The Rise of the Demon King's Consort

The rage almost killed him on the spot.

Then a great lightning, as if the very fabric of time shattered. Next thing he knew, he was being hurled upwards. The force of speed was pressing the air out of his lungs, and the king gritted his teeth, trying to withstand the pressure. The Demon King held on to Paris for his life, as he sensed some sort of end approaching. Was it The End? Would his death come swiftly? Would he suffer? And what of Paris?!

He screamed as his wings caught fire, ignited as they were by the flash of lightning surronding them as they spiraled upwards. His wings were a fiery haze around them, and the Demon King tried not to buck and writhe as the flames and the gold ate through his thick feathers and into the bones of the giant wings. He had to think of Paris. He held on to Paris with all his might, spending all his energy on keeping the burning wings away from his most prized possession, not wanting to burn his love along with him. Paris was clinging hard to him in return, and the strong embrace only strengthened the Demon King’s resolve on keeping still and be burned. A mighty force was hurtling them through space and time, falling upwards. Through the haze that was pain, the Demon King saw his city shrink in the distance, saw it all diminish. The eastern mountains and the vast desert, where he’d first awakened from Lucifer’s hold, ridding himself of Mephasthus, beginning the road back to Paris, rushed by. He screamed again, gritting his teeth as he felt the pull of the Treasure Child’s hatred hurl them further upwards, out across the borders and into the sixth plane. Through the excruciating pain in his back, he felt Paris fight for air. The very force of speed itself depraving him of much needed air. He sealed his lips unto that of Paris’, breathing air into his lungs. Since Paris did not try to elope the lips of the Demon King, he stayed in the kiss, realizing Paris calmed himself, learning to keep control by breathing through his nose. A wash of relief surged through the king, relieving the pain somewhat. There was another sting of pain, a heavy one, and the very force of air ripped off the outer most bone from its joint of his left wing. He broke the kiss, screaming. Upon calming himself he locked eyes with Paris who, through the haze of the pull and the enormous strain of wind, kept holding on, his cheeks covered in fresh tears. He had soot in his hair and on his arms, and he seemed otherwise unharmed.

The soul of the dead child raged on, pushing them ahead and upwards with giant speed. The remains of the Demon King’s left wing broke off, and with only one wing they took into a hazardous spin, still bolting upwards. The Fifth Level of Hell whizzed by, and Paris felt the air growing warmer. They were, for whatever reason, still moving upwards at great speed. There was all of the sudden an appearance of two white shades. They approached fast, and Paris opened his eyes wide as he recognised Saieros. The demon was intent on something, and Paris didn’t understand until Saieros clashed headfirst into a foreign demon fighter with immense force, clearing the path for the tumbling pair. The Demon King tried desperately to steer somewhat, but the remains of his wing wasn’t much good. There was no tissue left, only dry, smoky bone and the immense pain was wearing him out. Paris had to squeeze his eyes shut, the tumbling around made him dizzy. His arms were weak from the strain of holding on, a constant battle against gravity. If he slipped, would they catch him?

The foreign demon fell, lifeless, disappearing into the darkness below, and Paris turned his head in horror to see both Saieros and Sakias go hand to hand on their enemies, killing fifty or so demon flyers each with the force of one mana blow. They had trouble though, keeping up with the speed of the enraged Treasure Child’s parents to be, and the brothers soon altered their tactics, dodging instead of going head on, gaining on Paris and his king.
Upon reaching the Demon King, Sakias grabbed hold of them best as he could, and grasped the hilt of the Demon King’s last wing, the very base of the largest wingbone which was attached to his backbone. The Demon King screamed as Sakias pulled, and it felt like his son was ripping out the entire back bone, from head to pelvis. Pain shot through him as the bone finally cracked at the base, and the coal-black bones fell down behind them, drowning in the shades of the Second Hell. He buried his face in Paris’ sweat-soaked curls, attempting to find some solace there. Sakias had done the right thing, for losing the last wing immediately straightened their course, ending the violent spins. Paris gasped again, doing as the Demon King did, burying his face underneath the king’s chin, allowing him to find some air. Seeing his children again filled him with renewed power, and he tightened his grip around the Demon King’s neck, his heart seeing hope. His shoulder was streamed with tears of gold, although Paris did not know nor did he feel them. He assumed the king was crying of pain over losing his majestic wings. Why else would the Majesty cry?

Elsewhere: The ground wore a white scenic carpet of snow. The birds had suddenly gone silent and then flown off, startled. The deer and elks rose their heads intently, listening as the ground began to rumble beneath their hooves. They bucked then ran for their lives as hellfire shot up from the ground, tearing the dirt asunder, burning the trees to cinders, spewing the Demon King and his lover out and up into the blue air. They felt weightlessness embrace them for a moment, before they realized they lost speed. To their horror they found themselves let go, falling down towards the ground again. The Hellhole closed, and Sakias and Saieros both struggled to catch them and slow their fall, experiencing a new and more difficult way of flying. There was something constantly pulling them towards ground, and they didn’t like it at all. Flying was all of the sudden kind of heavy.

The Demon King was fighting for breath. Every intake of the cold air was like breathing razor-sharp knives down his throat. He managed to turn his head towards Paris. And was relieved to find the young prince fighting to get up on hands and knees. Paris was alive and kicking. Good. The Demon King remained sprawled on the ground, his body feeling like it had turned to stone. Just breathing was painful, and he tried not to move anything. Dying now, was all right. Paris and the children were alive and fine. They’d manage. He heard Paris cough, heard one of his son snort and growl. Then an icy cold thickened the air, and the king realized the brothers were talking among themselves, probably discussing what to do. He watched them both be interrupted and then dodge as the intense light that was the unborn Treasure Child charged towards them, searing the ground, leaving a trail as it racing inwards through the woods, coming back again, diving down at Paris and the Demon King. It charged straight for him, crashing into him, burning him with its rage. The Demon King howled from pain, writhing as his body was enlightened by the light that was the Treasure Child Unborn.
Through the pain, the Demon King watched the heavens above unfold and stretch. He looked over to Paris, but the Trojan made no attempt at helping him. They all looked up to see winged creatures descend, armed to their teeth and clad in shiny breastplates and flowing cloths.

“The soldiers of the gods” Paris said desperately, “Apollo has sent them to punish me for loving you!”

“Paris, I implore you! If you still harbour any kind of love for me, help me!” the Demon King replied through gritted teeth, writhing in the searing pain of having the unborn child burn him from the inside.

“I gave you everything I had and then some, trusting you with my life!” Paris sobbed, “and you, you abandoned me. You abandoned US!” he said, feeling himself enraged, “and you expect me to help you?” he looked accusingly at the Demon King, crawling towards him, grabbing his arm, attempting to drag him into the woods. His attempts were futile, for he was so weak from his effort of holding on. To the king’s surprise, Paris kissed him, the tears of the Prince falling unto his face. Suddenly, the light that was the unborn child faded, withdrawing, expecting.

“Not here”, Paris whispered, “I want to feel soft furs beneath the skin of my back first”, burying his face in the Demon King’s hair.

There was a roar in the skies above them, and they both looked up to watch Saieros and Sakias crash headfirst into the multitude of winged angelspawn. The host of fighters were swarming around them like bees to honey. And soon, the brothers’ blood came raining down, bathing the parents in the blood of the innocent.