A/N: I wrote (and rewrote) the entire story while listening to a remix the Moonlight Sonata, for some strange reason that melody reminds me a lot of Bel & Siel. Enjoy the story!

Warning: violence, blood, Belphegor's creepy laugh… etc. /good kids should not attempt cake fight at home/

Disclaimer: MsPringles does not own KHR, Amano Akira does.

Black-Phoenix-94 It's not like I wrote this for you or anything, baka.


Is there a heaven? Hell? Or is there just nothingness after we die? Will I be… forgotten?

Belphegor always found these thoughts flashing through his head during the night. The thoughts would make him sleepless, fumbling around the sheets of his large bed shared with his twin, sweating, even muttering lightly. Rasiel sometimes made fun of him, interpreting the nightmares as his obvious incompetence, his lack of dignity, lack of power.

There was the internal struggle between the twins. Rasiel hated the little pest that followed him into the world to be a nuisance, though of course, he was strangely fun to mess around with. Belphegor hated his twin born two minutes before him, hated him for taking away the throne, and also hated his parents for allowing the two minutes to make a difference.

Or that's what they say on the surface, anyways.

Why do they really loath each other so? That was something never to be discussed about. Most people simply understood it as jealousy between brothers, something the twins will grow out of as they become of age. They'll never realize the bloodlust within the twins, the lust of power. The twins longed for the day they would finally get rid of their mirror image, the day they would finally be free of their useless shadow. The day they would be remembered not as one from a set, but as one alone.

Belphegor would put laxatives into Rasiel's food, Rasiel would send Belphegor flying down the third floor balcony, they would throw toys at each other, and as they grew up, toys changed to stones, books, wine glass, forks, knives… The twins would laugh at each other's mistakes, making sarcastic remarks and purposefully putting the other in difficult situations. They enjoyed making fun of the other, just because their fight wasn't only a battle of strength, but also of wits.

Maybe that's what's more frightening about the two.

They say the more you know, the less happy you are.

Maybe it's not entirely true.

The twin geniuses were at a level others cannot understand, it was hard to find out what they were up to, or for most of the time, why they were up to it. The princes once demanded the cooks to teach them how to butcher pigs, demanded capoeira lessons, demanded vast amounts of philosophy books, and even once demanded a nationwide cake fight.

We are no less happy than any other children, we are just more… obsessive.

They got everything they wanted, of course... even if it meant spending a fortune on cakes. Their parents had no time to care for the two. They only ever met at supper time, when the queen would as her princes about their day, and they would lie their mouth rotten.

I wonder what do peasant children do. The live their short lives, they die, and they are forgotten.

How pathetic.

The pair of mischievous boys were spoiled to the core, they believed they had the right to be treated so. They were the royal children, the hope of the kingdom, the ones more superior than anyone else. They got everything they wanted, except for one thing…

Pinching, punching, twisting, poisoning, strangling, chocking, tripping… They've tried it all. If only they can once and for all get rid of the other.

Destroy him. I want to destroy him, rip his guts out, bath in his blood, and watch the life leave his eyes...

Only then I will have what I've always wanted.


It was inevitable for the brothers to finally reach the point of no return. There is no other solution than killing the other. Their most desperate wish is the death of the other, the one thing they both truly want is to be the last one standing.

The king and queen where too busy with their work to pay attention to the little details in their boy's lives. They didn't notice when Rasiel was poisoned, when Belphegor was forced to eat mud balls with worms inside, when the twins threw stones at each other, when the stones changed to knives…

They didn't notice until it was too late.

It was a bright day. The sun burned the ground, mercilessly dried out houseplants not taken care of, baked the children playing outside. Most people were hiding in the shades of their houses, taking a nap, since it was too hot to either work or read. The city was exceptionally quiet.

If people saw them, they would mistake it as another childish brawl between the two heirs… but anyone who has been around them for long enough would know better.

They were out of sight, hidden by a white rose bush and few large oak trees. The shades hid them out of sight, their laughs blurred out by the cicada chimes, flashes of light from their tiaras would occasionally brighten up the darkness surrounding the two.

Two kids, at the age of eight. Brilliant golden hair covering their eyes, silver crowns looping on one side of their heads. One wearing black, the other wearing white. They were identical, yet completely different.

The first to move is the first to die.

How amusing, it's just like looking into a mirror. My replica. My brother. My twin.

Their breaths quieted, they stared at each other, examine their other half carefully. What went through the brother's heads is more or less the same thing. Both knew this would be the day it ends.

Rasiel will become king. Belphegor will perish.

Rasiel will be eliminated. Belphegor will stand victorious.

Which will it be?

The twins leapt at each other, knives in hand. Neither completely had the upper hand, but they were both confident of their victory. Rasiel was stronger by nature, Belphegor always tried harder, put in more effort. They stood equal grounds, the chances purely fifty fifty.

They slashed, dodged, stabbed. It was a dance in its own way. An astoundingly breathtaking and beautiful dance. Their movements were synched, they were at each other's pace without knowing it. The gleams from their blades were icy cold, the odd shapes gliding through the air towards their target.

Rasiel was confident. There was simply no way he would lose. He was the true heir, he was the stronger, the older of the two. Today will be the last day of his foolish brother. Not in a thousand years would he have counted the possibilities for failure, even as his knives missed, and he was wounded.

Belphegor took the opportunity to advance. Rasiel may be stronger, but Bel had better reflexes. He sprang at his brother, grabbing and twisting the wounded shoulder, and pushed him to the ground. He sat on top of him, watched as Rasiel's smile turned into a frown. Bel let out a low whimper as his twin stabbed him in the arm.

I will win.

He is no more than a bug that needs to be crushed.

He twisted the knife out of Rasiel's hand, and pierced his chest. He slashed his brother's stomach, leaving deep cuts over his entire abdomen. This is his victory, Belphegor is the one who will be left standing.

The screams were hollow. It was a mixture of laughter, and anguish. Rasiel curled up in pain, as he laughed at his own pathetic defeat, at his brother, who stood wavering not far from him, a mixed look of confusion and happiness on his face.

'Is this what you want, brother?'

'It brings me closer to what I want.'

'And what is that, brother?'

Belphegor froze at the question. He couldn't believe it. Rasiel had been able to see through him all along. He knew. He always did.

What is it I really want?

The younger of the two stood staring at his brother, the latter laughed. His bangs were brushed apart, and his eyes locked onto Bel's.

For the briefest moment, nothing else existed. It was only the two boys, staring at each other, until Rasiel turned away his gaze, his smile frozen forever.

Hah. My brother, taunting me with his last breath.

He knew it all along.

I didn't want to be king.

I just wanted them to remember me. Me alone. Belphegor.

Bel laughed to himself. His brother's screams has gotten quite a bit of attention from the palace guards, and more of them were rushing to the scene by the minute. Most of the people were astounded by the bloody incident before their eyes. Their precious throne prince lay in a pool of blood, his white shirt now crimson and shredded. The younger prince stood not far away, clutching onto the knife that took his brother's life.

Such joy.

I've never been so happy. Why is it?

Is it because Rasiel is dead? Because I have finally won? What is this happiness?

Why am I… so thrilled?

An instant was all it took, and it hit him. This is the day he has been living for. It's not the day his brother dies, it's the day he would kill. The sheer excitement running through the young prince's veins made him tremble, the gratifying bliss was uncontrollable. He was born to kill. The sensation he got from the perishing of his pitiful brother is the proof.

'Y-your h-highness…' A guard stuttered out, 'What…'

'Ushishishi.' the high pitched laugh echoed the garden, radiated chills, 'I mistook him for a cockroach.'

The by standers looked absolutely dumbstruck. But then again, who could blame them?


I won't let them forget.

They will remember me forever.

The blood stained prince turned around, facing the guards and their spears. His face was split by a Cheshire smile, radiating joy and madness.

He flung himself at the crowd, knives appearing at both hands. He tore the crowd apart, the neat lawn was destroyed with broken bodies and weapons, blood poured like a river. The rose bush turned bright red, not a single white petal remained.

It's not enough. I want more.

It's a mystery to this day where Belphegor got all that energy from, but it filled his body with life, corrupted his mind with lust. He didn't pause for a single second, slaughtering his way to the king's room.

He lived to kill. By killing, he lives.

The queen's eyes widened with horror, the king's hands crunched into tight fists.

The sun continued pouring through the luxurious window of the King's office, lighting up the room in a strange way. Behind the window, was the grand view of the capital of the kingdom. The city stretched onto infinity.

This is the final crescendo of the hunt. Father and son fought, while mother watched helplessly, tears streaming from her deep, blue eyes. It wasn't long before the genius boy stood over two lifeless bodies, admiring the light shade of pink the floor turned into.

He licked his bloody fingers happily, and kissed his blade.


The taste of royal blood.

What a lovely sight.

Belphegor walked up to the large window and looked out.

It was a bright day. The sun burned the ground, mercilessly dried out houseplants not taken care of, baked the children playing outside. Most people were hiding in the shades of their houses, taking a nap, since it was too hot to either work or read. The city was exceptionally quiet.

My people.

Don't ever forget. Don't forget me.

He raised a bloody finger and slit it open, allowing his own blood to drip out. He lifted it slowly to the window.

There are better things than being king. A king is always trapped inside his own palace, living a life forced onto him.

There are no thrills in being a king.

Kings are forgotten, replaced. When they die, a new one comes. Generation after generation, one day they will all be forgotten.

I won't be forgotten.

This is his rebirth. This time, he is free of a useless copy, free of duties, free of the cruel confinement he just destroyed.

I am prince Belphegor.

He wrote, with his own blood, for the world to see:

'Prince the Ripper.'

Athazagoraphobia: Google is your friend.

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