would have definitely earned him a sharp thwack from his childhood etiquette instructor for his willingness to comply to the "lesser". He kept his face emotionless at the servant's small sigh at relief.

He instead to put any present emotion into the most exasperated sigh he could muster. "Oh, what incompetent supervisor lets a whole sewer line collapse on an entire sheet when I have important places to be today?"

"I, erm, I'm afraid I don't know, your Highness."

Stolas huffed. "No, I suppose you wouldn't . . ." Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his beak as though he was taking the world's biggest headache. "Have the security teams and the guards been informed of the change of route?" He grouchily inquired.

"Yes, your Highness. They've already made the preparations to clear the new route to Count Ronove's estate. All the checkpoints have been run through and cleared with little problem." The feeble confidence with which Peabody spoke with was incredibly fleeting. "However the alternate route will take at least hour and a half longer."

Stolas bit back the smile. Of course, just as he expected.

Clueless to the Prince's satisfaction, Peabody's voice shook. "I-I'm sorry, your Highness, they did attempt to look for a faster way for you to be driven, but, ah, well – her Highness insisted that she had done the best she could for you."

This time, Stolas was much more honest with his emotions, dramatically rolling all four eyes. What the imp servant actually meant was that Stella had instructed their security to look for the longest, traffic clogged, hellish route they could find and approved of it long before he could say anything in protest.

And why? Because that very day, on Stella's gentle instruction, he was "supposed" to have lunch with King Zagan and diplomatically kiss his fiery ass just enough for Stolas to make up for making an absolute idiot of himself during the party a while back. Nevermind the fact that Stolas seriously doubted that Zagan even remembered him and did not linger on every single faux pas dealt to him like his wife did.

But honestly, it was fine. She was making things that much easier for him.

Feigning at adjusting his gloves, he drawled. "Nothing to be done for it then. Since she went so out of her way for me I see no reason not to accept it." For all her efforts to give a subtle-not-subtle middle finger, he would take it as a wonderfully unexpected favor.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Peabody relax his shoulders, obviously relieved he had escaped from enduring the wraith of his inconvenienced master – Only for Stolas to suddenly stop mid-stride with a large gasp.

The little demon staggered to a stop, his eyes widening at the sudden and distraught expression on the Prince's face. "Oh my goodness," Stolas breathed in horror, on the inside he did everything he could not to giggle at the worried imp's face. "In all this excitement I'd nearly forgotten -" He whirled around to the servant, his voice frantic. "Tell me, is my gift to him being readied?"

"O-oh, yes, your highness!" Peabody was quick to nod. "Mister Pringles has sent two of our hellhounds to have it loaded into the towncar as we speak."

Stolas could have won an award for the exaggerative relieved sigh he delivered. "Oh thank Satan! Can you imagine how foolish I would have looked if I had forgotten my present? How utterly embarrassing would that have been? I could only hope that the court would throw me to the wolves!"

"O-oh, I hope not, your Highness!"

Clapping his hands, he chirped, "Fabulous! That's one catastrophe averted. Now, for the rest of my schedule."

Peabody snapped back to attention. "Yes, your Highness. Ahem, after your meeting with Count Ronove, you'll be attending a luncheon with Lord Heli to be discussing . . ."

Stolas was more than happy to allow the imp to prattle off the rest of his schedule. Save for the meeting, the rest of his day was packed back-to-back with pointless matters so trivial it would make him grind his teeth into powder (if he had any). Business luncheons, auditings a random seance that was really more a heavily-veiled ribbing for when the couple asking for it would conceive and if it would be a successful male heir.

He was damn glad that he was going to die today and that he wouldn't have to put up with whatever bullshit he was going to get thrown at him for just showing up to each appointment. Hopefully.

Peabody had finished by the time Stolas sat down for his breakfast. From there, he stood back in silence as the Prince calmly waited for the kitchen staff to bring in his meal. He looked around. Most would be in awe of his palace's dining room. As expansive as expected to house all the nobles and lords who were invited to dine there, the calm tranquil tones of purple and midnight blue in both the walls and the furniture gave each of the guests a sense of my story and elegance. If there were any doubts of who they were dining with, the elaborate but no less dazzling chandelier crafted in the style of a massive astrolabe and the gentle glimmer of stars in the fabrics of the curtains and chairs did well to remind them.

Stella, predictably, had attempted to have such "eyesores" removed and replaced with her own clandestine and lackluster finery. Bland white and gold cloths for the table and napkins, tacky and impractical dishes made of silver and gold that he mas more than sure were only supposed to be for display only as the scratches from the forks and knives never came out, which she either didn't know or care about, and finally, a solid gold fountain chandelier lined and lit with thick Beelzebub wax candles that was designed to rain sparkles of harmless hellfire upon the table as her party guests ate. Her smugness was like a sickly radiation, looking so satisfied as she humbly accepted the praise for her refined taste.

Her moment of glory lasted for about a week before the beam holding up the chandelier broke soundly from the weight of the hefty ornament, - Which he had warned Stella about only to viciously rebuffed – crashing into the tabletop in a quite literal explosion of savories and sweets, splattering everyone in range and then some. Such a thing was enough of a shock, before the oils meant for the hellfire embers spilled and ignited on then dry tablecloth and napkins that had been tossed up from the impact, promptly starting a ridiculously impressive and gargantuan ball of flame that expanded and dispersed as soundly as it had started.

No one had been hurt, but it had left the victims of the first assault looking, as well as smelling, distinctively charbroiled. Stella included.

After a long period of licking her wounds in unnerving silence and harshly punishing the ones who had sold the flambeed monstrosity to her by means of multi-million $oul lawsuit, she made no fuss when he instructed the staff to return the dining room to how it originally was. All she did was simply state to never speak to her of that "useless fucking lamp" again. A reasonable request, since the rest of the Goetia were running their slick tongues bone dry about the disastrous affair for the both of them for months to come. As did the news outlets. And the newspapers. And the radio.

He did however let himself get a good laugh every so often at the physical memory of Stella's utterly taken aback face. In private, of course.

That hilarious memory aside, in actuality, Stolas hardly ever ate in the dining room. In his younger years, he had, seated between his parents and happily enjoying delicious platters of roasted seeds and rodents as they enjoyed each other company. The sounds of forks touching the plates like small notes of rain and the small murmurs of satisfaction comforting, as well as the occasional laugh and small moments of friendly debating over who had the better dish. A truly warm and comforting time.

Then his parents died and all he had was Stella.

Time passed, Stolas found himself dining in stifling, lifeless repose alone. Or worse, under his wife's harsh and critical glare that made every morsel of food he swallowed taste like ash. He eventually found solace in taking his meals in the kitchen, which was really more for the staff but they never commented on his daily intrusions.

Today, however, he decided to eat in the dining room for . . . Reasons.

He knew who else was in the kitchen, and the last thing he wanted to do was to let her know he was leaving and never coming back.

He put all thoughts of it out of his mind, lest he would waver, just in time for the kitchen servants to bring in a silver cart, baring racks of glistening cloches. As they began to set them on the table, Stolas halted one servant. "Stella has not risen yet?"

The imp shook her head, "Brie" he believed her name was. "Not yet, your Highness. She took to bed late last night." And was no doubt nursing a horrid hangover, that part was left unsaid. Stolas hummed.

"Make sure to have a meal ready for her as soon as she's awake and presentable. I imagine she'll be taking it in the parlor so make sure not to set it in the spot where the sunlight comes in. I'd rather not have anyone lose a hand in retribution to her food being ruined by the heat of it."

"Yes, your Highness."

Within the next minute, the table's surface was laden with a number of fine and lavish foods; eggs, made almost every way known to both mankind and demonkind, meats reared and cut from the most hearty of Hellbeasts, fruits as tempting as the very apple that had condemned humanity to endless chaos, pastries that were so beautifully crafted they could pass as pieces of art and bread so soft and flavorful it was step away from truly eating a sweet fluffy cloud. All together, each plate could very well feed a city's worth of Hellborn and Damned, and the cost was at least twice that much.

With all that in mind, he chose a bowl of his favorite seeds and a slice of yūbari king melon selected from his own garden to go along with his morning cup of chamomile tea.

If the staff noticed his refusal of coffee, as it was his usual morning beverage, they chose not to comment on it. He usually preferred having a burst of caffeine to wake him up first thing in the morning, and then would proceed to drink enough cups to fill the belly of a manticore just to help get through the bulk of his day. On his worse mornings, especially on the ones where Stella deigned to have a word with him, he would be no less liberal about adding the strongest whiskey he had to his brew.

But not today. He needed a clear head to focus on the rest of the plan. And a light stomach.

He dismissed the attending staff with a polite wave of his hand. Before tucking in, first things first. After he was certain they were gone, he waved his hand, a glow appearing over each plate like the very cloches they were just under, indigo in hue for a few seconds before each one turned a bright blue with a comical ding he had added to the spell just for fun.

Good. Nothing had been tampered with. He hadn't really expected Stella to try poison him again after failing so spectacularly the last time, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Which meat it was safe for him to eat. Or rather, safe for him to pretend to eat. Snapping open a small portal, he pulled out a moderately sized jar and instantly poured at least three-fourths of the seeds into it. Once there was only a little pile of seeds into it. Once there was only a little pile of seeds left, he screwed the jar closed and sent it away through the same portal. He then sent after it three slices of bread, an apple and, after a few seconds of mental debate, a couple of the braised rodents wrapped in a napkin.

That should be enough to last him for at least two weeks, as long as he was sparing. Anything else he could get later.

He made quick work of what was left of his breakfast. It did well if he ate light, as a heavy stomach would tire him out. And he could not afford to be tired in any way, shape, or form. No more risks. Once his last bite was swallowed, he called for one of the servants to ready the towncar as he was going to depart right away. "And make sure that after my wife's meal is prepared, the rest is given to the staff as a thank-you for their hard work." He was met with no complaints.

He got out of his chair and wordlessly walked out of the dining hall. It wasn't too far of a walk to the front doors leading to the courtyard, yet somehow . . . . Somehow it did.

He imagined it was because of the silent eyes watching him go.

The walls of his manor weren't just decorated by his many, many pots of plants much to his chagrin. On nearly every wall there had been hung portraits, large exquisite paintings that captured nearly every detail of the subject were meant for – in this case, Prince Stolas himself. Indeed, the collection stretched quite far, from the start of his life to what had happened last month on his and Stella's wedding anniversary.

And what a splendorous farce that it was.

Truly the artist had not shied away from any of the little details in the portrayal of the magnificent life he led. His parents holding his egg, his hatchling days when he was nothing but skin and cries, his toddler years, adolescence, adulthood . . . .

. . . His marriage.

He blatantly ignored that one.

He, however, did not ignore what he saw next.

A large bare space, it's lack of decoration horribly apparent. His eyes moved to the door against his will. Carved in the upper part in an elaborate crest a pair of stars that he himself had chosen to represent the importance of the room it led to.

A small sun painted white and a larger sun below it painted dark blue.

. . . . . . . He couldn't remember the last time he had seen this door.

It had to have been at least . . . . What, almost seventeen years now?

And he hadn't tried setting talon through this very door once.

Not that he needed to. He knew what was up there.

The West Tower.

If he opened the door, he would see the winding staircase that would take him up two stories to . . .

. . . Where that was supposed to be.

Where she was supposed to have been.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . He shouldn't be lingering here. He needed to move. He was running low on time.

He couldn't move, though.

He could feel his body trembling.

He had to stop wasting time.

He needed to go. He needed to leave. He needed to go. He needed to leave he needed to move he needed to go just go and never move back -

"Why the fuck are you just standing there, Stolas? Like you're not in the way enough already."

Stolas could feel his feathers bristle, bringing him back to reality with the delicacy of ice cold water running down his spine. For once, he actually welcomed the sensation.

Turning around, he kept his face blank at Stella's appearance. Most demons with less than a couple of fucks to give didn't bother with getting dressed properly until a good amount of time after noon, barring any important errands or tasks, of course. But as always, Stella made it an obnoxious point of showing how much more sensible and dignified she was than anybody else, including Stolas, and sought to look as put together as possible from the moment that she cracked open an eyelid. From head to talon, she was draped in her finest robes, the silver threads glinting softly in the morning light along with the diamond-accented belt and sleeves, her feathers were preened and combed so each of her quills were as immaculate as freshly fallen snow. Although personally with the her pale and gray tones, to Stolas she resembled the lifeless ash that remained after the funeral pyre burned its last corpse.

In spite of her gross attempts to hide them, her eyes were puffy with reddened exhaustion. Clear signs of a hangover. Which most likely meant she would be in a fouler mood than usual. Lovely. This is what he got for dragging his talons.

"Are you deaf? Why aren't you answering me? Did you somehow lose even more brain cells while you were sleeping? Or did looking at your piddly little stars finally drive to utter stupidity?"

He squared his shoulders back. No matter. He could handle her.

His smile was polite as he turned towards her. "Good morning, Stella. I'm glad to see you have awakened. I trust you had a pleasant sleep."

Stella harrumphed sharply. "As if you actually give a shit about my well-being. If you did, you would have checked yourself into some barbaric asylum ages ago and leave me in peace. Perhaps then you could delude yourself into thinking you're useful for once. Not to mention I could find someone worth being my husband – a real Goetia, not some fallen piece of rubbish like you."

Stolas held back replying just as snidely in kind. A real man would need an iron stomach and the strength of God to deal with a shrew like you.

"Have you eaten yet? The cooks have prepared a lovely breakfast this morning."

Her beak curled sourly. "If you're referring to the slop you happily pig out on, I haven't touched a single speck of it. If I wanted to turn into a disgusting round lummox like you, I wouldn't hold nearly half the prestige and elegance that I do today. Rest assured I'll be telling that talentless hack you picked as our head cook that he actually needs to watch what he's doing the next time he dares dish out my meal."

Ah, so we're back to calling me fat again. Las week as I was scrawnier than a bag of bones. "I'll be sure to pass on your concerns, Stella. In the meantime, I have another more acceptable spread made up for you -"

"Bah! Don't fucking bother!" Stella snapped hotly. "Like you aren't giddy at the idea of me either starving or suffering from inadequate cuisine. Or worse, to make me look as much as a slob as you."

Stolas lowered his head. "Such a thought never crossed my mind, dear. I only wish for you to be in perfect health."

"Tch, I'd be in perfect health if I wasn't stuck here with you."

Stolas kept his low to avoid her seeing his own sneer. You'll be getting your wish sooner than you think, you self-serving over-glorified harpy.

"Well, if that is how you feel, dear wife, rest assured you needn't be worried about enduring my prescence for today. As I'm sure you're aware, I'll be heading out for a few of my royal duties and I most likely won't be back until nightfall."

Stella tersely crossed her arms over her generous cleavage with a huff. "Yes, with that absolute joke of a count. I know. If you ask me, he'd serve better as being designated as some tacky desk ornament."

"Nonetheless, I am to keep up appearances. As you always like to point out, we have our duties to uphold and an image to keep. I've already instructed the staff to ensure you are tended to for lunch and dinner and you know how to reach me should anything come to pass."

She never would. "Like I would ever need your help, you stupid twit! And I am certainly not going to force myself to choke down any of the pig-swill when I can enjoy a gourmet dinner at one of Gluttony's finest – where chefs actually fit to be served for royalty."

And where most royalty were likely to find a wad of spittle added to the plate for customers such as her for their charming behavior.

"If that is what you wish, Stella." He replied cordially to which she again huffed. Good that meant this conversation was over. He needed to leave now. This stupid talk, or a one-sided exchange of insults, had taken way too much time. He needn't endure her any longer after today so why even bother -

He wouldn't see her anymore.

The thought sent everything in him into a standstill.

Oh.

Oh goodness.

He wouldn't have to see her anymore.

Such though hadn't truly occurred to him until just now. He had been so focused on the plan that he hadn't truly realized what accomplishing it would implicate.

Of course, that had been what he had been expecting provided everything went according to plan. But, now, as he was on the brink of his plan coming to fruition, it now truly became clear to him that this was happening.

It was truly happening.

This would be the last time.

The last time that he needed to walk on pins and needles during the worst of her moods. The last time

he would need to be as quiet as the dead when confronted with her fury and cruelty. The last time he had to just shut up and bare it when others saw what misery he was in and kept silent, or reveled at his misery with petty jabs and cruel indifference each time she paraded him like a trophy pet.

This would be the last time.

This would be the last day he had with her.

This would be the last day he spoke with her.

This would be the last day.

A cloud of something warm and reassuring – relief, he realized began to swell in him. Not too far behind it came excitement, the jittery sensation like ants dancing in your blood veins that would have sent his feathers ruffling had he not better self-control. He could feel the anticipation building like the mercury rising in a thermometer growing ever so eager for what was coming next.

Freedom.

Freedom form it all.

Freedom from pain. From despair. From the masquerade.

And of course, freedom from -

"What are you doing now, you stupid thing?!"

He should have shrunk back at her sharp demand, as he did each time he found himself in her cross-hairs over matters minimal and monumental.

But not this time. No, not this time.

This time was the last time.

He put all every single bit of his willpower in keeping the growing smile on his face tempered, holding it in the same fastidiously painted picture of refinement and frozen perfection. He didn't normally find such a thing difficult, but there and then such a thing was no small feat as he felt like grinning ear-to-ear like it was his birthday, the solstice and the victory at the end of the Great War all at once. Even with the rising sense of jubilation inside him threatening to burst out, he kept enough sense to state as casually as demonically possible, "Oh nothing, dear. Nothing at all."

Stella made her usual face that stated quite clearly that she didn't believe him. He knew that look down to the wrinkles set between her eyebrows. In a moment of manic glee, he wondered if he could get away with flicking that makeup caked, weathered, wrinkled leather brow of hers like one would with a fly.

Oh lords, he really needed to go now.

Turning swiftly away from his beloved wife of over a few thousand years, his jailer for ten lifetimes, his abuser for far longer than he could name, he simply said, "I wish you the best, Stella. I hope you get what you want."

He was speeding away down the antechamber corridor long before he had to endure her response. Not sprinting, of course, more like rushing in the way lords and kings have as they shouted commands to all he sired when the time came to war.

But was that really what this was? Readying for war?

He blinked, finding himself right at the front doors of his manor. His home where he grew, toiled and suffered. Where he nearly did a pointless death at the hands of the monster he was damned by law to have as his lifelong partner. He wasn't aware of how hard he had been charging forward, how short of breath he was before he finally stopped and took notice of the head of staff waiting patiently before him. "Greetings, your highness. Your transportation is ready and waiting for you."

His words managed to register after a moment. "Very good, Pringles, thank you." He stiffened his shoulders to hide the excited rise of his chest. "I trust my gift to the Count has been loaded into it?"

"Yes, sire, your security detail made sure it was safely loaded and secured inside of its storage rear case."

Stolas knew that, of course. "Thank you, Pringles." He breathed out calmly. "If there's nothing else to be said, I shall be on my way." Finally.

Pringles bowed, his clean, full mustache bobbing as he spoke. "Of course, your Highness. I hope everything goes well."

Stolas couldn't help it, for perhaps the trillionth time. "Oh, I'm hoping so, too."

Truly, he couldn't.

Not the imp made any mind, stepping aside for him to pass as the large, ornate front doors were opened with a dull symphony of creaks. The unholy light of Hell's sky shone upon him, his body glowing in his beams as they seeped in, as though the Pentagram it reigned over was cursing him with luck for the step forward he was about to take.

He took it with a deep breath. Let it pass through him as he straightened his shoulders and let it guide him out the door and down each step of the glimmering, ivory stairway leading up to the gilded cage where he had died a little each day ever since the day he said "I do."

Each step felt all too fast and too slow at the same time. Six steps. Five steps. Four. Three. Two. One -

His talons touched the marble stone of the promenade. This was it. He was no longer going back. After today he was no longer a Goetia. No longer married to Stella. He was no longer a Prince.

He gracefully entered the towncar after one of his hellhound bodyguards quietly opened the passenger door for him. He sat down without accolations, adjusting himself demurely on one of the rich leather seats made from the finest of tanneries in Wraith so he was poised pretty as he pleased, making no sound as the car door was shut. As he waited for the bodyguard to hurry around the towncar to the passenger side door, he he dared himself another peek at the outside through the tinted window.

By chance, from one of the gossamer-curtained windows, in the her usual frosty glory, Stella stood watching. Her magenta eyes attempting to drill into him, even now from such a distance.

Perhaps she was just trying to get one last look for old times' sake.

Or maybe, he momentarily dreaded, she had caught on to him.

. . . . . Any possible suspicion he believed she had were made clear with her sending one last sneer before stalking off inside, disappearing into the palace. And, unknowingly, from his life forever.

The sound of the passenger door up front closing abruptly. "Ready to go, your Highness?" A gruff voice sounded from the open privacy window.

Stolas wanted to shout happily in response. He wanted to bounce in place in his seat like he was a child again, on his way to see the circus for the first time. He wanted so much to say in one single word -

"Yes. Let us go." His command was calm, clear and collected. He heard the key turn in the ignition not even a second later. The towncar purred to life, a small jolt underneath the cushion and frame of the seat, giving way to the feeling of motion as they began to depart. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, watching as the gates barring the rest of Hell from his home grew in size and opened immediately upon sensing the leaving vehicle.

He really tried. But as they passed through the gates, as this was the last time he would do so alive, he felt the urge to look back become stronger, to look back at the stately, breath-taking manor that was growing smaller and smaller with each second. In spite of himself, he fell to his urges, as he had proven to himself far too many times that day, he was horrible at listening to himself.

And what was the best part of it? He honest to Satan, had no idea what he did. Really, he didn't. After all, there was nothing there for him anymore. At this point it was anyone's guess.

No matter.

Having satisfied the last of his defiant urges, he turned himself back around to the front, placing his hands delicately in his lap, after crossing one leg leg over the other. He knew his bodyguards would be watching him in the rear-view mirror, so he quickly allowed his body to relax, as much any Royal could relax anyway.

And he intended to do so. Because phase one was complete. All he had to now was wait for Phase Two.

Just ready yourself when it's time, Stolas. Then both you and Stella will certainly get what you want.

~X~

One hour and twenty minutes later . . .

I really should have brought a book. Prince Stolas thought as he stared at the passing scenery outside the tinted towncar window. If you could pass off jammed cars and the occasional bicyclist flipping off the stuck drivers inside with jeers as scenery.

As expected, as all things with Hell, daily traffic in the rings were ten times as frustrating and a hundred times more hazardous than traffic on Earth, where the day would as cold as Pluto if there weren't at least over twenty deaths per hour a day. Road rage was a kind of wraith of it's own, so it wasn't all too surprising when many Sinners who fell to the urge in life found themselves falling into Hell. And getting promptly flattened by a random car that may or may not had been deliberately waiting for them, more often than not victims of road rage themselves.

All of this was always followed by a lovely accompaniment of blaring horns, inarticulate cursing and the sound of some poor hellborn's vehicles being rear-ended by an impatient driver. Most of the offenders or offendees preferred to just stay in their cars to clap back at the instigators, but a few of bolder drivers did not hesitate to get out of their cars and stomp over to their respective offender to engage in a heated tirade of slurs and abuse, nearly if not all, resulting in a violent brawl. Some were basic fist fights were there was more slapping then you would think should be involved, while a few actually got creatively escalated when some came into the battle bearing crowbars, tire irons, or even dismembered windshield wipers as makeshift weaponry.

Some fights ended more quickly than others, some not even starting as one of either side were smart enough to back off or outright run back to their cars, opting to simply grumble in defeat or lash out at their fellow passengers or repeatedly punch at their steering wheels. As for the others, well, they escalated to reality-TV drama worthy tussles with hair-pulling and clothes ripping as they they were being cheered on by the other passerby demons, almost everyone with a recording phone in hand.

Still, even with all of that going on, Stolas couldn't help but be bored.

The fight of weekly traffic in the Pride Ring would most likely be an entertaining sight for the freshly fallen sinners, and some of the imps and hellhounds who resided in the ring, but all in all, none of the urban chaos was terribly memorable. Just another typical day in Hell. Other sensible demons would probably deem him insane to simply remain stuck in such a gridlock nightmare. On other days, he he would agree, simply having his security organize a large motorcade that would clear the road easily.

That is, if Stella were not a petty bitch, which she was. But, for once, it didn't bother Stolas one bit.

He was going to die soon, so why not allow his soon-to-be widowed wife one last shallow inconvenience at his expense?

Still, though, he still wished he had something to read. Or maybe even the paper so he could do one of those little puzzles in the back of them to pass the time – not so much to kill time as to stave off the nagging little pricks of anxiety inside his head that were speaking doom. They were not as overwhelming as his earlier near-ruinous meltdown, but it still had him going over everything that he had done or will do to make sure that nothing was left out or overlooked.

He was certain there wasn't but, well, "better to be ready and prepared than be harried and scared".

. . . . . To his credit, he got the first part right.

He chanced a blank glance towards the privacy window, the two heads of his appointed guards facing squarely ahead. He wouldn't even bother trying to initiate a conversation with them. They were some of his wife's lower-level grunts who, like the others, would do their level best to report back every little detail of the ride from the Count's estate and back.

Plus, to be fair, they weren't exactly the type of demons known for intellectual conversation. Then again, that could be said for most bodyguards.

All the better he didn't, he couldn't go and let himself be distracted now. If he did, he might let himself slip something that could throw everything into a tailspin.

Besides, if he had brought something to read, it would never survive after -

VRRR!

The abrupt vibration against his chest stiffened his spine.

VRRR!

He attempted to not move abrupt enough to alert the hellhounds in the front seat, discreetly reaching into his shirt and pulled out the shuddering flip-phone. He moved it to his lap, disguising his movements as composed fidgeting, he flipped the phone open once it was safely cupped in his hands and out of view, cutting off its next warning vibration.

On the lit screen, the same nameless contact had sent him a message.

I see u, Ya ready?

Stolas gingerly typed in three letters, silently threatening the buttons not to make a single sound.

Yes

He pressed send. One, two, three seconds, a response.

Gotcha. Flippin the switch now

After a moment of terse silence (for Stolas), the sound of moving tires and the relieved grunts of his security were heard. "Fucking finally – we're almost there, your Highness." Stolas knew that was a lie. Not that such a thing was anything new.

These two specific hellhounds, he had learned long before today were insufferable slackers, plain and simple. He had received report after report of these two hounds quite frequently skipping out on their daily patrols and checks, fudging the approvals to hide their lack of work ethic and blatantly shirking their positions to sneak off to Gluttony and drink their paychecks away. When caught, they shamelessly lied through their teeth when confronted and reprimanded, returning far more quickly than they should be permitted to thanks to their true benefactress.

As incompetent as they were, it was understandable why Stella bothered to keep them around, both of them sharing her disdain for the "Pussy Prince" they were paid to trail behind and report on. Taking a page out of her book, the two fools took every opportunity to talk shit and slander their master on either their breaks or when they were stationed far enough for the Owl not to hear their insults.

Only he did. He always did.

Instead of firing them and even having them killed, which would have been his right as a Prince of Hell, he decided to play the bigger demon and let their ignorant jabs and slights roll off his back. A final courtesy from one dead demon to another.

"Very good. Proceed." A rather obvious scoff. The Owl simply smiled like the self-centered, shallow Royal he was.

He observed as the small limosuene moved through the clogged throngs of cars and exhaust, eventually turning onto the asphalt road they were on that bore significantly less activity. The tampering with the traffic light seemed to have worked. Good.

For the next few minutes it was a relatively smooth drive. Slowly the stream of rough and decaying buildings gave way to the more patchy and half-formed structures that were paid as much attention to as a child would pay attention to their toy blocks. Pile after mile of randomly tossed brick, mortar and cement later, the urban landscape turned to lanes of cement walls and moss-covered fences that led visitors to one of the many empty construction sites that made up a third of Imp City. The only proof of any work being done and accomplished was the low-hanging. Somewhat decent-looking cluster of highway ramps that connected the northeast to the south.

Stolas peeked at the privacy window. No signs of suspicion. He kept his upper set of eyes on the two other hellborn up front while his main set focused on typing out another message.

I see the site.

One, two, three seconds, a reply.

U know what to do

This time, the sound of the received text did not go unnoticed. A fuzzy ear flicked. "Uh, your Highness? What are you doing back there?" An impertinent question from an impertinent demon. One question. Stolas had no intention of answering. No, he had a better idea.

He took a deep breath, pursed his lips together and blew.

A sharp sweet note cut through the air, swiftly followed by four notes just as sweet, the beginning of a song reverberating throughout the small towncar, encompassing the minds of everyone inside but the whistler. The feeling of the starting spell sparking in his throat before it filled the space with hypnotizing notes. He knew the song well, a simple and lulling tune that stunned all that heard it into silence as easily as a full-blown demonic orchestra. A ridiculously easy trick and all he needed to was a functioning windpipe. And some magic, of course.

Threads of harmonic magic wove themselves into each note that was delivered, an enchantment that shamelessly mimicked the same fatal melodies sung by the children of Envy that had lured entire crews of human sailors to their deaths from the moment they learned to cross the seas. The mermaids and sirens of many a folk tale hardly did justice to accurately describe the exact appearance of Envians, their voices remained the stuff of legends, as well as instruments of doom to all who fell to their sway. Some blind fool along the way had done them the disservice of liking them to birds, perhaps due to how musically inclined both species were in nature.

However far-off the truth was, the idea gave birth for a new kind of spell for Stolas to create. Any fool with the correct knowledge and proper technique could easily weaponize it against the weak-willed or the brainless. Or in this case, two witless Hellhounds.

As predicted, the hellhounds quickly began to show signs of succumbing – growls of confusion instantly fading away, their heads nodding sleepily until they could no longer keep them up, soft groans that were usually heard only after a long day of break-backing labor. Bodies going lax, both demons hung their heads, both looking as lethargic as the dead, one snoring as heavily as a congested rhino.

Excellent. Now he just had to make sure that they didn't crash.

He stopped his whistling briefly enough to give a sharp command. "Keep driving! Do not stop until I say!" The hellhounds didn't raise their heads, but one paw flopped against the steering wheel, grabbing it and holding it steady, keeping the towncar right on its path as though nothing at all had just occurred. Instantly resuming his whistling, he lowered his window just enough to see the road, as best he could from the backseat anyhow, never once losing focus on the song.

Before long, just as his lips began to dry from the prolonged whistling, he saw the outside world darken. The expanse of the highway bridge provided sizable shade to whoever dared travel underneath it, the size of it would have some mistake for a man-made cave. The towncar pottered onward into its belly, a reckless feat since he was quite literally back-seat driving, until Stolas ordered for the headlights to be turned on. The beams shone through the shadows with no signs of movement or life to be seen from either right in front of it or further in the dark.

Perfect. Just a few more feet until – There.

"Stop the car." He wetted his lips with a few slick swipes of his tongue as the towncar slowed to a stop. He cleared his throat before addressing the two currently air-headed demons. "You both are to tuck your heads in between your legs, shut your eyes and cover your ears. You are not to move until I and I alone give the order to do so. Understood?"

His question was promptly answered. "Yes, your Highness."

He chuckled. "Good boys."

Right after that smartass remark, he heard three deft knocks. Stolas was surprised. He got here a lot faster than he thought he would. He grasped the door handle and opened the car door.

Right before him stood the same rough-looking cowboy whom he had contacted months prior, his acid green eyes lit up bright in the dark and fixed squarely on him. Were Stolas younger, he would've found the sight of such piercing eyes as unsettling as a cobra ready to strike, but that was neither here nor there, "Glad to know you keep your appointments, highness. Had a sneakin' feeling you were gonna leave me hangin'."

"I'm a demon of my word, mister Striker, and also a gentleman who was taught to always follow through on an agreement," Stolas replied with no shortage of sass. "Something that I hope I can say for you." He glanced down at the dull-looking duffle bag that the imp had slung over one shoulder. "Is it safe to assume that's mine?"

Striker nodded briskly, shrugging off the duffle and dropping it in the Owl's lap like a sack of laundry. "New phone, papers for id, spare clothes and everything ya'll sent over earlier. As requested, I left the papers blank for you to fill out and turn in at your convenience. Once you're in the clear, head to the address I wrote on the back of 'em and they'll get you squared away, no questions asked."

Stolas unzipped the duffle, pulling it open to take stock of each item; a couple of simple outfits, check. Paperwork, check. The strongbox with the lock, still filled with treasures he purloined? A quick shake of the box. Its weight verified it. Check. Emergency rations? Check. New phone, yet to be turned on, check. He paused when he spotted the sight of the measly can of Wraith-made pepper spray.

"Just something to give ya'll a li'l time to get some distance should something be bitin' at yer heels." Striker supplemented when Stolas looked at him. "Figured you may not want to rely on those fancy tricks of yours to get yourself outta dodge."

Stolas made a sound. "Well, I suppose it's the thought that counts." He relaxed as he palmed the small pouch of seeds. Setting it back in the duffle, he asked. "And the rest of my errand list?"

Striker responded by pulling a rucksack off his back, the contents inside clanking slightly from inside. "Got it all here. Craziest grocery list I ever got fuckin' saddled with. Mind tellin' me again why you didn't bother to do the shopping yerself?"

Stolas held the duffle close to his chest as he slowly got out of the towncar, his muscles somewhat sore from sitting for so long. "If I had gone myself, Stella would have exhausted every resource she had to find out what exactly I was doing, who I spoke to, and why I was doing it. I consider myself extremely lucky that she doesn't deem a visit to a count worthy enough to waste time and money on. A sudden urge to gather potent and specific ingredients would have had her eyes on me from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep."

"That paranoid, huh?"

"That greedy, friend." He set the duffle onto his vacated seat. "She, like many, had long since fallen to the mindset that magic equals power in all forms – monetary included."

"Ain't it, though?"

"Even magic has it's limits." Stolas nodded his head. "As does time, so shall we?"

The two demons made their way to the back of the towncar. Unlocking the trunk with a snap, Stolas lifted the lid, peering down at the precious and thankfully undisturbed barrel. "With this, I have everything I need."

Striker shrugged nonchalantly. "If you say."

"How long do we have?"

"Once I'm done fiddlin' with the HPS, I'd say about seven eight minutes, tops." Striker arched a brow up at him. "Ya think ya got enough time?"

"Barring any random bursts of wind, I should have plenty."

". . . Alright. Let's get to it."

Striker offered him the rucksack before he strode to the front of the towncar. Stolas went the opposite way, lifting the barrel out of the trunk by magic, of course, levitating it over to the small patch of dirt and dust enlightened by the headlights. A patch of common ground directly under a highway and illuminated by car lights was hardly an appropriate place for what he needed to do next, Paimon certainly wouldn't have approved, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Lucifer created Hell out of much worse.

Setting down the barrel, Stolas grabbed the closest random stick that was laying on the ground, using it to draw a large circle. He was careful not to go too far off the symmetry as he drew as speedily as he could. Once he connected the start of the circle to the end, he threw aside the stick and summoned the rucksack while simultaneously cracking open the barrel.

The soil looked the same as it did hours ago, untainted and ready for him to use. The soil was cool and soothing underneath his fingers, the feel of it taking some weight off of his worries. He was certainly glad his bodyguards had chosen not to examine it too closely, otherwise the smell would have tipped them off right away. All of the earth dug up and placed inside this simple wooden barrel had been covertly, and extremely illegally, dug from the unholy grounds of a graveyard known only to him and a precious few. And for good reason.

In the earlier days of Hell's creation, it was laughable to the more insidious souls in Hell to think that desecrating anything like graveyards was to be considered a crime in a realm where the law is lawlessness, which they believed gave them license to do as they damned well pleased with the cadavers and markers of the fallen. Many of Pride's first Overlords gained power from starting illegal trades on exhuming and marketing at the expense of other's grief alone, from selling parts they chopped themselves from the soulless husks themselves to selling them whole to those whose . . . preferences would send King Asmodeus into a wildfire worthy of the Norse's story of Ragnarok. With some hellborn themselves getting into the business of bodies, it could have gone well on its way to being a key foundation for the enterprise of Hell's economy, doubly so had King Mammon learned of it and tossed his hat in the ring.

Then Lucifer came into power. And, the second he heard of the trade, he found and punished them all with extreme prejudice.

Stolas wasn't yet hatched, but he had heard stories from plenty of his Elders growing up to know how exactly the King of Pride made it clear that the defilement of the dead was NOT to be tolerated. Plenty of the souls were more than willing to abide by the rule, save a few foolhardy demons who decided to test his patience and dig up a few bodies here or there. In nearly no time at all, Lucifer made sure that they would be digging up their own.

And Stolas prayed to ever single deity in all of Creation that he would not be among them.

Opening the rucksack, he carefully brought out the items, three glass jars that were filled with material just as vital as the soil.

Water collected from the deepest and darkest ocean in Envy, where sea creatures worthy of being placed in the same category of Charybdis and Scylla dwelled, haunting every sailor's nightmare, the liquid tinted a ghastly dark green.

Air captured from the colossal geysers of Gluttony, the fury of their winds as exuberant as the mislabeled Lord of the Flies herself, the shapeless, ever-changing, churning gusts enclosed in it warming the glass from the inside-out.

And finally, the hottest, brightest portion of molten rock retrieved from the ferocious and insomniac volcanoes of Wraith, infinitely burning and capable of easily burning down several cities if left unchecked. Which was why he overlaid the small jar with layer after layer of heat-proof charms and spells. Otherwise, his hands would have melted clean off of his wrists in 0.2 seconds flat. And almost Striker's, if the furious voicemail he left him after procuring the magma a while ago was any indication.

Everything was exactly what he needed.

He levitated the barrel once more, bringing it over to the center of the circle before tilting it over. The soil spilled out cleanly onto the ground, a mound gradually growing and growing until the last bit of dirt fell out. Giving it a few more shakes to dislodge any lingering specks, Stolas had no reservations about crushing it in splinters, setting it ablaze and tossing it into a portal to meet its fiery death.

Earth to build the body.

He positioned the three jars at key points surrounding the mound, forming a triangle to enclose it. He screwed off the lid of the first jar.

Water to flow as blood.

Then the second jar.

Fire to ignite the spark of life.

And then the third jar.

Air to give it breath.

Flattening his palm, he pressed the tip of one of his incredibly sharp claws to the skin. Ebony blood budded up without protest, pooling in his hand before he extended his injured hand out over the pile. Each obsidian drop glinting in the light as it fell into the mound to be absorbed.

And finally, the proof of the willing shell.

Stolas simply sealed up the wound with a flex of his hand, focusing his attention on the mound. Alright, that part was done.

Now it was time for the tricky part.

He backed up and out of the circle, making especially sure to step over the line of it and not on it and thus ruining it. Once safely outside the circle, he cracked his fingers, wiggled them to relieve any lingering stiffness and took a deep breath.

When all are one, become my desired someone. With my guise, this form I bid rise.

Closing his eyes, he let his mind go blank. Save for one image. The face that he had seen looking back at him all his life from shattered reflections. The face he had grown to hate. The face that had become a mask that was as immaculate and perfect in every way his real one wasn't. Old. Beaten. Tired. Silent. Flawed. Broken.

He thrust out a hand towards the circle, his limb the bridge that allowed the demonic and celestial energy that pieced together his entire being to flow out of him and join with the mound. Throwing the gates inside him open, he let his magic rush forward like a wild current, his magic giving the ritual all the direction it needed.

The mound shuddered as the magic began to saturate itself into each grain and fragment. Pulses like that of a heartbeat began to sound, the water rising up from its jar with the elegance of a snake summoned by the flute of a snake charmer before plunging into the dirt, soaking and spreading, turning the dry earth to mud. Before it all condensed into a full-on puddle, the jar holding the magma cracked and broke open like an eggshell, the molten rock inside rushing forward as fast as lightning, swallowing the mound and hardening it into a perfect clay. As silently as its elemental brethren, the air streamed from the last jar and flew in a whimsical series of corkscrews and updrafts before reaching the still pulsing pile, wrapping its gusts around it like a billowy blanket, lifting it up into the air and causing it to briefly separate before bringing back together with an audible squish, kneading them all together like dough before being baked into beautiful bread. Once it deemed it sufficiently kneaded, the winds shifted, turning more urgent and circulating, stretching it into a vortex that curled and twisted as erratically as a low-tiered tornado, rolling the slab inside it into one long, skinny strip of clay.

As all his eyes were still tightly closed, instinct guided Stolas's hands, because he knew if he cracked even one lid open, the image he was crafting into shape would be lost and what he was trying to bring into being would break apart like glass and fall into pieces. Something that he absolutely could not afford.

He was sure he would have looked ridiculous to the outside to the outside eye, waving his hands here and about like some overzealous conductor, but the motions were a necessity for the form he was bringing to life.

His given blood was the defining anchor between the formation and himself, the connection that showcased to Stolas how each little bit of the structure known as the mortal body was formed. He felt the currents of rock flatten and soften, conforming to sinewy muscle that wrapped over hollow bone. He felt the rush of water congeal and thicken, darkening with the damnation of his hellish heritage and filling the veins with false ichor and empowering the beating heart with heat and life. He felt the sculpted lungs expand with the given air, the voice still waiting to be heard as he pantomimed the long, svelte length of the throat.

The molding of the head vaguely reminded him of turning over a ball, the growing more and more defined as he pinched the sides, forming crest feathers and digging his thumbs into the two sets of hollows that would become the eyes, one pair significantly smaller than the other. Slowly sliding his fingers down from the cheekbones to just a few inches above the curve of the chin, his fingers pinched softly, forming the arch of the beak before going lower and lower and lower and lower, attentively molding the bottom of the feet into small yet sharp points that would become the talons. For the hands, he stretched out the fingers, as long and as thin as willow branches yet no less sharper than his own. It took him some time to get the proper amount of thinness for the tail feathers but he eventually succeeded, making sure to keep the ends of the tail- feathers as clean cut as possible, knowing all too well how unbecoming raggedy feathers looked. Putting the final touches on was easy, his blood etching out each line and groove where one color was broken away from another, where shades are darkened or brightened, prying extra close attention the pale tufts around the pillow of chest feathers and the stark streak of silver in the crest.

Almost done and . . . There.

Stolas opened all his eyes, as though waking from a vivid dream. The instant images were registered in his sclera, the gates allowing his magic to rush forward swung shut. Connection now lost, his creation was lowered down to the now barren circle in a soundless stance. Matching his height, looks and posture down to a tee, Prince Stolas could not look any more like him unless the original Stolas had reached in and pulled him out of a mirror. Perfectly identical twin pairs of eyes peered back in a foggy blink, their gaze bright from where their owner stood in the dark, but upon closer inspection, they were utterly devoid of any thought or feeling. But, unlike Scone, there wasn't any mind that he needed to be in control over to begin with. Nothing but a blank space for him to so with what he wished.

". . . So that's how you fancy birds really look underneath, huh?"

That crude comment startled him lightly, shooting the eyeballing imp with a glare while yanking up his cape up in front of the second Stolas, shielding him from view. "Do you mind?! That is me you happen to be ogling at."

Striker scoffed. "Ain't my fault that you decided to make him come out as naked as a jinxbird. I figured you royal types preferred to be trussed up from top to bottom with your breeches, that the case or this just a 'you' thing?"

Stolas hated how his cheeks warmed at that question. "Oh, bwa- just- just back to your fiddling! We don't have time to chat."

"Just sayin'." Striker shrugged flippantly, moseying on back to the towncar with a flick of his tail.

Stolas rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to his "other" self. The other Stolas looked back in a blank stare. He didn't react as the real Stolas circled him, examining him from head and talon, meticulously seeking out and any missing pieces or flaws that might have found their way onto him during the ritual. None were found, making him sigh in relief. Stolas had been fearful that, given the time crunch, he would end up inadvertently scrubbing away a key detail or two that would prove that this Stolas was nothing more than an intricately made dummy. Thankfully, nothing had been missed, from the sheen of the feathers to the elegant sharpness of the talons.

Aside from the fact that he was naked, the final product was the picture perfect reflection of Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia. Speaking of which . . .

He beckoned the copy forward with one hand, levitating the duffle bag out of the towncar with the other. Grabbing it, he pulled down the zipper with an audible zip before saying to the other Stolas. "Take my clothes as I hand them to you."

The other Stolas instantly held out his hands, taking each article of clothing that Stolas hastily removed – hat, cape, gloves, romper and trousers were piled on with the elegance of a nerve-racked teenager readying themselves just after coming home after sneaking out during a high-society event. Definitely something Stolas had the misfortune of enduring a time or two in his life.

Once down to his underwear, a pair of simple briefs, he then instructed the copy, "Put those clothes on."

The other Stolas complied immediately, setting down the pile of clothes on the ground before making to put on the trousers. The real Stolas frowned. He would have to make sure to dust him off later. Following his own order, he pulled out the provided clothes that Striker had chosen for him and gave them a quick once-over. A dark burgundy hoodie with multiply-sized stars scattered on it, a pair of black leggings that went well below the heel and a matching pair of boots.

Perfect.

He tried to be as careful as he could while pulling on the leggings as he didn't want his talons to tear a sizable hole in the stretchy fabric, but still hurried to get them on before haphazardly yanking on the hoodie. The boots were a little disconcerting, as he often went barefoot, er, talon, but they would do well in covering his footprints so he could tolerate it.

He had jammed both feet into the boots, which were surprisingly comfy despite his odd feet, and his copy had just about one piece away from completing his own dressing up when – "Wait."

The other Stolas stopped moving at that soft command. The real Stolas stepped towards him, uttering a quiet pardon as he reached into the romper and pulled out the flip-phone with a calm hand, and then lifting up the cape and pulling out the little box still safely tucked away inside with a trembling one. He tucked the cellphone into the pockets of the hoodie, while the box was delicately placed inside the duffle. Once that was done, he looked over his now dressed look-a-like, checking for anything that was out of place. He did have to give him a swift dusting to remove some dirt but otherwise, Prince Stolas was picture perfect.

"Follow me." Stolas commanded the other, as he pulled the zipper on the duffle closed and hiked the strap onto his shoulder. The copy followed without question. The two owls strode soundlessly over to Striker, his top half just then getting out of the front of the towncar. "Finished with their phones?"

"Yep. Got the texts written and sent to their phones, enough to land them in waters hotter than the Satanio Hot Springs. Made it a hell of lot easier by sendin' me all their info and personal data so I can upload it on those dummy phones." He rolled his shoulders. "Kinda seems like a waste of effort once the security peels what's left of 'em off the sidewalk."

"It'll be worth it. The investigators will be looking for the ones responsible for such a high-profile murder, or the most available scapegoats that they can find for when the trail gets cold." Stolas gave his security detail still bowed in fetal positions a dry look. "And two careless grunts who didn't think of wiping their phones prior to murdering their boss will fit the profile perfectly. That is, if there's anything left to identify them."

"That I can't guarantee." Striker rifled around in his coat until he pulled something out. "Given that they're gonna be smack dab in the center of the show that this li'l beauty's gonna put on for us." The Snake-imp held up his prize.

The blastic clay brick was small, hardly bigger than Striker's hand, but only an idiot wouldn't understand how much damage such an item could cause. Even more so with the glowing silver tubes strapped tightly to it by thick, leather straps, attached to a small beeper-sized timer that had yet to be turned on.

A liquidated Blessed Carmine-Crafted C4-filled explosive and timer. Definitely one of the more pricier items that Stolas had ever purchased, but it would certainly be well worth burning his wallet for, especially more so for how much Stolas had to go through to keep such a purchase from getting caught under Stella's rakish eye.

"You're certain of the blast radius?" Stolas asked.

Striker nodded. "You bet. Anyone who gets this thing full blast is one dead sonuvabitch." Looking over at the other Stolas, he smirked. "Helluva way to go out, wouldn't you say, buddy?"

The Copy gave no response to the taunt. Not a single twitch or step. The imp raised a brow. "Damn. Guess they don't make blue-bloods like they used to, huh?"

Stolas gave the copy an approving look. "Not like this one."

"You really don't think that those other rich birds are gonna suspect that this knockoff ain't you?"

Stolas shook his head calmly. "One of the first things that the coroners do when checking the corpse of royalty are to confirm the validity of the body itself. It's not considered uncommon for Hellborn royalty or nobles to send a placebo or imposter to take their place in case of an attack. But no matter how impeccable the disguise, a simply blood magic test can easily allow you to distinguish the forgery and the real thing."

He held up a hand towards his twin, his identical hand [;acing itself in his palm. "My blood, even when shed still retains fragments of my magic, therefore, it will establish to any who examine this one's remains to be just as authentic as my own."

Striker watched as the dressed-down Owl guided "Prince" Stolas to take his vacated seat, sitting primly in place. "Not really much for conversation, tho'."

"Well, this kind of clone isn't exactly made for conversing. He's here simply to play the part until I'm no longer needed. Or rather, until I'm dead, which fortunately for us isn't long."

"You ain't worried about turnin' tail to save his skin?"

"No, he doesn't have enough cognizance to try and think for himself. He exists only to serve me and nothing else."

Striker scoffed at that. "So says the rest of you High n' mighty birds in regards to us 'lower species'."

The jab should not go unnoticed. "Only in this case is it true." Stolas replied calmly. "When one has neither the will nor the spark to be free."

Striker said nothing else. He couldn't really think of how to respond to that. But then again, they didn't have a lot of time left to debate politics.

The cowboy then pulled out a hand-drill that he had pocketed away in coat before unabashedly sticking the explosive in his mouth, sticking it in between his teeth before dropping down and crawling underneath the towncar. He slithered along the dirt beneath the undercarriage until the frame of the engine block was hanging right above his head. Twisting around, pulling off his wide-brimmed hat to widen his view, he reached up to feel around for a big enough spaaace there! Just between where the gas goes into the engine and where the vents were put in.

Wiggling in the hand-drill, he carefully positioned his hand-drill and began cranking it, drilling for shallow holes into the metal, just a few inches shy of piercing through. He removed the brick from his mouth and lined up the ends of the straps with the holes, taking four tiny screws tucked into the brim of his hat and placing them in the holes before also pulling them out a screwdriver and screwing each one in tightly. Once tight enough that he could hear the strain of the leathers creak, he knew they were set.

He then dove into his pants pocket, gripping something before reaching out to send the object rolling out from under the towncar, watching as a black-feathered hand picked it up, lifting it out of view. "Alright, flip it on."

Half a second later, he heard, "It's on."

"Good. One sec." Striker reached a hand up and felt around, much more cautiously than before, knowing full well one wrong move would spell certain death for him, the bird and everyone from here to the center of Imp City. A bit dramatic of him he admitted, but he had seen bigger dumbasses die from from just as bad mistakes, if not worse. Eventually, his finger grazed the shape of the power button, provoking him to inch his fingertip forward and pressing down on it. Once he heard the beep, he saw as an orange bulb lit up. "Alright, it's on. Sync the trigger."

Not a full second later, the bulb right under the first one, a green light turned on. Right after, numbers appeared on the screen showing a straight line of zeroes. "Enter the timer."

Near instantly, the zeroes converted into a mess of numbers that formed into a flurry of numbers, rapidly counting down until only a few numbers remained.

3:20 scs

"Alright, we're set!"

Striker wriggled out from under the car, being sure not to touch or disrupt the engine block in any way, swiping back his hat onto his head on the way out. Once back up on his feet, he automatically took back the now live trigger from Stolas before the Owl turned back to the imposter Owl still sitting creepily silent inside. "Once I shut the door, wait three minutes and act exactly as I would if you were me."

The other Stolas's answer was a single nod. The car door was shut without another word. All the copy heard was a fingersnap and the sound of retreating footsteps as the two demons outside left.

After that, the copy quietly waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The moment he heard the groans of the hellhounds in the front, signaling their waking up from their impromptu nap, "Stolas" reacted.

He leaned forward, sharply knocking on the frame of the privacy window, the sound startling the hellhounds. "Excuse me! Just what do you believe you are doing?" His pompous tone earned matching faces of confusion from the bodyguards. "Your job is to drive, not fall asleep at the wheel. If I am late to my appointment, I'll be sure that you two are held responsible, now move!"

"Y-Yes, your highness." The taken aback reply was followed up by the sound of the car engine turning over.

Prince Stolas settled himself back into the plush, leathery seat, smiling smugly at the witless hounds. "Good. It won't do for me to be late."

Not in the slightest.

~X~

9:44 AM

Approx. 4 minutes before the explosion . . .

9:44 AM

Approx. 4 minutes before the explosion . . .

The air was draftier than Stolas had expected. Fortunately, since it since it was Hell, he wasn't too cold. He blamed any discomfort on the fact that he had yet adjusted to his newly acquired clothing yet.

He had never been the type of demon to be nitpicky about his attire, at least not more so than his position dictated, but even he had to admit the sensation of the cheap, yet soft fabric of his hoodie was massively off-putting. He had thought the boots encasing his feet would be more disconcerting, but evidently, the sensation of his feathers rubbing awkwardly against the back of the hoodie said otherwise. He decided to ignore it. He would get over it in time, and he refused to let things go sideways just because he got fussy over his clothes.

He decided to focus on the view in front of him. The rooftop that he and Striker had hurried to was a good distance away from the gates of Count Ronove's estate – If one called a modest three-pier floor White House copycat an estate – but not too far that they couldn't make out the shifting images of the patrolling guards. Being a rather low-ranking count, he had very few guards, so that meant neither of the observing demons had to worry about any highly-trained snipers positioned around the surrounding buildings. The small anonymity charm he cast on them did well in keeping their physical forms blurry and concealed, but both he and Striker were not in the mood to test if that worked underneath a sniper's scope. They chose to duck under a plastic tarp that Striker had already prepared beforehand, shrouding themselves from the back of the neck down. Stolas had to curl his legs in to keep them from sticking out, as well as tuck in his tail-feathers under his seat to keep them from rising and giving them away, but both fit with little squabble.

Striker crouched with a knee to the ground, slowly surveyed the area through a pair of thick binoculars (which Stolas couldn't even begin to fathom where the man had pulled them from), his bright green sclera burning even in the shadow of the tarp. "Looks all good. No crows where they ain't supposed to be."

That barely surprised Stolas. He knew that the Count was far from the social type, being just as much as a recluse as he was, which to be fair Stolas couldn't really blame him for as he too was a mutual shut in, meaning that he had distinct lack of enemies looking for an opportunity to lop off his head. Or in this case, looking for a convenient patsy. "Good, the less witnesses the better. That way they're won't be too many alibis to compare and contrast."

"Birdie, this ain't my first hit – Somethin' tells me that once the dust clears, they're gonna be checkin' over every bit of the place you bit it at with a fine tooth comb."

Stolas huffed lightly. "You grossly underestimate how badly Stella wants me gone."

"Welp, guess we'll be getting' our answer soon 'nuff." Striker clicked his tongue. "Towncar's pullin' up now."

Stolas tensed. He took the offered binoculars and zeroed in on the same blasted vehicle that he rode out in for half a bloody morning. Through the green lens he observed it approach the averagely-sized gates, stopping right at the assigned security to come up for their routine security check.

He began holding his breath as the Guard, after chatting with the driver for a moment, started to look over the car with a listless stare. There was no need to panic. He made sure to find out in advance how languidly the count's security operated in accordance to guest evaluations. They grossly lacked in being meticulous as Count Ronove was a mere blip in the political radar and therefore less likely to encounter danger. Decrease in experience led to a surplus in ignorance, a known truth that was certainly going to work in Stolas's favor today.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stolas finally let himself breathe again as the guard "finished" his examination, signaling to whoever was in charge of opening the gate.

Stolas didn't wait another second. He pushed the binoculars to the imp in exchange for the tiny, cigar-shaped trigger switch now synced with the bomb literally being delivered to Count's door. It was a simple switch, the light on top blinking orange, showing that it was charged and ready, an unlit bulb on the side that would brighten once the package was in range and two buttons right by his thumb, each colored for different purposes.

Orange for syncing. Red for activating.

The first had served its purpose and the second, in just a few moments, would serve theirs too.

A low hiss filled the air between them. "Alllright, they are through and we are closin' in. Ya ready?"

Fuck yes. "I'm ready."

The towncar was thirty feet to the door now. Then It was twenty-five feet to the door.

Twenty feet.

Fifteen feet.

"Try not to swoon, Highness."

"Try not to drop me, Cowboy." Stolas retorted, his thumb hovering over the red button, trembling.

Ten feet.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two -

The dark bulb lit up. In range.

It's a shame what's going to happen to the hedges.

ONE.

"Do it." Striker hissed.

Stolas did not refuse.

Requiescant in Pace, Prince Stolas.

He pressed his thumb down.

A small buzz. And then -

BOOM!

Even from miles away, Stolas could feel the impact of the shockwave. The front of Count Ronove's estate vanished behind a cloud of red, yellow and pure white light, the sounds of the doomed vehicle and its occupants lost in the roar of the flames.

But none of that mattered as much as the pain.

White-hot. Agonizing. Quick as light, consuming him whole and severing what anchors he held in reality. His mortal coil snapping, powerless and frail from the profound combustion that had swallowed him. Bones charring – Blood dissipating like water from the heat -

- And then there was black.

Before he could even comprehend feeling his body going ice cold as it dropped to the floor of the grimy rooftop, his last thoughts were simple.

Stella is going to pitch a fit over losing the towncar.

And then, Prince Stolas, or rather Prince no more, allowed his consciousness to free-fall into the black, one final exhale leaving his lips.

~X~

Sometime later . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . When Stolas imagined what freedom was like, the last thing he thought it would be as fragrant as a gas station in the heart of Greed packed with sweaty patrons with poor bowel management.

Lovely.

He distinctly recalled once reading something about how the body, if successfully resuscitated, could safely regain full motor control and the like at around 16 minutes. Give or take them not dying again from the shock.

Stolas, having now come back from the dead, could now say with utmost sincerity, was a massive crock of shit.

The sensation of feeling was slow to return to him. When it did, it was not too unlike a hollow corpse that some sadist had decided to refill with water and let rise and fall in a viscous lake like an erratic bobber. The weak yet aching throb of his blood warming was a dull warning to the stuttered rush as it began to flow once through his veins once again. It took decisively longer for his nerves to once again become stimulated, the sparks enticing muscle and sinew to accept command from his surely dormant heart. Saliva pooled on his tongue, a sign of his bodily functions restarting, his beak twitching before numbly shutting before letting more drool spill down his front. His world was dark, sluggishly returning in a lazy storm of spots, the little disorienting dots flickering even as he shut all four eyes, popping in and out of existence at the speed of firecrackers for what seemed like hours before he could even start to register light. Or lack thereof.

Raising his head outright failed, as his neck felt unfathomably stiff. A weak chirp made its way into his half-deaf ears, the sound subdued even as his heartbeat quickened against his eardrums. A small moment of respite allowed him to try to once again raise his head. This time he was successful, but the strain left him cooing lowly from the pain, feeling as though he had just woke up after sleeping in the worst possible position in all the realms for a millennia.

And he had been an overly-glorified desk jockey for double that time.

Eventually, tentatively the world sharpened and focused; becoming more and more aware of the firmness of the surface he had been propped up against. The fine, broken bits of concrete and gravel under his fingertips (And also something suspiciously damp) the far off sounds of traffic and shouts, the dark and dreary shades of brown, black and red of the . . . alley? Yes, the alley, it was definitely an alley, And the two floating orbs of acidic green that glimmered in the air as they peered right at him.

Oh, wait, no, not floating, but place on a strangely familiar pale blob? -

". . . . athers? Hey Feathers, you back with us? Hello?"

Ah. Yes, he did know that face.

The most sophisticated comeback that he could give was possible the slowest, most delayed blink in all of existence. Or Hell's existence at least. Two minutes. Thirty-eight point four seconds.

A short, rough laugh. "Satan be damned, bird. Just when I finally thought you were all outta tricks. For a minute there, really thought you weren't gonna lay eyes on this ol' mug again."

Oh. Okay. That was a joke. ". . . . I've woken up . . . To a wife who - . . . Who looked worse."

The imp's laugh was gravelly and throaty. "Guess that proves yer brain's still workin'. Not bad considerin' you just got back from the dead."

"Umf . . . To be more accurate, as I am a Hellborn . . . The Void. They do not ex- *cough cough!* exaggerate it's eternity. Stolas dry joke was evidently drier than he thought, as his mouth did a fantastic job of informing him that he was now incredibly dehydrated. He felt something cool and round and filled with liquid being pressed into his hand, prompting the Owl to bring it up to his beak to drink. That taste of it led him to recognizing it as run of the mill tap water, but as far as Stolas was concerned, it was the Nectar of the Heavens.

Half of the canteen's contents were drained before Stolas no longer felt like his esophagus had turned to sandpaper. ". . . How long was I gone?"

"By my count, three hours." Striker took back the canteen, screwing the cap back on. "I managed to get us out 'fore any guards or cops showed. Now that the news is at the Count's place, the whole south side of the city is buzzin'."

Stolas's legs still felt somewhat deadened but he wasn't worried. "As expected. And no one saw us."

"I made sure to stick to the alleyways and ghetto districts. Thank fuck for both of us you got hollow bones or it would've been a pain luggin' your ass on my back."

"Hm. Small favors."

Striker rolled a bright green eye towards him. ". . . Not that I don't appreciate the free magic show, but was it really necessary that you die with the decoy bird? Cuz I get that we needed to make you bitin' the dust as convincin' as possible, but I had assumed this whole 'misdirection' shanghai of yours," He curled his fingers skeptically. "- Was meant to end with you still alive and kickin' from start to finish."

". . . As a Prince of Hell, a good portion of my magic is tied to the realm itself. And that kind of magic leaves a trail. As the copy was made with my blood, even divided, it means I'm still tied to the realm. When a Goetia dies, and the magic they once held has lost its tether, it either goes back into the realm or goes to the one who dealt the final blow to the tether."

Striker blinked. "So that's why ya'll insisted on flippin' the switch."

Stolas nodded weakly. "I sunk as much of my inherited power as I could into the copy before we departed for the Count's, made it a walking storage unit, if you will. The reason being that the powers that Hell granted me upon my becoming a Prince would've been severed upon my, er, 'our' death. Not permanently since in our connection, I was the life source. It will return, albeit it will take a while."

Striker gave him an incredulous look. "So you're sayin' if I had been the one to kill the dummy or whatever the fuck he was, I would've gotten your magic?"

Stolas lightly shook his head. "Yes, but I know you would NOT have been able to handle it. There's a reason why imps can't wield magic."

Striker gave an annoyed hiss. "Ain't exactly an imp."

"All the same, I promise you would not like the end result."

Striker humphed, looking suspiciously putout but he looked away and pulled up a callous front. "If ya say so."

Taking that as the end of the conversation, Stolas experimentally stretched one long leg, the tips of his boots almost touching the other side of the alley. The rigor mortis was wearing off somewhat slower than he had expected, but he was not hurrying to jump right into running just yet. There didn't appear to be any sign of someone of something coming down the alleyway, or lingering around it's opening. No one outside seemed to have took notice of them whenever a random soul happened to walk past. Hopefully they would be even less paying attention to them when news of his death show up on 666 News later on.

They were left uninterrupted for a pleasing amount of time, giving Stolas enough time to get his limbs back in working order. Going through a small series of stretches, he steadily grew enough confidence and strength to press his palms to the ground, lean on them, position his feet and push himself trepidatiously off the grimy alleyway floor. He briefly had to fight off a bout of light-headedness, but taking in a several deep, calm breaths to ground himself chased it away. He absently wiped his hand on his leggings to get rid of the unnamed dampness he had felt soaking into his feathers earlier.

"Think you'll be okay getting' to Wraith?" Striker teased.

Stolas inhaled through his nostrils. ". . . If you're so worried, you could cart me around a little longer."

Striker snorted. "Not likely, Feathers, less ya payin' me extra."

Stolas smiled dryly at the crack. "Speaking of which," He reached down and unzipped the duffle. It only took him a moment to locate the fattened envelope. He held it out towards Striker with a cordial look. "As agreed, the rest in full. With a little interest for the extra mile."

The Cowboy took it, tossing it slightly to look it over and gauge its weight, obviously suspicious of there perhaps being one last trick of Stolas's. He couldn't blame him. But once assured there wasn't anything wrong, he sliced open the envelope. Peering inside, he let out a satisfactory hiss at the thick stacks of $ouls inside. "Damn. I'm surprised."

"Surprised that there truly is a thing as fifty-hundred thousand $ouls?"

Striker barked out a laugh. "Yea, that, and tat you actually bothered to remember to pay off the rest of your tab."

"I'm not the type to skimp on the bill. Besides what's the point of having money to burn if you're too afraid to set a few fires?"

"Spoken like a rich man." Striker retorted, plucking out a pack of $ouls. "Or rather now former rich man, given circumstances."

He had a point. An excellent point.

In fact, he had a damn good point.

Stolas, save for the small treasure horde hiding in his duffle, was poor as dirt now. Not to mention, unofficially as dead as a door-nail. He had nothing to his name and he was as important as gum on the bottom of someone's shoe.

. . . . And he had never felt so fucking excited.

He let that thought wash over him. His beak broke out into a smile he hadn't thought he had the capability of making anymore after lords knew how long. He didn't feel goosebumps but he was damn near close to having every single feather in his own body ruffle at his elation.

When had been the last time he felt this eager? This restless? So much as though he had just launched himself head first into the unmarked steps into the unknown and uncertain? Unsure of whether or not he would find ground and not caring one bit if he crashed and burned? When he felt a spark reignite within himself?

. . . Probably not since her.

. . . . . . This wouldn't end like it did then.

He pressed a hand against the solid weight of the little box as it hung low in his hoodie.

Not if he could help it.

". . . . Well, now that that's all outta the way, guess we're done here then, eh?"

". . . Yes. I thank you for your assistance. I'll be sure to remember it."

Striker gave him a one-shoulder shrug. "Hey, ya hired me. Pulled your weight and toted the bill. We'll call it even."

"I suppose we will." Stolas replied. ". . . . What will you do now?"

Striker plucked one random stack of $ouls and gave it what appeared to be a lax once over, but Stolas could easily see the anticipating gleam in his eye. "Can't rightly say. Got enough here to live the high life 'til I kick it. Buy my own li'l plot a land and start a sweet ranch as big Lucifer's backyard. Fuck, might just go right 'head and set up my own campaign to become Sheriff of Wraith."

That drew a chuckle from the "dead" Prince. "Now that would be a sight to behold."

"Guess I can count on your vote, then."

"Oh, absolutely not."

"Ha, ha, fair enough." Tucking the stack back in the envelope, he took off his hat and stuck it inside, placing the now heavier gallon hat on top of his head. "And yerself? What do you think yer gonna do now?"

That . . . That was a question.

What would do now?

Obviously, he would be laying low in Wraith for a spell, at least until things were settled, but after that?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

". . . . . . I don't know." He answered as honestly as he could. ". . . . . I don't know what lies waiting for me."

". . . And if that one step ends up with you dead in the water?"

". . . . . . At least it'll be my own to take."

And he was going to take as many as he damn well pleased.

The silence afterwards was palpable.

After a few minutes, Striker broke it with a light smirk. ". . . Well, alright then." He drawled. "Looks like we're partin' ways here then."

That statement settled Stolas a bit. "Ah." Nodding, he said, "So it seems."

This would, customarily, be the part when both parties would shake hands to signify that the deal was done. But Stolas, as his first act as free man, decided to take a different approach.

He turned to face Striker fully, cleared his throat and bent at the waist in an elegant bow, something that clearly took the Cowboy off guard, with a hand placed primly on his chest and his head lowered in respect. A gesture of recognition. A gesture that, when seen directed at an imp, would have earned nothing but utter contempt from everyone who pretended they were the sun and stars in Hell.

But, as of three hours ago, Stolas didn't have to give two shits anymore.

"I again, thank you, Striker Venn for what you have done for me. You have my utmost gratitude and respect and I wish you success in all your future endeavors." He stated proudly. "Now if you will kindly excuse me, I'm going to find the most decrepit hollow I can find and sleep like the dead."

Even with all four eyes to the ground, he could imagine the Snake-Imp's surprise at such a scandalous act on his part. Of which, he doubted he would let it show so easily. His voice, however, made it all too clear. "Fuck, feathers, gotta make a big production outta everythin'. I'm gonna split 'fore ya start laudin' me like you fancy folk do 'fore ya cause a scene'."

Stolas held in the giggle at the idea of the Rough Wraithian getting flustered at his gesture, watching him heading to the opposite end of the alleyway that lead to the street. He probably hurried away before I saw him blush. Cute.

Stopping right before he stepped out onto the dirty sidewalk, instead of simply going on his way, Striker looked back. One hypnotizing acid eye glanced at him coolly, before a toothy smile pulled at his lips. The light from the outside cast a shadow on his body cut him an eye-catching image, like one worthy of an antique western movie poster.

"Take it easy, Your Highness. Enjoy your new life."

He tipped his hat in a tiny nod and just like that, he was gone. Disappearing as quickly as a viper right after striking its prey.

Not that it concerned Stolas.

No, nothing mattered anymore.

Now he was dead in all but name, he had plenty of things to do. Such as, catching the next Ring Elevator.

Hood drawn up, he began a trek through alleyways, empty buildings and even a few construction pipes, not stopping until he set talon into one of the lesser-used transports that would take him straight down to Wraith, more specifically the kind where random bloggers didn't come to livestream on their phones that would give away his position like an atom bomb. His charm was still in effect, meaning most wouldn't be able to even make out his tail-feathers, still he in no way let himself react to the jabbing elbows and pushing bodies that made up the small crowd that was inside, aside from tightening his grip on the box placed in the hoodie's pockets. Once the doors opened, he kept a firm hold on his duffle as he pushed his way out, the small crowd of Hellborn paying him no mind whatsoever. Such a thing wasn't new.

He then hailed a Hellcab, quickly but softly ordering the driver to take him to the most remote hotel he knew of. Half an hour and one other Ring Elevator ride later, the Hellcab pulled up at the wreck that was the Hideaway Hotel. It was falling apart, rotting and rundown. Barely any occupants, save a few shady characters. It was perfect.

He paid and sent off the cab, happily forking over a tip that cost more than the fare machine stated to keep him quiet, before heading inside. Heading straight to the reception desk, he was practically tossed a random key after wordlessly dropping a stack of $ouls on the Check-In desk. Rude, but Stolas wouldn't make a fuss about it.

He bee-lined to his assigned room, jammed the key in the rusty lock, having to jimmy it a few times before it finally unlocked, letting him slip inside quicker than an entitled guest. He then re-locked the door and, upon noticing the ridiculous amount of locks and deadbolts, flipped and clicked each one shut like a madman, until the door was locked tighter than the Golden Gates.

Er, well, rather the Cardboard version of the Golden Gates.

The second the last bolt was in place, he let go of the breath he now and then realized that he was holding in with a gasp.

He staggered away from the door until he felt the back of his legs hit the bed. Unabashedly letting himself fall back gracelessly onto it, the old and grossly worn out springs creaking in protest.

The bed was abysmally small, at least five times less the size of his Double King-sized Belye Brand mattress back at the Palace. The sheets felt more like poorly bleached denim and was prominently smelly. A far cry from the luxurious bedchambers Stolas had slept in for most of his formative years. A shoddy nightstand was placed on his right, the holes and mold bearing the obvious signs of termites, the lamp on top cracked at the base with the lampshade as crooked as Mammon's smile. And he was more than sure that he stepped in a few wet spots on the way up.

All in all, it was an absolutely horrible room.

And yet, Stolas felt himself go lax with ease, as though finding rest on bed made of feathers.

It wasn't, though. It was probably stuffed with a few handfuls of gravel.

Releasing the death grip on the duffel bag strap, he was hit hard by a monstrous and prolonged overdose of exhaustion. Clearly the effects of having died, coming back to life, basically sprinting down half of Hell and charging into a flimsy safe haven all in the span of two hours was making themselves known. His energy dropped harder than a boulder, whatever reserves he had scrounged back from the Void were bone dry and with the adrenaline wearing off, his body could no longer lie to him.

Still, even with his dead-tired body with his brain trailing right behind it, the relief could not be ignored.

I did it.

I did it. I made it.

I made it here. I made it.

The weight on his stomach added on to the relief.

We both made it.

He knew it wouldn't long until he fell back asleep. And he imagined he would be doing so for a good amount of time. Just barely kicking off his boots, he lazily pulled up the duffle bag from where lay awkwardly on his hip, clutching the corner of the crackling blanket and pulling the blanket around the both of them, wrapping both arms tightly around the bag. His last spurt of energy died with a whimper as Stolas inched a little further up the bed, dropping onto the just as musty pillow, not giving a single shit for the horrid possibility of ticks in the morning. Or whenever he woke up again.

I made it.

When I wake up, all of Hell will know I'm dead.

The now dead Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia, in the last hour before dusk, completely unsure as to what the next day would bring and not caring less, allowed himself to succumb to the dark, his final waking thought gone just as fast as it had arrived.

And I will be free.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⭐️ • • •

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A03 Version

FF.Net Version

[healthyhubs]

Ageless Knees

Ageless Knees introduces a groundbreaking method for easing knee discomfort with a specialized massager designed to stimulate the femoral nerve. Crafted by certified fitness professional Chris Ohocinski, this program is backed by scientific research, delivering a dependable and long-lasting approach to knee pain relief.

By tackling the core cause of discomfort, Ageless Knees fosters sustained pain relief and better mobility, empowering you to rediscover an active lifestyle. Say farewell to knee pain and embrace fluid movement with Ageless Knees today!

What is Ageless Knees?

Developed by Chris Ohocinski, Ageless Knees is a scientifically supported program designed to naturally alleviate knee pain and stiffness without the need for surgery or drugs. Suitable for all fitness levels, it incorporates precise movements and the unique Miracle Massage Wand to ease discomfort, boost mobility, and strengthen joints in just seven minutes daily. This program targets the underlying causes of knee pain, delivering lasting relief instead of short-term fixes. By activating the femoral nerve and enhancing circulation, it promotes joint stability and supports natural healing. The gentle, low-impact exercises are home-friendly, making it convenient and approachable for anyone seeking relief. Ageless Knees provides a comprehensive package, including a DVD, digital resources, a detailed guide, and the Miracle Massage Wand, equipping users with everything needed for long-term joint health. With a risk-free guarantee, it offers a secure and effective path to improved mobility, stronger joints, and a pain-free life. Through its evidence-based techniques and cutting-edge tools, Ageless Knees enables individuals to take charge of their knee health and embrace a more active, comfortable lifestyle. Wave goodbye to persistent knee pain and stiffness with this all-encompassing, results-focused solution.

What’s Inside Ageless Knees

The Ageless Knees program offers a comprehensive approach to alleviating knee pain and enhancing mobility. Below is an overview of the components included: Ageless Knees DVD This instructional video provides a clear guide to warm-up routines and rehabilitation exercises. With easy-to-follow, step-by-step directions, it ensures correct form to optimize the benefits of every session. Digital Content Access Enjoy flexible access to the program through downloadable videos and resources. Compatible with devices like laptops, tablets, and smartphones, this feature allows you to integrate the program seamlessly into your daily life. Comprehensive Digital Guide This detailed handbook dives into the root causes of knee discomfort, offers strategies for strengthening knee joints, and provides tips for maintaining long-term joint health. It serves as a valuable resource to understand the program’s science and achieve lasting results. Miracle Massage Wand At the heart of the program, this cutting-edge device delivers a mild electrical pulse to stimulate the femoral nerve. It helps reduce discomfort, enhances circulation, and strengthens muscles around the knee, making it an essential tool for daily relief. Together, these components equip you with everything needed to restore mobility, ease pain, and promote enduring joint wellness with Ageless Knees.

How Does Ageless Knees Work?

Ageless Knees goes beyond short-term relief, offering a scientifically grounded program that targets the underlying causes of knee pain for enduring results. Unlike conventional treatments that only mask discomfort, Ageless Knees™ employs a multi-faceted approach to restore knee function, promoting sustained mobility and comfort. Innovative Nerve Stimulation The program kicks off with the cutting-edge Miracle Massage Wand, which delivers mild electrical pulses to activate the femoral nerve. This nerve plays a vital role in controlling the quadriceps, which are crucial for knee stability. A sedentary lifestyle can weaken this nerve, leading to pain and reduced function. By revitalizing the femoral nerve, Ageless Knees enhances muscle coordination, stabilizes the knee, and significantly alleviates discomfort. Strengthening the Quadriceps A key component of Ageless Knees is rebuilding the quadriceps muscles, which often weaken and contribute to knee instability and joint wear. The program includes gentle, low-impact exercises tailored for all skill levels, gradually strengthening these muscles to provide robust support for the knees without causing strain. Rapid Pain Relief The Miracle Massage Wand also excels at delivering immediate relief by interrupting pain signals to the brain. This non-invasive method offers quick comfort while supporting the natural healing of muscles and nerves, making it a cornerstone of the program’s effectiveness. Enhanced Joint Health Ageless Knees promotes joint wellness by boosting blood circulation and encouraging the production of synovial fluid, which lubricates joints and reduces stiffness. This process helps combat cartilage breakdown, improving mobility and fostering long-term joint vitality. Convenient and Accessible Designed for ease, Ageless Knees requires just seven minutes daily and minimal tools: the Miracle Massage Wand, a towel, and a chair. With clear, step-by-step video instructions, the program is user-friendly for people of all fitness levels, offering a practical solution for achieving stronger, pain-free knees. Ageless Knees empowers you to regain mobility, reduce pain, and embrace a more active, comfortable lifestyle. Bid farewell to persistent knee issues and welcome lasting relief and improved joint health with this all-encompassing program.

Science Behind The Working Of Ageless Knees Program

Ageless Knees leverages a unique blend of electro-acupuncture technology and customized exercises to tackle the core cause of knee pain by revitalizing the femoral nerve and enhancing its performance. Insights from a pivotal Harvard University study reveal that knee pain often stems not from cartilage degradation but from diminished femoral nerve signals. This critical nerve is vital for muscle coordination and knee stability, and its impaired function can result in persistent pain and reduced mobility. Contemporary lifestyles, marked by prolonged sitting, worsen the issue by weakening the femoral nerve. Such inactivity diminishes nerve signal strength, leading to muscle fatigue, stiffness, and compromised joint function. The Miracle Massage Wand, a central feature of the program, employs mild electrical pulses to activate the femoral nerve, boosting its activity, reducing inflammation, improving circulation, and promoting faster recovery. Alongside this technology, Ageless Knees incorporates a set of simple, equipment-free exercises crafted to strengthen the quadriceps and supporting muscles. These focused movements enhance joint stability, reduce stress on the knees, and restore optimal function, addressing the root causes of discomfort. By integrating advanced nerve stimulation with muscle fortification, the program delivers lasting benefits, alleviating pain, enhancing mobility, and fostering healthier knees without the need for invasive treatments or medications.

To Read More Visit Here

[healthcaremarketanalysis]

Orthopedic Braces & Supports Market worth $5.1 billion by 2029

The global orthopedic braces and supports market is projected to reach USD 5.1 billion by 2029, up from USD 3.6 billion in 2023, at a CAGR of 7.2%. We have observed that bracing products are increasingly used in musculoskeletal and soft tissue applications driven by the market availability of lightweight and customizable products and the rising number of sports and other injuries and related orthopedic surgical procedures. These trends are further augmented by the customer shift toward off-the-shelf/OTC products, integration of smart textiles with bracing products (such as glucose or heart rate monitors), and continued reimbursement coverage in prominent markets. Some of the noteworthy start-ups reported in the market include Roam Robotics, Sensoria Health, ActiveOrtho, Orpyx, Myomo, Exos, and Ossur.

Orthopedic Braces and Supports Market Segmentation & Geographical Spread

Download PDF Brochure:

Market Dynamics

 Drivers

Increasing prevalence of orthopedic diseases and disorders

Continuous product commercialization

Growing product affordability and availability

Rising number of sports and accident-related injuries

Growing public awareness about preventive care

 Restraints

Limited patient qualification for bracing-mediated orthopedic treatment

Limited clinical evidence of therapeutic efficacy

 Opportunities

Increased sales of off-the-shelf and online products

Expansion and promotion initiatives by major manufacturers

 Challenges

Significant adoption of pain medication

Product comfort and compliance

North America is expected to be the largest market of orthopedic braces & supports industry during the forecast period.

North America, comprising the US and Canada, accounted for the largest share of the orthopedic braces & supports market in 2022. The faster growth of the orthopedic braces and supports imaging market in North America can be attributed to its technological leadership, robust healthcare infrastructure, high market demand driven by prevalent diseases and an aging population, ample financial resources for advanced medical equipment investment, established regulatory frameworks ensuring safety and quality, active research collaboration, insurance coverage for advanced diagnostics, patient expectations for comprehensive care, and a competitive market environment fostering innovation.

As of 2022, prominent players in the market are 3M (US), Essity (Sweden), DJO LLC (US), Ossur HF (Iceland), Breg, Inc. (US), Bauerfeind AG (Germany), Devicor Medical Products, Inc., (Leica Biosystems) (Germany), Hologic, Inc. (US), Argon Medical Devices (US), Zimmer Biomet (US), Ottobock Healthcare (Germany), Thuasne (France), ALCARE Co., Ltd (Japan), Nippon Sigmax (Japan), Bird & Cronin (US), DeRoyal Industries (US), medi GmbH (Germany), and Foundation Wellness (US)

Recent Developments of Orthopedic Braces & Supports Industry:

In January 2022, Össur announced the launch of the ReLeaf Active knee brace, designed to provide pain relief and support for patients with osteoarthritis. The brace features a unique hinge design that mimics the natural movement of the knee, and it is made from lightweight, breathable materials for comfort.

In August 2022, DonJoy announced the launch of the Vizor 120 ankle brace, a lightweight and comfortable brace that provides support and stability for patients with ankle sprains. The brace features a unique air-filled pad that conforms to the shape of the ankle, and it is made from breathable materials to keep the foot cool and dry.

[cmr-insights]

Orthopedic Biomaterials Market Statistics and Global Analysis Report 2030

The Global Orthopedic Biomaterials Market was valued at US$ 12,345.7 Million in 2022 and is anticipated to reach US$ 21,576.5 Million by the end of 2030 with a CAGR of 7.2% from 2023 to 2030

Make The Smart Decision. Download A Free Sample Of Our Report @ https://cognizancemarketresearch.com/request/orthopedic-biomaterials-market/

For instance, according to National Health Statistics Reports, 213 million Americans aged 6 and older engaged in sports and fitness activities throughout their early years. A surge in orthopedic operations including viscosupplementation, joint reconstruction, and joint arthroplasty is also assisting the growth of this industry. The global increase in musculoskeletal illnesses is the main element contributing to the market’s expansion. In humans, musculoskeletal disorders typically affect the joints, bones, and muscles and promote the growth of various inflammatory and painful ailments. Orthopedic biomaterials are necessary for the effective healing of such musculoskeletal problems, which is anticipated to drive market expansion. The World Health Organization (WHO) reported that 1710 million people globally experienced musculoskeletal issues in 2022. As sports injuries, accident-related trauma cases, and orthopedic procedures like joint repair and joint arthroplasty rise, there is also a large demand for orthopedic biomaterials. The market for orthopedic biomaterials is expanding as a result. Over the next few years, it is anticipated that the usage of orthopedic biomaterials will increase as the world’s aging population grows increasingly vulnerable to joint problems and procedures. A July 2022 report from the World Health Organization estimates that approximately 1710 million people globally experience musculoskeletal issues.

Global Orthopedic Biomaterials Market Amid COVID-19 Pandemic

Fewer traffic accidents and injuries occurred as a result of the pandemic’s widespread lockdowns, which also curtailed private and public transit. This caused healthcare institutions to shift their attention from surgical procedures to COVID-19 patients, which had a short-term effect on the market in the early pandemic period, especially in specialist hospitals. Additionally, because of resource constraints, orthopedic clinics and hospitals around the world were only able to handle emergencies, while other institutions were converted into confinement facilities and treatment centers for COVID-19 patients. The eventual halt to all elective surgeries has limited exposure to various techniques and hands-on experience. Therefore, during the COVID-19 pandemic, these factors had a significant global impact on the demand for orthopedic biomaterials.

However, as the number of pending surgical procedures rises, the post-COVID-19 situation will probably worsen.

Additionally, there is a huge demand for orthopedic biomaterials due to the increase in sports injuries, accident-related trauma cases, and orthopedic surgeries like joint reconstruction and joint arthroplasty. This is propelling the growth of the orthopedic biomaterial market.

Increasing Prevalence of the geriatric population along with the increased rates of musculoskeletal injuries and patients choosing knee replacement, construction, and other orthopedic operations related to joints to Boost the Global Orthopedic Biomaterials Market

The aging population, increased rates of musculoskeletal injuries, and growth in the number of patients selecting knee replacement, construction, and other orthopedic procedures involving joints are all expected to have an impact on the market. The World Population Prospects 2022 report from the UN Department of Economic and Social Affairs predicts a rise in the proportion of people 65 and older, from 10% in 2022 to 16% in 2050. By 2030, it is anticipated that the number of persons 65 and older will have surpassed that of children under the age of five and will be nearly equal to that of children under the age of twelve.

Over the next few years, it is anticipated that the usage of orthopedic biomaterials will increase as the world’s aging population grows increasingly vulnerable to joint problems and procedures. A July 2022 report from the World Health Organization estimates that approximately 1710 million people globally experience musculoskeletal issues. The growing prevalence of musculoskeletal injuries brought on by such a high burden of musculoskeletal disorders is driving the growth of the orthopedic biomaterials market.

The market is also growing as a result of industry advancements. As an illustration, a fresh implantable Whitlockite Biomaterial was unveiled. Whitlockite, a kind of magnesium tricalcium phosphate, has shown exceptional bioactive regenerative and reconstructive properties as well as remarkable biocompatibility, making it an effective biomaterial for implant utilization on fracture or bone defect sites.

As a result, it is expected that the aforementioned factors will encourage market expansion during the research period. However, the lack of reimbursement policies for the operations would somewhat restrict the market growth.

North America to Spearhead the Global Orthopedic Biomaterials Market

Due to the growing target population, rise in the geriatric population, high adoption of cutting-edge orthopedic products, and presence of numerous pharmaceutical firms specializing in orthopedics, North America is anticipated to account for a sizeable portion of the global orthopedic biomaterials market. One of the main forces for the segment’s growth is the rise in knee injuries. For instance, among the top 3 inpatient procedures carried out each year in Canada are knee replacements.  The market’s expansion is also being fueled by the regulatory authority’s permission.

Rising geriatric population: The prevalence of geriatric patients, along with an increase in the number of patients with chronic diseases and obesity, is a major factor driving the growth of global orthopedic biomaterials. Other important factors include the introduction of new services by a significant number of key players. The government’s endeavors to offer correct services to the healthcare facilities sector fuel market expansion.

Adoption of new technologies: The North American market is anticipated to increase gradually as a result of the introduction of new technologies including the Internet of Things, artificial intelligence, robotics, and others. The region holds a sizable market share, which can be attributable to ongoing studies on orthopedic biomaterials for various reasons and the expanding North American pharmaceutical market.

Adoption of new products: high adoption of cutting-edge orthopedic products is boosting the revenue of various companies in North America.

Make The Smart Decision. Download A Free Sample Of Our Report @ https://cognizancemarketresearch.com/request/orthopedic-biomaterials-market/

Some of the key players operating in the market are DSM Biomedical B.V, Evonik Industries AG, Stryker Corporation, Zimmer Biomet Holdings Inc., Exactech, Inc., CAM Bioceramics B.V., DePuy Synthes (Johnson & Jhonson), Invibio Limited, Globus Medical, Others. Furthermore, companies operating in the Orthopedic Biomaterials market have adopted several growth strategies to expand their market share and increase their revenue.

[brisbanehipnkneeau]

Joint Journey: Your Destination for Hip and Knee Wellness

Are you someone who experiences frequent hip or knee pain? Maybe you've been diagnosed with osteoarthritis or another joint condition that affects your mobility and quality of life. If so, you're not alone.

Joint pain is a prevalent issue, affecting millions of people worldwide. Whether it's due to age, injury, or genetics, hip and knee problems can be debilitating and interfere with everyday activities. But fear not, because there's a perfect solution: Joint Journey.

Joint Journey is your ultimate destination for all things related to hip and knee wellness. It's a blog that aims to educate, inspire, and empower individuals to take control of their joint health and live their best lives possible. We understand that dealing with joint issues can be overwhelming and confusing, which is why we're here to guide you every step of the way.

Our blog covers a wide range of topics, including understanding joint anatomy and function, common joint conditions and their causes, treatment options, exercise and physical therapy techniques, and tips for managing pain and maintaining joint health. We provide evidence-based information and advice that will help you make informed decisions about your joint health.

One of the key features of Joint Journey is our community. We believe that support and connection are essential when dealing with any health condition, and joint problems are no exception. Our blog allows you to connect with others who are on the same joint journey as you. Share your experiences, ask questions, and learn from others who have been through similar challenges. Together, we can create a supportive community that inspires hope and promotes healing.

Another unique aspect of Joint Journey is our focus on holistic approaches to joint wellness. While traditional medical treatments and interventions play a vital role in managing joint pain, we recognize the importance of a comprehensive and integrative approach. We explore alternative therapies, such as acupuncture, herbal supplements, and mindfulness techniques, that can complement traditional treatments and enhance overall well-being.

At Joint Journey, we believe that having a good understanding of your joint condition and taking an active role in your treatment are essential for a successful outcome. That's why we provide resources such as downloadable guides, videos, and expert interviews that will equip you with the knowledge and tools you need to take control of your joint health.

So, whether you're looking for information about joint pain, seeking practical tips for managing your condition, or simply want to connect with others who understand what you're going through, Joint Journey is the ideal platform for you. Embark on this joint journey with us and reclaim your mobility, independence, and happiness. The road to hip and knee wellness starts here!

[wkemeup]

In the Embers

summary: Bucky finds his burdens weigh a little less when he’s with you pairing: bucky x reader word count: 4.6k warnings: self-loathing!bucky, PTSD symptoms, talkin bout ✨S P A C E✨ a/n: this was done for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan writing challenge! I had the prompt “I’m having a bonfire. You should join me” and because im incapable of writing fluff without first prefacing it with angst, I apologize. (Also included anon’s request of playing with Bucky’s hair)

The universe simply wouldn’t let Bucky Barnes set right all the wrongs he’d committed in his life. He was certain that in every attempt he made to step closer to the light, the cold embrace of a cruel, empty darkness would shove him several paces back and down into the abyss of a never-ending pit, leaving him with no way to climb back up to the surface.

The universe would find a way to keep him alienated from those who worked so tirelessly to help him, to make sure he stayed as lost and broken as Hydra made him to be, to ensure that he never made amends for his crimes the way he so desperately needed.

He was never meant for anything more, he supposed. He was tempting fate at it was, just simply continuing to live after all he’d done.

Perhaps he should have known his first mission with the Avengers would be a colossal failure. It was supposed to be simple, something to ease him back into the field; something his stupid, mushed up brain should have been able to comprehend, but he couldn’t even do that, could he?

No. Instead, when Bucky was meant to stand guard while Natasha finished downloading the software she was assigned to extract from the Hydra warehouse, he’d been distracted. He lost his focus for only a moment; his eyes having darted over to a room on his right. No, a cell. A prison.

It looked too much like the one he’d seen in his nightmares; the one he only got bits and pieces of in his memories. He recognized the cement flooring and the metal door with bars over the impenetrable glass. He knew the faint discoloration of red along the floor in the hallway leading into the room, like a bloodied body had been dragged and thrown inside without remorse. The smell of something decaying burned in his noise and his breath felt shallow in his lungs.

He knew this wasn’t where he was held. Steve had been able to track down enough answers for him to know Hydra had never kept him in South America, but it was just so familiar. He froze up, hands sweating and heart pounding so loud he was certain someone might hear it through the coms. His breaths were too pained, too fast, and he didn’t notice the Hydra agent come up on his left and lunge at Natasha.

A knife scraped along her arm as she attempted to dodge the attack and her yelp was the only thing that shocked Bucky back to his body. He rushed in to help, but it was already too late. The Hydra agent had managed to destroy the computer before the download was finished and alerted the entire building the Avengers were present.

Red flashing lights and sirens echoed in the halls as Natasha sprinted past him. She shot him a look; something of frustration and understanding mixed in one, and Bucky clenched his jaw so tightly he was sure it would never unlock again. He chased after her, escaping the influx of dozens of Hydra agents because he knew staying to fight wasn’t an option.

The jet was quiet on the way home. Fury had called in for an update and Bucky all but slumped into his seat in an effort to disappear as Steve reported the mission had failed. Stark, who was still getting used to the idea of having Bucky around in the first place, was grumbling under his breath, staring daggers at the reformed Winter Soldier and Bucky couldn’t help but think Steve should have just come out with it and told the director that he was the one that fucked up.

Steve was too understanding, too forgiving of his old friend, and everyone on the jet knew it. It was the disappointment in Steve’s eyes that hurt more than anything else. He thought Bucky was ready for something like this, thought Bucky was stronger than he was, but he wasn’t.

He was weak, and pathetic, and set to lose it at any given second. He was a raging mess of trauma and panic attacks and nothing he did seemed to make any of it better. Steve should have known not to trust him. He could barely trust himself.

Hours after the jet landed, Bucky sat alone in the dark of the living room, clutching at his hair enough to burn in his scalp, hunched over on his knees. He didn’t know why he even bothered to leave his room after the team returned, but the walls were just so white, his lack of belongings so evident, it left a kind of emptiness hanging in the air mirrored to that in his chest.

The whole team was elsewhere, no one around to witness his unbridled self-loathing and poor attempts to pull himself together. Steve and Stark were still holed up in meetings and attempting to explain why the team would need additional resources to run the mission again to extremely disgruntled higher ups in the Pentagon. Natasha and Sam were sparring down in the gym, getting out their frustration and testing the limits of their aching muscles. Clint was off at the farm with his family, where the guy belonged. Thor was still out in space doing who knows what.

And Bucky?

Bucky was alone.

Until, he heard the soft patter of footsteps sneaking down the hall, a light humming through the air that sent a shiver down his spine, just enough to lift his hands from his head and peak over the edge of the couch.

You whizzed around the kitchen, headphones in and swaying your hips along to a song Bucky could only vaguely hear; something with a light, melodic beat and lyrics you clearly didn’t know the words to. Smile on your face and wrapped up in dark black leggings, a sweatshirt that looked to be about twice your size, fuzzy slippers and a worn scarf, you gathered items from the pantry and set them on the countertop.

Bucky watched, not noticing that his anxiety had started to go down as you filtered through old cereal boxes and dug out a box of graham crackers from the back of the shelf and tossed a bag of marshmallows onto the counter. You dug into the plastic bag and popped one of the white clouds into your mouth with a content sigh, almost a moan, and Bucky found his lips curve just a little. Certainly not enough for anyone to notice, but enough that muscles were used that hadn’t been in a while.

Next, you snuck a block of a chocolate bar from the top shelf Bucky was almost positive belonged to Sam. As you turned back to the counter, gathering everything up in your hands, you froze, eyes falling on Bucky and a breath hitched in his lungs.

You slowly removed your headphones, raising an eyebrow as a smile easily pushed on your cheeks.

“Whatcha doin’ sitting in the dark like that?” you asked, voice sweet as ever and Bucky swore his face must have been beet red from the rush of heat in his cheeks.

He swallowed nervously, hands raking through his hair to tame the mess he’d created as he nearly ripped it out just moments earlier. He stood, slowly, and realizing his legs were a little numb from how long he’d been sitting there.

“Nothing,” he replied, straightening out the wrinkles on his pants. He looked down and realized he was still wearing his stealth suit. You must have noticed too because you started to laugh a little. It made Bucky’s stomach twist in knots. 

He turned to leave, needed to get out before he made an even bigger fool of himself. You were the last person he wanted to know that he was as broken and damaged as the rest of them thought.

“Well, if you’re not doing anything,” you called after him, unbothered as Bucky tried to escape the room, a mischievous smile on your face as you gathered up your snacks. “I’m having a bonfire. You should join me.”

Bucky froze in his tracks, a careful look over his shoulder. “What?”

You nodded, walking closer to him. “I mean, you should change first. Can’t imagine Kevlar and thigh holsters will be very comfortable out there. Dress warm, alright?”

You turned to walk away, just assuming he’d come because you always did think the best of him, despite having absolutely no reason to. Bucky watched as you practically skipped down the rest of the hall, waiting impatiently by the elevator, and you sent him a beaming smile before you stepped inside. If Bucky didn’t know better, he might have thought he was dreaming.

He’d only been living at the compound for a few months now since his pardon and he’d largely kept to himself. He'd take long runs outside alone and eat most of his meals in his room. Never one to initiate interaction, though he agreed to spar with Steve and Sam on occasions. Throwing fists was easier than talking. Talking was how his demons seemed to fall out. He’d say the wrong thing or remind Steve that he wasn’t who he used to be and he’d just get those sad, disappointed eyes again.

Steve never meant to make him feel so unwanted. He knew that, but Steve longed for Bucky as he was before the war, forgetting that pieces of him were still right here; damaged and broken, but still here.

Things were different with you. You never once asked him to be anything he wasn’t. You never stepped around eggshells or treated him like he was something to be feared. You never left the room as soon as he’d walk in and often purposefully went out of your way to ask him what he was doing that day or to include him in whatever pop culture argument you were having with Sam, even though Bucky couldn’t begin to follow what you were talking about. You’d invite him to every movie night, no matter how often he declined. You encouraged him to come to the publicity events and promised to make fun of Sam the whole time if he came.

Try as you did, you never could get Bucky to open up.

Except for tonight, it seemed.

He appreciated your gesture more than he admitted; out loud and to himself. He did start to notice the way his stomach hurt when you’d be a day overdue on your check-in’s while on missions overseas and how he often glanced over to your spot on the couch when you weren’t around. He noticed that his heart skipped a little when you’d touch his shoulder as you walked by and how your smile seemed to always make him blush.

He put too many rules on himself; so easily giving into the voice that reminded him that he deserved to be alone and isolated and without someone as kind and forgiving as you. He wondered, if maybe he told that voice to shove it, if he could find an ounce of something other than self-deprecation tonight. Any time spent with you would be better than his original plan of allowing his guilt to swallow him whole.

Bucky was already changing out of his suit before he realized it; throwing on an old SHEILD crewneck from Steve and a pair of sweatpants he stole from the training center. The cold didn’t bother him much, but you’d been so sweet all wrapped up in your sweats, it made Bucky want to try for something normal.

You made Bucky want to be normal.

It was how he found himself standing at the edge of the compound, looking out into the dark field to the soft flicker of a fire. You sat curled up on a blanket, smiling and proud of your work. You didn’t notice him just yet and Bucky decided he liked the way you smiled to yourself when you thought no one was watching.

He started to make his way over to you and you nearly jumped as he approached, hand clutching at your chest to still your heart and you started to laugh.

“Bucky! You scared me!” you grinned, making room for him on the blanket and patting the surface next to you for him to sit down. He did so, amazed that the feel of your thigh against his didn’t scare him away. If anything, it made him want more.  

“You’re surprised I came?” he asked softly, a semblance of a smile on his lips.

“Of course, I’m surprised, Bucky! You never come to anything I ask you to,” you replied and Bucky frowned, a twinge of guilt in his chest, but your smile was too bright for it to stay long as you continued, “but I’m really glad you did. Now I can give you partial blame for stealing Sam’s chocolate.”

A laugh escaped him before he could suppress it. It felt odd in his chest, but warm, welcoming maybe. “I see your true motives at work here.”

You shrugged, sending him that teasing grin that made his stomach twist, and you plopped a marshmallow on a metal stick and handed it over to him before doing another for yourself.

“You know how to make s’mores, right?” you asked, almost nervously, as Bucky eyes the marshmallow.

“Of course, doll, I wasn’t born in the stone age,” Bucky teased, surprised by his own voice.

“Just before sliced bread,” you shot back, grinning wildly and nudging at his shoulder. You didn’t seem to be affected at all that it was metal you touched, hard and cold beneath the surface of his sweatshirt. Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

***

Ten minutes later and Bucky had already consumed two whole s’mores before you got the perfect toast on a single marshmallow. You berated him for not caring about the ‘art’ of the s’more and that he under toasted or set them ablaze just to eat it sooner. He agreed and you shoved him playfully in the side.

“So where is everyone?” he asked, wiping the marshmallow from his lips, as you lit your third marshmallow on fire with an aggravated huff.

You stuck a new marshmallow on the end of your skewer and held it with careful precision over the flame. It was adorable, the way you squinted at the flames, determination over your features. After a moment, as you felt content with the ratio of flame to heat, you shrugged, answering his question, “right here”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Were you just going to do this by yourself if you didn’t see me in the living room?”

“Sometimes it’s nice to just get away for a while, have some place to think and just be,” you replied softly. “Besides, I like looking at the stars. It makes me feel small.”

If Bucky thought he had a decent read on you before, he was certainly at a loss now. “You like feeling small in the universe?”

“It reminds me that there are things out there that are bigger than myself,” you said, turning the marshmallow over the flame, a pleased smile on your face as the underside was toasted to the color you were looking for. “It reminds me that the little things I used spend days agonizing over only have power if I give it to them.”

The confusion must have read on Bucky’s face because you smiled at him, readjusting in your seat.

“We’re like these little blips,” you explained, pulling your marshmallow away from the flames, “and we only have this impossibly small amount of time here with so much before us and an eternity after we’re gone, and... I don’t know... I guess that makes me remember how important every moment is. I don’t want to spend my time here suffering, you know? I want to enjoy it. I want to do good with it and make it matter.”

Bucky nodded, looking up at the stars as you started to make your first s’more. The patterns of constellations were so clear outside of the city, imperfect patterns and arrays of tiny shiny specs in the sky, stretching out into the vast universe. Each one was a sun to its own solar system, each one surrounded by planets with potential life, and there were billions more than he could take in with his own eyes from this very small corner of a single world.

He knew what you meant about feeling small, though, he wasn’t quite sure how to get to the part about being thankful for his time here. If anything, if felt like his mark has been nothing but pain and violence and destruction. He should be sentenced to spend his time here agonizing over it, shouldn’t he?

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, noticing the contemplation on his face as you finally took a bite of your s’more and marshmallow oozed out the side. You groaned, eyes rolling back before you could catch yourself, and you giggled with full cheeks.

Bucky smiled at that. He might have forgotten entirely if he could just watch you do that again. “Nothing.”

“A face like that isn’t thinking about just nothing,” you retorted teasingly, shoving the rest of the sandwich into your mouth with a satisfied grin.

You had a bit of chocolate on the corner of your lips and Bucky’s hand reached out to brush it away without thinking. Your cheeks were warm from the fire, lips sticky from the marshmallows and the chocolate brushed off easily onto his thumb. He let his hand fall away and wiped it on the grass. He didn’t notice the way you watched him with a kind of awe that would have set his heart on fire.

“Come here,” you urged, pushing your legs out to lie flat on the blanket and gesturing to your lap. Bucky raised an eyebrow, confused, and you tugged on his shoulders, motioning for him to lay down.

Bucky didn’t quite know what to do, but he knew he’d do just about anything you asked, so he laid down along the blanket with his back pressed against the earth, his head resting on the soft cushion of your thigh.

“Look at the stars. They’re never ending. They go on for infinity and carry worlds of possibility. They’re limitless. Let them take some of your pain, Bucky,” you told him gently, leaning back to rest one hand against the grass as another gently wove into his scalp. 

He flinched at first, surprised by the sudden action, but found himself soon melting against the movements as it sent waves of shivers through his head and down his spine.

He did as you instructed, trying to find purpose in the stars, focusing on the gentle lull of your fingers tracing patterns in his hair. He only saw what he could; something beautiful, something vast and endless, but nothing that could take any the guilt he carried.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever find a way to let go of that. It was engrained in him. It was a part of him. The things he did were unforgivable, irredeemable, and it was all consuming. It weighed on him unlike anything else and pushed him so far beneath the surface, his lungs were filled with dirt.

After a while, Bucky’s eyes started to drift, losing focus on the stars you so endearingly found hope in, letting himself fall into the soft embrace of your nails as they wove patterns on his scalp, drawing a calm about him he hadn’t known in years.

“I heard about the mission,” you said quietly, suddenly, like you’d been thinking about it for a while, and Bucky stiffened instantly under your touch, his heart skipping several beats, but your fingers continued to rake gently against his scalp, drawing him back to a sense of calm. “It’s not your fault, you know. They never should have sent you to a Hydra facility on your first mission in the field.”

There was a hint of anger in your voice, like you’d had this conversation before, like maybe you’d argued with someone about it, tried to stop it from happening and no one had listened. Bucky’s stomach started to hurt, thinking that maybe even you, who thought so highly of him, didn’t think he was good enough to be an Avenger.

“There were too many reminders there, you know?” you said, continuing as you looked up at the stars. “I kept thinking they should have sent you to Bratislava with me; ease you into the field by breaking up trafficking rings first and maybe stop a few drug shipments, not by sending you right back to the people who hurt you for so long. I don’t know what they were thinking.”

That surprised him. You wanted to work with him? He knew you didn’t usually take part in Hydra missions after your father had been exposed as one of the double agents in the attack on D.C. There were enough agents with vendettas against Hydra to take on the cause and you were plenty happy to take down bad guys without worldwide organizational skills.

“We’d make a good team, don’t you think?”

Bucky realized then that he wasn’t watching the stars anymore, he was watching you. The flicker of the fire illuminated your skin in soft waves of reds and yellows, warm flush in your cheeks. You glanced down at him, fingers still gently carding through his hair, and he wondered if he’d ever seen a more beautiful smile in his life.

“Yeah, think so,” he replied. He never wanted to raid a Hydra base again if he could spend more time with you like this.

You smiled at him, proud, before you looked back up at the stars. “You’re more than just a culmination of your actions, Bucky. I know you feel like the things you did under Hydra’s control have turned the universe against you and that you’ll never be able to make up for all of it, but you don’t have to save people from burning buildings and throw yourself straight into your trauma to prove you’re good, Buck.”

Bucky sat up slowly, letting your hand fall away from his hair and trace down the side his left arm until it rested delicately on his hand; the metal warm to the touch as it absorbed the heat of the flame. You turned to him, smiling sweetly, though your eyes were sad.

“The small moments count, too,” you said.

“I thought you said the universe took away the small things, that they didn’t matter?” he replied, confused, but you shook your head.

“Only the bad things, Buck; the things that cause you pain.”

“That’s convenient,” he teased, enjoying the way your nose scrunched up in feigned frustration.

“You forget that small moments of good can change someone’s entire day. They can make a world of difference,” you countered, your free hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. He shivered under your touch though he didn’t dare pull away. “The first day I saw you smile is a pretty good example of that, actually.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at that, surprised.

“I had just gotten into a fight with Fury over the mission he was trying to send me on, one I didn’t believe was the right call, and I was about to go hit a punching bag for hours until my knuckles bled,” you explained, thumb brushing gently along his cheekbone, “but then I saw you sitting in the kitchen with Steve. I don’t even know what you were talking about but Sam had dropped the entirety of his lunch plate on the floor and you just... you smiled. It was wide enough to see the dimples in your cheeks and the wrinkles by your eyes, and I forgot why I was so angry to begin with.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He shook his head. “I never knew you were there...”

“I could list dozens of other moments like that Bucky,” you said softly, “and they all add up. Like the days you’d leave out an extra cup of coffee for me on Wednesdays because you figured out I only drink it before my mandatory board meetings and how you always pick up the empty dishes of those sitting around you when you go to clean your own or when you offer to help new recruits struggling with their hand-to-hand in the training gym. Please don’t disregard those moments. They matter. If anything, they matter more because they’re small. These tiny little moments that make the smallest differences and create a chain effect of something... good.”

How long have you been picking up on things like that? 

Did you also know that it was him that always made sure your stockpile of microwave popcorn was full or that he took Natasha’s shift training rookies once a week so the two of you could spend more time together, because he hated seeing you so disappointed each time your schedules clashed. Did you know that his heart eased a little when you walked in the room and the soft hum of your voice made his stomach twist in knots?

“Do you think I’m crazy?” you asked quietly, studying him for a reaction as he got lost in his own thoughts.

“No! No, of course not,” Bucky said, shaking his head, and reaching up for your wrist as you stared to pull your hand away from his face nervously. “I never considered that before, is all. I think I’ll have a lot of small moments to go before I can make up for all I’ve done.”

He said it in a teasing way, but you frowned.

“Not to me,” you said quietly, almost in a whisper. “You’re overflowing with good, Bucky, and I swear, I’m reminded of that every time I get to see you smile.”

Bucky paused, his heart aching and swelling with every word you say. He pulled your hand into his lap, holding it gently. “So, not very often then?”

You grinned, letting out a laugh, and it brought a smile to his face. “No, not very often, but it’s nice to see it now.”

“Might have to start smiling more, I guess,��� he replied, a hitch in his breath as you leaned into his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. You started to shove him down to the grass and he let out a heart-filled laugh, letting you lay down beside him along the blanket, head resting on his shoulder, arm draped over his chest.

“Can we just stay here a little longer?” you asked, glancing up at him and he swore he’d never say no to you again. He’d let you take him anywhere you wanted; to movie nights, to extravagant galas, to the ends of the Earth.

“As long as you want, doll,” he sighed, reveling in the warmth of the fire and the press of your body against his.

He’d stare at the stars for an eternity with you.

*insert that meme of Jenny Slate screaming about space*

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[fassta]

FAAST App Your Fast Track to Effective Knee Pain Therapy

Living with knee pain can significantly hinder your daily activities and quality of life. Fortunately, advancements in technology have led to the development of innovative solutions that can help alleviate knee pain and improve mobility. One such solution is the FAAST App, a cutting-edge mobile application designed to provide effective knee pain therapy. In this blog post, we will explore the features and benefits of the FAAST App and how it can help you overcome knee pain.

Comprehensive Exercise Programs:

The FAAST App offers a wide range of exercise programs tailored specifically for knee pain relief and rehabilitation. These programs are designed by healthcare professionals and incorporate various exercises targeting the muscles and joints surrounding the knee. With clear instructions and video demonstrations, the app guides users through each exercise, ensuring proper form and technique. Regularly following these exercises can strengthen the knee, increase flexibility, and reduce pain.

Personalized Treatment Plans:

The FAAST App takes a personalized approach to Knee Pain Therapy. Upon downloading the app, users are prompted to provide information about their knee pain, including its severity, location, and any accompanying symptoms. Using this data, the app generates a customized treatment plan that addresses the specific needs of the individual. This tailored approach maximizes the effectiveness of the therapy, leading to faster recovery and pain relief.

Tracking and Progress Monitoring:

Tracking your progress is crucial for any successful Knee Pain Therapy. The FAAST App comes equipped with a tracking feature that allows users to monitor their daily activities and track improvements over time. It records the completion of exercises, tracks pain levels, and measures the range of motion of the knee joint. By providing visual feedback and progress reports, the app motivates users to stay consistent with their therapy and celebrates their achievements along the way

Educational Resources and Tips:

Understanding the root causes of knee pain and adopting lifestyle changes to prevent future injuries are equally important. The FAAST App provides valuable educational resources and tips to enhance users' knowledge about knee health. It covers topics such as proper posture, ergonomics, and nutrition to support joint health. By empowering users with knowledge, the app encourages them to take an active role in their knee pain management.

User-Friendly Interface and Accessibility:

The FAAST App boasts a user-friendly interface, making it easy to navigate and use for people of all ages and technical abilities. The app's intuitive design ensures that users can quickly find the information they need and access their personalized treatment plans and exercises. Additionally, the app is available on both iOS and Android platforms, ensuring accessibility to a wide range of users.

Conclusion:

Say goodbye to knee pain and hello to a more active lifestyle with the FAAST App. This innovative mobile application offers a comprehensive approach to Knee Pain Therapy, combining personalized treatment plans, targeted exercises, progress tracking, and educational resources. By incorporating the FAAST App into your daily routine, you can fast track your way to effective knee pain relief and regain your mobility and quality of life. Download the FAAST App today and take the first step towards a pain-free future!

[canna-base]

Honest Review of the Pax 3 Handheld Portable Vaporizer by a Chronic Pain Patient

As a fairly recent convert to MMJ, it took me almost a year to lose my love affair with rolling a blunt and suffering the noxious smoke to medicate. Trying to subtly partake of much needed sweet leaf relief was a chore, dodging into the alley next to my home and trying to avoid the gaze of curious kids was proving stressful. It was more the image of their dad smoking than the substance itself, of giving them a bad mental image that allowed them to “smoke” was not good parenting. Plus I don’t want to feel like taking herbal medication is something to be ashamed of.

But a whole 12 months past before I got together the resources (saved!) to afford a decent pocket vape. My requirements were;

Discreet

Easy to use

Didn’t look too “druggy”

Did the job efficiently

Had accurate temperature control

I used to be a cigarette smoker, many moons ago but having never ‘vaped’ I was not sure what to expect.  I knew the device had to heat the dry herb to hit the off button on my considerable knee pain and I knew that three light-ish puffs on a ‘joint’ got the job done, albeit with that smokey aftertaste, aroma and fear that a neighbour may smell the err, medication.

So I did some research and decided that a Pax 3 was the ticket, I almost purchased an entry level eBay special but figured that £80+  could be totally wasted (ha!) and I should go with a reputable brand. After reviewing our various recommendations I went and bought a Pax 3 from a local supplier.

Shopping For a Dry Herb Vaporizer

Evapo is a vape shop in Guildford mostly given over to liquid non-MMJ vape-ware, vaporisers, liquids and accessories but there was one cabinet market “CBD” which, given this is the UK, was a subtle clue as to what the cabinet held. The choice was limited to a Pax 2 or a Pax 3. Given that I am an inveterate tech-head I opted for the app controlled Pax 3.

The salesman was a cheerful upbeat sort who talked discreetly but knowledgeably of the features/benefits and what a dry herb vaporizer did. Plus, Evapo had a 15% off deal that weekend which reduced the ticket price from £219.99 to £186.99. Seemed a bit steep for a first time vape purchase, I mean, what if I didn’t like it? What if I didn’t get the relief I am seeking? Hey ho, figured in the name of research it was worth the spend. Five minutes later I exited the proud owner of one spanking brand new Pax 3, and instructions on how to pair it up with the app, more on that in a moment.

Unboxing the Pax 3 Herb Vape

When I got home I opened the box, which is as stylish as the Pax 3 itself, very Apple design led. You slide the box out a sleeve, and it opens with a satisfying resistance provided by hidden magnets. I can see why they get the price they charge.

It contains charger & USB charge cable, cleaning materials (pipe cleaners and pipe brush), a keyring that doubles up as a scraper, an oven like compartment with a holder for concentrates and waxes, a second half-charge oven lid, raised silicon mouthpiece and a stitched material sleeve and of course the device itself. The enclosed documentation is quite slim on any actual operating instructions, but does give you the limited instructions in many different languages. Plus a safety booklet, again, bereft of any instructions but telling you of the many dangers a device like this can inflict.

Once released from its plastic coffin the device is pleasingly heavy in the hand. The heft gives it a solidity, again the comparison to Apple cannot be overstated. It’s solidly built up to a standard not down to a price.

I choose a matt black finish and thus with one click on the top of the mouthpiece, the LEDs stood out like runway landing lights. I set up the device to charge, it already had 3 of the 4 lights lit, and within 20 minutes the remaining light blinked on and we were good to go.

Pairing the Pax 3 With The App

By the time the charge had finished I was ready to pair the Android version of the app with the device and had gotten to the point where you shake it to pair it. Try as I might my Google Pixel 2 XL running Android Pie (9.0) was just not having any of it, tried different settings on the phone and despite the phone stating it was paired, the app itself refused to play ball. I am guessing this is a Android Pie bug, maybe? I had only installed Pie on the phone a few days earlier so I am guessing app bugs are a distinct possibility. Many of the reviews however also noted pairing difficulties, so perhaps not? Later I downloaded the iPhone iOS app onto my iPad and that not only paired without trouble it also controlled the device well.

First Use and Impressions

Anyway, to the first trial, my ‘herb’ was ground and packed into the oven chamber, it took a relatively little amount, I would say half a single skin joint. I thought this seemed like a very minor amount given that the device allowed for several hits on one fill, but I went along with it. Within a couple of minutes I was ready to go, with a fully charged Pax 3 that was now also fully charged with bud I hesitantly hit the ‘on’ button. The device heats quickly 20 – 30 seconds and the flashing purple LEDs turned green notifying me that the Pax 3 was ready to dose me.

I’d opted for the highest heat setting, I just felt that if I was going to try it then I should really give the Pax 3 a run for its money. I took a tentative first pull. The taste was not what I expected, a floral, greenery taste with a slightly timber smoke edge to it, not burning but that kind of smell you get in a wood on a hot day. I guess that’s the oils and the waxes boiling off their terpenes which give the bud its flavour profile. As the flavour died back and I exhaled it suddenly gave me a taste of coffee grinds, not full on coffee in your mouth but that half smell of roasting you get as you walk past a coffee house.

Very pleasant, very smooth and much nicer than a pull on a ‘Fatty-Boom-Batty’. The specific stock I was smoking is not overpoweringly strong, but does do the job for my pain. As an example I can take a single pull on a one-skinner and have it hit the off button on my knee pain for a couple of hours but leave me focused enough to answer calls, write code and function without the distraction of grinding bone on bone action. I took a second tentative pull, and then thought, screw it, and took two much longer, deeper pulls.

The Pax 3 vs Knee Pain

It was Saturday night and I was feeling like kicking back a bit so wasn’t concerned if I overshot the runway when it came to switching off the red flashing pain klaxon. As per usual the hits took time to kick in, with my usual method of ingestion it takes around 10 minutes for the meds to make their way into my brain and do what it does. Oh-so much better than the mechanised approach that codeine seems to take. Wrapping everything in cling film and preventing you from feeling pretty much anything but the ‘ready break’ glow (US readers Google it, you’ll see how accurate that actually is) that Codeine gives you.

I usually then go make a cuppa, and settle into the sofa with my better half and wait for the pain to roll back and relief to roll in. Well, the Pax 3 definitely delivers, I was starting to feel the effects inside the ten minutes, and all was good. Everything suddenly felt very good with the world, in a way that pain seems to rob you of. Pain adds jagged pixelations to your every move, thought and sensation. It’s like you’re dealing with low resolution images and trying to pass them as 4K cinemascope.

Codeine always took away the ‘jaggies’ but delivered a vaseline smeared lens perspective of the world. All soft focused and fuzzy edged, you felt like the world was a bouncy castle made of marshmallow. However the Pax 3, not only delivered the usual relief but somehow it felt less punchy, like the difference between a $20 bottle of bourbon vs $120 bottle of premium single malt scotch. You can see why the Pax 3 gets the reviews it does.

Controlling Dose with My Second Use

Lets just say 30 minutes later as I am lying on the sofa, totally baked, I tried to have a chat with my other half and ended up giggling away as she laughed at me, not with me. I remained quite lucid, but was just very relaxed by the whole body sedation which is not how my current supply usually hits. The effect lasted at least 4 hours, in fact I went to bed and slept soundly, I usually wake early, 6:30 or 7am, woken by the knee pain, but I overshot that by at least 2 hours. Woke feeling fresh although a little fuzzy but coffee and breakfast sorted that for me.

Therefore I wanted to avoid this with my second use, which was much more controlled, after a little bit of reading online. Just 2 short pulls and the device turned down to a less intense heat at 3 LED lights. I think this might be the sweet spot as the effects again took 5-10 mins to become very noticeable but there was much less of a body sedation, in fact I felt a clarity in my thinking and it just neutralised my pain.

Gone.

Not a trace.

Before medicating I would put the pain at a 3 on our pain chart, far from unbearable but definitely ’nagging’ and niggling at me. So the two hits were a good amount to kill the pain but not dull my entire brain. In fact I would now consider a single pull at 3 lights during a working day. Maybe.

Final Impressions and Overall View

I would give the Pax 3, 5 stars, but I have no other benchmark other than self-rolled all-weed blunts, joints and the occasional bong rip. I feel like I did when I upgraded to my first smart phone. Suddenly I had a computer in my hand and felt like I was ahead of the curve. The Pax 3 is very similar, having previously burnt a tube of rolled up dry herb I now have control and can set the temperature to the exact setting I want and get much more measured doses from my choice of pain meds. The only remaining variable of course is the plant material itself.

I suddenly see that devices like the Pax 3 are invaluable in allowing pain patients to get closer to a proper dosing regimen and if they feel like having a little more fun on a Saturday night, then at least it is a choice. That, for me, is what Cannabis should be about, the choice, the choice of your medication, the choice to choose your own safe pain meds. That it is your body and therefore making a choice of herbal remedy vs the output of an industrialised process, is your right.

I wish I had tried a vaporiser earlier, the Pax 3 is a very good product that does the job without fanfare, but does it stylishly and without announcing to the world you partake. The only small downside was that after I had fiddled about with it, trying to get it to sync with my Android phone, and then using it to heat my herb it got a little warm. Not uncomfortably, or dangerously, but it did warm noticeably, which given its function is not unreasonable, but it got a touch warmer than I thought it would. Put that down to user expectations perhaps, but one to consider. I am exploring a silicon sleeve for it, just to make it the perfect portable medical device.

The Pax 3 is a total winner and I am very pleased with the value for money and recommend it to you if you are considering using a vape. If you have pain, don’t leave home without it.

Click Here to Order The Pax 3 

The post Honest Review of the Pax 3 Handheld Portable Vaporizer by a Chronic Pain Patient appeared first on Cannabis for Chronic Pain.

source https://canna-base.com/pax-3-handheld-portable-vaporizer-review/

[healthcaremarketanalysis]

Orthopedic Braces Market: Current Landscape and Future Projections

The Global Orthopedic Braces & Supports Market in terms of revenue was estimated to be worth $3.6 billion in 2023 and is poised to reach $5.1 billion by 2029, growing at a CAGR of 5.9% from 2023 to 2029.

Download PDF Brochure:

Browse in-depth TOC on "Orthopedic Braces and Supports Industry"

192 – Tables

47 – Figures

312 – Pages

Product segment to register significant growth rate over the forecast period of 2023-2029.

Based on the product, the global orthopedic braces and supports market is segmented into Knee, Ankle, foot walkers, Hip, Back, and Spine, Shoulder, Elbow, Hand, Wrist Facial braces and supports. The Kness braces and supports segment is anticipated to register the highest growth rate over the forecast period.

Preventive Care segment in application to register significant growth rate over the forecast period of 2023-2029.

Based on application, the global orthopedic braces and supports market is segmented into preventive care, ligament Injury, post-operative rehabilitation, osteoarthritis, compression therapy, Other Application. The growing trend towards proactive health management has led to increased interest in preventive care, including the use of orthopedic braces and supports to address musculoskeletal issues before they escalate. Additionally, as individuals become more health-conscious, there is a rising awareness of the role that orthopedic braces can play in preventing injuries, promoting proper alignment, and supporting overall musculoskeletal well-being.

The hospitals and breast care centers segment accounted for the largest share of the orthopedic braces and supports market, by distribution channel, in 2023.

Based on distribution channel, the orthopedic braces and supports market is segmented into hospitals and surgical centers, orthopedic clinics, pharmacies and retailers, e-commerce platforms and other end users. The hospitals and surgical segment accounts for the largest share of the market in 2022. The increasing prevalence of musculoskeletal disorders and post-surgical rehabilitation needs has fueled the demand for orthopedic braces and supports in hospitals and surgical centers. Additionally, advancements in medical technology and a growing emphasis on non-invasive treatment options contribute to the expanding utilization of orthopedic braces within healthcare settings for comprehensive patient care.

By region, North America is expected to be the largest market of orthopedic braces & supports industry during the forecast period.

North America, comprising the US and Canada, accounted for the largest share of the orthopedic braces & supports market in 2022. The faster growth of the orthopedic braces and supports imaging market in North America can be attributed to its technological leadership, robust healthcare infrastructure, high market demand driven by prevalent diseases and an aging population, ample financial resources for advanced medical equipment investment, established regulatory frameworks ensuring safety and quality, active research collaboration, insurance coverage for advanced diagnostics, patient expectations for comprehensive care, and a competitive market environment fostering innovation.

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Market Dynamics

 Drivers

Increasing prevalence of orthopedic diseases and disorders

Continuous product commercialization

Growing product affordability and availability

Rising number of sports and accident-related injuries

Growing public awareness about preventive care

 Restraints

Limited patient qualification for bracing-mediated orthopedic treatment

Limited clinical evidence of therapeutic efficacy

 Opportunities

Increased sales of off-the-shelf and online products

Expansion and promotion initiatives by major manufacturers

 Challenges

Significant adoption of pain medication

Product comfort and compliance

Prominent Players:

3M (US), Essity (Sweden), DJO LLC (US), Ossur HF (Iceland), Breg, Inc. (US), Bauerfeind AG (Germany), Devicor Medical Products, Inc., (Leica Biosystems) (Germany), Hologic, Inc. (US), Argon Medical Devices (US), Zimmer Biomet (US), Ottobock Healthcare (Germany), Thuasne (France), ALCARE Co., Ltd (Japan), Nippon Sigmax (Japan), Bird & Cronin (US), DeRoyal Industries (US), medi GmbH (Germany), and Foundation Wellness (US)

Recent Developments of Orthopedic Braces & Supports Industry:

In January 2022, Össur announced the launch of the ReLeaf Active knee brace, designed to provide pain relief and support for patients with osteoarthritis. The brace features a unique hinge design that mimics the natural movement of the knee, and it is made from lightweight, breathable materials for comfort.

In August 2022, DonJoy announced the launch of the Vizor 120 ankle brace, a lightweight and comfortable brace that provides support and stability for patients with ankle sprains. The brace features a unique air-filled pad that conforms to the shape of the ankle and it is made from breathable materials to keep the foot cool and dry.

[allmyblogs]

Physiotherapy Tips and Resources

Physiotherapy is an essential part of physical therapy. This form of treatment involves controlled attentiveness. While patients will visit their therapist one to three times a week for thirty minutes, it is essential to take responsibility for your treatment outside the clinic. You must do the exercises prescribed by your therapist, but you must also do the work outside of the clinic yourself. This means that you should pay attention to your muscles and how they feel when you do them. You can visit physiotherapy halifax to learn more about physiotherapy.

Physiotherapy

If you've recently had knee surgery, you might have been unsure about what to expect. Physical therapy can be a painful process, but you should remain calm and communicate with your therapist. Physiotherapists can help you manage your recovery by providing exercise and rehabilitation tips and resources. But, again, open communication is essential for maximum benefit. If you're feeling pain or discomfort during your treatment, let your therapist know so that they can change an exercise or try another approach.

Physiotherapy aims to help patients recover from injuries by restoring joint and muscular mobility. It helps prevent damages caused by overworking an area. Therefore, it is vital to maintain a healthy lifestyle, and one way to do this is to take regular breaks. Stretching for ten minutes will help ease any muscle stiffness. Physiotherapy may involve ultrasound or acupuncture. In general, physiotherapy aims to improve overall wellbeing. It can be an excellent way to curb your dependence on painkillers.

Physiotherapy frequency

The number of sessions your physiotherapist recommends to you is significant. Many therapists will automatically suggest that you go for three visits a week for three to four weeks, which sounds like many sessions. In reality, however, these visits can quickly add up. Besides, you may need to repeat the treatment more than once before seeing any results. Therefore, choosing a program based on your goals and tolerance for exercise is best. In addition, physiotherapists will monitor your progress and adjust the frequency of the sessions as required.

Physiotherapy dosage

Physiotherapy dosage tips should be followed when administering exercise therapy. The correct dosage should match the severity of the condition and the type of activity the patient is involved in. In general, pulse ratios of one to four are appropriate for acute and subacute lesions and one to one for chronic lesions. The following chart illustrates the recommended percentages. You can download the chart from the DOWNLOADS page to see the details.

[fassta]

Faast App for Knee Patients

Introducing Faast: The App for Knee Patients

Faast is a revolutionary new app designed specifically app for knee patients to help them manage their knee health and recovery journey. Whether you have undergone knee surgery or are suffering from knee pain, Faast is here to help you every step of the way.

With Faast, you can track your knee recovery progress, set reminders for appointments and exercises, and receive personalized recommendations for exercises and stretches that can help improve your knee health. Faast also provides you with educational resources and articles written by healthcare professionals, to help you better understand your knee condition and treatment options.

Faast's user-friendly interface makes it easy for patients to navigate and find the information they need. The app's features are designed to help you stay on top of your knee health and recovery, so that you can get back to your daily activities as soon as possible.

One of the key features of Faast is its exercise library, which contains a wide range of exercises and stretches that can help improve knee strength, flexibility, and range of motion. These exercises are accompanied by instructional videos and diagrams, so that patients can perform them correctly and safely.

Faast also allows patients to track their pain levels and medication usage, so that they can monitor their progress and communicate effectively with their healthcare providers. Patients can easily share their progress reports with their healthcare team, which can help them make informed decisions about their treatment plan.

In conclusion, Faast is the app for knee patients who want to take control of their knee health and recovery journey. With its user-friendly interface, personalized recommendations, and educational resources, Faast is the perfect tool for patients who want to get back on their feet as soon as possible. Download Faast today and start your journey to better knee health!

[clictadigital]

21 Questions To Ask A Prospective SEO Agency (Part 1)

Thinking about employing an SEO agency? Here’s 21 questions to ask, and the sort of answers to listen out for.

If you choose the right one, your reputation (and career) will take a wonderful turn - choose badly and you’ll be out of a job in 6 months.

SEO is complicated and with all the other stuff you’ve got going on in your marketing day, you don’t have time to learn the minutia of all the elements.

The problem is, this situation leaves you vulnerable to being massively played by one of the many dodgy SEO agencies out there. To give you some armour against the rip-off merchants, below you'll find a list of questions to ask your prospective agency to ensure that they won't fritter away your budget on techniques that might actually damage your rankings. On the topic of the price of SEO, open this blog in a new tab, for later…

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Questions to ask seo agency 1. Can I talk to some of your previous clients? Good Answer: “Why don’t you check out our reviews on Google and in the meantime,  I’ll put you in touch with some happy clients in your sector.”

Bad Answer: “Uh, my clients are busy people - I don’t want to waste their time”

If your prospective SEO agency says “Uh, well, I don’t want to bother my other clients” or any other form of “no” then immediately hang up. A bad agency leaves a trail of disgruntled customers in its wake and they don’t normally want prospective customers to talk to them.

If your new SEO agency says “Yes” they’re probably the right sort of people to be speaking with. They might not give you access right away, but if they ask what you want out of your SEO and then consider which of their clients is best suited for a discussion, you’re off to a cracking start.

2. Can I see some of your SEO case studies? Good Answer: “There are a few on the website, but if you can spare 30 mins I’ll take you through a blow by blow campaign we did for a business just like yours.”

Bad Answer: “Yes - you may not have heard of any of them, but we grew traffic by 10,000% every time!”

Lots of SEOs will say “With this client we had 10,000% growth!” but it’s really easy to get these kinds of figures.

For example -  if the SEO agency is showing you a case study from a very new company who only saw 2 visitors from Organic Search in month one, then the client would only need to see 200 visitors from Organic Search in month two to see 1,000% growth.  And those 200 visitors might have little or nothing to do with SEO!

Case studies of established businesses, with graphs from Google Analytics are good.

Even better - when those SEO case studies outline what the agency did and how it made a difference to the customer’s organic growth.

3. Describe your ideal client Good Answer: “A good client relationship is more like a partnership, your team and ours should pool ideas and resources to get the best results”

Bad Answer: “Anybody quiet. SEO works best when you leave the experts to it and don’t ask dumb questions”

Get the SEO agencies you’re considering to describe their ideal client and see whether your business fits that mould.

Some agencies might do their best work with start ups, other SEOs might work best with businesses who have large marketing teams, agencies like Noisy Little Monkey enjoy working as part of a multi-agency team (with PR companies, media buying agencies and branding agencies all in the mix) but there are many SEO practitioners who don’t enjoy playing in a team.

In terms of what they need from you:

Do they need you to pay within a certain timeframe? Do they need weekly calls, monthly meetings or similar? Do they need you to be available at a moment’s notice? Being the ideal client for an SEO company is beneficial because you’ll likely get more bang for your buck. Because you’re easy to do business with, they’re likely to look after you way more than someone who isn’t an ideal client (even when those big spenders are paying more than you)

4. In which industry sectors do you specialise? Good Answer: “We’re strong in <insert your industry sector> and a few others”

Bad Answer: “We’re strong in all sectors because it’s all about the technology we use”

If your SEO is a specialist in your sector, they’ll probably not have to do as much groundwork as an agency who are already knee deep in the jargon inherent in your industry.

For example, suppose your business is in the legal sector. If an SEO agency has experience in the legal sector, that’s a good thing.... While it would be unethical for an SEO to simply duplicate work they’ve done for another solicitor, if they already know about some of the nuances in the legal sector they're more likely to get off to a flying start so your business sees results more quickly.

5. What CMS (Content Management System) does your SEO team prefer to work on? Good Answer: “We’re pretty agnostic about the technology, but we’re particularly used to working with <insert your CMS>”

Bad Answer: “We’ll probably need to rebuild your site. Probably on Drupal.”

If your SEOs love WordPress and your website is on WordPress, great!  That’s the system that powers most of the websites out there. You might want to check they’re not going to install any plugins other than the wonderful Yoast SEO for WordPress plugin. To use any other SEO plugin for WordPress is probably a sign that you’re talking to the wrong SEO.

If your new SEO claims to be an expert on the CMS you use, ask to see some examples.

As marketing automation and personalised content systems become more popular, finding an agency with experience of your marketing automation platform will become increasingly important. Noisy Little Monkey is famous for HubSpot SEO, if you happen to be using that one :)

If your potential new SEO agency starts talking about building you a site from the ground up then that’s probably going to cost you a lot of money. In some cases it is necessary, but you’re going to need more budget.

6. Ask yourself - what are my potential new SEO agencies blogging about? Good Answer: “They blog about SEO and things that might make marketing more effective”

Bad Answer: “They blogged about a sponsored run they did. Two years ago”

An SEO that doesn’t blog is probably secretive and don’t practice what they preach. AVOID.

If they are blogging, is it useful advice rather than telling you how to game the system? This is important because Google creates algorithms that are designed as a proxy for human trust. The algorithms try to work out how humans indicate trust and then how to measure what is most trustworthy, The most trustworthy sites which are most relevant to a search query are those which show highest.

Is your new SEO is  just interested in ‘gaming the system’ and trying to beat the algorithm rather than producing quality, helpful resources? If so, when they employ this methodology for your business you’ll lose out. Google’s algorithms are designed to get rid of the chaff and learn what’s most useful, so by always working to make your website a useful resource you’ll hopefully stay as the wheat.

In short, seek out an SEO agency that blogs with some regularity and provides useful resources - that’s what they’re going to tell you to do, and you’re going to need some help, training, sympathy and encouragement from an SEO who feels your pain.

7. Tell me 3 things I should fix immediately on my website Good Answer:  Starts with - “Hmmm, let me have a look - Aha! First you should think about changing….”

Bad Answer: “I can send you a 5 page audit”

A prospective SEO practitioner should have a look around your website for couple of minutes and then be able to give you some interesting and useful tips about what you could change and the benefits that might bring to your organisation.

It doesn’t matter if you already have an SEO doing work on your site, another SEO should be able to find more stuff to do, and quickly!

Technology rapidly evolves and the way humans interact with it changes too, so Search Engine Optimisation is never finished. There’s always more to do… The best SEO service providers never rest on their laurels and should always be able to spot something that can be improved.

Anyone who relies on templated audits and repeated explanations that everything in SEO is very expensive and very difficult is pulling the wool over your eyes - there are usually lots of smaller things that are easy to change to improve your website’s ability to rank.

8. Can I see your management accounts? Good Answer:  “What? Um, let me get my accounts team to send you something… What exactly is the information you need to see?”

Bad Answer: “No”

This might seem like an odd question, but you need to know how profitable your prospective SEO agency is, and it’s also a test of how well the business is structured

If you’re going in for a long term relationship, choosing a disorganised agency that could end up going out of business next week isn’t ideal…

Sometimes it’s difficult to get eyes on a new agency’s accounts. It shouldn’t be a deal breaker but it is worth checking. Go to Companies House and assuming your SEO company is a limited company or partnership, (which they probably should be) you can download their accounts for the last few years and see what their profit and loss was. Companies House only provides the basics, so it might be worth running the new SEO company’s name through your account department’s credit checking system, if you have one.

9. How much does SEO cost? Best Answer: Check out this helpful article about the average cost of SEO

Good Answer:  “At these early stages, it’s impossible to put an exact figure on it but typically there’s an upfront cost of about £X, and our average retainer is about £X, but let’s talk about what will work for you.”

Bad Answer: “Depends on how many backlinks we need to buy”

There are typically two options offered when you're talking to a reputable SEO agency.

There will often be a fixed sum for some initial project work, and then maybe an ongoing retainer.

The key thing, if they are suggesting ongoing costs, is whether they are writing or producing content on your behalf. It shouldn’t just be ‘doing SEO’, because once SEO is “done” to your website, it's done. What you want is fresh, relevant content that is link-worthy, so any ongoing cost should include content production.

Kermit the Frog typing quickly on a typewriter

10. How many people will be working on my account? Good Answer:  “Depends on the size of the job at hand - do you want to pop in and have a coffee with us so you can put names to faces?”

Bad Answer: “Only me. I outsource all the article syndication”

If the voice on the other end of the phone says “Oh, it’s just me - I’m a freelance SEO”, then that’s cool - assuming you’re paying a fee that fits that model. Perhaps if you’re considering paying thousands per month and there’s only one person in the SEO agency, that’s not such a good sign.

When there is a team of people working on your account, then you’d expect to pay more because, if they’re any good, they’ll throw plenty of resources at your project.

There’s no right or wrong answer to this, it’s more about getting a clear picture of how things are and ensuring that you are comfortable with it.

[healthcaremarketanalysis]

Orthopedic Braces & Supports Market worth $5.1 billion by 2029

The Global Orthopedic Braces & Supports Market in terms of revenue was estimated to be worth $3.6 billion in 2023 and is poised to reach $5.1 billion by 2029, growing at a CAGR of 5.9% from 2023 to 2029.

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Browse in-depth TOC on "Orthopedic Braces and Supports Industry"

192 – Tables

47 – Figures

312 – Pages

Product segment to register significant growth rate over the forecast period of 2023-2029.

Based on the product, the global orthopedic braces and supports market is segmented into Knee, Ankle, foot walkers, Hip, Back, and Spine, Shoulder, Elbow, Hand, Wrist Facial braces and supports. The Kness braces and supports segment is anticipated to register the highest growth rate over the forecast period.

Preventive Care segment in application to register significant growth rate over the forecast period of 2023-2029.

Based on application, the global orthopedic braces and supports market is segmented into preventive care, ligament Injury, post-operative rehabilitation, osteoarthritis, compression therapy, Other Application. The growing trend towards proactive health management has led to increased interest in preventive care, including the use of orthopedic braces and supports to address musculoskeletal issues before they escalate. Additionally, as individuals become more health-conscious, there is a rising awareness of the role that orthopedic braces can play in preventing injuries, promoting proper alignment, and supporting overall musculoskeletal well-being.

The hospitals and breast care centers segment accounted for the largest share of the orthopedic braces and supports market, by distribution channel, in 2023.

Based on distribution channel, the orthopedic braces and supports market is segmented into hospitals and surgical centers, orthopedic clinics, pharmacies and retailers, e-commerce platforms and other end users. The hospitals and surgical segment accounts for the largest share of the market in 2022. The increasing prevalence of musculoskeletal disorders and post-surgical rehabilitation needs has fueled the demand for orthopedic braces and supports in hospitals and surgical centers. Additionally, advancements in medical technology and a growing emphasis on non-invasive treatment options contribute to the expanding utilization of orthopedic braces within healthcare settings for comprehensive patient care.

By region, North America is expected to be the largest market of orthopedic braces & supports industry during the forecast period.

North America, comprising the US and Canada, accounted for the largest share of the orthopedic braces & supports market in 2022. The faster growth of the orthopedic braces and supports imaging market in North America can be attributed to its technological leadership, robust healthcare infrastructure, high market demand driven by prevalent diseases and an aging population, ample financial resources for advanced medical equipment investment, established regulatory frameworks ensuring safety and quality, active research collaboration, insurance coverage for advanced diagnostics, patient expectations for comprehensive care, and a competitive market environment fostering innovation.

Request Free Sample Pages:

Market Dynamics

 Drivers

Increasing prevalence of orthopedic diseases and disorders

Continuous product commercialization

Growing product affordability and availability

Rising number of sports and accident-related injuries

Growing public awareness about preventive care

 Restraints

Limited patient qualification for bracing-mediated orthopedic treatment

Limited clinical evidence of therapeutic efficacy

 Opportunities

Increased sales of off-the-shelf and online products

Expansion and promotion initiatives by major manufacturers

 Challenges

Significant adoption of pain medication

Product comfort and compliance

Prominent Players:

3M (US), Essity (Sweden), DJO LLC (US), Ossur HF (Iceland), Breg, Inc. (US), Bauerfeind AG (Germany), Devicor Medical Products, Inc., (Leica Biosystems) (Germany), Hologic, Inc. (US), Argon Medical Devices (US), Zimmer Biomet (US), Ottobock Healthcare (Germany), Thuasne (France), ALCARE Co., Ltd (Japan), Nippon Sigmax (Japan), Bird & Cronin (US), DeRoyal Industries (US), medi GmbH (Germany), and Foundation Wellness (US)

Recent Developments of Orthopedic Braces & Supports Industry:

In January 2022, Össur announced the launch of the ReLeaf Active knee brace, designed to provide pain relief and support for patients with osteoarthritis. The brace features a unique hinge design that mimics the natural movement of the knee, and it is made from lightweight, breathable materials for comfort.

In August 2022, DonJoy announced the launch of the Vizor 120 ankle brace, a lightweight and comfortable brace that provides support and stability for patients with ankle sprains. The brace features a unique air-filled pad that conforms to the shape of the ankle, and it is made from breathable materials to keep the foot cool and dry.

A breakdown of the primary participants referred to for this report is provided below:

By Company Type: Tier 1–48%, Tier 2–36%, and Tier 3– 16%

By Designation: Director-level–14%, C-level–10%, and Others–76%

By Region: North America–40%, Europe–32%, Asia Pacific–20%, Latin America–5%, and the Middle East & Africa–3%

Orthopedic Braces & Supports Market - Key Benefits of Buying the Report:

The report will help the market leaders/new entrants with information on the closest approximations of the revenue numbers for the overall orthopedic braces and supports market and the subsegments. This report will help stakeholders understand the competitive landscape and gain more insights to position their businesses better and plan suitable go-to-market strategies. The report also helps stakeholders understand the market pulse and provides information on key market drivers, restraints, challenges, and opportunities.

This report provides insights on the following pointers:

Analysis of key drivers (rising target patient population, growing adoption of orthopedic braces and supports imaging devices, technological advancement, and increasing investment, funds, and grants by public-private organizations), restraints (high capital and operational cost, unfavorable regulatory guidelines), opportunities (improving healthcare infrastructure across emerging countries, orthopedic braces and supports utilization for breast imaging, promising product pipeline), and challenges (availability of alternate imaging technologies) influencing the growth of the orthopedic braces and supports market

Product Development/Innovation: Detailed insights on upcoming technologies, research & development activities, and new product & service launches in the orthopedic braces and supports market

Market Development: Comprehensive information about lucrative markets–the report analyses the orthopedic braces and supports market across varied regions.

Market Diversification: Exhaustive information about new products, untapped geographies, recent developments, and investments in the orthopedic braces and supports market

Competitive Assessment: In-depth assessment of market shares, growth strategies, and service offerings of leading players like DJO LLC (US), Ossur HF (Iceland), Breg, Inc. (US), Bauerfeind AG (Germany), Essity AB (Sweden), 3M Company (US), Zimmer Biomet (US), Ottobock Healthcare (Germany), Thuasne (France), ALCARE Co., Ltd (Japan), Nippon Sigmax (Japan), Bird &, Cronin (US), DeRoyal Industries (US), and medi GmbH (Germany) among others.