#the distortion would be heaven. and the shadows would be angels that when confronted with events of her past

[akechi-stole-my-heart]

what if. i gave pt!sachiko a palace.

[demonicangelics-world]

Redamancy - Zestial X Angel!OC

Chapter Two: The Extermination

Synopsis: In the shadowy realms of Hell and the celestial heights of Heaven, two souls grapple with the ache of unrequited love. Zestial, the formidable demon overlord, commands respect and fear. His past has forged a reputation that isolates him. Resigned to a life of power and isolation, he yearned for companionship and understanding, knowing that his intimidating demeanor made such connections seemingly impossible. Gabriela, once a radiant angel, admired the archangel Michael from afar, her heart swelling with unspoken affection for his divine strength and kindness. Casted into Hell on a mission, she now struggles to survive in a world where danger lurks at every corner, her angelic essence buried beneath a demonic exterior. Amidst the chaos of Hell and the secrets of Heaven, a profound and forbidden love ignites between them, challenging the very core of their beliefs and values.

Chapter Two: The Extermination Next Chapter: Évangéline

Word Count: 4,749 

*********************************************************The distant cries of the damned resonated like a haunting melody through the thick walls of Zestial's hidden sanctum. He sat in serene contrast, sipping his tea with an air of calm detachment. 

Outside, chaos reigned supreme, but within the walls, all was tranquility. It was December 31st—Extermination Day—a date that brought terror to most but merely signified routine for Zestial.

"Another year passeth, another purge cometh," he mused, setting his teacup down with a soft clink. The Extermination was in full swing, yet he remained unfazed. 

With years of experience, Zestial had perfected the art of survival. His domain was a labyrinth of formidable magic and illusions designed to mislead even the most relentless Exorcists. Confrontation was for the brash and the foolish; wisdom lay in evasion and patience.

His thoughts drifted to Carmilla. He wondered if she was managing her domain well amidst the chaos, but he knew she was fine, given her resilience and resourcefulness. Memories surfaced of the day he found her, as this very day,—lost, scared, and heavily pregnant—a rarity in Hell.

Years ago, Zestial had taken a different approach to the chaos of the extermination. While other overlords hid away, seeking to avoid the deadly exorcists, Zestial saw the carnage as a golden opportunity to claim souls. With his mastery of formidable illusions, he cloaked himself from the exorcists' sight and emerged from the shadows, revealing himself only to demons and sinners in their moments of utmost desperation.

"Safety for thy soul," he would offer, his voice calm and authoritative. The mere sight of him would terrify anyone on a regular day. But on extermination day, when death loomed over every corner, sinners and demons didn't think twice before accepting his offer. With a snap of his fingers, Zestial would cast an illusion spell, temporarily hiding them from the exorcists.

Internally, he would laugh at the cruel irony of the situation. These wretched souls traded their eternal freedom for a mere illusion that would only last a few hours. It was a dark game he played, taking advantage of their fear and desperation.

In the midst of one such night of extermination, a particular crying scream pierced through the cacophony of chaos, catching Zestial's attention. It was different from the usual screams of terror and agony—a sound imbued with a distinct, desperate pain. Intrigued, he decided to investigate the source.

As he glided silently through the blood-soaked streets, he found the origin of the scream: a solitary figure, distorted by pain and fear, struggling in the shadows. As he approached, the scene became clearer. To his astonishment, he saw a heavily pregnant sinner, doubled over and clearly in labor amidst the frenzy.

Zestial's keen eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. This was an exceedingly rare occurrence in Hell, and it presented an opportunity he had not encountered before. With a calm, calculated demeanor, he stepped forward, his presence both terrifying and reassuring.

"Safety to birth thy child, in exchange for thy soul," he had proposed, his voice a soothing balm amidst the chaos, as he offered his hand.

The sinner, though wracked with pain, paused to consider his offer. Her eyes, glazed with agony, still held a flicker of sharp assessment as she looked at Zestial. It was a rare moment—most souls accepted his proposition without a second thought, driven by sheer desperation. But she hesitated, weighing her options even in her dire state.

This momentary hesitation intrigued Zestial. When she finally accepted his hand, he felt a rare twinge of pity. Without fully understanding why, he decided to teleport them both to his hidden sanctum. It was an act of unusual mercy for him, guided by an impulse he could not quite identify. Normally, he would have cast an illusion spell to hide her temporarily from the exorcists, a simple and efficient solution

In the sanctuary of his hidden domain, the sinner's screams echoed off the walls as she continued to labor without assistance. Zestial watched, his presence a silent testament to her suffering. He offered words of comfort, but they fell on deaf ears—her pain was too consuming for her to register his voice.

Finally, through the screams and the turmoil, she gave birth. Not to one infant, but two. The sight of the twin infants further piqued Zestial's curiosity. This sinner, who had hesitated in the face of his offer and now delivered twins in the heart of Hell, was an enigma—a puzzle that stirred something within the ancient overlord.

Zestial observed with intrigue as the sinner cradled her newborn twins, her tears of happiness contrasting with the chaos of Hell surrounding them. He allowed her a moment of motherly love before breaking the silence with a simple question, "Thy name?"

"Carmilla," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Zestial pressed further, seeking answers to the mysteries of her past. "What deeds didst thou commit in thy mortal life? And how didst thou meet thy end?"

In a fit of defiance, Carmilla's gaze shifted to her infants, and she remained silent, focusing all her attention on them. Irritation flickered in Zestial at her defiance. In a moment of impulsive assertiveness, he conjured magic to lift the infants away from her, causing them to cry out in distress, even though he meant no actual harm to them.

Startled and frightened, Carmilla's defiance quickly wavered, and she frantically responded to Zestial's questions. "I was a weapons dealer," she confessed, her voice trembling with fear. "And I died by suicide."

With a flick of his wrist, Zestial returned the newborn infants to Carmilla's arms, their cries now echoing in the sanctum. She clutched them tightly, shooting Zestial a look of anger mixed with fear. 

Zestial's ears caught the mention of "weapons dealer," an idea sparked in his mind, igniting a newfound intrigue. 

Her background hinted at a level of cunning and resourcefulness that intrigued the ancient overlord. Despite her current predicament, Zestial saw potential in Carmilla's skills and intellect, recognizing that they could be valuable assets in the tumultuous world of Hell.

Granting Carmilla her freedom in exchange for her services was not merely an act of mercy; it was a calculated decision driven by Zestial's strategic mindset. He envisioned leveraging her talents to further his own interests and ambitions within the infernal hierarchy. With her knowledge, Carmilla had the potential to become a powerful overlord in Zestial's pursuit of dominance in Hell.

Zestial saw beyond the surface, recognizing in Carmilla a kindred spirit of sorts—an individual with the capacity for cunning and adaptability, much like himself. By offering her a chance at freedom, he sought to harness her skills to strengthen his domain, bolster his defenses, and expand his influence.

In Carmilla, Zestial saw not just a mere sinner, but a potential ally in his quest for supremacy. As he contemplated the possibilities that her inclusion could bring, Zestial felt a surge of anticipation, eager to see how their alliance would unfold and how it would shape the future of Hell.

As the cries of the infants subsided and a tense silence settled in the sanctum, Zestial saw the opportune moment to present his proposition to Carmilla. With a sense of purpose, he addressed her, his voice echoing through the chamber.

"Carmilla," he began, his tone measured yet firm, "I proffer thee a new covenant—one that extendeth beyond the bounds of our initial agreement"

Carmilla, still clutching her newborns tightly, turned her attention to Zestial, her expression a mix of apprehension and curiosity. 

"In exchange for thy services as an arms merchant within my realm," Zestial continued, "I shall grant thee thy freedom."

As Zestial observed Carmilla's reactions, he sensed the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions raging within her. He saw the fear and uncertainty in her eyes, mixed with a glimmer of surprise at the unexpected offer of freedom. Yet beneath it all, he detected a fierce determination, a resolve to grasp any chance to secure a future for herself and her children.

With each passing moment, Zestial could almost hear the silent prayers for guidance echoing in Carmilla's mind. He understood the gravity of her decision. In that moment, he believed that Carmilla acknowledged the weight of their intertwined destinies, accepting the new contract, tinged with both trepidation and a quiet hope for what the future might hold.

“I accept,” Carmilla spoke.

With her words, the contract was sealed. Dark tendrils of glowing magic wove around Carmilla, binding her soul to the terms of their agreement. A glowing sigil appeared momentarily, symbolizing the pact now etched into her very essence. As the light faded, the sigil sank into her skin, leaving no visible trace but marking the beginning of their bond.

Zestial regarded her for a moment, then asked, "Hast thou considered names for thy infants?"

Carmilla paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face. After a moment, she answered, "Clara and Odette.”

Zestial’s mind drifted back to the present extermination day. Memories of Carmilla flooded his thoughts, reminding him of how far they had come since their fateful encounter years ago. She had rightfully earned her freedom back long ago, rising to high overlord status through her own determination and cunning.

Zestial couldn't deny the respect he held for Carmilla. Over the years, he had grown to admire her intellect, her skills in weapon crafting, and above all, her unwavering love for her daughters. Genuine love was a rare commodity in Hell, and Zestial found himself intrigued by the depth of Carmilla's emotions.

As much as Zestial had tried to convince himself that he was incapable of such feelings, he couldn't deny the truth any longer. Somewhere along the line, amidst their partnership and shared ambitions, he had developed feelings for Carmilla. It was a revelation that both puzzled and fascinated him, stirring emotions that he had long believed to be dormant within his cold heart.

Despite their close partnership and the bond they had formed over the years, he had never seen any indication from her that she reciprocated his subtle romantic inclinations. Carmilla seemed guarded and apprehensive when it came to any kind of romantic involvement, and she had never shown any interest in pursuing such a relationship with him or anyone else.

Though Zestial recognized that his feelings for Carmilla were unrequited, he respected her boundaries and chose not to press the matter further. He valued their partnership and the trust they had built over the years, and he knew that forcing the issue could potentially jeopardize their alliance. Zestial was many things, but he was not a brute. He prided himself on his restraint and cunning, knowing that brute force could never achieve what subtlety and patience could. This understanding guided his actions, ensuring that his feelings remained unspoken and unacted upon, preserving the delicate balance of their relationship.

At times, Zestial found himself wondering about Carmilla's past and what might have led her to be so guarded. However, Carmilla remained tight-lipped about her personal history, and Zestial respected her privacy, choosing not to pry into matters she clearly wished to keep hidden. 

In the end, Zestial accepted that Carmilla's priorities were on her daughters’ well being and her work, and he was content to continue their partnership based on a foundation of mutual respect and admiration.

Before meeting Carmilla, Zestial had already been gradually stepping away from the violent exploits and power struggles that defined the lives of many overlords. He preferred to retreat to the sanctity of his hidden sanctum, savoring the fruits of his long and arduous labors. Offering soul contracts on Extermination Day had become a mere sport for him, a way to pass the time and amuse himself. It was not out of necessity; Zestial was already an immensely powerful and feared overlord, his reputation solidified through centuries of dominance and cunning.

Encountering Carmilla and extending his aid to her was the final catalyst for Zestial to fully retreat from the overtly violent world of Hell's power games. Her arrival marked the end of his participation in the grim sport of soul-trading. Instead, he chose to observe from the shadows, only stepping in when absolutely necessary. This new approach allowed him to enjoy the peace he had long sought, while still maintaining his influence and control.

Although Zestial finally achieved solitude, he admittedly felt a sense of loneliness. He recognized that this was a consequence of his own doing. 

When he first arrived in Hell, Zestial ruled with a violent iron fist, imposing his will through fear and brutality. But over time, he learned that brute violence was not the answer. Slowly, he adopted a more calm and strategic approach to his overlordship, a wisdom that came only with time and experience. Yet, the damage was already done. Zestial was known throughout the realm of Hell as one of the oldest overlords not to not be trifled with.

This revelation brought him the solitude he craved but also the isolation that now weighed heavily upon him. Despite the power and respect he commanded, Zestial often found himself yearning for the connection and companionship that had become a rarity in his existence. 

To be understood and heard, to share and converse without fear or ulterior motives.

But Zestial knew it was only wishful thinking because the mere sight of him scared demons and sinners away. He resigned himself to be content in his solitude and the occasional visit from allied overlords. It was a life of power and respect, but one tinged with the quiet longing for a connection that seemed forever out of reach.

As Zestial lingered on his thoughts, he realized that he was delving too deeply into his own desires and longings. With a slight shake of his head, he refocused his attention to the present moment. His thoughts turned to Alastor, the enigmatic radio demon whose rumored return had stirred whispers throughout Hell. Zestial couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the prospect of Alastor's return. Souls like Alastor and Carmilla were rare finds in the chaotic landscape of Hell, and their presence always intrigued him.

With a decisive nod, Zestial conjured the tea set away and rose from his seat. It was time to retire for the night despite the ongoing slaughter, but tomorrow he would take a walk to investigate and hear more rumors of Alastor's return. With a final glance around his hidden sanctum, Zestial left the room, his mind already racing with anticipation and excitement for the events that lay ahead and the possibilities that Alastor's presence could bring to Hell

*********************************************************

A hidden mansion on the outskirts of Pentagram City stands nestled among twisted trees, shrouded in an eerie mist. It’s an hour before the extermination. The mansion, a silent sentinel against the chaos of Hell, exudes an air of mystery and foreboding. Inside, the opulent yet shadowy interior is filled with an unsettling quiet, broken only by the sound of 666 News playing on the newest VoxTek television model:

Katie Killjoy: "Good evening, Hellions! It’s that time of year again—Extermination Day is upon us! For all you newbies and those who've somehow managed to survive another year, here's your friendly reminder to hide, take cover, and try not to die! Tom?"

Tom Trench: "Thanks, Katie. As usual, the Exorcists will be descending upon Hell in about an hour, so now’s the time to fortify your hiding spots. Remember, the key to surviving is staying out of sight. Here are a few tips for you unlucky souls."

Katie Killjoy: "Tip number one: Avoid open spaces. The Exorcists are like bloodhounds; they'll sniff you out faster than you can say 'eternal damnation.' Tip number two: Use any magical wards or spells you have to mask your presence. If you can afford it, illusions are a great way to mislead those pesky Exorcists."

Tom Trench: "Tip number three: Team up. If you’ve got allies or even temporary friends, now’s the time to stick together. There’s safety in numbers, and a group can fend off Exorcists better than a lone sinner. But remember, if it comes down to it, don't hesitate to sacrifice the weakest link."

Katie Killjoy: "And finally, tip number four: Pray. Though it might be a bit ironic down here, a little prayer might just save your sorry hide. Of course, that’s if anyone’s listening above. Stay safe, Hellions, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The broadcast ends with a gleaming, malevolent smile from Katie and a resigned nod from Tom. The camera pans out from the television screen, revealing the sprawling cityscape of Hell as its inhabitants scramble to find safety.

With a flick of the remote, I cut the television off, the voices of Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench falling into silence. I make my way to the kitchen, knowing that my father is most likely wrapping up business and on his way home. Tonight, I prepare tostones with rice and beans, his favorite dish.

As I cook, I reflect on the rarity of having fresh ingredients in Hell, where most food is either rotten or decayed. These fresh ingredients are a rare delicacy, only obtainable through my father's power and influence. I chop the plantains and sauté the beans, savoring the aromas that fill the kitchen.

Just as I finish putting together the meal, I hear the mansion doors open. My heart skips a beat, knowing that my father has finally arrived home.

“Valeria! Daddy’s home!”

I walk out of the kitchen to the main entrance of the mansion.  

It's my father. Valentino. 

Although I pretend to be clueless, I know very well who my father truly is and the kind of ruthless business he runs. I'm acutely aware of his charming facade, his controlling nature, his violent temper, and the dark reputation that follows him, and I play the submissive dutiful daughter, careful not to cross any lines. 

I understand all too well how dangerous it can be to provoke his anger. I've seen the aftermath of his tantrums and the terror he instills in everyone around him. Despite the fact that my father has never laid a hand on me, I always approach him with caution.

I see him boorishly taking off his signature red coat and hat, exposing his slender body and bald head. He throws them to the floor as his robotic imp servant, Kitty, scrambles to pick up after him. My dad spots me and he opens his four lanky arms and stretches his wings out.

 “Mija, it’s been a while! Come here and give your daddy a hug!”

I walk over. "Hey, Dad," I greeted him with a smile, stepping into his outstretched arms for a hug. As I embrace him, I'm enveloped in the heavy scent of cologne, smoke, and booze that clings to his clothes from his long day of work.

"How was your day?" he asks, patting my back before pulling away slightly to look at me. 

"It was okay, just the usual," I reply, trying to keep my tone light. "And yours?"

Valentino shrugs nonchalantly. "Same old, same old," he says dismissively. "But I smell something delicious. What's for dinner, mija?"

“It’s your favorite, Dad," I say with a smile.

Valentino chuckles warmly. "You're always the perfect daughter, Valeria," he says with a hint of pride, before heading to the dining room. 

The sound of his heels clicking on the floor echoes through the hallway as he walks away. I watch him go, then turn back to the kitchen to bring out the plates of tostones with rice and beans, his go-to comfort food. I watch him set his heart-shaped glasses aside and carelessly toss his gloves at Kitty. He unbuttons more of his black dress shirt, exposing numerous hickies. 

As we settle in to eat, I pour my dad his favorite nectar wine. He digs into his meal with gusto, showing no regard for manners as he eats in a rushed and somewhat messy manner oblivious to my disgust. His sharp yellow teeth tear into the food with a voracious appetite, while his long tongue darts out to catch any morsels that escape his lips. The sound of his loud chewing fills the air, accompanied by the occasional slurp as he gulps down his nectar wine. I've grown accustomed to his eating habits over the years.

Despite his lack of etiquette, I'm grateful for these rare moments when we can sit down together as a family, even if it's just for a meal. It's moments like these that remind me of the bond we share, despite the challenges that come with being the secret daughter of an overlord.

As the daughter of Valentino, I have never set foot outside the mansion’s gates. My world is confined to its walls. I never met my mother or have any distinct memories of her. From my earliest childhood, I only recall my father bringing a series of "girlfriends" to raise me for a year or two. They would mysteriously “disappear” and never be heard of again. The only other person who has been consistent with my dad and knows of my existence is Vox, the technopathic overlord. His visits are rare but frequent enough to remind me of the strange world beyond the mansion's gates.

Due to my dad and Vox's special relationship, the mansion is equipped with the most advanced technology in Hell, courtesy of VoxTek Enterprises. My father has acquired cutting-edge security systems to protect the mansion from attacks, such as the one that will occur tonight. However, more importantly, these systems ensure that I cannot escape. The high-tech barriers, surveillance cameras, and automated guards are all part of a sophisticated network designed to keep me confined within these walls. My father's desire to keep me safe is mixed with his controlling nature, making my gilded cage inescapable.

With a loud burp, Valentino leans back in his chair, patting his stomach. “That hit the spot. Gracias, mija. Oh, by the way, I got you something special.”

I look up from my plate, curious. “Oh? What is it?”

Valentino grins, revealing his sharp teeth. “Your Tio Vox has a new toy for you. It’s the latest edition of the Vox phone, not even released to the public yet.”

He reaches into his white pocket pants and pulls out a sleek, shiny device, placing it on the table in front of me. “I noticed you don’t use your current phone much. Thought maybe you didn’t like it.”

I pick up the phone, feeling its weight in my hand. It’s a beautiful piece of technology, with all the latest features, no doubt. But I know the real reason he’s giving it to me. The phones are bugged, a way for him and Vox to monitor my activities and ensure I don’t step out of line.

Despite this knowledge, I put on a grateful smile. “Thanks, Dad. It’s really cool. I appreciate it.”

Valentino's grin widens. “I’m glad you like it. Just want to make sure you have the best, mija. You deserve it.”

I glance out the window of the dinning room and see the faint outline of the V Tower in the far distance. My thoughts drift to Velvette, the other V who works closely with my dad and Vox. She has no idea I exist, and in some ways, that’s a small blessing. In my years of involuntary confinement, I’ve channeled my energy into becoming a talented seamstress. My dad would pass my clothing designs to Velvette, who absolutely loved them. She’s tried to get my dad to reveal the identity of the designer, but he always tells her it’s a secret, claiming that this particular “soul contract” prevents him from revealing identity.

“Dad, did Velvette like the last designs you gave her?” I ask, trying to keep the eagerness out of my voice.

My father nods, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Oh, she was extremely pleased, mija. She said they were some of the best designs she’s ever seen.”

I feel a flicker of joy at his words. On the rare occasions when I use my phone or watch TV, I would see my clothes trending. Seeing demons and sinners wearing my designs is the only true joy in my confined life. 

It’s more than just satisfaction with my work; it’s a way of seeing a part of myself out in the world, free. Every time I spot one of my designs on the billboards of Pentagram City or on a popular TV show, it feels like a small piece of me has escaped the confines of this mansion. Through my clothes, I experience a semblance of freedom, living vicariously through the demons and sinners who wear them

My father leans back in his chair, taking another gulp of nectar wine. “You’ve got real talent, mija. Velvette keeps bugging me about who the designer is, but I tell her it’s a secret. Keeps her on her toes.”

I smile, feeling a small sense of pride. “Thank you, Dad. It means a lot to hear that.”

My father raises his glass in a toast. “To you, the best fashion designer in Hell. Y a un año nuevo.”

I raise my glass as well, clinking it against his. “To fashion designs and a new year,” I say, a small smile playing on my lips.

Despite everything, these rare moments of connection with my father remind me of the familial bond we share, even if it’s overshadowed by his dark nature and my hidden existence.

I look past him to the fireplace, my eyes settle on the giant commissioned portrait that hangs above it. The painting, made a few years ago, the painter also “disappeared” shortly after finishing the painting, depicts me dressed elegantly, sitting in a grand chair, while my father stands behind me, high and proud.

The resemblance between us is striking. I’m a carbon copy of him, undeniably his daughter. My features mirror his: the same sharp, cerise-pink eyes, the same lavender fuzz, though mine has a gentler hue. In the portrait, my expression is calm and poised, a stark contrast to the fierce and commanding presence of my father behind me.

My wings, while lacking the intricate designs of his, still echo his grandeur in a simpler form. His sharp, cerise teeth with a single golden fang to the left of center are mirrored in my own smile, albeit less menacing. Unlike me, he has an extra set of arms just above his hips, and unlike him,  I have feathery hair cascading down my shoulders compared to his bald head adorned with antennae. 

It's a constant reminder of who I am and where I come from, and the complex relationship that defines my life. There is no denying our connection; I look exactly like him, but a smaller, less imposing version.

The eerie wail of sirens in the distance begins to play, announcing the imminent arrival of the Exorcists. My father glances up, a familiar gleam in his eye. "You know what that means, mija," he says, his voice calm but firm.

I nod, feeling a chill run down my spine. "It's time to retreat to the underground bunker."

My father stands, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "Kitty, clean up the dining room and kitchen," he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As I make my way to the bunker, I notice my father isn't following. I pause, turning back to him. "Aren't you coming to the bunker, Dad?"

He shakes his head, a sadistic smile playing on his lips. "Not tonight, mija. Tonight, I’m going to make a group call with Vox and Valvette and watch the extermination with them." 

He retreats to the living room with its high glass windows, offering a panoramic view of Pentagram City.

I hesitate for a moment, a mixture of concern and resignation washing over me. "Ok," I say softly.

Valentino waves a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about me. Just get to the bunker."

With a final glance at my father, I turn and head to the bunker, the weight of my confinement pressing down on me once more. As the sirens crescendo, the distant screams of sinners and demons begin to echo faintly, a chilling symphony of terror and pain. Each distant scream is a stark reminder of the chaos and violence that rages just beyond my sheltered existence that I am both a part of and hidden from.

*********************************************************

Next Chapter: Évangéline

Story available on AO3!