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When Hunter was eleven, he killed a wild witch.
He had been sent to capture her, to take her palisman and teach her a lesson about wild magic (A ‘lesson’ meaning torture her until she begged to be branded with a coven sigil). He’d had her backed against a wall, scouts on either side of him to prevent her escape. She’d been glancing from scout to scout, the panic and terror clear in every aspect of her body. Her lion palisman was clutched to her chest, not even in staff form, just doing whatever she could to protect it.
The eleven-year-old could hear her bated breath as he and the scouts stepped gradually closer. He could see the fear in her pale grey eyes that darted around, searching desperately for any form of escape. He almost felt bad for her.
Key word being almost.
Then she made a run for it.
With the aggression of a threatened lion, she lunged for a scout to Hunter’s left. Caught off guard, the scout did nothing to defend themself, only yelped in fear and reeled back as the witch pulled a knife from her belt. Hunter pulled out his own.
He didn’t realise what he was doing until his shaking hand was clenching a red knife. Until the scout’s mask was lying on the floor next to its owner, the scout staring at the scene in front of them dazedly. Until the wild witch was gawping at him with what could only be described as raw terror. Until he noticed the gaping red hole in the witch’s stomach that she had tied her arms around.
The stench of blood filled the air. In shock, the scouts only stood there, hardly breathing, as she fell to the floor opposite her victim. Her lion was roaring grievously, weaving around its witch, whose panicked movements were slowing rapidly. At some point, the lion seemed to accept it, and curled up in a whimpering circle next to its witch’s head. The instant the witch saw the palisman, her eyes softened, and she reached up to stroke its head. All the while, she whispered gentle reassurances to the lion, even as its whimpering got louder and rawer.
Gradually, the strokes got shorter and slower, until they stopped altogether. Distantly, Hunter heard a scout or two draw in horrified gasps. It was then that the lion let out a high-pitched wail. It gave Hunter a look (as if it had emotions…as if it felt anything. It was just a piece of wood, a dangerous piece of wood that Uncle needed. It felt nothing. It was nothing) of unfiltered anger and raw grief before it solidified.
No one spoke.
Eventually, the scout who the witch had attacked whispered, “Did…you mean to do that?”
Hunter did nothing but stare at the witch’s corpse, his magenta eyes blurry. It didn’t feel… real. It was so abstract, so distant. There was bile in his throat. His body trembled like never before. His ears and eyes were hot. It was like there was a rope tied around his neck.
When he finally comprehended the question, the answer that came was plain and hoarse, “Of…course I did,”
Belos… did not seem impressed by the turn of events. His curse flared up at the news of the witch’s death, but if there were new scars on Hunter’s arm from that, it was between the pair of them. Belos was clearly doing his best to control himself; the man leaned heavily on the arm of his throne, panting. He held out a gauntlet, and croaked in his gravelly voice, “Palisman…NOW!”
Frantically, Hunter searched his cape for a palisman- any palisman- until his gloved hand finally met a solid piece of wood. With a deep breath, he pulled it out and placed it into Belos’ outstretched hand. His uncle pulled it up to his chest just as the witch had done and snapped it in half. It was only as the essence began to absorb into Belos’ eyes that Hunter realised he had just watched his uncle kill the lion palisman. The lion palisman that he had just given to him. The lion paliman who’s witch he had just killed.
He didn’t remember the rest of that conversation. All he remembered were the heavy golden doors, and then his own wooden door, slamming shut behind him. He walked slowly and collectedly to his bed and sat there, staring at his floorboards. Vaguely, he began to treat the wounds on his arm. Maybe he should forget the events of the day by drowning them in the rubbing alcohol. It wouldn't be the first time.
He had expected to feel something the first time he killed someone. Guilt. Or if it turned out he had a thirst for blood: pride.
Instead, he felt…numb.
Pride would be better than nothing.
His eye caught the bloody knife on his belt. He pulled it out and examined it thoughtfully. It was still coated thickly in the witch’s blood. Why hadn’t he cleaned it yet? Strangely enough, he didn’t remember putting it back into his belt. Very strange. Seizing a cloth off his desk, Hunter began to wipe the blood off. As the shiny metal came back into view, he noticed his reflection staring back at him.
Those sad, tired magenta eyes that always stared back at him when he looked into the mirror. He’d often wondered whether his mother had magenta eyes when she was alive, and he got them from her. They had always given him something to base the imagination of his mother on, and he had liked that they made him unique. But when he saw them staring piteously back at him in times like this… he grew to hate them.
He had just killed someone. It was impossible to comprehend. A life had just been taken by him. He was a murderer. And to top it off, he had handed her palisman straight over to Belos to be consumed. He had killed both a witch and her palisman within the space of a few hours (A few hours? It felt like moments ago that he’d…that he’d…). His hands had thrust a knife into a witch’s stomach. His hands were dirty. Even if he washed and washed and washed them, they were never going to be clean again.
Not only had he taken two lives, but he had failed Belos. The emperor had very clearly told him not to kill the bitch, yet he’d gone ahead and done it anyway. Couldn’t understand the simple instruction to not kill someone. Perfect. He was a murderer and failure! The world would honestly just be a better place without him in it.
His eyes travelled up the blade.
No! No, those thoughts… they…they were sinful! Ungrateful, disgusting! The Titan had given him life, and he had no right to take that away!
And yet you had the right to take hers?
Hunter’s heart thumped rapidly in his mouth.
And her palismans?
He didn’t allow himself time for another thought. Tearing his gaze away from his reflection, he rolled up his sleeve and slit his forsaken wrist.
The next few hours were a blurred mess. He remembered being dizzy and confused and delirious. He remembered lying on his bed and studying his reflection. He remembered it hurt. It hurt like hell. He remembered muttering to himself, repeating the phrase, “I’m sorry,” over and over again. He remembered the tears streaming from his eyes. He remembered watching the blood trickle out slowly, ever so slowly, so much slower than the witch’s earlier. He remembered the sound of knocking at his door, and an impatient voice asking to come in. He remembered the look of pure horror on Darius’ usually apathetic face when he took in what was happening. He remembered Darius speaking to him in a low, panicked voice, but didn’t recall the words. He remembered the coven head leaving, then bringing in someone dressed in dark blue. They looked kind. He remembered the kind person gave him something, and when he drank it, the pain faded, his world went fuzzy. He remembered he fell unconscious.
He remembered that when he woke up, he found he still felt absolutely nothing.
When Hunter was sixteen, he fucked it all up.
Belos had given his mission to Kikimora (probably due to his recent bout of incompetence) and instructed him to stay within the walls of the castle. However, like the idiot he was, Hunter decided that oh noooooo he knew better than the literal fucking emperor of the Boiling Isles who also happened to be both his uncle and his saviour. He could just sneak out the fucking castle and go get the damn Titan Blood. He could find it and take it to back to the emperor, who would praise him and suddenly trust him again even though he had snuck out of the fucking castle.
So, yeah, that was really on him. And then he was gonna return with nothing to show and uncle was never going to trust him again and why would he after everything he’d had too many chances already and Belos was probably going to kill him or beat him within an inch of his fucking life and he was so screwed and why the hell did he ever think it was a good idea to sneak out of the fucking castle when he’d been told to stay and-
So, he dug. He dug and dug and dug his own grave. His grave, where he intended to just lie down and die. Maybe Kikimora would finish him off, (oh, how ironic that would be!) or he’d thirst. Maybe he’d suffocate if he filled the hole, or if worse came to worse, he could just use that knife he kept around his belt to slit his wrist or something. There was no-one around to ‘save’ him this time.
Then Blight came in. Of course. That damn human and her cronies always seemed to catch him at his worse. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t just leave him alone. He was always fucking up around them! It was the human’s fault he was so close to being replaced anyway! If they hadn’t faked the death of that selkidomus, and then made him care about her enough to allow their escape taken advantage of his distraction to escape, the ice under his feet would be one hell of a lot thicker!
“Don’t worry,” he muttered, but it was so quiet that he didn’t know if the Blight would hear him, “I won’t pick a fight. There’s no Titan Blood,”
He heard her hesitate, almost sensed the bewildered glance she exchanged with that weird rat-like creature, “Then…why are you digging?”
Oh, what an innocent soul. When had mentioned what they had in common earlier, he had known that she wasn’t quite as weighed down by responsibility as he was. She didn’t have the chronic fear of replacement that plagued him day after day, night after night. Oh, to be so innocent, so oblivious of the ways life worked. He almost envied pitied her.
He turned to face her, “Oh, it’s simple really. Belos needs Titan Blood to make a new portal key,” he explained before resuming his digging, “Can’t get to the Human Realm without it!”
The Blight murmured something behind him, but he didn’t catch it, continuing on his manic ramble, “Since I failed my last mission, I thought ‘HEY! A chance to make up for it! But I can’t go back empty handed!’” he began to laugh hysterically at his own stupidity. When the laughter dissolved, he fell into his grave on his knees, “Not again. Long story short, this is my grave!” he gestured to the dirt below him and turned, grinning, to face the girl, “Want me to make you one too?”
The deeply concerned expression on Blight’s face almost made him burst into another fit of demented cackling. The rat-dog-weird-whatever-thingy narrowed his yellow eyes – yellow and magenta, isn’t that funny? The only other creature with a similar eye colour to you is a wretched dog! Now, what does that say? Don’t they tend to call you the emperor’s lapdog? – “This is really bumming me out,” he loudly stated.
“That’s just life, rat,” he replied disdainfully. Seriously, this thing lived under a wild witch’s roof and yet he still needed Hunter to spell it out for him?
“Everyone has a use, and if you don’t…” he blew a raspberry, then continued his work, “Buh-bye! Your friend gets it,”
For the next few minutes, he could hear a muffled conversation behind him, but didn’t much care about what they were saying. He was wondering if he should bother waiting for Kikimora or not. Sure, it would give him more time to work on his final resting place, but there was no guarantee she’d kill him with all the scouts and the captain watching her. She might take him back to Belos. At best, she’d tell Belos the truth, that he’d been trying to get the Titan Blood before her. That would… not exactly end well. At worst, she’d accuse him of being a traitor, trying to sabotage her mission and stop Belos from completing the portal. That would end…well, maybe he’d make it quick? Somehow, he doubted it.
Then again, Kikimora might not end up coming into the cave. She and her party had been beaten up pretty bad after the whole minecart incident. Then Hunter would be left to thirst, which would be no fun. Yeah, he’d probably just plunge the dagger into his throat. Or maybe he had some rope that he could use? That might be painful though-
Suddenly, Hunter felt something pulling at his cloak, “Hey!” he yelped, before realising that it was that blasted bird, “Go find a better which to be with,” he fell forward into the dirt, where he covered his head with dirt and lay, groaning. The genial ungodly thing landed on his back and chirped at him sadly.
Then Blight came over once again and gave him a whole stupid speech about how they really were similar, (even though she was so innocent. Why, how was she so innocent?) and he just needed to find the right people. (As if she knew anything about that. Word was, once Odalia’s youngest met the human, she started to rebel. How was that finding the right people?) What he hated most about her lecture, though, was that he had almost been convinced.
She offered her hand, and for a brief moment, he almost took it.
Then his eyes caught sight of the key around her neck.
In a sick sort of way, she saved him.
In a sick sort of way, he did meet the right person, because she had the key that could save him.
He fought her for it. He threatened the human, and, in all honesty, he was not proud of it.
But after everything, he stood outside, holding the key up, watching it sway in the Knee’s cold breeze.
As he studied it, he found that all he felt was disappointment.
When Hunter was sixteen, the nightmares became too much.
He was just... so tired. So damn tired. The nightmares were so full of screaming and bleeding and crying that he began to fear falling asleep. How was it fucking fair? He was already plagued with memories that made him want to throw up or cry during the day, so why, during his only real respite, did the nightmares have to come?
Exhaustion set in hard and fast as he slept less every night. He hardly ate anything (didn’t want food, didn’t deserve it) and the others were starting to notice. Mrs Noceda, Willow, and Luz had all tried to ask what was going on. Gus had assured him he could talk about it if he needed to. Amity and Vee had given him questioning glances and aimed worried questions in his direction every now and then. Time and time again, Hunter denied any issues they brought up. Time and time again, Hunter just smiled and said he was completely 100% a-okay. Time and time again, Hunter said he’d be alright.
Then one night, he cracked.
He had just sat down on the sofa to do some reading at around 9pm when he felt drowsiness creeping up on him gradually. Each time his eyelids drooped, he’d slap or jolt himself awake, but it was becoming notably harder every time. After around fifteen minutes of this, Hunter failed to wake himself up and nodded off.
Instantly, he found himself staring at the dust a palisman had left behind. A dull pain told him that his arm was bleeding, but he discovered that he couldn’t bring himself to care. All his attention was focused on the palisman at his feet.
A lion palisman.
“More,” rasped a voice. A voice that was familiar. Too familiar. Shitshitshit how was he back!? His snapped up, and staring back at him were two gleaming, judgemental blue eyes, “Hunter... get me more,”
Hunter gulped, gazing down at the floor. His heart seemed to beat a million miles a minute, “That’s-that’s all I have, my Lord,” he heard himself murmur, “That’s all she had,”
“Then get more,” Belos growled. Suddenly, a cold gauntlet forced his head up and he had to meet those gleaming, judgemental blue eyes once again, “I don’t care if you have to kill every witch on these blasted isles, just get me more!”
His voice contorted as his body started to spasm into green sludge. It was all so familiar. Too familiar. It was almost routine by now. He knew what was coming. He knew what came next. Despite this, Hunter shrieked, instinctively covering his face as the emperor screeched and brought an axe that had once been his hand down. He screwed his eyes shut, then everything went silent.
“Hm?” when Hunter pried his eyes open, he was met with complete darkness. Trying to decide if he had actually opened his eyes, he blinked a few times, before coming to terms with the lack of light. Gazing around at the nothingness, he bit his lip and wondered what to do.
Then the screaming started.
He spun in shock and, to his uttermost horror, caught sight of the witch he had killed all those years ago withering around on the floor, shrieking, and groaning and crying and yelling. He began to back away, but her head jolted up instantly.
Pale grey eyes met magenta. Pale grey narrowed with rage. Magenta widened with guilt.
“You’re a murderer,” she breathed, “You killed me, and then you killed my palisman, and you think you still deserve happiness? With all the blood on your hands, all the lives you’ve taken, all the lies on your conscience?”
His chest tightened. Heaving in desperate breaths, backing away as fast as he could go, but she didn’t seem any further away, what was happening didn’t seem any less real. The grimwalker stared down at his hands and found that they were coated with blood, just as his knife had been on that fateful day.
“After everything you’ve done…you still pity yourself?”
The witch glared up at him with the same anger and grief as her palisman had all that time ago as Hunter whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Oh Titan...I’m... I’m so sorry,”
Hunter hung his head, whimpering, as the witch went still, dead, once again, “I’m sorry,”
He jolted awake with a choking sob.
After everything you’ve done…
Tears fell from his stinging eyes, causing him to cover his mouth with a gloved hand in an attempt to supress the violent sniffles. Why? Why couldn’t he just fucking sleep for once? He didn’t want to think about Belos. He didn’t want to think about the witch or her palisman or any of the others he’d killed- oh Titan, how many? How many had he killed? He didn’t want to think at all. Why couldn’t he just fucking sleep?
The grimwalker shifted himself off the sofa, the book falling softly to the floor, and made his way into the bathroom. He remembered what Mrs Noceda had said to them a couple of nights after they arrived, when he noticed little boxes with strange words on lying near the toothbrushes in the mirror cabinet. She’d called them ‘pills’ and said that they shouldn’t touch them unless she was there to supervise. At Gus’ query of what a pill was, she explained that they were little tablets that did things like numb pain (only physical pain, though. That was the downside) and induce sleep.
Since Luz had come into his life, he had questioned more and more. He had rebelled, just like Amity had. As much as he hated to do it, directly disobeying Mrs Noceda’s orders was exactly what he needed to do. Really, it was the only way to help him. Cautiously, Hunter locked the door behind him and leaned heavily against the sink, staring at his tired magenta eyes just like he had when he decided to try and kill himself six years ago.
“This time, there’s no-one around to save you,” he hissed venomously at the mirror, as his damned reflection that stared pitifully back, “This time, you’re going to pay,”
He had thought there was no-one around the first time, at least no-one who would bother to help him, but he had been wrong. He had thought there was no-one around the second time, but Blight had walked in behind him as he dug and dug and dug.
There was no-one this time. He was completely alone in the dead of night.
It was perfect.
Turning away from his reflection, Hunter crouched down to turn on the bath tap. He neither knew nor cared how hot it was. Did the temperature of his deathbed really matter? While his ‘bath’ filled, he opened the cabinet to pull out a couple of boxes, until he found one named ‘Circadin.’ It mentioned sleeping on the packet, so he shrugged indifferently and chucked a couple into his mouth. By this point, the tub was full. However, as he went to get in, the sight of the gloves covering his hands made him pause. After a moment, he slipped them off, revealing the dozens of burns and switch marks and scars that he had inflicted in the middle of the night when his emotions became too much and his mind felt more fucked up than usual. Calloused and scarred and shaking and painful. There was a reason he rarely took them off. Several reasons, in fact. No matter, he thought as he placed them on the side of the sink. He wouldn’t be needing them anymore.
Unless dead people got self-conscious?
The water turned out to be an average sort of temperature, perhaps more on the side of cold than warm. Clothes on, Hunter shivered as he slipped into it, but fortunately found himself too drowsy to care shortly after. His head grew heavy before long, surroundings blurring. At some point, he became aware of how difficult it was becoming to keep his head above water.
He gasped in a final breath, before he went under.
Half-formed thoughts formed in his head it was submerged. He wondered what his friends would think in the morning. Would they cry? Would they blame themselves, and say they should’ve helped him navigate his hellscape of a mind? Or would they all breathe a collective sigh of relief and say, “Oh, thank the Titan he finally did it,”?
Something told him they wouldn’t.
But that couldn’t be helped. Once the grief had worn off, they’d realise what a weight he’d lifted from them. No more poor, traumatised Hunter having panic attacks or breakdowns over the smallest things! No more having to try and forgive him for all of the horrendous things he had done! It was for them, in a way. It was for the greater good.
“It’s-it’s for the greater good…”
Another part of him pondered how they would find out. Maybe one of them would need to use the bathroom, but find it locked? Maybe they’d call out to find who was in there, but receive no response? Maybe they’d use the emergency key Mrs Noceda had shown them, or burst the door open?
Or maybe they’d hear the water flowing? (Shit, he’d forgotten to turn off the tap). Maybe it would leak out onto the floor outside and they’d decide to investigate?
That would be horrible, when one of them walked in and just found his distended corpse lying in the bath. They’d probably never want to use it again. Oh, and not to mention it would be incredibly traumatic. He didn’t particularly wish for it to be anyone but hoped it wouldn’t be little Gus. He was so young; he really should not have to see a corpse.
Didn’t you see a corpse when you were eleven? The corpse of the woman you killed?
Was that even the first one you saw?
No.
Far from it.
It would be fine. They had each other. They didn’t need him.
That was what he told himself as his consciousness finally faded.
He woke up on the bathroom floor, shivering and sopping wet. Mrs Noceda and Willow were bent over him with distress apparent in their gazes and postures, but as he blinked open his magenta eyes, the latter pulled him in for a bone-crushing hug, sobbing his name into his shoulder. As dazed as he was, Hunter hugged her back.
When she let go, his first thought was: Shit. The floor’s soaked. That’s my fault, isn’t it?
After his apology, Mrs Noceda hugged him and assured him that it was okay. He didn’t quite understand how she could say that. As the woman draped a towel around his shoulders, his memory started to return, albeit gradually. Sleeping pills and nightmares and taps. Sleeping pills and nightmares and taps and dangerous thoughts.
Mrs Noceda told him to get dressed in the basement, and Luz offered to fetch one of their binders for him. He did as he was told, nodding dizzily. If there was one thing he could do, it was follow instructions.
When he was changed, Mrs Noceda came down to the basement and began to talk to him, in spite of the unholy hour (the basement clock read just before half twelve). She spoke of safety and love and promises of protection, and asked why oh, why had he done it. He broke. He cried and spoke of danger and hatred and oaths of destruction. He spoke of a witch and her palisman and the dagger he had clutched in his hand. The dagger that had pierced her flesh and then his only hours afterwards.
She hugged him and called him some things in Spanish, (‘Mi hijo,’ ‘Cariño’ and ‘Pobre niño whatever those meant) whispering assurances all the while. She held him until he stopped quivering from the force of his sobs. When he had finished, she wiped the tears off his face with a gentleness that he’d never experienced before. She asked him if he wanted to go upstairs and watch something with Luz, Gus, Vee, Amity, and Willow. He didn’t, but at the same time, was aware that their antics would probably take his mind off what had just happened.
Bleary-eyed and anxious, they all brightened when they saw him and filled his ears with their love for him and how they were all ready to listen if he wanted to speak. He ended up curled between Luz and Willow, with Gus squeezed in the gap between him and the latter, enclosed in a fluffy blanket. In order to put an end to Amity and Luz’s sickening flirting, he agreed that Mrs Noceda ought to put on The Good Witch Azura, even when Gus mentioned falling asleep watching it once. That started a debate between him and Luz about whether Azura was boring or not. Hunter joined in on Gus’ side, not necessarily because he didn’t like the media, but plainly to drive his sister up the wall.
Even as he watched the film start, surrounded by the cosy bodies of his friends, who loved him to death, and he knew would do anything to make sure he not only lived but thrive, even as their banter faded into warm silence, he found that all he could feel was shame.
When Hunter was sixteen, he touched an unknown substance with an open wound.
In hindsight, it had been an utterly stupid move. He had been the Golden Guard for Titan’s sake! He was supposed to know not to touch random things with open wounds!
It was his own fault that he was stood in this fucking graveyard, gripping his own rotten arm, wheezing and sweating, his flesh searing and throbbing with every slight movement. He grunted with the effort of controlling himself, hand punching uncontrollably until he fell to the floor, where he crouched, fighting desperately the monster under his skin. His head was heavy. His eyes pounded. The old blonde forelock fell in front of his face. Dimly, he acknowledged that his hair had grown back from the short style Willow had cut for him.
I don't care what you want.
“You know what I’d like, Belos?” Hunter grunted, clutching at his arm, and taking staggering paces over to the lake. Even as the arm fought to control him again, he seized it and kept trekking forward, “I’d like to leave the Emperor’s Coven, and never set foot in that throne room again,” A loaded statement. For the others, who perched fearfully on the bank, it was metaphorical. He didn’t want to be under the emperor’s control anymore, it could be taken to mean. But for Hunter, and for Belos, there was a much darker, more literal meaning. Practically every scar that coated his body had been inflicted in that room, but he would take it no more. He would no longer bear the torment, the abuse, that he associated that throne room with.
He was making his final stand.
“I’d like to study wild magic, and learn how to carve palismen,” Yet another loaded statement. After years of serving Belos, he had lost count of how many palismen had been sent to their untimely deaths because of him. By learning to carve them, he could bring more palismen into the world and maybe start to make up for everything he had done over the years. A lion came to mind, but for once, it brought not feelings of guilt or horror, but those of accepting regret, “I’d like to attend Hexside, as a regular student, and play flyer derby with my friends,” he collapsed, tears pooling in his smarting eyes.
The rot was spreading ever further up his face. It was sickening, a repulsive sensation to feel. His jaw shook as he spoke. This was it. He stole a final glance up at his friends, his family. His hand reached for the Titan Blood, and he gripped it in one trembling hand. He hoped they’d forgive him.
There was so much Hunter had been denied in his life. There was so much Hunter wanted to do, and to feel. He had so many plans, so many ideas. He wanted to hear every note of every song, to feel every breeze on his face, smell every pleasant scent of Mrs Noceda Camila’s cooking.
“But most of all…”
Yet he would never get to do that.
“I’d like…”
It wasn’t the worst way to die.
“To make sure…”
He’d made his peace with it.
“You never…”
He had failed, time and time again.
“Hurt anyone…”
He vowed he would not fail this time.
“Again!”
The hand loosened as he propelled it forward. And there the Titan Blood went.
“NO!!!"
Hunter woke up, drenched, his entire body aching relentlessly. He smiled weakly, and when he spoke, it was in a broken voice: “Hey guys,” he choked out, “Is everyone else okay?”
Everyone winced as if they knew something he didn’t. Gus exchanged an anxious glance with Luz before starting, “Actually…Flapjack-“
“Don’t. Don’t,” Hunter whimpered with his eyes screwed shut. Tears poured from his pounding eyes, but he made no move to wipe them away. He clutched his chest, filled with more pain than he had ever thought possible, “I already know,”
Luz turned away from the scene, sniffling quietly. The rest of them stared down at Hunter with tears in their eyes, watching as he lay there, staring at nothing. Camila asked him if he was in any pain as he sat up, to which he lied. He was okay. He was fine. Completely fine. He was always…completely fine.
Technically, it was no lie, because as he took the step out of the Human Realm, where he learned safety and love and protection, and back to the Demon Realm, where he had learned danger and hatred and destruction, he found that he felt absolutely nothing.