Chapter Text
At the end of the show, the entire audience stood and applauded the twin performers, their warm cheers and claps sounding like an old song to the presenters.
“Thank you all so much for coming!” said the dark brown-haired boy with a half-smile to the crowd. Feminine voices rose in excitement at his comment.
“Come back next week for more!” Mabel's firm yet sweet voice was enough to draw sighs from the boys in the audience. As they finished, they gave the audience a brief bow. The twins exchanged glances.
“All right, all right, you’ve got what you wanted, now get lost...” Wendy, the redheaded girl with her hair covering one eye and acting as the show’s cashier, spoke with some disinterest, pointing to the exit as she instructed the audience to leave.
Once the tent where they had performed was empty, the twins let out a long, relieved sigh and soon turned their bitter blue gazes toward one another.
“You just had to ruin everything!” the brown-haired girl shouted at her brother, stomping her high heel on the stage. “You know damn well the knife act is mine, you ignoramus!” she screamed dramatically. Mason, her twin, didn’t seem to care—he merely turned to look at her with a disinterested expression.
“Well, next time don’t steal my lines! We rehearsed this thousands of times and you’re the idiot who keeps taking over my parts of the act!” he snapped back, losing some of his usual elegant composure.
“I wouldn’t ‘steal your lines’ if you could deliver them even remotely decently! You sound like an idiot when you talk!” she retorted, flailing a ragdoll around in her hands.
The boy clenched his teeth in fury. One hand went to his blue amulet, the other raised in the air as a frosty blue aura enveloped it. He seemed to be concentrating, summoning something. Mabel had done the same—her blue amulet carefully placed atop her hair as she summoned one of her knives. But before either of them could act, they were interrupted by a figure.
It was just a fan— a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, holding a sign for the twins. The poor child stood frozen, horrified by the fight between his idols, but didn’t move. He just stood there, looking dumbstruck. FLAC!
“MABEL! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO??” Dipper screamed, stunned by the sight of the bloodied boy lying stretched out on the floor.
“Be glad it wasn’t you this time,” she said simply, pulling the knife from the boy’s neck. As she stood, her cold blue eyes returned to her brother. “Oh, don’t pretend to care. I know what you do to our demon...”
“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about! Will is immortal—we can use him however we want. But killing a fan, Mabel... That’s too much, even for you!” he spoke with clear disgust. Mabel only shrugged, then snapped her fingers three times, much to Dipper’s dismay.
Seconds after the snap, a blue circle with cold flames formed just inches above the ground. Blue chains clattered to the floor. From within them rose a young man dressed in blue with matching hair. An eyepatch covered one of his eyes, and he timidly averted his dark cyan gaze from the twins.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, shoulders hunched.
“Clean up this mess,” the girl said, pointing to the corpse sprawled on the stage.
When his eyes landed on the body, Will’s stomach churned with discomfort. A shiver ran down his spine, his knees buckled for a moment. Blood... He couldn’t bear to see blood—at least, not someone else’s. But a sharp slap to the face jolted him back to reality.
“Did you hear me? Clean up this mess! Move it!” After slapping the blue-haired boy, Mabel was beginning to lose her patience.
William, clutching his sore cheek and staring at the teenager with unmistakable fear, nodded and began cleaning up the body.
A few days after the incident, neither of the twins brought it up. Though unspoken, it was clear their relationship had changed after the tragedy.
William watched the two grow distant, confused, and secretly hoped for it. After all, he despised the miserable life he had with them. He felt weak, filthy, and utterly powerless—unable to exercise even the most basic of rights: freedom.
Ah, freedom…
The freedom to come and go as one pleases.
The freedom to choose what and when to eat.
The freedom to love whoever one wishes…
And the freedom—the right—to be loved in return.
But that was the problem. The poor creature didn’t even have that. He wasn’t even the master of his own will.
Still, not being able doesn’t always mean not doing. Lately, Will had spent a considerable amount of time thinking about Dipper. Not just thinking—fantasizing, doing all sorts of things with scenes of the dark-haired boy. Even knowing it was nothing but a delusion, he couldn’t steer his thoughts away from him, no matter the harm Dipper had caused him.
While his thoughts circled his master, the door to his room burst open with a deafening noise. The demon flinched reflexively, curling in on himself as much as the chains and shackles allowed. The room, once dark, was now flooded with light from the open door.
With frightening force, a medium-built male figure stormed into the room. He slapped Will across the face, then yanked the demon’s collar chain, dragging him close until their faces were nearly touching.
“What happened?” the man demanded. His light brown eyes burned with rage and demanded submission. The poor demon squeezed his eyes shut, afraid to meet that furious gaze—only to receive another careless slap.
“Answer me!” the man shouted, shaking the creature before throwing him harshly against the wall.
Quick footsteps in expensive, embroidered shoes echoed through the corridors. Alongside them came the irritating clinking of chains and the sound of ragged, trembling breaths.
Without patience and with brutal force, the man yanked the collar, dragging Will toward his office. The demon followed with great difficulty, stumbling and holding onto furniture with each violent tug.
"Stanford, please, stop!" he pleaded, gripping the chain at his neck with one hand in a desperate attempt to resist. His eyes began to sting, and seconds later he broke down crying, begging in despair.
The old man stopped only when he reached the kitchen doorway, casting a cold glance at the two siblings inside. Upon noticing their great-uncle, both straightened up at once, exchanging worried looks. Stanford glared at them with thinly veiled disgust before giving Will’s chains another harsh tug, yanking him forward and sending him crashing to his knees on the kitchen floor. The demon’s torn and bloodied back was now fully exposed.
Mabel couldn’t hide a twisted, sadistic smile at the sight. Dipper, on the other hand, showed no reaction—yet deep inside, he was deeply disturbed.
“I really couldn’t figure out why your last show was such a complete disaster—let alone the enormous loss it caused me...” the old man began, his voice calm but seething. “You’ve stopped rehearsing, and when you do rehearse, all you do is fight. You’re becoming a complete waste of my time! What the hell is going on with you two?” he shouted, digging his nails into his palm.
But just as quickly as the rage came, it faded. He regained his elegant posture, letting a small smile curl at the corner of his lips. “Fortunately, our dear friend William never fails me…” he added, placing his foot on the demon’s torn back.
Will let out a faint, pained whimper but didn’t resist.
Then the old man turned to Mabel with a chilling look of rage.
“Mabel Gleeful…” he growled through gritted teeth as he advanced toward her.
His presence exuded an almost unbearable authority—cold, commanding, terrifying. Without warning, he struck her hard across the face.
She cried out in shock, her scream echoing through the house. Not just she—but everyone in the room—was stunned by the act.
“A Gleeful only kills when absolutely necessary…”
Clutching her own cheek, her blue eyes welled with furious tears. She turned instinctively, ready to retaliate, her hand glowing with a bright blue aura.
But the moment the magic was summoned, Will arched in agony. A faint, bluish-white mana flared from his body, and he let out a nearly silent cry, begging for them to stop.
Before Mabel’s hand could strike, it was caught in midair. As her magic dispersed, the sound of shattering glass pierced the room. She stared in pure horror—not just because of the sound, but because Stan was gripping her wrist with crushing force.
He seized her left arm and began dragging her out of the kitchen.
“You and me. In my office. Now,” he ordered.
As he pulled her away, her amulet—a blue gemstone—slipped from her clothing. It hit the ground and shattered into countless pieces.
The moment it broke, a stream of white magic surged out and darted toward Will. He gasped, finally catching his breath—only to pass out moments later.
He felt his fragile body being lifted gently and laid on something incredibly soft, velvet-like. The sensation was so foreign, so soothing, he thought for a moment he might have died.
He felt his shirt being carefully unbuttoned and removed. Slowly, he opened one eye—just slightly. He didn’t recognize where he was. The space was unfamiliar, yet something about it felt oddly safe.
He tried to sit up, but two things stopped him: the searing pain in his back, and the chains now securing his wrists to the foot of the bed. Turning his head side to side, he tried to spot someone nearby, but his limited field of vision—and being tied down, face-first—made the task nearly impossible.
While Will weakly writhed in confusion, Dipper stood diagonally across from the bed—just outside the demon’s line of sight. The boy held water, salt, and a damp cloth to tend to his servant’s wounds.
Of course, he could have picked up his spellbook and conjured a healing spell. But the moment he unbuttoned the demon’s shirt, he knew he wouldn’t let the chance slip away—not to touch that pale, beautiful body. That body—so innocent, so alluring—marked and stained by the selfishness and abuse of others.
Selfishness and abuse that Mason wished were his alone.
If he couldn’t have the demon to himself, he would at least erase the marks left by others—
Just so he could replace them with his own.