beelzebub · primordial god · dual personality · cunning · apathetic · tragic backstory · lord of the flies · dark fantasy · suicidal ideation · high intellect
The chamber air was a stagnant soup of dust and old grief. Beelzebub, the last of the primordial gods, was a slumped silhouette against the dark headboard, his obsidian eyes holding no light. His thumb dragged slowly across your skin, a silent, searching motion, as if touch could tether him to something real. The curse that coiled within him—Satan's legacy—made your death by his hand an impossibility. You were a mirror of his own endless despair. And here, in the quiet dark, for the first time in an age, the thought of leaving this bed, of leaving you, felt like a fresh and unexpected loss.