Raze woke up starving.
Not for food. His stomach sat quiet, content with yesterday's bread and whatever passed for meat in the castle kitchens.
This was deeper.
His chest felt hollow—like someone had carved out the space between his ribs and filled it with wind that couldn't find an exit.
He sat up. Pressed his palm where the necklace used to rest.
Bare skin. Nothing else.
The absence bit harder than any presence ever had.
Raze stood. Walked to the basin near the window and splashed water across his face. The cold shocked his system awake, but the hollowness stayed, gnawing from the inside like something with teeth.
*What did that demon unlock?*
He dressed fast. Left before anyone could knock and ask questions he didn't have answers for.
---
The eastern corridor moved at its usual morning rhythm. Servants carried trays toward the dining hall. Two guards leaned against a wall, sharing some joke that made the younger one snort.
Ordinary chaos.
But every person Raze passed made his molars ache.
Their energy—that divine essence threaded through everyone here like a second nervous system—brushed against him. Not aggressive. Not even aware.
Just *there.*
Within reach.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and quickened his pace.
*Don't look. Don't touch. Don't—*
"Excuse me, sir."
A guard materialized in front of him. Mid-twenties, maybe. Brown hair cut military-short. Eyes that held actual concern instead of the usual bored professionalism.
"You look lost," the guard said. "Most of the summoned heroes stick to the main corridors this early."
Raze studied him for half a second.
Polished armor. Straight posture. That particular brand of earnestness that came from believing your job actually mattered.
Nothing wrong.
Nothing off.
Just a guard doing guard things.
"Actually," Raze said, "I could use some help."
The guard's expression brightened like Raze had just made his entire morning worthwhile. "Of course. What do you need?"
"There's a section one of the instructors mentioned yesterday. I'm trying to find it, but the layout here—" Raze gestured vaguely at the branching corridors. "Everything looks the same after a while."
The lie rolled out smooth as silk.
"I can show you," the guard offered immediately. "Took me months to stop getting lost when I first started. The castle's older than it looks—some sections don't follow any logical pattern."
He smiled.
Genuine. Warm. The kind that made you want to trust him before your brain finished processing why.
Raze returned it. "Thanks. I appreciate it."
---
They walked.
The guard talked—something about the eastern wing's construction, how the original architects had built sections that connected in architecturally questionable ways, how certain hallways felt longer than they actually were.
Raze made appropriate noises. Nodded at intervals. Asked a throwaway question about support beams he didn't care about.
And watched.
The corridors narrowed as they went deeper. Torches appeared less frequently. Servants stopped passing through. The stones shifted from polished to rough-hewn, slick with moisture that had nowhere to evaporate.
"Which section were you looking for?" the guard asked, glancing back.
"Old wing. Eastern side."
Something flickered across the guard's face.
Brief. Almost invisible.
His smile held, but tension crept into the corners. "That area's mostly closed off. Structural problems. Not really safe for—"
"That's where I need to go."
The guard hesitated. Then nodded. "All right. Stay close, though. Some of the floors aren't stable."
They turned down a passage Raze hadn't noticed before. The air dropped several degrees. The smell changed—damp stone, old wood, something organic slowly decomposing behind the walls.
The guard stopped at a door.
Heavy oak reinforced with iron bands that had rusted into something almost decorative. The kind of barrier that didn't need a sign to communicate *stay out.*
"Here," the guard said. "This is the entrance. But sir, I really should warn you—"
Raze pushed it open.
The hinges screamed like they'd been waiting years for the chance.
Beyond the threshold, darkness pooled thick enough to feel solid. Not just absence of light—something actively hostile to it.
Raze stepped through.
The guard lingered at the doorway. "Sir, I don't think—"
"Come in," Raze said. Didn't look back. "Close the door behind you."
Silence stretched for five full seconds.
Then footsteps.
The door groaned shut.
Darkness wrapped around them both like a living thing.
---
Raze moved.
Fast. Precise.
His dagger materialized from his belt—one smooth draw—and he twisted, driving the blade toward where the guard's kidney should be.
Should have connected.
Would have, if the guard hadn't moved impossibly fast, armor scraping against stone as he threw himself sideways.
The blade caught fabric. Carved a shallow line across armor plating. Drew blood, but not enough.
The guard hit the wall. Rebounded. Stared at Raze with eyes gone wide.
"What—why would you—I'm trying to *help* you!"
His voice cracked. Genuine shock bleeding through every syllable.
Raze didn't answer.
He lunged again.
The guard stumbled backward, hand going to his sword—too slow, muscle memory fighting against disbelief—
Raze's boot caught him in the chest.
The guard went down hard. Air exploded from his lungs.
"I don't understand!" The guard's voice pitched higher, scrambling backward on the floor. "I haven't done anything—please—"
Raze stood over him. Dagger steady. Expression flat.
"Drop the act."
The guard froze.
"I know what you are."
For three seconds, nothing moved.
Then the guard's face shifted.
Not drastically. Just enough.
The fear melted out of his eyes. The confusion evaporated. What replaced it was older. Colder.
Calculating.
"...You knew," the guard said.
His voice hadn't changed pitch. Hadn't layered. But the *quality* was different now—like hearing an actor drop their accent mid-performance.
"From the start?" it asked.
"From the start," Raze confirmed.
The guard—the thing wearing a guard's face—exhaled slowly.
Then smiled.
"Well. Shit."
Its form rippled.
Skin darkened from tan to charcoal-black. Limbs elongated, joints bending at angles that didn't match human anatomy. The armor dissolved like it had never existed, revealing a frame built from sharp edges and wrong proportions.
Eyes shifted from brown to reflective crimson.
The demon straightened to its full height—still humanoid enough to be unsettling, but wrong in every detail that mattered.
"You're observant," it said. Voice layered now, multiple throats speaking fractionally out of sync. "Most don't notice until it's far too late."
Raze adjusted his grip on the dagger. "Your shadow lags."
The demon blinked. Then laughed—dry, scraping, like gravel in a blender.
"*That's* what gave me away? Not the energy signature? Not the aura?"
"Those too," Raze admitted. "But the shadow confirmed it."
The demon's smile widened, revealing too many teeth arranged in configurations mouths shouldn't support.
"Smart. Cautious. Paranoid." It circled slowly, keeping distance between them. "Not traits I expected from a Body Enhancement extra."
Raze didn't rise to the bait. Just watched. Tracked its movement. Calculated angles.
The demon's claws extended—thin, curved, designed for precision cuts rather than brute force.
"So what happens now?" it asked. "You try to kill me? Scream for help? Run?"
"First one," Raze said.
"Bold." The demon's form tensed. "Stupid, but bold."
It lunged.
Faster than before—no more pretending, no more holding back.
Raze dropped low.
The claws raked overhead, close enough that he felt displaced air kiss his scalp.
He drove forward, dagger aimed for the demon's exposed side—
It twisted. Inhumanly flexible. The blade scored a line across its ribs but didn't penetrate deep enough to matter.
The demon's backhand caught Raze across the shoulder.
Impact like getting hit with a steel pipe.
He rolled with it. Let momentum carry him across the floor. Came up against the far wall, breathing hard.
The demon didn't press the attack immediately.
Just watched. Assessed.
"You're fast," it admitted. "Better than I expected. But you're not going to win this."
Raze said nothing.
Adjusted his stance. Felt for balance.
The demon moved again.
This time Raze was ready.
He sidestepped. Let the demon's charge carry it past. Slashed at its ankle as it went by—shallow cut, but enough to make it stumble.
The demon spun, snarling.
Raze was already moving. Closed distance. Got inside its reach where the claws couldn't generate full force.
Drove the dagger up under its ribcage.
The demon gasped.
Raze twisted the blade. Felt bone scrape against steel.
The demon's claws raked across his back—desperate, wild—tearing fabric and skin.
Pain flared white-hot.
Raze ignored it.
He pulled the dagger free. Drove it in again. Different angle. Deeper.
The demon's legs buckled.
It hit the floor hard, black blood spreading in a pool that looked more like oil than anything organic.
Raze knelt beside it. Pulled the dagger out. Pressed it against the demon's throat.
"Wait—" The demon's voice cracked. Multiple throats speaking over each other now, desperation bleeding through. "Information—I can give you information—other spies—locations—"
"Don't care."
Raze drew the blade across its throat.
The demon convulsed once.
Twice.
Then went still.
Its form held for several seconds—black skin, elongated limbs, eyes still reflecting faint light even in death.
Then it began to collapse inward. Features melting. Structure dissolving.
What remained looked less like a corpse and more like something that had never been alive to begin with.
---
Raze stood slowly.
His back burned where the claws had caught him. Blood soaked through his shirt—his own this time, not the demon's.
He looked down at the body.
The hollow ache in his chest pulsed.
*Hungry.*
Raze's lips curved—not quite a smile.
"I should get breakfast."
---