The view from the Red Cliffs was impressive, if you liked the look of a dying world.
Sereph stood at the edge of the parapet, letting the wind whip his golden hair across his face. Below the castle proper, the dungeons festered like a wound carved into the earth, half-swallowed by the crimson stone. Technically, the records in Hell still listed this as Gluttony's domain.
Let them believe that. Titles were for people who needed permission, anyway.
He exhaled slowly, bored by the scenery, and turned to head inside.
The castle interior was cold and silent most of the time, when no one dared to bother him. Silence really suited him; no unnecessary noise, no distractions. Just him, and the work that needed doing.
His reflection caught in a darkened window as he passed, and he paused. His golden hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, falling in a heavy stream all the way down to his hips. Golden eyes with pupils that had narrowed to reptilian slits, horns curving back from his skull, the pointed tips of his ears, fangs just visible when his lips parted…
He looked dangerous. Monstrous, even. Good. That's exactly what he'd worked to become.
He continued down the corridor, but soon he heard quick and nervous footsteps approached from ahead.
A guard rounded the corner and stopped short when he saw Sereph. The demon was larger and bulkier than him, with gray skin and tusks that jutted from his lower jaw. But he stood there trembling anyway.
"Sir." His voice was strained. "The human, the blond one in the lower cells. He won't stop talking."
Sereph's expression didn't change. "And?"
"He keeps the other prisoners awake with his rambling. Just... constant chatter about the dark, the cold, anything. We've had complaints. Multiple complaints." The guard shifted his weight uncomfortably. "We had to move him twice already because the noise was disturbing–"
"No," Sereph said flatly.
The guard blinked. "Sir?"
"He stays exactly where he is." Sereph's tone left no room for argument. "I don't care if he talks himself hoarse. I don't care if every prisoner in that wing complains. He doesn't move."
"But the noise–"
"Is not my problem." Sereph took a step closer, and the guard instinctively took a step back. "And if you bring this to me again, you'll be joining him. Are we clear?"
The guard's throat worked as he swallowed. "Yes, sir. Crystal clear, sir."
"Good." Sereph's pupils narrowed to thin slits. "Now get out of my sight before I decide you're more useful as dog food."
The demon fled, boots scrambling on stone.
Sereph continued down the corridor, unbothered by the conversation. The human boy was terrified, that much was obvious. Kept rambling, kept filling the silence with useless noise, making himself a nuisance to everyone around him. Pathetic, really, but he stayed exactly where Sereph wanted him.
That's all that mattered.
A small chamber opened off the main corridor, and Sereph turned into it. The body he'd left there earlier was still crumpled against the wall, already cooling.
He stopped and stared down at it.
The demon had been low-level, stupid enough to follow him down here, stupider still to ask questions. Now it was just meat.
Sereph crouched beside it, studying the wound. It was a precise cut, severing the spine before the idiot could even scream. His stomach twisted slightly at what came next, but he pushed the feeling down. This was necessary. He hadn't eaten in days, stretching it as long as he could, surviving on scraps and whatever else he could stomach that wasn't this.
But he needed the strength, and strength required this peculiar sacrifice.
His claws extended with a soft snikt, and he carved a section from the shoulder, the part with the most muscle, the least viscera. Better to get it over with quickly.
He bit down and the texture hit him immediately. It was tough and quite stringy. Demon flesh always fought, even in death, resisted being consumed like the body remembered what it used to be.
His throat worked, forcing it down. His face remained impassive, but internally his stomach still protested, twisting with disgust.
Necessary, he reminded himself. Just fuel, nothing more.
He took another bite, then another, the metallic taste flooded his mouth.
The taste was acrid, clinging to his tongue in a way that made his skin crawl. But he kept going, forcing each piece down his throat until he'd consumed enough for it to matter.
He thought about the demons who made rituals of this. That glorified the kill, the feed, turned it into ceremony. Made it something sacred or perverse depending on their tastes.
Sereph found that pathetic.
You ate to survive, you killed to eat, simple as that.
Though he supposed there was a certain irony to it. A fitting punishment, really, for everything demons were. Sinners forced to consume each other for the rest of their existences. Forever hungry, forever killing, forever eating their own kind just to survive another day.
Poetic, in its own twisted way.
Whoever had designed this place had definitely understood how punishment truly worked. Not the dramatic, fiery torment humans imagined, no. This was subtler, make them eat each other, make survival itself a sin.
Heaven's design, probably. The Sacred Order loved their poetic justice, maybe Gabriel himself had suggested it, playing messenger for a God who found the whole thing amusing.
Sereph's lips curved slightly, humorless.
If that was divine justice, he wanted no part of it. Better to make his own rules.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still tasting copper. Blood still covered his fingers, so he brought his hand to his mouth and licked it clean, slowly. His tongue traced each finger, catching every bit of blood. Waste nothing. That was the rule. He'd learned that early, learned it the hard way, and it had kept him alive when others had fallen.
As he licked the blood from his thumb, his thoughts drifted, trailing off into something that had been occupying his mind more and more lately. The metallic taste faded, replaced by the memory of a different scent.
Her.
Her hair was stark white, bleached clean. The dark brown tips were the only thing left of her original color, a strange split against the white. Then he recalled the eyes, dark red eyes that held too much; too much fear, too much defiance, too much of something he couldn't quite name. She'd looked at him with terror, yes, but also with that stubborn spark. That refusal to break completely.
He liked that.
His tongue traced the edge of his fang absently as he thought about her. That impossibly sweet and sharp scent, wrong in a way that made his instincts hum. He could still remember it, could still taste it on the air when he closed his eyes. The way his pupils had blown wide when he'd gotten close enough, the way every nerve in his body had screamed at him to take a bite.
Skritch.
The sharp sound cut through the silence, snapping him back. He blinked, looking down. His left hand was pressed flat against the cold flagstones, claws fully extended, buried deep enough to carve white lines into the dark stone.
He lifted his hand, turning it over slowly to inspect the sharp, black tips. He stared at them for a moment, as if they belonged to someone else.
"Huh," he breathed.
He flexed his fingers, watching the claws retract back into skin.
Dangerous. She was… He stopped. That wasn't the word. Fascinating, that's what she was. Fascinating and useful and perfectly positioned, nothing more.
His lips curved around his thumb, tongue catching the last trace of blood as he let himself think of her again, more controlled this time. He recalled her body: small and fragile-looking. Exactly the kind of creature that wouldn't last five minutes in a place like this without protection, and yet she'll come anyway.
What a brave little thing, or maybe just stupid. Either way, it didn't matter.
A name formed in his mind, something that fit her perfectly: that delicate, breakable quality mixed with that stubborn fire in her eyes. Like she thought she was royalty, like she thought she mattered more than she did. Like she expected the world to bend for her.
Princess.
His lips twitched. Yes. That would do nicely.
Princess, walking right into his hands like a gift wrapped in white.
Sereph lowered his hand, expression unreadable. The blood was gone now, his fingers clean. He flexed them once, watching his claws extend and retract smoothly.
He stood, rolling his shoulders, feeling the power already beginning to settle into his muscles. His body processed it faster than most, one of the benefits of clawing his way up from nothing. Worth it, even if every bite made him want to puke.
He'd need this strength soon when they arrived.
He glanced at what remained of the body, then grabbed it by the ankle. The flesh was cold now, and could feel it already stiffening. There was someone else who needed feeding, and she was always hungry.
Sereph continued deeper into the castle, descending another set of stairs that led into the oldest parts of the prison. The body dragged behind him, thudding dully against each step, thump, thump, thump.
The walls here were rougher, carved from the cliffs themselves. Water dripped somewhere in the dark. Torches were fewer, their light weak.
At the bottom, a corridor stretched into darkness. And at the end of it, behind bars thick as a man's arm, something waited.
The sound of chains rattling reached him first. Then a barely restrained growl, reverberating through the stone.
Sereph approached without hesitation, dragging what remained of the body behind him, leaving a dark smear on the floor.
"Still hungry?" His voice carried no sympathy.
The growl turned into a snarl. Chains snapped taut with a metallic shriek that echoed through the chamber, and something massive lunged from the shadows beyond the bars.
It stopped just short of reaching him, held back by the restraints.
Sereph had measured them precisely. Close enough that she could reach anything he pushed through the bars, but not close enough that she could reach him.
She was worse today. He could tell by the sounds, by the way the chains pulled taut and stayed that way.
Not lucid at all.
Good, that made this easier.
"Here." Sereph shoved the body through the gap in the bars, using his foot to push it the rest of the way.
The beast in the darkness lunged, and the feeding began. The sounds of tearing, ripping, of bone cracking desperately filled the chamber.
Sereph watched, impassive. Like watching an animal devour scraps. A beast that had forgotten it was once something more.
This was why the girl would survive long enough. He'd make sure of it; the chains were measured down to the inch,the feeding schedule calculated. Everything designed to give him just enough control.
Because when that sweet, sharp scent hit the air down here, when Princess walked close enough for the beast to smell her, instinct would take over. Hunger would override everything else.
And Sereph needed her intact. At least for now.
He waited, patient, as the sounds continued. The feeding was thorough, like she couldn't get enough no matter how much she consumed. Finally, after several long minutes, the sounds began to quiet.
"Good," Sereph murmured, voice soft and almost mocking. "Eat up."
The chewing continued. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.
His gaze drifted to the chains anchored to the stone. It was a language he knew well, a silent message: You are not free. He despised the concept of the binding, the weakness it implied, but the mechanism itself was undeniable. They worked.
"The girl's coming soon," he said, almost to himself. His tone was lighter now, contemplative. Maybe part of her could still understand, maybe buried beneath all that hunger and corruption, some fragment was listening. "White hair, dark eyes." He paused. "Sweet enough to make you forget yourself."
A low growl rumbled from the darkness, almost curious.
"You haven't caught it yet," Sereph continued, his smile widening. "But you will. And when you do… you'll lose what's left of that pretty little mind of yours. What's left of you, anyway."
He straightened, arms still crossed, watching the chains shift with her movements.
"Funny, isn't it?" he mused. "This is your domain, you're supposed to be running things down here." His smile sharpened, all teeth. "And yet here I am, deciding when you eat, what you eat, how tight those chains stay around your neck."
The chains rattled.
Sereph's voice dropped lower. "So when she walks through that door, you're going to sit. You're going to stay. And you're going to behave like the good little beast you are. Because I say so."
The growl wavered.
"Because if you don't–" His pupils narrowed to slits. "–I'll leave you down here until you start eating yourself. Rib by rib." He leaned closer to the bars, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Think you can handle that, boss?"
The word was dripping with poison. The growl faded completely into a whimper.
"That's a good dog," he said softly.
He pushed off the wall and turned toward the stairs, satisfied now. Behind him, the sounds of feeding resumed, quieter now.
Sereph paused at the base of the stairwell, one hand on the cold stone. He glanced back over his shoulder at the darkness beyond the bars, and his expression was unreadable in the flickering torchlight.
For a moment, something flickered across his face. Just the cold recognition of what he'd become, someone who used the very things he despised most, because they worked.
"Don't wait up, boss," he called out, voice light with mockery.
Then he disappeared up the stairs, leaving only the echo of his footsteps and the wet sound of tearing flesh below.
The heavy door at the top of the stairs closed with a solid thunk, and he locked it. The key disappeared into his coat pocket.
On his way back up, Sereph paused at a door most demons didn't even know existed. Set into the wall, easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. He unlocked it and stepped inside.
The chamber was small, windowless, a steel table dominated the center of the room. Leather straps hung from its edges, worn but functional. On a nearby shelf sat various items, chains thinner than the ones holding the beast below but just as effective, vials of clear liquid, tools.
He approached the table slowly, running a claw along its edge, the metal was cool under his touch. The straps were secure, tested multiple times, he'd made sure of it. Princess would need to be contained, at least initially.
His gaze narrowed, his pupils dilating until his vision tunneled, blurring the room's edges. He could picture her so clearly, white hair spilling over dark metal, those frightened eyes looking up at him, the scent filling the small space until it was all he could breathe.
Then, his own image reflected in the polished surface of the steel table. His pupils, wide and black, barely let the gold of his eyes show through. He saw the curve of his fangs and the air whistling past them. For an instant, he saw the monster he was.
His hand tensed on the table's edge. Claws scraped metal with a harsh sound that echoed in the confined space. Control, he needed control.
A subtle twitch ran through the pointed tips of his ears. "Stop this nonsense," he whispered to himself, like reprimanding a useless subordinate. He forced himself to step back, breaking his own reflection in the metal.
But it was getting harder to maintain his composure. He was losing control at the thought of having her here, in this room, with no one to interfere. Just her and him, with all the time in the world to get his answers.
Pull yourself together.
He looked around the room one more time, checking that everything was in order. It was. Everything was perfect. Soon, this room would serve its purpose… very soon.
He locked the door behind him and continued up, pocketing the key. Above, the castle was quiet again, just the distant sound of wind and the occasional creak of old stone settling.
Another demon approached as Sereph reached the upper corridor, this one bolder than most, or perhaps just stupider, holding a piece of parchment.
"Sir, about the arrangements you requested. We've secured the eastern wing as you asked, but some of the staff are questioning why we need such extensive–"
Sereph snatched the list from his hand, eyes scanning the words without really reading them. "Questioning?"
"They're just curious, sir. Standard procedure would be to inform the staff of–"
"I don't follow standard procedure." Sereph's eyes flicked up, fixing on the demon and made him flinch. "And anyone who questions my orders is welcome to take it up with me personally."
He held out the list, and when the demon reached for it, Sereph's claws extended. He shredded the paper to ribbons, letting the pieces flutter to the floor between them.
"Tell them the arrangements stay exactly as I specified. And if anyone else feels the need to 'question' me, send them directly to my chambers. I'll be happy to explain in detail."
The demon hurried away, nearly tripping over his own feet. Sereph watched him go, pressing his lips together. Idiots, all of them. He couldn't fathom how half these demons had even earned their place here; mild rudeness? Poor table manners?
They acted like frightened children needing their hands held through the simplest tasks. Pathetic, but at least useful. They followed orders, stayed out of his way, and were too terrified to interfere with anything that actually mattered.
Sereph made his way to the upper levels, stopping at a tall window that overlooked the approach to the cliffs. Below, armored demons in crimson and black marched in formation, Wrath's patrols, watching for threats from outside, watching the beast below. They weren't watching him, and by the time they realized what was really happening here, it would be far too late to stop it.
He leaned against the frame, one hand resting on the cool stone. The window was cracked open, or perhaps just broken, like so many things in this place. The wind slipped through the fissure easily, carrying something on it. Something faint, but unmistakable to senses like his.
Sweet… sharp.
His pupils narrowed to thin slits. She was getting closer, he could feel it. He'd been waiting long enough, and now, as she walked right into his trap dragging her protector along behind her, Sereph would be ready. He'd show them both what it meant to walk into a trap with no way out.
His reflection smiled back at him from the darkened glass, fangs sharp and gleaming. He raised a hand to the pane. Slowly, one sharp claw extended, the tip resting against the surface. He dragged it down, etching a thin, screeching line into the glass as he whispered into the dark.
"Welcome home, Princess."