How many days has it been?

No food, no water, I can barely breathe.

Do they intend to kill me like this?

Do they think demons have superhuman resilience?

I thought that I'd won.

I never would've guessed that my plan was just a method of checkmating myself.

I really can't believe I'm actually going to die like this.

It's surreal, but the guttural pain of hunger is no lie.

It's been so long since I've been hungry, I forgot what it felt like.

It's an empty, lustful feeling.

The pain pulls on my soul and ravages me.

It hollows out my weakness, changing me into someone willing to consumer another.

The grisly grip of thirst chokes me almost as tightly as my restraints.

There is a pounding in my palms where my flesh used to be.

It's difficult to think about anything except a way to make the pain disappear.

It's insane to me how much pain still infests my psychology.

I lived in literal hell for over 20 years. compared to that, I'm in heaven right now.

I must be feeling this way because of-

"Vile demon! reveal the locations of the other creatures of hell or face judgement!"

“And why would I do tha-”

(Squelch)

“D-don’t be so hasty… why don’t we make a dea-”

(Riiiiiip)

“I’ll… tell… you… please, just make it stop.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Speak!”

“The truth is… I lied to the original inhabitor of this body. I can only tap into my divinity under specific conditions. Otherwise, I am nothing but a normal demon.”

“Lies!”

(Teeaar)

“Please. Please just stop. I’ll do anything for you to stop.”

“Speak truth!”

“That was the truth. If you want lies, just make the request and I’ll be happy to oblige.

“Lies!”

“This is a human vessel. It needs food, drink, sunlight, social interaction, stretching room and sleep to function. A weak vessel makes for a weak spirit. Without proper sustenance, I can not make use of my divinity!

“Speak more lies heathen!”

(Crack)

.

.

.

“The demon won’t speak!”

“We’ve been at it for 5 days and it only spews the same lie!”

“We’ve sprayed holy water on its wounds, Forced it to wear a cross and watched it writhe in agony, inflicted countless wounds on its vessel of flesh! Is the demon of unbreakable spirit?!”

“I’ve seen that demon. Its eyes are glazed over. Its soul is conquered. Maybe it’s barred from speaking by some sort of spell?”

“What if… it’s telling the truth?”

…

“Preposterous!”

“But think about it. Humans have greater magical abilities when well fed. Would it be that strange for divinity to work in a similar way?”

…

“Ok Jeffrey. We’ll test your little theory. But if the demon gains strength and harms even a single soul, that damage will be your responsibility!”

“Well… even if we feed it. With that body, I would be surprised if it could harm even a small child.”

.

.

.

And so, they righteous men & women begin resuscitating the demon.

The work is primarily done by 1 sole caretaker.

An angel who volunteered for the role out of selfless risk to her own wellbeing.

Now, enter the present:

As she squeezes a wet rag over the demon’s wounds and cleans them to prevent infection.

Undoubtedly, She has done this hundreds of times before.

It is done with such care, that one might think the woman has sympathy for the demon.

But do not be fooled.

They are enemies.

In an assertion of dominance, she digs her nail into one of the demon’s deep wounds, and twists her finger inside of his flesh, mixing the gunk beneath her nails with his bloodstream.

The demon jolts within its restraints and lets out a muffled howl.

This howl is heard by no one.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

The answer is no.

This woman will be welcomed into heaven, live a joyful life, and be known as a lovely person who would not harm a fly.

Why?

Because not even god can hear muffled screams or see what goes on behind closed doors.

…

She wipes her nail off with a clean spot of the rag.

Not a trace is left.

This woman went on to be known as the woman so kind, that she was kind even to a demon.

And in spite of her sadistic cruelty, even she believed herself to be an angel.

Like a child who steps on an ant, there was no guilt.

Because there was no crime.

In fairytales, victims are shown sympathy.

This is reality.

In reality, victims are another way to say losers.

Winners write the history books

And so winners are justice.

She was a winner.

And that was all there was to it.