"And People Say I Am The Monster" ╰（‵□′）╯

"Dark and roaming forest

Casting shades of silence

Boots crunch through frozen field,

Solemn deer travels in the enchanted forest

Coveting snow-white tomb."

The forest lay in eerie stillness, draped in silence after the beast's rampage. No animals stirred, no owls hooted, not even the whisper of a breeze to rustle the trees. Even after a full day had passed, the land remained hushed, as if mourning.

Snowflakes drifted from the sky, their descent slow, deliberate, untouched by wind.

Julian moved through the frostbitten woods, his boots crunching against the frozen ground. There was something familiar in this loneliness, something almost comforting. The first time he had wandered through this world, it had been much the same—just him and the trees, endless and unyielding.

The end of the forest loomed near. In the distance, past the tree line, he could hear the howls and shouts of his people, their voices carried by the cold air.

"Going somewhere?"

Julian's ears twitched, his body tensing as he snapped his head to the right.

There, in the clearing, Flower sat upon the fallen trunk of a tree, her legs crossed, arms draped over her knees, as if she had been waiting for him. He had not sensed her. Not heard her breath, not smelled her scent. For a creature like him, a feline-demon, whose senses should have picked up even the faintest presence, that was impossible.

Something was wrong.

"Yeah, well, being a chief has responsibilities," Julian scoffed, turning his back to her, continuing toward the village. "What about you? Did Zana kick you out of the house?"

"No," Flower said, her voice light, almost amused. "I told her I was going south."

Julian's steps faltered. I told her. The way she said it—made his skin prickle.

He turned back to face her. She was already walking toward him.

"Being a chief has responsibilities," she repeated, tilting her head slightly, her auburn hair catching the pale moonlight. "Or is it just that you need them aligned with your cause? You and Aldric."

Julian froze. His pupils dilated.

How did she know?

He turned fully to face her now, plastering a smile onto his face. "How'd you figure that out?"

Flower smiled back. "What, you're going give me a medal if I answer honestly?"

"Just curious," Julian said smoothly. "We're our only companions in this desolate world—can't a sister share a secret?"

Flower chuckled, shaking her head. "That we do," she agreed. Then, exhaling softly, she said, "Since I'm the bigger person here, why not?"

She stepped closer.

"I am a conjurer of the old world," she began. "Unlike the conjurers of today, our Sanctuaries aren't projected outward. We don't carve them into reality like the knights do. Our Sanctuaries have always been within. The mind is our temple. The heart, our god."

Julian's brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I'm a little uneducated to pick on the faint hints you're placing—"

Flower waved a hand dismissively. "A knight, when opening a Sanctuary, doesn't just fight their enemy. They also fight the world itself—its crushing force trying to smother the foreign world they've imposed upon it. We, on the other hand, do not need to."

Julian's breath slowed as realization dawned.

She had her Sanctuary open.

That was why he hadn't sensed her. Why even the witch, blind yet attuned to the unnatural, had not perceived her presence.

Flower reached behind her back, unsheathing a blade.

Julian's eyes narrowed.

It was Bada's.

"I won this off her in a stupid bet," Flower said, chuckling. "Well…" She tilted her head, lips curling into something that was almost a grin but far too full of teeth.

"Even from my hand, it will serve justice."

A palpable bloodlust radiated from her, thick and suffocating, a tangible thing in the cold night air.

Julian, for all his confidence, felt something he had not felt in a long, long time.

A shiver.

Excitement surged through Julian like a fever.

His lips curled into a grin.

"Justice?" he mused. "For whom? Yourself? Hypocritical, don't you think?"

He bent down, plucking a stick from the ground, twirling it once between his fingers before taking a stance.

"I know it's cliché," Flower shrugged, rolling her shoulders, "which is why I'm not a knight, but a conjurer." Her voice was light, playful even. "But in this place, it's justice—since I'm stopping evil from killing the innocent."

She lunged.

A kick off the ground, a blur of motion—her blade carved a horizontal arc through the frigid air.

Julian ducked, the wind of her swing slicing past his cheek. His arm shot up in time to block her knee, absorbing the impact before rolling backward, dispersing the recoil through his body.

She charged again.

Julian scooped a handful of snow and hurled it into her face.

"Seriously?!" she yelped, her vision clouded.

Using the moment, Julian twisted on his heel, pivoting low, his leg sweeping out. His shin struck just behind her knee—a clean, precise movement meant to drop her.

Except she didn't fall.

Her body twisted midair, unnatural, her balance shifting like she had no weight at all. Even as she fell, she moved, rotating effortlessly, blade flashing toward him.

Julian barely managed to dodge, jerking his head back, then retaliated with a sharp kick to her midsection. She staggered but caught herself, feet planting steady against the frozen earth.

"Our lot call your kind demons," Flower scoffed, rubbing the snow from her face, "but don't fully commit to the act yourself, at least."

Julian exhaled through his nose, standing upright. "When a person moves like that, you might have to."

"Well, will a sister share her secret techniques?" Julian asked, voice light but mind racing. If he could just understand how she moved, he could steal it—twist it into something his.

Flower grinned. "No." She shrugged. "I'm big of heart in kindness, not bravery. I'm afraid I'm a bit timid to share all of it."

Julian grinning, scoffed and shook his head.

Then, without hesitation, he kicked more snow at her.

"For fuck's sake, Julian!" she screeched, momentarily blinded.

He moved.

Closing the distance in an instant, he swung his stick in a brutal horizontal strike at her neck.

It should have landed.

She wasn't a knight. However much a conjurer could augment their body, it wasn't enough—not against him. That strike should have snapped her neck, no—cut it off clean.

But their positions had changed.

How?

Julian was no longer attacking. He was defending. His arms shielded his face as her blade hissed through the air, cutting past him.

He barely managed to step back—a single foot's width of space—whatever he could take in that moment, the steel biting across his throat, carving a thin, stinging line into his flesh.

Julian didn't think. He lashed out, his boot slamming into her jaw, sending her sprawling backward.

Her head hit the frozen ground with a sickening crack.

Blood seeped from her skull, soaking into the snow, staining the pristine white with a deep crimson.

Julian approached, his breath steady, gaze locked on her unmoving form. He pressed his boot down on her wrist, pinning the blade she still clutched with unconscious determination.

This was it. A clean kill.

Then—

A sickening shift.

His body twisted, reality flipping like a page torn from a book.

Julian found himself on his back, his own blood warm against his temple. His head throbbed from an impact he hadn't felt. His fingers clenched around empty air.

What the hell is happening?

Flower was standing now, albeit unsteady. Her face was tight with pain, but her foot pressed against his wrist, mirroring what he had done moments ago.

A swap.

Julian snarled, forcing his weight upward, throwing her balance off and sending her staggering back. He scrambled to his feet, claws digging into the frozen ground as he steadied himself. His skull was healing, but the sensation remained—a nauseating, vertigo-like sickness.

His eyes darted to her neck. A faint mark, the cut of her blade. How?

A telling clue.

A place-changing ability? No, something more.

If she could simply trade positions at will, she would have avoided injury entirely. But she hadn't—she had taken the damage before swapping. That meant there were rules. Limits.

But Julian only needed to understand one thing.

Julian, unlike most demons, was not a purebred. His blood was mixed—half demon, half magical beast. The latter granted him an advantage most others lacked.

His nine lives let him adapt to the last thing that killed him, his demon-lineage ability.

And his beast-born nature allowed him to steal an ability he had seen, his magical-beast(special grade beast)-lineage ability.

"Neat trick," he mused, his dark eyes narrowing.

He could see it now—the mana lines stretched between them, faint, like threads woven into the very air. Unlike the world's natural flow of magic, this was personal, a direct tether linking their hearts.

"Right?" Flower exhaled, her grin wide but strained. She charged again, faster this time.

Julian smiled.

She wanted to swap again.

He let her.

The second the mana threads rippled, he cut them off.

"You lost," he declared.

But then—

Another shift.

The world twisted, and suddenly Julian was the one gasping, his neck bleeding, his body staggered back in her place.

His eyes darted down.

The mana strings were severed.

So how—?

Flower wiped her mouth, still grinning. The tension in her limbs had been a lie.

She had faked the strain.

And she was still smirking.

"I'm sorry, but you have to die."

Flower's grin wavered, her breath steady but her eyes sharp with intent. She moved without hesitation, lunging forward, her blade arcing downward.

Julian's body was sluggish, his wounds sapping his strength faster than his regeneration could compensate. The blood loss made the world tilt, his vision narrowing. He stumbled back, and in an instant, Flower was atop him, pinning him to the frozen ground, her blade poised above his chest.

"But I can't die," Julian rasped, his voice tinged with amusement despite his state. "Did you forget? We're immortal."

"Yeah," Flower muttered, her smile tightening. "But I can waste these last three lives of yours."

The blade flashed downward.

Julian closed his eyes, exhaling, waiting for the familiar, numbing cold of death's embrace—

Clang.

Metal met metal.

His eyes snapped open.

Standing over him, her blade braced against Flower's, was Bada.

Her grip was firm, unyielding, the steel trembling between them as Flower pushed against her.

A long silence followed.

Bada didn't take her eyes off Flower, but her voice, when it came, was quiet.

"What are you doing, Flower?"

'Silence does not come for it,

For it is deaf to every tune it hears.

Blind to search for the snow-white tomb.

Scarlett petals show the way,

To the pale man who dances.'