His Unblemished

With a sigh, he sat down by the door, feeling hopeless. The room was empty except for the piles of skulls and dull weapons on the floor scattered across the room.

Several torturing tools around but no key was found. Scattered were several pillories and chairs where prisoners are strapped before being tortured. A remarkable flat wooden table where a skeleton of someone was laid down and bound. The subtle cracks on its bones denote that it might've died by getting its body pulled apart.

Hours by himself in the darkness, Ars felt himself slipping into madness. He tried to kill himself by lacerating his neck, choking his throat by using the metal chains, but he still ended up waking again, only scars were left on his body.

He tried cutting off his left arm, hoping it would grow again, but it didn't.

He stared at the torch besides him. At least the blue flame hasn't left him yet.

But, thinking of it more–this kind of silence is oddly nice...

Ars slowly closed his eyes and embraced the silence of the darkness.

"..."

Clack.

Clack.

The sound of footsteps on the floor echoing through the darkness caused Ars to open his eyes. As the footsteps drew closer, the sound became more distinct. In panic, he sprang to his feet and cast his eyes frantically, looking for a place to hide.

He swung the wooden torch in attempt to extinguish the flame, but it refused to die out. In panic, he laid the torch on the ground and tried to smother the flame with his bare hands, but it only worsened the situation.

Now his right hand is burning in blue flame.

'Shit!'

Left with no choice in his mind, Ars acted impulsively and hid himself into a coffin nearby. The door creaked on its hinges as he slid inside. He peered out through the small gaps between the lid and the coffin's frame.

He saw groups of skeletons carrying blue-flamed torches, similar to the one he held, walking past him. These skeletal beings were dressed in armor and armed with swords and shields, moving as if they were alive.

The skeletons shuffled past him, looking for something, or someone. Seemingly unaware of his presence, until one of them thrust its sword into the coffin. The blade pierced through the wooden door, narrowly missing Ars's head.

'And there goes my luck.'

The skeleton struggled to retrieve its sword that was lodged in the wooden door, inadvertently breaking the wooden door open and revealing Ars who was hiding inside.

Without hesitation, Ars quickly reacted by throwing a punch using his hand that was on fire, hitting the skeleton skull and inflicting the burn on it. The others went in to attack as one of them fell to the ground and burnt.

Ars felt the skeletons closing in on him, but he was too quick for them to catch. In his arrogance, he believed that he had the upper hand.

Or so he thought.

A skeletal hand suddenly grabbed his legs, causing him to stumble and fall. He flailed around, trying to kick the skeletal hand away, but he found himself surrounded by several skeletal hands that grasped and tugged at him relentlessly.

His frustration and anger grew, "Alright then!" he exclaimed. Raising his right hand, he set his whole body ablaze with blue flames, smirking at the skeletons. The benefit of not being able to feel pain was very helpful, he thought to himself.

Though the skeletons still walked closer to seize him, disregarding the flame. As they closed in, they all slowly burned into ashes, consumed by the blue flames along with Ars himself.

Ars laid down on the ground as they closed in, all slowly burning into ashes, consumed by the blue flames along with him. "Great..."

...

It felt soft. Its like laying on the clouds.

It felt like home.

Ars wanted to go home.

"Nngh..."

As he slowly opened his eyes, Ars realized that he was once again trapped in a dream, or rather a nightmare. Laying on top of a soft bed, his head rested on a soft white pillow and soft white blanket.

...?

The room was lit by flickering candle lights, casting a soft glow on the walls adorned with tapestries. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and grimoires that spoke of magics and mysteries. A wooden table sat at the center of the room, adorned with quills, ink pots, and scrolls.

Ars was filled with an unfamiliar feeling of calm and tranquility, as if he had been transported to Aetheria*. He gazed around in awe, looking at the surroundings with wonder.

*

Aetheria is the spiritual realm or what's basically known as the "heaven" where the World Archons resides (as mentioned by Gilles before).

*

Creak.

A woman clothed in a long brown dress, with an apron and coif on her head, suddenly entered the room, her soft footsteps echoing in the quietude.

"Ars Goetia." A soft voice of a black haired, young woman.

"..."

"The prince wishes to meet you, please follow me," she continued before leaving the room.

'The prince?'

Ars rose from the bed in confusion and stumbled out of the room. The hallway was vast on either sides. He caught sight of the maid walking down the left side of the hallway, quickly he chased after her.

'Has my body really been this weak, or is this maid just walking too fast?' he thought to himself as he gasped for air.

Catching up to her, Ars tried to talk to the maid asking how she knew his name, but she remained silent, her eyes fixed ahead. The hallway was lit brightly, adorned with large paintings in golden frames hanging from the walls. A plush red carpet ran along the polished brown floor, leading them towards the destination.

Knight statues stood still beside the wall, their armored visages guarding the corridor. Ars took a pause and stared at one, thinking it was a living person until he lifts its visor.

"Gah!" he jumped, slightly startled by the grimaced face of an inanimate demon. Hastily lowering the visor, he resumed to follow the maid.

As they reached the end of the hallway, a grand wooden door swung open of its own. Beyond it lay the same room he had entered in his previous nightmare, where he and Gilles had came before.

'...Wait.'

Ars turned his head to look back at the hallway they had walken as he watched the maid walk back down the hallway. It didn't feel anything weird except for the exaggeratedly opulent decorations, golden pillars, and demon statues encased in silver armor.

Seconds after and a sudden realization struck him. "Pandaemonium," he muttered under his breath.

"Welcome back!" a man's voice echoed. Ars turned his gaze in front of him. It was the man again who called himself the prince of Tartarus.

Ars couldn't help but notice his hair of neck length, shorter than before. Despite the change, the rest of his appearance remained the same—an unblemishedly pale skin of his face with hollowed eyes that seemed to tear black blood. Clothes that covers his whole body, color of black that is darker than the void.

"Did you cut your hair?" Ars asked.

Demiurge smirked, "Oh, you noticed?" fiddling his hair.

'Well, your hair last time was already touching the floor.'

"Yes."

Demiurge chuckled softly before changing the subject, "Isn't this place a beauty?" he asked, looking up at the intricately decorated ceiling to which Ars nodded.

"I hate it."

Ars raised his eyebrows in confusion, caught off guard.

Demiurge gestured for Ars to follow him, leading the way to the library room. Upon entering, Ars couldn't help but be awestruck by the towering bookshelves that lined the walls, similar to monastic libraries.

As they sat at a large table, Demiurge and Ars engaged in a brief conversation. The atmosphere of the library exuded a peaceful ambiance that contrasted sharply with the foreboding and sinister exterior of Pandaemonium.

Suddenly, the maid returned, accompanied by another maid, both holding goblets and ceramic vessels. Placing the goblets on their table, a red liquid suddenly poured out from the vessel they held.

Ars couldn't help but be intrigued by the unusual appearance of the mead as it poured into his goblet. The deep red hue was not what he was used to seeing in his drinks, and it made him wonder if there was poison with it.

Uncertain of what to do next, he watched as Demiurge took a sip of the mead and gestured for him to do the same. "Go on, drink. It's wine."

'Wine...?'

Ars hesitated for a moment before finally lifting the goblet to his lips and took a small sip. To his surprise, this drink called 'wine' had a rich and unexplainable flavor, unlike anything he had ever tasted before.

He took another sip, savoring the intricate flavors that seemed to unfold with each passing moment.

Demiurge's smile faded into a blank expression as soon as Ars finished the wine. With a piercing gaze, he asked, "Have you made a decision now?"

Ars met his eyes but remained silent, giving no indication of his answer.

Demiurge's ulterior motive was now clear to Ars, who looked at him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity as he leaned in. "What is it that you desire?" Demiurge continued.

"..."

Demiurge softly chuckled. "Still adamant, I see," he remarked. "But you know, I could grant you a power unrivaled," he added, his gaze intensifying. "All I ask in return is that you become my host."

"Why?"

Disappointed that his intimidating demeanor didn't seem to affect Ars, Demiurge lifted his goblet and began to swirl the wine.

Demiurge spoke with a hint of sarcasm, "As you are well aware, I am a demonic spirit. The prince of Tartarus. The abhorred, the ungodly ruler of hell or whatever God forsook names they could throw at me."

His voice grew deep and filled with anger at the mere mention of the names he had been called.

"..."

"You're a good listener," he points his cup at Ars, sipping on it before placing it down on the table.

He then rummaged inside his cloak and took out a leather strip, using it to tie back his hair. Ars couldn't help but notice the faint lines on Demiurge's cheeks, hidden beaneath his hair.

Suddenly, without warning, Demiurge ripped off the flesh on top of his face. Ars was taken aback by the surprising sight of his true face, which had no discernible facial features.

Simply put, it was just nothing. It was as if he was staring into the abyss.

"Don't gaze too much, or it will gaze back," Demiurge said as he puts back on the pale flesh of his face, snapping Ars back into his senses.