18. Sage
18
SAGE
A fter being summoned, I step into Deus's private office, the air thick with an unfamiliar tension. The usually imposing space feels different today, almost charged with nervous energy. Deus stands behind his massive obsidian desk, his fingers drumming an erratic rhythm on its polished surface. It's unlike him to fidget, and I can't help but raise an eyebrow. "Sage," he growls, his deep voice tinged with an emotion I can't quite place. "I need to talk to you about something."
I approach cautiously, noting the way his crimson eyes flicker with uncertainty. "Is everything alright, Deus?"
He clears his throat, a gesture so uncharacteristically human that I almost laugh. "Yes, well... I've been thinking."
"That's dangerous," I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
He scowls, but there's no real heat behind it. "Sage, I... Dammit, why is this so difficult?" He runs a hand through his pitch-black hair, small flames flickering at the tips.
I wait, my heart beginning to race. I've never seen him like this before.
Finally, Deus takes a deep breath and locks eyes with me. "Sage, you've become... essential to me. To this place. I can't imagine Slim's without you. I can't imagine... myself without you."
My breath catches in my throat as realization dawns.
"What I'm trying to say is..." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. Inside nestles a ring unlike any I've ever seen - a band of swirling obsidian and fire opal that seems to pulse with its own inner light. "Will you marry me?"
Joy explodes in my chest, a feeling so intense it's almost painful. "Deus, I... yes! Of course, yes!"
His face breaks into a rare, genuine smile as he slides the ring onto my finger. It's warm to the touch, as if infused with his very essence. We kiss, and I swear I can taste eternity on his lips.
Moments later, we emerge from the office, hands intertwined. The staff of Slim's Last Chance look up, curiosity evident on their diverse faces. "Listen up, you lot," Deus booms, his usual gruffness returning. "Sage and I are getting married."
The reaction is instantaneous and cacophonous. Cheers erupt from some corners, while shocked gasps emerge from others. Brimstone, the sulfuric imp who tends bar, nearly drops the glass he's polishing.
"It's about damn time!" cackles Vera, the ancient banshee who handles our bookkeeping. "I was beginning to think our fearless leader was too thick-skulled to make a move."
Deus growls, but I can see the pleased glint in his eye.
Over the next few weeks, we throw ourselves into wedding planning with gusto. It's a hilarious and often frustrating process, trying to blend mortal wedding traditions with underworld customs.
"No, Deus, we can't have a blood fountain at the reception," I say, exasperated.
He looks genuinely puzzled. "Why not? It's traditional for demon weddings."
"Because half our guests will try to bathe in it, and the other half will be terrified!"
We compromise on a punch fountain that changes color based on the drinker's mood.
The guest list is a nightmare of epic proportions. We spend hours debating the merits of inviting rival demon lords, weighing the potential for alliances against the very real possibility of all-out war breaking out during the ceremony.
"We have to invite Lord Azmodeus," Deus insists. "He controls half the brimstone mines in the Ninth Circle."
"Fine," I concede. "But he's sitting far away from Duchess Lilithia. I don't want a repeat of the Hellfire Gala incident."
Meanwhile, I throw myself into creating alchemical wonders for the wedding. My lab becomes a whirlwind of activity as I experiment with ever more fantastical concoctions. Floating candles that change scent based on the viewer's deepest desires. Centerpieces that grow and shift throughout the night, blooming with unearthly flowers. Party favors that grant the recipient a glimpse of their own personal paradise – or perdition, depending on their inclination.
Deus, for his part, tackles the task of finding an officiant with his usual bull-headed determination. It proves to be more challenging than either of us anticipated.
"What do you mean, the Arch-Hierophant of the Obsidian Order won't do it?" I ask, watching Deus pace our living room in frustration.
He snarls, small flames licking at his fingertips. "Apparently, he finds our union 'distasteful.' Says a demon lord shouldn't sully himself with a former mortal."
I bristle at the insult, but Deus's next words make me smile.
"I told him he could take his opinion and shove it up his sanctimonious-"
"Deus!" I interrupt, laughing despite myself. "We'll find someone else."
In the end, our officiant comes from an unexpected source. An ancient, nameless entity that lurks in the shadowy corners of Slim's Last Chance agrees to perform the ceremony. It's so old and powerful that even Deus treats it with a mix of respect and wariness. Its decision to officiate leaves Deus uncharacteristically thoughtful, though he'd die before admitting it.
As the big day approaches, we transform a section of Slim's Last Chance into a wedding venue that defies description. Imagine a gothic cathedral colliding with a 1920s speakeasy, then dipped in liquid starlight and sprinkled with a healthy dose of chaotic underworld energy.
Crystalline stalactites hang from the ceiling, each one housing a tiny, flickering soul-flame. The bar itself is draped in shimmering fabrics that seem to shift between dimensions. I find myself unable to sleep and wander down to the empty bar, my special wedding brew bubbling gently in a cauldron behind the counter. It's a potion unlike any I've created before - a perfect blend of my hexeblood essence and the fierce, protective love I feel for Deus. When consumed, it grants the drinker a momentary glimpse into the depths of our bond, a taste of the eternity we're promising each other.
As I stare into the swirling, iridescent liquid, I'm overwhelmed by the journey that's led me here. From a scared, betrayed bride facing execution, to the soon-to-be wife of the most powerful demon lord in the underworld. It's a path I never could have imagined, filled with more danger, love, and magic than I ever dreamed possible.
A warm hand on my shoulder startles me from my reverie. Deus stands behind me, his eyes soft in the dim light.
"Having second thoughts?" he rumbles, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.
I turn and wrap my arms around him, breathing in his scent of smoke and spice. "Never," I whisper. "I'm exactly where I'm meant to be."