“But that’s witches for you,” the demon continued. His voice was dark and velvet dragged against concrete; handsome and violent in equal measure. “The crueler the fairy tales they leave behind, the more frightening they become even after death. Yours wanted to show that even her own daughter wasn’t safe from her teeth.”
“I’m not her daughter. I was never her daughter,” Nemesis spat, wrath burning up his spine, “fuck you.”
FACE
It leaned down, its putrid breath washing over Nemesis’sface. Punctured on one of its teeth was a severed, mutilated arm. Nemesis’s stomach roiled, nausea lifting high through his throat.
“Little witch,” the Polyp slurred, words dribbling from its mouth. “I’m gonna eat you who—wh—whole.”
CURL
The contract on Nemesis’s wrist seethed with heat. Nemesis blinked up at Judge, a smirk curling across his lips.
“What’s this?” Nemesis asked. “You worried over me suddenly, Judge?”
“No.” Judge’s answer is brutal with its honesty. “But I don’t want you to forget who you belong to, no matter how far out of sight I am.”
“You make it sound easy,” Nemesis said, and butted past Judge’s shoulder. “Believe me, it’s not.”
NAILS
“Nemesis.” The demon tore each syllable between his fangs like a feast, tasting the sound of it on his tongue for the very first time. “Well, you certainly play the part.”
“And you?” Nemesis dug his nails into the leather of the seat. “What do I call you?”
He didn’t bother to ask for a name. Demons never gave those out, not unless it was against their will—after all, once owned by anyone other than them, even the strongest monsters could be summoned, controlled.
The demon smirked and wrenched the glass from Nemesis’s leg. Nemesis spasmed with a pained shout, head knocking back against the window, teeth sunk into his lip to stifle an angry scream. The demon leaned forward, pressing one hand high against Nemesis’s thigh to loom over him, bathe Nemesis in his shadow and swallow him whole. His eyes burned bright now, swirling with a predatory sharpness. He was so close that Nemesis could smell the smoky brimstone of him—the scent of asphalt after rain, the world in the devastating silence after a forest fire, everything still hot enough to burn.
“You can call me Judge,” he said. His mouth was close enough to Nemesis’s own that he felt the hot wash of his breath, tinged with smoke and the aftermath of carnage.
ID: A digital drawing of Antigone Funn from Wooden Overcoats. She is an Indian woman with light brown skin, strong cheekbones, and wavy black hair down to her back. She is hunched over herself, grabbing her right leg as her left dangles downwards. She is wearing a black dress hiked up over her thighs to expose black pantyhose and garters. She is looking to the left, a surly expression on her face. The background is a solid, deep red. End ID.
ALT
