Chapter 110: _ Must Find Her II
The shadows twitch before Grayson’s last echo has even died out. The air thickens, as if something inhales the space between the twins and the walls. Morgan’s aetherblade hums louder, responding to the tension like it can taste blood before it spills.
Then they appear.
Shapes peel themselves from the walls like paint bubbling off under too much heat. Eyes glisten first—dozens of them, before bodies emerge. Their hair is black, dragging the ground, their skin is as pale as bone dust. And their mouths... are too wide, with sharp get teeth glinting faintly in the dim light.
Grayson groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh, don’t tell me. These are the types who eat humans, aren’t they?"
The creatures flinch, as if the accusation pains them.
Then, a woman steps forward. If "woman" is the right word. She looks about in her fifties, but her beauty is unsettling
"No! No, we don’t want trouble." She lifts her hands, palms out. Her nails are long. Her teeth flash as she speaks, but not in threat... more like desperation. "We are not the ones who hunt humans. Please."
Morgan cocks a brow, leaning his weight onto his blade as though it’s just a cane and not a weapon of condensed light. His smirk is pure skepticism. "Right. And how exactly do we believe that? Demons doing a PR campaign, now?"
The woman flinches at his sarcasm, but a male demon at her side speaks up. "We smell it on you. Both of you. The power, wolf’s rage, and the aether hum. You could kill us with little effort. We cannot afford to provoke you."
Demons are infamous for their cunning. Truly, the labyrinth harbors good demons, but after prolonged exposure to so much darkness, even the so-called "good demons" might be tainted.
Grayson tilts his head. Their words almost sound genuine, but his instincts are on alert. Trusting demons is like trusting frat boys with a keg... you’re guaranteed regret by the end of the night. Still, something in their posture which consists of hunched shoulders and eyes darting around as if they
are the prey—makes him hesitate."Mm-hmm." He crosses his arms. "So if you’re not out here trying to make us dinner, what are you doing?"
The woman straightens, a little courage entering her spine. "We were hiding. I-I mean, waiting. A part of the labyrinth... it used to be ours. But the dark ones came. They stole our homes. Our food. Our children."
By food, she meant some otherworldly fairy animals left in their forest. And by children, she meant the offspring of their sexual contact with some other creatures who couldn’t make it to the portal on time over the years.
Her voice cracks on that last word. Morgan shifts slightly and Grayson thinks he can see the faintest flicker of sympathy—or maybe just calculation, passing through his expression.
Grayson narrows his eyes. "So what? You want us to believe you’re the... what? Refugee demons? The oppressed kind?"
"If you doubt," the woman says softly, "then walk away. But if you wish to reach the heart of the labyrinth, we can help. We know the paths. We know the shifting turns. But..."
There’s always a but.
Grayson sighs dramatically. "There it is."
The woman presses on anyway. "Along the way, we will face them. The ones who drove us out. If you fight with us, if you help us reclaim what was stolen... then we will lead you to who you seek."
Morgan whistles low, twirling his blade lazily. "So basically—escort mission. With bonus carnage." He glances at his brother, smirk sharp. "We came here to fight demons anyway, didn’t we?"
Grayson exhales through his nose, annoyed but resigned. "Fine. But the second you try anything funny..."
"We won’t," the woman interrupts quickly. "We can’t
."Her eyes flick toward the faint glow of the runes still seared into the twins’ wrists, as if the mark alone proves the power they wield but it doesn’t.
Grayson mutters under his breath, "Guess we’re doing this, then."
The demons shift, giving the impression of bowing without actually lowering themselves. The woman gestures forward. "Follow us."
.
.
The labyrinth feels alive. Every step squelches against stone that pulses faintly like veins. The air tastes of metal and mildew, and every corridor hums with whispers too low to catch, like the place itself is mocking them.
The demons move like shadows, walking just ahead.
"God, this place," Grayson mutters.
Morgan glances sideways, blade humming casually in his grip. "Relax. If it’s a trap, at least it’ll be interesting."
Grayson soffs. "Your idea of interesting is psychotic."
Morgan’s grin widens. "Takes one to know one."
Before Grayson can roll his eyes again, a low hiss splits the corridor. The demons freeze. The woman lifts a hand sharply, signaling silence.
From the shadows ahead, shapes slither out. These aren’t pale and desperate like their guides. These are warped and monstrous. Their limbs are too long, their eyes red and wet, and their mouths hang open in a constant hungry snarl. They crawl on all fours, claws scraping sparks against stone.
"Ah," Morgan says cheerfully. "So here comes the bad PR team."
The first of the hostile demons attacks.
Grayson’s wolf roars inside him, and he’s already moving before he thinks. His claws rip out mid-motion, shredding through the first demon’s throat with a spray of black ichor that sizzles when it hits the glowing wall. The stench is rancid and rot.
Another demon leaps his way, and Morgan intercepts, his aetherblade slicing it clean in half. The blade hums louder, feeding on the kill. He flicks the ichor off casually, like it’s just water.
"You know," Morgan calls over the chaos, "for good demons, your neighbors suck."
The woman demon hisses, ducking behind one of her companions. "They weren’t always like this. The hunger twisted them!"
Grayson doesn’t bother replying. He shoulder-slams another demon, pinning it against the wall. Its claws rake against his back, slicing fabric but barely denting skin. He snarls, baring his teeth, then tears its head free with one brutal snap.
Morgan whistles. "That’s one way to do it."
"Shut up and fight," Grayson snaps.
Morgan obliges. With a flourish, he drives his blade through two demons at once, the green light crackling as it burns through their flesh. They shriek, letting out a sound like glass breaking against bone, before collapsing into heaps of steaming gore.
The demons’ guides stay back, wide-eyed, and murmuring in awe. The woman presses her hands together as though in prayer.
Within minutes, the corridor is littered with bodies; smoking, twitching, and oozing foul liquid. The labyrinth floor drinks it greedily, the ichor vanishing into cracks as if the place itself feeds on blood.
Grayson wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, scowling. "God, I hate this place."
Morgan twirls his blade once more, the green glow painting his grin eerie. "Yeah. But admit it. That was fun."
Grayson glares. "You’re insane."
"Probably." Morgan shrugs, unbothered. "But you love me."
Grayson mutters something under his breath that might be agreement, though it’s buried under disgust as he shakes ichor off his claws.
The woman steps forward carefully, eyes flicking between them and the corpses. "You... you are stronger than I imagined."
"Yeah, well," Grayson grunts, "don’t get ideas. Lead the way. There’s a damsel in distress waiting to be saved."