The Demon Lord and his Hero (BL)

Warning : Disturbing chapter/Torture

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"Rowan, steady yourself," Qairu told the man who had gone still. The air around Rowan seemed to stagnate and freeze with him. "Windwalker!" Qairu shouted as the blond took a step forward like he was ready to embrace Syryn in the centre of the battlefield.

The demon lord they thought dead was well and alive and leading the force of demons as its general. He had transformed completely into a monster with horns and a wingspan that stretched out longer than his own body. A shimmering violet scaled armour covered every inch of his exposed skin.

"Snap out of it, Rowan!"

"Qairu, hand me your sword." The anti mage's blue eyes were focused on the lonely figure that was leisurely walking towards them.

"Are you kidding me?!" Qairu all but screeched. "Cut him down with your sacred weapon, Windwalker! I know what you're thinking and I refuse to allow it!"

"He wants to fight me," Qairu. "He's waiting."

The cloudy sky above them was blood red and ominous. Underneath it, the army of demons remained eerily still and quiet. This was a stage set for Rowan and Syryn. It demanded that one of them die after a fierce struggle. This would determine which side won the battle of morale.

Qairu grabbed Rowan's arm and he forced the blond to look at his face as he screamed at him. "They know you won't hurt Syryn! Do you not see what they're planning, Rowan??"

"I'll be alright, Qairu." Rowan sounded calm and indifferent.

"No, you won't! No!" The priest could not overpower Rowan. Anger, hot like molten lava pooled in his guts as he watched Rowan walk further and further away from them.

"Q," Wendy placed an arm on his shoulder. "If Rowan falls..."

"He won't fall," Qairu snapped at her. "Rowan won't fall. He can't. He's the only hope we have."

"Eos watch over Rowan," Wendy softly prayed.

Thousands of soldiers watched quietly as two figures stood underneath the hellish sky.

Syryn's wings were open in their full glory, each feather as sharp as an assassin's blade. His eyes were just as expressive as Rowan remembered them.

"Ryn.." Rowan's words were painfully lodged in his throat when he saw the recognition and sorrow in Syryn's eyes. This wasn't an undead body he was facing. It was his best friend come to life.

Syryn moved his lips without words, forming the shape of Rowan's name. His voice box had been removed, the scar on his throat evident, and only his eyes could tell Rowan how sorry he was.

Rowan had a hundred questions to ask but where could he even begin?

Syryn's expression changed when a high pitched melodic flute began to play. Anger, panic, helplessness, Rowan saw it all in his eyes.

The demon in Syryn heard the command and it began to take charge of his body. The demon lord's aura slowly became sinister and bloodthirsty. Expecting the inevitable fight, the anti mage pulled out the sword he had taken from Qairu.

Not a second too soon, Rowan blocked an attack that came straight for his neck. His anti-magic field burst out and cocooned Syryn and himself, preventing the demon from using its magic to attack Rowan. Each strike that Syryn's claw made left a scratch on the sword which was also divinely blessed. This was a testament to the terrible strength that Syryn now possessed.

Blow after blow, Rowan defended himself without striking at Syryn. He could see the war going on within the demonic body as his friend struggled for dominance against the demon.

"Syryn, when this is over-" Rowan twisted the sword as a claw scraped against it forcefully. "We should get some counselling together."

The demon lord suddenly froze like a puppet.

"Lillith left me by the way. You predicted it correctly." The anti mage smiled sadly as he pointed the sword at Syryn's neck. "You said you would laugh at me when it happened."

Syryn fell to his knees, his claws clutching at his neck like he was choking.

"Ryn-"

Syryn's lips moved but the ugly sound of the flute began to play more erratically. The fight for control of his body ensued.

"How can I help you?" Rowan asked, not expecting an answer. Pain lanced through his heart and it worse than when he had seen Syryn die. He let his sword arm hang loosely by his side as he helplessly watched the pitiful creature struggle with itself in the dust. It was all Rowan's fault. He should have known to let go. He should have known to refuse the demon's offer. 

The tune of the flute changed again and Syryn stopped fighting. This time, he stood up mechanically and began walking back towards the demons.

All Rowan could do was clench his sword in a death grip as Syryn walked away. Attempting to capture him was only a waste of his energy and it had the potential to cause him injury, two scenarios that could cost them the war.

The army of demons melted into the distance when Syryn was absorbed into their fold.

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"Syryn, are you happy? You got to meet Rowan and you even played with him."

Syryn's arms were tied to massive chains that hung from a ceiling where letters of power were carved into them. His body was marked with signs of torture that had gone on for an entire night. His handler's rough claws gripped Syryn's chin to raise his face up for inspection.

"Beautiful," the handler cooed as his claw brushed past the healing stitches that kept Syryn's mouth sewn shut. "I could use your mouth for many things pleasurable but you just couldn't help it, could you?"

Syryn's eyes were cold, fearless. They couldn't break him so they took away his voice and sewed his lips together. A hard slap left a sting on his cheek but Syryn didn't react to it.

"You were the emperor's favourite, Syryn. Now look at you. A whore to the human who had you imprisoned. Did he fuck you?" The handler whispered in his captive's ear. "Kill him and I'll let you-"

Syryn painfully butted his head against the handler's nose.

"Filthy-" the handler slapped Syryn again. "Disgusting-" his claws drew blood when he hooked a sharp digit into the stitches and tore them out. "Human lover!"

The handler couldn't stand the way Syryn stared at him. Couldn't stand the way he defied his orders again and again.

"You asked for it, Syryn," the handler furiously told him, hand gripping Syryn's hair tightly. "I hope you enjoy what I'm going to do to you.. It's a special kind of torture reserved only for you."