The seat was plush and comfortable, and the pipe organ music, while definitely evil, created a surprisingly intimate atmosphere. The other fancy demons seemed sophisticated, nibbling on delicacies with clawed hands. Well, some of them did. Others were a bit too wet and oozing to be fully fancy, leaving slime trails on the velvet.
Zac kicked his feet back and forth slightly in the big booth. "This place seems classy," he said, eyeing a nearby table where a demon was eating something that was screaming. "I hope it's not too pricey."
Skarg picked a clump of armpit fur from the tines of the fork and flicked it onto the floor. "Don't worry about that. You need to eat."
Zac nodded slowly. "Yeah, I've kinda been a waffle-holic for the past few days. I usually have chicken nuggets too. It's all about balance."
Skarg growled at a passing fly waiter. "Hey! Waity! Get your thorax over here!"
The waiter paused, balancing a tray of steaming entrails. "One second, sir, I need to deliver these to table four—"
"NOW!" Skarg bellowed, slamming his fist on the table again. "You dare make royalty wait?!"
The fly looked quite unimpressed. It couldn't roll its multifaceted eyes exactly, but Zac could feel the spiritual eye-roll radiating from it. The waiter sighed, a buzzing sound, and walked over to the table. Then it finally noticed Zac.
"Oh my," the fly squeaked, nearly dropping its tray. "Ose! Sir! Please forgive me!" The massive insect avoided looking directly at Zac, bowing its head so low its antennae touched the table. "The host did not inform me that you were here! We will have your meals brought out right away!"
The fly waiter didn't even wait for an order. It turned and practically sprinted back toward a pair of double doors at the back of the dining room.
Behind Skarg, a pair of demons sitting at the next booth began to complain loudly. "Unbelievable! We've been waiting for our appetizers for twenty minutes!"
Skarg turned in his seat, snarling. "Shut the fuck up!"
The larger of the two demons stood up. He was a classic specimen—black fur, massive curled horns, leathery bat wings. He looked like he walked straight out of a heavy metal album cover. He turned to face Skarg, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Do you want to die, you oversized reindeer?"
Skarg laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He stood up to his full height, looming over the other demon, chest to chest. "What's someone from Heresy doing here? Shouldn't you be poking prisoners with a pitchfork or something?"
The black demon hissed. A fiery circle appeared in mid-air next to him, and he pulled a wicked, glowing pitchfork from the void. "I'll poke that little fucking bitch you're trying to wine and—"
The demon's voice trailed off. His eyes had drifted past Skarg and landed on the spotted feline pattern of the onesie.
The demon went pale. His wings drooped. The pitchfork dissolved into ash in his hands.
Skarg was already winding up for a headbutt when Zac coughed politely.
"Leave 'em alone, Skarg," Zac said, leaning back and putting his feet up on the seat. "They are probably just hangry and jealous you're a famous celebrity who gets special attention. It's hard being an icon."
The black demon's face contorted in confusion as he looked at Zac again. "Wait," he squinted, peering at the fleece ears. "You're not Ose. What in the hells is—"
Skarg's hand shot out, grabbing the other diner by the mouth. A mask of thick, glacial ice began to spread instantly from his grip, silencing the demon mid-sentence. "That is Ose," Skarg growled, his voice low and dangerous. "And if you say one more thing, I'm gonna face-fuck you with an icicle."
"Oh, don't be dramatic," Zac said, still leaning back casually. He looked the classical demon up and down appraisingly. "The classic look is kinda nice, actually. He's like a werewolf-vampire mix. Very vintage."
Skarg and the half-frozen demon both looked back at Zac.
Zac smiled, batting his eyelashes. "Just imagine... if he defiled me, then March wouldn't have to kill any of you guys. Just putting it out there. Loophole?"
Skarg's eyes narrowed with sudden, intense jealousy. The ice in his hand surged. "If anyone is getting killed for fucking you, it's me."
CRACK-BOOM.
A massive ball of ice expanded instantaneously inside the black demon's skull. His head exploded like a dropped watermelon, showering the booth, the floor, and his dinner date in gore and ice shards.
The date screamed, a high-pitched, banshee wail.
"Sorry about that!" Zac called out, giving a little wave. "Skarg, tell them you're sorry for killing their date. It's rude to ruin lunch."
Skarg pushed the headless, bloody corpse away from himself, wiping icy slush from his chest. "Yeah, I'm sorry this ass-clown was asking to get skull-fucked. I didn't realize his gag reflex was so strong."
The date stood up. They were a slender, terrifying creature made of what looked like polished porcelain and razors. They moved toward Zac and Skarg, shaking with fury. "Asmodeus will hear about this!"
Zac noticed Skarg flinch. The wendigo actually looked nervous. "Uh," Skarg grunted, glancing at the exit. "Maybe we should get that to go."
"Hey," Zac said, leaning forward. "There's no need for tattle-tales."
"Tattle-tales?!" the furious demon roared, pointing at their ruined outfit. "HIS SKULL IS IN MY HAIR!"
Zac frowned. There was, indeed, a lot of exploded cranium covering the incensed diner. "True, true," Zac panicked, his mind racing. "But, uh, that wasn't our fault! Don't you know demon's heads just kind of... explode now and then?"
Zac felt a sudden, profound chill coat his tongue. It was heavy, metallic, and cold. He felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him, as if his energy was being physically sucked out of his body and poured into his quick, unthoughtful words.
The dining room went silent.
Skarg slowly turned to Zac, his eyes wide. "Did you just—"
POP.
The demon standing at the table's head spontaneously exploded. No ice, no fire, just a wet, fleshy pop as their cranium detonated for absolutely no reason. Their body crumpled to the floor next to their date.
The restaurant descended into instant, screaming chaos.
It started as a ripple. The demons at the nearest tables, who had overheard Zac's declaration, stared in horror at the headless porcelain body. Then, one of them, a stout toad-demon in a tuxedo, grabbed his own head. His eyes bulged. POP.
Panic spread like a shockwave. Fancy lesser demons overturned tables, scrambling for the exits, their screams cut short by the wet, sickening sounds of cranial detonation. It was a domino effect of spontaneous combustion. A succubus near the blood fountain shrieked, then pop. A ghoul trying to crawl under a table—pop.
Zac sat frozen in the booth, a frown on his face. A chunk of grey matter slid slowly down the shoulder of his leopard onesie. "Uhm," he said, his voice small. "What the fuck is happening right now?"
The dining room became a slaughterhouse. Demons yelled, cried, and bargained with invisible gods as more and more heads popped like balloons, leaving a mass of twitching, headless corpses strewn across the plush carpet.
Skarg sighed, a long, weary sound, and sat back down heavily in the booth. He looked around the massacre with the bored expression of someone waiting for a bus.
"Did I do that?" Zac asked, his voice trembling.
He suddenly felt incredibly weak. The world tilted sideways. His vision grayed at the edges, and his limbs felt like they were made of lead. He collapsed onto the table with a groan, his cheek resting in a puddle of spilled wine and... other fluids.
"Avatar," Skarg growled softly. He reached out, his massive hands gentle as he scooped Zac up and pulled him into his lap.
Zac curled into the warmth of the wendigo's chest, feeling the steady thump of Skarg's heart. "I did a woopsy, I think," he mumbled, his words slurring.
"You," Skarg said, stroking Zac's hair with a clawed finger, "didn't do anything wrong. That Karen was asking for it."
Zac lay there, feeling like he was in the throes of a low-sugar diabetic attack. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the carnage. He had the power of lying. Ose had said his words would carry the weight of truth. He had just made a little joke, a deflection. He hadn't even really thought about what he was saying since he knew Skarg would just beat up anyone who messed with him. He did not plan on becoming a serial killer while waiting for the appetizer menu.
The kitchen doors swung open with a bang. The fly waiter emerged, carrying a tray of drinks. It took one look at the headless devastation, dropped the tray with a crash, and buzzed its wings in fury.
"FURFUR! OSE!" the insect screamed. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"