#I still wonder why Cinder decided to use her real name and face while infiltrating Beacon

[diaryofamadsunwukongfan]

Ella Fènghuáng

Race: Human

Nationality: Mistral

Ethnicity: Mistrali

Weapon: Charming Wand ("A small white wand tipped with Wash Dust, perfect for putting out fires.")

Gender: Woman

Age: "Everyone here is 17, right?"

Aura Color: Blue

Complexion: Pale

Eye Color: Amber

Semblance: "Headmaster Theodore said it's ok to keep your semblance private, so I won't tell..."

Occupation: Haven Academy student

It's a pleasure to meet you, Ruby Rose...

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 9 Part 1

At last, the present day! Time for bringing up Satan’s baby. :)

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

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Chapter 9

Tad and Harriet Dowling, new parents, were at breakfast.

Sunlight poured through the French windows. Harriet buttered a slice of toast. The baby was on her lap, grizzling. He was a golden-haired male baby, and he was perfect.

The baby’s tiny fists wobbled. His face turned red. The first hint of a high, plaintive note escaped his body.

Harriet put down her toast. She sighed.

“Tad, could you call for Nanny?”

It was like a siren going off. When the word ‘nanny’ was uttered, the baby wailed like he already understood what it meant and hated it.

Harriet winced. “Actually, I’ll get her. Tad, could you take the baby? Please? Now?”

Tad Dowling, cultural attaché to the United States, grimaced as he took his son off his wife.

“Here you are, little guy. Why the fuss, huh? You’re not scared of Nanny, are you? She’s a lovely woman.”

Yes. Wasn’t she?

His eyes unfocused slightly.

A tall figure swept into the room. The baby hollered like a car alarm.

Tad gingerly carried the little guy over. Nanny wordlessly held out her arms. She looked terribly normal. The baby kicked and turned purple as Tad handed him to her.

“Sorry about him, Ms…”

He broke off, puzzled.

The baby’s roars grew loud enough to shatter glass.

Tad laughed, nervously. “OK, now, off you go. You’ll soon calm down.”

There was a foul smell in the room. Harriet pulled a face.

“I’m sorry, I thought I just changed him.” She sounded uncertain.

Nanny gave a grim smile.

“I think the little man wants a walk.”

Tad nodded with relief. “Great idea. Doesn’t that sound nice, Adam?”

“See you soon, honey,” Harriet said. She had to shout above the yells.

Hastur, Duke of Hell, rearranged the baby in her arms, and carried him into the garden.

~*~

A familiar face snipped the heads off the roses. Ligur nodded to Hastur from beneath the brim of his gardening hat.

Hastur’s lip curled. The air was too fragrant. At least the rest of London was still decently polluted.

She looked around the smooth lawn. No-one else was around, besides some security guards in the distance.

“Where’s he pissed off to?” she growled to Ligur.

“Tree,” Ligur grunted. He assaulted some flowers with the secateurs.

Hastur stumped round the side of the house, baby screeching in her arms.

An apple tree curled into the sky round the back. It was the only plant in the grounds that hadn’t withered under Ligur’s ministrations. It smelled sweet, like cider and cloves. Underlying the fragrance was a hint of good old-fashioned terror. Hastur reluctantly approved.

She stood beneath the tree and knocked on the trunk.

“Job for you, Crawly,” she sneered.

Something wound down the trunk from the canopy. A long, black scaly body with a red underbelly. The baby’s unholy shrieks quietened. The tears splashing down his front dried up.

The snake turned into a white, glowing coil as it reached the bottom. It shifted back into a man with wavy red hair and sunglasses. He checked himself over - clothes, shades, glove - and held out his arms. Hastur deposited the baby and stepped back, simmering with jealousy.

“Hi, Hastur.” Crowley tucked the Antichrist against his chest. “What’s up?”

Hastur glowered. “Things are progressing as planned. Our dark master, may he ever watch under us, would be proud.”

Crowley jiggled the baby up and down. Adam gurgled. Hastur held back an envious tear.

“We have infiltrated the house at every level. There is no sign of the hated opposition. None shall thwart our glorious purpose. Our master’s child grows closer every day to fulfilling his destiny. Praise be to Satan.”

“Praise. Great.”

Hastur squinted into Crowley’s face.

“Get on with it,” she whispered.

Crowley cleared his throat. He paced slowly under the tree, rocking the baby in his arms. Adam’s big blue eyes stared around in curiosity.

“Once upon a time, our Lord and master, the King of Hell, knew that it was time to scorch the planet Earth to a tiny cinder and reduce all the creatures upon it to a thin, red slurry, lying all over the place like pools of, er... soup. And that was all very good and correct. Hurrah. And that’s where you came in -”

Hastur, satisfied, turned and stomped away. She never stayed long for Adam’s stories. She didn’t approve of literacy.

Crowley kept up a litany of blood and gore until Hastur was out of earshot. He and the baby lapsed into companionable silence.

Adam blew a few bubbles. His little baby hoodie was drooping on one side. Among the golden curls, on the left side of his head, something glinted in the sun. It was a gem, shaped like a curved red horn.

Crowley covered it up. He didn’t like looking at it. He felt like it was spying on him. Hell had used more unlikely things than babies as listening devices in Crowley’s time.

Worse still, there was the chance that Lucifer was in there, somewhere. Conscious. Furious at Crowley’s lukewarm attitude to the impending Armageddon.

“Just remember, I rescued you from Nanny Hastureth,” he told the baby. “Think of that when you’re deciding who to grind beneath your heel later.”

Adam grinned.

Crowley grinned back.

Adam hiccupped and threw up on Crowley’s jacket.

Crowley finger-snapped it away. The smell lingered. He hoped that wasn’t an omen.

“You know, the real story of how you got here is pretty fun,” he said.

~*~

Six months earlier

Crowley spotted the nun with the rabbit-in-headlights look about her at the end of the corridor.

“Psst.”

She took in the man with the sunglasses and the picnic basket dangling from his hand, and scurried over.

“Is that him?” Her voice trembled with awe.

“Yup.”

Crowley handed over The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of this World and Lord of Darkness.

Sister Mary Loquacious poured over the tiny Antichrist and cooed at his teensy little toes, fingers, and horn.

“Pardon?”

Crowley peered into the basket. He hadn’t thought to check. A red curved horn, like one half of a classic devil’s Halloween headdress, sprouted from the left side of the baby’s head.

“Wow.”

“It’s very classic. Though I’d expect him to have a matching one,” Sister Mary said.

Crowley said nothing. He felt like he’d caught his boss asleep sucking his thumb at the office party.

So, Lucifer had really done it. Used his own gem to create. This.

Blimey.

“Does he look like his daddy? I bet he does. Does he look like his daddy-waddy-kins?”

In one way, yes. Crowley deflected. He needed to get going.

“Do you think he’ll remember me when he grows up?” Sister Mary said, wistfully.

“Pray that he doesn’t,” said Crowley, and fled.

~*~

Sister Mary bustled to Room Three. The Antichrist, tucked in his little basket, dozed under her arm. She felt like she was skipping through the woods to deliver a picnic to the lucky Mr and Mrs American Ambassador. Except that instead of a picnic inside, there was an apocalypse.

She wondered if his new parents would love him. She felt sure that they would. From the tips of his hoofie-kins (which he didn’t have), to the top of his precious little horn.

She slowed.

Now that she thought about it, the horn was a bit of a problem.

It was silly, but it had never occurred to her that the Ambassador’s wife had, presumably, just given birth to a baby without a horn growing out of his head, and she was about to hand her back a baby that did have a horn growing out of his head. That part of the plan had sort of... passed her by.

There must be a plan for dealing with this. Naturally. The other sisters must have just forgotten to mention it to her. Which was strange, since all they were supposed to do was mention things to each other all day long. Probably an oversight.

Still. Mrs. Dowling might, just conceivably, have the odd question.

It would be fine. She’d make something up.

She tried to think of a lie she’d be comfortable giving to a room full of security men with guns.

As a bead of nervous sweat appeared on her brow, Mary found herself before Room Three.

She swallowed. She raised her hand. It trembled mid-knock.

Maybe…

On second thought, there was no shame in finding someone a little higher up the chain, just to make sure. It didn’t mean she’d failed to handle things at all.

She hurried away from the room.

~*~

Mary stood, red-faced, in a corner of Room Four, hidden behind two other nuns.

Upon some extremely pointed instructions, she was silent while Mother Superior suggested names for the baby. This was in defiance of her vows, but going by the looks on everyone’s faces, she’d better obey and not risk messing things up.

The thought of what could have happened had she given the Prince of Lies to the wrong parents made her feel faint.

Still, she caught the mistake in time. That was the important thing. And Mother Superior had a very convincing story about the horn, which Mrs. Dowling accepted without question, possibly owing to the euphoria of birth, and also the painkillers. She was explaining the complex medical reason for it, in a serious voice, to her husband, on the laptop held by one of the secret service agents.

Mary was a little lost in her own world, and still on edge, and she really didn’t mean to forget herself. But a lifetime of mindless chattering, some of it mandated, was a tricky habit to break. The words spilled out before she was even aware of them.

“Of course, there’s always Adam.”

Someone next to her trod on her foot. She squeaked.

Mother Superior shot her a frozen, angry stare. The room seemed to hold its breath.

Mrs. Dowling stared into her son’s eyes.

“Adam?” Her brows lifted. “Huh.”

~*~

2013

Adam Dowling’s bedroom had a real racing car in it. It had a real remote controlled tank, a real pirate ship, and a real plane suspended from the ceiling. They were all sized for him.

He was five. His eyelids fluttered as he sat up in bed, listening to his bedtime story. A huge black snake, the size of a python, loomed over his innocent little face.

“And then little Adam went home with his new peons, mum and dad. They took him to live in a big house they’d bought just for him, and filled it with all the things he liked, like toys, and sweets, and television, and egg-and-soldiers for breakfast every day. And he grew up big and strong and destroyed them all. Which was good. The end.”

Adam yawned.

“Cwawly, can I hear the other story?”

“Sssure,” Crowley hissed. “Which one?”

This wasn’t such a bad role. Delighting a macabre junior-schooler was squarely in Crowley’s wheelhouse. The downside was that his official title was Crawly the Magic Talking Snake. Including on his paperwork at head office. Which was a bit annoying. Definitely Dagon’s work.

“The one about the angel in the garden.”

Crowley hesitated. “Yeah, all right.”

He happened to be in the mood for it this evening. He coiled up on Adam’s pillow. It was soft as a dream. He’d have to be careful not to fall asleep himself.

“An angel and a demon met in a garden. They were supposed to be enemies, and thwart each other's plans, and score big victories for Heaven and Hell. But that was a lot of work. So instead, they became best friends. And then, purely by accident, they discovered they had a secret power. When they needed to, they could turn into one person, with the best parts of both of them. A superhero - but cool. Not a goody-goody from the comics.

“Whenever they turned into him, the angel didn’t have to feel bad about doing the wrong thing from time to time. And the demon could experience a little of the grace that he thought was lost to him forever. They loved being him, because they loved being together. Because they loved each other. But the angel never realised it, because he was good, and good people are stupid even when they’re really, really clever. So the demon knew he had to keep his love a secret, because if the angel knew about it, he’d get into a panic and everything would be ruined.

“But one day, the angel realised he loved the demon, and he didn’t panic, and everything was wonderful. But it still ended up ruined, because of ineffability. That’s the worst word in the English language. Never say it or I will wash out your mouth with soap. And so the angel left Earth forever to hang out with the other angels, who were rubbish and boring, rather than the cool demon who was better than them in every way. So, the lesson is…?”

Adam nodded along, glassy-eyed. “Good people are rubbish?”

Crowley hissed. “Believe it. Stick with what you know.”

Adam made a non-committal noise. He often sounded like he was weighing his options at the end of these. Crowley wondered how much he was taking in.

“And in the End of Days, the forces of Hell will cwawl over the earth and drag the hosts of Heaven down into the pit. Hurrah,” Adam said, contentedly.

“Hurrah,” said Crowley, checking over his shoulder in case one of his bosses was there. They weren’t.

It was a lonely job, honestly, playing imaginary friend to the Antichrist. To keep up the pretence that he was a made-up magic talking snake, he had to take care only to appear when no other people were around. This wasn’t too difficult, as he seemed to be Adam’s only friend. He wondered if he’d have had lots of friends, in different circumstances. He was an intense kid. There was an odd, magnetic draw to him. Probably got it from his dad.

Unfortunately, his upbringing had largely involved demons whispering in his ear that he was destined to bring about the End of Days. The other parents tended not to bring their children round after the first time little Adam joyfully took a playmate to the koi pond and enacted the Rise of the Kraken from the Thunderous Deeps. And replacing the koi was blessed expensive, judging by the sharp tone Adam’s human mum took with the idiot ambassador they’d lumbered the poor kid with.

The rest of the team all thought it was for the best, of course. Wouldn’t do for the Harbinger of the End Times to get attached to the world and any peoples he was about to destroy. Adam had never had so much as a pet, in case he discovered a fondness for animals. Hastur, still slogging away as the Dowling’s live-in nanny, once tried to interest the boy in a tank full of pet tarantulas. Adam had recoiled in horror, although that might just have been from Hastur. It gave Crowley a warm, spiteful glow that Adam never warmed up to her.

Adam’s eyelids were drooping. Time for Crowley to go. He uncoiled and slithered onto the floor. He reared up to whisper a goodbye over Adam’s curly head.

“What are you?” he murmured.

“The Great Beast, Destwoyer of Worlds.”

“And what are your powers?”

“Money.”

Eh, fine. That’d do. Crowley slunk from the room.

Outside the bedroom door, he shifted back to human-shaped. His right arm twinged. It always played up when he switched forms. He looked at it and winced. It was worse tonight.

He morphed the glove over it before anyone could round the corner. Incognito, that was his middle name. [1]

He slipped down the hall, encountering no-one. Demons had replaced most of the staff. They had little interest in him. This was Hastur and Ligur’s operation. Crowley was small fry. Fine. It wasn’t like he wanted any of this.

Six years to go.

He slowed as he passed a ground-floor window. The mathematically trimmed lawn rolled out like a table mat. Beneath the window was a bed of rose bushes with all the heads cut off.

Crowley pushed the window open and leaned his head out. A sulphuric stink rose from the flower bed. Overlaying it was the faint scent of roses. They were fighting a losing battle. Crowley reached down and snipped off a stem.

He brought the headless stem inside. He looked around furtively and blinked. A pink bloom pushed its petals from the top of the stalk.

Crowley lowered his head and inhaled the scent of the rose in his hand.

He sighed and snapped his fingers.

The flower burst into flames. It fell into a pile of ash. Crowley trod it into the carpet as he strode away.

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[1] He’d tried to make it his middle initial, because it sounded cool and James Bond-ish, but he’d been a bit drunk and smudged it. Then he decided he liked ‘J’ better, anyway.

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Musical interlude! Go here for Crowley’s version of It’s Over, Isn’t It? - Steven Universe

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(Link to next part)