Happy late New Year and Christmas
And bad news, I'm going to be really busy starting on the 26th. I have class every day but tuesday and yes, that include sunday and saturday that for 3 hour math class, so my brain is going to die
And I really want to pass this class so my GPA goes up. Right now I got 1.7 cause my professor didn't grade my work and said i wasnt there, even though I got proof and an email that I submitted the work, and that brought my GPA down, ngl, that really piss me off
Again, sorry for the wait, that shit killed my mood, and to get my mind working i started farming Warframe Prime parts. I got so 11 primes and 5 prime weapons
Btw im using the grammalry rewrite to check for mistakes just to see if it's better than chat with fixing things
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Celestia did not, in fact, get on her bike. She meant to. She absolutely intended to. Her hand even made it to the handlebars before her fingers missed entirely and closed around empty air, as if she were trying to high-five a ghost.
"…Wow," she muttered, squinting at the motorcycle as though it had personally offended her. "You are… extremely slippery today."
The bike did not respond.
Behind her, the air cracked like a whip being snapped in reverse, hellfire curling into a vertical seam. The streetlights flickered, glass vibrating in nearby windows, and then the presence arrived — heavy, burning, unmistakable.
Zarathos stepped out of the tear in reality like he was exiting a bar he'd been banned from multiple times. Chains clinked softly around his shoulders, hellfire licking lazily along his spine. His skull burned bright, but the flames were low and controlled.
"Alright," he rumbled, his voice like gravel dragged across iron. "Which one of you idiots let her drink again?"
Four more presences manifested almost immediately.
War arrived first, his armor phasing in piece by piece, crimson and black plates locking into place with mechanical precision. His helm tilted the moment he saw Celestia swaying on her feet.
"…She kicked a dragon into therapy," he said flatly. "How is she drunk?"
Death followed without sound, his pale cloak fluttering as if in a wind no one else could feel. He stared at Celestia for a long second before sighing.
"Divine feedback loop," Death said. "Emotional dampening followed by memory resurgence. She's not drunk."
Celestia pointed at him, missing by a solid foot. "Don't listen to him," she slurred. "He says that about everything. One time I tripped over a chair, and he called it 'entropy asserting itself.'"
Famine appeared next, leaning casually against nothing, her eyes sharp and calculating, even as her mouth twitched with amusement.
"She's adorable like this," Famine said. "We should take pictures."
Pestilence arrived last, already holding a bottle of water that she gently pressed into Celestia's hands before she could fall over entirely.
"Drink," she said patiently. "You're losing it."
Celestia stared at the bottle like it was a philosophical challenge. Then she shrugged, popped the cap with her thumb, and immediately spilled half of it down her jacket.
"…Nailed it."
Zarathos folded his arms. "Okay. No. Absolutely not. We are not letting you wander around Kyoto like this. Humans already think this city is cursed."
She pouted. Actually pouted. Ancient divine authority reduced to a visible, exaggerated sulk.
"But I won," she said. "I deserve… snacks. And a bed. A really soft one, with those pillows that feel like clouds but don't judge you."
War looked between the Horsemen. "Hotel?"
Death nodded. "The expensive one. She'll complain less."
They didn't teleport. That was Celestia's insistence.
"I walked here," she said, arms crossed stubbornly. "I can walk back."
She made it three steps before Pestilence caught her by the back of the jacket like a misbehaving cat.
"Uh-huh," she said. "Sure, you can."
The hotel was one of those absurdly luxurious places that pretended not to notice supernatural beings as long as the money cleared. Marble floors, gold accents, and a lobby that smelled faintly of expensive perfume and quiet desperation greeted them.
The front desk clerk looked up, ready with a professional smile, and then froze.
Zarathos was still on fire.
"…Good evening," the clerk said after a second, his voice cracking just slightly.
Celestia leaned over the counter, squinting at the name tag. "Heyyyy," she said cheerfully. "You're doing great. Don't summon anything. We're just… tourists."
War slid a black card across the counter. No name. No limit.
The clerk swallowed and nodded. "Penthouse suite," he said immediately. "Elevator's this way."
The doors barely closed before Celestia slumped against Zarathos, patting his flaming shoulder like it was a very warm couch.
"You're so… crispy," she murmured. "Like a campfire that hates sin."
Zarathos sighed. "I am literally vengeance incarnate."
"Yeah," she said. "But you're my vengeance incarnate."
That shut him up.
Inside the suite, Celestia immediately kicked off her boots, missed the couch entirely, and landed face-first into an armchair with a soft thud. She did not move.
"…Is she dead?" Famine asked.
Death checked. "No. Just rebooting."
Celestia lifted her head slowly, hair a mess and eyes unfocused. "I saw him again," she said suddenly, her tone quieter. "The war. The angels. They weren't… singing. They were efficient."
No one joked this time.
War removed his helm, setting it aside. "You don't have to carry that alone."
She snorted weakly. "Too late."
Then, just as suddenly, she smiled — crooked, tired, very human. "But wow," she added. "Did you see his face when I threatened the collar? Ten out of ten. Would menace again."
Zarathos chuckled despite himself.
Pestilence draped a blanket over her shoulders. "Sleep. Tomorrow you'll pretend none of this affected you."
Celestia yawned, curling into the chair. "Tomorrow," she agreed. "…We order room service."
Her eyes slid shut.
Outside, far above Kyoto, something ancient stirred.
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