56. Aberration

“They’re out cold from blood loss; I drew plenty,” Elasha murmured, voice like a cool stream over hot stones, steadying the flustered Little White Dragon. “They won’t wake soon.”

Lilith had probably never seen a cultist up close, so that Void Sect madman hit her like a midnight thunderclap. She stood glazed, like frost clinging to dawn petals.

“So don’t fret about waking,” the Vampire Princess shifted her tone, a lantern turned to another wall. “Worry if hypovolemic shock harvests them like winter scything a field.”

“As long as they don’t all die, it’s fine.” Lilith stuck out her tongue, a playful splash in a cold pond. That man left a bruise like soot under the skin.

The Little White Dragon always respected choices and scoffed at fate, a wind that laughs at falling leaves. Zealot life and zealot death weren’t hers to shepherd.

“Anyone who survives can just cough up their bishop,” she added, words like pebbles flicked into still water. “Offer him, and we’re square.”

“That’s fair. But we can’t just leave them piled like driftwood,” Elasha replied, calm as night rain. “We vampires are humane. Even infiltrators of Morris get basic rights before judgment.”

She had her vampires adjust the sprawled Demons, limbs untangled like roots after a storm, so they wouldn’t suffocate under their own heap.

“I don’t think kindness to cultists will bloom into anything,” Lilith said, a dry leaf turning in faint wind. “If you want to do it, do it.”

The Little White Dragon swished her tail, a white ribbon in moonlight, then turned to the Demon girl standing quiet as a shadow beside a gate.

“Abaddon, did that man know you?” Lilith’s memory flickered like a candle in a draft. Right before he blacked out, he saw Abaddon’s face and froze like a mouse under a hawk’s shadow.

“He likely knew me,” Abaddon said, certainty like iron under ash. “He’s a Demon; no Demon fails to know Lord Abaddon’s name.”

“But I’ve never seen him.” The ash-gray girl added softly, like mist over an old street. “When I lived in the Demon Realm, I often played in the alleys. If he lived there, I’d remember his face.”

“Maybe some country boy glimpsed you once in the Demon Realm,” Lilith guessed, tossing the thought like a reed boat into a brook. “But that’s not the heart of it.”

“Why did he flip the instant he saw your true face?” Her tone cut like a bamboo slip. “Do you and this Void Sect have bad blood?”

“I don’t know,” Abaddon shook her head, a pale bellflower swaying. Her small mouth puffed, stormy and sore. “I’ve never heard the name. Lord Satan told me nothing. I’ve never met him. Why fear me?”

“Because you’re the dread and dazzling Abaddon?” Lilith teased, a lilt like sunlight skating on ice. Memory tugged her sleeve. “You command locusts and the power of the void. You’re Lord Satan’s strongest officer.”

“Most people see that and their spines turn to reeds,” she said, smile like warm tea in winter. “Fear’s a shadow cast by a tall tower.”

“But you aren’t afraid of me. And the silver-haired big sister isn’t afraid of me.” Abaddon pushed back, child-bright eyes like clear pools. “If you aren’t, why is he?”

“Because I’m a dragon, and Elasha’s the Vampire Princess,” Lilith grinned, a crescent moon over slate roofs. “We don’t fear a little Demon. You not fearing us is the miracle.”

She crouched and patted Abaddon’s head, palm like a soft wing folding. Gray hair flowed through her fingers like rain-slicked silk. “Sometimes people fear you not for wrong, but for right done too well.”

“Done too well?” Abaddon tipped her face up, a starling listening to rain. Confusion fogged like breath on glass.

“Yeah. Look.” Lilith’s voice gentled, a lullaby under thunder. “You’ve got rare power, and you became the Lord their Void Sect worships.”

“That man probably envied your strength for years,” she went on, words like seeds pressed into soil. “He chased greater power by joining them, then found their idol is you. Envy curdled into fear.”

“You talk to Lord Satan like this—so messy,” Abaddon muttered, little brows bristling like thorns. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s fine. Just know you’re amazing, and others envy you,” Lilith laughed, a bell through mist, and ruffled the Demon girl’s hair like grass in a spring breeze. “Now, great Abaddon, could you do us a small favor?”

“Show the power that makes crowds hush and mountains echo,” she asked, voice kneeling like a vassal under a banner. “Open a gate to Morris. Get us poor strays home.”

“Since you’ve asked with proper reverence, I’ll grant it,” Abaddon said, posture straightening like a sapling reaching sun. The little princess returned, chin lifted, chest proud as a tiny banner.

“Remember this,” she declared, a spark on dry tinder. “My power isn’t for fear. It’s for awe.”

“Yes, my great Abaddon.” Lilith bowed, humility like silk laid on stone. “Please open a portal to Morris and send us out of this pocket realm.”

“Hmph. Easy,” Abaddon huffed, small and imperious, a hawk chick testing her wings. She traced a circle before her heart with two careful hands, like drawing moonlight in ink.

A dark-purple void whorled at her chest, blooming like a night flower. She gripped the void like wet clay, then stretched it outward, a ripple widening on black water.

Soon a man-high vortex stood before Lilith, stormglass swirling, and the gate kept growing, a bruise of twilight spreading over air.

Lilith and Elasha traded a glance, a silent chord passed like smoke. Elasha began directing her vampires, tossing the Void Sect cultists through, bodies falling like sacks past curtain-dark.

After dozens went spinning into the storm, the vampires filed in one by one, silhouettes like crows flying into dusk, leaving the pocket realm for Morris.

In a blink, the noisy space emptied. Only Elasha, Lilith, and Abaddon remained, three figures like lanterns in a hollow hall.

“I’ll go ahead,” Elasha said, kindness like a shawl left behind. She offered them the quiet like a garden at noon, then shimmered and vanished into the gate.

“Coming back to Morris with me? Or staying in this space?” Lilith asked, gaze soft as moonmilk. She truly liked this little Demon princess.

“It’s hard to come here from there,” she added, a traveler’s sigh like dust in sandals. “If I leave alone, next time might be when I reach the Demon Realm.”

“Mm. I want to go with you.” Abaddon’s voice wavered, a kite tugged by wind. “But Lord Satan doesn’t let me leave this space.”

She glanced around the dark-purple emptiness, a chessboard without pieces, and pouted. Only the Keeper of Secrets lingered here with bare flooring, silence like moss swallowing song.

“I don’t dare disobey Lord Satan,” she whispered, fear like a thread pulled tight.

“Then give me a rune or something that links here,” Lilith said, idea bright as a lantern lit suddenly. “I’ll visit you whenever I want. No need to uproot you.”

“Oh, right. I can give you this,” Abaddon perked up, joy like a skylark lifting. She grabbed Lilith’s hand and pressed it against her cheek, warmth like baked clay.

“To step freely into this space, you need my tears and a bit of blood,” she explained, ritual steady as drumbeats. “And my heart keeps the space stable.”

She squeezed out a few tears onto Lilith’s palm. Warmth pulsed into Lilith’s right hand, like a coal tucked under skin. The space felt closer, threads tying wrist to horizon.

“That’ll let you in,” Abaddon said, voice like a clear bell. “But tears alone work poorly. The void opens only if I consent.”

“No problem,” Lilith answered, easy as wind in high grass. “I’m coming to play with you. Your consent is part of the fun.”

“Why does this space need your heart?” she asked, curiosity like a cat at a door.

“Because Demon power flows from the heart,” Abaddon said, solemn as an oath carved on stone. “My command of void and locusts springs from my heart. If it’s taken, my power dies.”

“That’s dangerous,” Lilith breathed, chill like fog rolling off a lake. “If someone steals a strong Demon’s heart, do they take the power too?”

“Yes.” Abaddon’s face tightened, steel under silk. “So Lord Satan trains me: if a comrade is captured, destroy their heart. Never let it fall into enemy hands.”

“But here it’s safe. My heart definitely won’t—”

Wind brushed her chest like a cold feather. Numbness bloomed, a prickle like a thorn under skin. Abaddon looked down, world tilting like a tray dropped.

A dark-purple vortex opened over her sternum, a shadow flower unfurling.

A blood-red hand thrust from the whorl, fingers clenched around a heart still beating like a trapped bird, pumping threads of dark-purple blood into empty air.

It was her heart.

“Eh?”