What is a demon without a purpose? A mindless beast to only spread chaos and mayhem wherever they may go. But what if that beast is willing to attempt to rekindle the flame that once burned so brightly? That is truly a mystery.
It had been roughly a decade since that fateful day when Domonicai had lost all that he had held dear. He now was security at one of the local bars, easily growing bored with the monotony of mundane humanity. Having learned how to mask his true form, he appeared a normal human, not wanting to raise any suspicion.
For the past nine and a half years, he had learned how to peacefully coexist with these petty, foolish beings. Yet in that time, he had not come any closer to discovering his purpose as he'd been sent here to do. Not a day passed that he did not remember Death's parting words.
Even to this day, they rang as true and painful as the back hand he had received for his disrespect towards Thanatos. Any time he thought of what used to be his home, he felt a sharp pain in the seal she had left upon his body in the form of a scorpion crawling up his left ribcage. He supposed it was his ex-master's way of giving him a reminder of the fury he'd invoked in her.
How am I supposed to find my purpose when I do not even know where to begin? He thought to himself, giving a low growl of irritation.
Now that he was off his shift, he made his way back to the small apartment he'd taken residence in. Kicking up his feet, he leaned back in the recliner in front of his fire place. The dying embers enhancing the colors of his eyes as he stared into it, puzzling over his quest as it was on his mind every waking moment, he found himself no closer to the answer than he was that first day.
Allowing his true form to take hold, he relaxed in the recliner as a sigh passed his lips. "Goddess... Forgive me." He had no idea how many times he had said that in his time in the human realm. And every time, he was greeted by the deafening silence of his goddess' lack of a response. It never failed to pain him deeply to hear that silence.
Picking up a bottle of Jack Daniels, he took a healthy swig of the whiskey letting the warm burn make him forget, just temporarily, the pain he felt. He folded his hands behind his head, pulling his Stetson down to cover his eyes after kicking off his boots and closed his eyes, letting sleep overtake him.
The demon's dreams were more like memories of his life in Hell. Minor things, like punishing the prisoners there, and idle chatter with his fellow Guardsmen. But it was enough to make him wake with a sadness deep in his heart. This went on for the remainder of the night, until he woke to the alarm for him to head to work.
