There was polite knock, followed by a polite query from a laconic voice that seemed sinister to anyone else.

"Miss Etna?"

Boing. Etna bounced upright from her casual repose on her Prinny throne, twisting about with a rapacious grin to face her bedroom door and the demon youth she knew stood dwarfed beneath it.

"So! Did it kill 'em?"

"Not yet." Aramis averted his eyes, and the frustration only she was allowed to see creased his brow and edged his words. There were few things he hated as much as answering her with a no when she was expecting a yes; one of those was answering no when he was expecting a yes, also. A temporary setback, but still a setback, and Etna had enough of those without him lengthening the list.

Her smile didn't falter. He knew it wouldn't. But the facts remained unchanged, too.

"Awww..." she drawled, comfort only he was allowed to receive, and shrugged as she furrowed gloved nails into the Prinny's sweat-slick stitches. Boing. Her pigtails bobbed with the motion, and she threw in an encouraging wink that was equally bouncy. "Always next time, and next time's always more fun."

"They say there isn't going to be a next time." his eyes remained lidded, but his voice returned to the inscrutable drone, emotion diving back into the deep of a becalmed sea. "They say they're not Laharl's vassals anymore."

Reports of their deaths couldn't have brought greater delight dancing across her lips. "Oh, really...?"

Just another reason to ridicule the demonized human, besides the fact Prier allowed herself to be ridiculed oh-so-easily. If she had a chest like that, Etna would have been Overlord by now, and Laharl would have been sobbing in a corner sucking his thumb. Or in a lacy maid's dress dusting off her collection of mummy heads. Or---

Instead, Prier was turning tail and running like some Mid-Boss bimbo to an all-you-can-eat. And she was supposed to be legendary?

Only goes to show, T and A has nothing on I and Q. Her tail corkscrewed with amusement. Prier would be legendary, if only one matched the other.

"I sent them to the Sea Of Gehenna for a part, to keep me quiet about the escape." Aramis looked up then, hoping to see some approval at least for that news.

He was richly rewarded. "That's my zombie master."

-+-

Both Prier and Katie had heard the clamor, so their sanity was the last thing suspect; still, by the time the two women reached the summit, whatever had been spitting and scuffling amid the rocks was gone as though it never were. The catgirl sifted the air again, an uncharacteristic, frustrated mewling betraying her unease.

"Myah, how can they not leave a scent behind?"

"If they've even left...whoever they are." Prier's own apprehension led her eyes down and over the camp in another sweep. Watching their unsuspecting allies below, she didn't realize until now how vulnerable they really were. "Let's get back down there."

-+-

"Nnh..." the moisture dripping on the young witch's feverish skin was cool, but it was like tossing water on a skillet. Kali's eyes fluttered open to focus on Culotte as he wrung the cloth tighter, his own eyes brimming with...relief? Worry? Silly human...but cute in his foolishness, and any respectable demon Overlord could care less if she shrivelled up and blew away.

"Kali?"

"Too hot...!" she moaned, fingers curling at her collar.

"You must be studying, to recover so quickly." Palmer chuckled. "Now that there's no chance of you drowning, you can soak yourself until we're done here..."

"I meant Master Culotte." she quipped to the Skull, with a wan smile for him and a wink for the young lord.

Culotte was too grateful to be embarrassed, beaming brightly as his cheeks normally would at the flirtations. "Yep, she's back."

"Culotte!"

The urgency of his sister's voice turned the heads of all in earshot, gathered them to her. "Prier...?"

"Myah, we got company." Katie growled instead, the statement prickled along with her pelt.

Prier nodded grimly. "Something's going on. Let's just be ready for it, okay?"

A shifting of shadow behind her, a rushing chill wind, and Prier suddenly felt a deadly sharpness ready against her throat. Culotte and the others gasped in shock for her.

"Too late." a dry voice replied.

"Nevermore!" crowed a harsh cackle.

Prier grated her teeth. "I knew it."

What they did not know was who now held the Overlord hostage. The wielder of the blade was not a demon. Tall and lissome, neither her masklike face nor her dark eyes betrayed any of the intent behind her weapon. Lustrous wings, black and irised as a raven's, fanned lazily behind her. The bird on her shoulder, feathers matching his mistress's, cawed again.

A third voice, female, rich and mocking, agreed with acid laughter of her own. "Is this the BEST he could do?"

"Of course." the winged one remarked, pressing the blade in ever so slightly. "He doesn't have you anymore."

That voice, Prier recognized. "Marjoly!"

Marjoly calls herself a "space witch", and claims to be the greatest one of all. I'll believe it, since I've never heard of a space witch before...

But yeah, she IS powerful. Laharl ordered Prier alongside him to fight against her, and between the two of them and the rest of us, Marjoly and her castle became his.

Apparently, I'm the only one in the Netherworld who thinks you shouldn't hit girls, unless you're a girl yourself.

...what I've heard about her most is her claim that her beauty puts the Goddess to shame. A lot of the demons at the castle said if they believed in the Goddess, they would agree with that.

Heh, but I mustn't judge people by appearances, right, Sister Alouette?

What I will say is...Father Salade and old man Souiller outside the infirmary would have loved her.

Marjoly escaped from Laharl not long after, so naturally he's been sending out search parties.

Never with Prier in them, though. I think he worried they'd team up.

"Owned you, meow! Owned you, meow!" chanted the tiny felines at the heels of her high, black boots, and for the moment Prier and Culotte forgot their predicament. Chocolats...?

"I assume you must be my replacement?" Again, the haughty amusement, wrenching them back into the situation at hand. "Please. So, Prier, was it? A girl your age with a rack like that? Admit it, darling, how many socks have you got stuffed in there?"

"Wh-what?"

"No, we're--" Culotte tried. At least it wasn't the hips...

"Or is it tissue? That would be handy, for when I send you back to that brat crying in defeat!"

It wasn't the hips, but it was enough. "How'd you like me to wipe that clown paint off your face again?"

"Try," the swordswoman warned coolly, "and I'll be wiping your blood from my blade."

Culotte saw this spectacular missing of the point with his sister replay in many ways, many times before, and the only point Marjoly seemed to have was on her head; but the winged woman had a very good point that might be driven home if it kept on much longer. So he held his hands up, moving between them to buffer the blows from both sides, eyes imploring Prier's captor.

"No! Please listen! We're trying to get away from them, too! Except--"

Marjoly only gaped, exquisite red lips parted slightly. He blundered on, turning then to her.

"--then we sorta got caught...by Aramis, you know him...? And--"

And Marjoly stared still.

"--so we have to find this zombie heart to keep him quiet, and Prier--"

Yep, still staring.

"--I know my sister and I fought you before, but we had no choice--"

Guess.

"...uh, are you all right...?"

She finally blinked.

"Nevermore!" quoth the raven.

Its mistress pressed her long fingers to her temple in agreement. "Geh. She's all wrong."

"Owned her, meow."

"Shoulda known, meow."

"Shut up. You poor things...!"

Culotte suddenly found himself in an embrace that would be comforting were he not suffering a slow, jiggly suffocation. His wings splayed, winding wildly like a broken clockwork. Too much, too fast, too soft!

"And you are...?" she cooed.

The mumbled reply was muffled further. He didn't dare open his mouth more. "C-Culotte!"

"I feel your pain, Culotte." She heaved her bosom dramatically, jouncing him like a cork in the ocean. "That Laharl is such a child."

He couldn't see his sister, but he had a feeling she was grinning wholeheartedly, and not just about Laharl. He could hear Kali's stifled giggling.

"How do you know this isn't still a trap?" Marjoly's winged ally contended tersely, brow arched. As far as she had heard, this Overlord Laharl was a child only in the sense he was too young for even Marjoly. "You're falling for it easily enough."

"Shut up. You weren't there, you have no idea what it was like. Besides, that's why YOU'RE here with that sword. Oh, and let me introduce Crowdia..."

"Charmed." Prier peered tartly at the sword still resting on her neck.

Marjoly winked. "Your sister should be proud of a body like that, why, one day she may even rival me."

That was the next-to-last thing Culotte wanted on his mind.

"Marjoly." Crowdia's resignation grew cautioning. "You have enough troubles without adding theirs in."

Marjoly only sniffed, eyeing the other woman imperiously. "Nonsense. You think that little delinquent is a threat to me?"

"So why are we hiding?"

"Shut up. We're going to teach that brat a lesson he'll never forget. But in the meantime...we can at least help them however we can. It's obvious they need it."

The backhanded kindness was preferable to beheading. Prier nodded, rubbing her neck as the edge was withdrawn at last. "That's the thing. We have to know where to look, first. Do you know how to get to the Underworld?"

Marjoly and Crowdia exchanged glances that confirmed they did not.

"We're not from around here, darling."

"Y'all 'ave ta knows teh be lookin' fer eet, ma'm'selle." a suety voice informed them.

They spun about to see an aging demon, a crazy quilt in his appearance and his outlandish accent. His eyes were concealed by dark glasses that reminded Prier and Culotte of Father Salade, but the heavy luggage he carried beneath them drooped low to his sunken cheeks. A rather ancient-seeming toga, well-worn and yellowed as his sharpened teeth, was accented by a thick, foppish blue ruff around his long neck, tiny gems of many colors glittering from the frills. Thin, translucent slats of some unknown and painfully bright yellow material encircled his arms and calves; and an odd, billed cap, crooked on his powdered wig, was emblazoned with embroidered fishing poles whose lines twisted into the words "SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL HOOKERS". His bare feet were practically shoed in crusted mud.

"Yet, nae un ov ye iz damned. WTF."

"Who...WHAT are you?" Crowdia found her voice first. The stranger's fashion sense made her want to take off her own head.

He doffed his cap theatrically. "Charon, Gatekeeper tae du Underworld, bellus. Ju really want t' ken v'at I am?"

She closed her eyes to his lurid smile. "No."

Prier had her mind on the priorities again at last. "We have business with the Underlord. Will you still take us?" She was already trying to plan a backup should the answer be no.

It was unnecessary. He bent in a clumsy bow. "Nae thing iz vit'out price, und 'specially in d'is business. Like, whut, we gunna turn z'em away for non-payment, eh? Charge d'em a penalty? Ve aren't d'e 'uman government." he finished with a raucous guffaw that sounded much like the Crowdia's bird. "But du," he continued, waggling his finger, "ju 'ave to pay, an' extra. Vous dun belong, and 'tis a two-way trip."

Even a couple of the Prinnies pitched in their pathetic savings. By the time all had donated what they were able or willing, it was a healthy pile in Charon's palm. He chewed his lip as he shrewdly fingered through the coins. "Ah'll take t'ree of vous fo' d'at."

"Only three?" Prier demanded incredulously.

"I said ever't'ing 'as a price. Ah neffer said z'at it vas cheap. Da boat ist small, too, ma'am'selle. V'e di'nae build eet fo' pleasure cruising." The statement left no room for haggling.

The price was still right to Culotte. "I'll go!"

"No." Prier countered, shaking her head resolutely. "One of us has to stay here with the others."

He saw half the wisdom in that, at least. "So why can't it be you?"

"Because I'm older."

"Like that matters after the first hundred years?"

Sometimes I wonder just how much time really has passed back in the human world. So many goodbyes...but we were luckier than most. There are always goodbyes, and they're always hard, but Prier and I were able to choose most of ours, in the end.

Marjoly swooned into another smothering embrace. "So brave!"

"Yeah, Culotte...you're brave, but are you a gentleman?" Prier smirked, reminiscent of Etna in the doing. "Are you really going to leave the rest of the girls and the Prinnies alone out here?"

To think, he was about to argue her bargaining skills next.

"I don't kill people! But I do get revenge..." I think I'd rather she kill me. Now I know Laharl was afraid of these two together...

"Come hide with us, darling." Marjoly urged, practically singing. "You'll keep us safe if they find us, I know."

Palmer chuckled softly. Even a demon could sympathize with Culotte's discomfort, but shows like this were a guilty perk of being their vassal. He wondered if the young lord would ever stop being so polite that he would actually match his sister's aggressiveness in these confrontations. Their Prinny Squad had a betting pool riding on that very question.

"Katie, you and Palmer come with me, okay?" Prier asked rather than ordered, settling the matter.

Oh. Rest of the girls. Right. If Palmer were in Culotte's place, he certainly would argue, if only a little bit. "Yes, Master Prier."

"Myeehee, finally, some REAL fighting!"

"Zo!" Charon pocketed the gold and clapped his hands, "Yer goin' straight tae da top o' d'e bottom, ja?"

The gateway cleaved the ground at their feet like a fresh grave.

-+-

The gate led them to a boat, and the boat was adrift in perdition. Malevolent heat broiled the breath from them; Prier thought the fearsome rusty current Charon guided them over had to be lava, but it reeked of blood. The fetid air itself crawled over them like a live thing, sloughing endless agonies moaned in infinite tongues. That keyed Katie to such a fever pitch she did not resist Palmer's hands tightening on her shoulders, his hooded face pressed to her back, as both vassals wrestled the deadly instinct to jump to escape that was not there.

Prier stared ahead, willing herself to focus only on the Underlord's castle.

If it was called that; it seemed a pyramid turned on its top, brown as old bones, vast enough to be seen from the farthest edges of this land of nightmares. It vaulted impossibly high to vanish into the choking black mass that served as a sky. Monolithic columns at the corners, curved like great fangs, seemed to serve as supports.

She couldn't suppress a shiver as the thought occurred to her the fangs also seemed ready to swallow it down.

Charon was unfazed, even arguing some of the keening wails as he rowed on, in whatever language was necessary. He was either insane, or the sanest of them all.

Somehow, the battered hull bumped land at last, making the grotesque structure looming over them beautiful.

"Don't leave that boat." Prier's hand and tone halted Palmer in mid-step. The Skull lowered his boot back inside the skiff hesitantly, but there was no hesitation in his voice.

"Yes, Master Prier."

"Someone needs to keep our new friend company." She smiled sweetly at Charon.

The old one eyed her cunningly. "Or, sum'un's gotta mash meh in da brainbox if'n I try tae row off'n leave thee, jolie?"

She smiled sweeter still. "That too."

Palmer shifted his staff and sat down, trying to decide whether he was relieved or ready to flail hysterically. "Yes, Master Prier."

Prier gave the Skull a far more genuine smile, then startled with a jump to catch the movement of a message carving itself into the stone beneath her feet.

Abandonnez tout espoir, vous qui entrez ici!

Katie saw the words in the severe script of demons, but the message was the same:

Abandon all hope, you who enter here!

"Some welcome mat."

But enter from where? Close inspection revealed no doors, no hatches, no portals, no hidden switches.

"How do we get in?" Prier asked at last, turning to Charon.

"Search me?" he suggested with suggestive laugh. She pursed her lips sourly.

"Nae, but seriousness. Ah'm jus' z'e boatman, ma'am'selle."

So they searched again. And found nothing again, save the ferryman's amusement. Prier clenched her teeth. She felt like kicking something, only there was nothing to kick that wouldn't lead to broken toes or being stranded.

"Ugh! I give up!"

At that, another portal spun slowly into existence before them, a toothless maw gaping into blackness, as though it was as surprised as they were.

"Bingo! D'at v'ill take you whar du need tae go!" Charon chortled, slapping a knee as he settled next to Palmer.

Prier and Katie were so thrilled to have been the punchline for another joke in the Underworld's ridiculous sense of humor, they didn't stop to consider where the portal led before stepping in.

They found themselves in a circular chamber, featureless and gray save for the darkness of the hallway it narrowed into. The air burned with ice as all outside burned with fire, quickening their steps into the next unknown.

The hall was equally plain, convoluted like the death throes of a snake, and as long as what seemed hours, then days. By the time it ended at heavy iron doors, sweat hung on their skin like the frost hung on their breath.

There was no trick to them, aside from the strength needed to open them.

Abandoning just a little more hope, they swung them wide.

This room was dim, striped with shadows cast by banners of silver and crimson, and was barely noticed. What drew their attention was the wall ahead, where the yellowing ribcage of something massive and long-dead was mounted cracked and spread open; a macabre frame for the figure poised, like a hawk with talons buried in its kill, upon the granite seat before it.

"Huh. Well, well. What have we got here?"The Underlord was not the skeletal, trident-wielding devil of ice and fire pictured in the Holy Book to frighten the faithful. Seedle was decidedly flesh and bone, lean and leonine, his angular frame shrouded in the startling length of his colorless hair. The devil remained, however, in the hard curve of the arrogant smile he wore, cruel as the puckered scar torn across his breast; remained in the derisive, predatory glint of his single eye. The tridents of scripture were massive katanas in reality, crisscrossing his narrow back like razor wings.

There was no foaming three-headed hellhound, either. Instead, a misshapen lump of foul, stained rags huddled at the the side of his high-backed seat of bone and stone, held at the hidden neck by a heavy chain of iron, holding in turn Prier and Katie's ill-concealed interest. The undead. It stirred at its master's voice, lifting bleak, unblinking eyes to them from beneath a matted tangle of sooty forelocks.

Prier's sharp breath caught in her throat.

"Noir." she whispered at last.

His parched lips fell open, dully mouthing the shape of her name, if not the sound. The familiar voice shattered the certainty he was either in the fragile delirium of sleep, or somehow freed from his senses by unexpected madness. He never imagined he would hear it again. But he had sworn to himself he would remember her, the words she had spoken in his final mortal moments.

And if he had anything left, it was a long memory.

With supreme effort, his thoughts struggled from the morass of then to crest into now. Why was she here?

Maybes set his broken nails cracking further against the floor.

He tried to concentrate instead on the certainties beyond her voice, pushing past the scarlet pain that perpetually hazed his vision. Everything else about her had changed. How long it had been, he hadn't the strength to guess; the passage of time in this place was measured only by spans of agony and regret, sadistically ticked off by the Underlord. Her hair had darkened from the careless color he'd known to the color of claret, crowned by spiralling ivory horns; slender, leathery wings mantled the curve of her hips. Demon...? She wore so much black, and the everpresent symbols of faith were nowhere to be found. He vaguely wondered to what extent they'd been lost.

Almost everything; her russet eyes were tinged with a sanguine sheen, but they were still clear and bright, filled with the strength of her beliefs.

Filled with compassion.

So really...nothing had changed after all.

He could no longer bear to meet them, any more than she could meet his.

"Small Underworld, huh?" Seedle rasped, leaning back, deceptively languid. He'd felt the damned's Mana stir, ever so slightly, after all this time it was left locked and guarded from him. "You knew him?"

The fool could have had his own throne and slaves by now, if he'd only use that power in the Underlord's name. Instead, centuries ago, when Seedle tracked the origin of an impressive Mana rise he'd felt in the lowest circles, he'd found this; a scraggly halfbreed, stubborn as a jackass and with the manners of one, refusing to do anything past penance that was useless to him anyway.

There was only one other who ever denied Seedle. That one was out of reach, for the time...so he refined his plans of vengeance on her with the one he already had, shearing away less effective tortures along with lengths of the undead's hide.

Just doing his duty as Underlord.

"I know him." Prier had turned away, but the wretched sight of him was branded into her mind's eye; pity and anger bored into her heart, relentless and volatile. She had prayed so hard for him, for the mother he mourned with his final breath; prayed for him as she prayed for the victims of the Divine Mother's schemes long after the decisive battle softened to memory, prayed when she discovered the true nature of the Prinnies in the Dark World.

He'd understood. She saw it in his eyes then, before they closed forever. But here, in this place, there would never be understanding in return. No reunion with all that had been stolen from him. Even if he hadn't understood it all...

How could Poitreene be so merciless as this?

Croix's cocksure grin flourished across her recollections. She felt nauseous.

"Knew him." Seedle repeated. "The damned haven't got names. Only their sins, and their punishment." he jerked hard at the chain, and Noir buckled listlessly to it. "He's my dog."

Prier tensed at that, and Katie's hackles rose in turn. The Overlord was beginning to smell human again.

"Knew a damned..." the Underlord mused on, "...you must be a bad girl."

"I'm an Overlord. My name is Prier. I can be bad if I have to be." her baton twirled in emphasis, and her lips pressed thin.

He only chuckled at the display, a cold sound like the splattering of mud on stone. "So what do you want? I don't remember inviting you."

"I want him."

"Heh." Seedle slid back into his throne with a humorless smirk. "He's down here for a reason. Tough. Get yourself a new boyfriend. Can't be that hard." the last would have been said with a filthy wink had he both eyes, Prier was certain. She wanted to jab a finger in the remaining one.

"Everything has a price." she echoed Charon's words instead, relenting just once that they may be true, down here. "So what do you want?"

The Underlord rose, shaking away his pale mane; a cobra spreading its hood. He circled casually around her, then again, measuring her with his flinty gaze. "Say please."

Just hearing the word rankled; saying it to him was torture in itself. She never thought there could be worse things than Laharl and Etna. What was with demon lords and power trips? "Please." she uttered finally, crisp and unmistakably insincere.

His breath was hot against her tapered ear abruptly, as he leaned in from behind. "I like it when a bad girl asks nicely."

One hand slid around her waist. The other aimed a bit lower.

Prier leapt back, parting her lips, but the hoarse voice that spat her outrage was not her own.

"Bastard...!"

Seedle reeled with a grunt as the heavy iron chain of his slave's collar was looped and tightened around his own throat. At his back, Noir strained to crush the breath from him with what strength he had, red eyes slit and burning. For once, Prier was too stunned to act.

Seedle was not. His right hand left the chain to grip the hilt of his massive katana, single eye glittering in satisfaction. He was beginning to wonder if there were any nerves left to hit. "Heh...bad dog."

With a powerful wrench, he turned about, driving the blade into the damned with a vicious arc from throat to gut that nearly cleaved him in half. Before Prier could even move, he'd stabbed it through again, twice, three times. Four.

"NOT IN THE HEART!" Katie yowled in dismay.

Prier moved at last, with a boot squarely where Seedle needed it most but expected it least, a Coup de Grace of Coup de Graces. The Underlord hit the opposite wall with a momentum that seemed to rattle the room, then slid to the floor in a tight-curled heap, wrapped by the banners he'd crashed through; Katie's brisk pawfoot in his face guaranteed he stayed there long enough to get the job done. The Elbacky whirled about then to her Overlord, who only stood rooted before the mangled slave as he sprawled in a widening pool of his own innards. Her claws flexed in anticipation of orders to do the dirty work.

"Let's get it and get out!" her tail lashed with the snap of the demand.

How can he die again...?

He should have died. He couldn't. Undead...Prier watched in horror as Noir twisted his ruined neck to focus bleary eyes on her, their color draining away with his lifeblood. "Prier..."

"Just be quiet. You're coming with us." she grabbed up the slack of the chain and pulled it taut experimentally, cursing when it did not give way to her best efforts. "Katie, come here."

"What?"

"...Prier." the faint croak curdled in his ragged lungs. "...only he can break the chain. ...get out."

Prier scowled down, then across to Seedle. She stomped over to the unconscious Underlord, yanked the katana from his grip. "Since when did I ever listen to you?"

She slashed down on the chain with such force it showered sparks as it scattered links.

"See? He broke it."

The sword clattered back to Seedle's side as she gently lifted Noir up, cringing at his agonized gasps of protest, cringing at the surge of fresh blood soaking them both and the wounds it gushed from. But now couldn't be the time for too much gentleness. "Katie, come on."

"We're taking the WHOLE THING?"

"COME ON!"

-+-

The hallway had transformed, undulating in directions neither women recalled on their way up. Whether it was just the nature of this surreal place or Seedle's influence, they couldn't guess. They only knew not to look back.

He should have been bled white by now, Prier realized with revulsion as Noir shuddered mutely in her arms, his sightless eyes glassed over to the color of milk. But still the dark fountain flowed, through a splintered lattice of pink-stained bone, pumped by the uneven thudding of a heart that had been shred apart.

The boat, soon as we're back on the boat...

She turned the next corner too sharply, bleating as she was sent skidding on the gore that had seeped to her boots. Her heels arced into the air, and her nails clamped in reflexively. She shared his scream as her shock sent him rolling away in a visceral spray. His entire body steamed from the frostbitten air meeting his ravaged raw flesh as he writhed on the floor, jerking limbs like a dying spider.

She couldn't take it anymore. He shouldn't take it anymore.

"Shh." she tried to soothe, knowing words were useless even as she carefully coaxed him to his back. "I'm going to heal you now, okay? ...even if you can't die, you're making a mess out of us both, and you're leaving a red carpet for him to follow." The explanation was more for Katie's benefit than his. Prier needed no other reasons.

The unintelligible groans of resistance burst to a sharp cry as her palms pressed against his chest.

Was it still a miracle, when performed by a demon? That was a question she had decided required no answer. It still worked.

Katie stalked about warily as her Overlord bowed low over the slave and shivered with the effort of pulling him together. It was times like this Prier stunk entirely of human. The Elbacky's breath came in short, irritable rumbles. So much for asking if she could eat the leftovers.

Prier crumpled as he stirred with her borrowed strength, and all he did was try to push away from her.

"...leave me...!"

"Shut up." She settled against him, immovable, exhausted. Just the whisper made her vision lurch and recede. He'd fought the healing. He'd resisted enough it took nearly all she had to do it anyway. Stupid, stubborn...what was he trying to prove again?

She would make sure she got an explanation back in the land of the living.

"Katie...? ...you're going to...have to carry us both...for now..."

The quick escape on swift pawfeet was stretched by a long ranting lecture on how a heart and an Overlord would have been a lot easier to carry, and how Prier wouldn't have needed to heal a heart in the first place.

Finally, the end was in sight, then beneath the Elbacky's anxious steps. The round room that had ushered them into this disaster was unchanged, but for one thing.

Where was the portal?

Katie had no hope, that was sure, just a stupid human for an Overlord and a stolen slave that smelled as though he'd been licked by a Yggdrasil. No, no hope at all. Hello, no hope!

So where was it?

Abandon hope, you who enter here!

Enter. She paced, movements growing mad and madder with every step, lips peeling back over her fangs with desperate staccato hisses.

What about exit?

-+-

"Yeh sure thou ain't 'iding naught else unner z'at hood?"

Palmer chuckled, laying his cards face-up between the stacked gold he'd accumulated. "Just my brain."

"S'truth, d'at's v'at ah git f' playing a body wiv z'e poker-face built in." Charon threw up his hands, his own cards scattering and sizzing into the seething tide below them. "I'm out!"

And so was Katie, shot out in a screeching blur as the boatman's sentiment reopened the gate. "GO! GO! GO!" she howled, spearing eardrums and nearly capsizing the shabby little vessel as she dove in.

Palmer startled as a third party was dumped, limp and facedown, in his lap. "That's the undead...?"

"'ere, 'ere! Fare wast fer three! Trois! Un of yer out!" Charon fairly jigged in indignation, oar held aloft to do anything but cast off.

"NO..." Prier breathed.

"I'll row back myself, and use you for the paddle!" the Elbacky roared in retort, eyes wild.

"Katie." Palmer's grip tightened on Noir's shoulders as Charon seized them. "Call this your wager instead?"

The ferryman paused, then needle teeth seemed to split his face in half.

"LOL."

-+-

Charon's part of the escape was as ponderously slow as his part in their arrival. When they emerged once more, Prier and Noir were both on their feet again; but so was someone else.

"You! You're the Gatekeeper, how could you let him leave?"

Seedle was ready this time, both katanas angled toward the trio. Charon clucked his tongue, unimpressed.

"Tch. 'course ah knows v'ut ah am, y' silly bastid. Ah ferry lost souls onna un-vay trip, aye? But d'is'uns bin found. Capice? Habla? Eh-an-dre-com-prend-ve? Verstechen sie, samurai-boy?" he finished up by a complicated signing with his bony fingers, then a much simpler gesture with just the index one. Before the Underlord could react, Charon vanished like mist rising off the morning tide, still leering behind the single-digit salute.

"I'll take you back myself, then." Seedle turned to the party with a slow, murderous smile that mirrored the sharpness of the blades he flashed. "You're mortal again, up here. I'll remind you of what it's like to die, dog. Your bitch won't save you this time."

Noir staggered forward, fists clenched. Prier recognized the formidable aura that pulsed from him like a physical force, seeming to magnify him; she'd felt it when he first took his demon form. But it was as unsteady as his step. He was still too weak...like her...

So she tried to puff up as well, pointing her baton at the Underlord. "You keep this up, you're gonna have to spit to pee, creep!"

"I will not be your servant." Noir's wheeze steadied to a snarl. "And you will not touch her again."

"That bitch is MY vassal."

"So, set your sight lower, cyclops...unless you want to be the bitch next. ♥"

Prier would never have believed she could feel relief hearing those bratty voices. Laharl and Etna appeared at the cliffs above them, and with them, the army she and Culotte had dreaded.

"Prier!" Culotte appeared then too, rushing down the sloping rocks behind. She didn't see Crowdia or Marjoly, but the number of vassals following behind her brother had increased by almost half.

She triumphantly turned back to Seedle, and her baton's spin took on an exultant energy.

Seedle's own smile broadened as he tested the flow of power positioning against him. The fools thought they were strong because they were Overlords. Too thick to realize he was the Underlord of a realm that encompassed all their sorry souls.

Let them believe it for now, he decided. That much sweeter when they find out differently.

He sheathed his blades, but his teeth remained bared. "Heh. I'll see you all again...one way or another."

A void yawned around him, and then he was swallowed from sight.

Laharl seemed to believe it, all right, preening smugly as though his presence alone had made Seedle crap himself and run for fresh pants. What the young Overlord really couldn't believe was Prier, his smirk quickly shifting to scorn. "What were you doing, pissing off the Underlord too?"

Any sort of grudging gratitude she was about to admit died on her lips. Culotte was too stunned in recognizing the "undead" to point out the gift horse and mouth.

Aramis answered for her instead, emerging from Laharl's crowded troops. "They went to get a part for my zombie." His stolid gaze seemed to size up Noir for the choicest cuts. "From this undead. They owe me."

"You sold us out!" Prier rejoined hotly, more than willing to deliver his own heart to him.

"I told you I wouldn't tell Laharl. And I didn't."

"He told me." Etna cheerfully volunteered.

"But...he's not a zombie! You can't!" Flonne cupped her mouth as her rounded eyes froze on Noir. This was another time she had very little idea of what the demons were up to, but some things were obvious. One of the most obvious was that Etna really, really scared her now.

"He will be when Aramis is done. Besides, they promised." Etna replied smugly. She wondered how far that delicate jaw could drop before her tongue mopped the ground. "What about keeping your word, you noble little Celestian assassin, you?"

"I-I...well..."

"He's damned anyway. I thought they were supposed to suffer."

"W-well...!"

"You aren't touching him, you sick little monster!" Prier bellowed, ready to add punctuation marks with her baton.

Laharl rolled his eyes. The Love Freak was unarmed in a battle of wits. Normally, he'd gloat over it, and join in...but there was something much more important at stake than the skinny stack of rags Prier hovered over like a harpy. He glowered to Etna and her unnerving groupie. "The hell they owe you. Who died and made you two Overlords?"

Etna's smile was honey, her voice a sting. "No one, yet. ♥"

He expected no less. "Hmhm. Except I'M the Overlord now. And I'm ordering both of you to leave them alone. You wouldn't accept me as Overlord if I didn't catch your damn zombies? Fine. I won't accept you as vassals if I hear you chopped out that--" he paused, nose wrinkling as he pointed to Noir, "--thing's heart. Or anything else. Understand?"

"Prince...!"

"It's half-human anyway, Miss Etna." Aramis's interruption was cold as he regarded prince and damned with meaningful disdain. "I wanted something strong."

Noir returned the bitter stare.

--+--

I still can't believe the "powerful undead" Aramis wanted was Noir. I can believe Prier went through so much to take him anyway, though. Even after everything that happened...even I'd hoped Poitreene allowed him to rest with his mother. And seeing this...how could She be so cruel...? Sister Alouette...maybe I have more questions than I want to. I hope you can forgive me, if the Goddess can't...but I have to ask them.

Marjoly said she knew I wanted to gain more power to help her against Laharl and be her hero, and that she would wait no matter how long it took. ...uh, okay. Now I think I might understand how Croix felt...

She gave us five of her vassals to help, then moved on to regain her own castle. I guess I can at least give her what she wanted when she said to not miss her...

Arale Soroban is a Great Trader. The Traders are a funny class, down here; they live for the numbers, and everything is the business of furthering their boss. They're bred and raised at a place they call a Firm, and only Traders with outstanding records are allowed to continue their family lines. They also only stay loyal until they find a better boss, so I doubt she's going to be here long.

Callador was one of her cooks. I'm afraid to see what happens when he and Prier both want to make the next meal...or when he tastes what she burns.

Ulli is a mercenary. Jack of all trades, master of none. "Demon mercenary" seems to be asking for double trouble, but he seems nice enough. Can't be any worse than the vassals who deserted us for Laharl.

Katsuo is a Hell-Kitty; in other words, a Katie in-training. Like we needed more than her...at least he seems a lot less prone to beat me up.

Nazarov is a mechanic. He's pretty upset she turned him over to Overlords who don't even have machines to fix.

Laharl relented that Prier had won our freedom; at least, he said he didn't want a lunatic in his Castle. So, here we are...a fresh start, in more ways than one.

I never thought anyone down here would think of love, let alone think of loving me. I...was actually glad of that. I don't want to have something else I could lose. Even if I wasn't afraid, I...

...I remember you, Sister Alouette. No matter how old I get down here, I always will.

And even though you just thought of me as a little brother...I think I understand how Croix felt about that, too.

"Of course I know what I did." Prier's mouth tightened to an irritated line as they trooped back to whatever remained of their encampment. "Do I look stupid to you still?"

Noir flinched, thoughts disjointed and writhing. He could barely comprehend yet what happened himself, let alone debate the philosophy she'd hated. He barely remembered what it was like to speak to another without the conversation ending in his screams.

He only knew this time...she had done something she should not have done.

Her voice softened, but her tone did not. "Do you really think I give a damn about what's supposed to be right and wrong when I see something like that? Did I ever?"

"I... ...thank you." he exhaled instead.

Both knew that wasn't the entire truth, but for what truth was there, his voice held a note she'd never heard from him in life. Her eyes clouded.

"Don't thank me." Another frown; not at him, now, but at herself. "I was the one who put you there, remember?"

For him, those memories were an anguish he felt compelled to contemplate, though Seedle's attentions were kinder by far. For her...he shook his head. "...I put myself there." he corrected. "No prayers can repent for me...no matter how selfless."

She stopped, and the storm behind her stare was wholly for him now. "If you're going to start arguing with me again, I swear I'm going to make you think that pervert Underlord was a schoolboy!"

"Uh, Prier, didn't you just save him from that kind of thing?" Culotte admonished, hoping this once her eruptive energies would be diverted to him.

Polar opposites, he said.

Prier already forgot the gore that was thick on both of them. Or maybe she was just trying to. I'm not sure if I even want to know. But it must have been something...I haven't seen that look on her face in a long time.

The last time it was because of Noir. Now...

...I don't think any of us know what to think.

"Prier...?"

"Grr...what NOW, NOIR?"

"...you can put me down now."

"Oh." The chances grasping zombie hands would scrabble from the earth for his ankles any longer were slim, if that. "Good! You bled on me enough!"

The vassals spread out around the scattered bedrolls, eager for the chance to sit now, and especially grateful for the chance to get downwind of the Overlord's pungent new pet.

He wasn't the only one who needed the spring. Prier was stiff with his assorted juices, and she itched from Seedle's sleazy touch. But for now, it was all she could do was ooze to the ground and sit. If the vassals wanted to hold their collective breath until they passed out, more power to them. "That's the last time you do that, you hear me?"

"Now she sounds like EVERYONE'S mother." her brother muttered. Noir stiffened as though struck. Culotte's wide eyes flew to his, immediately realizing and regretting.

"I...I'm sorry..." he stammered, wishing he was choking on his tongue instead.

"She could be down here now. Or there." Noir whispered rather than replying, the hardening of his weary eyes belied by the tremor behind the words. He felt the blade pierce his heart again, twist and hold. That was still less agony. "...damned in death for loving a demon, even as she had been in life."

Did he only mean his father, or himself too? The young demon lord scrutinized his boots in shame, with no idea of what to say, if he should even say anything further.

"Love won't put you down here." Palmer murmured with a dismissive wave of his hand, tone blank as the sewn-on smile of his hood. "That's human talk. We just don't hold with that emotion in the Netherworlds." he reached down to coax flames from the spent woodpile with his magic. "Sounds like...you've seen why..."

Silence was the only answer the man would return, drooping his head until his haggard face was veiled beneath his hair. Strange that the vulnerability he had protected under torment for so long should tumble from him so capriciously now. His head throbbed.

What had Prier's impulsive mercy cost her?

Palmer shrugged, nonplussed. "It's what you do for it that'll get you down here. Or lower."

Kali plopped alongside Culotte with a giggle. "And then what good does it do?"

"But...what about Laharl's...?" Culotte blurted, then instantly sagged into his high collar like a turtle seeking solace in its shell. Kali's snickering was aimed at him now, and the young lord was keenly aware of it.

If three's the charm, I'll be dead of foot-in-mouth next time.

"Only example I've heard of that, Master." the Skull continued, considerately ignoring his lord's reddening cheeks and wriggling. "See where it ended, too..."

"We're cool with lust!" Kali grinned with a wink.

"'ells yea!" Ulli enthused, displaying broken fangs. "Try it once, yer ain't nevah goin' back!"

"Eh-hah..." Culotte was almost relieved when the attention briefly shifted to Noir, as the tall man abruptly ducked away into the darkness beyond the camp.

Being with Palmer and the others, it's really easy to forget they're demons most times. When they remind me, though, it usually keeps me up a couple nights.

Callador heaved a massive breath, fanning the air. "Damn, but that one stinks like zombie, at least."

"Marriages down here are business arrangements. 'til in the red do you part. You humans are walking liabilities...I don't even want to get into your idea of courtship...what you spend on a dress could run a commoner household for half a year...and those honeymoon things...!" Arale's eyes widened further and further still the longer she spoke; but then she shuddered hard in distaste, squeezing them shut before they popped out. "Ack. Marriages are still rare down here. Best left to Overlords who are somewhat less than strong alone, and Traders who can write a lot of fine print."

There was a very pregnant pause.

"Overlord Prier, Overlord Culotte, do you need me to scout for suitable matches, perhaps? Overlord Culotte, your choice, of course, is obvious."

"I'm going to go check on Noir." Prier leapt to her feet, and Katie's screech as the Overlord dug a heel into her tail on the way out ended the discussion.

Remember when she said I was only good for carrying luggage, Sister Alouette?

"Overlord Culotte needs to sow some Makai grass first." Kali poked her tongue between her teeth mischievously, leaning over to nudge an elbow in his churning stomach.

He didn't quite know how to thank her for that rescue.

-+-

He would have to pick the high rocks where the Nyankos had hidden. Prier felt the creeping cold sweat of exertion return as she clambered toward the stained rags fluttering high above.

"Don't wander off too far! I don't want to have to go through all that again to get you back!"

The barest shifting of his unkempt hair was all the recognition he gave her as she dragged herself over the top.

"...Noir...?"

Her labored panting was the only sound until he heard it slow and soften. "...yes?"

"...I'm sure...she's not down here." she assured quietly. She wished she could feel as confident as she tried to sound.

He wordlessly searched the swirls of ash roiling in the void overhead, face unreadable even if she had found the courage to look. In his long years, he had never understood how the gods could be called merciful when they did not allow a beloved one who had gone on to speak with those left behind, even a little, if only once.

--+--------+--

After he came to himself again amid the scoured ruins of his village, there was nothing he would not have given the gods to hear just one whisper of his mother's voice in his heart; just one that was not merely the desperate echo of a memory. His faith, his soul, his life, whatever, however. Just one whisper, just one word, telling him she was safe. He prayed to the Goddess; how he prayed. He even prayed forgiveness for his rage that had taken her murderers, though he felt no remorse for them. He begged in tears until he had none left to shed, then begged again. His heart continued to scream helplessly when his throat grew too raw to give it voice.

Only silence, terrible, final silence, met him; and the memories were drowned by his anguish, his guilt, and his fury.

Did the Goddess hate him now? Did his mother?

Or was he just alone?

The demons had come then; having felt a release of power so potent it had torn a Gate between worlds, they were seeking its source, be it opponent or opportunity. When they found such might in such a tiny, shaking form, they openly considered killing the terrified child on the spot for the human blood they could smell in him.

Instead they asked him, with jagged smiles, what had happened.

--+--

The shocking news of Sister Aime's pregnancy out of wedlock quickly became the favorite feed for the matriarchal old hens of Emaner. Even girls in the service of the Goddess got in trouble; not praying enough or praying for the wrong things, they sniffed, bemoaning the decline of the Church and civilization this surely heralded. Rumors that the father was anyone from old Father Miel to the unhappily-married Mooboo rancher in the neighboring town were scattered daily and hungrily pecked up.

Aime answered the rare direct questions about his identity, subtle or blunt, with the same smiling eyes and enigmatic reply. "He's the man I love."

Whoever he was, he never returned to her; and somehow, as their child grew within her, the village gossip grew protective of the girl. Surely proof of the devotion the Goddess prays for, they sniffed, wiping away pious tears with their aprons. No matter the young men who blushingly proposed to do the honorable thing in his stead, she was only for her unnamed beloved. Bachelors at the tavern alternately wept into their ale over how lucky that man was, or beat their mugs against the counter cursing him as a motherless scum of a fool for abandoning such a sweet angel.

Aime had known from the start he could never truly stay with her. That was part of a secret she held more carefully than his name.

-+-

The Tenjin had long since gone to dust in those days, but there were still many who fearfully or opportunistically worshipped the shadows of their skyborn kingdom; Calamity had spoken far more eloquently through their sacrifices than Poitreene had through the sermons of Her own followers.

The landbound nations continued the fighting that had ended the Tenjin, never realizing the lesson they left behind.

Aime had been among the many Sisters of Poitreene struggling to staunch the mortal wounds of a holy war. Eglise had been a fair city of vining flowers and bells said to sing with the voice of the Bright Goddess; the fighting with their northern neighbors in Royaume gutted it to a stark wormwork of mud and blood.

Even then, she did not know the name of the man she would come to love, at first. To many among the battered ranks of Eglise, he was La Equilibre, turner of the tides in many battles. He was a simple soldier who came to them from the farmlands with a simple wish for peace, and a consummate skill in healing that was worth far more than his meager knowledge of swordplay.

He guarded the lives of the Sisters as they fought to save others on the field of battle with medicines and his magic. Aime tended the injuries he bore in their defense.

The eternal rain over the devastation seemed the Goddess's tears as Her dark Sister plowed a poisonous harvest of hate and fear. But Poitreene also sowed seeds of Her own, and amid the ruthless thorns Aime and La Equilibre slowly twined together toward the sun.

It was then he confessed himself to her. Those sensitive hands--which had spared so much pain and saved so many lives--disguised the claws of a demon. Red eyes searched her own, and it was then he confessed his love.

The revelation of his true form meant nothing to her. In the long years of conflict, of the demons and angels within her own kind, she had learned the lesson the Tenjin left behind. She held those hands close, and smiled into those crimson eyes.

Amid the ruthless thorns, Aime and La Equilibre bloomed as one of the Bright Lady's most beautiful roses.

-+-

When Aime's time came, Mother Piete was unnerved by a terrible dread as she delivered the child into the world; the infant's tiny wails as his mouth was cleared made her shake so badly she nearly dropped him. The very real warmth as Aime took her son to her breast for the first time could not erase the awful coldness that chilled the older woman to the marrow.

Aime named the babe Noir for the striking color of his eyes, and the whisps of hair that promised to match them. Born in the human world, the child showed none of his demon heritage, only a tender blend of his parents' features and his father's thoughtful gaze. Father Miel would hear none of Piete's private concerns, and made a great game of fussing and tickling the infant to squealing like a proud grandfather. He did, however, take her counsel that Aime be given leave of her duties to raise the child, and moved the young mother into his scarce-used chateau.

As Noir grew, Piete came to wonder what devil's madness had overwhelmed her at his birth. A clever, well-mannered child, he had a sweet voice that only rose when he sang the praises of the Goddess in services. He seemed best at ease around his elders and the mysteries of the Father's extensive, dusty library; he was not an unfriendly boy, but the rambunctious children in the village were bored easily with dreaming and not doing, just as he was bored with doing and not dreaming. Father Miel speculated quietly Noir may succeed him one day. Mother Piete chuckled that the youth already had the old man's same lazy life of books, except Noir actually read them.

-+-

"Maman...was Papa a...a bad man?" the ten-year-old finally managed the courage to ask, even if he did so hiding beneath his tousled bangs as though he'd just uttered a vulgar word.

Aime had to smile; the old rumors must have sprung anew in the children, planted by their parents. She knelt down to ease her son, but his chin only dug further into his chest. "No, Noir. He was a fine, proud man."

"Why did he go away?" he whispered then; unable to stop himself, hating himself for the sadness he knew would shadow his mother's eyes at the question. He bit his lip hard.

Sadness she knew her son shared, yet he thought most for hers. She drew him in close. "Sometimes, we can't always be with those we love in the way we would like best." she smoothed his unruly hair back to meet his eyes at last. "But never doubt that he does love us both."

One day, he would know the truth entirely. The secret was hardest kept from her beloved child, who seemed so much more like his father each passing year. But he had to know himself, first; the shape his spirit gave him, rather than his blood. He, too, needed to learn the lesson she once had.

She had no doubt that he would.

Noir gripped at the hem of her skirt, hiding his face in its pleats instead. He knew his mother was right; life was not always kind in Emaner, and he had already been called upon the last winter to sing a funeral lamentation. He felt sorrow for all the pain he saw then, behind black veils and beneath black-ribboned hatbrims; he sang for it over their cries, but he never wanted to know it.

Aime's soft caress at the nape of his neck soothed the question she knew he left unspoken. "Those that you love never leave your heart, Noir. You are part of one another." she coaxed him to look up, coaxed a tremulous smile from him with her own. "My heart is yours. Your heart is mine. Right?"

The boy answered with a tight hug.

-+-

Unlike Father Miel, Noir was given to seek his solitude outdoors, in the forests further up the mountain his mother had raised him to love. Summertime the next year, solace was proving to be a difficult commodity, though; for somehow, he had caught the curiosity of one of the other village boys.

Crouton, the smith's son, was almost his age, but it seemed to Noir he asked at least twice the questions the older boy ever had.

"Wanna climb a tree?" Crouton repeated, rocking on his folded legs before springing to his feet and wandering the small clearing. Noir had lost count of how many times he'd been asked. He shook his head, turning another page in the book he'd chosen for the day. His climbing a tree couldn't possibly match the adventures of saints and heroes.

"Well, I do." the other boy hopped. Noir was nearly as sour-faced as his father after a day over the anvil. "How can you learn everything if you don't learn how to play?"

"In a little bit." Noir murmured, not noticing the other boy had already shed his jacket and was clambering up the nearest trunk.

Moments later Crouton tumbled back down with a cry, blanched and transfixed in terror by the branches overhead.

Yellow eyes like frozen flames burned down on the boys. The hellish beast behind that killer's stare crouched low with a hiss, then leapt as they screamed.

Noir could not describe what happened next, even if he had wanted to recall it. A slipping of his very soul, and then blackness took him. Flashes of heat, the sharpness fangs and talons, the salt of blood, hideous snarls.

When the sunlight slanting through the trees led him back to the waking world, he found himself alone. There was no sign of Crouton, and the monster had been savaged and scattered to grisly pulp across the meadow. His pallid face and hands were smeared with its blood, although his clothes were clean save for the skidding of grass. A foul bile clung in his mouth, and an awful heaviness pressed in his chest. The birds had all fled, or hid in silence.

Stumbling between the trees, the older boy could tell his companion had crashed heedlessly back down the path to the village; a shoe here, a bit of cloth the brambles snagged there. He breathed relief to see Crouton huddled among his usual cohorts in the square, then ran back up the mountainside to the spring. He felt unclean within and without, and what he retched at the water's edge was not breakfast, only sickening him further.

Crouton did not seek him again, nor did it seem he told anyone whatever he saw. Noir returned to the chateau, and did not leave.

Piete fretted the child was becoming ill, so suddenly aimless he had become, but careful examination proved his faint assurances that he was not were true. His mother tried gently to share the secret burden of his heart, but he buried it deeper still. It was not a weight she should bear.

Instead, time not spent on chores was spent shut in his room, hands clenched white in prayer.

Was it the work of the Goddess, to save them? It did not feel like the miraculous strength of the saints and heroes of legend. It felt like the mindless brutality of the evil they battled.

The Fallen, then? He choked back a whimper, and the bloodless fingers ground into his forehead.

His mother and Father Miel had taught him even in the darkest hearts there flickered light, and even the lightest hearts cast a shadow.

But what was in his?

Crouton's fear hurt, but Noir felt it himself.

The morning of the third day, Noir somehow remembered the book he'd borrowed from the Father; he'd left it up there, in the fateful clearing. Willing his fears to a corner of his mind, he concentrated instead on his responsibilities. While the sun sank into dusk, when none would notice him, he numbly retraced his steps into the forest quickly as his legs would allow.

The lingering stench of death nearly buckled him into the grass as he arrived. He tried to ignore the cloying reek, and see nothing except the book he had come to reclaim. It lay where it was thrown when he dashed to Crouton's side; he sank down as he picked it up, trembling as he wiped at the dew-wrinkled pages. He almost wished the boy was there annoying him again.

"Demon!"

Strong hands dug into his shoulders, threw him back and pinned him. His head swam as he tried to focus past the stars winking behind his eyes to the scowling faces looming above them. It was Crouton, and his friends; the eldest at eighteen and the biggest, Moutarde, was the one crushing him down, while brothers Pepin and Miche clutched at knives swiped from their mother's kitchen. Crouton danced in agitation behind them, questions clearly answered at last.

"Show yourself!" Pepin's blade flashed across his cheek, close enough he could feel the chill of the metal over the hot breath of the demand.

"I'm not...!" he gasped. The sharp edge pressed a thin line of blood from his jaw, insisting otherwise.

"You are!" Crouton cried out, pointing to the foul decay and fragmented bones scattered at their feet. "You are, you are! I watched you!"

"I tell you, we have to warn the Father." Miche urged with a hushed voice, flinching to follow the younger boy's gestures. "The witch is probably planning to kill us all."

Noir stopped squirming to stare in horror. Moutarde felt him shake harder, and locked grim eyes on his.

"Confess, devil. Confess before you and your mother return to the fires of Hell!"

A piercing howl answered him.

When awareness returned this time, Noir's hands were crusted with gore and clawing deep into Moutarde's quivering remains. Staggering back in a whirl of revulsion, he saw the others dead; all save Miche. That one gibbered and scrambled away as the child's agonized eyes fell on him.

Noir ran then, too; frantically, mind empty of all thoughts save one.

"M-Maman!"

Aime could only rush to her son agape as he stood paralyzed and bloodied in the doorway. "Noir! What did this to you?"

"Th-th-they tried...M-maman, they...they want to hurt you, Maman, you have to run!"

She pressed him close as shrieks and furious shouts erupted outside.

"Demon!"

"Murderer!"

Neighbors who had smiled at her at market, sang with her and Noir at church, and blushed with offers of marriage became ghoulish distortions in flickering torchlight, twisted with fear and hate, shadowed by pitchforks and spears meant for her shaking child. Clutching Noir's hand, Aime stepped out to the street; she then stepped forward to shield him, arms spread. "Wait! Please! He was just trying to protect himself!"

"That's a lie!" Miche shouted; the shame of fleeing the hellspawn that butchered his brother gave him a vengeful courage now. "I saw everything! He turned into a demon! She's a witch!"

"He killed my son and his friends!" Volonte roared. The blacksmith was a massive man, and the spear he brandished was one of his deadliest works. "That's all I need to know!"

"Death to the demon!"

"Death to the demon's mother!"

Aime's eyes did not leave them, but she stepped back a pace as they advanced, whispering calmly over her fear. "Noir...you must escape."

He shook his head wildly, seizing her skirts. "Maman...!"

"Remember, Noir...just as there are good and bad people, there are good and bad demons." she blinked hard, wondering if he ever could forgive her. "Your father was a demon. But he was a fine, proud man. Never be ashamed of your powers."

She looked down to him then, with the same tender smile that had comforted him so often. "Noir...be a good boy."

Volonte's spear left no time for more. The young mother was past hearing her son's screams as she slid to the cobblestones, past feeling his arms around her neck.

"Yes! We killed the witch!"

"Next is the demon child!"

"Kill the demon child!"

The heat of her blood seemed to immolate him.

Father Miel and Mother Piete remained silent behind the locked doors of the Goddess. Poitreene's will was absolute in such a tragedy; they would not question Her judgment. They would only pray mercy for the poor girl.

Neither of them could know their own judgment was on them, on all of Emaner, with a consuming surge of darkness and a child's sobbing shriek.

--+--

The demons knew nothing about his father, the fine, proud man that he never knew; though out of earshot, it was their opinion he was a perversion best off dead. They led the child into their world, and there he stayed for centuries.

They hoped he would become the Dark Prince of fearful history, Noir realized, as they carefully trained him in the limits of his powers. He already knew that could not be possible.

Only the Fallen could have driven the mindless hunger of that demon in the clearing, just as only Poitreene could have guided the barbarous villagers with their righteous judgment. He hated them all, as he hated himself for losing his mother's life in their pitiless game.

His hellish guardians only saw what they wanted to see, and that was what he showed them, feigned behind an obedient smile. He allowed them to believe he was part their of designs, all the while spinning a far grander pattern of his own. By the time the demons saw he was not their fated harbinger, he had surpassed their teachings, and none of them could ever hope to kill him for a halfblood again, had they wished. Instead they followed him, so occupied with guiding his strings they did not feel their own pulled.

When he returned to the mountain of his birth, he found the city of Marees at the foothills. None lived that remembered Emaner, save in the vaguest of stories mothers told their children to keep them in bed.

They said the Dark Prince had destroyed it. The townsfolk believed the young man bowed his head in solemn reverence.

He bowed it to conceal his sardonic smile.

When he joined the clergy there, he immediately exemplified himself. His sallow face seemed ageless throughout the rigorous posturing and study that etched away the youth of his peers; more than once it was whispered in envy that surely Poitreene was granting grace to Her most devoted servant.

Many years and many titles later, he was asked to head the Goddess's interests in Paprica.

He named his edifice The Church Of The Divine Mother. Though he never called the Divine Mother by name, his flock of sheep blindly assumed it was Poitreene.

Following their faith so blindly they would kill for it even as they preached its selective mercy.

No mercy was the only way to rid the world of such savagery. No mercy by impaling them all on their own ignorance and hate.

No.

It had taken Prier's strength to prove that he, too, had become blind.

And now, from the jaws of Hell itself, she delivered him again.

--+--------+--

"I will believe you, then." he lowered his eyes at last, though he still did not meet hers.

That suited her just fine, as she was the one fixated on the vortex above now. "You better! Because you're stuck with us."

"Because I choose to be."

"Ugh." She boggled at him then, fists ground into her hips. "Can you just smile and nod this one time?"

Nod.

"That's a start."

-+----+ NEXT EPISODE +----+-

Lost an eternity in the Seventh Circle Of Hell, Noir is found overwhelmed by the dewy chocolate-eyed divinity of his rescuer's well-fed charms! The very girl who sent him to judgment--only the miracle of her angelic love can purify his sinful past!

...charms?

MY BUTT'S NOT BIG!

Demon Overlord Prier cannot go on without those healing hands tangled forever in his greasy mane of blackest jet and whitest lice! Drunk on the manly stench of the Damned, she valiantly vows to kiss everything and make it better! Her light can only shine brightest in his darkness!

...you do need to take a bath.

Finally, the fiendish truth of Love Freak Flonne's sinister agenda is shockingly revealed: to produce a child who can destroy the very fabric of reality with the ultimate light and dark powers of SACRED SQUEEGLES and PROFANE PERFECTION! All shall adore her and despair!

Th-that's not my agenda!

Next, on Mischievous Peach-Blossom Maid Matchmaker Etna, Chapter One: Valentine's Day Massacred! Such passion can know no penance! Demon Overlord Prier and half-blood freak Noir, it's 1000 years of Hail Mary-Sues for you!

...I'd like to go back to Seedle now.

Oh, I'm sure he could swing that way, if you do. ♥

...