damned.

Long ceased to be the leader of anything, Cain involuntarily slips back into that abandoned role through slight change of posture when surrounded by former comrades. One comrade. The rest of them forfeited the privilege to bear such title the moment they swayed him against his entire order. Except for Belial. He had been presumed dead, the only knight escaping Cain's wrath as he'd never played a pawn in Abaddon's vile retribution plans. Good for him. Because now, standing in his former commander's cottage? No harm will befall him. Seems like they've ever been more alike than they'd say out loud— choosing retirement, resistance, trying their hands at normalcy or what shred thereof was granted to them. Abominations that they always shall be. " I don't take you for the tea type of fellow ", Cain tosses into the room upon moving to the fridge. Gives his old comrade enough time to take in what small haven he built with freedom back in his hands.

The father of lies most certainly hears the noises of beer bottles losing their lids to minimal force applied by the one holding them. Ere Cain returns to Belial and hands one over. " To staying out of trouble. It saved your head ", accompanies a salute with his bottle and an upward twitch of brows. " The quiet, away from that hamster wheel ran by hectic human masses... well, it does wonders. " He doesn't have to say more, does he? How crowded places tickle one's locked away anger and contrary to that, the small pleasures such as appreciation for mother nature, calm the inward monster. " My future? " Cain fails to bite back a huff rooted in humor, because where should he begin? Sauntering past Belial, he half-pivots at only a couple feet distance before gesturing toward the sofa; that armchair is his. Non-negotiable.

" Believe it or not, nowadays I practically dive into trouble every now and then. You know my stance on demonkind. Or the majority of them, to be fair. " There exist exceptions and it's worth taking into account. " Whenever I catch wind of one falling out of line, they go straight on my list. For vampires, shifters, werewolves— same story. " Controlled hunting, controlled killings— the best compromise to keep outlet and inner peace combined. Cain deliberately omits everything regarding the friendships he's made since getting rid of that mark. Belial might be an old friend, but he's also the father of lies. Plus, they haven't faced each other in centuries; who can say what he's really up to? " A part of me never truly left Hell, you know. "

Sinking into his chair, he exhales a sigh. More the picture of an old, tired man than powerful demon able and willing to smite monsters en masse if necessary. " So if you intend to stay out of chaos, I'd suggest you limit potential future visits. Unless... " Cain pins the other with a pointed look, one which conveys 'don't even try lying in my face', may be squinting for a split second. All while canting his head slowly yet subtly to one side. " The full truth behind your showing up is that you've grown bored and actually come looking for it. "

"tea? no. never got the taste for it. leaves and water," he polishes it off with a blanch. "pretended to. once or twice. don't think i'll ever forget the taste. terrible."

belial's attention drifts after cain himself. the years that've gone by since he laid eyes upon the knight that was once his teacher, his comrade, his friend (as much as creatures like tham are permitted to call another friend) and so much more than mere words could be deemed worthy of describing have gone by in a blur. yet. stopped now and then with such poignant pauses that one month might feel like a decade. or a decade may rush to catch up and feel as if it happened all in the span of one day. they're monsters outside of time. has been their curse and their blessing since the moment they were created. though through the toughest times, the curse part rang louder than any blessing.

though he remained outside of cain's wrath. preferring the sea and the company of weathered men who have tales to tell as long as the lines they would cast from their ships--he was not unaware of what took place. distance and time do not sever the ties that are tangled between those that belonged to lucifer himself. the disturbance did not go unnoticed. each death felt. each moment of fear or angered betrayal crossed leagues upon leagues of dark water and into the battered hulls he called his home. no, no. he was outside of it but not oblivious. nor did he do anything to stop the slaughter. or aid it.

simply let it pass. just as cain passes by him. offering a bottle belial gladly takes before following along. just as he once had. seamlessly falling into line behind him and moving to the gestured seat. seems cain has a favorite chair. judging by the wear. the idea stirs a warmth of familiarity in his chest. inside his little home on the docks? he, too, has a favorite chair. and mug. the coat he wears? another favorite. small, human indulgences he's come to cherish. hearing cain hunts those deemed monsters by the humans that surround them is fitting. earns a dip of his head and a tip of his bottle before he takes a long pull.

                                    OOHH, HE LIKES DEMONS WHO CAN TALK BACK and don't just start shivering with fear because they're face to face with an archangel who could just snap his fingers and end them. Though, maybe not this one. He feels a little stronger than your ordinary run-of-the-mill spawn of Hell. Some prince, maybe? Luci had such a great time turning downstairs into some sort of regency drama before he ended up in the cage, Gabriel has no idea what the fuck this guy is supposed to be. Maybe the court jester.

belial's head cocks to the side when the two little creatures go full on melee brawl. the sword-wielding fool swings the weapon like an arm. doing no real damage and making zero contact. while the other is thrown--from seemingly nowhere--a knife. close quarter combat verses long-arm range. let's see who wins! fingers steeple together and he presses the edges of his touching pointers against his bottom lip. not truly looking away from the fight, his attention is divided between the conversation at hand and the spectacle. if you can call zero bloodshed a spectacle. "mmmhmm. i've heard of you," and yet he doesn't sound intimidated or biased--he simply knows the archangel for what he is and with no ill-will shown? why not indulge the company? not every day you get to meet someone so powerful and yet.clearly restrained from following in the footsteps of those created before or after.

The cottage they approach is unlike Cain's prior residence; he built it with his own hands. Three stories atop a green property that's capped by a deep forest barely one mile behind it. All far enough from the town to keep most curious eyes away— some might say it's the perfect spot for a serial killer to hide in. How ironic. Having someone from a past Cain moved on from in the passenger seat, taking him into this present chapter? Feels strange. A paradox all in itself. So to hear Belial led a life similar to his own suffices to thin what doubts might've survived by now, because even if his veteran from Hell is known as father of lies, to fool someone who knew him since the dawn of demonkind isn't his forte. Cain believes him, give or take a prying look. Then parks the truck beside his cottage.

" All this time and we still seem to have the one or other thing in common ", drops his comment flat, humor's lilt subtle. Plucking the key, he pushes the door open to get out and only upon slamming it shut continues: " Let's keep the rest of our past where it belongs. I truly don't want to relive anything of it. " Cain was never one to enjoy talking about his old burdens, especially the losses, wounds that might reopen. " Out of sight, out of mind, yes... That's how I went about everyone. About us ", except for Lucifer. He never left the demon's head. Leading Belial into the house, he signals him by pointing at his feet to take his shoes off. As does the house owner himself upon making it onto the front porch and opening the entrance—

— If he still behaves reserved, somewhat, blame it on the fact that surprise takes its sweet time to wear off. Any bystander wouldn't at all guess how close those demons have once been. Curiosity doesn't falter under its weight, however, conveyed by an upturn of brows as he regards his guest while slipping out of his coat. " You certainly have plans for the future without that burden sitting at the back of your mind. Apart from paying me a visit. " The harmonically assembled interior not only matches the cottage's facade and invites one to sink into cushioned sofas to watch the fireplace. It smells wooden as well. As though the whole thing has just been built.

belial slides out of the truck and follows along, bobbing his head still in an agreeable nod that it is best to leave the past in the past. no use digging up long buried bones. they have cemeteries full, the two of them. letting the dead rest is how you survive centuries upon centuries. and they are both masters of that, no? well. masters may be a loose word but he likes to think he gets along well enough. hard work. burying himself in physical labor and sequestering his presence from the rest of the world? do wonders, too.

hands ball into fists that are stuffed into the pockets of his wool coat as he takes the steps. damn near comical face greets the point to his shoes. the knight of hell looks down at his muddied boots and looks back up without properly raising his head enough. all eyes and parted lips like a kid caught about to do something they weren't supposed to do. imagine that. the father of lies. busted. obviously so. about to drag caked dirt into his former leader's home. and looking close to guilty as he can possibly look at the order. features scrunch in apology and he toes off his boots. one at a time. having to lean down and loosen their leather strings first to get them off properly. once upright again, he shoves his fingers through dark, damp locks and squints at his surroundings. the smell is intoxicating. and peaceful.

homey. huh. would you look at that?

Maybe he should be alert. What are the odds that Belial sought Cain out with sinister motivations? They both pulled away from the whole knight duty and was it Cain who not only trained him, he also had transferred his curse to him. Was there regret? But he can't be bothered to fear consequences— Cain is still superior in power, besides, never did he fear his end. It was ever something he couldn't have. The only thing. His attention remains on the dark road lined by trees that appear as shadowy figures watching over the vast fields surrounding them. Here and there, luminous pairs of eyes dot the blackened canvas outside; nocturnal animals.

" Nobody asked ", drops Cain's first answer short and crisp. " If anything, everyone who noticed was relieved to hear the news. As they should be. " An index finger idly taps the wheel, drumming to the rhythm of the thoughts firing through his head until something akin to glee draws crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. " But hardly as relieved as I was myself. " Then a brief side glance. Cain doesn't activate the blinker before turning right, because at this moment the road is his alone. From a distance the dim lights shining through windows crown the horizon with golden dots— home is almost in sight.

" How I feel? To put it simple: free. In control and... " He has to consider that bit first: " A little bit less like an abomination. " But enough about himself, the pause trailing after Cain's admission indicates a counterquestion is about to follow. " What have you been doing all this time on your own? I didn't hear from you in those past decades, not once. Which tells me you must've done well resisting the urges. "

hazel eyes watch as the trees blur past. jagged fingers stretching towards the sky to tickle and pluck at the stars overhead. a hum leaves his lips when he sees a buck with a rather impressive set of horns poke his head out from behind a thicket of bushes. they both sought solitude. cain within the woods. belial sticking to bodies of water and coastal towns where he was no one but another dock worker or fisherman. solace in fresh water outside his bedroom window. salt, too. depending on where his whimsy took him.

or the need for a new persona. a new life. until a generation or two thinned out those who might remember him from earlier years before their age turned bones wary, weathered their hair and skin where his would remain the same. only a handful of states over and yet, they haven't crossed paths nor sought each other out in all these years. he listens to cain's answers. figured that was the case. as his brethern were slaughtered long before this country belonged to anyone but the original souls that called it home. only those who weren't one of them might come looking. belial figures their reception may not have been very welcome and they are highly aware of that fact. smart lads, aren't they? to avoid the answers to questions that might get them sent to a finality not even hell can escape from.

Centuries, blown away just like that. Or so it feels in a way that'd be difficult to explain. Can one feel unease and the exact opposite at the same time? Their likewise bewildered stares get severed the moment Cain sways his attention to the rainy road ahead, barely obscured as the windshield wipers do their job. Belial's witty response is enough to break what ice might've been left between them, a massive block it was, shaped by distance maintained for so long that change inevitably has found them both. Cain doesn't even try to stifle a low laugh. It trails into silence rather quickly, however. " Some things never change, do they? "

He should ask his estranged comrade where he ought to drop him off— is it clear that there's no bus stop, no motel, no destination to aim for. They are demons. Belial can teleport to whichever place he pleases. Cain simply prefers to retain human modesty and means of travel. No, Belial is here to see him. So he'll drive home and take his guest along. A brief side glance targets the fellow veteran at the question, skepticism visible through the crease to Cain's brows. One deep intake of breath later, his gaze is back on the road, tone of his voice lacking prior lightheartedness:

" Come on. You didn't sneak up on me to ask why I settled in Missouri. " The reason why he squints isn't his company or anything he said, though. Some moron on the opposite lane turned on their full beam, blinding. A headlight flasher should suffice to raise awareness. " What is it truly? Why seek me out now? " Cain remembers Belial's curious peek back at the gas station, so he continues before the latter can answer: " Allow me to guess. It's the mark, or rather... its absence. Right? " A beat of a pause. " Yes, it is gone for good. Thanks to one bullheaded hunter, an angel, and an eminently competent witch. "

seeming unbothered by cain's need to give him a once over--the demon turns his attention to the world outside the vehicle. traffic? not a worry. they've brought entire civilizations to their knees. trusting the other to handle maneuvering the road is quite simple in comparison! travel-wary eyes fix themselves on the treeline moving by, the embankment leading to a ditch that buckles before the forest starts. belial rests his head upon the cool glass the window provides. watches the beads of rain splash and splatter.

cain's voice is soothing in a way he didn't know he missed. an old melody that once haunted his dreams on a nightly basis. or in the quiet moments before dawn where the sky is ink-splatted black and blue and the stars are starting to hide away til the next evening. lips part to answer the question. only to close again when the answer was shown unnecessary. they know why he is here. why he would seek him out when their solitude is sacred. belial lifts his temple from the glass leaving an imprint that'll fade quickly. cain's profile erases millennia and reminds him of how many years it's been all at once.

Anyway, we plotted that Belial wasn't involved in taking retribution for Cain's decision to retire, because he, too, took a step back. The order was never super solid as a group. Competition among them all ruled each mission, even though Cain kept them in line as their leader for as long as he did lead them. Cain always had this feeling that Belial is still kicking, not killed by those few forces able to take someone with the mark down. But he never went looking for him. Doesn't have any wish to end him, either, given he stayed out of his former leader's retirement business.

@hellknighted

                                  IT'S FUCKING HOT IN ERIDU, MESOPOTAMIA, and Gabriel would rather take a quick detour to the Northpole to get some ice for his wine, but unfortunately, he's on a super-duper important mission from Mikey, and who knows how closely that fucker is watching him, so he better gets this shit done. Honestly, he doesn't know why he is the one having to check this out. First of all, this shouldn't be worth an archangel's attention, and secondly, he was created for talking purposes, and he thinks cupids bashing each other's heads in is more of a soldier's job. Unless Michael thinks Gabriel can make them talk it out or whatever. 

tapping a pointer against his temple, thumb propping his chin up as curled index and pointer fingers ghost little touches and sweeps against his lips--the demon watches the fight play out with a mirth that shouldn't be this great. turning them against each other to the point of desperate hate enough to raise coconut weapons towards their own kind? perfection. had no idea that angels were capable of using the level of insults that would bring tears to a heathen's eyes. yet, there they are. truly going at it. no holds barred and it's glorious. only thing that could ruin his gleeful entertainment? this asshole. right here. strolling up like he owns the place ready to pass some sort've judgement on him like heaven doesn't have its own sadistic means of entertainment.

A power signature of potency close to his own rendered Cain somewhat tense upon arriving at the station. Abaddon is long gone. So are the rest of his former order, with exception of one who had opted for a life as lone wolf before their coup brought their leader's wrath upon them. Between the nozzle's clicking noise when Cain hooks it back in and the soft pitter-patter of rain drops into cement crack puddles, he can hear those steps. Almost drowned out. Almost. The scowl across his mien gives away his internal conflict on how to react as soon as such familiar presence would approach him. Because so much has changed. He wants nothing to do with that chapter of his past anymore. And yet— once he flicks the gas cap shut does Cain rear his head to behold eyes that haven't looked at him for centuries. No malice to sense here.

Curiosity. It rivals his own irritation, which tries and tries to swallow what gladness to see an old friend began to rise in that ancient chest. Belial was Cain's soulmate, as far as such term goes for demons. One can't simply shrug that off. Attention drawn to the spot where once the mark glared red, they are on the same page sans verbal addition. How does one react to that unexpected reunion? " Look who crawled out of his hole. " A low huff rumbles in Cain's throat, might be mistaken for a scoff bleeding past a crooked smile. Barely audible beside threads of rainwater hitting the roof of his truck like millions of needles. The odd soaked lock of hair pokes his brow to stick there with the subtle motion canting his head in the truck's direction. " Get in. "

And Cain, too, finds the dry safety of the vehicle's inside ere brushing wet hair out of his face. One hand on the wheel, he doesn't instantly start the engine because somehow he's in need for a moment to stare at his company in persisting bewilderment. Is Belial actually here? It seems too random, nearly surreal. The flickering neon lights posing as visual background noise don't truly help in making this sight resemble one out of some dream any less. " Forgive me, but I find it hard to believe. You, here with me. At this absurd hour and place of all. " Cain's mien softens, gladness seeming to claim victory. " Then again ", and he turns the key, subtle the shake of his head. " It's still so very you. " Mysterious entrances with a touch of melancholy. Well, if his memory doesn't deceive him.

a brief and fleeting smile for an old soul that was once, perhaps still is, so very intertwined with his own. belial observes cain closely. there'd be no surprise if he was told to fuck off. get lost. never to cross paths again should the outcome make their vows of quiet pacifism null and void. "if the cat were guilty for interrupting our solitudes? i'd feel sorry for the cat." cain's invitation to join him in the truck teases the ghost of a smile over the corners of his mouth. every step seems to erase centuries of stances as he moves to the door and climbs inside. rain drops hit against the metal roof. a soothing tap, tap, tap that could lure one to sleep.

dry seats and the protection of the car from the growing storm make it easier for his travel wary bones to relax. it's been a while since he left his little homestead on the water. only something of this level of importance would draw him out. there are answers he needs. cain is the only one able to give them. as they are, far as he knows, the only ones left. not the trash of demons that sought to create havoc and play mindless games. no. those don't count. they're like cockroaches that scatter when the light is flicked on. soldiers that were once admirable in their duties that now play mindless games he wants no part of. no. only cain can give him what he seeks.

@cainevesson said: I can see too much. Maybe make them a little bit smaller? 30×30 would be rad <3

// how dare i forget? we must make them small enough that they fit in the overhead bin! look look! is this better?! i'm thinking it's better!!!