Shruu
Shruu
The sound of bodies being dragged echoed in the night air.
"Haha," I sounded, the laughter bubbling up from the depths of my being, laced with a hint of hysteria. "Demoted?!"
Zenney spat, his voice a venomous hiss. "Argh. And I will stop at nothing to end your life."
I tilted my head, considering his words. "I doubt killing me will get you back your status. If anything, killing the rest of the demon lords might be a better strategy."
Silence hung in the air as Zenney pondered my suggestion. The gears in his mind turned, grinding against the rust of his fallen glory. "Hmm, maybe," he finally conceded, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. "Fine, I'll kill the other demon lords, but if I find a way to kill you for good, I won't hesitate." He strained, struggling to drag the latest corpse towards the edge of the farm, where the trees stood like silent sentinels.
I couldn't help but chuckle at his naivete. "Fool, that is if you make it out of this farm alive." Zenney stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"You signed the soul contract, yes?" I continued, a hint of amusement coloring my tone. "Though embarrassing, I too fell for Zillow's façade."
Zenney's expression shifted, dawning realization replacing his initial anger. He wanted an explanation, and I was more than happy to provide it.
"You see, you signed, but did you really think about it?" I gestured around the meager farm with a sweep of my hand. "It said shelter, but the cottage we have can barely hold against the rain. And who mentioned the food would be three square meals a day?"
The truth hit Zenney like a physical blow. His eyes widened as he finally grasped the reality of our situation. "You are right, heavens!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with disbelief. "But it can not be that bad. Besides, we can not harm the other."
I threw my head back and roared with laughter, the sound echoing through the night. "You were tricked, you fool! You are now a slave!" Although I was in the same predicament as him, there was a certain satisfaction in seeing a fallen god brought so low. He fell from a higher level!
We finished dumping the bodies at the edge of the forest, the silence punctuated only by the rustling of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig. As we headed back to the cottage, I couldn't resist twisting the knife a little further.
"So, Zenney," I began, my voice dripping with mock sympathy, "how does it feel to be a glorified farmhand?"
He glared at me, his eyes burning with resentment. "Shut your mouth, Demon Lord." I simply grinned, reveling in his misery. "Oh, come now. We're in this together, aren't we? Partners in servitude."
He spat on the ground, a gesture of pure contempt. "I'd rather die than be your partner."
"You say that now," I replied, my voice laced with a hint of mystery, "but you never know what the future holds."
We reached the cottage and stepped inside, the familiar scent of dust and decay filling our nostrils. The single room felt even smaller now, crowded with the ghosts of our recent deaths.
Zenney slumped onto the bed, his face buried in his hands. "What have I done?" he groaned.
"There's no going back, Zenney. Imbiceil."
He closed his eyes, as if trying to shut out the reality of our situation. "There has to be a way out," he muttered.
"Maybe," I conceded, "but I wouldn't get your hopes up."
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. The only sound was the creaking of the cottage in the wind, a constant reminder of our precarious existence.
Finally, Zenney spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "What are we going to do?"
I shrugged, feigning indifference. "Survive, I suppose. What else can we do? Or we find a way out. I'm a king and I don't want to spend my life working as a farmhand. I have a demon kingdom to build and lives to take."
Zenney did not say anything, lost in his own thoughts.
Not wanting to look at his pity full form, I decided to call it a night.
...
..
.
Two days.
Two days of endless toil.
The sun was merciless, the soil unyielding, and the tools nothing more than splinters bound together with hope and twine. My once-proud fingers, calloused from battle, were now blistered from digging irrigation channels for carrots I didn't even intend to eat.
And the food.
If it could be called that.
A ladle of watery gruel in the morning. A slice of hard bread by night. No meat, no flavor, no dignity. Just enough to keep us alive, just enough to make death seem like a better alternative we weren't allowed to take.
Zillow, the wretched little imp of a being, floated above it all. Smiling. Always smiling. That smug, squeaky voice had begun to haunt my dreams.
"Work builds character," he chirped yesterday, tossing a shriveled radish onto my plate like it was a feast. "Besides, the contract says food and shelter. Doesn't say quality food or comfortable shelter."
That night, as the stars blinked down like judgmental gods, I sat by the dying fire, my rage simmering into something more dangerous: focus. I turned to Zenney, who lay on his side in the straw, staring into nothing.
"We need to talk," I muttered.
He blinked, slowly turning to face me, suspicion etched into every line of his fallen face. "Oh? Ready to finally kill me?"
"Zillow." I smirk.
Zenney sat up. "Tch. That rat. If I had my power—"
"But you don't," I interrupted. "And neither do I. Which means we're stuck. And I have no interest in dying of starvation or living eternity as a glorified carrot tender."
He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "What's your plan?"
I grinned, the fire casting wicked shadows across my face. "We make life hell for Zillow. He wanted workers? Let's be the worst workers imaginable."
Zenney raised a brow. "You want to rebel?"
"No," I said, my grin widening, "I want him to beg to be rid of us. Noise at night. Rotting food in his cellar. Slaughter his livestock in the dark. Let the wolves in. Curse the soil. Poison the well. We make every second of this contract a nightmare."
Zenney stared at me. Then, slowly, he chuckled."ok."
"But," I said, raising a finger, "we don't void the contract. Not yet."
"What?" Zenney frowned. "But I thought—"
"If we break it together, we get nothing. But..." I tapped my temple. "Remember clause three?"
> "This contract is inviolable and may only be broken by mutual consent or by the payment of one (1) gold coin to the other party."
Zenney blinked. "You want him to pay you to leave?"
I nodded. "He tricked us. Now he pays. One gold coin. That's all it takes. He wants peace? He pays."
"I'm a demon lord," I said. "And i won't allow myself to be put down like this!"
...
..
.
That night, three chickens were found dead. Guts spread across the barn floor in the shape of a smile.
The following night? Zenney "accidentally" left the pen open. The goats vanished. We heard wolves feasting in the distance.
By the third day, the cottage roof was mysteriously missing shingles, and somehow, a swarm of hornets had nested in Zillow's supply room. He buzzed around, eyes twitching, muttering, "contract, contract," like it was a prayer.
It was working.
But the true beauty was the imp's inability to retaliate. Clause four sealed his hands.
> "Neither party shall bring harm upon the other under penalty of soul erasure."
He couldn't lift a finger. Couldn't cast a spell.
Every time he got angry, he had to stop and breathe before he triggered the contract's wrath.
We made sure of it.
Finally, on the seventh day, Zillow cracked. He stomped into the field, trembling, dirt on his cheeks and bags under his eyes. "Kana. Zenney. Please. Stop."
I leaned on the hoe like a royal scepter. "Then let us go."
"I—no! You signed the contract!"
"And you can break it," I said, tilting my head. "Just one little gold coin. Or, you know, we can keep going. I'm starting to enjoy myself. Next week, we're putting centipedes in your mattress."
His lip trembled.
His tiny hands clenched.
"I don't have a gold coin," he whispered.
I shrugged. "Then you better go find one. Because if you think this is bad, wait until we host a festival."
Zillow let out a broken sob and ran, likely off to beg or steal his way to two coins of salvation.
And we?
We sat beneath the dying sun, watching the field burn with "accidental" fire.
"I hate you," Zenney muttered.
"I hate you even more." I replied, smiling.
"Do you think he'll come back with the coins?"
"Oh, he will," I said, my voice low and dark. "Or this farm will become his grave."
*Discord server here: https://discord.gg/aZUczPW9pY*