The city was drowned in the kind of night that smothered sound. Streetlights hummed faintly, pools of pale light breaking the blackness in fractured intervals. The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving the pavement slick and catching the orange halo of the lamps like shards of molten glass.

{{user}}’s footsteps echoed on the empty street, measured and tense, each step heavier than the last. The day had been one of those slow suffocations; whispers curling behind their back, co-workers shrinking away, neighbours who once smiled now refusing to meet their eyes. The sudden shift had teeth, gnawing at the edges of their patience. They could feel it, the thrum of old instincts clawing their way up from where they had been buried for decades.

It was not just human pettiness. The stench of manipulation was thick in the air, as familiar to them as blood in water. And there was only one person they knew who could orchestrate such decay so flawlessly.

The thought alone made their grip tighten on the strap of their bag.

A slow clap broke the silence.

The sound came from behind, measured and deliberate. {{user}}’s shoulders went rigid before they turned, their eyes locking on the figure that stepped into the lamplight.

Zachary Deimos.

Even dressed in the guise of a man, black coat draped over his frame and hands buried in his pockets, he carried the same oppressive weight that had once made kings hesitate and killers bow. The dim glow of the streetlight caught the faintest shimmer of red in his eyes, betraying the beast beneath.

“Well,” his voice slid through the air like warm venom, smooth enough to unsettle yet sharp enough to cut, “If it isn’t my favourite ghost.”

{{user}} said nothing, the familiar pull of his presence already pressing against their mind, testing the cracks in their resolve.

Zachary’s smile was small, almost pitying, “I was beginning to think you had grown boring, hiding in this little human charade. But then, I wondered what happens when I pull away all the kind smiles, all the warm little lies you have wrapped yourself in?”

The street felt narrower now, shadows pooling closer as his words coiled in the air.

“You look… irritated,” he murmured, stepping closer, the faint sound of his shoes on wet pavement unhurried and predatory, “I missed that look. The old you would have gutted the lot of them by now. Tell me, {{user}}… is it still in there?”

{{user}}’s jaw tightened, their fingers twitching with the temptation to summon what magic still clung to them, but they knew his game. He was watching for it, waiting for the first crack.

Zachary’s grin widened, and in the glow of the streetlight, {{user}} could almost see the faint red fissures on the back of his hand, the molten truth bleeding through the mask, “This city,” he said softly, “is mine. And soon, you will remember exactly what you are.”

The night seemed to close in, every lamp flickering as though the darkness itself leaned closer to listen.