The Lost Prince and The Demon King [BL]

The sharp pain that pierced his heart was a welcome relief. As the pain bloomed and spread from his chest, the Demon King of the Fifth Circle of Hell took his first breath in however long he had been trapped in that place.

The air was still. And stale. Not a good sign. Wherever he was, it seemed to be far from the surface of his kingdom. 

He tried to move his hands but found he was unable. His eyelids twitched and when he snapped his eyes open, he was standing in the middle of a field of endless grass. And he wasn't alone there. 

A young man knelt before a gravestone, clutching it so hard his knuckles had turned white. The king watched as the young man gasped for breath, and then went still, his body falling limp against the gravestone. 

The king blinked. He stood in the corner of a small cell, one man knelt opposite symbols the king knew all too well, and the other lay still and lifeless next to the king's feet. 

They looked exactly the same. The young man he'd seen grabbing onto the gravestone with all his strength and who now lay motionless on the floor, and the man kneeling in front of the symbols. The king glanced between the two men, the one kneeling had his eyes closed, and his aura glowed faintly green. Greed, jealousy, and lust had left marks across his soul.

How boring. 

The king turned his attention to the lifeless man at his feet. Even though his features were exactly the same as the other, his aura was completely different. It pulsed from him in waves, red and glorious. Anger that needed a mere push to become wrath. 

Perfection. 

The king reached out one hand and brushed the tip of one finger against the outermost edge of all that beautiful anger. Small tendrils curled around his fingers, almost lovingly. 

As the young man's eyes snapped open and he gasped in a desperate breath, his aura dissipated and the king found himself being yanked back and slammed down into the dark stillness of his prison. 

This was less than ideal. 

The king tried to sigh, but found he was unable to open his mouth. He weighed his options. 

One, he could try to forcefully break out of wherever this prison was located. That would take time and a lot more energy than he currently possessed. And who knew what had become of his kingdom in his absence? Would he still have supporters to aid him in taking back what was his?

Two, he could be patient and wait for that lovely soul to call out to him again. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to wait too long. 

The king decided to wait and conserve what little energy he had left. He replayed the feel of those delicate tendrils wrapping around his fingers. There was enough anger there to sustain him for a while. 

The silence was crushing. But the king inhaled and exhaled. And waited.

And waited.