To those who haven't noticed, I've been updating this story two chapters at a time. So you might've missed some chapters if you just hop on and go straight to the latest chapter.
Peace ya'll.
In another time...
Meliodas dumped his unasked for reward onto his bed. The floor would have worked as well, but no need to hurt the thing more. After all, having her die on him or break further would take away valuable stimulation to his otherwise unchanging, damned life.
He scoured her figure, making a list in his mind of what would be needed to upkeep this 'pet.' He felt when she had lost consciousness, which made this easier. He'd have to bind those wings (what need of demons for a healer?), find some sort of pillow or something for her to sleep on, and that white sack of a dress did nothing to bring out her womanly features, which, after a few weeks solid meals, would be quite pleasing. Seriously, how those humans managed to thrive quibbling over food like that, he'd never know.
But that kept them where they wanted them.
Finalizing his list, he went to the bell string on the side of his room and pulled. A blood red stone came to life besides it.
"What can I do for you, your highness?"
"Some sweet, easy to eat food would be nice. I also got a girl up here who needs a bath and a fresh set of clothes. Food's for her." He had better things to do. Not to mention seeing emaciated, unconscious woman flesh didn't do it for him. "Oh, and does anyone down there know how to set broken bones?"
"I'm sure we can find someone who has done that in their previous estate," which is what demons often called the life they had before coming to this plane of existence.
"Send them up to."
That dealt with, he returned to the bed to observe her more, wondering if that was excitement he was beginning to feel. She was mortal, he could sense that much. But so different…and did she really have healing powers? Not that that would be much use to him. While not a god, his body was still tougher than the dust-made humans and immortal to the extent that whatever power gave him his body didn't personally destroy him. But with that durability came a halt to any growth. He would never grow old, or develop any differently. He'd never have children. He'd never rise to another plane of existence. After all, that was the definition of damnation: not hellfire and brimstone, but an endless stop to progression.
Which made life very boring.
Well, she'd give him, what, at least a year of entertainment? Hard to keep track of time once you've been pulled out of an existence dependent on it.
"Silver hair," he ran a hand into it as far as the tangles would allow him. "It actually looks like metal, but its hair, all right. Silver. Would make some seriously interesting jewelry." Which he'd be able to do just about nothing with. But, hey, it was a creative outlet. Entertainment.
Within moments the servants had arrived at the door, bringing in a large copper basin to sit before the fire, that instantly came to life the moment the bottom touched the floor. A demon waved a hand and water from nowhere began to fill the tub, steadily adding more steam to the air.
Meanwhile, Meliodas watched as a young male demon approached his toy and directed him towards her wings.
"Your highness, these are—"
"Yes, they're real. And they need to be bound."
"I…I've set legs and arms on the battlefield, but never wings."
"Should be the same principal. Long hard thing in flesh needs to be aligned and braced. If you don't feel up to the task, I'll do it, but I'd like to go back and finish my studies for the night." Another precious thing to a world of damnation: knowledge. The only way one could ever improve, even if they could never gain the power or skills to use said knowledge. Just knowing gave one a kind of progression, even if, due to their state, there were many things they may never truly understand.
"Yes, you're highness."
Leaving it to them, Meliodas returned to the study he had inhabited for the past, well, who knows how long..
The old tomes, books made from much more than paper, piled to the shadowed ceiling in the tower. He looked to the fireplace, which lit up once more in an attempt to ward off the ever-present chill, and slid into the plush chair behind his desk. The last book he had been reading had been left untouched. Not even dust graced its covers.
Unchanging. He glanced over his notes, recollecting his previous thoughts.
But suddenly star schematics sounded as dull as basic addition.
He closed the book, already knowing what he wanted.
Spreading his wings, he took flight the top of the tower where books that were neither young nor old sat. Just already well known. Records of a past they'd all prefer to forget. Stories of the premortal life, back when the gods still created on this side of existence.
He slid out a thin, white tome. The material of the books escaped him, but it also held a metallic gleam like the girl's hair.
After picking out two more of the abandoned, light-colored books, he sank back down to the bottom of the cavernous tower. There, he pushed aside the mechanics and biology of stars and opened up the white book.
Though he knew the words, he had never actually read them, just as most of the demons down here didn't. It was just an unsavory reminder.
…In the beginning of this world, Eternity called for matter unorganized to be gathered. In a pass of the stars, He ordered Earth and Water to be separated and gathered, like unto previous worlds. Continents, bare and rocky, rose, and the water became a mask like ocean to adorn her head. The face of this Earth came into being, young, untouched, unbeautified and raw…
He tapped the edge of the page impatiently. He knew this already. God of Gods organized the making of worlds, whoopty, where came the part about those beings who found and organized the actual elements though? Those other lesser gods frequently thought of, but never to be actively worshipped? Demons weren't the only jealous gods, after all, or perhaps the creator, Eternity, thought it too distracting for the finite minds of the humans that would come to rule this planet.
As he expected, little was said about them. They merely carried out the orders and reported back to the boss, who would then review what they did and pass it off. For the first time, though, it did occur to Meliodas as strange that the Creator never sent back his worker bees to fix anything. Everything came out perfect the first time they tried. Was this a god thing or did Eternity/Creator specifically choose more capable gods for this world?
But, then, it made the abandonment of this planet all the more pathetic. Humans really were the spoiled flower child of the universe.
He moved to the next books which held detailed descriptions on the different variations of divine bodies. From the Celestial, which were the gods themselves with that diamond and lightning like visage, to those more like Meliodas himself, who varied in power just like the stars varied in light, never to be anything more. The mortals were kept as a disclaimer in the prologue, sort of as a piece of background knowledge. Mortality was just a state, after all, the most temporary and short of them all.
So she has some light, he thought, scanning the pages for signs of the symbol he had seen in her eye, but finding none. But she's definitely mortal. A mortal with light? And those wings…
Wings were more symbolic than anything else. It was not a requirement of divine beings. Though the fact she had them did mean something, even if he couldn't put his finger on it.
Mortals weren't supposed to have inherit light. They gained it as they transitioned and their bodies changed—if their bodies changed up, that is, rather than just back to the dust it came from. So did that mean she was partially dead? Partially transfigured? Not entirely mortal?
By the time he got around to the third book to find the symbol, some considerable time must have passed, for the young looking war veteran knocked on his doors.
"She's finished," he murmured, his head bowed. "Will you be requiring anything?"
Meliodas flipped his hand and the servant left with a nod.
The thought did cross his mind to eat something. But, technically, he didn't have to eat. There was no purpose. He never changed. Eating just reminded one of living anyways, or was used in custom or ceremonies for comfort.
He did yawn, however. Strange that he still got tired despite being unchanged. Though his father mused it was more a state of the spirit than the actual body.
"Oops, forgot to order a bed," he said aloud, just to shrug it off and head out with his hands folded behind his head.
Oh well. Didn't make any difference.