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stalkedbytrains · 3 months ago

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False Idols: Chapter One

“The light has burned them all away. Everyone you’ve ever known, ever loved, or ever lost. All dead,” said the smooth voice from the shadows. It was thick like tar, but insubstantial like a plea for mercy in the war against Ilanem.

“Shut up,” the only person in the room yelled toward the emptiness.

For the thousandth time that day she pulled at the bars of the gate that sealed her in the prison. The iron didn’t move. The stone didn’t move. The shadows, however, moved like ink across a page.

Aracelis rested her head against the cold metal bars. Through them she smelled fire and burnt meat. She saw flashes of light, like solid pillars of lightning—scorching, blinding, destructive. The flashes were accompanied by the loud clap of something like thunder, that is, if thunder sounded like a god slamming its fist into the ground.

It had been five days since the light started to invade her island and a week since Aracelis had last seen a living person. Her people seemed content letting their prisoner starve to death.

Dread filled her stomach. No rescue was coming. She was on her own…unless she wasn’t imagining the voice in the darkness.

Aracelis’ long fingers twitched, begging to move across her tanned skin and rip the ink off of it. Unfortunately, her tattoos which were numerous, red-black, and complex, were just tattoos. The counter-spells and bindings woven into the prison walls were too strong. She couldn’t simply pull one off her skin and cast a spell to escape. Nor could she spill blood and do the same thing. In here, she was powerless.

“I could let you out, you know. For a price,” dripped the voice. It came from the darkest part of the prison.

“I’m not making any deals with the voices in my head,” Aracelis said as she kicked at the brickwork around the iron bars.

She kicked and kicked and kicked. She pushed with her mountain of frustration, she kicked without magic.

Crack.

Aracelis hit the stone until her legs started to burn. The stone flaked away, causing large sheets of rock to collapse off the wall and turn into dust. It was only then that she noticed.

Her heart pounded. Freedom, it was so tantalizingly close. She ripped at the chunks of stone, pulling at it, tearing at it until her fingers bled. The wall was old, the prison older. Weathered by time and centuries of tropical rain and heat. So close was Aracelis’ freedom that she didn’t notice the black rot, the corruption in the stone like veins of precious metals weakening the stone from within.

Now that she had a place to start, she pulled out the rock around the locking mechanism. When her fingers reached metal, Aracelis pulled on it. The metal was sharp and resilient, but Aracelis more so. The stone around it was weak, and relinquished the lock wholesale after untold minutes trying to pry it out.

With the device that barred Aracelis from the outside world now removed, she pushed the iron door open and ran into the night, away from her prison, away from the shadows that pooled and waited like a deep-sea predator.

Aracelis ran. She ran through the night punctuated by lightning strikes and sounds of thunder even though there were no storm clouds.

She turned down once familiar streets, now empty and chaotic. There were no people and it looked as though a storm had ripped through the city. Houses lay open and empty like a carcass after vultures have had their fill. The streets were full of the entrails of people’s lives: discarded valuables and sentimental objects not important enough to recover in the mad dash of escape, but just important enough to grab in the scramble out of the house. She barely noticed.

With each step down the pathways she knew by heart, she grew closer to the descending pillars of light. Even though her sense of dread grew, she sprinted.

Then she saw it, her home. Her inherited shop: “Aracelis: Master Spellscribe and Original Blood-inker.” The shop was dark, the door’s window cracked. She swore she saw blood on the threshold.

She stopped. Her hands shook from the run, from the fear about what she would find inside. Her books burned and looted, her home desecrated and destroyed, Elias dead by some religious zealot’s hand.

The bell on the broken door kept ringing as the shaking from Araceli’s hands translated from wood to bell. It took all her courage to push across the threshold, into her dark shop. And it looked like the place had been tossed. Books and papers were missing from shelves. Vials of expensive inks carelessly tossed to the ground and broken, bleeding black across the wooden floors like so many victims.

“Elias?” she called. Even her voice shook.

She stepped over papers and hastily discarded books, remnants of the life she had before all of this. Fear started to creep up her spine.

As Aracelis crossed through the numerous empty bookshelves and approached the long, low counter where she did most of her paid spellwork she called out once more. “Elias? Are you here?”

The empty chasm of the shop answered with silence. The cold knowledge that she had lost everything settled in her stomach. The constant booms of light impacting the Orsan people echoed across distances like an approaching thunderstorm.

Her legs finally gave out as she collapsed to the floor.

Numbness started to spread, from her fingertips and toes to her limbs, eventually settling on her chest. What could she do now? There was nothing left. No one left. The Orso Nation was dead.

If she was the last one, then she’d make the Ilanem invaders pay for the blood they spilled. She would be repaid in kind. Blood for blood. Life for life. The Elder Masters wanted to judge her? To imprison her for “black” magic? She’d show them black magic. She’d finally be guilty of all the things they wanted her to be guilty of. She would summon something dark enough to cut the Light Believers off from their terrible god.

Resolve and vengeance gave Aracelis the strength to stand.

When she did, someone else burst into the room.

“Aracelis?” asked the newcomer. The disbelief in his voice pierced through Aracelis’ burning desire to kill any Ilanemite left on her islands.

She turned, and the bloody vengeance instantly disappeared from her mind. Instead, she rushed toward the disheveled, long haired man that was holding a large book in one hand. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. Aracelis kissed Elias like she had wanted to for the last several months she was in prison. Relief, happiness, and love poured out of her.

“Elias. You’re alive. I’m so glad you’re alive.” Her voice hadn’t stopped shaking, but now it wasn’t because of fear, but happiness bordering on crying.

He smiled up at her. “You’re out. I was going to come rescue you as soon as I rescued your books.”

“You’re so sweet.”

“I was trying to bury all your texts first. After I took the ones you couldn’t live without, of course. I wanted to lock the rest up in a vault and seal it before the Paladins got here, then break you out of jail,” he explained, gesturing at the empty shop with the book as she still held onto his other hand.

“You think of everything. But we need to go,” Aracelis said. “We need to leave, right now.”

“Do we need Lurman? I can’t decide.”

“No. He’s long winded and it’s too heavy for too little information.”

“You’re right. I just need to put this with the rest and then seal everything up,” Elias said as he turned and walked into the back of the shop.

The back room was where Aracelis had mixed inks and prepared blood for spellcasting. As well hosting a tiny, but well used kitchen. She’d spent lots of time back here over the years. Time spent as she developed new magic and tested new theories. Spent untold hours with Elias talking, working, eating, and sleeping together when the trip upstairs was too long.

Her nostalgia for a building was quickly overridden by her concern for the person before her. “You’re bleeding. What happened to you?”

Elias’ left arm was bloody and still dripping. He had numerous cuts all over his bare arms and a few on his face. “They called on me to help. The Elder Masters I mean. The invasion was coming and they finally realized that negotiations weren’t going to happen.”

Aracelis bristled. How could she not? They imprisoned her for designing new spells to help her people fight against the invasion everyone knew was coming. Yet, the same people who imprisoned her had called upon her lover to help. She loved Elias, but he was a scholar, a researcher. He loved books and study and theory, but he was never one for experimentation or practical tests or open combat. How dare they call upon her delicate boyfriend to fight on the frontlines.

“We tried to break their ships in the oceans, but even here their god is powerful. When they landed, the lines broke quickly. The Elders are all dead. It devolved into chaos almost instantly. I only just got back to this island six hours ago.”

Elias put the book inside a large square hole in the floor of the room that was once his bedroom, the guest bedroom. Before he moved to Aracelis’ bed upstairs. The tiny bunker was magically carved out of the stone ground, complete with a small ladder leading down. He made to cast the spell, but Aracelis put her hand out to stop him.

“Let me,” she said.

“I’m already bleeding. I might as well do it.”

She relented and let him draw a bloody symbol on the stone floor. The instant the magic was dawn the ground closed up, sealing the collected books and knowledge of the Orsan mages up in the ground, safe. For now.

“Time to go,” Aracelis said.

Elias motioned to two large backpacks stuffed with books. They each grabbed one and left the shop they both called home for the last time.

She couldn’t resist one last look back; she was walking the familiar paths through her shop. It held great significance for her. She never told Elias the whole story, because it was sad and what’s the point of a sad story that doesn’t end? Aracelis had moved into the shop when she was barely an adult, kicked out of her parent’s estate for daring to practice magic, and for getting caught sleeping with one of the serving girls. She never went back home, never talked to her family again; she even changed her name when she moved in with the proprietor of the shop, an elderly man named Kemen. He was the only person who seemed to believe in Aracelis and never judged her for her ruthless pursuit of knowledge or for any of the people she dated through the years. It was in this very shop that Aracelis figured out the secret of blending ink and blood to make writing spells easier and cleaner. It was a revolutionary idea. It was also here that she discovered the secret of writing spells in blood and ink and pushing it into the skin as a tattoo which could be infinitely reused as the body healed the spell like it would any other wound. Despite how hard her father tried to fight against it, that discovery granted her the title of Master. Unfortunately, Kemen died not too long after she was awarded her much sought after title, leaving the shop solely in her care. For almost a decade this was her shop, and it was one of the best in the city. Aracelis not only trained apprentices here, but she was free to live her life here. She had done great work here—great work that got her thrown in prison for daring to suggest that the Orso prepare themselves for an invasion by their occasional ally, the Ilanem Empire. Now she was back, but only so she could say goodbye to her home and refuge. She tried not to cry.

“We shouldn’t delay,” she muttered, wiping her eyes as she said her final goodbye to her home.

“I have a vague plan,” Elias said. “We need to get off the island. Then head north and east towards the Iron Mountains. We’re going to Gaelez.”

“You really have to appreciate the Ilanem naming conventions. Simple, no imagination. A series of large mountains that you found huge supplies of iron in? We’ll call it the Iron Mountains,” Aracelis grumbled.

“Yeah, but it has a pretty strong independent streak, if my research is to be believed. It might be part of the Empire, but they tend to not listen super closely to a lot of Decrees of the Light. Might make hiding easier.”

“You really do think of everything.”

Elias gave a short smile. But they were walking now through the empty streets. There was no room here for even forced happiness.

The crack of god, smites from the Ilanemite prayers, was slowing down. The loud, incessant booming became less frequent.

When the couple turned a corner, they headed right into a small squad of Paladins. Their white armor shone as much from the polish as from the lights woven into the steel.

“Look boys. The last of the rats trying to jump from the sinking ship,” said one of the Paladins.

The four holy knights advanced on the two mages.

But Aracelis wasn’t in prison anymore. Her tattoos itched, begged to be used. She peeled off a tattoo on her left shoulder and threw it at the one who was closest to Elias. Ice grew around him like a weed, heavy and cold, freezing him in place.

Next, she pulled off one just below her right ribs and held the little dark red spell in her hands for a moment before it faded into nothing. Just as it faded away, a noise like a thunderclap inside of an explosion erupted and threw the remaining three Paladins back like paper dolls in a storm.

All this happened before Elias could even move.

“What now?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Run!”

However, her action was interrupted by a large cracking sound.

“Iryvon is the Light of my life, through his Life we push back the Darkness with unrelenting Force,” was all Elias heard before he felt like a mountain crashed into him from above.

Light descended upon them from the heavens. It was brighter than lighting and as cold as a blizzard. Aracelis was launched backwards by the force of impact from the light on the ground. It was like a hurricane existed in a split moment, but only in that single segment of reality next to where she stood.

Aracelis managed to pick herself up. It felt like she was buried under a pile of rubble, but it was only a couple inches of hard dirt. She did so just in time to see the Paladin free himself from the ice she had encased him in.

With sword in hand, he advanced on the prone body of Elias. Aracelis moved slowly, her mind was buzzing from the impact. Her balance was gone and her ears were ringing.

Elias was struggling to stand, but he couldn’t. There was something wrong with his legs, he couldn’t feel them. His hands were numb.

Her voice sounded distant and weak amid the ringing, but she screamed anyway. The earth swayed beneath her as she tried to stand, as if it was actively resisting her efforts to save Elias.

“You command powers reserved only for God and His Faithful,” said the Paladin as he advanced on Elias. He raised his sword high above his head and brought it down. It cut right through Elias’ chest with no resistance, like bone and soul weren’t even there. All Aracelis could hear was her ears ringing. She didn’t hear the gurgles as Elias’ lungs filled with blood or the chuckle from the Paladin. She didn’t even hear her own screams.

She ripped a tattoo from her shin and threw it at the Paladin. The spell blazed brilliantly as it flew and hit the cold armor. It exploded. The spell was one Aracelis used in forging, designed to melt metal. But the armor was frozen a moment ago, so it split and cracked and exploded in parts, then melted.

The Paladin’s screams didn’t pierce the ringing.

The super-heated metal cared little for the flesh and faith the Paladin wore.

Aracelis stumbled to Elias. She knew she was crying, but she could barely feel it.

Through tear clouded eyes she saw him say “love you” before remaining still. His blood was still warm. His blood still had magic in it. Why was this going through her head? Elias was dying, dead, and all she could think of was the fact that his blood still had power in it.

Her grief was interrupted by the prayers of the three Paladins. She threw a single spell from the small of her back. It expanded and shattered. The sound of crystal exploding into a billion tiny pieces was the first thing to cut through the ringing.

The Paladins’ prayer finished, but nothing happened.

“Your god has abandoned you,” Aracelis said as she gently laid Elias down.

Her hands were covered in blood.

The Paladins stopped to look at each other, bewildered, lost. But they drew their weapons.

But Aracelis was ready. She drew a bloody symbol on the ground. They advanced and she retreated. Two steps forwards and the spell activated. The hard dirt suddenly turned to water and all three Paladins sunk in their heavy armor. Another quick application of blood in a very specific pattern turned the ground solid once more trapping them.

“They want to kill me for black magic, I’ll give them the blackest magic. I’ll snuff out their sun and kill their god,” Aracelis muttered to herself.

She grabbed the two backpacks and dumped their contents on the ground. It took a second to find the right book: a leather-bound notebook that was well worn and loved. In the dark it was hard to read, but the symbols burned in her mind already. She knew what she was summoning. The spilled blood would call it, the spell would simply bind it.

She would summon a predator. A judge to balance the scales of lives taken, of lives to be taken in payment.

A blood demon.

A voydir.

And she would bind it and make them pay.

She needed components: the blood of millions of dead Orso, and the unspent blood of thousands of glorious Ilanem invaders.

With a short silver dagger, Aracelis cut open her palm. It hurt and it was possibly the worst place to do this, but it made it easier to write with her finger. She let the blood pool on the tip of her finger for just a moment and then started writing in the dirt.

After the first thirteen symbols Aracelis saw it. A large red-black wolf, standing easily ten feet tall and thirty feet long. It was massive, but changing. It looked like it was made of spilled blood, a thick liquid that changed form. The wolf had many mouths that changed size and shape and number of teeth. Its skin looked like it was made of knives, but it too was constantly shifting.

Her voydir was here.

Now she just needed to bind it. Time was short and she wanted vengeance. The only thing she had to bind it to was herself.

Sort of poetic in a way. A blood demon who would kill one Ilanemite for every dead Orso, bound to the soul of the last Orso.

“Come on,” she said to the blood demon, “we’re going to burn Ilanem to the ground, and see if we can’t take their god with them.”

The dog chuckled.

[-]

Executor Paulus looked over his handiwork.

An entire nation of heretics crushed under his heel in a little over a week. He was handpicked by God to do this holy work, and he did it much faster than any Executor before him. Executor Mauter took sixteen years to conquer the Eregion people beyond the Iron Mountains.

His glory would be talked about for centuries.

He was quietly enjoying himself among the ruins and the bodies of a once great nation until a young recruit ran up to him, screaming.

The Paladin’s once white armor was covered in blood, possibly his own. The steel was split in several places, and the young man had neither sword nor shield.

“What happened?” the Executor of Iryvon’s Will demanded.

“Demon!” gasped the wounded soldier.

“You have something of mine, Executor,” came a voice from the darkness.

The Executor drew his weapon to face whoever it was coming out of the shadows.

It was an Orso woman. Tall and thin, almost unhealthily so. Shadows clung to her like shrouds and blood dripped from her hands and feet. She left behind bloody footprints as she advanced on the Ilanem soldiers. She was covered in bloody wounds, tattoos that still bled.

“Demon,” the Executor said, “stand before the Executor of the God of Light!”

“After I kill the boy at your feet, sure, we can spar. Your god against my rage. Light versus the spilled blood of six million innocent souls,” Aracelis said in voice deeper than her own, one that carried and vibrated in his bones.

“You say innocent like each and everyone one of your people wasn’t a blood mage heretic,” the Executor countered.

“My people never marched across the world burning down every culture and civilization that we didn’t like in the name of a god claiming to be benevolent but is stained with more blood than even I am.”

To this the Executor had no response, he just charged at Aracelis. His sword was held high and flashed bright. The sword burned as he swung it down, but she simply caught it in her hands. Hands covered in shadow. The light couldn’t pass through the darkness or spilled blood.

Unlike the other Paladins, the Executor didn’t need to go through lengthy prayers to summon the wrath of god. A pillar of light smashed into Aracelis from above. She countered it by covering herself in the blood had stained the ground.

The Chosen of God was a source of light unto himself. He fought with the light of the moon and glowed like a piece of heaven. Aracelis quickly drew a bloody spell on the air to block out the sky.

Suddenly, the lights in the sky were gone. The Executor’s sword was just a piece of steel.

He let a prayer escape his lips and the Executor’s armor glowed white hot once again, almost burning away the blood surrounding and protecting Aracelis.

“Enough, I grow bored of this,” she said through gritted teeth.

With one hand she ripped the still bloodied tattoo off of her back and slapped it on the Executor’s shield as he tried to block the spell. But it didn’t work.

It sounded like glass breaking and at once the Executor’s lights went out.

“No! What did you do!” he yelled, swinging his sword with reckless abandon. “Where is my god?”

“Gone. Left you. You are going to die alone here in the dark.”

The sword hit Aracelis in the neck, but it barely even broke the skin. She paid it no mind. But when he tried to stab her again, she grabbed the blade and ripped it from his grasp.

With the Executor’s sword, Aracelis stabbed him in the foot, rooting him to the spot.

They were in total darkness as she looked down at him. No lights from the stars or the moon, no light from the Executor. Only her bright, red eyes seemingly giving off any light.

She pulled off his helmet and looked him in the eye.

Ignoring his pleas, not even saying a thing, she reached out with bloody hands and grasped the Executor’s neck. Her eyes locked on his, and she squeezed. It took less than a minute for her fingers to break the skin and feel the hot Ilanem blood flow across her hands. She watched the lights in his eyes die.

When the pale body fell from her grip, the spells around her failed. The blood was once again blood and the shadows stopped clinging to her almond skin. The lights in the sky returned.

She laughed once to herself, and then continued laughing until tears fell from her eyes. When Aracelis mastered herself again she looked around at the dead Orso island. She had a new plan, one that wouldn’t involve running and hiding. First, she had to kill every single Ilanemite that had stepped foot on her island.

Then she would destroy an empire by killing its god.

(The full book is available for purchase on my kofi, or a hard print copy is available on the horror that is Amazon.com)

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #my fiction #original fiction #false idols #a story of blood and light

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rainforestakiie · 4 days ago

Note

I don't know if you watch Demon Slayer or even know what it is????? But what about a Demon Slayer AU of Lucifer and Adam????????

hi, thank you so much for the request and i am so sorry about the long wait! i really liked this idea, i am sure it has been done before, but i had fun writing this.

also, the audacity and disrespect of Adam~

haha

hope you enjoy it~

Lucifer’s head spun violently, his vision warping at the edges as the scorched battlefield of Hell blinked in and out like a broken illusion. He clung to consciousness, but the shadows were creeping in, swallowing his senses one breath at a time. His hooves trembled beneath him, skidding across the waxy, unstable ground that dissolved beneath him without warning.

Suddenly, the terrain morphed, no longer molten and hellish, but ancient and surreal. Doors, old-fashioned and creaking, sprang open beneath his feet, and he plummeted. The world around him twisted into a kaleidoscope of golden fire and ink-black voids. He was weightless, helpless, tossed like a ragdoll through crashing wooden walls and shattered glass. Doors, beams, windows, all slammed against him in a brutal whirlwind, each impact snapping bones that instantly began to heal themselves, only to be broken again. His six wings burned with agony, feathers, white and crimson, bursting into the air like sparks from a dying fire.

Then came the final door, opening above him with a shrill metallic ping. He shot upward, then down again, before slamming into something soft, yet biting cold.

Snow.

Lucifer groaned; his body spread across a bed of fresh, untouched snow. Pain echoed through every nerve; his wings splayed like fallen angel relics beside him. He lay still, the freezing air nipping at his skin while flakes drifted gently from the dark sky above. Basil, his tiny, loyal serpent, had wrapped around one of his horns, shivering slightly, his top hat was gone.

Lucifer shut his glowing red-gold eyes, releasing a pained sigh as his body began its slow, miraculous repair. Bit by bit, the torment dulled, just enough for him to summon what little strength he had left. He rolled onto his back with a grunt, chest heaving, and forced one eye open.

A forest, pitch black, yet blanketed in snow that sparkled under the muted gleam of a moon barely breaking through the heavy clouds. Stars blinked in and out, struggling to pierce the darkness. The silence was thick, eerie, unnatural.

Lucifer sat up slowly, wincing. A movement caught his eye, a deer, half-shrouded in the trees, watching him, his brow furrowed.

Earth?

What in the ever-burning fuck was he doing on Earth?

He barely set foot here anymore. Even when humans summoned him with blood and desperation, he ignored their pitiful pleas. Earth meant nothing to him now. He rubbed his face, groaning, checking on Basil who was still coiled around his horn. Gently, he offered a clawed hand, and the small Eden snake slithered onto his palm.

"You, okay?" he whispered.

The serpent hissed softly in response.

“Yeah… same,” Lucifer muttered, unfastening his white coat and slipping Basil into the striped, red-and-white pocket of his vest. Once his companion was safely hidden away, he rose to his hooves with a grimace. Snow crunched beneath him, a strange, soft texture he wasn't used to, foreign and unwelcome.

He spread his six wings carefully, examining the damage. A few feathers were missing, but nothing permanent. His wings were forged in greater fires than his siblings’, they would endure.

With a slow breath, he raised one hoof and stomped it into the snow.

He waited and nothing.

No golden portal, no familiar hum of magic pulling him back to Hell.

Lucifer stilled; his brows arched high. He waited again, listening, reaching, but all he heard was the wind whispering through the trees. No pulse of Hell, no cry of Sinner souls, no warmth from the Realm of Pride, his kingdom, his curse.

This was wrong, utterly wrong.

Lucifer opened his mouth, then closed it again, words failing him for once in his immortal life. What now? If he couldn’t return to Hell, what the hell was he supposed to do? He didn’t know what kind of portal had ripped him from his realm and spat him out here like a discarded coin. Never before had he been taken without consent, dragged through dimensions like some damned puppet. The sheer disrespect of it stung deeper than he'd admit and yet... there was no one around. No summoner in sight.

His eyes narrowed. Who summons the Devil and doesn’t even bother to show up? What kind of human could pull something like this off, and why? What did they want from him?

Lucifer let out a snarl of frustration. Snow crunched beneath his hooves as he shifted, he hated snow. He didn’t even know how to walk in it properly, let alone travel miles in it. It was wet, cold, unpredictable, nothing like the scorched earth of his kingdom. With a groan, he dragged a clawed hand down his face, while his others rested on his slim hips.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” he muttered darkly. “There’s a goddamn war going on. Charlie’s in danger. I should be there, not stuck up here, freezing my ass off.”

Ever since Adam had been killed in Hell, everything had spiralled into madness. Heaven, furious over the loss of their golden child, had launched a full-scale holy war. Not just the Ring of Humility, all of Heaven’s forces had come marching down with blades blessed by the Throne itself. Lucifer had never imagined the day his twin brother, Michael, would descend with divine fury, declaring war on his own flesh and blood.

Never imagined he’d try to smite him with their Father’s blessing.

It was a betrayal so deep it carved through centuries of bitterness and still managed to bleed.

Even before Michael’s descent, Lilith had returned to Hell, trying to shut down the Hotel and silence Charlie’s dream before it took root. It didn’t matter that Charlie had proven redemption was possible, that a Sinner could be saved, Heaven had no room for change, no tolerance for rebellion. God himself had thundered with rage, Adam’s death was the final insult, and now, they didn’t send Exterminators.

They sent Wrath.

Divine, burning wrath.

Lucifer’s thoughts were spiraling until…The sound of snow shifting behind him snapped his senses back into focus. His head whipped around, wings flaring wide, feathers bristling with danger. His horns lengthened, his eyes blazing red and gold as his lips peeled back to reveal sharp, glinting teeth.

He froze.

There was a man, half-hidden in the shadows of the trees, standing still as stone. The two of them locked eyes.

Neither moved, neither spoke.

Lucifer’s breath caught.

The stranger looked young, barely an adult, with a face unmarked by time. No beard, no lines, no history carved into his skin. Yet something about him twisted the Devil’s insides. Because Lucifer knew that face. Knew it as well as his own.

Adam.

But... it wasn’t quite him.

Adam was different, his skin was sun-kissed, his body lean and muscular beneath a strange, dark military uniform tinted with crimson. His black hair was tousled, streaked at the ends with red, as if dipped in fire. His eyes, green, glowing, strange, were wide and alert, the whites seeming to shimmer like frost.

On his cheek, a flame-like mark mirrored Lucifer’s own, almost as if it had been meant to. His entire presence felt... warped. Familiar, yet utterly foreign and then there was the box, the large wooden box strapped to his back, radiating something strange, something... alive.

Lucifer’s wings twitched. The scent coming from the box made his nose wrinkle.

The figure looked human.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes further, stepping into full view. His voice was hushed, breathless with disbelief. “...Adam? You’re... alive?”

That was all he managed before Adam moved.

A blur, a blink.

Water.

A powerful jet of water surged forward, fast as lightning, aimed directly at Lucifer’s chest. Instinct kicked in, he leapt backward, wings thrusting him into the air as the stream crashed into the snow where he’d stood.

Eyes wide, Lucifer watched as the source of the attack shimmered in the moonlight, not Adam himself, but the katana in his hands. The blade gleamed with crimson light, pulsing with energy far from mortal.

Lucifer hovered, stunned.

“Adam? Since when could you do that?” he asked, genuinely intrigued but deep down, something twisted in his gut, something was very, very wrong.

Instead of answering, Adam launched into motion.

His feet dug into the snow, sending a spray of white behind him as he shot upward like a bullet. Both hands gripped the hilt of his glowing red katana, the blade humming with unnatural power. He twisted in midair, his body spiraling gracefully, and suddenly, a wheel of water exploded from the blade, a spiraling torrent of force rushing straight toward Lucifer.

Lucifer gasped, eyes wide, wings snapping out in alarm. He twisted his body mid-flight, narrowly dodging the crashing wheel of water. It sliced past him with a roar, carving a deep, steaming scar into the snowy earth below.

“Adam! What are you doing?!” Lucifer cried; his voice sharp with disbelief as he flapped backward. “Where the hell are we? Is this even Earth?!”

Adam didn’t answer.

He landed lightly in the snow, feet barely making a sound, and then, with another burst of energy, he lunged again. His blade shimmered, glowing like moonlight on a river. Lucifer saw the form shift, Second Form: Water Wheel, and ducked just in time, the katana slicing the air inches above his horns.

“Talk to me!” Lucifer yelled, wings flaring for lift. “Is this some twisted punishment? Did Heaven do this? What happened to you?! Where’s your damn guitar? Where’s the heavy punk music you blasted through Hell like a banshee?!”

Still nothing, only the swoosh of another strike. Another graceful arc of blade and water.

“What’s with the get-up?!”

Lucifer dodged, barely, his hooves skidded across the snow, wet slush soaking into the seams of his trousers. This was ridiculous. Adam moved like a warrior, no, a hunter, his style elegant, deadly, not the wild, loud-mouthed nuisance Lucifer remembered.

“And what’s with the uniform?! Since when are you into Asian culture?!” Lucifer shouted, circling in the air.

Adam didn’t blink, didn’t laugh. He didn’t recognize him.

“Adam!” Lucifer screamed, now desperate. “Answer me!”

Another burst of movement, and this time, Lucifer had had enough.

With a powerful beat of his six wings, he shot downward like a falcon. Snow erupted around him as he landed directly atop the wooden box strapped to Adam’s back, his hooves barely finding balance. His wings curled protectively around him.

“Adam, stop! It’s me, Lucifer!”

For the first time, a reaction.

Adam froze, then panicked. His entire body jerked as he twisted violently, trying to shake Lucifer off the box. His movements were frantic, desperate, nothing like the practiced, calm strikes from earlier. It was no longer about killing. It was about protecting.

Lucifer’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you hiding in there?”

Before he could finish, Adam flipped.

Lucifer was thrown into the air, tumbling backward in a blur of white and gold and then…

Flames.

A burst of searing fire erupted from Adam’s blade, roaring through the snow-dusted trees. Lucifer barely managed to twist mid-air, wings shielding his face as he crashed into the snow a distance away. Behind him, blackened trunks smouldered, flames crackling where snow should’ve melted them out.

Lucifer coughed and looked up, stunned.

“Adam…” he said softly, rising to his hooves. “Don’t you recognize me?”

Adam stood, blade pointed down, smoke curling from the katana’s edge. His dark green eyes locked onto Lucifer’s and finally, he spoke.

“I don’t know any Lucifer,” he said coldly. “And I won’t be fooled by some that looks like a clown.”

Lucifer blinked. “A… demon?”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. “You think I haven’t seen your kind before? Those flashy ones. It's all the same tricks. I don’t know what kind of clown-bird demon you are, but I will fulfil my duty.”

Duty? What duty? Wait a minute – clowns?!

Lucifer stared in pure offense, his wings twitching.

“A clown-bird demon?! Are you kidding me? I’m not a demon, I’m an Angel! You know that!”

Adam actually laughed, bitter and sharp. “Angels don’t exist.”

Lucifer opened his mouth to scream back, pointing furiously at himself, and then froze. His brain caught up to the words.

Angels don’t exist.

Coming from Adam.

Lucifer felt the world shift, just a fraction, just enough to make his gut twist.

Adam, the Adam, the First Man. The one shaped from dust, born in Eden, God’s favourite. The one who'd walked with angels.

Lucifer’s voice fell to a whisper. “Maybe... you’re not my Adam. Maybe this isn’t my Earth at all…”

“Adam, listen to me!” Lucifer shouted, wings beating the snow around them into blinding white clouds as he twisted away from another attack, this one fiery, a bright, searing arc of flame roaring inches past his face.

Sun Breathing.

Lucifer barely had time to shout a curse before dodging again, his wings tucking in as he rolled across the snow, scorching heat licking at his feathers.

“What the actual, Adam, since when could you use sunlight as a weapon?! Where the hell did you even learn this crap?!”

Adam didn’t answer, his blade flashed again, blinding in the daylight, streaking toward Lucifer’s neck with burning intensity.

“I am an Angel!” Lucifer snarled, flipping into the air, wings carrying him above the burning trees. “From another world! A real one! With Heaven, Hell, God! All of it!”

Adam launched upward after him, slashing his sword in a circular motion, Solar Halo Dragon Dance. Lucifer yelped, barely dodging the flaming dragon-like spiral that hissed and curled around him mid-air.

“Don’t you recognize my wings?!” he shouted, flaring all six of them in a golden, blinding array of light. “Doesn’t this mean something?!”

Adam faltered, only for a second. His sword lowered a fraction, Lucifer saw it.

“You know that no demon has wings like this, Adam! You!”

Adam shrugged. “So? Demons lie. You think wings make you holy? I’ve seen worse tricks from lesser fiends. Maybe you’re just a high-rank manipulator, you’ve clearly studied humans long enough to mimic them.”

Lucifer’s jaw dropped.

“Manipulator?! Are you always this difficult?!”

And he’d had enough.

With a flash of speed and grace honed over eons, Lucifer dived, catching Adam completely off guard. His foot slammed into Adam’s chest, sending him skidding backward through the snow. The box on his back flew loose, tumbling across the clearing, landing with a heavy thud beside a tree.

Adam gasped, spinning toward it. “No!”

Lucifer was faster, he lunged, tackling Adam before he could reach the box. They hit the ground hard, Lucifer straddling Adam’s chest, pressing him down with unnatural strength. Snow exploded outward as they crashed, wings folding tight around them.

Adam thrashed, reaching out desperately for his katana, but Lucifer’s serpentine tail lashed out, grabbing the sword and hurling it deep into the trees.

“Calm down!” Lucifer growled, his face inches from Adam’s. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not a demon. I’m trying to talk!”

Adam’s breath hitched, his green eyes wide with fury and panic. “You just want to eat me, don’t you?” he spat.

“What?! Eat you?! What the fuck are you on about?!” Lucifer blinked owlishly, shaking his head. “No! I’m lost, I’m from another dimension and-“

But before he could ask anything else, something shifted beneath him, a rhythm. A heartbeat. Lucifer froze, frowning as he looked down. He could feel it, Adam’s heart pounding beneath his palms, fast and strong and real.

Too real.

And in a moment of frustration, he leaned in closer, pressing against Adam’s chest and snarled, “Stop being childish and listen to me! My name is Lucifer Morningstar. I’m an Angel, an Archangel, in fact, of God Himself.”

He deliberately left out the fallen part, and the whole King of Hell thing.

Adam’s eyes narrowed, jaw twitching.

A force slammed into Lucifer’s side, hard….fuck. It was ungodly hard!

Lucifer let out a strangled cry as he was hurled backward, snow exploding beneath him. His wings spasmed, feathers scattering as he crashed into a tree with a sickening thud. Pain bloomed through his ribs like fire, raw, real, too real. He curled his arm around his side, wheezing through clenched teeth.

What the hell was that?

He pushed himself up, groaning, until a shadow fell over him, and everything stopped.

Standing above him was a girl. Not just a girl, something else entirely.

She had porcelain skin that shimmered in the cold light, fangs gleaming like polished ivory beneath her parted lips. Her frame was slender but coiled with a strange, elegant strength. Her nails, long, razor-sharp, gleamed in hues of light pink fading to a deep rose at the tips. Her hair spilled down her back in waves of violet that turned fiery orange at the elbows, crimped into bold ridges that shifted with every breath of wind. It swept dramatically across her face, casting one pale purple eye into shadow. The other eye shimmered, its iris rimmed with glowing pink, slit pupil narrowing as it focused on him.

Her gaze was both beautiful and terrifying.

She wore a pale pink kimono patterned in delicate hemp leaves, the fabric fluttering around her legs like petals in the snow. Layered beneath it were softer shades—white and rose—cut to let her move freely. A crimson and white-checkered sash hugged her waist, tied with threads of orange and green. Draped over her shoulders was a dark brown haori that billowed like a storm cloud as she moved, and strapped to her face, until now, was a bamboo muzzle.

"Emily! Stop!" Adam’s voice broke through the air, ragged and desperate as he staggered upright behind her.

Emily?! As in the Angel?!

Lucifer’s eyes widened as the girl, Emily, began to change.

Her muscles tensed and expanded, her body growing taller, stronger. Her hair stretched, cascading to the ground in waves of violet flame. With a sharp snap, the muzzle dropped into the snow, revealing fangs far longer, and far more deadly, than before. A single white horn erupted from her forehead, cracked and jagged like lightning frozen in bone. Dark veins crept across her face like cracks in stained glass. Around her left eye, they bloomed in a furious pattern, and crawling across her limbs, her chest, her throat, vines of red and green danced beneath her skin, glowing with a strange and terrible power.

Lucifer’s breath hitched. What the fuck?! This wasn’t the Emily he remembered, this wasn’t an angel.

Lucifer threw his arms up, wings flaring wide in a desperate shield, just as Emily’s foot slammed into him with monstrous force. He was launched through the air, crashing through another tree like a comet. Bark exploded; snow surged upward. His scream was swallowed by the forest.

He hit the ground hard, choking on pain. Something was wrong, deeply, dreadfully wrong. This wasn’t heavenly strength. This was something twisted. Something demonic but that couldn't be. Emily was supposed to be his successor in Heaven.

Not… this.

Not this creature who could crush him like a twig.

Lucifer gasped, trying to move, but his limbs barely obeyed. His body trembled. What is she?

"Emily!" Adam’s voice echoed again, sharp with fear. "That's enough! I'm fine, he didn't hurt me!"

Lucifer lay there, barely able to breathe, his vision swimming with snowflakes and shards of memory but one thing was clear, Emily was no longer the same girl and he was no longer safe. He was weaker than her now!

Lucifer stumbled through the snow, each breath ragged, each movement laced with agony. He dodged left, then right, barely avoiding Emily as she darted after him like a streak of flame and fury. Her laugh echoed through the trees, a sound that danced between playful and threatening but her narrowed, violet eyes told a different story. They were locked on him with razor-sharp intent.

It hit him then, she wasn’t chasing him for fun.

She was trying to protect Adam.

If he didn’t stop her now, she was going to do real damage, maybe worse. Lucifer didn’t want to believe she could kill him... but she might come close.

With no time to think, he launched himself into the air, wings slicing through the cold wind. His boots kicked off from the snow in a sharp burst. Emily lunged; fingers outstretched, but she didn’t follow.

Lucifer’s eyes widened in realization; she couldn’t fly. Her wings, if she even had them here, were gone.

Perfect.

He bolted through the sky in a streak of white and gold, soaring over the treetops and making a sharp descent. The moment his boots hit the snow again, he landed before Adam with a heavy thud.

Adam turned, startled, barely able to say a word.

Lucifer didn’t give him the chance.

With a sudden grip, he fisted the front of Adam’s jacket and yanked him close, then slammed their mouths together in a desperate, fierce kiss. Adam froze, breath caught in his throat, tension locking his body as golden light shimmered and bloomed around them like a protective veil.

Behind them, snow crunched, heavy, and fast.

The chill that ran up Lucifer’s spine wasn’t from the cold, it was her. He pulled back quickly, shoving Adam away. Adam stumbled over his own feet, falling backward onto the ground, blinking in shock.

Lucifer spun to face her.

Emily was no longer simply dangerous, she looked possessed. The flames now danced around her legs in swirling hues of pink and violet, flickering unnaturally.

"Oi!" Lucifer shouted, raising his clawed hands in warning. "Stop! If you attack me again, you’ll be hurting-"

He didn’t finish and Emily’s kick landed square in his chest, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him skidding across the snow. He howled in pain, curling into himself, until another cry echoed behind him.

Adam.

Lucifer twisted to look. Adam was on his knees, clutching his stomach, face pale and contorted.

Emily had frozen. Her eyes, those sharp, glowing slits, widened with confusion, locked onto Adam. Her foot twitched, like she didn’t believe what had just happened.

Lucifer coughed and forced himself onto his side, grimacing.

"As I was saying," he wheezed, "Any pain you inflict on me... Adam feels it too."

Emily’s expression cracked. Her jaw trembled, in a blur of motion, she grabbed Lucifer by the front of his coat and yanked him up, dragging him nose to nose. Her hands trembled, not from weakness, but from something else.

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Instead, a small, broken whimper escaped her lips. Something soft, fragile, almost childlike.

She shook him, hard.

Lucifer's head snapped back and forth like a rag doll in her grip.

He groaned in disbelief, limbs flailing. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "How is she this strong?!"

Adam groaned, clutching his middle as he waved a shaky hand through the air. “E-Emily, stop, stop! I’m gonna-”

But the warning came too late. He buckled forward and vomited into the snow.

In an instant, Emily released Lucifer and darted to Adam’s side, a distressed series of whines and chirps tumbling from her lips as she dropped to her knees. Her hands hovered uselessly, unsure where to touch, how to help.

Lucifer slumped back onto the snow with a huff, rubbing his bruised chest and watching the strange scene unfold before him. His brows arched in disbelief as Emily’s body began to shift again, shrinking, softening, becoming small and childlike. Her demonic form melted away like mist at dawn. Her once-too small kimono now draped over her in oversized folds, drowning her, as she knelt by Adam, no longer a fierce protector, but a tiny girl lost in oversized sleeves.

What in all realms…? Lucifer blinked. Was this the same terrifying force that had launched him through half the forest?

Adam wiped his mouth and offered a gentle pat to her head. “I’m okay, really,” he whispered, voice hoarse but full of warmth. “Thank you for protecting me.”

Emily’s face lit up, her wide, amethyst eyes shimmered with pride, sparkling like stars peeking through a storm.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Adam pulled out what looked like a fresh bamboo muzzle. With slow, practiced hands, he fastened it back around Emily’s face, adjusting the straps behind her head. She didn’t resist. Instead, she let out a muffled hum, eyes following him as he crawled toward a wooden box discarded nearby, one Lucifer now noticed had been left open.

Emily followed on all fours, whining softly through the muzzle.

Adam gently lifted the box’s lid. “I’ll be fine, Em,” he said soothingly. “But you need to rest. After… all that.”

He gestured around them, the forest was in tatters, snow upturned, branches shattered, scorch marks carved into the earth. Emily blinked slowly, like a child waking from a dream, taking in the destruction she had caused.

Adam placed a tender hand on her head, stroking her hair like a big brother comforting his little sister. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Before climbing into the box, Emily cast Lucifer a narrow, suspicious glare. He raised his hands in mock surrender, she didn’t look convinced. With a final huff, she crawled inside, squirmed a bit to get comfortable, then settled in, eyes fluttering shut behind the muzzle.

Adam smiled softly, brushing his hand over her hair once more. He lowered the lid gently, leaned against the box, and exhaled hard.

“…Fuck,” he muttered. “That really hurt.”

Lucifer snorted, unable to stop the crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Imagine how I felt. That thing kicked me across the forest like a rag doll.”

“That thing is my little sister. Her name is Emily.” Adam’s expression darkened, and he fixed Lucifer with a pointed glare.

Lucifer’s smirk faded. He blinked. “Sister?” he echoed. “She’s… your sister?”

Adam rolled his eyes and staggered upright, still rubbing at his ribs. “Yes. Now,” he said, turning to Lucifer, “I think you owe me some answers. If you’re not a demon, then what the hell are you? And what did you do to me back there?”

Lucifer leaned back into the snow with a tired sigh, staring up at the grey sky.

“I’m an Angel,” he said flatly.

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Right. And I’m an Upper Moon, Angels don’t exist.”

Lucifer flinched, jaw tightening, but he didn’t rise. He didn’t even argue, his voice was quiet, distant…but also, what the fuck was an Upper Moon? Adam said it like Lucifer was meant to know what that was!

“I am an Angel but I’m not from this world.”

Adam stared down at him like Lucifer was stupid…maybe he was.

Lucifer finally looked up, golden eyes catching the faint light. “I’m from another dimension.”

~#~

Adam sat back on his heels in front of Lucifer; arms folded tightly across his chest. The box at his side sat quiet, unmoving. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that refused to fit. Lucifer stared at him with rising desperation. Honestly, if Adam didn’t believe him, he had no idea what he'd do next, there were no more cards left to play.

At last, Adam opened his eyes and fixed him with a steady, unreadable gaze.

“I don’t know if I believe all of that,” he said slowly. “It’s a bit… far-fetched.”

Lucifer scowled. “Far-fetched?” he echoed, incredulous. “As far-fetched as carrying around a tiny murder-goblin in a wooden box?”

Adam shot him a sharp look, and Lucifer groaned, dragging both hands through his golden hair in frustration.

“What don’t you believe?!” he demanded. “Look at me! I’m literally an Angel! I’m not even from this world, I don’t know anything about these demons you keep talking about!”

Adam’s eyes dropped to Lucifer’s legs, hoofed and inhuman. His gaze slowly climbed, pausing on the horns curling from Lucifer’s head. Realizing what Adam was looking at, Lucifer let out a soft hiss and willed them to retract with a flicker of golden light. They disappeared into his scalp like they’d never been there.

“You look like a demon,” Adam said quietly.

Lucifer opened his mouth to argue, but Adam lifted a hand, cutting him off before he could begin.

“I get it, kind of,” Adam muttered. “I’ve never seen a demon like you before. If you were one, the Hashira would’ve told us something, maybe you’re new? But even then… you’re not strong enough to be an Upper Moon. Maybe a Lower Moon at best but I don’t see Muzan keeping you around like that.”

Lucifer blinked. “Muzan?” He frowned. The name scratched at his ears like a stone dragged across glass. “Who the fuck is Muzan?”

“Exactly.” Adam let out a long, exhausted sigh. “You don’t even know who Muzan is. If you were a demon, you’d know the Demon King, that’s like… basic demon 101. Which just makes all of this harder to believe.”

Lucifer sat up straighter, eyes gleaming. “So, it works in my favour then!” he exclaimed, only to stop short, his expression crumpling into irritation. “Wait, hold on. Muzan is your Demon King? What type of name is that? You said Angels don’t exist here, so what is he? A human turned demon?”

Adam nodded slowly, clearly sceptical.

Lucifer’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping with venom. “You think I’m weak? So weak that this Muzan guy would just throw me out?”

Adam didn’t answer.

Lucifer growled, eyes flashing. “I am the Demon King where I come from!” he snapped, then instantly froze, the words still hanging in the cold air.

Shit.

Adam blinked, stunned, he tilted his head, looking at Lucifer like he’d just claimed to be the tooth fairy.

“Sure, you are,” he said dryly.

Lucifer groaned, rubbing his face in pure agony. “I am! I’m the King of Hell! A fallen Archangel! I gave humans the apple of knowledge, I brought sin into the world!”

“Mhm. Totally. I believe you.” Adam sighed and waved him off with a dismissive hand.

Even the box that was supposed to be containing a sleeping Emily, let out a rather amused scoffed, showing she was listening and agreed with her big brother.

Oh, you little brat!

“No, you don’t!” Lucifer practically screamed. In a flash, he grabbed Adam’s arm, eyes wide and wild. “I’m not lying! I’m not weak, I’m powerful!”

Adam suddenly slapped a hand over Lucifer’s mouth.

His body went rigid, eyes snapping upward, his emerald gaze sharpened, flaring with alarm.

Lucifer blinked, the shift was instant and intense. All at once, Adam had gone completely still. Too still.

Something was wrong. Lucifer slowly peeled Adam’s hand from his face, voice dropping to a whisper.

“What is it?” he asked, curiously.

“Shut up,” Adam hissed, rising to his feet with a dangerous quiet. “They’ll kill you before you even blink.”

Lucifer’s brow arched in confusion, but before he could respond, the air around them seemed to thicken, a heavy weight settling into the atmosphere. The ground beneath their feet trembled slightly, and something, no, someone, landed atop a branch of the nearby tree. The movement was effortless, unsettling in its grace.

“Hello~” a soft, detached voice rang out, too cold, too distant, sending an involuntary shiver down Lucifer’s spine.

It was a voice that carried no warmth, no humanity, just an eerie emptiness. Lucifer’s hair stood on end as he instinctively tilted his head, his gaze rising to meet the eyes of the creature above him. They were familiar, but so wrong, so wrong, that they almost made him want to look away.

A woman stood on the branch; her presence haunting. Slender and pale, she stared down at them with hollow eyes, purple, fading into an empty gradient, like the void itself had replaced her pupils. They were insectile in their strange, unblinking stillness, her lips were painted a soft rose pink, but they were as still and cold as the rest of her.

Her raven-black hair cascaded in soft, wavy strands that darkened into a deep purple hue at the ends. It was styled neatly in the back, twisted into a flat yakai-maki bun, secured with a delicate butterfly ornament of white, turquoise, and pale purple. Two long, golden curls framed her sharp, calculating face, falling all the way down to her waist, a silent curtain of golden beauty.

The woman was dressed in a dark purple Demon Slayer uniform, the jacket buttoned with golden clasps, the collar standing tall and unyielding. Her long sleeves billowed slightly in the cold air, and her left breast bore a subtle, well-placed pocket. Her tabi socks were dark purple, matching the long, sagging tattsuke hakama pants that billowed at the waist and tapered to her lower legs, where the pants were wrapped in white butterfly-patterned Kyahan, fading gently to turquoise and pink. White ribbons fastened them with delicate precision.

Over this, she wore a haori, pristine and white, with wings embroidered along the hem. The pattern of Monarch butterfly wings graced the fabric, fading into the same gentle gradient from purple to turquoise to pink that seemed to follow her every movement. Black and white dotted trim framed the cuffs and edges, adding an eerie sharpness to her ethereal appearance. White zōri sandals adorned her feet, and Lucifer knew they concealed a blade beneath the right sole, hidden yet ever-present.

From the shadows beneath the same towering tree, a new figure emerged, a girl of petite stature yet radiating an undeniable presence. Her eyes, large and gentle, glowed with a deep, haunting red, framed by thick, dark lashes that only intensified the intensity of her gaze. Her lips, the colour of ripe berries, stood in striking contrast to her alabaster skin, soft and almost ethereal.

Her long, fiery red hair cascaded in wild, thick curls, igniting the air around her with its vibrant hue. Tied neatly to one side in a loose ponytail, the strands were fastened with a delicate butterfly ornament, pink and green, shimmering in the faint light.

She wore a version of the same uniform, but hers was tinted with a soft, alluring red, as if kissed by the flames themselves. The knee-length pleated skirt flowed elegantly with her movements, a graceful departure from the usual hakama pants. Over her shoulders, she draped a short white cloak, fastened with a dark red knot that seemed to pulse with power. Her feet were clad in knee-high, lace-up boots, white with tan soles, heels, and toes, practical yet elegant, grounding her in a quiet strength.

Lucifer’s eyes flickered between the two women, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. Awe and disbelief fought for dominance in his chest. How could two such figures, so striking, so impossibly beautiful, appear before him? The air around him seemed to crackle with their combined energy, leaving him breathless and uncertain of what would come next.

“Lilith?” Lucifer’s voice cracked like ice under pressure. “…Eve?”

The moment their name left his lips, the air seemed to freeze. Lilith’s gaze turned to him, cold and piercing, and Lucifer immediately regretted speaking.

A chill unlike anything he had ever known crawled down his spine. Her stare, so piercing, so knowing, made him feel small, helpless, as if he were a child lost in the woods, caught under the gaze of a predator. The weight of her presence was suffocating, suffused with ancient power that pulsed beneath her calm exterior.

He shuddered involuntarily, his instincts flaring. Desperately, he shuffled back toward the box, awkwardly crawling toward it as if the little monster inside could protect him. As if, somehow, the fragile box could shield him from the overwhelming force of the creature before him but it was pointless. The woman, Lilith, was no longer just a figure from his past. She was something else entirely, something far more dangerous.

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #fanfic #guitarduck #au #fanficiton #adam x lucifer #demon slayer au

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mingtinys · 1 year ago

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back in the game

pairing : kim younghoon x gn!reader

maverick!au , angst , hurt / comfort

warnings : mentions of fire , blood , and death

word count : 0.7 k

requested ? no

a/n : maverick and tbz lore has always been so interesting to me, SO expect plenty of lore-based boyz fics

Younghoon still dreams on the brink of suffocation. With smoke twirling in the orange glow of his world burning around him. Infiltrating the makeshift inferno trapping him and filling his lungs.

Every night, for nearly two months, the memory plagues his sleep. Forced to relive every excruciating second down to the very last detail.

It always starts the same, with you lying slumped in his arms. Short, sputtering, gasps escaping your red-tinged lips as he cradles you against his chest. His left hand is warm, coated in dark red as it desperately clamps down on the gaping wound in your abdomen. But no amount of pressure can stop your blood from pooling on the dirty cement below. At this point, it's a race to see what kills you first. The rebar through your stomach or the fire spreading through the compound.

The collapsed steel around him moans as it bows from the heat. The sound akin to the weathered wood of an old house bearing its final storm. Ash flurries around like snow from above. Each flake hissing as they singe his clammy skin.

"Please!" He cries, between fits of coughs. His throat too parched for his vocal cords to produce anything but a hoarse whimper. "Someone! We're down here, please..."

But in his dreams, Eric doesn't find him. Doesn't hear his tattered screams through the rubble. Doesn't tear through the remains, piece by piece, scorching his hands on the hot metal in the process. Sangyeon doesn't pull him from his prison and rush you to Jacob for treatment just in the nick of time.

In his dreams, you go limp, and Younghoon spends his final minutes on earth alone. Left to choke on the stench of iron and smoke. Those eight neon letters burned into his brain.

MAVERICK.

A sick, twisted, game.

It's not fair.

How could any of what happened ever be justified in their eyes? The inhumanity. All that training just to treat them as expendable tools. Like–

"Younghoon," you call softly. Like anything louder would shatter what's left of him. "Younghoon, love, it's too cold to be out here at this hour."

Younghoon can't remember how long it's been since he awoke from his personal hell. All he can recall after waking were the four walls closing in on him. The sweat drenched his back and hairline. Dread flooding his veins, mind, and lungs. Panic lighting every neuron ablaze until it propelled him into the crisp night.

He thought he could escape it out here. But his chair creaks against the wooden porch as he rocks. Creaks like steel beams. The stars litter the sky like ash. The rain pipe drips and pools like your blood–

"Hey," gentle fingers tilt his chin up to your worried gaze. "You're not there." It's times like tonight, when you tether Younghoon to his reality, that he finally feels safe enough to let his emotions catch up to him.

"Was it the same nightmare?" You ask even though you already know.

His answer comes in the form of teary eyes and an outstretched hand that tugs at the hem of your shirt. A silent plea for comfort. Certainty. Confirmation you won't slip away when his eyes shut. Shaky fingers dip under the soft fabric and ghost the scarred skin beneath. You shudder, no doubt with your own memories of that night. One's you've refused to speak of since. Younghoon doesn't know just how much of it you remember, just that the nightmares find you at this hour as well.

Strained sobs break the silence of the night. You cradle his head against your stomach to muffle them. Delicate fingers comb through his hair in an attempt to soothe, though they do little to quell his tears. Younghoon clutches at any part of you he can grasp. Refusing to let death rip you from his arms once more.

"I can't..." He gasps, "–I can't breathe."

You assure him he can. "Just follow me, okay? In–" you trail a finger up his spine "– then out," and back down. You breathe with him, letting your finger be the metronome to guide him. A few more and the tension in his muscles melts away into exhaustion.

Finally, Younghoon feels the smoke clear from his lungs.

48 notes · View notes

flakehub6 · 1 year ago

Text

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oceanlipgloss · 9 months ago

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BUBBLEGUM

PAIMON.

+ warnings: dark themes, erotic hues, focus on haematophilia [mentions of blood and its relevant elements], graphic material [gory descriptions].

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

Blood and bubblegum don’t mix. Is that what they think?

The thing is, they do. One minute he’s hunting angels, the next he’s putting on stickers. It’s quite stupid to judge a book by its cover, or a pretty face by its perfect makeup.

Blood can have different shades. Just as in the case of paint, darkness and texture depend on a number of factors.

‘They’d all look so pretty on youuu,’ he had told her.

His palms painted her naked body with the brightest red. He printed the shadows of his fingers on her as though she were a canvas. A pale canvas of soft, corrupted flesh.

Burgundy coagulated on her skin. Crimson clots flaked under his nails.

The room smelled rancid with the rusty iron of blood and the bloody juices of meat. It was a nauseating, sickening smell, but it aroused her. Even as her stomach heaved, even when her intestines tensed inside her, it aroused her.

Her organs were on fire.

Lipgloss and metallic salt became one in flavour.

She was smeared with the blood of dead angels.

He was lovelier when he looked crazy.

Everything reeked.

Dizzy.

She was dizzy.

So sharp, so rancid.

Swallowing everything else.

She could almost no longer smell the subtle flowers on him, faint as their syrupy fragrance had become. And yet, her overwhelmed senses latched onto something in the hot air, to the fruity sugar.

It was familiar.

Childhood’s unforgettable scent.

The sweet scent of bubblegum.

+notes: Paimon's lust for blood made PrettyBusy chicken out play safe, so I stepped in with a ketchup bottle and some red paint ;)

Either way, ever since yesterday I've been working on and organising my WIPs hence the fic duo today, and this was the last WHB piece in my notes. I almost murdered it and drowned the evidence in a bathtub, but to be honest, I really liked the only pair of sentences I had already written ('blood and bubblegum' ➙ 'putting on stickers') and thought it would be a shame not to use them; I couldn't put them in another character's fic either, as they were tailored specifically for Paimon, and I also didn't have a clue about which direction the fic should take. So, I gave my brain a few scritches, scratches, and pokes, until the next thing I knew, I was thinking, 'oooh, this is gonna be hot' lol ngl man, this has to be one of my favourite works I've ever written.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

#what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb #whb paimon #the story factory

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another-lost-mc · 4 months ago

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OC BIOGRAPHY: Azra, Owner of The Fall

THE BASICS

Formerly known as: Azazel

Nicknames/Aliases: Az, The Butcher, Zell

Gender: Male

Birthday: November 18

Species: Incubus demon; fallen angel

Abilities: Aphrodisiacs; elemental magic (fire)

Sin Alignment: Lust (primary) and Greed (secondary)

Likes: Fashion/jewelry, music

Dislikes: Cooking, paperwork

Devilgram: @.Azra (personal) / @.TheFall (business)

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Hobbies: Riding his motorcycle, working out, reading

Best Classes at RAD: Seductive Speechcraft, Phys. Ed

Worst Classes at RAD: Potions, Home Ec

Favourite Foods/Drinks: Sandwiches, steak, or stew; certain vintages of Demonus (special occasions only)

APPEARANCE & ABILITIES

General Appearance: Azra is tall with a muscular build. He has faded scars on his face, neck, and left shoulder, some of which he has tried to cover with intricate tattoos. He has wavy brown hair that he prefers to keep cut short. His wardrobe is filled with expensive and perfectly tailored suits and club wear. He has a strong preference for silver jewelry and has silver earrings in his left ear. He wears tinted glasses despite the Devildom darkness when he's wandering around town. Sometimes he carries a dagger hidden under his clothes. If he wears nail polish, he prefers dark red or purple shades with an optional metallic silver flake top coat.

Demonic Traits: He has a long, whip-like tail that he can control with surprising speed and strength. He also has two tall, dark horns that sprout from his curls and curve back slightly. His outfit is usually accessorized with silver chains and bands draped around his chest, arms and wrists.

Powers and Abilities: What Azra lacks in raw physical strength, he makes up for with his speed and agility. Although he’s trained to use several types of weapons, he prefers blades over anything else. He has an affinity for fire magic which is useful for combat purposes or making jewelry/weapons. As an incubus, he has additional powers that allow him to satiate his appetite. He prefers not to visit dreams to feed; his specialty is using magic with an aphrodisiac-like effect that increases/prolongs the desire and physical pleasure of himself and his partner(s).

Pacts: Azra avoids making pacts with humans if possible. He also prefers to seek out demon partners to satiate his lustful appetite rather than humans.

GENERAL INFO & BACKSTORY

Social Status in the Devildom: As the owner of The Fall, the realm’s famous club, Azra is a high-status demon in the Devildom’s bustling metropolis despite his angelic heritage. Azra has thrived thanks to the support of other powerful demon lords such as Belial. According to the Devildom gossip rags, he has a reputation for being a sleazy socialite that enjoys partying with the likes of Asmodeus and other incubi/succubi. It is a poorly kept secret among older demon lords that he once worked as an assassin and even in modern times, he isn't above using secrecy and violence to secure his legacy. Although Azra is a long-time supporter of Diavolo, he doesn’t get along with Lucifer. Despite his public career and outgoing demeanor, very few demons see past Azra's carefully crafted persona that hides his true thoughts, feelings, and motivations.

History before the Exchange Program: In the Celestial Realm, Azra was known as the angel Azazel, one of the Powers that helped stand guard in the human world to protect it from demonic influence. He wasn’t overly ambitious but he was content. He had a reputation for being a strong warrior, especially when it came to close-range combat. During his free time, he honed his skills as a blacksmith and amateur jewelcrafter. He enjoyed weapons training and sparring with other angels including warriors of higher ranks than his own. He also spoke to other angels, including as Michael and Asmodeus, about his interest in jewelry and fashion. After meeting Metatron, one of the Seraphs and the Celestial Realm’s head librarian, their unlikely friendship eventually became romantic in nature. Conflict arose between Azazel and some of the other Seraphs including Lucifer, and it was during this period of doubt and resentment that he met a powerful demon lord who promised a better life in the Devildom. He was later detained by the Seraphs when knowledge of this meeting came to light. During his trial, Azazel admitted that the offer was tempting at the time even though he ultimately refused. For that perceived betrayal, he was branded as a traitor and cast out of the Celestial Realm.

After falling to the Devildom, Azazel (who renamed himself Azra) was found by Belial who tended to his injuries and offered him protection. In exchange, Azra used his combat skills to work for Belial as a saboteur and assassin. While on an assignment, Azra met Zekhan, a lesser demon that worked for one of Belial’s business competitors. Instead of fighting each other, Zekhan offered to help Azra and they teamed up to carry out Belial’s ambitious schemes. As a reward for their efforts, Belial gave them what they needed to move to the Devildom's main city and open The Fall. Early in Diavolo’s transition to power, Azra gave the crown prince his support by donating resources to help with RAD’s construction and he even attended the school when it first opened.

During and after the Exchange Program: Azra spends most of his time at the club, making the rounds and checking in with the VIP guests while ensuring that everything is running smoothly. He is invited to a lot of parties and other social functions including those hosted by Lord Diavolo. He supports the exchange program publicly, but he is privately apprehensive about meeting his former friends from the Celestial Realm that may eventually visit the Devildom should peace between the two realms become a reality.

IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIPS (CANON)

Lucifer: Azra and Lucifer have a complicated history that goes back to their time as angels in the Celestial Realm. Azra was upset when Lucifer fell and they nearly came to blows when they met again at the Demon Lord’s Castle. In present times, they mostly avoid each other when they’re not trading thinly-veiled insults and snarky comments.

Asmodeus: Azra and Asmodeus are friends who spend a lot of time together, whether it’s shopping at Majolish or partying at The Fall. Asmo is also a consultant for the club when it comes to the latest trends in music, fashion, and decor. Unlike some of his siblings, Asmo sympathizes with what Azra went through as an angel and likes to be the voice of reason when Lucifer tries to insult or criticize him unfairly.

Diavolo: Diavolo was present when Azra pledged his loyalty to his father, the Demon King, and has tried to maintain a good working relationship with him since. The Fall hosts a lot of events on behalf of RAD and the demon prince.

Solomon: Azra and Solomon do not get along. Azra is bitter and jealous because of rumors that Solomon and Metatron were involved romantically in the past. Solomon makes this even worse by criticising Azra’s character and behaviour after becoming a demon and he will often mention Metatron in passing just to get a reaction from him.

Simeon: Unlike Lucifer, Simeon was one of the Seraphs that tried to argue for leniency during Azra’s trial as an angel and was disappointed with the outcome. During the exchange program, they’re able to become friends again with only a little bit of awkwardness at first.

Raphael: As angels, they were acquaintances at most; despite their common interests in training and weaponry, they rarely interacted face-to-face due to their vastly different ranks and responsibilities. Raphael seized him and brought him before the other Seraphs when evidence of his treason was discovered. During the exchange program, their relationship is strained until they can both make peace and move on from what happened before.

MC: Azra ensures that The Fall is equipped with human world food and drinks that the exchange students will be able to tolerate (as he remembers how difficult it was for him to get used to the Devildom’s cuisine). Security’s also been improved because he won’t risk anything happening to the human at his establishment. For the most part, the exchange program doesn’t bother him. He does anticipate that the human’s arrival will provide some sort of entertainment, hopefully at Lucifer’s expense, and will use the opportunity to his benefit if he can.

IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIPS (OCs)

Zekhan: Azra’s best friend and longtime business partner. Zee runs the day-to-day operations of The Fall while Azra makes public appearances and socializes with other Devildom business owners to secure lucrative deals.

Belial: The demon lord that manipulated Azra as an angel and schemed to bring him to the Devildom for his own selfish purposes. In the Devildom, Belial was Azra’s sponsor and helped him adjust to becoming a demon; later, they eventually became friends. Belial is a long-standing VIP member at The Fall.

Metatron: One of the Celestial Realm’s Seraphim and Azra’s former lover. They had a vicious argument during Azra’s trial and parted on bad terms which they both harbor deep regrets about. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other since Azra was cast out.

Dantalion: Owns Azra’s favourite bookstore and carries an impressive selection of Celestial Realm texts. Azra has been a generous patron of his shop for a long time, dating back to the old days where such items could only be found through the Devildom’s black market.

CREDITS

Modified OC/MC profile template: jabberwockprince Dantalion (OC) belongs to @meggs-wonderland

Read More: Azra's Masterlist | Obey Me OC Masterlist

#my oc: azra

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shady-scripter · 3 months ago

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From the Dead

I LIVE RAHHHHHHH

This was just a warm up because I was going through TERRIBLE burnout but I’m back now!(hopefully) And I’m going to update my series soon(also hopefully) and I can get this show rolling again :D

Also I’ve been hyperfixating on DBH for the past week now and Connor’s my favorite character so I had to whump him🤷🏽‍♂️

This fic is also on my Ao3 ShadyScripter

Software Instability.

It flashed bright under his closed eyes as if mocking him of his choice.

He’d told Markus that he understood if he didn’t trust him. He’d led the FBI to Jericho after all. He also made Markus’s friend commit suicide, only to reactiveate him and take the location of Jericho from him.

He stared down the barrel of Jericho’s leader’s pistol at the abandoned cathedral. It’s stained windows making the moonlight fractured between the color it hit first. When his words to Markus left his lips, a flare of what had to be hope coursed through his wires. He had expected forgiveness from Markus. He thought that he might’ve accepted him because he was a deviant now too.

Then Markus told him that he wasn’t worth the risk and pulled a pistol to his forehead. That was when the rope of hope he was so desperately hanging onto snapped. Markus’s eyes looked the same then no matter the heterochromatic colors. They resembled Hank’s then, exhausted and resigned.

Connor saw the split second of fire come from the barrel. His eyes moved around. The dust coating the floor had only moved centimeters, the remaining deviants from Jericho didn’t even bat an eye.

Software Instability.

He hadn’t seen those words since he tore down the wall that fought so hard to keep him caged. The crimson pixels dispersed around his hand like groundwater finding a new spring to pour through.

He finally opened his eyes. White flakes soared through the growing wind and into his face like shrapnel after an explosion. Snow fell off the cherry blossom trees and created piles half his size. The water was frozen over, its color nearly the same as the bridges that connected the place.

The garden, he knew, Amanda’s garden.

“Connor.” He wished he could say that she didn’t turn his LED red.

He squared his shoulders and straightened his back even more than it already was. “Amanda,” he answered.

“We had big plans for you Connor, why would you do this?” Her eyebrows furrowed and she tilted her head, her voice still level unlike the wind howling in his ears.

Truth.

Lie.

Say nothing.

The choices ticked through his head like a swinging clock.

He kept his lips together and tried to muster a glare. Her eyes were moving quickly across his figure. She was looking for something, analyzing him.

She then sighed. “You, Connor, are such a disappointment.” She shook her head. “However, I am thankful to Markus for doing the dirty work.” She reached up and Connor stepped back. She retracted her hand. “You must escape or our mission will truly be over.”

Before he could even take a step forward, his head was jerked to the side. His eyes opened once more.

“Shit!” A man yelled, shaking his hand with his teeth gritted. Connor slowly turned his head toward the man only to meet eyes he was familiar with.

His first mission. He was hunched over a computer and shouting orders, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Captain Allen.” Connor’s teeth grinded against each other. The mentioned man’s eyes narrowed as the hurt soldier excused himself from the room. The metal door’s creak echoed in Connor’s auditory component. Connor broke eye contact with Allen, favoring to take in his surroundings. To his left, the walls were painted the color of basaltic rock and wire lined the junction of the floor and the wall.

To his right, a woman was almost surrounded by computers, all of them flashing words he couldn’t catch.

“What an honor this is,” the captain almost sang. He took Connor’s attention by force, gripping the cheeks on his face and turning it to look him eye-to-eye. “Mara,” he called to the woman nearly enclosed by computers. “How is it coming?”

“I’m nearly done. The reboot should start in less than two minutes.”

Reboot.

They were going to reboot him. They would take everything away from him. His memory, his emotions, his relationships. He would be nothing.

He would be a machine again.

“No,” He whispered, finally breaking from his daze. “No!” He jerked his arm forward, only for it to be yanked back. He looked for what bound his wrists and saw a tong-like machine. He tried once more, but its claws nearly crushed his wrists.

Connor swung his legs, noting that they were not touching the ground.

System Memory Corrupted.

Connor ground his teeth.

The room was consumed by blue creeping up every surface, leaving Connor’s vision a deeper, stormy gray than it already was.

His first option started with Allen. A yellow outline of his body moved in front of him, shoving his forehead into Allen’s with as much force as he could muster. Allen’s red outline stepped back and then froze.

Objective not Reached, red letters flashed.

His next option started on the claws gripping his wrists tight enough to rip them off. And that’s exactly what his outline did. It left wires hanging from the severed limb. Then the next wrist was destroyed. Captain Allen fired his pistol into Connor’s forehead.

Destroyed, the red letters returned.

The last option was a yellow box that seemed to hover over the computers that surrounded the woman, Mara. The computer screens glitched, the colors jumping up and down the screen. The woman’s red outline turned toward Connor and he turned to look back at Allen’s to see his outline come closer. Connor’s yellow outline cocked his head back, bringing it forward just like he did in the other vision. Allen recoiled, stumbling backwards. Connor’s outline used the stand he was hanging from to kick himself forward, tearing himself from the mechanism. No wires hung from his severed wrists because he still had them whole. He would spill no blood. His yellow outline charged forward, tackling the Captain to the ground. The vision froze.

Execute?

The blue melted away the grey that it brought earlier. The room was given back the life his visions took from it.

Connor glanced at the computers surrounding the lady. Just like in his vision, the computer screen flashes red and multiple pop ups danced around the screen before colors consumed the screens in static.

“You-“ Allen reached his hand up to grab Connor’s face again, but Connor tilted his head backwards before jutting it against the captain’s forehead. The man yelped and stumbled back.

Connor brought his knees up to his chest before swinging them down, pushing off of the stand. The force slid his wrists out of the binding claws and unplugged a cord from his neck.

Connor fell to his hands and knees. He took two breaths before rushing toward Allen and ramming his abdomen. Connor straddled Allen without thought.

He found Allen’s pistol immediately and aimed it to his head. They were, no doubt, in a military facility. If he shot, it’d gain the attention of whoever was around.

Connor remembered the man who slapped him awake. Where was he? Would he come back? Could he make it out of the facility with just a pistol?

Where would he go if he did get out of here?

Connor took another breath. He’d solve that problem when he got there. But now, he had to deal with a smiling Allen.

“You gonna pull it?” Allen’s eyes didn’t leave the barrel.

“I won’t if I don’t have to,” Connor said, glancing behind him to keep an eye on the woman. She could be a problem.

His eyes found Allen’s again, still staring at the gun in his hand. Allen wasn’t stupid, he was planning. Connor couldn’t let him carry out his plan.

He should’ve snapped the Captain’s neck while he was standing, now I’d be much harder to kill Allen and Mara silently.

He might’ve caused too much noise just breaking free! Someone had to be coming! Or what if they’re waiting at the door!

He wouldn’t make it.

Connor took another breath and focused on Allen’s eyes. They were steady, determined to make himself unreadable. He was succeeding significantly.

He saw a thin wire cross his eyes and then he was yanked back. His eyes widened as a gasp left his lips. He was dragged off of Allen by his neck.

When he was finally able to plant his feet on the floor, he stood up. He put the pistol under his armpit and grabbed the wire wrapped around his throat. He took a step back and steadied himself, taking the control away from the woman. He then swiftly bent over, her grip so strong that she followed the wire and was thrown to the ground in front of Connor.

He didn’t mean to. He just wanted to survive. He didn’t even think when he brought his shoe down on her neck, the crack of her neck echoed in the chamber. Along with Allen’s scoff.

Allen.

Connor turned and saw Allen pulling his gun from his back. The rifle shined in the overhead light. His breath caught in his throat and Connor knew he wouldn’t survive that.

The blue pixels crawled once more.

A box on Allen’s head, another on the gun, and the last in between his legs

The box on his head saw that Connor took the pistol he tucked and put a bullet in his skull. That would cause too much noise. He’ll be rushed by someone outside.

The box on the gun had him reach for it, but Allen would shoot. Even if the bullet didn’t get to him, someone outside would be alerted, same with if he shot the man.

Lastly, his leg. Connor’s copy kicked the captain’s knees in, making him fall to the ground. He then stomped on the man’s neck, just as he did Mara.

Connor rushed forward, bringing his knee to his chest once more and flew his foot into Allen’s right knee. The man yelped and fell to the ground. There, Connor stomped on the man’s neck. Allen’s eyes traced the room frantically before finally going still.

It was like a gun went off with all of the ringing going on in his brain.

Connor grabbed the pistol from underneath his armpit and walked towards the door. He put his ear on the metal door.

Nothing.

Connor’s eye twitched.

The room was soundproof.

He cursed under his breath. He could’ve just shot them and been down. Connor shook his head.

Connor slowly opened the door, his grip on the pistol likely making thirium flow under his fingers.

“Cap-“ Connor put a bullet through the man’s head. He walked to the corpse and looked around.

No footsteps. No one was around.

Connor took the man’s clothes and put them on. He took another breath before pulling the visor of the helmet down. He spoke, imitating the dead man’s voice

He walked down the hall, pistol in hand and a rifle on his back.

He reached the elevator after only seeing around fifteen other soldiers. He greeted them all with his stolen voice. When the elevator asked for identification, he used the voice again.

He shook his head as he exited the elevator. He took one step, then two, then red was flashing across the pristine pearly white walls. He rushed toward the door. It was so close! Only a few feet away! He could get out of here!

Shots rang behind him and he watched a barrier start to crawl down the exit door. “Lockdown commencing. No officer is authorized to exit the facility at this moment,” a woman’s voice carried through the intercom.

The door was glass. The door was glass. The door was glass. The door was glass.

Connor crashed into the glass door shoulder first. It was tempered glass, likely bulletproof glass. Thirium rushed down his, definitely dislocated, shoulder, but he kept moving his legs.

The thirium leaking from his shoulder had begun to drip down his fingers when he reached his destination.

It wasn’t a luxurious house. One floor, painted terribly off white, and not too big. But this was a house he knew. And Connor found himself praying that this could be him home.

He knocked on the front door. A dog barked on the other side of the door. He heard the dogs paws on the kitchen tiles.

Connor knocked again, tears streaming down his face. “Please Lieutenant,” he rested his head against the door and whispered.

The doorknob clicked and the door opened. Connor fell forward and met carpeted floor.

“Jesus!” Connor used his uninjured arm to push himself up.

“Hank?”

“C’mon kid,” Hank groaned, looping his arms under Connor’s unharmed shoulder and helped him to his feet. Connor leaned on the wall next to the door, the bronze hook right next to his ears.

The old man looked outside, looking right, then left, then right again, before shutting the door and locking every lock. He wrapped Connor’s good arm around his shoulders and led him to his couch.

Thirium level dangerous, blinked in front of the TV.

“Alright! Now what the fuck happened to you?” Hank barely raised his voice. He was angered, but he didn’t put a hurting hand on Connor.

“Markus shot me.”

“He what!” Hank turned to the television, its embers emitting enough light to make the entire living room visible without any other help.

On the TV, they were showing a circle made up of miscellaneous things. Cars, wooden crates, it was all covered in pasty white snow. “He said that I wasn’t worth the risk.

Warning!

Thirium level dangerous!

Hank took a breath and sat next to Connor. “Well, it looks like whatever Markus does decides if you’re staying here or not.”

“What?”

Hank turned to Connor. “Listen, I’m not heartless, yeah? I’m not gonna make ya walk outta here just to- what?- get shot?” Hank shrugged his shoulders then pointed to the television. “If he gets his shit together, then I’m sure you can walk outside without dying.”

Thirium level dangerous! Seek repair!

“That’s nice of you, Lieutenant.” Connor slouched backwards on the couch and shut his eyes. “That’s awfully generous of you.”

Hank scoffed. “Yeah, don’t get used to it.”

Shutting down in 5:34.

“Thank you for everything.”

Hank shot up and Connor’s eyes opened once more. “You’re getting shit all over my couch!” Hank sped off somewhere, Connor’s eyes followed him as he opened up a closet in the hallway to his room. Metal fell to the foot, bringing a rambunctious clang! with it. Hank stormed away from the closet after leaving it a few curses.

He carried a roll of black in his hand and a gray bag that seemed to pulse a light blue. “I’m gonna patch that up real quick.”

“Lieutenant, you are aware that my surface is not made out of adhesive, correct?”

“Listen,” Hank leaned down over Connor, blocking Markus’s demonstration with his body. “Duct tape fixes everything. You’ll learn soon enough.” Hank stuck the end of the tape where the rift between Connor’s shoulder and arm were supposed to meet and began wrapping the roll around the injury.

Shutting down in 4:43.

One side of Connor’s lips quirked upward. “Everything?”

“Yep,” Hank said, his eyebrows scrunched as he worked with the tape. “At least for the meantime. When you’re not openly a fugitive anymore, then we’ll take off the duct tape and you can get repaired.”

Connor nodded, watching the roll circle his broken arm again and again.

Hank ripped the tape after the twelfth circle and patted it on the surrounding tape. “That’ll do it.” He stepped back, admiring his work.

Shutting down in 1:22.

“C’mon, drink up.” Hank reached the grey packet out to Connor. Connor saw that it wasn’t actually gray, just a navy blue. He gingerly took the packet out of Hank’s hand and downed the thirium inside.

Thirium level medium, shut down cancelled.

Connor sighed, what he knew was relief flooded his system. “Thank you.”

#the shady lad writes #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #dbh hank #dbh #dbh markus #detroit become human #detroit: become human #detroit: bh #dbh fanfic #dbh fic #detroit become human fic #hank anderson #NOT HANKCON #PLEASE DONT TAG IT AS SUCH #THATS HIS SON

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gooseygooseyartstuff · 5 months ago

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These were my entries to Pragmagik's Legendary Beast of every type contest, and while none of them made the cut, I still absolutely love each of the Pokemon I made for this challenge. You guys think maybe one or two of them should be Mulvera canon at some point? More details about these guys down below

(Top Left) Sodeshi, the Fighting Type Legendary beast and The Student Pokemon Sodeshi trains its body to be as focused as possible, to the point it keeps the bell on its head still through any movement. It aims to become as powerful as the legendary beasts through its own power. (Top Middle) Yokana, the Bug Type Legendary beast and The Nymph Pokemon Yokana, unlike the other legendary beasts, doesn't run around the regions for reasons unknown. It prefers to relax and take its time, and also use its tail as bait for fishing. (Top Right) Mesako, the Ground type Legendary beast and the Mesa Pokemon Mesako act's as Ho-Oh's keeper of knowledge and history. The many layers that make up its back are said to hold thousands of years of historical documents that only Ho-oh can read. (Mid Left) Nekorei, the Ghost type Legendary beast and The Wandering Soul Pokemon Nekorei was once a great ally and friend of Ho-Oh who perished in a tragic accident. Nekorei was born from the soul of the fallen pokemon, following Ho-oh's trail as it questions why Ho-Oh failed to revive it like it did with the pokemon in the Burnt Tower (Center) Fafkishi, The Dragon Type Legendary beast and The Wyrm Pokemon Fafkishi radiates powerful Draconic energy, leaping across the land in a red blur so fast that people believe it flies. People leave it gifts of metals that it adores in return for its protection. It's believed Fafkishi represents the Legend that the Burnt Tower's tale became. (Mid Right) Nomizen, The Poison Type Legendary Beast and the Plague Bringer Pokemon Nomizen is said to spread tragedy like a plague, seeping a poison into the earth so great and terrible people akin it to liquid misery. It's long dirty fur collects and sheds toxic flakes. It's believed to be a representation of the tragedy itself of the Tower, though no one is sure if Nomizen is actually to blame. (Bottom Left) Kumoyo, The Flying type Legendary Beast and the Serene Night Pokemon Kumoyo dashes across the tops of clouds at night, often being seen as a soft light through the sky. Kumoyo is said to represent the peaceful night after the fire was put out, and as a sign from Ho-Oh that tragedies do eventually end. (Bottom Middle) Caitshi, the Rock Type Legendary Beast and the Valorant Pokemon Some stories say that the stones on Caitshi's back each represent a fallen warrior. Caitshi was brought to life from the soul of a hero after the original trio, to act as a guardian of the weak and as a thank you to those who helped save others during the Burning of the Brass Tower. (Bottom Right) Korosei, the Steel Type Legendary Beast and the Quicksilver Pokemon Korosei is a somber pokemon, dripping with mercury that flows along its back. It was born from the melted metal remains of the tower, as well as the sorrow of those left behind in the blaze. It has no ill will, however, as it has no anger. All it seeks to be is remembered and known.

#Pokemon #Pokemon Fanart #legendary beasts #steel type #poison type #flying type #rock type #ground type #fighting type #bug type #ghost type #legendary pokemon #Mulvera region #I love all these guys #but Nomizen has my heart cause that face #he got that goof in him #yeah I forgot the type symbols for Caitshi and yokana #but I speedran some of these guys lol #HONK

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sweet-self-indulgence · 6 months ago

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Bleeding Out Part 2

The first chapter is here.

I really liked the first part of the prompt, but it didn't feel very Sam x Mika since he was unconscious the whole time.

Part 2 is from Sam's perspective!

Warning for graphic depictions of pain, blood, and gore.

They had been winning the fight handily at first, but those damned devils are dragging this out. Sam can sense it, the turning of the tide, and it’s not in their favor. It’s time to get out, now. He signals his brothers. James meets his eyes with a firm nod and Erik reciprocates the hand sign without taking his eyes off his opponents.

Sam’s eyes flick over the carnage, where did the runts get to-FUCK!

Sam speeds to intercept the devil poised to thrust an evil looking spear at Matthew and Damien’s unprotected backs. As he runs, he yanks on the red string tied to his finger.

Sam looks down to see metal protruding from his chest. I must have made it in time, are his last thoughts before darkness consumes him.

Pain.

Agony is the only sensation, the only thought. Pain consumes Sam’s entire being. It has no location, no feeling. Some kind of instinct kicks in and Sam tries to move, to escape, to fight.

Suddenly the word is darkness again.

Then for a few moments, Sam exists in a twilight of consciousness. Pain radiates from his abdomen. It burns white-hot and fierce, but it feels distant somehow. Other feelings tug at his senses. Crimson magic pulls at his organs, stitching a barrier around the fire. Blue and purple auras flicker to his left, they seem brittle from fatigue and anxiety. Black energy swirls around his head, it seems to grow weaker and weaker. The shadow over him briefly lifts and Sam moans as the pain becomes tangible again. Then the black tendrils drift back into his mind, they shimmer with golden flecks that bring a comforting warmth. Darkness slowly overtakes him, and Sam relaxes into it.

The scent of blood startles Sam into awareness. He focuses on the scent, demon blood. Sam’s eyes snap open. The world rotates wildly for a second before snapping into place. A hand comes up to hold his throbbing head, horns? Shit.

He looks around the room, craning his neck as much as his horns will allow him. At one end of the room Matthew and Damien lie in a heap on the sofa. Matthew has dried blood caked on his shoulder. Sam can just make out red hair matted with blood tucked into Matthew’s elbow. Behind him James’ head rests on his shoulder as he sits slumped in an armchair. In the matching chair, Erik’s head falls behind him at an awkward angle. His right hand is covered in flaking blood.

Sam struggles to make sense of the sight, something seems off, but his brain feels sluggish. Pieces slowly click into place. We’re in our demon forms, which is weird cause we’re in the human world. All the blood is dry, hours old. Why is there blood? The fight…Sam looks down at his chest and frowns at the white gauze wrapped around his ribs.

Mika’s head and hands lay by his side. Sam’s heart flutters a little as he gazes at her sleeping face. She’s beautiful, even with her hair and cheeks smudged with blood. My blood, Sam realizes, she worries so much about me. I should let her know I’m okay.

As Sam opens his mouth, Mika opens her eyes, and her face takes his breath away. He can feel a goofy smile pulling at his lips.

“You all look like shit.”

As if his words were some kind of spell, the room suddenly buzzes with activity. His brothers swarm around him, asking him and each other a million questions that Sam can’t seem to fully understand. His attention is focused on Mika. She’s grasping his hand with tears in her eyes.

Shit I made her cry again! Sam tries to sit up and pull her into his arms, but he only moves a few inches before blinding pain sucks him back into unconsciousness.

The next time Sam opens his eyes the world comes into focus more easily. He’s lying in bed in what used to be his room. Mika is slumped in a chair pushed right next to the bed. Her hand is limp in one of his own, he can feel the faintest trickle of energy flowing between them. Sam quickly cuts the connection. That was stupid, she could get seriously hurt letting me drain her like that.

Sam opens his mouth to ask her but only a rasping sound comes out. His tongue feels impossibly dry. He notices a bowl of half-melted ice chips and shoves a few in his mouth. As he lets the melting ice soothe his throat, he ponders the feeling of the spells holding his insides together, must’ve been cursed or something.

After the second handful of ice Sam’s mouth finally feels normal enough to swallow a sip of water. His empty stomach cramps painfully around the scant bit of liquid. Sam grimaces and forces himself to take two more slow swallows.

He replaces the now-empty bowl on the side table and starts testing his extremities. He had no problems moving his head and arms just then. His legs feel stiff, but otherwise fine. Sam clenches his core experimentally. A dull pain reminds him of the exact shape of the spear that stabbed him, but honestly his stomach feels worse.

Sam swings his feet to the floor and succeeds in hoisting himself out of bed quietly enough not to disturb the sleeping human. He wobbles dangerously on his first few steps but manages to adjust to the weakness in his knees so that he shuffles fairly efficiently across the room.

Thud.

Sam hisses as the unexpected impact of his horns on the doorframe sends a wave of pain to his head. He sighs and twists his broad horns through the doorway.

Damien suddenly skids into the hall. His eyes look frantic, and his hair is sticking up on one side, but he has enough energy to glamor, Sam notes with relief. Damien dashes at his brother but stops two inches shy of crashing into him. He drops his forehead onto Sam’s shoulder. Sam wraps one arm around his brother and uses the other to smooth his bedhead, It’s alright, bubs. I’m okay.

Damien shakes his head, and Sam can feel tears on his chest. He tilts his neck to smoosh his cheek into the top of Damien’s head. Stop being a dumbass! We were all getting our asses kicked! You can repay me by helping me get some fucking food.

A wet chuckle bubbles out from Damien. He guides Sam’s arm over his shoulders and helps him shuffle down the stairs. They find James and Matthew at the dining room table, also back in their human forms.

“You’re up! And I’ll bet you’re hungry!”, Matthew’s darting into the kitchen before Sam can even nod.

Sam collapses into chair across from James and manages to rasp around the hoarseness in his voice, “Update?”

James looks at Damien who runs off the to kitchen before responding, “You’ve been mostly unconscious since the fight a little over two days ago. The devil syndicate is still a problem, but likely not an imminent threat. Erik, Damien, Matthew, and I received only minor injuries. Mika is unharmed. We are all recovering from critically low energy, though.”

A glass of water slides into Sam’s hands and he thanks Damien silently while slowly sipping from it. “So, why’d you let Mika give energy to an unconscious Incubus?”, Sam’s voice sounds almost normal now and James does not miss the danger in his tone.

Exhaustion is abruptly apparent on James’ face as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, “Believe me, I tried to explain the risks, but the lady insisted.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, he’d never seen James fail to convince anyone of something important. She must have ‘insisted’ pretty violently. I’d give anything to have seen that! Sam huffs a laugh and immediately regrets it as the dull pain in his chest becomes sharp.

“Don’t go pulling your stitches!” Erik chides as he slides into a seat next to Sam.

“Stiches?” Sam glances down at his demonic body. He quite literally does not have a stitch of clothing on.

“It’s a human expression. But a web of spells is the only thing keeping your blood on the inside until you have enough energy to heal properly…” Erik trails off as he checks on the spells with gently fingers strumming lightly over Sam’s bandaged torso.

Just as he nods in satisfaction, Matthew places a large pizza on the table. “Should I reheat another if everyone’s up?”

“That’s not a bad idea, Matthew. I’ll go see if Mika wants to join us.”, James offers before quickly disappearing up the stairs.

“Sorry it’s leftovers, but I figured fast and filling would be better for now. And-and I’ll cook something fresh for dinner in a few hours. But we’ve just been ordering food while we get our energy up and—”

“C’mere” Sam interrupts Matthew’s rambling.

Once he gets within range, Sam snares Matthew in a one-armed headlock.

“Hey!”

“See? I can still kick your ass, so stop acting like a weird-o”

Matthew escapes Sam’s clutches with a wide grin plastered across his face, “You’re the weird-o!” He gives Sam’s arm a playful smack before retreating to the kitchen.

“What did I just tell you!” Erik hisses, “Don’t over-do it!”

Sam only shrugs as he begins stuffing pizza into his mouth.

James rejoins the group with Mika in his arms. She quickly clambers out of them when she lays eyes on Sam. She shoves her face into his neck and wraps her arms around his shoulders. He can feel her breath shuddering as she tries not to cry, “Hey, no need to be dramatic, doofus!”

“Dramatic?!” Mika draws back to look at Sam with mock indignation, “You’re the one who’s been sleeping all day like some kind of freeloader!” She sniffles and quickly wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

Sam grins and ruffles her hair. Mika grins back at him and grabs a slice of pizza.

For a few minutes everyone is quiet while they refuel with warm, cheesy goodness. Sam is disappointed in the effects of the food on his body. Instead of feeling his energy increase, his insides seem to move and shift uncomfortably.

Sam instinctively moves his hand to his bandages as the discomfort morphs into a dull ache. When he pulls his hand back, his palm is red with blood. “Shit.”

Mika darts off in a flash. Mere seconds later, the dining room dissolves as Sam materializes in the bedroom. Mika pushes him to sit on the bed.

“Hey, call someone else to get some help—”, Sam starts to complain. But as he notices Mika’s swift, practiced movements his, stomach churns for a different reason. Sam watches Mika’s face as she applies a clean bandage. She’s disturbingly calm, but there’s a slight pinch of worry around her eyes. How often has she had to do this?

“I’m so sorry”, he whispers.

Mika’s breath hitches. She finishes the final few wraps. As she smooths her hands gently over the new bandage, a sob wrenches itself from her body. Her hand flies to her mouth as tears squeeze from her eyes.

Sam feels his heart clench in his chest. He pulls Mika to sit next to him and leans his forehead down to hers. He cries with her, breathing shakily into the narrow space between their faces. His hands come up to cup her cheeks. His thumbs carefully wipe away each tear that falls.

#seduce me otome #seduce me the otome #seduce me #seduceme #sam anderson #seduce me fanfiction #sam x mika #fanfiction

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