#mod chaos in the devildom

[inhuman-obey-me]

Barbatos and 8 because chaos 😈😈😈 (you guys are my favs congrats of 100k!!!!!)

Barbatos + 8: "Dead Walk" - Redhook

Rewriting the past means living without consequences. What freedom, for a demon to exist this way.

"Did you do something you need to atone for?"

Barbatos chuckles regretfully across the table at you.

"Indeed. Something I can never hope to undo."

He begins to reach over the table as if to take your hand, but he pauses just before his fingers can touch yours and withdraws, seemingly thinking better of it.

"A long time ago, before I came to serve the Young Master, I used to travel through the realms freely. Sometimes even through space and time. I never thought to think twice about the feelings of others I met along the way…nor in how my actions may or may not affect them."

Yes, his life back then — a life without consequences, or so he'd thought. Pop a portal here, twist a timeline there, and it was as though he'd never been there at all. Back then, it was nothing more to him than a trivial use of his power, and who was anyone to tell such a powerful demon not to do as he liked?

Well, you, for one. That's always been something charmingly strange about you — your willingness to throw yourself in harm's way and assert your opinion of how those as powerful as those demon brothers should act, even before you had made your pacts with them.

You tilt your head questioningly at him, waiting for him to continue, and he pulls back to himself, putting on a simple smile to reassure you.

"It was that mindset that led to me making a terrible mistake. One that…ended up having a great effect on the lives of Solomon and the Young Master."

He goes quiet again, remembering the moment he'd realized what he'd done — the desperate tremble in the young prince's voice, the lonely tears in his little eyes as he begged his one rare visitor to stay with him at the castle. He'd been too young to understand that Barbatos himself was the reason he lived that way.

If he were to find out now, of course, Barbatos fears how things would change. Diavolo is too just to allow Barbatos to assign himself this penitence forever, even if he did genuinely take joy in keeping himself by the royal's side. He didn't mind never using his powers without explicit instruction from his master; it had been his own suggestion. And was it so bad to chain himself, really, if he'd placed the shackles upon himself?

He'd tasted enough freedom to come to regret it.

"What kind of effect?" you prod, pulling him back to the present again with a tug on his hands, which he'd apparently placed over yours after all while lost in his thoughts.

He frowns and sits back abruptly. "I am not able to tell you the details of that yet," he snaps, immediately regretting how harsh the words come out. He tries again, more gently, "Forgive me for bringing it up. I didn't mean for the conversation to turn this way. It's rare for me to start talking about myself."

After all, it wouldn't do for the past to come back to haunt him. He'd gotten by this long without his secrets coming out; he didn't intend to start revealing them now.

But then, why had he confessed to you even this much?

"Perhaps a part of me just wanted you to understand a little more about myself."

You blush a little bit, bringing another careful smile to his face.

A part of him — just a small part, one he's suppressed for centuries now — thinks of how nice it would be to affect your feelings, your life. To leave some impression of his existence upon you.

Why else would he want you to understand him?

He feels the temptation to tell you on his tongue, in his teeth.

But, no. He'd decided to bury that old self — nailed the coffin shut on it, and wouldn't let it rise again. So that the consequences he'd always escaped wouldn't bury everything he cared about now.

That past must remain secret.

He won't go back to what he's always been.

[faolanmoon]

Random Short Solomon headcannons

Stfu I know I’m literally posting this the day after his birthday ( which is also my mother’s birthday) but I had more important shit yesterday like my mother’s birthday being the next day.SOME OF THESE ARE CRACK.

He’s probably forgotten to die at least more than once. I just find this to be funny as hell honestly .You can’t convince me that if he physically aged he’d look so old he’d like he forgot he’s passed his life’s expiration date even though he doesn’t have one. Dude just gets in a situation that’s supposed to be fatal is just like “wait I’m supposed to die?”

Is probably the only MF who has tried challenging Leviathan to the Devildom’s equivalent to Smash Bros. before MC that has come close to beating him.Levi almost lost ONCE due to RNG and Solomon spamming, and he refused to play another game with him for a long time because of the spamming.

100% has a stick enchanted with knockback II in Minecraft called the “Yeet Stick” he uses primarily for trolling. Especially on Asmo who doesn’t wear armor, like ever. Levi has kicked him out of the game several times over the Yeet Stick. Only MC is safe from the Yeet Stick because they have “Hide-the-body-anatior ”( basically a netherite sword with all the best enchantments possible) and can one shot his ass without proper armor.(Levi is the same, he just doesn’t have a funny name for his netherite sword like MC does)

He’s the reason why the ice cream machine at McDonald’s is always broke, don’t @ me. He’s so bad at cooking he couldn’t even work at fast food.

Shouldn’t know what Gen Z slang is because of his age, but somehow does. It’s scary because of how he’s able to blend into modern human culture, not as scary as Diavolo trying to be trendy and just being cringe, but it’s still “how do you do fellow kids?”.

Is not allowed within 100ft of Lucifer sometimes because he gets so pissed of at Solomon trying to make a pact with him. Solomon, it’s literally like my dad bringing home the milk, it’s never happening.

Speaking of dads I feel like he’d probably have the worst dad jokes, I would list an example ,but not even I would get it.

Would be the type of mf to shitpost on the main account. Idk how ppl on Instagram shitpost , I grew up on the SparkleCat and Sparkledog days of DeviantArt, you think I use Instagram? I just know it’s what Devilgram is based off of.

Speaking of one of the social media platforms I know more about, whatever the Devildom’s equivalent of Tumblr is, he Levi and MC 100% have one. Solomon only has an account for chaos and some of the shitpost this beautiful Superhell( complementary) has meanwhile Levi is here for fandom stuff and is 100% a Tumbler Vet, Mc has an account for both reasons.

Solomon is also the only person besides Levi and MC who would know wtf Discord is and would have one. Remember the time before Rhythm bots 1 and 2 shut down in 2021? Yeah he’d 100% be trolling in VCs with those bots. (Also before someone in 2023 tries to be a smart ass check the date before you “Well actually the Rhythm bots are back as if 2023 🤓” because it’s not 2023 as I write and publish now is it?) The very last thing he ever had a Rhythm bot play was The Sound of Silence ( or more commonly “Hello Darkness My old Friend) on that famous day in September 2021 when the bots shut down. After the bots shut down he’d instead troll with Discord voice mods. Besides trolling, Solomon would be a massive shitposter when a hard drive of memes that are no where near as many as Levi has.

When no one else is around ( especially Luke) Barbatos goes full Gordon Ramsay on him.

Beel can be heard weeping whenever he smells Solomon’s cooking.

Him and Mc are the only humans who don’t fear God nor death. Not even 13 can make them fear death.

Mammon, Luke , Simeon, Raphael and 13 get trolled the most by him.

Do not let him or anyone in general discover MC’s fan base, fanfics about MC, or any ships involving MC. He’d be the one most chaotic fans MC has the moment he does. Would be the type to make shitposts out of MC ships and use it to fuck with Mammon and Levi who totally wouldn’t already have started shipping wars.

And on fucking with Mammon he’s 100% been robbed by him and would use magic to fuck with Mammon since he’s why we can’t have shit in the Devildom or Detroit.

Solomon and MC are both Asmo’s feral gremlins that should be feared, Solomon is just less bloodthirsty than MC.

None of the Henrys trust him, not even 2.0. Henry 1.0 would kill him without hesitation while Henry 2.0 flares his gills up when he sees him.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Congrats on 100k!! Solomon + 72 would be interesting👀

Solomon + 72: "MONEY" - The Warning

Solomon wipes the poison from his mouth with his sleeve, giving the unconscious demon before him a nudge with his foot.

There's a shallow pool of blood beside him, coagulated purple, which Solomon is careful to avoid stepping in; at a guess, some shard must have cut the demon as he dropped. A matching one, smaller and redder, is smeared across the floor, equally littered with glass where the sorcerer had thudded to the ground a moment later.

Still, Berith doesn't move, deep under the effects of the first command Solomon had issued since their pact was made the previous day: "Sleep."

Good.

It's a cruel thing Solomon has learned to do. It's sad, and it's true, and it hurts that he has to do it this way.

Admittedly, though, it doesn't hurt as much lately — not considering what they've put him through in exchange.

"Being in a pact with a demon doesn't make them your friend. A pact is a pact, and nothing more. Each party has its own separate interests."

Barbatos had taught him that once, long ago.

Back then, Solomon hadn't made any pacts of his own yet. He'd hardly even considered it. He'd believed himself powerful enough, or at least thought that he could be, with enough training. He'd always had a talent for magic. Wasn't that good enough?

But that was before the other two realms had taken notice of just how talented he really was, back before he understood the lengths each side was willing to go to take him for their own ends. Consuming him, controlling him, containing him — whatever they wanted with him, really, and there had been nothing he could do to fend them off.

He was naive then, to think there was such thing as powerful enough. He knows better now.

His skin feels raw where his newest pact sigil sits, stinging at the left base of his neck, just beside where his throat meets his chest — likely near where Berith's poison had gotten trapped. A sick reminder of how the Demon Duke of Alchemy had tried to kill him immediately after forging their pact, and one he'll now carry for the rest of his immortal life.

It may be cruel, what Solomon did to him, and what he plans to do with him in the future. It's also necessary. These are demons he's dealing with. And he's human, after all.

With a short incantation, Solomon reshapes the broken glass into a small vial to hold the spilled remains of his poisoned drink. It had been strong enough to overpower Solomon's neutralizing agent within seconds. It'll be a potentially useful tool for the future.

Another stack of sins he'll be burying himself in.

"That's how it has always been with pacts between sorcerers and demons, and how it should be."

He'll never ask for forgiveness. This is just how these things work.

[inhuman-obey-me]

59 w/ Solomon!!

Solomon + 59: "Bloodbath" - Polyphia ft. Chino Moreno

He wakes suddenly, heart pounding, blood and greenery still stained across his vision. A back turned to him, leaving. That disdainful voice he hasn't heard in such a very long time, so full of disappointment, sending a long forgotten pain striking through his chest.

Solomon tries to clear his head as his mind slowly comes back to reality, registering his room again, bit by bit. The softness under his clutched fingers is the sheets of his bed, not the crumbling dirt of the garden. The dappling of orange lights across from him are only the bright Devildom streetlights gleaming through the Cocytus Hall window, not the fading sun through Eden's tangled foliage.

Most importantly, the twisting heat in his stomach is only the thick grip of fear. Not blood. It's not blood.

It's not real — anymore.

His lungs strain from his chest in hard, thin breaths as he shakes off the last of the dream. That person, who'd once been so close with him, is long gone. They'd made their choices, and he'd made his. And yes, those choices had left him forging this path alone for a long time.

But, you're with him now. For the first time since that gruesome incident, he has an apprentice again, and he allows himself to feel hope. You know what he's trying to do, and you've agreed to walk this path alongside him.

For now.

Maybe it's only because you haven't gotten involved with other sorcerers yet.

Maybe it's only a matter of time.

He smiles bitterly to himself, remembering how his former apprentice used to look at him — the enthusiastic smile, the admiration, that confident determination. He'd been so proud back then. They'd felt like an unstoppable pair, and for a few years there, Solomon had really believed that his lofty goals could even be in reach. Humanity would stand equally, finally, not between the other realms but amongst them.

The establishment of the Sorcerer's Society changed things.

He'd once called it a lack of focus, or perhaps a lack of vision. But that was unfair, wasn't it? Of course the other humans who joined didn't have the same goals as he did. They'd never seen the things he had. They didn't care about the same things he did.

He just hadn't expected his own apprentice to turn on him so hard alongside them.

"This isn't about the Three Realms! Why does it matter so much what they think of us? I'm sick of hearing about your angels and your demons. It's inside your head where you create your own war with them. Stop dragging the rest of us into it. We have real battles to fight."

And so, one of those battles became against Solomon himself, ending with blood and dragon fire and being abandoned by everything he'd held dear. They had left him there to die, knowing full well that he wouldn't.

The immortal sorcerer had been alone ever since — carrying on with that vacant, unholy determination in his chest, trudging on down this path that has earned him the ire and disdain of seemingly all sides, even his own.

Until you.

You, you've been all mixed up into the business of angels and demons all along, haven't you? You feel the weight of being subject to their desires and their pressures, just like him, don't you? You understand what he's trying to do, don't you?

And so, you won't turn on him — will you?

It scares him that he doesn't know.

Solomon reminds himself not to pin all his hopes on you. You love him, he knows, but you love all of them too — the demons, the angels, even the reaper Thirteen. If you ever chose to oppose him in favor of them, he doesn't think he could bear it. But he knows he would have to, just like every time he's had to before.

He's just so tired of being alone.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Hi! Congratulations on the likes!

Lucifer 47?

Lucifer + 47: "Corrosion" - Thy Art Is Murder

Heaven is burning, and it's all his fault.

Lucifer's six wings beat wearily around him as he takes a moment to look over the scene, clearing the smoke from his face with each heavy movement.

His heart, thudding in his chest with the exhaustion of battle, feels just as heavy. This is his home — it always has been, since the moment he was born. And he loves it. He loves this place, so much. The Celestial Realm is so full of beauty, with its flourishing landscapes of sun-drenched fields, its groves and gardens so lovely in their blooming.

And now, by his rebellion, that beauty is gone, trampled beneath the heavy footfalls of warfare.

Lucifer reminds himself that it is necessary, as he flies over to survey the fighting below in search of his siblings. No matter how beautiful, it wouldn't change that their lives here have been growing out of rotten roots. He's begun to see another way of life, a better way, but instead of even entertaining the thought of working towards peace between the realms, Father's concerns seem more fixated only on punishing angels for their crimes — angels like Lilith, too naive and loving for her own good.

But angels like them aren't supposed to be naive. They aren't meant to be anything. Angels are only meant to obey, as servants and soldiers, carrying out His will and His rules without question.

What a sorrowed land, to have to live that way.

He sweeps groundward, seeing a familiar face amidst a growing pool of red in his surveillance. "Baraquiel, are you alright?" he asks, hurrying to help an injured cherub to his feet.

The other angel gives him a weak grin. "Well, well, if it isn't our commander himself. Thank you, Lucifer. But sorry to say, I'm afraid I won't be much help for the rest of this battle."

"I should be the sorry one, for letting you bear these injuries to fight my battle." Lucifer shakes his head, readying a soft glow of healing magic over one of the worse injuries.

Baraquiel pushes the seraph's hand away with a gentle, regretful smile. "No, I — I chose to follow you. To try to leave the old ways. I wanted to give you my power…as my own decision, for once." He slumps limply against the remains of a half-fallen tree with a groan, though he tries not to let his grin fall. "Save your magic, Lucifer, sir. And if you could…I know Beelzebub is close with you. Could you tell him that I'm sorry? I don't think I'll be getting that burger I promised him after all."

Drip by drip, the lifeblood continues to drain from his face, but the cherub pushes all Lucifer's attempts at treatment away, insisting he move on. And it's true, there are others still out there. He still has Lilith and his brothers to look for, and many more battles still to fight before he can even dream of victory against Father.

Finally, Lucifer leaves, Baraquiel's words still reverberating in his heart. My own decision, for once.

The guilt for his fallen comrade is matched only by a regrowing bloom of rage.

The angels give everything for Father. And this is said to be correct, for He gave them their lives and everything they have.

But He also gives them pain, and they have no recourse for that. He would rather let so many of the angels die than give one moment's consideration that His punishments could be wrong — to allow for even a moment that Lilith, and so many other angels before her, could deserve better. To let any of the angels experience mercy. To let any of them truly find peace.

As Lucifer takes to the skies again, he grimaces, his focus renewed.

Heaven is burning. And it's all His fault.

[inhuman-obey-me]

75

Thirteen

Thirteen + 75: "Catharsis" - Motionless in White

The dark silhouette casts a long, frightening shadow in the bright light of the window — tendrils of softly curling hair flowing in waves, a slender figure, curving down to the loose fluttering of hanging fabric.

"Are you an angel?"

"Of course not. I'm a reaper." Thirteen shakes her head as she steps forth, trying not to roll her eyes. She gets the question far too often, and she's more than tired of it.

As she steps forward for the old bedridden woman to see better, she sees a mix of emotions cross the frail human's face. There is shock, first. Then confusion, taking in Thirteen's certainly untraditional appearance. Fear, followed by disgust and anger. And then, as it always happens, grief. Deep, despairing grief.

The woman looks ragged, face wrinkled by the pushing and pulling of age.

"You've come to take me, then."

Against her will, a tiny sympathetic part of Thirteen always rises when they do this — and they always do this. Despite humans being defined by their mortality, they never do find themselves truly ready for it when it comes. And no matter how many times she's done this over the thousands of years, it always tugs at her a little more than she'd ever admit. Candy tells her it's best to just do the job without interaction, to just collect the souls and go. But Thirteen thinks that's stupid. She's always preferred the rhythm of rebellion, and doing things her own way.

Her voice softens. "I'm not your enemy. But it is time."

"Will it hurt?"

"Not for much longer. Not the way it hurts here." Thirteen gives the woman a reassuring smile, putting a hand on her hip, the narrow slits of her pupils focused on pulling out the shining essence of the woman as she works. She is drawing the old woman's soul out already, but she doesn't need to know that. It's better for them when they don't realize it. So she keeps talking to hold onto the woman's attention. "It's a place of peace, away from all the noise. A place where you can feel completed. All that you always needed."

The human trappings of the soul fall away as it emerges, emotions and memories sliding off like rainfall until it shines alone, cleansed of its earthly existence.

What remains reminds her of aventurine — an interlacing web of sparkling facets threading through a green as deep as the ocean floor. As the breaths stop in the body below, the last of her life courses across the shimmering shape, a rippling light the texture of crashing waves sweeping over each surface inside, twisting it all up into a small sphere that floats easily into the reaper's hand. A flick of her scythe-charmed bracelet sends it on to the realm where it belongs.

Huffing with satisfaction at another job done, Thirteen pulls out her reaper's list and marks the woman's name off, chewing the tip of the pen as she skims over the rest of the names again. That's the last one for the day, which means…it's time to blow off a little post-work steam.

She smiles to herself as she whips out her D.D.D. to shoot off a quick message to her favorite apprentice sorcerer:

"Hey, are you free now? I feel like going shopping, so let's get Mephisto to carry our bags and hit Black Cat Market! Meet you there?"

[inhuman-obey-me]

Asmodeus, #69 pls 🫡

LOL of course this is the combo that got two requests in a row very soon after posting.

Asmodeus + 69: "Paper Crown" - Dark Divine

content warnings: blood, violence

Asmodeus adjusts the cardstock crown atop his head, pushing it up to keep it from falling off his lusciously styled hair. A shimmer of fire reflects in his narrowed pupils as he leans down, his glossed lips close enough to touch the other demon's cheek as he whispers into their ear.

"Now, what were you saying about tearing apart my crown, at my party, Maylalu? I don't remember even inviting you."

"That's the point, you never invite demons like me!" the lesser demon sputters, breathing heavily as he struggles uselessly against his silk ribbon restraints. His ruddy orange-red complexion stands out even more under the smooth pink fabric, and Asmo smiles with disdain at the dry, uneven skin.

"Oh, was that all you wanted? An invite? Of course, I should have realized that you wanted to admire my beauty up close, too. How's this? Close enough for you?" Asmo runs a sharply manicured nail across the other's chin to force Maylalu's face to him, pinching it coldly between the pointed ends until a bead of warm blood dribbles over the crust of jewels embedded in the polish. "But you've got to work on your party manners first. I mean, this isn't really what people usually mean by crashing a party, you know?"

His laughter is sharp as he gestures towards the wreckage of the room. Crumbles of the wall that Maylalu had broken down upon entering are strewn across the floor. Smashed furniture is covered in glittery goop from exploded bottles of Asmo's special collaboration nail polish, the feature of the party. Shattered glass sparkles in pebbles over pools of spilled champagne, matching the shards Asmo had rammed through the Maylalu's hand after he'd apprehended the uninvited guest.

What was not to be found, on the other hand, was anyone else. The other attendees had fled after the initial attack, leaving only the two of them there, much to Asmo's frustration. He'd worked for weeks on planning this party to be just right. The polish launch party was supposed to be just like him — perfect.

With an exaggerated sigh, he picks up a neglected cupcake from a nearby table, taking a moment to admire the delicately placed beaded sprinkles scattered over the bright pink frosting — Wicked Cupcakes, his favorite. He'd had to order a month in advance for them to make enough of them, especially how they'd even matched the jewels of his nails in the arrangement of the sprinkles.

The paper peels away from the sides easily, and he smiles again, straddling his intruder's lap as he pushes the whole thing into the other's mouth. A drip of fire slinks down the demon's chin as he gags on the thick, sugary frosting.

"Well, we can fix that. I'll teach you all night long about how to be a good party guest. And then, once we're done, maybe you'll be fit to be a mannequin at my next one, hmm?"

[inhuman-obey-me]

Solomon + 🙊 please and thank you!

"I've never found a way to be honest." - Solomon/MC

You run your fingers over the leather-bound spines of rows upon rows of notebooks crammed too tightly into the bookshelves lining Solomon's walls. Centuries of magical experimentation are recorded therein, thousands of pages of the sorcerer's past efforts and investigations -- and the only tangible glimpses you've ever gotten into his life before.

"You know, you seem like the type of person who would keep a journal," you say, looking back inquisitively towards him. "Do you?"

"What, here, in the Devildom? Not out in the open like that where anyone could find it," he answers with a teasing grin. "Why? Would you like to read it?"

"Would you really show it to me?" You're pretty sure it's not a serious offer, but you perk up a little despite yourself. You can't help it; it's been over a year since he took you on as an apprentice, yet still he dodges your questions every time you try to learn more about him.

"For my adorable apprentice? Of course," he says, his smile never leaving his face, "if I had one to show. But I stopped writing them, oh, a couple thousand years ago probably, so I guess not!"

"Solomon!" you yell in frustration, lightly tossing a stray tome at him that he easily deflects with a flash of magic. "Just say that then! Can't you be honest with me for once in your life?"

"Honest, hm? I wonder," he laughs cheerfully, though there's an edge to it that you're not used to hearing. You can't quite pinpoint what emotion is hidden inside -- sadness, bitterness? Emptiness, maybe, or something else entirely. There's a shadow of something almost dangerous in his storm-colored eyes -- but he captures your hands in his and presses a deep kiss against your lips before you have a chance to understand what it is.

His breath is warm against your face, his fingers intertwining their way tightly through yours, and you can feel the wave of raw, unspoken emotion from him. You start to melt into him against your better judgment, begrudgingly letting your annoyance slip away under his touch.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulls away, that unreadable grin wide across his face again. "How was that? Was that honest enough?"

You could murder this man, if he weren't immortal.

"You know that's not what I meant!" You sigh, then add, "Solomon...why don't you trust me?"

He gives another soft hum in thought, brushing his lips lightly upon your forehead without meeting your gaze. "Trust is a hard thing to give away with all these angels and demons around us," he murmurs finally. "I've never found a way to be honest."

You frown, squeezing his hand in yours.

"Well, I want to trust you, Solomon. So I need you to trust me. Please."

He falls quiet, then kisses you again, softer this time, more vulnerable than the first. When he lets go, his face lingers inches from yours. For the first time, you see a hint of fear in his eyes. They stare deeply into you, as if searching for any reason to back out, any excuse to pull away. His muscles are tensed, ready to run.

But you have always been honest with him. He owes you the same.

"Okay. I will."

[inhuman-obey-me]

Congrats on 🎉4000🎉 followers, you honestly deserve it. I love reading all your work. Can I request 👻 + Belphegor, with MC involved?

Two requests for Belphie with this prompt, wow! Thank you both for your compliments and the request!!

"I'm the creature that haunts your mind." - Belphegor/MC

cw: references to Lesson 16

You weren't always scared of the dark.

The thought has been weighing heavily on Belphegor's mind recently. It comes to him again as he watches you startle backwards at the innocent sight of a door unexpectedly ajar.

You were bold, for a human. You got used to the Devildom's most unsettling quirks with surprising speed. You got mad at him the first time he lied to you, which he'd shrugged off. But you had never, ever been scared of him.

You should have been.

It's your own fault, he tries to tell himself. I warned you. I told you that it was your fault for believing me in the first place.

That's what he tries to tell himself, but he can't.

He catches you as you trip backwards -- "Shouldn't you know to watch your step around here by now?" he teases, trying to raise your spirits. You laugh back with embarrassment, masking the momentary freeze as clumsiness.

It's enough to fool his brothers. But Belphie always was the more perceptive one.

You weren't always scared of the dark -- but you are now, and it's his fault, and he knows it.

Night falls, and he can't sleep, and that's a real problem for the Avatar of Sloth. You aren't sleeping either, he's pretty sure -- he'd know if you were. But it's been weeks now, and each night, he doesn't feel you relax into sleep so much as he senses you succumbing to exhaustion. So when he comes knocking on your door, he's fairly confident you'll answer.

"Oh, hi Belphie," you say with forced cheerfulness as you open up. "Is something the matter? It's late, it's not like you to be up still."

"I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd come see if you were still awake. Although, I guess you should have been sleeping too, shouldn't you?" He gives you an equally forced smile, though he makes his look quite a bit more natural. Well, he's a practiced liar, after all, isn't he? You should know that well enough now.

"Oh, I-I um, I guess so. Yeah, I probably should be, huh? But I just felt like staying up tonight. You know, like...I was reading a scary story before bed, and now I'm too scared to go to sleep. That's what I get, I guess!" you laugh, sweeping away the truth behind evasive sheepishness again.

No, it's my fault. I'm the creature that haunts your mind, his mind screams at him. But he can't say that out loud to you, not when you're trying to keep up such a brave face. What can he say, though? What can he possibly say to make it better? As much as he wishes he could, he can't take it back. He can't fix this. There's only one thing he can say, and it won't fix anything for you.

Still, he should say it anyway, right?

"I'm sorry."

He squeezes you in a hug, not too tight but firm enough to reassure him that you're there -- that you're warm and solid, and that the biggest mistake of his life really hadn't cost you yours. He had grown to like you during those months he'd been shut up in the attic, honestly he really had! But he'd been so blinded by rage and grief that he killed you!

But he doesn't say any of this, so you just blink at him in confusion from within his embrace, softly patting his back in a daze. "Um...you don't need to be sorry that I read something scary, you know...?"

"Not for that. I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'm sorry that you're scared now. I'm sorry that sorry doesn't make it go away. I'm sorry that I'm the reason you can't sleep anymore. I'm just so, so sorry."

You laugh softly against his ear, partly out of surprise but sweet as syrup all the same, and you squeeze him gently back and give him a light peck on the cheek. "I know. That's the reason you can't sleep either, right? It's okay, we can fall asleep together. I think I'll be able to if you're next to me. I love you. I forgive you."

[inhuman-obey-me]

Belated collab piece for Solomon's Birthday 2023!

Art by Mod Cosmos

Writing by Mod Chaos

His Immortal Soul

Can also be read on AO3 here Word Count: 3.8k Description: "Madness, where is its soul? Madness, all alone." A series of reflections on Solomon, shining souls, and what it means to be human.

Iarabal

With an impressive 72 pacts at his command, the Witty Sorcerer Solomon is said to have a most delectable and enticing soul. Demons clamor for the chance at a piece of it; there are rumors that even Death herself longs to claim it. It shines with the wisdom he was once gifted, and it is finely aged with the polish of immortality. The soul of a man who controls so many demons without succumbing to their allurement is a delicacy indeed.

Humans with the power to resist demons have nicely polished souls, like jewels. The more noble a soul, the shinier, and the more demons both long to claim it and are repelled by it.

At least, that's how it should be. That’s how it usually works. It’s what Iarabal had expected, when he'd heard that the infamous sorcerer himself would be coming to RAD as an exchange student under the Demon Prince's bizarre plan. Of course, no one had dared actually touch him once he arrived -- his pacts are with some of the most powerful demons in the realm, and the idea of treason aside, none would want to additionally face the wrath of those such as Asmodeus or Barbatos. And that’s all before even getting to the sorcerer himself, a man so powerful and conniving that he’d managed to gain the power of those many demons while offering away little to nothing of himself in exchange.

So Solomon’s soul, by all rights, is quite beyond reach to any average demon such as himself.

But Iarabal had planned to look upon it, at least, and savor the fantasy of devouring it. Flames lick at the insides of his belly in anticipation, and he salivates at the thought, even if he knows he will never get a taste. A demon can dream, can’t he?

Yet, as he lays eyes upon the sorcerer, something feels not quite right. It sparkles, yes -- even more dazzlingly than the demon had imagined, it sparkles. But there is something wild and incomprehensible about it, like funhouse mirrors warping the refractions of a million diamonds. The longer he looks, the more it seems to expand and stretch, and he is trapped in it, as though a cavern of crystal is closing itself around him. His appetite is fading rapidly, and a growing sense of something almost like dread builds in his stomach in its place.

Is Solomon so noble, to be able to repel him this way? Is this the strength of how powerfully his soul shines?

The demon isn’t sure. This doesn’t feel the same as any other time a human’s soul has repelled him. He feels like he’s losing his mind entirely, and the longer he stares, the worse it seems to get. Then again, he’s never looked upon a human so powerful as this, so who can say?

Iarabal averts his gaze. He doesn’t want to look upon it anymore.

The sorcerer’s soul is, he thinks to himself, better left alone.

Lucifer

There is something very, very strange about that sorcerer, Lucifer thinks.

Solomon has, as always, asked him for a pact again today. “Come on, this is basically just how we greet each other, isn’t it?” the human explains away blithely when the demon rejects him, with a smile that doesn’t match the seriousness of what he asks.

Of course, it’s not the pact-seeking that makes Solomon so strange, even if he is singularly annoying in his persistence about it. Plenty of humans have sought similar with the infamous fallen angel. He’s not even the only among them to try to use trickery or magic to force the demon’s hand.

No, Solomon is strange because, of all those humans, he is the most alarmingly devious, wicked human ever to have such a beautiful soul.

“Someone pure, genuine, and worthy of respect. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but demons are most attracted to the souls of people like that,” Lucifer had once told you.

The sorcerer as he knows him is none of those things. Lucifer is very familiar with the immortal’s reputation and history, and none of it could be described as pure. Rather than genuine, the man is unforthcoming at best and outright deceptive at worst. Any respect he has earned usually comes mostly from raw power, and most of that comes from the sheer number of pacts he’s accumulated, along with the Ring of Wisdom that Michael gifted him so very long ago. And then there’s the matter of his many past transgressions against demonkind...

Yet, despite this, Solomon’s soul sparkles brilliantly every time Lucifer sees him. It’s shocking how radiant it is, in fact. He’s hardly ever seen anything like it. The way it shines speaks to a level of purity and nobility of spirit beyond almost any other. And he smiles that carefree, nonchalant smile, an expression that would almost seem like he’s exactly what his soul says he is, even as he tries to solicit a pact from the demon, day after day, year after year.

But Lucifer knows better. Solomon is not pure or genuine. He is not as innocent as he plays at being. He is a dangerous person, and he is not to be trifled with.

The dissonance is unsettling, and for that, Lucifer does not trust him.

Granted, if a demon were to choose any human to make a pact with, Solomon would certainly be at the top of most any demon’s list. It’s true that a pact with that most powerful human sorcerer ever to live can lend one a certain degree of status in the Devildom. He has a reputation for only bothering with demons whose power he deems interesting enough to be worthwhile. And those who do forge such agreements with him revel in the amount of raw magic that he channels through them, when they are called upon.

Any other demon might have given in and made that pact a long time ago already. Rather, many already had – Lucifer’s own younger brother among them, to his chagrin.

But the Avatar of Pride is decidedly not looking for a human with whom to form a pact. He has had little interest in forging a pact with any human, ever. He’s made one exception recently, for you, and it’s his only one since becoming a demon. He doesn’t intend to make another. And certainly not with that particular human.

So, time after time, Solomon asks him again. And, time after time, Lucifer remains ever firm in his refusal.

Thirteen

It’s a real shame, Thirteen thinks.

The sight of his soul, the first time, is still clear in her memories. The way it sparkled when the moonlight hit him -- she doesn’t think she’ll ever forget it. It was bright, and brilliant, like the rainbows refracted off of the most incredible diamond, but also so much more than even that. No image could ever capture it; no words would ever be enough to describe it. Candy had thought she was delusional when she’d tried to tell her about it afterwards. But it was no delusion. His soul really was just that incredible.

It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and nothing she’d seen since – at least, not until very recently.

And, to Thirteen’s disappointment, it doesn’t sparkle that way anymore.

That isn’t to say she doesn’t want it anymore, of course. It’s still one of the most captivatingly stunning souls she’s ever come across, and she’s not going to give up on having it. She’s been this patient thus far; she’ll keep trying, however long it might take.

Still...it really is a shame.

She misses the way Solomon used to be. These days, he’s so serious, even as he hides it behind a demeanor so cheerful it borders on idiocy.

Back then, he was different. He’d been more innocent by far, for one thing. She remembers the sight of that child hidden away in the basement, staring up at her through the lattice of that half-underground window. His life hadn’t been exactly easy up to that point, but his world back then had been so much smaller. He hadn’t been caught up in all these otherworldly conflicts, concerned with balances of power and the fate of humanity caught between them. No, back at that time, his magic still felt like a miracle to him, and even if it hadn’t been nearly so impressive back then, he’d had a simple sense of wonder and pride at each little feat he managed to perform.

His soul had been so perfectly pure back then, unclouded, unshaded. There had been such honest terror in the shriek he’d let out, and it had been so cute from that little kid that she couldn’t help but tease him a little, even as she’d tried to reassure him that she wasn’t his enemy.

She’d meant it then, and she means it still. Even as she tries time after time to capture his soul, and for all the many ways he’s annoyed her century after century, she holds no actual ill will towards the sorcerer. In a way, frustrating as it is to have her traps constantly fail against him, it’s a fun game of sorts for her too. He’s more than worthy as a target. She’s been waiting for the day his name shows up in the reaper’s list, but at this point, would taking his soul without a challenge even be satisfying?

So he entertains her tricks, and she plays at capturing him, and in the times in between, he calls her a friend -- one of his only friends, perhaps. He trusts her, with a strength of heart that only someone with such a brilliantly polished soul could.

She is not his enemy.

Someday, though. Someday, she’ll claim that sparkling soul of his. Even if it takes until the end of eternity, she’ll never give up on it.

For that man’s soul, it’s worth it. That’s just how valuable it is.

Barbatos

It was a delicious expression on Solomon’s face, that first day the two of them met -- shock, fear, desperation, shame. A delectable mix of all humanity’s basest, heaviest emotions.

To his great disappointment, Barbatos has never seen it again.

The reaper, among their cohorts, blames him for how the sorcerer’s soul changed, so many lifetimes ago; he is well aware of that. And he does not deny it -- it's true that Solomon is no longer the same as he once was. That may well be because of his influence.

Perhaps he did spoil him, back then, this fascinating human that he’d decided to take in and save from the encroaching grip of mortality. It had come about by a simple curiosity, mixed with a knowledge that few others had the privilege of being able to see. This human, a mere mortal on the verge of death, had been powerful enough to summon a demon as fabled as him without yet having a pact or bond in any way, and Barbatos could already foretell that this reckless earthly soul would someday have a pact with him who freely manipulated time at will. He knew this sorcerer would have quite the sway on the fate of the three worlds someday, and he was terribly interested in knowing how such a frail being would accomplish such a thing.

So Barbatos had taken Solomon to the Fountain of Knowledge, assigned him its guardianship, cared for him until he’d regained his health, and then made the pact he knew they were meant to have. He did show Solomon a wide expanse of alternate worlds and times, of futures and histories that the human could not have even dreamed. All of it was still nothing compared to what Barbatos himself has seen of the infinite. But it was far, far more than any human should have any right to know.

If that’s why Solomon is the way he is now, so be it.

But Barbatos isn’t so certain that’s exactly the case.

He knows who Solomon is, more deeply than probably anyone else the sorcerer has ever known. Few things can be kept secret from a demon who can see across all of time and space. He has seen Solomon at his best, at his worst, and most times in between. He has held both deep affection for and deep grudges against the man.

At the end of all of it, Solomon is who he is. He is exactly who he has always been meant to be. Barbatos has never tried to turn him into anything else.

One of the reasons Solomon’s soul shines so brightly, in his opinion, is probably that insatiable curiosity that he has. The sorcerer does not settle for things as they are; he wants to see things as they could be -- good or bad.

Solomon was the one to ask Barbatos to show him those deepest of horrors, dredged out of the abyss of possibility. “I’ve read through the books in the Fountain of Knowledge,” he’d announced, “almost every one of them. But knowing those things from books isn’t the same as knowing them. I need to see it, experience it, for myself, so I can be prepared for anything. Will you do that for me, Barbatos?”

Barbatos had simply obliged. He is, after all, the one who had brought Solomon to that place, so very long ago. It had been no surprise that the sorcerer had gone on to research what was available there, especially considering how long it took to restore him to health. He wasn’t going to deny the human’s request after already giving him that much.

And as the man himself had said, he would need to be prepared. He did need it, if he was going to fulfill the futures Barbatos had foreseen for him -- futures where Solomon would work towards pursuing the goals he has been so dogged about for an eternity now.

But that is simply who Solomon is. He wouldn’t have been satisfied with Barbatos keeping him sheltered and uninvolved, powerless in that perpetual battle between the other realms. He knew what he was asking for, and he wanted it anyway. He’s never regretted that request to Barbatos, and the demon doesn’t regret granting it.

So maybe Thirteen is right. Maybe it is Barbatos’s fault that Solomon’s soul is the way it is now. Maybe he did show the man too much, maddened his soul, corrupted him somehow. He is a demon, after all.

But Solomon doesn’t seem to mind, so neither does he.

Solomon

The sorcerer, like any human, has never been able to see his own soul.

He has, however, heard plenty said about it, by the many unearthly beings he calls company. Fascinated lesser demons have noted to him over the centuries that it is quite impressive, greed dripping from their tongues in hopes of taking it for their own.

Asmodeus, on the other hand, has never been particularly interested, occasionally quipping that if souls are like gems, he’s “not interested in lab-grown,” before ribbing the sorcerer over whether it’s even actually a human soul anymore.

Thirteen has lamented many a time how his soul doesn’t sparkle the same way it used to, a remark he usually just shrugs off. After all, what can he say in response? He has no control over the exact way that it sparkles, nor any particular interest in doing so specially for his reaper friend’s appeal anyway.

Barbatos, for his part, is quite neutral about it. “Your soul is hardly the most interesting thing about you,” the butler tells him.

Solomon is inclined to agree. Even if he can’t see souls in the same way they can, what does it matter? He knows who he is. He knows who he has been, where he came from, and what he has become. It is inescapable, in fact, even as his reflection in the mirror shows none of that change.

A reflection that, unchangingly, shows him what he has always been -- human.

They say he doesn’t really count as a human, that he can hardly even be considered human anymore at this point. And it hurts a little, he has to admit. He is still just as human as he has ever been, in his opinion, and it is only the others’ own condescending pity of humans that makes them think otherwise. They think he is not human because he has power, and no human could be so powerful. Despite his best efforts to show the potential of humans, they simply discount his own humanity instead.

His soul is proof. It’s not right. For being such a shining soul, the nobility of his heart is warped. It’s tainted by some strange shade, maddened by some unnatural force.

But he would say that unnatural force comes from the very ones who deny him his humanity. For thousands upon thousands of years, has his mission not been noble? Defending humanity’s right to be an equal, independent existence against the heavenly and demonic realms which seek to exert their influence is certainly a noble goal which has given him quite the strength of soul to resist them. Is it his fault that it required him to become so cunning and guarded to achieve that goal?

Any human who could see and experience what he has would be the same, he thinks -- if only any other human could indeed. It is, perhaps, the very loneliness of it that twists him further. He wouldn’t wish those struggles upon anyone, not truly, but he has long felt the weight of carrying this burden alone.

Then, you came along.

Falling in love with you is a little like seeing his younger self for the first time.

You are you, of course. You are not him, not a past version of him, not a thing simply to project onto. He knows that, and he would never try to make you someone you are not. But you are familiar in ways that feel almost nostalgic.

You still have an innocence, like he used to have. Not that you’re naive -- you know well enough how to handle those brothers by now, and you have certainly gained that ability to resist demons as Lucifer once instructed you to. But unlike most, you had a unique chance to earn the respect of those around you; the brothers have a true affection and camaraderie with you that most humans never have the chance to get. The Celestial Realm, too, first came to know of your existence as powerful before they really knew you.

They recognize you as an equal. And that gives you a chance to seek the same mission he has had all this time, from a more even starting point -- at least, if you want to. Or to seek anything else you’d like.

You have that kind of spirit, that he believes in whatever path you choose. Even without the power to see souls as they sparkle, he can see there is something special in you. Something he wants to protect, something he wants to nurture and see grow.

Something that he needs to protect, if the forces who twisted him are now threatening to involve you too.

You

Of course Solomon is a little weird, you think. He’s a human who has existed in this world of demons, magic, angels, sorcerers, witches, and everything else, for longer than any human rightfully should have existed at all.

But at this point, aren’t you a little weird, too?

You laugh it off the first few times they say it -- that it’s debatable whether he even counts as human anymore. It’s true, you think. An immortal, powerful sorcerer who has seen everything you’ve ever learned about history and more, with a reputation of being more demonic than most demons themselves? Yeah, you’ve never met any human quite like him.

The longer it goes on, though, the more that opinion changes.

With the brothers affectionately surrounding you, chattering away amongst themselves, they make that remark again, and a small part of you starts to wonder what exactly they mean by it.

What’s so inhuman about him?

He may be deviously clever, but is it really so strange to think that humans might have their schemes sometimes? It’s rampant throughout the human world.

His age is beyond comprehension, but it turns out that plenty of human witches bargain with demons to extend their lives. You’ve started considering it too, if you’re being honest.

He is powerful, the most powerful human ever to live -- except, so are you now.

You start thinking, more and more, that the two of you aren’t actually quite so unalike.

If they think he’s not human anymore, how long until they think the same of you?

So you mention it to him one day, just as a passing comment, during your training together. You didn’t mean much by it, but he frowns, and he ends training for the day, and he takes you to a café, just so you can chat about it a little more. And you didn’t mean to complain, but you end up talking about it and all your other worries and stresses over this whole exchange student turned sorcerer deal for what turns into hours.

He's vague, and evasive about any follow-up questions, but he tells you a little about some of his worries too.

You realize you didn’t really know him all that well before. You start to get to know him better.

When you start talking to him after that, really talking and having real conversations, it’s refreshing in a way. You tell him mundane little stories about your life before all of this -- about your parents, your friends, old anecdotes of how you grew up. You tell him about the things you used to do and your worries about how you’ve become so disconnected from all of that now. And he understands. He listens with a knowing sort of care that none of the others quite have. They do listen to you, of course, but everyday human life is as abstract to them as this world used to be to you. Human life, compared to their own realms, seems so small and inconsequential.

Not to Solomon, though.

As you talk to him, you realize, without a shadow of a doubt, that he remembers. The human world has changed over time, and so has he, but he still remembers what it was like. He still sees things as a human does, no matter how long he’s been surrounded by all this. He asks you all about the human world nowadays, like a house he used to live in, where new owners have come in, and the walls have been repainted, and none of the furniture is arranged how it was before.

Even so, it still feels like home to him. And talking about it feels like home to you.

You don’t really know what they all mean, when the others talk about souls being sparkly or polishing yourself so yours becomes shiny.

Apparently, you sparkle. Apparently, so does he.

But does it matter? Does it matter how all these otherworldly beings judge the worth of a human soul?

What you know is this:

You are human. And so is he.

[inhuman-obey-me]

CONGRATS ON 4K+ FOLLOWERS!!!🎉 You two are so awfully talented I can't even put into words, really. Here's to many more!

May I request: 🥡 (Can’t fight these cravings in the night.) with Beel + MC Included, please?

(ALSO IS THE PROMPT LYRICS TO MOTIONLESS IN WHITE'S WEREWOLF BC I LOVE THAT SONG)

Ahhh, thank you for your kind words!! ( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵) ♡ We're so grateful people like our stuff enough for us to have reached this point, especially with how many times we've fallen into inactivity. Thank you so much for your support!!!!

And, ahahahaha, you got us, it seems we've finally been called out on using lyrics in our prompts. Yes, we also love that song!! In fact, we're both big MIW fans, so for anyone else who likes them, see if you can spot what other lyrics we put on the prompt list ;)

"Can’t fight these cravings in the night." - Beel/MC

Unlike his twin, Beelzebub rarely remains asleep the whole night through.

Some nights, he twists and tosses in his bed, trying to shake off the specters haunting his dreams, then wakes suddenly, his heart racing. On others, it's simply the call of hunger that jerks him from his slumber, his grumbling stomach demanding satisfaction at any hour. Other times still, he wakes without any reason at all. Sometimes, it's all three, pulling him from sleep over and over throughout the night.

He looks up at the gentle golden glow coming off the solar design on his wall, barely illuminating the room just enough to navigate, before his gut begins its growling demands. It's no use to try to go back to sleep; he can't fight these cravings in the night for long.

With a shake of his head, he slides out of bed and quietly makes his way towards the door, glad that Belphie sleeps heavily enough never to be disturbed by his movements. In the short trek from his room to the kitchen, he can feel his stomach growing emptier and emptier, until his vision starts to blur, and he's holding himself back from gnawing off the door itself.

He grabs the first thing within reach off the table and gorges upon it without hesitation. Guilt nibbles at the edge of his mind as he vaguely registers the shape of something like a drawn-on face upon his tongue -- some special treat of Levi's, probably, and he'll get chewed out for it in the morning, no doubt. But the voracious growling of his stomach drowns those thoughts out easily, and he forgets quickly as he lumbers his way dizzily forward. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as it sates the hunger long enough to reach the fridge.

His sight comes back into focus as he reaches for the fridge's handle, only to realize it's already open, with the shadowed silhouette of someone sitting in front of its heady glow, peeking over the door at him with mild terror in their eyes.

"Beel, it's me," you breathe in a nervous hush.

Your voice rings distant through the fog of hunger, buzzing in his head like swarms of flies -- or maybe those are his own wings, clicking behind him in voracious frenzy. This isn't the first time you've caught him midnight snacking, but it's usually the other way around, when he's already deep into his feasting.

He reaches a hand past you without answer, without eye contact, no sign of even having heard you, fingers closing rapaciously around whatever food they can find. Your presence is calming to him, always has been, ever since the day he decided to make his pact with you, but that's not enough right now. He doesn't trust himself not to devour you whole. He needs to eat, he is starving, and you smell so delicious.

So he reaches past you, grabbing whatever he can, and he eats. He eats, and eats, and eats, until the buzzing stops, and finally, his belly isn't screaming its emptiness anymore.

You're still standing there beside him, and he realizes you've been handing him things as he ate, snacks from the cupboards to sate him and glasses of water from the sink to help him wash them down. The fear is gone from your face, replaced only with worry.

Well, he did consume half the fridge's contents within minutes, after all.

He wraps you up in a big bear hug, expressing only a blunt, "Thank you," and his embrace is tight but warm, and full of relief.

"Are you feeling better now?" you ask, giving him a light squeeze in return.

"Yeah, for now. I might wake up hungry again later. Though, I feel better having you here with me. Like my stomach is less angry, somehow. But I think I'm okay now, so I'll go back to bed. You should probably go back to bed too. Belphie always says you don't get enough rest."

You're quiet for a moment, thinking, and then answer, "Well, why don't I come sleep next to you? If you wake up again, I'll make you something properly to eat."

"Are you sure?" he asks. To be honest, the thought of eating your cooking has him salivating all over again, but he doesn't want to ask too much of you.

"Yeah. I sleep better in your room sometimes, anyway."

Nodding firmly, he takes your hand, leading you back to the twins' room, where Belphie is still sleeping peacefully, unaware. Quietly careful not to disturb the youngest brother, you climb into his bed together, snuggling up close. He can smell raspberries and vanilla caramel on your breath -- the pudding you had snacked on before he'd come in, probably. The last thing he thinks before drifting back to sleep is how sweet of a scent it is, just like you.

When he wakes again, it's morning already, and you're giving him a gentle poke on the nose.

"Good morning, Beel. Did you sleep okay?"

[inhuman-obey-me]

👁️ for Satan with Mc included please? Also, congrats on the 4k followers!! :D

"Won't you show me your weakness?" - Satan/MC

The library armchair is as plush as ever, but no matter how much you shift around, you can't seem to get yourself comfortable in it tonight. Your thoughts are too loud, and for the umpteenth time, your eyes drift away from the book in your hand to the crackling embers of the fireplace.

"You always look so happy-go-lucky," Solomon's words from earlier echo in your head again.

It had been an innocent remark, just a random observation, while you and the Cat Chat spent a peaceful, fun afternoon at the Cat's Eye at Satan's request. After all, the sorcerer always likes to see you looking happy, and it was true, you had been enjoying yourself there with the two of them. It wasn't as if he'd meant anything by it.

Still, the words swirl around in your mind like an accusation.

You're not always happy-go-lucky, even if you look it. Actually, you wouldn't say you're very happy at all, lately. It's just that the smile finds its way to your face every time, without fail, when everyone else is around. Your cheerful attitude always brightens everybody's day -- that's what they tell you. And maybe for that reason, you find yourself acting cheerful when they're around, even as a dark emptiness grows in you in the times in between.

No, best not to dwell too hard on that. Don't think about that part of you screaming in your head in the silence. Don't think about that part of you that wants to rip it all down.

You tighten your grip around the warmth of your mug, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to fill the cold pit in your stomach with a hearty gulp of hot chocolate. The Seven Lords, Vol. 11 droops limply in your other hand, and with a shake of your head, you attempt once again to escape into the fantastical, faraway world where Henry can keep being exactly what everybody needs, all the time.

The Lord of Masks has got nothing on me, you think to yourself bitterly, and as you set your cup down, the hard clang of the ceramic against the metal coaster rings a little louder than you intended.

From the other side of the table, Satan's head snaps up at the sound. "Hey," he barks with annoyance, and you wince, bracing yourself for a sharp rebuke for interrupting his own reading.

Instead, however, his expression softens almost immediately. "Hey," he says again, more gently this time. "Are you still bothered by what Solomon said earlier?"

"What do you mean?" Automatically, you paste on an oblivious smile again, hiding your surprise. He knew?

He fixes a hard stare upon you as he chooses his words. "You know, you can't fool me of all demons by doing that."

"Doing what?"

"That. Smiling like that. You do it all the time. But I know that smile. I do the same thing." He moves closer and kneels down next to your chair, taking your hand. "I'm the Avatar of Wrath, I know when you're frustrated or upset about something. When you're unhappy, you don't have to act so strong about it. You can be honest with me. If you're unhappy, just be unhappy."

"I'm not trying to be strong," you argue, even as the corners of your mouth stay stubbornly upturned. Your voice cracks slightly, unsure yourself whether it's true. "I'm not trying to keep smiling. I just...do. Even if I don't want to, I can't help it."

He nods with understanding. "Alright. Smile unhappily then. But you've got to stop holding it in underneath. Come on, won't you show me your weakness? Scream if you want to. Get angry if you want to. Just let it out until you can't smile anymore."

[inhuman-obey-me]

levi + 🚪 no mc please!

"I feel a sickness for a home I’ve never been." - Leviathan

"YES, I got the last piece of the set!" Leviathan shouts excitedly to himself, happily setting the new piece to his gear before inputting a dance command.

The little avatar on his screen begins to bop around, moving its arms cheerfully to no particular music as if to show off the new jacket it's wearing. The blurry pixels that make up the character's face look like they're smiling, just like the Avatar of Envy is, beaming from his seat as he reaches up to stretch for the first time in hours.

Messages from his guildmates start rolling in, too, filling the chat with, "YOOO CONGRATS" and "omg sooo jealous" and "looks AMAZING, man!!"

Ah, satisfaction.

And then, killing his elation just as quickly -- "alright, I think that's it for me tonight."

"Wait, some of you still need another drop from this dungeon though, right? Let's not stop yet," Levi types frantically. For the first time all night, he notices his eyes stinging from the strain of playing for so many hours straight, but he's desperate not to log off. If anything, his chest is starting to constrict at the thought, full of panic at the idea of ending already.

The others, however, are done. They collectively decide this is a good place to stop for the night, and one by one, he watches his teammates' avatars disappear from the screen, leaving his character alone in the field, still dancing away.

And, just like that, the night's distraction is over. Groaning with frustration, he scrolls idly through his quest list, checking for something, anything to still do. A dungeon, a raid, maybe some limited-time seasonal event? Of course, he's already completed all the most fun quests though, and the only things still available for him to handle alone are mindless, repetitive tasks. Boring.

He closes out the game too, dropping his head into his hands in defeat. He should get some sleep anyway, admittedly. Lucifer will be mad if he oversleeps come morning, after all.

It's just, the moment he turns around, he'll have to see that same damn room again -- his new one, with its jellyfish lamps and porcelain white tub for a bed. He'd been excited about it at first, since he'd gotten to decorate it with all his otaku paraphernalia, and the fish tank walls really did cast a lovely blue glow over everything. His figurines look great in their displays, and his entire manga collection is neatly organized on the shelves, just how he likes it.

It's a good room. It's got all of his favorite things. It's very distinctly his -- no more of the dusty old guest rooms of the Demon Lord's Castle, each one indistinguishable from all the others.

He should like it.

But that doesn't change what the room is: new. This is his new room, in a new house, in this new realm, with a new body, having to make a new home, and it's all because he's not welcome in his old one anymore. The Celestial Realm cast them out, and he'll never see his old room in the Celestial Palace again. He'll never get to stay in that nice, comfortable, familiar place anymore, and the thought makes him deeply envious of his past self who got to enjoy his time there so obliviously, never even realizing that those days would come to an end!

Then again, if he's honest with himself -- wasn't he the same way back then, too?

It's just a sickness for a home that's never been. Truthfully, he didn't feel any more comfortable in his skin as an angel than he does as a demon. Having his brothers with him is what makes a place home more than anything else, but even they don't really understand him.

No one does.

But there's always escaping into his games, his anime, his manga. In those, he can imagine himself as the hero. He doesn't have to think about what a sad, pathetic demon he is now. He doesn't have to think about being a demon at all. He can be whatever he wants to be, wherever he wants to be.

And where he wants to be right now, is not here. Anything would be better than thinking about all this again. Late night be damned, he's not ready to face this yet.

Screw it, he's not going to sleep. He boots up another game.

[inhuman-obey-me]

👼w/ lucifer, no mc

"I can’t seem to forget the halo that I used to see." - Lucifer

cw: alcohol, Nightbringer season 1 spoilers

The amber liquid in Lucifer's glass smells dark and sweet.

He's had it a few times before, at the demon prince's invitation, but it's still a bit strange to him, this thing called Demonus. It's not like the ambrosial sweetness of what he used to drink in the Celestial Realm, honey-bright and delicate as flower petals in the wind. That had been airy and full of light, tasting of sunbeams on the trees from which the fruits were picked to make it.

Demonus, however, is something completely different. Actually, he's surprised to find he likes it. It's rich and heady, with a spiciness that lingers on his palate long after each sip. Indulgent, sweet not like honey but like sin. A hint of noxious brimstone burns at the back of his throat as he drinks, rising like a burst of sulfurous smoke directly into his nostrils. It leaves a slow trail of fire through him as it goes down, like lava running down the side of a volcano.

Each sip is an inescapable reminder of where he is now -- of what he is now. Of what they all are, now.

It's not that Lucifer regrets the war. Regrets losing, perhaps -- of course, since no one starts a conflict like that with the intent to fail. But even losing, on its own, would have been fine. There's a sense of freedom to his new life, here in the Devildom. He can say and do whatever he likes, unbeholden to his Father. Here, the insistent, nagging doubts swirling in his mind every day have stopped, no longer screaming to be heard, no longer screaming to be spoken. He had finally spoken them. He had fought for them. And if it only involved him, he would make the same decision a thousand times over again.

But it didn't. It wasn't only him. And now, he's not the only one paying for it.

His brothers had made the choice to follow him, and for that, he is grateful. He is grateful, every single day, not to have landed here alone. But they had followed him because they'd believed in him. His rebellion failing was one thing. What he really can't stand is that he failed them.

Lucifer sighs into his glass as Raphael's declaration from earlier that day rings in his head again -- "The Celestial Gates are open to the six of you, that you may pass through once more."

He won't return; now that he's tasted this freedom, he knows he'll never be satisfied in the Celestial Realm again. But, the others...

Maybe Raphael is right. Maybe his brothers should go. Even if it means leaving him and Satan behind, maybe it's for the best. Maybe it's true -- the wings at their backs should be white. Even now, he can't seem to forget the halos that he used to see over each of their heads.

It's his fault those halos don't shine over them anymore. It's his fault they've become horns instead. It's his fault they aren't angels anymore, and he doesn't want it to be his fault that they stay that way. They won't like leaving him, but who is he to ask them to stay?

It was his war. It was his failure. It should be his punishment to bear. Alone.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Collab pair piece for Barbatos’s birthday 2023!

Art by Mod Cosmos

Writing by Mod Chaos

Arrhythmia

Can also be read on AO3 here Word count: 10.7k Description: Time, with all its endless possibilities and unknowable branches, is infinite. Yet, certain patterns exist. Some things are fated. And for Barbatos, master of time and space, the heartbeat of fate underlying each strand of time is the constant. This is what time is. This is what time means. Infinite timelines, branching and collapsing, splitting and merging, to the end of time. Until you. You were not part of fate -- not that familiar pulse of passing time he knew so well. You weren't, until suddenly, you were.

Prologue

"I desperately needed to obtain your power to control time, Barbatos..." "I was surprised you'd come to me with such a foolish request, considering you are known as 'Solomon the Wise.'" "But that was before I had my over-the-top nickname, wasn't it? No one called me that yet..." "Indeed. But I knew that people would start calling you that in the near future, you see. Just like I knew that the two of us would eventually forge a pact."

Barbatos has never felt uncertain before.

A demon who has existed since the dawn of time, who controls the very fabric of time, he has seen all of the universe that there was to see.

You see, time, with all its endless possibilities and unknowable branches, is infinite. It is, truly. Yet, certain patterns exist. Some things are fated -- Lucifer's rebellion, the brothers' fall, King Solomon the Wise. These are destiny; these are inevitable.

And for Barbatos, master of time and space, the heartbeat of fate underlying each strand of time is the constant. This is what time is. This is what time means. Infinite timelines, branching and collapsing, splitting and merging, to the end of the universe. A heartbeat, steady and reliable, ever marching on, constant as his own.

Until you.

You were not part of fate -- not that familiar pulse of passing time he knew so well. He knew there were timelines where you would meet, yes. "Your" timeline, of course -- the one you know so well. Others as well. In some, "you" were a witch already; you weren't quite so powerless upon your arrival in the Devildom. In others, you came later, not in the first year of RAD's exchange program but further along, when relations between the realms had progressed more already. In others still, it was never you at all, but some other descendant of Lilith who had landed at Lucifer's feet that fateful day, when the second human exchange student was chosen.

These were the universes he knew existed. Infinite, innumerable -- and, ultimately, irrelevant. The future would march on, with or without you, and he would continue going about his life with Lord Diavolo. Fate would be fate, and those were the things that mattered.

Until you.

Knowing you would meet was different from actually meeting you. And meeting you, changed everything.

Meeting You

The first time he sees you, it barely even registers. He is present, of course, as his liege welcomes you and explains the exchange program to you. He oversees the brothers' introductions, notes the alarm on your face as you come to understand what your life is going to be for the next year. It's rather delicious actually, for the more primal of his demonic instincts, seeing the confusion and mild fear in your expression.

But a certain sorcerer has also just arrived in the Devildom, and Barbatos is a bit preoccupied with trying to determine just how much of a problem Solomon is going to be in this timeline.

The Witty Sorcerer is a constant. The immortal human king with whom Barbatos shares a pact is always a thread woven into his fate. He always decides to become a protector of humanity, and always comes to the conclusion that he must forge pacts with as many demons as he can, in order to gain enough power to hold his ground against the greater powers of the Devildom and the Celestial Realm. The exact demons and particulars of the pacts vary; some always fall for his tricks, while others cross his path by happenstance. Barbatos, for one, is never tricked into a pact but always simply accepts that he is meant to have one, for he has foreseen it countless times. Solomon almost always lands at 72 by this point, however -- that part is not quite exact from timeline to timeline, but also too close to be coincidence.

You catch the butler's attention just once that day, as Lucifer explains the struggle of humans' souls and demons' temptations -- it is then that Barbatos notices how your soul, hardly polished at all yet, nonetheless has a sparkle unlike any he's seen in a very long time. One he hasn't encountered, in fact, since he first met Solomon.

How fascinating.

That same sorcerer in question, however, leaves him little time to ponder the matter further, as his attention is quickly forced to the first of many troublesome texts he will receive from the inhabitants of Purgatory Hall this year.

"Hello, Barbatos. apppologies for the mail, buT I'M NOT VEry familiaR wit h Dev ldom cuisine  yet.. Is the kitcHEn meant To Flood with pu ripple bubbles when 1 cooks here? SIGNED, SIMEON"

At that, he makes a motion towards Lord Diavolo to be excused and quickly takes his leave to handle the situation.

And he takes no further notice of you for a while, nor you of him.

--

The next time Barbatos sees you, it's only a few short weeks later, and yet already, you've been quickly gaining quite the reputation.

He can soon see why, too.

You just had to cause chaos in the Demon Lord's Castle, didn't you? You couldn't just quietly complete your field trip with everyone, no. You just had to get yourself dragged into the depths of the castle's underground labyrinth -- and not just once, but twice.

Some version of you, cleverer, more cautious, never falls down there the second time. Other versions never make it out. Sometimes, the others notice your absence quickly enough for Barbatos to open a portal and retrieve you in time. Not always. And Asmodeus is fickle with his attentions -- as is Solomon, even if he pretends not to be. It's by lucky chance in this time that you see how to wield Asmodeus's powers that day, and luckier still that Solomon happens to lend you his magic that night.

"Just interested to see what they'll do with it," the sorcerer smiles, with that annoyingly blithe false innocuousness, when his pact-mate comes to inquire. "Aren't you interested, Barbatos?"

"No, I am not," he answers flatly. "My interest is only for all members chosen for Lord Diavolo's exchange program to have a successful and productive year here in the Devildom."

Solomon's pleasant expression drops just slightly; he gives the demon a very directed look. "Chosen by whom, Barbatos? I don't believe they were given a choice to come here like I was. I'm just...evening the playing field a little for the night. Surely it shouldn't hurt any chances of cooperation between the realms for a defenseless, magicless human to have a little bit of power for one evening?"

A tense smile, oh so familiar to the sorcerer, settles upon the demon's lips. "Of course not."

Barbatos leaves it at that, satisfied in any case that he sees you alive the next morning. A mild curiosity is piqued when he hears Asmodeus gushing about the fascinating, incredible power he felt from you the night before -- greater even than that of the famed sorcerer in their midst? That's odd, normally such strength would be more significant across timelines.

But he dismisses it quickly. Odd as it may be, in the vast breadth of the possibilities of time, if it's not significant, then that's that. It won't ultimately matter. In the endlessness of time, very little ultimately matters. The things that do pulse on as familiarly to him as his own heartbeat.

So he moves on.

"...Okay then, look into that for me, Barbatos."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Depending on how things turn out, it's possible we'll have the answers to all of our questions soon enough."

"Well, it would seem they've arrived."

"Yes, and even earlier than we thought."

The group of brothers, along with the human staying in their home, crowds into the room, Lucifer at their helm. "Diavolo, I want to talk to you."

The prince is unfazed; he and Barbatos had of course expected this when they'd taken Belphegor away. "Well hello, Lucifer. And yes, I assumed as much when I saw you at the door."

"What do we have here? Has the entire family come along today? So, you've all come along as a moving show of support and brotherly love, then?" the butler quips, before his gaze lands harshly on you. "Hmm...but it would appear that one among your number neither qualifies as a relative nor a demon."

Beelzebub stands protectively beside you. "That's right, they aren't a demon, nor are we related...but that doesn't mean we can't be on the same side. Isn't that right?"

You nod determinedly beside him. "You bet it is!"

Lord Diavolo examines you for a moment as the Avatar of Gluttony beams at your answer. "I see. Well, you may be a human, but it would seem you've found a home for yourself here in the Devildom. I have to say, I find that comforting."

The demon prince turns his attention back to the eldest of the brothers. "Now then, Lucifer, how about we hear what you have to say."

Barbatos's gaze lingers on you, however, remaining silent through the back and forth unfolding between the others. You aren't paying attention to him, of course, focused on the discussion over getting the family their seventh back. But he's spoken already with Lord Diavolo about this whole matter, and knows already what his master's decision is going to be. What you are going to do, on the other hand...

"Okay. I'll go alone."

There's that sparkle again. Just like Solomon's soul used to have.

Fated or not, there is something fascinating about you.

Even if this is just one thread of time, just one way for this all to play out, it is unusual. There's no such thing as an aberration in time, only variations that ultimately end up in the same inevitable places. The butterfly effect only flutters so far. Always.

And yet, something about you throws him off, just a bit.

You follow him out of the room, oblivious. It's your first conversation with him alone, even if it's not his first time seeing a conversation with you. "Did you know all of this was going to happen?"

He chuckles at the question. "Imagine for a moment what it would be like to know everything that will happen from now until the end of time."

Yes, imagine knowing everything -- as he does. Barbatos, demon with power over time. Barbatos, who can see anything, any timeline, past, present, and future.

"Why, nothing could possibly be more boring, wouldn't you agree?"

Barbatos, who has seen everything.

Barbatos, who has stopped looking. Barbatos, who uses his powers only for Lord Diavolo now.

"Which is precisely why I find it so very interesting and refreshing to have the chance to take a human like you into my room."

His pulse ticks just a little bit faster as he turns around to face you, opening the door behind him to usher you inside.

Why?

"All right, we've arrived. Please, come in."

He doesn't understand it yet, but there's just...something. Something about you. Something that makes the steady expectation of what comes next feel just a bit off-kilter around you.

Like you're inevitable. Even though he knows you aren't.

He knows this. He knows everything. He has seen everything.

Hasn't he?

He explains the rules and workings of time travel to you, emphasizing to you the consequences of breaking these rules -- "You run the risk of warping history."

You nod back to him, and he wishes you safe travels as he escorts you through the correct door.

And as you walk through, he feels it again. It's not just the sparkle of your soul. It's something more. Something else.

Something uncertain.

--

Something strange is happening in his room, Barbatos notes as he works, pulling various threads of time to his will.

He bends the timelines together, wrapping them into a single line.

You exist there, and there. This he knew. And yet, without his even touching them yet, there too does he find you. And there, and there.

He opens door after door, searching for each time you inhabit -- and in all doors, there you are.

Where have the others gone?

They existed once. There were other strands, other doors, other yous which were not you at all.

And yet, despite knowing this, despite knowing they should exist -- door after door, there you are.

You are only a human. You have no powers of your own. He has confirmed this -- you may have the blood of Lilith in you, but the power was never yours. And even Lilith could not exert her will over time.

That is his domain, and his alone.

So this shouldn't be. There's no reason for it. You shouldn't be everywhere.

And yet, there you are.

Everywhere. Always.

--

The brothers are all crowded over you, fighting over who gets to sit next to you. But there's a worry on your face, an insistent concern resting unsteadily on your lower lip.

"Is something the matter?" Barbatos inquires, though he has a sense already of what's on your mind. It has, after all, been on his too.

"Do you think I've warped history?"

Though all eyes are on you, yours are focused solely back upon the butler.

A nagging alarm tugs at the back of his mind with the same question -- have you warped history? Or more to the point, have you warped time?

But he knows that isn't what you're asking about. Not the same way.

"Ah...I take it you're worried about the other 'you' disappearing earlier?" He smiles lightly, explanation readied. "I know I told you that I have the power to see both the past and the future, but the truth is that there's one more secret -- something I still haven't mentioned."

Everyone's gaze shifts to him, their worlds decidedly rocked enough for a single day. None of the brothers are sure what new revelation he's about to unveil, and they're all on edge for it.

Still, his attention remains locked on you as he explains.

"You see, I have the power to select from any number of different potential realities and make any of them into the sole reality. With the various potential realities, there are an infinite number of 'you'..." He pauses, scanning your face for a reaction, but your expression is just as clouded and blank as it had been. He continues, "In the sole reality I chose, the one and only 'you' is the one right here. That's why the previous one disappeared while you remained."

Infinite realities. A "sole" reality.

It's a power he hasn't used in a very, very long time. One he doesn't especially care for, at his disposal though it may be -- what use is it to select these events that don't ultimately matter?

Fate is fate. Time is time. The inevitable is inevitable, and infinity continues moving. Some things simply are fated.

And now, so are you.

He searches your face for recognition. Do you even understand what he's just said?

But there is none. Of course not. No one here does, except him. He is the only one who knows what was fated. Naturally, then, he is the only one who understands what was not. And, with that, the only one who realizes the consequences of what this implies.

Still, the rest of the room stares on in silence, stunned at his nonchalant explanation.

Asmodeus is the first to pipe up. "You know, I notice how you sort of smiled as you said all that, but...um..."

"As far as abilities go, that's a pretty powerful one to have, don't you think?" Satan finishes.

"The Legend of Barbatos: Most Powerful of All Beings..." Levi chimes in, staring with awe.

Though Barbatos's smile remains steady on his face, something murmuring in his chest disagrees. He doesn't feel like the most powerful.

He feels off-balance. And now he knows why.

"Did you know all of this was going to happen?"

No. No, he did not.

An Ambiguous Fate

A great rumbling shakes the ground, the very earth moving erratically beneath them.

Barbatos leaps to attention, ready in an instant and immediately at Lord Diavolo's side. The prince nods at him, worry written all over his face in the form of a single, solemn acknowledgement. There is no time to lose.

It takes a short while to locate the epicenter of the quake, but once they do, they are at the mausoleum within moments, with the aid of a quick portal.

The damage is apparent immediately. Stone shards of fallen statues and broken coffins litter the ground, while gravestones and placards all across the cemetery floor have been flung askew from the force. And worst of all, the Demon Kings' Tomb rests deep at the bottom of a great crater, collapsed.

Barbatos inhales sharply, as the prince resolutely inspects the scene.

Between the two of them, easily two of the most powerful demons in the realm, they are of course capable of repairing the damage. But the greater issue here is the cause -- or more to the point, their lack of information thereof.

Earthquakes like this may simply occur in the human realm due to nature, but they're quite a bit different in the Devildom. They don't just happen, not to this scale. And they generally tend to be a bit more magical in nature.

But magic alone isn't enough to explain something this big. Magic is steeped into all the land of the Devildom, of course, but not to this extent. Even amongst demons, very few have this kind of raw power. And no such demon in existence would dare inflict such force upon the resting place of the realm's former kings.

"Let us record as much of the damage as we can, Barbatos," Lord Diavolo instructs seriously, and his butler nods, getting straight to work.

They comb across the space together, noting down every bit of destruction they encounter. It's soon apparent that most of it is aftereffects and collateral damage; the real impact was to the Demon Kings' Tomb, right at the center. And that too shows certain strange signs of what exactly had happened.

Though they initially treated it as a strangely powerful earthquake, it becomes quickly clear that's not the case at all. No, the ground did not simply shake, nor did it rend apart beneath the tomb -- it's as though the earth below had disappeared altogether. There are no signs of the ground shifting around the tomb at all, in fact, only the smattering of dirt laying atop its crumbled ceiling, loosed from the walls of the surrounding pit by the structure's fall. Nor were the walls toppled as one might have expected from shaking of the ground; instead, they appeared cracked from the bottoms upward, as though they had dropped straight down so that the impact had spiderwebbed up from their bases.

It's unlike anything Barbatos has ever seen -- in the past or future. And he has a suspicion as to why. A very unsettling suspicion.

His chest tightens, disquiet at the thought. He'd expected some changes to the future, yes; that was a given, after what he'd encountered in his room those few months ago. But something this powerful? This destructive?

"Well. That's rather troubling, wouldn't you agree, Barbatos?" Lord Diavolo murmurs, drawing his attention back to the situation at hand. "I suppose there's nothing more we can do for now but repair it, however. Shall we?"

"I suppose we shall," Barbatos nods at him, face set in a grimace.

Together, they combine their magic to restore the monument to its former condition, along with the rest of the graveyard -- the butler rewinding the state of things to a prior time, the prince lending his power to solidify that state back into the present.

They make sure to jot down any final observations before they leave, then return to the castle.

Lord Diavolo is about to leave when Barbatos stops him, "Young Master, before you return to your office, may I have a word?"

There's an uncharacteristic reticence in his voice, a hesitation the prince doesn't typically hear from his butler. He's always encouraged the other to voice his thoughts and opinions freely, regardless of their roles as master and servant. "Of course, Barbatos. What is it?"

"I believe I have an idea as to what was behind this. Though I can't quite yet explain why."

The crown prince's brows knit as the butler explains his theory, as well as the earlier abnormality. "And you're certain about that, Barbatos?"

"I am not. But I had never seen anything like it before. And what happened today was...unexpected. I can only assume that they may be connected."

"I see. Then, let me know if you determine anything more, please."

But without proof or explanation, there's nothing to do about it. For now, at least.

--

It's a bleak omen indeed when even the most powerful sorcerer ever to exist looks troubled by the problem he's been presented with.

"This is bad...really bad. It took something major to make the entire side of the cliff collapse like this," Solomon frowns, eyebrows knit as he appraises the damage. "I can't see the bottom from here..."

"This is the primeval forest," Barbatos explains. "As the name suggests, it's said that this forest has been here since the time of the Devildom's birth."

"It's hard to believe that such an enormous landslide could happen here in this forest. It truly is unheard of," Lord Diavolo agrees.

"First there was the incident at the Demon King's tomb a few days ago, and now this landslide...it would seem the effect is getting worse," Barbatos murmurs.

"Yes...which is worrisome."

Barbatos doesn't need to be told to worry.

Another unexpected blast of magic, another rippling burst of destruction in its wake. Another key Devildom location, suddenly in ruins. His chest feels tight more often than not lately, seeing your cheerful grin at play rehearsals juxtaposed with these grim, shocking scenes.

It's almost definitely because of you. And all the while, you have no idea. You're just going about your life, the same as ever.

"I hate to say it, but this isn't something I can handle on my own. Actually it's not just that I can't handle it. I doubt the Devildom itself can handle this on its own," Solomon says.

The Witty Sorcerer, living up to his name, had pieced it together almost as quickly as Barbatos himself had. But unlike the butler, his primary concern was not fate, or time, or what destined events had now been thrown asunder.

The immortal sorcerer was, almost touchingly, most concerned about you.

Well, that's not exactly correct. Of course, he's concerned first and foremost about humanity. But as a human, well, humanity includes you, and as the likely cause behind these recent events, he has been threateningly insistent that neither side make any moves to harm you.

Not that the Devildom's prince would, anyway; though his top priority is naturally on keeping the Devildom safe and stable, harming the human he'd brought for his exchange program would be very much against his ideals.

But still, this destruction is, as Solomon said, worrisome. They cannot simply ignore it.

The demon prince and former human king discuss, going back and forth about involving Simeon and the Celestial Realm. There seems little choice, begrudging and frustrated as Lord Diavolo may feel about it -- and for good reason, considering how their last interaction went.

"Young Master, what do you suggest we do about Lucifer and his brothers?" Barbatos inquires, piping up once the matter has been settled.

The prince grimaces. "That's the big question, yes...I'd like to avoid straining my relationship with Lucifer any more than I already have."

The other two nod seriously. Lucifer had been infamously loyal to him after the fall, and they'd become very close friends over the centuries as well, but the events of the previous year, between his fallout with Belphegor and the resulting months of lying right to Lord Diavolo's face, had been stressful for them both. And although the matter had since been resolved, they hadn't yet quite found their way back to that old amicability.

Lucifer had never kept secrets from him before. And now, Lord Diavolo was finding himself doing the same. He didn't like it.

"But even so..." He takes a long pause, eyes looking almost pleadingly towards Barbatos, as if begging him for answers. But the butler can only return his gaze, equally unsure of the right thing to do now. "...I think we should keep this from him just a little longer."

Solomon inhales sharply, then releases it in a deep breath, considering. "Are you sure that's the right thing to do?"

"No, it's a very bad thing to do...and I'm well aware of that," the prince sighs. "But...until we have proof that they are the original source of all this...I don't want him knowing about it."

Proof, yes -- something solid, something beyond the gnawing, restless noise of Barbatos's heart. Evidence to confirm his worst anxieties, beyond simply knowing that what he once knew to be true no longer is. He needs to calm down. It isn't the end of the world not to know what's coming next.

Is it?

Barbatos nods obediently, forcing his own reservations away. He will put his trust in Lord Diavolo. He wouldn't have chosen to serve him if his judgments weren't sound. He has faith in his prince -- he must.

"As you wish, Young Master."

Solomon looks wordlessly between them, letting his troubled silence hang in the air.

This is a mistake, and he knows it. And he knows Barbatos knows it too. But the butler avoids meeting his gaze.

Lord Diavolo, kind and judicious ruler as he is, is the one Barbatos has chosen to devote his life to, is the closest friend Barbatos has ever had. But it is the eyes of King Solomon the Wise who can see through him.

And he does not wish to be seen through. Not now, with all these anxieties weighing so heavily on him. The weight of all that he knows -- and all that he doesn't, for once.

--

"You said you would always be on his side. I'm asking whether you're really prepared to keep that promise."

"Of course," comes the answer, unquestioningly firm and so unperturbed that he doesn't even glance up from his work.

 "I wonder..."

Barbatos fixes a sharp stare upon the eldest of the demon brothers, who finally sets his pen down and narrows his eyes. "What is it you're getting at?"

Barbatos's expression remains unchanged as he thinks on how to formulate his words. If Lucifer could only convince him of his conviction of loyalty to the prince, perhaps these worries in his mind could be laid to rest. But whether the former angel realizes it himself or not, he has been changing. If Barbatos's suspicions are correct, Lord Diavolo will need the Lucifer's aid very soon. And unfortunately, he's no longer certain that such aid will be so easily given.

Unfortunately, he's no longer certain of a lot of things recently.

"If taking the Young Master's side meant hurting those closest to you, would you still do it?" the butler asks more pointedly. When Lucifer doesn't respond immediately, he continues, "If it really came down to that, I wonder if you could bring yourself to take his side...I imagine the old you really would be on his side always, just as you said. But is the new you capable of something like that? You're more gentle now than you used to be. You even exude a certain kindness...and love."

Lucifer only glares back suspiciously, anxious but unsure what exactly Barbatos is trying to say. Even after all these centuries working together, Diavolo's exceedingly loyal steward has never been an easy one to read.

"There was a time when you were known as 'the morning star,' and admired by all. People claimed that just a glimpse of your bright white wings and ruby red eyes could take one's breath away...now you've begun to slowly revert back to the way you were then. You've changed," Barbatos continues, a hint of something almost like an accusation in his voice. "And it started when the human first arrived."

He sees Lucifer's breath catch for a second at the mention of you, just a tiny pause, imperceptible to anyone else. The Devildom prince's right-hand man isn't known for giving away his weaknesses so easily. But then, Barbatos would not be the same prince's ever-present steward if he were not also sharp enough to notice.

He's seen how the former angel looks at you, and how he rushes home from their often late-running work more frequently these days, muttering excuses of needing to get back for dinner with his family. He's always loved his family, of course; Barbatos knows that. But this new affection, how he's been with you, it's...different. More unpredictable. More volatile.

His pulse quickens, voice steady despite his anxiety as he reaches his point. "But for the Young Master, and for the Devildom...is that really for the better?"

If Lucifer would only deny it. If he would only argue that any changes in this past year have been minor, that he's as loyal to Lord Diavolo as ever. For Barbatos, ever smiling, ever calm, full of steady reassurances that they are on the right path -- well, the demon with control over time itself could really use some reassurance himself right now. He would really like for Lucifer to tell him that he's wrong. For him to say that Barbatos is overreacting, or has misread things, or that everything is fine.

But he doesn't. He doesn't even try to. Instead, he's quiet, struggling with what the butler has just suggested. "Are you saying that there will come a day when I have to choose between them and my brothers on one side, and Diavolo on the other?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that's definitely going to happen, but..." Barbatos trails off, his chest feeling tight. It's not quite fear, or so he tells himself.

But if the strength of your sway has been powerful enough to throw the future into this degree of disarray...if your presence, your influence, has been so strong even to pull Lucifer from fate...

Barbatos forces the rising dread away, out of his voice, out of his mind. "The possibility exists that you really will be forced to make a choice like that someday. I thought perhaps it was in your best interest to be prepared for such an event...that's all I'm trying to say."

Now that he's said this much, however, Lucifer begins to rise from his chair with alarm. "So, does that mean that--"

"I'm afraid I've said a bit more than I should," Barbatos interrupts, before the other demon can finish the question. "I apologize for disturbing you...I know you're busy. Have a pleasant evening, Lucifer."

With that, he hurries out of the room without a single glance back to the former morning star, who is left to settle uneasily back into his seat.

Future, Anew

"They will need to sever the pacts. It's that, or the Ring of Light may be able to contain it...but it's been lost to history, as you know, so it's not really an option," Solomon explains. "It's going to be tough on the brothers, and...I'm sure they'll be upset as well. But it's the only way."

The sorcerer's expression is solemn, but there's a relief in his face. He has never liked showing weakness around his demonic companions, but for the past few weeks, his stress has been clear to everyone. Now it's finally been lifted.

There is a way. A way to fix things. A way that won't involve you getting hurt.

In an odd sense, Barbatos is relieved too. Severing the pacts -- as Solomon said, it's going to be hard on you and the brothers. But it's a way to end this. A way to stop the power you have, a way to undo all of the damage.

If that's the case, perhaps this has all been something like a bad dream. All of these recent events, twisting time into new shapes and leaving the future unknown to him -- perhaps they would simply stop. The power you have over it could simply be released. You would leave the Devildom, your connections broken, and he'll never have to worry about you again.

Then, fate could be set right again. Fate could be fate again. Familiar, comforting, consistent.

That's what he wants...he thinks.

He thinks so.

And yet...

There's something about the way you smiled so cheerfully after your exams. How brightly your face lifted after the stress, the relief and delight reaching to the very corners of your eyes as you heard the results. Something so honest and innocent -- while he can hardly remember ever being either of those things. It sticks to him, burbling its way to the front of his mind just once in a while, a couple times a day.

He'll never see that on you again after this. He'll never see you again after this.

But it's for the best. Everything can be set right again. Fate can resume its course at last.

Yes, that's what matters -- fate. The security of it, the preservation of it. Everything else...doesn't matter. It's all inconsequential, in the end. You weren't meant to matter, and after this, you wouldn't again. And that is fine. It is how it is meant to be.

Barbatos tells himself this, as a deep sorrow presses heavily upon his chest.

--

He feels it before he hears about it -- balances shifting, the future in flux.

You'd had the dagger in hand. Things had almost turned out tragically. But Barbatos can tell the instant it all comes crashing to a stop.

It's a good thing, the ideal outcome -- Lucifer alive, his memories restored, you unharmed, your pacts intact, and your power under control so that the realms are now safe. And in some way, without even looking, Barbatos can feel that things have settled. A change in fate -- but it is stable again.

So why does his heart still speed up every time he looks at you?

The question plagues him as he moves about the party, irresistibly drawn towards watching you drift from demon to demon, all of them clamoring for your attention. Even Lord Diavolo seems thoroughly enamored with you recently.

Is that what he is, too? Enamored? Is that why?

You catch him watching you once, mid-spin as you're dancing with Leviathan -- deep orbs of chartreuse that seem to drink in the light around them without reflecting any back. For that split second, you feel like there's something almost hypnotic about them, like you could slip right into that darkness and never find your way out. You're not even sure you'd want to.

For that one tiny moment, he can feel it in his chest -- he wouldn't want you to either.

But then, before you know it, the third brother whirls you back around, and you're laughing, and dancing, and having a good time in the present again. Not only the brothers in fact, but even Solomon and the angels too, are passing you back and forth amongst themselves, asking for dance after dance, and it's as though the bright candle lights all over the room wash the darkness right out as you twirl in their warm glow.

As he resumes his hosting duties, Barbatos considers trying to step in too, perhaps get a longer moment together. Might it be worth trying? Would he even know what to say, if he got his chance?

He's not sure. You've been only a crisis, an unpredictable catastrophe, until now. Amidst all the swirling of time around you, your mysterious power to pull everyone's fates into your own, you nearly brought about a collapse of all three worlds -- in every timeline.

So he's never really had a chance to just...talk to you.

Maybe it's time he did.

The next time your eyes meet, he finds himself making his way over before he has a chance to decide. His heart is ringing in his head as he taps you on the shoulder and extends a hand.

"Excuse me...might I have this next dance?"

A Dream of You

Your first date with Barbatos is sweet, if simple -- and if you even call it a date. He does, at least.

He dithers about asking you for longer than he'd like to admit. His duties keep him busy, and after all, you have enough suitors around you without him stepping in. Knowing that, it may actually be more considerate to you not to ask, he thinks.

He owes it to Lord Diavolo that it happens at all.

The prince, for his part, is more observant than most give him credit for. He has had Barbatos at his side for most of his life now -- and though it's still only a relatively short life so far, by demonic standards, it's certainly been more than long enough to notice how his butler changes just a little bit whenever you're around.

He rather likes that shift in Barbatos. His steward is too serious, and he works too hard. It's a perfect excuse to push him into a little break.

So, he invites you to the castle to join him for tea, to chat about how things are going with your exchange program experience. It's been almost two full years already -- have you gotten to travel much? He's delighted to see how hard you've been working on your studies at RAD, but the Devildom is so much more vast than just this city, you know. He'd love for you to see more of the realm, if you ever get the chance. There's this one wonderful little town in particular, a ways out of the city. There are such beautiful roses that bloom there at just this exact time of year, dotting the whole place with red and pink, and blanketing the whole town with the gentlest sweet aroma. And they make the most wonderful tea out of those flowers! One of his favorites, in fact. Why, speaking of it, would Barbatos mind putting on a pot of it now? -- knowing, of course, that they had run out just days ago for a recent garden party for the nobles.

"I'm terribly sorry, My Lord. I'll need to purchase fresh supplies soon. I know of one shop where it can be purchased, but it's a little far..." Barbatos notes the mischievous triumph in his master's face when your own lights up with envy at the mention. Of course he knew the butler wouldn't be able to ignore it when you're looking at him so imploringly. "If you're interested, would you like to accompany me?"

"Yes, please!" you answer immediately, eyes glittering almost as much as your soul.

"That sounds lovely," the prince agrees, and that settles it.

You meet Barbatos at the train station three days later, early if not so bright in this ever dark realm, and he leads you to your seats with a chuckle. Despite having been in the Devildom so long already, you're pretty clearly excited about the trip, looking this way and that as you board.

"Ah, I imagine you haven't had many opportunities to ride the Devildom railway before? It will take a few hours to reach our destination, so let's enjoy the scenery in the meantime," he says.

You nod eagerly and settle into a quiet peace together, looking outwards. Actually, it's almost a wonder your human eyes can see much through the dark sky beyond the windows at all, though the blazing lights shining off the train certainly help. Barbatos glances at you every once in a while as you ride, smiling softly to himself each time you gasp at a new sight passing by. But he can't blame you -- Lord Diavolo was correct, it's beautiful the whole way there.

The view of the city gives way soon enough to fields of tall red grass, crimson as blood, yet glistening gently with dew. Once in a while, trees dot the horizon, tight clusters of red and orange against the deep darkness of the sky, broken up from time to time by stops at progressively smaller towns. Then, after several hours, the scarlet plains surrender instead to wide swaths of flower fields, full of blushing red and pink dots as far as the eye can see. Another short while after that, a tiny hamlet comes into view, just as speckled in roses.

You practically bolt off the train when it arrives at your stop, before realizing that you don't actually know where you're going. Still, the scent of hellfire roses reaches you from the moment you step out, and you follow your nose out to find some of the flowers themselves. Barbatos chuckles quietly again, catching up with you soon enough. He'd normally be more bothered about someone rushing off and not thinking things through -- but from you, somehow, he finds it sort of charming.

For someone who has caused so much turmoil to the universe, it's...sweet, in a way. Unaware of your own pull, blissfully oblivious to the extent of your own power. Solomon may have told you that your powers are on par with his own now, but watching you, Barbatos gets the feeling that nothing has changed at all. Maybe it almost hasn't. Or at least, he'd have liked to believe that, if he didn't absolutely know otherwise.

"Shall we?" he says, holding out a gracious hand, and his pulse speeds up so fast when you take it that it's almost dizzying -- though he doesn't show it, of course.

He leads you through the streets and into a small but impressive shop, packed with interesting things inside -- not the least of which is a whole wall of rare teas at the far end of the place, all loose-leaf in massive canisters with a slender clear window to offer a peek of their contents. In front of it, employees carefully weigh and hand-pack each order for the handful of other customers inside.

On the opposite side of the store, colorful boxes line the shelves, each brightly announcing various local specialties in perfect souvenir packaging. Pink and red ribbons decorate each one, with a few even folded into delicate rosettes.

Meanwhile, glass cases fill the center with rows and rows of sweets in all shapes and sizes, each with a shiny placard detailing the name of the chef who created them, their ingredient sources, and their recommended tea pairings.

It's no wonder Barbatos likes this place, far from the city though it may be.

Amused at your wide-eyed excitement at everything, he leaves you to wander the store as he heads straight for the tea wall. It ends up taking two employees and the owner to gather and weigh everything he requests, and when you join back up with him, he makes sure to order a bit extra of that Hellfire Rose blend so you can have some too.

"Won't that be a little pricey?" you ask curiously, nervously catching a glance at the posted price.

"The value far outweighs the price," he simply smiles back. "You can share it with the other members of the House of Lamentation. I'm sure Lucifer and Satan would appreciate this wonderful blend with you."

Just as he's about to finish up with his order, another blend catches his eye, one he's never seen here before -- Vortex Paradox.

"Ah, is this a new blend?" he inquires, pointing it out.

The owner perks up upon seeing the blend in question. "Yes! You truly do have a fine eye, sir. Oh, it's a lovely blend. We fused different white and green teas, you see, which turned out with quite the surprisingly deep flavor, like a black tea, and yet it's also still light and sweet. It can be confusing for tea connoisseurs, but it kept drawing me back in -- just like tea leaves swirling to the center of a cup. Hence the name, you see."

Barbatos glances surreptitiously at you -- just as disorienting, yet you too seem to always draw him back in. He keeps catching himself thinking about you lately, even now that all the crises have been resolved. "Perhaps I'll buy this for my own enjoyment," he muses with a wry smile, heart skipping a beat as he takes the bag.

Thanking the staff, he pays for the collection of teas, and surprises you by paying for the things you picked up as well: two boxes of souvenir snacks for Beel, beautiful rosette cakes for Asmo, a baggie of cat-shaped cookies for Satan, and a box of rose-flavored chocolates for yourself. Then, you go to dinner together afterwards, and after that, it's back towards home -- with one quick stop for a photo, at the demon's request.

"I don't have many opportunities to spend time with you. After all, you're usually surrounded by those lively brothers. In other words, today has been a rather special day for me," he explains. "It's a pity that such an enjoyable time must come to an end, but we have people waiting for us back home..."

He's a bit surprised himself, to find that for the first time, he's not quite wanting to return to the castle and its prince just yet, despite what he'd just said. Just like that day at the party, there's an odd impulse in him to wrap you up in his arms and not let go.

But you do indeed have people waiting for you, and he as well.

So he doesn't. He settles for a photo, then leads you back to the train station, watching over you as you fall asleep on the way back, exhausted from the excitement of the day. With the various souvenir gifts you'd gotten the brothers, your pile of purchases is almost as tall as his own stack of supplies for the castle, he notes to his amusement, and he carries both collections off the train when it pulls back into the city, regardless of any protests from you.

"Thank you for today," you smile brightly at him when he hands your things back at last, before you split off from each other to head home. "Even if uh, heh, I guess I was only accompanying you for an errand, huh? But I really enjoyed myself, so thanks for letting me come along!"

"Not at all. The pleasure was mine for your company."

As you wave goodbye and turn to leave, there's that strange tightness in his chest again.

--

"Asmo, wait--"

You reach for his arm to try to stop the Avatar of Lust from running off, but he's zipped away in search of moisturizer already, leaving you with Barbatos, who is presently dressed as a teal bat.

Honestly, he can't understand Asmodeus at times like this -- it will take longer for him to go and come back than it would to simply check for the others and return inside.

But then, he's also not complaining about a little alone time with you...

Though you had taken that trip together to buy tea, a few months have already passed, and between magic training under Solomon and now these sorcerer trials, you've been so busy that the butler hasn't really had much chance to even see you. And even when he has, it's not as though he could easily ask you on another date when the brothers are so often hanging around.

Sighing after Asmodeus's turned back, you direct your attention back to the remaining demon and give him a slightly awkward smile, trying to make conversation. "So...nice weather, huh?"

Ah. Of course. He supposes you haven't actually really talked with each other much still, despite his growing infatuation with you. And although he's had his eye on you for a while now -- how could he not have, after all that's happened? -- as a butler often stepping away into the background, it's to be expected that he might not have caught yours in return. Without the excitement of new sights all around to keep your attention, perhaps it's natural you wouldn't know what to say to him.

He gives you a small, reassuring smile. "Do you find it awkward being alone with me? You shouldn't feel obligated to come up with something to talk about. Nor is there any need to feel uneasy around me." After all, he's happy just to be beside you here.

You don't look convinced, though, or perhaps you just aren't able to enjoy the silence with him. In any case, you peer at him, looking like you'd still like to say something.

Or, if he dares hope -- maybe you'd also like to get to know him better?

"What do you think of Lucifer and his brothers?" you blurt out finally.

Not a question he'd been expecting. Still, he obliges without missing a beat. "As long as you're just watching them, they're an enjoyable group, and never boring. But they can sometimes cause trouble, and can be a nuisance. I suppose that's a fair way of putting it. To be completely honest, I wish they would refrain from involving the Young Master every time they get into some sort of trouble."

You give him an understanding nod in the silence that ensues, though you look like you aren't exactly sure how to respond. You're much closer with the brothers than he is -- probably why you'd asked the question. So, maybe you just aren't comfortable expressing that affection for them around him?

Trying to lighten your mood a little, he adds, "For his part, the Young Master seems to like being involved, which is the source of many headaches for me."

That earns him a small smile from you, just short of a laugh, and to his relief, you seem to relax a little bit. "Then...what do you think of Diavolo?"

"He is my master, and I devote myself fully to his service, as is my duty. The Young Master is the very reason for my existence now. Does that answer your question?"

You can't help but giggle this time, thrown off by his unexpectedly serious answer. "Yeah, I guess it does."

Both of you fall silent again after that. It's clear on your face that you have another question on your mind, as your gaze focuses intensely on him, and his pulse quickens at what it might be. But despite your earlier attempts at conversation, for some reason, you don't ask this one. You look almost too nervous to ask.

He's curious what's on your mind. But Asmodeus will be returning any moment now, and if you aren't comfortable saying it, then he supposes he ought to leave it alone. Carefully, he suggests, "Perhaps I could ask you some questions this time?"

"Oh! Of course," you agree immediately, the apprehension dropping from your face in an instant. How strange, to relax more when handing the reins to a demon. "What do you want to know?"

How you, a random human with no magical powers of their own, pulled fate to you.

How you pull everyone around you into your orbit, like gravity pulling planets to the sun.

How you seem to pull him to you, too.

How you're so oblivious to that pull you have over him.

But, of course, he doesn't ask any of those things.

Instead, he opts for simpler questions, more along the lines of what you'd asked him -- how do you feel about the brothers, about the angels? You answer simply, and he nods along as you speak. You're fond of them; you're fond of everyone. Of course you are. He did ask, but it wasn't as though he didn't know that already.

Unsure what else to say from there, he begins to turn his gaze back towards the manor to check for Asmodeus's return, when you blurt out, "You're not going to ask me how I feel about you?"

That catches him off-guard.

"Well, outside of the Young Master, I've never been interested in others' opinions of me, you see," he responds, then pauses. That might have been true before, and it might have been the truth for millenia. But as you stand directly before him, looking him in the eyes, can he honestly say that he doesn't care what you think of him? "But as long as we're on the subject, would you mind if I inquire? What do you think of me?"

You don't hesitate. "I like you."

His heart skips another beat.

"...My goodness. I must say, I'm honored."

Your eyes are locked on each other as you both let that blunt confession hang in the air for another moment, before he opens his mouth to speak.

"Guys, heeeeeelp!" comes the cry from Asmodeus instead.

--

"Hey Barbatos, I just passed this really interesting antique store while I was in town, full of skulls, and taxidermy, and all kinds of stuff. And, I was wondering...would you maybe like to check it out with me tomorrow? As a date?"

It is, perhaps, a bit ironic to suggest visiting an antiques and oddities shop to a demon almost as old as the universe itself -- and even more so, one in the human realm, where the wares are generally only a couple centuries at most, or assorted "demonic" paraphernalia with no actual connections to the Devildom at all. But when he receives the call from you, he doesn't question it at all.

Three weeks have passed already since you told him, point-blank, that you like him, yet neither of you has had a chance to speak about it again since. So if you're inviting him on a date now?

Well, he's certainly not going to say no.

He waits for you at a nearby cafe the next day -- his choice of meeting spot -- and he's there with two paper to-go cups of freshly brewed tea when you arrive.

"The owner here is a recent friend of mine," he explains, holding one of the cups out to you, "and we thought it'd be interesting to exchange blends sometime. As it happens, I realized it was quite close to the shop you mentioned, so I thought I'd come by today. Now, you've arrived just in time for this one to have cooled to the perfect temperature, so please enjoy it."

"Wow, thank you!" you exclaim, taking a sip. He's right -- it's just cool enough not to scald your tongue, with the perfect amount of lingering heat to lift the fragrant notes of persimmon and pomegranate to your nostrils. The warm sweetness lingers on your palate, echoing the gentle warmth of his fingers as he takes your hand to walk.

As the two of you approach the antiques store, he can see right away why you thought to invite him in particular. The entire shopfront, from the trim of the windows and door to the severe brick exterior, is pure black, standing at a stark contrast from the rest of the street. A soft, eerie teal light glows entrancingly from a crystal ball in the window, resting upon a backdrop of carefully draped black velvet, beckoning passersby to come stare into its depths.

Above the door, the deep toll of a bell rings out in welcome as you walk in, accompanied by the distant echoing of children laughing further inside. He chuckles; it's clearly meant to be creepy, but as a demon, he finds it so terribly curious what humans consider to be unsettling. He might have expected the joy of the young to be more enjoyable to human ears.

The interior of the shop, it turns out, is fairly massive, consisting of several additional rooms with more varied theming beyond the all-black furniture and all-black walls at the entrance. One room mimics the feeling of an old laboratory littered with skeletons and various scientific implements, while another has dried flowers and taxidermy butterflies scattered all around a garden-like space. Another still is laden with colorful crystals and rocks gleaming alongside elaborate displays of antique jewelry.

He looks around with mild curiosity as you browse. Most of the occult merchandise is kitschy if not outright fake, but he keeps an eye out nevertheless for things he thinks you might like. As you wander the rooms, you call his attention over to a few things as well -- old timepieces, vintage cooking utensils, the occasional demonic-looking cryptid skull which he invariably assures you is certainly not from any actual creature of the Devildom.

"Ah, but this one here..." A small block of amber catches his eye, containing what appears to be a preserved moth with an extra pair of wings. "I believe this little one may actually be a moirae moth. How interesting to see one that's made its way to the human world...old Devildom mythology suggests that these creatures once produced the threads of silk that three fairy sisters weaved into the kismet tapestry. Moirae moths can be identified by their six wings, as you can see here -- one for each hand of fate."

Barbatos passes the fossil over to you, and you tilt your head at it slightly as if puzzling over something, then look back up at him. "Shouldn't you of all demons know if that myth is true or not?"

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"Well...you can see the past, present, and future, right, Barbatos? And you said there are infinite timelines...so wouldn't that mean there's no such thing as fate?"

He blinks in surprise.

"Yes, there are indeed infinite timelines. But...perhaps it may be more apt to compare fate to a braid, rather than a tapestry. There are places, certain events, where the timelines converge and meet before splitting off again. For example, I knew even before I met him that I would make a pact with Solomon, as it is true in every timeline. Though, to a human such as yourself, those events would normally be so far apart that they may never touch your life at all."

"Oh. Hmm...like what? What was the last one?"

Another blink, and he can't help but chuckle a bit in response this time. You really never cease to surprise him. With how much that very fate had changed since you'd first arrived in the Devildom, the question is a startling reminder that you don't in fact have any idea how much impact you've really had on time and the universe.

"You."

"Me?" You're the surprised one this time, mouth agape with disbelief. "How -- I -- wasn't I just some human you guys dragged into the exchange program?"

"You were," he agrees. "And then you weren't."

You look even more confused now, for good reason. "Because you picked the 'true' timeline?"

"No, it was not my doing. I merely combined the timelines where you existed in the Devildom. However, something shifted such that you started appearing even in timelines that were originally not your own, and thus, you created a new event of fate. Though, even I do not know exactly how," he admits.

You place the fossil back onto the table, looking deep in thought, and Barbatos immediately regrets telling you all that.

"Ah, I'm afraid I must apologize. This was supposed to be a pleasant, casual day out together, and I've given you such a heavy topic to dwell on. Shall we look in that room next?" he asks, trying to direct your attention back to lighter matters.

From there, you resume your browsing together, looking at the various oddities and each picking up a couple small trinkets, but he can tell you're distinctly distracted now.

Just as the two of you are about to leave, suddenly you stop and turn around. "Wait here, actually. There's one more thing I want to run back and get."

You dash back inside before he can respond, leaving him flustered at the entrance, and return back after a moment, your spirits looking higher again.

"Were you able to find what you went back for?" he inquires, looking at you curiously, but you're already stuffing whatever it was into your pocket, out of sight.

"Yep! Sorry about that!" you answer brightly, seemingly happy to keep it a secret. Instead, you grab his hand and almost drag him along with you, heading back down the way you'd first come. "You said you're friends with the owner of that cafe earlier, right? Come on, I'm feeling kind of hungry, so let's get a snack or something."

Surrendering, he decides not to pry any further, settling for sipping on another cup of tea and sharing a slice of chocolate pear cake at your behest. Once in a while, he notices you fidgeting with it again in your jacket pocket. Still, it remains just out of his view.

Perhaps it's a gift for one of the others, something that you thought that one of the brothers might like. There were several items inside that seemed right up Satan's alley. In any case, he supposes that as long as you're no longer looking weighed down by the earlier conversation, it's for the better -- even if there's an unmistakable twinge of jealousy in his chest at the thought.

So, it's to Barbatos's surprise when, as you say your goodbyes for the day afterwards, you pull the object back out of your pocket and slip it into his hand. The moirae moth from earlier stares emptily up at him from inside of its amber encasing, its translucent wings gleaming in the sunshine now that you're out of the shop's dim lighting.

"Actually," you smile sheepishly, "I went back to get this for you. I, um, was thinking about what you said. About me creating a new fate. I thought you should have something that creates fates too. Well, I guess you're almost like the most powerful demon ever though, so you don't really need some moth to--"

In that moment, you're sparkling again, and he's tempted for so much more than just your soul.

He pulls you into a kiss. No pause to question it, no holding back out of politeness -- though he is relieved when you kiss him back.

You taste like chocolate cake and persimmon tea, and you send his heart racing.

And this time, that's a good thing.

(A/N: This is the "happy ending" point. If you want this story to end sweetly and happily, just leave here!! This is a perfectly good place to stop! Because the next chapter is the final chapter and it is not a happy, neat, fluffy, sweet kind of ending. You've been warned!)

Certainty

Barbatos had thought that things were fine now. That, full of surprises as you were, things were stable now. You hadn't been fated, and then you were -- and then you were, together.

And that was the end of it, he thought.

It wasn't. And now, here he stands, opening a portal for his pact-mate to follow you to who-knows-when in time.

There's a dread pounding in his chest, an odd powerlessness he's rarely ever felt.

Solomon nods at him before stepping through, and then he's gone.

Barbatos can't follow.

Control over time, all this immense power -- hadn't Leviathan called him the Most Powerful of All Beings? Hadn't you, too? And yet, he can't follow. It's too close to another, past version of him. He is powerful. That's exactly what makes it too dangerous for two of him to exist in the same time and space.

So he can't follow. But that doesn't make him want to any less.

He sits down, feeling as though the air has been squeezed out of his chest, drowning in anxieties of possibilities and impossibilities.

Someone who has the power to change fate, suddenly flung far into the past -- and here he is, left behind, unable to do anything about it.

This is what you've always been -- unpredictable, uncontainable.

He shakes his head, trying to clear the helpless thoughts from his mind. If there is one thing he knows now, one unshakeable, undeniable fact, it's that you are even more powerful than fate.

Your connection transcends time.

You will find your way back to each other.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Hello!! I think Asmo with the 🏃 prompt would be really cool :] idc if MC is present or not!

"You look better when you’re running away." - Asmodeus

The Avatar of Lust lowers his eyes in a sickeningly sweet glare at the sea-loving demon in his grasp, taking him in fully with graceful judgment.

"We all have our angles, Mortoliel, sweetheart. For example, I look stunning at any angle, of course, but I'm extraordinarily lovely with my head tilted just this way, thirteen degrees to the right, and the camera pointed down to accent how shy and sweet I am. You see? Just like this."

Asmo pauses to position himself correctly, smiling sweetly into the lens of his D.D.D. for a quick selfie before moving on, giving a little giggle at the click of the shutter even as his slenderly manicured fingernails claw dangerously against the flesh of the other's throat.

"And my older brother, who you so crassly thought you could embarrass, is actually quite a cutie, you know? He likes to make some weird poses, and his costumes are a bit silly sometimes, sure, but those earnest little photoshoots of his really do bring out his charm. I mean, it is charming, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course," Mortoliel grunts nervously in agreement. Sweat drips from his palms, whether due to fear or due to the Avatar of Lust's eyelashes fluttering alluringly as the champagne-haired devil flips through a couple photos on Devilgram to demonstrate his point -- the very same ones the lesser had tried recently to use against the Grand Admiral of Hell's Navy, in fact, though it feels quite distant to think of it now.

Asmo, however, pays no mind to the lesser demon's bodily reactions. He hums to himself with distracted satisfaction, tapping twice on the screen each time he flips it forward to give the next cosplay photo a like before moving on.

Leviathan really is so cute and shy about these things. He's wildly incorrect if he thinks his social media savvy sibling wouldn't know about his secret cosplay account, but it's endearing, truly -- even if Asmo really would rather not listen to another hours-long tirade lauding the many ways his brother finds the sparkling pink anime girl to be the pinnacle of charm. After all, his own adorable younger brother is right there...!

Absently, his fingers curl a little tighter at the thought, and a gasping squeak from the throat of the lesser demon at hand draws Asmo's attention back to the present.

"Right, well, that's my big brother for you. What works for him doesn't work for everyone. Like I said, we all have our strengths! And you, my dear, you..."

Suddenly, Mortoliel is let free from the grasp around his neck, leaving the lesser demon stumbling as he gasps for air. He scrambles to his feet, afraid to take his eyes off of the beautiful demon lest he be seized again. But Asmodeus makes no move to grab him again -- at least, not yet. He simply turns his saccharine smile back towards the lesser demon, directing the lens of his phone down to follow his gaze. And in the shadows shifting across his soft features as he does, the sweet expression turns sinister.

"Well, Mortoliel, you look better when you're running away. I'll give you a head start, so make sure to make it pretty for me, mmkay?"