King Francis Meets His Demise

Francis

The castle is soaked in blood. More so than usual. The iron-like smell mingles with the humid Hell air and fills my lungs as I look into those prideful and arrogant eyes–disgustingly green. Never in my long life have I felt more shame than in this moment. I am about to be slain by a dimwit. I, King Franciscus Adonis Lucifer III, am being cut down by some idiot peasant who could barely hold a sword a month ago. In some fanciful stroke of luck, this dunce–with not a single magical bone in his body–has gained the power to rival that of a Demon King. Me. The Demon King.

Really–I am not sure why this Hero is so hell-bent on killing me, nor how he gained the ability to. Perhaps I ordered his family to be executed or something silly like that. However, he doesn’t seem the type to risk his life to avenge his family. No, he is a complete and utter asshole. This Hero has about as much heroicism as any demon thrall you’d find on the street. He always has these poor demi-human women–and a few men–hanging off his shoulder. I swear I’ve seen one of the rabbit girls on a leash. Who does that? Truly a vile creature. I’ve even heard word that the Hero is a thief who pillages innocent human villages to make his money. Not that we demons haven't been doing that for centuries, but that is besides the point. Clearly, this peasant is not fit for such great power. Of all the bastards in the world, why would God choose this one to slay me? It seems more like a cruel prank pulled by one of my late ancestors than an act of God.

In the end, I can’t do anything about it. All of my castle’s servants have met their end by his brutish hand, and now his pompous, jewel-encrusted sword crunches through bone and pierces me straight through the heart–pinning me to my throne. My wings twitch with failed effort as my last breath is thrust out of me. In the searing heat of Hell, my body chills. Bright white light engulfs my vision. At first, I think this is where my life flashes before my eyes and the angels tell me of all the horrible decisions I’ve made, the cruelty I’ve inflicted, and all the other reasons I’m a terrible waste of flesh and bone–but I seem to be spared that fate. Instead, everything goes dark…

As my eyes adjust, rather than the dark nothingness of the afterlife, I see faint light trickling in through layers of water. The pain of the jerk’s stab is replaced with a dizzying burn, my lungs screaming for oxygen, as I desperately pump my arms and legs toward the surface. After a seemingly demonic lifetime–and they are quite long when you don’t have an insolent Hero praying on your downfall–of swimming, I break through the water and suck as much air as I can into my deprived lungs before a crashing wave knocks me back down.

I have never had to fight for my life with such vigor. This must be how peasants feel their entire lives. How exhausting. Honestly, I’m considering giving up, but a sturdy grip is suddenly around my waist just as I allow my body to go limp. A strange flotation device is thrust into my arms as I am lifted to the surface and dragged ashore.

I lie there, briefly motionless from the struggle, when I feel a hand press gently to my neck. Taking a peek at my saviour, my eyes meet dark skin and hair cut close to the scalp, colored almost as light as mine, excluding the unusual star-shaped pattern in a color I can only assume is natural hair. He has a lot of piercings in his ears, and strangely, one on each cheek–definitely a peculiar character.

My rescuer’s face inches closer to my own, and I feel him looking at my lips. I’m sure he is going to kiss me, but my body is so exhausted I can hardly move. Not that I blame him. If I rescued an ethereal being such as myself from peril, I too would wish for a kiss as payment. I suppose I’ll allow it. However, I would definitely need to reprimand him after. One does not simply kiss the Demon King after all.

My frivolous thoughts are violently shaken from me when the man uses the same adrenaline-boosted strength as he did when saving me to drive his palms into my chest. I jolt up, swatting his hands away.

“For Hell’s sake, peasant! What are you doing?” His eyes jump to mine in alarm. They are a similar color to the Hero’s, but much warmer. Deep emerald surrounded by shards of brown like trees in a forest. It seems fate has decreed that all who cause me harm in this life must have green eyes, but I’m too busy massaging the pain in my chest to dwell on his looks much longer. If I wasn’t already sore after being stabbed, I definitely am now.

“Oh God! I’m sorry. I thought you weren’t…–never mind.” The man stands up and dusts sand off his knees as his eyes wander down my figure. “No wonder you were struggling. Who goes for a swim in a fancy suit and a cloak?” He has an awkward grin on his face, the silver piercings accentuating his dimples, as he offers me a hand with an exasperated sigh. “Are you alright?”

“I thank you for the assistance. However, I no longer need your help. I am perfectly capable of standing, and I am not weak enough to die from a lack of oxygen.” To emphasize my point, I stand to wipe the wet sand from my trousers, expecting to tower over him. Surprisingly, he meets my gaze with relative ease.

“So, no hospital or anything?”

There's no need to answer such a stupid question. I glare at him instead, watching as he picks up the small flotation device from earlier and a small pouch with the word lifeguard printed on it. As I wring out the water from my cloak, I make a shocking discovery. My wings are missing. Not just my wings–my tail and horns are gone as well. How in Hell do appendages just disappear?

“Okay. I guess…I’ll see you around?”

I watch as he strolls away. Before the words ‘I doubt it’ can leave my lips, I look up and realize I have no clue where I am. The beach seemed completely normal, albeit with a lot of half-naked people in strange attire, but the surreal towers made of metal and glass were something I’ve never seen before.

“Actually,” I start, following after my rescuer. “I seem to be a bit lost.”