All Hail (Diavolo x Reader)

30 Days Before Rebellion

People say that acceptance is the final step to any turmoil. That when you stop denying the obvious, everything else falls into place. That when you come to terms with the truth, things suddenly become easier.

Diavolo would be lying if he said he hadn't been hoping there was merit to those words. He was hoping, praying, nearly begging for this oppressive weight of guilt to go away, for him to be able to enjoy what little time he has left with you.

But Diavolo feels nothing but pain when he holds you in his arms, quietly whispering into your ear that he'll enter into this season's cage fights.

It's for the good of Rebellion, he knows. The moment he fights and wins—and he's now confident he will—the whole Resistance will be nearly twice as strong, with every fighter bowing down to their Victor, to their Resistance Leader, to their prince.

But the fact that he's taking your training to advance the Resistance drops a sick feeling in his gut, like a knife has been twisted and it will now remain as such forever.

"Finally!" You exclaim, your face brightening up the second you hear his words. You waste no time in darting ahead and jumping into his arms, Diavolo's body momentarily staggering under your weight, before you shower his face in butterfly kisses.

"I thought you were never going to come around!" You exclaim, your eyes radiating a happiness so bright that it seems to cut through the perpetual darkness of the Devildom.

"What can I say?" Diavolo asks, offering you a light smile. And indeed, this one isn't forced—your very presence brings him joy, one so great that it sometimes seems to balance his sorrows. "You wore me down."

"We have to start training immediately," You blurt, grabbing Diavolo's hands as you tug the man to his feet.

"Already?" The demon mumbles, frowning lightly. "But I wanted to—"

"Nope." You cross your arms firmly. Not an ounce of hesitation squirms its way into your stance. "The tournament begins in a month, and if you're serious about participating, then you have to win. And when you fought the Victor in the quarter-final, a lot of people were watching. Nearly everyone is going to think you're weak, especially since you were..."

"Almost killed?" Diavolo offers, a grin forming on his face. He lost his pettiness over the loss long ago, though you still seem uncomfortable bringing it up.

"Yeah. That will work in our advantage up until the semi-final, but the moment the Victor sees how you fight, he'll be on his guard. And then, in the final, you're going to need to be extra—"

"Wait," Diavolo mumbles, shaking his head. "How do you that I won't have to go against the Victor in an earlier bracket? Last time, we fought in the quarter-finals. There's a good chance that'll happen again, or I might go against him in even earlier."

And suddenly, the look on your face is sheepish.

Diavolo leans back, his eyebrows furrowing in a mix of amusement and mild confusion.

"Well you see, I may have..."

"Speak up," Diavolo calls, pulling your chin up so you look at him. "I can't hear you."

You know he's lying; there's absolutely no doubt about that. You could be humming a tune to yourself one hundred feet away, and any demon's supernatural instincts would be able to isolate your voice from all background noise, focusing on it.

But even as you shoot Diavolo a glare, you do speak up, your tone hesitant as it is nervous.

"I might have signed you up for the tournament a few weeks ago," You blurt, averting your eyes as you cross your arms. "You're in the eighth block, since I signed up so late. But the Victor was in the first block, so it'll be impossible for you to face him until the end."