The forest smelled of ash and failure.
A lone figure stood in the clearing where the fight had taken place, the earth still scorched from fallen angel fire. The air was heavy with the stench of burnt leaves and demon ichor. Crows perched on the blackened branches above, silent as statues.
Iridessa knelt in the dirt, pressing two pale fingers to the ground. The soil was still warm. She closed her eyes, and the echoes of battle whispered to her: the hiss of a vampire's blade, the ragged breath of a dying angel, the screams of her slain hounds.
Her lips curved, though it was not a smile.
"They were here."
From the shadows, the remaining demons emerged, gaunt creatures with eyes like boiling tar. They knelt before her, heads bowed. The tallest dared to speak.
"We tracked the fallen one. She was injured… but the vampire interfered."
Iridessa's eyes opened, glowing faintly violet in the dim light. "Interfered? Or protected?"
The demon hesitated. "…Protected."
She rose slowly, brushing dirt from her long coat. Iridessa was no hulking beast—her beauty was almost human, save for the faint shimmer of shadow that clung to her skin like smoke. Her voice, when she spoke again, was soft but sharp enough to cut.
"And the three I sent?"
"Dead, my lady."
Her hand twitched once. The demon's head fell from its shoulders before it could even gasp. The body slumped to the ground with a wet thud.
Iridessa turned to the others.
"You will tell him she is alive," she said, each word deliberate. "You will tell him the vampire has her. And you will tell him… I will bring her back myself."
They nodded quickly, retreating into the trees, eager to escape her presence.
She stood alone for a moment, watching the sky. Somewhere beyond the black clouds, Heaven still burned in her memory. It is a place she had once touched but could never enter. Selahael's fall was not an accident. It was an opportunity.
And Iridessa never wasted opportunities.
The Abandoned Church
Lucien sat on the cold stone steps, listening to the faint sound of Selahael's breathing inside. The storm had passed, leaving the night too quiet. His coat was still damp with rain and blood, not all of it his own.
He didn't like staying in one place for too long, especially here in the human world where eyes and ears were everywhere. But she couldn't be moved again. Not yet.
Inside, Selahael lay on an old pew, her wings faintly glowing in the dark. The candlelight painted her face in gold and shadow. She had barely spoken since he'd given her his blood, and when she had, it was only in fragments.
Lucien's instincts screamed that they weren't safe. It wasn't just the fight earlier. It was the silence that followed. No sirens, no curious humans stumbling upon the wreckage. Whoever hunted her had ways of hiding their tracks.
He walked to the church's cracked doorway and stared out into the fog-shrouded street.
Somewhere out there, the hunt had already begun.
Far Away, in the Black City
The message reached Noctis Sanctum just before dawn.
In a chamber lit only by the red glow of molten glass, a tall figure in silver armor listened as the surviving demons stammered out their report. He said nothing for a long time, simply turning the stem of his wine glass between clawed fingers.
When they finished, he spoke. His voice was deep and cold, like stone sinking into deep water.
"Alive?"
"Yes, my lord."
"And guarded by a vampire."
"…Yes, my lord."
The man's smile was slow, deliberate. "Then we will not kill her. She is worth more alive."
He set the glass down, and the liquid inside rippled from the force.
"Spread the word. Double the reward for anyone who brings her to me. And tell Iridessa… do not fail me again."
Back in the Church
Lucien shut the door, bolting it even though he knew it wouldn't hold if the wrong kind of thing came knocking. He turned to look at Selahael. Her eyes were open now, watching him.
"They'll come again," she said.
"I know."
"And they'll send worse."
He didn't answer, but the weight in his gaze told her enough.
Lucien had spent the last hundred years keeping his head down, avoiding the politics of Bridgetowne's four realms. He didn't take sides. He didn't rescue strangers. But this was different. If the demons wanted her this badly, they wouldn't stop until they had her.
And when they failed here, they'd follow her trail back into Bridgetowne.
Into his world.
He dragged a hand through his hair, feeling the old, familiar ache in his fangs. "We can't stay here. By tomorrow night, the hunt will spread. And if it reaches the bridges…"
Selahael's voice was barely a whisper. "Then all of Bridgetowne will burn."
Lucien's jaw tightened.
He hated that she was right.
He turned away from her, pacing the cracked tiles of the church. "We'll have to move before nightfall tomorrow. I know a safehouse, old tunnels under the market district. No one will find us there."
Selahael tried to sit up, grimacing at the pain lancing through her side. "And if they do?"
He looked over his shoulder at her, eyes dark. "Then we make sure they regret it."
She studied him in the flicker of the candlelight. There was something about the way he spoke, not just the promise of violence, but the weight of a man who had lost enough to never risk losing again. "Why help me?" she asked softly.
Lucien froze, one hand resting on the back of a pew. "Because," he said finally, "I've seen what happens when they take someone alive. And I wouldn't wish that on you."
Her gaze didn't leave his. "You've seen it… or lived it?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he moved to the far corner and began gathering his weapons: a curved dagger etched with runes, a pistol loaded with silver rounds, a length of chain that glinted faintly under the candlelight.
Selahael closed her eyes briefly. "You're risking more than you admit."
"Maybe," he said, sliding the dagger into his belt. "But so are you. Whoever you were before this, whatever you did, they're coming for you because you matter. That means Bridgetowne matters now too."
She looked at him sharply. "You think they'll burn your city for me?"
"I think," Lucien replied, his voice low, "they'll burn anything that stands in their way. And Bridgetowne is full of people who won't even see it coming."
For a moment, neither spoke. The night pressed in around them, the silence heavy enough to feel. Then, faintly, beyond the cracked, stained-glass windows, came the distant toll of a bell, once, twice, then again.
Selahael's brow furrowed. "What is that?"
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "A signal. Not for humans. For them."
She felt the air shift, as if something vast had turned its attention toward the little church. Her heartbeat quickened.
Lucien blew out the candles, plunging the interior into darkness."They're already closer than I thought," he murmured. "Sleep if you can. We leave before dawn."
He didn't say it aloud, but he already knew sleep wouldn't come for either of them. Not tonight.