Chapter Text
“… and , word on the street is that she’s looking for new workers for this fancy new project of hers! Now, I’m not one to gossip, but…” Sharp finger points clacked against the array of buttons rhythmically. “ Oh, who am I kidding. That’s my job! What I’ve heard - well, you didn’t hear it from me - is that her turnover rate’s high for a reason. They’re still fishing the remains of the last guy’s head out through the sewer grates!”
Alastor threw back his head and laughed. “That’s enough of tonight’s program, folks. The eight o’clock bell is about to ring, and you know what that means! Go on and feast, my dears. Be sure to catch the midnight program with our favorite spooky twins, Jill and Melissa!”
A press of a button, and he was off air. Another successful day, Alastor thought to himself as he stood up, gathering a forgotten teacup and saucer he had picked up a few hours ago. It would be dinnertime now, and many of the constituents of his bustling office would be heading off to take their share of the daily carcass draws. He was looking forward to whatever free meat he might scavenge tonight.
As the tolls of the distant Belial tower reverberated through the town, Alastor locked the door to his office behind him and began his stroll down the hall to say goodnight to his staff. As he walked, heads poked out each door to wave goodbye for the night, and Alastor gave them each cordial sendoffs as they, too, started packing up. The other demons had homes to go to, and so did Alastor - though he was less concerned with the food he was putting on a family’s table and more so with the business he had to attend to.
The streets near the office had mostly cleared out by the time he exited; only a few straggling demons remained, lingering for some odd reason or another before heading to the carcass draws. Alastor stalked between buildings, taking the back roads around to avoid the crowds. While it was usually enjoyable to shove through the swarming masses, he was after a quicker meal.
The closer he got to the Sector 3 square, the thicker the crowds became. Clusters of demons sequestered themselves in broken-down buildings and dark alleyways to tear apart their food together, while others scrapped in the street over the hindquarters of a pig. Many were still dragging away their pieces, sporting scratches that bled sluggishly and victorious glints in their eyes. Alastor breezed past all of them without a second thought, towering above them. Several cowered and scampered away as he got close, but few abandoned their food before even him.
Alastor didn’t care, really. This part of Pride was his and his alone, and he had worked for it. Those who didn’t know him knew of him, and that was all right with him. He would be loathe to become the type of petty overlord to kick everyone in his path and demand unearned respect for some dissatisfied ego.
The sector square was fenced all around by tall buildings that allowed no overflow. The street designs in Pride were rather lacking, if Alastor stopped to think about it. Even he, lanky as he was, had to squeeze through the widest of gaps between the buildings, and he quite disliked the awkward and vulnerable position.
Demons were packed like sardines across every inch of the square as he emerged, and it took a few minutes to maneuver through the crowd to get to the carts laden with carcasses. Dead deer, pigs, cattle, and the stray beheaded chicken were piled high on top of each, being pulled down at alarming rates and sparking numerous brawls. Alastor wove his way through all of it, ever aware of the lost time and glad he hadn’t done more of this all the way here.
He finally managed to get to a cart and tap the driver on the shoulder. The wolflike demon turned from where he’d been shoving overeager demons back, clutching a long pole in his hand. “Ah, Alastor,” he said gruffly, but with no inflection. “You’re earlier than usual.”
“I skipped the crowds today,” Alastor explained as he clambered onto the other cart seat with ease and began examining the meat.
The driver slammed the pole into the eye of a demon leaping at him with claws outstretched. “I don’t know why you bother with this shit. You know Carmilla’s got specialty stuff for her allies.”
“She doesn’t let it rot like the Armed Patrol does,” Alastor responded absentmindedly, selecting a sickly-sweet-smelling young wild boar from the bottom of the pile. “ This stuff sits in your warehouses for days! It adds character.”
“Guess that’s why they keep shipping this crap out with us instead of the new meat,” the driver muttered. “The overlords want to take their sweet time selecting the cream of the crop.”
“Careful, friend,” Alastor said with a grin, slinging the boar over his shoulder and scanning the crowd for his way out. “You sound bitter.”
“I’m a grunt,” the wolf demon retorted, smacking someone else with his stick. “Long hours, low pay, shit jobs, and no one listens to me. Everyone says this shit, Alastor. You demons in charge just don’t hear it, unless you’re slumming with the rest of us.”
Alastor tutted disapprovingly. “Your work may be undesirable, but it’s valuable. Few overlords would treat you as well as Carmilla. She may be cutthroat, and she may not care about you, but she is responsible about her assets. That’s why she gives us all free food in the first place.”
“Suit yourself.” The driver shrugged. “I ain’t getting mixed up in all that political shit. Just know I’m splitting as soon as I get a better offer.” He made a shooing motion at Alastor. “You got your pick. Get outta here.”
Alastor took that as his cue to step back through the crowd, shoving and smacking at anyone who got too close to his new prize. Once he managed to slip away from the square, he secluded himself in a corner cafe to make quick work of his meal.
A disheveled cafe worker snoozed behind the counter, clearly overworked and overtired. All the better for him - the less of a trail he left after this, the better. He silently made his way across the empty cafe to a table near the back and settled with his food.
He was about halfway through it when he felt eyes on him. He didn’t pause in neatly slicing strips of the dissected corpse, but his head twisted around unnaturally to the not-so-empty doorway behind him.
Several tiny demons were stacked just behind the door frame, believing themselves hidden from view. Each had varying amounts of eyes and looked remarkably distinct in outfit, hairstyle, and, from what Alastor could tell, demeanor.
“Can I help you?” he asked, more so to get rid of them than to actually answer any questions or requests. Should they have need of him, they could submit a formal paper to his office, but he was due for his appointment soon and didn’t have time now to entertain anything.
Sure enough, several of them shrunk back warily. Only two or three seemed bold enough to remain in place, and one of the smaller ones poked her head out to get a better look at him.
Alastor cleared his throat meaningfully, which seemed to remind them that he was addressing them directly. “A-are you the overlord, sir?” one of the older ones asked nervously, shuffling his feet a little.
Alastor leaned back in his chair. “I am,” he acknowledged. “And you are?”
“Onerous,” he rasped. “These are my siblings.” He placed his arms protectively around the little demons to either side of him.
Alastor did a quick headcount. He could see seven, but who knew how many were waiting in the back where he couldn’t look? “Who named you?”
Onerous glanced around anxiously. “We a-aren’t allowed to s-say.”
“Hm.” Alastor decided he didn’t care about prying into a set of orphan backstories and turned his head back to enjoy his boar. He could still feel the eyes on his back, but he opted to ignore it. Before long, they became bored and retreated to the back rooms.
He was just finishing up when a single eye poked up from across the table. He almost gave a start; he hadn’t even noticed the younger demon creeping from behind him and under the table. Her single yellow-red eye bored into him with obvious curiosity.
Alastor peered at her bemusedly. “Yes?”
She pointed a thin pincer at his empty plate. “Did you kill it yourself?”
“No,” Alastor hummed.
A pause. “Was it good?”
“Quite.” Alastor stood and straightened his coat. When he turned back, the mat he had placed between the boar and the fresh white tablecloth was gone, and the red hem of the serving girl’s dress disappeared into the back.
He dropped a few coins in the tip jar as he left, the noise startling the cafe worker enough to jerk awake with a shout. He didn’t stop, striding out of the cafe and off to the agreed meeting place across town.
He didn’t often cross to Sector 9, but Zestial had insisted upon it. The older demon was skulking there now, shrouded in shadow like the cloak he kept tightly wrapped around his figure. “Thou art certain thou hath no tail?” he greeted Alastor curtly as he approached.
“Hello to you too, Zestial,” Alastor responded smoothly. “Worry not, my friend. I came alone.”
Zestial cast a shifty glance towards the alley Alastor had emerged from, as if he had half a mind to go check himself. Before this could turn into a nightlong affair, Alastor tapped his staff impatiently against the rough-hewn cobblestone. “You mentioned your assistant? Where is she?”
Zestial’s eyes narrowed uncomfortably. “Such is precisely wherefore I hath called thee here. She does not usually make herself so scarce. It hath been some three odd weeks since I had last seen her, and her landlord knows not what hath befallen her either.”
The young demon had been Zestial’s assistant for a few years now. As powerful as the overlord was, he was often forgetful in running an empire, and Ella had quickly assumed most of the administrative duties he couldn’t be bothered with. Alastor had made his overlord debut and moved into his new office shortly before she’d shown up, so he never knew her well, but he had grown accustomed to seeing her trail his mentor like a reverent puppy whenever they met.
“That is strange,” Alastor admitted, putting a pointed hand to his chin. “You went to her residence, then?”
“Of course not.” Zestial ruffled his coat. “I sent an imp. Her landlord remarked that her rent hath gone unpaid since her disappearance, and her hellhound lay dead in her sitting room. Nothing ransacked, taken, or threatened.”
Alastor frowned. Ella always spoke highly of her hellhound, and he found it hard to believe she would abandon it, much less kill it herself. It would not be unheard of for another to have broken into her apartment and attacked them - that kind of thing was commonplace to see with your morning tea in the land of sinners and sometimes even qualified as entertainment - but a normal attacker would leave signs of a struggle or search her apartment for valuables. Whoever was behind this targeted her and her alone, likely for a much more sinister purpose.
“Why her?” Alastor mused. “Perhaps she is just unlucky.” But Zestial would not have called him here if she were.
“I wish to warn thee,” Zestial admitted, motioning for Alastor to walk with him. “My patrols uncover more and more bodies in the streets these days. At first they were imps, hellhounds, the occasional succubus - nothing to concern myself with. But Ella ranked higher, and she is in my direct favor. Many know this. May I replace her, I shall suspect foul play until it drives me to discard her replacement entirely.”
“That would be messy,” Alastor remarked. “I’m not sure what I can offer, but I will keep an eye out in Sector 3. How many have you told?”
“Only thee. Thou cannot trust most overlords in Pride when resources are so scarce.”
Alastor knew he was right. Carmilla may be generous with food distribution, but it was because she was the only overlord who could afford to with her considerable control over the arms industry. Feed enough starving demons, and you earn their loyalty for aeons. Ignore their needs, and you can count your days as a ruler. Alastor understood this well, and his agreement with Carmilla was one of the first deals he brokered in his ascent to lordship. The overlords at his borders resented it and frequently pushed at his authority.
As they walked, their conversation grew lighter. Zestial took him through the dingy, desolate streets of his sector on the way to his towering castle, nestled in the very heart of the area. Alastor saw the black spires poke over the tops of the smaller buildings around them from several blocks away.
At last, they arrived at the ornate front gate. “Pleasure talking to you, Zestial.” Alastor grinned widely at the older demon as the doors creaked open. “If there is nothing else, I’ll take my leave now.”
“Wait,” Zestial rasped. “Come inside. I have something for thee.”
Bemused, Alastor followed him through the gate and up the winding road to the castle. “Stay here,” Zestial commanded him once they stepped into the bustling foyer. He quickly disappeared up the grand marble stairs to his office, leaving Alastor to watch the many servants of the household run to and fro in their maintenance tasks.
Something small bumped his leg suddenly. “Sorry, sir,” muttered a small, brown-haired imp around a large messenger bag that covered most of her face. “Excuse me, sir.” She rushed off.
Alastor straightened his coat, nonplussed, and looked up to see Zestial approaching again. The older demon quickly thrust a small black box into Alastor’s hands. “This was Ella’s most important ring. Often she said it contained old magic to protect her in life and death. Never would she go anywhere without it, but the day I last saw her it had sat stark on her desk, hidden amidst her paperwork, as if she never brought it home.”
Alastor’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t want to peek when there were so many others about. Better to investigate it in the privacy of his own office back in Sector 3. “Thank you, Zestial,” he said formally. “I’ll send word if anything happens.”
He carried the box down the hill and through the gate, not stopping to put it away until he had made it to the very edge of Sector 9. He would have to pass through Sector 6 to return to his own home - a realm presided over by an unstable and irritable crone - and did not want it stolen before he had a chance to look at it.
As he snuck it into his pocket, his hand brushed against something small and stiff. Fishing around, he dug out an unfamiliar scrap of paper and unfolded it. Inside was a note written in crude, unpracticed handwriting that read:
“Ella was afraid. You, too, will be afraid. Mind the birds when you go.”
Baffled, Alastor stopped in his tracks and considered it for a moment. This was tangible proof that something dangerous had come for Ella, and possibly a confirmation that he would be next. The imp girl must have slipped the note in his pocket when she bumped into him in the foyer, probably on purpose, which meant she knew something. Alastor was too far now to go back and insist on finding her, but he made a mental note of what he could remember of her appearance for the next time he came around.
The contents of the note were peculiar as well. Alastor may not have been the strongest overlord in Pride, but there were few he was truly afraid of. Pride was his greatest sin, after all, and he believed he could put up more of a fight than little Ella could. But what of these birds? If the Ars Goetia were involved, he would have more work cut out for him than he thought.
He stuffed the note back into his pocket with a bit more vigor than he intended and set off again. As he made his way back to Sector 3, he tried to cast it from his mind, but still the words flashed before his eyes until he reached the safety of his desk hours later. Ella was afraid. You, too, will be afraid.