Chapter Text
His mind regains every ounce of consciousness, waking into the real world. The demon's golden eyes begin to open, having a difficulty keeping his vision in one place, however.
The afflicting agony that once consumed his body is gone, and yet all that remains is a throbbing headache.
"What... happened? Where am I?"
Trying to clarify everything that had occurred in the recent past, all the Devil can do is lay in one place without moving a single muscle. The world in his retinas change back to normal, revealing the room's true form.
The walls are coated from top to bottom of beige wallpaper with a wide purple carpet that spreads across the floor. Across the room is a desk, carrying a rectangular mirror and objects that are irrelevant to the monster, like an opened make up kit and perfectly aligned products that must've been picked out of it.
The large bed under the entity was like sleeping on a fluffy cloud. The ivory silk of the sheets is so soft to the touch that you just want to stay on it forever. The mattress even adds more relief to his body, releasing any tension above the demon's shoulders.
The Devil continues to examine his surroundings until his eyes lock onto a photograph, sitting on the top of a wooden nightstand with a lamp over its head like an umbrella under the sun. With what amount of strength he has on him, he reaches out for it, barely paying attention the cherrywood closet, opened slightly ajar.
Inside the picture frame was a single photo, trapped inside a thin case of glass to fit it in place of the artifact. In the photo contained something—or someone—that the Devil never expected to see. It was King Dice, sitting on a chair with calm, half open peepers and a toothy grin. It was as if he was staring right back at you. Then again, he's just looking at the camera.
That's when the realization kicks in. If this is Dice's photo, then that means he's laying in his bed. So, he's at his house?!
His confusion transforms into frustration. He hadn't seen King Dice in a long time, and now, he brought the Devil here like a helpless stray puppy he picked up from the ground. Why go out of his way to do this while he was attempting to hide from him?
"How did I not see him run me over?!" He growled.
A silent gasp escapes from his throat. Run him over? Why did he say that? He doesn't remember being......oh.
The Devil didn't have to retrace his steps to piece together the fragments of his memories. He has a pretty excellent memory, to say the least.
Stickler wouldn't keep his big mouth shut. He's like a broken record player that wouldn't stop playing scratchy music. According to him, the prince of darkness hadn't collected a soul in months.
The most notable thing is that the Devil isn't carrying his pitchfork, nor was his henchman at his side. There's a reason for that; the bubbles of failure. Why did he add such a rule? He comes with the most ridiculous policies, and the auditor isn't afraid of talking his ear off about it.
The bubbles of failure is just as bad as the impenetrable sweater Cuphead wore before it passed onto Stickler. You can't pop them in any way, shape, or form. They hold possession to anything the deity cherished, whether it be an object or a person he holds some level of compassion to.
Unfortunately, both his signature weapon and his loyal imp fell victim to them, and now it's the Devil against the world. He had no choice but to find a soul before the designated time (which is two business days).
Who knew taking the stairs to the surface world would take a lot of the air out of you? His lungs would've been as dried up as raisins. But that was just the start of his journey.
From tripping to getting tangled up in thorny chains to getting your nose bitten by a cute rabbit. It was difficult to having to get the job done without his belongings.
The Devil was so close. So very, very close to his goal. The cup was right there in plain sight! Sadly, he failed to go anywhere near him.
The last thing he remembered was getting hit by someone's car, which is confirmed that it belongs to the die-headed man, before passing out in excruciating pain. Just when he had the chance to claim what belongs to him, it was thwarted by that dumb vehicle. It could've injured him badly, let alone mutilate him if he wasn't immortal.
It's appears as though misfortune has tickled its way to the demon, more so than ever. The l Devil places the photo back onto the furniture.
"If I had my pitchfork right now, I could've just—!" He mumbles to himself.
He reaches his arms out, turning his hands into fists as if holding something. His mouth can only make out a few "pew" sounds as he pulls and pushes them. Lastly, all he can do is sigh as his upper limbs limp down, dropping onto the soft sheets.
He said it himself; if Dice failed to capture Cuphead's soul, the latter would destroy his life in an instant. In spite of that, half of his powers are tied up to his trident, and he feels helpless without it.
How is the deity going to capture Cuphead's soul, or any soul for that matter, if all he's doing is sulking in his lackey's bed? It's not like he's going to take Dice's soul and...
The Devil's eyes widen. That never occurred to him before. Why didn't he come up with that idea sooner? After all, the initial thought of destroying him was on his mind.
But what about their deal? Doesn't he already own King Dice's soul? He has been serving the prince of darkness for years. If he were to get rid of the vessel, then what would happen to the soul?
Evidentially, it would either disintegrate into a charring mess after getting a taste of hellfire, or it would be like an extreme way of getting someone out of a cage without downright killing them. To put it simply, his porcelain body would end up in shambles, but not the soul itself if under a contact with the demon king.
There is no due date, but who says there is one? A crooked, toothy grin spreads across his face, ignoring the exasperation that is still tugging at his core. If he can't get that cup's soul, then the dice headed man will make up for it. If it can get him his cherished items back, then so be it!
"Boss! I'm back!"
The demon sucks up all of the air upon hearing the visitor's voice. Dice is home! Whatever is the ruler of the underworld to do? He examines the room once more in a panic, having a difficult time coming up with a plan.
The cherrywood door creaks open as King Dice enters into the bedroom, checking up on his boss, only to find him in an odd position. A position that he never expected to see; The Devil, standing up from his bed on all fours.
"...Meow?" He said, forcing a huge toothy grin across his face.
"...Uh, hey boss!" King Dice said awkwardly.
Goodness, not only was he powerless without his trident, the Devil is having a hard time expressing his emotions. He feels like a fool. It lowers his self-esteem, all the more with a mortal like King Dice around.
"I'm glad to see you're okay!" The man exclaimed. "I was so worried!"
The entity couldn't say a word. Instead, he had no choice but to respond with a disinterested poker face. He is starting to question whether or not Dice was being genuine about what he said.
As for King Dice, he wasn't sure how alright his boss was. He is starting to guess he must've hit his head too hard when he didn't see him coming. He couldn't help but feel a strong sense of guilt underneath his fragile exterior.
Suddenly, the expression on the man shifts to lifted eyebrows and a sharp curved frowned. He raises his arm up from his side and hovers it over the bottom half of his face.
"Oh my." He said. "Sorry, boss, but I'm going to have to give you a bath. You reek."
...A bath?
"Now, now, boss! This'll only take a minute!"
The Devil scratches his pointy nails against the concrete floors, crying out a melody of hissing and meowing like there's no tomorrow.
His actions are fruitless, however, once he is brought to the tub filled with water and bubbles.
"Come on! Just gotta... getcha... CLEAN!" Dice grunted.
Saying that, he chucks his boss into the liquid. The demon pulls himself out, gasping for air as his fur is dowsed with the wet stuff he was dumped into, mixed with the scent of strawberries and honey lingering from the soapy spheres.
Before he could say or do anything, a strong sensation suddenly touches his back. The soft texture of a scrub brush that was once hanging on the wall.
Every ounce of confusion and hidden frustration that was deep within the Devil's core vanishes. His mind is as blank as a sheet of paper. Everything underneath his slender form becomes volatile, and all he can express is a sense of relief.
Oh, how relaxed he was. He couldn't stop purring and sighing. It was like getting a massage. A massage that he needed after all of the stress he had.
"Me-ow!"
He closes his eyelids, letting the strokes of the object in King Dice's hand wash his emotions away. The man couldn't help but smile at the sight of his master with the warmest of generosities.
The silence is the perfect ambiance in the die headed individual's house. The beams of light, shining through the windows brighten up the living room to make up for the lamps being turned off. The pleasant rubs of the man's palm caresses the demon's back, bringing him into a state of relaxation. Any moment now, he could end up falling asleep.
All the pent up feelings he had not too long ago vanished. It was as if he forgot all about what he was doing, or what his current objectives were.
For some particular reason, whatever could it be, the Devil was willing to let King Dice put a large pink bow on the top of his head.
Dice, on the other hand, is experiencing a sense of calm while giving his cat-like boss the affection he deserves. He just couldn't stop grinning at how adorable he is right now!
Suddenly, his train of thought was quickly interrupted when something caught his attention. The Devil's daze disappears, unable to figure out why Dice stopped petting him.
King Dice picks himself off of the cushion, forcing the Devil to hop off of him and onto the smooth wooden floor. The demon eyeballs at the latter, watching him approach the refrigerator from across the room where the kitchen should be.
On closer inspection, there appears to be small pictures, plastered from top to bottom. A majority of them happen to have King Dice's delightful expression on them, whether it's from satisfaction or from adulatory.
Amongst the photographs is a slim sheet of paper with a few dents and curvy handwriting, stuck onto the wall with tape. The man tears the item off of the furniture before turning back to face his master.
"There are a couple of things I need to get from the store." He explained. "A few groceries here and there? I'll be back in a couple of minutes, okay?"
The Devil jolts up, keeping his hands to the ground with eyes wide as bright as saucers. His tail droops along with the sudden movements.
"Meow! MEOW!"
Dice freezes in place. It was almost like the Devil was screaming out "no." Was he really that desperate to be in his presence? Or maybe he unintentionally screwed up his mind somehow, probably from the accident or after that.
Well, it can't be helped. He is unsure of what he should do. He can't hire someone to babysit him, let alone find a reason for him to stay behind all by himself.
Plus, he wants to make up for accidentally running him over with his car. The least he could is keep an eye on him.
"Then... Do you want to go with me, boss?"
That was all he had to ask, for the Devil loses the covet to keep him home, forcing a huge toothy grin upon hearing that question.
Without warning, the demon king crawls for the lawyer's legs, curling his body around Dice's ankles like a neck pillow.
The man couldn't help but laugh. The distinction is clear, indeed. He wasn't making fun of the Devil, but rather receiving his affection in a positive light.
He couldn't fathom how adorable the ruler of hell was when acting like this. After all, everybody fears him, even his most loyal servants.
In this state, the Devil seems harmless, and instantly got used to his sudden change in behavior. If that would be what he was expressing, then King Dice would have to agree with his current manner of thinking.
The dice-headed individual kneels down, giving his boss' cheek the gentlest of scratches.
"Alrighty, bud." He chuckled.