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He wished that they would stop. The voices swirling in his mind, venomous and taunting as they filled his head with hateful words, words that his brothers had hurled in his face to begin with. It stings, hurts, burns in a way that makes him feel insignificant. If it were just a demon he didn't know he wouldn't have cared, might've spit in their faces in response but these insults were uttered by his own brothers, his brothers who he had lived with for millennia. It hurts, makes his chest constrict, makes his heart clench with such intensity it felt as if it were shattering into little fragments to be blown away into a far away land. Even after all that he has done for them, is his worth nothing in their eyes? Does he matter so little to them that it was so easy for them to insult him in such a manner, to laugh at his misery and sorrows? Perhaps they didn't mean it, surely they didn't. Even still, it does not change the conclusion that Mammon's mind drove him to.
He must die if he wanted his brothers to be happy.
.........
It hasn't been a pleasant week, to put it simply, for any of the brothers. Lucifer's workload had increased by a ridiculous amount and the prideful demon had refused the help Barbatos and Diavolo had offered when they noticed the bags growing darker under his eyes, one of Leviathan's Ruri-chan merch had gone missing, one of Satan's most precious books had been damaged, Asmodeus's makeup had vanished, Beel's insatiable appetite had led to their supply of food being emptied which led to not just one hungry demon, but seven, and Belphegor found himself waking in the dead of night from a nightmare that had left him a quivering mess. And Mammon? He gambled his loneliness away, dealt with the increasingly bothersome witches constantly on his tail and the insults his brothers tossed his way. All in all, it was quite possibly, one of the worst weeks that year. And so the onslaught of insults had been particularly vicious, more so than usual that week.
Scumbag.
Moron.
Idiot.
Scum.
Failure
Disappointment of a demon.
But he was used to it, used to their mocking tone, to their taunts, to the abuse. However, his mind came screeching to a halt when he heard that sentence,
"It should've been you."
Now, Mammon would admit it himself that he was not the brightest, but even he knew what that sentence had implied. It should've been him, he should've died instead of Lilith in that war. He didn't miss the way Asmo's eyes widened when he realised what he had said, or the way Beel and Belphie had turned to the fifth-born with such shock and anger in their eyes at his words. He didn't miss the way the air turned cold and tense, how it fell silent quickly as Mammon remained unresponsive, eyes fixed on the ground. He could feel his body growing cold, the voices growing louder and louder in his head, forcing him to relieve all the worsts of his memories in a fraction of a second. He wants to cry, wants to weep and scream, but all he felt was emptiness. The voices of his brothers around him were oddly muffled in his ears, as his mind repeated the sentence over and over.
"It should've been you. It should've been you. It should've been you."
"Why did you live instead of Lilith?"
Ǐ̷̡͔̪̯̯̦͒͗̚͠t̶͚͎̬̑̑̏͌ ̶̡̢̨̖̲̳̞͚̭̣̱̟̀̚͜s̸̢͚̺̰̱͍̖̫͚͈̤͠h̷̡̩̮̲͔͚̜̤̪̳̳̞͊͋̽͛̽̌̎̓ͅǫ̷̛̪͕̘̗̙̫̫͕͎͕̼͍̏͑̅̃̐͑u̵̙̣͊̐̓͆͆l̷̫̖͎̣͇̲̊̑̈̾̎̋͛̏̅́͜͠͠ͅd̵͓̙̖̙̻̟̥̣̹̱̟̄͐̾͆̈̅̓̄̋͐'̷̧̗̒̑̅̑̋̊̐̋̓́̈́̚͜v̶͖͉̓̊̾͑̓̃̒̓̓͠e̵̯̹̦̳̣̲͊̾̑͛͋̆̎͌̄̔̇͝ ̵̹̪̾̾̐̈́͑̉̓͂͝b̷̧͖̝̞̼̥̮̯̼̳̝̞̹̔̍̏̃̑̆̈́͌̚̚̕ę̶͓̩͖̣̙͎̱͍̄͊͗̋̄̌̾̏͒̚͠è̵̢̗͉̪̱̺͓̘͈̾̅̓̈͛͋̓̏͝ṉ̵̟͓̝̄̆̉̽̇̍̈̈́̒͘͜͜͝͝ ̷̢̳̮̥̤̻̠̮̦̺̝̋͜͝ÿ̸͙́͊̓ō̵̧̯̜̬̟̞̯̱̩̩̦͇͓̐͐̊̐͐ų̷̡̳͉̺͙͙̘̩̼̬͕̏͜,̵̡͙̯͚̬͇̲̱̰̭̹̒̈͛͆̅̑̍̽̆̕͘͜ ̸̧̧͙̹̲̘̗̼͈̻̞̉n̴̲̯̗̈́͗͌ǫ̸̤̥̲͕̭̱̳̲͍̜̈̅̊͊͛̋̀͘t̶̹͕̬͕̙̬̝͛̃̓̐͂͠͠ ̷̛̺̮̤̰̩̱͓̫̳̠̃̌̅́̄͘͜L̷̛͎̝̲̆͑̏͗̀́͗̈͝i̸̢̨̯̝͙̘͉͓̪̘͇̺͊͆̉͜l̴̪̤͆̐́̐̈́̎̔̋̑͆̚͝i̵̧͙̱̱̜̯͙̮͖̥͎͐̆̎̀̓̈́̽̓ͅṯ̸̡̧̛̖͕̲̗̜͐͗̓̄̅̕h̸͚̰̩̙̪̪̠͔̬͉̝̝͗
Mammon forced a smile onto his lips, forced a laugh as he waved the comment and concerned stares of his two youngest brothers off before stalking away, ignoring Beel's concerned cry of his name as he shut the door to his room. He felt numb, the vile voices in his mind repeating the same few words again and again with increasing elation.
It should've been you.
Shut up.
It should've been you. It should've been you
Shut up, just shut up.
It should've been you. Why wasn't it you? Why did you live instead of Lilith?
SHUT UP.
He felt something warm run drown his arm, drops of blood that ran down his arm in rivulets from a cut he made. Ah, when had he picked up that knife? When did he begin to push and drag the blade against his skin and watch the beads of blood flowing from the open wound? It was morbidly calming, with each slice upon his skin, he felt his racing heart begin to slow, felt his nerves soothing with each cut on his arm. For the first time in the entire week, he felt peace. But he knew it wouldn't last. By tomorrow, the bullying would return in full force, they would sneer at his weakness and relish in his pain.
He gave himself an hour to write the letters before stepping out of his room.
.........
"What do you want, Mammon?" As expected, Lucifer was not in a good mood. Mammon only laughed nervously, hands behind his back as he anxiously fiddled with the letter, careful so as to not crumple it in his grip.
"Nothing! I swear, I just..." Mammon trailed off, eyes resting on the little glass paperweight on Lucifer's desk. It was a delicate little thing in the shape of a peacock, crafted of black glass and eyes studded with blood rubies. It was not cheap, of course, and it had cost Mammon nearly every last Grimm in his wallet. Why did he buy it then? Well, it was Lucifer's birthday then and he knew his brother would prefer something practical that he could use. Not to mention, it reminded him of Lucifer, from the jet-black glass to the ruby red eyes, it resembled his brother perfectly. Though that is something he would rather avoid revealing since Mammon wasn't sure how Lucifer would respond to such a comment.
"You just?"
"Ah-" Mammon snapped out of his reverie, pulled out of the memories by Lucifer's voice. "Just wanted to say I love ya, big bro."
He saw crimson eyes narrow in distrust before Lucifer sighed, closing his eyes as he massaged one side of his temple with a finger. Mammon took that opportunity and slipped the letter onto the nearby table.
"What did you do now, Mammon?" But when Lucifer opened his eyes, Mammon was no longer there.
.........
Next was Levi, Mammon placed his letter down by the door under the Ruri-chan figurine that Levi had lost earlier that week. It was not that he had stolen it, just that Levi had somehow left it in Mammon's room when he brought it out to gloat when they were about to have a movie night. Levi should be thankful that Mammon decided against selling it. He scoffed, his expression fond even as his eyes were filled with grief. He would miss talking to Levi, he could only hope that his younger brother wouldn't feel the same way for him. Though a part of him wished that they would at least miss his presence.
Mammon brought his hand up and knocked, leaving before he could hear Levi's response.
By the time Levi arrived at the door and opened a slight crack to peek out, Mammon was already gone.
.........
Satan's letter was admittedly, one of the more difficult ones to write. What could he possibly say to his youngest brother whom he had raised so lovingly in the past? They had grown so far apart, to the point where their conversations more often than not resulted in awkward moments of silence that Mammon willingly filled with his rambling. Heck, Mammon didn't even know how his littlest brother felt anymore, about anything. The last time he bought something for Satan, the blonde huffed, offended before admitting that he was no longer interested in the genre. Though, Satan did accept the book, Mammon wasn't sure if he had even read it once.
For Satan, Mammon merely slipped the letter through the space under the door and knocked, fleeing before the door opened.
Satan didn't know how to feel about the letter after he read it. Part of him was saying it was but another one of the few ways Mammon was trying to get attention but another part of him, the younger and more emotional part of him had cried and begged to check up on his elder brother. He knew that Mammon has never tried to gain attention from any of his brothers this way, not to mention the tone of the letter had sounded oddly resigned and regretful. It was unlike him. The Mammon he knew would never write such a formal and sorrowful letter, never.
When he made up his mind half an hour later and decided to check on Mammon though, he was no longer in his room.
.........
Asmo's letter was another one of the more difficult ones to write, mostly because they never got on well together. Asmo's words, though unintentional, was what drove him to do this after all. Mammon didn't blame him though, it was good to have a younger brother as honest as him. At least there was always someone reminding Mammon of how worthless he truly was, someone who kept him from growing arrogant and believing that he was loved by them despite being scum. Hence, Mammon didn't know what to write to Asmo. There is hardly any common interest between them, the only topic he could name off instantly being their memories of the Celestial Realm.
Mammon looked down, gingerly moving the bag of cosmetics to hold in his other hand. Asmo's makeup had gone missing and he had flown into rage, tearing through the entirety of the House of Lamentation in a futile attempt to find them. When his attempts came up empty, he had naturally pinned the blame on Mammon, believing him to have sold them for money. Mammon didn't steal them, heck he hadn't even seen them! Nevertheless, Mammon went out to purchase them to appease the younger. Never mind the fact that his wallet is nearly empty at this point, it's not as if he would need them anyway so the least he could do is make his younger brother happy at least once, for the last time.
Drawing in a deep breath to calm his racing heart, he knocked on the door and waited till Asmo answered.
"Who is it coming around and bothering me at such a late hour? Don't you know that I need my beauty sleep-oh, it's you, Mammon," Asmo's eyes, filled with rage cooled and gave way to guilt. Evidently, Asmo still remembers what he said earlier that day and was lamenting over it. Mammon grinned, lifting his hand so Asmo could see the gift he had prepared.
"Gotcha a lil gift, Asmo since ya wouldn't shut up about your makeup I bought 'em for ya!" He deposited the bag on Asmo's hands. "Be grateful to the Great Mammon for being so generous!"
Asmo knew it was new, he could tell with a glance so he couldn't accuse Mammon of stealing and returning them after Asmo threw a huge fuss over losing them.
"I should apologise," But when he looked up at Mammon, Asmo couldn't seem to find the courage to do so, especially not after what he had said in rage. So instead, he changed the subject, noticing Mammon's nails where the nail polish had begun to peel. "Your nail polish is peeling, Mammon! You'll let me repaint them tomorrow, right?"
He saw Mammon tense, eyes widening with shock before being overcome with another emotion that Asmo couldn't identify as Mammon quickly smiled again.
"Yeah, sounds good!" Mammon slunk away shortly after, before Asmo could properly process Mammon's reaction. Asmo simply shrugged then, he would ask and apologise tomorrow, when he was repainting Mammon's nails.
.........
Beel and Belphie were there when Asmo had cried "It should've been you!", hence Mammon was somewhat hesitant to face them. He knew how much Beel treasured and loved his brothers and of Belphie's silent devotion to his family. So he knew how much it would hurt them, well Beel at least, if he died. Nonetheless, his mind was made and he had no plans on changing it.
They should be asleep by now, judging by the late hour on the grandfather clock that he had passed by on the way to their room, he knocked though just to make sure. When Mammon received no response, he pushed the door open a crack and peeked in, confirming his doubts when he heard the soft snores of his youngest brothers. He crept into the room, making sure to keep silent as he moved, gently setting down the letters on the drawer between their beds. Turning his head over to Beel's bed, he couldn't help but smile when he saw the twins cuddling. He would definitely miss them, would miss sleeping between the two of them and the warmth they gave him in those moments. When he turned to leave, Mammon cursed softly as he tripped over the carpet, quickly steadying himself before he could fall and wake either of the twins up.
"Mammon?" Mammon cursed his carelessness when he heard Beel's voice. "What are you doing here, Mammon? Is something wrong?"
"Just checking to make sure to two of ya are sleeping well, don't worry 'bout it!" He hopes that his laugh didn't sound as forced to Beel as it did to him. He heard the sound of blankets shuffling in the dark as Beel rose, rubbing his eyes lazily as he beheld his older brother.
"Mammon? Are you sure you're okay?" Leave it to Beel to be so very perceptive when it came to his siblings. Once, Mammon would've loved that trait, but now he wishes Beel's senses hadn't been so sharp.
"Yeah, I'm fine so go back to sleep, Beel," Mammon left after that, he didn't want to risk alerting Beel even further by speaking.
.........
Having finished his task, Mammon returned to his room. He had already tidied it up, he didn't want to be a burden to them anymore after all so the least he could do was clean up. Leaving his D.D.D on his bed, he left his room and the House of Lamentation a minute later, a vial in his pocket.
.........
Demons are ultimately indestructible creatures, invulnerable to all but a few things. One being the power of an angel or a blade forged of the Celestial Realm's divine light and finally, despair. To demons who are immortal to all but so few threats, despair was the greatest threat to their life. Despair was what caused their wounds to cease recovering, despair was what caused their wounds to bleed continuously unto the earth, despair was what weakened a demon and robbed them of their strength. Mammon would know that better than anyone in this instance, because if he were at his full strength, this poison wouldn't have been so effective against him.
.........
It's funny living the last few moments of your life knowing that you are going to die. As Mammon drifted through the streets, he realised and noticed so many things that he had never seen before. He never saw the little store that sold jewelry he was sure Asmo would've liked, or the shop that held a book Satan had always wanted, nor did he notice the cat that sat on the bench, watching him with keen amber eyes. A demon passing by had noticed his little staring contest with the cat and admitted that it has been there for about a month now. He never noticed, never cared, never bothered. Mammon reached out and gently patted its head, listening to it purr with contentment, eyes closed serenely.
He pulled away, apologising when the cat glanced up with a glare that seemed to order more pats, and walked away. The cat simply remained on the bench, amber eyes remaining firmly on his back as he walked away.
Eventually, he arrived upon the very location that had been the beginning of their life in the Devildom. In the crater where they had landed, grew a lone oak tree, hundreds of fireflies flitting around it, lighting up the darkness with a luminiscent green glow. Mammon had planted the tree there himself some few centuries ago, a memory of what had occurred and of what they had lost. He settled down at the base of the tree, resting his back against its trunk as he gazed up at the night sky. He used to admire the night sky with Lucifer back in the Celestial Realm, had been so excited to point out every constellation he had learnt from whatever the lower angels told him of the Human Realm and Lucifer would listen with a small but fond smile. Those times were long gone now, and Mammon wished he had cherished those moments a little more. The cicadas were singing, reminiscent of the days of the old when they used to spend time together in the forests of the Human Realm.
Lifting the vial to his lips, he drained its contents in a single go. It was sweet, it reminded him of the sweets Lilith used to bring to him back then when she still lived. The way she would comfort him when he cried, they way she would always be there in his darkest times. He missed her.
He could already feel his body growing weak, vision darkening around the edges. Mammon could almost hear Lilith's gentle voice calling his name.
Someone was yelling in the distance, but he couldn't hear anymore, only the muffled sounds of a voice crying a word, or was it a name? Mammon doesn't know, and he doesn't want to know. Leaning back so that his head rested against the tree, he smiled at the stars in the sky, admiring them for one last time before he felt his eyes close for the last time. At the very last moment, before all noise gave way to silence, he could hear it clearly, the voice that had been screaming a singular name.
"MAMMON!"