humble origins.  asmodeus - ashmadia, osmodeus, osmodai - he has many, many names, and even more origin stories, but of course, only one is true. sometimes he is depicted as one of the angels to have rebelled against hell, fighting against lucifer's side. although he did join the revolt against heaven, he was  no angel. in fact, he was only half of an angel - his mother had been human, while his father, an angel. upon realizing his origins, asmodeus made an attempt to enter heaven.

of course, he was rejected, almost murdered in the process - who would ever accept a monster like him? he was a being that should have never existed, that should have died in his mother's womb - and the angels made that clear. they drove him out of the heavens, insulting him, taunting him, and leaving him for dead. yet, he picked himself up, his wounds, and wandered the universe with one goal in mind - if they called him a monster, then that was exactly what he would become.

descent to hell. he left it all behind - his home, his mother, even his humanity. the angels rejected him, so he would make them suffer, make them regret as he slowly descended into madness. he entered hell and made a name for himself - asmodeus, meaning demon of wrath. he spread his wrath, his hatred for heaven among demons and humans alike, gaining fame for his cruelty and tempting ways.

he fell into sin completely, his humanity making way for something more sinister the longer he spent in hell. eventually, the human blood in him turned black, but there was still that shine in his blood that gave away his identity as one of those winged beasts he despised.

so the simple solution was to tear his own wings off. his celestial force diminished greatly, his blood turning the shade of midnight, and his cruelty worsened. he'd gained a taste for ripping off wings, whether they were his own, or any angels that attempted to take him down. he wanted no one to know of his origins, of the celestial grace that had once coarsed through his veins. to this day, it remains a secret to all but asmodeus himself.

the downside of ripping out his wings, however, was the fact that he began to rot, to deteriorate. he was dying - his body couldn't handle the stress and for a while, he was on the verge of death. an unknown urge came over him, the painful throes of a once great being on the verge of death - and before he knew it, he was standing over a human's corpse, a newfound energy within him.

it was then that he discovered - he had the power to harvest another being's life force, through . he slept with humans and demons alike, often killing them in his greed to keep himself from deteriorating. he took too much, killed too many, and began to make a name for himself as the deadliest demon of lust.

the day star. HIS NAME WAS LUCIFER. unbeknownst to asmodeus, that name would haunt him for the aeons to come.

when lucifer fell from heaven, he made quite the fuss in hell. he killed many of asmodeus' demonic followers, which irritated him - who did this angel think he was, making more of a mess out of the chaos that asmodeus lived in? he wanted to rip his wings off, make a mockery out of the fallen angel now that he was in hell. asmodeus couldn't have killed an angel in heaven, but hell was his territory. he could easily bring down some angel that looked down on everyone else - or so he thought.

long story short, asmodeus didn't exactly win - but he didn't exactly lose, either. before lucifer could kill him, asmodeus used his powers of persuasion to esentially make the fallen angel his . for a while, lucifer was his. there was something odd about the prideful angel, something intriguing that made asmodeus want to know more and more and more.

eventually, that same curiosity turned into an odd sort of attraction, and asmodeus began to harvest lucifer's life force every single day. he grew addicted - there was nothing, no one else in existence that could ever match up to the way lucifer tasted on his tongue.

asmodeus couldn't keep him forever, as much as he would have liked to. his hold on the angel was weakening with every day that passed, and one day, it broke. lucifer left almost immediately, never looking back. as much as he didn't want to admit it, the lustful demon felt an ache where thoughts of lucifer used to be.

revolt against heaven. a long, bloody war between angels and demons alike - that was what it was. it started out simply, the fallen angels rebelling against the heavens

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he couldn't stop crying.

here he was, in the depths of hell, a mess of snot and tears as he tried and tried and tried to fly. to leave, to go back home to his mother where everything was safe and warm.

hell wasn't warm at all - it burned. it burnt him, burnt his skin and flesh and bones and charred the remnants of his once beautiful wings until they were pathetic and destroyed beyond recognition.

he just wanted to go home. he cursed the angels through his tears, his clipped wings flapping weakly as he made yet another hopeless attempt to fly, to leave the dark forest where he was forced to fight and hunt for his life every single day. how long had he even been here? time didn't matter in the darkness - all that mattered was his survival.

"mama," he sobbed, calling out for a mother that could never hear him. "mama!" once upon a time he'd been beautiful - a laughing, happy, rose-cheeked child with large, gorgeous wings that he'd show off to his mother with a proud grin. at this moment, there was no trace of that child in the broken, bloodied form sobbing on the ground.

everything hurt. his arms, his head, his feet, his legs, his chest, his heart, his wings -

"don't fret, little one."

the nephilim looked up, quivering like a leaf as he tried to identify the source of the voice. in front of him was a kindly looking demon, with a nice smile and a soothing voice. the demon looked like one of the humans he'd spent so much time with, and as much as he tried to shy away from the stranger, a part of him craved the familiarity of the human world.

"poor thing," the demon murmured, his gaze fixed on the monstrosity protruding from his back. "your wings have been clipped - i can help you heal them, if you'd like? all you have to do is come with me."

his voice was so sweet, so soothing - it would take the nephilim eons to realize that he was being taken against his will through the power of a silver tongue.

he instantly nodded, attempting to rise from his spot on the dirty earth and falling almost immediately, his legs too weak from the unidentifiable amount of time he'd spent running from demons that chased him. the demon in front of him darted forward, making sure he wouldn't hit the ground as a warm hand clutched at his waist. "careful there," he chuckled. "you look like you need to rest."

the nephilim nodded desperately - he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept.

"do you have a name, little one?"

a name. did he have a name? once upon a time, he did, but his memory was unreliable. he couldn't remember what his mother called him - all he could remember was the lilt of her soft, soothing voice. the demon almost sounded just like her. he shook his head at the question.

"no name? that won't do," he tutted. "i need to call you something."

they began to walk, the nephilim limping against the demon's side as he hummed, speaking once again after a moment.

"i know - how about kino? short and sweet, don't you think?"

"ki... no," the nephilim mumbled, trying the new name out on his tongue. it was unfamiliar, but not necessarily bad.

the demon chuckled. "it suits you, kino." his smile was dazzling, and the nephilim - kino, now - let his heart lift for the first time since being thrown to the pits of hell.

"let's go home."

"look at you, little one."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

drip.

kino couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped once he felt the slow deliberate drag of the blade against his skin, his entire body quivering underneath the steady press of metal against the flesh of his stomach. he was weak, unable to speak or move or see - all he could see was black, all he could hear was the soft chuckle of his master as the steady drops of freezing water fell on his forehead every few seconds.

he was going insane.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

drip.

"you're the prettiest like this, you know. when you're in pain." gone was the soft, gentle voice that had lulled him to sleep - the demon's voice was only harsh, scathing, biting. "pain always looks beautiful on disgusting angels like you."

drip.

kino was cold, shivering actually - every few minutes, his master would incessantly pour gallons of ice cold water against his the nephilim's face, and the cloth that covered his whole face rendered him unable to breath, unable to do anything but struggle against his restraints as he drowned, again and again and Again. 

drip.

if his master chose to drown him dry once again, this would mark the eighty third time his senses would be overwhelmed by blackness, unable to breathe or move or think. it had been sixteen minutes since the eighty second time, and he had counted two hundred and twenty three times a drop of water had hit him in his forehead.

numbers kept him sane. numbers kept him from slipping into madness, from screeching in pain - because any sort of loud noise would only make things worse.

drip.

and kino, as it had turned out, was a screamer.

drip.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"how many times?"

"e-eighty two, m-master." his voice was garbled, his throat raw and pained and scratched.

"let's make this the last one, then," the other demon yawned. "i'm getting bored."

without warning, gallons of freezing water dropped down on him before he even had the chance to tense up and brace himself for the impact. he was choking, his throat burning and his limbs thrashing against the ropes that scratched and scratched at his wrists and ankles until skin tore. panic ripped the air from his lungs, the wounds from his master's insistent blade throbbing with pain.

it seemed to last forever - this sensation of drowning without being submerged in water, and once it was done, he wasn't given any time to rest. the cloth was removed, blindfold ripped from his face, ropes loosened, and he was attacked by brightness, by mobility, by every sense that he had been deprived of.

kino could do nothing but shiver, staring up at his master, his chest heaving.

"clean up," the demon instructed. "if this place isn't spotless by the time i return, the others will be eating you for dinner."

the door slammed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

drip. 

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