Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Come on… COME ON!”

After serious effort, the exhaust roars, shaking the foundation of the garage. I don’t dare halt my breath. Not after this shitshow.

Frivolous adrenaline courses through my veins as I grasp the steering wheel like it’s about to fly off. My form is completely drenched in sweat, making it difficult to see. For the short moment I’m given, I look back, fearing it's too late. I’m not about to let myself get caught.

I clutch the side of my jacket, hyperventilating. My prize is still there, tucked away and secure.

Fear transforms into determination as I grip the transmission and clutch it into gear, slamming the gas. The garage door blows open from the force of the car, leaving nothing but open road for me.

“Don’t let him get away!”

The feral, masculine scream has my blood running cold once again. My eyes shoot straight open, focusing solely on any possible escape route. The sound of magic and rumbling engines leaves me to kick into overdrive. The gargantuan palace is left behind with a sharp turn to the next street, making me scowl as I loathe my poor choice of getaway car.

Loud bangs ring through the city block, making me duck on instinct. The car’s back window does little to protect me as bullets whizz through it, glass flying to the front seats.

“Shit!”

The bustling, rambunctious Pentagram City is but a blur as I speed down the freeway. Neglected street lights barely illuminate the various vehicles in front. I weave and pierce through each and every one that comes my way, ignoring the profanities and honks of their drivers. Rumbling from behind etches closer every second.

I fumble and grasp my side, unholstering the deagle it conceals. I hold onto it blisteringly tight with my other hand as I desperately maintain control of my driving. The first guard comes into view: a gray hellhound with a pistol of his own, riding a motorcycle while donned in a gaudy suit and tie. Heartbeat now deafeningly loud, I clench my sidearm and pull the trigger.

The dog doesn’t get a single shot in before the back of his head turns into a gory Picasso painting, brain matter flying off into the distance. Blood drips on the road as the bike eventually falls off balance, knocking another guard to the ground in front of the fatal wheels of another car.

The car shakes from the slam of another bike that managed to stay outside my view. A masked creature wields a burst of flame, their arm reeling back. I brake at just the last second, watching the blaze of embers fly off the road. Accelerating, I jerk the drivewheel in retaliation, steering the weight of my car into the wizard's bike. It loses balance, folding in on itself like metal origami as its driver propels forward and splatters on a concrete pot plant, decorating the sidewalk.

“YOU ARE VIOLATING SACRED LAW! PULL OVER OR YOU WILL BE SUBJECT TO EXECUTION!”

I redouble my efforts, shifting to a lower gear and making a steep turn to the left, tires screeching as they leave evidence of my deed behind. I’m not about to pull over; they’re fools to think I’d even consider it. All this hard work would be for nothing if I let myself get killed now. There’s no telling what the future will hold, but I’ll be damn sure I get to see it.

I lead myself down the ramp to Main Street, thankful I haven’t been thrown out by the sheer force behind my speed. A good pat to the jacket, and I sigh in relief. I continue speeding down the busy streets, swerving and ducking each and every way I can. Many more pedestrians of all shapes, sizes, and colors come into view. A few are even recording my reckless driving as it continues to unfold. Swears, gasps, and panicked screams fly away as fast as they come.

I can’t help but look on in awe at the strange architecture by my sides. Almost everything is a deep shade of Crimson red, save for the broken windows, the neon signs popping with color, and the eyes that reside in seemingly random places. Now of all times, I find myself entranced. What was terrifying and confusing to me before had become another part of my daily life.

I jostle and jump in my seat suddenly. My front window darkens as it's splashed with a black, seeping ooze. I wordlessly offer my apologies with a grimace, knowing the poor soul caught underneath the wheel couldn’t accept. Nevertheless, I continue pressing on. Damn sure this escalated from death sentence to whatever eternal punishment is in store for me.

“Oh fuck!” I slam the brakes, nearly turning the front of the car to smithereens.

A traffic jam slowed Main Street to a crawl during the catastrophe. Luckily, I’m given just enough time to slam the clutch and take a detour down an alleyway. Dumpsters full of various junk fly in the air as I make contact, effectively staining my getaway ride with its unmistakable stench.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I’m just about to leave the caller to hang up, but the searing pain in my gut tells me otherwise. Dreading the inevitable, I pick up, primarily focusing on getting away from the chaos.

“Hello-”

“You’re fuckin’ stupider than a bag o’ rocks, you know dat?!” The raspy, accented voice takes all doubt away. “‘Never once botched a job’ my Satan-blessed asscrack! You’re blowin’ up on the news, fuckwad!”

“What?!” My heart stops.

“Yeah, dipshit! You’re written all ovah dis catastrophe! Yous a fuckin’ pathetic excuse for a bounty huntuh, you know dat?! If they don’t kill you, I’ll mount your head on my fuckin’ wall! Enjoy your prize, ‘cause you ain’t livin’ long enough to appreciate it, MORON!”

The call ends. In all my years, I never would’ve thought I’d be the one who got too big for his britches. I’m beyond fucked. Tossing my phone to the passenger seat, I press on to wherever this disaster takes me.

…I’ve lost them, for now. There’ll be people swarming my home, so the idea of a safe house is out of the question. Maybe I can try driving to a different ring? Sinners can’t reside outside of pride, but maybe there’s a slim chance I could. That’s what I have to do. Go to Wrath, find an abandoned shed, and feast on those weird stone-hog things for a little while. Just until I can study this stupid book enough to get the fuck out of here.

Finding my way to a decrepit parking lot, I slowly cruise up the floors, looking each and every direction. On the third floor resides a corner without a single source of light. Bingo.

I park and turn off the car, the engine wheezing from harsh use like a teapot. Undressing my obtrusive jacket, I take a good, long look at the whole reason behind this heist. The pristine purple hard cover book weighs heavy in my hands. On both sides, a moon accompanied by stars lures me in like a siren, carefully crafted to ensure nothing but perfection. The focus etching into my mind brooks no room for unnecessary questions. It bares into me as if it’s a panacea for all my problems--past, present, and future.

The Grimoire of the Ars Goetia. Theoretically, I shouldn’t be able to read a lick of the unimaginable powers that be, willed to existence in the paper via ancient texts. I shake my head, not daring to imagine the complicated history nor the priceless nature of what lies in my fingers.

Without any hesitance, I flip through a few pages, stopping on something random just to see if I can decipher anything to begin with. My irises dart left to right, taking in as much information as possible. It’s but a cacophonous wreck of prehistoric letters and symbols dancing in and around one another.

Until it isn’t.

For just a moment, I couldn’t begin to understand what I was witnessing. The words translating on their own to English forces my breath to hitch.

If what I’ve heard is true, I wasn’t going to get anything out of this… so why did I come all this way? More importantly, why am I suddenly able to read this grimoire?

I stretch and shake my head, revving the car to life once more. Holding the window frame, I lean out the side to check my surroundings, both in and out. The city in the distance carries on as if absolutely nothing of importance just took place. Taking care to be more gentle with the clutch, the car cruises forward undisturbed. The Grimoire finds its home back in the jacket, unseen by any who might be coming this way.

To play it safe, my foot stays steady on the gas at about 100 miles an hour back on the road. The asphalt ahead is riddled with what one can only describe as stuff. Pizza boxes, used condoms, shredded tires, a lanky figure teleporting in front of me.

Wait a minute.

I slam the brakes and honk. At least, that’s what I would’ve done had time not slowed to a crawl. My stomach cartwheels from the alienating sensation of free-fall as the vehicle is effortlessly tossed in the air like a ball.

Cherished memories, forgotten nightmares, and emotional milestones project in my head. For a fleeting second, gravity had been no more. Coming back to the real world, I’m assaulted by ringing eardrums and broken glass. The ground inches closer, thus I hold myself close to brace for impact.

…

Scraping metal, shattering windows, and screeching tires. And then, nothing.

Heated liquid drips down the sides of my face. The frame of my being is unable to decide if it should shake violently or remain still. And everything hurts. The fact I’m able to process any of this means I’m still alive. Thank God.

After what feels like an eternity playing out before me, the world’s clock goes back to ticking away. My lungs finally release air, bringing me back to the full state of consciousness. Against my better judgment, I veer my head to the side, getting a glimpse of the outside world.

A raging purple fire darkens the figure from before. Their clothes wave and dance in the stark winds as they slowly approach, footsteps graceful yet infuriated.

This person draws my attention solely on them, the rest of the realm fading to near pitch black. Their mesmerizing lilac eyes, mimicking the color of the fire, take me to a world of unknown peace; a life of fantasy I can never hope to achieve.

Slowly, more and more details come into view. The sparks popping from her fingertips. Dark grey hair tangoing in the breeze. The heart-stopping dress. And most strikingly, the scowling beak ready to tear me apart. This is the one I was warned about.

Her steps come faster, turning into a speed walk. The sparks in her fingers boom and shatter as she approaches me. Thus, I do only what I can. Close my eyes, hold the book in front of me, and hope for the best.

The chase stops, replaced by a soothing hum from right in front of me. I blink, trying to process the green magic shield conjured by my palm. The Goetian girl’s expression switches from pissed to exasperated in an instant. If anything, I am just as confused. But I don’t let my guard down.

“How-” The woman’s high society voice cracks, taking a shaky step back. “How did you- how are you-”

“I don’t know!” I yell louder than intended. “I don’t know what’s going on. Just take the book and forget this ever happened! J-just don’t kill me!”

The sound of our shaky breaths harmonize with the crackling fire. The mysterious girl’s eyes lock onto mine. I can’t help but stare deeply to get my point across, knowing damn well she had me between a rock and a hard place. Yet, I could look at them forever, and I wouldn’t get bored.

The beak closes, expression replaced only by determination. She raises her arm, magic oozing from her palm as she aims directly at my head. Like a wallop to the face, I’m hit, and the world fades to black.

Chapter Text

“Wake up.” A familiar female voice whispers to me.

“Mmph… five more minutes.”

“Give him the shot.”

Huh?

Something pricks deep in my arm. I jostle and shake, unable to free myself from something holding me down tight. My blood quickly pumps, eyes shooting open to an unfamiliar sight. The grimy, neglected room overwhelms me with stuffy, suffocating heat. The dimly lit place is anything but flattering, riddled with stains and rust all over the floor and chairs.

Interrogation room. Figured as much. Shouldn’t be too much trouble forcing my way out of here; I’ve done this song and dance countless times.

Wait. The heist. The crash. The girl.

My heart drops to my stomach as I recall the disasterpiece from what feels like mere moments ago. This isn’t an ordinary backwater drug house. Is this some kind of execution chamber? A torture room, perhaps? Normally I wouldn’t be phased by such things, but given the series of unfortunate events leading to this point, I’m scared shitless.

“Get your fucking shit together!” The chair, of which I’m securely tied to, rattles violently through a guard’s force.

“Don’t shake him, idiot! Ugh, you’re gonna give him a heart attack!” With clear ears, my face shrinks. It’s the woman from the crash.

“Yes, your highness.” I look behind to confirm my suspicions--the buff hellhound and Goetic princess continue to bicker.

“I told you not to call me that! It makes me feel weird- just let me deal with this, alright? Go!” With a nod, the guard leaves us alone. The girl submerges into the dark to grab another wooden chair, yanking it across the floor before placing herself in front of me. Her look is unreadable--I can’t tell if she’s absolutely assmad or worried.

She probably hasn’t done this kind of thing before. Typical for a stuck-up royal brat. I’m not about to hand her everything I know on a silver platter, whatever it may be.

We stare into one another for a moment. Despite the continuous pain, the princess’s features are clearer than before. She’s somewhat lanky, clearly uncomfortable in the sparkling royal getup. Her features mix in gray and white, from the beak to her fingertips. Strangely, the demeanor isn’t that of a self-righteous elitist. If anything, she’s very reserved; timidly quiet, almost.

“Well?”

I look down, glowing white ropes neatly keeping me at bay.

Yeah, I don’t have the room to mess around. But there has to be some way out of here without getting smited.

“Well… what?” I speak in what I hope is a neutral tone.

“Care to explain why you attempted to steal a Goetic family heirloom, human? I don’t want you sparing any details. You’re going to tell me exactly what I need to know, whether you like it or not.” The shaky sense of authority in her voice forces a chuckle from my lungs.

“What, no ‘tell me your name’? No ‘how the fuck did a human like you end up in Hell’? I should at least know your name if you’re gonna roleplay with this interrogation shtick.”

The girl huffs. “That’s none of your concern. I’m not telling you my name, especially after this trainwreck of a stunt.” Her voice increases in vitriol, but I can’t help but press on.

“You’re not going to give me what I need even if I were to say anything, so I guess we’re even, princess.”

Despite my initial impressions, this is proving to be somewhat fun. Given the previous interrogations I’ve been through, this isn’t even a walk in the park. It’s a comedy. The girl rolls her eyes, pinching her beak.

“Octavia.” I tilt my head curiously as she continues. “Not your highness, not princess, just Octavia.”

“Alright, princess.” I snort.

Octavia groans, attempting to come up with any form of coaxing method in her head. Even if I would never say it, I really like her name. While it would be entertaining to tease the princess more, I still have to find a way out of here.

“Your name.” Octavia’s lips purse.

Just as I’m about to flap my gums, I screech to a halt. Never have I been called anything other than ‘human’ down in these wretched realms. My eyes dart; I’ve got no idea what to respond with.

“I, uh…” I wither off. “You see I- don’t really have one?”

My captor’s eyes pierce deep through me. “Enough with the shit. You don’t expect me to believe you can’t remember your own name?” She scrutinizes me.

“Look lady, I did what I had to. I can’t draw attention.”

Octavia tilts her head, looking at me as if I have an anvil-shaped dent in my brain. “And booking it with MY grimoire in broad daylight for all to see isn’t drawing attention? Are you stupid?”

She’s got me there. For a brief second, I ponder her words, slowly coming to terms with it all. If anything, she’s right on the money--I’ve got nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Everyone in this realm has to know of my buffonery by this point.

“Touche.”

I slump in my bindings. This Octavia chick has me dead to rights, quite literally. Racing thoughts spur through my head, not a single one of them coherent or reasonable.

“I can’t just call you ‘human’ forever, you know.” The owl taps her foot, breaking me out of my trance. She paces slowly, the gears in her head working overdrive as she ruminates. Little whispers and ideas spill from her beak, barely breaking through the cold silence. “Anonymous.”

I shake my head. “What?”

“Anonymous. That’s your new name, for brevity’s sake. You said you wanted to remain discreet, and I can help you with that.”

“But why?” I squint my eyes, hitching my breath. “Why would you even think for a second to help me? I stole your most prized possession and killed your men. You’re not serious about this.”

“I still have something to gain from you.” Octavia raises her eyebrows matter-of-factly. “You forgot that I’m still pissed at you already? Do you think of me to be so stupid that I’d just- let you off the hook? I refuse to be that naive. Now, I suggest you cooperate and listen to what I have to say, lest I take back my mercy and drive you six feet under.”

The words coming from her beak zip my lips faster than a cop can eat a doughnut. With confidence, the princess continues.

“What I want to know, human, is how you were able to use magic without training, let alone at all. And I’m sure you want to know too. So, I’m going to give you this offer here and now. Understand?” I nod, my flapper still taped shut. Octavia circles around me like a snake choking out its prey. “Good. Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m not going to lay a finger on you. You’ll have a safe place to stay outside the palace, even.” She narrows her eyes further. “In return, you will be under my watch and do what I tell you. You’ll stay under my jurisdiction until I figure out the reason behind all this. Deal?”

I’m reluctant to respond. The thought of being at someone’s beck and call so casually isn’t particularly pleasant. On the other end, I’d be trapped here forever, or dead. At least with this, I won’t have to worry about looking over my shoulder every other second. In the end, I never really had a choice.

I sigh with grave hesitance, preparing myself to seal my own fate. I look upward, offering as neutral of an expression I can give.

“Deal.”

“Good.” Octavia plants her foot down. “Let me help you out of these ropes. You must be uncomfortable.”

Tugging glowing gloves on, Octavia meticulously unravels the odd material keeping me restrained. She grips the ropes without any resemblance of pain. Once she finishes, she neatly tucks it back in its place at the corner of the room, leaving me to slowly stand. With a flick of her wrist, Octavia summons the grimoire, gazing into me.

“First, I need to see if your ability tracks anywhere.” She flips through the pages like it’s the back of her hand, gesturing to me.

“Tracks?” I squint.

“It’s a spell that helps identify the root source of your power. If we’re lucky, this problem will be solved in no time, so cross your fingers, Anonymous.” As Octavia carefully moves her hand, I freeze in place.

Guess I’m Anonymous now. Better than human, at least.

“Hold still for me, won’t you?” The avian clutches my shoulder, the magical essence coursing through my veins.

This feels fucking weird. If I had to imagine what taking every psychedelic at once feels like, this would be that times five.

The world becomes a stream of colors and hallucinations without a single thought going through my head. The tingles in my brain feel hilariously funny, yet profound, as if all is right with the universe. But as soon as I’ve come to understand the sensation, it whisks away like a whisper in the night.

“That’s…” Octavia stops dead in her tracks. “I don’t get it.”

I tilt my head. “What’s wrong?”

“Your energy. I can’t sense it.” She enunciates each word carefully.

“Huh? Then how-”

“Everyone has a unique energy to them, whether they possess magic or not. I don’t feel anything, at all.” The revelation sends shivers down my spine.

“I- so- what do we do? I’m not dead or anything. Is it because I’m a human?”

The grip on Octavia’s grimoire increases tenfold, arm shaking.

“No. Even the dead have leftover essence from their past--the origin from which your ability came is not… not normal.” Taking a step back, she looks me down as if I’m a threat. “That simply doesn’t happen. This is far beyond my scope, Anonymous.”

I exhale sharply, taking a step forward, then back. “But-” Scratching my head does nothing to help. “I-”

The shuffling feels more comfortable than the situation at hand. Neither of us have any idea what to say, if anything at all. The ambiance of the room creeps into my skin like a virus poisoning its host as I struggle to find words. Frankly, dying on the spot is a better alternative to the absolute bombshell I wasn’t prepared to face.

“Is there anything we can do?” I finally manage to bring the words to light.

“I don’t know. Can’t say I’m not curious.” Octavia chuckles as light as a feather. “Gonna have to skew through the library to find something. But I have something for you to do first.”

Oh boy.

“You’re lucky my parents aren’t home; they’d fry you like a sootrat the moment they saw you.”

If this were any other situation, I’d have likely melted to the floor in embarrassment. One for the way she chose her words, and two for the ignorance of asking what a ‘sootrat’ is. I’ve heard the term once before, probably some slur. Ha, ha.

“Anon!” I jump out of my skin. Huffing in annoyance, Octavia unlocks the door to reveal a way upstairs. “Come on.”

The way up stretches somewhat long, but not overwhelmingly so. As we continue upward, the perfection of the architecture unveils. With the appropriate time I’m given to gawk, I can’t help but appreciate the flawless paint and otherworldly stone that makes up the estate. By no means am I an interior designer, but damn if it isn’t easy to get lost in the finer things.

“Are you often so distracted?” Octavia waves a hand in front of me, and I almost tumble down to the bottom. “Geez, you really suck at paying attention, don’t you?”

“Uh-”

“As I was saying,” Octavia grits her beak. “Your stuff is upstairs, including your phone. I sent a message including the coordinates to both your safehouse and the other place I need you to go. Imp City isn’t terribly far, and you’re going to go to the Immediate Murder Professionals.”

The fucking huh?

“What now?”

“It’s an assassination company… or something…” Her voice trails off, lacking confidence. Shaking her head, I’m guided up the stairs and into the hall. “I’m going to need you to give me information on someone there. You’ll know who it is the moment you see them.”

“You can’t just tell me who it is?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

She stops mid-step. One could hear a pin drop in the silence that reigns. Clenching her fists, Octavia’s breath shakes, quickly losing any sense of composure. Yet with a newfound determination, she suddenly stands firm, wiping her face before whipping around to face me.

“You will not mention him unless specifically told to. Am I fucking clear?”

The barely restrained rage makes my skin crawl. Christ, if I had known the touchy nature of this, I wouldn’t have dare asked.

“Y-yeah.” I muster.

She turns around, taking me down an endless hallway bathing in bright colors of paint, stained glass, and family photos. At my side, one family portrait draws me in. It looks brand spanking new, save for the torn paint at its edges. Octavia’s standing next to a disturbingly tall white avian with a crooked smile plastered on her beak and another Goetia who I don’t recognize. Everything about who I presume to be the man reeks of smug and sassy. The smirk, the pose, and even down to his God damned pinky held upright with a cup of tea.

I’m getting distracted again. Before I know it, I’m already at the end of the hall. Octavia fiddles with a lock to her door before opening it wide with a disconcertingly neat bedroom on the other side. By the doorstop lies my jacket, the trusty firearm and knife tucked within.

“You know I’m trying to leave this place, right?” I raise my eyelids. She responds with a look of her own.

“You’re not taking the book. People will come for you even if you go back to Earth. End of discussion.” With an accepting hand from her, I retrieve the few things that have kept me alive thus far. “If you’re ready, I’ll open a portal to your safehouse.”

“What, not a fan of my driving skills?” I chuckle, the joke coming across less funny than it sounded.

“I’m most certainly not letting you steal another car. May I remind you how that went last time?” Octavia’s eyelids lower, requesting I shut my cursed mouth.

And so I do.

Just a short moment later, a gleaming purple circle materializes right smack in front of me. The other end leads to a hotel suite of sorts. Much nicer than my old shithole apartment ever was. I step through, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. It’s just the typical overcompensating master suite for the rich.

Butterflies set ablaze in my stomach. Whether from unfamiliarity or anxiety, I can’t quite discern. Stepping back, I see Octavia fiddling with her fingers once more to close the portal, but not before I interject.

“Hey.” She freezes, eyelids rising just enough to convey interest. “...Thank you. For- d-uh, not killing me and all.”

If one looks hard enough, they can see through the microscope the slightest, must subtle form of a smile. Twiddling her lanky fingers, it falls back to the resting disinterest that I’ve somewhat grown accustomed to.

“Yeah, whatever.” Her ears are stuffed with earbuds, blasting a familiar tone of melancholy that I recognize instantly. I snatch the opportunity like an explorer in a golden temple.

“Looks like someone enjoys Cigarettes After Sex a little too much, eh?”

With a scowl, she snaps the portal shut. Worth it.

…

Just as I finish taking the time to get used to my surroundings, I fiddle with my pocket only to feel my heart drop to the ninth circle. The mini heart attack of having lost my phone forces me to release the fated groan of self-deprecation. How could I have been so utterly brain damaged? My phone could be God knows where, but if I’m lucky it’ll be in Octavia’s possession.

I pray she hasn’t viewed my browser history.

Speak of the devil, the phone pops into existence right on the desk next to the bed I’m laying on. In a flash, I snatch the phone and scroll through every open app, praying nothing has changed. With no differences from the last time, I sigh with a world’s worth of relief. But the very next moment, my skeleton attempts to jump out of my own skin from the feeling of a notification buzz.

Octavia: ‘sry almost forgot to give u this’

Octavia: ‘go to the address and take the stairs to the second floor, then the first door to the right’

Octavia: ‘guy i need info ons in there, youll know who it is bc he looks kinda like me’

Octavia: 1488 S FuckKnuckle Blvd’

I choke on my own spit, doing at least 4 double takes. Last I checked, Hell’s street names are exceptionally unremarkable just like Earth’s. Clearly someone didn’t get paid that day. Then again, no one ever gets paid on time down here.

Octavia: ‘youll hear from me soon, youre welcome for healing you btw’

Octavia’s right. I have not one single scratch on my body. For as pitiful and crass as Hell is, she’s already coming off as an outlier. I can’t name anyone who would go out of their way to be kind like that, especially after having something stolen from them.

Against my prior judgment, I’m beginning to believe that Octavia isn’t a selfish twat; quite the opposite. If anything, she’s quite naive for someone in such a high societal ranking. I brush my hair back, wondering just what could cause someone to be such a person. When push comes to shove, I’ll take the first opportunity I can get to ascend back to Earth like a thief in the night, never looking back.

Checking my jacket for remaining ammo, I grumble--no extra magazines. With only 5 bullets to spare, I cock my pistol back to ensure one’s in the chamber. There’s no chance in the universe I’m going to a convenience store to buy ammo. Shots will have to be sparse and concise. Oh well.

Everything’s in order. The easy part’s done, now I have to survive a simple walk to this I.M.P. place. Resting the hood over my head, I curse under my breath. If I had the grimoire with me, I could’ve utilized an easy invisibility spell. Or better yet, get out of this stupid literal hellhole.

Once I’m out of my room and in the elevator, I lean back, distracted by the creaks and screeches of the forgotten machine. Despite the less than ideal situation, I press on through the gaudy lobby, trudging on unnoticed by neither the guests nor staff. My unremarkable appearance has its advantages--I thank the Lord for designing my demeanor to be as average and forgettable as possible. Or, maybe Octavia paid the staff a large enough duffel bag to keep things hush-hush.

-----

Imp City: forever despised and never more than a stopping point for gas. Each step down the sidewalk shows more of its unruly, pathetic nature; it's that of a soot-drenched crackhead writhing in the corner of a grocery store. One never wants to know of their existence, the appearance alone reeks of a lost cause.

Each city block in the early morning is a relic of lost time, ever so still and neglected by all. The only breathing life to be witnessed are the rats and other abominable creatures residing in piles of trash, papers and leaves grazing the ground past. The only similarity to Pentagram City is the occasional billboard or TV screen with untruthful smiles plastered on them, peddling useless junk. If one wasn’t convinced before, this place is a good reminder that God has turned the other cheek, grace forever taken away along with his presence.

Every neon sign is a false promise of something good for the lost and the forlorn. As with all avenues of life, the result shall remain nothing more than a disappointment for those invested in its sales pitch. Whether it be sex, booze, or hardcore drugs, the signs prop them up on a pedestal of self-importance. It all leads to nothing of value in the end.

Everything turns a near pitch black, save for the ominous red pentagram slowly circling in the sky. A power outage had stolen the lights like a whisper in the wind. My heart threatens to explode within my chest, but not out of fear.

As if I had become an apex predator, my senses enhance to an acute, bullseye level. Even with such a feeling, I refrain from approaching the ever so slow encroaching light of the pentagram, weaving through the shadows of buildings. Like before, nothing is within my reach, but this time I know for sure. There isn’t a single waking soul around. It’s an alien level of clarity. Not inner peace, but clear understanding.

There’s always been an affinity for dark areas, but it’s grown ever since I touched that grimoire. In the past, it was comforting and easy to traverse. Now it feels like I can do anything when out of the light. I’ll have to ask Octavia about this.

After a few minutes, the poorly spelt and kept billboard above tells me I’ve arrived at my destination. Once inside, the first floor is liminal and dead silent. Each step forward rings through the hall for what feels like an eternity. It’s as if some eldritch monstrosity will come into existence and maul me to pieces if I walk any louder. The flight of stairs feels the same way until I reach the second floor, in which life is restored in the air. Two offices reside on each side. On the left, the initials ‘V.M.’ are crudely painted on the front doors, the interiors ripe with girly colors and glitter. On the right is a quiet, corporate workspace. Bingo.

Wait… do the others know I’m coming? How am I going to convince them not to shoot me dead on sight? If anything my former client said is true, they’re going to find themselves guilty by association. Bam, bam, splat. It’d be just like that.

I whip out my phone, hurriedly texting Octavia for guidance on what the fuck I should do in this situation.

‘Who do I even ask for? How do I survive, exactly?’

Octavia: ‘ur a bounty hunter, figure it out’

I give a sharp exhale, irritably typing away to vent my frustration with the stupidity of it all.

‘You know, you could just open a portal back to Earth and call it a day if I’m such an annoyance.’

Octavia is typing… looks like I’ve stirred the hornet’s nest a little more than intended.

Octavia: ‘You forget we have a deal. Sorry that I’m not willing to sing Kumbaya after your disaster of a heist. I have my reasons for keeping you here. Like I said, figure it out. Don’t text me until after you’re done.’

Octavia has notifications silenced.

Well isn’t that just peachy. Even has the proper grammar of seriousness to boot. Looks like I’m not getting any help, so I’ll just have to improvise. If I’ve gotten this far, then talking to these guys should be fine.

Here goes nothing.

I gently open the door.