Chapter 23: the devil's alley

The restroom was dead silent. Literally dead and silent.

Three bodies lay lifeless on the cold tiles — pale, almost shriveled, their faces frozen mid-terror, the two boys still clung to life, their breathing shallow, wheezing through cracked lips. Tears streamed down their faces, though barely — they had no fluid left to spare.

At the center of it all crouched Lucian. Head bowed. Still.

But not in his usual way. His skin was no longer pale. Color had returned to his face, his veins receded beneath the surface, and the hunger in his eyes dimmed — replaced by something else. Something heavy. Something human.

Regret. Guilt. Or even both.

Emotions bled through the porcelain of his skin, holding in centuries of pain compressed into a single moment. His hands hung stained and trembling, as he stared at the horror he had unleashed.

When he finally stood, the air itself seemed to recoil from him. He turned toward the mirror — or what was left of it — and froze. His reflection stared back in fragments of broken glass: eyes that weren’t his, a mouth that smirked though he did not. The shards distorted him, but what he saw was truer than any whole reflection could offer. Not a boy trying to be good in a world drowning in evil. Not a child clawing out of the crimson silk he’d been trapped in. But a demon. The devil — smiling back at him from behind the cracks.

Lucian’s breath hitched. He tore his gaze away.

He stepping out of the restroom after a while, shutting the door behind him. For a long moment he just stood there, his hand on the handle — then with a sharp twist, he broke it off clean, effortlessly. The metal crumpling in his palm like paper.

When he looked up, a CCTV camera blinked at him. He stared straight into it — a cold, defiant glare — before turning away. His face fell back into its mask: unreadable, calm, deadly.

He had to leave. Because the devil within him wasn’t gone. It had only submerged.

Waiting.

Hungry.

He strode towards the exit, the echoes of his steps chasing him through the nearly empty mall. A part of him wanting to see the girl, but of course she found him first. He didn’t see her until it was too late —she was storming toward him, Zara bags swinging from her hands, anger painted across her face.

“Oh boy,” she said, stopping right in front of him. “You really are gonna get it. Making me wait for two full hours. Unless you had a Kaiju shit in not listening to any excuses”

Lucian froze. He couldn’t look at her — not after what he’d done. The smell of blood still clung to him. The guilt in his chest pulsed like a wound, pulling him back to memories he thought he’d buried.

He barely heard her voice again. But she kept talking. All he could hear were muffled sounds. All he heard were the screams. The laughter. The mocking.

You’re just like him!

Just like your father!

Just like him!

The words cut deep, echoing inside his skull until his vision blurred. Rage stirred — clawing its way up his throat. His eyes widened, his breathing sharp and uneven.

“Lucian?”

Her voice snapped him back into reality. It cut through the noise like a knife through silk.

“Are you okay?” she asked again, softer this time.

This— Francesca. The girl he’d almost killed last night. The girl he’d tried to feed on before her family intervened. And yet — she was here. She kept clinging to him like an orchid's fragrance. Sweet and fragile.

Her presence soothed something inside him he didn’t want to name. Every word she spoke dimmed the voices, silenced the chaos — the way Silvana once did. Only this time, he’d compelled her. He’d made sure her intentions were true. But after what he’d just done, she couldn’t be here. Not near him.

He turned away, walking past her like she was nothing but air.

“Hey! Come back here!” she called, her steps quick behind him. They pushed through the mall’s doors and into the quiet, empty street.

“Lucian!”

His name broke from her lips — not a shout, but a plea that made him stop.

“Did I do something?” Her voice shook. He could hear the tears behind it. Even with his back turned, he could feel her pain, the sincerity bleeding through her words. It twisted the knife already lodged in his chest.

He blamed himself — for her, for the boys he'd just slaughtered. For everything.

His voice came out low, cold, almost fragile.

“You said your father would attack me tonight. I believe you.”

He paused.

“So I will stay away — for the night.”

A longer pause. Then, quieter — a whisper that cracked under its own weight:

“So stay away from me. Please”

He walked ahead before she could respond, fading into the dark like a ghost running from uncertainty.

\---

I was hurt.

Angry. Frustrated. Everything I felt, I couldn’t say with words.

After all I’d left behind—everything I’d staked to get to him, all the danger, all the troubles. And just like that, he walked calmly into the darkness of the night. The whole day had been going so well; I never would’ve guessed it would end like this.

What did I do wrong?

What did I say wrong?

Why does it hurt this much?

Why are there tears in my eyes?

I stood there in the empty street with two shopping bags in hand, looking like some pitiful, lost puppy.

I was furious, but I had no reason to be. What did I expect? After everything—the stalling, the pretending, the lies. I’d told myself I was only trying to protect him. It was what I told him too. But now what? Of course he would have left eventually with the stupid lie I thought I'd cooked up.

“I’m so stupid,” I whispered, as a cold wind brushed through my hair and the sky began to drizzle.

Fuck me.

Even the gods were shedding tears for me.

Or maybe this was their way of spiting me. Maybe this was them pissing on me.

I ran.

The rain came down harder as I sprinted toward an alley that looked strangely dry. When I stepped in—poof. Like my eyes had just opened from a dream. My clothes were dry. The ground beneath me wasn’t wet. The sky didn’t pour.

It never did.

“What the fuck is going on?” I whispered. My pulse thumped against my throat. There was no rain. Nothing was wet.

Had I finally gone mad? Because I swore I felt it. Every drop. Every chill.

Panic began to creep up my spine—until I heard it.

A cackle.

Familiar.

“You came,” a loud, raspy voice echoed from all around the alley. “It worked.”

I stumbled back, heart hammering, spinning to run—only for a short figure to appear right in front of me.

All I could see was its shape: short, hunched, shriveled. Wrapped in something that looked like a towel.

“You’re sooo pretty,” the voice croaked again.

My breath caught in my chest.

Fear should’ve pushed me to run, to scream, to do something...

... But instead, something about the voice felt… familiar.

Like I’d heard it not too long ago.

\---

Two hours earlier:

“Thanks for shopping with us,” the cashier said with a cheerful smile.

I smiled back, nodding quickly before turning toward the male restroom door. I thought I saw a few people go in, but I couldn’t be sure. My focus was split between that and the bags in my hands—the things I’d bought for Lucian.

My arm still stung. The wound hadn’t stopped bleeding, even though the black sleeve hid the stain perfectly. I hated the feeling of fabric sticking to blood.

“Hi.”

A guy suddenly popped up in front of me, smiling too widely.

Please don’t tell me it’s what I think it is.

“Take,” he said, offering me a tissue.

“Oh, thank you—but it’s fine. It’ll heal in no time” I replied, smiling politely.

“I insist. It could get infected.”

That grin never faltered. I hesitated, then finally accepted it, pressing the tissue against the wound until it stopped bleeding.

“The waste bin’s there,” he said, pointing toward a dim corner.

He looked… sketchy. But the mall was still crowded. What could possibly go wrong?

I dropped the bags by the cashier’s counter and walked toward the corner. The place wasn’t pitch-dark, but dim enough. The waste bin sat under the stairs beside a pile of dusty, unused equipment.

I threw the tissue in.

That’s when a cold hand gripped my wrist.

I gasped—ready to scream—

“Stop.”

The whisper was sharp. Commanding.

Golden eyes gleamed from the shadows. My body froze instantly, the scream catching in my throat and escaping only as a soft, trembling breath.

“Are you okay there?” a passing security guard called out.

“Yeeesss,” the voice whispered again. Not loud, but it rippled through me, like a current running beneath my skin. I could feel my body obeying without question. My lips curved into a smile that wasn’t mine.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

Fuck. Fucking fuck. What the hell is going on?

Inside, I was screaming—Help! Somebody help!—but my body betrayed me, relaxed and still, even as my mind begged to run.

“You’re... so... pretty,” the thing said, stepping out from the dark.

And what I saw— It wasn’t human.

Its voice rasped like wind through dry bones. Its skin was shriveled, grey, stretched thin over brittle muscle. Strands of damp hair clung to its shoulders, and its large, hollow eyes burned gold. It was like I was staring right at gollum from Lord of the rings. It smiled—a terrible, trembling smile—and reached out to touch my cheek.

“I could smell your blood from here,” it hissed. “I want to suck it.”

What the hell? What the fuck is going on? And why am I still here?

“No,” it suddenly muttered to itself, as if arguing with its own hunger. Its grip on my wrist tightened, trembling.

“This place is too open,” it rasped, nibbling at its own fingers—gnawing flesh instead of nails, though no blood came. “At exactly two hours from now, rain will start. You’ll find shelter in an alley.” It cackled, saliva spilling from its mouth. “And forget you saw me. Understood?”

“Yes,” I heard myself say, the word slipping from my mouth like a puppet’s string had been pulled.

And then—nothing.

I blinked, and it was gone.

The corner was empty.

“What the fuck just happened?” I whispered, dazed. “Did I zone out?”

I looked around, confused and shaking, unaware of what had just occurred—unaware of the nightmare I’d just walked out of.