#demon!kadar

[bewareofchris]

a reposting of an old project

Altmal | R for violence, blood, gore, cannibalism, sex related things, general awfulness as this is set in hell and everyone is a demon but Desmond

Kadar brings home a pet that Malik doesn’t want to keep. Things escalate quickly from there.

[bewareofchris]

Demon au where Kadar and Desmond find the saint? (if its Maria im going to laugh when she gets eaten)

Altmal | R | Violence, gore, horror, sexual content, “just demon things”

Kadar didn’t hate everything.  (Although as a blood demon it seemed to be inevitable that he would eventually view everything with an even distaste.  He had hovered at the verge of adolescence for centuries out of the fear that the changes that would age him to maturity would also remove good humor from him.)  He specifically only hated Desmond (at the moment) and Altair (in general).  While he dragged the woman by the arm toward the witch demon’s lair, he did not particularly hate her.  She kicked and scratched and finally tried to bite him to free herself (all the while hissing at him in a slowly-decaying human language).  The first intelligible thing she said was, “let me go!”

The witch demon turned around at its table with a wide grin.  Its leathery hands slid together as Kadar shoved the woman bodily in front of himself and held her there.  She shrieked at the sight of the witch demon (easily one of the least attractive of all demons) and recoiled from it when it tried to touch her.  She had gone from fighting to be free of Kadar to fighting to use him as a shield.  Even with all her strength (and it was not unimpressive) she could barely manage to wiggle more than a few inches away.  “Stop your wriggling,” it said to her.  It picked up a knife and turned it twice in its hand before reaching out to cut through the layers of fabric along her ribs. 

“Let me go!” the woman screamed again.  She began kicking and throwing her weight to aid in her escape.  Kadar could respect her will to live (even when it was inconvenient for him).  He was laughing when she grabbed a pair of shears off the table and sank them into his shoulder.  The pain was not small and the shock was not unsubstantial.   He threw the woman into the wall and her body crashed against the jars-of-filth that were stacked there.  She grunted when she hit the ground and the shatter symphony of breaking glass puddled around her.  The unbearable stench of piss and blood and rotting flesh made her gag.

Kadar looked at the shears sticking out of his shoulder.  “It would have been better for you if you had simply stopped struggling,” he said to the woman.

She was on her feet again, one side of her dress sagging loosely to the side as she wiped the slippery black livers off her cheek.  She spit at him and grabbed for anything to use as a weapon.  “I will not give!”

At this point, Kadar could easily have eaten her for the trouble she caused him.  The witch demon had said nothing at all about the shape her body should be in.  Kadar was physically larger, stronger and more durable than her tiny human body.  Overpowering her would have pleased him.  Ripping off her arm and eating it would have satisfied him.  But there was a bitter, brittle, bitchy victory in simply tipping his head and saying, “Malik.”

Because there was no creature in hell more fearsome or impressive than his brother when he was already angry.  Malik did not walk through the halls but storm through them with his wings half open in irritation and the heat coming away from his blue-glowing-skin creating an instant sweltering sauna that made the jars bubble and hiss.  The walls began to sweat as the rock started glowing.  The witch demon ducked beneath its table as Kadar slid sideways away from the doorway to allow his brother to pass.

The woman did not wilt when she looked at Malik.  She took in the whole of his fearsome stance and grit her teeth against it.  Malik jerked his wings once and the wind that came from them was ashy-and-thick,  The heat swept across her face and left streaks of burned flesh in its place.  She was knocked flat into the ground, pushed by the strength of the wind into the broken glass that cut through her clothes and drew blood like little rivers.  “Do what you are told,” Malik snarled at her.  He ducked low enough to curl his hand in her long-long shirts and they caught fire between his fingers.  The woman was shrieking and kicking as the fire spread across the wide sprawl of her many layers.  “Will you behave?” Malik asked.

“Yes!” the woman screamed.  And then Malik leaned back with his fingers curling in the air.  The fire puffed into little black wisps of smoke and followed the motion of his fingers, slid up into the cracks in his skin where the glowing blue veins were cooling into an aggravated red.  The woman was burnt and bleeding and staring at Malik caught between awe and horror.  (A fitting way to look at him, surely.)  “What are you?” she asked.

“I am your king,” Malik said.  Then he turned toward the door, wings snapped shut and a bored expression on his face.  “Are you sure you can manage from this point on?”

“Yes,” Kadar said.  “If you’re feeling kind, summon the collar maker?”

“Don’t keep her.  Eat her.  Haven’t you learned how foolish it is to keep them yet?”  Malik was grumbling the words even as he walked toward the door.  “No more pets, Kadar!  None.”

Kadar rolled his eyes and looked back at the woman.  The witch demon had crept out from under the table to push her flat to the ground with one of its leather hands against her burnt chest and the other holding the long-long gleaming knife.  It was narrow and pointed, like a great straight pin.  The witch demon licked its lips as it pressed a knuckle to the space between the woman’s ribs.  “Lay still,” Kadar said to her.

The woman said nothing but her silence promised retribution for these wrongs.  Kadar thought he’d very much like to eat her, liked to taste the hatred and the venomous spite that filled her eyes.  And he thought he’d like to keep her a while first, to see if she could be broken of if her hatred would sustain her.  She looked hungry to him.  The gleam of her flesh and her narrowed eyes like a terrible promise.  She had killed men before and she would kill again if given the opportunity.  He was so busy fantasizing about what she might become that he was startled by the piercing scream that broke from her grim-frowning mouth.  The witch demon had thrust the long-long-needle-knife up through her body to pierce her soul.  It came out of her like a gleaming white liquid mixed with the filthy red blood of her body.  It was milky and pink, dripping steadily into the glass jar the witch demon had placed to collect it.  The scream arched out of her but her body was paralyzed by the damage done to her soul.

When it was done, she sagged to the ground as her body started shaking from the terrible cold the sudden loss of (part of) her soul caused.  Her lips were purple and her fingertips were gray.  Her skin was sallow without vibrant life and she closed her eyes.  The witch demon held up the little glass jar with her soul in it and smiled.  

“It is a thing of beauty,” it said.  Then it got to its feet and fetched the bowl with the spell in it.  He dribbled the gleaming liquid over the assembled ingredients and picked up a wooden spoon to mix it.  Everything began to liquefy into a soupy mess, ugly and green.  When it was properly mixed, the witch demon poured it into a glass and handed it to him.  “Drink and you will find the Saint–if there is one still alive.”

Kadar took the glass (and felt the heat of it, the persistent, living heartbeat contained inside).  The smell was like the most tender of flesh and his stomach growled in furious hunger.  “How will I find it?” Kadar asked.

“You will drink and the spell will take you to it.”  The witch demon motioned at the glass.  So Kadar tipped it up and poured it into his mouth.  It went through him like a wave of warmth, spreading out into his body with vital life unlike anything he’d felt in centuries.   The world went dim and then came back again.

Kadar was not standing in the witch demon’s lair but in front of a cage.  The prison was carved out of ancient rock.  The bars were fashioned of gleaming metal bars covered in ancient spell work.  There was no light in the cage but a single gleaming reflection that filled the space with a murky, uncertain dimness.  It was enough to see the body move, to watch it unfold from a long slumber to look up at him.  “Are you a Saint?” Kadar asked.  He did not recognize the place where he stood and he could not feel the presence of anything else save for this filthy thing in front of him.

The thing laughed at his question before it put its hands across the bars and pulled itself up to standing.  The light was too uncertain to be sure what it was, man or woman.  It’s face was too covered in dirt to make out clearly.  “You cannot break these bars,” it said to him.  “You’re not strong enough.”  Then it pushed its hand against his chest and Kadar landed on his ass in his bedroom.

“That bitch!” he shouted at the Saint that was no longer there.  He looked down at his chest, at the livid red mark across his flesh where the Saint had touched him and shouted, “Malik!” as he went searching for his brother.

[bewareofchris]

more demon au?

Altmal | R | Violence, gore, horror, sexual content, “just demon things”

Desmond was not sure exactly what the witch demon was doing.  It had hidden itself away into it’s room, sunk deep into the recesses of made by the stacks of jars half-filled with fluids of various colors.  The smell that came from the room was rancid with the slow decay of meat.  Desmond’s bed was at the end of the three hallways and sleeping had gotten nearly impossible as the smell thickened into a fog that burnt his nose and filled his stomach with a wash of nasuea.  

It went on for days, until Desmond couldn’t stand it any longer and he went to sleep under the table in the kitchen with a few pillows to cushion himself from the hard stone.  The smell was lighter here, he was covered by the ashy scent that Malik gave off whenever he shook his wings.  

In the morning, Kadar was crouching at the edge of the table with his hand on the top and his wide-blue-eyes staring at him with a manic gleam.  There was vicious intent in Kadar’s face.  (Perhaps a long-denied hunger for human meat.  Kadar’s teeth looked especially sharp in the dim light and his tongue looked especially keen to lick the air for a taste of flesh.)  "We need you now.“

"Need me?” Desmond repeated.  "Need me for what?“  He didn’t move immediately forward but shifted his weight back so he was farther under the table.  It was a useless defense against the inevitable but he didn’t feel as if he were expected to be obliging about his own funeral.  "Who needs me?”

“The witch demon needs you.  Come here,” Kadar said.  He reached out an arm to grab at him.  Desmond shoved himself backward against the large hutch that stood alongside the table.  It jostled and banged against the wall.  A spike of fear propelled him until to his feet as Kadar spit a curse at him and tried to go over the table to grab him.  There was his Master, the blood demon, perched on the kitchen table like a bird with it’s wings spread out.  Desmond went under the table, scuttling forward on fingers and toes witn the intent to run out the door.  It was a shock (to him, especially) when he found himself slamming into the wall that blocked the kitchen from the living space.  He recovered well enough to go around it.

The sound of a chain beating against the floor was only barely audible over the force of blood rushing through his ears.  It was the howling that Desmond heard.  The sharp, wordless noise that beckoned him closer and cut off with a grunt of pure fury.  It was the sound of safety as he ran full-tilt (heedless of the consequences) down the short hall into the room where Malik was lifting his head from a doze, with his wing spreading up away from his body in a slow-dawning confusion.  Kadar’s voice was somewhere behind him shouting curses and reassurances.  Desmond slid (like they taught him in little league) under the furious stretch of Altair’s arms and into the wall behind him.  He was panting (out of breath) as he got up and stood behind Altair.

“For fucks sake,” Kadar said.  He had stopped at the doorway, hands lifted in supplication and surrender as he hovered back and forth with intent.  "I wasn’t going to hurt him–much.“

Altair’s skin was snake-like all along his back and sides, warmed by the glow of heat from Malik’s body.  His bony wings were spread in irritation as he curled his hands into fists and snarled back at Kadar’s denials.  

Malik rolled up to sit on the edge of his bed, spread his wings out around him so the ash showered to the floor and the stench of sulfur filled the small space.  He rubbed his face with the heel of one hand before look at his brother.  "What have you done now?”

“I need Desmond.  The spell is ready.”  Then Kadar looked at Desmond.  "I wasn’t going to hurt you.  We made a spell to find a Saint demon but we have to have a soul to finish it.“

The spike of fear that drove through his body was so sharp that it felt as if it had pierced him.  Altair’s reached behind himself to get Desmond and half turned with his eyes closed to sniff at Desmond’s neck.  The ghost of breath tickled but the intimate strangeness of it made him shiver.  When Altair opened his eyes, "too late,” he said.  "His soul is black.“

"What?” Desmond asked.

Malik sighed and looked at his brother.  "Go and find another pet, Kadar.“  

Altair was smiling at Desmond with his hooked fingers stroking the back of his neck.  "You will be a fine demon, Desmond.  A useful demon.”  (A wonderful lunch to have.)  Kadar was scoffing at every word Altair spoke but he turned and left with a growl of frustration.  

That left Malik, sitting at the edge of his bed, watching the two of them with a keen sort of jealousy.  His teeth were visible through the park in his lips and they were white-and-pointed-and-mean.  When he stood, the room sweltered and the walls started to sweat.  Desmond’s skin broke out in a rash of red and wet sweat.  "You have been more trouble than you are worth,“ Malik said to Desmond.

Altair’s arm was around his shoulders and his hand was pressed to Desmond’s chest.  "Don’t listen to him,” Altair said to him.  "You are my brother.  You are safe with me.“  (At least until Altair got hungry enough to forget his promises.) 

Malik rolled his eyes.  "And what sort of demon will your brother be, Altair?  Something worthwhile?  Something worth having around?  Perhaps a snack for when you get hungry?”  But he was angry.  "Let him go.  You have no business touching a brother in that manner.“

But Altair did not release him.  He smiled at the scowling chaos demon with the glowing-red skin.  He tipped his head and ran his tongue across Desmond’s cheek in a way that could have been anything from an attempt at sensuality to a taste-test for later.  Desmond shoved his elbow into Altair’s ribs and forced space between them.  Altair’s voice was a low chuckle of noise overtop the muted movement of Malik’s body lurching forward to grab him by the chain.  Malik was immense, taller now than he had been before and Altair was the same, small in comparison as he tilted his head up and smirked into the livid-face of his over-heated lover.  "A very useful demon,” Altair whispered.  

“He’s not a demon yet,” Malik snarled at him.  

There was a tearing sound in the room around them, a flap of light opening somewhere to the side before a body dropped from nowhere and Kadar landed on his feet with his wings half-closed and blood covering his face and chest.  He was smiling (pleased-as-punch) as he licked at the mess he’d made with his slithering-tongue and motioned down at the woman he’d plucked from the surface.  She had dark hair and olive skin, a dress like something Desmond had seen in the movies and a furiously-violent stare.  "Crisis averted,“ Kadar announced happily.  "I picked one that I thought would turn quickly.  No use getting attached to pets if they aren’t going to get attached to you.”  He looked pointedly in Desmond’s direction before he reached down to drag the woman up by the arm.  "Come on now,“ he said to her, "we’ll get this part over with first.”

“Get out, Desmond,” Malik said.  "I’ll deal with you later.“  

Desmond slid past him with a half-glance backward at Altair’s smirking face looking fearless-and-strong against the growing fury in Malik’s frown.  

[bewareofchris]

demon au with malik confronting the demons who want to extinguish him because of his power and altairs existance

Altmal | R | Violence, gore, horror, sexual content, “just demon things”

Malik did not bother with anger.  Kadar appeared when the freezing spell wore off and sheared off a strip of flesh from his chest that he dangled in front of Altair who took it greedily.  Then he drank blood until he was full and Kadar was weak from giving.  Desmond was summoned to take the rock (and therefore Altair) back to his room.  Then Malik healed his stupid brother.

 “You’re welcome,” Kadar mumbled when he fellasleep while the spell did its work.

“I did not thank you,”but he should have.  Despite the bitter cold of Altair’s body, fucking himhad been intensely satisfying.  Finally getting what he had been lustingafter (blindly) had settled the chaotic want for a moment and allowed fullrationality to return.  

Malik did not go to the room where Altair wassleeping.  He went outside and looked out at the heavy drifts ofblack-gray snow.  There were petty little demons pressing their facesagainst it as their brittle fingers started freezing and breaking off. The camps had grown larger as more people flocked to beg his forgiveness. He stood there for hours, thinking over what he would do.  The first problem was maintaining control andthe second problem involved keeping Altair safe.  (Of course, the third problem was forcingAltair to evolve faster than his current snail pace so they could make him moreresilient.)  Mother had crafted a spell(many spells) that would assist Altair in becoming fireproof the way it hadsaved his clothing and his many other belongings.  Yet, Altair wasn’t strong enough to survive it.

Of course, if Malik did not break thecontainment spell and allow the peasants to grovel at his feet soon there wouldbe none left to beg forgiveness.  Nodemons meant no food and no food meant Altair would wither in perpetual infancyunable to withstand the necessary torture of carving the spells into his flesh.  

Still, he sat for many hours and watched thepoor dying little demons scratch at the spell wall.  Their flat hands scrambling for purchaseagainst the snow drifts that spread ice along the wall.  Kadar came out to him before Malik made adecision about how best to proceed.  Hiswounds were healed and the color was back in his face even if he flopped weaklyinto a chair to Malik’s side.

“Did Mother ever tell you the fairy tale aboutthe Saints?” Malik asked.

Kadar sighed. “Even if there were Saints once, Malik—they are dead now.”

“My kind were the first demons in hell.  We were born of fire, our bodies poured froma great river of liquid heat that never cooled. We were lonely and lost.  Thefirst humans that were dragged to hell were meant to be friends and playmatesfor my kind—we were children then—but the most peculiar thing happened once thehumans got to hell.  They started changing, even before we discovered thespells that would make them change faster and evolve into stronger things, theywould change on their own.  Hell driveshumans mad, it sucks away their souls and fills them with base needs.  We are all creatures made of our strongestdesires and our darkest parts.”  Maliklooked at his brother, “even you.  You wereonly a baby.  But you gave up your soulwith ease.  It is easier to give than tofight.  But there were a few strangehumans that would not give.  Theypersisted in agony, caught between transformation and death.”

“They became Saints,” Kadar said.  “Humans that were so good that hell itselfcouldn’t force them to give up their souls. They still have souls the way you have a soul,” Kadar said.  “I’ve heard it before.”

“When I break the wall, you will find me aSaint, Kadar.  Use the Witch demon andyour human pet to manage it.  The witchdemon can make a spell to track souls like the one your pet still has.  Pure and tortured—Bring the Saint to me.”

“If you feed him a Saint, it could force himto evolve completely!” Kadar shouted.  “Youdon’t even know what he’ll be if he’s fully evolved!”

“I’ll feed him piece by piece,” Maliksaid.  “Imagine what a King I’ll be witha pet like Altair to defend me.  Find theWitch demon, tell him to prepare the spell.” Then Malik moved forward toward the spell that he had seared into theearth.  The blindingly bright sky brokewith lightning as he walked, shattered with a thunderous noise.  He was not unhappy.  He was not confused, but at peace with hischoices and filled from his feet to the tips of his horns with patience.  

He kicked the spell with one foot and thewhole wall shattered with the cacophonous echo of snapping ice and sudden floodof snow and dying-groans.  Malik lookeddown at the fat little demon that rolled up against his feet now that there wasno wall to hold it.  

“Tell them all, I demand a sacrifice for thedisrespect that was shown to me.  Youhave three hours.”

[bewareofchris]

Demon AU with AltMal smooches?

Altmal | R | Violence, gore, horror, sexual content, “just demon things”

Kadar spent a day and a half helping the witch demon put things into its room.  There shouldn’t have been enough things left that the witch demon owned to justify having to take two days to properly categorize and store all of it.  Altair watched from a variety of perches as he thought happily of how delicious the others of the witch demon’s family had tasted.  Malik had forbidden him from eating the witch demon (saying only that it would be necessary to have in the future).  So, Altair had to be content with imagining how delicious his heart and lungs would be.  

Then, apropos of nothing, Kadar came out of the witch demon’s smelly lair and said, “so you want to have sex with my brother, right?”

“Yes,” Altair said.  “Preferably without being incinerated.”

Kadar nodded and bent down to pick up the stupid stone that weighed down the chain and kept Altair from being able to wander out and sleep on Desmond at night or eat one of Kadar’s less useful limbs.  Altair followed after him because he had no choice but to do it.  Inside the room, the spells carved into the wall gave off garish, confusing light and the odor of bodily waste was nearly nauseating.  “So, there’s a spell that will cause you to freeze from the inside out.”

“That sounds unpleasant,” Altair said.  He did not like being cold very much.

“Unpleasant, maybe, but you won’t get burned if Malik touches you.  You might sweat a lot you know since he’d be essentially thawing you.  I’m not really sure, but the point is, this spell was created to kill fire demons but it never worked because they just smoldered until the spell wore off and were fine.  It works perfectly well for killing other demons.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t!  That’s the beauty of it.  The spell lasts for thirty minutes.  If you can maintain constant exposure to extreme heat, you’ll beat the spell.  Most demons die in the first two minutes but you have Malik.  And Malik can’t deny you just because he’s angry otherwise you’ll die and he’ll never have a chance to dick you.”  Kadar clearly felt this idea was pure gold.  Except for the parts where Altair was agreeing to be potentially killed, it seemed like a solid plan.  “Look, the only thing you need to worry about is how big my brother’s penis has gotten since he evolved.”

“And what to use for lubricant on the demon made out of fire,” Altair said.

“No, Malik already has that.  Mom figured out how to make proper lubricant for him when he was going through puberty.  There was a lot of chafing.”  Then Kadar reached over and took a glass of milky-looking-liquid from the witch demon.  It smelled absolutely terrible.  “So I’m just going to take you to him, you drink that in front of him and you can have sex.  It’ll be great because then Malik can be level-headed again.”

“I thought you wantedhim to let them all die.”  Altair could see the truth of that in the auraaround Kadar’s body.  There was no pointin denying it and Kadar merely shrugged rather than answer it.  Altair took the glass of the foul smellingdrink if only because he very much liked the idea of getting laid.  “I’m hungry,” he said.

“Get dicked and I’llgive you all the blood you can drink.” Kadar didn’t even flinch when he said (as he usually did when the topicof feeding himself to Altair came up.  “Imight even give you a slice of meat if you do really well.”

“Good,” Altairsaid.  Then he waited for the stone atthe end of his chain to be carried out to the kitchen where Malik was sorting throughhis own collection of useful ingredients. His face was a mix of half-interest and full-out-anger at discoveringhis jars had been disturbed.  

Kadar dropped thestone on the table and then turned and fled (because he was wise).  Altair smiled and tipped the glass up againsthis lips to drink the contents.  It wasinstantly cold—bitter and white tasting in his mouth.  It sliced down his throat and filled hisbelly with something that felt a great deal like ice shards.  They seemed to expand outward as the intensefeeling of cold made his muscles begin to quake with a desperate attempt toheat him up again.  

“Fuck,” Malik said inthe second before Altair finished swallowing the last of the contents.  The cup fell out of his shaking hand andshattered on the floor.  The normalgolden glow that surrounded Malik intensified into something nearly blinding asthe heat in the room rose a few blistering degrees.  Instinct, not common sense, made Altair moveforward and wrap his arms around the comforting heat of Malik’s body.  His hands clawed at the well-formed musclesof his back, hooked around the thick joint of wing and body.  His cheek was pressed against thedusty-smooth-flesh of Malik’s chest as the shivering grew nearlyunbearable.  “You are stupid to listen tomy brother,” Malik said.

“I am very cold,”Altair said back.  But not burnt and thatwas a decidedly positive change from the norm. He broke out in sweat everywhere Malik was touching him.  He lifted himself up onto his toes and movedan arm so he could loop it around Malik’s neck. His mouth was hot-as-fire against Altair’s.  His hands (larger than any man’s that Altairhad ever seen) were gripping at Altair’s ass and pulling him up off theground.  The rumble of hunger-and-angerthat rolled out of Malik was matched only by the intensifying heat coming offhis skin.

The kiss was briefbefore Malik was biting at his neck over the collar, dropping him on his ass onthe kitchen table and then wrapping a hand around the chain and pulling it hardenough Altair’s head and shoulders were jerked back.  “Ask me politely,” Malik said.  

(Altair was freezing.)  “Fuck me, please,” Altair said.  His hands felt inadequately small againstMalik’s massive body but he raked his fingernails down the glowing flesh of hischest and belly until he got to his pants. He meant to undo the fastenings but Malik dug his own thumb in under thewaistband and ripped it, the heat of his body scorched them to ash inseconds.  “Please,” Altair said when hestarted to shiver again.  

Malik dragged him upto kiss him again, rocked his hard cock against Altair’s stomach withinsistent, commanding rolls of his hips. Altair wrapped his arms around him again, pressed as close to the heatas he could and made encouraging noises at the brutal lust that bit against hismouth and pulled at his skin.  He mighthave managed to work around his own pride long enough to beg for more but Malik’simpatience beat him to it.  Altair waspulled off the table by the thigh, rolled over by a rough hand on his arm andthen pushed down again but insistent pressure in the center of his back.  

(It was very cold tobe so far away from Malik.)

There was the briefsound of metal-on-glass as a jar was opened. Altair turned his head enough to see Malik slicking his cock (dauntinglylarge) before he felt the heated-pressure of it pushing at his hole.  (It may have been worthwhile to note that hehad never done anything of the sort before, or even thought of it,really.)  Altair reached back and foundMalik’s arm to wrap his fist around.  Hedug his pointed claws into his flesh until his blood ran like liquid firearound the tips of his fingers.  

“Fuck,” Altair shoutedwhen Malik pushed into him.  It wasquick-and-efficient, a constant pressure until Malik was leaning across hisback again, elbows burning black spots into the table as his mouth bit atAltair’s shoulders and his fingers spread open and raked down his back.  Altair rubbed his forehead against the tableand panted out a confusing of pleasure-and-pain.  The immense feeling of being forced open andthe strange relief from the breath-stealing cold coming from the pit of hisstomach.  His legs were shaking and hishands were scratching new scars into the table. But Malik was humming in pleased-pleasure (of course he was) even beforehe started rocking his hips.  It was amaddening slow rhythm, just enough to remind him how he was stretched open andto tease at better things to come without the desperate want that Altair needed.

He slapped his handagainst Malik’s thigh and snarled, “fuck me.”

“Ask nicely,” Maliksaid again.  His teeth against the napeof Altair’s neck, the ghost of his heated breath a wet-stain all around thethick leather of his collar.  

“Please,” Altair said,“please fuck me.”

Malik did, all atonce, one of his hands reaching forward to grab the opposite side of the tableand the other resting gently against Altair’s hip.  He fucked forward with the impressive powerof his body, held back only by the reality that Altair was fragile enough to break still. His wings were curving forward around them.  The veins in the massive stretch of skin acrossbone glowing as bright as sunlight and providing a shell of heat that keptAltair from shivering.  “Put your handson the table,” Malik snarled when Altair thought to move them to attend his ownerection.  “Come while I fuck you or notat all.”

Altair beat his fiston the table in aggravation but closed his eyes and opened his mouth to moanloudly-and-repeatedly at the pleasure of being taken so roughly.  Every noise he made enhanced the pleasure untilhis body was quaking (not from cold, but from pleasure).  “Malik,” he saidwhen he was sure he could die from his half-realized feeling.  “Malik. Malik.”

Malik’s answer was tobend across his back and dig his teeth into the round flesh of Altair’s shoulder.  He broke the skin as he thrust forward hardand it was too much to feel to deny his body the pleasure of its muchsought-after-release.

After, Malik pulledhim up off his belly and held him against his body as the shivering sensationof being too-cold-to-survive slowly ebbed away. Altair was dreary with sleepiness and Malik was perfectly content.  “You were very good,” Malik said.

“Tell your brother,”Altair said.  He was stroking Malik’sback beneath his wings.  Wondering at howsmooth and soft his skin felt despite the heat beneath it.  “He promised me meat.”

“You will have meat,”Malik promised him.  He pulled Altair’sface up by the chin and kissed him far more sweetly than he had before.  “More meat than you will have stomach toeat.  Very soon.”

“I like touching you,”Altair said.  Nearly as much as heenjoyed eating.

[bewareofchris]

So in the demons like pets!au does Kadar even like desmond?

Altmal | R | Violence, gore, horror, sexual content, “just demon things”

Kadar had to install the little witch demon into his new room.  If it had been anyone else (even Altair the cannibal demon) he most likely would have thrown them into the room and called it a complete mission.  (That would have been especially easy with Altair who was tied to a single magical rock he couldn’t lift himself.)  But the witch demon couldn’t just be thrown in, it had to be settled into place.  Kadar was carving sigils into the walls while the the witch demon collected ‘samples’ into sacred jars for safe keeping.

It was mundane (smelly) work that barely managed to give him something to do besides stand outside and watch the snow build up.  Kadar was scratching spells into the wall with his knife and thinking about nothing (well how nice it would be to be able to go to the surface and eating something worth eating).

“If you are going to eat the human, you should provide him with better vitamins.  I can make you some.  It will improve his taste and his body mass.  More mass is necessary for quicker evolution.”

“What?”

The witch demon looked up at him.  Its round face completely guileless.  “Isn’t your human meant to be livestock?”

“No.”

“Are you grooming him to be a sex slave?  I can make you a potion to make him more resilient.”

“No,” Kadar said quietly.  “He’s my pet.  He’s—a pet.”

The witch demon (like most of the world) did not seem to understand what pets were meant to be.  Hell had very little use for things that didn’t have uses.  Humans were brought to amuse their owners but they did not live long.  It cocked its head at him in confusion and then frowned down at the jars it had spread out along the wall.  “What good is it then?”

“I like him,” Kadar said.  And that was all that mattered.  He finished the spells and went out to find Desmond napping lazily in his nest with Altair laying all snuggled up next to him.  The slow-growing wings kept Altair lying on his belly across Desmond’s body.  “Make sure you protect him,” Kadar said.

Altair’s eyes slid open and his second set of lids opened more slowly.  His lips quirked up at the edge as he nodded.  Then he closed his eyes again.  

[bewareofchris]

whynotmyblog​, here you go.

Altmal | R | Violence, gore, horror, sexual content, “just demon things”

After such immediacy (like the wanton slaughter of countless cherubs, the declaration of tyranny from Malik and Altair chewing his way through a few dozen demons), waking up to day six of an extended lull left Kadar feeling a bit peevish.  The demons beyond the containment spell needed to give or attack because the mind numbing nothingness that existing left them with was grating on Kadar’s nerves.

“Have you finished cleaning out the third room?” Malik asked.  He was standing in the kitchen, chopping apart the leg of some animal and cooking it between his palms before throwing it into a bowl for Desmond to eat.  Altair was glowering pitifully at the meager strips of dead flesh that was offered to him.  The bright gleam of his eyes intensified whenever he saw Kadar.  

“No,” Kadar said.  He was trying very hard not to notice how especially delicious Desmond was looking all sleep-tousled (warm) and well fed.  The time in hell had allowed Desmond to shed the unwanted fat he’d been carrying.  In its place he was a display of edible parts.  

Desmond noticed he was being sized up like a piece of meat and he sad (rather blandly for a man who was almost always unnerved to be around Kadar), “if you eat me, Altair said he’d eat both of your legs and your left wing.”

“Wings are tough to chew,” Malik said.  

“Eat him,” Altair said from his place at the table.  

Desmond laughed.  Clearly the two of them had spent more time together than Kadar should have allowed.  (Of course, it was strange enough that Altair had started liking Desmond as much as he did after he’d been turned into a demon.  Apparently, the little human was completely inoffensive.)  

“Go clean out the room.  If I find the witch demon sleeping in the living room one more night I’ll give him your room.”  The urgency of the issue was based solely on the idea that witch demons were filthy creatures by nature.  They made spells of everything and often kept all their bodily excretions for future purposes.  After the surrounding community gave themselves over to Malik’s absolute rule, he’d most likely leave the witch demon to have the whole of their poor little home.  But for now, the witch demon suffered unhappily through frequent showers and gave up its preciously horded urine only after Malik snarled at it.

“Fine!” Kadar shouted.  “Desmond, come help me.”

They spent a few hours carrying all of his collection outside to throw into the pit.  The witch demon picked through the junk and kept the things it liked.  Most of what it kept was the most useless of things.  Stolen trinkets and collectibles from various time periods on earth.  It carried those things back inside to keep with its metal box (retrieved from the steadily freezing land beyond the spell).  

Malik brought Altair outside when the room was nearly empty.  Altair stretched in the bright light of freedom.  Without the burden of having to heat and light a greater space, Malik’s heat made the formerly dreary gray sky nearly the same degree of sunny as the surface’s world.  Everything beyond the spell was dark and cold.  The camps of the earlier deserters of the resistance were visible only because of their meager attempts at keeping fires going.  The snow fell almost constantly and piled up along the edge of the spell.  

Kadar threw the last stack of things into the pile and glowered at all of the many months of his life that were being wasted.  Malik drew in a breath throgh his nose that went through his body in a rapid shiver of glowing-red-and-yellow veins.  His horns went bright with light and his eyes flushed out red.  When he opened his fists fire poured out of them, moving fluidly into the pile and growing steadily stronger as it devoured the offerings made to it.  

“Yeah, well,” Kadar said, “see if I bring you anything next time I go.”

Malik went cool again and sighed.  “I’ll be sure to give you a room the size of a house to collect your junk in.  Do not pout all the time.”  

Kadar played fetch with Desmond (”It’s catch,” Desmond said like it mattered what he called it.  Kadar threw the ball and Desmond found it and threw it back).  Malik very patiently coated the fragile bones of Altair’s wings with a paste meant to keep them strong.  A fracture at this early stage of development would mean a lifelong deformity.  While that meant very little for Altair in practical ways, it would likely be too offensive to ignore for Malik.  

They ate dinner outside, watching the bleak gray-white snow blow bitterly against the edge of the containment spell.  

“One of them must be near death,” Altair said.  “Nobody will notice if we pluck one now and eat it.”

“You can only eat the ones that deserve to die.  They’ll taste better anyway,” Malik said.

“What?” Desmond asked.  

“It’s true,” Kadar explained, “demons are inherently bad.  The worst the demon is, the more powerful he is.  The more powerful he is, the better he’ll taste.  It’s the opposite with humans.  The more innocent you are, the more tender and delicious the meat.”

“I’m hungry,” Altair said.  Very pointedly, very much in Kadar’s direction.

“Eat your dead flesh and be happy,” Kadar said back.

Altair thought about this for a minute while he sat in the lawn chair that Kadar had taken from some senior citizen’s back yard.  He looked at the strip of dried, aged, long-dead flesh and grimaced.  “I’m thirsty,” he amended.

“Just let him have a drink,” Malik said.  “It’ll get him to shut up for a while.”

Kadar had a lot of feelings toward what he wanted to offer Altair and none of them involved his blood.  Still, it was easier to give him the blood than to listen to his whining.  So he cut into the flesh above his elbow where the blood ran thickest.  Altair scuttled over to him with awkward grace and pressed his face against the gaping wound.  He hadn’t figured out his teeth yet or he might have sank them into Kadar’s wound to keep the bleeding going longer.  

“All this,” Kadar said motioning out toward the desolate wasteland and then at Altair on his knees with his face pressed against Kadar’s arm.  “Just so you could get laid.”

“When you reach puberty you’ll understand,” Malik said.  “You’ll be worse.  You’ll fuck anything--even Desmond.”

“No thank you,” Desmond said. “I’d really rather you eat me.”

Kadar laughed.  “I am many years away from puberty.  Unless I massacre a village and eat them all in a single sitting.”  He could force evolution to happen faster but he rather liked the carelessness that came with youth.  “I’ll remember your preferences if it becomes relevant.”

Malik pulled at Altair’s chain and he left unhappily to lick at his hands and face and hum with pleasure at the respite from the hunger he must have felt.  

[bewareofchris]

moar demon au?

Altmal | R | Violence, gore, horror, sexual content, “just demon things”

Kadar liked to think that he had highly developed survival skills.  His Mother always said he had little hairs on the back of his neck that stood up when trouble was coming.  (And it served him well, after all, because trouble was often coming for him.)  He had grown bored watching the witch demon(’s child) filleting meat to store in it’s locker for later.  There was a shift in the sky over his head (Malik was mad which was far from unusual) and then a stillness that seemed to cover everything (all at once) in eerie silence.  

“We need to go,” Kadar said.  He kicked the box’s lid shut and grabbed the witch demon’s fat arm to drag it up to its feet.  The stupid little thing was crying about the loss of more meals (and perhaps the death of its family) but Kadar dragged it forward across the empty field toward home.  The locker was large and metal, weighted down with enough meat to last for weeks.  It kicked up the filthy dirt and stuck again and again.  Kadar pulled it with all his strength, willing his legs to go faster and the stupid witch demon to stop whining over how quickly they were moving.  

They were not moving quickly enough.  Something (something, but what?) was coming after them and it would do no good to allow themselves to be found.  The witch demon (having become the successor for it’s dead father by virtue of being the lone survivor) would be safe enough even in the hands of an angry horde.  Kadar was only a blood demon.  A child.  There were hundreds of his kind spread throughout hell and none of them did anything useful with themselves.  

“Run!” Kadar said when he couldn’t stand the ominous shiver a moment longer.  He dropped the box and tightened his hand around the fat thing’s arm.  He was running as fast as he could across the dirt, sliding in the slick spots where the oily rain gathered and only managing not to fall but the sheer amount of terror going through his veins.

The edge of their yard was scorched black and shimmering with spell work. 

“Malik!” Kadar screamed.

He stepped across the spell and fell forward onto his elbows-and-knees.  His heart was pounding harder-and-harder against the inside of his chest.  The witch demon rolled over and over on itself before coming to a dull stop on its ass a few feet beyond him.  

“Malik!” Kadar screamed again.  He rolled onto his side with his wings tucked in as tight as he could manage.  When he looked back at the way he had come, the whole of the ground seemed to glitter-and-black.  The rushing noise of hundreds and hundreds of beetle-black-wings were like a great tide crashing forward.  The cherubs were coming in a massive wave, one-over-the-other with wide eyes and gaping mouths moaning sounds that weren’t words.  “Fuck,” Kadar said.  He dug his elbows into the dirt and shoved himself back up to his feet.  There was no time to run and no hope of surviving if the cherubs meant to kill him.  “Malik,” he whined one final time.

The first of the cherubs slammed against the scorched line with a meaty sound and a wild shriek of displeasure.  The others came, up and up until they were scrambling up the invisible barrier that held them back.  The spell was humming under the weight of so many bodies pressing against it.  

“It won’t hold,” the witch demon said.

Over their head, the whole sky went suddenly black.  An instant cold covered the ground in a layer of frost that settled thickly across Kadar’s arms.  His chest hurt from breathing in the thin-cold-air even before he had time to pull the fat witch demon up against his body.  He curved his wings around it.  The spell was humming still, faster-and-faster so it sounded like a wail and then a scream.  The scuttling and skittering of the cherubs beyond the spell was a terrifying sound without the ability to see them.  Their gnashing teeth clicked-and-clacked in time with their moaning.  

Cherubs were stupid and opportunistic.  They had survived the cold darkness of hell without chaos demons.  In groups, they formed hive minds and that made them easy to control.  One only had to whisper a thought into the ear of a single cherub and they all would follow.  

It was impossible to hear Malik approach in much the same way it was impossible to miss the moment he dropped to the ground beyond the spell.  His body did not burn an orange-red but ignited in a fury of blue flames.  Fire covered the ground and licked up the sides of the spell wall, engulfing the cherubs as they screamed and ran for their lives.  Malik’s shoulders were heaving with the effort of burning so hot.  

It was only a minute to kill the cherubs.  Then Malik snapped his wings shut and all the fire went out.  He stepped across their smoldering corpses, over the spell work and stopped in front of Kadar.  

Light returned to the sky and heat came back to the air around them.  “Are you hurt?” Malik asked.

“I am not,” Kadar said.  “Everyone knows then?” 

“They are aware of Altair, yes.”  Malik looked at the fat-round face of the witch demon.  “Keep it safe, Kadar.  We will need it.”

“They were trying to kill me,” Kadar said.  It shouldn’t have been a shock, really.  Demons lived by displays of power.  The strongest and the largest was always the leader.  Malik had survived so long by virtue of being inoffensive and useful.  He hadn’t suffered aspirations of leadership before and hell would not fall easily in line with his sudden interest in ruling.

“Yes,” Malik said.  “They will not try again.  Their army is dead.  When they come, they will be crawling.”  He motioned out beyond the spell work.  A dreary cold had settled.  A creeping white frost was covering the corpses that had been smoldering only moments before.  “They will beg me for forgiveness.”

Kadar looked at the bodies.  Cherubs were filthy murders.  They picked at their victims, they kept them alive and toyed with them.  It was a particularly terrible way to die.  “Don’t give it easily,” Kadar said.  

Malik laughed.  “I won’t give it at all.”