Chapter Text
“What the hell are you wearing?”Shy picked at the shirt. It still smelled faintly of detergent.
“The socks.” Oh.
“I don’t like my feet getting cold.” She thought it was a pretty good answer, but Gatsby didn’t seem to share the opinion.
The three of them- her, Gatsby, and Atwood- were waiting in the lobby, each sat on a separate couch. Kerouac and Angelina were engaged in a discussion (likely about her) that she was no longer privy to.
A few minutes later, Ush*tora took a free ottoman. His presence didn’t make the silence feel any less stilted. Eventually, however, he spoke up. “Everything fits, yeah?” She nodded. “That’s good. I was mostly guessin’.”
Her head swam, but it wasn’t foggy enough to impede her response. “You picked them out?”
“Yeah. Boss’s always goin’ on about why it’s important to dress good. That sorta stuff’s important to you humans- lookin’ nice makes you feel nice, right?”
Did it? She clicked her fingernails together, noting how the charcoal coloration refused to chip no matter how hard she picked at it. From the corner of her eye, the vivid palette of the shirt blended together in a dizzying spiral that vanished when she focused her vision.
“Oh, Atwood says the same thing.” Gatsby said. “...And Kerouac, come to think of it.”
Halphas stirred. Now might be a good time to inquire more. He isn’t here to deflect the conversation.
She opened and closed her mouth, stumbling for the right words. “What’s he like?”
Gatsby stuck his tongue out to the side, likely not aware he was doing it. Atwood, on the other hand, had gone completely still. “Kind of private, I guess. I think he was retired for a bit?” He made a face.
The demon’s sigh fogged up her brain. I suppose I shouldn’t have set my expectations so far above your head when you doubtless will find a way to scuttle beneath them. In a tangle of abstract shapes, he settled on her knee. His talons didn’t quite draw blood, but instead were clenched just tight enough to hurt.
“Wait, you just let him out inside?”
Feathers ruffled beneath a green doublet. He could not openly express his rage- not without destroying the fragile foundations he’d just barely begun to lay- so instead, a churning undercurrent of ire was smothered in her frontal lobe. It was easy to describe Halphas as a detached observer, but this was another truth: he felt so much, so strongly that he couldn’t help but act. The breadth of his emotion was viscerally, painfully human.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, blood beaded on his talons. She did not flinch. If anything, the pain was grounding- pulling her from a dazy fugue that would’ve taken her a while to navigate on her own.
“I have questions of my own.” he declared. “If we are to be working together-” -Atwood looked up sharply- “I wish to inquire more about your organization’s methods.” A single red eye turned Ush*tora’s way. “You surely have thoughts of your own, hmm?”
The Oni nodded. “Yeah- ‘s long as you don’t ask me to reveal anythin’ classified.” Halphas scoffed. “Oi, just makin’ sure. Not sure how up-to-date this stuff’ll be, but I can give you a rundown.”
This, too, is to your benefit, the demon whispered. I shall not repeat this later if you do not pay attention.
“Boss was a second generation summoner who ran with Brutes. Me, Ongyo-Ki, Kin-Ki, and Shiki-Ouji were her partners- though the rest of ‘em ended up leaving after she retired from field work.”
“Second generation?” Atwood sounded almost impressed.
“Yup. Survived the Collapse ‘nd everything. We’d handle anythin’ across the City the regular enforcement couldn’t figure on their own.”
Gatsby kicked up his legs. “I don’t think that part’s changed much.”
“Rapture’s stabilized since then. We have a larger population and firmly established territory.” Atwood commented.
“Yeah– back then, demons were constantly testin’ the waters to see if you’d push back. Might’ve been less humans to manage, but the incursions were somethin’ else.” Ush*tora said. “Infighting, territory disputes, the works.”
So, the city was called Rapture? That was something, at least, but everything else…
“...What do you mean by ‘Collapse’?” Shy asked. Her question took a few moments to process.
“No biggie, just the apocalypse.”“Gatsby.”
“Huh, I guess you would be too young to remember…” Ush*tora trailed off. “‘Bout fifty years ago, our worlds crossed paths. Most of you humans were wiped out.”
Halphas remained uncharacteristically quiet. She doubted he meant for her to overhear his next words. Of course it would be something like this.
“You started congregating in cities ‘nd stuff, but there’s only a few of ‘em left. Not too many places are stable enough to support that many people.”
So…
So.
The world ended? Or… Most of it did.
That…
This place seemed normal. Normal enough, at least, what with the Demons and all.
The disaster- the Collapse- was long ago. There were no desperate heroes, no glorious battles. None left, anyway. It was a tragedy on an incomprehensible scale. How many people remembered the old world? How much was… gone? With no-one to remember?
What was it like to bear the weight of knowing things would never be the same? Was it a burden to remember golden days that would never come again, with the empty planet itself becoming a memorial for your loss?
All the time in the world to remember. All the time in the world to mourn.
That just left one question: where was she supposed to go from here?
Trying to hold on to what she had left just made the memories slip away faster. This loss might’ve been another era’s history to them, but to her, it was a numbing agony that had yet to sink in. She had no proof beyond the nagging insistence of her gut that she wasn’t from here- that she predated this Collapse, somehow.
But she didn’t- couldn’t- remember.
How old was she, anyway?
“I dunno much about how your other cities work, but Rapture got split up into territories. The first few circled around each other, like rings, so that’s what they got called.” Ush*tora explained, unaware (or perhaps purposely ignoring) of her spiraling thoughts. “The newer ones don’t look much like rings, though. You’ve got, what, eight now?”
“Nine.” Atwood corrected.
“Yeah, but nobody actually lives there,” Gatsby waved an arm, “it’s just a big battery or whatever. Who cares?”The Summoner’s eye twitched. “The first ring is an essential and historical-”
“Okay, nerd.”
The only thing stopping Atwood from lunging across the room was a timely cough from the hallway.
A three-ringed binder veritably falling apart from the weight of the papers inside was tucked neatly beneath Kerouac’s arm. He took a single look at the room, closed his eyes for a moment, and let out a sigh.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” he enunciated carefully. The argument ended in one sentence, and the four of them directed their attention his way in the same breath. “The four of us- yes, Roman, that includes you- will travel to the Second Ring. On the way there, we will fill out your paperwork-” he gestured towards the binder, “and get you situated. You’ll have two months to take the appropriate certification courses, and until then, you will be under the care of Seventy-Second Division Mumia.” He turned his head to her. “Any questions?”
“Wait, we’re going back to Providence?” Gatsby interrupted. “Does that mean-”
“Yes, you can try and get your License updated. Any relevant questions?”
Atwood gave her a long stare. She did not speak up.
“...What do you mean by certification courses?” Shy asked after a few moments. Kerouac gave a smile that could have easily been a grimace in other lighting.
“A Summoner’s License is required by law to hold a contract. Your… Unique circ*mstances give you a bit of wiggle room. As such, your contract won’t be annulled unless you fail your certification.”
Halphas did not erupt in rage as she thought he might. His voice was contemplative, but sharp enough to cut. So either they threaten you to relinquish whatever contracts you have, or, more worryingly, they possess the means to break contracts without the consent of either party. He barked a laugh across her head that felt like the stirrings of a migraine. Should you attempt the former, you know well enough what will happen. I suggest you study.
Studying– she could do that. Even with her piecemeal brain, studying was something that had been engraved strongly enough she doubted she could forget how. No, what worried her was anything she couldn’t anticipate.
With what little time she’d spent awake, one thing had stood out: navigating the world was inherently more difficult for her than it was for others. If the walls had voices, the floors had eyes, and even broken things had a voice, what else was different about her? The weight of what she’d lost. The burden of things yet to come. Her fist clenched into the fabric of a borrowed shirt.
“Okay,” she answered, “I can do that.”
An appraising look. “I look forward to it.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Atwood, as it turned out, had a passion for card games.
She procured a deck of sixty cards and five suits- unusual to her, but apparently commonplace in Rapture- and proceeded to deal cards between Gatsby, herself, and a mysterious third person who had yet to show up. A binder of empty forms sat untouched in front of her. It looked even more intimidating up close.
The group had relocated a ways’ down the street to a corner-in-the-wall convenience store. A waist-height counter she was pretty sure she’d seen in restaurants was towards the back with an unfamiliar demon curled up in front of it.
Bright carmine eyes blinked slowly, taking in their arrival before sliding back shut.
“Hi, Salamander.” Gatsby knelt forwards, offering his hand. A pink tongue darted from a tapered snout, brushing against his fingers before its head lowered back to the floor. She caught a barely suppressed wince before he stuffed the blistered appendages into a pocket.
Kerouac pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “The first few forms just repeat basic information- name, age, blood type. If you don’t know, leave it blank.”
That sounded easy enough.
Surname, Roman. Given name, Shy. Sex, female.
Age.
…
“...How old do I look?” she asked. Though she couldn’t see him, she had a very strong impression that Halphas was rolling his eyes. Kerouac didn’t express his disappointment as openly, instead letting the question sit in the air just long enough to be uncomfortable.
“Thirties, maybe. Late twenties.”
Distress. Was she old? Was that why she had white hair?
“I’m too young to die.” Something- or someone- pecked at the inside of her brain. Is this what you humans call a mid-life crisis? Steely chords reverberated. The fear of death impedes your will to live, is that it?
No.
It was…
What did she live for, before this? Did she lock herself into something she hated? She had the choice to change now, except it wasn’t a choice, not really- but what if she hated that, too? What if everything was for nothing? What if this was pointless?
This peck was significantly more painful. Your self-pity is hideous to behold. Remove it from my sight.
Kerouac sighed, and colors jolted back to normal. “...Do you want me to list your age as twenty-nine?” He sounded dead tired.
“...Yes.”
They filled out enough forms to make her eyes water. What felt like an eternity later, Kerouac closed the binder. The work they’d done amounted to less than half a centimeter- and there was plenty more to go.
On Gatsby and Atwood’s end, the mysterious third person had yet to show up. They’d arranged their own cards into groups, occasionally switching between the two of them. A moment passed. “I think the Four of Heralds is a witch.” He flipped a card over from the third pile and swore.
“No, that’s one of mine.” Atwood didn’t smile, but her amusem*nt was evident in her voice. “How many points is that for you?”
“...Twelve.”
“That’s game, then.” She shuffled the cards into a neat stack, careful not to fold the edges. She turned her head. “Is Rags not here?”
Salamander warbled in the background. A puff of white smoke left its nostril, but the demon didn’t seem to notice. “Guess not.” Gatsby scratched his nose. “Damn.”
“They have food on the train.”
“‘S not good though.”
Neither Atwood nor Kerouac argued the point. The latter heaved a sigh and tucked the binder beneath his arm. “Alright, pack up. If we have to wait for the one at midnight, you’re both sleeping with me on the Bureau’s floor.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was hard to pay attention to the conversation after that. Words and colors bled into each other– not synesthesia, but something…
…
…She hummed, and forgot what she was about to say.
It wasn’t distracting enough to worry her. It didn’t seem to bother the others, either, as they’d already cemented her as an odd and flighty individual. The closest thing to an incident that occurred was a result of Halphas’s sudden interjection into their dialogue, nearly startling her face-first into a street pole.
“You hire demons to operate your railway system?” His talons weren’t clenched tightly enough to cause her pain, but experience evinced her ear lobes to be well within biting distance.
“Ye- no…? Maybe? It’s called the Demon Train ‘cause it was supposed to be a collaborative effort, I think.” Gatsby scratched his nose. “The thing runs beneath the city, and there’s a lotta nasty stuff down there. It’s the main way to transport cargo and travel between Rings, so a buncha people figured it was important to keep it safe.”
“...By hiring demons?” Halphas seemed more curious than anything else.
There is no doubt my brethren can manage your systems infinitely better than any efforts you humans could muster, he declared. The only thing that holds my interest is what value you could possibly offer in return. We refuse to debase ourselves by groveling at your feet to serve so fleeting a cause.
…Was she an exception, or…?
A spark of pain. If such a witless statement crosses your mind one more time, I shall have it removed. It was unclear if he was talking about her thoughts or her brain. …Though if anything, you serve me.
The second part was added almost as an afterthought, and she wisely decided it was a good idea not to contest the point. Atwood made to answer his question, but a quick look from Kerouac had her close her mouth.
His gaze turned to Gatsby, unbeknownst to the individual in question. His interest didn’t lie in whether or not he could answer the question. He was the type to listen to the words spoken between words– what Gatsby didn’t say as much as he did. He was fishing for his opinions as much as his knowledge.
Shy was a neutral party, as was Halphas. Perhaps there was a chance he’d say stuff to the two of them that he wouldn’t voice directly to his Division Head.
“We just pay them in Magnetite.” he said matter-of-factly.
She had no clue what that word was supposed to mean. Was that, like… currency? Money? Wait.
Halphas. Halphas, what’s money?
A red eye stared blearily into her own. He did not answer.
Ah. This was something she was supposed to know.
…Halphas-
A metal grate much less rusty than the surrounding environment swung open in front of them, and they made their way downstairs. The underground was white-tiled and clean, but not in the manner that it was well-used and cared for. It felt sterile. Like the life had been strangled out of it, and then bleached over.
There were numerous others who loitered about, but they were scattered with enough space between their groups that it still felt empty. …What was Angelina talking about earlier? Something about a blackout?
Behind a series of additional gates and ticket booths sat a chrome-colored machine burnished to an argentate finish. It stretched long past the station into a tunnel she couldn’t see the end of. When the fluorescent lights hit the polished metal just so, it reflected dizzying holographic patterns onto the floor.
Each color fragmented into a billion trillion tiny pieces. Can you hear me? Like a children’s kaleidoscope, if she twisted her head, maybe she’d see the complete picture.
It spoke softly for such an imposing figure. Splitsecond mirages on ceramic tiles, blinking like so many eyes before disappearing. Its breath was the hum of an engine; its sigh a puff of steam. Its pulsing, beating heart sung thunderstorms into the rails.
“I can hear you.” They looked at her, but that was fine. This wasn’t a conversation meant for them.
Sounds could gleam and lights could echo. Come into my carcass. Let me embrace you within my ribcage.
This is the last sanctuary you will have for a long time.
Halphas remained quiet. If he was speaking, she couldn’t hear him.
On the other side of the underground station, physically close but somehow years away, heavily armed men in uniform (Devil Summoners?) loaded containers into a sealed car. One of them caught her eye-
Ba-thump. Ba-thump.
The cargo drummed a quiet heartbeat none but her could perceive. Was it alive? She wondered. Or… Did it used to be?
An elbow to her side, not forceful enough to hurt, dragged her thoughts back to the realm of physical things.
“C’mon, we get to ride for free.”
She followed quietly into the train’s innards, and then once more into a sealed window compartment. The seats were plush, and there were numerous little crannies for whatever carry-ons they might’ve had on their person. If she was more grounded, if the world didn’t feel so far away, she might’ve even appreciated it.
“Have you ever been on the train before?”
What a silly question. Of course she hadn’t. Not this one, at least. The thought departed as quickly as it came.
“Maybe just let her be, Gatsby.”
She hummed to herself.
Out the window, immaterial faces clamored against the glass. How many were actually there? Something sharp plucked against the axons of her brain, and most of them dissipated.
A dark, purple horse. A man with three faces and four eyes.
“Is that one of the conductors?” The voice was a tad watery, but that might’ve just been her ears.
She leaned further into the seat.
Kerouac tapped a finger against his knee. “Triglav, I believe.”
The demon’s mount, standing on nothing at all, leapt atop the train.
The engine heaved a weighted sigh of steam that shook the floor, and they began to move.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tunnels made way for massive caverns. She couldn’t see the bottom.
If anything got too close, a flash of energy much more potent than anything she or Halphas could muster streaked from one of the train’s many conductors.
(I see you.)
Her partner summoned himself atop her leg. He didn’t have a human face, but his expression was still easy to parse as something serious.
Oh.
“Did you hear that, too?”
Feathers ruffled beneath his clothes. “What on Earth are you talking about?” He scoffed. “No, there’s something…”
(No response? Just as well.)
A knock at the compartment door.
It slid open, revealing someone she didn’t know. Their skin was too pale and waxy to belong to a human, coupled with blonde hair that fell to an emaciated ribcage.
They did not wear clothes, but there was nothing to cover. Spiked bracelets that looked like cuffs sealed their wrists and ankles.
Red eyes looked her over. There was not a hint of recognition within them.
“Seere.”
That voice was hers, but it didn’t feel like it. She couldn’t tell if this hurt belonged to her or Halphas. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to–
“I apologize, but contracted demons are not permitted on the train without a license renewed within the past six months.” Their voice was soft and sharp. It was easy to liken it to a scalpel, and much like a scalpel it cut deeper than it looked like it should be able to.
Halphas’s eyes- a matching shade of red- expressed more in that moment than she knew she’d ever be able to name.
He laughed.
He laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Of course he wouldn’t remember. He dismissed himself in an abstraction of geometric shapes and raked his talons against the inside of her skull. It is just my luck to be attached at the hip to a gibbering fool.
A few seconds passed in silence. Eventually, the door slid shut, and the stranger who shouldn’t be one left her to her thoughts.
It didn’t really matter if he couldn’t see her cry.
The rest of the Seventy-Second Division could.
/wiki/category:demon_compendium/fallen/Seere
“Seere is the 70th spirit of the Ars Goetia. They are a prince of Hell with twenty-six legions under their command. They can travel to any place on earth in a matter of seconds, bring abundance, and help find hidden treasures. They are often depicted riding a winged horse and are said to be very beautiful.”
Weak to: Wind
Resists: Fire
Nullifies: Curse
LMG: 13
