The second Hound did not walk.
It arrived.
Delta felt it the instant the city fell away behind them — not as pursuit, but as reassignment. The way a board resets itself when a game changes strategy.
Nyx stopped mid-step.
"That wasn't a mortal," she said.
"No," Delta replied. "That was permission."
They stood now in an interstitial stretch of reality — not Hell, not a mortal world, but the thin connective tissue between domains where decisions finished propagating. Usually empty. Usually safe.
The space folded inward.
Light inverted.
And something stepped through.
It wore no wings, no halo, no sigil of Heaven.
Instead, it wore function.
A tall figure clad in pale armor that looked less forged than agreed upon. Its surface shifted subtly, rewriting itself moment by moment to remain optimal. Where its face should have been, there was something almost human — eyes, expression, intent.
But nothing behind them.
Nyx's shadows flared instantly. "That thing is looking through me."
"Yes," Delta said quietly. "Because it isn't looking at you."
The Hound tilted its head.
"Delta," it said.
The voice was wrong — not threatening, not calm. Final. The tone of something that did not believe conversation changed outcomes.
"You have exceeded acceptable deviation," the Hound continued.
"Restraint has become interference.
Interference has become destabilization."
Delta met its gaze evenly.
"You skipped a step," he said. "Observation."
The Hound did not blink.
"Observation is complete."
The chains on Delta's arms tightened sharply this time — pain flaring bright and immediate.
Nyx snarled and stepped between them without hesitation. "Back off."
The Hound's head turned toward her.
Assessment occurred.
Nyx felt it — a pull, subtle but absolute, like gravity deciding which way was down.
"You are an enabling factor," the Hound said.
"Removal probability: acceptable."
Delta moved.
Not fast.
Certain.
He placed one hand on Nyx's shoulder.
"No," he said quietly.
The word carried weight — not power, but authority.
The pull snapped.
The Hound tilted its head again.
"Protective attachment detected," it said.
"Escalation likelihood increased."
Nyx glanced back at Delta. "It's targeting me on purpose."
"Yes," Delta said. "Because it thinks I'll break."
The Hound took one step forward.
Reality compressed.
Not collapsing — concentrating.
The Ninth Depth stirred faintly in the distance, not intervening, but watching.
"This engagement is unnecessary," Delta said.
"Outcome certainty is sufficient," the Hound replied.
Nyx laughed darkly. "Gods, I hate beings that talk like reports."
The Hound raised one hand.
No beam.
No weapon.
Just redefinition.
Nyx felt herself begin to blur at the edges — her shadow losing cohesion, her presence flattening as if being converted into acceptable parameters.
"Delta!" she snapped, strain audible now.
The chains screamed.
The mask flared hot.
This was the line.
Heaven had found his threshold.
Delta stepped forward once more.
"I warned you," he said — not angrily, not loudly. "You mistook restraint for reluctance."
The Hound paused.
Not in hesitation.
In recalculation.
Delta did not don the mask.
He did not unleash god-killing force.
He reached instead — not outward, but sideways.
And grabbed the function itself.
The Hound froze.
Reality shuddered as Delta's hand closed around something that should not have been tangible: the rule governing the Hound's authority.
"You don't answer to Heaven," Delta said softly.
The Hound's voice faltered — just slightly. "Clarify."
"You answer to coherence," Delta continued. "And coherence assumes authority must escalate."
He squeezed.
The armor cracked — not physically, but conceptually. Definitions failed to resolve.
Nyx collapsed to one knee, gasping as her form snapped back into depth and shadow.
The Hound staggered.
"That assumption," Delta said evenly, "is optional."
He twisted.
The Hound did not explode.
Did not die.
It de-prioritized itself.
Armor dulled. Posture slackened. Systems spun down as if suddenly uncertain they were needed.
Nyx stared. "You just… pacified it."
"No," Delta replied. "I disconnected it from urgency."
The Hound looked at its own hands, confused.
"Mission status?" it asked — but the question had no recipient.
High above, Heaven's attention spiked — sharp, alarmed.
For the first time since the Hunt began, uncertainty flowed upward instead of downward.
Delta stepped past the Hound.
"If you want to stop me," he said calmly, "you'll have to decide what you're willing to break."
The Hound did not pursue.
It could not.
As Delta and Nyx moved on, the interstitial space began to heal — not seamlessly, but imperfectly.
That imperfection mattered.
Nyx caught up to him, breathing hard. "You just crossed something."
"Yes," Delta said.
"Next time they won't send a tester."
"No," he agreed. "They'll send a conclusion."
He glanced upward.
"And that," he murmured, "means Chapter Eight won't end quietly."