Chapter Text
Warm. His blood was warm.
Demon’s blood shouldn’t be warm, Belphie thought, panicked and despairing. His own blood burned against his skin.
The longer he stayed here, the weaker he became. If he didn’t escape, he would be nothing more than ash and bones.
Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to move. Pain ached in his ribs any time he tried to breathe, any time he shifted against the chains of the darkdarkdarkdark dungeon. Belphie could barely let himself think.
If he started thinking, he would remember .
The heel of the boot on his face. The metal of the chains digging into the skin. The silent screams that barely left his cracked lips.
Cold water on his cheeks. It tasted like salt on his tongue.
Who was he crying for?
“Me,” the darkness whispered sadly. But the darkness was sometimes Beel’s guilty eating, weeping into the bowl, when he thought Belphie was dead asleep. He smelled his own blood and his own vomit, some still drying on his shredded clothes. Did Beel ever realise that Belphie cleaned up those dishes and bowls after Beel was done?
“Me,” the darkness whispered sadly. But the darkness was Lucifer’s tired, grieving eyes that refused to look at the family photos for too long, eventually leading to Lucifer turning the photos downwards, but only the ones with the grinning Mammon. He wondered if he would lose his fingers next. He wondered if Lucifer ever wrote back, sending letter after letter after letter after letter for a brother who would never see the sun again.
“Me,” the darkness whispered sadly. But the darkness was Lilith’s slender fingers that played the harp so beautifully it brought the human to tears, the same fingers that reached out for Belphie for help as the arrow pierced her body. Would his tongue be cut out? What a twist of dramatic irony it would be, Belphie had to admit. Or maybe his hands? Who would bring the flowers to her grave then? Red carnations, red for the colour of her hair, red for the blood that was spilt in her name. The only woman worth fighting for.
When did it go wrong? Belphie asked himself. Whenwhenwhenwhenwhen-
When God reached out and gave humans light?
When the servants of the light lusted so terribly for the hearts of humans that they entered their minds and poisoned their souls?
When Lucifer loved his family more than he loved his duty?
Mammon had been the first one to follow him, too. Mammon had always loved better than that he obeyed.
No, it all went wrong with Mammon-
When Mammon met her .
That’s when the world went to Hell and burned around them.
Too late now.
All Belphie could do was wait for the forgiveness to come and let him rest and for the sunlight to warm his cold cheeks, where the tears had frozen into place.
The door swung open. He saw the knife first.
“What about me?” whispered the blade. “Do you grieve for me, too?”