The morning didn't start with coffee.
Well, more accurately, it didn't start with food at all. Lute woke me up… in that particular way. Yes, just like that.
Around half-past seven in the morning, without warning, without an alarm clock, without a chance to escape or flee – she just… brazenly started her business. And you know, I wasn't complaining.
On the contrary, I was very much in favor; in my past life, I could only dream of such a thing.
So for a couple of hours, we successfully fell out of the normal rhythm of life, tossing out the window all to-do lists, training sessions, tasks for rehabilitating sinners, and attempts to figure out what was wrong with me.
The world can wait.
We were having… so to speak, a strategic merging of interests. A diplomatic summit at the highest level. Deep penetration into the cultural peculiarities of Heaven. Alright, I need to stop joking so stupidly.
By ten, we finally crawled into the kitchen. Both of us had faces that screamed, "the world is beautiful, and I am its favorite."
From our gait, from the blissful silence, from the lazy smile on Lute's lips, it was clear – she was moving in with me permanently.
Without words, without suitcases – just as a fact. She's here now.
And you know what? I don't mind. Quite the opposite.
She was brewing coffee, humming some angelic melody under her breath. I was sitting at the table, sprawled out, a mug of tea in my hands, trying not to laugh like an idiot from happiness.
We giggled like teenagers, shared an omelet, argued about who surrendered first in yesterday's katana duel (I didn't surrender, I just got distracted by her hemispheres – they're distracting, no matter how you look at it), and made plans for the day.
But a thought still swirled in my head:
What next?
Usually, after breakfast, Lute and I would teleport to the training ground. Start at eight in the morning, at least two hours of training.
By the end of the first week, Lute stood before me, arms crossed, sizing me up as if I'd aced my final exams with top marks, and declared:
"You haven't just recovered. You've surpassed yourself."
I, of course, nodded modestly, but inside me, a firework display of emotions was tearing apart my universe of insecurities.
Well yeah, I'm cool. Well yeah, I got better. And yes, even she admitted it.
Victory.
During that week, we ran into other Exorcists a couple of times – they flew in to train in groups. I was charming with them. Polite. Enchanting, I would even say. A sort of heavenly Casanova. After all, maintaining combat morale is a crucial part of our shared mission!
Lute frowned. Cutely. Silently. Sometimes – significantly.
But she said nothing. Smart girl. Knows it's all just a game.
And I'm the champion at it.
Sometimes I'd challenge them to a spar – purely to broaden my horizons, you know.
They all had the exact same standard style. Lute was still head and shoulders above everyone else, but each had a unique approach. I learned. Absorbed. Tried things on.
But today, everything was different.
Today, Lute spotted him.
Alastor.
We were sitting in a café, and Lute suddenly fell silent. Her eyes became like a Terminator's that had locked onto Sarah Connor. At that moment, a notification popped up on her mask, with an attached photo!
Alastor. Strolling through Pentagram City, accompanied by eggs on legs – those fanatic-misunderstandings.
The picture looked so absurd that I couldn't help but burst out laughing.
Lute rolled her eyes as if I'd told a fart joke in the company of Seraphim.
"Now, now, mommy, don't frown," I winked. "I'll punish you tonight."
"Hmph, you cad," she grumbled, but a faint smile flickered at the corners of her lips.
I put on my mask, connecting to the drone that was filming.
And then, as if on cue, another character appeared: Zestial.
An old Overlord. So old that his beard probably deserves its own biography, a pity he shaves it.
Wise, resilient, dangerous. Unlike most idiots, he doesn't stick his neck out. Not because he's weak, but because he's smart.
He survived dozens of purges. Dozens. That's an achievement in itself.
Now let's compare: Alastor.
Seven years ago, he fought on Lilith's side. Taken out by one of my girls – and no one even reported it to Adam. Nobody even noticed his efforts, and that idiot fled with his little deer tail tucked between his legs.
Such a "legend."
I would, of course, sympathize with him, but this guy was a maniacal killer in life. Slaughtered people. For fun and some rituals.
And there they are – those strange pipe-lifts that lead… somewhere.
The meeting, by all appearances, is about to begin.
Before, I would have been afraid to go in there, but not now.
I've become different.
Bold.
Brazen.
Strong.
And you know what?
I increasingly catch myself having these… strange thoughts.
As if Adam is still alive in me. He's definitely influencing my personality.
I feel that I created the human race.
I feel that everyone owes me.
Schizo?
Perhaps, but I see no point in clinging to my weakness.
Well then, you hellish bastards, I hope you have a seat at the table for a new player?
Daddy's here.
And believe me – he doesn't play by the rules.
POV Carmilla Carmine
Today was the day of the meeting of the Overlords of Hell, the strongest and most influential sinners in all of Pentagram City.
Which meant – everything had to be perfect.
Impeccable.
I stood before the mirror, adjusting the collar of my dress. Behind me, Clara and Odette – my precious girls – bustled about. No longer children, of course. But still – mine.
The meeting was sudden. An emergency.
And I knew why.
Oh, how well I knew.
The angelic legions had become active again. The head of their combat units had changed the schedule: the next extermination would take place not in a year, but in six months. Half a year.
This isn't just a threat. It's a catastrophe.
It was like this seven years ago, when Lilith led an army of sinners into a desperate battle. Back then, the period between exterminations was reduced from ten years to one. Entire districts fell then. Those whose rule seemed eternal disappeared then.
And now… now I feel – it's all repeating.
And the culprit… is me.
I am the trigger for this new war.
An Exorcist. One of them. I killed him. I didn't know it was possible; I just acted on instinct, wanting only to buy some time for my daughters.
They jumped out of cover too soon. Rushed. Me too. Foolish. Reckless.
Idiot.
A foolish mother who almost lost her children.
And I threw myself into the fight. Killed one of them. The others tried to catch the girls, but they, fortunately, managed to hide.
We enter the hall together.
Three silhouettes, gliding smoothly across the mosaic floor.
Like a trio of performers taking the stage.
A ballet of blood and ash.
The other Overlords were already gathered at the table.
Rosie – queen of Cannibal Town. A woman-smile. Eternally calm, but very dangerous.
Fide – a blue skull in flames. Purveyor of delicacies and rarities from beyond the Pride Ring. He has a special relationship with Rosie. Perhaps because he can even procure… sentient meat.
(Author's note: this character's name wasn't given in canon; on websites, he's listed as Fire Deer Overlord, so I combined the first two letters and got Fide. That's how it is.)
Zizi – an energetic lizard. Mistress of the arenas, queen of underground fights. The thirst for adrenaline pulses in her veins, like venom in her fangs.
Alastor – the Radio Demon. Disappeared seven years ago. It seems the rumors of his death were just rumors.
And finally – Zestial.
He took me in when I first ended up here. Helped me find my girls. Became a mentor. Almost a father.
I nod to him. He responds with a slight bow.
I step forward.
My steps – honed, precise, like a dancer's.
"Greetings, sovereign rulers of Hell," I say, meeting each one's gaze. Behind me – the rustle of my daughters' dresses. They straighten up, like taut strings. They'll get used to it. In time. "I have gathered you here because you are the regulatory forces of our city. We must…"
BAM.
A sharp blow.
Dull, massive.
The hall trembled. For a fraction of a second, I froze – and in that moment, the door was torn from its hinges with a roar, flew across the hall, and almost hit me.
I dodged.
Instinct. Honed by sweat and blood.
The Overlords jumped up. Chairs scraped. The air tensed, like a string stretched to its limit.
And behind the door… darkness.
Not just darkness.
But true, primordial darkness.
I am an Overlord. My eyes see much better than ordinary humans or other sinners.
But now… I see only emptiness.
And it's frightening.
A deathly silence hangs like a noose.
And then – light.
No. Not light.
Eyes.
Golden. Piercing. Inhuman.
Not shining. Burning through.
And a mouth.
A snarl, distorted by malice. Full of fangs, like the golden maw of a monster.
A second to realize and...
Adam.
My heart clenched as if in a fist.
I'd heard the name. Knew the stories. Seen photos. But to see him in person… as he walks into the hall as if it were his own home…
The Heavenly Butcher.
The First Exterminator.
The Terror of Hell.
Everyone knew him.
And each of us knew: if he wanted to – he would destroy everyone here.
We are strong. Influential. Powerful.
But he is on a completely different level.
But at that moment, I wasn't thinking about myself.
I looked at him and thought: if I can land a blow – even a scratch – Clara and Odette can get away.
He won't expect it.
If I strike first – they'll have a few seconds.
But he spoke.
"Knock-knock. I heard there's an anonymous alcoholics club here?"
His voice was vile. Distorted. Dangerous.
He enters unhurriedly, snaps his fingers – and the door, smashed to smithereens by him, is back in place. Whole. Unharmed.
Magic? Illusion? Or does reality itself bend to his will?
"Well? Silent? Did I get the wrong door?" he continues, still standing by the entrance. He's playing. He's not hiding it.
And that's the scariest part.
"What do you want?" Zestial's voice. Calm, as always. He speaks politely, precisely. Every word in such a situation is worth its weight in gold.
"What do I want?" Adam repeats. His smirk sends shivers down my spine. "Oh, just act as if I'm not here. And I, in return… won't rip your heads off. Deal?"
He laughs. Loudly. Coldly. Mockingly.
I try to think, but my thoughts slip away like soap bubbles, bursting from fear.
What does he know?
Why is he here?
Could it be that he knows about… the killing of the Exorcist?
And then I see it.
He's looking at them, my daughters.
Smiling.
I slowly turn to my daughters.
I hold out my hand – a gesture asking for the remote.
They understand.
Silently hand it over. Disappear behind the door, into my office. There's a back exit there; they're safe.
As a final gesture… he waves to them. Winks. Like an old friend.
"This year's extermination was harsh," I say, my voice even, measured. "Far more aggressive than before."
Everyone sits down. Even Alastor.
There are no fools here.
"Losses amounted to about sixteen percent. And considering the new dynamics…"
I look at Adam.
He's still standing. Still smiling.
And I understand: he's not here just for show.
Bam.
The door again.
This time it held. Though it trembled.
On the threshold – Velvet.
Colorful, radiant. Like a candy wrapper, only poison is hidden inside.
"Yeah, I sorted everything out, Vox! You doubt me? Really? Yeah?"
Her voice is shrill, like a drill. She doesn't sense the threat. Doesn't see it.
Idiot.
I feel the atmosphere change.
Adam – tenses. His snarl – predatory. His eyes – flare up, like the glow before a slaughter.
"Thank you for stopping by, Velvet…" I say, almost in a whisper.
He's listening. I can see it.
"And your colleagues… will they join?"
"No. They have better things to do than listen to an old hag's bullshit. I'm here for them," and she snorts.
"I was saying that we should discuss…"
And again, I was interrupted.
Velvet, like a wind-up toy, was waving her hand, trying to draw attention to herself. I was about to cut her off, to flare up, to somehow stop her… But I saw Adam nod.
"Yes?…" I exhaled, feeling sweat trickle down my spine like a cold snake.
"I want to add to the topic of discussion," Velvet singsongs, and the next moment…
She throws a head onto the table.
An Exorcist's.
Silence rings out. The Overlords – in unison – turn to Adam.
But he… isn't there.
Now he's behind Velvet.
I feel the pressure spread across the hall.
He stands. Leaning towards her.
And his smile is the face of triumph.
He caught his prey.
And the mouse didn't realize it had run straight into the beast's maw.
POV Adam (MC)
I felt like the king of the situation. No, not figuratively – literally. I had power my father never dreamed of!
If we discard the silly references and other nonsense, I simply remembered school. My previous life. I was the top dog there too. Strong. That guy who did what he wanted, and with whomever he wanted – and got away with it.
A young hooligan with the charisma of a brick and fists for arguments. Yes, exactly. A rotten kid – that's who I was back then.
And now, standing behind this door, listening to Carmilla, I suddenly caught myself playing the role of that same young bastard again.
And here's what's annoying.
I liked strength. Power. But that doesn't mean I want to be its avatar 24/7. Sometimes I want peace. And affection. And support. Yes, yes, sometimes even men want to be simply hugged, not hugged through the spine. But that's not what this is about right now.
Right now, I'm standing behind the door, knowing exactly how Velvet will make her entrance. So I can afford to listen, smile under my mask, and not worry about anyone noticing me. Especially her.
What did she say? "I'm a #Bitch"?
Well then, my little #Bitch, someone's going to get a spanking for bad behavior. Daddy's back, and he didn't like your behavior. She is, after all, my great-great-great-million-great-granddaughter. It sucks being the Allfather; literally all the scum are my relatives.
These thoughts made me want to chuckle. The mask, of course, can suppress sound if desired, but the facial expression is visible. So I just allowed myself to twitch slightly from suppressed laughter. From the side, it probably looked like a seizure or an exoskeleton calibration.
At that moment, Carmilla swallowed. Beautifully, like in the movies. Then she took the remote from her daughters and gestured them towards the door behind her. Good girl. Caring for offspring – a noble gesture.
I wonder what landed her in Hell?
Probably some sob story: "My daughters and I were attacked, I protected them, killed everyone, then died from blood loss – and bam, Hell."
Tragic, dramatic, and, unfortunately, banal. I'm right, aren't I, scriptwriters? Don't answer, I know I'm right, considering the motivation and level of character development of the locals.
And here are the girls. Clara and Odette. They were eyeing me like an uninvited guest. And me? I'm kind. I even winked at them. Smiled. Waved. Like a grandpa at his country house.
They turned pale, noticeably so. And along with them – their mommy.
Well, what did you expect? An Exorcist's attire – it's not for photoshoots. It's for fear. Everything is designed to crush the will of sinners with one's mere presence.
And no one seems to know that we have faces behind our masks. Mmm, intrigue.
At that moment, I felt something change in the room I came from.
How did I know?
It's all about the local "magic."
Create a teapot in Heaven? Easy peasy. Condensed light, added a drop of my own, conveyed the desire – and voila.
And in Hell?
Oh, it's much more fun here.
To begin with, you need to stuff a ton of light into the space to oust the local scummy parody of energy. Then – create, holding everything, because the local "light" will immediately try to reclaim its territory.
Local magic in Hell is like an unplanned apartment renovation: you think you're just changing a lightbulb, and then you're already holding up the ceiling with your hands, standing in water, and calling a plumber, an electrician, and some shaman, because you can't fix this shit yourself anymore.
Absorbing light here, in Hell – that's a feat in itself. And to hold the void so the "fake" doesn't return – a double feat.
For me, light is like a liquid. Complex, capricious, resistant. Any manipulation with it is like a laboratory experiment: pressure, viscosity, stability, and to top it off – a potential explosion.
So yeah, I'm not bored.
Especially now.
Behind the door – a scene. Velvet is about to enter. And me? I'm standing like a director backstage, knowing every next step.
Act One: Bitch at the Entrance.
Curtain – up, the show begins.
And there she appears. A kick to the door – an attempt to replicate my dramatic entrance. Bold, confident. Only, the door is in place. It didn't fly off its hinges, nor did it soar away; it just opened. Ha, well, not everyone can be a playwright of the "I have arrived, tremble!" level. That door under the table – that's my handiwork, the so-called, inimitable original. I hope she doesn't notice… though, with her attentiveness – unlikely. And indeed, she didn't notice. Excellent, the show goes on.
She walks past. Sits in a chair as if it's her rightful place. Chatting with that TV-headed degenerate. I've been a bit toxic lately, haven't I? I'll blame it on Adam's influence.
Oh, and now she's waving her hands like a first-grader who knows the answer to "two times two." What an actress. Not even hiding it – anger, pleasure, a petty triumph.
Carmilla hesitates. Looks at me, as if asking, "May I?" Hah. Waiting for permission? From me? This isn't a children's matinee; this is Hell, madam. I just nod, allowing the spectacle to continue.
And then – thud. A head falls onto the table. Anger explodes in my head – not theatrical, real. Adam again? He's been around a lot lately. I teleport behind Velvet, like a shadow, silent and unseen.
"Oh, what do I see…" my voice is soft, almost purring, but so vile due to the mask's voice alteration. As she tries to turn, I grip her shoulder. Hard. Contact made.
"What the… Who are you, bastard?!" she shrieks. Fights back. Good girl, she'll go far.
And the others? Not a sound. Not a movement. Just watching. If only they had popcorn. This whole gang of Hell's overlords now looks as if I've started a stand-up routine. Even if I started dismembering her, or laid her out on this very table – I'm sure they still wouldn't intervene. These demons are afraid. And rightly so.
I let her go. Let her look into the face of the one holding her leash. Ooh, planning to cast a spell? Concentrating the local "wrong" light in her hands? Nice try. I simply gather the Light at the points where she's trying to concentrate that fake stuff… and – dissipate it. Like a deflated balloon. That's it. Without magic, you're just a flashy doll with a nasty personality.
Her surprise – like the cherry on top. I grab her by the neck, lift her into the air. Old habit, from a past life. I sit in her chair and, after a thought, transform it into a throne. Golden, shining. An exact replica of the one I sat on in Heaven's embassy.
"So, ladies and gentlemen," I say lazily, as if I'm an MC at a corporate party, "I'm ready to hear you out. Who did this?" I point to Harfy's head.
Pause. Silence. Only Velvet's rasping breath. The others are frozen. Someone over there is even afraid to blink.
"I know it was one of you. And if you lie…" I raise an eyebrow. "Well, you understand."
The audience is silent. I scrutinize Carmilla. What about you? Think I'll kill your whole family? Hiding your daughters as if I didn't see their little horns behind the door? Come on, Carmilla, surprise me.
But no. Still the same stone faces. But then Zestial finally speaks up.
"Perhaps this fair lady?" old-fashioned, with pathos. He points at Velvet. Ah, finally, someone's playing by the script!
"Clever, but incorrect," I reply. "I said: the culprit is among you. And if he doesn't confess, then everyone will suffer…"
And then – click! – the door opens. Carmilla's very daughters. They didn't run away? What little fools, what if I had decided to slaughter everyone here?
"Mother… Maybe he should know?"
Carmilla turns pale. Now that's a plot twist. It wasn't me who scared her, but them. Pure drama.
Meanwhile, Velvet is already a pale violet; I think that's enough for her for now. I let her go. Let her breathe.
"Looks like I've found the culprit," I say, almost cheerfully. "The rest of you – out! Before I change my mind."
And these are Hell's "overlords"? Yeah, right. They stood up and left like children scolded by a teacher for wet pants. Only Velvet lies there, hissing, and apparently, doesn't hear a damn thing. Oh well. I create a golden collar on her neck, with a chain. Act two. Working title: "Doggy on a Leash."
Zestial hesitates at the door; Carmilla nods – he leaves. The one-man show continues.
"It was me. I killed the exterminator."
She blurted it out as if she'd drunk ice water. Flinched, but kept her voice steady. Alright.
"I know. And how you did it – too," I glance at her fashionable shoes. Why such a strange weapon? Oh well, screw it.
Carmilla now looks as if I've confessed my love to her.
"And what interests you, Sir?" she finally managed. Using the formal "you." Cute.
"Let's use 'you' (informal 'ты')," I toss out with a smirk. "I'm not that old."
A lie, served with irony, is as delicious as a well-done steak. I am antiquity in the mask of a youth. And let her know it; it only makes the situation more comical.
Why am I behaving so strangely? Because fear of the unknown is one of the oldest and strongest fears. People fear what they cannot understand. And seeing someone like me – unpredictable, almost insane – they get lost. They're scared because they don't know what I'll do next second, don't understand what I want.
Let them be afraid. For now, that's enough.
Respect will come later – when they see who I really am.
"Alright... What interests you?" she stumbled and glanced at her daughters standing behind her. They, contrary to common sense, weren't trying to run away, and this clearly troubled her.
"What interests me is this: do you want to receive protection from the exterminations?" I utter with a soft smile, which, due to the mask, looks more like a predatory snarl. I notice Velvet perking up her ears – she's interested.
"Protection from exterminations?.." she asks, stunned. Her daughters are surprised too. Heh, good reaction.
Why did I start all this? Well, firstly, she's the biggest dealer of angelic weapons. Moreover – the only one in Hell who operates on such a scale. Almost 80% of all weapons from the Pride Ring pass through her. And a redeemed overlord – that's fantastic advertising. And she has cute daughters... Well, you get it.
"Yes, you and Clara and Odette were almost killed last time, right?" I deliberately name her daughters. Let her feel how much I know. Let her be nervous.
"That's right," she answers dully.
"Well then... do you agree to my proposal?" I ask, smirking slyly.
"What is required of me?" she sighs resignedly. Does she think I'm going to make her my slave? Well... in Hell, that's the most logical scenario, only I'm not a demon, right?
"Oh, nothing special. Just need to take a walk with me somewhere… repent for your sins, surrender all angelic weapons, and start living a righteous life. Yes, yes, in Hell. Don't be surprised."
"..."
That look again. As if I'm a psycho. Though, to be honest, I'm aiming for that effect myself. But when a beautiful MILF looks at you with that face… it's still a bit offensive.
"So. What is your positive answer?"
"I agree..."
Excellent.
I rise from the throne, dragging Velvet towards the exit – she yelps.
"And you, bitch, go take a walk, no need to eavesdrop," I push her out the door, disintegrating the chain. But the collar remained on her. And I hope it stays. After all, this is real Light, not some Chinese knockoff. I hope this serves as a lesson for her and brings her down from her high horse to the mundane earth.
I carefully levitate Harfy's head into my hands. My heart aches. I feel sorry for her, the young Exorcist. A pity she can't be brought back, can't be revived.
"Your daughters will stay here, don't worry, no one will touch them," I say and open a portal to the Seraphim tower.
Lute, as always, worked precisely – she contacted Sera beforehand and warned her of my arrival. Like, Adam is on his way, he has news, important news. Naturally, I didn't specify how important. So she should already be anticipating problems.
I step through first. Carmilla obediently plods after me.
Time to meet the local right hand of God. Another MILF. Damn, the local God has it good, I'm almost envious!
And so Adam and Carmilla left, not even noticing the presence of a sentient egg in the room...
"How interesting..." Alastor murmured, smiling slyly, listening to the egg's report a few minutes later. "This could be useful..."