Making History
Mephisto was not in the least bit ashamed to admit his absolute hatred for Adolf Hitler.
Being forced to watch the Jews and the people that the leader of Germany deemed unworthy of living in day-to-day society was not something he enjoyed. It put him on edge, forced him to tread carefully and disguise himself more than he normally would. He had to bleach his beautiful purple hair! He had to ask his father for blue contacts so he would appear as if he stemmed from Aryan roots! He had to keep his tail carefully hidden, prevent himself from standing out - which was something he loved to do, even if it made him look like a fool. One wrong move, and he would be sent away.
As if that wasn't enough, Amaimon decided to visit him in Assiah, and Mephisto had to take care of him, too. Over the years, Amaimon grew more quiet and impatient, and with impatience came boredom. He was understandably hesitant when Mephisto told him to bleach his hair, but he did it anyway. He always did what Mephisto told him to do, unless he was distracted.
When he saw that Amaimon was also beginning to become stressed in 1945, after four years of him dealing with this nonsense, he was approached by the blue-eyed demon one fine August day and was surprised when his little brother grabbed his arms and shook him harshly. "Brother," he said, "brother, I can't take it anymore. Brother, can we please leave Germany? Brother..."
Mephisto saw blood on his face, blood that was his. Steam was still drifting upward as his wounds healed. He looked almost afraid.
"Amaimon, I told you to get milk."
"I'm sorry, brother, I'm sorry, the soldiers, they-" he gulped and fell to his knees, never breaking eye contact "-they found me and beat me up and took the milk, and I didn't fight back because you'd be angry at me... are you mad? Please don't be mad..."
Mephisto sighed and gently placed a hand on Amaimon's shoulder. He could feel his brother trembling under his hand, see the fear in his eyes. "Did they hurt your tail?"
Hesitantly, he nodded. "Th-they didn't see it, though; they kicked my back a lot..."
Knowing that Amaimon was so uncharacteristically terrified because of the Nazi Party... it struck something within him, a chord of malice, a flash of rage. He tightened his grip on Amaimon's shoulder, frowning. "Amaimon, let's play a game."
"A game?" he repeated, confused.
"Let's kill Adolf Hitler."
Amaimon's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "YAAAY!"
"Hush, Amaimon," whispered the eldest brother, covering the dirty blonde's mouth in an effort to stifle him. "Don't be so loud." Slowly the younger brother nodded his head. Mephisto released his grip on him and glanced out the windows warily, before standing and gesturing for the shorter man to follow him. "Let's talk in the basement. It's awfully warm up here."
Abandoning Mien Kampf in favor of his little brother, Mephisto brought him downstairs and, while snapping his green tail back into place mere minutes later, began to discuss his plan. Amaimon listened intently, determined to absorb every piece of knowledge he could, occasionally chirping in. "I want him to suffer," he said once, to which he replied; "Is killing him not enough?"
The younger of the two shook his head honestly. "I want him to suffer for making the humans that hurt me."
"Oh, you Dummkopf," said the elder, smiling with an odd mixture of amusement and fondness. "You can't call them humans any more than us and be truthful about it."
"Then what are they?" asked Amaimon, his curiosity overriding the fact that he'd just been called an idiot. He winced when Mephisto twisted his tail back into its desired position, biting down harder on his nail to take the edge of the pain off. Mephisto noticed that he was doing this more and more often as of late; at first, he thought nothing of it, but he began to grow worried as his black claws were swiftly transformed into short nails. At this point, he was chewing on more skin than nail.
Mephisto reached around his little brother and gently pulled his finger from his mouth, ignoring the slight trace of blood that soaked its way into the fabric of his lavender gloves. Amaimon sighed in resignation, leaning back onto his brother's shoulder and closing his eyes tiredly. "Aniue, humans confuse me," he said at last, reopening his eyes and quietly watching Mephisto mend the latest addition to his wounds. "How can you live with them for so many human years without losing your mind?"
"I told you, Amaimon, they aren't humans anymore. It's just a title they selfishly call themselves because they refuse to face the fact that they've become demons in their own right."
"Is that what they are, brother?" At this point, Amaimon lifted his head to look at Mephisto's broody, tired face, his true blue eyes boring into Mephisto's falsely colored ones. "Are they demons from Assiah?"
"Not quite." Mephisto sighed and raised his head upward, staring at the darkness of the ceiling that their cheap gasoline lantern failed to light. He searched for words that his brother would understand; that was before he heard gentle snoring, and when he looked down, he found that Amaimon had fallen asleep.
August 30, 1945
Berlin, Germany
After six years of living through hell, Mephisto discretely entered the bunker with his shadow of a brother following close behind him, the earth being kind enough to hush their footsteps for its King. He was holding onto his elder brother's hand, trying to keep as close as possible to him for fear of being seen. Despite being told that he could fight back if he was ever caught and beaten, Amaimon was still incredibly hesitant, worried that the cover that he and Mephisto had so carefully built would be block to cinders in mere moments.
It was a pain in itself to sneak into the bunker; despite being small, the place was exceptionally guarded and secure. When Amaimon asked how his brother knew that Hitler was in there (with a disapproving scowl, of course), Mephisto replied with a sweet, sweet smile; "Why would such an insignificant place be so heavily guarded, little brother?"
Amaimon opened his mouth to speak before he deliberately closed it, unable to conjure an argument believable enough to contradict his superior. Mephisto nodded his head with a snide smirk before snapping his fingers quietly, causing a stone to fall into a glass bottle with a loud crack. The guards six feet in front of their shelter in the bush turned sharply and left to investigate the source of the noise.
While distracted, Mephisto clenched his brother's hand and jumped into a pit of shadows, his stunned brother following close behind. To compliment himself with the darkness, he'd dressed himself in pitch black attire, and forced Amaimon to do the same. Both fo them wore silent shoes that would hardly make any sound at all on any surface; but still Mephisto found his tail coiled tightly around his chest, twitching with anxiety and the thought of what would happen if he was caught.
Only once did Mephisto have to pause time, and that was as he was picking the lock to the bunker door. Only when he finished did time resume, and he hurridly grabbed Amaimon and pulled him inside. He sighed in relief, turning toward the inside of the bunker to view its interior-
- and stepping away against the door when he saw the Fuhrer pointing a gun at his head.
Mephisto didn't doubt that he would shoot. There was a cold, hard glint in Adolf's eyes that came only from years of war and suffering. His hand was steady, his finger resting on the trigger of the gun, prepared to take a life to save his own. Really, though, Mephisto gathered that the gun wouldn't hurt him; the pistol was loaded with bullets for humans, not demons. The reason he reacted the way he did was truly a stimulus to acting like a human would.
There was no reason at the time to act 'normal', though, if his prey was going to die, so he allowed himself to relax and even smile as Hitler opened his mouth and said, "Was machst du hier?"
The pure German voice filled Mephisto with a heavy thrill; the hardness of it, the determination, the baritone of a true German leader; had he chosen another path, he would have been known and loved around the world, rather than feared and despised among most of Assiah. How fun it would be to break him to pieces.
Before Mephisto could open his mouth, Amaimon spoke.
"We're here to save you," he said in that well-known monotone, releasing his brother's hand. "You're at a standstill, and you know it. You can't take Britain, my idol, or Russia. You've been halted in your tracks."
Before another word could be said from the blue-eyed demon's mouth, Hitler repositioned his gun to the younger brother, frowning deeply. Mephisto shouldered his partner, urging him to be quiet, as the Fuhrer snapped, "And what of it?"
"With no disrespect, mein Fuhrer," continued Amaimon, placing his hand over his heart and bowing politely, "we are here to save you from yourself... and to indulge in all your fine glory."
Hitler's hand was steady as he smirked, sour. "Hah! There is no reason for you to speak to me in such a manner! Know you place, homosexual."
"This is my big brother," exclaimed Amaimon, wrapping his arm fondly around the much taller demon's. "I asked him to help me find you, so I could view your greatness with my own eyes, see if the rumors were true. They were not, for they do you no justice, mein gut Fuhrer."
This was one of the reasons Mephisto came to love his brother. He was a coy little demon who could sucker up to anyone as if he were a submissive demon. One had to view his fine art of deception with their own eyes to see the greatness of it.
The Fuhrer smirked, falling easily into Amaimon's coolly deceptive tactics and replacing his gun in its former position toward Mephisto, who was still as calm as ever. In fact, he smiled softly, in the manner his father had smiled to him when he wanted his son to do something. "I'm a man of promises," explained Mephisto; "I told him that I would bring him to see you, and so I did."
It wasn't entirely a lie. In fact, it was the truth in all its glory; he simply withheld some valuable information, deceiving him in his own special way. Unlike Amaimon, who whispered lies.
"How did you get past the guards?" Hitler asked, his voice as dispassionate as a whore with her child.
"Darkness is a cloak all its own," Mephisto replied, his tail shifting eagerly under his shirt. "We did nothing at all to them, we promise."
Adolf Hitler raised a brown eyebrow before slowly lowering his gun, though he kept it clenched in his hand tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.
"You're tired of this, aren't you?"
The Fuhrer's eyes tightened on the taller man's gaze, who held it equally with a sensual smirk as he slid his arm out of Amaimon's and walked over to Hitler's side. The latter tensed and raised his gun, but the demon gently touched his hand and said, "Don't worry, I promise I won't do anything to you." Hitler didn't release his grip as Mephisto continued.
"You're just so exhausted; I can see it in your eyes, you poor soul. You were so eager for this long, drawn-out war that you thought you could win so, so easily..."
"But now that you're stuck," said Amaimon, following his brother's lead, "you don't know what to do, so you're grasping for straws." By now he was behind Hitler, his hand on his shoulder and lips by his ear. "Phantom straws that aren't truly there."
"But there is one, mein Fuhrer," said Mephisto honestly in a hushed voice. "There's always that one way out, isn't there? The Angel of Death, yes."
"Unhand me, you cretins!" snapped Hitler, pulling away quickly and pointing the pistol toward the brothers. They stood side by side, Amaimon leaning against Mephisto's chest in an effort to keep warm while Mephisto held him close by his shoulder. He felt his little brother shiver with excitement, contradictory to his placid face, and felt his green tail slap gently on Mephisto's leg.
Catching sight of the tail, the Fuhrer didn't hesitate to open fire.
Click
Click
Click
"Wha...?" he asked, staring at his empty gun in dumbfoundedness. "But, there were-"
Holding his free black-gloved hand out, he unclenched his fist and showed the whole cartridge's pistol bullets to the German leader, a large, smug smirk on his face. "Oh, brother," said Amaimon, catching sight of the gleaming brass, "you took them out."
"What are you?" exclaimed Hitler, loosing all of his collected calm and replacing it with fear.
"The third, and most important question," mused the tallest, looking down upon the helpless Fuhrer with deeply contemplative eyes. "What are we? We, my dear Fuhrer, are-"
"Your saviors," Amaimon finished, huffing in spoiled annoyance. "Dummkopf."
Deciding to go along with it, Mephisto continued with a smirk, "We are here to relieve you of your dangers." He clenched his outstretched hand with the bullets tightly; when he opened it, there was a small pill in its place. "The bullets have returned to the pistol," he explained. "This is... go on now, tell him what it is, little brother."
Amaimon's deceptive personality returned tenfold. "Mein Fuhrer, it's a muscle relaxant that will ease you of your worries and let you rest."
Not entirely false, either, only stretching the truth to the point of breaking. Mephisto had to admit - he was impressed with his little brother.
"And why should I trust you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"We're your guardian angels, Fuhrer," said Amaimon again. "Why shouldn't you trust us?"
Mephisto saw confliction in his eyes - anger, uncertainty. Trust, uneasiness. A trace of misery, a flash of hate. A banquet of murder. Finally he snapped himself out of his trance before snatching the pill from Mephisto's hand, sitting down in a chair, and gulping it down.
Then Amaimon giggled like a giddy little school girl. Mephisto laughed as Hitler began coughing, coughing hard enough that blood began pouring from his mouth. "Tricked ya," said Mephisto, loving the horrified gleam in Adolf Hitler's eyes, the eyes that belonged to the man that had caused him so much worry. Hitler shakily raised his pistol, pointed it at Mephisto...
"...Who are you...?" he asked, coughing harder.
Leaning forward into the Fuhrer's face, Mephisto smiled cruelly and growled, "I'm the fucking spawn of Satan."
A snap of the fingers and a puff of smoke later, Mephisto and Amaimon were at home. They were both silent for a moment. Then Amaimon turned toward Mephisto, a smile plastered on his face. "That was fun!" he shouted, and the two of them burst into a hearty laughter. Rather than fall asleep, they both celebrated their victory throughout the rest of the night playing games and having fun, something that they were too tense to do before.
They'd find out later that Hitler shot himself just before the cyanide pill killed him. Mus. Hitler died by cyanide, too, in the same room that Hitler was in, which made them cackle like the demons they were.
This was a bug in my mind over the past few weeks that I just needed to get out. And when I read 'Making History' on one of the Themes, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to use it.
The reason Hitler didn't die within ten seconds was because Mephisto cast a spell on the pill that slowed down the process of the cyanide affecting him.
Read and review! Hope you enjoyed!