Lilac collapsed to her knees, blood streaming down the side of her face, soaking into the collar of her holy robe.
Her skin, gifted with divine regeneration, began to seal—but the ear was gone.
It didn't grow back.
Divinity couldn't replace what Daemon had taken.
Her breath came in broken gasps.
"You—" she stammered, "you f-fucking demon—!"
Daemon didn't respond.
He reached down, grabbed a fistful of her golden hair, and slammed her face into the marble floor.
Once.
Twice.
The impact echoed like bells, her skull bouncing with a crack.
Blood splattered across the glyphs etched into the floor. They hissed—rejecting her pain as impure.
Her hands scrambled uselessly, twitching.
And then—
Daemon placed his hand over her head.
A faint glow—gold, not red.
Healing energy.
Her nose straightened. Her busted lip sealed. The bruises faded.
Lilac gasped, body jerking as if resurrected.
"H-how—" she whispered, voice wet and shaking. "You're not supposed to—divine energy—how—?"
Daemon smiled.
"Thanks to you."
He crouched beside her, blood still drying on his lips.
"You gave me everything I needed. Day by day. Pulse by pulse. I didn't reject the light, Lilac. I ate it."
She tried to crawl away.
He grabbed her again. Slammed her face.
More blood.
He healed her again.
She coughed, eyes wide, panic blooming in every fiber of her being.
"P-please," she whispered.
He slammed her again.
And healed her.
Over and over—a cycle of torment, of agony reborn, until her body was whole but her mind was shattering.
Finally—finally—she blacked out.
...
When she woke up, her entire body trembled.
Daemon was still there.
Still crouched beside her.
Watching her like a butcher deciding which part to carve next.
She screamed—a short, pathetic sound—and tried to crawl back, but her legs wouldn't respond.
Daemon placed a finger on her lips.
"Shh," he whispered. "Let's talk now."
She whimpered.
"I know," he said calmly. "About your little secrets. The drug smuggling ring under the cathedral. The nobles you blackmail. The bishop's nephew you seduced."
Her pupils shrank.
"I don't—"
His fist slammed into the tile beside her temple.
"Try again."
Lilac sobbed.
"I'll do anything," she gasped. "Please—please don't tell—don't kill me—"
Daemon leaned closer, crimson eyes glowing under the sanctum light.
"You're going to tell the bishop the rite worked. That the demon has been sealed. That I'm pure."
She nodded furiously. "I will. I swear it—Daemon, I swear it on Gaia's name!"
He grabbed her chin.
Hard.
Pulled her face close until their foreheads almost touched.
"If you even dream of chasing me again... I'll carve out your other ear and feed it to you before I open your ribcage and baptize you in your own lungs."
Tears fell. She nodded, breath broken, body limp.
He stood.
She stayed on the ground—sobbing, bleeding, shaking, and finally silent.
Daemon walked to the sanctum doors—slow, deliberate.
The divine glyphs flickered as he passed.
But they didn't burn him.
They bowed.
The Saintess stood shakily, one hand pressed to the side of her head where her ear had once been. Her robes were soaked in blood—her own and Daemon's.
Daemon stood beside her, calm, steady, silent.
She didn't look at him.
She couldn't.
"Come," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "We'll clean up before the audience."
Daemon followed.
A side chamber. Marble walls. Gold-framed mirrors.
He stripped off the tattered remains of his sacred robe. Every inch of his skin was bruised, raw, still glowing faintly with holy glyph burns.
The Saintess brought fresh robes—simple white silk, trimmed in royal black. No one spoke as he dressed. She changed as well, quickly hiding the blood that soaked her.
When they stepped back into the main temple hall, the nobles were already seated.
The royal clergy stood at the front.
High Priest Orlan. The archbishops. The cardinals. The deacons.
Their gazes locked onto Daemon the moment he stepped in.
Suspicion. Unease. Tension.
The chamber was quiet, thick with nerves.
Then Lilac stepped forward.
"I will speak first," she said.
Her voice didn't shake.
Daemon smirked inwardly.
She was terrified—but still playing her role.
"I completed the purification rite," she continued. "I saw the depths of the boy's Astral Core. The darkness has been... bound."
She bowed her head.
"He is no longer a threat to the kingdom."
Murmurs swept through the clergy like ripples in still water.
High Priest Orlan raised an eyebrow. "You performed the sealing rite without witnesses?"
"I did," she said. "And I take full responsibility."
A pause.
Then Orlan looked to Daemon.
"Well, Prince Daemon. Do you have anything to say?"
Daemon stepped forward slowly. His robes swayed behind him. His voice was soft, respectful, perfectly measured.
"I understand why you were all afraid of me."
The chamber stilled.
Daemon's hands folded neatly in front of him.
"I was born during the eclipse. I've been called cursed since the day I opened my eyes. I know what they say about me."
He looked down. Then up again.
"But I would never harm this kingdom."
He turned to face Orlan fully.
"I love this land. I love its people. I love my father—the king—and I will serve him, even if the world calls me something I'm not."
His voice didn't tremble. Not once.
"I am loyal. I am cleansed. And I am no threat."
Silence.
The High Priest studied him. So did the archbishops. The bishops. The cardinals.
Then, slowly, Orlan gave a nod.
"Very well. Let it be recorded."
He didn't smile.
But he didn't object.
Daemon bowed deeply.
And behind his calm eyes... was wildfire.
The great doors of the Holy Temple creaked open.
Light spilled across the white steps as Daemon emerged, robes crisp, eyes calm, body still humming faintly from seven days of divine torment.
Saintess Lilac followed behind him, just one step too far back.
She looked like the perfect holy woman—graceful, clean, eyes lowered in humility.
But Daemon knew better.
Her hand still trembled slightly as she held her robes together. She hadn't spoken since the hearing. She hadn't looked him in the eye.
The carriage waited at the foot of the temple hill, its golden trim shining in the afternoon sun.
They walked slowly.
As they reached the path where the temple shadows met sunlight, Daemon spoke.
His voice was soft. Casual. But razor-sharp beneath the surface.
"Inside that sanctum... you used something extra, didn't you?"
Lilac flinched.
He didn't stop walking.
"You added something. That hallucination spell... That wasn't just divine pressure. I saw things I wasn't meant to see."
Lilac swallowed hard.
"...It was a sacred element," she said carefully. "A cursed water. It's forbidden. We only use it when purification rites fail... or when someone's core needs to be... cracked."
Daemon stopped walking.
She stopped, too.
He looked at her now, not angry—but interested.
"Do you still have it?"
She hesitated.
"I... yes."
He nodded slowly.
Then surprised her.
"Good. I needed it."
Lilac blinked, stunned. "You... wanted that?"
His voice dipped into something lower. Quieter.
"I wasn't ready last time. But this life... is different."
She didn't understand.
But she nodded.
Of course she nodded.
Daemon kept walking. She followed silently.
***
Later—inside the royal carriage.
The city was moving around him, but Daemon sat still, the curtains drawn shut.
In his hand, resting against his thigh, was a small glass bottle—filled with a translucent, shimmering blue liquid.
The cursed hallucination water.
It looked harmless. Beautiful, even. Like melted stars.
Daemon turned it in his fingers slowly.
He remembered the first time he felt its effects in his past life—how he had screamed in the dark, crying at shadows that became monsters. How he begged the priests to make it stop.
How no one ever did.
But now?
Daemon smiled.
This was no longer a curse.
It was a gift.
A weapon.
A reminder.
And he already knew exactly who to use it on.
Someone he hoped was still alive.
Someone who betrayed him with a smile.
He leaned his head back against the cushion and whispered:
"I hope you're still breathing, old man."