Chapter Text
She remained fixed on the tattered mauve carpet, glancing briefly at the walls. Paintings of people with no face, too many faces, no eyes, too many eyes, stared down at her. At this point she’d given up being horrified, instead focusing on the gnawing hunger eating away at her insides.
“Welcome to the House of Lamentation, I’m the Avatar of Greed,” HotKlepto announced around a yawn as he delivered an any% speedrun tour, firing off in all directions. “Don’t touch nothin’, the house bites. Don’t bother any of us unless it’s an emergency — like dyin’. Parlour’s through the double doors, kitchen’s on the second left, your room’s probably the empty lookin’ one on the third floor. Comes with a bathroom for all your human…needs. Speakin’ of which, might wanna pre-emptively flush your john. My disgustin’ brother Beelzebub went in there this mornin’ and dropped a fat demon dookie.”
Better than the welcome present I had in mind.
“Well it’s your lucky day. Being invisible is my love language,” she visibly deflated. “And I’ll…keep the volume down on the lamenting.”
“Exactly, you’re gettin’ the hang of it already. 'Kay, cool, I'm off!"
While enthusiastically finger gunning her way, he fished a brown leather biker jacket from the aether, and abandoned her in the urgency of an unwanted paternity reveal.
The front doors slammed with a damning bang. Yet somewhere in the labyrinthian hallway, another opened.
A single nanosecond after HotKlepto severed his custody agreement, essentially nipping out to buy cigarettes, Emilia realised with a chill that she was finally alone.
She dropped the coffin bag with a resounding thud, as reality itself corroded through the rotting floorboards. She had been isekai’d to Hell. Because living through it once hadn’t been enough cosmic compensation. Emilia Cartwright, a barista in her twenties, who'd been brought up in the most mundane village in Britain, had somehow collided with the fantasy genre. Guilt for never having listened in church ricocheted through her couch potato Catholicism. Father Rhys would have to wait for a monumental donation in the name of her restored faith.
Demons were real, and some of them were suicidally hot. Not that she would ever be browsing that department again, however, visually, her eternal damnation could be worse. Almost kind of God to offer her higher budget eye-candy akin to the CW network.
More like dayummnation.
Angels on the other hand met her existential needs. For whatever reason, Luke and Simeon were a blessing to her aching bones. And for Luke in particular, cute aggression called for wrapping his 4 '10 figure in an oversized BabyBjorn and cuddling the Grace out of him.
One thing she couldn’t wrap her head around was the fact everyone understood English.
And MagicMan speaks Welsh. Why does he speak Welsh? Of all the languages to know.
I need to keep an eye on that one, he sounds close to JoyKing and MintManson. Maybe they’re a fully formed sexy coven. But why me? I’m nothing special. And have I done anything so heinous in life as to warrant a sentence in Hell?
“Nate, behind you!”
‘She had never been more wrong.
Em watched helplessly as Nate responded to the warning, turning as a curved dagger plunged into his side. The serrated blade making short work of layers of skin. Going in and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out.’
Yeah, I deserve to be here.
Her breath hitched.
The wallpaper in this place seriously needed revisiting. The damask effect had faded into the royal purple paint, palm-sized claw marks carved into the skirting. One positive since setting foot into BookTok Dad’s domain; no Diavolo shaped anything in the near vicinity. And for the first time in almost eighteen hours, she was completely alone.
She heaved the bag back onto her shoulder and immediately began plotting her escape. Despite the reality of her situation screaming that she’d really been dumped through dimensions, Emilia’s stubbornness had not caught up to the fact. If not a gothic reskin of Sword Art Online, maybe she needed to look at her surroundings from another angle.
Throughout the corridor, giant stone dragons stood in formation, reminding Emilia fondly of her first Escape Room experience with Nate. They were terrible at it, both overcomplicating the puzzles and overestimating the game master’s commitment to the bit. By their third visit the employees took notes from them.
Nevertheless, she began searching for indents in the walls, twisting skeletal sconces clockwise and anti-clockwise, waiting for the patronising crackle of an intercom.
On her tenth attempt at pushing the spines of ancient looking tomes down and rearranging them alphabetically, she convinced herself this was a very elaborate prank set up by bored celebrities with too much money and too little respect for the human psyche.
There had been unsuccessful escape attempts at JoyKing’s Castle; it had been too well guarded. MintManson, basically a polite surveillance drone never let her out of arm’s reach, or weaponised sweet treats. Asking to go to the loo to have a private scream resulted in being escorted into a five star ensuite accompanied by a two hundred foot drop.
The pumpkin carriage had also been a bust. Unless she’d premeditated leaving a trail of croissant crumbs, the landscape outside had been too alien to keep track of. Also, Balthazar, the spiderhorsebat thing driving the abomination, had occupied sixty percent of the window and ninety percent of her attention span.
R.A.D had been a smudge of pastel demon scales, tails, teeth, neon hair, ikemen red flags, a bloodthirsty fuckboy on the FBI’s global watchlist, two holy defibrillators, and a screaming skull game of pass the parcel. The entire morning consisted of an overstimulating interaction roulette, proving to be a successful method of keeping the human disoriented.
A perfectly designed set of events for, say, a reality television show.
If in fact, she was wrong and this was actually another realm? Well, Emilia considered herself to be an open minded person. However, there was no chance on God’s green earth, nor Hell’s crimson sky that she was shacking up with six demons for three fucking years.
Six demons who didn’t want her there.
Six demons that were also men.
Six strange demon men with possible penchants for human flesh that tasted of diffidence.
I didn’t even like the thought of human roommates, how would I survive the Six™?!
And that was when she had the epiphany of a lifetime – walk out of the door.
The colossal front door creaked open in mockery.
Outside, Hell was to be taken literally. The sky had blotted to a tie dye of purpley-reddish-orange, occasionally swirling into itself like a cosmic drain. Pretty, and downright menacing.
Okay, do I play it safe and retrace mine and HotKlepto’s steps from R.A.D? Or, maybe there’s a path or a lamppost in the other direction.
A cacophony of crickets wired up to a subwoofer blared through the garden.
What the fuck was that?!
Beyond the limits of her depth perception in such darkness, a patch of grass rustled. It sounded bipedal.
Ahaha, okay, it’s fine. This is fine.
I’ll just Naruto run my way through the creepy forest and ask the first demon I see for directions, totally not a death sentence.
Especially if I run into one with certain political alignments as kindly demonstrated today.
Something scraped somewhere above the roof shingles, as jarring as nails on a chalkboard. Only more murdery and accompanied by a low growl. It lit up her entire nervous system.
With that, Emilia’s courage had packed a suitcase, fled to the nearest airport, and moved to Hawaii.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Self preservation touched down at Arrivals, seized her by the shoulders, and hurled her back through the doors so fast it could’ve passed for astral projection. The moment they slammed behind her, barricading her from whatever otherworldly fuckery lurked outside, she starfished against the wood, panting like an overworked porn star.
Fantastic work, I think I just won the Guinness World Record for shortest escape attempt.
Ethan Hunt would’ve pushed me out of the plane to save himself.
Guess I’m signing up to be the Seventh…where’s the stupid tenancy agreement form?
The dregs of her brain cells, running on fumes and premature madness, surfaced one last solution.
Call someone.
Because she’d forgotten she had a magical communication device.
“Right. Yes. Brilliant. Let’s phone… literally anyone.”
Should I try ringing 666?
She rummaged furiously through the empty coffin purse, before remembering it was in the zipped side pocket. “MagicMan gave me the head earlier! That has to count for something!”
PHRASING, Emilia.
I want to evaporate.
MintManson hadn’t exaggerated, the pockets were TARDIS quality. Finally, she pulled the shrunken head out and inspected it. A firmly stitched closed mouth, coupled with relaxed leathery eyebrows.
It was a miniature Benjamin Button having a nap.
“Okay? Now what do I do with it?” She whispered, prodding it between the temples. “How do I turn you on? Tap? Shake? Scream? Threaten you? Sing the song of your people?”
Emilia shook it like an Etch-A-Sketch, tapped it against the floor, stroked it up and down, abandoning that idea when it felt like there’d be a HR meeting arranged. Then in sheer desperation, serenaded it with a poor imitation of Witch Doctor by Cartoons.
“I told Benjy Button I was in love with you, doh doh doh doh, and then your shrivelled head, you told me what to…” She lost steam after two lines, thanks to a Cthulian painting staring at her in concern. “What? Never seen a girl in crisis before?”
The painting turned away, she wasn’t worth engaging.
“Oh, this is ridiculous.”
It was the most relevant song that came to mind.
Her patience snapped, when she looked down to see that the face was still asleep, if somewhat annoyed. “Work, you ugly thing! WORK!”
Its mouth unravelled slightly into an offended frown.
Forgive me, JoyKing, for I’m about to judge your entire application process.
How am I supposed to help two realms achieve peace when I can’t even operate a damn face?
MagicMan couldn’t have included a set of instructions in between soaking everyone’s knickers?
Apart from mine, they’re dry from spite. Mostly.
“Off you fuck before I start venting to inanimate objects.” Officially putting the head-phone into a timeout before she had her own tantrum, Emilia cautiously moved away from the main door, resuming her exploration into the unknown.
Patting herself on the back for remembering HotKlepto’s passive aggressive directions, she stumbled into the parlour first. Another stone dragon that could rival Smaug in size, had been carelessly slapped onto the side of a monstrous mantel. Without warning, a giant whoosh of flame spat from the dragon’s mouth into the fireplace, upping the room’s humidity tenfold.
Determined to avoid a prophetical molten tan, she latched towards an uncanny game console plugged into a huge horned television on the other side of the room. Etched into the sides, the word ‘Preystation’. The cords looked worse for wear, someone had repeatedly ripped them from the socket. Her eyes slid over an equally giant black trophy that sprouted two miniature trophy tumours. ‘Cerberus – Best in Show – Three Headed Division’.
Unable to comprehend the source, a golden trophy glinted smugly next to it, serving as the perfect distraction. ‘Proactively awarded to Mammon, Avatar of Greed, as punishment to both he and us for stealing it under our noses – Kleptomaniac Anonymous Awareness Guild.’
Looming above, a threatening chandelier. Tiny toothy gargoyles balanced each candle on their horned heads. Cobwebs present enough to deter every arachnophobe in the universe hung from each arm of the fixture.
Hidden behind two mouldy green sofas, a lacking coat rack. Sitting atop, a battered Sherlockian woollen hat. To which, Emilia hadn’t the foggiest why it would be there.
Around the edge of a solid mahogany table, doodled into the wood, seven sinister symbols resembling Runescape runes pulsed faintly. If only she could find some Law runes to teleport home. She did a double take at a bright pink polka dot display rack camped at the center of the bougie summoning circle.
Having seen enough to warrant a lifetime of delusion, a final scope of the room gave her pause. Nestled between two fluffy black cushions and a pink sheep crochet kit, lay several books, LavaScript for Dummies, D++ for Beginners, Clawing through Code. On the top cover, in bold handwritten letters, a warning. LEVI’S – DO NOT TOUCH, SELL, HEX, EAT – (YES, BEEL THAT MEANS YOU!)
The familiarity of it all broke out a pained smile, before she continued to the next room.
Upon entering, Emilia should’ve walked out again. The room emanated an almost cartoonishly evil aura, every intrusive thought about smacking rude customers into the till, threw itself to the forefront of her mind. All the rude remarks she’d heard in passing triplicated into loathing towards the aggressor. The hatred was overwhelming, igniting something in her blood and weighing heavily on her morality.
It wasn’t until glancing inside a nearby display cabinet, and coming face to face with a harmless ceramic unicorn figurine, did she understand what came over her.
“Unicorn of Malicious Malediction” – Contact with this cursed object instills the owner with the desire to hurt, maim, and possibly kill. Warning: May also cause stomach upset and regret.
Now this was more fitting for what she had in mind for the Realm. Though it raised many, many, questions about the Six’s hobbies. This had to be TrueCrime’s humble collection.
Below it, another deceptive item. At first glance; a perfectly ordinary jade teapot. The main body had cracked from overuse and the remaining spout was anything but short and stout. It had an elephant's trunk, hiding two thimble tusks. The WWF would've gone into an apoplectic fit upon witnessing the authentic ivory details.
“Elefount of Elegant Execution” – A drink prepared from this haunted vessel acts as a deadly poison, untraceable to even the most skilled mage, witch, sorcerer, or spouse.
“Catch me making all my own drinks from here on out,” she mumbled into the glass, grateful for the safety veil between her and the objects.
Next on the tour, a few remarkably boring items in contrast to all the murder.
Broken human sewing machine – Leviathan kept throwing it in a fit of anger.
A novelty rubber duck wearing a tiny waistcoat. - Asmodeus refuses to comment.
Dust formed a ring on the cabinet shelf, blatant evidence of a hasty swipe most likely committed by HotKlepto. The plaque had also been stolen in a hurry.
A glistening green and black snake scale. – Satan’s first shedding.
Remains of a Graveglass Owl egg - Beelzebub refuses to part with it.
An unclaimed overgrown wing, shrivelled and black at the tips. - A reminder that some battles are worth fighting.
She wondered who’d impart such wisdom anonymously and if they had a spare room.
On the opposing shelf, an unlabelled harp, a nameless quiver of ashen arrows, three auspicious rugs patterned in cranes, swans, and dove feathers. Lastly, a beautiful golden jug adorned in blue veins. She could just about make out seven tiny angel motifs. A strange juxtaposition to have angelic artifacts bundled in between all the dark shit.
Feeling a tug on her hair, Emilia whipped around. Behind her, a cage crafted from crystals rattled enthusiastically. A diddy Diddy Kong hand reached out blindly to grab her. It let out a powerful roar, sending her scrabbling backwards into another exhibit in the murderous menagerie.
A black urn that had undergone numerous rounds of Kintsugi wobbled on its plinth. Gold carvings of tragedy theatre masks in a warped avante garde style stretched off the design. Panicked about coming into physical contact with something that might actually cause harm, Emilia frantically searched for the plaque.
The Urn of Unwavering Unstability
Interesting…there’s no description.
Warning: Crying is contagious.
At the last letter, the faces began whining as if triggered by her miserable presence. Before long the entire museum, including the temperamental yeti, had become a wailing opera. The Urn scuttled to the floor, hinting for uppies.
“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Suddenly overcome by a fierce maternal instinct, she hoisted the Urn into her arms, her lip quivering on command. “Why does everything here have a face?”
The first tear didn’t even feel like hers, it slid down her cheek in betrayal.
“I shouldn’t even be here, I should be preparing for my parents visit and – my parents, they’re going to think I’m dead the minute they read one of those stupid emails. And I’ll be fired for being MIA. Brilliant, I hope Hell pays well.”
She laughed miserably, realising she’d been speaking out loud. “I was joking earlier when I told the head I’d end up venting to furniture, what’s next? An anger management session with a toaster? God, Emilia, get a grip.”
“I don’t know if I can do this. Living with real life demons like it’s casual, like it’s normal! I don’t – ” Her breath caught as the urn egged her on like a grief counsellor with no boundaries. “I’m not equipped to handle this like Simeon, or Luke, or even MagicMan. The demons hate me, they look at me like I’m food, and the demons – which exist, as do angels by the way. But you already knew that. Anyway, Diavolo picked the wrong girl, why would he choose me? He should've chosen someone capable, someone who can operate a stupid face without having a meltdown.”
“Not me, I’m no good to anyone like this,” she confessed, shoulders curling in. “I’m too broken, too stuck in the past to think about moving forward – to even want to move forward.”
Pressing her head to the urn, her voice came out in a hushed confession of something that she’d been holding in for months. “I miss you so much, Nathan.”
Having been trapped inside for so long, it poured out of her in one rambling vent. “You died and the world kept spinning, and nobody noticed you weren’t in it anymore, or they stopped caring. Except me. And I don’t – I can’t. I don’t know how to live in a world without you. For the past thirteen months I’ve just held myself together. Matt invited me to a DnD night, but I turned it down. He likes my posts on Instagram sometimes, oh, and you called it, he and Shaun are a thing now. Hannah’s tried reaching out a few times since, but the café keeps me busy, although Susan’s still a complete bitch. She’s still making snide remarks. How I should’ve ‘moved past it by now’ YOLO because her sister’s husband died of cancer and ever since, “she’s living her best life.”. She even told me to use up more holiday days, as if a trip to fucking Thorpe Park would help me get over you.”
Her knuckles tightened once, forcing themselves to loosen as thoughts of her family came to mind. “Dad planted a tree in your name, you know? Keeps to himself more these days, and Mum’s found peace I think, she’s stopped making me two cups of tea every time I visit,” she whispered, staring at a crack in the urn.“Not that I minded.”
“I’m just so, so tired. Tired of pretending I’m fine and lying to people so they can feel better. At the funeral I was allowed to fall apart, but after that? It made people uncomfortable. They didn’t know how to talk to me anymore, unless I made jokes. With Nate, I could take breaks from that. Without him? Who am I anymore? Take the funny away, and what’s left?” Facing the urn with a broken smile, she said. “He understood that feeling more than anyone. He was hilarious, but he was so much more. And he proved it. He saved my life, you know, Urny? Can I call you Urny? No, I don’t care, I'm doing it anyway.”
Urny nodded through its tears, nuzzling into her armpit.
“He was always protective of me. Almost hunted down the guy who threw a milkshake at us from a moving car, but this – this was different. He saved my life that night. He saved me. But I can’t cope with the fact he couldn’t save his own,” she threw her hand over her mouth, struggling to get words out. “And worse, I killed him.”
Even the evil unicorn started sobbing.
“It’s all my fault. I killed him. If I hadn’t have warned him, he wouldn’t have turned around. Maybe they wouldn’t have killed the rest of the neighbourhood either. We stupidly thought one of the neighbours kids set a firework off, but it was those men. It had to be. Naturally, the police had questions from the moment I woke up in hospital. ‘The sole survivor, extremely lucky,’ they called me.” She rolled her eyes until it hurt. “Can’t say I feel all that lucky when Nate’s parents had to bury an empty coffin because of me. And if I’d just gone with the wizards, maybe they wouldn’t have had to lose him too.”
“I still don’t understand what they wanted, or how the fire started, but – ” Her hands clenched around Urny, cradling it. “We both believed he’d make it. I convinced him he was going to be okay, but in those last moments… I think he knew and just played along. Cruel selfless bastard.”
“If I hadn’t been arsing about with boxes – if I’d just stayed with him a few more minutes, we might’ve had time. I was going to say yes. I was going to say yes, and he never got to hear it because I was too busy looking for fucking bandages. And I will never forgive myself for interrupting him.”
She let out a sigh, knees threatening to buckle as she suffocated Urny.
“We should be in our new house right now, laughing like idiots. Arguing about honeymoon destinations and being normal – well, normal for us,” she laughed thickly, swallowing hard.
“I just want him back. Just for one day. Just to tell him all the things I never got to say. Because I’m terrified – ” her voice dropped to a whisper. “ – terrified I’ll forget his voice.”
Her breath trembled into her sleeve. “Please, like earlier, show him to me again.”
Urny stopped bawling for a moment, as though pitying the plea.
“Just for one day, so the world can make sense again… I’m begging you, please.”
But Nate never showed, the breeze remained pine free.
When Emilia thought things couldn’t get more pathetic, a portrait of a demon with one massive eye shed a balloon-sized tear, drenching a set of armour in the process. A literal puddle formed in the middle of the hallway, the airborne grief virus sending nearby decór into hysterics.
Hopefully JoyKing or one of the Six had taken into account spare uniforms because hers was wrecked, covered in snot, and scuffle marks from launching herself into a manor. She glared at the urn, which caused it to whine again.
Then, another sob unlike any other broke out. One that undeniably wasn’t from the urn, because in the however long they’d been trauma bonding, she’d come to memorise its cry cadence.
“Was that… me?” she whispered to no one in particular through hiccups.
A male voice choked on a gasp, sniffling aggressively. “Oh great, the human activated Lucifer’s favourite toy when she spawned. That thing needs a bigger warning label, thank Ruri-chan Satan stopped hiding it around the house.” He hunched over, squinting in the darkness. “Huh, she’s crying…well, duh?”
Emilia blew her nose on her sleeve, causing Urny to stir. “That’s funny, this morning I thought all of you were NPCs.”
His back turned, her conversation efforts went ignored.
The mysterious demon swivelled around, bearing the expression of someone receiving bad news. He raked painted cyan nails through an indigo bowlcut. Did they all have painted nails? She was remiss to think she’d been staring at their faces too much to notice.
“What should I do? Should I do anything? I could just leave. If anyone walked in right now they’d blame me. It’s not impossible that it IS my fault, maybe she already heard how disgusting I am. Or got a good look at my ugly face. Ugh, this is the worssssssst. This is why I stay in my room.”
An actual, panicking, slightly self deprecating, person had found her.
“I’m not good with this stuff. We’re not so different, right? Even if she is a normie. Maybe her favourite show got cancelled, or her top voice actor retired? Or maybe they didn’t adapt the source material correctly and spent a whole season on filler! Mood. Forget the fact all those things happened to me this week. Eh, LBFR, getting dropped in Hell and having to speak in p-public? Nope, my worst nightmare actually. I’d cry too, I’m crying in solidarity.” He exhaled in dread. “Or, thinking about it in normie terms, my idiot brothers left her alone without explaining anything and maybe she thinks she’s dead and stuck with us forever.”
You’re half right.
At his own commentary, he teared up again, half-hidden behind the door she’d just come from, peeking at her like he might combust on eye contact. “Nope, too much angst for me.”
‘Mood’
LBFR = Let’s be for real?
He knows internet slang?How?
It’s too good to be true. Nate, Hell has people like us.
He popped his body further around the doorframe in a contradicting 210WPM info dump. “Just close the door and get back to Ruri-chan. Someone else can handle this, you’re not the main character. She needs someone with social skills. Another normie will come along any moment now! Someone more suited for this kind of thing. Like Satan. No, no, Satan will scare her more. Asmo? Ew, I don’t wanna be here for a meet-cute. Or a meet-seduce. Gross. How about one of the paintings!”
“You don’t have to do that, me and the decór aren’t currently on great terms. It didn’t appreciate my singing earlier.” Emilia piped up.
“Eep, she spoke!” He physically recoiled, yellow trainers squeaking in fright. “Don’t be a noob, human, the paintings do whatever I tell them!”
His gravelly voice lowered on demand, dictating towards the same framed Cthulian being that had been a voyeur to her spontaneous karaoke hour. It had followed her for shits and giggles. “Oi, you! Squidface, get into the other frame. The Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy demands it!”
Grand WHAT now?
The painting folded its tentacled arms.
“Oh you’re pretending I don’t exist? I’ll have you know I have FIFTY VIEWERS on – ”
It spat ink in his face.
The demon blinked, quaking from anger for a few seconds before shrugging it off. “Fine. Whatever. You’re just jealous.”
If Emilia hadn’t just poured her heart and soul out to haunted pottery, she might’ve laughed.
He slithered closer in tiny, hesitant steps, treading ink into the carpet.
“FOR THE RECORD, HUMAN!” He blurted far too loudly, splotches dappling a jawline for days, now fully appreciated in the torchlight. Great, even the nerd was gorgeous. “Your speech might’ve left my eardrums on 1HP, but it wasn’t terrible. For a normie. I’d never seen an AOE takedown in 4k before. But if this is about repenting for your sins in the afterlife, you should know I haven’t unlocked the comfort perk yet. So, that’s your warning.”
Emilia snorted and choked on a snot bubble. “Don’t worry, the last thing I want right now is comfort. I will however accept it in the form of clean clothes, a hot bath or shower, and something to eat. Lest I keel over and die.”
He slowly glanced at her ruined uniform, and then to himself. Patting the hardened ink on his cheek, he sighed. “Felt. Heh, looks like Mammon did what he always did, classic.”
He’s 100% a demon nerd. I might scream if we share common ground, but he’s so shy.
“Yeah, your…brother? He’s currently number four on my shitlist, it’s been a productive day for it,” he seemed pleased about that fact. “Though I’m relieved I’m not receiving special treatment, I’ve had just about enough of that.”
It took forever and a day for him to reply. “Why? L-look, like I said. This really isn’t my typecast. I was heading back to my room, but if you’re hungry, I suppose I’ve got time for a short side quest and could point you towards the kitchens.” He scratched the nape of his neck. “I guess. I mean, if you don’t mind being seen with someone like me.”
“I should be the one saying that.” she muttered under her breath. “Thanks, Admiral? I accept the party invite, lead onwards. Unless – you’re not guiding me to trap and eat me in there, right? No prob if you are, I just don’t like surprises.”
He froze, had she uncovered his master plan? Taking another look at the confusion plastered on his face reinforced her belief he probably wasn’t capable of such a thing. Demon or not, he would faint at the sight of blood.
She sniffed again, her exhausted brain making one fatal connection as her eyes met a pair of red and puffy reptilian ones. “Oh, you’re Discord Kitten!”
They stared at each other in silence.
Urny babbled in confusion. A stone dragon dragged its head their way in an abrasive grind, then faced the opposite twin of itself seeking answers. The painting of the woman stopped dabbing her eyes with a feather boa.
Discord Kitten leapt backwards, his intimacy meter depleting into the negative. “I’m WHO!? NO. YOU’VE GOT THE WRONG DEMON! LISTEN, I’M NOT THAT KIND OF – WHAT KIND OF NORMIE TOLD YOU THAT? WAS IT MAMMON? IT WAS MAMMON, WASN’T IT? DAMN HIM TO TARTARUS AND BACK!”
Emilia slapped both hands over her mouth. Shit. Another thing she hadn’t meant to say out loud. “Wait! You were in the crowd – the bieber cut. I didn’t mean – I was a belieber myself for a bit, and threw up on someone's chair at one of his concerts because I’d eaten too many sweets.” She fixed her gaze on his loose shoelace. “You didn't need to know that. Forget I said anything!”
“B-B-BIEBER CUT?!” He spluttered, thankfully too far gone in his cringe monologue to listen to her cringe monologue. In fact, he seemed more offended about the hair than the squiddy moneyshot. “Whatever! Look normie, my name is Discord Kit – NO, IT’S NOT THAT AND I WILL KILL MAMMON IF HE SAYS OTHERWISE!”
“I really didn’t mean —”
“My name is Le- LEV- LEVMETRYAGAIN!” He nearly clotheslined himself with his orange hoodie strings.
Before she could further ram her foot down her throat, Levmetryagain fled in what could only be described as a Youtuber jump cut. Frame by frame he disappeared down the corridor in a mortified shriek, before a lock violently clicking into place rattled the walls. Urny slipped out of her self sabotaging hands, pattering after him for their weekly session.
Well done, Emilia. He’s the least threatening thing you’ve come across since arriving and you scared him off.
No, she wouldn’t let this opportunity go. Levmetryagain might have the answers to her questions, and while his vulnerability could be fake, she needed to clear up the misunderstanding. More importantly, he knew how to navigate the house of horrors.
And, selfish of me, we could vibe.
With fleeting dignity, Emilia blindly grabbed a clawed candlestick as a last defense, and chased after the faint pitter patter of pottery.
Her lungs were aflame by the time she’d caught up to it. Urny had trapped itself in a walk cycle against a locked door. Cute as it was, she’d rather not be affected by the curse again, and stepped out of its radius.
Mourning the loss of a possible nerdy companion, her sense of direction null and void, Emilia tried the next available door, praying it would take her to the kitchen.
Unbeknownst to her, if she’d looked up for once, there would’ve been a glaring red sign saying KITCHEN. Pushing on the door, her hand sank into a false claw print, catapulting her into the room at full speed.
Darth Vader having an asthma attack greeted her behind three steel island counters. As she slid on the cracked floor tiles, she realised this was the kitchen, and the Sith was actually a stove on low heat.
Upon her entrance, a mischief of ickle imps danced between her feet, hopping onto the Sith-stove. They lit up the burner with their bodies, a straggler burning their bum on the flame causing them all to lose their collective shit.
In her stupor, she relinquished ownership of her weapon, propping the candlestick on the nearest counter.
The kitchen was vast, in theory large enough to feed a family of six demons. The walls had cracked from age, exposing stone foundations. Dark beams stretched across the span of the ceiling, giving it a cottagecore vibe if witches fancied a holiday retreat. Fascinatingly, an indistinguishable pizza oven guarded a row of toddler sized chef uniforms hanging up on pins. She doubted the demon siblings would fit into them.
Blessing her retinas, a gun metal fridge-freezer the size of a boulder. Emilia apparated over to it, only to skid unceremoniously at the sounds of noisy chewing and an ominous red light casting a shadow over a mammoth body.
The fridge door was fully open.
“Nice, Lucifer didn’t eat all of his Blacklight Kraken,” A rumbling voice tore out of their throat. “More for me!”
They swiped aside a square cake that looked a little bit like a frozen AMEX credit card. A blue sticky note fluttered in the breeze, plopping on the floor. Emilia squinted at yet another note in bold letters.
“Beezlebub, this is my after meeting treat. Do. Not. Consume. In all manners of the word.” – Must I identify myself?
Hmm, if I had to guess? Probably BookTok Daddy?
The stranger whipped out a black plate piled with brown spaghetti and dug in. No cutlery necessary.
Debating whether to attend this VIP mukbang experience or save her skin, Emilia’s feet made the decision for her. Staggering backwards, away from the appliance, her elbow knocked over the candlestick, which smacked into the side of a knife block. Sentient dark purple wings flapped into a nearby air vent, scraping against the netting.
Shit, everyone in the Realm probably heard that.
To her horror, the figure spun around. Locked onto her were two pitch black eyes. However, more pressing was the crimson blood dripping from his chin, two vampire fangs bared her way.
“FOOD!” They roared, ready to pounce.
Welp, this is how I die. Thought it’d be grander.
Actually this is on brand.
Flicking a cross gesture over her heart, an oscar worthy speech typing itself into existence, Emilia’s body said fuck that, and closed its eyes.
Her demise was taking a while, maybe the demon needed to set up another plate? They clattered around the kitchen, in search of one.
Oh my god, just GET ON WITH IT!
The suspense should be killing me.
When her ears were assaulted by a loud pop accompanied by a papery rustle, Emilia dared to open her eyes.
“Want one?” The hunter, about to take her life, offered a bag of Flays, clearly a pun on the American brand of crisps. When her response came with a delay, the stranger pushed it closer and grinned toothily. Tentacle suctions painting his gums, his eyes now a glistening lilac in the evening light.
MealDeal?
“Uhh, sure?” Emilia, stupified, gingerly plucked a safe looking crisp. Taking a single bite, her tongue staged a revolution against her taste buds.
It's like eating beach sand.
He licked his lips, spitting crumbs in her direction. “They’re brimstone flavoured, really popular here!”
She refunded what was left back into the bag. “On second thought, I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, tilting the entire packet of crisps in a ninety degree angle. A waterfall of wafers flowed into his gullet. One gulp, and they were lost in the stomach acid sea.
She tapped her fingers together bashfully. “So, not to dance around it or anything. But are you saving me for last?”
I shouldn’t have to remind him, but here we are.
“Is that a request?” He tossed the empty bag carelessly into the shadow realm, his eyes fixated on her. “Eh, you’re not my type. Too stringy, and I’m told you taste like soggy paint water.”
Unsure whether or not to be offended, Emilia said. “Happy to see someone paid attention. And it’s definitely not a request!” She pinched a finger. “More of a plea? To not.”
A man of many words, he solemnly nodded, reaching for the next victim.
“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” She pushed her luck.
Stalling, he licked the remnants of the Flays off his fingers. “Sorry, eating takes a lot out of me. I’m the Avatar of Gluttony, Beelzebub. Everyone calls me Beel.”
No shit, I thought you were Avatar of Self Restraint.
Having witnessed her Dad go into a Christmas dinner coma every year, Emilia could empathise for once. “Ahhh, okay. My dad gets like that after a big roast. Makes sense. Especially considering your portion size, not to judge.”
Bealezabab ripped open a train of chocolate squares and began indulging, occasionally pausing to offer her one.
“Not that I’m disappointed.” Emilia coughed to assert herself. “But why aren’t you desiring to partake in my flesh?”
The demon side-eyed her. “You do seem fixated on that, you’d get along with my older brother. He’s into all kinds.”
“Well, last time I checked. This is Hell, figuratively and literally. And you’re a demon.” She added, belatedly. “No offence.”
“None taken,” he wiped his mouth with a napkin; a satsuma tie. “Humans need to catch up, your views on demonkind are behind the times. There are some that would happily eat you, but most of them have found healthier substitutes.”
“I apologise for not thinking progressively about those gore doodles of humans earlier,” Emilia huffed. “So, there’s six of you?”
He took his time to answer, too engrossed in his second breakfast. “Yeah.”
Emilia began to feel awkward. “Cool, glad we cleared that up.”
Baalzeebib tilted his head. “Do humans always ask this many questions?”
Sensing the defensive tone, Emilia instinctively shrank into turtle mode. “Dunno, ask the other one. I get the feeling he’d bring a notepad.”
“Nah, I don’t trust him.”
Huh. Two for two. Three, if you count me.
Their conversation on life support, he reached back into the fridge. Sculpting a mountain of food in his swole biceps; scorpion tail burger buns, a tub of scaled chicken drumsticks, a rack of ribs that warranted its own species chart, and, bizarrely, several pots of honey custard.
“Nice meeting you, human.” Winnie the Pooh in his bodybuilder era mumbled a farewell, lumbering away. Blissfully unbothered by anything in his wake.
Clicking on to where she’d heard the name before, she called after him. “Chotto matte!”
He stopped, one huge hand hovering in the air.
“Did you…are you the one who…” It left her lips in a humiliating question, doubled by the fact she'd spontaneously shouted at him in Weeb. “Is it true you used my toilet and erm, didn’t flush?”
His face contorted in disgust, one of the ribs sliding down his teal shirt. “No?”
“Oh okay, sorry for the awkward accusation, it’s just that Ma-”
He scratched his chin with the corner of a food container. “Actually, now that you mention it, I did see Mammon in your room this morning looking out of breath. Maybe speak to him?”
With that mortifying conclusion, he took his personal buffet somewhere else. Working retail had burned into her, Emilia scuffled to close the wide open fridge door before any leftovers could spoil.
The barren shelves almost brought her to tears again. Yet tucked carefully into the corner, was a lone pot of custard.
Bless MealDeal, or, Beel.
In a post hunger state of delirium, Emilia thought she saw a glittery mirage sparkle strutting into the kitchen. An androgynous frame, not much taller than her, stalked towards the counters in search of something.
“Oh! I wasn’t expecting to see you here! You-” He left DeLorean scorch marks on the floor tiles at the sight of her red rimmed eyes and snotty state.“You’ve been eating your feelings already? Tsk, I’ve been telling Luci this place isn’t fit for a human.”
“Who are you?” Emilia choked down the dregs of her pudding, flinging the spoon anywhere, knowing in hindsight her peace had been rescheduled. “And no, you’ve got it wrong. I was just…”
“Darling, you can’t fool me. When was the last time you got a decent night's sleep?” He reached into pockets larger than logic, pulling out a thin black tube. “I fix lost causes for charity. Come here, it’s only a concealer.”
She flinched at the thought of a sudden chick flick montage. “What if I don’t want to be fixed? I’m not really into makeup anymore.”
The demon reeled, letting out a scandalised gasp. “Sweetheart I don’t know what happened between you and makeup, but you shouldn't blame it. Makeup lives for you, it loves you, it allows us to enhance our own beauty and doesn’t ask for anything in return except self love.”
“I’ll take that feedback into consideration.” She focused on the perfect arch in his cupid's bow, unwilling and unworthy of meeting his gaze. “So, did you want anything? Though, you should know Bellzeeboob just took off with the fridge’s contents.”
“Call him Beel before you hurt yourself darling. Be warned, he eats anything and everything…” Spying the ghost of terror in her eye, he backtracked. “Not you, never you. Although I wouldn’t want to be locked in a room with a hungry Beel. No, I came in here for a reason…” He suddenly twinkled in laughter. “And now I’ve forgotten. Beauty and brains can’t coexist, and I have plenty of beauty to compensate for, don’t you think?”
“Sorry for serving as a distraction.” Emilia had to bite down on her tongue to stop a smile. GlitterDemon had a talent for lowering people’s guards, she wanted to pour two glasses of champers out and treat him like an agony aunt. “I met someone else too. Shrimp spine, scared of his own shadow, purple bowlcut?”
Instant recognition danced across his features at the word ‘shrimp spine’. “Ahhhh, that’s Levi, my older brother! Let me guess, your interaction was limited in both time and words?”
“Yeah, he spoke more than Bellzee- Beel,” she winced at the recount of a purple blur. “He was weirdly sweet and about to escort me here. I accidentally offended him and scared him off. That’s how I ended up here, actually. Was hoping to apologise, but he’s a slippery lanky bastard – sorry – and must have taken a detour.”
GlitterDemon pitied her. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about. Between us, he probably enjoyed the attention. In fact, I’d have been more worried if you hadn’t offended him. Levi has…issues, and he makes those issues everyone else's problem, despite naming the problem as himself. Knowing him, he hid in the cleaning closet and waited for you to pass. He’s probably still in there now, slowly starving himself to death.”
Of all names.
What’s his surname, Ackerman?
“His name is Levi?” Emilia gritted her teeth, internally screaming. “That’s less… satanic than I was expecting.”
It’s also the name of my favourite fictional husbando and I’m not ignoring the sheer chances of that.
Hell strikes again with the temptation.
“Not sure what this has to do with Satan.” He glanced at his two toned teal and pink nails, almost bored. “Technically it’s Leviathan, but that’s a mouthful, so we brothers shortened it to Levi.”
Chuckling into his palm, he continued. “Lucifer loathes being called Luci so we all double down on it. Seeing as you’re new here, I’d stick to boring, plain, old, Lucifer for now. You don’t want to piss him off.”
“I’ve met Lucifer too,” Emilia cringed at her introduction, realising in real time that she could be in her room drafting more escape plans. “I made a royal twat of myself in front of him. Which seems to be the running theme. And speaking of running, I think I should be getting to know my accommodation more intimately.”
The moment she jumped off the counter, her fate had been sealed. He lunged, trapping her between it and his torso, gripping the counter with inhuman strength close to her waist. In close quarters, Emilia couldn’t deny he was beautiful, ethereal almost. GlitterDemon’s hair glowed in a vivid light brown hue that paraded on pink in certain lighting. This was dangerous, and repeating the question whether he’d eat her might be taken in both contextual forms.
Thankfully, he’d unexpectedly been making similar aesthetic observations. He plucked a strand of her hair from her scalp with the precision of a crime scene analyst. Gone was the melodic tone, replaced with goosebump inducing rasp. “Don’t ever cry on this hair without my permission again.”
“I-I won’t.” Emilia choked on her words.
Glitter Daddy?
He lifted her chin up, guiding her face in different angles.“Tell me who caused this. Name and shame, darling. They’ll regret it when I’m done with them.”
“No one. Really, I just got overwhelmed with all the faces in this place, ran into a trauma dumping urn, and then Hanger took the wheel.”
As if a switch flicked, the yandere tagged back out. “ Oh no, you ran into the urn?! Sweetheart, no wonder your hair is a travesty. It’s positively begging for liberation and screaming for product! Here, listen-” Holding up the fiber to her ear, he ushered her to lean in.
“I’m sorry, I don’t hear anything.” Emilia felt guilty for not playing along in his madness.
“Of course you don’t, because it’s dead, my dear! I’m conducting a seancé and the other side is calling out-” the bipolar demon mouthed the words ‘moisturise me.’ Yet his assessment was far from over, a now self proclaimed mortuary assistant, he handled the ends of her curls. “And these split ends are practically divorced, and sweetheart, the break up wasn’t mutual.”
She could barely get a word in edgewise, before the bitchy vulture began circling her, spewing out a PhD dissertation for Sephora. “Your complexion isn’t a total loss, it’s cute, but dehydrated. It’s okay, we’ll mask it, maybe ask the angels for a quick baptising. Eyebags? Designer; honey, you could carry my livelihood in those things. Brows; salvageable, in need of a good wax. Lips – OH? Soft. Sad. Smoochable!”
“Um, I didn’t sign up for this, but noted, it’s karma for insulting your brother. Can you let me go? I’d like to go to my room now.” Her eyes yearned for the door.
“Oh, no, no, no! You’re not going ANYWHERE like that. I would be denounced as the Avatar of Lust for walking away from this. You’re coming with me, darling. Your shine levels are in witness protection, and we’re about to relocate them.” He clutched her wrist, yanking them both to the exit.
“Avatar of Lust?” Emilia began wrestling her hand free. The implications of his title, while being negged by him and led somewhere, flashed neon alarms in those gorgeous rose gold eyes. “Look, I’m flattered, truly. Just send me a list of things to change about myself and I’ll be on my merry way.”
Despite her struggle, he barely budged. “Wait, you’ve got me all wrong, sweetheart! I’m not coming on to you, unless you’d be into that.” He winked as innocently as Lust could, releasing her arm. “Where ARE my manners? I’m Asmodeus, actor, entrepreneur, fashion model, perfumer, and just about anything you’d desire.”
“I’m Emilia.”
He stood, waiting for a list of her lifetime achievements too.
“Human. Former barista come Monday. Tim Burton background character.” She gestured towards the bag. “What I desire most right now, is an expert communicator. Before I go anywhere with you, can you please enlighten me as to where?”
“Oh, yes! My apologies, we’re heading to my room,” he corrected himself immediately upon her face paling. “Not for anything like that, I have some special product that should resurrect your follicles in a jiffy. I’m doing this for you. Mostly for me, but also for you. If you’ll let me?”
Emilia sighed in defeat, letting him effortlessly catch her. “You win… only because I’m scared of what else this house is going to throw at me and I may as well play it co-op.”
Asmodeus briefly clapped to himself in triumph, smoothly taking his hand into hers. He knocked on the cleaning cupboard door as they proceeded further into the mansion, leading her into the unknown. “The kitchen is all yours now, Levi. I’ve taken something for myself. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands ~”
Being accompanied by someone who hadn’t abandoned her at first sight, ran away, fed her and fucked off, and seemed to enjoy being around her, the questions Emilia held at bay came bursting out.
“I have to ask about the paintings, family members of yours?” She crooned her head in all directions.
“Total strangers darling, unsightly things too.” He grimaced at a Lovecraftian oddity riding a large Bathalzar. “This house is more of a rental from Prince Diavolo, nowhere I’d willingly choose to live.”
“Oh, so you have landlords here, colour me…not that surprised. How long have you been in this charming fixer upper?”
“We’ve been here for centuries now.” The flamboyance in his tone bounced off.
“Centuries? That’s going to be one big bill at the end of your tenure.” Emilia joked, feeling personally responsible for the change in genre. “I almost feel sorry for Lucifer.”
Asmodeus' mood pirouetted. "Lucky for us, our tenure is far from over. Which means I can spend until my heart’s content or my mana dries up!”
Ready to play twenty questions about her whereabouts and hungry for more demon brother lore, Emilia opened her mouth, only to be interrupted by a loud crash coming from the entrance.
“I SHOULD’VE KNOWN.”
Asmodeus’ confident stride stuttered, instead whisking her to the sound. “We’ll have to take a raincheck on your hair.”
The double doors hung off their hinges. Outside, tendrils of lightning struck a nearby tree, capturing two figures’ silhouettes in dramatic flair. BookTok Daddy stood gripping a whinging HotKlepto by the collar, the reds of his eyes flaring lethally.
All three other brothers dissolved.
“Sorry, doll. Come find me another time!” Asmodeus let go of her hand, somersaulting gracefully back to where he'd come from, with perfect form.
DiscordKitten chose the wrong moment to exit his sanctuary, took one glance, and did a full 180 back into the cupboard, his hand reappearing for a second to hang up a Do Not Disturb sign. Beel expressed fear by scuttling down the hall sideways, becoming one with the wallpaper, the food stains blowing his cover.
BookTok Daddy hurled HotKlepto against the plaster, paying no mind to an aimless Urny sobbing at having been chipped by a demon sized frisbee.
“What am I going to do with you?” He pinched the bridge of his nose with enough force to shatter the cartilage.
HotKlepto scrambled upright through the debris and, rather than apologise, instantly reinforced his beliefs as though guilt didn’t exist in his vocabulary.
“Look, Luci – it’s not what it looks like! The human – it was her fault!” He pointed at Emilia as if she’d staged a coup with mastermind deception.
She blinked. “What?”
“Yeah, yeah, I was lookin’ out for her, puttin’ my needs – I mean her needs – above mine. So, you can’t punish me Lucifer.” HotKlepto was already on the floor, begging on his knees with no shame. “You should punish her instead – but go easy on her ‘kay? She’s new an’ all.”
Oh, cheers for the last minute empathy, you devious prick.
How are those blue balls treating you? Hurt? Good.
Reassured by Asmodeus’ existence and his willingness to adopt anything with a heartbeat, Emilia on her last thread of patience, fueled the flames of many future fires. “Excuse you, you took a huge shit in my bathroom, blamed it on Beel and then you gave me a minimum wage worker tour of the entrance and abandoned me to get your rocks off! I have been stalked by creepy cthulhu paintings all evening, met a murderous unicorn, a PETA violation of a teapot, and cradled a contagious sobbing cursed jar, all because you couldn’t just tell me where my room was!”
Bold choice, Emilia. Antagonise the demon in front of the bigger demon.
“Oh, so she CAN talk! And LIE, she’s lyin’, Lucifer! I didn’t do nothin’!” HotKlepto’s eyes bored into her. “Don’t think I won’t forget that, human!”
“SILENCE!” BookTok Daddy barked, causing the entire house to shiver.
Asmodeus was right, never piss off BookTok Daddy.
BookTok Daddy in all his rage surveyed the chaos lying before him, taking note of the tear splattered rug, claw marks against the already ruined wallpaper, an enchanted suit of armour polishing vapour off itself, finally coming to the human girl with misty eyes, frazzled hair, crumbs all over her uniform, currently hedgehogged into a defensive ball.
“You not only disobeyed me, you left the human alone, unattended before she’d even unpacked and because of your actions, the house is – ” He gestured to the chaos around them. “ – in shambles. Along with the human!”
Emilia held up her hand weakly. “I wouldn’t say I’m in shambles, but alright.”
BookTok Daddy looked like he needed a drink, or an entire cellar's worth. “Miss Cartwright,” he gritted his teeth. “I…apologise for the distress, your room is up those stairs, three floors up, the first on your right. Dinner will be brought to you by one of the kitchen staff. I’ll send a handy-demon to deal with the toilet.”
I’m in my twenties but Daddy sent me to my room.
No need to tell me twice, I’m gone.
Emilia couldn’t get up the stairs quicker, especially with the main entrance devolving into a live action game of Cluedo – HotKlepto being murdered in the foyer. BookTok Daddy as every suspect, no prizes for guessing whodunnit.
She slipped inside what would be her humble abode for the next few years, it was humble alright. One ocular lap sparked a desire to walk back out and tap the walls for secret rooms again.
Because this couldn’t be it. Surely?
Laid before her was the barest, low budget Premier Inn experience imaginable: a plain bed, a boring desk, one dull chair, a generic wardrobe, and wallpaper so painfully neutral, it triggered a night she refused to give any real estate of thought.
Nevertheless, she collapsed onto the bed with a moan that called for a lit cigar and an apology to the mattress. Enduring all day had resulted in the perfect lover; soft, supportive, feathered, lemony fresh, and no signs of penetration by spring.
Her brain, complete mush at this point, bordered on shutting down.
And that’s when she felt a disturbance in the force.
She groaned into a pillow. “If that suspicious sorcerer has come to finish me off, I’m haunting Diavolo for all eternity!”
A pointed throat clearing announced itself, as if to say hello, yes, you there.
She extracted herself from the pillow, it wasn’t MagicMan.
A six foot blond cat leaned against the doorframe as though watching its owner use the toilet. TrueCrime’s arms were crossed, his expression see-sawing between amusement and judgement. “I heard a concerning noise.”
This is why she didn’t want roommates, she had no filter.
These demons need bells or jingly socks.
“Good to know the exchange student is…settling in,” He said dryly, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose being reassured you’re not dinner would relax you.”
Oh good, they’ve been gossiping about me.
Emilia shot up, finding herself in a new iceberg of mortification. “I was just lying down! Not like how you’re implying!”
“I didn’t imply anything.” The demon said, innocently.
You implied everything!
She threw her hands in the air. “Besides, can you blame me? I stepped through the gates of Hell and the first thing to welcome me were racist signs and placeholder menus.”
To this, he offered an arrogant shrug. “Some demons still believe in the old traditions. We do not.”
“But how was I supposed to know that?” She enunciated.
“You weren’t. Though I’d argue you shouldn’t have signed up for the exchange program unless you secretly desired to be eaten.” He gestured helpfully towards the pillow she’d screamed into.
Battery running on empty, Emilia grumbled. “And who are you supposed to be? Avatar of Not Knocking?”
Though she knew exactly who he was. Accomplice to MagicMan, possibly an assassin hired for work. Someone who dreamed of being the star of a Netflix documentary.
“Satan,”
Emilia blinked at him in slow motion.
“Avatar of Wrath.” He added, casually. “And I did knock. You were too preoccupied to hear me.”
Satan the Avatar of Wrath showing up to witness her post-moaning, in Hell. You couldn’t make this shit up, this place really was the definition of the word. Her personal neverending torment. She had a feeling today was a glimpse into the future dynamic of the household.
He surveyed the emptiness of the room in a striking sweep, taking clinical note of her glazed eyes and the ridiculous bag. Emilia looked away when they made eye contact again, her heart clenching up.
“I expected humans to have more…clutter.”
Normally she wouldn’t poke the murderous bear with a twig, but it had been a long day and the PrittStick gluing her mouth shut had long dried up.
“I’m an extreme minimalist. Nothing but the clothes on my back, a Wednesday wannabe handbag, and the stupid head phone.”
“I see.” TrueCrime tsked, giving her sweet fuck all to work with. All according to keikaku. “Have fun staring at the walls.”
He’s apparently a conversational minimalist. Fine with me, I’d rather not FAFO with someone known as Wrath.
She saluted his exit and let the mattress devour her physical body, conflicted about being left alone with her bullying thoughts again.
An hour later, dinner had been served. Her corpse dragged itself to the door, greeted by two humanoid pigs holding a silver tray up with trotters. One wore a yellow hard hat, wellies, and an adorable blue overall, holding what looked to be a disembodied green zombie head in a vacant expression. The pig wordlessly trotted into the bathroom.
A gurgled moan echoed through the ensuite. “DRAIIIIIIIIIIINS!”
Rob Zombie the toilet plunger.
All logistically impossible, but her brain had officially surrendered to Hell’s physics. Cause and effect didn’t exist here; chaos was the only law.
BookTok Daddy had gifted her with the most welcoming ordinary meal since MintManson’s shortbread. Nothing wanting to eat her in tandem, crawling off the plate, or bioluminescent enough to attract moths. Just a perfectly ordinary potato and leek soup, nursing a bread roll, and two pathetic butter squares that would not touch the sides.
The head of the house had enough knowledge of humans to not traumatise her taste buds. Which was honestly impressive, she’d have to ask SexyTumble to present him with another gold star or take it off their rent.
She childishly inhaled it, hunger hitting her like an isekai truck on the first spoonful. Delicious enough to send her to another world.
“Y’know I could get used to this.”
Emilia relished in five minutes of peace and tranquility, then the head went off.
A bloodcurdling screech rang out from the bag, loud enough to wake the dead. The walls were almost decorated in the latest shade of Soup as she lunged to assess the noise.
The head's mouth stitches completely loosened by an undone belt, and behind its mouth was a screen. The sight could only be compared to an undead Cave of Wonders, the face far from being a diamond in the rough.
“WHY COULDN’T YOU HAVE DONE THIS WHEN I WAS BEATING YOU INTO THE FLOOR AND SERENADING YOU?!” She screeched at max volume.
A notification sound chimed peacefully.
“Oh, a text message. Can’t wait to text all my demon friends.”
The head looked at her like a middle class passerby who’d heard a curse word.
“Don’t judge me, you don’t even have a body!” She wagged her finger too close to the teeth, the mouth snapped at her. “Ouch! Oooooh, you’re going in my Deathnote.”
Barbatos: Good evening, Miss Cartwright. Your belongings from the human realm have been gathered, they’ll arrive shortly. I assumed you’d want to receive the contents of the back of your wardrobe first, it’s safely packed away in a suitcase under your bed.
Her heart stopped. She wasn’t prepared for that one.
She took a minute to regain control, relieved when another text forced it out of her mind.
Barbatos: Any human funds in your bank account have been converted to our Grimm. Though if there’s anything else you require, Lucifer has offered to cover the costs – within reason.
They’d brought everything she owned and emptied her bank account? This sounded more and more like a cover up. Although having money in this world was a small win, she wasn’t having the way they phrased her budget as a reward for staying when she had no say in the matter.
Emilia could almost forgive the kidnapping for now, ostensibly drawing the line at stealing from her.
Emilia: When you say you’ve liquidated my bank account, I’m assuming I’ll get that back after three years?
Barbatos: Please refrain from patronising the D.D.D in future, Miss Cartwright.
Barbatos: It is fully activated now. You should be able to access all features and receive contact information.
You sneaky bitch, why are you dodging that?
Barbatos: My Lord has already pre-registered everyone, including himself, to your device. If there are any questions you have, do not hesitate to ask.
Emilia: Thank you, I appreciate it.
Alright, let’s see if you dodge this one, Pinocchio.
Emilia: About the exchange program. Do we get holiday days/time off? Can I use some to visit my parents?
Barbatos: You have weekends off and free time in late afternoons.
Wow, what a non answer.
Okay, change of tactic.
Emilia: Random question, but did you ask MagicMan to pass the D.D.D to me?
Emilia: Sorry, typo. I meant Solomon.
Emilia: He forgot to give me an instruction manual.
Barbatos: I’m unsure as to the logistics of that grammatical error.
Barbatos: Yes, Solomon was entrusted with your D.D.D as per safety protocols.
Barbatos: There is no instruction manual, Miss Cartwright. It merely needed to be activated.
Emilia: Oh, okay, thank you.
Emilia: Goodnight.
He didn’t hesitate to answer that, but everytime I mention my circumstance it’s deflected.
I’ll sleep on the ramifications.
Before she could finish yawning, the phone snapped down on her finger, hard. Her screams sheltered by the bombardment of unread notifications.
After yelling some more at Benjy and disinfecting her finger in the ensuite for the umpteenth time – having also choked on the lingering stench of Mammon’s welcome present – Emilia’s attempt at reading the onslaught of digital greetings came up empty. Benjy refused to wake up, and poking it resounded in warning growls.
Rather than lose a finger, she decided her marital status memory foam mattress had longed for her company enough, and, skipping the foreplay, threw herself at it.
While a beige blanket soothed her to sleep, all of the day's events came tearing through her mind in a traumatic Sharknado, nipping at her fatigue and spitting out her waning sanity.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the vox populi wanting to eat you. Don’t think about the serial killer. Don’t think about how MintManson knows Nate’s name. Don’t think about Mum and Dad’s reactions to those emails. Don’t think about the demons depleting your bank account and refusing to answer anything.
Don’t think about the fact you’re probably never going home…
“Just don’t think. No thoughts, head empty,” she instructed the bland ceiling. Sighing in simulated satisfaction, the gears in her brain halted as she lodged the wrench of unconsciousness in between them.
Just when Emilia finally started to drift into the Realm of Dreams, Urny delivered its I.O.U.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”