"You want me to fight an Ancient, to defend your species?" Phil spoke the sentence as though he didn't understand its meaning, even though it sounded pretty cut and dry.
The demon messenger nodded nervously, hunched on his knees, black eyes flicking up to eye Phil's wings every few minutes. The adolescent appeared anxious and frightened, but was doing a rather good job of hiding of it.
"What's in it for me?"
The demon swallowed hard. "A favor, owed to you by the Demon Mother herself."
Phil ticked up an eyebrow. That was a pretty hefty reward.
"The favor can be anything?"
"Yes, Angel. Anything you desire."
Phil smiled.
Well, that made a few certain things a whole lot easier.
…
Phil did what he was requested, and went to war with the Ancient that had deemed it necessary to wipe out the demon population altogether. He hid his wife and children away, trusting his wife and her powerful magic to protect his brood.
It was a hard battle, and just barely won at the cost of thousands, but won nonetheless.
He was the Angel of Death, after all.
And now—Phil wanted what was his.
…
"I've come to collect."
Phil said the words with no fluctuations. No emotion slipped through, nothing got past his blank façade.
The Queen Mother of the Demons sneered in his face, eyes bloody red and teeth gleaming.
"You dare—"
"I saved your life, your castle, your entire species," Phil interrupted, head held high with perfect confidence. "You owe me."
The Demoness snarled, and a shiver ran up Phil's spine, but he doesn't let it show. There's nothing she could do—she owed him a debt, the lives of all her own, her own life, and by the laws of the Ancients, she had to give him what he desired.
"What do you want?"
Phil couldn't help but have a self-satisfied smile. "I want a child."
The Mother blinked her soulless eyes, Phil just catching a hint of fury bubbling up. "You want one of mine-?"
"You cannot deny me," Phil said quietly.
The Demoness waited another second before howling her rage to the heavens. Phil waited patiently as she vented her frustration on the forest surrounding them. Her magic flooded the clearing, so thick and ferocious Phil could taste it on his lips.
When she finally took the edge off her anger, and terrified every woodland creature for miles, she opened a portal with the snap of her claw-like fingers.
"Follow me."
Her tone was petulant, like a child that didn't get its way.
Phil didn't care.
He'd had plenty of practice dealing with petulant children.
…
"These are our finest," the Demon Mother said carelessly, seated on her throne made of human bones. Phil gave a cursory glance at the sockets that had been filled with melted gold, hiding his disgust.
"I do not care for your finest," he said coolly, eyes just barely skimming over the warriors and demon lords the Mother had pranced out before him.
Most men would have felt fear at the sight of the Demon Mother seething in her own throne room—in fact, several of her children and guards darted out of her sightline—Phil just felt annoyed.
This was taking too much time.
He wanted a hug from his children and a kiss from his wife.
"What else—tickles your fancy?" the Demon Mother was struggling to hold together her façade of calm dignity, but she was swiftly losing it.
"I want a child, a little one," Phil said. "I seek a son. Not a guard."
The Demon stared, then her head tipped back and she roared her laughter. Peals of hurled guffaws and coughed out laughter hit the walls, echoing in the hall. Her court joined in, and Phil waited patiently as they mocked him to scorn.
When she caught her breath several minutes later, and wiped a tear from her eye, she coughed out, "You wish to make a son of one of mine?"
"He will not be yours for much longer," Phil said.
The Demon choked on a few more bubbled laughs before waving her hand to the servants. "And what age range are we looking at?" she scoffed.
"The youngest you have."
The Demon, still snorting, nodded to her servants.
Phil rocked back and forth on his heels, thinking.
When the children were brought out, he smiled encouragingly. There were about thirty of them, looking about to be eight to twelve in human years.
The poor things looked terrified.
"These are the youngest we can offer," the Mother said. "The rest still require my presence, my magic. They are not quite weened off my power."
Phil nodded understandingly and walked toward the children with an easy pace.
They were quite a curious-looking group—one had skin blacker than pitch but hair as white as snow, one had horns but no teeth yet, one had talons to the floor and eyes that glowed inky dark. One was Phil's height, but another only came to his knee.
One boy in particular drew Phil's attention.
He looked to be Sapnap's age and George's height, was very slight and bony, and had skin as pale as the finest paper. He was hiding behind one of his friends, and Phil gently shooed them out of the way so he could kneel to eye-level with the child. The boy had huge eyes, so full of innocence and purity despite the inherent evilness of his species. Soft brown locks framed a delicate, narrow face. If Phil didn't know any better, he would have believed he was looking at a human child.
"Hello, mate," he said in his best, I'm-not-a-threat voice. "Would you like to come home with me?"
To his surprise, the boy smiled shyly before looking at his feet and twisting the fabric of his dark robe.
"A halfling?!"
Phil looked up at the Demon Mother's flabbergasted shriek.
"You have the choice of the greatest warriors our race has ever seen, and you chose a half-breed mongrel that was dropped on our doorstep like a mutt?!"
Phil endured her laughter, noting how the child curled in on himself as his fellow nestmates joined in, for a final time.
While her guffaws rang throughout the cavern, echoed by her subjects, he gently held out his arms toward the demon boy.
"Come on, mate," Phil said oh-so-softly.
The boy took one hesitant step, and Phil felt a baby magic poke at his own. He let his walls fall and the child's magic surged inward, searching. It was much like a panther kitten toddling around, all murder mittens and fluffy puffs, dangerous in its own right but still rather adorable and cute.
When it found nothing to be afraid of, found nothing but honesty and sincerity and safety, the boy darted forward, thin arms wrapping tightly around Phil's neck.
Phil scooped him up, squeezing him in a secure embrace. He felt the small boy's heat fluttering like a butterfly in a cage, his little breaths puffing in and out in a rapid pattern against Phil's neck. Phil crooned a gentle melody, rubbing the boy's back before turning to face the horde.
With one hand, he undid the clasp of his cloak and let the fabric fall. His wings cracked open with a loud and dramatic flair. The demon jumped, and clung tighter to Phil.
"I thank you for your time," Phil said politely. "Our deal is complete."
The Demon Mother waved her hand dismissively. "He is worthless to me, and our species. No loss. I'm surprised, Angel. You seemed smarter than this."
Phil smiled knowingly, gently holding his new treasure. "We shall see, Your Highness. In the end, we shall see."
The Mother pursed her lips. "As you wish. You may leave. Our debt is repaid. Do not return here, or there will be bloodshed."
"We both know none of which would be mine." Phil couldn't resist the last jab, and he ignored her seething glare as he flapped his wings powerfully, carrying him and his precious cargo away.
…
"What're you going to do with me?"
Phil startled at the little voice.
He looked up from the saddle bag, making sure he still had his return tickets that would take him and the demon child most of the way home on the train.
"Take you home," Phil shrugged, trying not to let it show that he was bothered by such a question, the first words the boy had spoken. "You don't want to stay out here, do you?"
The boy shook his head.
"You'll like home," Phil said, getting up to tend to the fire. "It's open, and full of fresh air. Not that dark little cave you were in."
The boy's eyes widened almost comically, looking for all the world the embodiment of pure innocence.
"Think you'll like that?" Phil said, pulling out the blanket—a fuzzy one, covered in cartoon muffins, and extra big—he had bought just for the boy. "No more dirty little caverns and muddy ravines?"
The boy took the blanket and his eyes got even wider as he ran his hands through the softness.
"A hot bath and cooked food, how bout your own bed?" Phil said, ruffling the boy's hair before laying out the new bedroll. He picked the kid up under the arms and plopped him on the bedroll, helping take the boy's shoes off as the child seemed too busy trying to bury himself in the fabric.
"What's a bed?"
Phil blinked.
"Oh mate," he said, bopping the kid on the nose. "You're in for a surprise."
The kid scrunched up his nose, and yawned. Phil sat next to him, back up against a tree, and the kid only hesitated a moment before curling up next Phil's leg. Almost subconsciously, Phil began to card his hand through the child's hair, like he always did with his other kids.
He felt the boy stiffen for only a second, and he almost took his hand away, but the boy relaxed and snuggled into his blanket.
They stayed that way for a while in comfortable silence, listening to the insects' ruckus and watching the night fall.
"What's your name?" Phil finally asked. he
The boy tensed, and Phil wondered if he had touched on a sensitive topic. He knew it was tradition for demons to earn their name, and often children didn't have one yet.
"I named myself," the boy said, yawning. "They all made fun of me."
"I won't make fun of you," Phil said, thinking back to his other children. Namely, Technoblade, Dream, and Sapnap.
"Promise?" the boy's head tilted up to look at Phil. In that moment, Phil felt his heart melt. In an instant, the war had been worth it. The sleepless nights, the pains in his back and knees, the worry for his family—it was all worth it.
"I promise, mate," he said, smiling gently.
The boy bit his lip, as if considering. "Badboyhalo," he said, almost so quietly Phil almost missed it. "But you could call me Bad."
Phil considered it for a moment, and decided he had heard worse.
A lot worse, actually.
And honestly, the name kinda fit the kid.
"I think it's a perfectly good name," Phil said as Bad took another yawn.
"Okay," Bad said, curling up a bit. "I like it."
"I like it too," Phil said, leaning his head back across his tree.
It was only another few minutes before the half-demon's breaths evened out as he fell asleep.
Phil smiled, letting himself relax. The weight on his bones was no lighter, and his heart still ached. But he would let himself have a moment to rest.
…
"You chose wisely."
Phil didn't react to the voice, though he was mildly surprised. Any thought of sleep fled his mind. The crickets chirping in the background faded, and even the fire settled its crackling.
"How did you know?" the voice continued, a thick fog moving into the small clearing, smelling of brimstone and bitter, burning plants.
Discretely, Phil pulled the blanket tighter around Bad, hand moving to card through the boy's hair as the child stirred at the noise.
The young one did not need to be awake for this.
"I have my ways, Magic."
The Ancient of Old Magic stepped into the clearing. He was tall, taller than Wilbur, but heavily built from rich food and fine wines. Thick robes of luxurious silks draped over his generous body, and Phil could smell the rancid alcohol from where he sat.
"Why are you here?" Phil asked, one hand not-so-subtly on his sword and the other resting on Bad's shoulder.
"You took a child of mine," Magic shrugged. "I wish to know why."
"I took nothing. I earned this child."
"You knew what you were doing."
"If you treasured your young so much, you should've done a better job hiding them."
Bad stirred, feeling the presence of the Ancient that ruled his kind. Phil shushed him, glaring at the Ancient.
Magic frowned at Phil's bold statement, and the avian felt the ripple in the air.
"Brave thing to say, with your own young so vulnerable—"
"My wife would destroy you without so much as a thought," Phil interrupted, without hesitation, heart fluttering in fear for the rest of his children.
Magic clasped his hands behind his back, looking thoughtful, though slightly perturbed at being interrupted. "Ah yes, the pretty creature you gave everything up for."
"You and the Council were never anything to me." Phil said quietly. "I had lost myself, everything I was. I found it in her."
Magic snorted. "You're a fool."
"Nonetheless, I hold all the cards."
"Pretentious of you to assume, when you hold the losing hand."
Phil just smiled. "I think that remains to be seen, old friend."
Magic sneered at the term. "You will see, Angel. You will see."
Phil tilted his head. "We all will."
Phil blinked, and Magic was gone, leaving behind the prickly smell of the Nether and fermented fruit.
Bad stirred and murmured, pulling closer to Phil at the disturbance.
Phil smiled, heart warm as the little boy snuggled his face into the blanket. "It's beginning, little one. Ready for war?"
