Chapter Text
Warmth lingers upon his face. As Favaro’s senses slowly return to him, so does the relentless burning from his right leg (or what's left of it, rather). Weakened by excessive blood loss, he finds himself unable to react even to the excruciating pain. His vision remains blurred, darkens at the edges. It's cold. He'd be shaking if he still had the strength to. His chest heaves as his lungs press out a last few desperate breaths. Ah, the ride ends here, so it seems. Well, he never did plan to stay for a long time, only intended to live a good but short life. Perhaps he's lucky and just drifts off from losing too much blood, but soon enough cramps befall him as if his body puts up a last fight against its cruel fate. So, no such luck.
Something sharp grips his loose jaw, prying it open with haste. As much as Favaro wants to protest whatever is happening, his worn form won't let him. He can't even see properly, only able to discern vague outlines that don't give much info about the situation. Heat hits his numb face and there's a small attempt at turning his head away instinctively, but of course to no avail. The will to struggle is present, though all his body can do is twitch at best. Heavy weight shifts onto him, pressing his back against what might just be a boulder. Incredible pressure threatens to break his jaw as it is held open. You know, at this point he might as well just let it happen (whatever is happening). Then, something wet and warm forces itself between his teeth, a liquid as bitter as bile and acidic like vinegar spreading upon his tongue and filling his mouth.
Favaro chokes at the uncomfortable sensation and the taste, but he isn’t even strong enough to spit out any longer. The fact that this lasts several moments and he can feel every single drop makes this an indescribably awful experience. Everything within him screams to start resisting, but his body just doesn't obey. Once that ordeal ends, his teeth are clenched together so harshly that they might just splinter from the impact. His hazed mind is unable to comprehend any of the happenings, but he does get that whoever is doing this is trying to make him swallow the acidic cocktail they fed him (now that he thinks about it, it strongly reminds him of vomit which only makes it worse). Fine. They’re dealing with a stubborn one and Favaro isn’t in the least afraid to let them know. His lips are pressed into a tight line, throat tightening so that not even one drop of the fluid enters him any further. Everything comes to a halt for a moment, as if they’re waiting for him to drink up. Only over his cold dead corpse (which may or may not be the case soon anyway).
However, when padded fingers clamp at his nose, even Favaro Leone, steeled bounty hunter and skilled combatant, has to admit defeat. The last bit of oxygen soon runs out and he sees himself forced to swallow. Might as well, y’know. This isn’t the weirdest thing that’s happened to him. What’s the worst that could happen, right?
(He has no idea.)
The seething pain that strikes him as the liquid beads down his throat and seems to burn any and all in its wake is enough to knock him out. It’s not like moonshine or the like, lulling one to sleep- no, it hits him with full force like a ton of bricks. Warmth pressing against his chest, keeping him from falling forward, is the last thing he feels. It’s strangely comforting.
____
The endless nothingness that is Abos falls silent after a long lasting struggle. Bahamut has been sealed anew and the survivors are finally able to rest, licking their wounds. Most angels and demons have returned to their realms, a few staying back to dig through the rubble atop of Abos’ floating islands. Who knows if they'll ever find what they seek. And upon one of the flying landmasses, lies a lone figure, was rested against a rock formation with great care.
Favaro has been insanely lucky throughout his entire life, but he surely won't ever top this. Surviving the sealing of Bahamut with only a leg missing? No one would believe him in the future. When he finally shakes awake, it's violent, leaving him breathless. A hand grips at his chest as it heaves in order to fill his lungs with life saving breaths. His vision only returns to him slowly, his ears ring and pulse with his speeding heartbeat. He's had many near death experiences but none of them were nowhere near this intense. The sour taste still lingers on his tongue like paralyzing venom and Favaro’s stomach churns at the mere recollection of what happened earlier. That was weird as all fuck and he can't believe that it was reality (apparently). He wants to stick his fingers down his throat to force the pungent liquid out of him, but his arms are heavy and something deep within tells him that it won't help.
A first attempt at moving is made and a blood curling pop from his shoulder follows. Favaro groans at that, not because it hurt, but rather because it sounded absolutely awful, like bones breaking. He manages to rest his arm upon his thigh. The little moves seem to get his blood circulation going again. His breaths are shallow, heart beating slow and yet so loud that it might break his ear drums. His vision finally brightens, eyes set upon the nothing that is Abos. At the edge of the platform stands an all too familiar entity. Blackened feathers sway in the cold breeze of the void along with pale white hair. The young man's eyes widen.
“A-”, Favaro chokes forth, body twisting as mild cramps befall it like earlier, “Az… azel.” His head falls forward involuntarily in pain and only now he notices the long, black tail between his legs. Yet again, his hazed mind can barely process any of this, so all he can do is stare at it, expression near horror. Purple liquid beads from his mouth as his jaw drops and down into the dust. Is it a potion? Or venom as he thought? In the end it doesn't matter because his body seems to try and reject it with every little bit of energy it has left.
The demon turns to him and gets close, towering over his pathetic figure. However, no reaction from Favaro; he's in shock and seering pain. “I see you've survived-”, Azazel observes (yeah, no shit; Favaro wishes he didn't), “-yet again.”
He can't even listen to Azazel’s mocking self-wank since the spasms and the purple liquid seething within his veins are robbing him of his last abilities to think straight. The muscles of his arm tense and the limb itself twists almost unnaturally, fingers curling as if they developed a mind of their own. The back of his head meets solid rock, teeth threatening to shatter under the sheer force as his jaw clenches. “Wh-what the fuck did you d-do to me-” Favaro’s nostrils flare as his insides keep up the fight, eyes fixated upon the demon.
Azazel lifts his left arm, revealing a large vertical cut stretching down his forearm. Dark violet blooms against perfect white skin. He fed him his blood. “I've cast a contract spell and gifted you a fraction of my essence to keep you alive.” This is the shittiest fucking gift he's ever gotten. “The cramping is normal and should be gone soon.” The demon’s tone is cold, but yet it seems like he does his best to sound reassuring. Great. Fantastic. He's having the cramps of a lifetime because there's… demonic shit inside of him. Stumbled from one contract right into the next one, as it seems.
The pain seems to reach completely new heights at once, joints cracking and popping as they twist on their own, causing Favaro to wail into the void. His leg trembles and struggles against the cold ground, and even his leg stump beats down onto the soil as he suffers through unfathomable agony. His teeth are bared at the demon who seems to be quite pleased with his work.
“You'll thank me soon enough, son of Barossa.” There's something serene in that smug visage of his. He should be glad that Favaro is immobilized, because he would jump him right about now.
“Y-you-” Teeth grit, keeping the young man from spitting curses and profanities at the demon. As fast as the cramping came, it subsides again. A loud sigh of blissful relief presses itself out of Favaro’s throat. He's panting after that ordeal, particular muscles still twitching at their own leisure. A few moments of silence follow as Favaro catches his breath in heavy pants. “Wh-why did…”
“Think of it as a favor.”, the demon replies, tone unusually soft, “Why question a gift such as a second chance?” Where is the catch with this… gift (next to the cramping, that is)? He's a goddamn demon; of course there has to be a catch somewhere in this, one way or another. Though for now, for now it seems like he has to accept things as they are: he's alive and something very fucked up is bound to happen. How reassuring. Demonic essence is pulsing in his veins; he's highly aware of it, his body recognizing the essence as the foreign substance it is.
“You d-don’t seem like you'd be… ch-charitable.”, Favaro states dryly, an ever so subtle sneer pulling at his lips. The one time Azazel does something that could be considered a good thing, it has to be Favaro who is on the receiving end; how else would it be? He was fine with just bleeding out right here, but no. Favaro can't even have that. His bitching and moaning could probably fill multiple books at this point. “I guess th-that’s the sadism a-actin’.” To Favaro, it’s clear: Azazel just wants to see him suffer. Subconsciously, he’s preparing himself to fight with a missing limb once the situation calls for it. He’s half-convinced that the demon is going to end his miserable existence soon enough. There’s the temptation to provoke him into doing so.
However, Favaro’s little attempt to agitate the demon doesn’t work as well as he would’ve hoped. Instead, Azazel’s gaze simply rests on him for a few moments, completely unfazed, before he starts cleaning his nails. If he doesn’t react to a half-hearted jab like that, then he must be exhausted as all hell. Bad sign. Though, Azazel’s well-being is the last thing Favaro is gonna worry about right now. Arms wrap around his own lanky self, near desperately trying to retain some body warmth. The metaphorical end of the world is cold as if hell had frozen over (might just be the blood loss). Tremors shake the young man as shallow breaths leaves him, forming white tufts in the brisk air.
And Azazel is still there.
“... d-don’t you h-have demon s-shit t’ d-do?” Words come forth between clattering teeth while he steadily turns more and more into a human ball. Why is he still just standing there like some useless asshole? Hasn’t he made him suffer enough throughout his entire life? Wrath begins to seethe at the pit of his stomach, teeth clenched and bared at the demon anew. “‘s time t’ leave.”
“Have you ever concerned yourself with the different species that live in our realm?”, Azazel questions, still unnervingly calm, and it only confuses Favaro more. What the fuck is he talking about? “Abos doesn’t possess a mentionable fauna as it only harbors different species of wyverns and other, smaller draconoids . The large ones are known to prey on the injured animals of a herd.” Really, he didn’t ask for a biology lesson or some shit. He can only furrow his brows at the demon, not quite understanding what he’s trying to do (that he’s planning something is out of the question).
“I thought an experienced bounty hunter knew better than to ignore their surroundings.”, Azazel’s tone is honey sweet, eyes half-lidded and lips curled into a grin. A clawed finger points up at another platform, only a few meters above them. Favaro’s gaze follows the demon’s gesture carefully. Green eyes meet piercing red. Breath hitches in his throat and he presses tight against the boulder behind him, gaze fixated above. A large, fanged wyvern sits perched upon the floating platform that is way too small for it. His healthy leg is clutched close to his body, in fear that the winged reptile might just swoop down and take it from him.
“Oh fuck.”, Favaro swallows harshly, eyes widened at the wyvern that’s seemingly prepared to pounce the very moment Azazel leaves. Not enough that he barely survived the end of the world; no, tinier dragons are making his life a mess now too! “Y-you ain’t gonna leave me here, r-right?” He can’t believe himself. His gaze speaks more than words, asking for help and safety from the demon who is the cause for a lot of shit that happened to him. “A-Azazel?!” Primal fear is causing his voice to crack, sweat beading from his forehead.
Azazel looks at him, again with some sort of serenity in that fanged smile of his (he’s fucking creepy in his own fucked up way). His finger pointing at the wyvern begins to glow faintly and the beast’s head is blown to tiny, gory bits by a magic bolt not a split moment later; too fast as that Favaro can react in time with everything. The terrified shout welling up in his throat leaves him when the wyern's massive body already slumps against the platform. A few last tremors wrack through it and claws lose their grip on solid ground before it slides off its floating perch, into the endless abyss.
“Of course not.” , Azazel reassures, way too calm for someone who just obliterated an oversized reptile with the single point of a finger. Meanwhile Favaro is pretty sure he just soiled himself.