#infernal siblings

[mjrtaurus]

A new nickname for Dragon has been drifting around following the Egghead Incident: the Father of Devils.

With the reports that Strawhat Luffy has assassinated Vegapunk and rallied the giants of Elbaf under his banner, the world is viewing him less as an infamous pirate and more of this terrifying mythical figure. A voracious force of nature who terrorizes the seas, laughing maniacally all the while as he schemes mass destruction with the Demon Child Nico Robin hunting the Pineglyphs on his behalf.

His brother, the Flame Emperor, has spilled the blood of one of the founding families of the World Government. He's stirring more kingdoms into rebellion than ever before, poisoning the minds of the people at a rate faster than even the Insurgent Serpent with both of his heads speaking together ever could.

There are even rumors that at least two, potentially even four, of Vegapunk's most recent creations, the weapons of Justice, have been seen in the vicinity of Dragon. One of them is thought to be possessed by the ghost of the Tyrant King Kuma (urban legends about robots possessed by the souls of the dead also seem to be on the rise post-Egghead).

What horrors has Monkey D. Dragon, that whirlwind of evil, unleashed upon these rising seas?

Dragon doesn’t like using fear tactics. Never had, not even during his hot-blooded and furious days with the Freedom Fighters. Fear did terrible, sometimes irreparable, things to the mind.

It was a tool used by those in power who were losing their grip on it day by day. With the rising number of recruits and refugees headed their way, it was clear that this was the case.

Sabo brings him the latest newspaper, damn near crying with laughter. The current infernal imagery has been a riot with the commanders.

‘THE KING OF HELL COURTS THE WORLD! THE FLAME EMPEROR THE FALSE SUN AND THE DEVIL CHILD OF OHARA BORN OF HELLFIRE? WHO ELSE WILL RISE FROM THIS UNHOLY UNION?’

Cut to Dragon sipping his third cup of coffee thoughtfully before asking:

“Do they really think I get around that much?”

Edit: so my friend @krzdragon has a mini au/headcanon about the WG using infernal terminology with the RA by naming its commanders after the seven deadly sins, which would be highly relevant to this discussion.

[lachimolalaorangee]

I am rereading The infernal devices AND WHY IS SOPHIDEON SO UNDER APPRECIATED?! GOD DAMN GIDEON'S GROVELING?!HIS PROPOSAL TO SOPHIE ?! GABRIEL'S "NICELY DONE BROTHER" WHEN SOPHIE FOUND OUT GIDEON HID THE SCONES UNDER THE BED?!(Sorry this was so hilarious not to include)

[darcyolsson]

the lightwoods dying premature deaths couldve been a one-off thing that happened to benedict but instead cecily herondale (dead sister haver) and gideon lightwood (future dead sister haver) used their combined dead sibling trauma to create the single most cursed bloodline in all of shadowhunter history. their impact....

[thebellekeys]

Shadowhunter Families: The Carstairs

If you have the soul of a warrior, you are a warrior. All those other things, they are the glass that contains the lamp, but you are the light inside.

- Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare

[icycoolslushie]

I know we didn't see much of Ella Herondale but she gives me strong Eugenia Lightwood vibes. She seems like the exact sort of person who would tell her parents that she was going to disown herself if they didn't accept her brother. I think they would have been great friends had they existed in the same timeline.

[a-hell-of-a-time-archive]

Doubt.

[radioiaci]

@infernal-blaze ⧐ Rosie set a small bag down in the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel, a bright smile on her face when her gaze met Alastor's. "Oh, Alastor! There you are! I've come to stay with you for a few days, dear!" She is already approaching her best friend with open arms, waiting for a hug. UNPROMPTED ASKS.

"...Stay?"

An unexpected visitor and surprise, perhaps? Alastor blinked once or twice, having been stepping through the lobby with coffee in hand as he began the morning patrol in his usual routine. He was accustomed to new Sinners arriving these days - it was still not a constant revolving door, but enough new faces that he thought little of their arrival.

But Rosie? Why was she here? To judge his work, perhaps? Hm. Would she be that petty? She did like to teach him a lesson or two, at times, when it suited her.

He cleared his throat before putting on airs, fingers snapped to summon one of his tendrils to hold the coffee well and away from his body so his arms were freed to greet her.

"Of course!" He exclaimed. As if to say: YES, I knew it all along.

"What sort of host would be I to turn you away?" His arms wrapped around her in a bit of a squeeze.

"For any particular reason?" He asked. Not-so-subtly. Ma'am, what are you playing at here.

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

Radiation: Ignore the conventional ways to describe the pov (third person limited, third person omniscient, first person, etc.), how would you describe it? Urushiol: What quality does your character have that irritates the other characters?

From the Pick Your Poison Ask Game

Hi, and thanks for the ask!

Radiation: Ignore the conventional ways to describe the pov (third person limited, third person omniscient, first person, etc.), how would you describe it?

My brain works about the same for writing as it does for dreaming. It has two methods of showing me a story: (1) Letting me slip into a character's skin and experience the story through their senses and emotions, or (2) having me watch events through a series of movie-like scenes with a variety of shots/angles. I alternate between both, switching between an observer and participant at any given moment. When I write, I'm basically attempting to articulate that experience for others.

Urushiol: What quality does your character have that irritates the other characters?

We'll go with my user-namesake for this one.

Ceph, the ghostly member of the Unseen Hand, lives for--so to speak--vexing and annoying their fleshy colleagues. (This is due roughly to 10% malicious/chaotic intent, 90% just wanting attention.) Their main means of achieving this end is through their method of communication: sticky notes. Whether putting a strain on a romantic relationship or foiling political schemes, a well-placed series of Post-Its has been the downfall of more than one plan. The little drawings and nitpicking comments they leave at random are often just rude.

This ability can also be put to use by the members and agents of the Unseen Hand through bribery and flattery. Cassius Mergus, de facto leader and most diplomatic of his fellows, has had a fairly high success rate of getting Ceph to sow mayhem on his behalf. Hawthorne, patron of the magic department, could probably threaten them into doing whatever he wanted of course, but the ruthless necromancer sees Ceph as beneath his notice at best, a pest at worst.

Aside from passive-aggressive notes, the resident spooky menace will employ misleading noises, jump scares, mysterious smells, and other poltergeist-style tactics to confound the corporeal.

[pinktief]

i like that the game uses latin for casting spells but. realistically, zuriel would cast spells in celestial. this is an ability she learnt from her mother, a person with celestial blood, and both of them are channeling magic from a god that would speak celestial. it just makes the most sense to use that language for spellcasting.

[cristinablackthornkingson]

Anna and Christopher with Alexander

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

I don't know how to explain how much these two mean to me. They are the non-biological-not-raised-together siblings of all time. They are so ride or die. One time a man threatened Riz and Fig got that guy to jump out a window. One time Fig pretended to be a doctor and Riz helped her successfully do magic surgery without ever coming out of hiding. They both decided together to never ever tell Gorgug that Fig did the sealing spell without ever saying a word to each other about it. Fig joins Riz and Sklonda on their murder investigation road trip. Riz ate dinner all the time with Fig and her elf dad. They comfortably hang out in hell with a sentient blood blob and a motorcycle that's secretly a dog. He's her legal counsel. She encourages him to hiss at people more. They trust each other with their lives. They are celestial and infernal, connected to the outer planes by their relationships to their fathers and then making that connection their own. Their parents are dating but honestly that's the least relevant detail in all of this. Do you see the vision

[bankofwildflowers]

Will Herondale, having to be cruel against his very nature every single day to everyone, terrified of Jem leaving, crying himself to sleep since learning of Jem and Tessa's engagement (every time Tessa sees him it is mentioned he is red-eyed), walking around London endlessly to outrun his own thoughts, unable to let anyone know. James Carstairs, dying and terrified it will break Will, growing weaker and hating himself for it, killing himself for fear of letting Tessa know her love isn't sustaining his life, unable to let anyone know. Tessa Gray, beaten and slapped, exhausted to tears in a prison, terrified for her brother and if he's dead, loving two people equally and having to hide it from both, unable to let anyone know. Gideon Lightwood, walking away from his family, hoping to be a better man that his little brother can look up to, wanting to save him from their childhood, in love with a woman that does not seem to want him, unable to let anyone know. Gabriel Lightwood, alone in a house with his father going mad, heartbroken at his brother leaving him, trapped by the Consul's blackmail, unable to let anyone know. Cecily Herondale, losing both her siblings in a matter of days, growing up alone and having to learn to repair the cracks left behind by her brother leaving, being angry at him for not thinking their family was worth it, unable to let anyone know. Sophie Collins, only a servant, her only wish to be a Shadowhunter being one which can never come true because she has a debt to repay, in love with a man with whom it can never work out, unable to let anyone know. Charlotte Branwell, her only desire to influence and help and protect being mocked and crushed by men, in love with a man that looks at her as a friend, unable to let anyone know. Henry Branwell, knowing things work different than what he's been taught, knowing he is right but cannot possibly explain and will always be laughed at as insane, in love with a woman that married him for convenience, unable to let anyone know.

The Infernal Devices understood loneliness like no other book I've read, the bone deep sense of being utterly alone even when surrounded by people.

[pricemarshfield]

uh oh i’m thinking about fig and family again

[luckyblackcatxiii]

I realized I had a bunch of CoS drawings I never shared here--mainly because they didn't feel 'big' enough to warrant their own post, if that makes sense?--and figured I had enough of a collection for a dump post!

Explanations for each row of images is as follows (if interested):

1.) Ah...Vasili von Holtz. Voted most favored, gentlemanly and least suspicious man in Vallaki. He and Saverio interacted again and I'm pulling out my hair, he's so suspicious but he keeps impressing my boy/ticking all his impressionable boxes...

2.) GUESS WHO MANAGED TO PULL OFF DISGUISE SELF??? Saverio has never been one to attempt magic because he 'doesn't have the brains for it' (it's the past trauma of an emotionally abusive household you see) but he found himself attempting it alone and...well...he'd like to utilize this new found talent down the road :J (Also his choice of look was 'something easy, so no mustache and with my father/brother's looks' because he's always been curious~)

3.) We briefly ran into Escher officially and boy...he and Saverio do not get along whatsoever. The cattiness is immediate and unfortunately Strahd gets a kick out of it, so I drew a non-canonical event but the embodiment of those two's relations already. I can't wait to meet him again and for actual fruit-on-fruit violence to commence

4.) The party! Kaz had found something while everyone was asleep or on watch, so this was just their fits at the moment (Ireena in one of her disguises which I still need to draw...)

5.) Not much else to say but 'they might not be related by blood, but they certainly are siblings!'

6.) Kaz found a little infernal familiar cat-thing that has been lovingly named Soot. We love him and if anything happens to him we will kill everyone and then ourselves

7.) Group had requested a Sav in just his nightshirt and stockings. Figured I could use the practice on conveying his prettiness

[a-hell-of-a-time-archive]

Get. Her. Ass.

Oh, PLEASE give her the word. She'd happily rip the wings off of that angel bitch.

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part seven

and now... a flashback chapter

art by the always amazing @piaart

author’s note: i feel like shit but it helped me finish this up. plenty of terzo pain here meanwhile reader is home, blissfully unaware. i also have no idea if my writing is good at this point but here ya go! part one/two/three/four/five/six. ao3 link.

If you could see the wreck I am these days, you’d have new reasons to stay away. Just hold my hand for a little while —

Misery never goes out of style.

Terzo traces a delicate finger along one of the bags under his eyes, no longer concealed by the dark eye paint he once wore. His brows furrow at the sight of himself in the mirror. The wrinkles have deepened since he left the stage. His hair, now less lustrous, betrays gray strands emerging from his roots and sideburns. All those years spent cultivating his image, trying to become the perfect imperfection that Lucifer himself boasted—only to unravel after one fateful show. He grits his teeth, his mismatched eyes sharpening in his reflection.

With all the glitz stripped away, he loathes how much he now resembles his father…

Terzo forces the thought out of his head. His days are spent analyzing his time as Papa and what went wrong. He wouldn’t do anything differently but it still stung, especially after the new heights and exposure he had achieved for the Ministry. Somehow, it was not enough. His father was never proud of him, a theme that stretched throughout his entire life. Terzo was only ever the Third to him, the third son that would serve his purpose and then be pushed aside for whoever was next. While this had been the typical progression, Terzo was the fool who thought he would be different — even after being warned by Secondo.

Secondo.

“Cazzo.”

He’s late for Uno Night.

The once-revered Emeritus brothers now find themselves relegated to a desolate corner of the abbey with their only entertainment being a silly card game. Their influence wanes with each passing day. Terzo can't help but sneer at the irony of their situation - former leaders now barely more than forgotten relics, with only each other’s company. There was a time when the Emeritus brothers were revered as gods among men. Crowds would surge forward at their concerts, desperate to touch the hem of their robes or catch a glimpse of their painted faces. Devotees would line up for hours, sometimes days, just for the chance to receive a blessing or a fleeting moment of attention. Their every word was treated as gospel, their gestures analyzed and imitated by legions of faithful followers.

In the halls of the Ministry, their presence commanded instant respect and adoration. Ghouls and Siblings of Sin alike would bow their heads in reverence as they passed. Their chambers were filled with lavish gifts from admirers - exotic incense, priceless artifacts, and fervent love letters. The very air seemed to crackle with power and dark allure whenever they entered a room. Now, that electric atmosphere has faded to a dull static. The gifts have stopped coming, the adoring crowds have moved on to newer, shinier idols. The once-mighty Emeritus brothers find themselves grasping at the fading light of their former glory, clinging to memories of a time when they were worshipped as the embodiments of their infernal master.

He used to delicately paint his face for each meeting, a ritual of devotion to himself and his roll as Papa. But now, as he stares at his bare face, he feels a bitter resentment towards the being he once revered. The paint feels like a mask of lies, concealing the growing doubts and anger festering within him. Lucifer's promises of power and glory now ring hollow in his ears, leaving only the taste of ash and disappointment. Terzo exhales through his nose and tears himself away from the mirror, satisfied with his appearance but frustrated with the progression of his thoughts. He had grown more disillusioned by the day with the cause he so passionately promoted, the being he worshipped. Lucifer, once his guiding light, now seemed like a cruel puppeteer, manipulating him for some cosmic joke.

Omega did not like these thoughts. In fact, Terzo has begun avoiding him and instead has been seeking the company of his brothers. Perhaps the one silver lining in all of this is that he is closer than he ever has been with his true family, minus daddy dearest, of course. They had grown up together, with Primo practically raising him and Secondo after they had come to the ministry. Back then he was a true zealot - a satanic lunatic whose fervor for the dark arts knew no bounds. It was from him that Terzo learned the intricacies of their infernal faith, absorbing every ritual and incantation with wide-eyed fascination. Yet, somehow, both Terzo and Secondo emerged less fanatical than their older brother.

But still competitors, nonetheless. Secondo and Terzo had been born to different mothers three months apart so it came naturally. The more time spent together now, the more they realize how similar they can be and deep down, Terzo wishes they had not been so combative. It was encouraged, though, fed and grown by the higher ups in the ministry and their father. Maybe they feared they would be too powerful if they were close.

Now all they care about is Uno.

"Fuck!" Terzo exclaims again, his voice tinged with frustration as he runs a hand tiredly over his face. The weight of his thoughts bears down on him, but he knows he can't afford to dwell any longer. With a deep sigh, he forces himself into action, slipping his feet into his shoes - the familiar spats clicking as he gets them on. Just as he reaches for the door handle, a sharp knock echoes through the room. Terzo pauses, his hand hovering in mid-air. Irritation flashes across his face.

"Enter," he calls out, his voice tinged with impatience.

The door creaks open, revealing a young Sibling of Sin. Their face is pale, eyes wide with fear and urgency. Terzo's irritation gives way to curiosity as he takes in their disheveled appearance.

"What is it?" he asks, his tone softening slightly.

The Sibling swallows hard before speaking, their voice trembling. "Papa, I... I have news. It's about Omega."

Terzo's eyebrows furrow. "Omega? What about him?" He nonchalantly goes back to adjusting his outfit, wondering if this is another plot from the ghoul to try and make him listen to “reason”. He certainly has stooped rather low, almost as low as Terzo.

The Sibling takes a deep breath, as if steeling themselves for what they're about to say. "He's been banished, Papa. Omega has been cast out of the Ministry."

The words hit Terzo like a physical blow. He stumbles back a step, his mind reeling. "Banished?" he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "But... how? Why?" Pain is etched across his face.

The Sibling shakes their head, clearly as confused and shaken as Terzo. "I don't know the details, Papa. It happened so suddenly. They're saying it came from the highest levels of the Ministry."

Terzo's mind races, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Shock, confusion, and a sudden, unexpected pang of loss all vie for dominance. Despite their recent disagreements, Omega had been a constant in his life for so long. The thought of him being gone, cast out... it's almost inconceivable.

Terzo's composure shatters as the weight of the news crashes over him. His eyes flash with unbridled fury, causing the Sibling to take an involuntary step back. "Get out!" he roars, his voice reverberating off the walls. "Leave me! Now!" The Sibling, wide-eyed with fear, scrambles to obey, nearly tripping over their own feet in their haste to escape. Terzo slams the door with such force that the entire room seems to shake, the sound echoing through the corridors like a thunderclap.

As soon as the barrier between him and the outside world is secure, everything crumbles. A primal roar of anguish and frustration tears from his throat, echoing off the walls of his private chambers. In a whirlwind of unbridled emotion, he lashes out at his surroundings. His fist connects with the ornate mirror adorning his vanity, the impact sending a spider web of cracks across its surface before it shatters completely. Shards of glass rain down, glittering in the dim light like fallen stars.

But Terzo's rage demands more destruction. He overturns his meticulously organized desk, unleashing an avalanche of papers, pens, and trinkets onto the floor. Books, once neatly arranged on shelves, are torn free and flung across the room, their pages fluttering like disoriented birds. His wardrobe—a carefully curated collection of robes and suits that once symbolized his power and prestige—falls victim to his fury next. Garments are ripped from hangers and strewn about haphazardly, silk and velvet mingling with the debris below. Spotting one of his Papal robes, an early prototype, he seizes it and tears, splitting seams and fabric into pieces with savage force.

He could kill them. End the reign of his father and Sister Imperator with a knife to their throats, a hammer to their heads. He’s capable and he’s angry.

But that’s not who Terzo is.

His appetite for destruction is as swift as it is thorough. When the storm of his anger finally subsides, Terzo finds himself standing amidst the wreckage of his once-immaculate quarters. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his knuckles having bloodied his gloves from his outburst. The room, previously a testament to his refined tastes and exalted position, now lies in utter ruin around him. He closes his eyes, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as the full weight of what has transpired begins to settle upon him.

The dust settles around him, both literally and figuratively, as his mind wanders to Omega. Their relationship, once the core of his existence within the Ministry, had deteriorated over the past several months, transforming into a strained and tenuous connection. The rift between them had widened, growing into a seemingly unbridgeable gap that threatened to swallow everything they shared whole. Omega, ever faithful of their infernal master, had persistently begged Terzo to embrace what he perceived as a well-deserved retirement—a supposed reward bestowed upon them by Lucifer himself for their years of unwavering service and dedication.

"Papa, you've more than earned this rest," Omega would implore, his eyes blazing with sheer intensity behind his cool mask that Terzo found increasingly difficult to look at. "Our Dark Lord Lucifer, in his infinite wisdom, has granted you this period of rest and reflection. Why do you persist in resisting? Can you not see the honor in this gift he has bestowed upon you?"

But for Terzo, the notion of settling into a life of idle luxury felt suffocating—a gilded cage that threatened to strip away everything he had fought so hard to achieve. The very thought of turning his back on the empire he had painstakingly built, nurtured, and expanded over the years felt like a betrayal of who he is and what defines him. As time wore on, his arguments with Omega grew increasingly heated and frequent, his frustration mounting with each tense exchange, threatening to boil over into hostility.

"You call this rest, Omega?" Terzo would retort, his voice rising with each impassioned word, hands gesticulating wildly to emphasize his point. "This isn't rest—it's nothing short of exile, a banishment from everything I've ever known and loved! How can you, of all people, expect me to sit idly by, content to watch as everything I've dedicated my life to—my very existence—crumbles around me like dust?" The air between them would crackle with tension during these confrontations, an electric charge that made it increasingly difficult for them to occupy the same space without the risk of conflict erupting at any moment.

Now, with the shocking news of Omega's sudden and unexpected banishment reverberating through the chambers of his mind, Terzo finds himself consumed with emotion. Relief, guilt, anger, and a profound sense of loss intertwine in a dizzying dance, each vying for dominance in the turbulent landscape of his mind. Despite their recent differences and the ever-widening divide between them, Omega had been a constant, unwavering presence in Terzo's life for longer than he cared to remember—a touchstone of familiarity. His abrupt absence leaves a gaping void in the fabric of Terzo's existence, a wound so deep and raw that he isn't certain he possesses the means to heal it.

Even with the turmoil raging inside him, Terzo finds himself drawn to the familiar comfort of his brothers' company. With a heavy sigh, he straightens his posture and smooths down his attire, a reflexive gesture from years of public appearances. He may be struggling, but he'll be damned if he lets it show—at least not to them. They have all had their hardships. If anyone knows and understands what he is feeling right now, it is his brothers. Terzo’s steps are heavy, using his feet to clear a path forward amidst everything now on the floor. He reaches the door, hesitating for just a moment. There’s a weight pressing down on him that threatens to crush him, to break him down until there’s nothing left.

He won’t let it.

Terzo opens the door and leaves his room. As he makes his way towards the small room where their Uno nights are held, his mind goes blank, going numb to the intense feelings that are simmering beneath the surface. He trudges down the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing off the ancient stone walls, focusing on that sound to keep him grounded. As he rounds a corner, lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, a familiar voice catches his attention, causing him to halt abruptly.

Turning, he sees Cardinal Copia emerging from his office, a stack of papers tucked under one arm and an Uno card inexplicably held between two fingers of his free hand. The Cardinal's painted face breaks into a warm smile as he spots Terzo, oblivious to the storm brewing within the former Papa.

"Ah, Papa, on your way to Uno Night, yes?” The cheerful greeting hangs in the air, a stark contrast to the darkness swirling within Terzo.

Terzo's entire body tenses, his jaw clenching so tightly he can hear his teeth grind. The sight of him, so content and oblivious to the turmoil raging through the Ministry, ignites a fire in Terzo's chest—one that he had hoped was extinguished following his outburst in his room. His eyes narrow as he regards Copia with barely contained irritation. "Uno Night," he repeats, his voice low and controlled, though tension radiates from every syllable. "Mmm… yes." He takes a step closer to Copia, his presence suddenly looming and intimidating.

Copia's smile falters slightly, but he presses on, still oblivious and sweet. "It's become quite the tradition with your brothers, hasn't it?" He hesitates for a moment, then reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a blue reverse card. He holds it out to Terzo, a tentative peace offering. "Here, Papa. I always keep this one for luck. Perhaps... perhaps you'd like to have it for tonight's game?"

Terzo's gaze sharpens dangerously as he struggles to maintain his composure. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps. The sight of that blue card in Copia's hand—a symbol of the carefree life he now leads—causes the fire to spread inside him, consuming him yet again. Terzo’s voice, when he finally speaks, is low and menacing, barely above a whisper.

"Tradition?" His voice is guttural and rough. "You dare speak to me of tradition when everything is crumbling around us? When the very foundations of our world are ripped away from us?" His words are full of anguish and rage, each one striking Copia like a physical blow.

The Cardinal stumbles back, his expression morphing from confusion to outright fear. "P-Papa, I... I don't understand-" he stammers, his voice trembling.

"Of course you don't understand!" Terzo cuts him off, his composure shattering completely. "You're nothing but a pawn, a naive fool dancing to their twisted tune!" He gestures wildly, his movements sharp and erratic. "Do you have any idea what's happening beyond your little bubble of blissful ignorance? Omega is gone! Banished! Cast out like yesterday's trash! And here you stand, grinning like a fool, oblivious to the chaos swirling around you!"

Copia's eyes widen in shock, the full weight of Terzo's words finally sinking in. "Omega? But how- Why-" he begins, but Terzo is far from finished.

Terzo snatches the blue Uno card from Copia's hand, gripping it so hard it begins to crumble in his grip. "And this?" he spits, brandishing it like damning evidence. "You think this changes anything? You think a game can fix what's broken? This card, this... this mockery of what we once were!" His voice rises to a near-scream. "Do you have any idea what this represents? It's not just a game, you fool! It's everything we've lost, everything that's been taken from us!"

With a primal yell that seems to shake the very stones of the corridor, Terzo tears the card to shreds. The pieces flutter between them like confetti, a mockery of celebration in this moment of utter despair. Copia flinches, raising his hands as if to shield himself from the physical manifestation of Terzo's rage.

"P-Papa, please," Copia stammers, his voice barely above a whisper, a plea for understanding, for mercy. "I didn't mean to-"

But Terzo is beyond reason, beyond mercy. His voice drops to a low, dangerous hiss, each word dripping with venom. "Get out of my sight," he commands, his tone brooking no argument. "You don't belong here. You never will. You're nothing but a pale imitation, a cheap replacement for something you could never hope to understand. And take your pathetic games with you!"

As Copia retreats, practically running down the corridor, Terzo stands amidst the scattered remains of the card. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, anger and grief warring within him. In the sudden silence, the weight of his actions begins to settle upon him. He knows, in some distant corner of his mind, that he's overreacted, that Copia isn't truly to blame for the chaos engulfing their world. But in this moment, all he can feel is the crushing weight of loss - of his position, of Omega, of everything he once held dear. And that damned Uno card, now in pieces at his feet, seems to mock him with its cheerful blue color, a stark contrast to the darkness consuming his soul.

If only he could reverse being removed from the Papacy.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Terzo straightens his posture and adjusts his shirt in an attempt to calm himself. He struggles to push down the turmoil within, determined not to let his brothers see his inner struggle. As he approaches the card room, he steels himself, forcing his face into a mask of nonchalance.

Opening the door, he finds his brothers already seated. An almost startling wave of relief washes over him. He allows a scoff to escape his lips at the sight of Primo, face fully painted and wearing a Burberry scarf. Before he can comment, Secondo interjects.

"Already gave him trouble for it, stronzino. If you'd been on time, you could've joined." There's a glint of mischief in Secondo's eyes.

Terzo rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his best efforts to maintain his aloof facade. He saunters over to the table, pulling up a chair with dramatic flair. "Well, shall we begin? I'm feeling particularly lucky tonight." He shoots a pointed look at Secondo, silently accepting the challenge in his brother's gaze.

He settles into his seat and the feeling of relief continues to spread through him. Here, surrounded by his brothers and the familiar rhythm of an extremely low-stakes card game, he can momentarily push aside his anger and frustration. In this room, he's not the fallen Papa or a disappointment to the Ministry - he's simply Terzo, the youngest of the Emeritus brothers, ready to lose himself in the game and forget, if only for a while, how far he has fallen.

On this particular evening, Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil would make an unexpected appearance, delivering news that would leave the brothers startled and confused.

They would be unable to continue their card game.

Terzo is deep in his desk chair, his body nearly slipped from it onto the floor. His gaze is locked on the the hell phone which has been ringing nonstop since you left for the night. Your taste is still on his tongue, your scent clinging to his robe. He’s afraid to move to disturb the haze he’s settled into, even though you would be back bright and early for work the morning after next. Fingers fall to his temples, rubbing them with each piercing ring of the phone.

He wouldn’t answer. He doesn’t want to face who is on the other line.

Was it Omega? What could he possibly say? He would only complicate matters—as he already has. The hell phone materialized before you, and you listened to the sounds of the abyss. It drove you into Terzo's arms and bed, but... you didn't deserve to experience such terrors or feel so frightened in his home. Or at least, if anyone was going to frighten you it should be him. His fingers drum along the arms of the chair, a deep grumble vibrating from his chest. The goal is to get you to stay, to devote yourself to him and only him. Yet the fear gnaws at him. What if the terrors you've witnessed push you away? The thought of losing you to the very darkness he once revered sends a chill through him. He wants you by his side, but you have to want to be there. Perhaps, he muses bitterly, this is another of Lucifer's cruel jokes—dangling happiness before him, only to threaten it with the very forces he once embraced.

Maybe the imp who fixed your tire that Terzo had shredded was calling. What was that all about? He didn’t have time to mull that incident over earlier while you were here. Is he manifesting things?

The memory of when he had accidentally shocked you resurfaces, Terzo's frown deepens. He recalls the pain on your face when he zapped your wrist. His gaze drifts to his hands, studying them as if they belong to a stranger. These hands that once commanded crowds, that channeled unholy energies with precision and purpose, now feel like unpredictable weapons. He clenches his fists, feeling the familiar tingle of power just beneath his skin. What if he hurts you again?

Another memory flits to the forefront of his mind — when he screamed at you over his relics being displayed causing a lightbulb to shatter. He remembers the fear in your eyes as it happened. It wasn't Lucifer's doing—it was his own power, his own lack of control. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut. Perhaps the true threat to your happiness, to any chance of a future together, isn't some external force or cosmic joke. It's him.

The silver lining is that you had seemed to be… into it. But what if next time, it's worse than a small shock or a broken bulb?

The thought sends a wave of despair crashing over him. Is he doomed to be alone, forever isolated by the very gifts that once made him special? The irony isn't lost on him—he who once reveled in his dark powers, who used them to seduce and enthrall, now fears them as the very thing that might drive you away. Terzo slumps further in his chair. The illusion of his perfection continues to fade but he’s stubborn. Unwilling to change his ways even though he knows he can be cruel and difficult.

He originally expected you to just deal with it.

Terzo rises with a frustrated growl, letting the hell phone continue its incessant ringing. He stalks over to his liquor cabinet, hands trembling slightly as he pours himself a generous measure of whiskey. What have you done to him? How dare you make him want to be better? He decides he must, at the very least, attempt to protect you from whatever hell seemingly has in store for you. This includes tempering his emotions, an obvious factor of his otherworldly abilities. Seriously, how dare you?

Taking a long swig, he savors the burn as it slides down his throat. It's a familiar comfort, one that does little to reduce the budding anxiety he feels. With a heavy sigh, he turns his back on the still-ringing phone and retreats to his bedroom, drink in hand. The door closes behind him, muffling the sound of the hell phone but he can still feel its presence. Terzo takes another sip, hoping to drink himself into unconsciousness.

Only two sleeps until he sees you again.