Why did you risk your life to come for me?”
Deadboy, reclining on the luxurious bed–a frame shaped like a skull, naturally–put his feet up, arms tucked behind his head. “Because we’re mates, dickhead.”
Opposite his tag partner in every way, Brax sat on a comically undersized stool (non skull shaped), contemplating fate with his large head resting in his hands. Behind him, El Amante–dressed in a feathery, demonic robe–stoked the blue flames of the hearth with a poker. Even the gaunt glow of otherworldly fire could not diminish his natural beauty…much to Daemian’s irritation.
The Hierophant’s demonic horde had sent them to one of the Luxerian Villas on the outskirts of the hellion city, a mile from what Daemian later learned was called the Night’s Hold, a decommissioned prison from a bygone war between the clans. The master of ceremonies sent the unwitting guests out via black carriage, drawn by strange quadruped creatures, somewhere between scaled equine and tentacle-headed cephalopod. The strange journey, all-too-brief, gave Daemian a rare look into the realm where his closest companion, and confidant, had resided for…well, Daemian wasn’t quite sure how old Brax was.
Gehenna was a beautiful world, far from the horrors conjured by Renaissance artists. Bathed in golden twilight, with a red, desert landscape, Gehenna cast an aura of eerie placidity. Its denizens–at least in this city–came from outside of conical, tiered homes of weird stones, to look upon the foreigner travelers carted towards their destination.
The only commonality between the demons of Wrath, the Iradians, was their enormous size. Regardless of gender, they were large and muscular, and barbaric in their apparel. Some were horned. Some were not. All of them looked like bad news. Even so, they bowed their heads and placed their hands to their chest, in respect of the warriors passing by.
The Luxerians were more human in appearance, and nearly androgynous–making their genders (if they had one) impossible to appear. Even the plainly dressed ones were meticulous in their fashion. Almost all of them wore jewels, beads, or bangles–which they adorned on their horns as well. They were more aminated than their Wrathful cousins, whispering among each other, making odd signs in the air (blessing perhaps) and bowing deeply at the site of Victor.
The demons treated their guests well. There was no sense of intimidation or coercion, which made Brax, Daemian, and Victor’s predicament all the more paradoxical. They were esteemed guests of the two clans. They were also thorns in the side of The Hierophant. Still, the whole picture–the infernal politics–was beyond the Earthling’s understanding.
While servants waited on the foreign visitors, armed guards–with multiple hands–flanked the entrance to the chambers, making sure Daemian, Brax, and Victor couldn’t flee.
Daemian adjusted himself in his nest. He seemed bothered (externally, anyway). “Braxy, when we met, the first thing you did was save my life. Least I could do is return the favor and help you out of a tough spot.”
“Aww,” El Amante said. He was still in the completely mismatched wolf-headed mask. “This is love.”
Damian glared at him. ”Shut up!”
Unbothered, Victor sauntered over to the table, examining the curious bottle of wine left out for them. He looked more like a pampered guest in some resort than a prisoner of the hounds of hell. “What’s this? Wine? Will I be trapped here if I drink it?”
“Nah, that’s just in the myths,” Daemian said. “I had some earlier. It’s not poison. Just drink half of what you’d pour on Earth–Virgilian grapes make for some strong shit.”
Victor poured the odd, blue wine into a goblet. “I wish Gio were here to test this out. Would you care for some, mi amor?”
“Goes against my heritage, but for once I don’t feel much like gettin’ pissed, mate.” Daemain turned over on his side and stared at the wall (a lovely shade of mauve).
Victor eyed his friend. He really does have a nice ass. Vitor held the bottle up to Brax. “What about you, handsome?”
Brax sighed. “I do not drink. Though I thank you for your offer, masked one.”
The mood was considerably dour, which put El Amante in the position of wanting to lift it. He tugged his robe across his chest (which had a habit of popping out of most shirts, anyway) and cleared his throat. .
“Finally, a chance to tag team some real bad boys! It feels…so naughty. As Iggy would say.”
Daemian grumbled. Brax growled. It was the human half of The Infernals that rolled over and confronted the jovial luchador. “You’re taking this way too lightly, Vicko.” Frustrated, Daemian’s tone was–for once–surprisingly measured. “We’re about to go up against literal demons! And worse…I have nothing to wear.”
Victor gasped. “Oh no! I completely understand. How will we kick ass if we are not cute?”
A knock on the door answered that question. Daemian and Victor looked at each other to confirm it was safe. Brax had already concluded as such and went to open the door.
Dressed like a velvet prince, somewhere between ‘pimp’ and ‘pirate’, the masked Crimson tossed his galant cape aside and gave his company a deep bow. “Good evening, gentleman. I couldn’t help but hear that you might require some vestments.”
Daemain sat at the edge of the bed. He raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this fairy?”
Victor was delighted to his see his new friend. “This is no fairy-this is Crimson! A gentleman Incubus. He helped me escape from the dungeon.” Victor giggled. “First time I’ve ever WANTED to escape from a dungeon.”
The suave Crimson surveyed the room, but his focus was on the other masked hunk among the chamber. “And I see it has gotten you nowhere. Here I was giving you a chance to flee, and you ran right into the arms of danger.” He laughed. “You humans are so fascinating that way. Slaves to your passions, ruled by your hearts! I suppose we Luxerian are not so different.”
Crimson helped himself to the wine. He had a captive audience. “I am told you’ll be challenging Ralgar and his grunts–one versed in fire magicks, and the other in the element of ice. We do so love a contrasting theme, do we not?”
Victor grinned at pouting Daemian. “See? He gets us.”
Crimson nodded to the large demon watching his movements. “Not to tear open old wounds, but did he not defeat you before, Sir Braxius?”
“This will be different,” Brax said. “I now know how to deliver a backbreaker.” He growled softly. “I have been running too long. It is time I face my–”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Daemian said, slapping the side of his own face. “This situation is a real dog’s breakfast. I just wanted to put on a haunted house that would make my muscle bound, himbo, chosen family quake in their boots. I didn’t think I’d have to do actual work!”
Crimson paced the spectral chamber. “Well, you three can’t very well wrestle in those rags. My coin and my pull go far among the fabricationists of Luxerian. I can have them whip you something by the time of the fight.”
This reignited El Amante’s spark–not that it took much. The tall man struck a heroic pose. “If we’re a tag team, we’ll need complimentary gear. A THEME!” In his enthusiasm, his robe could no longer contain his muscles, and swung open to reveal that Victor wasn’t wearing much but a pink, posing pouch beneath his garments. In other words, his robe wasn’t the only thing swinging.
Crimson had his back turned, in deep contemplation–but Damian caught sight of Victor’s involuntarily nude state, and covered his eyes (not before peeking through his fingers, however). “Ugh, I’d rather take my chances and throw myself dackless to the hordes of hell. Are you just allergic to clothing, Vicko.”
Blushing, Victor re-robed himself. “Maybe we can throw off our enemies and do something different!”
“Mate, something tells me they don’t watch much spellbreaking around here.”
Crimson straightened his robes, and gave his guests respect. “Well, I will leave the matter to you. Tell the concierge to summon me when you’re ready to put in your order.” He left the others to their privacy.
Victor hated silence, and he hated Daemian’s sullen state even more. “You know, D, you’re a really handsome guy. Why don’t you wear something that brings out the beast in you.”
Daemian could only stare in shocked bewilderment. “Fuck off. Handsome? I’m a grimy, groady, slime ball!”
“And yet, you’re dating one of the most beautiful men in the fed! Besides me, of course.”
Compliments never sat well with Daemian at the best of times. Being told he was ‘...appealing…’ by the sexiest dork in the business was, oddly, refreshing. I’m not throwing up. I’m taking a compliment. What is happening to me? Have I spent too much time in Gehenna? Or WORSE…am I turning face?
Daemain took a deep breath. He looked at Brax. He looked at Victor. To even feel like he was being ‘relied’ upon was unusual and uncomfortable. Too long had Daemian grown accustomed to the comfort of the shadows. To being something scary. He wore fear as a shield.
Now, quite literally in the place where his powers manifested, he was being asked to lower it. He had hoped this Halloween would give him good reason to expose his friends to their greatest fears–but in a twist of irony, he had created a haunted house to force him to face his own:
Vulnerability. No demon in all of Gehnna was scarier.
“Well,” Daemian stared, slowly, twisting the words he wanted to say around in his mouth. “I’m probably going to be disemboweled by demons–and not even my magick can bring me back from that–so I guess I might as well be honest with you, Vick.” Daemian looked around the room, just to make sure nobody else was listening. Even his shadow, projected tall against the wall, took a more timid stance.
“I..I gots me kinks, sure, but I don’t really see myself as…a sexual being.” He swallowed. “Not like…” He motioned to Victor, in all of his studly radiance.
“You, the man who ties people up in chains, makes them bleed, and forces weird fluid down their throats, do not see yourself as sexual?” Victor laughed.
Damian did not. “Yeah, but it’s not like people like it when I do that to them.”
You could hear a pin drop.
Damian blinked. “Wait…do they?”
Victor placed his hand over his masked face and sighed into. Sighed, but with a smile. “Damicito. Let’s just say, you definitely have your audience. You do stuff that I can’t even do! I am a beefcake and a master of seduction. But I am not really…er…the scary, dominant type. I’m much too affectionate. Sure, I can grab you by the neck, throw you against the wall, kiss your neck, and tell you to ‘behave’ when you moan, but…”
Slowly, Daemian took a pillow from the bed and placed it across his crotch. “Well, yeah. I guess you could say I’m dominant.” This left Daemian with a serious, existential crisis. “Oh, but if they liked it, it would take the fun away from me! And then everyone’s always complaining how I’m scary and evil.”
“Daemian, you’re a sadist. There’s nothing wrong with that! As long as you get guys who are willing to do it.”
“Wait a fucking minute, V. There’s guys out there who think it’s HOT when I beat them up and chain them up and do nasty things to them? And they LIKE me for it?”
*Brax and Victor stare directly into the camera*
“....Crikey, when did I miss the boat on this?” Everything Daemian had known had been a lie. This journey into the underworld had changed him.
Victor knew his advice had landed. He grabbed Daemian and pulled him into a snug headlock, pressing the spooky Australian into the spot between his pectoral (large) and armpit, involuntarily giving Daemian a whiff of musk and cologne.
Daemian pretended not to look it. “G-g-get off me, you protein-powder fueled dickhead!”
“Oh my sweet little pan dolce, you need to let El Amante–that’s me–take you under his muscular wing.”
“Remove me from your muscles,” Daemian squeaked. He quickly reversed El Amante’s hold into a wrist lock, which Victor countered fluidly at once. Broke free of each other\’s grip, both fighters looked at each other, at how quickly they’d chained their movements.
Brax, who had been sitting between them, raised his head and gave them a tooth grin. They might just pull this off.
Daemian snapped his fingers. “Okay, then if I’m going to go with a…sexy outfit, you gotta go with a scary one, Vicko.”
“But I’m…not that scary. Intimidating? Well, sure. I mean LOOK AT ME. But scary? No way, bro.”
“Yeah but that Day of the Dead look you wore when you…cheated to beat me last year. That was spooky adjacent. You got that whole ‘honor the dead’ vibe going on.”
“AHA!” Victor suddenly exclaimed, nearly knocking Daemian into his demon’s arms. He pounded his fist against his palm with triumph. “I shall take the guise of El Skelletino! May he rest in peace. He was a luchador who wore a scary skeleton outfit. Oh, but it will cover up all my muscles…”
“Then…” Daemian started. “I guess I’ll just have to be the sexy one. Hey, we might as well go out trying something different.” Daemian nodded to his large friend. “Whaddya say, Brax?”
Always the strong, silent one, Brax rose from his pensiever fugue. He cracked his giant knuckles. “I say…I am ready to reclaim my throne.”
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