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.

"Whoever gifted you this half-life didn’t do it on a whim," Mildred said, her eyes narrowing as they fixed on me, sharp as broken riftglass. "They used pieces from all manner of creatures—one of them being the Devourer. If I had to guess, I'd wager that’s what’s ticking in place of your cold, dead heart. A Devourer Shard—the beating soul of the beast."

As you chow down on demons, you’re picking up bits and pieces of them—their traits, their weaknesses, Frank added. That last snack? It’s got a salt allergy. So, when she hit you with the salt, you felt like you were sizzling on a griddle. But the effects look temporary, at least I think. The salt burned through whatever you absorb, stripping you back down to your base zombie model. Adds a whole new meaning to ‘you are what you eat'.

I rolled my eyes. “It felt colder on that patch of skin.”

“Fascinating—it granted you both its senses and weaknesses. As it leaves your system, so will the changes... unless you consume more.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

That explained the imp blood and the cold sensitivity. “Why’s the imp blood still in me?”

“Well, how much did you eat?”

A lot, I recalled.

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.

Mildred was no longer the frail woman sitting across from me. She became something more, something vast and unknowable, as if the darkness itself had been drawn to her, swirling around her like a living thing, alive with secrets and power.

A voice not her own reverberated through the room, deep and resonant, and all that was became smaller.

“The key must never meet its twin, Long sealed, an ancient shadow sleeps within. Bound by lock and fate, the prison's chains, A union’s touch, and darkness reigns.”

“Oh great, a riddle,” I said, shaking my head.

“Silence!”

Mildred crawled toward me, her face inches from mine. But the face no longer belonged to her; it had become something stranger, more wicked. Her eyes carried the weight of death, love, and an incomprehensible loss. She caught the scent of the tea on my breath and stepped back slightly before continuing, her breath carrying a stench as foul as death.

“All things change, the spirit sighs,

Echoing with ancient, unending cries.

The world tilts toward the void’s embrace,

Fissures in space, rifts in place.

Time drips slowly, darkness draws near,

A matter of moments before it’s here.

The abyss reaches back, a shadow wakes,

As light falters, and last hope breaks.”