BadBoyHalo: The 808th Demon

-Chapter 1- The Abyssians

The atmospheric haze of deep crimson can cloud even the sharpest of eyes. A small noise can pierce through and carry to any ear, startling the passerby. The air was drenched in ash and soot, enough to erode a fragile pair of unfortunate lungs. It smelled excruciatingly foul— much more than a mere human could take.  It seemed as if this red wasteland could never taste even the slightest of life.

Yet there was.

I can assure you, this wasn't the Nether. This place was below the Nether. It was tougher, it was nastier, it was deadlier. The Nether was soft candy compared to this living hell.

The land of demons.

A lonely soarer, suspended in the fiery sky, was a mere black dot in the vastness of the Abyssian highlands. She hung her weary head in exhaust. Her breath was heavy, sweat poured from all over, every muscle in her wings ached an awful pain.

She didn't even notice, for a different pain was screaming even louder.

She was in labor.

She couldn't take it anymore. She had to find a place to land; but from this high up, only a small handful of free-standing pillars of bedrock existed way up here. She scrambled around, in hopes to get lucky and find something.

She needed to land.

A blurred figure uncloaked itself in the midst of the fog of smoke and fungus spores. A tower of ugly, jagged rock loomed over her as she flew closer to it. Her pale eyes darted around.

A crevice.

She had never dive-bombed faster. Her wings instantly quit as soon as she began to give. Her land was terribly messy, tumbling into the small cavern at full force. She didn't stop fast enough and almost fell over the edge. She dug her claws into the cliff side, causing massive sparks to erupt from her hands. Eventually she scrambled back onto the ledge.

She sat down, breathing heavily and massaging her poor wings. Looking out at the red nothingness, it seemed as if this little crevice was the only safe haven for light years.

The terrible pain in her abdomen surged up to her head, reminding her of what she came all this way here for, though it wasn't enough.

Around five hours went by. Two screaming infants had been successfully delivered. Their wails were horrendous— demonic screeches and screams exploded through the eerie quietness of the highlands, bouncing and echoing off the bedrock pillars. The brand new twins cried for their dear mother's care, but were given no response.

—————

"Report two infants," a voice sounded. The other demon nodded and scratched in his notebook. "...And a mother. Looks like the poor lass didn't make it through the delivery." Indeed she did not, for her sprawled corpse lay frozen and motionless.

"These two don't look very good..." the second demon examined the two babies, swaying his lantern back and forth to each sickly face stained with drying tears. "Especially this one."

Both babies were graying the closer they were to death, but the firstborn was almost snow white. Only very few manage to survive that far, and those that do become the most feral creatures known in existence.

"Let's bring them both anyway," said the first demon. "There's probably still a chance we can save them." The second demon agreed and swaddled them snug in a spare cloak. The newborn twins were horrifyingly pale compared to the inky black adult carrying them. However, the demons had hope. All they needed to do was take them to the Shrine.

"I wonder why they're this high up."

It took a solid hour to reach ground level, and another ten minutes to reach the outskirts of the village. The two whipped around each corner, warning everyone to stay out of the way. Until-

They had finally made it.

The Shrine.

The Elders were already there awaiting for their arrival. The demon cradling the twins walked toward them, bowed, and held out the dying baby demons.

"They look terrible," the head Elder gasped. He gently received the pale twins and set them in his arms. "We'll see what we can do. Now disperse!" The two demons obeyed and quickly scattered, returning to their jobs in the village.

Ten old demons, worn and ripened from outliving many moons, slipped through the massive corridor at the entrance. Their cloaks fluttered along every windy whisper, black like their skins– save a few scarlet accents flowing down the sides of the garments. They walked through enormous halls without saying a word until they stopped at the front of a stage-like Platform.

The Shrine.

Anything even remotely spiritually dark and demonic was at this place. The Platform itself had heart-stopping markings carefully etched into it. Candles were lit at various points along the stage's circular edge. Distorted faces were carved into the walls of cold stone, and would often show a different expression every visit. Every nightmare, every evil thought, every sickly sin— it all came from this horrid place, no doubt.

But the Platform wasn't what they were focusing on.

The Elders looked up above the Platform, and what was there was even worse. A container— a massive tank holding a glowing milky substance.

Stolen souls.

A tangled knot of tubes and hoses were attached to this container. Every soul that was siphoned in these tubes were turned from white to deep red, and then were carried to who knows where. The size of this network was surreal, given that these "bloodlines" would often be seen branching off many times over.

The head Elder approached the tank of captured life and held out the limp newborns. Two new tubes began to form from the container and slither toward the twins. The tubes unsheathed needles that were thrusted straight into their chests.

The needles retracted, and the second born immediately perked up. His skin darkened to a saturated black, his tail flicked, his ears bobbed, and his wings fluttered. He let out a shrill whine and then a hiccup.

The first born however, remained snow white. But he was alive.

Good lord, he was alive.

He wouldn't settle down. His tail swished back and forth, wings flapping like an angry chicken. He flew up his arms, flailing small claws to and fro. And the screaming... ugh. The Elders began to argue.

"He's feral. We must dispose of it!"

"It doesn't work like that! He was given the injection!"

They were indeed baffled. Demons are never white after given an injection. If the infant was truly feral, the injection would have never worked.

"Stop!" the head Elder bellowed, causing the argument to halt. "We'll take them to the caretakers. If they can't teach it to talk, we'll get rid of him then."

He carried the twins out of the Shrine, and the other Elders reluctantly followed, ears pinned and tails twitching in irritation. This was going all wrong. A soulless demon in the hands of the caretakers was a plead for chaos.

However, there was nothing "caring" about the caretakers— it was more or less a twisted boarding school. Hundreds of little demon children ran through the entire facility inside and out with little to no supervision. The only contact these mess makers had with adults was when it was time for the classes, where they learned language and magic. The caretakers dealt with many things I dare not even write down— so surely they could handle this small phenomenon...

They enrolled both of them, assigning them the numbers #807 and #808. They didn't care enough to give them proper names. The head of the school claimed he would "keep and eye" on the white one, who was still screaming his head off. His brother on the other hand, was surprisingly quiet and content.

"Well hello, spook dolls!" the principal's assistant chirped at the twins. "Welcome to the Abyss."