The Death of Peace

Adaiah

Every step you take, every move you make, every bond you break, I'll be watching you.

A soft sob echoed through the empty plane of hell that stretched out for miles. Nothing but death and destruction and the remains of damned souls littered the burning, grey ground. Another louder sob ripped through the void, with a sniffle and whine coming shortly after. Nothing, not anywhere, but pain and death. He was alone.

A boy with a long cut stitched up across his neck sat with his face buried in his knee beneath the blackened trunk of a dead tree. Tears rolled down his cheeks in rivers, showing his true pain and misery. Pale green hair fell down into his eyes, and every time he'd shake it, or push it out of the way, more of it would come back to pester him. On his back, a black, ripped shirt, and a pair of broken, black wings. On his legs, scratches and bruises showing through severely ripped, darker black skinny jeans.

"Oh-ho!" he wailed, his right broken wing laying motionless against his back, and his left one twitching violently as blood ran down its side. He heard a cracking sound from above, but didn't have enough time to process it, or to get away. A large tree branch fell, hitting his already broken left wing, and snapping it in a way similar to the right. The boy let out a pained squeal, unable to stop himself as he felt the bones snap.

Damned.

A demon as injured as he, crying as loudly as he was, had the potential to attract attention. Unwanted attention. And it had, from other demons that were stronger than him, as well as soon that were weaker. He could feel their evil eyes peering at him, taking in his sight and lusting after the taste of his blood which, for some of them, would be their first meal in weeks.

I call thee out.

The boy looked up into the dark, lifeless sky. A figure with green hair was meditating over a pentagram. His wrists were bloody, and his eyes were shut tight. The demon reached his hand up and felt himself being pulled. Up and up and up, farther and farther until he laid on a warm, wooden floor. Candlelight pricked at his eyes as they struggled to adjust, and the smell of fresh blood tickled at his nose. He couldn't take it, and his stomach lurched. The boy lunged forward and latched onto one of the bloody wrists greedily in front of him. Small, sharp fangs plunged into the already open wound, making it larger and causing more blood to flow freely into his mouth. The being that had summoned him attempted to punch him off, but was unable to, until the demon dropped away after having his fill.

"What are you?!" the human screamed out, pulling his wrist away and holding it tightly to his chest.

The demon looked up, taking in fully the sight of the human before him. The man had dark brown hair, with a green tuft dyed on the top and across his bangs. He was thin, weak, and wouldn't pose much of a threat. The man screamed loudly and cowered in fear against the nearest wall, his back to it and his eyes wide.

The demon smirked at the shaking form and licked his lips greedily. The scent of blood drew his eyes away, where they investigated the bloody pentagram, then expanded their gaze to take in the room. It was dark, almost black, but warm. Comfortable for a human, and a little cool compared to what he was used to. Had the room not be tainted with darkness and witchcraft, it might even have felt comforting. But not now. There were shadows of other demons everywhere, that hadn't materialized in time to do what he had just done, and they were wailing for him to share.

But he refused. This was his cow now. The blood he had taken from the human was potent and sweet, unlike anything in which hell had to offer. He licked his lips to get any remaining blood off of his face, then felt a sharp pain radiate down his spine. A soft, green glow overtook both of his wings. Pop. "Gah-ah!" the demon wailed, falling forward onto his hands and knees. Snap. One of the broken bones in his left wing had set itself back and healed. But it was painful. Crack. The demon panted, crying out again and again as his wings fixed themselves, resetting and growing new bone, black feathers popping in where they had been ripped out before.