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[Prologue]
Born in 2003, Thursday November 27th, 7:05am.
Death date: 11, 27, 2027.
Found with multiple lacerations to the lower abdomen, multiple hand-shaped bruises around subject’s neck, thighs and wrists. Cause of death, Autoerotic Asphyxia. The Subject was a 25 year old female, working in the expertise of a Consort, death caused by a client; overall a failed attempt at a high stakes BDSM scene.
Her death was eventually called in at 7:07pm.
—
This poor soul had wound up nearly having a panic attack when they woke up; clawing at hands that didn't exist, at a man who wasn't on her, in her, or hurting her.
That may have been the only good thing to come out of Ari waking up. It didn't take long for her to very quickly notice discoloration of her arms: deep purples resembling ink doused her hands to her elbows, fading out. When she eventually stood up, dizziness and a foreign feeling of a counter balance immediately toppled her, forcing her to crash onto her ass.
Spider-esque paws were what replaced human feet, a sharp bone akin to a talon protruded from their ankle, forcing her again to walk on her tiptoes…
…not that she actually minded much.
Once they eventually got a hold on themselves it was the equivalent of being reborn, at least in their mind. The same deep purple melanin fading from the edges of her feet to her knees…even the spaded tail that was currently serving as a counterbalance earlier had a similar fading from the edge to the base.
It took around thirty minutes of walking and aimlessly roaming to find anything resembling a city, into what she assumed to be an entertainment type of area? Billboards, neon signs, HUGE buildings of which all had signs just as huge filled her vision…and for once she felt kind of calm, regardless of the overwhelming urge to have another panic attack.
All in all it wouldn't be long before she’d notice how signs portraying a cold, almost royal looking blond woman scattered a few buildings with words like ‘riot’, ‘rebel’, and ‘revolt’ scrawled against the posters. High chances it was old propaganda that was making rounds, in…well wherever they were.
As she wandered the streets, clueless as ever it hadn't occurred to her that she wasn't alone here. But alas, the denizens of this city[?] didn't seem to wish to interact. All the better for this newly reborn Sinner.
Days passed, she was able to very quickly figure out where she was just via how the world looked; red skies, pentacle scarred moon, and a sun that looked all too much like an Oraphim, of which she concluded was Heaven…so in that case, she was in Hell.
The first month was genuinely uneventful, despite working in a nearby town readily being called “Cannibal Town”. It was the closest thing that they’d get to earth, at least in schemes of morality and overall ‘human’ decency, which wasn't much, but it was something. Her work went from odd little jobs like helping elder cannibals with hunting sinners, to literally just babysitting younger cannibals when their parents needed time off. Mundane, but not unwelcome.
Month two to five was all spent similarly; getting used to the people of the town, and at some point meeting what was the “Overlord” of this district, Madame Rosie. They kept the interaction simple, courteous and respectful, no more no less. Hell, they even allowed themself to indulge in letting themself start killing for the thrill of the chase, just to feel the adrenaline of catching a prey and ending its life in a vile, prolonged way.
She’d never allow any denizen of the sweet town to consume any of these tortured beings, and she’d NEVER sell these remains for consumption because all who ate mammals knew how something that experienced fear in its last moments had tough, rather bitter tasting flesh. Even the blood was useless to her.
Over time they learned a decent amount of knowledge regarding the overlords; which ones were genuinely dangerous and which ones just did what was needed and nothing more. The Vees, Zestial, Alastor, Carmilla, Trick and Hatchet were the ones she needed to worry about, the rest weren't good, but better options than all else. Not that this…sinner[?] planned to sell off her soul.
Not after Rosie herself told her that her soul did not look like a sinner’s.
One year post mortem —
Ari, currently known as “The demon of the Abyss” was already collecting souls. Making contracts purely based on joking wordplay that only lead to sinners giving up their most precious possessions to her: often taking plenty of advantage of newly dropped souls, promising protection.
Which, well she did to an extent; if a soul was given, more power to her, and therefore being able to intervene if direly needed. But to even attempt to call upon the growing demonia her follower would need to be on death’s door, again.
By the end of the first full year, she had already collected roughly 600 souls. All the work she did, even if she very much hated every second of it…was worth something in the end: she was able to create a system for herself; each follower was a direct link to herself, at her command autonomy was immediately given up. So every single new sinner that spoke with a follower of hers, and actually spoke would always be dragged into her following. It was a self sustainable system, one that always ensured a steady growth in power, without needing to ever lift a finger.
By 2029 shit started hitting the fan; a so-called old timed demon from the 1930s had returned from a so called sabbatical, and whom also seemed to have personal issues with one of the Vees. Not that Ari could even seem to give a fuck, as long as her minor area in CannibalTown was left alone? She’d be golden.
That was until she learned by word of mouth [and some well placed followers] that the fossil of a deer man had his own soul on a leash, and that amused them.
Chapter one: Fears
Ari had long forgotten her name, with new minor overlords showing up on the weekly basis and being siphoned away by the bigger fish in the bowl it was no surprise what the connecting factor was; all of them were too damn proud and showy of their ranking. Sometimes just staying “off” the theoretical grid did some good, it had kept this so-called sinner alive and in charge of a decent amount of people; souls, minds and existence.
The year of 2029 had it that the yearly heavenly exterminations had seized, for now we all assumed. The Radio demon whom they eventually learn’s name was Alastor had become a more frequent visitor to Madame Rosie’s gardens, all of which was made sure to have eyes kept close, watching, learning, growing.
The Void had learned too much, too quick, all by March.
Whom owned the Radio demon, who the Vees really were, what each overlord’s stance on the tension between Heaven and Hell was, and even how manic the “Leader” of the Vees was over this seven decade long situationship with the Radio demon was.
—
“Wow uh- Ma’am- i mean Ms. Rosie; I appreciate the offer but I don't eat intestines, I'm sorry-”
“Well that's just fine little one, we all have our taste for different parts, am I right?” The overlord of this quaint almost domestic town was genuinely trying to get me to eat more, anything to gain some weight since in her [rather eyeless] eyes I was too underweight- but for my height I could've sworn that I was healthy enough, not that an Auntie figure would ever accept my pleading for mercy when it came to food. Either way I was sitting with Ms. Rosie in her emporium, chatting away about our weeks while she served guests, giving me instructions when she needed a small hand to help out. When I wasn't literally just doing free labor I was snacking on candied eyes, reveling in the sweet treat that I’d be seldom granted.
Around 6pm the doors opened, just at closing…and the Radio demon himself was leading the so-called Princess of Hell into the emporium…and I was immediately given the ‘go home hun’ look. Not that I wasn't literally on my way out, but ah well. As I passed the two taller beings I couldn't help but to slightly [though just barely] understand what Vox, the head of the Vees [or whatever he claimed] saw in this fossil of an old man. Quiet a charmer on the surface, and an underlying essence of….indifference? Maybe it was more akin to hate.
And by 7:45pm or so, something went off in me. A harsh pull towards what I assumed was the entertainment district…and so I pissily slid out of my bed, dissipating my physical body into the nearest shadow, using that as my main mode of transportation to what I clocked soon as V Tower.
I wondered which of my minions were near death, better yet which long standing follower was it? I rarely felt urgency like this…so when I'd practically formed in front of the man himself? I couldn't do anything but look at the mangled form of one of my beloved follower's soon-to-be corpse at his claws.
“L….Lady Crescent….h…he-” The voice was cut off as their neck was promptly snapped, 90 degrees the wrong way. The way the light faded, and the haphazard way her body was thrown into the oversized shark tank, to be eaten immediately fully disgusted me.
“Who the fuck are you?-” an unamused, careless voice dragged me back to reality…having fully forgotten how I had the Media Overlord himself towering over me.
One thing that hell hadn't granted me was a better body; apparently forever to be stuck at 5’7. I forced a step back, eyes showing minimal emotion for now. It didn't take the prick long before he grabbed me by my ankles and wrists, holding me way above what was comfortable height-
“Ill ask one last time Sweetheart, who the fuck are you, and how did you get into my office without alerting anyone?-”
“Like your bitchass deserves to know-” cut off barely by my own will; a harsh whip of a cable to my cheek immediately had a cut bleeding.
“FUCK- okay what the fuck man- i was just coming to get one of my followers aight? Ya killed em so now let me go, fucker-”
I was hissing each word, anger evident, despite each expression staying disturbingly neutral. I could just shadow my body away…since this room had ample darkened areas…but I wanted to see this pompous jackass actually just co-operate.
I knew I had low chances, but if it truly came to it; id fight my way out of this.
—
“And to think a spy from the most peaceful districts would even ATTEMPT to break in! Oh fuck thats a good joke; so tell me! Why’d Rosie send ya hmmn?” He was condescending in nature, but even this was a surprise to him.
Last he recalled VoxTek and Cannibaltown were on workable terms, at least. So this? This was a betrayal of a truce that had been untouched for about sixty years. The man’s hand easily could crush this little demon’s head, but he was choosing to take his time, to torment the info out of them even if it bled into after hours. It’d be fun, to let off some steam after Valentino’s last meltdown over whatever his little plaything was doing at the Morningstar’s little shitty hotel.
That was until a fellow overlord?- Nah this lavender skinned little bitch couldn't be one, he’s never even seen her before. Then why, just why did she look like she was ready to rip him apart?
Why did she look like was going to actually try?
Shit- accidentally snapped the sad little demon’s neck. ‘Oh well, a treat for Shok.Wav she is then.’
“Who the fuck are you?-” His tone came off more surprised than he’d have liked it to be, and he hated it. He made sure to stand right in front of this little rascal, mostly to make sure she had nowhere to run; if she did, he doubted he’d be able to find her again. Not a single camera had picked up on her, nevermind actually seeing her show up until she was already in his office.
Maybe that's what worried him. Perhaps she was an overlord. Then why was she unaccounted for?
Carmine should have had this in check…perhaps sending Velvette to the next monthly meet may be beneficial. Maybe.
“Ill ask one last time Sweetheart, who the fuck are you, and how did you get into my office without alerting anyone?-” He had her strung up to his eye-level within seconds when she refused to answer…and when she started to talk back?
One good whip to that pretty little face would do it.
Only it didn't; instead invoking more agitated sounds from the girl. This surely wasn't worth his time perhaps…not until he watched deep, near inky blood seep from the cut he had left on her cheek. That wasn't how sinners bled…..now who really was she...? Was this why Carmine hadn't mentioned her at meetings?
Too many questions, and not enough answers: the exact type of thing he hated. When he couldn't read into someone ...when they couldn't be manipulated because he had nothing to directly use against them.
It reminded him of someone.
He didn't like it, no.
Not.
One.
Bit.
—
As the two overlords stood in the dimly lit office, harsh breaths were exchanged. The tv headed man was agitated, a given as to how utterly quick everything was coming out as a mess.
The next extermination date that Carmilla had given the Overlords was within the coming week, and it was a direct attack on the Princess’s little Hotel. This was all supposed to be a way of The Heavens above to regain control after learning that one of the exorcist army’s soldiers was killed; knowing that hell with this knowledge could easily start an uprising, just like the Queen of hell attempted once before.
He had cables wrapped around her neck, letting the rest fall away and when she tried to drag the wiring off he bound that hand too. She looked too content, as if she had either learned something just off of his behavior or that she was too into whatever this conflict was. He was pacing after a moment of just glaring at her, muttering on how his plans were getting fucked over and such.
“You; You little fuckin pest; get the FUCK out of my office!-”
His voice sounded strained, painfully so as he dropped her. She cursed back at him before dissolving into the shadows of his office, leaving him fully alone.
9:47pm, and he was at his desk, searching for proof of this girl’s existence…anything. Even just a blur of her moving on camera was enough, and yet? Nothing.
He’d be left questioning who, why, and what she even was. Examining the blood that she left on his floor looked more akin to a glass pen that had left faulty ink stains.
Extremely annoying, that little brat. Who did she think she was? Barging into his office, fucking with his plans, and ruining what was his first good day on a solid while.
Once the next day came around he made it a point to bring the little bit of blood to Carmilla, having already requested a meeting the night before during his rampant searching.
—
“Hello Carmilla! Well, come lets get this all started, yes?”
“Well, get on with it, Vox. I have checks and weapons to supply today, I can't waste time on thi-” cutoff near immediately.
“Now now! That's no way to speak with a fellow corporate partner, Carmine. I just wished to pay a visit, after an encounter with a little demon, from CannibalTown, or better yet-” He placed a vial of inkiness on her desk, screen buzzing from the mere recollection of the night before.
“-its seems like one of us is withholding critical information…i doubt our fellow rulers would appreciate knowing this. So, do tell, who's the little fiend that you don't have under your accounts hm?”
She was quiet, listening to him monologue, before she stood up, taking the vial before chucking it in the nearest trash bin.
Something on her features said that this wasn't something she wished to share, never-mind with him of all people…but she knew better. Knew how badly he’d tarnish her reputation and business if it came to it. Better yet, he knew what she held closest.
“Its not as easy as that, Vox…she's not… she isn't a sinner, that's all you really need to know. Just as Rosie doesn't have a direct obligation to join the meetings we all have, neither does she. Rosie has had her under her wing for a few years now, they’re practically family. Best not to dig where Rosie’s dealing lay-”
“So…” he paused for a second, thinking through his words. “Her name title is the Demon of the Abyss, Void.”
“So this ‘Void’ or whatever her name is, has her soul under contract?” Carmilla didn't respond. So that wasn't it.
“A hellborn?” again, no response. Frustrating. Once he concluded that Carmine wasn't being of any use at this moment he chose to simply zap himself out of her district and back to Vee tower.
Contemplation took over his mind, causing partial isolation. Even when Valentino, one of his Vees came to spend time he barely agreed.
—
“Honestly I don't get why she was being so difficult- For hells sake it's just some Imp looking lil’ shit! Like what makes her SO fuckin special that even Carmine isnt lettin up? MA-ake this make sense Val!-”
He was complaining as he sat with Valentino, every now and then his vocal export would glitch out. The Moth demon wasn't fully listening until the color of her blood was mentioned.
“A hellborn’s blood hm? Tell me Voxxie~ did you ever think that someone could have a hellborn parent in life?” Vox shorted out for a moment, not processing the idea, rejecting it even. “Go on.”
“Maybe, hear me out, Vels thinks that she's a Cambion.”
Through heart eyed glasses Vox was able to see how Valentino was texting Velvette nearly everything that Vox was rambling about earlier. Vel’s messages were dry. Drier than normal even. She was probably mid-tailoring for her coming seasonal lineup.