Hell had a way of reminding you that peace was temporary.
Aurelian felt it before he saw it—the shift in the air, the subtle tightening of power that crawled along the streets of Pentagram City like a living thing. Demons argued louder than usual. Overlords flexed just a bit too openly. Rumors traveled faster, sharper, edged with fear.
Something had changed.
From the balcony of his private residence—far above the Hive's main halls—Aurelian watched the city churn. Red neon flickered against black spires, smoke coiling upward like grasping fingers. This wasn't chaos for chaos's sake. This was anticipation.
The Extermination was closer than anyone realized.
Beelzebub sensed it too. She hadn't said anything outright, but the way her court had tightened security, the way her smiles carried calculation instead of indulgence, told him enough. Hell was bracing itself, even if it didn't know for what.
Aurelian exhaled slowly, hands resting on the stone railing. He had delayed this moment long enough.
Control without visibility had kept Hell from tearing itself apart—but invisibility could only go so far. Lines were being drawn now. He would need to decide where he stood when the blades finally fell.
Behind him, the door slid open.
"You're brooding again," Bee said lightly, though her eyes were sharp. "That usually means something expensive is about to break."
Aurelian smiled faintly but didn't turn. "Or something necessary."
She joined him at the balcony, leaning against the railing with practiced ease. From afar, they looked like any other ruling pair—Gluttony's Queen and her favored heir. Only the truth between them made the moment heavier.
"You've been pulling on threads," Bee said. "Old ones. Heavenly ones."
"I had to," Aurelian replied. "The Exterminations aren't random anymore. Heaven's adjusting its tactics."
Bee clicked her tongue. "About time they noticed we weren't just rotting down here."
Aurelian finally faced her. "They noticed me."
Silence stretched.
Bee didn't laugh this time. "You're certain?"
"Yes." His voice was calm, but the weight behind it pressed hard. "The movements of the Seraphim, the increased Angelic patrols, the precision of the last Extermination—it's all reactive. They don't know who I am, but they know something is wrong."
Bee studied him carefully. "And what do you plan to do when they figure it out?"
"That depends," he said softly. "On whether Hell is ready to be more than prey."
Later that cycle, Aurelian moved through Pentagram City unguarded, cloaked in subtle glamour. Power hummed beneath his skin, restrained but present, like a storm held behind glass.
He didn't go to an Overlord's tower.
He went lower.
The streets here were cracked and uneven, soaked in old blood and newer sins. Imps, hellhounds, and sinners packed into narrow alleys, scraping by under the shadow of forces that never cared about them.
This was the Hell he wanted to stabilize—not the thrones, not the titles.
Loona stood outside I.M.P.'s office, leaning against the brick wall, cigarette glowing faintly. Her ears twitched when she sensed him before she saw him.
"You walk like you own the place," she muttered as he approached.
Aurelian smirked. "Old habit."
She eyed him, expression guarded but not hostile. "You don't come down here unless something's wrong."
"Is that how you see me?"
"Yeah," she said bluntly. "Someone who doesn't waste steps."
He considered that. "Then I suppose I won't waste yours."
Loona straightened slightly. "What's going on?"
"The balance is shifting," he said. "And I may not be able to keep you out of what's coming."
Her jaw tightened. "You saying Hell's about to get worse?"
"I'm saying it's about to change."
Loona studied his face, searching for the lie she usually found in powerful demons. She didn't find it.
"You should've told me earlier," she said quietly.
"I wanted you safe."
She scoffed. "In Hell? Cute idea."
Despite himself, Aurelian chuckled. "I didn't say untouched. Just alive."
For a moment, neither spoke. The city breathed around them—sirens, laughter, screams, all blending into a familiar, terrible song.
"Whatever you're planning," Loona finally said, "don't do it alone."
He met her gaze. "That's more dangerous than you realize."
"Good," she replied. "I'm tired of safe."
Across the city, high within the Goetia estate, Octavia stared at the sky through massive stained-glass windows. The colors painted her feathers in shades of crimson and violet, but they did nothing to chase away the unease in her chest.
She felt it too.
Hell was holding its breath.
When Aurelian appeared behind her, stepping out of shadow like a secret given form, she didn't flinch.
"You always show up when I'm thinking too much," she said.
"Then perhaps I should apologize," he replied gently.
She turned to face him, eyes heavy with thoughts she never voiced to her father. "You don't look like someone with good news."
"No," he admitted. "But I look like someone who trusts you."
That caught her attention.
"You're planning something big," Octavia said. "Something that'll piss off Heaven. And probably my family."
"Yes."
She folded her arms. "And you came here because…?"
"Because when Hell starts screaming," he said quietly, "I need to know where you stand."
Octavia searched his face. She saw the restraint, the careful control—and the loneliness beneath it.
"I don't want endless bloodshed," she said slowly. "I don't want to spend eternity dodging angels while my people die for sins they barely remember."
"Neither do I."
"Then," she said, voice firm despite the fear in her eyes, "you have me."
The words settled between them like a vow.
That night, deep beneath Pentagram City, Aurelian stood within a chamber only a handful of beings knew existed. Sigils older than Hell itself glowed faintly along the walls. Names of Overlords—past and present—were etched into obsidian stone.
With a gesture, several sigils flared brighter.
He wasn't summoning them.
He was reminding them.
Across Hell, powerful demons paused mid-conversation, mid-indulgence, mid-threat—feeling the invisible hand that bound their empires together tighten just enough to be noticed.
Aurelian opened his eyes, power finally bleeding through the cracks.
"Positions," he whispered to the darkness.
Hell shifted in response.
And far above, in the gleaming halls of Heaven, something ancient stirred—uneasy, alert, and afraid of a name it had not yet remembered.
The war for Hell had not begun.
But the first lines had been drawn.