MAMMON

prize, prey, glamour 

lethal, elegant, ally

potential, pet, darkness.

cute, armor, harmless.

king, spicy, homeboy.

company, mom, jail. 

fuck - michael (this was the most unhinged option like mammon would ok)

marry - arianne

kill - luca 

lick - romilda

suck - salome

bite - cassiel 

hug - judas

cuddle - abaddon

kiss - damien 

summon - romilda 

banish - arianne

absorb - revna

rob a bank with - damien

hide a body with - abbadon

rat out to the cops - judas 

Seemingly from thin air - or perhaps the same void they emerged from - Mammon produces candy. All to make a point, it appears, a pause in the conversation simply for a bit of indulgence in the sort of candy most often enjoyed by children. 

A point, they give him. He’ll take it. When working in Mammon’s world of chaos, any acknowledgement is a successful one. Still, they play at acting as if they won’t be there - when truth be told they both know that it’ll likely be far more interesting than remaining in the Black Palace with so many of its most influential inhabitants gone. 

Still, ‘maybe’ says Mammon, and Damien lets out a beleaguered sigh. “Come on, Mammon,” he implores. “Don’t tell me that you’re really going to miss a chance to damn your favourite angel and a gathering of nearly everyone worth talking to just to… what?” He asks, mock-unimpressed. “Hang around here and eat candy?” He shrugs. “I suppose someone ought to keep an eye on the Black Palace while we’re away.”

What exactly Damien hopes to gain from the experience is another question entirely. One whose answer he himself can’t be exactly sure of, not without witnessing the fallout from Cador’s death first hand. Influence who will be next to claim the title of The Stars, surely - though Azazel will certainly have more of a say in that than he will, perhaps he’ll be able to influence her - but even then, despite the tedium of funerals, the company alone would be enough to draw him in. 

“What’s the fun in just telling you,” Damien finally answers, teasing. Evasive, perhaps, but was that not part of the game they played? “When you could see for yourself?”

Mammon nearly snorted. Favorite angel - was it truly that evident. They could hardly resist the tsking. “Sin never looked so delicious on damning the divine.” A sliver of truth trailed from their lips as they rolled the candy in their mouth. “You speak as if I’d be bothered to speak with some of the most pretentious fucks of the world, please - should I desire that I would’ve moved myself right upon heaven’s doorsteps early on.” Mammon sighed, most were insufferable pricks with far too much conceit and ego on their glowing bodies. And surely the noise was a pain. But they knew and Damien knew that Mammon would go - it was an opportune moment to create their own madness after all. 

“Me? Gatekeep the black palace? You’re out of your mind.” No way in all their years of being would they settle for such an irksome duty. It sounded worse than their punishment from Lucifer himself when they deemed them irritable trash deserving of the abyss. 

Like a child, Mammon couldn’t help but pout at Damien’s refusal. This was what made him fun, for he knew which strings to pull to keep Mammon’s fleeting attention, knew how to capture their attention. A rarity for even Mammon for they were governed by nothingness in its entirety. No it was in absurdity and nonsensical bedlam where they thrived most. 

“Fine, so be it,” they would not fight against the Anti Christ, for he had secured himself a triumph victory. “I’ll go, I have an angel to damn anyways,” their obsession and addiction toward the holy divine was like nothing else - it had lingered in their mind like a howling shriek. 

THEY DARE TO TOUCH HER, AND ARIANNE FEELS ONLY the flames of hell wrapping tight around her, licking at her skin and daring her to bite back. She can taste the way they desire it: to see an Altier sliced open and in pieces for them to pick at and play with. But have she and Romilda not survived worse than an arrogant immortal who thinks themself a puppeteer of will and want? Arianne has seen a fool like Mammon undone; her own hand opened the first wound, even as her vision danced with hallucinations and blood spilled over her cheeks like tears that would never come.

If Mammon intends to frighten her then they have failed; they have only reminded Arianne that she, too, is a monster. The chainmail that stops mere metal and blade is not the only armor she wears.

“Do it,” Arianne says, her voice sweet and its lilt like a song. Her eyes are piercing in their beauty, and as she beckons Mammon to destroy her, they grow more tempting still. The crowd surrounding them notices; the people catch the scent of their beloved under threat, and the murmurs begin to swell of the demon who has come to the Holy Land as visitor and come after their own. “I should like to see you try.” 

Pink lips curve almost kindly, though a darkness flickers over her gaze too dangerously for it to be seen as anything but a threat. “There are more ways than violence to ruin. You will remember it.” Her hand embraces his, intimate as a lover, soft as a kiss. She knows Mammon’s kind; their heart is as black as hers, though they lack the refined finesse she prefers. Monsters like them prefer to play with their food before they devour it whole.

Mammon couldn’t decipher if she was brave or stupid - perhaps this Altier sister was both. But did it matter? No, they had seen one too many of the same ghosts that once uttered the same words. Broken things that spoke with such courage as if their challenge could ruffle a millennium aged demon. It was laughable child’s play. And well, Mammon wouldn’t deny their natural instinct to play - after all, infinity was a long time and humans made for entertaining toys until they broke. 

They look and discern the features upon her face. Those words, those mannerisms - the interest was fading, they had thought she would be more. Alas, they were let down, their intrigue waned, their voice flat in sound as they spoke once more. Each word from their lips uttered like a pedantic machine. “Well, how boring. I thought you’d have something more fun to say.” The smile was wiped, and all that remained was detachment. 

Just when they thought the cause was lost, she moves in such unpredictability that a light ignites once more. How malleable her flesh was - nothing like the empty steeliness of theirs, where nothing like a heart could be heard, merely empty blackness. They almost laughed, as if violence was the only thing Mammon knew - she underestimated their age and their memories. There were methodical ways of torment, all witnessed by Mammon firsthand, done by their hands too - some crueler than the strike of a hand. “Violence is mercy dear girl.” Death was too.