Day XXX
Politics; the deadly game where every noble with the ambition and power fought viciously with smiles, diplomacy, and lackeys who got their hands dirty for those who pretended to be clean, vying for riches, power, and the favour of the Demon Overlord. Because despite that so many already cowered before them, the commoners subject to their every whim, it was never enough. What if they needed more? They always needed more.
She remembered. Oh yes, she did. She was one of the elite, vying for the top. She was the head of her house, her title only beneath that of the monarchy of the Overlord. She had believed herself one of the greatest players of the game as she moved her pawns, where the weak crumbled beneath her feet and the foolish crushed beneath her.
Idle fantasies and past glorifications were fleeting, especially where time was meaningless as the yawning void before her, behind her, everywhere. She had lost, and in her failure, she realized that she too had been a pawn of political machinations.
"At least you were an exalted little pawn." Was that what she had said? Something along those lines, anyway. "I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted."
The former 'exalted little pawn' stared blankly. If she laughed, the chains would move and the sounds would remind her of what she had lost due to her own foolishness. All her titles, her territory, her followers, her riches, all gone! What did it matter? Why did it matter? What meaning did they hold as she was forced to watch all that she worked and fought for squandered and corrupted, twisted to fulfill a perverted purpose?
Had she been outright assassinated the uproar would have been immediate. She who was once the leader of Clan Saor Kreen had many allies as she had enemies; many would have seen her unfair death be avenged in open rebellion. But the traitor, who had slaughtered hundreds of thousands in her name, denied her that death.
"Kill you is too easy." She had sneered, baring her fangs. "What I've planned for you will crush you to your knees, begging for death. You will wish you were dead!"
The coup d'état was swift upon action, but slow in progression. She had been forced to watch from her eternal prison, as her name was spat upon, tarnished with scandal, used as derogatory insults, and finally, forgotten beyond memory.
She remembered how angry she had been. How ironic betrayal was! She had been betrayed by her most trusted lieutenant—as much as she trusted any other demon outsider—but then she had betrayed herself. She thought she had shown strength by exuding her rage…
…when in truth, she was only showing how much she had cared. Which made the betrayal burn her even more. She had trusted her lieutenant, as much as she had trusted any demon, in truth. Was it a fitting punishment, then, to be chained forever, all for trusting someone?
Day XXX
Time was torture. The chains did not choke or burn her; they served only to restrain, to keep her suspended above the yawning chasm of chaos. How many times had she tried to break free? The manacles stretched her limbs apart so thin, rendering her paralyzed.
What was her name? Could she still remember?
I am Lucille-Ellara Rosenmary Saor Kreen, Head of Noble Clan Saor Kreen. In the demon tongue, my name would be සාඕ ක්රීම් ලුසිල් ඇල්ල රෝස්මරී, First of Her Name, Vanquisher of the North and Ruler of the Eastern Territories of the Great Demon Realm…I was betrayed by my first lieutenant and vassal, Karis of Clan Saor Kreen…
It hurt to remember. It hurt to think at all. She thought of her servants, her subjects, her mate. She had a mate, did she not? She had rivals, too. Many of the demon clans had mocked her for being overly lenient upon her subjects. They were beneath her, yes, but Clan Saor Kreen was known for their telltale lack of cruelty and ambition. Despite her status, she had treated her charges fairly (that is, she did not torture them for her own pleasure or take them as her pleasure-slaves like her fellow nobles).
She strained to remember. She had many powerful alliances, most whom coincidentally met ambiguous fates as soon as she was…deposed. Clan Burning Canyon was a longtime ally of Saor Kreen, but the heir had vanished under mysterious circumstances. He was notorious for his power, but with his absence, the clan was virtually powerless.
What of the other clans? Surely they would have at least suspected her disappearance? Alas, no. Anyone else who questioned the supposed death of the former leader were…ruthlessly taken care of. Most learned to keep their mouths shut and suspicions private.
She would not cry. She would not! Shedding tears was the ultimate social suicide.
But it hurt. Even after XXX days, the endless time served only to increase her sorrow. All that she had worked so hard to build, the alliances she had dealt, the lieutenant she had come to trust so much, too much…now they were grey and meaningless as the chains that bound her.
Her hands, clad in senseless metal, glowed with blue energy. All the spells and magic she uttered did not leave even a scratch on her bindings. Yet she still tried, the flickering blue flames crackling helplessly. Or maybe it was because she needed something to do.
There existed a spell, a curse so powerful, its power could easily annihilate a small dimension, let alone this barren prison she was in. If she but uttered the words, everything would be blown apart. Literally everything, including her.
The incantation was simple, so simple. She could open her mouth, and just—
She was not so wretched to commit such a drastic act. Not yet. She still had her sanity (demons were extremely resilient) and suicide was one of the greatest taboos in demon culture. It was the sign of utmost weakness to desecrate one's own body and a sin to the Overlord for failure to serve.
Such an extreme escape clause was not an option for the noble. She instead focused on other things. There were no mirrors here. She must look hideous! The binding irons had no surface to give a good reflection.
But still, for the future, she memorized the words of the incantation, branded each syllable onto the contours of her mind. Was it cowardice to latch onto the words, to keep them intact in her memory? The words would be her release…or the final sign of weakness.
Day XXX
How much longer would it be till she withered away?
That was indeed the strangest part. All this time she had been imprisoned here, all her basic needs had vanished. It wasn't that they were constantly fulfilled; she simply had no need to eat, drink, excrete, nothing. Even the strongest demon would have eventually faded without food and drink.
It was as if time had fully frozen, held no meaning, except in the very edges of her mind. Perhaps her body wasn't fully immune to its trials, as she felt her limbs wither, her robust body turning barren, dying, wrinkled, frail—though the chains, adjusting to its host's change, tightened their grip all the more.
Or maybe it was all in her head, as she twitched and jerked like a fish out of water, gasping as if a large enough breath would somehow give her sweet release. She didn't want to be here. She clawed at the air like a madman, the pulls of the chains only increasing her panic and chafing against her flesh. Her limbs were matchsticks, her power a sham.
Even her wings, her greatest pride, atrophied. With no room to stretch, let alone fly, the muscles weakened, sagged into burdens of pain and shame. If they fell off, she wouldn't have felt it.
What had happened? What had she done to deserve this? What was her face like, that treacherous worm-born bastard, as she struck her into this void, to suffer in misery…
She could not remember. A small panic seized her as she ran through her dwindling cache of memories; but she could not see. She could not recall that past. She could not even recall that wretched face, only streaks of crimson and ugly shades of violet, then—darkness, the darkness of her prison.
I…I am Lu…cille…Ella Rosenmary…of…Clan Saor Kreen. My name would be…සාඕ ක්රීම් ලුසිල් ඇල්ල රෝස්මරී, First…Vanquisher…and Ruler of the East…the Great Demon Realm…betrayed…
She laughed. Oh, how she laughed! Demons could not cry with laughter, but the world was full of the mysterious, the unusual, the impossible. So let her laugh! Let her laugh, she thought, as each peal rankled in her throat, the tears sliding down, relentless…
Her face was flushed with scalding rivers. How she would have been mocked if the other nobles saw her! And more pathetic, what she wouldn't give to see her own again, to live, to live! What utter pathos dripped from her being! She should be flayed alive for such sins.
Oh, the world was cruel. She didn't believe in gods. It would have been easier if she did! If universal deities did exist, then they would be at fault for rendering her damned.
But they did not exist. Throughout the timeline of her fading past, it was all her fault. Maxima mea culpa. All hers…
She closed her eyes. There would be no sleep for her.
Day XXXX
I am…I am…Luci…ela…R…Ro…Sao..Kreen. My name is සාඕ? She frowned, shaking her head, then wincing as that gesture made the chains on her throat rattle, grating against her flesh. Or what was left of her flesh, anyway.
Her throat felt dry, like the leathery surface of dragon's hide. Had she ever seen a dragon? She must have, or she wouldn't know what a dragon was! But if her throat was dry, why did she not feel thirst? Her mouth had no moisture inside, but hadn't it always been like that?
Her insides felt empty, functioning out of habit, not life. It had been like that for as long as she could remember. She had been born hollow, surely. There was no rational explanation for such things.
But why was she trapped here? She tried shouting, threatening, bribing, begging, but only the faintest of echoes responded to her pleas, mocking her. She kept yelling until her voice stuttered to hoarse rasps, incoherent mewls of a wounded animal. This was not right. She didn't know how or why, but it was true. Someone—or something—had kept her in here for…for what? As food?
Were there invisible pairs of eyes watching her? But then, why was it so silent?
She could not understand. Only one memory, withstanding the absence of time, stayed with her like a tireless vigil. The words to an apocalypse. She remembered every word. What did they mean? She did not know. But it stayed in her mind, floating around her head in her lucid periods.
An escape clause? Or an end that would erase her very being?
She wanted to say those words. But she was afraid of what would happen if she did. She did not want to die.
Not that she was entirely living in the present, though.
Day XXXX
Let me go. She was so tired, too tired. She didn't know if she said those words out loud or if she only said it in her head. There was no light, only darkness. What was she? Who was she? Why was she trapped? The answers to her questions would surely be in her memory, but every time she tried to remember, it hurt. It felt as if her body was being torn apart, and eventually she gave up.
If it hurt this much to even try to find the answers, the pain from knowing the truth would be indescribable. That fear made her withdraw, leaving many things undone, unsaid, forgotten. What use were memories if they only caused pain?
To amuse herself, she dreamed. She convinced herself that she was a princess, locked away, waiting for a hero to come and rescue her, free her from these chains. Or…or maybe, she had special powers, and was imprisoned to keep her under control. Her musings were endless, but her reasoning was always the same: her circumstances were, by all accounts, unjust. She had been put in here against her will.
If she ever escaped, she thought, she swore to herself that she would find the ones who committed such cruelty.
She tried again, for the umpteenth time. Her name…her name…what was it again?
I am…Lu. Lu…ciel. Luciel….Ella…R. She had another name. R. What did the R stand for? Rock? Ring? Roast? Why would she be named Roast?
Uttering each syllable felt as if her head was compressing, hard and tight, into metallic powder. She had another name after the R. She didn't know what, but since it was a part of her name, it must have been important.
When she wasn't desperately trying to salvage her memories (though one would compare it to catching smoke with bare hands) or imagining ludicrous scenarios to fill the growing gaps in her mind, there were the words. Why did they not fade from her memory like everything else? Was it magic? It must be. Why else would it feel so crucial to her?
What kind of magic was it? A curse? A spell to blow this seal apart, and her with it?
The silence thrummed in her ears, laughing at her pathetic attempts to maintain her sanity.
.
Lucy….Luci…El…R.
.
Day ?
.
Lucy…
.
Lu…I am Lu.
If there was anything else to her being but that single word, it was beyond her now. Her body was slack, and what she could see of her body was withered and frail, if not already broken. It wouldn't be long now, before she completely disintegrated to dust or…whatever she was meant to be.
Lu. The scraps of what was once her mind clung onto that word like a barbed lifeline. She no longer had the mental capacity to understand what it meant, only that it was something she would call herself. She was Lu. She was Lu. She who called herself Lu could no longer laugh or cry; it seemed that the seal had also robbed her of hope and emotions a long time ago.
Her face itched, her eye twitching in response. She reached over to scratch the annoyance away.
!
Hand met face again, her fingers starting to tremble. Such a simple gesture, but she had scratched her face..
She had moved her hand.
?
By…herself?
"…" Her eyes were wide as she moved her arm again. The manacle around her wrist jangled, but otherwise did not restrict the movement. She touched the chains, and pulled; much of her strength was deteriorated, yet the links easily yielded. Her entire body stirred in response. She never thought she could move again. Hope flared like a small match, set alight.
The momentary spasm of joy was fleeting as the entire void seemed to lurch, the softening chains giving away underneath their host. She who called herself Lu could not shout, but she felt an emotion she had become unfamiliar with: fear.
What bitter irony that the chains that she had fought from the beginning were the very chains that had kept her suspended, safe from the void of her seal, and their release ensured a fall she would not survive. Her ears pricked as she heard a series of metallic snaps, her restraints shattering like glass.
She was free, but now she would disappear forever. Desperately she clawed at her chains, grabbing at the irons for stability. No! She already lost everything. Was she now to lose whatever remnants of her life she had now?
No!
No!
The last links crumbled between her fingers, leaving her hovering in the air for a millisecond before plummeting down, down, down—
Fragments of thought whizzed in her head, as feeble as her attempts to slow her fall. Was there a jagged surface below, rocks that would dash her to pieces immediately upon impact? Or a pit of poison that would eat away her flesh? Or the worst, that there would be no bottom, and that she would fall forever and ever?
She wished she could scream. But a growing lump in her throat forbid any form of sound above a hoarse whisper.
The words.
If the words had tempted her before to end her misery, they were now screaming at her to be uttered. She who called herself Lu barely knew her own name, who she once was, and why she was here, but these words had endured the erosion of time, had been with her for eternity.
She had resisted the words all this time because…because she was afraid. What if she died? What if she was destroyed forever, or taken to someplace worse? But no. This place was her hell. There couldn't possibly be a bigger atrocity than being sealed all this time, left to rot.
Her mouth moved as a coloured aura shimmered around her, turning from an anemic blue into a brilliant shade of sapphire. It had been so long since she had seen colour, she felt her eyes burn.
There was light. There was feeling. Having felt nothing for all this time and suddenly her senses were set alight. There was too much feeling, too much light. Her limbs were so weak. She felt as if she was set on fire. She felt, and that alone was overwhelming.
No chains; their absence made her feel weak and unsupported. No darkness; she could see too much. No huge threatening void; she had become too accustomed to the darkness.
She was moving, moving too fast, and suddenly everything skidded to a halt. She tried to stand; her legs, so unused to supporting her weight, trembled, collapsed underneath her. She tried to use her arms to get up; they flopped aside like wet noodles.
Lu.
Yes. She was Lu. Lu was sprawled on soft ground that seemed to stretch forever. Lu touched the ground beneath her; there were prickles that weren't too sharp, almost tickled her palm. There were a lot of prickles. A gust of wind made them dance.
Lu moved her hand again. The action was slow, strained, and took much effort, but there were no chains that forbade her to move. There was also light, a warm, soothing light that hurt her eyes if she stared directly into it. But she did anyway. It was beautiful and Lu had never seen such light in all her—
"Hey!"
She turned, not because she assumed that the voice was directed at her, but because she had never heard such a voice. It was deep, grating, and made her cringe, though she didn't know why.
Lu didn't know how to count very well, but she saw many eyes, many ugly teeth. They surrounded her, making a dark, enclosed space. She didn't like it. She wanted to be left alone with the dancing prickles and the shining light. But she didn't know how to say so.
"What's this? Where are your parents, brat?"
Parents? Brat? What did those words mean? They meant nothing to her. She only knew one word. "Lu" was all she could say.
"Loo?" Raucous laughter erupted from all sides. "Need to go to the potty? Looks like a stray."
"Might get a bit more coin if she wasn't so scrawny." A hand roughly grabbed her arm. "Let's take her to the boss."
"Get that pole out your ass." His friend taunted. "Why not have a bit of fun first?" Eyes leered at the small and terrified Lu.
Hands. Too many hands. Like chains. She had to scream. Her voice was weak, a little chirp. No, she had to scream! Scream! Hands touching, so much like chains except more pain.
He had taken a close hit today. One of his kills had taken a civilian as a hostage, and he had chosen to sacrifice the innocent with his target. He didn't become one of the most feared assassins by bleeding mercy everywhere. Children, relatives, bystanders; he never meant to kill them, but sometimes accidents happened.
Still, he didn't go out of his way to kill anyone who wasn't a target. Not like the other criminal thugs in the district, who threw their weight around and harassed everyone just because they could.
Up ahead, he saw a body crumpled in the small clearing just across; his face scrunched up in disgust. Unless the circumstances absolutely demanded it, bodies shouldn't be desecrated like that. They marked the job of a sloppy mercenary and hassle with authorities. He jogged up to take a closer look, but carefully; it could be a trap.
The corpse breathed. Which, to say, it wasn't really a corpse at all. Against his better judgement, he rushed forward to examine the non-corpse. Clothes bloodied and torn; blooming bruises; shallow breaths; all from a small girl-child.
He felt bile rise in his mouth, forced it down. He knew the common fates of children abandoned in the slums, and it was obvious that this girl was a victim of such. But he could never understand the motivations behind the sick bastards who did such things, and to children at that!
The girl couldn't have been more than 8~10 years of age, and even at that, her body was so small. Bruises everywhere, which meant her skin was frail or her muscles were atrophied. White hair? Everyone had hair colours ranging from orange to rainbow to purple (his own was a splendid shade of blue), but white hair was generally reserved for the elderly.
He could observe the casualties all day, which was cut short as her eyes blinked, barely open. She looked to him, but not at him. It was evident she was suffering from trauma; she was obviously catatonic.
She blinked again, seeing right through him. Pity stirred inside him, and something nostalgic. He surprised himself by smiling at the broken girl, trying to snap her out of her stupor.
"Hey, it's okay." He beckoned as if coaxing a frightened kitten. "You're safe now."
You're safe now.
When her eyes finally cleared, she felt pain. She also felt new things: fatigue, hunger, the onset of trauma. And here was a smiling person, but he had nicer eyes. Was he talking to her? Like any other exhausted and frightened child, she began to cry. The tears just rolled out, and wouldn't stop as a pair of hands gently held her, letting her cry on his shoulder and ruining the fabric.
Holding the sobbing child, he disappeared into the shadows. She wasn't very loud, his location given away only be periodical bouts of sniffling and gulping down tears. It wouldn't be until he reached his hideout that he realized how bright her eyes were and her name was be the only word she knew how to say.
How strange that just earlier in the day, he murdered a civilian with his target with hardly any remorse, yet he was risking his reputation and neck to stop this child from crying.
Was it redemption? Was it hope? Or was it that this broken little girl, of all things, reminded him of a delicate, almost forgotten past he had to sacrifice for his will to live? It wasn't like there weren't a lot of street children in the alleyway, digging through trash for something to eat, pickpocketing to get money only to be caught by bigger thugs or the police. How was this one different?
It could be the small horns, the blue tail, or just something in her face that made something about her so sad. He couldn't think about that now. Night was coming and that was when the shadows became sinister.
She sighed in satisfaction, lazily stretching on the bed as Ran faced away from her, buckling his straps. He was such an arrogant and taciturn demon and an asshole to his subordinates, but he was quite something in bed. He acted as if he was doing her a favour when they had these…one-on-one sessions, but it wasn't like he didn't enjoy it.
Her top was carelessly put on, leaving little to the imagination (not that it didn't when it was properly secured anyways). The succubus grinned as the Dark Earl finished putting on the last of his clothes and strode out the door without so much as a backward look.
She stretched, stifling a yawn. She should probably check on the negotiations with the other demon clans; she already had some of the most powerful houses in alliance but it never hurt to have more firepower. The band of self-titled heroes on Elrios was a nuisance, but an army of demons would best them easily.
The door opened again. Was Ran back so soon? Disappointment made her cringe as she saw not the earl, but one of her chief advisor mages. "Better be important."
"I beg your pardon, mistress." He bowed low. "But there is news from Haros that might be worthy of your attention."
With each word, her expression of dazed annoyance melted into perturbed fury. By the time her messenger had finished, her scowl was so frightening that the mage wished he could flee.
For an instance, his mistress did look as if she would blast him to a pile of ashes. At the last minute, however, she barely restrained herself. Instead she swung back, reaching for her uniform. The mage pretended not to have seen a glimpse of her exposed chest.
"Alert the Haros authorities. Tell them to scour the whole world if they have to. Haros, Elrios, everywhere. Give me the names of the best mercenaries in the demon clans on our side and…" she glared , "…be as discreet as you can."
Even if the seal was somehow broken from within, no doubt its former inmate was greatly weakened, awakened after an eternity of suspended incarceration. It was entirely possible that exposure alone could kill her.
Then again, she was once one of the most powerful demon nobles; she could regain her powers. She had to be crushed while she was still vulnerable.
Despite her controlled demeanour, her wings arched in furious anxiety. The former head of Saor Kreen…now there was a figure coming from the cracks of the past. But she was no longer Karis the underdog of a clan she once feared. She was Karis, Leader and Mistress of all the demon clans. Soon, she would become the Overlord. And no one would stand in her way.