AN: Another update and introducing a new oc of mine shes gonna be relevant i swear, just pay attention to her and Evelyn's dynamic
Third POV
In the more prosperous streets of Pentagram City, a singular hellhound weaves effortlessly through the chaos, paws light against scorched pavement as she observes the sinners and hellborn going about their daily lives.
These districts wear their wealth loudly.
Neon signs buzz and stutter overhead, advertising indulgence and damnation in equal measure, their warped colors spilling across cracked sidewalks like oil slicks.
Towering buildings lean inward as if gossiping, windows glowing with vice and excess. Somewhere nearby, a building explodes—again—but no one bothers to look. The blast is absorbed into the rhythm of the city, distant thunder in Hell's endless storm.
The hellhound barely breaks stride as a flying Molotov cocktail sails toward her head.
She sidesteps with sharp, instinctive precision, tail flicking for balance as the bottle sails past her ear. It detonates harmlessly behind her—not in flame, but in a burst of glittering confetti.
Paper scraps rain down in shrill, garish colors, clinging briefly to her dark fur before drifting away on sulfur-laced air.
Streamers catch on her jacket sleeve.
A plastic party hat bounces off her shoulder and skitters across the pavement.
That gets her attention.
Her ears perk, head snapping toward the source just in time to spot a familiar figure amid the laughing chaos—a riot of motion and color standing atop a wrecked car, arms raised triumphantly as sinners cheer.
Recognition sparks instantly.
"Scylla?! That you, you crazy clown bitch!" the hellhound calls out, voice bright with disbelief and unmistakable excitement.
The sinner freezes for half a heartbeat.
Then her head whips around.
Two-toned eyes widen—then ignite with manic joy as a grin splits her face from ear to ear.
"EVIE!!!!! MY BESTIE!!!"
She doesn't hesitate.
Scylla launches herself forward like a cannonball, boots pounding against pavement as she sprints full speed through traffic and screaming pedestrians alike.
Evie barely has time to brace before the impact hits—hard enough to knock the air from her lungs—as Scylla slams into her and clings on like a feral koala.
Arms wrap tight around Evie's neck.
Legs lock around her waist.
Scylla giggles uncontrollably, the sound high and wild, vibrating straight through Evie's bones.
Her pink skin and mismatched eyes glow vividly against the hellscape, all cotton-candy menace and unfiltered joy.
Paired with her loud, ridiculous costume and curls of white hair bouncing with every movement, she looks like a clown ripped straight out of a sugar-fueled nightmare.
Evie staggers once—paws scraping against scorched stone—then steadies, claws digging into the pavement for balance as her tail lashes reflexively.
"Hell, Scylla—warn a girl next time!" she huffs, breathless despite herself.
Scylla only tightens her grip, pressing her cheek against Evie's head like she has no intention of letting go anytime soon.
"I thought you were dead! Or crowned! Or married to some stuck-up Goetia asshole!" she cackles. "This is way better!"
Around them, Pentagram City continues its chaos uninterrupted—sinners shouting, confetti crunching underfoot, sirens wailing somewhere above, explosions popping like punctuation marks in the distance—but for a moment, the noise fades.
For the first time that day, Evie isn't anonymous anymore.
And somehow… she doesn't mind.
Scylla finally loosens her grip—barely—sliding down Evie's front until her boots hit the pavement, though she keeps one arm hooked possessively around the hellhound's shoulders like Evie might vanish if released for more than a second.
She squints at her, head tilting.
"…Wait."
Her eyes narrow dramatically, then widen again.
"Hold on. Hold on."
She circles Evie once, slow and exaggerated, fingers poking at her fur like she's inspecting a suspicious pastry.
"No horns. No glowing Morningstar doom eyes. No royal 'I own this street' posture." She gasps sharply. "Oh my fuck, Evie—you're undercover."
Evie snorts, tail flicking. "Shh. You wanna shout that any louder? I'm trying not to start a riot."
Scylla immediately cups her hands around her mouth.
"EVERYONE—"
Evie clamps a clawed hand over her face mid-yell.
"—Okay, nope. Jail. Straight to jail," Evie groans.
Scylla cackles into Evie's palm, deliberately licking it once just to be obnoxious before wriggling free. "Relax! Relax. I know how to keep a secret." She taps her temple. "Mostly."
Evie raises a brow. "That's not reassuring."
"Hey! I kept that time you cried over that goat demon breakup a secret."
"…You told everyone."
"I told them anonymously," Scylla corrects, wagging a finger. "Big difference."
Evie groans, dragging a hand down her muzzle. "Why did I expect you to be normal?"
Scylla slings an arm around her again, practically vibrating with energy. "Because you missed me, obviously. And because I'm charming."
"You are a walking health and safety violation for me."
"And you love me anyway." She grins, teeth sharp and smile far too wide. "So. Talk. Why is the future Queen of Hell prancing around as a mutt on my turf?"
Evie bumps her shoulder lightly. "Day off. Don't make it weird."
Scylla stops dead.
"…You're allowed days off?"
Evie sighs. "In theory."
Scylla stares at her like she's just announced Hell froze over. "Holy shit. I knew the apocalypse would come eventually."
Evie laughs despite herself, ears flattening briefly. "I just needed to breathe. No meetings. No power plays. No assholes trying to marry me for influence."
Scylla wrinkles her nose. "Gross. Do they at least bring snacks?"
"Once," Evie deadpans. "He brought deviled eggs."
Scylla recoils in horror. "That's sacrilegious."
"I know."
They walk together down the street, Scylla half-skipping, half-bouncing as she keeps pace, occasionally leaning too far into Evie's space just to be annoying.
Evie lets it happen, steps syncing unconsciously.
"So," Scylla continues, peering at her sideways, "does your little sister know you're slumming aroundwith us, sinner lowlife?"
Evie's tail flicks. "Absolutely not."
"Ohhh, I am telling Charlie."
"You will do no such thing."
"I will absolutely do such a thing."
Evie bares her fangs in mock threat. "I will throw you into traffic."
Scylla beams. "You promise?"
"…You are unhinged."
"Thank you." Scylla pauses, then softens—just a fraction. "But… I'm glad you came out. You always disappear when things get heavy."
Evie's steps slow, barely noticeable. "Yeah. Well. Hard not to when the weight of Hell's bureaucracy is trying to crush you."
Scylla nudges her gently. "Then today? No crushing. Just chaos."
Evie exhales, shoulders easing. "I can live with that."
Scylla grins as an explosion blooms behind them, eyes glinting with anticipation. "Good. Because I know exactly where to start."
Evie groans preemptively. "This better not involve explosives."
Scylla's smile widens.
"…Define explosives."
"You're going to bomb V Tower again, aren't you?" Evie says, tone flat but fond, tail swaying lazily behind her.
"Either that, or you're planning a rave so obscene it'd make even Beelzebub impressed. It's one of those two."
She doesn't sound angry. If anything, there's resignation there—warm, familiar, practiced.
Scylla stops dead mid-step.
Her eyes go wide.
Then wider.
Then she squeals so loudly a nearby sinner flinches.
"AWWW—you know me so well, Evie!" Scylla spins on her heel, hands clasped dramatically under her chin, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I feel seen."
Evie snorts, ears flicking back as she smiles despite herself.
"But!" Scylla holds up a finger, expression shifting into exaggerated seriousness. "This time, I swear—it's not my usual brand of chaos."
Evie shoots her a look. "That's not comforting."
"I'm being sincere!" Scylla presses a hand to her chest, wounded. "I actually planned this one as a celebration."
That gets Evie's attention.
"Celebration?" she repeats, brow lifting.
Scylla grins, sharp and knowing. "Yup! For the exterminations, getting cut down to half a day." She leans in, voice dropping conspiratorially.
"And for Heaven getting their asses absolutely handed to them in negotiations."
She pauses, eyes glittering.
"According to Hell's News, anyway."
Evie stumbles half a step.
Just barely.
Her gaze snaps away, ears flattening as heat creeps up beneath her fur. "That's—" She clears her throat. "That's… exaggerated reporting."
Scylla hums, clearly unconvinced, her grin stretching wider as she studies Evie's suddenly very interesting lack of eye contact.
"Uh-huh," she says sweetly. "Sure it is."
She bumps Evie's shoulder again, lighter this time, affectionate. "Funny how that all happened right when a certain someone got more… involved behind the scenes."
Evie's tail flicks sharply. "You don't know that."
"Oh, I absolutely do." Scylla waggles her brows. "I'm not stupid. Unhinged? Yes. But not stupid."
Evie groans softly, dragging a hand over her face. "You're impossible."
"And you love me anyway," Scylla replies, sing-song.
She's right—and they both know it.
Despite the gulf in their usual ranks, despite titles and expectations and the unspoken rules that govern Hell's hierarchy, moments like this exist in a strange, fragile pocket of normalcy.
When Evie wears a borrowed face and an anonymous body, Scylla treats her differently—freer, louder, less careful.
Less afraid of collateral damage.
Maybe because Scylla knows this version of Evie won't be splashed across headlines or whispered about in noble halls.
Maybe because anonymity gives them both permission to be honest.
Evie glances back at her, expression soft despite herself. "So… no bombing?"
Scylla beams. "Oh, absolutely not."
Evie relaxes—just a little.
"There will be pyrotechnics," Scylla adds quickly.
Evie sighs. "Of course there will."
"But the fun kind," Scylla insists. "Music, lights, sinners behaving badly in a socially acceptable way. A real morale booster."
Evie shakes her head, a quiet laugh escaping her. "You're going to get me arrested."
Scylla gasps. "Please. Worst case scenario, we run."
Evie smirks, fangs flashing. "Worst case scenario, I throw you into traffic."
Scylla's eyes light up. "Romantic."