Mike reached into his pocket to call Hunter and ask about Kimaris. His muscles burned. Cuts stung with every second. The stiffness from all his wounds was starting to slow him down.

With a groan, he pulled out the shattered remains of the phone.

“Fuck…” he muttered.

Turning around to head back toward the spot where Hunter had dropped him off, he heard a soft groan nearby. Looking over, he saw the silver-haired woman still alive.

He walked over and lifted her into the air by the front of her shirt. With a swift smack to her face, her eyes fluttered open.

“I’m still alive?” she mumbled.

“Yeah. Do you know of a demon named Kimaris?” Mike asked coldly.

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Good. Where would I find him?” he pressed, frustration building.

“I’d been tracking a large number of demons to some warehouses in the city,” she said weakly.

“Give me the address, and I’ll leave you here. Maybe your people will find you.”

“Here.” She handed him a small, bloodstained notebook. “This has the info I gathered on demons in the city.”

Mike dropped her unceremoniously to the ground and turned toward the street, heading back to where Hunter had dropped him off.

“Keep getting stronger. Your body is still too weak,” Bahamut growled. “Focus on your strength. Stop bending to weakness.”

Pushing forward, Mike finally spotted Hunter’s truck. His vision was blurry now. His steps slowed by the tightening of fresh wounds. He reached the driver’s side door and leaned on it just as Hunter stepped out, rushing to help.

“Holy shit, who tore you up this bad?” Hunter asked, catching him.

“I need to go to a warehouse listed in this book,” Mike muttered, shoving the blood-smeared notebook into Hunter’s hands.

“You can’t do anything right now. You can barely stand,” Hunter said. “Let me patch you up first.”

“Fine. But we have to move fast. The demons have Kelsey…” Mike mumbled before losing consciousness.

Mike opened his eyes slowly, finding himself in the bed of the truck. Bandages wrapped tightly around his forearms, shoulder, and sides.

“You’ve got some tough skin,” Hunter said, seeing him stir. “Tried to stitch a couple lacerations—needle bent like a pretzel. Not natural.”

Hunter leaned over the truck bed and tossed a pair of black bracers next to him.

“Wear those. Your arms are shredded.”

“Thanks again.” Mike sat up. “Did you find that warehouse?”

“Yeah. Put those on, and this ballistic vest. You need some kind of protection. Then we’ll move.”

Mike nodded, sliding on the bracers and vest over the bandages. Every movement stung.

I don’t want to eat people… but I wonder if I’d heal like I did in the trial. I won’t eat demons… but maybe… an angel? If it’s the only way to stay alive… he thought.

He looked over at Hunter.

“When I was in the trial… I had to eat what I killed to heal. Do you think eating an angel would work?”

Hunter let out an amused chuckle. “That wasn’t on the list of things I expected you to say. I mean… maybe? Technically, you’re not fully human. But maybe try something like a cow or deer first?”

He tossed a strip of jerky into Mike’s lap.

“Here. Eat this. I’ll take you hunting for something real later.”

Mike smirked and bit into the jerky. “Thanks, Hunter.”

They drove through a ruined city. Some blocks still flickered with dim light, while others were burnt out and choked with smoke. Emergency vehicles sat abandoned, their lights still flashing. Fire gnawed through buildings, casting long shadows into the street.

As they neared the industrial sector, a line of warehouses loomed through the haze.

Hunter switched off the headlights. “There’s a heavy demon scent. Do not charge in.”

He sniffed the air, then stiffened. “There’s a human inside. I smell their fear. Should be her.”

They stepped out quietly, closing the truck doors without a sound. Mike followed Hunter along the rear of the building. A single metal door sat ahead. Hunter pointed, signaling Mike to follow.

He opened the door slowly. The faint sounds of laughter echoed from the far end of the warehouse. A demon patrolled the upper rafters, barely visible in the dark.

They crept along the wall toward a small office. Inside, through the doorway, Mike saw a figure tied to a chair.

His heart stopped.

A pool of blood beneath the chair. Fingernails scattered across the floor. Her light brown hair covered her face, strands matted with blood. Her limbs were cut and bruised. Her clothes soaked through with blood. Every breath she took looked like agony.

Mike stepped inside.

He moved toward her—heart pounding, ears ringing. He gently reached out and touched her cheek, tilting her head up.

Her battered face still wore the features he could never forget.

Her eyes opened, just barely.

“Mike…” she whispered while struggling to form a smile.

A choked breath escaped him. He almost lost his footing. Hands shaking from the swelling emotions.

Then Hunter’s hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“The scent changed,” he said, voice tight. “Something’s wrong.”

Mike’s spine stiffened. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“Trap,” Bahamut roared in his mind.