I hurry through the portal, dreading what I'll find on the other side.

Hell is cold and colorless, but the upper world that awaits me...it's worse.

It's bloody. It smells like death. The clouds are dark and low in the sky, and there's a reddish tint soaring from above, making everything seem gruesome and gory.

The street my portal opens onto is littered with debris. Ripped papers and shards of glass, remains of plates and goblets, and stains that are suspiciously red.

Screams echo in the background, though I can't tell where they come from. The foreboding in the air is pungent, and I pull up the collar of my cloak as a chill runs through me.

Things deteriorated while I was gone.

It's like this perfect little piece of utopia has been war-ridden over-night. Like a tornado of despair ravaged through, leaving nothing but the houses and buildings in its wake. It drove through the people, darkening their hearts, causing outrage amidst the entire population.

Women cry at their doorstep, clutching shirts to their bosoms, wiping at their tears with blood-stained cloths. Men roam the roads with tightened fists, muttering about how they're going to get revenge. I spot a few children huddled in corners, too young and confused to be so affected.

Hazelvale has gone to shit, and it's partially my fault.

I'm not sure where I'm going but I have to find her.

I once latched on to her scent; pure and delicate like rose petals. She was the aroma of lust itself, and I'm still confused why I didn't realize who she was right away. What she was.

Angel of love.

Bazroth never included angels in my flashes of knowledge before I was born. Whether he purposely omitted them or not, I won't wager. It's best that I forget about Bazroth and concentrate—for now.

The remorse that courses through me is intense. I want to take it all back, fix what I started by wounding Dru. Druvena, Bazroth called her. What a beautiful name.

And I tarnished it by blindly obeying a leader who thirsts for blood and vengeance.

I'm a demon. By nature, by name, I'm supposed to be evil. And yet, I didn't sign up for this. Sure, it was fun to go around fucking people and leaving them hanging for a second, but this? I don't enjoy seeing this world come undone so Bazroth can return and mess it up even more.

I don't enjoy the rush of hurting people, like I assume all other demons do. This world—Exivaria—is precious, and I don't want to see it destroyed by a grudge-holding monster who can't accept the cards he dealt himself.

Bazroth created me to cause heartbreak, but I don't want it.

I reject this looming feeling of dread weighing me down. I reject the responsibility for the after-math of my actions.

The only thing I don't reject is Dru.

I want to find her. Apologize. See if together we can rectify all this, maybe restore the world somewhat. I doubt there's any way to fully eradicate heartbreak now, but perhaps we can band together to prevent Bazroth from escaping. Get rid of some of the heartache and negativity to strengthen that veil he claims is about to thin.

I sense Bazroth's grumbles in my mind, but I shut them out. He can't control me anymore. Not now that I've discovered his true self, buried beneath his bulging muscles and snarling smiles.

He's the King of Hell, and his intentions were never simple. He made me to use me, and I never consented to that.

I knew he wanted to walk the earth. I knew he wanted pay-back. But the number of innocents he'll harm in the process?

I don't agree with it.

As I wander down the street that once housed the lovely bakery where I discovered macarons, I pause, dodging a heated argument near one of the shops. Two men are coming to fists over a woman who's cowering in a corner, shielding her eyes.

It's not my business to interfere, but I grit my teeth as I use a side-alley to bypass them. Maybe one day I'll know what to say, how to stop their pain. But for now, I only need to find—

"There you are."

That voice. Her voice.

I whip around, anticipation bubbling up inside me. It's Dru, I know it's her. It's that voice that's haunted me for days, the voice I've haunted, and I'd never forget it.

But the woman I find behind me is...not Dru. Well, it's her, but there's not a trace of the woman she was when I met her. Gaunt, sorrowful eyes rimmed with red, her once curvaceous body now limp and frail, her dress too big for her. There's still beauty about her, but her skin no longer glows, and all that was so enticing and alluring about her is gone.

I want her anyway. I need her. It was her heart that drew me in initially, I understand that now. It was her being, her soul, her very purpose—love—that brought me to feel for her.

"Dru," I say softly, approaching her as I would a wounded animal.

"No," she says, jerking her arm up, palm facing me. "No, you won't come closer."

I wince, swallow. I expected her to be reluctant, for her to want to smack me until I was blue in the face. I deserve it. After what I did to her, she has every right to beat me up and leave me shriveled in some back-street until I'm strong enough to stand.

But what I sense in her right now is much, much deeper than sadness. Much more piercing than hatred. The feelings in her are ominous, unlike her.

She's out for blood.

"But Dru—"

I gasp, choking for air. She tightens her fist as if clasping it around my throat. She's not touching me, yet I feel her grip around my neck, cutting off my words.

That's when I seep into her chest and notice her heart: it's no longer broken. It's healed; pure red as the first day I saw it.

"Dru," I say in a choked whisper, "you...your heart..."

She cocks her head to the side, squinting at me. "You can read hearts? You're not like other demons, are you?"

I wrinkle my nose as her grasp grows tighter, as if her actual nails are digging into my skin. "You know...what I am?"

She snorts. "I called you a demon the night I let you disrobe me, remember? Perhaps you thought it was a term of endearment?"

I'm no longer able to speak, her hold on me too constricting.

Demon. Yes, she had called me that, and I'd thought she meant it in some naughty way. Some playful way.

So all this time...she knew what I was, but I didn't know what she was?

"I..." I cough, "I didn't...know...what you..."

She releases her hold, and I collapse to my knees, clawing at my neck as if she'd burned it.

"You didn't know what I was," she says for me, spite in her timbre. She's looking down at me like I'm an ant she wants to crush, and I have no doubt she could, if she wanted to.

I sense the power rolling off her in waves. She's been cured, infused with a goddess-like energy that nearly blinds me. But instead of allure and lust in her aura, it's rage. Pure, unadulterated rage—directed at me.

"But now you know. Now your king has informed you. And now you have regrets?" She scoffs. Her fingers extend, her palm still facing me; and its surface starts to glow red.

She's charging up her power, and she's going to blast it at me.

She doesn't want to punish me, hurt me—Dru wants to kill me.

I asked for it. There's no ounce of me that doesn't think she has every right to murder me for what I did.

But I can't let her finish me. There has to be a way we can work together, we can make this right. I poisoned her, but she spread that poison.

We must ally.

"Dru," I say, gently lifting up and raising my arm, directing my palm at her. I've never used these powers, but they're anchored in me. They were in me at birth, and their usage is instinctual.

Except I don't aim to kill. Only to wound her enough so she'll back down and listen to me.

Her eyebrows furrow at my gesture, and the red light in her hand expands, extends—and explodes.

I have seconds to activate my own power to counter hers.

Wordcount: 1,407
TOTAL: 33,738