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Paimon
Before they leave the fireflies, Paimon grows somber.
Cassiel...
Cassiel and I watched the stars being born, just like this. Now, when I look up, I only ever see them die.
The Darkness spreads until he barely notices the lights. Stars blinking out, one by one.
It’s only Lauren?iu’s touch that brings him back. He has a mind to ask what Lauren?iu is thinking in good humor, curious about him literally reaching out.
The moment passes, and he’s only left with a good feeling. Gratitude.
The Darkness retreats.
For fear of sounding spoiled—ah, he doesn’t care if he sounds spoiled. Paimon can admit it: He fucking hates nature.
All thetrees. The itchy grass. Grass! Whose idea was grass? He hoped he killed them during the War. Killed them and ate them as swiftly as Waffle Duke bacon.
At least most of the grass is as dead as most of the bugs, covered in glittering frost, but it’s replaced by endless miles of weeds and flowers.
He’s thankful that because the Smokies are a natural park, there are roads, though many are well-worn and beaten by rain. They still get out occasionally to get Daisy to check for the scent, but when it starts to rain, she begins going in circles, and Paimon can only hope they’re slowly circumnavigating toward their end goal.
Not much different than Hell, really, with all the Circles.
Paimon hates nature.
Quite frankly, more people need to talk about the absence of any hot tubs for miles.
He has to find someone to blow up or something. Suffering can be fun. Others’ suffering, that is. What’s the alternative out here? Calming jogs? Picking weeds? Gross. Pass. He’d rather cook and clean than go outside.
Of course, the Smokies haven’t been a preserved park in a while. While it seems that the trees and fauna have only multiplied—hundreds of squirrels, rabbits, and deer—they also come across the occasional house, often guarded by barbed wire, but most derelict and in obvious disrepair, moss, branches, and colorful bursts of wildflowers winding inside the collapsed chimneys and windows. There are only a handful of the reanimated around.
And everywhere, a thick mist crawls over every inch of chilled land and watches them all like God’s eye.
They don’t linger long, despite Paimon’s fingers itching because after a day or two in this neverending incline and whorling mountain range, they haven’t killed anyone. Not even one person! It sucks.
What is the point of being on Earth if he can’t enjoy the fact that mortal lives are finite? And their insides, for some reason, are very squishy. God really peaked with that one.
It might be ridiculous to say, but he almost feels as if they’re surrounded by ghosts.
Most of the vehicles they encounter are dead and abandoned. One even has a skeleton with a ranger uniform and hat, which he skews on his head to fit between his horns. They look around for a map, and though they find different supplies, such as flashlights, they don’t find directions.
They have Daisy, but though she shows them the way forward, there are many twists in their advance. Some of the roads hug mountains, abruptly beside a steep fall, and there are no metal rails to keep the car from falling over.
Which. Sure, they probably won’t die in the fall. But it’d be super annoying. Plus, he sort of likes the Chevy Impala now. It smells of smoke, orange soda, dog hair, and blood. There’s something homey about it.
In the car, Paimon straightens his new hat. A little musty, but still neat. “Next up, Zombie Hollow, to the left of Apocalypse Creek.”
With the window down, the air is crisp. Heavy with the promise of snow.
Lauren?iu replies politely, pushing a strand of silver hair from his eyes. “Thank you. I feel so guided. I hope we can avoid Failure Ditch.”
Paimon salutes.
He’s offered to drive, but Lauren?iu insists on doing it all. Maybe he likes the control. After all, he spent so long...Paimon can’t think about it without growing angry and wanting to punch out a window.
Or because it’s his vendetta, he thinks he’s the one who should drive toward his destiny.
