Chapter 7: The Drunk Devil
“Barkeep, one more!”
The enormous red-skinned man with the face of a beast sitting next to me—Varael—slammed his empty glass on the bar countertop. When he shouted, I could smell both alcohol and something like tobacco smoke from his snarling maw.
“Pardon me sir, but haven’t you had just about enough?” The stereotypical bartender asks in his stereotypically apathetic tone.
I intervened. “Don’t worry about him. He would never pass out after such a paltry amount of your swill. Besides, his face is always that red. Hurry up and fill his glass.”
The barkeep nods. “I suppose I’m not one to argue. Thanks to the patronage from you devils, this place is thriving.” He pours an amber-colored spirit into Varael’s glass and continues, “Although some devils do turn quite nasty after having their fill. I apologize if my question offended either of you.”
Varael received the glass. “I should apologize for raising my voice. You must be embarrassed to be seen with me after that.”
“No,” I reassured him, “we’re both to blame. It’s fine.”
With his deed done, the barkeep moves from us to some other patrons.
As I sip my own drink, I begin to think about the person seated next to me. Varael is a serious man, but extremely clumsy with his body and his temper, as if he were not meant to be a devil. If he were to stop relaxing with a few drinks, he may end up exploding from all the pent-up rage inside of him. Personally, I find all that to be rather adorable.
“Hey, Frunetti,” Varael mutters.
“Yes?”
“What has been going on with Lord Satanael of late? His angel hunts have decreased in frequency and has put more effort in searching for new books to read, as if he is absorbed in some kind of research. I do not know how to approach that man anymore...”
“I cannot deny what you say, but I have no answer to give.” I swirl my drink as I speak. The ice makes clinking noises as they rebound off the glass.
It is true that I have begun to think that Lord Satanael’s actions have become rather odd to witness. He has always been a whimsical existence, but when he acts with such whimsy in several different places, I have to think that he is deliberately plotting something, but what is it...?
“I mean, do not get the wrong idea. My loyalty toward him has not wavered at all, but still...” Varael pauses and takes another drink. His uncomfortable expression said more than his words ever could. Now I get it.
“Hehehe. You have not been able to vent your anger through violence enough, have you?”
“Indeed. It is as you say.”
“Honest to a fault. What a strange devil.”
Varael gulps down the remainder of his drink and intentionally places it on the countertop with a gentle touch. “I feel most alive when I fight alongside Lord Satanael. Even if it is vicarious, I wish to get closer to his extraordinary strength...his evolved state of power... It is no trouble for me to wait for such opportunities.”
“You are an eager man. Too eager, even.”
Varael has always looked up, attempting to become stronger and stronger. It is not a bad thing, but if he neglects what is on his own level, who knows when the ground will be ripped out from under him. It may even be a mere angel that does it to him.
The current state of war between ourselves and the angels has us in a clear advantage. Lord Satanael is the sole reason why us devils have been able to break the ages-old stalemate. It will not be an easy feat for the angels to reverse the situation.
But it would be a lie to say that I am wholly unafraid of Lord Satanael’s very existence. I know the reason why he hunts the angels. The reason is far too simple—no ordinary being would be able to comprehend it properly. Because of this reason, Lord Satanael will not stop until not a single angel remains. But once that hunt has ended, where will his fangs of boredom penetrate next?
Well, thinking about all that now is useless.
I flick my glass, and the sound reverberates over even the buzzing conversations in the rest of the bar. “We ought to go, Varael.”
“Indeed.”
We set our payment on the counter and stand to leave. Until the day the screams of dying angels are no more, we—the devils—shall not cease our advance.
