Grub ran.
He tore through the streets of the village with everything his legs had left. Left turn. Right turn. Another left. Then across a narrow side street between two rows of houses. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't have time to plan a route. His only goal was to make as much distance as he couldn't.
Grub's mind tried to process what was happening as his feet hammered the dirt.
He had been found out. The jig was up. Everything Grub had spent weeks hiding was suddenly exposed. His cards were on the table and the man holding his fate was a horned psychopath who killed on instinct and answered to no one
Grub took another sharp right and sprinted without stopping. As he sprinted with all his might, his shoulder ached from the fall out the window. All the while, the mgbaaka maara pulsed faintly against his wrist like a second heartbeat.
Then, slowly, something changed. The urgency began to drain out of him. It wasn't exhaustion or acceptance. Neither could quite the feeling that washed over him. The panic that had been fueling his legs was fading, replaced by a strange, creeping calm that had no reason to be there. His pulse slowed as his breathing evened. The frantic edge in his thoughts softened from a sharp sword to a fluffy cloud.
He kept running. But his stride shortened and his pace dropped. The fire that burned in his chest cooled to a lukewarm hum.
Why am I running again?
The thought passed through his mind and he almost let it stay.
He ducked into a narrow alley between two buildings and pressed himself against the wall. Then carefully peeked out. The street behind him was empty outside of the occasional stray villager or chirp chirp preparing for bed.
Grub let out a long breath.
See? Everything is fine. There's nothing to worry about.
Honestly, why was he so worried? The thought crossed his mind as he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.For a brief, blissful moment, he felt more at peace than he had in weeks. Then he opened his eyes and walked out of the alley.
He didn't check his surroundings and didn't look left or right. Grub didn't even scan the rooftops or the shadows or the corners where someone could be hiding. He just walked out, calm and unhurried, his mind drifting lazily through thoughts that had no substance.
I should probably figure out what to do now. Maybe I'll just—
A violent impact exploded into his stomach.
The collision was so sudden and so savage that Grub didn't even register the pain before he was airborne. His body folded around the kick like paper and he flew backward several meters before crashing into the ground, skidding across the dirt in a tangled heap.
"HURK—!"
Grub grabbed his stomach. His mouth opened but nothing came out except a strangled gasp. Nothing, until his dinner came up.
He threw up everything. The meal from the diner with Luthiel. Blood mixed with half-digested food splattered the ground in front of him. Grub coughed violently. His entire stomach felt like it had been crushed by a falling building.
He coughed, gagged, and spat, while his entire abdomen screamed in agony.
Through watering eyes he looked up.
Pazuzu stood where Grub had been a moment ago, his arms folded casually behind his back. The same uncaring smile plastered on his face. He looked down at Grub like an insect that had crawled too far from its hole.
"See?" Pazuzu said pleasantly. "That's how you do a proper kick to the midsection."
Grub wheezed. It took everything he had just to push himself upright. But force himself up he did. One hand clutched his stomach while the other gripped his enchanted notebook. Luckily for him, he had held onto it when he jumped out the window and hadn't let go since.
His mind snapped back into full alert. The false calm was gone, shattered like stone hitting glass. Every nerve in his body was firing again. Every instinct screaming.
But even through the pain and the panic, something clicked.
"You're doing something to me," Grub said through gasped breaths. "Aren't you? The same thing you probably did to Morrigan."
Pazuzu's expression didn't change. He simply smiled.
"Maybe. What do you think it is?"
Grub straightened up slowly, one arm still wrapped around his midsection. He breathed through the pain and forced his thoughts into order.
"You're making me feel at peace." He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. "That kick snapped me out of it. But before that, I felt like there was nothing to run from. Like everything was fine. I was more relaxed than I've ever been in my life."
He looked directly at Pazuzu.
"That's your ability, isn't it?"
Pazuzu's eyebrows rose. Not in fear—he couldn't feel that. But genuine surprise crossed his face for the first time.
"The same thing happened with Morrigan, right?" Grub asked through his gritted teeth. "You made her feel comfortable enough to tell you things she normally wouldn't."
"Yes indeed!" He clapped once. "You really are clever. Genuinely impressive."
He waved his hand dismissively, as if Grub had just answered a difficult quiz question rather than deduced the nature of an ability being used to kill him.
Grub stood with his body at the ready. His mind expertly calculated his situation.
If he can make me feel at ease, that will throw off my observation skills. I observe because I'm wary of danger. If the danger doesn't register, I stop looking. That's why I didn't notice him in my room. That's why I walked out of that alley like an idiot.
My decisions are still my own. He's not controlling me. He's just removing the instinct to act on them. Like a sedative. A downer that kills your fight-or-flight without touching your thoughts.
In a fight, that's a death sentence.
He looked down at the notebook in his hand. Luthiel had said neither of them could tear it. Thi, who was vastly stronger than him, hadn't damaged it during Greedy Grabber. Maybe. Just maybe. It could save his life. Because nothing else would.
It's my only hope. Let's hope it holds.
Pazuzu stared at him for a long moment. The smile faded into a flat, dull, expression.
"I'm growing bored of this."
His posture shifted as his casual stance stiffened.
"YOU DIRTY TRAITOR."
He threw a punch with horrifying speed. Grub reacted on pure instinct. He swung the enchanted notebook in front of his face with both hands, the leather cover facing outward, and braced as the fist made contact.
KAMBLOOSH
The impact sent a shockwave through the air that rattled the shutters of nearby houses. A gust of wind exploded outward from the point of contact, scattering dust and loose debris across the street. Grub was launched backwards like he'd been struck by a wagon and crashed through a clothing stall that had been left closed for the night, smashing through wooden beams and fabric displays. Splinters and fuzzy cloth erupted around him as the structure collapsed.
Grub climbed out of the rubble. Cuts from the wooden debris stung across his arms and face, but he was alive. He looked down at the notebook in his hands.
Pazuzu's blood was smeared across the cover.
But the book itself was untouched. Not single scratch, dent, or bent page.
Grub's eyes snapped up to Pazuzu.
The horned man was standing in the middle of the street, staring at his own fist. His fingers were bent in different directions, several of them clearly broken. His knuckles bled profusely, dark purple blood dripping steadily onto the dirt below. It looked as though he had punched a diamond rather than a book.
Grub smirked despite himself. So this thing really is that tough.
But his arms weren't. Even though the notebook had absorbed the brunt of the force, the impact had traveled straight through the cover and into his body. His arms felt like he had tried to catch a falling boulder. His left shoulder was slightly dislocated from the sheer force.
He reached over with his free hand, gripped his shoulder, and popped it back into place with a sharp grunt. Blocking these strikes wasn't easy, even with his new shield. Pazuzu continued to stare at his broken hand. He flexed his fingers experimentally, watching the bones shift beneath swollen skin. Dark purple blood pooled between his knuckles.
"Ow," he said flatly. "That's unfortunate."
His face twitched with pain, but the expression beneath it was unchanged. Just mildly inconvenienced.
He looked around. The punch and the crash had woken nearby villagers. A few who had still been out on the streets were moving toward the commotion, craning their necks to see what had happened. Faces appeared in windows.
Pazuzu scowled at them.
"Get back, all of you. Let me kill this TRAITOR."
The crowd screamed
Pazuzu reached into his coat. When his hand emerged, it held an ivory-colored sickle.
A few villagers gasped. Others started to back away. But then something shifted in the air. The tension drained from the crowd like water from a cracked bowl. Expressions softened. Shoulders dropped. People who had been running a moment ago simply turned and walked away as if nothing was happening. As if the screaming and the destruction and the blood were just part of a quiet evening.
Grub felt it too. The calm washed over him again, gentle and absolute, dissolving the panic in his chest before he even realized it was happening. For one split second, his guard dropped. Then the next, a sickle was in his shoulder. Then the pain arrived a heartbeat later.
"AAGHHHH!"
Grub screamed in pain as blood sprayed on the street.
The blade was ivory-colored and curved, its edge buried deep in the meat of his shoulder where it met his neck. Pain erupted through his entire upper body in a blinding white flash. Sweat burst from every pore on his face. His vision swam as his legs nearly gave out.
Pazuzu smiled and leaned close, the handle of the sickle still in his grip, and whispered.
"That's it. That's the sound I love hearing from those who threaten our village."
Then he reared back, pulling his head away to create distance for what came next. He was going to headbutt him. Horns first. Grub saw the motion through the haze of pain. The thick, forward-angled horns pulling back like a battering ram being wound. If those connected with his skull, it was over.
His good arm moved before his brain gave the order. He swung the enchanted notebook into the side of Pazuzu's head with every ounce of strength his battered body could produce. The impact was heavy and wet. Pazuzu's skull snapped sideways. His grip on the sickle faltered and the blade ripped free from Grub's shoulder as the horned man stumbled, dropping to one knee. The sickle clattered to the ground between them.
Grub staggered backward, gasping. Blood poured freely from the wound in his shoulder, soaking through his shirt and running down his arm. He pressed his hand against it and felt the warmth spreading through his fingers. He was lucky his white coat was back at the inn. It would have been ruined.
Grub steadied himself, widening his stance to keep from falling. His legs trembled. His vision pulsed at the edges.
Across from him, Pazuzu rose slowly to his feet. Dark purple blood trickled down the side of his face from where the notebook had connected. His broken hand hung at his side, the fingers still bent wrong. His sickle lay on the ground between them. But he was smiling.
"I'll admit," Pazuzu said calmly, wiping the blood from his eye with the back of his good hand, "you're good, traitor. Especially for someone who seems unable to use Anima."
He straightened fully. His black-sclera eyes locked onto Grub with absolute certainty.
"But it's time to die. Here and now."