Mates Part 1 (MxBxMxMxM)

Chapter 2: From Hell's Mirror to the Living Plane

Rewritten 4/30/25

Rimmon staggered into his private chamber, a cramped hollow carved into Hell's obsidian heart, its walls slick with the sheen of eternal brimstone. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and despair, the faint glow of caged embers casting jagged shadows across the room.

Exhaustion weighed on his wiry frame as he made his way to the bed-a slab of stone draped with tattered furs, the only comfort this infernal prison offered. He dropped flat on his stomach with a heavy thud, the impact reverberating through the chamber, and let out a long, shuddering sigh that echoed like a mournful wind. His spiky raven-black hair, tipped with crimson, splayed across the furs, and his dark eyes fluttered shut, the hunger within him-a gnawing, ravenous thing-stirring faintly in his chest.

Peeking his head up, Rimmon caught his reflection in the standing mirror propped against the wall near his bed. The glass rippled like a pool of ink, reflecting a face that looked more weary than wicked. His pale skin seemed almost translucent under the ember-light, high cheekbones casting sharp shadows beneath eyes that glinted with a mix of mischief and doubt. What have I got myself into? he thought, rolling onto his back with a groan, staring at the jagged ceiling as if it held answers. The file Ki had given him was gripped tightly in his hand, its edges biting into his palm-a tangible reminder of the suicide mission he'd agreed to.

With another audible sigh, releasing a fraction of the stress coiling in his gut, Rimmon sat up, flicking the file open to scan the details of the job.

The words blurred before his eyes: Operiel... Aries Zodiac Key... Draken... floating castle... Each line felt like a noose tightening around his neck. This could be his last job-his last anything-if he failed.

Closing the file with a snap, his gaze drifted to the pile of clothes on a nearby stool-the disguise he'd wear to leave Hell. He stood, peeling off his tattered rags, and slipped into the new garments. The fabric was a soft, loose linen that draped comfortably over his slender frame, yet hugged his body in all the right places, accentuating the fake form he'd crafted. The illusion of Cozbi's curves-fuller chest, rounded hips-felt foreign yet empowering, a mask woven from his own infernal magic.

One final task remained. Rimmon approached the standing mirror, its surface rippling as if alive, and stared at his original self-youthful, sharp, a hell spawn with a smirk that could unravel empires. His reflection melted away, compacting into a medium orb wreathed in a red-brown haze, the essence of his demonic power distilled into a single, pulsing core. He dipped his hands into the mirror as if plunging them into a still pond, the glass parting with a soft ripple, and slowly pulled the orb free. A faint plop echoed, like a water droplet hitting stone, as the orb emerged fully. Rimmon held it, feeling the weight of himself-his hunger, his chaos, his very soul-throbbing in his grasp.

He moved to his desk, where a pocket watch lay, its face not a clock but a small mirror framed in tarnished silver. The watch popped open with a click, and Rimmon carefully placed the orb onto the glass. His hands trembled as he pressed down, shrinking the ball of energy into the mirror, the red-brown haze seeping into the surface like ink into water. The pocket watch snapped shut with a decisive clack, and Rimmon lit a black candle, its flame flickering with an unnatural purple hue. He tilted the candle, letting molten wax drip onto the seam, sealing the watch shut with a hiss of smoke. The moment the wax hardened, Rimmon's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. A sharp, hollow pain bloomed in his chest-a missing ache, as if he'd carved out a piece of himself. For a few agonizing seconds, the emptiness clawed at him, then faded into a numb void. He felt... nothing.

Rimmon was a master of disguise, a demon whose talents went beyond the usual infernal tricks. While all demons could alter their appearance and scent, Rimmon alone could hide his entire power, cloaking his hell spawn nature so completely that even crosses and holy water held no sway over him. Now, as he rose and looked into the standing mirror, all that stared back was Cozbi-a lithe figure with a sleek ebony braid, white cat ears perked atop her head, and a matching tail swaying behind her. Dark forest-green eyes blinked back, demure yet sharp, her soft white skin glowing with a faint, living warmth.