#demon prey

[flammezani]

Nomvember 2025, Day 11 -- Partner

Note: This time, I chose enby/M.

Title: Dance Floor Plot Summary: The demon Numitor once again invites himself into the dream of the occultist Topaz Tifiad, wanting to form a partnership. Topaz obliges, so long as Numitor conducts a dance. Word Count: 1010 Adjectives Used: Imaginary (dream), Gullible (tricked), Loyal (to terms)

I wander through the grassland aimlessly, the sickly green plants infecting this realm. I sigh, already used to this tedium. A butterfly flits onto my hand, gilded wings shining incessantly. I’m tempted to crush it, but I let it fly off -- ‘all life is valuable.’ 

However, parts of it now start to wither; green turning into the decaying brown of death, birds falling from the sky. A smile spreads across my lips as magma emerges from the ground, lightly tickling my feet. The air hisses when a portal starts to break through, swirling with crimson energy.

Out comes a red man with curved horns atop his head, a tail flicking behind as he walks out. “Greetings, lowly human -oh.” His spiel stops as I smugly look back at him.

“Hello!” I answer, waving with a hand the same color as the autumn leaves.

He groans: “This is the tenth time this year, and we’re only in February.”

“Then you’ll hear from me again!” I add. “So, will you offer the deal, or-”

“Nope,” he answers, crossing his hands. Seeming to think upon his gesture, he undoes it and just firmly shakes his head. “You’ve tricked me once, you’re not getting me again. I know you’re not giving up your soul.”

“Maybe, there are other means?” I ask, clasping my hands together. “Say this; if we complete a dance of my choice, then you’ll get to take my soul.” I extend my hand. “Well?”

While he does hesitate, he shakes my hand. “Deal,” he says, satisfied with these terms.

“Good then,” I start, taking the other hand of the demon still towering a foot above me. “Then let’s simply get started.”

I pull him forward, letting go of a hand and wrapping the free arm along his waist. He gives off a cheerful smile, continuing the dance as we sway side by side, tail absentmindedly flicking around. For a moment, it starts to wrap around the cloth around my right leg.

“How’s your cult?” he asks.

“Is it a cult if the supernatural are real?” I reply.

“You humans call your organization a cult,” he points out. 

“Regardless,” I continue as I make a step to the side, “it’s been going well. Some members have been… less than pleasant,” I admit. “I’ve occasionally wanted to throw some members down the sacrifice pit, but for now, slitting the throat of a chicken is good enough.”

“We’re actually a bit tired of the constant meat sacrifices,” he adds. “Some other types of food would be great! I mean, human souls too, but-”

“Ah, I’m not sacrificing other souls unnecessarily,” I add. “Or at least, not until they’re into that.”

“They all are until they’re burning deep inside,” he answers, wistfully gazing.

“It’s funny how being a cult leader doesn’t send you to hell,” I realize. “I just figured it’d be automatic.”

“Of course it doesn’t. Actions make you bad. Cults are just a community… granted dangerous ones that remove your autonomy, but you’ve done a good job on focusing on the ‘community part’.”

“Then why’d you call it a cult, jackass?”

“Because,” he answers, lowering me. “I don’t have a word otherwise.”

I adjust myself up, refocusing on the little dance as it approaches its end. “Well, pick better. Though, I suppose you are better than the people who refuse to learn the singular they. Now.” I start to conclude, letting him sink in my hands and hold his waist as we twirl for a bit. I let him land, lowering him.

As I do, my foot slips; we both topple over, me sitting above as he winces from the fall. I lean down, purring, “Thank you.”

Before he gets the chance to answer, I gulp down his head, his soft hair and coarse skin rubbing against my throat. His horns should be boring a hole through, but in the land of dreams? They’re nothing more than small pricks. He gives off a mild struggle as he continues to go down, the taste of his leather clothes continuing to stick to my tongue as he indulges me. Slowly taking each gulp, one after the other, Numitor’s breathing starts to slow and echo through my stomach. When his feet are swallowed, the only thing left out is his floundering tail; I suck it in, slithering down slowly but surely.

“Ahh,” I gasp, rubbing my stomach as beads of sweat form on my stomach; not from the effort to swallow, but his own heat. “You still feel as good as ever,” I tease as I push down on him.

“Shut up,” he complains, giving me a short kick. “Besides, your soul is now mine, so-”

“No,” I interrupt, covering my mouth with my hand. “I don’t think it is. You see, it was only after the dance was complete.”

“Ah, so that’s the loophole this time around.”

I pout: “I thought you’d be genuinely surprised by this one!”

“I mean, I am, but this is the hundredth time, at least.”

“You could at least pretend to be joyful, boyfriend!”

“Huh… we are that, aren’t we?”

“Mm?” I ask, still enjoying the warmth. “I don’t think you love me, so that can’t be the case.”

“No, I think I do,” he thinks aloud. “Visiting you… it’s not much of a chore. It’s not like I mind being in your stomach too. It’s soft, comfortable.”

“For someone such as I?”

“Yes, you murdered your parents, but as far as I’m concerned, they had it coming; starvation isn’t pretty, you handled it better than most.”

“Better than turning my parents into demon food?” I ask.

“One woman started a cult, you literally couldn’t do worse.”

“I run a cult,” I point out.

“She sacrificed billionaires.”

“Oh damn, she’s far more ethical than me,” I realize. “Do you have her contact information?”

“Sure sure,” he sighs. “I’ll get that next time. For now, just enjoy yourself, ok?”

“Yeah,” I promise. I continue rubbing, enjoying the body inside warming me up. For a supposed demon, he doesn’t act like one.

[teal-fiend]

The priest had a request for an exorcism. She usually dealt with house hauntings, never a haunted person. But her new business partner assured her it would be no issue.

The priest parked in the gravel driveway of an old Victorian home. She emerged from her black cadillac, in her black robe, her dark hair braided neatly. She wore leather gloves, holding a sleek black briefcase, the only white being her clerical collar. 

She rang the doorbell once and seconds later it opened to a distraught older woman, hair frizzled from stress. She invited the priest into the home, and brought her to the parlor. The priest accepted a cup of tea, and listened to the lady’s struggles.

“It’s my son,” the old woman said, “he came home to help me clean my basement… but he wasn’t the same afterwards, I’m at my wits end, his wife refuses to see him. He’s scared his own children. Please Mother, help him. You will, won’t you?”

“Of course,” the priest said in a calming voice, like a psychotherapist. “Where is your son now?”

“He’s down there still, he hasn’t come out in days”

“Oh dear,” the priest said sympathetically. “Could I perhaps have a moment alone with him, if you don’t mind.”

—

“Hello David,” the priest said politely. David snarled at her.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

‘David’ grinned maliciously. He didn’t look right, his teeth were wrong, and it seemed like he had black mould growing on him. Not healthy. 

“You think you can just get rid of me?”

The priest sighed despondent, “I haven’t had much luck in the past to be honest. I don’t know how much you demons communicate with each other, but I’ve never had a reputation as a formidable exorcist. 

David laughed at her candidness. 

The priest smiled politely, “but recently I’ve gotten some assistance.”

She patted her briefcase. The devil’s eyes flashed to it, a kind of recognition registered with them.

“It’s been a game changer, really.”

David looked a little curious, a little scared, “what’s in there?”

“I’ll show you in a minute, but first, I’d like to give you the chance to leave of your own volition.”

David stared at her humorously. “You can’t threaten me.” But there was some fear in the devils’ voice, or at least anticipation. It could tell there was something wrong. There was something off about the briefcase, but they couldn’t put their finger on it.

It was just a briefcase; sleek, black, a slight reflective shine. But it seemed to buzz with an energy, maybe it was just how the priest was talking it up, making it seem important. But whatever was in there couldn’t be all that dangerous to the devil. Salt, sage, holy water, the works. Nothing the devil couldn’t dodge.

 In fact, it planned to kill the priest soon, but it waited for her to reach over and unclasp the silver lock, and as she lifted the bag open, a shadow leapt out and knocked David back, latching onto him and leaching into his eyes and mouth, seeping in like ink. 

And that was it. David opened his eyes, appearing calmer, he licked his lips as if he had just tasted something.

“Mm, that was good.” He picked at his teeth. “You got it?” the priest asked. 

“Ah, yep, all taken care of,” he patted his stomach.

The empty briefcase lay open on the table. As it was now, empty, it looked a lot like a normal briefcase. David too looked less possessed, but that was only because this demon was better at hiding it. 

“Okay, get back in the bag.”

The demon sighed, then re-emerged, spilling out of it’s temporary host and landing on the table. It was hard to describe a shadow as being full, but it looked full. It slinked back lazily into the briefcase, and the priest closed the lid on it, pressing it down slightly so the latch would fit. 

David shook his head, “I’m back…” “Are you alright?”

“I… I think so? Is it…?” he looked at the briefcase, because it twitched like there was a struggle going on.

“Um, yes,” the priest said, “I’ve extracted the spirit from you, and I have it in here. Don’t worry, I will dispose of it properly.” She petted the suitcase, as if trying to calm it. David looked sceptical, but since he didn’t fully understand the situation, he took the priests word for it. 

“Thank you,” he breathed, bowing slightly. 

“Not at all,” she said, chipper, “Would you like to come upstairs.”

—

The older woman embraced her son when she saw him, the priest said goodbye quietly and left them to have their reunion.

She walked down the gravel drive with her suitcase - a little heavier than it was when she arrived, her arm ached slightly. 

She laid it to rest on the passenger seat of her car, placing it gently because it seemed like too much disturbance would cause it to rip open. It looked cramped, like someone had stuffed too many folders or perhaps clothing into it at once. 

She carefully put the seatbelt through the handle and buckled it in so that it wouldn’t fall into the footwell during the ride. She placed a hand on it, the leather was warm to the touch, and pliant. She rubbed back and forth soothingly and felt it grumbling under her hand. She heard too a faint, muffled, meaty gurgle inside. 

“Good job.”