Peace never shattered loudly.
It fractured in whispers, in glances held too long, in the way power shifted when no one was watching.
Aurelian felt the first crack not as an attack, but as resistance.
Reports filtered in from every layer of Hell—subtle at first. Overlords delaying compliance. Contracts being "misinterpreted." Protection rackets rebranding themselves as community security while continuing old abuses beneath new names. Stability, it seemed, was being tested from the inside.
And at the center of it all was Valentino.
Aurelian stood before the council chamber's obsidian wall, sigils reflecting in his eyes. Valentino's mark flickered erratically, pulsing like a dying heartbeat.
"He's provoking," Beelzebub said, appearing beside him. "Open enough to be noticed. Subtle enough to deny."
"Classic," Aurelian replied. "He wants me to react."
Bee smirked. "So don't."
Aurelian shook his head. "Not yet. First, I want him to feel isolated."
Valentino did not feel isolated.
He felt crowded.
Every move he made was suddenly… watched. Suppliers hesitated. Clients asked questions. Allies grew distant, their smiles tighter, their excuses thinner. The fear wasn't obvious, but it was there—like a room slowly losing oxygen.
And Valentino hated it.
He slammed a glass against the wall of his penthouse, shards scattering across the floor. "He thinks he can starve me out?" he snarled. "I am the indulgence. I am the vice they can't quit."
A subordinate hesitated before speaking. "Boss… the Radio Demon's been asking about you."
Valentino froze.
Alastor never asked.
Across the city, Alastor hummed as he walked through his domain, cane tapping in time with an old, broken tune. He'd felt the tension building, the way Hell bent under Aurelian's influence—not snapping, but reshaping.
"How fascinating," he mused. "A ruler who refuses the stage."
His radio crackled softly.
"Still," Alastor continued, smile sharpening, "every performance needs a climax."
Loona felt the pressure personally.
A Hell without constant slaughter should have felt safer—but instead, it made her more aware of danger. Violence no longer hid in the open. It lurked in corners, in manipulation, in control disguised as care.
She confronted Aurelian about it late one cycle, finding him alone with a map of the city projected in light.
"People are scared," she said. "Not of Heaven. Of each other."
Aurelian didn't argue. "Fear doesn't vanish. It changes shape."
"Then why does this feel like it's about to blow up?"
"Because Hell is being asked to grow up," he replied quietly. "And growth hurts."
Loona studied him. "You're waiting for something."
"Yes."
"For Valentino to cross a line."
She frowned. "What if he does it somewhere you can't ignore?"
Aurelian met her gaze. "Then I act."
Octavia noticed the cracks in a different way.
The Goetia council chambers buzzed with paranoia. Noble demons whispered about coups, about Heaven's surveillance, about Aurelian's growing influence. Some blamed her—subtly, politely—for aligning too closely with him.
She didn't care.
What bothered her was the math.
She found Aurelian in the archive chamber, surrounded by old treaties and newer projections.
"You're running out of patience," she said.
"Yes."
"And time."
"Yes."
Octavia stepped closer. "Valentino isn't your real problem."
"No," Aurelian agreed. "He's a symptom."
"Then what's the disease?"
Aurelian's expression darkened. "Hell's addiction to hierarchy. Someone always wants to be on top—even if the system burns everything beneath them."
She folded her arms. "And you're trying to flatten it."
"Just enough," he said. "So no one can stand above the rest without accountability."
Octavia exhaled slowly. "That will make enemies."
"I already have them."
The line was crossed three cycles later.
A shelter district—one of the first zones designated as protected under the armistice—went dark. Communications cut. Patrols rerouted. When Aurelian's observers finally reached it, they found bodies.
Not massacred.
Displayed.
The message was unmistakable.
Valentino had acted.
Aurelian stood amid the aftermath, the air thick with old fear and fresh blood. His power stirred dangerously close to the surface.
Loona arrived moments later, fury blazing in her eyes. "Tell me this wasn't him."
Aurelian's voice was ice. "It was."
Octavia appeared shortly after, feathers drawn tight. She took in the scene and went still.
"He wanted to show you the cost of restraint," she said.
"Yes," Aurelian replied. "And to show Heaven that Hell cannot be trusted."
Loona's claws dug into her palms. "So what now?"
Aurelian straightened, gaze lifting toward the distant skyline where Valentino's tower cut into the sky like a blade.
"Now," he said softly, "I remind Hell that stability is not weakness."
Far above, in Heaven, alarms of possibility flared.
And deep below, Roo's laughter echoed again—this time edged with anticipation.
The crack had become a fracture.
And something was about to break.