Authors note:
okok this one is really short but it's kind of just an idea/theory I had for c!Red and his backstory and I really wanted to get it out because my mind wouldn't let this go while I was working on a different oneshot c:
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Red is pretty sure demons aren't born with horribly scorched faces and their horns chopped off, unless he's missed a couple biology lessons.
He's had the burn for about as long as he could remember. Not that he remembers much of his childhood, truthfully. Just a lot of fire, which could be said for the majority of hellborn demons, except they aren't burnt.
The mask became a thing when he ran off to an all human district.
Who would've thought refusing to register for the military draft would have actual consequences? He apparently didn't, at the time. He knew how to fight and all, but being on the front lines against one of the most advanced human districts out there didn't seem too appealing.
In the dead of night, he left. With no idea what to do or where to go, leaving the only place he ever knew. It wasn't as hard to leave as he thought it would have been, he didn't really have much to say goodbye too, other then his home.
Maybe being a hermit for all those three hundred thirty four years he'd been alive payed off in the end.
He ended up in a place that could really only be described as extravagant.
Lights and cameras were in every direction he turned, always watching him. It was all terribly bright and loud and so much worse then the kind he was used to.
Red knew screaming, he knew lava, and that was fine, he was okay with that. However, it couldn't compare to the blazing artificial lights that sting your eyes and the nonstop chatter that always rang in his ears.
Talking about something that didn't matter, about someone who they'd never spoken to, and yet each word spread around like fire in a forest. Soon enough, everyone would be talking about the same thing, over and over. Until they find another useless thing to pass along, and the cycle would continue.
And yet, in a district even that crazy, it wasn't normal to be a noseless demon with a half burnt off face.
The news of his own face spread around all the same.
He found the mask and glasses in a dumpster. The mask smelled absolutely rancid, but it didn't stop him from putting it on. Anything was better then the never ending chorus of voices that rose each time he walked through the district.
The voices kept going, but most of them were better then all of the whispers of people they believed he couldn't hear.
