Pigeonneaux Diable

As she tried to move, Amy realized that her footsteps were not really touching the ground, and the distance she was moving was not related to her steps. It was like a glitchy animation where she was a character in a walk cycle, gliding along the ground. As an experiment, the oni stopped moving her legs and just focused on catching up with the boy in town. To her surprise, she kept moving, faster than before, skating through the air like an apparition.

“Suppose that indicates this is some sort of vision, I haven’t literally traveled through time, then” Amy thought as she found herself at an underpass where the boy had stopped and was standing across from another figure. She tried to glance around to get a better idea of where they might be, but despite her intelligence, Amy was far from an expert in geography.

The stonework and red roofs of the surrounding buildings felt fairly distinctive. She would guess somewhere in Europe; she couldn’t imagine anywhere in the States looking like this, and an educated guess would say somewhere in Italy, their season was set in not-Venice, so if it wasn’t, she’d be more confused than anything.

She looked closer at the figures there. The boy, whom she guessed was “Luciano”, was smiling cheerfully; his robe, which looked caked over with mud, was nevertheless in good condition otherwise, and in his grasp he held an apple. His golden eyes shone with childlike spontaneity and innocence.

“Luciano, what are you doing out on your own?” Amy’s attention was brought to the figure opposite Luciano, the man she estimated was in his thirties, but the wear and pockmarks on his face made him appear older. His clothes were simpler, a black robe tied off with a simple corded rope. He had wispy brown hair on his head and an overgrown beard and was looking at the boy with genuine concern in his expression.

The boy’s expression lit up, “Do not worry for me, Father Pietro. Mom and Dad are still sick, so I went out to get some fruit for them. To give them strength.”

The man, Father Pietro’s expression looked grim. “Still sick, you say? They’ve been laid up for several weeks now, haven’t they?”

It suddenly struck Amy that if she listened carefully, she could hear something beneath their voices. She tried to pay attention to it and realized what she was hearing was the actual Italian they were speaking. The voices she was hearing were translations, which made sense, but also made her wonder who prepared all this, and if she spoke a different language, would it translate to that instead?

Jumping from his leaning position on the wall, Luciano tossed the apple from hand to hand, a millisecond of worry crossing his features before looking at Pietro, “Father, would you come pray for them? I-” the boy looked away and shuffled his feet, “You say god takes care of us, and I don’t know much about that. But maybe he could help my parents feel better?”

A kindly smile took over the priest's features, and he walked over and took one of Luciano’s hands. “Come, let's go check on them together. I’m sure they’ll appreciate you going out for them.”

The boy wordlessly nodded and followed along with Pietro as they walked deeper into town, Amy hovering after them.

As they walked, Pietro made conversation with the young boy, “Are you still practicing your letters?”

Luciano nodded, “Yeah! I read from mother’s book every day to practice. Normally, she would help, but she hasn’t been up to it recently.

Nodding Pietro nodded, “That's a great skill to have, being able to read and write. You could be a successful merchant or scholar one day.”

“Or a priest like you!” Luciano jumped on a passing rock and then hopped off enthusiastically.

Pietro stifled a laugh, “Yes, or a priest like me. You’d need to be baptized first.”

Luciano stuck out a tongue, “Get my head stuck in the river, no thank you!”

“It’s more than that, Luciano, it’s about cleaning yourself for god. Starting new in his eyes and dedicating yourself to him.” They turned into an alley together.

Luciano looked skeptical, “I just don’t understand why a loving god would care if you take a bath or not.”

“I-Luciano, it’s not a bath-” The priest stopped himself and shook his head, “Come, your parents must be waiting inside. Let us go see what we can do for them.” The two pushed open a ratty-looking wooden door in a cornerside home. Amy moved to follow them in when the world around her shimmered and dissolved.

She was no longer in an alleyway; instead, she was standing a distance away from Luciano, who was hunched over on the ground with Father Pietro standing off to the side of him. In front of the boy were two long rows of recently overturned dirt marked with a rough stone each. As sad as the scene was, Amy also couldn’t help thinking, “That transition was as subtle as a Disney film.”

She moved over closer to Luciano, who had not visibly aged between transitions, so it couldn’t be too much later. His face was strained, and his body kept rocking as he held back tears. Leaning in, Amy could see what appeared to be a home-bound book in his hands, which he was clutching so hard his knuckles turned white.

After a few moments of silence, Father Pietro seemed to have resolved himself and moved forward, gripping Luciano’s shoulder. “Luciano, I’m sorry again. Your parents were not part of my flock, but they were good people. I’m sure they’re in heaven now and at peace.”

This seemed to break the seal on Luciano, who broke into an anguished sob as the priest rubbed his back. The boy rubbed his eyes. “What am I going to do now?”

“Come be my apprentice in the church; it’s better than the orphanage.” Pietro leaned in at Luciano’s eye level and pleaded, “You’re a smart, good boy, and I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

Sniffling Luciano frowned, “I’m going to need to get baptized, aren’t I?”

“I’m afraid that can’t be avoided,” Pietro smiled and took Luciano’s hand, “But we can worry about that another day. Come, for now, let's get you something hearty to eat, and we can exchange stories about your parents.”

Hesitantly, the boy got to his feet, “Ok…thank you.”

They walked away together, and once again the scene dissolved. They were inside now, a large stone building held up by wooden rafters, a pulpit at the front; it didn’t take much to identify this place as a church of some kind. Luciano was in the center of the room, holding a mop and sweeping away at the floor. His clothes were different. He wore a simply colored shirt and pants with a long tunic over top. He was older, perhaps thirteen or fourteen; it was hard for Amy to pin down.

The sound of a heavy wooden door was heard, and Father Pietro appeared from the back of the building. He had changed less than Luciano in the years that had gone by and walked forward past the pulpit towards the boy, “Luciano, I see you are hard at work.”

Luciano breathed out a sigh and leaned on the mop, “I’m almost done, Father Pietro. Only a few more rows to go.”

“Ah, but have you been keeping up with your studies? Recite to me John 3:16.” The priest regarded the young boy with interest.

Resuming his mopping, Luciano recited, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” Before shooting a smirk back at Father Pietro as if scolding him for not providing something harder.

Watching as Father Pietro continued to quiz the boy, Amy could see the odd friendship between the two somewhere between family and master and apprentice. It was clear they were close, and she could only imagine, following a parent’s ****, let alone two, a boy might cling to the kindness of another. She frowned, searching the young boy's expression for something that linked him to the Lucian she knew. She could see the similarities in appearance, but the bearing, the lightness, the overabundant enthusiasm this child had for life couldn’t be further from the demon who had **** them all.

“-And whosoever believeth in him shall not perish but have eternal life. Satisfied Father?” Luciano finished mopping and began to collect the bucket, walking over to Pietro.

Pietro gave a tired grin, “Aye, you did well. If you are finished, you may have the afternoon to yourself. I better not be hearing about any trouble from you, though.”

Luciano walked past carrying the bucket of water in both hands, “Oh, me, in trouble? Never think of it, Father.”

Catching sight of something green in the water, Pietro held out his hand for the boy to stop and reached in and pulled out a collection of leaves, “Nettles? What are they doing in the water?”

The young boy’s face lit up, and he set the bucket down, “Oh yes! Father, I was reading through my mother’s journal and it said adding nettles to cleaning water could help prevent the spread of sickness. So I thought…”

“May I see this journal, Luciano?” Pietro looked curiously at the boy, and Luciano reached into his pocket, procuring the roughly bound book he had been clutching at his parents' graves. Amy watched as the priest looked through the journal, his expression inscrutable before turning back to Luciano, “May I borrow this for a time? I will return it by this evening. I am merely curious what other cleaning tips may be inside.”

The boy raised a brow but did not argue, “Sure, Father, just take care with it. It’s all I have left of them.”

Pietro patted his apprentice on the back, “I will take great care of it, you have my word. No, off with you, enjoy your afternoon.”

Luciano beamed and ran off, Bucket and mop in hand, before tucking them away and running out the front door. Amy expected the area to dissolve once more or some indication to follow Luciano into town, but instead it followed Father Pietro as he too went into the streets of the city.

Amy was tempted to make a quip about how unsubtly ominous the switch in pov was, but it suddenly occurred to her that what she was viewing was someone’s life and not a film, and she found her voice cut off in her throat as the priest made his way into what appeared to be an inn.

“Father Vito? Are you here?” Pietro called out, and a man in a traveler’s cloak, sword at his side, sitting and drinking wine at the far corner of the inn, raised their hand.

“Ah, yes, you’re the local priest, right? Pietro. We met when I first came to town.” The figure now identified as Vito commented as Pietro sat across from him.

“Yes, when you said you had come to Cuneo searching for signs of witchcraft, I was skeptical but…You told me to tell you if I found anything.” Pietro looked nervous

Vito set down his goblet with a clammer, “Have you found anything then?”

“I-” Pietro paused as if ****, and then fished out the journal, wordlessly sliding it across the table to Vito, “I found this; it reminded me of what you said of spells and potions.”

Vito picked up the journal and roughly thumbed through it, nodding gravely, “Indeed, this is for certain a witch's grimoire. Where did you happen upon this?”

Pietro froze up, Amy could see the conflict in his features before he ultimately relented, “It…belongs to my apprentice, it’s a hand me down from his mother.”

“The orphan in your care?” Vito’s voice was raised, “Witch’s blood in the very church of this land? The situation is far more dire than I expected. Pietro, you have let the house of the lord be tainted with satan’s touch.”

“I-I-I” The priest stammered and then leaned in, “He’s a good boy, Vito, smart. Surely he cannot be held accountable for his parents’ deeds.”

“The taint runs through the blood, Pietro; it runs deep. Can you tell me he has not used sorcery within the house of the lord?” Pietro thought of the nettles and frowned silently, “There is only one thing to be done. We will cleanse the boy and this church and give them to god. It is the only way.”

Pietro turned, looking grief-stricken, and Vito grabbed him by the arm, “Pietro, you have made a vow to god, will you uphold it and protect the flock?”

Wordlessly, Pietro nodded, and Vito relaxed his grip, “Then we act tonight.”

Amy knew enough about European witch cleansing to guess what was coming next and spoke out to the air, “Ok, I’ve seen enough, I think I get it, you don’t need to show me the next-” She was interrupted by the scene dissolving, she was back in the church but now, smoke was filling the room. Flames clawing at the wooden beams and in the center, roused an **** Luciano.

The boy rubbed his head, “Ow…when did I?” He looked around and saw the flames, “Father Pietro!” His voice was full of concern, and Amy watched as he ran to the living quarters and back, searching for Pietro. He kept his mouth covered with his arm before running towards the front door, and after unsuccessfully trying to open it, hammering on it and screaming out, “Help! Someone! The church is- It's on fire! I don’t know- cough - where the father is!”

The boy, getting no response, sullenly walked towards the center of the room and pulled off a rosary on his wrist, beginning to pray. His eyes were wide as the weight of what was happening well in on him.

He paused, and Amy could see as hope drained from him, and he dropped his rosary to the floor. He sat there for a moment before his eyes igniting again, “The Cellar!”

Coughing, Luciano made his way over and began to pull a stone in the floor out of the way, revealing a small, uneven stairwell. Running down was a small cellar room, complete with wine barrels and a cellar door to the outside. The room was also ablaze, but voices could be faintly heard from the other side of the door. Luciano rushed over and tried to open them, but once again found them barred. So he began to hammer and call out between fits of coughing.

“Please! Someone! Help!” the boy called out, and there was the sound of hurried footsteps that suddenly stopped before Amy good make out the voice of Vito.

“Pietro, be strong, this is god’s test for you.”

Luciano paused and then called again, “Father? Are you out there? Thank god…I was worried you were trapped somewhere.” There was a sound from behind as the rafters began to collapse over the entrance to the cellar; there was no retreat now. Luciano turned back, his eyes full of fear and desperation, “Father, please…I’m scared.”

It was only then that Pietro’s voice broke out, “Luciano, I’m sorry, it’s the only way. Now you will be purified and sent to god’s heaven.” Amy could hear the strain and the conflict, but could find no part of her that sympathized,

Confusion was the solitary expression on Luciano’s face, “I don’t understand, Father, you said you’d protect me. You said god would care for me no matter what. Now what are you saying?”

Vito broke in, “Your blood is tainted, boy, satan’s grip is already on your soul. What we do now is mercy.”

“Mercy…you did this?” Amy could see the cogs clicking to together and could almost hear something snap in the boy as his features warped. For the first time, she could recognize the host she knew in this boy’s face, warped with hate and despair, “You! Traitor! I curse you, Father Pietro! You and your god! All of his creation! You have only ever taken from me, and I pray that Satan or whoever the hell opposes him gets their desired comeuppance. All of you deserve it! All of you deserve it!”

Vito, beyond the door, shook his head, “And there the true creature reveals itself, I am sorry Pietro.”

As the cellar collapsed into flames, the scene once more dissolved. Now standing in an inky blackness, Amy scoffed, “You already killed him, what more can you do?” Amy swore she heard tittering laughter as a desk came into view. The room itself was dark, but Amy realized it was only by the shadows cast from below. A bit of unending flame stretched across the horizon that went along the open backside of the space.

Behind the desk was a dark skinned woman, wearing a black robe with green eyes and short curly black hair. She had the sort of beauty that Amy could only describe as being handsome, and a dark, ruby-eyed serpent curled around her arm as she was writing. She had a noble sort of bearing to her, and even as Amy watched as space warped in front of the woman, she had no discernible reaction as a figure appeared…kind of. It was more space bending around where a figure might be. Amy could see a person was there, but there were no discernible features to speak of.

Quietly, the woman tucked her pen away and glanced up, “Ah, Mr. Producer- that is what you’re going by these days?. The higher-ups told me you would be coming.”

The voice that echoed from the figure was surprisingly relaxed and casual, “Any label will do, I have been informed you’ve been messing around with such things yourself, Ms Andrea Malcolm.”

The woman smiled, revealing sharp needle-like canines, “Do you like it? I thought it quite suited this form?” She gave a little twirl like she was showing off a new dress.

“Does it not interfere with your work?” They produced a hand to its “chin”.

“Oh, these days, humans fear each other more than monsters. I’d actually say it’s a trade-up. Besides, Solomon’s book took a lot of the whimsy out of being a demon.”

Without bothering with a transition, the figure pushed on, “I’m here because there are concerns about your methods. Other Earls create numerous new demons a year in their service, we have been told you may only make one every few hundred.”

“Oh yes, there is that, but I assure you I have my reasons. I actually have a perfect example if you don’t mind following me.” The producer gestured for her to lead on, and Andrea smiled, “Perfect.” She raised a hand and, like she was unzipping an invisible zipper, dragged her nail through the air, revealing a blank expanse, “Ah, Purgatory, lovely at this time of year.” She produced a staff from nowhere, and her snake coiled up towards her shoulders

As Amy followed the figures, she could feel the temperature drop; this new space was vastly colder than where they had just been, and not only that there was something off about the air. It was hollow in a way that Amy couldn’t quite grasp, but it was like where normally something filled the air that she had never noticed before was now conspicuously absent.

As they walked together, Andrea began to speak, the only other sound being the echoing of her staff along the ground, “We have a finite number of devils. Angels don’t get cast down from Heaven all that often these days, so we rely on demons to supplement our numbers and complete the infinitely expanding tasks we have across our vast multiversal bureaucracy.” She winked back at the figure, “I’m sure you can relate. Normally, a demon is made out of a mass of malice. Fairly easy to do, but honestly? I find the process lacking; demons come out fully developed this way, but they only know how to hate as a default. There’s no passion or, for lack of a better word, humanity behind it.”

She turned to the figure, “I **** human souls so they might reach absolution, it requires a delicate touch and an understanding of humans to be done well and proper. As such, I prefer a quality over quantity approach. Look over there.” She gestured with her staff, and Amy also turned to look

“Oh god,” Amy felt nausea creep up in her throat. There, hunched over, barely discernible was Luciano. He could barely be seen through the flames and the wailing dark tendrils that sprang from his form. His eyes were the only thing visible at all times, glowing bright and gold and full of hate.

The producer leaned in, “Fascinating, what’s happening here? I thought souls of purgatory were ushered off or otherwise displaced.”

Andrea grinned, “Normally, yes, but sometimes I see someone like this child and I just make sure that doesn’t happen. See, I needed him to cook for a bit. Gruesome ****, burned alive in a church by his own adoptive parent. And he has been reliving that moment, every second of every day since he died for the last few hundred years. So full of hate and malice. See those flames? He is actually so full of malice at this point that he is performing minor conjurations just like a demon, and to do what? Summon the same flames that killed him! You gotta love that.”

Amy felt increasingly sick, thinking of every time Lucian began to lose his temper and the flames crawling up his skin.

Andrea continued, “So this is how I make demons, it's like craft brewing vs mass production. And he’s just now ready to be picked, nice and fermented.” She chuckled, “Does this meet with your approval?”

The producer cocked their head, “I understand the methodology, and your performance has been consistent. I’ll let the others know.”

Looking disappointed, Andrea lifted a finger to her lips, “Oh? Not going to watch the finished process?”

“I trust you to handle it, and I have many demands on my time; this was already an unusual aberration. I will advise Valefor not to drag me into such disputes again.” There was a ripple, and the producer was gone, with Andrea waving goodbye as they faded.

“Now then…” Andrea licked her lips and turned back to Luciano, walking forward while gently tapping her staff against the ground. As she approached, a flare shot from his form towards her that made her shrink back in mock terror, “Oh yes, you’re very scary, aren’t you. So angry…you hate them so much, not just those that did this to you, but all of those nasty, sinful humans. There, there.” She reached directly through the flames, her hands being burned even as she stroked the side of Luciano’s face.

His eyes did not ease up in their intensity but were now focused on Andrea’s face, and she smiled like a cat with a new toy, “Ah, you see me now. Well, I’ve seen you, Luciano. I know all about you and what happened. No one knows better the black hearts of men than you, eh?” Her hand, now reduced to bones, continued to stroke his hair gently, causing Amy to wince.

Andrea continued to smile, “If you had a chance to pay them all back, over and over, would you like that?”

In her hands, Luciano nodded almost imperceptibly, and her grin widened, revealing many sharp teeth, “I can give you that, Luciano, I just need one thing in return. Your immortal soul, from now on, you would belong to me, you would follow my orders, and in return, I would let you punish humanity until the sun consumes the earth and beyond.” She lowered her hand as if for a handshake, “Do we have a contract?”

Amy wanted to stop this somehow; every fiber of her being was screaming that she couldn’t let anyone take this deal, but she knew that here she was just an observer, witnessing things that had long since already happened.

Luciano’s arm trembled as it lifted up and took Andrea’s skeletal hand. She tilted her head and smiled, “Good boy.” In a flash, a chain of fire extended from Lucian’s chest to Andrea’s before vanishing again, “Now, a few things…I love this little look of yours, but unfortunately, demon children won’t catch on for a few hundred more years, so…” She moved her hands like she was molding pottery on a wheel, and the flames around Luciano flared until they left behind a much more familiar figure. There stood the adult Luciano, his eyes shifted to black sclera, wearing a black robe similar to Andreas's, with a grey shawl.

He looked down at his hands and the flames appeared inside them, before opening his mouth, his tone simultaneously serene but weighty, “How long has it been?”

Andrea’s face evened, and she blew on her hands, muscle, sinew, and skin regrowing before reaching down and grabbing her staff, “It’s been around 200 years, since your original ****. A lot has changed. People, though, fundamentally have not.”

He looked Andrea in the eye, “Who are you?”

She smiled, “You sold your soul without knowing who you were selling it to?”

“Did it matter? You offered me all I’ve thought about since arriving here.” He said simply before trying to step forward and tripping

“Watch out, new legs will take some getting used to, don’t worry, Lucian, we’ll make you a proper demon yet.” The woman grinned, extending her hand, which Lucian took

“Lucian?” The newly formed demon asked.

“A fitting name for a demon, your human self is dead after all. From now on, the only one who will call you Luciano is me.” The snake on Andrea’s shoulder flicked its tongue as she lifted Lucian to his feet.

“You still haven’t told me your name.” Lucian frowned.

“Andrea, Andrea Malcolm. Welcome to hell, Lucian. We’ll get you properly set in and torturing souls before you know it.” She clapped her staff against the ground and indicated for Lucian to follow as she walked forward

Lucian looked down at his legs and took a step forward and smiled, “All I needed to hear.”

Amy was about to follow after them when the world began to dissolve. It was different this time, though; she was being pulled along with it. She felt like water spiraling down the drain, and just when she thought she would be lost to darkness!

She woke up.

Her vision was obscured by the mask on her face. She reached up and saw she was no longer in Caleb’s room, but in some corner of the Sabotage shop. A mat had been laid under her, along with a pillow.

She arched her back to try and look around when she felt a tremor from the mask and watched as, on the inside, words were carved with glowing gold light until they read-

“Having this mask protects the holder from one Transformation- This effect is nullified if the original holder lets anyone learn of this effect.”