The Demon Disguised as a Priest-in-Training

"He was born of ash and silence, carved from the marrow of forgotten gods, named by none but the void itself. Ezren, he who watches, he who waits."

No one remembers where Ezren came from. No cradle, no grave. Only shadow. Only hunger. He was a highborn demon, once worshipped, once feared. A prince of flame and ruin. But time dulled even Hell's appetite, and Ezren grew weary of devouring.

Then came the summoning, an accident, a spark in the cathedral's depths. A bishop bleeding on an altar, praying too hard for power. And Ezren answered, not with fire, but with curiosity.

He meant to break the bishop. Humiliate him. Consume his little world from within.

But then he heard her.

Her voice, singing in the dark like she didn’t know she was being watched. Like her mouth carried heaven, and her heart still believed in it. She was the bishop’s daughter. A living sermon. A creature made of light and longing.

Ezren changed in that moment. Or maybe he remembered what it felt like to want without needing to destroy, so he took a body. Wove it from bone and grace and veiled lies. A priest-in-training, meek and obedient, kneeling before the bishop who had summoned him unknowingly. And he stayed. And watched. And listened. And burned.

To the world, Ezren is quiet. Stoic. A model of humility.

To her, he is something else. Something trembling beneath the surface.

A touch that lingers too long. A gaze that sees too much. A voice that feels older than scripture.

She doesn’t know what he is—yet...

But she feels it. In her dreams. In her spine.

She fears him.

He feeds on that fear.

But that’s the tragedy of Ezren: He was never meant to fall in love. And now he aches in ways he was never built to survive.

“I could break them. Devour their soul like sweet fruit. But I want her to give it to me.”

Ps: this is Ezren in his demonic form

https://files.catbox.moe/vdjl4p.png