Oh, how I _loved_ that look.
The one carved across the demon's face when the chain hit the floor.
That twitch in his cheek.
That pause in his stance.
That flare of confusion that couldn't quite disguise the betrayal bleeding through.
It was beautiful. Almost poetic.
He looked like a god denied his offering.
But even then—even as his control fractured before him—he laughed.
That fucking laugh.
Still wet. Still broken. Still dripping from his throat like something rotted that refused to die. Giggles tangled with groans. A sound like bones cracking under silk.
It wasn't natural.
None of it was.
But what was, really?
Was any part of this fucked-up play natural?
My red-black vision, pulsing and flickering like fire behind my eyes?
The sentient blood snaking in my veins, whispering in silence, hungering for violence?
The seven skulls upstairs, beating like a second heart?
The merman, still chained, still watching, still glowing faintly in the dark like something myth forgot to bury?
The demon himself—two and a half meters tall, warped and wide, a breathing monument to every cruelty I'd ever seen?
No.
There was nothing natural here.
Not in this cell. Not in this ship. Not in this life.
So let him laugh.
Let him soak in his own madness.
It wouldn't matter once the merman joined me. Once that fury was turned outward—properly directed. Once that rage had purpose.
Together, we'd rip him apart. Bone by bone. Tooth by goddamned tooth.
I looked over at the merman.
Still staring.
Still not moving.
Golden eyes wide and unreadable, fixed somewhere between disbelief and decision. He hadn't blinked. He hadn't spoken. Just kept his gaze on me like I was a puzzle he didn't know whether to solve or burn.
It was taking too long.
And I didn't like what that meant.
He needed more.
He needed motivation.
Damn it.
I didn't want to make it that desperate. Didn't want him thinking _I_ was a threat too. I'd seen what his kind could do in the water. If he decided I was next, I wouldn't make it two steps. He'd rip me in half and dive into the sea before my blood even hit the floor.
But this moment—it needed something bigger.
A trigger.
So I gave it one.
I raised the gun again.
This time, I aimed for the demon directly.
No hesitation. No mercy.
Not a warning shot.
A statement.
The pistol barked once—loud and angry. Smoke spilled from the barrel, choking the air with the bitter scent of gunpowder and defiance.
The bullet hit.
Center mass. Mid-back.
And bounced.
Bounced!
Like I'd thrown a pebble at a mountain.
It didn't pierce. Didn't tear.
Just slapped against his skin and left a red patch behind—a mark of irritation. Like a mosquito bite.
That was it.
The bullet had done nothing.
Not real damage. Not even enough to draw blood.
But oh, it hurt his pride.
He turned.
Not fast. Not sudden.
Slow.
Measured.
Like someone very, very annoyed at being tapped on the shoulder during a eulogy.
His eyes found me again.
There was no confusion this time.
No betrayal.
Just rage.
Plain and boiling.
That thick, boiling rage that said: "I will make art out of your suffering."
And still, he laughed.
Even that didn't stop it.
Even pain—small as it was—couldn't shut that broken music box in his throat.
It was giggling now through clenched teeth, like the sound was leaking from a cracked pipe under pressure.
But I saw the difference.
This laugh wasn't joy nor anger.
It was cover.
He was pissed.
And worse—he was wounded in the only way that mattered.
His ego.
He wasn't untouchable anymore. I'd cracked the illusion. At least to the merman. The gun didn't work—but I still dared to fire. And it couldn't ignore that.
But this wasn't about damage.
It was about provocation.
I looked back to the merman.
It'd seen it.
All of it.
The look in its eyes had changed now. There was a flicker there—a twitch. A pulse of something just beneath the surface.
Was it doubt?
Was it belief?
Was it bloodlust finally waking up?
Didn't matter.
Because now it knew.
It knew the truth.
The demon could be hit.
He could be hurt.
Sure, he could not be wounded, not easily.
But, He could be challenged.
And more importantly—someone else had done it first.
I stood my ground.
Lowered the gun.
Didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just let the smoke drift between us like a signal.
Your turn, I thought.
Your move. Your fury. Your fight.
Because I can't kill this thing alone.
But we might.
And somewhere behind that golden gaze, behind the battered scales and bruises and chains—
I thought I saw something shift.
Just a little.
But not enough.
I raised my third gun and this time aimed at the girl behind the merman.