"Qui tente rien n'a rien !"

I wondered if he was making fun of me. Of all the words he could use to describe me, he had used the most insulting to me. We weren't destined to get along. However, Zestial took no notice and laid a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Lucifer." he said as he set his green eyes on me. "This is Alastor. He's our newest disciple."

The white boy's expressive face turned to fear and concern. I held back a growl as my thoughts screamed at me that he was judging me. Yet, very quickly, my mind focused on another point.

"Are you going to let me down?" whispered Lucifer shyly.

"O’rs?" I asked confidently as my gaze fell on Zestial.

The starry irises quickly settled on me as he frowned. I gave him a murderous look as I challenged him to make fun of my accent. He seemed to realize something and quickly turned back to Zestial, his face slightly more relieved.

"Uh, yeah." he confirmed, far less sure than I was. "As is he, my question. Ours?"

The man smiled tenderly as he placed his other hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Yes, you two." he approved, superbly ignoring the moment of vulnerability Lucifer had demonstrated. His gaze returned to me. "My boy, let me introduce you to your other master. He'll look after you too."

Our eyes widened in horror at the same time. He suddenly shifted into a defensive position, hands in front of him, as I tensed. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. The old man had lost his mind.

"I don't w’nt h’s h’lp!" I cried as I freed myself from Zestial's grip.

"Oh boy ! I don't want to train him!" he protested in synch.

Our fiery eyes met as, once again, we spoke at the same time.

"Will you stop talking at the same time as me?" offended Lucifer. "That's rude!"

"You don't h’ve pr’or’ty," I growled. My mind was racing as I misinterpreted his words. I had convinced myself that he considered himself superior.

"I'm the oldest!" he retorted, defensively. "Then I'll speak first!"

"You're j’st a k’d," I retorted. "You m’st be 9 or 10!"

It seems I'd struck a chord with his outraged expression.

"I'm 15 ! Wait." he said as he put a finger between us, as if to put our argument on pause. "How old is he?" he asked Zestial.

"8 y’ars !" I answered for him. After all, the man didn't know.

Lucifer looked crestfallen, while the adult had an appreciative gleam in his irises.

"And you're already so tall !" he protested, as if that were the main problem. After all, the fact that the old man had brought back an 8-year-old to make him an Assassin wasn't so shocking. No, the real problem was that I was only one head shorter than him. Lucifer's order of priorities will forever remain a mystery to me.

"Boys," Zestial cut us off in a gentle but authoritative tone. We fell silent as our eyes fell on him. "I'm going to start training Alastor and, Lucifer, you'll be my assistant. I don't want this kind of behavior in the future. That I don't have to repeat myself."

"Yes, master," the teenager replied automatically.

I said nothing. If my eyes could kill, then the old man would be dead. I felt betrayed. He had promised to train me, transform me, give me a better life. This was not at all what I had expected. The cogs in my brain were starting to work, trying to find a way out.

It wasn't too late, I thought. In the end, living in this city and getting lost in this maze was far preferable to staying here, putting up with this traitor. I couldn't execute him, he was far too big and I had a hunch I wouldn't be able to. Those flaming green irises were already analyzing me. It seemed to be waiting for my next move, to see what I was going to do. Then I realized he was silently asking me the same question he'd asked me a few days ago. "Can you describe the situation you find yourself in?"

And I realized I was trapped.

I couldn't eliminate him, so my only option was to flee. However, assuming I could do that, I'd end up alone in streets I didn't know, in terrain he'd surveyed. He'd find me faster than I could hide.  Besides, if he didn't bother to look for me, then that would mean I was back to my previous living conditions. My eyes fell on the bed. A real bed, with a mattress and blankets. Memories of the last few days quickly flashed through my mind. I was just a child and didn't want to survive anymore.

"Yes, m’ster." I growled as those eyes shone with bliss again.

______________________________________________________________

The next day, I was sleeping peacefully when I felt a nudge in my ribs. I groaned as I extricated myself from Morpheus' embrace. With sleepy eyes, I looked at the white spot rising beside me.

"Wake up," yawned that insufferable voice. "Time to go see the horses."

I winced and reluctantly got up. The bed was much more comfortable than any layer I'd ever been in. To leave it was to take away a comfort I'd fight to the death for. However, I knew I had no choice. My eyes fell on the silhouette of Zestial, who was already up and preparing breakfast. He didn't greet me as I passed him by. I did the same. I was still angry with him.

Lucifer was already standing in front of the door leading to the staircase I'd taken last night. He was blinking rapidly, as if struggling to avoid falling back asleep. When he saw I was coming, he took a candle and lit it to go down the stairs. I then saw the staircase in more detail and realized what I'd done yesterday: there must have been over 500 steps in all. Even though I was young, I could not help but be proud that an average child could not have achieved such a feat. Zestial had tested me and my answer was more than satisfactory.

When we reached the bottom, Lucifer pushed the rock open. He held it for me as he waited for me to pass. I frowned. With my new realization, I wondered if this was a new test. The teenager waited a moment before sighing loudly. He raised his eyes to Heaven and let go of the rock, which began to close before moving away. I crept after him. I didn't understand what had just happened, but I told myself I'd done it again: I'd proved I was an independent being. I just didn't know it was politeness. The notion was totally foreign to me.

I followed him to the stable and the horses whinnied when they saw Lucifer coming. Gauvin literally pounced on him as the teenager laughed heartily. He stroked him tenderly, scratching behind his ears as the second horse approached from behind to sniff his pockets. The blond turned his gaze to Mallet and raised an eyebrow. The horse was sniffing his right buttock.

"Sorry, big guy!" he chuckled as he pushed those two fingers into the animal's nostrils and pulled it up sharply. This seemed to offend Mallet, who took a few steps back. He shook his head, sneezed to get rid of the sensation before resting his head on Lucifer's back, neighing in protest. This made the teenager laugh, who, trapped between two horses, didn't seem any more worried about Mallet hurting him. I frowned as I recalled Zestial's warnings from the day before. I wondered if he had lied to me in order to test me.

"It's not me who's taking care of you today!" continued Lucifer, following on from his earlier words. He looked in my direction and pointed with his chin. "He's your appointed guardian now!"

Mallet continued to rub his head on the blond's back, which was a little more normal. He was just a beast. He didn't have the cognitive capacity to understand what he was telling him.

"Yeah, I know, it sucks." he sighed, his face miming fake sadness. "He didn't even get you carrots!"

I was well aware that he was making fun of me. I wasn't born yesterday. I lifted my chin in defiance.

"Th’re’s str’w." I explained "He don’t n’ed c’rrots."

Lucifer raised his eyebrows, looking disillusioned but in no way surprised.

"You sure know how to make friends," he said. I tensed.

"That's a b'ast." I replied tartly. "I n’ed him to ob'i me, not l’ke me."

The teenager sighed and looked at Mallet, who was trying his luck again with these pockets.

"A sweetheart, really!" he quipped. He flicked the horse away again, this time with a flick on the nose, which again provoked a series of protests from the animal. I frowned. From the way the horse was behaving, I assumed that Zestial's first order would be easier than expected. I was already bulging with pride. Lucifer looked at me for a moment with a piercing gaze that I took for jealousy, then turned back to Gauvin.

"Do what you want, little guy." he sighed as he rode away with the second horse. "I'm just telling you that's not the way to get your way."

I glared at him. I was determined to prove him wrong.

______________________________________________________________

I nearly died three times in thirty minutes. The first time, Mallet nearly tore my hand off when I got too close. The second time, I barely dodged his hooves to the head. The last time, he nearly ran me over. I blushed with shame at the attempt. In fact, it was Lucifer who had saved me by pulling me out of the enemy's reach, who had taken advantage of my turning back to attack.

I struck the beast down with the intention of killing it, but it simply ignored me as it ate its straw. I vowed to make mincemeat of the animal. Lucifer, who had finished dealing with Gauvin, was sitting nearby. He looked at me defiantly, a provocative smirk on his face.

"Well?" he finally asked, drawing my dark eyes to him. There was absolutely no fear in those features. "How does your seduction technique work?"

I didn't understand what he meant, but I deduced that he was mocking me. I growled in response, Zestial's words coming back to me. He had ordered us not to quarrel any more. Whether I liked it or not, now that I'd said yes, I was obliged to obey him. So I preferred not to retaliate. He raised his eyebrows, as if I'd just given him the point. This irritated me all the more.

"Well, well!" he laughed, "You've lost some of your superbness! Where's yesterday's hot-tempered little guy?"

"He ign’re you," I replied at last, my patience wearing thin. It wasn't my habit, though. In my home village, I could spend hours standing still, waiting for the right moment. I'd been beaten and survived because I'd had the intelligence to wait for the right moment to react. He could press my buttons with a dexterity that was disturbing. He hissed as he mimed an expression of astonishment.

"Oh, and he's talking again!" he exclaimed as he cast a knowing glance at Gauvin, who contented himself with swatting away flies that stuck to those eyes. "Really, fascinating!"

My gaze darkened as, in a cutting tone, I declared:

"I'm n’t a b'ast."

He frowned, suddenly confused.

"It's not that..." he began, but I cut him off.

"I know g'ys like you," I retorted, "You th’nk I'm g’nna let you k’ll me? You won't w’ar that on me, or, I'll g’ve y’u a h’rd t’me j’st like I d’d the oth’rs. I'm not a b’ast who c’n be h’rt."

His face was now much more sincere in its confusion than before. He stared at me, as if I were something indecipherable. Rage rose in me but, before I could continue, he stood up.

"Listen." he said, his hands positioned in front of him but not in a defensive position, but rather as a sign of appeasement. "You don't know me and you know what? I don't know you either. And frankly, after what you just said, you look like a mad man." I tensed and he groaned, putting his hand to his eyes. "No! I didn't mean to..." He sighed a "well shit" before running a hand through his hair. He rested his starry irises on me and I froze at the intensity of those pupils. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realize I was sending this kind of message. I don't mean you any harm, little guy, really. I don't know what you've been through before and I should have ... I should have been more careful about it."

I frowned, suspicious and intrigued at the same time. I didn't understand what he was getting at. I really wondered how he couldn't see what I was saying. I'd spent my whole life dealing with people who treated me like a subspecies. I was totally unused to someone like him treating me like an equal.

"I should have realized that if Zestial had taken you under his wing, you'd had a hard life yourself," he whispered, his eyes on the ground.

I was speechless. I couldn't believe he would compare us. The mere fact that someone could suggest they'd been through worse than me was unbearable. He couldn't understand me. He couldn't know. No one could. I was so wrapped up in my own grief that I couldn't see the distress in his eyes.

"Look." he sighed, uncomfortable "What I mean is... I don't know what you've lost and if you don't want to tell me, I don't care but..."

He licked his lip and massaged his hand. I watched in bewilderment as my heart began to swell with emotions I'd been holding back for days.  Tears welled up in my eyes and I touched them in incomprehension. I thought I'd passed that point, but the cumulative changes seemed to have altered my judgment.

Lucifer began to walk away towards the cave. As he passed me, I heard his whisper.

"Don't forget it."

My mother's voice echoed in these words and I managed to wait for him to disappear before crying out my grief. I collapsed right next to the animal that had tried to run me over a few minutes earlier and cried. I eliminated all the negative feelings inside me, evacuating them through my tear glands. His face flashed before me, like a pause on his face disfigured by illness. I rubbed my eyes, vainly trying to remember what she had looked like before. I'd spent my whole life by her side, and the only thing that showed itself to my grieving eyes was her hollowed face and pale skin.

As I continued to vent my sadness, I told myself I couldn't stay like this. I couldn't be so legible. This kid, this nemesis, had managed to bring me down in a few words. It was a blatant sign of weakness.    

I had to find a way to counteract my emotions, a trick to make myself unreadable to everyone. Then suddenly, my mother's voice came back: "Don't forget my smile".

Her illuminated face suddenly invaded my mind as she erased the sickly image of the last few days. I suddenly realized a few things: all her life, my mother had lived like me: poor, hungry, abused, in danger. Yet none of this was visible on her face. Sure, she had wrinkles and dark circles, and her skin was blotchy and sallow, but the only thing she had was a smile. A smile that brought sympathy, but above all masked her weaknesses.

I realized that in those last words, she had given me the only advice I needed for the rest of my life: smile, Alastor. Smile and you can win the world.

I wiped away my tears as my sobs subsided. My thoughts were warped, I grant you. I know today that this was not the lesson she wanted to teach me. However, I had never been a normal child. Life had shaped me that way. I had been created this way.

At first, it was painful. Stretching my lips seemed impossible, so much was the sadness pulling them down. However, fighting against my own face, I managed to put on the most beautiful smile I could give. When I touched my cheeks, I could almost feel the abnormality of the situation, but it comforted me. I closed my eyes as I saw my mother's luminous face again.

"I'll n’ver f’rget y’u," I murmured as I rose from my prostrate posture.

Royally ignoring Mallet, who was watching me with those curious but I considered empty eyes, I headed for the cave. I had deduced that Lucifer had come up to test me and see if I remembered how to get into my new home.

However, I was surprised to see him sitting against the door, his chin in his palm. He looked away in embarrassment and I knew he'd heard me. I then applied my new strategy and gave a beautiful smile that seemed to unsettle him. Not in the way I wanted, though. It wasn't sympathy that was on his features, but suspicion.

"I've been waiting for you," he finally said, but made no move to press down on the rock much further to his left. I didn't move.

"I c’n s’e th’t," I replied. However, I had an intuition. A deep feeling in my stomach that whispered to me yesterday's words from Zestial, about the order not to mark the stone.

We stayed like that for a while before he lost patience.

"Now, are you going to press that rock or not?" he teased.

"I don't kn’w wh’re he’s," I lied. I remembered exactly where he was. He didn't understand. He blushed and looked annoyed.

"Ah." he exclaimed.

"Why don't y’u do it?" I asked ironically, and he understood my sarcasm. He grimaced and puffed out his cheeks, a tic I'll encounter throughout my life.

The next few days were spent on horseback and in camp. Zestial, the man who had taken me in, didn't say a word to me on the way. At the time, as a child, I thought he was questioning his decision. After all, I'd failed to save my mother, and she'd died because of me, so what use was I to him?

Today, as he would confirm to me years later, he was silent to respect my grief. He knew what it was like to lose one's parents at a young age - I'll tell you about that conversation later - and he had already detected in me that I didn't need comfort. I needed silence, introspection, in order to keep moving forward. If I hadn't been a child who had known nothing but violence and whose only glimmer of happiness had just been extinguished, I would have already noticed the signs of affection he was showing me, without even realizing it himself. Although seemingly cold, he placed me in front of him on the saddle so that I could rest on his chest and not risk falling off thanks to those arms. As soon as we were alone, he'd take off his hood and balaclava, a sign that, although we'd only known each other a few days, he trusted me enough to reveal what the world considered a flaw. Was it because, like him, I had darker skin? He was never clear about this, but considering the kind of person I was about to meet, I can only assume that he already considered me one of his own.

The days went by and I couldn't see the end of the journey. Leaving my native village wasn't painful or strange, but telling myself I'd never return to my mother's embrace was something else. My childlike mind battled between two ideas: the one of continuing with my decision and not disappointing her, and the one of going back to her and falling asleep in her arms forever. You might think it's horrible to have this kind of inner struggle at such a young age. Unfortunately, even at the age of 8, I was no longer a child. Still with limited and illiterate thoughts, but far from what the other offspring I saw playing in the fields in the distance could experience. Those beige toddlers who made me nauseous. At the time, I told myself that thanks to the color of their skin, they lived carefree lives. Today, I know that they probably had just as many problems as I did, but that, unlike me, they had managed to preserve their childlike souls.

_____________________________________________________________

The sun was setting when we reached the capital. It took a dip in the bay, gradually sinking into the ocean water as the moon, my most faithful companion for months now, peeked out. The sky, a gradation of orange over dark bluish, highlighted the features of the immense city before me. My eyes widened in surprise at the colossal number of alleyways, streets and avenues stretching out before my eyes. A never-ending maze, yet they all seemed to lead to the same place. Perched on the cliff, overlooking the bay, an immense castle of dazzling white reflected the last rays of the sun.

My face contorted in disgust. Not a rampart, not a watchtower, nothing to protect this immensity, as if the mere fact of not blending in with the scenery would discourage thieves. From personal experience, I knew this wasn't the case, but for the first time in days, Zestial finally uttered a sentence:

"Don't underestimate the power of this city, my boy," he hissed, like a snake under attack. When I looked up at him, he seemed just as disgusted as I was, though his eyes gleamed with fright. He gave me a quick glance before turning his horse away from the main road and starting to ride around the first settlements. "You'll understand as soon as you set foot on the blessed soil of the capital."

We followed the outline of the city. The houses, though modest, were more beautiful than any I'd seen along the way. In these streets, the inhabitants were busy making their final preparations for the night. Mothers were calling their toddlers, while fathers were putting away the things they'd taken out into the street, merchandise and other useless trinkets they'd sold to passers-by. Nausea rose in me. The very thought of people making a living from tourism, even if I hadn't yet grasped the concept, was unbearable. In my village, at least, even dolls had a purpose. Here, objects were just for decoration. I was indeed showing a lot of bad faith, but I'm sure you understand.

Zestial, who had put his hood back on, put a veil over my head so that I could hide my difference. I didn't see the point, but I didn't protest. I was suddenly afraid he was going to abandon me in this circus.  He never would have, but I didn't know him like I do now. He simply didn't want to attract attention.

When we reached the castle, he steered his horse into a side street, down the hill and into the woods. Suddenly, I felt an enormous pressure on my shoulders, as if the sky had finally fallen. I lost my breath, gasping like a drowning man, unable to take in air and swallowing only a gas as compact and liquid as a fluid. I felt as if my lungs were filling up with this poison, preventing them from moving and spitting anything out. It took me a moment to realize that Zestial had stopped the horse and, with a gesture I took for pity, stroked my back to help the sensation pass.   He said nothing, waiting for it to pass, while the feeling of dying ran down my spine. The feeling, though unpleasant, relieved me more than I thought it would. I'd be able to get back to my mother sooner than expected, I thought. Life decided otherwise.

After a few minutes, it passed. I was getting used to breathing the liquid. I looked up at Zestial, who was watching me with interest. I frowned.

"It took me a lot longer to get over it the first time," he explained. Those green eyes shone with felicity. "Very impressive, my boy. You're going to get on famously with him."

My expression became even more confused. This was the first time he'd talked to me about anyone else.

"Who?" I asked. He smiled proudly.

"You'll see soon enough," he replied, as if that would calm a child's curious mind.

I didn't insist, however. The impression that I wouldn't get the information I wanted by using brute force was enough to shut me up. He laughed out loud, which confused me even more.

"He's going to love you!" he confirmed his thought. He didn't know how wrong he was.

We continued along the road in silence, skirting the cliffs to bypass the castle. We finally came to a rocky slope, below what used to be the rear of the palace. What a surprise to find a tiny stable here, the only sign of habitation around. It was very suspicious, especially as a horse, immaculately black and in great shape, was eating straw. Zestial put his foot down and helped me down, as he always did. I approached the second horse while he tended to his with the appropriate care. The beast gave me an oblique look and moved closer to me to smell me as a dog would. I frowned and stepped back, but it followed. It clearly wasn't asking for my consent. I wanted to tap it on the muzzle but the adult next to me made a disapproving sound with his mouth. It was the first time I'd ever heard her utter it.

"You shouldn't do that, my boy," he frowned. "He'll bite you if you attack him."

"I r’torted wors’.” This surprised Zestial enough to stop him in his routine with his own mount. He smiled.

"I don't doubt it," he replied in a neutral tone, trying to hide his amusement

The black horse came closer and, aware even as a child of the stupidity of my repartee, I let it. It sniffed at me, probably looking for food, but quickly realized that I didn't have what it wanted. So it moved off towards Zestial to claim its due, and was more successful. The man quickly stroked his mane and gave it a carrot.

"This is Mallet," he introduced it. "Watch out for him. He's not the type to let himself be tamed."

"'W’ll, i’ se’ms to l’ke carrots." I replied. He smiled.

"A meager offering for not killing me like those other ten owners," he replied. I raised my eyebrows. My eyes fell on the animal who, having accepted this gift, was returning to its hay. "He's a powerful ally on our hunts. You'll come and look after him every day so he'll let you ride him."

It was the first order he'd given me. I grimaced; I wasn't the biggest fan of animals.

When he had finished looking after Gauvin, the horse that had brought us here, he set off towards the cliff with a determined step. I watched him go, as if he were mad, before realizing that, well hidden behind a rock, was the entrance to a cave. I ran to catch up and followed him into the cave. It reeked of dampness and I gritted my teeth. The smell was all too familiar.

We finally reached a dead end and he placed his hand on an ordinary stone. There was nothing particularly distinctive about it, yet he turned to me with a serious look on his face.

"Remember its location perfectly," he ordered. "Because it's the only way for you to get into your new home. I strictly forbid you to pass through any other place, or even to enter the castle through any other door. If you can't remember, then you'll have to wait for one of us to come and open it for you."

He pressed down on the rock and a sound was discreetly activated. Another rock, the size of Zestial, had just opened onto a narrow staircase leading upwards.

"Oh, and I forbid you to mark it," he clarified.

It seemed logical and I thought at the time that he was underestimating me. It hadn't occurred to me that he was talking about experience.

He stepped forward and I followed him as the door closed behind us. The staircase was dark and I advanced cautiously. I couldn't see ahead, and my logic was the only thing keeping me going. The climb was exhausting because it took so long. I stopped several times to catch my breath as the man in front of me continued on. I refused to be left behind, so I quickly regained my energy to keep up with him.

When we reached a door he opened, I literally saw the light at the end of the tunnel. When he turned back to me, a gleam of surprise crossed his eyes as I stood behind him. This quickly turned into something much warmer than I'd imagined.

"Perfect," he declared proudly and walked back into the room. I couldn't see what he meant as, drenched in my own sweat and out of breath, I didn't realize the feat I'd just accomplished

The room was subtly lit by a fire in a central hearth. It was circular, arranged in dials by fabrics separating the different parts. A room with two beds, a laboratory with a work table and jars, a corner with huge bookcases and an armory. The kitchen was in the middle, next to the fire. Zestial pointed to a door near the beds.

"You'll find the toilet and bath over there," he pointed out. "Welcome home." 

I looked at my future home with interest and my eyes finally landed on a section of wall. My throat tightened.

The window overlooked the bay. It was small, not wide enough for me to squeeze through, but wide enough for my head to fit through without any problem. Seeing the hole broke my heart and I quickly chased away the tears forming in my eyes. My mother would have loved the view.

As usual, Zestial respected my silence and even looked away to give me some privacy. He approached the pot on the stove to peer inside. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with one hand, although the tender smile on his face showed no sign of annoyance.

"Where did he go?" he asked himself as he walked towards another door I hadn't noticed at the time. I followed, intrigued. He was about to put his hand on my wrist when suddenly my hearing picked up a noise from the other side, as if someone had just tripped. A small cry was heard, accompanied by a din. Silence followed as the door swung open.

My eyes were immediately assaulted as the new person entered the room. He was the palest boy I'd ever met. His porcelain-like skin glowed brightly in the previously relatively dark room. His bright blond hair shone like a lantern on his head, and his immaculate white clothes melted over him like a second skin. His smile showed teeth of resplendent enamel. But most disturbing of all were those eyes.

Even today, it's impossible to describe them in words. The most telling image to describe these eyeballs is, in my opinion, that of two stars. Two living, luminous celestial stars that land on you and set you ablaze with their proximity.

He hadn't even had time to open his mouth yet and I hated him. He represented what I disliked most to perfection. When he uttered his first words, I felt as if my eardrums were being torn apart by the sumptuous tone of his voice.   

"Zestial!" he cried. "How happy I am to see you again! You'll never guess! Our meal is on the floor!"

"Weren't you supposed to cook it here to avoid this kind of problem?" sighed the adult in the room, but as before, there was no annoyance in his voice.

"Yes, and I respected your order!" approved the boy, hands on hips. I saw Zestial's head tilt to one side.

"You said the food was on the floor," said the adult.

"Indeed, but it's not cooked!" argued the newcomer boldly, though the red of embarrassment quickly colored those cheeks.

A new sigh accompanied the name of my future haunt.

"Lucifer..." breathed Zestial, causing the younger man to look away in embarrassment. He then accidentally laid eyes on me and his smile turned into a thin line of surprise as he frowned in disapproval. I returned the expression, expecting just such a reaction as he turned back to the man.

Lucifer laughed merrily as he took another drink from Husk, smiling away. Angel, who had accompanied him, pounded his fists on the table, as if what he'd said was the funniest thing in the world. The King was glad to be in the lobby, where they could talk loudly without disturbing the rest of the Hotel.

The evening had started very, very badly. Following an altercation with that stupid, egocentric Radio Demon, he'd been moping around in dark thoughts. As he thought back to his wife, to his life before, to the Garden of Eden, to his brothers and sisters, he felt the weight of depression weighing down his soul, and he knew it was dangerous. He recognized the feeling. He disgusted himself with this urgent, unattainable need, like a whisper singing death music in your ear. It was out of the question.

Not here, not now, not ever.

He didn't want his daughter to see his lifeless body. He refused to stay in a coma for more than a month while his immortal body regenerated. He rejected out of hand the explanations he would have to give his daughter to explain how he knew it wasn't definitive.

He then decided to go to the bar. He knew Husk would be there, no doubt about it. The bartender was very involved in his work, especially when it came to emptying his own bottles on the sly. He'd once told Lucifer that this was to keep Charlie from thinking the bar should be closed. He wanted to show him that it worked. Lucifer understood that it was more a question of addiction than anything else, but he let it slide. He could literally create as much alcohol as he needed, and who was he to judge Husk on how he'd forgotten his weaknesses?

He hadn't expected to see Angel, though. He was sure he'd have to spend the night at work, but when he saw him there, eyes misty with tears, drink in hand, he sensed he shouldn't insist. It looked like there would be three of them tonight destroying themself. So they started drinking. A lot. As soon as they'd finished one bottle, they'd start another, talking about happy, superficial subjects. What a beautiful season in Hell! Oh, did you know that this one had slept with this one? No, but you won't believe what I saw the other day!

It felt good, Lucifer couldn't hide it. Deep down, he knew it wouldn't help the problem. But he couldn't help trying to forget. For some reason, they'd come upon a rather hot topic. Yes, he knew the source of the conversation: Angel. Angel had wondered who was the best kisser in the Hotel. Lucifer agreed to debate, specifying that he wouldn't be talking about Charlie or Vaggie - it was too weird. Angel nodded approvingly; there seemed to be a limit to the sinner's perversion.

So they started talking. They immediately eliminated Niffty. Neither of them had kissed her, but they had the impression that she was too quick, too impulsive to really settle down and share this moment of intimacy. She wouldn't go any deeper, wouldn't bring any sensuality. Definitely a No-No for the three of them.

Husk also eliminated himself, to Lucifer's surprise. He explained that his previous conquests had never liked these kisses, saying he was too gruff, too neutral towards them. When he thought about it, it seemed logical. Husk didn't really show passion except when he was drinking. Besides, his philosophy of life made him seem too detached. Angel thought for a few seconds before sighing: he was probably right. The porn star laughed as he asked if he could call one of his exes to confirm the story, which made Husk chuckle. He couldn't even remember their names, let alone their numbers!

Lucifer asked Angel for Cherri and the debate began in earnest. The final candidates were the Cyclops, the porn star and the King of Hell. The discussion was going well before Lucifer's mind - God punished him every day for this - scattered. He then said aloud that they hadn't even talked about Alastor. Husk had gone tetchy, his ears flattening on his head as if the sword of Damocles had just grazed him. Angel seemed just as uncomfortable and, seeing that Lucifer didn't understand, explained that he wouldn't venture on the subject, fearing too much the Overlord's wrath.

This annoyed Lucifer. How was it that these sinners were more afraid to talk about that stupid Stag than about him? Inwardly, he knew it was just because the King was more open about the matter, but that didn't stop his heart from filling with rage at the mention of the other man. He then debated the subject himself, making sure he was the only one saying obscenities. At first, Husk and Angel were uncomfortable, but understanding that the King was taking full responsibility for his words, they relaxed and listened to Lucifer ramble on. Finally, he concluded that, given Alastor's obvious distaste for sentiment, he probably wouldn't be any good at it. He added that these kisses should probably resemble a cow grazing on grass. When he imitated the movement, the two sinners burst out laughing. He joined in.

"May I ask what all this hilarity is about?" suddenly declared a dangerous yet melodious voice that Lucifer particularly detested, especially at this moment. He turned towards his origin and wasn't the least bit surprised to see the Radio Demon right in front of him, as if he'd just appeared out of thin air. This must have been the case, when he heard the sound of breaking glass and overturned stools that informed him of Husk and Angel's surprise. However, he didn't give the Demon the pleasure of looking stunned, which seemed to irritate him all the more. A feeling of pleasure took hold of his soul as, with a provocative smile on his lips, he turned fully towards the Stag, elbows on the bar, legs crossed.

"Well!" he exclaimed, sarcastically "Speaking of the wolf, here comes the deer! What are you doing here, bellboy?"

"It just so happens that I'm trying to do my radio show, Your Majesty," Alastor threatened with class "And that when I look at my equipment, it tells me that even though I'm in a soundproof studio, there's background noise."

He glanced furiously at the other two sinners before resting on Lucifer.

"I take off my helmet and what do I hear?" he continued rather theatrically, although the rage could be read in his features "The voice of that annoying little nuisance the King of Hell! And I'm literally standing on the opposite side of the room, high above him!”

"Oh, stop it!" chuckled the King, as if ridiculed "I don't make that much noise!"

"You'll ask your daughter," Alastor retorted, scathingly, "When you have to explain to her why you were talking about the Hotel residents' lips."

Lucifer blinked rapidly as he glanced at Husk and Angel, who were looking pale.

"Was I that loud?" he asked the other two.

"To be honest, I don't think so," Angel says with a shrug, "but if he says so."

"I affirm it." growled Alastor, in order to turn the King's attention back on himself, which worked. The latter frowned, then raised his eyes to Heaven with a sigh.

"Well, OK!" he yielded "I'll lower my voice, is that okay?"

"Perfect," agreed the Demon, but he didn't move, as if waiting for something else. The King was surprised.

"Are you waiting for me to dismiss you?" sneered Lucifer, emphasizing the word. He knew Alastor would take it badly, and he was right.

"Ah!" laughed the Stag heartlessly, his gaze burning his skin with anger "As if I needed that!"

"So, what do you want?" questioned the King again, his face contorted into a grimace "You're ruining the evening!"

"That you answer the question." growled Alastor again. Lucifer raised his eyebrows.

"What question?" he asked.

"What's so funny about my undeniable disinterest in this hideously repulsive emotional gesture?" repeated the Demon, his voice doubled by the radio effect, which proved his genuine annoyance.

Lucifer was confused and tilted his head to one side. Did he want him to explain the joke?

"Well, you're a deer ."he said. This seemed to shock the rest of the assembly. He frowned. "So deer graze. So you have to kiss like a cow. You realize that explaining the joke to you is much less charming than trying to understand it on your own?"

"Will you stop taking me for a fool, you ridiculous angelic clown?" snapped Alastor at last, as those antlers began to grow and his aura invaded the lobby. He heard Husk's groan of fright. He didn't really understand why. Frankly, to those divine eyes, it sounded more like a child throwing a tantrum. Then again, Charlie was more impactful.

"So don't beat around the bush and tell me what you want," Lucifer sighed calmly, in contrast to the Demon. It didn't make the situation any easier.

"Why are you making fun of skills I don't have?" continued the Stag, his voice so distorted by radio sounds that he wondered how it was even possible for him to understand him. He stuck his little finger in his ear, trying to remove the plug that had formed.

"Why do you care so much?" retorted the King. This seemed to cut some of the Demon's panache. "You can't be good at everything, bellboy!"

Alastor's eyes didn't turn away from Lucifer, although for a split second he seemed to question himself, which was so rare that Lucifer realized it was the first time this had happened. Nevertheless, he regained his composure.

"You don't have the right to attack me in an area I don't master," replied the Demon acerbically, and this genuinely made the King laugh, as he raised his hand to physically demonstrate these points. He raised his first finger.

"So, little one!" he listed "It wasn't an assault considering you weren't supposed to hear it!" He held up a second finger "Little two! Are you seriously telling me that there are rules to our arguments? And that you're only allowed to make fun of what I'm supposed to master? That's so much bad faith, I feel like I'm going to go into an alcoholic coma!" He shook his third finger defiantly as he leaned forward. "And three ! If it bothers you that much, you can prove me wrong, Bambi."

He expected Alastor to retort, to try to attack him, to even try to break him more than he had earlier in the evening. To be honest, alcohol and depression only made him angrier. The bastard had managed to bring him lower than dirt. He'd brought him to the brink of unforgiveness and now he was complaining about the consequences of his actions? Quite frankly, he'd never known anyone as insufferable as him!

And just as unpredictable. For he'd thought of every possibility, all but one! That he should respond to the provocation. Yet that's what the Demon did, savagely grabbing his face with those claws to draw him against those lips. He was so surprised that he let the Demon quickly take over and ...

Only cow. He quickly closed his eyes and enjoyed the sinner's lips and tongue. However determined, the beginning of the kiss was rather shaky, clearly guided by rage and inexperience. Yet there was something about it, he just didn't know what. The taste those lips was fantastic, a mixture of old and new that went to his head, like an invigorating rather than melancholy nostalgia. With a groan, Lucifer put his hand on the man's neck to draw him to him. The Demon suddenly felt more confident, and this became absolutely exquisite. He settled between those thighs, allowing the angel to rest his hand on his hip as Alastor guided the dance inside their mouths, as if he were doing a waltz and leading the tempo. Lucifer followed him willingly, carried away by passionate feelings. He didn't know how long it had lasted. He couldn't decide whether he thought it had been too quick or whether one second had lasted an eternity.

By the time the Demon broke the kiss, they were both out of breath. The King reopened his eyes to observe the man staring at him with many conflicting feelings that he was unable to analyze. His mind was clouded by alcohol, but when the realization of what had just happened hit him at the same time as the Stag, he felt it become absolutely and perfectly crystal-clear again. He didn't know what to do. He didn't understand what had happened. He had to react, and fast. Say something intelligent.

"Fuck, tell me this isn't the first time you've done this," he ordered in a deep voice. He'd never been good at improvisation.

"My mother always said I was a quick learner when..." began the Demon before stopping abruptly, cut off by his own Radio sounds as horror froze on his face. Lucifer had to seize the moment. A way out, an insult that would get the Stag off its back and running!

"Wait, you've already done this with your mother?" he asked. Perfect, he congratulated himself, stick to that logic!

Alastor grunted and spontaneously stepped aside. Lucifer's hands soon found themselves with nothing left to hold, and he hated the fact that he missed it.

"I'm not a Greek god!" he snarled.

"Are you sure? Because you're a divine kisser," Lucifer retorted, his cheeks turning yellow with heat as he spoke. So much for logic.

Alastor didn't even bother to reply, his face frozen in a mask of pure disgust before he slipped away into the shadows. A silence lingered in the room after his departure.

"Fuck, I'm hard." a voice finally said. He turned to it, like the third person in the hall. He received a piercing and imploring look.

"Don't ever tell him that," Husk begged.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, he cursed his angelic constitution for what had happened. He was sure Angel and Husk wouldn't remember the night. He'd been through this before with Lilith, when they partied at Belzebuth's house. His wife never remembered the parties, the hangover and amnesia hitting her every time she drank too much. All he had was a hangover. His heart ached as he thought of her, and tears automatically sprang to his eyes. As he lay in bed, he questioned his life choices. He sighed before sinking into these dark thoughts and stood up. He figuratively left them behind as he got ready for breakfast.

He didn't really know what strategy to use. Nobody knew that he couldn't lose memories. It was his curse, his eternal punishment. Charlie herself didn't know, and how could she, since he'd never told her. He wanted to apologize to his daughter for disturbing him during the evening with these salacious discussions, but to do so was tantamount to admitting that he could at least remember and that, by deduction, he knew what had happened. Now, knowing Angel, he'd want to know especially depending on where his memory stopped of the conversation they'd had that night. And, if he did end up confessing what had happened, the shame would eat away at him as he confessed the evening's events to everyone, including a certain egocentric asshole, which would definitely lead to a discussion he didn't want to have.

So he decided the wisest thing to do was to wait for his daughter to talk to him, ask him to stop being noisy, apologize properly and tell him he wouldn't do it again. That way, no one would know, except for the Stag. And he was sure, if not certain, that he didn't want to have this conversation. It was perfect. Great plan. He had to stick to it.

He silenced the little voice that reminded him how it had ended the last two times he'd tried to follow a plan, just a few hours before, and left his room to head for the kitchen.

Not surprisingly, he was the last person around the table. Charlie, Vaggie and Alastor were beaming on this early morning, while Husk and Angel, already present, were grimacing in pain. It wasn't as if he hadn't anticipated it. He moved to the last seat at the end of the table, next to Angel, who gave him a weak wave.

"Hello, little King." he greeted, holding out his fist. He raised an eyebrow and sat down as Angel grumbled as he lowered it. Had the sinner just threatened him as he said hello?

"Hey." he grunted softly. Luckily for him, he didn't have to fake the pain. It was real. Husk handed him a wafer and Lucifer frowned.

"Hangover pills", the bartender clarified. He smiled slightly and took the tablet, thanking him with a small shake of the head that he immediately regretted. He groaned and put a hand to his temple as Charlie looked on, sympathetic.

"Did you have a nice evening?" she asked, gently. He would have taken her in his arms to throw her the pole. He promised himself he'd do it later.

"Surely? I hope?" he whispered "I can't remember ..."

"Oh, you too?" pestered Angel as he glared at him. Lucifer hissed through his teeth as he took one of those pills.

"Yep," confirmed the King. He mimed a reflection before sighing. "Nothing at all. How about you?"

"Y’already know the answer," ironized the porn star before resting his head on the table as Husk shook his head negatively. He rubbed between his eyes before wincing in pain as he heard extremely high-pitched static noises.

"Ah!" laughed Alastor happily as he intervened for the first time. His sadistic grin informed the room that he had just passed this frequency on purpose. Lucifer gave him an annoyed look, to which he responded defiantly. He was sarcastically pleased to see that the Stag had sponged off the evening. It would appear that their interaction hadn't disrupted his night, or changed anything about the bastard. "I'll never understand people's visceral need to get drunk!"

This made Lucifer's jaw tense and his daughter seemed to sense his annoyance as she immediately intervened.

"Oh, come on, Alastor!" she exclaimed loudly before her face changed to embarrassment when she saw the grimaces of the three partygoers. She continued much more quietly, "They were just having fun! Nobody minded!"

The Demon laughed again, which irritated the King even more.

"They most certainly disturbed me!" he retorted as he leaned toward his daughter "No need to lie, dear!"

Charlie seemed genuinely confused, which intrigued Lucifer.

"What do you mean?" she asked. The King saw a gleam of mistrust in the Demon's eyes, as if he too sensed that something was amiss.

"You must be a heavy sleeper, darling!" he teased her "Didn't you hear them?"

"She does, indeed." agreed Vaggie, suspiciously "But I don't and nothing woke me up."

Alastor showed nothing on his features, but for a thousandth of a second Lucifer detected his gaze resting on him, questioning. The King did not act as if nothing had happened, as he was waiting for the rest of the conversation.

"Here I am, out of luck!" complained the Stag as he dabbed his napkin over those lips. Lucifer held back from pinching his own at the memory of how they tasted, and only saw a few seconds later that the Demon was watching him as he made the gesture.

"Cut the crap, Alastor," the former exorcist snapped, "it's impossible that you could hear them but not me. I was closer."

The Demon gave her a venomous look. Charlie, sensing the rising tension, stepped in again to maintain a certain mediation.

"Come on!" she calmed, a tight smile on her lips "They must have left the door open! That's probably why!"

This was not the case. Lucifer remembered the scene perfectly and the door was closed. Alastor knew it too, he was sure of it. He'd only had to look at the little twinkle in his eyes to know that he was pondering the situation. Assuming that the door was open and that this was possible, it still didn't add up that Vaggie hadn't heard anything. It didn't make sense.

The King knew that Alastor was an inveterate liar and untrustworthy, but his confusion, though very well concealed, was real. It cost him to admit it, but he believed him when he said he'd heard them. That left the question of why. Lucifer thought hard, his eyebrows furrowed. He could only think of one answer, but it wasn't possible. He couldn't have called him without realizing it, could he? He couldn't have sent him voice into his studio unconsciously!

However, the more he searched his memory, the more he realized it was possible. He was under the influence of alcohol, and could have inadvertently carried his voice to his studio. The drink would have dictated his will and he would have brought these words to the Stag's ears. But why? Alastor had said he'd have to justify to Charlie talking about residents' lips, which meant he'd minimally conveyed that part of the conversation to him, with enough dispute for the Demon to understand they were talking about kissing skills.

Oh, it was even more awkward now that he had this information. If he'd called him, Lucifer must have wanted him to hear it. He pushed out of his mind the reasons why he had drawn the Demon's attention.

"You must be right, dear," Alastor agreed, but no one was fooled. They could clearly see he wasn't convinced. Vaggie wanted to protest, but remained silent under Charlie's insistent gaze. Alastor now rose from the table.

"Still, I've got a busy day ahead of me!" he enthused as he cleared his plate. Lucifer watched him for a moment before Alastor gave him a pointed, provocative look: "Some people have important things to do and no time for headaches!"

Angel groaned again and Husk said nothing, but the King suspected it was more to do with his fear than a lack of restraint. He had no such problem.

"Let's just say that I can do them even when I'm brought along, whereas you need all your concentration for that," Lucifer retorted. Alastor's smile turned carnivorous, as if he'd taken the bait.

"And you're saying that royal tasks don't require cognition?" he scoffed and Lucifer growled.

It had been almost too easy for him, but he was going to give him the point. The King was too tired, he had too much of a headache to lose it in repartee as usual. What's more, he'd won without Alastor even knowing. He'd hidden his lack of amnesia perfectly, they'd never speak of the affair again and the memory of that kiss would eventually fade.

"If you say so, Bambi." he laughed, before tetanizing at the realization of his mistake.

Several things happened at once, but only one really captivated him. He heard Angel's laughter at the new nickname. He glimpsed the smile in his peripheral vision of Vaggie and Husk and the disapproving look on Charlie's face. However, that wasn't what resonated in his head and froze in front of those eyes.

The sound, that of a plate falling brutally into the sink, and the face, the angry yet extremely proud face of a hunter who had just caught his prey. Lucifer then saw the signs, the clues in the very natural conversation he'd been having to guide him to this conclusion.

Crap. Alastor had won.

______________________________________________________________

He wanted to hole up in his room, put on some magic protection and give no one a chance to get in. Well, maybe only Charlie, but still. However, he knew that wasn't the solution.

He couldn't run. He wasn't supposed to. He didn't want to run anymore.

If his daughter had taught him anything, it was that he shouldn't be afraid anymore and that he had to fight. That it was never too late to start again. That he had to accept change. But he wasn't as strong as he was.

A tear beaded from his eyes as he stood in the corridor on the top floor, close to his door. He'd excused himself after lunch, saying he had work to do too. It was true, but his head wasn't in it. He took a breath and quickly brushed away the tear running down his cheek, catching his breath to control himself.

What had she taught him again? Say compliments out loud? Like "I'm beautiful, I'm smart"? He tried to calm the sadness that gripped his heart.

"You're beautiful," he announced.

You bet. It was something he'd been told all his life, from birth until a few days ago when Niffty had named him "handsome bad boy". He'd never understood why. Charlie was beautiful. He was strange. He wasn't human. Besides, he didn't tick any boxes in today's canons of beauty. He took a breath.

"You're smart." he continued, his voice barely audible.

It was all the same. If he was, how could he have been so easily fooled all his life? From his latest mistake to his first, from his confession to Alastor to his original mistake. If he had to be sincere, even before that. He'd never been the mastermind, the thinker. He was a follower, not a leader. The only time he took the initiative, the only time he decided, he failed because he couldn't see beyond the tip of his non-existent nose. He tried to banish these thoughts again.

"You're worth ..." he began, but his voice stopped in mid-sentence.

It wasn't true. He put his hands over those eyes. He knew it wasn't true.

"It?" finished a voice softly from behind him.

He didn't flinch when he heard it, just sighed. This was his destiny. He knew it. His divine punishment.

"What do you want?" he asked Alastor softly, defeated. He didn't turn around, and this apparently strained the Demon as the static around him began to build.

"The least you can do is face me," he retorted, and Lucifer sighed.

"I don't have the strength to listen to your bullshit," he said.

"And I don't have any to repeat," the Demon almost spat.

The Angel sighed and started towards the door of his room. He needed to be alone, not have to put up with these moods. He couldn't take many steps, however, because in two pirouettes, the Stag was in front of him.

The King watched him carefully. The man's face was closed, his smile toothless and his eyes venomous. He was angry, everything about his stance and demeanor showed. However, for a second, a small gleam passed through his irises that intrigued the Angel. Suddenly, his expression became more carnivorous, as if he were about to devour him alive.

"Would you stop this childishness and behave like an adult?" he asked, which stung Lucifer.

"I'm a millennial, bellboy." he grinned "I'm more of an adult than you'll ever be."

"Oh?" the Demon almost meowed, raising a defiant eyebrow "So, can you tell me why you defy authority like a delinquent teenager?"

Lucifer twitched at the name and his lips tightened.

"Authority?" he quoted him "And you're seriously telling me, the King of Hell, that I defy the law?"

"Well," replied Alastor, looking at his fingernails, "technically speaking, you're currently on your daughter's property. Now, being the Princess of Hell and in view of her rehabilitation project, I'd say that makes this Hotel a neutral place and therefore, quite distinct from the kingdom."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

"What you're saying doesn't make sense," he reproached.

"Ah!" laughed Alastor as he rested his hand on his cane to stare at him "It's not my fault your limited mind can't encompass the complexity of territorial rules."

"This is my kingdom, asshole!" cried Lucifer.

"Oh, so that means it's your Hotel?" he asked, leaning forward with a mocking grin.

"No!" retorted the King.

"Then that doesn't invalidate my theory," Alastor replied, straightening up with a proud smile.

Lucifer was confused and suddenly, without really knowing why, he started laughing. A genuine, heartfelt laugh. It slowly began to light up his soul and for a split second, he realized what Alastor was doing. In his own absolute, undeniably twisted way, the bastard was cheering him up, and he couldn't understand why it was working.

"You're completely sick," he finally observed, his hands on his belly to hold back the remaining muscle spam.

"Say the one who just had a giggle," replied Alastor and his expression softened, almost relieved.

They remained in an awkward silence before Alastor sighed.

"Can we have a conversation now?" he asked, and Lucifer bit his lip as he looked away.

"Isn't it already?" he returned, causing Alastor to sigh again.

"Your Majesty..." he began, and the King looked up at the sky. He heard the static of a radio, but paid no attention to it.

"No, yeah, OK, you're right." he cut him off. He placed his hands on the back of his neck before lowering his chin and looking up at him. "Get started."

The Demon was about to retort, but he held back by pursing his lips, and Lucifer was absolutely fascinated by the gesture. He hated himself for it.

"The other night." began Alastor "A few things happened and I want to clarify the situation."

Lucifer nodded but remained silent. The Stag looked at him for a moment.

"Why have you summoned me?" he finally asked, and the King closed his eyes, gently licking his lower lip. The sound repeated itself. Decidedly, Alastor didn't like it when he diverted his attention from the conversation.

"I didn't do it on purpose," he admitted. There was no point in hiding the truth from him. He was smart and could read him as easily as he read a newspaper. “I was drunk and we started talking about it. I thought of you. I contacted you. It wasn't..." he cut himself off before sighing "It wasn't a summons."

"I see." the tone of Alastor's voice was neutral.

A new silence fell over them as Lucifer wanted to ask his question. He didn't know where it might lead and the fear of knowing what would happen next paralyzed him. He massaged the back of his neck, looking away to think, which provoked another sound. He winced.

"Okay!" he grumbled "Okay, I'm coming! Geez!"

He received no response from the Demon, only an almost unearthly silence. He pondered his next words wisely, and finally opted for the solution that seemed easiest to manage.

"Listen." he said finally "Yesterday, I wasn't in my normal state, let's say. I provoked you, you responded to my provocation, I responded inappropriately and you left. It didn't mean a thing..."

"For you." cut in Alastor suddenly, causing a feeling of surprise and something else he'd rather keep quiet in his stomach.

"What?" he asked, eloquently.

"I don't allow you to speak on my behalf," said the Demon.

"Why? Does that mean it was for you?" questioned Lucifer, those golden eyes set on his.

Another silence, and this time it was Alastor who looked away. The King waited for some sort of response from the Stag, but none came. He bit his lip in frustration and once again the sound came. He frowned: yet it was looking at him? When the Demon rested his eyes on him, they burned with destructive fire.

"Stop it." he ordered as Lucifer cocked his head to one side.

"Stop what?" he asked, and suddenly the unthinkable happened.

Alastor reached out, grabbed his arm and pulled him to place his lips fervently on his. This caught him so off guard that, like the first time, he let Alastor lead the way. The beginning was the best of what they'd left last night, and continued in a similar vein. Lucifer groaned deeply at such delight, which elicited a guttural grunt from Alastor. Pleasure crawled through Lucifer's body and he couldn't stop, continuing as long as he could. When the Demon withdrew to catch his breath, he moved closer to keep a tiny touch between them, giving him time to take two breaths before continuing what they'd started. He was unaware of the closeness of their bodies, of those hand on the Demon's cheeks, forbidding him to withdraw, of Alastor's caressing his back with fervor and need.

He couldn't say how long this merry-go-round continued before they finally stopped. Not that he didn't still want to, and when he finally opened his eyes to look at the Stag, he knew he felt the same way. He swallowed hard, his heart racing in his chest. The man in front of him... those blood-red eyes... He knew what he had to do, and it was killing him. And that was the problem.

He began to move away, withdrawing from his hold as Alastor closed his eyes, as if he knew what was about to happen.

"I..." began Lucifer before wrapping his arms around himself, tears beginning to well up as he pulled himself together. "No. We. We can't. We're toxic for each other, you know that."

"I can't understand how you make me feel," Alastor agreed as he turned away, staring out of the window.

"And you have far too much influence over my moods." finished Lucifer before finally chuckling, suddenly realizing something "It's not that we're toxic for each other. It's that we're not ready."

"If you say so." sighed Alastor. Lucifer looked up at him. He merely shrugged. "I'm an Overlord, Your Majesty. Any contact I've made with others is toxic."

The King felt a twinge of guilt at this revelation, but he understood what Alastor meant. He manipulated crowds, abused others, mistreated all who came near him. Having a healthy relationship wasn't something he knew how to do. Lucifer understood this. He even let out a little laugh, which caught the Demon's attention once again. Attention he'd never lost, he realized.

"And to think I'm this close to agreeing to that." he quipped and the Stag tensed. He gave him a slightly teasing look, "Don't worry, I'm not going to."

They remained in silence for some time, the silence heavy and almost unbearable. Eventually, Alastor regained the upper hand, putting back on a much fiercer mask than the one he had abandoned when he had comforted him.

"Well," he commented, "now that the situation is clarified, it turns out I actually have some work waiting for me."

He bowed slightly.

"Your Majesty." he said, in a flat tone.

"Bellboy." replied the latter, as his mind began to wander back to obscure thoughts.

Alastor turned and headed for his apartments, while Lucifer watched him walk away. Suddenly, he heard his voice echoing down the corridor.

"You are the Morning Star, so bright that you dazzle space and erase the blackness of nothingness, bringing the most stubborn of men out of the cave. You're bright, fast and as elusive as the rays that illuminate every corner of the souls that inhabit Hell. It would be madness to think that a single person in this universe would consider the good fortune to have lived on the same plane of existence as you as a blemish."

When he finished his little monologue, he returned to his apartments, leaving Lucifer alone in the corridor. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he summed up what he'd just said.

You're beautiful. You're smart. You're worth it.

Since their little bet, Vaggie had been less distant with him. This had surprised Alastor, but he'd come to appreciate this new closeness. Not only it was good news for Charlie's manipulation (what could be closer to the person you wanted to manipulate than her current partner!), he'd found in Vaggie a much more mischievous character than he'd first thought.

Although she had a military, authoritarian character and an unwavering determination for Charlie's project, he had noticed that she used her obvious intelligence with malice to manipulate residents considered "stubborn". When sternness didn't work, she would use words that, in Alastor's opinion, bordered on lies. Sometimes, when she found that one of their customers was not receptive, she would argue to get him to do what she wanted. Far, far from the suave manner Alastor used, and always with a firm tone, but she used more than dubious logic to fool her victim.

When she saw that Alastor was watching her in action, she'd just blush, frown and give him the finger before walking away. Needless to say, the Radio Demon was becoming increasingly fond of the ex-Exorcist, to his own surprise.

The little angel's polite hellos and friendly altercations didn't fly under Charlie's radar. The Princess made no remark, but those long looks and beaming smiles said more than any words he knew. He was winning points, and it was to his advantage. What surprised him, however, was that this wasn't something he'd planned. Up until now, he'd always had control over the relationships he established, so that they were as lucrative as possible for him. Befriending an aimless human made no sense, no matter what Angel told him during their rare drinking spree. However, he didn't trust too much of what the Spider Sinner told him. He was too sentimental, and although his emotional intelligence was high, it was clearly skewed by his constant need for attention.

For Alastor, in all his life and death, a human connection had a purpose. No one started a conversation without an idea in mind, whether benevolent, as in asking for help, or malicious, as in abusing another's kindness.

The Stag Demon was a thoughtful man. He understood that if he wanted to live in this shark-filled world, then every action had to be calculated, every gesture measured, every word precise. He'd always had a very Cartesian mind, and that suited him just fine.

______________________________________________________________

The only person who didn't fit into his usual manipulative framework was Niffty, but for a frighteningly simple reason: she was purely and incredibly unpredictable. She wasn't sane, and that was the only thing he could really and concretely say about her that wasn't wrong. She had an obsession with insects too, but her relationship with them was the strangest. She would decimate them whenever she saw them, but sometimes, for no apparent reason, she would freeze and watch them live as if they were one of the wonders of the world. Then, she would resume their extermination with a fervor that obscured the madness.

He was very fond of Niffty. Not like he loved Rosie, who was a friend who understood him and with whom he had sensible discussions! But more like a pet who'd forgotten to be trained and was managing as best he could. She was erratic, insensitive, manic, obsessed, and all this amused him fervently. It was fascinating to observe and a major asset in his cards. Small, weak-looking, but with the danger of a piranha. It was perfect. What's more, the contract had been simple: she obeyed his every word, and he gave her free rein to carry out the task he asked of her. She hadn't even had the presence of mind to realize that this contract was in no way to her advantage, but he didn't care. It wasn't his problem after all.

The little creature was a little invasive, however, and although he allowed her a few close calls, he didn't appreciate being touched. She had a tendency to climb on him, position herself on his shoulder, jump on his head and spread those ears. It made him shudder every time, and a static sound came from his mouth as he gently removed the intruder from his person. His relationship with touch had always been... conflicted. He liked it when he was the one who could control it, not the one who was subjected to it. It reminded him all too often of the slaps and strokes of his spawner, when, as a child, he had done nothing to deserve such punishment. The joy of sticking the pitchfork down this man's throat, however, had been a delight.

______________________________________________________________

It was a red night in Hell and Alastor was strolling through the hotel corridors. Charlie, in the wake of increasingly frequent and dangerous arguments, had demanded a curfew for these residents. No one was to be outside their rooms after 11pm. Angel had kindly pointed out that there weren't enough clocks in the hotel, but her horrible father, always ready to please his daughter, had created a multitude of clocks, each more abject than the last, all personified according to the resident who owned it. His own looked like a deer poop. He got rid of it the first chance he got.

Still, at night, hotel staff took it in turns to make the rounds to see if there was any disrespect for the established rules. More often than not, if not all the time, Vaggie, Husk and Alastor were on patrol. Vaggie, because she was in charge of the hotel and knew how to fight, Husk, because he spent his evenings drinking anyway, and Alastor, who didn't need much sleep. What's more, to his delight, the threat of being caught by the Radio Demon was enough to make the residents freezing deep in their silky beds.

It was located on the second floor, dedicated to Charlie's redemption group activities. As well as having classrooms for the illiterate, there was a music room, a small amphitheater, a workshop for crafts, a library for learning, and various rooms whose function he couldn't remember.

While the Stag Demon loathed his demonic animal form, it nevertheless had the accommodating ability to possess good hearing. And that night, in the mute silence of the floor, a faint sob echoed from a classroom. His smile grew more carnivorous and those eyes were already turning into a dial. He would soon make the resident's sadness at the horror of his presence disappear. Via those shadows, he teleported into the room, which he filled with darkness. He emerged, like a biblical pest, ready to unleash his wrath on his poor victim. He lost all consistency when he realized the tiny creature crying before him. Niffty's single eye was streaming, flooding the bottom of her tiny face, which was taut with distress. In her tiny hands, she held yet another cockroach that seemed to be dead in every way, though not criminally so. On the contrary, it appeared that the insect had simply died of old age. He looked incredulously at the little servant who continued to whimper. He didn't really understand the reason for such a state and, quite frankly, he didn't want to know. He had neither the patience nor the compassion to be an emotional support. The very term would have made him howl with laughter if the situation hadn't been so disconcerting. Niffty was certainly unpredictable, but it was nevertheless clear that she didn't hold arthropods close to her heart. Yet her devastated face meant that the disappearance of this particular vermin seemed to affect her. He didn't move when she leapt on him and began to cry on his shoulder. Stupefaction quickly gave way to disgust, which flashed across his features, and he wanted to free himself from the imposed embrace as quickly as possible. There were many ways in which he could remove the wretched creature from his person. He was perfectly capable of tearing it away with those arms, those black tentacles, of teleporting through its shadow to extract himself from those tiny arms that encircled him. However, he did nothing when, in a broken, miserable breath, she murmured:

"He's not coming back."

And then, Alastor's icy heart froze with a pain he hadn't known for a long time. A scar he thought he'd long since healed and had disappeared in the meanders of time. At that precise moment, he remembered. He remembered the tiny red-winged blackbird he had rescued after his nest had been destroyed. His mother had immediately taught him how to care for the animal, how to make a nest for it, how to feed it, before two days later, his progenitor deliberately crushed it under his boot before beating them for doing something without his authorization. Alastor mourned the loss of his little Armstrong in his mother's arms, and said these exact words to her. In response, with her bright smile despite the bruise and yellowing teeth, she hummed a song of her own, a little jazz tune that spoke of the ascent to Heaven for all living beings, be they animal, Black or White.

Without realizing it, he sang the melody whispered in his ear, as if his own mother had descended from Heaven to remind him. He rocked the little woman slowly, carried away by his own nostalgia. As she began to calm down, her erratic breathing resuming a slower, more controlled rhythm, he stealthily heard footsteps receding down the corridor. He wanted to send out one of his invocations to check who it was, but his attention was quickly drawn back to the little being in his arms.

"It's pretty song." she sobbed a little more, as she wiped her face against her jacket.

"It's a creation of someone who was very dear to me," he replied, simply, as he pulled it away and, with a gesture, wiped all traces of snot and tears from his suit.

For once, Niffty seemed shy, as if she wanted to ask who it was but knew she wasn't allowed to, which was much smarter of her than he'd imagined.

"Thank you." she finally whispered, looking at the cockroach's corpse, stiff on its back. Though he didn't care, he glanced at her servant.

"My dear." he began, in his softest, most suave voice "Why such a reaction to the death of..." he didn't really know how to continue. In view of the young woman's condition, calling this insect a vermin seemed inappropriate, just as it would have been for Armstrong.

"Sinatra." she named him. "I've known him since the day he hatched from his egg. I've tried to eliminate him countless times. I've done everything, really everything. But in 1 year, I've never managed to even touch him."

A tear fell from her eye.

"I wish I'd killed him when he was alive."

Dubious logic, but from a sick mind. Strangely enough, it made sense to Alastor, which said a lot about him. He preferred to ignore the question. With an almost friendly gesture, he took the little woman in his arms.

"I'll take you back to your room." he assured her, as she gave him a slightly surprised look. "Take as much time as you need to grieve, I'll take care of the household chores until you get better."

She didn't answer, her cyclical eye resting on him as she laid her head on his shoulder, too exhausted by her distress to make another move.

He simply made his way to his room in silence.

______________________________________________________________

Niffty had been locked in her quarters for several days, and whenever anyone wanted to see her, even just to check up on her, Alastor discouraged them, claiming that she was in a murderous phase and that he had, for the good of the residents, taken the decision to lock her in her room.

In view of the many misgivings of his adoptive family, he had finally put a one-way shield around the little servant's room. This had caused quite a stir one day in the kitchen, when Charlie was indignant about her treatment.

"You simply can't stop us from seeing her!" she assured him, in an authoritative but benevolent tone.

"Of course I can!" he replied, sipping his cup of tea with his usual elegance. "Charlie, dear, although she's your friend, she's still my property. And for the safety of everyone, including our new residents, it's best to wait until she gets these urges under control again."

"But she must feel so alone!" the Princess finally says, revealing at last the real reason for her stubbornness.

"Baby." intervenes Vaggie, taking her hand. "If Alastor thinks it's best to isolate her for now, then maybe we should listen to him."

"She's not wrong," intervenes Angel. "She tends to want to kill bugs and I'm a spider. I trust Smiley."

"You're probably right," Charlie finally conceded, his face expressing genuine sorrow.

"Is it true?" suddenly intervened an angelic voice that made Alastor tense in his chair. He didn't even turn his gaze to the King, his very presence confirming that those eyes were not focused on him. The Fallen Angel's attention was on Husk, who hadn't said a word of the discussion, enjoying what appeared to be a mixture of cereal and jam. This was a real problem. Much to his chagrin, Lucifer had ample opportunity to destroy his handiwork and thus reveal to the others that Alastor had shamefully lied to them. The Manager and the Barman didn't even exchange a glance, no indirect threat was made before the Cat Demon replied in a natural tone:

"Yeah, it happens to her pretty rarely, but when it does, it's a massacre. You might want to let the boss handle this one, Your Majesty."

My early life was rather... chaotic, I'm afraid. But the word doesn't quite capture the full horror that it was.

You see, I remember very little before the age of 6, which I'm told is normal. However, I do have a few snippets, sensations that come back to me from that period when, as an infant and then a toddler, I was confronted with the violence of this world. One of them, the most frequent, is that of suffocating. I can still feel the familiar pressure of a hand around my tiny neck. Far from being an affectionate, gentle gesture like my mother's caresses, the grip was strong and rough, determined. It crushed my windpipe with disconcerting ease, preventing me from breathing and screaming. More than once, I felt myself slipping away. Nothingness enveloped me in its comforting arms, and silence lulled me to sleep with its soft, mute melody. Nevertheless, I kept coming back to the blinding, noisy life as red and screaming brought me back to harsh reality.

I never discussed this with my mother. I knew she would just smile at me and reassure me that it was just a hallucination. I didn't like it when she lied to me, so I avoided broaching the subject.

My first real memory was of our hovel. It was a windowless, damp-smelling, unlit cellar of a small burnt-out house. My mother had managed to build a small corner where she stored our meagre provisions, using stone walls to separate it from the living area. Against it was our bed, made of makeshift sheets laid on the muddy floor. In the corner leading to the surface, opposite our bedroom, was a tub for carrying water and a stone circle for making a fire to cook our food. A small pot, barely larger than a bowl, was set up with a makeshift support. She'd set it up here so that the smells and smoke could escape through the only possible opening. In one corner, there were toys she'd made for me. This limited our humble possessions.

Despite our precarious situation, my mother never stopped smiling. She was a great beauty in my childish eyes. Her ebony skin reflected the sun's rays as we emerged from our rat's nest, and her frizzy hair formed a kind of halo around her head. Those almond-colored eyes lit up my soul every time I looked into them. Her squashed nose and full lips gave roundness to her face, while her smile radiated from her imperfect teeth, yellowed by neglect.

She was resourceful, full of good will and kind beyond description. Most of the time, she begged in the markets, asking for work to prove her good will, always with a smile on her face. From time to time, she managed to earn a few pennies, and she was smart enough not to spend them foolishly. She counted, even though she'd never been instructed to do so, to make the most of the food that was going home. She never indulged herself, although I know she loved to look at the little handmade dolls we regularly passed by. Her eyes sparkled at these toys, little white women dress with beautiful clothes. She never commented on its, although I could see her gaze on these useless things. Personally, they disgusted me.

_____________________________________________________________

From an early age, I learned to fend for myself. Not that my mother didn't take care of me, far from it, but I was an independent soul. I was barely 6 when I took to the streets to rob merchants and landlords in order to support myself and my family. At the time, I didn't even realize I was doing it for that reason. I was just a kid, my mind focused on the fact that I was hungry and had to please Mom. It's today, with my adult mind, that I realize this.

I was often caught and beaten. People would just scream and spit at me, calling me a "child of Hell". I almost died several times, but I always managed to pull through. It wasn't for lack of trying, but I always managed to escape, to slip between the blows and get away. I was sharper and faster than them, despite the fact that I was starving.

I didn't know what I looked like back then. I didn't have any mirrors. The only thing I could observe was the color of my skin, via what I could see on my body. I was black, though not as black as my mother. Lighter, almost as if I'd faded. Although she told me my skin color was sublime, an illuminating dark caramel, I couldn't help finding it odd, strange, humiliating. As if I didn't fit into any of the boxes. In my life, there had only ever been two options: either you were black as the darkest coal, or your skin was a pale beige like limestone. One was from life, the other from minerals. My preference was clearly for the former. However, I was neither. I was an anomaly and, even if I didn't phrase it that way in my mind, I was well aware of the difference.

I tried to ask my mother who my father was, but she never answered. Whenever I broached the subject, she'd quickly divert the conversation by giving me a task to do or asking me about various subjects. I never knew, and I still don't, but I've lost interest. It was never important.

Still, my days were lulled by the routine of stealing, beating and cuddling my mother to comfort me. At the time, when I was 6, she didn't know I was a criminal. She didn't find out until two years later, at the dawn of my 8th birthday, when she saw me in action.

I'd developed my skills well in two years, and now I was a shadow that nobody spotted. I waited patiently in the darkness of the buildings surrounding the market. I watched the comings and goings of passers-by from a distance and, above all, I listened. I'd always had excellent hearing. I could hear the slightest sound flowing around me, like an imperceptible wave on a still lake. I would target my victim when I noticed his inattention, fatigue or illness. That day, I remember this old woman. She was a well-known local shrew who tended to hit children who approached her. Her eyes may have been milky, but her other senses were sharp. No thief would dare attack her. In fact, I was the only one who managed to steal anything from her. In her basket was a magnificent piece of meat she'd had to pay a lot for, the kind she could only afford once in a lifetime. Seeing it immediately made me hungry. I loved meat.

I waited a moment before seeing the opportunity before me. For a second, all attention was diverted. No eyes were on the old woman and her meat. So I dashed forward. Quick as a flash, I slipped like a shadow through the crowd, touching none of the components. Efficiently, I grabbed the leaf-wrapped meat and felt my lips curl in delight. This, however, was short-lived. For, as I fled, my eyes fell on my mother's almond eyes. There she was, kneeling in the dirt, picking up a copper coin that someone had just thrown at her. Her expression of pure surprise suddenly changed to black anger. Her exhausted features tightened into a grimace of fury. Without her even having to raise her voice, speak or whisper, I understood the order she gave me. With shame and a hint of disappointment, I dropped the marvelous piece of meat on the nauseating market floor and fled. My sense of hearing told me what happened next as I fled the scene of my petty theft: my mother had pointed out to the woman that her meat had fallen off. In exchange for this act of kindness and honesty, she had given her a bronze coin. My blood was boiling. It wasn't even enough to buy a crumb of bread.

---

When she returned to the cellar, I was sitting on our bed, my legs crossed beneath me and my gaze defiant, although deep down I felt ashamed. Not of having committed the theft, no, far from it. But of having been caught. She stared at me for a long moment, the stern face I didn't know her for, and finally sat down in front of me.

"You're not a crimi'al." she affirmed, her hard eyes fixed on me.

"Sh' ain't hu'gry, ma'." I growled back. We both knew it was true. She shook her head negatively.

"My baby." she cut in, causing me to lose consistency immediately. "I don't care about that. It wasn't yours, period."

"But, ma' ..." I tried to reply, but she stopped me.

"If you wa't to eat meat," she retorted. "Then go hu'ting."

"I don't k'ow how to do it..." I moaned, and then her smile reappeared, as powerful and luminous as ever.

"You're smart, my baby," she assured me as she took me in her arms. "You'll figur' it out, I know it."

I can't make up my mind how she would have reacted if she'd known those words would condemn her. I'd like to think that she'd have preferred me to carry on stealing rather than what I was about to do, as that would have been in keeping with her character. However, the truth is that I think it would still have ended tragically. She would never have been able to bear having fathered what she would consider a monster.

______________________________________________________________

At her request, I started hunting in the forest surrounding our village. I really tried, but managing to catch game without anyone teaching you how was almost impossible, especially when you're 8 years old and the only education you've ever had was from your uneducated mother.

For weeks, I stalked rabbits, threw stones at birds, tried to trap a deer or to catch fish, but nothing worked. I just couldn't get my loot. I exhausted myself every day, returning to the cellar empty-handed, my head hung low, while my mother continued to encourage me. Nevertheless, the lack of food was making itself felt. I was literally starving. All the strength I'd expended on the hunt wasn't being rewarded, and my mother wasn't earning enough to feed me properly. I was growing and needed energy. Nothing provided it. I can still remember the pain in your stomach when you haven't eaten for days, the feeling of self-digestion, the sporadic, violent cramps of your stomach demanding its due.

One evening, it was dark and only the moon lit up the muddy streets of my village. I was literally dragging my feet, driven forward by the desire to find my mother. Of course, as usual, I didn't bring anything back, but the thought that I could rest in her arms gave me the strength to keep walking. I don't know if tonight I was destined to die in her embrace, but Hell showed me a way out. As I advanced, I spotted a drunken man lying on the ground. He was sleeping like a log, peaceful and motionless. I stopped as I saw that he was no better off than I was. His rags were like mine, dirty and torn. He was all skin and bones, and his swarthy beige skin contrasted with the muddy ground. He disgusted me to no end. This man, whom I didn't know, had used what little energy he had left to get drunk. Did he also earn money by begging? Did he steal other people's property to survive? I didn't know, and to be honest, I didn't care. The more I looked at him, the more I thought he wasn't so different from a deer. They both breathed. They both slept. They both were covered in flesh.

My mother's voice was telling me that it wasn't right, that it wasn't moral, but I never understood it. To this day, I still don't. Still, the man in front of me was no more important than the rabbit I chased, the bird I hunted, the deer I came after or the fish I envied. He was prey and, much to the chagrin of his colleagues, far too confident of his chances of survival.

I walked over to him and pulled out my knife. I remembered the feeling of death that had seized me as an infant. The neck. Attacking the neck meant death.

He was my first victim. All I brought back to my mother were the pieces of meat I'd clumsily cut from his body. She was delighted when she cooked them, congratulating me on my success. When she asked me what they were, I told her to taste and guess. When she answered turkey, I confirmed. I couldn't lie to her about it, my knowledge being limited.

After that, my hunting became nocturnal, without my mother suspecting for a moment what I was doing. I had told her that I always managed to catch prey at night, when they thought they were safe. I wasn't lying to her, not really. I was twisting the truth. It became one of my greatest specialties.

My crimes went unnoticed. Most of the time, the people I targeted were alone, without family or friends. I concentrated on the destitute. As for the leftovers, they were often devoured by scavengers in the process. Everyone thought the beasts were becoming aggressive, and battles were launched to drive the predators away. The irony of the situation was that they had beaten the beast several times without ever finishing it off.

______________________________________________________________

It was only a few weeks before my mother fell ill. Suddenly, her health deteriorated and she began vomiting in the cellar. She also had diarrhea, and her ebony skin paled visibly. She was losing a lot of weight, even though she wasn't very fat anyway, and ended up in bed. I panicked and didn't understand what was happening. I looked after her as best I could, bringing her water to rehydrate her and, above all, food. Lots and lots of food. Sometimes I didn't even bother to cook the meat, which didn't help her case. I didn't know it at the time. I'd convinced myself that feeding her would save her.

The night my new life began, I was chasing a drunken man. He was staggering out of a brothel. I'd spotted him several days earlier and he was far from my usual criteria. He was a man with a family, known to many in the village. However, he was young, dashing and reckless. I thought his meat must be good enough to feed my mother. He was walking down a dark alley, away from the hustle and bustle of the town, but he didn't seem to want to collapse. I had no time that night. My mother had a high fever and needed to be changed regularly to prevent the cellar from smelling of excrement. So I decided to act. I advanced slowly, my knife in my left hand, and passed behind the man. I was as silent as a shadow but as determined as an army. When we were far enough away that no one could hear him scream, I leapt at his neck. Before he could utter a sound, my blade effectively sliced through his aorta and windpipe. He immediately bled to death and collapsed on the muddy street floor. I stood up as I gently removed my weapon from his neck. I was about to start butchering him when I heard an approving sound coming from behind me.

"Impressive," hissed a deep but muffled voice.

With dread, I turned back to the witness and my terror only increased. The man was huge, much longer than any human I'd encountered before. He was thin and entirely covered by a kind of hooded black robe. No bits of skin were visible, and all I could make out of his face were those luminous light-green eyes. My instincts told me to run, that I'd have a chance to outrun him, but my logical mind had quickly taken over: three meters for me meant two strides for him. I couldn't escape. I had to fight. He seemed to understand my intentions and sneered.

"I wouldn't advise you to think of me as that young man, my boy," he whispered, amused. "I'm far more competent than he is."

"Who ar' you?" I asked, curious. He merely tilted his head.

"He's not your first victim," he observed, startling me. "Although barbaric, your methods are well honed. You have all the makings of a predator."

He seemed to think things over before coming towards me. I was ready to fight, although I knew it would be very difficult to get rid of him. In my proud 8-year-old mind, however, I told myself that it was still possible.

"Yet you have the appearance of a rat," he finally says, leaning slightly towards me. "Even if they're omnivores, they're still harmless."

I frowned and tilted my head.

"Om-ki-vor'?" I questioned. I knew absolutely nothing about this word and, to be perfectly honest, most of the words coming out of his mouth made no sense to my illiterate brain. He just smiled, as if I'd asked the right question.

"Where are your parents, little man?" he asked. I said nothing, gauging him with my eyes. He shrugged.

"I need to talk to them," he explained, as if it were obvious.

"Ma' can't talk," I retorted. He tilted his head.

"And your father?" he contradicted. I remained silent. That was answer enough for him. "Tell me," he continued. "Can you describe the situation you find yourself in?"

I licked my lips as I thought. My 8-year-old mind summed up the situation as follows: this man saw me doing something wrong. I can't eliminate him because he's too big and he knows I'm dangerous. So I have two options: either I try to run away and risk him catching me, or I obey him but make him promise not to tell Mom what I've done. Of course, today with my adult eyes, I see far more solutions to this situation that could have led to multiple consequences, but I was only a child. My thoughts seemed to be reflected in my eyes as those of the man in front of me shone with a gleam of satisfaction.

"Don't tell Ma," I demanded in a firm voice. He smiled.

"All right," he agreed, in a solemn tone.

That's good enough for me. I glanced at my victim before changing my mind. Cutting him up to take a piece back to my mother would only make the situation worse, and I was already far too much in this man's thrall. As I turned away, I saw that the glow in those green irises had increased. So I directed him towards our cellar. He followed me fearlessly through the alleys, as if he knew I'd keep my word. I did, of course.

When we finally arrived, an unpleasant fumet rose from the slum's entrance. I winced and pushed my way into the putrid den. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw my mother, still lying in the sheets, her eyes barely open. I walked towards her, glancing at the man who was bent over so that he could move around our cellar. His hand rested on his nose to block out the stench. He glanced around him before turning his attention back to my mother. He seemed saddened.

"Ma'" I called out, stroking her hair. She turned to me and, with her eternal smile, gazed at me lovingly. I continued, "There's a mist'r who wa'ts to talk to you."

She looked surprised and frowned slightly as I slowly turned her head towards the man. He came closer and knelt down in front of her. My mother blinked as if trying to recognize him. There was a long silence between them as they stared at each other intensely. My mother, despite her obvious lack of strength, tried her best to gauge the man.

"What d'd you wa't ?" she asked, her voice weak and hoarse, bordering on extinct.

"I can give him a better life," he replied simply. "I can take care of him when you've gone. We both know that's coming soon."

I remember the shiver of horror that ran through my body at that moment. I stared at the man, petrified, as dread rose to my throat.

"Don't say that!" I yelled, getting to my feet. "She's fin' ! She must just 'at, that's all!"

He gave me a sympathetic look but remained silent. I felt my mother's hand slowly tug at my rag and concentrated on her. Her face was sad but her smile always present. She was so thin, so pale, and I bit my lip to keep from letting out a sob. She already looked like a corpse.

"My baby." she whispered. "Com'."

I crouched down in front of her and she placed her cold fingers on my cheek. Tears streamed down her cheeks, flooding the hollows caused by her illness. But her smile never faltered.

"You cho'se, my baby," she said. "But you know he's right. You've always be'n smart."

"But Ma'!" I cried. She stroked my cheek to shut me up.

"I don't know who h' is," she confirmed. "But h' cam' to ask me if I was okay. He's not a p'rv'rt, I know that. I trust him. But it's your choice, my baby. I'm go'a die to'ight, I can feel it."

The crying didn't stop at my request. I wanted to show her that she was worrying for nothing, that she was dramatizing the situation, but my subconscious knew otherwise. I wanted to protest, but my voice broke before it left my mouth. I looked away from my mother so as not to show her my helplessness.

"I'm not promising you an easy life," the man suddenly intervenes. "For people like us, it never is."

I quickly looked up at him, incomprehension certainly evident on my features. He simply removed his hood and the balaclava hiding his face. I froze as I realized that he had the same skin color as my mother. It was the first time I'd seen someone other than my family with the same features as us. His face was long, thin and pointed, and those eyes, small and stretched out, stood out enormously on his face.

"But your mother's right," he agreed. "You're intelligent and gifted. I didn't need to argue with you for long to understand that, nor did I need to observe you in detail to realize it. Potential like that doesn't stay on the streets like a scavenger. If you follow me, I'll take you to the capital and educate you. I'll teach you everything there is to know, I'll offer you knowledge you could never acquire by being stuck here. I'll turn you from a rat into a bear."

I was trying to understand what he was telling me. I'd made the connection with what he'd told me earlier, but I could only grasp the surface of what he was saying. I could either stay with my soon-to-be-dead mother and decay in these filthy, unjust streets alone, or I could follow this man who looked like me and could live. Basically, I could either remain prey or become a predator.

The blood began to boil in my ears as I looked at my mother. She hadn't stopped smiling, but those eyes were already losing their sparkle.

"I can't l'ave you alon'," I said. She nodded positively.

"Please," she begged. "If you wa't to go, go 'ow. R'm'mber me with a real smile."

She caressed my cheek again and I moaned as I reached for her hand.

"Ma'" I begged as she looked at the man.

"What's your nam'?" she asked and he smiled at her.

"Zestial," he replied. She nodded.

"Tak' good car' of him," she ordered, and her voice was nonetheless firm, despite her weakness. "Mak' my littl' Alastor a go'd man." She turned her attention back to me as she smiled. "Don't ev'r forg't me, my baby, don't forg't my smil'."

I detailed her to memorize every one of her expressions, her teeth, her eyes, her nose, the joy that transfused through her skin straight to my soul. I placed a final kiss on her forehead. Zestial straightened up and looked around the room, searching for potential business. There was nothing. I'd already burned the toys to heat the cellar. The only thing I had left in this world was ironically dying out. He beckoned me to follow him and, with a last glance at my mother, I left the hovel as, with a look of relief on my face, I could see that she would soon be gone.

When we were outside, I looked at the man putting back on his balaclava and hood.

"What did I agr'e to becom'?" I asked. He turned back to me.

"The King's Assassin," he said, and my only response was a sigh.