The Demon Lord and his Hero (BL)

"It's not like that, Ryn. Don't worry. Eos knows my heart now," Rowan assured his mage.

"So you will not be compelled to marry Lillith this time, is that what you're saying?" Syryn dared to hope.

"It won't be Lillith but it doesn't mean I won't need a priestess," his words cast a cloud of gloom over Syryn but Rowan had more to say. "Or a priest."

The mage stared at Rowan like he was growing an extra head. "A priest?"

"I want to have your name entered as a candidate for the ceremony," Rowan said to the shocked half-demon.

"Are you insane?" Syryn's heart fluttered to his throat and he felt like he had been hit by a spell that made him nauseous.

"It will be my plea to Eos," Rowan solemnly told him. "You have to come, Ryn."

The mage stood up from the chair. He had to run away. Anywhere but here listening to Rowan tell him that he, a half-demon, would have to stand before the altar of Eos and beg to be her priest. He felt sick in the stomach. How would a goddess ever entertain someone like him? He was stained by evil, forever lost to purity and goodness because the magic of the demons thrummed in his blood and smeared his soul for condemnation. The chance for normalcy had been snatched away from him the very moment he had been formed in his mother's womb. It was why Syryn both despised and feared the deities.

He hastily threw on a robe to cover his nakedness. "I'm taking a walk, Rowan. Don't follow me. I need space," he declared before legging it out of the house.

Syryn looked up at the sky as he walked across a grassy stretch of land. The moon was misted over by a sparse covering of clouds. He could hear the soft neighs of horses that had been locked inside their stables.

The tiny blades of grass were sharp against the skin of his bare feet. In his hurry to leave, the mage had forgotten to put on his footwear. Syryn walked past a few trees and melted into the darkness of the forest. Surrounded by the dark, he felt more at ease. This was where he really belonged.

Syryn leaned against a tree, finally feeling his heart beat slower. He looked around and saw that he was surrounded by forest and darkness. It was so eerily quiet that the comfort he had found in the blackness of night suddenly began to change. A tendril of fear crawled up his spine when the mage felt the presence of something sinister in the forest. Something that had come for him.

The mage squashed the fear and stood with his back straight. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to die cowering if he couldn't defeat it. Fear was fuel to Syryn. He used it to feed his anger until a cold fire was burning in his chest, giving him the courage to face what it was that had arrived.

"Who are you? Stop hiding in the shadows," he growled to the intruder.

Syryn then heard the sound of a breath. He turned to his left but he couldn't see much beyond the trees.

And then a sickly feeling enveloped him. It felt like panic and tasted like blood in the mouth, metallic and pungent. But Syryn knew it was all in his head.

"I'm walking out of here if you don't come out," he warned the intruder. This time, Syryn had paid attention to his surroundings and he knew the way out of the forest. Irrespective of his desire to fight the thing giving him company, the wiser choice was to leave the forest on his own terms.

And the moment that Syryn turned to leave, a tall shadow blocked his path. It was a hole in the air, an opening to the abyss but alive and stalking him.

The mage backed away slowly, careful to not set off the thing. There were no distinguishing features on its body of darkness. Stretching out and towering over him, the shadow extended its arms towards Syryn and that's when he realised that he had been paralysed. The mage could not move a single muscle in his body. All he could do was watch the shadowy form engulf him in its arms and take his soul to wherever its abyss led to.

Syryn closed his eyes.

"Meow!"

The mage was startled by the sound of a cat's meow. It sounded familiar. He opened his eyes and looked around but he still couldn't move.

"Syryn," a feminine sounding voice sang his name like a lullaby. It was a beautiful voice and the mage was mesmerised. "I stopped time to speak to you."

That's when he heard another meow. It sounded furious.

"Ah Milky, it isn't like that. Fine, I lied. I stopped time to kill you, Syryn. But the stupid feline had to ruin it again."

"Don't call me a feline, you conniving bitch." A man spoke this time. His voice had a smooth low timbre with the same power of mesmerising its listener. "Release him."

"For someone banished from the heavens, you sure are arrogant," the feminine voice said with a giggle.

"Don't ever let me catch you wandering around him again." Syryn couldn't believe how deep Milky's voice was. The strange power over him was waning and he craned his neck to look at the cat.

In the low light of the cloudy night sky, Syryn saw frost coloured hair framing a face in loose shoulder-length curls. He couldn't see the face but from what was visible to him, Syryn could tell that it was a beautiful man. He would never be able to look at Milky the same way again.

"Ah, the anti mage is breaking through my barrier. I guess it's time to leave," the woman announced. "I'll find you, Syryn. I'll get you someday. Not even Milky will be able to save you when I decide I've had enough fun."

The world spun and Syryn fell to his knees. The forest was entirely silent and harmless. He felt blood trickle from his nose and then a moment later, Syryn blacked out and fell to the ground.