Page 118 of Mortis

The woman saw my hesitation and ran. She didn’t reach for her child or pull him with her. She simply turned and fled, leaving him standing between herself and the beast she had offered him to.

Something inside us snapped.

I shoved the boy aside, and he struck the stone floor with a cry. He scrambled towards the wall while I went after his mother. She managed only a few steps before our hand closed around her throat. Her scream instantly vanished, and pale eyes bulged as I lifted her from the ground. Her hands clawed desperately at our wrist, emerald nails scraping uselessly against our skin.

I squeezed, harder and harder, until her struggles slowly weakened. Our claws pierced her throat, blood spilling between our fingers and running in hot streams down our arm. Then something cracked, and her body went limp. When I released her, she struck the stone with a heavy thud.

Silence was fleeting.

Then the boy wailed.

“Mummy!” He scrambled towards her and dropped beside her body. “Mummy, wake up!”

He shook her shoulder with surprising vigour.

“Please!”

His cries echoed through the corridor, but they wouldn’t bring her back. Nothing would. She belonged to Hell now, along with her husband. And hopefully, a lesser demon was already showing her the same treatment the cult had shown its victims.

My gaze settled on the boy.

Now one survivor remained.

I approached, and a snarl rumbled from our chest. His head snapped upwards, those strange eyes meeting ours again. Ice and honey mixed with terror and grief.

He had to die.

I reached for him, but our hand stopped.

You cannot.

This damned vessel.

“We must,” I bit out through gritted teeth.

I tried to force our arm forward, and it refused to move.

He is innocent.

“He is one of them.”

He is a child.

“He will grow.”

Then let him.

Rage surged through me.

“You and your bleeding heart,” I hissed. “One day, it will get us killed.”

The vessel tightened his hold over our body. For so long I had dragged him back from despair. I had fought when he no longer could. Endured his pain and carried his rage. Of course he would choose now to fight back.

Then so be it, he snapped. But you will not punish a child for the sins of his parents.

I strained against him, but he refused to yield, and eventually, I stopped fighting. The tension left our body in a rush, and I fell heavily to our knees. The boy flinched. Tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping from his chin onto his mother’s lifeless face. I stared at him, and he stared back.

“Fine.”