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Gehenna’s eighth man of power hadn’t expected Behemoth to run off like that, but the hobgoblin always had loved a good hunt, and that chuchi had just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The lesser demon which his pet had taken for prey had possessed a particularly large flying beetle which had turned out to be a somewhat entertaining target, if not a challenging one, for his familiar.
In pursuit of the two, Amaimon now found himself crouched on the high wall which enclosed the grounds of a mildly impressive human structure. It was vaguely imposing, he supposed, though his brother’s school was more so, but this building had a distinct scent around it. Sniffing the air curiously, the Demon King took a moment to identify the odour, and when he did he wasn’t sure what to make of it. It smelt like those buildings full of sick humans - the ones that Assiah’s residents referred to as ‘hospitals’ - but there was distinctly less blood and decay in this one… In anguish though, this place was plentiful.
Catching sight of his familiar as it leapt through one of the windows, he swiftly followed, paying no mind to the odd building’s inhabitants… until he found this particular room’s human petting his Behemoth like a common dog. By the looks of things, she was a young female human of perhaps two decades, or maybe slightly less. A mere child compared to him, though all humans were. His cold eyes trailed back to his surprisingly placid familiar.
“Behemoth.”
At the sound of his voice, the lesser demon was instantly at his feet, looking rather guilty for having been caught in such an unthreatening state by its master, and at the side of a human no less. His eyes once again trailed back to the girl who, by the sounds of her rapid heartbeat, was startled by his presence. As she should be. It was only a few moments after her lips had stopped moving that he realised she had spoken, and was now looking at him as if expecting an answer.
Amaimon felt his brow crease at her impertinence.
That a child of Assiah would address him without fear was virtually unheard of, but to think that she would actually presume him to owe a response was ridiculous. Stepping toward her puny form, he regretfully recalled his brother’s decree that he should not harm any humans lest he face the consequences at said brother’s own convenience. As that did not appeal - he had not yet played in Assiah anywhere near long enough - the King of Earth stayed his hand.

You blinked up at him in surprise, but annoyingly not fear, as he stood less than a hair’s width from your fragile figure. He stared back at you, not feeling in the least inclined to ease your irregular pulse. The longer he studied you, the more curious he became. Though this place was certainly one for the sick, you didn’t smell like rotting matter in the slightest; in fact, he inhaled deeply, revelling in your sweet scent, you smelt rather pleasant… for a human.
“Are you planning to answer, or will you just continue to sniff me? Which, by the way, is a little weird.”
A pity your tongue wasn’t as sweet as the rest of you.
“Why should I answer a human?”
You paused at this, as if genuinely contemplating his query… which was strange seeing as he had intended it to be rhetorical.
“Etiquette?”
A human female who was so irregular in her behaviour towards him was, decidedly, far too interesting to despatch of, and so Amaimon rested his gloved hand atop your head in a gesture which your kind supposedly perceived as non-threatening; a concept he struggled with seeing as your heads were such a vital point in your anatomy. Though you appeared to some degree confused by this, your heartbeat slowed into a more regular pace, and he resolved that you were sufficiently comforted.
“You’re a peculiar human.”
“I don’t think you’re qualified to judge.” Your eyes flickered to the familiar who stood restlessly in the corner of the room. “If you can see the creatures too, then you’re about as sane as I am.”
“Behemoth is a Hobgoblin.”
A peculiar tingling sensation prickled at his abdomen as your nose crinkled into what was an oddly endearing expression of consideration. After a moment, you spoke up again, seemingly fascinated by his knowledge of your so-called ‘creatures’.
“I didn’t know they had names. Do all the cre- I mean, do all the Hobgoblins have names?”
“No.”
His blunt answer was apparently unsatisfactory, but it was almost entertaining to watch you try to prompt a more elaborate response.
“What about these ones? Do any of these Hobgoblins have names?”
Amaimon blinked slowly, fully aware that there were no other Hobgoblins in the immediate vicinity else Behemoth would have chased after one of them instead of the chuchi (which, now he thought about it, must have escaped his pet some time ago) seeing as they’d likely be much more entertaining targets. After a moment’s thought, he realised that your eyes were locked on to the little soot-like specs which were flocking around his person, abuzz with excitement. He swatted at them irritably, causing you to let out a pathetic little whine of distress when one of them was launched sideways as a result of drifting too close.
“Coal Tar.” He gave a short huff at your obvious confusion. “They’re not Hobgoblins, they’re Coal Tar.”
“But you just said-”
“Behemoth is a Hobgoblin, these pests are Coal Tar - Astaroth’s kin, not mine.”
You gave a sound of acknowledgement before opening your mouth with yet another question.
“What’s an Astaroth?”
The King of Earth almost growled.

-x-

Amaimon didn’t know why he returned to visit you with such frequency, but it had soon become a habit which he was somewhat reluctant rid himself of. You were the first human who had never greeted him with outright fear - though he habitually startled you, your surprise would give way to a cheerful grin without fail - and you were also one of the few who took a genuine interest in Gehenna’s culture and inhabitants for reasons other than extermination.
You were an entertaining pastime and the demon had already considered taking you as a pet, though he wasn’t sure what his brother would make of such a thing.
“When I was four they called it cute, but by eight my classmates were saying I was strange, and when I reached fourteen even the adults had labelled me as ‘a concern’.”
Amaimon didn’t understand the significance of the hand-gesture you’d made to emphasise those last two words, but seeing how intent you were on explaining to him the circumstances of your being in this not-hospital he didn’t question it.
“Then a couple of years ago my mother caught me talking to the plant creatures-”
“Greenmen.” He supplied, but you continued your reverie without pause.
“-and ended up screaming at me about how I needed to start living in the real world and make some real friends. A week after that, the doctors came to the house to ‘assess my behaviour’.” That odd hand-gesture was this time accompanied by a sigh. “They labelled me as crazy and locked me up here; they always claim that they’re trying to help me, saying that they’ll let me go as soon as I stop hallucinating and can be rehabilitated into society, but it’s all lies. Drugging me doesn’t help anything, it just makes it hard to think straight.”
Amaimon watched from his perch at the end of your bed as you slumped back across the mattress with yet another sigh, one leg dangling haphazardly off the edge.
Careful not to cut your scalp with his sharp claws, the demon brushed one hand tenderly through your hair. When you closed your eyes and arched into his fingertips with a smile, he gave a low hum of contentment, instinctively pleased with your display of submission at his touch.
This comfortable silence was interrupted by Behemoth as he leapt up onto the mattress beside you, knocking into the small bedside table as he did so and sending a small vial tumbling to the floor with a clatter. You rolled over at the sound, inadvertently untangling your companion’s fingers from your hair as you reached for the glass container (which miraculously hadn’t shattered) and rescued it from the floor. Though you returned to your previous position at his side, Amaimon was irked to discover that he was no longer the subject of your attention. Your pretty eyes were now studying the insignificant jar listlessly while lost in some sort of internal musing. Without a word, the King of Earth plucked the jar from your unsuspecting grasp, snapping you back into reality.

“Amaimon?”
He didn’t answer, too busy trying to discern what it was about such a tiny bottle which could be more interesting than the company of a Demon King. Finding no indication as to what your fascination with the container could be, he deduced that it must be its contents rather than the item itself. Swiftly, he rid the vial of its cap and poured the colourful substance within into his mouth.
He probed the deceivingly attractive whatever it was with his tongue, discovering that it was an utterly different flavour to the one he’d been expecting.
“These sweets are bitter.”
Opening his mouth and revealing two rows of neatly pointed teeth to you, he stuck out his tongue and allowed the deceptive tablets to drop one by one to the floor at your bedside, coated with his saliva.
You blinked slowly, your expression one of both disgust and bizarre fascination.
“It’s medication, not sweets. They’re trying to cure me.”
Amaimon contemplated you for a long time before allowing himself to drop forward, arms either side of you to prevent crushing your weak human form and face hovering only a hair’s width from yours. You had automatically jolted backward at the sudden proximity, clearly forgetting that you already lay against the bed and therefore had nowhere to go, and your reaction succeeded only in enticing the male even closer. He inhaled deeply before answering your unspoken question.
“You don’t smell like you’re dying; or at least, you’re rotting no faster than every other human.”
Amaimon hadn’t meant it as a joke, but if your own mortality gave you reason to smile again then he supposed that was good enough. Though, thinking about it, he didn’t like the idea of your feeble human heart giving out within the next hundred years or so as it inevitably would do. The thought of being without your warmth at his side caused an unfamiliar and inexplicable ache to seep through his being. When you spoke up again, he forced the uncomfortable feeling aside.
“They’re trying to cure my mind, not my body.”
“Humans are stupid. They cannot fix what isn’t broken in the first place.”
Amaimon didn’t like the humourless chuckle you answered this with, much preferring your usual laughter.
“But they think I’m mad, and that’s reason enough to try.”

-x-

Swinging carelessly through your window as he so often did, Amaimon was mildly surprised when you didn’t rise from your cot to greet him with your usual enthusiasm. He cocked his head to the side, standing at the edge of the room as he waited for you to acknowledge his presence; when you did no such thing he frowned, unaccustomed to being ignored.
Your name was foreign on his tongue, usually titling you “human” or simply directing his words towards you without addressing you at all, however on this occasion he would make an exception because something was distinctly wrong. When he called you again, this time with a slightly gentler tone, you rolled over to face your guest.
The King of Earth saw red.
Your eyes were unfocussed with heavy lids which appeared to be a strain to keep open, while your lips, usually curved up in that irritatingly endearing smile, were pale and struggling to form words.
The King of Earth wanted to kill.
There was recognition in your glassy eyes, but it was clear to him that your leaden limbs wouldn’t allow movement.
The King of Earth would slaughter every single white-coated human in this building until he found out which one had dared to-
“A-Amai-mon.”
Without a word, the demon had you cradled against his chest, golden eyes narrowing in disgust as the scent of those bitter sweets wafted from an almost unnoticeable pinprick in your arm. So they’d forced their “cure” into your bloodstream. For that they would pay.
As if on cue, one of the so-called doctors entered the room, babbling on about something pointless to his colleague who froze in the hallway, eyes locked onto those of the green-haired man with a look of astonishment. The doctor followed his companion’s gaze and his expression followed suit. Of course, the humans had no idea who they were dealing with, being able to see only the body of his host, but it didn’t much matter what they did and didn’t understand. They’d all be dead in a few moments anyway.

His brother’s office was vacant when Amaimon returned to it, an unconscious mortal body in his arms. He was glad for this, not wanting to answer the myriad of questions which he would undoubtedly be accosted with as soon as the elder saw quite how much blood was encrusted upon the younger demon’s clothes and claws.
At this point, he could only hope that he would be returned to Gehenna with the knowledge that this human would be well-cared for in his absence.
Placing the female down on the sofa in a manner much more affectionate than one would expect from a son of Satan, Amaimon studied her face carefully. Some colour was returning to the unnaturally pale skin which had, at one point, threatened to rival his own complexion, and her breathing was no longer as laboured. All in all, it was an improvement.
Amaimon sat by her side without complaint, quietly contemplating her significance. To risk his brother’s wrath for anything other than his own amusement was not something he would have thought himself likely to do, and yet here he was. If ever he were to do such a thing, the logical conclusion would have been that it was for his familiar’s sake, not a human’s. Such a turn of events was unprecedented, though he was sure that it may score him a few points with his brother - his actions up until this point were not unlike the situations which occurred in the manga the King of Time so enjoyed, though perhaps there tended to be significantly less bloodshed in those.
Nonetheless, the white-coated humans that would hurt the one in his embrace had been eliminated, and this was a decidedly pleasing outcome.
When she stirred in her sleep, nose crinkling into that same, undeniably adorable, expression which she had made the day they had first met, Amaimon didn’t fight the urge to hold her in his arms a little tighter. Settling back into the plush cushions, the demon nuzzled the soft flesh of her neck lightly, resolving himself to enjoy this peace by his pet’s side while it lasted.