Chapter Text
”So, that blueberry guy you keep fighting—whatcha think of ‘em?”
Annoyance, he thought at first. If there was anything else that the Demi-Fiend would rather be doing, it'd be quite literally anything else than to entertain them.
Ever persistent, ever stubborn; each time their allies fall—next time around, the godly being returns with an ounce more steel behind those golden eyes. The flames would flicker wildly at the sudden gust; the scent of ozone along with budding anticipation follows.
It became routine. Naoki almost hates it.
Yet their persistence isn't in vain. They're sharp-minded, quick to adapt and overcome their weaknesses as quick they are to bite with a smarmy quip. Stronger and stronger their allies became—they, too, became stronger tenfold. He wishes to ask what sick, masochistic drive fuels them. Every demon still remaining in the Vortex World wants the bragging rights and infamy of toppling the Demi-Fiend, only to be stumped in one fell cleave. Before long, few ever consider challenging him.
And for a moment, he remembers seeing this—this frenetic look in their golden eyes as they struck through his defenses. He'd be quick to think it as desperation. He wouldn't even blame the dude. They all wound up like that; that desperation begets burnout.
But Naoki knows better. No slivers of desperation was seen in the Nahobino’s movements; graceful as they were deadly, powerful as they were dignified. They upheld a momentum that he hadn't seen since his heyday.
He also wouldn't deny the bubbling attraction. For a nuisance the guy was, they were easy on the eyes. Were he still mortal, Naoki was sure he'd be hypnotized by the pure royal blue hair fluttering with each slice and dash; the feral glint in those same determined, resolute eyes that shouldn't give him shivers down his spine—
Or, perhaps, he already was drawn in by hearing their every grunt, snarl, and pained whines whenever he lands a hit. He wants to hear every bone crack, every tendon snap. He wants to hear sputtering gasps and breaths as he breaks their pretty, slim neck. He wants to tear their flesh apart with his claws and teeth like a novice butcher. It's the little things that build up that annoy him most.
(Yet, that annoyance is short-lived upon the mere once that the Nahobino clambers on top of him, iridescent blue blade ready to slice him clean open. What he saw wasn't a desperate boy but a God of true divinity glaring down at him like he was naught but a speck to be exterminated.)
(That moment stews freshest in his mind during quiet, lonesome nights.)
Perhaps the annoyance stems from infatuation, intrigue. He is annoyed that it became something he looks forward to. His own world was but a stillborn that, once upon a time, had a chance to live once more. It didn't come to pass.
Here, though? The Nahobino’s return bespoke of both ill-tidings and new beginnings; something that only the myriad demons and entities alike could only hold in bated breath and watch.
He, however, cares naught for the demigod, but the mortal beneath obsidian and sapphire armory.
.
.
.
”He's fun.”
”Fun? Fuuun?! What am I to you, chopped pixie liver?!”
”Not what I meant.”
”Hehe, just teasin’ ya! So that means you liiiiike them? You wanna kiss ‘em? You— Hey! You're just leaving me!?”
”Too noisy.”
A familiar gush of wind bursts through the Hall of Chaos once again. The weight of a poignant presence draws near.
His long-lasting pixie companion flutters by, lounging atop his shoulder anyways despite his initial dismissal. Despite such aversion, she knew him well. The bated breath along with brimming energy ready to burst out should've been enough—were he less aloof to his own emotions.
”Well, you know what they say: love’s a battlefield! Have fun out there!”
The Demi-Fiend musters a grimace. He is only lucky the black tattoos marking his body obscured the fleeting flush in his face.