Such an ugly term, isnât it? Derived from the brilliant idea that watching two beings fight each other with tooth and nail was fun. It could be a generalized name given to two leggers who are thrown into a cage fight to make bloody, and hard earned money, or it could be for an actual dog fight. Itâs dirty, primal, and downright nasty. These things are done everywhere on Earth even though theyâre mostly illegal for the most part, but that never stopped anyone, and this world wasnât the only place where dog fights were held either because Hell had similar customs.
See, down below where brimstone is the casual flooring and one personâs agonized pain was anotherâs sweet sensation there are dog fights too. Well, hellhound fights would be a better fitting word since those are the beings that are the stars of this whole thing. The seven sin demons are the only ones that get hellhounds while the lesser demons whine and cry in their own shit. Since the success rate of a humanâs soul turning into a glorious and four legged hellhound is so low theyâre always in high demand. More and more are taken to be transformed, because the demons always want a hellhound to their fitting. It has to be stronger, faster, smarter, etc. and the primary champion of this whole thing since birth is none other than the biggest dunce in Hell. A man mixed with mutt called Ryder, and the hottest talk in Hell named Sebastian- his words exclusively.
The only way to test just how good a hellhound can be is through the cage fights where snarling and gnashing teeth snap at the other opponent while the audience howl like primates. Toss in the factor that the loser is only called so because they die, and every hellhound that is locked in the ring has to fight their hardest. Itâs always an extreme fight of life and death in there. While most do it for the bets and fame, Ryder doesnât. Itâs always for one things. The single most important thing in his life. Sebastian. According to his demon, and another good friend of theirs, the pride demon had been fighting to have Ryder by his side before he was even done with the transformation. That process took years, and even then he was a late bloomer, yet Sebastian built up and buried countless of bodies every time someone wanted to claim him. Whenever he would come across his thought he would feel touched.
Even if he woke up without any recollection of who or what he was, Sebastian had been there from the very beginning. The second he woke up and got âaccustomedâ to his new body he had seen the demon hunched over in front of the cage. There was a heaviness to the man. Near grief had rubbed the demonâs eyes pink, and while it was only for a few seconds the image was ingrained into his head. Not even five minutes into this new life and the man who would claim him was crying. The weirdest part of it all wasnât that some stranger had just stopped weeping in front of his dirty ass cage, but the fact that he had a strong compulsion to make it go away. Seeing the demon that bummed out didnât fit right with him, but from that moment on he was given the chance to find his best friend, mentor, and lover all at once.
So when Ryder first heard of the hellhound fights he didnât hesitate to enroll himself in it. Every few years a hellhound would be forced to compete as a sort of test, but he would participate almost every single year. He didnât do it because he could or for the material wealth or fame. No, he did it to show everything to back the fuck off from going to Sebastian in order to take him away. Just because he had learned how to master the arts of shadow manipulation and perfect his humanoid figure meant that he was the strongest and most adaptable hellhound known to Hell. Everyone wanted him, and Sebastian and him were well aware of this. The pride demon would often times deal with the meddlers while Ryder did little things like this since actually fighting a demon was taboo.
No matter who was thrown at him they all went down. He was the most natural to this sort of deal, and did his best when he fought for Sebastian. It was the only thing he needed. Not once had he been fatally injured by another of his kind, but he had put plenty down into their graves instead. He was merciless and unafraid to show everyone that he wouldnât be taken or leave the pride demonâs side. The two together were a force to be reckoned with at any time of the day, and their bond was nearly unbreakable.
But that was months ago, maybe a year in Hellâs time. Today was the start of the hellhound fights, but he wasnât there to be one of the first to sign up. He didnât even know what date it was, but his body knew. His hand felt weird to not sign his name down in that shabby ass book for sign ups, and he missed the nasty smell of sweaty sulfur. What he missed most of all was the reason why he would fight all the time. Sebastian had told him time and time again that he didnât need to do it, but he wanted to. He wanted to show the demon that he wasnât just some problematic, overly talkative dead weight, because heâs seen what the others do to his demon. Sometimes Sebastian would come home completely silent to the world and to him from an encounter of someone who wanted to take him away. It wore the demon down, but it always lessened the load after a fight.
Now he was stuck without that opportunity and it sucked. He couldnât wake up next to the love of his entire life, hear his voice mumble against his skin, or even eat his bomb ass chocolate pancakes. This was just another thing off of his list that made his heart ache that much more for his demon. The bed he got was a queen sized, but he had to sleep in his hound form to fill it all and fool himself into thinking that there was another body there beside him. Cups of coffee for two were always made in the morning, and to go lunches were always bought for three (since he ate so goddamn much). In all of this loneliness his mind wandered. How was Sebastian doing? Was he just as lonely? Had he found something to preoccupy his time already? Did he even eat breakfast this morning since thatâs the most important meal of the day? What about his beloved instruments? Were they all in tune? Were they still locked up and away from the house since he had a skill for breaking them on accident? Did Sebastian get good sleep now that he wasnât there to hog all of the space? It was endless and it just shoved his loneliness deeper and deeper into his gut.
Sometimes he would mope over it. Tears would never escape his eyes, but his heart felt heavy without having the demon by his side. Telepathic messages werenât enough. It was all static from the distance, and the warmth a physical body held lacked in his hands. Where there used to be comfortable weight he could press against was now empty and cold. It was depressing, very much so, but he still worked the best he could. Just with his tail and head a little bit lower than usual and more wine in his stomach. Lucifer knows how much longer he could take without his husband on this weird Earth.
