The sun was sharp. Too bright for this place. I could feel it slicing through the branches above Mama's grave, stabbing me through the back of my eyes.
Her roses smelled sweet, but the wind carried something bitter too—the smoke and the blood, coming from the one I hated most: Zefar.
He was kneeling there. Right in front of her grave. His back to me.
His hands rested on his knees like he belonged there, like he had the right to kneel where Rose should have been remembered.
My fingers curled around the hilt of my dagger. The metal was cold. I tried not to shake.
Why was I even letting him live? Why did I bring him here?
He killed Papa. He burned Oma. He took everything. And here I was, standing behind him like some idiot, thinking maybe I could…
I don't know… be honorable? Maybe I was too scared. Or maybe I just couldn't do it.
Zefar was right about one thing: I had never killed before.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to strike. My heart was pounding in my ears like a drum, hammering, hammering.
Zefar turned his head slightly. Not fully. Just enough to see me out of the corner of his eye.
"What will you do, little one?" His voice was calm. Too calm. Too much like he knew everything already. "What will you do when you finally kill me?"
I swallowed hard. My throat felt dry. I wanted to shout. I wanted to tell him he deserved death. That everything he had done deserved it.
But I didn't. I just held my dagger tighter and let him speak.
"You think taking my life will make your people safe," he said. "You think ending me will stop everything. But you don't understand. My army… nine thousand nine hundred strong.
Nine hundred of them being True Slayers. You kill me, 9,000 Slayers fall, but nothing changes.
The 900 True Slayers will hunt you to the ends of the Earth.
Mutually assured destruction for: you, me, and everyone you love."
I felt my stomach twist. My hands shook. My mind screamed.
He was lying, right? Of course he would lie. If I killed him… Why would 9,000 fall?
These True Slayers he talked about… would they really come after me?
And Oma… all the people I wanted to protect…
If he was right… they'd die because I was too stubborn. Too… stupid.
My head hurt. I hated thinking like this. I was ten!
I wasn't supposed to think about armies and Slayers. I was supposed to hunt, to survive, to live with Papa.
Now… now I was staring at the man who destroyed everything, and I was supposed to make a choice.
I tightened my grip on the dagger. I could see the way the sun hit his hair. The gray eyes under the cracked mask, now slightly transparent.
He was calm. Too calm. Smiling faintly. Like he knew I would do this.
I raised my dagger. My arm felt like it weighed a ton. My legs shook. But I didn't hesitate. I was going to do this.
"Good," he said. "Do it. Kill me."
I blinked. My anger boiled inside me. Every memory of Aunt Geni, of Papa, of the people burned in Oma, every loss… fed the burning rage in me.
"When you're done, leave my mask on her grave," he said. "Feed my body to your wolves and ravens. Let them have it all. Let nothing remain."
I froze for a second. He didn't sound scared. He sounded… indifferent. Like this was a game he had played before.
I swung.
And suddenly, someone kicked me, their leg slamming into me.
Just like that. Air rushed past my face, my stomach lurched, and I realized too late what had happened.
A Slayer!
Of course it was a Slayer. Those idiots always showed up unexpectedly.
This Slayer was strong. Maybe too strong.
But I wasn't about to let him stop me.
Still in contact with his leg, my dagger scraped against it.
"Enough!"
I finally screamed, putting all my fury into one vicious stab. He hissed in pain as the kick sent me flying.
I was supposed to hit the ground, where Mama's grave lay.
I wasn't going to let myself crash on her flowers.
I hated showing my power to strangers, but the roses…
I plunged into the shadows, letting my body melt into the darkness.
Papa always told me, "Never use it lightly."
I let myself sink into the ground. Into the shades of the trees, into the dark shapes under the branches.
The dirt smelled like wet roots and old leaves.
It swallowed me whole. I was nothing, and then I was somewhere else.
I came out behind a tree. My ribs ached like fire. My lungs burned. I could taste blood in my mouth. But the roses were fine at least.
Pain shot through my ribcage. I probably broke a few. My body screamed at me to stop, to crawl, to hide.
The Slayer looked for me, surprised. He didn't know where I went.
He stomped, shouted, cursed. I could hear his boots against the dirt. I could smell the dust he stirred up.
I gritted my teeth. My dagger was lodged deep in his flesh yet he still wouldn't fall.
I pressed myself against the tree bark to keep my balance.
My body shook. My chest hurt. My head spun. But I wasn't going to let them see me weak.
Zefar was still kneeling. Still calm. Like nothing mattered.
Then it happened. Zefar's voice, clear as day in my head. "Too slow."
I wasn't hearing things or going insane.
I knew that cold voice from a mile away.
I froze. Every hair on my body bristled. He still wasn't looking up, his gaze glued to Mama's grave.
"Did you think killing me would be easy? Tell me you can still do it?"
What the hell?
It was bad enough seeing him unbothered, but hearing his voice in my skull was beyond creepy. This murderer had telepathy.
I growled. My fists tightened as I fought the urge to punch the tree.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the something at him. But I couldn't. Not yet.
"I… I'll do it," I muttered. My voice small, trembling. But I meant it.
Zefar replied, his voice slightly amused. "You will? Remember this, Oma, if you succeed… Everyone dies. Even you."
I shook my head, trying to stay unfazed. My stomach twisted.
I hated feeling powerless. I hated feeling weak. And I despised his voice ringing in my skull.
If I could just… stab him until it stopped, would he stay dead?
I stepped closer. My legs shook. My eyes burned.
I had to. For Papa. For Oma. For everything he had taken.
The sun was still bright. Still stabbing through the branches.
But I didn't see it. I only saw Zefar, his annoying Slayer, and my mother's grave.
Finally, the Slayer dropped to his knees, surrendering to the pain and blood loss from the dagger buried in his bone.
He screamed, voice cracking:
"Give up, kid! You're all alone!"
Alone?
A sharp smile crept across my face.
The only ones alone here were Zefar and his Slayer trapped in my jungle, Papa's jungle.
Both were surrounded by predators who didn't fear humans…
They were called monsters for a reason.
I was exactly where I belonged: home.
I whistled.
The sound cut through the trees like a blade, and the forest answered at once.
Ravens shifted on the branches overhead, black eyes locked onto their prey.
Wolves pushed through the underbrush, snarling, circling, ready to kill.
Basilisk slid down from the treehouse—my treehouse—coiling around my right arm like a living flame.
Trevor padded to my side, fur bristling.
George the raven landed on my shoulder, cawing softly.
A feast was coming.
Zefar and his loyal dog were about to be lunch.
I stepped out from hiding, my companions at my side.
Zefar finally looked up as he rose to his feet.
For a moment—even with my ribs screaming and my legs shaking—I almost felt in control.
Almost.
Then Zefar turned to the other Slayer and started scolding him.
They argued—quiet, fast, like soldiers who didn't want me to hear.
That's when I noticed what the stupid Slayer had done.
He crushed one of Mama's roses.
Under his boot.
Careless. Thoughtless.
My chest tightened.
My jaw clenched.
Before I could even blink, Zefar grabbed the dagger in the Slayer's leg—my dagger—ripped it out, and slit the man's throat in one clean drag.
I froze.
Wait. What?
The Slayer's eyes went wide.
Zefar clamped a hand over his mouth to smother the scream as blood spilled down his armor.
He muttered in some ancient language—cold, rhythmic, almost ritualistic.
I didn't understand a word.
And then, exactly one minute later, the Slayer dropped dead.
Not from the bleeding.
Not from the shock.
Not from the cut.
Zefar did something to him. Something unnatural.
A chill crawled down my spine.
He really was the Devil.
Zefar wiped blood from the dagger and turned to me.
"This Slayer killed your father," he said casually.
"He also disrespected your mother. Does his death please you?"
Please me?
Was this supposed to be mercy?
A gift?
Some twisted attempt to appeal to me?
I glared at him.
No way.
I wasn't falling for his tricks.
All he did was make the predators' job easier.
The wolves tensed.
The ravens hissed.
Basilisk tightened around my arm.
They were about to lunge—
When Zefar gently placed his mask on Mama's grave.
Then he turned my dagger toward himself.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
He was going to kill himself.
No. No, no—NO.
He didn't get to choose his death.
He didn't get to escape the easy way.
I shadow-blended without thinking—faster than Trevor, faster than George, faster than every predator combined.
The world folded around me, shadows swallowing me whole, spitting me out right in front of him.
I reached for the dagger—
Too late.
The blade plunged into his heart.
My own hand was still outstretched as he fell forward, laughing softly.
He turned his head toward me, blood bubbling at the edges of his mask.
"Did I steal your victory, child?"
His voice was light—mocking.
"Our dance isn't over yet."
Every muscle in my body went cold.
"Find my Slayers," he continued.
"Demand to see the Summoned they call Hunter."
His gray eyes dimmed.
"They will take you to Babel, where we will meet again.
Goodbye… until then."
His body pitched backward.
In that instant, Trevor slammed into him, jaws locking onto his throat.
George dove for the eyes.
The rest of the predators swarmed in, snarling, tearing, ripping.
By the time they were done, the forest floor was painted red…
And all that remained was my bloody dagger.
Zefar was dead.
So why was I even angrier now?
His final words kept echoing in my skull.
This Devil… even in death… was trying to lead me into a trap.
Hunter.
A Summoned.
Babel.
None of it made any sense.
But I knew one thing:
I had to make sure Zefar was truly dead and gone.