Owen Changes His Mind

9. Admit It 1/3

tw: violence

Owen felt like driftwood tossed in the raging flood of his fever. Demons were meant to be evil, but something about the simple answer was too simple, too cut and dry. How were demons evil? He should have been able to describe that. And how come some demons were- Even in fever, Owen's mind shied away. He felt like a coward, himself. He felt like he was ten years old again, watching his city burn, only the thing that was burning was Owen.

Owen was a hunter. He hunted demons. If he wasn't a hunter, what was he? A farmer? Owen's farming skills were laughable. What could Owen be if not a soldier, a general? He didn't have transferable skills. He knew how to hunt, how to analyze, how to track. How to stamp out the disease. Owen felt the importance he'd had in his youth. He felt the importance fade. Owen felt old, useless, and broken. He tossed and turned, soaking the blankets with fever sweat.

Demons. Owen hated them. Owen hated himself. Killing demons was the reason for Owen to exist. Every demon deserved to die, because demons were evil. (All of them?) Demons were violent. They burned his city. (Hadn't he done the same to countless demon villages and cities?) Demons would cheat and steal and lie, anything to get ahead. Yeah. They were all liars. Owen finally allowed himself to think of Apo. Yeah, liars. (Hadn't he been defending himself?) Demons were dangerous. Owen felt a fraction of the purpose he'd lost slide back into his body. Demons- demons were bad.

Distantly, Owen heard footsteps and a door open. A peal of jarring laughter shattered Owen's sleep. Owen cracked an eye open. Two demons were standing over his bed, in the cell with him. One was frowning, the other grinning maniacally. "I heard you went full on crazy," the grinning one said. Did Owen know these demons? Neither one of them were his frien- the demons he remembered.

Owen's brain scrambled to keep up. "Who are you?" He asked, trying to sound sharp and fully cognizant. The demons exchanged glances.

"I'm your jailer, stupid," said the frowning one. They towered over Owen, stooped because otherwise, their head scraped the ceiling. It was unsettling.

"Oh my God," said the other. "You can't pull this cr- come on, Owen." When Owen continued to stare blankly, its grin slipped off its face.

Owen was in a bad situation. His eyes focused. He checked his inventory. Huh, surprisingly bare. No weapons. He'd been captured? No matter. He could use his arms.

"I don't know about this, Krow," the excessively tall one said. "He looks sick."

Krow somehow grimaced and sneered at the same time. "He'd fight a sick demon. Wouldn't you, Owen? Come on, say something!" Krow reached for Owen. Expecting physical contact, Owen jerked away from Krow, using the momentum to propel him into the tall demon. Hadn't this one said they were the jailer? Owen glanced for a key on their belt, didn't see one. His brain was in full fight or flight mode. Kill or be killed. He scrambled against them, but they shoved him away with their long arms like an adult holding back a child.

Owen watched in horror as their features twisted and caught on fire they didn't seem to feel. "You deserve this," they sneered, gently pushing Owen away. He didn't notice Guts backing away. Owen fell back into the cot, thrashing. He screamed in impotent rage born of fear.

"Shut up!" Krow commanded, its voice reverberating through Owen's body like the voice of the maze swallowing him whole. Owen's throat closed of its own accord. He kicked his body as far away from the demons as he could, backing himself into a corner. "You're pathetic," Krow snarled, "a pathetic joke. You think you could kill demons?"

"I have," Owen gasped, feeling the wall pressing into his back. He grinned. "So many. Thousands," he laughed maniacally. "I put them out of their misery like a plague-" Owen's vision blacked out, faded back in. His blood pounded. There was something sliding down his face- blood? The demon had cuffed the side of his head like a child!?

"I said shut up," Krow hissed, dangerously quiet. "I'm tired of your tirades. Now it's your turn to listen. You're so proud. You think you accomplished something. But I, without even trying, have killed hundreds of thousands of demons. Their lives fall into my hands without my even trying. I am a demon god, Owen. When demons find out who I am, they beg to be killed by me. You use your lance, your precious little bow? They scream as I pull out their hearts with nothing but my own hands. Your crowning achievement? My breakfast plans. You're nothing, Owen." It spat on his cheek.

Owen felt the spit, cool on his flushed face. Owen locked eyes with Krow. His entire world shrank until Krow's dismissive side glance was all he could see. Krow turned to leave. Owen lunged, launching himself out of the corner like a leopard. Krow spun. Its claws raked Owen across his shoulder and face. Its palm caught on Owen's ear and Owen's fist closed on empty air. He slammed against the wall like a rag doll and crumpled to the floor, unconscious.