I hesitated, the thing writhing in my grip, and then, with a resigned shrug, I bit into it. The taste hit hard, foul and rancid, like moldy socks left to stew in gutter water. But as I swallowed, something changed. The bitterness melted into a strange, heady warmth, spreading through me, igniting every nerve. Colors sharpened to a razor edge, the air buzzed electric. My senses crackled awake, alert, hungry.

“Extraordinary,” Mildred said, as I caught my reflection in a silver pot. My bluish skin had a green tinge, with patches forming new, thin skin-like material. I could smell the room better now, picking out the different spices and herbs.

She poured a coarse powder onto my hand, and it burned like acid. I tried to pull away, but she held firm, watching the sizzle against my skin. I dared not strike her or fight back.

Finally, she let go.

“What the hell was that?” I demanded, watching as my skin returned to its normal state, the burn fading.

“Table salt,” she said, showing me the package.

“I know it was table salt. What was the deal with that little experiment? I’m going to need more than that.”

“Oh, Jack. You’re not just undead; you’re a Devourer. At least, in part.”

“A what-now?” I asked.

A Devourer… Frank’s voice echoed with recognition. I felt something familiar about you, Jack. This makes sense.

“Care to elaborate?”

Before she could answer, Molly entered with a book, setting it on the table in front of Mildred before vanishing like a ghost.

That’s just creepy, I thought.

You are one to talk. A voice—not Frank’s, but younger and female—chimed in my mind. Molly?

I’ve really got to watch what I think around here. I hate this place.

The book had a charcoal sketch of a hideous beast, a mashup of body parts from different creatures. Terrifying.

It’s a beast from my world, Frank said. Rare as an honest man in a poker game. They hunted them down to the edge of extinction… for their uses. Their blood holds a dark, twisted magic, potent enough to let species breed that would otherwise be impossible matches, binding life where nature would draw a line. The first Hexborn, as you call them, wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for a splash of Devourer blood in their ancestry.

“This half-life of yours wasn’t granted, Jack,” Mildred said, her eyes narrowing, sharp as broken riftglass. “It’s something inside you—something ancient that’s been lying dormant, waiting. No one built you; they just woke it up. And what they woke isn’t just rare—it’s damn near impossible. Devourer blood.”

She leaned closer, her voice dipping to a hushed intensity. “Not a trace, not a dash, Jack. You’ve got the real thing. And it’s only just beginning to stir.”

“You mean to say—?”

“Yes, my boy,” she interrupted, her tone heavy with certainty. “I do believe you’re a Hexborn.”

Jack, Devourers pick up bits and pieces of what they eat—their traits, their weaknesses, Frank chimed in, his voice crackling through my head like static. Take that last snack. It had a salt allergy. When she hit you with the salt, you sizzled like bacon. But the effects seem temporary—burned through whatever you’d absorbed, stripped you back down to your base zombie model. Adds a whole new meaning to ‘you are what you eat.’

“That explains the imp.” I muttered, ignoring Frank’s gleeful tone.

Mildred’s eyes glinted as I spoke.

“After I ate it, my skin felt… colder. Just on that patch.”

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“Fascinating.” Her lips curved into a thin smile. “The imp’s blood granted you its senses—and its weaknesses, its sensitivity to cold. As its essence leaves your system, so will the changes… unless you consume more.”

That explained the lingering cold sensitivity. “So why’s the imp blood still in me?”

Mildred tilted her head, her gaze unyielding. “Well, Jack, how much did you eat?”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. “A lot,” I admitted.

She nodded knowingly, her smile curling into something almost predatory. “Then it’s no surprise the changes are lingering. Devourer blood doesn’t just take—it integrates, merges. And the more you consume, the harder it’ll be to tell where you end and the monster begins.”

Her voice dropped, the casual edge replaced by a cold seriousness. “You’ll want to keep this little detail quiet, Jack. There are plenty of souls—myself included—who’d pay handsomely for blood like yours. Some would kill for it.”

I tensed, her words sinking in like cold steel. She caught my worried glance and let out a soft laugh, dismissive but calculated.

“Relax, Jack. I’m not about to tie you up in my basement and drain you dry. Besides, you’re too early in the process for that to even be worth my while. Right now, your blood’s worth about as much as anyone else’s. And your secret?” She leaned in slightly, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Safe. At least as safe as any secret is around here. But it won't be spilled by me or mine.”

I nodded, but the knot in my gut didn’t loosen. Something about all of this felt like a mistake—a big one.

“How do I stop this? My Humanity... it’s been ticking away. It spiked a little after the imp, but I’m losing ground.”

Mildred’s expression shifted, her amusement fading as her tone turned clinical. “Of course it did. Your System is struggling, Jack. It’s not infallible—especially your System. It’s trying to make sense of something it was never designed to handle. Jack, there’s never been a Devourer bloodline awakened this side of the Rift. And certainly not one with your level of Enhancements.”

I stared at her, waiting for the punchline, but none came. She pressed on, her voice softer now, almost reverent.

“But here’s the thing: you’re thinking about this the wrong way. You’re not trying to maintain your Humanity anymore. That’s a human’s perspective, and Jack, you’re not fully human anymore. You’re Hexborn. You’re trying to maintain your Inhumanity.”

Her words hit like a gut punch, leaving me reeling as the implications settled in.

“You’ve got options,” she continued. “Nightstone, raw Infernum, pure Aether—they’ll stabilize you. Maybe even heal you in time. But you’ll need to embrace what you are, Jack. Fighting it will only make the cracks bigger.”

I nodded again, slower this time. The unease in my stomach hadn’t disappeared, but now it was mingled with something else: a faint, unsettling curiosity about what I was becoming.

She stared off into the distance, like she was listening to a phone call from far away. “We don’t have much time, Jack. We must move on to your next request.”

She led me through more rooms, the space warping and shifting with each step. The house didn’t follow any logical rules.

We ended up in a cozy sitting area. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting a soft glow over plush armchairs and potted plants. Candles flickered, their light dancing over the pages of open books scattered around.

“Now, you want me to identify something for you,” she said, a statement, not a question, as she gestured toward the wooden side table between us.

I fumbled with the key in my hand, its cold metal pressing into my palm before I set it down on the small, unassuming wooden table. Mildred’s hands didn’t reach for it, though. Instead, she watched with an intensity that made the room feel smaller, as if the walls were creeping closer. Molly appeared, her movements silent, carrying a delicate porcelain cup on a platter, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she had always been there, lurking in the corners of my perception.

The cup was offered to me with a bow of her head, and then, like a shadow, she was gone, leaving only the faint scent of lavender in her wake. I held the cup, feeling the warmth radiate through the thin china, and glanced at the dark liquid swirling inside. Mildred’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and unquestionable.

“Drink,” she said, the word a command cloaked in the illusion of suggestion.

The aroma was foreign, earthy, and tinged with something almost metallic. My thoughts flickered to the familiar bitterness of coffee, the way it anchored me to reality, but this... this was different. Mildred’s gaze pinned me down, and reluctantly, I lifted the cup to my lips. The liquid slid over my tongue, bitter and strange, with a warmth that unfurled through my chest and curled around my spine. I swallowed, and the sensation spread, a deceptive comfort settling into my bones.

“What is this?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, the unease bubbling up despite the drink’s warmth.

“Protection,” she replied, her tone flat and matter-of-fact, as if that single word explained everything. “It tells my Muse you’re no threat. She’s... possessive, you understand. Best not to tempt her wrath. Now, drink every drop. You’ll need it.”

The urgency in her voice propelled me to obey, and I drained the cup quickly, the last traces of the strange tea burning slightly as it went down.

Mildred finally lifted the key from the table, her fingers curling around it with an almost reverent care. Her eyes closed, and the room changed with her, the air thickening as if charged with unseen energy. The lights flickered, then dimmed, casting long, wavering shadows that danced on the walls. The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive, as though the very fabric of reality was bending under some ancient will.