All appeared at peace in their surroundings.

“A fascinating addition to His growing menagerie,” Remiel commented on the bipedal creatures the Lord had named “human.” From what he understood, they had been made in His image and designed so that they could replicate, a talent that only the Lord of Lords had been able to perform—until now.

These creatures had been given the gift of creation.

“Fascinating,” Byleth commented, his eyes never leaving the Almighty’s latest works. “Not exactly the word I would use in describing them.”

Remiel looked to his friend for further clarification.

“Dangerous would be more appropriate, from what I hear,” Byleth whispered.

The female waded from the tranquil green waters to lie with her counterpart upon the shore. They truly were fascinating. Remiel saw so much of their own angelic design in their creation, but at the same time they were very different.

“Don’t be foolish,” he scoffed. “Dangerous to whom? To us? To the All-Father? That’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t believe it either,” Byleth said, “but Lucifer was so insistent.”

“What did Lucifer say?” Remiel asked, curious as to what God’s most favored had to say about these newest creations.

“He says that these… these humans will replace us in His eyes.”

Remiel watched as the female cuddled beside her partner. He placed his arm around her in a loving embrace, and they held each other by the cool emerald waters of the lake, in the blessed Garden, two separate pieces that together formed one.

The Lord had outdone Himself in their conception.

“Lucifer says that there will come a time when He will love them best,” Byleth said.

There was something in the angel’s eyes, something Remiel had never seen in their kind.

Envy.

And like the most virulent disease, it would soon begin to spread.

To contaminate.

“It’s been a long time,” Remy said, the memory of that moment in the Garden fading into the background of his past. He had more of his drink, watching as Byleth… William slowly nodded. Remy imagined that he was remembering as well.

“Being Satan of your little family of misfits must agree with you,” Remy added. The two thugs that had accompanied their boss into the study visibly tensed, looking toward their employer to see his reaction.

Byleth chuckled, letting one of his expensive Italian loafers dangle from his foot. “It’s only a title for those who wish to recognize it,” the fallen angel said. “There are many Denizens out there who see me only as one of their own, another of those who lost their way doing penance for their sins.”

“And some who look at you as the big boss,” Remy added. “A leader to guide them in their often illegal pursuits.”

Byleth looked at him intensely over the rim of his crystal glass tumbler. “I twist no arms, Remiel,” Byleth said, holding the glass to his mouth but not drinking. “They come to me of their own free will. Isn’t that right, Mulciber… Procell?” He looked to his men, one, then the other. They just smiled smugly.

“There are those words again… free will,” Remy said, swirling the golden liquid around in his glass. “We were so jealous of humanity when He chose to give it to them first.” He paused, remembering all the strife that it caused in Heaven, and the tumultuous aftereffects when God at last bequeathed it to them. “But once we had it, we didn’t handle it too well. And from the looks of your nasty little family, you’re not doing too well with it now either.”

Byleth held his glass out, and the large, bald fallen took it from him. “Thank you, Mulciber,” he said. His man took the empty glass over to the liquor cabinet and set it down. He then returned to his position on one side of his employer’s chair, the second of Byleth’s goons on the other. They continued to glare at Remy, genuine hate leaking from their eyes.

“Who’s to say?” Byleth responded to Remy’s last comment. “It’s their choice, and they do with it what they wish. Some choose to live out the remainder of their existence amongst His greatest and habitually flawed creations, waiting for the slim chance that they might be forgiven and allowed back through the pearly gates, while others choose a different path.”

Remy polished off his drink, smacking his lips as he placed the empty glass down on the leather couch cushion beside him. “I’ve always wanted to ask this question: Do you guys actually get some kind of enjoyment out of being bad, or is it all about pissing Him off? Do you think He even cares at this point? I mean, He’s already tossed you out; I’d say it’s likely that He’s written you off by now, wouldn’t you think?”

“We can only hope that He’s still watching… seeing how easy it is for even His chosen creations—his beloved humans—to fall from grace… to forget Him and His holy word so easily when the opportunity presents itself,” Byleth said with a certain amount of pleasure.

The Denizens reveled in the weaknesses of humanity, taking immense pleasure in leading them down a path of corruption. Drugs, prostitution, gambling; if it could somehow stain the human spirit, they were likely part of the equation, pulling the strings from the shadows.

There wasn’t a nicer bunch of guys on the planet.

“It’s all we really have left,” Byleth offered. “And we take from it what we can.”

Remy took the Satan’s answer for what it was worth. “Fair enough,” he said. He noticed that Mulciber and Procell had stopped giving him the hairy eyeball and were now looking at the area near his feet, at the twin daggers that still lay there. Remy wondered if the knives were somehow attempting to communicate with them as they had with him, filling their heads with their greatest hits.

He leaned forward, picking the twin daggers up from the rug, and watching as all present physically reacted.

“So, what can you tell me about these?” Remy asked. The knives were trying to get into his head again, but he was ready this time, blocking the violent imagery and focusing on the here and now.

“Nothing much to tell, really,” Byleth said, uncrossing his legs, planting both feet upon the floor. He was staring at the Pitiless with hungry eyes. “I first learned of them just before my release from Tartarus,” the Satan said. “They were whispered about… their purpose a mystery.”

“That was quite some time ago,” Remy said, rubbing the flat of his thumb along the hilt of one of the knives. The weapon seemed to purr, enjoying his attention. “Why the sudden interest now?”

Byleth reclined in the chair and sighed, looking as though he was relaxing, but Remy knew that wasn’t the case. “They were supposed to be special, but as far as I knew they were lost, hidden away someplace waiting for somebody to discover them. I never gave them much thought beyond that, really, focusing my talents on building a power base amongst the Denizen community. It was a long, uphill battle, but one I relished, and eventually managed to win.”

“Do they give you a special decoder ring, or maybe even some decorative horns when you make Satan?” Remy asked. Obviously he’d been spending way too much time with Francis.

He could see Byleth’s men tensing, just waiting for the word to pummel him. But he doubted they’d do it, even if ordered. Remember, he still had the knives.

“You’re much funnier than I ever remember you being,” Byleth responded with a sickly grin. “Is it something you intentionally work at, or does it come as a result of living with them… living as one of them?”

“It was either this or in-line skating,” Remy explained. “I went with being funny; it’s something I can do all year-round.”

The onetime friends glared across the study at each other. Remy could tell that the window for friendly conversation would be closing soon, patience wearing thin, and he needed some answers.