“What does tuakana mean? I tried searching for its meaning across several encyclopaedias, but got nothing tangible in return.”
“First and foremost, it’s pronounced two-a-kana, and not that mortal slur emanating from that exotic piehole of yours. Secondly, what on Earth and everything mortal made you think of scouring human books for translations to demon lingua francas? You must be either too confident, or just plain stupid. And your recent actions prove to me that the latter is more probable.”
Brandon tries to not let his irritation show. Quick breaths, Don. Quick breaths. When he has managed to put his erstwhile tendencies under control, he repeats the question, making sure to sound as unannoyed as possible.
Ha! As if that could fool me. Your heritage may outclass mine by several tiers, but I’ve been a messenger far longer than you’ve been alive, boy. Llearth inwardly smirks at the half demon’s attempt to remain composed. He has been in the presence of rulers long enough to decipher true emotions from false niceties.
In the demonic hierarchy, messenger demons are at the bottom of the ladder, but this does not make them any less important than other demons. The nature of their missions requires them to traverse various realms on a constant basis, co they are the most sophisticated set of demons to ever exist. Hell is an utterly chaotic place, and the rules present only amount to mere letters on a piece of parchment in the affairs of highly ranked demons of the highest tiers.
The rules- don’t shoot the messenger, being one of them- are subject to the mood of demons like the Fallen Angels and the Seven Sins. Andromeda, for instance, is known for his indiscriminate execution of messenger demons based on trivial or non-existent reasons. The irony is that no one can hold him ransom for that- the lives of the messenger demons are worth nothing in the eyes of higher-ranked demons anyway.
This, alongside several other conditions, such as the lack of security for messenger demons, has made them cultivate overweening survival habits. These range from their droll tendencies, to their insane speed (to flee from impending danger, of course!) and concise, straight-to-the-point manner of speaking. It is wrongly perceived that messenger demons have short lifespans. But who would live long under such conditions? Only a select few.
And Llearth happens to be part of that ‘select few’.
“Tuakana is demon tongue for senior or elder brother.”
“How can I be your senior brother?”
Llearth smiles. “Hell is not bound by the rules of the mortal realm. It never has been and never will be. In Hell, age is meaningless, at least to most. What matters is your heritage. The purer your bloodline or lineage, the more superior you are.”
“My lineage supersedes yours.”
“Is that a question or a statement of fact?” Llearth raises a well-defined eyebrow, and Brandon’s inner fanboy comes alive. Now that is one nice eyebrow. However, he stops himself from thinking further along those lines, horrified at the thought of admiring someone other than himself. What am I doing admiring a fellow male? Of all things!
“Do you have any other questions, or will you keep checking me out? Not that I mind though- to have a higher tiered demon fawn over you is no mean fit.”
If Llearth has won any brownie points for Brandon, he has not only lost them but also dropped to a negative value. The half-demon had trouble getting rid of his not so noble thoughts, but this comment has helped him beyond measure. He’s not only annoying, but he’s also full of himself. What on Earth possessed me to see him any differently?
“The last time we spoke…” “You mean the time where you beat me within an inch of my life.” Llearth chips in wittily, and it takes a lot for the half-demon to swallow his irritation at being interrupted. Prior to meeting Llearth, he was used to being unquestioned and unhindered, but the lesser demon is committed to shrinking his unending list of never-have-I-ever.
“You called me the scion of Lust. Why?”
“Why? I don’t know, myself. I just said whatever came to my head at that point in time. I was seconds away from unconsciousness. It could have been just the ravings of a feverish demon.”
“Or it could have been something deeper. Something of grave importance. Tell me, demon, why you called me the scion of Lust.”
“Ask me some other question.”
“No, I won’t.”
“What if I don’t answer?”
“I’ll just have to force it out of you.”
“You said no…”
“More beatings.” Brandon does not let the lesser demon finish. “I remembered what I said. After all, I’m the one who said it. But if you don’t cooperate, I may have to introduce other methods. They can be very ‘persuasive’, you know.”
“Your aura isn’t pure, you know. How did that happen?”
“How would I know? I didn't create myself, did I?” Then, after realizing what he has done, his eyes widen in disbelief. How could I have been so stupid?
“Was that your question?”
Brandon dreads the answer to that question. Demons and trickiness go hand in hand. He is a master of tricks, but maybe, just maybe, even though he will never admit it, he has met his match.
“What question? Did I ask a question?” Llearth feigns ignorance, relishing in the look of anger and betrayal that flits across the half demon’s face. We’re just getting started, boy. I will get my answers, either by hook or by crook.”
While Brandon continues to internally berate himself for falling for the lesser demon’s trick, the latter glances around, acquainting himself with his abode. He’ll be here for weeks, if not months. It’s always good to be prepared. Although I’m on my leave, there’s nothing stopping the big guns from summoning me whenever they please.
Noticing the lesser demon’s gaze, Brandon smirks in a surreptitious manner.