Chapter 8

Erabelle was on the verge of losing her mind over how wildly the conversation had gone off the rails.

“It’s really not like that,” she insisted.

“Yeah, sure.”

Camillia sighed as she refilled Erabelle’s empty beer glass, her manner almost indulgent, as though soothing a fussy child.

“Why would a man ask a woman out for dinner and drinks if he wasn’t interested? Sweetheart, you’re twenty-five years old. Are you really going to act like such a kid?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not like that...”

“Oh, come on. Just try it once. If you really don’t like it, you can always turn him down afterward.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Can’t what? That?”

Camillia arched a brow.

“Then just aim for his neck and—”

“No! I mean—what if I can’t say no?!”

Camillia blinked, genuinely baffled.

“Why wouldn’t you be able to say no?”

Because I might die if I do.

Erabelle bit her tongue.

She couldn’t bring herself to say the name Commander Dezeb Avganis aloud. But leaving out the subject entirely made the whole situation nearly impossible to explain.

It’s him. That guy. That man asked me out for dinner and drinks. HIM!

This wasn’t a date invitation.

It was clearly the prelude to a murder.

“He—he seriously asked me out for dinner and drinks! ME! What does that look like to you?!”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“I’m serious! What does that look like to you?!”

“I get it, all right?!”

Camillia was on the verge of snapping, but stopped herself and drew a deep breath.

“Look, sweetheart. I don’t know what exactly is going on, but if you try it and it turns into a disaster, just shoot him. You’re a soldier. You have a gun, don’t you?”

“...”

That escalated fast.

Was she seriously suggesting Erabelle pull a gun on that man?

That was the most audacious suicide method she had ever heard of.

Knowing her luck, she probably wouldn’t even manage to die properly.

“Ha...”

Erabelle let out a long breath and slumped forward, burying her face against the bar.

“And that’s coming from a military doctor? What happened to your professional ethics?”

“What ethics? Just shoot him and bring him in. I’ll patch him up.”

Still dazed, Erabelle suddenly blurted out the one thing she was absolutely certain of.

“Right—he’s gay.”

“What?”

Camillia’s face twisted into a frown.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“And how would you know that?”

“...Are we really doing this again?”

“Well, it’s a pretty private matter. How could you possibly know?”

Camillia clearly had no intention of letting go of that last shred of hope.

“I saw it.”

In the original novel.

Granted, the story had never explicitly said he couldn’t be with a woman, but nothing like that had ever happened in the source material.

So, as far as Erabelle was concerned, that meant he wasn’t into women.

End of story.

“You saw it? What do you mean, you saw it? Like you saw him going into a gay bar or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?”

Camillia’s scowl turned vicious.

“So you’re digging yourself an early grave over some useless gay bastard? Why? Are you that bored lately?”

“I’m actually really busy,” Erabelle replied with complete sincerity.

Camillia clicked her tongue and sighed.

“Then go home, wash your feet, and sleep! Stop digging yourself a damn hole! I mean, seriously—he’s gay? Then why the hell is he asking you out for dinner and drinks?!”

“I have no idea!”

Erabelle’s frustration finally burst out.

Camillia paused, frowning as another possibility occurred to her.

“Wait... don’t tell me he’s going to ask you to lend him money or some cra—AH!”

Before she could finish, Erabelle slammed her forehead back onto the bar with a loud thud.

“What is with you and slamming your head into things?!”

“If I die... you can have my Blu-ray collection, Lieutenant. It’s expensive.”

“What?”

“But make sure you tell my family I had insurance. Some companies won’t pay out if nobody files a claim.”

“What the hell is this? A will?”

“Please bury me with my James Collection. And the Lucas and Alec collections too.”

“So what—you’re planning to build yourself a harem in the afterlife?”

“...It’s always been my dream.”

Erabelle was completely serious.

Camillia burst out laughing.

“Oh, honey. Forget gay guys, forget celebrities. Throw all that useless stuff away and get yourself into a real relationship.”

“Your phrasing is getting kind of dangerous...”

“What good are people who can’t even do the basics with you? What do you need them for?”

Camillia’s expression suddenly turned serious, and her voice slipped into the clinical tone of a doctor.

“You saw your latest Noise-level report, right? You’re getting into dangerous territory. And even if you weren’t—that sedative you’re taking? It isn’t meant for regular use. That’s emergency-grade medication.”

“I know.”

“Know what? That’s the same drug we give people who lose their partners! You either need to find a proper match or start coming to the clinic regularly. Do something! If you keep this up, you’re going to end up seriously hurt.”

“People die when their time comes...”

“Shut it. What’s so precious about this thing you’re clinging to, anyway? I’m telling you, once you actually do it, you’ll realize it’s nothing. The world doesn’t come crashing down. Nothing gets ruined.”

“Oh—by the way, my will is on the top shelf of my freezer at home.”

Erabelle’s placid response sailed straight past the doctor’s advice.

Camillia wrinkled her nose.

“Why the freezer?”

“To keep it fresh.”

In the end, Camillia gave up and burst out laughing again.

“All right, then. Who is it? Who’s the bastard who made you write a damn will? Mafia? Serial killer?”

Worse than that.

Definitely... much worse.

***

“Commander Dezeb, retrieval complete.”

Dezeb drew in a slow breath.

The stench of blood clung to the inside of his nose.

Corpses lay piled high at their feet.

His cigarette had burned almost all the way down to the filter. Dezeb crushed it out carelessly, then glanced toward the lone survivor still coughing up blood-tinged spit.

One of them’s still alive.

Their eyes met.

The survivor spat again and unleashed a string of curses.

“You’re going to hurt my feelings, talking like that.”

Dezeb gave a short laugh, only to wince as a sharp pain shot through his neck.

Thick, dark blood seeped from the cracked skin and soaked into the collar of his shirt.

“Looks like another rupture.”

“This time it’s progressing faster,” Ori observed, handing him a fresh shirt.

Dezeb scratched at the wound on his neck as he took it.

Black, serpent-like tendrils writhed beneath the split flesh.

The barely conscious survivor caught sight of them and immediately began retching.

Dezeb’s gaze drifted back toward him.

“I said, that hurts my feelings.”

In the next instant, dozens—no, hundreds—of black, writhing tendrils burst into view, like a nest of snakes or segmented worms, and swarmed over the man.

He screamed and thrashed violently as a grotesque chorus of shrieks and buzzing filled the air, like insects crashing together in a swarm.

Then, just as abruptly, the things vanished as though they had never existed.

“Gah... h-hurk—!”

There wasn’t a single patch of skin left untouched, yet somehow the man was still breathing.

Dezeb tilted his head.

“Think we can use him as a module?”

“Only a few secondary slots are available. The efficiency wouldn’t be worth it.”

“Figures. The Empire really is fresh out of talent.”

Dezeb finished devouring the survivor and sighed.

Though, if he were being honest, that wasn’t what bothered him most.

...

A slow heat gathered low in his abdomen.

Maybe it was the accumulated Noise.

Or maybe...

He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek.

Either way, he needed a human.

Again.

Dezeb let out a dry chuckle and placed a fresh cigarette between his lips.

“Countdown—three days.”

“...Excuse me?”

Ori blinked in confusion, then seemed to remember.

“Oh. You mean Lieutenant Vermilion?”

Dezeb nodded.

Ori couldn’t understand why their master had taken such an interest in that particular officer.

Whenever she saw Dezeb, she trembled like a leaf, no different from countless other poor souls who had died by his hand.

Her physical stats were abysmal.

Her appearance was nothing remarkable.

159.9 centimeters tall.

Short, slightly curly brown hair.

Eyes of the same shade.

Fair skin.

Always smiling.

Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion was, frankly, just another woman.

One month.

One month and fifteen days.

Those were the wagers placed on her.

If, by chance, she succumbed to Dezeb’s outer shell, the timeline would shorten dramatically.

And if, by some freak accident, she turned out to be compatible...

Well.

That would be an even worse outcome.

Because then she wouldn’t even be allowed to die.

The fact that Virgo and Aries were betting on a full month and a half meant they held Lieutenant Vermilion in surprisingly high regard.

If Dezeb hadn’t been putting off contact out of some passing interest, they would never have wagered that long.

“What about the Prince?” Ori asked.

“Leave him be.”

“Kancher’s going to throw a fit. Should I go ahead and deal with him?”

“You volunteering for jail duty?”

“...I’ll prepare the blood extraction kit. Let’s hope she turns out compatible.”

Ori changed the subject smoothly.

Whenever Dezeb acquired a new spare, it was a good thing.

It bought him a little more time.

***

Erabelle was—just a little—happy today.

She had finally gotten off work on time, caught up on a movie she had been meaning to see, and Romantic 4 had turned out to be genuinely entertaining.

Mostly because James’s face was hilarious.

With the Division Commander away on an extended business trip, she had finally managed to regain some peace of mind.

Maybe when he said, “See you when I get back,” he was just being polite...

Sure, he had never meant it that way before.

But still...

No, he probably just happened to stop by on his way out. The shuttle terminal is close to the logistics warehouse, after all.

Yeah. That’s it. Just a little polite small talk with an overworked subordinate...

Conveniently forgetting that the Commander had contacted her in the middle of his trip, Erabelle clung fiercely to that hopeful conclusion.

After work, she had picked up caramel popcorn and soda for dinner at the local theater, watched Romantic 4 as planned, and even treated herself to a hot dog on the way home.

Looking back, it had been a pretty satisfying day.

It was already dark by the time she approached the officers’ quarters.

That was probably why she failed to notice the Division Commander standing outside until it was far too late.

She instinctively spun around to run—

Too late.