𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐋 | drarry

13 | worship my wreck

    Slash after slash after slash the whip came down on him. Each tormenting lash it scarred his back, the wound opening immensely and gushing out the oozing substance of red thick liquid. The sound of the whipped cracking down on his tainted flesh made the demon hold back grunts of pain. His fist tightly scrunched together and forehead dripping in sweat, he dared not to say anything.

The ghoul giving the punishment, covered in a black trench coat that resembled the myth of the grim reaper the mortals had come up with, held the weapon in his hands, ever now and then asking a question Harry could simple not answer.

"What a mistake," the creature hisses absurdly, raising his arm up high and letting his strength pile down on the demon below him, allowing another wound to open up, the blood flowing down the back elegantly.

Harry's eyes twined together, feeling the burning sensation of each cut spread across his entire body like fire. He began counting the slashes, now at eight exactly and his punishment was to be ten. Therefore, he calmly awaited the next mark to be placed on his back.

"What made you make such a slip up?" The man in the trench coat asked through gritted teeth, having enjoyment within his own actions.

Harry only stayed silent, not daring to mention the Angel that has come down in Hell. If he were to do that then chaos would ensue, something Harry didn't want to happen. Although, he knew he had to give answer, but not exactly the right one.

He breathed out, mouth inching apart to let some blood seep through his teeth from biting his gum too much. He spit on the ground, saliva now a grainy velvet color. He slowly reopened his eyes, keeping them locked on the dirt his hands were covered in. "I got distracted with other duties," he muttered out, voice hoarse and scratchy, throat burning.

"Ah," the man hummed, refusing to give a warning as he slashed Harry's back once more, going over a previously made scar. "Foolish."

"You have a main job, focus on that," were the words that were said to Harry as the tenth, and final, whip came down. Not as painful as the others since Harry had fairly gotten used to the pain after the sixth time.

"Get out of my sight and back to work," the man ordered, setting his blood soaked whip back in its holster, turning around dramatically and walking away from Harry. With the footsteps growing fainter and fainter, Harry collected himself, breathing heavily as he struggled to get off his knees and to his feet with a mangle of noises from the pain surging through his entire body.

The demon took no time on heading straight out, going directly towards Limbo to make up for the lost work. Anger coursed inside him, mostly at himself for making such a stupid mistake and all because he was fooling with an angel, a thing he already knew not to do.

Regardless, his emotionless state returned and he exhaled hatred. The fire in his lungs rebuilding, and with blood steadily running down his back, he regained himself and returned to the torturing of the souls.

† † †

Draco couldn't stop pacing back and forth while he picked at this nails, muttering his worries about Harry to himself as the demon had not returned for hours on end. Being left alone to his thoughts only made him more anxious and frankly, he was ready to leave the house and go venture out to find Harry on his own.

The only thing stopping him was fear, but even that started to diminish slowly. The angel desperation grew immensely, and no one had come by to visit him or tell him what's going on. Everything was silent, too silent for his liking.