Work Text:
They liked the forest.
They weren’t supposed to like anything at all, really, let alone anything Earth related. But they did.
They liked to go to a remote corner of wilderness, lie on the ground, and wait. Letting in all of the sounds, the odors, the sensations around them. Creaking leaves on the ground under their head. Damp soil under their nails. The strong smell of a nearby excrement. The other scents, ever changing with the wind, but definitely forest-like. Humus. Flowers. Trees. Faint decomposition. Even the sun seemed to have a specific smell in the forest.
And the sounds. The sounds. So many of them. All the insects running away, all the other animals crawling and sprinting and mating and eating and giving birth and chasing and dying and sleeping and being alive. Everywhere. And the wind in the leaves. And the rain. And the thunder.
They liked that it was buzzing.
They liked to feel the creatures crawling over their face and body, invading their clothes, eating away the flesh after a while. Claming their flesh. Integrating it as part of life. Part of the process. Part of Her Creation.
That was not allowed, not for Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, Lord of the Flies, to like Her Creation so intensely that they would ever want to be a part of it. But that’s how things were.
Whenever Beelzebub was in need of peace, they would borrow a body, chose a forest, lie on the ground, and let the body rot. And, peacefully, feel the cycle of life and death take part around them, inside them, observe it from as close a demon could be to such things.
The borrowed body would never get returned.