Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any of its characters.
Author's Note: I blame a lot of factors into the creation of this fanfic. The first and foremost being The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and re-reading it recently became the prime inspiration. Second is the idea of a Demon Kylo seemed too delicious to pass up. Add a dash of Black Butler inspiration, and chatting the idea to a good friend of mine and bam! We got this. This is not beta'd so any spellings and grammatical errors are my own.
Warnings: Attempted suicide, depressing thoughts, alcoholism.
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Chapter 1
The Prison Door
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It's late enough on this snowy evening that those still awake could call it morning. Club goers stumble their way down the icy streets, laughing and chatting happily as they seek warmth either at their own establishment or perhaps one where breakfast is being served at this hour. How delightful it is to be so happy, and enjoy the weather for its comforting embrace of bringing people together in holiday delight and cheer. Even so many stories up, the gentlemen don in a thin jacket can hear the amusement from his perch on the apartment rooftop. He would never admit to feeling the jealousy coil in his heart as he's a business man first, and a friend last if one would be bold enough to call him such.
He stands at the ledge, and all it would take is to step up, and simply slip. Instead, he studies the starless sky what with its purple and orange hues caused by stadiums and buildings lit up in this city that never sleeps. He recalls the last time he saw the stars, and that was visiting his mother's grave earlier that year. Perhaps he should see her, and perhaps he will when this was all over. It's a comforting thought of imaging the afterlife, and pondering the existence of man and creature alike, and what omnipresence dictates the value of humans.
Perhaps he should go back to his room, but that thought quickly dies. Beyond the hour, the only thing waiting for him is work at nine, and his mind creates scenarios of his staff receiving the terrible news that their boss leaped to his death as they slept comfortably in their beds. He recalls their faces and names, and knows each came to this city to find stable income, and perhaps a career at a larger company that would satisfy their self worth, and meaning to their meager existence.
By normal circumstances, if one is in the constant motion of working hard, and proving their worth then salvation is at the other end. But by reality's terms, corruption, money and the evil nesting in the hearts of man consume the hopes and good intentions of the commoners. Good will belongs to charity commercials, love in afternoon soap operas, and humanity in false idols. Greed, lust and pride are the downfall of man, and what a glorious drama it becomes when golden idols fade to black and crumble before the eyes of the audience!
But Armitage Halloran knows that the audience is filled with nothing more than dummies and painted masks with recorders echoing the laughter and clapping of the dead. Hope is locked in Pandora's Box, and hides in the depths of Hell. Perhaps if he knew of hope he wouldn't hold despair and self-hate so close to his heart that it if they were physical aliments he would have died four years ago. But now, at the tender age of thirty-four, he stands in front of a decision he's been romanticizing in thought only kept in a red journal hidden beneath broken floorboards. Had these thoughts been brought up by the consumption of heavy liquor then it would take one more glass of some good scotch to convince Armitage that he was making the right choice.
He is a man of action yet no action could be performed. For four long years he's suffered under the choking form of artist block, and no matter how loud and long he's called for his muse to emerge from slumber or hiding it would not reveal itself. Hours spent perusing galleries and books did nothing to spark the creativity that kept the fire of his soul alive, and temperament in check. He, a man of low birth, held the only heirloom that could not be taken away from him by death or thieving hands, but is now gone. Hours, weeks and months spent staring at blank canvases, documents, artboards did nothing, but tear his soul layer-by-layer until he felt that all that was left is a shell of a man who once had destiny before him. Books, lectures and videos could not bring back the dead muse lying somewhere in a trashy gutter, and Armitage hopes its rotting corpse is infested with maggots and plague for it's the satisfying end for it had abandoned him to personal thoughts and troubles with a side of excessive alcohol.
During these thoughts Armitage had taken that step forward, and now stands at the edge of life and death. Hazel eyes glance below, and the height does not frighten him, but rather encourages that gravity will crush his body so his soul may plunge through the concert and tunnels, and enter Hell in all its fiery glory. The greatest love is to death for it's the only affair where both parties win without the fuss of marriage, gifts or jealousy. No, perhaps life itself is jealous as all its essence is removed by an enemy that can never be defeated by the power of love and other nonsense. Armitage recalls a poem by an American woman speaking about death and carriages, and he briefly wonders if he takes the step forward will death catch him in a romantic bridal gesture before carrying him off to eternity.
There is no sound yet he turns around as though compelled by some magical force, and there he sees a man in a 1920's double breasted striped black suit with two tone shoes. Hands are in his front pockets, and a small smile graces the handsome features of the man whose facial hair is merely a five ole clock shadow. Perhaps this man too lives in the complex, and simply needed the fresh air or sought serenity on the rooftop where silence is nowhere to be found; except beneath the ground, but the dead too could hear the city noise, and thought themselves simply taking a nap at the park.
"Will you jump?" the man inquires, but makes no indication he would stop Armitage from the action, and the amount of space between them would prevent the man from becoming a hero.
"Perhaps," the ginger answers, turning his body fully around, "if the mood fancies me." And it does.
"Would you like some advice?"
"No. Save them for the foolhardy youth as I am neither young nor unwise. I am aware of the consequences of my actions, and if you're simply a Samaritan seeking a heroic moment of bravery then I kindly advice you, good sir, leave me to my thoughts. I will decide which direction to step in." The man chuckles.
"What if I have an alternative for your situation?"
Which one: the muse, the family friends or the self? Each had their own compartment of troubles that would require more resources than he was capable of obtaining due to social standing and finances. Did they even matter? Would solving these problems just make his life easier or would it ease the burden on his soul, and allow him to finally put down the bottle? Perhaps not. He's grown fond of drinking, and having no dreams.
"What are you proposing exactly, Mr-"
"Ren. Kylo Ren. No need for us to be formal. I'm not fond of those."
"What is it you seek in me Ren? The hour is neither late nor early, and if I do decide to end my life I wish to do so before the sun rises." Armitage turns back around, his coat making the action a tad more dramatic. Ren erupts in laughter, and the baritone echoes over the roof; strange indeed to find humor in another's suicidal tendencies.
"I'll help you complete your purpose in life, of course." A preposterous idea! How silly and childish to answer someone with such a flimsy answer that Ren might as well push Armitage off the ledge.
"And you want my soul in trade? I doubt it's worth much to even warrant such an agreement." They're silent for a few minutes, both keeping their thoughts close. The snowfall becomes heavier, and no doubt by the afternoon traffic will all, but halt as no one will be able to travel safely. Children and teenagers will be home from school, and no doubt embrace the innocent wonder of snowball fights, building snowmen, and other joyous activities that prevent from becoming cruel adults just a little longer. Some children are granted such privileges, but others like Armitage are forced to become adults earlier than anticipated. "It all sounds like magic, and I don't believe in such nonsense. Leave me to my thoughts."
"Magic does exist." Armitage shrugs, and turns his head around.
"Magic does not-" But Kylo isn't there leaving the red head in a state of confusion.
"I am aware of who you are, Armitage Halloran." Said man turns back around, and Kylo is in front of him, floating as though it's perfectly natural. "You're the son of Nora Halloran and Brendol Hux, and third in line for the Hux fortune, but you're a bastard, and hardly a person aware of your bloodline." Removing his hands from his pockets, a large black tome with iron clasps appears in his hands. "All those hopes and dreams turn to ash just like your body will once time has claimed its physical assets. I know your true purpose Armitage, and will help you complete it. Only then will I take your soul to Hell for eternity. A cliché, but one that most of the known world is aware of."
Was Kylo his carriage or was he death itself coming to claim him before another death god did? But, this could all be a trick composed of alcohol and delusions for nothing of this reality made sense. The book's silver clasps unlock as the tome itself becomes alive; the pages flip themselves, and only stop at blank pages. In the crease is an iron pen. Both objects are old, no doubt about that, and Armitage wonders about the origins of the tome and pen.
"I am willing to offer you something rarely another Devil would especially in contracts – I am willing to become your faithful servant, and obey your commands until you reach your destiny." As Kylo spoke, the pen picks itself up, and begins writing out the details of the contract in beautiful calligraphy. Armitage watches, deciding that he would follow his delusions until another reality sets in. He can't help, but be fascinated, and marvel at the craftsmanship and elegance of the font. Kylo makes no motion, and finds Armitage's attention to the pen humorous.
"Do all humans have a destiny?"
"Not all. Many simply exist, and become another tombstone." If such a person is granted such a privilege. How wonderful it sounds to be blind and ignorant to the world around, and have no worries or fears of the politics, hate and decay of humanity and its actions. "But you're not them. Though I know your destiny, it is you who decides what it shall be, Armitage Halloran. I will be your companion until that euphoric moment."
"And if I decide not to write my name in your black book, Devil?" Armitage looks up now, and whether he's serious of the matter is unknown to the other man.
"Would you deny yourself such an opportune moment? Your ambition and determination are all that matter to me."
"Are there any restrictions? Limitations to your power or mine that would prevent my destiny from being completed?" Kylo snickers at the question.
"Know that I am capable of anything and everything that is unholy. I am the Apprentice to the Black Man himself, and my abilities are grander than any villain you have read in your silly books." The pen finishes writing the contract, and holds itself up waiting for Armitage to grasp its cold metal handle, and sign his name. "The only limitations are ones you set yourself."
"I'm that valuable to you then." A question in the tone of a statement. Perhaps Armitage needed to hear that he was important to someone even if it was an illusion claiming it would steal his soul. Would he admit himself this weakness? "What is the worth of one's soul exactly?" Armitage locks eyes with Kylo's dark ones in false hope that the Devil will speak the truth. Ren smirks, and knows he has Armitage now.
"Depends on the Devil if he finds the human worth the chase." Neither notice the snow providing a lovely white layer upon their heads and shoulders, and neither care to comment on it. Halloran turns right, and carefully walks along the ledge. Some of the bricks are coming loose, and there's one in particular that's unstable three steps away.
"Catch me if you can." Armitage grins as he gracefully spins around as one foot lands on the brick, and both fall. After all, he had a carriage to catch, and it wasn't polite to keep death waiting.
Kylo curses, and banishes his book in favor of soaring downwards towards the human. He should have anticipated this move, but the unpredictability of humans will always be a factor in dealing with them.
Armitage is laughing as he falls, and expects any moment for his entire world to become darkness, but that isn't so as a handsome Devil flashes by, and catches the human bridal style. Ah, death has welcomed him, and brought him into its own carriage and thy name is Kylo Ren. Well now, if magic, self-writing pens, and destiny manipulators are real then Armitage will gladly sign his name. If anything should hopefully come of this adventure then it hopefully it shall be one Armitage can gladly end his life to.
Cradling the human close to his chest, Kylo side steps as the brick smashes onto the sidewalk. The few people that witness this event are caught by surprise at the sudden appearance of the men, and wondered if it were the alcohol or the late hour that lowered their guard. They made the men no more attention, and simply continued on their way towards morning.
Kylo peers at Armitage, and a cheeky smirk spreads on his face.
"So, your place or mine?"
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What do you think? Please leave a comment / review. I'll update the other fanfics soon! Currently reworking Black Mage Summoner.
