Princess of Hell

I settled into one of the chairs in Galahad's cramped office, still processing the heightened security I'd observed throughout the facility. The contrast between today's reception and our previous visits was striking enough that I couldn't ignore it.

"So what's going on with all these checks?" I asked, gesturing vaguely toward the door. "The security seemed much more intense than usual."

Galahad's expression remained neutral as he took his seat behind the desk. "Actually, nothing unusual is happening. This is how things typically operate here."

I frowned, certain that wasn't accurate. "But when we visited before—"

"You were expected then," he interrupted gently. "Today you arrived unannounced. Standard protocol requires additional verification for unexpected visitors, regardless of previous clearance."

That made sense, though it highlighted another issue that had been bothering me. "Speaking of being expected, can't the VCD provide me with some better form of contact? Especially given what's happened to Faith?"

Isabella shifted slightly in her chair beside me, though she remained silent as I continued.

"Using Kyriakos as an intermediary is hardly convenient, for me or for him."

The lich's skeletal frame turned toward me, the ethereal flames in his eye sockets flickering with what might have been agreement. "It can indeed be quite inconvenient," he admitted. "Particularly when I'm occupied with research that requires extended periods of concentration."

Galahad leaned back in his chair, considering the request. "We do have something that might work, but I'd need to get permission first before providing it to you."

I raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were the one in charge here."

"I am," he replied with a slight smile. "In charge of the VCD, which operates under the broader umbrella of the AOR. Certain decisions require approval from higher levels of the organization."

Isabella let out a soft laugh, the sound carrying genuine amusement rather than mockery. "Mortals and their inefficient bureaucracy," she observed, her tone light but pointed. "You should take example from Hell. Everything is much more efficient there."

The way she said it suggested she found the human administrative structure more entertaining than frustrating, like watching a particularly elaborate dance with unnecessary steps.

Galahad's expression remained diplomatically neutral. "I'll note the feedback," he said simply.

I could see Isabella preparing to elaborate on Hell's administrative prowess, complete with examples of how demonic hierarchies streamlined decision-making processes. While I was certain she had valid points about efficiency, I suspected Galahad wasn't particularly interested in a detailed comparison of governmental structures between realms.

"Has Kyriakos discovered anything new about Faith's condition?" I asked quickly, redirecting the conversation before Isabella could launch into what would undoubtedly be a thorough analysis of interdimensional bureaucratic practices.

Kyriakos turned his skeletal frame toward me, the ethereal flames in his eye sockets flickering with what I'd learned to recognize as academic excitement.

"I have indeed learned several fascinating things," he confirmed, his voice carrying that particular tone scholars used when discussing breakthrough discoveries. "As I mentioned previously, this represents the first documented case in history of a mortal undergoing partial demonic transformation."

He paused, seemingly for dramatic effect, though with a lich it was sometimes difficult to distinguish between theatrical timing and the natural gaps that occurred when one no longer needed to breathe.

"Such partial transformations are inherently unstable phenomena," he continued, "often leading to catastrophic outcomes for the subject involved."

I felt my stomach tighten with concern. "What do you mean? Is Faith in danger?"

"Typically, yes," Kyriakos replied matter-of-factly. "The partial state usually collapses within days or weeks. Either the transformation reverses completely, resulting in the mortal's death through a rather grotesque process as their modified physiology fails, or the transformation progresses rapidly to completion, usually producing a feral demon with little to no retained consciousness."

Isabella leaned forward in her chair, her ice-blue eyes sharp with interest. "But you said typically. What makes Faith's case different?"

"Precisely the point," Kyriakos said, his tone brightening with scholarly enthusiasm. "In Faith's case, the transformation appears to be perfectly stable. No signs of deterioration or unwanted progression. Which brings me to the truly fascinating discovery."

He turned his attention back to me, and I had the distinct impression that if he still possessed facial muscles, he would have been smiling.

"As I delved deeper into the magical residue surrounding her transformation, I discovered that you inadvertently altered Faith's soul during the process of saving her life."

"What does that mean?" I asked, though I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know the answer.

Kyriakos began settling into what I recognized as lecture mode. "You see, there are fundamental differences between demonic and mortal souls. Mortal souls, for instance, cannot maintain their ego for extended periods when separated from—"

"Get to the point," I interrupted, my patience wearing thin as worry about Faith overshadowed my usual tolerance for academic explanations.

Stolen story; please report.

Kyriakos paused, and I could swear I detected a hint of offence in his posture, though he complied with my request.

"Faith's soul is no longer that of a mortal," he stated simply. "It has been fundamentally altered to more closely resemble that of a demon."

Isabella's eyebrows rose slightly. "Does that mean she can reform like demons do when they die?"

"Not exactly," Kyriakos replied, clearly pleased to have someone asking the right questions. "Though the process is similar, it appears to be slightly different, most likely due to partial nature of transformation."

He gestured with one skeletal hand as he explained. "When demons die, their bodies disintegrate completely, and new forms are created in Hell through the reformation process. In Faith's case, preliminary observations suggest her body would regenerate rather than being recreated elsewhere."

The implications of what he was saying began to sink in, and I found myself asking the question I both needed and dreaded to know the answer to.

"Does this mean Faith is now immortal?"

"Functionally, yes," Kyriakos confirmed. "Though I wouldn't recommend she test this extensively. Mortal minds are rarely equipped to handle the psychological trauma of repeated deaths and resurrections."

Galahad, who had been listening silently from behind his desk, finally spoke up. "That's a significant concern for someone in her line of work."

"Indeed," Kyriakos agreed. "Additionally, there remains a slight possibility that with each death, her essence would move another step closer to full demonhood. The human elements that currently stabilize her transformation might gradually erode with repeated trauma."

I stared at the lich, processing the weight of what he'd just revealed. In trying to save Faith's life, I had fundamentally changed what she was. She was no longer entirely human, no longer entirely mortal, caught somewhere between her original nature and something else entirely.

"So she's stable for now," I said slowly, "but every time she dies in the field, she risks becoming less human."

"That would be my assessment, yes," Kyriakos replied. "Though I must emphasize that this is largely theoretical. We have no precedent for this type of transformation."

Isabella reached over and placed a reassuring hand on my arm. "At least she's alive," she said quietly. "And stable. That's more than she would have been otherwise."

I nodded, though the knowledge that I had irrevocably altered Faith's very existence sat heavily in my chest. The road to Hell, as the saying went, was paved with good intentions.

* * *

A few minutes later, the office door opened and Faith stepped inside, still wearing her VCD tactical gear. Her glamour was in place, concealing the horn and demonic eye that marked her transformation, but I could see the subtle tension in her shoulders that suggested maintaining the illusion required constant effort.

"Lily, Isabella," she said, nodding to each of us in turn. "I wasn't expecting to see you today."

"How are you doing?" I asked, studying her face for any signs of strain or discomfort.

Faith shrugged, settling into an empty chair. "I manage. The transformation has its benefits, especially in my line of work. Enhanced reflexes, improved night vision, faster healing for minor injuries." She gave me a pointed look. "You don't need to worry so much about me, Lily. And definitely don't blame yourself for what happened."

"I'm not blaming myself," I replied automatically.

"Uh-huh," Faith said with a knowing smile. "Because knowing you, you'd never try to shoulder the whole burden yourself."

I felt heat rise in my cheeks at how easily she'd seen through me. To deflect, I quickly changed the subject. "Speaking of the transformation—I talked to my parents about your condition. My father believes he might be able to help."

Galahad's head snapped up from the papers he'd been shuffling. "Help how? You said before that your parents' methods would be torturous."

"I know I didn't sell them in the best light before," I admitted, feeling slightly defensive. "But that was before I actually talked to my father about this. I made it very clear that I care about Faith's well-being, and he understood that."

Faith leaned forward slightly. "When would your father be able to come examine me?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "That's… the issue. He can't really come here. You would have to visit him yourself."

"Definitely not," Galahad said immediately, his golden eyes flashing. "Absolutely not."

"If there was another alternative, I would have suggested it," I said, trying to keep my voice calm and reasonable. "But I can assure you that nothing will happen to Faith. My father gave me his word."

Galahad scoffed, but before he could voice whatever objection he was preparing, Kyriakos raised one skeletal hand.

"I must implore caution here," the lich said, his ethereal voice carrying a note of urgency. "Even if Lily's father possesses the knowledge to help, we still don't fully understand the mechanisms behind Faith's condition. Crossing dimensional barriers could potentially destabilize her current state. The magical energies involved in interdimensional travel might trigger unwanted changes in her transformation."

I could practically see the calculations running behind Kyriakos's glowing eye sockets. He wanted more time to study Faith's unique condition, to document and understand every aspect of her unprecedented transformation. To him, she represented a fascinating research opportunity that he wasn't ready to lose.

Isabella, who had been listening silently, suddenly spoke up. "Faith is perfectly capable of making her own decisions about her medical care," she said coolly, her ice-blue eyes fixed on Kyriakos. "She doesn't need a committee deciding what's best for her."

I shot Isabella a grateful look. While I knew she didn't particularly care about Faith as a person, her support meant everything to me, and she was willing to advocate for what I wanted.

"I won't force you into anything," I said to Faith. "But I think you should seriously consider it. My father has centuries of experience with unusual and ancient magic."

Faith was quiet for a moment, her brown eyes—the human one, at least—studying my face. Finally, she nodded. "I'll go."

"Absolutely not!" Galahad stood up so quickly his chair scraped against the floor. "Agent Clarke, you hold classified information about VCD operations, supernatural containment protocols, and agency methodology. That intelligence cannot be allowed to fall into demonic hands."

Faith's expression hardened slightly. "With all due respect, sir, as Isabella said, the decision is mine to make. I'm not planning to share state secrets during a medical consultation."

"You don't understand the methods demons use to extract information," Galahad pressed. "They have ways of—"

"My father isn't going to torture her for intelligence," I interrupted, my own temper beginning to flare. "He's offering to help because I asked him to."

Galahad's golden eyes fixed on me with obvious suspicion. "And what exactly does he want in return for this generous assistance?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge. I could see the distrust written clearly across Galahad's face—to him, I was just another demon, and demons always wanted something in return for their aid.

"Nothing," I said simply. "Sometimes even demons can help others without any strings attached."

Galahad's expression suggested he found that explanation about as believable as a vampire's promise to go vegetarian.

Faith stood up, her decision clearly made. "I appreciate everyone's concern, but I'm going with Lily. This condition isn't getting better on its own, and if there's a chance for answers, I have to take it."

Galahad's jaw tightened, but he gave a sharp nod. "Fine. But you're taking full responsibility for this decision, Agent Clarke. Don't expect the VCD to mount a rescue operation if things go sideways."