Captives

Something rustles in the darkness. The pitter-patter of a rodent's short legs scurries along the jagged wall, undoubtedly trying to find a scrap of food to bring home to his nest. Never leaving the safety of the cold, damp wall.

The darkness in the center of the room barely acknowledges the almost inaudible sound. He's used to the antics of lesser beings. Their incessant urge to feed rivals his own, yet they only feed out of necessity while he finds pleasure in the deed. Found pleasure in the deed. The remnants of a fresh kill still lingers in his memories while the taste is long gone.

He tried rodents once and found it even less bearable than the blood they fed him. Although their cries for help did nothing but entice him, their tiny bodies and dirty fur didn't help, nor did their dropping that feel from their struggling bodies. And the smell... He didn't have the stomach to endure it more than once, not to mention a dozen times to fill him up. They didn't keep him satiated for long and quickly turned his stomach.

A musty smell permeates the air from the mold covering the rocks. Moss grows along the moistness, giving the illusion that there's softness and comfort found within these walls. But he does not need comfort, nor does he crave it. He craves something else entirely.

Little light reaches the den that he's confined in, natural or otherwise besides the camera in the left upper corner opposite where he is chained to the wall. It blinks in the same steady rhythm as it has since the day he was shoved into this pit. A punishment for his wickedness. The incessant tiny red flash is a constant reminder that they are still there behind the wall of rocks. He has not been forgotten, yet.

Behind these walls lies a vast complex, a research building as they called it and beyond that, a boundless forest full of life unlike the hole he occupies. He remembers it with great detail as he catalogued each tree, each bend in the path on his way in. Although he was drugged and chained to a block of iron suspended in salt water, his head stayed clear yet his body didn't.

Black orbs hide behind his eyelids. Perfectly adapted to the darkness. Every crevice and every flaw in the rocks are revealed to him despite the attempt to rob him of his sight. Pathetic creatures, he scoffs. He would curse them but that would be too kind.

His strength is waning, time will do that to beings, even him. Yet the chains around his wrists no longer burden him. He has grown numb to the chaffing. The callouses on his skin prevent him from feeling the effect of the iron that has burned him for so long. Years of trying to break free from the salt wall behind him left him hopeless. Is this how it ends? Centuries of adventures, winning wars and claiming souls and this is how he goes out?

At least his tail is free to explore the small area around him. But, even that grows tiresome after feeling the same grain of sand, flake of salt, or filing of iron for the umpteenth time. Out of all the challenges he's encountered, all the victories written on his skin, boredom may be what finally does him in.

It is in his nature to seek out those who call to him. To devour their essence and end their lives. He didn't care if they deserved it or not. If they were good or evil. All he cared for was the hunt. He needed it to survive but just because it was a part of who he was didn't mean that he couldn't enjoy it. Because enjoy it he did.

Now he was fed every other day, or at least that is what he figured based on the amount of hunger he felt by the time he received his meals. Long gone were the days of the hunt. Feeding when it pleased him and taking pleasure in ending their pathetic lives. Animal blood served in a chipped bowl was all he had now. The odor was foul even to him and the taste even worse but he persevered. What other choice did he have?

A barrier of pink salt rocks surrounds him, preventing him from reaching the iron door, making an escape, and killing those who held him captive. Would he even feel the iron burn his skin after all this time? How he longs to watch the light in their eyes die out as he drains them of every drop. He dreams of feeding from their weak bodies and finally gaining freedom again.

Scientists, they call themselves but he knew what they really were, power-hungry men with a sadistic ideology and a dream of a utopia that favored the rich no matter who gets hurt. Not even he is that evil.

The prodding and poking ended a long time ago. The experiments that others would consider torture yielded no results. His tanned skin showed no scars from them, only the markings he had etched into his skin over the centuries and the occasional reminders of the angel blades and other magical beings that got too close. Those he had plenty.

Tales of his life decorated him, the good and the bad. The joy and the sadness. His sins were displayed for anyone to see if they looked hard enough. He took pride in his deeds and happily showed them off no matter how grotesque some may find them.

Despite his captors' many efforts, no mark was left on his skin after everything they tested on him. They learned even less. Had they finally given up? Decades of trying amounted into nothing. "Quitters." He murmurs.

Electrocution tickled him, fire reminded him of home, drowning him caused him to fall asleep, and slashing and cutting made him smile while chemicals such as acids made him laugh as their smirks turned to frowns. He enjoyed watching their faces slowly turn into panic and eventually into a lack of hope.

His smirk didn’t falter until they cut off his horns. Nestled between his dark strands right behind his hairline on top of his head, mere stumps of their former glory remain. They are a sign of status, of privilege among his kind and now he has lost them.

No matter, they will grow back once he's free of this prison, once he's exacted his revenge on those who seek to destroy him.

In the end, all they found was that iron burned him and that denying him a basic need such as food only made him more resilient. In his opinion, they gave up too easily. Amateurs.

So they locked him away and forgot about him.

Years went by without contact with anyone other than his rodent companions. The silence soothed him at first, then after a few decades, the silence was worse than any torture they could think of. He longed for death but he wasn't that fortunate.

After all, how do you kill a demon?