Chapter Text
Alastor awoke with a start.
He scrambled to sit up, breathing heavily. Had he been plagued by a nightmare? If so he couldn’t remember exactly what it was. How utterly rude of it to hide now that he was aware and capable of annihilating it.
He remained there, slumped over groggily attempting to shake off the dizzying feeling only to realize he was no longer in his bedroom. Baleful red eyes darted back and forth noting he was nowhere near the hotel, or Pentagram City. He ventured to guess he was no longer in Hell at all. For one, the burning garbage smell was missing and in its stead was the crisp scent of a pine in cool autumn air. Looking around, the place looked like a forest shrouded in fog and he was sitting in a clearing.
It was day, or at least he assumed it was through all the drab and gray mist. There were no footsteps or signs that he had been dragged, so whatever absconded with him didn’t leave trail.
As he got to his feet he heard movement within the mist. His ears perked up, alert and fully awake as his head swiveled towards the source. He absently reached for his staff as his ears caught the sound again. He didn’t think or bother to call out a warning before summoning a legion of his shadow puppets to him. Or at least, he tried. The power that usually surged through him so easily seemed to petter out before manifesting. With a hiss of frustrated static he tried again only for his own microphone to stare back at him in puzzlement.
“Whoever you are, can you kindly fuck off,” an annoyed voice called out and through the mist, Alastor caught sight of a toad-like demon lying on his back staring at the sky.
The thing seemed content to just lie there despondently and otherwise ignore his presence. Always one to cater to a new audience, Alastor straightened and fixed his cuffs with a grin.
“Hello there my good man! The name’s Alastor perhaps-”
“What part of fuck off do you not understand?”
Alastor’s eye twitched. The cheerful facade had been flimsy to begin with and although he was no closer to answers, at least now Alastor had a target for his aggression. He raised his staff menacingly, commanding his shadows to congregate. His staff sparked before giving a feedback screech that made Alastor wince.
The toad had the audacity to laugh. “What are you new? That shit don’t work here.”
Alastor’s heart raced as he stared at his broken staff. The mist coiled around him like serpents, as though it were actively seeking to suffocate him. Madness crept into his gaze as his composure cracked.
“Dumbass. Now leave me the fuck alone.”
“What a repulsive little toad,” Alastor hissed as he slowly approached the creature. The fact that his power was diminished did not mean he couldn’t beat the man senseless. He wouldn’t risk breaking his already damaged microphone, but he was strong enough to break some bones without it.
However, before he could wrap his claws around the demon’s fat little neck a gust of wind swirled around him and made the fog retreat. In the blink of an eye Alastor found himself under a bright sunny sky. He shielded his eyes against the sudden light but even blind, his ears picked up the presence of another.
As his eyes adjusted he saw a figure kneeling down and speaking with the toad before turning to face Alastor. It was an angel. Even with the ink-black robes, skeletal face, and glowing eyes, it was impossible to mistake it for anything else.
“Be not afraid, Alastor. I am here to help you,” its feminine voice reverberated from everywhere and Alastor fought the urge to throw his staff at it.
“I believe you have me at a disadvantage,” he said, baring his teeth, his ears pinned flat against his skull, “Who are you?”
Now that his eyes had adjusted he could see the angel was tall, though not quite as tall as he. It wore a hood, but he could tell there was a sheep’s skull where its head should be. Satin-black wings, like those of a vulture, were tucked along its back. They regarded him with an impassive coldness he supposed was considered a virtue among its kind.
“You are in Purgatory, and I am a Thanatos, your personal guide and guardian.”
“The Angel of Death. I’m flattered Heaven would send a personal Exorcist to get rid of me,” Alastor grinned.
“Angel of Death is a respected, high-ranking occupation. Exorcist… is not,” the Thanatos corrected with an amused tone as they perched on a nearby outcrop of rock with a flutter of their wings.
“Ah, but what does it matter in the end? You all look alike to me.”
“I suppose an Overlord and an imp seem quite similar to the uninformed too.”
That struck a nerve.
Alastor had to remind himself that it was a good thing they were underestimating him. Waking up in a strange place was unnerving, but banter, well, he could do that.
“Touche, but if you’re not here to kill me, then why go through the trouble of a kidnapping?” he asked, staring at his claws as though bored, “it seems rather tedious.”
The angel’s head tilted to one side curiously. Its bleached bones caught the sunlight and Alastor noted it was a sheep’s skull. A ewe if the horns were any indication. Its… no, her glowing eyes shifted and he could have sworn she was smiling.
“You know I was supposed to burst into song and give you a whole exposition.”
“If you start singing, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
“Oh, I wasn’t offering,” she said, hunching her shoulders to lean towards him. The pose made her look even more like a bird of prey, “But you’re right, it was a lot of red tape to get you here.”
“Well now I’m intrigued.”
“It turns out you’re quite special. A shock, I’m sure, to someone of your modest nature.”
The sarcasm was entertaining. She knew enough of him to make light which meant she was either stupid or incredibly powerful.
“Special how?” he pressed.
“You were made as part of a matched set. Two souls carved out of the same piece of metaphysical matter, but interlocked to form a whole. You were separated while alive as is the norm but-”
“Wait-wait-wait, you’re describing a soul-bond, a soulmate.”
“So you are aware of the term.”
“Is that a joke?” Alastor’s eyes were murderous. “In my circles, soulmate is something to be used. They’re leverage, an insurance policy to ensure your underlings don’t get any ideas.”
“Correct. Due to their rarity, Heaven has determined soulmates are a protected status. You are-”
“Ha… aha… ahhahahahaaa!”
“Is something funny?”
“Yes, you. All of you!” he said with a hysterical bark of laughter, “Protected status? You’ve slaughtered soul-bonded sinners left and right during your annual extermination! I should know! Do you know how inconvenient it is to have my top performers fall off the deep end because an Exorcist got to their soulmate? And you expect me to believe-”
“I didn’t know you were so sentimental. You use sinners for your own purposes, do you not? If you are the ‘Powerful Radio Demon’ you claim to be, I would say you do more than use. You consume them until there’s nothing left,” her voice crackled with static in a mockery of his own filter. In spite of himself, Alastor felt the hair on his arms stand on end. “I think if we agree on anything, you and I, it is that Sinners are inconsequential. Wouldn’t you say?”
Alastor forced himself to stare back and remain rooted to the spot. If he showed weakness now it would be over. He had to wrest back control of the situation.
“And yet here I am! I seem to be consequential, quite consequential indeed! Now why would that be?” he asked, storming up to the angel with a manic grin on his face.
“Your soulmate is a Winner. And it is Heaven’s mission statement to give Winners anything they ask for. It turns out, this Winner submitted a request for unification and so… voila! You’re special and important, because a Winner says you are,” Thanatos cheerfully replied before throwing up jazz hands. “Welcome to Purgatory.”
Purgatory, it turned out, was a realm much like Heaven and Hell. However, unlike the others, Purgatory seemed to be sentient and intent on refining the souls who passed through it. If Thanatos was to be believed, this place served as a final scrubbing for one’s unworthy soul, a last chance to make yourself presentable before requesting admission through the pearly gates.
The residents lived in seven semi-floating city-terraces built along the mountainous terrain. They were created as embodiments of the seven deadly sins penitent souls wish to cleanse, with the eighth terrace housing the city of Paradise at the very top. It was all meant to be very deep and allegorical. In reality, Alastor found the place to be something between a halfway house and a therapist's office. In a word: a buzzkill.
Given his favored status, he was allowed to live in Paradise in a place that reminded him of the French Quarter without any of the fun bits. “City” was a generous term for the place. It was more of a small town than a large urban expanse attached to what he could only guess was a transport hub. Most of the permanent residents were soulmates ‘in-waiting’ and easily spotted in the crowd considering they each had their own Thanatos in tow.
Still, Alastor considered himself a patient man and he took his time to understand who or what was pulling the strings. With most of his own power sealed away, there was little else he could do but observe and wait.
“Alastor, did you think about what we discussed?” the Thanatos’ question brought him back to the present.
“I don’t like your face,” he stated offhandedly as he poured himself a glass of infuriatingly perfect rye.
“Not a fan of skulls?” Thanatos asked.
“There were three of you with the same head this morning. How am I supposed to tell you apart?”
“You could always ask.”
“Alright then. I am asking you to change your face. Or at the very least give me your name.”
The angel’s eyes did that thing where it felt like she was smiling and Alastor bristled. “I told you my name.”
“Thanatos. You told me your title, but every shrouded skeleton out there is Thanatos.”
“Mmmm… it does seem popular doesn’t it?”
Alastor gave her a wide smile. “If we are to work together, shouldn't we get to know each other better? A friendship could do wonders for my rehabilitation!”
“My, you are good, I almost believed that.”
Alastor’s ears flicked in annoyance but the smile remained in place. “Whatever do you mean, my dear? I’m trapped in this place under constant surveillance. What other choice do I have but to befriend my jailer?”
“A loft apartment in Paradise is hardly a prison cell.”
“Whatever you say, my Sheepy friend. I suppose I’ll just have to waste away, pitiful and friendless…” he gave a sad pathetic little sigh.
“Why are performers always so dramatic?” her form then shimmered and she lifted the skull off her face like a mask. Beneath it was the face of a lamb with cream colored skin and pale yellow eyes. A pair of small black horns peeked from the white curls of her new hair although he noted her wings remained black.
“So much better!” he agreed, clapping his hands as though she had done an amusing trick. “This version of you feels much more personable! Now if I could get your name, my dear…”
“Thanatos will do.”
“You angels really don’t like giving out names do you? I’ve asked around and not one of you has a name. You all share the same one. Is it a taboo?” he smirked.
“It’s unnecessary."
“It almost makes one wonder if it’s something else? Does knowing your name give me power over you?” It was wishful thinking, he knew, but anything was better than the monotony of doing as he was told.
“We’re getting off topic.”
His ears flattened then and his grin seemed to sharpen as he pressed. “Or is it a convenient way to hide? Not that I blame you! I assume you’re all squeamish at the thought of getting your hands dirty. Yes, that does seem to be your style. It’s easier to be messy when no one can tell who you are. That’s the purpose of your ridiculous skull face. Why not just wear an exorcist mask? Hell, a white hood is easier…”
He saw her jaw clench but her gaze remained unfazed. Not quite the effect he wanted to have but at least this new face could emote.
“If you’re quite done, we were scheduling your group therapy session.”
He sighed and dramatically flopped on his chair as though he had suddenly become a rag doll.
“I’m afraid I’m simply not up for it today,” he said, swishing his drink and staring at it, “maybe another time.”
“Alastor, this isn’t something you get to ignore,” she frowned but then Alastor noted her eyes grow softer(?!). “You won’t get better unless you try.”
Pity, that was pity in her eyes! His grip tightened around the glass as he felt a red hot anger course through his veins. Still, he kept his voice even. “I never asked to get better.”
Her eyes were too large for her new face but even so Thanatos' expression was just as unreadable as before save for that disgustingly condescending look. She was either excellent at hiding her emotions, or truly felt nothing at all. What a fascinating concept.
He wondered what it would be like to feel nothing.
He wondered what it would be like to take a bite out of that perfectly symmetrical face.
“To be perfectly honest, Alastor, this is an opportunity for you. A chance at redemption-”
“Spare me,” he hissed his voice warping briefly into radio static, “if we are being perfectly honest with each other, answer me this. What is the failure rate of sinner ‘reunifications’?”
Her lips pressed together and Alastor’s eyes narrowed gleeful at the fact that he had made her emote something other than performative sympathy.
“Better yet, my dear, how many have been successful?”
Her silence dragged on and Alastor’s gaze became a touch unhinged.
“Have any succeeded at all? If so, then Heaven would have proof that redemption is possible and that would make their annual exterminations all the more heinous, wouldn't it?” his voice rose as though his restraint were slowly slipping, “So tell me. How many blissfully reunited soulmates exist in Heaven?”
He saw her jaw clench yet again before looking away. “None.”
Alastor turned his full attention to her with all the ferocity of a caged animal ready to chew off his own leg in exchange for freedom. And in the next fraction of a second the intensity was gone and he was back to his charming, flippant self.
“There, you see? Where’s my motivation?” he asked with a wave of his hand.
“You really aren’t even the slightest bit curious about the person waiting for you at the gates of heaven?”
He stared at her through bored half-lidded eyes. It seemed as though she was going to make him say it, so he might as well make it perfectly clear.
“Be a dear and inform my better-half that I’m not interested in this little charade. If I have to choose between joining them in a blissful heavenly union or the darkest pit of Hell. I choose the pit,” his voice crackled and hissed as the vitriol he had been holding spilled out, “Tell them that I would rather burn and writhe in eternity chained to another demon than dedicate a single moment of my existence thinking about them. And while we’re on the subject tell them they’re worse than anything Hell could conceive. In Hell everyone is quite up front about wanting my soul, but a demon at least has the decency to fight me for it and earn it fairly!”
“You are not owned-”
“You are correct about that. Quite correct!” he snarled as the static popped and screeched, “And they will never have me! I will never be theirs and I will never forget this humiliation and everything else they’ve subjected me to in their pathetic attempts to make me care about their insignificant little existence!”
At long last the Thanatos’ face looked troubled. He expected denial, appeasement, empty platitudes… but rather than respond, she sighed and walked away. It figured that now that he was riled up, she refused to engage.
“Same time tomorrow then?” he called out, switching on the cheerful facade on a dime. He didn’t watch her go and instead stared at the hairline cracks threading through the tumbler in his hand.
He had to find a way out, and soon.
It was a whim.
His entire life up-ended and turned inside out on someone else’s whim.
Thanatos, his Thanatos, had not returned the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. He had been left to his own devices for nearly a week, which was foolish under normal circumstances. Paradise, however, had been successfully baby-proofed to the point where the worst sort of mayhem was somehow turned into a fireworks display.
Alastor watched the sparkling colors fade in the midday sun with disapproval. That struck arson off his list of committable sins. This entire time alone, he had hoped to find some sinister underpinning behind the wholesome, scrubbed-clean visage: A criminal underground, a smuggling racket, a black market, anything!
Instead he found sinners in a deep depression rambling to themselves in the back alleys. That was how he found out about what happened to all the soulmates that wouldn’t or couldn’t make nice. Winners, it turns out, were entitled, conceited little pricks.
The Thanatos were visible status symbols for the Sinners. Sinners accompanied by Thanatos got access to the best cafes, sat in the best seats, and were as close to an upper-class as there was to be found in Purgatory. A Thanatos was a clear sign that this particular Sinner was important enough for a Winner to be invested in their wellbeing and happiness. Like having a rich patron, Sinners who played ball with the angels wore suspiciously better attire, attended galas, and had all the newest toys. That wasn’t to say any of them were running around in rags, but a Sinner without a Thanatos was not quite as put together.
Sinners who had antagonized their benefactors could be abandoned like a passing fad or a pet who had outgrown its cuteness.
When a Winner gave up on their soulmate the little social experiment ended. And while the Thanatos was recalled to Heaven, the Sinner would not return to Hell. They instead remained trapped in Purgatory as a twisted sort of consolation prize. The angels thought it a mercy, in practice it was death by understimulation. The drabness of the place would eventually dull every sense until only the bland gray remained.
For some, abandonment was a wake up call to try to be better or at the very least try to regain their Thanatos and with them the comforts of favored position. He saw these pitiful souls scurrying after the Therapists and Counselors like urchins after a scrap of bread. As though that would make their soulmate care. As though that would make them whole.
The others, the ones who had been here longest stayed in the shadows. These were the ones wallowing in despair and clawing at the walls of their enclosure. These were the ones who shared secrets of the woods beyond the city gates. Of the world beyond the terraces. Of angels filing into the mist and returning stronger and gleaming brighter than before. Of Sinners wandering too far off the path and losing themselves to the forest.
Alastor traded flasks and crudely-made herbal cigarettes in exchange for the hushed stories. They were rumors at best, and for all their misery, no one he spoke to dared to leave the safety of the terraces. But if his options were docility or madness, he would choose madness every time. What else did they expect of him? He had been dragged through time and space from his comfortable dominion and dropped off in the middle of nowhere. They had stripped him of his power, his underlings, everything that had taken lifetimes to accumulate. And Heaven thought he would trade it all for the chance at a soulmate?
Disgusting.
Soulmates were tools for manipulation or to gain more power. He might see some merit to it if he could speak with his so-called soulmate and gauge their usefulness directly. It would be easier to decide then whether to sink his talons into them or tear them to pieces and be done with it once and for all. But if they thought he would just content himself with this meager existence or worst still, crawl into the sewers and wither away they were sorely mistaken.
Now that he knew what they planned for him, it wouldn’t be enough for his soulmate to send him back. He was going to find them. He was going to make them hurt. He would make them regret his existence.
Unfortunately for him, results and vengeance would not be found in the bright, well-swept streets of Paradise. For that he had to search the misery in the shadows.
“Special they call us. Soulmates they say. But we’re toys. Playthings owned by the Winners! They can’t take us home, but they won’t let us go. They leave us here in this miserable toybox to rot! Just to remind us we’re not good enough for them! Just so we don’t forget who holds the other end of the leash!”
These were the rantings of a madman trapped in a state of being that was always meant to be transient. He had been abandoned, left to his own devices for the sin of not being perfect. The rejection had left him mad but if the others were correct, he was the Sinner who had been here longest.
Upon closer inspection Alastor recognized him as the toad sinner from his first day. It seems he had caught the man in the middle of trying (unsuccessfully) to drink himself to death.
How delightfully melodramatic.
Alastor had a different perspective.
“I seem to be running into you as of late,” he said, tipping a rain barrel over and soaking the rambling Sinner. The man yelped and tried to scramble away. “Good, you’re awake. The name’s Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure! And you are?”
The toad looked around before giving Alastor a blank stare. Alastor’s eyes glowed red as his grin widened to an unsettling size.
“Your name, good sir. What is it?”
“Uh… Vert.”
“Ah, Bert. I hear you’re the type of man who’s been around long enough to know things. Hidden things.”
“If you’ve been talking to the drunken wraiths they’re full of shit. Ain’t no way out of here. If I’d found one I woulda used it,” he spat on the ground causing Alastor’s eyes to grow cold with disgust.
“My dear, dear friend. It’s nothing like that! I’m just curious about my environment, the climate to be exact. So tell me. What do you know about the fog?”
Time passed. He wasn’t entirely aware of how quickly or how much of it, only that it invariably did.
The sunlight always had a pale, fragile quality as it was diffused through the mist. Even the nights weren’t entirely pitch black as those same droplets refracted and scattered the darkness into muted shades of charcoal gray. Life in Paradise had a strange rhythm as though the city were a rock upon the shore with the ocean wearing away at its residents.
It would be poetic were it not so frustrating.
The thing about Bert the Toad was that he provided a few key points of information which made him, well not exactly important, but useful enough not to kill.
First, the walls around the terraces were not to keep them in but to keep the mist out.
Second, during the day the mist had a numbing effect and prolonged exposure could cause hallucinations, but at night these gave way to waking nightmares. The effects were heightened the farther away one wandered from the wall.
Third, it was rare, but every so often a handful of Angels and Winners ventured into the woods alone and were swallowed up by the mist. The ones who emerged seemed to have defeated Purgatory in some way and returned brimming with power.
Now that last bit was intriguing. A font of power hidden behind a dangerous obstacle to scare off the weak? They might as well post up a neon sign with his name in lights and arrows pointing the way!
There was of course one tiny snag in his plan. The walls may not have been built to keep Alastor in, but the angels manning the gates refused to let him through without his Thanatos. The mists, much like the upper levels of the local social club, required a Thanatos to access. Bert was effectively boneless and could wriggle through the sewer grates and out the other side, but Alastor was another matter entirely.
The problem was that he had done everything in his power to antagonize his Thanatos. Last they spoke he had sent her off with what he hoped was an emotionally crippling missive to his soulmate. Too late did he realize that connection was important. Now he lingered in the shadows wondering if his cruelty had been too effective.
“Had I known she was my ticket out of here, I would have been mindful of the little wren’s feelings,” he muttered as he loitered in a darkened alley and stared at the half-bottle of whiskey in his grasp. It was better than anything in Hell but still a considerable downgrade from the top shelf he had gotten used to in his short stay.
“You could always call ‘er.” Bert was flopped over on the cobblestones and had finished off an entire jug of what could only be described as paint stripper.
“What did you say?”
“The Thanatos they gotta… gotta central office where they work. You could call ‘er and they’ll patch you through… unless she’s got reassigned… mine got reassigned… they're gone fr’ever.”
Alastor’s eye twitched and he flung the bottle down with a fantastic smash. “You knew? You knew there was a way to contact her and you never said! You never once thought to share such a key piece of information?!”
“Elodie… her name was Elodie… found out after she was rassagned… rissingnanted…”
“You empty-headed simpering idiot!” He punctuated the insult with a swift kick that sent Bert flying, rage colored every ounce of Alastor’s being.
A Thanatos walking by paused and glanced at the two. In spite of his anger Alastor froze. He had to keep his composure in front of these beings lest he be labeled a problem. His grin softened into its usual plastic quality and he tugged on his waistcoat as though to fix it.
“Well now, I believe you've had a bit too much sherry, my good fellow. Perhaps you require professional assistance.”
“S'not fair! I didn’t know! They never… If I had known… if she had told me… why… WHY DIDN’T SHE TELL ME?!” Bert wailed as he thrashed lost in his madness and Alastor took advantage of the diversion to walk away.
He had an angel to manipulate. Thankfully manipulation was his forte.
It had been surprisingly easy to convince his Thanatos to return. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even annoyed. If anything she had sounded pleasantly surprised he had reached out. No doubt she believed he had turned over a new leaf which would make it all the easier to get what he wanted.
That optimism lasted for all of a minute before she began reading from a report detailing how he had spent their entire time apart mingling with the dregs of society.
“Three instances of attempted murder, one count of attempted arson, loitering and disorderly conduct…” she tsked all the while floating mid air as though she were resting on an invisible divan. It seemed that although Paradise didn’t allow any harm to come to its residents, the angels still kept score of his attempts.
How unsportsman-like of them.
“I’ve made tea in preparation for your arrival,” he said in a pleasant tone.
That got her attention.
She had probably expected him to lie or deny, instead he was being incredibly polite. She stared at him as he smiled brightly and his surprisingly dexterous claws grasped the delicate china. After pouring out the tea he approached her with it. Her wary stare continued until she finally accepted the cup from him. Even then, she looked down at the cup in her hand as though wondering what to do with it. The moment lasted for a beat before she blinked and shook her head, the spell broken.
“My dear Ms. Sheeps-”
“Not my name.”
“Consider it a nickname! A sign of our blossoming friendship!”
“My friends don't just call when they need something. They also don't get into fistfights with bums in an alley.”
“You left me all alone for days! Am I entirely to blame that I fell in with a bad crowd without your spiritual guidance?” he asked, giving her his best doe eyes.
“Yes.”
Alastor’s shoulders slumped. This would have worked on Charlie. Then again, maybe he was just rusty from being around such an easy mark. Undeterred, his grin widened.
“You wound me. Very well, if friendship can't thaw your frigid heart, then how about duty? I have a request.”
“Oh this should be good.”
“What? Is it so difficult to believe that I’ve been reflecting on my choices?” he asked innocently.
“Alastor…” she gave an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose as though fighting off a migraine. Odd. He never would have guessed that angels got those.
“I won’t ask for anything you would disapprove of! I was merely wondering if we could visit the terrace below the city.”
“There is a tram at the center of town that can take you there.”
“Not like that. I don’t want to be transported like some common sight seer! I want to work on myself and complete the journey properly. It’s only one terrace down, the trail isn’t that steep.”
“You want to go down to the Seventh Terrace to work on yourself,” she asked dryly.
“Yes!” he said brightly
“You want to go down to the SEVENTH Terrace and work on your lust?”
He flinched as his ignorance caught up with him but thankfully his mouth was faster. “Well if you’re going to kink shame you’ll never fix me.”
It worked and he saw her crack a smile. He knew he had won without her having to say anything. It felt good to know he still had the ability to charm women into getting his way.
“If you’re going to be performing a katabasis to cleanse your soul, there are some basic rules. The first being, you must take a long hot bath and scrub those teeth clean.”
Now that stung.
“Miss Sheeps, I’ll have you know I have impeccable personal hygiene!” His argument was undercut by a fly who had decided now was the perfect moment to land on his face.
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” she replied and Alastor didn't appreciate how her new fleshed out face allowed her to give him the most unimpressed look he'd ever received. “Then again, if you’re unfamiliar with the concepts, I can certainly help you.”
He noticed how her fingers curled in a strangely claw-like gesture most unbecoming of her sheep from. Her proposal was all sorts of uncomfortable as he was given a choice that was no choice at all! His ear flicked in annoyance as it became clear this endeavor would require no small sacrifice.
“If… that is the custom… then… I suppose…”
“There were toiletries in your welcome basket,” she smiled and he could have sworn her teeth were too sharp and pointed to belong to any herbivore.
Alastor slowly walked to the city gates. Miss Sheeps had given him privacy to attend to his cleansing ritual after he turned down her offer to help. The last thing he wanted was to strip naked in front of an angel and have every part of him visible for her inspection. As he stared at the silver gates in the distance, he took stock of himself.
His powers were all but nullified in this place, and so he had depended on the healthy layer of grime to keep any would-be predators from thinking of him as prey. Without it, he felt stripped of his last line of defense. His hair seemed too red. The fawn spots on his fur were too bright. The smell of his own blood was too prominent. He was all but asking for something bigger to take a bite out of him.
He gingerly straightened his lapels and the too familiar ache bloomed over his chest. He had closed up the wound as much as he could but all that had done was to keep it from bleeding through his clothes. He had harbored an almost foolish hope that it would heal itself normally but something about angelic steel had either stifled his regenerative powers or made the wound a permanent feature.
He wasn’t just prey, he was weakened, injured prey and now that his scent was unmasked, everyone in a ten mile radius would smell it on him.
Oh what joy.
Alastor’s grip tightened around his staff as though to brace himself for a nasty fight but his smile remained carefully apathetic as he spotted Sheeps waiting for him. She was once more floating and reading a book without a care in the world. Envy rose up inside him. Here was an angel so secure in her power, she didn’t seem to even understand lambs were lower than prey. She was livestock. She was made to be devoured and yet she acted as though the thought never once crossed her mind.
He stifled all dark thoughts as he approached lest she smell them on him. She then peered over the page and gave him a cursory glance. Alastor, ever the showman, bowed dramatically.
“I take it the change is to your liking?”
“A drastic improvement. I won’t have to turn off my sense of smell anymore.”
His ear flicked in annoyance over the slight but he spotted amusement in her gaze and his grin widened. If he didn’t know any better he would assume she actually liked him. Good. Things would be a whole lot easier if she found him charming.
“Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm courteously and that again garnered him another faint smile before she floated down and accepted his offer.
The woods were drab and unimpressive and Sheeps picked her way through the terrain following markings that Alastor could not discern. Every so often they would pause before she picked a new direction to take.
“Paradise is on the summit of Mt. Purgatory. Purgatory itself exists as a sort of tidally locked moon just above Heaven’s exosphere. Very little of it has been settled beyond the terraces and the recreational areas,” she sounded more and more like a tour guide and Alastor’s head tilted to one side.
“Recreational areas? You make it sound as though we’re in a spa.”
“Are you not?”
“The guards at the gates prove otherwise.”
“Hm… we prefer the term ‘Hosts’,” she noted.
“I’m sure you do but in my day, a spa one could not leave was called a sanatorium.”
She gave him a mirthless smile. “There are worse fates than to be inflicted with cucumber water and therapy.”
“List five and I’ll take my pick,” he quipped, earning himself an eyeroll from her.
Finally, they arrived at a clearing at the edge of the fogbank. He could tell this was the beginning of a path marked by a white silk rope that faded into the mist as it wound its way around moss and ferns. Alastor took notice of the paper streamers cut into vaguely familiar zig-zagged patterns tied to the silk rope at random intervals.
“Directions are rather meaningless in the woods, but the East Path begins here. The terrain becomes complicated from here on out but the silk cord is there as a guide. You must place your hand on it and not let go. The path down is along the edge of a cliff. If you step away and become confused in the mist, you could fall.”
“...and I suppose that would reflect poorly on you, wouldn’t it?”
“Alastor, I mean it. You could get hurt.”
“Just think of the paperwork!”
She gave him a pointed stare and he grinned thoroughly pleased with himself. Alastor had heard her words and he considered them as though they were a curious glass figurine he had every intention of knocking off the mantle. This place was different than where he had first awoken, but that same strange feeling crept into his bones. It was as though the mist itself was staring at him, waiting for him to step forward so it could unhinge its jaws and swallow him whole.
Behind the obscuring haze and passive green foliage, there just at the very edge of his senses, he could feel there was raw power. How had he missed it before? It was thrumming faintly along the tufts of his ears. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there, like the reverberating echo of an explosion.
Entranced by the sensation, he stepped towards the mist only to be stopped by a surprisingly strong grip on his arm. Sheeps had stopped him and was staring up at him as though to read his motives. For the first time he saw her impassive mask fall away and there was a trickle of apprehension in her gaze. His grin remained plastered over his features but his eyes squinted as he tried to interpret her reasoning. Oddly enough, it seemed disgustingly earnest.
“Alastor, whatever it is- whatever this really is, I need you to understand you mustn’t wander away from the path.”
“My, why the concern? And here I thought this entire realm was rendered safe for my edification. You make it sound as though there’s something I should be afraid of. Now what might that be?” he leaned down as though to whisper sweet nothings into that floppy little lamb’s ear. His voice hissed with static. “Will you tell me?”
To her credit, she did not pull away nor did she let him go. Instead, little Sheeps kept looking at him with those big yellow eyes that reminded him so much of a bloodhound’s.
“I can’t deny you access to the woods. This place is for those ready to make a drastic change for the better. I don’t know what the lost souls told you or what you believe you’ll find there. But whatever treasure you seek, whatever power or relic you’re hoping to find, it doesn’t exist.”
“‘Lost souls’? Don’t you mean forgotten souls? Abandoned souls? Discarded souls clawing at the bars of their cells?” his eyes glowed and his pupils sharpened forming radio dials. “You let me out but restrict me to the path over some nameless concern and I’m meant to what? Trust you?”
The small outburst was little more than puffing himself up to look more dangerous than he actually was but even this he had kept repressed until now. He was right. He could feel something in the mist had weakened the block on his powers. They hadn’t been taken from him, the walls functioned as a seal! If he could get away from the walls… if he could find a way to counteract the angelic restraints…
“Purgatory only contains what you bring with you,” Sheeps replied in a gentle tone.
What a perfect example of a heavenly non-answer, but what else did he expect? She was an angel and it was just like a dog to remain loyal to their master. Still, how boring would it have been if she had given him the answer straightaway! Acts of defiance were half the fun even more so now that he had solved this pitiful excuse for a riddle.
The tension melted from his form and straightened before giving her a flippant one armed shrug.
“Then you have nothing to worry about! Shall we proceed?”
They spoke little as they walked. His claws smoothed over the cool silk rope as he felt the air become colder. Yet there was a warm hum emitting from the rope that seemed to shield him from the chill as he followed the trail. Path, he found, was a misnomer. There was nothing marking the way save for the brilliant white strand threading its way through the trees. The ground was covered in rich green moss and ferns which made it surprisingly soft and muffled his footsteps. As he made his way he noted how the fog became denser and closed around him leaving only fading outlines of each tree trunk. Eventually even these were blotted out. Who knew, he just might be wandering along a cliffside.
The snap of a twig confirmed Sheeps was following him on foot. He felt her sickly yellow eyes on him, studying him like he was a bug in a jar. That’s all he was to his ‘case worker’; a project, an experiment, an oddity to be probed and studied until he rolled over and showed his belly. His ear flicked in annoyance.
“Descending the mountain is relatively easy. The East Path is quiet this time of year so you shouldn’t encounter any obstacles,” her voice so goddamned calm and it made his blood boil. It was a shame she could fly, otherwise shoving her over the edge would have been an amusing way to finish her off.
Alastor supposed if he truly wanted to, he could figure out a way to get rid of her, he was clever like that, but his mind was elsewhere. Though the fog should have been stifling, he took a deep breath of cold crisp air and realized he felt lighter. It was as though a weight that had kept his powers suppressed was slowly lifting the deeper he went into the mist. A ripple of darkness underfoot caught his attention midstep and he saw a familiar face grinning back at him. His shadow had returned and with it his senses felt amplified! With a quiet nod he sent it out to probe his surroundings. It returned almost immediately motioning for him to follow before fleeting into the woods.
Danger? Or perhaps…
His grasp on that aspect of his power was tenuous at best almost as though he were holding on to it by the very tip of his claws. Crimson eyes narrowed as he turned to face the direction in which his shadow had gone. It was a risk. The safe choice was to stay under the relative safety of Sheeps’ watchful eye. The usual trade-off between safety and freedom came into play.
A heavy collar in exchange for Paradise seemed like such a small price to pay to the average Sinner, but since when was he ever considered average?
Since when did the Radio Demon ever accept chains with grace?
The choice between helpless safety and freedom was no choice at all.
His claws let go of the silk rope and the protective hum blanketing his senses fell silent.
A gentle swell of the breeze broke through the treeline and curled around him. The whispers carried in the wind sounded promising as he took a hesitant step. Freedom smelled sweet. He clenched his hand into a fist and the shadows under the trees stretched and bent towards him. Of course, oppression always masqueraded as safety and he wanted neither.
Power was all he needed.
Control was better than safety any day.
He needn’t trust anybody but himself!
The moment of triumph lasted for all of ten seconds before the ground began to shake.
The rumble grew louder and he stumbled as the earth beneath his feet lurched as though rejecting his presence. The land then tilted to a steep incline and slipped away, taking him with it. Fear gripped his throat causing his demonic power to surge in a desperate act of self-preservation. Ink-black tendrils sprouted from the broken earth and braced themselves around the nearby trees to stop his fall. He pulled himself up with this tangled mass of coils only for the wood to splinter and snap in half as the entire hillside gave way.
“Alastor? ALASTOR!” Sheep’s voice was drowned out by the crack and roar of the collapsing landscape.
His ears pinned flat as he heard her over the noise. She had wings didn’t she? What use was it to call for him? Alastor summoned his staff and it materialized in his grip in a shower of sparks as four shadowy limbs grew out of his back. He lifted himself above the chaos and with a great leap, he began to scramble up the active landslide like a fleeing spider. He wanted nothing more than to break and tear that vapid angel apart with his own claws but he supposed leaving her to be buried alive would have to do.
He easily leapt over a massive boulder tumbling past him and grabbed a broken pine tree to slingshot himself over the mess and up the cliffside towards solid ground. As he braced himself he felt his shadowy grasp snap and his staff gave off a spray of neon green sparks. The power that had propelled him so easily flickered before shorting out and leaving him in mid air. He floated for a moment, so very close to safety but now powerless to reach it. Gravity claimed him and he began to tumble down.
His eyes shut tightly as he braced for impact when a strong grip closed around his wrist and yanked him away from the crashing rubble. It was Sheeps catching him and pulling him away from the broken hillside. Small though she was, he noted her wings were massive and they beat steadily as though he weighed nothing. Her midnight feathers blotted out the sun as she lifted them above the landslide, above the cliffs, the mountains and the mist itself.
Relief flooded him.
He could see the late afternoon sun shining above a sea of gray and for a brief moment, he felt a sense of calm settle over him. He then made the mistake of looking down and he saw something dark pooling below them like a vortex. Flashes of lime green and ink-blotted darkness churned within the depths and in the glare he saw his own shadow grinning... reaching up towards him.
The image shook him out of his daze and he remembered why he was here in the first place.
As the angel pulled him up higher, the shadow's claws continued to reach for them… for him.
That’s right. He was here in search of power and as far as he could tell, it lay directly below him. That familiar comfortable hatred returned. This angel wasn’t rescuing him, she was keeping him weak!
Stupid, naive creature! He had long since given up his soul in exchange for power. Did she really think he was afraid of a little risk?
“Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven…” he muttered, noting that her gaze remained ever upward as though she spared him no thought at all. Rage coursed through him.
He acted out of instinct, grabbing onto her wrist with his free hand and pulling himself up in a swift motion before taking a bite out of her arm. Perhaps he wasn’t strong enough to wrestle with an angel, but his feral response stunned her into letting go. Gold dribbled down his chin as he swallowed his bloody prize and he fell towards his shadow’s open claws.
He heard a keen of pain followed by her voice calling out his name.
And then the shadows took him.
And then... there was nothing.