Chapter Text
...This palace is weird.
Really, really weird.
Let's see...
Prince Aziz...
He's nice. Too nice.
Guy looks at me like I hung the stars myself.
Every day it's flowers, jewelry, sweets, another poem, another walk through the gardens...
Does he ever get tired?
It's kinda... exhausting.
He's like a puppy.
A rich puppy.
...Actually, a ridiculously rich puppy.
Not gonna lie, the gifts are amazing.
He's probably the easiest person in this palace to fool.
...I almost feel bad about it.
...Almost.
His thoughts drifted to the other royal.
Then there's Zorain.
Mammon resisted the urge to shudder.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
That guy gives me the creeps.
He doesn't flirt.
He doesn't smile much.
He just... watches.
Every time I look up, he's already lookin' at me.
Like he's waitin' for me to make one tiny mistake.
It's like livin' with Lucifer if Lucifer smiled less and stalked more.
I'm ninety percent sure he's figured out I'm hidin' somethin'.
The other ten percent?
He's just enjoyin' makin' me nervous.
Either way... creepy.
Then, unexpectedly, another face came to mind.
...Hiba.
Mammon blinked.
She's... different.
She never asks questions I'm not ready to answer.
Never pushes.
Never acts like I owe her anything.
She just... sits with me.
Talks.
Listens.
It's... nice.
He frowned.
...Kinda reminds me that not everybody wants somethin' from me.
His lips twitched into a small, unconscious smile.
She's probably the only person in this whole palace who doesn't make me feel like I'm bein' hunted.
...I hope she stays that way.
'Cause I think I'd actually miss her if she didn't.
That night, after the servants had withdrawn and the palace had fallen silent, Mammon locked the doors to his chambers.
He lifted one hand.
A faint pulse of magic answered.
Not the brilliant black-gold lightning that had always danced eagerly across his fingertips in the Devildom.
This...
...was different.
A thin ribbon of pale blue light flickered uncertainly above his palm, laced with threads of shimmering gold that appeared and vanished like dying embers. It wavered weakly, unstable, barely illuminating the room before sputtering.
Mammon frowned.
...Come on.
He poured a little more power into it.
The light grew no brighter.
Instead, it trembled violently, the blue deepening for a heartbeat before collapsing into drifting sparks that dissolved into the air.
"...Tch."
His shoulders slumped.
This ain't right.
His magic had always answered him instinctively.
Greed, lightning, speed.
they had been as natural as breathing.
Now it felt as though something stood between him and his own power, muffling it, forcing it through an invisible wall before it reached his hands.
The magic itself felt... foreign.
Thinner.
Warmer.
Less like the crackling energy he had known for centuries and more like trying to grasp water with bare fingers.
He flexed his hand, staring at his palm.
Is it this world...?
Or is it the transformation?
He had maintained the disguise far longer than he had ever intended. Perhaps the spell was draining him little by little. Perhaps this world's magic simply rejected a demon's power.
Whatever the reason...
He was weaker.
Far weaker than he cared to admit.
If someone discovered what he truly was tonight, he wasn't certain he could fight his way out.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
For the first time in centuries, Mammon understood what it felt like to be vulnerable.
And he hated it.
The unstable light winked out, plunging the chamber back into silence.
"...Damn it."
Mammon rubbed a hand over his face before reaching for the jeweled candlestick beside him.
His fingers slipped.
The ornate golden edge caught the tip of his index finger.
"...Ow!"
He hissed under his breath, more annoyed than hurt, instinctively bringing his hand closer to inspect the tiny cut.
A bead of blood welled from the wound.
Mammon froze.
"...What?"
His breath caught.
The droplet rolled slowly down his fingertip, catching the moonlight spilling through the lattice window.
Red.
Bright, unmistakably human red.
His eyes widened.
"No..."
He stared in disbelief, squeezing the cut just enough for another crimson bead to surface.
Still red.
Not the familiar color he had known for centuries.
Not the blood of a demon.
His heartbeat quickened.
...Why is it red?
My illusion... it shouldn't change that.
The transformation had always been little more than a spell to change the body gender. It had never altered what he truly was.
Yet this...
This wasn't an illusion.
He could smell the iron.
Feel its warmth against his skin.
Watch it stain the white cloth wrapped around his finger.
His stomach twisted.
...What the hell happened to me?
His gaze darted back to the faint traces of magic still lingering in the air.
His weakened power.
His unfamiliar magic.
Now this.
One coincidence could be dismissed.
Three could not.
For the first time since arriving in Scalding Sands, a far more frightening thought crossed his mind.
...What if I'm not just disguised as a human...?
What if... somehow... I'm becoming one?
The thought sent a chill racing down his spine.
For several long moments, Mammon could do nothing but stare at the crimson stain spreading slowly across the white cloth, unable to tear his eyes away.
"...This..."
His voice was barely a whisper.
"...This ain't supposed to happen."
Mammon still stared at the crimson bead clinging to his fingertip, his thoughts racing.
...Red.
Still Human blood.
He watched another drop gather before quickly wrapping the cut with a strip of linen.
No... calm down.
Think.
Before the portal...
Back in the Devildom, if he'd cut himself, the blood would never have looked like this.
He knew his own body.
Knew his own magic.
Knew what he was.
This wasn't normal.
His gaze shifted to his other hand.
A faint current of pale blue and gold magic crackled weakly across his fingertips before fading away almost immediately.
...I've still got my magic.
It's weird.
Weak.
The color's all wrong.
But it's still there.
That had to mean something.
If he had truly become human...
Wouldn't his magic be gone altogether?
He flexed his fingers thoughtfully.
Maybe the portal did somethin'...
Maybe this world's magic works different.
Or maybe maintainin' this transformation for so long is messin' with me.
None of the possibilities made him feel any better.
He had no answers.
Only questions.
His eyes drifted back to the bloodstained cloth wrapped around his finger.
Whatever's happenin'... it started the moment I crossed into this world.
A portal doesn't just change a demon's blood... does it?
He swallowed hard.
...When I get home... if I get home...
Lucifer's draggin' me straight to Diavolo.
'Cause there is no way I'm explainin' this one by myself.
Mammon's pulse refused to slow.
The crimson stain on the linen lay forgotten as a new thought seized him.
...My form.
If something had truly changed...
Then he needed to know.
He stepped before the polished bronze mirror standing in the corner of his chambers and drew a slow breath.
"Come on..."
Closing his eyes, he reached inward, searching for the familiar presence of his demonic form ,the horns that crowned his head, the black wings that unfurled from his back, the tail that had become as natural to him as breathing.
Magic stirred.
Weak.
Unsteady.
But it answered.
The pale blue-and-gold light wrapped around him, swirling like mist instead of the fierce surge he remembered. His knees nearly buckled beneath the effort as he forced more power into the transformation.
"Come on..."
The light brightened.
Pain shot through his chest.
His vision blurred.
Then...
The magic shattered like glass.
Mammon lurched forward, catching himself against the mirror with a ragged gasp.
"...Hah..."
His reflection stared back at him.
Not the moon-haired dancer.
Not the Avatar of Greed.
His breath caught.
Soft white wings, luminous and impossibly pristine, spread behind him, their feathers glowing faintly in the moonlight.
A delicate golden halo floated above his silver-white hair, shimmering with an inner radiance he had not seen since a lifetime he barely remembered.
There were no horns.
No tail.
No marks of a demon.
Only an angel.
A celestial.
The form he had possessed before the Fall.
Before the Celestial War.
Before he had become Mammon, Avatar of Greed.
His blue-golden eyes widened in horror.
"...No..."
His voice cracked.
"That's... impossible."
He stumbled backward, staring at the reflection as though it belonged to a stranger.
"I... I can't..."
He had not worn this form for millennia.
It should not exist anymore.
It couldn't exist anymore.
The fragile glow around his body flickered violently before collapsing altogether.
The halo dissolved into drifting motes of light.
The white wings faded feather by feather until nothing remained.
The effort ripped what little strength he had left from him.
Mammon's legs gave out.
He hit the marble floor hard, breathing in short, exhausted gasps, every muscle trembling from the strain.
Cold sweat clung to his skin as he stared blankly at the ceiling.
"...What is this world doing to me...?"
For the first time since arriving in Scalding Sands, genuine fear eclipsed even his greed.
Because if this world could return a fallen angel to the form he had lost before the war...
Then perhaps it could change far more than his magic.
Perhaps...
It could change who he was.