#where he gets kidnapped and tortured by samael

[stvivi]

who in the shadowhunter chronicles has suffered the most and why is it simon?

[nyantry]

Background - Significant Threads

If you're new here - or if you're old here but like season recaps - then boy do I got a treat for ya! Here's Nico and Dmitry's background, in the form of links to threads. Note that you'll have to hunt through my blog, since the blogs I'm replying to are gone. That's mostly fine though! I'm gonna try to save stuff to the Wayback Machine in the future to prevent this problem. No promises though.

Timeline (Chronological)

Teen Nico meets Luka, Dmitry's other identity. [ X ]

Luka meets Nico's bandmates - including Billie, who is actually Murmur in disguise. Yikes! [ X ]

Luka meets Nico's foster family - a ton of cool people. Forever in Luka/Dmitry's heart. [ X ]

Nico and Dmitry meet, talking about Sharknado of course. [ X ]

Dmitry is kidnapped by Dr. Jenner Chernabog, from Hell. In this one, Dmitry dies and his mission is given to him by the Archangel Samael: to save Nico the halfling. Dmitry accepts, unable to bear the thought of abandoning Nico. Additionally, Nico's wings are amputated, Dmitry's corpse's wings are grafted on as a replacement, and Ophelia (formerly Jack the Ripper) replaces Nico's heart with that of Dmitry's corpse's. Dmitry and Nico are now forever bound to each other. [ X | cw: torture ]

The graveyard thing, where Nico and Dmitry's soul are actually frankentied to each other's. Now they share one composite soul, an action that cannot be undone, even though both Heaven and Hell find it blasphemous. [ X | A ]

Context behind one of Nico's more important Hell trips - and one of the conversations Dmitry (in retrospect) found most pivotal. Something about how Nico sees & appreciates him sunk in. [ X ]

Rescuing Nova, Nico's mom. Super important. [ X ]

A wedding! It's a day for a glorious wedding! We never got around to the writing of it, but probably in a flashback thread later on, don't worry! Still, Nadya (Dmitry's mom) finds out he's alive, after all, and that he's getting married. This link is somewhere in the middle of the reblogs, sorry. [ X ]

Okay, so maybe Dmitry did actually steal a penguin. But in his defense, Gary is adorable, how could he not? [ X ]

Jovan died, oops. Actually, Nico killed Dmitry's friend Jovan. Bigger oops. Inspired by Freaky Friday. [ X ]

Dmitry shares his suicide note in his journal, for only Nico to see. Deeply personal. [ X ]

An unfortunate body switch between Nico and Luka, ending in Murmur getting involved, Dmitry technically dying, and an intoxicating soul-swimming session. [ X ]

And now we're here, four years later, after arguments about Nico's involvement with Murmur and Hell, and Dmitry feeling guilty about... a lot. [ X ]

Alternate Timelines

A - In another timeline, things don't go well. Nico steals Dmitry's corpse, Dmitry tries to get him back. Nico is too far in his delusions to let go of the corpse. [ X | #v: under the ash ]

B - Dmitry, as a 17yo, not dead yet, meets Bayden at a psychiatric facility, after murdering his father. [ X | #v: slit throat therapy ]

C - Hogwarts AU! Dmitry is a Ravenclaw, Nico is a Slytherin, they're both teens. Unfortunately, I'm working on tagging these posts, but probably if you search "Not Winston" it'll show up. [ X | #v: erised]

[ @iconoclast-infidels ]

[awesomerextyphoon]

Slit Reflection

This is my entry for @jtargaryen18​​’s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. Mine was Sam Wilson. Credit for dividers goes to @firefly-graphics​. Check them out!

Summary: You’ve always loved Halloween, especially the haunted house at the edge of the woods. So happens when the ‘Star Spangled Trio’ enters the mix?

Pairing: Demon King!Sam Wilson x  Black!Reader (Fem)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 3,054

Warning: Kidnapping, Forced Marriage, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Stalking, Breeding Kink, Mentions of Torture, and Non-Con/Dub-Con Smut. You have been warned.

Back to Masterlist

You’ve always loved Halloween. It was your birthday and the haunted house at the edge of the woods gave the best spooks and thrills. It was your first Halloween after undergrad and this year was different.

The Star Spangled Trio were celebrity guests and they were bringing two of the old rooms back!

It took you six days to get a ticket. You tried getting one online, every shop in town, but got nothing.

Finally, a new face at the library took pity on you and gave you the last ticket along with a book on demon folklore. You thanked the new librarian and rushed out of the building. Had you looked back you would’ve noticed a smirk on their face and their sclera and pupils turning black and gold respectively.

Halloween—the day of your birth—was here, and it was shit. Your toothbrush broke, your car refused to start, the job that you desperately wanted was dashed by yet another rejection email, and both your student loan and rent checks bounced. You just need to get through today.

You missed the cutoff, but got in because the person working the line was a family friend. Anxiously, you wait in line wondering how the haunted house in your small ass town managed to nab the Star Spangled Trio when you noticed the excited expressions of the people leaving. Now you’re super anxious.

By the time you entered the haunted house, you’re doing the breathing exercises to calm yourself. This was it! You were finally going to meet your all time heroes (and possible spank bank entries)!

The first few rooms were your typical haunted house fare which you loved, but were secondary to your excitement in seeing your heroes. Maybe you could get an autograph and hug from them!

You were about to follow the person in front of you into the haunted house’s hospital room when you noticed a light flickering to your left. It revealed a door done in the Neo-classical design with some Latin text engraved in the middle (had you studied Latin , you would’ve known that the text read “Reveal yourself, my beloved”).

Opening the door, you saw that it lead to the Hall of Mirrors. This part of the haunted house was always a favorite of yours, but both the itinerary and the ticket worker said that it was closed this year. The hall itself was chillingly quite and pristine as if no one else had stepped foot inside this season.

All of the mirrors looked standard for the haunted house; some of them made you laugh or briefly catch your breath. The one at the end of the hall caught you off-guard. It was at least 12ft (about 3.66m) high with intricate carvings of characters out of dark folklore and a single diagonal slit.

You were about to turn away when you saw nothing thinking it was a small haunted house joke at your expense when the mirror flashed.

In your place was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, but it still looked like you..sort of. Your hair was long, luxurious and gently flowing. Your eyebrows, eyelashes, and nails were immaculate. Your nose was adorably broad and your lips were sensually full (the type of full women would shell hundred’s if not thousands of dollars for). You wore a diadem with thick gold chains ladened with diamonds, onyx, and rubies and around your neck was a ruby and onyx amulet. You were dressed in a loose, yet sleeveless form-fitting Vivaldi red gown with hints of fiery red and a thin rosewood colored shoulder veil connected to the dress by a ruby broach in the middle of your cleavage.

You looked about four or five inches taller and the mirror version of you made you feel nervous about your curves being out on display.

Curious, you reached out to touch the mirror. Your hand was less than a centimeter away when your mirrored self opened it eyes. Suddenly, it grew curved horns and its eyes glowed pale gold.

The mirrored version of you grabbed your outstretched arm and dragged you through the mirror all while you screamed hoping someone would come to your rescue, but to no avail.

Samael, or ‘Sam’ was notified of your departure and the trio had to excuse themselves from the festivities to congratulate Sam on finding his bride.

You woke up with a start and shout clawing the air but stopped once you realized that you weren’t falling anymore. Instead, you were in a huge, opulent room filled with treasures that not even Windsor Castle had. Curiosity seemed to have taken hold of you because you walked out onto the connecting balcony to find that you were on a different planet/dimension/realm, whatever!

There were floating landmasses (the smallest of which was the size of your small town) and five planets ranging from Moonbow Gold to Venetian Red in color.

You thought about where the fuck you were and how you could get back home when a voice interrupted your thoughts.

The source of the voice was a demon with Antique Ruby skin with reddish gray undertones and Cinnabar and Rosewood colored hair. She had two short outward curved horns with a gold chain and aquamarine teardrop connecting them. Her eyes were an inviting aqua blue eyes with a dark red sclera.

“Hello! My name is Scheherazade, but you can call me Sherry. I’m your Lady in Waiting. I’ve brought some food.” Sherry offered as she set the tray of food on a small table next to a dresser.

You smiled cautiously at your new elevated handmaiden,”Do you know why I’m-”

“Oh, I almost forgot! We need to get you ready for your presentation!”

The Fuck?!

“What do you mean ‘presentation’?,” you asked as nicely as possible, but reality came out more like a demand.  

Sherry stopped her ministrations and faced you,”Well, when the monarch, crown prince, or princess declares their mate, they are presented to the royal court,” she then returned to her task of finding a suitable dress for you not catching the mortified expression on your face.

This day can’t get any worse. Wait?

“What time is it?”

“Oh, yes, It’s pretty much always night here. The sun only comes out for three hours. Would you look at the time! Everyone’s waiting!”

“One last question,” you started as Sherry began dressing you,”Who am I marrying?”

“Why my second cousin, King Samael, one of the Three Demon Kings,  of course!”

You fought the impulse to faint.

It took thirty minutes for Sherry to make you look unrecognizable. Thankful for her assistance, you followed the floating torches to the throne room. The throne room was an enormous room with high wide vaulted arches, delicately carved pillars and columns, and a small bridge connecting the ground at the door to the center. The court comprised of beautiful yet fearsome demons of all shapes and sizes.

The king himself was seated on a grand, ornate throne atop a huge dais with at least 25 steps. He seemed familiar.

As soon as you were passed the threshold, the king raised his head and everyone stopped talking and cleared a path for you. Several courtiers whispered as you striddled towards the dais. When you finally reached the dais, the king got off his throne and walked down the steps to greet you.

You almost face-palmed. The king was Sam Wilson! Or at least, looked like him.  

Sam for his part was devastatingly handsome. He had a tall, powerful build, broad shoulders, bulging biceps, muscular thighs, short well-kept hair and beard with surprisingly kind eyes.  

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” Sam uttered as he pulled you in for a hug. You could’ve sworn he sniffed your hair, but you didn’t want to go into that right now.

“Everyone!” The court turned to the throne,” Thank you for coming. I have finally found my bride. We will be married tomorrow night!” Sam exclaimed to thunderous cheers and applause. He slipped on a magnificent ruby and diamond engagement ring with a black gold band.

You could not believe this, “I can’t-,” you started, but Sam discreetly grabbed your wrist, “Pre-wedding jitters,” and led you to a side room.

You expected him to hit or yell at you like so many other royals in a similar setting, but instead he gave a sad smile and asked if you were truly happy in your old life. You thought about your crushing debt, little to no job prospects, both parents dead, no friends and you had to admit your life did suck, but he didn’t get to decide.

Disappointed, Sam casted a small compliance spell and pulled you in for a kiss. Your pupils blew out in lust and you lost yourself. When he finally decided to break for air, Sam stated that you will be his bride and he will not be denied any longer. You smiled and gave him a short but passionate kiss. He moaned but had to end it before he went too far.

Tomorrow night he promised himself.

He quickly called for Sherry to return you  to your quarters.

Sherry woke you up the next ‘morning’ with a small army of beauty experts and maids.

“Rise and shine, Your Grace! We’ve got a bride to present!” Sherry proclaimed.

Damn it! It wasn’t a nightmare.

They managed to stuff you into a marvel of a wedding dress. It was a Torch Red long-sleeved mermaid wedding dress with soft yet detailed lace work made to look like an enchanted forest, diamond, dark ruby and pearl beads, and a floor length train. On your head was a black gold spiked sunburst goddess with deep ruby roses and a simple ruby teardrop chain that rested on your forehead, the ends of which were wrapped around your horns.

“Not even Lilith could compare, Your Grace!” Sherry gushed at her handiwork.

The wedding procession and ceremony was done in a swift fashion as Sam didn’t want to wait much longer. The vows were short as well. You wanted to object, call for help, anything but a voice in the back of your mind beat you to it.  

A couple hours into the wedding festivities, Sam announced that it was time for he and his new queen to retire and led you to his quarters. It’s the fanciest suite you’ve ever seen dripping with luxurious reds, violets, and obsidian.

In all your awing of Sam’s quarters, you failed to notice him approaching you in only a simple loose shirt and trousers. He gently put his hands on your exposed shoulders,”Alone at last, my love.”

You recoiled, “Can’t we wait for a few days? It’s just…” you trailed off as soon as his jovial expression vanished replaced with something darker and hungrier.

“I’ve waited for so long to have you here with me, love,”  Sam confessed while you moved towards the exit,”and I will not be denied any longer!”

In an instant, Sam pulled you in for a demanding kiss. He pushed his tongue past your lips moaning when your tongue tepidly danced with his own and from the sweet taste of your mouth. He pushed you onto a bed that had to three times the size of a California King and his lips moved jaw and neck, egged on by needy whimpers and moans.

He took his time ripping off your gown, enjoying the view like a child on Christmas, ”Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Utter perfection,” Sam murmured as he watched your breasts bounced free. He alternated between sucking and pinching your nipples with his hands and mouth,”I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he whispered in your left ear and he continued to play with your breasts like a concert-level musician. All the while moaned and cried out feeling pleasure you never thought possible.

Once satisfied with his handiwork with your chest, Sam’s hands roamed over your stomach and hips followed by strategically placed butterfly kisses that made you squirm. He tore off the last of your wedding gown causing you to hiss at the sudden sensation of cold air touching your pussy.

You used your last bit of willpower to plead, “Please stop! I’ve never-,” Sam stopped and raised his head to look at you.

“I know, love. I’ll be your first and only,” and with that, he gives your folds one long, slow lick and growled at your sweet and tangy taste, “I’ve wondered how you’d taste. You’re even better than the best Kharian wine. I could get used to this.”

He dove back in and played your pussy for all it was worth. His tongue worked its magic stroking and circling your clit sending you higher and higher into euphoria. Sam kept you right on the edge of an orgasm, just enough to beg for release.

“Say you’re mine!,” you mewled in response, to blissed out to use words. “Say it or I’ll leave!”

“Please let me cum, My King!” you cried out when he thrusted two fingers into your pussy.

“That’s a good girl. Now,”Sam started as he vigorously rubbed your pussy,”cum for me, love.”

Your orgasm came like a tsunami and Sam made sure finish his feast.

You got out of your post-oral haze to see Sam looming over in all his naked glory. His body must’ve been made by the gods because it was divine. His frame was an ode to sexiness wrapped in sinful warm sepia skin.

Sam caught you biting your lower lip and cocked his head, “Like what you see?”

Damn that cocky bastard, but damn if he wasn’t right. Part of you wanted to fuck his brains out…and that was before you saw his cock. Standing proud and erect with angry veins, his cock had to be the biggest you’ve ever seen (not like you had much exposure, just a few pornos).

Sam crawled up to you, lifted your chin and gave a soft kiss on the lips sensing your unease, “Relax, love,” He then lined his cock to your entrance and slid in as gently as he could.

You hissed from the pain, he was just so damn big. Sam praised you on how well you fit around him like ‘you were made for him’. Once the pain subsided, you bucked your hips into his causing him to moan at the sensation. He smiled at your eagerness and picked up the pace, making his thrusts come out to just the tip was in you and slamming back into you. You cried out his name each time he filled you to the hilt, pleading with him to go faster. Soon he reached your G-Spot causing to orgasm again, this time with you crossing your eyes and coming with a squirt.

Not too long after your second orgasm, Sam came with an otherworldly roar and glowing bright gold eyes shooting rope after rope of thick cum into your womb. He then flipped you onto your stomach and forced you onto your hands and knees so that he could take you from behind.

He got ten orgasms from you, each one more mind-blowing than the last. Once he was satisfied, he let you sleep.

“Soon you will be round with my seed, and we will have many children. I can’t wait.”

Ah hour after you closed your eyes, Sam left his, now yours, quarters. “Make sure she doesn’t leave,” he orders the guards although, he’s confident that she’s not going anywhere with the way he hammered her.

He strode down the corridors until he reached the dungeon. There, he found a rather nice looking apartment-style cell with only one prisoner, your mother.

“I’ve taken your daughter. Do you want to see her before you go?”

You see, Samael, Mikael (Bucky), and Stelios (Steve) were demon warlords who began conquering kingdoms left and right 1200yrs ago. They fought their way to the last free kingdom, Kharan. By the time your grandparents were brought before them, they had killed your uncle, the heir to the throne. The king and queen begged for their lives and the kingdom to be spared.

The trio agreed on one condition: if the next child the queen bears is a girl, then she would be Sam’s mate (Mikael and Stelios already had mates).

The king reluctantly agreed. The queen gave birth four months later to a girl, but she was in demon form. The queen had two of her most trusted attendants spirit the child away to another realm and raised her as their own.

Sam had your grandparents slaughtered and razed Kharan to the ground for their trickery. No matter, he was immortal. He would bide his time.

Eventually, your mother was told about her true parentage and form. She learned to control her powers, found love and she too was with child.

Sam found her a week before she went into labor and said that it was time to collect. She promised you in her stead immediately in hopes that it would buy her some time.

It did. She was able to pass you, a cambion, off to a friend of hers who wanted a child but couldn’t conceive and gave Sam a fake baby. He had your mother thrown into the dungeons.

Sam searched for you, but discovered that your mother put a cloaking spell on you. So, he approached your mother with a deal: her freedom for you becoming his mate.

It took your mother three years of torture for her to say yes.

Once the spell was lifted, Sam went to work. He made sure your adopted parents had a little ‘accident’ when you were old enough to take care of yourself, made sure that no one would want to hire you, and saddled you with debt. He even got Mikael and Stelios to pose as ‘The Star Spangled Trio’ with him to finally get you to the Hall of Mirrors.

Your mother bowed her head in shame, “No. It’s best for her to believe that I don’t exist.”

Sam unlocked the cell door with a simple spell, “You’re free to go. Have a nice life,” and returned to his quarters to be with his mate and queen.

Your mother took one last look at the palace,”I’m sorry, my little moon and stars,” and disappeared into the night.

Taglist: @jtargaryen18​ @threeminutesoflife​​ @giorno-plays-piano​ @lookiamtrying​ @sherrybaby14​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @life-of-yn​ @mcudarklibrary​ @marvelfansworld​ @imdarkinme​ @sapphirescrolls​ @samingtonwilson​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @pseudonymphet​ @dahkness​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @golden-ariess​ @chixkencxrry​ @anyatheladyclown​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @saint-bvcky​ @cherienymphe​ @iguessweallcrazyithinktho​ @cockslut-padalecki​

[blinded-and-bloody]

Safety is Nonexistent

[ NOV/DEC WPC ]

Fandom : NA

Characters : Beck, Daniel, Legion

[ Beck and Legion were created by @mauismuses ]

Whump : Abuse [mentioned], Kidnapping, Stalking, Torture [mentioned]

Daniel was running as quickly as he could, which all in all wasn’t very quick. He wasn’t built for speed, he was built for dealing with emotions.

Daniel hadn’t been at all prepared for this run. Less than ten minutes ago he had been snuggled up on the couch with Beck, watching a movie. Then the electricity went out, the door banged open, and the smell of sulfur assaulted his nose.

Legion had found them, despite all of the safety guards they had put up, human and supernatural.

Daniel had watched Legion enter as though he were watching a movie, as though he wasn’t in danger. Before Legion could get out a word, Beck pushed him from the couch, and told him to run. From the living room, to the kitchen, to the backdoor Daniel ran, and now he’s running.

He isn’t sure where he’s going.

It’s cold for a Tennessee night, and it burns the Angel’s throat and lungs as he went.

Why had Daniel listened to Beck? He remembered the talk they’d had, where Beck told Daniel that the only time he had to listen to him was when there was danger, and Daniel had agreed with it at the time, but in hindsight it seemed ridiculous.

Daniel May have been tortured by Legion, but Beck’s body had been used to do it.

Daniel wanted to go back.

He didn’t, though. Instead, Daniel kept running, being careful not to run into any trees, until he came upon a house. No wonder he was so out of breath, he had just run a mile to the nearest house.

Afraid of the possibility of that Legion might be right behind him, Daniel didn’t even bother knocking, he just burst right in, ready to beg some shocked homeowners into for help, but instead the Angel ended up being the shocked one.

Every inch of every wall he could see was covered in pictures of himself, pictures that only Legion could have taken.

The showed the Angel in a variety of places, doing an array of things. Sleeping, being locked in the freezer, getting ready for the day, the Bathin incident (afterwards, when his makeup had already been screwed up). High, sober, going out to dinner, hanging onto Legion’s arm at a party. Some of them were recent, featuring Beck or places Daniel had been recently. He had just stumbled onto Legion’s hiding place, so close to the place Daniel thought he would be safe.

“What do you think?”

Daniel spun around, and there he was, face to face with Beck Legion. He had taken his vessel back, and it was obvious in the way he walked, in the way he smirked, in the way Beck’s hazel eyes had been replaced with Legion’s black ones.

“Well, Danny,” Legion said, stepping closer towards the Angel, “I’m waiting for an answer.”

Daniel took a few close steps back. No, there was no way he was going back to Hell. He and Beck were free and happy, he didn’t deserve this. They didn’t deserve this.

When Daniel finally did open his mouth, he began speaking an excorcism, which got the Angel pushed into a wall with a hand over his mouth.

“An exorcism, eh? I must say, I’m disappointed. What happened to your loyalty?”

I realized what you did was wrong.

But Lrgion didn’t care about his angel’s response. He wanted to bring them back home, so he could start to fix him.

In the blink of an eye, the two of them were gone.

[ @samael-has-arrived @itty-bitty-obsessions @animerose96 @fullonfandomfood @little-boyking @pendragon451 @jackwriteswhump @maui-writes-whump @theleastmemorablequeer @olidiavalree ]

[kristie-rp]

An Introduction to Demonology

triggers: implied abuse (physical, verbal, psychological), implied kidnapping (of a sort), violent witchcraft, protest, discriminatory/predatory behaviour, demons being weird

The marketplace of the first tier is crowded more often than not. The visitors who are natives to Hell knew how to navigate the winding passages between the stalls and storefronts, allowing the place to flow smoothly. Fights break out like twists in the rapids of a river, but the people continue to move, flowing on without interruption.

A group has built up around the base of the petrified tree standing in the middle of the market, not unlike algae pooling in a river. Demons are just as prone to uncertainty as any mortals, and it is for that reason that the Hegemony has become so popular.

“And worse, Satan himself has become weak – allowing one of the Kings to leave to be with a filthy human?”

A malformed demon with sigils etched over its’ skin laughs aloud, calling the attention of the speechgiver. “You can hardly pass judgement with your pet, Asmodeus.”

A woman in a ragged gown steps forward, pushing her husband aside. She crackles with visible black power, previously white skin shifting towards ash gray and charcoal. Her hair is poorly cared for, hacked into short clumps in a frustrated pique. “Have you something to say to me, Ninurta?”

The demon falters but grits its teeth. “Why should I be afraid of a good-for-nothing human?”

“Ha,” the woman breaths. She steps forward, reaching for Ninurta. Despite its’ efforts to resist, it is compelled to approach, one step, two step, dragging and halting – but still it ends with Priscilla resting a hand in the centre of its flattened head. “You shouldn’t, of course. It’s beneath you.” She murmurs something, a low chant that ends on a crescendo and a scream. Ninurta howls in pain and collapses to the ground in a helpless heap as Priscilla sneers above him. “But I am far from human now, and what I am is above the likes of you.”

She expects silent respect in the face of her show, but what happens instead involves a horrified gasp tearing through the crowd. It morphs into outrage quicker than she can react, and she looks around to find the origin of the disturbance. She finds it in the petrified wood, a small flower blossoming on the branch above her head.

Priscilla grits her teeth and curls her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms. She can feel magic pulse as she meets her husbands eye, and nods sharply to him. Asmodeus gestures behind the tree and reaches up to tear the bud from where it has grown, crushing it in his hand. Priscilla casts the spell she needs to to lock the problem away.

Everyone has a secret, if not more. Asmodeus and Priscilla are no different. They protect their secret as well-practiced experts, hiding it away from the world they prefer. The two are demonic in nature if not in species, a monster and the bride who exchanged her soul and freedom for power and an end to her humanity – and yet the two of them have managed to create a pure soul.

Any mixed breed child is a disaster in the making – a look at Paimon’s legacy can reveal that. Asmodeus is of the opinion that he has managed to create something worse. No self-respecting demon wants to lay claim to a pure soul, not as their own, not unless they can corrupt it. And despite their best efforts, they cannot corrupt Sarina. Her hair and skin remain a pristine, gleaming white, and her eyes continue to glow gold. Their daughter might have inherited her mothers’ jawline, but the picture she paints is of an angel at creation.

It’s almost more disgusting than a human.

Her saving grace thus far has been her power, and Priscilla’s insistence that if they teach her she has no choice, she will lean towards the darkness they revere. She’s a mixed brat, not quite half demon, a little over a tenth human, and the rest of her a witch, all contained within a twelve year old girl in a heavy black cloak.

“There must be a way to fix her,” Priscilla says, wringing her hands. Her brow is furrowed in concern, because in spite of everything, some maternal instinct remains in her. “Torture? Pain? What can we do?”

Asmodeus kicks the trunk she conjured sharply, and finds himself unsatisfied by the protesting squeak the load gives. He growls sharply, turns away.

“Perhaps it’s best to kill her,” his wife goes on. It’s a mistake; her comment captures his attention, and he grips her by the throat and lift her aloft. She claws ineffectively at his hand on her, and drops as he growls his fury and annoyance.

“Worthless whore – you gave me that abomination. I should burn the both of you and be done with it.”

He doesn’t, though. He never does. Priscilla is too powerful, and too much of a sign of prestige for him to give her up now. Few other demons have corrupted a human so thoroughly it no longer registers as human on any kind of scale, enough that they truly feel welcome in Hell. He casts her aside and she drifts harmlessly to the ground, magic powerful enough to react on instinct. Her throat is raw and she rubs it with black fingers, glaring at him as he approaches the trunk and tears it open. He drags Sarina out by the back of her neck, snarls in her battered face.

“What have we told you about using your disgusting powers?”

Sarina flinches back from the spittle that springs from his lips, and says nothing, as she has learned to do. It’s better not to complain aloud – better not to defend herself. That way, the demon that makes up her father is slightly less likely to beat her to the edge of death again.

She only wanted to float, the way her mother had. She hadn’t meant to make anything grow, to alert the entire marketplace that there was someone light-magic capable in their midst – hadn’t meant to ruin the rally her parents had been planning for ages.

But she had, and they weren’t going to listen to her complaints.

Better to grit her teeth and take it.

The plains are a frankly disturbingly barren realm. Nothing has ever grown in this place, and it’s ravaged by winds more at home on the windiest places of Earth than here, in the typically sheltered dimension that makes up Hell. The ground is cracked and dry, and pillars carved from stacked stones continue in seemingly random sequence into the distance. There is no doubt that the place is dead.

Ninurta has never felt welcome in this place, but it is where the only demon it trusts to fix the damage done to it presides.

“You reek of death,” is what the wind whispers to it as it pauses to catch its’ breath against one of the pillars.

“You say the nicest things,” it snaps back through a clenched jaw. It would try to sound more respectful to the King of this realm, only it remains in pain, and cannot open its’ maw.

The being it is here to see manifests on the other side of the pillar. He trails his fingers over the pillar as he leans around it, and the wind beating at the surrounding area fades away.

Samael is the King of this sector. He calls himself male and shifts skin on a whim. Today, he has a more demonic, monstrous form, something Ninurta is able to appreciate. Bone is held together with sinew, grey half-dead muscles in place impossibly, except down here, where every appearance is more than likely half an illusion. His head is a humanoid skull with no jaw, teeth hanging in jagged structures. It’s off putting – and it puts Ninurta at ease for the first time since that damned rally in the marketplace.

He says nothing as he grips Ninurta’s jaw, tilting it one way and the other as he considers the damage done. This is more standard than the greeting it received; for reasons that Ninurta has not been permitted to know, Samael is selectively mute, and, when he chooses to speak, it is on a breeze. A theory did the rounds half a millennia ago that the King cannot speak normally, as the rest of them generally do, but it has lost traction without Samael acknowledging it. It is difficult to pull emotion from a skull devoid of flesh, but Ninurta imagines this is an expression of concern. The theory is confirmed when Samael rests a skeletal hand on each of Ninurta’s shoulders, and vanishes them both in a twist of wind.

Samael, it seems, is calling a cavern home today. The pillars are visible from the entrance, arching into the distance. “What are they even for?” Ninurta asks. It doesn’t expect an answer, and doesn’t get one, not in a way that helps. The only response is a freshly conjured gust of wind buffeting the demon until it turns to settle on the floor of the cave. Samael smears a foul-smelling poultice over the parts of Ninurta that show damage; it seeps into its flesh and sooth the pain. As the process continues, Ninurta talks, explaining the scene at the marketplace. It isn’t until Samael stops moving, notably before the pain ends, that he glances at the King’s face. “What?”

Samael tilts his head, lifts a bony finger to tap at the space where his lips would be, if he’d elected to put on skin this morning. He gestures, twining his fingers in a particular way that Ninurta takes to mean he wants to touch on one of the things that have been described by him. “Rally,” it says, only to see the King shake his head. “Asmodeus. Priscilla. Attack. Life magic.”

Samael nods sharply, and resumes applying the poultice.

“I don’t know. Asmodeus and his whore both panicked when the flower bloomed; one of them destroyed it, she cast a spell. The crowd scattered, they hauled their trunk away, I dragged myself here because you’re the only capable healer in this damned place.” Samael frowns, or Ninurta imagines he does. “I don’t know what’s in the trunk. It’s probably a problem they haven’t bothered solving.”

The skull twitches, and Samael crouches to write letters in the dirt. Daughter, it spells out.

“Their daughter? No one’s seen her. In possibly... ever? Of course, no one would tell me if they did. Not today.”

Samael’s jawless skull emanates exasperation and Ninurta has a vague sense of unease. The King withdraws his hands, and the lesser demon realizes the job is done. The pain is gone, but it won’t be healed yet; Ninurta needs to rest until the process is complete. It won’t take long, as it is a pure demon and is hardier than that, even to dark magic.

“Your highness?” Ninurta presses, somewhat sarcastically. Samael does not reply, and indeed disappears once again in a whirl of dirt and air. If there’s ever a sign the conversation is over, this is it.

Ninurta doesn’t require sleep, but when it becomes aware again, it is sprawled on a carpeted floor between a lit fireplace that is constantly flickering, and there’s furniture around it. This would be more startling if it wasn’t entirely aware of Samael’s ability to twist his world on a whim. It suspects all the Kings can do it, in their own dimensions; it does not know if Paimon’s ability has been severed in his abdication or not.

What it does know is that a small, pale face is hanging upside-down over it. Strands of white hair are brushing its’ skin, and golden eyes gleam down. To Ninurta, the lurker looks like a human girl-child, and it finds itself growling instinctively.

The human recoils immediately, darting out of sight. Ninurta would watch her move, but it is abruptly unable to move, unable to feel anything below its’ jaw. It roars, outraged by the attack from – so far as it can tell – the tiny human. It stops when the wind moves around it, but only because it knows this is good news: the King will not allow a human in his home, however it looks.

A being that must be Samael appears in Ninurta’s vision. He has adopted a new appearance for a new day, for reasons unknown. He appears almost human, with alabaster skin and ashen hair, all of it layered with cracks of gold. Something off about his appearance gives away his identity to Ninurta, who knows better, and a kind of simple bone crown has grown from the top of his head. “There’s a human in here,” Ninurta snaps. Samael’s completely white eyes – the sockets seem to be filled with a smooth continuation of the skin he has taken – stare at the lesser demon on the floor, before he vanishes from sight, this time by stepping out of the way.

A series of moments pass, and the lack of sensation fades. Ninurta gets to its feet, relishing in the lack of pain, and is immediately faced with Samael and the human. The King has his hand resting gently on a pale shoulder, and the human is peering up at him as though he offers something she has not seen before.

Samael must whisper something to her, because she swallows and opens her mouth. “I’m called Sarina,” she says. It’s a soft voice, quiet. The accent is familiar – too similar to the witch who dared to curse it before it came to this place.

Ninurta stares at the girl for a long moment, seeing similarities it missed before. The jawline of Priscilla, an eyeshape similar to Asmodeus. “You claimed their halfbreed brat?” it demands of the King, because this explains a fair amount. Samael has always preferred halfbreeds and mixed bastards to purebreds; it is quirk unique to the King of this barren, wind-battered land.

Samael nods, and the girls lips twitch into something like a smile.

The mess of the Ninurta’s recent past hits it all at once. Fried and almost destroyed by a  witch who may actually be worse now she cannot make any claims to humanity, healed by a foul-smelling poultice only the Demon King Samael knows to make, and now this, waking to a half-breed brat as the clear next pet project of the King it respects so much – it has a right to be stressed, it’s sure. Samael squeezes the girls shoulder as Ninurta watches, and the two leave the room. It is only then that it notices that both of them are floating, feet a good few inches from touching the carpet.

It’s not sure why its’ surprised, really. Samael might not be as readily corrupted as Paimon, but he has always been curious.