"Growing weary, Doctor?"
"Ah, hm?" the Doctor snapped out of a drowsy trance, and pivoted to the side, to the voice that had called out to her.
She was bestowed the sight of a black-haired man dressed in a black attire comprising an ebony priest-like robe—suited with a short-cloak—and a long, deeply-ametrine tussle of cloth acting as a scarf. In his hand was a realistic silver skull; almost unnerving with its deathly visage.
There was always a feeling of wrongness when inspecting the item.
"Beelzebub? Did… something come up?" The Doctor wiped her eyes from underneath her hood, letting the last vestiges of lethargy liberate themselves.
"Nothing of note, I believe." Beelzebub stated, seated with a rather pristine posture upon his given office chair; fingers interlocked and elbows on the armrest. "Welcome back to the waking world."
"Thanks… though, I wouldn't have minded five more minutes of sleep," she faux-complained.
"And you would've asked for five more, I'm afraid." Beelzebub shook his head with closed eyes, a very thin… smirk? Could it be called a smirk? Crossing his countenance. "Then, Dr. Kal'tsit would chew you with her ever articulate maw for failing to adhere to your schedule."
A few memories resurfaced within her mind at his words, eliciting a frown. "Agh, please don't remind me."
"If you insist." Beelzebub swiveled slightly in his chair, turning toward the window which captured the outside scene with its transparency.
"Hm…" The Doctor drew out, seldom lost in thought. "Sorry to ask… but what's next on my schedule again? I can't really think straight right now… my brain feels scattered."
She found it humorous how much easier the chaos of the frontlines was to keep track of, yet timetables and itineraries still escaped her.
"Originium research," he swiftly answered.
"Oh, what a joy, my favorite…" the Doctor sarcastically commented, attitude still predicated by a lack of sleep. "Yours too, I bet. Let me guess, you've been keeping track?"
"I can't deny the accusation."
"I wish I could have the same energy as you." The Doctor glanced down, slumping deeper into her buckling office chair. "Maybe if I could just… recall some memories, then maybe it wouldn't be so difficult. At this rate, it'll take years before I catch up on everything that I learned in the past."
"Hardly a worry to plague yourself over. Your learning rate is nothing short of exponential, Doctor," Beelzebub assured. "I'd wager it would be but mere months before you regain your past self's proficiency."
"…Aw, you really think so?" the Doctor hummed, beginning to exit her sagging posture. "Or are you buttering me up for more of those juicy research papers?"
"Mayhaps."
"Pfft, alright, come on, admit it!" She playfully poked him after standing up.
"For any researcher, to venture into an uncharted field of great discovery…" Beelzebub daintily pushed her hand away, his eyes never once leaving the landscape's sundered beauty, one that was pilfered by unending streaks of black rocks. "…Is a prospect enticing beyond substantial measure."
"Haha…" The Doctor chuckled—albeit half-nervously—before speaking again with narrowed eyes, "As long as you aren't looking to utilize it for malicious means."
"Nothing so extraneous, Doctor." He waved her off dismissively. "What I desire to achieve from it would be more beneficial than detrimental."
"And what would that happen to be?" The Doctor crossed her arms.
"I yearn to eradicate something," Beelzebub answered.
Beelzebub continued to stare at the window's reflective glass, and she followed his gaze to look outside. It was the same environment expected from a wasteland, where overgrowths of Originium plagued the land in exorbitant amounts, wishing to paint all that existed black.
"Something? Just something?" the Doctor asked almost warily.
"For the betterment of humanity." His hand reached up to touch the window, eyes half-lidded with black bangs hovering over them like a harrowing cloak.
The Doctor didn't respond.
The black-haired man in front of her was always vague when it came to his own aspirations, almost to an unbearable degree. She couldn't tell whether it was ladened with a positive rationale or not.
Why was he so interested in Originium research?
What was it that he wanted to eradicate?
Kal'tsit probably knew, but the Feline was even more vague than Beelzebub. No point in seeking answers from her.
"Well, we've dallied enough, what say you?" Beelzebub huffed, detaching his hand from the window. "There's still much to be done."
"…Yeah. There is," the Doctor responded, sighing.
She would leave the matter for now. After all, a plethora of Operators on the Rhodes Island landship held their own secrets. Whether Beelzebub would reveal it to her in due time was an onerous question to answer, but…
The crack of rolling wheels, meager in proportions, scraped against the floor. Beelzebub stood up from his chair, elegantly dusting off his robes, gaze sauntering to the door.
Before the Doctor could make a move, he suddenly spoke up again.
"Tell me, Doctor, as you are so curious…"
His words reaped her attention like a sickle, the Doctor wondering if he had either read her mind to some capacity, or if it were by pure happenstance his words alluded to her previous line of thought.
"Do you believe in curses?" Beelzebub pulled at a compartment at where the neck of the silver skull should be, and contracted a cane-like handle.
"Curses…? Like the Witch King's rumored curses? Sarkaz Witchcraft?" the Doctor inquired, pointing to herself.
"…I understand," he said in an inexplicable voice.
She couldn't see his facial expressions.
"You'll come to understand too, someday. For now, you shouldn't come too close to me, lest danger also steers your way." Beelzebub walked out of the room, automatic doors reeling open for him.
"…Huh," the Doctor breathed out. "Guess I'll have to be dealing with a second Skadi…" she mumbled underneath her breath, tailing him with a shake of her head.
***
The trickling tonnages of water descending from the river falls reverberated through the air indiscriminately, filling his ears with a delicate cadence Beelzebub found to be very… familiar.
It reminded him so much of the Garden of Eden. It was all way back in his halcyon days, where he, Lucifer, Azazel, and Samael would fraternize and steal apples.
Days long since passed after eons, however. Painful memories they were to look back upon, but he knew to keep the love he felt during that time close to his heart, for even if despair followed; there would always be a silver lining within.
"What beautiful leaves," Beelzebub noted.
Sundial rays came down like heavensent artillery upon the verdant leaves, bathing the entire environment in an orange-ish golden hue.
His hand reached out toward the painted greenery, fingertips brushing against them. Branches bent as his hands continued to move through in tandem with his gait, traversing through the unfamiliar site.
There were some rivers he saw whilst making way through. A bird's chirp accompanied the flowing waters like a pure choir toward holy music.
The setting didn't fit him, he believed. Truly, there were other mortals, other Gods, farther more in the realm of righteousness than himself. Such a blessed experience would be better delegated to Lucifer, Lilith, Azazel, or Samael; certainly not himself.
Eventually, he found himself standing at a white-stoned bridge over a canyon. There also lingered a pale fog, intense and all-encompassing, for as far as the bridge had gone.
Beelzebub couldn't see the end of it, but he knew it had one. All things had an end.
With his silver-skulled staff in tow, he stepped forward, making progress. He hadn't known why he had been so hell-bent on making passages through this unfamiliar realm, but a sort of instinct—no different from what Lucifer would pontificate—beckoned him.
He had searched all over Valhalla, and below the deepest drenches of Helheim, for traces of Satan, not knowing it was within him for all eons. Therefore, what time would he waste in his immortal life searching just to pique his own curiosity?
If he found something that eradicated him, then it didn't matter.
Satan would likely, he hoped, be destroyed alongside his vessel.
"Why do you walk forward, when the path holds no conclusion, traveler?" A woman's voice passed by the mist, vanishing just as quick as it came.
"I haven't a clue why you ask me now of all times," Beelzebub said, legs still moving, eyes staring straight forward. "When you've been shadowing my steps since the very beginning."
"A vacant curiosity that had recently been filled. Does that suffice?"
"I don't see why not," he replied, a hand lifting up toward the mist during his strides, as if looking to grasp them. "For my answer…? A curiosity. Same as yours."
"Yes, of course. In this pursuit of curiosity, do you believe there to be no bounds?"
"The only bounds are what one can stomach." Beelzebub's hand eventually rescinded from the mist's touch.
"Do you believe what you stomach would be worth the risk?"
"For what lies ahead of this bridge? It's a paltry pursuit at most."
"Some would believe it to be a trespass. Do you not fear a curse?"
"I've committed many trespasses in my life," Beelzebub openly admitted, a faint, self-depracting smile curving his lips. "I am a wretched soul that will destroy everything dear to his heart. If you curse me, don't do it modestly."
A hum of recognition, bestowed like that of an elegy, permeated his ears. The mist hadn't relented in the slightest, and all that laid below his feet were the stone ivory.
Stone, stone, stone.
All the same.
If he were pressed with another stone, another curse, Beelzebub knew it would never reach the same magnitude of which Satan had bequeathed him.
She spoke again, "Is that your destined fate?"
"Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't," Beelzebub sighed rigidly. "But if this is how I am to be reviled, then so be it."
"And you would continue to lead this miserable motive," the voice said.
"Without fail," Beelzebub confirmed.
There was an intermittent silence, none comparable to the sevenfold rage of God, that much Beelzebub was confident. Compared to the Heavens, there was a kiss of serenity within the mist he wandered. A long, unbidden respite he hadn't felt in so long.
Before he knew it, a vast expanse of darkness illuminated only by motes of light—stars—swathed the high skies.
He continued to walk, Silence his long companion.
"By the first break of dawn, and at the end of this bridge, you will find the end," the voice carried along.
The mist twisted around Beelzebub, his steps finally coming to a halt. He watched a formless configuration being made in front, forming the figure of a woman matching the voice he had heard.
She wore a dress of midnight silk, a veil over her face, and an ornament resembling obsidian wings by the sides of her head. In her hand, of which was extended forward, he beheld a cerise fruit resembling what he only knew as an apple.
"We invite you, weary traveler," the enigmatic woman said.
Beelzebub closed his eyes, humming. "You should be wary of who you invite, stranger."
He took the apple.
The land beneath his feet…
What was it called, what was it called?
The Devil would learn it was one of a forsaken kind.
Kazdel.