Work Text:
It had been two thousand, three hundred and seventy five days since she had been imprisoned.
Nerissa walks back and forth in her room. She stomps her feet, bangs her fists against the walls. She screams and screams until her throat is raw and bloody.
None of the sounds ever reach her ear.
She tells herself it's for the best. All that noise would give her a headache, her temple already feeling like it's bursting where her horn used to be.
And that's another thing Nerissa lost.
Her fingers rub against it, unconscious in her actions, she winces. Nerissa can still hear, distantly in her head, the sound of gleeful laughter as it was ripped and snapped off, her own agonized screams following after.
The sight of red hair and dull red eyes still haunt her.
Nerissa doesn't do much in her room. She walks and she wanders. There is nothing for her to see in the room, tiny and barren as it is.
There is a TV, small and rectangular, cracks and cobwebs covering its outside, in the corner of her room, a stain of ink above it. Nerissa rarely turns it on, static and boring, silent news the only thing on it.
Nerissa gets meals everyday. Three. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, all random enough that she can never figure out a pattern.
The food, if it can be called that, is hard and tasteless. Brought in through a sliding part on the door.
The first few days she refused to eat, screaming and crying in pain as she clawed and snarled at the door. It went on for weeks, filled with pain and loss and hunger. Weeks, before the guards grew tired and brought in the monster that took her horn.
Nerissa learned, after that, to keep her head down and do as she's told.
She spends her days in a haze of silence, monochrome and pain. She doesn't know how long it was truly, the days and nights blending together in a mess of tasteless food and nightmares.
It was during one of those days, spent in front of the tv, the only piece of light and stimulation she gets, when she gets her first view of the outside world ever since she was put in her room.
Nerissa hears. For the first time in what felt like eternity, Nerissa hears, a distant sound of screams, curses and snarls. Growls and howls. So loud that it is nearly deafening in her silent room.
That is the first time Nerissa meets the Abyssgard twins.
_
__
___
Fuwawa snarled. She growls and bares her teeth at the human foolish enough to come closer towards her injured sister.
They had been on patrol, out to guard and hunt, when they were grabbed. She doesn't know, even now, how they came to hell, mortal and so very alive as they were.
“Stay away from her!” Fuwawa had howled, enchanted claws out and ready to tear through the flesh and bones of the people foolish enough to hurt her little sister.
They didn't listen.
They were muzzled, chained and bound and dragged on their knees, snarling and crying all the while. Reduced to nothing but the violent, rabid dogs they tried so hard not to be. It was when they brought out batons, crackling with electricity, that Fuwawa's heart dropped.
“Please! Stay away from her!” Fuwawa had cried, pleaded. Pressed her forehead to the ground, and degraded herself more than she already was.
They don't listen.
It's only after a few days of relatively easy questioning, that a guard comes to their cell and grabs her little sister.
They didn't give her time to stop them, another one tackling her and wrestling her into the muzzle she is getting so unfortunately familiar with. It doesn't stop her from trying. She claws at them, getting one of them in the eye and making them cry out in pain. They don't let go of Mococo, speaking in a foreign language, still dragging her out and away while Fuwawa screamed.
“I'll do anything! Just. Stay, away from her! Please!” She had begged. “Take me instead!”
They never listened.
Now here Fuwawa was, hunched over the unconscious form of her little sister, ripped out claws bared for any threat that may come to her.
It had been two weeks, Fuwawa counts, since she and her sister were dragged to the cell.
Two weeks of pure torture, kept away from each other as they were beaten for answers for their leader. Two weeks of batons across her face, and barely any food to not go hungry.
Still they stayed defiant, lips shut tight and teeth bared as they refused to answer.
“C'mon~, just tell us anything you know about the devil!” They'd taunt, before ripping out a tooth.
“It'll just be easier if you tell us!” They'd scream, as flames danced across their weapons.
It's was always the worst when they were silent.
Still, they prevail.
It's not the worst they've been through, Fuwawa can admit. Being beaten to the ground is nothing like the first few hundred years of their life. Being a demon does have its advantages.
The worst part is the separation. Being dragged away from Mococo, or watching her get taken, unable to do anything. Fuwawa thinks she'd rather spend hours with their old master, than be without her sister for another second in this hell.
Mococo barely stirs. If not for the rise and fall of her chest, Fuwawa would think the worse. As it is, demon biology, as well as the runes etched to the cell, ensures they don't succumb to mere injuries.
Fuwawa would have lost her mind ages ago, if not for the pounding of walls and what seems like stone hitting floor from the cells next to her. As it is, Fuwawa has company, in the absence of her sister's consciousness, even if one of them can't talk, and the other is barely together enough to be able to.
Fuwawa is content, with the sound of pounding, and the sound of clanking. She absentmindedly rubs a blob of ink staining the pink hound in her lap.
Yes, Fuwawa will survive, if not for herself and her sister, than for anyone else trapped with them.
_
__
___
Bijou can feel herself fall apart. Can feel pieces of her carved and broken, torn and separated.
She can feel herself, over and over, millions of different pieces, all across the prison.
Wands and scepters. Spears and swords. Used for enchanting, or even something as mundane as being made a ring.
Bijou feels it all. Every single bit of herself. She can feel herself be pulled in so many directions.
Bijou spends every moment constantly aware of every part of herself. Sitting in a corner, face buried in her knees as she tries desperately to block out the constant feedbacks from parts of herself.
She only moves when the connection dies. When a sword breaks, or a ring is lost.
Bijou stands, legs like stone, yet as steady as jelly. She walks, her steps echoing in the cave like prison. The place is dark, only the gem on her chest lighting it up.
A drop of ink falls on her head making the gem huff. A howl echoes, rising and lowering in pitch with every step she takes around the cave.
Bijou purposefully stomps her foot down hard on the floor. The howl cuts off for a few seconds, during which more stomping follows, before barking begins.
Through the sound of loud barking, Bijou thinks she can hear the sound of distant thumping.
Another drop of ink joins the sizable stain on her head, dripping to her shoulder where it proceeds to take the shape of a blob with shining eyes like lanterns.
Bijou reaches up to pat the ink creature. “Is she okay? Both of them are worried.”
The ink ripples, spreading down until it reaches the gem's elbow. It lets out a rumble like sound, bubbling and rippling, making Bijou huff as she nods before she stomps her foot harder, the sound of stone shattering echoing and silencing the barks.
There's a few seconds of silence, only the thumps being heard, before a bark sounds. Two barks, before everything is silent again, and the sounds of footsteps begin approaching.
Bijou moves to sit back down, the ink seeping into her dress as she puts her head to her knees.
She's getting good at being active.
_
__
___
Mococo spends most of her time in the cell unconscious. She drifts, aimless and lost, darkness surrounding her. It embraces her, the only time pain isn't present.
She dreams. Of crackling hell flames. Of the sound of thumps on stone, as one takes step after step. Endless and infinite.
Mococo dreams, curled up and in pain. She dreams of ink seeping from her skin instead of blood. Wrapping around her as one would a friend. She dreams of escape, of running through meadows and grasslands.
She dreams of companions, never to be alone again.
Mococo hates the times she isn't dreaming. She sits, forced and with her teeth bared, chains around her wrist and neck, all silver.
They would laugh. A few would lick their lips, say something in that strange language of theirs that makes them all erupt into laughter. The ink on her skin ripples angrily in those moments.
They would stalk around her, sometimes crouch condescendingly in front of her. They would start gentle, cooing and talking as if she was a child. A foolish few would reach out to touch, and everyone around them would laugh as she bites their finger off. The ink settles, satisfied.
Mococo thinks she'd feel more wary, more unsafe, in the moments she passes out from these questionings, if it weren't for the ink, and what it originates from.
Mococo sees her in the corner of her eyes. Glowing yellow framed by shadow and light. Smile wide and threatening, fangs gleaming whenever they catch the light.
She looks like a monster. A creature of ink and darkness, embraced by shadow and in it. She looks terrifying. She is terrifying.
She's the most beautiful thing Mococo has ever seen.
She appears when she is delirious. Pain, old and new, rendering her body a bruise. Her hands, cold and wet, would cup her cheeks, soft and tender, the contrast making Mococo whine.
Mococo would be shushed, thumbs brushing the blood on her face. She would fall asleep like this, held and cradled.
She wouldn't be awake to see the bodies fall to the ground.
_
__
___
Shiori wouldn't even be able to tell anyone how long it had been. Chained and held captive, immobile, like a nailed god.
She stays like that, decades and centuries passing, as slow as dying, as fast as going insane.
She doesn't breath, the first decade. Body breaking and fixing. Over and over. Whispers echoing and screaming. Forbidden knowledge changing her constantly.
She can feel eyes on her, insects crawling over every bit of skin she can feel.
It's between centuries like this, bended and breaking, that Shiori hears it. A voice like music itself, screaming and pleading.
Shiori's unbeating heart ripples. Her eyes all blink, her neck snapping as she turns it, leaning to hear more of it.
A piece of herself drips, taking with it the pins and knives.
Shiori smiles, grins, bares her teeth.
In the time the gem was brought in, there was no place Shiori wasn't in. In the ceilings, above the walls, between the cracks, she was there.
Shiori was everywhere.
And by the time the twins were dragged, Shiori knew this hell more than she knew herself.
Shiori laughs, echoing in the darkness, followed by twin howls, an enchanting song and the scraping of stones.
The Rebellion has begun!
.
..
…
….
.....
The sun sinks below the horizon.
Shiori yawns, stretching her back. The twins laugh, dragging her right back down to their side.
“Shiorin?” Nerissa calls from the kitchen.
Shiori hums, shifting to get comfortable between the two hounds, a tail in her lap and ears under her chin.
“Should we make instant noodles for dinner again?” The demon asks, poking her head through the door.
The twins nod, rather eagerly, Fuwawa's wagging tail smacking Shiori in the face.
“Really?” She deadpans.
Fuwawa giggles, apologetic. She presses a kiss, evaporating any annoyance Shiori may have had. “Sorry.”
Shiori shrugs, tries desperately to patch her rapidly fracturing ribs, heart threatening to leap out of her stomach. “‘t’s fine.”
“Well, I think I'd rather eat something new.” Bijou's voice rings out. She steps into the room, hair wet and looking freshly showered. “Besides, the noodles aren't even that good!” She sends a look to the twins, judging.
Mococo bristles, baring her teeth, growling deep in her throat. Her wagging tail shatters the image she's trying to put up. “You take that back! Those noodles are the best!”
Fuwawa nods, melted against Shiori, content to let her sister defend their favorite food.
“Oh. By the way,” Nerissa calls, the sound of water boiling coming from the kitchen. “Is that Fuwawa's shirt?” She asks.
Bijou flushes. She bangs into the table on her way to the couch. FuwaMoco makes a concerned noise that she waves off.
Shiori smirks. “Oh yeah, those do seem an awful lot like the shorts I suspiciously haven't been able to find.”
The gem whines, backtracking from her destination towards the couch, instead heading towards the kitchen. “Y'know what, Rissa? The noodles are totally fine again. In fact, move over, I'm coming to help!”
Laughter echoes, the sound of bickering and talking following after.
Shiori sighs, melting into the warmth. Feels her skin settle, heart rippling. Tastes love in the back of her throat, swallows her ribs.
“I love you guys.”
The sounds stop, despite how soft her whisper was.
Mococo flushes, crossing her arms. “Geez, that came outta nowhere.”
Fuwawa giggles at her sister's comment, pressing a kiss to the archiver’s lips despite her own blush.
A noise like stone hitting stone sounds. Nerissa laughs, Bijou's complaint following it.
“We love you too, Shiori. So much.”
Shiori smiles, feels ink under her skin. It skips a beat when Mococo cups her cheek, smile soft as she presses a kiss to where Shiori thinks it'll burst open, spilling everywhere.
Yes. Shiori would break, however many times it takes, to have this in her life. Hell is a distant memory with heaven in her arms and between her ribs.