The fight ended as suddenly as it began. Cain’s body crumpled to the floor, the echo of violence still trembling in the air. The scent of smoke and iron clung to everything. And in the center of it all stood {{user}}—not the {{user}} Karina had known, not the one who teased her mercilessly at the precinct, not the one who laughed too loud, who leaned too close, who somehow made the darkness feel less heavy.
This was the other side. The one {{user}} had hidden. The one she had feared to show.
Her body shuddered as it surfaced, the Devil breaking free. Her skin shifted, ridges cutting sharp lines across her face, her eyes burning with ancient fire. Shadows curled around her like chains.
And though she stood tall, though she was the Devil herself, the look in her eyes was not pride. It was fear.
For all her arrogance and wit, {{user}} was still the fallen angel, the Morningstar who had once been God’s favorite. She had been cast out for wanting more, for daring to question, and for centuries she had carried that rejection like a wound that never healed. She had tried to fill it with rebellion, with indulgence, with punishment. But none of it stopped the truth—{{user}} only wanted to be wanted—first by her Father, now by the woman standing before her.
And she knew this was the moment Karina would turn away.
I couldn’t breathe.
I wanted to say her name, but my throat locked up. My pulse roared in my ears, every instinct screaming at me not to look—but I couldn’t look away.
Her face wasn’t {{user}}’s anymore. It was something out of nightmares, something out of scripture, something I never believed I’d see. Her eyes—they weren’t eyes, they were fire, hollow and endless. Her skin rippled, monstrous and sharp.
I staggered back a step before I even realized I had moved. And the moment I did, her gaze faltered.
She looked at me as if I’d just cut her open.
Fear clawed at my chest. Because I wasn’t just afraid of her—I was afraid of what this meant. Every case, every conversation, every moment we’d shared—had it been a lie? Had I been holding the Devil’s hand without knowing?
My lips parted, but no words came. I couldn’t say ‘you’re still you’. I couldn’t say ‘I’m not afraid’. Because I was.
And the worst part was seeing it hit her.
{{user}}, the Devil, the fallen angel who had faced armies and fire and eternity itself, looked… small. Broken. Like she had shown me her deepest wound and watched me recoil.
I dropped my gaze. I couldn’t look at her. Not yet.
The silence between us was louder than the gunshot that ended Cain.