The contest is almost over! And wow, did I wait to repost this. As for why I chose Devil as my main character, I have no idea. The first time I got him, I screamed the words 'It's so UGLY!' and proceeded to run off the edge of Final Destination. But enough about me, let's get to the fic.
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't have to write a disclaimer.
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You could say I had a hard life. But you know something's wrong with you when your parents put you up for adoption for no 'apparent' reason. That was what they told me, anyway. It was the stupidest lie anyone ever told me. Would you seriously want a blue gargoyle child with horns? I didn't think so.
I could tell the orphanage didn't like me, either. They were all stiff and irritated around me. Distant, I suppose. To them, I was simply something not to be trifled with, just left alone until I was no longer forcibly in their care. So when I turned eighteen, old enough to 'fend for myself' they, for lack of better words, politely kicked me out. I didn't mind, I knew I was different, but it was kind of insulting, knowing even the most caring of people don't want you.
I wandered the streets for a long time, picking up some fighting skills. But when the hobos and other riffraff on the streets shun you, you know you can't go lower. It was because of my looks, and I knew it. It's not like I asked for red wings, demon eyes, and blue skin. The really horrible thing was I knew if I were in their place, I would've acted the same way. I hated myself for that. I hated the way people act. I hate the way I would've acted. I hated the way I looked.
Most of all, I hated my parents. I hated them for abandoning me, for making me look like a monster, like a devil, like the demons I was named after. My parents could've helped me, but they chose the easy way out. I hated them and lived with the resentment. Eventually I began to hate the resentment as well. It was hard to deal with. It weighed on my shoulders, a constant reminder of how much I hated them. Which gave me even more reason to hate my parents.
In a sort of rage, I went and got clothes that highlighted my strangeness. White gloves, a skull necklace, and red boots along with some sort of red underwear-thing that emphasized my red wings and glowing crimson eyes. I would only regret that soon after, but I never got rid of the clothes. They were comfortable.
I continued on the streets after that, and everyone avoided me as they always had. Perhaps even more so, what with my new style. But of course, that couldn't last.
I was looking for food in an old dumpster, and I felt degraded and embarrassed, but at that moment there wasn't anything I wouldn't do to get food. Nobody would hire me to work for them, and I didn't blame them. But I still needed food, and without money, you don't get food. Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice a gang coming up behind me until they had surrounded me against the alley wall, and began closing in. they all had some sort of weapon, mostly pocketknives. I desperately scanned the ground for anything to fight with. Nothing.
I braced myself, then had a better idea.
The guy in the middle of the circle around me lunged. I dodged, grabbed his knife and twisted it out of his hands just in time for me to block the other three attacking, knocking the first guy down to the ground. To keep my advantage, I fought on the middle guy's back, forcing him to stay down. Not that he was going to get up. Blood had blossomed from his nose, which was twisted at an awkward angle. I kept my eyes up so I didn't have to look at the slowly growing crimson puddle.
Eventually the gang began to overtake me. I grew tired, accidentally letting my guard down for a moment. But a moment was all they needed. I was knocked against the wall, and the black closed in on my vision so fast I didn't even realize I'd passed out.
My eyes fluttered open against the will of my aching head. It pounded and throbbed, but I shook it off, knowing I couldn't spend forever in the alley. I tried to close my hand into a fist, but a sharp line of pain split across my palm. Lifting the hand, I realized I still had the pocketknife. I cleaned it gingerly, then looked around. The man I'd knocked down earlier was still lying in his puddle of crimson. I vaguely wondered if he was dead, but didn't care enough to check. Either way, he wasn't going to be moving anytime soon. I tore off a piece of his shirt and wrapped my hand in it. I kept his knife as a memento. It had a beautiful pearl sheath with gold detailing. It flipped open easily to reveal a steel blade that flashed in the light. It wasn't just show, either. The thing had been kept wickedly sharp.
Every day after that I would spend hours just staring at the knife. Some might call it an unhealthy obsession. I preferred to think of it as 'dark speculation'.
I stared at that knife knowing that it could kill me, and that I might actually want it to.
I considered getting rid of the knife, breaking it, anything to keep it away from me. But I feared the knife just as much as I loved it. Every time I tried to leave the knife, to break it in my hands, I knew I couldn't. It was my only surefire way out of life if something happened. At least, that was the real reason. I told myself it was for security purposes.
Even after I had been offered on as an Assist Trophy for Master Hand's tournament (I'd accepted, of course) I kept the knife. I kept to myself, too.
And every morning anyone could find me sitting on the front lawn of Smash Mansion, continuing my daily staring contest with the knife.
Even months later, I still stare at the knife. Nobody bothers me, and I don't try to intermingle with them. Even the strange beings that they are, they wouldn't welcome me.
I held the knife in my hands, turning it over and over idly with my fingers. All it would take was one stroke. One cut, and it would all be over. The loneliness, the fighting, the resentment. In truth, I probably had brought it upon myself, but I sometimes just wanted it all to end.
And to think that my beautiful little pocketknife could do just that.
I turned the knife, watching it glint in the sun, shining silver like only it could.
One cut was all I needed.
One slash, and it would all be over.
I held it up to my wrist, and just left it there.
Staring.
One cut.
One moment.
I couldn't.
I let out a low sort of roar, and threw the knife in the dirt. It sunk to the base.
I stared for a moment, then pulled it out, running the blade across the grass to get the soil off. I tried to make my knife shine again, but the sun had gone. Or, at least, it was blocked.
Ganondorf stood behind me, staring disapprovingly down at me. His hand reached down and plucked the knife from my grip.
"What's this?" He asked. I stared at him innocently. As innocently as I could with glowing red eyes.
"Uh….."
"I thought so." I watched as he took my beautiful pocketknife, my hated horrible knife, and snapped it in two.
He didn't stop there, either. "Stop trying to kill yourself and go make friends. They're nice people." Ganon gestured towards the mansion behind him. I heaved myself up off the grass. No one had ever been so blunt to me before.
I liked it.
Grinning my evil smile, I thanked Ganondorf, and walked to the Mansion. I didn't need my knife anymore.
And I sure didn't want it.
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Is that character development? Incredible! Yeah, I started at two AM, finished about five. And then edited it at seven PM. I was originally going to kill Devil, but I didn't because it seemed better this way. Also, after extensive research, Devil has no family or background, making it much easier to write the fic. XD