| Chex |

His nods to the questions were absent, as if he wasn’t entirely there. In truth, he had cast his mind backwards in time, remembering the time that he had stumbled upon a house, garments stained crimson from wounds that shouldn’t have affected him. The magic of the witch chasing him had caused an inability to change form to protect himself, and all he could do was shield his eyes from the family that came out of the house to drag him inside and help him. He had all but collapsed the moment he set foot in their dwelling, awakening to find himself disgusted with his own lack of survival instincts.

He had sensed the power of the family, of the witches that surrounded him. Nature witches, all of them, and provoked nature witches were dangerous. Typically beings of peace, the adults had stood around him, tensed and prepared to attack. The woman had asked his purpose, had questioned why he was there and what had hurt him. He… he hadn’t really had a choice in the matter, and so he had explained.

A powerful witch, one he couldn’t identify in his panic, had summoned him with the intent to kill him. The witch had cast spells around the summoning area that dissolved Chex’s powers, kept him from shifting forms, kept him stuck in a humanoid body with nothing to aid him. He had managed to break out of the small dwelling and had made a run for it. It was just lucky that he had found nature witches rather than another being that would just kill him.

They’d let him stay for 8 months, nursed him back to health and then offered to let him keep the room he had adopted as his own. He had done his best to help them--he had gone foraging when they’d asked, his mere aura had kept wild predators at bay and playing games with little Airlia had been fun. He had chopped wood with the man of the house, had done whatever they had deemed as a requirement.

And then… it had happened. Battles between demons were always messy, always destructive, always chaotic. He hadn’t intended for it to be--

“They’re dead?” The question left him with a big puff of air, as if the wind had been knocked from his chest. “H- I- Delvora did that?” His fists clenched, his left arm twitching as if he wanted to hit something, as if he wanted to lash out. Truthfully, he did. An anger that burned as bright as the hottest flame shot through him like a lightning bolt, sent electricity through every vein, had his muscles twitching and flexing as if he expected a fight.

They were dead and he had left them and he could have protected them instead of--

Something between a growl and a pained noise left his throat, hands lifted to press the heel of his palms against his eyes.

They were dead.

Tanith and Airlia were dead.

Delvora used to be good, how had it’s monarch delved into such… horrid things?

He had, mostly, tuned out the witch, too involved in his own despair. Not that the man was talking, either. A good few minutes of silence passed, a few minutes where he was so far in his head that he wasn’t even sure if he would have heard the witch if he had spoken, before the words of the human brought his attention back.

He would have to relocate, that much was obvious. If Delvora was coming after the supernaturals, then he would have to keep moving. He wouldn’t be able to settle down until he found another kingdom to protect him, or Delvora stopped pursuing, if either of those things ever happened at all. It was possible that they wouldn’t, that the son of Airlia would be on the run for the rest of his life, unable to protect himself from threats.

The question about what kind of demon he was stumped him, but only for a moment. He took a breath, furrowing his brows. “There’s not really… types of demons, at least not in the other realm, and I’m not aware of a specification system that humans have for us. In the other realm, the underworld or ‘hell’ as humans have so gracefully dubbed it, we just have more of a ranking system. The older the demon, the more powerful they are, and the higher up in the system they are… most of the time,” he frowned, tilting his head to the side. “The highest demons are what humans have called the ‘fallen angels’, if I’m not mistaken, and the lowest are the newest--the underlings. There were some of us that were created when the fallen became demons, me being one of them,” he flexed a hand, realizing that it had remained clenched in a fist.

| Chex |

The question, asking what they were like, smacked Chex in the face. Had Tanith and Airlia not told the little witchling--? “They were kind, but rightfully wary,” he murmured, blinking slowly. “I can’t blame them for handling me with caution--they’d awoken in the night to a bloodied demon on their doorstep, near death, and your grandparents had a young daughter, your mother. I’m surprised they let me inside their dwelling at all,” his smile was soft, almost amused, but the edges of his mouth were downturned in a way that just screamed that the smile wasn’t heartfelt. “They showed me a kindness that humans had never offered me before, a charity and willingness to help that I’d thought humanity altogether had lost.”

Chex took a moment to breathe and roll his shoulders, flexing his hands again. When the demon had struck he’d… he hadn’t been at the house. He had been out in the forest, collecting wood like the man of the house had asked him to. He’d only come back so quickly because he’d heard Airlia scream, and he’d found the man slaughtered, and it heading for them and--

He had never thought how much witnessing the fight, and the death, would have affected them. Altercations between demons were messy, and bloody, and they were filled with horrible screeching and shouted spells and bodies reacting and the demon he had fought had been lucky that he was more focused on protection than hunting because he wanted to make the demon hurt, hurt, hurt--

“They were very kind,” he repeated, voice softer, face angled down, as if hiding it from the witch. “They showed me that there was more to the world than violence and agony. I’d believed that those qualities were the only qualities the world still possessed. It… the world has lost two great witches,” seven years ago. The little witchling had lost his mother and grandmother at fifteen. “I lived among them for eight months, before…” He trailed off, clenching a fist. The witch deserved to know but he had failed and-- “Before I left. But that was a long time ago.”

Chex made an effort to move around the witch, side-stepping to remain out of his way until, eventually, he had backed himself into a corner. There was something fascinating about watching the man work, even if the reason that the ‘work’ was being done was a saddening one.

“Yes, ‘it’,” he spoke slowly, as if confused by the strangeness of it. “It has no gender, not in the way that humans do. It is not male nor female, and it prefers ‘it’ over ‘they’, so we call it what it likes.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, turning his attention back to the bodies. The grumble that next left his lips was tinged with a sigh, as if the thought of taking them away tired him. “I’ll be going. Good luck finding somewhere new to live, witchling.”

And just like that, Chex disappeared, alongside the bodies and blood, in the same fashion that he had appeared in--a cloud of bright red embers that did not burn.

------------------------

Just days later, Chex was grumbling to himself as he walked through a crowded street. Like water, humans stepped aside to let him pass, broad frame pushing against those that didn’t give him enough space. Why he had been sent on the ‘mission’ was something he didn’t understand--something as simple as this could have been given to any of the underlings, really, no no. It was him.

He hated the marketplace. Different scents assaulted him, flashes of bright colors making it impossible to tell shapes from one another, that alongside the fact that he had already lessened his eyesight to appear more human by shrinking the pupil and brightening some of the color to brown instead of black--it was a living nightmare, and he had lived a lot of nightmares.

Regardless of the assault against his senses, Chex quickly located his target. It wasn’t hard, even with dimmed sight. The mere aura around the other demon had him coming closer, no matter how human the other looked. He walked as close as he could, pressing his chest against the others back, and leaning down. It was a good distance between their heights, the demon must have only been 5’5” or so, which aided in his tactics of simply scaring the other into listening to him.

“We need to have a little chat,” he muttered, voice baritone in the demon's ear. The male whipped around, giving him a simple once-over before scowling.

“I will do no such thing with the likes of you,” the words had a growl on the edge of them, and Chex couldn’t help his condescending little smirk, lifting a brow. The male thought that this was a choice?

“Something with a spark, how fun,” he crooned, snatching the creature's shirt in his hand. “I’m sure you’re aware that you don’t get a say in this decision,” he added, dragging the kicking, fighting thing into the nearest alleyway. He practically threw it against the wall, putting one arm between the demon and it’s escape route. Not enough to stop it, but even new underlings knew not to test the patience of older demons too much.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

“How cute that you think you have any authority here,” he murmured, tilting his head, allowing his eyes to return to their natural state. The other demon did the same, although its eyes were more of a brown-red hue than black. “You’re going back to the other realm.”

“Like hell I am!” The use of the human phrase made him chuckle, but he leaned closer to put emphasis on his next words.

“It wants to have a little chat with you about disobeying orders, underling.”

“I am not an--”

| Chex |

“You can’t force me to do anything,” the younger demon snarled, flattening himself against the wall. “I refuse to go back to the other realm. It sent me here, so I’m going to stay here!”

“You’re going to die here if you don’t listen,” Chex growled, leaning closer. “We both know what my job is, don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.” The lower lip of the younger creature quivered, and the man couldn’t tell if it was bravery or stupidity that made the other hold his gaze. The demon knew exactly what he was referencing.

Chex was an oddity in the other realm. The older the demon, the higher it is in the hierarchy, and the more powerful it was. Chex was one of the oldest demons, and yet chose not to take the leadership positions of the fallen and the other old entities. Rather, he chose to be something of a freelancer. He was allowed to leave and enter the other realm as he pleased, was able to do whatever he pleased. He had no particular rank, no particular place in society, and answered to no one except their overlord, but he was not the second in command.

It angered a lot of demons that he had that sort of power.

His ‘job’, if it could be called that, was to track down assigned demons and bring them back to the other realm. Some were going against orders, some were runaways, some refused to come back, other times he was something of a messenger to demons that were obeying orders. If the demon refused to come back, he would drag them back with him. If they escaped again, well… the hunts were messy when he was hunting other demons for sport. They fought back harder than other entities.

“Are you going to come back, or not?” His voice lowered, loosening his grip on the demon's shirt, leaning all of his weight on his hand on the wall. “Remember, I’m just--”

“Witch!” The hissed word had Chex leaning back, glancing at where the younger demon was glaring. He took a moment to study the passerby, opening his mouth to tell the demon to shut up and not do anything, when the being ducked underneath his arm and slammed into the witch.

His growl was more annoyed than anything else when he grabbed the back of the demon’s clothes and dragged him backwards, turning a glare towards the stranger, opening his mouth to tell him to move on and ignore this, only to freeze. He flared his nostrils, head tilting slightly to the side.

“Stay there, witchling,” he ordered, turning his attention to the writhing demon in his grip. “Tzivax,” the word was edged with aggression, tinted with the promise of violence. He shook the younger demon, perhaps a little harder than was necessary, to get his attention. “Tzivax I will take care of the witch.”

The demon turned towards him, teeth bared, and latched his hands around Chex’s arm, nails extending into talons and scratched at the flesh. Something like a hiss left his mouth, and his other hand wrapped around the neck of the demon, lifting the being off of the ground and removing his, now bloodied, arm from his grip.

His growl was forceful, dragging the hysterical demon’s full attention to him. Like a puppy being held by its mother, the younger creature's legs moved to curl in on himself, trying to protect vital organs.

“If I wasn’t under strict orders,” the anger in his voice was scorching, almost blisteringly hot with the snarl that accompanied the words. “I would have killed you already.” He paused, tilting his head to the side to study the demon with a look of what could only be disgust. “You will go back to the other realm, and you will talk to it, and you will not disobey orders again, correct?” The question was partially rhetorical, but the demon nodded feverishly, heartbeat wild against his palm.

Chex dropped the smaller creature, watching the demon stumble backwards towards the mouth of the alley.

“Tzivax,” he uttered the demon's name again, catching his attention one last time. “If I go back and get orders to find you again, the encounter will be significantly less friendly than this one. I will make my hunt messy and painful. Am I understood?”

The demon nodded, turned away, and hurried off.

Chex sighed, glancing at the familiar witch. Thinking about it, he’d never actually gotten the other's name. Not that it mattered now. He had wounds to take care of, a demon to accompany back, and he had to tell the witch not to say anything--

“Don’t tell anyone,” he muttered, directing his gaze to his arm. The wounds weren’t deep. Really, they were just shallow cuts, but that didn’t stop them from bleeding down his arm. They started just below his elbow, having shallow, slightly angled lines down to near his wrist. The blood, starting at the top, went down his arm in little rivers, going over his hands and fingers to drip onto the floor. “About that,” he clarified, gesturing with his other hand to where the demon had disappeared.

| Chex |

“Anyone,” he repeated, answering the question. “You can’t tell anyone at all. Word travels quickly, and it reaches ears that shouldn’t be hearin’ it. The last thing I need is to have to knock some sense into other powerful demons,” he lifted his uninjured arm, pressing the heel of his palm gentle against one of his eyes. How had he run into Airlia’s son again? The world was truly too small for them to not bump into each other, it seemed.

“You’re lucky that it’s me that was sent,” and to think, he had been complaining about going to capture the ignorant demon. “If anyone else had been sent after Tzivax…” He didn’t continue the sentence, knowing that he didn’t truly need to, either. It was clear enough; if someone else had been sent, the witchling would have been dead. Without a single moment of hesitance, a higher-up demon would have torn him apart for witnessing such a thing. He should have, technically, killed the witch when he first noticed him, rather than dragging Tzivax off, and demanding he let down his attack.

A deep growl rumbled in the lowest part of his throat, irritated by the mess he had allowed himself to get into. If Tzivax reported that? He would have to answer questions that he really, really didn’t want to have to--

The noise abruptly cut off and died in the midst of his vocal cords when his arm was grabbed. His head tilted downward, the other arm dropping back to his side to watch the witch work. He was… healing him? No witch, or any being at all, had bothered to do such a thing for him, not since Airlia and Tanith, not since he had killed one of his own to defend them, and had promptly left. He offered no response to the question of allowing the witch to fix it, at least not a coherent one--simply a grunt, dragging his gaze over the entrance of the alleyway for a heartbeat, just to make sure. He didn’t have to worry, but the witch? Another matter entirely.

The sting that flooded through the flesh of his arm was familiar, just slight enough to be felt, but not strong enough to cause him to flinch or move away. Many days of healing under the careful watch of Tanith long ago made him used to the sensation, and it bothered him little. If he were to give the feeling a name, he might have even dared to call it nostalgic.

“Tanith’s recipe?” He muttered, the smell of it flooding his nose and causing him to duck his head. He didn’t need that. Not right here, not right now. He didn’t need to remember, to have the guilt that he harbored in his heart come forth. Not in their current predicament, not in front of the son of Airlia.

Ouray.

“Ouray,” he spoke the name, testing how it sounded in his mouth, how the syllables rested on his tongue, how it floated from his mouth into the air. He gave a shallow dip of his chin, simply to state that he heard, and that he understood. Ouray was the witch’s name--no longer would he simply be ‘the witch’ or ‘the witchling’, he would be ‘Ouray’.

The offer, to join Ouray to the market, had him hesitating--he needed to return, to make sure Tzivax went back, but… things like that could wait. Someone would be sent for him if he were truly needed. He could blame his absence on checking to make sure nobody else saw them and their lovely interaction. He could blame it on having to make sure nobody found the ‘body’ of the witch that he would have, obviously, killed.

Chex nodded, but a frown captured his face. “You don’t need to buy me anything,” he murmured, baritone vocals practically a rumble from his lungs. A small pang went through the side of his head when he changed his eyes back to the more ‘human’ look, eyes a dark, molten brown except for the pupil, which remained black, along with removing the color from the ‘whites’ of his eyes. He hated it. It lessened his sight in a way that made most things just shapes and flashes of color, fuzzy and suddenly appearing, making him rely on his other senses to guide him. But, to avoid detection from humans, it was a necessity.

Perhaps it was his desire not to lose Ouray in the sea of colors that they would approach, or perhaps it was just second nature to reach out, but Chex snagged the edge of his cloak in his fingers.

| Chex |

“The name sounds like something your grandmother would call someone,” he murmured, ducking his head and pressing his chin closer to his chest to avoid staring at the bright flashes of color. Many of the humans moved out of his way--he never bothered to ask any of his ‘friends’ if it was his aura, or his build, but he merely assumed it was a mixture of both. Even a human with this stature, though, would be at least a little intimidating.

When his arm was grabbed, the demon allowed his pupils to grow--only a little, but looking slightly bigger than was perhaps normal. Most things were still shapes and blobs of color, but he could see more clearly if things were up close. Immediately, his gaze jumped to the old man, ‘Old Heggar’ is what Ouray had called him. Aged, the man looked as if his bones were brittle and his teeth had all fallen out. There wasn’t a single part of Old Heggar that even began to suggest that he was a young being, and, still, Chex felt a flicker recognition in the back of his brain.

Deception.

Deception about what?

“Ouray…” He murmured, keeping his voice low when the elderly man disappeared into the tent, moving so that his face was closer to the shorter man’s. We should go. This place wasn’t safe. What part of it wasn’t safe? He didn’t know. But something about the mere aura that had settled over their general area had his skin crawling, his hair standing on end, had his eyes moving over their surroundings in a frantic manner.

In the distance, he heard steps. Of course, being in a marketplace, steps were common--but not uniform steps. Not steps that were in time with one another, magnifying their volume in such a way that he felt as if every pound of feet hitting the ground was shattering his bones. He closed his eyes, pulling on Ouray’s coat to try and draw attention to him. Tilting his head, he tried to zero in on the sound, it’s location, which way they were headed.

The steps were coming towards them.

“Ouray--” He tried again, snapping his eyes open, turning a sharp glare towards the two mortals, only to see the guilt light up the old man’s face.

‘I’m sorry.’

“You will be,” he snarled, leaving Ouray’s side and snatching the old man’s clothing, the sound in his throat being a low rumbling, similar to the noise a crocodile would make, rather than a growl. “You dare betray--” How dare the old wretch of a human betray Ouray, son of Airlia, grandson of Tanith. How dare--

The sound of the guards was getting closer.

“Run away, Old Heggar,” the words were framed in a sneer, the corners of his lips quirking up into something like a smirk. “Try and hide from me. When I am done here, I will find you.” He leaned in close, murmuring his words into the harsh silence between them. “There is nothing you can do to hide from a demon like me.”

Chex released the man, transferring his attention to the guards that were approaching, allowing his pupils to dilate, cover the brown iris, and then extend further to encompass the whites of his eyes in an inky blackness. When he beamed, his teeth were sharp, even sharper than their normal state, and he directed the odd, wolfish grin towards the guards.

The men in armor.

The men that had hurt Tanith and Airlia.

The men that wanted to hurt Ouray.

He brushed past the witch, positioning himself between the approaching enemies and Ouray. He had killed a group of their men before, had torn through them as if they were nothing--and, to him, they were. Their metal armor was nothing more than foil beneath his claws, and it would be no different now.

The first fell to a single swipe of his palm, neck breaking with a satisfying crack. The second went with a bit more glamour, sword biting into his already injured arm. The noise he released was something of a hiss, bringing the humans face into his palm and squeezing.

The third was smart, clanging his sword against his body to make a loud noise ring out. Having been focused on his hearing and smell for so long rather than his sight, Chex flinched from the noise before, ultimately, whirling towards the noisiest of the bunch. A death wish indeed, just as the demon was rushing forward, another sprung into his side, swinging their sword upward.

He felt the steel bite into his abdomen, felt it slice and rip through flesh. The wound would heal. They always did. One had to kill demons in a very particular way, and this was not one of them.

His body crashed into the ground, the blow sending him rolling before, ultimately, beginning to rise again, injured limb trembling.

It would heal.

Chex bared his teeth and snarled.