God of Hell - Chapter 49 - The Final Argument (Patreon)

Nero’s fingers drummed idly against desk wood as he waited for the Demon to appear. The Prophet had been the mediator for that, and as such they had chosen a suitably large room which seemed to have once been used for balls or something similar.

Now it housed an egregiously large table, several humans and one particularly angry Light Breather. It had been a day since the attack, and he was in a functioning state despite it all, not exactly fully healed, he still had injuries, cuts and bruises here and there but the best of the best healing rags Dolore could afford had been called forth to heal him. 

Healing rags that could have been spent on others were now wasted on him because the animal had, of course, tried to kill him, and failed, so he would make her pay for that.

Now if only she could do the sensible thing and show up already.

“She’s not going to show.” The Prophet said. 

She was the only other person sitting in the room, as the mediator she’d chosen to sit to the side while Defrid and Nero were to be opposite each other .

“If she doesn’t I’ll consider that a failure in your ability to fulfill your task.” He told her and felt the ice on his tongue.

“It was a ridiculous task.” The Prophet bit back.

It was only Nero’s allies and her closest confidants and thralls that were here, so the Prophet had no issues taking off her mask in front of the room.

A group of Crimsons entered in a single file and then the man who Nero had fought against back in Stradale followed. Dark hair, cold eyes and with a burning Imp by his shoulder, he bowed fractionally to the crowd.

Nero felt his guts twist with pity and rage at the sight. He would free him, he decided, he must.

“Hello sister.” The creature floating by his shoulder said. Small, but Nero had become so used to Ember that he could just about see the signs of a smirk on the creature’s face.

“I am not your sister.” She practically hissed with hatred so strong and vile that he thought he could see it in the air.

Dario would be less of a problem if they fought, now, with Nero’s Light Breathing at the ready. But still a problem. He’d asked Ember if she thought Light Breathing was uniquely effective against other Soul Forged like it was against Demons and she’d told him it wasn’t.

Regardless, Nero interrupted the pair, to target a question at Dario. “Where’s Defrid?” He asked.

The man hesitated an instant before replying, as if in fear of what Nero might do to him in retribution for his answer. “The Lady Defrid will not be attending this meeting.” He told them. “I will be sitting in her place for it.”

“Unfortunate, but we can trust that you’ll do well in her place at the negotiation table.” The Prophet began. “Now-”

“No.” Nero cut in. 

He received confused looks from the pair, more heat than anything else from the Prophet specifically.

Nero elaborated. “I asked for a meeting with Defrid, and no one else, I will be having a meeting with Defrid and no one else.” He shrugged. 

“Surely, we can-”

“No.” He interrupted the Prophet once more, who now looked like she was one additional inconvenience away from her head exploding.

Good, it’ll be quite an amusing sight.

Dario was silent for a moment. His eyes shifted between the pair, as if attempting to decide whose words held the most weight in the room. It landed finally upon Nero and apparently  deciding it was his, nodded. “Understood.” He turned and left without saying another word.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The woman growled.

“I rarely kid- No, actually that’s a lie, I am in fact, quite the kidder, but this time, I guarantee you, I am not.” He shrugged.

In a shocking turn of events, his words did nothing to calm the Prophet. “A Demon Lady isn’t going to stoop down to holding a meeting with humans.” She snapped, fist cracking into the expensive table.

“We’ll see.” Nero told her and she replied only with a glare.

The next several minutes were filled with a pleasant, if tense silence. The Prophet however decided to interrupt the serenity by voicing her thoughts.

The woman drew a long breath. “You really are letting the fact that people treat you like a messiah make you believe you just might genuinely be one eh?” She began, eyes narrowing in on Nero, like a serpent. “You know, my grandmother told me tales from your world, tales of a deceiver, a figure that turns souls and hearts with their forked tongue, a wolf in sheep's clothing.”  She seemed to look through Nero now. “And I couldn’t help but think of her stories as I looked upon you on my balcony with that light of yours, burning so brightly in the daytime, like some sort of Morning Star.”

Nero tilted his head fraction. “What, you think, I’m the Devil or something?” By the look in her eyes, it was clear she didn’t think him an angel. He couldn’t help but grin at that, he leaned in across the table, an insignificant distance at that and yet he saw the woman flinch back proportionally. “You know what, maybe you’re right, maybe I am the Devil, so you should be very glad I’m on your side and it might perhaps be in your interest to do everything in your power to maintain that very delicate status quo.”

The Prophet was pale, like she’d seen a ghost.

Or a Demon.

The woman did not speak, apparently she had decided better than to instigate him further.

Footsteps drew Nero’s eyes to the entrance. There, a Demon stood. Black scales, pink skin and eyes like crimson armor. They held a burning hatred to them, one that made the Prophet’s spite seem like a mere flickering candle by comparison.

He was being looked upon by a Demon, a creature of pure evil and malice. The last two times he’d done that, he’d had to fight desperately for his life.

Fear threatened to worm his way into his heart and Nero purged it through one reminder.

I’d won.

Each time he clashed with a Demon, only one of them came out alive and that was him.

Was Defrid as powerful as the Chieftain? Stronger? Approaching Mercury?

It didn’t matter.

He’d find a way to win, if not through his might, then that of those who now fought alongside him.

“Light Breather.” The woman greeted with no warmth.

“Defrid.” Nero replied with a pleasant smile.

“Lady Defrid.” She corrected.

“That’s silly, I’m not calling you that.”

Her frown had practically turned into a scar on her face. “I will be addressed by-”

“Sit.” Nero cut her off, far too busy to deal with the tantruming child.

The Demon looked as if she’d been slapped in the face, stunned and silent for half a moment. It seemed as if she was facing indignity that she couldn’t even fathom. Her face spasmed a moment but she said nothing, only sat down and, it seemed, tried to set Nero on fire with her glare alone.

Nero would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying every moment of this.

“I am pleased at your arrival, Lady Defrid.” The Prophet said, eager to please and smooth over tensions.

“I am only here out of favour to what history we have, Francesca.” Defrid told the woman.

“Now, before we get down to it.” Nero injected. “I’d like to congratulate you on your failed attempt to kill me.”

The Demon did not look pleased at the congratulations. In fact she was quite the opposite, on her feet within moments, fist smashing into oak and shattering the table in half. “I’ll fucking gut you, you putrid worm!”

“Go ahead.” Nero told her, Light just at the back of his mind, ready to erupt outwards. “See how far you get.”

The Demon’s eyes fell not on Nero, but the small army of men and women behind him, men and women he knew would surely aid him in tearing her to pieces if it came to it.

“Come on…” Nero urged. “Do it, lunge for me.” He hummed. “You have no Idea how much I want to hang your corpse on the walls of Dolore. Please give me an excuse.”

“We have excuse enough, Nero.” A voice noted by his ear. Ember’s, but different in all the ways that counted. Her eyes burned with a fury at the monster before her. Her body was adorned in armor. “The Wretch is within sight of us, it walks within range of our Light, that alone should be excuse enough to see it burn.”

“Okay, let’s all calm down shall we.” The Prophet got to her feet as well, eyes darting with panic and sweat running down her forehead. “This is a negotiation, not a battle. I understand that we all have our differences but we are here to resolve them through words and not violence.”

Nero locked eyes with Defrid for a long moment. The Demon wanted to claw out his face, wanted to shred him to pieces until there was quite literally nothing left, however behind her eyes Nero could also see something much more important, hiding behind all the malice.

She’s scared, scared of me.

“Very well then.” The Demon growled with a shaky stare. She sat down a moment later.

Nero set himself back in his chair as well.

All were ready to converse it seemed, all aside from Ember who’s eyes were locked on the Demon with dripping malice.

Defrid seemed to have noticed and, despite likely knowing that Ember could not physically harm her, seemed more than a little perturbed to be glared at by an Imp that way.

“Now, onto the negotiation.” The Demon inhaled. “The people have spoken, and as such, I am willing to grant certain levites in terms of my rule.” She told him as if the words themselves tasted like battery acid. “Reduced taxes, higher pay and-”

“You’re going to leave Dolore.” Nero told her, crashing through her words. 

“Excuse me?” The Demon raised an eyebrow, once again wearing a look like she’d been slapped across the face.

“I am offering you safe passage out of Dolore and you will take it.” Nero reiterated.

Defrid scoffed. “This isn’t even your home, what gives you the right to drive me out?”

Nero chuckled. “Well, I’m British you see, it’s sort of in my blood to drive people out of their homes.”The Demon probably didn’t understand what he meant, and didn’t care. “And, why would I take such an awful deal?”

“Because if you don’t take it, this war will continue, and when it is over, not only will you not get safe passage outside of Dolore, I would have a hat trick of Demons killed.” He told her.

“You’re threatening me?” The woman growled.

“Ideally, I should be gutting you like a fish.” He informed her, feeling the rage and spite bubble into an intoxicating concoction in his heart. “Instead I am offering to let a person who enslaves human beings go when every fibre of my being is telling me to set them on fire.”

Defrid’s eyes narrowed. She wanted to fight, perhaps as bad as him, and he wanted her to. He wanted her to flip over the ruined table in rage and give Nero no way out of this conflict but through violence. Oh, many would perish, chaos would reign, but he’d get to nail her head to the fucking wall when it was done.

“Very well.” Defrid relented with a defeated sigh, snuffing away any of Nero’s hopes. Her voice was shaky as she continued, like a woman having to admit intellectual defeat to an ape. “I agree… You will have Dolore…”