Chapter 40, The Sea and the Flame.
Warning: Language, Triggers

Her skin was boiling.

The world seemed so far away as she waded in the black. A flapping rang deep into her ear drums, pounding them to a pulp. It sounded like wings. She blinked again, the world spinning, rocking up and down, left and right—the white figure caught her eye, so bright and ethereal. She tried to focus on it while everything moved around as if she were on an amusement park ride. Her chest scratched, and she let out a cough. The white wings flapped in the wind behind the figure.

God, let it be an angel.

It shrank to the ground, looming over where she lay.

Heavy lids blinked once more, and her head rolled about her shoulders, away from the blur. Her body felt loose and limp, abandoned. She couldn't feel anything except hot, like maybe she wasn't really in the vessel.

Maybe this is death?

Bright red and orange flickered along the ground, which moved like a mirage in the desert. The ringing in her ears began to give way, replaced by the sounds of fire crackling violently as it ate away at any vegetation it could reach. For what seemed like years, she watched the little flames dance, upside down, like miniature demons tasting Assiah for the very first time. It didn't seem real until the quicksand ground began to solidify itself, the world slowing to a rhythmic bob like a raft on the waves, and she could make out the faces of the little demons, orange and yellow as they hopped and skipped towards the sky.

Which was—down?

Her skin tingled, investigating the ground beneath her back, warm like a lovers embrace.

Shifting, her orbs revolved in her skull as her head tried to make sense of the new direction, and the blurry angel in front of it once more. With each blink, it became more and more clear. Long, white arms stretched out to her, purple hands coiling around her. Then she was off the ground.

Pressure.

Looking down, her feet kicked out loosely through the night air.

More pressure. Her lids closed in a tight wince.

The warm ground met her feet, and she could feel it radiating up into her heels. Her senses began sparking, reconnecting after the loss of oxygen, and suddenly, as she stood looking at the pairs of boots, water dripping onto the ground, turning the dirt to mud, her vision was crystal. And then, she sensed something, something in the air that wasn't right. That intense energy she had felt—the anger, the anguish—was right by her, consuming everything around it in its flare, overpowering everything in existence until it was just she, the sound of the river lapping against the shore, and the flames.

And she could sense the eyes. The ones she had always known. The ones that looked over her, and watched her sleep, that brought her in and undressed her, peeling the flesh from her bones until she was nothing but a soul. A lost, blue soul.

The red and yellow fire seemed to grow dim as the eyes and the fires grew before her, the world going dark and still. Slowly, her pupils moved up the white, laced with soot and scorch marks. The sleeves were soaked, dripping, spilling. She could almost feel the pulse in his neck and the tautness of his jaw as he ground his teeth together.

Did his ears seem longer than normal?

She swallowed hard as her eyes moved up his face. Something in her was conflicted, still expecting the man she had grown so close to in the last few days, allowing him to reach her sandy shores as she opened herself up to him and all that he was; but a part of her didn't know what to expect. Although she had borne herself to him completely, there was still such an air of doubt that clouded around him, and the awful energy that emanated from his body was overwhelming. She looked into the eyes she had known her entire life, and shattered to find that they were no longer there. They were no longer the quiet emerald glint she was so accustomed to. No; they were something of horror stories, burning with a rage so intense it charred her bones.

"Mephisto..?" She cracked, the name bruising her lips on its way out. Although they had agreed she would continue to use the name, something in her sinking belly couldn't help but to feel as though it didn't suit the man before her in that moment.

His eyes flickered, lips parting – but instead of forming words, a low snarl escaped them as they twisted and curled, exposing his sharp fangs.

Before she could react, before she could reach out to the body, before she could see if the being she cared for was still there, a cloud of smoke surrounded them, filling her. She coughed wildly as it dispersed; Mephisto seemed unaffected, and never broke his glowering stare. She could see the rainbow of colors, the posters and pink around them as the grey faded. The fingers tightened around her arms once again, and she gasped as he flipped her around, slamming her back into him where he wrapped around her like a boa, constricting her movements while a hand snaked up her neck, grasping onto each side of her face. He squeezed her tightly as he moved in close to her ear, his sharp nails jabbing into her cheeks through the gloves.

"Tell me - what is this?" He queried through gritted fangs, his rickety breath grazing her skin as he forced her to face the sight in question. Her heart thumped as she looked over the broken glass scattered about the room. The heavy curtains flapped lethargically as the night breeze rolled in through the permanently opened door. Words began flooding her mind, looking for the right things to say to explain herself, or even just to state the obvious; but before she could muster up a sentence, the demon that held her continued on, sharper and colder. "Do you see what you have done?"

The girl wrapped her fingers around the stony wrist by her face. "I'm sorry…I—"

"You're what?" He jabbed, tilting his pointed ear towards her. "Did I hear that right? You say you're sorry?"

His grip intensified, parting her jaws, cocking her head, and the arm below her breast felt like a concrete cast keeping her breath short and shallow. "Y-yesth," she managed to sputter out.

There was a pause. He turned his face back to her, running up her neck, where he waited at her ear, his lips brushing against her. "I think it's a little late for such things. Don't you think, girl?"

His words hit her like a wrecking ball; never had he referred to her so callously. She felt a petal of her bud fall to the floor as his spite rose in her, pooling in her vision. She swallowed hard, concentrating. "I had to do something."

The grip on her face released, and she was then spun back around to face him in all the contempt that he held, flashing in his eyes. "What you had to do was sit here, with your hag of a mother and my useless brother—anything but leave like I had ordered."

Tch.

She went to take a step back, but his grip on her arm tightened. Really, it had been more of a suggestion—if anything, he had just asked. It wasn't technically an order, she grumbled to herself, scowling up at the demon who glowered down at her with more ferocity than she could ever muster. His eyes sparked wildly at her rebellious expression, and she pursed her lips. Better not, she thought quickly, and her mind quickly replayed the blurry scenes from just moments before, searching. "What did you do with Fenrir?"

"I locked him away in Gehenna," his mouth braced harshly with a snarl, his energy spiking as he watched the protest build in his human. Grabbing onto her wrist, he dragged her towards the bedroom door in a whirl. She tried to pull back, leaning the entirety of her body in the opposite direction, but it was useless against his strength. "If that upsets you, do you know what I should have done with him instead?"

Her watery eyes shook with her head.

He watched her over his shoulder, in an unmistakable dark expression. "I should have his bloody head mounted on my wall," he growled as he yanked, pulling her to the hall, where they could see the living room from the foyer balcony. He pulled her against him, pointing to the fireplace. "I should have him mounted right there!"

The girl's eyes darted from the hearth, to the demon that held her tight within his grasp, digging into her with his claws. The cruelty began pouring down, like raindrops on a cold fall day, wetting the round cheeks of her face as she let out a wail. And she pulled back, fighting with all her might, thrashing and punching and kicking and screaming. "You wouldn't!" Each blow felt like her bones would break, and he stood like a statue, taking it in as if she were a fly. As she began to tire and slow, he jerked back on her arm swiftly, and the sound of her shoulder popping echoed through the mansion. She immediately stopped, as if someone had just slapped her across the face, and she rushed towards the demon in white and crashed back into his body.

"If the little bastard leads you into a dangerous situation again, I will kill him," he promised, tugging her along as he flew down the stairs, not caring whether she was able to keep up with him or not. She fumbled along behind him, still star struck, trying to regain her footing—her toe caught the edge of a step and she lurched forward, only to be held up above the ground by the demon out of nothing that would ever be considered kindness. Had she have fallen to the ground, limp as a cadaver, she would have been much easier to deal with. As they neared the bottom of the flight, he turned down the hallway. "But because I care for you so much, I won't do that just yet," he spat, yet she was unable to see just how his face coiled.

If that had been his way of trying to console her, it didn't work. He was coarse and jagged and brutal in not only his actions and his handling of her body, but of her soul. The soul she had offered to him after so much deliberation. After so many of his promises, holding her in his arms, saying how he would never do anything to upset her, to hurt her in any way. His words pierced through her more than his own claws had, and the blood on her body was nothing compared to how she bled, unknowingly, running her rivers red. All her yelps didn't seem to faze him in the slightest. He didn't slow his stride, he didn't lower his voice, and he didn't loosen his grip as he raged down the halls, where picture frames rocketed off the walls, crashing to the floor as fires were set to the curtains that shielded cracked glass, exposing their vulnerability. If anything, her pain and suffering fueled his fire even more as the demon within him grew hungry.

His words were a viper masquerading in a wig with a curl, feeding her lies in the form of tenderness, telling her to eat the apple because he cared. Her mouth watered, longing to believe that a bite would fill her, but she realized the gleam on the red skin; fake, and flawed, black underneath. His attempt at comforting was a threat, and had she have been naïve enough to chew and swallow it, believing it to be true, she would have fallen for the trick of this Demon King. He hid his cruelty in his stark compassion, tucking her neatly to bed as she tired, whispering the true make up of that apple; if something like this were to happen again, his actions would be her own fault. She would deserve it.

The door to a room she was unfamiliar with flew open as he made his way down the hall, through the flames and the broken porcelain and art, his blaring human bobbing at his heels, unable to stay up from the pace he kept. The room was dark and lifeless, like an abandoned door to Gehenna as it echoed and groaned.

"Why—"

The white hat flew from his head as he ferociously turned back to face the human. "Clearly, I cannot trust you won't try escaping!"

Her gut churned, her heart pounded. "I-I won't! I promise!" She begged and pleaded, thrashing her waves wildly against him, but to no avail. Once they were close enough, the demon flung her inside as if she were but a doll, and she skidded across the cold, smooth floor like a stone skipping on water. Her skin burned everywhere the floor touched, rubbing her raw, but in the dim light she was unable to see herself. The room had a feeling that crawled under her flesh as if it had been empty for centuries, besides the normal upkeep. It lacked the smell of the living, and instead had the aroma of old paint, dust, and linens; the scent of desertion. Her arm pounded red hot to the touch as she enfolded her hand around it. "What is this?"

Mephisto stood in the doorway, looming over her hunched figure, a mere silhouette. "One of the spare bedrooms." His voice was low and hard.

Blinking through the pain, she tried looking around, to adjust to the darkness he had tossed her in, but there was nothing. No window to send the moon in, to fight off the black with its meek silver light. The only thing she could make out was the light of the fire, behind the man she began to see, for the first time, as a devil. "And why am I here?" She choked.

"You'll stay here until I feel you can come out."

She couldn't reply. She just sat, clutching her arm as it throbbed, spreading across her body, everywhere that didn't receive a rash, or a scrape, or cut, or bruise. Her whole body hurt. Her whole body burned. And she swallowed, trying to keep her dam from bursting at the seams. "Must you be so cruel?" She managed to whisper.

And like a meteor, crashing down to earth, the demon ignited, sending a fist through the wall before rushing towards her. "What's cruel is what you have forced me to do!" He roared through a mouthful of sharp teeth. Her heart beat with enough force to knock a grown man off of his feet; but the flames flickered across the walls, sending demons out to play, finally showing her the black room. And the girl looked into the eyes of the demon, taking him in for who he was, red and boiling, wondering how this could have been the same creature who had treated her so tenderly before.

Gradually, her eyes fell down toward the ground, only to be stopped by something ghastly – her sweltering skin was beginning to raise in bumps and boils, like a pot of water simmering above the flame. She gasped at the sight, raising her arm out. "W-what is this?!"

"It's from the Impure King - do you not realize you could have died?" The demon strained, flames bursting as he growled.

"How do w-we get rid of it?!"

The demon snapped his jaws. "I could have chosen to fix it, but seeing as how you disobeyed me when I said you could not partake of this mission—"

She scowled, quickly speaking before thinking. "You said it was because I didn't have my temptaint. And now I do." Immediately, she regretted opening her mouth; but it was difficult to contain the ocean in a storm.

Bursting once more with a roar, he surged into the room after her. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she tumbled backwards to keep the distance between their bodies. But she was not as agile as he, nor as quick; he wasn't weak or in pain, and he easily snatched her boot before she could rise to her feet. The human let out a terrified yelp as she slid backwards on her belly, and a hand with long claws tearing through the lavender grasped onto the back of her sweater, pulling her up. She kicked and flailed, threatening to bite down on the fiery claws that seized her collar, toasting the fabric brown and black. She only stopped when he brought her to his face, dark and ominous, completely vacant of the man she knew. "Don't make me regret giving you that, girl."

The temperature rose, causing her to break a sweat. But never had she felt so hollow. How could he be so cold?

Water began pouring from her bloodshot eyes, cascading down her as she wailed and fought, which only confused and angered the demon. He scanned over her blubbering face, wet and shiny from every orifice. Growling, he quaked, shaking her as his claws tore at the fabric in his grasp. Her hands came up, passing through his flame. "Stop it!" She cried, her eyes quivering. "You're scaring me!"

"You should be scared of me!" He boasted, igniting the room. "You should have listened to those old books of yours; I'm a demon," he sneered with a mouth full of daggers.

He watched the emotion leave her face in that instant, as the sores grew and new ones formed. Gently, her hands wrapped around his own. "Don't you care at all, Samael?"

He froze, the flourish of fire in the room resting. What sort of game..? He took a step back, dropping her to the ground as his fire wavered low. "If I didn't care, I would have let you die in that river," he finally said, his voice subdued. The girl looked off to the side, furrowing her brow. "Still, you disobeyed me; you'll stay here for the remainder of the night—that's an order," he said in an uncomplicated tone, finally without anger or disdain as he moved back towards the doorway.

Without even looking at him, she raised her arm up, showing him the swellings once more, just in case he had forgotten. "And what about these?"

There was a pause, the fury and flames only sparking up into the night as they clung for life. "Perhaps you should have thought about that before you ran off," he spoke distantly. But almost instantaneously, a small brown bag popped up next to him in a light puff of smoke, sparks of charred glitters falling to the ground. The demon tossed it to her before moving for the handle. "Sit here and think about what you did."

The door clicked as it locked, leaving the girl in the darkness once more. Her body trembled out of her control as the heat dissipated, leaving only the soreness of her whole figure. The paper bag rattled as she searched it; and she found a single, small vial of medication, a needle, and a syringe. She stared the items down.

Outside of the room, Mephisto drew in a deep breath before pushing his tingling frame off of the door. He trudged his way down the hall, pinching between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, his mind wracking over the events that had taken place, replaying the things he had said. How could he have just lost it? On his human, no less? He had done so much to build trust between the two of them over the months, spent so much time wading in her waters, to calm her storm and let him reach her; and it was possible, he thought, that he may have just destroyed everything.

A heavy dark, blue-grey weighed down on him, causing his stomach to twist and turn in knots. The image of the girl flashed in his mind, tears streaming down her face, the terror in her eyes as she looked him over – suddenly the hall swerved, and he slapped a torn purple glove onto the wall to steady himself as he buckled over, feeling as though he could lose the contents of his stomach. Why do I feel like this, he wondered, his gut turning once more. Surely it had nothing to do with the release of some of his demonic powers; he knew what that felt like, and it wasn't this. He knew what his host body felt like when it was sick, and it wasn't this. This was something new. Something foreign. Something he had no explanation for.

It wasn't long before Belial came to his master, questioning him if everything was alright. The demon king waved him away, wishing to be left alone, only to be interrupted by the shrill voice of the human mother piercing through the halls, wondering what had happened, since she had undoubtedly heard all of the commotion. Mephisto let his heavy lids rest loosely together as he stood, drawing in another breath. "Everything is fine, madam; please go back to bed," he answered in a dull, stern tone. With an unenthusiastic snap of his fingers, a sparkling light grey puff left him in fresh clothing. As he cracked his green eyes open, he turned back to his butler. "Can you please have her out of here by the time I return tomorrow?" he begged quietly, wishing nothing more than for it to come soon so he may try to undo the damage he had caused. "I'll see to it that she doesn't remember what happened here tonight."

Part of him didn't want to remember what had happened. But he couldn't get her face out of his mind; the look of fear in her eyes, and how it melted away to emptiness.

Samael.

If she was the river, if she was the sea, bold and wild and deep; then he was a forest fire, burning bright and strong as he devoured everything in his path, only ever calming to a smolder that waited patiently to be ignited once again – so then how could she turn his flames to water?