Chapter Text
Zeldris had departed while you slept, and for the next two days that he was gone, you threw yourself into researching alternative options to handle the situation with Meliodas. You tried everything you could think of to find a non-lethal way to remove the spell you cast, even exposing your captives to demon blood to force a partial transformation that more closely resembled Meliodas, but nothing worked. Gloxinia was gone for the entire first day, and returned early enough on the second to give you a stern lecture about the risks of fooling around with blood without him. His genuinely disappointed expression paired with his replenished magic immediately discouraged you from trying to make light of the situation.
The two of you are trying yet another repetition of the demon blood angle (which Gloxinia had begrudgingly admitted was a smart idea) when Derieri enters unannounced. She is uncharacteristically grave, typically walking in with some snarky comment, and her silence catches your attention readily. You glance up from where you had been about to insert a syringe, and in doing so, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the small, tarnished mirror hanging on a nearby wall. Your skin is waxy, your eyes glassy and rimmed with red, and the rings under your eyes look like deep bruises. You forcibly drag your gaze away from the mirror and focus on Derieri. She sucks in a startled breath at your appearance, her eyes flashing with distress.
“He’s back,” she says, clearly biting back a comment at your state. You nod and straighten up, rendering the human strapped to the table unconscious with a simple gesture, and follow her out of the room without a word. A few of the others have already assembled in what has become your regular meeting spot, but you note that Melascula, Fraudrin and Galand appear to be missing. Not a huge loss, or even a surprise, what with the lack of any real ban on hunting, but still notable. Your eyes continue to scan the faces of the group, before finally settling on Zeldris. He’s leaning against a short wall, his head dropped low between his shoulders, and his spiky hair is disheveled. You move towards him without even thinking, resting a gentle and reassuring hand on his back. This seems to bring him back from whatever mental pit he had fallen into and he turns to face you all, flashing you a grateful look as he does.
“Thank you for gathering on what is admittedly short notice,” Zeldris begins. “We are missing a few of our number, but I don’t believe this can wait. As discussed, I presented everything we have discovered to my father. To say that he was furious is... an understatement. He does believe that the current theory of forcibly disengaging the curse has merit, as his own curse on the Goddess Elizabeth is considered to be inactive during the periods between her deaths and subsequent rebirths, and it is likely that the Supreme Deity mimicked this structure. He was also able to confirm that Meliodas’ deaths have all been after Elizabeth was already dead.” Here, Zeldris pauses to take a breath, a brief flicker of pain crossing his face as he does. You can tell that he’s bracing himself, shoring up his icy defenses to maintain that image of perfect control as the current Leader of the Commandments, and Demon King’s Executioner.
“The Demon King is willing to hear Meliodas out upon his death, if we so choose to pursue that path, and offer him a deal,” Zeldris says with careful, deliberate enunciation. “He will provide Meliodas with the setting and resources necessary to break the spell, but it will be down to Meliodas himself to actually do it. According to the Demon King and our own findings, this kind of magic is highly temperamental, and with the way this particular piece of magic is structured, when it has become this deeply rooted, removal is far more complicated. Meliodas will need to truly, genuinely want to be freed from its effects in order for the spell to break. And, unfortunately, that will not be a quick or easy process. It will involve as much torment and testing of the soul as the trial to regain his power, likely more due to the controlling nature of the magic. Provided that we have been correct until now, the Demon King’s presence will offer a measure of support and protection for Meliodas’ soul, which will be separated from his body for the duration.”
Your breath whooshes out of you with relief and dread upon hearing this. The Demon King’s approval was notoriously difficult to get, and you had been half convinced that his response would be of punishment, rather than assistance. At the same time, this meant that that horrible image at the back of your mind was one step closer to springing into being, to shattering what meager remnants of your soul still resided within your chest, if it didn’t kill you outright. But that was not something to confront today.
Then Zeldris inhales sharply to continue, and you feel yourself physically recoil at the realization that the Demon King did not, in fact, intend to simply offer his assistance.
“However,” he states gravely. “If we are incorrect, and any of Meliodas’ actions against the Demon Clan during the Holy War were of his own volition, or if he fails to muster up the requisite strength to break the spell placed on him, the spell and curse will remain as they are. The Demon King will offer no further assistance to us or to Meliodas on the matter, and we are instructed to continue our siege of Britannia as we would have if this situation had never existed. Meliodas is to be dealt with appropriately, as ‘he will have dug his own grave,’ and will be deemed permanently severed from the Demon Clan. The King also said that a response from us is not necessary. He’ll know our choice when we make it.”
The silence that follows makes your teeth ache and buzzes through your blood with a single minded viciousness. It was so clever, and yet so unbelievably cruel. His salvation or damnation would be entirely determined by his own strength of spirit, and if your actions had damaged that spirit beyond repair, you would be left to suffer the consequences unsupported. All of you.
“So,” you croak with a cutting edge of hysteria. “Essentially, now we have permission to k-kill Meliodas, and we just need to... decide if we’re going through with it? And prepare for the possibility that we gambled wrong and will lose him completely?”
“Not quite,” Estarossa chimes in finally, striding forward to stand near Zeldris. “This is a decision that all of us must make together. It is not entirely on you, or Zeldris, or even the Demon King. The burden of this decision is ours to share, as we all must live with the consequences.” Derieri swears quietly in the background, prompting Monspeet to nudge her in the side in gentle reprimand.
“Should we, perhaps, put it to a vote?” Monspeet suggests mildly. “I believe we have a sufficient majority here to make a decision; though we can wait until the others return to be certain.” Zeldris shakes his head.
“The longer we wait to act, the worse our position becomes,” he replies. “Meliodas has had several days to acclimate to his restored power, and while he has not yet taken action against us, it is only a matter of time before he does. Not to mention that the goddess girl could regain her memories any day now, which would negate our plans entirely. No, we decide now, and then inform the others; though, I highly doubt they will be resistant to the idea of killing Meliodas.” His tone is sour as he says this, and you can’t blame him. Galand and Melascula have made no effort to hide their hatred of Meliodas, and that sentiment was prevalent among the Demon Clan.
The vote is somber and unanimous. Save for Gray Road, who clearly just wants him dead, the general consensus is that Meliodas cannot be left as he is, and there is a depressing lack of alternative options.
“We’re not going to be able to just confront him directly,” Monspeet muses with far more than his usual gravity. “A strategy akin to our use of the Albions would be ideal for separating him from his companions and catching him off guard.”
“Somehow I don’t think he’s going to fall for the same trick twice,” Derieri snorts, crossing her arms. “He and the Sins will be suspicious of everything at this point. Since threatening the feathery bitch is off the table for unfortunately obvious reasons, we need something else that would make him so desperate that he walks into a trap, and forces him into a solo confrontation with us,” You blow out a long breath, trying to think back on the last few months and not the fact that this is literally the worst conversation you’ve ever had. You force your reeling mind to focus on your time spent tracking down the Sins, pulling your thoughts back into line every time they threaten to wander. If anyone could figure this out, it was you. You had followed a trail of little more than breadcrumbs, tracking Meliodas’ movements from place to place. He always went to locations where he suspected a Sin was camped out or had recently visited, except for... oh. That could work.
“What about a tournament?” You ask, and the muttered conversation around you stops as the others regard you with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Well, all except Derieri, who’s practically bursting at the thought of a competition. “Back when I first broke out and was trying to track down Meliodas, there was a fighting festival in a town called Vaizel that the Sins attended. The grand prize was an item of Diane’s called a Sacred Treasure; from what I gather, they’re unique weapons bestowed on each of the Sins by the King of Liones, allowing them to more finely channel their magic and harness abilities intrinsic to each item. All of the Sins who were active at the time competed in the festival just to have a chance at reclaiming her weapon, despite knowing that it was a ploy by the Holy Knights to trap them,” You pause to take a breath, an oily tendril of guilt creeping through your gut as you force yourself to continue. “Were we to create a similar setup with an even more tempting prize, that could be enough to draw all of them out into the open. And, presumably, we’d be able to control the designated area to our advantage.”
“That very well could work,” Monspeet muses, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Meliodas will no doubt guess that it’s a trap, but if we play our cards well, he might become overly confident in his newly restored strength. Were we to create the impression that the majority of our number are not involved with this tournament, he might see it as the perfect opportunity to strike, thereby allowing us to ambush him. Of course, that does mean putting some of us in harm's way with no immediate backup, which is quite a risk.”
“Did you really just use ‘thereby’ in a sentence?” Derieri wheezes, her completely aghast tone making you snicker. “Monspeet, you sound so old.”
“It’s called using proper vocabulary—”
“We can do it,” Gloxinia interrupts softly, and all eyes turn to him. “Myself and Drole, we can do it. We’re perhaps the best equipped to handle this, given our respective powers over earth and nature. We’ll create the arena and supervise the tournament.” Your stomach drops hearing this, sending a prickling rush across your entire body. Zeldris stills and regards the fairy with a sharply assessing gaze.
“You do understand what that means?” He asks grimly. “If our plan works, Meliodas is going to see this as a chance to remove both of you permanently from the playing field. You will be placing yourself directly in his sights, and once he makes his move, he won’t hold back.” Gloxinia exchanges a look with Drole, who dips his chin in a brief nod, and then turns his attention back to Zeldris.
“We know,” the fairy answers calmly. “We’re prepared for what might happen, and what it might cost.”
“He might kill you.” Panic strains your voice, making it crack on the words. “You can’t—”
“And we’re prepared for that possibility,” Gloxinia repeats with a sad and gentle smile. “But Drole and I can handle ourselves. I’m no fool, I know that this isn’t going to be an easy fight, but we have the best chance of being able to create defenses against him.”
“But what if he kills you?” You demand. “What if we don’t get to you fast enough?”
“Then we die,” he replies with a jarringly casual shrug that makes you sputter in incoherent protest. “Any of us who step into that arena are taking the same risk. And we’re choosing to take this risk not just for all of you, but to help the old friend that we have never forgotten. Don’t take that choice away from us.” Your mouth snaps closed, the familiar heat of tears burning at your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not this time, not when you understand so very well. It’s the same choice you’ve made time and time again, that conscious decision to sacrifice pieces of yourself to save the one you love, of having very little left to lose. You sigh, your shoulders sagging in grudging acceptance, and Gloxinia relaxes fractionally. Zeldris watches you and Gloxinia for a long moment, then nods to himself.
“Very well then,” he says in acknowledgement. “Drole and Gloxinia, you’ll be the public faces of the tournament. Work on finding a suitable area and creating the structure, then loop in Derieri to determine a format for the competition.” Derieri cracks her knuckles with an unsettlingly excited grin, already bouncing on the balls of her bare feet with anticipation. Monspeet lets out a long-suffering sigh, earning him a swift elbow to the ribs from the blonde demon. “We’ll need to increase the pressure on Meliodas until he, and by extension the Sins, is desperate for options and has no choice but to confront us directly. To that end, Gray Road, I’m sending you out. Inflict coordinated, unique attacks across a wide enough area that it seems impossible for us not to be separated. Focus not on total devastation, but just enough chaos that they notice and respond.” The mutated gray demon undulates with a hiss of pleasure, her many faces roiling in her mass of darkness. She tenses up and then springs off the edge of the ruins, clearly not interested in wasting any more time with chatter. Taking that as an unofficial dismissal, the others begin to drift away as well.
“Estarossa,” Zeldris says quietly, and his brother steps up to his side immediately. “Go find out why Galand, Melascula and Fraudrin haven’t returned yet. None of them are responding to me, and I should have at least heard something by now.” The white-haired demon salutes him crisply and launches into the sky, fading into a mere pinprick within seconds.
“I can’t say I’ll be disappointed if something happened to them,” you mumble, receiving an enthusiastic nod of agreement from Derieri, who was still close enough to overhear you. Zeldris, however, levels a shockingly disappointed stare at you that makes your stomach twist.
“We can’t afford to have our numbers reduced by any means right now,” he reprimands you. “Not when there’s another group out for our heads, and with significantly more resources and backup readily available to them.” You cringe back at this, feeling your cheeks flush with heat at the criticism. It’s still hard to think of the Sins and Meliodas as your enemies, but you know that they’re not exactly giving you the courtesy of assuming anything to the contrary about you. Zeldris notices your shame and discomfort, and offers you a small smile of reassurance.
“How are your reserves?” He asks, clearly extending an olive branch. “Are you prepared for this?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you reply, rubbing your neck a bit self-consciously. “I’ve been out for far longer than all of you, so I’m basically back to normal now.” You pause, still feeling a bit awkward on the heels of his obvious disapproval. “I’m probably pretty out of practice fighting, though, after so long spent... you know. Any chance you’d want to bring me back up to speed?” He laughs, and for a moment, it’s just like the old days, when you’d both feign being rusty after a long time spent apart, and then throw yourselves into a no-holds-barred sparring match. He gestures for you to follow, sword already whining free of its sheath; he’s well aware of the dirty tricks you like to pull in combat. The familiarity pushes away the lingering shadows of doubt and fear that swirl relentlessly around you, but you know it won’t stay that way for long. You’re not that lucky.
The bones of the tournament take shape with dizzying speed. Gloxinia and Drole hijack the area that Vaizel inhabited before its destruction, and easily transform it into a warren of earthen mazes and platforms that tower over the landscape. It’s an overwhelmingly large and intimidating structure; the maze is designed to weed out any weak contestants through creature ambushes and traps, while the main tournament is to be a series of “randomly” paired battles. Based on the vicious smirk Gloxinia wears when describing that particular aspect, you’re fairly certain that the pairings will be very intentional. And you’re very certain that Derieri had a hand in picking them.
Melascula returns during this particular conversation, burned beyond recognition by the previously unknown Seventh Sin, Escanor, and utterly furious about it, but all too willing to contribute several sad*stic trap ideas. Galand, apparently, has been turned to stone by his own Commandment during an encounter with Escanor, which can’t exactly be reversed readily, and certainly not with this short of a deadline. Fraudrin is still unaccounted for, but Estarossa seems confident that he’ll return in time. Apparently his last known location was on Gray Road’s list of areas to terrorize, so that situation was likely to resolve itself.
Along the vein of terrorizing others, Zeldris decides to descend upon a nearby village and use his Commandment to, well, forcefully recruit its inhabitants for mass production of flyers. They’re basic printouts, simply describing a so-called “Great Fight Festival” with the grand prize being a single wish granted. You’re a bit dubious about this as a prize, but the others seem confident that the deliberately vague prize paired with the location will be enough to encourage Meliodas and the others.
According to the flyer, the tournament is set to occur two days from today. Gloxinia sends them scattering in all directions, bolstered by a thermal created by Monspeet, and now all you can do is wait, to count the hours until you’re forced to watch the man you love die.
For the first time since breaking free all those months ago, you regret leaving your cell. You regret that the Goddess Clan didn’t just kill you and be done with it. You think that either option would be kinder than this fate.
