Painted Lies and Demon Eyes (SVTFOE Fan Fic)

What It Takes to Be a Demon

"Woah..." I exclaimed, lightly touching the black markings across my cheeks as I examined them intently in the mirror. They began out wide and eventually slimmed down to a sharp point. They became more and more noticeable with each second they magically matured, fading away from my distinguishing tan skin tone to a black pigment.

That's when I noticed similar markings on the back of my hand. They were fading into view just as swiftly as the streaks gashing across my face and they seemed to slither up my forearms and spiral from black, bold, intricate lines going beyond my T-shirt.

So this was what it was like to finally become a true demon.

It was kind of funny though. I always thought my brother, Tom would be the first to earn his demonic adolescent markings. Besides, he always had been one step ahead of me our whole lives - first born, first to discover his powers, and first to be called 'Master' Tom by the servants.

But as for me, I was always somehow staggering behind, always caught behind Tom, like a persistent, lingering shadow.

Ever since we were young, Tom was the bigger brother I looked up to. It was his own milestones and constant success that acquired our father's attention and praise. I, being the younger brother, admired Tom for it - I strived to impress our father too.

Unfortunately, I never could. Nothing I ever did was worthy of the same greatness, I assumed. Tom was our father's successor, not me.

Yet, because of his frequent absence to his kingdom duties and his attention towards Tom, I fell through the cracks, becoming somehow nonexistent.

Not that I minded anyhow. I found it easier to be forgotten. No one bothered me, nor did they care to - not even the servants. I tended to myself and only worried about myself. Laying low and going about my own concerns. It was easier to quit idolizing my brother and trying to please our displeasing father.

But now... now, something sprung up inside of me, a sort of bubbling joy. Something warm rose in my chest.

Finally, a fighting chance for me - to surpass Tom and seize our father's favor.

Not to mention, a jab back at Tom for calling me not a "true" demon.

Who's laughing now, Tom?

At the thought of this, I turned around to behold of the look on his face, just to amuse myself with his grief.

Tom sat at the table yet he had fallen deathly silent. Something had him on edge. I could tell by the way his leg fidgeted under the table and he bit down on his thumb in deep thought. His three eyes remained restless and bulging, almost as if he had been trying to solve some big, abstract puzzle - or maybe even a lengthy equation in his head. It was almost as if I could see the complex gears rotating inside.

Ever since he had spotted my markings, he hadn't taken his wavering eyes off of me. His ears drooped in distress, maybe even an expression of flounder.

Every so often, his eyes would dart from one corner of the room, to another, only to fall back on me, as if I was the core of his anxieties.

He shook his head defiantly and I heard him curse from under the fists that barricaded over his mouth.

"But... how?" Something of this remark bewildered me. It wasn't exactly the response I was expecting.

"What?" I scoffed. "What do you mean how?"

I witnessed him noticeably retract by this, his shoulders slumped and he seemingly shrunk. The remnants of his confidence had trickled out, leaving him defeated. When he didn't answer, that is when I concluded my triumph against him.

Usually, as stubborn-headed as I know him as, my brother would never back down from a challenge, nor would he ever accept defeat. No matter where the criticism or disapproval came from - may it be our father or a complete stranger - my brother always had to prove otherwise.

An insecurity? Yes.

A relentless need to prevail and assert his demonic divinity to forces who dare defy him?

Well... considering I know from past experiences with Tom's meltdowns, yes.

He always held the upper hand - always in control of everything. It didn't take a real observant eye to see where he got it from either. Our father - the King of the Underworld was definitely no exception.

But now, however, Tom did not fight back. This time... he only appeared to acknowledge and take his defeat.

Something of the situation had taken a jab at his ego and I couldn't help but laugh at how pathetically bad my demonic markings could bring him so low, to a state of severe distress.

"Oh, c'mon." I persisted, despite his discouraging silence. "You can't actually be upset over this! I mean, just because I got my demon marks before you. Maybe if you weren't so-"

"Y'know, Marco. It must be nice!" Tom rose up now, a newfound courage to attack, to interject with a comeback prepared. His fist pounded the table hard, causing the vase centerpiece to teeter momentarily before retrieving its balance. The single, sudden uproar and thunderous commotion was enough to alarm me.

His beetroot eyes - all three of them - had altered. His irises and scleras had inverted, swapping pigments.

And when he spoke, his voice had become a lower octave, a more demonic note.

Then, all at once, his words came tumbling out.

"It really must be nice to forget everything and be so ignorant and isolated from the world around you that you... that you just..." The words broke before he could speak them, yet he remained resilient and swallowed the bolder down to retry. "You don't get it. I-it's only getting worse - You're getting worse and..." Another pause for recovery. He bowed his head in a sort of shame and held it in his hands, his elbows resting on the table and supporting his head.

"You wouldn't... get it." His voice shattered, drained of the vigorous energy from his unexpected eruption.

My wings tensed behind me, my feet anchoring me to the ground, stationing me in a still, immovable position. I couldn't wrap my head around the whirlwind, nor could I even digest his words.

"I tried..." Tom's voice came out muffled against his arms from which he hid his face in. "I tried to reverse it. I tried to give you... your memories back but... it just gave you the nightmares. I just..." A lengthy pause for an uneasy breath. "I just thought you could remember."

The silence settled at last, yet it wasn't the definite, resolved kind. It was solid and stiff and unbearable.

"Remember what?" My voice was just a mumble, dribbled down to nothing but a small, feeble sound.

I waited for him to answer yet he only shook his head and stood, exiting the kitchen without another objection.

...

Even as I heard the shuffling from Tom's side of the bedroom dwindle to a heavy sleep, the tension still lingered just as heavy as it had been from back in the kitchen.

At least one of us was able to sleep at all.

But as much as I wanted to wrap myself up in my wings and do the same, I couldn't. The nightmares were no help, not to mention the endless quarrels and arguments with Tom.

I rubbed at my stinging, tired eyes and turned onto my back to stare at the void of the dark, rock ceiling above me. My head ached and my back stung like an angry inflammation, a symptom of my infection. The droning silence and the molten core's heat was too much.

Still, I didn't dare fall asleep... not yet.

I must've stared at the ceiling for a whole hour, desperately waiting. Finally, I heard my brother's breathing steady.

Then, I left.