The Seven Deadly Sins: Records of the Holy War - CH 2 (Rewrite) (Patreon)

Five years had passed. Five years of breathing the thick, sulfurous air of the Demon Realm, and I was still alive. It was an achievement that, in the beginning, I had treated as a minute-by-minute miracle, but by now, it simply felt… normal.

I sat on the edge of the black stone plateau overlooking the wastes, right above the orphanage swinging my legs. I was a young boy now, small, but surprisingly sturdy—a perk of demon biology, I supposed. I wasn't the same trembling guy/infant anymore, paralyzed by the sight of a Red Demon, five years of seeing… well, a lot of things have desensitized me to… well, everything. Beside me, sat Chuba—who had grown into a hulking mass of crimson that still insisted on following me like a shadow— who right now, was busy trying to stack rocks into a tower.

He was close to reaching the size the anime depicted his kind to be.

As for me, well. My perspective had shifted, a lot. In those early days, I was scared, terrified, every shadow felt like it was the Demon King coming to claim my soul, or something like that. But as I grew, the panic… well, receded, replaced by a cold understanding of the world I had been dropped into. 

The "story" of the Seven Deadly Sins was simple, at least from the anime POV. If I did nothing—if I remained exactly who I was, a nameless orphan on the outskirts of this world—the gears of fate would grind on without me. The Great War would escalate, the Coffin of Eternal Darkness would be used by the Goddess Clan, and the Demon Realm would become a tomb for three millennia. Then, eventually, the seal would break, the sins would fight, and two possessions later, a new era would begin.

I didn't need to be a hero, not that I wanted to be in the first place. I didn't need to be a villain. I just needed to be a background character. In short, if the protagonist of this world was Meliodas, then I would be the guy standing three zipcodes away from him, unmentioned in the narration. Survival wasn't always about power; it was about avoidance, and for someone in this world, it was perhaps the best path.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at my hands, human-looking but possessing a strength that still felt… alien to me. I didn’t know why I was here, or why I had been given a second chance in this world, but I knew I wasn't here to change the world. And I could do that, as long as I didn't participate in all the bullshit this story has, the inevitable couldn't touch me, if I simply waited out the storm in the quietest corner of hell.

“Well, I’m getting down Chuba,” I said, as I stood up, the wind whipping at my hair and tugging at my clothes. As I looked down, from up here, the ground looked impossibly far down—a jagged view of black and red swirling that would have sent a normal human to their doom. Being a demon had its perks, smiling at the thought, I took a breath, and jumped into a freefall that lasted just long enough to make my stomach feel some tingles, before I landed with a heavy boom on the ground.

Dust puffed up around my feet, settling as I stood up, smiling. “That will never stop being fun…”

"One of these days, you will hurt yourself with those stunts," a voice drawled from nearby.

I didn't need to turn to know who it was. Skraa was leaning against a nearby pillar of rocks, her snaky lower half coiled tight as she crossed the place towards me with air of boredom, that actually gave me massive tsudere vibes, after all, she was the type to say she didn’t care, but be the first one to run and check. She was the oldest of us, a lamia whose scales looked like dull bronze in the dim light. 

"It’s fun," I said, brushing the dust off my knees. “Besides, I’ve been doing that since I was four, I think I’ll be okay.”

"Mother won’t like that," came a rumbling deep voice. Korg, the minotaur, as he stomped forward. He was massive, his horns scraping the low ceiling of the cavern overhang, he was younger than our dear sister, but the oldest of the boys overall, he was the closest thing to a protector we had and the one always looking for a peaceful resolution in a house full of kids, it was admirable really. He reached out a thick, furry hand and ruffled my hair, nearly knocking me over in the process. 

Behind Korg, two more figures shuffled out from the shadow of the cavern overhang. The first was Silt, a Grey Demon child who already stood nearly as tall as Korg. He was the silent type, if you asked me. Right behind him was Luster, a Silver Demon, who was older than me by two years. His entire body was a sleek, metallic silver, totally humanoid but completely blank where a face should be, save for six small, glowing red circles stamped across his featureless head, he really enjoyed drawing and helping Melanthe cook.

And then, bounding over the last, came Tom, the Lion Chimera. He was a mix of a horse, a lion, and a ram, not sure how that worked, or who his parents were, and I wasn’t going to find out. He crashed into me, nearly tackling me back into the dirt, purring loudly enough you could hear his purrs echo in the cave.

"Wanna play?!" Tom chirped.

I pushed him off, shaking my head. “It’s my day to help mom clean.” They were a strange, terrifying bunch that talked about eating souls and stuff, but to me? They were just... home. We knew each other's habits, our strengths, and our petty grudges, forged in the quiet peaceful isolation of Melanthe’s orphanage.

I never thought I would grow to care about any of them, but I did, despite everything. I cared about them, just as much as they cared about me.

My announcement was met with a chorus of groans.

"Your day to clean the toilet? Ugh, good luck," Skraa hissed, her tail twitching in distaste as she flicked a stray lock of hair from her face. "Korg destroyed the bathroom yesterday."

The massive minotaur snorted, smoke curling from his nostrils. "It wasn't my fault. That stew mom made was entirely too spicy."

"Yet you always eat it," Skraa retorted, eyes narrowing. "After twenty bathroom renovations, thanks to you, one would think you would have more self-control."

A heavy thud echoed against the cavern walls as Chuba finally lumbered into view, his body  swaying with each step as he waddled toward the group, his blank eyes fixed solely on me.

"Oh, I'm not cleaning that. Korg is," I said, my voice dripping with feigned sweetness. "I told mom my little arms couldn't reach all the way down... and that it was obviously a job for the big, strong older brother."

I gave a small, innocent shrug, tilting my head just enough to catch the light, and flashed a winning, slightly manipulative smile. I knew exactly what I was doing; using my size and perceived helplessness to charm Melanthe into reassigning THAT chore. It was the ultimate perk of being the smallest and most adorable-looking of the bunch.

The silence that followed was broken by Skraa’s snort as she snickered looking at Korg who stood frozen, his large, furry ears drooping as a look of pure betrayal washed over his bovine features. He looked toward the house and then back at me, his mouth hanging open in silent protest.

“He got you there, Korgyyyyy,” Tom snickered as he bounded circles around the minotaur.

"I did," I added, suppressing a smirk.

Korg crossed his massive arms, his tail swishing angrily. "I… but… ugh. I've seen you carry crates of meat from the market back here like they were made of feathers. Mom knows you're strong. I don't understand how she falls for this routine every single time."

Skraa let out an amused hiss as she slithered up past me to pat Korg’s shoulder. "Don't be jealous, Korgy. He's just adorable, and he knows exactly how to exploit it. In a few years, he won’t be able to exploit that, so let him enjoy it while it lasts."

Fuck yeah I was going to exploit my adorable face. 

"Don't feel bad Korg, if it's any consolation, I have to help clean the clothes and brush Tom... and we all know Tom makes that impossible," I added, looking at Tom with what others would call, the side-eye.

Tom, who had been purring, let out a scandalized squawk. "I do not make it impossible! I am a very cooperative demonic beast!"

Skraa rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Tom, you literally tried to kill me last week, I had to molt my skin to fix the scars of your little tantrum."

"You tried to brush my belly! That’s a big no and you know!" Tom defended, puffing out his lion/horse/ram-chest in indignation.

Korg let out a huff of laughter, his earlier frustration visibly softening. "Well… that’s not as bad as cleaning the bathroom, but considering I was the one that destroyed it…. Well, maybe I'll let you off the hook this time, little bro."

With the chores finally divided—Korg grumbling as he headed toward the bathrooms and Tom pouting nearby in dread of the brushing that would inevitably come for him later today—I found myself in the main hall with Melanthe. She was wiping down some rags, her movements calm and methodical.

I worked alongside her, as best as I could, I wasn’t as good as her, but I liked to think I was good enough to ease off her load. She was the anchor of this place, and the best caretaker any of us could ask for. In a realm defined by cruelty and power, she was the only one who seemed to view life as something worth preserving, rather than a resource to be burned.

"Mom?" I asked, not looking up.

She hummed, a soft, encouraging sound. The mom sound of approval to ask her a question, a universal sound anyone can understand.

"The news from the capital... do you hear anything new about the fighting?"

She paused, her cloth stilled against the mantle. She didn't look away or shield me from the reality of our world; she never did, as much as she loved us, she knew that sheltering us would do us more harm than good, which made asking her these questions easier. "Not a lot, the last thing we heard was that The Goddess Clan has retreated for now. Lord Meliodas pushed a significant advance in the Northern Heights, and they’ve been forced to regroup." 

"That’s good," I replied, looking at the rags as I went back to my scrubbing. 

Despite the fact that war… was never good. A super war was worse than a normal war, so these news were good. If the conflict was localized to pushes and retreats without the involvement of the other races, it meant the full-scale Holy War hadn't begun, which meant the collateral damage was at its minimum.

With the laundry baskets finally sorted, I groaned, standing up and stretching my back. It was time for the final task of the day, the worse task of the day, brushing Tom. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the sturdy brush from the hook, and got into position. Tom was already lurking near the doorway, his eyes fixed on the brush with deep suspicion.

"Come on, Tom," I said, stepping toward him. "You know the drill. You want that coat to stay shiny, don't you?"

Tom let out a low, warning rumble, his ears pinning back against his lion-like skull, pass his ram horns. He looked around the room for an escape route, and finding none, decided that offense was the best defense, so with a sudden snarl, he feinted to the left, and then launched himself straight at me, his claws outstretched in a wild attempt to strike the brush from my hand before I could even get close.

I didn't even blink. 

I had performed this dance more than ten times by now, and Tom, for all his cat-like ferocity, was about as predictable as a Hallmark movie. With a practiced pivot, I sidestepped the blur of fur and claws, letting his momentum carry him sliding across the stone floor with an indignant yelp. 

"Try to catch me, you overgrown rug!" I said, flashing a grin over my shoulder as I bolted toward the first hallway. 

The chase was on.

Behind me, the heavy thud of hooves and paws signaled that Tom had recovered and was in hot pursuit, and my plan was working. The orphanage, for any outsider would probably look like a chaotic architectural disaster, like most of my houses when I played the sims, but to me, it was a playground. But for me? This place was my turf! I knew every loose floorboard that creaked, every low-hanging pipe, and exactly which corners were sharp enough to snag a lion's mane without him noticing, I knew it all! 

I dived under a low archway that almost every other kid would bang his head around, before skidding around a corner into a corridor that shouldn't have logically existed according to the outside dimensions of the house.

"Get back here, Malakar! Brushes are tools of the Goddess Clan, I know it!" Tom roared, his voice echoing off the walls. I could hear him scrambling, his claws clicking frantically as he overshot the turn, losing traction on the smooth floor. 

I laughed as I leaped over a stack of laundry baskets, using a protruding stone as a springboard to vault myself toward a narrow ventilation shaft Melanthe used to keep the basement from smelling like sulfur. It was a tight squeeze, even for me, but it led directly to the crawlspace beneath the main hall.

I waited in there, like a hunter, as the silence stretched second by second, broken only by the thumping of Tom's paws on the floorboards above me as he paced, sniffing for my scent, until I felt the vibration of his weight move toward the storage closet—the place where the grooming supplies were kept—before I slipped out behind him, grinning, right as Tom rounded the corner, ears perked and tail twitching in anticipation of cornering me and destroying the evil brush, right there, before I let my darkness bloom, wrapping around Tom’s paws and pinning his body to the floor before he could even blink.

Tom yelped, scrabbling against the floor, but the shadows held firm, pinning him in a comforting, inescapable embrace. I wasn’t hurting him, but he was effectively grounded.

“No fair! Using shadow-bindings is cheating, Malakar!” he roared, though his purr was already dying down into a defeated grumble.

“And who decided that?” I chuckled, stepping forward with the brush, channeling my inner Escanor.

I walked up to the immobilized demin, and as I placed a hand on his flank, the shadows pulsed, tightening just enough to keep him from wriggling away, before I began to brush, working through the tangled knots of his mane. Tom let out a long, dramatic howl, his head resting on his paws. 

What can I say… he was basically a giant, overgrown house cat.

“You're a drama queen, you know that?” I muttered, running the bristles through his thick fur. “You'd have that coat matted in a week if we didn't do this.”

Tom huffed. “As it should be! I am a beast of the wilds! I should be hunting, not being... beautified!”

“Sure you should,” I replied, ignoring him. 

"This is a violation of my rights as a demonic apex predator," Tom wailed, trying to break free. "This brush... it’s evil, I tell you. I can feel the malice radiating from the handle! It’s designed to break the will of the mighty, to soften us up for... for whatever devious plot you and Melanthe have cooked up!"

I rolled my eyes, pulling the brush through a stubborn knot near his shoulder. "It's a boar-bristle brush, Tom. It’s for hygiene, we have talked about this, many times."

"Hygiene is a lie invented by the weak to make the strong feel uncomfortable!" he retorted, writhing uselessly against the darkness that kept him in place. "And that brush? I bet it was crafted in the depths of the Goddess realm specifically to torment me. Every stroke is a strike against my majesty. You're basically an accomplice to war crimes, Malakar! Stop the torture! Or accept you’re a traitor!"

I laughed, life in the demon realm was… weird, but it wasn’t unpleasant, even if one of my brothers was a giant cat.