Part of me had become a monster. Ever since some of the demon had become pinned to me, it had seemed liked an inevitability. What being a monster really meant, however, seemed like something for me to decide. It granted me powers to kill, but I was already doing plenty of the like already. It honed the edge that was slowly forming - the purpose I was either destined for, or had decided to take up the mantle for.

Click, click, click, click, click. Reload.

Click, click, click, click, click. Reload.

I stepped through the portal into the basement. The echoed actions still repeating in my head. My legs managed to carry my blood-soaked body to the recliner, and I slumped down. The repeated sound of the trigger pull still scratching at the inside of my skull.

Wight came back to this plane next, and pressed the panel to deactivate the portal, allowing it to spool up to receive Rodney back when he was ready. They had delayed his meeting until my recovery, not something they were pleased to do - but after expressing what kind of condition I was in, they reluctantly agreed. Couldn’t have a madman on the loose.

[That was… interesting. You did not find out anything.]

I found out how many times I could shoot a man before he shuffled off the mortal coil. It was a lot. Far too many. Far too… many. My hands came up to my face, and I shielded my eyes with darkness.

“I warned him.” It wasn’t much of an apology, although in my heart I had no reason to apologize to anyone. Claude had sought the ruin of this world. Any death was a valid one to ensure that didn’t come to pass.

[It was excessive. I think I am getting a déjà vu, though.]

I relented from my self-imposed hiding place to look at him with confusion. Perhaps a little single-minded of me to assume demons couldn’t experience déjà vu - but I at least wondered what he was getting at.

Wight stood with his beak cupped by a clawed hand as he looked up at the ceiling.

[That was my first time clashing Domains, too.]

“They’re a thing now, with a proper noun? I thought it was a unique thing you had because you are so powerful…”

[How receptive are you to a little demonic exposition?]

I groaned but allowed him to continue. His voice was at least helping to dull the repeating cylinder shots playing out in my brain.

[Patrons that can achieve higher than Level Ten are capable of creating a Domain, although it is usually something than comes later in their progression.]

“Ah, but you’re not near your cap?”

[Correct. The Domain I have now is a weaker version of my true capability.]

Hunting down… Hunters was something I hadn’t ever imagined having to do. They were human and had more of a frailty to them than a lot of the demons we had been facing. Still dangerous, but my shots hit them just as hard. For both my sanity and the sake of the Org, I hoped there weren’t too many in this web of lies.

[Domains vary in strength depending on the demon.]

I nodded. There was a lot more nuance to demons than I had first realized - high level Hunters must really be something else. “So we’ll only come across that with Hunters in the Eight to Twelve range?”

[To start with, yes. The end of the Lowers and the start of the Mids will have a lot of Hunters with Domains.]

The chair creaked as I deflated into it further. My regeneration had patched the hole in my lungs, but they still felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t even real water. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. “Your Domain can override others?”

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[Some. It appears to be an aspect of my Domain.]

He didn’t fully know. I could see it in his impassive face. Whatever memories the Org had scooped away probably had him unclear on his true nature or power level. At this point in the day, I was too tired to care. “So, what now?” I asked.

[Although the Hunter was not receptive to your… questioning, I spoke with his patron and found out an ally of his.]

“When did you… and how?” I sat back up at the complaints of my stomach muscles.

[Not all patrons are allowed the freedom of expression you grant me, Eric. The Jaws was receptive to my request of information, holding no loyalty to the hunter that saw them as nothing but a tool.]

Wight’s beak eventually closed after the long bit of information. That all made sense, although I didn’t really feel like I was allowing him to be who he was… I wasn’t about to stop him in any way. Especially not now he could inhabit and burst my body apart.

“So we have a lead, then. We do the same thing as here, but less traumatically?”

[If you so wish.]

I wasn’t too sure whether he meant the killing of the Hunter, or making it less traumatic. Hopefully both. We would need to wait for Rodney to get back, and I could probably use a rest for my body and mind to recover. I feel pretty stable at the moment, but a wave of corruption could tip me off the edge.

[Would you like a coffee, Eric?]

“Ah, let’s go upstairs then. I’ll make it.” My dirtied hands gripped at the recliner arms. I could probably use a bath, too.

I led the way, my muscles stiff and unresponsive. Wouldn’t do me well to sit in the basement and stew in the malaise. Burying myself in the job was a bad habit that would soon get me buried in other ways. The macabre non sequitur reminded me I wanted to shine my detective eye over Rodney's place, if he allowed it.

We walked into the empty dining room, and then into the kitchen. The house seemed lifeless and cold. I was somewhat surprised to see it was the daytime, but what light was offered by the sun didn’t bring any life with it. It would be foolish to assume I was just missing Pearl. It was part of it, but with Rodney gone as well, it was as though my sources of warmth had been taken away. At least Wight hadn’t gone to the Org.

[I can operate the kettle, by the way.]

I waved him off. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but his track record wasn’t exactly exemplary. Until I started doing loopy things due to corruption, I was still the adult in the room. “You hungry?”

[Never. But I can eat.]

As the stove lit and warmed the kettle, I shuffled over to the fridge. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought I had a hangover. “I can make us some eggs and bacon… on toast?”

[Sounds perfect, Eric.]

It did, didn’t it? His words had an almost soothing effect on me, and I paused to make sure it wasn’t the residual effects of Hell turning my brain into mush. Nope - just normal human emotion. Some relief in pleasant normality. Cooking, eating, talking with your demonic patron friend.

The process was just a few snapshots of memories that I was too tired to store away for later, and then we were sitting in the dining room. I opted for the table to be opposite Wight, despite my recliner being near the window.

[The Pearl is a better cook, but these fill me with contentedness.]

I watched him prod at the food with the fork and drop it into his beak, not even chewing the pieces of meat or toast. A wide smile crossed my face as a warm tear rolled down into my beard. Content and safe. An involuntary act from my ducts, making up for my inability to properly process my emotions and experiences. But then, who could? Hell wasn’t a place for humans.

“It’s nice to step away from business sometimes.” I tapped my fork against the fried egg. Sure, an hour ago I was shooting a man to death excessively, but right now - it was just eggs and bacon and eggs and Wight. And bacon.

I placed the fork down and breathed deeply. This wouldn’t do. How did I expect to grow through hard times if the hard times broke me? Like an egg. There was a barrier somewhere that I couldn’t work my way around.

How to be incorruptible?

[Are you alright, Eric?]

“Yeah,” my eyes refocused on my patron. “Just a little wild, I think.”

[Ah. I wondered why you were scratching at the table.]

I looked down with my brow furrowed. The fork held tightly in my grip and pressed against the surface of the dining table. Ruining the surface was not really part of my worries now.

Instead, I had begun to scratch out some symbol or rune. Not one that had any familiarity or meaning to my mind.

“What’s this?” I asked, more to the room than my patron specifically.

[Looks like a clue.]

He tilted his head, and his beak upturned at the edges like a smile.

As I opened my mouth, we both tensed up as a heavy fist knocked at the front door.

My right eye twitched. Not really a good time for visitors - between my mania, our little breakfast gathering, and my impromptu art session, I wasn’t in the mood to see anyone. Still, as the supposed owner of this house, I should investigate - just in case it was Org's goons ready to kidnap or murder me. Or worse, some manner of salesman.

I walked around the table and into the hall, as the fist knocked again. Insistant. My breaths deep as I tried to keep calm. I sidled up close to the door.

“Who is it?”

“Mr Redd? May I speak with you?”

“Depends. Who wants to know?” My tongue counted through my teeth, more of an obligatory way to keep my brain busy and avoid filling the door with bullet holes.

“My name is Isaac, I’m from the Church.”