“Next time do not grab an active manifestation.”
“Fine. We both learn.”
The residue trail coils through the alley ahead of us, visible to my perception as a thin smear of violet-black distortion clinging to damp stone, brick seams, and the underside of gutters. The district smells of early smoke, refuse water, stale beer, and the metallic pressure of reinforced wards. Sable remains behind usthrough the tether, a warm fixed point at my back, and every step away increases my awareness of distance.
Corin notices my pace. “You hurting?”
“No.”
“That sounded like a lie wearing formal clothes.”
“It is manageable.”
“Then say manageable.”
“It is manageable.”
“Good. We’re improving communication already.”
We follow the residue through two alleys and across a narrow passage where laundry hangs overhead like limp flags. The trail thickens near a drainage grate behind an abandoned cobbler’s shop. The wardline there is weaker, not broken but scratched thin by repeated feeding.
Something clings to the crack.
The parasite is small by infernal standards, no larger than a hound, with a body like burnt gristle stretched over too many joints. Its mouth is fused to the ward seam, sucking at the energy with wet, greedy pulses. Each swallow deepens the fracture, allowing Maltherion’s residue to thread further inward.
Corin sees enough of it to understand. “Ugly little bastard.”
“Do not approach.”
He is already moving.
Of course he is.
The parasite senses me first and tears its mouth from the ward crack, shrieking as it turns. I extend my hand to absorb and dismantle it, but Corin reaches it before I do. He swings the iron hammer two-handed, faster than he should be able to move, and catches the parasite across the skull.
The impact sounds like pottery full of meat breaking open.
The creature collapses but does not dissolve. Corin drives an iron stake through its center and pins it to the cobblestonesbefore it can recoil into vapor. The parasite writhes, shrieking, its limbs scraping sparks from stone.
“I said do not approach,” I say.
“And yet,” he grunts, twisting the iron deeper, “I approached productively.”
“You prevented absorption.”
“You were going to eat it or whatever the demon version is.”
“I was going to extract information.”
“It was feeding on our wards. I objected.”
The parasite snaps at his boot. Corin brings the hammer down again, crushing what remains of its skull until the shriek becomes a bubbling hiss.
I crouch and incinerate the residue cleanly, driving controlled flame through the remains without allowing smoke to rise. If any trace of this creature returns to Maltherion, it will carry nothing useful.
Corin watches the fire eat the body. “Did I ruin your interrogation?”
“Yes.”
