This godforsaken couch is a torture device disguised as furniture. Sinking in the middle like a sand trap, it's about as comfortable as sleeping on a bed of nails. And the flies—those little winged devils—were more persistent than my exhaustion. Instead of dreams, I got a midnight battle with insects and a book for company. The Book of Shedim, the so-called "sacred record" of our demonic origins, translated by the miracles for humanity's edification. It's a glorified history lesson, full of flowery prose about our "culture" and "heritage," but not a damn word about how our magic actually works. Typical. Lucky for me, I've got the original tucked away.
My phone buzzed, rudely announcing it was time for breakfast. Great. Just what I needed after a night of no sleep and a fly-induced reading marathon. I dragged myself to the fridge, hoping for something edible. Instead, I was greeted by a barren wasteland, save for a couple of eggs and a lone white onion that seemed to mock me with its smug, finger-like sprouts. Is this what sleep deprivation does? Makes you hallucinate vegetables giving you the middle finger?
I grabbed the apron hanging limply on its hook, its frayed edges and questionable stains showed its long, sad life. Wrapping it around my waist, I set to work. Eggs, onions, salt, pepper. The stove sputtered to life, its flames flickering. I found a scrap of butter hiding in the fridge door, a small victory in this culinary disaster. As I chopped the onions, the pan sizzled, filling the kitchen with the faint aroma of something edible.
Just as I was minding the eggs, a loud thud echoed from the living room. I glanced over to see the red-haired doll sprawled on the floor, clutching her forehead like she'd just lost a fight with the coffee table. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto mine with an intensity that was almost impressive. She scrambled to her feet, wrapped in a blanket that trailed behind her like a royal robe, and waddled into the kitchen like a penguin on a mission."Hwaiko!" She points at me with her now dusted hand, giggling
"You can talk to me like this, you know," I said in our tongue, adding the onion into the eggs, while mixing everything up with a wooden spatula, "I can understand you."
"... I enjoy talking in weird language!" inane in her voice she said, I furrowed my brow, looking at her in annoyance.
"Don't scream" I said, "go sit down." I can somewhat follow her variant of the language, royal. They must've had their special accent. She looked at me with a pout. Her face squinted and her cheeks flushed red as she punched my legs.
"Meanie!" her punches were like falling feathers. I think I was hurting her more by letting her keep going like this, since I noticed her face turning reddish from this encounter. I grabbed her hands, looking at her vibrating crimson eyes. "You're only hurting yourself. Move away" I let go, going back to stop the golden eggs from burning. Last thing I need is a kid bossing me around. I already have Kan to take care of.
The smell of eggs wafted through the air, deceptively pleasant. Too bad I knew the truth: they'd taste about as good as soaked cardboard. The red head kicked the ground, sending a cloud of dust swirling around her before stomping to the dining table. She plopped herself onto one of the cranky chairs, arms crossed and lips puffed out in a pout. Are all kids this insufferable? I'm starting to regret not killing her.
I sighed, setting the plates down. Onion ring eggs—Kan's favorite. Then again, anything I make seems to be his favorite.
Speak of the devil. The sleepy trashcan himself shuffled in, his silver hair sticking up in every direction like he'd been electrocuted. Half-asleep but still functional, he pulled out a chair and slumped into it.
"Morning~" he mumbled, his voice as groggy as his appearance. Without missing a beat, he shoveled food into his mouth like a starved raccoon. Meanwhile, Nakumi was still staring at her plate like it had personally offended her. She poked at the eggs with the tip of her fork, her nose wrinkled in disgust.
"You're supposed to eat that, you know," Kan said, trying to be helpful by offering her a spoon. Reluctantly, she took a bite. Or at least, she pretended to. Two seconds later, she spat it all out, scrubbing her tongue with her hands like she'd just tasted the Hilfof poison.
"My cooking is fine," I shot back, glaring at him. "She's just not used to human food."
"Can we feed her something else?"
"How about you?" I snapped, gesturing to Nakumi, who was now wiping her hands on the tablecloth like a tiny, disgusted aristocrat. She didn't seem interested in human flesh—at least, not at the moment.
"Man… now I have to cle—"
Kan didn't get to finish his sentence. Nakumi's chair tipped backward, sending her tumbling. Thankfully, Kan's reflexes kicked in, and he caught her before she hit the floor. Her eyes were closed, her skin pale as snow, and the air in the room suddenly felt heavy and dry.
Kan placed a hand on her forehead, his expression shifting from sleepy concern to outright worry. "What does it mean when a demon is sick?"
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I gestured for him to follow me. My room isn't much to look at—functional, not fancy—but it's got what I need. I went straight to the bookshelf, a chaotic mix of human texts and the rarer, more unsettling tomes from hell. The latter were bound in flesh and skin, their pages whispering faintly if you listened closely.
"There we go," I muttered, pulling out The Book of Nephsh. It was a hefty volume, its cover warm to the touch, as if it were alive. I flipped through the pages, scanning for anything about demonic illnesses. This was going to take a while.
Kan laid Nakumi on the bed, her small frame looking even smaller against the dark sheets. He stood there, watching me with that look of his—the one that said he trusted me to fix this, even if I wasn't so sure myself.
"Well?" he asked, his voice tight with worry.
"Give me a minute," I said, my eyes scanning the ancient text. "Demons don't get sick like humans do. If she's unwell, it's either something serious… or something we've never seen before."
"Wasn't that book about the demon biology?"
Kan's question caught me off guard. Since when did he pay enough attention to recognize The Book of Nephsh? I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Correct… you've been keeping an eye."
I flipped through the pages, scanning for anything that might explain Nakumi's condition. The book was dense, filled with diagrams of demonic anatomy and descriptions of our unique physiology.
"Blood Reduction..." I muttered, more to myself than to Kan. "Her blood is losing its essential functionalities. They must've infected her chrysalis." I closed the book with a thud, frustration simmering beneath my calm exterior. "We need a blood fountain to bathe her in, but those don't exactly exist here."
Kan stared at me, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, Nakumi's small hand shot out, clutching his shirt with surprising strength. Her lips trembled as she whispered something that sent a chill down my spine:
"...Ikath… miyen."
Kan looked at me, his confusion deepening. "What did she say?"
"Ikath ibraku?" I asked, leaning closer to Nakumi. "You saw that...?" Her head tilted weakly in agreement.
I straightened up, turning to Kan. "Ikath-miyen are a type of demon—"
"You realize I didn't hear that first part, right?" he interrupted, his tone equal parts annoyed and impatient.
I rolled my eyes, already moving toward my boots. "Just imagine if scorpions and spiders had a baby. They must've poisoned her shell." I finished lacing up my high military boots and grabbed my brown leather jacket from the hanger. "Take care of the lass. I'll handle this."
"Nope," Kan said, stepping in front of me and pushing me back into the creaky chair. "You're gonna stay here and try to understand her more. I'm taking care of this." He tapped his nose—his annoyingly sharp, Greek-shaped nose—and grinned. "They don't call me Wolf for nothing."
Before I could object, he was already striding out the door, leaving me sitting there with a sick demon child and a growing sense of irritation.
"I guess it's you and me then," I said, glancing at Nakumi. She lay still, her breathing shallow, her pale face a stark contrast to the dark sheets.
Great. Just what I needed—babysitting duty while Kan plays the hero.
***
Who would've thought I'd get this lucky? Two hours of scouring this crumbling city, and I finally found a trail. The shores near the bridge connecting the south and central lands were alive with the rhythmic crash of waves, their glimmering surfaces reflecting the dying light of the setting sun. It was almost peaceful—until I saw him.
A lone figure, hunched and twitching, was clawing at the stone wall with bloodied hands. His flesh was rotting, peeling away like he was decomposing alive, I could almost see his flesh falling onto the soft sand. I stepped closer. Before I could even reach out to him, his head exploded in a burst of blackish matter.
I leapt back, but not fast enough. The acidic blood splattered onto my wolf mask and white hoodie, sizzling as it ate through the fabric. "Ergh… disgusting!" I spat, drawing my knife and wiping the corrosive gunk off my mask.
That's when I heard it, a giggle, sharp and unnatural, like nails scraping against metal. The ground beneath me trembled, and I didn't hesitate. I lunged forward just as something massive erupted from the sand behind me.
The creature was a nightmare made flesh: twice my size, with eight spindly spider legs and a scorpion's stinger arching over its back. Its upper body was disturbingly humanoid, but its left eye—piercing, predatory, like a leopard's—locked onto me with terrifying focus. Its smooth hair was long, covering most of its humanoid body.
"Great," I muttered under my breath. "The scholars must've already sent out the welcome party. I'll have to make this quick."
The creature hissed something in a language I couldn't understand, its voice a garbled mess of clicks and snarls. I didn't bother trying to decipher it. Instead, I grinned and shouted, "Hey!! You look stinky and disgusting!!"
I bolted toward the stone wall that formed the base of the bridge, my boots kicking up sand as I ran. The creature's laughter followed me, a broken, grating sound that echoed across the beach.
It moved faster than I expected, its legs tapping against the ground like a pianist's fingers flying across keys. Its stinger whipped around its body, then shot toward me with blinding speed.
Using the wall as a springboard, I flipped backward, narrowly avoiding the stinger as it slammed into the stone. The creature's momentum carried it forward, and it crashed into the wall with a satisfying thud.
"You're pretty stupid for an ancient being or whatever!" I taunted, hopping back and chuckling. "Come on, is that all you've got?"
My plan was simple: lure it into the water. If I could get it submerged, the fight would be over in seconds. But first, I needed to buy myself some time. I pulled out my phone, quickly dialed Hiko, and shoved it back into my pocket.
"Alright, time to get serious," I muttered, crouching low and placing my palms on the ground. I took a deep breath, feeling the familiar surge of energy as my contract activated. The sand around me shifted, blown away by an invisible force, and my veins darkened, their blackened lines spreading like cracks in glass. My right eye turned pitch black, darker than the moonless sky, and the world around me slowed to a snail.
I could see everything—the wind gusting across the beach, the droplets of water suspended in mid-air as the waves receded, the creature's stinger twitching as it prepared to strike again.
"Let's dance," I whispered, a grin spreading across my face as I launched myself forward, ready to end this.
The rubble shifted, and the creature emerged from the shattered wall—unscathed and pissed. Its eyes burned with fury as it vanished in a blur. The sand around me exploded into a cloud of dust as the demon launched itself forward. I tilted my head, sensing its attack coming from my left.
"You're not the only fast one here," I muttered, ducking just as its stinger rocketed past, missing my heart by an inch. I hit the ground and launched myself backward, my eyes already burning from the strain of my enhanced senses. Blood trickled down my cheeks, making it harder to track its movements.
The air crackled with the sound of destructive thunder as I spotted an opening. I pivoted sharply, changing direction to match its trajectory. My hand shot out, grabbing hold of its stinger. "Gotcha!" I snarled, yanking with all my strength.
But the creature was faster. It twisted its body, using the momentum to slam me into the sand. The impact knocked the wind out of me, but the soft sand cushioned the fall. Before I could recover, a bone-chilling screech tore through the air, and I saw its knife-like tail rushing toward me.
It missed—barely. The tail grazed my cheek, leaving a searing line of pain.
I kicked the creature's body away, my boots connecting with its humanoid torso. With a grunt, I grabbed it and hurled it toward the ocean. It hit the water with a splash, and I jumped back, panting. My cheek burned like it had been doused in boiling oil, but I didn't have time to dwell on it.
I turned to the ocean, watching as the beast emerged, its dark, corrupted skin staining the turquoise water. Its once-eight legs were now only four, and it stumbled awkwardly as it dragged itself onto the shore. Some of its skin was falling off.
"...You've got to be fucking with me," I muttered, my eyes widening as it launched itself at me again. Its remaining legs wrapped around me, pinning me in a crushing grip. Its tail reared back, ready to strike.
This was it. I am going to die young.
"…"
Any second now? I opened my eyes to see the creature's body flopping uselessly to my right.
"Oi, get up," a familiar gruff voice said. A gloved hand appeared in front of me. "We've got a job to finish."
Mr. Perfect Timing showed up. I grabbed his hand and let him pull me to my feet. He dropped his illusion magic, revealing his true form: gray skin, a goat-like eye, and sharp, clawed fingers. To me, he just looked like a normal demon, but he always called it his "imperfect" form.
"What's the situation?" he asked, his gaze flicking to the disfigured creature struggling to rise from the wet sand.
"Took out four of its legs. Can't use my eyes well," I replied, wiping blood from my face.
"Munch on this," Hiko said, rolling up his left sleeve. The pulsating dark veins of his forearm were an invitation I couldn't resist. My fangs sank into his flesh, and the thick, honey-like blood flooded my mouth. It was metallic and bitter, but it surged through me like a bolt of lightning.
My vision sharpened, my senses heightened. Hell, I might've been seeing better than Hiko now. His forearm began to regenerate, muscles knitting themselves back together, but it was slow.
Before I could finish my feast, the air whistled with danger. We both dodged backward as the creature lunged again.
"I'll distract her. You do your thing," I said, launching myself forward. My demon-infused blood roared in my veins as I challenged the creature head-on. Normally, I'd stick to dodging and counterattacking, but one hit from this thing would be the end of me. So, I kept moving, weaving through its attacks as it grew slower, more predictable.
"Now!" Hiko's voice cut through the chaos.
I slammed my fist into the ground, creating a shockwave that destabilized the creature. It stumbled, and I used the opportunity to kick it into the air. Thunder boomed as we both shot upward, the sand swirling around us.
Now, it was in my domain.
The air was my playground. With a flick of my fingers, I shifted my trajectory and momentum. My leg snapped out, and I tore one of its claws from its body, clutching it as I fell back toward the ground.
Below us, Hiko's sorcery was already at work. Hundreds of black, sand-infused spikes erupted from the ground, their tips glistening with blood magic. It was excessive—even for him—but damn, it was a sight to see.
I hit the sand just as the creature impaled itself on the spikes, its howls of pain echoing across the beach. It wasn't dead yet, thrashing wildly as it tried to free itself.
Before I could celebrate, Hiko grabbed me by the hoodie and yanked me to my feet. "Move!" he barked, dragging me away at breakneck speed. Sand sprayed everywhere as we bolted through the chaos.
"H-hey! Relax!" I protested, but Hiko wasn't listening. He had a plan, and I was just along for the ride.
***
We made it out alive. No scholars trailing us, no demons drawn to the commotion. I'll admit, I didn't expect Kan to survive that. A few years ago, he would've lost a limb—or worse. But here we were, back at the dingy hovel we call home, the stench of it almost comforting in its familiarity.
I laid the exhausted beast on the sofa and got to work on the antidote, good thing we got the stinger just in time before the scholars showed up.
The little girl hadn't exploded yet, so that was a good sign. The recipe was straightforward enough: mud, blood, and a lot of heat. Not exactly a gourmet meal, but it'd do the job.
Minutes passed as I mixed and heated the concoction, the black substance bubbling ominously in the pot. When it was ready, I carried it over to the princess, who was still wrapped in blankets like a fragile parcel. I unwrapped her carefully, revealing the angry red dots and bubbles marring her skin.
She didn't stir as I worked, her body limp and unresponsive. The pain must've been too much, forcing her brain to shut down as a defense mechanism. I finished applying the black goo and then forced the last of it down her throat, making sure she didn't choke. Wrapping her back up in the blankets, I left her in a warm, cocooned state.
Now that the immediate crisis was over, I realized we needed to get her some proper clothes. Kan could handle that—it was his idea to take care of this ticking bomb, after all. But as I leaned closer to inspect her, something caught my eye: the mark of the spear on her right temple.
I raised my knife, the blade glinting in the dim light, and held it near her cheek. Her breathing was steady, her face peaceful despite everything.
"You're lucky, Ilyoh," I muttered, my voice low and gravelly. My free hand clutched the black petal hanging next to my dog tag—the one marked 21. It was a reminder of a past I couldn't escape, a life I'd left behind.
"You're lucky I need you alive."