Hellbound

VIII. Suspense within the Lair

            Good day, dearies!

            Enjoy. 

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            The demon watched Sparrow as she slipped between his fingers, a second time. Though her will was frustrating, yet to an extent also awe inspiring, nonetheless. Sparrow had a spark that amazed him, however, to an extent, it was as though the remainder of his own humanity came to taunt him. 

            You've taken everything I had, you've destroyed my life. I will cherish the little of a life I have left before you drag me to hell.

            Those words... They lingered in his thoughts as he awakened from the daze of dream walking. Growling, the demon threw himself up from his chair which made his brain filter out the nonsense. He gripped the goblet that sat on the small round stand whose feet were made of the femur bones of those who betrayed him. The goblet was half full as he raised it to his lips when he considered what he would do with the little Sparrow. Given that after he had taken his satisfaction, of course.

            The gleaming embers of the looming fire place drew hasty shadows along the walls when the demon walked towards it. His shoes echoing in the vacant chamber, the illumination of the flames only added towards the demon's cunning.

            Perhaps he would devour her soul and preserve her corpse as a trophy engraved into the ceiling above his bed. Smiling as though it would be a very simple thing to do, his eyes lost themselves in the flames. However, that would be a while until he had to worry about those things. 

            That was, if he caught her. 

            The demon growled and clenched his fist around the goblet engraved with the spells of mocking sanity. A goblet, made of silver, groaned underneath his touch and gave in as it shattered within his grip. The blood that had been withheld, splattered across the floor and over the right side of his ivory, pristine button-down shirt. He couldn't feel less empathy about a bloodstain or two, however, he had just wasted Virgin blood. 

            The demon roared out in frustration as he threw the ruins of the goblet into the crackling fire place. It gave a groaning cackle as the metal began to decay of its form and all its worth. Just like the demon himself. Nonetheless, he still suffered a wound and there were shards that dug into the soft flesh of his vessel's palm. It was a wound that wasn't fatal, and it didn't matter to him either way. This was just another vessel and he would get another if he destroyed this one. 

            His thoughts consumed him as he clenched his fist even further, the blood pooling at his feet and splattering little drops of red on the obsidian. It barely made a difference, however the red fluid gleamed of innocence with the illumination of the flames. 

            The demon had slithered through the ranks as though serpent would. However, his goal to become the King of all agony and suffering had yet to be appeased. Nonetheless, even with the demon's cunning ability to fool all of those who he had once looked up to, it would only be a complete revolution that would bring him to the throne. 

            The decapitation of not only the King, but his Inner Circle. 

            Despite the fact that the blood --now a mixture of his and the Virgins-- dripped wound his finger tips he was reminded of the life he had lived before death. A life that was mostly only dark and the bond to his humanity had run wearily thin the moment his sanity gave in. He reminisced of a reality where his opposition to death had been human nature. Be that as it may, who he had been, was not who he had become. He now killed and tormented at least a couple dozen souls each day.