Alexander had insisted on helping, but Thomas had been adamant. Alexander and his "dog" should go take a rest. They'd set up mattresses and provided first aid. Alex still had the right to go to his room and relax, at least today.

  Sandra was going to pay him a visit due to his special situation. After all, you don't eat a heart and gain demonic powers every single day.

  Alexander sat on his bed, peeling off his blood-soaked shirt. The fabric stuck to the wounds on his side and back where the imp's claws had torn through.

  And yet, they seemed mostly healed. Yes, instead of open wounds, he had black scarring everywhere.

  But that single course of action had saved him.

  Or perhaps damned him.

  Fenrir lay beside him. The wolf-morph's breathing was steady.

  Alexander's stomach groaned, so he dug a hand into his bag and pulled out a pack of beef jerky, opening it up. The dried meat was tough and salty. His favorite.

  His other hand rested on Fenrir's flank, fingers buried in dark fur. The connection between them hummed quietly in the back of his mind.

  He really had to wash that creature.

  The thought, however, carried out to the morph, made the creature snarl in anger.

  He had done something wild today.

  Alexander closed his eyes, remembering the surge of strength. The way his muscles had responded, faster and harder than they ever had before. Like someone had flipped a switch.

  It was monstrous, dangerous, and he didn't regret it. If he hadn't, that little girl would have died.

  He hadn't had a choice.

  That's what he told himself.

  But there was something else. Something he didn't want to admit, even sitting alone in the dark.

  He'd enjoyed it.

  Not the taste. God, not that. But the power. When he'd grabbed that imp by the ankle and slammed it into the concrete, the creature had felt weightless. His fingers had crushed the third imp's throat like it was made of paper.

  He'd never felt anything like that before.

  Alexander opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The corruption counter in his overlay read seven percent. Thomas had said it gets easier every time. That everyone says they won't do it again.

  "I had to," Alexander said quietly. "You know that, right? I had to save her."

  Fenrir's ear flicked. The creature didn't judge.

  But Alexander was judging himself.

  He pulled his knees up, resting his forearms across them. His hands still had traces of black under the fingernails. Demon blood.

  Seven percent.

  He wondered what would happen at fifty.

  Would he grow horns and a tail? Would the goatee come with it?

  But beyond silly jokes he'd make up in his mind, there was a real fear of losing control. Of becoming a danger. But how bad could that be? He needed a precedent, he needed a case study, because for now, it just felt incredible. He even wondered how much he'd be able to lift now.

  A knock echoed on the door before it opened. Sandra entered without waiting for permission. She carried her medical kit and a small glass vial filled with a black substance.

  "I heard what you did, boy. Let me see," she said, all business.

  Alexander turned, showing her the damage. Three deep gashes had cut across his ribs, another two on his shoulder blade. They'd stopped bleeding, but the edges looked angry and inflamed.

  Sandra hissed through her teeth. "Interesting. We should have a scientific study made out of this. To be honest, I do not really know what's gonna happen. You should be bleeding profusely, but... well. These would get infected if we don't treat them." She examined them more closely, not touching yet. "I can't tell what would happen now that you... you know. You made that choice, and you're lucky you're alive."

  She set down her kit and held up the vial. "Alright, let's do this quickly because I have a dozen other patients downstairs. Drink this first. It's a healing potion. Basic recipe, nothing fancy, but it'll speed up your recovery and fight off any demonic corruption in the wounds. You look good, so I'll save my mana this time and not do any healing work."

  Alexander nodded and took the vial, uncorking it. The smell was medicinal, sharp, with an underlying sweetness that was probably meant to mask something worse. He drank it in one go. It burned going down, then spread through his chest with surprising warmth.

  Sandra pulled out gauze and antiseptic. "Now wash those wounds. Thoroughly. I'll dress them after, but I need you to clean out any debris first. I left a bottle of clean water here."

  She left him to it, closing the door behind her.

  Alexander stood and moved to the basin, pouring it over the wounds and watching it run pink and then black as it washed away the mixed blood. The antiseptic stung like fire when he applied it, but he gritted his teeth and worked methodically.

  A knock echoed at the door.

  "Come in."

  Samantha stepped in, barefoot, closing the door quietly behind her.

  She'd cleaned up since the fight, changed into fresh clothes from somewhere.

  "How bad is it?" she asked.

  "Sandra says I'll live." Alexander dabbed at the shoulder wound, wincing. "The healing potion helped and... I... had already healed most of them."

  "Hm..." Samantha crossed her arms. Alex grabbed a t-shirt and put it on.

  She moved to his music collection and pulled out his Led Zeppelin IV. Her expression was carefully neutral, but something was off.

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  She was tense.

  "Something wrong?" Alexander asked.

  "Nothing."

  "Bullshit." He turned to face her, antiseptic-soaked cloth still in hand. "You've been weird since we left to get those people. Since before that, actually. Since I said I wanted to go help them."

  Samantha's jaw tightened. She looked away and put the record back.

  "Hey," Alexander said quietly. "What happened? Listen... I..."

  "Nothing happened. That's the problem. Nothing happened because you did exactly what I was afraid you'd do."

  "Listen, Samantha, I know it's a fucked-up thing, but I had to—"

  "You don't understand." She stood abruptly.

  "I had to. Sofia was in danger. That thing was going to take her, and I wasn't strong enough to stop it without—"

  "Without starting down a path that ends with you becoming exactly what we're fighting." Samantha's voice cracked. "I know. I know why you did it. That's what makes it worse."

  "Then why are you angry?"

  "I'm not angry!" She spun to face him, and her eyes were wet. "I'm terrified, Alex. I'm absolutely damn terrified, and I have been since the moment you said you wanted to go help those people."

  Alexander set down the cloth and gave her his full attention. "Why? It was the right thing to do, and you know it."

  Samantha was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Because I saw it. Before it happened. I felt her fear. I saw you wounded. I saw you..." She stopped, swallowed hard. "I saw you make that choice."

  "Saw it? What do you mean you saw it?"

  "Exactly what I said. I saw the future. A glimpse of it. Enough to know what was coming." Samantha. "That's my curse. That's what I am."

  Alexander blinked in surprise. "So that's why you were acting like that. I thought something stressed you out... It did. But... why? Are you a prophetess or something?"

  "A seeress. And definitely not the useful kind. I'm not the kind that sees lottery numbers or stock markets or happy endings." Bitterness crept into her voice. "I see disasters. Only the bad things. Only the moments where everything goes wrong."

  "Is that... your? How? When?"

  "Since Iraq. Marine Corps, special operations." She didn't elaborate. Alex could tell that she didn't want to. "Something happened there. I don't want to talk about the details, but... I was given this... power, and have carried it ever since."

  Alexander nodded, understanding the boundary she was drawing.

  "I thought I was going mad," she said. "For a very long time. At first, it was just combat situations. I'd see an ambush before it happened, a sniper a minute before he fired. I... think it helped that time. I can't ever tell if it helps; most of the time, it doesn't stop it from happening. I can... know a bit." Her hands clenched. "But I also saw the ones I couldn't save, no matter how I tried to avoid it. That's why... I didn't fight it. I knew. The ones where my warning came too late or wasn't enough or just didn't matter because fate had already decided."

  "Is that why you left the Marine Corps?"

  "Medical discharge. They called it complex PTSD, which was easier than explaining what it really was." Samantha moved back to the bed and sat heavily. "The visions got worse over time. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw people dying. Couldn't function anymore. I couldn't even sleep, Alex, no matter what I did."

  "Did Marion help you?"

  She smiled softly. "We actually met online. I went into forums asking people about my condition. People thought I was just schizo, but Marion appeared... and she guided me. It turns out I am using mana. This was... Let's say an ancient power. A priestly power that was given to me."

  "I thought... well, you do have powers. You can do mana blasts and stuff."

  "I've trained a lot, but I don't have as much raw power as you. The System recognized me, sort of. I show up in it, but differently. Like a glitch. I have mana. I can use it. But no class. Just my name and a mana pool. Like I'm half in the System and half out of it."

  "I don't get it. How does that work?"

  "Because the type of magic I have is not like yours, which has a long school and thousands of practitioners. Remember that the System was designed by a few mages throughout history. My specific kind of power, I believe, is something that they didn't know about."

  "I see. Samantha, why didn't you tell me?"

  "I was planning to, really. But I've had terrible experiences with that, especially with people I've just met. They have expectations; it can affect how they see things and how they make choices. Which is messed up, because no matter how I try to stop something bad from happening, it's never enough. And I saw you this time, Alex. I saw you kneeling over that imp, saw you tear out its heart, saw you eat it. I saw your eyes change afterward." Samantha looked at him, and her expression was haunted. "I saw you cross a line you can't uncross. And I knew that if I told you, if I warned you, you'd still go. Because that little girl needed you, and you'd rather damn yourself than let her die."

  "You're right. I would have gone anyway."

  "I know. That's why I didn't say anything. What's the point of seeing the future if you can't change it? What's the point of knowing disaster is coming if all you can do is watch?" She wiped her eyes roughly.

  Alexander reached out and took her hand. She tensed but didn't pull away.

  "How often do you see things?" he asked.

  "Depends. Sometimes nothing for days. Sometimes multiple visions in an hour. Always negative. Always pain. I've never once seen something good coming. Not once in ten years."

  "What else have you seen? About me?"

  "Nothing yet," she said. "It usually comes hours before it happens."

  "Then tell me," Alex said. "Next time you see me."

  She crossed her arms.

  "Would that help?"

  "Why not? Maybe it will help us prepare."

  "You know what I want you to prepare for? Prepare to make the right choice. What happens next time? When someone else needs saving and the only way to do it is to consume another heart? And another? Each time telling yourself it's justified, it's necessary, it's for the right reasons?"

  "Samantha, you know why I did it."

  "That's what they all say." She pulled her hand away. "I've seen this pattern before, Alex. Different contexts, different powers, but the same trajectory. Good people making hard choices. Telling themselves the ends justify the means. Slowly becoming the thing they swore to fight. And by the time they realize what's happened, it's too late. This... this can change you, Alex. There's a lot we don't know, but I'm sure it cannot be a good thing. This is black magic. The masters who designed the system know about corruption; they quantified it because they know how dangerous it can be. And I'm worried that you don't seem to care."

  "I do care, Samantha. And I'll be honest, I am frightened too. But for now, I can stop. I think the priority here is to help and protect people. I'm not gonna lie. I feel strong. I feel powerful after doing what I did. I hated it; I felt something, some sort of darkness within. But I do not regret saving Sofia. How could I let her be torn apart by those... those abominations? And you know what? I will listen to you. I will be careful and definitely not seek out more hearts. I think this is enough for you to understand where I stand."

  She let out a long sigh and looked through the window.

  "In that case, Alexander, when it comes, when you're standing at that crossroads, remember this conversation. Remember what you promised. Remember who you are."

  "I will."

  She nodded, turned around, and left.

  Alexander sighed. She had helped him a lot in the past two days. He'd grown to appreciate her.

  There was no time to think about love and relationships, but he'd have been crazy for her if they'd been in a normal human situation. Smart, capable, his age, relatable, and he let himself admit it, really hot.

  And she was right to be afraid.

  Twenty minutes later, Sandra knocked again and came to dress his wounds. When she finished, she gave him another potion, this one for pain.

  "Get some rest," she said. "Tomorrow's going to be worse."

  "Seems like it's gonna keep getting worse."

  "Then rest while you can." She paused at the door. "That girl, Sofia. She keeps asking about you. She wants to know when you're coming back down."

  That had actually come as a relief. He had feared that she had seen what had happened and would see him as some kind of monster. Much worse, he feared that she was traumatized for life. But the fact that she seemed to be interacting normally showed how strong she was.

  He had to protect her. He had to protect them all.

  He didn't feel like a demon. He still felt human, but deep down, he knew that this humanity was not to be taken for granted.

  "She trusts you, you know. More than she should, probably. Kids are good at sensing who's safe. But they're also good at seeing who's breaking. Don't let her see you break."

  "I won't."