Belial felt a sharp pain course through his body, hot and searing like white fire beneath his skull. It spread from the center of his chest to his limbs, his breath catching in his throat. Gritting his teeth, he knew he needed to cool down, to let the ache pass before it turned into something worse.
He made his way through the stone corridors, feet dragging against the damp floor, and entered the pool chamber. The cavern was quiet, the only sound a soft echo of dripping water from stalactites above. The natural pool glimmered under the faint bluish glow of the crystal embedded in the ceiling. Steam coiled at the edges where the water met warm rock. He stepped in.
The sensation was immediate. Relief washed over him as the cool water hit his skin, numbing the pain in his chest and soothing his muscles. He waded deeper until the water reached his shoulders, then sank lower, letting his entire body float. The surface tension cradled him like a second skin. His limbs loosened. The pain subsided, though a dull throb lingered at the base of his neck.
He turned his head and looked off toward the runoff. Beyond that point was only blackness, a darkness so thick it might as well have been the edge of the world. But there was nothing out there. No monsters. No threats. This part of the chamber was safe.
He held up his hands, watching them under the water's surface. They flickered.
In a breath, his fingers darkened, stretched, clawed. His skin warped and his veins turned violet. The transformation from human to demon and back again was seamless, something he could control now. He shifted again, just to feel it, just to remember.
He was alive.
He still had control.
He lay back and let the water hold him. Floating, his arms spread, his face to the ceiling. The glow above danced in his eyes. His mind drifted to better memories. Not many. But a few worth clinging to.
One in particular surfaced.
He remembered a day back home. Back on Yuma.
He had been no older than seven.
The memory unfolded with a clarity that felt too sharp, like a dream remembered too well.
A maid had arrived at their estate. She was new. Beautiful. Eerily beautiful. Her hair was black and cut just below the chin, straight and smooth as silk. Her eyes were darker than obsidian, so dark they seemed to absorb light. She had no visible emotion, but she wore a smile. A soft smile, unsettling in its stillness. Like a mask.
At that time, she had been searching for someone.
Him.
Belial watched as his younger self crouched low in tall grass. The twin moons above bathed the estate in silver, casting long shadows that played along the field. He had been hiding, giggling softly to himself. Playing hide and seek.
He peeked over the blades of grass, watching the maid's silhouette in the distance. Her long black dress swayed as she walked. She moved with precision, deliberate and calm. She was different from everyone else in the estate. From the guards. From the butlers. From the hollow praise of the royal court.
She was silent. Watching.
Hunting.
He grinned and ducked lower. He believed himself hidden well.
But then a presence loomed behind him. A shadow that hadn't been there a second ago.
Before he could react, a cold hand grabbed his head gently.
He gasped. "Ms. Yoru!"
The maid's smile widened, just slightly. Her face hovered over him, expression unchanged but eyes watching with disturbing intensity. They remained blank, but deep within, something flickered. Not quite warmth. Not quite fondness. Something fulfilled.
She had found him.
"You should maybe find a better hiding spot, young master," she said. Her voice was crisp, cold, and deliberate. A blade made of words.
He didn't mind. He was used to her tone.
"I only hid there to make things easy for you. After all, the king of games needs to show mercy." He grinned up at her proudly, brushing off his trousers.
"How kind of you to do so," she said.
She curtsied. Her movement was sharp, mechanical, not entirely human.
Belial, still floating in the pool, closed his eyes tighter.
The memory should have comforted him. But it did not.
Something about her eyes.
Even as a child, he had known.
Those eyes had never truly been looking at him.
He drifted back to the present, but the cold sensation remained.
"Now you wont find me anywhere—count to ten!"
She had just begun counting. Her voice drifted across the open field, cold and precise, each syllable slicing through the night air like a blade. Belial's grin spread wide as he leapt down the slope of the small hill, his bare feet barely touching the dew-slick grass. The twin moons cast a pale silver light over the expanse, turning every blade of grass into a glinting shard of glass. Mischief sparkled in his eyes.
He crouched at the pond's edge, peering over his shoulder. No sign of her. Perfect. He extended a trembling hand, closing his eyes to focus. A soft pulse of Hax curled around his form, and he vanished—his body blending seamlessly with the liquid mirror before him. The water welcomed his presence; for a moment, it was as if he were not there at all.
He slid into the pond, moving with deliberate caution until the water rose to his chin. Only his eyes and the tip of his nose remained above the surface. The cool liquid seeped into his bones, and his breath was a quiet, rhythmic whisper. He waited, heart pounding in the hush.
Then he felt it: a hand, frigid and unyielding, clamped around the back of his neck. Panic flared as he tried to twist away, but his body refused his command. His limbs felt heavy, inert, as though submerged in stone.
He had been found. Already?
No. It wasn't her.
The air above the pond thickened, growing viscous, as though the night itself were reaching down to pull him under. The moonlight flickered, dimming to a sickly gray, losing its warmth. A low, resonant hum began at the edge of his hearing, a vibration that seemed to come from the very depths of the earth.
Belial's throat constricted. Water pressed in on his ears, muffling the world to a dull roar. He sensed movement beneath him, a slow, inexorable drag toward the pond's center. His lungs screamed for air, every second stretching into an eternity.
A jagged pain blossomed at his temple, cold and crystalline, like a dagger carved from ice. He tried to open his mouth to scream, but only a sputter of bubbles escaped, darting toward the surface and popping into silence.
He peered down through the swirling gloom. There, gliding toward him in the blackness was a face. Pale as bone, floating without a body. Its eyes were vast, empty wells of darkness, lacking any hint of sclera or iris. Its mouth gaped into an unnatural, cavernous grin, impossibly wide, as though memory itself could not contain such a maw.
The face drifted closer, stretching longer in the water's distortion, features elongating in grotesque grace. Belial thrashed, but it was as if he fought through a tomb of lead—each movement sluggish, ineffective. The surface of the pond, once so near, now seemed a distant horizon.
Cold seeped into his veins, replacing fear with a numb resignation. His chest burned from the need for oxygen. Panic clawed at his mind, fracturing thought into shards of terror.
The face hovered above him, its grin widening until the edges of its mouth threatened to spill from his vision. It opened wider still, revealing rows of jagged, filigreed teeth stained an impossible shade of gray. The black eyes remained unblinking, staring into his own.
Belial's vision tunneled. The world contracted to that two-dimensional apparition, floating above him in the depths. He felt the last of his strength drain away, like ink dissolving in water. Darkness seeped in at the edges of his sight.
And then, through the crushing void, he heard it: a single, sibilant whisper that slithered around him, echoing in the blackness.
His name, drawn out on a breath colder than death itself flew through his head.