Devour Vol 2 Ch 13: Tight Curfew, A Stern Father!

The rest of the afternoon passed in a strange haze of firsts. Conrad had no idea how he'd ended up being a personal tour guide for a planet-

The rest of the afternoon passed in a strange haze of firsts.

Conrad had no idea how he'd ended up being a personal tour guide for a planet-devouring alien woman, but here he was—standing beside her as she peered curiously into the front window of a frozen yogurt shop, her face pressed way too close to the glass.

She gasped. "Is that... swirled milk? Frozen?"

"That's Froyo," Conrad said with a grin. "And yes. It is both swirled and frozen."

The Devourer looked at him like he'd just handed her the key to the universe.

They'd already visited the shopping mall—twice. The first time she mistook the escalator for a moving stairway of judgment and refused to step on it until a toddler showed her how. She'd been enamored by the food court, terrified of mannequins ("Why do they have no eyes, Conrad? Are they dead?"), and deeply confused by a Build-A-Bear kiosk.

But it wasn't just the mall. The Devourer wanted to see everything.

The gas station slushie machine? A "colorful elemental altar of icy juices."

A dollar store? "A shrine of many small treasures for the weak-of-pocket."

She cried—genuinely cried—when she tried her first churro.

And Conrad... he couldn't stop smiling.

He hadn't noticed how much he'd needed this. To laugh. To forget, just for a little while, the fact that she was a cosmic giantess who could digest his entire species if she hiccuped too hard. She was just... curious. And that curiosity was kind of infectious.

They ended up walking through the town together, arm's length apart, past familiar places Conrad had stopped paying attention to years ago. The fountain at Liberty Square, the bakery with the crooked sign, the movie theater that still hadn't replaced the burned-out "R" in "The G-reat E-ape Returns."

But every time she looked at something with those wide, glowing eyes—like it mattered—he saw it differently too.

At one point, while she was trying to figure out how the handle on a soda vending machine worked (she'd crouched in front of it like she was deciphering an ancient relic), Conrad found himself just... staring.

The way the sunlight hit her hair. The way her brows furrowed when she concentrated. The tiny crease in her cheek when she grinned.

She looked up suddenly, catching him mid-stare.

Their eyes met.

Conrad's face went beet red, and he turned away like he'd just seen something illegal.

"I-I was just, uh—there was a bug. Thought I saw a bug."

The Devourer tilted her head. "In my face?"

"On... your face adjacent region—never mind."

She smiled slightly. He tried not to combust.

By the time they made it back toward the sidewalk near the outskirts of town, the sun had started to dip behind the hills, the sky streaked with orange and violet. Streetlights were starting to flicker on.

It was then that Conrad pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen.

The blood drained from his face.

"Oh no," he muttered.

"What's wrong?" the Devourer asked, blinking.

He shoved the phone back in his pocket. "It's six-fifteen! I was supposed to help my dad with the irrigation lines like two hours ago—if I don't get back now he's gonna string me up by my boots!"

The Devourer looked alarmed. "Your father practices public executions?"

"What? No—it's a metaphor! Ugh, just—come on!"

Before she could question it further, Conrad grabbed her hand and broke into a run down the sidewalk. Her fingers were warm—really warm, like a living sun—and there was a strange electric pulse that ran up his arm the moment their skin touched.

The Devourer stumbled at first but quickly matched his pace, letting him lead the way as they weaved past parked bikes, lampposts, and a very confused golden retriever.

"Where are we going!?" she asked, half-laughing as she jogged beside him.

"To the farm! Home! I live like five miles that way!"

The run from town to the farm left Conrad's lungs burning and his heart thudding like a jackhammer. Dust kicked up beneath his sneakers as they skidded into the gravel drive of the farmhouse, the old place looming ahead—gray and broad-shouldered, worn down by wind and years.

"We're here," Conrad panted, pulling to a stop.

The Devourer's eyes scanned the farmhouse, her expression unreadable. "This is your dwelling?"

"Yup," Conrad said, hands on his knees, still catching his breath. "This is the... charming little piece of dirt we call home."

She looked at the barn, the crooked chicken coop, the rusting tractor, and then tilted her head. "Your planet has... modest architecture."

"That's a polite way to put it," he muttered. "Listen, I need you to wait here—behind the house. Please."

She blinked. "Wait? Why?"

"Because," he said quickly, "my dad's not exactly... cool. Especially not with surprise guests. And definitely not with glowing-eyed alien giants who might accidentally step on the dog."

The Devourer frowned slightly but nodded, her golden hair catching the orange light of the setting sun. "Very well. I will wait. But do not take long."

Conrad nodded, gave her a quick look—half-apology, half-gratitude—and slipped around the corner of the house toward the back door.

The kitchen light was already on. Crap.

He barely had time to push open the creaky screen door when the voice hit him like a slap.

"Where the hell have you been?!"

Conrad froze. The familiar rasp of his father's voice—half-anger, half-soured whiskey—cut through the air like barbed wire.

"I—I was just out," Conrad said, stepping inside. The kitchen was dim and smelled like sweat and stale beer. "Hanging out with some friends."

"Friends?" his dad barked, rising from the table. "You think I care about your damn friends? This farm doesn't run on friendship, boy. It runs on sweat. On work."

"I know—"

"No, you don't know!" his father roared, closing the distance in three staggering steps. "You don't know a damn thing, because every time I turn around, you're off slacking, wandering the town like you've got no responsibilities!"

"I—I just lost track of time, okay?"

His dad's hand was already in the air before Conrad saw it coming.

The slap cracked across his face, knocking him back a step. He hit the edge of the counter and slid to the floor, his cheek stinging. His ribs throbbed from where his father had grabbed him earlier in the week.

Conrad looked up, eyes glazed with hurt. "Have you been drinking again?"

His dad didn't answer. He just stood over him, breathing hard, his eyes bloodshot. "Mind your damn tone."

Then the air shifted.

A low vibration—like distant thunder—rumbled beneath the floorboards. The plates on the counter rattled. The beer can his dad had been drinking tipped over and rolled toward the sink.

The rumbling grew louder.

"What the hell?" his dad snapped, glancing around. "Is that an earthquake?"

But Conrad didn't answer.

He knew.

He knew.

The ceiling groaned. Dust sprinkled down like ash from the rafters.

And then—with a horrific wrenching screech—the roof tore free.

The sky opened up above them.

And there she was.

Her towering form stood like a living monument of light and power, her skin glowing in the setting sun, hair cascading down her shoulders like rivers of gold. Blue eyes—vivid, ancient, and terrifying—peered down into the broken-open home. She held the roof like it weighed nothing more than a cardboard lid.

Her voice was curious. "You were taking too long."

Conrad's breath caught in his throat. "Devourer?!"

His dad stumbled back, slack-jawed and ghost-white, too stunned to even speak.

Conrad didn't move. He just stared up at her, heart pounding, fear curling cold in his stomach.

This was bad.

Really bad.