Work Text:
「 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 .」
ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴛʀᴀɪʟ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ɪᴛꜱ ᴡᴀᴋᴇ.
ᴅᴇꜱᴏʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʀᴀɢᴇ
ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ᴛᴏ ɢʀᴇᴇᴛ ʜɪᴍ, ʙᴜᴛ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀɢᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀᴡᴀɪᴛꜱ ʜɪᴍ.
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Wind rushes through green locks of hair, hues of gold cut through the darkness like a hot knife, with ease. Flashes of gold, green and red, bodies crumble to the floor one by one, thumps as they hit the ground. And one by one, they would fall. The thrill of the chase as they ran away only furthering his excitement, the bloodlust his only craving, chasing the high it gave him.
Becoming lost in the destruction, for wrath. . . the violence, seduction.
The melody of chaos is music to his ears, the screams and terror, hearing you plead for your life, there is nothing more exciting. Consumed with wrath, he has to give you everything he has, won’t you accept him? To end your life in the most violent, angry manner. It can only be him, no one else. For his wrath is directed at you, and there is no greater satisfaction than seeing life leave your eyes, his satisfied gaze the last one you see.
But the last body fell, the sound of chaos and terror subsided, for his wrath brought desolation in its wake. Was it over already? His high was beginning to drop, his excited grin fading as he sat on one of the slayed large beasts that had fallen. He looked at his knuckles and nails, decorated in that familiar scarlet liquid. It soaked some of his clothing, spotted his face, streaked his hair.
The aftermath of this wrath brought about a familiar sound. . . silence, and the sound of cascading blood starting to form large pools. His strongest emotion always got the best of him, though he couldn’t say he didn’t love the feeling it gave him. All around him for quite a distance was just bodies, destruction, not a soul around other than Behemoth, that remained quietly by his side.
The blood would drip from his knuckles onto the body he was seated upon, he focused on the sound as a sense of calmness took over him. For he was like a beast released from it’s cage gone rampant, and the one that released him? His kin. Released with the hidden hopes and intentions of getting the beast to fight, to take bait, to further a goal, to give him a show.
Free from his prison, the demon king’s wrathful tendencies were tested in the field. Eyes in shadow watched, and when the beast began to act like one, getting carried away with the winds of battle, he was thrown back where he was released from, castigated for getting carried away, for not listening to each order, for not acting how it was planned and desired.
For his freedom, and even the very body he possessed, came with chains and rules.
But how did he end up on this path? For he wasn’t the one who enjoyed playing the puppet. Was he on this path? Or perhaps, was he ever so lightly pushed? Guided? However when he begins to run too quickly, or follow his own desires, the shackle around his neck yanked by a chain, told to settle down, to collect himself.
You’ve helped create the beast, you’ve released it, put a collar on it, told to act only when told, to obey the rules. However, whenever the monster acts like one and no longer conveniences you, it’s punished.
How convenient it must be for you, to have wrath in chains, bound by your command, trickery and deception, when even wrath, trusts you as kin.
However, when the younger brother displeases you. . . not only is he kept in the world where he is confined, but he is put in a prison where none can reach, none can see. When you think his actions are to have consequences, or his thoughts astray, he is castigated.
The mortal body he is confined in, stuck upon tall spears, going through multiple parts of his body so he could feel the pain but be unable to move.
A sharp gasp and cry of pain would be heard as his body was impaled by the several spears, even through his head. His body stuck, his mortal body screaming in agony but he must be silent, be collected, be calm. . . as instructed. He was placed upon these spears due to ‘causing a fuss’, for the murderous intent he had towards another that wouldn’t have taken place, without the puppeteer himself.
‘ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴏꜰꜰ.’
Now left alone, all he could do was to let his thoughts wrestle in his head. Wrestle between his strong want to kill, but the freedom he craved came with a price, obedience. He was promised he would get another chance, he needed to have patience.
In the end, always in the end. . . he was greeted with silence, but this time, the sound of his own blood could be heard dripping onto the floor. Sense of time was lost in this prison, how long was he there? Days? Weeks? Months?
His body left lifeless on the spears due to the inability to move, blood staining his pale skin, clothes and floor. Eventually he would be greeted by the one who held the key, the one who gave both punishments, and orders.
“ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴏʟᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ? ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀꜱᴋ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ.”
The limp body’s fingers would slightly twitch, golden hues cracking open to take in the view of the other.
“ʏᴇꜱ. . . ” Was all he would mutter, wrath and malice drained from his body with the blood that left him to join the floor. The beast was more a puppet, realizing the chains from which he was bound were nothing to take lightly. He was to follow each order, come when called, to remain collected and only do what was asked without getting carried away. However, freedom was worth it.
“ɪ ᴀᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ. . . ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.”