Ah Hell. Francis sighs contently as he walks through the fiery halls. He really does miss this place sometimes. Sure he likes the Top World Just as much as the next Demon, and it’s always a pleasure to carry out an assignment from the Hell King himself, but nothing quite measures up to the sweet scent of Hellfire Ash in the morning.
Though, Hell may have it’s certain appeals to other Demons, for Francis, there’s something in particular that he misses.
Where other Demons come back for the fires, or the songs of anguish souls, or to bathe in the Blood of the Fallen pools, currently none of that holds his interest. Sure he’s seen how Roderich commands the screams, treating the entire Hall of the Damned like one big orchestra, every soul a string to be plucked at just the right time, every cry of pain or despair tuned to perfection. Frankly, it’s mesmerising, and for Demons who such sound is like sweet music, it’s an utter pleasure to experience. He’s even heard tale of the King personally requesting him to… play, as it were.
And he knows Gilbert enjoys his free time in the Ever Soldiers Fields, running gruelling sieges full of suffering. Starvation, disease, gun shot wounds, stab wounds, infections, the works. Fran’s even joined him a few times. As far as Demons go, Gil’s one who really knows how to party.
But right now, Fran couldn’t care less about all that. Right now, he only has one thing on his mind. After all, if Roddy can have the Damned to play with, and Gil’s got his toy soldiers, then it’s only fair he has a special play thing too.
And he does.
But, unlike the others, no one else can find out about Fran’s special little pet project. He’d surely be sent to the Coal Pits for the next millennia if his new toy was discovered, and he can’t have that.
Despite what humans may think, Demons do have rules, though not many and most can be bent with the right persuasion, but there is one rule that is absolute among Demons. And Fran might be breaking it just a tiny bit.
He grins happily as he skips down to the first level of The Works as they’re know. The Works is the low levels of Hell built to contain all the souls sent to them for ‘eternal damnation’, but for most it’s really more like a stint in a crappy hotel for a few decades before they get recycled back into the living world, — out of the thousands upon thousands of souls that end up in Hell, very few ever receive a sentence past the second or third levels — and here at the first level, it’s pretty much just that.
Rooms upon rooms stretched out seemingly endlessly before Fran, but he knows there is a limit, just one too far to be seen. He travels on down the hall, growing more excited as he goes. It’s only been a few days, but he can’t wait to see his pet again.
Finally he comes to a stop at a door, much the same as all the others, only the number 3049652287 defines it to be the room he’s after. Cautiously checking that no other Demons are around to see him go in, he stealthily slips inside.
There, just were he left him, the Angel sits.
It is the one Absolute Law of Hell, no Angels allowed, but come on, Demons are notorious for being mischievous rule breakers, they can’t really fault Fran on this, it was bound to happen.
Fran’s red eyes shine as he smirks at his pet, ankle still chained to the bedpost, sat moodily upon the wrinkled and stained red satin sheets of the sleazy motel styled bed, dressed in a simple cloud white toga.
The Angel glares back, green eyes full of defiance. But Fran’s smirk soon turns to a sour frown as he looks over the Angels wings, tucked tightly behind his back. Stomping over, Francis unceremoniously grabs a wing by the end, and pulls, sharply tugging it out to full view. The Angel winces, but, like always, refuses to show any other sign of weakness.
Fran’s dark eyes scan the wing as his mouth twist with a look of distaste.
“What did you do?” He demands, “These weren’t like this before.”
The wings, previously pristine white before he left only three days ago, now have a distinct grey colour to them, like they’ve lost their sheen.
“What’s the matter Frog?” The Angel smirks, pleased to see Fran annoyed for once, “Not good enough for you now? Guess you’ll just have to get rid of me then.”
Huffily, Francis gives another sharp tug on the wing, this time electing a small yelp of pain from the force of it.
“Your not met to be like this, your supposed to be perfect! Why aren’t you perfect now?”
Francis’s eyes flash in anger, his tails swishing at his feet, but the Angel only looks more smug as he sits up more, though he makes no move to pull his wing back. When no other answer is given, Fran growls in frustration, before letting the wing go, where it limply returns to its owners back.
He huffs, before something else grabs his attention.
Sitting on the bedside cabinet, is the tray of Soul Dews he left for the Angel, completely untouched. Again.
He still won’t eat? Is that why his wings have dulled, hunger? Or… or has someone else done this to him…
Fran’s tail twists in worried nots around his feet at the thought. If anyone has so much as laid a claw on a single feather, so help him, not even the King will be able to shield them from Francis’s wrath!
He huffs a calming breath out his nose. No, no. If someone had been here, he’d surely have been caught by now. It must be something else… Maybe it’s the ash? Though, there isn’t much in the rooms, but perhaps it’s enough to sully the pretty wings? But something tells him a Bloodbath won’t fix this.
Shaking his head, Fran returns his glare to the grey wings. Oh how that annoys him, but, if he wants to get the pretty white back, then he needs to figure out why they’ve dulled, which means…
He smirks, eyes shining with mischief again as he slinks over to the bed, sitting down beside the Angel.
“Well, no matter, we can still have fun, even if you’ve lost some of your shine.”
The Angel recoils away, sliding back across the bed until the chain clangs tight, preventing him from escaping any further.
Unbothered by the move, Fran simply crawls after him, pushing the Angel to lay back as he straddles over him.
“Come on, don’t you want to have some fun? Hell’s all about fun.” He purrs.
“Piss off, beast!” The Angel spits, using his unchained foot to kick Francis between the legs, but Fran expects the move, and with a single hand, easily stops him, holding the thin, pale limb in place.
“Now now,” Fran grins, sitting back on the Angels bare knees and pinning his legs to the bed, “No need to be like that. Come,” his smile widens as he claps his hands together in glee, “tell me your name.”
The Angel struggles to get him off his legs, but soon tires — much faster than last time, Fran notes curiously — choosing to lie slumped beneath him.
“No.” He huffs.
“Come on, pleeeease?” Francis begs, batting his eyes.
The Angel remains silent, only glaring tiredly up at Fran, much to the Demons annoyance.
He knows humans see Angels as the ‘favoured race’, all kindness and benevolence, great guardians who steer them from harm and send them on the path of good. But Demons have a much different view of them. To Demons, Angels are arrogant, self entitled, ‘none holier than thou’ type pricks. They lord the humans favour of them over Demons, acting all high and mighty all the damn time, it’s so irritating! And Francis just had to catch the one Angel would couldn’t embody the Demons views better if he tried.
No matter what Francis has tried for the past three weeks, the only conversation he’s been able to get out of the Angel is insults. He’s tried being nice, he’s tried alluring, he’s tried trickery, he’s offered souls and blood, himself, but nothing. Not even so much as a name.
He leans forward, his dark suit contrasting nicely with the Angel’s white, but, before he can brush a clawed hand over the blond’s cheek, he receives a mental summons.
Sighing at the bad timing, he hops back off the bed.
“Don’t go anywhere.” He winks, before leaving.
What does the King want now?
X
Francis hurries back to his pet, a grand grin playing across his features. He’s so giddy, he skips most of the way there.
A request from the King himself, in person no less. There’s going to be a hunt — they haven’t had one of those in ages — and he’s to pick the prize. The King must know of his knack for acquiring rare items by now, ohh what an honour this is!
And he know’s Just what he’s going to choose, but first…
“I’m back~” He sings as he walks in, but frowns when he finds the Angel asleep, the sheets bundled up around him.
“Hey, wake up.” Fran huffs, setting the fresh tray of Soul Dews down beside the still untouched one.
It’s not that late, and he was only gone for a few Hell hours, surely the Angel can’t be tired yet, they still have work to do!
He shakes the Angels arm roughly until dazed green eyes slowly blink open.
“Urghh…” He groans, curling in on himself.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Fran demands, ripping the sheets back.
But as soon as he does his eyes widen in shock. The wings… those pretty wings are even duller than before, but what’s worse is dozens of feathers litter the sheets, and more fall free from the wings as Francis stares.
“What in Hell?”
Panic starts to seep into Fran’s mind. He’d planned on figuring out how to get the Angels wings pristine again to use one of the pretty feathers as the hunt prize, but now…
The Angel shivers, and Fran sees that those pretty green eyes aren’t shining with defiance anymore, there not shining at all, now they look more like dull glass balls, staring unseeingly out in a lost haze.
He quickly kneels to get a better look at the Angels face, seeing how much paler it is than before, and his breaths come in short, laboured gasps. He touches a hand to the blonds face, his fingers dampening with the sweat droplets beading his brow, and can feel an unnatural heat burning beneath the skin.
Fran bites his lip in worry. Forget the wing prize, if he doesn’t do something soon the Angel might not last the night.
“Non, Non, non, stop this. Stop it now!” He shouts, eyes flashing, his agitation causing him to unconsciously slip into his Hellian French accent.
But no matter how much he shakes the Angel, he doesn’t get any response besides a pitiful groan.
“This can’t be happening…” He only wanted to play with him, he doesn’t want to kill him!
After such a short time, he can’t lose his pet now! Frantically, he looks around the room for something, anything to fix this, but nothing jumps out.
Things can’t end like this!
Growling in anger, Francis turns on the chain, snapping it apart with his bare hands, before turning back to slip his arms under the Angels body.
“Don’t you dare die on me!” He warns, hurriedly standing and lifting the Angel to him.
X
Sneaking out of Hell with a dying Angel is a lot harder than you might think, especially one shedding feathers all over the place. But then, you might also think that Angels and Demons hate each other, so why would one care if the other was dying?
Francis wonders that too as he knocks out the last guards by the Fire Gates. But before going through, he halts in his tracks.
Just where should he go? No human could possibly help them, and no demon would give a damn if the Angel died here. So…
He turns to look at the Plains Map. Looking between the map and the dying Angel in his arms, Fran closes his eyes, frowning deeply, before making his choice.
Kicking the dial, he switches the Plains selection from the Top World to the High Sphere, otherwise known as, Heaven.
The view through the portal swirls and changes from a grassy park to a bright white hallway, and alert blinking across the portal warning of Forbidden Passage to the Un-ascended.
Well, he’s gotten this far, might as well do what Demons do best.
Disregarding the warning, Fran tightens his hold on the Angel, and steps through. The world twists and warps around them for a moment, before settling in the long — almost painfully bright for Fran — white hall, and the humid heat of Hellfires turns to a cool breeze blowing from air conditioners in the ceiling above.
But the second Francis lays a foot inside, a deafening alarm starts to blare, and dozens of Angels come rushing to the alert.
“Warning, Unauthorised demonic presence detected in the entrance of Hall Beta. All available Archangels to Hall Beta immediately, this is not a drill. Repeat, All available Archangels to Hall Beta immediately.”
Before Francis can even think up of a plan, he’s surrounded. The Archangels, Heaven’s security, are the first to arrive. These Angels, unlike Fran’s delicate pet, are much bigger and bulky looking, armed with swords in their belts, and golden symbols decorating their much larger wings.
“What is going on here?” A tall and very muscular blond Archangel demands.
“Seems a Demon has gotten himself lost.” Another violet eyed one smiles, but the look makes Fran more uneasy than a Demons grin.
It’s then that the blond one looks to the Angel limp in Fran’s arms.
“Arthur?” He asks in surprise, quickly striding forward to get a better look, “By Heaven, what have you done to him?” The Archangel gasps at Francis.
“Please,” Fran begs, holding the Angel out, “you have to save him.”
“Quickly,” The blond calls over to his smiling partner, “take him to the Halo, and hurry.”
“Right away.” Violet eyes nods, and Fran puts up no protest when he scoops his pet out off his arms, flying off.
“As for you,” the blond glares, drawing his sword and pointing it at Fran’s neck, “your coming with me.”
Not having much option otherwise, Fran smirks, bowing mockingly, “Lead the way.”
The Archangel huffs in distaste, but before leaving he turns to look down a corridor at one of the other Angels who arrived while Fran was distracted.
“Feliciano, go summon the High Council, inform them of what’s happened.”
The small brunet Angel jumps at being caught snooping, but quickly recovers, saluting the blond.
“Sure thing boss!” But just before he runs off out of sight, the blond calls out again, “And Feli?”
“Uh, yeah Luddy?”
The blond sighs, “Go tell Peter to come to the Halo too, he’ll want to know.”
“Right away!”
X
It seems Fran’s pet wasn’t the only Angel to despise him.
As he’s marched through the Cloud Fields down to the Rain Fall Pits, every Angel he passes sends him a look of contempt. He hears their whispers, and sees how they turn their noses up at him. They all act so high and mighty, as if he wasn’t even worth the clouds they walk on.
“Look at that.”
“Is that a Demon, here?”
“Disgraceful.”
“Such a foul beast.”
“What’s Hell playing at now?”
“The Council will hear of this.”
“Be careful, don’t get too close or it might sully your Grace.”
“Keep it away from the Souls, who knows what foul things it’s planning.”
“Urgh, I feel sick just looking at it.”
Growing annoyed by all the whispering, Fran’s lips curl back in a snarl, growling at the next Angel he passes who dares to make a comment on his appearance, smirking when the Angels go scurrying in fear.
But his fun ends when they reach the pits, giant wells of fresh Holy Water several hundred of meters deep, with a system of rain constantly falling to keep them from running dry. Fran had heard all about Heaven and it’s weird wonders like this, but never cared for it much. But now he wishes he’d payed a bit more attention to the tales as he’s unceremoniously kicked down into the well.
The sides far too high and smooth to climb, Fran’s forced to swim to an inner ledge to stand, treading water up to his waist as he looks up at the Archangel.
“You’ll stay here until the council decides what to do with you.” Is all he’s told before he’s left all alone.
X
Fran’s not sure how long exactly he spent in the well, but long enough for his nice suit to be utterly ruined, that’s for sure. He’s soaked to the bone and uncomfortably cold when the violet eyed Archangel from before peaks over the edge.
“Hello again,” he smiles that same unnerving grin, “ready to get out?”
“Quite.” Fran huffs, flicking at the water around him, “This Holy Water is terrible for my complexion.”
“Are all Demons so funny?” He giggles, spreading his giant wings to fly down and pull Fran out of the well.
“Why don’t you go to Hell and find out.” Fran smirks.
The Archangel giggles again, dropping Fran from higher than necessary as he remains in the air. Groaning from the landing, Fran quickly picks himself up, huffing at having to look up even more to see the Archangel.
“Well, now what?”
“Now,” The Archangel drawls, waving a hand signal in the air, “you talk.”
Suddenly a small group of Angels and Archangels fly over, they settle into a circle above Fran, before all dropping down together to surround him.
“Talk?” Francis parrots, worriedly glancing around.
“Perhaps we should explain first,” A short dark haired Angel starts, “It might be easier if we’re all on the same page first.”
“Kiku’s right,” another blond with purple eyes nods.
“But first, introductions. My name is Ivan,” the violet eyed Archangel starts, “mr muscles over there is Ludwig, and the annoying brat beside him is Alfred.”
“Hey!” Alfred cries, but Ivan continues regardless.
“We three are Archangels, though you probably new that.” Ivan smiles, gesturing to the smaller Angels next. “This here is Kiku, and the sweet little thing next to him is Matthew.” Fran wonders why he called Matt little when he’s almost the same size as the Archangels, but nods along anyway. “And lastly, the bag of nerves next to Ludwig is Feliciano.”
At his name being mentioned, the brunet jumps, shifting closer to Ludwig for protection.
“Now tell us,” Alfred cuts in, his wings fluffing up behind him in a display of strength, “what happened with the Hell Gate in Singapore?”
