Articanio was powerful, a demon that was a few thousand years old and more than capable of holding his own. He was a faithful follower of the devil himself and did whatever he was ordered without a second thought. Articanio liked his job as a makeshift assassin of hell, he’d never met a target he couldn’t take down, so when he’d been ordered to assassinate Michael himself, he hadn’t batted an eyelash when he’d agreed.
The demon now realized his mistake.
Attacking and nearly killing the Archangel Michael had been a horrible mistake.
He found that mistake in the eyes of the man that currently had him tied to a chair. The beast had burst into his hideout like a tornado with teeth, killing every minion he had as easily as a hot knife melts butter. Bodies were strewn everywhere, most with their throats or hearts ripped out, some with their heads crushed, and a happy few that were nothing but grease spots on the ceilings and floors now... Articanio had expected to die.
He was very, very wrong...
The iron blade had been soaked in holy water and rock salt... and it’d been used to stab and cut and slice his skin for what felt like hours now. There was a strange Devil’s trap below them, it’s mirror carved into the ceiling above it as well. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen, and it made him feel weaker than your average hunter’s Boy Scout handbook trap... When he’d asked what it was, the blonde had just laughed, driving the blade into his thigh again and twisting violently.
“W-what do you want from me! I’ll tell you anything you want!”
Lazarus scoffed at the words, those emerald eyes boring into black ones with a rage that burned brighter than hellfire. “What I want?” He sneered, tearing the knife from the demon’s thigh, drawing out a scream when he grabbed a canister of salt and poured it directly into the wounds he’d created. “I want your blood. I want your blood on my hands, and in my mouth, and on my blade. I’m not going to kill you, not yet at least. I’m going to make you suffer, I’m going to make you beg me to kill you, and when you do that I’m going to make you suffer even more.” He hissed.
“Y-you’re one of the Vatican!” Seemed the demon had noticed the Vatican symbol tattooed onto his neck, a sign that this monster was one of God’s soldiers. “Y-you’re not human! You’re not an angel! You’re not a demon! What are you??”
“Honey, even I’m not sure what I am. What I can tell you, is I ain’t no priest...”
The holy water Lazarus splashed against Articanio‘s shredded skin felt like hellfire, and this time he screamed even louder....
