Chapter 2: Pilot Episode

Disclaimer: I do not own the Boys, no idea who does but if I did, the show would probably be much worse.

Words Count: 5646

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Subject:Alien-01

Designated Name: Adam

Subject's State:Stable

Description:A-01 is an infant found inside an empty capsule that crash-landed on the outskirt of a small town located in Georgia. He has blue eyes, blonde hair, and appears to be human. Subject exhibits a high level of sensitivity to all kinds of energies, having been observed to cry when experiments and tests involving radiations are performed.

Tests show that while subject looks and acts like a normal infant, he's not truly human. His Genetic Sequences have completely different structures and codes compared to that of a standard child, with three lungs, two hearts, some sort of organs in his shoulder-blades, and quadruple-helix DNA containing an unknown Energy that seems to affect those near him mentally, making him appear inhumanly beautiful to them. Further signs of long-term exposure include, but are not limited to:

1. Corrosion of self-control.

2. Slight impairment of mental faculties when the subject is involved.

3. Heightened sexual and every other drive, sometimes even directed at the subject himself.

Subject A-01 also seems to possess a regenerative healing ability focusing on tissue and organ regrowth. This ability takes the form of white-flecked black flame that heals his injuries, yet burns all those nearby and are nigh impossible to put out. He has shown the ability to survive with organs that have suffered severe damage or been completely removed, even the lack of brain can't stop his regeneration, merely hinders it.

Beside this, he has a variety of other powers, such as the ability to nullify the laws of physics, which takes the form of a grey mist that constantly changes its state of existence, from hard, to liquid and air. Other abilities have also been observed, including one now dubbed 'Destruction' by the staffs, allowing him to create balls which obliterate almost anything in their trajectory and project force fields of the same effect.

Another lets him open holes in Space every time he's attacked, or forms black icicles to retaliate.

Subject A-01 appears to be undergoing a sort of maturity. Within the two weeks that he has stayed in the facility, his cells have grown several times the speed of a normal human child. What's even more interesting is that this process is accelerating at a ridiculous speed. We've theorized that he will have achieved the same physical appearance of a twenty years old man in the coming years.

All attempts to replicate his biology via cloning has failed. The fetuses always self-destructed due to interference from the unknown Energy, which is why we believe even amongst his species, Adam's special.

It is important to note that his displays of powers are most frequent when the infant enters an emotional state or feels threatened and/or distressed. More tests must be conducted to understand the subject, but caution is advised when dealing with him.

— [Ars Goetia] —

Stan Edgar stated unblinkingly at the report, mind whirling at the possibilities.

That was the first report made about the alien who crash-landed on Earth. The first real alien who opened a wormhole to the planet. Not the fake, sob-story bullshit given to the press about Homelander.

And the implication was horrifying.

Somewhere in the vast Universe existed a race so familiar to humans, yet utterly different.

Vought's products, the so-called Heroes were just that, products– Human experiments. As powerful as some of them had grown, they would still be humans. But, this race, whatever they were, were not. If the tests conducted were to be trusted, they're marginally more powerful than humans. Their growth-cycle shortened to a ridiculous degree, giving them fresh batch of soldiers in a mere decade to carelessly throw at Humanity.

If their birthrate was the same as humans, they could prove nigh impossible to withstand and defend against.

It's sheer luck that none of the adult followed the tank-capsule, or they would have had to deal with a Godly entity, one the Seven would have no hope of defeating with their rudimentary combat training. Of course, that was months ago, Edgar had had staffs prepared for the possible invasion that might occur, and even upped the Seven's training regimen despite their protests.

Homelander and Queen Maeve had proven to be highly susceptible to the new workout plan. Noir was commendable, as always. Sadly, A-Train, Translucent and the Deep had once again proven to be the utter disappointments he had known them to be.

Deep was an idiot.

A-Train was arrogant beyond his capability.

And Translucent was… Problematic.

Perhaps, it was time to replace them. The influence they held over the public had been useful, but with a possible alien-invasion on the horizon, that influence would soon lose its value. Then again, maybe he was giving it too much thoughts. Maybe there was no invasion, no other aliens waiting to devour the whole of Mankind. Maybe this child, unlike John, was the real article, the last Hope of a dying species.

Tests had been run and conducted, the boy did not harbor any sort of disease, infection or parasite that might prove fatal to Mankind. Since that's the case, and all attempts at replicating his biology had failed spectacularly, they could use raise the child to be compliant and loyal to Vought, effectively securing themselves a powerful tool at their disposal, just in case one of their Supes went rogue.

Homelander was becoming an issue after all… Too uncontrollable, unpredictable and easy to rile up.

He was a risk that they might need to put down in the near future, and this child could be a replacement to Homelander, much as the narcissistic prick had been one to Soldier Boy.

In hindsight, selling Benjamin to the Russian had been a mistake. With him still around, perhaps he could have reigned in his bastard son. Raised him to be a better person, and less of a hassle in Vought's collective ass, but what's done was done. Stan Edgar had never been a one to dwell on what ifs. Were that the case, he would have never reached where he was now.

Soldier Boy was a lost cause, Homelander was a narcissist with heap of abandonment and parental-issues, but they might just succeed with Adam yet. True, as much as people liked to ignore it, Vought International was not a Supes Company, it was a pharmaceutical one. But, that didn't mean these Supes weren't useful for marketing purposes, their yearly avenues from movies and products did increase Vought's, and subsequently Stan's networth.

If only they weren't causing troubles everywhere they went, they would've been the perfect products.

Just last year alone, Vought had had to cover up for over fifty deaths across the country, pay millions in property damages and spent millions more to hire multiple teams of IT that specialized in damage-control and muddying the water on the Internet.

Stan was not looking forward to this year's spending. The board of directors was already up in arms after allegations about Homelander's abuse of power were raised by several employees. The money paid to keep a lid on these allegations wasn't little either.

Stan stood, eyes lazy as he slid the reports to Madelyn Stillwell– The Vice President of Vought's Department of Heroes Management. He grabbed the glass of wine, pouring the substance all over the floor as he turned to face New York's night sky. It was a wonderful sight, to stand atop millions, gazing down at them like a God. It was his payment, his due after everything he had sacrificed for this company.

"You're to deal with subject Adam, as is your responsibility. Don't screw it up, I'll not have another pitiful disappointment stand as the face of Vought." He paused, allowing the information to sink in. He watched as Madelyn licked her lips nervously through her reflection, nearly letting loose a displeased sigh. Despite her many screw-ups, she was the most suitable for the position of CEO, but that didn't mean she wasn't replaceable.

Everyone was replaceable in his eyes.

And Madelyn was proving to be a failure.

He didn't speak, and Stillwell, taking this as a tacit permission to leave, got up. Gathering the reports, she swiftly made for the elevator, only to be stopped in her track by Stan. "And Madelyn–"

The woman tensed, looking back fearfully. Oh, she tried to portray nonchalance, to display power she did not have, but he could see it. The slight trembles in her hands, the movements of her lips as it curved down almost instinctively and the jerky way she turned back. She was afraid.

" Please, call someone to clean this up." Stan gestured at the floor, damp with fresh wine, each drop would have cost thousands of dollars, yet they were worthless. Only the weak-willed needed alcohol to ease their minds, and Stan Edgar was not weak in any way that mattered. "Understood, Mister Edgar."

Stillwell sent him a curt nod, resuming her walk.

At long last, Stan was left with much appreciated silence.

Sometime he wondered why he even bothered with Madelyn… She's clearly as much of a disappointment as John Gillman was, if not more.

"I should find another successor." Stan muttered, his gaze never once trailing from his own reflection.

— [Ars Goetia] —

I was dead, or I was supposed to.

Funny, wasn't it? I spent my entire life hunting Cryptids, monsters that went bump in the night to protect Humanity, only to die from bullet-wounds caused by a few crackheads desperate for money. Why else would they rob a gas station of all places? I wasn't being a Hero either, standard procedures said us Hunters were not allowed to pull attention to ourselves.

Unless the matter involved Cryptids, we were to stand down and waited for the authorities to arrive. Fat loads of shits that did me. Shoulda' pulled the guns on those motherfuckers when I had the chance. "What a fucking mess."

I gazed at the horizon, where gigantic creatures fought for dominance. Some looked like your standard Devils, others Phoenix, Dragon and all sorts of mythological creatures. What's more surprising was, the shockwaves from their fights didn't hamper or harm me, not one bit. I was perfectly fine, despite having been submerged in a literal sea of black and white flames, frozen in a massive black ice, stabbed by thousands of weapons.

How did I survive all that? I'd like to know too, but it's not like there's anyone I could ask, no information to be gathered. The only living beings here were the group of monsters and I. And there's no way in Hell I was going to ask one of them. I was a Cryptids Hunter, not a suicidal emo-kid with a tendency to cut my wrists. Going there was basically a one-way ticket into their stomachs. I'd die before I could even spell 'guns'.

Although… Maybe if I had my equipment– No, it would have been useless. I doubted a 50 cal. bullet could even scratch their skins anyway, not with the way they were fighting.

Was this Hell? Was this where men like me were sent to after our deaths? If that's the case, the Gods or God must have been more of a dick than us humans ever truly realized. Then again, the Old Testament had some fucked up shits. Papa Yahweh was angry the Jews were worshipping cats, so he had Moses and his followers slaughtered three thousands of the little cretins in his Name. Granted, the other religions weren't much better.

After all, sacrificial Rituals to appease the stuck-up cunts had existed since the Dawn of Mankind…

But I was overthinking things. Maybe my parents were in Heaven, and I was here for blasphemy or some bullshits like that. Regardless of the reason, I must find a way out. All this fighting and detonations, while indeed fun to look at, was giving me a headache. Once I was out, I'd find the piece of shit that threw my Soul into this place and pop a cap up his or her arse.

I did not spend five years of my early 20's saving people and hunting Cryptids in the woods just to have my Soul waste away in this Kaiju-Hell.

Nope, no siree.

Sending the epic battle behind me one last glance, I began my journey in the opposite direction. The landscape here was pretty much a giant ball of molten, flaming lava. The sky always filled with electric storms, causing red whirlwinds to ravage the lands. In fact, I was fairly sure the air was toxic too with all the fumes being blown up and all, still since it did not seem to harm me, I didn't consider it an actual, urgent issue.

Sure, that could change. I could be fine one moment, and suddenly start to choke and claw at my throat for air the next, but I got to pick one struggle at a time. Badass Cryptids Hunter or not, I couldn't be expected to solve all the problems in the World after all.

Just look at Red Death from the DC Dark Multiverse, he was so desperate to save people and solve everything at once, he broke under the pressure and became something far, far worse than his gallery of rogues. Me? I was different, I understood… The day my parents died beneath the claws of a skin-walker, I learnt that sometime, regardless of how hard you tried, how desperate you were, you couldn't change somebody's fate.

You could not save everyone, nobody should ever be expected to, and you shouldn't expect that out of yourself either.

It's a fact made even clearer as I went on more and more missions all over the country. There were people, children I failed to save, despite having nearly broken my proverbial back trying. Point was, focus on what you could change, deal with one problem and then, and only then should you move onto the next. Some might say that's an irresponsible way to live, and perhaps they were right… Maybe I could have more efficient, saved more people, solved more cases with their way of thinking.

But, that would turn you into a miserable bastard very quickly.

Trust me. I had been in that position once upon a time, and I could assure you, that path led to naught but self-destruction and failures. It was a bottomless pit of loathing and depression, one I had had to fight and crawl my way out with everything I had, and even then, it still nearly broke me as a person… I was getting nostalgic again. That's not good, not good at all.

I shelved the thoughts at the back of my mind, trudging through the cracked, lavas-filled lands. On the way, I found several other creatures battling it out, their powers shattering the ashes-choked sky and shaking the ground beneath my feet, yet I merely watched, then continued on my way, unbothered by the chaos raging nearby.

I walked–

And crawled, and walked again…

At first, I tried to keep a mental note of my time spent in this Dimension, but it was ultimately futile, seeing as there was no day-night cycle here, just perpetual darkness. As much as I feared them, the monsters– Creatures of unimaginable might were the only constant companions I had, and their displays of powers were indeed helpful in lighting my path, even though I doubted they were being purposefully helpful.

I forgot how long I was here. It felt like weeks, but it could be more, could be less. I wasn't quite sure, and I didn't make an effort to know either.

Eventually, I reached a ruin, a castle that surely must have been beautiful once, with spotless walls, shiny decorations and soft, velvety carpets adorning its halls. Now, all that's left were torn fabrics, crumbling paths and rusted pieces of armors strewn amidst broken weapons.

Despite my best judgements, I entered the ruins, hoping that maybe, just maybe I'd find another living being seeking shelter from the endless wars waged by the monsters outside. One I could hopefully converse and reason with. They didn't even have to be human, as a Cryptids Hunter, I had learnt not all monsters were evil. In fact, some of my comrades and coo-workers were Cryptids who had managed to tame their inner-beasts, directing their ravenous hunger toward another, worthier source.

Namely, their Cryptid brethren.

My hope was answered when I found him.

He sat, dressed in regal and expensive attire. His movements graceful, yet feral. He tried to portray a façade of nobility, but I could see the signs, it was hard not to after having interacted with far so many Cryptids. The being– The Daemon was restraining himself. The tension in his posture as he lazed on the throne screamed self-control, like he was holding back his needs and desires to bolt at me.

I waved, a nonchalant smile tugging on my lips. "What's up, dawg?"

Now, the Daemon didn't have a… Traditional facial structures. Made up of greyish, ever-shifting mist, he didn't have eyes, nor a nose, nor a mouth. But, I swore I just saw him deadpan at me. "So…" My gaze darted, taking in my surrounding– A sight of former splendor long lost to the unstoppable decay of time. Sections where his subjects would sit and offer advises while the Daemon ruled over all. "You- Uhmm- You know the way out?"

He pointed in my direction, and as embarrassing as it was to admit, it took me a few seconds to realize he was showing me the way out of his ruined castle. "No, no! I meant the way out of this Hell Dimension, not your castle."

This time, his finger moved toward me. The Daemon rose from his seat, his decrepit throne losing what remained of its luster as he approached my position. I began to back away slowly, but he didn't come nearer, stopping mere feet from me. The Daemon titled his head, as though confused by my reaction, then gestured at the doorway behind him.

He took off, leaving with me even more questions than answers.

And my dumbass, instead of going back the way I came from, chased after him.

Was it a smart decision? Probably not. But, what was he going to do? Kill me a second time? Hah! Every Cryptids Hunter had prepared themselves for death or a fate worse. We wouldn't be in this line of work if we were afraid, especially when Cryptids similar to the wendigos were trudging through the woods, sticking to surfaces like they were imitating Spider-Man. "Hey, wait for me!"

He didn't wait.

In fact, the bastard increased his speed.

Honestly? Didn't know why I thought that would work either… That's just stupid.

I ran in pursuit of the Daemon's illusive silhouette, passing rooms and hallways. Finally, he stopped on a balcony, silently gazing at the horizon. I made to speak, to ask my questions, but I was soon silenced by the grand scenery before me. Strongholds upon strongholds, castles laid abandoned amidst the mountain range, giant craters that left entire sections a smoldering ruin.

It was beautiful, sort of…

In its own odd, apocalyptic way.

"What's all this?" Rumbles were heard as the gigantic monsters fought in the distant, yet the ruins– Castles remained intact, untouched. Much like myself. "What is this place?"

I asked again, turning to face the Daemon, whose head was now adorned with a crown of horns, seemingly made of the same mist from his body. " Belial…"

He croaked, reaching out for my hand, yet he didn't make to touch me, he just let it hang expectantly. Immediately, I knew who he was. Belial– One of the many Kings of Hell, commanding 80 legions of Demons and 50 legions of Spirits. He was Worthlessness-Incarnated, the first to be created by the former Morningstar. A Daemon capable of great feats and powers, yet not without a price– A sacrifice.

I shouldn't take his hand.

You are reading story Ars Goetia– Antichrist at novel35.com

It's common sense really. When a Daemon King came to you, offering you stuffs, it's never free.

But, I was not a man of Gods, I simply could not have faith in such fickle beings, who had likely reigned supreme their entire lives, never knowing pain or sufferings. Beings who claimed to love Humanity, yet murdered, destroyed and enslaved as easy as they breathed. When you looked at the whole picture from this angle, were the Gods any better than the Demons themselves? At least Demons weren't hypocritical assholes–

At least they weren't the ones to abandon me in this Gods-forsaken Hellscape… And thus far, they had not harmed, hurt, nor attempted to deceive me.

Why would they? I was a mortal man, utterly helpless without my weapons and equipment. They could have torn me to pieces, yet in this moment, I could tell Belial truly did not wish for harm to befall me.

I looked at the ashes-filled horizon, nostalgia and sadness overwhelming my mind. My parents would not be proud about my decision, having been laws-abiding Christians their whole lives, but they weren't here, and I was so, so fucking desperate. I had tried to keep the thoughts at bay, tried to ignore the loneliness and existential crisis digging away at my psyche, and I was not ashamed to admit I was failing.

"If the Gods will not offer me their help–" I ignored Belial's wince, hand reaching for his. "Then I'll take the Devil's instead."

The Dimension crumbled.

The Dragons were chained.

The Phoenixes bound.

The Giants brought to heels.

And the Antichrist was born.

I was Johnathan Reid no more. From this day onward, I'd be Belial. King of Hell, Ruler of Demons. A being of Sins– A creature of Evils, yet the Daemon King whispered to me that this did not mean I'd have revel in others' sufferings and pain, that I could choose to be who I was, just as long as I could keep my desires restrained and bound to my will…

Much like he had done to the rest of the Ars Goetia and the Extra Demons.

He told me I was destined for more, that I was no mere King.

I was different, unique in that I alone possessed the Traits of the Ars Goetia, and one day, they would be mine to mold and control. One day, when I had grown strong enough to handle the strain they had on my Vessel.

Wings sprouted from my back– Black, feathery wings that had a half metallic, half oily shine to them.

Tail jutted from my spine, ended in a tri-prong shape. It was slender, yet instinctively, I knew it could shatter brick-walls and bend steels should I command it.

Then horns grew on my head, jagged horns that curved backward into my head, and between them, a crown of colors, some I was fairly certain had not even been discovered, burst to life.

I was Johnathan Belial–

And I was the Ars Goetia.

— [Ars Goetia] —

"Did the reports mention anything useful?!"

"No! There's nothing related to powers-outbursts! It's not even supposed to happen unless he feels stressed or threatened–" Alexia Ashford angrily shouted back.

Perhaps it was a poor decision on her part, seeing as Dr. Carlton was her superior, but the stress of dealing with Supes every day of the week, plus the guilt of having to perform completely inhuman and unethical experiments on literal children, her mind was running on fumes. And now this happened… Two weeks before her meeting with her boyfriend's family?

She was far beyond the breaking point.

She had come into work expecting a lot, hard not to when you were handling superpowered children, but an exploding alien was not supposed to be on her list today. "Shit! Somebody, get the higher-ups on the phone! And evacuate the building immediately! We have a Code Red on our hands!"

"Will the forcefield hold?!" The guard's voice broke through the blaring siren and nearly sent Alexia into a rage. "Does it look like it will, you fucking moron?! And before you ask another dumb question, the anesthesia doesn't work on him, so do as you're told and get Mister Edgar or Mrs. Stillwell on the phone, NOW!"

All that money and time she spent on a psychiatrist, wasted. The sheer urge to rip out her hair in frustration as the guards looked at her boss, searching for permission instead of getting someone, anyone with real authority on the situation and evacuating the facility was genuinely upsetting. It's like they valued their jobs more than their lives… It was fine if these grunts died, they were a dime a dozen, but Alexia was a genius.

She had dedicated herself to science since she was a child.

They could not fathom the efforts and sacrifices she had made to get here, and she refused to die or have her life ruined simply because some stupid, witless motherfuckers were worried about their damned paycheck when they should be worried about the unstable alien ready to explode in their faces.

Alexia Ashford was on a warpath as her eyes narrowed dangerously at the fidgeting guards.

Thankfully, while Dr. Carlton might have been one crazy-fuck, he was neither stupid nor suicidal. "You two, she's right. Go get them on the phone, the Subject V-11's forcefield isn't going to hold for much longer, A-01's powers are ripping it apart faster than it can regenerate…"

Finally, the guards took off, leaving Alexia and Carlton to focus on Subject Adam. They had tried everything, every chemical in their arsenal, none managed to knock out or calm the alien. There was that last option, to terminate him before he could become a threat, but Alexia doubted that would work either, seeing as the grey mist was literally nullifying the strong force holding protons and neutrons together.

Bullets and grenades would be broken down long before they were within range to damage the alien.

"What the fuck are we supposed to do now?" Alexia screamed, tearing at her own hair. So much research, so much money and documents would be destroyed, and she would do nothing, because she could do nothing. In spite of her brilliance, Alexia was well-aware she was just another helpless human in front of a Supes. Most were bulletproof anyway, even if she did get her hands on firearms.

"Calm down, Ms. Ashford!"

"How the FUCK am I supposed to calm down, YOU OLD FUCK?!" She screeched, then ran for the door under Carlton's astonished gaze. "Fuck this, I'm out of here. I'm not dying in an alien-induced explosion, you can keep the fucking paychecks and the job too."

With that said, Alexia came barreling through the doors.

Sadly, she did not get far… Subject Adam's biology had a violent reaction to Compound V, often resulting in uncontrollable powers-outbursts, but none observed had been as destructive as today. They should have stopped then and there, she should have told them it was stupid, stupid decision to perform further testing of the substance on the precarious alien-baby.

Alexia thought, even as the waves of mist swept past her, skinning the young scientist alive, she could not help regretting taking the job.

When she left the University, there had been many job offers, some were even from the Government. But Vought had thrown around the most amount of money, money that completely dwarfed her single father's nine-to-five. Alexia had been blinded by the promise of a newer, better life, never thinking Vought would trap her in the equivalent of a nigh unbreakable contract, force her to perform experiments that the Nazis would frown upon.

Now she was going to die for her sins.

Died for her Greed.

Even as gravity lost its hold and the laws of nature weakened and buckled beneath the alien's might…

Even as the atoms that made up her body dissipated and scattered…

Alexia could not help but feel that maybe, maybe she deserved this.

And then, she was gone.

— [Ars Goetia] —

I felt stronger, younger.

My wings tore through what remained of the walls behind me.

My fingers– Claws ripped at my own skin as my Vessel grew at an exponential rate.

Bones lengthened.

Skin stretched.

Flesh and muscles binding together.

It was painful, more painful than any wound I had received in my life.

Yet, it was euphoric at the same time.

I was so high on the powers, I was practically flying.

Maybe I was? I did have wings after all.

A chuckle escaped my mouth at the thought, and my tongue shot at my newly sharpened fangs.

Then they came.

First was Pride.

It made me feel unstoppable, superior, but I was quick to clamp down on the urge to slaughter and prey on the lower lifeforms.

Then Envy.

Stopping it in its track was even easier. What was I to be envious of? Who was I supposed to resent? What did I not already have?

Lust was next.

I let it settle down for a bit, before shoving it at the back of my mind as imageries of the more unsavory aspects of sex began to invade my mind. I was lustful, and I'd never turn down free tails, but I was not a rapist.

There's satisfaction in successfully courting a woman, satisfaction that could never be found in taking one forcefully.

Sloth took its place.

I ruthlessly stomped on the wiggling Sin trying to take hold on my mind and desires. I was a Cryptids Hunter. We were many things, monsters in our own right, yet few of us could ever considered slothful.

Gluttony was quick to follow.

I'd indulge in excesses at times, but I was never one to stuff my stomach full, or lost myself in the haze of sex. Hard to when you had to travel all over the country, fighting monsters in the midst of a forest miles away from civilization.

Last were Wrath and Greed.

Wrath was an odd, because I had never considered myself a wrathful person. Petty and spiteful maybe. But Wrathful? No.

Yet, it fit in snuggly with my psyche, like a piece of myself I had lost, or simply never discovered.

Greed was understandable.

I was known to hoard weapons and equipment. While I would lend them to my friends on occasions, the mere thought of letting others touch my stuffs was genuinely upsetting for me.

My Sins determined, I opened my eyes. Blinding sunlight caused me to close them once more. In fact, it seemed to weakened me, just a little, it was easily ignorable as Demonic Mana coated my form instinctively. My senses were better, so much better. I could smell the pollutions in the air; see bugs hundred of feet away as clear as I could my own hands; hear the chitters of small forest animals scampering away in fear of my presence, and sensed the tainted Ambient Mana.

It was all so overwhelming…

Until my Vessel adapted, and it suddenly was not.

"Where am I?" I asked, more to myself than anyone else as I swept my gaze across the smoldering crater, where I found a girl with hands over her knees, shuddering violently. She appeared to be trying to implode on herself, a desperate attempt to make her malnourished form smaller, yet I caught sight of her all the same.

How could I not when my senses had been increased to that of a wendigo's, and her clean, sterilized white shirt was practically screaming 'notice-me-senpai'? I flew over, my black wings, coursing with greyish veins, fluttered behind my back as I approached. The girl, who was transfixed on my face, scrambled away in panic. She threw her hand forth, making a grabbing motion, and I felt a psychic presence try to enforce itself on me.

'Try' being the keyword here.

It was too weak to crush my new, upgraded Vessel.

And Worthlessness was easily able to stop it in its track. I didn't know much about the Clan Traits of the Ars Goetia and the Extra Demons, just that every time I unlocked one, I'd gain an understanding on the Trait gained. Worthlessness, the Belial's Clan Trait was useful, powerful. As long as I had rudimentary knowledge about something, I could nullify it. Gravity could be dissipated in my chosen arena.

Weak-strong forces that controlled the Universe could be made useless with a swing of my hands.

Obviously, there were limitations such as Magic Resistance.

My knowledge on the subject would also determine how much Mana I'd waste.

Naturally, how powerful my foes were would also factor in the equation. After all, nullifying the strong force of a plastic-wrap was easier than undoing the one keeping a diamond together.

It was fundamentally different.

I looked at the girl, a gentle smile gracing my face. It was an expression I had mastered in order to calm the victims of Cryptids-attacks, made even easier with the Supernatural beauty of a Daemon. "Hello there, do you know where we are?" The girl averted her gaze shyly, struck by the full force of my Charm, then stared at her palm in confusion. Likely wondering why her powers had not worked on me.

Lower lifeforms can not harm us. I ignored Belial's distorted voice in the back of my head and waited patiently for an answer, my wings folding beneath my skin as I knelt by her side. I could have forced her to speak, but that's no reason to be a dick about it, and putting myself on her level would ensure a truthful answer, which was why I allowed the dirt to cover my knees, despite the urging of Pride screaming to rip the girl to pieces for making us dirty ourselves.

"I- I'm Cindy, and we're in– W- Well, on the remains of Sage Grove Center– A psychiatric hospital in Pennsylvania…"

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