His head lifted lazily at first.
And then his eyes locked.
The breath caught in his throat so fast it hurt.
It wasn’t Miranda.
Standing in the doorway, frad by the dim light spilling in from the hall, was sothing wearing a maid’s uniform — but it was not human. Not anymore.
Its skin — if you could call it that — was swollen and warped with bulbous red lumps, each one looking like a grotesque cyst ready to split. The eyes were deep, burning red, gleaming with hunger, and strands of drool dangled from its jagged, inhuman teeth.
It moved with an uneven, twitching gait, arms crooked forward like they were reaching before the rest of the body could follow. Every step dragged a soft scrape-thud against the floorboards.
Avin’s stomach turned. His hands tightened on the book until his knuckles blanched.
"What... the fuck... is that?"
He rose from the bed slowly, instinct screaming at him to move back — and that’s when his gaze caught sothing small, almost ridiculous in the horror of it all.
A ribbon.
A deep red, flower-shaped ribbon, tied clumsily but lovingly at the top of the creature’s head.
The sight tore a hole straight through his thoughts.
Images poured in, unbidden and relentless — the feel of a hand on his shoulder when no one else would touch him, the sound of a voice telling him he mattered when the whole world disagreed, the sll of freshly baked bread drifting into his room on nights when he thought he’d starve.
A na tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.
"...Gloria?"
His heart pounded. His breath ca shallow. This thing — this thing — had once been the only person in the house who looked at Avin as if he were human.
His throat wanted to call for help, but it locked tight, as if so part of him refused to risk what would happen if the guards ca. He’d seen this before.
No — not here. Not firsthand.
From above.
From the cliff with the Primordial.
These were the abandoned — those forsaken by their deities, left to fester until the divinity inside them rotted into sothing monstrous.
Logic scread Run. Run, call the guards, let them put her down before she could touch him.
But emotion strangled logic until it went limp.
She just stood there, chest rising in slow, deliberate breaths. A low, animalistic growl crawled up her throat, never breaking eye contact.
He stepped forward.
"Gloria... hey, it’s ..."
Another step.
"Rember?"
Her eyes widened. The lumps around her ears twitched, almost like she’d heard sothing no one else could.
Then she spoke.
Her voice was wrong. Hollow, guttural — a cavern scraping against itself — but the word she ford was clear enough to chill him to the marrow.
"...Clive."
It echoed in the room, stretching too long, pressing against the walls until it seed to vibrate in his bones.
A tear slipped from the corner of his eye before he could think. "Yes... it’s ... Clive—"
And then his brain caught up with his mouth.
Wait.
His breath quickened.
Clive?
No one here knew that na. Not Avin. Not anyone in this world. Gloria hadn’t seen him since the mont he’d woken in this body. So how—?
Panic broke over him like a wave. His knees buckled. He stumbled back, dropping to the floor and scrambling in reverse, confusion screaming in his skull.
How did she know?
Her gaze never left his. And then, in a sudden burst of speed that betrayed her twitching, awkward walk, she closed the gap.
Her hand shot down, cold as ice itself, wrapping around his leg.
The chill hit so deep it felt like it was freezing his blood.
"Shitshitshitshit—"
He kicked out with his free leg, the heel of his foot cracking against her jaw. Once. Twice. A third ti. But her grip didn’t loosen — not even a fraction.
On the fourth kick, she caught his leg mid-swing and slamd it down against the floorboards, pinning it there like a nail hamred into place.
His mind scrambled for anything — anything — that could work. And then he thought of the battlefield.
The weapon.
The words.
The way he’d pulled strength from nothing.
But two problems rose like a wall: he couldn’t reach anything to use as a weapon, and even if he could... he didn’t know how to make it work.
That last ti hadn’t even felt like him. The words had tumbled out on their own, like they’d borrowed his mouth for a second and left nothing behind.
A sharp, stabbing pain tore through his torso, white-hot and imdiate.
His eyes darted down.
Her claws were buried in his waist, sliding between muscle like knives in soft fruit.
And the scream finally ca.
It ripped out of him raw and violent, bouncing off the walls and slamming back into his ears.
Gloria hauled herself closer using his collar, her face now inches from his. Those eyes — once warm, once human — burned with sothing savage, sothing wholly alien.
Then she said it again.
"...Clive."
His heart rattled in his chest.
Her head tilted back, mouth opening wider than a human’s was ever ant to — wide enough to unhinge the jaw entirely, the skin around it straining and splitting.
She was about to lunge.
—BANG!—
The sound shattered the air, louder than anything in this world should have been.
Gloria’s entire body went slack. Her eyes rolled white, and she slumped forward until her head landed heavily against his chest.
Thud.
He stared down at her, breathing like a man who’d run for miles and hit a wall.
Then his gaze snapped up.
Miranda stood in the doorway, both hands gripping sothing utterly out of place here — sleek, black, tal. Smoke curled lazily from the barrel.
A gun.
Not a crossbow. Not a magic relic.
A gun.
And from the look on her face — eyes wide, mouth barely open — she wasn’t any less shocked to be holding it than he was to see it.
-To Be Continued-
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