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***A Year And A Half Ago***

Malphas awoke with pounding headache akin to having nails hammered into his brain, centering just behind each of his eyes, and that damned bird which was chirping away sounded as though it were shrieking inside his skull. He hissed in pain as he stirred; every muscle in his body felt strained to the limit, and holy Hell, even his hair and the steel plates of his tail hurt. The demon felt as though he had been trampled by a maddened stampede of wild horses.

He cracked his sapphire eyes open for a brief glimpse of his surroundings, and immediately regretted it when a damn spot light blared a searing pain into his head. It was followed by a dizzying wave of nausea, compelling him to shield his face with his arm. He winced with a grimace as he allowed himself a moment to regain his focus, before he realized that the blinding light was actually the sun as it crept over the horizon.

'Shit, am I outside?'

As he braced himself with his free hand, he was perplexed to not feel his soft bed beneath him, but hard, brittle-crusted earth cracking beneath his palm.

When, or better yet, why had he fallen asleep outdoors?

He closed his eyes again, because fuck his head hurt, in hopes that the darkness of his eyelids would tone down the Hellacious pain ripping through his head as he tried to recall how he wound up like this.

Malphas vaguely remembered running out of alcohol at home, because he had been drinking like a fish, so he went out to...to...

Chugging full bottle after bottle of brandy, whiskey, moonshine, and whatever the Hell this purple liquid was that had been handed to him. Laughing with strangers who cheered him on and betting naysayers against how fast he could down them like water. He won every time, but used the coin to buy more rounds for everyone. Money was no object to him.

Malphas' resistance to poisons meant he had to consume an amount of alcohol that would likely kill a man twice over before he even felt a buzz, so it made for quite the spectacle for the onlooking patrons.

_'Ah, yes.'_He had went to a local bar tucked away on the outskirts of the Royal Capital, run by a small village. He had dropped in there a few times before. It was the only one that allowed heteromorphs, goblins, dark elves, and demons, as well humans. As long as the patron had coin, they were welcome.

'Wait...WHY was I drinking?'

He had spent the day trimming hooves and replacing the shoes on his Bicorns, baling hay, taking down information of interested parties who were to be placed on the waiting list for foals the next year, and then that evening, Demiurge-

Demiurge.

'Oh.'

It was slowly coming back to him in fragments. Demiurge had messaged him, and asked to meet that night. He was fucking furious with Albedo after she foolishly allowed Lord Ainz to challenge Shalltear alone. But what really pissed the Guardian of the Seventh Floor off was how she had the gall to order Cocytus to trap him in a room with them for the purpose of preventing the demon from aiding the last of the Supreme Beings in battle. Malphas could understand why Demiurge was so enraged by not only a careless, but potentially catastrophic decision which was dictated solely by her feelings for the Elder Lich. To so foolishly put Lord Ainz at risk for such selfish reasons was beyond idiotic.

While Malphas was still learning to process his own feelings, he would never, _EVER_allow someone he cared about to risk their lives simply because they requested to face an opponent alone. Not Lord Ainz, and especially not Demiurge, whether it meant disregarding orders or not.

Needless to say, after such a day his younger brother desperately needed to release that pent up tension and frustration.

Malphas agreed to let him come to his home in the Royal Capital, and before it was over, his brother did it_again; graced him with one of those brief, precious touches which the younger demon refused to acknowledge for what they were. What exactly Demiurge had done, however, he did not recall at the moment; Malphas only remembered how it had made him _feel.

Loved. Wanted. Connected.

So, just as the last few times that this had happened, Demiurge tried to deny it had any meaning by hastily following it, burying it with a carnal act, rather than admitting that he felt the same way, and-

...and that cut Malphas so deeply that he once more needed to numb himself and drown his sorrow with copious amounts of alcohol. One bottle turned into five, five turned into eight. Eight turned into thirteen.

Booze helped the elder Arch Devil forget that a vice with jagged, bear-trap jaws was clenching his heart for a short but sweet while, yet it always returned with a blistering vengeance.

Gods of Darkness Below, Malphas fucking _hated_to feel.

While the Arch Devil would admit not all emotions were unpleasant, his current situation created and yielded far more negative than positive feelings. He constantly felt a sense of abandonment, isolation, brooding depression, crippling sorrow and loneliness.

He wondered if he would ever get used to it; that sensation of sinking into a deep, dark hole, only to have his brother lift him out and make his heart soar with those fleeting caresses, that little glimmer of hope which promised Demiurge felt it too; the only confirmation Malphas had that proved this wasn't all just an illusion which he deluded himself with. Those little moments were the only thing that kept him going and prevented him from dwelling on the more desolate emotions which voiced questions that he desperately tried to bury, yet they continuously prickled in the back of his mind.

'Would Demiurge or Lord Ainz really care if I was gone? Can I actually die, and how much would it hurt if I did?'

But it always ended the same way; when Demiurge inevitably got what he wanted, he would callously hurl Malphas back down into the bottom of that seemingly inescapable pit, leaving him there, broken with festering wounds for the next time his brother needed another good, hard fuck.

Things weren't nearly this complicated before he was reprogrammed. Malphas missed being able to disconnect himself from Demiurge after their fun. Back then, it was just that; fun, with no strings attached. But after being rewired, each time they slept together, Malphas felt a little piece of himself attach to and disappear with his brother when he left him behind to return to the only home Malphas had ever known.

Malphas slowly sat up, and with the movement his mind whirled and somersaulted, and his stomach churned.

'Fucking Hell...why must I insist on torturing myself so?'

He slowly opened his eyes only to behold the charred remains of the establishment all around him, littered with dozens of scorched skeletons scattered about, now unrecognizable viscera. All that remained of the young oak trees that had once framed the left and right side the bar were trunks which now looked like blackened matchsticks that would blow away at the first hard breath of wind.

If it weren't for the alignment of the burned trees and the large boulder at the base of the third one to the right, Malphas would have no clue was he was.

Fire...there had been a fire...

'No, Hellfire...only Hellfire, my fire, burns that hot.'

He glanced around, and as far as the eye could see, or at least a two block radius, had been completely destroyed, burned to ashes. Not only was this area leveled, he was sitting in a fucking crater that was at least three feet deep from exploding with such dynamically devastating force. The demon's breath froze in his lungs and his heart began to race as the magnitude of what he had done crashed into him at brutal speed.

'How many have I killed? Why did I take it this far?'

Malphas swept his hair out of his face and wracked his brain; and while his memory was watery, he vaguely recalled being cut off after his thirteenth bottle. He had never chugged that many before outside of his home, so there was never a need for him to have been cut off...until _now._Although he wasn't a belligerent drunk (he was actually rather affectionate and overly friendly, everyone turned into his best buddy), his sheer size meant a group effort would be required to haul him out of the bar if he had blacked out.

It wasn't unreasonable to limit him. But apparently in his state of broken and brooding desperation he did not take kindly to having the one thing that eased his pain taken away.

And then it suddenly dawned on him why he had snapped.

He had not been able to completely forget and drink away the recollection of Demiurge sweetly pressing his forehead against his and meeting his heated gaze with what could not be mistaken for anything other than romantic passion as their feathered breath fed into one another. Demiurge's tail then intertwined with his, coiling tightly in a secondary embrace. Those sweet gestures made a wonderful warmth bloom in Malphas' chest, and he had smiled softly at his brother, and he saw it; that moment where Demiurge's lips had begun to curve upwards, a sign that he mirrored his feelings, and then the younger Devil caught himself. Demiurge's face fell, and he rapidly averted his eyes, guarded his gaze as he erected his iron-clad walls and closed himself off.

Distanced himself from him.

Rejected him once again.

Malphas sniffed and rubbed his face, smearing ash over his features as he felt his sinuses sting. He had never been so emotionally wounded by anyone other than Ulbert, when he had sent him away from Nazarick, his home, and then ultimately abandoned them both.

Now he wished he had not bothered in trying to remember. While there was a precious treasure hidden within that memory, it was wrapped and riddled with the sharpest of thorns and stingers.

What he hated even more than the sinking sensation was crying; it was simultaneously terrifying and infuriating how a blow to his feelings was equally as crippling as a physical assault of the highest caliber. The Arch Devil was so angry with his creator for changing him, forcing him to be this way and then leaving without even teaching him how to deal with his newly imbued emotions; they were so unfamiliar and utterly disarming.

Malphas would give anything to once again be as cold as his brother. He envied Demiurge's ability to steel himself against feeling.

But without Ulbert, that could never be.

A dull roar in the distance reached the demon's ears, snapping him out of his morose thoughts. Voices.

Malphas whipped his head in the direction of the racket, and saw at least seventy to a hundred angry villagers, wielding spears and pitchforks and stones, shouting threats and war cries as they thundered across the land on both foot and horseback, closing in fast. He should have heard them coming long ago, but his alcohol-induced stupor dulled his senses, and it was far too easy to lose himself in his own head.

'Fuck. I have to stop doing this to myself.'

Malphas pulled himself up off of the scorched earth, and while he was still unsteady, he managed to find his feet and stand. His ebony and crimson-webbed wings burst of his back, unfurled and flexed with the sound of canvas sails catching the wind.

He had not made it ten feet into the air before sling-hurled stones pelted at his back. He growled at the pain that flared through his already aching muscles, but the demon honestly could not blame them for their rage. He estimated that he had killed no less than twenty four people, burned the bar to cinders and wiped out at least three wheat fields. From above, it looked like a flaming asteroid had crashed into the earth.

He was a deadly and destructive force, a mere monster in their eyes. There would be no repairing the village's trust.

_"I could have torn limb from limb, as the lion rends the antelope. But my heart sunk within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained."_Malphas muttered, quoting Frankenstein, his favorite book; it was the last thing Ulbert had gifted him with before disappearing for another plane of existence where he and his brother could never follow.

In so many ways, Malphas felt like the monster from the book. When he was created, he was meant to be something beautiful, but was not satisfactory in his maker's eyes and was rejected, and more often than not, he was misjudged due to his fearsome appearance and intimidating size.

And now, he was being hunted down by angry villagers.

'How very fitting.'

It was a long, hard road from alcohol dependence to sobriety for Malphas. An agonizing six months passed before he learned to harness his feelings without abusing spirits. He now drank and smoked only in moderation, and kept himself on a tight leash when it came to mind-altering substances.

Even more difficult was adjusting to the mixed signals and constant rejection he received from Demiurge, and both the heart-wrenching pain and golden moments that came with it.

He learned to live with it, and not take it too harshly when the younger demon inevitably shied away after catching himself feeling something more than primal, animalistic lust.

It took time, but Malphas eventually came to terms with the fact that Demiurge would likely never love him in the same way. And even if he did, his brother would never admit it. He simply wasn't wired that way.

Demiurge was a different kind of monster.

But Malphas had all the time in the world to wait for him to eventually evolve. If the world around them was changing, it likely was only a matter of time before Demiurge grew with it.

If Malphas learned anything from Frankenstein, it was that both man and monster are capable of growth.

---

***Nearly 6 Months Ago***

It had only been a few hours since his brother had left. Malphas was relaxing on the sofa with a small glass of wine and engrossed in a book when he heard a soft knock on his front door.

Malphas set his drink down on an end table and unlocked the deadbolt to find his brother, and immediately knew something was wrong. Demiurge kept his eyes cast downward to his feet, and his tail hung limply behind him. The demon's usually meticulously combed hair was tousled. He and his brother both shared the same habit of running a hand through their locks when stressed or frustrated, so Malphas recognized the reason for its mussed state. But most telling of all were Demiurge's flattened ears.

Vulnerability was not something Malphas saw from him outside of the bedroom, so to see the normally domineering and powerful Guardian of the Seventh Floor display the demeanor of a kicked dog was nothing short of unnerving.

"Demiurge? Are you alright?" Malphas asked, and his brother flinched at the concern in his voice.

"I...I do not know." He said quietly.

Malphas stepped away and let him in. Demiurge skulked inside and the elder demon closed the door behind him. With the light breeze created by his brother's hurried stride, Malphas detected a whiff of coppery human blood, and knew instantly his pet which they had earlier discussed how to properly train was dead.

'He killed her.' Malphas internally sighed. 'That will have been the eighth one. Why didn't he take my advice? He couldn't have been at the Tomb longer than an hour. What could have transpired in such short time?'

This certainly wasn't the first pet in Demiurge's possession which had died or he had killed, nor did he believe it would it be the last, so why was he suddenly so...rattled?

Demiurge did not sit down, though. He could not seem to be still, and began to mindlessly pace before the fireplace, his steel-plated tail flicking in agitation. The demon then proceeded to pull out a cigarette with a tremulous hand, shakily lit it and inhaled. Malphas preferred not to smoke inside his home, but in recognition of his brother's blatantly distressed state, he decided he would hold his tongue and let it go.

The elder demon took a seat on the sofa, and kindly offered his brother the glass of red wine that had not had the chance to drink earlier. Demiurge muttered a "Thanks." and eagerly downed it and set the empty glass back down on the end table. Malphas granted him a moment to finish his cigarette and alleviate his rattled nerves.

Malphas watched him sigh, watched him scowl, watched him run his hand through his hair, and he patiently waited as Demiurge struggled in silence. He knew that within the younger demon there was a lightning storm of turmoil raging, so he would not push Demiurge into explaining anything; Malphas always allowed his brother to open up to him in his own time.

Demiurge tossed the remainder of the cigarette into the fireplace, and finally spoke.

"I...I was too late to save her this time. I had removed everything from her room that I thought she could potentially harm herself with before I had left to come see you, but...she still found a way." Demiurge murmured quietly. "She pushed over her bookshelf and cut herself open with a piece of broken wood, and bled out while I was absent."

Demiurge did not kill his pet. She took her own life.

And he was affected by this?

Demiurge felt the weight of her death? Guilt?

Malphas opened his mouth and curled his tongue as though to offer honeyed words which might help him feel better, maybe a wise piece of advice, but found that he was momentarily empty of anything that may assuage Demiurge's anguish.

What could he possibly say to his brother after he had found his human pet dead, that would not sound like a generic "sorry for your loss"?

No, he would have to contemplate this one. If Malphas uttered the wrong thing, Demiurge flip his fury switch, leave in this state and some poor unfortunate soul would surely catch the brunt of his rage and pay with blood.

"I do not...understand why, but I feel..." His words died in his throat before reaching his tongue.

Malphas froze, shocked. It was a cold day in Hell, apparently. His brother feeling something other than rage and hate over the failure of a pet to withstand his cruelty was a rare occurrence.

Shit, Malphas believed it to be impossible. Demiurge was merciless when it came to his human pets. As far as the younger demon was concerned, they were mere toys for his carnal pleasure and suitable for slave labor, as they were plentiful and disposable, so he saw them as ideal for such purposes.

So what made the loss of this one different?

Unsure how to properly word what unfamiliar emotion had comprehensively short-circuited his usually sharp and nimble mind, or why her suicide had even made him feel anything at all, Demiurge pulled the crumpled note out of his internal jacket pocket and handed it to his brother. Malphas did not miss his reluctance to share eye contact as he did so.

The elder demon looked at him quizzically, before he unwrinkled the wadded paper and smoothed it out to read it. As he scanned the note and absorbed the morose words, his lips parted as he felt his heart clench.

Master,

I know I'm not like other people because I'm sad all the time. I'm sorry, I really don't mean to feel that way.

Daddy didn't like it either. I tried to be good, but I don't think he believed I was trying. He said I didn't smile enough, and he didn't like that I slept so much. But it was hard to get out of bed when I don't feel okay. I think my soul is sick, and I can only be okay in my dreams. I wasn't like my little sister, who seemed to always be happy and smiled whether it was sunny or raining outside, so he sent me away. I was supposed to get better with new medicine, but I didn't. Something must be really wrong with me.

I'm sorry I wasn't a good girl like you wanted me to be. I tried, I really did. And I'm sorry for leaving such a mess, but now I can dream forever.

Please don't be sad like me. I hope you find someone better. Someone who makes you happy.

Pet

'So this is why...' The suicide note was enough to emotionally pierce anyone clean through, and it would seem not even someone as cruel and hardened as his brother was immune.

The elder demon licked his lips and furtively glanced at his brother.

"I'm so sorry, Demiurge." He murmured, and his deep baritone was laced with a slight tremor.

"I...I do not know what this...weight is in my chest. I-I don't lik- I don't want it. How do I get rid of it?" He stammered, and there was the flicker of panic in his diamond gaze.

Malphas sighed heavily. Demiurge would not like it, and it would likely hurt him, but it was what he needed to hear.

"It's called emotional pain, Demiurge. It has a biological purpose; to teach, to divert us away from unhealthy patterns and relationships. And believe me when I tell you this; you cannot simply get rid of it. No amount of spells, bloodshed, drink, or drugs will numb what you are feeling right now. I've been pushing back against pain for so long; medicating with alcohol, and with romantic notions, yet it returned in my weaker moments, ripping that festering wound wide open to bleed all over again. It took time, but I eventually learned that to keep repeating this pattern would only prolong it. I kept the pain underneath when it needed to be released; and to let it out, it must rise to the surface so it may be dealt with." Malphas explained.

Demiurge's lip curled in a sneer of disgust, but Malphas did not miss the reluctant surrender in his eyes as he understood what he was being told. His brother loathed feeling more than anything, and he was a cornered animal at this point and lashing out. He was scared, confused, conflicted. But Demiurge would heed his words. When he sought his brother's advice, he would indeed listen, whether he liked what he heard or not.

"So, you can make a new choice, one to face it, and to let it teach you what it must. Though you will be weaker in the moment, you will be stronger afterward. I won't lie, brother; it will fucking hurt like Hell, like a holy blade_._ It always does. But I promise that you will live, and I'll be here to give you what you need, and tend to your wounds." Malphas concluded.

Demiurge's tail wound tightly around his leg, as though seeking Malphas' own, a sure sign that he was feeling terribly exposed and insecure; and kept his eyes guarded and to the floor. While his brow furrowed, it was not with the usual harsh lines of anger, but something else.

Malphas had never seen that look on the younger demon's face, and his chest constricted as though his heart were beating in a cage. He did not like seeing Demiurge this way; it was damned near unnatural to see him wearing an expression other than cold calculation or sarcastic amusement. Malphas wanted, would do anything he could to make it better; he would move Hell itself to take his pain away if at all possible.

"What do you need, brother?" Malphas asked softly, as he rose from his seat.

"I..." Demiurge swallowed thickly, and his face became dangerously contemplative. "I..."

_"...you."_He finally answered, and that one word impaled Malphas like a lance, and stole the breath from his lungs. Demiurge then pushed himself against the solid wall of Malphas' body and clutched his coat before burying his face into his chest.

To the elder Devil's shock, nothing of carnal nature followed this action. There had been precious few moments in their history in which Demiurge would be experiencing a new emotion that he did not have the faintest idea in how to process, and he would gift Malphas with fleeting, vaguely affectionate touches; a brief brush of their hands, sweetly pressing his forehead against his after sex, their tails mindlessly intertwining as they drank wine and reminisced about their memories of Ulbert and the world they once knew as it had been, before everything had changed. But these caresses were always hastily followed by a sexual act; the elder Arch Devil was well aware that this was how Demiurge denied it, how he made it okay in his own mind, how he distanced himself from him and what they both knew was there.

It was supposed to mean nothing to Demiurge if it led to sex. Malphas knew that this was how his brother justified it.

It mortally wounded Malphas' soul every time, but he now also cherished those little moments more than anything.

With time, he had finally grown used to the pain which laced them like the sweetest, deadliest of poisons. Demiurge could stab Malphas in the heart over and over, but he would still bleed nothing but love for his brother.

This time, however, Demiurge only clung to him, and Malphas could see he was silently warring against it with every ounce of his strength, endeavoring to smother the alien feeling, to shove it down into the dark depths of his soul, but it would seem for once he found himself powerless against it as it floated back up to the surface; he was trying so hard not to break, not to cry. The impenetrable dam that withheld his less hostile emotions, the sturdy foundation of defenses which he had built for himself finally cracked as it filled to the brim.

Although Demiurge did not fully understand why he felt the way he did, or why he was so compelled to seek comfort from his brother, he did seem to comprehend that Malphas was what he needed to be able breathe, to lift that suffocating weight in his chest which was heavy enough to crack the hardest of marble.

Malphas needed to touch him, before the atoms of his being tore themselves apart. He slowly wrapped his arms around his brother, allowing Demiurge a chance to pull away, should he change his mind and suddenly remember how much he abhorred affection outside of lust.

But he didn't. Demiurge let Malphas hold him in his arms for what seemed to be forever. He had felt turned inside out, spread open, vulnerable and defenseless, and Malphas' strong arms mimicked the sensation of what he needed; to be safe within walls, guarded, protected.

Conflicted anguish clawed at the elder Devil as Demiurge clutched his coat in his talons like a lifeline, as though he never wanted to let him go.

Malphas threaded his fingers through his hair, gently pressing him into his chest. Oh, how he wanted to enjoy this moment, to tuck it away so it would keep his heart warm at night when he awoke to find his bed empty but still smelling like wildfire, dark spice and sandalwood, but to do so would be reprehensibly wrong.

Alas, as an Arch Devil, just like his brother, he was indeed a sinner.

They did not speak of it afterwards, nor ever again; because Demiurge would rather pretend not to feel, and Malphas stayed silent out of respect for his brother.

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