Demon!Russia x Reader Part 2 (rewrite)

It was laughable, in a way. The Cult of Adaciel had been at almost-war with the Order of Exorcists for centuries, perhaps even millennia, yet neither side seemed to know the inner workings of the other.
   
Except in this context it wasn’t laughable at all, because you sat in the back of a rickety wagon with your ankles and wrists bound, gagged, and with an itchy sack on your head.
   
“To stop you trying any magic,” one of the Cultists had explained smugly. They needn’t have bothered—the Soulless didn’t have the strength to access the white magic the exorcists used. White magic was useless for anything but exorcisms, anyway.
   
You couldn’t tell how long they’d been travelling. The wagon stopped once, briefly, so the horses could rest and your kidnappers could stretch their legs. At one point, you heard the birds begin their daily fanfare from the trees overhead. You curled in on yourself, as if you were trying to meld with the jolting wood behind you. The nearest forest was miles from the moor you had grown up with.
   
When the cart stopped again, two Cultists grabbed you by the elbows and half-dragged you from the wagon. You stumbled as you hit the damp grass, your legs stiff and weak with hunger.
   
“I’ll put the horses away,” someone barked over to the right. “You know where to put her.”

•••

You had expected a cell, with torches in sconces and deep, flickering shadows—or a dungeon, with manacles on the walls and a sacrificial alter taking centre stage.
   
You had not expected a hole.
   
The ropes at your writs were quickly slashed, the sack over your head snatched away, someone gave a hard shove to your back, and then you were falling through space. You yelped as you landed in a deep pile of hay at the bottom, some of the sharp spikes pricking your skin.
 
You sat up stiffly, the midmorning sun making your eyes water and blinding you. Once they had adjusted, you saw that you hadn’t exactly been missing out on anything. The floor was carpeted in dusty, brittle hay that smelled like summer, the walls were made of damp, packed earth, and in the centre of the room stood a roughly-crafted wooden table with two equally-rickety opposing chairs.
   
Was this where you were to die?
   
You looked up—there were faint voices coming above you, carried by the wind. You strained your ears, and odd snatches of sentences came into focus.
       
“...think he’ll be pleased?”
   
“...rejected all the others...found the bodies...” The voice, a woman’s, sounded worried.
   
You froze, fear tightening around your throat like an iron collar.
       
A man was speaking, and you could tell he was no more than a few feet away. “This will have to be the last sacrifice. It’s too risky to continue, and anyway, I’m not sure this ground can take any more. All that fire...”
   
Perplexed, you peered more closely at the earthen walls encasing you. Sure enough, they weren’t dark with dampness, just charred black.
   
"What if Ivan rejects this one?” the woman said, a fearful edge to her voice.
   
The man’s tone was granite. “Then we will have to find another way.”
   
The voices faded as the two Cultists moved away—or maybe the wind just changed direction.
   
You twisted your hands in the shawl you still wore on your shoulders as you paced the perimeter of the pit. Really, you knew the fire should not have surprised you—you’d witnessed an exorcism a couple of times, either when a small, weaker demon was crouching in an unlucky human’s body, or on the rarer occasion when the Exorcists had managed to trap a demon that lived right in the pit of the Underworld. Then, the demon had been a great thrashing thing, with furred haunches and great horns in a mane of brown hair and eyes that glowed like icy stars in the ink-black night.
       
You took a tremulous breath. That was the type of demon that was going to appear before you, perhaps only in a matter of minutes.
   
Your legs started to shake. You eased yourself down into the hay, letting its comforting, warm scent envelop you like a down blanket. Then you cried.

•••

You started as a rope ladder tumbled down into the pit and a large man in black robes clambered doggedly down. You hurriedly wiped your face with your sleeve, but fortunately your tears had dried, though they’d left you with  a tight throat and throbbing head. You looked up groggily from your nest of hay, but all your drowsiness evaporated when you saw what the visitor had brought with him.
   
The Cultist didn’t spare you a glance as he carefully laid out the equipment on the table, and you knew exactly why. One small mistake, and the setup would either not work at all, or work in precisely the wrong way and kill everybody.
   
You stood up carefully—you hadn’t eaten since the previous morning and your legs felt like dry twigs—and approached the table.
   
You were right. Laid out in the middle of the table was a demon board, its first spinner pointing to “A” and the second to “Neutral”.
   
“That’s a demon board, isn’t it,” you asked in a weak voice.
   
The Cultist looked up from the little bags of incense he was dividing into five vials. He was a young man with the beard of a beggar.”Yes,” he answered gruffly. “The Exorcists use them too, I suppose?” His tone was contemptuous, but when he glanced back up at you his steely eyes had softened and were almost kind. Almost.
       
“Yes. For the same reason I think you’re about to use one,” you replied. A rebellious spark flared up inside you. If you were going to die, why go out being your usual meek self?
   
The Cultist lit the incense and made to leave. You balled your hands at your sides to cease their trembling.
       
“I’m _______,” you called at the bearded man’s back. He paused, one foot on the ladder, and you almost stopped there, but you forced yourself to continue. “I just thought you should know my name before you hand me over to a creature that belongs in children’s nightmares.”
       
“I’m Aaron,” said the Cultist unexpectedly as he turned around. It was then that you noticed his robes were embroidered with iridescent blue thread, as opposed to the gleaming silver of your kidnappers. “And _______, rest assured—I’m quite sure Ivan is going to love you.”
   
It was with those parting words that you were left alone once more.

•••
   
You sat facing the demon board. The small portion of sky that you could see was almost crimson, sending long shadows racing to the walls. The incense made your mind spin with its heady fumes.
   
You knew what you were meant to do. Aaron had been kind enough to leave written instructions next to the board—play timid, innocent, seductive; don’t offend the demon; make him want you; we’re watching.
       
You took a deep breath in through your nose, then let it out through your mouth in a sigh. You could get through this. Somehow, you would survive.
   
You placed two fingers on the horned, fanged, ovine face in the corner of the board that was meant to represent Adaciel.
   
Now the Underworld was listening.
   
“H-hello?” you called out. “I need I-Ivan.” You recoiled at the thought of the beast you were about to summon. “I sacrifice myself to him.” The words were like stagnant water on your tongue. If you were not certain there were armed guards waiting and listening on the surface, you would have clawed your way up the dirt walls there and then.
   
You waited a moment. Your breath hung suspended in your throat. The shadows swayed. The incense smoked. Ivan, if he were listening, did not reply.
   
“Ivan?” you whispered cautiously, not daring to believe that the demon would spare you. “Are you listening?”
   
You nearly screamed when the spinner’s arrow began to move.
   
Y-E-S, it spelled with the calligraphic letters that encircled it.
   
“Are you in the Underworld?” It was a stupid question, but it was the only one you could think to ask.
   
N-O, said the demon board.
   
“Wh-where, then?” Your voice was no louder than a dormouse’s sigh. You already had a feeling you knew, but you couldn’t check, rooted to the spot as you were.
   
A hand reached over your shoulder. It was large and sinuous, yet simultaneously porcelain and graceful. You could do no more than watch in mute horror as the demon’s hand spelled out what you already knew to be true.
   
B-E-H-I-N-D-Y-O-U