Within the Bloody Fortress, the Archangel Alice was bathing in a luxurious wooden tub in her opulent chamber.
The pure water had been specially fetched from the mage tower, a rarity in Hell, where clean water sources were scarce. Most parched travelers, despite knowing the perils of the River Styx, would succumb to their thirst and drink from its foul waters, even aware of its amnesiac properties, simply due to the scarcity of water.
The Bloody Fortress was different. As a fully-equipped stronghold, it boasted clean water sources and a stable portal to the Plane of Water within the mage tower. The mages merely had to pull a specially crafted cork from the wall, and pure water would flow endlessly from the portal.
Alice leaned against the wooden tub, playfully kicking up splashes with her long, shapely legs, splattering water onto Robin, who was not far away.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Robin! I didn't mean to get you wet. But the water's gotten a bit too cool for my liking. Would you mind heating it up a bit?" Alice asked with a coy smile.
"At once, my lady," Robin replied, her face expressionless. She tossed a bundle of rope from her waist, which slithered like a snake, coiling around a stack of firewood and placing it beneath Alice's tub. Chanting an incantation, flames leaped from her hands, igniting the wood.
The flames danced, quietly burning beneath the tub, quickly heating the water until steam rose, tinting Alice's skin a rosy pink. She reveled in the scorching temperature.
"Ah, much better," Alice sighed, stretching up from the steaming water to perch on the edge of the tub, her alluring curves on display. "Robin, would you help me groom my wings?"
Obediently, Robin stepped behind her to tend to Alice's pristine white wings.
"How are they? My wings are beautiful, aren't they?" Alice inquired.
Robin replied, "Not bad."
Alice turned to glance at Robin's wings and said with a hint of arrogance, "Well, they must be more beautiful than those blood-red wings of yours."
Robin's hands stilled for a moment, but it was just a moment, and she masked it well. "Perhaps," she responded coolly.
"Why are you always like this? So expressionless, so devoid of fun. Never excited, never downcast. What are you thinking? Why don't you resist? Why don't you fight? Even when I say such harsh things?" Alice, stepping naked from the tub, turned to face Robin with a puzzled look. "I think I couldn't stand such sharp words. Why don't you choose to fight? I can feel it, you were angry just now."
Alice was right; Robin had indeed been angry. Unlike the proud angels, Robin was born a succubus. Unlike other denizens of Hell, it was said these succubi were once angels, but after a massive rebellion, they descended into Hell. Their wings, tainted by the blood of their enemies, turned crimson. As time passed, they adapted to life in Hell and became an indispensable part of its hierarchy. Today, few still refer to them as Fallen Angels; they are born of Hell, they are succubi.
Though she never saw herself as an angel, Robin carried the same pride.
What's wrong with blood-red? Is it worse than your pallid whiteness? Robin knew this foolish angel looked down on her; all angels did, scorning any creature whose wings weren't pure white.
But Robin was clever. You ask why I don't fight? If I still had my flame bow and lost my reason, perhaps I would fight. But the truth is, I've lost my bow, and I never lose my reason. And what should I fight with now? A piece of rope?
I'll remember this; it's not over yet. You're second on my list, right after the Archangel Genoa. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and if that cunning little devil speaks true, it won't take ten years. Sometimes, to kill a person, you don't need a battlefield. Poor little girl, you have so much to learn.
Robin's thoughts were many, but her face remained as impassive as ever, like a mask of ice, as if Alice's angry questions were of no concern to her.
"Speak up! Tell the truth! I know you have thoughts," Alice demanded.
So Robin spoke, revealing certain truths: "You ask why I don't fight? Because I am a butler. My duty is to ensure the fortress operates smoothly, not to repel enemies. No matter the circumstances, I must fulfill my duties; that is the rule."
"Oh, I see. You adhere to the rules, order above all else," Alice shrugged nonchalantly, continuing to dress. "You really love your job."
"Yes, in that regard, I am the same as you."
"Oh? Is that so?" Alice's gaze fixed on Robin, the air between them seemingly solidifying with their stare. After a long pause, she raised her head, as if realizing something profound, "Yes, you're right. I too love my job—my job is to eradicate all evil. I almost foolishly made a mistake just now. If I had killed you, we'd be helpless with this fortress. But look at you, so beautiful, so proud, yet so lustful. Look at your wings, the blood-colored feathers, look at your eyes, the blood-colored pupils. Even your hair is the sinister black of evil. Succubus, what a despicable existence. Shame on your ancestors for once being angels!"
Against Alice's insults, Robin fought only with silence, for she understood that as Alice said, life for them would be much harsher without her. At least these angels and humans couldn't command the "inferior devils" who were the slaves of the castle. These dim-witted, feeble-minded creatures with empty minds were the lowest beings in Hell, lacking wisdom and incapable of communication. But they obeyed orders, and any devil higher than they could place commands in their vacant brains. The castle's daily cleaning and other menial tasks relied largely on these inferior devils.
Now, the only evil left in the fortress, aside from the inferior devils, was the succubus butler Robin. All other evil beings had been judged and purged.
So Robin just needed to maintain a subservient silence, follow the rules, and she would be safe.
No need for Robin to take risks herself; someone else would act.
But she shouldn't keep insulting me. Robin thought to herself. Perhaps it was time to show this foolish Archangel her own methods. So, with great care, Robin bowed her head and inquired, "Angel Genoa has already had lunch, and it's almost past lunchtime. Would you like some? Today's fare includes a rare vegetable salad and braised veal."
"Is that a bruise on your face? Is it swollen? Poor thing, did Genoa hit you again?"
"Yes, would you like me to serve lunch now?"
"Don't bother, I'm not in the mood to eat!" Alice withdrew her long-awaited Archangel's sword from the void, swinging it wildly as she walked out, muttering, "So bored, I'd love to chop up some evil beings. I'm going to rust if I don't fight soon."
Robin sighed silently to herself, That sword was meant for me, alas, I'm no fool. Alice, you're one lucky wench.
Alice hadn't gone far when a harrowing scream pierced the air.
"Help... me... ah...!" The cry came from outside the fortress, desperate and chilling.