Before her, there was darkness. There was life: eating and hunting and killing, blood and fire and the spark of pain. There was color and taste and sound, the feel of dragon scales being pulled from soft flesh, the brush of wind against his face as he took off into the air, the heavy pressure of a sword. It was a full life, a good life. But it was all in darkness.
He sits in the castle that is not his own and ponders this darkness now. Elizabeth is pacing in the room, and he wants to reach out and touch her. The light hovers just beyond his vision, and maybe, just maybe, if he reaches and snatches her up, then he can have the light for his own—
(Don't hurt her. I'll kill you.)
He smirks at that. As if death is an option for any of them.
His head is bowed and he stares at his hands. The pressure on him now is immense, more than he has felt in an age. It is her fault he is like this. The dark life was better than this. Because now that he has known what emotions are, now that he has felt more than the satisfaction of hearing a scream or the warmth of the blood that covers his hands, the loss is difficult to comprehend. White light and soft feathers and trembling lips had become his world, and it's gone now, all because she—
No, it is his fault. The one who took the emotions, the one who cursed them and set him on this never-ending path. Oh how he will enjoy ripping the power of the demon clan right out from his body, the spray of gore from the sword he will plunge down his throat. Nothing will stop him from taking what he wants.
(Do you even know what you want, anymore?)
"Meliodas, please. You can't do this."
That voice breaks through the dark thoughts.
"There has to be another way. You can't become the demon king!"
He lifts his head, already heavy, even without the crown.
"Please understand, Elizabeth." He is formal, direct. Meliodas will not allow her to affect him any more than she already has. It's a dangerous balance, to keep her close and at arm's length, but he must if he is to survive this. If they both will survive this.
He can see in her eyes immediately that she is not pleased. Good, he thinks. Make her hate you.
(As if she could. As if you could. As if she is not already living inside of y—)
"This is the only means I have left." He is speaking to himself as much as to her now. "'I will break this curse, no matter what it takes.' That is the promise I made to you."
"But I'm scared," she answers. He should feel a tightening in his chest, a little twist in his heart to know she is afraid. He should want to hold her and comfort her, and find (hurt kill) the source of her fear. He should be experiencing it in his head and his chest and his heart. But he does not, and that emptiness fills with anger without any other emotion to take its place.
As she speaks, he leans forward, pressing his fist into his stomach. Perhaps if he causes his own pain, he can spark something. Fake the pain of losing her and losing this, and it will lead to true, honest pain. He grinds his knuckles into his skin, feeling the bruises form. This is where it happens, isn't it? Right here, in the stomach, below the ribcage? He would laugh if he wasn't so pathetic, trying to mimic emotion.
"The demon king's power is great," he says quietly. And he hates that, he hates how much more powerful the old god still is. Even with half of his magic split among the ten, even sealed away into Purgatory, the god could still crush him. Crush all of them.
"I will not be able to stay in Britannia anymore." This is also heavy on him, and not just because of her. There is grass here, and rain, and sweet cream and ale and the smell of cedar. He cannot feel anymore but he remembers, the memories like shackles that drag him into the darkness. Why couldn't the king have stolen his memories instead of his emotions? One without the other is torture… although that was most likely the entire point.
"Then what would the point of breaking this curse have?!" She is crying now, and he doesn't even need to look up to picture her tears. "I don't want this! I don't want to live in this world without you!"
His fist digs in again, pressing into the bruises. Why can't she let this be? "It doesn't matter," he snaps, the words coming out in a harsh whisper. "Every time you are born your mother's curse imprints your love for me onto you. When the curse is gone those feelings will also be wiped clean." Another twist, and a rib snaps. He relishes the piercing pain. "So you don't have to worry. All those feelings will be gone."
(They'll never be gone. Not for her or for you. She'll never be gone.)
Bullshit. Once he is out of her life and out of her sight she will forget him. She will live on and live the life of a princess or a waitress or a mother or a goddess.
"…Are you… seriously saying that? Though you love me, my own feelings have been manufactured by someone else?"
Meliodas lets go a breath. His body is healing from where he had hurt himself, disappointed now that it did not work. "If not, it would be impossible, wouldn't it?" Why won't she leave this alone? Why does she make him say these words? Why does she make him do this again and again? Elizabeth is nothing, if not her mother's daughter. "For you to love me and only me every time you are reborn…"
It's impossible, he thinks. Meliodas listens for that other part of him to make a response, but his mind remains silent. Because this is the truth, and he knows it: she does not love him. It's all a lie, made to punish him for his insolence. Maybe once, thousands of years ago, a girl existed who could love him. Maybe she did, maybe she could look beyond the savagery, and see a life worth giving her own to.
Maybe she does. Did. Once.
But now? Too much failure, too much death. He remembers the look in her eye when he found her again, the fear before she punched him. A misunderstanding at first, but their love had bloomed again, and he thought that would be it. But when she remembered, and told him about the curse, and made him make this damn promise—a promise he can't keep, couldn't keep, she asked for the impossible—
He remembers every tear, every sob, every whimper, the sound of every last breath. From the goddess to the knight, every single one was agony. Every single one.
(Agony not just for you, but for her, you selfish idiot.)
"So then why would you do this?" Her voice is tight with emotion, and it echoes through the emptiness inside of him. Then she is shouting, every word like a punch, and Meliodas is glad for it. "You should have just let me be, not try to save me! If I just forget everything—you could have found someone else to love!"
Why hasn't he stopped? What possible reason is there to continue on in this cycle? He made a promise to her, three thousand years ago. Surely by now he would have been excused from fulfilling it.
A demon is only as good as his word. A king is only as good as his word. Old lessons from another time, another life, and Chandler's voice invades his thoughts. Yes, a demon must fulfill a promise. It is what separates them from the goddesses. They may have the darkness, but they have honor. He has made a promise, and it must be fulfilled, until his death. But what of a promise made by one who cannot die?
Slowly his eyes lift to her face, red with anger and wet with tears. This is the problem, the root of all this evil, isn't it? This is his fault. This is his sin.
He can blame the honor code, or his tutor, or his entire race. He can blame the promise she asked him (begged him forced him) to make. He can blame those two envious wretches who called themselves gods as they passed their hypocritical judgment on them. But all of it is lies, and Meliodas does not lie.
"I can't help it."
There. That is the truth. It's not her love for him, or his promise, or the curse. Not the memories of what they had or the possibility of what they could. Not hope. Not regret. Not some misplaced sense of duty.
It is his selfishness. That is his sin.
"What can't you help—"
Now that she knows, she will hate him. She will finally let him end this and stop fighting him. He could have ended this long ago… could have stayed away from her, run as far as he could. Elizabeth does not love him, not the way he loves her. How could she? Her feelings are fake, manufactured. It could be anyone that catches her heart. It is only him because he makes it so, time and again, wedging himself in her life to feed his own selfishness in wanting her.
His darkness is slipping away. The protection he has placed around himself is shriveling up in the face of her tears. He now stands, naked, vulnerable, ready for her anger and accusations. Because he deserves this, doesn't he? A reckoning is still due to the demon that stole the heart of an angel.
He remembers for a moment when the gates to heaven and hell opened. They held each other, not knowing what to do; it was the first time he had felt so helpless, the first of many times to come. But Elizabeth gripped his arms, and looked at him with so much damned love that it broke through the fear so he could turn and face the gods. He was the most callous and feared demon in Britannia, and it was a girl (this girl) who gave him the strength to stand and fight fate.
(Elizabeth does—she still does—she loves—)
Maybe he deserved her love then. Maybe he deserved it, in that moment of honor as they turned and looked into the eyes of their parents and accept their fate. In that moment, he deserved to see the way she looked at him with such love. But not now, and not ever again.
The darkness is gone. His body is bare, his mind is clear, his eyes blink open. For a moment it is how it was (is should be always been) as they stare at one another. If he has not been able to leave her side in three thousand years, how could he possibly hope to start now?
"Whatever you it is… whether goddess or princess… I love all of you."
The moment the words leave his lips, he is filled with regret… but it is something, at least, in the emptiness. He doesn't deserve the way she is looking at him now, that is certain. There is love there. Elizabeth's eyes were always filled with love.
So when she holds him again, he allows another moment. Can't he have that, at least? She is sobbing into his neck and holding him tightly, and Meliodas pulls her against him. So long it's been since he felt this woman (angel girl goddess) against his body like this. Even when the princess had hugged him tightly, it wasn't like this. He closes his eyes in order to enjoy it. Enjoying this moment will prolong his own punishment, so of course it is allowed.
She is whispering now, insisting she loves him, and he cannot breathe as his hand goes into her hair. She says it was her own will, but he knows it's a lie. Elizabeth is not to blame, however; that evil witch of a goddess has cursed her with these words, the exact right words to say. Her voice and her hair and her body were the exact right design to ensnare him, her spirit the exact right one to match his own. Elizabeth has been the most exquisite torture, the most devastating bliss. Her very existence has been only to pierce his heart.
What a lovely irony in this moment: having no emotions to pierce is now his salvation.
"Every time I hold you like this," he says, his voice calm, "my heart beats like crazy, and I could do nothing to stop it."
Elizabeth sags against him, holding him tighter. Another sob and he feels her sinking against him, and with that, he grows angry.
"Except now I feel nothing."
(What are you doing? I told you not to hurt her!)
Hurting her has become the only thing he can do, why can't anyone understand that?
Elizabeth steps back with a gasp. His chin is bowed and he glares at her through his bangs. The goddess had thought he would forget his plan because she cried? Did she assume he would give in simply because she wanted him to? How foolish of her, but then, Elizabeth has always been a fool.
(You fool)
"All I have is my promise to you," he explains. His tone is sharp, that of a king. Her eyes are growing wide but the tears are gone. A demon is only as good as his word. Meliodas will be king and break this curse and fulfill his promise and be done with this entire charade. The penalty for his selfishness will be losing her forever. That is something he must endure.
He turns to return to his seat, but Elizabeth grabs his arm. It surprises him, and he remembers that this is what she does. She surprises him.
Meliodas does not look at her, so she steps around him. "I'm going to stop you," she hisses at him, and his eyes snap up. "I'm going to stop you from becoming king."
He narrows his eyes. "Do not interfere."
"There must be some other way!" she insists. "We can work with the Sins—"
"No."
She is getting angry now. Good. "I will do whatever it takes to stop you!" she shouts.
Meliodas grabs her by the arm, and Elizabeth jerks in his hold. "Stop this foolishness," he demands, now more annoyed than anything. So when the back of her hand strikes his cheek, he is surprised, but also pleased. This he can understand. This he can feel.
The darkness is so intense now, it is bleeding down his face, the arm he is using to grab her flexing with the strength. His demon power is responding to her emotion, preparing to defend itself against a goddess attack. It feels like hot liquid searing over his skin. "If hitting me will make you feel better," he snaps at her, "then go ahead. Hit me."
She freezes, and they stare at one another. Meliodas waits for another blow, but it does not come. For a moment he thinks the battle is over, but then he realizes she will fight him another way.
"Kiss me," she says.
"What?"
"Kiss me," she repeats. "You say you feel nothing. Prove it."
Prove it? She must be joking. What more does he have to prove? Anger bubbles up again at the mere suggestion. Three thousand years of watching her die, and now she wants proof.
"If you do this, I'll agree to your plan," she says. "I won't stop you from being the demon king."
"You cannot stop me—"
"After everything we've been through, don't threaten me!" She is shaking now. "You want me to just accept this? Accept that my feelings aren't real, accept that yours are gone? Accept that you have only loved me without me truly loving you in return?"
Meliodas swallows uncomfortably, hearing her say it out loud. But the truth is never easy. "There is no point in denying it," he says.
"I don't believe you," she whispers. "I know how I feel. When this curse is broken, I will still love you. Even if I'm reborn again, I will always love you."
"Elizabeth—"
"And you love me too. I know you do. You say you feel nothing but I don't believe it. I can't! If you didn't love me you wouldn't be fighting so hard. You wouldn't be trying to break this curse."
She speaks of love, but what good did it ever do them? What purpose did his love for her or hers for him ever serve, outside of causing so much grief for so many? How many people—themselves included—have to be hurt because of their love? Love is worthless if it can be bowed by the power of their gods.
(lies)
His fingers squeeze into her arm. "I made—"
"A promise, I know." She huffs out a humorless laugh. "How noble of you, the prince of demons. To keep a promise to a human."
Meliodas grits his teeth and looks away. Why does the truth sound so hollow, coming from her?
(You love her. That is the truth.)
"If I do this," he says, ignoring that voice, "then you will stop all this foolishness?"
"Prove it," she says again, her eyes shimmering with light. "Kiss me."
One hand goes into her hair, the other against her hip, and Meliodas pulls her flush against him. She gives a noise of surprise as her hands grip his shoulders, and they stand facing one another, their faces a hair's breadth away. For a moment, he wonders if he can do this—what if being with her now does affect him? The chasm inside of him is growing by the second, the wound he had managed to cover open and exposed. There should be something there, and the emptiness is startling, palpable, hard.
(Stop STOP you're going to hurt—)
Then her arms slide around his neck, and her breath catches; she thinks he is resisting, he realizes, but he will not allow her to believe there is any love between them, anymore.
Her eyes close and he pulls her against him. The effect on her is immediate: her arms tighten, her lips curl around his, and she grips him hard. Meliodas kisses her slowly, with no passion or care, but she—she is nothing but a pounding heart and soft moans, tilting mouth, clenching fingers.
"You're holding back," she whispers fiercely against his mouth. "You're holding back from me. I knew you couldn't do this."
How clever this goddess is. Not that she is correct; if anything, as the kiss goes on he only becomes more convinced that he is right. He feels nothing, and he knows that, because the emptiness is a gulf inside of him. But by forcing him to prove a negative, she has him caught.
Her hand is in his hair, gripping tightly. Despite the lack of passion, there is pleasure, and need, and a deeply buried muscle memory that makes him react to her touch. Their mouths move together in an achingly familiar dance, and Elizabeth is pulling him closer, dragging her hands around him.
His palms slide down her spine, and she shivers. Her mouth opens, and he dips his tongue inside, intent on doing this now and proving her wrong. Meliodas has played right into her hands, and he knows it. The curse is nothing compared to the desires of the woman he loves.
(But you don't love her, remember?)
Meliodas moves, surging forward, and she cries out when they slam into the wall. He presses against her, making her feel his body as he kisses her roughly. This is what she wants, isn't it? To prove his lack of passion for her? If he can do this, and not feel a thing, then that will be all the proof she needs.
He grips her leg and pulls it around his waist so he can press even closer. He grinds against her wantonly, and he feels her stiffen and freeze in his arms. Internally he smiles that she is overwhelmed so soon. He bites her lip, tugging, one hand sliding under her thigh as the other slides under her shirt. His fingers trace the flat curve of her stomach and he feels her muscles tighten and her breathing stutter.
"You love me," she breathes as she kisses him. "I knew you loved me."
Love? This? He thrusts his hips forward, pulling his mouth from hers as she moans. This isn't love. This is just them, their bodies reacting to stimulus, his touch only drawing out a response, no different than if he hit or her tickled her or burned her. There is no difference between pain and pleasure, and he is angry now, really and truly angry.
The hand in her shirt grabs her breast while the other palms between her legs. Elizabeth is gasping now, pressing against him, and it is driving him mad. Her love for him is as false as the feelings she has now. This could be anyone, he thinks, as she dips her head back, allowing him to kiss her neck. It could be anyone's tongue making a pass along her throat, anyone's touch stroking her body through the fabric between her legs. This isn't love.
Love was watching her die, being there instead of fleeing. Love was pulling a wailing baby out of the wreckage of a city and whispering soothing words as his own body and soul were bleeding. Love was telling his father no. Love was never, ever forgetting.
She never had to do such things. He growls as he bites her then, and she whimpers. Her hands slide against his chest, and downwards, stopping just shy of the darkness that encompasses his lower half.
Elizabeth never had to stay with him.
(she did, you know she did, she never once left your side)
Elizabeth never had to face the disappointment and wrath of her decision to love him.
(she stood next to you as you faced them, as her mother cursed her to a life of death)
Elizabeth never had to watch him die.
(but she did, when you foolishly took on the Commandments, wanting their decrees for your own selfish—)
Meliodas jerks backwards, startled. Elizabeth sags against the wall, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. Her lips are swollen, her hair mussed, and her eyes… the love is still there, but it is hard, somehow.
Is she right? Is this plan just another one of his selfish decisions? A precious tear escapes from under her lashes. Meliodas stares at it numbly. Even when he is trying to do the right thing, it is wrong.
"You did what I asked," she says. "Now so will I. Become the Demon King. Take the Commandments and take his power. End this curse. End me."
He stares at her, and Elizabeth begins to tremble, her entire body shivering as he pulls away. "You promised," she whispers. "Fulfill your promise to me."
"I don't want to do this," he admits.
"But you will." She smiles now, sadly. "You will."
Meliodas bows his head. "I promised you, that even if you were to die, I would break this curse. You have died one hundred and six times, Elizabeth. I have seen them all."
"And now you feel nothing." Elizabeth sighs. "I understand now." He frowns, and she explains, "You can't kiss me like that and—and be so unaffected—not when my heart is breaking. You may have loved me once. I might have been worthy of it, once. But not now." Then she reaches out and cups his face. "Take your place as the Demon King. I've kept you from it far too long. Then you can break this curse, and I will die, and we will never have to see each other again."
This is wrong. He is confused now, but this is wrong.
(Beg her forgiveness.)
The Demon King does not beg. A god needs no forgiveness.
(You are not the Demon King. Not yet.)
"Elizabeth…" He does not know what to say, and she is stroking his hair, and it makes it difficult to think.
(There is still time.)
She leans in then, and brushes her lips on the corner of his mouth. "You still love me," she says. "I know you do. And that is all I need."
Before her, there was darkness. There was life, and it was a full life, a good life. But it was all in darkness. She is smiling at him now, that precious smile that he had lived three thousand years to see, that he had endured countless heartaches to know, as her fingers brush his hair back. Her eyes hold a light he had never knew existed.
Before her, he had everything. Now, he has only her, even if it is just for this moment. And once he becomes Demon King and breaks the curse, not even that, anymore.