Lorelai spun.
A cold snap licked her tail.
The Voidium—once turbulent, writhing—stilled. A suffocating quiet settled over the lower chamber.
Pipes, steam and copper ran through the walls, the unadorned, raw flakes mimicking the warship's original paint. But when she flicked her gaze, the shadows slithered forward—hands stretching, fingers curling, teeth gnashing.
Closer.
Closer.
Until—
"Did you hear that?" said Cass.
Lore regarded the woman. The twins were like coiled snakes, glaring down the maintenance shaft. The sight made her shiver—the contrasting cool chill scratched her warm skin. What was worse? The idea that the voices and whispers weren't limited to her or that she might have preferred the illusions. If she was crazy, she shouldn't be afraid; she could ignore it. But if they were real…
"Ahhhhh!" screamed Cassian.
Lore did a double take, and her mind refused to register the thing in front of her. The fog thickened, congealing into something solid.
Fur.
Dark, bristling—millions of needle-sharp strands, shifting, writhing.
A body pulled itself from the mist
It was a Pathix.
Or at least—
What should have been a Pathix.
The feline's body twisted, its limbs warped, thick with furred armour. Eyes hollow. White. Hungry.
Lore's tail coiled to a point, "No… it couldn't be; they had lost one war to them already."
And momentarily, the room dimmed, clean walls splattered in scarlet, and the Daemon's face distorted. Her vision swam; no, it cleared. Teeth—thousands of teeth stretched like a saw. The creature's hot, rotting breath blasted her skin, each twitch of its massive jaws echoing through the mechanical hallway—The sound of many more roaring around them.
"Lorelai!" screamed Cass.
The claws lashed out—jagged, needle-thin knives.
Lore lunged sideways, instinct taking over.
Too slow.
Steel shrieked as the Daemon's strike gouged through metal—a killing blow meant for her throat.
Pipes burst, crying vapour.
Her skin stung, the metallic smell clogging her breath as she dragged her back against steel, her heart thumping so hard she could mistake it for an engine.
Then her tail hit something hard, solid—cold. Not steel, not a wall. Turning, her breath froze in her throat. His whined breath pressed stitches into her, his lack of heartbeat stabbing her core.
"Marshal?" Lore said.
The monarch's face lay idle, his limb arms like sacks of lead, filled with steel. Her boiling touch was ready to melt his skin, her thunderous core beating enough for the two of them. He couldn't be, he mustn't be…
However, not done with its prey, the monster switched target
"Get back", cried Cass.
The she-snake had somehow stolen a scrap of copper, the lump of metal like a soft bat, each strike bending as the copper softened. The failed attempts only made the creature grin—Cass would get herself killed at that rate.
So, gritting her fangs, Lore reclaimed Marshal's spear and sprinted.
She had lost too much to these things.
Her home.
Her life.
Her father.
Rage tore through her like wildfire. Her lungs burned, fingers twitching, spear trembling—ready to tear, to kill, to rip it apart.
However, power fantasy aside, she was no Arch-Demon—
Toes hammered vent. Steam burned each step as Lore roared. She'd guess she had to settle with bone and muscle instead.
"Move!" she screamed, her war cry loud enough to call a god.
Cass ducked, her scaly body slipping out of the way. The false Pathix turned, her drooling lips a filth that should have been killed long ago. Spear met flesh, and a fountain of white blood-like pus spluttered out, the black fur a cavus as Lore pushed harder.
Backing her up and out of breath, Cass stabbed her pipe into the creature—the howl, chipped eardrums, the dizzy feeling taking over as both she and Cass held on.
Lore shot a look at Cassian, "help us!" she ordered. "Quickly"
But stuttering, her shaking fingers unable to move a muscle, the woman hesitated. Her dress darkened with piss, her voice cracking.
"Dae-mon…" the woman whispered, her head shaking, her eyes attempting to blink sight away.
But not waiting any longer, The Daemon flailed, unlodging Cass like a wet rag. Freed of the dead weight, it tore the spear out and pounced in a blink; it snatched her hair. Tight. Unyielding. The Daemon grabbed all of it; not one, two, or even a chunk—every fucking strand. And before it could skin her scalp, Lore sliced. Like a piston, the creature's momentary yank tore any failed cuts.
"Ahhh!" Lore cried.
She could taste the fountain of tears but watched the rest of her violet hair safely explode before her. An air flush iced up her neck, and the cool air nibbled her ears—a spine-tingling haircut.
Lore burst out a breath, her body refusing to keep up; even with the added strength, she was not like she used to be. She couldn't fight; her training had gotten rusty. She pressed her core, the glass spluttering to start. Why was she cursed without powers? She was a noble, the daughter of a general—a king.
"Princess?" a voice whispered, his voice.
Lore spun but got a punch to the jaw, the crack blending her brain against her skull as she flew yards, flipping, skipping and crashing into machinery.
"Princess, Princess," it called, each like some concerned parent, each a lie, for she knew the truth.
The ache of metallic splinters brushed her body, her contorted arms way beyond what could be deemed usual.
And again, warmth pressed her, and a hand pushed her to get up. "Princ—"
"Shut up." Lore coughed.
Then, like a towering mother, she once knew, the creature loomed, her fur armour throbbing with a white ooze that drank the room's shadows, pulsing with Solelite energy. Her fur was no longer armour; it was alive, writhing as if shadows had embedded within her flesh, ready to consume.
And in a snap, the creature twisted her body, the wounds melting away, the blood reversing back inside its body.
"Shit, it can heal," Lore grunted.
She had forgotten that. No doubt, it was the reason they lost the war and why the city of hell was impossible to claim. And that wasn't including how many of them there were. The echos of similar Monstrosities clattered close—time on a razor's edge. Her life on the cliff's drop.
Lore darted sideways, rolling on her dislocated arm, barely registering the grinding pain as she slammed it back into place—blood drooled from her wounds, her body an unrecognisable mass of gashes and bruises. Every inhale rattled like broken glass in her flooded throat; however, like an automotive gear chugging without end, she kept moving, refusing to stop. Her gritted fangs begged her to halt, every step burning as her muscles tore apart.
She might have missed enlistment, but she wouldn't stop; she knew what demon knights did—Erase the mistake demons created.
The spark of white exploded as the creature moved in the fog-like mist. Again, again and again. Each time it appeared, the air crackled, charged with a burst of white energy that danced along Lore's skin like soul-sucking needles—each time, closer, closer and more accurate.
Her sight trailed Marshal's body, remembering what he said. The core, or the eye. All the way through. Lore gripped her spear and stopped. Had he known this was going to happen? What else was the monarch hiding?
"What are you doing?" Cass cried.
The woman peeled herself off a crusty wall, her vibrant dress coated in white and crimson blood. But holding her ground, standing up, her body crying against the action, Lore turned towards the creature.
If a Daemon is like an Archdemon, then— Lore flicked her spear and thrust. She could not pierce its ribcage but could get the other place. As the creature tore through Voidium, her spear blasted forward, and for an instant, the air crackled around her. Her core, her breath molten.
Rage, blinding, intoxicating rage, filled her, and she punctured into its skull.
"Princess, Princess!" it screamed, the curl of whispers fingering her skin.
The words sparked Lore's fingers, "Shut up!" she screamed. "Shut your fangs!"
Lore's slash splattered white. Spear, stabbed eye. Blade, peeling skull. She kicked the howling bitch, the new leak spilling out on Lore's body. Her ankles swam in it, her arms singing in it. Again. Again. Again. She refused to stop; her sight blurred and bloomed, but it didn't stop her. Nothing would stop her.
"DIE!" she shouted, commanded, screamed to the pits of hell itself. "Die, Die, Die."
Flesh bone, fucking steel, nothing will remain. Absolutely—
In a choke, her body stopped; the shadow, hands and bodies tugged her. Each feeling like a darkness returning home. But this time, without a whisper, it felt like it was telling her something, warning her…
"Cassian, Cassian, Cassian!"
Lore turned to see Cass franticly wave at her sister, the scally woman frozen stiff, a puddle at her heels, a shake in her fangs.
"Cassian, are you alright?" Cass said, her hands erratically warming the frozen woman.
Turning back beyond the fog, Lore's gaze caught on the stark glow of white leaking out. Bright veins of Solelite pulsed around it, a hungry force feeding off the darkness, weaving into the furry woman's skin as if it were part of her flesh. The glint of Voidium staining her body.
"Princess", the body whispered.
Lore bared her fangs.
The spear ripped through its throat—
Steel shredded flesh.
Tore through muscle.
Gouged through bone.
The Daemon gurgled, choked—
Lore kept cutting.
Deeper.
Harder.
Until the blade hit steel, her hands slick with blood, the head tumbling free.
Dead.
Gone.
"Stay dead." She whispered.
Then, hearing a familiar groan, she halted. A sound that both warmed and frosted her. Did she imagine it? Like a magnet, two ends refusing to connect, she looked back to Marshal. She half expected him to be standing and be perfectly fine. She had imagined so many lies, and that couldn't be true, right? He was an archdemon, a demon knight who must have fought in that war. He wouldn't…
But staring at his lifeless body. She hitched. Why? She clenched her tail; that couldn't be it right, he couldn't be…
She stood over him, dripping in Daemon blood.
Her arms, her face—her very soul—soaked in it.
Her fingers trembled.
She reached out. Slow. Hesitant.
Expecting an illusion. Expecting nothing.
But—
Her fingers met ice.
Not the fog.
Not a trick.
Not a dream.
He was cold
Her touch melted against him, the sting of frost more potent than her broken body.
And like a mocking hell that wished for suffering, a screech reverberated down the hall, the pipes rattling like her tail. The idea of what they had to do, the action that made the most sense, filled her.
"Lore, hurry, we need to go." Said Cass, "The cargo bay's close! Amara's ship should be waiting."
But Lore didn't move; her eyes stared at Marshal, the fixation lasting forever, the sound of growing footsteps and a wave of something she didn't want to know engulfed her hearing. She had to be logical; she had to see the reality of the situation. But biting her lip, she tightened her grip.
"Help me," Lore said. She turned to Cass, then Cassian, "Help."
Cassian jolted, the woman hesitant to look Lore in the eye, the smell of her shame waffling the air. Her lips moving—no words coming out.
Her sister opened her fangs to argue, but—
"We are going to need a Dragon slayer," Lore interrupted, "We need him."
Both twins glanced at Lore and the puddle of flesh she had butchered. She was grabbing at straws now; she knew that much, at least. But… She can't— She wouldn't—
"Lore." Said Cass, her tone cold. Too cold.
Ignoring her, Lore dragged Marshal's arm over her shoulder; initially, she thought he was made of bricks. But something flicked in her mind, her fingers testing for a second. There was a type of demon that might explain it; her fingers gazed at his back, and she found it. A slot and place for fuel canisters—That confirmed it.
The glass shook, the time the seconds building one after another, the Daemons march approaching.
"Hurry up," Lore said.
She clenched her teeth.
He was too heavy.
Her legs buckled, her body trembling—
But she refused to let go.
Not now.
Not after everything.
She adjusted her grip, breath cracking.
Move. Move. Move.
"You're insane, Lore." said Cass; the woman shot over and grabbed Marshal's other arm, "hurry up, Cassian, he weighs a ton. We need to do it together."
Then, giving Lore a look, Cass hissed, "You better explain it later. Got it."
The action startled Lore for a second; never had the woman been so openly hostile, but hearing the roars of lips, the racing claws and bursting pipes—the horde was almost upon them, and she had better things to worry about.
And together, gritting their fangs, the three women huffed to lift the Monarch. Lore got one last look at Marshal, flicking for a moment, the mirror of his black eyes shining back—Inquisitor's eyes.