I'm Here to Help You (Darkiplier x Reader)

The Demon's Vengeance

Dark continues to hold me in his arms, even when we're inside the house. I attempt to move out of his grasp, but his iron grip prevents even the slightest movement. Soon I fall still, held against his chest and crossing my arms in defeat.

"This is why I detest the times you go outside," he growls. The demon's hands grow icy around me, and I worry that his anger will get the best of him. The blackness of his irises expands to the rest of his eyes, turning them glossy and distant.

"Hey, Dark? Your hands are getting a little cold – Y'know that thing you do when you're angry?" I remind him. Today I'd prefer avoiding being turned into a popsicle.

He turns to me, fury lingering in his eyes. When his black eyes meet mine, they soften substantially, then become distant and cold again. Dark stares at me for a while before I finally speak up again:

"Will you set me down, now?"

The man hums in thought, which makes me less certain that he'll approve my request.

"It's not like that guy can follow me here," I say. "He's dead now, and nobody's gonna flirt with me... except you, because you still insist on messing with my head."

Dark chuckles at my last remark. "While I could amuse myself with flustering you, I think that I'd get much more enjoyment from torturing someone I hate."

I tilt my head to the side in confusion, wondering what he means. In the next moment, we're back in the cement room. This time, however, there's a wooden chair in the center. A man is strapped to it with cuffs around his wrists and ankles. His head hangs forward and chestnut hair falls over his face, concealing it from my view. Though it appears as though he would normally be partially tanned, his skin seems eerily pale.

This time when I try to step out of Dark's grasp, the demon lets me. I walk forward to the figure and crouch in front of it. In front of me is the sweat-drenched, unconscious face of Armon. He's definitely (unfortunately) still breathing, but he looks significantly worse for wear.

Probably due to the fact that he spent a solid two minutes heaving up his insides, I smirk.

I stand back up, turning to Dark. "Why'd you let him live? You seemed pretty furious with him earlier."

Dark laughs, walking forward with a malicious smile.

"Oh, believe me – I'm still seething with anger over this human –" his smile turns into a snarl and his usual tone drops to a growl "– but I've decided to have a little fun with him."

A grin makes its way onto my face. "You should've let me grab popcorn back at the house. Oh well, it would've gotten bloody, anyways."

I stand beside the chair, but slightly behind it to remain out of sight, for now. Turning back to Armon, Dark snaps his fingers. The barista stirs awake, about to lift his head to view his surroundings. Before he can complete the action, I grab a fistful of his hair and yank back so that his head shoots upward. I watch as his eyes meet Dark's, perplexity turning to overwhelming fear. Though I didn't think it was possible, the man's face pales further. I let go of his hair, but his eyes are now glued on Dark's face in fear.

"Wh-Who the fuck are you?" he stutters.

"You wouldn't know," Dark dismisses the question. "Now, where shall I start..."

The demon places a finger on his chin in thought, eyeing the man over. Finally, his gaze falls onto Armon's hands.

"The hands will be the first to go, for touching [Y/N]."

Dark places his hand over the man's, and a cry of pain rises. I watch as the skin underneath Dark's palm turns from a pale tan to a sickening gray, then finally to a steel color. The screams of the man rise in volume as the stuff spreads up to his wrist. At that point, Dark removes his hand from over Armon's. The human continues to pant heavily. As the substance spreads, it becomes an obsidian shade.