Devyus and Himika continued on their way home. He was still somewhat unsettled—not only by the shopkeeper's attitude, but by the raw reality of the city reflected in every transaction. A part of him, for the first time in centuries, missed the ordered structure of his village, flawed as it had been. But the truth was that he hadn't had a real home since he escaped from Hell.

  Himika waved at him, having walked ahead while he was lost in thought. I suppose one never truly gets used to it forever, thought the former lord as he quickened his pace to catch up with her.

  He handed her the groceries and the remaining change. She thanked him profusely and even apologized for the trouble. But then something stopped her. As she lifted the bag and gently shook it, she noticed the absence of the familiar clinking sound of glass. Her expression darkened immediately. She quickly counted the money, then opened the bag to check.

  "What happened to the alcohol?" she demanded, her voice heavy with disappointment that bordered on fury as she frantically searched for her precious poison.

  The demon could see her aura shift as anger began to take hold of her. He wasn't intimidated in the slightest. He closed his eyes and accepted the consequences of his decision.

  "I decided it was better that someone like you didn't drink that," Devyus said calmly. "I know why you do it, but I really don't think it's a good—"

  "Are you lecturing me?" Mina interrupted, fixing him with an incredulous stare. "You? The guy who went into a strip club? I saw you when I came off stage— you and your sisters, the three of you calmly drinking from a glass. Were you drinking apple juice?"

  Her sarcasm cut deep.

  "Whiskey," Devyus corrected without a hint of shame, not hiding the truth. "But that's different."

  And it was true. For beings of his kind, regardless of their rank in the food chain, alcohol was like water. He couldn't comprehend humanity's fascination with its effects. But instinctively, he knew the girl could hurt herself with it. An almost paternal impulse took hold of him.

  "I really don't think it's something you should rely on," he insisted, his tone softer now.

  "You know nothing about this city!" she suddenly shouted, her voice cracking. "You don't know what it's like to live here! Life isn't as bright and colorful as wherever you come from."

  "Then why don't you leave?" Devyus asked, his demonic pragmatism colliding head-on with her human despair.

  "It's not that easy! You know nothing! You've only been here for one day! You have no idea what I've been through!"

  Her scream echoed through the nearly empty street.

  "I don't think creating dependency is a better solution," he replied, firm and almost stoic in the face of the former heroine's outburst.

  "You don't know what's best for me!" she spat, staring at him with furious tears in her eyes. "Here." She pulled out the rest of the money and threw it at him. "Take it. Consider my debt to you paid."

  Devyus didn't flinch. He made no move to pick up the bills scattered on the ground. He simply watched her with unsettling calm as she turned away, hurt and frustrated, and walked off alone in the opposite direction—toward her home.

  Mina wandered aimlessly, glancing back now and then at her former companion, until she broke her own rule and slipped into an alley. The adrenaline from the argument faded, replaced by guilt and shame. Maybe I overreacted.

  But alcohol was her anchor—the only thing that dulled her mind enough to keep her from going insane in that reality. She couldn't remember the first time she'd used it as medicine; she only knew it was pathetic. What would my friends think of me? she wondered, staring at her distorted reflection in a dirty shard of glass from one of the grimy windows.

  "Hello there, gorgeous," a mocking voice said behind her.

  She didn't know when it happened. Several men had entered the alley, blocking the rear exit. When she tried to step back, an even larger group sealed off the entrance. She was trapped.

  "We were wondering if you'd like to join us for a party," said what appeared to be their leader—a man with green hair and an unpleasant smile.

  She quickly assessed the group and, to her immense relief, there was no one the size of Big Bull.

  "Sorry, boys," Himika said, forcing a professional club smile. "If you want to see more of this, you'll have to visit me at one of the many clubs. I don't do private services."

  She searched for an escape route, but it was useless. They were everywhere.

  "We insist," said a dark-skinned man with orange hair, grabbing her shoulder tightly.

  That contact snapped the last thread of her composure. She wasn't in the club anymore. These men were smaller and less muscular than the brute from the strip club. Her heroic training surfaced. She grabbed the man's arm and hurled him through the air into a stack of trash barrels.

  This won't end well, she thought desperately. There are too many of them. She had no choice. It was fight—or worse.

  She began secreting an irritating liquid from her palms and hurled it at one of the thugs. Instinctively, he covered his face and screamed in agony as the liquid burned his skin.

  She did the same to two others, but then the green-haired leader smiled mockingly. His eyes glowed an eerie red, and to her horror, his skin began to shine and transform into solid metal. He was like her—a mutant.

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  Before she could react, the metal man delivered a brutal punch to her stomach. The air rushed from her lungs and she collapsed, gasping. The others piled onto her, restraining her arms and legs.

  Several men tore off her treasured trench coat and tossed it away, despite her clinging to it like a fragile shield. Another, whose nails elongated into sharp spikes, began slicing her clothes, shredding the fabric. They intended the worst.

  A tear of helplessness rolled down her cheek. And then, in the chaos, she remembered Devyus saving her at the bar. He always avoided places like this for this very reason—and now exactly what he feared was happening.

  Whether it was instinct or something else, a piercing scream tore from her throat before they gagged her with a torn strip of her own shirt.

  "HELP!"

  "You know," the metal man laughed, "that used to bring heroes running. But now…" His face twisted into something almost sadistic. "Now it just revs the engines."

  They all laughed. The restraints around her wrists and ankles tightened. There was almost nothing left of her shirt, and her pants were about to suffer the same fate.

  "Now stay still. Let's see if you're pink everywhe—"

  He never finished the sentence.

  Something struck him with the force of a truck, sending him flying across the alley and smashing him into a dumpster, denting it completely.

  The others stared in shock as their leader—encased in indestructible metal—was taken down with a single blow. Then they recoiled when they saw those eyes filled with rage, like a beast whose den had been violated.

  Despite the murderous glare of her rescuer, Himika felt no fear. Tears streamed down her face—tears of profound relief.

  "Does no one know a better line?" Devyus said dryly, glancing at the girl and then at the thugs. "Or is the screenwriter just underpaid?"

  As if hypnotized, they all charged him. It was pointless. Together, they weren't even half as strong as the most novice apprentice from his former guard. The ex-lord dispatched them in an instant, moving with terrifying efficiency.

  In the end, only the purple-skinned girl and the last man holding her arms remained.

  "Stop!" the thug shouted, pulling out a knife and pressing it against Mika's neck. "Take one more step and she's done!"

  The demon halted. A faint smile crossed his face as he raised his hands in surrender. The man grinned, confident.

  Unnoticed, Devyus opened a small shadow portal directly above the thug's head. A chunk of concrete from the adjacent building dropped through it, slamming into the man's skull and knocking him out cold. The girl, still bound, collapsed to the ground.

  Devyus rushed to her side.

  "Wait," he said, kneeling to free her.

  But she saw—horrified—the metal man staggering to his feet behind Devyus, his arm reshaped into a razor-sharp blade.

  "Behind you!" she managed to scream through the gag.

  Too late.

  The metal sword pierced Devyus's side with a wet, brutal sound.

  The incubus growled in pain, but his reaction was immediate. He turned, shielding Himika with his body, and delivered a spinning kick that slammed into the mutant's chest, sending him crashing into the wall once more—this time knocking him out completely.

  Panting, Devyus finished untying Himika and pressed a hand to his side, feeling warm blood soak his coat.

  "A-are you okay?" she asked, instinctively covering herself, her shirt now little more than rags.

  "Yes. Don't worry. I'm fine," he lied, tearing a shirt from one of the unconscious thugs and tightly wrapping it around his torso to bind the wound. He didn't need it—but he didn't want to frighten her further.

  "We need to get you to a clinic," she said, panicked, staring at the blood-soaked fabric.

  "I'm fine!" Devyus repeated, noticing her fear. "Don't worry. I just came to give you this."

  From his pocket, he pulled out a small bottle of whiskey and gently handed it to her. Then he gave a brief farewell gesture, turned around, and began limping slightly toward the alley exit—the same way the former heroine had entered.

  Himika stared at the bottle with longing. Every part of her yearned for that honey-colored liquid. But then a stronger voice took hold. She looked at the bottle and saw her reflection in it. What am I doing? She understood then that Devyus had chosen to let her decide her own path in that darkness.

  With tears clouding her vision, she removed the cap and, without hesitation, poured the entire contents onto the filthy ground of the alley. The sharp scent of alcohol mingled with the stench of garbage.

  Then, ignoring the pitiful state of her clothes and her own dignity, she ran after her rescuer and wrapped her arms around him from behind with all her strength.

  Devyus froze, stunned by the contact.

  "I'M SORRY!" she sobbed, pressing her face into his back, feeling the damp warmth of his blood through the makeshift bandage. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

  Her tears soaked the back of her savior as she clung to the only person who, in a decade of darkness, had shown her a glimpse of true hope—and proven that help could come in many forms.

  ? 2025 D.S.V.

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