Rise of the Demon

"You piece of shit." 

Alkazar gripped the collar of Zephyrion's shirt before tossing him to the ground. The scrawny, weaker demon was pitiful, cowering before Alkazar, who loomed over him with a malicious smile, one indicating he was about to make Zephyrion's next thirty minutes living hell. 

"Where are you hiding it? Eh?" Alkazar snarled, the tusks sticking out of his mouth, thick saliva almost drooling and dripping towards Zephyrion right before he began kicking his ribs. "In here?!" The demon continued his onslaught, busting his nose and cracking a few ribs before grabbing him once more and turning him upside down to shake.

Zephyrion coughed, the blood from his nose and mouth trickling down his neck, making it hard to breathe as he was shaken. Zephyrion had no idea what this Alkazar spoke of. In fact, he was clueless about everything until the last few moments, which involved him getting the shit kicked out of him. 

How did he even know who Alkazar was? He just… knew. Something within him spoke to him of the familiarity with this demon. 

Demon… That was more bizarre than the last couple of minutes. Before Alkazar started beating him, Zephyrion was sure he had been staring into the bottomless depths of water from a distance. Flashing lights thrummed in the background and car horns honked from afar. 

Zephyrion frowned as the pounding headache intensified, adding to the discomfort of his already battered head. Whatever kept flickering across his mind caused a sharp pain.

Alkazar shook him again, regaining Zephyrion's attention.

"Ugh… I don't know…" Zephyrion began wheezing, his golden eyes teary. "What you mean…"

"You're the best thief there is! You think we're stupid? That…" He pointed at the table full of stolen food and trinkets. "Is all you brought home after days away?"

Alkazar dropped Zephyrion, who coughed again, trying to inhale and ignoring his newest injuries dealt by one of the gang members he was currently hanging with. Wait, were his memories returning to him? What was he doing? Was there a real reason this Alkazar should have an issue with him?

Could he fight back? Pfft. Definitely not. Even without his memories, Zephyrion could tell he was a far weaker being than this beast above him.

Zephyrion compelled his mind to recall any details as he curled inward, a sensation he knew all too well. Despite the discomfort familiar to a body accustomed to beatings, he suppressed the nausea, focusing on a recollection that surfaced. Damn.

 "Honest, that's all I could find!" Zephyerion shouted, his chest heaving, eyes bloodshot, his right eye swelling from Alkazar's beating. 

"Lies!" Another voice yelled from the side, encouraging Alkazar to kick him hard again in the stomach. 

It really was a lie. Zephyrion, or the Zephyrion before most of his memories fled, had been in a human town for days, and although he was tall, lanky, almost frail-looking, he was swift with his hands and could dive in and out of crowds, finding easy prey quickly. He did steal a great deal of things, but he sold it off to the local fence and buried his coin elsewhere. His intention was to save as much up before leaving because why would he continue to help this gang if all they ever did was beat him up? 

The Zephyrion from before hung out with this group as they provided the ultimate protection from other demons and humans. There was also some sort of hierarchy that Zephyrion couldn't quite grasp yet; it was easy to guess where he stood among the other demons.

Demons… The term was still odd yet familiar.

The demons in their group were twice his size, hunted for their meals and could fight, whereas Zephyrion was born with the ability to flee rather quickly or make himself unseen. It was better that way, especially after he'd seen what the humans did to demons gone astray, rogue to their own kind. Only those incredibly strong, foolish or down on their luck would travel alone.

Another boot crunched into Zephyrion's face, and he was knocked unconscious; the last thing he felt was his pockets being searched before darkness enveloped him. 

The sounds of squeaks and the sudden sensation of something skittering across his legs snapped Zephyrion into consciousness. He jolted forward and jerked his legs, forcing the mice to scatter away from his body. Hells, he wasn't dead yet!

Bleary-eyed, Zephyrion leaned back against the cold wall of a small room. It was familiar, yet simultaneously, it was as though he was in a dream, aware of some sort of story and memories but unable to discern everything. Zephyrion had been left in the storage room- again.

His body was almost crippled, and from the hollowness in his stomach and dryness of his throat, it had been a few days since Alkazar knocked him unconscious. Zephyrion, the name unfamiliar to his ears; he was pretty sure his name had been Seth, but who was to say? His mind seemed to have been shattered, likely a result of the relentless beatings inflicted upon him by these demons.

Staring down at his hands, expecting to discover answers, Zephyrion halted upon seeing their texture. Of all the things to take his attention, it was the abnormality of his limbs. Pale, white, scaley, with sharp, elongating claws. His spindly digits crawled up his face as he felt his skin's strange, sleek, almost polished texture. Beneath him, acting like a limp limb, was a small, scaley, lizard-like tail.

He had a fricken tail?! Zephyrion grabbed it, staring wide-eyed at the limb. If he yanked on it, would it fall off? Was that a thing? He was sure lizards let their tails drop off if they were threatened. 

Zephyrion released it now, not wishing to find out if he would lose the tail. It probably hurt self-amputating. With a sigh, he leaned his head back against the wall. He was a demon… A weak one. That's as much as he could tell through the fogginess of his mind. 

Whatever kept disrupting Zephyrion's mind should be set aside. This right here, sitting in a storage room, almost crippled, was his reality. He would be released once he could move properly again and clean the cottage. Until then, darkness was his friend. Alone, pathetic and weak. He was only alive because he was an asset to the gang. Otherwise, they would have killed him the day he was caught trying to steal from them. 

Eying his attire, the baggy rags were tied tightly to his waist, a cloak adding a layer of warmth to the shirt that hid the rest of his lizard-like body. A long leather-like string necklace with a fang dangled to where his belly button should be. What was this?

Better yet, what did his face look like? There was nothing in this dark storage room that he could use to determine his features. It was all so surreal and strange. His mind kept conjuring images of bright lights, electricity, and buildings, unlike the cottage and world he was in.

"Get to work." A cloth was thrown at Zephyrion's face as he departed from the unlocked storage room. He caught it and watched as the rest of the group snickered, leaving mud, blood, and guts in their wake as they left to hunt again. 

Who knew demons preferred to live in clean environments? 

Zephyrion sighed, staring at the cottage's mess. What was this bullshit? His legs barely moved as a wave of dizziness made him stumble, yet he couldn't eat until they returned and his chores of the house were done. 

They left him in this cottage alone... Why didn't he just run? 

Zephyrion dropped the cloth on the kitchen counter, his thoughts on escaping until he heard the clashing sounds of metal outside the cottage. Swords? A gunshot had the demon drop to the ground immediately. Humans?!