The hum of Voidium filled Marshal's ears, his veins glowing faintly as the Daemonisation fought to spread further.
He knew what was happening.
He knew what he did.
How many times had he given in?
And why couldn't he keep it in check?
Blood laced his lips, her blood. The woman was burning at his feet, melting to the steel. Her neck drizzled blood, and a heat boiled over as hunger filled him.
More.
More!
Fuck he didn't care anymore. He was so hungry, so starved, he would leave nothing left, devour every cell in her body. And he would do it slow, draw it out, let the moment linger.
"Finally," said Shadow, "It's about time you did what you wanted." Shadow brushed the hair off Lorelai's neck, "time to eat."
Marshal's fangs drooled, his fingers piercing metal, his shadow looming over her. Yet, he could only stare, witness the cries, the pain in her distant voice.
He couldn't.
He wanted to.
It wasn't him.
Suddenly, a thump cracked his core, and a boot kicked air out of his lungs.
Another voice cried out; it was softer than she would have liked, and Marshal knew its face the moment it was cut off. In a flick, he stared daggers at his sister, her blue eyes focused, her searing ice aimed at him.
"What kind of sister interrupts the good part." Growled shadow. "I say we teach this bitch a lesson."
Rosalind's skin flashed a vibrant green, her fangs gritting back the pain as Voltite sparks ran down her. In an instant, he knew what she was planning. She couldn't overpower him. That was foolish even for her, but watching her processing speed ramp up, he had no choice but to surge.
"Ready or not," said Shadow, "here we come."
A glint of Voltite bloomed in his veins, his diamond bones reacting with glee as his mind finally caught up to full capacity. Marshal snarled. She made him this monster, and now he would use that against her. All he needed was one moment, a millisecond of an upper hand, and he'd break that pretty little neck. His bones moved, his body a fire of green sparks, his heart craving bloodshed.
Then, allowing Voltite to overclock, his eyes matched hers, her facial expression quivering so fast that a typical demon might have never seen it. She had just lost her advantage.
But then he noticed the object in her hand, glinting in the light rays.
"NO!" screamed Shadow.
And then, she struck.
The needle pierced between the ribs, gliding smoothly into his artery. Rosalind pressed the plunger with deliberate force, the cool frostbite burning as the Solelite disappeared into Marshal's bloodstream.
"Fuck you, fuck—" Shadow screamed.
The reaction was immediate. Marshal's body convulsed, a sharp exhale of steam erupting from his mouth as the Voidium fought back.
Shadow shrunk to a dot, the claws of his touch scraping down Marshal's throat, his cries fading back into his demon core.
"Don't leave me." Shadow said, "I just want to be… me."
Marshal swallowed, his heart stuttering, a slight chatter moving on his fangs. He shook, his breath attempting to stabilise. Nobody wants you; they don't need boys, they want monsters. They want knights; they want men. He was a prince. So act like one.
Then, feeling his body cool, a calm wash flooded him. He was back; he was the real him. Then, allowing himself to take the liquid, Solelite consumed Voidium like a base neutralising an acid. At least, that is what Rosalind had told him.
But the part he didn't like was that it didn't destroy the corruption—it counteracted it, forcing it to collapse on itself. Break apart. Dissolve. Fade into the mist. His reflective veins began to fade as the chemical surged through his bloodstream.
It was temporary. It was a patch… but not a bandage.
Marshal peered up at steam roasting off Rosalind's skin, her expression one of gritted teeth, pain and relief all at once. Her mind must have been like overcooked breaks that ticked, burned hot, her breath catching as she let Voltite weave in her veins.
Marshal knew the effects well; accelerating your body was great in the short term. But the feeling after. The murky brain, thoughts a slog. Then, there was the time lag as you clicked back on the correct timescale.
But even as he and her glared at one another, knowing more about each other than they dared say. He unclenched his fist. He can tell her off later.
"Rosa," shot Fay; the man moved over with an odd grace and sense of agency Marshal had never seen from the spy. "Do you have a death wish or what?"
Rosalind leaned back almost too calmly, her shoulders relaxing into the soft flutter the Fairy gave off. The fan of his wings cooled her neck— and her eyes nearly closed from the treatment.
"Stop it." She said. "I'm not a doll."
"I'll stop when you stop enjoying it." Said Fay. "Besides, you know you've overdone it."
Rosalind scrunched her face but remained still, regarding Marshal as an adult would an infant. Though not angry, she simmered; her lips twitched, and her tail curled the longer they stared at each other.
So Marshal went first; he was always first.
"Fay." He said, looking at the winged man. "The situation?"
The fairy grinned, "Well, do you want the long answer or the short one?"
"Lucien…" Rosalind growled; she held her temple, a strain pulsing around her eyes. "Just… answer him."
Fay, or apparently, Lucien now, sighed. "You're sister can be quite sweet if you play your cards right."
Rosalind whacked him, a chuckle breaking Lucien's lips.
"Okay, okay," he laughed, pulling himself off Rosalind's claws, "You siblings are too serious."
Then—
A snap. A deep, reverberating groan.
The walls shuddered, the ship creaking, the floor tilting.
And then—
Voidium swelled.
A pressure—suffocating, oppressive—pushed in from all sides.
A hiss. A scrape.
The sound of something pressing against the hull, clawing, screaming—
It wanted in.
It wanted them.
It howled—a shriek of tearing metal.
A footstep.
A claw.
A voice—
A scream.
Then—she emerged.
A bark-lined woman burst from the mist, stumbling, sliding into the room—
And behind her, the fog stirred, alive, awake, following.
"General Sylvain!" Amara gasped.
"They're coming— they're coming—the creatures tried to eat me!"
Her voice cracked, shrill, panicked.
"Lady Sylvain, help me!"
"Idiot", Rosalind snapped, "and you led them to us?" Rosalind stood and slapped the woman, "You just got us fucking killed, you thick tree. Do you have any idea what you have done?"
Marshal tried to stand, but a weight dragged him down—whether it was his own failing body or the remnants of hunger clawing at him, he couldn't tell. Was he that useless without powers? Powers he would have had if Rosalind hadn't injected him with Solelite.
Marshal felt his knee crack as he lifted, his movement stopping on the woman surrounded in melted steel. Lorelai burned, flaring heat like a furnace. Her skin was untouchable by her companions. The scaley women, sisters or maybe friends, seemed to creep closer only to get pushed back by the intense heat.
She was overheating, a demon core surging at capacity, roaring at its limit. Yet she lay lifeless, still, motionless. All sights pointed to an intense fight, one that could melt her alive. Yet, with a soft expression and a warm look, he might have called her relaxed and happy.
But then he felt a sensation that burned in him, a hunger that boiled up. It's worse that he didn't hear shadow this time. It was weight—pressing in his gut, burning in his fingers. A need. And it was his. No more Shadow. Just him. Just Marshal. Was he that easy? Did he have no self control?
Then came the model, half-stripper spy, and now his sister's keeper.
"So... biting's a mating thing, right?" Lucien said. "Cause from where I'm standing, that looked like a little bit more than just a snack."
And with that, the twin siren stabbed a glare at Marshal; their fingers spread sharp, their faces saying it all. This was his fault.
Meanwhile, Amara's grunting crawled the metal, her barked fingers running from either Rosalind or the reflective fog.
"Are we really talking about sex lives now? Why isn't anyone doing anything?" She cried.
Rosalind kicked the woman, her bloodied boot staining Amara's dress.
"Shut it," Rosalind said. "You speak if you understand," she kicked again, "let the grown-ups think."
Marshal wanted to say something almost everyone in the room did, but who tried to stop Rosalind Sylvain? Kick after kick, hiss scream and blood on her boot.
Amara wheezed, not dead, but with the drool that puddled next to her, it might have been better to die.
"Right," Rosalind said.
She turned to the group, and the sirens flinched, but Marshal and Lucien knew her well enough to resist that urge. Eyes like cold daggers, eyes he shared with her. Were monsters… genetic?