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"Duo's Salvation "Written By: Jewel of Hell Disclaimer: Don't own nothin' but these words Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Gratuitous violence, abuse, torture, language, yaoi, lemon, angels, demons, bigotry, hypocrisy, blasphemy, heresy, sacrilege, and general religion-bashing. THIS IS NOT A STORY FOR THE CLOSE-MINDED. Pairings: 1x2, others Summary: When the Prince of Hell is captured and
taken to Heaven, it is up to the Prince of Heaven to save him. But
what if he believes Duo is already being saved? "Duo's Salvation "
The Prince of Hell Ascends into Heaven For a long, long time, he couldn't marshal his thoughts into coherency. His eyes stared blankly ahead, unable to register what he was seeing. It didn't help that it was pure, blinding white. Finally, eventually, he blinked. He was able to blink, and that brought reality sharply into focus. He was in a room. A very plain, boring room. The only piece of furniture was the cot with a soft white mattress on which he lay. The walls were white, of course, emanating a kind of pale light. How strange. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember how he'd gotten here. The boy himself was a sharp contrast to the room. For starters, he wore predominantly black accented by blood-red; they were his signature colors. Next, his hair was extremely long, falling down to the backs of his thighs. The color was a deep auburn-cinnamon, warm and spicy. His skin was very pale ivory, and when he opened his eyes again, indigo-violet surfaces reflected only confusion. He could not remember how he'd come to be in this room. Surely not of his own volition. He didn't like white. It was an intensely boring color. And it reminded him of Heaven. He couldn't stand Heaven, because Heaven was full of angels. And he could not abide angels. No demon could. And as the Prince of Hell, son of the lord of all demons, Duo was certainly no exception. He rose to his feet and tossed his braid over his shoulder. There were no windows to give him his bearings and no door that he could see, either. Hissing in irritation, he tried to dredge up his last memory. Hmm. He'd been alone, in his room. He'd taken to avoiding the regular halls of the palace because there was an envoy from Heaven in Hell that day. He'd been lounging in the comfortable, familiar black-and-red of his taste and then . . . nothing. He simply could not remember anything beyond that. After a moment, he approached the wall. Touching it he found it to be perfectly solid, just like a wall ought to be. Frowning, he nibbled his lower lip and extended his senses. His paranormal senses. His demonic senses. And reeled from a nearly-physical shock. The aura of Heaven surrounded him so thickly he thought he might choke on it. How in the name of the endless layers of Hell had he wound up in Heaven? The last place in this universe he would willingly go? His jet black wings shot free of his back, filling the room with darkness as he lashed out with all his considerable power at the wall, fully intending to leave this place right now. That didn't happen. The wall absorbed his intent like a sponge absorbs water and simply reflected it back. It felt like his blood had been replaced by liquid fire and acid. The only reason he didn't cry out in agony was his throat seized, choking off all sound as he pitched forward. It was quite some time before his muscles stopped quivering wildly, before the pain tapered off and he could breathe normally again. Propping himself up on one elbow, he peered at the wall. Okay, obviously this place was designed for exactly its current purpose: keeping him in. Him. A demon. Baring his teeth, he pushed to his feet and stalked back to the cot. Growling low in his throat like an angry cat, he willed someone to come in and tell him what the fuck was going on.
"How's he doing?" She swept in like an arctic chill, her stark white robes washing out her pale skin. Her eyes went to the magically-transmitted image on the wall directly in front of the young angel to whom she spoke. He looked up at her and smiled, rising to his feet and bowing respectfully. "Well. He tried to use that power of his to escape just once, now he's just sitting there glaring fit to kill." He chuckled. Her name was Oraia, and she was called the Bright Lady of Heaven. Known for her impassioned devotion to God, she had spent much time on the mortal plane, trying to bring mortals back to God. She'd been the one to propose the idea of capturing the Prince of Hell and attempt to save his black soul. Everything about the boy suggested evil and indolence. For starters, his hair was absurdly long. He wore black and red, and the constant glare on his face should be a gentle expression of benevolence. She suspected it would take all her skill and patience to bring this far-wandering soul back to the path of light and righteousness. Sighing, she turned into the hallway. "You can go about your normal duties, Quince. When I have need of you again, I'll call you." She didn't wait to see him leave, she hurried on. She had more important matters to attend at the moment. Facing the door, she touched the small globe standing beside a blank stretch of wall. She waited until it verified her identity, then the wall simply opened for her. The Prince of Hell didn't react much upon seeing her. In fact, the only acknowledgement she got was a deepening of that scowl. Such an expression didn't have a place on that face. It was a shockingly pretty face. She imagined it wreathed in pale light, a gentle smile gracing those lips, the large eyes calm. The wall slid shut behind her, and she took a cleansing breath. "Welcome to Heaven, Prince," she said in a serene voice. "I am Oraia, but you will call me Bright Lady. It is by the grace of God that you are here, dark Prince, and it is by his grace that you will be saved—" "Spare me," he cut her off, lips curving into an ugly sneer. "I'm willing to bet God hasn't spoken to you angels in a million years. You're a bunch of lying hypocrites, and I'm sure God would take you down a peg or two if he were still here and not playing around the universe somewhere the fuck else." Oraia backhanded him with all her strength. It rocked through his entire frame, and a ribbon of scarlet blood streaked down his chin. "Don't you dare speak of God in such a way," she said, her voice still calm and reasonable. The prince recovered quickly. That sneer still twisted his lips. "Why not?" he challenged. "He would forgive me, right?" "That's hardly the point," she said somewhat archly. "I had you brought here because even demons, deplorable though we may find them, deserve a chance at salvation." The prince folded his arms. "And what, exactly, are you going to do if I don't want to be saved?" Oraia raised an eyebrow. "I will succeed, Duo,"
she said quietly. "One way or another, I will succeed."
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