The walk back to the city gates was deceptively peaceful. The moon hung full and bright, illuminating the dirt road that led from the God's Throat back to civilization.
Revas adjusted the collar of his long black coat, feeling the fabric against his skin. In his illusionary form, he looked every bit the dark, aristocratic figure, like a wayward Duke or a foreign Prince. Still, his smile was too wide, too sharp, and far too hungry.
"I must say, Mistress," Revas said, matching his long strides to her limping pace. "This skin is tight. It feels like wearing a corset made of itch powder. But the smell makes up for it." He took a deep breath through his nose. "Can you smell them? Thousands of little hearts pumping blood, just over that hill. It's like walking into a bakery."
Mirabelle clutched the spectral chain, her knuckles white. "You are to behave, Revas. No eating the guests unless I say so."
Revas chuckled, his voice low and vibrant. He leaned down, his violet eyes bright with amusement. "You wound me. I am a gentleman. I haven't eaten a guest without an invitation in centuries." He paused, tapping his chin. "Well, maybe once. But he was very rude."
They rounded a bend in the road, the city walls looming ahead.
"Halt!"
A shout rang out. Three Royal Guards emerged from the shadows of a checkpoint, their halberds lowered. They were clad in the gold and white armor of Sanctum, the crest of the sun engraved on their chests.
"This area is restricted by order of the King!" the Captain barked, stepping forward. He shone a lantern in their faces. "The ceremony is complete. No one is to approach the Abyss."
Mirabelle stiffened. These were the Elite Guard. Men who had trained their whole lives to kill.
Revas did not tense up. Instead, he relaxed, almost buzzing with delight.
"Good evening, gentlemen!" Revas called out, his voice smooth and calm. He stepped in front of Mirabelle to shield her, but kept his posture casual and relaxed. "Lovely night for a patrol, isn't it? The stars are out, the wind is fresh."
"Identify yourself!" the Captain demanded, moving closer. "And the woman... by the Gods, she looks like she's been dragged through a grave."
Revas glanced back at Mirabelle and winked. Then he looked at the Captain, his smile growing until it revealed teeth that were perfectly straight, white, and frightening.
"She has had a very long night," Revas purred. "We both have. And we are dreadfully late for the party."
The Captain scowled. "Arrest them. They're likely grave robbers scavenging the sacrifice."
The two other guards moved in, reaching for Revas.
"Oh, wonderful," Revas whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "They want to play."
Revas moved.
The violence happened so quickly it almost looked like a dance. He moved inside the first guard's reach, his hand snapping out to grab the man's throat. There was a sickening, wet crunch; it was not just the windpipe, but the spine.
Revas didn't let go. He held the dying man up like a shield, laughing softly as the other guard thrust his spear. The spear tip buried itself in the dead guard's armor.
"Tsk, tsk," Revas said lightly, sounding like a tutor correcting a student. "Terrible aim. You almost hit the bone. That ruins the texture."
He tossed the dead body aside as if it were a ragdoll. The second guard froze, eyes bulging.
Revas closed the distance in a single, fluid slide. He grabbed the guard's helmet with both hands.
"Hello," Revas grinned.
He twisted.
The sound was sharp, like a dry branch snapping in winter. The guard collapsed.
The Captain, now alone, stumbled back, dropping his lantern. The flame sputtered in the grass. "Monster..." he gasped, fumbling for the signal horn at his belt.
Revas was there before the horn even touched the man's lips. He didn't kill him instantly. He grabbed the Captain's wrist, squeezing until the bones pulverized. The Captain screamed.
"Shh, shh," Revas soothed, leaning in close, his face looking angelic in the moonlight. "Don't scream."He looked back at Mirabelle, his eyes bright with manic glee. He seemed like a child showing off a drawing.
"Mistress! This one is squeaky. May I?"
Mirabelle watched the carnage. A day ago, she would have fainted. Now, watching the gold-clad soldiers who had guarded her prison turn into broken toys... she felt a cold rush of vindication.
"Make it quiet," she said.
Revas beamed. "As you wish."
He drove his fist into the Captain's chest. It wasn't a punch; it was a puncture. His hand vanished into the steel breastplate, through the ribs, and into the heart. The scream cut off instantly.
Revas withdrew his hand. It was coated in bright crimson up to the wrist.
He stood for a moment among the three bodies as the silence of the night returned. He brought his hand to his face, sniffed the blood deeply, and his eyes rolled back slightly in ecstasy. He extended his tongue, long and pointed, and licked a single stripe of blood from his knuckles.
"Vintage," he murmured. "A bit high in cholesterol, but flavorful."
He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hand with meticulous, practiced care. Once his hand was clean, he buttoned his coat, straightened his collar, and turned to Mirabelle.
He hid the manic hunger and put on the charming facade of a nobleman. He offered her his arm, bowing low over the corpses.
"Shall we proceed, my Lady?" he asked, his voice dripping with charm. "I believe the carriage awaits."
Mirabelle looked at the dead men, then at the monster offering her an escort. She stepped over the Captain's body and took Revas' arm.
"Let's go," she said.
Revas laughed, delighted, and led her toward the city gates.