WARNING: This chapter might be disturbing for some. It deals with issues of childhood abuse, so read at your own risk.
Chapter 22
Benign Weapons
In a confused haze, Pipit tread down the hall, delsutory, aimless, doubting…
He couldn't accept the notion that he was in the midst of anything but a dream.
"Mmmmmmmmmm…" he groaned. "What am I doing?" His feet clearly agreed with his clouded mind: this was a bad idea. "I didn't drink that much." He shrugged.
Without knowing why, he allowed his steps to take him further and further from his room, and his friend.
"Link's got the right idea," he grumbled to his nonexistent shadow. "A peaceful sleep. Why the hell aren't you happily unconscious, Pipit?" With a heavy stomp and a ruffle of his hair, he looked around.
The hallway was unlit, brimming with a tomblike silence. Odd for a large city hotel such as this, no matter what time of day it happened to be…
Even stranger, the corridor appeared to stretch out indefinitely.
"Now I know this isn't real," he assured himself. "Our room's right next to the…" He twisted around, searching for the door that he had just exited from. But, all that lined his vision was an empty, black expanse. "…The stairwell…"
As his voice trailed off, his eyes grew. He froze.
"You and your sottish dreams, Pipit," he said with nervous cheer. "What else is gonna happen? One of those leggy strippers gonna pop out of nowhere and offer a lap dance?" Wriggling his fingers, he turned his back to the void. He took a forced step. "Maybe one of those burgers you ate is gonna randomly show up and start eating you, instead…" He tried to make himself laugh, but it didn't work.
The dim hall was slowly beginning to resemble an underground tunnel. Still, he kept walking. He knew he couldn't go back.
He swallowed. His throat suddenly felt dry. The air was very wrong here.
Something brushed past his ear.
Lurching to the side, he gasped.
"What the f-!" he yelled, clamping his mouth shut for a second. "Oh goddesses, you can't be so drunk that you're gonna conjure up some bogeyman, now…" Shivering, he continued on. The corridor was without end. "Where-"
"Are you quite through referring to yourself in the second-person?" a low voice inquired. Not breathing, Pipit slid to a stop. His ability to speak almost hitched in his throat.
"Who…" he started. His eyes darted about.
"I say, sky knight…" Pipit shut his eyes, hoping that he would wake up from this nightmare. "You must be quite fond of death."
"I what?" He breathed in sharply. After skipping a beat entirely, his heart started pounding in his ears.
"Death. You must like it." Pipit's expression twisted at the biting tone. "Didn't you hear me?" Staring at nothing, he vacillated.
"Oh gods…I don't wanna have any dreams involving you," Pipit said, returning with a cut of his own. "You're the last effed up freakin' deviant I'd ever want in my head."
Straight ahead, a silhouette materialized. Pipit stiffened in alarm.
"Is that so?" The murky form began to make its way toward him. Pipit slowly retreated. "I do believe that you are not one to talk, human." Pipit's jaw dropped in worry. As adrenaline began to pump, his breathing sped up. "Even if I had it in my infinitely superior mind to vitiate you…"
"Ah!" Pipit yelped as his back hit a dead end. His hands slapped against the barrier. The impact delivered such a jolt that he began to suspect that this might not be a dream, after all.
"..Success would dodge my grasp, for, you see, it is an impossibility to corrupt that which is already crooked." Pipit pressed into the wall, watching helplessly as the figure approached.
"What?"
"What sort of honorable knight…" The being came closer. "…One who has vowed to protect and respect women in every sense…" Pipit grimaced as he spotted a red drape in the darkness. He shook his head, denying the advance of a monster. He squeezed his eyes shut as if to will the footfalls away through determination alone. "…Would do what you just did?"
The voice was in front of him now, unswerving in its grimness. Pipit opened his eyes to two white-clad feet.
"What did I do…" he stated without question, already knowing. He shut his tired eyes again.
"Why, you used that girl, of course. For your own carnal enjoyment." Pipit kept his head low, not wanting to address the voice's owner.
"I didn't use her," Pipit said, glaring down.
"Oh, no?"
"No."
"Then, what is her name, sky knight?" Prepared to respond, his mouth opened, but put forth only silence. "Well?"
"I know her name," Pipit snarled.
"Watch your tenor, sky knight," the voice warned. "What is it?" Again, Pipit wavered.
"She told me…" he said. "I know it…"
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do," he muttered angrily.
"No, you don't!" The voice flared, loud enough to echo throughout the contained oblivion. Pipit jumped, instinctively lifting his head. When he saw who was before him, fear astired. "Her well-being, who she is, means nothing to you. You merely desired her body."
"That's not true…"
"Oh, but it is." Pipit saw the demon's ghostly lips crimp into a grin. "Not only are you a lush, but a lecher."
"I am not!" Ghirahim's smile widened, displaying a sharp canine. He brought himself squarely into the young man's face, staring down, enjoying the smell of suppressed trepidation.
"Do not refute that to project your virulence onto unsuspecting women is your favorite pastime." For a moment, Pipit remained quiet. "Looking for ways to, as they say, validate your manhood, sky knight? Or, perhaps, vindicate yourself?" The demon's eyes illuminated, showcasing a roguish glint.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Pipit asked, pushing backward.
"And why is that, do you think?" the demon asked, lifting a leather-wrapped hand to Pipit's face, sweeping his bare fingers against him. Stunned, Pipit didn't move. "Is there something…in your past that could be responsible for this…insatiable need of yours?"
"I don't have any need," Pipit insisted, watching the hand as it stroked his face. He took a shallow breath.
"Are you sure about that?" The demon tipped the knight's chin up with his free hand. "Are you not endeavoring to fill a void, a crater that has been made within you, by him?" Distracted and distressed by the invasive fingers, Pipit's eyes fluttered.
"This is the worst dream ever," he asserted. The demon chuckled through his nose.
"Oh, but it is going to get far worse, sky knight." An ecstatic grin crossed his face, shocking Pipit straight through to his core. Ghirahim's thumb grazed the corner of his mouth. "Would you like to be reminded of what it feels like to be manipulated?" His eyes burned with intensity. "To be whisked away into a world of pleasure that you did not intend?"
"I already know what it feels like," Pipit said as the wall encountered more of his back.
"Do you know what the 'pleasure principle' is?" Pipit dithered for a moment.
"Uh…"
"I believe your id and ego are clashing right now, human."
"What're you trying to say?" Bewildered, Pipit gaped.
"Let me show you, Sir Pipit."
Within seconds, Pipit was swept into the demon's arms, his head veiled by thick, red fabric. Restrained by strong hands, he grabbed the only thing that he could – Ghirahim's shirt.
"What're you doing!" Pipit shouted. A strange dizziness infiltrated him.
"Taking you somewhere," Ghirahim told him, feeling the human jerk in his arms. "This may hurt a little bit."
With struggling out of the question, Pipit curled against the demon's chest. A crushing pins-and-needles sensation tore through him. He cringed and wrung his hands.
"Told you," Ghirahim hummed happily.
With the drone of a gale in his ears and pain running through his veins, Pipit was overcome by light-headedness. His only option was to ride out the storm in the demon's embrace.
Ghirahim squeezed the smaller being to his body, enjoying his helplessness.
"Are we having fun yet, dear?" Unable to speak, Pipit just writhed. The demon tightened around him, rewarded by waves of pleasure from the human's discomfort.
It would only get better from here…
"I have a sneaking suspicion that you humans will never master the art of comfortable 'transport'," Ghirahim said with disappointment. "Too weak is what you are." Concealed by the velvet cloak, Pipit slipped down, feeling the floor come up under his feet. The demon whipped his cape away as if to reveal the product of a magic trick.
Disorientated by his fuzzy vision, Pipit's head swam. Teetering on his feet, he crouched down and covered his eyes before the head rush claimed his balance.
"And feeble. Let's not forget feeble," Ghirahim emphasized.
"Ugh…" Pipit set both palms to the floor. "What was that?"
"A better way to travel," the demon informed him.
"Why did it feel like that?"
"As I've already pointed out, you are weak, sky knight." Squinting, Pipit looked up.
"If I'm so weak…and unarmed…" He swallowed back some dread. "Then why am I…why don't you-"
"Exterminate you?" the demon interjected. Pipit scowled at his grin. "Slaughter you? Bump you off?"
"Yes…"
"Let's just say, human, that you are very, very fortunate that iron sharpens iron."
"What?"
"On your feet, knight." Ghirahim crossed his arms, waiting, reveling in the human's position. He was practically on his knees. The demon wiggled his antsy fingers, tempted by his appearance. To Pipit, the look in the demon's eye was all too familiar. "Come, now. You'd be wise to act upon my orders…immediately."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you…?" Pipit mumbled, leaning an elbow onto his leg before pushing up. The only thing that kept him from toppling was his fortitude. "Is that the game you mentioned a minute ago?"
"The untarnished submission that will undoubtedly follow your impudence?" Ghirahim folded his hands with ample grace, cocking his head. "I'm afraid that is simply the by-product of the game. The black tongue, if you will."
"Black tongue…That implies a benign condition."
"Well," the demon purred, sauntering up to him, "what's a little tongue between friends, eh, sky knight?" Pipit marveled.
"You really enjoy that as well, it seems," Pipit said. "Pulling out past utterances of mine. Why can't they ever be the sort that make me look good?"
"Where's the fun in that, now…?" As the demon went to place a hand on Pipit's shoulder, he jumped back.
"Why are you acting like I'm comfortable with you, or…" He hesitated. "Or that you have this right to put your hands on me?"
"Perhaps I've confused you with your desire-accreting friend." The demon smirked. Mouthing something, Pipit raised a brow and scoffed before looking away.
"Right," he said rigidly. He explored the demon with questioning eyes.
"You seem troubled by that."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Pipit stretched up tall.
"Jealous, are we?" the demon asked with a chuckle.
"Jealous?" Pipit repeated. He observed his enemy's coy head tilt. "Oh, because I'm supposed to want him for myself, right?" The demon shrugged. "Well, I'll tell you one thing. I'd rather it be me instead of you, but not for the reasons you think. At least I wouldn't rape him."
"Nothing is stolen from the eager, my dear knight," Ghirahim chimed, marching forward.
"You're a damn liar," Pipit growled, backing up.
"Steady your feet," Ghirahim commanded, reaching an arm out.
"I don't need to listen to you," Pipit said, watching the demon's pace.
"When you are in my presence, in my care, you do."
"Take me back…" He gulped, determined to keep his self-control.
"You're on my time, human. You go back when I say you can."
"You brought me here! I didn't ask for th-"
"Shut your mouth, sky knight," Ghirahim chided.
"What'd you do to him?" Pipit asked, fighting a slouch.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Yes, I would." Pipit's boots raked the floor. "I'd like to know which sort of death you deserve." Shuffling, his gaze wandered about the room. He hadn't even thought to place his whereabouts. "Whether it be dismemberment, perhaps drowning…" His eyes came up to meet the demon's. "Maybe I'll gouge a hole in your throat and let you bleed out."
"Mmm, mmm, mmm…" Ghirahim chortled. "Such disesteem. Such impertinence. And our game still has yet to commence." This time, Pipit circled around, mindful of the rear wall.
"I'm not playing any games with you."
"Oh, but you are." Stopping, the demon lord lifted a hand, fingering the smoothness of the cerise gem on his hip. "I think it's time to vanquish this false pride of yours." With a signature snap, he vanished, leaving Pipit with a fleeting surge of translucent diamonds.
"What the…?" He shook his head, already fed up. As he put one foot forward, something heavy met his toe. Afraid to look down, his head slowly, slowly dropped. He rubbed his hair, becoming aware of his cap's absence.
A sword – modest and wooden – had taken the demon's place. Puzzled, Pipit bent down.
Opting not to touch it, he scoured the weapon, spotting various imperfections; most were superficial. One flaw, however, ran from one end of the fuller to the other. A deep gash, unsightly and jagged, split the blade down the middle.
He recognized this sword…
With caution, he looked around. An inkling that he knew of this weapon's origins was beginning to bud.
At that moment, Pipit's world stopped. It was as if four partitions had erected themselves all around him, blocking him on every side. He was forced to look, to own the realization.
A wary arm stretched as two knees dropped to the floor. He rotated the weapon by its hilt, looking for something – anything – that could confirm his suspicions; an identifying characteristic.
Then, he remembered: the grip.
Pipit retreated. He set his jaw and squared his shoulders. If this sword was what he thought it was…
Throwing caution to the wind, his unprotected hand returned. With a less than gainly grab, he flipped the blade, bringing a loud yet dull clunk to the dim enclosure. A fire, barely burning, struggled for life behind him. It provided just enough light to see by. He glanced to the right, taking note of a door left ajar several yards away.
Lowering his face to the sword's handle, he gasped.
There, etched into the grip, were two words that would forever be carved into his memory:
Instructor Calwren.
A sharp chill struck Pipit then, followed by a billow of heat. A racing pulse made his body throb and his heart thump.
Somehow – whether by sheer amazement or morbid curiosity – the weapon made its way into his hand. He clutched it, squeezing, unable to believe what he was touching.
It was extraordinary. This was the same weapon - the exact same sword that he had sparred with on so many occasions. He hadn't held it since he was a boy.
In fact, the final time that the handle had rested in his grip…
"Master Pipit."
Flying to his feet, Pipit stood at attention, the odd sensation of well-known wood within his fingers. The sword was small and non-threatening; a perfect fit for a junior knight-in-training.
This sword had been present for, and was a silent witness to, many, many things…
Petrified, he locked eyes with the oncoming demon. His palm started to sweat. He hadn't been called 'Master Pipit' in years.
"I'm glad you came," Ghirahim said. Narrowing his gaze, Pipit felt his equanimity slip. "Because, my dear boy, your invitation is in desperate need of improvement."
As the dreadful sentence slithered into his ears, Pipit nearly dropped the sword. He tightened his hold on the weapon, the wooden object...a toy, essentially. As he did, he felt smaller, and smaller.
The demon stepped closer, holding a similar sword. It appeared worn and scratched, having seen decades of use.
Ghirahim's posture, and voice, had changed. His manner had shifted, yet remained as pompous as ever. Pipit's face drained of all color upon seeing the way that the blade was resting on the demon's shoulder.
"You'll never pass the secondary knight academy entrance exam without my help, son." With a jaunty strut, the demon stopped before him. Pipit didn't know what to say.
"Come now," Ghirahim spoke in his usual tone. "This is a scene which you know very, very well." He glided closer. "You've rehearsed these lines and actions in your head so many times…" He examined the human's distraught expression. "You've picked it apart, analyzed it, traced the truth through the horror…" He spoke slowly, softly, thriving on the tension he was creating. "…Trying to decide why the events played out in the way that they did…Fumbling for a resolution that would never come." Pipit looked down. "Attempting to create an alternative ending to a rather disgraceful story."
The floor became a fixation for Pipit as he listened. Repulsion welled up as he realized what was happening.
"How do you know…exactly what he said that day?" he asked.
"Why, from you, of course," Ghirahim confirmed.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"How?" Pipit drove a dubious look into his enemy.
"If you want to know so badly..." Ghirahim whispered, steadying the human with his powerful hands. The tip of the sword fell as Pipit looked up. Ghirahim's face neared his own. "Then I can give you a demonstration." As the demon pulled their mouths together, Pipit grimaced and turned away.
"No, that's okay," he breathed. "It's…weird…but, I think I get it…" The demon's grin blazed.
"Shall we continue, then?" he asked, his demand posing as a question. Pipit squirmed under his hands.
"Continue? What are you trying to do?"
"Bestowing nostalgia upon you, human." Bewilderment began to take hold once more.
"This is the last sort of nostalgia-"
"Needless to say, to feed you your lines would be redundant. You know them well, do you not?" Pipit's eyes jumped from the demon's face to his chest.
"My lines? You make it sound like we're performing something from a script."
"Oh, we are. The script of your past. I judged it to be the highest form of entertainment...the only thing worthy of marking this special occasion of ours – your promised visit." Pipit's stomach churned.
"But…why-"
"My motivations are anything but feckless, sky knight." Austerity reigned on Ghirahim's face. Intimidated, Pipit grinded his teeth.
"How far are you gonna take it?" he asked through an unbending, clenched mouth. The demon shook his head.
"You will see." With a quick squeeze, he left the knight. "Now, get a firm grip on that weapon." Lifting his wooden blade into the air, the demon put the young man on guard. "A knight is only as good as his weapon. Show me what you've got, Master Pipit."
Uncertain, but without a choice, Pipit adopted his usual fighting stance. With his left foot in front, his left hand readied his weapon.
Pleased, Ghirahim put on his acting cap.
"Can't I just go back?" Pipit asked, clinging to hope.
"Eventually," the demon answered. "But, that is not the proper way for you to address your instructor." Pipit rolled his eyes.
"What if I refuse to play your little game?"
"Is that a challenge?" the demon asked, abandoning his Cawlren demeanor for a few seconds. Pipit shrugged. "Well, in regard to your friend…" Ghirahim paused, knowing that further explanation wasn't necessary. "I don't believe that you can afford the risk. Catch my drift, sky knight?" With nothing left to say, Pipit nodded. "Very well. En garde…"
Over the course of thirty excruciating minutes, Pipit was subjected to his worst nightmare. With precision, the demon brought to life the very thing that had been haunting him for the past eleven years; the painful sequence of memories that he would have eradicated from his mind if he'd had such an ability.
Stoking Pipit's obduracy, the demon - and his forcefulness - distracted him from how dire his situation truly was.
Ghirahim had every word down pat. Much to Pipit's dismay, he had Instructor Calwren's tone and mannerisms mastered, as well.
In Pipit's eyes, he had stepped into a time warp. The demon was no longer a villain toying with him. He was Pipit's abuser; the man who had ruined his life.
As the young man's emotions multiplied, an ebullition threatened to erupt. An outburst flaunted itself in his eyes and danced on his lips, but, somehow, he managed to give Ghirahim what he wanted: his cooperation.
They moved in circles, conversing, reenacting the harrowing scene to a tee. With an eerie calmness masking his elation, Ghirahim 'taught' the young man, just as his old instructor would have.
And the prizefight carried on…
"Riposte!" the demon ordered in Calwren's place, coming at the human with an energetic lunge. Red-faced and winded, Pipit parried his opponent's weapon before offering a sharp thrust. Amazingly, the demon dodged the jab in the same way that Calwren always did. "You seem rather out of breath, my boy. Would you care for a respite?" Standing out of his rival's range, Pipit just glowered. With a debonair flip of his wrist, Ghirahim brought a hand to his pointed ear, emanating expectancy. Pipit sighed.
"Yes, sir," Pipit replied gruffly, knowing full well what was coming. He aligned his bent posture.
"That's not the answer of a knight, child," the demon scolded. His face transformed, showing an unforgettable mixture of viciousness and lust. Staying true to Pipit's experience, Ghirahim dashed forward, swinging his sword across the human's body. With a loud crack, the wooden blades met. Huffing, Pipit scarcely preserved ownership of his weapon. He stumbled back, catching himself with a wide stance.
Showing little regard for his 'student's' well-being, the demon jabbed toward the human, provoking him to block. With the window open, Ghirahim swiped his scuffed weapon across Pipit's multiple times, exerting a ream of brute strength.
Agasp, Pipit tried to counterattack, but resolved to defend himself, just as he had the first time…
One…
He already knew what was on the horizon for him.
Two…
Mental exhaustion had weighed him down long before the scrap had taken its toll. He gave an extended blink, counting in his head.
Three…
The third impact hurt his shoulder during the first encounter, as well.
Four…
His countenance intensified. This was it. Fervently, he squeezed the hilt, hoping that it would end differently.
Five…
Across the stone floor the sword skidded, scraping past the dying fire. Pipit pictured its three counterclockwise rotations before they came to pass. Not moving, he watched his weapon slide to a stop. With a sigh, he shut his eyes and braced himself.
With a cry that was impossible to repress, he hit the wall, shoved violently back by the demon.
"Mmm!" he grunted as his head hit the wall. "Uuugh." It felt just as painful the second time.
Ghirahim let the sword slip from his hand, filling it again with the yellow wool below Pipit's neck. The demon twisted his fingers around, enjoying the warmth of the human's unarmored skin.
The two breathed together for a time, heavily, their upper bodies rising and falling in unison. Pipit's growing fear coalesced with a feeling that he had never wanted to experience again.
He forced himself to look into the demon's face. There, he saw Instructor Calwren's look of contempt, intermingling with a mysterious hatred which Pipit would never be able to make sense of.
And, of course, arousal. Studying the demon, Pipit couldn't tell if the impious flames in his eyes were the result of a stellar acting job, or if they existed in their own right.
Pipit found himself in that same precarious moment. He peered down, seeing the demon's fingers spread over his shoulders.
In a way, the demon was of the same calibur as his old teacher. Yet, his touch felt different. It was more potent, somehow.
"Okay, that's enough…" Pipit nearly pleaded. "You've made your point. Whatever the hell your warped point is, you've made it…"
"I don't believe I have, yet," the demon said, riding Pipit's muscular frame with his hands.
Pipit certainly was no longer a boy, but, tonight, he felt like one.
"There is no end to your mulishness," the demon said, "yet you submit so much more readily than the other human. It's…intriguing, sky knight." His hands continued their descent. Pipit shook, lost in a memory.
He wasn't sure where his enemy's hands had traveled to. He sensed only a flurry of movement; one that brought back a distinguishable sensation.
He could've sworn he was in his abuser's clutches again.
"This is the last thing I ever wanted for myself…" Pipit said, his voice suggesting something different. Ghirahim smiled, his head swaying back and forth in happiness.
"Oh, he did a fine job with you, sky knight. A very fine job, indeed…" The words reminded Pipit of it all…of everything he had tried so desperately to forget.
"What're you trying to do?" Pipit asked in a shaky whisper. He looked down to hide his face.
"I told you, knight. This is my recreation. And, if the welfare of your best friend means anything to you, then you will let me." Feeling his left hand massaged by lithe fingers, Pipit took a deep breath.
"Oh, just like he made threats on my mother's life?" Pipit asked. "Is that the only trick you degenerates know?" He held still as his hand was lifted and turned.
"Do you think I'm an artless one-trick pony, sky knight?" The demon ran a fingertip down the center of the human's hardened, weapon-wielding palm. With head still bowed, Pipit cringed. "Oh, no. Light-years from it, my boy." Pipit sighed, trying to keep calm. "Bring your eyes to me when I'm speaking to you, knight."
Hesitating, Pipit listened, not quite knowing why. He was met by an amused grin.
"What's this?" Ghirahim's long thumb swept the human's cheek, smearing the moisture underneath his eye. "Do I bring tears to your eyes, Sir Pipit?" As if on cue, another tear fell. "Interesting, considering that the only other person to ignite such emotion in you is your best mate." The pair's gazes clinched. The demon cocked his head. "In fact, never have you shed a single tear for yourself." Ghirahim's smiling face came down to hover before the human's. Pipit shied his closed eyes away, breathing unevenly. "What does that say about us, sky knight?"
"Please…just let me go," Pipit said, retracting his hand. But, the demon countered by seizing his index finger, separating it from the rest. Pipit's heartbeat practically terminated when he remembered something that he had overlooked in the confusion.
"Do you know my name, human?" Slowly, Pipit shook his head. "Do you harbor a desire to know?" This time, he nodded. "Very well." The demon leaned further in.
"Ghirahim," he said unhurriedly, sensually, if only to watch the young man fight back a shiver. "Demon Lord Ghirahim." He waited, delighting in Pipit's widened eyes. They were of an impressively crisp blue; rare treasures, undeniably. The demon dived wholeheartedly in. Pipit held his breath.
In a single, swift movement, Ghirahim slipped the human's finger into his mouth, garnering a satisfying cry of surprise from him. His mouth fell open as his eyes were enticed by the demon's.
Admiring the shocked face before him, the demon sucked on the small appendage, knowing that the knight hadn't anticipated the full treatment. Delivering a light nibble, the corner of his mouth curved up. With gentle suction, he removed Pipit's finger, his dark tongue coiling around it as it made its departure. A gasp escaped into the air as the stimulation was taken away.
"He is the only one aware of this fetish, this weakness of yours, isn't he, knight?" Pipit withdrew, distraught; but, his hand remained captive. "Your little girlfriend doesn't know, nor do any of the many young ladies you've laid with…"
"That's it…" Pipit uttered, wholly perturbed. "I need to go back." His attempt to regain his hand was effortlessly thwarted.
"So deliciously capture-bonded." Pipit blinked, demoralized. "I must reiterate – such a wonderful job he did with you. You are a work of art, sky knight. A demon lord's dream-come-true." He teased Pipit's face with a pristinely manicured thumbnail. "The stubbornness married with rapid submission - such a wicked indulgence." He dropped his chin and gaped, a low, thrilled moan rumbling in his throat. "You came to him, with defenses down...with the trust of a child. Beautiful."
"No," Pipit said in refusal. "Let me go, now." A rough yank finally freed his limb. The demon's face didn't alter.
"Is escape truly so attractive, human? More so than what has been set aside for you here?"
"Yes," Pipit snapped.
"Hmm," Ghirahim hummed. "Well, heed what I am about to tell you, my dear knight." He eyed Pipit's restless left hand. "Option one: you stay here, detained, until further notice, whereby we continue our game." He licked his lips. Pipit frowned, impatient.
"I choose option two," he blurted out. "I don't care what it is. I'll take it." The demon giggled, crossing his long arms.
"You would be wiser to learn what that selection entails first."
"Fine, go ahead."
"I let you go. Alone." Pipit looked to the side. The statement was much too unpretentious.
"But, where are you letting me go? Where am I?"
"Ah, and perhaps he is not so daft, after all," the demon laughed. "You, my precious thing, are in my home." With a dramatic wave of his svelte arm, he presented the room, and everything that surrounded it. Severe eyes connected with Pipit's, scrutinizing.
"Your home?"
"Yes. My castle, if you'd prefer the strict term." His listener stopped to think.
"But, how do I get out of here? How do I get back home?"
"I do believe that is your concern. Not mine, human."
"Well, how is that fair?"
"As a judicious person once said, 'The world isn't fair. Why should I be?'" Pipit scoffed.
"Whatever," he spat. "See ya." He hastily tromped around the demon.
Ghirahim's fist smacked straight into the human's ribcage, thieving his confident stride. Pipit desisted, gawking at him.
"You have a lot to learn. Do not forget who you're dealing with, child," the demon admonished. "Remember, I could have had you, in any way that I wished, this very night. Remember that." Thrown off by the harsh rebuke, Pipit turned a deep shade of red. He looked away, as angry at the demon as he was at his response. Impelled not only by fury but by his hurting pride, he strode ahead without turning back.
"To belabor a point, you must be fond of death, 'hero's best friend'." Pipit stilled himself.
"What? You never told me what you meant…"
"Supercurious, are you?" Pipit rotated an inch. "Our first meeting consisted of your weapon impaling me, if you recall. That was rather grisly of you, human."
"I'd do it again in a heartbeat," Pipit stated.
"Right, well," Ghirahim said, discounting his words, "your friendship with the 'Goddess's chosen' will prove to be your end. If you are acquainted with cerebration in any form whatsoever, then you've already discerned this indubitable verity." Pipit's ears perked. "On top of these irrefutable facts, you would prefer death over me, even now. You are a mystery, sky knight."
"Prefer death?"
"Well…" The demon shrugged a single shoulder. "Perhaps, perhaps not. But, the risk thrives here, human."
"I'll take my chances, thanks," Pipit called, pushing through the cracked-open door. The demon witnessed his escape with unruffled poise.
"You know, you could have taken this silly little sword as a memento," he chuckled toward the vacant doorway. "It would've been better than nothing, after all. Particularly for a soft-skinned human with no armor…" He smirked, rolling his tongue to and fro behind his teeth. "Good luck, knight…"
