TW: Demon-on-demon violence, mentions of injuring
Very few pactmasters could make their demons so willing to serve, let alone beg and grovel to do so.
In the human’s hand, sat the fate of a rogue demon; in the other, the leashes to seven of Hell’s strongest demons. The air crackled with a concoction of different magical energies; curses lying in wait behind sharp teeth, tremors across the ground as molten gold threatened to impale the crust to the whims of the second-born, even what water the rogue naturally kept within its body was growing past a dangerous simmer.
“We should kill it,” Satan hissed, his words almost drowned by the deep, animalistic grumble sitting in his throat. “It’s but a lowlife who doesn’t deserve a second more, not after it tried to put its hands on you.”
The human turned their palm to cup the curvature of his cheek; a bid of affection and appreciation, for his consideration. “Diavolo wants it alive,” they reminded gently, calmly. The fourth-born responded with a mix between a grunt and a purr.
Then they shuddered, sensations electrifying to every slow, sensual rake of brightly painted claws on their calf. “But darling,” Asmodeus whined, “We can’t even have a little fun..? Maybe a broken finger or two?” Behind him, his wings opened and closed in an almost lazy manner, reminiscent of a butterfly idly perched on a flower.
“Or a leg,” Behind this needy ensemble was Beelzebub’s towering figure, purple agate eyes jagged and sharp while fixating on his potential prey. Stoic-faced and reticent was he, yet the rogue knew that beneath his gaze, it had already been cut and cooked a hundred ways and more.
The seventh-born seemed content at best and indifferent at worst, having perched his head on the human’s lap. But Sloth still listened, and he was very much aware. He always was. “It’ll recover just in time for Barbatos to interrogate it,” Belphegor reasoned.
A starry gaze and a softening pout, all in the hopes to persuade; as soon as his eyes flitted back towards this lowlife of a demon, it sharpened behind a veil of salt-and-pepper strands.
“I agree with ____, it’s imperative that this.. vermin is kept alive for Diavolo.” The rich thrum of Lucifer’s voice welcomed itself to the conversation. Just like the youngest, every kiss planted upon the human’s shoulder to their temple was a bid of encouragement. “But I highly suggest not underestimating how much demons can… endure.”
“Please. Please.” The Lord of Water hissed through gritted teeth, though even with how tightly he clutched the human’s other arm with those claws, they barely flinched. Perhaps there was the knowledge that Leviathan could do no harm, and wouldn’t do so; not them, never them. This nameless, insignificant lowlife on the other hand..
“Yer killin’ us over here, treasure,” Mammon remarked, though lacking his usual bite— because if anyone was so willingly subservient, it was the second-born and he had been the first one to be so. He was far more aggressive with his persuasion, drawing out quiet gasps from the human with a tandem of kisses and nibbles on their exposed neck.
“We’re rarin’ to go, just say the word.”
Time stretched on, cultivating both anticipation and anxiety in equal measure. Some part of this demon had hoped that there was some consideration being made towards mercy. Humans were not cruel, or at the very least, they could never be as cruel as demons… so it heard.
“Beel,” the human announced; the Avatar of Gluttony looked on over in attention, “Break its limbs. Make sure it can’t get away.” Beelzebub nodded. The haste in his steps betrayed his excitement as he peeled himself away from the group. His brothers murmured and huffed in envy, but that only gave them all the more reason to grow restless in anticipation.
The human continued. “Satan, I trust your precision. Make sure it can’t use any incantations. I want its tongue to recover just when Barbatos is ready to interrogate it.” The sound that left the blond’s throat was guttural, primal that he only managed to leave a grateful kiss on their knuckles before swiftly rising to his feet. Millenia-worth of practiced courtesy had died in favor of fingers stretching to growing claws, and a ridged tail uncoiling from his leg.
“And the rest of you,” The human’s words were like meat being lowered into a den of hunting beasts who hadn’t eaten in days, “Do what you want with it, just make sure it’s alive by the time Barbatos gets here.” The moon peered through iron bars, casting her light upon the frenzied need stretching the lips of the remaining brothers into maniacal grins.
Pleas were cast aside and splattered on cobblestone walls, painting it red. Apologies trickled out of bruised lips and pooled onto the floor, forgotten. The only words that would live long enough remained in this creature’s mind, the last thing it would ever learn of humans.
They were not angels.
They were not demons.
Perhaps, sometimes, they were worse.
