The demon's corpse didn't move.
Obviously. Dead things rarely did.
But Raze knelt beside it anyway, studying the way its form had settled—limbs sprawled at angles gravity hadn't quite decided on, black blood pooling in cracks between ancient stones.
His back burned where the claws had opened him up. Shallow cuts, mostly. Nothing that wouldn't close on its own.
The pain felt distant. Secondary.
Because the hollow ache in his chest—the one that had clawed at him since waking—was *screaming* now.
Not with hunger anymore.
With *recognition.*
Like his body had identified prey and every instinct he didn't know he possessed was demanding he finish what he'd started.
Raze pressed his palm against the demon's chest.
The skin was still warm. Wrong temperature for something dead, but demons apparently didn't follow normal rules.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
*Pull.*
Not physical. Not visible.
But he *felt* it.
Something inside him reached outward through the point of contact—an invisible hand extending beyond flesh and bone, fingers curling around something essential buried in the demon's core.
The demon's body twitched.
Just once.
Then essence began to flow.
---
Faint wisps of purple-black smoke rose from the corpse's skin, curling upward like incense but moving with deliberate intent instead of following air currents.
The smoke thickened.
Coiled around Raze's wrist. Spiraled up his forearm. Pressed against his skin with pressure that felt almost affectionate—like it was *happy* to be consumed.
Raze watched, detached, as the essence dissolved inward through his palm.
No pain. No resistance.
Just transfer.
The demon's body began to change.
Skin that had been stretched taut over inhuman muscle went slack. Features that had held sharp definition softened, then collapsed.
The whole frame seemed to deflate—not rotting, but *emptying*, like someone had pulled a cork and drained everything that gave it substance.
Within seconds, what remained barely resembled the creature that had tried to kill him.
More like a discarded costume than a corpse.
The last wisp of purple smoke dissolved into Raze's skin.
The hollow ache in his chest *eased.*
Not gone. Not satisfied completely.
But quieter.
Fed.
For now.
---
Raze pulled his hand back.
Flexed his fingers.
They looked normal. Felt different.
Then the window appeared.
Translucent. Blue-tinted. Hovering in his vision like someone had projected text directly onto his retinas.
**[SKILL ACQUIRED]**
**Shapeshifting — Level 1**
*Basic transformation ability. Current limitations: Cannot be used on self. Requires consent when used on others. Minor alterations only. Form unstable under physical duress.*
*Advancement possible through practice and additional essence consumption.*
Raze read it twice.
He couldn't use this on himself. Only on others who agreed to it.
"Useless," he muttered.
But the knowledge sat there anyway—how to shift flesh that wasn't his, how to reshape features, how to turn one face into another.
His mother had sealed this.
Locked it away behind twelve years of necklace-weight pressing against his chest.
*What else did you hide from me?*
The demon who'd taken the necklace hadn't just freed him.
It had *unleashed* him.
And whatever his mother had been trying to prevent—it was already too late to stop it.
He dismissed the window with a thought.
---
Raze stood and turned toward the door.
His back throbbed, but the bleeding had mostly stopped. He'd clean it properly once he reached his room.
He pressed his ear against the wood.
Silence beyond. No footsteps. No voices.
He extended his senses—that heightened awareness that had sharpened since losing the seal.
The corridor registered empty.
No divine energy signatures. No demonic traces.
Just cold stone and stale air.
*Good.*
He pulled the door open and stepped into the dim corridor.
---
The abandoned wing stretched ahead—forgotten, silent, exactly as he'd left it.
Raze moved quickly but didn't run.
Running drew attention.
He walked like someone who belonged there, boots scraping softly against stone worn smooth by decades of neglect.
The corridor branched. He took the left path, retracing his steps toward sections where torches appeared more frequently.
Then he saw her.
Seris stood at the junction ahead where the abandoned wing met the castle proper.
Small frame. Maid's uniform—simple, functional, designed to be invisible.
Princess Arlia's personal attendant.
She stood perfectly still, hands folded in front of her, eyes locked directly on him.
Raze didn't slow. Didn't speed up.
Just kept walking.
As he approached, her gaze dropped—took in the torn fabric at his shoulder, the dark stains spreading across his back, the way he moved like someone trying not to aggravate fresh wounds.
Their eyes met.
Hers were dark. Unreadable.
No shock. No fear. No judgment.
Just observation.
Raze held her stare for three seconds.
Then walked past without a word.
She didn't turn. Didn't follow. Didn't call out.
Just stood there as his footsteps faded down the corridor.
But Raze felt her gaze on his back until he turned the next corner.
*She saw.*
Not everything. But enough.
Enough to be dangerous.
Or useful.
Time would tell which.
---
Raze's room was exactly as he'd left it.
Bare. Cold. Functional.
He locked the door and crossed to the basin near the window.
Peeled off his torn shirt carefully—the fabric had stuck to the wounds where blood had started to dry.
The cuts weren't deep. Three parallel lines across his shoulder blade, curving down toward his spine.
Clean edges.
He poured water into the basin. Soaked a cloth.
Cleaned the blood away with methodical efficiency.
The wounds would close on their own. Probably scar, but scars were just proof you'd survived something that tried to kill you.
He wrapped clean bandages around his torso—tight enough to keep the cuts from reopening, loose enough not to restrict movement.
Changed into a fresh shirt.
Hid the torn, bloodstained one at the bottom of his travel pack.
Problem solved.
For now.
---
Raze left his room twenty minutes later, moving through the castle like he'd simply overslept and missed breakfast.
No rush. No suspicious behavior.
Just another summoned hero navigating an unfamiliar building.
He turned the corner near the dining hall and nearly walked straight into Mia.
She stepped back quickly, hand going to her chest. "Raze! There you are."
He stopped. Blinked once. "Here I am."
"You missed breakfast." Her brows knitted with something that might've been concern. "Everyone noticed. Even Leon asked where you were."
"Got lost," Raze said. Simple. Believable. "Castle's bigger than it looks."
Mia's expression shifted—half-relieved, half-skeptical. "For three hours?"
"I'm thorough."
She didn't laugh.
Just studied him with that searching look she'd perfected back when they were still together and she was trying to figure out if he was lying about something.
"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
"Fine. Why?"
"You look..." She hesitated. "Different. Tired, maybe. Or—I don't know. Just different."
Raze held her gaze. "I'm the same as I've always been."
Not a lie.
Not entirely.
Before Mia could respond, footsteps echoed from the adjacent corridor.
They both turned.
Kail emerged from around the corner, stopping short when he saw them standing together.
His expression went flat. Cold.
"Of course," he said. Voice tight. "Should've known."
Mia's posture shifted—guilt and frustration bleeding through. "Kail, it's not—"
"Save it." His eyes never left Raze. "I'm not stupid, Mia."
Raze said nothing.
Just watched.
Calculated.
Kail's hands clenched at his sides. Frost didn't materialize this time—too public, too many potential witnesses—but the temperature around him dropped anyway, subtle enough that most people wouldn't notice.
Raze noticed.
"You two have fun," Kail said.
Didn't wait for a response. Just turned and walked away, boots hitting stone harder than necessary.
Mia exhaled slowly. "He's going to hate me."
"He already does," Raze replied. "Just took him this long to admit it."
She flinched. "That's not fair."
"Neither is choosing someone because they feel safe."
Her head snapped toward him. "I'm not—"
"You are." Raze's tone stayed flat. Matter-of-fact. "You picked him because he felt safer than me. But safe doesn't mean you love him. It just means you're less afraid."
Mia opened her mouth. Closed it.
No response came.
Raze turned away. "See you at training."
He left her standing there, silent and uncertain, exactly where he needed her.
The hollow ache in his chest stirred faintly.
Not hunger.
Not yet.
Just interest.
Because Kail's divine energy had tasted like winter and arrogance and wasted potential when Raze had sensed it earlier.
Ice mage. Rare class. Powerful foundation.
*Useful.*
Very useful.
The demon had been practice.
Kail would be something else entirely.
---
**Three days later—**
**In the forest beyond the castle walls—**
Kail's body lay on the cold ground, breath rattling through punctured lungs.
An arrow jutted from his chest—clean shot, perfectly placed, delivered by someone who'd been taught well.
Mia stood ten paces away, bow still raised, hands trembling so violently the string vibrated.
Her face had gone white. Eyes wide.
Frozen between disbelief and horror.
Raze stepped out from behind a tree, calm as ever, boots crunching softly over dead leaves.
He looked at Kail's dying form.
Then at Mia.
Then back to Kail.
"Good job, Mia," he said quietly.
---