between the shadow and the soul - english edition

Chapter 1 - butter knives and other vessels in which you can ban demons

between the shadow and the soul

written by hesitantspacewitch

title by Pablo Neruda:

I don't love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:

I love you as one loves certain obscure things,

secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

Chapter 1 - butter knives and other vessels in which you can ban demons

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a demon in full possession of his intellectual abilities cannot, should not and will not fall in love. Love is a concept invented for humans to give their short life meaning in a universe that doesn't care about their existence. Or at least that's what they tell you in the underworld.

Which really does not explain Aristes situation right now. Like, at all.

Though you couldn't really blame him. Being a demon is supposed to be easy. They came into existence spreading fear and horror with the intention of destroying humanity wherever they went. It was ingrained into their non-existent soul.

Aristes though was none of these things.

While it was true that he was a demon and therefore possessed an impressive amount of cunning energy and strength, he was in fact, not all that powerful. In the demon hierarchy, he ranged somewhere between the malicious energy of a duck and a feral cat. His character was filled with bad intent but more on the side of wreaking havoc and chaos than the destroying and bloodthirsty tendencies of his colleagues. Which was fine and all. Every demon had its purpose after all. What pissed Aristes off was his current situation.

You see, you can't just kill a demon. They aren't really alive in the first place. If you want them gone you need to ban them and put them in a vessel strong enough to contain their individual energy. Most of the time it was some kind of ancient weapon, a few houses or churches here and there, or even humans themselves. Everyone knows at least one demon who got bound to some sort of book or into an old jewellery box reinforced with silver.

For what felt like the 600th time in the last hour, Aristes tried to escape his newest vessel. He expanded his mass, made of pure dark energy and petty spite, but to no avail. The vessel was strong enough to keep him bound and helpless. He cursed.

»Fuck this stupid little rat-faced shit that thinks she can just put me in here and think I won't take revenge on her. As soon as I get out of here, you better hide well, because if I find you, I'll take your eyeballs and switch them with your non-existent testicles, you asshole.« Sadly, no one heard him spewing epithets and insults as the vessel held all sound. It's like a bulletproof, soundproof panic room that's inside a vacuum filled with nothing but darkness.

The worst thing about his situation though was not that Aristes was stuck inside a vessel, but the vessel itself. It was not an ancient weapon destined to fight against humanity. It was no enchanted artefact hidden inside a cave because it's too powerful to be used. Aristes was stuck in a fucking butterknife. And he hated it with every fiber of his non-human existence.

The only thing he hated even more than the vessel was the fact that he was currently being put through the dishwasher. He could hear the water rushing through the machine, drenching the butterknife in soap and hot water. It felt like he was stuck in a thick layer of rubber gloves. He wasn't wet, but he could feel the wetness like an uncomfortable layer of clothing crawling over his skin. Aristes wanted death. He wanted the dishwasher to go up in flames and burn to the ground. He also wanted the same thing to happen to the person who put him here. And put him in a fucking butterknife. Aristes whined at the thought. Why a butterknife? She could have at least banned him into something cool like a sword or a laser gun or a sports car.