Author's Note: Yes, guest reviewer, I've been getting your calls to update Walk by Dragons on my website. But since you leave you reviews as a guest, I can't respond to your messages. I mean to get to it as soon as I can. At the moment I have to use every spare second I have working on a commission for a children's book. I didn't even really have time to update this chapter as my baby was fussing half the time I did it. But don't worry, I hear you. :) It comes soon.

Thank you for all your well wishes! I'm glad you like his name. I love Legend of Zelda.

Now to the story and to get to my baby. Enjoy! (p.s. I'm using what I researched of the black plague, and just because the demons are crude doesn't mean I'm not. I'm actually rather...prude? Is that the word?)

A plague had erupted across the humans. It didn't take much for him and his brother to recognize the bacteria had been passed along by rodents that had been encouraged by the filth the humans surrounded themselves with. They stayed around long enough, circling the globe and tuning into thoughts, to laugh at the discovery that many of the humans attempts to fight against the plague only exasperated it, like killing off the dogs and cats that would have killed the rats spreading the disease. Then there was lancing the swollen and infected limph nodes, which only spread the bacteria everywhere and brought in an infected wound that the body had to heal ontop of the disease. Oh, and so many others.

"I saw some humping the life out of each other to cure it," said Zeldris with a leering smile. "Oh, brother, I could already see them dying, it was hilarious."

"They're all going to die, and with no help from us," cackled Meliodas, because really, it was funny. "All the Creator had to do was leave them to it! Ha! Why are we even here!"

Their laughter died down at that. For a moment, drifting high above the earth on their ethereal wings, the two brothers simply stared down, their immortal eyes perceiving depths and dimensions to the world below that made the height between them and their human quarry meaningless. They could see the state of their spirits, their souls, and the thrumming power that varied in different degrees among each one. So many times they stood watch on that glow, cooing it along to a fathomless black as eternal as their punishment. It was the only source of reproduction they had—making other humans into the same kind of demon Meliodas and Zeldris had become.

"We've been away long enough," said Zeldris. "It's been, what, a century?"

Meliodas shrugged. "Only about three days our time, I reckon."

"That's being a little short, don't you think? Has to be about a week."

"Like I care," and really, he didn't. "Whatever. Sure. Let's go back."

Neither of them said 'back home.' Home implied everything they weren't.

The numb-ice of their home sliced back as Meliodas slipped past the membrane between worlds. His clawed, shadow-like feet turned back to something human as they slapped back to stone. He drug them on his way to the throne room.

"You got an idea for a report?" he asked.

Zeldris just shrugged, not bothering with an answer. It wasn't like it mattered.

The demon king seemed to think otherwise.

"You're certain of the numbers?" he asked, a vision of black intensity on the edge of his throne. His perfectly cut black hair and features made all his emotions appear sharp and vivid, even when the king felt nothing at all. It was part of being master of deception.

"Enough to know they're dying," Meliodas looked elsewhere, peeved. "I don't know why you're freaking out. There are other worlds—other mortals. More are born every second."

"The Creator is nothing if not prolific," said Zeldris softly.

The demon king's eyes narrowed on the younger of the two. A sour tension filled the air.

"And doesn't that mean we are even more so?" asked the king, equally as soft.

Zeldris said nothing. Nor did Meliodas. Both knew what was to follow.

Razor lined whips of fire appeared out of thin air, wrapping about the limbs, necks, and eyes of the two brothers. The teeth dug deep, and the smell of burnt flesh and blood stained the air. Pain beyond pain whited Meliodas's suddenly ruined vision, and his vocal chords tore with a familiar scream.

Then, as though nothing had happened, Meliodas and Zeldris were free and kneeling on the ground, heads bowed, the sound of the blood from their eyes the only sound in the room.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

No point. The wounds would be healed in a few days time. The pain wouldn't change anything. Punishment for what? He couldn't even remember anymore.

The king must have re-remembered this, as he gave a dissatisfied grunt.

"You're dismissed. Send in your brother should you see him."

Meliodas and Zeldris nodded, then turned on legs left with only a few strands left of their calves to limp them out. No mortal could have done it.

The red carpet showed no blood, Meliodas knew, even while his crushed eyeballs couldn't register a thing. The only reason Zeldris and him knew where to go were due to those other senses, and countless millennium wondering that same castle.

He listened to the scraping of his brother's boots until they came to the fork in the hall.

"Funny he should ask us to keep an eye out for Estrossa," said Zeldris, his voice hoarse.

"Should probably have dug one out with a fork first for us," said Meliodas, equally hoarse.

Then they parted.

By the time he reached his room, despite his immortal body's healing capabilities, the last strands of muscle on his right leg had already snapped.

A strangled cry came from within that made him flinch. He had almost forgotten about the girl.

"You're—blood—oh heaven's—"

Her hands appeared on his shoulders, then around as she moved to hold him up. Pointless.

"I'm fine," he croaked.

"I can see the bones in your legs—oh gods—"

Her arms twitched as though to recoil and he heard her gag, though she must have gotten a hand on herself.

Then, an experience unlike anything he'd ever known, and like nothing he could imagine, occurred. One which melted through to his very center.

The pain went away.

Ever since becoming a demon, pain had been a constant in his life till he begun to perceive it just like sight or smell, hot or cold, and neither pleasure nor discomfort came from it. It was like breathing, just a part of existence that he had long ago ceased to think of, thus yet more reason why the demon kings punishment on them was pointless to the extreme. One of the perks to eternal damnation was that one couldn't conceive of more punishment, already being punished to the utmost extent.

But, for the first time in forever, the pain went away, even as a familiar warm light returned to his eyes and he watched the torn flesh on his body melt back together—muscle like strands of thread, skin like clay.

Unable to stop himself, he begun to howl. Belly deep howls like his body were attempting to reject every bubble of air in his body. His perfect, sturdy knees buckled and the rest of him turned to rubber.

"Meliodas! Meliodas, what's wrong? What did I—did I—Meliodas! It's okay! Don't cry, don't cry, you're okay, I healed you! It's all gone, it's okay!"

He hardly heard her. He didn't even feel the gushing streams of tears coursing down his face and dampening the thick carpet on the floor. The howl ran out of air, but he couldn't breathe in. His body wouldn't take it, rejected the very idea of it, even, and he began to retch.

Even so, he didn't want it to change. He didn't want to move from this single point in time, where he hung from this mutated girls arms, surely dying.

Oh, god, such euphoric dying.

"Meliodas!"

Against his and the rest of his body's will, his lungs hiccupped, and a cup full of air slipped in, bringing along with it a smell. Her smell. Not of decay and mortal, but something heady, musty, floral, even, zinged with the savory-sweet taste of something close to skin and precious. His pleasure-buzzed arms snapped about her instantly, bringing her close to bury his face within her breasts, where he flipped to sucking in breaths of air like a starved man rather than rejecting them. Only then did he register that he was sobbing.

Through his closed eyelids, he saw her healing light die away.

And with it, all the relief—all the life. Pain sunk back in.

He choked and coughed on his protest, even as she held him just as tight and chanted useless platitudes—because of course it wasn't alright. Nothing would ever be alright. It only had been in that brief second of time when her light surrounded him.

Overwhelmed, both by the presence of salvation and the departure of it, for the first time since the beginning of his existence, Meliodas blacked out.