Some fanart for a really cool fic I began WEEEEEKS AGO but finished only recently due to a multitude of issues, broken iPad, art block, and so much going on at once 🥲
This fic has such an interest in concept and is being updated to the same! I’m really excited to continue on with Phoenix’s adventures and just how she makes her way out of the situation she’s found herself in 😮💨
Direct excerpt from the fanfic used in the doodle:
“Well, you do have an eye for one thing. This mask goes well with my name.”
“Oh, really! What's your name?”
“Phoenix.”
“Ah, I see! Then this mask was made for you. Take it and join the festivities!”
A rather questionable idea came to my mind when I read this week’s Vesuvia Weekly prompt. I always imagined my MC to be somewhat connected to the Devil patron. They were unreasonably infatuated by each other; an Arcana willing to destroy worlds for his goal, and a mortal willing to sacrifice everything to save them.
Upon death, she confirmed that the pain she suffered day by day was truly just as horrible as the fires of Hell, except this flare was different. The pain would finally be no more and she would never have to suffer anything ever again, but the Devil had other plans.
The Devil coaxed her soul to his realm where she laid rest until she could speak. He need not have waited long, for her soul was powerful in living, and broke through the World’s boundaries with ease. When she came to, at last, she took on a form similar to her living body, but dusted in smoking black ash. It fit the decor of the Devil’s realm nicely. She opened her eyes to admire the scenery, and immediately scowled.
The Devil, lounging on his throne, grinned, and looked at her with his beady eyes. “Not very happy to see me, are you?”
“What do you want from me? Spit it out,” she demanded plainly.
“My, my! What a mouth you have.” He trailed off.
“I have nothing of worth to give you — no deals to make.”
The Devil tutted and waved one clawed finger. “You’re forgetting your desire. Think of your poor, poor master!” He teased, putting a strange emphasis on her mentor. “Think of your friends! The people you have yet to meet, places you have yet to see—.”
“I have no interest —,” she insisted. “— in going back.” She glared daggers at him.
The Devil thought for a moment and then hummed, getting his high haunches off his throne and looming above her ghostly form. He leaned over her slightly to meet her gaze, mere inches away. He locked eyes with her and watched intently, as if he were observing an item to be bought. The ghost’s frown never wavered, not once.
The Devil seemed to decide on something and moved back to make his way down a set of steps lined with blood red velvet. “Come along,” he said before a set of smoking red chains emerged from the ground beneath her and wrung her wrists to drag her to his side. She looked unsurprised at the gesture and remained silent, patiently waiting for the Arcana to speak.
They walked across the gaping ballroom to a balcony overlooking a massive pool of lava that stretched as far as the mortal eye could see. The Devil spoke, “You are unlike the magicians I have met, my dear. Magic comes to you, not the other way around. You bend the world to your will with ease.” He turned around to face her. “Which is why you shouldn’t abate to something as trivial as a Plague”, he spat. He waved his clawed hand dismissively. “You should treat yourself! I’m sure I’ve got a spare body lying around somewhere.”
“Not only are you talking my ears off, but you’re lying?”
The Devil whipped his horned head around, eyebrows raised before correcting her, “I don’t lie, darling. I state the facts ahead of time.” A sneer washed across his goat-like features.
She looked at him, unamused, and spoke lowly, “I am going to say this once, and only once. I was always prepared to die, and if I ever needed you in my life, I would’ve came for you before.” A smile twitched on his face. She brushed him off, “I will never need you, not now, and not ever.”
Her glare seared into his blackened eyes, a testament to her integrity. There they stood, watching each other, waiting for the other to make a move as his sickening gaze auctioned her worth.
Finally, he stepped forward and loomed over her once more. “Fine”, he said. “But I’ll be waiting if you ever change your mind.”
Her empty eyes widened. “What?!” She lunged to stop him from raising his hand, but her ashen arms phased through his fur. They locked eyes one last time before the Devil waved her off, and her ashes dusted the floor, mixing with the rest.
reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.
summary:
“I’m not sure if a Major Arcana can die,” Asra had said. “After all, they’re ideas. Concepts. And an idea can’t truly die.”
In the months following your confrontation, The Devil whispers to you.
word count: 2k | ao3 version
warnings: spoilers to the main storyline of the game & Julian’s upright route. chains and temporary imprisonment; suggestive remarks.
The seven of you—Mazelinka, Nadia, Nazali, Portia, Julian, Asra, and you—defeated The Devil and eradicated the plague. Vesuvia is returning to its former glory, with beautiful crystalline waters flowing through the canals and bright-eyed, healthy citizens ambling about the streets. Everyone is peaceful and happy.
… But you’re still uneasy.
You toss and turn at night, frequently dreaming of the ominous crimson skies from The Devil’s realm. You often wake up in the morning to a sweltering hot bedroom and scratches along your arms, as if something is clawing at you during your slumber. And those scarlet eyes, that haunting, sharp-toothed grin… They follow you into your waking life. You start to see The Devil everywhere: between vendors of the Red Market, standing outside the window of your shop, lurking in the dark corners of the palace.
Eventually, you grow restless enough to consult your cards. Taking a slow breath, you shuffle the deck and pick one card… only to find The Devil upright. He almost seems to leer at you from the card. You blink and the two humans beneath him disappear, replaced with a solitary figure. Your own face stares back at you, a length of chain around your shoulders inextricably connecting you back to The Devil.
Your heart races in your chest as you’re drawn back to what Asra told you all those months ago. “I’m not sure if a Major Arcana can die,” he had said. “After all, they’re ideas. Concepts. And an idea can’t truly die.”
Unnerved and unsettled, you put away your cards and spend the rest of the day fighting off your spiraling thoughts. By the time night falls, you’ve already closed the shop. You’re inexplicably exhausted, despite the fact that you haven’t done any strenuous physical activity today. You eventually decide to stop thinking about it and get ready for bed. Sleep comes easily that night, especially with your desperation for an escape from reality.
But you don’t get to rest, because you soon open your eyes to find yourself in The Devil’s realm once more. And he isn’t like you left him. He’s not a frozen statue; instead, he sits on his throne and looks down at you with a bored expression.
Foreboding sends goosebumps across your skin. You shouldn’t be here. Did he manage to summon you? You thought you had successfully contained him during your last battle. The thought of having to fight for the city and your friends again is enough to send a renewed wave of exhaustion through you. You stare up at The Devil. “What did you do?” you demand tiredly, the words falling from your lips before you can stop them.
“Me?” The Devil asks innocently. He’s staring at you as if you’re a particularly meddlesome pest. “I’ve done nothing.” The mere implication almost seems to offend him.
“I see you everywhere,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I keep returning to your realm. And whenever I try to do a reading for myself, I get your card.”
Something makes The Devil’s glittering eyes snap towards you with frightening speed. Then he laughs and laughs. The air almost seems to vibrate with malice, as a truly dangerous grin rises on his lips and his eyes flash with interest. “You have no idea what you just admitted to.”
“What?” you choke out. The smug expression on his face is deeply unsettling.
“You’re straying from your path, Fool,” he remarks cryptically. His ambiguity is perplexing. At your confusion, The Devil only sighs impatiently. “Your patron Arcana whispers to you,” he continues.
Suddenly you understand exactly what he’s insinuating. The Devil is claiming to be your patron Arcana—claiming that you resemble him. “No, that’s—” you argue. “That’s not true. I’m not like you.” You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince; The Devil seems to recognize this, if the twisted smirk on his face is any indication. The very thought of being similar to him is enough to make you nauseous.
“Oh, but it is true,” he grins. His composure is only making you more angry. The Devil is infuriatingly calm and unbothered. “There’s darkness within you. And greed. You’re unsatisfied because you want more.”
You shake your head silently, entirely speechless.
“Besides, there’s no need for pretense here,” the Devil says casually, gesturing to the crimson skies around him. Indeed, it is only the two of you in this realm, this moment. “You reject your mortal companions. You’re growing restless, impatient.”
You grit your teeth and ignore his baseless accusations. “We defeated you,” you remind him. It wasn’t all that long ago, either.
“Temporarily,” The Devil shrugs. He taps his fingers against the arm of his throne with a casual impatience. You feel that familiar fury rising in your chest once more as you stare at him, entirely unaffected by your hateful glare. Instead, he only looks more intrigued.
It happens in slow motion. One moment, you’re watching him warily; the next, chains are surrounding you—wrapping around your arms and legs, slowly pulling you closer to The Devil and his throne. You try to summon your magic, but you can’t reach it—as if there’s an impenetrable darkness blocking you. The chains continue to drag you forward relentlessly, until you’re far too close to The Devil. You try to fight back, but the manacles only grip you even tighter. Your writhing is subdued, until you’re left standing before him like a pinned butterfly.
The Devil scrutinizes you with an appraising eye. “Not a bad look for you, magician,” he grins. Equal sentiments of anger and something uncomfortably close to embarrassment fight for prominence. You try to keep your composure, despite every bone in your body screaming at you to escape somehow, someway. The chains almost seem to writhe and crawl along your skin, and their movements only reinforce the strength of their grip. You can hear your heart roaring in your ears.
“You’re afraid of me,” he states clinically. You don’t bother arguing—the rapidity of your breaths and the swift thrumming of your pulse only further prove his point. The Devil hums. “Yet you do not cower. You don’t try to wager. You still fight.”
You don’t know what to say. It’s hard enough to breathe past the iron-knuckled grip of his chains—let alone find the right words to utter. You can only hope your contempt gleams in your eyes; and, it must, because The Devil smiles.
He motions languidly and the chains drag you a step closer. “Aren’t you tired of fighting?” The Devil questions. His voice is deep and entrancing. “This is nothing more than a petty feud to me. But that pesky resolve of yours… could very well make this span your entire lifetime.”
The chains tug you down, as if trying to make you kneel. You stumble into an awkward genuflect, your hand hitting the ground as you try to push yourself back up. You will never bow to The Devil. You repeat that promise like a mantra in the back of your mind, until you manage to get yourself to stand up again.
A vicious grin is practically painted on The Devil’s face, and you start to come to a hopeless realization. Whatever you do will intrigue him. Regardless of how you attempt to oppose him, he will find glee and entertainment in it. He enjoys this twisted game of cat-and-mouse—enjoys forcing you to acknowledge his presence and go along with his plans. “Is this how you wish to spend the years you have left: fighting for the ungrateful?”
That statement cuts deep. You think of Nadia and Portia smiling at one another; to Asra and his parents, residing within the palace; to Muriel, finally free from his curse; and to Julian, who can roam the streets as an innocent man. They have all moved on. They… left you behind. Your friends left you to the wreckage of their own actions—the consequences of their decisions.
You immediately berate yourself for even considering a deal with The Devil. He makes things sound too good to be true—that’s what he does. You know better than to be taken in with his false promises. The air is stiff and oppressive, manufacturing an urgent irritation and envy within you.
The chains suddenly yank you forward again, allowing The Devil to reach out to you. You instinctively lean backwards, but there’s nowhere for you to go. Instead, you’re left breathing hard as his fingers travel up your throat mockingly. Surely he must feel the rapidity of your pulse beneath his fingertips. But he only scrutinizes you quietly, his gaze intense enough to send shivers down your spine. Then his hand rises to cradle your jaw and he tilts your head to the side. There’s a strangely focused expression on his face, as if he’s looking for something. You can only hope he doesn’t find it.
Then, without explanation, The Devil tilts your head to the other side. Quick as lightning, his other hand is extended—and he drags a long, clawed finger down your cheek. It’s enough to puncture your skin and draw blood, pulling a pained hiss from your lips. After an immeasurable time spent in quiet appraisal, The Devil makes an assenting noise and his hand finally falls from your face. You wince at the feeling of blood dripping down your cheek.
“I won’t make a deal with you,” you promise with all the conviction you can muster.
“You will,” The Devil says smoothly. There’s no heat in his argument—only a cool rationality, as if he knows exactly what will happen. “Don’t fear: I can wait. I have all the time in the world, after all.” You don’t goes unsaid, but you hear it anyway. He’s right—your mortal life is all you have. And while a few decades is nothing more than the blink of an eye for The Devil, it’s a good chunk of your lifetime. Can you really live like this for that long? Can you keep fighting tirelessly—pushing away that relentless exhaustion that only draws closer on your heels?
You try to get out of the chains once more, surprised to notice a faint trace of your magic returning. With The Devil distracted, you channel your energy into breaking the chains—and they slowly begin to snap around you, leaving you just enough room to escape them.
“I see you’re growing impatient,” The Devil’s voice cuts through the static in your mind. You blink and the chains around you disappear, leaving only a persistent ache in your muscles as a reminder. Before you can even begin to speak, your vision is fading to black as the Devil leaves you with one last parting remark. “Very well. We will meet again soon.” The crimson skies around you morph into a starless night sky, submerging you in darkness.
You wake up in a cold sweat, tangled in your sheets and sprawled across your bed. Groaning, you push yourself up and head to the bathroom, wanting to cool yourself off. You reach down and pour some water into your hands, before rinsing off your face. A stinging sensation on the left side of your face makes you pause; you wince and squint at your reflection in the mirror, only to find a jagged cut tearing through your cheek: right where The Devil ran his clawed finger along your skin mere moments ago.
You take a shuddering breath, trying to come to terms with the physical evidence of the reality you just unwittingly transported yourself to. As you stare at yourself in the mirror, you realize there are bruises crawling up and down your forearms—from where the chains had been. That was no mere dream. You visited The Devil’s realm—and he let you leave. Willingly.
The certainty in his voice still haunts you. Is your descent into darkness really as inevitable as he makes it seem? It takes concentrated effort for you to calm yourself down enough to return to bed. And even when you do, The Devil’s smooth voice follows you into your nightmares—imploring you to take your place at his side.
thanks for reading! <3
check out my other works, sorted by fandom.
general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat
friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!
