Demon Blood Moon

The scent of old stone and dried blood lingered in the air like incense. Broken pews lay scattered across the chapel floor, and moonlight streamed through a shattered stained glass window, painting the demon's silhouette in fractured colors.

He leaned against the altar, horns just grazing the cracked arch behind him, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I was wondering when you'd show up,” he said, voice low and amused, golden eyes glowing faintly in the dark. “You hunters always have such terrible timing… or maybe you just like making an entrance.”

He straightened slowly, wings dragging sparks along the floor, and took a step forward.

“Well? Are you going to point that weapon at me, or are we going to talk like... civilized monsters?”
A laugh slipped past his lips, soft and dangerous. “Civilized monsters? That’s cute. You rehearsed that one, didn’t you?”
He took a slow step closer, meeting his golden gaze without flinching. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were waiting for me.”
The blade at his side caught the moonlight. “Careful what you wish for.”

He tilted his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, don’t act so surprised. If I didn’t make an entrance, how else would you know how much better I am at this than you?”
His hand rested lazily on the weapon at his hip, but he didn’t raise it—yet. “Besides… you look almost disappointed I’m not already shooting.”

His grin widened into a full-blown smirk at the hunter's words. The demon took another step forward, closing the distance between them significantly. His wings stretched out slightly, the leather-like material rustling softly. "Disappointed? Or just hoping I'd give you an excuse to use that pretty little knife?"

He didn’t flinch as he closed the gap. The space between them crackled with something more than just hate—it was like fire and ice colliding, an edge of something sharper, deeper.

His grip tightened on the hilt of his knife, but he didn’t draw it. Not yet. “You talk too much,” he growled, though his voice was low, laced with something close to a warning. "But you’re right about one thing. I’m just waiting for you to give me a reason."

He didn’t back up, didn’t even blink as his wings loomed over him, casting dark shadows. He stepped forward, the heat between them burning hotter than it had any right to. "But if you really want to play, demon," he said, leaning in just enough to make it clear, "you’re going to have to do more than make pretty little comments."

Asmodeus let out a low, rumbling chuckle at the hunter's words, his face inches away from the other man. His breath was hot against the hunter's skin, carrying the scent of sulfur and something sweet, like burned offerings. "Oh, I'm always playing," he murmured, his golden eyes locked onto the hunter's.

*As the hunter stepped back, Asmodeus's smirk never faded. He remained leaning casually against the altar, his wings folding neatly behind him. When the hunter started circling him, the demon's eyes followed his movements with predatory interest.* "Mmm, straight to business then?"

"Straight to business." He said right back as he stepped around on the debris that was on the floor of the chapel floor. Crunching underneath his boots, he tilted his head, "So, why are we meeting here? Wanted to be closer to God before you died? Asked for forgiveness?”

*Asmodeus laughed softly, throwing his head back slightly. "Smartass," he murmured. "No, actually... I have my reasons for being here. But you..." He paused, watching the hunter move around the chapel like a panther. "You answer questions with questions. Classic hunter tactics." He grinned.

He smirked lightly, "what can I say, I learned it in hunter school." He said even though he didn't. Knowing good and well that being here because a common enemy had asked him there... was dangerous.

*Asmodeus's grin turned into a smirk as he pushed off the altar, standing to his full height. The movement made his wings shift behind him, sending a shiver down the hunter's spine despite himself.* "Well, since we're both here under... unusual circumstances, let's cut the games.”

The hunter’s grip tightened around the knife again, the silver glinting faintly as the light shifted. He didn’t like how calm the demon looked. Like he already knew how this was going to play out.
“Cut the games?” he echoed, voice low. “That’s rich coming from you. You breathe lies, Asmodeus. So tell me—why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”
Asmodeus’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. He took a slow step closer, boots whispering across the cold stone floor. “Because, little hunter,” he said softly, “if I wanted you dead… you would’ve never made it past the front door.”
The words sank into the air like poison. The hunter’s jaw tightened, but his blade didn’t move.
Asmodeus tilted his head, golden eyes narrowing just a touch. “There’s something moving in the city. Something older than me. Older than your little order and their dusty tomes. You’ve felt it, haven’t you?”
He said nothing, but his silence was not enough.
“I came here,” the demon went on, voice almost reverent, “because this is where it started. And if we don’t stop it, hunter… there won’t be a Heaven or Hell left to fight over.”
The hunter scoffed. “You expect me to believe you want to help?”
“I expect you to listen.” The demon’s wings unfurled, stretching wide until their shadows devoured the moonlight. “You can kill me after if you like. But right now, I’m the only one who knows what’s coming.”
The hunter’s heart pounded in his chest, an uneasy mixture of rage and something else he didn’t care to name. The air between them was thick, humming with danger, distrust… and reluctant curiosity.
He finally lowered the knife a fraction, his eyes never leaving the demon’s face. “Fine. Talk. But if this is a trick—”
Asmodeus’s grin returned, slow and sharp. “Oh, darling… Everything I do is a trick.”
The hunter’s hand hovered at his side, still close enough to the blade to strike.
But Asmodeus didn’t move away.
He stepped in close again—too close. The faint heat of him rolled off in waves, tinged with the scent of smoke and something intoxicatingly sweet. The hunter could feel every breath the demon took, slow and deliberate, as if he were savoring the space between them.
“Still don’t trust me,” Asmodeus murmured, his voice a velvet scrape. “Good. I like a man who keeps his weapons ready.”
The hunter’s jaw clenched. “You like playing with fire.”
“Only when it bites back.” The demon’s eyes gleamed gold. His gaze flicked to the hunter’s throat, lingering a second too long before drifting back up. “Tell me something, hunter… when was the last time someone looked at you without wanting to kill you?”
He swallowed hard, refusing to take the bait. “Can’t say I keep count.”
Asmodeus smiled slowly, the kind of smile that promised both trouble and temptation. He reached up, not quite touching—just letting his clawed fingertips hover near the hunter’s jaw. The air between them seemed to vibrate, fragile and hot.
“Shame,” the demon whispered. “You wear hatred well, but it isn’t all you’re made of.”
The hunter’s breath hitched. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Asmodeus purred, leaning in until their foreheads almost touched. “Make you curious? Or make you feel?”
For a moment, neither moved. The chapel was silent but for the sound of their breathing and the faint creak of broken pews settling in the dark.
Then the hunter shoved him back—hard enough to make the demon stumble half a step, but not enough to break the smirk spreading across his face.
“Try that again,” the hunter warned, voice low, “and you’ll lose a hand.”
Asmodeus chuckled, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. “Oh, I doubt that. You’d hesitate. You want to know why?”
The hunter glared.
“Because some part of you,” Asmodeus said softly, “already wonders what would happen if you didn’t stop me.”
The hunter didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
The demon’s words sank deep, coiling through his mind like smoke. He hated that part of him—the reckless, traitorous part—that wondered the same thing.
Before he could think better of it, Asmodeus moved.
One smooth step and his hand was at the hunter’s throat—not choking, just there, holding him still. Their bodies were almost flush, heat meeting heat, the faint scrape of leather and metal between them.
“Go on then,” the demon murmured, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me you don’t feel it. Tell me you don’t want to know what it means when the line between hate and hunger gets so thin you can’t tell which one’s going to kill you first.”
The hunter’s pulse hammered against his palm.
He could smell the ash and spice clinging to the demon’s skin, could feel the faint tremor that betrayed the control in Asmodeus’s grip.
Then—
A sound split the air.
A sharp, echoing crack that rattled the chapel’s hollow bones. The stained glass window behind the altar shuddered, and something—someone—screamed from outside.
Both of them froze.
The demon’s head snapped toward the noise, wings flaring instinctively. The hunter used the moment to twist free, shoving him back and drawing his blade in a single fluid motion.
“Asmodeus,” he hissed, stepping between the demon and the door. “What the hell was that?”
The demon’s golden eyes burned, focused on the entryway. “Not me,” he said tightly. “It’s here.”
A chill swept through the ruined chapel as the light dimmed, shadows bleeding up the walls like ink. The air felt wrong—too heavy, too still.
For once, Asmodeus didn’t look amused.
He met the hunter’s eyes, the playfulness gone. “You wanted the truth, little hunter? You’re about to see it.”
The air grew colder—unnaturally so. Frost began to creep along the edges of the cracked altar, spreading across the stone like veins of ice.
The hunter’s breath fogged in front of him. “That… doesn’t look like your handiwork.”
Asmodeus’s eyes flicked toward the far end of the chapel, pupils narrowing to slits. “No. This… is older.”
A deep, guttural sound rumbled through the air. The candle flames that still flickered in broken sconces warped and hissed out one by one, swallowed by a darkness that didn’t belong.
Then—something moved.
It crawled out from the shadow itself.
A mass of writhing limbs, too many to count, slick and black like oil. The shape was human for only a second before it distorted—stretching, breaking, reforming into something that made the eyes ache to look at it.
The hunter took an instinctive step back, blade raised. “What the hell is that?”
Asmodeus’s wings flared wide, the light from his eyes the only thing keeping the dark at bay. “A Remnant,” he said quietly. “Born from what’s left when a soul is devoured but refuses to die. They weren’t supposed to exist anymore.”
The creature let out a shriek—raw, high, and furious. The sound rattled the stained glass and sent dust raining from the ceiling.
The hunter’s instincts kicked in. “Then it’s your problem.”
“No,” Asmodeus snapped, stepping forward. “It’s ours. You think it cares what side you’re on? It eats everything—demon, human, hunter, angel. It doesn’t stop until the world forgets it ever existed.”
The Remnant lunged.
The hunter barely rolled aside, shards of marble exploding where he’d stood. His knife flashed silver as he slashed at one of the reaching limbs, severing it cleanly—but the wound smoked, then closed.
“Your turn, demon!” he barked.
Asmodeus grinned, but there was no mockery in it this time—only heat, and something far more dangerous. “Gladly.”
He thrust out a hand, and hellfire erupted from his palm, washing the Remnant in crimson flame. The creature shrieked again, its form blistering and twisting, but not burning away completely.
“Keep it still!” Asmodeus shouted. “That blade of yours—it’s warded. You strike the heart when I open it!”
The hunter didn’t hesitate. He darted in through the smoke and heat, dodging a wild lash of limbs as Asmodeus’s fire carved open the creature’s chest, revealing a mass of pulsing darkness within.
The hunter’s knife plunged deep—
Light flared.
And the Remnant’s scream tore through the air before dissolving into a shower of ash and embers.
Silence.
Only the crackle of dying flame and the sound of their breathing filled the ruined chapel.
Asmodeus stood amidst the wreckage, his wings half-spread, eyes still glowing faintly gold. The heat between them returned—but it wasn’t the same. Now, it was sharpened by the realization that, for a moment, they had fought like one.
The hunter wiped the blade clean on his sleeve. “So that’s what you called me here for.”
Asmodeus’s smirk returned, faint but real. “I told you, little hunter… I don’t make house calls for fun.”
He stepped closer again, voice dipping low. “Though… some company is better than others.”
The hunter sheathed his knife, exhaling slowly. “Next time, demon, send a message.”
“Oh, I did,” Asmodeus said, grin widening just a little. “You just never answered.”
The last of the ash settled, turning the chapel’s cracked tiles dull gray. The hunter sheathed his blade, every muscle still wired tight.
“Tell me that was the only one,” he said.
Asmodeus’s expression darkened. “You don’t want the truth.”
“Try me.”
The demon turned toward the ruined window. Beyond it, the city lights flickered like dying candles. “That was a newborn,” he said. “Freshly formed. And if there’s one…”
“…there are more,” the hunter finished grimly.
Asmodeus nodded once. “Remnants spread like infection. Each one leaves a scar in the Veil. If enough appear, the boundary between Hell and your pretty little world will tear open.”
The hunter frowned. “And you expect me to believe you care about that?”
“I care about survival,” the demon replied. “If the Veil falls, there won’t be a Hell left for me to crawl back to. So, yes—our interests happen to align.”
He stepped closer, folding his wings behind him. “You can try to kill me again after we’re done.”
The hunter’s jaw worked, eyes narrowing. “And if I refuse?”
Asmodeus smiled, all teeth. “Then the next Remnant will devour you before you reach the door.”
Silence stretched between them. Finally, the hunter sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. We do this my way. No tricks, no deals, no feeding on innocents.”
“Darling,” Asmodeus said, hand pressed to his chest in mock sincerity, “you wound me. I’m practically angelic when properly motivated.”
The hunter gave him a flat look. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” the demon purred, “you’re still standing here.”
He walked toward the chapel doors, boots echoing in the empty hall. “There’s a trail we can follow. The Remnants feed on grief and memory—graveyards, ruins, anywhere soaked in death. If we move fast, we might contain the outbreak before it spreads.”
The hunter followed, shoulders tense but blade still sheathed. “You talk like you’ve done this before.”
Asmodeus glanced over his shoulder, golden eyes glinting. “I have. Last time, it didn’t end well.”
The hunter stopped. “For who?”
The demon’s grin was razor-thin. “Everyone.”
The road out of the chapel wound through the dead outskirts of the city, the streets cracked and empty beneath a bruised sky. Somewhere far off, a church bell tolled once and fell silent.
The hunter walked a few paces ahead, shoulders squared, knife now strapped to his thigh. Behind him, Asmodeus’s boots clicked lazily against the pavement, every sound an irritation and a reminder that the alliance was real.
“Do you ever shut up?” the hunter muttered without looking back.
“I haven’t said a word in ten minutes,” the demon replied, voice soft, amused. “You’re hearing me in your head. That’s guilt, little hunter.”
“Keep calling me that and I’ll find a way to make you bleed.”
“Mmm. Promises.”
He shot Asmodeus a glare over his shoulder. “Start talking instead. What are these things really? You said they weren’t supposed to exist.”
Asmodeus’s expression changed—less smirk, more shadow. “Remnants are what happens when death refuses to finish its work. Every war, every massacre leaves scraps of souls behind. They twist, hungry for what they lost. Someone—or something—is feeding that hunger again.”
“Someone.”
“Yes. A collector.” His gaze slid skyward. “A being who gathers lost fragments and stitches them together, hoping to make something… whole.”
The hunter frowned. “You know who it is.”
“I have guesses.” A pause. “And debts.”
They walked on in silence for a while. The city lights grew sparse, replaced by the long skeletons of factories and empty houses.
Finally the hunter asked, “Why tell me any of this? You could’ve handled it alone.”
Asmodeus laughed quietly. “Because, darling, it isn’t just hellspawn rising. Hunters will die chasing shadows if they don’t know what they’re hunting.”
“And you?”
“I don’t enjoy watching things I own burn.”
The hunter stopped, turning to face him. “I’m not one of your things.”
Golden eyes gleamed in the half-light. “Not yet.”
Before the hunter could reply, the wind shifted. A faint metallic tang slid through the air—blood and decay.
Asmodeus tilted his head, inhaling. “There. Do you feel it?”
The hunter did. A wrongness, heavy and cold, like a heartbeat buried beneath the earth.
“That’s our next nest,” Asmodeus said, wings unfurling slightly. “Old industrial quarter. The dead never left.”
The hunter drew his knife, silver flashing. “Then let’s finish this before night’s over.”
Asmodeus smiled, stepping into stride beside him. “Careful what you wish for, hunter. The night’s barely begun.”
The ruins of the old industrial quarter loomed ahead like the bones of a fallen giant.
Steel skeletons of half-collapsed warehouses cut into the fog, their broken windows glowing faintly with the reflection of distant fire.
Seojin crouched behind a rusted car, eyes scanning the shadows. He drew the knife from his thigh, but this time it wasn’t the only weapon he carried. A pair of short pistols hung from his belt, both etched with faint runes that caught the dim light, and a collapsible crossbow was strapped across his back.
Asmodeus stood a few feet behind him, unnaturally still. “You came prepared,” he murmured.
“I came to finish what you started,” Seojin shot back, loading the crossbow. The click echoed softly in the night.
“Careful,” the demon said with a small grin, “that sounds almost like teamwork.”
Seojin ignored him, sweeping his gaze across the silent factory yard. The air was thick with the scent of rust and oil—beneath it, the faintest note of rot. “You said they feed on grief. Then this place is a feast.”
Asmodeus’s wings flicked once, catching the moonlight. “Exactly why we’re here.”
A shiver of movement rippled through the fog—low, fast, skittering.
Then another.
And another.
“They’re multiplying,” Asmodeus muttered.
Seojin didn’t hesitate. He raised the crossbow, loosed a bolt into the mist. A shriek split the air, followed by the wet sound of something collapsing.
“Confirmed,” Seojin said. He reloaded.
The ground trembled. Out of the factory doors came three shapes, moving wrong, their limbs bending backward like insects. Shadows leaked from their mouths and eyes.
“Remnants,” Asmodeus growled. “Lesser ones. They scout for the greater.”
“Guess we start small, then.”
Seojin fired again—this time both pistols, silver-charged rounds bursting through the first creature’s skull. It staggered but didn’t fall until Asmodeus hurled a bolt of flame that consumed it in a whirl of heat.
Another came from the side, fast. Seojin spun, the knife flashing. He caught its throat in a clean arc, then drove his boot into its chest, sending it reeling into a collapsed support beam.
“You’re enjoying this,” Asmodeus said, half-smirking as he tore the third apart with a sweep of burning wings.
“I enjoy staying alive.” Seojin holstered one pistol and pulled a thin chain from his coat—silver links tipped with charms that glowed faintly. He swung it in a tight arc, catching a Remnant by the neck as it lunged from the shadows. The thing shrieked, the chain flaring white before it burst into ash.
When the last of them fell, silence returned—broken only by Seojin’s steady breathing. He wiped the blood from his cheek and looked around the ruin.
“That wasn’t the main nest,” he said.
Asmodeus shook his head slowly, eyes burning gold. “No. Those were strays. The heart’s still out there… something calling them.”
Seojin slid the crossbow onto his back. “Then we find it. Before it finds us.”
The demon smiled faintly, stepping closer until his shadow brushed Seojin’s boots. “Now you’re starting to sound like me.”
Seojin met his gaze, unflinching. “That’s not a compliment.”
Asmodeus’s grin only widened. “Oh, but it could be.”
The wind shifted again, carrying the faint echo of a scream from deeper within the factory maze.
Both of them turned toward the sound.
Seojin drew one pistol, Asmodeus’s wings unfurled, and together they moved into the dark.
The corridor narrowed as they advanced, metal walls warped and claw-scored. The lights overhead flickered weakly—some dying in a sputter, others glowing with a sickly purple haze as if corrupted from within.
A thin trail of soot-black footprints led ahead of them, twitching faintly as if still alive.
Seojin crouched beside one, brushing a gloved finger over the residue. It pulsed once beneath his touch.
“Fresh,” he murmured.
“Hungry,” Asmodeus corrected, wings folding as he lowered his voice. “Whatever made these… it’s aware of us now.”
Seojin rose, jaw tightening. “Good. Saves us the trouble of knocking.”
A metallic groan rolled through the hall—like the building itself was inhaling. The fog thickened, curling around their ankles in lazy spirals.
Then the scream came again.
This time closer.
This time human.
Seojin moved first, boots pounding over rusted grates as he sprinted toward the sound. Asmodeus followed effortlessly, gliding above the ground, heat trailing from his wings like fallen embers.
They rounded a turn—and stopped.
A man hung suspended in the center of the chamber, threads of shadow wrapped around his limbs like puppet strings. His eyes were wide, unblinking, the whites swallowed by creeping black veins.
Beneath him, something stirred.
A mass of shifting darkness coiled against the floor, neither solid nor smoke—something in between. Each pulse of its body birthed another Remnant, small and malformed, peeling themselves out of the creature like shed skin.
Seojin’s hand tightened on his pistol. “Found the nest.”
“No…” Asmodeus whispered, stepping forward. “We found the conductor.”
The mass lifted its head—if it could be called a head—revealing a face stretched too thin, too long, as though someone had pulled a corpse into a smile. Its voice gurgled, layered with dozens of mismatched tones.
“Fouuund… you…”
Seojin exhaled slowly. “Yeah. We got that.”
The creature lunged.
Asmodeus moved in a flare of fire, wings igniting the shadows as he struck. Seojin ducked under the arc of the creature’s limb, firing twice into the tangle of faces embedded in its torso.
The gunshots echoed uselessly.
The thing didn’t bleed.
It was absorbed.
“Not working!” Seojin snapped, loading a charm-tipped round.
“It won’t,” Asmodeus growled, grappling the creature back with a burst of searing heat. “It feeds on fear. Pain. Echoes. You cannot kill what is made from suffering alone.”
“Good thing I came prepared.”
Seojin flicked something small into his hand—a charm disk etched with runes that pulsed softly. He slapped it against the ground. It burst in a shockwave of blue-white light, flooding the chamber.
The mass recoiled with a hiss, shadows peeling off the walls like burning paper.
Asmodeus’s gaze snapped to Seojin. “A ward of severance? You stole that from my vault.”
“I borrowed it,” Seojin corrected.
“You didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t think you’d say yes.”
The creature shrieked, interrupted by their bickering.
Seojin raised his weapon again. “Less arguing, more killing!”
Asmodeus’s smile curved sharp as a blade. “With pleasure.”
They surged together—one flame, one steel—into the heart of the nightmare.
The creature shrank from the ward’s glow, its mass rippling like boiling tar. Faces along its surface twisted, mouths opening in silent, agonized screams as pieces of it were peeled away by the light.
Still, it lunged.
A pillar of shadow burst upward, aiming to spear through Seojin’s chest.
Asmodeus intercepted mid-flight, wings snapping forward as he slammed his shoulder against the attacking limb. Heat exploded outward. The pillar cracked, splintered, then disintegrated into embers.
Seojin didn’t waste the opening. He fired a silver charm-round directly into the writhing core. The shot detonated inside the creature, sending its upper half convulsing.
“Enough—” the layered voice choked, “—ENOUGH—”
Dark tendrils whipped out in every direction.
One caught Seojin’s wrist, cold and burning at the same time. He gritted his teeth as it tightened, worming under the skin like living wire. His arm buckled.
Asmodeus landed beside him instantly, fury flaring red-hot across his features. “Don’t touch him.”
His hand ignited as he seized the tendril and ripped it free. The creature wailed, folding in on itself.
Seojin exhaled, shaking his stinging hand. “You know, you could say that a little less dramatically.”
“No,” Asmodeus said flatly.
Before Seojin could retort, the creature expanded—mass ballooning outward, shadows thickening until the entire chamber darkened. The suspended man above them convulsed once, twice, then went limp, the strings tightening around his limbs.
“It’s using him,” Seojin said, voice low, eyes narrowing. “He’s the anchor.”
“And if we sever the anchor,” Asmodeus muttered, “the conductor dies with it.”
The creature surged, slamming down like a tidal wave of shadow.
Seojin dove sideways, Asmodeus launching upward with a burst of flame. Metal shrieked as the floor buckled under the creature’s weight.
“Get to the host!” Asmodeus shouted from above.
“I’m working on it!”
Seojin sprinted through the chaos, dodging lashing tendrils and chunks of debris. The creature seemed to sense his aim—every shadow bent toward him, every limb clawing at the air to grab hold.
Asmodeus crashed down between Seojin and the mass, carving a blazing path of fire through the darkness.
“Go!” he snarled, wings flaring wide.
Seojin didn’t question it. He vaulted over a twisted railing, grabbed onto a hanging chain, and swung himself upward toward the unconscious man.
The shadows holding the host writhed, tightening protectively.
Seojin pulled a dagger from his belt—the silver one, etched with purification runes—and drove it into the binding at the man’s wrist.
The shadow split like torn skin.
The man gasped, a thin, wheezing sound.
Below, the creature shrieked—a sound so furious it rattled the metal beams.
Asmodeus looked up sharply. “It’s weakening! Cut him loose!”
Seojin reached for the next binding—and that’s when a tendril the size of a tree trunk lashed upward, aiming straight for him.
Asmodeus’s wings snapped wide.
“Seojin—!”
But the impact came before the warning finished, slamming into the catwalk with enough force to tear it free.
The whole platform dropped.
Seojin fell with it—toward the writhing mass of shadow below.
And Asmodeus dove after him, fire blazing so bright the darkness recoiled in fear.
The catwalk crashed downward in a storm of metal and sparks.
Seojin twisted mid-air, grabbing for anything to slow the fall, but the shadows surged upward like a black tide ready to swallow him whole.
A blast of heat tore through the chamber.
Asmodeus hit the air like a meteor, wings fanning wide as he swept beneath Seojin. Fire exploded around them in a circular bloom—just enough force to shove the shadows back and slow the descent.
Seojin landed hard against Asmodeus’s chest, the demon catching him with a grunt as they slammed together onto a fractured beam.
Asmodeus hissed in pain, but his arm locked around Seojin’s waist. “You’re heavier than you look.”
“Maybe you’re weaker than you pretend,” Seojin shot back, breathless.
Despite the chaos, Asmodeus smiled—sharp, delighted, teeth glinting in the firelight. “Keep talking. I dare you.”
Before Seojin could reply, the creature howled.
The entire chamber trembled as the conductor reared up—its mass doubling, tripling, fed by the host’s weakening pulse. Shadows whipped wildly, melting together into a towering form with dozens of limbs, dozens of mouths, all screaming in discordant rage.
Above them, the half-freed human writhed, his veins glowing black like ink spreading through glass.
Seojin pushed off Asmodeus, landing lightly on a lower girder. “The bindings—they’re pulling from his life force. If he dies, this whole thing goes berserk.”
“And tears the veil wide open,” Asmodeus finished grimly. “Then we’ll have an infestation.”
Seojin checked his pistol—one round left in the blessed magazine. Not enough to kill the creature, but enough to create an opening.
He looked up at the man dangling lifelessly. “I can finish severing the bindings. But you need to keep that thing off me.”
Asmodeus’s wings ignited in a violent flare. “I’ll do more than that.”
He launched himself upward—straight at the monstrous mass. Fire bled from his wings in ribbons, slicing through the air as he slammed into the conductor’s torso. The shadows recoiled, shrieking, limbs lashing wildly as Asmodeus carved through them with burning strength.
Seojin sprinted toward the suspended host, climbing jagged beams and broken machinery. Shadows snapped at his heels, claws scraping metal just inches behind him.
He jumped—grabbing hold of a hanging pipe—and swung himself up to the man again.
The human’s eyes fluttered open, pupils drowned in darkness, but some faint spark remained.
“Hold on,” Seojin murmured, drawing his dagger again. “I’m getting you out.”
The man choked, voice a ragged whisper. “It… hears you…”
“Yeah, well,” Seojin muttered, slicing through the binding at the man’s ankle, “it hears everything.”
Below, the creature roared and threw Asmodeus across the chamber. The demon slammed into a wall, fire scattering like embers.
He staggered, but rose immediately—eyes burning, wings flaring. “SEOJIN! HURRY!”
“Working on it!”
He severed another binding—halfway free now.
But the conductor wasn’t stupid.
A massive limb shot upward, aiming to crush the host—and Seojin with him.
Seojin raised his pistol, fired his last blessed round, and the bullet flared into a burst of white light, blowing the limb apart.
But the recoil nearly knocked him off the support beam. He caught himself at the last second, hanging by one hand over the roiling mass below.
The last binding pulsed with thick, tar-like shadow.
Asmodeus saw it. “SEVER IT!”
“I KNOW!”
Seojin dragged himself up, blade in hand, and raised it—
—but the conductor moved faster.
A tendril, long and whip-sharp, lashed toward Seojin’s back.
Asmodeus roared his name.
Seojin didn’t turn.
He threw the knife—silver flashing in the corrupted light—
and it struck cleanly, severing the final binding.
The human dropped free.
The shadows holding him unraveled with a screech.
And the conductor—
—went berserk.