41, Brother May I.
After a haughty reprimand from his elder brother, Amaimon was released once more to keep an eye over the human girl. However this time, he was specifically directed to intervene if anything seemed to be wrong with the girl, instead of sitting back and watching like the little green demon had done prior. Even though Mephisto could have destroyed the Impure King with ease, he resumed watching the battle of Kyoto unfurl, to ease his mind and cool down from the events that had taken place. Amaimon returned to the mansion, where the help were scurrying about, picking up the broken glass and porcelain, ripping down burnt draperies, sweeping the charred remains, dusting and polishing everything. They would work well into the night to give the manor the appearance as if it had never been mutilated, eventually replacing the cracked windows and glass door.
The mansion was tight and dark and eerily quiet; the earth king might not have been there for when his brother brought the girl back, but he could tell what might have happened. He could sense it in the air, the remainder of the power, weighing down upon everything. His own, cold heart sank as he moved down the hallways toward the room, unsure of what he might find there. Part of him was surprised the human was still alive. He had enough confidence in what he saw as her inner strength to believe she would have been fine against the Impure King; he had no idea that she was nearly moments away from death before Mephisto had found her. He was more surprised that his brother, after learning she had refused to comply with commands, didn't kill her – on purpose, or accident. It had been quite some time Amaimon had seen his elder brother so worked up, and the whole thing was perplexing.
Had his brothers' game evolved into something else?
He could feel her, wobbly and weak, through the walls. All he needed to do was wait outside until Mephisto returned; Fenrir was still locked away in Gehenna, and the only way out was through the door. There was little she could do. He plopped down on the ground, bouncing his knee on the stony floor, twiddling with the loose strands of his frayed coat to keep him from dying of boredom. But the atmosphere was troubling the demon, and each moment that passed, he grew more and more anxious, pounding his leg to the ground nearly hard enough to break the marble. Maybe just a quick peek, he finally thought. After all, he only knew she was alive, not the condition she was in. She could be on the verge of death, he reasoned; brother would be upset if she died on my watch.
Mephisto might actually kill him if that happened.
There was an old, large vent high up on the wall that lead into the bedroom. In old homes such as these, they were used for airflow in rooms that weren't located on an exterior wall, where there was no window, and they served as a way to alert people of a fire, let smoke out of the room, and serve as a potential fire escape – although the ceilings were so high in the mansion that reaching the vent wasn't very feasible, making it a flawed design that was abandoned in the modern era. Knowing that he wouldn't be allowed to open the door, Amaimon decided that the vent was his ticket. He would go up there, just check on the girl, and that was it. Nothing more.
At least, that's what he had told himself.
As he neared the vent, he heard faint sounds from the room, but there was very little movement. He was able to slip through without making a noise, but it was so dark he couldn't see his own hands. Though, he could feel her, somewhere in the bedchamber, weak, like the trickle of the stream in the dead of winter. The closer he came to the ground, the better he could hear; crying? It was faint. Quiet. Like she had been completely expended, only holding on to a deep, shaky breath and a snuffle here and there. For some reason, this resonated with him, and instead of going for the light switch, he went for her, getting closer and closer until he was nearly upon her – and that's when he could smell it.
Blood.
It entered his nose and constricted his whole being. He stopped for a moment, midair, trying to determine if his mind was playing tricks on him. Like maybe he was imagining the worst. Images of her broken, bleeding body popped into his mind, fueling something in him, sending him for the wall erratically searching for the light switch. And once it was on, the old bulb straining to warm up, his eyes searched the room for her; and he nearly fell at what he saw.
Her head hung about her shoulders, and her body was slumped to her knees on the white stone, bathed in the blood of a large sigil she had drafted upon the floor. The dark red that had flowed from the cracks of her fingers as they pressed firmly onto her arm had started to dry and crack with time.
Amaimon went to her slowly, his eyes wide, and he tucked her hair behind her ears, revealing the face that was smudged and smeared with soot, blood, and tears. "What were you thinking?" He asked, gently taking her bruised wrist in his hand, bringing her forearm up so he may have a look, but her fingers never left the wound she had made.
"I can't summon him." Her voice was hoarse.
The demon sighed. "It doesn't work like that. He's in a part of Gehenna that you can't reach." There was no reply. He released her and peeled his burgundy coat from his arms, tearing strips from the hem of the tails. Doctoring injuries wasn't something he did. He caused wounds, gashes, broken bones. In the flesh of demons and humans alike, he created them, and admired them, like the art of a master. But on her, he had never seen anything more unnerving. "Let me fix it," he said plainly, offering out his palm; but she didn't move. After a moment, he took her arm once more while trying to be as gentle as possible, but she jumped, and he wasn't sure if he had hurt her or not. When she relaxed into compliance, her eyes fixated on the demon, he began lugging each finger from her skin, one by one, until her bloodied hand was free of the cut and red began to ooze once again. He quickly began wrapping it, keeping it tight, as he looked over her, covered in swellings.
"Do you need anything else?" he asked as he finished, tying the last of the knots. The blood had been seeping through the fabric, but stopped as it began to dot the outer layer.
She was quiet, inspecting the bandage. "Will you open the door for me?" she finally asked, quietly, half sincere, as if she knew the answer already.
"No."
Even if he wanted too, he couldn't.
She let out a breath, wiping her cheek on her sleeve as she leaned over, grabbing a tiny, empty red container with a paper label stuck to it. "Can you go and get me more of this medicine from the supply shop?" she asked, holding it up for the demon to see without making eye contact. He looked it over, nodding firmly before disappearing. It didn't take him long before he returned with a handful of the vials. She took them without word, continuing where she had left off when the antidote had run out. Without word, Amaimon proceeded to mop up the blood sigil with his coat and the scraps that were her singed, tattered sweater, and then sat down across from her, watching the human self-administer in silence.
It didn't seem to bother the girl, as she loaded the syringe, pointing the needle up as she tapped on it, watching the air bubbles move to the top before she drew down on the plunger, pushing it and a couple drops of liquid from the tip. It didn't seem to bother her as she inserted the needle past her flesh, into the fluid pocket, releasing the remedy, which caused the boils to ooze from pressure. She never made a noise, she never flinched, and she never winced. The demon's eyes grazed over the exposed skin, as she rolled her sleeves up, hiked up her skirt, and pulled her blouse up, trying to reach every area that needed attention. He couldn't take his eyes off of her; he had never seen so much of a human, and he couldn't help but to think he might actually like it. But the more he saw of her, the more he was surprised she came without burn marks. Cuts, scrapes and bruises were in abundance, but there were no burns.
A noise distracted him from where he had sat, intently watching the fabric of her clothing moving across her, studying her; glancing up to her face, he noticed her eyes, glistening like the waves on a sunny summer day, her face taunt as she pursed her lips. A drop of water fell to her lap.
"Does it hurt?" he muttered.
Her watery orbs flashed in his direction for a split second, before going back to their duty of watching the needle. "Well it doesn't feel good; have you never gotten a shot before?"
"No," Amaimon started, scooting across the floor, and moving up to his knees, where he reached a hand out towards her. The sudden intrusiveness of his approach caught her off guard, and she flinched backwards. He stopped, waiting until he could press forward again, and placed his finger nail on her chest. "In here. Does it hurt?" He knew humans felt things called emotions, but he never could comprehend what that meant. It wasn't until he had met her that he had felt something inside of his vessel, leading him to be slightly more empathetic to the feelings of humans; especially this one in particular.
She paused, her eyes enlarging as she looked into his plain expression. Wiping a tear from her eye before it fell, she let out a sigh, glancing away as he moved his hand back onto the ground. "I guess, yeah, it does," she whispered, her voice cracking with sentiment. "I just don't understand."
"Understand what?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.
"Your brother?"
There was an inflection in her voice he couldn't place. Should he have known what she was talking about? Reading humans was so difficult; how did Mephisto do it so easy? The young demon casually dusted his pant leg off, taking his time to answer. At last, he spoke, although un-enthusiastically. "He just wants you safe." They both did.
She was still, staring at the syringe she held loosely. "Not really a way to go about it," she said quietly. There was another pause as she sat, lost in thought, before glancing up to the green-haired boy. Shifting to her knees and turning her body so that she faced the same way that he did, she began toying with the buttons on her uniform; something perplexing to the demon. "Can you get my back?" she finally asked, pulling her shirt open. A strange thought he had never had before popped into his mind, an almost wishing that she had been facing him. Her hands then grabbed each end of the white top, and she pulled it up and over her head, where it rested across her bust.
Amaimon grew warm at the sight before him, and as the fabric pulled up, exposing the form of her body, he found it was laced with marks. Days old scabs traced her skin, from claws and teeth, and his mind envisioned the actions that put them there. Something below twitched, and he couldn't help but to wish he were the one to give her the marks for some reason he didn't understand. Moving closer to her, he picked up the syringe – an object he would have found curious under normal circumstances, but he was too fixated on the amount of flesh exposed before his very eyes, and his heart thumped faster the closer his hand got to it, ready to feel her warmth once again.
He moved her long, soft hair off of her back and over her shoulder, uncovering the oldest wound; a bite mark, low on her neck, in the flesh of her shoulder. Slowly, he placed his fingertips on her, running them over the bite, and down her back, taking in how she felt before he reached one of the swellings. And all of a sudden, his whole body grew hot. He halted, immobilized by the feeling, the beating in his chest, the flutter in his stomach, the tug in his drawers. The girl glanced back at him over her shoulder, and he gulped, resuming to the swelling where he inserted the needle as she had before. He was quiet for some time, thoughts racing through his mind. But he couldn't help it any longer. "So…" he started, trying to get past the knot in his throat. "The two of you… My brother, and you… You two have become…" he choked. "Intimate?"
The girl's temperature rose beneath his hand just slightly. "Has he said anything to you?"
"No, he doesn't have too." He paused his speech, thinking about how odd it sounded coming out. "We're demons. We can just kind of…tell."
"How?"
"I guess it's like…I can smell him on you. Letting me and other demons know." His face was as red as a kettle as he spoke, steaming; he couldn't believe he had even brought the matter up.
She was less quick to respond. "What do you mean?"
He treated the last boil before looking her over, already noticing a change in their appearance. After giving himself enough time to think, he handed the syringe back to the girl, and she flipped her shirt back over herself and began buttoning herself up. "Well, he wounded you in some way, right?" She waited before giving a quick, barely noticeable nod. "That's why you're able to see demons now, even the ones who don't want to be seen. It also lets lesser demons know you're his." There was an ache in his chest as he said those words.
She didn't have a response. She was just quiet as she turned around, almost facing him completely. He could see her eyes working, thinking, as they stared down at the marble floor. Her lips parted. "Amaimon, why did you want to kiss me?"
Unprepared, he froze. Why exactly did she want to know? It couldn't have been important that she knew his reasons. "I-I don't know," he stammered, melting in his own skin. "It's something I had heard of humans doing, so I thought it would be fun."
She moved in quietly, looking him dead in the eyes, searching for her answers. "Okay, yeah. But why did you want to kiss me?"
He shrugged nervously, deciding to level with her. "I guess, there was just something about you. Something different. Brother always talked about you, and I got curious. And when I saw you, you were pretty—I wasn't expecting it. I had to meet you, and then," He paused, making eye contact for a second. Her expression never changed. Blushing, he looked away. "I just wanted too." It just felt right. He kept his pupils away from the ones that dug into the side of his face. "I guess I'm no different than my brother, but it doesn't matter now."
"Why?"
Not expecting that sort of response, he looked back at her. "B-because. He's claimed you as his."
She scowled, looking away. "I don't belong to anyone. That's for sure."
Eyeing her over, he studied the expression on her face, trying to understand what everything meant. What was she feeling, what was going through her mind, why she asked such a question, why he had even said anything—too much was going through his head, and he couldn't make sense of it at all. But he knew she was pretty, and he knew, even if no one else on the planet could see it, that she was strong. That she had been battling for the entirety of her human life, just on the inside, where no eyes could see. That she kept it hidden below her pragmatic façade, and diverted attention with a warm smile. He liked that smile. But it made him sad; because he realized that the sweetest smiles had the murkiest depths. He didn't quite know what it all meant, but he knew that. And he admired the combatant within her, and the way she could make him feel something—anything. His eyes fell upon her face, and they were longing and hopeful, clinging desperately to the explanations that he created in his own mind. "Do you think, this time, maybe," his voice faltered, his insides flipping and dancing. "I could kiss you?"
The girl's wide eyes snapped back toward the demon boy, and she let out a short, surprised huff. "Amaimon—kissing is usually saved for when you like someone."
"I do like you." He didn't know what it meant either, but it felt like it was the truth.
Her cheeks turned pink. "I'm sorry, what I meant to say was people kiss when—oh I don't know—when they both like each other, in the same way."
He stopped, closing his mouth as he looked down at his fingers. "Like you and brother."
Her face softened, and she spoke quietly. "Sort of like that."
That made sense to him. Despite how he felt about her, his elder brother had the upper hand, playing his game and winning the human over just as he had planned. Despite how he felt towards her, she didn't feel the same towards him; instead, she must have felt that for his brother. Stomach knotting, the curiosity he had held for Assiah dissipated with each moment of silence that passed. And without another word, he rose to his feet; but before he could leave something tugged at the bottom of his shorts—and she was there, sitting, her eyes glistening again, with her hand lightly clutching at him.
Her voice was small and meek, barely above a whisper as it struggled to break free."I don't want to be alone right now," she stammered. "That's why I was trying to summon Fenrir."
The demon boy let out his breath, all the negative he had built up melting away and leaving him with the air from his lungs. And he sat back down, leaning up against the wall, where he assumed she would go to the bed and sleep alone while he waited and watched; but instead, she crawled to him, resting her head in his lap. And he ran his nails through her hair as her internal war ravaged, coming out through her eyes in weeps, until exhaustion lulled her to sleep.
