Chapter Text
Cain has lived a very, very, VERY long time.
Ever since that faithful day in the fields with his brother Abel, he has walked the Earth more than a million times over, and in that time, he has been involved with and bore witness to a great many things. He had brought life into this world and saw it all age and cease as he remained a constant. In his time, he had contributed to the rise and fall of entire empires and languages so many times he had lost count. Wars of every creed and color would inevitably erupt, and every time he would become embroiled with them. The birth and loss of an untold number of arts had kept his attention for a time, only for the passion to inevitably fade. He had worn virtually every hat one possibly could in his impossibly long life. Parent, teacher, leader, healer, explorer, artist, conqueror, philosopher, general, and so many more, while his one true calling alluded him.
In this era of modern man and technological marvels, wherein human stupidity and the eternal quest to sate vices ran wild, he was but an old soul born in a time long since passed that was confined to a forever young body. A living encyclopedia for the human condition, and yet he was eternally numb to everything that truly made one alive. Works were meaningless, relationships never lasted, and for a being stuck in time, the passage of days meant nothing, just as his life did.
…And yet, despite it all, there remained one phenomenon, one single possible thing that would invariably aggravate him to no end: an uninvited guest at his door as he is about to dig into a homemade meal after a long day’s work.
Cain silently stood stock still in front of the stove, hoping and praying that he had misheard, that the knocking was a mere trick of the ear. Despite his wishes, the rapping at his door came yet again, faster, more insistent this time. He cursed under his breath as he switched the stovetop off. Between his cabin being nestled in the middle of the wilderness and how he only ventured into town as needed, he knew what types of people would make the trek out to his neck of the woods. Jehovah’s witnesses, lost hikers, city planners, the arrant scouts, Cub or Girl, looking to set up camp or sell some baked good or another, that damned deer that keeps stealing from his clothesline. Whatever the case, Cain was rarely pleasantly surprised, and he doubted this time would be any different.
Finally reaching the door, the incessant knocking having only increased as he walked, Cain peered through the transom above his door and was met with a most unexpected sight. Standing on his front porch was a tall, slender woman dressed all in black, standing in stark contrast of the backdrop of the vivid orange and red of the season. Given the black bonnet upon her head, the thick veil obscuring her face, and the dark opera gloves that hiked all the way up to the sleeves of her flowing dress, Cain would hazard a guess she had either just come from a funeral or a costume party of some form. Either or, he supposed.
The visitor began to reach out for the door, undoubtedly preparing to start a new round of knocking, so to spare himself that annoyance, The First Murderer gingerly opened the door just as her knuckle was about to meet solid oak. “Can I help you?” was his one response, not a hint of annoyance, or any emotion for that matter, leaking into his voice. At this, the woman looked up and began beaming, beaming, at the sight of his face. “Why yes, yes you can!” was the mourner’s decidedly chipper response as she scurried through the door and slunk under the arm holding it ajar before he could question further. “Eh sure, you can come in, why not?” He grumbled to himself, pushing the door to as he turned to face the stranger that was currently scrutinizing his dwellings. “Mhm, mhm, mhmmmmmm,” she hummed as she pivoted on her heels in a circle, before jumping back first into his old couch, “These are some neat digs, you got. Reeeeal rustic and, I dunno, southern? Pretty neat. Pretty neat.”
He stood there, not really caring that a stranger had just barged into his home as he currently had more pressing matters to attend to, so he made a beeline for the kitchen. He had kept the same routine up to the letter for the past eighty years, he would be damned before he broke it now. Noticing that her “host” was ignoring her presence, the stranger shifted in her seat to “follow” without actually getting up. “Heeey,” She chimed, voice unserious despite her dress, “Aren’t you going to ask who I am? What I’m doing here? What I need? Etcetera?” Cain paid her no mind, not even bothering to respond as he started pouring himself some stew. Walking over to the table with not so much as a hum in his voice or spring in his step, Cain was content to eat in peace and then deal with his most recent squatter. ‘She barged in without my permission, whatever happens next is legal on my end,’ He mentally noted, spoon at the ready.
He had just brought his first spoonful up to his mouth, ready to savor it despite his dulled sense of taste, only to feel a piercing gaze on his back. Turning with a groan, Cain looked back at his refrigerator, eyes quickly focusing on the grown woman perched atop it like a feral cat. “What’cha got there?” She said, held tilted and voice dripping with forced innocence and curiosity, “Is it stew? Beef? Steeew?” With ignoring her any longer being out of the question, Cain opted to just rip off the bandage and motioned for her to join him at the table. She had taken the seat to his left before he could even turnaround. “Alright,” He drawled evenly, “You said there was something you needed me to do, so out with it.” The stranger tittered at this blithely as she shot him a finger gun, “Getting right to the root of things, eh? I like that, it isn’t everyday you meet a straightshooter, especially around my parts.” He blinked dully. She did not falter, continuing to hold up a finger gun.
The two just sat there, neither talking for an uncomfortable stretch of time. Finally, the stranger spoke, starting with a cough, “Okay, soooo, I sorta, kinda need you to do me a major favor.” Needless to say, this did not inspire any confidence in Cain, nor did it do anything to make his mild annoyance abate, “Can I maybe get some, I dunno, clarification for what makes for a ‘major favor’?” She chuckled, unbothered by Cain’s leeriness as she inspected her gloved hands for some inscrutable detail, “Oh nothing much. I just need you to, y’know, raze Hell and all.” Yet again, Cain was not exactly impressed by his visitor’s vagueness, “Okay, you do get how that was both an answer and a nonanswer, right?” Once more, she simply chuckled as she seemed so fond to do, “Oh, come now Cain, I meant exactly what I said. I want you to raze Hell,” she pointed as she leaned forward, a hidden smile dripping in her voice, “And that means striking fear into the hearts of every demon, sinner and hellborn alike, of every rank. Every creed. Every make and Ring! I want you to be the thing that plagues their EVERY WAKING THOUGHT AND NIGHTMARE!! Fooor, let’s say, a week. Maybe two.”
Cain sat there, digesting what the woman had just said, a single thought rolling around in his head. His eyes narrowed and as he turned the spoon around in his hand, ready to strike if need be as he spoke, “How do you know my name?” The stranger sat there, still as stone and silent for the first time since she had made her presence known. Finally, she spoke, voice measured and focused, a far cry from her earlier ravings, “Believe it or not, we’ve met before, under better circumstances. I’m actually…,” she gestured vaguely, as if brushing off thoughts buzzing around her head, “A friend of your father.” Hearing this, the gears within Cain’s mind began to turn. With a closer look at the woman, between the symmetry of her build and the almost alien way she moved, it became evident she was not human. Granted, he could not rightly say whether or not she was an angel. He sat there a moment, pensively contemplating this turn of events before he finally came to another question, “One of his ‘business’ friends or,” He gestured equally vaguely, “One of his ‘pleasure’ friends?” To this, she simply laughed and Cain, for whatever reason, felt oddly comforted by the gesture. Wiping an imaginary tear from her veil, the woman’s response was short and sweet, “You could say I’m both, actually!”
At this, The Firstborn merely hummed, remembering how his father would talk at length about someone named “Lute”, granted he doubted the unseen lieutenant and his current guest were one and the same. “Alright,” He started, “I suppose the next question is why you need me to ‘raze Hell’. Last I checked the hive down south was under strict regulations, especially with E Day becoming a biannual thing and all.” At this, any semblance of warmth and mirth drained from the woman, taking the very light of the kitchen with it and leaving in its place a cold, fathomless void of pure hate. “It’s because…,” She slurred, as if wrestling to stay in control of herself, “Your father… is dead… Killed in a massacre… Orchestrated by the Princess of Hell itself… Carried out by a hoard of cannibals… Heaven above has yet to act, and I fear… I can no longer sit back and wait for them to do so… That is why I need you.”
With those words, Cain’s heart stopped, and a deep, bitter pit formed in the core of his being. ‘This… Can’t be right… Can it? How could he die? He was an angel! Unless… Had an Archfiend really arisen in Hell after all this time? How… If dad was dead, how did this happen? The Exorcists may be the weakest branch of Heaven’s army, but even then…,’ Cain’s mind raced, dredging up what he and his father had discussed not even a year ago on their annual day together. The news that someone in Hell had killed an angel after so long was troubling enough, but to think it had happened again, so soon and in such numbers to be considered a massacre? He shook his head, feeling tension mount in his temples, he exhaled sharply to steel his nerves. He would not spiral over the secondhand account of a stranger. He locked his sights on the visitor, “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Wordlessly, she reached into a space that had not been there a second ago and produced his father’s cherished axe, its cords having snapped and blade covered in the tarnish born of the blood of demons and angels alike.
With this irrefutable truth before his very eyes, Cain’s mind began to crumple, a deluge of thoughts and emotions that had long been deadened sweeping over him. Neurons fired, thoughts raced, and emotions flared as the confines of his own house seemed to melt away into a void. He could feel it all burning just under his skin, and he had no hopes of making sense of the disarray in his own mind even after all this time. He needed order, something to ground himself, and it came in the worst way possible. In his stupor, a realization cut through his growing turmoil and headache, 'I am finally, truly alone in this world…' With this single, dreadful realization, Cain stopped. There was no fear. There was no sorrow. There was no rage. Only grim acceptance at the fact he was the last of his family to walk the Earth and the reality that a Morningstar had finally, truly destroyed his father.
He sat for a beat, face impassive and muscles tensed while the veritable storm of thoughts wracked his brain. But then, just as quickly as it had started, his thoughts quieted. His body relaxed. Dimly he noted the sound of a bent spoon hitting the table after escaping his slackened grip. ‘So… dad’s dead and I’m alone again,’ He thought plainly, not a single iota of dread, grief, nor even bitterness tinging the thought that had sent him spiraling not even a minute ago. He rose and made his way to get a new spoon, exhaling evenly, numbly, before he spoke again, “Well, that’s that, I suppose. I’ll be honest, I don’t get what exactly you want me to do about it when you can just go and report to one of the ‘Powers that Be’ or whatever.” At this, his visitor balked, “Wha- Are you serious? I just explained that it’s already been a week, and the Divine Host hasn’t gotten off their ethereal asses to deal with this.” Taking his seat again, he gave a snort, “So? Be the change you want to see. Tell them you’re a concerned citizen looking out for the greater good or something. That kinda appeal to authority crap should do the trick.” She reached out towards him, hands shaking and clenching in a way that struck him as… oddly familiar. “Look, that’s not- I can’t-,” She groaned, “I am not in a position where I can just approach the Elders about this, and I’m far too busy to deal with the rabble myself. Besides, between your life experience and the skills you’ve cultivated, you’re the only person I can ask to do this. The only person I know can do this.”
At that, Cain gave another curt snort. “And why exactly is that?” He asked pointedly, “Because you need, what, an architect? A linguist? Or is it that you, I dunno, need a murderer?” They sat there in silence, letting the Firstborn’s words hang in the tense atmosphere of the kitchen. Finally, the visitor made her move. Slowly, carefully she reached out, taking the calloused hand of the larger man in her own, and began gently caressing his palm with her thumb. A gesture Cain had not experienced in so many long and arduous lifetimes, and one he found himself unconsciously melting into. The air once thick with tension melted away, replaced by a comfortable silence before the woman spoke again. “Cain… I don’t need you because of your actions or your works,” She said, her voice gilded with the love of a mother, “I need you because you’re human. Because you know what it is like to be beholden to the whims and machinations of demons and carry on despite it all. So again, I ask, please, will you raze Hell and strike fear into the very hearts of the damned?”
The visitor’s words stirred within Cain, shaking him from the stupor wrought by her embrace. He shook his head, trying to shake off the haze that had overtaken him as he spoke, “First off, flattery doesn’t work on me.” At this, the woman laughed, “I’m well aware, but you can’t really blame me for at least trying anyway, can you?” He rolled his eyes at this, an action void of any malice or dismissiveness, and spoke again, “Second, even if I did agree to help, how exactly am I supposed to get to Hell? It’s not like I can die and if you go and smuggle me across to the other side, you’re looking at getting excommunicated by Heaven.” At this, the woman erupted into full on laughter, “Oh, trust me, I’m not at all concerned with what Heaven has to say about the matter.” This struck Cain as odd. In his lifetime, every angel he had met was desperate to keep their seat amongst their peers just as every demon he had known was eager to infiltrate the divine realm and lay it low.
Cain unfortunately did not have any time to stew on this thought before the visitor spoke again, “Alrighty now deary, since you still seem to be on the fence about helping, I guess I’m just going to have to mama bird you on this one.” He had no time to speak, nor chance to react as his kitchen melted away into an irritated red sky scarred with blackened clouds of smoke and ash. He was falling. Fast. “Shit,” He hissed under his breath, turning himself around in midair to face the tops of the approaching patchwork of skyscrapers that were haphazardly nestled together. Scanning the rooftops, Cain’s eyes locked onto the nearest building, a monolith of worn, black bricks in an art deco style. The building drawing ever closer, Cain knew what he needed to do and began reaching down to his left leg in preparation.
As he crossed the threshold of the building’s roof and continued his descent parallel to it, he acted quickly, tearing off his leg at the center of his shin, taking the time to hold on to his work boot as the severed limb quickly dissipated into ash. With the momentum of the severance, Cain somersaulted through the air and drew close enough to the building to plant the stump of his left leg against the wall, a deep red streak being left as he continued downward. Gaze shifting between the wall and the approaching ground, Cain parsed he only had about two minutes before he hit the pavement. Already halfway down the building, the Firstborn inhaled deeply and with a practiced precision, his shin quickly erupted in rapid growth, the spike of bone perforating the infernal stone and leaving a deep gash within the building’s external wall and a rain of glass shards in his wake. His anchor now in place, the First Murderer’s once blisteringly fast decent slowed to a comfortably rapid pace that would serve as little more than an inconvenience. Within the span of what felt like a brisk jog into town, he touched down none the worse for wear.
Drawing his sharpened shin from the deep gout carved into the building’s wall, the limb knitted itself together, good as new in the span of seconds. Quickly setting to work on getting his boot back on, Cain could not help but feel a bit incensed at getting conscripted into a crusade against Hell. “Goddamn home invader from beyond the mortal coil,” He grumbled before turning his sights skyward, “You couldn’t have at least let me eat my lunch!?” He was torn away from his yelling by the growing crowd of bystanders that had stopped to gawk at him, eyes wide and phone cameras at the ready. Shaking his head with a sigh, Cain finished putting his boot back on, stood up, and brushed himself off before starting to walk and survey his new surroundings. “This is just great,” He groaned, soaking in the neon signs promoting every vice imaginable, the smell of blood, fire, and rot invading his nose with every breath of stale, burning air, he inhaled. Adding on to the sensory nightmare he had found himself in, a never-ending chorus of screaming, gunfire, and explosions filled the air, ringing out over the call of traffic. Despite himself, Cain could not help but note how similar his first moments in the Inferno were too his last time in California.
Shrugging that thought off, Cain began running down the list of what he needed to do as he continued to walk the street, stepping over a corpse as he went. ‘I guess the first order of business is catching my bearings,’ He mused, ‘After that I’ll need to find a way out of Hell, though I’d say that’s easier said than done.’ For a moment he thought back to the stranger’s plea, but with a hardened expression and a shake of the head he put it out of his mind, ‘Like hell I’m doing anything for her after she dumped me here. Besides, what are the odds of me finding dad's killer?’
Rounding the corner, he was met with sight of a towering building, its embellishments and decorum calling to mind a fusion of an ancient, neon jungle and the ravenous jaws and wicked claws of the predators that dwelled within. At the front and center of the establishment, just above its entrance hung a neon sign that looked as if a bite had been taken out of it that read ‘Klub Kaiju”. Cain stared at the tacky display of hellish architecture in revulsion. In all his years of work in design and construction he had never run into something so garish, and he had a feeling the longer he spent in Hell the more this feeling of disgust would grow.
Despite his misgivings, Cain knew a bar when he saw one and he knew for a fact that it was the best bet he had in getting a feel of the land and collecting insight on where was. Steeling himself, the First Murderer started his trek towards the neon nightmare, determined to find whatever answers he could, little knowing of the great many prying eyes that were tracking his movements.