“Hey, is it really true that that aroma can draw out the Influence?” Pirim asked, sliding out from behind the wagon. Azazael, in her hunchbacked manner, lurched forwards. She stumbled to her feet, almost dropping the jar. Pirim squinted at it – it seemed to contain granules of a red, dusty mist. Azazael had since closed the lid.

“You… you’re interested?” Azazael coughed, clearing her throat and bringing it to her chest. She straightened her back with an unbecoming crunch and held the jar out in front of her for Pirim to see.

“Well, I’m very glad at least somebody in this dump isn’t so consumed by paranoia.” Azazael chuckled, the beak of her black mask folding and unfolding with every inhale and exhale. “Take a closer look. As long as it doesn’t come in contact with a demon, you should be fine.”

Unfortunately, Pirim was holding one close to her chest, and as she took a step further, she felt the skull’s temperature rise. Suddenly, the red mist shot towards the walls of the jar, plastering itself on the glass surface like a swarm of angry wasps. Both Pirim and Azazael took a step back in surprise.

“It’s reacting… you must be infected, hm? Well, I see now why you decided to approach me. Unfortunately, I do not exactly have a dedicated office; I’ve only just arrived in this village. I can, however, personally treat you in the room I’ve rented at the tavern, using the technique I showed off earlier. I will apologize for that. The village remains skeptical about my abilities, and therefore they will not deign to give me even a shack for my own use.”

“How much will it cost?” Pirim placed a hand over her satchel, bluffing.

Azazael stood silent for a moment. Then, she put a finger to her masked temple. Her gloves made an odd scratching noise against the cloth.

“How about this? Since you will work wonders for my reputation… I’ll strike you a deal. You don’t have to pay me, however, once my treatment works, you must go out and tell at least a sizeable amount of people you were genuinely cured by me.”

“Out of the question,” Pirim thought to herself. She would have preferred Azazael ask for straight up money. If she refused now, it would seem suspicious.

“Is that all? That does not seem like much payment. Are you sure?” Pirim winced internally at the dichotomy between her words and her thoughts.

“Well... there is one thing. If something… say… happens to go wrong during your treatment, you will not mention it to those around you. Do not misunderstand me – my treatments are effective and guaranteed. However, there may be some side effects. Er! Nothing serious, nothing permanent, simply uncomfortable.”

Azazael began to fiddle with her thumbs in a queer show of humility.

“My work needs funding to smooth out these side effects, with these side effects, however, people will not give me funding. But… the people in this town are already suffering from gruesome mutations of all kind. What my natural and earthly medicine can do cannot compare to that! So… do we have a deal?”

“I’ll think about it,” Pirim blurted before she could formulate a plan. At this, Azazael cocked her head, staring at Pirim through her tinted goggles.

“You’ll… think about it? You surely are an odd one, even in a land of oddballs. I would think that if you were suffering from the Influence, you would jump at any chance you got. I certainly would, and I take no shame in that.”

“Well…” Pirim hesitated. How would she justify this? She gazed at the jar that Azazael held in her hands, watching the mist swirl, swirl swirl…

“Do you not believe in me after all?” Azazael ventured. Her voice betrayed a faltering ego.

“I’m running an experiment,” Pirim finished. Her heart withered as she anticipated Azazael’s reaction.

“Oh!” Azazael gasped with excitement. She suddenly scooped Pirim’s hand out from underneath her cloak, barely missing Phylaris. Pirim fumbled with holding the skull in her other hand and nearly dropped it. “Of course, of course. A kindred spirit, another great mind! No wonder you were the only one in this hellhole to believe in me, because you have the same mindset!” Azazael’s speech grew more and more frantic, and her chin rose to meet an invisible ray of holy light, though her body still remained slanted and off-center.

“I recently came under the Influence, so… I wanted to observe its development in my body to pinpoint possible weaknesses. I thought I was doomed, so I wanted to collect as much data as possible for future generations before I died. However, if your cure really works, I’d love to try it right this moment, but I still need to collect data. I want to let it develop more, perhaps analyze its nature, then get it cured. Maybe I might find something to make your cure more efficient, or figure out how exactly demons and beasts from beyond actually use it.” Pirim was rambling now, making things up on the spot. However, it seemed that despite how ludicrous it sounded to her, Azazael was eating it up. She nodded vigorously, so much so Pirim thought her mask might just fall off.

“To use your own body to experiment for such a noble cause… to stare death in the face for the sake of science… truly inspirational! I mean, those are the principles by which I live by, but I’d never thought I’d see another person who adheres to them.”

Azazael stuck her great leather beak right into Pirim’s face so that she could get a good look at it. Pirim stared back at her. She bit her lip. She could see nothing through the tenebrous black glass, but Azazael could see everything. Suddenly, worry wormed its way into her throat. Would she recognize her? Had Victoria made an announcement about her death? No, no, she reasoned. She would not know her name. It was only Barlon, Victoria, and the tavernkeeper she had to worry about, and encountering any of them in public places.

“You… have odd-looking eyes.”

“I do?” Pirim blinked. Then she realized. It was true; the unique shade of her eyes was something she never thought about, but it was due to it that she had the power to see undead spirits. The intricate spell she had perfected and woven into her very being had turned her once blue irises into a vapid off-white.

“Yes; I suspect it is due to the effects of the influence. It tends to warp our bodies in mysterious ways, and discolored eyes are far from the most grotesque I’ve seen. But it does give me something to remember you by. Speaking of which, what may I call you? So sorry for not asking before…”

“Patricia,” said Pirim.

“Good, good… well, it was quite the relief meeting someone like me. I was starting to lose hope for this town. However, I must not tarry any longer. This jar of Influence must be stored and sealed. We can’t have it escaping, obviously. I’m going to take it back to the tavern and study it. It is one thing to draw it out of the bodies of people, but I am far from finished with my mission. I must find a way to destroy it as well. Perhaps your experiment will yield a breakthrough in that regard. As you have probably heard, my name is Azazael, and you may simply come to the tavern if you wish to contact me again. I wish you luck, Ms. Patricia.”

“You too,” Pirim said. The odd doctor cradled the jar to her chest like a newborn baby, then slunk out of the square. As she walked away, the heat against her abdomen began to subside.

“I know what you’re doing,” Phylaris hissed. “I can hear conversations, you know.”

“I’m aware. Now be quiet. You’re annoying enough having to be carried around everywhere like some sort of baby.”

“You were carrying that skull when you came into the Catacombs in the first place!” Phylaris protested. Pirim could tell she had struck a nerve. She let herself show a half-smile.

“Now, I’m going to need you to do something for me. You have the ability to see across great distances from what I infer. Given that you stalked me from when I entered the Catacombs to when I found you, I assume that you can either sense when somebody enters a given area or can see through walls.”

“Mm.” Phylaris gave Pirim nothing.

“Can you find an empty building for me to sleep in?”

Phylaris said nothing.

“For someone who touts themselves as a great being from beyond, you are quite childlike,” Pirim groaned.

“Be careful what you wish for. You asked me to be quiet. I’m simply respecting your wishes.”

“I find it laughable you think us humans are the petty ones,” Pirim sighed. “I bet you invaded this place for petty reasons, too.”

“Hey, I didn’t choose to!” Phylaris said.

“Like I’d buy that,” Pirim scoffed, but she did not truly doubt Phylaris as much as she said. She had never heard an explanation for why the demons had invaded the realm, but to her it didn’t really matter.

“Okay, I’ll do it just this one time,” Phylaris muttered. “But I expect compensation. To be treated with respect.”

“Does respect even exist in the world where you came from?” Once again, Phylaris was silent. This time, Pirim waited. The skull began to grow a shade colder. Pirim felt a slight zephyr against her cloak, though she did not see it.

A minute later, she felt Phylaris’ spirit return. The otherworldly being huffed, then spat it out.

“There’s an abandoned tithe barn next to this dingy old chapel that you could use. It’s empty, though, so don’t expect to find any food.”

“Lead the way,” said Pirim. She double-checked to ensure she was alone, then started walking. Thankfully, due to it being near midnight, there was nobody strolling the streets at this time, except for the night watch. She peered down a misty road, searching for their torchlight. The dim dual flicker of two watchmen’s torches stared her down. She ducked her head back and opted for a mud-soaked alley instead.

“Ugh, the stench here is even worse than in the cities,” Pirim complained as she trudged through the filth. Several windows opened towards the dismal view. They were not used for sightseeing, no, but instead as openings for the inhabitants above to dump their waste buckets from.

“The cities?” Phylaris asked. “What do you mean by cities?”

“Nothing,” Pirim said. She almost answered him, but determined she at least should harbor some responsibility for not feeding this eldritch beast free information about humankind.

The jettying upper floors of the buildings around her cast a dim shadow over the passageway. Pirim had to squint to see through the murkiness of the night. No doubt a place like this would breed depravity. If someone caught her here, unarmed and by her lonesome, the results would be grisly. She slunk forwards like a rat in a labyrinth, scurrying from shadow to shadow. She felt the gnawing of hunger chew through her stomach, and her tongue lap against the spittle in her mouth. It would not be so shameful to her if nobody was watching, but she did not have that luxury. She knew, wherever she was, that Yuka was looking down on her from above. How far she had fallen from the bright and earnest schoolgirl Yuka had known back before the Influence began to take hold of the world.

When she envisioned Yuka now, her face began to mesh from one of indescribable and unrecognizable beauty to the scorning face of Victoria, laden with disgust. Fraternizing with a demon, stealing for food, living on the streets, turning to forbidden arts… this forsaken place was turning her to sin. But if that was what it took… if bending the knee to devilry could preserve Yuka’s purity, so be it. A renewed sense of vigor and resenting determination enveloped her. Hesitating now just because Yuka would not approve of how far she would go was simply a selfish desire. She pressed on. If she ran into a thug in this alley, she would beat them to death with her bare hands.

She did not find a thug, however. The person that greeted her at the end of the alleyway did not breathe.

He was laid upon a broken crate, long since robbed of its contents. The splintered wood refracted what dim light slithered through the cracks. The skin that had covered his body had long since withered and soured like grapes squeezed of their vitality. Underneath, dissolving muscles gave way to bone. The smell of death was faint; nobody had even given him the respect to sit him up properly. His head lulled to the side as if he were a drunkard, but the most salient aspect of his figure was the malignant growth that bloomed from his skull.

It was like a fleshy balloon had grown from his head and promptly ruptured. The skin had been stretched so thin that the veins were clearly visible underneath. Not only that, but there was a deep depression in the skull where the tumor had grown.

“It must have been a parasite,” Pirim mused. “It looks like he suffered greatly before he died. What a pity.”

“On the contrary, I think it’s very interesting!” Phylaris quipped. “Look at that indent on his skull! Humans really are fragile, aren’t they? I wish I could reanimate his body. It would amusing to control such a malformed corpse.”

“These parasites come from your world, correct?” Pirim said. The rising bile in her throat tainted her words. “What they do is disgusting. They cause nothing but pain and suffering. If they wanted to kill their prey, they should do it immediately so that the victim does not have to suffer. To force someone to suffer like that while alive is unimaginably cruel.”

“Suit yourself,” Phylaris said. “You humans are this thing you call morality… it’s so arbitrary. So arbitrary, your own kind can’t even define what it is properly. I don’t think they’re evil at all. They just exist. And what they do to humans is interesting to me. None of the parasites live where I do my research, so I never get to see how they grow from humans’ bodies. I sure would like to, though.”

“That’s-” Pirim started, but she interrupted herself and choked down her words. It was not like her to get this indignant. Showing anger would do nothing but give Phylaris an edge. She had to channel it. Channel it into schemes to outwit such a deplorable beast.

The tithe barn was just as Phylaris had described. There was not a light in its depths, and the windows, which were so small even Pirim could not fit through them, had all been shattered. The door was made of iron. It ostensibly kept robbers out, but Pirim doubted that. The lock itself had been ripped off with some unscrupulous force that had almost taken the handle with it.

Pirim entered. It was nigh pitch-black inside. Through the soles of her boots, she could feel sharp objects on the floor. She slunk by. Rats called to one another from the corners of the room. At the far end of the room, one of the windows was broken enough to let some light through. Pirim swam through the bleakness towards the light, using Phylaris’ luminescent spirit as a guide. She sat down underneath the windowsill, the only spot illuminated enough to see it was safe to sit.

The window offered a view into the chapel next door. The stained-glass window that was supposed to depict some holy figure had also been shattered. The colors of the mosaic had all been reduced to an ugly black. However, there was light inside the chapel. And movement.

“Did you find any food?” A child’s voice asked. Pirim gasped and ducked under the windowsill as his head came into view.

“I haven’t eaten in… in… I can’t remember when I last ate!” Another child cried. Pirim spied him rushing up to some unknown figure. Then, a horde of children passed by the window, all no more than half Pirim’s age. They swarmed around someone behind the wall. This is a chapel, Pirim reassured herself. I’m looking at a chapel, not an orphanage… what is going on? Then, she heard it.

“What did I tell you all? Gratitude is paramount. You must be thankful for the food I bring you, even if it is meager sometimes.”

Victoria?

“I did not find any food, but I did get Silent Sim to buy some from the tavern using the gold we received from our expedition. However, the new recruit went and died on us, so our payment took a hit. I doubt anybody else is going to help us soon, so you’ll have to deal with less food for the next few weeks.” The children collectively groaned.

“Is Mr. Sim coming?” A pause.

“No. I don’t trust him around you kids.”

“But he’s so big and he makes me feel safe! Cause he’s a knight!”

“He is not a knight; he is a bounty hunter. And he is an adult. Remember what I told you about adults?”

“Yes, yes. Adults are sinful and children aren’t, so we have to be good so we don’t turn sinful when we grow up.”

“But Mr. Sim isn’t sinful! He never says anything bad because he never says anything! And he’s good cause he helps feed us!”

Victoria did not answer their protests. Instead, she said, “I’ve stored the food in the tithe box in the barn. Some of it is still hot, so I’ll give you all supper now. The rest we can store for later. Thomas, Ludwig, you two are on rat duty this week. Don’t forget the traps like you did last time.”

Phylaris, you bastard!

Phylaris laughed from inside her cloak. Pirim was tempted to smash the skull right then and there. The only thing stopping her was Yuka.

Now that her eyes had slightly adjusted to the darkness, she could see the faint outline of a stone box on a wooden stand. She crept up to it, narrowly avoiding shards of broken glass on the floor. The lid was a heavy stone lid with an iron handle at the top. She yanked it off, dropping it to the ground with a sharp clang. The mouth-watering smell of food graced her senses at last. Inside were several paper sacks tied together with thin rope. She lifted one up; it was still warm, and the grease had left stains at the bottom of the bag, a tantalizing representation of the juiciness inside. She could contain herself no longer. Like a frantic rat, she snatched up each and every bag and clutched it to her chest.

She heard a door creak open. Footsteps pitter-patter by the entrance. The turning of a handle.

There was no time to think. Pirim clambered up the windowsill and dived through the opening. The glass edges sliced like teeth. She smelled the faint smell of blood. Thankfully, her clothes had protected her soft belly against more grievous injury, but her hands did not remain unscathed. She winced with pain, dropping Phylaris on the ground as the skull rolled in the wet grass and dirt. The bags of food followed, forming a small pile. There was a moderate gash on her palm. She shook it, splaying her fingers. She bit her lip to force it shut. Pain.

Her head throbbed like it was about to burst, of course her concussive headache had to return. She used her uninjured palm to press against her forehead in hopes of calming it down. It only made it worse. She leaned her head against the wall, the dull ache making her body slow and heavy. She could only hope that none of the children would look out the chapel window.

She heard footsteps on the other side of the wall. Then, she heard the scrape of stone against stone. A clink to signify the lid had been placed on the box, then an irritated sigh.

“I should have known he’d steal from us eventually,” Victoria’s voice hissed in the darkness. “But why would he drop it off only to steal it back? How am I going to tell the kids?”

A shadow flitted past her, causing Pirim’s heart to skip a beat. Victoria opened the iron door and slammed it in frustration. Pirim jumped and slammed her head into the stone above her head. Her vision began to swim, and her thoughts became corrupted with screams of inner pain. Stars, stars…

Victoria stomped past Pirim. Her gaze was purely focused on the door ahead as she muttered and entered the chapel.

“Someone stole all the food,” Pirim heard Victoria say. The overwhelming disappointment that followed cut through her heart.

“But we’ll starve!” the children cried in unison.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get everything back. It just might take a day or two. You all are strong; you should be able to make it… you! Stop gnawing your arm. It’s not going to solve your problems.”

“Miss Victoria! Are you sure you can get the food back? Who stole it? Where did it go?”

“Yes, I am sure,” Victoria replied. “But you must not pester me once I do. I’ll be forced to use the money I saved for my meals, so I won’t have the energy to deal with your prattling. You must promise to be good – no, perfect little children after I repurchase the food. Any toe out of line will be promptly smashed. Do you understand?”

“We understand!” the children said. Pirim watched as they all ran to hug Victoria, who muttered something inaudible.

“It seems like Victoria is mistreating those poor kids,” Pirim reasoned with herself. “That’s just like her.”

Like a caged beast, anger welled up inside her, gnashing at anyone her thoughts were directed at. Her cheeks burned, her vision swam, her body was on fire and her head was splitting. She felt a great pit open up in her stomach. She had just stolen from starving kids. But stealing from them meant that Victoria herself would have to starve in order to feed them. It was not an amoral criminal act Pirim had committed, no, it was simply justified revenge. The one who was affected, after all, was not the children but Victoria herself. Yes… stealing and causing Victoria to go without food for a few days was nothing, nothing at all compared to what Victoria had tried to do to her. Victoria was not a saint; she was not a hero for taking care of these kids, she was a murderer. She had gotten in Pirim’s way –an obstacle in her journey to save Yuka. She was a criminal, a psychopath, a villain. She deserved to be stolen from. This was not a shameful act at all. Yuka would be proud.

Pirim scrambled to pick up all the food bags on the floor. She pressed them close to her chin, drooling from the scent. The smell was dizzying, and as she got up, she almost stumbled back to the ground. Every part of her body was screaming for food and rest. There was no time to feel sympathy for a bunch of insufferable children. She hefted Phylaris on top of the bundle and then hurried out of view of the chapel’s windows.

She made her way back to the alley with the corpse without encountering a single human. In the distance, she could hear the cawing of crows and the chirping of crickets. The faint rustle of wind through spindly bare tree branches provided a background to the nighttime symphony. None of the sounds that abounded were human.

When she reached the corpse, she almost collapsed in relief to see a familiar sight. Unlike living humans, corpses could not persecute her. Unlike living humans, they could be controlled if they ever arose. They would never judge her nor try to murder her like Victoria did. She could have kissed the corpse on the lips. She laughed at the absurdity of that notion.

Beside the corpse was the broken crate, large enough to fit someone as small as Pirim. She clambered into it, curling her spine around the flat walls of the crate. She positioned her face against the hole so that she could see out and watch for passersby in case anybody tried to clean up the corpse. With that, she wasted not another second. She undid the bindings and let the succulent food spill out of its wrappings. Bread, sweet bread, with steaming broth contained within. Lentils and peas slid down her throat like water. Crumbs fell around her mouth. Heaven.

There was a sandwich filled with a rare delicacy – meat, which she had not had since she left her hometown. Another bread filled with pottage, and some filled with porridge. There was even a bag of rice, though it was very small due to being imported from more healthier fields. There were also some strips of pork, though there were odd grey patches that did not seem too natural. Pirim paid them no mind. Food was food.

In the end, Pirim left not a scrap left for the rats. Bloated with excess, she rubbed her stomach and felt her fullness droop her eyelids. All the heaviness and weakness began to finally overcome her, and she could stay awake no longer. She pressed the greased sheets of paper to her face, inhaling the scent of her meal. She would make it. At least until tomorrow, she would make it.