Confutatis Maledictus (Demonheart)

Her name was Lucy. That's all she could remember.

Their eyes locked and it was a magical moment. It was bizarre. Time slowed for them and Lucy tried to speak but she couldn't. She had to keep going. Her legs told her to keep going even though they ached. She was running. She was running all through Fiore in high heeled boots. She didn't know why. She didn't know where she was going.

All she knew was that her name was Lucy.

They met again, at a doomed cave, and their meeting defied all fate. It shouldn't have happened. But it had and it was still up in the air as to whether or not that was a good thing.

The cave was dark and damp. Stalagmites and stalactites studded the ceilings and floors of this rocky cave. It was deep and dark, it seemed to swallow light. The torch Lucy carried was a pinprick in the natural labyrinth.

She wandered, lost, wondering why she had decided that coming into this cave was a good idea. She had been passing through and she heard rumours, of a cave which seemed to fester with evil. She was an unarmed, young girl. She entered the cave regardless. So far, she was safe but her stomach growled and her eyes were playing tricks on her.

She entered another cavern and she was straying further from where she had entered; her new goal was to leave yet she steered herself otherwise. Her boots grated against the rocks beneath her feet. The shadows leaped at her and her heart hammered; she sweated and was itchy. She was uncomfortable yet calm. She ventured further into the cavern.

Lucy heard noises but not from where she was going by from where she had come. She heard atrocious noises. It was the ordinance of bloody battle. She heard war cries and scratching. She heard the terrible infernos of a dragon – that's all she could compare it to. She could feel heat that didn't belong to her torch.

Her torch wavered. It flickered. It seemed to dance in between life and death; constantly threatening Lucy that it will rob her of all her light. Lucy hated the idea that she would be robbed of all her light. It was what made her feel safe, at home, and at peace even though she had none of those things.

She was, or so she assumed, a wandering vagrant. That would explain it all: her lack of memories, her drive to constantly escape, the mars on her otherwise perfect, perfect as porcelain, skin – hideous scars that crisscrossed around her chest, breasts and abdomen.

She stopped walking. Lucy wondered why. It was like her body was someone's puppet and they had decided that she wasn't fit to be played with anymore. She waited. She didn't like not having control of herself and then it was like fate yanked her around so she could face where she had come, but only to stop her again.

She was angled so she could watch. So she could have some degree of knowledge as to how her demise plans out. In the shadows, terrible, ugly creatures peeled out from against the walls and floors. They were terrible, ugly creatures with eyes like rubies and bodies that were feral and wiry. They were slimy and left thick trails whenever they altered their seemingly agonised movement.

They smelt her flesh. Lucy could see their noses twitch and their eyes lit up with gluttony. She waited to be devoured. This was how she was going to die: with torn skin and blood running warm through sharp fangs. She was going to be ripped piece by piece in merciless tears.

Lucy gulped but she didn't scream. Lucy regained use of her legs. She put out her hand, tender, and moved forward. She could sense that these creatures meant no harm and neither did she.

Yet they trembled in her presence. They receded back towards the darkness, from whence they had emerged. They were petrified of her and howled like the whinnying wind on an eerie, moonless night.

'Why are you so afraid of me?' Lucy questioned, her voice was soft and sweet like birdsong. The creatures quivered as though they were listening to pure, evil cacophony.

Then she heard it. A rich scrape that resounded through the air like thunder. She screeched out of fright and the creatures acted as though their eardrums were being shredded. Literal blood, or something akin, came pouring out their misshapen ears and Lucy put her hands to her lips. She quietened herself as she realised that her voice seemed to have a horrible effect on these poor creatures.

She had thought them monsters. They looked as such with daemon-like forms but she was wrong.

She was the monster here.

She heard a second scrape and her mind's eye likened the noise to that of a gate. She saw it in her mind. A huge gate that toiled before a heinous river and it was like that river had flowed into a universe-like abyss. She could see it: the heavens of the galaxy beyond those gates that bled out with the river.

Then, by what was doubtlessly magic, her memories returned. This was why she had come here, Lucy realised as she accepted the memories. They were flashing images: grim and bloody. She had a mission and it wasn't fulfilled as of yet.

Her skin began to burst and as Lucy was embellished by the pain of her chest being ripped apart, she noticed that she was being watched. She dropped her torch and it went out yet the light still tumbled past the cavern's corners. She watched a party of travellers – they were dressed as such; light weight cloths and armours.

She screamed and her cacophonous voice drove out the creatures to the party's surprise. But her screams became intertwined with that of the pink-haired male amongst the travellers. He was brought to his knees and Lucy knew those eyes of his; those golden eyes of his.

Her chest open and with it brought terrible sights; demonic sights. It was like she was holding Hell itself in her body. Claws and tentacles, cruel and graphic, tried to escape the prison that was Lucy's body.

'We should help her!' snapped the scarlet-haired woman in armour.

'I don't think I can heal those sorts of injuries.' mourned the blue-haired girl.

'Ice Make...' the black-haired male stammered and he poised himself for a fight yet he couldn't finish his sentence.

The pink-haired male got up with a crawl and despite his agony, he continued on. He put one hand over his ears. His head throbbed and he could feel every sound Lucy was making in his ears; in his body.

He took her hand in what was a moment of bewilderment. Lucy ceased her screaming yet the pain didn't subside; not yet but it did decrease dramatically. Lucy's chest cavity began to sew itself back together and she punctuated each stitch with a movement or screech of pain. Yet soon, she was healed.

'How did you...?' they both asked one another. Their voices stumbled over the over. They were both very much awed by the other. Their eyes couldn't leave the gaze that they were tensely holding. Their voices crossed like the caresses of lovers; comforting and understanding. It was operating ineffectual logical and concise instinct.

He didn't release his grip on Lucy's hand. His fingers were calloused and his palm was rough as sandpaper. Lucy liked it though. He tugged on her and she came, pulled like a toy. Then they ran.

They ran past his party and they chased after them, confused and wild. They had more questions than what could be answered.

He didn't know why he was running. Lucy didn't know why she trusted him. She was still trying to work out what her mission was but she could feel it in some mystic way that he was connected to her.