Tiny was an excellent imp. Tiny always served the other demons diligently. Since he had spawned in the pits, Tiny followed the Demon King and his swarm of demon kin all across their home dimension. When the swarm slaughtered the Pitlue tribes of the northern mountains, he was there. When the swarm feasted on the flesh of the last Rom'shakaf, he was there. When the Demon King used his otherworldly magic to summon a dragon and split a continent in twain, he was there. He followed his royal highness on his path to world domination for years, watching as the King brought down the false Gods and razed their Divine cities to the ground.
He often wondered how on earth did an imp as small as he was, manage to survive for so long in such brutal times. It was only when the King had taken full control of their home realm that he understood. He was food. The imps were food.
In his infinite wisdom, the King had long since realized that there were limited recourses on his world. He knew that his army would need to leave their world in search of more prey eventually, and he also knew that in between conquering worlds, his race would need a source of food. So he looked to the most numerous of his kind, the imps. All demons are born imps; they evolve into more advanced demons as they grow in strength.
Due to this, the Demon King took a large portion of the imps children, yet to learn of their potential, and sealed their strength, to prevent them from evolving, as imps are genuinely the tastiest of all demons. Sweet, tender meat on such small frames, the larger, stronger demons gobbled them up like biscuits.
The time came, the inevitable happened, the demons ran out of food. Tiny, who was wholly unaware of this, was filing down a Carlothumps toenails. Naturally rounded, it was Tiny's job to file them into sharp points. The overgrown furball would not stay still though and kept slashing poor Tiny's little hands. Thankfully, true to his name, Tiny was exceptionally small, even for an imp, so he was able to duck out the way of most kicks.
Finished filing the tenth toe on his third right foot, Tiny was just about to move onto the eleventh when the hairy fiend kicked out, landing a solid blow to Tinys left-wing, tearing the leathery membrane down the center. This was most definitely a horrendous thing for Tiny, for an imp that cannot fly will not be able to keep up with the swarm of demons and will be left behind.
In a panic, Tiny was frantically flapping his wing, hoping, praying to the Demon King for at least a little bit of lift, because of which he didn't see the Carlothumps tail approach him. The tail wrapped around his left leg, yanking him off his feet, bringing him up to the Carlothumps two mouths.
"About damn time." The Carlothump growled. "Been wanting to eat this one since the King legalized it last night. Buggers a damn good toenail sharpener, though."
The surrounding demons laughed, and it was while hearing this laughter, hanging upside down over the giants two toothy maws, that Tiny looked around. Really took in his surroundings. He noticed it almost immediately, the distinct lack of imps this morning was startling. He hadn't noticed it earlier because, even as one of the oldest imps in their camp, he was the smallest, and this lead to him being ostracized even amongst his own kind.
He kept his head down and did his job, more than willing to work, if only to feel like he actually meant something. Even contributing something as small as sharpening damn toenails all day was better than nothing. He had even been praised by the King himself for his technique once, in his younger years.
But now he saw it, not in some moment of enlightenment, or through any grand powers of deduction. Our Tiny was far too dumb for that. No, he just saw the pile of imp bones piled up on the ground, in the trench... with all the demon shit.
He saw his granddaughter and, by his count, seventeen of his great-grandchildren (or at least their bones and a couple of heads). They were scattered in the mud, together with all of the camps shit from this last week. He only recognized due to their tails, the only part of an imp no demon eats. Each of them having their own quirky pattern on it. Aside from their size and their tails. There was no other concrete way to tell them apart, so even though he never interacted with them, he could tell who they were.
This scene is what tiny saw; this was the last thing he looked upon before being dropped into the mouth of the one holding him up. An alien feeling following him into deaths embrace. He was mad, no, he was enraged. And This rage showed no signs of quelling.
Even as he felt himself chomped clean through his middle by the Carlothumps teeth. Even as he felt himself get pulled downwards to its belly by the Carlothumps tiny hands (the hundreds lining the inside of his throat). Even as he felt himself being torn apart by these midget hands to ease the digestion of his body, this feeling within him grew in intensity.
Not because they killed his grandaughter or anything silly like that, he had dozens of them. The sheer pointlessness of it all truly incensed him.
He had worked for hundreds of years, slaving away for the demons swarm. He struggled to survive through thousands of battles. He'd come close to death hundreds of times, all to serve the King. Only for it all to come to this moment. To be eaten by a filthy Carlothump who can't even sit still for a single bloody minute!
Damn this army and damn it's King. Can't an old imp, especially one who has served his kind for so many years, die with a little bit of dignity?
You could have at least boiled him first!