Chapter II; Part I: Truce of Fragility
thanks for reading the first chapter! things are getting interestinggg but (i also have no idea where im going now LOL) so if it feels like theyre just running around. they are (not much story progression here i fear, but maybe there is with the characters themselves.)
ALSO thanks everyone for the reviews! THEY MEAN SM TO ME! 333
i hope some character growth will be present in the next few chapters (and history will be known and understood among the characters!)
overall this is kinda a filler (to help get to the important parts! but you should still read it! :D)
also some parts contain some form of descriptive gore (proceed with caution!)
ps: okay so its a lot longer than i imagined. it will be put in parts, will probably post the second in a few days so i can continue writing other stuff (and for pacing reasons), thanks for understanding! AND something i didnt even expect happens 0-0!
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There was a fond silence that filled the room, wrapping Christophe in a deep, tranquil, succumbing slumber. His chest rose and fell softly, the quiet of the morning casting a peaceful veil over the space. The faint hum of the outside world felt distant, like background noise. And for a moment, everything was perfectly still.
Until it wasn't.
A sharp, clattering sound broke through the silence, like rustling leaves caught in a fierce wind. Christophe's brows furrowed in his sleep, his body instinctively tensing. The next sound—a loud, ear-piercing crash sent him bolt upright, heart racing, adrenaline flooding his veins. Glass shattered somewhere near the window, shards scattering across the wooden floor like spikes.
Instinctively, Christophe quickly reaches for his shovel nearby, gripping it tightly in his hands as he stands on the ground.
"What ze fuck!?" Christophe's voice cracked with disbelief, still groggy but now wide awake. His mind raced, struggling to make sense of the sudden intrusion.
Standing at the broken window, bathed in the soft, dim glow of the rising sun, was Damien. A slight smirk curled his lips as he nonchalantly stepped through the wreckage he had caused, as if he hadn't just shattered glass and Christophe's peace with it.
Every step he took, an echoing crunch resounded, glass dispersing across the room as he kicked the fragments in various directions. In the pure few seconds of silence that enveloped them, Christophe could feel something bad. Something bad was going to happen, and he didn't know what it was.
Damien looks around, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pitch black jeans, he looks towards Christophe, "Oh, hi. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up. But I had no idea you were sleeping," He began, his voice natural, casual, as if breaking into someone's home was normal to him. He looked towards Christophe's nightstand that had a digital clock labelling that it was sometime around early-late morning, "Kinda a bad idea to sleep at this time anyway, it's like—9 in the morning. You should really be up by now-"
He gets cut off by a splintering, earsplitting slam, metal against flesh as Christophe banged the flat part of the shovel's blade right against the skull of his head. It sends a ringing impact throughout his ears and it feels like his head is internally bleeding. He stumbles back, slamming into the wall and he wouldn't be surprised if it broke under his weight.
Christophe lunges towards him, shoving his shovel onto the other's neck, forcing it down on him as the wood scrapes against the skin of his trachea. Damien coughs, closing his eyes in the process as his Adam's apple scratches against the roughened wood, he then clenches onto the shaft of the shovel. His eyes shoot open and he glares quiet daggers of flames towards the other.
Christophe scoffed, his voice trembling a bit through the struggle of keeping the dominant position, his muscles tense, and he grunted from the pressure, "Well zorry, but today was a break day. Until you- you fucking cocksucking beetch- barged een." He holds his shovel against Damien, inching the sharp metal blade closer to the other's neck.
Damien flickered his eyes towards his potential end and he felt like gargling a bubbly laugh at Christophe's attempt at killing him. With one hand he seized the shovel, the force that Christophe was pushing felt ineffectual from Damien's strength. And he stopped struggling, like Christophe hadn't even shoved the weapon at his neck. And the Antichrist could sense and see the look of surprise in the other.
He smirked in response.
Hastily, using his free hand, he slithers it underneath the shovel—the surprise in Christophe's eyes was instant, his grip loosening just enough for Damien to take more control. Christophe barely had time to react (not like he could) before Damien's fingers rested on the first layer of skin on Christophe's neck, finding his throat. The touch was soft, gentle, at first, barely grazing the surface of his skin, but then he pressed his fingers deeper. Christophe gasped, his body tensing as a warm, glowing sensation began to spread from Damien's fingertips.
The pressure increased, and the skin beneath Damien's hand glowed against his own, faintly, as if the energy was seeping through Christophe's flesh, sinking deeper, invading him. Damien's fingers sink into Christophe's flesh, drawing blood as it goes deeper, and deeper.
Small trickles escape down his neck, but the pain? It wasn't the pain that terrified him. It was the scent that followed, a rich, intoxicating aroma lingered around the air between them. Christophe felt paralysed, and he couldn't move, his muscles jerking around in protest, slackening under the strange influence. Even though he wanted to fight- needed to fight he couldn't.
In a matter of seconds, he lost reason to fight.
It hit him like a wave—an overwhelming, dizzying sweetness that wrapped around his senses. It was like he could taste it, and his head swam as it enveloped him. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. His grip on the shovel faltered, slipping from his hands and falling completely into Damien's hold, his knees buckled and he almost fell.
And for a moment, he felt like prey. Trapped. Helpless. Alone.
"What… what are you doing…" His voice was weak, barely a rasp as the scent invaded his lungs. He wanted to push back, to throw Damien off, to strike at him again. But he couldn't. The will to resist was slipping through his fingers, buried beneath the overwhelming calm that Damien's scent forced upon him.
But he didn't want to submit. He didn't want to submit to anyone, at least, not again.
"Don't fight it, Christophe. It'll only hurt more—I don't want to hurt you, you know." His tone softened, almost coaxing. "But if you keep trying to kill me, I might just have too. Don't make me do this, Christophe." He pleaded, his voice low. But his fingers stayed deep into the skin of his neck, and Christophe couldn't understand what he was saying. His breath was ragged, uneven and his mind was two steps behind, the scent grew stronger, more suffocating, wrapping Christophe in a numbing sensation. Dulling his senses, his instincts, his thoughts.
Christophe's body trembled, his muscles twitching in defiance, his thoughts grew clouded, his jaw clenched, fighting the words that tried to crawl up his throat, fighting the pull of Damien's power. But it was getting harder. He couldn't think. The scent was in his blood now—it felt like it acted on its own, as if, reacting to its owner.
"F…fuck you." The words felt hollow when they crumbled out. He wanted them to come out as a snarl, a growl, to show that there was still that defiance in him, but they barely even escaped his throat. He tries to lift his arms, to shove Damien away, but they feel like iron.
He was stuck, immobilised by this, otherworldly calm that made him want to sink into Damien's arms that were slowly embracing him and just sleep.
"I'll... kill you. I will… I swear-" Christophe muttered weakly, his voice trembling.
"You keep saying that," Damien replied softly, his tone almost affectionate. "As if submitting scares you more than death." There was a silent pause between them, enclosing the room into wordless breaths and tight glares.
Damien then lifts his fingers off of Christophe's neck in a simple smooth motion, and the lethargy and vulnerability leaves Christophe's body almost instantly, like a spell being broken. Christophe's muscles unlock, his strength returning to him in a sudden jolt that left him gasping for air. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him again—but now, it was too late. Damien had already shown- proved his dominance—his power that he had over the other.
Christophe was completely at the other's mercy. And he couldn't deny it, no matter how much he wanted to.
He staggered back, out of Damien's hold and grabbed his shovel from Damien's tender grip. He slowly paced back, back to where he was before, on the left side of his bed, closest to the door that led to the dining table outside so there was an easy escape.
He positioned the blade back towards Damien, as if he still had some semblance of power over the other.
Damien ignored the weapon, as if getting his head chopped off was the least of his worries. Not like that would happen. He knew Christophe was 'under' his control now. "What a cute little place." He then looks towards Christophe's bed, then changing his gaze back to the brunette, "You sleep here?" Without any warning, he sits down onto the bed—Christophe moves his shovel back, but still keeps it close to him, as a warning about invading his territorial area. The springs of the bed make him bounce for a moment before he really settles into the atmosphere of the room, acting like he didn't just douse Christophe in an enticing state of mind.
Christophe's eyes narrowed. "You're just going to act like nozhing 'appened?" He warned, his voice low, still raw with the fragments of exhaustion. His mind was racing, trying to process what just happened—how Damien had him completely helpless just moments ago and is now relishing in his room like a friend visiting.
But the other stayed quiet, twisting his body so his back faced him instead, "That… forget that happened."
"I'll forget what 'appened eef you tell me what you did to me." He wasn't going to forget of course.
Damien sighed, his tone softened for a moment before hardening at the thought of the figure that was never in his life, "My dad used to do this to me when I was younger. It's called Lullaby of Souls or something. Kinda a stupid name… Anyway, back then I used to run around and pull the intestines out of the souls he was torturing. Playing with their bodies… It was his way of calming me down, putting me to sleep." He paused before a smirk briefly flickered on his lips. "I kinda forgot it's a bit… intense for a human, especially the first time."
But there was something else on his mind, something that hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he let it linger, mulling it over in silence. After a moment, shook his head, keeping his back turned to Christophe.
Christophe blinked, trying his best to shake off the confusion that clouded his thoughts, his mind slowly processed what Damien said and a growing disgust mingled with his usual irritation. His lip curled in revulsion, the vivid images appearing slowly yet grotesquely in his head. But in a way, it reminded him about something, physically and mentally familiar.
"You played with intestines as a kid?" Christophe's voice was flat, more irritated than shocked. He let out a slow breath, shaking his head as if trying to come to terms with the absurdity. "Of course you did. I shouldn't be surprised—anyzing to do with you ees always twisted."
Damien looks at Christophe with a mocking offence. "Hey, don't knock it until you've tried it. Hell's a pretty boring place for a kid. Sometimes you gotta let your hands do the work and give the brain some creativity."
"Creativity. With dead people's organs. Really? You are one sick, cocksucking, beetch… you're telling me zat's what counts as 'fun' for you demons?"
Damien shrugged nonchalantly, "Fun's relative when you've grown up surrounded by fire, brimstone, eternal suffering, you name it." He sighed, looking at his nails. "Playing with intestines was, like- a phase. Kinda like finger-painting… but maybe a bit more bloodier- but it still was colourful. And plus, I always had to resort to that stuff… it was relative when I needed it the most—being neglected and all." The words hung, dangling around Christophe, neglected had a strong meaning to Christophe. It holds the importance of the many events in his life. Like the first time he was betrayed, the first time he was lied to, the first—and second time he was abandoned. But now it all felt like a blur, something that just and keeps happening to him in his shitty life.
And be blamed God for it.
"Dead people's guts? I'm not even fazed by zat anymore."
"How could you be? I know you've been through, much, much worse." Christophe knew Damien was touching on a sensitive subject, something that inhabited deep, down into the roots of his problems, his existence. But he couldn't understand, like a part of his brain had made him forget. But he could hear the guilt in his voice. And that confused him even more.
"Now, can you stop waving that shovel around like it's going to solve all your problems?" He grips onto the blade, the metal sinks and bites at his flesh, crimson blood spills out in slow, slick dribbles, it paints the white bed red.
Christophe ignored the jab, retracting his shovel from the other, he wanted to keep it there, to instil pain onto the other but it was like the spell still clung to him, forcing him to not fight back. But maybe, just maybe it was because he didn't want to hurt him. He ignores that thought and during those few seconds of silence and recognition, he decided to focus on the real issue at that moment.
"But zat—zat spell—whatever you just did to me…" His hand flew to his neck, rubbing at the spot where Damien had touched him before placing his hand back on the shovel. By now the wound had already healed, leaving only roughened skin to overlap the damage. "Zat felt like being drowned in some overbearing perfume- or some heavy sex driven aphrodisiac. You seriously used zat to calm yourself down? 'ow do you sleep like zat?"
Damien turns his body back around, now facing Christophe as his gaze flickered briefly between his neck and face before his own eyes were filled with something that seemed more thoughtful than menacing. "It wasn't supposed to feel like that. When my dad used it, it was… well, soothing. Helped me sleep, took the edge off. But I guess on a human… yeah, I guess it can be a bit overwhelming." Christophe's gaze softens slightly. "Why? Did you get excited?" And then it hardens again.
"Fuck no. Fuck you. But no. It felt like you were devouring me. It felt sheety. never do that sheet again."
Damien's teasing smirk resurfaced, widening with every inching second, his voice dropping lower. "Devour you? Hm… interesting choice of words." His eyes gleamed with amusement, although the sun shone bright, Damien's eyes still glimmered, brighter as he tilted his head slightly. "Don't give me ideas, Christophe."
"Fuck you and your sheety ideas. I am not in ze mood for your games." His grip on the shovel tightened, his voice hardening as he stepped forward, the bed being the only object that separated them.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you're having fun." Damien slowly raises his hand—the one that was previously bleeding, but the gaping wound closed, no patches of scars littered it, almost as if he had a new hand. He tries to reach for Christophe but the other only backs up, shoving his weapon more in front of him.
Christophe's mind struggled to catch up. He opened his mouth, his accent thick with annoyance. "You're r*tarted." He shakes the thought, thinking it would be better to just throw the whole 'Damien' talk out the window. "But what ze fuck are you doing here? I have a shovel, and I am not afraid to use eet. So explain before I shove my cher straight between your eyes."
Damien raised his hands in mock surrender, though the grin never left his face. "Relax, I'm not here to kill you. If I was, you'd already be dead."
For some reason it was a thought that Christophe never really considered. But his eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the shovel, he was high on his feet, readying himself for anything—he didn't want to let his guard down, especially after what Damien did. But it didn't feel like it mattered anyway, comparing their physical capacity of strength to each other was like an ant and a bear. A losing battle.
Damien paused, as if considering how to phrase his next words once he saw the look of understanding on Chrisrtophe's face. "Oh well… but to answer your question. I kinda uh," He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, his eyes darting briefly away from Christophe. But the brunette only furrowed his brows from the humanoid reactions from the son of Satan.
"IkindaputaspellonyousothatIcouldtrackyoudown…"
Christophe blinked again, processing the words that spilled from Damien's mouth in one breathless rush. "You deed what?"
"But other than that," Damien quickly added, ignoring Christophe again, "I just came here to visit you." His voice took on a tone that was almost… friendly, almost as if yesterday they weren't at each other's throats. And Christophe could feel a tremor course down his spine in a heightened pressure.
Christophe really didn't want to be hesitating right now, he really just wanted (should) to end the conversation by slicing Damien's head off with his shovel (even though he understands that no matter how hard he'd try, he wouldn't be able to do it, not today. Not tomorrow, not ever). Straight between the eyes. But he didn't because he didn't want the other to retaliate and end up exploding his home (also because he didn't want to experience that spell again). He understands how much more overpowering Damien was now, and that he really ate his words about how this mission was going to be easy, just like the rest of them. And he wasn't even sure if this request from the anonymous sender was even possible now. It had to be a joke.
Damien's voice cut through his silent thoughts, "But… I really came here because, I just kinda wanted to-"
Before Damien could finish his sentence, the door swung open, banging against the door as Gregory stormed in, eyes ablaze with fury, his hand gripping the hilt of his weapon. His piercing gaze locked onto Damien immediately, and within a heartbeat his gun was aimed directly at the demon's face.
"Oh now you come een…" Christophe grumbled, but kept his eyes trained on Damien.
Ignoring Christophe's previous statement, Gregory snarled, his voice a dangerous growl. "What the fuck is this filth doing here?"
Christophe raised a hand, trying to calm Gregory down, but the tension between the three was too big to simmer. Damien didn't flinch with both weapons aimed on him, his smirk only grew wider, as if he was excited.
"Filth? That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Damien quipped in a teasing tone, brushing a few stray shards of glass off of his turtleneck and either onto Christophe's bed or the ground.
He ignored the protests from the brunette about, "That's my bed, you fucking beetch."
"I just dropped by to say hello. No need to get all happy about our reunion." He gave a mocking glance at Gregory's weapon.
Gregory's jaw tightened. "You've got ten seconds to explain yourself, or I swear, I will not hesitate to put a bullet through your head. And stay away from Christophe." He grabs Christophe by the arm, the other yelping before being pulled to Gregory's side. The brunette stares at Gregory for a brief moment but to no avail, he really has no idea what the stupid British fuck was thinking of.
Christophe, understanding that he was in a losing battle gripped onto Gregory's wrist, the blonde paid no attention to the sudden contact as the brunette whispered into his ear on his tip-toes, "Gregory, don't do somezing stupid and get us killed." He tries to grab Gregory's gun but the other pushes him—Christophe stumbles behind Gregory and feels like he should use his shovel to smash it in Gregory's skull. But he holds back, barely.
Gregory doesn't budge either way from Christophe's protests or his hands grabbing at him to back down, his eyes only narrowed on Damien, who was sitting so his back was facing them—but his head was turned, to really get a good look at them.
"How can you be so nonchalant about this? How can you trust him." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, a truth. And even Christophe didn't understand, it was like the scent Damien had released had a permanent effect on him—and so that he didn't become who he usually was- the guy who used brute force in every situation (only using strategy when Gregory gives him one. Sometimes.)
Gregory stays silent for a moment, waiting for Christophe to snarl back at him, but he doesn't so he takes that as an opportunity to continue. "How can you just let- might I add the man who tried to kill you- to just break in here uninvited, and be so completely calm about this? How can you just-"
"Oh, please." Damien interrupted, crossing his arms as he listlessly got up from the bed, walked towards the nearest wall which was in front of him—the farthest part of the room from the duo and leaned against the wall. He gives a quick look towards the gun that was still pointed towards his head, completely unfazed by the deadly weapon. "As if I'd waste my time knocking. And like I said if I really wanted to kill you, trust me. You'd be dead by now."
He was right.
"It ees not like I didn't try to get him out. Of course I am not 'calm' about this," Christophe grumbled. Shooting a quick glare at Damien. "But I'm not in ze mood to blow zis place up because of eet, either." 'eet' referred to Damien, and 'eet' did not look very happy. "Now put ze damn gun down before you get us both killed."
Gregory hesitated, his finger twitching on the trigger before he reluctantly lowered the weapon, though he kept it ready, just in case. As he whispered under his breath, it was barely audible but Christophe still heard it. "I don't understand what has gotten into you, Christophe. But snap out of it, this isn't the time to be making friends. Especially if you're supposed to kill them."
Christophe stayed silent, standing in the doorway, his eyes flicking between Gregory's clenched jaw and Damien's smug grin. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. He rubbed his temples with a groan, feeling a headache build behind his eyes.
"Zis is ze worst fucking morning I could 'ave on my first break day een years…"
"Oh, I'm sure it's about to get worse," Damien muttered, looking around the area.
Christophe shot him a look, fully aware that whatever Damien was here for, it wasn't going to be simple. He could already feel the storm brewing. And he wasn't excited for the outcome.
Just as he was about to open his mouth to demand more answers, to interrogate the shit out of him, the room shook violently, as if the ground beneath them was trembling with rage. A loud screech tore through the air, the sound of something unnatural clawing its way into their territory.
"What ze fuck-" Christophe stumbled, catching himself on the frame of the door
The walls groaned, and the temperature in the area dropped sharply. Christophe's instincts kicked in from the years of fighting he's been through, his eyes dart towards the kitchen behind him just as shadows began to crawl through the cracks.
Windows break, glass shattering—clattering against the walls, the ground, the furniture, crumbles to the ground, splintering wood stretching all around them. It covers the glass that has wedged its way between the cracks in the floor. Until all that's left are the appliances that were screwed down.
"What the hell did you do?" Gregory sneered, pushing Christophe in front of him, away from the demons but towards Damien. He slammed the door shut to give them a few more seconds of peace before they would eventually end up in another gruesome battle. Fetching his cutlass from its holster as he mounted his gun in its case on his shoulder, he unsheathed the sword and pointed it, this time though, it was directed at the door, as if he was anticipating for the demons to break it down.
Without another second wasted, Christophe's hand tightens against his trusty shovel, he turns around, back facing Damien as the demonic screeches grow louder against the door.
Damien coughed a small laugh, it screeched across the walls, being drowned out by the howls and groans of the hellspawns around them, "Oops, must've led father's demons here. My bad." His voice showed no sympathy, no apologetic tone whatsoever.
"Fuck you and your fazzer's fucking 'ellspawns… I wanted zis place to explode. But not by ze 'ands of my enemies or while I am supposed to be 'aving a break. You are seriously pissing me-"
The door bangs, hands- arms crashing through the wood, the cries, wails, grow louder with every second. The room vibrates with footsteps colliding from under and above them. The demons must have invaded the whole building. Gregory stands his ground, listening contently to the innocent screams around him, and the blood-wrenching crunches of skin- bones twisting and breaking with guts and blood squeezing out bursts of slimy, squelching noises. He watched the other two with strong eyes. Despite the chaos, his voice stayed steady with a calm, mellowing tone. "Will you guys please-"
"Oh, you want this place to explode? Why didn't you say so earlier? I can help you with that—and you're very welcome, I hope you enjoy the gift of being able to fight your enemies."
"You're amazingly stupid."
Without paying attention to the door breaking down and demons spilling into the area, Damien and Christophe only glare at each other as Gregory tightly holds against his cutlass, both hands firm and strong on the handle as he swings it and dislocates a part of a demon's head off, it crashes into the wall nearby, black gunk splattering against it in a loud clang of metal against the rough skin of the demons. The head bounces a few times, then rolls, and stops, its eyes bulging out of its sockets and its mouth wide open in protest of its throat being sliced. He then directs the gun between its eyes, and he pulls the trigger.
Although the bullet being fired is loud and reverberates around the small radius of the room, the two bickering did not hear it somehow.
"Why thank you."
"That eesn't a compliment, you r*tarted cocksucker."
"I'm sure you'd like that."
"What-"
"Alright." Gregory snarls. A disgusted voice lurking in his expression. "There are more drastic-" He swivels back, swinging his blade- the sharp metal cuts deep into a demon's head, slicing it in half, it drops onto the ground as he pulls his gun out and shoots it between the eyes again. "—Important- pressing issues happening as of right now. If you would like to not sit on your arse, make yourself useful."
Christophe narrows his eyes towards Damien, oscillating his weapon back before shoving it straight between the eyes of a demon, he doesn't even look at it as it lurches, slouching over before falling onto the floor, dispersing in cries of agony before it stops. Because it no longer exists in this world. "We will talk about zis later."
He looks away and towards Gregory who is being cornered by the horde. Christophe sighs and in one swift, clean motion, he holds the shovel by the handle and grips firmly on the inner parts, he begins to slowly twirl it around—he follows it like and pivots, letting the shovel dig deep into the skin of the demons' midsections. They stop their movements before their bodies get cut in half and slowly disconnect—sliding from their legs and falling lifelessly onto the ground, Gregory takes this as a opportunity to quickly shoot the demons in their weak spot as their guttural screams douse out into the thins walls, mixing with the screams of everyone. Christophe flickers his eyes towards the blonde. "And Gregory, your stupid 'British English' ees coming out, you gaywad cocksucker."
Gergory scoffed, walking towards Christophe, pulling his gun up, pointing it to the left side of himself before firing a bullet straight through a demon's skull. It melts through the head, goo clumping and sluggishly pooling down as it falls, collapsing to the ground in a pile of its own kind. "And your annoyingly winsome 'French English' 'ees' showing, mon cher." His tone was mocking as he shot Christophe a glance, his cutlass then being embedded in another demon's torso.
"You sure like throwing 'cocksucker' around, don't you, Christophe? You must resonate with it a lot." Damien points out, adding emphasis—trying his best to add a more 'French' implement into the word.
It takes a moment for Gregory to understand what Damien is talking about and his face turns into a scowl, in a short fit of rage he pulls his sword out of the torso of the other and smashes the blade of it through the stomach of a charging demon, like meat on a skewer, it hangs on it before he drives and jerks the sword up, slicing it in half as the two sides of the demon fall apart opposite sides of each other. Damien looks towards Gregory, rolling his eyes with a nonchalant smirk. "And stop flirting, it's fucking gross." He belches, acting as if he was about to throw up.
"Oh, I'm sorry, is someone jealous?" Gregory's tone was teasing, but his focus remained sharp as he watched Damien lounging without a care, as though the chaos around them were a mere inconvenience.
Christophe then rolls his eyes, seemingly (because he is) unamused. He flipped Gregory off for his arguing before he slams his shovel against one of the demons that was about to scratch at his face, its skull caving in from the impact. Gregory finishes it off, shooting it in the head.
"What are you, a cockblocker? Stay out of my way."
"I don't think that's how you use that word," Damien interjected albeit amused as he sat up from the wall.
"Fuck you," Christophe spat back. "'Elp us kill zese fuckers, and maybe we'll let you live."
Shocked, Gregory looks towards the other. Disbelief took over his eyes, "What? Christophe-" But the momentary lapse was enough for the demons to press their advantage, their shrieks growing louder as they swarmed closer. He tries to not let it get to his head as he sensed the demons would try to take his sudden vulnerability to their advantage; he changed his attention towards the continuous hordes spilling out.
Damien, meanwhile, raises his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. If it looks like your heads are about to get ripped off, I'll intervene." Without waiting for a reply, he sauntered over to Christophe's bed with an infuriating calm gesture. He lazily jumps on it, kicks his feet up, resting his arms behind his head as he then lays down on Christophe's bed. Looking completely at ease. (Even though glass pricked at his skin).
Christophe glared at him, frustration boiling over. "Oh, fuck you. You fucking lazy ass cocksucking beetch."
Before Damien could respond a loud gut-wrenching scream resurfaces in their ears, it rings and it feels like the sound itself would burst their eardrums. And shatter the building whole.
"What ze fuck was that-"
"Shit… good luck with that one." Damien mumbled, kicking one of his feet over the other and he then began looking at his nails with exaggerated boredom. Again.
Christophe rolled his eyes, "You look so gay doing that."
"What can I say? I'm just here to make you question everything about yourself."
Gregory could feel his eyes roll to the back of his skull but before he could say anything (in Christophe's defence) the walls shake and crumble—pipes get exposed and metal frame surround them instead of the thin plaster as a demon around triple the size of them bulldozed into the room with many lower-class demons following from behind. The impact of the wall smashes into Gregory, making him fly across the floor with a forceful backhand, his back skids until he hits the wall opposite side, his hands and legs mingling with the glass that Damien broke. He's right next to the window Damien came from, and right next to Damien, who didn't even bat an eye at him, he just kept staring at his warped nails that turned back into claws.
Christophe tried to act fast but as he was in mid-swing he noticed several demons converging on him as they realised Gregory was not much of a threat (or they thought). Their fangs bared and their claws were ready to tear him apart, they feasted on their bloodlust and only saw him as a source.
Damien's eyes swerved up towards Christophe who was now fighting back against 5 of the hellspawns along with the bulky one that looked almost as big as Damien's dad. Gregory slowly regains his balance, blood trickling down the side of his head, he grips his gun tighter before Damien puts a hand in front of him, disorienting his focused gaze trained on the demons around Christophe.
Damien sighed dramatically, pushing himself off of the bed as if being forced into the worst chore of his life. "Fine fine, I'll help. But only because you'd be so hopeless without me."
"Oh you help now when Christophe is about to be-"
With a flick of his wrist, Damien sends a surge of black fire spiralling towards the demons that cornered the brunette, the flames consume them in seconds and when it disappears flickering gone as the embers slowly die out in ash, it only leaves their charred remains behind. He dusted off his hands, smirking lazily. "Now, can I go back to doing nothing, or do you two need me to guide you?"
Christophe groaned, kicking one of the demon's limbs, the ashes fluttering around him as he stared at Damien. "Fuck you Damien. I 'ad it under control." Christophe then looked away and towards the ground, he ignored the biting feeling on his face that coloured it red. He tried to act indifferent, but the way his words stumbled out gave away the bite of pride stinging beneath the surface.
Damien just raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. Christophe thought, huffed and continued, avoiding Damien's smirk that would swipe his confidence away "But you should 'elp us… because zis isn't just our mess, you're ze one who caused eet." He shoots a side glance towards Gregory, whose eyes remained narrowed, locked on the demon carcasses still filling the room. By then, the room was in shambles, ripped drywall and installation to crumbled furniture and items sprawled out to the small gaping holes in the ceiling and floor that seemed to only grow bigger.
Christophe then locks his eyes with Damien, and he almost shivered from the gaze the other gave, he could sense the power, the ability of Damien. To control.
"And I ain't cleaning zis sheet up."
"Oh, so now I have to clean up your mess, huh?" He stretched leisurely, his mocking grin widened as he walked in front of Christophe. "Funny how you suddenly want me to pitch in, when like ten minutes ago you were ready to stab me through the skull. But alright, I guess to some degree I did cause this." He shrugged.
Christophe clenched his jaw, annoyance rippling through him, he could already hear the next wave of demons storming their way to this very room, they must've felt the Antichrist's presence was stronger here. Irritation ripped through his tone as he pushed as many words out as he could before he would be put back in battle. "Zis isn't ze time for your bullsheet. We're surrounded and more are coming, and I don't zink Gregory is going to keep up with all zese demons, you cocksucking f*g." He then gestures towards Gregory, who was panting slightly, his sword dripping with black ichor as more demons started to begin to creep through the shattered doorway—if it should even be referred to as a doorway by now.
Christophe grips onto his shovel tighter, he only let them slowly come through because they were the lowest of demons. Their bodies were too weak to carry themselves, so instead they crawled into the room, a slimy residue following it behind like a slug.
Christophe's voice sharpened. "We all know you enjoy zis crap—so get off your ass and 'elp you spawn of a beetch!"
For a moment, a glint of surprise crackles on Damien's face before it's replaced with a smirk, "Of course, besides in the next ten minutes you'd probably be dead." He cracks his knuckles, eyes filled with excitement as he turned his body around, his arm arching as it suppresses a condensed dark ball, he holds it in his hands although it levitated above and he grips onto it with two fingers before hurling it towards the mass of black filth like a baseball.
It sends an impact of black and white before imploding and corroding into a bright white light, it explodes sending things flying everywhere. Christophe and Gregory duck in instinct as shards of metal from the building and items and newly broken glass fly everywhere, some sticking into the walls after.
Christophe jolted up, grabbing Damien by the shoulders and swinging him around, the smug look on Damien gets wiped off and instead one filled with cognitive surprise as his brain scrambles around and his vision blurs with Christophe for a moment. "FUCKING SHEET! YOU'RE GOING TO GET US FUCKING KEELED!"
Damien blinks a few times, rubbing his shoulders after Christophe lets him go, staring towards where the impact started, the demons weren't even there, disintegrated into the air to never be found or heard of again. "Oops, forgot my powers get stronger on Earth. Sorry."
Before Christophe could fire back about the others' stupidity, the walls (or what's left of them) shake again, more violent than before, and that's when Christophe knew things were going to get much, much worse. Hordes of demons stumble in through their front wall, because there was no door, no wall, no anything but the foundation. Christpohe was honestly surprised that this place was still standing by now.
The demons tumble in, this time they were all around the same size of the demon from before, bigger, stronger, their eyes glowed red instead, and their claws scraped against the walls- the inside of the walls as well as the ground. One of the roars shaking the air around them and vibrating their bodies.
"Oh sheet, they just keep coming."
Damien sighed, "Yea well, my father really likes to test me. So this is like a daily routine by now."
"Ze fuck ees wrong with your fazzer, zat's putting innocents on the line- oh, but you live een South Park so suddenly I don't really care anymore."
Damien laughs before he flicks his wrists, they burst into flames, summoning crackling bursts of dark energy, he launches himself straight into the horde, blasting himself into the chest of the largest demon, he sends the first one crashing back through the wall with a deafening roar.
Gregory raised an eyebrow, his breath steadying as he shot a glance at Christophe who was working at the smaller lower-class demons that knew they stood no chance against Damien (not like they stood a chance against Christophe either, but it was the thought they had that counts). "I can't tell if I'm grateful or if I want to shoot him myself."
Christophe didn't look back, his focus already shifting to the next wave of demons spilling in as he kicked the one he just killed into the wall. He walked into the dining area which was relatively empty because of Damien scorching all the demons with no time for them to react. The area was demolished, his stomach curled and he wondered if there were still Cheerios in the cabinet.
"Just keep shooting, and we'll figure eet out later." With a quick spin of his shovel, he charged towards the nearest demon, swinging hard and fast, Gregory pushed forwards, helping Christophe in the process. Damien grinned like it was all a game.
As they fought, offensively and defensively, Damien's powers effortlessly tore through the hordes, his movements were fluid and precise and each blast of energy or flick of his wrist dismantled the demons with ease.
Gregory fought fiercely yet gracefully alongside them, accompanying Christophe as his sword sliced cleanly through demon after demon, bullets following to finish the job.
Christophe, who was covered in soot and demon blood, gave Damien a sidelong glance as the room began to slowly clear. "I 'ate you."
Damien smiled, "Aw, don't be like that, Christophe." He wiped some blood off his face, flicking it elsewhere. "You definitely are loving me now that I saved your sorry ass."
"Fuck off."
"We're all going to die if we keep this up." Gregory grumbled, catching his breath as he holstered his gun and shook his head.
"I'd like to see them try to kill me."
"I would like to see zem kill you."
"What-"
Before Damien could respond a demon tackles him to the ground, and for a moment it bites him, he screams in slight amusement and agony before grabbing onto the demon's head, scorching it into flames at it falls limply to the ground, the other demons take his sign of weakness to charge full, but it was too late, Damien had already stood up and began to fight with only the ill intent. For fun (also because he got embarrassed from showing a sign of weakness).
As they continue to fight, the room rumbles and cracks under the force of the demons flooding in, it becomes painfully clear to Christophe and Gregory that Damien's involvement was no longer optional. The walls crumble, more furniture splinters into debris, and as the waves keep coming, the demons grow larger and more vicious. They were slowly being overpowered despite Damien charging at everything, barely leaving anything for them to call home. But they all knew it, they were being overwhelmed from the situation.
Christophe grunted, swinging his shovel with precision, cleaving a demon's head from its shoulders. He barely had time to catch his breath before another beast lunged towards Gregory.
"Gregory! Behind you!"
Gregory spun around, his sword slicing clean through the arm of a charging demon- it staggered back, disoriented before he dispatched the creature with a swift bullet to the skull, but even then, the horde seemed endless. His face was grim, lips tight with dried blood as he glanced at the destruction piling up.
"This is not sustainable." He mutters before impaling one of the demons straight through its stomach with his blade, stabilising it long enough to blow its brains out. He looked to Christophe, concern flickering his own eyes. "We're going to have to evacuate."
In a moment of realisation Gregory's eyes popped out, and he felt lightheaded. "The residents…" It takes a few moments for Christophe to understand what he's saying. Gregory stands up straight, rushing towards the door before turning on his heel, his voice urgent. "You and Damien will have to try and kill as many hellspawns as possible. I'll try to get the innocents out of here…" He pauses. Waiting for confirmation.
Christophe hesitated for a split second, worry flashing through his gut but he shook it away, because there were more people at the stake of his mistakes. And Gregory could fend well for himself. He gives a sharp nod.
"Go."
Gregory hangs on the broken door frame, giving Christophe one last glance. "Meet me at the station. I'll be there probably an hour from now on." And just like that, without another word spoken, Gregory was gone, sprinting through the crumbling hallways to save whoever he could.
"Sheet." Christophe mumbled, as his mind raced, his eyes locked on another demon as it lunged towards him. He kicked it down and shoved the blade between its eyes. Planting his foot on the step of the shovel before smashing the tip of the blade, cutting its head in half with a sickening crack.
He glances back at Damien, who was still grinding the demon's skulls with his hands, clearly enjoying the carnage. "I 'ope you don't get too distracted. We 'ave a lot more killing to do." He then looks back to the demons emerging.
"We are going to 'ave to learn how to use teamwork." He spits the word out like it was poisonous, Damien only chuckled.
"I thought you French were all about independence."
Christophe looks back to try and curse at him but before he could yell, the Antichrist releases a surge of power unlike anything he had seen before. The dark magic coiled around one of the high-class demons which was about to devour Chrisophe, as it crawled stealthily in, he binded it in place as it thrashed around violently, its roar screeching through the demolished building.
"There," Damien said with a smug grin, watching as the demon struggled against the force of his magic. "Teamwork."
"Teamwork? My fucking French ass. You are hogging all ze fun, beetch." Christophe snarled before thrusting his shovel into the demons skull, its shrieks dissipate and Damien only smiles before letting the swirling abyssal-like binds around it disappear as it falls into a clump, he snaps his fingers, watching as the body of mush burst into flames.
Damien shrugged, unbothered by Christophe's frustration. "Can't help it if I'm better at this."
Christophe clenched his jaw, ready to retort at the hellspawn, but a deep rumble beneath their feet silenced him. The building felt like it was on the verge of collapsing. And both Christophe and Damien knew they had to get out of there.
The ceiling creaked. Cracks spiderwebbed across the floors, the walls, and above as chunks of debris began to fall from up high. The demons seemed unfazed from their mindless state, continuing their relentless attacks.
Christophe felt his eyes dart around, a slight panic gnawed at his gut. "Zis building… eet's about to collapse!"
"Then we should probably leave, huh." Damien shrugged, looking entirely unconcerned.
Christophe felt worried, it wasn't that he was worried about himself getting out alive, it definitely wasn't about Damien getting out alive. But it was about how he put innocent lives in danger, how he got all these people killed. And maybe it was the other part, the part that still cared about Gregory. How was he doing? Was he getting everyone out safely? Was he getting out safely?
But Christophe got knocked out of his train of thought as a massive chunk of the ceiling came crashing down, he didn't get time to react to smash it into bits with his shovel. It landed inches from where he stood. He cursed under his breath, realising that they didn't have much time left. The walls were crumbling around them, and the demons were still flooding in.
"We can't stay 'ere! We need to evacuate!" Christophe yelled, his voice barely audible over the deafening noise of the collapsing house.
Damien grits his teeth before merely shrugging again, blasting away another group of demons with a flick of his fingers. "Sure, whatever you say."
In a matter of seconds, Christophe sprints towards the same door that used to greet him everyday before and after a mission, and he was greeted by the smell of cigarettes and the stench of raw demon remains. And then, he was greeted by the thought of Gregory living here, the thought of them living here. And for some reason it all came crashing down on him.
But he clenched his fist, right now wasn't the right time to start reminiscing about the past in their shitty apartment, the piece of shit was crumbling right now, and Christophe was part of the cause.
He bursts out the broken door frame, the top of it dangling off, threatening to come down and break the already loudly creaking floor. Damien follows, his eyes trained on hordes of demons that kept following him like mindless zombies.
It was all too easy for him.
They fight their way through, trying their best to ignore the falling parts of the building but the floor beneath them buckled, sending both of them stumbling as they dodged debris and decapitated all the demons that continued to swarm.
Christophe could hear it, hear them. It was the scream of the people. He wouldn't lie, he has never talked to anyone in this building, but to him, it didn't matter because every scream, every cry was a constant reminder that he had failed them, regardless of the distance he kept from their lives, they were now paying for his mistakes.
As the cries of the innocent scream louder, echoing throughout the building and now to the outside world, he could hear the ringing of car alarms, the wail of sirens in the distance and he knew that the demons caused much more damage than to the building. And he was stuck in the middle of it.
They turn a corner, and find a woman and a man huddled together, cornered by the devils; he lunges towards them, his shovel high above his head, but it was too late. Their heads squeeze off with one last scream before it was abruptly cut off and their skulls burst from the pressure, their lifeless bodies collapse to the ground, doused in their blood and remains of the place they called home.
He froze for a moment, his heart sinking into his stomach. He clenched his fists, his grip tightening around the handle of his shovel until his knuckles turned white and he found no source of further hesitation as he crashed his shovel into both the demons, they scream, wail, yelp. But it didn't compare.
They fall limply on the ground by the man and woman that were no longer here. And Christophe glowered down at them, an unreadable expression intertwined on his face.
Christophe and Gregory saved a few of these people from time to time. They had fought hard to protect them, but every time he and Damien got close, they would be on their knees decapitated. It was too late. Because every corner they turned revealed more lifeless bodies, more innocent lives snuffed out before their eyes.
It was a massacre, and they were only losing the people around them. But at the same time, Christophe felt like he was losing a part of himself. He had never bothered many people in general. Christophe was a drifter, never staying in one place long enough (or his shitty apartment) to form any meaningful connections (that and the point that he's never talked with anyone in this building (other than saving them a few times from unfortunate events where his mission got involved in certain places)).
But now, hearing their cries for help, their voices pleading for mercy in the face of the demonic beings, he really couldn't help but listen. Knowing it was all because of him.
But the cries of the innocent, or what was left of them grew louder, mixing with the unrelenting roar of collapsing walls and demons screeching and the sickening crunch of bones being shattered. Christophe felt his heart pound in his chest from adrenaline. They both dodged falling debris, their movements almost mechanical as they slashed through the unending swarm of demons. Every demon that fell was replaced by two more—like duplicating—the air was thick with blood and ash. But it was the screams—the human voices that tore Christophe into two.
Like a never ending cycle, the urgency of their situation intensified. More demons poured in through the shattered windows, the damaged ground and ceiling, the floor cracked and splintered under the pressure. Innocent people were still trapped in the building, their screams so loud it was almost deafening. They must have had to be close to the exit.
They turn the corner and Christophe's eyes bulge out, he sees two survivors—a girl and a boy who both looked young, their faces streaked with tears, ash, blood. They cling onto each other, sobbing uncontrollably as they stand over the mangled bodies of their parents.
It was all Christophe's fault. He had caused this—this destruction, this chaos. He hadn't meant to, of course. But that didn't change the fact that these children had just lost everything.
Christophe moved towards them, his voice soft yet urgent. "Come on. We need to get you out of 'ere."
But they don't move, their whimpers muffle from the snot dripping down their faces and they only hold onto each other, as if that was the only thing that was giving them strength. Damien comes around the corner, continuing to fight the demons that were clawing at his clothes, tearing and ripping it into shreds. But his pants by the end turned into long shorts.
"Christophe, we gotta go. These motherfuckers fucking-" His attention turned to the children, and his expression softened for a moment. "Who are they?"
They cry harder, screaming at Damien, "You killed them!" The girl yelled, pointing an accusing finger towards him, her voice cracks, and she crumbles to the ground, surrounded by the death of her parents. Her brother follows her down and she embraces him in a tight hold.
The brunette stares at Damien, the other only backs up, completely oblivious to what was going on. "Eet's because you are one of zem."
"I'm not one of zem. But hey, let's stop fucking around. We have people we can save and help so let's-" Before Damien could finish his sentence a high-class bulky monster crashes through the wall from the children's apartment, it smashes into Damien and they fling into the next room.
Christophe's senses heighten, and the sense to protect the children grows stronger, he stares back at the girl who was now looking at him wide-eyed, terrified. And in her eyes he could see it, he could see himself.
Christophe didn't really care what happened to Damien (especially because of how overpowered he was), but having him around made him feel safe (even though he was the son of Satan). And knowing that he was in another area, made him feel a bit more vulnerable than before, especially because there were innocent children he had to now make sure got out safe and sound.
But that didn't matter as of right now, he had always fought alone, despite saving many people. But why did it feel different this time?
Her tiny body trembles in fear as she stares at him with tear-filled eyes. Her brother doesn't speak, he couldn't, the strength had completely left him as he simply clutched his sister around the torso tightly, his own face pale and emotionless, he had stopped crying from the shock that had numbed him to the horrors surrounding them.
Understanding that they wouldn't talk, Christophe bends down and scoops the boy into his arms, because he was the weakest link. He stares at the girl, who got up, begging, pleading for him to spare them, as if he was going to end their lives.
"Don't worry, kid. I'm 'ere to 'elp. Think you can climb onto my back?"
The girl hesitates, staring at her parents, she shakes her head, squeezing her eyes closed tightly before opening them and letting her eyes linger onto her brother, she sluggishly gets up, hiccuping and hyperventilating, she rubs her swollen red eyes, nodding. Christophe kneels down and feels her weight press onto his back before he feels tiny, small arms link around his neck. He stands up and quickly walks forwards, without looking back, because there was nothing to look back to. And he hopes that the children didn't look back, because he didn't want them to grow up just like him.
. . .
As they walked quietly throughout the area, the demons screeched and the human cries died out slowly, until they were only light voices in their heads. The children on him were light—too light, he thought, as if their bodies had been drained of all life force. The girl buries her face in his shoulder, her sobs muffled by his shirt, while the boy remained silent, staring blankly at the destruction around them.
"I'm sorry…" Christophe muttered under his breath, guilt consuming him as he carried them.
"It-… it isn't your fault, mister," The girl replied, her voice shaking—quiet, weak, vulnerable. And he couldn't help but let it remind him of everything.
He averted his gaze, unable to meet her eyes, because deep down, he knew—this was his fault
His hand gripped tightly against his shovel, he darted his eyes around, too many people died by his hands, his choices, his mistakes. He couldn't let the people he had just saved die so quickly, they were going to survive. Go through school, through college or university… whatever they decide, and have a family with people they one day will meet and love, and be a family. They were going to have normal lives.
Normal… the words linger in his head, and he knows that they won't be normal after this, he scarred them, traumatised him. How can they have any resemblance of normalcy remain in them?
He wants to throw up, punch the wall, destroy the place. But he can't, he couldn't. He had already caused so much damage. And he couldn't do anything about it, no matter what.
As he turns a corner, the screeching wail of a demon rings, the noise like a siren as it pierces through his head before a wave of demons surge towards them, their snarls growing louder as they charge onwards. Although the children he held watched, their voices were dry, and nothing came out but guttural voices of fear and whimpers that threatened in their throat to disperse.
He grips his hand on his shovel, it was harder to carry, and the weight of the children made him feel much heavier than before, so his movements would be jagged.
But he couldn't give up, he had never given up. He had no reason to give up.
He tenses, ready to fight while there were children grasping at him (other than the boy who just stared ahead at the monsters).
A booming voice calls out, before a burst of explosions come from the side of the wall, separating him and the demons from each other as rubble falls out of the sky. Damien steps forward from the blistering smoke, billowing outward in a mass of gas. His eyes glow, and he clenches his hands into tight fists.
Blood streaked his clothes, a darker shade of black, and black gunk of demon remains smeared on his face, camouflaging him with his clothes, his own blood leaking out from the side of his head, mingling with the demon's.
"Don't worry, I got this. Get the children somewhere safe. I'll cover you," Damien said, raising his hand with a lazy flick of his wrist. A barrier of dark energy warps out, erupting from thin air, it surrounds Christophe and the two children in a protective shield, but it blurs the area around him a bit, and he can only see a warped image of Damien giving a small smile. But it was quickly fought off into a snarl as he turned around, black energy colliding into his hands as he began to relentlessly thrash at the demons.
The demons that did get through however slammed against the barrier, howling in fury, Damien's power quickly latches on, holding them firmly.
Christophe nodded, his expression tight with strain as he held onto the children harder. He didn't have time to communicate with Damien, where they should gather after, not with the walls crumbling around them and demons still pouring in. But with Damien's barrier shielding them, shielding him, he felt safe for once.
He sprinted towards what was left of the exit, dodging falling debris as the building continued to collapse, he could hear the blades of helicopters swarming around from above, bullets firing, demons howling, people screaming. He ignores those cries and noises, blocking them out. He only focused on what was in front of him, an escape, freedom.
"Hang on." He whispered huskily to the two in his arms, his voice barely audible over the chaos. The two children clung to him for dear life, their tiny hands clutching at his shirt that was once again torn and filled with the blood of demons and his own as he manoeuvres through the wreckage. The area around them creaks, exploding as more parts of the building get ejected from its origin, the ceiling above them sagged dangerously. They were out of time.
Christophe could hear behind him Damien laughing through the hallways as he relentlessly unleashes blast after blast of dark magic, cutting down any demon foolish enough to get too close. To him, this was all just a test—a bloody, violent test. But for Christophe, the stakes couldn't have been higher.
His heart pounds in his chest as the walls begin to cave in, blocking the already cramped exit. Demons lurk around, slithering around the three who were like prey, he can feel the children in his grasp tremble with fear, ready to meet their end.
"Zere are too many of zem…" He mumbled, he held his shovel tightly in his grasp, but it was no use to him, not right now. The demon's claw, scratch, bite, at the barrier, the shield that was the only thing that kept them safe now. And Christophe began to wonder where the hell Damien was.
Christophe cursed under his breath, his mind racing as he scanned the area for another way out, after all, the barrier was so strong he could walk through the area without having to worry. But then, it cracks. Splitting into millions of different angles around them. The children cry out, holding onto him tighter.
Just then, Damien appears behind him in a flash, his teeth gritted as he pants heavily. "Were trapped," He said, though his tone held no fear—mild irritation, as if this were all a mere inconvenience to him. "Father sent the most fucking demons I've ever seen. What the fuck was he thinking?"
Christpohe scoffed, "You killed everyone here. Fuck you."
Damien stays silent but his guard is raised higher as one of the more skimpier demons emerge from the mass, it morphs into the form of a human and walks into the middle of the area, cramped between the debris and bodies.
"Your father has sent you a message." Its voice called out, monotonous, deep, but fluent as it extended its hand out, ready for an interaction. Damien sceptically walked out into the area, a few feet away from it before he reached out, snatching the letter and tearing it open, ignoring all the hearts and flowers on the pink envelope.
His eyes race left and right as he reads it, his face scrumping into a scowl, his hands clenched tightly onto the paper before he tears it apart, in half as he screams. "FUCK OFF DAD!" He burns the two parts of the paper as his face twists in rage, they glisten and die into the air disintegrating.
His scream tore through the air, his eyes sparkled red, and a fire erupted around him, enveloping his skin, his clothes in a bright flame. The sheer force of the inferno sent shockwaves of pressure rippling through the already unstable structure, the ground beneath them trembling as if the earth itself was about to give way.
Christophe grits his teeth, he can barely keep his feet gripped onto the ground, he shoves his shovel into the dirt to stabilise himself against Damien's uncontrollable fury, because even the foundation of the floor was broken. Revealing the first layer of the Earth.
The whole place seemed to teeter on the edge of complete destruction.
Just when it seemed like things couldn't get worse, Damien loses complete sense in his chaotic state and summons one final burst of energy. The explosion was instantaneous. Flames shot upwards, engulfing the entire building as the walls, already weakened by the battle, gave way in a deafening roar. The force of the blast sent both Christophe and Damien flying, debris raining down around them as the inferno consumed everything in its path.
Christophe's shield shatters apart and he smashes against a part of the broken wall, in the midst of it, he throws his shovel, grabbing onto the girl that held on to him for dear life and he holds both her and her brother tightly in their arms.
As he impacts against the chunk of cement, he feels bones crack, his skull crack, his ribs crack, his heart crack. And he falls limply over, coughing debris and ash and dust and blood. His vision blurs, hazy, in a daze, and he hears the cries of the children as they cling onto his shirt, begging him to stay awake. To not die.
He can hear Damien call out to him, turning his attention towards him, because everything, everyone but him, the sister, and brother in that proximity was dead. Christophe hoped Gregory made it out with as many people as possible. But what if… what if he didn't get out in time?
"No… he made eet." He mumbled, watching up as the sky crumbled above him, large cement blocks, trusses of metal fell around him and then, he saw a light.
And a block crashes down on his legs.
And he can feel the life being drained from him, blood pours down his head, soaks in his pants. He chokes, it hurts to cough, his insides are compressed, begging to be released, he felt like he was going to puke out his organs. Not again.
He feels strong arms grab his shoulders, and he is shaken around, his head spins. Please stop… I just want to sleep…
"CHRISTOPHE!" Damien cried out, cursing under his breath before kicking the debris that fell on him in frustration, it bursted with energy, cracking from Damien's force as it exploded into millions of pieces, shattering into the nearby crumbled debris.
The children flinch, hanging onto each other, sitting down—collapsed onto part of the ash and debris that littered the area,
"FUCK!… Nonono, this can't be fucking happening." He mumbles out in short breaths, he grips tighter onto his shoulder, kneeling down so his bloodied knees meshed into the dirt, covering them in a thin layer of it. He closed his eyes, inhaling deep breaths through his nose. Trying to calm himself.
And in that moment, he kisses him, and Christophe can feel the pain numb away.
It was soft, harsh, and rough. But not in a physical way, softly, dimly, faintly, a light envelops the two and he can feel himself being cleansed. But it hurts, he cries out, trying to push him away but it only causes Damien to push him harder onto the wall, he mumbles on his lips, vibrating them together. "Let me do it… please Christophe, don't resist… it'll only hurt more."
He moulds their muscles together, dragging his hand down to his broken, mushy legs that twist in awkward angles, his hand glows, and a force ghosts over Christophe's body.
It heals him, it saves him. But it was by the hands of the person he needed to kill.
It felt wrong, it was wrong, but at that moment he didn't care.
He fell into the embrace of his enemy.
And maybe it was Damien who gave in, or maybe it was he who gave in.
He didn't know but all he could think about was Gregory.
—
this was much longer than i anticipated… hope you enjoyed!
next part will be posted in at least a week or so bc im slowly working on it (busy oof)
and sorry for the abrupt end, wasnt really sure how to end it BUT omg the relationships between the trio tighten! HOW COMPLEX IS THIS GOING TO BE? idk.
i didnt expect slash either LOL
Also.. i just realised i labelled the prologue wrongly (as in capitalising titles) idk how to change it so from now on everything will be capitalised otherwise it will drive me crazy. my apologies