☆Give me back color☆

From the moment he learned to utter words, before he could recognize food, he knew Diavolo. The crown prince was born just a little earlier, the sole heir to the gilded throne of hell, fated to be alone following the sudden passing of his mother. The young prince was a mysterious face, even to the demons closest to the royal family. Mephisto was special though. He was conceived to be Diavolo's playmate. He could be the key to reconnecting the king and his son to the rest of the Devildom.

For many years he felt gratified. He grew up next to Diavolo, orbiting to his side at every opportunity. His purpose was destined to be fulfilled, a promise whispered to him. The pair grew powerful and hallowed. When the crowds sang Diavolo's praises, it was as if they praised him too. Mephisto was so content, he failed to miss the distant gaze in Diavolo's eyes, or the growing ambition in Diavolo's heart to do more in life than just this.

Mephisto knew his place in the world from a young age. Nobility was above common demons and were expected to affirm that authority when they saw something out of line. Mephisto thought he knew Diavolo's place, too. The next king of Hell, to rule with an iron fist and affirm the power of the Devildom to any adversaries foolish enough to question the power of demons. There was always an imaginary script Mephisto felt the world followed. Nobody had taught him differently. So, imagine his utter disbelief when, out of the blue, Diavolo confided to him that he'd had a diplomatic meeting with the Morning Star himself, and it went FABULOUSLY? Watching Diavolo ramble on and on about the world outside of the Devildom, about peace and understanding, almost sent Mephisto into cardiac arrest on the spot. Where had this come from all of a sudden? He knew Diavolo like the back of his hand. He knew what he did and didn't eat, he knew his routine from morning until night, and he knew what made him smile in approval. So how could he have missed it? His purpose is to be Diavolo's right hand, his support and advisor, his best friend.

Nothing could hide the growing swell of resentment and pain in his heart.

Mephistopheles though he knew his place in the world. He was confused, confused how quickly Diavolo turned his back on him to sing the praises of those damned angels. How Diavolo could only spare a polite smile at him whenever Mephistopheles brought news of the good work he had done to keep order in the rising chaos of Diavolo's new rule, or of the growing wealth of their class? Be that as it may, Mephistopheles chased to be in Diavolo's space anyways. He observed from as close as he could. He felt a growing twinge of disgust as the crown prince resigned himself to keeping the traitorous rebels comfortable.

His glee was short-lived when they quickly climbed the ranks of the long-established hierarchy of demons. They swallowed their fear, pushed it down their throats into their stomachs. Mephistopheles made the mistake of believing they would just be content with being seen as meek fallen angels, unable to crawl out of Diavolo's fenced yard. But they were rebels after all, intolerant to mistreatment. They struck fear into the hearts of demons everywhere, a sinful song they sang that sent everyone reeling back into their homes. Even as high-ranking as Mephisto was, he couldn't look down on them anymore. Finally, the day would come when they would outrank even him.

Which now brought him to them. Seven shooting stars, seven enemies of the realm. Seven freshly banished doves stripped of their pristine feathers come to mingle with the prince. Mephistopheles kept his chin up high, just as he was raised to do. They weren't worth a sparse glance, not from someone like him. The more sadistic part of him reveled in how frightened they were. Those brothers, who bathed in the warmth of the sunlight and the sweet breeze of the Celestial Realm's winds, now found themselves enveloped by the predatory night of the Devildom Their steps were cautious, afraid to fall into the awaiting maw of Hell's denizens and monsters. A fish out of water indeed.

The path carved out for him was now trampled. No longer was Mephistopheles revered but mocked. Every attempt he took to fall into Diavolo's circle was in vain. He became even more desperate when his own family wouldn't spare a glance his way either. His one purpose in life was to be of service to Diavolo, and he failed. Every prestigious family was now more distant from the crown prince than ever, replaced now with seven fresh faces, and Mephistopheles was to blame.

He starved for purpose. Longed for validation. He stood alone now. Of course, he is respected for his title, but he was missing the closeness of family, no- friendship.

To be more.

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