Birthday Cake 100 g Calories: 486 *Protein: 6 g Fat: 27 g Carbs: 74 g Fiber: 0.4 g Sugars: 30 g
Canta shoves the next slice of cake into his mouth, stepping over the body and taking a moment to lick his fingers.
“It seems a little mean to eat his birthday cake,” suggests Alleluia.
Canta shrugs. “He went through all of the effort to make it,” he says, covering his mouth with his hand and puffing out one cheek as he talks. “Wouldn’t it be meaner to just leave it there?”
Alleluia thinks. “Well… I guess…”
“Besides. It’s pretty good.”
“I wish I could try,” she says, looking over her shoulder at him. Canta licks his last finger clean and shakes his head.
“Sorry. I don’t think cake would be great for your…” He stops. “Can you even taste things?”
“No,” replies Alleluia. “And it’s a very rude thing for you to ask!” she states, crossing her arms as the two of them keep walking. “I’m very sensitive about that stuff.”
“About not being human?”
“Don’t be a dick!” snaps Alleluia. “As if you’re human,” she says in an indignant huff, crossing her arms and walking on ahead by herself. Canta, chewing noisily on the fistful of cake he has entirely ungraciously clawed out of the box in his hands, considers the statement.
Is he a human?
He looks down at himself, swallowing the rest of the cake in his mouth as he walks after her with a shrug. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he says. “For what it’s worth. I think you’re great the way you are.”
“Go on,” she says, lifting her nose.
“– Hey!” says a voice from ahead of them. They’re approaching two guards. They look up at the two men guarding the next door. “Did Georg show up?” asks the guard. “We heard he brought cake.”
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Canta nods, holding the open box out to him. “Yeah. It’s to die for,” he says, nudging Alleluia with his elbow.
“No.” She ignores him, turning her head away.
The guard, confused at her answer, takes a piece of cake, nodding. “Thanks. Tell Georg happy birthday from me if you see him.”
Canta looks at Alleluia and then at the man. “Uh… sure… uh…”
“Oh, uh, Franko,” says the guard, nodding his head to the other one who takes a piece of cake.
“Gunther,” says the other guard.
“Cool. Cool,” says Canta, sighing as he watches them take off their helmets and eat the cake with their hands. “Will you excuse us for a second?” he asks, giving them the box and dragging Alleluia back by her hand.
“Trouble in paradise?” asks Gunther, knowingly.
“Shut up, Gunther,” barks Canta behind him. The other man laughs.
Canta rolls his eyes, leaning in towards Alleluia. “What was that?!” he hisses.
“What was what, flabby-butt?”
“What?” asks Canta, blinking. “First off, you’re the one with a flabby-butt.”
She gasps. “You take that back, if you ever want to see it again!” she says, leaning in towards him.
“LOOK!” says Canta. “That’s not important! We were doing a thing, and you didn’t do the thing,” he explains.
She narrows her eyes, staring at him. “The thing?”
“Yeah, the thing!” he argues. “I said the cake was -” he makes air quotes with his fingers. “’To die for’,” explains Canta. “You were supposed to kill them then.”
“That’s dumb. How am I supposed to know that?” asks Alleluia.
“Come on!” he says, hitting the back of his hand in an open palm. “You know that,” he says skeptically. “You’re just mad about the human thing I said.”
“It was a mean thing to ask!”
“I already apologized,” he barks. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?”
“Yeah, you sure weren’t,” she says. “Think about my feelings next time before you start being a jerk.” Canta surrenders, lifting his hands. She sighs. “Anyways, are they demons?”
“Sure are,” says Canta. “I'm pretty sure everyone in here is,” he says, feeling particularly proud of his observation. With this many demons in one place, this essentially proves his Demon-King theory in his eyes.
“Do we kill them?” asks Alleluia.
“Of course we kill them,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “They’re demons.”
“They seem nice.”
“They’re demons,” he repeats. “Fucking demons…” he mutters, his eyes shifting from side to side.
Alleluia turns her head, looking at them. “Hey, Franko?”
“Yeah?” asks the guard.
“Stop talking to them!” hisses Canta.
“What’s your favorite animal?” asks Alleluia.
Franko thinks for a second, handing the box of cake over to Gunther. “I like field-mice,” he says. “Why?”
“No reason, thanks!” says Alleluia. Canta sighs.
“Look. It’s us or them,” says Canta. “I don’t give a shit what his favorite animal is,” he explains, lifting his arms in exasperation. “Are you going to help me get rid of them or not?”
“We could just ask if they’ll let us through the door?”
“They’re not going to let us go through the door!” hisses Canta.
“Hey, Franko?” asks Alleluia, raising her voice.
“Stop it!” whispers Canta.
“Yeah?” asks Franko.
Alleluia lifts her finger, pointing towards the large door the two guards are standing next to. “Can we go through there?”
Franko turns his head, looking at the door and then towards Gunther. The other man shrugs, a piece of cake still in his hand, and then so does Franko, turning his gaze back to her. “Don’t see why not.”
“Thanks!” she calls. “See?”
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” asks Canta.
“We’re doing a thing,” she explains.
“This isn’t the kind of thing I meant!” argues Canta, leaning in closer to her. “Remember the west? The city? The fields? Everything that we saw?” he asks. “We can’t just… let them exist.”
“Franko doesn’t have anything to do with that,” argues Alleluia.
“You don’t know that!”
“Hey, Franko?” asks Alleluia, turning her head. Canta screams, clutching his hair in frustration. “Have you ever been to the west?” asks Alleluia.
“The west?” asks Franko. “No. The missus wanted to go east for our honeymoon. What’s with all the questions?”
“Thanks! No reason!” she calls. “See?” asks Alleluia. “He’s married, my chubby-cuddle-cobra.”
“Stop making emotional connections with the things that we’re supposed to kill!”
“But what if he has children?” asks Alleluia. “What if his wife is waiting for him to come back home tonight?”
“He doesn’t have children, and she isn’t!” snaps Canta, picking up his pike.
Alleluia turns her head. “Hey, Fra -?”
“– ENOUGH!” shouts Canta, walking back towards the guards and the door with the pike in his hand. “I’ve had enough!”
“You good, friend?” asks Gunther.
“SHUT UP, GUNTHER!” yells Canta.
“Pretty rude,” says Gunther, raising an eyebrow and shaking the cake off of his metal gauntlets.
Canta points his pike at them. “I know that you’re demons, you fucks!”
“Yeah?” asks Franko. “So?” Canta blinks. “It’s the Demon-King’s palace. Of course we’re demons,” says the man, shrugging. “Duh. Is that a problem?” he asks, leaning in.
Franko narrows his eyes. “Wait a minute…” He leans over, whispering into Gunther’s ear.
The other man nods. “Yeah? You think? Mm, yeah, could be.”
“STOP IGNORING ME, YOU FUCKS!” yells Canta. “I’M THE SIN-EATER!” In this moment, Canta understands the advice that Brother had given him.
Scream.
Scream. Scream and just let it all out now and then. He does exactly that.
“I like your dress,” says Gunther, waiting until he’s stopped.
Alleluia lifts a finger. “It’s a habit, actually.”
“Ooooh,” says the guard.
Canta feels himself die inside just a little more. He screams, grabs his pike, and rushes forward, trying and failing to healthily process his emotions.