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afraidparade · 2 years

Note

Fluff is great and all but I wanted to make a request for some Lufa hurt/comfort. No pressure the ofc.

i hope you will accept some in the form of writing 🙏

(faust gets injured, luka's the one who's hurting. BIG juicy faust lore in this one)

"High Pain Tolerance"

Word count: 3650

Content warnings: physical injury, scars, trauma, mentions of abuse, mentions of death

_____________

“Yup. That’s dislocated.”

Luka’s face froze in expressionlessness. He tended to be a rather stone-faced individual, but there were notable dissimilarities between his usual calm and whatever it was that he felt in that moment. Namely the way his lips parted slightly (despite the fact that he wasn’t breathing), and the pale, sickly complexion his skin took on when he realized what he’d done.

It had happened before — neither of them were particularly clumsy, it was just a risk that came with cohabitating alongside someone of a vastly different size — where Luka hadn’t been paying attention and accidentally knocked Faust off the surface of his desk with a casual, careless movement. He’d love to say that his protective instincts frequently sprung him into action, that he could flawlessly and heroically catch the falling demon in his palm whenever he was in danger, but truthfully, his reflexes weren’t all that fast. The only thing he could do was hiss out a curse and keep himself from toppling out of his own chair while he assessed the state of his roommate.

To Faust’s credit, Luka had noticed on numerous occasions just how sturdy he was for his size. The handful of times he’d fallen before, he ended up a little disoriented and sore, sure, but aside from him barking at the human for being so oafishly careless, the tumble didn’t seem to result in much else. So Luka wasn’t sure what was different about this time. Maybe the angle at which he hit the ground? Or perhaps he’d blindly shoved the little imp with more force than he realized? Either way, Faust’s shoulder was clearly swollen and quickly turning a dark reddish hue.

“How—“ Luka had to pause and close his mouth and swallow, since his throat had gone bone dry, “How do you know it’s not broken?” His mind began to race at the possibility. What would he even do if it was broken? It’s not like he could check a three-inch demon into a hospital, and Google could only help with so much.

Faust stared at the joint for a few seconds in thought, tapped it lightly, then winced as he attempted to move it. “It’s just not,” he concluded, his eyes flicking back upwards to meet Luka’s. Upon seeing that his companion didn’t seem fully satisfied with that answer, he huffed a sigh and added, “Look, let’s just say I have a lot of experience with this. It’s just dislocated, trust me.”

Just dislocated. Just dislocated. As if that diffused the situation entirely! As far as Luka could tell, this was the worst injury he’d been witness to in their time together. And he caused it. It was sinking in now. Slowly, more noticeable signs of distress became evident on Luka’s features. His brows furrowed and his eyes began to widen, and while he’d managed to resume breathing, all of his inhales were shallow.

“W-what do we do? How do we treat it?” he asked in a trembling voice. For every bit as panicked as Luka seemed, though, Faust seemed wholly unbothered. Mildly annoyed, if anything.

“What do you think, genius? We just pop it back into place. It’s a pain in the ass to do it myself, but luckily you’re here to help me out. Just don’t be too rough with it, or it’ll actually end up broken.”

No way. The thought alone nearly made Luka black out.

“I can’t do that!” Luka quickly rejected, his voice cracking with anxiety. Faust actually seemed surprised by this sudden outburst, as if his request had been as inconsequential as fetching a bandage to put over a tiny scrape. The demon had experienced Luka’s nonchalant whims plenty of times in the past, so maybe that bewilderment was justified. But this was just something Luka couldn’t do. “I’m– I’m too big, and I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t risk hurting you.”

Faust scoffed. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”

Luka felt nauseous. He knew it was meant as a playful jab, but it made the reality all too clear in his mind. He hurt Faust. This happened because of him. Faust acknowledged that. He said it out loud. He blamed him. Was that it? Had he destroyed nearly a year’s worth of trust? Would Faust forgive him? Would Faust leave him?

“Alright, whatever. You’re clearly too much of a wimp for this sort of thing, so I’ll just…” the imp’s voice trailed off as he straightened his back and brought his good hand to the wrist of his limp arm, then bit down on his lip with disquieting anticipation.

Luka’s blood went cold. But once again, his reflexes were far too slow. “Wai—“

Faust yanked the arm up and pushed back, then with a strained yelp and sickening pop, he stumbled forward a bit before dropping to his knees. “Fuck!” he hissed, gripping the wound that was now stained with an even angrier red. He took a moment to catch his breath, wincing every now and then as he tested the limits of how much he could move his arm in its current state. All in all, it was a marked improvement from how it had been a moment ago, but would certainly take several weeks to heal fully. Once he settled down again, Faust appeared no different than his usual, crabby self. “Shit, that hurt more than I was expecting. But maybe if a certain someone hadn’t thrown a fucking crybaby tantrum, I’d—“

Upon looking back up, Faust nearly bit his tongue from how quickly he forced his mouth shut. He knew Luka could get moody every now and then, but even still, the amount of times he’d actually seen the man cry could be counted with just one hand. Evidently, he could now add another finger to that count.

It started with a sniffle, a sharp intake of air as his body instinctively attempted to suppress the phenomenon, then when his eyelids quivered and his vision had gone completely blurry, he overflowed. Tears began to fall freely as strained sobs escaped the back of his throat, each one doubling in intensity from the last. His hands wavered and his fingers curled spastically, trapped between the decision of reaching for Faust, wiping his own face, or curling into tight fists on his lap. He stayed there, wobbling and weeping, unable to bring himself to do much else. This messy, desperate, speechless, fragile Luka was unlike anything Faust had experienced before. And the sight of his adoring caretaker shaking from his own bawling — the sheer helplessness he felt in that moment — wrenched something in Faust’s chest that hurt far worse than his shoulder.

“Wh– why are you crying?” the demon stammered, clueless as to how he should even begin to diffuse the situation, “I’m the one who—“

“I know!” Luka choked in a tone Faust had never heard before. He almost sounded…angry. But somehow, that bitterness didn’t feel as though it was directed towards him at all. Luka took in a shaky breath, forcefully quieting his tone. “I know you’re the one who got hurt. But I’m the one who hurt you. And- and even when I had a chance to make up for it, I couldn’t help you, I just…”

“Luka, for fuck’s sake, I was kidding! I’m not upset over a stupid accident, so calm down,” Faust tried. He didn’t exactly have experience in comforting others, but from the few times his human companion seemed to be in need of a reality check, remaining objective and sticking to his normal, crass self usually worked the best. He hoped the same would hold true this time, because truth be told, he didn’t have a Plan B. “Look, I’ve dealt with a lot worse, so I have a high pain tolerance. I already told you I’m used to this sort of thing, right? So—“

“But you shouldn’t HAVE to be!”

There was a heavy silence after that. Faust didn’t have a response. Truly, he had no idea what to think, let alone say. Sometimes the disparity between the two’s upbringings became all too great. And sometimes it slipped Faust’s mind that Luka didn’t even know the half of what he’d seen in his homeworld. Or what he’d done. As the arrhythmic hiccuping attempted to subside itself, the smaller man could only turn his gaze to the floor and realize he’d dug this grave all on his own. He felt utterly useless.

To say that Luka calmed down would be a severe overstatement, but at the very least, he managed to get his breathing under control. His eyes were still glassy, bloodshot, and sullen, while his gaze remained unfocused. It took a long time for him to come back from whatever daze he’d become lost in, but when he did, his voice was hoarse and painfully, heartbreakingly small.

“I’ve seen you cry over some really stupid things, Faust. But you never cry for yourself.”

Faust clenched his teeth. “So what?”

“It’s hard to watch, that’s what,” Luka replied, some of the agitation from earlier returning to his tone, “Why do you treat yourself as if you’re something expendable?”

The small, black claws of his good hand pressed so deep into his palm that Faust wouldn’t be shocked if he ended up breaking the skin there. But his voice stayed uncharacteristically level, almost resembling a convict under interrogation. “It’s what I was taught,” he answered simply.

“Then you should be mad to the point of tears about that, too.”

This time, there was no response. Sensing that the other had run out of manufactured responses for now, Luka took in a deep breath and continued, “Look, I’m not going to pretend I know what you’ve been through. And I’m not going to ask you about it, either. But I do know there’s something keeping you trapped in the past, and it’s doing something horrible to your mind. And not being able to…to help you, it’s such a scary feeling. I guess what happened just now was a result of not being able to handle that feeling anymore.”

Faust felt both a searing hotness and a hollow emptiness at his core. Was he supposed to apologize? He didn’t know what he’d be saying sorry for, so was there any point? And what did Luka know about fear? Real fear? That was about the only emotion Faust reserved for himself. So why did Luka bother wasting his own fear on such a pathetic cause? What a stupid, naive, all-too-human endeavor.

“I know I’m speaking out of turn here, and I’m sorry about that. I went and made your getting hurt all about me. I’m pretty lame, huh?” At this, the faintest smile pushed past the wet streaks on his face. “Though if you’d allow it, I’d like to make one more selfish request. Do you think you could put a little more trust in me, even if it’s just a fraction? I know I’m not perfect, and I know I’m the stupid idiot that pushed you off the desk in the first place, but until you finally get sick and tired enough to leave, you’re sort of stuck with me. And for as long as it’s the two of us, I want you to feel like it’s just that: the two of us. You’re not as alone in this as you think, okay?”

Ah.

What a miserable hypocrite he was, Faust realized, thinking he wrote the book on fear and being afraid. He didn’t understand it until now, but that burning emptiness inside of him did have a name. It was a new kind of fear to him: a fear built on hope. Without realizing it, that seedling of hope that longed to be happy, to be safe, and to be with this human whom he had grown…mildly attached to, had flourished and now branched into every fiber of his being. For once, Faust felt like he actually had a future. And nothing terrified him more.

He let out a slow, steady breath. One step at a time. Not to mention that during all this, Faust’s shoulder only began to throb more and more. “…For the record, I already thought you were lame,” Faust muttered, not quite smiling, but in a tone far from hostile. “So then, can I ‘trust’ you to help me make a sling?”

———

It didn’t take too long to gather the supplies for a sling, as well as some ice to apply to the injury. Both parties used the time to collect themselves individually, and after Luka had rinsed his face off and Faust pondered the nature of the other’s request, they reconvened at the scene of the incident. The sling was simple enough to craft out of an extra scrap of thin fabric Luka kept from one of his previous sewing attempts, and although the edges were too small for the human’s fingers to work into a knot, Faust made quick work of it using his uninjured hand and his teeth. Yet another display of his frighteningly extensive experience with this sort of scenario, but this time, neither commented on it.

“Are you able to take off your shirt? It’ll make it easier to see where I should put the ice,” Luka asked as he finished bundling a small lump of crushed ice in more leftover fabric.

The smaller nodded, catching the hem with his fingertips and tugging it upwards. It took quite a bit of wriggling and finessing, but eventually the demon was successful in sliding the garment over his arm and off his body. While Faust casually tossed the shirt to the side, thinking nothing of the motion he’d performed countless times in the human’s presence, Luka’s movements faltered and his stomach tightened. Now that the other’s back was exposed, he was reminded of the countless scars that marred the flesh there. Hundreds of discolored, thin gashes that overlapped each other in straight lines — some short, as if he had just been grazed, and others long, stretching nearly the entire length of his back — that appeared to have never healed quite right. That sinking, spiraling anxiety that sent him over the edge before came back to gnaw at his insides, but Luka reminded himself that he needed to focus on Faust’s wellbeing for the present moment. Unfortunately, it seemed like he had that realization just a second too late.

“Is something wrong?” the smaller asked, looking over his shoulder to see what the hold-up was. Upon seeing Luka bat his eyes in surprise and avert his gaze as he stammered for an answer, Faust sighed and faced forward again. “You’re worried about my scars?”

Luka frowned shamefully, but after collecting himself, he moved to position the makeshift ice bag on the swollen wound. “Sorry,” he apologized softly, pressing the fabric against the bruised flesh with a light touch, “I know that’s off-limits.”

Faust flinched as the stinging cold caused the entirety of his arm to throb, but after the initial shock subsided, he remained still and allowed Luka to apply a bit more pressure. A soothing numbness soon took the pain’s place. “No, it’s…fine.”

In the silence that followed, Faust furrowed his brows. Trust, huh? Well, he was already small, injured, and virtually defenseless. What was just a bit more vulnerability?

“…You know that I was a soldier. Or, that I at least trained to be one,” he began slowly. He didn’t need to turn around to sense Luka’s quiet surprise. “I, um… Actually, maybe this isn’t the best time to—“

“No,” Luka interjected, urgent but soft, “Please. If you’re comfortable with it.”

Faust swallowed. It didn’t look like he could back out of this one, so he continued after a brief pause, “You might find this hard to believe, but even in a world that’s…well, more me-sized, I’ve always been kind of small.” There were certainly several things Luka could have said about that. But he didn’t. “I’d always been the smallest demon in my platoon, from my very first memory of enlistment to the time of my, er, departure. To tell you the truth, I don’t know why they didn’t just label me as a runt at birth and kill me then. Maybe I just barely passed the acceptable threshold, or maybe it was someone’s idea of a sick joke. I doubt I’ll ever find out.”

“Anyways, it’s not like I was a pushover just because I was a little short. I trained like hell to catch up with the rest of my platoon, but it’s like my body just had a limit I couldn’t ever push past, no matter how hard I tried. And I fucking tried,” he added with a noticeable bitterness. “Demons are all born at the same level, but once they gain more power, they become bigger and stronger. We call those ‘High Ranks.’ And for every group of ‘Low Ranks’ — that’s what I am — one High Rank acts as their commanding officer and oversees their training. That’s where K… m-my platoon leader comes in.”

Faust swallowed dryly, his posture having gone stiff and his tail coiling in a tight spiral. Luka flashed a concerned frown, then bent forward slightly and gave his companion a light nudge.

“Are you alright?” he asked, “We can stop if you want.”

Upon hearing his roommate’s voice, Faust allowed himself to breathe and release the tension that had gathered in his muscles. He reminded himself of Luka’s affirmation that he wasn’t alone anymore, and managed to reel his mind back to the present.

“No, I’m good. It’s just not the greatest memory, y’know?” the tiny imp replied with renewed determination. “So…that High Rank I mentioned, he was pretty strict on everyone, but he had a method of training that relied on the weakest link. With every regiment, we would all train with the knowledge that whoever ‘he’ determined to perform the weakest would, um…” Faust swallowed, briefly weighing his options. He was already sharing an overwhelming amount, so maybe it was best to spare certain details from this story. “...Receive punishment. Brutal punishment.”

He reached to hug himself with the only arm that could manage to do so, grazing the edges of a few scars with his fingertips. Maybe it was the memory, or maybe it was just the cold from the ice pack, but he swore he could feel them aching.

“I-it wasn’t me every time. Sometimes someone else would fall behind, and I’d be left alone for a while. But…for better or for worse, they wouldn’t last very long, if you know what I mean. I don’t know how I did. Maybe all that extra training was good for something, or maybe he just wanted to keep me alive to…”

He inhaled sharply, cutting off the thought. “So, yeah. That’s basically the long and short of it. Now you know where my scars came from.”

Luka stared forward, speechless. Honestly, he wanted to cry again, but he wouldn’t. Faust didn’t need to deal with that twice in one day. He just didn’t know what else to do. He had wanted to learn the truth so he could help, but now that he knew it, he’d never felt less sure of what to do or say. Just how horrible had things been in Faust’s world? Were they still like that? How many demons like him were experiencing the exact same trauma at that very moment? The questions and uncertainties were maddening, but with the brittle thread of knowledge that Faust had finally been willing to open up to him, Luka kept himself together.

He opened his mouth to say something, reconsidered, then closed it.

“Don’t tell me ‘I’m sorry’ or some stupid shit like that,” Faust sneered over his shoulder. His sour disposition brought the air of familiarity back to the room, which Luka welcomed readily.

“I wasn’t going to,” he replied.

“You were,” the smaller drawled, waving a hand through the air, “You’ve got that sad, dopey look on your face. I don’t wanna hear it though. None of that has anything to do with you, and pity pisses me off.”

Luka laughed through his nose. While it was frustrating to see Faust dismiss his problems before, this felt different. Not quite dismissal, as much as acknowledgment and acceptance. That was a start.

Seeing as the ice had turned into more of a slush at this point and began to make quite the mess on his desk, Luka collected the small bundle into his cupped hand and began making motions to stand up. “Alright. How about a ‘thank you’ then?”

Faust looked up, confused frustration evident on his features. “For what? Telling you my sob story? I don’t want to hear that, either.”

The brunette shook his head. “No. I had a feeling that would upset you as well, so not quite. I was thinking more along the lines of a ‘thank you for not giving up,’” he said through a smile, “Maybe you think the reason you’re still alive is due to dumb luck or some sort of cruel conspiracy, but I think it’s because of your own perseverance. You’re just too stubborn to die.”

Luka stood fully and began exiting the room to discard the ice pack and tidy the small mess he’d made in gathering materials, but paused by the doorway to add one more statement to his previous sentiment. “Every choice you made that kept you alive eventually brought you to me. I couldn’t think of anything to be more grateful for.”

Faust couldn’t do much but stare at the empty doorway, even long after Luka had left. He swiped a hand across his face, stared down at the droplets that accumulated there, and huffed a short, incredulous laugh. After all that, this was what made him cry?

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afraidparade · 2 years

Text

A Weapon That Weeps

Word count: 10,601 Content warnings: frequent mention of injuries & death, themes of oppression, various dark themes

(this piece is about faust's homeworld, and is mostly here for lore. it does not have any g/t themes, but will contain a lot of tidbits that may come into play later. the main characters will not reappear at any time in the general lufa story.)

(also, your life will be a lot easier if you give this a quick look over before reading ^^)

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Flurries of clangs rung out as metal struck metal, each attack barely granting so much as a moment to parry, let alone breathe. Both demons bounced on their feet, their bodies trained to either dodge or lunge while their minds were conditioned to seek out every opportunity for a potential advantage, resulting in a high-speed, deathly tango. The polearms they clutched — such disgraceful, low-class things, they’d been told, since true demons were beyond relying on physical weapons — were indeed for training purposes, but the blades were still sharp. They could tear through flesh. They could kill. And if they didn’t fight like their life depended on it, then that bleak dependency would soon be realized.

The shorter one was on the offense, grunting as she delivered slash after furious slash unto her opponent. Under such a barrage, a wavering defense could only last so long. Yet the same reasoning could apply to an unrelenting attacker. It was this razor’s edge between a calculation and a gamble that R-406 spent their life perfecting, and with every impact, their window of opportunity was getting ever closer.

It wasn’t an effortless strategy. To get to this point — where their muscles seared in pain, where their lungs faltered, where their open wounds screamed in bloody protest — it took every ounce of perseverance they had. Coupled with the additional knowledge of what awaited them should they choose to take a break…suffice to say, it was a powerful, dreadful fuel. So with at least a moment’s reprieve visible on the horizon, R-406 allowed their body to give in to the next attack.

They staggered backwards, allowing one hand to lose its grip on the staff and feign an opening. Their opponent’s eyes flashed with that same starving determination for this all to be over in those white-hot pupils, and with reckless abandon, she charged forward. The exposed demon’s eyes flicked downward expectantly, betraying no emotion when they saw one of their assailant’s steps wobble from the effort it took to sprint. They parted their lips to suck in a breath.

Predictable.

Within that moment, R-406’s body dropped low and pushed off the ground with their hands, all in time with their opponent’s next step. Before she managed to land her other foot in the dirt, a devastatingly precise kick swept against the side of her waist, stealing her balance and causing her eyes to fly wide. In the time she crashed to the floor, R-406 managed to use the momentum of their other leg to spin themself upright again, and having maintained a one-handed grip on their weapon during the lightning-fast exchange, brandished it in both hands a mere hair’s length away from the other’s neck.

The two of them finally — finally — paused, panting heavily as they processed the outcome of the spar. Eventually, the defeated trainee dropped her head with a sigh and released her own polearm.

“That move is so cheap. Why is that even allowed?” she whined hoarsely, though there wasn’t a trace of hostility to her tone. In fact, a small, exhausted grin had appeared on her dirt-caked face.

R-406 returned the smile, wiping a combination of sweat and blood droplets from their face with the back of their arm. “I don’t know, B-921. Maybe the question you should be asking is: why do you keep falling for it?”

Having lowered the blade, they offered a hand and assisted B-921 in getting back to her feet, though it required a great deal of effort from both of them. This was the ‘end’ that kept them moving — which, in bitter reality, was no end at all. This time to right themselves and resume their sparring positions was the only break they were permitted until their commanding officer was either content or bored with the day’s regiment. And based on the unmoving, shadowy, ever-watchful figure that seemed to tower over them (even past several rows of sparring Low Ranks), it was impossible to gauge when that time may be.

“Alright,” R-406 spoke as they readied themself several paces back, “Come at me. I’ll go easy on you this time.”

B-921 still trembled from the effort it took to stand, but she managed to take up a battle stance regardless. She laughed. “No you won’t.”

R-406 blinked, then lowered their head. “You’re right,” they stated simply, “I won’t.”

———

The day ended sooner than expected. It turned out to be a “train until one of you loses consciousness” days — not that Klaad felt the need to inform them of that ahead of time — and while those kinds of regiments could stretch far past the ending time of any normally scheduled training day, someone dropped much sooner than anyone expected. Thinking back on it, maybe their commanding officer had only decided on the conditions for the day in that exact moment. Klaad was a particularly nasty soul, after all, even among the most ruthless of High Ranks. R-406, being a relatively competent trainee, managed to avoid too many brush-ins with him, but everyone in the platoon knew what he was capable of.

Klaad had a rather peculiar method of encouragement. It involved tapping into the innate fear of consequence along with the driving force of competition: simply put, whoever performed the weakest on a given day would receive harsh punishment as an example for the rest of the trainees. At its core, it promoted a feeling of “I sure am glad that’s not me." That was the extent of their reward for making it through the day. Honestly, R-406 wasn’t particularly bothered by it. They were glad it wasn’t them. And they were stronger for it.

To the surprise of none, the demon who collapsed was the same runtish trainee that faced these lashings more than anyone else. The poor thing had barely been unconscious for more than a few seconds before he was collected for “encouragement” training and all the others were dismissed. While patching themself up to the best of their ability — healers’ efforts couldn’t be wasted on Low Ranks, naturally — R-406 idly wondered why that trainee hadn’t just given up and died yet. It certainly seemed like the easier option, and it was a hell of a lot better than ending up at Endstation. But they didn’t really care enough to find out. It just meant they never had to worry about being at the bottom. Furthermore, there was nothing to be gained from helping weaklings. They knew this to be true, and yet…

“Pfftt. You look like a dork with that bandage on your nose,” B-921 announced her presence with the snide remark. She limped towards the pile of empty, discarded crates R-406 had been sitting on while they nibbled at a ration bar, content with what used to be a quiet scene. Seeing as she sported a much larger assortment of bandages and ointment patches than they had, it didn’t make much sense that R-406 was the one being made fun of, but everything they could’ve said, they didn’t. After all, they were responsible for most of her wounds, so taking the brunt of a bit of teasing seemed like fair payback.

Despite their best efforts to uphold their ideologies, there was one weakling R-406 maintained a soft spot for. B-921 was a far cry from a model soldier, but when push came to shove, she was unexpectedly reliable. It wasn’t that R-406 needed the company, of course. They operated just fine on their own. It was just…convenient to have someone to talk to once in a while. That was all.

“Is that from me clocking you in the face too hard?” B-921 asked after a moment, gesturing again towards the nose bandage, “Sorry about that.”

R-406 narrowed their eyes. “No, you didn’t land a single hit on my face. This is just from the time I fell wrong.”

B-921 slapped a hand over her mouth as her cheeks upturned in sudden, unconcealed amusement. “Pff— hah! That’s way more pathetic! How the hell did you say that with a straight face?” she squawked, to which R-406 reddened. The flushed trainee clenched their jaw and whirled their head away from B-921, who settled on the crate beside them while snickering still. The moment calmed after a short while, as it always did, and she began unwrapping a small clump of rags that R-406 hadn’t previously noticed.

“Picked up an extra ration bar while I was over there. Wanna split it?” she offered, unveiling that the parcel in her lap did, indeed, contain two colorless, vaguely lumpy bars inside.

R-406 stared at the rations with an air of concern. “How?”

Already, B-921 had torn off a corner of one of the bars and began chewing it nonchalantly. “I beelined it there before anyone else and told ‘em to gimme the extra. Said I’d give it to that one kid. Y’know, Klaad’s favorite punching bag,” she explained, voice muffled by the half-chewed food in her mouth, “Either I’m, like, super convincing, or those dead-eyed Mid Ranks at Distribution just really don’t care.” R-406 bristled slightly at the overly casual name-calling of a higher Rank, but it went unnoticed by B-921. “I mean, if you don’t want it, then whatever, more for–“

“I never said that,” they snapped, and B-921 was laughing again. She broke the second bar in two and handed them a piece, and even with just a quick sidelong glance, they could tell it was the bigger half. That wasn’t logical at all, R-406 reasoned with a frown. B-921 was smaller than them. She should eat more, even if it was just a fraction. Of course, they could also benefit from the extra portion of the nutrient-rich substance. Plus, it’d just be annoying to argue with her over something so trivial. So they bit into the ration in silence, long since accustomed to the barely-there flavor that crumbled across their tongue.

“You shouldn’t do that, by the way,” R-406 mentioned after they finished their extra half. Only just polishing off her first full bar, B-921 glanced up with a rather dumb expression as she sucked the crumbs from her fingers.

“What, steal another kid’s rations?”

“What? No. I mean, probably, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” R-406 stammered with a shake of their head, “I mean don’t talk about higher Ranks like that. If anyone heard you say that — even if another Low Rank overheard it and reported you to Klaad — you’d be facing a terrible penalty for your carelessness. So watch your mouth.”

The grim warning seemed to bounce right off the girl’s skull, seeing as her initial response was little more than staring forward and blinking a few times. It appeared as if she were considering something, and for a moment R-406 believed that maybe she’d finally unlocked the gift of critical thinking. But they were wrong. “That’s stupid,” she decided, “This whole Rank thing is so stupid.”

R-406 felt as though the brittle reality around them had just cracked into thousands of tiny pieces. Their expression, usually cold and composed, morphed to horrific shock and incredulity. Reason kicked in just a heartbeat later, and they lunged forward to cover B-921’s mouth with their palm while desperately scanning the area for anyone within hearing range. To their relief, even the closest demons were a safe distance away, and this run-down recreational space was only inhabited by Low Ranks, anyways. Only then feeling safe enough to continue talking, R-406 withdrew their hand from the other’s mouth in favor of grabbing her shoulders instead.

“Are you completely out of your mind? More than penalized, that kind of statement could get us both killed!” their hushed, frantic tone was almost pleading, as if begging B-921 to take back her words. She didn’t, though. Instead, she scoffed and returned their panic with a casual grin.

“You’re over-exaggerating, R-406. Plus, there’s no one around to chop our heads off for complaining. It’s not like any of these guys care enough to report us in the first place, and the upper Ranks are too prissy to set foot in this dump,” she countered, gesturing to the other worn-down and injured trainees littering the visible area.

Unconvinced, R-406 swallowed. “W…what about…” their voice trailed off, and after a considerable pause, they stared past B-921’s form and into the distance. Following their gaze, she turned around to survey what was causing such an apprehensive expression. Low in the inky black sky hovered an impossibly distant red spot. It was a mysterious thing; the way it inched along the horizon in cycles, how it dimly illuminated their world, and the way one could simultaneously pinch its visage between their fingers while acknowledging its truly incomprehensible scale. No demon knew just how close or how far away this entity was, and such uncertainty bred mystifying tales explaining its existence.

B-921 turned back with a condescending smirk. “What, you mean the First?” she jabbed. R-406’s steadfast frown indicated their position on this matter, and she snickered again. “As in the First Elite? You seriously think that some guy got too big and powerful to fit on our world, so now he's just hanging out in the sky and watching us? That he’s gonna see a couple beat-up Low Ranks talking crap and go, ‘Grr, better use my infinite power to blow up some dumb kids!’ Wahaha! You still believe in dumb stories like that?”

R-406’s gray skin had gone red yet again from the teasing. “So what if I’m cautious? It’s why I’m still alive,” they retorted, though it did nothing to reduce their companion’s amusement regarding the matter. Growing more irritated by B-921’s annoying cackles, they allowed their composure to slip even further, a thoroughly frustrated grimace on full display at this point. “Stop laughing! All the higher Ranks say it’s true, so—“

“See? Doesn’t that seem a little off to you?” B-921 interjected, suddenly shifting to an expression that seemed just a tad more serious than usual, “It’s a really far-fetched story, but someone as smart as you believes it just because a higher Rank told you to. Weird, right?”

R-406 stared forward blankly. “I don’t follow.”

The shorter demon sighed, running a hand through her fluffy, wild hair as she pieced together her thoughts. “It’s like…none of it’s really real. Not just the story, but the whole Rank system. I mean, there’s no denying that our bodies respond to taking in life force, but why the hierarchy? If ‘universal domination’ or whatever was the real end goal, wouldn’t it be more efficient to help us Low Ranks get more powerful and make an army of Elites than to make us fight for our lives?”

She chuckled for a moment. R-406 couldn’t begin to guess what was so funny.

“My theory is that it’s not actually about any sort of noble pursuit, or that it has much of anything to do with the other realms. It’s just a power trip, that’s all. Everyone here is born at the bottom, so when you finally make it out on top, you wanna enjoy it, right? This whole cycle of abuse continues because of demons like that. And they’re all cowards. Every last one of them.”

R-406 couldn’t speak. What were they supposed to say? They didn’t think B-921 was even capable of basic critical thinking, and now she spouts a conspiracy like this? It was blasphemous. Utter sacrilege. They should report her, they shouldn’t even still be listening at this point, but…a terrifying, horrible part of them wanted to believe what she was saying might be true. And an even worse, irredeemably selfish part of their heart didn’t want to do anything that would harm her. It would just be…inconvenient. Yeah, that was it.

“But all those powerful demons should know how much it sucks to be treated like this! Why doesn’t anyone just do something about it, y’know?” B-921 exclaimed in a sudden outburst, and R-406 had to once again hurriedly remind her to keep her voice down. At least she seemed more like her usual self now.

“Well…what you’re saying is obviously crazy, but if I had to throw my own hypothetical input into this entirely unfounded theory…” They clasped their hands together and stared at the ground. This was a dangerous conversation. There was no logical benefit to prolonging it, and yet they kept talking. “It’s just as you said: it feels good at the top. Questioning the establishment would mean jeopardizing all that power, as well as negating all your efforts to get to that point. It'd mean wasting your entire life. It’d mean…death.”

A heavy silence pressed over them. After leaning back on her palms and letting her face tilt up towards the empty sky, B-921 muttered, “…You know, for a soldier, you sure do have a pretty big fear of death.”

And it was silent again.

B-921 swung her legs idly as she looked to the sky, while R-406 remained perfectly still with eyes transfixed on the floor. Neither were looking at anything in particular, as there wasn’t much to look at. Finally, B-921 spoke up again.

“Hey, here’s an idea!” she announced, whirling to face her companion, “Once we Rank up, we should just go ahead and change the rules!”

R-406 gave her an incredulous glare, hardly able to tell her meaningless jokes from her treacherous ideals anymore. “Did you listen to a single word I just said?” they deadpanned.

She blew a raspberry in response. “Well no duh it’d be impossible if it was just one demon trying to overhaul things, but just think about what we could do with our powers combined! Plus, there’s bound to be some other demons that are thinking the same things as us. We’ll just round ‘em all up and start a revolution!”

They laughed through their nose. It was an incredibly rare occurrence for R-406 to so much as smile, but it was such a ridiculous fantasy, they couldn’t help it. “Sounds like a recipe for disaster, if you ask me,” they noted.

“It’ll work! You’ll see!” she chirped, “And don’t worry — if anyone tries somethin’ funny, I’ll protect you!” As if to further drive this point home, the young trainee tapped a hand against her bicep and huffed triumphantly, and at this R-406 laughed again.

“Really now? Sounds like I have nothing to worry about, then,” they added fondly.

“Yep! So let’s promise, okay?” B-921 offered the sentence as more of a command than a question, but R-406 wasn’t all that interested in arguing at this point, anyways. It was strange, but even in the low light of the First, her black eyes still managed to glimmer with hope. “Promise that when we Rank up, we’ll shake things up around here. Together!”

Promises were such childish things, R-406 remarked internally. But maybe it would be fine to be children for just a little longer.

“Yeah,” they replied, “I promise.”

———

Eike. That was the name they were given at the Ranking Ceremony. Klaad bestowed it upon them himself, as it was customary for a platoon’s commanding officer to conduct the distribution of names after a successful mission. They met the High Rank’s eyes as it happened — taller now, but still eclipsed by their superior. He said that it suited them. That was a cliche line, Eike noted inwardly, since whether it suited them or not was truly irrelevant. What mattered was that it was theirs. That they earned it. They were finally somebody, and that was the first thing they’d ever received that couldn’t ever be taken away by anyone. It was theirs.

The invasion Eike had been drafted to had gone surprisingly smoothly. Out of the select few from their own platoon, as well as the assortment of trainees pulled from other groups, the battalion that was sent to the targeted world was largely Low Ranks. This formula tended to result in a rather hefty fatality rate, but surprisingly, very few of their peers died in the fray.

With any other world, this may not have been the case. The sentient inhabitants of this realm — fuzzy, bipedal creatures with six limbs in total, whose heights mirrored those of the average Mid Rank — displayed phenomenal arcane potential, but seemed to adhere to a strictly pacifistic lifestyle. It was such a waste of potential, really. Even after their attempts at diplomacy were met with bloodshed and the wiser of the survivors attempted retaliation, it was too late; their paltry days of preparation could never match the lifetime of training each individual demon had. Eike almost felt bad for them. Almost. But in truth, they were more frustrated that they weren’t met with a suitable challenge. Oh, well. Their life forces proved to be marvelously effective, and there would always be more assignments in the future.

Once everyone was dismissed from the Ranking Ceremony, Eike wandered through the crowd of fellow Mid Ranks aimlessly. For once, they weren’t quite sure what to do next. There had never been a day in their life where they woke up not knowing what to expect, nor had they ever had this amount of freedom at their disposal. It was…somehow terrifying. What if they messed up and overstepped their bounds as a Mid Rank? Or would the punishment for displaying a Low Rank’s cowardly obedience prove to be even worse? Before these worries could cloud their head any further, a friendly slap to their back jolted them back into reality, and they gasped.

Right, this familiar camaraderie was exactly what they needed to clear their head! B-921 hadn’t been assigned to the same invasion as Eike, so they hadn’t seen her since the days preceding their departure. There would be so much to tell her, so much to catch up on, and so much to look forward to when she Ranked up, too. Though they would have to scold her for being so rough with their back — which was still painfully sore from developing fresh wings — it would be such a relief to be in her crass presence again. They turned around, eyes flashing with an excitement they hadn’t felt in leaps.

Only the demon behind them wasn’t B-921. It was another Mid Rank — Reden had been the name he was just recently given — that Eike had gotten to know during the assignment. It would be a severe overstatement to say they were close, as their relationship mainly consisted of Reden jabbering about anything and everything for hours on end while Eike feigned interest with curt nods and brief remarks. He wasn’t completely inept, though; in fact, he actually rivaled Eike in terms of physical strength. There was at least some value in making acquaintances for now, but they still couldn’t help but feel a bit dejected by their own false assumption. It wasn’t as though Low Ranks and Mid Ranks could chat normally with each other anyways, so Eike did their best to abandon the hope of seeing B-921. At least until she managed to Rank up, too.

“Hey, there you are, pal! Congrats on making it to the end of the ceremony!” Reden burst into the conversation with an irritatingly loud voice, “What do you think of my name? ‘Reden’ sounds pretty great, right? Klaad said that it was pretty much made for me, and if a High Rank like him tells you something like that, you’ve absolutely got to take their word for it! And what about you? Your name, uh…”

“Eike,” they replied flatly. Reden still hadn’t removed his hand, and it made their flesh itch.

“That’s right! You’ve gotta love how that sounds, right? It’s good and strong. Hey, speakin’ of strong, we never did get a sparring match in! Sure, we were busy with the whole extermination thing, but now that that’s over, we can let loose! Come on, how ‘bout it? We can find out which one of us really is the strongest! Let’s head to the Mid Rank training grounds and try it out!”

His tone was chipper and his posture relaxed, but something about the way his grin stretched just a bit too wide gave Eike a feeling of unease. Was it just paranoia? Or did Reden have some sort of complex about being the indisputable leader of any group he was a part of? In a hypothetical situation, Eike was confident that their endurance would outlast Reden’s in head-to-head combat. As far as brute strength went, however…well, there was no question that Reden held the advantage in that regard. Perhaps that very notion was what spurred him to challenge Eike in the first place. They wouldn’t get a chance to find out.

“What’s with these two? All they think about is fighting,” a nearby demon sneered, their tone raised to a purposeful volume so that the two in question would hear it. Eike didn’t bother mentioning that they had precisely zero input in the spontaneous challenge when they considered who the voice belonged to. Another familiar soldier approached — this one had received the name Voss — flanked by two other Mid Ranks, who snickered at the previous remark. Although Voss hadn’t been much of a frontliner during the invasion, they were still a formidable ally; what they lacked in physical strength was made up for wholly in their skill as a tactician, and it was often the strategies Voss offered that led the troops to such efficient and ruthless victories. Eike certainly respected them, but frequently made it a point not to get too comfortable in their presence. After all, the most dangerous demons were the ones you couldn’t read.

Reden simply responded with a chuckle and a theatrical shrug, finally granting Eike the small reprieve of personal space. “What’s wrong with wanting to stay in shape? It’d be a damn shame if we worked so hard to survive our first invasion only to die in the next one,” he replied casually. Though they weren’t quite as enthusiastic about the prospect of a brawl, Eike did have to agree with the second part of the statement. It was easy for a fool to think life was a downhill slope after surviving one assignment, but in reality, safety wasn’t guaranteed even in their own world. Fortune favored the bold, but it also favored the wary; failing to find the balance between those had cost countless upstarts their lives.

“But it’s good to see you alive and well, my friend! And with such a wonderful name, too! That name being…” Reden’s voice trailed off, clearly cuing Voss to chime in. They didn’t bite. “Of course, it’s…erm…”

“Honestly,” Voss sighed through a tight, mirthless grin, “It’s not that difficult to listen every once and awhile. Though I suppose you are living proof that it really is impossible to have both brains and brawn. Isn't that right, Reden?”

Reden smiled in response. It was the same smile he put on when asking Eike for a fight.

“Quips aside, we were just about to head to the Mid Rank dormitories. There’s a chance we may land the fresher, more accommodating rooms if we beat the others to claiming them, and I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use a comfortable bunk after sleeping on those damned cots throughout the entire assignment,” Voss relayed as their entourage nodded vigorously in agreement.

Eike hummed, understanding the logic behind the explanation, but feeling lost as to why it was relevant to either them or Reden. Was it just to gloat? Or was there some tactic to this sudden conversation that they were just missing? “That would be wise,” they replied carefully, studying the other demons’ reactions to determine whether or not this response was adequate, “Best of luck to you, then.”

When the brief silence that followed was accentuated with a cocked head and raised eyebrow on Voss' end, Eike was certain they had missed some sort of deeper meaning after all. “You mean to say you’re not coming along?” they asked.

Now even Reden was giving Eike a confused stare, which only addled them further. What did he of all demons understand that they didn’t? “Am I…” they ventured, eyes flicking between the faces of all the surrounding Mid Ranks, “...Supposed to?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds mandatory,” Voss laughed, “It was just an invitation. You know, between friends.”

Eike froze, their jaw clenching instinctively to prevent any more thoughtless words from escaping their lips.

Friends. Friends…?

This was what friendship was? They hadn’t known it could come about so easily. Throughout their life, such attachments were deemed unnecessary – both by themself and their peers. Fraternizing with weaker demons meant being weighed down, and latching onto stronger demons meant inevitably being disposed of. So then, Eike wondered, what came of grouping with others who were more or less equal? Perhaps there was a strength in numbers. Or perhaps it was a means of ascertaining one's potential rivals. A race to exploit each other’s weaknesses, maybe.

Well, there was no rule saying it couldn’t be all of the above. If it was beneficial to be “friends” even for a short time, then there was no logic in refusing the offer. Eike couldn’t say they trusted any of these new friends of theirs, but trust wasn’t necessary for friendship, right? They all had something to gain. That was what mattered. And maybe…it wouldn’t be so bad to have a place to belong. Just for a little while, anyways.

They drew in a breath, finally feeling clarity in their flurry of thoughts. “I–”

“Uh, ‘scuse me.”

All at once, that clarity raged into a tempest. Eike felt their veins run cold, felt their breath catch in their throat, as a voice more familiar than any other rang out in a place it didn’t belong. Not here. Not now.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something, but I kinda need to talk to that tall one in the middle there. Eike,” the voice continued. The sound of their newly-earned name on her voice was clunky and unnatural, like trying to shove a key into a lock it wasn’t made for. “Oh, it’s private. Forgot to mention that. But I’ll make it quick, okay?”

Eike felt the others shift around them, but couldn’t find the strength in themself to turn around and face B-921. They didn’t understand why, but it felt like they had been caught doing something wrong. That was an asinine thought, though; they had done nothing to feel ashamed of, and even if they had, she wasn’t strong enough to threaten any consequence. So why couldn’t they shake this growing dread?

Voss was the first of the Mid Ranks to speak. “What’s that scrawny thing doing here? Think it was so dumb that it lost its group?” they snickered coldly, speaking as if the demon couldn’t hear their cruel words, yet meeting her eyes all the while, “Seems like you need a lesson in manners, Low Rank. Truthfully, I’d love to teach you myself, but we’re in a bit of a hurry. I’d be happy to inform your commanding officer of this little indiscretion, though.”

B-921 didn’t even flinch. “Believe it or not, that was me being polite,” she stated firmly. As Voss’ smile faltered, the air went frigid. “I’ll say it again for you, but seeing as you’re in such a rush, I won’t beat around the bush this time: shove off and give us some space. We’ve got somethin’ really important to talk about, and it doesn’t involve you. So beat it.”

A second passed in terrible silence. Another in horrifying stillness. One more, and Eike felt nauseous. This wasn’t bravery. This wasn’t even foolishness. It was suicide. B-921 must have known this, even despite her unrealistic ideals on the Rank system. What was so important that it couldn’t wait for a safer opportunity to be brought up? Just what was her end goal from this senseless provocation? And why did she have to drag Eike into it?

It was Reden who stepped forward next, already flexing his sharp, black claws. He’d used them to tear open flesh countless times before, and from the way his inky eyes glinted with dangerous intent, he would assuredly do so again. It was the final moment of calm before the storm, a last chance to grovel and flee before all hell broke loose. Still with their back to B-921, Eike prayed for the sound of retreating footsteps, or for the Mid Ranks to decide a whiny trainee wasn’t worth their time. Neither happened.

“And just who the hell made you an Elite overnight? I can’t tell if you’re delusional or just fucking stupid,” Reden began in a sneer, the facade of friendliness having been quickly replaced with unconcealed malice, “I already knew you lot of Rankless scum were useless, but you’re not even that much. You’re a parasite; being worthless isn’t enough for you, so you have to drag everyone else down to your level. You really think a cancer like you can tell a Mid Rank what to do? Huh?”

She laughed at that. The situation had become utterly surreal. It was as if a predator’s approach had been stopped short by the mere titter of its prey.

“That’s rich. Weren’t you all Low Ranks just a few leaps ago?” Everything stopped in that moment. Reden stopped moving. Voss stopped smiling. Eike stopped breathing. A line that should never be crossed had just been trampled over, and time seemed to simply cease passing. All that remained was the measly Low Rank who rejected common sense. “Besides,” she said, “My friend here will tell you the exact same thing. Neither of us think the Rank system is fair, so we’re going to change it.”

Eike could feel everyone’s gaze shift to their stiff figure. It felt as though an invisible cord had been wrapped around their torso, squeezing the air out of them, constricting their ribs so they couldn’t so much as try to take another breath. This shouldn’t have happened. None of it should have happened. Two worlds that were never meant to meet were colliding into each other with full force. Eike didn’t want to be a part of either, so how exactly did they get caught in the middle? Why did everyone else choose for them? Why couldn’t they speak up when it counted most? And why did everyone keep calling them ‘friend?’

“Eike,” Voss muttered, “Is that true?”

They just wanted to get by. They just wanted to survive. It didn’t matter if they excelled, it didn’t matter if they thrived, it didn’t matter if they were part of some grand cause. B-921, if she could just see that, if she hadn’t dragged them into this in the first place, none of this would be happening. If she’d just stayed in line like Eike had, like they always tried so damn hard to do, she could be traveling to the Mid Rank dormitories with the rest of them. They could all be friends.

“...C’mon, what’s with the cold shoulder? I thought you’d be excited to see me after so long,” B-921 addressed the statement towards Eike with a chuckle, but there was a considerable apprehension in her tone that had been absent in her prior declarations. “Are you feeling alright?”

That cord pulled tighter, to the point where it felt like they may keel over from the pressure. Stop talking, Eike pleaded inwardly, Please stop talking. Stop worrying about things out of your control. Stop dreaming of the impossible. Stop endangering yourself. Stop showing weakness. Stop thinking. Stop, stop, stop.

“Hey… You remember, right?” There were soft footsteps approaching slowly now, and though the other Mid Ranks had been ready to cut B-921 to her knees before, they didn’t dare interfere now. “That talk we had? You remember what you said, right? Hey, look at me.”

This wasn’t what Eike wanted, this was never what they wanted. How were they supposed to know B-921 was being serious when she talked about a damn revolution? They were kids! If she had been at the invasion, if she had Ranked up, if she had only tasted what it felt like to earn strength after being powerless for so long, she’d understand. They just wanted her to understand. They just wanted her to listen for once. They just wanted her by their side again.

The cord tightened, and tightened, and–

There was a gentle tug at the back hem of their uniform. “Hey, R-40–”

The cord snapped.

A rush of demonic instinct overcame Eike in such a furious wave, it blinded their vision with a searing white. Faster than they’d ever moved in their life, the Mid Rank swung their leg in a powerful arc and connected the side of their foot with B-921’s side. It was their signature attack – the very same one they’d spent a lifetime practicing and refining against the very same opponent – only now, instead of stunning her or merely knocking her off balance, it threw her into the dirt several paces back with a sickening crunch. There wasn’t so much as a second for B-921 to recover before Eike had thrown themself on top of her, pinning the Low Rank easily with their newly acquired height advantage. They ground a knee into her chest, deaf to her cries, no doubt putting even more strain on whatever ribs they’d fractured from the kick.

“Don’t call me that!” Eike bellowed through a positively animalistic snarl.

“I’m sorry,” B-921 whimpered, her voice hardly more than a pitiful wheeze, “Eike, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–” Her babbling went ignored. “Don’t you EVER call me that! That’s not my fucking name, that demon doesn’t exist anymore! I earned this name, this Rank – I earned it! You wouldn’t know what it’s like to work for something like this. All you do is chase stupid fantasies! If you dedicated even a fraction of the time you spend dreaming utter nonsense to actually getting stronger, you’d realize how this world works. You’d grow up, you’d move forward, you’d– you’d STOP dragging me behind!”

A moment passed where all either of them could do was fight for breath. It was fleeting, but somehow, there was a bittersweet nostalgia to it all. Clashing, wrestling one another to the ground, staring at each other’s dirt-caked and flushed faces as they caught their breaths. In another time, this would be the point where B-921 smiled, sighed, and admitted defeat. And Eike would offer her a hand, help her get back on her feet, then limp together to Distribution for their rations. But B-921 didn’t smile. Instead, her face contorted into a grimace laden with pain, despair, and betrayal.

“You…spineless fucking rat!” she screamed, shoving her aggressor’s knee from her chest. The shrill sound reached every corner of the ceremony grounds, drawing the attention of more than just Mid Ranks, and even stunning Eike to the point that they didn’t stop her from grabbing fistfuls of their uniform. “You coward! You promised me! You promised! How could you say that, when you’re the only one I–!”

The ground rumbled from the force of a sudden impact, and the cataclysmic outburst was silenced in an instant as an imposing shadow smothered them both. B-921, enraged to the point of tears just a second ago, gasped and paled in sudden terror, and as soon as Eike looked up, they understood why. In a clearing of his own making, the looming figure of Klaad stared down at them, massive wings still outstretched from his brief flight across the grounds. The High Rank’s eyes would have been piercing even without his unique features, but the unsettling asymmetry of them made his gaze downright petrifying. While his right eye displayed the same pupil pattern one may find on an average Mid Rank, his scarred left eye evinced countless rings patterning the entire sclera. Such rings were a sign of a demon’s power level, and Eike had only heard rumors as to how Klaad attained so many, or why they were confined to just one eye. It was a mystery they certainly didn’t plan on pursuing any time soon.

“My, my. What a ruckus,” the deceptively diplomatic voice of the commanding officer reverberated through the weaker demons’ bones, causing them to tremble involuntarily, “And at a ceremony, no less. How very, very unseemly.”

Klaad bent forward with an inquisitive expression. The proximity reminded Eike that despite their own physical growth upon becoming a Mid Rank, they were still practically a sapling compared to the hulking form of a High Rank. It was hard to believe they were even the same species. “Hmm… Oh, this won’t do. Young lady, your training group is under my watch and jurisdiction, is it not?”

B-921 couldn’t respond. Klaad tutted with a shake of his head.

“To think one of my very own crops would instigate such an ugly scene on a day like today. Don’t you realize how this tarnishes my image? Oh, I do hope I haven’t lost my touch as a trainee officer. Age does make a demon rather sloppy, you know.” He redirected his gaze to Eike, flashing a pleasant grin that chilled them to the bone. “What do you think, Mid Rank? Have I become sloppy?”

“N…” Eike swallowed. It was bad enough that they’d already stuttered, but acting like a pitiful, wilting leaf in the presence of a superior was unacceptable. A true demon retained their dignity, even in the face of danger. They steadied their voice. “No, sir.”

“Well said, well said! So then,” Klaad snapped his focus back to B-921, a darker, more primal smile twisting across his face now, “Let’s see what you think, my dear instigator. If you’re able to even tempt the thought of smearing your grimy fingers on my reputation again by the time we’re through, then we can conclude that I have, indeed, lost my spark. However, if I’m able to render you incapable of opening that treacherous little mouth again – assuming you even survive what’s in store – well…I suppose I’ll have to start giving myself more credit!”

With a mere flick of his wrist, B-921 was suddenly pulled from under Eike by an otherworldly force, leaving them to scramble for leverage in the dirt while trying to ascertain the Low Rank’s new position. She was struggling now, effortlessly overpowered by a shifting gleam of arcane energy that suspended her high in the air. Their eyes met, only for the briefest of moments, as a desperate, final plea reflected in Eike’s terrified gaze. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

With his rogue trainee secured, Klaad snapped his wings open once more, but paused briefly to address Eike with another smile. “Oh! Again, congratulations to you,” he offered, eyes narrowing in demented glee, “I do so hope you’ll continue living up to the name I gave you.”

And with a powerful gust of wind, he and B-921 were gone.

The following heavy stillness remained in place for a long time. The small crowd of curious onlookers that had accumulated eventually dispersed, not wishing to incur the wrath of another High Rank, while the original group of Reden, Voss, and the other Mid Ranks slowly crept back towards Eike. For as chatty as they'd been before, none of them said a word at that time. It was hard enough to process what had just happened, let alone resume business as usual.

After doing naught more than stare at the ground where their companion had once been, the Eike’s gaze hardened, and with uncanny, mechanical movements, they brought themself to their feet.

“We were going to the dormitories, weren’t we?” they asked. Even they were surprised by the chilling evenness of their voice. The other demons exchanged glances and a few hushed whispers, but Eike didn’t really care to ponder their meaning.

“Y-yes, of course we were, until that little…er, distraction came along. I’m sure there’ll still be plenty of good rooms left for us if we hurry,” Voss replied. Their tone lacked the usual smoothness and confidence it normally carried.

Even Reden seemed cautious to meet Eike’s gaze. They were all acting as if they were Low Ranks again, scared of their own shadows. It was pathetic. “Yeah, let’s get going. I think there must be something in the air here that’s driving us crazy,” he laughed in an attempted joke. “What a weird Low Rank. That’s what she gets for believing in fantasies and promises, I guess.”

As the group traveled and attempted to repair the atmosphere with light conversation, Eike remained quiet. A memory attempted to resurface itself from the depths of their mind, but they forced it back. Not here. Not now.

———

The memory of that day certainly smoldered in the corners of Eike’s mind every now and then, but in the leaps that followed, they began to learn what normal life meant for Mid Ranks. The dorms were, indeed, much more accommodating than the bunks Low Ranks were crammed into, but the ones they’d ended up with were no more or less notable than all the others. Voss made sure to voice their distaste regarding that. They were still kept busy, of course – Ranking up didn’t come with any sort of vacation – but rather than a repetitive and grueling training regiment every day, their schedules saw a welcome variety of other tasks.

Most of the time, they were assigned jobs that best suited their talents. They would change every so often based on the demand for a position, but most remained rather tolerable, and some Eike even found to be downright enjoyable. Organizational jobs like weapon inventory and preparing supplies for distribution were among their favorites.

There were also classes to attend every few days. Education at this level — reading, writing, basic math, et cetera — was a privilege only offered upon achieving Mid Rank, and Eike couldn’t get enough of it. They loved the feeling of filling in those blanks in their mind with new information, connecting the pieces of that which they already knew with that which they recently discovered, and achieving new heights as the steps passed by. It was a shame that these lessons couldn’t be every day, as Eike would have gladly traded all the jobs in the world just to keep on learning. It was almost an addiction.

Additionally, the Mid Ranks still trained frequently, but the only mandatory sessions were held once every few days. Everything else was left to each individual’s own discretion, and while some saw this freetime as an opportunity to take it easy and relax for once in their lives, Eike continued to practice. There was no telling when their next assignment would be, and there was no guarantee that it would be as lax as the last one. Plenty of Mid Ranks died in battle, and as far as they were concerned, sitting around doing nothing was merely a means of adding to that tally. Reden was usually happy to volunteer himself for the position of a sparring partner during these sessions, but when Eike wasn’t in the mood to deal with his loquaciousness, he didn’t press the matter any further. Not anymore.

It wasn’t that Eike’s “friends” avoided them. They still maintained a more-or-less stable camaraderie, and spoke to each other near daily. But after Eike’s unprecedented outburst, the group seemed a bit more apprehensive of them. Maybe it was fear, and maybe it was respect. Sometimes, they wondered if it was because the other Mid Ranks believed what B-921 had said, and thought that Eike secretly concurred with treacherous conjecture. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter. They welcomed the distance that others willingly kept from them.

Despite Eike and B-921’s disastrous falling out, a part of them hoped they could reconcile one day. It really was just a misunderstanding that had been blown out of proportion, and even though B-921 ended up getting hauled away by Klaad, it was seriously unlikely that he killed her. Eike liked to believe that after she healed up from whatever torment the High Rank put her through, B-921 learned her lesson, took some of Eike’s words to heart, and redoubled her efforts to Rank up. That way, they would be able to talk normally again. Eike would apologize, and B-921 would probably punch them, but ultimately they’d make up. That’s just the kind of demon she was.

There was actually one time that Eike had business near their old training grounds. They knew it wouldn’t be all that likely that B-921 would be out at the same time they were – and even if she was, a Low Rank and a Mid Rank couldn’t just have a casual conversation without raising serious suspicion – but a part of them still hoped they’d see her. Low Ranks at her age were prime for assignment selection, so there was at least an increased chance she’d be in the grounds preparing for that.

And as it would turn out, their hopes came true.

She was quite a distance away, but Eike recognized her wiry frame and fluffy hair even from across the field. It seemed as though she was attending some sort of assembly rather than training, given that the Low Ranks were all grouped together and unarmed. After a moment of deliberation, Eike realized they recognized that setting. It was an assignment debriefing, after all! That news made their chest swell. Everything they dared to hope for was falling into place, and they could hardly wait to speak to B-921 face-to-face. They wondered idly what her name would be, and just as they began to ponder whether or not she’d end up taller than them, something unexpected happened. Their eyes locked.

It might’ve been an accident that their gazes met, but now that they were more focused, Eike noted certain details they had missed at first due to the extensive span between them. She had far, far more scars than Eike remembered, including a severe gash that cut across her mouth diagonally. B-921 had always been somewhat thin in stature, but she’d never looked so…brittle. It was hard to tell from the placement of her many bandages, but it almost seemed as though certain bones were protruding from beneath her skin. Had she been eating properly?

Unease replaced the excitement Eike had felt a moment prior as they took in her appearance and anxiously awaited her response. Of course, they knew it would be far too foolish to wish for a smile, or even a polite nod. Even still, any acknowledgement – a scowl, a sneer, even just a slight frown – would have sufficed plenty for them. Anything.

But B-921 didn’t react at all. Eike began to wonder if she even recognized them. The Low Rank just stared through them, past them, glassy-eyed, empty, until she deemed the information of the assembly director more important, and directed her attention back to the task at hand. And that was the end of it.

Even that occurrence had been leaps ago. There were no more encounters with B-921, no more unexpected outbursts, and no more reminders of the past. All Eike could do was silently and privately hope that her invasion was going well, and that whatever realm she’d been assigned to was treating her kindly.

The shuffling of a stack of parchments elsewhere in the room grounded their focus once again to the task at hand. Eike sighed and carded their claws through their hair, ruffling the strands as if it might shake those nagging thoughts out of their brain. How shameful it was to become so deeply distracted during a job – especially one as unique and opportunistic as this. They had recently been recommended to fill in for a vacant position dealing with invasion archives, possibly due to their assiduous work in other organizational tasks thus far. It was a position typically reserved for more experienced Mid Ranks, as it required competence in both reading and writing, but apparently one of the workers had simply stopped appearing for his shifts, and the archives found themselves woefully short-staffed. Eike wouldn’t go so far as to say they were especially proficient in written language yet, but those lessons were among their favorites, and they often studied the subject independently. It was better than nothing, the Mid Rank archivists seemed to reason, so Eike ultimately landed the position.

For most of the day, they worked quietly and independently, only consulting others to fill in the gaps of their developing literacy. The end of their appointed shift was close, and they couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at how much they’d accomplished in the day. It was slow work, but invigorating all the same; after poring over so many records of past battles and conquered realms, how could any demon not feel pride in the accomplishments of their race? It was only when they stood up to begin tidying their work area that two other archivists walked in, each carrying a considerable stack of scrolls and documents.

“Bastard had to go AWOL without tipping us off about all the paperwork he had piling up, didn’t he?” one of them grumbled, dropping her burden onto a nearby table with an unceremonious thud. “Just look at this mess.”

The other one sighed in agreement, depositing his load in a similar manner before ducking and stretching in front of a wall of shelves with searching eyes. “Can’t say I blame him. I wouldn’t want to be in charge of the Endstation files, either.” He huffed a sigh. “Yet here I am. In charge of the Endstation files.”

Eike cast a cautious glance in the direction of the heaping pile upon hearing which invasion they covered. Naturally, every demon who lived and breathed knew about Endstation. It was the only realm in known history whose militaristic power was on par with the demons’ own, and they had been in a vicious stalemate since long before Eike was even born. The Elites evidently deemed that world too precious of a resource to ignore, and steadfastly refused to withdraw the troops from its surface. No one knew exactly what that "precious resource" was, but if even the Elites sought after it, there was no questioning its worth. It was even fabled that killing just one Endstationian would be enough to elevate a Low Rank straight to a High Rank, but it wasn’t as though any had succeeded in that attempt. After all, the Low Ranks that were sent to Endstation never came back.

It was supposedly some sort of distraction tactic the High Rank soldiers deployed to gain a momentary advantage, but whether it actually worked was somewhat doubtful. Everyone knew the real reason Low Ranks were sent to Endstation was to clear up space in the bunkers for new trainees. It was a humane execution, all things considered, to die with honor in a battle for their homeworld. That was what the Low Ranks were told, anyways.

“Seriously,” the first demon chimed in again, “How long has it been since he abandoned post? Two leaps? Three? That’s how much backlog we’re dealing with.” She plucked a rolled up document from the top of the pile and gave it a brief read, then pursed her lips in thought. “From the looks of it, he left just before the most recent draft. You think he had some sort of death wish and volunteered to chaperone the meat shields?”

Eike pondered that information with a slight frown. They hadn’t heard anything about an Endstation draft in the past few leaps. It did make sense, given that Mid Ranks didn’t exactly have to concern themselves with the looming fear of being sent to that hellish place anymore. Still, there was a strange mist accumulating behind their eyes. Their thoughts felt fuzzy. Just over two leaps ago…well, it was just an estimate, but wasn’t that the last time they had seen…?

Their legs began moving before their mind could catch up. Eike could tell that the two archivist demons were saying something to them – maybe that the shift wasn’t up yet, that it wasn’t time to go – but none of it registered. Eike wasn't sure where this was coming from. They weren’t worried about B-921, of course. They had no reason to be. She was still completing her assignment, after all. In a realm that treated her kindly. By now, she would have already Ranked up. She would have made friends with the other soldiers, would have given them a hard time and teased them just like she always did to Eike. And when she came back, when Eike apologized, they would hear all about the world she went to, and tell her about the one they visited, too. Because she never went to Endstation. Because she was fine. Because Eike needed her to be fine.

They started sprinting.

The route to the training grounds was ingrained into their body, even if their mind longed to forget it. Breath after ragged breath scraped through their throat, a panic settling in as the memory of that day replayed in Eike’s mind. B-921 said she needed to talk to them. She said it was urgent. It wasn’t until now that the Mid Rank realized they never found out what she wanted to say. It was so important that it couldn’t wait. It was so important that she risked – and received – a run-in with Klaad. But it was all just an exaggeration, right? It was just a misunderstanding! She always did stuff like that. She just had an affinity for hyperbole. It couldn’t have been this. It couldn’t have been.

Upon reaching the field littered with sparring Low Ranks, Eike’s eyes roamed the landscape frantically. It wasn’t hard to locate the ever-watchful shadow of the demon who had once been their commanding officer, and against their better judgment, Eike approached Klaad with as much composed urgency as they could manage.

His asymmetric gaze snapped upwards in an instant, calculating at first, probing the Mid Rank for some sort of silent explanation, before that artificial warmth spread across his features and he addressed Eike with a smile. “Well met, soldier,” Klaad greeted as he folded his hands behind his back, “If I am not mistaken, Mid Ranks have no business wallowing in the filth of the Low Rank sector. Has there been some sort of urgent complication that I am needed for?”

Eike withheld a tremor as they forced their eyes to meet Klaad’s. Dignity, even in the face of danger. That was what constituted a true demon. “Somewhat, sir. If you’ll excuse the vague answer,” they began trepidatiously, “I was sent from the invasion archives. A Mid Rank in charge of the Endstation documents has abandoned his post, and left many gaps regarding the recent developments of the battle in his wake. We would like to request a list of the Low Ranks drafted in the most recent attack at your earliest convenience, sir.” Klaad’s grin grew thinner. “Yes, I’ve been made aware of the…untimely disappearances. I must admit, they’ve been a real thorn in my side.” Eike’s head tilted slightly as they briefly wondered if he’d misspoken. Disappearances? “But, ah, you silly thing! I’ll wager you’re new to the archives, given your status and the nature of your request. See, all the necessary paperwork was submitted leaps ago, and a list of trainees is not among that. Affairs with Endstation are only documented when demons with Ranks are involved, so I’m afraid the document you’re requesting doesn’t exist.”

Eike swallowed. They had to keep trying. “Be that as it may, sir, there’s something we wish to check regarding an outstanding Low Rank. I understand that this request deviates from protocol, but is there any way a list could be formed regardless?”

For a moment, Klaad’s interest seemed piqued. “What was this outstanding Low Rank’s identification code?”

In the moment that Eike faltered, the outcome of this confrontation was decided. They couldn’t reveal that it was B-921, or their intentions would be transparent. Even still, their reluctance to answer was proof positive of the unstable lie. The game was over. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I can’t—“

“That’s enough, then,” the High Rank declared lowly with a small flick of his barbed tail. In an instant, Eike felt a paralyzing force pulse through their veins like a formless venom. They tried to speak, but couldn't; it was as though the shimmering force occupied the open space of their throat, choking them into silence. It felt much too hot, much too foreign, and the way the magic energy seemed to prick every surface of their body from the inside out was utterly nauseating. Seeing as their feet still met the ground, though, this must have been a fraction of the power Klaad had used previously against B-921.

“You know, for a moment I thought this infantile charade of yours might actually bear a shred of useful information. It would seem I became the exact sort of fool you took me for, hm?” he sneered, stepping far too close for Eike’s comfort. “Where you mustered the audacity to pose such a fatuous request is beyond me. A list of condemned Low Ranks? Do you honestly think I file a report for every single shit I take? Do you?”

If they had the capacity to vocalize any sort of discomfort, Eike was certain they’d be just shy of a scream. The pressure of the arcane energy multiplied in intensity all around them, threatening to crush bone or tear skin if it persisted much longer.

“You forget your place, Mid Rank. You think that just because you sprouted wings and had yourself a little growth spurt, you’ve made it to the mountaintop. The harsh reality, though, is that you’re hardly even out of the valley; the only thing that separates you from these festering maggots is the measly handful of lives you took,” Klaad gestured to the training grounds, where several of the braver Low Ranks dared to look on in curiosity, “That’s all you are. You’d do well to act like it.”

Just as the strain from the tortuous magic became unbearable, the energy dispelled, leaving Eike to collapse and hack up bile onto the ground. Klaad whirled around to bark threats at the trainees that had paused their regiment to spectate, then, once satisfied, resumed his downward glower at the Mid Rank’s heaving form without a trace of emotion.

“It would seem you need to sharpen yourself even more, soldier. Sentimentality doesn’t become you.”

Eike didn’t respond. Klaad allowed it, turning on his heel as he set off in another direction. “Consider the outcome of this encounter an act of mercy on my part, but know that there will never be another. We have no need for a weapon that weeps.”

It was over.

They wiped their mouth, stood up, and trudged back towards the dormitories. It was all they could do. Everything kept moving, regardless of whether Eike could keep up with it or not. Everything would continue to change, yet everything would always stay the same. Those who were strong survived. And those who were weak perished. That was the only constant of this world.

But strength did not equate bravery, and weakness did not equate fear. Eike understood that with painful clarity now. There was no room in this place for a trainee unfit to be a soldier. There was no hope for a child who dreamt the impossible. There was no good deed that went unpunished. There was no kind heart that went unbroken. Everything kept moving. The constant remained.

Somewhere, in a dingy corner of the Low Rank slums that not even the light of the First could reach, a young demon wept, alone. Their cries went unanswered, so they thought, until the shuffle of little footsteps approached them slowly. Looking up, they saw a girl, steady on her feet despite being in vastly worse shape than themself. She crouched in front of them, wiped their tears, and smiled. It would be alright, she said. Things could be scary on your own, but they were together now. So it would all be okay.

And what a wonderful thing that was, the young demon thought with a small smile of their own. To have a friend must truly be the most wonderful thing in the world.

#glossary:#day = day (there are no nights as the first doesn't set)#week = step #month = leap #i tried changing day to something else as well but it just got confusing :'D #anyways. holy fuck this took forever but i'm glad it's done #writingtag #angst #worldbuilding #not g/t #i feel like there's so many sensitive topics idk how to tw them all but if you want me to add a tag please just lmk #lufa lore

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