i can’t… believe this blog… isnt even fucking two years old,,,,,, what the fuck,,,



There’s very few ways to kill a demon, they say, and all of them are near impossible. You know better. You know better. You know better. There’s a heart of rotting meat in your chest and dying stars curdling in your belly, you are a monster of the worst caliber and you hate so fiercely. You are unholy, unclean, you are vile. And you hate. So you smile, approach the humans and say-

To kill a demon, this is what you must do. Not a boon, a blessing. but a curse upon your fellow blights carried out by human hands.

The moonlight filters through the trees, casting a ghostly
pale hue to everything around me. The silence and stillness is only broken by
the gentle spring rain. The forest feels a world apart, almost holy in its
isolation from this broken, ugly world. But even here, in the deepest heart of
the woods, nothing remains untouched for long.

A loud scream echoes as a young woman runs past. She is out
of breath, desperate. Her breath comes out in tearful gasps, her skirt is torn
and muddy. She has obviously reached the end of her strength, but continues to
push onwards.

A terror stalks her in the night.

A demon, once an angel too beautiful to behold, now a
creature broken and ugly, follows closely behind the woman. Its dark claws
scrabble for purchase on muddy ground, burnt and twisted wings flap uselessly
at its back. Yellow eyes stare balefully from its deformed skull, the
surrounding bone and sinew peeking through the rotting skin of its face.  It corners the woman, against a rock,
cackling to itself as it senses her terror.

Trailing behind are a small group of men, warriors from the
nearby village. They brandish spears and bows but fear rolls off of them in
waves. They surround the creature, a silent standoff forming in the once
peaceful forest clearing.

“Kill the demon!” One man cries, edging closer with his

“We can’t!” Another answered, throwing out an arm to hold
the first man back. “Only silver or blessed weapons can hurt a demon from

The woman is cowering, her arms over her head. The men are
confused, hesitating in their attack.

How utterly boring.

“Do you want to kill the demon?” I ask, walking forward.

They look up in shock. I know what their simple human eyes see,
although each person sees it differently. They see a picture of beauty, of
innocence or of wisdom. Some will see a smiling young woman, with long hair and
a flowing white gown. Some will see a young child, with rounded cheeks and
large eyes. Others still will see an elderly man, his back bowed with age. They
see what they want, I do not control it.

“Stay back, stranger! This is a demon from Hell, and there
are very few ways to kills such a beast!” The concern in the man’s voice annoys
me, but I continue to smile.

“Heaven has smiled upon you true warriors today, and has
sent me to grant you the power to destroy this creature.”

They are not convinced by my words, they look at eachother
in askance.

The demon has recognized me for what I am, and cowers against
the rock, unconsciously mimicking his intended prey. It calls to me in the
language of Hell.


Seeing the demon’s distress only bolsters the men’s
confidence in my offer. One, the youngest of the three, steps forward, his
voice filled with awe.

“Are you an angel?”

I incline my head, but do not speak. It is a small
deception, but the most I can risk, even this is only allowed by the fact that
I once held one of the highest positions in heaven.

“Will you accept my gift?”

They believe I am a messenger from Heaven. I see the
gratitude and wonder in their eyes. They each agree to accept my gift, the
power to defeat a demon.  I step forward,
touching each of them a single time on the forehead.

They scream in pain and fall to the earth.

Humans claims there a few ways to kill demons. How well I
know this to be false. They have it so wrong, though. It is not the power of
light needed to destroy them. Not something holy, or a
blessing. but a curse.

The men rise up once more,
no longer men but now something dark and deformed. Dark, scaly limbs, large
pointed teeth, all softness and weakness burnt from their flesh. They are the
blight, an echo of my own rotten heart.

“Feed, my children.” I
quietly instruct my new creations. They turn on the demon and tear it to

The woman still cowers
against the rock. I help her to stand, and she stares at me with a combination
of fear and reverence.

“Are you the devil?”

I smile at her sadly.

“Much, much worse I’m
afraid.” As if I could be compared to that teacher’s pet. The spoiled child who
always wanted more. He rebelled because he wanted to rule the heavens. His
arrogance led to his being cast down.

I didn’t want to rule the
heavens, I wanted to destroy them. I was everything that was dark and wicked
that they wanted to be gone. I was the beautiful light they craved that burned
their fingers when they touched. I was the voice in the back of their mind that
whispered words of madness and violence. I had no name. I had every name. I was
the corruption of all.

The woman stares at me and
my new children with sadness.

“Am I going to die?” She has
accepted her fate.

A pity. A demon might have
recruited her, a human pitied her, an angel would have forgiven her.

I tore her in half and fed
her to the blight.

Once the meal was done I looked
once more at the calm forest clearing, now red with the blood of both guilty
and innocent.

I liked it much better
this way.

Thanks to @corvidprompts for today’s prompt. 




“Who’s ready to just lay on the floor for three hours and scream?”

“Best party ever.”

Broso blinked as he entered Myst’s apartment. He had come up from his own room to grab a few cookies from the kitchen, knowing that she always kept her door unlocked for them to go in and out. It wasn’t the safest thing to do, but hey, it meant he had full permission to barge in at anytime to take some of the sweets she had baked so he wasn’t complaining. He just wasn’t expecting to find Luca sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch and staring blankly at the wall, while Jae lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling with an equally vacant gaze.

“What are you guys doing…?”

He would swear that he could never be scared of Luca and Jae Hyun – the two were kind and silly once you got through their sass and savagery. And the constantly disapproving looks they seemed to share, but the moment they turned to look at him, eyes glazed over and face void of emotion, Broso was almost – almost, scared.

“We’re contemplating life.”

He had never heard Jae sound so apathetic.

“Why now?”

They sighed and looked back at their respective wall/ceiling. Broso tilted his head, confused, deciding to let it go and making his way to the kitchen. Maybe a cookie will help them feel better.

What he found was not cookies. Or cake. Or a pie. There wasn’t even an apple!

Broso’s first instinct was to panic. Myst never left her kitchen empty. Was she okay? Is she alive? Where are the cookies!? It took him a while to realise that there was a note stuck to the fridge. After reading it he promptly went back to the living room, joining Jae on the floor and staring up at the lamp.

The magical part of her orphanage went out on a picnic and Myst took all the sweets with her. They had nothing to snack on. Life meant nothing anymore.

“So…” Jae started, “Who’s ready to just lay on the floor for three hours and scream?”

“Best party ever.”

Broso hummed in agreement at Luca’s words.





“There aren’t any gods here, my love. No one to pray to, or call upon to help. You’re defenseless.”

“If you think everything special about me comes from my faith, you’ll find yourself dead wrong!”

Cir leans to the side, whispering to his colleague. “Did you know that Lancaster was a believer?” He had never gotten a notion of Lancaster’s faith.
The child shrugs, her wisdom proving more than her age. “She told me she was agnostic. I suggest you watch this though, perhaps you’ll learn a thing or two.” Cir huffs at this, turning back towards his companion, who was now glowing a shade of blue. Pure power.


The air buzzes and hums with electricity as Lancaster prepares for battle. Cir and the nameless child beside him step farther back into the shadows to stay concealed; this is Lancaster’s fight, after all. The man in the mask begins to glow as well, a deep red. The scene reminds Cir of an old science-fiction movie he watched during his time on Earth. Many humans were oddly obsessed with it.

Lancaster hisses long and loud, the equivalent of a war cry in her species, and the man in the mask does the same, each one trying to overpower the other. They move in a wide circle around the room, and Cir knows that if he or the child got any closer, they would likely be burned. The two Calor are leaving tracks of fire from where they place their feet. Lancaster shows her teeth and arches her back in final warning, and when the man reciprocates to challenge, she leaps. Cir fights a smile at this sight. Strike first and strike hard, his thoughts come with pride, remembering when he first taught Lancaster to fight.

She comes down on the man with a large crack against the floor and begins tearing away at him with her hands, keeping him stunned with the absolute energy emitting from her skin. He has a tolerance for it though, as most Calor do. He quickly gains leverage with a right hook to Lancaster’s jaw, and Cir almost immediately jumps from his skin but forces himself to stop. She can take it.

The nameless child tilts her head in question, using her telepathy as not to startle the fighters. Why do the Calor use physical force, as a human would, when they give off what is practically lightning?

Cir gives little consideration to his answer. The “lightning” is for intimidation. They can’t actually hurt each other with it. The two watch the rest of the fight unfold, with little real progress actually being made on either side. The man in the mask is much wiser, but Lancaster has age fighting with her. They are equally armed with an imbalance of weight being the only advantage to the man. He could hold her down for longer. Cir wants to go out there, help her, call out orders the way he used to in training, do something.

The man stands now, leaving Lancaster struggling on the floor. He is ruthless. Lancaster is screaming now, true, horribly piercing shrieks, and Cir can feel it in his bones.

Cir gets an idea and prays to an old, forgotten god that it works. He wasn’t a believer.

Cir kneels to get eye-level with the child, and harshly whispers. “You and imitate people’s voices, right?” The child nods. “Can you do it telepathically?”





“That’s not universal advice okay, you can’t just say-”



“That’s not universal advice okay, you can’t just say-”

Stab!” Sunlight gleams sharply off the crow’s black eyes. She clacks her beak and hops toward me along the balcony railing. I reach out gently and tease her chest feathers. 

“You can’t always solve problems by stabbing someone. Sometimes, stabbing someone makes the situation worse.” I smile at the crow. She always knows what to say, even if I can’t stab my landlady. Mrs. Bentlesby might get on my nerves sometimes, but she’s a decent woman. 


“Not stab.” I shake my head. 


“Yes, I need the rent money. There must be some spells people want done around here. Love potions even.”

“Potions,” agrees the bird. 

“Plus, I only ever stabbed those two men. And you know what they were doing.” I shiver in the warmth. It’s best not to think about it.

“Bad, bad!” calls the crow, raising her wings. 

“Very bad,” I agree. I scritch her head, and she squints her eyes in pleasure. 

“You want to hear a secret?” 


“I don’t put any magic in the love potions I sell. Love magic is unpredictable at best, and unethical at worst. I just make a dilute of laudanum and tell them they must both drink all of it and that it wears off.” 


“You know, you’re smart, even for a crow.” I smile at her, wondering if she has any secrets of her own.


“I think there might be something a little magical about you.” 

“Witch! Crow!”

“Did a witch turn you into a crow?”

“Witch, crow.” She bobbed her head at me. 

“Did you used to be human?” 

“Human! Crow!”

“Oh my Lord! Do you want me to try to turn you back into a human?”


“Is that a no?”


“Are… are you happy being a crow?”

“Happy! Crow!” 

“Would you care to explain how you came to be turned into a crow?”

“Love, witch. Witch, fight. Human, crow.”

“You… loved a witch and fought with her, and she turned you into a crow?” I try to ask gently. Perhaps it is hard for her to remember her life as a human. She squawks and rattles her feathers.

“Witch, fight. Witch fight!” She cocks her head.

“Someone else fought your witch?”

“Witch fight!”

“And they turned you into a crow?”


“But then where is your witch? Shouldn’t you be with her?”

“Love witch.”

“Is… is she dead?”


“I’m so sorry.” I reach out to her, and she rests her beak on my finger for a moment. Then she ruffles her feathers and steps back. 


“Am I you friend? I’d like that.”


i love everything about this holy shit



“There are no heros here, little one. Only monsters left.”

“That’s okay!” squeaked the child, revealing a row of jagged black carnivore’s teeth. “Really, that’s better.”

Delilah chuckled, amused. She’d meant her words metaphorically, a dark greeting from one person to another in a hostile world. It was just her luck that the girl wasn’t a person at all. “Really, child? Don’t you know our kinds don’t mix?”

Looking lost in her over-sized boots, the girl thought, then frowned. “Does that mean I can’t come in?” 

Delilah wondered idly if she’d killed a human for those boots, then shrugged. She held out her hand, and the child took it, her tiny fingers icy from the cold. “You can come in, just… don’t eat anyone.”

“Ok, thanks. I’m Kirth, by the way. What kind of monster are you?”

Leading her through the door to the bunker and past an array of weapons, Delilah answered, “The human kind.”