The banquet hall was in shambles, devastated by numerous fights. It had borne witness to savage and cold-blooded battles, and nothing had been spared. No matter where one laid their eyes, be it on the walls, the floor, or the ceiling, a scar could be seen.
None of the previous splendor of the banquet hall remained, for claw marks ripped the wallpaper, leaving strips to hang by a thread, and the furniture, be it the long tables or the chairs, had been flipped over, thrown haphazardly throughout the room. Shards of broken vases, glasses, and other miscellaneous trinkets littered the floor, whereas the decorative rugs were now nothing more than a mess of folds and shredded fabric pushed into a corner.
A storm seemed to have brewed inside the banquet hall, tearing apart everything. But this impression was quickly shattered by the mountain of rotten corpses piled in the middle of the room.
The stack of bodies was too neat to be the by-product of a storm. It felt too intentional.
The beings' heads were smashed into mush, their skulls split open, with bits of their brain matter smeared on whatever was left of their faces. Their bodies, mangled beyond recognition, were intermingled with each other to the point where it became impossible to tell which limb belonged to which body. Some corpses appeared fresher, while others appeared to be in an advanced state of decomposition.
A dripping sound could be heard as murky blood pooled underneath, seeping into the wooden floor.
The sight was gruesome, yet neither Bastien nor Jules seemed to mind. Instead, they were sitting on the floor a few meters away, with Jules seated between Bastien's legs, a book in hand.
The hunter's wings were cumbersome, but they didn't deter the incubus from snuggling against his prized food source, his arms passing above the wings to encircle the man's chest, and his face buried into the crook of his neck. His golden eyes were half-closed as he bit and licked the skin, leaving a trail of hickey on Jules's neck.
As if entertaining a dog, Jules barely reacted. In fact, he didn't seem to give the incubus any attention; his eyes focused on the book he was reading.
If anything, that kind of scene between the two had grown increasingly more common as days unwound in the haunted house. The more Bastien was getting cuddlier due to hunger, the less Jules seemed inclined to care. It had already been weeks since the door to the outside world closed on them, and the hunter had made peace with the demon's snuggling needs.
The passage of time was hard to keep track of, as there was no daylight to help them count the days, and neither of them needed to sleep. Time passed, and Jules had come to terms with the fact that they would be stuck in this place for a while.
It didn't matter.
The rational thing to do was to keep ransacking the place until the owner had no other choice but to show up. Or until his colleagues broke the array. Either way, it might take up to a few years.
Jules didn't mind; why would he? The small-fries were annoying, certainly, and while some beings in this hellhole did pose a threat to his life, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, not with Bastien by his side. It almost seemed like he was on vacation, compared to his daily life as a hunter. The nagging of his superiors already seemed to be a story of the past, and—
"Aren't you two too relaxed…?"
Balthazar's voice echoed, disturbing Jules's read. It earned him a glare.
"Hm?" Bastien smiled, his lips lingering on Jules's neck. "And can you tell me why we shouldn't be? I'm still on the lookout for any pests, but there's no need to stay on high alert. Except for straining our nerves, what would that do? I told you, our little protégés are gone, and we have no reason whatsoever to be stressed.
"In the worst-case scenario," Jules added, flipping a page as he went back to reading, uninterested in the conversation, "we'll die, and that's the end of it."
"...Wouldn't dying be pretty bad?"
"Every being dies at some point." Jules lifted his cold, piercing eyes from his book to meet Baltahzar's. "As long as my sister is fine, I don't care where I meet my end."
The vampire's mouth twitched.
"I don't think she'd share your thought."
"She probably wouldn't, indeed."
A chuckle resounded as Bastien gave Balthazar an amused gaze; the disgruntled face was quite to his taste. Now that Jules had forcefully fed him his blood, his life was bound to theirs. The addiction was already showing the vampire's behavior, rendering him more servile.
Of course, the moment his temper mellowed, Jules dragged him back to the doors, but they refused to open this time. In all likelihood, Balthazar's rights had been revoked.
Ignoring the vampire's constricted expression, the incubus left another kiss on the hunter's neck before humming, "Jules, your personality is being gnawed at a little too much. It's not the kind of thing you would usually say. Don't you remember how Iris scolded you last time?"
A frown creased his brow as Jules seemed to ponder over something. Then, he threw a side glance at the incubus, his lips moving slowly as he asked, "Already?"
"Yes, already."
"I see."
It was difficult to notice the change in his way of thinking, especially since it was gradual. His mind was slowly being eroded andbit by bit, he was losing himself. Every fight snatched a piece of what made him, and ultimately, nothing would be left but an empty shell.
As the person affected, Jules couldn't tell that he had already started to get colder and more detached from reality, as if looking at everything from a third point of view. To begin with, he had always been the rational type; his emotions were only stirred up when it concerned his loved ones, and Annabelle, the little sister he was overprotective of, wasn't around anymore. She couldn't remind him of what "being human" was like.
Still, Jules didn't doubt Bastien's words. That was the ironclad rule he had made for himself after the doors closed. Since he knew from the beginning that he wouldn't be able to tell if his mind had been eroded or not, all he could do was trust the incubus's words.
If he said his ability to feel emotions had cooled, it had.
"How about—"
"No."
"You're not even letting me finish!"
"Do I have to? It's clear what you want to say," Jules reported his attention to his book. "Sorry, but I'm still not unresponsive enough not to feel embarrassed. Unlike you, I'm not into exhibitionism. For now, kisses will suffice."
"No, they don't!" Bastien whined. "It's like applying a Band-Aid to a bone-deep laceration. It barely does anything!"
"It's enough for the time being."
"Jules!"
A glare, and Bastien sighed. Bantering with Jules wouldn't do him any good, so he went back to nibbling the hunter's neck, albeit sullenly.
Jules pretended not to notice and decided not to voice the concerns he had in mind. The exhibitionism part wasn't the only problem. They had to keep Balthazar in sight at all times, just in case, yes, but Jules wasn't that much troubled by it.
What nagged at his mind was the possibility of hurting the incubus. Even if his spiritual energy wasn't rampaging like before and he was relatively sound of mind, the pathway to get to it was now a lot easier to use. It had gradually widened, polished by the constant fights, giving the incubus direct access to the abundant pool of spiritual energy slumbering in him.
At the end of the day, Bastien was a starved incubus. He wouldn't stop eating until it became too much for his body to bear. Or at least, that was what Jules feared.
For now, it was better to feed him little by little until his hunger was satiated enough not to make the demon lose his mind from a more, let's say, nutritious meal. Only then would Jules allow a 'proper' feeding session. It was the second ironclad rule he had made to himself, and he wouldn't derogate from it, either.
No matter how much Bastien pleaded, the answer was always the same: no.
"—Is your book more interesting than me?" Bastien clicked his tongue, having decided to act childishly now.
"Well, yes."
"Ouch, that's harsh–"
A loud shriek reverberated throughout the banquet hall, cutting off the demon. Jules noted the childishness was gone in an instant as he turned his head toward the massive stairs, and Bastien did the same.
From where they sat, they could see everything happening on the stairs, which was composed of one main stairway that branched into two to reach the second floor, or whatever actual floor that was. Thanks to how intricate the array was, that could as well be the hundredth floor for all they knew.
Soon, their eyes caught the sight of a young woman rolling down the steps like a broken doll, stopping mid-way on the platform between the two stairways, atop the main one. She scrambled to drag herself away as she screamed in terror, "GET AWAY FROM ME! NO! DON'T COME NEAR ME!"
"A survivor…?"
"That's a first, after Felix."
Up to now, Felix had been the only other survivor they had met, and he had only managed to stay alive thanks to the twins taking him under their wings. On the other hand, they'd seen a mountain of dead people of all ages and genders, but none of them had been alive, and certainly not well enough to screech at a ghoul.
Admittedly, the woman wasn't without scratches.
"You, or—"
"You go," Jules decided, once again shifting back his attention to the book in his hands. Before, the appearance of a survivor might have made his heart beat faster. Now? It didn't even flinch, still steadily beating at the same regular, calm rhythm.