It chuckled; a low, jagged sound that slithered beneath my skin like a blade of cold steel.
"Are you tired of living as a human?" he asked, his tone dripping with mockery, each word edged in frost. His hands remained buried in his pockets, as though the weight of his presence alone was enough to strike me down.
I swallowed, the motion rough, horror burning in my eyes. His presence wasn't just close, it was pressed against me, crushing and suffocating, as though invisible chains had wrapped around my lungs.
What is he? A demon!
I had never seen or felt a demon with such a presence. It didn't simply linger; it devoured. If he wasn't a '1st grade demon' then he was probably a 'special grade demon.' My chest heaved, shallow and desperate, each breath scraping like glass. I couldn't breathe.
"Why not cross over… and become a demon?" His words slipped out in a near-whisper, soft but honed like a blade. "At least I won't do to you what your kind has done to you." His gaze dropped to my body, blood-soaked and trembling, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
"Come live with me," he coaxed, almost tender, though the edge in his tone betrayed him. "You won't have to suffer anymore."
But could such a thing even be real? Could a human truly live beside a demon, walk in his shadow and call it home? Was this an offer of mercy, or a trap dressed as kindness?
He tilted his head then, the gesture eerily casual, lips curling into a smile that chilled me deeper than his words. His voice sharpened, playful yet cruel.
"Has anyone ever told you… your blood smells delicious? If I tasted it once, I may never want another's. It's too tempting."
The hunger in his tone dripped like venom, every syllable gnawing at the edges of my fear.
His tongue swept lazily across his fangs, brushing his lips with a glint of hunger.
"Keep your words to yourse—" I began, snatching a stone from the ground, ready to hurl it at him.
But I never got the chance.
In the blink of an eye, he was already there, closer than breath. His left hand slammed flat against my chest, cold and unyielding, pinning me with strength that felt anything but human. My body jolted back against the invisible weight, frozen in place as though the air itself had betrayed me.
His face hovered beside mine, so near I could feel the faint heat of his breath. It wasn't an attack. It was a secret, a violation of space as if he meant to whisper something meant only for me.
My body stiffened, every muscle screaming in protest, yet unable to move. My heart thundered so violently I could hear it in my ears, a drumbeat of panic that drowned everything else.
This wasn't fear as I'd ever known it. It was deeper, raw and suffocating. A fear that stripped me of thought itself, leaving only the knowledge of his speed, his power… and my helplessness.
He's so fast. My thoughts stumbled over themselves, crashing into a wall of panic. I can't seem to think of anything but fear; raw, choking fear that gnaws at the edges of my mind.
Damn you, Vanik'shur. This is the part where you're supposed to tear free, where your destruction devours everything in sight. But instead… you're silent, silent, and watching. Probably savoring the view.
"So," he whispered, his words curling into my ear like smoke seeping through cracks, "what is your answer? Your choice will decide whether I drink your blood and make you a demon… or simply kill you." His smile deepened, playful and wicked. "After drinking it, of course."
The smile never wavered. His voice carried a teasing lilt, almost flirtatious, as though he were confessing love rather than promising death. But beneath it, beneath the calm cadence I felt the truth vibrating in my bones. There was no bluff. Every word was edged in certainty.
For years, I had forgotten what true fear felt like. I had buried it, outgrown it and starved it. But here it was again alive and merciless, reborn in the shadow of this demon's grin.
One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six… Seven… Eight… Nine…
I counted each number quicker than the last, racing against the panic clawing through my chest. Calm down. I have to calm down. If I lose myself here… if I let the fear swallow me whole… I might trigger Vanik'shur again in ways I can't control. And I may not like his response.
My right hand shot up, clamping over my mouth and nose. I tried to steady myself with deep, deliberate breaths, dragging air into my lungs, forcing the tremors down. But it wasn't working. My breaths came ragged, shaky, slipping out faster than I could reel them in.
"One… two… three… four—"
His voice sliced through my counting like a blade, silencing the fragile rhythm I clung to.
"Well," he murmured, each word laced with a cruel finality, "since you can't decide… maybe I'll decide for you."
And without another word, his fangs pierced my neck.
A sharp shock exploded through me; white-hot pain like a needle that blinded my vision. The world went white, searing at the edges, my heart slamming so violently it skipped and thundered in my ears like a war drum.
I wanted to move, to fight, to shove him away, my hands even twitched with the urge, but my body betrayed me; frozen in fear as though I had never known it, rooting me deeper than stone. I was nothing more than prey, caught in the jaws of something far beyond human. But it wasn't just fear, this was the first time I faced something like this demon. Everything about him was wrong and unnatural.
His mouth clamped harder, and as he drank, warmth drained from me in steady pulls. My vision swam. The world bent and blurred at the edges, colors bleeding into one another, until the weight of my body no longer felt my own.
Something in his bite felt poisonous; not just the pain, but a venom that spread beneath my skin, crawling through my veins like fire and ice. And in that moment, I realized he wasn't just a demon. If he was one, then everything about him had already been twisted, altered into something far more dangerous.
In an instant, I wasn't inside myself anymore. Flashes of his past life flickered in my mind like a recording pressed to play.
-
He was once human. A man with a gentle smile, the kind that carried warmth into every room he stepped into. He had a family of four; twin children, a boy and a girl, and a wife whose laughter seemed to glow brighter with the life growing inside her.
They lived simply, peacefully, wrapped in the fragile joy of ordinary days. But peace is a delicate thing, too easily broken. One night, while trying to protect his father from a group of thugs, he crossed paths with a demon.
That night was the last time he ever lived as a man.
-
But through all of it, through the memories and the fear, this demon never once stopped. His fangs remained buried in my neck, drinking, draining my veins as they burned, twisting like they were being turned inside out.
"H-hey…" I whispered, my voice trembling, broken against the weight of him. "Shouldn't you… stop?"
The words fell uselessly, as though I'd spoken to a stone. His hand only pressed harder against my chest, pinning me like prey. Each pull of my blood was hunger, obsession, and with every sip came a low, guttural groan of satisfaction.
My body grew colder and weaker, each breath shallower than the last. Desperation clawed at me as I forced my left arm upward, trembling, and gripped his right arm with what little strength remained; a silent plea, the last I had to give.
But his response was worse than silence.
SHLUK!
His left hand tore into my chest without hesitation, plunging through flesh and bone with merciless ease. It wasn't just my blood he wanted, it was as if he meant to consume me whole, devour not only my body but whatever I was. Or maybe… maybe this was simply him fulfilling the choice he'd already made.
A cold, searing pain flooded my body, hollowing me from within. My lungs collapsed around the agony, and for a moment, it felt as though the air itself had abandoned me.
He pulled his face back, lips glistening with my blood, and smiled with cruel amusement. Satisfaction burned in his eyes as he murmured,
"Wow… I wish I could keep you. But I won't bear it, knowing someone with such sweet blood might become a demon. I don't drink demon blood… so I'll just have to kill you before you transform."
Before the words could even settle, his fangs sank into me again; sharp, merciless, piercing like twin daggers. But this time, he wasn't just drinking. His fingers pressed deeper into my chest, clawing through flesh as though searching for something buried inside me, something only he could sense.
Pain ripped through me, jagged and merciless, yet… I didn't fight back. Not because I couldn't, or because fear had broken me but because, in that moment, I wanted it.
I had already surrendered to something I thought he would give me, even as he twisted it into torment. I had already let go.
Blood bubbled at my lips, warm and metallic, but instead of groaning, I let out a faint, broken smile. My voice came out as little more than a whisper.
"I've known pain my whole life… but I never learned how to save myself from it. So… let me stay here, just for a moment. Until I figure out what to do with myself."
His expression shifted instantly. The satisfaction drained, leaving only shadow. His brows drew tight, his eyes sharpened into cold steel.
"You refused to choose," he said flatly. "So I made the choice for you."
I blinked, dazed, my head light with blood loss.
Yeah, of course. What did I expect from a demon? I must be the dumbest man alive living with this dumb mind that takes forever to process anything.
That was always the problem. Whenever I chose to think, I ended up nowhere. Thought became a maze, and I was always lost in it.
Curse the White Unit. They spoke of teaching control, discipline, strength, but what good was it, when their methods stripped the mind bare in the process? What kind of control was left when your thoughts weren't even your own?
I wanted to act in that moment; anything, everything. If I stopped to think of the possibilities, if I hesitated even a second longer, I knew I would do nothing at all.
My throat ached as I forced the words out, each one rasping like sandpaper.
"After you took my blood… you promised you wouldn't kill me."
"Yes," he replied smoothly, his smile twisting into something colder and more cruel. "But I've changed my mind. No one else should taste it. Or if someone already has…"
His eyes narrowed, dark amusement flickering. "…then that was their last. Even a Shinkari would've done the same if we crossed paths. He wouldn't leave me alive."
Shinkari?
The word struck me, heavy and foreign, ringing in my skull with a sting I couldn't shake. I didn't know what it meant, but the way he said it, like a name that carried judgment, finality, made my chest tighten.
His arm drove deeper into my chest, clawing at something unseen, a mockery twisting across his lips as if he were savoring the torment.
My jaw locked tight, pain shredding through me, but I swallowed the scream, refusing to let it spill into the night and rattle the neighbors. He thought because I looked weak, I was weak.
He was wrong.
My hand shot up, clamping around his right arm, fingers digging in like steel jaws. With a single, violent squeeze, bone cracked beneath my grip. His mocking smile faltered just as a roar ripped out of me, raw and unrestrained.
The scream that followed wasn't human. It wasn't just pain. It was rage, feral and primal, echoing into the night like a beast set free.
He staggered, trying to wrench himself away, but I yanked harder, hard enough to tear. Flesh ripped, bone snapped, and in a wet spray of blood, his arm came free in my hands. Without hesitation, I swung it back at him, smashing the severed limb across his skull with bone-crushing force.
He hit the ground hard, rolling, his body convulsing under the weight of shock. He hadn't expected this, the boy trembling in fear, suddenly driving him into a corner with a single strike.
When he rose again, one arm gone, his eyes burned with confusion as he locked onto me.
I met his gaze, breath ragged, blood running cold down my neck.
"Leave," I growled, my voice low, sharpened to ice. "Or you lose more than one hand."
He stared at me, his face twisted; not with pain, but something far worse. Horror. His reaction wasn't just to what I had done; it was far from that. If I crushed his arm again, I doubted it would even make him flinch. No… this was different.
In his eyes, I caught the flicker of a thought he couldn't name, a dread even he couldn't place. At the moment I shattered his hand, something else had happened, something that clawed at him beneath the surface. And it was clear… It had everything to do with Vanik'shur.
What was that? The question burned in his gaze as he stumbled, his remaining hand pressed tight against his stamp, as if bracing against an unseen weight.
"He's neither spirit-bound… nor Shinkari," he muttered under his breath, confusion leaking into the horror. "But what I saw…?"
Whatever Vanik'shur had done left him shaken, hollow-eyed, caught between fear and disbelief. He couldn't understand it, he couldn't even name it.
Then his eyes dropped to the bleeding stump where his arm should have been. Panic sharpened his face.
"Why… why is my arm not regenerating?"
A sudden realization flashed in his eyes, widening them before narrowing into something grim. He studied every detail of me remembering the mark he saw on my back as he drank my blood, looking at the scars, the weight in my gaze – then his lips parted in recognition.
"You… you're that kid."
His expression darkened, heavy with the same look I had seen on countless faces before; revulsion, fear and judgment.
"You're the cursed demon's vessel."
The word stung. Vessel.
Others had always branded me with simpler names; the demon, the cursed boy, the demon guy, the monster. But this… this was different. He was the first, apart from the doctors in the White Unit, to call me what I truly was: a vessel. Not the demon itself, but the body that bore it. It meant he understood more than most. He knew us.
I lifted my voice, steady and sharp as steel.
"Now that you've realized it… that's another reason you should vanish."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between us. Then, without another word, he stepped back; one, two, three quiet steps, before melting into the dark, clutching the bleeding stump of his arm.
But his face as he withdrew… that expression was not what I expected from a demon. Not rage, not vengeance, but fear.