Chapter Text
A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity. Proverbs 17:17
On the first day, the boy asked him who he was.
I am Abaddon! The Demon gleefully replied. King of Cobras, Destroyer of Worlds. And you have been chosen as my perfect vessel.
The boy sat quietly in his dark corner, horror growing on his face.
The boy then stood, fiddling with his fingers.
“Abaddon?” he called. “Like the Destroyer? One Of The Locusts?”
If that is what you know me by. The Demon said.
The boy clasped his hands together, folding upon himself. Shutting his eyes tightly, fists over his mouth, he began to pray.
That will not work. But, go on, tremble in my destruction. Pray to the one who will not listen. The Demon mocked. The boy continued on, because evil went out of its way to trample on hope. And it was all he had, for his Father would save him.
He had to save him.
He was the great Priest Josiah Penn. He would not let evil wreak havoc upon his home. Upon his only son.
The boy clung to hope, and fell to his knees in subjugation of his Lord.
“But the Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one,” the boy recited under his breath. The Demon didn’t reply, for he had better things to do than listen to the hopeless scraps of scripture. He had to give it to the boy: most would’ve given up by now. He would know, he had studied for centuries for this very moment.
As the boy became background noise, The Demon got used to human skin. He rolled his toes and flexed his fingers. He cracked his neck and blinked his eyes. He pulled at his one pair of lips and gnashed his dull teeth. Unlike Demons who ran scorchingly, humans ran at a light warm trickle. It was odd, felt odd--but The Demon could still feel himself, underneath.
So, The Demon wearing the boy’s skin tested walking. It was odd to do so without a tail. But soon it became natural. He decided to test his social skills upon witnessing a game of… round, dull things in a ring.
“Greetings, fellow children,” he said in the boy’s voice. The children immediately looked upon him with a wickedness that struck an odd sort in him.
“Oh, it is just Zachariah,” one of the boys said with a chuckle. “Do you not have sticks to swing around, or rope to jump with?”
The Demon paused. Well, when he found the boy, he was jumping with a rope. Which was odd--didn’t they hang their degenerates with those? What was so fun about jumping over a rope? And sticks to swing? Well, that was easier to glean; swordplay was a normal thing, he supposed.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked as politely as he could. The boys just looked at each other and laughed, continuing on with their game. The Demon stood there in complete confusion and revulsion; children were so often chosen for their innocence. Their odd ways were seen as endearing. Why was it now that these examples of such a pathetic race were so… cruel? To one of their own?
“But I wish to play,” he said. The children ignored him. The boy went quiet from his scripture, even for just a moment.
How odd.
“You will not ignore me!” he shouted, making the children pause. Their ringleader he presumed raised a brow at him, standing from their game.
“Let me make this clear, Penn: we do not want to play with you. For being Father Josiah’s son, you have the touch of the devil in you.”
The Demon wearing the boy’s skin balked, making the ringleader grin.
“Yeah! Your sin will brush upon us and seek us out in our weakness. We wish to play in peace,” another said, wicked as he was. Fear struck The Demon, if just for a moment. Did they know? Was it that evident? But he had--he had planned, studied, did everything perfectly. Did he not fit in as well as he hoped?
“So, go away, Zachariah.”
The Demon wearing the boy’s skin relaxed. They did not call upon his name, so, it must be that they do not like this particular boy. Well, perhaps that would work in his favor. Demonic havoc can only be wreaked so perfectly in the body of one too loved by others. Too noticeable.
The boy was quiet now. In his consciousness, he stood in the dark corner, hands grasping his arms. His face was stone, but his lips trembled.
The Demon did not care. But he also did not care for these heathens. It’d be a good starter to make them cry.
“Fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll go away.”
And he snatched the marbles in one fanciful swoop. The children cried out in defiance, but with his power, The Demon was already too far for them to catch up. His chest filled with glee as he heard their yelling turn into crying, calling for their parents.
He inspected the round objects once he was far enough into the woods. They seemed to be made out of hardened clay. When he mouthed one, they tasted earthy.
What are these…?
“They are called marbles,” the boy said softly.
You dare speak to me, mortal?
“You wondered what they were called.” He was sitting now, face buried in his knees. “They are marbles.”
Marbles…
“They were playing ring-taw.” The boy shifted. “It is one of my favorites, but my brother only ever played with me.”
Brother?
“Yes,” he said, but said no more. The Demon rolled his eyes, sitting down on a fallen log.
They taste good.
“Do not eat them. They are for playing.”
I do not have to listen to you, mortal.
The Demon wearing the boy’s skin bit into one. Pain radiated through his teeth, and he spat it back out into his palm.
You humans are so weak! The Demon said with a giggle. He morphed his teeth, becoming sharp and strong. He ate the marble then, the taste of chalk bursting across his tongue. The boy said nothing as he chewed and swallowed the marble.
“That did taste good,” the boy commented quietly. The Demon laughed, but did not reply. He simply found joy in his surrender.
On the second day, The Demon began to assimilate with the boy’s family.
Unlike the comment the boy made earlier, it was just him. A mother, a father.
The father was cold like the innermost ring of Hell. Talked like he always conducted a sermon, barely giving his son affection. The Demon was reminded of his own peers through him, an uncanny view. He was always away in that damned Church--a priest, he learned. But The Demon wasn’t scared. As long as he did not try to enter, he would go unscathed.
The mother was different. Despite being raised the same way, she was warm and gentle. Always spoke in soft tones, and brushed the boy’s hair. She smelled of lemongrass and lavender, sweet. It made The Demon gag, but the boy was placated from reciting scripture. So, The Demon hung around her, if only to make him shut up. The boy found pleasure in being in her presence, always dutiful when she gave him something to do. The Demon only allowed this so as to appear “normal.”
He also let the boy have the scant bit of control whenever something Biblical was happening. Morning prayer was said by the boy through him without him realizing. Otherwise, his tongue would become heavy, like lead. Until he finalized his plan for each soul’s torture, he did not want to be found out.
“Zachariah, would you help me clean the dishes?” the mother asked. The boy perked up, and The Demon sighed.
The Demon wearing the boy’s skin helped her as the father walked out to the Church. When the father was out of earshot, she smiled softly at him.
“Anything new in Zachariah’s Kingdom?”
“His what?” The Demon wearing the boy’s skin asked, and clamped his mouth shut. The mother gave a confused look.
“My kingdom,” the boy said softly, fondly.
“Oh, yes,” The Demon wearing the boy’s skin said. “Sorry, mother. I was distracted by the, um, sunlight.”
The mother just giggled softly.
“It is rather nice today. You should go and play with your friends, I will handle the rest of the chores. You can tell me later before supper.”
The boy’s expression turned to one of guilt. The Demon snickered.
She does not know? he teased. You sad, sad mortal.
The boy did not reply. The Demon ceased contact for the moment.
“Oh, and let me know if you find any more dead animals. It is sweet you help them get to Heaven, but your Father would not like that.”
Dead animals?
“Their souls are lost. I host funerals for them,” the boy replied listlessly. “Father wishes for me to become a Priest, so I practice.”
Surprisingly macabre.
The boy did not reply. Instead The Demon wearing the boy’s skin walked out of the home. The sun was indeed bright, and The Demon hissed at it. The boy leaned into it.
“What is Hell like?” the boy asked after a moment. The Demon was taken aback.
Don’t you have scripture to recite to fruitlessly send me away from your bodily anchor?
“Maybe Father could use it to understand Hell better, so he can keep the demons away,” the boy declared. And then he hesitated. “And I have grown curious,” he said, quietly, ashamed.
How adorable. The Demon snickered. The boy loses his faith.
“I dare not to!” he shouted, surprising The Demon. “If I am to be stuck with you until my Father releases me, I might as well understand the enemy.”
Enemy. You sound as if you have any power over me. The Demon pondered. But, fine. I suppose I can sate your puny curiosity.
The boy leaned forward in his prison. The Demon in the boy’s skin sat upon the same log he snacked on clay marbles.
I live in a grand palace full of servants. The Demon recalled. It’s bright and hot, like one of your campfires, but even hotter. I am the gatekeeper who either admits souls for specific torture or let them fall for another specific torture. I have a grand brimstone garden where my locusts live. Everyone is so in awe, in fear of me, they never look me in the eye. The Demon grinned wide. They never approach me, and they all worship me.
The boy stared into the abyss. The Demon stared back.
“...sounds lonely,” the boy commented softly. The Demon scoffed.
Hardly. They always throw boring parties I’m never invited to, which I’m grateful for, because they are so boring.
“Parties?” the boy wondered. “We like having parties. Everyone is typically invited since Father is the Priest.”
Sounds nice. Don’t care.
“I am just saying--”
I don’t need your incessant drivel, mortal.
The boy quieted. The Demon huffed, irritated. He was not lonely. He was Abaddon, King of Cobras, Great Bringer Of Darkness and Destruction! He did not need “friendship” for a good life. He easily proved that eons ago, when he divorced his wife since she took too much advice from her mother.
Curse that infernal gas bag.
“Could we play with the jump rope today?” the boy asked.
Jump rope? Such a straightforward name.
“What else would you call it?” the boy questioned. The Demon had no answer, for he did not care to. Instead, to appear “normal,” he did as the boy asked.
He ignored the children. They all glared at him. He did not care.
The rope of jumping was… adequate for passing time.
On the third day, The Demon tried The Boy’s favorite food for the first time.
“It is called Banbury cake!” The Boy explained excitedly, taken away from his scripture. The mother was pulling it from the bake kettle, letting it cool on the kitchen’s window sill. “It is my favorite--we must eat some.”
You mortals and your pleasures. The Demon hummed. I would rather eat that venison we had last night.
The Boy huffed, crossing his arms. The Demon rolled his eyes.
Fine! We shall have some of this… Ban-bury cake.
The Boy grinned, twirling in his dark prison.
“Mommy, can I have some?” The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin asked. The mother sighed with a fond smile.
“Alright, you are lucky I made a lot.” The mother tore one of the loaves in half, plucking a little excess off to eat herself. The Boy pouted.
“She always does that so I do not spoil my supper.”
The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin took the piece given. He sniffed it curiously, being hit with a fruity scent. The mother watched him curiously, chewing on her piece. The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin finally bit into it.
The Demon rumbled, a warmth blooming in his chest. The Boy looked triumphant, a grin the shape of half an orange growing on his face.
It is… adequate.
“Adequate?” The Boy giggled. “You like it!”
Silence!
The Boy quieted, but a smug smile stuck on his face. He went back to reading scripture, praying away The Demon as he enjoyed the snack.
…maybe humans weren’t as simple as he always presumed. Still irritating, still rudimentary. Just… knew how to make good food.
Big deal.
“Oh! I also found another extra button for your collection, Zachariah.” The mother gave him a large, black button. The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin took the button, analyzing it.
Button collection?
“It is an excellent collection,” The Boy said defensively. “I like to stick them to trees with sap.”
You’re so peculiar. The Demon didn’t mean it as a compliment. The Boy took it as one anyway.
On the fourth day, The Boy explained his kingdom. He guided The Demon deep into the woods, leading him to a clearing. The sun dappled between the trees, swathes of wildflowers and tall grass swinging in the breeze. A small fort of sticks and twine sat, making a makeshift fort of sorts.
“That is my castle,” he said. “And the rest of it is my people.” He gestured to the plants, the animals that skittered about. “I go on adventures, and I have friends who are brilliant knights that help--”
Boring. The Demon interrupted. The Boy quieted. You humans have a guileless, useless imagination. When us demons want something, we do. I could have forty real kingdoms--why would this fake one interest me?
“...I did not hope that it would interest you,” The Boy admitted, stern as he was quiet. “I just missed it.”
Missed it? The Demon mocked. You poor creature. So alone you make up your own friends.
The Boy didn’t defend himself that time. The Demon grinned. The Boy played with his fingers, frowning.
“If you think I am so pathetic,” The Boy finally questioned. “Why did you choose me as your vessel? You could have easily chosen one of my parents, or anyone else in the village.”
Because you were easy. And it’s a popular trend to possess a sad child such as yourself. So full of innocence, not yet fully aware of the world. When you weak meatbags do something odd, your bigger companions think it endearing. If one of the older ones does, they think him mad.
The Boy sat, leaning his chin against his knees. The Demon frowned, but did not offer words of comfort, nor felt that much pity.
“I wish to go home,” The Boy said after a moment. “I want you to leave. I want to be myself again.”
Sorry, that won’t be happening. The Demon was not very sorry at all. This is your life now. Or is it mine? The Demon cackled. Don’t worry, I’ll kill your precious family first. Just as a “thank you” for being so hospitable.
The Boy did not reply. He instead curled his hands together, put them to his mouth, and began to pray once more. The Demon watched, his cruel grin turning downward into a frown once more.
You rely so heavily on something that won’t save you. It’s precious.
The Boy did not reply. The Demon grew impatient.
Go on! Say something!
The Boy kept on reciting scripture.
You’re so--
The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin became enraged. He stomped over to the fort, swiftly kicking it. It tumbled down under the might of The Demon’s strength, laying in a heap. The Boy did not falter, hands trembling. The Demon panted.
See? It’s nothing but made up! A weak, structureless thing--just like you.
The Boy did not falter. The Demon watched as a tear gathered in his eye, and fell down his cheek. A tangle of something curled in his chest; dark, hollow, burning. He turned around and left the glade, never looking back.
On the fifth day, The Boy ceased speaking.
The Demon noticed quickly, as he always had a snappy sentence or scripture to speak. He only ever spoke during the family prayers, but was otherwise unresponsive.
Finally given up?
He did not reply.
You sad creature.
He did not reply.
The Mother brushed his hair after the weekly bath. The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin relaxed under her touch. The Boy did not respond to her stimulus.
“All people on Earth do dwell…” The Mother sang softly, working through a strong knot. “Sing to the lord--goodness, Zachariah. How much have you been trapezing through the woods as of late?” she questioned with a teasing lilt.
“A lot,” The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin replied. “Mommy, do you still have any of that cake?”
The Demon was not sure why he was asking. The Mother smiled.
“Just a bit. Father ate some before bed last night.”
The Mother gave him what was left, and The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin nibbled on it as she finished brushing his hair. She sang hymns and ran her fingers through his hair.
“There. Now do not get too many twigs stuck next time. Your Father does not like your escapades when they end in you getting dirty.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
The Mother kissed his forehead, making him hum as something warm curled in his ribs.
“Also, Zachariah… are you sure you are well?”
“What do you mean?”
“You just seem to not be as enthusiastic during daily prayer anymore. You have begun to slouch.”
The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin immediately straightened. The Mother giggled fondly, swiping a few loose strands out of his face.
“I am well,” he said. “Do not worry about me.”
The Mother hesitated, a small, strained smile gracing her face. The Demon became nervous. She took his hands into her own.
“I just want you to enjoy childhood, my love. After what… what happened… with your brother…” She sighed. “You know it is not your fault, yes?”
“I do.” He did not, for The Demon did not know what she spoke of. “I am off, now.”
“Be careful.” His hands slipped from hers, the warmth escaping with it.
What does she speak of?
“It is none of your business,” The Boy finally snapped. The Demon glared down at him.
It is if I am to fit into your little hovel of a unit. Tell me.
“No!”
Tell me!
The Boy shuffled further and further into the recesses of his mind.
Fine! You’ve left me no choice.
He plucked at his memory like strings. The Boy bristled, freezing.
“No, you would not.”
I would.
“Wait--!”
Pain.
Blinding, white pain. A deep, emotional, burning pain.
“It was my fault, Father!”
“Josiah, no--!”
The Demon catapulted himself out of the memory, two hearts pounding. His claws slammed into his chest, wishing to calm them. The Boy looked at him, fury and hurt in his gaze.
“Why will you not leave?!” The Boy cried. “I hate you!”
It was not new, hearing that. But for some reason, this time, it hurt.
“I hate you!” The Boy cried. “I hate you! I hate you!”
The Demon watched as he broke down into feeble sobs. He curled upon himself, pushed his fists to his lips, and began to pray again.
The Demon was left speechless, for he had nothing to say. He sat down a ways away from The Boy, looking off into the distance of the abyss.
You humans and your relationships. The Demon spoke at last. If it had been demons, we would’ve betrayed each other.
“Father always said that is what makes us strong,” The Boy whispered, broken. “God makes us strong.”
God was not there to save you.
But your brother was.
On the sixth day, the father noticed something odd about His Son.
“I wish for you to join me today. The Church does not clean itself.”
The Boy hesitated.
“But I have things to do, Father.”
The father frowned, looking down upon him.
“You never say ‘no’ to me, understand? Your soul will not be lost like your brother’s was.”
“I…” He looked panicked. “I have something to do with my friends today.”
“Lies are sin, boy.”
“I do not lie!” The Boy shouted. The father’s eyes narrowed at him. The Boy stepped back, looking ashamed. “I am sorry, Father. But I really do not lie.”
The two stared at each other. The father turned away.
“I expect you to be at home when the sun begins to go down.”
“...yes, Father.”
The father headed to Church, the Pastor opening the windows.
“Oh, Father Penn,” he greeted kindly. “Good morn’.”
“Good morn’, Pastor Hastings.”
“You look troubled, old friend.”
The father took it upon himself to begin sweeping the dust. It billowed out the open doors, sun shining in.
“Something is wrong with my son,” he said. The pastor paused, looking up from the wiping of the seats. “He refuses to look me in the eye, strays away from crosses, and his prayers come through stilted.”
“You do not believe…?”
“I do not wish to,” the father admitted. “But he refused to come to Church. He has always been obedient in helping before Church is opened for mass tomorrow.”
The pastor thought quietly for a moment, going back to polishing the seats.
“Perhaps it is a fluke. Your son has always been… a bit off.”
The father glared in the pastor’s direction. The pastor’s lips thinned.
“All I am saying is perhaps he feels a bit under the weather. He will join us tomorrow, that I am sure.”
The father looked through the sun-washed windows, his face becoming stone.
The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin paced nervously in the forest. The Boy said nothing, simply watching through his eyes.
“So, this is it,” The Boy finally stated softly. The Demon scoffed.
You dare doubt me? It just means I have to put my plans in motion sooner.
The Boy shook his head, turning his head away.
“My father knows something is up. He will exorcise you from me soon enough.”
I’d like to see him try. You humans and your priests--they don’t have as much power as they like to believe.
“He is plenty powerful!” The Boy said defiantly. “You are just afraid.”
I fear nothing. I will take delight in turning his face inside out.
The Boy glared into the abyss, and buried his face into his knees. The Demon grinned callously.
“He will win. God will win,” The Boy muttered.
I’d like to see him try. I like when my prey fight before I kill them.
The Boy said nothing more, but kept his face defiant. After a few minutes, he went back to his scripture.
When he returned home, The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin was met with delicious food.
And a cross on the table.
His stomach turned. The Boy watched closer.
“Come on, boy,” the father said gruffly. “Since you refused to go to Church, I want you to lead the prayer.”
“Josiah, do you not think--” The father raised his hand to her, and The Mother quieted.
The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin approached cautiously. As long as The Father did not shove it in his face, it would only serve to make him a little nauseous.
“Yeah, go on,” The Boy said smugly. The Demon snarled at him. The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin sat at the head of the table. The Mother reached out and took his hand while the father took his other.
“Um…” The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin hesitated. A flush burned on his cheeks, feeling his tongue thicken.
“Remember what I’ve taught you,” the father said. His heart thudded like a drum.
“O’ Great Go-od, We… we ble-ess this food,” The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin started. His stomach churned.
“Oh, Josiah, heaven’s sake, you make him nervous,” The Mother said, then looked at him with encouragement. “It is alright, Zachariah. Remember the one we did last night?”
Right, right. Last night.
“We are ever so thankful for the gifts you have given us…”
Through stutters and heaving breaths, The Demon wearing The Boy’s skin managed to get through the prayer. The father looked at him stone-faced while The Mother brushed his bangs out of his face. The Demon felt an odd emotion when she pulled away, like he wanted her to touch him again.
“Please, let us eat,” The Mother murmured. The father stared for one long moment before taking the first bite.
On the seventh day, there was no rest.
The day came with a bright sun, a bright blue sky. Abaddon wearing Zachariah’s skin calmly buttoned his clothing--his Sunday best.
“Boy,” the father called. “I want you to take a walk with me.”
“I told you,” Zachariah said confidently. Abaddon scoffed.
He will not best me. Perhaps he wants to just talk like you humans like to do.
Zachariah shook his head.
“Father has never done this before,” he said confidently. “Today is the day you get exorcised.”
We shall see about that. Seems like he will be the first on my list of victims.
Zachariah stood defiantly as Abaddon wearing Zachariah’s skin walked out of his room. The father held out his hand as Mother watched nervously.
“Hope, make sure things go smoothly. I will be there shortly.”
Mother nodded, shooting Zachariah a warm smile before heading out towards the Church. Abaddon wearing Zachariah’s skin took the father’s hand, following him out the door.
When they got a ways down the path, the father looked at his son.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Zachariah?” the father asked calmly. Abaddon wearing Zachariah’s skin looked up innocently.
“I do not--”
“I know when a demon is among us, force of sin,” the father ground out. His Son’s eyes, once a pure blue shared with Mother, became tinged with red.
“Save me, Father,” Zachariah whispered. Abaddon ignored him.
“You are not as dumb as you look,” Abaddon wearing Zachariah’s skin taunted. “Such a shame. But I did promise you’d be first.”
The father’s face became stone-like, a laser focus washing across him. Abaddon wearing Zachariah’s skin raised his hand. To perform a spell, to toss the priest off him--
But then he gripped his wrist. Iron-clad, doused in--
Abaddon hissed. Zachariah’s face filled with hope.
“Father!” Zachariah said, pushing through the possession. The father did not react as he pulled a long line of rope from his belt. “I knew it, I knew you would save me.”
Abaddon yelled as he tied him up, the rope soaked in Holy Water. The father grasped him by the rope, dragging him to the Church.
“We have a demon among us!” the father called to the gathering people. Some gasped, some kept their composure. Some didn’t look surprised. Zachariah frowned from his dark prison, confusion flickering on his expression. “I will take it upon myself to cast this demon into the ether where he belongs! Pastor.”
“Already done, Father.”
A fire roared in which an iron brand sat in the form of a cross. Both The Demon and The Boy froze as they were pushed to their knees.
“Wait, father--”
“No more will there be evil in this village!” The father declared. “I will see to it myself that any sinful force will stay away from our home forevermore!”
Mother pushed through the crowd, tears in her eyes and her bonnet gone. Black, wispy strands fluttered across her horrified face.
“Josiah, you promised! There are other ways to deal with this!”
“There is no other way, Hope,” the father said with finality. “He is Abaddon, the Destroyer.”
“You can not! Please, not another! Josiah!”
The father turned to her, cruelty in his gaze.
“Hope, I would hope you would not be conspiring with the demon?”
Mother looked further horrified, hand covering her mouth. Josiah nodded to the nearby villagers, and they grabbed her arms.
“No! No, not again, please, not again…” Mother sobbed, knees giving out as the father approached the fire.
He plucked the brand from the fire, raising it high to the sky. The crowd jeered and threw insults. Abaddon felt Zachariah’s chest tighten. The father stared at him for a long moment, anger flashing on his face at his next words.
“Father…?” Zachariah whispered, eyes widening. “Father, father, it is me. Zachariah, your Zachariah, your pious and faithful son--”
Their voices mingled. A tangled scream pierced through the village, shattering windows.
Burn.
It burned.
Abaddon--Zachariah--they fell to the ground in agony. Tears flew down the vessel’s cheeks, warbled sobs leaving his mouth. The father opened his Bible, reaching his hand out as he spoke. His body burned, feeling like it was being shorn. Over, and over again.
I DO NOT WISH TO DIE.
Air.
Flying.
CRUNCH.
“What have you done?” Zachariah whispered when their vision cleared, the weakened ropes falling to his feet. The father…
“Zachariah!” Mother cried, running to the cliff’s edge. She reached out to him in vain. Abaddon began to run into the forest below.
“Stop! I want my Mommy!”
You wish for her to DIE, is that it? Wish for those maniacs to find us with pitchforks and torches?!
Zachariah quieted, tears running down his cheeks. Abaddon was not sure why he cared so much.
“You killed him.”
I did what had to be done.
“You killed my father!”
It was not just me who wished to live, child.
“How dare you,” Zachariah hissed. “Leave my body! Go! Leave! You failed so why don’t you leave?!”
You do not understand, do you? He was much powerful than I expected--curses!
“Leave!”
Abaddon had to actually pause then, grimacing as he held his head. He pushed through it, running deeper and deeper into the forest.
I CANNOT. YOU WISH FOR SOMETHING IMPOSSIBLE. HE HAS BOUND US, YOU INSOLENT CHILD.
Zachariah screamed.
WE ARE STUCK.
YOU AND I.
STOP SCREAMING.
“He would never!” Zachariah screamed. “He loved me!”
JUST AS HE LOVED YOUR BROTHER?
“He loved me! He promised, he promised, he promised.”
Abaddon tripped, falling on his front. He laid there as Zachariah sobbed.
“I want to go home. Let me go.”
Abaddon let out a long sigh.
I cannot. We are bound, you and I.
“Then undo it!”
I cannot!
“What kind of so-called powerful demon are you if you cannot unbind us?!”
Abaddon twisted his body to lay on his back, looking up into the endless sky.
A really, really bad one. Abaddon replied sardonically. Zachariah went back to sobbing.
It rained that night.
It rained for a very, very long time that night.