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The Protagonist Delusion - Chapter Two

TW/CW: demons, blood, self-harm (sort of?)

forget to do this last time, but here's the pronouns I'll refer to everyone throughout this fic:

victim - ze/zir

Chosen - any (mainly he/him)

Dark - he/they/it

Purple - they/them

MT - he/him

 ♦︎ Word Count: 1010 ♦︎

~

> 3rd Person POV, Present Tense

Awkward stares are exchanged by the visitors and their quiet host. Dark eventually breaks the silence by theatrically standing up and taking his black and red leather jacket off. He falls back on his chair with a loud sigh. "It's hot in here, Vic."

victim shoots him a glare and reluctantly dials back the thermostat. In zir opinion, it was still a bit cold in the room, but they couldn't argue with Dark. As the fans kick on, Chosen puts a hand to his forehead. 

Headache. Blurry. Dizzy. 

Chosen hides his face in his arms.

"This is going nowhere." All eyes turn to Purple, who seemed to be trying to hide how their voice cracked halfway through the statement. They get a few confused looks before Dark jumps up from his seat and retrieves a piece of red chalk from his pocket. He gets down on the floor and draws a circle. He starts on lines on the inside of the circle.

"Dark, what the- you are not drawing a pentagram on my floor," victim tells him, a bit too flustered to sound as stern as ze would've wanted to. 

MT staggers to his feet and tries messing with the lock on the door. "I'm gonna leave the demons to you, 'kay?" He calls back to the others as he's already halfway out of the building. "Good idea," victim whispers before getting up and following MT. The door shuts behind zir.

Dark grins and turns to Purple, very intentionally ignoring Chosen, who had his knees pulled up to his chest and his eyes closed.

"You have any candles?" Dark asks, gesturing towards the newly completed pentagram on the dusty concrete of victim's floor. "Tealights," Purple offers, reaching inside their sage green fabric bag.

Dark pauses.

Inhales.

"...You're British, of course you have tea lights."

Purple ignores the comment. They flick on all the tea lights and wait for the okay to arrange them on the floor in the proper spots. Dark darts out the door and comes back, dragging the two escapees with him. "Alright! Now everyone's gonna sit in a circle like we're a happy little family.." Dark starts, putting on an overly exaggerated smiling face and friendly demeanor. "We're literally summoning a demon," MT reminds the group. "I wouldn't mind pretending to be a functioning member of society," Chosen says, sitting on the floor next to Dark, his legs crossed.

"Okay, but, like, we actually have to hold hands for this to work," Dark explains. "Then we all put down a candle.." Dark pauses, observing the items in Purple's hands. "..well, tealights.. And then it should work."

Dark holds up a hand to quiet the start of a protest from victim. "We are doing this."

victim picks up a bit of passive-aggression in Dark's voice.

Purple nods at their cue and sets four of the tealights in the middle of the pentagram.

MT hesitates the most to get his tealight. (6 seconds after everyone else, victim notes.)

Dark flicks on his tealight and sets it in the proper position. Purple does the same and the two sit back and wait for the others. Hands shake and hushed whispers are exchanged as the rest follow.

Dark takes Chosen's hand in his.

Hands fall into other hands. 

Shaky inhales and exhales fill the room.

The room goes pitch black for a fraction of a second, lights flickering on and off.

A form in the center of the pentagram rises up, shivering, writhing, taking shape. It takes control of its form within the next 11 seconds and stands up, taking the shape of a winged shadow.

"Discount demon?" Chosen says.

"I mean, we did use tealights," Dark whispers back.

The shadowy demon opens six scarlet eyes that dart around the room before landing on Dark. The latter waves nonchalantly.

With a flick of the demon's wrist, glowing red chains take shape, the link on the end clamping down around Dark's neck. "The summoner is bound," the demon says simply.

"M-hm, I can.. I can see that," Dark responds, still keeping that air of blatant unapologetic disrespect in his voice.

The demon's fist clenches.

Chains tighten.

Dark lets out a sputtering cough.

Choking.

"Laughing now?" the demon asks.

A mix of blood and saliva drips from Dark's mouth. "Ha.. ha...." he manages to wheeze purely out of spite before being dragged forward by the demon until he is right at its feet. The chains tighten once more, and Dark feels his airways being cut off almost completely. He spits out a bit of blood and looks up at the demon.

"Pact," it says. Dark gives it a confused look and a cough. The demon gets down to be closer to being on Dark's level. It nudges him a bit. He writhes in pain for a moment before getting to his knees. "The... ..f-fuck is.. pact..?" Dark hardly manages to get out as he takes a wheezing breath in.

The demon drops what looks like a steaming, sharp metal toothpick with a wood handle painted black. "The summoner is bound," the demon says again. "Mark yourself mine."

Dark takes a shuddery breath and realizes what he has to do. He picks up the object he was given and starts carving the shape of the pentagram into his arm. Searing white-hot pain courses through him. His entire body shakes violently. The wound spills blood, a deep crimson soaking Dark's arm and staining the floor.

The demon watches, pure glee in its terrible eyes. Once Dark finishes, he drops the metal on the ground, coughing and shaking, hardly able to take a breath in.

The demon looks satisfied. "The summoner is bound," it repeats one final time before releasing the chains on Dark and fading away.

Dark gasps for breath as the lights kick back on in their full strength.

Blood still leaks from his mouth and streams from his wound.

He looks around at his companions, all of which look very shaken up.

Dark takes a trembling breath.

"Well that was an eventful meeting."