#furfur the tempting devil

[weirdlookindog]

Alessandro Biffignandi - Furfur Diavoletto Tentatore (Furfur, the Tempting Devil)

cover art for Zora la Vampira #89, Vol.4, May 1978.

[venusxxlangdon]

Dance With the Devil. Part Three — Glory and Gore

summary: Michael fulfills his promise and finally gets the Devil’s recognition. warnings: dark!outpost Michael, humiliation, physical and mental abuse, language, blood, mentions of rape, darkfic words: 5.4k A/N: This is the last part of the series, and I have to admit that I’m gonna miss mean Michael. I hope he’s happy in hell (at least, in this fic yes, he is)

Suddenly a loud knock on the door interrupted the silence. Michael frowned and, leaving the girl in her embarrassing position, jumped off the bed to pick up his robe from the armchair and open the door.

The intruder turned out to be Furfur. Michael was about to shout at him, but the look on the demon’s face was dreadful.

“My Lord”, he murmured worryingly, “Our Highness”, he cleared his throat, “Your Father is here”

Michael’s eyes scanned Furfur’s face, searching for any signs of lies, but the fear mixed with awe in his eyes told him that the demon was telling the truth. He turned his head, looking at the lifeless body of the girl on his bed.

Stupid bitch.

“Wait for me,” he ordered and slammed the door in front of the demon. Michael stormed his way to the wardrobe, feeling anxiety wash over him. He had been hoping for his Father to honor him with his arrival, but imagining it in his head was different from actually facing Satan in reality.

Numerous thoughts were racing through his mind; what he was going to say to him? Michael had prepared a goddamn speech, but what if his Farther would not listen to him? Purson could have been lying all the time, and there was no way to find out the truth.

Everything was happening too fast.

He was not ready, was he?

His anxiety always hit him unexpectedly, and even his demonic nature was unable to ease it.

Michael took a deep breath and leaned against the wardrobe, pressing his sweaty forehead against the wood. He felt his heart rate accelerate, making the tips of his fingers tremble with apprehension. His mind replayed the horrible scenes of the Demonic Quorum and the look of disgust on his Father’s face. Michael shut his eyes tightly, and a low growl escaped through his gritted teeth. There were hundreds of demons in the Great Hall, and all of them were going to watch him stand before Satan.

Michael ran his fingers through his hair and reached for a black ribbon. His long fingers cautiously made a loose ponytail and tied it with the piece of silk fabric. He felt his power rise inside him, crawling its way out, and making his head spin. There was a tangling sensation in his fingers, and he hugged himself, digging his nails into his clothed shoulders, as if he wanted to rip his skin off. He heard his blood pumping in his ears, and he let out a fitful sigh.

“Okay. Just breathe,” he told himself.

Right when he was about to make his way towards the door, he heard her quite whimpers. He froze and turned his head in the direction of the unmade bed in the center of the room. The girl slightly moved, bending her bruised legs against her bare chest. He almost forgot about her. Her hair was all over her swollen face, thin fingers were still gripping onto the sheets. Her dry lips parted, when she let out a deep sigh.

“Hey, vermin,” Michael roared, calling for his servants. They crawled out and kneeled before him, their heads banged against the floor. “Bath her and make sure she looks decent,” he ordered, and turned his look away from the girl.

Before opening the door, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He could not let anyone see that he was nervous.

Furfur was waiting for him as he had been ordered, leaning against the wall and playing with the feathers of his wings. He immediately straightened up when he saw Michael and gave him a quick nod. Even though Langdon had been treating him and Naberius like shit, he was loyal to him and knew that Michael was nervous.

“Master, are you ready?” worry was imprinted on his scared face. Michael was silent, but by the way his fists clenched, it was obvious that he was anxious. Without saying a single word, he put his hands behind his back and followed the demon to the Great Hall.

He knew exactly how many steps it would take them to make it to the wooden door. One hundred and five. He had been counting them all that time he wandered around his castle late at night. Every step echoed in his head.

It was so quiet, although the majority of the demons were in the Hall. The dreadful silence was the indicator of the highest power that was present at that moment. Something powerful, intimidating, tempting. The Devil himself. Even the snakes on the door were not moving. Michael froze a couple feet away from the entrance. He looked at Furfur, and the demon’s brows frowned at the desperation spilled in his Master’s blue eyes.

“He hates me,” Michael could not recognize his voice. He nervously licked his bottom lip; his eyes glistened as if he was about to start crying. He cleared his throat, and blinked the tears away,

Furfur stepped closer and put his bony hand with gnarled, clawed fingers on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly. It felt natural at that moment.

“My Lord,” he said, the tone of his voice stern and serious, “it’s your time to shine. Finally, after all these years you are going to receive your Father’s recognition and your name will be praised from the rising sun to the end of the day. Glory to You!”

Michael’s lips twitched. To be honest, demon’s words went straight to his icy heart, and it flattered at all the glory and gore awaited for him. Butterflies in his stomach were nearly ripping him apart with excitement. He was truly thankful to Furfur for his loyalty, but it was not in his style to express gratitude.

“Get your claws off my jacket,” he barked and pushed the door open.

His eyes wandered around the Great Hall. It looked bigger than usual; the decorations were gone; the only source of light was the numerous candles flowing in the air. All his guests were lined up in rows, kneeling before Michael’s throne that was occupied by a tall figure wrapped in a long black cape. His limbs were long and large; his bulk was as huge as that of a Greek god who was the most powerful of all. The elongated ears, snake-like locks of what used to be beautiful long hair of an angle, and curling horns were the signs of his greater betrayal he had been punished for.

Michael made his way forward and hurriedly dropped to his knees.

“Hail Satan,” he said; his voice ranged in the silence like a gong. He bowed his head, and his ponytail brushed against the marble floor. “Father, it’s an honor to have you here.”

Michael looked down at his hands that were placed firmly together against his chest. His nostrils flared at the overwhelming feeling of his Father’s power. It was filling up every crack in the walls, washing over Michael like a tide, making him realize how weak he was.

The Devil stood up, and everyone altered his movements.

“Father, she is here,” Michael said after taking a deep breath, “the ritual will be performed in the morning, and she will pay the debt.”

Satan’s baleful eyes that had witnessed affliction and dismay never left Michael’s face.

“It seems like you’ve been trying to win my condescension with all your might, my Son,” Michael’s heart skipped a beat at those words. He nodded, trying to hold all his emotions back. “I’ve been watching you all this time.”

Michael gulped. It seemed like there were only two of them in that huge Hall, talking to each other.

“All I ever wanted was to be good enough,” he whispered, but he knew the Devil heard him. “Every day of my existence I’ve been dedicating to finding a way to win back your trust....”

“You want to reign by my side,” Satan stated it as an axiom, and Michael fell silent in the middle of the sentence. “I can sense it, Michael, and I’m glad that my discipline methods have perfectly worked out.”

Michael did not understand anything, looking at the Devil in awe. No matter how bad he had hurt him, he was still his Father, and Michael would have done anything for him.

“You were a whining mess when you first came to me,” Satan continued, “but now look at you. Strong, powerful, full of hatred,” he grinned proudly.

“Father,” Michael felt his frozen heart swell with pride and admiration for the Devil’s wisdom.

“Now you are worthy of the responsibility that comes with governance.”

Michael had been waiting his whole life for those words. Everything he ever wanted was to be recognized, loved, and respected. The burden of being a misfit at home had been unbearable.

“Forgive me, your Highness,” Michael’s head turned at Purson who suddenly interrupted the Devil. “But it’s the Demonic Quorum that gets to decide whether the boy is worthy or not.”

Satan paused and slowly turned around to face the demon who decided that he could interrupt him and doubt his words. The sparks in his red eyes twinkled dangerously, and Purson instinctively recoiled backward.

“Ah, my lovely Purson,” he purred, “how considerate of you to remind me about the rules as if I am not the one who created them.”

“Your Highness,” the demon mumbled, “I-I-I just wanted...”

“Get out of my sight,” the Devil hissed. “Or I’ll demolish you to ashes faster than you’ll say “Quorum”.”

Michael had to admit that it was probably the best thing he had ever witnessed. Purson was kicked out of the Great Hall like a beaten dog. A smug spread across his lips as he watched the demon snap his fingers and disappear with an angry look on his face.

“He is right though,” Satan’s voice brought Michael’s attention back to him, “but we will take care of it after the ritual.”

xxx

When Michael was back in his suite, the first thing he heard was a loud scream from the bathroom that made his blood run cold. It was a sound from deep within that forced its way from the girl’s mouth as if her terrified soul had unleashed a demon. He pushed the door open, and froze in his place, watching the following scene: she was curled up in the corner; bloodstained footprints were all over the floor and the walls. His subjects were trying to reach up to the girl, but she kept hitting them with her hands while trying to cover her head at the same time. One of them bit her bruised ankle, and she cried out again; there were numerous scratches on her arms, breasts, and stomach — the evidence of her long fight.

 “Stop screaming, will you?” Michael barked, shutting the door behind him. The tiny demons backed off, growling quietly. Once they crawled towards him, one of them tucked on his black slacks with his slender fingers and pointed at the girl.

“Master,” the monster’s lipless mouth quivered in a grimace, “she doesn’t obey, Master...she’s bad.”

Michael snarled in response and twisted his wrist, ordering them to leave. Useless scum. They never managed to do their work properly. He wondered how they had brought the girl to him without killing her. It was definitely a miracle. He watched her trembling violently, as she hid her face in her palms, smearing the blood all over it. At least they ran her a bath. Michael put the tips of his fingers into the water to check the temperature.

“You are such a pain in my ass, y/n,” he spat out. With his hands behind the back, he took a step closer, towering over her with a pretentious look on his face.

She sobbed and looked at him through her fingers.

“The feeling is mutual,” she hissed.

He chuckled and raised his right hand in the air. The girl gasped at a sudden feeling of a strong invisible hand around her neck. With her eyes widened, she tried to get rid of it, but ended up only scratching the delicate flesh of her skin. She looked like a fish gasping for some air, kicking her feet in a pathetic attempt to get free. Michael tilted his head, and she stopped moving as if her entire body was paralyzed. He could hear her thinking “Just kill me. Please, let me die. Stop torturing me...”

“Bold of you to assume that you’d die peacefully.” Once their faces were inches away from each other, he looked down at her naked body and dragged his ring-clad hand over her abused stomach, enjoying the way she squirmed under his touch.

“I could rip your skin off,” he told her, pressing on one of her bruises with his index finger. He squeezed her side, digging his nails into her skin. “I could leave tiny cuts all over your useless body and watch the blood drain out from you,” he whispered, scorching her ear with his breath. His smooth silky voice made the threats sound even more dangerous. She could not believe that he was able to talk about all those things so nonchalantly. What a psychopath.

“However, I’d let you choose,” he was feeding off her terror, absorbing her fear. Their bodies were pressed against each other, and if it had not been for the intimidation, Michael would have found it erotic.

She looked away and shut her eyes, trying to resist a new tantrum that was about to burst out from her chest. Silly girl. She was still thinking she could hold it in. After what he had done to her.

“I despise you,” she whispered, and her voice cracked in the middle of the sentence. Before she could regret saying it, Michael’s hand slapped her across her left cheek, leaving a burning print of his palm. He hit her so hard, her head snapped back.

“You are so stupid,” he said, grabbing her by the hair and forcing to look up at him. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip to lick the blood off, wincing at the copper taste of it. “If you think that you have nothing to lose now, you are wrong, sweetheart.”

He let go of her hair, and it felt over her face like curtains, sticking to her wet cheeks. She turned her gaze away from Michael’s face not being able to handle looking at him anymore. He took a deep breath, collecting the remains of his self-control. Clenching his fists, he made a step backward and let go of his invisible grip. The girl’s body suddenly relaxed, and she had to put her hands out, holing into the edge of the bathtub.

“Get into the water,” he commanded. Her cheeks burned scarlet red when she realized that he was going to bath her. She had spent so much time naked in front of him that it was embarrassing. Crossing her arms against her breasts, she stepped into the bathtub, hissing at the stinging pain in her ankles. The water looked strange: it had a milky consistency, but it was too thick for the actual milk. She barely managed to sit down, since her muscles were stiff and sore from all the beating she had had to handle. She hated to admit that, but she still felt the presence of his cock deep inside her, and it was sickening.

“It hurts so much,” she whispered under her breath, mostly to herself. Closing her eyes tiredly, she hugged herself, running the tips of her fingers along her bare shoulders. The bath was nice indeed, but it made her feel even filthier and more vulnerable, especially under Michael’s heavy gaze.

“If you hadn’t tried to resist, you would have been better,” he said, undoing the silver buttons on the sleeves of his shirt.

The bags under her eyes were more visible when she looked up at him. She looked exhausted.

“Oh really?” she snarled in response. “You would’ve been gentler while raping me?”

Michael graciously set down on the edge of a bathtub, crossing his legs.

“You’ve suddenly become way too brave for the person who’s about to be sacrificed,” He rested his chin on his hand, staring at her.

“I’m going to die anyway,” she said quietly, strengthening her legs out. She ran her fingers through her hair coating it with warm liquid. Maybe it was the matter of herbs, Michael’s demons had added into the bath, which made her braver.

“You won’t die,” he said rolling his eyes at her, “I have a taste, darling. Of course, I’ve come up with something creative for you.”

He grinned, showing his perfect white teeth. The girl shivered at his worlds.

“You sound like a psychopath,” she said aloud what she had been thinking about him since her arrival to hell.

“Oh, do I?” he arched his brow and rolled up his sleeves, “I’d rather be a psychopath than the woman who screwed up her granddaughter’s life.”

“Stop humiliating my grandma,” she pleaded.

“Why? I’m saying the truth,” he took a washcloth and dipped it into the water. Her eyes widened when she realized that he was going to touch her again.

Michael shifted closer to her, and right when he was about to bring his hand to her neck, her body jolted as if she touched something disgusting.

“Don’t you dare,” she looked like a trapped animal, “I’ll scream if you touch me.”

He scoffed at her throat and squeezed the washcloth above her head, so her hair and face got covered in foam. She gasped and started wiping off the foam out of her eyes, ignoring Michael’s laughter.

“You can scream all you want,” he told her.

“Why are doing this?” she sobbed, her chin started trembling again. Michael thought that it was an extremely annoying habit of hers. Was she a neurotic?

“I can’t stand next to you before my subjects when you look this bad.”

She fell silent for a moment, letting him grab her by the hand to wash off the blood off her knuckles. He hummed approvingly and brushed off the strands off her wet hair to expose her neck.

“You have real self-esteem issues,” she noted quietly, looking down at her naked thighs that were pressed tightly in case Michael wanted to touch her there.

“What are you, my therapist?” He countered. His hand traveled down her neck to the valley of the breasts; he had to rub the washcloth rather intensely against her skin to scrape the dried blood off.

“You seem to know a lot about earthly life,” she said, understanding that there was no way Michael had learned about psychotherapists in hell.

He pressed his lips in a tight line when he lifted his gaze and looked at her through his hooded eyes.

“I do, unfortunately,” he murmured, moving his hands to her back, “the worst experience of my existence.”

Suddenly a tiny glimpse of hope sparked in her mind. What if she managed to talk Michael into sparing her? What if he had a weak spot? The thought got her so excited that it took her all her self-control to sustain an unbothered look.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?” She asked, trying to sound not too interested. He was so close to her, she could feel his breath ghosting across her cheek.

As soon as the question slipped off her tongue, he wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck. His grey eyes turned jet black with fury, and she clang to the edges of the bathtub trying to remain steady.

“That’s why I hate humans with all my guts.” His free hand got a strong grip of her ribcage, and for a moment, she thought he was going to break her bones. “Manipulative. Sneaky. Disingenuous. You think you can outsmart me, hmm?”

Suddenly his hand on her neck pushed her down, drowning her in the warm, milky liquid. She managed to take a breath and hold her it for as long as she could until red and black splotches started dancing in front of her. A desperate hot wave of animalistic fear came over her; her heart was beating rapidly in panic. He brought her back to the surface, and she gasped, feeling a burning scratch in her throat.

“I can hear all your thoughts,” he growled, while she was coughing and trying to calm down. “You aren’t getting sentimental on me, because I don’t have a heart,” and with those words, he pushed her down once again. The urgency for air was more apparent than ever. The water mixed with her blood and dirt looked revolting. He held her like that a bit longer than he had intended. There were not red blotches in her vision anymore; it was all black. Her head was pounding.

“Let’s consider this your training for your future swim in the lake,” he grinned, letting go of her neck.

The girl was choking, trying to spit out all the water in her lungs. Her eyes were red, and she could not stop panting. Michael was watching her with a satisfied smirk.

“What lake are you talking about?” she asked, her voice raspy and sore from coughing. “What’s gonna happen to me?”

“Now you have finally decided to wonder?” he mocked her and looked down at his shirt that got wet from splashing. “How considered of you.”

She shook he head. He was unbearable. Every question was turned into a mockery; she suddenly felt drained from the constant, pointless confrontation. She wanted to give up.

“This is unendurable,” she sighed heavily. “Do you ever answer a question without humiliation?”

The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Why miss the opportunity?” he chuckled. His mood-swings were intolerable. It seemed like he went from one radical mental state to another in mere seconds. “As for your question, tomorrow we will perform the ritual, and you’ll pay for your grandmother’s debt by becoming one of the prisoners of the lake Cocytus.”

“Is it going to hurt?” she whispered.

Michael reached up for a towel and beckoned her to come closer.

“Why does it matter?” he asked giving her the towel. She was thankful that he finally gave her something she could cover up her body with. “You have a chance to sacrifice your soul for someone who screwed up big time. I thought that you, humans, love dramas like that. Take Jesus, for example,”

She awkwardly stepped out from the bathtub; the water from her hair was dripping down on the marble floor.

“Does my grandmother know that I’m here?”

“Of course she does.”

She was nervously playing with the corner of the towel. A very dark thought crossed her mind, and it did not go unnoticed. Michael’s laughter roared through the room.

“You got to be fucking kidding me,” he had to wipe off the tears in the corners of her eyes, “did you really think that she wanted to take your place? That a miracle would happen, and she’d come to save you wearing a shining armor?”

She felt the heat spreading across her cheeks.

“Alright,” he took a deep breath. “If it’s so important to you, yes, she really wanted to help you out, but it was too late.”

Pure yarning and desperation hit her like a bullet.

“What about my family? My friends?”

“You’ll be erased from their memory.”

She did not ask any questions for the rest of the night. Once she left the bathroom she refused to get back to his bed, being too scared he would fuck her again. Instead, she curled up in a big leather armchair by the fireplace, sobbing quietly. Michael was watching her like a hawk in case she decided the commit suicide. It would have caused more trouble and he would have had to send her to the Seventh circle instead.

He was also concerned with the Demonic Quorum. Purson had known that Michael could not be by his Father’s side without everyone’s agreement, and there was no guarantee that the majority would vote in his favor. He signed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

“Venite ad me,” he called for his snake, and it made its way to him, resting in his lap. He petted its silvery head with the tips of his fingers, considering if he could bribe some of the demons.

The only sounds disturbing the heavy silence were the crackling of the fire and the girl’s snoring. She finally surrendered to her fatigue and drifted off into the first real sleep.

xxx

Her brain did not understand the passage of time; the panic grew stronger as her mental facilities gave way to her emotions, but she could not cry anymore. In the grip of terror, with wild eyes and dilated pupils, she was on her knees before Michael, dressed in cadet blue slacks paired with a polka dot dress shirt, and his Farther. The Devil was much taller than Michael, and she found herself unable to even look up at him. Her eyes were piercing through a thick layer of ice she was standing on. A lily-white nightgown clanged to her body like the second skin. Fear was building like an unstoppable snowball in the pit of her stomach, and she could not concentrate on anything else. If Michael had seemed intimidating, the vibe radiating from Satan was insufferable. Agonizing darkness weighed heavily on her shoulders; it felt as if it was rotating around her, bringing all the negative emotions, a human being could ever feel, out to the surface. Loneliness and sheer depth of her abandonment took her anxiety to a level she never knew.

She heard muffled voices spilling out from behind. A ripple of mocking laughter at her defeat. Waves of rejection swept through her like a heavy stream, but she could not even cover her ears; her hands were tied behind her back with two silver snakes.

“Drink up,” a hoarse voice of a man with a lion head she had seen at the ball drew her attention. She looked up at him, and he grinned devilishly, bringing a cup filled with some liquid, to her lips. She took the first sip and immediately started coughing at the bitter taste.

Michael was going in circles around her like a predator, chanting in Latin; his blond hair was flowing in the wind.

Her body tensed when she felt Purson’s hands in her hair, braiding the strands. When Michael pronounced the last words of the spell, he took her hands in his palm and guided her to a wooden boat, which was waiting for them by the bank of the lake.

He turned around to face his subjects.

“Fiat justitia ruat caelum!” He roared, raising his hands up in the air, “Let justice be done through the heavens may fall.”

Michael saw the Devil nod approvingly, and it gave him a solid boost of confidence. He clapped his hands and turned his head back at the girl.

“Get in the boat,” he commended, but she could not move a muscle. She stood there completely frozen.

Two demons stepped forward and pushed her towards the boat with their shoulders, making her nearly stumble.

“Please, don’t do this to me,” she pleaded. “Please, I’m begging you, Sir...”

 The boat was gliding along the ice as if the water was not frozen at all. The girl was crying the entire time, terrified by the whisperings she could hear under the surface. Michael did not pay any attention to her, being too caught up in his own thoughts. His brows frowned when he started speaking Latin again. He stretched his hand out, guiding the boat to the center of the lake. They were almost there. At the heart of Cocytus. He could hear it vibrating and calling for him, longing for the girl’s innocent soul. He stood up, and took a deep breath, concentrating all his powers. With every word that slipped off his tongue, his voice got louder and louder until everyone on the opposite side of the bank could hear him. He threw his head back and closed his eyes.

The boat started rocking violently, and she had to cling to the edges with all her might in order to keep still. Michael flicked his wrists, and the ice started to crack.

“Stand up,” he ordered the girl without looking at her. She felt an invisible force bringing her up, and she could not resist it, awkwardly standing up on her feet.

If someone ever asked her what happened next, she would not have been able to answer. The last thing she remembered was pain that pierced through her body like a sword and the sight of Michael’s blond hair. Her eyesight blurred, but not only because of tears that welled up in her eyes. The insufferable pain made everything look fuzzy, and then she saw nothing at all. Her consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. She was able to hear her heartbeat, pumping loudly and echoing in her ears, for a while, but then all the feeling in her body drained away. The darkness completely consumed her.

xxx

Every step that he made was dripping with confidence. He had a posture of the king that he was, strong, erect, graceful. He liked to think of himself as a phoenix who had suffered from the rejection on Earth and his Father’s dismay in hell, but who managed to reborn in the flames of the innocent soul.

The heavy weight of the eccentric crown inlaid with blood red rubies on top of his head was one of the best feelings and the proof that the Quorum had voted in his favor despite Purson’s attempts to bring him down.

Michael had all the nine circles under control and millions of demons in his service. He became the second most powerful creature in hell after his Farther, of course. He spent his days enjoying his privileges, going to the darkest corners of hell and watching every dead and living demon bow down to him.

He never forgot whom he owned it all to. Occasionally he went back to the Ninth circle and took a walk to the lake just like he had used to do it back in the day when he was an unknown misfit. It felt empowering to be back, being a different person.

He stopped in the center of Cocytus and looked around, inhaling the cold air.

Magnificent.

Michael slowly got down on his knees and placed his hands on the frozen surface. The wind was singing through the trees, as Michael started whispering in Latin. He concentrated on the bright spot of the light that was trapped deep at the bottom of the lake and called for it with all his power. She had a tendency to be really stubborn and ignore him most of the times.

 BOOM!

A tiny fist knocked from the other side of the surface in an attempt to get out, and he saw her face mutilated in agony. Michael’s lips twitched in a mocking smile.

“Hi, baby. Did you miss me?”

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