We found a spot to sit under a large, sprawling oak tree on the edge of the town square, a small island of relative privacy in the sea of bustling activity. I sat on the grass, my back against the rough bark, and took a bite of my skewer. The meat was tough and a little gamey, but it was hot and it was food, and at that moment, it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted.
The demon king stood over me, a silent, brooding presence. He didn't sit. He didn't ask for a skewer. He just watched me eat, his expression unreadable, a storm cloud of contained fury. He wasn't used to being defied. I could practically feel the waves of his indignation washing over me. It was both terrifying and, I had to admit, a little satisfying. I was not quite so helpless as he thought I was.
I finished my skewer, licking the grease from my fingers, and leaned my head back against the tree, closing my eyes. The sun was warm on my face, the sounds of the town a pleasant, distant hum. I was tired, sore, and completely out of my depth, but for a single, fleeting moment, I felt a sense of... control. It was fragile, a soap bubble in a hurricane, but it was there.
"You are insolent." His voice broke the quiet, a low, dangerous murmur.
I opened one eye and looked up at him. He was still standing, his arms crossed, his jaw set in a hard line. "I'm just following the rules," I said, my voice deliberately casual. "I have the leash, you have the collar. The one with the power gets to decide, isn't that right?"
I have.
No memory of him saying exactly that line, but he's said enough things tropey like that. Enough that I'm not going to feel bad about saying it.
It works. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark and dangerous passing through them.
"For now." he said, the words a soft, venomous promise. "But know that I maintain a ledger of every offense, and it will never be wiped clean."
"So you'll kill me extra...?" I say, flatly, and wave my hand. "You said you'd kill me long before I did anything at all." I close my eyes again. "You're going to have to come up with a new threat eventually."
"Little angel." He said, voice barely above a growl. "You. Are you so hapless and stupid you know not of the world I came from?"
Angus stutters. "I...I know of many worlds!"
"Tell me, were you informed of what I did to the Jester Worm?" he asked.
I don't recognize that word. I can't say if it's a name or a species or just something he made up to scare me.
So I just open my eyes to watch him. He's staring at Angus.
And Angus...
He looks...
Terrified.
My heart sinks.
He seems to shrink in on himself. "...I...uh..." He's not looking at the Demon King. "The...the scrolls are a little. Vague. On...the details."
The demon king turns his head toward me.
"Shall I...clarify the records?" he asks.
I do not want to know. I really, really do not want to know.
Before I can answer, Angus does so. "No need! No need at all!" He says, his voice a panicked squeak. "We...we are all on the same page here!"
"Hm." His voice sounded annoyingly pleased for a man I'd just bested in a battle of wills. "Death can be a creative exercise." He says, finally sitting down across from me, his legs crossed in that stupidly elegant, effortless way he has. "There are a great many ways to prolong suffering. Perhaps I shall convince what remains of you that you are the Jester Worm before you die." He tilts his head, and he smiles. "Would you like that?"
I. Really do not.
"No."
His smile widens. "How wonderful." He says, resting his chin on his hand as he watches me. "The day of my freedom will be all the more sweet."
He's.
Far.
Too happy imagining whatever rated R gore he's thinking about.
I'm sure the Jester Worm is some eldritch horror from a world I didn't know existed.
But my brain can't help but imagine him dressing me up in a clown costume before...
No.
No I don't need to finish that thought. I don't want that image in my mind.
It's probably less horrible than whatever he's actually imagining. My own imagination is no doubt far less vivid and expansive than his.
But that is in no way reassuring. If anything it's the opposite.
So.
In order to distract myself I just...
Look at his chest. It's. Still. There.
He's so pretty. And he doesn't even try. It's not fair.
He shifts, stretching his arms over his head, his muscles shifting under his skin like some kind of divine, living sculpture. The motion is so perfectly, unconsciously sensual it should be illegal. My eyes follow the lines of his body, from the sharp V of his hips to the defined ridges of his abdomen. He is a work of art, a masterpiece of lethal beauty, and it is deeply, profoundly unfair.
"What in the blazes are you staring at, wretch?" he demands, his voice sharp with irritation.
I can't help but startle, ripping my gaze away from him. I feel my face flush, a hot, prickling sensation that spreads from my cheeks down my neck. "Nothing!" I say, far too quickly and far too loudly. "Just... just admiring the scenery. The town. The trees. The... architecture."
"Direct your useless lechery upon the angel. Your eyes are unworthy." He says, and I can hear the disgust in his voice. And then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, "And he is as well."
Angus squeaks. "I. I don't want her to be looking at me like that, either!"
"I'll! Look where I want to!" I huff, looking away from the both of them. "And it's not lechery, it's... aesthetic appreciation."
"Isn't it sad to think you dressed up and the hero you chose would rather look at a demon than you?" The demon king asks, with far too much casual amusement for his words.
I turn my head to glare at him, but he's looking at the angel. Angus flutters his wings, looking deeply uncomfortable.
"It's not like that." The angel squeaks. "You're the one who's..."
I don't get to hear the end of that, because the demon king has already turned his gaze back to me. "I am not a display for your perverse fantasies." He says, the words clipped and cold. "Keep your eyes to yourself, or I will pluck them from your skull and feed them to you."
"Yeah...well. Then I'll look at you out of spite."