An inaudible yawn escaped his chapped and dried lips as he arched his head to release his oscitation, the low rumble in his throat tickled him, as his dull, weary, hollow darkened gems stared blankly at the pitch-white void he found himself in. His hands shifted against the metallic and cold surface of chains that had securely wrapped around his wrists, tugging them downward to the floor of the abyss. His eyes glanced down towards his hands and palms, trickling his attention to the chains. The metal coils seemed to just have uprooted from the ground halfway, but there was no apparent sign of where the chains had come from, except from beneath him of course. Being that this was an empty, snowy pit that expanded to as far as he could see, so was the surface he sat and lied on, it was just white all around him, and other than his ripped clothing that was at least a couple centuries old, he hadn’t seen any other shade of color other than black or gray. Maybe blue if he counted the visible, prominent blue veins through his pale, leathery skin, and red if the red bruising around his hand joints from the constraints that anchored him down. 

He lay down on the ground on his back, his arms crossed over his torso with the rattling of chains or the soft sighs being the only sounds he could hear. His right leg was folded in a right angle while his other bent under that leg, the side of his foot resting easily against the hard, leveled flooring. His obsidian gaze tried to pierce through the white canvas of his setting, wondering what it was like to just see a variety of color other than white and black (on himself), and he squinted his eyes as if he could make something out. Golden rays emitted from the distance, but he shook his head, knowing that his mind was only fooling himself. 

He had nothing here. He had nothing else to do here, nothing to live for as he emptily continued to gaze upwards. Well, he wasn’t alive. Afterall, this was his punishment in the afterlife. To settle here with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him. His past memories and guilt from his sins back on Earth were supposed to haunt him, that was half of his punishment, but really, it was the feeling of loneliness and the lack of warmth was what kept him on the brink of insanity. The numbing sensation that coursed through his veins was a constant reminder he had nothing, but he had nothing to end his suffering. Dying definitely wasn’t an option, as this was the afterlife- he was already dead. 

Any form of thoughts didn’t bring any emotions to him anymore, he had pondered over so many repetitive thoughts with nothing else to do other than to think, his memories from Earth hadn’t brought out a hint of sorrow or contentment in a long time… too long to count. The miscellaneous ideas that bounced around his mind no longer poked him with intrigue or interest, but often he wished he could do something other than the numbing sensation he had. Often he’d have the ability to recall his time of when he was alive vividly, just to see if he was capable of sentiment, which he to his disappointment, couldn’t. He was a hollow shell really, he seemed to have just wandered without a purpose or drive in living. 

That's what demons were created for. Wretched, cursed beings that people became after they’ve died and sinned during their lives on Earth, they were monsters that people on Earth would never dream of becoming. Becoming a demon was the cruelest punishment, death itself seemed laughable when compared to dying. At least, when someone became deceased, their agony and suffering stopped, and they would morph into beings with feathery wings, that was only if they haven’t sinned by the Carvings. Those that have sinned, were not only damned in their life as inhabitants on Earth, but also after their lives, they were to suffer tenfold. He unfortunately, had managed to have sinned, with a crime of the highest level, and having to end up here, in what they called the Hollow. A bleak white empty space with nothing.

He would have much preferred the level under him, the eight level, where they were sent to be haunted by their deepest and most regrettably imaginations for eternity, in an area called Tribulation. They relived pain, over and over, and over again in a never ending cycle, similar to the seventh floor, where sinners that belonged to that tier had their flesh pecked from vultures, ultimately being eaten alive, only for their forms to regenerate, as they were constantly being fed to the scavengers, never once dying in the process. The sixth floor, well, was less severe, but the lower floors still dealt fairly with either psychological or physical pain. However, the ninth floor, the tier he was in, had no pain. 

Anyone that belonged to the ninth floor would have preferred any other floor. If it wasn’t the boredom, their own thoughts, or the hunger, that drove them insane, it was the sickening feeling of not being able to feel anything, nothing to have distracted them from whatever problem they had. Pain seemed like a medication now, anything that would be a diversion to his emotionless state would be a treat. He would love to feel anything but his broken state. 

Though he was broken, he wasn’t soulless. That was when they truly had no desire to live. He had a faint desire to continue living in the afterlife, but he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t let go of the small amount of sanity he had managed to store inside of him. Most sinners didn’t have an ounce of morality when they died, and if they did, it often took them many years to resort to completely losing their humanity and their soul would be depleted when they did, they truly died. They no longer existed anymore, they were forgotten, without so much as a burial or a cherished memory that someone else shared with them. Their bodies turned to ash, and that was the end of the line for them. 

He’s lasted much longer than any other average ninth level sinner. How he still had his humanity, he didn’t know it himself, but he knew his soul was depleting gradually, and his body would disperse into tiny powders as soon as he gave into instability. What kept him going, what was his drive? He wasn’t too sure, perhaps a leftover from his prior life that still clung inside of a deep, chambered safe inside of his consciousness that he has yet to discover. All he knew was that he hadn’t wanted to feel the ripping of his skin off of his bones more than ever for the past century. 

He thought his ears tricked him when he heard an unusual fluttering that wasn’t recognizable to him. His head lolled slowly to the sound of flapping, and nerves shot off in his brain as his eyes widened, trying to comprehend if it was sight that was making a fool of him. He couldn’t both be imagining the sound and the sight could he? Though, he’s heard that sleep deprivation has done that, he had slept in the last week… it wasn’t possible was it?

But the noise grew closer, and the blinding golden rays rained down on him, streaming over his form as he squinted from the bright lights, his eyes adjusting to the new found color. The figure in his direction grew more and more larger, nearing him, and his assumptions were right of what this being was. His mind raced for a reason why it was here, here in hell, a place where demons were placed to be tormented for the rest of their worthless afterlives until they no longer had a soul. 

What on Earth was an angel of all beings doing here? 

His eyes scanned over the figure clothed in all white, a gown that graciously displayed the young angel’s captivating form. As a demon, it was expected of him to have lustful and feral desires the moment he settled his eyes on the girl, but strangely enough, he felt nothing but a soothing and comforting warmth that he had forgotten what it felt like. It felt strange, feeling it across his body, which was usually cold and still, but it had tensed his muscles at the newly found sensation filling his veins. He longed for more of it, unconsciously leaning his body forward towards the winged shape, his body grew more desperate to feel more. He suddenly had wished for something; it was the angel that stood before him. 

Her e/c gems stared down at his wretched form, her gentle and perfect skin radiating off light. From the length of her wings, she was a new addition to the angel race, having recently died a few decades ago. His jet black pits gazed back as the two separate beings from opposite races examined one another in awe. He couldn’t help but wonder. 

“Little Angel… what…” he stopped as he heard his hoarse, deep voice spoke, his tone ancient and fragile like, soft in a way too. 

The angel didn’t respond, as she walked towards him. Her wings flapped, a brush of wind combing through his wild and untamed raven hair as it brushed against his eyes. Moving elegantly, her legs carried her to his sitting up position, in which she leaned down. 

Her expression of pity and curiosity made something in the demon’s body clench. A surge of overcoming compassion he didn’t know he had crashed over him, his breath abandoning his form as he stopped breathing. How those e/c eyes glanced over his chained form somehow made him… feel something… something that wasn’t of pain or hollowness, an emotion he couldn’t pinpoint. It made him feel… secure and relaxed… was this the power of angels? Was this the power they emitted from their holy beings. 

She shifted from her standing position to kneeling down slowly, her hand reaching out to his face. He flinched at the sudden contact, but again, that feeling of warmth was deposited into his body, only it was stronger. He leaned in it. 

“Why are you here Little One… a place befitting for… demons like me isn’t one for you… especially in the ninth level…”

Her lips curved into a gentle smile, a sudden warmth spreading in his chest that didn’t originate from the contact of her hand formed. He wondered. 

“Why I’m here to save you, tortured demon.”

Probably will get a second part to this. Did you like it? This is my demon/angel au for Shota and Reader! Obviously Shota is the demon and Reader is the angel.