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Wet leather tears as I haul its heart into the light—a dense knot of necrotic muscle humming with the static of the Ninth. The Warden’s eyes bulge, pupils blowing out into ink-stained voids as the light behind them flickers and dies.

The shell beneath me finally goes still, the structure of the bones collapsing into a heap of useless, cooling matter. The soft, freckled skin of her sisters stolen face dissolves like wet tissue paper, revealing the nightmare of pale-pink, plated flesh, and the needle-lined mandibles that are still twitching in post-mortem reflex.

A wicked, maniacal laugh bubbles up from my throat. Every primal instinct I have is screaming in triumph, a chaotic standing ovation for the slaughter.

That felt fucking good. No—it felt better than good. The hot, oily slide of viscera, the cracking of bones—fuuuuuuuck. I feel euphoric.

Then, the cold, sharp bite of metal presses into the my throat. My head snaps up, the crimson haze of violence vanishing as she forces me back, making me stand until I’m pinned against the wall.

“What the fuck is a blood-bind,” she snarls, digging the blade in against my windpipe, deep enough to draw a bead of dark, sluggish blood.

“It’s exactly as it sounds,” I grit out. “We’re bound. By blood. But I swear on Satan’s blades, I had no idea it was possible.”

“Bullshit. You knew.” she accuses, her voice trembling. “You’re a demon, you must’ve known! This is your⁠—”

“A demon I am; a librarian I am not,” I cut her off. “My particular talent has always been fucking around—with an impressive track record of not finding out. I spent centuries surrounded by occultists who jerked off to the nuances of all this kind of bullshit, but I usually tuned out the second they started yapping. Not my finest move, in retrospect.”

“We’re in this mess… because you tuned it out?” she grits out.

“You try being stuck in a veritable cage your entire existence, little summoner, and then tell me you wouldn’t jump at the first crack of light you saw without thinking through the repercussions. But let’s be honest. You already did jump, didn’t you? You were so desperate to drag your Corpse-Boy back to the light that you didn’t think it through either. You wanted out of your grief; I wanted out of the boredom. This is on you as much as it is me.”

“Oh fuck you. At least I didn’t lie! You looked me in the eye and told me Hell had my coordinates but it didn't matter. You promised no one was coming!”

“I never promised a damn thing,” I hiss, leaning my weight into the blade to test her nerve. “But I did not think Veraxia would waste the resources to actually come and get me. I didn’t think⁠—”

“Yeah, you didn’t think!” she yells, her voice cracking as she shakes the knife at me. “You were fine with me being collateral damage as long as you got to stay out of Hell!”

“I am not fine with it!” I rumble back, my own adrenaline-fueled temper exploding. “Why do you think I just tore that thing's sternum open? Why do you think I’m standing here covered in its sludge? If I wanted you dead, I would have stepped aside and let it happen. I stopped it from killing you because I decided you weren't for the taking!”

She opens her mouth to argue, but the fight seems to drain out of her, replaced by a cold, dawning horror.

“So... the kit,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of my own thudding heart. “It isn’t going to work, is it? We won't be able to just wash this away?”

“You're assuming correctly,” I rasp. “That kit is for a smudge on a window. This? This is a structural collapse. You can't scrub out a blood-bind with some store-bought incense and a chant—I know that much.”

“Fuck!” she shouts, the word exploding out of her as she digs the knife in further.

“Enough with the theatrics, Eden.” I reach up and swat the knife away with a flick of my wrist.

She stumbles backwards, the blade dropping to the floor.

“So what’s the plan, then?” She says quietly, wiping her ichor-coated hands onto her pants as if she can peel the last few minutes off her skin. “What are we going to do? Live like this forever?”

Beneath us, the Warden’s body and the stolen skin disintegrate, turning to a fine, grey ash that vanishes before it even hits the air. Within seconds, the floor is empty, save for the odd spatter of viscera that refused to evaporate.

“I don't know, Eden.” I shrug. “But I’ll live. A luxury you might not have soon if we keep standing here debating my character.”

The House-Beast finally creeps out from the kitchen, her belly low to the floor, sniffing at the spots where the Warden’s ash has already vanished. Eden scoops her up without preamble and sinks onto the couch, burying her face in the animal's fur, whispering broken, muffled apologies into the cat's ears.

My fingers hook into the hidden seam behind my neck, and with a loud, suctioning rip that echoes through the quiet apartment, I yank the suit downward. I grunt through clenched teeth, my muscles cording as I strip the translucent, shimmering suit down from my shoulders until it dangles at my waist, the empty arms swinging uselessly against my thighs like the shed skin of a snake.

“Jesus Christ,” Eden breathes.

“Stop fucking saying that,” I grit out, pressing a hand to the putrid wound on the shoulder as I begin to pace.

I was supposed to be the one in control, the one enjoying the vacation. Instead, I’ve dragged a fragile, grieving girl into the middle of something she doesn't understand, and I barely do if I’m honest.

I’ve made her a target. And for some reason, the thought of her light being extinguished because of my boredom makes the cold blood in my veins turn to ice.