Fueled entirely by that simmering jealousy, she aggressively suggested they head back to his place instead of parting ways at the central town square. Devin didn't argue. He didn't have the energy to fight her, and frankly, he was terrified of what a girl who slapped that hard might do if he refused.
They arrived at his cramped, rotting apartment. They stepped inside the squalid living quarters, the heavy wooden door shutting out the noise of the city.
And we all know what a man and a woman do when they are entirely alone in a small, dimly lit room late at night...they sat on the floor and talked about their families.
It was a profound, entirely unexpected subversion. The fierce jealousy seemed to melt away the moment she sat down on the worn rug, replaced by a deep, desperate need for connection. After hours of quiet conversation in the dark, Devin learned a great deal about her.
He learned that despite her brilliant mind and quick, sharp wit, she wasn't fortunate enough to attend any Educational Institute. As a publicly known sub-human, she was strictly barred from the prestigious halls of the UEI. Instead, she was painstakingly homeschooled by two loving parents who had attended the institute long before the anti-sub-human mandates had grown so severe. She spoke of them with such fierce, protective adoration that it made Devin's heart physically ache for King Arthur and Queen Eleanor.
As the long night wore on, the conversation naturally drifted toward the political landscape of the North. Devin carefully steered the topic toward his fallen home, desperate for any shred of information. She talked extensively about the major events that had occurred during the two cycles he was off-soul, drifting aimlessly in the divine void.
The revelation she dropped nearly brought him to his knees with relief.
Turns out, the Kingdom of Mortipia now officially governed the fallen land of Trangdar in what was now called the Mortipia Federation.
By the ancient, ironclad laws of the Northern Kingdoms, any kingdom that loses its ruling head without a clear, living successor is immediately handed over to the kingdom it shares the most established trade and political relations with.
Devin let out a long, shaky breath he felt like he had been holding for two years. He was overwhelmingly grateful. The Emperor and Empress of Mortipia—Ferran and Fenrys's parents—were honorable, stoic leaders. They were good, decent people.
To know that they now governed the lands of Trangdar, heavily protecting his people from the venomous clutches of Count Sapien and the dark nation of Cypris, was the first piece of genuinely good news he had received since his violent resurrection. It was incredibly refreshing to hear. It meant his father's passionate legacy wasn't entirely erased by monsters.
After the long, emotionally exhausting talk, the hour had grown dangerously late. The moon was high, casting long, pale shadows across the cramped room.
Devin offered that she sleep over, assuming she would take the floor mats. He didn't know why, but from the casual, comfortable way she accepted, it turned out she had slept over many times before.
She comfortably took the lumpy mattress, wrapping herself tightly in the faded blankets, while Devin rolled out a thin, woven mat on the hard wooden floorboards. Exhaustion, both physical and profoundly spiritual, finally dragged him down into the dark.
Sleep came instantly, merciful and dreamless.
Until the morning came.
It wasn't the warm sunlight filtering through the grime that brought him out of his deep, healing sleep. It wasn't the boisterous sound of the Reignn morning markets, nor was it a sharp knock on the door.
It was a scent.
A very particular, heavy, metallic scent that violently ripped him from his slumber. It was the scent of a slaughterhouse. It was the scent of fresh blood.
Devin's eyes snapped open, his heart instantly red-lining.
The air in the small room was suffocatingly thick, practically dripping with the coppery stench of fresh carnage. He tried to sit up, but his body felt incredibly sluggish. His muscles screamed in a strange, agonizing protest, as if he had spent the entire night fighting a brutal, physical war.
He looked down at his hands.
He was stark naked. And he was completely covered in blood.
It wasn't just a stray splash; he was drenched in it. Thick, crimson lifeblood coated his chest, ran down his arms, and pooled wetly beneath his bare legs on the wooden floor.
Panic, raw and unadulterated, seized his throat like a vice. He frantically looked around the room. The cheap walls were splattered with dark, arcing stains. The single wooden chair was splintered into jagged pieces scattered across the rug.
What had happened? The question shrieked in his mind. God, what have you done to me?
Trembling violently, his breath coming in short, ragged, terrified gasps, he slowly forced his heavy head to turn toward the bed. He looked over to where Emerald had fallen asleep just hours ago, her soft breathing the last sound he had heard.
He couldn't recognize what he was looking at.
The lumpy mattress was a saturated, dripping sponge of gore. And lying in the center of the ruined bed was a horrific, mangled pile of flesh and bone.
Emerald had been maimed and clawed apart beyond all human recognition. Her throat was entirely gone, her chest cavity ripped open with a savage, feral brutality that perfectly, sickeningly mirrored the Cyprian beasts that had slaughtered his sister.
Devin stared at his own blood-soaked hands. His fingers were curled stiffly, involuntarily mimicking rigid, bloody claws.
The terrifying realization crashed down on him like a falling mountain.
Zain Ricky wasn't just an 8.5 Star student. He wasn't just a quiet barista.
He hadn't just hijacked the body of a commoner. He had stolen the skin of a monster. A cruel joke orchestrated by a cruel diety.
And he had just brutally murdered the only friend he had in this foreign land.