Chapter 71: Suspicion and Loyalty
Graffiti drowned the warehouse. Every wall was inked...steel, wood, glass, no surface left untouched. Dead Hands murals sprawled in chaos and color.
His first brush with art.
'I kinda like it—fuck… that's perfect.'
The mural that sprawled across his office wall hit him as hard as any blade. Even Butcher's Wrath throbbed in his grip, feeding off his growing fascination.
A hooded skull, jaw split in a rictus grin, one eye socket hollow, the other burning red. Fingers spread like claws across its face. Dead figures drifted behind it, shadows with eyes, crawling out of the cracks. The words Dead Hands sprawled beneath in jagged strokes, sharp as bone splinters, glowing like they'd been carved with acid.
It felt like the wall itself was breathing, pressing in, claiming the space as its own. His office. His den. His hollow shelter.
For the first time, he saw it for what it was: not just four walls, but a place meant to hold him. A place meant to let him rest.
The thought jarred him. Rest. He'd never done it. Never closed his eyes without blood on his tongue or pain carving into his flesh. Sleep was something he'd read in his human memory only recently. Yet now, staring at the mural, he felt it drag at him, heavy and unfamiliar.
A hunger that wasn't hunger.
But not yet. First, he needed to deal with the suspicious bald one.
With cleavers still in hand, he awkwardly grabbed the door, and paused.
"Give me a second to get changed. It's been a while since I've had clean clothes."
"Shouldn't you shower first? We can wait, boss—"
Min's tone was playful, but Gregor cut her off, stepping forward.
"Nyet. We have no time. Wire Dogs will learn soon. We must take their ground now, before word spreads. There is no—"
Seo-jin waved him quiet and pushed the door open.
"It's handled. You'll see. But Min's right, I should shower. Won't take long."
Gregor's jaw tightened, his face reddening as the door shut, his questions cut-off.
Inside, the noise of their bickering dulled to a hum. He ignored it. Something else had hooked him. The thought of a shower. A pull deeper than curiosity—need. His body wanted it. His mind wanted it. His memories whispered about it.
With the humans no longer looking, he pulled Butcher's Wrath back into himself. The pain was dull, but the cracking and slicing still hurt, still left a new scar each time.
The bathroom door groaned open. A sour musk hit his nose, mold, rust, rot.
'Bathroom–? Oohh, bath. Makes sense.'
He stepped past a pile of damp, who-the-fuck-knows and closed himself in. Clothes peeled away, skin raw from dried blood. The shower stood in the corner, glass box streaked and cracked.
'Red knob. Blue knob.'
His fingers twisted hot to full.
Cold water hit like knives.
"Fuck me—!"
His whole body recoiled, skin shriveling, cock retreating into itself.
"Hey! Get back—"
He growled, panicked, until Seo-jin's memory slid into place. Shrinkage.
"...You didn't see that."
[I did.]
The water turned warm, then hotter. Steam swallowed the glass. And with it—something he'd never known.
Steam pressed against his skin, wrapping him in heat. At first he resisted, muscles locked, jaw clenched. He stood like he always had—braced, waiting for the next strike.
But the water didn't cut. It rolled. It slid. It seeped into places blades never reached, tracing scars like it wanted to erase them. His chest tightened under the weight of it. The longer it poured, the more something inside him shifted.
His breath caught. His grip on the tile trembled. The tension in his back shivered, then began to bleed away.
His face loosened. His shoulders sagged. He didn't mean to let it happen, but the walls inside him gave. For the first time since he crawled screaming from the Maw, his body let go.
Torture, hunger, blood, stone—every shred of it cracked loose, running from him in hot streams, swallowed by the drain.
His knees buckled.
One hand braced the wall. The other dragged down his face. His head hung forward as water hammered his skull. His Growths quivered, their twin mouths opening, drinking, shuddering like starving animals fed at last.
Heat burrowed into him. It didn't hurt. It healed. It wasn't punishment. It wasn't teeth. It wasn't fire.
It was good.
Too good.
His breath dragged in and out, chest seizing. Both palms now pressed to the glass, arms shaking like brittle steel. He couldn't stop it. The tremor. The anger boiling under his skin.
"What's happening to me…?"
His fingers curled. The glass squealed, threatening to crack. His mind split open, every cut, every claw, every rip and tear he'd endured. Kin butchered and re-stitched into mockeries. Fleshfields. Boneyards. Screams layered over screams. It all flooded back, black rot swarming his thoughts like infection.
He wrenched the nozzle. Metal snapped.
"Dammit—!"
The broken piece clattered, slipping from his wet grip. His hand fumbled, useless. He staggered, slammed the door wide, then spilled onto the floor, bare skin smacking the filth-stained tile.
Breath tore ragged from his lungs. His body twitched as he forced himself upright, eyes wide, teeth grinding.
"What the fuck was that…?"
[User appears to have had a panic attack.]
He leaned, knuckles white on the floor. The words bled through, steadying him, pulling the fury down. A shudder. Then a breath. Enough to move again. He stood, dripping, glaring back at the shattered nozzle and the water still hissing out of the showerhead.
'Not going near that again.'
[System analysis indicates User suffers deep-rooted trauma tied to origin in the Maw. Recommendation: face this issue rather than—]
"Didn't ask for your fucking therapy. If I've got trauma, it's because of you. Not the Maw."
The denial landed flat, even to himself. He shoved it aside, grabbing the first rag he found to wipe himself down, then pulled on a fresh set of clothes he found in a closet, a long sleeve grey shirt with black jeans. He found a worn pair of boots, socks already stuffed inside, pulled them on, and stood feeling refreshed.
The warmth still lingered on his skin. He hated it. He craved it. Both at once. But now wasn't the time.
Steadying himself, he opened the door. His lieutenants stood waiting.
"Alright, let's—."
"You look a fuck ton better—come here, you bastard!"
Seo-jin's body tensed, ready to strike, before Big Min crashed into him. Her massive arms locked around his ribs, lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing.
"I thought you were dead! But look at you—tough as dwarf shit!"
His face mashed against her chest, suffocated in soft flesh and delicious smelling sweat.
"Put…me…down…!"
"Min, he can't breathe."
"Oh!"
She dropped him. His boots hit the floor hard as he sucked air back into his lungs, glaring.
'Fuckin' gorilla's strong as hell…!'
Her grin was wide and careless, joy radiating from her in waves. Memories of her rose quick, loud and overbearing, impossible to ignore. Seven feet of raw muscle, built like a fortress, yet carrying a kind of brutish beauty. The word that fit her best: Amazon.
She was a Beast Binder. Her class chained her strength to the Titan Shark she'd bonded, a C Rank beast from the Abyssal Realm, its power feeding into her own. Every strike she threw carried its bite.
Gregor moved past her with no interest in reunion. He sat himself down in front of Seo-jin's desk, posture calm, words direct.
"Why are we not claiming Wire Dog territory?"
"Like I said—it's taken care of. Do you doubt me?"
Min's grin faltered. Her brows knit as she glanced between them. She didn't speak. Whenever these two locked horns, she went silent, watching.
"Doubt?"
Gregor repeated the word slow, tasting it.
"I do not know. It is strange. You vanish into rift, return not only alive, but stronger. Problems solved as if nothing. Just like that."
Seo-jin raised a brow.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. And you fight now like mad man—not the Reaper I remember."
Seo-jin lowered himself into the chair behind the desk, folding into the role of boss. His expression didn't shift. His pulse didn't quicken. He'd expected suspicion from Gregor. His stolen memories told him enough—this man never formed bonds, only weighed risk against profit.
All he had to do was prove he was worth the gamble. Quickly. Corruption was already gnawing inside them, ticking closer.
Big Min, though—she wasn't numbers and calculation. She was loyalty and instinct. Keeping her convinced would be the harder problem.
"How long have we fought together, Gregor? How many times have I pulled your ass out of the fire? And the first thing I get when I return is an interrogation?"
His words came smooth, the same mask Seo-jin had always worn. Too smooth. Gregor wasn't the only one playing this game.
"Look—I'm not gonna dump every detail right now. Truth is, I can barely piece some of it together myself. Those pointy-eared freaks kept me doped half the time. What I do know? I changed. Had to carve my way through shit that'd break most men. Escaping took worse. How I landed back here? Pure luck. The fae realm's riddled with rifts. Different rules over there."
Big Min's jaw tightened, fury rising at the thought of him chained and drugged. Exactly what he wanted.
"I wanted to wait to get into this, knew that'd piss you off. Why don't you check the patrols for me? I'll settle business with Gregor, then I'm sleeping. No one disturbs me for at least a full day. Feels like I haven't slept in years. Can you do that?"
She hesitated, then cracked her grin again, broad and dangerous.
"Don't worry, boss. I'll make sure they all walk on eggshells. You'll sleep like the dead. But when you wake up, I want the full story about those elves...I'm dying to hear it."
For a flicker her aura surged, sharp enough to scrape skin. Both men felt the killing edge of it before it faded.
"I'll tell you, but don't tear into them too fast. They're just glad I'm back."
She laughed once more.
"You have no idea."
Then she was gone, leaving silence in her wake.
Silence that thickened. Time stretched. Two auras began to stir...one grey, one red. Coiling tight, restrained, but heavy enough to choke the air between them.
Azakh-Tur broke first.
"You surprise me. You know you've only seen a fraction of what I can do. You know your only chance was with her help—yet you let her leave. So tell me, Gregor. Why haven't you warned them?"
The pressure doubled, silent, unseen. No one outside would feel it. Inside, it pressed like chains.
Gregor's stone face finally cracked into a grin.
"I've dealt with your kind before. But I've never seen a demon wield a shard. Shouldn't be possible. Which got me thinking…"
His aura pulled back—but his killing intent spiked, thick and sharp as wire.
"Maybe you're better suited for the job."
'Predictable human. Just spit it out.'
Seo-jin leaned forward, already knowing the line. His stolen memories had heard it before, spoken to the man he replaced.
"I want someone dead. If you can make that happen better than Seo-jin ever could, then I don't care if you fucking ate him."
Azakh-Tur, wrapped in the stolen skin of Wohan Seo-jin, smiled.