Chapter Text
The Devildom’s night air pools in the hidden alleyways. Sinking into the cracks and crevices of broken-down buildings. Despite Mammon’s leather jacket the cold still digs into his skin. He shivers, sore arms barely holding himself together. He could still feel the faint burn of the rope across his skin. There was a tingle where the chafed skin healed. He let his head roll across his shoulders, his blood swirling in his rage.
He continues walking. The alleyway walls roll high into the sky, stretching for the Heavens.
No matter how many times it happens. No many how many times he was strung up and belittled it never mattered. They were always right. He was scum . He stole and lied to his own family. Who does that? -Mammon grunts, slamming his fist against a wall. The cement crumbles under his skin, blood mixing with rock. The pain mixes in with the rest- But it was always him.
He indulged in his sin, just like the others. Asmo had broken his fair share of beds. Satan had let his anger consume him and demolished whatever laid in his path. Hell, Beel eats everyone's food! And yet when Lucifer blew up it was at him!
It was something minor, something Mammon didn’t even do. He pleaded not to be tied up, that it wasn’t him. Lucifer could only look at him with cold disappointment in his eyes. The look. He has become accustomed to that look but it always hurts. The faint shame and disdain, knowing that Mammon hasn’t done good. That he never does good.
Then you, the sweet human that you are begged Lucifer not to, to stop, he only brushed you off. The simple excuse of “it’s family business.” The humiliation of you seeing him like that...Face flushed in dizziness, blood rushing to his head as he swung back and forth, the pain of the ropes biting into him didn’t matter. Not when you looked up at him, brows furrowed, apology in your eyes and slipped away. Not when he could see how, even for a second you questioned that maybe he did do it. And that hurt more than any punishment that Lucifer could dish out.
“Bastard…” Mammon mumbles, pushing his hands into his pockets. His scraped knuckles tingle in pain but Mammon can’t bring himself to care. What was more pain to him? To scum?
He finds himself walking further into the dark. Into the hidden paths and trashed streets. The city lights don’t shine here, the stars covered with shitty balconies and awnings. This is where scum lives. This is where Mammon belongs. Gradually the ringing in his head becomes dull. The blood finally settles in his veins but the anger stays.
“I needa drink…” Something to make him feel dull, nonexistent. To not think about his mistakes and problems. To not think of Lucifer and his brothers. To not think of how you looked at him…
Mammon takes in his surroundings. Grime covered buildings and desolate homes. The pathways don’t look familiar anymore, they started to mingle hours ago but Mammon can’t find it in him to go back. He doesn’t want to see Lucifer’s pompous face. He needs to water down his anger with something, anything.
He continues on, the soles of his shoes start to bite into his feet. He’d find a bar or sketchy casino soon enough. There was plenty of that to go around Devildom after all.
...
The faint cheering is what draws him in. Hoops and hollers from a seemingly abandoned building. The filth of Devildom all over it. It’s a place that Mammon would never go, outside of looking for a deal but now… Now he’d do anything to not feel.
Mammon doesn’t know what to expect when he enters the building. The large front doors creak and groan when he slides them open. The cheers spill into the alley along with the faint sound of punches.
The room expands out, filling the building floor. Stairways and ladders lead to higher levels and platforms to look down at the center. Every inch of available space is filled with demons. Their bodies bump and press against each other, it’s almost suffocating.
Thwack...Thwack!...Wack…Thud!
Mammon finally lets his eyes drift toward the center. The lights all focus on the ring. Two large demons fill the arena. The larger one dominates, his wings spread out in pride, lips pulled back in a sadistic grin. Blood covers the canvas, sparkling in the light. In a terrible way, it’s beautiful. In the way that Mammon can’t bring himself to look away. The bodies push and pull around him like waves but Mammon shifts with the waters, eyes on the fight.
The screams grow louder until a sickening crunch resounds from the demon on the floor. Their screams mingle with the crowds until a sharp bell rings out. It’s beyond disgusting.
An announcer enters the ring, flying onto the stage. He pulls a microphone to his face before raising the larger demon's hand. The blood that coats the wraps shines in the light. The crowd screams, chanting his name. His wings flap back behind him and he roars, a grin plastered onto his face.
“And that’s what happens when you challenge The DESTROYER !”
Mammon doesn’t need to be Lucifer to feel the pride radiating off of him. He looks down at the crowd with eyes that show nothing but devilish victory. He scans the crowd soaking in their praise. He raises his arms demanding more. Until his eyes reach Mammon’s. Among the ocean of demons, his eyes catch his and Mammon blanches at the look in his eyes. He can feel the greed. The need for more than victory, the need for a show of power. -He points one clawed finger at Mammon, the crowd turns.- The need for an absolute crushing defeat.
“Oh! Gahaha! Is that...could it be?!” He draws out his words, pulling in the crowd's attention. “One of the avatars of sin? Aha!” Despite how full the room is the demons push away from Mammon with hisses and jeers. A light turns toward him, showering him in attention. He raises a sore hand to shield his eyes. “I can’t believe it! One of the elite.” He spits the words out as if acid. “Oh...Oh, I’m sorry! Nevermind it’s just The Great Mammon.” Laughter is scattered throughout the building. Yet it surrounds him. Mammon leans inward on himself, trying to make himself smaller. “The Scummy Second-born, right?” He laughs, a low guttural thing. A hand pushes him forward and another and another until he is basking in the arena’s light. A laughing demon shoves him into the ring.
The cheers sound louder from here. It pools on the rings canvas and reverberates through his feet. Mammon can feel the panic rise in his throat.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He should have never come here. He needs to leave. If Lucifer finds him like this? He’ll never forgive him. He’ll string him up for centuries (at that thought Mammon can feel his anger start to rise).
The Destroyer stalks closer. He towers over Mammon with a look in his eyes. Amusement. Mammon feels sick to his stomach.
It’s been centuries since Mammon last fought. He’d rather try to avoid as much trouble as he can. If one of the avatars were seen beating on defenseless demons it would be frowned upon. He can hear Lucifer’s voice. They have a reputation to uphold. Mammon curls his hands into fists at his side as he backs up. If Lucifer found out he-
“You’re the most pathetic of all of your brothers.”
The statement silences the ring. Words echo against the walls and drift through the shocked silence. It’s rare for someone to speak so openly against the avatars. The Destroyer leans closer.
“ It’s pitiful .” Spittle flies out of his mouth. Mammon looks away in revulsion. When his eyes catch the crowd he can see their shock turn to wolfish grins. Mammon turns, glaring at the demon.
“What? Too afraid to do something? Is it me?” He turns, addressing the crowd. “Or is it the mighty Lucifer?... Diavolo? You wouldn’t want to anger your bosses, huh? You too scared of what they might do?” He swivels, cornering mammon against the ropes. The grin splits into his cheeks, fangs biting into his lips. Mammon eyes the blood splatters on his face.“Huh?!” He barks, shoving his maw into Mammon’s face.
His hand cracks across Mammon’s face and the crowd screams. They want violence. They want blood.
Mammon’s face burns, the tinge of shame blooms across his cheeks. He can feel his resolve crack. He moves to the ledge of the ring, ready to leave. To find somewhere else, anywhere else that would take him. His back ignites in pain as his wings pierce through his skin, jutting through the leather of his jacket.
“Come on, scum!” There is anger to his taunts now. Mammon doesn’t see it but he can feel the air change. There’s movement, the shuffle of feet before a claw tears through the membrane of his wings. And in the moment of it all, it's quiet.
The demons look up at him, watching in sick anticipation. The light shines down on them, catching in their eyes and the gleam of their shining white fangs. Hundreds of eyes look up at him, though he only sees the refraction.
You’re just a waste of space, Mammon.
He should just go home. It’s late. He’s tired. He hurts. His fist pulses, knuckles hiss in pain. His wing flaps, searing hot pain through the muscles and onto its fingers. He hurts, he hurts so fucking much.
How are you my brother? Seriously, it’s pathetic.
He just wishes he could go to you, curl into your warm arms. Tell you all his woes and sorrows. You’d listen, you always did, brushing your fingertips against the nape of his neck. Pressing somber kisses to his forehead. Loving him endlessly and fully.
Though, he doesn’t deserve it. Why would scum like him deserve unconditional love?
I only asked this one thing of you Mammon and you can’t even do that.
But...would you now? How your brows furrowed, lips downturned as you fiddled with your fingers. You looked so lost then. You watched him, fingers brushing against his hair as it fell away from his eyes. At that moment your eyes reminded him of Lucifer’s. Eyes dead cold with disappointment.
Go die, Mammon. Just go die for all I care.
He wishes Lilith was here. He wishes you trusted him. He wishes Lucifer still loved him, wish his brothers still loved him.
“Come on!” The demon's voice cracks as he surges forward again. His claws furl into the leather of his jacket and snap him backward. Mammon brings his fist up, anticipating the next hit before turning back to the ropes. The feeling of his power resonating through him. Breaking him down and reverberating through his bones.
But he doesn’t feel the pain anymore. Not really. It mingles in with everything else.
Why did I have to have such utter scum as my brother?
Another hit. A kick.
Why couldn’t he have died instead of Lilith? Maybe then his brothers would be happy. Maybe then everything would be different.
His claws tear into his skin, pulling at him. Dragging him into the limelight. Mammon lets himself be dragged, head hanging low. He watches his shadow. He can almost see the shine of his halo. The spread of his wings. The heavenly glow of prosperity.
Prosperity. Ha. What-a-fucking joke.
This is how he’ll die. With the image, the thought of prosperity. Of a luminous life in the heavens with his family hanging over him as if a burden.
Maybe this time, maybe...Father will have enough pity to let him be with Lilith.
...
Mammon can taste the blood in his mouth before he feels his grasp leaves the Destroyer’s arm. He can feel the bone prodding against his hand. The sickening crack is what brings him back to the moment.
The Destroyer lies against the floor, body twisted in agony. His face is pressed against the floor, horns digging into the bloodied matt. Mammon holds his palm in his hand, talons digging into the flesh. It’s twisted backward in a way that almost makes him want to vomit.
His foot presses into the ribcage of the Destroyer's curled body. Mammon can’t help but think of how expensive these shoes are, only to be covered in his blood. To think he used to be an angel centuries ago.
Despite the Destroyer’s gaping mouth and the echoes of a scream, Mammon doesn’t hear it. Not through the cheers. The flutter of wings and whipping of tails, their shrill howls, and shrieks. The air fills with their bloodlust.
In a way, it reminds Mammon of The War. The moment Lilith fell. The moment Mammon let his anger pave the path to his downfall. The moment he truly fell from heaven’s grace.
Mammon drops his hand and steps back, back pressed against the ropes. His hands scramble to hold himself up. He feels claustrophobic, even with the open space. The screams push in on him, caging him. As if this was a dog fight. Eye pooled in on him, watching from the safety. Ready for the blood and gore.
The Destroyer can sense it. He must because as he shuffles to get up Mammon can see the fear in his eyes. The fear of losing, a dog who knows it’s cornered. Still, he raises a hand, the other hanging limply at his side.
“Yo-” He spits a tooth onto the canvas. Disgusting.“You got the drop on me there. I can admit that.” He shuffles again but Mammon can see through it. He knows that posture, he’s had that posture. A weak attempt at feigning strength. The nights where the ropes had eventually scrapped against his skin long enough to bore blood. Tearing into his rib cage and pulling at his muscles. An anger surges through Mammon. The feeling of the blood going to his head, bloodshot eyes, and the static of his limbs.
The Destroyer rushes at him, roaring. Mammon doesn’t stop himself this time. He dodges, moving to the side, arms curled toward his face. He aims for his bruised ribs. There is a loud crack before the Destroyer falls again.
Mammon knows he’s too far gone. He’s broken the rules. Though it feels so good. To finally let his anger out, to finally let go of the breath he had been holding in for centuries. Still...
Another hit.
But now, well, now Mammon can’t find it in him to care. Didn’t Lucifer do the same? The first to fight for Lilith, the first against Father’s orders. He had broken his own word. That day in heaven when he held Mammon close to him, before the battle had truly begun. Wings wrapped around him, tears streaking down his face. Back then he had told Mammon he wouldn’t ask him to fight. Back then he told Mammon that he loved him, that he loved all of them. That if Lilith fell then so would he, bloodied and beaten if he had to (there was no winning, they both knew it back then). But that he’d protect them the best he could nonetheless.
Mammon’s bruises weren’t protection.
A kick, screams filling the tainted air.
And being called scum wasn’t love.
Mammon presses his heel into the Destroyer’s back, pushing him out of the ring. His limp body falling to the demons below.
If Lucifer could break his word then so could he.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer emerges from behind him, hand grappling onto his and pulling it into the pale light. “We have a winner!”
What would Lilith think of him now? Mammon looks across the sea of demons. He heaves, muscles straining. From the center of the ring, it almost looks ethereal. A blurry sea of colors, wings flapping and fists raised to the sky. These demons, despite their need for a winner, for something more... are cheering...for....him.
Mammon.
The scummiest of the 7 brothers.
And it feels...good. His wounds burn with a feeling he’s almost forgotten. A feeling so foreign despite Mammon always basking in its trail.
Pride .
This was pride.
And well...he figures, Lilith can’t see him anyways. She’s dead and the Mammon she knew died alongside her.
Mammon brings his limp hand and raises it towards the sky. Towards the heavens.
The crowd cheers louder.