Cadeyrn had long ago gotten used to this. The mocking insults that are hissed just loud enough for him to hear, the ignorant curiosity that would trap him in an offensive conversation for hours, and even all the “accidental” shoves and trips.
It was worse when he first came, right after the heavenly war when Celestia was still burning with the flames of hate and victory. Trapped in the Flame Prison he made an easy target for any low-ranked god who wanted to pretend they had been a part of the war, to taste the bloodshed and thrill of battle, but never having to worry about their prey fighting back.
Since being employed under Asterius's care, most of those incidents had stopped, gods too fearful to do anything overtly harmful less Asterius seek retaliation. But in recent years that fearful respect most Celestials carried for Asterius had morphed into a dark disdain. And if there’s one emotion that can overpower fear, it’s hate.
It had been so long that he’s startled when the hand grabs his shoulder, forcing him to turn around. It's not even a god who faces him, but rather a low-ranked angel. One who has obviously been enjoying the ceremony too much and was drunk off the heavenly wine, voice slurred and vision hazy.
“Why is a demon here?” the drunk angel questions, trying to glare at him, but his gaze is locked on the glittering star on his label instead of his face.
Cadeyrn pushes the angel’s hands off him, fully intending to ignore him, until he’s grabbed again.
The angel is stronger than he thought, and he has enough time to realize that he’s about to be shoved right as it happens. He stumbles a few steps, crashing hard into guests behind him.
A few people shout in alarm, the air fills suddenly with the electric buzz of magic, and then the deafening sound of shattering glass.
He spins around, breath catching in his throat when he sees what’s happened.
Serval broken glasses litter the ground around a stunned woman. Her doll-like face is morphed into a look of shocked horror as she stares down at her beautiful lace pink gown now stained with dark red wine. Cadeyrn easily recognizes her, she was a member of the main celestial pantheon after all, Aphrodisia, the goddess of love.
There’s a tense breath where no one moves, and then the goddess of love blurs. Her true form leaks out violently, as pink sparks start crackling around the goddess. This is beyond mad; the goddess is furious-
“I didn’t-,” he tries to explain, already knowing it’s a lost cause as Aphrodisia’s cupids round on him, looking like a pack of wolves about to devour a lone rabbit.
Her seraphim steps forward, raising his arms as if to block his view of the fallen goddess, hatred burning in his heart-shaped eyes. Cadeyrn had met this angel before, one of the few Celestials he hadn’t truly minded. Even if their handful of conversations had been pleasant, he knows their brief semi-friendly acquaintance will not spare him from the wrath of a seraphim who thinks they are defending their god.
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“Watch where you’re going Gehennan trash!” the angel puffs up, small wings ruffling at his back, “How dare you do this to our goddess!”
Whispers start to echo around them and Cadeyrn can feel the weight of dozens of eyes on his back.
‘This is bad,’ he thinks glancing around at the slowly gathering crowd. He needed to keep a low profile. He couldn’t start attracting too much attention or it would make his future plans all the harder. (And it might put his little Celestial at risk, which was something he could never allow.)
He grits his teeth and bows his head, he cannot attack now, he cannot defend himself either, it would only fuel their rage. He swallows his pride, there will be a time for retribution later. “It was my mistake-,”
“You think that would be good enough hellspawn?” one of the cupids jeers, crossing her arms with a sneer.
Another nods in agreement, clenching his fist like he wants to start a physical fight, “You’ve disrespected our goddess and you are going to pay for it.”
He stills at that, but he doesn’t raise his eyes, keeping them locked to the half-trampled rose at his feet.
“Demons don’t belong here anyway!” someone shouts from the crowd of onlookers, and Cadeyrn almost growls at the insult. ‘It was your people who took me from my home and still 500 years after the war was over, keep me chained here.’
“Now, now everyone,” and the goddess of love steps forward, obviously still ruffled and distressed from the recent events, but still wearing a strained smile. “It was a mistake, we can easily put this behind us,” she reasons, voice even and melodic like a poem.
“But my goddess-,” one of the cupids protests, voice dying as Aphrodisia raises her hand.
“I’m not saying that I will just let this go, but there’s no need to escalate this incident,” and it sounds like she means it, but there's always an agenda with gods, and Cadeyrn listens warily as she continues, “I’m not an unreasonable goddess, an apology is all I need.”
It sounds too good to be true, a god who only needed an apology? It was a ridiculous belief, Cadeyrn knew firsthand how cruel the Celestials could be, even to their own kind. Even if she was the goddess of love.
“As long-,” she continues voice taking a sudden sharp tone, “as long as it begs for my forgiveness that is.”
‘It’, and he almost snorts at the irony. It was always the gods with the best reputations and softest voices that were the cruelest, ‘Not even good enough in your eyes to be a living creature?’ he taunts in his mind, but he forces out the apology like she demands, he can’t keep attracting attention, “I’m sorry goddesses of love-,”
“Oh dear,” she says, with fake confusion and pity, “don’t you know how to properly apologize demon?”
Before he can ask what she means by that, there are hands on him. He flinches and moves to strike back, fear suddenly starting to wind his spine, but the hands only roughly shove him harshly to the ground. His knees crash hard into the stonework, and his right hand fumbles forward trying to stop him from completely collapsing and landing on the broken rose. He forces down the flinch of pain as his hand is torn by its thorns.
“Now you can apologize,” she says sickly sweet, “after all, you are a demon who is no better than a dog.”
There are more laughs from the gathered crowd, and maybe spurned on by their agreement of her cruelty she keeps speaking, “Tell me vile mutt?” she asks, snapping her fan open to cover her face as if the very sight of him displeases her (the feeling is mutual). “Were you always this disrespectful or did you learn to be so by that traitorous god-,“
Ice crackles in his hands, and he makes no move to hide it, raising his head to lock eyes with Aphrodisia, “Do not speak of my master with your rotten tongue.”
Her face twists, and for a goddess of love there is no beauty to her rage, “How dare you Gehennan scum-!”
But before she can finish a familiar voice is yelling back, “Stop!”