Demon girl

Once upon a time, in the lands of demons…

 

A demon was born.

 

She carried the blood of warriors, the lineage of conquerors, and the weight of expectations upon her shoulders. Her existence should have been a promise of greatness—a new blade to carve terror into the world.

 But she was different.

 As she grew, they began to notice.

 She did not look at the world with hunger, nor did she crave the suffering of others. While other demons relished battle, she hesitated. While they laughed at the cries of the weak, she felt something deep in her chest—something foreign, something wrong.

 She did not understand it at first.

 But the elders did.

 And they hated her for  it.

 The Demon Who Would Not Obey

 Demons did not tolerate weakness.

 The moment she showed signs of hesitation, she was taken.

 Her lessons began early—lessons in violence, in cruelty, in the merciless laws of the demon world.

 “Strike before you are struck.” The first thing they taught her. They threw her into the pits, where she fought against others—demons, beasts, creatures from the underworld—again and again until her knuckles bled, until her body ached.

 She was not allowed to stop.

 “Pain means nothing.

 Mercy is filth.

 Hesitation is death.”

They forced her to hold a blade, to sever flesh, to spill blood. When she refused, they beat the weakness out of her until she had no choice but to obey.

 “Kill, or be killed.” She learned to wield her strength with precision, to crush her enemies before they could stand.

 She became powerful.

 But no matter how strong she grew, her heart remained wrong.

 No matter how many times she was taught, she still saw pain in the eyes of others. She still hesitated before landing a final blow. She still felt.

 Her teachers despised her.

 Her own bloodline shunned her.

 She was too soft.

 Too human.

 And demons had no use for a demon who could not be a demon.

 So they locked her away.

 For years, she lived in the cold embrace of isolation, surrounded by shadows, haunted by the echoes of her own thoughts. She was told to be grateful for her heritage, for her strength.

 She was told to kill her doubts.

 The cold stone walls of the chamber reeked of blood and torment. Chains rattled as she collapsed onto the damp floor, her body trembling from the latest beating. The pain was unbearable, but what hurt more… was the hatred in their eyes.

 

She wasn’t like them.

Her face, her heart, her very existence was a mistake in their eyes. She resembled no demon—her features were too soft, too human. And for demons, there was no greater insult. They loathed humans. They despised weakness.

 And so, they tried to break her.

 

They struck her, cursed her, carved their hatred into her skin, demanding she cast away the pathetic emotions she carried.

 

“Feel nothing.”

“Become one of us.”

But the more they hurt her… the more she hated their cruelty.

Her fingers dug into the cold floor.

 “Is this all demons are?”

she wondered, her breathing ragged. “Is this all we’ve ever been?”

 Violence. Pain. Hatred. Was that the only thing demons knew?

 Then what was the point of being born as one?

 She clenched her fists, her vision blurring from the blood dripping down her forehead.

 Was she wrong for wanting something different? For wanting more than this endless cycle of suffering?

 No.

 She refused to believe that.

 Even if they called her weak, even if they tortured her, even if they despised her existence—she would not become like them.

 She would not lose herself.

 

And in that moment, through all the pain and blood, she realized something.

 She wasn’t weak for feeling.

 They were weak for fearing it.

 But the more she listened, the more she realized—

 She hated this world.

 She hated the endless cycle of power crushing the weak. She hated the way demons ruled with arrogance, with cruelty.

 For as long as she could remember, the isolation chamber was her prison. A vast, hollow space where screams faded into silence, where pain was routine, and where demons tried to carve weakness out of her soul.

 She was beaten. Tortured. Taught the way of demons.

 

“Feel nothing.”

“Obey without question.”

“Emotions are for the weak.”

 But no matter how much they hurt her, something deep inside refused to break.

 And then, one day, in the darkest depths of the chamber—she found it.

 A hidden corner, untouched by time. Among the remains of unfortunate souls—humans who had been captured during the Great War—there was an old, broken base. And within it…

 A book.

 She brushed the dust off its fragile cover, carefully opening it with trembling fingers. The pages were worn, yet they held something she had never seen before.

 A world different from hers.

 Bright blue skies. Towering green mountains. Golden fields swaying in the wind. A village filled with life—smiling faces, warmth in their eyes, people standing together, not in hatred, but in something else.

 She couldn’t read the words.

 But she didn’t need to.

 Just looking at it made her heart ache with something unfamiliar—something almost like happiness.

 So, there was a world beyond this one… A world that wasn’t just darkness ?

 Night after night, when she was left alone, she would take out the book, carefully hidden beneath the cold stone. In the moonlight streaming through the tiny window, she turned the pages over and over, memorizing every detail, every glimpse of the world she had never known.

For her, that book was the only thread keeping her hope alive—the hope that one day, she would finally escape and see the world beyond the demon realm.”

 And then—one night—she stumbled across a page

 “The heartwarming picture of Two people holding each other closely,

 ”Two humans in an embrace.

Two humans, locked together, holding each other close.

 It was not battle.

Not violence.

Not dominance.

Their faces glowing with warmth and happiness

 It was something else—something she had never known.

 She stared at the image, her crimson eyes wide with curiosity.

 Her fingers traced the picture. The way their arms wrapped around each other. The way their faces pressed close.

 “She wrapped her arms around herself, mirroring the embrace in the book. But no matter how tightly she held on, it wasn’t warmth—it was just loneliness.

 She had never been held.

 Never been comforted.

 Never known warmth.

 She wanted that warmth.

 She wanted to know what it felt like to be held.

Maybe, in this cold and merciless world, that was all she ever wanted.

 But before she could hold onto that feeling, it was ripped away from her.

 One day

They found the book.

 They tore it from her hands.

 And in front of her, they burned it.

 The only thing that had ever made her happy. The only proof that a different world existed—gone, reduced to ash.

 She cried.

 And for that, she was beaten once more. 

“Why do you shed tears for something so insignificant?” they sneered.

 But they didn’t understand.

 This world had already taken everything from her. This—this was the last thing she had. And now, even that was gone.