Chapter 1: A Letter to The 13 Crowns
Chapter Text
Rin breathed a deep exhale through gritted teeth as he limped away from the burning silhouette of the old, traditional home both he and Shiemi were sent to cleanse. The other exwire helped support his weight with each step, though if Rin risked the white hot jolt of pain to spare Shiemi the struggle of holding him upright, well, who's to say?
“We have to fix that leg as soon as possible!” Shiemi said as she led the other teen away from the burning wreckage.
“It's fine, just- leave it like that,” Rin managed, trying to fix his attention on anything but the raw sting of his injured leg. “Give it an hour an’ it'll be like nothing happened.”
Shiemi hummed, seemingly unconvinced. Frankly, even despite the knowledge of his accelerated healing, Rin wasn't quite as sure of how long his leg would take to fully heal. Still, he considered it better than leaving Shiemi to worry.
“What about you?,” Rin lowered his head to face her, “Are you feeling alrigh–”
Shiemi's eyes widened as their gazes met, her pale cheeks growing flush under the cool-tinted light of the fire behind them. Swiftly, she pulled her arm out from under him, and Rin bit back a grunt as he was left to bear his weight and the shock of pain thereafter as he adjusted to being back on his own two feet.
“Shiemi?”
Rin's eyes followed her as she ran a few paces away, stopping only once a small distance has formed between them. He watched as she held her face, before she combed her fingers through blonde strands, and as Rin strained his ears to hear, he heard nothing but the ambient noise of the sleeping city surrounding them and the faint but quick tempo of Shiemi's breaths.
“I love you too.”
Rin could feel his face warm as he recalled his own words not a few moments earlier, and he barely held a groan as he dragged a hand over his face in a vain attempt to calm the heat that bloomed over his cheeks.
“Th- that's impossible!” Shiemi squeaked, the flame he had manifested in his hand illuminating the way her pale face had reddened amidst the darkness. “I- I'm still a kid! To think about love…”
“Rin… Rin's love is…”
Things couldn't have gone any worse back then in that house.
Well, to be fair, it definitely could have. Rin could think of a good few scenarios which he'd consider to be a worse outcome, but the way his chest sank with an unimaginable weight, the way Shiemi pulled herself away and distanced herself the second their eyes had met like she had done back in Kyoto, didn't feel any better either.
Shiemi- bright-eyed and optimistic, a light that had shone on the halfling's damned soul, reached out, and pulled him up from the depths, the person Rin had always admired and yearned for- was just a few steps away, yet still the space between them felt like the ground had split beneath their feet, forming a cavernous ravine where a sense of warmth and camaraderie once was, and it was all his fault.
“It's burning!”
Rin jolted from where he stood by the pavement, turning to find the senior exorcist– Kami… something– that had sent the two teens into the worn, dilapidated home, with wide eyes as he took in the sight of the fire that rose from every opening, consuming the aging wood.
“Captain Kamayama!” Rin rubbed his nape as he faced the older man, lips curved in an apologetic grin. “I- I did this, sorry…”
“Don't just say ‘I did this’! It's a real problem, y'know?!” He snapped, though as soon as he met the younger exorcist’s gaze, his expression softened under the harsh light of the flames before them. “And it's Kawanaka.” He corrects.
“I…” He nods. “Right.”
“Rin!”
Rin turns, finding Shiemi, face still a faint shade of red, as she motioned for the pavement by her feet.
“Sit here! It's not good for you to overdo it!”
“Oh, uh,” His smile faltered briefly, “Alright.”
Rin limped towards her, holding the red sheathe of the Kurikara in his grip as he tries to avoid further agitating his healing injury, and as he continues his slow pace, the halfling picks up on Mister Kawanaka’s quiet voice as he called for a firetruck over the phone.
He sat himself down on the edge of the pavement, biting back a hiss as he bent his leg even as he moved as carefully as he did. Once seated, his gaze lifted briefly when he spotted Shiemi move, crouching before him. Though he couldn't bear to meet her eyes, Rin could see the corners of her lips, pulled downwards into a tight frown, and his eyes fell to the pavement at the thought that- despite what happened, what he had just done- he couldn't even spare Shiemi from worrying about him.
Rin forced a weak laugh from his throat, leaning himself back just slightly in a weak attempt to feign nonchalance. “Something like this happened before too, huh…?”
He could see Shiemi's fingers twitch, fidgeting, and he waited for a response.
Eventually, she made a noncommittal hum, and that was that.
It was like meeting a dead end after walking down a long road, and the wall that was left between them, born from the rubble of the normalcy and solidarity they once had, was all Rin’s fault. The relationship they had nurtured in the time they had spent together, gone in a moment of misunderstanding, vulnerability and stupid, adolescent longing.
Rin breathed a heavy sigh, the quiet sound melding with the crackle of the fire behind them and the surrounding noise of the night, before he combed a hand through his hair, his skin running warm under the touch of his own palm.
If he were a braver man, he would've tried to say something- anything to fill the dead air between them, to ease the awkward tension and comfort Shiemi, but there's a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and Rin had already crossed that line back in that rotting house when he had blurted out that damned confession.
The shrill sound of Rin's ringtone tore through the empty air, causing the two teens to flinch.
“Shit–” Blindly, the halfling searches the pockets of his uniform’s slacks before finally pulling out the flip phone and answers. “Wh- what is it?”
“Well, don't you answer quick~☆”
Rin bites his tongue, barely holding the groan that threatens to slip past gritted teeth when he hears Mephisto on the other end.
“What do you want? I'm–” He spares a glance up at Shiemi across from him, “I'm kinda busy.”
“Considering the matters at hand, no you aren't,” Mephisto’s tone drops, and the halfling swears he could hear the demon’s eyes narrow from the other end of the line. “Now, come to my office. Don't waste another second.”
“Wh- you're not even gonna tell me why?”
Mephisto hums a lighthearted little tune, and Rin could already picture the older man leaning back against his cushioned armchair within his office, his feet propped up on his desk as that annoying signature smirk of his stretches over his usual smug expression.
“Nope~☆” He says, popping the 'p'.
Rin groans, and Mephisto's laughter on the other end only adds to his growing annoyance.
“Now, hurry up why don't you?" He chuckled. "Don't keep me waiting~!”
And with that, the line cuts, leaving Rin to process the demon's orders amidst the other thoughts vying for his attention.
“Welp,” He sighs, managing the most convincing smile he could muster as he lifted his head, finally looking up to meet Shiemi's face. “Guess we should call it a night. Mephisto-”
“Called for you.” Shiemi's gaze flitted briefly from the pavement. “I… figured from what I- uhm, could hear.”
“Huh.” Rin blinked. “W- Well,” He starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “Wanna walk home with me then?”
A tense air still lingered between the two, but at least now- after his abrupt call with Mephisto- Rin felt that, without a doubt, he could finally breathe, and the corners of his lips lifted into a softer smile as he waited for a response.
“Rin, I…” Shiemi glanced up, meeting his gaze for a brief second. “I mean, I- I guess I don't–”
“We don't have to if you don't wanna. Just… saying it's pretty dark out right now.” He adds.
Shiemi nods. “I… I think I'll be fine though. I'll, uhm, see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah…” He sighs, the grip on his sheathe tightening as he leverages himself up to stand. Shiemi squeaks, moving to her feet just as quickly, but Rin waves her worries away before she could try to pull him up. “I'll see ya tomorrow, Shiemi. Get home safe, will ya?”
“Wait- your leg! I almost forgot about your leg!”
“Hey, look, I'm doin’ just fine already!” He kicked his leg to prove a point, the torn, stained fabric of his slacks revealing pale skin- if purplish and textured with newly formed, darkening scabs- from where he had just been stabbed. “See?”
If Rin ignored the jolt of pain- albeit dulled significantly by his accelerated healing- again, who's to say?
Shiemi opened her mouth to speak in protest before she cut herself off, lips pressed into a thin line as she considered the other exwire's conditions.
“Just… Be careful too, okay?”
Rin nods with a smile, and Shiemi, in turn, manages a small one of her own before she leaves, walking down the street with only a mere glance to spare over her shoulder until her figure disappears into the distance.
Rin, meanwhile, lingered where he stood even after the blonde had already left. As he finally regains his composure, the boy inhales, breathing in the crisp, cool, evening air, tainted by the faintest scent of smoke from the nearby fire, and exhales, before finally turning heel, and making his own way back home.
He was terrified of tomorrow, truth be told.
God knows how he'd be able to face Shiemi now, but pretending as if nothing happened- as if he hadn't just changed the very dynamic of their relationship- Hadn't worked out the first time a huge revelation changed the way his friends looked at him.
This isn't the first time he's had to face uncertainty, at least, but that's cold comfort to the halfling and his nerves as walks down the streets of True Cross.
Perhaps this isn't an uncertainty he should be worrying about though.
Not when eager foes watch his every step from within the darkness.
"Any notice from your brother?" Mephisto asked as he eyed the other half of the Okumura twins.
"No." Yukio said, his head lowered to his phone. Faintly, the demon could see the young exorcist scroll through his message log from the reflection of his glasses, unseen judging by his sour expression.
"Strange," He hummed, leaning back in his armchair. "I told him to be here."
"Sir Pheles," Yukio sighs, lifting his gaze to meet Mephisto's with a firm glare, "Is Rin's presence really necessary?"
"Things would be done much quicker if he was, but," He held the handle of the teacup set aside atop his desk. Bringing it to his lips, the demon took a sip, savoring the subtle taste of the herbal brew, "Give him a moment. If he doesn't arrive, well, I suppose it can't be helped."
"I'll be sure to scold him when I see him," Yukio sighed.
Mephisto only managed a hum in response. Despite the warmth of the tea provided, as the demon set the cup down onto it's saucer, he can't help but notice the foul taste lingering behind his tongue.
Beloved child of the Netherworld. You who have risen from the depths and clawed a place for yourself within Gehenna's great tapestry, do not be afraid.
Firstly, I must apologize for both my and my brothers’ absence across a truly ineffable amount of time. There are things we had to tend to, great pieces we must- and now have- set in motion; and now, as a new dawn peeks over the horizon, I return to you, destitute and humble, in hopes of arranging a meeting where I could enlighten you on the actions I must then take, and discuss the parts you all would have to play for the benefit and unity of our realm in ways I simply cannot express on ink and parchment alone.
And so, I will arrive at the Babel Tower, where I hear you lot often congregate, and I shall arrive on the Sabbath day when the heavens darken for the eve.
My presence is promised and unalterable.
Unfeignedly,
The Prince of light,
Lucifer the Morningstar
Chapter 2: Luke 2:10-11
Notes:
Lucifer appears, revelations are made, Baal keeps getting interrupted and propositions are set! Hope you guys like this chapter rarrghfh
this ended up being a MONSTER jfc- idk how I managed to get 5000 words outta me
Anyways! Lore stuff abt Lucifer, his siblings and how other AOEX elements work in this lil crossover in the end notes ^^
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“This is ridiculous!” Amaymon breathed a huff as he held the yellowed paper in claw-tipped hands, his teeth bared in a snarl. “Whoever sent this needs to be found and hanged!”
“Calm down, would you?” Henri said as his eyes narrowed, before directing his gaze back onto his own letter with a heavy sigh, written in ink on the same parchment as the others.
The Prince of light,
Lucifer the Morningstar
His eyes lingered on those salutations, rereading it for what must've been the six-hundredth time that day.
“You don't truly believe in that, do you, Henri?” Baal asked, and the red-haired demon finds his brow raised in inquiry when he finally lifts his gaze to meet his eyes.
“‘Course he doesn't!” Paimon huffs, “Lucifer? The Morningstar? Anyone who still believes in ‘im and those old tales is either a child or a kook!” As if to emphasise her point, Paimon waved her letter, the page crumpled as if the demon had balled and unfolded it several times after she had read it in her frustration.
“A bit of an odd joke to tell though, isn't it?” Astaroh hummed, his eyes fixed to the words staining the parchment. “Lucifer- alongside the other the sons of the Netherworld- is quite an old, archaic figure. I don't believe most demons nowadays are even aware of their tale save for their names.”
“And to send these to us so… personally,” Henri added with a mutter.
He could still recall last night’s events, the odd sight ingrained with great clarity onto his mind.
Tending to a quick errand, the demon had left his office for barely even a moment in a quiet home. Then, once he had returned, an untouched envelope sat still atop his desk beneath the flickering lamp light, with not a trace of an intruder, of a scent, trail, or- Devil, the door to his room hadn't even opened an inch!
Henri gripped the letter in his hands just the slightest bit tighter.
“What could anyone be getting out of this if it truly was a trick anyhow?” Astaroh asked, the faint drum of his nails against the polished wood providing a calming rhythm within the tense silence of the room, “because I certainly can't see how this could be amusing in any way.”
“Well, anyone could get off on anything, Astaroh dear,” Amuryllis hummed, and though her words tapered off into a giggle as she rested her chin on the back of a slim, gloved hand, there wasn't an ounce of real lightheartedness in her voice. “But to this…”
Henri watched the succubus, studying her deceptively calm expression with furrowed brows. Despite her demeanour, the red-haired demon could see the worry in her eyes, the same, familiar concern he shared at the singular thought that, somehow, without notice,
An intruder had entered their homes.
And that someone, however brief their visit was, had the chance to lay a hand on their children.
Henri could barely sleep a wink that night after he had read the letter, and his worries only grew as he saw his daughter off as she left for Babyls the following morning. He can't imagine the thoughts that burden the succubus sat across from him, the worries she held about her own son's safety if even they- as members of the thirteen crowns- weren't alerted of this unseen messenger.
“Pardon me for my delay,” Henri jolted as Belzebuth pulled him from his thoughts, and it seems he wasn't the only one startled by the demon's sudden appearance judging by the wide-eyed faces some of the crowns’ wore as he allowed himself in.
“Don't worry,” Astaroh hummed, eyeing the older demon as he closed the grand doors behind him. “What is it, Belzebuth?”
“Dusk has fallen.”
Astaroh’s fingers ceased their rhythmic drumming, and with that, the room fell silent.
And so, I will arrive at the Babel Tower, where I hear you lot often congregate, and I shall arrive on the Sabbath day when the heavens darken for the eve.
Henri glanced up to meet his fellow crowns’ gazes, their expressions unreadable, before his eyes flickered to the nearest grandfather clock settled against a far wall, watching its intricate hands with each faint tick, tick, tick of the pendulum.
My presence is promised and unalterable.
It was the loudest sound in the room by far.
Not one of them said a word. They remained in their seats, tensed in anticipation for a moment that- realistically, must have lasted a minute or two at most, but the seconds, marked by the soft noise of the aforementioned clock, seemed to stretch on for an unbearable length of time. Henri hesitated to even breathe, muscles tensed as if a clawed hand was wrapped around his throat, threatening to tear his windpipe free from his flesh at even the slightest movement.
He hasn't felt anything like this. Not in a long, long time.
“This is ridiculous,” Baal muttered, and the sound of his voice seemed to have broken whatever spell had befallen the entire room.
Paimon let slip a shaky breath as her gaze dropped to the letter in her hands, held tight in a grip that threatened to tear it. “Quiet, you.”
“Quite the comeback from someone who claimed that those who believed in the Morningstar was either a child or a ‘kook’”
Belzebuth sighed as he raised a hand in a vain attempt to placate the two before things devolved into another argument. “Enou–”
The grand doors slammed open with a force that threatened to pull them from their hinges as light spilled into the dining hall from the entryway. The crowns recoiled, and Henri could have sworn he heard someone choke on a shriek as he pulled his own arms over his eyes, shielding himself from the blinding glow, but their voice was lost to the chorus as a cacophonous choir filled the once silent room with an indescribable noise that threatened to rupture his eardrums.
A growing warmth seeped into his clothes, his skin. If he didn't know any better, he would've assumed he was seconds away from being scorched alive, but the unbearable heat was nothing when compared to the maddening chorale. its harmonies made every hair stand on end and its voices toyed with the threads of reason, of sanity. If his physical form felt as if it were above a burning pyre, his mind felt as if he was on the cusp of delirium, and all it would take was a single step off the edge for him to succumb to the manic, animalistic joys of–
“Do not be afraid,” Cooed a voice with a gentleness befitting that of a caretaker.
Relief weighed heavily on his shoulders, and Henri sucked in a breath that almost left him choking.
The chorus, the heat– it was all gone.
Slowly, the red-haired demon lowered the arm over his eyes.
There, occupying one of the empty seats around the table was a figure clothed in military apparel, one of high class judging by the scarlet cape draped over their shoulders, the gold that lined the hems of their teal uniform, and the medals pinned to their left breast. Not an ounce of skin could be seen, covered either by the fabric of their regalia or the gloves over their hands, and over their head, an intricately designed, gold mask conceals their face. It curves forward, shaping the helm into a form akin to a beak, and from the holes of its eyes, thin streaks of light spill from its sockets, revealing nothing but the white glow within.
“For behold,” they continued, “I bring you good tidings of great joy, which will be to all people,”
“You…” Belzebuth spoke through a wheeze.
“I,” They said, resting a gloved hand over their left breast as they bowed, “Am Lucifer.”
“The Morning star…” Baal’s voice trembled, a sound barely above a whisper. Henri shifted his gaze towards the Thunder Lord himself, taken aback by the uncharacteristic softness of his tone. But, instead of the wide-eyed expression of shock both he and the other crowns shared, Baal, as he stared at the Prince of light himself, bore an elated smile, one that doesn't reach his eyes which remained open with an almost bestial intensity.
“You're… real,” Paimon whispered with an air of both awe and disbelief, “You're really rea–”
“You doubted my existence?” Lucifer turned to face her, and despite the lack of any noticeably facial features, the Lady of Spirits flinched under his ‘gaze’.
“A- ah, no, I'd–”
Lucifer raised a hand, immediately silencing her. “No, I… understand.
Both I and my brothers have been away for quite some time now, as mentioned in my letter. Though it seems I hadn't realised just how long we have been gone for until now.
And so,” He hummed, clasping his hands together. “I apologise- once more- for both me and my family's absence. Though, from what I have seen of the netherworld thus far, it seems that you've all done well despite it.”
“That…” Astaroh's mouth hung open, and the other crowns paused briefly at the praise, finding not an ounce of anything but sincerity in the prince's voice. ”Thank you, Lucifer.”
“Of course.” He replied, “But, now, Why don't we discuss the matters at hand? I have quite the revelation to share, and with that, a heavy request; and so I'd rather not stall any longer.”
“Ah. Now, what may that be, your highness?” Amuryllis asked, easily slipping into her usual, lighthearted demeanour as she intertwined her fingers, resting her chin on her hands.
“First,” Lucifer said as, with his hands placed on the table, he pushed himself to stand, “Are any of you aware of Assiah?”
“Assiah…?” Henri muttered, and the fallen prince turned his head towards him. The red-haired demon tried not to falter under his gaze.
“Assiah, yes.”
Henri swallowed. “I've… heard of it, I believe, though I can't recall when or where. It's a blur…”
“Then perhaps you know it by another name.” He said, turning his attention back to the other crowns. “Gehenna's mirror: The human realm,”
“Human…?” Baal straightened in his seat at the mention, eyes fixed on the Prince of light.
“Lucifer,” Amaymon said, ears pulled and flattened against his skull as Lucifer turned his attention towards him, “Humans… I- I'm afraid they're not–”
“Real?” Lucifer interrupts, quickly silencing the bestial lord, “Just like you lot believed I wasn't?”
Just like that, the room, once more, fell silent.
At least Amaymon had the decency to at least look embarrassed.
Lucifer sighed, the soft noise echoing faintly from within his golden helmet. Even the thin streams of light that poured from its sockets seemed to dim.
“Have you ever even seen a human?” He asked, “Been in the presence of one?
Have you walked alongside one? Worked with them?”
The crowns listened to the prince, wide-eyed.
“You've…” Henri's voice tapered, processing the deity’s words.
“Been to the human realm?” Lucifer said, voicing the red-haired demon’s unspoken question. “I have, yes. In fact, I have sporadically moved between Gehenna and Assiah.
Even still, when compared to my siblings, well… I find it to be quite the struggle.” He continued.
“As of now, my physical form- The one in Assiah, is… recovering,” He explained, earning a few curious glances from the surrounding demons. “As someone of my nature, there is no known, safe way for me to enter Assiah. But, if father wills it, I shall cross any boundary.”
"So is that why you've called us here?” Astaroh questioned, “To help you in entering the… human realm…?”
“No.” Lucifer responds, “My followers, my ever diligent Illuminati, have already been making progress in that regard. In truth, I have appeared before you here for something else.”
“And that is?” asked Amuryllis, head tilted coyly as her voice drawled with a hum.
“Allow me to enlighten you on my father's- and by extension- my vision before that. It is essential that you're all well-versed on the forces at play before you consider my request.”
“Oh?” She giggled, managing a sweet smile that- if Henri were any other demon- would've believed. “How awful of you to keep us on edge like this,”
“Very well,” Belzebuth said with a sigh, motioning with a wave of his hand for Lucifer to continue.
The prince, in turn, nods in silent thanks.
“I, Lucifer the Morningstar,” He starts, clasping his hands together as his head bows, the movement akin to that of a gilded puppet. Then, without wasting another breath, he announces, “Have come to you in the name of your God, my father, to play a part in the unification of our realms.”
“What?!”
“U- Unification?”
“Of the demon and human realms?!”
“Oh my…”
“Your highness–”
“What is the meaning of–”
“The netherworld wills it,” Lucifer interrupted, effectively silencing the others. “I move for no one but for my father, and so, as should you.”
“No offence, your highness, but that's simply something we can't agree on,”
Lucifer’s head snaps towards Baal's direction, but the demon doesn't shrink away under the prince's gaze. Instead, he meets the prince eyes' with a narrow-eyed expression, the corners of his lips stretched into a sardonic grin.
“To think that the Lucifer, The Morningstar, the apparent son of the netherworld itself, would lower himself to such levels to lounge with far inferior beings. Where's your demonic pride?”
Lucifer simply stares as Baal chuckles.
“Really,” Baal said as he leaned back against his seat, the corners of his lips stretched into a grin. “I don't see why you'd even bother with–”
“Do not talk of the inhabitants of Assiah,” Lucifer interrupts, capturing all attention with not a single raise of his hand, nor with grand acts of divine power, but with a voice that- despite his static delivery- commanded their ears to hear, to fix their gazes attention on his decorated, masked figure. “Not in such a way. If they were your mirror, child, then how does that reflect on demonkind?”
Baal’s eyes narrowed towards the deity, and perhaps at the title the Prince had given to him.
“We are not like them.” He defends.
“Ah,” Lucifer hummed, the small noise reverberating within its golden cage. “Yet still you share their stubbornness.”
“Lucifer–”
The deity raised a hand in Baal's direction.
“Despite this and many other transgressions against me, I will forgive you.” He said, “Still, your cooperation is needed. Our clan’s ineffable plan is nearing its completion, and as mentioned in my letter, I humbly request you all to take part.”
Baal breathed a huff but remained silent nevertheless, leaning back against his seat. it seemed that even he understood the futility of arguing against a prince- against a deity. Especially one who's as ambitious as the one they're in the presence of.
Henri lowered his gaze to his hands, only then noticing how his fingers were folded in a white-knuckled grip, before he glanced up, meeting Amuryllis’ gaze from his peripherals. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and- though she shared his look of scepticism, given the deity before them, could either even be allowed to make a choice?
“What is it that you'd have us do then?” Amuryllis eventually asked.
“Seeing as none of you seem to be aware of the actuality of the human realm, I assume that none of you have any knowledge regarding exorcists and the True Cross Order?”
Henri shook his head. “Afraid not, sir.”
“Please,” Baal said through gritted teeth, “Enlighten us.”
Lucifer tilted his head just slightly towards the blond demon, giving him a nod of approval in regards to his… Much welcome change of perspectives (in his eyes, at least), before he turns his attention back to the remaining members.
“Humans aren't able to perceive us, not as they did then when I had first taken form. But,” Lucifer paused, resting his arms over the table, “There are a few that are touched by us, scarred by us, and those few and their descendants have come to learn how to- not only ward off demons- but even aim to eradicate all of demonkind entirely, as well.”
A heavy silence settled over the dining room.
Some of the crowns are still trying to accept the fact that Lucifer, the Prince of light himself- and most likely the remaining princes spoken of only in old, worn text were real.
Others, meanwhile, were still left on the fact that the human realm, and thus, humans themselves, were veridical, were real.
As revelation after unbelievable revelation were spoken of within this very dining hall,the one that weighed the most on the thirteen crowns’ shoulders were the last of Lucifer's very words, lingering between those seated in silence within the extravagant floor.
The Prince hums, content with the silence.
“These are the exorcists,” He says, “and as a new dawn rises for both Assiah and Gehenna, they'll serve to do more harm, more damage, more misery to not only my clan, but to those of demonic descent the closer we are to accomplishing our goals.”
Paimon swallowed. “Eh… Do they really have the power to e- eradicate…”
“It's either that, or enslave,” Lucifer added. “The line between demonic greed and human ambition is a thin thread after all.”
Henri raised a brow at the latter comment.
“So you're here to enlist our help against them,” Amaymon said, arms crossed.
Baal, meanwhile, leaned back against his cushioned seat, his lips stretched into a grin that bared sharpened teeth. “You've done well to ask us then, your highness. We’ll be sure to remind those exorcists just what real demons are capable–”
“I do not request your help to fight them. Losing resources is not my goal, child.”
Baal's words died in his throat, tapering off into a low hum as he pressed his lips closed.
“What are your goals, then?” Amaymon asked.
“I've heard that the demon king- Delkira, was it? Had gone missing.”
“For quite some time now, yes…” Henri sighed, adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose.
“Now,” Someone spoke, their voice a silvery, low tenor as the grand doors closed with a faint click, “Why do you ask?”
There, standing before the great table, were Lord Belial, dressed in his usual, eclectic ensemble, Lady Levi, standing tall in stature with an air of grace that could move even the harshest of raging storms, and lastly, Lord Sullivan, who stands between his two, great colleagues with an aura of professionalism and power that others often awed at. Lucifer, in turn, pushed himself up from his seat to stand, before he bent into a bow before the Three lords. A gesture which was returned when the Three Greats proceeded to do the same.
“The Three Greats,” He said as he straightened his posture, “I have heard quite a lot about you.”
“And we've heard quite a bit of you, Prince!” Balial chuckled, a lighthearted noise that Lucifer doesn't object to despite the air of tense silence he had commanded with the crowns not a moment prior. “I'll be frank, didn't think I'd ever get to see you! Not in my lifetime, at least!”
Levi hummed, the barest hint of a smile gracing her lips. “What brings you here, Prince Lucifer?”
“And, again, if I may,” Sullivan adds, “Why do you ask about Derkila's disappearance?”
“Well,” Lucifer said, tilting his head downcast just slightly as he adjusts the gold-lined cuffs of his uniform, “I have heard from the grapevine that there have been candidates set to replace him.”
“There are, yes,” Levi replied, “And that's important to your sudden appearance… how?”
“Because I am in need of their aid.”
“Is that so?” Sullivan raised a brow, stepping forward from where he stood alongside his three colleagues. “Well, I'm not sure if you're aware, Lucifer, But a great betrayal occured in the most recent Deviculum. Thankfully, there were no casualties, but we'd rather keep our candidates out of harm's way, especially–”
“My youngest brother is in great danger, my lord.”
Both the crowns and the Three Greats watched, wide-eyed, as the deity, one born from the netherworld itself, the Prince of light, and- from what old tales have said- the strongest of the Devil's kin, lowered himself on one knee before the remaining demons.
“He's a boy of my father's blood, conceived in a human womb and birthed in the human realm,” He explained, his head hung low in a gesture unbecoming of his status as a prince and deity- a gesture of humility. “And as he grew, the exorcists- demon huntsmen- they poisoned his mind, led him astray, turned him into a weapon against all of demonkind, and through him-”
“Our doom is inevitable,” Astaroh completed for him. He sat, drumming his fingers against the table as he contemplated, processing Lucifer's words with furrowed brows.
“Indeed.” Lucifer sighed, “Because unlike me or the rest of my clan, Okumura Rin- one of my youngest brothers, a nephilim exorcist- had inherited our father's fire, a blaze more powerful than even Iblis’, the Prince of Fire and the originator of the netherworld's very flames.”
“How haven't we heard of this sooner?” Paimon asked, a hand placed over her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her shock.
“They're practically declaring war!” Amaymon roared as he rose from his seat. “They dare to use one of our own against us?”
“And many others,” Lucifer said, pushing himself back up to stand, “As I've mentioned before, exorcists have enslaved several demons in a bid to gain power, and to use said power against their own, demonic kin. I have already made a declaration against them and those who dare to oppose my father's wishes, but it's the issue regarding my youngest brother that I come here in search of aid.”
“And what might that be?” Sullivan asked.
“Depending on what you're requesting, well,” Belial chuckled, a laugh that rumbled from his throat, “We'll see how they fare.”
“It's quite a big ask, I must admit, but it's a simple one, I assure you,” Lucifer said. “And not only that. Believe me, great rewards will be due. After all, not only would this be a great act of generosity, one done for the benefit of not only the netherworld himself but for a new age that they'll play a great part in; but the candidates too would be able to earn riches, renown, and- Well,”
Lucifer places a hand over his left breast, eclipsing the spot where his heart should be before he bent himself into a bow.
“They shall have the support of the Ba'al, the Princes of Gehenna, and thus, the Devil himself!”
Those demons within the dining hall were taken aback by the sudden declaration. Of course, as he had mentioned, there would be great honour and prestige if his request is to be answered- something even both Henri and Amuryllis, whose children were indeed candidates, found it hard to ignore. But to have the unwavering support of not one, but an entire clan of deities?
Henri could spot Amaymon salivating at the mere thought of such power and influence from the corner of his eye, but it would be hypocritical to judge him when the thought of his own daughter- Ameri, a growing, young demoness with great promise and ambition- commanding a new era of unity and peace with the guidance of the netherworld’s Princes, warms his chest with a feeling of great pride.
“Your request then, dear prince?” Amuryllis asked, her lips curved into a deceptively sweet smile that fails to hide the anticipation reflected in her rose-tinted eyes. “Let us humour you.”
“All I ask for,” Lucifer said, straightening his posture to meet the faces of the 13 seated at the table. “Is a candidate who is powerful enough to tame my brother,
A demon strong enough to restrain him, and one who could heal him from the poison that he had been fed since those exorcists had first taken a hold of him,
A demon who won't tolerate any transgressions made against them or against any other demons,
A demon who encapsulates the very spirit of the netherworld and everyone residing within,
And who, of course…”
Lucifer paused, and those who listened hung to his every word.
“Is willing to have and hold him, from now on and from this day forward,”
Both the crowns and the Three Greats were taken aback by his response, but before anyone could find the voice to ask–
“Please,” the deity spoke, gloved fingers intertwined as he bowed his head, “On behalf of my brother, I humbly ask, dear children of the netherworld…
for the candidates’ hand in marriage.”
Henri could have sworn he heard the lens of his glasses crack, and for the briefest of moments, he had forgotten what fear meant and how it was integral to- well- staying alive, as he yelled at the Prince of Light- aforementioned deity, and son of the netherworld:
“What?!”
Lucifer's head snapped towards him, and the red-haired demon- driven by an ancient, animalistic instinct that came rushing back as soon as the realisation of what he had said dawned over him- shrunk under the fallen prince’s ‘gaze’, unable to even meet his eyes like a Cerberus with its tail tucked between his legs.
“No!” Levi said, hands clenched to her side in an uncharacteristic act of raw, maternal anger, “I stand with Azazel! My grandson deserves far better than the likes of such an unruly child! Why in the Devil's name would I ever subject him to that?”
“Alice is so independent nowadays, it's so hard to even get a hold of him,” Amuryllis said, lips pursed into a pout.
“With how you've described that brother of yours, I'd never even allow it!” Belial huffed, “You can offer up all the riches in the netherworld and I'd never even think about offering up my dear Razberry! Not for this losing bet!”
“What would Iruma even think?” Sullivan said as he let slip a truly miserable sigh.
“I don't know if he'd even think about agreeing to this…” Amuryllis continued with a mutter. “Alice has been so busy nowadays–”
“Leiji is striving- no- going to be the next demon king, don't You know?! Your brother might be a prince, but he'll never be good enough for my grandson!”
“If I may, your highness, but my daughter is too young to be married! And there is not a man in the demon or human realms who is deserving of my daughter!”
“That boy of yours is only going to drag my poor Razberry down!"
“He'll be so upset! They've never even met before, and I could never put that much pressure on Iruma, especially not after the Deviculum!”
“Order. I ask for order,” Lucifer urged, and though his voice remained level, the thin rays of light that poured from the sockets of his helmet seemed to shine brighter, warmer, in what Henri would assume to be irritation.
“Tell us, dear prince,” Baal asked, teeth bared in a scowl. “How does this even relate to the conflict between us demons and those exorcists?”
“They'll become symbols,” Lucifer said, a faint hiss accompanying his every word. “One for the future they will come to represent, a metaphorical and physical union between the demon and human realms–”
“If they'd even get the chance to be married. Lucifer, are you even hearing us?” Belial tilted his head lazily, moving with an air of nonchalance compared to the other high-ranking demons within the room. “As noble as your goals are, my grandson deserves better!
“As does mine!” Levi added.
“Alice wouldn't let me marry him off even if I wanted to agree to it,” Amuryllis said with a giggle.
“Lucifer,” Sullivan said, and the deity turned to look at him. “No matter what you give, I'm afraid it seems that none of us are willing to accept your offer, not while sacrificing those we care about in the process.”
Lucifer crossed his arms as he considered the lord’s words, letting slip a hum that echoes faintly within his helm.
“A shame, it seems,” The prince said, adjusting the way his gloves fitted over his hands. “Well, it seems I must depart if this is all. Frankly, I hadn't expected you lot to reject the idea of becoming great grandparents.”
The Three Greats choked on air.
“G- Great… Great grandparents?” Levi asked in a mutter.
“Oh- Why yes, great grandparents.”
Despite the way his voice held little to no true emotion, Henri could still hear the smirk in the prince's tone as he spoke, and his eyes narrowed towards the deity as he continued.
“And to a nephilim child- one of both human and demonic descent! That's not something you see often now, do you?” He hummed, “With a lovely little thing like that, I suppose one would be able to earn the attention of an entire room, wouldn't they? Oh the things you could flaunt.”
Lady Levi- a demoness known not only for her power but as well as her calm demeanour- held her face in trembling hands, and now that the deity had planted the thought into their minds, it seems that even her colleagues found themselves tempted by the image.
Henri balled his hands into fists. No wonder he's seen as the strongest amongst the Devil's kin. Lucifer was diabolical, a temptress through words alone, rivalled only by Amuryllis Asmodeus herself.
“I'm sure it would be quite adorable, wouldn't it?” Lucifer- that devil- continued, only furthering the poor lords’ torment.
“It- It would.” Belial spoke through gritted teeth.
“Iruma- Ah, that boy is already a wonder on his own!” Sullivan sobbed, a hand placed over his mouth, “But a great grandchild as well–!”
“Well, till next time then, I suppose.” Lucifer bowed his head before he made his way towards the door placed behind the Three Greats. Just as he passes them–
“Wait!” Levi says.
Lucifer froze. Then, slowly, he turns to look over his shoulder.
“Yes?”
“I–” Her mouth hung open, trying to find the words before she quickly regained her composure, wiping the tear trails from her pale cheeks with the fabric of her sleeve. “A- Allow me to reconsider!”
“Oh?”
“Aye,” Belial spoke up, “Perhaps… Razberry would think otherwise, yes? Who am I to make a decision for my own grandson?”
“That…” Sullivan glanced towards the shorter lord. “Well, Belial, he… he does have a point.”
“He does, doesn't he?” Lucifer said, turning to fully face the three. “Are you perhaps… reconsidering my request…?”
The Three Greats all turned to each other, all bearing conflict-ridden expressions, before they turned back towards the remaining crowns.
The Devil was also known as The Tempter for a reason, and it seems that Lucifer had inherited more than just power and status from his father.
“Well?” Lucifer asked.
“Lucifer,” Sullivan spoke, turning to face the deity. “Let us… discuss this amongst our candidates first, see what they have to say.”
“Y- yes! That!” Levi eagerly agrees.
“Very well then,” Lucifer responds before he reaches into the breast pocket of his uniform, pulling a few- assuming the other crowns would consider the offer as well- small, folded sheets of parchment, yellowed at the edges with age, before he extends them out to Sullivan, offering them. “Should they choose to agree, the location is written here.”
“Thank you, Lucifer,” Sullivan said as he gingerly took the paper from the prince's gloved hands.
“Of course,” He responds, bowing his head. “Now, I must be off,”
Turning heel, the fallen prince continued towards the grand doors, his scarlet cape following behind him. With a flick of his wrist, the gilded gates of the six hundred sixty-fifth floor opened, allowing him through.
“Do consider my request. For our realm’s sake.”
And with that, the doors, pulled by an unseen force, closed shut behind him.
Notes:
Me and my gf figured that Satan and the Ba'al (The Princes of Gehenna, not to be confused with Baal lmao) would be Deities given their roles in AOEX!
Not a lot is known about deities in general, but the Ba'al are the originators of certain types of spells and were said to have guided demonkind personally for several millennium before vanishing without warning, plunging the netherworld into an era of both uncertainty and discovery. Their stories, passed down either by word of mouth through the generations or via worn tablets and inscriptions, are so old that most demons- especially those in younger generations or those of low rank- aren't even aware of them.
Anyways! Hope ya liked Lucifer's appearance. I know he has a "true" form revealed in the manga, but I decided on letting him take a form thats easier on the eyes lmao. I also hope the 13 crowns and the 3 greats weren't *too* OOC too. I've caught up to the manga but this is my first time writing them so uh, sorry ://
Tell me what you guys think tho ^^ comments r appreciated and they keep me motivated 💪💪
Chapter 3: Probably Would've been Received Better as an Email
Notes:
Woe! For Rin goes through some shit! But wait! Dear readers, rejoice! Iruma appearance be upon ye!
Anyways! I really hope none of this is OOC! This is my first M!IK fic so my first time writing these characters might not be the smoothest. Hope you enjoy anyways!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Darkness.
It was the only thing Rin's eyes could perceive beneath heavy eyelids despite his growing awareness.
His limbs were sore, pinned over a firm surface that sunk just slightly beneath his weight- not by restraints, but by a debilitating exhaustion that seeped into his muscles, his bones, down to the very marrow.
The tempting lull of sleep wasn't a foreign concept to the halfling though. After all, If he didn't have school or an ever-diligent brother who prioritised both his own and Rin's education over almost anything, he would've been more than happy to sleep past the first minutes of sunrise and far into the hours early afternoon, just as he does when he's free from (read: ignoring) any schoolwork during the weekends.
But, something was different this time.
Something felt… off.
Still, no matter how he strains to focus, how hard Rin tries just to push past the initial exhaustion and grasp at that distant thought, that fraying thread, it slips between the gaps of his fingers, leaving the young exwire in a haze of confusion as the remnants of sleep tries to coax him back into her open arms.
Somewhere, a small sound reverberates nearby; a rhythmic beep… beep… beep… that the halfling picks up on as he tries against the uphill battle between the tempting lull of sleep and his deep-rooted exhaustion. He would have succumbed to it much sooner, but that persistent itch at the back of his mind, as faint as it was, kept a hold on his consciousness, kept him at just the edge of slumber.
beep…
beep…
beep…
He was forgetting something, he knew it.
beep…
beep…
beep…
He just couldn't for the life of him recall just what–
Something slides across from him a small distance away from where he was settled, the sound a barely audible glide followed by the gentle clack of footsteps against hard tile. Rin's fingers tensed in response, a near subconscious act of comfort cultivated from months of excruciating swordsmanship under Shura's watchful eyes.
To his horror, his fingers barely even twitched.
Something was wrong,
And as a gloved hand takes hold of Rin's own, pressing something small, something cool against the warmth of his skin until it punctures, the halfling hadn't– can't find it in himself to move.
He could feel his pulse stutter, a subdued response; as the exhaustion that weighed over him grew tenfold, ensnaring whatever was left of his waking consciousness.
Despite the fear that seized his heart and his desperate attempts to move, to break free from the arms of Morpheus-
“–need a few more litres,”
-Rin could feel his consciousness slip.
The last thing he could sense before slumber swallowed the last of his remaining thoughts was the overwhelming feeling of dread, and the rhythmic beep… beep… beep… that accompanied his fading consciousness before he went under.
“I'm home!” Iruma called as he pushed the grand doors of the Sullivan home- his home- wide enough to allow himself in.
“Master Iruma,” Opera greeted, the corners of their lips upturned into a faint smile as they approached the young teen. “How was your day?”
“It was fine,” He answered simply, offering the red-haired demon a smile of his own. Opera, in turn, hummed a response, before they motioned Iruma to follow as they turned heel and walked off, leading the boy through the manor's halls.
“At least you seem to have had a good day, master Iruma,”
The boy tilted his head just slightly. “You… didn't?”
Opera considered Iruma's words carefully, lips parted as they thought of just how to respond. Then, letting slip a deep sigh, they looked over their shoulder and directed their gaze towards their young master, their expression softening when they met his curious gaze.
“Well, I wouldn't say it was troublesome per se,” They said, turning to face the corridor before them. “It’s… something that does concern you and the other candidates though, master Iruma.”
“It does?” He asked, quickening his pace to catch up with the red-haired demon.
Opera simply nodded, their gaze following the Iruma as he moved to walk by their side.
“It's not something you should be too worried about though, not right now. After a long day, I'm sure you must be quite hungry.” Opera turned their attention to their young master, brow raised just slightly as a smile tugged at the corner of their lips. “Isn't that right?”
“Ah,” Iruma's eyes brightened under the warm candlelight that illuminated the manor’s corridors. “I- I won't mind staying for dinner, no.”
The corners of Opera's lips twitched, their smile just a touch warmer in their fondness. “I know you wouldn't.”
They kept a steady pace as the red-haired demon led their young master through the halls of their home, quiet but not at all uncomfortable. Elaborately patterned wallpaper stretches over the walls, decorated by portraits and paintings of scenery within gilded frames. There have been a few portraits more ever since the young Sullivan had been brought into their home, ones the family’s head had insisted on with great excitement.
Opera hummed, eyes scanning the surrounding walls. Once, perhaps, they would have been reluctant to keep such mementos despite their master’s insistence, especially of what they once believed to be an inconsequential addition to the Sullivan name once upon a time. But, as the surrounding candlelight flickers, illuminating the portraits of the unlikely family of three, the red-haired demon wouldn't have changed a thing from where they stood now.
Eventually, the two find themselves before the grand doors to the dining room, and with a gentle click, Opera pulled them open, motioning Iruma in with a slight of hand.
“Thank you,” Iruma whispered, and the red-haired demon bowed their head in response before he stepped inside.
The dining room itself was as grand as it was when Iruma first saw it, the ceiling held high by Corinthian pillars as elegant, purple wallpaper lined the walls with printed, regal patterning. Chained to the ceiling was a candle-lit, silver-plated chandelier, which hung metres above a polished dining table filled to the brim with plate upon plate of demonic cuisine. Devilled ham (a magenta colored cut of meat, seasoned with the netherworld's most aromatic herbs and spices and roasted to a fine, well-done finish), Phoenix fra Diavolo (A fowl dish where adlium- Iruma recalled from when he watched Opera cook one night before dinner- and other herbs were tucked into the meat and slow-cooked into a golden brown), Yeduah soup– all those and more served freshly atop ornate silverware for the manor's young master.
“Iruma.”
The aforementioned teen flinched to attention with wide eyes. Sullivan, seated at the head of the table, can't help the soft laughter that slipped past his lips at his grandson's reaction.
“A- Ah, grandpa!” Iruma exclaimed, belatedly recognising the line of drool that ran down his chin. He wiped it with the sleeve of his uniform, face warm with embarrassment.
Sullivan smiled, holding nothing but fondness for the young human as he made his way over to his side, sitting himself down at an empty seat. “I hope you haven't been causing any trouble at school today,” He chuckled.
“I- I haven't!” Iruma responded. Though he hesitated to add that he doesn't actually cause any real trouble. At least, not on purpose. Could it really be considered Iruma's doing when trouble seems to find him near constantly no matter where he goes?
“Good! good!” Sullivan chuckled, lighthearted and warm, before he reached for a nearby plate- Devil's food cake, decorated in pale white icing and topped with bright red Solanum berries- and pushed it towards Iruma. “It… certainly leaves a lot less to think about.”
“Ah,” Iruma hummed, reaching for the table knife and fork set by his plate. “Opera-San said there was something that needed me…? From what they said it's, uhm, not something I should be worried about.”
“And they are correct!” Sullivan said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in his smile. “It's not something you should be too worried about! There was just… a meeting today, and, well…”
“Is it about the Deviculum..?” Iruma asked as he pressed the edge of his knife against the cake, carefully cutting a clean line into the soft dessert.
“Ah,” Sullivan sighed, “No. But it does involve both you and the other candidates.”
Iruma hummed, turning his grandfather’s words over as he placed his slice onto his own plate. Cutting a piece with the edge of his fork, the blue-haired teen brought a velvety piece to his lips, and for the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to revel in the sudden burst of flavor between the moist chocolate of the cake itself, and the sweet and tart mixture of icing and jam between its layers.
“–to more sweets”
Iruma looked up at Sullivan with rounded cheeks, barely registering what he had said as he held the silverware, posed over his cut of the cake for another piece. “Huh?”
He chuckled. “Oh, It's nothing.”
Iruma's head tilted just slightly, an unconscious habit he might have picked up from when he would follow the strays around the streets and woodlands of Japan. He doesn't press the demon further though, and he all too eagerly returns to his cut of cake with a smile.
“Now, if you don't mind,” Sullivan spoke, watching as Iruma, before he even finished his first slice, reached for another nearby plate, “Do you mind answering a question? Just one!”
Iruma hummed an absentminded agreement as he helped himself to some Killed Salad.
“Ah, well,” He managed a laugh, and as the young teen continued to eat, he couldn't help but note the odd tension in his grandfather’s voice. “Iruma, dear boy, what do you…”
Iruma glanced up at Sullivan, a pale hand resting over his mouth as he chewed.
“Well… Have you ever considered about getting married?”
Iruma stared at the demon for a long second, then two, before the weight of his grandfather’s question hit him like a freight train at top speed and he nearly choked on what he was eating.
“I- Iruma!” Sullivan reached out, patting the boy's back with a gentle hand as he coughed.
“I–” He coughed, wheezing. Iruma turned to his grandfather with wide eyes, his pale cheeks flushed a deep red. “Wh- what?!”
“It was just a- a question! And when Lucifer arranged for his youngest brother as one of the candidates' possible fiancé, I thought that–”
“P- Possible fiancé?!”
Iruma, at this point, feels as if he's on the verge of faint– “Wait.” He blinked, brows knitted in confusion. “who is…”
“Lucifer?” Spoke Sullivan, letting slip a deep sigh. “Ah, You remember princess Shura, don't you?”
Iruma nodded.
“Much like her, he is a deity, though he is much, much older than even she is.” Sullivan explained, “And, if there are any truths to those long dead tales the netherworld had largely forgotten about nowadays, he may even be much stronger.”
Iruma swallowed, processing Sullivan's words. “I… I- I still don't understand why this has to involve me o- or Ameri or Azz-kun or– marriage!”
“Lucifer seems set on one of the candidates as the other half of this union,”
“But- But why?”
Sullivan averted his gaze. “Hm. I… never thought to ask. But even if I had, Lucifer would be set on the arrangements nevertheless.”
“Grandpa, I- I'm only fifteen!” He stressed, “I don't think I've even thought about liking anyone that way yet, let alone getting married!”
“Your fiancé would be Lucifer’s youngest brother! I'm sure he would be around your age and that you two would get along well!” Sullivan argued. Whether or not he would be Iruma’s age by human standards never occurred to the elder demon.
“He's not even my fiancé yet! What- What about the other candidates?!”
“Well they can't possibly compare to my grandson!”
“Grandpa!” Iruma groaned. It's a miracle he hadn't fainted just yet seeing as just how much blood has rushed to his face, tinting his pale cheeks flushed.
Averting his eyes from his grandfather, he turned to look at his unfinished plate. Looking now at his slice, half-eaten as white icing coats wine-red layers of cake, he now suspects that there may be more to its initial appearance on the table, apart from being a simple, sweet pastry both his grandfather and Opera had decided to treat him to.
“Iruma,” Sullivan sighed, expression softening as he sees his grandson, flustered and overwhelmed by the arrangements made and set in one, mere meeting. “I… Know this is quite a lot, but I do believe this would be to your benefit.”
“I…” Iruma's mouth hung open, hesitating. “Grandpa, I don't see how…”
“Lucifer spoke of a dream, don't you know?” Sullivan said, resting a hand over his grandson’s shoulder. “One I'd like to believe in, and one I know you would too.”
Turning his words over, Iruma, ever so slightly, tilted his head up to meet the elder demon’s eyes.
“An era of unification. One where both humans and demons can walk side by side,” Sullivan's eyes wrinkled in his smile. “Can you see it, Iruma?”
Iruma sat straighter, studying the elder demon's expression as he processed what he had said.
“You wouldn't have a reason to hide anymore,” He said. “Iruma, you wouldn't have to be worried of getting caught or getting into trouble, all because you are… simply being you.”
“I wouldn't…” Iruma sucked in a breath and held it, letting the weight of Sullivan’s words settle before his words left his lips in a whisper. “I wouldn't have to be so scared. Of… Of losing Azz-kun, Clara, Ameri, the- the misfits, you, Opera–”
“And Lucifer– a deity, supports this, wants for this,” Sullivan chuckled, raising a hand to ruffle Iruma's hair. The teen couldn't help the small laugh that slips past him. “It was quite a shock during the meeting! The crowns couldn't believe it!”
“I find it a bit hard to believe too,” He admitted.
The Deviculum was an especially sobering experience, one that made the threats that loomed over him near constantly, a consequence for his mere existence in the netherworld, fully sink in. In the end, Iruma decided to continue on despite it, if not to prove the entire demon realm wrong, then to be able to carve his own place within it, to claw just to keep himself at the sides of those he cares about.
To hear about someone, a deity, a demon no less, who not only believes in the existence of humans, but also advocates for solidarity between demons and humans, for their safety, for Iruma's safety after he had been reminded time and time again that there wasn't a place for him in the netherworld…
It was almost too good to be true.
“Is it?” Sullivan asked with a chuckle.
Ah. Iruma flushed. I said that out loud.
“There is a human saying, isn't there? About gift horses and mouths?”
Iruma, although he was indeed a human, doesn't exactly know what Sullivan was talking about.
“Point is!” He exclaimed, “This is a wonderful thing, isn't it?”
Iruma considers the arrangements, and though the thought of being married in and of itself was something the teen had never really prepared for nor expected…
“It… It is.” He admitted, “But I still don't see why I need to be the one getting married.”
“Well,” He hummed, resting a hand on the boy's head. “I can't see anyone else who could represent this union between realms any better.”
Iruma opened his mouth to respond before he hesitated, searching his grandfather’s face for something- anything that could indicate all else but the utmost sincerity. Instead, he's met with a smile, warm, and filled with so, so much pride for the young human he had taken in.
Seeing Sullivan like this, looking at Iruma- a boy born human and raised to survive, knowing nothing save for how his worth was tied to his usefulness- the way he looked at him made his chest twist with an ache he can't seem to name.
(A yearning of belonging finally fulfilled, the grief for two people who had never truly left, a homesickness for a home he never thought he would ever find)
“Can… Can I think about it?” Iruma asked.
“Of course.” Sullivan hummed, patting his head. “Though I will be frank with you Iruma, I would also like some great grandchildren–”
“Grandpa!”
After the topic of the arrangement had passed, dinner went by as normally as it always had; though if Sullivan or Opera noticed that Iruma had eaten a little less than he usually would, well, they didn't comment on it before he had left for his room.
Pushing the door open, Iruma passed the threshold before he made a beeline towards his bed and fell face-forward into the mattress, allowing himself to sink into the cool embrace of its soft surface with a sigh.
Despite having worked as a part-time assistant artist for First Love Memories, growing up, Iruma never had much time to think about himself, let alone consider any other relationships outside of his family. His parents had been his highest priority, (they made sure they always were), and even now as he continued to live amongst demons, making friends, finally living instead of surviving, the thought of romance- let alone marriage- had never occurred to him.
So to have such an arrangement, a bind that would surely weigh on him…
“What are you even upset about?” Alikred asked, and Iruma let slip a muffled whine at his sudden presence. “I mean, look at you! You're getting married!”
Iruma jolted, pushing himself up to face the one-eyed demon. “I'm not getting married!”
“Well, you did say you would think about it.”
“I- I only said that because I couldn't just say ‘no’ to grandpa's face! He had–” Iruma hesitated, swallowing the lump in his throat. “He… He looked like he had a lot of hope for me… I can't say no to that.”
Alikred sighed as he positioned himself in mid-air, lying on his stomach with his chin resting in the palm of his hands. “You're hopeless, lil’ Iru.”
“I don't know what exactly I was supposed to say…” He mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.
“How about ‘I'll do it!’ For one?”
“Ali!”
“What? I was giving you something to say!” Alikred huffed as a single eye narrowed in exasperation. “Tell me, lil’ Iru, if you're not going to decline, and if you're not going to accept, then what are you going to do?”
“I don't know!” He groaned, combing his hair back. “This– This is just a lot, Ali. I haven't even met my– the person we're arranged for. I'm not sure if this will even work out!”
Alikred muttered under his breath, “At least you'd finally settle instead of leading the poor members of your harem on.”
Iruma blinked before he lifted his eyes, looking at the small demon with furrowed brows. “Huh?”
“Nothing you should be worried about,” He quickly reassured, “Now, what you should be worrying about is your response to this arrangement.”
“But I don't know how to respond, Ali,” Iruma sighed. “It's… It's about getting married, about- about having to stay with someone I don't even know! I can't just… say yes,”
“And yet you still can't say no to it either,” Alikred mumbled, letting slip a deep exhale as he massaged his temples. “Honestly, I can smell your anxiety. Your indecision would drive you mad at this point.”
Iruma breathed a huff, lips pursed at the demon's response.
“Look, think of it as if… you're stuck with a roommate!”
Iruma's brows furrowed. “A… roommate?”
Alikred gave the young teen a nod before he adjusted his position, suspending himself above Iruma's mattress in a cross-legged seat.
“It's an arrangement, lil’ Iru. You’d only really be married on paper,” He explained, waving a hand, “So other than a few conditions I'm sure you would be able to follow and a new face you'd see on occasion, I doubt there'd be any significant changes to the life you've been living up until this point.”
Iruma considered the demon's words. Of course, arranged marriages aren't unheard of in the human realm (though he can't say for sure how common such arrangements are in the netherworld), but they never seemed pleasant from what he's seen from books and shows he picked up on when he had the time. Miserable days, a tense, uncomfortable atmosphere, your ambitions, torn away and stifled by an uncaring partner; Arranged marriages we're painted as a gilded cage to escape from, not something one would actively accept.
The picture Alikred paints is different though, something simpler. There wasn't a gilded cage to escape from, just a contract that confirms a union. There would be conditions to abide by, sure, but he finds comfort in the thought that- if he were to accept The arrangement- his life would be largely unaltered.
He could still attend Babyls, learn with the misfits he has come to know as his friends. He could still see his grandfather and Opera, and with the support of Lucifer, a deity, his existence alone wouldn't have to endanger himself, endanger his family, friends, and everyone else who he has come to care for.
Alikred makes it all sound so easy.
“Because it is.”
Ah. Iruma flushed. I said that out loud. Again.
“Don't overthink it, lil’ Iru.” Alikred reminded before he floated closer. Curious, Iruma's head tilted just slightly before he jerked back as soon as the demon flicked the space between his eyes. “Arrangements like these are hardly any different from any other relationship. You're still meeting someone new and forming a connection out of it, right? The only difference is that- on paper- you're already a married man.”
Iruma huffed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with pursed lips. “I… I think I see it…”
“So?” Alikred asked, “what will it be, lil’ Iru?”
Azz-Kun: My mother told me about the arrangement. Have you heard of it yet, master Iruma?
Azz-Kun: Honestly, I still find it a bit hard To believe all this.
Azz-Kun: There is quite a lot to think about.
Azz-Kun: Even more to consider.
Iruma: I know...
Iruma: My grandpa told me about it over dinner
Azz-Kun: Ah.
Azz-Kun: I see...
Azz-Kun: Will you be, well…
Iruma: Azz-kun, what will you do?
Azz-Kun: Hm?
Azz-Kun: Why do you ask?
Iruma: Because I accepted
Notes:
A big thank you to lordvoldemortsskin for that text chat code!!
Anyways!! Hoping to get the next chapter out before winter break ends! I can't wait to write it in all honesty, got lots of plans for it ^^ As always, leave kudos and comments if you'd like! Helps keep me going!
Chapter 4: Date Knight
Notes:
UHM???? I BLINKED AND I HAVE OVER 9000+ WORDS WRITTEN, IM SORRY
Anyways! I've added some new tags, but just in case you haven't seen them, some Content Warnings specific to this chapter are for:
•Blood
•ViolenceAnyways! Hope you guys enjoy!
Chapter Text
“It is done, commander,” Homare Todo- Adeptus Major and Lucifer's most esteemed captain- informed him with a low bow of her head. Behind her, as the sound of the steel entryway that led into the demon prince's chambers slid open, three men entered, and Lucifer's eyes followed their every movement as they approached his bedside.
An elderly, human man, with silver hair that bore the same, stark pallor as his skin– Doctor Dragulescu, he recognized– walked ahead, leading two of Homare's subordinates.
The first of them carried a large, opaque, black container. Within the silence of the room, even Lucifer could make out the faintest splash of the substance within the walls of its confines.
The other, meanwhile, carried his brother.
Rin Okumura remained limp over the man's shoulder, still carrying the Kurikara’s sheath which was slung over his shoulder, and dressed in the academy uniform he wore when his men had first taken him into their care. The prince could see the way his chest rose and fell- just barely- with the faintest of breaths. It was enough though, more than enough for Lucifer, and he trusted that the doctor would keep him in such a state throughout the entire procedure he had set in place for the night.
“The time?” Lucifer asked, pushing himself to sit over his hospital bed on frail arms which trembled under the strain of his own weight. The slightest move jostled the IVs that kept his crumbling form together, (Or, at least, slowed his host's inevitable degradation).
Homare retrieved an old pocket watch, rusted at the edges and most likely passed down from her father. “Three o’ five,” She responded.
“Ah,” He breathed, “Just in time then.”
Lucifer observed, patient, as the man who carried his wayward brother laid him down onto the cold-tiled floor at the foot of his bed. Dragulescu moved to his side, and Homare, with careful eyes, watched as the older man carefully dislodged the tubes that punctured the prince's skin one by one. After decades, the demon had long been accustomed to the treatment. Each insertion and extraction of smooth steel barely registered anymore, and as the doctor tugged and tugged, each point he retrieved came out cold; his physical form, his own, manufactured host, barely any different from the necrotic, human bodies his men have studied countless of times before.
“Are you certain this is enough, commander?” Dragulescu asked as he pulled the last of the wires free from his arm. “I've collected a few litres more just in case, but my concerns regarding the success of this procedure still stands, especially if it risks your wellbeing–”
“Doctor,” Homare interrupts, “Do you not trust your commander?”
Dragulescu lifted his eyes, meeting the captain's unflinching gaze. “Miss Todo, you know I do.”
“Then do not question me,” Lucifer interjected before he shifted towards the edge of his mattress, its soft surface just barely dipping beneath his frail form. “Homare.”
At his command, the woman moved to Lucifer's side, helping him off of his bed and onto trembling feet. Slowly, as she supported his weight, Homare led the prince towards Okumura's unconscious body, just as the guard that held the container kneeled beside the exwire’s unconscious form to set it down.
The moment he had twisted the cap open, as Homare positioned her commander down on his knees by Okumura's side, Lucifer was met with the strong scent of iron.
It filled the room near instantaneously; or at least, that's what it had felt like to the prince. It replaced the well-maintained, unscented sterility of Lucifer's chambers with a pungent, metallic scent; painfully, and disgustingly human in all the ways his troublesome half-brother always was.
And yet…
Lucifer’s nose twitches, catching a hint of something else, something familiar beneath the thick, coppery layer that stained the very air.
“Pour,” Lucifer instructs. Without wasting another second, the man tilted the container over Okumura's unconscious form, dousing his pale body with the warmth of the boy’s own blood. It stained the fabric of his attire, his undershirt, skin- even painting the floor beneath a deep red, gradually soaking into the spaces between each smooth tile.
“If I may repeat myself, commander,” Dragulescu asked as Lucifer extended a hand, palm hovering just over his brother's chest. “Is this enough? Perhaps I should have drawn more from him–”
“If it eases your mind, then do not worry, doctor,” Lucifer reassured, his blond lashes fluttering close as he breathes in the near caustic scent of ichor, it's strength growing tenfold now that it rests bare, reflecting the cool light that illuminated the prince’s chamber. “I can still feel my father’s presence, albeit faint.”
“A shame this method isn't viable to replace the artificial gate sir Pheles had compromised,” Homare spoke in a mutter.
“Indeed.” Dragulescu sighed. “The amount of use the boy would be given that his blood wasn't so terribly diluted.”
Lucifer hummed. “Worry not, doctor,” He said, finding the faint drum of the teen's pulse beneath the pads of his fingers. “With the boy gone, a window of opportunity presents itself before our very eyes.”
Focusing on the faint, rhythmic beat of Okumura’s heart, the warmth of the fire he had inherited from their father seeping into the cold, lifeless hands the prince had been merely puppeteering for decades, Lucifer called to that familiar feeling, to the disgusting, reprehensible chaos that he made out amidst the harsh blend of ichor despite the near overwhelming scent. From there he could sense something that eased into his skin, prickling the faint hairs that scattered over his human form like the sting of a fresh incision, and that festering, burning itch only grew with each fleeting second that passed.
Yet still, it couldn't possibly compare to the rot that plagued every form he had ever taken since he had first gained sentience; the gradual degradation that befell every host he had ever possessed, and the misery that accompanied his every waking moment.
Lucifer, just as he had done for centuries, persisted.
He reaches further. The torturous, writhing heat began to culminate in what felt like hot coals beneath his skin. His host chokes on a gasp; a painfully, disgustingly human reaction that was pulled from pale lips, born from a length of evolutionary time that spanned generations. It revolts Lucifer to no end that the strain of his efforts- a mere dose of the cosmic, ancient force he's capable of wielding- is able to force such a response from his physical form, and so he stomps it down, along with the blend of bile and blood that collects in his throat, threatening to spill free and past gritted teeth.
Through the static that began to flood his ears, his own senses blurring in a way where scent, taste, and touch are barely anything more than a burning pain, pain, pain; finally, finally, after what felt like an eternity amidst the raw agony that set every nerve alight, Lucifer finds what he's been looking for.
He reaches for that light within the darkness, his light within Gehenna, and pulls.
Coordinating with the rest of himself, the part of the deity trapped helplessly within the netherworld, feels akin to an injured general leading the charge of a great army: a near imperceivable amount power at his disposal, yet left utterly incapable of truly commanding it in its entirety. Still, as Lucifer both outstretches and pulls, both leading and following, his light finds that imperceptible line that keeps the world's order, that boundary between Gehenna and Assiah, and he peers through the thinning gap provided by the nature of the witching hour and the traces of whatever was left of his father's power within Okumura’s own blood.
It felt like catching a glimpse of the light of day after having lived a life within the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean, having only known a crushing, inconceivable pressure and an all-encompassing black Lucifer could only hope to illuminate. His own rays reach towards the surface like outstretched arms, grazing the boundary between the realms as if he were nearing the edge of the water, the rippling, boiling surface, tainted by the red of Okumura's blood.
Then, those thin beams of light pierced the veil.
Lucifer grasps blindly, finding it easier to navigate with his eyes pressed close. At least that left one less sense to overwhelm the poor husk that housed his body, but his eyes still throbbed in its sockets regardless. Briefly, beyond the searing, near unimaginable pain that boiled beneath his skin and filled his very ears, threatening to rupture his ear drums, he could feel the way his light manifested, a brief graze of his arms, and the dual sensation of both feeling and being felt offered him a brief distraction, a moment of reprieve amidst the way the deity is overexerting himself.
Finally, his many hands find his brother, and his fingers- formed in rough approximations of the aforementioned appendages- curled over the fabric of his uniform, pulling Okumura through the boundary in a slow, agonisingly slow process that was almost akin to leading a camel through the eye of a needle. The only thought that keeps him from simplifying the process, from twisting the young exwire’s limbs to better fit into the makeshift gate he had created, was their father's displeasure: the thought that no one- not even the prince of light himself- was permitted to dispose of the young nephilim.
That was a pleasure solely reserved for the fallen king himself, if the great deity- in his current state- was even conscious enough to recognise his own, human-born son in his presence.
No matter, he would be soon enough. Perhaps when the time comes, when he no longer suffers the burden he bears as a deity held within the weak, claustrophobic confines of human skin, even both Samael and his youngest brothers- if Satan would find it in his heart to be merciful enough to let them witness his dreams come to fruition- would come to understand their father and the extensive lengths Lucifer was more than willing to take for the collective, greater good.
With one last, final tug, the deity manages to pull the young exwire through the boundary, dragging him further and further from the light of Assiah and into the warm, awaiting arms of Lucifer's divine glow.
Time passes. For how long, Lucifer doesn't know, nor does he care to know amidst the disorienting agony he had inflicted upon himself. But when he deems his half-blooded brother safe and firmly within his care in Gehenna, Lucifer severs the cord that connects his consciousness to the netherworld. The effect was near immediate, it seems, and the deity barely registered what was happening to him until his human husk fell limp against the floor. The Impact sent a shock through his skull, and the fresh jolt of pain only added to the cumulative agony that had only- until then- began to subside.
“Commander!”
That was… doctor Dragulescu, Lucifer believed. His eyes fluttered open, a small, sluggish movement that- despite the simplicity of such an act- is met with a nauseating, throbbing ache behind his sockets. His vision swam with the blurring silhouettes of his followers, but he finds that he barely registers his hazy surroundings, nor the sensation of gloved hands against his bare skin, not when his gaze settles on the pool of blood where Okumura’s unconscious form once laid.
Its surface still bubbled, just barely, sending ripples across its glistening, red surface.
Within the late hours of the night, long after Homare and Dragulescu had helped their commander back into bed, supported once more by the numerous equipment that slowed the gradual deterioration of his human form; Stone and earth rumbled beneath slumbering cities, the wind howling in a wispy, joyous chorale.
Finally, finally, Gehenna's wayward, half-blooded prince had found his way home.
“I don't know why this was necessary,” Iruma mumbled, averting his gaze from the cup-shaped blooms arranged in the large bouquet his grandfather had insisted on. Their resemblance to the roses he was familiar with would have been a pleasant surprise, but his unease was less about the arrangement itself or embarrassment of just how much effort both Sullivan and Opera had gone through to- not only order the large bouquet of demonic flora whose arrangements Iruma couldn't grasp the meaning of, but to also whisk him away to outfit him in an entirely new ensemble- but more so the fact that the red petalled flowers were staring at him.
“The bouquet?” Alice prompted from where he sat across from him in the carriage Sullivan had all too enthusiastically offered.
“All… This.” Iruma sighed, dropping his gaze from the collection of blooms in his arms and onto the ivory attire he had been coaxed into.
It wasn't the most elaborate thing he had worn, Iruma had to admit. He wore a white, ruffled blouse, its fabric patterned with pale blue vines that snaked up his sleeves and tunic, with a pair of plain, white slacks that faded to a matching blue towards his feet to match. Over his chest was an unpatterned vest in the same white as the rest of his ensemble, held tight over his waist by a black leather belt, and as the teen grazed well-manicured fingers over the gilded collar on his neck- the same one he had worn during the prior Deviculum- even he had to acknowledge that his current attire was especially plain when compared to what he had worn in the past.
“Master Iruma,” Alice sighed, adjusting the ruffled collar over his neck. “You came here expecting to win the half-human prince's hand, didn't you?”
“C- Couldn't I have worn my uniform like you though?” Iruma stammered as he glanced up to peer at the demon's own attire. Much like he had said, Alice hadn't worn anything particularly elaborate. Really, all he wore was his usual attire, though he had discarded his coat in favor of a pale vest that extended behind him in a lengthy tail coat, held together by a black corset that slimmed his already lean figure. Iruma lifted the arrangement of flowers just slightly, an unconscious effort to hide behind its large blooms.
Alice's expression softened, gaze fixed on the other teen and the way he held the bouquet over his face. “Master Iruma, I don't expect to leave with a bride in tow, remember? I'm here to support you.”
“I…” Iruma sighed, holding the bouquet higher as heat bloomed over his cheeks. “I know… I just– Do you really think this could convince anyone?”
“Of course!” He exclaimed, startling Iruma with his conviction. “I believe you would be able to capture the heart of anyone you wish, master Iruma! Even without the ensemble!”
“Thank- thank you, Azz-kun,” Iruma spoke, letting slip an unconscious chuckle. He doesn't quite believe it, but when has Iruma ever noticed the effect he had on the ever-pining members of the harem he had unwittingly created?
Alice opened his mouth to speak, most likely to sing Iruma’s praises as he so often tended to do, before the carriage lurched to a stop, sending both boys tumbling against their respective seats.
“Irumaaa~!” Sullivan sang from where he drove the caravan, oblivious to how the boy in question let slip a faint groan as he gathered his bearings. “We're here!”
Registering his grandfather's words, Iruma’s stomach sank.
It had only been about a week or so since he had first accepted the proposal, swayed by both his grandfather's words of pride and Alikred's rationalisation. And though the initial unease lingered, trembling with each, anxious pulse of his heart as he confessed his decision to both Sullivan and Opera the following day, he found the weight of his choice to be much easier to bear than he had originally thought.
Of course, the thought of the arrangement had never truly left his mind. It was a constant reminder, one that continued to linger at the back of his mind from the moment he woke up from bed every morning down to the very last second before he'd fall asleep.
Alice and Ameri had been concerned about him. As fellow candidates, they were the only two– save from his own family– who he could talk to in regards to the oncoming engagement, given that the crowns had yet to announce the validity of humankind and the upcoming union to the rest of the netherworld (as per Lucifer's request). The demoness especially seemed quite invested in Iruma’s choice to accept, asking him if he's really, truly sure about his decision whenever they've come face to face. In turn, Iruma reassured her, and though he couldn't tell her why in full truth did he accept, he hoped the thought that this choice was well and truly his was enough to put her at ease.
Iruma at least, felt flattered by the concern. Truly, he couldn't have asked for better friends than those he had made within Babyls, (though he can't help the slight twinge of guilt at Ameri's frown whenever he answered all and any questions she had regarding his decision. Had he said something wrong?)
No matter, It made the weight of the arrangement easier to bear, at the very least; easier to accept.
Until now.
As Sullivan pulled the door to the caravan open, eyes squinted in a smile to where the crow's feet at the corner of his eyes showed, the blue haired teen sucked in a trembling breath as he forced himself to his feet, urged towards the entryway with his grandfather's outstretched hand.
Thinking– speaking of the arrangement was a completely different experience compared to where he stood now: hand over his grandfather's as Sullivan helped him from the safety and comfort of his old life and led him into the possibility of something new.
“Look, think of it as if… you're stuck with a roommate!” Alikred reassured.
Iruma could feel the rush of his own pulse in his ears as he stepped out of the carriage and onto teal-colored grass. The earth beneath him extended far into the horizon, with nothing but a vast, untouched landscape that accompanied the clear skies that stretched high above him.
“It's an arrangement, lil’ Iru. You’d only really be married on paper,”
Iruma flinched when he felt the weight of a hand over his shoulder. Lifting his gaze, he finds Alice by his side, his brows knitted together in obvious concern.
“Master Iruma?”
“I- I'm fine,” He reassured, before his eyes fell to the grass beneath his feet. “I'm… I'm fine...”
Alice's gaze flitted over Iruma's expression, and guilt coiled over the blue-haired teen’s heart like a vice at the sight of his friend's concern.
“Alice! Iruma!”
Both boys flinched at Sullivan's voice, heads swivelling to meet the elder demon's gaze as he loomed above, standing just behind the two with a camera in hand.
“I'll have to leave soon as per Lucifer's instructions, but–” he raised the camera to his face. “A single picture couldn't possibly harm anyone, would it?”
“O- Oh.”
“Now, compress a little, would you?”
Iruma and Alice shifted closer, standing shoulder to shoulder as the blue-haired teen fixed the bouquet in his arms, careful as to not bruise the arrangement of flowers in his possession.
“Aaaand, say ‘devi’!”
Iruma tried for the most convincing smile he could muster.
“Devi!” They both said in unison before they heard the tell-tale click of the camera followed by the flash of its lens.
“Perfect!” Iruma heard his grandfather exclaim as he blinked away the camera's aftereffects. “Oh just look at you two! Anyone who won't find my dear Iruma even the slightest bit charming doesn't have a soul to speak of!”
“G- Grandpa–”
“Precisely, chairdemon Sullivan!” Alice cheered.
“Azz-kun!” Iruma stressed, “You– Not you too–”
Sullivan swept Iruma into his arms, pulling the much smaller boy into his embrace.
Iruma blinked, mouth parted with the words that were now lodged in his throat.
“Grandpa?”
Sullivan sighed and pressed Iruma closer.
“I'm so proud of you, Iruma.”
Oh.
Iruma audibly swallowed before he brought his own arms around his grandfather’s chest, careful as to not harm the bouquet his family had painstakingly arranged for him.
“Whatever happens,” Sullivan said, squeezing him just a touch tighter, “Whether or not you return home with the prince in tow, know that Opera and I will always, always welcome you home with open arms.”
“Thank you, grandpa,” Iruma whispered against his shoulder.
“Thank you for considering,” Sullivan said, letting slip a quiet chuckle. “I know it must have been hard, but I genuinely couldn't think of anyone more fit for this union than you, my boy.”
Iruma sucked in another, trembling breath, wrenching his eyes close when he began to feel the telltale sting of tears.
“I won't let you down.”
“Iruma,” Sullivan laughed as he settled the boy back onto his feet. “No matter what happens, no matter what you do, you never will.”
Iruma managed a nod in response as he blinked away his tears, lips split into a smile that- to his surprise- was genuine.
“Now, I'll be off! Stay safe, you two!”
Ah,
Iruma lifted his free hand to wave at his grandfather as he turned heel and made his way towards the carriage.
Now I remember why I'm here.
“Take care, Grandpa!” Iruma exclaimed.
Sullivan turned to look over his shoulder, eyes squinted in his smile as he helped himself onto the raised platform of the coachman’s seat. “Ah, always so considerate, Iruma.”
With that, the lord left, leading the charge of a lone caravan drawn by a pair of armored horses. As his grandfather's form began to disappear into the horizon, Iruma could distantly hear him sing the boy’s praises, making his affections known to the entire realm just as he had when he first took Iruma into his care.
“Are you ready, master Iruma?” Alice asked. It was a familiar question, one he had posed many times before in the days leading to the arrangement.
Despite the way he could feel each thrum of his pulse against his chest as he held the bouquet, hands trembling around the paper that held it together; Swallowing the lump in his throat, Iruma managed a small nod in response, lifting his gaze to meet Alice's expression of concern.
“I am.” Iruma answered, surprising even himself with the conviction he now held.
“And so am I!”
That was the only warning Iruma was given before Razberry tackled him from behind, pulling the poor teen into his arms in a near suffocating embrace.
“Hiya Iruma!” Razberry greeted. Looking up from where he shifted in his fellow candidate’s embrace, he finds the other teen peering down at him, wings outstretched over his back as his lips split into a wide, shark-toothed grin. “Honestly, I didn't think I'd see you here, but I'm glad you did! Now I've got you and Alice to cheer me on while I go and bag that half-human prince!”
“Unhand master Iruma at once, you fiend!”
“Ah, I bet he'd be real pretty!” He continued, undeterred by Alice's scolding nor the way Iruma struggled against his hold. “Do you think he'd look good in a nice, big wedding dress?” Razberry's pointed ears twitched at a thought, before he pressed his lips closed in a pout. “Wait… would I look good in a nice, big wedding dress? But I already got this suit…”
“R- Razberry–” Iruma choked out before finally pulling himself out of the other teen's embrace, startling Razberry out from his musings. “Uhm– I- It's good to see you!”
“Huh?” The other teen blinked. “Oh! You too, Iruma! Alice!”
“I would say otherwise,” Alice grumbled, nose scrunched in obvious displeasure, not as if the other demon had noticed as he tucked his wings through the slits cut into the fabric of his blazer.
“S- so, uhm…” Iruma started, carefully rearranging the blooms Razberry had unknowingly disheveled. “You… accepted the arrangement too?”
“Yep!” Razberry grinned. He adjusted the collar of the white button-up beneath the black of his suit jacket, which- seeing as the first two buttons were undone- displayed the bare skin beneath in a casual manner despite the formality of his attire. “I mean, when are we ever gonna get another chance like this? To get hitched to a half-human, half-deity prince? I didn't think humans were even real, so to actually meet one?” Razberry laughed. “ Doesn't that sound awesome?!”
“Y- Yeah…” Iruma managed a smile, even as he deflated just slightly at the demon's response. Oh the irony.
At least he doesn't seem keen on eating humans.
Or, Well, at least not this specific half-human.
“Oh! By the way…” Razberry spoke, his bright, golden eyes roving over Iruma's shorter frame before his gaze shifted towards Alice at his side, earning a narrow-eyed glare from the other demon as he examined them both. “Huh… Guess you two actually did accept the arrangement.”
“Actually, Master Iruma did,” Alice quickly corrected, faster than it took for Iruma to even consider how he should respond, “I am simply here to support him in his endeavors.”
“Oh?” Razberry tilted his head curiously, mouth curled in a way that the very tips of his canines peek out from under his upper lip. “Welp, point still stands! Sorry about this, Iruma!”
“H… Huh?” Iruma's lips part in his confusion, blue eyes fixed on the other teen as he let slip a laugh.
“The only one coming outta this arrangement with the prince in tow is gonna be me!” He announced, his smile so deceptively bright as he leaned into Iruma's space. “So, no hard feelings if you have to go home empty-handed, right?”
“U- Uhm–”
“I'll have all three of you hanged when this entire arrangement is done and settled!”
The three turned, startled by the sudden threat and the familiar voice that announced it. To his surprise, Iruma finds an especially enraged Leiji, dressed- not in his school’s uniform like he had been used to seeing, but instead in a white, form-fitting gown that flared outwards at the knee in a way that Iruma can't help but compare to the silhouette of a mermaid's tail. Even the sequins embroidered onto the fabric- threaded into the material like scales which made it seem as if the pale material faded into a faint teal towards his feet- only added to the comparison.
“Leiji?” Alice brows knitted together, his rosy-eyed gaze examining their newest addition and the extravagant attire he wore. “I didn’t expect you to accept.”
“Only an idiot would reject an offer to be wedded to a deity, Alice! Alongside all the rewards that were offered!” he argued. Iruma quickly averted his gaze.
“Okay, but what's with the whole getup?” Razberry asked, head tilted to the side as he regarded his fellow candidate with furrowed brows.
“I should be asking you the same!” He huffed, lifting an accusatory finger towards the three. “Last I checked, I hadn't allowed any of you to run off with my idea!”
Alice's eyes narrowed. “I'll have you know that master Iruma is an especially creative demon, and I take great offense to the assumption that he would ever go as far as to become a plagiarist!”
Leiji turned sharply. Though his gaze was hidden, shielded by teal locks of hair, the glare he shared with Alice was unmistakable.
“Azz-kun,” Iruma chastised, his voice barely louder than a whisper as he spoke through gritted teeth. Alice doesn't seem to have noticed.
“Is that so, Asmodeus?” Leiji questioned, speaking Alice's name as if it tasted especially foul on his tongue. “Then how, pray tell, do you explain the fact that you're all dressed in wedding attire?!”
Iruma practically choked on air.
“I–” He coughed, face flushed to an almost comical degree. “Wh– What?”
“Oh!” Razberry exclaimed, teeth bared in a grin. “Is that what yours was supposed to be?”
“I–” Leiji turned to look at Razberry, left sputtering at his impudence. “What else was I supposed to be?!”
“You're kind of giving off the silhouette of a dead squid.”
“At– at least I'm far more presentable for my fiancé than you! You haven’t even bothered to button your shirt up fully!”
“It's called ‘being comfortable’!” Razberry defended. “If my fiancé really cared about me, it wouldn't matter to him!”
“You haven't even met him yet–”
“Quiet, Asmodeus!”
“You're supposed to be cheering me on, Alice!”
Iruma catches the slight twitch of the Asmodeus heir's eye as the two continue to bicker amongst themselves. Sighing, the teen held his bouquet up to his face. It was a vain attempt, but Iruma could pretend that such a small act would be enough to hide his presence for a moment of reprieve even as they stood amidst an empty field with nothing but grassy land for as far as the eye could see.
These were the candidates available, the young demons who took the step forward and offered themselves up to the netherworld's youngest son, and Iruma just barely stifled a groan as his cheeks grew impossibly redder, his voice, instead, leaving pursed lips in a quiet whine.
At least Leiji and Razberry seemed especially interested in the proposal. That was something they had over Iruma at the very least, who– in all honesty– didn't have much to offer apart from simple companionship.
Still… Maybe that would be enough.
…
He hoped that would be enough.
“Now, isn't this endearing?” A collection of voices spoke.
Iruma froze, fingers tightening over the smooth ribbon that held the arrangement of flowers together as a shudder ran up his spine and left him in the form of a strangled whimper. It was the only noise he registered before the weight of an unbearable silence settled, accompanied by an ancient, instinctive fear that held his breath in his throat.
The whole world seemed to have stopped then, as even the grass beneath his feet, which once brushed the hem of his pants and shifted at the slightest breeze, ceased their movements.
At least the fear, despite the way it gripped his heart, felt familiar. It was an anxiety he had felt for as long as he could recall.
Still… It wasn't like this.
It was never like this.
There was a long, quiet sound akin to the hum of an unfamiliar lullaby, sung by a choir of hushed voices, before the chorus continued.
“You've even dressed yourselves for the occasion.” They said, and faintly, Iruma could hear the slight crunch of grass beneath light foot falls grow closer. “Do not be afraid. For behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which will be to all people.”
“Y- You're–” One of them– It was hard to discern past each thud of his pulse within his ears– breathed.
“Lucifer, yes.” They– Lucifer said. “Now, if I may repeat myself…”
The only warning Iruma was given was the faintest brush of heat over his sleeve before he felt a gloved hand over his own. Gently, Lucifer guided Iruma's hand lower until, with wide eyes, the boy was met face to face with a golden mask that radiated a divine light from its empty sockets.
“Do not be afraid, dear child.”
Iruma's lips parted, but whatever words he might have conjured remained lodged in his throat. The only thing the boy could manage was a weak nod. That seemed to be enough of a response for the deity though, and he wordlessly retrieved his hand from Iruma's own.
“Interesting,” Lucifer hummed, before he turned his head stiffly towards the other candidates in a movement that one could easily compare to an old, rusty toy's. “How incredibly… Interesting.”
Iruma briefly wondered through the haze of fear if this ‘interesting’ meant anything good.
“I believe you are the candidates, yes?” Lucifer asked.
“We–” Leiji audibly swallowed. Iruma doesn't think he's ever heard the demon sound this terrified in the time he's known him. “That we are, Lucifer.”
“The ones who accepted, at least,” Alice added, his voice uncharacteristically small as they all stood in the deity's presence.
Another noise escaped Lucifer. That same, drawn out melody in an odd approximation of what Iruma now understands as a contemplative hum.
“It is an honor, then, to be in the presence of such dedicated young demons,” He said, before his head tilted mechanically in a slight bow. “Those who inhabit both Assiah and the netherworld, and even Gehenna itself, give their deepest gratitude.”
“Thank-” Leiji coughed, regaining his composure. “Thank you for even allowing us the opportunity, your highness,”
“It's one that we won't waste,” Iruma managed, albeit timidly. His eyes were still fixed on Lucifer, the deity dressed in military apparel. It took everything in him to keep his hands lowered, his own grip trembling as he held the bouquet in his arms.
“I'm sure none of you would,” He said, and his gilded mask turned to lay its ‘eyes’ over Iruma's form. “If you all had accepted, then you are well aware of both the risks and rewards this union would entail, yes?”
Iruma sucked in a breath before his gaze fell to the grass beneath his feet. He nodded.
“Confident, aren't you?” Lucifer hummed. Though his voice remained level, Iruma could make up the slightest lilt of amusement in his voice. “But confidence alone would not be enough to sway my decision. Only the best among you may have my youngest brother's hand.”
“Then it's the best he'll find, your highness,” Razberry responds, the corners of his lips twitching upward into a slight grin that- even despite the nonchalance that he conveys through his voice- Doesn't meet his eyes.
“Indeed.” Lucifer turns to the young demon, and Razberry shrinks just slightly under his ‘gaze’. “Which is precisely why I am here. Although I much appreciate the effort you have all taken for my dear brother, I, unfortunately, don't believe he would see the same.”
“Why… Why do you say that?” Iruma managed to ask, eyes fixed on the deity.
Lucifer turned to Iruma in that same, uncanny motion; both too smooth, yet too stiff to be considered anything organic, anything natural. It made every hair stand on end– a prickling sensation that climbed up his spine and left him in a shudder, and Iruma quickly averted his gaze back to his feet. “Ah, had your guardians not informed you?”
“The Prince is a demon hunter,” Alice explained. Iruma's eyes widened, head swivelling to meet the demon's troubled expression at his side. “You… really didn't know?”
Iruma, throughout his entire stay in the netherworld thus far, had always carried the impression that humans like himself were nothing more than mere prey. Despite being perceived as a myth to be believed in or forgotten by a majority of the populace, there's never a day where he doesn't feel the faintest whisper of unease at the back of his mind, reminding him of his place and how- at the slightest slip- everything he had ever done would be thrown to the wolves, and he, would instead, be perceived as nothing more than mere cattle to be consumed.
To have that impression turned on its head, to hear that someone even half human would claim the role of a hunter, of someone who– is not only capable of harm– but would actively target his family, his friends, classmates–
Iruma doesn't know what to think.
Iruma doesn't know how to feel.
Not when he had stumbled into this proposal and unknowingly accepted a demon hunter's hand.
Not when his husband-to-be was someone who saw demons the same way most of them had always seen humans; would always see him.
Iruma sucked in a breath and held the bouquet tighter.
What kind of unity was this?
“He was brainwashed by humans, my Grandpa said,” Razberry explained, voice low as if he were spreading a schoolyard rumor. Much like the other candidates, including Iruma himself, he stood more at ease without Lucifer's gaze fixed on his form. “They turned him into a weapon.”
“I- I don't,” Iruma swallowed. “But why?”
“There are simply those who cannot stomach the thought of peace, dear child,” Lucifer said. “That is the way of the world unfortunately. But, do not worry about anything; instead, come to me about everything. I will ensure that neither realm will suffer any longer, and this arrangement is only the first step in the great plan I'd like you all to take part in. The venom those exorcists had planted into my dear brother's mind was a risk to consider when accepting the arrangement. Now, it is merely something one must overcome.”
“I am certain it won't be an issue, your highness,” Leiji reassured, resting a gloved hand over his chest. “I, as his husband-to-be, will make sure of it.”
“Is that so?” Lucifer turned his attention from Iruma and towards the Leviathan heir. The dimming, warm light of Dusk reflected on the deity's golden mask, shifting along its gilded surface as he tilted his head.
“You aren't the only candidate here, Leiji,” Alice warned, “I believe you've forgotten someone?”
“Exactly!” Razberry exclaimed, “I'm right here!”
The Asmodeus heir stared at the other teen, bright eyed and shark-toothed in his smile, with a blank-eyed expression.
“Yet still,” Leiji sighed, “I remain to be the one most capable.”
“Why don't you allow me to put you four to the test then,” Lucifer proposed, “Prove those capabilities to me.”
“A… A test?” Iruma asked.
“I had always intended to,” Lucifer explained, “This is why I had invited you all here. How else was I supposed to conclude who was the best among you?”
Lucifer turned towards the young boy, and, for the first time since he had appeared before them, a gentle gust blew across the empty field, causing the deity’s red cape to billow around his figure like the fading warmth of a setting sun. The grass beneath their feet swayed along the breeze, moving like ripples, like waves along a vast shoreline.
“It would be one of strength, of one's cleverness, of endurance. ” He said as the last remnants of sunlight disappeared below the horizon like the last flickers of candlelight, bathing the entire field in a darkness that was illuminated only by the harsh glow that streamed out from Lucifer's sockets. “I would not have allowed one to wed my brother If I was not sure they would be able to hold their own against a deity.”
Iruma just barely registered the crunch of grass beneath the weight of his bouquet, his empty hands trembling as the weight of the deity's words settled like an anchor within his own chest.
Another breeze glided past, calm as it brushed along blades of grass.
“Lucifer…” Alice's wide-eyed gaze was fixed on the demon, who remained unmoving amidst the gentleness of a quiet field.
How far had they travelled to be here?
“Your highness,” Leiji expressed, betrayed by the way his voice wavered as he referred to him. “What are you implying?”
Iruma's gaze flitted over the empty expense of grass that stretched far beyond, finding nothing– not even a sign of life or civilization– but the way the night's dark canvas met grassy land.
If they tried, would any of the candidates be able to find sanctuary?
Would Lucifer even allow them to?
“I apologise, sincerely, I do,” The deity said, lifting a gloved hand to place over his left breast in an act– a mimicry of genuine remorse, “Especially with all the effort you've put into making a good impression, which- believe me, you all have. But only one candidate will leave tonight with my brother's hand, and thus, Gehenna's favor; and that candidate alone should be a demon with the strength to restrain him.”
“Lucifer,” Iruma spoke, catching the deity's undivided attention. “Y- your highness, I–” He swallowed, voice wavering under Lucifer's stare, “I'm sorry, but I don't think you can expect any of us as- as demons to go against you or– any other deity–”
“When had I told you that you would be fighting against me?” Lucifer asked.
Iruma's lips parted, his previous words lost as he registered the deity's response.
“What…?”
A column of blue flames flared out from beneath the deity's feet, consuming the prince's figure and bathing the surrounding darkness in a cool hue. The candidates recoiled from the heat as sparks flickered along the wind, but none of them were given even a moment to regain their composure before Iruma felt the familiar, overwhelming urge to move. He just barely registers the solidity of Alice's arm in his grip through each deafening thud of his own heartbeat, chest twisting in a way that felt as if his own heart would tear through his ribs, practically dragging both himself and the demon before the column erupts, sending a vertical ripple of blue fire along the path where Alice once stood.
Iruma sucked in a breath, swallowing the warmth and the scent of smoke and ash that plagued the air as his eyes settled on burnt ground. The very earth sizzled with molten heat in its wake, the surviving grass charred, and as Iruma's gaze followed the damaged soil to its source, his breath caught at what he found in Lucifer's place.
Or, rather, who.
A boy– most likely around their ages judging by his stature– stood hunched in the middle of a charred circle, bearing a sword whose long, slim blade was consumed by the same, blue fire that hovered in twin flames over his pale head of hair like horns. Over his figure he wore a black, open blazer, coupled with a pair of slacks in the same color. The button-up beneath his jacket was disheveled, undone to the point where his bare chest– which heaved with each, shuddering inhale– was exposed to the cold air of night, and as something acrid– bitter like burning food– drifted along the wind, accompanied by a strong, metallic scent that nearly forced a gag from Iruma's throat. It was only then, as his eyes lingered over the boy's exposed skin, did Iruma finally register the blood that stained his pale form, seeping into the fabric he first assumed was simply dyed red.
Slowly, the boy began to straighten, startling Iruma from his observations. It was slow and stiff, but not in the same way Lucifer's had been with his near mechanical movements. He moved as if he were struggling, hands trembling with an unseen strain. Even his tail– He had a tail?– pale with its very tip set alight, rested limp over burnt ground, unaffected by the heat of the lingering fire on damaged soil.
“The half-demon prince,” Alice breathed.
Lifting his gaze from the white-haired demon, Iruma looked up at his friend at his side, his eyes wide and lips parted in an expression of awe.
“Our… bride to be,” Razberry muttered in turn, gold eyes fixed on the young deity. “He's–”
The boy's head snapped towards him, eyes blown wide, as dark pupils, slitted in the midst of swirling blue irises, we're fixed on the demon in a frozen expression of surprise. It was the first true glimpse at the demon they had given their hand to before that simple expression twists into one of pure, unadulterated malice.
The only warning Razberry had been given was a guttural snarl, teeth bared in his scowl, before the halfling reeled his sword back and swung. Despite the distance between them, a gap too far for his blade to reach, the swing manifests in that familiar ripple of blue flames that Razberry just barely manages to side step in his stupor.
“Wait– wait!”
The boy growled, arms raised as he prepared for another strike before his movements stuttered to a stop with a wave of cold water, dimming the fire that lingered over his lean frame. Behind him, Leiji stood with an open palm, manifesting a stream that slithered over open air like a viper with its eyes on newfound prey.
“Get a hold of yourself, Belial!” Leiji yelled, before he just barely evaded a direct attack from the prince's blade, nearly stumbling over the grass beneath his feet with how the fabric of his own dress clung to his form. With a flick of his wrist, the demon's watery serpent barrels into the young halfling, sending him tumbling back against hard earth with the force of his spell.
“But isn't he–”
“If we get hurt now, there won't even be an arrangement!” Iruma interrupted. Glancing at the nearby distance, catching the faintest glow of fire light, he could see the prince slowly rise from amongst the grass, regaining his composure. “I- I don't understand what's going on, but we need to leave!”
“You've seen just how far the journey took, Iruma!” Leiji argued. “Would– Devil– would Lucifer even let us?!”
“Do you suggest we stay?!” Alice asked, incredulous. Leiji opened his mouth to retort before he registered the faintest heat radiating against his back, narrowly missing another strike of the halfling's blade.
“Leiji!”
The aforementioned demon just barely registers the sound of Razberry's voice, his gaze- through the curtain of his own hair- was fixed on the prince's animalistic expression of anger, before the ground beneath the halfling erupted into a spire of solid rock.
Immediately, the demon recoiled, but Razberry's interception wasn't enough to slow him as he turned his attention to the next candidate and swung. The night continued like this, with each candidate having their turn with Assiah's halfling prince before the boy turned his attention to the next without warning. Despite the strength that was put into each strike, sending the field alight with every swing of his sword, the prince moved wildly. He was unpredictable, yes, but the candidates were trained well by their mentors, and so each attempt of an attack was treated as if they were taming a wild beast, trading blow for blow with each amateurish gap the prince had left open.
Even still, one problem soon revealed itself as their dance resumed it's near endless choreography:
The prince could heal.
Though his skills paled in comparison, the candidates weren't invulnerable. Razberry, Alice and Leiji bore reddening burns and cuts from the few lucky strikes the halfling managed to land, even despite the advantage Iruma lent as he helped his fellow candidates avoid the worst of what the prince was capable of. The prince, by contrast, was a careless fighter. Though he tended to evade, he still bore the brunt of each attack the candidates had successfully managed to perform, inflicting damages far worse than anything he had done to the other demons. Then, through the lethargy, the four candidates could only look on in abject horror as open wounds begin to scab, skin stitching itself together in mere minutes until nothing but untouched skin and the lingering stains of his own blood remained, before this twisted dance, once more, begun anew,
Iruma doesn't know how long it had been since the prince had first attacked, truth be told. Even though he remained uninjured, skillfully avoiding any and all of the halfling's attempts, the boy was still human, and he could already feel the inevitable edge of exhaustion seeping into his very bones. The grassy expanse of land beneath his feet had long been reduced to ash, charred earth and muddy soil in the prince’s wake and Leiji's attempts to keep his flames from destroying the entire field, the air polluted with the bitter scent of smoke, yet still the boy fought and fought and fought as if the world around him had anything more to give.
With the ache of each wound, paired with the strain of overexertion, it was only a matter of time until one of them succumbed to the weight of their fatigue.
As the prince, unmarred by injury, lunged towards the Asmodeus heir, Iruma could only watch with wide eyes as Alice– who only risked himself due to the boy's own decision– forced another flaming sword into his own, trembling hands. Parry after parry, despite his affinity for fire magic and the assistance both Razberry and Leiji lended through their own spells, their strength couldn't compare to the prince’s anger, and the futility of their actions began to settle as the halfling tore through Alice's blade, with his own mere inches from doing the same to him.
As a growl rips itself from the demon's throat, the halfling tilts the angle of his blade and strikes, only to find his hands stuttering to a stop mere inches away from Alice when pain– white hot and near debilitating– flares out from his chest.
He coughs, managing not a noise save for a choked whimper. The metallic tang of ichor was the first thing the boy registers before blood forces itself past sharpened teeth, spilling from pale lips and onto the scorched ground below.
“Master Iruma…” Alice breathed, eyes fixed on the arrow that pierced through the young deity's chest, before he lifted his gaze to see the boy's figure over the halfling's shoulder, bow in hand.
Iruma sucked in a breath as his chest swelled with both pride and relief at the sight of Alice– injured and fatigued, but otherwise unharmed– before, slowly, his eyes began to widen with the creeping realisation of what he had just done.
“No…” He breathed, fingers trembling around his bow despite the hardened grip he held on its shadowy form. “No no no no– I didn't mean to–”
The halfling retched, dropping his blade with a resounding clang that echoed amidst the empty space. Even within the darkness, their surroundings barely illuminated by the remnants of his flames, Iruma could still see the blood that spilled onto the soil, staining it into a deep red that reflected against the blue glow of the lingering sparks along the wind.
“Master Iruma!”
Iruma flinched, lifting his gaze from the blood that began to pool beneath the halfling's feet and towards one of his closest friends as he rushed towards him, pulling the shorter boy into his arms without warning.
“That was incredible! You– You were incredible!” Alice squeezed Iruma, and though he couldn't see his face, the boy could hear the smile in his voice. Iruma swallowed the lump in his throat, chest twisting with an unnamed ache as he willed trembling fingers to part from his bow, freeing both hands to hug Alice in turn.
As he too, dropped his weapon, it's shadowy form de-materialising before it even met the scorched earth below, who's to say that the way he hugged the other teen was more so for his own comfort than to offer comfort in turn to his friend?
Iruma jolted to attention when he heard a low, guttural growl. Looking up, his eyes widened with newfound horror as he watched the white-haired prince attempt to pull the arrow through his own chest; each, sickening squelch accompanied by the spill of warm blood.
“You shouldn't–” Iruma sucked in a breath, shuffling out from Alice’s grip, “D- Don't, you'll get–”
The Prince let out a truly agonising scream– bordering on a sob– as he dragged the arrow out through his chest. Despite the relative darkness, a thing Iruma was especially grateful for now more than ever, the boy could do nothing but stand, frozen in place, as the halfling slowly pulled the projectile by the arrowhead, careless of the way it split his palm open in his desperation.
“Damnit–" Razberry hissed.
“We–” Someone– Leiji, Iruma registers– panted. “We can't keep going like this! All we're doing is draining our mana!”
The halfling tugged, and finally, he freed the arrow from his chest with a sob that sounded so, so painfully human that it left Iruma's mind reeling. Carelessly, on trembling fingers, he tossed the arrow onto the ground below before it dissipated along the slightest breeze, carried by the few lingering sparks that illuminated the night like fireflies.
Iruma had never seen him like this, not within the short span of time since he and the other candidates had first seen his face. The halfling curled in on himself, nursing the gaping injury that– much just like the other he had gained throughout the night– seemed to stitch itself together.
He almost looked… scared just then,
Human, even.
He was vulnerable, and the Leviathan wouldn't waste another moment if it meant this twisted dance could finally come to its gruesome end. Manifesting whatever mana he had left within him, Leiji directed a powerful stream towards the wounded prince, the sound akin to the rushing turbulence of a raging river. The halfling jolted, startled from his stupor, and with great speed, he leaped out of the spell's range before it crashed onto solid ground, stumbling clumsily in his weakness as the earth fractured where he once stood with the force of a running waterfall.
Iruma vaguely registered Leiji curse in his frustration, but any and all surrounding sensations were a melded together as his eyes met slitted pupils amidst a swirling storm just a few paces away. Beneath the glow of the twin flames over his temple, as they both bore the weight of fatigue and overexertion, Iruma could finally face the halfling prince without the tunnel vision forced upon him by the threats of life or death. Pale faced with locks of white hair that framed his face, Iruma's lips parted when he’s met with the familiarity of his features, of his almond-shaped eyes, lined by dark eyebags under long lashes.
“Master Iruma!”
A wave of heat washes over him. As Iruma sucked in a breath, he found the prince's face– much, much closer– with any semblance of humanity twisting into that unrecognisable, enraged scowl as clawed-tipped hands outstretched in anticipation.
Each second seemed to pass in a crawl, accompanied by each beat of his heart against his ears. Vaguely, he could feel his fingers twitch, a reaction cultivated through Barbatos’ ruthless training regiments, but whatever instinct he might have gained was quickly stomped down by the guilt and fear of what he had just done.
It was no surprise that this time, the prince's sights were focused solely on him.
Unlike before though, Iruma can't find it in himself to move.
The prince's open palm was mere inches from his face now, bloodied and wounded. The sight of it only served to keep him firmly in place: a painful reminder. Then, just as clawed fingers were about to make contact, Iruma's vision swirled with an incomprehensible black, startling him out from his daze. As his senses return, he watches, wide-eyed, as Alikred– his ring– attacks, swallowing the halfling's pale frame and whatever light remained in a shadowy vortex.
“Master Iruma!” Alice called, hands gripping the boy's side. “Are you alright? What happene–”
“No!” Iruma forced himself out from Alice’s grip, bolting towards the shifting mass of black. He reached out, attempting to grasp at the darkness even as the shadows slipped between the gaps of his fingers like sand. From within the shadows, peering through the darkness, he finds a faint, flickering blue glow from within the inky mass, and as Iruma tries and tries and tries to pull the demon off of the young deity, he can't help but compare the sight to a black hole consuming a dying star.
“What do you think you're doing?!” Leiji yelled.
“Master Iruma–” Alice wrapped his arms around the much shorter boy, attempting to pry him away from the swirling, shadowy mass. “Let's get you away. Far, far, from that– that thing before you get hurt,”
“Azz-kun, please– he'll get hurt!”
“He…” Razberry swallowed. “Iruma, he came after us first,”
“Come,” Leiji commanded, sparing a narrow-eyed glance at the dark cyclone that surrounded the young halfling, “Before he gets out from this too. Maybe we'll even be able to make it home before–”
“Before?” A choir of voices inquired.
All four candidates stiffened as Lucifer, once more, made himself known.
“You…” He hummed, footsteps growing louder against scorched earth as he approached. Iruma felt a gloved hand over his shoulder, immediately tensing under the deity's touch. “You did this?”
Iruma swallowed the lump in his throat, gaze fixed on the swirling mass that surrounded the young prince. “I… I didn't m– I- I'm sorr–”
Lucifer let slip a noise, a hushed chorale, before he stepped past Iruma and towards the cyclone that had caged his poor brother. As he did, Iruma's gaze flickered to the ring around his finger when he felt the lightest brush against his skin, unable to quell his relief at the sight of Alikred– hunger satiated, and now satisfied from protecting his wearer– retreating.
“I believe I've found it,” Lucifer said, folding his hands together as he watches the demon's amorphous form slither back towards its master, gradually dissipating like ash against the evening breeze. “No– I have found it.”
“F- found… what?” Razzberry hesitated to ask.
Slowly, Lucifer's gilded mask turned to look over his shoulder, sparing a ‘glance’ at the four candidates before his head quickly snapped to attention at the sharp sound of a gasp.
The halfling coughed, lying curled against scarred ground. Now, as the eve was illuminated by the light that spilled from Lucifer's very form, Iruma spots the halfling's silhouette before the last of what remained of Alikred dissipates along a cool gust of wind, revealing the same boy– same monster– that had attacked them. Though, he noticed that whatever remained of his flames had been snuffed out, leaving behind what– at first glance– seemed to be a normal student, with the white of his hair having transitioned into an inky black towards his roots.
“Ah,” Lucifer muttered, before he stepped closer towards his young brother. Reaching down, the deity wrapped a gloved hand around the base of the halfling's neck, before he lifted him up with ease. The boy, meanwhile, could only manage a strangled whimper as Lucifer forced his head to face him, far too worn with fatigue to even will his limbs to move. “よく眠れましたか、弟？”
Iruma’s eyes widened, stunned into silence by the familiar syllables Lucifer's chorale of voices had spoken.
“ルシフェル...!” The boy strained, his voice a rasped tenor as the words spilled from a ragged throat. “何-”
The halfling choked on a whimper as the deity applied the slightest bit of pressure against his throat. Then, Lucifer leaned closer, his gilded mask hovering over a– noticeably rounder, Iruma noticed– ear. Faintly, within the silence of the hour, all any of the candidates could hear was a hushed collection of murmurs. Not even Iruma could make out the syllables, but whatever the deity had spoken seemed to make the boy stiffen under his grasp.
“したがって、私はあなたが行儀良く行動することを期待しています。” Lucifer said, before he turned his attention towards the other candidates. “特にあなたの新しい夫にとっては。”
“死んでください…!” The boy coughed, though whatever he might have said next was quickly silenced by the mere tightening of the deity's grip, and there was nothing any of the candidates– nothing Iruma could do, but to watch, horrified, as the boy writhed and gasped. Iruma could even see the way the pale skin of his neck began to purple, before– with one, final cough– the halfling fell limp in Lucifer's hold.
The only reassurance Iruma found was the sight of the boy's chest which heaved ever so slightly with each, shuddering breath. Still, it was cold comfort considering the entire night's events. Even Iruma, who had no mana to spend, could feel the weight of exhaustion settling over him once the adrenaline had began to wear.
“Congratulations,” Lucifer said, breaking the silence that befell the evening air. “You all did well. Be proud, and live another day knowing you have done good.”
Alice's eyes narrowed, and faintly, Iruma registered the slight snarl that slipped past gritted teeth. “‘Be proud’? You–”
“And you,” Lucifer called as he directed his attention towards Iruma. Carefully, he adjusted the way he held his young brother, positioning his unconscious form over his arms in a cradle carry as he made his way over to the much shorter boy. “Congratulations. You especially have far exceeded my expectations.”
“H- Huh?” Iruma blinked.
“You have my deepest gratitude, dearest child, for you have lent the greatest help in my efforts of shepherding a better world,” He said, bowing his head. “Concluding the night's events. I, Lucifer, the Prince of light, recognise the union between you, Iruma Sullivan, and my brother, the nephilim prince, Rin Okumura,”
“Huh?!”
Chapter 5: Hangover
Notes:
SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG GUYS, I'M JUST A SLOW ASS WRITER AND SCHOOL ISN'T MAKING THINGS ANY EASIER 😭😭
Hope you still like the chapter though!! The boys finally, formally meet!
Chapter Text
Iruma finally sets foot on familiar ground, flinching at the soft crunch of grass beneath his soot-coated shoes. The woodlands that surrounded his home were a familiar, welcoming sight despite the darkness of the hour. Past a few trees, the boy could even recognise the path he took to and from Babyls just a few paces away.
Still, even with the comfort of home, its grand silhouette peeking over the gap between the canopy of leaves above; whatever relief the boy found is tainted by the harsh, divine light that illuminated the surrounding flora from behind his smaller frame, alongside the weight of the halfling prince and his sheathed sword, held tight in Iruma’s grip.
“Iruma Sullivan,” Lucifer spoke. The boy sucked in a breath as an uncomfortable, recognizable warmth washed over the expanse of his back before he felt the deity's gloved hand rest over a tense shoulder. “Did I have you wait long? I do apologise for the wait if I had. The other candidates– poor things– were quite slow on their feet as I helped them home.”
Iruma simply shook his head, the movement stiff, almost practiced, if only to appease the deity that loomed over him as if he were mere prey.
He knew better than to assume that the deity spoke with sincerity at this point.
He wondered if he ever did to begin with.
Lucifer hummed, his voice– a multitude of quiet, unfeeling voices, melded together in an uncanny approximation of words– then continued, “It would be a shame to keep your guardians waiting, wouldn't it? To keep them from such wondrous news?”
Iruma swallowed, and his gaze flickered to the figure in his arms as bile burned at the back of his throat. Supported mostly by the effects of Fractal, the teenage halfling– Iruma's fiance– laid limp in the best way Iruma could have held him despite his taller figure. Truly, the irony wasn't lost on him as he carried the boy in a bridal carry.
“But first,” Lucifer said, “A word of warning.”
The pads of his fingers– calloused from Bachiko's tireless mentorship– pressed just a touch tighter against his fiancé figure.
“Y– Yes?” Comes Iruma's timid reply, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
Blood seeped from where Iruma’s hands gripped the halfling’s unconscious form.
It stained his hands warm.
“As you've been told,” He began, “my poor, dear brother hadn't been raised by his kind. From birth, the boy's mind had been poisoned by the exorcists who had raised him. Therefore, he is not of… Sound mind, let us say.”
“I…” Iruma swallowed as he recalled the glint of sharpened canines, of lips twisted into an animalistic scowl that spat and snarled just as easily as he spilled blood. Painfully, he forced the words from his throat, choking on the first syllable. “I– I know.”
“Then, when he wakes, remain aware; For, dear child, he will lie to you,” Lucifer warned, “He will speak to you with the same falsehoods he had been fed since birth, the same lies he had been made to believe by those who aimed to turn him against us, his own kind.”
Iruma remembered wide eyes that shone with fresh tears as the wispy form of his own arrow pierced the pale flesh of the halfling's torso, of the look of fear that– in that moment– didn't show a mere instinctive reaction of pain, but instead showed a conscious agony, of an expression of desperation and confusion that mimicked Iruma's own.
“Do not believe them,” Lucifer said, and the hand that rested over Iruma's shoulder flexed with a gentle grip, “Make him behave should he force your hand. I wouldn't have chosen you to be his husband if I was not confident in your capabilities, dear child.”
Make him behave.
Iruma pressed his lips into a frown, the inside of his cheek caught between gritted teeth.
He felt sick.
“Your highness, I– I–”
“Go then,” Lucifer urged as his hand slid from Iruma's shoulder, resting it instead against the small of his back. “Go and preach the word of your victory knowing you have done both Assiah and Gehenna good. An era without pain, of true unity, is now within our reach,
I believe it is one you've been waiting for, isn't it, Iruma Sullivan?”
Iruma's head snapped towards the deity, eyes wide as he peered up at Lucifer's golden mask.
“Wh– what?”
“Go,” Lucifer urged, and his voice– that once gentle chorale– raised briefly with an impatience that Iruma recognised from within that choir. It was an impatience that he had been raised to identify through the “love” of his parents, through deadlines, tireless shifts and continual servitude. Instinctively, he found himself tensing beneath the harsh glow of the deity's gaze, lips parted as his mind scrambled to say– something, anything–
“Iruma Sullivan?” Lucifer spoke, his voice– unemotional as it usually was– bore the slightest lilt towards the end in inquiry.
“I…” Iruma blinked, hesitating, before his gaze dropped from the glow of Lucifer’s sockets and onto the unconscious form of the halfling in his arms. His breath, warm and rhythmic in his sleep, brushed against the exposed skin of his neck. “I'll… I'll take care of him.”
“I am certain you will,” Lucifer said as his gloved palm pressed against his back, nudging him forward before he finally retrieved his hand. Even still, Iruma could feel the lingering heat of his touch, the warmth made more obvious by the cool air of the eve.
He ignored the feeling and took the first step, following the path his own shadow casted over untouched grass.
“Remember, dear child,” Lucifer said.
Iruma, gaze set on the familiar trail before him, continued forward.
“Remember that I will be with you, and I will watch over you wherever you go,”
Iruma inhaled sharply through gritted teeth as he staggered forward, his grip tightening over his fiancé’s limp figure pressed close against his chest. His pace quickened as he followed the length of his own shadow, producing a soft crunch with each footfall as he strayed further and further from Lucifer's divine glow.
He doesn't think– doesn't dare to spare a glance back towards the deity. He doesn't have to when he could feel those empty sockets, those pools of molten ivory, burning themselves into his very soul.
“For I will not leave you. Not until I have done what I have promised you."
Opera straightened in the midst of dusting an elaborate dresser clean, startled by the sound of a knock from beyond the doors of their quiet home. It was a distant noise, one that wouldn't have been audible to most demons, but with the family's youngest member gone and its eldest off elsewhere to attend another meeting alongside his high-ranking colleagues, the manor fell still in their absence.
As they let slip a curious hum, the demon stepped away to store the duster off into a cleaning closet, tended to and accessed by Opera and Opera alone, before they made their way through the empty halls of the Sullivan home. Each footfall against the near spotless hardwood were light and rhythmic, a steady beat that contrasted to the incessant knocks that hadn't stopped since the moment it first started. Thankfully, after a short pace, Opera found their way into the foyer and towards the manor's great doorway, where each thud against its wooden surface– light as it was– made their ears twitch as the barest hint of irritation bled into their calm demeanor.
They wondered then, as they reached towards the door's gilded pull handles, about whoever had found their way onto the Sullivan clan's doorstep. The lord himself would have made himself known, surely, and Iruma–
Iruma’s gaze met theirs as the red-haired demon pulled the manor's great doors apart, letting slip a shuddering breath through parted lips.
For a moment, the two simply stood, looking over each other with wide eyes as the thick, acrid scent of smoke lingered in the open air. It was bitter, pungent– almost nauseating to the demon's already heightened senses, but the smell was nothing when compared to the barest hints of something coppery, something almost mouthwateringly sweet that wafted along the evening breeze.
“Opera-san…” Iruma breathed.
The boy's hair was messy– they noticed– wind-swept to where several blue strands stray and stick out from the neatly-combed way it had been styled, and the pale attire both Sullivan and them had painstakingly arranged was messied, stained by dust and grime. Not even the bouquet the two had ordered was found. Instead, cradled in Iruma’s arms where the arrangement of flowers should have been was the unconscious form of a stranger.
The demon's brows furrowed. “Is that…”
“Help, p- please…?” Iruma managed. Only then did Opera take notice of the way his voice wavered. “I- I don’t know what to do, I–”
“Master Iruma,” Opera said, extending their arms out towards the young human as they motioned for the unconscious figure in Iruma’s arms, “Allow me then, and– Please, come inside. You'll get cold standing here.”
Iruma swallowed audibly as their gaze lowered towards the demon's open palms. Briefly, his fingers flexed, pressing against the warmth of the halfling's vulnerable form. He almost seemed… hesitant, Opera noticed, before the boy managed a small nod in response. “R– right…”
Carefully, Iruma stepped closer, and as he did, that nauseating, bitter blend of smoke and copper, interlaced with the faintest hint of something so sickeningly sweet intensified to where Opera could practically taste a trace of it on their tongue. It was distracting, to say the least. But whatever irritation the demon found was quickly overwhelmed by a sense of dread as, when Iruma settled the young prince into their open arms, their hands were met with the feeling of warmth that dampened the prince's uniform.
“I– I didn't,” Iruma began as he took notice of the way Opera's eyes had widened, their gaze fixed on the crimson stain that dyed the wrinkled front of the boy’s button-up, “I didn't mean to, I–”
“You can tell me everything later once you’re both settled in,” They said, stepping aside to allow their young master into the manor's interior. “Now come along.”
Iruma managed a small nod in response before he took the first step past the threshold and into the comforting warmth of his own home. As he turned to close the door behind him, hands pressed against polished wood, he looked up and into the woodlands that he had emerged from moments prior, its silhouette illuminated by the gentle glow of the twin moons above and them alone. With parted lips, Iruma breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“Master Iruma?” Opera asked.
“Sorry,” came his quick response. “I was just…”
“Worrying?”
“Thinking,” Iruma corrected as he turned to look at the red-haired demon.
“Well then,” Opera hummed as they turned heel, leading their young master away from the entryway. “You can resume your ‘thinking’ after we’ve changed you into something more comfortable.”
“And the, uhm…” Iruma's gaze flickered to the halfling prince as he caught up to walk alongside Opera. Throughout everything thus far, the other boy had remained unconscious, unmoving in his sleep save for the way his chest rose and fell with each, faint breath; and with the way Opera had held him, Iruma could finally see the prince's sleeping expression, calm and unmarred by the pain and anger he held prior.
It was… almost hard to believe that someone who fought as violently as he did, who caused harm as easily as he had, looked so much like any other teen their age. But, if there was anything he learned from his time under Lucifer’s presence, he knew better now than to assume he understood the deities, half-blooded or not.
Which, now that he recalled, led into another concern.
“We'll put him into something more comfortable as well,” Opera reassured as they continued down the hallways of the Sullivan home, “There’s no need to worry, master Iruma,”
“That's… Not what I'm worried about,” He mumbled in response.
“Well, you can tell me what you are worried– sorry, thinking about when you've changed into your nightwear.”
Iruma, despite his exhaustion, couldn't help the small huff of laughter that slipped past his lips. “O… Okay…"
Iruma pulled the long-sleeved blouse over his pale frame before he looked up at his reflection from the full-length mirror that was placed against the far wall of his room. His hair had been combed down neatly compared to the disheveled mess it had been before he had found his way home, styled in the same, simple way he had always styled it; and over his slim figure, he wore the pair of purple pyjamas that matched his grandfather's own, save for the large black bow that had been tailored into the collar of the boy’s own shirt. After a moment in the bath, he certainly looked better than he did when he had first entered, but there's an exhaustion in his eyes, a familiar, bone-deep weariness that the boy hadn't seen since he had left the human realm.
He inhaled, held his breath for a beat, then two, before the boy finally breathed a deep sigh as he combed a hand through his hair. Now that he was home, safe and comfortable within the confines of the manor's walls, all the adrenaline that had pushed him thus far had finally subsided, leaving an almost debilitating fatigue in the wake of its absence. And yet, he found himself too tired to even sleep.
His days living in the netherworld had always been better, easier than the life he had lived back home in the human realm, but now, as he stood within his room as Opera tended to the destructive force he called his fiancé, he found himself reeling as the weight of the past few hours– days finally settled like an oppressive weight over his shoulders.
“What am I going to do…?” He whispered, pressing his forehead against the mirror’s smooth surface. “What am I going to tell grandpa? What–”
“Master Iruma?” Came Opera's voice from beyond his bedroom door, followed by a gentle knock. “May I speak with you?
Iruma breathed a deep sigh. Pulling himself away from the mirror, he made his way towards the door. There, as he opened it, stood Opera, who tilted their head just slightly as they examined the young teen before them. “Is… There something wrong, Opera-san?”
Opera's mouth opened to speak before they pressed their lips close, hesitating. “It… Perhaps there is. It's about your fiancé–”
“Is he awake?”
Opera's eyes widened, startled by the immediate question. “I…” They shook their head. “No, he's still unconscious, I'm afraid, but…” Opera sighed, their expression softening. “Master Iruma, I believe it is time we talked. Your fiancé's conditions are–”
“I- I know.” Iruma sighed, gaze dropping to his feet. “I know…”
A silence befell the pair, heavy and uneasy. The mention– The reminder– weighed like an anchor over Iruma's mind, hanging over every waking thought as if it were a growing storm over the horizon, and, worse yet, Iruma knew that he couldn't escape the twisting, unfamiliar ache that settled in his chest, not when sleep would inevitably claim him for the night, nor in the coming morning and the days after the fact.
“I…” Opera began, lips parted in hesitation. “I will… See what I could do about his uniform for now, though it may be unsalvageable, I'm afraid. In the meantime, I've changed him into an extra pair of your pyjamas. Master Sullivan ensured that you would have extra sleepwear in larger sizes for when you would surely grow, so, I thought they would do for now while he’s here.”
Iruma doesn't respond for a beat, before finally, the boy managed a stiff nod in response.
“How… is he, then?” he asked.
“He was fine last I checked, master Iruma, so rest assured. He hadn't even stirred while I was cleaning him–”
“Can I see him?”
Opera's eyes widened a fraction, betraying the impassivity of their expression as their tail flicked the air behind them.
“That's…” They hesitated, “Master Iruma, I believe it would be best if he's left alone for now. Maybe he'd even be awake by tomorrow, so–”
“Opera-san,” Iruma sighed, lifting his gaze to meet the red-haired demon's eyes. “I… I need to see him, please…”
“No,” Opera sighed, “You need to sleep. You look exhausted, master Iruma.” As if to prove a point, the demon lowered themself to Iruma’s level, meeting him eye-to-eye before they reached out with gentle hands and pinched both cheeks.
“Opera-san,” Iruma chided in exasperation, shoulders sagged as whatever strength was left within him went with a sigh past parted lips. “Really, I'm fine. I– I don't think I could even sleep, not without…”
Making sure he was alright? Comfortable?
Still asleep?
Iruma’s gaze fell to the floor once again, his jaw hanging open as his own words lingered– stuck– to the back of his tongue, leaving the faintest phantom of a bitter taste on the roof of his mouth that made the weighing ache in his chest twist. Then, after a beat, he pressed his lips closed, fingers flexed into a fist at his sides.
He knows why he wants to see the halfling, he doesn't need to fool himself into thinking he had a smarter reason than simple, cruel, human curiosity, helmed by the weight of guilt.
He wanted to know the extent of what he's done, simple as that.
Opera sighed, and the soft noise pulled the boy free from his stupor. “Do you really want to see him?”
Iruma managed a small nod.
With a hum, Opera pushed themself up to stand, dusting the dark slacks of the uniform that– Iruma noticed, as his gaze flickered up at the demon’s taller stature– they have yet to change from.
“If you insist. But,” Opera raised a finger, “once done, I'd like you to try and rest, is that understood, master Iruma…?”
“Y… Yes, Opera-san…” He murmured in response.
“Now, Come along then,” Opera said as they turned heel, stepping away from the blue-haired teen and towards the open doorway to his bedroom. “So that you may rest easy tonight.”
As the demon stepped past the threshold and into the open corridor that stretched far ahead, Iruma hesitated, gaze set on the demon’s back.
He inhaled, held that breath for a beat, then two, before he breathed an exhale through parted lips,
and, with a heavy heart, the boy followed the red-haired demon from his bedroom and through the darkened hall, illuminated by the glow of the netherworld’s twin moons, who casted their gentle light in columns through tall windows that reached high towards the ceiling.
The flickering flame of a candle, placed over a nearby table, glowed gently within the darkness, illuminating pale cheeks with a warmth that colored his freshly cleaned skin with a gentle flush. His hair, a mess of white locks that faded out an inky black, was combed as neatly as one could despite the way several strands strayed, untamed.
The prince himself, meanwhile, slept as peacefully as he did since Lucifer had first announced the boys’ newfound union, his expression the very image of tranquility as his chest rose and fell a slight with each faint breath. He slept unbothered, at ease, and a small part of Iruma– as much as he loathed to admit– was envious of the fact that the halfling even could after what he had done.
After what they've both done.
Slowly, as Iruma stood at the halfling’s bedside, his gaze lowered from his sleeping expression, down towards the boy’s chest.
The black bow over his collar, bordered by the same purple of the pyjamas he wore, almost seemed to mock him.
“I'm sorry.”
The voice– his voice, Iruma realised– slipped from his lips in a whisper, almost too quiet for him to even catch.
“I… I– I didn't–” He swallowed, feeling as if the words were lodged in his throat. “I didn't mean to, I just– Y- You were–”
“Master Iruma.”
Iruma startled under the weight of their touch before his head snapped up and towards the red-haired demon that loomed above him. Despite the darkness, the boy could make out the slight curve of a frown on Opera’s lips, brows furrowed as they examined the human under their watchful eye.
“O– Opera-san,” Iruma stammered. He had forgotten they were even there. “I–”
“You're crying.” They said.
“Huh…?” Iruma blinked. Slowly, he reached a hand up towards his own face, pressing his fingers against flushed skin. When he pulled his hand away, there, under the warmth of the nearby candlelight, he found the pads of his fingers glistening with the wet sheen of fresh tears. “O– Oh. I'm… I’m sorry Ope–”
“What are you apologizing for…? And I'm not just talking about me, Master Iruma.” With a gentle hand, Opera guided the boy to face them. “What's… What happened…?”
Iruma’s lips parted, his words, his time spent at that damned, burning field, at the tip of his very tongue.
“It…” The lone word softened into a whisper before he sucked in a shaky breath.
Opera's eyes widened a fraction. “Iruma?”
He brought his hands up to his face, hurriedly wiping the tears that only continued to cascade down his cheeks in glistening, fat drops.
“I– It was my fault, ” He sniffed, “I did this– I— I did this!”
“Iruma!”
Iruma flinched as a familiar fear gripped his heart, forcing his limbs stiff as his heart raced.
Don't– Please don't–
Even still, his hands trembled with the force of his sobs, letting slip a muffled whimper even as his lips were pressed shut.
Please don't get mad at me.
“I'm not–” Opera sucked in a breath. Before Iruma could lift his head, he felt the demon's hands grip his shoulders, the pressure gentle as they held his smaller frame. “I'm not mad at you,”
Ah. Iruma thought, sniffling. I said that out loud…
“Now,” They sighed, raising a gentle hand to comb away the disheveled strands of hair Iruma had mussed in an attempt to wipe his tears, “Can you try and follow me?”
Iruma, after a moment, nodded in response, hands still held tight in a trembling grip at his sides.
“Good. Now, breathe in,”
Iruma sucked in a breath, sharp and cold.
“Hold for one, two, three…” They counted, voice steady and ever calm, till they reached eight, “and, breathe out,”
Iruma exhaled shakily. Then, at Opera's word, he sucked in another breath. They repeated the motion; for how long, Iruma didn't know. All he focused on was the sound of the demon's voice, steady, dependable, safe, as they soothed the ache of fear that felt as if it held his chest in a vice.
“Better…?” Opera asked.
“I…” Iruma sniffed before he looked up to meet the demon's gaze. “I- I think so.”
“Now that you are,” Opera hesitated, their lips parted as they searched for the right words. Iruma could practically see their cogs turning. “I… Master Iruma, I don't know if you noticed, but you have been acting strangely ever since you returned,”
Iruma swallowed.
“May I… know what happened?”
Images of the night’s events flickered in his vision, haunting him with visages of blood and pain and fire.
The boy kept silent, eyes averted to the floor as he mulled the demon's words over. Glancing up, he catches sight of Opera's face and the way their ever-calm expression shifted, brows furrowed as they waited with baited breath, before Iruma’s gaze fell back to his feet.
Opera, for all they've put up with for the night, deserved some honesty.
With a sigh, Iruma managed a small nod, a slight movement that barely registered in the dark, before he told the demon everything,
From the second the candidates arrived, to the moment they met the halfling prince, down, down to the moment Lucifer had concluded the night with a gloved hand over his own brother’s throat.
Consciousness came slowly to Rin, it always had. As his eyes fluttered open, fighting the weight of exhaustion that never failed to greet him every time he woke up, a groan was pulled from his aching throat as he pushed himself to sit.
Soft, came the absentminded thought as the mattress sunk beneath his figure.
Yawning, Rin brought a hand to rub at his eyes before–
He blinked.
Purple curtains surrounded his bedside, shielding him from the faint flow of the sun that scattered over its thin surface. They matched the purple of his mattress, the blankets– both of which were far larger and softer than any bed he had ever slept in, he adds– down to the very silk pyjamas he wore, his neck decorated by the sole splash of black from the bow tied to his collar.
This… wasn't his dormitory.
Pulling the blanket off of himself, he scooted to his bedside, parting the thin, silken curtains surrounding his bed. The halfling winced when light poured from the created gap. But, as his eyes adjusted to the surrounding room, he found himself frozen as he gazed into the full-length mirror affixed on the wall across from him, onto stark, white hair, and fiery blue eyes, and slitted, cat-like pupils that Rin barely recognized as his own.
Slowly, Rin made his way towards his reflection, gazing at his own figure, dressed in purple nightwear like a vintage, porcelain doll. When he reached a hand to touch at one of the snow-white locks that cascaded messily over his brow, the boy froze, stunned by the sight of claws that extended just slightly past his fingertips.
“Is…” Rin hesitated, before he reached up and rolled a strand of white between his thumb and forefinger. “Is that me…?”
He then catches a faint patch of purple below the collar of his blouse, the one held neatly by a black ribbon. He loosens it gently, parting the fabric and there, and to his horror, over his throat he finds a healing mark. The pale skin was scabbed, distorted as if it had been scorched, lingering bruises were left in lines, leaving the impression of fingers on his neck, and as he pulls the collar of his shirt lower, he finds shadowy, vein-like patterns, peek out from below his blouse.
He touches the bruise with his free hand, feeling the healing flesh beneath the pads of his fingers, before he moves towards the inky black that seemed to reach up from somewhere below his collar.
He hesitates– dreads to know what could've caused this.
Breaking his gaze from his reflection, he glances over the surrounding room for the telltale red of the Kurikara’s sheathe. Now that he allowed himself to take in his surroundings, compared to the extravagance of True Cross and especially the rooms made to house its eccentric headmaster, the area was simple, if far more ornate than anything he had ever lived in in his entire life. Held high by ivory pillars, a candle-lit chandelier hung from the ceiling above, its candles extinguished seeing as the light that flooded in through the tall windows gave ample enough light to illuminate the entire space. The room itself, meanwhile– as Rin began his search– was bare for the most part. He searched the wardrobe, bedside dresser, and lone vanity that furnished the area, only to be met with empty drawers and unused spaces.
It was clean though, he noticed, and that was what worried him.
Rin clicked his tongue as pushed the closet doors closed for the second time. He didn't know what he expected in all honesty: that the Kurikara would magically appear after his second search through an empty room, or that the Kurikara would be within his reach in the first place knowing how dangerous he was with it in hand.
No matter. with or without his sword, Rin considered himself a handful enough as is. As the boy turned towards the large doors that led out from the room, fingers twitching over a hilt that wasn't there, he reached for the doors’ handles and pulled.
To his surprise, he found it unlocked.
Rin peered into the hallway ahead, its dark palette a contrast to the rays of light that poured from the windows in large columns which stretched over marble-tiled floors. Crossing the threshold, he walked the narrow aisle, and as he glanced up at the panes that lined the left wall, the halfling found– to his surprise– a green sky, where far beyond the winding towers that stretched high below him like brambles from a twisted fairytale, all Rin could make out were the dark silhouette of leaves and winding, thorny branches amongst a dense forest.
Rin swallowed the lump in his throat as he stepped away from the window, ignoring the sore ache of his healing throat as he continued down the lengthy corridor before him. Wherever he was now was far from home, at least he knew that for certain.
Exploring the area he found himself in wasn't all that he expected. Treading down winding hallways and rooms far too large and extravagant for Rin– a halfling raised human in a small church in the middle of a bustling city– to feel comfortable in, the boy found that, despite the opulence of the polished silver decor, patterned wallpaper and lilac-painted pillars that supported entire ballrooms, Rin hadn't seen another, living person since he had first woken up.
The silence, as he walked down what must've been the umpteenth corridor so far, felt familiar, almost eerily so. It reminded him of when he and his classmates took that trip to Shimane Prefecture’s Far East Laboratory, of its grand interior, its many outlet stores– stocked of merchandise and fully furnished for consumers that never appeared.
There's something… Uneasy about places like these. Ones so large and meant to house so much life, only to be left empty but never truly abandoned. There's a silence that follows, one that makes dread and paranoia seep into your very bones. It makes you awfully aware of just how alone you truly are–
Rin froze at the sound of a noise– a voice.
It wasn't loud by any means. In fact, the halfling barely even caught it if it weren't for the deafening silence that haunted him the moment he first woke up.
Carefully, Rin followed the faint sound down the hallway, walking on bare feet over tiled flooring. Eventually, he found a column of sunlight gleaming down from an open doorway, the voices– there were two, he realised, one higher in pitch, the other lower in register– having grown loud enough for Rin to make out their conversation.
Or, well, he could make out that they are, at least, talking to each other. They spoke in a language Rin couldn't even begin to decipher, couldn't even name even if you held him at gunpoint. He does, however, note as he made his way closer, that it resembled one of the many languages he heard Bon try to learn and recite once before under Lewin’s mentorship.
That's what he thought though, at least. He wasn't… Completely sure, to be honest.
Stepping ever closer, Rin neared enough that he could rest a hand over the doorframe, his form a mere, short distance away from the light that flooded out from the room beyond. Slowly, body pressed against the edge of the entryway, he peeked past the boundary. As his eyes adjusted to the morning glow, he found two silhouettes seated at a long dining table. The taller figure sat straight, imposing despite having an appearance that– in Rin’s humble opinion– wasn't all that intimidating. The stranger, who looked about his old man's age from appearance alone, if not older, had spectacles that rested over the bridge of a hooked nose, and as Rin further examined him from where he stood, he also wore the same pair of purple pyjamas the halfling had been dressed into, albeit in a larger size, sans the black ribbon tied to his collar.
That was not what caught his interest though. His ears were stretched, pointed much like Rin’s were, if not longer, and over his bald head, two horns curved upwards like ivory tusks.
A demon, Rin realised, albeit an underwhelming one. He hadn't recognized him though, not from any of the missions he had gone on alongside his classmates and brother, nor from any of the unwelcome appearances of the demon kings and their high-ranking kin. Knowing Rin’s luck though, he wouldn't be surprised if he was sent or summoned to deal with him. Though, as Rin observed the taller demon, watching as they continued his conversation towards the much shorter figure with a gaze that almost looked… Paternal, he wondered why he was brought here of all places, and why he was handled so leniently even as he’s left defenseless with the Kurikara gone. Rin wasn't any less of a danger (to both others and himself).
Dropping his gaze, Rin then looks towards the shorter figure, examining them. With their back turned, the halfling struggled to make anything out of their smaller frame, obscured by the back of their seat. What he can make out though was the splash of blue hair on the top of their head, with a strand extending upwards in an almost comical way that–
"מה אתה עושה כאן?"
Rin jolted with a yelp, twisting to face the source as he stumbled backwards onto the cool tile below. Looking up, his eyes found another figure. Dressed in a red vest over a plain white button-up and dark slacks, the newcomer tilted their head just slightly, and– to the halfling’s surprise– the locks of hair that stood straight over their head didn't seem to merely resemble cat ears seeing as they twitched with a feline-like curiosity.
“Who–” Rin blinked, before pointing at the cat-like stranger with a clawed hand, “Don't just do that, damnit! Where am I an’ where did you put my damn sword?!”
The demon’s eyes widened a fraction before they turned their head away. Following their gaze, Rin spots the first two figures, their wide-eyes trained on him. The elder’s expression, though, seemed to soften, and with a wave of their finger, Rin’s form was engulfed in a translucent, purple mist that swirled over his figure like smoke. He sat, awestruck as he watched the smog twist around his pale hand. Then, as suddenly as it came, the fumes flowed away like ink in running water.
“Is this any better?”
Rin’s head snapped to face the older demon, the man's eyes softened to gaze down on him with what almost looked to be worry.
“What…?” The halfling whispered with furrowed brows.
“It's a translation spell,” He explained, “It should make it easier for us to communicate now, wouldn't it?”
Rin paused, regarding the demon’s words for a moment, before he pushed himself up.
“What do you want with me and where's my sword?” Rin asked.
“I'd want for you to eat, first off.” The demon said, letting slip a warm laugh as he motioned Rin towards one of the many empty seats that lined the table, though before the boy could ever step forward to choose, with a slight of hand the man willed a chair to slide backwards in invitation, one specifically set next to the much shorter figure.
Rin, despite his apprehension, breathed a sigh of defeat as he made his way towards the vacant chair. Taking his seat, his gaze examined the spread set before him, of the food that– despite their… less than appetizing appearance– gave off a scent that, to his surprise, pleased the halfling. They needed better presentation though, he did admit with a quiet hum. The silverware was doing the miscellaneous sludge and unidentifiable garnishes no favors.
“Did you sleep well?”
The demon’s words pulled Rin out from his stupor. Looking up, the boy blinked, lips pressed as he considered a response, before he finally managed a stiff nod.
The man, in turn, simply laughed. “Oh good! Good! You had us worried then!”
“You… Were worried about me…?” Rin asked, confused.
The man smiled, forming crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes with the slight squint of his grin.
“Of course,” He answered, taking a silver fork between his fingers before he pointed it forward, “My grandson especially, don't you know?”
Rin’s brows furrowed. Following the demon’s gaze, his eyes found that of another boy’s seated far across from the demon before them. He was pale, he noticed, shorter than Rin himself, with striking blue hair that fell just over his shoulders, and a set of purple pyjamas that- unlike what the demon wore- was identical to Rin’s own.
They watched each other for a brief, fleeting moment, before the other boy turned, averting his gaze with a tight-lipped frown.
He looked almost…
Blurry forms flitted across his memory, recalling the way his own flames licked at his own skin, illuminating the eve with a glow so bright it felt as if dawn was just over the horizon. Blood stained clawed hands– his hands, and when he looked up–
Rin’s eyes widened, sucking in a trembling breath.
“You–!”
“A considerate fiancé, isn't he?”
Rin’s mouth hung open, frozen as his mind caught up to the demon’s words. Slowly, the halfling turned his head, eyes fixed on the demon at the far end of the table.
“A conside… cond–” Rin pressed his lips close before he could struggle any further. Then, hesitating, he raised a hand up towards his healing throat, the pads of his fingers pressing against the rough surface of scabbed over flesh, before he lowered them just slightly, fingers ghosting the skin just above the collar to his shirt, above where he had been shot.
“What…?”
Aomori was quiet at this time of year. Even the Cicadas, those noisy little things, have long since hidden to hibernate at the first sight of snowfall, leaving the evening air empty, save for the quiet breath of the winter breeze and the distant sounds of passing cars from the nearby city streets, muffled beyond the walls of the old inn Yukio had found himself staying in.
The exorcist’s eyes hadn't left the window across from him, watching the way white specks of snow fluttered along the slightest breeze as he stood at the doorway to his new guest room, hands fidgeting with the corner of the documents he held. Crossing the threshold, he closed the shoji doors behind him and into the dim space of the old, traditional inn its strange owner had allowed him to stay in despite the late hour and the weather outside.
Reaching up, his hand grazed the strap of his bag. It was stocked of the necessary documents, and a week or two’s worth of rations, ammo and medicine. More than enough for the exorcist to work with.
Slipping the bag off his shoulders, he examined it for a moment, unmoving, before he threw it against the nearest wall with a thud.
The infiltration of the Illuminati amongst the ranks of The Order, the awakening of satan’s blood within his own veins after years of dormancy, Renzou’s betrayal, the entire encounter at Shimane prefecture, Rin’s disappearance and now–
“You” He muttered, gaze dropping to the papers in hand.
Shura, his sister colleague, stared back at him from her profile at the upper left side of the paper, her plump lips curved just slightly in a smile.
“You and Nii-san, ” He sucked in a breath, grip tightening over the pale sheets in his hands, “We haven't heard from you in days. Either of you…”
“Do you know what you've done…?
To everyone?
To me…?”
Yukio pressed his lips together, sitting in silence within an empty guest room, almost as if expecting a response.
At the sound of nothing but the winter breeze brushing against wooden walls outside, he laughed, bitter and frustrated all the same.
“Mephisto alone is already worrying about Shura’s disappearance in the midst of Illuminati activity, but if the order found out that I lost the son of Satan–” Yukio breathed a heavy sigh as he took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, “How do I explain this to them? If father Fujimoto were still here, if– if he saw that you two were gone—”
His lips parted with a shaky exhale, forcing his eyes close at the telltale sting of tears.
A week. Two, at best for Kirigakure. He could do that much.
As for his brother…
Yukio swallowed the lump in his throat.
He’d better focus on Kirigakure. For now, at least.
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