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cvlutos · 1 year

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TWISTED WONDERLAND: DEMON AU

OVERVIEW:

In a world of demons and angels, you are merely a human. Tied to no one, and nothing. Living on the outskirts of a small town, away from everyone and everything. While demons to the North rage war and shed blood. This war was started by Demon King Malleus Draconia, one who despises humans. The war doesn’t bother you here, not within the Ramshackle.

—NRC [NIGHT RAVEN CAPITAL] - Overrun with Demons, the first to be attacked by the ravenous monsters. Yet they stand strong and force the demons to remain in the North. Ruled by Dire Crowley. Said to be MIA, yet keeps the capital protected.

—NBC [NOBLE BELL CITY] - The third largest city in the East. Protected against the demons that attempted to make haste toward them. They remain neutral and keep to themselves. Ran by Rollo Flamme. Said to be blessed by the angels, yet has multiple deals with demons.

—RSA [ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY] - A large school located in the South. Said to be blessed by angels and ruled by them. They protect its borders with light magic and provided to those of the West and South. No demons have attempted to reach the South.

DEMON ARMY ONE: HEARTSLABYUL ~ WRATH

The Fire Demon Army, is ruled by Commander Sanguinum, this is the human name given to the demon of pride; Riddle Rosehearts.

A tyrant, hot-headed ruler that brands each demon, usually upon their face, with the mark of a card. He rules with an iron fist and answers any command from the King with abominable action instead of mere words. He’s ruthless, and bloodthirsty. Some say you can hear his yells of order across burning fields. Sometimes at night, you can feel the heat from the war and the smell of blood. Yet when you awake, all is fine.

Positions:

—Commander: Sanguinum ~ Demon of Pride

Youngest Demon Commander, and the first way upon the earth. Reaping devastation and bringing along intense heat. Burning homes and forests, and eating those who lived within the North. His ranks travel west.

—General: Trey “Trifol” Clover ~ Demon of Gluttony

Said to have the ability to turn the toughest of meat delectable, and uses humans as his preferred meat. He is unassuming, almost human, except for the club mark beneath his eyes. The moment you notice is the moment you die.

High Ranked Soldiers:

—Cater "Amonian" Diamond ~ Demon of Lust

The flash photographer demon. Says to use his demonic camera, and once he has a photo of you, he can easily consume your soul. Some say he pretends to be a friend, a loved one, to copy the traits of anyone you know and eat you that way.

—Ace "Traepula" Trappola ~ Demon of Greed

Mind Demon, says to speak as if he was nothing more than a teenage boy, yet his words burn the skin, and you erupt in flames.

—Deuce "Spaede" Spade ~ Demon of Wrath

One seen within battle. A brute of pure unfiltered strength. Yet some say that you can hear his sobs as he tears humans in two.

"To cross his path—you're begging for him to take your head—"

══════ ♡ ══════

DEMON ARMY TWO: SAVANNA ~ ENVY

The Beast Demon Army, ruled by Commander Callidus, the human name given to the demon of Envy; Leona Kingscholar.

A carnivorous, prideful ruler that rarely appears upon the battlefield, leaving his lackeys to do his horrid work. To capture humans and bring them to his den. He rules with animal instinct. Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. He is savage, yet quite lazy. He brings famine. He dries the farmlands, eats, and consumes the cattle.

Positions:

—Commander: Callidus ~ Demon of Envy

Oldest Demon Commander, and the second way upon earth. Reaping devastation and bringing along the violent starvation. Some say that he refuses to harm the woman and young children. Leaving them to be killed by the third wave.

—General: Ruggie "Rubui" Bucchi ~ Demon of Sloth

The basic form of possession, taking over your body and forcing you to attack your own with a full conscious mind. Letting you harm all those around you while you plead for it to end.

High Ranked Soldiers:

—Jack "Hojal" Howl ~ Demon of Pride

A beast. Large and daunting. That you hear before you see. As jaws clamp around you before you can react. He is vicious. He was once an admired village boy, whose father was a demon. Yet they loved him nonetheless, cared for him, yet he ate all within his home. No survivors.

"You’ll be torn apart the minute you hear his sickening roar…"

══════ ♡ ══════

DEMON ARMY THREE: OCTAVINELLE ~ GREED

The Sea-Monster Demon Army, ruled by Commander Azhen, the human name given to the demon of Greed; Azul Ashengrotto.

A charming, seducing ruler. One that appears up the battlefield with no army but himself and two others. Who picks the weakest and offers them a deal. To survive and escape while his village dies. Or die with his people. A deal that ends with him collecting your soul. He brings the flood. Drowning and wiping entire towns off the map. Nothing remains after his devastation.

Positions:

—Commander: Azhen ~ Demon of Greed

The most secretive demon commander. Said to collect human souls and instead of eating them, he forces him into the body of dead demons and monsters. Forcing him to work for him once again.

—General: Jade "Jaleec" Leech ~ Demon of Wrath

To take over your mind and break you apart from the inside. He doesn’t need to lay a hand on you to kill you and leave you defenseless. Leaving you to the less-sentient beings of the night.

High Ranked Soldiers:

—Floyd "Floich" Leech ~ Demon of Gluttony

Once you’re his target, there is no escaping. He’ll squeeze and squeeze till you pop. Sometimes he’ll dine upon his kill, but more times than not. He does it merely for fun.

"You should drown—those who survive only become a snack—"

══════ ♡ ══════

DEMON ARMY FOUR: SCARABIA ~ LUST

The Desert Demon Army, ruled by Commander Kalas, the human name given to the demon of Gluttony; Kalim Al-Asim.

The most humane army. The one that seems almost a beacon. That bargains, before it attacks. Like a rattlesnake giving its warning. Leave. Surrender peacefully. Live. Escape. He can only pity. Yet humans are stubborn, as a wave of desire through the night tempts the people from their homes. To dance with the creatures, only to find death. A massacre that happened within the town square, as their bodies turned into gold.

Positions:

—Commander: Kalas ~ Demon of Gluttony

The only demon commander with human blood within him. He shows pity and wishes for this war to never happen. So it is Jamil who takes charge. Kalim is nothing but a puppet.

—General: Jamil "Viejal" Viper ~ Demon of Pride

He has no fear of ending humans. Enjoy the chaos. Using poisonous ways to trick the mind, and for them to succumb to deathly desires.

"Ignore the voice within your mind—it is a snake trying to sink his fangs into you."

══════ ♡ ══════

DEMON ARMY FIVE: POMEFIORE ~ GLUTTONY

The Blood Demon Army, ruled by Commander Vishoti, the human name given to the demon of Lust; Vil Schoenheit.

A beauty. Truly. You’d think such beauty would make them that of lust, yet they’re unsated. Enough is not enough. They force you to unwind, give more than you can give, till you're nothing but a shrivel husk. There is no bloodshed. Instead, all beauty is sucked from you. Leaving you nothing but dust.

Positions:

—Commander: Vishoti ~ Demon of Lust

The most divine of all commanders. Purely perfect. That sucks your soul to give him more beauty and strengthen his forces. He finds blood messy. Never shall it dare touch his hands, yet he is not afraid to kill, in more toxic ways.

—General: Rook "—" Hunt ~ Demon of Gluttony

No one is sure if he is a demon or merely a human bound to one. Not much is known about him. Expect that he is the only one from the fifth army to spill blood.

High Ranked Soldiers:

—Epel "Epfeli" Felmier ~ Demon of Wrath

A human boy, bound for Vil. Who is unruly and hot-headed. He doesn’t hesitate to attack. To kill and pillage. To desecrate everyone. No one in his path survives.

"Run."

══════ ♡ ══════

DEMON ARMY SIX: IGNIHYDE ~ SLOTH

The Technological Demon Army, ruled by Commander Idia, the human name given to the demon of Sloth; Idia Shroud.

The only demon who remains the same. The demon army of mutilation. Who only appears and kidnaps men and women. Taking them to his labs and testing them. Fusing them together with demons, with machines. A bloody mess that he creates that he sends back to their village to eat and kill. It’s sad that his "children" only last a few hours before they cry in pain and fall apart.

Positions:

—Commander: Idia ~ Demon of Sloth

They say he adores children, and refuses to hurt them. Allowing them to survive the destruction that follows. He sweeps the children in his dead embrace and gives them a new life as demons.

—General: Ortho "Ortho" Shroud ~ Demon of Sloth

A machine, demon, human hybrid. That is Idia’s shadow and carries out any orders without hesitation. There is no escaping Ortho.

"—He’ll turn you into a machine… He’ll sew your flesh to the ones you care for… Take your life before he does…"

══════ ♡ ══════

DEMON KINGDOM: DIASOMNIA ~ PRIDE

The King, ruling over all demons. He is the cause for this. The reason that all that befalls you and your world. No one knows much about the Kingdom, except that they despise humans. Or mortality.

Some say that Malleus Draconia, the Demon of Pride, who has no human name, fell in love with a mortal. Yet the humans couldn’t accept that, so they killed the mortal. Sending the King’s Lovers laid within a box. Others say the King kidnapped a mortal, locking him far away, and the humans fought back to retrieve the lost mortal, who was beloved royalty. Only for the demon to kill his lover in retaliation.

Positions:

—King: Malleus Draconia ~ Demon of Pride

The devil-horned King. Who hates humans.

—General: Lilia Vanrouge ~ Demon of Envy

Said to hate war and love humans. Found beside Malleus most times, yet some say they see him within the human forests.

High Ranked Soldiers:

—Sebek Zigvolt ~ Demon of Wrath

Half-Human and Half-Demon. Uses nothing but an ax and is immovable.

—Silver ~ Demon of Sloth

A human bound to Malleus. Truly a pity.

"I cannot help you…"

This man.

Stranger. Who appeared within the dead of night, asking for food and water. You know best then to deny, in case he brings wrath for your bitter heart.

You sit beside the fireplace, pulling the blanket farther over your shoulders, eyes glancing out the window. All looks fine. Silent. Yet you know better. Beyond the mountain range. Where war and bloodshed are happening. The man dines on the lukewarm stew, having already chugged his water. He’s dressed oddly. As if he was a crow. Yet he looks poor. Except for the golden mask that covers his face. He sneezes and you flinch, blinking, as you glance at the man as he seems to laugh at himself. You turn from him, returning your gaze out the window. The fire crackles, and you slowly exhale.

"Worried about the demons?"

"what?" You’re caught off guard. The man has shifted to where he’s now looking out the window.

"Worried? You don’t listen, do you?" He chuckles, waving his hand in a joking motion as you look rightfully so offended. He stands, stretching his muscles and moving to your ratted couch. Plopping down and eagerly patting the seat beside him. "Sit. Sit."

You do. Keeping distance from the stranger, yet he doesn’t seem bothered. "You never answered my question." You peek at him, and as expected, he’s staring. Slightly tilting his head like a bird. You almost smile.

"… I am… they’re getting closer…" You look back out the window, listening to the wind blow against your old home.

"I see… If it provides any comfort, you won’t die." He states matter-of-factly, and you can’t help but be confused. How can he promise that? Yet you don’t fully deny his words. You know better than anyone what his forest holds. Weirder things have happened.

"How do you know?"

The man shuffles through his pockets. Patting himself down, you can see his clothing. Elegant and expensive. He’s more important than you thought. He gives an excited yell, almost like a chirp, as he pulls a letter from his pocket. A letter horribly crinkled and horribly taken care of. He passes to you with a proud grin, more for himself that he kept the letter, then actually giving it to you.

Your name is on the letter, with a forest green wax seal. Unbroken. Dread fills your stomach as your fingers graze over the parchment. "I'll be going. We will meet again."

"Wai—" You look up from the envelope, only to find the place where the man was empty. He was gone. Yet black feathers remain where he once was. Magick. You sigh. Standing up from your seat, glancing back at the envelope before looking out the window. Beyond the forest, you could see the light of fire. Raging on. You tap the letter, pulling your blanket further over your arms, before walking towards the wooden steps to your bedroom.

"You'll survive—"

#t.manor.au #DEMON AU #tw dark content #tw blood #tw body gore #tw body horror #tw yandere #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland dark content

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cvlutos · 1 year

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“Divine nor Forsaken” Ch.Two

| 02.10.23 | 4.7K | Rated R |

Multi-Character X Fem!Reader [TWST: DEMON AU]

T.Manor.Notes: Please heed warnings. Okay, but chapter two. Finally finished it.

| Masterlist | Male Version | Gender-Neutral Version |

“There are some things, my little dove, that we cannot change. Such is the way with people.”

Your mother’s voice is gentle—calming, as she tucks you in, making sure you’re all tight and warm. Most nights she’ll sing a little bedtime song, stuffing you in your thick blankets, to where you couldn’t move, and forcing you to wiggle like a little worm. Yet tonight, she settles on reading you a story. A story about a girl who befriended all that met her, but none could save her from fate. One who told in a daze-like state, faltering in some parts and stronger in others.

She holds a somber look upon her face, with still a smile placed across her lips as if even in her own sorrow, she can’t help but smile when she sees you. However, her gaze falters for a moment, brows crinkling as her posture changes. She shifts her eyes from you. As if almost regretful. The room is still cold, and you can’t help but shiver and slide deeper into your densely woven covers.

“My little Songbird,” she muses, her hands gripping the red dress fabric across her knees. She keeps her head bowed, “… Promise me… That you’ll find the good within everything and put trust in strangers.” She has a mournful smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes, as if these were words that she never wanted to be spoken. Never uttered past her tight-lined lips. She lives with regret.

“MOVE!”

A large body hurries past you, frantic hands shoving you to the ground. Your mind takes a moment to register what happens, as a sharp pain shoots through your skull. Your head slams into the dirt floor, a pained cry slipping past your dried, cracked lips. The bubble in your ears seems to pop, another shot of pain, as your hands blindly press against your aching ears, trying to dull the pain.

Screams.

Yells.

Voices on top of voices.

The sounds of rushing feet, pained screams as people trampled over people. A huge crowd formed as all ran towards the woods or into random buildings to hide, pushing those they deemed too slow to the ground or into others. Some shout in rage, to move, to run, to survive. Yet your ears pick up the crying of children, separated from parents, and sobbing mothers clinging desperately to their little ones. And oh, so desperate fathers, swinging useless weapons, doing what a father should. Protecting his family. Even if he fails.

The air smells of fire. The smells of burning wood and burning flesh. Those unfortunate get trapped within a collapsed house, screaming for help, only for a demon to ravage through the destroyed building. Screams for help turn to gurgles and cries of pain.

And the wind does nothing but fan the flames. That forces the voices to travel further and makes the scared crowd worse. Like frightened sheep. The fires grow at fast speeds and ravage the town.

You were shoved; your hands slid from your ears and push against the ground. You lift your head up, then your upper body. Your lip bleeds, and your eyes water as dust gets in. You rub your eyes, gritting your teeth. Your legs scraped along the dirt, blood slowly seeping into the dirt road, your dress torn and filthy. Everything seems to move around you in a fast blur, as if taken picture by picture and put together, yet you still, as if you were the one behind the camera, taking multiple photos at once in hopes of a single good shot. You struggle to move as if your own body was carved out of the heaviest stone and the ground was paper, mere fabric, ready to give way at any moment.

You would fall.

You drop your dirtied hands from your eyes. Letting out a choked breath before trying to move again. Eyes darting around the burning town. To think that only a few hours you walked through, ready for work. Yet now.

It’s ruined. Demons ruined it.

Demons. Looming figures, hunched beasts. With snarling jaws and lanky arms and bodies, with no rhyme nor reason to how they moved. Some staggered as if half-dead, others crawled, and some walked. Or those that few above with torn wings and unhinged jaws, picking up people—prey larger than themselves.

They growl and yell, spitting black saliva as they speak--taunting, eating, and absorbing humans. Sucking them into their gooey flesh.

People you knew.

You struggle to keep yourself together, your breath comes out in short wheezes, and your heart rises to your throat which makes it impossible to breathe. You could die. You watch familiar faces become lifeless, and you can’t breathe. Your hands seize the fabric of your shirt, it’s too tight. The ground seems to give way beneath you. You can’t move—you can’t move. Your legs feel like heavy weights, filled to the brim with sand and became your legs, and as if the pain of feeling like your legs weren’t your own wasn’t enough. You tried to move, to pull yourself forward by your hands, yet it felt as if metal poles plunged into your flesh, forcing you in place. You feel sweat gathered on your skin.

It’s hot.

You feel surrounded. Covered in a layer of your own sweat and dirt, like a heavy blanket, whose threads were coming undone to wrap around your throat and chest. You struggle to stand. Nails clawing into the side of the building, using it to stabilize yourself. You cry out in pain, feeling your legs and head throb.

You should be running, screaming, sobbing. You should be. Yet you feel tired—you are tired. As if all your energy was sucked from your very being. You cough, squinting as smoke stings your eyes. Home. You need to go home. You feel dizzy as you stagger forward, staring through the smoke, through the ever-thinning crowd. Your eyes land on green. The quickest flash, as if almost lightning. A shiver runs down your spine, and your eyes widen.

The demon from before.

He holds a weighty axe, one that isn’t his. Far too small for his large hands, yet coated in red. You feel your stomach lurch, and the smell of blood oozes off of him. He holds the axe as if merely a stick as he swings it lazily, sending only a mere glance to those he struck, his eyes landing on you. Your hands shake, and he makes his way towards you, striking those in his way, whether demon or human. Most know well to remain out of his way. Your body screams at you to move. Move. Move. Move.

“Move.”

As if some foreign voice enters your head, warm and oddly bored, as if it rather be doing anything else. Nonetheless, you blindly listen. You shove off the wall with a panicked sound, stumbling and nearly tripping, ignoring the pins and needles as you force yourself to a gallop sorta like a run, hissing in pain. You push yourself to go as fast as you could, ignoring the burning in your throat as bile rose. The burning of your lungs. It all seems a blur as your falter and slip, yet you don’t stop running. If you do. You’ll die.

You run instinctively home, darting in-between bodies and demons far too focused on their meals. The sky slowly becomes darker, as the fire doesn’t spread towards the trees. You run still, even in the dark, with no moon to guide you and no torch to light your way. You know this path.

You know it well. Your father always made sure you knew the way home.

Your feet barely graze the stone steps in front of your home, nearly slipping, and your body rams into your door. Fumbling with the doorknob, before turning it and hurling yourself inside. You slam the door behind you, scrabbling with the locks, gasping for breath.

Your home is draft. Cold. Unchanged. You step away from the door, eyeing it carefully, letting your body slowly rest. Forcing your tense muscles to relax. You allow yourself to breathe, slightly proud of making it out of the town and fighting off whatever spell was forced upon you. Ridding you of your ability to move. It all seems calm.

BANG

Your body jolts, hands flying over your lips to muffle a scared shriek.

BANG

A series of bangs, thuds, and forcefully panicked hits and kicks, and your door flinches at each one. Yet it doesn’t break.

“[NAME]! PLEASE!”

“PLEASE—”

“I DONT WANNA DIE—”

“HELP! OPEN THE DOOR—”

Your name is screamed like a broken symphony. Equal to a band of shrill untuned instruments that are rusted and worn. As voices—voices that are oh so familiar to you—cry for you. Scream. Beg. Plead for you to only open the door. To let them in. To save them. Voices you know far too well.

Save them.

The old grandma down the street who shares her pies with you—while telling you stories of magic from when she lived in the city. The hardworking miner and his newly pregnant wife, who spent years unable to conceive until early this year, who prayed to the very gods for a healthy baby that they wished to have. The two daughters to the schoolteacher, who always gives you seeds for a garden every time you saw them. The door shakes against its hinges and you step forward, tears close to spilling as your lips quiver. Yet a cold shiver runs down your spine. You weren’t alone.

Your door was unlocked.

The tip of a blade grazes along the center of your back, a silent warning, as a hand ushers you forward. Grip tight and bruising on your shoulder as you pressed up against the door. Which shakes and jolts. You can hear the wood groan and creak, yet still, it remains standing. And the voices. They won’t stop begging.

But it grows. From desperate—frantic—animalistic. On par with the growls and screams of demons. You can feel their desperation change into resentment. Each plea changes into a curse. Each condemning you to hell, to rot with the very demons that will kill them and soon you. Your hands shake violently and you want to help them. To let them inside.

You need to—

“Don't.”

The voice is weighty and cold as if a blizzard took form and made itself comfortable within his throat. You feel a chilly breeze fan across your skin and you shiver, violently. He’s a demon and there’s a portion of you that tense—afraid—yet you feel no intent to harm you.

He’s calming.

It’s a mild threat that freezes your motions. He makes no motion to stop you, expecting you to simply obey. While reminding you of the situation you’re in. And you listen. You press your palms against the jolting door, feeling your heartbeat in your throat, feeling the door shake against your sticky forehead. The one behind you doesn’t make any effort to move nor speak. Letting you—forcing you to wallow in their suffering.

“To think you could run.”

The voice is distant. Beyond your home and outside your door, annoyed and angry. Your heart drops and you squeeze your eyes closed, feeling your throat constrict.

The demon from the tavern.

Your muscles lock and you feel weak. Shaking your head from the oncoming headache. It’s like you could hear him. Feel him. His every breath. Every threatening step he took. The raging hatred from humans. It burns. As if you were tossed into a fire pit and left to painfully thrash around. It burns.

Those that try to run. Try to flee deeper into the forest, are met with howls and distorted laughter as demons that hid within darkened woods take them. Rip them apart and leave them nothing.

You hear final prays.

Final whispers of ‘I love you’.

As the man embraces his wife, hugging her so tightly as if he alone could defy fate. Demons tear them apart. Laughing. Taunting. Faking pity. Yanking them from each other. You hear him shrieking for his wife. His love. Only for his voice to cut off with a roar and the sounds of bones snapping. While the demons laugh. The mother with an unborn child, who prayed for years to become a loving mother. She screams and curses you, curses you for the loss of her husband and her child. She too is met with the same fate.

There’s no pounding on the door, yet the soft whimpers of the daughters, holding each other, while the old grandma is dragged away. Hands clasped and praying still. “[Name]…” The softest calling of your name. A final plea. You don’t hear the two girls scream.

Your knees feel weak, gravity pulling you down as your body trembles. You choke on your breath. The demon lets you fall, removing the blade from your back and taking a large step back. Watching you hold yourself as you cry against the door, shoving your face in your hands.

“Even if you let them inside. They would have still died. It is better they died outside than inside.” It feels like his own twisted way of comforting, yet it doesn’t help. They died hating you.

“Though, I apologize. I wish that it did not have to happen this way.”

His voice is monotone, yet sincere. You try and calm your crying, resting your head against the door. The sound of his shoes echoes as he moves from you. He casually explores your house. You can’t speak to him.

“... Your home is nice and quaint... familiar.” You don’t move. Yet you can tell that it is out of his own nature to speak, but he does. He falls silent and continues searching, using his sword to glance at paintings, pick up pieces of clothing, and open and skim the pages of books, using the blade to flip the pages.

You hear his sword tap the glass of a photo, and his voice breaks the silence. “You remind me of her.” You glance at him, his sword grazing along the glass of a photo of you, your mother, and your father. Your force yourself to look back at the wood of the door. “A splitting image, almost. You look the same as she did when she was young—She acted the same when we had done away with her family—” The air grows cold as if a growing snow storm and dread fills your stomach and grows.

“I hope that you do not end up like your mother.”

That gets a reaction. Your head immediately snapped over to him, brows furrowed and lips down, turning. He isn’t looking at you, but out the window, surveying the land. He seems unbothered by it all. With shoulder-length, silver hair pulled into a ponytail, and eyes of light blue that held a sliver of pity.

“What—”

Your voice cracks, unbearably dry and scratchy. He turns his head to you after a moment, looking over you. He seems to almost frown when gazing. “Yet you look like your father as well.” he takes a step forward and his gaze seems to freeze you. You look down.

With your body still facing the door, the tip of his sword stings against your skin as he raises your head gently, forcing you to look up at him. He tilts his head to the side before crouching down quickly, yet oddly, gracefully.

“... You must head North...”

His words are simple and transparent and he steps away, glancing towards your dining room table. He strides slowly to the table, the heels of his shoes clicking. He picks up the letter and looks over it. You want to tell him to put it down. Yet his brows scrunch up and for a moment you think he’s going to take it.

Yet he doesn’t.

“The course has been set for you. You must merely find the signs.”

He drops the letter, and with a frosty breeze, you’re alone. At the disappearance of the demon, your body drops, a sudden wave of exhaustion makes it hard to move. You let out a shaky breath, and after a moment, you pull yourself to your feet and wobble away from the door.

It’s silent. Far too silent. You need to leave.

You stagger up the old stairs, feeling one almost give way, breaking beneath your feet. Yet you’re quick to dart over the broken step, stumbling to your room and shoving open the door. You pack blindly, throwing only the most travel-fit clothes and shoes. Anything you could need, throwing spare money, tools, anything, and everything as you take your bag and stumble down the steps, preparing loads of food to take with you. The ramshackle isn’t safe.

You stand in front of the wooden door. There would be no returning. No do-overs. Nothing. You would never come back home. You drop your bag and slowly look over your home. A home you’ve lived in for years. Your parents’ home. You ignore the anxiety that fills you, as your turn back to the door.

Slowly, you undo every lock and hold the knob, counting the seconds before pulling the door open. The foul stench of copper paints your tongue and feels your senses completely, as blood paints the ground, soaking into the dirt and staining the trees. Bodies upon bodies lay ripped, torn, destroyed. Each resting at the oddest angles, heads turned in ways they shouldn’t. You take a hesitant step back, only to bump into something solid. You freeze, your hands and body shaking as cruel arms wrap around you. “You caused this.” His voice is husky in your ears and he tightens his hold, your knees nearly buckling as he slowly rests his weight on you. The demon from before, with the green hair. He continues squeezing, and it hurts.

He’s hurting you.

“Bugs. Should be with bugs.” There’s a sentiment of hatred, and you groan in pain, unable to move an inch. You can feel your bones crack. “They lived together. It’s only right you die together.” He sneers viciously, tightening his hold, and you wheeze and wiggle like a fish forcibly removed from the water. Fighting a fight you can’t win, and from the corner of your eyes, lime green eyes seem to glow, with a vicious grin spread across his slips, revealing red-stained canines. “Humans truly are pathetic.” As you feel every bone was shattered, your ribcage collapses into each other.

Your life flashes before your eyes. Your mother. Your father. You scream in pain, thrashing around more on reflex than consciousness. The letter. Blood slips past your lips, as bones break through your skin.

You haven’t read the letter from your father.

══════ ♡ ══════

“It is rare to hear from you.”

Bored grey human eyes stare into the richly colored crimson liquid. The coppery smell filled his nose and swarmed around his brain in the most delightful way. The thick liquid rests idly in his porcelain teacup, which he holds delicately. He occasionally sips, taking his time to slowly drink the warm, fresh blood. Bringing the glass up to his lips and slowly partook in the thick fluid, a pleasant sigh vibrating in his throat. For a moment, he forgets that he isn’t alone and has an unexpected guest.

One from the Kingdom and the seventh army.

“Though it is not an unpleasant surprise, General.” The grey-eyed demon gives a small smile, and the demon general gives a pleasant greeting in turn, large eyes in taking the nicely decorated tent that smelled of blood and roses. The commander’s favorite smells, though the demon of pride would never speak of it. Magenta eyes move from the decor to the commander himself. It has been quite some time since he last saw the young demon. He hasn’t changed. Same small stature, with often cold grey eyes, and flushed peachy skin, with two black obsidian ram horns, with rose red tips, framed perfectly on the side of upper foreheads with straight red hair. A human form that the demon commander took great pride in. Spending days to fashion the perfect look, based on an old human monarch.

The commander shifts in his seat, offering a small smile, his white-gloved hand silently motioning to the empty chair across from him.

The General chuckles. The commander has always been so respectful and tries best to make the best out of surprised visits. Especially from demons of higher rank, and the General from the seventh is exactly that. Even as he takes the form of an innocent short man, yet speaks like an old wise bat.

“And a pleasure. As always to see you, Riddle.” The general bows as he floats above his chair, a small gust of wind blowing from the release of his magic as he plops into his seat, gently rocking the table.

“I hate to go so long without visiting. I have quite missed our tea times, Sanguinum.”

The commander of the first army, Sanguinum. Or Riddle Rosehearts.

Riddle lets out a low hum, once again picking up his cup and sipping from it, closing his eyes for a brief moment. His eyes flutter open, “As have I. 38 years since the last time, I believe.” The demon of Pride places his red and white porcelain teacup back on its saucer and stands. Waving his hand, letting magic pour the guest “tea”, before with another wave returning the pot black to its place.

“Has it been that long?” the general’s eyes widen in disbelief before laughing, “oh my! How time flies.” The General with pink and black hair sighs in delight the moment he takes a sip of the blood. He can taste the sweetest, probably from a woman of middle age. Riddle always did prefer sweeter-tasting humans.

“Indeed. It goes quite fast.”

The commander waits a moment, his mood going from relaxed to uptight, his posture slowly straightening. “Then you must be here for good reason.” The general tilts his head to the side in faux confusion, taking another long gulp.

“And can it not be here to merely see a friend?” He batters his lashes, and Riddle’s face falls, giving a knowing look. The general only laughs, placing his cup on the table, propping his elbows up, and interlacing his fingers to rest his chin upon.

“Tell me what troubles you.”

Riddle hesitates for a moment, before sighing. “If I’m not needed to fight, then I should be sent back.” The room drops a couple degrees, and Riddle’s face dips for a moment, and he forces his gaze to his cup, gently swirling the glass. The general wears an apprehensive expression. “Riddle...”

The general’s voice falters, eyes once again scanning around the pseudo-room. It’s filled with different trophies and winnings from the last 15 years since the war started. Such as prized tea sets, clothing, tools, jewelry, and anything and everything he and his army took from the villages and towns they raided.

15 years. But to be sent back. Back to beneath to the realm of Demons.

A part of the general agrees, the first army has been out on the front lines for a few years, 20. Five years merely searching for the pact bearer and another 15 for when the war began. Yet it is only the North conquered. With still the west, east, and south that have yet to be within the King’s control. And well…

“I am honored to have fought for the king.” Riddle’s voice breaks his through the process, hand subconsciously rubbing over the back of his hand, where his pact once was. A once calming action now... torturous. To lose the one who knew your mind and body, it must hurt—it does hurt. The general’s hand itches to move, yet he stops himself.

“I—I cannot guarantee anything, but I will talk to him.” The commander seems to brighten up, a relieved look crossing his features, before settling into a more relaxed posture. The two talk for an hour, telling stories and telling, catching up on the last 38 years. There’s a feeling of familiarity.

“Before you go, General.” The general stops mid-stretch, listening to the sound of the teacup gently clinking against the matching saucer. He glances over his shoulder, face changing from a grin to one of full perturbation. Riddle has a dark expression as if just remembering something gravely important.

“We must speak about Callidus.”

══════ ♡ ══════

You awake with a gasp, your body automatically jumping as if leaping from death’s hands. Pain shoots up from your right leg and you screech, unprepared and confused. You try and gather your thoughts, feeling sweat accumulate on your skin, your stomach churning, and head pulsing achingly. You feel nauseous.

You try to move, hands clutching the wood that held you, your head turning to look down. Half of your leg, up to your mid-thigh, was bleeding and disappeared beneath the broken wooden step. It had broken beneath you when you tried going upstairs, and you slammed your head and fell unconscious. You were alone and before… what happened before was a dream.

Only a dream.

Even if it was a dream, you still have to leave. But with your leg, you grimace, you’d have to wait. And you’re also exhausted and sure that sleep wouldn’t greet you. You groan in pain, hands clawing at the wood and slowly pulling yourself up. You wince, careful to not move your bleeding leg.

It doesn’t feel broken.

Your face scrunches as your use the wooden banister to pull yourself. It feels like hours until you’re free, using your bruised good leg, to carefully climb the rest of the stairs, using the wall and railing to support you. You hop to your room, groaning at every moment. Your body ached, painfully so. Pushing the half-lidded door to your dark bedroom, hobbling over to your vanity, and rummaging inside the top drawer. You keep your head down, using the very limited light to search for any cloth to wrap your leg and medicine would be in the bathroom.

“It has been—what—18 years since I last saw you. Barely two years old.”

You freeze, hands clutching random pieces of cloth, the voice came from behind you, from the furthest corner of your room. You can’t will yourself to look. Yet you do, looking through the mirror, across your room, a man shrouded in darkness, yet with striking green eyes. Boredom radiates off of him in waves, yet a sense of blatant honesty. Not because he values honesty, but moreso, lying to him would be pointless. It feels like he knows you, every move you’ll make, every thought you’ll ever have. He can read it off as if it was merely a book, a book that he wouldn’t be bothered to read.

“I’m not here to kill you.”

Yet his plain words don’t reassure you. He moves from his corner, and you blindly step away, momentarily forgetting about your leg and yelping out before landing on your side. As if he knew that would happen, he snorts under his breath, staying in the darkest parts of your room, deliberately closing the space between you. Like predator circling prey, but as well as if he wasn’t an intruder. But someone who lived here and had every right to be here.

“Then—Then, why are you here?” Your voice falters and he shrugs almost, tilting his head to look at a carved wooden box you were gifted, before placing it down after deeming it uninteresting. It does this with several different objects, looking at them, before finding them boring and placing them down where it was.

You watch at him, and you can tell he has long hair that goes down to his shoulders, and warm brown skin, with a tail and ears, but horns that were broken off, jagged edges gleaming. He was a demon. You can see him roll his eyes at your sudden conclusion as if it wasn’t completely and utterly obvious.

He drags out a long sigh, falling into an old rocking chair your father made, rolling his neck as to remove the aching. Very human action and your shoulders drop. You should be scared, yet he reminds you a little bit of your mother. The tiniest familiarity, like when you hang around someone long enough, you pick up their habits.

“… I’m here to,” he thinks for a moment, looking over you before letting out a low annoyed sigh, as if what he was about to say would kill him, “to make a pact.”

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