Narrative: Purpose WHO: Davian "Ecarubihr" Rivera (With mentions of Ambriel) WHEN: Sunday morning WHERE: By the ocean WARNING: Violence and trigger sensitive
The six stood around him as he lay on the ground, black sticky demon blood pooling out his upper back which, only a few moments before, had had his wings torn from their sockets, ripped tendon, and torn muscle. Davian was barely conscious but demons were experts on their own kind and torture was a daily practice for those who misbehaved to their higher ranking clan members. He would be given no poultrice, no pain killers, not even the luxury of being allowed to pass out.
"Ecarubihr," the highest of the six spoke his name, continuing in the language of demon tongue. "You have betrayed every member of this great commune. We ask you again: How do you plead?"
Through the excrutiating pain of open wounds and wishing for death, Davian spat out blood and tipped his head, his curved horns leaving shadows on the floor in the harsh light that kept him from seeing the faces of his tormentors clearly. "I don't plead. But your mom sure did last night while I fu-- fuck--"
The words were cut off by a harsh kick to the stomach that had him curling up only for his horns to be seized and used as a hold to lift him off the floor. The council was a group of six towering demons and Davian's eyes widened when he saw through pain riddled vision that one carried a long silver blade. The blade had a name, not one he could recall at this moment, but he knew of its use.
"No... no, don't! You've already taken my wings, please! I'll-- I'll do whatever you ask, just-- PLEASE."
The highest ranking of the six spoke again, "For your betrayal, Ecarubihr, you are being removed from the commune and from demon society everywhere." The first swing of the blade hacked into Davian's horns, gouging into the hard black bone and Davian continued to plead. "You wish for humans to take over, then you will go live among them and see how they welcome you."
"NO! Please, just kill me! Please!"
Several more hacking slices of the blade saw one of his horns severed from his head and Davian was dropped to the floor again. He grabbed the cut horn, cradling it, black blood seeming to cover all of his naked skin. Then he was seized again by the remaining horn and it was also removed, leaving behind jagged cut stumps.
"You are hereby banished from the demon underground for the rest of your pathetic life. However brief it may be."
A bright light flashed and blinded Davian and he caught sight of his demonic father's face, his strong hand around his throat, gritty sand digging into the skin and wounds of his back. "Ecarubihr, you're a disgrace to me, your whole race, and to yourself. Take this." A knife was pressed into Davian's hands that were shaking so badly he dropped it immediately. "Use it to do the first useful thing of your life. End it."
With that, Davian's father turned and walked away, leaving his son bleeding in the sand. Davian could feel the hot dry air of the Navada desert whip across his face and knew that he was probably miles from any civilization - demon or otherwise. His father disappeared in a whirl of a magic enspelled teleport and he was alone.
The sun still burned Davian's face when he woke up on the beach in Maine, just outside St. Margaret's Academy where he'd fallen asleep curled up in the sand. The tide was up and water lapped at his feet and Davian was breathing as though he'd just run a marathon, skin drenched in sweat and throat raw from screaming. His eyes, as he sat up and looked frantically around, were wet from tears of pain and dejection. But it was just a dream. Just a nightmare. Reliving old events that felt as real as the day they happened. His father, the knife, none of it was there now and Davian sat up and wrapped his arms around himself, hands tracing the outline of the healed scars on his back from the wings he used to be so proud of. His finger dragged over the cut stumps that were once a developing crest of horns.
He should have, for once, taken his father's advice and used the knife that day. His life, now, truly had no meaning.
Just as he was about to sink and wallow into further misery, because what really could a banished useless demon live for, Davian caught sight of a bright white feather blowing across the sand. His eyes followed it until it got caught on a rock and stayed there, trapped with its soft down getting soaked in the next roll of tide. Standing quickly, Davian moved and stooped to retrieve it, holding it by the fragile shaft to turn in his fingers. The angel may have been on the beach earlier, or it might just be a feather from a sea bird, but it brought the demon's thoughts to Ambriel.
Feelings of envy, jealousy, hatred, and eventually longing and yearning desire filled him. Ambriel said he had a soul, and it was up to him to want it to be saved.
The demon would never tell the angel that he was an inspiration to him the morning after his vivid nightmare. He'd go on acting normal towards Ambriel and pining for him from afar. But Davian knew Ambriel had probably stopped him from doing something stupid with his life. The angel had given him hope and to that Davian clung to. He kept the feather.