Wanderer, Alea Iacta Est

Eager to celebrate this little deal the two of us made, Lord Bael quickly stands from his seat, the movements slow and measured as he walks towards a cabinet along the wall.

Inside is an assortment of alcoholic beverages I can't possibly name, produced and procured from all corners of the Underworld. The bottles range from standard thin-necks to ornate designs that I'm... only slightly concerned are in the shape of a vaguely familiar head.

Just before he reaches said cabinet though, the Lord glances to me, nothing more than a side-eye as he asks a question.

"Do you drink, Demi-fiend?"

Hm. I see Lord Mammon didn't stick. Right, no time for sarcastic comments, I need to put a stop to this farce.

"Even if I did, I'm afraid I can't trust anything you offer me. Besides, I wouldn't go too heavy on the celebration, Lord Bael."

His brow raises, but his hand never drops from the cabinet, reaching in and taking a bottle for himself. He stays silent the entire time, his movements even slower as he delicately walks back and pours himself another glass.

The Lord Bael places his bottle on the table between us, as if to silently make the offering nonetheless. Finally, after an agonising wait, he acknowledges my words, swirling his drink around for a moment as he does so.

"And why might that be, Alistair?" He asks, his eyes now boring into mine, a sharpness in them I'd not expected to see.

"There's still something I want from you, Lord Bael. Until I have it, I'm afraid you'll be without my services."

I expect malice, or frustration, or even just disapproval, but all I am met with is amusement. He smiles at my words, taking a swig from his glass and never once raising his voice.

"First you make me wait, now you make demands of me? I've given you a chance to ascend into the upper echelon of Underworld society, an offer never before made to a half-breed like you, and this is the response you give?"

Before I can respond, the old bastard laughs and shakes his head, muttering something inaudible before speaking again.

"Go on then. Out with it."

Taking a deep breath, I decide not to fuck around with my words and simply tell him what I want.

"I want Grayfia to be pardoned of the crimes she's accused of. I didn't give my life to save her just so she could spend her own as an enemy of the state."

When I finish, he spends an excruciating amount of time staring at me, measuring me, watching for the slightest twitch or sign of weakness. Seconds pass, maybe even minutes as he just... sits there.

My nerves only grow worse with each passing moment, until finally the tension breaks in a way I'd not expected.

"Are you fucking her, Demi-fiend?"

Sputtering in sheer incredulity, my words come out as nothing more than a mess, utterly unintelligible as I'm left stunned.

"Wh- I don't, I mean, realistically-"

"-Answer the question."

Any semblance of whimsy I'd found in him disappears in an instant, his voice now as hard as a plank and twice as dull. He no longer stares at me with amusement, but instead something akin to judgement.

My inability to properly put our relationship into words seemingly makes Lord Bael only more invested, leaning forward an inch as his eyes glow. His hand rests on the glass still as he rewords his question.

"Do you love her?"

And finally, after embarrassing myself like a child, words come back to me in the face of such a loaded question. Confidence I'd not expected surges as a small heat forms on my face.

"...yes. I think I'm not far off."

In response Lord Bael only sighs, leaning back, hand now on the bridge of his nose.

"Of course you do. Everything about your time together is nothing short of a fucking fairy tale, from the princess in the tower to Prince Charming rescuing her. You're probably head over heels for one another."

He wipes his hand down his face and continues his musings aloud.

"Thankfully, I kept Gehrman around in case of something like this."

That sentence alone brings far, far too many questions, ones I am desperate to ask... but first, there's a much more prevalent thought on my mind.

"The noble Lucifuge is having a dalliance with the Demi-fiend, and you just accept that? Shouldn't you be trying to keep me away, to not put the blood at risk?" I ask, confused at his motivations.

"I was married myself once, Demi-fiend. Most seem to forget, but I know what it's like to be in love. Besides, if I try and split you apart, it'll only give you a reason to hate me."

He gives a weak, lopsided smirk.

"It would be quite silly of me to make an enemy of you so soon, Alistair. You're far more valuable alive than dead."

...I can't help but notice that he doesn't consider me a threat. His worst fear about me becoming an 'enemy' is losing my powers, not him being in danger.

I still can't understand him, or what he seeks to gain from this. It all seems too good to be true. What happened to the sanctity of blood? Did Roygun's appraisal of me turn the scales? Is he so willing to broker a good relationship with me that he'd go against his own principles?

No matter. I need to make sure there is an understanding between us.

"It's as you said, Lord Bael. It would be silly to make an enemy of me, especially over something so banal as a Devil being in love."

He raises a brow, clearly intrigued and slightly offended.

"Is that a threat, Demi-fiend?" He asks, smirking at me. Time to spin a yarn.

"Of course not. I wouldn't need to threaten you to get what I want. The Satanihilus are now desperate for my aid over that of the Phenex. If they found out you turned me away over a spat like this, you'd be crucified. They'd do all the work for me."

Lord Bael takes the threat quite well, simply choosing to laugh my away my words and continue where he left off, never acknowledging the truth to my claims. His silence on the matter is all the confirmation I need though.

"As I said, there was a reason I kept Lord Lucifuge around. I figured something silly like this was bound to happen." He says, a quick pause to have a drink before he continues.

"The Lucifuge bloodline is sacred, yes, so it must be continued and kept pure. Thankfully old Gehrman can do that just fine." He says, smiling at me.

The implications of that alone are... frankly harrowing, but I need to know more.

"And what of Lord Lucifuge? What happened to him after he came to you, Lord Bael?"

Zekram's smile widens to that same sickening grin I'd seen prior, taking great joy in his next words.

"He's being re-educated after all he did to Grayfia throughout the war. It must be hard knowing that he put his daughter through such plight, but you can take solace in the knowledge that we're... fixing his disloyalty, one session at a time."

Torture. Holy shit, they're torturing Gehrman. I should've known something like this would happen, but I didn't expect him to so blatantly admit it. Does he... does he think I'm happy to hear this?

Of course he does. Gehrman's Lie is such that he put Grayfia in danger and forced her to partake in the war, and I've shown that I care for Grayfia. Extensively. I'd have every reason to hate Gehrman.

Knowing this, all I can do is put on a smile at the news and listen as Zekram moves on with the discussion, treating Gehrman's fate as nothing more than a footnote.

"Now then, where were we? Right, Grayfia's pardon. As you've already caught on, the Clans want your talent in the employ of Ars Goetia, and the Satanihilus want your strength on the battlefield. You're a hot commodity for everyone, so I'm willing to make this concession for you."

"Normally it would require a vote, but with the knowledge of Gehrman's own confession, I can have the pardon passed by the week's end. Oh, and to ensure the people don't riot because of it, we'll have to publish all of Gehrman's misdeeds as well."

...at least his sacrifice wasn't for nothing. I'm not sure how I'll tell Grayfia just what her father is being put through, but that can come later.

"I'm glad we've come to an agreement then. The war should only end sooner now with her able to fight alongside us." I say, still far too unsure of him.

Zekram's smile dims slightly at my words, his eyes creasing as he shifts in his seat.

"If only such a thing were so easily attained. When I started this war, I expected it to last three months, but at this rate it'll be three more years before it ends."

In his words I see an opportunity, a chance to get an answer to the one question I've not had a concrete theory for.

"If you don't mind my asking, Lord Bael... why did you start this war?"

He doesn't even hesitate before he answers.

"The same reason any good Devil would wage war against his own people. To save them. If I didn't do what I did, we'd have been forced to fight another Great War."

He stares into his drink for a moment before finally downing the rest of it, his eyes going sharp as nails shortly after.

"Tell me, do you know what the Great War was like, Alistair?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

"I can't say I do." I mutter, suddenly feeling particularly uncomfortable. "I've not read much on it, regrettably."

"I'll do you a favour. Don't bother. Any records of it have been cleaned up and made pretty under their administration. The only good accounts you'll find nowadays are from the dead."

He wraps his hand around his glass, the action far more forceful as he seemingly loses himself in the memories.

"I almost forgot what the world smelled like. You spend so long surrounded by blood, the stench of it in your hair, your clothes, your skin... you just forget what it's like without it."

His finger taps against the rim of his glass.

"Nobody was exempt from serving. It didn't matter if you were fresh out of the Youth Academy, or if you were fresh out of a pregnancy. You served your people on the battlefield, or we all died."

He pauses for a moment to take a deep breath, chuckling on the exhale.

"Battlefield. As if that word does it justice. There was never a safe place. Nowhere to hide. You didn't just survive the Great War, you earned your life in blood."

His grasp tightens even further, small spider-web cracks forming along the glass.

"209 years. Two centuries of endless bloodshed. Maybe an hour or two of sleep every week. You never got a break, either. If we let up for even a day, it could mean the end of our people. Had to keep pushing them back, always pushing them back."

Part of me almost forgets the vindictive bastard I'd been looking at moments prior. Now, all I see is a shell. The fire is gone.

"You can stop now, Lord Bael. I understand what you're trying to say."

He blinks, remembering where he is, and for a moment I see a hint of anger. Not at me, but at himself. The memories must be incredibly raw for this millenia old Devil to lose his composure so wholely.

"Point is, if those useless shits were allowed to go on their 'Heaven Reclamation', we'd all be fighting Angels and Fallen right about now, and believe me, I'd take twenty Bidleid's over a Fallen invasion."

He looks at his glass, traces a finger over the cracks, before simply pushing it away on his desk and standing up. He moves to the window overlooking Lilith, motioning for me to stand at his side.

From up here, I can see almost everything. People going about their lives, the peaceful serenity that Lilith is able to experience. Knowing what the world outside these walls looks like though, I find myself... disgusted at the sight.

"This Civil War is a tragedy, yes... but it's a fucking playground compared to what we've survived. Kids wake up and smile, families are raised in peace and life goes on. It's a rarely afforded luxury for those at war."

"In the coming years and as the war drags on, maybe they'll call me a madman, call me a fool for spurring General Sitri into action. Fifty years from now though, they'll call me a hero. They'll make statues in honour of my actions, children will tell stories about the burden of guilt I took upon myself to keep our people safe. They don't know it yet, but I saved them all from a fate worse than death. I saved my people from extinction, and in due time I will be remembered for it."

He glances at me from the side, a hand on my shoulder as he looks down at me. The act itself is nausea inducing, let alone the fact he believed I'd be okay with it.

"Now, you need to ask yourself this... What will you be remembered for, Demi-fiend? And what will you do to ensure that legacy survives?" He pats my shoulder once.

Thankfully he removes his hand from me before I can do it myself, moving back to his seat and nursing his cracked glass.

"That's all for today. Roygun can escort you out. The Council will reconvene in a few days time, we'll discuss your position among Ars Goetia then."

So confused I am, I barely think before I find myself speaking aloud.

"That's it?"

"Yes. That's it. This meeting was merely a... test of character. You passed, by the way. I look forward to the next one." He says, grinning at me.

I don't hesitate to take the chance and leave.

------------------------------------

Companion Quest: In the Court of the Crimson King has been completed!

Rewards: 1050EXP, EX Skill Token, 1500 CEL, High Class Certification.

The instant I leave that office, I find my mind awash with thoughts. The most prevalent one is quite simple.

What the fuck was that?

I don't think I've ever been so cautious of another man in my life. Bidleid's a bastard, but he's simple. He'll at least attack you head on. Zekram's worse. He's the knife in your back with a sell-by date, the silent killer.

I can't get a single read on him. He's nice to me, kind even. A Devil doesn't last as long as he has being kind. What does he want? Partnership? Mentorship? My powers?

So many questions. So few answers. All I know for sure is that he's willing to go the extra mile to ensure a 'fruitful relationship' between us. He values me more than the average half-breed. How long will it be that way? When will his patience run out?

Safe to say, I won't be dropping my guard around him for a while yet. He's a ticking time bomb, one that could blow up in more than just my face if I find myself-

"So, how did the meeting go, Demi-fiend?"

Just when I think my day couldn't get any more confusing, Roygun's grinning mug pops into my field of vision, hands held behind her back and her face mere inches away from my own.

Taking a step back to retain some semblance of personal space, I straighten my coat as I respond to her.

"Don't pretend you weren't listening in on us. It'd be stupid for Lord Bael to host me without some form of security."

She pouts, and I reluctantly admit to myself that it's quite cute.

"At least pretend you didn't know. I was going to make it a surprise. Still though, Lord Bael is clearly interested in you. I've never heard him talk so long."

She quickly falls in line beside me as I try to walk past her, those prior frustrations seemingly forgotten as we move through the High Court.

"Could've fooled me. He seems to quite enjoy the sound of his own voice." I say, still scanning through every word Zekram spoke for any kind of deeper meaning I missed.

"Well, it's not for lack of trying on his end. You're a dull conversationist, Demi-fiend." She says flatly.

...hold on.

"How much of that meeting did you hear, Roygun?" I ask, hesitant to turn her way.

The moment I do, I'm met with the second most punchable face I've ever seen, behind Bidleid's, as she grins a shit-eating grin.

"All of it. From start to finish. I didn't take you for the romantic type, young man. Especially not with Lady Lucifuge of all people. Now I see what that 'training' of yours was."

It suddenly becomes very difficult to meet her gaze, the floor looking much more interesting with every step we take. Roygun of course takes great amusement in this, her eyes glued to my expression as she walks backwards, a step ahead of me.

"Who knew all it took to get the undying Demi-fiend to break was a bit of teasing. You're just a big softie under all that flesh, aren't you?"

She tries to poke at my face, something I won't stand for as I swat her hand away yet again, only for her to try again several times.

"Roygun, I am not in the mood nor do I have the energy for whatever the fuck it is you're trying to do." I say under my breath.

"Aw. I was hoping you'd tell me more about this 'training regime' of yours."

My hand almost magnetises to my face, a groan escaping my lips as I drag it down the bridge of my nose.

"I get it. I shouldn't have missed a meeting to play pocky. Are you done yet?"

She hums, tilting her head slightly as her smile grows.

"I'm not sure. Maybe you could show me some of your moves, just to be sure the training paid off." She murmurs, a sly wink thrown in for good measure.

My hand instantly finds itself atop her face, pushing her head back as she stumbles slightly. The sudden shift leaves her clinging to my arm, a whispered 'jackass' under her breath as she glares at me for a moment.

"I'm afraid you're too old for my tastes." I say, brushing her hands off my arm as we finally step into the elevator.

Clearly that was the wrong response though, as she scoffs in indignation at my words.

"Lady Lucifuge is 83! I'm only 77, you know!"

Seeing a rare opportunity, I make sure my next words are audible to her as I cough between them.

"...old hag..."

"Oh fuck off, Demi-fiend."

Her dry response is enough to leave me shaking with hushed giggles, the way any amusement in her shrivelled up and died being nothing short of priceless.

Said laughter continues for several long seconds as she stands there, waiting alongside me in the elevator.

After a while, I finally manage to compose myself, clearing my throat as I turn to face her once again. Said composure instantly cracks though when I see her frowning at me, arms crossed.

"It really wasn't that funny."

And that was the nail in the coffin. The fact alone that she doesn't find it funny only seems to make it funnier. My chuckles comes back in stride as she groans in annoyance, desperate for this elevator ride to come to an end.

I, however, am not willing to let this opportunity go so soon. If she enjoys teasing a man so much, surely she can handle being on the receiving end?

With that justification made, I slowly begin circling around her as I ham up my voice for effect, trying to sound as smug as possible.

"What's the matter Roygun, not having fun anymore? You were so happy a moment ago, what changed? Could it be that you don't like being called an old hag? Oh, my most sincere apologies, Roygun, I was only making an observation. It is the truth, though, is it not? You are an old hag when compared to my age."

Her brow starts twitching, frustration building once again as she considers the merits of skewering me with her horns.

"Of course, I don't blame you for hating it. Not many women like being called a hag, especially an old one, but the truth is as such. Some day you'll have to confront the inevitable flow of time, you old hag-"

In the blink of an eye, I find myself pushed up against the wall of the elevator, Roygun's arm bared against my neck and her hand holding my wrist in place against the wall.

"I take back what I said, Alistair. You're not a dry conversationist, you're just an asshole."

I smirk, taking great enjoyment in seeing her crack after she tried so heartily to endear herself to me. A moment later, I try and move my arm out from her grasp, only to realise that I can't.

She's stronger than me. I can't even move my hand an inch.

Seeing the futility in actions, I settle for words instead, wanting to dig further under her skin. In case it wasn't obvious, I still don't trust her one bit. She was obviously trying to cosy up to me for some reason or another, and her sudden appearance so quickly after the meeting already had me concerned.

Hopefully I can get something out of her if I piss her off enough. I doubt it, she's probably been extensively trained by Lord Bael, but at this point I'll take damn near anything. I know far too little about her.

"It's Lord Mammon to you. Have some respect for your peers." I choke out, my grin only widening with each moment.

A half-second later, clarity hits her like a brick and Roygun drops her arm, realising she just lost her shit over something so simple as being called a hag. Her own shame is quickly washed away by annoyance as she shuffles away and corrects her armour.

"To think I was actually excited for this job. You have an unnatural talent for pushing people away, you know that Demi-fiend?"

"Oh, how ironic! I would've said the same thing about you but there was this odd weight on my neck. Must've been the wind!"

So lost was I in my need for the last laugh and blatant sarcastic joy, I almost didn't notice her words. Almost.

"...what job?"

Having caught her midway through another scathing remark, Roygun blinks in confusion for a moment.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You mentioned a job, being excited for one. What was it, Roygun?"

My attempts to be serious fall flat as she runs a hand along her head, the action eerily familiar as she groans into her palm.

"Alistair if this is about your fucking theory I'm going to break this elevator with the both of us in it. I am not, nor have I ever been, under orders to seduce you."

Any words I may have said die on my tongue, replaced instead with reluctant patience as I wait for her to speak again.

"Lord Bael had mentioned that you'd need a 'liaison' so to speak, a bridge between you and the Clans given that the Council can't always assemble. I volunteered for the job."

Her voice shifts, damn near growling now as she rests her head in her hand.

"I already regret that decision."

"...you barely know me. Why would you even care to do that?" I ask, confusion seeping into my every word as I try and find some sort of hidden agenda in her.

Her arms shift, now folded under her chest as she stares at me like I were a monkey.

"Have you ever considered that I was just... interested? Wanted to learn more about you? The Demi-fiend, first half-breed to ever challenge a Satan, the Hero of Cain's Throne. In just a few weeks you've become one of the most talked about people."

Her tone is so... condescending. Emotions begin to flare up within me, distracting me from the way her hand shifts slightly, an odd glow emanating from it.

"Did it never once cross your mind that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to try and be your friend?"

The mere idea of it leaves me incensed, for a reason I can't fully understand. The way she says it as though such a thing were easy, as though I was wrong to not trust her. The judgement in her voice. It angers me, beyond any previous measure.

Dealing with Zekram's games, Roygun's ignorance, the news of Gehrman's fate. It's been weighing down on me far more than I anticipated. Eventually, my restraint simply withers away.

"No, it didn't! It never does!" I shout, a finger pointed firmly at her as I walk forward. "You fucking Devils, you always want something, always! There's never an honest word!"

A hatred long repressed has finally been unleashed, and I can't find it within me to stop any time soon.

"You said it yourself, Roygun, I am the Demi-fiend before anything else in this world. You think it's easy making friends, that I can let my guard down for even a second? The first thing I remember about this world is being attacked just for my blood, scorned for my blood, tortured for my blood! Everything in my life loops back to this humanity inside of me. It always does."

She looks at me not with fear, or spite, or even anger, but rather sympathy. As though she could ever hope to understand.

"I didn't ask to be reviled, or hated, or despised, but simply by virtue of being born I've made myself an enemy of half the fucking Underworld! And I don't even know what's worse, the fact that it happens at all or the fact that I'm glad it does! A part of me has started to relish the hatred. It makes the moment I kill my enemies that much more satisfying!"

Her gaze only shifts into deeper pity as my voice softens, throat aching.

"Ever since I survived Bidleid, I've had a shakey hand. Grey walls, purple fire, red eyes. The words haunt me endlessly. I told myself it was paranoia, that I was afraid. It was a lie, of course."

My hand wraps tight around my wrist, unable to meet Roygun's eyes.

"It's excitement. Eagerness. I've come to love the feeling of my life being in danger. The feeling of battle. That mantra isn't a memory of my torture. It's kindling for my hatred. The fuel that keeps me fighting. I won't let myself die before I have them skewered atop my sword, executed like the vermin they are!"

Realising just how long I've spoken and how many secrets I've let slip only angers me further. Said anger manifests in the form of my boot crashing into the elevator wall.

"How long is this fucking elevator ride!?" I shout, halfway to just breaking the door open and dropping down the empty shaft.

Clearing her throat, Roygun finally makes a sound after my tirade, looking apologetic.

"I stopped it a while ago. Cracked open the hydraulics. We'll probably be here for another twenty minutes."

I have to physically stop myself from shouting any further, already annoyed with myself for having lost my temper.

"And just why would you do that?" I ask.

Before she can answer, I find the pieces falling into place rather nicely.

"...you wanted this. You- you wanted me to crack, to start singing like a canary. A test of character, that's what he called it. What if the test still hasn't ended? ...Is that it, Roygun? Was this all just a big trap?"

She looks away, ashamed, but not for the reason I'd expected.

"I admit, I did want this. I wanted to see what made you tick, to learn why you struggled to see beyond your own prejudice... but it wasn't for Lord Bael's sake. It wasn't to hurt you. I wanted you to know I understand."

If I didn't already, her next words made me feel, put simply, like a cunt.

"I know what it's like to be different, Alistair. To be scorned by those around you. To be looked at like a lesser thing."

So emotionally fucked am I though, that I don't consider her words before blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

"What could you possibly know? A Clan Devil like you, born with the silver spoon so far up your mouth it's shining from your ass, how could you possibly understand?"

She takes the insults well, smiling softly as she sits down against the wall, patting the spot next to her.

"Have a seat and I'll tell you. It's... a bit of a long story, so I hope you'll indulge me."

...I've already spilled almost every secret I've kept thus far. What more do I have to lose by listening to her story?

Taking a seat beside her, I make sure to keep a certain distance away and rest my head on my hand. Why? I'm exhausted, fuck you, that's why.

------------------------------------

"This tale starts with a young girl, born a few years after the Great War's end. The Extra Demons were, put simply... ruined. Our lands, our workers, our status. Clan Belphegor was one of the few that survived, but we lived as shadows of ourselves."

She leans her head back against the wall, that braided ponytail of hers shifting slightly with each movement of her head.

"Growing up, I was told stories of how our people prospered, how we were respected. Before I could even read or write, I told myself I would bring our Clan back to glory."

She turns to me slightly, a half-cocked smile on her face as she does so.

"That was when I found out about Malebolge. A place for fighters of all kinds, to compete for riches and fame. I figured there was no better option. Before I had even turned 13, I could Crack any attack sent my way, break any defences with that same power."

Her smile dims momentarily.

"Mother was so proud of me. 'My little Shatterstar'. That's what she called me. I tried to tell her, again and again, that I wasn't 'shattering' attacks but 'tearing' them. She never listened."

Finding myself growing somewhat interested, I decide not to write this all off and actually pay attention.

"Years passed like that. I never bothered going to the Academy. I wasn't the next in line to Clan Belphegor, so nobody cared. I just trained, all the time. I wanted to be the best, to bring my Clan their deserved fame."

She brings her knees up to her chest as she goes on, arms resting atop them.

"I did my best for them. I fought as many times as they'd let me, against as many people as I could. Turns out, the Sol wasn't nearly good enough. Any Sol I made was offset by the cost of healing myself after each battle."

She smiles ruefully at the memories, her fingers lightly stroking her arms.

"Years passed again in the blink of an eye. Clan Belphegor was still the same. Destitute. The Underworld was spiralling out of stability, Sol being harder and harder to come by. Eventually, I was the only one bringing anything home to eat. We were too prideful to sell any land or jewellery. To do so would be to admit we lost our glory."

She seems to almost shake slightly. Nothing big, just a brief shiver in her hand. Ironic.

"I lost track of how many times I fought in that arena. By that time, I'd garnered a group of fans, people who loved to watch me in the pit. It was nice. I felt like I had earned something. It wasn't much, but it was mine."

Her head falls back against the wall.

"All good things come to an end, though. One day, I finally got the recognition I'd been wanting. One of the Satans had taken an interest in me. He came to our home while I was away, and had made an offer."

On her face is something I can only describe as nostalgia. For what, I can't possibly know.

------------------------------------

The paper falls to the table with something akin to grace unbefitting it. My own hands tremble still, even as I look away from it into the joyous eyes of my mother. My gut churns with revulsion, yet she looks happier than I've ever seen.

"It's a miracle, isn't it Roygun? After all these years, we'll have all the Sol we could need!"

A miracle. Is that what she thinks this is? This... this enslavement? A miracle?

"But... but what about me? What if I don't want this?" I whisper out, tears already forming in my eyes.

She shows no sympathy if she feels any. Instead, she looks betrayed.

"Don't you want what's best for our Clan, honey? This is what we've been fighting for. Isn't this why you spent so long in Malebolge? For this moment?"

Seeing my tears only growing in number, her tone shifts to something baleful.

"Lord Asmodeus has been so kind as to give us a second chance, Shatterstar. A new lease on life! We can be heard again, known again! Why are you trying to keep us small?"

Seeing no hope in appealing to my mother, I shift my gaze to Father, only to see his expression hard as stone. He looks disappointed in me.

"This is an honour, Roygun. You're making a fool of us with this... tantrum of yours."

Decades of my life spent fighting, bleeding, burning, for it to end like this? To be treated like an animal, traded for Sol to the highest bidder? Everything I did, I did for them, and now they expect me to be happy with this?

The words atop the slim sheet of paper haunt me greater than any wound I've ever faced, written in ink more expensive than my own armour. My eyes constantly flicker to it against my own will, a blaring reminder of my fate from this day on.

'Certificate of Ownership'.

...what was it all for? All the pain, the stress, the effort? I gave my life for them, for their happiness - and they threw me away the first chance they got.

A pen is pushed over into my hand. I don't pay attention to who does it, I only know that after this paper is signed, I won't be a person anymore. I'll be a- a thing, a toy. A concubine of the Lord Asmodeus.

...what was it all for? The world closes in around me, my breathing growing unsteady as those same words ring around my head constantly, a neverending melody.

My fist clenches around the pen, a strand of my own power falling from my grasp as memories flicker through my mind. Years, decades. All for them. Wasted. Blood, spilled on the floor. Wasted. Enemies killed, competitors brutalised. Wasted.

"You won't have to sign it if you don't want to, Roygun. We've already settled it with Lord Asmodeus. He'd just prefer if you signed it yourself is all. He likes it more when they obey."

...what was it all for?

The answer comes to me as I shift the pen around in my hand and take off the cap.

Freedom.

Before he can even blink, the pen is embedded in my father's eye, mother screaming in terror as I lunge at her next.

It was all for freedom.

------------------------------------

"After that day, I had nowhere to go. I was an enemy of... just about everyone. The Officio Satanorum wanted me for familicide. The remaining Belphegor wanted me for betrayal. Daimadosu wanted me full stop."

She turns to me, not noticing just how disturbed I am after her recollection, so focused on her own story.

"And yet, despite that, for the first time in my life I felt free. Genuinely free."

She leans her head back again, her stature far more relaxed than before.

"I spent a few years after that travelling the Underworld. Had to hide my horns and dye my hair, live off of stolen food... but I lived my life, and that was enough for me."

Any complaints I may have had about my life suddenly feel shallow in the face of her own. Once again, I realise how lucky I've been thus far. How much worse things could have been for me.

"By the time Lord Bael found me, the Civil War had already long started. I thought it was over for me, that my life was forfeit. Instead, he gave me an offer. Serve as his aide for the remainder of the war, and I'll be pardoned for my crimes."

...interesting.

"I thought I was dreaming at first. I asked him, 'why bother?' He said it wasn't a personal matter. He simply needed a new right hand and thought my history would serve as more proof to the Satan's crimes."

For the first time since she started, Roygun laughs. It's a small thing, but I don't imagine I could ever muster the same energy in her situation.

"That's all there was to it. Within a week, I had my name, my face back. I never had to worry about him hurting me in some way either. I was more than strong enough to kill him if need be. I'd been on the run once before, a second time wouldn't be different."

She lifts her right hand from her knee, looking at it with something akin to reverence as she carries on speaking.

"Ever since then, I've done my best to help the Satanihilus where I can. Even though they may hate me, may despise me for my crimes, I still try for them."

Shaking me from my attentive listening, Roygun slowly scoots closer and rests her head on my shoulder, the act eerily familiar.

"I know what it's like to be hated by the world, Alistair. They never listen, only revile you. I can't sympathise with your reasoning, but I can tell you that I'm here if you need me. I can only hope that helps. Oh, and... thank you for listening."

The elevator suddenly chimes, having finally reached the ground floor after a hasty repair from above. As the doors open, she says her final piece.

I expect some motivational phrase, something that would give me strength, but all I am left with is a ringing in my ears and a gnawing in my chest as I hear her last words.

"I meant it when I said I wanted to be friends, Alistair. I hope now you can see why."

By the time I can form another thought, she's gone. All I'm left with is regret.