🖤Note🖤
-This comic contains personal interpretation
-The game is called EscapeLine and can be found on Itch
I’ve only played one of Eleclipse’s routes so far, and I think I’ll need to slowly collect the remaining endings. Also, the character designs are really adorable😈🙌🖤🔥
Yandere!batfam x betrothed!neglected!male!reader x yandere!demon!spouse
You stared at the demon in front of you, wanting nothing more than to scream. Or wet your pants. Or both simultaneously. "I'm what?" you croaked.
"Due to the contract signed by your mother fifteen years ago today forfeiting your soul in exchange for acting talent, you are now the husband of Azrir, victor of the battle for your hand in marriage," the demon holding you said. "Azrir is the demon that killed 100 others for a chance to marry you and claim you as their own. They have accompanied me to the human world to take who and what is rightfully theirs."
Your father and siblings arrived at that precise moment, waving various kinds of weapons around. "We don't have demonic artifacts! Leave our home!" Dick yelled.
"You're not going to find anything here!" Barbara yelled.
Azrir laughed, hoisting you over their shoulder as if you weighed nothing. "I already have what I want, you fools! Y/N was promised to be a demon's spouse fifteen years ago by his mother. I fought to have him be my little prize, and I look forward to the consummation of our union." They turned to the demon who'd handed you over. "I'll take over from here."
Dick gagged as the other demon made an exit. "Consummation? He's sixteen! That's illegal!"
"I'm eighteen, Dick."
Everyone paused to stare at you. "What?" Dick wheezed. Bruce just looked at you in horror.
"I'm eighteen. My mother sold my soul and betrothed me to a demon so she could have acting talent when I was three. That was fifteen years ago. I. Am. Eighteen."
The words hung in the air like the limp party decorations you never got. You were an adult, without their knowledge or permission. Azrir howled with laughter at your family's expressions of growing horror.
"You have no idea of the age of your own loved one!" they howled. "Since I know their true age and you don't, I hardly see what should stop me from wooing my little prize."
"You're sick. Unhand him right now," Damian ordered, unsheathing his katana. His katana gleamed menacingly at you. You retreated into bawling and terrified promises.
"I'm sorry!" you bawled. "I'll leave you alone, Damian!"
"Y/N, stop your screaming. I'm not after you this time," Damian scoffed.
"This time?" Azrir's form, already nearly ten feet tall, swelled and rippled with more muscle and height until their horns scraped the ceiling. "THIS TIME?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!"
"It was only skin deep!" Damian tried to argue, but Azrir roared and swiped at him with a free hand. It missed, but barely.
"Azrir, no!" you said.
Azrir paused, turning away from Damian to look at you. "What?"
"Please do not hurt Damian. He's our father's favourite. He'll be upset if he dies."
Azrir left Damian on the floor, your brother's eyes filled with fear for the first time. "Understood, little prize. But if he ever tries to hurt you, then ask for Azrir, and I shall eat him. As my spouse, you are protected by me."
Protected? Azrir would protect you? "Really?" you whispered.
"No!" Bruce ran to put himself between you and Azrir. "Y/N, he's lying to you! Azrir will not protect you, we will!"
Old scars from Damian's katana itched when you heard your father say that. Their itching seemed to testify against him, calling your father a liar with every prickle. Azrir howled with laughter at your father's claim. "You couldn't protect a flea, much less such a valuable prize such as Y/N. I plan on taking care of your son in ways you never did and never can."
"He doesn't know what consummating a marriage is!" Barbara countered. "He's got no idea what you'll do to him!"
"That is true. I have never heard the word consummating before now," you admitted.
Azrir made themselves smaller. They were back to their original massive frame. "Consummating a marriage is when the couple have their first act of sex," Azrir said. "We have been watching you, Y/N. You are virginal and pure. It's part of the reason why so many fought to have you for their own."
You squeaked and covered yourself up, even though you were wearing clothes. "How do you know that?"
"We have our ways," Azrir said. They looked you up and down and licked their lips hungrily. "Do not fret, my war bounty. I shall be as gentle as you want. Just think about that as I leave you with something to remember me by."
You felt the cold metal around your wrists grow lighter, words etching themselves onto them. SPOILS OF WAR on the shackle on your left wrist. LITTLE PRIZE on your right wrist. Azrir tilted your head up to look at you.
"I look forward to your agreement to consummation, little prize," they said. "I will wait for you." Another portal opened, and Azrir left you alone with your family, a whole bunch of 'jewellery' with pet names on them, and your horrified family.
You looked around at the mess left behind. "Um . . . this might be a little off-topic, but . . . could I eat some real breakfast?" you asked.
I thought it would be fun to try translating my text sketch about Deiran/MC into English. It's not my native language, but I tried!
At first, it all felt surreal, like a foreign layer on her skin and a nervous lump of laughter in the pit of her lungs. The Queen's carriage was brought— and then they simply dropped her, freshly crowned (a word that tasted like meat on the tongue), into the ballroom, already beautiful, wrapped in a gown and flowers. The King whispered sweet nightmares, everything around her looked out with moon-sized eyes from every corner, and instead of music, there was bleeding in her own veins. "Is it possible to make your own blood flow like an overture? Apparently, now it is," Diana thought absently. She laughed.
Laughter was the motif of everything in this world. Despite the metaphor of a cage in a schizophrenic world-mind, it was as if there were no boundaries at all: the crooked castle melted under the force of the wind, the strawberry fields streamed fresh berries in all directions, the forest lasted exactly as long as the King and the Queen desired. Now the Queen, too, had power over something.
How wonderful that in some places, "something" can become everything.
Diana, in fact, wanted little — even back then, behind the counter, she'd wanted to go home, lie down and not think, saving her strength for small feats. But Deiran, her dear King, who came dressed as a jester, had never been interested in small feats (unless it was turning a large hat into a smaller one). And his desire to be everything and to be sinuous in every step was transmitted through the air ("Air is also in his head. Air is also him," Diana thought tenderly. Strange how some thoughts become touching after just one day of working in a low-paying job) directly to his favorite artist.
And Diana created, imitating her husband's grand gestures and disregard for material things, cultivating living stars that bleated like lambs, building terrifying huts from tombstones, graciously inviting every brave inhabitant of the kingdom to search for their name within, and changing the cut of her dress every time she caught sight of her reflection — Dairan had thoughtfully hung heavy silver mirrors on every tree. Whenever she changed her dress, the Queen briefly revealed her milky flesh, and the melody of her heartbeat became deafeningly loud — a perfect musical composition.
Her subjects rejoiced, which was both flattering and a little painful when one of them accidentally turned into colored paper at the King's behest. A small hat, a frog with a human face, a tin soldier, or a particularly sad flower could be found here and there throughout the Kingdom. The doll-like quality of such transformations made any moral torment seem strange, as if feigned. In a world of pure imagination, there were no bloody splatters or shreds of flesh, making any crime so childish and ridiculous that it was enough to make one feel childish. Diana couldn't do anything, but it seemed she didn't even want to.
Her fingers were adoringly kissed after every execution "in her honor," and that was far more flattering than any former joys of today's furniture.
So let it sit there. Croaking. Lying and gathering dust. Screaming in its own head. It's none of Diana's business—Diana has a husband, and her husband has a very playful squint. Diana laughed.
The grand gestures continued. Deyran poured a bottle of wine from the window of the tower of the crooked castle, and the wine turned into a sea of blood—the settlement had sunk. Diana clung to her King, letting her hair fall free with one hand, and snakes fell from her locks, immediately rushing to the sea, drinking until they drowned. Unconstrained by a canvas, the artist could create directly in life, and her primary audience — her husband — appreciated each painting.
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