Chapter 9: Claws

Satan thinks children and sharp objects don't go together, mostly because he wants said sharp object for himself.

Very early on, Satan had realized just how weak and fragile humans were, even after they'd grown up. They almost never developed any magic or other abilities, didn't heal very fast, and didn't have any real way to defend themselves. Oh sure, they had developed ways to fight that worked around their weaknesses, but that still didn't quite make up for his sudden lack of claws and fangs. He'd always been a very hands-on guy, so he found himself sometimes staring forlornly at his weak human nails, suddenly aware of what he'd lost. He'd gotten into the habit of filing them into points, but it still wasn't the same. The claws had been deadly and dark things he'd used to rip and rend when he'd first started learning all the intricate ways his pretty blue fire worked.

Yes, in some time long forgotten, Satan hadn't really known jack shit about his own signature power. Things were weird back then, what could he say? But he'd learned with extensive practice just how precise he could be if he wanted, and enjoyed controlling the fire almost as much as he loved simply letting lose. The flames demanded that they burn and consume, so he didn't fight it and let them, but under his terms alone. An entire room could be alight with licking fire, awash with blue, and yet a single flower in the heart of the inferno could remain untouched if he so wished. It made his many (many, many) failed possession attempts all the more infuriating. He knew what he was doing, he had the control, so why then?!

It had to be because humans were fundamentally weak.

And because they were weak, without fire or claws or fangs to defend themselves with, they made fakes and thought themselves to suddenly be beasts. Fake beasts that had deluded themselves into thinking they could fight a natural-born predator who waded through their blood while they squirmed at the sight of gore and flinched from pain.

Absently, he flipped a small switchblade in his hand, testing the weight and edge against his fingertip until blood welled free. He found he rather liked it, even if wasn't nearly as sharp as his claws and snickered at the horrified look some jackass middle schooler gave him when he pointed the blade back towards him. Honestly, you'd think someone who'd been so gung-ho about getting "payback for my little brother" wouldn't practically shit himself the moment he lost his weapon. Satan was still in the body of a six year old, how imposing could he possibly be?

Very, the demon thought absently, as he made a show licking the blood dripping from his finger and saw the middle school brat shudder. He had a bad habit of playing with his food, but, well, it was fun.

The kid had nearly a foot on him, but Satan still only raised one brow when the boy recovered from his shock and attempted to loom over the demon. Attempted, because the boy refused to get within even a yard of the outstretched blade, which completely ruined even the faintest chance of the little, unimaginative, intimidation tactic of working.

"H-hey! That's mine!"

Satan stared at the boy, unblinking, for several long seconds.

The world narrowed, blurred, and then he had pinned the older boy to the floor, knife to his neck. He'd cradled the boy's head from the cracked concrete so something stupid didn't happen, and, deceptively gently, let go of the blond locks he'd fisted to keep the head steady. Absently, he let one of his sharp(ish) nails traces patterns on the back of the tensed neck.

"You really don't know anything, do you, vermin?"

The idiot who'd attacked him really wasn't suited for fighting. He'd frozen, suffocated so thoroughly by his own fear he didn't even realize he could have tried to call for help. Well, at least the fuck moron hadn't pissed himself. Yet.

"You see, you fucking lost. And the loser has to give up something."

Satan let his nail, as dull as it was, ghost up the side of the boy's neck, absently resting on his pulse point before moving on, dragging up inch by inch with each word, "It can be anything really. I'd say your pride would be enough, except you clearly have none. So I decided I'd take your pretty little knife." His hand had reached the boy's face, tiny and hardly able to eclipse it like he would have liked. But it was enough, and he slowly traced a trail up to the boy's watering eyes. He let one finger lightly press down when the next blink came. Not enough to hurt, but to keep the lid closed.

"But it is a rather nice knife, so I can see why you'd want to keep it. I still need something of yours, however. Now, if I don't get to keep the knife then what…."

He slowly increased the pressure until the boy gasped in what he probably thought was pain. No, this vermin didn't know what pain was, and in another time, another place…

"…should I get?"

Satan got a very generous gift that day. Which was to be expected; he taught that boy a very valuable lesson and it only cost him a weapon he couldn't even use properly anyway. Well, that and any sense of pride he had.

His eyes were an ugly brown anyway.

"They'll never believe you. And you'd have to admit you tried to stab a grade-schooler." Satan said when he'd released the boy.

"You…You're not human! You're a demon!"

Satan laughed till he was in stitches, and returned to the monastery in high spirits.

Prompts considered.