Chapter Text
Pain. Only pain.
Those words rang through Varak’s mind.
Constant pain.
He remembers the day he was created. He remembers when the world was an empty expanse of nothingness, devoid of all life. Through the power of celestial beings, planets and worlds formed.
Thus came the creation of the spirit realm, and with it, the creation of spirits and demons. Twelve spirits were formed that day, and twelve demons to match them.
The spirits began forming their shrines and temples and they eagerly awaited for something. They didn’t know what, but they knew it would happen eventually.
The demons were cast to the sides, forced to live away from any temple or shrine. The first twelve demons found a large cave system on the edge of the spirit realm and settled there.
Varak soon realized that the demons each embodied an emotion, and they fed off of it.
Anger.
With little to do, the demons and spirits grew bored and fought each other. The numbers were too few to be considered a war, but there were still losses for both sides.
Suffering.
One of Varak’s siblings, Yokai, was captured and locked away forever. He was harmless in his prison, but he wasn’t forgotten and the other demons were unforgiving.
One day, the demons would take what they were always denied.
No longer would they be forced to live in the shadows. No longer would they have to go months without a proper meal. No longer would they be cast aside and seen as lessers to their spirit counterparts.
One day, Varak would take it all, and the spirits would be left with nothing.
HATRED!
Varak snaps back into reality from the sound of his stomach. It roars as if it was a demon itself, but Varak ignores it and goes back to sharpening his blade.
He remembers the day a few of his siblings went to the mortal plane, to try and feed off their respective emotions. To try and eat a proper meal.
Hunger.
He looks down at his blade as he sharpens it. The long blade, forged from hardened steel and infused with demonic energy which makes it glow a deep red, glistens in the minimal light of the cave.
Varak growls as he stands up, his tall, lithe form common amongst most of his siblings. A scraggly mane of white hair pours from his head and seeps down to his shoulders.
He picks something out of his razor sharp teeth with his demonic claws. He adjusts his robes, grabs his blade and walks down the passage leading further into the cave system.
Varak remembers the day the first mortal spirit arrived. He lets out a wicked grin, revealing layers of sharp, white teeth.
That was when the fun began.