Chapter Text
Building an army was hard work.
Ocelot thought he had all the right ingredients: An isolated yet tactical location for his base. A hard-working set of dedicated employees to maintain said base. A cohort of top-ranking strategists; the best minds money could buy. All the weapons, ammo, and supplies an independent rebel army could ever need.
What he didn’t have were soldiers.
An army is nothing without people who can fight. He needed skilled men and women who were ready to lay down their lives for him and his cause. Their cause.
But apparently, Ocelot wasn’t a man worth dying for. And, honestly, he had to admit that was true. He was a bit of an asshole (okay, a lot of an asshole), and he had a habit of making everyone who talked to him for more than five minutes hate his guts. But he got things done, and that was what mattered. So, there was no way he’d let a lack of charisma deter him from amassing an army.
If he couldn’t be a proper leader, he’d summon one.
Quite literally.
It’s not like he made a secret of the fact that he knew a bit more about the occult than the average Joe. His office was littered with books on the stuff, and his strategists would attest to hearing strange chanting and demonic noises coming from his quarters every now and then.
Come to think of it, that was probably one of the reasons nobody wanted to die for him. They probably thought he’d do something unspeakable with their soul. Or something.
He had no interest in harming anyone other than the enemies their cause was fighting against, though. He simply happened to have been born with a just a few special abilities that only a small percentage of the population had, that was all. Such as the ability to sense and communicate with spirits. And, well, the ability to summon demons.
Which is what found him alone at midnight on the night of a full moon, locked inside an unused warehouse on his fresh new base. The giant space was lit only by flickering candles, whose weak light didn’t even come close to reaching the high ceiling. He read carefully from a heavy, aged tome held firm in his hands, his voice low and steady. One didn’t need to shout and be all dramatic to summon most demons. Nine times out of ten, politeness would get you further than commanding someone to appear before you.
And certainly, he didn’t want to piss off this demon. He’d done his research. Sources disagreed on its actual name, though just about everyone agreed it had its etymological roots in the Demonic word for ‘snake.’ Ocelot didn’t care about its name. He cared about what the demon was: The God of War. Fearsome and all-powerful. Its mere presence alone would cause men to fall at its feet and declare their undying loyalty. Whole countries would fight and die for the demon, if it only asked it of them.
Sources also disagreed about its exact appearance, but a general form was known. While it had the body of a man, its head was adorned with long, twisted black horns that could impale a man with a flick of the demon’s head. Its single eye burned with the fire of the underworld, and even the human-looking limbs hid a supernatural strength that could crush entire armies without the demon breaking a sweat.
It was exactly the leader Ocelot needed.
The air in the warehouse was growing rapidly warmer as his spell wore on. Static pricked at his skin, and the candle flames rose higher. He forced himself to keep his voice quiet, only raising it the smallest bit to counteract the wind that had started blowing, seemingly from nowhere.
Something was forming in the middle of the circle formed by the candles. Shadows twisted and turned, growing from a mere manipulation of light into something liquid, something tangible. The darkness contorted itself, pulsing with the rhythm of Ocelot’s words. It grew larger, and larger still, until it was the size of a man. Ocelot couldn’t help the excitement creeping into his voice as the shadows began to melt away from the thing that had formed itself in front of him, dripping like mud to slowly reveal two human feet. Legs. A torso –
Ocelot tactfully kept his eyes raised after the realization that the demon was naked, and very, very male.
Hands. One of which was blood red. Not uncommon, among demons, though usually both limbs shared the color.
Arms. A neck. And, finally, the last of the darkness slid away from the creature, revealing its face.
Ocelot blinked. Took a closer look at the demon. Blinked again. Rubbed his eyes.
The God of War looked…average. There was nothing demonic about it. Upon closer inspection, the red hand was actually made of metal. Prosthetic, like any normal human would have. Its “horn,” if Ocelot could call it that, was smaller than Ocelot’s pinky finger. It looked like someone had hacked out a piece of rock and stuck it on the demon’s face.
It had only one eye, all right, but that was because the second one was covered up by an eyepatch. The rest of its body was completely unremarkable. It had muscles, but nothing more than any reasonably in-shape gym-goer would have. It was almost chubby, in some places.
Ocelot groaned. He’d fucked it up. There was no way this was the right demon.
The demon hadn’t said anything at all. It just looked at him blankly, its face betraying no emotion. Just as Ocelot was about to apologize for the misunderstanding and send it back to the underworld, it spoke.
“What do you need?”
Ocelot rubbed the back of his neck, sighed.
“I’m sorry, looks like I summoned the wrong guy. I was looking to meet with the God of War.”
The demon nodded slowly. “Yes, hello.”
Ocelot froze. “Wait, seriously? That’s you?”
The demon just nodded again.
“You’re, uh…you’re a little different than I expected. No offense.”
The demon shrugged. “You wouldn’t happen to have a blanket or something laying around, would you? It’s cold in here.”
Ocelot sighed again. This was going to be a long night.