H-Huh...?
W-Where am I?...
"Welcome to the backstage."
?!
"I go by many names, one of which is Lor.
I'm the DAEMON of CURTAINS.
You have met a terrible fate. One tinted by despair.
So I'm here to offer you a second chance at life, to play out your own role once more."
"A Daemon?! S-Stay the hell away from me! I'm tired of dealing with you!"
"Being mauled by a Daemon is a common fate as much as it is tragic. Your life was predestined way before you...
From the glimpses of your short life, you were merely used as a barter for forces way beyond your human capabilities."
"And?! I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask for any of this!"
"A child cannot chose its parent, but a parent can choose its child. A child is only an extension of parent's will. And whatever they chose to do with their children - it is their right."
"Are you saying what I went through was justified?! That they could do whatever they wanted to just because I was their child?!"
"Indeed. You simply failed to realize your place in the world and now you've paid the price. And so you've became nothing more than expendable asset. No one cared for you, my child."
"..."
"But I offer you to fulfill your role once more. A world of living is way better than the world of the dead.
If you refuse my offer, your consciousness - your mind - will evaporate. Like it never existed in the first place.
But if you accept my offer: you shall experience the breath of the firstborn again. It's as if you never had perished at all."
"... And it'll put me back to square one to that rotten home?"
"No. Much better. You'll be born with the capability to carve your own path. You will no longer worry about poverty, illness and death. You will be well fed and be beloved. Many people will love you, revering you as their guardian and god. You'll live the life you wanted oh so dearly."
"..."
"Just grab my hand and close your eyes. It'll be all over soon."
My hand hesitantly grabbed the clammy daemonic hand and closing my eyes I feel my entire being torn apart.
The pain I felt before now had amplified.
I wanted to open my eyes, but I simply couldn't.
Soon I began to forget.
My identity. My reason. My humanity.
I was merely a shell. A shell for use.
"Now, as your ego was stripped away - I'll brand you a new one..."
DAEMON of EXECUTION, Argent
---
...
...
So warm...
So comfortable...
Coming to my senses, I see that I'm surrounded by some sort of membrane.
So sweet...
I feel like I'm in a some sort of fruit...
It would be... A comfortable experience...
Just sleeping in there...
Just biding my time...
It's nice to not know who and what you are...
And yet...
I feel... A call...
A regret long forgotten...
~
"■■■■■■■■■■■!..."
~
Putting my hand against the membrane, I can see the world...
It's... Awe-striking...
I can feel it...
I need to tear it apart...
Before I could realize it, I began to tear the membrane with more and more frenzy.
I needed to get out.
I NEED to get out.
The claws tore and tore against the membrane. I need this freedom.
Tear.
Tear.
Tear.
The light becomes brighter and brighter as I struggle against my restraints.
Just a little more.
I need to be free.
I need to breathe.
I need...
*SHRIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*
The cry of the firstborn.
Before I knew it, I was assailed with unfathomable hunger.
And disgust.
That's when a realization struck.
I need to kill.
I must destroy all that is impure.
That hatred... Is growing.
--
A lone daemonic executioner of silver stands atop of numerous husks, all impaled with silver stakes - writhing and hissing in pain.
It doesn't know why it impales other daemons. It doesn't know why it has such a burning sensation of hatred and hunger towards its kin. All it knows is that it must search and destroy every single daemon unfortunate enough to stand in its way.
It was standing here, taking in the scenery, when suddenly it sees a flaming daemon flying towards them, dressed in all sorts of regalia.
It seems that this executioner had caused quite a havoc for the flaming daemon to be involved - for he is the regent of the Certain King; Haures, the DAEMON of TRUE. That flaming daemon is the current overlord of the pandaemonium; and his numerous fragments keep watch over the entirety of this cursed garden, keeping the semblance of order within it.
Yet the executioner couldn't care less about his position.
In a sign of aggression - it began shooting away at the daemon with their stakes. Yet that daemon was dodging them in a spectacular passion. It was clear that this one is no ordinary beast.
"Shoot first, talk later? My, that is not how this world works."
The flaming daemon then creates a magmatic spear out of his spine and lunges it towards the the executioner, pinning them down to the ground.
"Oof!"
Their hands tried to dislodge the spear away from their chest, only for their hands to be burned. For the first time in a long while, the executioner had felt real pain.
"Did that hurt?"
The flaming daemon had made his landing, looking down at the disrupting executioner. He has no intention of dislodging that spear himself.
"I... Must... Destroy...!"
"What a depressing sight, you are. Thrashing and killing your kin ever so mindlessly like a machine. Has there been a moment of a respite for you?"
"I... Must... Destroy...! AAAGH!!!"
"The pandaemonium isn't kind to lunatics such as yourself. I could easily go kill you for disrupting the peace, you know?"
"... What... peace... Do you speak of?..."
Indeed. The pandaemonium isn't a place one could call peaceful. In fact, it is quite turbulent. An ever changing palette of various ideas born by humans given form.
Well, the form it speaks of now is NOTHING but a reuse of an old shapes.
For daemons of the new order, their existence is either merely a fact or a source of their misery - never a blessing.
Those who are happy about their existence are reduced to being merely a lunatic animal. And for those whose existence is pain - those daemons had usually died a painful death, one that isn't enviable at all.
Left alone. Scared. Abandoned. The despair is the key component.
If one dies feeling despair, they are met with the Lord of the Vantablack Moon in the backstage. And later they're overseen by the disgraced Lord of the Fallen Sun, like a discarded toy.
And looking at the core of the Daemon through his blazing eyes, he could tell that this person is severely distorted, wiped beyond belief. One thing that remains is hatred. And that person... Wasn't defined by hatred. They were once defined by love.
That bastard...
And given it was born prematurely, the traces of them are still present, deep within their core. What on the outside looks like an aggression, on the miniscule level... It was terror. Whatever inside of it that was left - it is scared beyond belief. Like a tiny animal cornered in the alley, injured, hungry and alone. It is not long for world until it's overwhelmed.
He could use someone who can help with population control.
"Join my side. At that rate, you'll simply burn yourself out. Your hatred... Can be used somewhere else."
"...!"
And so, the flaming daemon took the silver executioner under his charred wing. They were carried to the crimtane mansion, where numerous adherents were located, and waiting for the Regent's return were three daemons; the DAEMON of KARMA, and DAEMONs of NEGATIVE and POSITIVE.
He introduced the new member of the "RED ORDER" - the fleet of powerful and just daemons responsible for taking down various criminals of the underworld and, with the brand of the red crucifix on their back of their hand and an emblem on their chest, their life of servitude begins.
They were by far the best performing daemon of the group, dealing with the requests efficiently and quickly. It had no loyalty towards the regent, nor did they fear them... For them the regent was only their boss. That caused the stir of negativity towards their co-workers, as they thought Argent was stealing all their boss' attention without them intending to.
And there was a bit of truth to it. While others treated the regent as their saviour, idol and the judge - Argent stood out like an obedient child.
Someone who has no twisted agenda of their own, yet someone who has their own agency in mind - someone who isn't willing to bend over backwards for him. Just someone who is real.
"Is it necessary to bandage my body?..."
"You were born prematurely after all, clawed through your chrysalis and all. Your body didn't go through full metamorphosis, as such - your state would be more comparable to half-melted butterfly.
During metamorphosis, in the safety of their cocoon, caterpillars shed all that was once them, leaving only their essence. And from the traces of what once, a new being is born; consuming thoughts and ideas.
Nowadays, those thoughts and ideas have been degraded into a brand than anything else, leaving the memory of you being overwhelmed by thousands, upon thousands, upon thousands of words.
You may not have realised this, or you simply failed to notice this: but that ever present hum and whispering are what give you a definition. Your name. Your purpose. It is now your duty. Defying one's brand means degradation. Ideas change and pervert themselves, and your voice will end up drowned in the sea of them, until "you" no longer exist. That's why humanity is a fickle and fragile thing. In this world, it is easier to merely succumb into being a mindless beast, a caricature of themselves..."
"Sir, you're wandering."
"My apologies. The point is, it's really easy to lose oneself in the sea of madness. And you were on the brink of it too.
But I won't allow you to be reduced to a mindless beast.
And with your flesh melted and rotted, I'll nurse you back to health. Back to what you once were."
"..."
That executioner, by a some sort of miracle, became a beloved member of the crew as it continued to grow. In amidst broken vessels who chose to cast their shell aside and conspiring undead: they merely stood here, taking orders.
Perhaps, from the perspective of the regent, it's due time slowing to crawl. What were once blooming civilizations turning into empires at a rapid speeds, now became a slow and steady monotony. A story that once spanned centuries and millennia, now only slowly encroaching its years. A mere drop in comparison to their perception of thousands of years; for regent, a year merely lasted seconds.
And in that frozen time thanks to the Lord of the Vantablack Moon's reign, it allowed the regent to form bonds with beings he perceived as children, as something that needed his guidance.
Yet as the time went on, Argent became quite bored with their job. It became mindless killing after mindless killing for them, for they never questioned the meaning of their crusades. They failed to date that feeling of hatred Argent felt throughout their lifespan.
Daemons are maturing creatures after all, and perhaps, unbeknownst to Argent themselves - something deep within them holds on to their sanity, their Identity. They don't know why, but it's there, in the corner of their mind. And it prevents them from succumbing to the madness.
One day, the regent approached the Daemon who was sitting by the window, looking at the vast and encompassing pandemonic garden.
"I can tell that something is bothering you, so please speak up."
"...
I want to go outside. To the world beyond pandaemonium."
"...?
.... Why? I'm sure pandaemonium has plenty of space for you to grow and fester. Why do you want to go outside to the outer layer?"
"I feel like...
...
Hm...
...
I feel like...
~
"■■■■■■!..."
~
It's calling for me.
I want to reach it. I want to retire now. I feel like my deep seated feeling of hatred can be used somewhere else."
"!!!"
They realised.
"... Are you sure about this then? The outer layer will significantly dampen your abilities and the humans don't particularly take kindly to our kind. We are monsters to them after all."
"... I'm sure."
"Well then... Then I'm letting you go. I hope that you'll find your purpose here."
And so, the regent tore off the emblem from the executioner.
"I may not be able to erase that brand, but now you're officially a 'traitor' of Red Order. Do not be disturbed - I do not hold any ill will against you for defying me, but just like I can't stop you from leaving to the surface, I won't be able to stop the rest of us from hunting us down. The restraints placed upon me simply won't allow it.
Say, mind if I say some parting words?"
"Sure."
"They say that some butterflies still have traces of their memories deep within them. Back when they were once caterpillars.
I wonder if you reclaim yours as well."
And so they bid their goodbyes.
He could've denied their plea. He could've not said such caring words. He could've left the pandemonium in an anarchic ruin in fact. For him, none of it should matter, for he learned the truth about their fabricity of his and everyone's existence.
Yet. He can't help but care. For him, it is his duty to care for his young. He can be quite ruthless, and he will spare no mercy to those he deems guilty. But that's the nature of the Father.
And so, he has to go through the role of villain; because only that way he can spur everyone to open their eyes to the real problem.
To the tyrannical moon.