2 | Perchance

Chicago IL

December 7th, 1978

Venuch hadn't bothered to check the address on the slip of the paper until the day when Azzozas told him to meet him. He stared at the address on the form as he reclined on his couch. He'd read it nearly ten times to be sure he was reading it right and not somehow high off his ass (and if he was high off his ass he was sure it had something to do with Azzozas and his cursed meddling). He read the writing one more time just to be sure he hadn't snapped and lost his mind because it sure felt like he'd lost a few screws. The note read, in neatly written cursive:

Ask for Nikita Petrov at Sunshine CO.

Nikita Petrov was the name of the CEO of Sunshine CO. He was some eccentric Russian American that had appeared unexpectedly in '75 and rose into being the CEO in a little less than three months. Nobody in the entire building trusted the man — mostly because he was Russian, and many mortals feared the dangers of the "Red" as he'd found — because he supposedly gave off "snake" vibes. Venuch, being on the lower end of jobs there, had seen neither hide nor hair of the man and preferred to keep it that way. He was not about to be alienated at the job he worked at for ten years because mortals were afraid of a silly ideology by the name of Communism or whatever. He was too old to be worried about things like that.

But, as he stared at the name Nikita Petrov, he began to wonder if he should've taken that job at Walmart he'd seen in the newspaper. Venuch would've liked to have spent his off day sipping at the (definitely not stolen) pink Perignon that lay tucked above his fireplace as opposed to staring directly into the mouth of a snake that could snuff him out like a candle in moments.

Fate was oft a cruel mistress, as was the inexorable march of time.

▬

After getting dressed and pretending he didn't feel like a lamb sent to the slaughter, Venuch left for the building. The Sunshine CO. logo seemed to glare down at him as he approached. It was normally at this time when he'd be leaving work to go home, and he was doing the exact opposite of that at this present moment. He heaved a sigh as he walked through the glass doors and, at the drop of a hat, his exhausted expression melted into the placid expression that he normally wore when he was at work to avoid the "Why are you always so mad?" questions.

Some people just have the so-called "Resting angry face", Bethany.

The office building was quite active despite it being a Thursday, he waved at coworkers, giving them polite smiles as he passed. Venuch didn't hate them if he were to be honest, but work was very overwhelming for him on occasion. They'd embraced his habit of snatching that which wasn't his as a part of him and hadn't alienated him because of it. He usually did give back what he'd stolen. Venuch's pulled out of his thoughts by one of his co-workers stopping him before he could enter the elevator.

Venuch raised an eyebrow at the brunette man he'd come to know as Raymond (everyone in the building called him Ray, however) smiled up at him. "Afternoon, John!" He said, "What are you doing here? Isn't it your day off?"

He sighed, pressing the highest number on the elevator. "I'm meeting with the head of this operation."

He'd never seen a mortal's face pale as much as Ray's had. Venuch frowned at the look on the shorter man's face. "What's your deal?" he questioned, watching as Ray's face twisted in what he could only assume to be apprehension. Ray said nothing for a long moment, and it was beginning to annoy him, he'd rather not be late to speak to Nikita Petrov in case it would somehow upset Azzozas, and he'd love to avoid doing such a thing.

"I've talked to him before, multiple times actually," Ray muttered, playing with the cuffs of his shirt. "Everything about him feels off…his eyes, his mouth, the way he moved was unnaturally graceful. Every time we spoke, the desk separated us, but it felt like he had his hands around my throat as if his presence dared me to say something he thought wrong. His aura has seeped into the lives of everyone here and…it feels so suffocating now. Haven't you felt it too, John?"

He stared at the shaken man, speechless at the words that had been laid out for him to process. He'd had somewhat of an idea that Nikita Petrov was in some way tied to Azzozas, but this had just confirmed it. Ray grabbed his shoulders, looking Venuch directly in the eyes. "I'm not just saying this because everyone thinks he's a communist," he whispered. "But I believe he's genuinely dangerous. If a snake could inhabit a human body, that would be him. Stay safe… don't get yourself fired."

With that, Ray gave him an uneasy smile and turned to leave. "I'm happy you care," Venuch found himself muttering under his breath as he entered the elevator. It wasn't like he could promise anything.

The elevator doors slid shut, thus sealing his fate, and reminding him that he was a bird trapped in a cage. The elevator ride was permeated by the absolute worst combination of bongos and random piano keys he'd ever heard. He stepped out of the elevator happy that he was facing Nikita Petrov. Venuch figured that was much better than hearing the elevator music again. If his ears started bleeding later, he would know why. They really needed to update the elevator music before he tore his ears off. Venuch made his way toward Nikita Petrov's office and vehemently tried to ignore the way his throat threatened to close up on him as he grew ever so closer.

When he stopped in front of Nikita's door, he saw it wasn't fully closed. From the crack in the doorway, he could see a black-haired man sitting in a plush chair and staring out of the wall of the glass that was the room's window.

Silence hung over him like a curtain. A sort of… melancholy silence. There was a deep sadness that lay within the room, dredging up memories and emotions Venuch had long since buried. He watched this man for who knows how long, simply listening to the occasional exhausted sigh that would leave him. Venuch could make out faint facial features from where he stood. Nikita, at this moment, looked like a Baroque painting — from the soft furrow of his thick brows to the downward pull of his lips. He held what looked to be a glass of white wine in his left hand, a tattoo of a pentacle inscribed upon his pale skin. The man set the glass with a dull clink on the desk. Venuch began to wonder why he was even afraid in the first place.

Nikita's chair slowly spun to face the door, pink eyes burning into it. "You may come in whenever you'd like, Mr. Kristiansen," the smooth, Russian-accented bass of Nikita's voice reminded him why he was here. "I have many people to speak to and I do not take kindly to my time being wasted."

"My apologies, Sir," Venuch tried not to say bitterly. The way he spoke grated his nerves. "I was calming my nerves." He didn't miss the way Nikita's eyes narrowed the slightest bit. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him but did not move any further. The office was rather nice, he noted as he looked around. White walls were decorated with the occasional knockoff of a renaissance painting, a few well-cared-for plants were nestled away near the window for optimal sunlight, and… Venuch's eyes were glued to a painting of a snake striking a dog in its eyes. The dog's face was scrunched in pain, a silent howl of agony forever encased in paint as the snake's fangs sank into its face. That's when he realized the snake was missing an eye as well, dark blood staining its green scales. The bottom of the painting read:

"An eye for an eye."

Ray's words grace his mind.

-

"Every time we spoke, the desk separated us, yes, but it felt like he had his hands around my throat as if his presence dared me to say something he deemed wrong."

-

Nikita's soft timbre voice called to him, "Do you like my painting?" No change in emotion graced his features as he stared at Venuch with those pink eyes he hated so much. A cold sweat threatened to break out on his skin the longer Nikita held his gaze, an unseen weight settling around Venuch's throat as he stood, petrified, in his silence. The other man's eyebrow twitched in curiosity, raising ever so slightly. "No need to be so nervous, Mr. Kristiansen. Please, sit. There's something urgent I need to discuss with you." He gestured toward the red chair that sat in front of his desk. The beautiful, deep reddish-brown mahogany of the desk reflected Venuch's face up to him.

He ignored how pale he looked. "What is it that you need from me?" Venuch questioned, stiff as a board in the chair. He couldn't figure out what about Nikita — or was he Azzozas at this moment? — unsettled him so deeply. Was it the way he constantly seemed to be looking at Venuch as if he were his prey? Or was it the click of his nails— claws upon the polished surface of his desk? Venuch's eyes drifted to Azzozas— Nikita's claws, watching the way the black nail polish glistened in the light of the room. "Today is my day off."

"I'm very aware," Nikita replied, dryly, leaning back. "But you are currently one of the strongest demons that work under me—"

The words came out of Venuch's mouth before he could stop them, "With all due respect, Mr. Petrov, I am an Avarice demon. My abilities are subpar compared to many others."

Pink eyes burned into his brown ones. "Again. I am well aware, Mr. Kristiansen, but I have use for you and you alone because you are the only Avarice demon within my reach," Nikita opened a drawer, pulling out a piece of paper from it, "I need you to find and eliminate this man. He has stolen something from me by order of…my ex-partner. I need you to steal it back." The question of whether or not it was a romantic or business partner sat heavily on Venuch's tongue. Nikita placed the paper down on the desk and slid it to Venuch's side.

A slightly blurred picture of a demon with rosewood skin, stone blue eyes, shaggy auburn hair, and horns that curled forward stared up at Venuch. A…lust demon.

"His name is Dolvelon and he's a Lust demon if you couldn't already tell by his appearance. I would kill him myself, but I have other pressing matters to attend to."

Venuch picked the picture up, looking closely at the details of Dolvelon's likeness. "What am I searching for?" he questioned as he tucked the picture into his coat.

"A Power Angel-grade longsword."

And just like that, Venuch perked up, intrigued by the chance of touching such a powerful weapon. "I see. What's my timeframe?" He questioned, trying to keep a tight lid on his excitement.

"Three days, succeed and I'll return the sword I took from you as well as give you a proper place to put your stash."

"Consider it done."

▬

9:48 pm - The Incubus

According to the information Nikita had given him, Dolvelon loitered around in an abandoned warehouse that had been converted into a nightclub of sorts. Many of the Lust demons in Chicago frequented it due to it being run by one of them but the atmosphere honestly sort of creeped Venuch out sometimes. If he had been a Lust demon he could probably see the appeal, but the raunchiness of the place was just not for him. He preferred his activities to be done in privacy.

Then he thought of the irony of his saying that and shut the thought process down.

He figured it would be best to disguise himself as one of the customers to avoid suspicion given that his demon form was orange, and the Lust demons were mostly pink with hints of red. Maybe he could somehow get the attention of Dolvelon and gain his approval? Venuch looked at his clothes in a shop's window, eyeing the way the tights hugged his legs. His face burned as he looked at the rather… revealing outfit and he sighed. "Why am I doing this?" He muttered, regretting every life choice that had led him to this scenario. Venuch accepted his fate as he moved away from the window and turned to face the nightclub Dolvelon had created. The sign was a picture of the generic succubus with horns, a heart-shaped tail, and a flirty smirk on its face. It was so creatively named:

The Incubus.

He couldn't help but wonder if Dolvelon had been tipsy when he named the nightclub. In Venuch's opinion, the name wasn't very memorable.

Venuch slipped into line with the rest of the club-goers, smoothing down his clothes and hair. He had never done anything like this, even when clubs had first appeared in the late nineteenth century (he'd also never been interested in club culture in all honesty). The bouncer looks at him with a critical eye, holding out his hand for Venuch's ID. Once the bouncer saw it, he allowed him to slip inside. The liveliness of the club was just as he'd expected, his whole body seemed to have been reduced to a bowl of jelly by how loudly the music inside was playing. As he walked, he couldn't help but feel like this was ridiculous.

Countless people were gathered in groups chatting it up as they drank their worries away. Surely drinking so much couldn't be very good for the human heart, yes? Ah, whatever. Humans enjoyed getting into trouble regardless of whether or not it would result in death. Venuch pulled Dolvelon's picture from his breast pocket and thought back on his and Azzozas's conversation. Azzozas mentioned that Dolvelon stayed around the second floor of the building, lounging on a red loveseat with countless people gathered around him as they smoked whatever they smoked.

He looked up and, sure enough, there was a purple cloud of smoke surrounding the second floor. Or well, he assumed it was purple. It was hard to tell the color of anything with the red lighting. The forged ID Azzozas had given him (he didn't think to question how the demon had acquired the ability to create such things) would give him access to the second floor. Usually, only esteemed guests and Lust Demons were the only ones with such access. The main flaw with this plan was that Dolvelon had no idea who Venuch himself was, however, he knew a demon by the name of Jezebeth who Azzozas had remarked as having a startling similarity in appearance to Venuch. So, the idea had been to forge an ID for Venuch himself as Jezebeth's "sister" and Jezebeth's ID with access to the second floor.

This admittedly left Venuch with a lot of questions regarding why and how Azzozas knew so much about Dolvelon and Jezebeth. How could he be certain that Dolvelon would fall for the ruse?

Venuch handed the bouncer guarding the stairs Jezebeth's forged idea, her eyebrows creasing once she looked for the card to Venuch's face, "You are not Jezebeth, what are you doing with his ID?"

"I am his younger sister, Rallmur, my older brother gifted me his ID to use for the night," Venuch said, giving the bouncer his most charming smile. "He said Dolvelon would recognize me."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at the blond. "I do not recall ever seeing Jezebeth with a demon named Rallmur," she said, reaching for her taser. "Who are you really?"

The hair on the back of Venuch's neck stood immediately but he did not let his face betray his fear. "As I said, I am—"

"Rallmur!" Called a deep but sing-song voice. A man with rosewood pink skin shoved the bouncer carelessly out of the way and yanked Venuch into a hug, pulling on his hair as he did so. "I haven't seen you since 1956! How are you cutie, and how's your brother~?" The man pulled at Venuch's cheeks as he spoke, squishing them and babbling on and on about "adorable" Venuch was.

The bouncer spoke up, "Sir Dolvelon, I believe—"

The man, now identified as Dolvelon himself, turned to the bouncer with a grin that was far from friendly. "Olgun. What have I told you about false accusations?"

Olgun shrank under the burning stare. "B-but, Sir, I am certain this time—"

"That is enough, Olgun," Dolvelon snapped. "Come along Rallmur, we have much to catch up on~!"

A migraine would be haunting Venuch, he could feel it. What was with demons in positions of power and switching emotions at the drop of a hat? He gave Olgun a sympathetic smile as he passed through; he simply received an irritated sneer in return.

The burning in his nose worsened the further they went up the stairs, the smoke so heavy it was more like a fog. Something about this felt off in a way he couldn't describe but he allowed himself to be led further in the thick smog. "Soooo, Rallmur, how've you been, Darling? Your brother's been right awful about updating me concerning your illness," He sighed deeply as if that truly hurt him. "I take it that today is one of your easier days?"

Venuch felt his heart drop into the pits of his very being. Illness?! Azzozas had said nothing about an illness. He faked a weary smile. "Y-yes, my brother is very particular about when he'll let me into public, so I took this chance to come to visit you."

The blond demon looked around at all the patrons who were passed out on the floor or lounging on the red sofas Azzozas had said would be on the second floor. One of them looked suspiciously blue in the face. He was quite sure that the demon was most definitely not breathing. The smog seemed to take on a deeper, more reddish purple as Dolvelon led him further into it, finally leading Venuch into a singular room. "Really? He's gotten that protective of you," Dolvelon inquired, shutting the door (there was a faint click that told Venuch he'd locked it), "That is rather peculiar of him considering he recently told me you've been leaving the Circle of Gluttony more and more."

Venuch wrenched his shoulder free from Dolvelon's clawed hands, eyeing him up as he backed away. "It would seem he has lied to you. I have done no such thing."

"How can he lie to me if he died in 1956?"

Gods-fucking-dammit, Azzozas!

Venuch drew his sword at once, blocking Dolvelon's own effortlessly. "There are very few who can withstand the smog that covers this floor," Dolvelon said, eyes glowing with some unknown emotion as he pressed his shorts word harder against Venuch's "And the only ones I've seen who could, are those associated with Azzozas!"

Venuch broke the stalemate, immediately backing away from the crazed demon. His heart seemed to be beating much faster than earlier.

"What's wrong? Why do you back away?" The Lust demon laughed. "I can see your—"

"Fear."

Dolvelon paled as the bright pink eyes of Azzozas appeared in the shadows, the much larger demon seemingly melting out of the shadows. His voice was one but many, holding within it the deep sound of a rumbling growl.

"You-! Sarnath said you would not get involved," cried Dolvelon.

The air itself seemed to get cooler as Azzozas pulled Venuch away from Dolvelon and pushed him behind him. "Sarnath is a coward who cannot fight his own battles," the many voices of Azzozas spat, he kicked the sword Dolvelon had dropped in his shock back over to the shaking Lust demon. "Pick it up."

"Why didn't you tell me Jezebeth was dead?!" Venuch demanded.

Azzozas glanced over his shoulder at the annoyed demon but said nothing. The nerve of this man. He hoped Azzozas could smell his annoyance.

Dolvelon didn't move an inch.

Azzozas said once more, "Pick. It. Up."

Silence.

"I see," Azzozas smiled, too wide to be considered normal. "How about we play a little game? Run from me for five minutes. If you can evade my claws—" he flexed his hands, the skin towards the tips of his fingers turning a deep red as his nails sharpened "I'll let you live. If I catch you…well, I'm sure you already know what will happen."

Dolvelon whimpered, "This is unfair! He promised me I'd live!"

The snaked demon laughed, "I'll give you a four-minute head start. Now run."

Venuch had never seen a man run that fast in his entire life, he'd practically kicked up dust when he darted out of the room. "Four-minute head start?" he questioned, looking up at Azzozas's grin. "You really are as cocky as people say…"

"Cocky? That's what people think of me?" the taller man snorted as if Venuch had just told him a joke. "What's cocky about being confident in my abilities?"

The blond said nothing back. He'd realized the gravity of his situation the moment Azzozas had given him that ultimatum. This man was Zaphkiel, a Power Angel. He was born to kill that much was certain. Venuch was almost certain that Powers held some form of killing instinct within their angelic biology, out of all the angels he's researched, they were the ones whose only purpose was to destroy in the name of God. Even Wrath demons were not born with such destructive instincts as they. No demon was born specialized in the art of killing angels. This was hardly a fair distinction — perhaps it was better to say advantage — between Angels and Demons.

Venuch looked up at Azzozas once more. This man was monstrous in ways Venuch didn't want to think about.

"The four-minute count is nearly up," Venuch reminded, his voice trying to evade him at this moment. He received only silence in return.

An almost gleeful grin spread on the other man's face. "There."

He didn't get a chance to ask Azzozas what he meant before he had to hold on to his jacket due to how fast the snake demon had barged out of the room.

"He could've warned me before he did that."

▬

Venuch had, of course, realized he'd been a simple distraction the moment Azzozas stepped into the room Dolvelon trapped Venuch in. At the present moment, he was unsure what to feel. Would Azzozas have felt some sort of remorse if Dolvelon had killed him? He'd outright warned the man that he was not a very strong demon and the bastard had sent him to do this anyway. He huffed, pockets jingling with not-so-legally obtained money from Dolvelon's nightclub. He may or may not have taken advantage of the chaos Azzozas and Dolvelon had left behind in their wake. Finders, keepers, after all.

Regardless, there was no telling whether or not the incubus had managed to outrun the snake.

Considering how much faster Azzozas had been when he'd left the room, Venuch was certain Dolvelon's fate was sealed. The cool Chicago air caressed his face as he walked down the sidewalk, tiny snowflakes gathering on the tips of his eyelashes as he strolled. He realized he probably should've driven because there was no way in Hell he'd take a bus.

"Venuch."

The aforementioned man shrieked and jumped nearly ten feet in the air. Azzozas, still coming out of the shadows, gave him an unamused look. "Was there any need to scream like a child?"

"You just scared the absolute— ooooh if you were anyone else. I'd— I'd— I don't know!" Venuch threw his hands up in the air. "Satan, you're so— just— ugh."

The black-haired demon tilted his head. "You would what? Kill me?"

Venuch gave him a look that should've held the World Record for "Most Annoyed Expression 1978". Azzozas's overcoat was stained with something, and he figured he didn't want to ruminate on what it could be considering he'd just witnessed a live chase down in person. "Don't worry about it," Venuch grumbled. "Can you please just take me home?"

Azzozas snorted, "Can you not apparate, yet?"

He stood there for a long moment and stared at the amused demon. "If I could, I would not be still looking at your face right now."

The taller man gave him an affronted glare.