Bang!!

Ling hears something inside her crack, like thin ice under a boot.

Trust breaks like brittle glass, again and again. She falls into pain like a well with no bottom, from first step to last breath the cut is hers. She is always the one wearing scars like winter bark.

Rafi watches Ling go still, docile as a statue in snowfall, and frowns.

“Hey, Ling? What’s wrong, not moving? Ling?” Her voice flits like a teasing breeze.

Ling stays silent, a stone in a river. Rafi shrugs; if the blade runs right, Ling will turn into exactly what she wants. Why bother worrying.

She drives another knife into Ling’s right leg, and the quiet girl speaks, voice like frost.

“Rafi, what you said—no family, only yourself—is that true?”

Rafi startles. Her raised hand jerks like a bird struck mid-flight. The shapeshift blade nearly drops and skewers her, a clean black spike. If it bit her, she wouldn’t last like Ling.

Death brushed her cheek, and anger seethes like hot smoke in her throat.

“Yeah. I’ve got no family. Not because they left, but because from the moment I was born, naturally from the Underworld, parents weren’t a thing. The Underworld is my mother, a cave of fire and night. I’m not like you, abandoned and pitiful, a stray in the rain.

So… you done asking? Lie still. Don’t suddenly pipe up again.”

So she is different, Ling thinks, the ache tightening like a band. Rafi wasn’t cast off, and never had kin to begin with. No seed, no wilt. Not like me, a thrown-away child from day one. Two roads, two moons.

The fourth blade buries into Ling’s other leg. Black mist curls from the wounds like ink in water, drilling into her skin.

“One more question,” Ling whispers, calm as a lake before storm. “If I had no magic, no strength, nothing—just an ordinary person—would you come for me?”

Rafi doesn’t hesitate. The answer snaps like a twig.

“Maybe. You’re cute. I could take you home as a pet. That works.”

A tight, choking heat swells in Ling’s chest, like smoke with no wind. Everyone around her stares at the outside: the borrowed magic, the borrowed body. Alicia, Rafi—they came for what isn’t hers. Not the root, not the heart.

The fifth blade hovers above her heart, a black thorn over a red flower. Push, and it will slip in. Facing death, Ling feels no fear—only a last ripple.

“Whatever happens, did you ever truly like me for one second? Just… one second.”

……

“Nope~” The word drops cold as sleet from Rafi’s lips, and the black knife sinks into Ling’s heart.

The blade goes an inch, and the room tilts. The black vapor over each wound surges like a tide, boring into Ling. Dark sigils crawl from the cuts, creeping over her skin like vines at night.

Rafi watches, and her smile twists, a mask of pure joy split like torn silk.

“Hahahahahaha!! Look! I did it! This magic could feed me for life!”

Two heartbeats later, a black magic spear tears through the wall like a storm pier, and nails Rafi to the stone. She doesn’t even blink in time. She can only watch, wide-eyed, as two small girls step in, carrying dusk like a cloak.

“Sis, sis! Didn’t expect Rafi actually pulled it off!” Flan’s voice bubbles like a spring.

“Yeah,” Remi answers, airy as smoke. “I thought we might have to step in. Who knew that one just gave up on living and waited for the axe.”

Rafi stares at Remi and Flan, fury blazing like coals. “Hey, you two bastards—what are you doing? Let me go!”

Flan points at Rafi pinned on the wall and grins, sunlight over ice. “Sis, is she drunk on joy? Can’t see the board, can’t tell whose prey is whose?”

Remi pats Flan’s head, eyes soft and warm as candlelight. “Flan, Underworld succubae are like this. No, anyone from the Underworld is this kind of fool. Let her yap.”

They talk to themselves, rain on a window, not answering. Rafi burns hotter, ignoring the spear lodged in her chest like a black branch.

“Who are you?! Do you know what happens if you do this to me?!”

“Sis, she’s asking who we are. Do we answer?” Flan tilts her head, moon-bright.

“Emmm… since she asked so sincerely, not answering feels rude,” Remi sighs, a breeze over graves. “Fine. Self-intro.”

The two girls rise, light as dandelions. Dark fog wreathes them like a sea at midnight.

“My name is Remi, avenger of a thousand gods,” she says, each word a bell of iron.

“My name is Flan, likewise an emissary of a thousand gods,” Flan whispers, sweet and sharp as wine.

They clasp hands, palms pale as shells, and the fog thins like dawn.

“We came for one thing: to kill the one who destroyed the divine realm—Yufan Ling. The pure resentment of gods fortifies us. Our strength isn’t something a common god can match.”

Rafi processes the words, then bares her teeth, voice like broken glass. “Your divine realm is gone. What do you fight for? Without it, you can’t use full power. Our Demon King’s strength is spiking like a wildfire. You can’t beat him. You’ll only die. Daemons and gods are mortal enemies. With my help, maybe you live longer!”

Flan laughs, bright and cruel as a silver bell, clutching her stomach. “Hahahaha!! Sis, she’s threatening us. Look at her—so dumb.”

“It’s fine, Flan,” Remi murmurs, eyes on Ling like twilight. “The dying always self-soothe. Like that idiot lying there.”

Rafi frowns, rain in her skull. Why are they laughing now? “What do you mean?”

“Nothing much,” Remi says, calm as ash. “Just that you’re truly dumb. The Underworld’s magic has long been mined dry; look around, see the ruin. Your Demon King’s sudden breakthrough? Our help. You think he alone could bind that fool over there? Impossible. We provided the chain. You were the only one Ling might fully trust. Who else would we use?

Also, we’re not gods. As you said, the divine realm is gone. There are no gods now. We’re puppets under a forced hand, strings tight as wire.”

Her words strike Rafi’s heart like cold rain. She doesn’t grasp the last parts, but she gets the shape: her boss has a bigger boss, and that bigger boss stands here. She already offended them. The coming storm needs no map.

Remi and Flan don’t care about Rafi at all. Seeing her go blank, they turn away like wind from a gutter.

“Sis, ignore her. Time for the real work.”

“Sorry. Talked to a bug too long. Let’s get it done.”