Obinai sinks into the abyss of sleep...
His mind drifts, weightless, falling deeper, sinking into darkness—
Then...
A pull.
Like something has its claws hooked into his mind, yanking him from rest. Too fast. Too sudden.
His breath hitches as his eyes snap open—
Gone is the warmth of the cottage.
Gone is the gentle hum of the forest, the crisp air, the scent of pine and earth.
Instead, he's here.
Again.
The void.
A chair beneath him, cold and firm. Empty space stretches infinitely around him, a vast expanse of nothingness.
Obinai blinks, disoriented, then scowls as realization dawns.
"Oh, come the fuck on."
He stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the unseen floor. A low, bitter laugh bubbles in his throat.
"What a coincidence. Just great."
He rubs the back of his neck, fingers digging into his skin as irritation mounts. It had been months since he was last here. Months of silence.
And now?
Now, when he was finally going to have a decent night's sleep?
Obinai exhales sharply through his nose. "Alright, fine," he mutters, rolling his shoulders. Then, he raises his voice, the sound echoing into the abyss.*
"Where the hell are you, Beelzebub?"
No answer.
Obinai narrows his eyes. "You ghost me for months, and now you want to pull me back in? I was actually hoping you were dead, but no—here you are, probably watching from the shadows, all cryptic and smug—"
A slow clap echoes through the void.
Obinai tenses.
From the darkness, a figure steps into view.
It's him.
Or rather, something that looks like him— but twisted.
Beelzebub strides forward, the void itself seeming to bend around him. His long white locs cascade down his back, strands shifting as if they have a will of their own. His charcoal-black hands contrast sharply against his ashen skin, his golden irises gleaming against the depthless void of his eyes.
And, of course—that damn smirk.
Beelzebub tilts his head, mocking amusement dancing across his features.
"Ah, Obinai," he drawls, voice dripping with false fondness. "Always so dramatic. Did you miss me?"
Obinai scoffs, crossing his arms. "Miss you? No. I was hoping Vale actually figured out a way to permanently shut your ass up. Guess I gave the old man too much credit."
Beelzebub chuckles, stepping closer.
Obinai tenses. His muscles coil, his hands twitching. Something about this place—about Beelzebub's presence—makes his skin crawl...
"So cold," Beelzebub purrs, bringing a hand to his chest. "And here I am, just admiring your efforts."
Obinai scoffs. "You admiring me? Bullshit. What do you actually want?"
Beelzebub sighs dramatically, ignoring the hostility in Obinai's voice. "I must admit, it took quite some time to get here. That damn human actually locked me away for a while."
Was that all Vale could do..?
He had suspected as much, but hearing Beelzebub confirm it...
The old man only really did buy him time.
"But," Beelzebub continues, "I suspect you'll require me soon. Maybe even need me."
Obinai bristles, his hands curling into fists. "Shut the fuck up. You really expect me to believe that?"
Beelzebub chuckles, taking another lazy step forward. "Believe what you want. But I came here for one thing."
Obinai grits his teeth. "Yeah? And what's that?"
The smirk that spreads across Beelzebub's face is slow...menacing.
"Praise."
Obinai stares.
Then, he laughs.
A sharp, humorless bark of laughter that sounds almost manic in the void. "Oh my god, you're fucking delusional. Praise?! Are you out of your mind?"
Beelzebub's smirk doesn't waver. "Your persistence, your determination—it's almost… charming in its futility."
Obinai's laughter dies instantly...
His eyes darken.
"You think this is a joke?"
Beelzebub sighs. "Oh, Obinai, I think it's all very entertaining. Watching you flail about, struggling to make sense of things—it's adorable, really. Like a child trying to grasp the concept of infinity."
Child.
Obinai's hands twitch...
His teeth grind.
"Shut up."
Beelzebub's smirk grows wider. "Oh? Have I struck a nerve?"
Obinai's fingers curl inwards, nails digging into his palms.
"You are not in control of me," Obinai hisses through clenched teeth, his breath jagged, uneven.
Beelzebub tilts his head, his smirk carved into something that isn't quite human. "Aren't I?" His voice is smooth. "Do you actually think you've outgrown adolescence?"
Obinai stiffens. His hands twitch at his sides.
"Sure," Beelzebub continues, stepping forward, slow and deliberate. "A few nightmares, a handful of scars, and suddenly, you think you're beyond it? What was it, again? Those nights you woke up screaming? The ones where dear old Dad would come storming in, all heavy steps and slurred curses, grabbing you by the wrist so hard you swore something cracked? Ah, yes—"
He laughs, sharp and grating, as if the sound itself is eating through Obinai's skin.
"—how far had his brain fallen to wake up the entire house, just to shake you awake, just to drag you from sleep into something worse?"
The air shifts. The shadows deepen...
Obinai sways, but he doesn't step back.
Beelzebub's gaze gleams, delighted. "And who could forget that moment? The moment your mother tore him off you—screaming, nails digging into his arms—while he snarled that cursed phrase?" His voice drops to a whisper, a taunt laced with venom:
"I paved the path of the reverend soulless."
Something lurches inside Obinai. A cold weight presses against his ribs, sinking into his lungs.
He does remember...
The way the walls seemed to warp, bending inward under the force of his father's rage. The way the air had turned thick with the scent of sweat, of whiskey, of something rotting between his words. The flicker of the hallway light behind his mother's shaking silhouette, the broken fragments of a picture frame at their feet.
And—
"Crying Mya."
Beelzebub grins. "Ah, you remember now, don't you?"
Obinai's breath stutters.
His father's words. His father's voice. His father's eyes—burned into his memory, no matter how many years tried to blur them...
The shadows coil at the edges of his vision, whispering, breathing...crawling.
The air is suffocating, thick with a weight that presses into his skull, into his chest, into his very bones.
Reverend Soulless.
No...
He grits his teeth. His fingers curl into fists so tight his knuckles crack.
"You talk too much," he mutters, voice lower now, strained against something rising.
Beelzebub chuckles. "Do I? Or do you simply hate the truth?"
Obinai moves before he can think.
But Beelzebub is already there.
One blackened hand gripping his throat.
The air leaves Obinai's lungs instantly, his feet lifting off the unseen floor.
Beelzebub pulls him close, so close that Obinai can see the way his golden irises burn.
The grin on Beelzebub's lips never fades.
"Every step you take," Beelzebub whispers, "every ounce of power you gain—it's because I allow it."
Obinai struggles, gasping, clawing at the blackened hand crushing his throat.
Through gritted teeth, through sheer defiance, Obinai forces out—
"Fuck. You."
Beelzebub chuckles, his grip tightening around Obinai's throat.
"You amuse me, Obinai."
His golden eyes glimmer with something almost euphoric, feeding off the hatred burning in Obinai's gaze.
Then, with an exaggerated sigh, Beelzebub releases him, shoving him back with a flick of his wrist. Obinai stumbles, gasping, his feet skidding against the unseen floor of the void. His hands snap up to his throat, fingers rubbing at the tender skin as he glares at the demon standing before him.
He hates this place.
The suffocating emptiness. The way sound barely carries beyond a few feet, like the void itself absorbs anything that lingers too long. The way Beelzebub moves through it, unfazed, untouched, like it belongs to him.
Obinai exhales sharply, his breath fogging in the cold, though no air moves around them.
He clenches his fists. "What do you want this time? You show up after months of silence, and for what? To stroke your own damn ego?"
Beelzebub's smirk widens. "Oh, Obi," he drawls, stepping forward, unhurried. "I think you already know what I want."
Obinai doesn't move, though every instinct screams at him to put space between them. "No, I really don't," he bites out. "But let me guess—more cryptic bullshit? Another lecture about how weak I am?"
Beelzebub stops a few steps away, his head tilting slightly. "A lecture?" he muses. "No, no, my dear Obinai. This isn't a lecture. This is…"
A pause.
Then—
"Reality."
Before Obinai can react, Beelzebub is right in front of him.
An instant. A blur. A shadow slipping through space.
His blackened fingers dig violently into Obinai's chest.
Obinai shouts, staggering back, but Beelzebub doesn't let go.
"Do you feel that?" Beelzebub murmurs, voice velvety, mocking. "That aching sensation clawing through your ribs?"
Obinai's breath hitches. His chest burns, a searing cold spreading outward like ink in water.
Beelzebub leans in, his lips curling. "That's the weight of your own insignificance."
Obinai grits his teeth. "Get the fuck off me."
Beelzebub chuckles, his fingers pressing deeper before finally releasing him.
Obinai stagger back, his breath sharp, and uneven. His vision blurs, the world tilting as something warm, wet, and sickly gushes between his fingers. He looks down.
Blood.
Thick, dark, pooling in his cupped hands.
A choked noise claws its way up his throat, barely making it past his lips. His chest—there's a hole. A gaping wound carved straight through flesh, muscle, and bone. His heart. His lungs. Torn open.
I'm dying.
No.
No, no, no—
The thought barely registers before his knees threaten to buckle, his limbs trembling under the weight of it. His breath stutters, sharp and shallow. The taste of copper coats his tongue, thick, metallic—wrong. The world around him contracts, closing in, suffocating—
Then—
It's gone.
The blood. The pain. The gaping wound.
Gone, like it was never there.
Obinai blinks, gasping as his hands fly to his chest, frantically patting over unbroken skin. His heartbeat slams against his ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm that he can't slow down.
I was dying.
I felt it. I—
His breath comes in quick, ragged pulls, but there's no wound. No blood. Not even a scratch. Only the lingering heat—a phantom ache, like something still gnaws beneath his ribs, something that was never going to heal.
His fingers dig into his shirt, trying to steady himself. But his mind is still caught...
A slow, knowing chuckle pulls him back.
Beelzebub.
He's standing exactly where he was before, watching. Always watching.
Golden eyes gleam, sharp and satisfied, reflecting the faint, flickering light of the ruined space around them...
Beelzebub takes a step forward slowly.
"You ask what I want?" His voice is velvet—smooth, effortless.
Obinai swallows hard. His throat is dry. His hands are still shaking. He clenches them into fists.
Beelzebub's smirk widens. "I want to remind you of something very simple."
Obinai doesn't answer.
Obinai straightens, trembling with adrenaline. "Yeah?" he spits. "Remind me of what?"
Beelzebub spreads his arms, grinning. "That you were the easiest."
Silence...
Obinai's breath catches in his throat, but he forces it down. "What?"
Beelzebub relishes his reaction...
"You had nothing, Obinai. No future, no legacy, no respect. A stray. A lost, broken thing grasping for meaning in a world that had already discarded you."
Obinai's fingers twitch, his nails biting into his palms.
"But that's what made you so easy to take. You—unlike the others—had nothing to lose.**"
Obinai's vision tunnels...
His ears ring.
He's wrong.
He's wrong.
He's wrong.
"You…" Obinai exhales, the word barely carrying past his lips. His throat feels like he's been choking on ash.
His fingers twitch at his sides, clenching and unclenching, desperate for something to anchor him, something solid. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, too fast, too loud.
"You," he repeats, quieter this time, his voice like shattered glass, "are so full of shit."
Beelzebub laughs again.
It's a sound that coils into the marrow of Obinai's bones, tightening like a noose. A sound that carries the weight of knowing.
"Am I?" Beelzebub muses. "Then tell me—who?"
The words cut deep.
Obinai's breath stutters. He flinches. A barely perceptible movement, but enough.
Beelzebub takes a step forward. The air thickens around him, growing heavy, charged with something unnatural. The space itself seems to stretch, warping at the edges.
"Who is there left for you, Obinai?" His voice slithers through the cracks in Obinai's defenses, wrapping around his mind like barbed wire. "What do you have now? Power?"
He chuckles, low and mocking...
Obinai doesn't answer.
But his silence only feeds Beelzebub.
"Ah, but I digress," Beelzebub murmurs, almost thoughtful, almost kind—except for the razor-sharp edges lining his words. "Tell me, then… who is there for you? Truly?"
Obinai doesn't want to think about it.
But he does.
Because he knows the answer.
The weight settles into his chest, crushing, suffocating. His mind scrambles, desperate to fight against it, to grasp at something, someone—but there's nothing.
No one.
No one was there.
No one called his name.
No one searched for him.
No one fought.
The realization is a knife twisting in his gut, slow and excruciating. His breath comes in short, shallow bursts, his throat tight, too tight—
He tries to speak, to force something—anything—past the crushing weight in his chest, but—
His throat closes up...
His vision blurs. His body feels like it's shrinking, curling in on itself. His lungs burn from the effort of breathing.
He can't...
Beelzebub watches him unravel, his smirk widening, stretching into something grotesque. His amusement isn't just visible—it's palpable, radiating from him in waves.
"That's right," he breathes, stepping closer, watching Obinai shake. "There was no one."
The words sink in, burrowing deep, festering.
Obinai wants to deny it, to scream...
But it's the truth, isn't it?
No one mourned him.
No one remembered him.
No one fought.
Except—
Except that's not true.
Because he did have people.
He did.
And then—
A spark of something ugly, something visceral, ignites in his chest.
Obinai's hands tremble at his sides, but this time, it isn't from fear. It isn't from grief.
It's rage.
"I did have people…" His voice is barely a whisper, but it carries. It burns. His gaze lifts, his eyes locking onto Beelzebub's with a sharpness that wasn't there before. His fingers flex, energy crackling at his fingertips.
Beelzebub raises a brow, intrigued.
Obinai takes a step forward.
His breath steadies.
His heart pounds...
"BUT YOU TOOK THEM FROM ME!"
The words rip from his throat, but there's power in them, weight. The air crackles, the energy in the room shifting, coiling around him like a storm gathering at the horizon.
The temperature drops...
A gust of wind surges forward, dust and debris kicking up from the ground. The pressure shifts—something is coming.
And then—
A flash of red.
This time, he doesn't hesitate. His body moves as if guided by something greater than himself, something that's always been there, waiting to be unleashed.
The air shudders around him as his essence erupts contorting into mana...then finally magic...
...laced with wrath.
"[Wind Blade]!**"
The words come like a command...
The air screams, a blade of compressed wind tearing through the space between them, roaring forward with enough force to carve through steel. The ground trembles beneath the weight of it, cracks spiderwebbing outward from where he stands.
Beelzebub doesn't move.
He doesn't flinch.
He just watches.
And then—
He smiles.
He just stands there, that damnable smirk still carved into his face. Waiting.
Welcoming it.
Beelzebub lifts a single hand.
The wind dissipates.
Gone.
Like it was never there.
Obinai stares...
Beelzebub clicks his tongue, eyes glittering with amusement. "Tsk, tsk. Such anger.**"
Before Obinai can move, Beelzebub lashes out.
A shockwave slams into him, tearing the breath from his lungs.
Obinai doesn't even have time to brace—his body flips backward, spinning violently before he collides with the unseen ground. Pain explodes through his spine, his skull bouncing off the void like a ragdoll. He skids, scraping, tumbling, his limbs twisting against the weightless dark.
His fingers twitch, clawing at nothing. His body is screaming, but his mind is louder.
Again.
Again, I can't stop him.
Again, I'm powerless.
Through the ringing in his ears, a slow clap echoes through the void...
Beelzebub comes closer...
"Do you know what's funny?" His voice is a blade...
Obinai forces himself onto his elbows. He can't stop the way his chest heaves, the burn spreading through his ribs.
Beelzebub looms over him, leisurely, indulgent, his golden eyes gleaming.
"I did talk of your family the last time, didn't I?" he muses, almost absentmindedly. "How much I enjoyed your face being the last thing they saw..."
Obinai stiffens, his breath stopping mid-inhale. His head jerks up.
Not this again.
Beelzebub kneels, closing the distance between them until his face is mere inches away. "From the memories I let you see," he continues, "you already knew, didn't you?"
Obinai can't move.
He can't breathe.
"She was the last one I killed."
...
...
"She just… stood there. Frozen. You saw her, Obinai. It was almost comical. She barely even struggled." Beelzebub sighs dramatically, tapping his chin. "At first, anyway."
His voice lowers to a whisper.
"But she screamed for you."
Something inside Obinai snaps.
His body moves before his mind can catch up. He lunges, swinging a fist aimed straight for Beelzebub's smirking face—
Beelzebub vanishes...
The force of the missed strike sends Obinai stumbling forward, breathless.
Beelzebub's laughter slithers through the air.
"You are so easy to provoke," he coos, materializing a few paces away, arms casually spread.
Obinai whirls around, panting, hands shaking.
His mind is chaos.
Flashes. Fragments. His sister's voice—her laugh—her fear—her final breath.
"I ripped her open, you know," Beelzebub continues thoughtfully, tapping his fingers together. "Piece by piece. She watched me the whole time."
Obinai clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches.
"Shut up."
"Oh?" Beelzebub's smile widens. "But I thought you wanted answers?"
Obinai staggers back, something between a laugh and a strangled gasp escaping his throat.
No.
Not here. Not like this.
He wants me to break.
He wants me to snap.
If I snap, he wins.
His fingernails dig deeper into his palm.
The pain centers him.
The grief threatens to drown him.
But the rage keeps him breathing...
"You watched her die, Obinai," Beelzebub whispers. "And you did nothing."
Obinai's head snaps up at this.
Beelzebub smiles.
"You will never be free."
The hatred inside Obinai burns so hot...it feels like ice.
Beelzebub steps back, appraising him.
"I must admit," he muses.** "Your progress is... intriguing."
Obinai forces himself upright, glaring, furious.
Beelzebub's gaze turns almost fond.
"You're quite fortunate to have met Vale."
Obinai freezes...
Beelzebub watches him, his smirk stretching just a little wider. "Now that your soul is protected, I must wait." His voice deepens, darkens. "But I don't mind, really. I am patient."
His golden eyes flash.
"And you, Obinai—will call for me.**"
Obinai's body shakes. His teeth grit together, grinding.
"I'll find a way to kill you," he hisses, his voice a razor against his throat. "I swear it."
Beelzebub's laughter booms through the void.
"Oh, I know," he murmurs. "And that's what makes this all so delicious."
He turns and begins to walk back into the void, his laughter echoing around them. As he fades into the darkness, Obinai's rage boils over...
Beelzebub's laughter is a crawls it's way into Obinai's mind, twisting through the suffocating silence of the void like a jagged echo. He turns, his figure dissolving into the darkness, each step dragging him deeper into the abyss.
Obinai's hands shake...
...his entire body is burning, seething with something uglier than rage.
It's hatred.
Pure, undiluted, all-consuming hatred.
"I'LL KILL YOU!" His scream rips through the emptiness. His throat burns, his chest heaves, but he doesn't stop. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, BEELZEBUB!"
The void does not tremble in fear. It does not stir at his rage.
It laughs.
The ground beneath him—if he can even call it that—shifts. The texture changes from cold nothingness to something thick, viscous, cloying. A grotesque, inky mass begins to coil around his ankles, creeping up his legs like grasping tendrils.
Obinai jerks violently, thrashing against it.
"No, no—NO!" He kicks, claws at the emptiness, but his hands pass through it like smoke. The more he fights, the more the shadows tighten, dragging him further, pulling him down inch by inch.
His pulse pounds against his skull.
His instincts scream at him—Move, fight, tear through it, DO SOMETHING.
But the void does not care. It does not bend to desperation.
Beelzebub's voice slithers through the encroaching darkness, so close it feels like a whisper against his ear.
"You can struggle, Obinai. It makes no difference."
The words send a violent tremor down Obinai's spine. His chest is tight—too tight. He tries to inhale, but it's like breathing through wet linen, the air clogging in his throat.
His vision blurs.
The shadows are curling around his torso now, pulling, stretching him thin...
A new sensation claws at his mind.
Cold. Deep, endless cold...
He fights the panic, fights the feeling.
Don't let it win. Don't let it take you.
He forces his numb lips to move. "I— I won't—"
Beelzebub chuckles, so soft, so cruel. "Won't what? Give in?" His voice wraps around Obinai's skull like barbed wire, dragging into his very thoughts. "Won't let me win?"
The shadows tighten.
"Obinai," Beelzebub purrs, "You already lost."
Obinai screams.
A sound of pure, visceral rage. A sound ripped from the core of his being, the last defiant spark of a soul being swallowed whole.
The void does not care.
It devours him.
The shadows consume his chest, then his shoulders. The last thing he sees is Beelzebub's mocking grin, golden eyes gleaming in the abyss.
"You're mine."
Then—
Silence...