The Secrets We Keep

Episode 5: Demonic Awakening

I knew who Kako was. I grew up listening to the stories from Mother. Her storytelling painted him vividly in my mind as the leader of the Demons' uprising against the Angels, the embodiment of Chaos. The tales often blurred the line between myth and reality, leaving an undercurrent of fear that lingered long after the storytelling had ended.

"You're just in my head," I whispered, trying to steady my voice. "This isn't real."

Kako slowly circled me, his form becoming clearer in the shadowy void. The tales told of the horrible appearances of the original demons, but no description prepared me for the terror standing before me.

He appeared as a grotesque figure, a man twisted and hunched. Yet even in his distorted state, he towered over me, standing at a height of seven feet or more. Gray skin stretched over his frame, punctuated by long fingernails, yellowed with age and filth.

"Oh, it's very real," Kako replied, his words slick with malicious amusement. As he moved behind me, he continued, "But don't be afraid, dear child, I will not harm you– I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" My vocal cords cracked, my throat dry as I responded to him, "Y-you're chaotic. You only bring pain and destruction."

He laughed at this, the sound reverberating like the hiss of a serpent. "Pain and destruction? That's such a limited view, indeed."

I tried to stand tall. I didn't want him to see me cower. "Then what are you?" I asked.

"I suppose I can see why some perceive me as the bringer of chaos," he said, stepping into view, his eyes gleaming with dark wisdom. "That's what happens when you reveal the truth. You see, I strip away the comforting lies, the delusions, and half-truths that people cling to. Those who are weak mistake it for chaos, pain, destruction—yet it's merely the cold, raw truth."

Kako stepped closer, his presence heavy with authority. "You are not weak. You understand the suffering in this world is caused by those who claim to be good, yet they are the lowest of them all. They bring about chaos."

His words stirred memories within me: the angelic Mongrels, who became the King's guard's, and the pain they inflicted upon us. Suddenly, the dark shadows around me shifted and twisted, revealing scenes drawn from the recesses of my mind. My brows knit together in confusion and I glanced at Kako, who pointed to the scene before us.

I watched helplessly as a familiar vision unfolded—Serf Seraphiel punished by a King's guard for merely glancing at a pure one. Cyrus, in his unwavering bravery, charged forward, striking the guard's jaw with all his might.

"You little rat!" the guard snarled, turning his fury on Cyrus.

As I watched them struggle, bound and punished for their defiance, an ache of helpless anger coursed through me—a vivid reminder of our harsh reality.

Kako's voice dripped with a feigned sympathy. "Is this justice?"

The shadows morphed again, knitting themselves into a scene from my own childhood—me, cowering in the corner of my dim room, Father towering over me with hatred etched into his features.

"You remember this, don't you?" Kako's voice was soft, almost soothing, its intent to penetrate deeper.

"Stop." My voice trembled, filled with dread. I knew the sequence all too well.

"The way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you." He continued. "Your own father despises you, Noemi. He despises you because of your bloodline," I saw my father as he pulled off his leather waistband, stepping closer to the younger version of me. "He despised you because your face reminds him of your mother."