The creature never touched the ground.
It burst through the shattered window like a blade thrown from another world—its body long and sinewy, wrapped in rippling layers of distorted energy that bent the light around it. No wings. No eyes Aerich could clearly define. Just motion. Speed. Intent.
And hunger.
Aerich felt it instantly.
Not fear this time.
Recognition.
Something inside his chest leaned forward, eager and alert, like a predator lifting its head after sensing prey.
"No—" he gasped, but his body didn't listen.
The mark flared.
The living room warped.
Furniture scraped violently across the floor as gravity twisted inward toward Aerich. The candles exploded into sparks, their ritual flames snuffed out in an instant. The Watchers' chanting faltered as the air screamed under pressure.
"Aerich!" his mother cried.
Her voice reached him—barely. Like sound traveling through water.
The creature lunged.
Aerich raised his hand.
He didn't think. He didn't decide.
The power answered automatically.
The space between Aerich and the creature collapsed, folding like paper crushed in a fist. The creature shrieked—not in pain, but in panic—as its energy unraveled, ripped apart and dragged inward.
Straight into Aerich.
The impact wasn't explosive.
It was intimate.
Aerich screamed as something cold and burning poured into him simultaneously, flooding his veins, his nerves, his thoughts. Images slammed into his mind—dark skies, endless chases through broken realms, the ecstasy of feeding, the terror of being hunted by something far worse.
He dropped to his knees as the creature disintegrated mid-air, collapsing into ash before it ever hit the floor.
Silence followed.
Not peaceful.
Stunned.
Aerich gasped, hands digging into the carpet, bile rising in his throat. His vision blurred, edges darkening.
The hum inside him didn't fade.
It settled.
Like a satisfied breath after a meal.
"Oh no…" he whispered.
Sereth was already moving, barked orders snapping through the haze. The remaining Watchers spread out, reactivating containment sigils, their faces grim and pale.
"It absorbed the entire core," one of them said, disbelief cracking his voice. "There's nothing left."
Aerich shook violently. "Make it stop," he begged, pressing his forehead to the floor. "Please. It won't shut up."
His mother was beside him instantly, cradling his head, rocking him slightly like she used to when he was younger. "You're okay. You're here. You're not alone."
But even she flinched when his skin briefly glowed—white threaded with black veins—before fading again.
Sereth knelt a few feet away, careful not to touch him. Her expression wasn't anger.
It was fear.
"Describe it," she said softly. "The hunger."
Aerich laughed weakly, hysterically. "That's the worst part."
She waited.
"It doesn't feel like starving," he said, voice shaking. "It feels like… curiosity. Like my body asking, what else can I take?"
The Watchers went still.
"That's impossible," one muttered.
Sereth's jaw tightened. "No. It's worse."
Aerich lifted his head, eyes bloodshot. "Worse than what?"
She met his gaze. "Worse than addiction."
The word hung heavy in the air.
"You don't crave power," Sereth continued. "You normalize it. Your body learns that consuming it is… natural."
Aerich felt sick.
"So what," he whispered, "I just keep eating things until I turn into whatever I saw in that vision?"
No one answered immediately.
That silence told him everything.
His mother broke it. "There has to be a way to suppress it."
Sereth hesitated. "There are methods. Temporary ones."
"Then do it," she snapped. "Now."
Sereth studied Aerich carefully. "Suppressing it will hurt him."
Aerich laughed again, bitter and broken. "Cool. Add it to the list."
Sereth nodded once. "Very well."
She stood and motioned to the Watchers. They formed a loose circle around Aerich, carving fresh symbols into the floor with glowing blades that hummed ominously.
Aerich's chest tightened. "What are you doing?"
"Starving it," Sereth replied.
The symbols ignited.
Pain exploded through Aerich's body.
Not sharp. Not clean.
It was pressure—like his chest was being crushed inward while something inside him clawed desperately against invisible walls. He screamed, muscles locking as the hum spiked violently, then fractured into jagged pulses.
No—no—feed—
The thought wasn't his.
He sobbed, shaking, as the hunger fought back, slamming against the containment like a trapped animal.
His mother shouted. "Stop! You're killing him!"
"Not yet," Sereth said grimly. "But if we don't do this now… it will learn faster."
The symbols flared brighter.
Aerich's vision fractured into shards of light and shadow. He felt memories slipping—small things. His favorite song. The smell of rain. The sound of his mother's laugh.
"No—please—" he choked.
Sereth raised her hand sharply.
The symbols dimmed.
Aerich collapsed fully, body limp, breath shallow and ragged.
The hum receded—not gone, but distant. Contained. Angry.
He lay there for a long moment, staring at nothing, tears soaking into the carpet.
"I hate it," he whispered. "I hate that it feels… good."
His mother hugged him tightly, crying openly now. "That doesn't make you bad," she said. "It makes you scared."
Sereth approached slowly. "Fear is acceptable," she said. "Indulgence is not."
Aerich looked up at her. "You're afraid of me."
She didn't deny it.
"Yes," she said. "Because what you carry doesn't need teeth to devour a world."
The words sank deep.
Outside, sirens wailed faintly in the distance—responses to the shattered window, the strange energy spike, the things the city would never fully understand.
Aerich stared at his hands again.
They were still shaking.
"I don't want to become that thing," he said quietly.
Sereth knelt, meeting his gaze at eye level. "Then you must learn restraint."
"And if I can't?"
Her answer came without hesitation.
"Then you must be stopped."
The hunger stirred at that.
Not angry.
Amused.
Aerich closed his eyes.
For the first time since the night began, he truly understood the danger.
Not of the creatures.
Not of the Watchers.
But of the part of him that was already learning how to wait.