Stolas of the Goetia

                           StolasoftheGoetia

       Indie, OC & Crossover friendly RP blog of Stolas from Helluva Boss                                           About || Rules || Headcanons

                                            Passionately Fornicated by Eoin

“Again, I’m about thaaaaatt-” The impette started to apologise to the prince until he stood up. Motherfuck this guy’s tall.

And thus her (ironic) small fear of tall people kind of kicks in.

Shaking her head, Mitzy cleared her throat. “Uh, sure thing!” She stretched her neck to the side and examined the dead bodies ahead of her and the owl. “Just a heads up, there’s at least four or five blood puddles up ahead.” This was her best attempt of being professional, totally not because the height difference between the two demons makes her think the man could kill her if she pissed him off.

-

Stolas at his full, and very impressive, height, looked down at the small demon with the eyes on his left side a little raised, a mixture of slight irritation and humour.

Well, at least now she listened to him.

Stolas’ little monologue did nothing to calm his nerves. If anything, he only felt his instincts scream at him to run, particularly when the Prince’s eyes changed shades of red. He still didn’t show it, but it was clear by the bead of sweat that ran down the side of his face that he was feeling more like he was about to be devoured by a cosmic monstrosity than anything else. Still, he maintained his composure, and in as neutral a tone as he could muster, replied, “Duly noted. Thank you, Your Highness. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to, uh, get my gear ready, pick out the right weapons for this job.” He didn’t know if Stolas was serious about him being “honored” at his visit, but he wasn’t too proud to risk offending or angering the Prince. And truth be told, he wanted to get away from those eyes as soon as possible.

-

Even if he maintained his more peaceable sensibilities (especially in comparison to his fellow Goetia) Stolas was still a demon; a fallen angel. Darkness, fear, it would always remain more than a little bit... enticing. The fear emanating from this one was its own kind of delicious bouquet. “Are you afraid, little Sinner?” he asked, his voice seeming to take on a subtle echo, coming from all sides of the room rather than just his beak.

“Because you need not fear me. You are my latest investment. I care for my investments. Provided of course, they do not fail me.” The room seemed to darken as he continued to speak, till just his four red eyes could be seen. Then, with a blink, they were gone.

“… That’s going to be a problem… Because my memories of my past before the undead apocalypse is in fragments, I don’t know my real true name nor my date of birth, Your Royal Majesty… That’s how severe the trauma of surviving the undead apocalypse has affected my mind.”

And it wasn’t going to be easy to recover said fragmented memories… For Don had to avenge his own death in order to be free to search for said fragmented memories… He had to kill his former leader and killer to do so.

“My name, Don… It’s an alias I took up while surviving the undead apocalypses, my last name Everett, it’s my true last name.” He admitted with a sigh, pulling his hand back from the constellation he was brushing.

“Perhaps you could start me off on a random star sign, and we can go from there until the fragmented memories are repaired?”

-

Stolas tilted his head slightly, “Hmm. Well traumas of the mind are something even a creature of my power is unable to speed along. God, in his ‘infinite’ wisdom gave us all the capacity to do ourselves great harm and great happiness all within our own minds.”

“But,” he continued swiftly, “There are always some things to bring comfort to our weary thoughts.” he voice turning softer as he brushes his talons gently over his illusion of the stars. “Stars, plants, precious stones: these are the salves for mine.”  

“Don Everett.” he repeated, the words seeming heavier coming from Stolas, after all, there was power in a name, even an alias. “I suppose so. In a network so vast the origin point is of little consequence. Here.”

“Anyone who claims they know and see all is either bullshitting or exaggerating whatever powers they have, or leaving out a catch to it.” Death states, not seeming to realize who Stolas’ father was at the moment.  

“What do the upper-class like to talk about then? Soul tax? Keeping rich and donating to Hell Charities as a Tax write-off or something?” Death asks jokingly, chuckling. “Must be truly boring stuff if you’d prefer talking to anyone else other then them. Or they’re all just… really boring people.”

“And… as for having a touch of chaos to me, yeah, definitely.” He says, smiling. “I do cause a bit of trouble at times. Accidentally and intentionally. Plus the whole… multiverse thing, going places I shouldn’t and whatnot. …I’d try visiting a version of Heaven but I doubt that’d be a good idea. Might get smite on sight.”

“Who is your Father, by the way? Must be quite the dickhead if he claims he knows and sees all. Sounds like he probably tries manipulating people into giving him things, like one of those people on TV that spouts about sending them money as a way to guarantee passage into Heaven or whatever…”

-

Stolas grinned, though it wasn’t a pleasant expression, “Careful, Little One, you may have just committed a grave sin,” Depending on whether or not this little human considered themselves a Christian.

“Among few other things.” he replied dryly, “How to ensure more sinners are killed with each purge, which of their fellow nobility are committing less-than noble acts. When one is so entrenched in one’s own importance it becomes difficult to explore much else.” Luckily for Stolas, he at least held a more open mind.

“Of course you do. Look at where you’ve walked into. Hell is an interesting place, it has far more sentience than most would credit it with. You didn’t end up here entirely on your own. This place gave you a little... nudge.” he poked the human with a talon to emphasise his point and laughed again.

There was a mountain tension that kept growing the longer the Goetian kept the final blow from happening, he felt as if they knew too well how it was to torture and make another suffer, and they were making a great show of it to him. While listening to him as he was finally placed down in the center of the room he’d go to speak, but before he managed to make a sound, his chest had frozen, or for him, disappeared. Looking down he saw something that stunned him more than the petrification.

Striker tried to swallow, tried to breath, he wanted to scream his pain that didn’t exist for anything to care about and the torture of being slowly petrified, he couldn’t breath, his throat muscles clenching on nothing, his airway stuck still in silence as he was effectively only a head now on a grotesque statue. He stared angrily at Stolas, tears welling up as the silent cries of fear and anger could not be heard by either of them.

It didn’t take long for the suffocating sensation to come and he felt his throat burning, then his head, he expected to pass out at any moment but it never happened, the dizzyness never came and he just felt an intense pressure all around him, he was to weak to try anything as he was a silent head crying out for the sweet release of death.

How he’d be able to get used to it so quickly were a combination of defiance, but mostly giving up and letting whatever happened happen, and he’d stare without moving his mouth in the attempts to speak, too tired to scowl or look angry, his resting expression to that of sadness and defeat, he wasn’t going home, and whatever happened if his whole head was petrified he’d not know, but wished it would bring forth darkness and nothing.

-

Stolas may have been considered one of the more benevolent of the Goetic family, but that didn’t mean he lacked the capacity to be vicious, to be cruel; in truth, he could derive pleasure from it just as Lucifer himself could. Striker had wronged him, thought himself (an imp who’d existed for a fraction of his lifetime) able to kill him. Him. There was a part of him that felt validation in washing any such ideas from the would-be revolutionary. It was an easy form of lust to fall into.

He watched with a slight grin upon his beak as Striker struggled with his new body, or lack thereof. “Quite an indescribable sensation, no?” he asked, well aware he wouldn’t, couldn’t, be given an answer. “Stone isn’t alive, yet it isn’t wholly dead either. Precious stones are one of the areas of scholarship in which I excel. Thus, I’ve come to appreciate the substances ability to straddle the stance of life and death; much like you right now.”  

“Confused?” he asked, moving to a plush, deep purple armchair in the room and settling into it, crossing his long legs. “As I said, straddling life and death. I’m not allowing you to die, but I’ve still taken away your ability to exist as your physical form is able to comprehend. Therefore, you’re stuck, a kind of limbo, if you will.” he chuckled.

Mifune nodded, and took the first step into Hell, shadowed by the Goetic demon.

There were many paintings of Hell in Mifune’s world, illustrations for temples, or in family galleries, meant to reflect upon in guilt of one’s own sin, pray for absolution and a better afterlife. Therefore Mifune had something of an expectation…not very coherently met.           

Beyond the gates, there was only a dark cave. A high ceiling carried the only light source….a river of almost imperceptible fog and crystal waters, shining brightly in the dark. And upon following it, there were a great deal of souls…sitting at the bases of trees covered with clothes.

Shivering spirits, naked save for their loincloths and shifts, curled up unhappily at the base of these trees. Mifune struggled to pinpoint their reason for being there…until he saw their clothes hung up in the trees like faded hollow ghosts. There were many he didn’t recognize, but one set he did…belonging to a benkei…a warrior monk.

Ahh, I see. He looked around. Those who scoffed, or believed wrongly in the gods. Those whose sins are cancelled out by their service, or did not sin in spite of a god.

This was Limbo, a state where souls were stuck, awaiting the salvation of those they had rejected or dishonored in their service. Not true torture, but something similar.

Mifune let his eyes linger, but he did not stop, pulling his eyes away from a miserable man whose red cap and vestments hung in tatters from the trees while he moaned in a foreign tongue. “Why are they not permitted their clothes?” He asked, more in curiosity than fear. He would rather not go naked into Hell, but it would be something to keep in mind. “Is it part of their penance?”

-

Hell was his realm, but even Stolas didn’t know every one of its mysteries. After all, it’s unknown qualities were part of its impact; there was always something tailored specifically to each walking soul. He walked beside them, saw what they saw, and he learned.

And there was the charm; even at his age there was always more to learn, more to discover.

He paid the trapped spirits little mind; their stories were already told and brought to their own conclusions. A lack of faith wasn’t a sin in itself, but if one refused to believe in beings that could grant their salvation, then what right did they have to the boons of salvatio when the time came?

He walked at an easy pace, the spirits of limbo ducked their heads of shivered in heightened fear as he walked by: the fools. He had no interest in them, and nothing came from harming them. “Hmm?” he turned slightly to watched Mifune who’s stalwart gaze remained on the road ahead rather than on the fear-stricken spirits.

“Why not ask them yourself? They can speak, they can cry.” he chuckled lowly, that was what they preferred to do, bemoan their own situation. At the sound of his deep laughter the spirits huddled back further, pressing their bare backs painfully against the trees.  

“Though the answer is fairly simple.” Most of the realm was, in truth. The souls always seemed drawn to deeper answers when the greatest of the fallen preferred the plain touch.

“That’s right you slut.” He replied. His claws digging into his head feathers. Gripping them tightly and pulling as the blue blood choked on his cock. The imp thrusting down his throat. Once the owl got a good rhythm going fucking it for all it was worth. Hissing a bit in pleasure as his claws dug into him. 

Again, he was unamused by Stolas’ remarks, and was visibly irritated by the last remark…because he knew the Prince was right, up to a point. He had broken the rule of keeping his professional life separate from his personal life. “Guess I could stand to keep a plant or two here,” he muttered, then returning as well to the details of his assignment.

“Usually, I like to be quick and clean about jobs, but I have a rather big score to settle with them as it is,” he said, trying to ignore how the (appropriately) hellish glow from Stolas’ eyes suddenly made him feel…smaller, not unlike a mouse being cornered by an owl. “If it’s brutal violence you want, I can arrange that.” Still he couldn’t ignore how even the slightest glow sent a chill through him. He was no coward, but his instincts told him that the form standing in front of him was merely a front for…something else. He would have to be an idiot or a madman to not be scared.

-

Stolas only smirked, “I thought so. It takes one who prefers to use force as a final resort to spot one overly entrenched in violence. Cultivate something, a plant, a pet, even take up knitting. Create for a chance, you’ll find it soothes the soul in a way few other things can.” He cultivated knowledge in humans, knowledge of the stars and his plants.

“Even after death… The stars still remain.” Don’s voice was low as he let the tips of his fingers brush the part of the Canis Major.

“… Your Royal Majesty… I would like to learn more about the stars, to see them again in this place of darkness and sin… Perhaps in the hopes that seeing them again… They’ll remind me of what I’m fighting for… To make sure I help make Princess Magne’s dream a forever reality… To see those redeemed be able to see the stars again in the skies.”

At times, he forgot that demons like Stolas could summon the stars without any problems… The longing for an activity he did during the undead apocalypse, a signal of the hopes of many… A new tomorrow.

“… It’s just an offer, you don’t need to act upon it since I’m just your assigned bodyguard for the majority of your stay at the hotel.”

-

“Indeed. It was their permanence, beauty and mystery that enticed my interest.” He chuckled lowly, “While my brethren focused on subjects closer to home, I always found my eyes drawn skyward.”

Perhaps it was the bird in him.

“Hmm?” he turned to Don and his face lit up in a grin, “Really? Well while I can’t see eye to eye on your motivations, I can certainly see interest in the idea. Usually the humans I impart my wisdom too are still on Earth, but I don’t see why I couldn’t make an exception. After all, I’m in no hurry to go home.

Back to the palace and Stella’s screams. If anything it would be easier to meet his Blitzy at this hotel as well... Yes, he could certainly vacation here for some time.

Relieved that his startled display wasn’t taken in offence, he felt able to give the pictures the respect they deserved. Both Father and Daughter appeared joyful, though the angles of the pictures were unusual, to a degree. He kept his opinion to himself, not wishing to dampen the demon’s delightful mood.

Stolas introduced himself, and within seconds, the pit of his stomach plummets to the floor, viciously torn asunder by thrashing memories, accompied alongside anguish as a horrid realization came to be.

( The bright lights of Heaven filter through his mind, a glimpse of better times- simplier times. His existance serving only as the tormentor, God’s vengeful demands to haunt various dreams could still be heard, as though it were roaring thunder. He was preparing to leave, to carry out the duties that had been demanded of him. Then he saw a child. A young, joyful little Angel, so oblivious to the horrors that only children could avoid. So small, so fragile… Many were fearful of the vastly different entity, and yet, that child, naive and hungry for knowledge… They introduced themselves, small, feathery arms excited moving. Stolas. Stolas. Stolas. His little Owlet, ignored by god, but not by him. )

His expression rapidly changed, neutrality crumbling, leaving mortifaction in its place. Eyes uncharacteristically wide, he begins to take several steps away. “I- That’s-…” Feeling his throat close tightly, Grimm is forced to cover his mouth, both hands shaking as he does so. 

No. Dear stars above, no.

Unable to keep composed, he turns, beginning to feel slick, void-like blood spill between his fingers, each drop hitting carelessly against the floor. He’d throw it all up, if he could, but he refuses. 

The memories- the truth- the present- it’s all too much for him to process. It hurts too much to process. 

Stolas had met a great deal of odd little creatures in his long life, it would take a great deal to throw him off. That and, unlike much of his kin, he was rather difficult to offend or drive to violence. Who knew why this odd sinner behaved as he did? So long as he was quick enough to coo over his darling owlet, all would be forgiven.

Usually, when he introduced himself he was on the receiving end bows, pledges of allegiance, thanks and even prostration. When he got was none of those things, “Whatever’s the matter now? Are you-”

He was abruptly cut off as Grimm turned, a dark viscus substance dripping through his fingers.

“Oh, well that’s unpleasant. Don’t you think it’s rather unhelpful for a cleaning staff-person to go about making more mess? You haven’t been poisoned have you? I’m something of an expert in botanical poisons.”      

Stepping closer, Stolas stooped down to look up at Grimm, something about the angle hit his mind in a strange way and he blinked rapidly, all four eyes fixed as best they could upon Grimm’s, despite his spell of sickness.  

“Ah! Your highness, then,” a low bow to show respect, “I hope that what you find pleases you.” Hmm. Past experiences with royals told that this was going to go one of two ways; this ‘Stolas’ would hold himself as a blueblood should and be tolerable to work with… or be a noble that fattens themselves on the legacy of their name and be absolutely insufferable. And given where he was, he wasn’t optimisic about the former option. 

‘Satan, this is one big demon, even by Hell’s standards’, he thought, still mindful to keep his customer service smile bright and wide. “is there anything specific that you wish to see, any special requests?”

-

“Hmm, better.” Stolas chuckled, “Oh so far I find myself intrigued. Tell me, what species do you cultivate within your shop? I enjoy focusing on several carnivorous kinds myself, such as these.” he waved his arm to open a portal and a huge venus-flytrap-like plant hopped through, still in a pot. Stolas gently stroked the plant’s huge head and it seemed to purr and lent into the contact. Stolas laughed at the reaction, “Simply marvellous no?” he asked.

“that is fair.” Vulpo spoke with a nod as she couldn’t argue with that, there might be a lot weirder out there. “I’m rather used to being called weird or weirder by other people, humans or others who haven’t seen anyone like me yet.” Vulpo spoke as she tilted her head while glancing at the demon giving a kiss at the hand. the nightmare fox didn’t expected having her hand being kissed, she was more used to getting hand shake.

“please to meet you stolas, I hope we get along.” Vulpo spoke with a smile as she sway her tails as she was happy to meet a new person. “Also what moral plane? is that kind of road?” Vulpo ask

-

Stolas waved a hand slightly, “If you’re to look for open-mindedness I shouldn’t to it among humanity. At least not while they’re on Earth. They become rather more accepting after they’re reached their level of hell and changed to Sinners.” Of course but then they usually looked, sounded and acted different too, do so there was no space to judge. Rising back to his full height he dropped the other’s hand and chuckled.

“Well, I mean, it kinda depends on the situation I guess, whether it’d be good to be ignorant of something or not. For example, would someone rather know how they were going to die or not? I mean, if they knew, then they might end up obsessed with preventing it, but if they didn’t, then they wouldn’t be worried about dying that specific way at least.” Death says.

“And you’ve talked with the actual Death before? They certainly sound like they’d be interesting to talk to. I wonder if all realities share the same Gods and whatnot, or if each has their own version.” Death thinks aloud. “…Well if the Greek Gods knew what I did they probably wouldn’t be happy about it…” He mutters 

“But uh, anyway, if you have a way of finding out what I exactly am, I wouldn’t mind if you took a look if you really want to, I guess. Honestly I don’t trust myself enough to try anything to figure out what I am without messing up somehow. I don’t always have the best luck.” He admits to Stolas.

-

Stolas grinned, “Do you believe a being to have predicted a death has ever been absolute?” The prince chuckled and lent back, taking a sip of his wine, “Hardly. Self-fulfilling prophecies are far more common. Even my dear father does not know all, nor does he see all. It’s the greatest trick he’s ever managed to pull off.”

“Oh he’s a dear associate of mine. We’ve both dealt with human’s in the past and I’ve found him to offer far more riveting talks than, several of my kin,” he gestured around the bar idly, paying little attention to the other Goetia and nobility. Few of them met his rank, even fewer outranked him. “Never look for riveting conversation among the upper-class.”

Eyes shut tightly as he felt…or more correct didn’t feel his waist anymore, as if more of him was being chipped away by the pompous bird. He wanted to shout but he couldn’t even open his mouth, it was clenched tightly shut as he couldn’t even muster up a scream in pain, agony or terror. This was worse than a limb falling asleep, at least it would be there and one could sense it but here it was nothing, not even the parts of him connected to it. If there were pain he’d feel better, but it was numb, nothing, like they never existed to begin with.

He didn’t know what cruel fate awaited him by the monster carrying him afloat with magic, whatever thoughts that he had that made him so righteous to act in such a manner. Who gave a shit if he had him and his kind fight for imps, if one were able to be so full of themselves to torture like this.    

The first thoughts through his head were that Stella was a grade-A-Bitch for even putting a contract in the first place, and this was clearly a black banded one, he should have gotten paid at least triple, she made it sound like it would be a walk in the park to off him, yet here he’d hoped he never met that angry bird in the first place.

“W-where are you taking me, why don’t you j-just finish me off…” He may be trying to sound brave, but his eyes were wet with tears, as he felt like nothing more than a weighed down torso. He should have stayed at the saloon, he’d at least be a lot safer there.

Stolas walked at a leisurely pace down the dark hallway, stopping occasionally to caress one of the carnivorous plants they passed. They seemed to lean into his touch and make a quiet purr of pleasure, he so hated when Stella threw them in one of her rages, it took time to settle them again after the upset. They were more at peace knowing she wasn’t within the Palace at present. The only unwanted individual right now was floating along beside him getting a healthy dose of fear. He’d earned worse, for his actions he should be made an example of to all of hell.

But, Stolas was one of the more merciful of the Goetia, and (unlike most of the others) he understood the talent that could be found within imps. Talents of... an exceptional variety. Once Striker realised just how hopeless this little ‘job’ was, he’d come to appreciate the other gifts Stolas offered him. However, first he needed to suffer.

Stolas pushed open a door to another bedroom and waited for Striker to float inside first before following, “Silly imp. For your actions there would be no quick finish. No no, there would be torture, a public display. I could gather all the imps in the realm of wrath and have them witness your slow, slow petrification. Their prized Striker brought low for the crime of trying to kill a prince.”

"What do you see in him?" 

"Your ass is mine."