The second (or real first) part! Hope you like the story~ (reviews are cookies :3)

Death, blood and the distinctive smell of burning flesh was in the air, sickening him to the point he felt paralysed and unable to elude his own seemingly unavoidable dissolution. They had been hunted, banished from the towns and were forced to eke out a miserable existence in the dirty suburbs or in secret places all over the land. They were the scum of society, a thorn in the side of those who tried to hunt them down. Ghirahim was one of them, a demon who was chased for who he was and not for what he did. Deprived of food and comfort, the demons had come to live like rats who stole the leftovers of the rich. Their race, once proud and powerful had become the most pitiful kind on the whole surface.

An approaching deathly arrow snapped him out of his rigour and he eventually fled. The hunt had begun.

A group of men on horses chased the young demon through the woods, the sound of their hooves vibrating in his sensible ears. He was weak, enfeebled by hunger and cold, a prey that wouldn't endure long. Their screams of victory resounded in the frosty winter air but they didn't strike him down. Their game had only just begun and they wouldn't ruin the fun all too early.

Ghirahim's strength was fading quickly. He knew it was only a matter of time until he would collapse to the ground and be pierced with an arrow or a sword. He slowed down and came to a halt soon. If he had to die, he would die facing his enemy rather than lying on the ground with his face in the dirt waiting for the deathly blow. The horses stopped a few metres behind him. Even from that distance, he could feel the surprise on the men's faces and he turned around slowly. Maybe it could buy him enough time to leverage this moment of confusion and use what they were most afraid of. Something they had never possessed and would never understand. Magic.

One of the soldiers laughed as he looked down on the haggard demon who could barely stand but Ghirahim didn't miss the tiny amount of incertitude in his voice. A purple ray of energy shot from his hand and hit the first soldier on the chest but his strength had faded to the point that his magic could not seriously hurt them anymore. He lowered his hand in defeat. So this was the end.

What happened next was nothing but a blur to Ghirahim. The distant echo of whinnying horses, surprised screams and clashing swords rang in his ears as he tumbled and collapsed into the snow. His eyes burned so he had to keep them shut. The cold snow numbed the right side of his face while he fought to regain full consciousness.

And then it was over. The battle screams had died down and an unnatural silence suddenly settled. Someone walked up to him. With one last effort, he managed to lift his head a few inches. The snow was red, stained by the blood of those who had fallen during the battle and corpses covered the frozen forest soil.

A man clad in black was standing before him, a blood-stained blade in his gloved hands but he didn't point it at Ghirahim. Instead, he threw it into the snow and knelt down next to the demon. His voice was deep but gentle as he asked if the soldiers had hurt him and if he could stand. The demon's body twitched when a gloved hand touched his shoulder but he did not have the strength to push it away. Whatever would happen to him now, Ghirahim didn't care. His face sunk back down into the snow as the world around him turned black. Two strong arms carefully lifted the slender, now limp body and carried it to his waiting horse.

Ghirahim woke in the middle of the night, surrounded by darkness. His body was aching even as he lied still and he couldn't suppress a soft moan. For a moment, he wondered if he was dead but the pain in his body was as real as the low voices echoing in the distance. A vague memory started appearing in the back of his head but it was blurred, soiled by the amount of blood and death.

He tried to move his stiff body and brought it in an upright position, his eyes now scanning his surroundings. It was a tent he was lying in, simple and plain with nothing more than a camp bed and a few boxes spread across the ground. There was something calm, yet utterly disturbing about this place and the situation he was in - everything smelled like human. A feeling of strong nausea built in the pit of his stomach as realisation struck him. He jumped out of his bed and stumbled out of the tent into the darkness of the night.

A few guards ran up to him as soon as they noticed the demon's attempt to escape. Blinded by fear and hate, Ghirahim tried to fight them off with all the strength he had left but they managed to catch him and twist his arms behind his back. Minutes later, he was on his knees again, swearing in a tongue no human could possibly understand. They pulled him back to his feet and dragged him along until they reached another tent, at least three or four times as big as the one he had woken up in.

It was a luxurious tent, decorated with red and black drapery, a wooden table and a large bed. Heavy blankets and carpets of fur were spread across the floor and the bed, making the room look extremely cosy and warm. Ghirahim recognised only few of the animals that had died at the hands of the owner of this tent such as Remlits and Wolfos, but there were other furs he had never seen before.

"Let him go and leave us alone," a voice behind him ordered and he felt the grip of the soldiers around his arms loosen. Although freed, he didn't move an inch and continued staring into the distance.

The man behind him closed the flap of his tent and blocked out the chilly night air. He walked over to his bed, took off his cape and put it aside, now facing the demon who was still perched on the floor. He was tall and muscular and although he was wearing nothing but simple black pants and a plain shirt, there was something distinctively majestic about this man. Long black hair framed his stern face with the piercing golden eyes and the angular jaw. Under his left eye, a long scar was engraved into the tanned skin of his cheek and disappeared somewhere under the short beard. He is handsome, just as much as a human can probably be, Ghirahim thought as he continued examining his opponent.

"I see you are awake now," the warrior said and sat down on the bed, "How are you feeling?" Ghirahim bit his cheek from the inside and pursed his lips. He wouldn't give this human the satisfaction to answer his questions.

To his surprise, he heard him chuckle softly. "I didn't bring you here because I want to kill you, if that's what you're thinking," he said and actually guessed right.

"I can see the grudge you bear for my kind in your eyes. The ones that hunted you down and forced you to live on the outskirts." He got up from the bed and slowly approached the demon. "My name is Vyarad. You probably wonder why I brought you here if not to end your life." He knelt down before his guest. "I am asking your help."

Ghirahim, who had lingered in silence so far, snorted contemptuously. "Why would a human like you ask the scum of society for help? And why would a demon like me come to your aid?"

Vyarad nodded. "I knew you would say that. And even though you might not believe me, I can assure you that I understand you perfectly well. However you may want to listen to my concern first." He got up again and offered Ghirahim to sit down on his bed but the demon refused to move at all, so he sat down alone.

"I am the leader of this group of men who are called The Resistance by the citizens of these lands. We are rebels against this dastardly regime they have put upon us. You can call me dearly resentful but their policy demands the extinction of a race they do not understand and this is an act which I cannot accept. The easiest way to deal with one's fears is to erase the roots." He paused and looked Ghirahim directly in the eyes.

"They fear your magic, something that they do not possess."

Ghirahim shifted uncomfortably. Nothing he said was new to him, however, hearing it coming out of a human's mouth was surprising. "What is it that you want from me?"

Vyarad smiled. "I want to learn about your kind. I want to understand your magic."

"What for?"

"It might be a little too early to discuss these matters. I want you to recover first."

"You know I could kill you if I regained my strength?"

"You could but I know you won't."

Ghirahim huffed. "What makes you so sure?"

"I am not your enemy. And I might have something to offer you in return for your help."

"I might not want it."

"Take your time. I want you to take a rest until you have fully recovered from your wounds."

He stood up and took a few steps forward.

"You must be starving. I'd like to ask you to dine with me." He made an inviting gesture.

Ghirahim closed his eyes. He had been suffering from hunger for such a long time, that he was almost used to it.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't hungry," he admitted at last.

Vyarad's choice to welcome the demon in their tribe had not been received well by every man. Most of the members of the resistance treated him with indifference, some of them openly showed their mistrust but no one dared to pass criticism on their leader's decision. Ghirahim himself usually shunned them and lingered around his own tent, waiting for Vyarad to come back and talk to him. His attitude towards mankind hadn't changed but Vyarad was somehow different, as he seemed to hate the citizens of the surface as much as Ghirahim himself. The demon had been reserved and wary when the rebels had brought him here, but managed to open up a little more to their leader, the one, who had saved his life. It had pained him a lot to know that he owed him his life given the fact that he would rather have died than be indebted to a human.

Vyarad was a busy man. He usually would leave their camp in the late morning and only came back when the sun was about to set. Though he had been pretty indifferent to Vyarad's coming and going at the beginning, the demon soon realised that he was impatiently awaiting his return day by day. Vyarad often invited Ghirahim to dine with him in their tent and never addressed him in an unfriendly tone, even though he seemed to regularly treat his men coarsely. One thing that made Ghirahim become restless was the fact, that Vyarad still hadn't chosen to talk to him about the offer he had mentioned earlier.

It was a cold winter night when things were about to change. Ghirahim was already half-asleep in his tent when Ygdor, Vyarad's counsellor, put aside the flap and stepped inside.

"Vyarad wishes to see you in his tent," he answered the demon's unspoken question.

Ghirahim wondered why Vyarad wanted to see him at such a late hour, but he hurried to get to the warm and cosy tent.

Vyarad lifted his head when his guest had finally arrived.

"Ghirahim. Please come in." He smiled and invited him to sit at the table, which had been decorated with meat, vegetables, fruits and a bottle of red wine.

"I wish to discuss something with you. Please have a seat."

Ghirahim did as he was told. Vyarad poured some wine into a glass and handed him the precious red liquid, then took a sip from his own glass.

"You seem to have recovered fairly well," he commented, "I think it is time that we should consider my request. But please, eat first, I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long."

Ghirahim enjoyed the food while he listened to Vyarad's demand. After all he had learned about the warrior, he thought nothing could really surprise him anymore but what he asked of him right now was beyond his imagination. He stared at him with disbelief but Vyarad chuckled.

"Don't give me that look, Ghirahim. I know it might ring hollow in your ears, however I would like you to respond sincerely."

"It is possible but why would you like to become a demon? I thought that you would know better than to ask for such a thing."

Vyarad emptied his glass and put it back onto the table.

"I want to cleanse this world from the fools that rule these lands. But what could a human like me possibly achieve? I need power, Ghirahim."

"Becoming a demon is not an easy decision. You will have to sacrifice your human soul."

"As I thought. I have made my choice long before we even met."

"This was your plan? So that's the reason why you prevented my death." Ghirahim didn't know why, but it felt like betrayal.

"Yes and no. It is true that I need your help, but tell me, Ghirahim, isn't this in your interest as well? With your power and knowledge, we could become the true rulers."

Vyarad's words made sense but something about his plan seemed wrong.

"Think about it, I will not push you."

The leader's request was still buzzing in his head when the demon turned to leave the tent. Before he could disappear in the cold, Vyarad's presence behind him and the touch of his hand against his hipbone held him back.

"It is cold outside."

Ghirahim stiffened a little but said nothing.

"I would like you to keep me company this night." Vyarad's deep voice was husky and his breath felt warm against his pointed ear.

Ghirahim followed him to the huge bed even though he was well aware of Vyarad's intentions. The thought of experiencing something that was distinctively human and completely unknown to him pleased and thrilled him at the same time. Vyarad gently touched his pale face as he lay down next to him on a pile of soft fur and shifted closer. The dimmed light in the tent tinted his eyes with a darkness as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on the demon's lips.

Ghirahim didn't know why he welcomed Vyarad's advances so freely but the warmth those lips left behind left him craving for more. Vyarad's kisses and touches filled him with excitement, passion and a deep arousal and he gave himself to the handsome general.

If you haven't noticed yet, Vyarad is Demise's past self at the time he was still human (and good-looking! harhar...) *laughs* More to be revealed soon!