Chapter 6: Horn

Fuko—

I was kneeling.

The blade slid out of the flesh with a wet, sucking sound, the kind that made your stomach turn even if you'd heard it a hundred times before. I held the weapon loosely in my hand, watching as it dripped. Dark blood, too dark, ran down the steel and pooled at my feet.

I stood there. Just stood there.

The thing that had once been a girl lay before me, a mass of twisted flesh and wrong angles. Blood bubbles formed at one of the mouths

. There were three that I could see, maybe more hidden in the folds of malformed skin. The bubbles rose and popped, rose and popped, each one smaller than the last. A weak, rattling sound came from somewhere deep inside the mass, like air escaping from a punctured lung.

Abnormal.

That was the only word for it. This wasn't natural. It wasn't something that should exist under any circumstance. The flesh rippled in places where there should have been bone. Eyes

f, ar too many eyes

stared out from impossible angles, some half-formed, others fully open, but seeing nothing. The skin had a strange, mottled quality to it, like it couldn't decide what color it was supposed to be. Pale white in some places, angry red in others, bruised purple along the edges where different sections of flesh met and fused.

This was what calling an angel did to you.

I'd seen this before. Not exactly this, but close enough. Close enough to know what it meant.

Mia.

The name surfaced in my mind like a body floating up from deep water. The memory was already there, clawing its way forward.

This was the same. The same failed attempt to touch something that was never meant to be touched.

I was getting closer.

Closer to understanding what had happened to her. 

…

The bubbles grew smaller. Slower.

Then they stopped.

Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft crackling of the blue candles scattered throughout the space. Their flames danced and flickered, casting shadows that seemed almost alive against the stone walls.

I looked down at my hand. Blood coated my palm, running between my fingers in thin rivulets. It was still warm. I turned my hand over slowly, watching the crimson liquid catch the candlelight. My blade hung loose in my other hand, the metal stained red from tip to hilt.

This was mercy, I told myself. Better this than—

Voices drifted down the corridor outside, muffled but growing closer.

"—supposed to be locked. I swear I locked it this morning."

"Well, it's open now, isn't it? Maybe you're getting forgetful in your old age."

"Old age? I'm thirty-two!"

"Exactly. Ancient."

The voices were casual, almost bored. Footsteps accompanied them, boots scuffing against stone. The sound of men who'd done this walk a hundred times before, who saw nothing unusual about dragging children into a basement for rituals.

"Think we'll get extra coin for these two?" the first voice asked. "Found them hiding in a grain cart outside the city gates. Took forever to—"

The footsteps stopped.

"Why is the door open?"

The casual tone vanished, replaced by something sharp and uncertain.

I turned my head slowly toward the entrance.

Two men stood in the doorway, both wearing the same dark robes as the guard I'd killed earlier. Deep blue fabric that looked black in the shadows, hoods pulled low over their faces. Between them, two children—a boy and a girl, both no older than ten—stood with ropes around their necks. The rope was tied like a leash, the kind you'd use for dogs.

The children's eyes were red from crying, their faces streaked with tears and dirt. They wore simple village clothing—rough-spun tunics and patched trousers. Not castle servants. Just... children. Taken from somewhere. Brought here for the same purpose as all the others.

The robed men stared at me. At the body of their companion on the floor. At the flesh mass that had finally stopped moving. At the blood covering my hands and blade.

"Who... who is he?" one of them said, his voice shaking slightly.

I said nothing.

Just looked at them. My hand tightened around the hilt of my blade.

…

The feeling was getting duller.

That's what bothered me most as I climbed the stairs. Not the blood on my hands. Not the bodies I'd left behind. 

How little it affected me anymore.

The first time I'd killed someone, my hands had shaken for hours.

Now? Now it was just... something I did like breathing.

Two more bodies on the floor of that basement. Two more men who'd woken up this morning not knowing it would be their last day. The first one had reached for his sword—too slow. My blade found his throat before his fingers touched the hilt. The second had been smarter, or maybe just more cowardly. He'd run. Made it maybe five steps before I caught him.

Neither had screamed. That was good. 

My boots struck stone as I climbed the stairs, each step echoing in the narrow stairwell. Wet. The sound was wet. I looked down at my feet and saw the dark footprints I was leaving behind, blood mixed with whatever else had been on that basement floor. The prints glistened in the torchlight, a trail leading back down to where I'd come from.

And I felt nothing.

The stone steps were slick beneath my boots, making each step treacherous. I had to move carefully, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. The sound was steady, rhythmic, almost hypnotic. Behind me, two sets of smaller footsteps followed

quieter, more hesitant.       

Blood had dried on my face, pulling at my skin as I moved. I could feel it—a sticky, uncomfortable sensation that ran from my left cheekbone down to my jaw. Half my face was covered in it, the copper smell.

The two children followed close behind me. I'd cut the ropes from their necks as soon as I could, tossing the frayed cords aside like the trash they were. Red marks ringed their throats where the rope had bitten into soft skin. The girl kept touching her neck gingerly, as if she couldn't quite believe it was gone. The boy just stared at the back of my head, his eyes wide and unblinking.

Neither of them spoke. Smart.

The stairwell was narrow, the walls pressing in from both sides. Only a single torch mounted halfway up provided any light, its flame sputtering and weak. 

We climbed higher. The stairs seemed endless, each step identical to the last. Up and up, leaving the blue candlelight and the bodies and the blood behind. Leaving that thing that used to be a girl behind.

Finally, the stairs ended. A wooden door stood before us, slightly ajar. Light spilled through the gap, proper light, not the sickly blue glow of ritual candles. I pushed the door open with my shoulder and stepped through.

The hallway stretched out before me, familiar in its opulence. High ceilings. Paintings in gilded frames. Tapestries depicting scenes of battles, hunts, and noble deeds that probably never happened. Polished marble floors that reflected the light from windows set high in the walls.

I'd left the basement behind. Left the darkness and the rituals and the screaming.

Now I stood in the castle proper, where everything was clean and beautiful and utterly wrong.

The hallway was empty. No guards. No servants. Just me and the portraits and the light streaming through windows too high to reach.

I turned back to look at the doorway.

The two children were still behind the door, or trying to be. The boy stood in the doorway itself, frozen halfway between the basement stairs and the hallway. The girl hid behind him, her small hands clutching the back of his torn tunic. I could see her face peeking around his shoulder, eyes wide and frightened.

They said nothing. Just stared at me with the same look rabbits get when they spot a wolf.

I looked down at them, at the red marks still visible on their necks where the rope had been. At their dirt-stained faces and their simple village clothes.

"Do you live here?" I asked. My voice sounded rough, unused. "In the village outside the castle?"

The boy's mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. The girl pressed herself further behind him.

I waited.

Finally, the boy managed a small nod. His throat worked as he swallowed.

"Can you make it home on your own?" I asked.

The boy looked at the girl behind him, then back at me. Another nod

Slave Child—

The black cat's paw pressed against the cold stone wall as he peeked around the corner. His whole body was tense, tail straight out behind him like a rod. I held my breath, trying to make myself smaller, trying not to make a sound.

Two knights walked past. Their armor clinked with each step, the sound echoing down the hallway. I could see the torchlight reflecting off the polished metal, could hear their boots striking the marble floor in rhythm. They were talking about something

patrol routes, maybe, or dinner

But I couldn't make out the words over the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.

The cat

Kuro, he'd called himself, waited until the footsteps faded completely. Then he pulled back and turned to look at us, his green eyes bright even in the dim hallway.

He lifted one paw and gestured urgently forward. Hurry.

I moved first, keeping close to the wall. Behind me, I could hear the others following. There were five of us total, me and four other children who'd been chained up in that room. The room with the blue candles and the blood and the thing that used to be a person.

I tried not to think about that. Tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

Someone was crying. Soft, hiccupping sobs that they were trying to muffle with their hands. A boy, I think

one of the younger ones. Another child was breathing too fast, on the edge of panic. I could hear it in the quick, shallow gasps.

I wasn't crying. Wasn't panicking. Not on the outside, at least.

Inside, everything was screaming. Inside, I wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. Inside, I was still in that room, still chained to the wall, still watching that man raise his hand to the little girl's hair—

.

"It's okay, it's okay," Kuro whispered, his voice urgent but trying to sound soothing. "We're almost there. Just stay quiet. Stay close. We'll be outside soon and then—"

"Are you really a talking cat?" The question left my mouth before I could stop it.

Kuro froze mid-step. He turned to look at me, his whiskers twitching.

It was a stupid question. Obviously, he was a talking cat. I was listening to him talk right now. But my mind felt fractured, scattered, like I couldn't quite hold onto any thought for more than a second. Everything felt surreal: the escape, the talking cat, the man with black hair and horns who'd killed those men like it was nothing.

Where was he now? The man who'd saved us. The one with the different colored eyes, red and green, impossible and strange. He'd stayed behind in that room. Told us to go. Told the cat to lead us out.

Was he still there? Was he coming? Or had something happened to him?

I realized I was waiting for an answer. Waiting to hear his footsteps behind us, to see him emerge from some doorway covered in more blood but alive, still moving, still breathing.

But there was nothing. Just us and the cat and the empty hallways.

Kuro was still looking at me, his head tilted slightly. Then he grinned or did whatever expression cats made that looked like grinning. "What, me? A talking cat? Nonsense! I'm clearly a very small, furry knight. Can't you see my armor?" He gestured at his black fur with one paw. "It's just very... minimalist."

Despite everything—despite the fear and the confusion and the terror still clawing at my chest, I felt something that might have been amusement flicker through me. It died almost immediately, smothered by everything else, but it had been there. Just for a second.

One of the other children, a girl with brown hair, let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.

"That's the spirit!" Kuro said, already moving forward again. "Now come on, we need to—"

He stopped.

We all stopped.

Voices drifted from somewhere ahead. Multiple voices. Adult voices. Getting closer.

Kuro's ears flattened against his head. His eyes darted around, searching for something, a door, a side passage, anywhere to hide.

"In here," he hissed, darting toward a door on our right. "Quickly!"

We scrambled after him. The door was unlocked—thank whatever gods were listening—and we tumbled inside. Kuro pushed the door almost closed, leaving just a crack to peer through.

The room was dark. I could barely make out shapes—furniture, maybe. A desk. Chairs. Some kind of study or office.

We pressed ourselves against the wall beside the door, trying to breathe quietly, trying not to move. The voices were getting louder. Closer.

My hand found the small boy's shoulder—the one who'd been crying earlier. He was shaking. I squeezed gently, trying to offer something. Comfort, maybe. Or just acknowledgment that we were all terrified together.

Through the crack in the door, I could see shadows passing. Torchlight flickered across the opposite wall. The voices were clear now, talking about something that made my blood run cold.

"—found more bodies in the basement. Four of them this time, all handlers. Throats cut clean."

My breath caught.

"Four? In the same area as the ritual room?"

"Yes. And the children are gone. All of them. Someone got inside."

A pause. The sound of armor shifting as someone turned. "An intruder? Inside the castle? How? We have guards at every entrance."

"I don't know. But whoever it is, they're still here. Has to be. No one's reported seeing anyone leave, and the gates are locked down tight." The voice grew harder, more urgent. "We need to find them before they get to the lord. And find those missing children. If they escape and talk..."

"The lord will have our heads."

"Exactly. Search every room. Every corridor. Every closet and storage space. I want this intruder found, and I want those children back in chains. Move!"

Footsteps. Moving away. Growing fainter.

We waited in the darkness, not moving, barely breathing. Kuro's tail swished once, twice, then went still.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Kuro moved. He pushed the door open slightly and peered out.

"Clear," he whispered. "But we need to move fast. They're searching for us now."

He looked back at all of us, his green eyes reflecting what little light came through the door. "Stay close. Stay quiet. And when I say run..." He paused. "You run. Understand?"

We nodded. All of us. Even the little boy who'd been crying.

Kuro slipped through the door first. We followed, one by one, back into the hallway.

Back into the castle that was now hunting us.

We slipped back into the hallway, staying close to the walls, moving as quietly as we could. My heart was still hammering in my chest, so loud I was sure the guards would hear it.

Kuro led us forward, but something was different now. He kept glancing back, his ears twitching. His tail moved in short, jerky motions instead of the smooth swishing from before. He was thinking about something. Worrying about something.

Then he stopped.