"Hey—I'm not a monster, calm down!" Belial said quickly, hands slightly raised.
His voice cracked in a way he didn't like.
The girl's expression didn't change.
"Monsters can hide in human flesh," she replied flatly.
Her voice was like a blade scraping ice—calm, cutting, and dead sure of itself.
Shit.
Belial's eyes flicked to the side. His curved longsword hung at his hip, but he didn't dare reach for it.
Think, think, THINK!
He couldn't move faster than a bullet. Not even close. As a Balancer, he could reinforce his body with ether—sure, that might help. Might let the bullet fracture him instead of killing him outright.
But that was only true against standard rounds.
This wasn't just some scavenger pointing a rusted gun. The aura rolling off her made his spine itch. She wasn't just trained—she was an Emergent. Her presence was a storm, a crackling weight in the air that pressed against his skin, sharp and unyielding. If she hit him with an enhanced round, one infused with her own etheric signature? If she aimed for something vital, like his heart or his skull?
Even his demonic form might not survive.
He could feel it pulsing in his bones, begging to be let loose again. His body was still humming from the forced evolution earlier, a brutal transformation that had left his ether brimming—overflowing, really. But it'd take at least a second to activate his full demonic form, to let the horns sprout, the claws extend, the raw power of his other self tear through his human shell.
One second.
That was too slow for a bullet to travel half a meter.
Way too slow.
He tried to shift slightly, test his range of motion—but nothing. His body was pinned.
Hard.
She wasn't just standing over him. She had her foot planted on his chest like a slab of unfeeling judgment. And it wasn't normal pressure—it felt like he was being pressed down by a building. Not a boulder. No, he could lift a boulder if he had to, ether or no ether. This was different. It wasn't about weight—it was about presence. Like gravity itself bent around her will, a force that didn't just hold him down but crushed his options, his hope, his air.
His breath caught in his throat, ragged and shallow.
Her body was almost fragile at a glance, as if sculpted from ivory or bone. Smooth. Pale. Graceful. But every movement radiated intent to kill. Her hair floated slightly with the unnatural gravity in the room, swaying like shadowy strands underwater. Her eyes—one blue, one violet—held no curiosity, no fear, no emotion.
Only certainty.
She was the kind of person who didn't hesitate. The kind who could and would put a bullet through his skull and walk away like she was shutting a door.
Belial's mind raced, a frantic whirlwind of half-formed plans. Could he talk her down? Could he bluff? Could he even buy time? His usual tricks—charm that he picked up from Cassidy, lies, a quick quip—felt useless against that unblinking stare. He almost called out to Oracle, the ancient voice that sometimes whispered guidance in his head...
but nothing came.
The voice in his head was sealed.
He clenched his teeth, jaw tight enough to ache. So was my Hax. Of course. No telepathic backup, no etheric tricks up his sleeve. Just him, his mouth, and a gun pointed at his face.
And that shadowy bastard who dragged his soul back last time? The one who saved him when he approached death's door, pulling him back from the void with a smirk and a cryptic warning? Would he come back? Belial wasn't sure. Last time, his body had been intact, a vessel ready to be reclaimed. The shadow had stitched him back together, piece by piece.
But if he got shot in the head? If this girl vaporized a piece of him, turned his skull to ash or his brain to mist? Would there be enough left to pull back? Would he still return?
Or would he really die this time?
His mind spiraled, thoughts colliding in a chaotic mess. His heart pounded, each beat a hammer against his ribs. He wasn't ready to die. Not here, not now, not in some forgotten vault deep beneath the earth, chasing a forge he didn't even fully understand. He'd come here for answers, for power, for something to tip the scales in his favor. Not to end up a corpse under a stranger's boot.
And then—panic struck.
"WAIT!" he yelled suddenly, voice cracking with desperation.
The gun didn't waver. Her finger rested on the trigger, steady as stone.
Dammit—say something, anything!
"Listen! I'm—uh—I'm not with the government! I pissed my pants until I was eleven!" The words burst out of him, absurd and loud and raw, tumbling over each other in a frantic bid for time.
Silence.
A long one.
Even the strange ether hum of the chamber seemed to pause, as if the vault itself was holding its breath. The girl blinked. Just once. Her face didn't shift, but that single blink felt like a crack in her armor, a flicker of something—confusion, maybe? Amusement? He couldn't tell.
He seized the moment, words spilling out faster now, a desperate stream of nonsense. "I—I'm right-handed but I eat with my left! I collect shiny rocks—I have a mole on my hip! I don't even know what I'm doing here, I just wanted to see the forge—!"
Still nothing. Her expression was a mask, her eyes twin voids of blue and violet. The gun stayed steady, its barrel a black hole staring into his soul. His chest heaved under her foot, each breath a struggle against that impossible weight. He could feel the ether in his veins, burning, useless, trapped. He could feel his demonic form clawing at the edges of his mind, roaring to be unleashed—but it was too slow, too late.
Say something else. Anything. Keep her talking. Keep her listening.
"I'm not your enemy!" he blurted, voice hoarse. "I'm just—look, I'm a Balancer, okay? I'm from Oasis! A Hunter from the Phoenix guild!—" He faltered, grasping for words. "I just want to live, okay? I don't want to hurt anyone!"
Her head tilted slightly, almost imperceptibly. The first real movement she'd made since pinning him down. Was that a good sign? A bad one? He couldn't tell. Her eyes narrowed, just a fraction, and the air grew heavier, the ether in the room thickening like a storm about to break.
"You talk too much," she said finally, her voice still flat, still cold. But there was something new in it—a faint edge, like she was weighing his words, testing them for truth.
"Then let me talk!" he shot back, desperation giving way to a reckless kind of courage. "You want to know who I am? I'm Belial, okay? Just some guy trying to survive in this messed-up world! I've got no grand plans, no secret schemes! I'm not here to steal yourbelongings or whatever you think I'm after! I just—" He swallowed hard, his throat dry as ash. "I just want to get out of here alive."
Her lips twitched, the barest hint of a frown. "Nero," she repeated, as if tasting the name.
He forced a shaky grin, hoping it didn't look as terrified as he felt. "Yeah, well, my parents had a weird sense of humor. Doesn't mean I'm one of the bad guys."
She didn't respond, but her foot shifted slightly, easing the pressure on his chest. Not enough to let him move, but enough to let him breathe a little easier. His heart was still racing, but a flicker of hope sparked in his chest. Maybe—maybe—he could get through this.
Then her thumb moved, slow and deliberate, pulling back the hammer of the gun.
Click.
Belial's heart exploded in his chest, a surge of raw panic flooding his veins. His mouth opened, but no words came, only a choked gasp. Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to the barrel of the gun, the glint of her eyes, the faint hum of the vault around them.
He was out of time.
He was out of tricks.
And then—
BOOM.
The sound of the gunshot echoed like thunder in the hollow crystalline forge.