#rc bont

"Shepha is dead. Shephamalum will die soon. And together with them, you will sink into oblivion. You have a week to say goodbye to your loved ones and accept death."

Those words spoken by the universe had rattled even those with the coldest of hearts. Everyone was dealing with a flurry of emotions. Malbonte could hear them outside his room.

He heard someone scream, "No! This can't— No!" Shortly followed by loud ugly crying. The sound of panic quickly became greater, it was almost pricing. People could be heard begging for things to not end this way as if Mother of Life would listen.

Maybe she could hear them, but he knew that she wouldn't consider their desperate pleas. Shephamalum told him long ago that Mother of Life would not spare such beings like them. For she could never accept something so inherently rotten in its roots.

Despite knowing the outcome, Malbonte felt uneasy. At one point, he played around with the thought that maybe the universe would show them mercy. Considering she didn't wipe them out the moment she entered  their plane of existence. Only observing them as if they were ants.

If she spared them, that would lead to another onslaught of problems. Shepha is dead. That permanently damaged the balance of harmony. This world needed both brothers to exist. Would she make another life form to substitute them? Or maybe she’d let it collapse in on itself and become true pandemonium.

Even if she did all that. Making it the best outcome for everyone. She'd undoubtedly get in the way of his goal. The whole reason why he set out on this journey. To kill Shephamalum.

He shook his head to get rid of the what-ifs. He's been waiting so long for these chain of events. And now he was anxious. When he was younger, he thought he'd be more excited by this, but this feeling. This build-up of dread was entirely her fault.

The choir of sorrows was getting too much for him. He opened the door to find both guards gone. They were supposed to keep an eye on him, but they most likely fled after hearing that announcement.

He silently tread through the halls, hoping to find a quiet place. No one spared him a glance. They were either running around, comforting the students, or trying to hold themselves together.

It didn't take him long to realize that he wouldn't find an area to drown out the chaotic misery. He walked a bit away from the academy and found himself standing at the stone tower. The place where his other half had been locked away.

It was amazing this place was still up after all these years. At least for the most part. The room where Bont had resided in for his whole existence had been destroyed long ago. Most likely during the war ten years ago, but most of it still looked the same.

It stood there forgotten and neglected just like Bont. The destroyed room wiped away the last semblance of Bont. The angel had no one or nothing aside from that room. It was the only proof of his existence besides word of mouth. He was effectively erased.

Malbonte's shoes clacked against the stairs. He dragged his hand along the cold stone wall. As he slowly went higher up the stairs the image of them crashed through his head.

Her gray wings labeled her as inferior to birthright immortals. Then there was the purest angel, locked away as if he were Shepha's dirtiest secret. A broken mirror and their naivety brought them together.

Things were more straightforward back then, but he wouldn't wish for those simpler times. He'd never look back. Never regret everything he did for himself to get where he was. To this moment.

There were less than a handful of things for him to reminisce about. He wasn't a very sentimental person to begin with. Yet he’d admit in an empty room, that most if not all of his best memories had her in it.

He stopped moving as a memory of them filled his head. His mind desperately clinging to Bont's last weeks.

──────𓆩 • 𓆪──────

The young woman immediately noticed how Bont shifted uncomfortably. "What's wrong?" Bont moved his eyes away from the plate.

He contemplated lying for a moment. Only to spare her feelings and not be unappreciative of the food. Unfortunately, Bont had never been a good liar and quickly came clean.

"I don't…" He glanced at the cooked rabbit and shuttered slightly. "I don't really eat meat." He turned his head away to calm himself. He loved all animals, especially the fuzzy ones.

Rabbits were small, innocent, and defenseless little things. When he was younger Arch Angels would tell him tales about rabbits. The little creatures’ misadventures would always end with some kind of moral. Now one sat there on a plate with four boiled potatoes beside it.

Seeing how upset he was. She quickly tried to fix her horrible mistake. “I'm so sorry! I can um—” He cut her off, “No, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be ungrateful. I can eat it.” He snatched the plate from her hands and picked up the fork.

His hand slightly shook before stabbing the boiled potato. “No, it's okay. I can try to find something else.” He ignored her words and ate the potatoes like his life depended on it. Once they were all gone, he hesitated to poke the rabbit.

She ripped the plate out of his hands. “I’ll make sure it doesn't go to waste. But first, I'll get you something less… departed.” She tried to give a reassuring smile, but her panicked expression made it look awkward. “No, I can't reject your gift.”

He was going to start going on a tangent until he saw her face. That panic was swept away and replaced by pity. “Bont, you're crying.”

Bont looked at her confused before lifting his hand and touching his cheek. She was right.

The soft clatter of the plate being set down echoed in the room. Taking a step closer to him, she started to wipe away his tears. She did it so slowly and gently like he'd break at any moment.

“One day we’ll go outside and search for rabbits. We’ll watch them hop around with their friends until sunset.” She quietly promised. It was more of an apology though.

──────𓆩 • 𓆪──────

Malbonte blinked his eyes. The image of her standing in front of him, cupping his face suddenly dissolved. Reminding him where he was. Who he was.

Even though the moving pictures stopped playing. He remembers what happens next. Bont, being the oh-so-perfect and grateful angel, scarfed down the rest of the food. He didn't want her effort to be in vain.

Then not too long after eating the rabbit. He was overcome by guilt and pity for the dead animal and threw it up. His vomit accidentally landed right on her.

Embarrassment crawled onto Malbonte's shoulder at the memory. That emotion and action were all Bont’s, not his, he'd claim. Though he wasn't sure if that was entirely true. He and Bont were one in the same, right?

‘When did your attraction to Bont even start?’ Malbonte asked as if she would hear it. He started going up the stairs again. Leaving Bont’s embarrassment on those steps and becoming nothing more than a fleeting emotion.

Eventually, he made it to the first crossroad. The stairs went higher, but there was a small hallway with a few doors. He took the detour because he wasn't in a rush. She was still hours away from returning to the academy.

He opened the first door. Bookshelves were pushed up against the wall. A long table rested in the middle of the room with chairs gathered around it. Everything had a layer of dust.

Making him wonder when this place was last used.

He was going to lazily examine the books when a small statue caught his eye. It was small and wooden. Depicting an angel on one side with a halo and the other a demon with a pointy horn. He couldn't tell if it was meant to symbolize the balance of harmony or a half-breed.

Regardless of its intent. It was well made even though it was simplistic. He remembers finding a similar statue once. It would sit on his desk in that ramshackle camp.

──────𓆩 • 𓆪──────

“I know Bont is still in there.” She claimed before raising her voice, “Bont, you have to fight this. I know you win back control.”

A laugh erupted from him, making him throw his head back. Her words and the fact she never realized that Bont wasn't his own person was amusing. She was given more than enough time to realize that. Maybe she was even dumber than he thought.

When he stopped laughing he looked at her face. Her eyebrows were furrowed, nose slightly scrunched up, and her mouth was a scowl. It looked like she'd start fighting if she wasn't in enemy territory. But her eyes, they silently plead for that angle to be freed.

A small needle punctured his heart. Just an inkling of pity for the girl who thought she saved a prince from a tower. Only for him to be locked away again.

“Do you want to see Bont again?” Malbonte asked, almost softly whispering.

Her tense shoulder eased up and her hardened expression lessened. She responded without hesitation the moment she realized he was serious. “Yes.” She said it so desperately, but her eyes were more pleading. They were wide, waiting to save that angel once more.

Malbonte slowly raised his hand and pointed at his chest. “He's right here.” The way he said it and his toothy grin had a level of mockery to it. With just a hint of sadistic glee.

Silence filled the room. She stared at where he was pointing for a moment and then shifted her eyes away from him. She focused her eyes on the corner of the room and said, “No.”

His mouth was left agape for a second before he quickly shut it. “No?” He repeated her words, completely dumbfounded.

“Bont can't be,” She cut herself off. She couldn't bring herself to say that they were the same. “He's somewhere.” She choked out.

He scoffed at her denial. Her behavior wasn't pitiful anymore. It's idiotic now or maybe it always has been.

He walked around the desk before stopping in front of her. With him blocking her view to the corner of the room, she turned her head to the other side. She didn't want to look at him, not at that monster that wore Bont's skin.

“He was never a full-fledged person.” He started, grabbing her chin tightly. Not caring if it hurts or not. He forcefully turned her head and tilted it up to look at him. She shut her eyes, but he kept speaking.

“Tell me, if someone was stripped of all their bad qualities. Are they really themselves anymore?” She didn't respond. So he asked again, “Is that even a real person?”

“He'd never do this!” She screamed, her eyes still shut tightly. “Bont isn't a monster! He's a good person! He's nothing like you!”

Frustration arose within him. It had started at a simmer, but now it was starting to boil. With his free hand, he reached out to her left eye. His pointer finger and thumb pulled apart her eyelids. Forcing her to look at his face.

With each word, he moved his face closer to hers. “Bont never left.”

He was close enough to her face to see that she was replaying a memory. He held his breath and froze when he saw it.

Their second kiss. Her and Bont’s kiss. They were hidden away in the abandoned ballroom and unashamed by the innocent kiss. Neither questioned if this was love because they both knew the answer.

Suddenly he felt wetness on his thumb. Crying. She was crying. He recoiled. Both of his hands fell to his side so quickly as if her tears burnt him. His face no longer itches away from hers.

“Bont…” Her voice wavered, “He's—”

They spoke at the same time. He said. “Here.” While she mournfully whispered, “Lost.”

This started as a debate which was more or less him trying to recruit her. An argument of whether or not the current state of harmony was really balanced. If the Council of Angels should be allowed to have a monopoly over parts of Hell. They were all talking points he stole from the demons in his camp.

Ultimately he didn't care so much for the injustice or balance. He was using the divide between immortals as a shield. Parading around as the antihero that strived for true harmony.

And this conversation slowly devolved into something more personal. It wasn't even a debate anymore, was it? This was her voicing her denial of reality.

She looked at him. Her tears trickled down the side of her face without a care and she cracked a tiny smile. Her expression was soft and it had a sad fondness to them. It was like she was sending a silent apology to him. Or was that look meant for someone else?

“You're lost.” She mumbled. She spoke her next words a little louder yet it still held a level of tenderness. “I'll become your guiding light again. No matter how long it takes for you to get here, I'll wait for you. Come back to me, Bont.”

He balled his hands into fists. His face twisted into sneer filled with disdain. “I am Bont!” He roared. No matter how loudly or how much the lion screeched. The rabbit longed to free the lamb that lay dormant in the feline’s stomach.

Her gentle smile faded and a look of determination crossed her face. “Bont, forgive me for this!”

She raised her hand that was covered in a thick layer of darkness. Becoming a second skin of sorts. Any ridges, small wrinkles, or softness on her hand was replaced by a sharp and unnatural smoothness. Sharp, pointed nails were now at the end of her fingers.

While the second skin ended at her wrist. Dark pulsing vines traveled up her arm, seemingly stopping at her forearm. It looked painful. With surprising speed, she got out the chair and lunged at him.

Her transformed hand reached out to him. The element of surprise had given her a split second before he moved out the way. Despite smoothly sidestepping, her nail cut his wing.

The moment her nail came in contact with his wing. He felt a burning sensation. Not from suddenly being cut. It was the thing that clung to her skin like a leach. Her right hand felt like it contained one of Hell's various fiery pits.

She had put all her force into that attack and with him out of the way, her lower body crashed against the desk. Everything on the desk was knocked off, crashing onto the floor. A pained and displeased groan escaped her mouth.

He felt warm blood run down his wing. It was a surprisingly deep gash, so it'd take a moment to heal. She pushed herself off the desk and turned around to see his hand raised. His palm was facing her, his fingers were stretched out. What started as a dark speck in his palm quickly evolved into a dark sphere.

Without much sound, it charged straight for her head. She was able to move out of the way in time. For a split second, she felt the dark energy graze her ear. Giving her access to what she would have felt if she reacted any slower.

Cold. It was so intensely icy that it felt like her ear was developing frostbite. A horrible feeling of pins and needles.  Then that icy feeling disappeared as quickly as it came when his energy darted past her.

A shaky breath came out her mouth. The whole time she held her breath. Death had been so close to her. It seemed like every tribulation for her since she came to Heaven had death involved in one way or another.

She hadn't become acquainted with death and welcomed it with open arms because of that. No. She despises it more than ever, but it hasn't caused enough fear to keep her from jeopardizing herself.

The sphere hit the wall with a loud bang before the energy dispersed within a blink of an eye. The sudden ruckus caused Fencio to throw open the door. A few guards followed the old man. Fencio blocked the way for anyone to get in. He didn't want some fool getting caught in the crossfire.

She completely ignored them and held out her hand. Those long nails pointed at him before her hand tensed. She sharply inhaled before a loud crack of thunder echoed out. Immediately after that, there was a sound of flesh ripping and wet chunks landing on the floor.

A black bolt of lightning zipped through the air towards Malbonte. He swiftly dodged the attack like it was nothing. The overlaid frustration on his face lessened. Curiously and mild surprise crawled its way into his eyes.

The ritual had done wonders for the Unclaimed. Not only boosting her strength, but allowing her to wield his darkness. While his power took on an almost smoky form. Hers was electric, at least that's what it looked like. He wasn't entirely certain that it behaved the same as lighting.

It was impressive and it caused Malbonte to realize that she could be a real threat. Yet she clearly couldn't conduct it thoroughly. As her hand was splattered across the room. From her wrist downward was only exposed bone. Darkness could destroy anything, even the user, if they weren't careful.

“Should I take her to the cell?” Fencio asked. The old angel eyed her right hand and the mess it had made.

“Leave. I'll take care of the thief.” Malbonte ordered. The demons behind Fencio quickly moved out the doorway and scampered off. They didn't want to be on the receiving end of Malbonte's ire. Fencio hesitated before closing the door and waited outside.

He watched as her other hand went through the same transformation. “You can't even control it why—”

She once again lunged at him with her other hand. Already fed up with her behavior, he allowed her nails to dig into the flesh of his chest. He gritted his teeth. His blood boiled inside of him. The skin around the pierced flesh was already starting to blister at the high temperature.

Seeing that her attempt was successful, her eyes widened in amazement. Her mouth didn't move, but he swore he heard her speak. “It’s fine. I only need the intent to kill. He's fine.”

Grabbing her wrist, Malbonte ripped her hand out of his chest and kicked her in the stomach. A pained yelp fell from her mouth. She doubled over herself allowing him to easily twist her arm.

He started to speak, but she wouldn't let him get a word in. “We talked about going to the zoo one day. To see all the animals you've read about. You loved all plants, colors, stories, the sky—everything.”

After the first sentence, he realized she was trying to conjure up Bont. He twisted her arm, threatening to break it. “You're delusional—”

She didn't react. Instead of shutting up, she kept speaking. “You were so beautiful because of how you looked at everything.” She blabbered on and on. Bringing up old conversations that no longer meant anything. They were nothing more than ancient history in the face of war.

Was there even a point in arguing with her? The grieving woman seemingly had no interest in joining his sham of pursuing justice. Pity was long gone because this was just pathetic.

If this was one who stole half of his power, then he needed to get it back. Fast.

Malbonte was about to tug on her arm, dislocating her shoulder. Until she blurred out. “—And I loved you. I wish it said it sooner. But I do. I love and miss you so damn much.” Her voice was sluggish from the blood loss and her attempt to heal her wound. Still, anyone could hear the sincerity.

He hesitated for a moment and actually listened to her words. “We shouldn't have ever met. We shouldn't have done a lot of things, but I don't regret it. I'll never be selfless like you. I'll never be so beautiful and pure. Still, Bont, I'm so sorry for things turning out this way.”

He tightened his grip on her arm, before letting go. A quiet, frustrated sigh escaped his mouth. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he pulled her up. Forcing her back onto her feet. The sudden movement made her stagger.

“Just for freeing Bont, I’ll show you some mercy.” He practically hissed out his words. Freely expressing his disdain for her. Yet at the same time she felt energy flowing through her.

The question of if it was only gratitude was never asked or thought about. Buried and unresolved feelings shouldn't be bothered exploring at the forefront while war raged on.

Her right hand was suddenly healing faster. Fleshed wrapped around her bone before developing muscle and then layers of skin. A sense of calm washed over her, drowning out her previous emotions. She couldn't tell if it was the sudden healing or her blood loss. Probably both.

Even though the sudden energy moving through her felt like she was being drunk in the Antarctic water. She could just fall asleep like this. It was pure bliss.

With her being in an almost trance-like state, Malbonte guided her out of the room. She stumbled over her feet leading him to start dragging her along.

“Have someone clean up that mess.” Malbonte ordered Fencio as he walked by him.

Demons watched as their leader pulled her along like some ragdoll. He could hear some snicker at the sight of her. There were even a few chuckles here and there. He ignored it.

Opening the cell door, he wasted no time shackling her. No words were exchanged between them. She was nodding off, barely there. And he doubts she'd actually listen to a word from him regardless of lucidity.

Once he was done. Pity buzzed around him like an annoying fly. No matter how much he tried to swat it away, it always came back.

Wanting to squish that fly and no longer gaze at what laid on the floor. He made his way to the exit. He grabbed the handle and was ready to close the door when she muttered some words. It was just loud enough for him to hear.

“I'll save you, Bont. No matter the coat.” Her voice was weak, but that foolish determination was loud and clear.

He halted at the doorway. Waiting to hear what other delusions she'd spout out. After a few seconds it was clear she was completely out. He closeted the cell door without looking back.

──────𓆩 • 𓆪──────

Not long after that confrontation, her friends tried saving her. The group thought too brashly and immediately became prisoners as well. It was clear that they were all haphazardly doing things as they went. Yet even with that clear disadvantage, she and her friends managed to escape.

It seemed like it was a common trend not just with him, but with everyone. To undermine her efforts and her as a person.

To be fair, her outrageously bold actions usually ended up with her getting hurt. Making it look less like a success and more like a trip to the hospital. She unfortunately never dropped that behavior. Almost like it was her nasty addiction.

Still, their rocky start was almost amusing in a way. Considering how he found himself wrapped around her after the war. Even living together, at least for the most part. With Hell's line of succession only retaining a madwoman, unfit to be in any position of authority. He'd partially take up the throne, sharing it with the Demons.

He placed the wooden statue down and back its original spot. Then he walked to the bookcase. There was nothing particularly interesting. There were history books recounting old events with a few spell books. The variety was very lackluster. So he moved on and out of the room.

Walking a little further down the hall, Malbonte opened the next door. The room was cramped with a desk littered with papers. Everything about this place was small. It was almost claustrophobic. He couldn't imagine willingly spending more than an hour here.

He looked over the papers. The handwriting was neat. It wasn't anything too interesting. Detailing what students excelled at and what needed improvement. He couldn't imagine half of those names being alive right now.

There wasn't anything to kill time with here. It was also uncomfortable to be in there. Shutting the door behind him, he entered the last room on this floor.

It seemed to be a storage and janitorial room. A bucket with a mop sat in the corner with a broom beside it. The shelf that was placed right next to the window was bare. This place was no less neglected than the others.

A few spare chairs filled the area. Completely out of place was a wooden crate. Chairs surrounded it, poorly hiding it. Moving them out the way, he got a closer look. It was cracked open already. Taking off the top, he carelessly disregarded it before peering inside.

Wine.

It was filled with it. He picked one up to be surprised by the fact that the bottle was half empty. It was foolish to think that someone didn't seek some type of refuge here. By how there wasn't a layer of dust, this person probably came here periodically. 

Looking closer at the bottle it seemed to be manufactured in Hell. All bottles of wine had a similar design and aura. It was hard to describe how to differentiate what product came from where. Aside from the obvious physical appearance. For the most part, you couldn't point out which was which.

Most things didn't carry that quality. It was just something things were holier and other held bad intentions. It usually depended on the origin in which the product was made. Higher in Heaven or deeper in Hell, gave it a particular air.

Despite carrying the same heavier, almost smoky aura. Interestingly, the bottle had Enochian writing on it. Heaven's primary writing system. It had big bold letters that translated into wild black raspberry.

Popping the top off, he held it up to his nose. Almost immediately he scrunched his nose and recoiled. That scent brought back a memory of her that he'd much rather forgot.

──────𓆩 • 𓆪──────

Until like in Heaven, you could never tell the time in Hell. Demon’s didn't have the privilege of looking up at the sky and seeing the twinkling stars. Still, Malbonte knew it would be dark once he returned to Heaven's citadel.

Although he wasn't sure if he'd be returning there tonight. Meetings were a drag regardless of if it was with Demons or Angels. The whispers of a condemned God only added unnecessary luggage to an already abysmal task.

Another argument broke out. Beelzebub seemed acutely aware of Malbonte's agitation and quickly tried to resolve the verbal fighting. It wasn't even a serious matter. Just a petty land dispute.

Malbonte leaned back in the chair and deeply inhaled. Though maybe calling it a chair was wrong. Throne was a better definition for the thing.

Black bedrock from one Hell’s many, many pits were carefully sculpted in towering thrones. They had the aesthetic of only being used by Hell’s highest demons. Unfortunately after a while they were as comfortable as sitting on a cactus.

“I demand that Ronove give back what is rightfully mine!” Valefar screeched. The demon’s high-pitched voice was grating even to those deaf.

“You lost it by betting it when you lost all your gold! You signed the paper, I watched you do it and I still have the paper right here, you absolute buffoon!” Ronove's nasally voice wasn't exactly a choir of angels either.

Malbonte rested his elbow on the arm of the throne and rubbed his temples. It felt like the whole thing was going in circles. The only reason this case was being bothered was because Valefar had a high standing in Hell.

‘Revanizes tuz emenderty cevear. Aristorant meie zower.’ Shephamalum whispered from beyond his cell.

It felt like with each word a dull pain went through his head. The longer it went on, the pain would evolve to a sharp stabbing sensation. Sometimes leading him to become physically ill.

Back when he was in the dungeon with the almost forgotten God. Back when he was Mal, he never experienced anything like this when hearing Shephamalum. He had to endure a lot of things, but the mere sound of his voice wasn't one of them.

It made him wonder if his angelic side was the reason for this pain. Fighting back against the pure wickedness that invaded his mind. Which only brought up another question. Could a Demon hear Shephamalum’s voice without any defects?

The sudden intrusion in Malbonte’s mind made him straighten his posture. Belial shot a curious glance his way, seemingly the only one who noticed how Malbonte tensed.

‘I have to get out of here, It's too cold.’ Her voice crashed against him like waves bullying the side of a ship. Her voice was attempting to sound calm. Unfortunately her uneasiness was shining through.

‘I think I'm going to throw up. No one would notice it in the house plant, right? But that was a gift from Reguel, oh… I'm not overworking Pike, am I? It feels like it. I'm such a mess. I should wear this more often.’

There was a disconnect in each sentence. Each one was spoken with a different tone. All of them lack context and consistency. It was as if they were from different times either seconds, minutes, or maybe even hours apart.

Malbonte had already gotten off the throne and strode halfway out of the room. “I have other business to attend to.” No one had the time object or attempt to persuade him. It wasn't as if anyone would. He was still feared by many and unsurprisingly loathed.

Once out of Hell's castle. He spread his wings before taking off. He flew over lakes of lava and the scorching fires. Ignoring the houses that were built like mighty fortresses and lined with gold.

He had to get back to Heaven's citadel. To the place that she called their home.

Their connection to his power had led to telepathic speaking. It took time for them to develop it. At first they needed to be in view of one another. Over the past four years, they have been able to communicate while yards away from each other.

But for her words, her thoughts to reach him while in Hell was impossible. Or it had to be.

The unintended side effect of strengthening their telepathic link was having easy access to her thoughts. 

It wasn't like opening a door and he'd be bombarded with her thoughts echoing in his head. It was more like a river. Her thoughts would flow down to him and he'd willingly drown in her voice.

Though the water wouldn't flow down the river because she was able to build a dam. A mental block. Giving her back the privacy that she had lost for a moment. Though, an emotional moment will lead to the dam breaking for a moment. She didn't feel a positive or negative emotion for the dam to break. She only needed to feel an extreme emotion.

That must have been happening now. The extreme emotional distress that was happening was so great, that she inadvertently sent a message to him. It was clear by her thoughts that she was home. With the mention of Pike and her Reguel’s gift.

Though she could have very well have left the house by the time he got there. The house would be the closest thing for him to check. After that he'll go to the council’s offices and find out more from there.

After an annoying amount of time flying through the sky, he finally saw those pearly white buildings of the citadel. It was odd how a place could look so cold and lackluster, but be picturesque with life bustling around every corner. It was more humble, so to speak, compared to the grandiose architecture of hell.

He gilded through the streets. Ignoring the eyes on him. Some acted as if he was going to wreak havoc on Heaven once again by hiding inside. How right they were to fear him, but not for today.

He didn't even have to open the door to feel her energy. He didn't allow himself the luxury of feeling her energy surround him like a comforting blanket. Opening the door he found her lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. She had her left arm slung over her face, covering her eyes.

The coffee table that was placed in front of the couch was pushed off to the side to make room for her. The room littered with little tickles of blood. It didn't take a genius to find the source of drying blood. As she sported a new pair of wings.

Pike, the housekeeper, came rushing to the front door. The small angel bowed and quickly tried to explain the situation to Malbonte. His voice violently shook, unable to contain his anxiety. “The mistress, she was fine when she came home. Then she started—”

He suddenly stopped speaking when Malbonte walked past him. A momentary sense of relief came over Pike. His shoulders tensed back up when Malbonte spoke. “You can leave now.” There was no anger behind those words. Just a steady clam.

“She made a big mess in the bathroom, kitchen—everywhere. I haven't finished cleaning half of this place.” Pike stuttered out.

“You can have the day off tomorrow too.” Malbonte said while taking long strides toward her. Pike hesitated for a moment. Watching closely as Malbonte crouched and gently removed the wine bottle from right hand. She didn't react. Either sleeping or too caught up in drunken thoughts.

He spared a quick glance at the bottle. The glass was a deep maroon shade, almost looking black if not for the light. The label stated the name of the manufacturer, a business in hell, and the flavor. Wild black raspberry. It still had a decent amount of liquid in there, so he placed it on the coffee table.

“Goodnight, Pike.”

“Goodnight, sir, I'll see you Thursday.” Pike squeaked out before quickly fleeing. He closed the door a little too loudly causing her to move her arm, which snapped her out of her daze.

A confused expression was drawn on her face. “Where is,” Her eyes slowly moved around the room. The haze in her eyes told him how she wasn't there. Although he already knew that the moment he stepped in.

Her eyes landed on Malbonte. “You took my hair rollers again didn't you?” Her accusatory tone wasn't harsh, it sounded playful probably because of the wine. The accusation caused him to raise an eyebrow. As if he'd take anything like that from her. She was going to say something else, the sound of ‘M’ just on her tongue, but he interrupted her.

“You're going to bed.” He helped her off the floor and back onto her feet. The moment she was standing she leaned against him, putting all her weight on him.

She buried her face against his arm. “I'm not angry. You can keep them.” Her words were slightly muffled, but he could feel her smiling against him. He froze at that feeling.

His lack of a response didn't stop her from babbling on to herself. Carrying on a one-sided conversation with someone not there. A person who had been a ghost for far too long.

He could feel her smile. It felt carefree and guinea in a way. Dopey due to the alcohol, yet still unapologetically warm. Happy.

It wasn't a tight grin she'd wear when out. Where she'd show teeth and the corner of her eyes didn't wrinkle with glee. She wore the smile of a politician. She practiced it well throughout her four years of being a councilor. He realized now that she doesn't smile that much, does she? Not like how she was now.

Or had she always smiled like this? Did he make her stop?

“You're going to bed,” Malbonte said again. There was a silent tension starting to press down on him. She didn't object as he guided her through the house. She continued to speak to him incoherently. Her voice becomes a little too loud or a murmur mid-sentence.

He wasn't even keeping track of what she was spouting out. It was hair rollers first to something about a dragon, and now about needing a book from Hell. Honestly, he would need a translator to even understand what she was going on about. As they walked up the stairs, he saw things from her make-up cabinet littered across the stairs.

They looked to have been dropped down. Not haphazardly thrown out of frustration or sorrow. Just dropped as if to see what would happen. Some powder sat on a few steps with a small container wide open. Brushes of various sizes, little bottles of mascara lay out on the steps. Their original use had long been forgotten.

She had told him a long time ago that she didn't drink much because she was a lightweight. He suspects it now that it was for other reasons. With a sigh, he kicked away some of the clutter so she wouldn't step on anything. She clung to him like he'd disappear.

When they made it to the top of the stairs he let out another sigh. She made the upstairs walls her canvas with lipstick. There was red, black, purple—all the colors in the rainbow he swore. She must have had fun wasting it and tomorrow she’ll be angry at herself for it.

“Then we’ll all go to that theater. Sneak in popcorn again. Even bring grumpy pants with us.” She said as they walked down the hall. She stumbled slightly over her feet, but Malbonte kept her upright. He responded with a dry. “That's great.” She didn't seem to notice his lack of engagement or maybe she didn't mind. She didn't seem to mind a lot of things about him.

Finally reaching the bedroom, he found the closet wide open. Her dresses and outfits were haphazardly thrown about. Clothes were draped over the mirror, almost hiding it. It looked like a planned attack on that specific piece of furniture. It made him wonder if she broke it and was hiding like a kid, or if she just didn't want to see herself.

He was starting to regret dismissing Pike early now. Carefully, he placed her on the bed. She let him go to pull the covers over herself. In her haze, she could see him starting to move away from the bed, so she swiftly grabbed his wrist. Her dopey look, that carefree smile fell. “Don’t. Stay with me.” She whined like a child. It was off-putting.

“I'm not going back to Hell. I'll stay here tonight.” He told her while trying to pry her hand off him. That action only made her grip tighter. “You're choosing me?” She sounded so hopeful and almost surprised like she hadn't expected those words, yet wanted to hear them all the same.

“I chose you long ago.” Her grip lessened as lips curled into a dopey smile. Those simple words that he slips out to keep her occupied always make her so damn happy. He could never really understand why, or maybe he never allowed himself a moment to try to understand.

“We’ll go to the theater after all of this. I promise.” It was an odd thing for her to promise to Malbonte, but he simply nodded his head. He didn't know how to interact with her right now. Letting things play out seemed like the best.

He watched as her lip quivered, her breathing became a little heavier, and those hazy eyes became wet with tears. One moment she was smiling, now she was getting misty-eyed when he did nothing. The swift mood change made him contemplate taking back his word and leaving for Hell. Inebriated people were the most annoying to deal with.

“Please hold me. I miss you.” Her voice cracked slightly at the end. Before he could even move, she yanked on his arm, causing him to topple onto her. He forgets sometimes how physically strong she was with his power. Her demeanor wasn't as imposing or silently threatening as his, so she was often underestimated by opponents. Even Malbonte.

She wrapped up arms around his torso. “Let me go. I'm going to crush you.” He said like a parent scolding their kid. “Crush me then.” Her response made him scoff before he rolled on to his side. He needed his vessel alive, not a pancake. The bed squeaks quietly at the movement.

She nuzzled her face into his chest, clinging to him as if he'd be taken away at any moment. Her left wing stretched out to cover both of them. It felt like she was trying to hide from the world. Escaped to a quiet paradise that she could only find in him. She deeply inhaled before murmuring, “You smell different.”

He tried to relax in her arms, but it was too difficult for him. He'd always be tense in one way or another. “I was just in Hell.” He reminded her. She hummed at his response. He could feel wetness gathering in the middle of his chest. For a brief moment, he thought of pulling her off him and leaving her alone in the house.

Malbonte couldn't handle this sort of emotion. He wasn't even equipped to handle much of any emotion. The inability to relate or understand never bothered him. It was more of a strength than anything. It allowed him to cross lines that no other immortal would. With a lack of emotion, no true empathy, he didn't need to think about morals. Mortals were a poor man's quality.

Yet feeling her pressed against him, silently crying. Just for a moment, it made him question if his incomprehension of feeling was a strength. Was it his justification for something everyone else has? A hidden jealousy or fear? Everyone around him experienced such complex emotions.

He moved through the days without too much care. The only thing keeping him going is the fantasy he planned on making reality, killing Shephamalum. He experienced emotions just like others, yet they seemed to be muted. It felt like he was an unfinished or blank canvas while everyone else wore vibrant paints.

There was a tightness in his chest now. He felt her relax against him now. Though her arms were tight as ever around his torso. This inadequacy was far too troubling for his liking. It was his strength, he told himself. He'd need it again once he finds the book. When the world learns the real definition of pandemonium.

However, his hand reached out and touched her back. The touch was hesitant, almost tender in some aspect. His fingers brushed against where skin and feathers fused. “New wings?” He quietly questioned. Her wing that covered him slightly twitched at his touch.

“Blue was too sad. I want to feel pure.” Her voice reverberated against his chest. He glanced at her wing. The feathers were white and soft with gold edges. He supposed brighter colors were fitting for an angel.

Although he wonders if she wanted to be an angel, or if this was an apology to her late mother? For not killing the stubborn woman like she wanted in the final battle.

“They look good. All your wings do.” His compliment was dry and awkward. He could only silently wonder if this was how people comfort each other. If so, he knew he wasn't doing a good job at it.

The woman deeply inhaled again, her shoulders tensing before relaxing as she exhaled. “Won't leave again? You're staying this time?” He couldn't understand why she had to be reassured again. He thought telling her once was enough. It must have been the wine, or she could just be that lonely.

“I’m staying here the whole night.” He said. There wasn't any real comfort in his tone. His monotone voice didn't allow for such sincerity. It wasn't like he was sincere in the first place. He silently cursed as he felt wetness against his chest again. A new wave of tears was produced just for him.

“Don't leave. Stay. Stay with me forever.” There's another spike of discomfit. He was sure this would be romantic for anyone else. Isn't that what lovers want? Sappy words and fragile promises.

“I won't leave.” There was a hesitation in his words. Was this remorse? For telling her a bold-faced lie. Did remorse always make one's chest hurt, he questioned.

She makes a strange noise. It was a mix of a strangled whimper and a gasp. She nuzzled her head against him again and slightly squeezed him. She whispered to him, “Never leave me again, Mimi.”

──────𓆩 • 𓆪──────

Malbonte stood still as a statue. His eyes stayed glued to the bottle, rereading one word. Raspberry.

After a moment that went on for far too long, he placed the cork back in the bottle. Placing the wine where it was originally from. There was a gentle clank of glass as it rested against other bottles. He returned the lid to the crate with stiff movements. That sudden memory left him more shaken than he would have liked. His heart was racing as if trying to escape his chest.

He grappled with the fact that he was meant to hate and be hated. He could live with that. He was living that.

Yet that small part of him, Bont’s purity, was still alive within him. It would creep its way out at times. Nails bloody from desperately crawling out of the seemingly endless darkness. Bont was naive enough to believe that she'd fully love Malbonte. Love him purely as she did Bont. Love him as she loved her roommate.

Malbonte found himself believing that for a split second. For only she could make him feel so sinless.

As horrible as it sounded, he was never tormented by his wrongdoings. He never gave his victims of the first war a real second thought. The only reason he thought of that war was because of how tormented she was.

It seemed like every few months she donned a new pair of wings. Knowing damn well her old ones were fine. Still, no one said a thing. He didn't say a thing because it was easier to ignore.

He knew only a fraction of how the war damaged her psyche. Her friends were mercilessly taken out in the brutality of war. Her mother ripped away from her again. It was all his doing. Everyone one of her loved ones was her price to be with him.

He foolishly, maybe even arrogantly, adopted the idea that she wasn't that hurt. She made her choice during the war. She willingly paid that hefty price. It was her doing. It was all hers. Each life taken from her was priceless. Each person he slew with his own hands, did that make him just as priceless in her eyes? Did the wealth and weight of souls transfer to him?

No was not priceless in the way that they were. He had taken, stolen, and lied like it was his native tongue. He was worthless. No price tag could be placed on him.

Through her attempt to develop another unhealthy coping mechanism, of drinking her pain away. It forced him into the position of facing the fact that she'd always love someone more than him, Malbonte. He kept her at arm's length after that. Not too far to keep her from running off, not too close that she'd know every little detail about him. Have they ever been in a relationship?

Her having hidden resentment didn't sound far off. He'd understand if she did. As they would never be a fairytale that people tell children at bedtime, because that wasn't their story. This wasn't going to end on a good note, was it?

Looking back on it now, it made Malbonte question why she even joined him all those years ago. Why did she fall in love with him? Or did she even love him?

He couldn't imagine how her mind was processing everything going on now.

With nothing else, Malbonte exited the room. Quickly going back to the stairs and making his journey to the top. Waiting for her to come back from the snowy peaks filled him with a familiar feeling of loneliness. It was not longing. That word was too flowery for his situation.

This heart ached at that forgotten memory and the situation he created. Nearly every predicament in her life was manufactured by his hands. His lack of care was overridden by this ageless revenge.

“Where are we going?” He asked aloud. His voice echoed around him before it went silent again. There was no answer.

Where was this relationship going? However, the biggest problem was whether there was still a ‘them’. He's seen how she looks at that demoness. She genuinely smiled at that woman despite the chaos around them.

The look on her face when she was dragged out of the dungeon was tired and lost. Then the moment her eyes landed on Mimi, the one she had lost ten years ago, lit up like a Christmas tree. Her eyes constantly darted between him and Mimi. A clash of overwhelming emotions.

It still bothered him. He continues to be bothered because he knows he's not the better option. There was the fact that Mimi had already taken the spot he used to have. No, Mimi was just taking the spot she always had. He was a mere placeholder.

The realization wasn't new to him. It came to him during one of Plague's many tone deaf parties. It's just that now it hits even harder. The world was on the brink of ending, and he was alone, wasn't he? Just like Bont in that tower. Waiting with anxious anticipation for her to speak to him.

The purest angel would wait hours on end for her face to pop up on the broken mirror. Her face would fill him up with such boyish glee that he couldn't hide his smile. Nine times out of ten, she'd smile back at him. Mirth behind her eyes.

Except for that one day.

──────𓆩 • 𓆪──────

Quiet. That's what she was today. The lack of response was discouraging to the conversation. Her dry words are even more so. It was clear to Bont, through the chipped mirror, that something was bothering her.

He abruptly stopped speaking and called her name. Drawing her attention back to him. She let out a questioning hum. Somehow, even that sounded cold and distant. 

Without hesitation Bont asked, “Are you alright?”

A short sigh escaped her lips by accident. “I don't know.” Her eyes turned away from the mirror to look at something else. Almost as if she were afraid he'd read her mind or look through the memories replaying in her head.

“What’s making you feel uncertain?”

She furrowed her eyebrows and pursed her lips, making a thoughtful expression. After a few seconds had passed, she shrugged her shoulders. “It's just me making myself a problem. It's nothing really.”

It was bizarre behavior for her. To be guarded. When they first started talking she was like that. Secretive and almost dismissive, but she quickly opened up. Bont’s warm personality shone down on her, opening her up like a flower embracing the sunlight.

She'd always talk about her day and what new thing she learned about the world of immortals. She was his window to the real world. While he was the window to additional information. Together, they explored the world through their words.

The two become friends within a matter of days. Maybe it was naivety that caused it to progress so fast. Maybe it was their shared, yet different loneliness. Either way, Bont wouldn't allow his only friend to deal with something on their own. He had to help. Well, he'd at least try with the limitation of the tower.

“How are you making problems for yourself?”

The wrinkle between her eyebrows slightly deepened at his innocent inquiry. “It's just thoughts. It can't hurt me or anything.” She tried her best to downplay her emotional state. 

“Thoughts could lead to something more.” He said, gently rebutting her. A small, defeated yeah came from her mouth. The admission didn't sound bitter because she could never allow herself to spit out such frustration to someone as sweet as Bont. “Why don't we talk about it? Sometimes speaking aloud helps me when my thoughts are tangled.”

She slightly inhaled and looked at the mirror. She took in his face, examining it closely. A clear debate was going on in her head.

Not wanting to force her into anything. He added, “But we don't have to talk about that. Just know that my ears are always available to you.” She let go of the breath she was holding. The exhale sounded tired, even sad.

All of a sudden, Bont found himself looking up at the blue sky instead of her face. She curled up in the lush green grass and placed the mirror upward. Her mouth was right next to it so that he could hear her.

“I'm just making myself sad and upset.”

He nodded his head before speaking up, realizing she couldn't see him. “Everyone tends to have non-productive thoughts. Making yourself sad or angry. What's yours?”