The city of Oakhaven was a blur of orange fire and screaming steel behind them. Alaric ran with a speed that felt wrong—his strides were too long, his feet hitting the ground with the weight of a beast rather than a man. On his back, Evelyn held on tightly, her fingers dug into the gaps of his armor.
"Don't stop!" Evelyn hissed into his ear. "The Cathedral's hounds are bred for tracking. If we stop before the tree line, they will find us."
Alaric didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat felt like it was coated in glass, and every breath brought the metallic scent of his own blood. The heart in his chest was no longer just thumping; it was singing a song of violence, urging him to turn back and tear his pursuers apart.
They reached the edge of the Whispering Woods, a place where the trees grew so thick that moonlight couldn't touch the forest floor. It was a place of old magic and forgotten predators—the perfect sanctuary for a witch and her monster.
As they crossed the threshold of the forest, Alaric finally collapsed. He hit the mossy earth with a heavy thud, his gauntlets clawing at the dirt. The golden pinstripes in his eyes were glowing so brightly they illuminated the dark ferns around him.
"It... it won't stop," Alaric gasped, his chest heaving. "The hunger. It's not for food, Evelyn. It's for..."
"Life," Evelyn finished, sliding off his back and kneeling beside him. She reached out, her cool fingers tracing the jagged line of his chest stitches. "The Chimera heart feeds on the essence of others. You felt it during the fight, didn't you? The more blood you spilled, the stronger you felt."
Alaric looked at her with a mixture of terror and loathing. "I am a Paladin of the Light. I was meant to protect life, not consume it."
"You were a Paladin," Evelyn corrected him, her voice devoid of pity. "Now, you are my masterpiece. And if you want to survive the night, you need to stop fighting the heart and start listening to it."
Suddenly, the sound of a snapping twig echoed from the darkness behind them. Alaric's ears twitched—a physical reaction he hadn't possessed before. He could hear the rapid heartbeat of a scout nearby.
"They're here," Alaric whispered, his voice dropping into a low, predatory octave.
Evelyn pulled a small vial of iridescent fluid from her belt and handed it to him. "Drink this. It will mask your scent, but it will make the hunger worse. Choose quickly, Alaric: the dignity of a dead saint, or the survival of a living demon?"
Alaric snatched the vial, his eyes locked on the shadows where the hunters lurked. He knew there was no going back to the Light.