Chapter Text
Greed.
A rich ring occupied by the wealthiest of demons just short of royalty. Demons who hoard their wealth by any means necessary. Wealth they ‘earned’ through deception, fraud, extortion, anything to deepen their pockets. Rumors are that they gathered as much money as they did the blood on their hands. Of course, not all Greed Demons were like this. Some made their way through honest work. As honest as Hell could get. Services and goods made a pretty penny if you did it right and without getting caught. Good quality was costly but offered the chance to sell at a higher value with returning customers. Cheap quality could be mass-produced and still provide a good enough profit through the lower class.
The lesser off was the largest population in the Greed Ring. Demons who fully believed with enough work, they too could become rich, only to work their lives away. They buy the cheapest goods and services possible with the little money they make. But cheap quality is temporary. A vicious cycle it was. While believing they save money, they spend more than they could afford.
Business is money. It’s a fact. Those who couldn’t do business resorted to other means, using the skills they were good at. If there was one thing the Greed Ring was known for, other than price gouging, money laundering, scamming, and other distasteful get-rich-quick schemes…
It was entertainment.
Actors, singers, dancers, artists, comedians, authors, film, tv directors. Creativity was welcomed in Greed. If you could entertain people, you had a chance to make it big. But none more so than Greed Stars. Demons handpicked by the very King of Greed himself, Mammon. To be chosen by the King was to be guaranteed fame and fortune. It meant in his eyes; that you were worth it. Worth giving a platform. Worth an audience. Worth the investment. There truly was no greater achievement for creative-inclined demons. They would do anything to catch his attention, anything to accept a King’s contract.
And Mammon knew it.
His ring was full of poverty-stricken demons, all eager to become part of the higher class, to rise above where they started. They were ripe for exploitation. So, every few months, he’d travel to a section of his ring and play talent scout. He attended any event that showcased creativity.
Talent shows.
Art shows.
Poetry readings.
Plays.
Beauty pageants.
Fashion shows.
Film festivals.
Concerts.
And of course, circuses.
Mammon always had a soft spot for circuses. His jester-themed aesthetic was proof. No one knew exactly why their King presented himself in such a way. A jester hat and collar complete with bells, a rounded cape trailing down to the middle of his back, and tassels hanging from his wrists. The only part of his outfit even hinting at his high status was his striped suit. His color scheme was a deep green and glittering gold, as well as smooth obsidian rock accentuating his suit. Why would royalty go out of their way to dress like a literal fool? Albeit a regal-looking fool.
Still, no one dared to confront their King on his sense of fashion. Why would they? No doubt it would be a death sentence.
However, this provided an advantage for circuses across the ring. No matter where he went, Mammon always found a new circus to scope out. Most were disappointing. While they caught his attention, they struggled to keep it. These circuses were sloppy, disorganized, and failed to bring in an audience. Almost as if they had popped up overnight in time for his travels. It angered him. Clowns were prime sources to make capital out of, and yet they almost always flopped. It didn’t stop Mammon from attending though. While nearly every performer failed to meet his standards, he’d sooner die than miss a potential gem amongst the trash.
He had more hope for circuses that had been in production much longer than a few days, such as the one he was currently attending. From what he gathered; this circus had been in business for decades. Most of the performers grew up learning from the previous generation, eventually teaching the next as well. It made sense since it was entirely run by imps, who tended to have more tight-knit communities than other Hellborn demons. This was ideal. A more established circus meant more experienced performers. And more experienced performers meant a gem waiting to be found. While each performer clearly had skill, none quite met the level of stardom Mammon wanted.
Until a pair of clown imps entered the stage.
The two teen clowns entered their dressing tent, one more pissed off than the other.
The calmer imp frowned as the other kicked over a bucket holding their wash rags, “Seriously? Blitzo, will you just tell me what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Blitzo scoffed before looking over, “What’s wrong is that we sucked ass out there! I told you we should’ve gone with my idea!”
“What are you talking about? The crowd loved us, like always,” The other picked up the bucket and rags before carrying it over between their adjacent stations.
“No, they loved you like always,” Blitzo intertwined his hands and acted as an adoring fan, “Oh Fizzarolli, you’re soooo amazing! So talented! We love you, Fizzarolli!”
Rolling his eyes, Fizzarolli handed the other a rag to clean off his clown face before turning around, “You’re exaggerating, and you know it.”
Blitzo unzipped the other’s one-piece costume. He turned to his station and began trying to wipe off the face paint. He hated putting on so much white paint, but he couldn’t hide his red skin otherwise. Glancing at his partner, Blitzo saw Fizzarolli cleaning off his own clown face, the top of his costume removed and tied by the sleeves around his waist. White scars contrasted against his own red skin. As the more acrobatic of the two, Fizzarolli was more prone to having accidents during their practices. True he was nimble and flexible, but mistakes can be made. Especially if someone interfered. As Blitzo stared, Fizzarolli finished cleaning off the paint, revealing a long white scar across his cheek.
A pang of guilt hit him.
He quickly looked back to his mirror, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach. Just as he finished cleaning off his face paint, a voice yelled at them, “There you two are! Come along, hurry!”
Both jumped and looked back to see an older imp wearing a dazzling suit. The Ringmaster. They glanced at each other, confused. “Well, c’mon! No time for make-up! Fizzarolli, get your costume back on! We need to go now!”
“Wait, what?” Blitzo started.
“What’s going on?” Fizzarolli asked.
The Ringmaster gave an aggravated sigh, “If you two had been at the pre-show meeting, you’d know we had a very special guest today!” Again, the two glanced at each other. Neither wanted to admit to the ‘fun’ they were up to before the show started. There was never anything significant during those meetings anyway. How were they supposed to know this time was actually important? “King Mammon saw our show, and he wants to see you both!”
Their eyes widened. King Mammon? THE King Mammon was there? And wanted to see them!?
“Now hurry!” With that, they rushed out with the Ringmaster. He stopped them before the stage entrance, “You both wait here. When I call, come out.”
They watched him step out, giddy with excitement to meet the King of Greed. Fizzarolli, with his costume half hanging off, turned his back to Blitzo who started to zip him up. But instead, he slipped his hands into his costume and around his waist. Fizzarolli gave a surprised yelp and stifled a laugh as his touch, “Blitzo!”
Blitzo smirked and pulled him close, “It’s finally happening. We’re finally getting out of here!”
Fizzarolli grinned back at him, “He’s gotta offer us jobs first, dummy.”
“This calls for a celebration,” mumbled Blitzo.
The other shivered feeling kisses along his exposed shoulder blade as well as a hand slip further down, “Later. We can’t be late meeting the King.”
“I’m gonna rail you so good tonight, you won’t remember your name,” Blitzo huskily replied before retracting his hands and zipping up the costume. Fizzarolli faced him and pulled him in for a kiss, Blitzo eagerly returning the favor. The two became entwined, lost in each other just as they had been earlier that day. So much so, that they missed their cue. Three times.
“Stop that!!”
The two imps once again jumped, clinging more to each other out of surprise. The Ringmaster glared at them making their already hot faces heat more from embarrassment. They stepped away from each other, both looking at anything other than each other and their Ringmaster. The older imp went back out on the stage and was heard introducing them once again, “I apologize greatly for the holdup, your Highness. As I was saying, I present to you the imps you requested.”
Both Blitzo and Fizzarolli stepped out. And there he was. The King of their ring. Mammon. He towered over them, making his royal presence more intimidating. Still, the two approached him with their heads high, filled with anticipation for their new lives. Their dreams of becoming stars were finally coming true. No more circus. No more rowdy crowds. No more cheap living. For once, tomorrow was something they looked forward to.
But something was off. Mammon didn’t look at them with interest, but rather with scorn. He looked at the Ringmaster, “What is this?”
They faltered. As did their Ringmaster, “Uh, well, your Highness, these two have performed together since they were children. You… You can’t have one without the other.”
Mammon narrowed his eyes, “I requested one of these imps. I don’t care for the other.”
One? Their excitement died down. He only wanted… One of them?
Again, the Ringmaster tried to vouch for them both, “Please, your Highness, they are a package deal. He’s never performed without his partner. I promise if you give his partner a chance, he’ll prove with it.”
But Mammon was unimpressed, “He had his chance while performing. Clearly one of them is more suited for the spotlight for the other.”
“Your Highness, if I may, I’ve known these boys all their lives. They need each other.”
“Are you insisting I lower my standards for a subpar clown so that he may continue to drag down the true star of this show?”
The Ringmaster said nothing. Blitzo and Fizzarolli stared at him with wide eyes. He said Mammon wanted them both. Why would he lie?
“Ah, I see now. You want to get rid of him. You know he isn’t cut out for this, that he’ll only bring your show down by himself,” Mammon clicked his tongue, “A shame that isn’t my problem. Now, the imp I requested.”
The two held their breaths, waiting for the Ringmaster to name one of them. He finally sighed after a moment, “Fizzarolli, step forward.”
Blitzo’s heart fell.
Fizzarolli stared in shock before looking up at the towering demon. Hesitantly, he stepped forward. The King hummed as he looked him over. A finger pressed under Fizzarolli’s chin, making him tilt his head up. Mammon eyed the scar on his face, “Nothing a little work won’t fix.”
As the King continued examining Fizzarolli, Blitzo watched silently. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched, and his tail swayed irritably. His partner didn’t even acknowledge him. Didn’t even try to include him as their Ringmaster had. Instead, the other took his place in Mammon’s favor. Without him.
This can’t be happening.
Mammon turned away, “I’ll be leaving in five minutes. Grab your things and join me out front. If you don’t…” He gave a shrug. Without another word, the King strode out.
Fizzarolli could hardly believe it. He was chosen. He was going to be a Greed Star! Excitedly, he looked back at Blitzo, expecting his partner to share his enthusiasm. But rather a look of joy, Blitzo glared at Fizzarolli with distain.
“… Blitzo?”
The other stormed off. How could he do this to him? How could he betray him? How could he look- no, smile at him knowing Blitzo would be left behind? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair!
“Blitzo, wait!” Fizzarolli ran after him, but the other continued on. He followed him back to their tent, “Look I know what you’re thinking-”
“Oh do you!?” Blitzo spat, “Cuz it sure didn’t look like you were thinking of me!”
“This is a good thing!”
“A good thing!? How is leaving me behind a good thing!?”
“This can still work! Once I make it big, I can come back for you! And we can be big together! It’ll only be temporary, I promise!”
Blitzo stared in disbelief, “Are you fucking serious?! You want me to stay here while you go off and live our dream without me?!”
Fizzarolli flinched slightly. While yes, it did sound as he accused, it wasn’t as ideal for Fizzarolli either, “You think I don’t want you to come with me? You’re my boyfriend, my best friend. If it were you in my place, I’d be happy for you. I know you’d come back for me.”
Blitzo turned his back to him and crossed his arms. A tense silence followed.
Dread filled Fizzarolli, “…Right?”
After another moment of silence, the other responded, “Ya know what, don’t even bother.”
“W-what?”
“Don’t bother coming back. King Mammon wants you, not me. Go be a famous star and have everything handed to you. I can do this shit on my own. I’ll earn my fame and fortune, unlike you.”
Silence filled the air once more. Fizzarolli could only stare at his partner, heartbroken and in disbelief. Was… Was it over for them? No, it can't be. This wasn’t the Blitzo he grew up with, the Blitzo he loved so much, the Blitzo he wanted to share his life with. His chest felt heavy. The longer the other stood with his back to him, saying nothing, the more crushed he felt. As his eyes started to water, his shocked expression became a glare. Mumbling a “fine,” Fizzarolli headed out of the tent, wiping away his tears.
Blitzo stayed in place, seething, but ultimately gave in. He couldn’t do it. He loved the idiot too much to turn his back on him like this. Fizzarolli was right, he should be happy for him. And like he said, he can always come back for him. He looked back at his partner, only to see he was alone, “... Fizzarolli?”
The ride back to the main city of Greed was a long one. After a brief introduction of himself, Fizzarolli stared out the window at the passing scenery. The landscape he grew up in was mostly untouched, but there was still the occasional town, factory, or small business. Eventually, the outside became more updated. Small homes became slums, then decent neighborhoods, then luxury apartments. The occasional small business became convenience stores, big-box chains, and grand-looking shops.
Mammon had long turned his attention to his phone, stating that he needed to schedule some appointments for his new imp star. It made Fizzarolli curious and a little nervous about what the King had in store for him. Either way, he needed to trust the higher demon. With Mammon’s help, he’ll become a star.
Without Blitzo.
He frowned and pushed down his heartache. Blitzo wasn’t worth getting upset over. Not anymore. It was time for him to move forward with his bright future. Maybe he’d meet someone else. Someone new and fresh. Someone who’d be open with him instead of pushing him away.
Fizzarolli blinked when the limo came to a stop. Mammon moved to get out, and so he followed. Outside, they stood before a towering skyscraper. The imp stared in awe. Growing up in the circus, he never had a chance to tour a major city before. Around him were other demons, all either dressed their best or in the most professional garb Fizzarolli had ever seen. He wondered what Blitzo would think.
Nope. Stop that thought.
Mammon quickly strode into the building, Fizzarolli nearly forgetting to follow. They zipped through the main lobby toward the elevator. Inside, the garish gold decorations clashed against the pristine marble floor. There were more business-looking demons, all stopping their tasks to acknowledge their King. And stare at Fizzarolli.
He shrunk a bit at their gaze. He felt so out of place in his clown costume. Blitzo would probably flip them off for staring.
Fuck, no, stop.
They entered the elevator and up they went to the top floor. Fizzarolli stared at his reflection in the shining, golden elevator. Briefly, he glanced up at Mammon. The King was still on his phone. The silence was getting to him. Nearly the whole trip, the King had said nothing to him. Was that a good sign? Shouldn’t he want to get to know his new star? Or was that beneath him? If only Blitzo was with him.
Dammit, no. Stop thinking about that asshole.
The elevator dinged and opened to a hallway matching the lobby design. Once again, Mammon hurried along with Fizzarolli trailing after him. They passed a large desk, where a young female dragon demon sat, “Your Highness.”
“Maude,” Mammon bluntly replied, not even bothering to spare a glance at her. Her eyes landed on Fizzarolli, who gave a little wave and a nervous smile. She merely looked back at her computer. Well, fuck you too.
Mammon pushed open the door at the end of the hallway and motioned Fizzarolli in, then closed the door behind himself. Fizzarolli was in awe of the large office. It was spacious, decorated with expensive-looking artifacts and trinkets. Not to mention the window behind his desk lead out to a balcony, as well as a view overlooking the city. They were so high up that he could see past the city limits. Blitzo would-
STOP!
The King leaned against his desk, smirking at the imp, “Impressed?”
“Yeah!” Fizzarolli started before cringing. He almost forgot he was in the presence of royalty, “I-I mean, yeah. It’s huge in here. And we’re so high up.”
“That we are. My office is the highest point in all of Greed. I like to think of it as a nice little reminder to my people,” He motioned Fizzarolli over to the seat in front of the desk. Once Fizzarolli had taken his seat, he clapped his hands, “Now! On to your contract!”
Fizzarolli watched as Mammon summoned a sheet of paper and placed it before him. He grabbed a fountain pen from the pencil holder on his desk and handed it over, “Just sign the dotted line, and leave the rest to me.”
Carefully, he took the pen and looked at the paper. He never had to sign a contract before. The lettering was small and condensed enough to look more like a block than writing. He squinted, trying to read anything beyond a word he didn’t understand. Mammon tapped his finger impatiently, “Well?”
Fizzarolli swallowed, glancing at the pen in his hand, “… What’s this all mean? … Your highness.”
A flash of annoyance crossed Mammon’s face before offering a strained smile, “Your contract? Why it just means you work for me, that’s all. It’s a special contract, meant only for future Greed Stars, like yourself.”
The imp still wasn’t sure, “Do… I hafta sign?”
Mammon tilted his head, his piercing gaze offering little comfort, “You want to be famous, don’t you? To become rich? To have your name known all across Greed?”
“Yeah, but-”
“Then sign the damn contract!” The King hissed. But seeing the imp flinch at his tone, Mammon switched gears, “Unless… I was wrong and you don’t have what it takes.”
“What? No I-!”
“Listen, kid, I’ve been at this long before your ancestors were even born. I know what I’m looking for in my Stars. I chose you because you have charm, talent, looks people will love! Every demon I’ve chosen has signed the contract. They were willing to put their trust in me to bring their dreams to life. If… You can’t trust me, then… Well, I suppose I wasted my time,” He began to slide the contract away, “I’ll arrange you a ride back to that circus right away.”
Fizzarolli’s eyes widen, immediately reaching out and slapping his hand on the contract, “No! I have what it takes! I’ll sign it!”
A sly smirk crossed Mammon’s face as he watched the imp quickly sign the dotted line. Once done, the signature glowed, which spread to the rest of the paper. Confused, Fizzarolli watched as the contract lifted and split into three parts. He yelped in surprise as the pieces latched onto his wrists and neck, briefly taking the form of shiny, golden shackles before vanishing. Looking over himself, he felt for the foreign objects upon his body but felt nothing. He looked up at Mammon in confusion. But instead of comforting him, Mammon shook his hand, “Congratulations, Fizzarolli! I look forward to working with you! This calls for a celebration!”
With a snap of his fingers, two glasses of a bubbly liquid appeared on his desk. He grabbed both and handed one to Fizzarolli, “A toast, to your future!”
The King downed his glass, while his new star stared uneasily at his. Why did this feel… Wrong?
“Now that that’s done, it’s time for your make-over!”
Fizzarolli blinked, “Make-over?”
“Of course, all my stars need to look presentable to the public. Especially you imps. I don’t mean to come off rude, but the facts show that imps just aren’t profitable. No one takes imp performers seriously.”
“But… I’m an imp?”
“That you are! This is why you’ll be getting some work done. To better appeal to the crowds. Don’t worry too much, it’ll only be some minor cosmetic work. You’ll hardly notice a difference.”
That… Didn’t make sense. He needed to not look like an imp… But he won’t notice he doesn’t look like an imp? How does that work? A gentle nudge to the glass in his hand shook him from his thoughts, “May want to drink that now. Don’t want to be rude, do we?”
Fizzarolli shook his head and glanced at his glass. Well, it’s not like he hadn’t had alcohol before. And he truly didn’t want to come off rude to the King, his new boss. He drank, downing it as Mammon did his. He made a face. It tasted weird, nothing like he ever tried. Then again, it’s not like the alcohol at the circus was anything fancy. Just enough to get the adults piss drunk as quickly as possible.
“Fizzarolli.”
The imp looked up at the demon. The King merely grinned at him, “Would you like to get a better view of the city out on the balcony?”
“Sure!” He beamed. Swiftly sliding out of the chair, Fizzarolli made his way to the large window. But after a few steps, he suddenly got dizzy. His vision blurred. His sense of direction faltered. His body grew heavy. His breathing became strained. Then he collapsed.
Fizzarolli woke not only to a blinding room but to pressure in his head as well. He winced. His head rocked slightly, but not of his own doing. It felt… Uneven? A grinding sound reached his ears. And the pressure built more as he became more aware. His horn. His left horn, specifically. It felt like… something was pushing back and forth against it?
He moved his arm to reach up.
Wait.
Why wasn’t his arm moving?
Why… Couldn’t he feel it?
He tried his other arm. The same thing.
He tried to move his legs to sit up. His legs. The same as well.
Panic started to build. What was going on? Where was he? Why couldn’t he move? He tried to turn his head to look around, but his horn felt caught on something. A rush of voices surrounded him.
“He’s awake!”
“Wait, stop!”
“Shit!”
“Get the anesthesia, hurry!”
Then the pain hit.
His own voice got caught in his throat as he struggled to breathe. His arms and legs. He still couldn’t feel them, but… his shoulders and thighs burned. Roughly he managed to make quick, shallow breaths. Frantically, he tried to look around again, desperate to find out where he was.
There.
A box about a foot away from him. It held arms and legs. His… arms and legs??? No, it couldn’t be. They were still attached. Why would they be removed? Then he spotted a horn. He found his voice and screamed in agony. Tears welled in his eyes, his body shaking, trying to move. Desperately hoping he wasn’t missing his limbs. But he felt both nothing and pain.
“H-help! Help me! Someone help!” A mask came into view, “No, get away! Help! BLITZO!!”
The mask pressed firmly against his face. His breathing slowed, as well as his struggling. Before he knew it, he fell back asleep.