His response didn't answer my question, but I now understood why I had panicked earlier; it wasn't just nerves, it was because his presence was closer, pressing in on me like a heavy fog. It was strong and suffocating, its weight squeezed the breaths out of my chest and made every instinct scream danger.
He studied my face, his eyes sharp and unblinking, that crooked grin twisting my stomach until bile threatened to rise. It wasn't just a grin, it was mockery, delight at seeing me tremble, as if fear itself amused him.
"Well, since you want to know that bad, I'll tell you. I came to be a part of this selection, figured it'd be more fun with you at the center." He grinned again, that infuriating grin that seemed carved into his very being. "But at the moment, I came to make you a deal."
"What deal?" I asked, voice unsteady at first but hardening, as if forcing courage into every syllable.
"I won't kill anyone. I might even help." His grin widened, stretched unnaturally across his face, his teeth gleaming like a predator's. "If you promise to give me something."
Deals with demons never end well. My pulse hammered in my throat as memories flooded back, I hadn't forgotten what he did last time, how I had trusted him only for that trust to end with my death. I should know better than to even listen to him, better than to let his words coil into my head. But still… What if he really meant it this time? What if he really wanted to help? That small, treacherous hope gnawed at me.
Something about Drazel pinned me down beyond reason. No matter how much I tried to convince myself I'd known fear before, nothing compared to this. His smell was a mix of ash and iron and something rotten, raw and bitter, his presence like a shadow pressing against my skin, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark. He wasn't just any demon. He was something far older, far more dangerous.
"I'm not making any deals with you. I haven't forgotten what you did last time. I trusted you to drink my blood, and you ripped out my heart, left me to die bleeding in the dirt."
"This isn't about who you save, it's about how many survive this selection."
"And what makes you think I care about them?" My words came sharp, but my throat burned with the effort. "All I want is to see my family again. That's why I'm here." I tried to sound cold, detached, but the cracks in my voice betrayed me. I couldn't play the part well.
His voice dropped low, colder than ice, pressing the weight of his words against me like the edge of a blade at my throat.
"You can keep acting like it's not your problem… but when the bodies pile up, that silence of yours won't protect them."
But was I really concerned with those students? My chest ached with the truth, I couldn't even protect myself. I didn't even know how to channel my essence, or if I even had any. How could I pretend to be their shield, their savior, when I was still fumbling in the dark about who I was? I wasn't strong enough, not yet. Until then… I was no one's hope.
I tried to ignore him, but his words dug like claws. The first time I met him, he hadn't seemed the type to ask for anything, yet here he was now, offering a deal to save the students from an unseen wrath. And what he wanted in return—whatever it was—it had to be immense, something that would cost me more than I could afford.
I moved toward the shifted trees. Their trunks leaned unnaturally, bark grinding against bark, forming walls that pressed in from every side. They were squeezed so tight together that even with my slim body I couldn't slip through. To the far left and right, the trees closed even tighter, sealing every path. Only the way behind me remained open, mocking me with the thought of retreat.
The instructor never said the trees would move.
"One wrong step and you'll find yourself at the side end, either left or right," he muttered, his voice sliding like oil, still trying to sell himself as my escape route, as if I didn't know better.
"I'm making no deals with you, Drazel. So just—"
Before I could finish, he moved. The air cracked with the suddenness of it, and in the blink of an eye, his hand shoved me hard against a trunk. My breath hitched, torn from my chest, as his left hand slammed against me, pinning me with brutal strength. Bark cut into my back. His face hovered near my ear, so close I felt the humid heat of his breath brush against my skin. His fingers dug deep into my chest, nails biting until blood welled and streaked down, warm against my shirt. It was just like before, like the nightmarish moment when he ripped my heart out and left me broken. He was making me relive that terror all over again.
"You should choose your words carefully," he whispered, his tone low and venomous, crawling through my bones like ice water. "Because this isn't a request. Don't mistake my calmness for politeness. Those students will die any moment now, and I wouldn't care in the slightest. But you…" his lips curled near my ear, "…you might be eager to become a hero, eager to clear your name."
The word hero struck me like a drumbeat, echoing, relentless, growing louder each time it reverberated inside my skull. It wasn't just a word, it was a taunt, a temptation pulling like a chain. A chance to prove I wasn't only a destroyer but something more; a protector and a savior.
But with him this close, my thoughts scattered, tangled in fear. My lungs clawed for air, each breath choking me further. His presence sank into me like chains. For the first time in my life, I was truly terrified. Panic flared raw and unrelenting, hollowing me out.
I thought I knew fear. I have lived with Malgeds for three years, and though their appearance was unsettling, they were never terrifying. This demon, however, makes my blood boil with a fear heavier than I can endure.
"I won't be coming to ask again, and your time is running out." His words scraped against me as his blood-soaked fingers tapped rhythmically on my chest, slow, deliberate, each touch leaving a phantom burn.
"Tick… tock… tick… tock…"
The sound clawed into my head, every syllable a nail against my skull, mocking every second I hesitated. It didn't come like a suggestion, it came like a command that rattled the air itself. This time, instead of forcefully drinking my blood, he was asking, and that in itself felt unnatural, twisted, wrong.
"Just a word of advice," he said, his voice low but sharp as glass, "if I were you, I would listen to me carefully, because I won't say this twice." He leaned in closer, his weight pressing against mine, his body carrying heat like a fire I couldn't escape. "You are the reason these students are going to die, and no one from outside is going to come and save them."
My throat closed, words scraping their way out. "What… what do you mean by that?" My voice shook so hard it betrayed me, my fear spilling into every syllable. His nails dug deeper into my skin, searing like venom. My flesh burned and itched as if poison spread from each puncture.
"You'll find out soon." His words came like a promise and a threat all at once. He finally pulled his nails out, the sting blooming into sharp pain as blood beaded on my skin.
Suddenly, his gaze snapped to my chest, sharp and unblinking. Slowly, his head dipped lower, his movements deliberate, animalistic. My eyes followed his movements until his nose hovered over the blood, inhaling deeply, shuddering as though the scent alone was enough to unravel him. A low growl rumbled from his throat as his tongue slid out, fangs spreading wider, glistening in the dim light. Then he licked, dragging his tongue slowly across my skin.
A sharp flinch ran through me, leaving my body stiff and rigid, my breath hitched sharp and cold, my eyes widened in horror. The sensation was nothing human, it was primal, invasive, the kind of touch that was branded rather than caressed. His tongue's touch against my skin was both unnatural and unfamiliar.
He didn't stop. He licked again, greedier this time, lapping up every drop as though starved. Each motion trembled with restraint but dripped with violence. His tongue hovered over the wound as his fangs ached to sink in. He wanted it desperately, violently, the need pressing against every shred of control he had left.
Why am I so obsessed with his blood? The thought battered his mind, savage and unrelenting. Why does it taste like no other? Why does its scent alone drive me insane? His chest heaved, the growl deepening, his claws flexing as though ready to tear.
His lips brushed the edge of my skin, his breath scorching. I want to bite. I need to bite… His jaw clenched as he forced himself back, trembling, his hunger tearing him apart. But if I do… that will be the end of me.
Then he stepped back, expression unreadable, his presence retreating just enough to let me breathe. "The next time I see you, I will officially be your enemy. So watch out."
And then he began murmuring angular measurements, like a mathematician dissecting lives.
"Seventy degrees and seventy-eight degrees, two-point-five kilometers, that's north-northwest [70° and 78°, 2.5km]. In that location, there's a boy and two girls."
"Ninety degrees, one-point-two kilometers, that north [90°, 1.2km]. There's a boy, he looks so innocent, so weak."
"Forty-five degrees, four kilometers, that's southeast [45°, 4km]. An injured girl."
"That's four locations," he said, tone almost playful. "Let's see how many you manage to save."
"What is that supposed to mean?" My question left my lips before I could stop it, fear twisting my chest.
He didn't answer. Instead, he leapt up onto a branch with inhuman grace, his shadow stretching unnaturally against the warped trees. "Let me give you a word of advice: if you don't want the blood of these students staining your hands, then make your choice soon." His voice drifted like smoke as he vanished into the branches, dissolving into the forest as if he had never been there at all.
I was left shaken and confused. My body trembled, my pulse uneven. It all sounded serious, deadly serious but I couldn't understand the point in his words. My mind clawed at the pieces he'd left behind.
Seventy degrees and seventy-eight degrees… angular measurements. He gave distances, too. But what was the initial point? What was the reference? If I was the center, then…
.
.
--------
'I didn't want to put this in an author's note, and some of you may not have seen it before, but here's a simple apology. These bearings might look unusual to some readers, especially if you're comparing them with how real bearings are measured on a compass. But what I used here wasn't the compass rose — it was a protractor scale. On a protractor there are two arcs, one running clockwise and the other anticlockwise, and that's how I measured the directions: along a straight line from 0° to 180°, with 90° being directly in front of the MC.
The compass directions were only added as a guide, so that readers unfamiliar with bearings could still picture the scene. If you know bearings, you can follow the numbers. If you don't, you can follow the words. If you don't know either, you can still picture the compass where the MC is standing and imagine the direction from there.
I know, to those who are strict with navigation, this may sound "wrong" — but please understand what I was trying to do: make the directions accessible to all readers, whether they think in digits, symbols, or compass points.'