Chapter 2: The Demon's Bargain
The rain came down like knives as Kael ran—slick cobblestones blurring beneath his feet, lungs on fire, heart hammering in sync with the cursed blade strapped to his back.
"Faster, little thief." The sword's voice slithered through his skull, oily and cold. "They'll flay you for what you stole. And you deserve it."
It wasn't just a voice. It was in him—smoke in his lungs, thorns in his veins. The sigils on his arm pulsed, black and furious, like they were alive.
Beside him, Lira vaulted a broken wall with effortless grace. Rain soaked her silver hair, plastering it to her jaw, but her golden eyes burned sharp and clear. She didn't look scared. She looked pissed.
"You've got five minutes before that curse turns your brain to soup," she snapped. "After that, you're just a meat puppet with delusions of free will."
Kael gritted his teeth. "Then why are you still here?"
She shot him a grin like a blade. "Because I hate wasted potential. And you're dripping with it."
The Safe House (or Whatever's Left of It)
They ducked into a crumbling watchtower on the city's edge. The door barely held on its hinges, and the staircase had long since collapsed. Moss crept up the stone walls, and something skittered in the shadows. But it was shelter.
Kael collapsed in the corner, knuckles white around the sword's hilt. It didn't feel like steel. It felt like coiled rage—hot, breathing, hungry.
Lira crouched in front of him, her fingers tracing the glowing sigils on his forearm. Her touch was warm, but it hurt—not like the blade's burn. This pain was cleaner, like sunlight through a wound.
The whispers faltered.
For a heartbeat, the world went still.
Then the sword screamed.
"SHE DOESN'T KNOW YOU LIKE I DO," it howled. "SHE DOESN'T KNOW ABOUT LYSS."
Kael froze. A chill gripped his spine. How did it—?
Lira's jaw clenched. "It's bluffing. It feeds on fear. Don't listen."
The sword hissed, voice like shattered glass. "I can save her. One drop of blood for every day she lives. Just say yes."
Kael's vision swam. He saw Lyss—frail, coughing, eyes too bright in her too-pale face. Her laugh. Her hope. He'd do anything. Anything.
Lira slapped him.
The sting cracked through the fog. Her voice was steel. "Your sister needs you. Not a demon's mercy."
Kael trembled. The sword fell silent—but he could feel it smiling, patient and smug.
The Bargain
Lira pulled a frayed leather cord from her cloak. It looked worthless. It felt powerful.
"This'll buy you time," she said, wrapping it around the hilt and his wrist. Her voice dropped into an ancient language, each word like a shard of glass in his mouth.
The sigils dimmed. The pressure in his skull eased. The voice faded to a whisper.
Kael sucked in a shaky breath, blinking the blur from his eyes. "What did you do?"
"Stole time," she said, tying the last knot. "A few hours, maybe. That's all. The sword's still yours. Still hungry."
He looked at her, raw and hollow. "Why help me?"
Lira hesitated. Just for a second. The smirk faltered. "Because I was you. And no one helped me."
Outside, the storm softened. The sky bled toward dawn.
Kael stared at the sword. At the cord. At Lira.
"What now?" he asked.
She stood, hand extended. "Now you choose. Die slow—or fight dirty."
Kael took her hand. The sword chuckled, low and gleeful, somewhere deep in his bones.
TO BE CONTINUED...