Quinn didn't ask too many questions, and for that, Cobalt was grateful. The last thing he needed was more people asking him about his horns. Instead, the Imp had spent the previous day regaling all who'd listen with tales of her hospitalisation and the procedures she underwent to extricate the glass shard from her eye. Apparently she had also been trying to get 'Deadeye Redtile' to stick as a new nickname, but she was less successful in that endeavour. Eventually news of Magnus' expulsion reached her ears, which she wholeheartedly celebrated.

She was taking the whole being half-blind thing in her stride. Cobalt had to admit he wasn't expecting her to be so relaxed about the whole ordeal.

But the Imp's attitude was already having an effect on him. If she could cope with such a serious injury so calmly, when why the Hell was he worrying so much about his own issues? Sure, his body was undergoing changes unlike anything ever documented before, but it wasn't as though he was sick or dying. A little burning in his stomach and a slight headache, maybe, but as long as he kept a handle on it, he would be fine.

He had to be.

Sitting in his kitchenette, Cobalt nervously eyed up the contents of his fridge, samples of which he had laid out on his table. There was nothing particular unusual there; mostly just sandwich ingredients, precooked meals and various snack items. Everything was relatively fresh and in-date. The sandwich he made for his lunch yesterday was came from this very fridge. It was something he ate regularly; almost every day, even.

Swallowing hard, he pulled a slice of ham from its packet and gave it an experimental nibble. It tasted just fine, and after a little experimentation, he deduced that the cheese and butter were fine as well. With a frown, he turned his attention to his much larger supply of produce. He took a bite out of the end of a carrot.

It looked fine. It smelled fine. It felt fine. So why did it taste like he was eating sand?

Spitting the carrot out into a napkin, he tested some of the other fruits and vegetables he had, but they were no better. Growing a little desperate, the Incubus took a bite out of a slice of bread, only to spit it out, hacking and coughing as its foul, claggy texture almost choked him.

"Ack...! What the Hell is going on?!" he cried aloud, dumping the napkin into the bin.

He was somewhat glad to learn that not everything was affected, but still, why was this happening?

"I hope Alison gets back to me, and soon. I really don't want to have to eat bacon for every breakfast..." he sighed, gathering everything up into his arms.

Putting all of his food back into his fridge, Cobalt kicked it shut and took a deep breath. He realised that he was putting much more faith in the intrepid scientist that he reasonably ought to, but at this point he was desperate for answers. There weren't many scientific studies done on Incubus anatomy. Phrodival had a reputation for not allowing researchers anywhere near the Undercroft. At first he thought it was because the underground complex had an adverse effect on sensitive equipment, but upon learning what really went down on the lower floors, he realised that those in charge didn't want to disturb the interred Incubi.

To give them some semblance of peace, maybe. Or perhaps they just want them locked up and forgotten about.

"Agh..."

Shaking his head, Cobalt pushed all thoughts of the Undercroft out of his mind as he shut the fridge door behind him. There was no point in dwelling on it. That was all behind him.

After a quick check of the time, he figured that it would be best to get to bed soon and wake up early to face the new week. Things were going to be tougher now that he was in charge of a third-year class. Changing into his pyjamas, he stepped into his bathroom and began brushing his teeth, gazing into his own reflection.

Flicking his gaze upwards, his brow furrowed at the sight of his horns. Even the most magically-inadept demon was proud of their horns, and he was no exception. He spent a lot of time in the mornings making sure he kept them clean and polished, ensuring that no dirt lingered in the spiralled grooves and that the bone retained the ochre hue that most demons were known for.

But he couldn't stand the sight of these new ones. Whereas his old horns were smooth and curved slightly as they rose, these ones were rough and jagged. They were heavy, the iron seemed to suck the light out from around them, and when Cobalt lightly tapped one with the end of his toothbrush, he felt a dull ringing sensation in his head.

Once he was finished with his teeth, the Incubus grabbed a straight razor from the cup on his sink. He reached for the shaving foam, but stopped upon remembering something Alison had said to him at one point.

"She said she'd need horn shavings..."

He dimly considered trying to scrape some iron off, but he had a feeling that the razor wouldn't be hard enough. Dinking the side of his right horn with the blade, he hissed sharply as a dull pain shot through his head, like a tender tooth.

"Hm. I'm not a fan of her anaesthesiology methods, but I think I'd rather be under before I let her anywhere near these," he remarked aloud, lowering his hand.

At least, Cobalt attempted to lower his hand. Try as he might, however, he remained as he was, holding the flat of his straight razor against his horn. Raising an eyebrow, he tried again, only for his arm to refuse to respond.

"What the-?!"

As quick as a flash, Cobalt's hand lunged for his own throat, knocking him back against his bathroom wall as he tried to get away from the glinting razor. He choked out an alarmed cry as the blade was placed tight against his neck, he entire arm tensed and unresponsive. Try as he might to regain control, all the Incubus could do was whimper and squirm in an effort to pry the razor away.

A horribly familiar sensation tore through his head, like his skull was being ripped apart from the inside out. He had felt it only once before, at the end of last year.

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"Finally," he heard a raspy voice hiss, seemingly coming from within his head.

He knew that voice. It belonged to the Devil that attacked him.

"Wh- Where are you?! How are you doing this?!" he cried, trying desperately to keep the razor from nicking his throat.

"Hmph. Cornered like a rat. I expected to be somewhat disappointed, but you're really a far cry from the Devil hunter I was lead to believe you were," the voice spat vindictively.

Cobalt's eyes darted around the bathroom, peering through the doorway to see if there was anyone out in the main room. But alas, he was alone.

"Don't bother looking. I'm not out there. Not anymore."

The blood in his veins, once so uncomfortably hot, cooled to an unnerving chill. Eyes wide, he turned to look at himself in the mirror.

His eyes, once a pleasing amber, were now red and bloodshot. The eyes of a Devil.

"I'm in your head."

Cobalt took a stifled breath.

"G- Get out," he whispered.

The voice responded with a dry, humourless laugh.

"Gladly."

Like a bolt of lightning cracking through his skull, the searing pain intensified, forcing Cobalt to his knees. A miasma of dark grey energy seeped from his body like gaseous ferrofluid, pooling onto the floor and seeping into his dorm room. The pain subsided, leaving the Incubus feeling weak and out of breath. He regained control over his hand and watched as the miasma slowly formed itself into a figure.

Stepping forth from the mass of ferric energy, a Devil made her presence known, stretching irritably as she cracked her knuckles. She bore the same iron horns, wings and tail from before, but in place of the dark clothes she wore before, she was clad in an ethereal grey robe, allowing Cobalt to see her face.

He remembered Diate's face as a terrifying thing; a teeth-flashing visage that radiated pure malice. This Devil bore no scars and held only a slight frown, and yet her gaze struck more fear into Cobalt's heart than Diate's ever did.

She had a strong, angular face, the kind that warlords and generals were often depicted with in old history books. Her right eye glinted a blood red, while she was holding her left closed for some reason. A mane of silver flowed down her back, tied back messily with her own hair. Meeting Cobalt's terrified stare, she spread her draconic wings wide and thrashed her tail dramatically.

"So. You really are him. After what I've seen, I'm really unimpressed," she said, folding her arms.

Glancing down at her robes, the Devil pulled a face. With a snap of her fingers, the ethereal grey matter shimmered and reformed into a long military coat.

"I've been forced to sit back and watch this past week. Not. Impressed. At. All," she added, narrowing her one open eye.

Spurred into action by fight-or-flight, Cobalt snatched his straight razor off the floor and lunged at her. Rather than move out of the way or attempt to counter, she just stood where she was, staring at him with that one, unblinking eye.

"Inadvisable," she muttered right as he swung the blade.

He felt the razor bite into tough skin and rake a red line right across her cheek. Just as it made contact, searing pain slashed across Cobalt's own cheek, forcing him down onto one knee as he clutched his face. He could feel blood flowing from the fresh cut that formed there, seemingly by nothing.

"G- Gah! What...?!" he cried, looking back at his bloodied hand.

Rolling her eye, the Devil wiped the blood off her face and folded her arms.

"When two souls are bound in a contract, the wounds of one are transferred onto the other. You're supposed to be smart. You're supposed to know this," she spat, glaring down at him.

Cobalt's eyes widened despite the pain.

"Contract...?"

"Yeah. Contract. You're not deaf, are you?"

A contract. An old demon ritual, lost to the sands of time. It was said that in the olden days, a demon could initiate a contract with a human, allowing them to bind with that human's soul and reside within their consciousness, granting them demonic powers. It was tricky, and laden with risks, but it was said that those contracted to demons could do amazing things.

But it was something that was only ever done with humans. And it had to be consensual.

"I- I... how... did you...?" he guttered, instinctively reaching for his neck.

"Don't worry about it. Didn't go right anyway. Whatever you did fucked the whole process. I was supposed to be in control."

"You tried to take over my body?!"

"Best place to hide. You've got the entirety of Damnation shitting itself."

Growing angry, Cobalt faced the Devil with bared teeth.

"Who the Hell are you?! What do you want from me?!" he barked, clenching his fists.

She narrowed her eye.

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does!"

Climbing to his feet, he snatched up his razor and pointed it at the Devil, who just raised an eyebrow.

"Tell me who you are, right now," he hissed, narrowing his eyes.

She met his gaze for a second before looking back down at the razor blade. Staying silent for a moment, the Devil eventually sighed and sat down on Cobalt's bed.

"Lilith," she said simply, face stony and unmoving.

The Incubus' face softened for a moment as he struggled to remember where he had heard that name before. In an ancient history book no doubt, but he had read so many of those that they started to bleed together.

"What do you want with me?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice from wavering.

"Not your life, so you can put that down."

He didn't, causing her to sigh.

"I needed a place to hide, as I said. I'm on the run. And before you ask, no, I'm not with any other Devils. I'm on my own out here."

Her voice was low and raspy, but Cobalt couldn't detect any dishonesty in it. Uneasily lowering the blade, he carefully rounded the edge of the bed.

"Why?" he asked.

"I don't have to tell you that."

Gritting his teeth, he fixed Lilith with the most menacing stare he could muster.

"Then get out. Find someone else to force your contract onto," Cobalt told her.

Lilith's frowned just deepened.

"No," she said simply.

"What?!"

"I said no. Unideal as this is, you'll still serve as good cover."

Sighing again, she folded her arms and leaned back.

"You needn't worry about me causing issues. I understand you have some petty class or other to attend to. I'll hang back into your little head and allow you to go about your business. Just pretend I'm not here."

"No! No, that is unacceptable!"

"You don't have a choice, Trayer. Neither of us really do," Lilith added with a growl.

Her piercing one-eyed glare caused him to falter for just a moment. As he struggled to swallow the situation, he reached up and touched one of his horns, causing her to shift her gaze.

"Hm. Wasn't expecting that."

"What?"

"Demon-on-demon contracting was always highly discouraged, but it was never explained why. Must screw with the magic too much," she mused aloud.

This was complete nonsense. A Devil, living in his head?! It made no damn sense! This was only adding to his problems, and honestly, he had no idea if he was going to be able to keep up.

"Right, well, as fun as this has been, I think I ought to make myself at home," Lilith said aloud, climbing to her feet.

"Wait, no! You can't just-!" he began, pointing an accusing finger at her.

She effortlessly slapped his hand away.

"Yes I can. Brace up."

Before he could react, she melted back into that strange miasma of metallic energy. It engulfed Cobalt in an instant, seeping through his skin and returning the strength to his limbs. His horns stopped hurting and his head ceased throbbing, but he still felt ill as his mind was sent reeling. Collapsing onto his bed, he stared at his ceiling as he struggled to process what had just happened.

"This is strange, but not terrible. Comfortable, almost," he heard Lilith sound from somewhere within his head.

He gritted his teeth angrily.

"My mind is not your holiday home...!" Cobalt hissed.

"Unfortunately for both of us, it is, kid."

"My name is Cobalt...!"

"I don't care."

Grabbing his face, the Incubus rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face into his pillow.

He remained there for the rest of the night, unwilling to speak or even think.