The Labyrinth Keys

Chapter 7: Burden of Perfection

He isn't what I expected. The man before me is a lot more humanoid than I imagined I didn't know if it was the same for all demons. His air was white as snow and tied back into a ponytail. His skin is utterly radiant like the deepest bronze chiseled from the god of crafting. His features are sharp and regal, a face that might have once inspired awe but now evokes unease. His eyes, glowing orbs of molten gold, are fixed on nothing and everything, as if they see through time and space. They flicker occasionally, each movement carrying a subtle, almost imperceptible weight that presses on my chest.

Around his neck, a series of jagged chains glint in the dim light. They dig into his flesh, golden ichor seeping from the wounds they create. They have symbols carved into them runes that seem to hold weight to his body. His golden eyes are looking right at me through the hole. Falasator has a hateful look on his face like his worst fate has just appeared before him, and he has every intention of fighting it.

Most unnerving of all is the way the world seems to react to his presence. The air around him bends and shimmers as if reality itself is struggling to contain him. The golden aura radiating from his body doesn't just illuminate; it sears, leaving faint burn marks on the walls of his glass cage.

A voice resonates in my head, deep and resonant, dripping with bitterness and unshakable resolve. "You look upon me, mortal. Do you understand the weight you have chosen to bear? Or have you already begun to regret your folly?"

My expression turns serious, "Not much to regret either we form a pact, or I die. Seems straight forward to me."

Falastor adds, "Some fates are worse than death. I would be careful what you wish for mortal."

Something deep within me tells me this demon is unlike any other. Falastor is the first demon I've ever encountered, yet the look in his eyes speaks volumes. Unlike the more conniving demons described in the texts, Falastor isn't scheming for an easy escape from his prison. Other demons tempt their would-be hosts with enticing pacts, their promises laced with hidden traps that reveal their sinister intent. They prey on weakness, starting with subtle whispers that grow into complete dominance, bending their hosts to their will. They're parasites, exploiting every crack in their host's resolve. But Falastor? He exudes a pride and resolve that sets him apart. This demon isn't looking for a victim—he's searching for something worthy.

One look at the demon in his chains and I know the reason he hasn't squirmed his way into a host yet. The pride in his eyes suggests that he would rather spend 1000s of years tied in chains than spend even a moment in a human body. Falastor feels like he is above that he refuses to lower himself in any capacity.

Falastor seems to be reading my mind he lifts his face. His face is unbelievable not herculean or chiseled, but divine is the only way to describe it. Falastor's face is the definition of otherworldly, a masterpiece that seems almost too perfect to exist in any reality. His features are symmetrical in a way that defies human expectation, a haunting balance between ethereal beauty and sharp intensity.

His nose is straight and refined, with nostrils that flare slightly as he exhales, betraying an undercurrent of restrained power. His lips are full and sculpted, the kind that might belong to a benevolent god or a cruel tyrant, depending on his mood. They sit in a neutral line, but there's something unsettling about the way they seem poised to twist into a smirk or snarl at a moment's notice.

But it's his expression that draws you in—a mask of serene composure that conceals the storm of emotions just beneath the surface. His gaze is intense, as if he's simultaneously judging and understanding you in a single glance. It's not a human face; it's the face of something higher, something eternal, and yet its perfection is unnerving, almost suffocating. You can't decide if it's beautiful or horrifying—only that it's unforgettable.

He smiles softly, "You are unlike other hosts that have tried to woo me with praises and gifts. I see your thoughts mortal. You are right I would rather spend an eternity bound here than spend a moment in a less than perfect body. However, I have to admit I am growing tired of this prison. I would never normally lower myself to being in a human's body, but I see potential in you," Falastor continues, his voice resonating not only in the air but deep within my bones. "Potential to be more than just a fleeting vessel. I have waited centuries, mortal, for someone who might rise above the mediocrity of their kind. Your body... I am disgusted by its imperfection, but I think it can be a worthy base. I can sculp it towards something better. Your mind is another story. I am content to say your body is worthy, but your mind. Must be tested."

I stare at the demon that is now smiling slightly more ominously, "Test my mind? How?"

Falastor's eyes narrow, his expression shifting to something unreadable. "I will show you," he says, his voice reverberating through me. "I will show you what it means to feel the gaze of eternity. What it will be like to become my host. The burden of perfection."