I took another bite and felt the energy of the imp moving through me. As I ate more, something stirred inside me, a strange tingle through my hands and fingers. My pallid blue skin darkened ever so slightly. I felt the energy soaking into me, a warmth within.

“Why do you keep calling me young?” I asked. But when I looked up, she was gone. Frank and I were alone.

Eternals, Frank said. Never come straight out and say anything. ‘Don’t trust Tom, he’s stealing your fortune,’ or ‘the secret is over there under that book.’ They always want you to figure it out for yourself.

“You have a history with Eternals, Frank?” I asked.

Oh, another tale for another time. Let’s survive this one first, shall we?

“Frank, do you feel that?” “Frank, do you feel that?” I asked, feeling the imp’s blood snake its way through my veins, warm and oily

There was a long pause before Frank spoke again.

Indeed, Jack, you feel different. Less... dead. Not quite alive. But certainly, almost definitely less dead. And yet, more... something else.

I watched as a bit of decaying skin on my arm began to cling and knit itself back together. But it was no longer my own. The patch was now in the shade of the black fire imp, leaving the rest of me still in my pale hue.

I finished the imp, feeling strength seep back into my limbs. Slowly, I rose, my body still aching but no longer on the brink of collapse. I looked around, hoping for another imp, but none were to be found. The Eternal likely frightened most things away.

We pressed on, and soon enough, we stumbled upon a small deposit of Nightstone, its obsidian sheen stark against the crimson soil. The sight of it sent a jolt of relief through me. With Frank's help, I dug into the ground; the earth giving way to reveal a sizable chunk of the precious mineral.

Once we'd gathered all we could, we retraced our steps with care and deliberation. The journey back blurred in a haze of exhaustion. Miraculously, the rift remained open, a shimmering beacon of salvation. We stepped through, and the familiar chill of the docks enveloped us.

The cold air hit me harder than before, especially where the imp's flesh now melded with mine. It was strange, feeling the bite of the cold so acutely.

"That's odd. I can actually feel the breeze where the imp's flesh has replaced mine. Fire imps hate the cold, don’t they?" I mused, more to myself than to Frank.

Indeed.

A spark of hope ignited within me. This would require some experimenting, but perhaps there was a way back from undeath. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

We stepped out of the rift, and there was Sarge, waiting patiently like he had been standing guard the whole time. His tail wagged as soon as he spotted us.

“Now that’s a good boy,” I said, kneeling down to give him a few well-earned pets. His fur was warm, solid, a grounding presence after everything that had just happened. “Alright, a deal’s a deal.”

I started walking back to the car, Sarge falling into step beside me, his nails clicking against the pavement. “Really, Sarge, how’d you get all the way out here? You expanding your turf?”

He barked, short and sharp, almost like he was agreeing with me.

“At least one of us is doing well for himself.”

You realize he’s just a dog, right? Frank grumbled in my head.

“And you’re just a jacket,” I shot back.

I could feel Frank seething in the corner of his own little perpetual-possession state, but he stayed quiet. Probably knew I wasn’t in the mood.

We made it back to the car. I rummaged through the glove box—papers, an old handkerchief, a crumpled scorecard from Yahtzee—until I found what I was looking for: a small, half-forgotten bag of dried jerky. No use to me anymore, but Sarge... he would appreciate it.

His mouth was already watering by the time I tossed him a large piece. He gobbled it down in seconds, then sat there, staring at me expectantly.

“C’mon, Sarge. You’re killing me here. I gotta save some for later, alright? Can’t give it all away.”

He kept staring. That wide-eyed, relentless look only a dog could pull off.

I stared back.

He stared back.

“Alright, fine. You win.” I tossed him the last chunk of jerky. He swallowed it in one bite, then trotted over and snuggled up against my arm, satisfied.

“You wanna ride with us, or you doing your own thing?” I asked, scratching behind his ears. He barked once, spun in place like he was chasing his tail, then suddenly lost interest and sauntered off down the street, tail wagging.

“On your own, huh? I can appreciate that.”

I watched him for a second, then turned my thoughts to Frank.

“I’m feeling better than I have any right to,” I said aloud.

I noticed, he said.

“I need to do something.”

I headed toward the water’s edge, drawn by the need to shake off the filth that clung to me—not just the physical grime, but the stench of the rift, the corruption lingering in my bones. The moon cast a silvery sheen over the ocean, its rhythmic waves beckoning like a dark invitation. I could still feel the rift’s presence, heavy in the air, seeping into my skin. The only thing I could think to do was drown it out.

Fully clothed, I waded into the ocean. The cold hit me like a shock, slicing through my deadened nerves and stinging the open wounds scattered across my body. Saltwater bit at the gashes, sharp and unforgiving, but it was grounding—better than letting the otherworld’s residue sink any deeper into me.

I stood in the surf, the waves crashing around me, and for a moment, I felt almost human again. The night was still and silent, the stars above a stark contrast to the chaos we’d endured.

It's going to be a long night, I thought.

Isn’t it already? Frank asked.

But now, with the Nightstone secured and a direction in mind, things looked a touch less bleak.

“We need a demonologist,” I said, the words carrying out over the dark, restless sea.