Tossing and turning was Belphegor's new hobby now. As much as he can, he'd tire himself out before deciding it was time to sleep just so he won't have to face the excruciating drama of Mammon's curse.

He was cursed, he knew it.

Why else would he feel a pang of guilt inside him? HE WAS BELPHEGOR. He didn't feel regret of any kind. But remembering their last mission always sent him in a dark place, always wondering, always self-loathing.

What if he never took her to that mission? Would it have changed a thing? What if Mammon failed to cast a miracle? What if he managed to save her? Would she have been grateful? Would he be relieved? What if that was it, she just bled to death? The greatest illusionist in the world would have died that night! He would have been responsible if Mammon completely left.

Belphegor rolled to the opposite side of his bed, his hands reaching for the pillow he had kicked out earlier. He wondered if it was that easy... pushing someone away and taking them back once you realize you need them. If only. If only.

The covers of the pillow were slashed and torn; some of the feathers already left scattered on the floor and on his mattress. He looked at it as if it was something grander—something that was Mammon.

When he was eight years old and had the blood of his entire family on his hands, he only had one regret—he didn't do it sooner. It felt right. He felt powerful. For once, he felt like the true heir to the throne, the sole crowned Prince, the rightful one. He had finally caved in to the voice inside his head that yearned for him to dirty his hands and take a life. A voice that wanted to cause pain. To hear pathetic screams for help and mercy. And to succumb to the madness that made the Belphegor that he is now.

But in that moment, he just wanted Mammon to come back to him.

The desperation he was feeling was worse than anything he had ever felt. There was no excitement in watching life leave Mammon and no hint of a laugh in his entire system. He was empty.

Why didn't he save her . . ?

There was something about the thought of completely losing Mammon that made him crazy. All he could do then was call out her name, wondering why she wouldn't say another word.

Scold me.

Shout.

Be angry,

Cry.

Anything!

When all his efforts for her to respond failed, he reached for the one memory he never had with her. It was a brief touch of the lips; he remembered because he jerked back just as soon as his lips met hers. He remembered because short as it was, he realized how soft lips can be, like petals but so much more than just that. If he allowed himself, he would have wanted nothing more than to stay in that one moment . But he couldn't succumb to his desires. He had tasted the bitter iron in her mouth; the blood she had coughed up earlier tainted his cheek and lips. Then it was clear to him:

Belphegor took lives; he wasn't meant to save any. He wasn't the Prince Charming to anyone's tale; he was the Big Bad Wolf.

He was Varia's storm.

"What's the difference anyway?" He'd eventually ask himself, feeling worse than ever right after. There was just too much to think about when it came to the former mist baby and all the Prince wanted to do was forget about it all. Each time he tried, he'd be caught up in a train of thought that led to nowhere. It's all in the past, he'd reason. No need to be frustrated about something you can't change. You can't do anything.

When it wasn't the death that troubled him, it was Mammon's simple existence that sent him wide awake at night. When he looks at her, he wants to stop all together. Just stand there and take her presence in. She's far from the infant he was so used to being around with. He pulled her cheeks once and it didn't stretch as far as it did before. When he held her, he felt the coldness of her skin and the heat that lingered in his body right after.

It wasn't as if this was the first he's seen him out of an infant's form. Many times in the past, she'd take on a different persona. And as her partner, he's familiar with all of her favorites.

Often times, she was male. A tall, buff man with a big nose and kind eyes. He was the right hand lackey, she had explained before. Just strong enough to rely on but soft enough to trust. Then the midget and pathetic excuse of a merchant, with an accent Belphegor couldn't quite determine. She'd negotiate with ease in the black market, his hideous appearance apparently the "face" of a good dealer. Considering all she sold for the most part were body parts, Belphegor could immediately see why. There was even a child, too. A child not older than 10. "You'll be surprised at the knowledge street children can bring to the table, Bel." She explained when she turned him to a younger child too.

There were women too. Busty babes that allured any henchmen and boss in the vicinity were her favorite. She would be carried away by the act; Bel thought she was just living a fantasy. But by the end of the day, she'd go on and on about the disgusting males she had to deal with and their lust to idiotic dolls. When she went to the bank, Mammon became this short lady that wore a black coat that almost covered her entire body, leaving just her feet and a few inches of her legs to be seen. She'd be wearing a beanie on the top of her head, her purple hair extended just below her chin. Belphegor thought she was pretty, then. Now that he thought about it, that same Mammon was the one in the Representatives battle. That one he remembered like his life depended on it.

He thought the arcobaleno Mammon was amazing. Awesome, even! All his years working with the illusionist, he'd never seen anything like what she was showcasing then. Mammon told them it was his one and only wish—the Varia's elite were surprisingly determined to grant it, even their Boss Xanxus.

Mammon still donned her signature cloak and black color-scheme and Belphegor thought it was interesting seeing that new, powerful form. The quiet and reserved Mammon was expressive for the duration of that entire Representatives battle and the Prince wondered where it all came from.

At the end of the day, Mammon would go back to being a tiny, cheeky baby. When he was stuck healing in bed, she was busy protecting them all, never sleeping, never resting. He noticed the stress in every move she made, often times confident she could keep them safe in the mean time, but wavering at the most random times. The baby Mammon was sitting on his bed that time and Belphegor knew one way to keep her focused again—he pinched her cheeks. As Mammon usually did, nothing but a groan escaped the infant before working again, calmer now at least.

When it was time for them to battle again, Mammon grew up once more to continue hiding them from the Vindice that threatened their lives. No once could detect where they were. Clearly, Mammon was stronger as Viper.

Belphegor assumed Viper was just another one of her illusions. Just like the pacifier she kept chained, her powers would be unleashed once she released the constraints that kept her from going all out. Viper shared the infant Mammon's resolve to live longer and did everything in her power to make sure that dream wouldn't be crushed and now Belphegor knew why—she wanted to be herself again.

Now, he realized, it was the first time any of them has actually seen Mammon for who she was.

The Mammon now was petite and slender. He wondered if it was possible to carry her around everywhere like he used to when she was still an infant. He carried her once, and she was light enough for him not feel anything at all. Maybe it was because of the blood loss. Or the numbness he felt at the sight of her pale, limp body. Or her blood on his hands. His clothes. His hair. His lips.

. . .

It was a cycle of the same old scenarios in his head and it was driving him crazy. Belphegor stared at the ceiling of his large bedroom, counting the knives that were stuck above him. He'd remember waking up from his nightmares and seeing their numbers grow. His first instinct was to attack anyone, anything— or the defenseless ceiling, in this case. There were too many to count now, and he was running out of knives. One of these days, he'd decide to put them down. And when he does, it would be the day he got over Mammon and her curse.

"Because I'm a Prince, that's why!" Belphegor had a wide grin on his face, his maniacal laugh just waiting to be called. It didn't take him long to pack up and plan for the mission he took from Captain Squalo's hands and here he was, being the reliable assassin that he is. He had everything he needed—his wires, his knives, food, a shit ton of cash, his box, his ring and finally, anyone. He was dragging Fran on the floor, ignoring his complaints and refusal to join him. "Shut up, insolent little brat."

"Did Master tell you to do this? I'll apologize for eating her breakfast now... let me go, Senpai." Fran was simply sitting on the floor, allowing himself to be dragged but nonetheless continued to complain. "And you should be taking Master to missions, not me."

Belphegor ignored him and continued to drag him out. Fran's constant "Master" was pissing him off, and they haven't even left Varia territory yet! This was turning into a terrible idea, and if it wasn't for the letter he received from Mammon, he wouldn't have pushed through with it.

Fran was her replacement partner, right? Well then. It was time to give it a go.

"You will refrain from talking about your master if you know what's good for you, apple head. The Prince will see to your grave if you continue blabbering about that master of yours."

"Oh... alright." Fran was silent for a few moments and Belphegor was already celebrating. That's it. Acknowledge my superiority! The Prince always gets what he—

"Master. Master. MASTER." Fran blurted out, each word louder than the next. When Belphegor turned around to hit him on the head, all was left was an empty gigantic apple hat.

"The hell?"

Belphegor threw the hat away. It wasn't heavy enough to break the window when he threw it towards it direction, so he sent a knife flying to smash the glass, his grin now completely gone. He continued heading out, not even interested in exerting effort to find the childish illusionist. "I don't need anyone's help anyway." He muttered under his breath, the same knife he had used for the first window now being thrown around to every other window he saw on the way. The knife kept coming back, a wire he had attached to it made sure it always came back in his hands. Trusty little knife, he mused.

"But Master, I didn't run away from you!" Fran was floating in the air upside-down, his face already turning to a mix shade of blue and purple. "Oh, good timing Ugly Mean Prince. Tell Master you kidnapped me. I'm going to—"

Fran hurl chunks of yellow and pink, milk accompanying them. He was being bounced around as he did, his stomach forcefully being emptied.

There standing on Belphegor's way out of Varia's mansion was the illusionist he had so often thought about, it was if she never left his side. Of course, it would have been stupid of him to succumb to that happy fantasy.

Her back was facing him; both her hands were raised, controlling the force that kept Fran up in the air. She was smirking; Belphegor didn't need to look at her to know. He was the frequent victim to her sadistic illusions once upon time; the amusement in her eyes and smirk already implanted in his brain.

Belphegor wanted to reach out, hold her by the chin to make her at look him and not the stupid kid dangling and vomiting pathetically. "Do you seriously believe he can replace me, infant?" is what he would have said if he hadn't remembered that she hated him. Hearing her reply to his question would be worse than Fran's predicament.

"You're in the way, Viper." He leaned forward and whispered just behind her ears. She still smelled like flowers, he noted. Maybe it was because she spent so much time in Varia's large garden? Did he use to smell like that too?

He noticed her mouth was left open, words failing to escape her. Again, Belphegor's sense of victory was cut short when Mammon did eventually speak.

"Come, Fran. You still lack discipline." Fran, who was already purple and blue all over, fell flat on the ground. Still, he managed to get up on his feet, groggy as he may be, and follow the former mist arcobaleno as she disappeared in sight.

Teleportation. Belphegor forgot she could do that, but he didn't think the idiotic apple kid could follow so quickly. He was always envious of illusionists. They could deceive and trick anyone so long as they have the skill. Him? All he can do is kill.

Belphegor dragged himself out the doors, not at all caring if he was going to do his mission alone. He expected it, strangely enough.

There he goes, being the idiotic Prince that he is. Viper almost slipped from reality when he whispered in her ears, his voice making her weak in an instant.

But she held on. She held on to the strength that she forced herself to have when she began admitting to herself Belphegor had no intention of answering her letter.

And right then and there, when the Prince kidnapped Fran from her to take him on a mission, Viper already knew it was time to accept the truth.

It took him some time to take them all out, but as soon as he came back, Belphegor took it upon himself to do it. He's already exhausted his brain with thoughts of Mammon, trying to be logical but failing to be anything but irrational.

It felt like forever when he finally decided it was time for him to man up. He walked out of his room, full of resolve, another mission already coming his way.

And there, just above Belphegor's bed, the ceiling remained empty.

Word Count: 2,535

Notes:

I'm updating more this month than I did in an entire year oh my god. (I think this is the first time I updated in daylight? Woaah)

Belphegor was pestering me with his woes in the office and I just... had to immediately write it down. Aaah. The Prince is finally connecting with me.

Reread the Representatives battle too! And! Yeah! Bel was pretty chill when Mammon released her curse briefly. Still calling her baby, though. So cute (heartheart)

Thoughts?

Extra:

I've been listening to Mayday Parade's "Stay" for WIMY feels.

Here's a bunch of the lyrics I like the most

All the love's still there

I just don't know what to do with it now

. . .

Just say you love me and I'll say,

"I'm sorry.

I don't want anybody else to feel this way."

. . .

Please.

Stay.

If you like this story, reviews are very much appreciated. They urge me to write more and updates faster u

It'd be really cool if you follow the story if you're curious to know what happens to these two, and a few words as a review would be rad.

Oh and since I normally write stuff from Midnight to around 6am, typos and stupidity is inevitable. Feel free to point them out!

Thanks for reading!