The castle stood in eerie perfection, its blackened stone spires clawing at the storm-choked sky. The halls stretched unnaturally high, their vaulted ceilings lost in shadow, lined with tapestries that seemed to shift when unobserved. The decor was opulent yet unsettling, candelabras forged from twisted bone, mirrors that reflected just a fraction too late, and paintings that defied reason.
One in particular seized Aamon's attention: a towering portrait of a cat, its elongated limbs stretching far beyond any natural proportion. Its eyes, gleaming with an unsettling awareness, followed him as he passed. The artist had either adored cats or feared them.
The throne room was vast, its pillars scarred by centuries of existence, yet standing with unnatural resilience. Between them, the air hummed with something old, something hungry.
And then there was the throne.
A monstrosity of demon skulls… their hollow sockets staring in eternal agony, their horns jagged spikes forming a macabre crown. At its center, seated atop a plate of blackened steel, was a girl... No… the Queen.
She couldn't have been more than sixteen in appearance with her porcelain face framed by dark ringlets, her lips stained the color of old blood. Her dress was a masterpiece of gothic Lolita success. layers of black and midnight blue silk, lace gloves, a fan clutched in delicate fingers. But there was nothing innocent in her gaze. When her eyes locked onto Aamon, the air turned to ice. Her fan snapped shut with a sound like a guillotine's drop.
"You!!"
The word was a blade, her voice too deep, too ancient for the youthful face it came from… it sounded raw and powerful. From a lady who got what she wanted by force.
The throne room seemed to pulse around them, the shadows stretching too long in contrast to the skulls seeming to mock Aamon. Something was very… very wrong.
"Dysriel what is this creature you brought me?! This thing can level us all… kill it!!"
Before anyone could actually turn the queen points out her fan... no… her wand and casts a spell "puteum invoco" before Aamon can react, a noose of fire and rope claws out above him. wraps around his neck like a serpent.
Aamon didn't understand the pain, only that he needed to stop it… His world became a blur of thrashing wings and a desperate need for air. The violent flailing of his wings was enough to send Ciel crashing to the ground… Blindly almost instinctively, his clawed hands flew to his throat. He didn't mean to cut so deep, but his demonic strength was raw and uncontrolled… Every slash to free himself more… and more blackened blood leaked out, searing the stone below with sizzling burns.
"Let go… friend not mean. Talk is what he does- -Aamon calm Ciel help."
Ciel tries to help in her still weak body as Aamon's feet kick wildly in the air, his face twists in terror causing his veins to strain against his paling skin. His fingers claw at the ropes desperate for a breath that won't come. Ciel didn't realize she moved, as she lunges forward to help. She wraps her arms around his legs, her boots skidding against the blood-slick stones. Her boots didn't burn as she heaved upward, trying to lift him, to ease the suffocating pressure. His weight fought against her with the Queen's power unrelenting.
Why am I doing this? The thought flickered, useless. It didn't matter. She wouldn't watch another person die not like this, not the first person to show her kindness.
Above her, Aamon's choked gasp cut through the chaos. His eyes were wide and glassy, locked onto hers not with hope but with something worse, surprise. Aamon couldn't believe she'd try to save him…. as the magic noose tightened. Ciel's muscles screamed, but she wouldn't let go…..
As Aamon thrashed he heard his mothers voice, calming him. As he slowed his scratching at the noose, he could make out her faint whisper….
`
"Dream of the whispers that curl round your bed,
Of fingers that tap on the floor near your head.
They'll promise you secrets, but don't say a word~
Just listen… my darling, and cling to my skirt."
To everyone else the throne room was silent, save for the ragged choke of Aamon's breath.. No crowds… No grand spectacle... Only the cold polished marble beneath his boots. He hung suspended in midair as the Queen's magic coiled around his throat like a living thing. The queen's three princes stood in a half-circle, their knights at their backs, faces unreadable. Dysriel the third chosen prince's fingers tapped against his sword hilt… once… twice… as if counting the seconds.
Aamon's thrashing grew more controlled, his boots scraping against Ciel's shoulders as he fought for leverage. For one brutal second Aamon's heel dug into her collarbone before he kicked using her body as a springboard. The force sent her staggering back, but it was enough. His hand shot up fingers clamping around the knotted magic of the noose. The Queen's power burned like a live wire against his skin, but he wrenched it down; with a force so strong he did not just loosen it he tore it apart.
For a heartbeat nothing happened. Then… a crack like a splitting bone. The spell ruptured its energy whipping outward in a burst of searing light. Aamon hit the ground hard, gasping, the phantom weight of execution still crushing his windpipe. But he was alive and the Queen's magic had been broken, Yet she seemed unsurprised.
"it seems you just ripped it like a savage. Talk demon, this is your only chance…. Who are you?"
The queen says with her dark soothing voice. She puts her fan to her chest and closes one of her blue eyes. She knows now after throwing her strongest spell she can't defeat this demon, so why not use him? She thought.
"My Queen! He's a demon…. filth that shouldn't be allowed to breathe in your presence. Just give me the word and I'll cleanse him from this hall."
Prince Dysriel says obediently to the queen. He positions himself between where Aamon is and his queen.
"Quiet! Dysriel- -so demon tell me what brings a man like you here to my kingdom?"
The queen's voice shoots out to tear flesh as Aamon finally pushes himself up off the ground
"Well… I'm Aamon, I just got out of my cell and wanted to find a friend and maybe see a dragon but everyone keeps hurting me. This is the fourth time already"
Aamon's voice was hoarse from the noose. When he stands up straight his blood seems to evaporate as he heals from the self-inflicted scratches. With a flick of his wrist he adjusts the crooked dragon pendant still clinging to his shoulder… his mother's last gift.
"Cell you say, dearie? I know you weren't in my dungeon, I'm a lady of class and I don't keep pests like you Aamon."
She puts her fan down on the armrest of polished horns as she speaks like poison.
"Oh, I wasn't in your cell; I was in hell with my mother. I got out the night before, since then people keep attacking me. It really hurts."
Aamon announces looking at Ciel still fallen on the floor. She has herself propped up on her elbows waiting for permission to move.
"A cell… with your mother. How… curious. I'm Luna Varnmoor and I have questions like, why are you here Aamon? Why is a naive demon breathing in my vicinity?"
The queen's voice was soft, a considerate murmur that belied her racing thoughts. As the calamity stood in her throne room… she was already calculating her options. Her eyes, however, betrayed nothing of the storm within as they traveled over his face, mapping the harsh lines of a child against the unsettling vulnerability in his gaze.
Aamon stands putting his hand on his dragon pendant… for support as he speaks.
"My full name is Aamonith but it's too long so my mother said I should let people just call me Aamon. I feel like it's a splendid name for a knight, right?"
"HA! A knight? You can't be a knight Aamon nobody would let a demon save them, boy. Go beg the Elarion Queen if you want charity…. Maya Yashiro collects strays~"
She said brutally making Aamon's tail go limp till Ciel grabs Aamon's sleeve
"Friend… Ciel thinks the queen not being nice to you… she thinks you shouldn't say more."
Ciel whispers to Aamon as she finally decides for herself to walk to his shadow. Her movements are slow and worrisome.
"quiet girl, don't you see im speaking to him. Now dearie, tell me what's your mothers name? and where is she?"
Aamon's tail began to wag in an erratic, almost doglike motion. The tension in the throne room was thick enough to choke on but Aamon didn't seem to notice. His grin widened and his eyes were bright with something disturbingly close to joy… Someone had asked about his mother. No one ever asked about his mother.
"My mother is right here! With me always as she said she would!"
he announced proudly, splaying his fingers like a child showing off a prized trinket. The rings on each digit were not gold or silver but instead something far more macabre… bone… each one humming with a low, insidious power queen Luna could almost taste. Queen Luna rose from her throne in a single, fluid motion. Her eternally youthful face usually a mask of perfect composure twitched.
"Who the hell was your mother? That power it almost reminds me of-"
Queen Luna demanded, her voice sharp but Aamon just tilted his head, tail still wagging as he wiggled his fingers playfully.
"Oh, like I said, they are my mother! Or, well, what's left of her! Most didn't survive the dig. She did once tell me her name was Abyss."
Silence.
Not the quiet of held breath, the silence of a tomb. Even the distant birds outside seemed to freeze mid-song… The knights, the princes, and even Ciel All of them went utterly still. Ciel, who had been hovering protectively at his side, took an involuntary step back making her boots scrape against marble. Prince Dysriel was the first to break. His sword hissed from its sheath with infused mana the sound jagged in the unnatural quiet.
"Ab…. Abb…. You dare speak that name here, demon? That's not allowed, nobody says her name! You will be beheaded for this!"
But before the blade could fully clear its scabbard Queen Luna's voice cut through the room like a whip. "Stand. Down." Dysriel froze as queen Luna's eyes never left Aamon's face. "He isn't lying," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
"Aamon speaks the truth… and I fear he doesn't even know what his mother has done. He thinks she's a sweet woman."
The first prince, Valerius rose from his knees beside the throne. Of the three he was forged from the coldest iron, the least forgiving and the most rigid in his convictions. His voice cut through the throne room's hush, sharp and unwavering.
"Mother dearest, ignorance is not an excuse. Look at him… the Abyss itself clings to his fingers like a curse. It is savage. Profane. That he dares speak her name with fondness is a blasphemy that cannot stand."
No sooner had he spoken than the second prince, Kaelen stepped to his brother's side. Where Valerius was a blade… Kaelen was a shield, the most fiercely loyal.
"Brother, your case is strong but your judgment is swift. Reflect… if only for a moment. We know precious little of our Lady's past. She keeps her own history locked away. Who are we to decide what is sacred to her?"
All eyes then turned to the third prince who had remained apart from his brothers. His loyalty was placed not in his own opinion, but solely in the will of his queen.
"We are not here to speak for our Queen but to serve her. We are her chosen children… Our agreement is irrelevant; our knowledge is incomplete. My Queen, your wish is our law. If you desire this demon dead, I will sever his head myself. If you wish him spared, I will escort him beyond our borders. You need only command it."
Queen Luna let out a quick laugh at the discussion amongst them "My boys quiet down already. We couldn't kill him even if we wanted to. I threw my strongest spell at him. He just doesn't seem to acknowledge that fact even if it's said out loud."
The Queen finally comes to terms with the unshakable truth: survival stands above all. With a sharp click of her heel she commands the room's attention. The sound is so abrupt it makes Ciel flinch.
"Aamon, dear child... your mother was a vile creature. Ask the elf her people knew the depths of your mother's cruelty. They called themselves the Abyssal Elves, they followed her like hounds to slaughter."
Aamon's tail goes limp mid-sway, the tension draining from his body as if his very bones had turned to dust within him. His gaze drifts toward the silent elf whose breath hitches her nod is slow and deliberate, confirming the Queen's words.
"No... My mother was kind. She… she told me stories every night. She made me this suit with her own hair. She... she loved me."
Queen Luna's lips curl into a merciless smile.
"Your mother owned this world. She didn't rule it.. no… she crushed it beneath her heel. Entire kingdoms turned to ash because a peasant dared cough in her presence. She burned cities for sport~ Aamon. She drowned nations in blood just to hear the screams."
Aamon's breath comes in shallow uneven gasps. His hands tremble as his claws dig into his palms drawing thin lines of black blood. The memories flood him: his mother's soft voice, her gentle hands braiding her own hair into his suit, the warmth of her embrace. "No... no, she wouldn't…" Aamon whispered to himself
"Oh, but she did. The Succubus of the abyss… they called her. A Butcher of Death itself. She slaughtered children… Aamon. Just like you…. And she laughed while doing it."
Aamon's vision blurs. The world tilts. His heartbeat is a frantic drum in his skull, each pulse screaming Liar! Liar! but the elf's haunted eyes tell him otherwise. Ciel puts her hand around his clawed ones in attempt to calm… yet he still cries out
"Then why... Why was she so good to me?!"
"Because even monsters can love their children."
Aamon's legs give out at her words. He collapses to his knees, his mother's face loving, kind, monstrous shattering in his mind like glass.
"friend… Ciel will stay. Won't leave."
Aamon's breath hitches when her grip tightened. The words are simple but to a man who has spent eighty years in silence. each one an eternity they feel like a lifeline. His claws twitch at his sides, unsure whether to reach out or curl into fists.
"I see now… my mother wasn't good. But I'm not mean. I just… I just want to be a knight. To help people."
The words sound hollow even to him. Help people? How? With hands stained by a legacy he never chose? The Queen's gaze cuts into him sharp as a scalpel. Studying his face, those ruby eyes wide brimming with a child's hope. A demon with the heart of a fool.
"Oh, sweetie. You want to help? Then here's my deal: Kill the succubus rotting in the wastes west of here, and I'll make you a knight. Refuse… and every kingdom will know you as the Butcher's heir. They'll hunt you…. They'll burn every village you will ever sleep in. And your dear little friend here? Well. She's not as durable as you, is she?"
Queen Luna knows what she is doing. The Succubus of Sloth whom she and the other queens couldn't kill. The one who laughs at blades and drinks poison like wine.
"My queen, are you mistaken? He's a demon… no matter his achievements he should never be a knight. He can't ever be on-"
Prince Dysriel yells out before being cut off by his brother Kaelen the second Prince.
"Silence brother! If our lady says he can become a knight then he can. Her word is final, if you continue speaking against her I will silence you myself."
Suddenly the queen stands and walks towards Aamon and Ciel, her heels echoing off the walls like screams. Her young face, back to that manipulative innocence, her voice drops low and soft with a high pitched end. Before she can get halfway, Aamon speaks out.
"My mother told me it was beautiful... She said knights were noble. That they saved people. She said dragons were just... lost. That elves healed the wounded. That dwarves crafted not just weapons, but legends. She said druids spoke for the trees… that they kept the whole world from burning..."
Aamon's voice was a gentle murmur, his mother's bone rings clinking softly as he wrung his hands.
"Your mother fed you pretty lies, dearie… This isn't one of her stories. Knights are attack dogs for whoever feeds them... Druids slaughter any soul who steps into their woods… Dwarves would sell their own mothers for a vein of mithril. And the elves? Most kneel to the Abyss now. Open their throats in sacrifice. Wake up. The only thing waiting for a soft-hearted demon like you is a war-axe to the skull."
She stopped before him… a pillar of hardened fury and grief. The tension in her shoulders was a bowstring pulled taut; the slight tremor in her hands was the only betrayal of the storm beneath her regal calm... Slowly, deliberately, she knelt, bringing her fierce and weary eyes to level with his wide ruby ones. Her voice dropped, but it lost none of its edge; it was a brutal and tearing sound, meant to flay the innocence from his heart.
"You think I'm a fool."
Aamon's voice emerged, soft yet clear, as his massive wings gave a slight, nervous flutter.
"I think you're a child. A sweet, doomed little thing but not a useless one. That innocence... that belief... It's a weapon. I think you could get close to her. Someone like you could end someone like her. You could tear down her wicked kingdom. Build something–"
Aamon pushed himself up, cutting her off…
"I'll do it."
Aamon's voice cut through the noise.
"--something purer in its… wait, what?"
Queen Luna was in utter shock… her youthful face broke for a bit.
"I said I'll do it. I'll kill her. I'll kill a thousand bad people if I have to. I will be like Sir Aldric. I will defeat Sloth. You'll see. I'll be a real hero."
Aamon announces with his claws digging into his palms. Without another word he walked off the edge of his wings flaring behind him like a cape. Determination burned in his ruby eyes he would kill the succubus. He would prove himself.
Ciel darted after him, silent her shadow merging with his. Ciel didn't speak because she didn't need to. Her presence alone was an anchor, his first friend, his only light. The Queen's laughter followed them, sharp as a blade. Aamon would return a knight...
The great doors of the throne room boomed shut, sealing away the presence of the demon and his maid. The moment the lock clicked the regal posture of Queen Luna shattered. Her knees buckled striking the cold marble with a sound that echoed more loudly than the slamming doors. She swayed like a porcelain doll with its strings cut one hand clawing at the arm of her throne for support she could not find.
The First Prince Valerius was at her side in an instant, his plate armor scraping against the floor as he dropped to one knee. His face, usually a mask of arrogant command, was pale with a fear none of his battlefield scars could match.
"Mother! What sorcery is this? Was it that creature? A moment, and I will bring you his head… a fitting trophy for our halls!"
His voice was too loud in the sudden silence. His sword rang as he ripped it from its scabbard. the steel gleaming with righteous fury. He was already turning like a storm of vengeance ready to break. Till Queen Luna spoke her voice stopped him. It was not a shout, but a whisper that carried the weight.
"Stop."
He froze, compelled by a power far older than his own. All eyes turned to the queen. She raised her head and for the first time her chosen sons saw not the unshakeable monarch but a being of immense weariness.
"You would not reach his neck, Valerius…. And if you did, you would not return. Your steel is but a child's toy to him. We could not kill him because he is not merely a demon. He is her son. The Abyss… and she is the reason I draw breath in this world at all."
her voice hollow as she trembled and she slowly pushed herself to her feet. She looked at her brave but still mortal sons and they finally understood how vast the gap was between them. It was Prince Dysriel who broke the awed silence by stepping forward with a courtier's grace that belied the sharp curiosity in his eyes. He alone did not seem afraid, only intensely fascinated.
"My Queen, We have served you as sons, yet we know nothing of our queen. You have always been a mystery wrapped in a crown. If the Abyss is your origin… What does that make you? And what does it make him to you?"
Queen Luna's gaze settled on him. A flicker of something unreadable… pain… memory… fear…. passed behind her eyes before it was extinguished.
"My past is a cinder I have no wish to rekindle. Some doors, once closed, should remain barred." She drew herself up to her full height, the momentary vulnerability sealed away behind a mask of manipulative iron. She looked directly at Dysriel.
"Your task is not to understand him. He is a tempest that has wandered into our garden. Watch him, Dysriel. Learn his habits, his whims, his weaknesses. We are fortunate that his interest seems… passing. For now. Our goal remains unchanged: let him find the Succubus of sloth and end her. Or die trying."
She turned her back on them with a clear dismissal before she sank onto her throne. The subject was closed. She stared at the empty space where the demon had stood. Her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for the ghosts in the air.
"And we pray that her son does not decide to finish what she started…."