Demonic Conqueror: Heroic Valor - Chapter 7

The Glove of Minor Power. A stolen longsword, produced from Inventory. The element of surprise.

That was all it took to kill a man six Levels higher.

Simon froze. Not out of shock or regret – but out of confusion. He had never killed anyone before. Never even hurt anyone outside of schoolyard fights, really. Taking a life should have been momentous, horrifying, world-shattering, soul-altering. It was an act that separated men from monsters. It should have been more difficult, but it just...

Wasn't.

One slice. As if cutting strings.

Ebris collapsed forward, gurgling, his hand clutching at his ruined throat. A fountain of blood poured outwards, staining the ground with crimson red.

Some fading dregs of awareness were still present in his eyes, yet they would soon be gone. Simon's blow had been clean; nearly a decapitation. The slaver's head was hanging from a mere inch of flesh.

Lucette and Torben hadn't moved. They were frozen more stiff than Simon, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Like a pair of deer in the headlights, about to be flattened by an oncoming truck.

Simon felt no guilt at the sight – intentionally so. Guilt was a distracting indulgence that he couldn't afford to entertain. He'd already wasted enough time–

Movement. He jerked back, an arrow sailing through the space where his head had been.

"Knew it," Relia hissed. Her bow was at the ready, aimed directly at his torso. "Knew you were a snake." Without shifting her gaze from Simon, she motioned frantically at Lucette. "Snap out of it! Heal Ebris!"

...Heal?

The thought had barely entered his mind when Lucette abruptly jerked up, nodding. She rushed over to Ebris, her hands beginning to shine with a gentle, soothing glow, reminiscent of the Sanctuary Tree.

Simon suppressed a spike of anxiety. Lucette knows magic? His strategy had been predicated on the slavers not having access to fantasy-style healing. They hadn't exhibited magic or mentioned it in any capacity, and he'd searched their carriage for healing potions with Identify, turning up nothing.

Yet evidently, Lucette could cast healing spells. It just hadn't come up in conversation.

He grimaced. No plan survives contact with the enemy, but he'd hoped this one would proceed for a bit longer before hitting snags.

"Speak." Relia glared at him like he was mud she'd scraped off her boot. "Who put you up to this? Was it another crew? Did you kill Ard–"

Simon summoned one of his broken swords and threw it at Lucette. Ebris' wound was severe, and attempting to heal him might fail, but there was no point in letting her try. Lucette hurriedly flung herself to the side, unnerved by the sudden projectile and the strange blue glow of Inventory.

Movement again. Relia was firing another arrow. Simon knew he wouldn't be able to dodge this one.

It shot through the air...and grazed past his body.

She'd missed.

Simon exhaled with relief, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Just in time.

"I...huh?" Relia was at a loss for words. Breathing harshly, she glanced at her hands. They were shaking like leaves caught up in a storm. "Why am I..."

A hacking cough burst forth from her lungs. The archer staggered, then toppled to her knees, the painted red bow slipping from her grasp. Lucette and Torben went down shortly after. Within seconds, the three remaining slavers were immobilized and on the ground, twitching violently.

"Sorry," Simon told them, almost meaning it. "Couldn't have won any other way."

Ebris and Lucette's carriage housed a wide variety of unique items. Their plundered cargo included – but was not limited to – food, weapons, coins, books, clothes of wildly varying sizes, random knick-knacks, textiles, medicines...

And a section labeled 'poisons and antidotes'.

Normally, he couldn't have snuck deadly poison straight out from under their noses. However, Ebris and Lucette had been kind enough to leave him alone for extended periods of time, letting him cool off after his spat with Relia. Their carriage was also so cluttered that they hadn't noticed a few missing items among the mess.

Normally, he wouldn't have known the correct dosages to use. Identify fixed that. It had informed him of the precise amount to slip into the lunch he'd cooked for everyone. With just the right portions, and added spices to mask the poison's flavor, they couldn't even taste the difference.

Normally, he would have been caught regardless. The slavers were wary folk by nature. However, to Ebris and Lucette, Simon Cobblestone was family...and family was inherently trustworthy. Torben had followed their lead on that. Relia had still been suspicious, but her opinion was overruled by social consensus.

And besides – even she hadn't expected him to go this far. What kind of lunatic poisoned a meal, then ate it alongside his intended victims?

The lunatic with Identify telling him which antidotes to take in advance, Simon mused.

All things considered, his scheme was proceeding rather smoothly. Nothing could be left to chance when planning to assassinate four higher-Level combatants. He had spent most of last night accounting for as many details as possible.

Except one.

"Neu...tra...lize."

A trembling voice called out. White light radiated in his peripheral vision.

Already knowing what he would find, Simon turned to face Lucette. The woman rapidly stood to her feet, no longer shaking. The light dissipated from her hands, its task completed.

Healing magic that can cure poison. Fix wounds too, based on how she tried to help Ebris.

Immediately, he wanted it. Simon was close to asking how she'd learned magic – when Lucette's vicious, hateful glare gave him pause. Her eyes blazed with righteous fury as she drew her longsword from its hilt.

He pursed his lips. Hmm. Yeah. Don't think playing the 'family' card is gonna get me out of this one.

Alert: Ebris Twobreath has been slain!

Your Level and Stats have increased!
Level: 3 → 4
Strength: 15 → 17
Dexterity: 13 →15

Simon spared a glance for the crumpled slaver. Ebris' body had gone completely still, the flow of spilt blood – and his heartbeat – having come to a halt. The poison kicking in hadn't done him any favors either.

It was fortuitous timing. Simon had a feeling that he was going to need those four stat points.

A pained scream tore its way from Lucette's throat as she charged forward. The slaver advanced, and the transmigrator retreated, hefting his stolen longsword.

Unfortunately, Voice-In-The-Sky's system hadn't granted him any ingrained knowledge of swordsmanship. This was the first day he'd even held a sword that wasn't broken. The most he could do was emulate stances he'd watched in movies and TV shows, and he knew those were hardly effective in real-world scenarios.

Lucette's blade came down like a battering ram. Simon raised his own to block it. His muscles tensed as she pushed him back, barely retaining his balance.

With that single exchange, he'd confirmed that he was woefully outclassed. Level 8 wasn't the highest in the world...but it was still double his own. More importantly, while he doubted that the slavers were expert fighters – preying on the weak seemed to be their modus operandi – Lucette was clearly accustomed to wielding a sword. In her hands, it was a weapon.

Simon may as well have been swinging around a very large stick.

Putting distance between himself and the rampaging avatar of vengeance in the form of a woman, Simon hastily assessed his options. The Glove of Minor Strength was on cooldown; it couldn't be used for the next hour. He wouldn't win a fair swordfight. Lucette had neutralized her poison.

The only card left remaining to him was his demonic arm. It slightly boosted his right arm's Strength when Shapeshifted, and it would allow access to Demonic Skills like Fell Harvest. With that...he might be able to pull victory from the jaws of defeat.

However, he was hesitant to reveal it just yet. More than improved Strength or Demonic Skills, what he really valued was the element of surprise. Lucette would be stunned when he shifted his arm– perhaps stunned long enough for him to land a proverbial sucker-punch on her.

But if that failed too? If he didn't perfectly take advantage of one singular moment?

Then he would be out of luck and out of options.

He hurriedly glanced around the battlefield, desperately searching for something to use. Warding Orbs. Limited range on their aura. Lucette is furious – maybe not thinking straight. Could I lure her away from the carriages? Bait her towards Fell Beast territory?

No. There was no guarantee that a Fell Beast was nearby right now. Even if it was, leading Lucette away from the Warding Orbs would put him in danger as well.

High risk, with low odds of succeeding.

His gaze passed over Relia and Torben – then snapped back. Relia was slowly crawling towards her carriage. She looked frail and pathetic, a non-threat. But Torben...

The man wasn't breathing. His limbs had contorted in agony, his eyes were bulging, and flecks of spittle dotted his lips.

Simon shoved down his confusion before it could distract him. Why? he still asked. None of the slavers should have died from just the poison. At least not in such a short time. He had carefully measured smaller dosages so that they couldn't taste it in their broth.

Which also had the side benefit of leaving them on the brink of death instead of killing them outright. On the slim, slim chance that they had actually agreed to turn over a new leaf and abandon their slaving ways, he would've given them antidotes before they expired.

Unless – unless Torben had suffered from an unusually adverse reaction to the poison. People's bodies reacted differently to foreign substances. Identify couldn't guarantee the same effect for everyone.

Whoops.

Although...this could be exactly what he needed. A grin spread across Simon's face as renewed hope surged through him. Killing a Level 8 enemy was probably sufficient to bring him to Level 5. With Lucette breathing down his neck, avoiding death by mere inches, he waited for new system alerts to pop up and shower him in congratulations and four shiny stat points.

They never came. He didn't even feel the sensation of EXP flowing into his body.

Why. Why. Why. Simon took a second to calm down, splitting his focus between dodging sword strikes and attempting to figure out why the system had stiffed him on some much-needed Experience. It...wasn't easy. He wouldn't manage for long.

Thankfully, the answer came quickly. While it was just a theory, he felt confident chalking up the lack of EXP to an intrinsic function of the gods' System – a function implemented to prevent their champion from committing atrocities that were beyond the pale.

After all, if death by poison gave Experience, then the most expedient way of leveling up would be to poison the watering well of every village he came across.

The gods had wanted a virtuous hero. Not someone incentivized to commit mass-murder.

Kinda screws me over in the short term, though. Did a previous champion try poisoning towns? Force the gods to add this stipulation? Simon frowned. Loophole abusers ruin everything, thought the man looking for more loopholes to abuse.

He ducked under a swing that would have effortlessly lopped his head off. Lucette was strong – far moreso than a woman of her stature should be. Her stats and Levels were heightening her physical parameters, just as they did for Simon.

Was it time to pull out the demon arm? He hasn't discovered any other viable options. But if he misplayed–

"Why, Simon?!" Lucette took a break from screaming bloody murder at him, remembering that words existed. Not that she took a break from running him down like a heat-seeking missile. That would've been much too convenient. "Why did you kill Ebris and poison our crew? Was it truly because we refused to free strangers you've never even met before?!"

No, he thought. I would have killed you anyway. Perhaps they would've set Katarina and Gerold free if he'd pressed the issue...but only to appease him. After he left, they'd have returned to kidnapping people and treating them as objects to be sold.

It was a simple calculus. Setting the captives free would save just these two people in front of him. Killing the slavers saved everyone they would've gone on to harm in the future.

Of course, things would have been different if they'd legitimately agreed to abandon their lifestyle and atone...but Simon hadn't really viewed that as a possible outcome. They weren't going to change.

People rarely did.

"SPEAK, YOU CRAVEN BETRAYER!" Lucette lunged directly for his heart. Simon dodged sideways, wincing as her strike drew a line of blood across his chest. "EBRIS OFFERED YOU SUCCOR, AND YOU CUT HIS THROAT LIKE NOTHING!"

Needed to thin the herd. Might have been a problem if all four of you rushed me at once before the poison fully kicked in. And out of everyone here...

Ebris had lowered his guard when talking. He was also sitting close to Simon at the time – within throat-slicing range. Lastly, he was the highest-Level combatant here.

Taking him out early was the obvious choice.

Granted, if Simon had known of Lucette's healing magic, he would've prioritized her instead. You always went for the healer first.

Lucette being offended over his murder of Ebris was rich, though. They had suggested doing the same thing to a helpless Gerold literally one day prior. The irony hadn't registered in her mind whatsoever.

It's like I never left Earth. Hypocrisy was a universal constant, it seemed.

"Am I not worth words to you?" Tears welled in the corners of Lucette's eyes. It didn't hinder her combat efficacy. "We picked you off the road when you could scarcely walk. Fed you. Saved your life. You were...could have been family. Did all of that mean nothing?"

"It meant everything."

Lucette froze. Simon struck forward, seizing the moment, but she casually parried him away. Her skillful blade and stupefied expression made for an almost comedic contrast.

"Without you, I would be dead," the transmigrator continued, his voice filling with sincere gratitude. "Thank you. From the bottom of my heart."

It wasn't a ruse intended to mislead her. Nor was it a taunt, gloating about how he'd fooled them.

It was merely the truth.

For reasons that Simon didn't quite understand, Lucette's anger re-ignited with roaring fervor, more passionate and unsettling than ever before. She let out a noise of demented rage, the sound echoing up from the abyss of her soul.

This time she was the one to back up, putting distance between them. Perhaps that change in behavior should have tipped him off to something being wrong.

By the time he'd stopped being relieved and started being suspicious, it was too late. The woman had extended an arm towards him. Her hand pulsed with a fiery red aura, mana gathering in the center of her palm, the air heating up like a sauna.

She spoke in an ice-cold whisper as the blazing fury in her eyes became reality.

"Scorch."

It soared faster than Relia's arrows. Simon raised his sword to block it, but he would've had more luck deflecting water with a knife. He could do nothing as the spellcast flames slammed into his chest.

If he hadn't been nearly possessed by a demon less than a week ago, he would've called this the most painful occurrence of his life. But even with that adjusted frame of reference...it still hurt. It was as if he'd been sunburnt red as a tomato, pressed a curling iron against his torso, then stuck himself in an oven for good measure.

Skin charred and flesh burnt as the aroma of cooked flesh permeated the crisp noontime air.

HP: 46 / 90

Numbers representing his body's health came to him automatically. The spell had erased close to half his HP in one go.

With sobering clarity, Simon concluded that if he didn't do something very soon, he would fall to the next attack.

My demonic arm...wouldn't help much here. It was only effective at close range, and Lucette was keeping her distance now, liable to retreat if he moved forward.

The woman was already charging up another fireball, her eyes dancing with glee as she envisioned him burning like a lit pyre. Apparently, she wished to inflict the agonizing end of immolation on him. Getting stabbed in the heart would've been too much of a mercy.

Need a good ranged option. Don't have one. He clenched his teeth. Unlike Lucette. She just had to know magic, be a mage.

Why her, and not the rest of us?

Casting spells didn't seem to be a matter of academic memorization. There were no complicated hand gestures or long incantations. Lucette seemed to be summoning the latent energy within herself by...concentrating? Visualizing the spell she wanted to create?

Which implied that magic was – at least on some level – instinctual. A natural talent. Maybe practice still made perfect, but without an inborn aptitude for spellcasting, your efforts at learning it would amount to little more than wasted time. Simon doubted that the other slavers wouldn't have also learned lifesaving healing magic if it was as simple as 'think really hard'.

You either had the knack, or you didn't.

Simon didn't. Not once since entering Valtia had he been capable of conjuring even tiny embers, let alone devastating fireballs. Considering his sabotaged transmigration, and how he'd inherited the powers of a weakling nobody, he should have expected as much. It was looking increasingly certain that he would never be a mage.

And not for a lack of trying. He'd spent a good chunk of his earlier wandering attempting to cast spells, at one point mimicking the exact stance, intonation, and mental focus that Lucette now exhibited. But while it was clearly working for her, he had only–

Oh.

A flash of insight illuminated his thoughts, and Simon realized where he'd misstepped.

Lucette appeared to cast spells by drawing from a wellspring of mana inside her body. She would then shape that mana into whatever form she chose, such as bestowing it with curative properties, or heating it into a scorching flame.

The process had to have limitations – everything did – but overall, it seemed fairly freeform. Spells could be helpful or harmful depending on the intent of the user. Magic was primarily a system of impartial creation.

Human magic, at any rate.

Simon had already encountered a different way.

Oppressive, dominating, and pitiless. An aura of malice and arrogance, bereft of mercy. Imposing desires upon the world. Browbeating reality into submission. Bending the very nature of things to your will.

That was the magic he'd felt from Kirkelas the Conqueror. The magic of Demons.

And Simon had inherited their power as well.

He took off running, sprinting towards Lucette as fast as he could. His right arm Shapeshifted, skin covering with silver-black scales and fingernails transforming into five wicked talons.

The Fell-Touched human raised his demonic limb and pointed it directly at his prey.

Who cared if he didn't have a natural aptitude for magic? Nothing about transmigration was natural. The gods' system was designed to take random people and turn them into champions by assimilating power from others.

If Kirkelas had been capable of magic, which he obviously was...then Simon could use it now too.

He just needed to use it correctly. The transmigrator had tried casting spells before...but in the human way. As if magic was a negotiation with reality, where the user offered up a portion of their MP in exchange for affecting the world around them.

This time, Simon didn't negotiate. He didn't search inwards for mana or visualize a spell.

He only made his intent known.

Kill the slaver.

It wasn't even a question. He had already subsumed the Conqueror's power. Demonic magic was his to wield as he saw fit.

Kill the sinner.

Let her crimes be punished. The penalty was death.

Kill Lucette.

So he decreed, as judge, jury, and executioner.

The air crackled with a sense of inversion. As Simon ran forward, a pocket of pitch-black energy began coalescing in front of his right arm's palm. It was as dark as the starry void of the night sky, like entropy given form, seeming to annihilate the space it occupied. Demonic mana had answered his call.

A grin no less demonic split across his face.

He pushed the spell to grow stronger. Denser. If this was to carry out his will, then it needed to be better than an insignificant pocket of energy. He demanded that it strengthen further, ordering it to become a black hole large enough to devour the world.

It didn't go that far, of course. Simon only had 50 MP work with. But it was the intent that mattered – and the magic responded in kind, the spell doubling in size until his mana reserves had been fully depleted.

Demonic Skill Gained: Channel Essence!

Lucette was no longer charging her second fireball. She had frozen the moment his arm shifted. The woman just stood there and watched, astonishment mixing with dread as demonic mana took shape before her widening eyes.

"Goodbye."

His voice echoed as his will was made manifest. Simon pushed, and the spell launched forward, erasing the air that it touched. Pitch-black energy rushed at a woman of pitch-black sins.

And it struck true.

The final effect was more subdued than Simon had hoped. Rather than his spell blasting through her torso, or simply snuffing the life out of her in an instant, it merely knocked Lucette to the ground. She was pale and gasping for air, yet very much alive.

A result of his lacking mana, no doubt. He had ordered his spell to Kill, but when empowered by just two digits worth of MP, this was the best it could muster – knocking the target prone and sapping her strength.

Lucette landed beside Ebris. She let out a strangled cry as she caught sight of his half-decapitated corpse, head lolling to the side like a partially opened blood dispenser, redness oozing out from the gaping hole in his neck. The man's gaze was vacant, yet the lingering tightness of his face told a story of shock, betrayal, and despair.

She turned away from him in a panic...then happened to catch sight of Torben, his eyes bulging, foam and spittle dotting his mouth, limbs twisted into a pretzel of torment. Unsurprisingly, that also proved to be mildly distracting.

Every moment she spent in her own personal horror exhibition was a moment where Simon just kept running forward. His enhanced Dexterity let him close the gap in record time – by his standards, anyway. Although his demonic spell hadn't outright killed Lucette, it'd still bought him several seconds of time.

In a fight like this, that was virtually an eternity.

The slaver wasted even more precious time by staring at his Shapeshifted arm. She seemed transfixed, as if he was a nightmare given flesh. "Can't be real," the woman whispered, her body trembling with unmitigated fear. "No no no no no NO!"

Lucette's whispers rose to a scream. While his demonic magic had left her enervated, she still managed to thrust her longsword forward in a wild, frantic motion. Were she calm, composed, and in full control of her faculties, it would likely have skewered his heart.

Instead, it stabbed him through the upper thigh. He didn't let the wound slow his advance.

"NO! PLEA–"

Simon reached down and grasped her shoulder with his demonic hand. Razor-sharp talons pierced human flesh, clutching her in an unyielding grip. That was when Lucette realized, far too late, that she should've just perished to his Kill spell, letting it instantly reduce her to withered husk.

That would have been a kinder end.

"Fell Harvest."

Five seconds.

The Skill drained Lucette for five excruciating seconds. Simon could see agony plain on her face as the slaver's mana – her life – flowed out from her body and into his arm.

Inversely, he had never felt more energized and full of power. Her loss was his gain. More mana suffused his body with each passing second. It was like the joy of progress, yet combined with a cloying sense of nourishment, as if Lucette's essence was a refreshing drink guzzled through a straw.

The feeling sickened him. He almost stopped the Harvest as pity flared within.

Then he remembered Lucette's crimes, and his pity died a stillborn death in its cradle. After fifteen years of condemning innocent people to a lifetime of servitude and suffering...she could handle five seconds.

At no point did the slaver struggle. Fell Harvest appeared to immobilize and lock her in place. She could only watch in terror as her life dwindled like a candle burnt down to its last few drops of wax.

"Mon...ster."

On the fifth second, the light completely vanished from Lucette's eyes. Her last word had been one final bit of hypocrisy.

Fitting, he supposed.

Alert: Lucette Drenoka has been slain!

Your Level and Stats have increased!
Level: 4 → 5
Strength: 17 → 18
Dexterity: 15 →16
Intelligence: 5 → 7

A life has been Harvested! 1 stat point added to Unspent Stats!

Simon immediately dismissed the system notifications. He didn't have time to think about stat increases, new Skills, or his inevitable freakout over having killed people for the first time. Need to find–

"You're a Demon."

His heart sank as he turned to face a familiar voice.

Relia was standing upright, her bow pointed at him. The woman's balance looked steady. There was a slight twitch to her hands, but otherwise, little indication remained that she'd recently been on death's door.

Took too long to kill Lucette, Simon groused. Although he'd stolen all the antidotes from Ebris and Lucette's carriage as a precaution, he'd also known from the beginning that Relia's carriage might have more. It hadn't changed his plans. The poison should have rendered all of them helpless.

Except that Lucette had turned out to have healing magic. By neutralizing her own poison and fighting Simon, she'd given Relia time to crawl over to the second carriage and chug some antidotes.

Honestly, Relia still shouldn't have been capable of that much movement, but maybe she'd inherently resisted the poison. Like the opposite of Torben's abnormally adverse reaction. Without access to detailed medical records – or a targeted Identify, which he couldn't re-use on the slavers – it was impossible to predict exactly how foreign substances would affect people's bodies.

Too many unknown variables. As usual, no plan survived contact with the enemy.

Which was why being able to improvise was just as important.

"I'm a Demon?" Simon raised his right arm, five blood-soaked talons glimmering in the sunlight. "What gave you that impression?"

Relia visibly suppressed a shudder. Her hands quivered– not from poison, but fear.

It immediately answered an all-important question: why hadn't she fired her bow yet? She had also spoken to him while he wasn't looking, alerting him to her presence. That was a prime opportunity for a sneak attack, and she'd thrown it away.

Because she's scared out of her mind. Kirkelas hadn't been exaggerating about how Demons terrified the native humans of Valtia. Even if she ambushed me...Relia still doesn't think she could win.

Funnily enough, Simon didn't think he could win, either. The slaver was in a very advantageous position. She was uninjured, higher-Level, at a safe distance, and had her bow at the ready.

In contrast, Simon was heavily wounded from Lucette's fireball and thigh-stab. He probably couldn't close the gap before she riddled him with arrows. His MP had been replenished with Fell Harvest, so he could try for another Kill spell, but Relia might just dodge it. Lucette had mostly been hit due to being blindsided by his demonic arm's reveal.

The more he thought of it, the less a direct confrontation appealed to him. If he could instead make her surrender, utilize his arm's intimidation factor to–

"You killed them." Relia's voice was low. "Ebris. Lucette. Torben."

Her tone hardened like permafrost. "Ardyn."

The slaver's posture straightened – and Simon knew he'd lost her. That glare in her eyes wasn't one that could be intimidated or reasoned with. She fully expected to die alongside her comrades, her life willingly sacrificed just to make him bleed.

"Quit pretending to be honorable," he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "It doesn't suit you."

Relia's grip on her bow tightened.

Guess we're doing this, then. Simon prepared to sprint and dodge. Even if he got hit, Transmigrator's Body would patch him up later. Just had to protect his vitals and–

Thunk.

The noise caught them both off-guard. The sight was even more surprising. Simon skidded to a halt, truly baffled for the first time that day.

It was with a look of distant, muted shock that Relia reached up to touch the crossbow bolt protruding from inside her forehead.

"What...why..." Blood leaked down her face. "Can't...it..." Her words slurred, and her body dropped.

"...Ardyn..."

She spoke no more.

Simon snapped out of it. His head whipped to the side, towards the direction that the bolt had come from.

There, within the second carriage, was Katarina Cartier. The former prisoner stood free and unbound, holding a now-empty crossbow in her hands – pilfered from the bandits' treasure trove.

She didn't even seem to notice him as she jumped out of the carriage and stalked forward. With unhurried steps, the woman strode up to Relia's soon-to-be-corpse. Katarina's eyes shone like two pools of bottomless hatred, long-buried emotions rising to the forefront, mingling with the fresh, raw injustice of the past few days.

A bestial snarl exploded from her lungs as she kicked her captor in the face.

"Couldn't leave us alone, could you?" She kicked again. "COULDN'T JUST LEAVE US ALONE!" Kick. "ALWAYS LIKE THIS! WE TRY GOING SOMEWHERE ELSE, AND YOU TYPES ARE STILL THERE!" Kick. There was a crunch this time. "SO CLOSE TO THE END, SANCTUARY IN VIEW, AND YOU HAD THE GALL TO OFFER FOOD, LOWER OUR GUARD!" She spat on the corpse. Then kicked it for good measure. "TWO-FACED MONSTER–"

Upon shouting the phrase 'two-faced monster', Katarina froze. Her gaze slowly drifted towards Simon, as if suddenly remembering that he existed.

He waved his demon arm in greeting. "Hi."

Katarina made a sound like a dying raccoon.

--

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