The Grimoire (Part 2)
[Scene: The Full Moon Festival...]
The Wrath Ring stretched wide beneath the blood-red moon; its light bathing the dusty fields in a violent, feverish glow. Wooden platforms had been erected near the barns, strung with flickering infernal lights that buzzed and sparked like irritated insects. The air smelled of ash, hay, and sweat, Wrath at its most honest. Hellborn imps packed the open grounds shoulder to shoulder, grumbling, shoving, and shouting over one another. Some were drunk already. Others chewed wheat. At the center of it all, a stage loomed. Andrealphus stepped into the light. A hush, uneasy and incomplete, rolled through the crowd as his tall, elegant frame came into view, cloaked in finery that looked painfully out of place among the mud-caked boots and work-worn clothes of Wrath's residents. He raised one hand, feathers gleaming faintly under the moonlight, a smile already curled on his beak. Nearby, Willy Wackford weaved through the masses like a parasite with legs. "FULL MOON FESTIVAL MERCH!" he hollered, hoisting a crate overhead. "LIMITED EDITION! REAL COLLECTOR'S ITEMS!"
He shoved a badly printed shirt into an imp's hands—Andrealphus' face stretched awkwardly across the fabric, the words "I SAW THE MOON AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY SHIRT" slapped underneath. "Twenty-five mammon bucks!" Wackford chirped.
"That's robbery!" Someone snarled.
Wackford grinned wider. "Exactly!"
Not far from the stage, Blitzo stood with his arms crossed tight over his chest, his tail flicking irritably behind him. Millie and Moxxie flanked him, both wearing identical frowns that said they'd rather be literally anywhere else but here.
"This guy really loves hearin' himself talk, don't he?" Millie muttered.
"I don't trust this. At all. What if he runs away with it?'' Moxxie frowned.
Loona didn't bother looking up.
She leaned against a fence post, phone glowing in her clawed hand as she scrolled through Sinstagram, her thumb moving lazily past filtered selfies, wrath-ring food pics, and thirst traps.
#BloodMoonVibes, one post read.
"Ugh..." Loona muttered. "Kill me...."
Onstage, Andrealphus spread his arms wide, finally beginning to speak. "Oh, citizens of Wrath," he called, his voice magically amplified, smooth and dripping with false warmth. "I must say, I am simply thrilled—truly honored—that so many of you humble… hardworking peasants could gather here tonight."
A low ripple of annoyed murmurs spread through the crowd. Andrealphus smiled wider. "To witness a once-in-a-lifetime celestial event," he continued, gesturing grandly to the sky. "The glorious blood moon. The stars above us all. A reminder that even here—yes, even here—there is beauty to be found."
Blitzo snorted. "Wow. What a dick." In the crowd, Stolas stood rigid, his attention barely on the speech. His eyes darted anxiously from face to face, scanning the sea of imps with growing urgency. "Octavia…" he murmured. Then he saw her. She stood apart from the others near the edge of the festival grounds, close to an old barn whose wood was splintered and dark with age. Her arms were crossed, posture closed off, her eyes fixed on Andrealphus with a mix of resentment and exhaustion. Relief flooded Stolas' chest. "Octavia!" He called, pushing past startled imps as he hurried toward her. Her head snapped in his direction. For a split second, their eyes met. Then Octavia's expression hardened. She turned and walked away. "Octavia—wait!" Stolas called, panic rising in his voice as he followed. She didn't slow down. Instead, she reached the barn doors, yanked one open, and disappeared inside, slamming it shut behind her.
Stolas stopped just short of the entrance, his hand hovering uselessly in the air. The distant sound of Andrealphus' voice continued to echo behind him, praising the moon, praising himself, praising a life Stolas suddenly felt he no longer had. The blood-red moon loomed high above as Andrealphus magically used the grimoire to open a rift for all the imps to see the glimmering stars. They all awed at the sight.
[Scene: The conversation in the barn...]
He eased the door shut behind him, the sounds of the festival muffling into a distant, hollow thrum. Andrealphus's voice reduced to a faint, oily echo beyond the wooden walls. Dust hung in the air, glowing softly beneath thin beams of moonlight that slipped through cracks in the planks. The smell of hay and old earth pressed against his chest, heavy and suffocating. "Octavia?" Stolas called, his voice gentle, hopeful. He took a few tentative steps forward, talons crunching softly against the dirt floor. "Via? It's me."
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, from somewhere deeper in the barn, her voice cut through him, sharp, trembling, and unmistakably hurt. "Go away."
Stolas froze. His heart stuttered painfully before he moved again, following the sound. He rounded a stack of hay bales and found her sitting behind them; knees drawn close, as if she were trying to make herself smaller. Her eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, red and wet with unshed tears. "Via..." he breathed, rushing to her side. "I—I'm so glad I found you. I was worried—"
She stood abruptly, forcing him to stop short. "You just don't get it..." Octavia snapped, her voice breaking despite her effort to keep it steady. "I don't want to see you. Not now. Not ever!''
Stolas felt the words strike like blades. "Please," he said desperately, "I know things are… complicated, but I never stopped loving you. You're my daughter. You always will be."
Octavia let out a bitter laugh, tears finally spilling over. "Don't say that. You don't get to say that."
"You already made your choice, Dad!''
"You stayed with him..." she interrupted, her voice rising. "With the imp. You chose Blitzø over me. Over Mom...''
"That's not what I meant..." Stolas pleaded. "I was unhappy. But that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you.''
"You left us..." Octavia said quietly, and somehow that hurt more than her shouting.''
Stolas opened his beak, desperate to explain, to undo everything with the right words—but none came. His thoughts tangled, choking him.
Octavia wiped her eyes harshly and stepped closer, her gaze fierce now. "And If you cared so much about me...." She continued. ".... Then why did you try to get yourself executed for him?"
The words landed like a final, devastating blow.
"You didn't think about me..." She said, her voice cracking. "Not for one second. You were ready to die—for an imp—and just leave me and mother behind. Do you have any idea how much that would have hurt me?''
Stolas stood completely still.
His mind screamed for him to say something. Anything. But his throat felt sealed shut, the truth too heavy to escape. Images flashed through his thoughts—chains, Satan's court, Blitzø's terrified face—and beneath it all, the one thing he hadn't allowed himself to fully confront.
Octavia was right.
Stolas finally managed to speak, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm… I'm so sorry."
Octavia turned away from him, her shoulders shaking. "Just leave me alone..." She spoke.
"Please."
Something inside Stolas broke.
Without another word, he turned and fled. He stumbled back toward the door; vision blurred with shame and regret. He shoved it open and slipped outside. The noise of the festival crashing back into him like a cruel reminder of everything he had lost.
The door shut behind him with a dull thud.
Stolas stood there for a long moment, staring at the wooden doors as if hoping it might open again hoping she would call after him. But she didn't.
[Scene: Vox and the grimoire...]
Stolas returned to the crowd on unsteady legs. The cheers and jeers washed over him, hollow and distant, as if he were underwater. He took his place a few steps behind the others, eyes unfocused. Ahead of him, Andrealphus continued to preen on the stage, basking in the attention like a peacock under a blood-red moon.
Loona leaned against a fence, thumb lazily scrolling through Sinstagram, her ears flicking with disinterest. Millie and Moxxie stood shoulder to shoulder, expressions flat and unimpressed, while Blitzo rested his chin in his hands, eyes half-lidded as Andrealphus droned on about destiny, stars, and his own supposed magnificence. "And so, you should all feel honored—" Andrealphus began. The lights behind him flickered. Once. Twice. A low murmur rippled through the crowd. Imps glanced up at the rigging, then at one another. The air itself seemed to hum, a faint electrical buzz crawling across the back of everyone's neck. Loona frowned down at her phone just as the screen crackled violently, blue sparks skittering across the glass. "The hell…?" She muttered.
Millie grabbed Moxxie's arm. "Uh… Mox?"
Blitzo straightened. "Yeah, that's not normal."
The lights strobed harder now, plunging the stage into brief darkness between flashes. Andrealphus faltered mid-sentence, his smug expression twisting into irritation.
"What is the meaning of this?" he snapped, turning sharply. "Wackford! Willford! Whatever your ridiculous name is—explain yourself!"
Willy Wackford, halfway through hawking a glowing moon-shaped souvenir to a confused imp, looked up and shrugged helplessly. A crack of thunder split the air. Blue electricity tore reality open behind Andrealphus, unraveling space itself in jagged neon lines. The crowd gasped as a figure stepped through the crackling energy, boots touching down on the stage as if he owned it. "Well, well, well," Vox purred, straightening his bowtie as his screen-face glitched with delight. "If it isn't the great Andrealphus himself."
Andrealphus spun around, feathers bristling. "Vox? What in Satan's name are you doing here?" He hissed. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of delivering a spectacle to these peasants?"
Vox chuckled, the sound distorted and metallic. "Oh, I see it. I see it all." His eyes narrowed. "But you see… you have something that I need."
Andrealphus took a wary step back. "You are not welcome here."
"Funny..." Vox said smoothly. "Neither are you."
Without warning, a tentacle-like electrical plug shot from Vox's back, snapping around Andrealphus's arm. Blue light surged violently through him.
Andrealphus screamed.
The shock hurled him across the stage, his body slamming hard against the wood before collapsing in a twitching heap. Panic erupted instantly—imps shrieked and scattered in every direction, knocking over each other and trampling merchandise as they fled.
Blitzo stared, eyes wide, as Vox stepped forward through the chaos. The grimoire lay open near the fallen ice prince, its pages fluttering wildly in the charged air.
Vox bent down and picked it up reverently.
Millie swallowed hard. "That's… that's bad."
Vox's grin widened. "Finally, after days of being a complete total failure...." He said, voice dripping with triumph. "My call to a new age of entertainment has arrived!''
The grimoire snapped open in his hands, pages flipping on their own as ancient symbols came off from it.
Vox lifted one clawed finger and traced a sigil through the air.
Reality screamed.
A celestial portal burst open on the stage, roaring with wind and blinding light. The force of it sent Blitzo and the others skidding backward across the dirt.
"SON OF A—" Blitzo snarled, drawing his flintlock as he scrambled to his feet. He charged forward, firing blindly.
Vox didn't even turn fully around.
A second electrical tentacle lashed out, whipping across Blitzo's face with a crack of energy. Blitzo cried out, spinning and crashing to the ground.
"BLITZ!" Millie, Moxxie, and Loona screamed. Loona and Moxxie rushed to his side as Vox calmly adjusted his suit, unbothered. "Try to keep up next time..." Vox said smugly. ''Now then, off to my new life...'' Vox turned a heel. He stepped into the portal with the sight of the bustling energy of New York City. The light collapsed in on itself with a thunderous boom, leaving only scorched ground and stunned silence in its wake. Blitzo pushed himself up on shaking arms, staring at the empty space where Vox had vanished. His chest tightened. "Oh… no." he muttered.