[RO] My body feels just like a double
#1
[559] | Optime
set in Mortimer


"Thank you for the room."

Though the message went unspoken, Belial could tell it from their faces, the faces of those who lived in the castle: be out by morning or else. Trading some arrowheads and cigarettes would only get him so far.

He could take a hint. He would rise before the sun.

For now, it was all he could do to drag his body to the bed and collapse there, dark furred body heaving with exhaustion and trembling in defeat. Under his shirt, a wound still healed slowly, wrapped in cloth. He had not mentioned it, although one could easily smell the iron on him, Belial hoped they would assume the blood was not his own. That would make him look intimdating rather than weak.

But truth be told, in his older age, Belial felt weak.

He was the demon he had always been. Yet oh, how a demon rotted. Angels could sing their whole lives, they grew so gracefully, and fell just as sweetly: they passed into the next world leaving nothing but a soft, holy feeling in their wake.

Demons did not get the same relief.

He'd begun to feel it about one or two years ago now. This... sickness, truly beginning to take its roots in a way his young self hadn't known would happen when he started down this path. Since then, the dread had only grown, an infection that he hoped would not spread into the real world, into the various bloodshed he continued to get himself into. Because he kept the company of fellow demons.

He gently rested a hand on his stomach, laid on his back.

'Worthless' was the correct name for him. It felt right.

Grey fur had worked its way into Belial's fur since last spring. It came into his muzzle, under his eyes, to the tips of his ears. He no longer inspired fear just by walking into a room. Instead, he had to earn it. Both a curse and a blessing, he figured out. In a way, the element of surprise helped keep enemies at bay. No matter how many scars he carried there would always be a sucker who didn't heed the warning: who didn't realize what one would have to be to survive all of them.

As he drifted in and out of sleep, there were whispers in the hall of the castle. He did not know which ones came from living beings and which ones came from the dead or the inanimate. Creaks of wood fell onto his ears the same as pained groans of those who long suffered. His dreams were colored red and green, blood and acid.

His body twitched from time to time, remembering days long past of hunting with a pack. The wolf, it yearned for that life again. But that life wouldn't be found here, in a dark castle full of strangers who might wish nothing more to make him a sacrifice. Funny to think about how, when he had first turned into an adult, he would've fit right in.

Now he couldn't keep up. So he took what advantages he did have: one being not needing much sleep to function anymore.

He got up before the sun and left, just as he had promised with no words needing said.

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