Success Story

Puppy Love

The blazing inferno eats away at the wooden rooftops of the eldest buildings of the city. William and Othello observe Pluto destroy the rooftops of London. People run screaming, impaled by falling blockades and crushed under the weight of crumbling ceilings, melting steel. The flames reaching such a ferocious heat they melt the very air around them, consuming all the oxygen. The raven-hired CEO twitches his eyes with impatience for Grell's return, frequently checking his watch. "Who still uses a watch?" Othello laughs, scribbling furiously in his notebook the findings of Pluto's fascinating newly discovered ability. 

Roars getting louder and louder yet the screeching of metal grinding against stone is heard. From this distance swoops in the saviour of London. "You took your time," William drones with passive aggressive politeness.

"Oh shut up, can't you be a little grateful?" they frown, revving the chainsaw loudly. "I could have left you here!" 

"At least then I could write off my overtime payment..." the corners of his mouth twitch up, he loves teasing the redhead. "You don't think you're doing this alone. You're merely a subordinate. I couldn't trust you with such a job unsupervised," 

"Then stop all your talking," They break into a grin. 

William and Grell scale the side of the buildings to the rooftops, climbing gates guarded with metal spiked fences. They stand facing the demon hound. The chainsaw revs, the metal spear snaps. Grell lunges for the demon hound's most vulnerable area. His neck having escaped the protection of the thick leather collar. They hesitate. Staring into Pluto's eyes, the conflict freezing Grell where they stand. 

"It'd be such a shame, wouldn't it?" 

Grell turns to see the bartender sitting with his legs hanging off the roof presumably staring down at the city below through that thick fringe. "What would be such a shame?" they ask rather than the obvious question of how he got up here, how long he's been there and why exactly. Grell then realises this is the roof of his tavern. 

"To lose such a beautiful and rare creature. This enigmatic best may be the only of its kind, engineered for no purposes other than to destroy," he sighs. "This could all be avoided of course," 

"How exactly?" William asks, less enthused than he should be. 

"The demon hound requires a blood sacrifice to replace that lost from your experiments," he narrows his eyes accusingly at William. "Or did you think testing torture devices on the animal would have no consequences?" 

Grell stares at the rooftop under their feet, flames licking ever closer. The heat starts to melt the cheap faux leather of their boots. Red dye pouring down the tiles like streams of  blood. 

"My faults caused this fire," William whispers to himself, voice trembling with the realisation. "The demon hound requires a lifeblood and I took that which belongs to him. I stole it in my arrogance. This is my responsibility to rectify. A consequence to my actions. Will I die?" 

"Die? Not exactly. You'll simply transcend to the other world. The world of the divine and damned," the bartender explains with an impish smile. "Where dear Pluto here is from," 

"And that'll stop this?" 

"Will, you can't!" Grell pleads in a shocked gasp. Realising how serious he is about giving up himself to the city of London, and to the demon hound. 

"You heard him. This is my responsibility to change," William nods. The bartender mirrors the action and pulls out a notebook, writing into it with a pen decorated in pink accents. The pen seems to glow in the firelight, ink sparkling on the page and seeming to dissolve into it. Something else from the world that bore Pluto.