Chapter Text
“Zasimal, previously from the War Faction; you are now stripped of your honor and will be sent to spend eternity, secluded, in the overworld, until you can atone for your sins.”
There was no point in speaking up against the council. Two trials had already ensued, and two verdicts of ‘guilty’ were given. There was no hope in changing the council’s mind.
A shadowy figure sat high upon a chair, in a semi-circle of pews and tables. To the human eye, it was but a shadow with a somewhat physical form; but to the demon eye, the being was immense in size and power. Its malice oozed from its aura; choking those weak enough to succumb to it. The being spoke, but no mouth was visible; one would simply hear its raspy bellow within their head, leaving the ears ringing and throbbing afterwards.
A ghostly, skeletal hand reached out from the depths of its form, grabbing a gavel and pounding it into the wood of a desk, twice. And that was the end of Zasimal’s high-end life.
In the center of the pews, a red and burning symbol etched itself into the glossy floors of the holding. Its shape was made of circles and obscure lines, unrecognizable to most, but a symbol of punishment to demons.
The demon, Zasimal, was dragged into the center of the circle by the baring teeth of hellhounds. He was dropped to his knees, abandoned in the middle of the burning sketch. He could not look up to any familiar eyes, no crying voices cursing the council to let him free; no one to miss.
Except her . But she was gone.
So, Zasimal hung his head and accepted his fate; welcoming the fiery bolts that rose from the symbol to transport him to his doom. When he lifted his head again, he was in an old cabin. The symbol that teleported him permanently carved into the creaking floors. It was years before Zasimal got up from his seat, finally choosing to look around his forever home. There wasn't much.
It was a giant room, only separated by a thin wall about a third of the way into the cabin. The smallest quarter had a kitchen of sorts. It was specialized for demons; so, tall cabinets and handles made for sharp claws. There was a stove of sorts, though Zasimal wasn't sure he would utilize it. Past the kitchen was an open room, holding a large bed, a table with two chairs, and a long couch sat in front of a fireplace. An empty shelf stood next to the bed; in fact, every cabinet and drawer was empty as well. An outhouse stood behind the cabin, though he hardly made use of it at the start.
The fireplace never stopped burning, so for another few years Zasimal took to sitting in front of its warmth; watching the dancing flames as each hour, day, and year passed.
It wasn't until then, he decided to make it cozier. He would be here for an eternity, so he figured he should get to it while he figures out a way to return to the underworld.
With his fleeting amount of morphic magic, he would go into civilization to gather small materials, a quilt, better mattress, and even some rugs. None of which he necessarily needed, but it made him the tiniest bit content. Sometimes, on his ventures out, he would get books to read, simply so he could return them in secret once he finished and nab some more.
Again, years went by.
Zasimal found entertainment in terrorizing those who stumbled upon his patch of the woods. Never truly exposing himself, he made sure to fool some humans into thinking all sorts of beings lived in those woods. He didn't find enjoyment in their fear, but more so he knew the people would send word to friends and family and so on. New groups of humans hunting for more stories was all the contact he got with any other beings.
He never saw another demon; the closest he got to the magical beings was the occasional equipment or foods that came through the portal. The carving would illuminate every so often, some random luxury appearing within the burning symbol. Zasimal wasn't sure who was sending it, but he was thankful, nonetheless.
A few more years and he was almost drained of his magic and abilities; having been away from the underworld for so long.
He wondered how many years it had been in the underworld; he had forgotten to keep track. Unfortunately, human years did not equate to the same amount in other worlds, so he wasn't sure how we would do so anyway. One year he even attempted to calculate it, but he gave up once he became bored.
Eventually, Zasimal wasn't sure what years were anymore. He knew the sun came up, then after some hours, it would return to its sleep.
It was a painful and repetitive cycle, but it was his life now. All because of her. Though, even after the dreadful time he was continuing to have; he would never blame her. Never.
He would think about their time together for hours. He could never find a thing to regret. His only wish for the events that took place, was that the council could understand his point of view. He would wish for them to change their minds and stop following such outdated and ignorant laws. Unfortunately, he was one of the only demons to speak up on this.
Which is why he is here now.
It was the 18th hour of the day when his tedious routine suddenly had a life-altering change. If any newcomers were to stumble into the forest, this was the time so, Zasimal sat upon his cabin roof, peering into the darkening sky and listening for any footsteps. It had become a pastime to sit and listen for passersby. It wasn't as often anymore to find one, but he sat and waited regardless.
That day, he had heard the crunch of steady footsteps on the leaves. He saw the familiar beam of someone's flashlight zipping through the trees and brush. He had set up the concealment of his cabin and waited. Waited for new faces to appear, a camera in tow and spouting about spirits seen in the forest they walked in.
But he never heard a crowd or saw a camera. Just, you.
Your features were relaxed, your walk was steady, your aura was calm. You came with no crowd, no mics, no recording. It was just, you.
Zasimal was in awe. Sure, some had come alone, but most were seeking a way out of returning to civilization. Some would leave that same hour, and others became one with the forest as well. But you had no such intentions.
Even as he hid his presence and walked in your footsteps; you only stopped to turn around, shining your flashlight into the still air, then continuing down the path.
He was overwhelmed with emotions he simply could not describe. He wanted to give you a story to send back, wanted to frighten you just to show that there was something to be afraid of. But he couldn't. Instead, he watched as you grumbled to yourself in annoyance and finding himself smiling at your wishful rambles about discovering at least one story from back home was true. He walked next to you, mentally responding to any of your rhetorical questions. And when you huffed in disappointment, stomping off to leave the barren woods; he called out to you.
He hadn't intended to, really. Yet the words had left his mouth.
"Leaving so soon?"
Even after his question had reached your ears, he half expected you to take off. Run towards your car yelling about voices and pick up your phone to call a loved one in concern. But you turned around. You entered his home, and he let you.
You spoke to him like he was anyone else and you didn't run after seeing his appearance. None of his sharp jutting teeth or pointy claws turned you away. You didn't run after seeing his spiraling horns and pupil-less eyes. Not even when he threatened you; unsure of how to handle this odd specimen of human. You even called him something he'd never thought he'd hear again:
"You're so beautiful, I can't find it in me to be scared."
Your words took him aback; your hands reaching out to him, touching him, it made him feel something inside of himself that he thought he had lost forever. So, he entertained you; one night of making love before he would return to spending out his days alone. Just one night so he could remember how it felt to be touched, how it felt to touch someone else. But, god, now he was taking a liking to you; and so soon. He had to convince himself it was because of your fearless attitude, and you being the only human to stop and talk with him. The whole situation was odd.
Soon, Zasimal's bewilderment became worry. Why weren't you calling home? Texting a friend? Why were you so eager to reach out to him, to try and help him? Why.
When you had fallen asleep next to him, he considered scooping you up and returning you to your car. Leaving you to never find his personal cabin again, and to go home to your family. But you had looked so peaceful next to him. Your breath was so steady and warm on his rough skin, your frame was so fragile next to his burly body. With too harsh of a touch, he was afraid you would shatter and fall to be forgotten on the wood floor.
In your hazy wake, he whole-heartedly expected you to come to your senses and run out of the doors faster than you had entered them. But you only smiled and whispered to him, "You don't have to be alone anymore." And he thought he might pass on then and there.
Zasimal's heart swelled. His desire to protect something from all the ill intentions of the worlds came back so strongly in just those few hours. He had something urging him to stay another day, once more. And now, so did you.