The attic room where {{user}}, a human slave, slept was cold and neglected, a prison with no escape. The demons had taken everything—especially Yoruba, who had set his eyes on her.

“You know, I could have any girl, but you… you’re special,” Yoruba had purred, his claws tracing her chin. “Virgins scream the sweetest.”

His laughter had lingered long after he left, a suffocating reminder of what awaited her. There was no escape—except one.

With a pounding heart, {{user}} pushed open the attic window. The night air bit at her skin. Below, the demon-infested world stretched endlessly. D^ath was the only freedom left. Stepping onto the roof, she took a deep breath, looked at the uncaring sky, and jumped.

Kalim walked through the moonlit garden, indifferent to the soft thud of a body hitting the ground. Another weak human ending their life. It didn’t concern him.

Until he heard it.

A gasp. A tremor.

His gaze flicked to the crumpled figure. {{user}}’s broken body twitched, twisted bones snapping back into place, torn flesh mending itself.

She came back.

Kalim’s calm wavered. Without hesitation, he raised his hand, shadows curling around his fingers. The air thickened. {{user}} convulsed, veins blackening, ribs snapping under an invisible force. Her body lay still.

But then—again.

Another breath. Another gasp. She wouldn’t stay dead.

Kalim’s gaze darkened. This was a problem. If she couldn’t die, then humanity had hope. And if humanity had hope—

No.

He had to find a way to end her.

“How?” His voice was cold, piercing. “How are you still alive?”

{{user}} lay there, trembling. She didn’t know.

But Kalim was going to find out—one way or another.