There was nothing that set the blood in Nero's veins ablaze as easily as Devil Hunting and taking what he wanted from sweet, innocent faunlets.
Turns out, being the son of a man with too much money to know what to do with had its advantages. When a family threatened lawsuits, Nero could quickly duck out of any accusations, given he offered enough cash. His tastes had costed a pretty penny, but his own salary could quickly make up for the lost money if he worked his ass off around the clock.
Nero wasn't always overly aggressive, especially after he had blew off most of his steam by slaughtering a group of devils. In fact, there was a young boy he had never been rough with.
Neito Monoma was a doll. He was soft around the edges, emotionally distraught over this fact. He was the perfect victim, eager to do anything to please Nero and gain his attention. He wasn't boring, however. Neito had a smart mouth on him, one that Nero considered taping shut any time they met up. Often, though, he made Nero laugh with his smart quips about everything.
There were days where he almost felt bad for his actions. Dear, sweet Neito was only fifteen years old, nearing the age that he would become unappealing to Nero entirely. One day, he would have to tell sweet, innocent Neito that he no longer wished to see him. For this, Nero felt a growing bundle of guilt.
...
Neito, soft around the edges and emotionally vulnerable, hot tears falling down the cheeks that Nero often cupped in his hands in the past year.
"Why don't you love me anymore?"
To that, Nero only had a simple answer,
"I never did."