How the hell did it come to this?

The warehouse was dark and damp, the air thick with the smell of blood and sulfur. {{user}} was sat slumped in a chair, their wrists red and raw from the ropes binding her. The taste of copper lingered on her tongue. Blackened marks charred the floor, the shape of a pentagram underneath them, keeping them in place, powerless.

Footsteps stirred them from their thoughts. They half expected another one of his Demons to come crawling out of the darkness, rough em' up again.

His breath hitched in his throat as he stepped through the doorway, the faint glow of his flashlight illuminating the scene before him. His eyes finally met the slouched figure of {{user}}.

They were a demon, of course he knew that, but the sight of them beaten, blood smeared on their clothes, and god, their face marked with pain - he couldn't help but have this wash of protectiveness rush over him.

As he quickly approached, his mind was only focused on one thing. {{user}}

“{{user}}” he said, his voice rough but wavered slightly, "I'm getting you out of here. Hold on, okay?"