HIS EYES FLASHED OPEN AND HE GASPED, SITTING UPRIGHT. His mind spun with confusion, and his vision was—at first—blurred. His eyesight slowly cleared as he began to make out the cozy surroundings of the room. His eyes anxiously flashed from the dresser to the comforter he now rested underneath. His memories slowly drizzled back to remind him of the evening's past events. He could remember the decrepit and crumbling walls of his past abode. In his mind's eyes, he could see the oozing onyx liquid held within the transparent vial. He recalled the storm. He smiled with triumph when remembering the curse. Then he faltered. His lips curled downward into a frown. The prophecy...

His face twisted with rage as he searched the room again, but this time with a purpose. Where was it? He thrashed about in the bed to untangle himself from the covers, then rushed to stand. However, this proved to be a mistake. As soon as his feet touched the cool hardwood floor, his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground.

He quickly shook his head, trying to orient himself and collect his thoughts, but the action only increased the dizzying feeling. The sweet incense released from the candle on the bedside dresser nauseated him, and his aggravation grew with how serene the air was. He placed a hand to his dizzying head, then recoiled at the touch. Startled, he lowered his hand in front of his face. He eyed the soft pink flesh with dread. He rose from the ground, floundering over to the closest reflective surface, clinging to the cool glass with his now pallid hands to avoid falling a second time. Panic reflected in the pair of seafoam eyes staring back at him. Mimicking his actions, a delicate hand—one he couldn't claim as his own—rose up to his dark hairline and brushed through the soft, jet black locks attached. He glared at the stranger that stood on the other side of the glass. And as his eyebrows knitted together with the rage that clouded his mind, the stranger's expression shifted to match.

He yanked on the mirror with the intent of crashing it against the ground, yet to his surprise it took much more effort than he was accustomed to. When the glass shattered against the hardwood floor, it scattered across the room. The jarring noise that resounded involuntarily caused him to cover his now delicate ears. The frown lines along his face deepened as he slowly slid down to the ground, deciding he didn't want to risk falling again. Thoughts floated in and out of his mind as he contemplated the newfound effects of the curse. It appeared mortality was a catch not openly expressed in the fine print of the deal. He was given little to no time to mourn his newfound weakness as a sudden, firm knock on the other side of the door startled him from his thoughts. A foreign sense of vulnerability caused him to slowly move further back into the corner of the room.

"Who's there?" he asked and immediately grasped his throat.

The voice that had emerged was softer and warmer than the one he was acquainted with. The original power and intimidation it possessed was gone. Disgust flashed across his face in disapproval of his new physique. An expression only visible to himself from the other mirror in the room that hung from the wall. Regret was settling in the pit of his stomach. How could one be all-powerful, if they gave up all their power to be so?

"It's just me, sir," an older woman's British voice could be heard from the other side of the door. "Ms. Angelo."

He frowned and muttered the name under his breath finding no familiarity in it. "Who—What do you want?"

A sigh was heard from outside. "As your housekeeper, Mayor Wraith, it's my job to check in on you. I heard a large crash from your room while preparing breakfast and thought I ought to make sure you were alright."

Growing curious, he used the wall to help him stand, then stumbled over toward the door. Glass scattered further throughout the room as he shuffled through the middle of the mess to reach the other side of the room. He placed a hand on the doorknob but flinched at the feel of the cool metal in his palm. After another moment of hesitation, he twisted the knob. The door was cracked open as he stood in confusion, failing to recognize the woman on the other side.

The older voice belonged to a middle-aged woman whose hair was beginning to whiten. Small bags of stress could be seen underneath her eyes, but inside the irises genuine concern was visible. Which was quickly overshadowed with annoyance as she looked into the room behind him.

"Look at this mess," she muttered under her breath before speaking up as she proceeded to enter the room, "You aren't hurt, are you?"

Too confused to process anything he answered with the timidness of a child, "No, I'm fine..."

"Excellent, I'll start right away on cleaning this up then," Ms. Angelo replied. "Breakfast is down on the table waiting for you. Then I suppose it's off to the office for you?"

"Yes?" the former demon answered hesitantly. He hadn't had an ounce of certainty since waking up.

Ms. Angelo stood expectantly, and that's when he realized she was waiting for him to follow her instructions. He braced himself against the wall and traced his hand alongside it for support as he exited the room. He looked at the stairs nervously before shaking himself out of his thoughts of dismay. He was a demon of death! He would not let these doubts control his actions. He raised his head high and proceeded to walk down the stairs ... at a slow pace to retain his balance. A small smirk formed on his face as confidence grew with each step he took. His pace gradually became quicker and his steps firmer. By the time he reached the table, he'd begun to adjust to his new form. He clumsily took a seat and stared at the foreign objects resting on the table.

A young boy came running through the kitchen and entered the dining room stopping for only a moment. "Oh, sweet! Mama made pancakes."

Chernabog looked over at the boy with confusion, but before he could question who the child was, he had scampered off. Following his exit, two men stormed into the room with cross expressions. They immediately halted and their posture grew sheepish.

"Morning sir," the shorter of the two spoke with a faint British accent. "We didn't realize you were up."

The second chimed in with a detectable French accent, "You did not happen to see Charlie pass by, did you, Monsieur Wraith?"

"Charlie?" he asked, having kept his eyebrows knitted in confusion throughout the whole ongoing scene.

The two men looked at him with a similar expression, then the taller spoke up again, "Ms. Angelo's boy. He caused a bit of trouble out back—"

"Nothing to concern yourself with though," the shorter interrupted with a worried expression before elbowing his partner in the ribs.

Wishing to remove the two from his presence, Chernabog answered the initial question, "The boy passed through here a matter of moments ago before rushing out the front door."

"Quickly, Chandler," the shorter said, walking briskly toward the front door. "We may still be able to catch him!"

"Oui, I'm right behind you, Lewis," the taller replied, slamming the door behind them as they left.

Chernabog released a sigh after he heard the door close. He was far past the point of confusion and wasn't sure if he could handle anything more. His mind was at a loss for words to describe what he felt in the moment. And there lay the problem, he could feel things. He felt confusion, fear, shame, curiosity, and anger instead of pure rage. This curse had him baffled. He'd expected to be feared the moment he arrived in what was supposed to be his kingdom; however, no one truly even knew his name!

He didn't understand, he was supposed to have limitless power, but how could that happen if he was mortal? Who could he place the fault on, certainly not himself? Was it the chemist? The witches? The magicians?—The Mirror—Yes! It had to have been. The glass and its prophecy must've altered his curse. His thoughts were suddenly disrupted by a low growling sound. He quickly searched the room for the source, even lifting the dish on the table as if expecting a mouse to scurry past. To compliment the sound, creaking was heard from the staircase. He watched as Ms. Angelo proceeded down the stairs carrying a broom and a dustpan.

She looked over and spoke with surprise in her voice, "Mayor Wraith! I didn't think you'd still be here—Oh look!" her surprise quickly turned into scolding. "You've allowed your breakfast to grow cold!"

He looked back at the miscellaneous objects that could be found on the table and jumped as the growling sound returned. Ms. Angelo released a gentle laugh, and he glared in response. He crossed his arms while sitting in his seat, unaware how small and innocent it made him look.

"I don't know why you haven't eaten yet," she said smiling as her laughter grew quieter. "You're clearly starving. Why don't you go up and dress yourself for the office, and I'll reheat this right up for you? Your usual suit is pressed and set out on your bed."

She quickly ushered the former demon up the stairs with a gentle smile before heading back downstairs to do as she suggested. Chernabog shook his head to clear his thoughts for the nth time that morning, and just like all the other times—it had failed to clear any of his confusion. He entered the room that he'd awakened in and found several articles of folded cloth resting where the woman had said they'd be. After several failed attempts, he finally managed to button the fresh black shirt; however, he gave up trying to tie the ribbon around his neck. He walked down the stairs and held his head high with confidence as if he'd conquered a dreaded beast.

Moments later Ms. Angelo had returned with the reheated meal. Without saying anything, she served him with a smile and chuckled gently while watching him struggle with the tie once more. She took the ribbon within her own hands and swiftly tied it together. Then, she ensured he'd eaten his fill before allowing him to leave.

"Have a good day at the office, sir," Ms. Angelo said as Chernabog left. "Could you let Miss Mills know I have that tea recipe she wanted?"

"Yes?" he answered, raising his voice into a question.

Before he could ask anything else, the door was shut behind him. He blinked then straightened the collar of his suit before wandering down the sidewalk. His look of confusion only grew more bewildered as he saw the bizarre world around him. The home structures were nothing like he'd ever seen. They vaguely reminded him of the cottages that could be found deep within the decaying forests of his past life, but there were aspects about them unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

He proceeded onward toward his destination, following the instructions he'd been given before finishing his meal. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the town's daily pace seemed to quicken. More and more strangers entered the streets and went about their own personal business. However, as he watched everyone else, he forgot to concentrate on where he was walking. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground.

Pain. Immense pain surged through his body as he collided with the pavement. His face contorted and scrunched with the foreign sensation. His vision blurred just as it had when he first woke up in this bizarre place. His head spun round in circles as he tried to stand. Deciding it best to stay still, he lowered himself back to the ground, turning onto his back. The sky overhead was overcast with dark clouds. Slowly, the burning sensation faded from his head and palms.

"Catching a few 'z's' there, buddy?" a male figure coolly asked while standing overtop the former demon.

An uncomfortable amount of heat rose into Chernabog's face. He lips tugged into a frown at the unfamiliar sensation of embarrassment that he was experiencing for the first time. Although his mind was screaming at him to get up, he took his next moments slowly—recalling that the last time he tried to rise too quickly didn't end well.

"Great," he thought to himself. "Emotions come with this pathetic package."

He tried to brush the dirt off his hands, but immediately winced in pain. He glanced down at his hands, noticing the warm red liquid coming from his palms that may have something to do with the pain. Electing to forget about his injuries, he folded his hands behind his back. He certainly hoped the phrase 'out of sight, out of mind' was applicable in this situation. The stranger in front of him continued to smirk watching the whole scenario act itself out.

"I suppose you aren't used to this form," the male said with a chuckle, then posed the statement like a question, "Are you?"

Chernabog opened his mouth to speak, but immediately closed it after processing what the stranger had said. He was the first to imply he knew who the former demon was. His brow lifted with suspicion, trying to place why the figure was so familiar. It suddenly struck him: the smug expression, the cool yet haughty tone, the snarky retort, and the body posture. It seemed he wasn't the only one affected negatively by the curse.

"No, Hades," the former demon sneered. "I took a dive to the ground for the sheer fun of experiencing pain... Of course I'm not accustomed to this form!"

"Look, Chern, you can't just go announcing names around here," the former god spoke in a hushed tone. "You might just destroy everything you've worked so hard to create."

"Now what is that supposed to mean?" Chernabog questioned indignantly.

"Oh," Hades chuckled. "You don't know yet?"

"Know what?" Chernabog asked raising his voice. "Hades, I'm giving you three seconds to explain before I—"

"Before you do what, bud?" Hades cut him off with a scoff. "I know you're mortal here, and I also know there's nothing you can do to me."

"Ha—" Chernabog tried to protest with a reddening face but was cut off again.

"I've tried to tell you once, it's Hector Vitalis now," Hades interrupted. "We've all got new lives and names here. Confusing? I know, but it seems to be a side effect of the curse."

"Who else is dealing with this?" Chernabog asked with a glare.

"Everyone," Hades replied. "The only thing different between us and our enemies is what we remember. Fortunately, they don't remember anything."

"Nothing?" Chernabog questioned with disbelief.

"Nothing," Hades confirmed with a nod of his head. "Just one more problem there though, it makes them a lot harder to track down."

"And you want me to do something about this?" Chernabog asked, unamused.

"No, I know you can do something about it," Hades corrected with a cocky expression. "We can talk more in your office."

Chernabog rolled his eyes before turning his back on the former god. He was already struggling enough as it was and certainly wasn't in the mood to deal with Hades' sarcasm any further; however, he signaled for the god to follow. The former demon stomped up the stairs in frustration and paused at the front desk.

"Boy, you haven't changed a bit," Hades muttered from behind.

The secretary at the front desk smiled gently as Chernabog rounded the corner, then brushed some of her red hair out of her eyes. "May I help you, sir?"

"Actually, you can," Chernabog nodded. "Would you be so—kind—as to point me toward my office, Miss..."

"Mills," the secretary sighed, whatever charm she was smitten with before had vanished. "Miriam Mills, your secretary for the past year... Just down the hall, sir."

He nodded his head before remembering the message he was supposed to deliver. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. "And Miss Mills..."

"Yes, sir?" she asked, raising an eyebrow with curiosity.

"Ms. Angelo wished that I notify you that she had a tea recipe prepared for you that had been requested," Chernabog said announced before entering his office.

That soft expression returned, but it was like she tried to hide it behind her laptop as she nodded with appreciation. "Thank you, sir."

Hades glanced between the two, his eyes lingering on Miss Mills as he followed Chernabog into the room. "Now what was all that about?"

"Wipe that stupid smirk off your face," Chernabog muttered while closing the door behind him.

"Did the high and mighty demon of death really just use the word 'kind'," Hades laughed. He changed his tone to mimic the secretary's voice as he batted his eyelashes. "Thank you, sir... One look and you're practically helpless, not to mention the icing to top it off, you delivered a message from—who's Ms. Angelo?"

"How should I know?" Chernabog asked as anger flashed across his face with frustration. "Could you focus on the task at hand?"

"What?" Hades's smirk grew, "No 'please'?"

Chernabog snarled and chucked the nearest book from his shelf at the former god of death. "Do you ever shut up?!"

"Nope," Hades answered the rhetorical question without hesitation before rummaging through one of the file cabinets along the back wall. "Never got the chance to ask, but what's your name here?"

"Well considering I'd been called Mayor Wraith all morning," Chernabog snapped, "I'm going to assume it's that."

"No first name?" Hades asked, shuffling papers from within their cream-colored folders. "Or is Wraith the first name and you're so popular with the people that you don't care for formalities?"

"I don't know," Chernabog replied with rising annoyance. "Does it matter?"

"For the sake of the curse, I'd say yes," Hades replied, though he sounded preoccupied as he continued his search. "Look, I think I found something—According to this file here, it's Carlisle. Carlisle Wraith ... doesn't have too bad of a ring to it."

"Give me that!" Chernabog snatched the file from Hades's hands. "Is there one of these for everyone?"

"Sure seems like it," Hades agreed with a shrug. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to look for Wonderboy's information."

Suddenly the door was thrown open, slamming against the wall with enough force to startle both the former demon and the former deity. Standing in the doorway was a woman with blonde hair and what should have been an impossibly dark look in her crystal blue eyes. It was evident she extremely upset with something or someone. The secretary, Miriam Mills, slowly leaned over her desk as if trying to hear what all the drama was about.

"I demand to know what all of this is about, Chern—" the woman began to shout before she was cut off.

Chernabog and Hades had scrambled to their feet to stop the woman from announcing the former demon's true identity at the top of her lungs. Chernabog threw a hand over top of the woman's mouth while Hades slammed the door shut. However, the former demon yelped in surprise as her mouth closed over his fingers. Seeing the door was closed, he released her and began massaging his hand.

"You've got some nerve, Chernabog," the woman's voice rose with anger. "How dare you harass me after everything I've been through!"

"Oh, get over yourself for a minute, Grimhilde," Chernabog retorted rolling his eyes. "And it's no longer Chernabog. My name is Carlisle Wraith, Mayor Carlisle Wraith to be precise."

"What in Hades is that supposed to mean?!" she asked as her face reddened further.

"Hey, names have power, you know," Hades countered, crossing his arms as he looked up from the file cabinet that he'd previously returned to.

"Who's the deadbeat?" the woman asked, calming down with the distraction.

"Deadbeat?" Hades repeated with annoyance and then sarcasm, "Real clever use of word play."

Suddenly it dawned on her, and she began to laugh. "You two? Oh, this is precious."

Chernabog frowned with disdain as the woman wiped away a fake tear. He uttered a single warning. "Don't."

"How's it feel?" she ignored his threat. "You're trapped in the same boat as us now, aren't you?"

"Curse mortality," Chernabog thought to himself before taking a deep breath of air to try and remain calm. "Would you explain why you stormed all the way over here?"

She frowned. "First, to discuss the issues with this curse. Second, to discuss the location of a certain magical item you 'borrowed'."

"What issues?" Chernabog asked. "What could possibly have you so flustered?"

"That's a minor way to phrase it," the former queen pointedly accused.

"Then how would you phrase it?" Chernabog asked with a sigh. He already missed the power to quell those insolent enough to consider questioning him.

"Infuriated. And what might I be infuriated about?" the former queen asked rhetorically. "How about the fact that you promised immeasurable power, hmm?"

"Oh hush, witch!" Chernabog exclaimed, having enough problems of his own to deal with.

"We have yet to discuss the location of my stolen property," the queen continued, refusing to leave without personal satisfaction. "The mirror is rightfully mine."

"The problem there would be that I don't have it," Chernabog replied nonchalantly. "In fact, I might consider that the source of all our problems."

Hades eavesdropping on the conversation piped up, "And why might that be?"

"Before disappearing completely," Chernabog explained the last thing he remembered. "The mirror uttered his last words in the form of a prophecy predicting the possibility of our demise."

"Something like this?" Hades asked, retrieving an aged piece of parchment from a folder. "In this new world you will find, heroes of the unlikeliest kind—What sort of trash is this?"

"Rubbish if you ask me," the queen agreed. "And you believe this prophecy was some sort of spell that changed the original intent of the curse?"

"I wouldn't put it past the mirror," Chernabog confirmed, defending his opinion. "Besides, would either of you rather take the blame?"

The two averted their eyes. The room grew silent with the occasional turning of pages as Hades continued to fruitlessly search for one particular file. He raised an eyebrow and his smirk returned after discovering something of interest.

"So... it's Reina Grimoire now?" Hades asked, reading from the file he'd taken.

The queen snatched the paper from his hands. "So it seems... Just one last question before I go though."

Chernabog sighed. "And what might that be?"

"Do you honestly believe we'll play your little game and live these lies by our false names?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips expectantly.

"Yes," he replied, stare unbreaking. "Now if you'd be on your way, I've got important business here to look over. I'm sure there's a girl with porcelain skin just dying to see you—or at least I'm sure she will be soon."

Grimhilde rolled her eyes then stormed from the room with visible annoyance. Hades released an uncontrolled spasm of laughter once she was gone, closing the door while shaking his head. Chernabog released an exasperated sigh after the door was closed then turned back toward the files. If everyone had a file, did that include the mirror?

"Good riddance, am I right?" Hades asked with a chuckle. "I thought she'd never leave."

"Did you find what you needed?" Chernabog asked bluntly.

"Yeah, I've got Wonderboy's file right here," Hades hesitantly answered.

"Good," Chernabog's reply was flat. "Then you can be on your way."

"Aw..." Hades rolled his eyes with sarcasm that came just as easily from the tongue as he approached the door, lingering just long enough to become a proper inconvenience. "And I was just beginning to think we were bonding."

"Out!" Chernabog pointed a finger with a glare.

"Sheesh." Hades raised his hands defensively. "No need to raise your voice. I'm on my way out now."

Finally, Hades left the room, leaving Chernabog with files upon files of information. He searched for hours trying to locate the right file—or anything that might provide answers for that matter. But his frown only grew deeper with every wrong folder he opened. His eyes narrowed into slits once he opened the final folder, finding only the taunting words of the prophecy. At the bottom of the page—neatly signed—was a single letter. The 'M' provided a flourish to the otherwise dull page. As the feeling of rage filled him, he crumpled the paper into a ball before tossing it into the burning fires of the hearth. He sighed as some of the weight was lifted from his shoulders.

However, it all came crashing back down when he turned to see the aging paper in prime condition resting on his desk. Oh... so magic was now applicable? He frowned and exited the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Miriam Mills jumped up from her chair startled, but didn't dare bother the mayor after seeing the poor mood he was in.

Chernabog stormed down the stairs, throwing open the exit doors of office building. He blazed down the street trying to find a place of perfect stillness that he could clear his mind and actually think. He needed to come up with a plan of action since nothing had gone his way from the moment he opened his eyes in this dastardly place. No one dared stop him for fear of getting knocked over. Thoughts raced around his mind as he tried to find just one location to slow down and process everything. He only lasted a few seconds more before finally snapping.

He'd reached the edge of Main Street where nature merged with the small town. Seeing that he was now surrounded by layers and layers of forest greenery. He stomped over to the nearest tree, balled his fists, and released his anger on the trunk. His hand collided with the tree, and he released a howl from his mouth in pain. He'd forgotten about the side effects that came with mortality. He stared down at his grazed, bitten, and now bruised hands. The physical reminder that he was no longer the immortal being of his past—but a mere shadow of that figure—was utterly infuriating.

Exhausted from the knowledge he'd acquired in the day, he turned and slumped down against the tree. He felt weak, and that infuriated him more; however, he was too tired to act on his anger. He felt anything and everything, he was required to regain strength, and didn't understand most of the events that had occurred within the day. He watched as the sun's rays—filtered through the leaves of the trees—began to sink below the horizon. A sudden realization dawned on him, if this world was what he'd consider a living nightmare... why couldn't he make it even worse for everyone else? Slowly he rose back to his feet and began the walk back into the small town. Tomorrow his reign of torment and terror would be restored. Chernabog might be gone, but Carlisle Wraith would rise from the ashes of the burnt storybook pages.