@tsukkiakarii / starter call here.
thump. it was the first time dōma had noticed his heartbeat — was it always this loud? this fast? this paralysing?
he almost felt dizzy, with the sight that laid before him. blood — the scent of blood was always a positive thing, since becoming a demon. it meant fresh kill, it meant food, it meant revelry and delight and wonderful things.
and yet, he’d never considered that she would be amidst the next hunt. left to fight as prey, with no horns to shank, nor hooves to flee, nor voice to squeal. dōma was left with his world utterly shattered.
like a child, he immediately cried out with no mother to soothe him. running forward, arms ahead of him — he crashed into her and they toppled down together. she was so bloody. her wounds were struggling to knit back together. she wasn’t meant to be like this — she was strong! she was powerful!
dōma had never seen someone he cared for become so hurt. it was always mother, or father, or someone from the cult.
never her.
he was bawling, tears flowing and crying out like she’d already died before him. he was scared.
he was so scared.
“don’t die!” he manages to splutter out, “i’ll do anything! i’ll do whatever you want!”
he did not call to her. he called to the gods, for the first time in his life. in pure desperation, in pure panic.
but would gods listen to the falsest prophet of all?
