The demon was looking at me now.
Really looking.
Not with that half-drunk amusement he carried like perfume. Not with the slack-jawed, giggle-laced high he seemed to breathe through. No—this time his eyes held weight. Fury behind them. Irritation twitching at the corners of his mouth. Like my laugh had pried something open in him he didn't want touched.
It wasn't fear, no. Not yet.
But it was discomfort.
That laugh of mine had struck something.
He was losing grip, and he knew it. He could feel it slipping—thread by thread. The performance he had spent so long staging, the false hierarchy he built through terror and manipulation—it was breaking apart in real time.
And I was the crack.
He barked something sharp and guttural at the merman. The words didn't matter, but the tone was clear. A command dressed as comfort. Reassurance laced with control. A master's voice trying to bind the leash just one more time.
To keep him docile. To remind him where he stood. Or maybe—maybe—to buy a few more seconds before the storm broke loose.
But whatever it was... the merman paused.
His shoulders didn't drop, but they stopped pulling. His head tilted, just slightly, like he was listening. Listening to the monster who'd chained him. The one who'd paraded him like livestock.
And worse—he was buying it.
I saw it.
The flicker of hesitation.
The silent calculus of someone who'd been broken and bent too many times, weighing whether obedience might be the lesser pain. Whether going quiet might buy the girl behind him another day, another breath.
The demon had found his rhythm again. He knew exactly which strings to pull. He could lie with his voice like others lied with their eyes. Soothing, whispering, almost tender—until you remembered the blood still on his hands.
And the merman?
He was wavering.
That proud, scaled son of the ocean… was about to nod.
About to accept the leash again.
About to agree to whatever lie the demon was feeding him, thinking it would save the girl. Thinking it would end better if he just listened. If he just obeyed.
Fucking tragic.
Because that's how it starts.
You nod once. You let them put the leash on. Tell yourself it's just this one time. That it's for someone else. That it's survival.
And before you know it, you're thanking the bastard who's selling you for not cutting off your fins.
No. I couldn't let that happen.
Not now. Not with what I needed from him.
I didn't need him passive. I didn't need him quiet. I didn't need him thinking obedience would save anyone.
I needed him angry.
I needed his blood to boil.
So I did the one thing I knew would light the match.
I raised my gun.
Slow. Intentional.
Aimed it at the demon's back.
The merman saw me first—his golden eyes went wide, pupils narrowing to slits. Not fear. Not horror. Shock. Disbelief. Like I had just lost my mind. Like I had just declared war with a water pistol.
And maybe I had.
Because the demon? He saw it too.
Turned his head. Just a little.
Looked right at me.
And what did he do?
He smirked, giggled and laughed.
This one was thinner. Tighter. Full of disdain.
This time his laugh showed control. Control. And If I were to guess, he thinks I am losing control of the situation while he was gaining it.
Like I was a child waving a stick at a hurricane.
And then… he turned back.
Just like that.
Dismissed me.
Continued his sermon, his manipulation, his little campaign of control.
Didn't even flinch.
Didn't even pause.
Because I was right.
The demon didn't fear guns.
He feared nothing that could be fired from the hand.
You can't threaten a storm with thunder.
And that told me everything I needed to know.
Bullets wouldn't make him blink.
Maybe rage would.
Maybe, just maybe, watching his prisoner turn on him would do what no bullet could.
So I kept my aim steady—not to shoot.
To show.
To make sure the merman saw it.
Not a threat.
A message.
I'm not on the demon's side.
I'm not with him.
I'm not him.
His eyes flicked to mine again, and in that moment, I wasn't looking at a chained thing anymore.
I was looking at something thinking.
Something remembering.
Something deciding.
And behind the demon, behind the hollow words and the fake comfort and the chained obedience…
All I had to do was give it one more push.
I raised the gun.
Not to the demon's back this time.
No, I lifted it higher—just slightly. Shifted my grip. Adjusted the aim.
He saw it.
And his laugh… it echoed.
Louder than before.
Thicker. Meaner.
It filled the prison cell like smoke, curling into the cracks of the walls, choking the silence that had been building.
A sound that didn't just mock—it dared.
Behind him, the girl trembled.
I could barely see her—just a faint outline, a shadow hunched against the corner of the cell. But I saw the shake in her shoulders, the small, rhythmic tremor of someone who'd been quiet for far too long. She didn't scream. She didn't call out. She just shivered.
And that silence said more than words ever could.
I kept the gun raised.
Not for her.
Not for me.
For it—the merman.
His golden eyes locked onto mine the second I moved the barrel. They didn't blink. They didn't break away.
And I didn't either.
I held his gaze like a promise.
No words. Just metal and motion.
The demon didn't care. He gave me no more of his attention. Not a second of it.
He turned away, as if I was nothing. Just a background noise to his control. A breeze that passed through, meaningless.
He resumed his game.
His voice dipped low again—sweet, thick, poisonous. He leaned in close to the merman, spewing more manipulation, more carefully crafted lies. That same blackened voice trying to bind shackles not just to wrists, but to will. Emotional blackmail—draped in concern, dressed as mercy.
The monster was playing soft again.
And yet—I didn't lower the gun.
I only raised it higher.
Until the barrel aligned perfectly with the wooden board. The one holding the chain in place. The one where metal met rot.
The one thing between him and freedom.
I didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
And neither did he.
His eyes widened just slightly. Not in fear. In understanding.
He saw where I aimed.
He knew what I was doing.
This wasn't a trick. This wasn't a bluff.
It was a choice. His choice. One that I made right in front of him.
And I made sure he saw every second of it.
Then I pulled the trigger.
One shot.
Sharp. Quick.
Clean.
And maybe it was beginner's luck.
Maybe fate was feeling generous.
Or maybe—just maybe—I was meant to fire that bullet.
Because it hit.
Straight through the bolt holding the chain to the wall.
The sound it made when it snapped was dull. Unceremonious.
Clink.
And then the chain hit the floor.
Just like that.
No fanfare. No lightshow.
Just freedom.
Simple. Raw. Real.
And in the stillness that followed, the demon turned.
Slowly.
His head twisted toward me like it was pulled on a rusted hinge.
And the look he gave me...
It wasn't rage. Not yet.
It was betrayal.
He looked at me like I had just spat in the face of God. Like I'd broken some sacred pact. Like I had committed treason in front of a jury made of his own twisted rules.
I could almost feel his silence.
Heavy. Cold.
Deadly.
He wasn't laughing anymore.
The grin was gone. Yet his laugh and giggles weren't.
And all that remained was a face carved out of disbelief and gathering rage.
But I didn't look at him.
Not yet.
I looked at the merman.
And he?
He was staring at me too.
Not moving.
Not leaping for the girl.
Not striking at the demon.
Just watching.
Like he didn't know what to do with this.
With me.
With the chain on the ground. With the gun in my hand. With the look I gave him that said this is your moment, if you want it.
Maybe he still didn't trust me. Why should he?
Maybe he thought this was a trick. Another layer in a trap.
Or maybe…
Maybe he was just stunned that anyone had done something for him, and not to him.
Either way, the cell was quiet again.
No screaming.
No more trembling.
Just three of us—and the weight of a choice hanging in the air.
And somewhere in that silence, I spoke.
Not with my mouth.
With my eyes.
With the gesture. With the gun still raised, smoke still whispering from the barrel.
You're not alone.
Not anymore.
Whether he believed it didn't matter.
Because the chain was broken.
And so was the script.
Now?
Now it was up to him how the story ended.