The Shadows Within Us

Bound to Calamity

//WARNING// THIS STORY DEPICTS THEMES OF VIOLENCE, ABUSE, AND GROOMING BEHAVIOR. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED OR SENSITIVE TO THIS TYPE OF CONTENT //

This World's in Crisis
Suddenly the sheep degrade their shepherd.

Nothing but parasites.
Worse than even I am.
Each and every passing flock, assuming themselves mightier than the last.

Their all as pathetic as a sightless craftsman.
Your trades are worth little more than your measly lives.

To imagine, they have the gall to scowl into my stall.
To degrade my work.
When their craft is nothing but consuming space.

Polluting the air I breathe.

Through the rusty, twisted bars of a tall gate, a curious rat travelled. The rodent with pale teal fur climbed its way atop a brick building, a wonderful vantage point. Organized chaos lined the downtown area in the form of small, shabbily built shops. Key, the shapeshifter observed the scene with keen eyes, searching for one salesman in particular.

The area served as one of the few fair-trading zones in the Kingdom of Hell, if any of it could be considered truly fair. Residents of the city's decrepit outskirts, demons and deceased humans alike, were scattered about. It was actually quite a crowded day, but alas, the scent of failure wafted heavily into the thick, dry air. It guided the Creature with impeccable direction, to a used cars salesman who seemed in the midst of quite a heated argument. The shifter's pale eyes dilated in intrigue, their rodent disguised form scampering down, towards the scene.

"NO-no, I was VERY fucking clear when I said there weren't any refunds." The Incubus, Osiris growled, shoving his hand against the center of a very displeased customer's chest.

"You sold me a pile of fiery crap. Tell me how the hell I buy from you and several miles down the road the entire engine explodes!" The Demon bellowed, challenging the deceitful salesman with a sharp glare.

"Shut the hell up, you're scarin' away potential customers." The pink-haired salesman pulled a cigarette from his pocket and began attempting to light it, grumbling at intervals. Fed up, the innervated customer took a swing for Osiris' gut; but the man was already suspecting. The Incubus's palm blocked the attack, his hand tightening around the other's with an unrelenting grip. His hand grew pale with strain, gripping harder when the disorderly customer cried out in pain.
The sound of the demon's bones cracking enthused him, their screams like a music box in his mind. He released his hold, the injured customer stumbling back in a mix of both fury and horror. It looked as though they wished to try striking the man again, but instead the demon spun the other way; speedily walking down the street and shouting obscenities about the lousy car salesman.

The self-aware rodent watched with beady black eyes from atop the metal room of Osiris' car shack.
How relentless. The man stands for himself so valiantly.

Perhaps, this occupation is all he has for himself anymore.

What a poor, lonely man.

It wasn't a secret that Osiris spent most of his time either at The Market, selling lies for pennies, or at his home, taking out frustrations on his two children. There wasn't much else to him, or so it would appear to an outsider.
Key, on the other hand had been observing Osiris for quite some time now. There were patterns to be found, like the way the man scrunched his nose at couples and barely ever looked at himself in the mirror. It must have been some form of shame, Key imagined. After all, from what they had collected, the father was widowed. He had told Eden and Elliot some unfortunate fairytale about a miscarriage, but clearly there was more to the story.