THIRD PERSON'S POV
"Not this one! Why can't I have anything better to wear?" Demon huffed in frustration, tossing aside another outfit that didn’t meet her standards.
Venom rolled his eyes. "It's your own fault. You go on these rampages and tear through clothes like you're in a fashion show, trying to impress someone."
Demon shot him a smug look. "I am the protagonist, the main character, the most important figure here. I have to look presentable at all times— the whole world is watching me. Plus, I want to impress Conan."
Venom couldn’t help but roll his eyes again, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "You’re giving me the ick, Demon."
But even as he teased her, Venom felt a pang of concern. He knew Demon too well—knew that this bravado was a façade, a way to mask the turmoil that was undoubtedly brewing beneath the surface. With everything that had happened, he feared it was only a matter of time before she would break down completely. For now, he would do everything in his power to keep her from reaching that point, to stay alive so she wouldn’t have to be alone.
"How about this one?" Venom held up a different outfit, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
Demon glanced at it and then smiled, clearly amused. "Since you’re Demon, this costume suits you. You look like Valak," he teased, tossing a nun's habit in her direction. The thought crossed his mind briefly: Did she ever wear something like this during her foreplay with Viper? "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head to clear the unwelcome thoughts.
Demon twirled around in the nun's costume, beaming. "Well? How do I look?"
Venom stared at her, incredulous. "How the hell does she manage to look ethereal while wearing a nun's outfit?" he muttered to himself. The sight of her spinning around, looking so effortlessly beautiful, left him in awe, and it unnerved him.
Realizing how captivated he was, Venom groaned and stood up, banging his head against a nearby tree. "She used witchcraft on me, I swear."
Demon laughed, clearly enjoying his reaction. "I’ll take that as a compliment, Venom. Now, let’s go show the world what a real goddess of war looks like."
Venom rubbed his head, but he couldn’t help but grin. "Just try not to kill me with those looks of yours before the battle even starts."
As Demon finished adjusting the nun's habit, she heard a sudden rustling in the bushes nearby. Venom instantly tensed, his hand moving instinctively toward the weapon at his side.
A figure burst out from the undergrowth, stumbling and panting heavily. It was one of the enemy's underlings, his face a mask of sheer terror. He was bleeding from a wound on his arm, and his eyes darted frantically around, as if searching for an escape.
"Please, no more!" he gasped, barely able to catch his breath. The desperation in his voice was palpable.
Demon tilted her head, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Who are you running from?" she asked, her tone almost playful.
The underling's eyes locked onto her, wide with fear. He didn’t seem to recognize her at first—perhaps because the sight of a woman in a nun's habit wasn’t what he expected in the midst of a battlefield. But then realization dawned, and his expression twisted into one of horror.
"Please... help me!" he begged, but there was no strength in his voice, only the broken whimper of someone who had seen death and was now trying to outrun it.
