#maradoom

- Do you really think so?...

There is something wrong with how confused this strong, dangerous and even frightening creature looks, which is now gazing with hidden pain at its own hands. Following the other's gaze, the Marine does not hold back a heavy sigh, it was only necessary to understand - he was aimed at claws unusual for the human race, disfiguring the already painfully pale fingers.

- Really. - Seeing other people's torment becomes unbearable. To stand like an statue, among other things, too, and not having come up with anything better, the Slayer casually pats the head down dejectedly, as if in an absolutely idiotic attempt to support. The palm accidentally touches the root of the curved horns: - You proved to me that you retained not only self-control, but also a relatively sober mind. So why would I consider you disgusting?

- Because I'm a demon? - Skeptically responding, the fallen one clasps his hands in disgust and looks up, making no other attempts to study the body modified by Hell. The cruel truth hits where it should and an awkward silence hangs in the air: From the fact that I am a monster? Freak? Besides, you are unlikely to understand what this is, Flynn, and it is not your fault. Fortunately, of the two of us, only I am doomed to shy away from my own reflection.

- You're not a freak. - Trying to protest, the Soldier immediately purses his dry lips, as soon as he heard a bitter laugh from the side of the deceased comrade. Okay, who is he kidding? The old friend really looked ... not very good. To put it mildly: - Okay, listen. What they did to you is cruel, but personally I don't find you disgusting. In fact, your new look has its advantages.

Skepticism in someone else's gaze burns almost physically, and the Slayer feels drops of nervous sweat flowing down his temple. It was necessary to blurt out this. And now what to say? “You have become bigger and stronger” sounds so childish that even from the very thoughts a bashful blush lights up? - For example ... for example ... For example, your eyes.

- My eyes?

Obviously bewildered, the demon looks puzzled at the interlocutor, expecting a worthy explanation, and, unexpectedly for himself, the person realizes that in these red coals, bordered by a black shadow from the protruding cheekbones, there really is something attractive. Thought is striking in its suddenness and simple, ingenuous truth.

“When I look into your eyes, I see a flame. - After thinking, the Marine continued: - But, it does not burn me. Warms like a fire in a small hearth. Home association, or something like that.

- Did you have one? .. - The fallen man asked quietly, but as soon as he noticed the heavy look of the interlocutor, he immediately bit his own tongue with force and continued even quieter: - The eyes of other demons are also burning.

- They are burning. - The harshness in someone else's voice makes you tense, but not even a few seconds go by when a person, not without due effort, drives away unpleasant memories and clasps someone else's head with his palm before carefully looking into the face. The unexpected closeness puzzles even more - unable to withstand a direct gaze, the demon looks shyly at the floor: - They burn with rage and hunger. Thirst for blood. Hate. Yours could not be overshadowed even by the veil of her power, I still saw in them only the pain of the strayed Night Guard, and not the insane anger of a hellish animal: - Sighing heavily, the Slayer removes his hand from someone else's face and straightens up before confidently ending: “This is what sets you apart from them, Marauder. To hell with your looks if you remain yourself inside.

"Can you ... can you get your hand back?"

Having asked faster than fully realizing the meaning of his own request, the demon immediately lowers his gaze back and clenches his fists tighter, as if the pain from claws digging into his palm is nothing compared to the expectation of a natural refusal. Or contempt in the eyes of others. Both seemed unbearable, and their own vulnerability provoked an irritated groan. You can't. You can't open up that much. Hadn't he already got enough knives in his back? So, why does it still behave like a stray dog, which naively raises its head under the caress of a passerby's hand, even if, after a fleeting warmth, it is destined to remain in cold solitude again? A pathetic, disfigured creature, and it made me want to howl.

- If you want to..? - The confusion in someone else's voice is better than mockery, and a tight lump of doubt weakens its merciless pressure on the chest, or even disappears completely without a trace, one had only to feel the palm returning to the sharp cheekbone. Not daring to look up, the fallen one still feels a slight surprise when, instead of the coolness of the already familiar metal of rough gloves, the dead skin collides with someone else's, alive and hot. - So? Hmm. You see, you are not at all disgusting to me.

Strength, both moral and physical, is only enough to nod weakly, but this light, almost weightless movement is saturated with silent gratitude through and through, which does not go unnoticed. Emboldened by the reaction, the Marine thoughtfully strokes his sunken cheek, re-examining every detail of someone else's appearance, which now did not repulse at all with its ugliness caused by the association with the hated race. On the contrary, there was something special about this pale, almost milky-white skin, mottled with a web of pitch-dark veins, in those crooked horns that resemble an old helmet, because of the weight of which the demon always seemed to look sullenly. The initial shock and disgust in front of someone else's appearance, which later turned to polite ignoring, were now replaced by sincere interest, and the person not without surprise notices that the look of a comrade, defamed by Hell, can be called in its own way ... beautiful.

- Beautiful?

Startled with surprise, the Slayer with vague guilt notices a confused look opposite, belatedly realizing the spoken thoughts aloud. There was no time to come up with a worthy excuse, and therefore a confident nod follows and a direct, sincere answer: - Yes. I think you are beautiful.

Beautiful. Wonderful. Unique. In all the worlds there is no second person like you. You shouldn't consider yourself a monster unworthy of life, because this face is far from the first place that defines you in my eyes.

Tears have always been and remain the prerogative of the living, but old pain is replaced by a light, emerald glow, and the demon presses against someone else's hand, listening to the native voice of his comrade who has accepted his curse. Rough from scars and dry air, the palm awkwardly strokes the disfigured face, and with every touch, the unbearable melancholy subsides, ridding him of his snake venom, which did not allow him to rest or forget about the punishment deserved by betrayal. The time will come, the time will come to pay for all the sins of his past, but not now, when quiet, warm words forced him to flatter like that same abandoned dog, in front of which they decided not only to stop, but also to take him home. From the very depths of the chest, a barely audible rumbling unexpectedly escapes, puzzling both those present, but the gentle laugh that followed helps to relax again, for the first time in many hundreds of years feeling completely safe.