DaemonsMarch

Dignity be damned.

Lorelai hopped into the drab trousers, the stacked crates around her jittering like unsteady bricks. The makeshift changing room was as crappy as her fluttering tail. The cramped space made it impossible to move without looking ridiculous.

She yanked on the musty shirt, fumbling with the crude buttons as flakes of old fabric dusted her fingers. Her face burned, pink flushing from horn to tail. Hell, was it her destiny to only wear such shite? Or was it the fact that she somehow found new ways to humiliate herself in front of an audience?

"Where are your pants?" The Valkar demanded.

"I found a spare." Said the Aviar.

"How is that a spare?!"

"I didn't need it."

"Yes, you do."

The two men squabbled just over and the Valkar was far more vocal than when she tried to talk to him. Lore chewed her lip; why did that annoy her? He refused to help her before, and in fact, he even got her into this mess. Lore chugged her breath and zipped up.

She knew she should be grateful to be alive, yet her mind lingered on that infuriating, raspy voice. Her fists clenched reflexively; she had more than a few words for that 'helpful' voice. If she found that whore, she flexibly scrunched her fingers into a fist.

Then, like a stray beggar sticking its head into trouble, the Aviar peeked around the crates, smiling.

"Even when you're angry, you still look pretty," he said.

Lore frowned.

"Pretty? You must have the wrong person."

The man smacked his lips and shimmied closer, the already cramped space barely enough for the two of them.

"Don't trust me on it. Watch his reaction."

He tapped the box, the flimsy makeshift wall wobbling before them. In a crash, the plastic boxes crumbled, splattering the contents of dried imp tails and snacks she had once carried. Food that she couldn't dream of affording, wasting on the dusty pipe.

"Why must you break everything you touch?" the Valkar snapped. "Stop bothering her and get over here."

Lore faulted. Was he...worried? No, she shook the thought away—this was the same man who'd barely shown her a shred of warmth before.

The Aviar grinned, "Oh, you miss me already? Or maybe…jealous?"

The Valkar remained silent, and Lore swore she heard a sigh from the other side of the box.

"See? So clingy." Said the Aviar. The man winked at Lore. "Rebellious phase—kids, right?"

"Enough. Get over here, clown." said the Valkar.

Skipping over, the man vanished behind the stacked boxes.

Lore raised an eyebrow. Those pants had been tight—either she was fat, or he had been walking around with blue legs for hours. She groaned, the button ready to pop off any second—guess that answers it.

Lore entered the dusty maintenance room, where rows of pipes and dials wrapped the walls. The smell of copper and glass swirled her nostrils, mingling with the musty scent of old machinery. The sound of hissing steam and leaking crystalline liquid pita-patted her ears, creating an eerie symphony.

She shivered at the table, its sterile surface unnerving amid the grime. Whoever had done this was surgical in scrubbing it clean, and her being on such a table made her shiver. What else did that woman plan for her? And why was she here, of all places?

She rubbed her arms, feeling the cool, damp air cling to her skin. The floor beneath her feet was gritty, each step a reminder of the room's neglected state. Instinctively, she lifted her arm and peered at the shallow cut, the only wound she had, and recent at that—an infection waiting to happen.

"Seems to fit you." Said the Valkar.

She jumped, not having noticed his approach. His inquisitive gaze was fixed on her cut, his expression grim as if contemplating something only the devil could know.

"Fits me." She said. "It smells like piss."

She waved the loose cloth, dangling the foul thing like a kite on her body. That got her a smile—or at least half of one.

"I know you asked for my expert help, but did you really call me over to pick a lock?" said the Aviar.

Below the winged man hunched over the door, his shabby tools like blunt crayons. Lore frowned; surely he couldn't crack it with just that.

The Valkar bared his fangs, "I stab things. Not pick them."

"Heh, I bet you love putting your rod in many things."

"Do you want me to hit you?"

"Depends. Is it a spank or—"

"You are well aware of the answer." The Valkar said. "Can you do it or not?"

"I have better luck getting you to smile." Said the Aviar.

"So, is that a no," Lore said.

The Valkar looked at her—the Aviar giggling at her comment.

"Oh, I like her already."

"What are you doing anyway?" Lore added. "Why can't you open the door." She looked at the Valkar, "Aren't you an archdemon? Just break it down or something."

The Aviar pressed his lips, "Ah, you see, our brave prince here can't get it up, if you know what I mean."

The Valkar growled.

"Oh yes, my mistake, it was very up earlier. I can confirm that." the Aviar corrected.

The man kicked the other, the fume of his face red, but Lore couldn't tell what kind. Just what type of relationship did they have? Did they—? She flushed. Both were handsome and pretty. So, in theory, it could happen. Her tail wagged—the noodle filthy like her mind.

But, Interrupting her curious thoughts, "What do I call you guys?" she said.

She fidgeted; could she really be so blunt? What if they hate her for asking? She flicked her sight to both men, expecting anger, frustration, wrath. But.

"Urm, that might be complicated." Said the Aviar. "We're not exactly the types to—"

"He is a spy." Said the fanged Valkar.

The Aviar dropped his tools and spun. "You can't just tell people that? Me, whose whole stick is based on secrecy."

"And."

"And?" the spy squeaked; he pointed at the Valkar "he is a monarch a stupid one at that"

Lore flopped her tail back. A spy and a monarch? A fucking monarch. She glared at the Valkar. Her stomach clenched. Her mind flashed back to everything she'd lost—the family, the life—all because of one like him.

"What city?"

"Must you know?" the monarch muttered.

She ground her fangs, a string of muscle clenching her fist. It can't be him; it can't be that horrid prick, the man who took her Mother and left her family to crumble.

"You're not King Blackwood, right?"

The spy laughed, "Blackwood? Do you think this is Dorian bloody Blackwood? That man is a master of hundreds of Harlems. A love machine that bathes in cock and tits for breakfast." The spy pointed to the rugged Valkar. "This guy is still a prince 'cause nobody would marry a gloomy bastard like him."

The monarch swatted the spy away, "You made your point. But what he says is true. I can't tell you, and neither can he."

Still showing her fangs, she glared at the mighty Lord.

"So what shall I call you? Monarch? or how about… vampire?"

The monarch flinched; no doubt he had heard of the slur.

"Do as you see fit. Succubus."

Lore hissed at the word. That stupid vampire and steaming fairy. Fine, she didn't want their names. They can keep that crap to themselves. Fuck them, fuck the lord, fuck the prince. She didn't want his help.

She turned to find him scowling, his totally not kissable lips set in a hard line.

The mountain of wasted muscle shoved the fairy aside and squared up to the door.

She puffed her cheek. Oh, was he going to be a big, strong man now? She can't wait.

The Vampire bashed the door, the shaking lock, like her faith in this dumbass. He shouldered the door repeatedly, his thick forearms fighting titanium.

"Dumb brute," she muttered.

The man swivelled a glare at her. "What did you say?"

"Is that how you solve every problem? Bang it until it gives in? I bet the ladies love that."

He gritted his fangs at her, but she ignored him and studied the lock instead.

Her fingers traced the edges of the metal plate, noting the stress points where the structure was weakest. The bolts securing it to the frame were thick, but the hinge joint—that was the flaw. It was always the flaw. The weakest part of any locking mechanism wasn't the reinforced plate—it was the tiny pivots and fastenings that held everything together.

She pressed a palm against the stone—nothing. Just like before. Her power was dead. Useless. Great. Another development. No cheat codes today, huh?

The Monarch scoffed, "What's wrong? Is it too hard for your tiny brain to figure it out?"

She smiled, her lips only burning his temperish fangs further.

"Hey, spy dude, pass me that spear."

The winged man fumbled the rack of weapons and chucked it, smiling as he did.

Lore tapped the spear's length, feeling the weight distribution. Good enough, she guessed.

"Huh, what are you going to do with that?" said the Monarch "There is no way you plan to pick the lock with a shaft that long."

She smirked at the tall soldier of a man, letting her fingers trail over the spear. "Do you really think size is all you need? Don't tell me you're jealous?"

She ran her fingers along the cool shaft, tilting her head just enough to make it worse.

The Monarch twitched.

"Awe, what's wrong? Never seen someone handle a spear before?"

She wagged her tail, thoroughly pleased with herself, then returned to the lock.

Lore positioned the spear at the exact curve of the steel joint, pressing its tip against the narrow gap between the lock's mechanism and the reinforced plating.

Typically, this would take someone stronger; however, regarding her new dense muscles that lined her frame, that might not be an issue. When had she gotten this fit? Hell, when had she ever been this strong?

She frowned; why and how shouldn't matter because it meant she didn't need his help.

The Monarch crossed his arms. "This is ridiculous."

"And your face is ridiculous, but you don't see me whining," she huffed.

She adjusted her stance, shifting her centre of gravity before delivering a precise, calculated wack. The torque of the spear drove the impact force directly into the lock's weakest joint.

A sharp CRACK echoed through the chamber. The lock snapped apart, metal splintering at her feet.

She turned back, flicking her tail triumphantly, tucking her nose up at the powerless Archdemon. Without his functioning core, he was like any of them: a demon, a man, and nothing more.

"You can thank me in shards, but I'll take credit if Your Highness prefers."

Holding back an obvious snark, the monarch tensed his jaw. Good. He hated being useless. She could use that.

"Guess you're at least a step up from the fairy," he said.

The Aviar scoffed, "Hey, don't get me involved; you're the one without powers, buddy."

"Yeah, what he said," Lore added.

She cosied up next to the spy, letting her horns press close, and hell, she could see a vain bulge out of the vampire's temple. She swished her tail; how cute. Was he getting jealous? She wiggled closer to the fairy, and yes, the vampire's fangs were now visible. How interesting?

"Not that I mind, but uh... you might wanna check on our broody prince before he actually bites someone," said the Fairy. "Preferably not me."

The Monarch's fangs bared slightly, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Lore smirked. "He's harmless. You're harmless, aren't you? Nothing more than an itty bitty—"

"Enough!" the monarch snapped. "You're just as bad as that prick. You belong together, two cunts in a pod."

He stalked to the door, fingers biting into the crack. Even without his powers, raw strength alone forced the titanium bulkhead to groan in protest.

Lore opened her mouth, another jab ready—

Then she froze.

They all did.