~Demonstuck~ {On Hiatus}

Old Friends

Dave had been called out on a mission of sorts, to say the least. While he was having fun, giving the demon hell, Dirk had interrupted the two. With a growl of a sigh, he would slip it out his pocket, flicking the phone open as he'd hit answer. "Y'ellow?" He'd call, staring up at the ceiling as he chewed on his lip. Dirks deeper, rough tone escaped the phone.

"Hey, Dave. The Lalondes said there was a demon nest or some shit they've found. Want us to get rid of 'em. They're only familiars, so it should be easy." He'd explain, his tone seeming to be laced with boredom.

Dave sighed, begging to walk towards his door. "Alright, see Ya at theirs then" he'd mutter. The whole time Dave had been making an extra effort to lower his voice to an absolute minimum, to further avoid angering the blue eyes boy at the opposite side of his room. He sauntered out of his room and went into the weaponry area, which was laced in spells and layered in salt to prevent demonic interference. He picked up a few things which he'd use on John to keep him there, and then he retrieved his Katana, of which he laced once more in the drug used on John. He noticed the lack of the substance, and made a mental note to retrieve more at a later date.

Eating the place, he'd padlock the door again, and wander into his bedroom again. He'd stride over casually, and opened a bag of salt which he sprinkled around him. He then grasped up a large, heavy book, which he quickly began reciting from. Dirk had taught him to read Latin a while ago, to start his training as early as possible. After all the pleasantries had been committed, and he had added a little Holy Water just for the fun of it, he would saunter out nonchalantly, heading off for the Lalondes.

John had been writhing around now for god knows how long. He was slumped over, untied from the pole, as the chains were easy to deal with compared to the Latin writing. He growled, anger boiling inside of him.

His eyes flooded a pitch black all of a sudden, his ears disfiguring and shifting, turning pointy. His fangs elongated and protruded at his lips, the lad hunching over on the floor, his back arching. His skin seemed to bubble and twitch, something protruding at them. John's back abruptly arched, and with a sickening rip his wings unfurled from his spine. He collapsed on the floor, huffing in annoyance. It was the bad side of hiding your wings.

Higher ranking demons had developed a unique ability to help them camouflage. A thin layer of skin, lacking nerve cells, could be grown over the wings to conceal them. They had more blood in their body than usual, so when the layer was torn the blood loss wouldn't affect the bodies performance.

His wings achingly uncurled and sprawled themselves out, dripping in blood. Though underneath you could tell the hue of feathers was a royal blue. Most demons' wings were crafted out of scales, for instance, his cousin, Jake, had a pair of deep green wings. He also had a pair of horns, similar to a rams. They curled around his head, and represented his age and wisdom.

John only had stubby horns, like a fawn, and they could only be a tiny bit visible through his black locks. He ruffled his wings and stretched them out, rising to his feet, the pain in his wounds subsiding. He could see that the flesh was healing, removing the holy water from his body. It already wasn't as deep as it once was.

He growled and flexed his hands, his nails now thinned out and black; claw-like. Shifting his feet back, he'd begin flapping his large arched wings, blood splattered everywhere from the skin tear. He'd take off and begin throwing himself at the invisible barrier, that always denied him from moving further, pushing him back in a mocking manner. He growled in frustration, and repeated the process, before he collapsed on his butt.

He fell back, holding his head in frustration, before a pair of feet would land on the floor.

"Need help, old chap?"