CW: Blood, Violence, Physical Abuse, Forced Servitude/Slavery
"
Only a mild expression of shock pierces through his face. He manages to half sputter out, "But, my queen," before he is thrown down the stone steps that lead to her throne.
"I gift you this honour and you dare to protest?!" her voice boomed. Disan pulls himself from the cold floor to kowtow silently despite the bruises new and old. She gives a sneer at his lack of a response.
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"Young master, lift your arm a bit more, please. And your leg, if you would. Thank you, young master." lifting any limb, turning in any direction,
Qingshui eagerly awaits the end of his morning preparations so he may finally shake off the many hands assisting him. Once it is finally over, he breathes a sigh of relief, only to hear a shrill voice call, "Boli Mo!" The sound of footsteps comes in quick succession and, before he knows it, Qingshui is grabbed by a new hand.
Long nails poke at pale cheeks as the queen captures her precious son's face. His momentary freedom snuffed, Qingshui felt boiling hot anger rise to the surface. Almost instantly, he starts writhing to free himself of his mother's claws as they pull his face down to her eye level. "How is my precious Boli Mo today?" she softly coos and nuzzles her cheek against his like he is a little puppy.
"I'm fine, Mama, how many times have I asked you not to storm in here? And let me go!" he gowls indignantly.
The demon queen did not budge against her son's struggling attempts to pull against her. She did not even appear fazed. Qingshui was large, even for a demon; he was nearly twice the height and width of his petite mother and his strength was even more impressive than his size. However, although he may have already grown taller than the petite demoness, she still treated him like a child and had the strength to do so. His power and strength were second only to the Queen herself. It was partly because that impossible strength of his still dwarfed in comparison to hers that she sought to protect him so fervently. In her arms, he was little more than a fitful child. "Oh, don't be like that dearie," she simply cooed, looking no more mussed than before. The longer Qingshui continued to be smothered by affection against his will, the louder his growling grew and the more reverently he struggled. However, the queen just continued on, "Mama has a special treat for you." She squishes his cheeks once before finally releasing him.
Disan was hanging back, half hidden in the shadows. Once again, he steps forward at the command of those painted red nails. Qingshui's eyes snap to the approaching figure and he is surprised to see a young man about his own age—a man that he can sense is not a demon. The stalky young man stops to stand off to the demoness's side. He stands at only a half-head shorter than Qingshui, making his height rather impressive. Despite this, Qingshui looked to be more than twice as wide. Qingshui likened the man to a single stalk of wheat both because of his form and because of the burnt gold colour of his eyes. However, what stood out most to Qingshui was how the man's face was calm and neutral despite his black eye and the bright welt on his cheek.
"This little thing is going to serve and protect my little Boli Mo from now on," the queen said without even looking at him. "He may be human, but Disan will protect you and guard you, okay sweety?" She gives her son a genuinely sweet and loving smile, the only one Disan had ever seen her wear.
Qingshui's curiosity for this man vanished almost instantly. "WHAT?" Qingshui roars, his anger almost palpable in the air around him. The steam-like demonic mark on his forehead glows a faint red. His hands ball into white-knuckled fists. Both are the first warning signs of an incoming tantrum. "You're giving me a human guard? Do you think I'm useless?!"
At the telltale signs of another episode, the queen reaches out for him again. "No, no, of course not sweetie," she says softly in a comforting attempt as she holds his arms. "You're Mama's strong little Boli Mo," she says in a baby voice as she pinches his cheek affectionately. "Mama just wants to ensure you are taken care of when I'm not around." She cups her son's face and pulls him down—against his will—for her to kiss his demonic sigil.
"STOP TREATING ME LIKE A BABY!" Qingshui explodes from the queen's attempts at damage control. He pushes and shoves against her fruitlessly. The forced kiss upon his now red-hot sigil was the infuriating cherry on top of a mountain of insults. The shame and anger he felt acting as fuel to his strength, Qingshui finally broke free of his mother's grabbing hands—or had she loosened her grip? Either way, Qingshui staggers back on impact but keeps the gained distance. He flexes his fists and arms while his chest abruptly rises and falls under his robes like a winded beast. His hair, neatly brushed just a moment ago, sticks out in all directions and the same blood-red light from his sigil bleeds into his narrowed eyes. He looks like he is just a few moments away from killing someone.
Despite how threatening he looks his demoness mother still approaches him, anyway. His rage seemingly makes him swell in size, but the Queen takes no notice. "D'awe, don't be like that. Now, behave for Mama, okay?" she says as she rubs up and down his arms in an attempted soothing motion. "Mama has to return to her boring duties but you have fun with Disan." She blows him a final kiss before turning away, leaving a disaster in her wake.
She stops at where Disan is still standing, silently watching the scene with disinterest. "For every scratch I find on my son, I'll take a piece of you," she threatens under her breath.vDisan simply bows and salutes her as he has been taught to. She gives him a final appraising look, possibly considering if she should threaten him further. She must have decided her words were enough as she simply turned to give a final wave to her son before heading back to her throne room. "Bye, bye, sweetie~" Even as she leaves, Disan does not straighten, he remains in his salute until the Demon Queen is out of the room.
The moment she was gone from the room, Qingshui's eyes immediately locked on a new, more suitable target: his human "guard".
"You," Qingshui hisses, slowly approaching like a lion on the prowl. Disand did not flinch or retreat, even if his heart thudded in his chest. "Do you think you're stronger than me? Do you think you're better, human?" He practically spits out the last word, venom lacing his tone. "Well, let's see it, then!" He whips around to grab a giant, intricately painted vase and launches it at Disan.
Not having the chance to answer the accusatory question, the large vase shatters over Disan's head. He had managed to squeeze his eyes shut and throw up his arms in defence but it did him little good. The shrapnel sliced up his hands and arms, ruining his sleeves and even causing a long cut on his temple. The impact forced Disan to stumble back, some of his blood dotting the ground. He sways, but only for a moment before his muscle memory takes over and he bows to salute the unruly lord. "Not at all, young master," he says with a steady, sincere tone despite how his vision was swimming. "This one admits his inferiority to young master Qingshui."
Having painted his enemy red and having gotten him to admit defeat, Qingshui felt satisfied. Even so, he could not help but feel surprised at how easy it was. He came closer and cast a skeptical look at Disan, scanning him up and down. Though he was swaying slightly, Disan did not move from his respectful bow and salute. His one eye shut tight to keep the blood dripping down his face from getting in his eye. Finding no signs of sarcasm, Qingshui stepped back. The storm had passed.
"Chunhua," Qingshui calls, craning his neck to look back at one of the young maidens behind him. "Clean up this mess." He turns back to the bloodied human bowing before him. "As for you," Qingshui pauses momentarily as he recalls what his mother had referred to the newcomer as. "Disan," Qingshui said and, for the first time, saw a small flinch from the man. "I don't care what my mother has told you to do, don't follow me. If I catch you doing so, it won't be just a vase next time."
"This one cannot abide by young master Qingshui's request," he says firmly and without hesitation. "This one apologizes, but he is meant to stay with young master Qingshui." His tone is self-assured but lacks any passion or feeling to it. He knows that if he lets Qingshui leave his sight, his eyes will be taken from his skull before nightfall.
Disan has never been fortunate enough to have options. He had no say in where he went or what he did. He had no say in who raised him or how. He has only ever had one choice: to do as he was told or die. If he disobeys, he will die. If he obeys, he at least has some chance of seeing tomorrow. Now, it would seem Disan did not even get that choice. If he obeys his mistress, her son will likely kill him. If he obeys the son, the mother will undoubtedly torture him to death. The odds were against him, but they were always against him.
Qingshui steps out of his quarters halt and Disan's words pool in his ears. The firmness with which he spoke left Qingshui both enraged and impressed. How is it that a young man in a position as pitiful as his—enslaved, beaten, and humiliated—can still find the strength to hold his own? How is he able to stay so calm and unbothered through ordeals that send his demon servants running?
The inward admiration did not last long, however. The flame of anger reignites in him in the light of the disrespect and disobedience. This feeble creature is testing his patience, insisting on guarding him as if he were a helpless young maiden. The demon reaches out and snags the front of Disan's robes, lifting him up and off the ground. Fear and shock flash across Disan's face at being picked up like a doll. Qingshui was certainly his mother's son. For the first time since Disan had entered the room, his one honey-brown eye landed on Qingshui's face. His face is half covered in his own blood, one eye squeezed shut, and his hands fumbling to grip where Qingshui held him up like a stray cat. Disan had no doubt of how pathetic he looked but he did not struggle or flayl his feet. He schools his expression to something neutral if scowling slightly.
Snarling Qingshui leans in and says, "And who is before you now, your master or my mother?"
"Neither," Disan wants to say, but he tramples down that thought along with the tiny flare of pride behind it. "Young Master Qingshui," he obediently answers, instead, but he does not wait for the frightening demon to continue. "This one will stay out from underfoot," he promises not in a fearful and pleading tone but with that same steady resolve as earlier. "If young master Qingshui does not want this one, it would be kinder to kill him than to send him back to Her Majesty." He says but he hopes it will not come to that. He does not want to die just yet but death at Qingshui's hands was sure to be faster and far more painless than what the queen would do to him.
Qingshui glared up at his victim. He raises his fist to be level with Disan's bloodied face as his own contorts with rage. Just as he is about to strike, Qingshui finds himself once more stricken by Disan's complacency. His anger subsides. Qingshui stopped seeing red. Able to think properly, Qingshui could see the young man clearly: blood ran down his face and neck, the same scarlet seeping into the collar of his robes. The robes themselves were torn and dirty. His one eye was swollen closed and the colour of a ripe plum—an earlier injury he had acquired somewhere. For a moment he could see in this man a small, helpless creature—one he was actively harming. Seeing this so clearly caused the demon's resolve to waver, guilt taking hold of him instead. His raised fist turns into a palm. As he reaches out, Disan's heart beats fast enough to crawl up his throat. He was expecting to be strangled or maybe have one of his eyes gouged out. He tries to not look at it, to not give away weakness but his gaze flickers to the hand for an instant. He clenches his jaw and readies himself to hold back a scream.
But no horrible pain came. Instead, he could feel the demon's unnaturally warm thumb as it—almost gently—brushed blood away from his eye. The unexpectedly tender gesture caused him to flinch like it had been a slap. His whole body went stiff as genuine fear bled onto his face. He looks far more afraid than he had when the Queen or Qingshui had threatened him, more terrified than when a vase had been shattered over his head. Somehow, the kindness scares him far more than the violence.
"No, this master cannot send you back. My mother will send you back to the dungeons and there your injuries will get infected. I will see to it that your wounds are tended to." Disan's terror subsides bit by bit as Qingshui's kindness does not suddenly swerve into even greater cruelty. But, even as the fear leaves him, his shock keeps him as still as a rabbit as his wide eyes look at Qingshui half in a daze.
His feet touch the ground and he finds his footing after swaying a little bit. He finally seems to come back to himself as he shuts his gawking mouth and snaps back to a neutral expression. But even after regaining his composure, he does not let Qingshui leave his line of sight.
The demon snaps his fingers, pointing at the human, and gestures for his demonic servants to care for him. A few demons rush out, then return with all the necessary supplies. They usher Disan into a sitting position and Disan has to hold back a flinch when the flurry of demon hands descends upon him. Stiffly, he allows them to do as they like and move him this way and that. He lets them tend to his injuries; to do as Qingshui had asked, something he was still struggling and failing to wrap his head around. Even now, his gaze remains pinned to Qingshui, who was standing a ways away, leaning on a wall. Disan's gaze only split to dart to one of the attendants when they touched him or appeared in his line of sight. Even though Disan was staring intently at him, Qingshui would not look at Disan, instead preferring to play with an orb of water he had plucked from the air's humidity. "Once they're done, I expect you to stay true to your word and stay out of my way."
Disan's back straightened when Qingshui spoke. He cannot wrap his head around the sudden kindness and change of heart but he can understand orders. He nods firmly. "Of course, young master." This felt more normal, more correct but was still tinted with something strange.