Demiurge/reader Ch.20 pt 3
#73 of The Devil's Plaything
Part 3
Malphas' chariot grinds to a halt just before a towering hill. The late afternoon sky is a milky indigo that deepens where it meets the olive green mounds. Bruised clouds loom on the horizon and the mineral scent of a distant rainstorm draws nearer, the damp atmosphere enhancing his sense of smell.
In the distance gathers a herd of Midgardian Rams. Bucks chuff and high-step in jaunty prances, churning the pollen of wildflowers into the wind as they showcase their spiraling horns for an audience of does. Cloven hooves paw at the earth, followed shortly by a thunderous crack resounding over the grasslands as challengers crash their skulls together in battle. With a harem of females and prime territory at stake, they take little notice of the predator skirting the vicinity.
'Easy prey.'
The Arch Devil's mouth waters, the blue of his eyes thawing to fiery gold, but for now he ignores his carnivorous instincts. Malphas has much larger fish to fry.
Grasslands stretch on as far as the eye can see, and all around waves of green ripple in the spring breeze. His Bicorns snort and shake out their flowing manes with a musical rattle of their plated armor and the Devil steps out. Solution and the other Battle Maids are already waiting for him, standing stone still before the mound.
"Greetings, Solution." The Devil acknowledges her with a bow at the waist as he circles around to the back of his chariot, and then threads his claws through the chains securing the double doors to the rear cart.
"Hello, Malphas. He's alive, I hope?" The blonde asks.
"He is. I was as careful as I could be in bringing him down." Malphas promises her, tucking a strand of raven hair behind his long, pierced ear, but then winces as he reluctantly adds, "Although, he has lost some blood...I fear my teeth may have nicked something vital."
The Devil pulls the doors open, revealing a bound and gagged man crumpled inside. Shredded remnants of what were once clothes of fine material hang from his frame. His skin is pallid with substantial blood loss, and the planks beneath him are smeared with crimson.
He lies silent as the grave, and isn't moving save for the rise and fall of shallow breath. Malphas can hear a heartbeat, but his complexion is more than a little concerning.
"Damn it..." The demon curses, then bangs his fist on the side of his chariot. "You had better not be dying on me!"
Lazily, the human stirs, his respiration slow, ragged with shock. Once his swimming gaze settles upon the demon, the human begins to thrash and shriek into the cloth stuffed in his mouth, fueled by a burst of adrenaline.
With a bored expression the Battle Maid takes note of the bloody gauze haphazardly wrapped around his lower arms and calves, then draws a brow.
"Hm. You're kinder than I am. I would have let him bleed." Solution muses coldly, twirling her ringlets with one finger.
"Under normal circumstances, I would be equally as vicious towards a traitor of Nazarick." Malphas chuckles. "However, it would not serve me nor Lord Ainz well to deliver a dead prisoner."
The Devil reaches into the cart and curls his claws around the human's ankles to haul him out, then hoists him over his shoulder like a sack of cotton. When the prisoner struggles in the demon's iron grasp, Malphas snarls, guttural and deep enough to rattle his bones with the reminder that he can revert back into his beast form in the blink of an eye.
"You should enjoy your last few moments in my hands. My brother is far less merciful than I." With Malphas' ominous warning, the man instantly goes rigid with a strangled whimper.
"Demiurge is waiting inside for you." Solution calls to him as she steps up into the driver's seat to guide the Bicorns behind an adjacent mound, away from prying eyes.
"Good. I will need him to administer stitches." Malphas says as he passes through the barrier of magic that seamlessly cloaks the entrance to Nazarick. Were it not for his keen sense of smell, its exact location would be lost among the dozens of strategically positioned dummy hills. The shield shimmers with amethyst ripples as he breaches it, making it hiss and pop like electricity, warming the metal of his tail and piercings.
Yuri Alpha opens the towering doors for the Arch Devil, granting him entry to the Tomb.
The atmosphere shifts as he steps inside- it sweeps up his entire body with a static crackle that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise and suddenly everything smells like home.
Steaming delicacies, silk and velvet, and lemon-polished marble floors.
Familiarity. Comfort.
Emotion surges in his chest, rising up and causing him to swallow painfully as he is once again made whole, and yet he feels like a stranger on the outside looking in.
You brush your feather duster over an end table, carefully sweeping the plumes over a glossy black kintsugi vase veined in gold. Like you, it has been broken, then mended by caring hands. Is it good as new? Hardly. Pieces that once made it whole are missing. But resilient it stands.
If it is broken again, will those same caring hands bother to put it back together again? Spare precious gold a second time? Or would they find it more favorable to simply obtain a newer, shinier vase?
Back and forth, back and forth, you try to lose yourself in the motions to keep your brain from reeling. Anxiety is your constant companion as of late, a cold and heavy serpent that stretches and coils within your gut.
After Demiurge had left the room earlier, you gathered your hair to the side and reached back behind your neck to loosen the collar for the time being, only to find it to be impossibly seamless- then you recalled him saying it had been charmed.
Fucking magic. Now you're stuck with it. Like a dog.
When you hear footsteps clicking over the expanse of the white marble floors, you furtively steal a glance behind you.
'Please don't be Sebas...'
While you are relieved that it isn't the Butler, you are surprised to see Demiurge walking with what can only be described as a giant.
Your heart plummets at his formidable size- he is no shorter than six-foot-six and broad of chest and shoulder- a frame built for mercilessly executed brutality. You can only imagine what monstrosity must be hiding behind the dark curtain of shoulder-length hair.
Your eyes travel up the purple pinstriped tail coat cloaking his figure, and how both it and his charcoal button-up stretch over wide pectorals that taper to a solid, V-shaped build. His dark wardrobe is accentuated by a red tie, and it makes you wonder if the demons around here all share a similar sense of fashion.
Draped over the stranger's massive shoulder is a bloody, bound and gagged man. The limpness of his form proposes that he is dead, until he lets out a muffled groan of discomfort.
For a charged moment, you watch as the demon draws closer and then turns his head your way, and raises a leather-clad hand to sweep his hair away from his face.
Gazing up at the towering silhouette, you're shocked to see that he doesn't look monstrous at all. In fact, he is quite handsome.
His features are inherently similar to Demiurge's; his face is sculpted with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, his skin sun-kissed golden bronze; a sharp contrast to his hair which is as a raven's wing- lustrous and black. Several gold piercings and cuffs adorn both of his ears and behind him swings a powerful tail that is armored with steely plates and edged with spikes.
He moves with a smooth arrogance; that same cat-like swagger of an apex predator who knows he is at the top of the food chain.
You know you are staring and that you should probably look away, but his deep-set eyes command your attention-- like Demiurge's, they are crystalline, and almost identical to the sapphires you had tried to steal. The dozens of facets sparkle like the ocean at dawn; with so many shades of blue, they're utterly mesmerizing, and the longer you gaze into their watery depths the more you perceive a profound sorrow lurking just beneath the shimmering surface.
Even with a prisoner hanging over his shoulder, this demon's presence radiates far less menace than your Master's. His bottomless gaze slowly skates over your face, soaking you in. His nostrils flare and you realize he is covertly cataloguing your scent.
His eyes widen, and the Devil halts, then pivots towards you.
Lips drawing into an enigmatic smile, he flashes the longest canines you've ever seen on a humanoid. "Who, Demiurge, is this little creature?"
The heated interest in his voice kicks your pulse into overdrive, and he is in front of you within three strides.
"This is my Pet. However, I have yet to settle on a name for her." Demiurge tells him, and you internally bristle at his blatant claim of ownership. "Pet, this is my predecessor, Malphas."
Predecessor.
'Oh, shit.' It was this demon's gift to Demiurge that you had damaged- and the fact that he may see your vandalism firsthand is enough to make your legs begin to quiver beneath you.
"And what a lovely lady she is..." The giant purrs, shocking you with his disregard of the subhuman status Demiurge has appointed you. "A very pretty thing indeed."
'Oh.' No man has ever spoken to you so kindly before. 'He's attractive AND sweet.'
In trying to decide how to reply, you can only stare dumbly and gulp down the lump of guilt in your throat as you absorb the deep, rich timbre of his voice.
"Um... thank you?" You stammer awkwardly when you finally find your tongue again. "It- it's nice to meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine," He asserts, stepping closer to offer his hand with a devilish grin, and you hesitate to take it. In the brothel you could not even acknowledge another man's existence if your current client was present.
"It's all right, Pet." Demiurge assures you with an amused smirk as the towering Devil caresses you with a curious but predatory stare, which, strangely enough, stirs a latent heat inside of you.
'Gods, he's like a freaking tree!' Your heart throbs as you feel as though you are shrinking within his shadow. Tentatively, you settle your hand into his, feeling as small and delicate as a glass hummingbird.
His hand is the size of a fucking dinner plate and completely swallows your own.
You glance up at him, and the sparkle in his eye tells you that he either knows, or thinks he knows you. Thick digits enclose around your palm in a warm, gentle shake, and you marvel at how the claws arming each of his fingers are nearly as long as your thumb.
At this proximity, his scent of scorched sandalwood with notes of rain-damp cedar, cloves and leather engulfs you, and it's so familiar... it invokes the sensation of the sun on your skin and lush grass beneath your bare feet... warm breath puffing in your ear, and safety within strong arms... a memory dances on the edge of your consciousness, lingering just out of reach, fleeting and fading...
...and then it is gone. But it was there.
Do you really know him?
"You wear hi- a collar well." Malphas smiles, breaking your train of thought, and you are convinced the scathing glare Demiurge shoots at him is intended to set him ablaze. "I do hope my brother is taking good care of you."
Initially, you wonder if the collar comment is a joke, but his expression is genuine as he says it... almost as though he means it as a compliment?
With that, he releases your hand and they continue down the great hall, then turn the next corner.