All Hail (Diavolo x Reader)

1 Day Before Rebellion

All you can think about is Diavolo.

And the overwhelming stench of blood that lingers in the air.

You swallow thickly and study the arena, gripping the edge of your bench in hopes that the action will soothe the sick feeling in your stomach.

Have the cage fights always been this bloody?

You toy with the question in your mind, struggling to come up with an answer. It's been nearly half a year since you last visited one of these underground rings—you've been using your free time on Diavolo instead, these past few months—and your memories are foggy. The only proper thing you remember is how savagely the Victor had assaulted Diavolo the night you met, and how this season doesn't seem to be any less violent.

"It's okay," You mumble to no one, forcing yourself to heed the words. You have to be calm. Diavolo has enough to worry about without knowing that you're terrified to the core on the benches. "He's going to be okay."

But no matter how many times your mind whispers that your lover will be fine, your heart beats a different rhythm.

"And now, we have the first of our competitors for the fourth round of combat! On one side of the cage, we have the second-place semifinalist from last season's tournament! And on the other side, we have a total newbie, calling themselves the Fists of Purgatory! Let the fight begin!"

You wince as the two fighters start for each other, a shudder running up your spine when the unfamiliar men grab at each other's throats.

There isn't an ounce of restraint in the way their fists swing. These men are making use of sick lack of rules for these underground fights. They have nothing to hold them back, and their fists are flying wild, blood already spilling onto the floor.

They're fighting to kill.

You shiver, gripping the bench tighter.

Diavolo told you not to come. He knew that seeing these fights wouldn't be good for you. That you're already worrying enough about how he'll fare when he inevitably goes against the Victor, and that this will do nothing but further your concerns.

At the time, you whacked him on the head and told him not to be ridiculous. You'd been sneaking out to watch cage fights for years, and the violence had only unnerved you once or twice.

But now?

Every demon who gets injured takes the face of Diavolo. And when the stronger demon in the ring grabs the weaker one by the neck and bashes his head against the wall, it's Diavolo's face you imagine being brutalized.

The very thought makes everything so much worse.

"And we have a winner! In record time of just forty-two seconds, our semifinalist from last year advances to the fifth round! Check back in two hours to find out if our losing demon is truly dead, or if he's simply unconscious. And now, onto the next set of competitors—"

You tune the announcer out, standing abruptly. Diavolo defeated his opponent for this round a long time ago; he won't be fighting for another half hour, at the very least.

But a voice pulls your attention away.

"Where are you going, miss?"

Your eyes dart down to the man sitting next to you, surprised to find him looking up at you in an expression of curiosity. You can't see his face, given that his mask covers everything except his eyes, but you're positive that there's a smile on his face as he speaks.

"A-ah," You mumble, feeling caught off guard. It's rare for people to speak to each other during these fights. Most conversations happen between those who already know each other, and the rest simply wear their masks in silence, guarding their anonymity like it's the only treasure they possess. This may just be the first time someone has spoken to you from within the stands. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to disturb your view of the fighters. It's just that I was feeling rather lightheaded, so I was hoping to get some fresh air outside. If you don't mind, might I go past you?"