Zara didn’t move.
Neither did I.
The air between us was thick, pressing, suffocating—like the walls of Droge’s shop had shrunk, closing in, trapping us inside something neither of us could escape.
She stared at me. Not in fear. Not in anger. Just… watching.
I hated it.
I hated her.
"She’s still lying."
The Whisper curled around my ribs, slithering through my veins, winding tight.
"She hid the truth from you."
My hands curled into fists. My knuckles ached from the first punch, the heat in my chest swelling, rising, burning.
"She deserves this."
Zara swallowed. A flicker of something passed over her face—too quick to catch. Regret? Pity?
I didn’t care.
I wanted to look away. I couldn’t.
"Do it, Mari."
The Whisper's voice thickened, wrapping around my skull like a vice.
"She used you. She fed you scraps while she whispered in Adam’s ear. She watched them take you."
My breath hitched.
"And she would do it again."
Zara inhaled—steady. Too steady.
Her mouth opened.
I didn’t let her speak.
I lunged.
A second of weightlessness, then—impact. We hit the floor hard, my weight slamming into her chest. The breath left her in a rush, but she barely flinched.
I swung.
She raised her arms just in time, blocking the hit. My fist cracked against her forearm. Again. And again. Each strike sent a shock up my arms, rattling my bones, but I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t stop.
The Whisper purred.
"Yes. Yes. Yes—"
Zara’s hands trembled as she caught my wrist mid-swing. I yanked, but her grip held firm.
Then she moved.
Effortless. Like I weighed nothing.
My stomach flipped as she flipped me, rolling us over. Now she was above me, pinning my wrists to the ground.
Her face twisted—raw, pained—but not from my fists.
From something deeper.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I froze.
Her grip loosened. Not releasing me, not yet. Just… softer.
“I swear, Mari. No more secrets. No more orders. Just you. Just us.”
The words barely reached me.
Because I couldn’t hear her anymore.
The Whisper devoured everything. Its voice fractured, unraveling into a thousand voices—laughing, screaming, taunting.
"She’s lying again."
I shook my head, breath ragged.
"Kill her."
My vision flickered.
"Kill her."
My arms burned. The cracks in my skin pulsed, dark tendrils slithering outward, coiling over my forearms, creeping past my elbows, reaching my shoulders. My legs stretched, shifting, elongating. I loomed over her.
Zara’s grip faltered.
I seized her by the collar and hurled her against the wall.
The impact cracked through the air—sharp, hollow.
Her head snapped back. A gasp slipped past her lips.
I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t stop.
I hit her.
“How could you?!” My fist smashed into her jaw.
Again.
“I trusted you!”
Again.
“I TRUSTED YOU!”
The voice tearing from my throat wasn’t mine. It was raw. Fractured. Inhuman.
Zara coughed, blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth. She raised an arm, too slow—my fist slammed into her cheekbone. Her head jerked to the side, but she didn’t fall.
She didn’t fight back.
“All of you—”
I hit her again.
“Lie.”
Again.
“LIE.”
Her body trembled. Hands still raised. Still blocking—barely.
But she didn’t stop me.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
She didn’t stop me.
Tears blurred my vision. I tasted salt. Blood.
My face twisted into something unrecognizable—something monstrous. And I didn’t want to stop.
"Yes," the Whisper purred. "More. Give her everything she deserves."
I drew back for another blow—
And Zara’s hands dropped.
Limp.
Her body slumped against the wall, then slid down, folding in on itself.
I froze.
My breath caught, sharp and uneven.
Her face was swollen. Blood streaked her temple, her cheek, her mouth. One eye already darkening, bruised.
Her chest rose and fell—shallow. Unsteady.
But she was still breathing.
My stomach twisted.
My hands—my arms—
The cracks had swallowed them whole. My skin was blackened, stretched, fractured. My nails had sharpened into claws.
This wasn’t me.
This wasn’t—
"She’s still breathing."
The Whisper coiled tight around my throat.
"Pathetic."
My whole body trembled.
Zara was still breathing.
I staggered back, vision breaking apart at the seams.
What had I done?
My breath came in short, ragged gasps. My chest tightened, my stomach twisted. Zara didn’t move. Slumped against the wall, barely conscious, blood dripping down her face in sluggish rivulets.
My hands shook.
The blackened fractures along my skin pulsed, shifting, writhing. My fingers twitched—still curled into fists, still aching to strike again. But something was changing.
A sickening snap.
Then another.
My arms convulsed. The cracks shrank, the darkness sinking back, retreating beneath my skin like a beast curling into hibernation. My limbs twisted, folding back into human proportions, the unnatural elongation snapping into place like a puppet forced into its mold.
It left me hollow.
Like something had been ripped out of me. Like something wanted to stay.
I inhaled—too sharp, too fast. The air tasted wrong. Thick. Metallic.
I had to run.
I tore out of the shop, the night air slamming into me like a wall. My feet barely touched the pavement. Neon lights streaked past in a blur of color. Voices. Machines. Footsteps.
None of it mattered.
Not until I saw him.
Waiting. Watching.
Desire.
His wiry, insectile body clung to the air, silver limbs shifting with eerie precision, moving like liquid metal. His golden eyes gleamed, cold and unblinking, too bright, too focused—just like Adam’s.
He had been waiting for me.
The Whisper stirred.
"Lustreth."
Desire twitched.
"Don’t call me that."
His voice snapped like a wire pulled too tight. Sharp. Immediate.
I froze.
The way he said it—clipped, warning—sent something crawling up my spine.
But the irritation didn’t linger.
Instead, his gaze locked onto me.
His golden irises widened, shifting, scanning, calculating. And then—his expression changed.
Awe.
Reverence.
Something terribly close to worship.
His spindly metal fingers curled, his body drifting forward like he was being pulled toward me. Like he had been waiting for this moment.
"It’s consuming you."
Desire’s voice slid through the air, smooth, unshaken.
I stiffened.
His head tilted, golden eyes scanning me—not just looking. Studying.
"You’re turning into it," he murmured. "Into the demon’s body."
The words struck something deep.
My stomach twisted. My pulse hammered.
I had felt it.
The way my arms weren’t my own. The way my legs had stretched, warped—twisted into something monstrous. The way my flesh bent, obeying the Whisper like it belonged to it, not to me.
But before I could speak—before I could deny it—
Desire’s gaze flicked lower.
His lips curled.
"And your body… is changing."
A cold spike ran down my spine.
"What?"
His gaze dragged over me—slow, deliberate. His golden irises burned, bright with something more than fascination.
Awe.
"You are different now," he said, almost giddy. "Your eye—your hands—"
I tensed.
My bionic eye.
My cybernetic hands.
The enhancements I had taken. The ones I had lost my real limbs for.
I lifted my hands.
My breath hitched.
They weren’t metal.
They weren’t machine.
They were flesh.
Organic.
My fingers flexed—too smooth, too human. The cold, lifeless steel that had once replaced my hands was gone.
And my eye—
I reached up, fingers pressing against my left cheek.
No familiar chill of metal. No faint mechanical click as the lens adjusted.
Nothing.
Only warmth.
Only skin.
Only something that shouldn’t be there.
A sharp breath tore from my throat. My body trembled.
"What—" My voice cracked. "What the hell—?"
Desire laughed.
Soft. Quiet. Almost… pleased.
He drifted closer, head tilting, golden gaze shining like he was looking at something holy.
"You’ve progressed," he murmured. "Far beyond what Adam ever could."
His hands lifted, fingers twitching—like he wanted to touch me. But he didn’t.
Instead, his lips parted, reverent.
"You are the one he failed to be."
"The one the Whisper chose."
I couldn’t breathe.
The Whisper slithered beneath my ribs, curling, suffocating. My lungs burned. My pulse pounded in my ears.
And Desire—
Desire only smiled.
"Glory to the Empress."
